University of Virginia Library

Actus secund.

Scena prima.

Henry, Guise, Montsurry, and Attendants.
Henry.
This desperate quarrell sprung out of their envies
To D' Ambois sudden bravery, and great spirit.

Gui.
Neither is worth their envie.

Henr.
Lesse than either
Will make the Gall of Envie overflow;
She feeds on outcast entrailes like a Kite:
In which foule heape, if any ill lies hid,
She sticks her beak into it, shakes it up,
And hurl's it all abroad, that all may view it.
Corruption is her Nutriment; but touch her
With any precious oyntment, and you kill her:
Where she finds any filth in men, she feasts,
And with her black throat bruits it through the world;
(Being sound and healthfull) But if she but taste
The slenderest pittance of commended vertue,
She surfets of it, and is like a flie,
That passes all the bodies soundest parts,
And dwels upon the sores; or if her squinteie
Have power to find none there, she forges some:
She makes that crooked ever which is strait;
Call's Valour giddinesse, Iustice Tyrannie:
A wise man may shun her, she not her selfe;
Whither soever she flies from her Harmes,
She beares her Foe still claspt in her own Armes:
And therefore cousen Guise let us avoid her.

Enter Nuncius.
Nuncius.
What Atlas or Olympus lifts his head
So farre past Covert, that with aire enough
My words may be inform'd? And from their height
I may be seene, and heard through all the world?
A tale so worthy, and so fraught with wonder,
Sticks in my jawes, and labours with event.

Henr.
Com'st thou from D' Ambois?

Nun.
From him, and the rest
His friends and enemies; whose sterne fight I saw,
And heard their words before, and in the fray.

Henr.
Relate at large what thou hast seene and heard.

Nun.
I saw fierce D' Ambois, and his two brave friends.
Enter the Field, and at their heeles their foes;
Which were the famous souldiers, Barrisor,
L' Anou, and Pyrrhot, great in deeds of Armes:
All which arriv'd at the evenest peece of earth
The field afforded; The three Challengers
Turn'd head, drew all their rapiers, and stood ranckt:
When face to face the three Defendants met them,
Alike prepar'd, and resolute alike,
Like bonfires of Contributorie wood,
Every mans look shew'd, Fed with eithers spirit,
As one had beene a mirror to another,
Like formes of life and death each took from other;
And so were life and death mixt at their heights,
That you could see no feare of death, for life;
Nor love of life, for death: But in their browes
Pyrrho's Opinion in great letters shone;
That life and death in all respects are one.

Henr.
Past there no sort of words at their encounter?

Nun.
As Hector, twixt the Hosts of Greece and Troy,
(When Parts and the Spartane King should end
The nine yeares warre) held up his brasen launce
For signall, that both Hosts should cease from Armes,
And heare him speak: So Barrisor (advis'd)
Advanc'd his naked Rapier twixt both sides,
Ript up the Quarrell, and compar'd six lives,
Then laid in ballance with six idle words,
Offer'd remission and contrition too;
Or else that he and D' Ambois might conclude
The others dangers. D' Ambois lik'd the last;
But Barrisors friends (being equally engag'd
In the maine Quarrell) never would expose
His life alone, to that they all deserv'd.
And (for the other offer of remission)
D' Ambois (that like a Lawrell put in fire,
Spakl'd and spit) did much much more than scorne,
That his wrong should incense him so like chaffe,
To goe so soone out; and like lighted paper,
Approve his spirit at once both fire and ashes:
So drew they lots, and in them Fates appointed,
That Barrisor should fight with firie D' Ambois;
Pyrhot with Melynell; with Brisac L' Anou:
And then like flame and Powder they commixt,
So spritely, that I wisht they had beene spirits,
That the ne're shutting wounds, they needs must open,
Might as they open'd, shut, and never kill:
But D' Ambois sword (that lightned as it flew)
Shot like a pointed Comet at the face
Of manly Barrisor; and there it stucke:
Thrice pluckt he at it, and thrice drew on thrusts,
From him, that of himselfe was free as fire;
Who thrust still as he pluckt, yet (past beliefe!)
He with his subtile eye, hand, body, scap't;
At last the deadly bitten point tugg'd off,
On fell his yet undaunted Foe so fiercely,
That (only made more horrid with his wound)
Great D' Ambois shrunke, and gave a little ground;
But soone return'd, redoubled in his danger,
And at the heart of Barrisor seal'd his anger:
Then, as in Arden I have seene an Oke
Long shooke with tempests, and his loftie toppe
Bent to his root, which being at length made loose
(Even groaning with his weight) he gan to Nodde
This way and that: as loth his curled Browes
(Which he had oft wrapt in the skie with stormes)
Should stoope: and yet, his radicall fivers burst,
Storme-like he fell, and hid the feare cold Earth.
So fell stout Barrisor, that had stood the shocks
Of ten set Battels in your Highnesse warre,
'Gainst the sole souldier of the world, Navarre.

