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                      The English Dramatists

                           JOHN MARSTON

                         VOLUME THE FIRST




                             THE WORKS

                                 OF

                           JOHN MARSTON

                             EDITED BY

                        A. H. BULLEN, B.A.

                         IN THREE VOLUMES

                         VOLUME THE FIRST

                  [Illustration: Printer's logo]

                               LONDON

                           JOHN C. NIMMO
               14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.

                           MDCCCLXXXVII




_Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have
been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market, and 80 for America.
Each copy numbered as issued._

_No. 30_




                                 TO
                 AN OLD FRIEND AND FELLOW-STUDENT,

                        _CHARLES H. FIRTH,_

                           These Volumes

                   ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
                          BY THE EDITOR.




                             PREFACE.


Marston's Works were edited in 1856 by Mr. Halliwell (3 vols. 8vo.)
for Mr. Russell Smith's _Library of Old Authors_. I yield to none
in my admiration for the best and the most accurate of living
Shakespearean scholars; but I am sure that Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,
who in his _Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare_ has set so
singularly high a standard of excellence, would be the first to
acknowledge that his edition of Marston's Works needs revision.

In the present volumes I have done my best to regulate the text, which
is frequently very corrupt; but I am painfully conscious that I have
left plenty of work for future editors.

A valuable edition of Marston's poems was published in 1879, for
private circulation, by Dr. Grosart. I have availed myself freely of
the results of Dr. Grosart's biographical researches; and I am
indebted to his edition for the text of the _Entertainment_ in vol.
iii.

Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, whose recently published edition of Reginald
Scot's _Discovery of Witchcraft_ met with the enthusiastic
welcome that it deserved, has helped me liberally with advice and
suggestions; and I have to thank Mr. P. A. Daniel, whose scholarship
is as sound as it is acute, for his kindness in reading my
Introduction.

In deference to friendly criticism, I have prefixed to each play a
brief summary of the plot.

_18th March 1887._




                        CONTENTS OF VOL. I.


                                                       PAGE

         PREFACE                                        vii

         INTRODUCTION                                    xi

         FIRST PART OF ANTONIO AND MELLIDA                1

         ANTONIO'S REVENGE: THE SECOND PART OF
           ANTONIO AND MELLIDA                           95

         THE MALCONTENT                                 193




                           INTRODUCTION.


When other poets were repeating Horace's boast, "Exegi monumentum,"
&c., John Marston dedicated the first fruits of his genius "To
everlasting Oblivion." In much of Marston's satire there is an air of
evident insincerity, but the dedicatory address at the close of _The
Scourge of Villainy_ is of startling earnestness:--

                                 "Let others pray
     For ever their fair poems flourish may;
     But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
     Devour me quick, accept my orison,
     My earnest prayers, which do importune thee,
     With gloomy shade of thy still empery
     To veil both me and my rude poesy."

Those lines were printed in 1598. Six and thirty years afterwards the
poet was laid in his grave, and on the grave-stone was inscribed
"Oblivioni sacrum." But prayers cannot purchase oblivion; and the
rugged Timon of the Elizabethan drama, who sought to shroud himself
"in the uncomfortable night of nothing," will be forced from time to
time to emerge from the shades and pass before the eyes of curious
scholars.

It was established by the genealogical researches of that acute and
indefatigable antiquary, Joseph Hunter,[1] that John Marston belonged
to the old Shropshire family of Marstons. The dramatist's father, John
Marston, third son of Ralph Marston of Gayton (or Heyton), co. Salop,
was admitted a member of the Middle Temple in 1570; married Maria,
daughter of Andrew Guarsi[2] (or Guersie), an Italian surgeon who had
settled in London, and had married Elizabeth Gray, daughter of a
London merchant; migrated to Coventry; was lecturer of the Middle
Temple in 1592.

The year of the poet's birth is unknown, but it may be fixed circ.
1575, and we shall probably not be wrong in assuming that the
birthplace was Coventry. For his early education Marston was doubtless
indebted to the Coventry free-school. On 4th February 1591-2, "John
Marston, aged 16, a gentleman's son, of co. Warwick," was matriculated
at Brazennose College, Oxford (Grosart's _Introduction_, p. x.).
There is not the slightest doubt that this John Marston, who was
admitted Bachelor of Arts on 6th February 1593-4 as the "eldest son of
an Esquire" (Wood's _Fasti_, ed. Bliss, i. 602), was the poet;
and Wood went wrong in identifying our John Marston with another John
Marston, or Marson, who belonged to Corpus. In the will of the elder
Marston, proved in 1599, there is a curious passage which shows that
the poet, contrary to his father's wishes, abandoned the profession
of the law. An abstract of the will (communicated by Col. Chester) has
been printed by Dr. Grosart, and is here reprinted:--

     "John Marston of City of Coventry Gent dated 24 Oct. 1599 to Mary
     my wife, my mansion &c. in Crosse Cheepinge in Coventry and other
     premises for life rem^r to John my son and heirs of body rem^r to
     heirs of body of Raphe Marston Gent my father dec^d rem^r to
     right heirs of my s^d son[;] to s^d wife my interest in certain
     lands &c. after death of John Butler[3] my father in law and
     Margaret his now wife in par. Cropedy co. Oxon and others in
     Wardington co. Oxon rem^r to John my son to s^d wife 1/2 of plate
     and household stuff &c. to s^d son John my furniture &c. in my
     chambers in the Middle Temple my law books &c. to my s^d son
     _whom I hoped would have profited by them in the study of the
     law but man proposeth and God disposeth_ &c. to kinsman and
     servant Tho^s Marston 20 nobles to my poorest brother Rich^d
     Marston 20 nobles for him and his children all residue to Mary my
     wife &c. (G. Gascoigne a witness) Proved 29 Nov. 1599." In the
     Prerogative Court of Canterbury (82 Kidd.).

Wood vaguely says that the poet (the John Marston of Brazennose
College) "after completing that degree [the degree of B.A.] by
determination, went his way and improved his learning in other
faculties." It is clear from his father's will that he found legal
studies distasteful, and we may conjecture that he quickly turned from
the professional career on which he had entered and devoted his
attention to literature and the stage. Few biographical facts
concerning Marston have come down. He married (but at what precise
date we cannot determine) Mary, daughter of the Rev. William Wilkes,
Chaplain to James I., and Rector of St. Martin's, co. Wilts. Ben
Jonson told Drummond of Hawthornden that "Marston wrote his
father-in-law's preachings, and his father-in-law his comedies;" a
witty remark, contrasting the asperity of Marston's comedies with the
blandness of his father-in-law's sermons. Marston's plays--with the
exception of _The Insatiate Countess_--were published between 1602 and
1607. He seems to have definitely abandoned play-writing about the
year 1607; but the date at which he entered the Church is not clearly
ascertained. On 10th October 1616 he was presented to the living of
Christ Church in Hampshire;[4] he compounded for the firstfruits of
Christ Church on 12th February 1616-7; and he formally resigned the
living (probably from ill-health) on 13th September 1631. William
Sheares the publisher issued in 1633 a collective edition of Marston's
plays, and in the dedicatory address to Lady Elizabeth Carey,
Viscountess Falkland, speaks of the author as "in his autumn and
declining age" and "far distant from this place." On 25th June 1634
Marston died in Aldermanbury parish, London. His will, dated 17th June
1634, was drawn up when he was so ill as to be compelled to make a
mark instead of affixing his signature. The will[5] runs thus:--

     "In the name of God Amen  I John Marston of London Clarke being
     sicke in bodie but of perfect and sound mind and memorie doe make
     my last Will and Testament in manner and forme following
     Imprimise  I give and bequeath my soule into the hands of
     Allmightie God my Maker and Redeemer and my bodie to be buried in
     Christian buriall in some convenient place where my executor
     hereafter named shall appointe  Item I give and bequeath to James
     Coghill and James Boynton both of Christchurch in the County of
     South^{tn} the somme of fortie shillinges apeece to be paide
     within six mounthes after my decease  Item I give and bequeath to
     Marie Fabian the wife of W^m Fabian of Christchurch aforesaide
     towards the educac'on of hir five sonnes the somme of twentie
     eight pound of currant money of England to be paide to hir within
     sixe monthes after my decease  Item I give to the parrish Church
     of Christchurch aforesaide the somme of five poundes to be paide
     within sixe monthes next after my decease  Item I give and
     bequeath to my couzin Hunt of Ashford in the countie of Saloppe
     the somme of twentie poundes to be paide within sixe moneths
     after my decease  Item I give and bequeath to my cozen Griffins
     daughter of Kingston in the Countie of Surrey the somme of five
     poundes to be paide unto hir within sixe monthes after my decease
      Item I give to Marie Collice the daughter of my cozen Anne
     Collis of Chancerie Lane the somme of five poundes to be paide
     unto hir sixe monthes after my decease  Item I give and bequeath
     to my cozen Richard Marston of Newe Inne in the Countie of Midd'
     my silver bason and ewre but my will is that my wife shall have
     the use of it untill it shalbe demaunded of hir by the said
     Richard or his attorney in that behalfe lawfullye deputed  Item I
     give and bequeath unto George Wallie and James Walley sonnes of
     M^r Henry Wallie the somme of five poundes apeece to be paide to
     the saide Henrie for theier vse within sixe monthes after my
     decease  Item all the rest of my goodes and cattles moveable and
     vnmoveable my debts and legacies and funeral expences being
     charged I give and bequeathe to my wel beloved wiefe Marie whome
     I ordaine my soule Executrixe of this my last Will and Testament
     And I doe hereby renounce and make voide all former Wills by me
     heretofore made  In Witnes whereof I have herevnto putt my hand
     and seale the seaventeenth daie of June in the tenth yeere of the
     rainge [_sic_] of oure Soveraigne Lord Charles 1634."

Wood tells us that he was buried beside his father "in the church
belonging to the Temple in the suburb of London, under the stone which
hath written on it _Oblivioni Sacrum_." Dr. Grosart prints the
following entry from the Temple Church burial-register:

"1634, June 26. Mr. John Marston, Minister, sometimes of the Middle
Temple, who died in Aldermanbury parish: buried below the Communion
Table on the Middle Temple side."

The will was proved on 9th July 1634 in the Prerogative Court of
Canterbury by his widow, who was buried by his side on 4th July 1657.
She had desired in her will,[6] dated 12th June 1657, that she should
be buried "by the body of my dear husband dec^d;" and she bequeathed
her "dear husband's picture" to Master Henry Wally of Stationers'
Hall. Neither in Marston's will nor in his widow's is there mention of
children.

Marston's earliest publication was _The Metamorphosis of Pygmalion's
Image_:[7] _And Certain Satires_, which was entered in the
Stationers' Registers on 27th May 1598, and issued in the same year.
Another series of satires, _The Scourge of Villainy_, was
published later in 1598; it had been entered in the Stationers'
Registers on 8th September. A second edition of the _Scourge_,
containing an additional satire (the tenth), appeared in 1599.

_Pygmalion_ is written in the same metre as _Venus and Adonis_ (from
which poem Marston drew his inspiration)--a metre which Lodge had
handled with considerable success. A poet who would approach the
subject of Pygmalion and his image ought to be gifted with tact and
delicacy. In our own day Mr. Morris (in _The Earthly Paradise_) has
told the old Greek story in choice and fluent narrative verse; no poet
could have treated it more gracefully. Tact and delicacy were
precisely the qualities in which Marston was deficient; but the
versification is tolerably smooth, and the licentiousness does not
call for any special reprehension. In the _Scourge of Villainy_ (sat.
vi.) Marston pretends that _Pygmalion_ was written to bring contempt
on the class of poems to which it belongs:--

     "Hence, thou misjudging censor! know I wrote
     Those idle rhymes to note the odious spot
     And blemish that deforms the lineaments
     Of modern poesy's habiliments."

But it would require keener observation than most readers possess to
discover in _Pygmalion_ any trace of that moral motive by which
the poet claimed to have been inspired. Archbishop Whitgift did not
approve of its moral tone, for in 1599 he ordered it to be committed
to the flames with Sir John Davies' _Epigrams_, Cutwode's
_Caltha Poetarum_, and other works of a questionable character.
In Cranley's _Amanda_, 1635, it is mentioned, in company with
_Hero and Leander_ and _Venus and Adonis_, as part of a
courtezan's library.

There is not much pleasure or profit to be derived from a perusal of
Marston's satires. The author deliberately adopted an uncouth and
monstrous style of phraseology; his allusions are frequently quite
unintelligible to modern readers, and even the wits of his
contemporaries must have been sorely exercised. After a course of
Marston's satires Persius is clear as crystal. In the second satire
there are some lines which aptly express the reader's bewilderment:

     "O darkness palpable; Egypt's black night!
     My wit is stricken blind, hath lost his sight:
     My shins are broke with searching for some sense
     To know to what his words have reference."

Our sense is deafened by the tumult of noisy verbiage "as when a
madman beats upon a drum." In Marston's satires there is little of the
raciness and buoyancy that we find in the elder satirists--Skelton,
Roy, and William Baldwin--who dealt good swashing blows in homely
vigorous English. Persius would not have been flattered by Marston's
or Hall's attempts at imitation: "nec pluteum cædit nec demorsos sapit
ungues" would have been his comment on the spurious pseudo-classical
Elizabethan satire. Hall claimed to have been the first to introduce
classical satire into England. In the prologue to the first book of
_Virgidemiæ_, 1597, he writes:--

     "I first adventure with foolhardy might
     To tread the steps of perilous despight:
     I first adventure: follow me who list,
     And be the second English satirist."

It matters little whether Hall's claim was well-founded or not; but it
has been often pointed out that there is extant a MS. copy of Donne's
satires dated 1593. Hall, who lived to be one of the glories of the
English Church, in early manhood certainly did not present an example
of Christian meekness and charity. He took a very low view of
contemporary writers, but never had the slightest misgivings about his
own abilities. It is not easy to ascertain how his quarrel with
Marston arose, but it seems clear that he was the aggressor.
_Pygmalion_ was published a year later than _Virgidemiæ_,
but it had probably been circulated in manuscript, according to the
custom of the time, before it issued from the press. There can be
little doubt that the ninth satire of book i. of _Virgidemiæ_, is
directed against Marston. The opening lines run thus:--

     "Envy, ye Muses, at your thrilling mate,
     Cupid hath crowned a new laureat;
     I saw his statue gaily tired in green,
     As if he had some second Phoebus been;
     His statue trimm'd with the Venerean tree
     And shrined fair within your sanctuary.
     What! he that erst to gain the rhyming goal,
     The worn recital-post of capitol,
     Rhymed in rules of stewish ribaldry
     Teaching experimental bawdery,
     Whiles th' itching vulgar, tickled with the song,
     Hanged on their unready poet's tongue?
     Take this, ye patient Muses, and foul shame
     Shall wait upon your once profaned name."

When _Pygmalion_ was published Hall wrote a poor epigram (see
vol. iii. p. 369), which he contrived to paste in those copies of the
poem "that came to the stationers at Cambridge."[8] One of the
satires, entitled "Reactio,"[9] appended to _Pygmalion_, is a violent
attack on Hall. In his "Defiance to Envy," prefixed to _Virgidemiæ_,
Hall had boasted that he could, an' that he would, hold his own with
any of the poets,--even hinting that he was a match for Spenser. The
"Defiance" is a well-written piece of verse, but it gave Marston an
excellent opportunity, which he used to the full in "Reactio," of
making a very effective attack. In the first satire of book vi. of
_Virgidemiæ_ Hall replies to Marston's raillery with less vigour than
we should have expected. Again and again in _The Scourge of Villainy_
Marston attacks Hall; he would not let the quarrel drop, but worried
his adversary with the pertinacity of a bull-dog. In 1601 a certain
"W. I.," who has been doubtfully identified (by Dr. Nicholson) with a
Cambridge man, William Ingram, published _The Whipping of the Satire_,
which was chiefly directed against Marston (with gibes at Ben Jonson
and others). There is a lengthy and spirited preface, in which Marston
is taken to task after this fashion:--

     "Think you that foul words can beget fair manners? If you do I
     will not bate you an ace of an ass, for experience gives you the
     lie to your face. But your affection over-rules your reason, and
     therefore you are as sudden of passion in all matters as an
     interjection and yet as defective in most cases as an
     heteroclite: you gathered up men's sins as though they had been
     strawberries, and picked away their virtues as they had been but
     the stalks. They shall not make me believe but that you were the
     devil's intelligencer, for there went not a lie abroad but it was
     presently entertained of your ear; and every sin kept
     under writing for fear lest the devil waxing almost six thousand
     years of age should fail in his memory and so chance to forget
     it."

The following stanzas have a sting in them:--

     "Can you seem wise to any simple men
     That seem'd so simple unto all the wise
     And fitter far to hold the plough than pen,
     Such incompt stuff you rudely poetise?
     Yet I confess there's much conceipt in it,
     For you have shown great store of little wit.

     Take me your staff and walk some half-score miles,
     And I'll be hang'd if in that quantity
     You find me out but half so many stiles
     As you have made within your poesy:
     Nay for your style there's none can you excel,
     You may be called John-a-Stile full well.

          ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·

     But he that mounts into the air of Fame
     Must have two wings, Nature and Art, to fly;
     And that he may soar safely with the same
     Must take his rise low from humility;
     And not with you a goose's quill to take,
     Thinking with that an eagle's flight to make.

     Your stately Muse, starched with stiff-neck'd pride,
     Dain'd it amongst us, most imperiously;
     With lavish laughter she did each deride
     That came within the prospect of her eye:
     Despising all, all her again despise,
     Contemn'd of foolish and condemn'd of wise."

At this easy rate "W. I." ambles on; and the quiet leisurely stanzas
are a relief after the fury of the _Scourge_. Modern readers will feel
that Marston was not driven by "sæva indignatio" to write satire, and
they will not be inclined to accept the young author of _Pygmalion_ as
a sedate moralist. "W. I." puts the matter clearly:

     "He scourgeth villainies in young and old
     As boys scourge tops for sport on Lenten day."

