 | The Star of Seville |  |
SCENE I.
—A CHAMBER IN ANTONIO'S HOUSE.Enter Florilla and Isabel.
ISABEL.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! I pr'ythee give me leave, there
shall no play,—ha! ha! no acted play,—show better,
—ha! ha! ha!
FLORILLA.
Nay now, but, coz—come, coz—come, Isabel; stint
laughing, and let's to work.
ISABEL.
Pray Heaven I die not on't!—ha! ha! ha!
FLORILLA.
Beshrew thee, then! what, wench, hast lost thy wits?—
marry coz, coz. Hang thee, vexatious minx! thou
puttest me past my patience.
ISABEL.
I have not put thee far; ha! ha! is't not a jest? is
not a jest a thing to laugh at?
FLORILLA.
Yea, but not this jest—lo you now, Isabel, we lose
the time, he will be here, and nothing ready. My father
will be coming, or Vasco, or—and we shall lose
the very prime of our sport, for thy laughing.
ISABEL.
Nay, that were a bad joke at best. Where be these
diamonds?
Here, in this casket: I pr'ythee put them in my hair
for me—quick.
ISABEL.
Meantime, do thou tell me, what for thou hast indicted
this same amorous clothes'-peg?
FLORILLA.
Marry, first in the street, as thou saw'st his outward
man did hit my fancy's humour, as showing him very fit—
ISABEL.
For a very mad jest—where shall I place this band?
FLORILLA.
So, o'er the brow; 'twas so my mother wore it, they
were her wedding diamonds, rest her soul!
ISABEL.
Amen!—and second, how? good preacher, finish thy
points, though they were fifty.
FLORILLA.
Why, I have since learned, that this same many-coloured
fly, is the veriest braggadocio that ever flinched
from a chaste woman's frown; fetch me yon mirror.
ISABEL.
Angels defend us! and where heard'st thou this?
FLORILLA.
Pedrillo late last night was with them at the Anchor,
where, as thou know'st, they drank the sun to his bed,
and well nigh out of it again; among the guests was
this same resistless wooer, who, as he saith, did utter
such incredible tales of his amorous exploits, and did,
in such wise, misprize and set at nought us luckless
women, holding the conquests that he made by handfuls
must have lov'd more ladies than would people all the
seraglios of the East.
ISABEL.
Is he rich? he sure must be; for he hath no charm
else to tempt the veriest wanton—he must be very rich.
FLORILLA.
Tut, dost thou believe all this; credit me, coz, if there
be knaves of such a sort as this fellow would pass himself
for, there be also fools that have enough iniquity in
them to wish for a villanous renown which they have
not the daring to achieve, and who think by boasting
and big words to make good their claim to an infamous
repute which they have not the boldness to merit in very
deed—and such an one, or I am much deceived, is this.
Among many others did he tell the tale of this same Segovian
lady, to whom he said he was by contract bound.
This is the fair forsaken thou must enact, and it shall go
hard if between us we do not show this same all-conquering
senor the mettle of our Seville ladies.
ISABEL.
Art thou not horribly afeard of being alone with one
so badly reputed?
FLORILLA.
Afraid! I'll tell thee, Isabel, it is our weakness makes
these boasters strong. Credit me, did we but know and
feel our footing firm, making a high and resolute mind
in us stand stead of outward and mere bodily vigour,
there's not the boldest braggart of them all but should
strike colours to the veriest maid that ever bore our sex's
blushing standard on her cheek. But for this mannikin
—did'st look in his face?
I looked for his face, but indeed he was so monstrously
bearded that he may have one or no for aught
mine eyes can vouch.
FLORILLA.
Faugh! a beard becomes a man as well as the want of
it becomes a woman; but to see such a villanous bush of
hair on the skin of what hath the mincing gait and lisping
syllables of a pampered wanton, begets a very disgustful
indignation in me. But come, Isabel, unbind
thy hair, I pr'ythee, so, upon thy shoulders—now put me
on a look like the forsaken Dido—could'st thou not weep
me a tear or two?
ISABEL.
I'll use all endeavour.
FLORILLA.
Now spread thine arms abroad thus: weep, rant, rave,
be disconsolate; remember he hath deserted thee, and
thou hast followed hither to claim him.
ISABEL.
O fear me not, I shall be perfect woe begone! give
me the mirror. “Faithless and perjured have I found
thee!” Florilla, methinks this disordered head-tire is
something too becoming; for, say he take me at my
word, and marry me—what then?
FLORILLA.
Marry, we will stop short ere the jest come to that;
and having well indulged our merriment at the expense
of his confusion, turn him loose again. I hear voices.
Now into that chamber, be still, and on thy hopes of a
husband see thou laugh not; the signal shall be these
rush thou in.
ISABEL.
I will not fail. “Traitor forsworn—base, base deceiver!”
FLORILLA.
Peace, wilt thou raise the city?
ISABEL.
I am rehearsing.
FLORILLA.
Now get thee gone—some one is coming.
ISABEL.
“Are these thy vows, seducer?”—May I not scratch
thy face?
FLORILLA.
No, madcap.
ISABEL.
Nor pluck thee by the hair?