Gui.
O pitious and horrid murther!

Beau.
Such a life
Me thinks had mettall in it to survive
An age of men.

Henr.
Such, often soonest end.
Thy felt report cals on, we long to know
On what events the other have arriv'd.

Nun.
Sorrow and fury, like two opposite fumes,
Met in the upper Region of a Cloud,
At the report made by this Worthies fall,
Brake from the earth, and with them rose Revenge,
Entring with fresh powers his two noble friends;
And under that ods fell surcharg'd Brisac,
The friend of D' Ambois, before fierce L' Anou;
Which D' Ambois seeing, as I once did see
In my young travels through Armenia,
An angrie Vnicorne in his full cariere
Charge with too swift a foot a Jeweller,
That watcht him for the Treasure of his brow;
And ere he could get shelter of a tree,
Naile him with his rich Antler to the Earth:
So D' Ambois ranne upon reveng'd L' Anou,
Who eying th'eager point borne in his face,
And giving backe, fell back, and in his fall
His foes uncurbed sword stopt in his heart:
By which time all the life strings of th'tw'other
Were cut, and both fell as their spirit flew
Vpwards: and still hunt Honour at the view.
And now (of all the six) sole D' Ambois stood
Vntoucht, save only with the others bloud.

Henr.
All slaine outright but hee?

Nun.
All slaine outright but he,
Who kneeling in the warme life of his friends,
(All freckled with the bloud his Rapier raind)
He kist their pale lips, and bade both farewell;
And see the bravest man the French earth beares.

Enter Monsieur, D' Amb. bare.
Buss.
Now is the time, y'are Princely vow'd my friend,
Performe it Princely, and obtaine my pardon.

Mons.
Else Heaven forgive not me: Come on brave friend.
If ever Nature held her selfe her owne,
When the great Triall of a King and subject
Met in one bloud, both from one belly springing:
Now prove her vertue and her greatnesse One,
Or make the t'one the greater with the t'other,
(As true Kings should) and for your brothers love,
(Which is a speciall species of true vertue)
Doe that you could not doe, not being a King.

Henr.
Brother I know your suit; these wilfull murthers
Are ever past our pardon.

Mons.
Manly slaughter
Should never beare th'account of wilfull murther;
It being a spice of justice, where with life
Offending past law, equall life is laid
In equall ballance, to scourge that offence
By law of reputation, which to men
Exceeds all positive law; and what that leaves
To true mens valours (not prefixing rights
Of satisfaction, suited to their wrongs)
A free mans eminence may supply and take.

Henr.
This would make every man that thinks him wrong'd,
Or is offended, or in wrong or right,
Lay on this violence, and all vaunt themselves,
Law-menders and supplyers though meere Butchers;
Should this fact (though of justice) be forgiven?

Mons.
O no, my Lord; it would make Cowards feare
To touch the reputations of true men,
When only they are left to impe the law,
Justice will soone distinguish murtherous minds
From just revengers: Had my friend beene slaine,
(His enemy surviving) he should die,
Since he had added to a murther'd fame
(Which was in his intent) a murthered man;
And this had worthily beene wilfull murther:
But my friend only sav'd his fames deare life,
Which is above life, taking th'under value,
Which in the wrong it did was forfeit to him;
And in this fact only preserves a man
In his uprightnesse; worthy to survive
Millions of such as murther men alive.