The publication of _The Whipping of the Satire_ could hardly have
been agreeable to Marston, but it is highly improbable that he is to
be held responsible for the poor answer to _The Whipping_,
published anonymously in the same year, under the title of _The
Whipper of the Satire, his Penance in a White Sheet; or the Beadle's
Confutation_.[10] If I have read _The Whipper_ aright, it is
the work of one of Marston's personal friends, or of some admirer who
had more zeal than wit. There are some general remarks, of slight
account, on the use of satire; and Marston is exhorted to persist in
his task of scourging the vices of the age. It will be enough to quote
two stanzas:--

     "Meantime, good satire, to thy wonted train,
     As yet there are no lets to hinder thee:
     _Thy touching quill with a sweet moving strain
     Sings to the soul a blessèd lullaby_:
     Thy lines beget a timorous fear in all,
     And that same fear deep thoughts angelical.

     So that the whilom lewd lascivious man
     Is now remote from his abhorred life,
     And cloathes [loathes?] the dalliance of a courtezan;
     And every breathing wicked soul at strife,
     Contending which shall first begin to mend
     That they may glory in a blessèd end."

The italicised lines give a delightfully ludicrous description of
_The Scourge of Villainy_.

It is abundantly clear that Marston's uncouth satires, which to-day
are so difficult to read, caused much excitement at the time of their
publication. Meres in _Palladis Tamia_, 1598, reckons Marston
among the leading English satirists. John Weever, in his
_Epigrams_, 1599, couples Marston's name with Jonson's:--

          "_Ad Jo. Marston et Ben Johnson._

     Marston, thy muse enharbours Horace' vein,
     Then some Augustus give thee Horace' merit!
     And thine, embuskin'd Johnson, doth retain
     So rich a style and wondrous gallant spirit,
     That if to praise your Muses I desired
     My Muse would muse. Such wits must be admired."

The following address is from Charles Fitzgeoffrey's _Affaniæ_,
1601:--

          "_Ad Joannem Marstonium._

     Gloria, Marstoni, satirarum proxima primæ,
       Primaque, fas primas si numerare duas!
     Sin primam duplicare nefas, tu gloria saltem,
       Marstoni, primæ proxima semper eris.
     Nec te poeniteat stationis, Jane: secundus,
       Cum duo sint tantum, est neuter at ambo pares."

But the most elaborate notice that any contemporary has given of
Marston's satires is to be found in _The Return from Parnassus_.[11]
The passage has been often quoted, but it must find a place here:--

     "What, Monsieur Kinsayder, lifting up your leg and pissing
     against the world? put up, man! put up, for shame!
         Methinks he is a ruffian in his style,
         Withouten bands or garters' ornament:
         He quaffs a cup of Frenchman's Helicon,
         Then roister-doister in his oily terms;
         Cuts, thrusts, and foins at whomsoever he meets
         And strews about Ram-Alley meditations.
         Tut, what cares he for modest close-couch'd terms
         Cleanly to gird our looser libertines?
         Give him plain naked words stripp'd from their shirts,
         That might become plain-dealing Aretine.
         Ay, there is one that backs a paper-steed,
         And manageth a pen-knife gallantly:
         Strikes his poynado at a button's breadth,
         Brings the great battering-ram of terms to towns,[12]
         And at first volly of his cannon-shot
         Batters the walls of the old fusty world."

Under date 28th September 1599 Henslowe records in his _Diary_
(p. 156, ed. Collier) that he lent "unto Mr. Maxton, the new poete
(Mr. Mastone), the sum of forty shillings" in earnest of an unnamed
play. The name "Mastone" is interlined in a different hand as a
correction for "Maxton;" but there can be no doubt that the "new
poete," whose name the illiterate manager misspelled, was John
Marston. There is no other mention of him in the _Diary_. In 1602 were
published Marston's _First Part of Antonio and Mellida_ and _Antonio's
Revenge_, which had been entered in the Stationers' Registers on 24th
October 1601, and had been ridiculed in that year by Ben Jonson in
_The Poetaster_. Considered as a work of art the two parts of _Antonio
and Mellida_ cannot be rated highly. The plot is clumsy and grotesque,
and the characters, from the prodigious nature of their sins and
sorrows, fail to excite in us any real interest. Marston was possessed
of high tragic power, but he has not done himself justice. The
magnificent prologue to _Antonio's Revenge_ prepares us to expect an
impressive tale of tragic woe, but the promise is not worthily
redeemed. He could conceive a fine situation, and he had at his
command abundance of striking imagery. But we are never sure of him:
from tragic solemnity he passes to noisy rhodomontade; at one moment
he gives us a passage Æschylean in its subtle picturesqueness, at
another he feebly reproduces the flaccid verbosity of Seneca's
tragedies. Lamb quoted in his _Specimens_ the finest scene of _Antonio
and Mellida_,--the scene where the old Andrugio on the Venice marsh,
overthrown by the chance of war and banished from his kingdom, gives
tongue to the conflicting passions that shake his breast. That scene
deserves the eloquent praise that it received from the hands of Lamb;
and if Marston had been able to keep the rest of the play at that
level the _First Part of Antonio and Mellida_ would rank with the
masterpieces of Webster. But what is to be said of a writer who, in
describing a shipwreck, gives us such lines as the following?--

                          "Lo! the sea grew mad,
     His bowels rumbling with wind-passion;
     Straight swarthy darkness popp'd out Phoebus' eye,
     And blurr'd the jocund face of bright-cheek'd day;
     Whilst crudled fogs mask'd even darkness' brow:
     Heaven bad 's good night, and the rocks groan'd
     At the intestine uproar of the main.
     Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
     Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
     Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
     Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred paunch
     Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck;
     Which in an instant up was belkt again."

This is hardly a fair specimen of Marston's powers, but it exhibits to
perfection his besetting fault of straining his style a peg too high;
of seeking to be impressive by the use of exaggerated and unnatural
imagery. When he disencumbers himself of this fatal habit his verse is
clear and massive. Neither Webster nor Chapman ever gave utterance to
more dignified reflections than Marston puts into the mouth of the
discrowned Andrugio in the noble speech beginning, "Why, man, I never
was a prince till now" (vol. i., p. 64). There is nothing of bluster
in that speech; there is not a word that one would wish to alter. Nor
is Marston without something of that power, which Webster wielded so
effectively, of touching the reader's imagination with a vague sense
of dread. He felt keenly the mysteries of the natural world; the weird
stillness that precedes the breaking of the dawn, and

                     "the deep affright
     That pulseth in the heart of night."

_Antonio and Mellida_ amply testifies that Marston possessed a
strangely subtle and vivid imagination; but few are the traces of that
"sanity" which Lamb declared to be an essential condition to true
genius.

In 1604 was published _The Malcontent_;[13] another edition,
augmented by Webster, appeared in the same year. From the Induction we
learn that it had been originally acted by the Children's Company at
the Blackfriars; and that when the Children appropriated _The
Spanish Tragedy_, in which the King's Company at the Globe had an
interest, the King's Company retaliated by acting Marston's play, with
Webster's additions. _The Malcontent_ has more dramatic interest
than _Antonio and Mellida_; it is also more orderly and artistic.
Jonson's criticism evidently had a salutary effect, for we find no
such flowers of speech as "glibbery urchin," "sliftred paunch," "the
fist of strenuous vengeance is clutch'd," &c. Marston has been at
pains to give a more civil aspect to his "aspera Thalia." Moreover,
the moralising is less tedious, and the satire more pungent than in
the earlier plays. There is less of declamation and more of action.
The atmosphere is not so stifling, and one can breathe with something
of freedom. There are no ghosts to shout "Vindicta!" and no boys to be
butchered at midnight in damp cloisters; nobody has his tongue cut out
prior to being hacked to pieces. Marston has on this occasion
contrived to write an impressive play without deeming it necessary to
make the stage steam like a shambles. As before, the scene is laid in
Italy; and again we have a vicious usurper, and a virtuous deposed
duke; but the characters are more human than in the earlier plays.
Mendoza, the upstart tyrant, is indeed a deeply debased villain, but
he is not deformed, like Piero, beyond all recognition. Altofronto,
the banished duke, who disguises himself in the character of a
malcontent and settles at the usurper's court, is a more possible
personage than Andrugio. The description that the malcontent gives of
himself in iii. 1, and the other description of the hermit's cell in
iv. 2, exemplify Marston's potent gift of presenting bold conceptions
in strenuously compact language.

_The Malcontent_ was dedicated by Marston in very handsome terms
to Ben Jonson, and there is a complimentary allusion to Jonson in the
epilogue. At this distance of time it is impossible to fully
understand the relations that existed between Jonson and Marston.
There seem to have been many quarrels and more than one
reconciliation. During his visit to Hawthornden, Jonson told Drummond
that "He had many quarrels with Marston, beat him and took his pistol
from him, wrote his _Poetaster_ on him; the beginning of them were
that Marston represented him in the stage in his youth given to
venery."[14] The original quarrel seems to have begun about the year
1598. In the apology at the end of _The Poetaster_, Jonson writes:

                                 "Three years
     They did provoke me with their petulant styles
     On every stage: and I at last unwilling,
     But weary, I confess, of so much trouble,
     Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em."

_The Poetaster_ was produced in 1601; so these attacks on Jonson,
in which Marston must have taken a leading part, began about 1598. In
the address "To those that seem judicial Perusers" prefixed to _The
Scourge of Villainy_, Marston undoubtedly ridicules Ben Jonson for his
use of "new-minted epithets[15] (as _real_, _intrinsecate_,
_Delphic_)." "Real" occurs in _Every Man out of his Humour_ (ii. 1);
"intrinsecate" in _Cynthia's Revels_ (v. 2); and "Delphic" in an early
poem of Jonson's. But, as _Every Man out of his Humour_ was first
produced at Christmas 1599, and _Cynthia's Revels_ in 1600, these
"new-minted epithets" must have been used by Jonson in some early
plays that have perished. Jonson retaliated by attacking Marston in
_Every Man out of his Humour_, and _Cynthia's Revels_. In the former
play (iii. 1) he introduces two characters, Clove and Orange, who are
expressly described as "mere strangers to the whole scope of our
play." They are on the stage only for a few minutes. Clove is
represented as a pretender to learning: "he will sit you a whole
afternoon sometimes in a bookseller's shop, reading the Greek,
Italian, and Spanish, when he understands not a word of either."
Orange is a mere simpleton who can say nothing but "O Lord, sir," and
"It pleases you to say so, sir." In the "characters of the persons"
(prefixed to the play) we are told that this "inseparable case of
coxcombs ... being well flattered" will "lend money and repent when
they have done. Their glory is to invite players and make suppers."
Dr. Brinsley Nicholson suggests that Orange was intended as a
caricature of Dekker, and that Clove stands for Marston. This view is,
doubtless, partly correct, but we must not insist on it too strongly.
Dekker--whatever may be said of Marston--had no money to lend, and
would rather have expected to sup at the players' expense than to be
made the shot-clog of the feast: again and again in _The Poetaster_ he
is ridiculed on the score of poverty. It is undeniable that Jonson, to
raise a laugh against Marston, puts into Clove's mouth grotesque words
culled from _The Scourge of Villainy_. "Monsieur Orange," whispers
Clove to his companion, as they are walking in the middle aisle of
Paul's, "yon gallants observe us; prithee let's talk fustian a little
and gull them; make them believe we are great scholars." Presently we
have the passage containing the Marstonian words (which I have printed
in italics):--

     "Now, sirs, whereas the ingenuity of the time and the soul's
     _synderisis_ are but _embryons_ in nature, added to the
     _paunch of Esquiline_,[16] and the intervallum of the
     _zodiac_, besides the _ecliptic line_ being optic and
     not mental, but by the contemplative and theoric part thereof
     doth _demonstrate_ to us the vegetable circumference and the
     ventosity of the _tropics_, and whereas our
     _intellectual_, or _mincing capreal_ (according to the
     metaphysics) as you may read in Plato's _Histriomastix_.[17]
     You conceive me, sir?"

In the first scene of the second act, Puntarvolo addresses Carlo
Buffone as "thou _Grand Scourge_, or Second Untruss of the time,"
in allusion to Marston's _Scourge of Villainy_.

_Cynthia's Revels_ was produced in 1600 and printed in 1601. In this
play, Anaides and Hedon are represented as being jealous of Crites,
and as seeking by underhand means to bring him into discredit. It is
certain that Jonson was glancing particularly at Marston and Dekker.
In the second scene of the third act, Crites, defending himself
against his two traducers, observes:--

                             "If good Chrestus,
     Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words,
     They would have moved me, and I should have call'd
     My thoughts and actions to a strict account
     Upon the hearing; but when I remember
     'Tis Hedon and Anaides, alas, then
     I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd.
     The one a light voluptuous reveller,
     The other a strange arrogating puff,
     Both impudent and arrogant enough;
     That talk as they are wont, not as I merit;
     Traduce by custom, as most dogs do bark;
     Do nothing out of judgment, but disease;
     Speak ill because they never could speak well:
     And who'd be angry with this race of creatures?"

Dekker in _Satiromastix_[18] puts four of these lines ("I think
but what they are ... arrogant enough") into the mouth of Horace
(Jonson), plainly assuming that the abuse was intended for Marston and
himself. Marston, too, in _What You Will_ (p. xlviii.), fastens
on this speech of Crites and uses it as a weapon against Jonson.
_Cynthia's Revels_ was quickly followed by _The Poetaster_,
which was produced in 1601 by the Children of the Queen's Chapel.
Hitherto, Jonson had merely skirmished with his adversaries; in _The
Poetaster_ he assails them might and main with all the artillery of
invective. Marston is ridiculed as Crispinus, and Dekker as Demetrius
Fannius. Crispinus is represented as a coarse-minded, ill-conditioned
fellow, albeit of gentle parentage, who, like the bore encountered by
Horace in the Via Sacra, is prepared to adopt the meanest stratagems
in order to gain admittance to the society of courtiers and wits. He
plots with the shifty out-at-elbows Demetrius (a witless "dresser of
plays about the town here," to wit, Thomas Dekker), and a huffing
Captain Tucca, to disgrace Horace (Ben Jonson). But the attempt
results in a ludicrous failure; Crispinus and Demetrius are arraigned
at a session of the poets, and, after receiving a severe rebuke for
their calumnies, are contemptuously dismissed on taking oath for their
future good behaviours. In court a dose of hellebore is administered
to Crispinus, who thereupon proceeds to vomit up gobbets of Marston's
fustian vocabulary. When the physic has worked its effect Virgil gives
Crispinus such advice as Lycinus gave to Lexiphanes in Lucian's
dialogue; bidding him form his style on classical models and not

                 "hunt for wild outlandish terms
     To stuff out a peculiar dialect."

_The Poetaster_ was entered in the Stationers' Register on 21st
December 1601, and _Satiromastix_ had already been entered on the
11th of the preceding month. The title-page of _Satiromastix_
bears only Dekker's name, and to Dekker the play is attributed in the
Stationers' Register. It was doubtless with Marston's approval that
Dekker took up the cudgels against the truculent Ben, but there is no
evidence to show that Marston had any share in the authorship of
_Satiromastix_. It is not necessary to deal here with Dekker's
spirited rejoinder, but there is one difficult passage, put into the
mouth of Horace, to which passing attention must be called:--

     "As for Crispinus, that Crispin-ass and Fannius his play-dresser,
     who (to make the Muses believe their subjests' [_sic_] ears
     were starved and that there was a dearth of poesy) cut an
     innocent Moor i'th middle, to serve him in twice, and when he had
     done made Poules' work of it; as for these twins, these poet-apes,

          Their mimic tricks shall serve
          With mirth to feast our muse whilst their own starve."
                                             (_Works_, 1873, i. 212.)

The meaning of this obscure passage seems to be that Marston and
Dekker wrote in conjunction a play which had a Moor for its leading
character; that the writers' barren invention prompted them to treat
the story again in a Second Part; and that the two parts, when they
had served their time upon the stage, were published in Paul's
Churchyard. At least that is the only intelligible explanation that I
can give to the words; but I am altogether unable to fix on any extant
play, in which a Moor figures, that could be attributed to Marston and
Dekker. From Henslowe's _Diary_ we know that Dekker was concerned
in the authorship of a play called _The Spanish Moor's Tragedy_
(which has been doubtfully identified with _Lust's Dominion_,
printed in 1657 as a work of Marlowe's); but Dekker's coadjutors in
that play were William Haughton and John Day.

It is curious to note that in the very year (1601) when the quarrel
between Marston and Jonson reached a climax, the two enemies are
contributing poems to the _Divers Poetical Essays_ appended to Robert
Chester's tedious and obscure _Love's Martyr_. The other contributors
were Shakespeare and Chapman; Marston's verses follow Shakespeare's
_Phoenix and Turtle_. In 1604, as we have noticed, Marston dedicated
his _Malcontent_ to Jonson in very cordial terms; and in 1605 he
prefixed some complimentary verses to _Sejanus_.

In 1605 was published the comedy of _The Dutch Courtezan_, which
had been acted by the Children's Company at the Blackfriars. There is
more of life and movement in this play than in any other of Marston's
productions. The character of the passionate and implacable courtesan,
Franceschina, is conceived with masterly ability. Few figures in the
Elizabethan drama are more striking than this fair vengeful fiend, who
is as playful and pitiless as a tigress; whose caresses are sweet as
honey and poisonous as aconite. All the characters are drawn with
skill and spirit. Young Freevill is a typical Elizabethan gallant,
very frank in his utterances, and not burthened with an excess of
modesty. Malheureux, his moody friend, is noted for his strictness of
life, but a glance from Franceschina scatters his virtuous
resolutions, and he is ready at the temptress' bidding to kill his
friend in order to satisfy his passion. The innocent shamefaced
Beatrice, affianced to young Freevill, is drawn with more tenderness
than Marston usually shows; and her gay prattling sister Crispinella
recalls (_longo intervallo_) another more famous Beatrice.
Cockledemoy, the droll and nimble trickster, who at every turn
dexterously cozens Master Mulligrub, the vintner, affords abundance of
amusement; but his plain speaking shocks the sensitively chaste ears
of Mary Faugh, the old bawd. Antony Nixon, in _The Black Year_, 1606,
speaks of the play as "corrupting English conditions";[19] but Nixon's
protest went for little. In December 1613 _The Dutch Courtezan_ was
acted at Court (Cunningham's _Extracts from the Accounts of the
Revels_, p. xliv.). Having received some alterations at the hands of
Betterton, it was revived in 1680 under the title of _The Revenge, or
A Match in Newgate_.