FLORILLA.
No, no! what, art thou moonstruck?
ISABEL.
It will not seem natural, an I leave no token on thee
—beseech thee, let me beat thee.
FLORILLA.
Beshrew thee, no. Hark! here be footsteps.
ISABEL.
One little pinch or pull—I will not tear both thine
eyes out. Is my hair rightly disposed?
FLORILLA.
'Tis desperately well—and I, look I the fair majestic
countess to the life?
Fair enough for a duchess, coz; but for majesty—
good lack! thou lack'st three inches of it by this light.
[Exit into chamber.
Enter Pedrillo.
PEDRILLO.
Your guest is come.
FLORILLA.
Is Perez ready?
PEDRILLO.
So please you, he waits in the private passage.
FLORILLA.
Good: remember your parts—few words, save oaths,
and much show of anger; and see you lack not these
same cudgels I spoke of. Get thee into thy hiding-place,
and let Nicolo and Vincentio usher in the stranger.
(Exit Pedrillo.)
Now then to take my state.
Isabel
(thrusting her head out of the door.)
Doth not thy heart beat?
FLORILLA.
Not with fear—peace!
(Isabel withdraws. Enter Hyacinth, ushered in by two serving men.
HYACINTH.
Most fair and unutterable lady! may it please your
loveliness for awhile to banish from your exquisite presence
these menials; for, indeed, my love is of a quality
that brooks little ceremony, and flies but lamely in
a full company.
You may withdraw.
[Exeunt Servants.]
So, being
gone, sir, you may let loose the torrent of your eloquence;
but, of one thing I forwarn you, you must
not be too passionate with me; for, indeed, I am but
young, and unapt at replying to very importunate
wooing—besides, so much of fear rises in a maiden's
breast, even at your renowned name, that—
HYACINTH.
I'faith, sweet, I will be merciful: I will but press thee
coldly at this first trial of thy strength, lest indeed, (for
rumour will have it I am irresistible,) by too swift conquering,
thy defeat lose something of its dearness.
FLORILLA.
O, I am much bound to you. Pray you sit by me,
and tell me.
HYACINTH.
Nay, not so; we do know our place, fair lady—slaves
sit not in the presence of their masters, vassals take not
ease before their lords, nor subjects before their sovereigns;
sit thou rather, and hearken while I swear to
thee, that I will dote upon thee as long as the sun doth
sit in the sky.
FLORILLA.
By the clock twelve hours.
HYACINTH.
Nay, then, as long as all created things shall hold
their existence will I love thee. I would not have thee
doubt me now, sweet lady; nor would I, that thou
mayest believe, have thee inquire how often I have
sworn such vows: but, be content, I have forgotten
loved, as my love was above their merit; but, I pray
thee, fix me some time when I may break this generous
armistice. I grant thy maiden scruples, and by the
ardour of my suit, frame an excuse for thy capitulation.
FLORILLA.
First, sir, let me entreat you, answer me this, What
usage might your wife look for from you?
HYACINTH.
I will love thee, by this light, three calendar months,
cherish thee the other nine of the first twelve, and
maintain thee all my life. Thou see'st I'm sincere, and
therein kind.
FLORILLA.
Indeed, most kind! And how would you require that
your wife govern herself to pleasure you?
HYACINTH.
O she, doubtless, would be submissive; for, doating
on me, as 'tis like she would, obedience would seem easy
duty to her. Moreover, she would be chaste; for,
having me to husband, the world could afford her no
temptation such as she was already possessed of; thus of
her submission and chastity I hold myself assured.
FLORILLA.
Truly I think you have good cause.
HYACINTH.
Though there is one thing of which I must forewarn
thee. Art thou jealous now? or of an even and a trusting
endurance?
FLORILLA.
Verily, having never yet been much moved to love, I
trust or doubting.
HYACINTH.
O thou wilt be horribly jealous of me; I do spy it in
the curl of thy lip, and in the eagerness of eye with
which thou dost survey me.
FLORILLA.
Who, I!
(aside.)
This is the most intolerable coxcomb
that one shall wish to be pestered withal!
(aloud.)
I think, senor, as you say; loving, as it is doubtless I shall
love you, some alloy of jealousy may indeed mix with
the virgin ore of my affection.
HYACINTH.
Nay, there is not much in that, sweet; and so thou
bearest thy malady meekly, and lookest me quietly
broken-hearted, goest clad in a yellow robe, and pale
cheeks, so thou limit thy jealousy within a “Nay, now,
my sweet lord,” sighed forth when I do lie at some
lady's foot, or three tears big enough to be seen rolling,
and heard falling, when I kiss her before dancing,—good
—it is well, and indeed I allow thy heart this vent.
But come not nigh me in the stormy jealous, the sullen
jealous, or the whining jealous moods,—for I am a perfect
tiger being roused; and moreover it is incredible to
what a point silence in suffering beseemeth a wise woman,
and a wife.
FLORILLA.
I do think indeed an I am ever jealous of you, you
will not hear me say so much—but, senor, you still stand,
let me beseech you—
Sweet, take no heed; I—I—, truly it is a more manly
exercise to stand than to sit; sitting being essentially
the posture of hens—were it not, indeed, that—I would
kneel, and swear to thee.