Henr.
Well brother, rise, and raise your friend withall
From death to life: and D' Ambois, let your life
(Refin'd by passing through this merited death)
Be purg'd from more such foule pollution;
Nor on your scape, nor valour more presuming,
To be againe so daring.

Buss.
My Lord,
I lothe as much a deed of unjust death,
As law it selfe doth; and to Tyrannise,
Because I have a little spirit to dare.
And power to doe, as to be Tyranniz'd;
This is a grace that (on my knees redoubled)
I crave to double this my short lifes gilt,
And shall your royall bountie Centuple,
That I may so make good what law and nature
Have given me for my good: since I am free,
(Offending no Just law) let no law make
By any wrong it does, my life her slave:
When I am wrong'd and that law failes to right me,
Let me be King my selfe (as man was made)
And doe a justice that exceeds the law:
If my wrong passe the power of single valour
To right and expiate; then be you my King,
And doe a Right, exceeding Law and Nature:
Who to himselfe is law, no law doth need,
Offends no Law, and is a King indeed.

Henr.
Enjoy what thou intreat'st, we give but ours.

Exit Rex cum Beau.
Buss.
What you have given, my Lord, is ever yours.

Gui.
Who would have pardon'd such a murther?

Exit.
Mons.
Now vanish horrors into Court attractions,
For which let this balme make thee fresh and faire.
And now forth with thy service to the Duchesse,
As my long love will to Montsurries Countesse.

Exit.
D' Amb.
To whom my love hath long been vow'd in heart,
Although in hand for shew I held the Duchesse.
And now through bloud and vengeance, deeds of height,
And hard to be atchiev'd, tis fit I make
Attempt of her perfection, I need feare
No check in his Rivality, since her vertues
Are so renown'd, and hee of all Dames hated.

Exit.
Enter Monsieur, Tamyra, and Pero with a Booke.
Mons.
Pray thee regard thine owne good, if not mine,
And cheere my Love for that; you doe not know
What you may be by me, nor what without me;
I may have power t'advance and pull downe any.

Tamy.
That's not my study. One way I am sure
You shall not pull downe me; my husbands height
Is crowne to all my hopes, and his retiring
To any meane state, shall be my aspiring:
Mine honour's in mine owne hands, spite of kings.

Mons.
Honour, what's that? your second maydenhead:
And what is that? a word; the word is gone,
The thing remaines; the Rose is pluckt, the stalk
Abides: an easie losse where no lack's found.
Beleeve it, there's as small lack in the losse,
As there is paine ith' losing: Archers ever
Have two strings to a bow, and shall great Cupid
(Archer of Archers both in men and women)
Be worse provided than a common Archer?
A Husband and a Friend all wise Wives have.

Tamy.
Wise wives they are that on such strings depend,
With a firme husband joyning a lose friend.

Mons.
Still you stand on your husband, so doe all
The common sex of you, when y'are encounter'd
With one ye cannot fancie: all men know
You live in Court here by your owne election,
Frequenting all our common sports and triumphs,
All the most youthfull company of men:
And wherefore doe you this? To please your husband?
Tis grosse and fulsome: if your husbands pleasure
Be all your Object, and you ayme at Honour,
In living close to him, Get you from Court,
You may have him at home; these common Put-ofs
For common women serve: my honour? husband?
Dames maritorious, ne're were meritorious:
Speak plaine, and say I doe not like you Sir,
Y'are an ill-favour'd fellow in my eye
And I am answer'd.

Tamy.
Then I pray be answer'd:
For in good faith my Lord I doe not like you
In that sort you like.

Mons.
Then have at you here:
Take (with a politique hand) this rope of Pearle;
And though you be not amorous, yet be wise:
Take me for wisedom; he that you can love
Is nere the further from you.

Tamy.
Now it comes
So ill prepar'd, that I may take a poyson
Under a medicine as good cheap as it:
I will not have it were it worth the world.

Mons.
Horror of death: could I but please your eye,
You would give me the like, ere you would loose me:
Honor and husband?

Tamy.
By this light my Lord
Y'are a vile fellow: and Ile tell the King
Your occupation of dishonouring Ladies
And of his Court: a Lady cannot live
As she was borne, and with that sort of pleasure
That fits her state, but she must be defam'd
With an infamous Lords detraction:
Who would endure the Court if these attempts,
Of open and profest lust must be borne?
Whose there? come on Dame, you are at your book
When men are at your Mistresse; have I taught you
Any such waiting womans quality?