A singularly fresh and delightful study of city-life is the comedy of
_Eastward Ho_, published in 1605. Three dramatists combined to
produce this genial masterpiece--Chapman, Jonson, and Marston. It
seems to have been written shortly after James' accession, when the
hungry Scots were swarming southwards in quest of preferment.
Englishmen were justly indignant at the favours bestowed by James on
these Scotch adventurers, and a passage in _Eastward Ho_ stated
the grievance very plainly. "You shall live freely there" [_i.e._, in
Virginia], says Seagull, "without sergeants, or courtiers, or lawyers,
or intelligencers, only a _few_ industrious Scots, perhaps, who,
indeed, are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for
them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when
they are out on't, in the world, than they are. And for my part, I
would a hundred thousand of 'hem were there, for we are all one
countrymen now, ye know; and we should find ten times more comfort of
them there than we do here." At the instance of Sir James Graham, one
of James' newly-created knights, the playwrights were committed to
prison[20] for their abuse of the Scots, and the report went that
their ears were to be cut and their noses slit. Ben Jonson told
Drummond that he had not contributed the objectionable matter, and
that he voluntarily imprisoned himself with Chapman and Marston, who
"had written it amongst them." After his release from prison Jonson
gave a banquet to "all his friends," Camden and Selden being among the
guests. In the middle of the banquet his old mother drank to him and
produced a paper containing "lusty strong poison," which she had
intended, if the sentence had been confirmed, to take to the prison
and mix in his drink; and she declared--to show "that she was no
churl"--that "she minded first to have drunk of it herself." The
passage about the Scots is found only in some copies of the 4tos; in
others it was expunged. Scotch pride seems to have been easily
wounded. On 15th April, 1598, George Nicolson, the English agent at
the Scotch Court, writing from Edinburgh to Lord Burghley, stated that
"it is regretted that the Comedians of London should scorn the king
and the people of this land in their play; and it is wished that the
matter be speedily amended, lest the king and the country be stirred
to anger" (_Cal. of State Papers, Scotland_, ii. 749). Certainly the
reflections in _Eastward Ho_ have somewhat more of bitterness than
banter; but one would have thought that the favoured Scots about the
Court would be content to let the matter pass. Sir James Murray was
the person who acted as _delator_, and it is not improbable that he
found in the play some uncomplimentary allusions to himself, in
addition to the sweeping satire on his countrymen. In the first scene
of the fourth act there is a curious passage which has no point unless
we suppose that it is directed against some particular courtier:

"_1st Gent._ I ken the man weel; he's one of my thirty pound knights.

"_2d Gent._ No, no, this is he that stole his knighthood o' the grand
day for four pound given to a page; all the money in's purse, I wot
well."

Satirical references to King James' knights, the men who purchased
knighthood from the king, are as common as blackberries; but in the
present passage there must be a covert allusion to some person who
procured the honour by an unworthy artifice, and I suspect that the
allusion is to Sir James Murray. It is surprising that, when the
reflections on the Scots were expunged, the passage in iv. 1 was
allowed to stand; for, whether Sir James Murray was or was not
personally ridiculed, the mimicry of James' Scotch accent is
unmistakeable. Perhaps the king joined in the laugh against himself,
when the play was acted before him by the Lady Elizabeth's Servants at
Whitehall on 25th January 1613-4 (Cunningham's _Extracts from the
Account of the Revels_, p. xliv.).

Of the merits of _Eastward Ho_ it would be difficult to speak too
highly. To any who are in need of a pill to purge melancholy this racy
old comedy may be safely commended. Few readers, after once making his
acquaintance, will forget Master Touchstone, the honest shrewd old
goldsmith, rough of speech at times but ever gentle at heart, thrifty
to outward show but bountiful as the sun in May: he lives in our
affections with Orlando Friscobaldo and Simon Eyre. Quicksilver, the
rowdy prentice, dazed from last night's debauch, reciting in a thick
voice stale scraps of Jeronymo as he reels about Master Touchstone's
shop, heedless of the maxims of temperance which frown in print from
the walls; Golding, the well-conducted prentice, the apple of his
master's eye, armed at all points with virtue and sobriety; Gertrude,
the goldsmith's extravagant daughter, with her magnificent visions of
coaches, and castles, and cherries at an angel a pound; Mildred, her
sister, simple and dutiful; Mistress Touchstone, who has been infected
with Gertrude's vanity, but quickly learns penitence in the school of
necessity; Sir Petronel Flash, the shifty knight, eager to escape from
creditors and serjeants to the new-found land of Virginia; Security,
the blood-sucker and egregious gull:--all these characters, and the
list is not exhausted, stand limned in all the warmth of life. Mr.
Swinburne, in his masterly essay on Chapman, says with truth that "in
no play of the time do we get such a true taste of the old city life
so often turned to mere ridicule by playwrights of less good humour,
or feel about us such a familiar air of ancient London as blows
through every scene."

It is very certain that Marston could never have written single-handed
so rich and genial a play. In all Marston's comedies there is a strong
alloy of bitterness; we are never allowed to rise from the comic feast
with a pleasant taste in the mouth. What precise share Marston had in
_Eastward Ho_ it would be difficult to determine with any approach to
certainty. In the very first scene (vol. iii. p. 8) we come across a
passage which is distinctly in Marston's manner:--

"I am entertained among gallants, true; they call me cousin Frank,
right; I lend them monies, good; they spend it well."

Compare a passage of _The Fawn_ (vol. ii. p. 181):--

"His brother your husband, right; he cuckold his eldest brother, true;
he get her with child, just."

But in the same opening scene there are equally unmistakable signs of
Jonson's presence. Touchstone says of Golding:--"He is a gentleman,
though my prentice ...; well friended, _well parted_." The curious
expression "_well parted_" will be at once recognised as Jonsonian by
the vigilant reader, who will remember how Macilente, in "The
Characters of the Persons" prefixed to _Every Man out of his
Humour_,[21] is described as "A man _well parted_, a sufficient
scholar," &c. Jonson and Marston worked on the first scene together;
and it seems to me that throughout the first two acts we have the
mixed work of these two writers. In the second scene of the third act,
as Mr. Swinburne notices, Chapman's hand is clearly seen in the quaint
allusion to "the ship of famous Draco." Quicksilver's moralising, in
iv. 1, after he has scrambled ashore at Wapping on the night of the
drunken shipwreck, is again in Chapman's manner; but his elaborate
devices for blanching copper and sweating angels (later in the
same scene) must, without the shadow of a doubt, be ascribed to the
invention of the author of _The Alchemist_. It would be of doubtful
advantage to pursue the inquiry at length.

_Eastward Ho_ was revived at Drury Lane on Lord Mayor's day 1751,
under the title of _The Prentices_ (n. d. 12mo), and again in 1775
under the title of _Old City Manners_. Hogarth is said to have drawn
from _Eastward Ho_ the plan of his prints _The Industrious and Idle
Prentices_. Nahum Tate's farce _Cuckold's Haven_, published in 1685,
is drawn partly from _Eastward Ho_ and partly from _The Devil is an
Ass_.

_Parasitaster, or the Fawn_, published in 1606, takes us again to
Italy, and once more we have to listen to a satirical exposure of the
courtiers' vices and follies. In spite of occasional tediousness the
play is interesting. Dulcimel, Gonzago's witty daughter, who gulls her
self-conceited old father by a pretended discovery of Tiberio's love
for her, and succeeds by her blandishments in converting the young
misogynist into a perfervid wooer, is a delightfully attractive
heroine. The stratagem employed by Dulcimel is of ancient date: it is
found in Terence's _Adelphi_, Boccaccio's _Decameron_ (third tale of
the third day), and Molière's _L'École des Maris_. I am half inclined
to suspect that Marston was slily glancing at the "wise fool" King
James in the person of the silly and pedantic Gonzago; and it is
probable that some social scandals of the time afforded material for
the description of the intrigues of Gonzago's courtiers. Granuffo, who
gains a reputation for wisdom by never opening his mouth, might
possibly be made an amusing character by an actor skilled in facial
contortions; but the humour of the thing is not very apparent in
print. Signior No in the _Noble Spanish Soldier_ (attributed to Samuel
Rowley, though the play may properly belong to Dekker), and Littleword
in Nabbes' _Covent Garden_, are somewhat similar characters. The
address _To the Equal Reader_, prefixed to _Parasitaster_, is
excellently written, and exhibits Marston in a very pleasant light.
"For mine own interest for once," he writes, with a frankness which is
not without a touch of pathos, "let this be printed,--that of men of
my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none; for let me truly
say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall
ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle
combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to
undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being)
love the least of their graces and only pity the greatest of their
vices." A candid and creditable avowal, but, alas, "words is wind and
wind is mutable." In the second edition there follows a briefer
address, in which the writer promises to "present a tragedy which
shall boldly abide the most curious perusal;" and from a marginal note
we learn that the tragedy of _Sophonisba_, published in 1606, was the
work which was so boldly to challenge criticism. It is to be feared
that this cherished offspring of Marston's imagination will not be
regarded with affection by many readers. For hideous blood-curdling
realism the description of the witch Erictho and her cave is, I
venture to think, without a parallel in literature. Tough as whipcord
must have been the nerves of an audience which could listen patiently
to the recital of Erictho's atrocities. If there were any women of
delicate health among the audience, a repetition of the mishaps
connected with the performance of the _Eumenides_ must surely have
been unavoidable. Regarded, however, as a whole, the play is not
impressive. Sophonisba is a fearless and magnanimous heroine, but her
temper is too masculine; she talks too much and too bluntly, and is
too fond of striking an attitude. Syphax, the villain of the play, is
so prodigiously brutal as to appear perfectly grotesque; and the hero
Massinissa bores us by his trite moral reflections. Marston strove to
produce a stately tragedy, and was under the impression that his
efforts had been crowned with success; but candid readers will judge
the performance to be stiff and crude, wanting in energy and dramatic
movement, too rhetorical, "climbing to the height of Seneca his
style." In the prefatory address he has a hit at _Sejanus_ (to which
in the previous year he had contributed a copy of eulogistic verses),
informing us that "to transcribe authors, quote authorities, and
translate Latin prose orations into English blank verse, hath, in this
subject, been the least aim of my studies." But _Sejanus_ has
certainly not less of dramatic interest than _Sophonisba_, and in
other respects it is far superior.

In 1607 was published the comedy of _What You Will_ (written, I
suspect, shortly after the appearance of _Cynthia's Revels_), which is
largely indebted for its plot to Plautus's _Amphitruo_. In the
Induction, Marston again has his fling at Ben Jonson. Philomusus'
heated denunciation of censorious critics,

                     "Believe it, Doricus, his spirit
     Is higher blooded than to quake and pant
     At the report of Scoff's artillery," &c.,

was evidently written in derisive mimicry of Jonson's scornful
addresses to the audience; and Doricus' remonstrance,

     "Now out upon't, I wonder what tight brain
     Wrung in this custom to maintain contempt
     'Gainst common censure," &c.,

was unquestionably intended as a stiff rebuke to Jonson's towering
arrogance. But these strokes of personal satire are not confined to
the Induction. Quadratus' scathing ridicule of Lampatho Doria, in the
first scene of the second act, was certainly aimed at some adversary
of Marston's; and there can be little doubt that this adversary was
Ben Jonson. Lampatho is described in the following terms by his
admirer Simplicius Faber:--

"Monsieur Laverdure, do you see that gentleman? He goes but in black
satin, as you see, but, by Helicon! he hath a cloth of tissue wit. He
breaks a jest;[22] ha, he'll rail against the court till the
gallants--O God! he is very nectar: if you but sip of his love, you
were immortal." At first Lampatho speaks the language of an affected
gallant; it is nothing but "protest" with him. Quadratus is disgusted
with him:--

                   "A fusty cask
     Devote to mouldy customs of hoary eld."

After listening to much abuse, Lampatho turns on his assailant:--

     "So Phoebus warm my brain, I'll rhyme thee dead.
     Look for the satire: if all the sour juice
     Of a tart brain can souse thy estimate,
     I'll pickle thee."

The threat only irritates Quadratus the more:--

                   "Why, you Don Kinsayder!
     Thou canker-eaten rusty cur, thou snaffle
     To freer spirits!
     Think'st thou a libertine, an ungyved breast,
     Scorns not the shackles of thy envious clogs?
     You will traduce us unto public scorn?"

Curious that Marston should apply his own _nom de plume_ "Kinsayder"
to the adversary whom he is bullying! In the _Scourge of Villainy_ he
sneered at his own poem _Pygmalion_, and here he is referring
contemptuously to his own achievements in satire. A man who openly
ridicules himself blunts the edge of an enemy's sarcasm.

We have seen (p. xxxiii.) that Crites' bitter abuse of Anaides and
Hedon (_i.e._, Marston and Dekker), in _Cynthia's Revels_, was flung
back in Jonson's face by Dekker. Marston puts into the mouth of
Quadratus a speech, modelled closely on those lines of Crites:--

     "_Lam._ O sir, you are so square, you scorn reproof."
     "_Qua._ No, sir; should discreet Mastigophorus,
     Or the dear spirit acute Canaidus
     (That Aretine, that most of me beloved,
     Who in the rich esteem I prize his soul,
     I term myself); should these once menace me,
     Or curb my humour with well-govern'd check,
     I should with most industrious regard,
     Observe, abstain, and curb my skipping lightness;
     But when an arrogant, odd, impudent,
     A blushless forehead, only out of sense
     Of his own wants, bawls in malignant questing
     At others' means of waving gallantry,--
     Pight foutra!"

Who "discreet Mastigophorus" and "acute Canaidus" were it would be
useless to conjecture. But it is not to be doubted that Quadratus'
abuse of Lampatho was levelled at Ben Jonson; and that Marston was
avenging himself in this way for the insults showered upon him by
Jonson. In iv. 1, Quadratus sneers at Lampatho's verse. Lampatho
threatens to be revenged. "How, prithee?" says Quadratus; "in a play?
Come, come, be sociable."

The tragedy of _The Insatiate Countess_ was published in 1613, with
Marston's name on the title-page. In the Duke of Devonshire's library
there is a copy,[23] dated 1616, with no name on the title-page. The
play was reprinted in 1631, and Marston's name is found on the
title-page of most copies of that edition; but the Duke of Devonshire
possesses a copy,[24] in which the author's name is given as William
Barksteed. In the collected edition of Marston's plays, 1633, _The
Insatiate Countess_ is not included. It is therefore clear that
Marston's authorship is not established by external evidence. When we
come to examine the play itself, which has unfortunately descended in
a most corrupt state, the difficulty is not removed. Two picturesque
lines at the close of the last scene,

     "Night, like a masque, is enter'd heaven's great hall,
     With thousand torches ushering the way,"

are found verbatim in Barksteed's poem _Myrrha_. We know little of
Barksteed, but it is probable that he is to be identified with the
William Barksted, or Backsted, who was one of Prince Henry's players
in August 1611 (Collier's _Memoirs of Edward Alleyn_, p. 98), and
belonged to the company of the Prince Palatine's players in March
1615-6 (_ibid._, p. 126). He is the author of two poems,[25] which
display some graceful fancy (though the subject of the first is
ill-chosen),--_Myrrha the Mother of Adonis_, 1607, and _Hiren and the
Fair Greek_, 1611. As we read _The Insatiate Countess_ we cannot fail
to notice passages containing a richness of fancy, and a musical
fluency of expression, to which Marston's undoubted plays afford no
parallel. The italicised lines are certainly not in Marston's vein:--

     "Like to the lion when he hears the sound
     _Of Dian's bowstring in some shady wood_,
     I should have couched my lowly limb on earth
     _And held my silence a proud sacrifice_."
     "Others, compared to her, show like faint stars
     _To the full moon of wonder in her face_."

Again: the play contains an unusually large number of imitations of
Shakespearean passages. In fact I know no play of this early date in
which Shakespeare is so persistently imitated or plagiarised. Again
and again we find images and expressions borrowed more or less closely
from _Hamlet_. Shakespeare's historical plays, too, were laid
under contribution. In the very first scene we have these lines:--

     "Slave, I will fight with thee at any odds;
     Or name an instrument fit for destruction,
     That e'er was made to make away a man,
     I'll meet thee on the ridges of the Alps,
     Or some inhospitable wilderness."

A very cool piece of plagiarism from _Richard II_. (i. 1):--

     "Which to maintain I would allow him odds
     And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
     Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps
     Or any other ground inhabitable."

In the lines,

     "The ghosts of misers that imprison'd gold
     Within _the harmless bowels of the earth_,"

the italicised words were unquestionably suggested by a passage of
Hotspur's famous speech in _Henry IV._, i. 2,--

     "That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
     Out of _the bowels of the harmless earth_."

When Don Sago in iv. 3 exclaims--

     "A hundred times in life a coward dies,"

we are immediately reminded of Shakespeare's _Julius Cæsar_ (ii.
2),

     "Cowards die many times before their death;"

and Sago's lament in v. 1,

     "Although ... the waves of all the Northern sea
     Should flow for ever through these guilty hands,
     Yet the sanguinolent stain would extant be,"

decidedly smacks of _Macbeth_. Occasionally, it is true, Marston does
not scruple to borrow from Shakespeare, but in none of his plays are
the Shakespearean echoes so clear and frequent as in _The Insatiate
Countess_. The text, as I have said, is extremely corrupt, and the
confusion among the _dramatis personæ_ is perplexing to the last
degree (see note, vol. iii. p. 154). I suspect that Marston, on
entering the church, left this tragedy in a fragmentary state, and
that it was completed by the actor Barksteed. The whole interest
centres in the beautiful and sinful Isabella, whose wayward glances,
as she moves in splendour, fascinate all beholders; who is indeed a
"glorious devil" without shame or pity, boundless and insatiable as
the sea in the enormity of her caprices.

In addition to his plays, his poem of _Pygmalion_, and his satires,
Marston wrote a Latin pageant on the occasion of the visit paid by the
King of Denmark to James I. in 1606, and an entertainment, which is
not without elegance, in honour of a visit paid by the Dowager
Countess of Derby to her son-in-law and daughter, Lord and Lady
Huntingdon, at Ashby. I strongly doubt whether _The Mountebank's
Masque_, performed at Court in February 1616-17 (when Marston was
attending to his clerical duties in Hampshire), has been correctly
assigned to Marston.