FLORILLA.
O sweet, sweet sir, kneel, kneel! I never did have a
man kneel before me in my life! I do entreat you,
worship.
HYACINTH.
That I worship thee with my soul of souls, sweet lady
and most ineffable, is true, and not to be doubted; but
that I can bend my outward man in token of the same,
I doubt, in respect that—my hose—
FLORILLA.
I will be satisfied with the very shadow of a genuflexion;
do but so much as approach the earth within an
inch with your knee, and, as I am a maid, come what
come will; my whole estate I will bestow on thee, and—
[Hyacinth falls on his knees.
Enter Isabel from the inner room.
ISABEL.
Where have I been! whence come I! where am I!
whither go I! what voice was that! what sound is in
mine ears!
HYACINTH.
Is she mad? is she mad? is she mad?
FLORILLA.
Stand up, pray you pull not my farthingale so unkindly;
legs, I say!
HYACINTH.
I can't, I can't—my hose are crack'd—O my hose—
my beautiful—my beloved hose!
ISABEL.
Hark!—he calls me his beautiful—his beloved—'twas
thus he ever spoke to me.
HYACINTH.
I am afeard of her! I cannot abide anything mad!
I did once run away from a mad dog. Pray you let her
not come near me.
ISABEL.
Ha! I hear! I know! I see 'tis thou! base, base deluder!
HYACINTH.
Beseech you let her not scratch my eyes out.
FLORILLA.
What means this violence? Who and what are you,
madam?
ISABEL.
A forlorn, forsaken, deluded, deserted, deceived, and
desolate maid.
FLORILLA.
Who has thus wrong'd you?
ISABEL.
He, he who now brings his stale oaths to you. Hyacinth!
my love! my lord!
FLORILLA.
Thy love! thy lord!
Believe her not, sweet, believe her not;—'tis an illusion
—'tis madness—she has been wronged by some fair
youth like me, and raves distractedly. Begone, beautiful
maniac, I know thee not!
ISABEL.
Not know me!—me, Amadalinda, the pride of Spain,
the flower of Segovia, till thou, with thy false vows,
didst wither me—dost thou not know me?
FLORILLA.
Dost thou know her?
HYACINTH.
No, as I am a gentleman!
ISABEL.
Hast thou forgotten all thy vows of love?
FLORILLA.
What, didst thou utter vows of love?
HYACINTH.
No, as I am a man.
ISABEL.
Dar'st thou deny the contract sealed to me to be my
husband?
FLORILLA.
Dar'st thou woo me, having a contract sealed to be her
husband?
HYACINTH.
No! no! no! as I am a Christian! I know her not, I
made no vow—I sealed no contract.—
(aside.)
O Lord,
O Lord! 'tis the devil, who hearing my lies, hath embodied
one of them.
Nay then, traitor! there be those at hand shall right
me: and since the voice of love hath no power to entreat,
the swords of my kinsmen shall force you to do me justice
—what ho! my noble champions there! come forth!
Enter two serving men in disguise.
ISABEL.
Lay on the villain there!
HYACINTH.
St. Nicholas! St. Jerome! St. Vincent! and all the
saints!
FLORILLA.
Within there! Pietro! Vincentio!
This to me! Let go my robe, villain! cling not about
my feet!
ISABEL.
Now I charge you, fall too and spare not!
HYACINTH.
Gentlemen, gentlemen, sticks! sticks! they cure and
kill not: no weapons—I'll take a cudgelling in all kindness,
—pray do not murder me.
FLORILLA.
Coward! do as I bid you.
HYACINTH.
Help! murder! ave-maria! murder! murder! pater-noster!
rape, arson, robbery, murder, murder!
murder!
HYACINTH.
Yet another,—I'm dead!
VASCO.
What uproar's here? who be these men? Florilla!
Isabel! what thing is this?
FLORILLA.
A lover of mine, who hath just tendered me this
bribe.
VASCO.
Yea, thou silken trumpery, didst thou dare—
HYACINTH.
Stop—stop—make not a hole in my doublet—let not
cold iron go through that!
Enter Antonio.
ANTONIO.
What mummery is this? Vasco, hold—daughter, and
mistress Isabel, I pray you let these confusions cease.
Fie, fie, for shame, for shame—get you to your buttery
and offices, knaves.
[Exeunt servants.]
Have ye not
heard the news?
HYACINTH
—(creeping out.)
Bless thee, old newsmonger.
ANTONIO.
Don Carlos is condemned for the slaughter of Count
Pedro, and this very day at sunset is the doom: the town
is still and silent as a vault, and of the few that wander
through the streets not one but wears some token of
mourning, but most in his countenance. All this doth
pass, while your mad fancies here keep such a glare of
without has not come nigh you. Go to your chamber,
daughter, and let me entreat you both to put yourselves
into such sable attire as you have at hand. Vasco, come
with me.
[Exeunt Vasco and Antonio.
FLORILLA.
My heart stands still, Isabel—speak—speak!
ISABEL.
O my sweet lady!
[Exeunt.
| The Star of Seville | |