Mons.
Farewell good husband.
Exit Mons.

Tamira.
Farewell wicked Lord.

Enter Mont.
Mont.
Was not the Monsieur here?

Tam.
Yes, to good purpose.
And your cause is as good to seek him too,
And haunt his company.

Mont.
Why, what's the matter?

Tam.
Matter of death, were I some husbands wife:
I cannot live at quiet in my chamber
For oportunities almost to rapes
Offerd me by him.

Mont.
Pray thee beare with him:
Thou know'n he is a Bachelor, and a Courtier,
I, and a Prince: and their prerogatives
Are, to their lawes, as to their pardons are
Their reservations, after Parliaments,
One quits another: forme gives all their essence:
That Prince doth high in vertues reckoning stand
That will entreat a vice, and not command:
So farre beare with him: should another man
Trust to his priviledge, he should trust to death:
Take comfort then (my comfort) nay triumph,
And crown thy selfe, thou part'st with victory:
My presence is so onely deare to thee,
That other mens appeare worse than they be.
For this night yet, beare with my forced absence:
Thou know'st my businesse; and with how much weight,
My vow hath charged it.

Tam.
True my Lord, and never
My fruitlesse love shall let your serious honour,
Yet, sweet Lord, do not stay, you know my soule
Is so long time without me, and I dead
As you are absent.

Mont.
By this kisse, receive
My soule for hostage, till I see my love.

Tam.
The morne shall let me see you.

Mont.
With the sunne
Ile visit thy more comfortable beauties.

Tam.
This is my comfort, that the sunne hath left
The whole worlds beauty ere my sunne leaves me.

Mont.
Tis late night now indeed: farewell my light.

Exit.
Tam.
Farewell my light and life: But not in him,
In mine owne dark love and light bent to another.
Alas, that in the wave of our affections
We should supply it with a full dissembling,
In which each youngest Maid is grown a Mother,
Frailty is fruitfull, one sinne gets another:
Our loves like sparkles are that brightest shine,
When they goe out; most vice shewes most divine:
Goe Maid, to bed, lend me your book I pray:
Not like your selfe, for forme, Ile this night trouble
None of your services: Make sure the dores;
And call your other fellowes to their rest.

Per.
I will, yet I will watch to know why you watch.

Exit.
Tam.
Now all yee peacefull regents of the night,
Silently-gliding exhalations,
Languishing windes, and murmuring falls of waters,
Sadnesse of heart, and ominous securenesse,
Enchantments, dead sleepes, all the friends of rest,
That ever wrought upon the life of man;
Extend your utmost strengths; and this charm'd houre
Fix like the Center: make the violent wheeles
Of Time and Fortune stand; and Great Existens
(The Makers treasurie) now not seeme to be,
To all but my approaching friends and me:
They come, alas they come, feare, feare and hope
Of one thing, at one instant fight in me:
I love what most I loath, and cannot live
Unlesse I compasse that which holds my death:
For lifes meere death loving one that loathes me,
And he I love, will loath me, when he sees
The Vault opens.
I flie my sex, my vertue, my Renowne,
To runne so madly on a man unknowne.
See, see a Vault is opening that was never
Knowne to my Lord and husband, nor to any
But him that brings the man I love, and me;
How shall I looke on him? how shall I live
And not consume in blushes, I will in;
And cast my selfe off, as I ne're had beene.

Exit.
Ascendit Frier and D' Ambois.
Frier.
Come worthiest sonne, I am past measure glad,
That you (whose worth I have approv'd so long)
Should be the Object of her fearefull love;
Since both your wit and spirit can adapt
Their full force to supply her utmost weaknesse:
You know her worths and vertues, for Report
Of all that know, is to a man a knowledge:
You know besides, that our affections storme,
Rais'd in our blood, no Reason can reforme.
Though she seeke then their satisfaction,
(Which she must needs, or rest unsatisfied)
Your judgement will esteeme her peace thus wrought,
Nothing lesse deare, than if your selfe had sought:
And (with another colour, which my Art
Shall teach you to lay on) your selfe must seeme
The onely agent, and the first Orbe Move,
In this our set, and cunning world of Love.