There are two anonymous plays[26] in which Marston's hand is plainly
discernible,--_Histriomastix_, published in 1610, and _Jack Drum's
Entertainment_, published in 1616. It has been mentioned (see note, p.
xxxii.) that Jonson in _Every Man out of his Humour_ puts into Clove's
mouth, with the object of ridiculing Marston, words and expressions
found in _Histriomastix_ (coupling them with flowers of speech culled
from _The Scourge of Villainy_), and even mentions the play by
name--"as you may read in Plato's _Histriomastix_." Only in a few
scenes of _Histriomastix_ can Marston's hand be detected. It is a
poor semi-allegorical play, a clumsy piece of patchwork. Marston's
additions must have been made before Christmas 1599 (when _Every Man
out of his Humour_ was produced), on the occasion of some revival. The
following lines, which occur early in the second act, seem to refer to
Ben Jonson:--

     "How, you translating scholar? You can make
     A stabbing satire or an epigram,
     And think you carry just Rhamnusia's whip
     To lash the patient! go, get you clothes:
     Our free-born blood such apprehension loathes."

_Jack Drum's Entertainment_, an indifferent comedy, which appears to
have been written about the year 1600,[27] bears the clearest traces
of Marston's early style. All the monstrous phraseology of _The
Scourge of Villainy_ and _Antonio and Mellida_ is seen here in
perfection. When Jonson in _The Poetaster_ (v. 1) ridiculed Marston's
absurd vocabulary, he selected, _inter alia_, for castigation, some
expressions which occur only in _Jack Drum_, and are not found (in so
closely parallel a form) in the works published under Marston's name:
clear proof that the authorship of this play is to be ascribed, at
least in part if not entirely, to Marston. In act iii. of _Jack Drum_
we have--

     "Crack not the sinews of my patience,"

which is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_--

     "As if his organons of sense would crack
     The sinews of my patience."

In act ii. are these ridiculous lines--

     "Let clumsy chilblain'd gouty wits
     Bung up their chief contents within the hoops
     Of a stuff'd dry-fat;"

so in _The Poetaster_--

     "Upon that puft-up lump of barmy froth,
     Or clumsy chilblain'd judgment."

In act iv. Planet's reflections on the arrogant Old Brabant are
clearly directed against Jonson.

Collier in his _Memoirs of Edward Alleyn_ (p. 154) printed a letter of
Marston to Henslowe; but, as "the whole letter is manifestly a
forgery, having been first traced in pencil, the marks of which are in
places still visible" (Warner's _Catalogue of Dulwich Manuscripts and
Muniments_, p. 49), this relic is of no interest. Another letter,
addressed to Lord Kimbolton by a "John Marston,"[28] is printed in
Collier's _Shakespeare_[29] (i. 179, ed. 1858); but as it was written
in 1641, the writer could not have been the dramatist, who died in
1634. Among the additional MSS. (14,824-6) in the British Museum is a
poem entitled _The New Metamorphosis, or a Feast of Fancy or Poetical
Legends ... Written by J. M., Gent._, 1600, which has been, not very
wisely, ascribed to Marston. I must confess that I have only a
superficial acquaintance with this poem; but, as the work fills nearly
nine hundred closely-packed pages, I trust that my confession will not
be severely criticised. After the title-page is a leaf containing the
arguments of books i.-vi.; then comes a new title-page _An Iliad of
Metamorphosis or the Arraignment of Vice_, followed by a dialogue
between Cupid and Momus. Six lines headed "The Author to his Book"
follow the dialogue, and then comes "The Epistle Dedicatory,"
consisting of a couple of lines--

     "To Momus, that same ever-carping mate,
     And unto Cupid I this dedicate."

After the commendably brief epistle come two lines which inform us
that--

     "My name is French, to tell you in a word;
     Yet came not in with conquering William's sword."

(Marston's name was certainly not French; it was a good old Shropshire
name.) The prologue begins thus:--

     "Upon the public stage to Albion's eye
     I here present my new-born poesy,
     Not with vain-glory puft to make it known,
     Nor Indian-like with feathers not mine own
     To deck myself, as many use to do;
     To filching lines I am a deadly foe," &c.

Presently the poet indulges in his invocation:--

     "Matilda fair, guide you my wand'ring quill!"

Having turned some thirty thousand verses off the reel, "J. M., Gent."
abruptly concludes, with the remark,--

     "My leave I here of poetry do take,
     For I have writ until my hand doth ache."

There is a fine field for an editor in _The New Metamorphosis_; virgin
soil, I warrant.

Manningham in his _Diary_, under date 21st November 1602, has been at
the pains to record a _bon mot_ of Marston:--"Jo. Marstone, the last
Christmas, when he daunct with Alderman Mores wives daughter, a
Spaniard borne, fell into a strange commendation of hir witt and
beauty. When he had done she thought to pay him home, and told him,
she _thought_ he was a poet. 'Tis true, said he, for poets feigne and
lye, and soe did I, when I commended your beauty, for you are
exceeding foule." Not a very witty saying, and not very polite.

In 1633, William Sheares the publisher issued, in 1 vol. sm. 8vo, _The
Workes_[30] _of Mr. John Marston, being Tragedies and Comedies
collected into one volume_ containing the two parts of _Antonio and
Mellida_, _Sophonisba_, _What You Will_, _The Fawn_, and _The Dutch
Courtezan_. The following dedicatory epistle to Viscountess Falkland,
in which the publisher insists on the modesty (save the mark!) of
Marston's Muse, is found in some copies:--

           "TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY ELIZABETH
                   CAREY, VISCOUNTESS FALKLAND.

     "Many opprobies and aspersions have not long since been cast upon
     Plays in general, and it were requisite and expedient that they
     were vindicated from them; but, I refer that task to those whose
     leisure is greater, and learning more transcendent. Yet, for my
     part, I cannot perceive wherein they should appear so vile and
     abominable, that they should be so vehemently inveighed against.
     Is it because they are PLAYS? The name, it seems, somewhat
     offends them; whereas, if they were styled WORKS, they might have
     their approbation also. I hope that I have now somewhat pacified
     that precise sect, by reducing all our Author's several Plays
     into one volume, and so styled them THE WORKS OF MR. JOHN
     MARSTON, who was not inferior unto any in this kind of writing,
     in those days when these were penned; and, I am persuaded, equal
     unto the best poets of our times. If the lines be not answerable
     to my encomium of him, yet herein bear with him, because they
     were his JUVENILIA and youthful recreations. Howsoever, he is
     free from all obscene speeches, which is the chief cause that
     makes Plays to be so odious unto most men. He abhors such
     writers, and their works; and hath professed himself an enemy to
     all such as stuff their scenes with ribaldry, and lard their
     lines with scurrilous taunts and jests; so that, whatsoever, even
     in the spring of his years, he hath presented upon the private
     and public theatre, now, in his autumn and declining age, he need
     not be ashamed of. And, were it not that he is so far distant
     from this place, he would have been more careful in revising the
     former impressions, and more circumspect about this, than I can.
     In his absence, Noble Lady, I have been emboldened to present
     these WORKS unto your Honour's view; and the rather, because your
     Honour is well acquainted with the Muses. In brief, Fame hath
     given out that your Honour is the mirror of your sex, the
     admiration, not only of this island, but of all adjacent
     countries and dominions, which are acquainted with your rare
     virtues and endowments. If your Honour shall vouchsafe to accept
     this work, I, with my book, am ready pressed and bound to be

                              "Your truly devoted,

                                        "WILLIAM SHEARES."

Ben Jonson's copy of the 1633 edition of Marston's plays is preserved
in the Dyce Library at South Kensington.

Marston's literary career barely covers a space of ten years: his
satires were published in 1598, and he seems to have entered the
Church, and to have abandoned the writing of plays, about the year
1607. It is hard to picture Marston as a preacher of the Gospel of
Glad Tidings. Were we to judge him by his writings we should say that
he was a scornful spirit, at strife with himself and with the world; a
man convinced of the hollowness of present life, and yet not looking
forward hopefully to any future sphere of activity; only anxious to
drop into the jaws of that oblivion which he invoked in his verse and
courted even on his gravestone. There was another, a greater than
Marston, who began by writing satires and ended by writing sermons.
Marston's sermons have perished, but the sermons of John Donne,[31]
Dean of St. Paul's, are imperishable. At the thought of that oblivion
for which Marston hungered the soul of Donne turned sick. "It is a
fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Fearful
indeed; but "_to fall out of the hands of the living God_," said Donne
in a sermon preached before the Earl of Carlisle, "is a horror beyond
our expression, beyond our imagination." In a strain of marvellous
eloquence he proceeds; and surely no utterance of poet or divine is
more pitiful and passionate than this cry wrung from the heart of the
great Dean Donne:--

     "That God should let my soul fall out of His hand into a
     bottomless pit and roll an unremovable stone upon it, ... and
     never think more of that soul, never have more to do with it;
     that of that providence of God, that studies the life of every
     weed, and worm, and ant, and spider, and toad, and viper, there
     should never, never any beam flow out upon me; that that God, who
     looked upon me, when I was nothing, and called me when I was not,
     as though I had been, out of the womb and depth of darkness, will
     not look upon me now, when, though a miserable, and a banished,
     and a damned creature, yet I am His creature still, and
     contribute something to His glory, even in my damnation; that
     that God, who hath often looked upon me in my foullest
     uncleanness, and when I had shut out the eye of the day, the sun,
     and the eye of the night, the taper, and the eyes of all the
     world, with curtains and windows and doors, did yet see me, and
     see me in mercy, by making me see that He saw me, and sometimes
     brought me to a present remorse and (for that time) to a
     forbearing of that sin, should so turn Himself from me to His
     glorious Saints and Angels, as that no Saint nor Angel nor Christ
     Jesus Himself should ever pray Him to look towards me, never
     remember Him that such a soul there is; that that God,--who hath
     so often said to my soul _Quare morieris_? Why wilt thou die? and
     so often sworn to my soul _Vivit Dominus_, As the Lord liveth I
     would not have thee die but live,--will neither let me die nor
     let me live, but die an everlasting life and live an everlasting
     death; that that God, who when He could not get into me by
     standing and knocking, by His ordinary means of entering, by His
     word, His mercies, hath applied His judgments and hath shaked the
     house, this body, with agues and palsies, and set this house on
     fire with fevers and calentures, and frighted the master of the
     house, my soul, with horrors and heavy apprehensions, and so made
     an entrance into me; that that God should frustrate all His own
     purposes and practises upon me, and leave me and cast me away, as
     though I had cost Him nothing; that this God at last should let
     this soul go away, as a smoke, as a vapour, as a bubble, and that
     then this soul cannot be a smoke, a vapour, nor a bubble, but
     must lie in darkness, as long as the Lord of light is light
     itself, and never spark of that light reach to my soul: what
     Tophet is not Paradise, what brimstone is not amber, what
     gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a
     tickling, what torment is not a marriage-bed to this damnation,
     to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of
     God!"


     [1] Add. MS. 24,487 ("Chorus Vatum").

     [2] Grosart's _Introduction_ to Marston's _Poems_, 1879
     (privately printed).

     [3] Elizabeth Guarsi, the poet's grandmother, on the death of her
     husband, Andrew Guarsi, had married John Butler of Wardington,
     co. Oxon.

     [4] I have to thank the Dean of Winchester for supplying me, from
     the books of the Dean and Chapter of Winchester, with the date of
     Marston's presentation. The date of his resignation had been
     previously communicated to me by Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, who
     procured it from the Diocesan Registry, Winchester.

     [5] The will was printed in Halliwell's preface to his edition of
     Marston. Dr. Grosart gives a literatim copy (which I have
     followed) collated by Col. Chester with the original.

     [6] An abstract of her will, communicated by Col. Chester, is
     printed in Dr. Grosart's _Introduction_ (p. xxiv.). To her
     "reverend Pastor Master Edward Calamy"--the famous puritan
     minister, _Edmund_ Calamy--she leaves "6 angels as a token
     of my respect."

     [7] _Pygmalion's Image_ was republished, without the
     satires, in 1613 and 1628, in a volume containing the anonymous
     poem _Alcilia_ and S. P.'s [Samuel Page's?] _Amos and
     Laura_.

     [8] In the epigram he refers to the _nom de plume_
     "Kinsayder" which Marston had adopted, and we learn that it was
     derived from the "kinsing" (cutting the tails?) of dogs. It is to
     be noticed that the name "Kinsayder" does not occur in the
     _Pygmalion_ volume. The dedicatory verses to "The World's
     Mighty Monarch, Good Opinion," are merely subscribed with the
     initials "W. K." We first find the full name "W. Kinsayder" in
     the address "To those that seem judicial perusers," prefixed to
     _The Scourge of Villainy_.

     [9] The title shows Hall was the original aggressor (at least in
     Marston's opinion). Guilpin in the sixth satire of
     _Skialetheia_ alludes to Marston's "Reactio" in a somewhat
     enigmatic manner. See note, vol. iii. p. 287.

     [10] Both _The Whipping_ and _The Whipper_ are
     exceedingly rare. Sir Charles Isham, Bart., of Lamport Hall,
     possesses a little volume (the loan of which I gratefully
     acknowledge) which contains these two tracts and Nicholas
     Breton's _No Whipping No Tripping_.

     [11] Dr. Nicholson suggests that the character of Furor Poeticus
     in this play was intended as a satirical portrait of Marston. The
     suggestion is very plausible.

     [12] "This should be _town_. To _bring to town_ = to
     bring home."--P. A. Daniel. (I prefer the old reading.)

     [13] There were really two separate editions of the unrevised
     play published in 1604. I too hastily assumed that the copy in
     the Dyce Library was identical with the copy in the British
     Museum, apart from such textual variations as are frequently
     found in copies of the same impression of an old play; but I have
     since discovered that the two copies belong to separate editions.
     The title of the enlarged edition is curious: _The Malcontent.
     Augmented by Marston. With the Additions played by the Kings
     Maiesties Servants. Written by Ihon Webster._ Slovenly wording
     and vicious punctuation.

     John Davies of Hereford, in the _Scourge of Folly_ (1611?),
     has the following epigram on _The Malcontent_:--

               "_To acute Mr. John Marston._

          "Thy _Malcontent_ or Malcontentedness
          Hath made thee change thy muse, as some do guess;
          If time misspent make her a malcontent
          Thou need'st not then her timely change repent.
          The end will show it; meanwhile do but please
          With virtuous pains as erst thou didst with ease,
          Thou shalt be praised and kept from want and woe;
          So blest are crosses that do bless us so."

     [14] Perhaps some sage commentator of the future will tell us
     that Syphax in _Sophonisba_ was intended as a satirical
     portrait of Ben.

     [15] It is hard to see why Jonson should be ridiculed for using
     these epithets. Marston uses two of them ("real" and "Delphic")
     himself.

     [16] We have "Port Esquiline" twice in the _Scourge of
     Villainy_; but the very phrase _Paunch of Esquiline_ occurs in
     _Histriomastix_ (Simpson's _School of Shakspere_, ii. 51), an
     anonymous play which undoubtedly contains some of Marston's work.
     "Zodiac," "ecliptic line," "demonstrate," and "tropics" are also
     found in _Histriomastix_ (_ibid._ ii. 25-6); they are not in
     Marston's satires. The other words will be found in the _Scourge
     of Villainy_.

     [17] Of _Histriomastix_ I shall have to speak later.

     [18] Dekker's _Works_ (Pearson's Reprint), i. 195.

     [19] "Some booksellers this year," says Nixon, "shall not have
     cause to boast of their winnings, for that many write that flow
     with phrases and yet are barren in substance, and such are
     neither wise nor witty; others are so concise that you need a
     commentary to understand them, others have good wits but so
     critical that they arraign other men's works at the tribunal seat
     of every censurious Aristarch's understanding, when their own are
     sacrificed in Paul's Churchyard for bringing in the _Dutch
     Courtezan_ to corrupt English conditions and sent away
     westward for carping both at court, city, and country. For they
     are so sudden-witted that a flea can no sooner frisk forth but
     they must needs comment on her."

     [20] Among the Hatfield MSS. is a letter (communicated to Gifford
     by the elder Disraeli), dated "1605," of Ben Jonson to Lord
     Salisbury, in which Jonson writes that he had been committed to
     prison unexamined and unheard, "and with me a gentleman (whose
     name may perhaps have come to your lordship), one Mr. George
     Chapman, a learned and honest man," for introducing into a play
     some matter which had given offence. With much warmth he declares
     that, since his "first error," he had been scrupulously careful
     not to write anything against which objection could be taken.
     Gifford assumed that "first error" referred to _Eastward
     Ho_, and that Jonson was suffering for another offence when
     the letter was written. What the "first error" was cannot be
     determined with certainty, for it is not improbable that Jonson
     was frequently in trouble. It is quite possible that the letter
     was written when Jonson and Chapman were in prison on the
     _Eastward Ho_ charge. Jonson may have written on Chapman's
     behalf and his own, leaving Marston to shift for himself. But
     such conduct would have been ungenerous; and I prefer to adopt
     Gifford's view that the imprisonment of which the letter
     complains was not connected with _Eastward Ho_. Besides, the
     satirical reflections on the Scots, and any particular allusions
     to Sir James Graham, would have been more pertinent in 1603 than
     in 1605.

     [21] In _Every Man out of his Humour_, iii. 3, we have:--
          "Whereas let him be poor and meanly clad,
          Though ne'er so richly _parted_," &c.

     [22] The words "He [_i.e._, Lampatho] breaks a jest" have
     the look of a stage-direction.

     [23] _The Insatiate Countesse. London, Printed by N. O. for
     Thomas Archer_, &c., 1616, 4to.

     [24] The full title is [_The_] _Insatiate Covntesse. A
     Tragedy: Acted, at White-Friers. Written, By William Barksteed.
     London, Printed for Hvgh Perrie, and are to be sold at his shop
     at the signe of the Harrow in Brittaines-Burse_. 1631. 4to.

     [25] Reprinted in Dr. Grosart's valuable _Occasional
     Issues_.

     [26] These plays are printed in the second volume of Simpson's
     _School of Shakspere_. I have not included them in this
     edition of Marston; they are of little value and are easily
     accessible. Marston's share in _Histriomastix_ was slight.

     [27] See Simpson's _School of Shakespere_, ii. 127.

     [28] Probably the Rev. John Marston, of St. Mary Magdalene,
     Canterbury, who published in 1642 _A Sermon preached ... before
     many ... Members of the House of Commons_.

     [29] In his _Shakespeare_ Collier states that the letter was
     written in 1605, and that it refers to the Gunpowder Plot; but in
     his _Bibliographical Account_, 1. xxiv*, correcting his
     former statement, he says that the letter was written in 1641,
     and that it concerns the arrest of the Five Members.

     [30] In some copies the author's name is not given, and the
     title-page runs, _Tragedies and Comedies collected into one
     volume, viz._ 1. _Antonio and Mellida._ 2. _Antonio's
     Revenge._ 3. _The Tragedie of Sophonisba._ 4. _What You
     Will._ 5. _The Fawne._ 6. _The Dutch Courtezan._

     [31] Some verses, signed "Jo. Mar.," prefixed to Donne's
     _Poems_, 1633, have been ascribed to Marston; but, as the
     heading of the verses is "Hexasticon _Bibliopolæ_," and as
     the publisher or _bibliopola_ was Jo[hn] Mar[riott],
     Marston's claim can hardly be sustained.




                             ADDENDA.


  Vol. i. page 13. "Blind Gew."--I have come upon a mention of this
             actor in the fifth satire of Edward Guilpin's
             _Skialetheia_, 1598:--

              "But who's in yonder coach? my lord and fool,
               One that for ape-tricks can put _Gue_ to school."

             Guilpin's eleventh epigram is addressed "_To Gue_":--

              "_Gue_, hang thyself for woe, since gentlemen
               Are now grown cunning in thy apishness," &c.

          Page 15, line 17. "_Heavy_ dryness."--I was wrong in
             accepting the reading of ed. 1633 in preference to the
             "_heathy_ dryness" of ed. 1602. _Heathy_ is a Marstonian
             word; and we find it in act iv. of _Jack Drum's
             Entertainment_:--

              "Good faith, troth is they are all apes and gulls,
               Vile imitating spirits, dry _heathy_ turfs."

          Page 60, line 256. Dr. Nicholson proposes "Her _own_ heels,
             God knows, _are not_ half so light"--a good emendation.

          Page 239, line 21. "Distilled oxpith," &c.--We have a
             similar list of provocatives in John Mason's _Turk_,
             first published in 1610, but written some years
             previously:--

             "Here is a compound of Cantharides, diositerion, _marrow
             of an ox_, _hairs of a lion_, stones of a goat,
             _cock-sparrows' brains_, and such like." (_Sig. F. 3,
             verso._)

          Page 311, lines 88, 89. "Life is a frost ... vanity."--I
             have discovered that these lines are from an epigram in
             Thomas Bastard's _Chrestoleros_, 1598, sig. H. I quote
             the epigram in full, as it is of striking solemnity:--

              "When I behold with deep astonishment
               To famous Westminster how there resort,
               Living in brass or stony monument,
               The princes and the worthies of all sort,
               Do not I see reform'd nobility
               Without contempt or pride or ostentation?
               And look upon offenceless majesty
               Naked of pomp or earthly domination?
               And how a play-game of a painted stone
               Contents the quiet now and silent sprites
               Whom all the world, which late they stood upon,
               Could not content nor squench [_sic_] their appetites?
                   _Life is a frost of cold felicity
                   And death the thaw of all our vanity._"

  Vol. ii. page 355, line 274. Mr. P. A. Daniel suggests that for
             "others' fate" we should read "adverse fate."

  Vol. iii. page 51, lines 41-2. "_But a little higher, but a little
             higher_," &c.--These lines are from a song of Campion,
             beginning--

                   "Mistress, since you so much desire
                   To know the place of Cupid's fire," &c.

             No. xvi. in Campion and Rosseter's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
             They occur again in Campion's _Fourth Book of Airs_, No.
             xxii.

          Page 243, line 247. "Like Mycerinus," &c.--I notice that a
             similar emendation is made, in a seventeenth century
             hand, in the margin of one of Dyce's copies at South
             Kensington. My emendation was printed before I discovered
             that it had been anticipated.




                              ERRATA.


                              VOL. I.

     Page 64, line 48, for _Tyrrian_ read _Tyrian_.

     Page 120, note 2, for _Grumean_ read _Grumeau_.

     Page 159, note 1, for "The star-led wisards _hasten_" read "The
       star-led wisards _haste_."

     Page 191, after "_Antonii Vindictæ_" the word "_Finis_" should be
       added (_i.e._, "End of Antonio's Revenge").


                              VOL. II.

     Page 125, note 2, after "_The Famous History of Fryer_" add
       "_Bacon_."

     Page 322, line 15, for "Sir Signior" read "Sir, Signior" (comma
       after "Sir").

     Page 363, for "Still _went_ on went I" read "Still on went I" (an
       annoying blunder).

     Page 394, lines 158-9, in "delicious, sweet" the comma should be
       struck out, as "sweet" is doubtless to be taken as a
       substantive.


                             VOL. III.

     Page 3, five lines from the bottom, read "insists _on_ starting."

     Page 342, note 2, in "Huc usque _of_ Xylinum" del. "of."




              ADDITIONAL CORRECTIONS AND EMENDATIONS.


For the following corrections and emendations I am indebted to Mr. P.
A. Daniel. I am sorry that I did not have them earlier.

First I will correct the actual mistakes for which I must bear the
responsibility (in whole or part).

Vol. i., page xxxviii., line 11, for "Sir James Graham" read "Sir
James Murray."

Vol. i., page 26, line 205, for "The first thing he spake" read "The
first _word that_ he spake."

Vol. i., page 60, line 263, for "_in_ time to come" the old eds. read
"time to come." (I prefer "_in_ time," but should not have added
"_in_" silently.)

Vol. i., page 89, line 296, "His father's" [fathers] is the reading of
ed. 1602; but ed. 1633 gives "His father"--a better reading.

Vol. i., page 121, line 318, for "aspish" read "apish."

Vol. i., page 175, line 78, for "scorn'_d_" read "scorn'_t_."

Vol. ii., page 17, the stage-direction "_Enter_ COCLEDEMOY" is
superfluous.

Vol. ii., page 28, line 160, for "_feast_ o' grace" (where old eds.
give _fiest_) read "_fist_ o' grace," and compare page 42, line 58,
&c.

Vol. ii., page 32, line 33, for "not swaggering" read "not _of_
swaggering."

Vol. ii., page 109. The address should be headed "To _my_ Equal
Reader."

Vol. ii., page 197, line 417, for "show" read "sue" (the reading of
ed. 1633).

Vol. ii., page 213, line 92, delete "not."

Vol. ii., page 222, line 308, in "thy vice _from_ apparent here"
delete "from." (But query "thy vice from apparent heir"?)

Vol. ii., page 277, line 117, "All but Zanthia and Vangue depart."
Unquestionably these words are a stage-direction. They are printed as
part of the text in ed. 1633; but in ed. 1606 they are italicised, and
(though printed in the same line as "Withdraw, withdraw") evidently
form part of the previous stage-direction.

Vol. ii., page 328, for "For many debts" read "For many many debts."

Vol. ii., page 341, line 227, for "For" read "Fore."

Vol. ii., page 346, line 51, for "_hoary_ eld" ed. 1607 reads "hoard,"
and ed. 1633 "hoar'd." Probably the true reading is "hoar."

Vol. ii., page 369, lines 37-38. These lines have been transposed by
my printers; line 38 ("And those that rank," &c.) should stand before
line 37 ("Study a faint salute," &c.).


In the foregoing instances it is I who am chiefly to blame, and not
the old copies. I now come to Mr. Daniel's valuable emendations.

Vol. i., page 8, line 35, for "great" read "create" (an excellent
emendation).

Vol. i., page 32, line 56. Does not this speech belong to Feliche?

Vol. i., page 53, line 107. The prefix should be "_Cat_."

Vol. i., page 60, line 247. Add the stage-direction "_Exit_ ANTONIO."

Vol. i., page 70, line 182. Mr. Daniel suggests that for "_Spavento_"
(an awkward word here) we should read "_Speranza_."

Vol. i., page 110. "_Enter_ ANTONIO," &c.--Strike out the names of
Feliche and Forobosco.

Vol. i., page 128, line 107, for "How could he come on?" Mr. Daniel
proposes "How coldly he comes on!"

[Vol. i., page 142, line 2. In old eds. the line stands thus:--"Bout
heauens brow. (12) Tis now starke dead night." The bracketed "(12)" I
expanded into a stage-direction; but Mr. Swinburne suggests to me that
"the word 'twelve'--ejaculated by Antonio on hearing the clock
strike--is wanted for the metre." If we are to insert the word
"twelve" I should place it at the end of the line.]

Vol. i., page 145, line 54, for "The neat gay _mists_ of the light's
not up" Mr. Daniel suggests "The neat gay mistress," &c. (_i.e._,
Aurora)--an admirable emendation.

[Vol. i., page 150, line 190, for "swell thy _hour_ out" Mr. Swinburne
proposes "honour." If any change is needed I should prefer to read
"horror;" but "hour" frequently has a dissyllabic value.]

Vol. i., page 151, line 211, for "night-ghosts and graves" Mr. Daniel
would read "Night (_i.e._, good-night), ghosts and graves."

Vol. i., page 156, line 99, for "Why lags delay" Mr. Daniel would read
"Why, lags, delay?" taking lags as a substantive ("the sooty coursers
of the night").

Vol. i., page 158, line 41. I should have mentioned in a footnote that
"stirs" is an old form of "steers."

[Vol. i., page 172, line 22. Mr. Swinburne doubts whether my
correction "see" for "sir" is necessary, as the apostrophe "sir" or
"sirs" is occasionally found in a monologue.]

Vol. ii., page 9, line 54. Here, and in line 58, the prefix should be
"_Tys._"; and at line 62 Tysefew's _exit_ should be marked.

Vol. ii., page 16. At the bottom of the page should be marked "_Exit_
MARY," and at line 180 "_Exit_ COCLEDEMOY."

Vol. ii., page 86. "_Enter_ FRANCESCHINA," &c. Among those who enter
should be included "FREEVILLE _disguised_."

Vol. ii., page 93, line 46. "Ha, get you gone." It is a question
whether these words apply to Freeville's disguise or are addressed to
musicians. (In spite of line 32, "I bring some music," it is doubtful
whether there are any musicians on the stage.)

Vol. ii., page 139, line 111. "Nymphadoro, in direct phrase." Mr.
Daniel proposes (rightly) to read:-- "_Nym._ In direct phrase," &c.

Vol. ii., page 145, line 252. This speech should probably be given to
Herod.

Vol. ii., page 153, line 460. The prefix should doubtless be "_Zuc_."

Vol. ii., page 154, lines 477, 478. "And nose" should doubtless be
given to Hercules, and "And brain" to Zuccone.

Vol. ii., page 157, line 569. The old. eds give "Venice duke," but we
should read "Urbin's duke" (cf. page 226, line 444).

Vol. ii., page 171, line 299. Mr. Daniel suggests that we should place
a full stop after the word "speaks" and read "His signs to me and
_mien_ of profound reach."

Vol. ii., page 248, line 134. The words "No more: I bleed" appear to
belong to the wounded Carthalon.

Vol. ii., page 261, lines 21, 22. Query "bemoan'_t_" and
"revenge'_t_"?

Vol. ii., page 414, line 244, for "prolonged" Mr. Daniel ingeniously
suggests "prologued."

Vol. iii., page 214, line 78, for "faint" Mr. Daniel proposes
"feigned" (a certain emendation). In line 91, for "I resisted" he
proposes "if resisted."

Vol. iii., page 240, line 166, for "stung" Mr. Daniel proposes "stone."


Mr. Daniel sends me the following note on the plot of _What You
Will_:--

     "A somewhat similar plot is found in _I Morti Vivi_,
     Comedia, del molto excellente signore Sforza D'Oddi,
     nell'Academia degli Insensati detto Forsennato, 1576. Oranta, a
     lady of Naples, whose husband, Tersandro, is supposed drowned at
     sea, is about to re-marry with Ottavio. Luigi, another suitor for
     her hand, to hinder the marriage conspires with others to induce
     one Iancola to personate Tersandro. Tersandro, however, has
     escaped the sea, and arrives to find himself denied by his own
     family (who have discovered Luigi's plot), and to be mistaken by
     the conspirators themselves for Iancola. Tersandro's adventures
     till his identity is established are somewhat similar to those of
     Albano in _What You Will_.

     "D'Oddi apparently derived many incidents of his plot from the
     Greek romance of _Clitophon and Leucippe_, by Achilles
     Tatius; as also did Anibal Caro for his comedy of _Gli
     Straccioni_, 1582."




                            FIRST PART

                                 OF

                       ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.




  _The History of Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath
    beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I.
    M. London Printed for Mathewe Lownes, and Thomas Fisher, and are
    to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde._ 1602. 4to.


                        STORY OF THE PLAY.

Andrugio, Duke of Genoa, being utterly defeated in a sea-fight by
Piero Sforza, Duke of Venice, and banished by the Genoways, conceals
himself, with Lucio (an old courtier) and a page, among the marshes
round Venice. Piero proclaims throughout Italy that whoever brings the
head of Andrugio or of Andrugio's son, Antonio (who is in love with
Piero's daughter, Mellida), shall receive a reward of twenty thousand
pistolets. Antonio disguises himself as an Amazon, and, obtaining an
interview with Mellida, announces that her lover has been drowned at
sea. The pretended Amazon is received as a guest in Piero's palace,
and there quickly discovers himself to Mellida. Arrangements are made
by the lovers to escape to England; but Piero gaining intelligence
(through a letter that Mellida has dropped) of the intended flight,
the plot is frustrated and Mellida escapes to the marshes in the
disguise of a page. While Piero is giving orders for Antonio's arrest,
a sailor rushes forward, pretending to be in hot pursuit of Antonio
towards the marshes. The pursuer is Antonio himself, who had assumed
the disguise of a sailor at the instance of Feliche, a high-minded
gentleman of the Venetian court. Piero gives the pretended sailor his
signet-ring that he may pass the watch and not be hindered in the
pursuit. Arrived at the marshes, Antonio, distracted with grief for
the fall of his father and for the loss of Mellida, flings himself
prostrate on the ground. Presently Andrugio approaches with Lucio and
the page, and a joyful meeting ensues between father and son. Andrugio
and Lucio retire to a cave which they had fitted up as a dwelling, and
Antonio, promising to quickly rejoin them, stays to hear a song from
Andrugio's page. Meanwhile Mellida, disguised as a page, approaches
unobserved, and hearing her name passionately pronounced, recognises
the sailor as Antonio. She discovers herself to her lover, and after a
brief colloquy despatches him across the marsh to observe whether any
pursuers are in sight. Hardly has Antonio departed when Piero and his
followers come up, and Mellida is drawn from a thicket where she had
concealed herself. Piero hastens back to the court with his daughter,
whom he resolves to marry out of hand to Galeatzo, son of the Duke of
Florence. Antonio, returning in company with Andrugio and Lucio to the
spot where he had left Mellida, learns from Andrugio's page that she
has been carried away. Andrugio now separates himself from Antonio and
Lucio; proceeds, clad in a complete suit of armour, to the court of
Piero, and announces that he has come to claim the reward offered for
Andrugio's head. Piero declares his willingness to pay the reward; and
then Andrugio, raising his beaver, discovers himself to Piero and the
assembled courtiers. Piero affects to be struck with admiration for
his adversary's magnanimity, and professes friendship for the future.
A funeral procession now enters, followed by Lucio, who announces that
he has brought the body of Antonio. Andrugio mourns for the death of
his son and Piero affects to share his grief, protesting that he would
give his own life or his daughter's hand to purchase breath for the
dead man. Thereupon Antonio, who had died only in conceit, rises from
the bier and claims the hand of Mellida. Piero assents, and the _First
Part of Antonio and Mellida_ closes joyfully.




  _To the only rewarder and most just poiser of virtuous merits, the
    most honourably renowned_ NOBODY,[32] _bounteous Mecænas of poetry
    and Lord Protector of oppressed innocence_, do dedicoque.

Since it hath flowed with the current of my humorous blood to affect
(a little too much) to be seriously fantastical, here take (most
respected Patron) the worthless present of my slighter idleness. If
you vouchsafe not his protection, then, O thou sweetest perfection
(Female Beauty), shield me from the stopping of vinegar bottles. Which
most wished favour if it fail me, then _Si nequeo flectere superos,
Acheronta movebo_. But yet, honour's redeemer, virtue's advancer,
religion's shelter, and piety's fosterer, yet, yet, I faint not in
despair of thy gracious affection and protection; to which I only
shall ever rest most servingman-like, obsequiously making legs and
standing (after our free-born English garb) bareheaded. Thy only
affied slave and admirer,

                                                           J. M.


     [32] So Day dedicates his _Humour out of Breath_ to "Signior
     Nobody."




                      _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._[33]


  PIERO SFORZA, _Duke of Venice_.
  ANDRUGIO, _Duke of Genoa_.
  ANTONIO, _son to_ ANDRUGIO, _in love with_ MELLIDA.
  FELICHE, _a high-minded courtier_.
  ALBERTO, _a Venetian gentleman, in love with_ ROSSALINE.
  BALURDO, _a rich gull_.
  MATZAGENTE, _a modern braggadoch, son to the Duke of Milan_.
  GALEATZO, _son to the Duke of Florence, a suitor to_ MELLIDA.
  FOROBOSCO, _a Parasite_.
  CASTILIO BALTHAZAR, _a spruce courtier_.
  LUCIO,[34] _an old nobleman, friend to_ ANDRUGIO.
  CATZO, _page to_ CASTILIO.
  DILDO, _page to_ BALURDO.
  _Painter_, ANDRUGIO'S _page, &c._

  MELLIDA, _daughter to_ PIERO, _in love with_ ANTONIO.
  ROSSALINE, _niece to_ PIERO.
  FLAVIA, _a waiting-woman_.


               SCENE--VENICE AND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.


     [33] There is no list of characters in old eds.

     [34] Dilke (_Old English Plays_, 1814, vol. ii.) wrongly
     describes Lucio as Andrugio's page.




                          INDUCTION.[35]


  _Enter_ GALEATZO, PIERO, ALBERTO, ANTONIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO,
    MATZAGENTE, _and_ FELICHE, _with parts in their hands; having
    cloaks cast over their apparel_.


  _Gal._ Come, sirs, come! the music will sound straight for entrance.
  Are ye ready, are ye perfect?