Buss.
Give me the colour (my most honour'd Father)
And trust my cunning then to lay it on.

Frier.
Tis this, good sonne; Lord Barrisor (whom you slew)
Did love her dearely, and with all fit meanes
Hath urg'd his acceptation, of all which
Shee keepes one letter written in his blood:
You must say thus then, That you heard from mee
How much her selfe was toucht in conscience
With a Report (which is in truth disperst)
That your maine quarrell grew about her love,
Lord Barrisor imagining your Courtship
Of the great Guises Duchesse in the Presence,
Was by you made to his elected Mistresse;
And so made me your meane now to resolve her,
Chosing (by my direction) this nights depth,
For the more cleare avoiding of all note
Of your presumed presence, and with this
(To cleare her hands of such a Lovers blood)
She will so kindly thank and entertaine you,
(Me thinks I see how) I, and ten to one,
Shew you the confirmation in his blood,
Lest you should think report, and she did faine,
That you shall so have circumstantiall meanes,
To come to the direct, which must be used:
For the direct is crooked; Love comes flying;
The height of love is still wonne with denying.

D' Amb.
Thanks honoured Father.

Frier.
Shee must never know
That you know any thing of any love
Sustain'd on her part: For learne this of me;
In any thing a woman does alone,
If she dissemble, she thinks tis not done;
If not dissemble, nor a little chide,
Give her her wish, she is not satisfi'd;
To have a man think that she never seekes,
Does her more good than to have all she likes:
This frailty sticks in them beyond their sex;
Which to reforme, reason is too perplex:
Urge reason to them, it will doe no good;
Humour (that is the charriot of our food
In every body) must in them be fed,
To carrie their affections by it bred.
Stand close.

Enter Tamyra with a Book.
Tam.
Alas, I feare my strangenesse will retire him:
If he goe back, I die; I must prevent it,
And cheare his onset with my sight at least,
And that's the most; though every step he takes.
Goes to my heart, Ile rather die than seeme
Not to be strange to that I most esteeme.

Frier.
Madam.

Tamy.
Ah!

Frier.
You will pardon me, I hope,
That, so beyond your expectation,
(And at a time for visitants so unfit)
I (with my noble friend here) visit you:
You know that my accesse at any time
Hath ever beene admitted; and that friend
That my care will presume to bring with me,
Shall have all circumstance of worth in him,
To merit as free welcome as my selfe.

Tamy.
O Father, but at this suspicious houre
You know how apt best men are to suspect us,
In any cause, that makes suspicious shadow
No greater than the shadow of a haire:
And y'are to blame: what though my Lord and husband
Lie forth to night? and since I cannot sleepe
When he is absent, I sit up to night,
Though all the dores are sure, and all our servants
As sure bound with their sleepes; yet there is one
That wakes above, whose eye no sleepe can binde:
He sees through dores, and darknesse, and our thoughts;
And therefore as we should avoid with feare,
To think amisse our selves before his search;
So should we be as curious to shunne
All cause that other think not ill of us.

D' Amb.
Madam, 'tis farre from that: I only heard
By this my honour'd Father, that your conscience
Made some deepe scruple with a false report;
That Barrisors blood should something touch your honour,
Since he imagin'd I was courting you,
When I was bold to change words with the Duchesse,
And therefore made his quarrell, his long love
And service, as I heare, being deepely vowed
To your perfections, which my ready presence
Presum'd on with my Father at this season,
For the more care of your so curious honour,
Can well resolve your Conscience, is most false.

Tam.
And is it therefore that you come good sir?
Then crave I now your pardon and my Fathers,
And sweare your presence does me so much good,
That all I have it bindes to your requitall:
Indeed sir, 'tis most true that a report
Is spread, alleadging that his love to me
Was reason of your quarrell, and because
You shall not think I faine it for my glory,
That he importun'd me for his Court service,
I'le shew you his own hand, set down in blood
To that vaine purpose: Good Sir, then come in.
Exit Tamira and D' Amb,
Father I thank you now a thousand fold.

Fryar.
May it be worth it to you honour'd daughter.

Descendit Fryar.