  _Pier._ Faith! we can say our parts; but we are ignorant in what
  mould we must cast our actors.

  _Alb._ Whom do you personate?

  _Pier._ Piero, Duke of Venice.

  _Alb._ O! ho! then thus frame your exterior shape
  To haughty form of elate majesty,
  As if you held the palsy-shaking head
  Of reeling chance under your fortune's belt                      10
  In strictest vassalage: grow big in thought,
  As swoln with glory of successful arms.

  _Pier._ If that be all, fear not; I'll suit it right.
  Who cannot be proud, stroke up the hair, and strut?

  _Alb._ Truth; such rank custom is grown popular;
  And now the vulgar fashion strides as wide,
  And stalks as proud upon the weakest stilts
  Of the slight'st fortunes, as if Hercules
  Or burly Atlas shoulder'd up their state.

  _Pier._ Good: but whom act you?                                  20

  _Alb._ The necessity[36] of the play forceth me to act two
  parts: Andrugio, the distressed Duke of Genoa, and
  Alberto, a Venetian gentleman, enamoured on the Lady
  Rossaline; whose fortunes being too weak to sustain
  the port of her, he proved always disastrous in love; his
  worth being much underpoised by the uneven scale, that
  currents all things by the outward stamp of opinion.

  _Gal._ Well, and what dost thou play?

  _Bal._ The part of all the world.

  _Alb._ The part of all the world? What's that?                   30

  _Bal._ The fool. Ay, in good deed law now, I play
  Balurdo, a wealthy mountbanking burgomasco's heir of
  Venice.

  _Alb._ Ha! ha! one whose foppish nature might seem
  great, only for wise men's recreation; and, like a juiceless
  bark, to preserve the sap of more strenuous spirits.
  A servile hound, that loves the scent of forerunning
  fashion, like an empty hollow vault, still giving an echo
  to wit: greedily champing what any other well valued
  judgment had beforehand chew'd.[37]                              40

  _Foro._ Ha! ha! ha! tolerably good, good faith, sweet
  wag.

  _Alb._ Umph; why tolerably good, good faith, sweet
  wag? Go, go; you flatter me.

  _Foro._ Right; I but dispose my speech to the habit
  of my part.

  _Alb._ Why, what plays he?                           [_To_ FELICHE.

  _Feli._ The wolf that eats into the breasts of princes;
  that breeds the lethargy and falling sickness in honour;
  makes justice look asquint; and blinds[38] the eye of
  merited reward from viewing desertful virtue.                    51

  _Alb._ What's all this periphrasis, ha?

  _Feli._ The substance of a supple-chapt flatterer.

  _Alb._ O! doth he play Forobosco the Parasite? Good,
  i'faith. Sirrah, you must seem now as glib and straight
  in outward semblance as a lady's busk,[39] though inwardly
  as cross as a pair of tailors' legs; having a tongue as
  nimble as his needle, with servile patches of glavering
  flattery to stitch up the bracks[40] of unworthily
  honour'd--                                                       60

  _Foro._ I warrant you, I warrant you, you shall see me
  prove the very periwig to cover the bald pate of brainless
  gentility. Ho! I will so tickle the sense of _bella
  gratiosa madonna_ with the titillation of hyperbolical praise,
  that I'll strike it in the nick, in the very nick, chuck.

  _Feli._ Thou promisest more than I hope any spectator
  gives faith of performance; but why look you so dusky,
  ha?                                                  [_To_ ANTONIO.

  _Ant._ I was never worse fitted since the nativity of my
  actorship; I shall be hiss'd at, on my life now.                 70

  _Feli._ Why, what must you play?

  _Ant._ Faith, I know not what; an hermaphrodite, two
  parts in one; my true person being Antonio, son to the
  Duke of Genoa; though for the love of Mellida, Piero's
  daughter, I take this feigned presence of an Amazon,
  calling myself Florizell, and I know not what. I a voice
  to play a lady! I shall ne'er do it.

  _Alb._ O! an Amazon should have such a voice,
  virago-like. Not play two parts in one? away, away,
  'tis common fashion. Nay, if you cannot bear two
  subtle fronts under one hood, idiot, go by, go by, off
  this world's stage! O time's impurity!                           82

  _Ant._ Ay, but when use hath taught me action
  To hit the right point of a lady's part,
  I shall grow ignorant, when I must turn
  Young prince again, how but to truss[41] my hose.

  _Feli._ Tush, never put them off; for women wear the
  breeches still.

  _Mat._ By the bright honour of a Milanoise,
  And the resplendent fulgor of this steel,                        90
  I will defend the feminine to death,
  And ding[42] his spirit to the verge of hell,
  That dares divulge a lady's prejudice!

                  [_Exeunt_ MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO, _and_ BALURDO.[43]

  _Feli._ Rampum scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine!
  What rattling thunderclap breaks from his lips?

  _Alb._ O! 'tis native to his part. For acting a modern[44]
  braggadoch under the person of Matzagente, the Duke
  of Milan's son, it may seem to suit with good fashion
  of coherence.                                                    99

  _Pier._ But methinks he speaks with a spruce Attic
  accent of adulterate Spanish.

  _Alb._ So 'tis resolv'd. For Milan being half Spanish,
  half high Dutch, and half Italians, the blood of chiefest
  houses is corrupt and mongrel'd; so that you shall see
  a fellow vain-glorious for a Spaniard, gluttonous for a
  Dutchman, proud for an Italian, and a fantastic idiot
  for all. Such a one conceit this Matzagente.

  _Feli._ But I have a part allotted me, which I have
  neither able apprehension to conceit, nor what I conceit
  gracious ability to utter.                                      110

  _Gal._ Whoop, in the old cut![45] Good, show us a
  draught of thy spirit.

  _Feli._ 'Tis steady and must seem so impregnably fortressed
  with his own content that no envious thought
  could ever invade his spirit; never surveying any man
  so unmeasuredly happy, whom I thought not justly
  hateful for some true impoverishment; never beholding
  any favour of Madam Felicity gracing another, which
  his well-bounded content persuaded not to hang in
  the front of his own fortune; and therefore as far
  from envying any man, as he valued all men infinitely
  distant from accomplished beatitude. These native
  adjuncts appropriate to me the name of Feliche. But
  last, good, thy humour.                                         124

                        [_Exeunt_ PIERO, ALBERTO, _and_ GALEATZO.[46]

  _Ant._ 'Tis to be described by signs and tokens. For
  unless I were possessed with a legion of spirits, 'tis
  impossible to be made perspicuous by any utterance:
  for sometimes he must take austere state, as for the
  person of Galeatzo, the son of the Duke of Florence,
  and possess his exterior presence with a formal majesty:
  keep popularity in distance, and on the sudden fling
  his honour so prodigally into a common arm, that he
  may seem to give up his indiscretion to the mercy of
  vulgar censure. Now as solemn as a traveller,[47] and as
  grave as a Puritan's ruff;[48] with the same breath as
  slight and scattered in his fashion as a--a--anything;
  now as sweet and neat as a barber's casting-bottle;[49]
  straight as slovenly as the yeasty breast of an ale-knight:
  now lamenting, then chafing, straight laughing,
  then----.                                                       140

  _Feli._ What then?

  _Ant._ Faith, I know not what; 't had been a right
  part for Proteus or Gew. Ho! blind Gew[50] would ha'
  done 't rarely, rarely.

  _Feli._ I fear it is not possible to limn so many persons
  in so small a tablet as the compass of our plays
  afford.

  _Ant._ Right! therefore I have heard that those persons,
  as he and you, Feliche, that are but slightly drawn
  in this comedy, should receive more exact accomplishment
  in a second part; which, if this obtain gracious
  acceptance, means to try his fortune.                           151

  _Feli._ Peace, here comes the Prologue: clear the stage.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [35] We have an Induction before _What you Will_ and _The
     Malcontent_. Ben Jonson was particularly fond of introducing
     preliminary dialogues, which are usually so tedious that we are
     fain to exclaim with Cordatus (in the Induction to _Every Man
     out of his Humour_), "I would they would begin once; this
     protraction is able to sour the best settled patience in the
     theatre."

     [36] _I.e._, the poverty of the theatrical company. It was
     common for an actor to represent two characters (or more) in the
     same play. For example, William Shurlock personated Maharbal and
     Prusias in Nabbes' _Hannibal and Scipio_, 1635; and in the
     same play, Hugh Clerke, besides taking the part of Syphax,
     personated the Nuntius.

     [37] Old eds. "shew'd."

     [38] So ed. 1633.--The 4to gives "blinks."

     [39] A piece of whalebone, steel, or wood worn down the front of
     the stays to keep them straight.

     [40] Rents, cracks.

     [41] "Truss my hose" = tie the tagged laces of my breeches.

     [42] Hurl violently.

     [43] Old eds. "_Exeunt_ ANT. _and_
     ALB."

     [44] Common, worthless.--The use of "modern" in this sense is
     frequently found, and was sanctioned by Shakespeare; but it did
     not escape Ben Jonson's censure in _The Poetaster_, v. i.:--
          "Alas! that were no _modern_ consequence
          To have cothurnal buskins frightened hence."

     [45] "The old cut" = the old fashion. So Nashe in the epistle
     dedicatory prefixed to _Strange News of the Intercepting
     Certain Letters_, 1593:--"You are amongst grave Doctors and
     men of judgment in both laws every day. I pray ask them the
     question in my absence whether such a man as I have described
     this epistler to be ... that hath made many proper rhymes of the
     _old cut_ in his days," &c.

     [46] Old eds. "_Exit_ ALB."

     [47] "Jaques in _As You Like It_, describing his own
     melancholy, says it is extracted from many objects, and that the
     contemplation of his travels often wraps him in a most humorous
     sadness: on which Rosalind observes--'A traveller! by my faith
     you have great reason to be sad!'"--_Dilke._

     [48] The Puritans' short starched ruffs were constantly
     ridiculed. See Middleton's _Works_, viii. 69.

     [49] A bottle for sprinkling perfumes.

     [50] Probably an actor who had gone blind; but I can find no
     information about him.




                           THE PROLOGUE.


  The wreath of pleasure and delicious sweets,
  Begirt the gentle front of this fair troop!
  Select and most respected auditors,
  For wit's sake do not dream of miracles.
  Alas! we shall but falter, if you lay
  The least sad weight of an unusèd hope
  Upon our weakness; only we give up
  The worthless present of slight idleness
  To your authentic censure. O! that our Muse
  Had those abstruse and sinewy faculties,                         10
  That, with a strain of fresh invention,
  She might press out the rarity of Art;
  The pur'st elixèd juice of rich conceit
  In your attentive ears; that with the lip
  Of gracious elocution we might drink
  A sound carouse into your health of wit.
  But O! the heavy[51] dryness of her brain,
  Foil to your fertile spirits, is asham'd
  To breathe her blushing numbers to such ears.
  Yet (most ingenious) deign to veil our wants;                    20
  With sleek acceptance polish these rude scenes;
  And if our slightness your large hope beguiles,
  Check not with bended brow, but dimpled smiles.

                                                    [_Exit_ Prologue.


     [51] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "heathy."




                          THE FIRST PART

                                 OF

                       ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.




                              ACT I.


                             SCENE I.

                       _Neighbourhood of Venice._

                 _The cornets sound a battle within._

             _Enter_ ANTONIO, _disguised like an Amazon_.

  _Ant._ Heart, wilt not break? and thou abhorrèd life,
  Wilt thou still breathe in my enragèd blood?
  Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not,
  Burst and divulst with anguish of my grief?
  Can man by no means creep out of himself,
  And leave the slough of viperous grief behind?
  Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea,
  As horrid as the hideous day of doom,
  Betwixt thy father, Duke of Genoa,
  And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince:                            10
  In which the sea hath swoln with Genoa's blood,
  And made spring-tides with the warm reeking gore,
  That gush'd from out our galleys' scupper-holes?
  In which thy father, poor Andrugio,
  Lies sunk, or leap'd into the arms of chance,
  Choked with the labouring ocean's brackish foam;
  Who, even despite Piero's canker'd hate,
  Would with an armèd hand have seized thy love,
  And link'd thee to the beauteous Mellida.
  Have I outlived the death of all these hopes?                    20
  Have I felt anguish pour'd into my heart,
  Burning like balsamum in tender wounds!
  And yet dost live! Could not the fretting sea
  Have roll'd me up in wrinkles of his brow?
  Is death grown coy, or grim confusion nice,
  That it will not accompany a wretch,
  But I must needs be cast on Venice' shore,
  And try new fortunes with this strange disguise
  To purchase my adorèd Mellida?

                              [_The cornets sound a flourish; cease._

  Hark how Piero's triumphs beat the air!                          30
  O, rugged mischief, how thou grat'st my heart!--
  Take spirit, blood; disguise, be confident;
  Make a firm stand; here rests the hope of all:
  Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.

  _The cornets sound a senet. Enter_ FELICHE _and_ ALBERTO, CASTILIO
    _and_ FOROBOSCO, _a_ Page _carrying a shield_; PIERO _in armour_;
    CATZO _and_ DILDO _and_ BALURDO. _All these_ (_saving_ PIERO)
    _armed with petronels_.[52] _Being entered, they make a stand in
    divided files_.

  _Pier._ Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand,
  Hurleth my glory 'bout this ball of earth,
  Whilst the Venetian Duke is heavèd up
  On wings of fair success, to overlook
  The low-cast ruins of his enemies,
  To see myself adored and Genoa quake;                            40
  My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.

  _Feli._ Stand; the ground trembleth.

  _Pier._ Ha! an earthquake?

  _Bal._ O! I smell a sound.

  _Feli._ Piero, stay, for I descry a fume
  Creeping from out the bosom of the deep,
  The breath of darkness, fatal when 'tis wist
  In greatness' stomach. This same smoke, call'd pride,
  Take heed: she'll lift thee to improvidence,
  And break thy neck from steep security;                          50
  She'll make thee grudge to let Jehovah share
  In thy successful battles. O! she's ominous;
  Enticeth princes to devour heaven,
  Swallow omnipotence, out-stare dread fate,
  Subdue eternity in giant thought;
  Heaves[53] up their heart[54] with swelling, puff'd conceit,
  Till their souls burst with venom'd arrogance.
  Beware, Piero; Rome itself hath tried,
  Confusion's train blows up this Babel pride.

  _Pier._ Pish! _Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi._[55]       60
  Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fix'd decree
  Unto the Genoan ambassador?
  Are they content, if that their Duke return,
  To send his and his son Antonio's head,
  As pledges steep'd in blood, to gain their peace?

  _Alb._ With most obsequious sleek-brow'd entertain,
  They all embrace it as most gracious.

  _Pier._ Are proclamations sent through Italy,
  That whosoever brings Andrugio's head,
  Or young Antonio's, shall be guerdonèd                           70
  With twenty thousand double pistolets,
  And be endearèd to Piero's love?

  _Foro._ They are sent every way: sound policy,
  Sweet lord.

  _Feli._ [_Aside._] Confusion to these limber sycophants!
  No sooner mischiefs born in regency,
  But flattery christens it with policy.[56]

  _Pier._ Why, then,--_O me coelitum excelsissimum!_
  The intestine malice and inveterate hate
  I always bore to that Andrugio,                                  80
  Glories in triumph o'er his misery;
  Nor shall that carpet-boy[57] Antonio
  Match with my daughter, sweet-cheek'd Mellida.
  No; the public power makes my faction strong.

  _Feli._ Ill, when public power strength'neth private wrong.

  _Pier._ 'Tis horse-like not for man to know his force.

  _Feli._ 'Tis god-like for a man to feel remorse.[58]

  _Pier._ Pish! I prosecute my family's revenge,
  Which I'll pursue with such a burning chase,
  Till I have dried up all Andrugio's blood;                       90
  Weak rage, that with slight pity is withstood.--

                                     [_The cornets sound a flourish._

  What means that fresh triumphal flourish sound?

  _Alb._ The prince of Milan, and young Florence' heir,
  Approach to gratulate your victory.

  _Pier._ We'll girt them with an ample waste of love.
  Conduct them to our presence royally;
  Let vollies of the great artillery
  From off our galleys' banks[59] play prodigal,
  And sound loud welcome from their bellowing mouths.

                                             [_Exeunt all but_ PIERO.

  _The cornets sound a senet. Enter above_, MELLIDA, ROSSALINE,
    _and_ FLAVIA. _Enter below_, GALEATZO _with Attendants_; PIERO
    _meeteth him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish_;
    PIERO _and_ GALEATZO _exeunt; the rest stand still_.

  _Mel._ What prince was that passed through my father's guard?   100

  _Fla._ 'Twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.

  _Ros._ Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead;
  Enter the walls, i'faith (sweet Mellida),
  If that thy flankers be not cannon-proof.

  _Mel._ O, Mary Ambree,[60] good, thy judgment, wench?
  Thy bright election's clear:[61] what will he prove?

  _Ros._ Hath a short finger and a naked chin,
  A skipping eye; dare lay my judgment (faith)
  His love is glibbery;[62] there's no hold on't, wench.
  Give me a husband whose aspect is firm;                         110
  A full-cheek'd gallant with a bouncing thigh:
  O, he is the _Paradizo dell madonne contento_.

  _Mel._ Even such a one was my Antonio.

                                        [_The cornets sound a senet._

  _Ros._ By my nine and thirtieth servant, sweet,
  Thou art in love; but stand on tiptoe,[63] fair;
  Here comes Saint Tristram Tirlery Whiffe, i'faith.

  _Enter_ MATZAGENTE; PIERO _meets him, embraceth; at which the
    cornets sound a flourish: they two stand, using seeming
    compliments, whilst the scene passeth above_.

  _Mel._ St. Mark, St. Mark! what kind of thing appears?

  _Ros._ For fancy's passion, spit upon him! Fie,
  His face is varnish'd. In the name of love,
  What country bred that creature?

  _Mel._ What is he, Flavia?                                      120

  _Fla._ The heir of Milan, Signior Matzagente.

  _Ros._ Matzagente! now, by my pleasure's hope,
  He is made like a tilting-staff; and looks
  For all the world like an o'er-roasted pig:
  A great tobacco-taker too, that's flat;
  For his eyes look as if they had been hung
  In the smoke of his nose.

  _Mel._ What husband will he prove, sweet Rossaline?

  _Ros._ Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg,
  A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard;                    130
  And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet;
  For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,
  A thin lip, and a little monkish eye.
  'Precious! what a slender waist he hath!
  He looks like a may-pole,[64] or a notched stick;
  He'll snap in two at every little strain.
  Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,
  Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense;
  Fools relish not a lady's excellence.

  [_Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a
    flourish, and a peal of shot is given._

  _Mel._ The triumph's ended; but look, Rossaline!                140
  What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65]
  Walks on the pavement?

  _Ros._ Good sweet, let's to her; prithee, Mellida.

  _Mel._ How covetous thou art of novelties!

  _Ros._ Pish! 'tis our nature to desire things
  That are thought strangers to the common cut.

  _Mel._ I am exceeding willing, but----

  _Ros._ But what? prithee, go down; let's see her face:
  God send that neither wit nor beauty wants,
  Those tempting sweets, affection's adamants.                    150

                                                           [_Exeunt._

  _Ant._ Come down: she comes like--O, no simile
  Is precious, choice, or elegant enough
  To illustrate her descent! Leap heart, she comes!
  She comes! smile heaven, and softest southern wind
  Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath.
  She comes! creation's purity, admir'd,
  Ador'd amazing rarity, she comes!
  O, now, Antonio, press thy spirit forth
  In following passion, knit thy senses close,
  Heap up thy powers, double all thy man.                         160

             _Enter_ MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, _and_ FLAVIA.

  She comes!
  O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart!
  Mount blood! soul to my lips! taste Hebe's cup:
  Stand firm on deck, when beauty's close fight's[66] up.

  _Mel._ Lady, your strange habit doth beget
  Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,
  To be acquaint with your condition.

  _Ros._ Good, sweet lady, without more ceremonies,
  What country claims your birth? and, sweet, your name?

  _Ant._ In hope your bounty will extend itself                   170
  In self-same nature of fair courtesy,
  I'll shun all niceness; my name's Florizell,
  My country Scythia; I am Amazon,
  Cast on this shore by fury of the sea.

  _Ros._ Nay, faith, sweet creature, we'll not veil our names.
  It pleas'd the font to dip me Rossaline;
  That lady bears the name of Mellida,
  The Duke of Venice' daughter.

  _Ant._ Madam, I am oblig'd to kiss your hand,
  By imposition of a now dead man.                                180

                                   [_To_ MELLIDA, _kissing her hand_.

  _Ros._ Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought,
  To know the man; sweet beauty, deign his name.

  _Ant._ Lady, the circumstance is tedious.

  _Ros._ Troth, not a whit; good fair, let's have it all:
  I love not, I, to have a jot left out,
  If the tale come from a loved orator.

  _Ant._ Vouchsafe me, then, your hush'd observances.--
  Vehement in pursuit of strange novelties,
  After long travel through the Asian main,
  I shipp'd my hopeful thoughts for Brittany;[67]                 190
  Longing to view great Nature's miracle,
  The glory of our sex, whose fame doth strike
  Remotest ears with adoration.
  Sailing some two months with inconstant winds,
  We view'd the glistering Venetian forts,
  To which we made: when lo! some three leagues off,
  We might descry a horrid spectacle;
  The issue of black fury strew'd the sea
  With tatter'd carcasses of splitted ships,
  Half sinking, burning, floating topsy-turvy.                    200
  Not far from these sad ruins of fell rage,
  We might behold a creature press the waves;
  Senseless he sprawl'd, all notch'd with gaping wounds.
  To him we made, and (short) we took him up;
  The first thing he spake was,--Mellida!
  And then he swooned.[68]

  _Mel._ Ay me!

  _Ant._ Why sigh you, fair?

  _Mel._[69] Nothing but little humours; good sweet, on.

  _Ant._ His wounds being dress'd, and life recoverèd,
  We 'gan discourse; when lo! the sea grew mad,
  His bowels rumbling with wind-passion;                          210
  Straight swarthy darkness popp'd out Phoebus' eye,
  And blurr'd the jocund face of bright-cheek'd day;
  Whilst crudled[70] fogs masked even darkness' brow:
  Heaven bad's good night, and the rocks groan'd
  At the intestine uproar of the main.
  Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
  Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
  Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
  Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred[71] paunch
  Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck;              220
  Which in an instant up was belkt again.
  When thus this martyr'd soul began to sigh:
  "Give me your hand (quoth he): now do you grasp
  Th' unequall'd[72] mirror of ragg'd misery:
  Is't not a horrid storm? O, well-shaped sweet,
  Could your quick eye strike through these gashèd wounds,
  You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,
  Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.
  Wolt[73] do me a favour? if thou chance survive,
  But visit Venice, kiss the precious white                       230
  Of my most,--nay, all epithets are base
  To attribute to gracious Mellida:
  Tell her the spirit of Antonio
  Wisheth his last gasp breath'd upon her breast."

  _Ros._ Why weeps soft-hearted Florizell?

  _Ant._ Alas, the flinty rocks groan'd at his plaints.
  "Tell her, (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
  Hath crack'd his bosom;" therewithal he wept,
  And thus sigh'd on: "The sea is merciful;
  Look how it gapes to bury all my grief!                         240
  Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb:
  My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe;
  Die, unmatch'd anguish, die, Antonio!"
  With that he totter'd from the reeling deck,
  And down he sunk.

  _Ros._ Pleasure's body! what makes my Lady weep?

  _Mel._ Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air's sharp[74]--
  My father's palace, Madam, will be proud
  To entertain your presence, if you'll deign
  To make repose within. Ay me!                                   250

  _Ant._ Lady, our fashion is not curious.[75]

  _Ros._ 'Faith, all the nobler, 'tis more generous.

  _Mel._ Shall I then know how fortune fell at last,
  What succour came, or what strange fate ensued?

  _Ant._ Most willingly: but this same court is vast,
  And public to the staring multitude.

  _Ros._ Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth
  We'll be bedfellows: dirt on compliment froth![76]

                     [_Exeunt_; ROSSALINE _giving_ ANTONIO _the way_.


     [52] Carbines.

     [53] Ed. 1633 "Heavens."

     [54] Old eds. "hurt."

     [55] Senec. _Thyestes_, 888.

     [56] "Christens it with policy" = dignifies it with the title of
     policy.

     [57] A term of contempt, like "carpet-knight," for an effeminate
     gallant "who never charged beyond a mistress' lips."

     [58] Pity.

     [59] The rowers' benches.

     [60] The famous Amazon, whose "valorous acts performed at Gaunt"
     (Ghent), circ. 1584, are celebrated in a fine old ballad. The
     name was commonly applied to any woman of spirit.

     [61] "Thy bright election's clear" = you are a woman of keen
     perception.

     [62] A favourite word with Marston. It is ridiculed by Ben Jonson
     in _The Poetaster_, v. 1:--
          "What, shall thy lubrical and _glibbery_ muse
          Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews?"

     [63] Old eds. "tiptoed."

     [64] It was a common form of abuse to compare a person to a
     may-pole. Hermia, railing at Helena, addresses her as "thou
     painted may-pole" (_Midsummer Night's Dream_, iii. 2).

     [65] Accoutrements.--Elsewhere Marston has the original French
     form "accoustrements," which is also found in Spenser.

     [66] "_Close fight_ is an old sea-term. 'A ship's _close
     fights_ are small ledges of wood laid cross one another, like
     the grates of iron in a prison window, betwixt the main-mast and
     fore-mast, and are called gratings or nettings.' Smith's _Sea
     Grammar_, 1627."--_Halliwell._

     [67] The form "Brittany," for "Britain," is not uncommon. Marlowe
     uses it in _Edward II._, ii. 2. l. 42; and I have restored
     it, _metri causa_, in the prologue to the _Jew of
     Malta_, l. 29.

     [68] Ed. 1633 "swounded."

     [69] Old eds. "_Ros._"

     [70] Thick, curdled.

     [71] Cleft, rifted.

     [72] Old eds. "unequal," which Dilke explains to mean "the
     partial and unjust representative"--an explanation which I wholly
     fail to understand. Later in the present play (p. 42, l. 309) we
     have "_unmatch'd mirrors_ of calamity."

     [73] Wilt.

     [74] Dilke quotes appositely from _Richard II._:--
            "_Rich._ And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?
            _Aum._ 'Faith none by me: except _the north-east wind_,
          Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
          _Awak'd the sleepy rheum_; and so, by chance,
          Did grace our hollow parting with a tear."

     [75] "Our fashion is not curious," _i.e._, Amazons do not
     stand on ceremony.

     [76] Rossaline, seeing Antonio make way for her to pass, insists
     on giving him precedence. "No empty compliments! take the lead."




                              ACT II.


                             SCENE I.

                  _Palace of the Duke of Venice._

    _Enter_ CATZO, _with a capon eating_; DILDO _following him_.

  _Dil._ Hah, Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher:
  do you hear?
  Balurdo calls for your diminutive attendance.

  _Cat._ The belly hath no ears,[77] Dildo.

  _Dil._ Good pug,[78] give me some capon.

  _Cat._ No capon, no not a bit, ye smooth bully;[78]
  capon's no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibbery urchin,
  is food for infants.

  _Dil._ Upon mine honour.

  _Cat._ Your honour with a paugh! 'slid, now every jackanapes
  loads his back with the golden coat of honour;
  every ass puts on the lion's skin and roars his honour.
  Upon your honour? By my lady's pantable,[79] I fear I shall
  live to hear a vintner's boy cry, "'Tis rich neat canary."
  Upon my honour!                                                  14

  _Dil._ My stomach's up.

  _Cat._ I think thou art hungry.

  _Dil._ The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the
  linstock[80] of rage, and will presently set fire to the touch-hole
  of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of
  my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech.

  _Cat._ I'll stop the barrel thus: good Dildo, set not fire
  to the touch-hole.                                               22

  _Dil._ My rage is stopp'd, and I will eat to the health
  of the fool, thy master Castilio.

  _Cat._ And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the
  health of the idiot, thy master Balurdo.

  _Dil._ Faith, our masters are like a case[81] of rapiers
  sheathed in one scabbard of folly.

  _Cat._ Right Dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at
  the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from
  the ship-sides, to view our masters pluck their plumes
  and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark.          32

  _Dil._ 'Slud (cried Signior Balurdo), O for Don
  Rosicleer's[82] armour, in the _Mirror of Knighthood_! what
  coil's here? O for an armour, cannon-proof! O, more
  cable, more featherbeds![83] more featherbeds, more cable!
  till he had as much as my cable-hatband[84] to fence
  him.

           _Enter_ FLAVIA _in haste, with a rebato_.[85]

  _Cat._ Buxom Flavia, can you sing? song, song!

  _Fla._ My sweet Dildo, I am not for you at this time:
  Madam Rossaline stays for a fresh ruff to appear in the
  presence: sweet, away.                                           41

  _Dil._ 'Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark-eyed,
  sleek-skinn'd, slender-waisted, clean-legg'd, rarely-shaped--

  _Fla._ Who? I'll be at all your service another season:
  my faith, there's reason in all things.

  _Dil._ Would I were reason then, that I might be in all
  things.

  _Cat._ The breve and the semiquaver is, we must have
  the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.

  _Fla._ Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly.             51

  _Cat._ Troth not a wit, if you seem to come off quickly.

  _Fla._ Pert Catzo, knock[86] it lustily then.

                                                           [_A song._

  _Enter_ FOROBOSCO, _with two torches_: CASTILIO _singing
    fantastically_; ROSSALINE _running a coranto[87] pace, and_
    BALURDO; FELICHE _following, wondering at them all_.

  _Foro._ Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches;
  the prince approacheth the presence.

  _Dil._ What squeaking cart-wheel have we here? ha!
  "Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches; the prince
  approacheth the presence."

  _Ros._ Faugh, what a strong scent's here! somebody
  useth to wear socks.                                             60

  _Bal._ By this fair candle light, 'tis not my feet; I never
  wore socks since I sucked pap.

  _Ros._ Savourly put off.

  _Cast._ Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galls off the skin
  with the tart acrimony of her sharp quickness: by sweetness,
  she is the very Pallas that flew out of Jupiter's
  brainpan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe me your service:
  by the purity of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage.

  _Ros._ I vouchsafe it; be my slave.--Signior Balurdo,
  wilt thou be my servant, too?                                    70

  _Bal._ O God,[88] forsooth in very good earnest, law, you
  would make me as a man should say, as a man should
  say--

  _Feli._ 'Slud, sweet beauty, will you deign him your
  service?

  _Ros._ O, your fool is your only servant. But, good
  Feliche, why art thou so sad? a penny for thy thought,
  man.

  _Feli._ I sell not my thought so cheap: I value my
  meditation at a higher rate.                                     80

  _Bal._ In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should
  have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson satin
  that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence
  halfpenny a yard, that you should, law!

  _Ros._ What was thy thought, good servant?

  _Bal._ Marry forsooth, how many strike of pease would
  feed a hog fat against Christtide.

  _Ros._ Paugh! [_she spits_] servant,[89] rub out my rheum, it
  soils the presence.

  _Cast._ By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoe
  with an unmeasured honour: I will preserve the sole of
  it, as a most sacred relic for this service.                     92

  _Ros._ I'll spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.

  _Feli._ [_Aside._] O that the stomach of this queasy age
  Digests, or brooks such raw unseasoned gobs,
  And vomits not them forth! O! slavish sots!
  Servant, quoth you? faugh! if a dog should crave
  And beg her service, he should have it straight:
  She'd give him favours too, to lick her feet,
  Or fetch her fan, or some such drudgery:                        100
  A good dog's office, which these amorists
  Triumph of: 'tis rare, well give her more ass,
  More sot, as long as dropping of her nose
  Is sworn rich pearl by such low slaves as those.

  _Ros._ Flavia, attend me to attire me.

                                    [_Exeunt_ ROSSALINE _and_ FLAVIA.

  _Bal._ In sad good earnest, sir, you have touched the
  very bare of naked truth; my silk stocking hath a good
  gloss, and I thank my planets, my leg is not altogether
  unpropitiously shaped. There's a word: unpropitiously?
  I think I shall speak unpropitiously as well as any courtier
  in Italy.                                                       111

  _Foro._ So help me your sweet bounty, you have the
  most graceful presence, applausive elecuty, amazing volubility,
  polish'd adornation, delicious affability.

  _Feli._ Whoop: fut, how he tickles yon trout under the
  gills! you shall see him take him by and by with groping
  flattery.

  _Foro._ That ever ravish'd the ear of wonder. By your
  sweet self, than whom I know not a more exquisite, illustrate,
  accomplished, pure, respected, adored, observed,
  precious, real,[90] magnanimous, bounteous--if you have
  an idle rich cast jerkin, or so, it shall not be cast away,
  if--ha! here's a forehead, an eye, a head, a hair, that
  would make a--: or if you have any spare pair of silver
  spurs, I'll do you as much right in all kind offices--

  _Feli._ [_Aside._] Of a kind parasite.

  _Foro._ As any of my mean fortunes shall be able to.

  _Bal._ As I am true Christian now, thou hast won the
  spurs.

  _Feli._ [_Aside._] For flattery.                                130
  O how I hate that same Egyptian louse,
  A rotten maggot, that lives by stinking filth
  Of tainted spirits! vengeance to such dogs,
  That sprout by gnawing senseless carrion!

                         _Enter_ ALBERTO.

  _Alb._ Gallants, saw you my mistress, the lady Rossaline?

  _Foro._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, left the presence
  even now.

  _Cast._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her
  gracious aspect even now.

  _Bal._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her
  gracious aspect even now.                                       141

  _Feli._ [_Aside._] Well said, echo.

  _Alb._ My mistress, and his mistress, and your mistress,
  and the dog's mistress. Precious dear heaven, that
  Alberto lives to have such rivals!--
  'Slid, I have been searching every private room,
  Corner, and secret angle of the court:
  And yet, and yet, and yet she lives conceal'd.
  Good sweet Feliche, tell me how to find
  My bright-faced mistress out.                                   150

  _Feli._ Why man, cry out for lanthorn and candle-light:[91]
  for 'tis your only way, to find your bright-flaming wench
  with your light-burning torch: for most commonly, these
  light creatures live in darkness.

  _Alb._ Away, you heretic, you'll be burnt for----

  _Feli._ Go, you amorous hound, follow the scent of your
  mistress' shoe; away!

  _Foro._ Make a fair presence; boys, advance your lights;
  the princess makes approach.

  _Bal._ And please the gods, now in very good deed,
  law, you shall see me tickle the measures for the heavens.
  Do my hangers[92] show?                                         162

  _Enter_ PIERO, ANTONIO, MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE,
    ALBERTO, _and_ FLAVIA. _As they enter_, FELICHE _and_ CASTILIO
    _make a rank for the_ DUKE _to pass through_. FOROBOSCO _ushers
    the_ DUKE _to his state_:[93] _then, whilst_ PIERO _speaketh his
    first speech,_ MELLIDA _is taken by_ GALEATZO _and_ MATZAGENTE _to
    dance, they supporting her_: ROSSALINE, _in like manner, by_
    ALBERTO _and_ BALURDO: FLAVIA, _by_ FELICHE _and_ CASTILIO.

  _Pier._ Beauteous Amazon, sit and seat your thoughts
  In the reposure of most soft content.
  Sound music there! Nay, daughter, clear your eyes,
  From these dull fogs of misty discontent:
  Look sprightly, girl. What? though Antonio's drown'd,--
  That peevish dotard on thy excellence,
  That hated issue of Andrugio,--
  Yet may'st thou triumph in my victories;                        170
  Since, lo, the high-born bloods of Italy
  Sue for thy seat of love.--Let[94] music sound!
  Beauty and youth run descant on love's ground.[95]

  _Mat._ Lady, erect your gracious symmetry,
  Shine in the sphere of sweet affection:
  Your eye['s] as heavy, as the heart of night.

  _Mel._ My thoughts are as black as your beard; my
  fortunes as ill-proportioned as your legs; and all the
  powers of my mind as leaden as your wit, and as dusty
  as your face is swarthy.                                        180

  _Gal._ Faith, sweet, I'll lay thee on the lips for that jest.

  _Mel._ I prithee intrude not on a dead man's right.

  _Gal._ No, but the living's just possession:
  Thy lips and love are mine.

  _Mel._ You ne'er took seizin on them yet: forbear.
  There's not a vacant corner of my heart,
  But all is fill'd with dead Antonio's loss.
  Then urge no more; O leave to love at all;
  'Tis less disgraceful not to mount than fall.

  _Mat._ Bright and refulgent lady, deign your ear:               190
  You see this blade,--had it a courtly lip,
  It would divulge my valour, plead my love,
  Justle that skipping feeble amorist
  Out of your love's seat; I am Matzagent.

  _Gal._ Hark thee; I pray thee, taint not thy sweet ear
  With that sot's gabble; by thy beauteous cheek,
  He is the flagging'st bulrush that e'er droop'd
  With each slight mist of rain. But with pleased eye
  Smile on my courtship.

  _Mel._ What said you, sir? alas my thought was fix'd            200
  Upon another object. Good, forbear:
  I shall but weep. Ay me, what boots a tear!
  Come, come, let's dance. O music, thou distill'st
  More sweetness in us than this jarring world:
  Both time and measure from thy strains do breathe,
  Whilst from the channel of this dirt doth flow
  Nothing but timeless grief, unmeasured woe.

  _Ant._ O how impatience cramps my crackèd veins
  And cruddles thick my blood, with boiling rage!
  O eyes, why leap you not like thunderbolts,                     210
  Or cannon bullets in my rival's face!
  _Ohime infeliche misero, O lamentevol fato!_

  _Alb._ What means the lady fall upon the ground?

  _Ros._ Belike the falling sickness.

  _Ant._ I cannot brook this sight, my thoughts grow wild:
  Here lies a wretch, on whom heaven never smiled.

  _Ros._ What, servant, ne'er a word, and I here man?
  I would shoot some speech forth, to strike the time
  With pleasing touch of amorous compliment.
  Say, sweet, what keeps thy mind, what think'st thou on?         220

  _Alb._ Nothing.

  _Ros._ What's that nothing?

  _Alb._ A woman's constancy.

  _Ros._ Good, why, would'st thou have us sluts, and never shift
  The vesture of our thoughts? Away for shame.

  _Alb._ O no, th'art too constant to afflict my heart,
  Too too firm fixèd in unmovèd scorn.

  _Ros._ Pish, pish; I fixed in unmovèd scorn!
  Why, I'll love thee to-night.

  _Alb._ But whom to-morrow?

  _Ros._ Faith, as the toy puts me in the head.

  _Bal._ And pleased the marble heavens, now would I
  might be the toy, to put you in the head, kindly to conceit
  my--my--my--pray you, give in an epithet for love.

  _Feli._ Roaring, roaring.                                       232

  _Bal._[96] O love, thou hast murder'd me, made me a
  shadow, and you hear not Balurdo, but Balurdo's ghost.

  _Ros._ Can a ghost speak?

  _Bal._ Scurvily, as I do.

  _Ros._ And walk?

  _Bal._ After their fashion.

  _Ros._ And eat apples?

  _Bal._ In a sort, in their garb.                                240

  _Feli._ Prithee, Flavia, be my mistress.

  _Fla._ Your reason, good Feliche?

  _Feli._ Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I
  not much disdain that thou should'st make up the full
  score.

  _Fla._ O, I hear you make commonplaces of your mistresses
  to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in
  ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith,
  now they are new dyed, pink'd, and scoured, they show
  as well as if they were new. What, mute, Balurdo?               250

  _Feli._ Ay, in faith, and 'twere not for printing, and
  painting, my breech and your face would be out of
  reparation.[97]

  _Bal._ Ay, in[98] faith, and 'twere not for printing, and
  painting,[99] my breech and your face would be out of
  reparation.

  _Feli._ Good again, Echo.

  _Fla._ Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected.

  _Feli._ And thou, by art, too fair to be beloved.
  By wit's life, most spark spirits, but hard chance.
  _La ty dine._                                                   261

  _Pier._ Gallants, the night grows old; and downy sleep
  Courts us to entertain his company:
  Our tirèd limbs, bruis'd in the morning fight,
  Entreat soft rest, and gentle hush'd repose.
  Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cressit-light:[100]
  We'll have a banquet: Princes, then good-night.

                 [_The cornets sound a senet, and the_ DUKE _goes out
                  in state_. _As they are going out_, ANTONIO _stays_
                  MELLIDA: _the rest exeunt_.

  _Ant._ What means these scatter'd looks? why tremble you?
  Why quake your thoughts in your distracted eyes?
  Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see?                   270
  Dost not behold a ghost?
  Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief,
  Darting his soul upon thy wond'ring eyes.
  Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out
  His wretched arms to gird thy loved waist,
  With a most wish'd embrace: see'st him not yet?
  Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well may'st err:
  For look, he walks not like Antonio:
  Like that Antonio, that this morning shone
  In glistering habiliments of arms,                              280
  To seize his love, spite of her father's spite:
  But like himself, wretched, and miserable,
  Banish'd, forlorn, despairing, strook quite through,
  With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles
  Of plagues [un]vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee.

  _Mel._ Alas, I cannot hear, nor see him.

  _Ant._ Why? all this night about the room he stalk'd,
  And groan'd, and howl'd, with raging passion,
  To view his love (life-blood of all his hopes,
  Crown of his fortune) clipp'd by strangers' arms.               290
  Look but behind thee.

  _Mel._ O Antonio!
  My lord, my love, my----

  _Ant._ Leave passion, sweet; for time, place, air, and earth,
  Are all our foes: fear, and be jealous; fair,
  Let's fly.

  _Mel._ Dear heart, ha, whither?

  _Ant._ O, 'tis no matter whither, but let's fly.
  Ha! now I think on't, I have ne'er a home,
  No father, friend, or country to embrace
  These wretched limbs: the world, the all that is,               300
  Is all my foe: a prince not worth a doit:
  Only my head is hoisèd to high rate,
  Worth twenty thousand double pistolets,
  To him that can but strike it from these shoulders.
  But come, sweet creature, thou shalt be my home;
  My father, country, riches, and my friend,
  My all, my soul; and thou and I will live,--
  Let's think like what--and you and I will live
  Like unmatch'd mirrors of calamity.
  The jealous ear of night eave-drops our talk.                   310
  Hold thee, there's a jewel; and look thee, there's a note
  That will direct thee when, where, how to fly.
  Bid me adieu.

  _Mel._ Farewell, bleak misery!

  _Ant._ Stay, sweet, let's kiss before you go!

  _Mel._ Farewell, dear soul!

  _Ant._ Farewell, my life, my heart!

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [77] A proverbial expression: gastêr ôtas ouk echei.

     [78] A familiar form of address.

     [79] Slipper.

     [80] The stick which held the gunner's match.

     [81] "Case of rapiers"--pair of rapiers.

     [82] All the editions give "Bessicler's;" but this is evidently a
     misprint. Rosicleer was the brother of the Knight of the Sun, and
     he figures prominently in the group of romances published under
     the _Mirror of Knighthood_ (7 pts., 1583-1601). He had an
     excellent suit of armour, which proved very serviceable in his
     combats with giants.

     [83] Dilke, in 1814, says that featherbeds were still used to
     protect the men from the fire of the enemy. As to the use of
     cables I refer the reader to Sir William Monson's _Naval
     Tracts_ (_Collection of Voyages and Travels_,
     1704, iii. 358), where in the directions "How to preserve the men
     in fighting" it is stated:--"I prefer the coiling of cables on
     the deck, and keeping part of the men within them...; for the
     soldiers are in and out speedily upon all sudden occasions to
     succour any part of the ship, or to enter an enemy, without
     trouble to the sailors in handling their sails or to the gunners
     in playing their ordnance."

     [84] A twisted band worn round the hat. In _Every Man out of
     his Humour_ (1599), the "cable-hatband" is mentioned as a
     novelty of the latest fashion:--"I had on a gold cable hat-band
     _then new come up_."

     [85] Ruff, falling-band.

     [86] "So in _King Henry VIII._:--
          'Let the music knock it.'"--_Dilke._

     [87] A quick lively dance.

     [88] "The exclamation was too fashionable in the time of Marston
     for those who had nothing else to say; and is ridiculed by Ben
     Jonson in the character of Orange in _Every Man out of his
     Humour_, as 'O Lord, sir,' is by Shakespeare in _All's Well
     that Ends Well_. Orange is thus described:--''Tis as dry an
     Orange as ever grew: nothing but salutation; and, O God, sir;
     and, it please you to say so, sir.'"--_Dilke._

     [89] Lover, suitor.

     [90] Regal, noble.--In the address "To those that seem judicial
     observers" prefixed to the _Scourge of Villainy_, Marston
     ridicules Ben Jonson (under the name of Torquatus) for
     introducing "new-minted epithets, as _real_, intrinsecate,
     Delphic."

     [91] "Lanthorn and candle-light"--the bellman's cry.

     [92] Loops or straps (fastened to the girdle) in which the rapier
     was suspended.

     [93] Throne, chair of dignity.

     [94] "Let music sound!" is printed as a stage-direction in the
     old copies.

     [95] Musical term for an air on which variations or divisions
     were to be made.

     [96] The words "O love ... Balurdo's ghost" are given to Feliche
     in old eds.

     [97] There is the same joke in the _Merry Jests of George
     Peele_, 1627:--"George used often to an ordinary in this town,
     where a kinswoman of the good wife's in the house held a great
     pride and vain opinion of her own mother-wit; for her tongue was
     a jack continually wagging.... Now this titmouse, what she
     scanted by nature, she doth replenish by art, as her boxes of red
     and white daily can testify. But to come to George, who arrived
     at the ordinary among other gallants, throws his cloak upon the
     table, salutes the gentlemen, and presently calls for a cup of
     canary. George had a pair of hose on, that for some offence durst
     not to be seen in that hue they were first dyed in, but from his
     first colour being a youthful green, his long age turned him into
     a mournful black, and for his antiquity was in print. Which this
     busybody perceiving, thought now to give it him to the quick; and
     drawing near Master Peele, looking upon his breeches, 'By my
     troth, sir,' quoth she, 'these are exceedingly well printed.' At
     which word, George, being a little moved in his mind that his old
     hose were called in question, answered, 'And by my faith,
     mistress,' quoth George, 'your face is most damnably ill
     painted.' 'How mean you, sir?' quoth she. 'Marry thus, mistress,'
     quoth George, 'that if it were not for printing and painting, my
     arse and your face would grow out of reparations.'"

     [98] Old eds. "an."

     [99] Ed. 1602, "pointing."

     [100] See Dyce's _Shakesp. Gloss., s._ CRESSETS.




                             ACT III.


                             SCENE I.

                         _The sea-shore._

  _Enter_ ANDRUGIO _in armour_, LUCIO _with a shepherd's gown in his
                        hand, and a Page_.

  _And._ Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn that flakes
  With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?

  _Lu._ I think it is, so please your excellence.

  _And._ Away! I have no excellence to please.
  Prithee observe the custom of the world,
  That only flatters greatness, states exalts.
  And please my excellence! O Lucio,
  Thou hast been ever held respected dear,
  Even precious to Andrugio's inmost love.
  Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou giv'st not faith                 10
  That I am wretched, O read that, read that.

          PIERO SFORZA _to the_ Italian Princes, _fortune_.

  _Lu._ [reads] _EXCELLENT, the just overthrow_ ANDRUGIO
  _took in the Venetian gulf, hath so assured the Genoways
  of the [in]justice of his cause, and the hatefulness of his
  person, that they have banish'd him and all his family:
  and, for confirmation of their peace with us, have
  vowed, that if he or his son can be attached, to send
  us both their heads. We therefore, by force of our
  united league, forbid you to harbour him, or his blood:
  but if you apprehend his person, we entreat you to send
  him, or his head, to us. For we vow, by the honour
  of our blood, to recompense any man that bringeth his
  head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the
  endearing of our choicest love. From_ Venice: PIERO SFORZA.      24

  _And._ My thoughts are fix'd in contemplation
  Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,
  That eats her children, should not have eyes and ears.
  Philosophy maintains that Nature's wise,
  And forms no useless or unperfect thing.
  Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature?                  30
  For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man,
  Moulds me up honour; and, like a cunning Dutchman,
  Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,
  And gives a sot appearance of a soul.
  Go to, go to; thou liest, Philosophy.
  Nature forms things unperfect, useless, vain.
  Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears
  That she might see desert, and hear men's plaints?
  That when a soul is splitted, sunk with grief,
  He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth,                    40

                                  [_He throws himself on the ground._

  Exclaiming thus: O thou all-bearing earth,
  Which men do gape for, till thou cramm'st their mouths,
  And chokest their throats with dust; O chaune[101] thy breast,
  And let me sink into thee! Look who knocks;
  Andrugio calls.--But O, she's deaf and blind:
  A wretch but lean relief on earth can find.

  _Lu._ Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarm.
  Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,
  We are roll'd up upon the Venice marsh,
  Let's clip all fortune, lest more low'ring fate--                50

  _And._ More low'ring fate! O Lucio, choke that breath.
  Now I defy chance: Fortune's brow hath frown'd,
  Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend:
  Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests,
  What son, what comfort that she can deprive?
  Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow?
  Gapes not my native country for my blood?
  Lies not my son tomb'd in the swelling main?
  And yet more low'ring fate! There's nothing left
  Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio:                                     60
  And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take.
  Fortune my fortunes, not my mind, shall shake.

  _Lu._ Spoke[102] like yourself; but give me leave, my Lord,
  To wish your safety. If you are but seen,
  Your arms display you; therefore put them off,
  And take----.

  _And._ Would'st thou have me go unarm'd among my foes?
  Being besieg'd by passion, ent'ring lists,
  To combat with despair and mighty grief;
  My soul beleaguer'd with the crushing strength                   70
  Of sharp impatience? ha, Lucio, go unarm'd?
  Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth;
  Myself, myself will dare all opposites:[103]
  I'll muster forces, an unvanquish'd power:
  Cornets of horse shall press th' ungrateful earth;
  This hollow wombèd mass shall inly groan,
  And murmur to sustain the weight of arms:
  Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,
  Shall hurry on before, and usher us,
  Whilst trumpets clamour with a sound of death.                   80

  _Lu._ Peace, good my Lord, your speech is all too light.
  Alas, survey your fortunes, look what's left
  Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes:
  A weak old man, a page, and your poor self.

  _And._ Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms,--
  Why that's an army all invincible!
  He who hath that, hath a battalion royal,
  Armour of proof, huge troops of barbèd steeds,
  Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebush.
  O, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide;                     90
  Legions of angels fight upon her side.[104]

  _Lu._ Then, noble spirit, slide, in strange disguise,
  Unto some gracious Prince, and sojourn there,
  Till time and fortune give revenge firm means.

  _And._ No, I'll not trust the honour of a man.
  Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness
  A common waiter in most princes' courts:
  He's in the check-roll;[105] I'll not trust my blood;
  I know none breathing but will cog a die[106]
  For twenty thousand double pistolets.                           100
  How goes the time?

  _Lu._ I saw no sun to-day.[107]

  _And._ No sun will shine, where poor Andrugio breathes.
  My soul grows heavy: boy, let's have a song:
  We'll sing yet, faith, even in[108] despite of fate.

                                                           [_A song._

  _And._ 'Tis a good boy, and by my troth, well sung.
  O, and thou felt'st my grief, I warrant thee,
  Thou would'st have strook division[109] to the height,
  And made the life of music breathe: hold, boy; why so.
  For God's sake call me not Andrugio,
  That I may soon forget what I have been.                        110
  For heaven's name, name not Antonio,
  That I may not remember he was mine.
  Well, ere yon sun set, I'll show myself,
  Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that's all.
  No[110] matter whither, but from whence we fall.[111]

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [101] Open (Gr. chainô, chaunô). Cotgrave gives:--"To
     _chawne_,--se fendre, gercer, crevasser, crever, se jarcer."

     [102] Old eds. "Speake" (and "Speak").

     [103] "'The king enacts more wonders than a man,
             Daring an opposite to every danger.'
                                            _Richard III._"--_Dilke._

     [104] Cf. _Richard III._ (v. 3):--
             "God and good angels fight on Richmond's side."

     [105] Old eds. "Chekle-roule."

     [106] "Cog a die" = load a die.

     [107] Dilke compares _Richard III._ (v. 3):--
             "Who saw the sun to-day?
             _Rat._ Not I, my lord.
             _Rich._ Then he disdains to shine."

     [108] Omitted in ed. 1.

     [109] Variations in music.

     [110] The sentiment is from Seneca's _Thyestes_, l. 925:--
                         "Magis unde cadas
               Quam quo refert."

     [111] "The situation of Andrugio and Lucio resembles that of Lear
     and Kent, in that King's distresses. Andrugio, like Lear,
     manifests a kind of royal impatience, a turbulent greatness, an
     affected resignation. The enemies which he enters lists to
     combat, 'Despair, and mighty Grief, and sharp Impatience;' and
     the Forces ('Cornets of Horse,' &c.) which he brings to vanquish
     them, are in the boldest style of allegory. They are such a 'race
     of mourners' as 'the infection of sorrows loud' in the intellect
     might beget on 'some pregnant cloud' in the
     imagination."--_Charles Lamb._


                             SCENE II.

                  _Palace of the Duke of Venice._

                _Enter_ FELICHE _walking, unbraced_.

  _Feli._ Castilio, Alberto, Balurdo! none up?
  Forobosco! Flattery, nor thou up yet?
  Then there's no courtier stirring: that's firm truth?
  I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests
  In these court lodgings. I have walk'd all night,
  To see if the nocturnal court delights
  Could force me envy their felicity:
  And by plain troth, I will confess plain troth,
  I envy nothing but the travense[112] light.
  O, had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might                  10
  See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries.[113]
  O, if that candle-light were made a poet,
  He would prove a rare firking satirist,
  And draw the core forth of imposthum'd sin.
  Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content
  Can envy nothing, but poor candle-light.
  As for the other glistering copper spangs,
  That glisten in the tire of the court,
  Praise God, I either hate, or pity them.
  Well, here I'll sleep till that the scene of up                  20
  Is pass'd at court. O calm hush'd rich Content,
  Is there a being blessedness without thee?
  How soft thou down'st the couch where thou dost rest,
  Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast!

  _Enter_ CASTILIO _and his Page_ CATZO: CASTILIO _with a
    casting-bottle_[114] _of sweet water in his hand, sprinkling
    himself_.

  _Cast._ Am not I a most sweet youth now?

  _Cat._ Yes, when your throat's perfum'd; your very words
  Do smell of ambergris. O stay, sir, stay;
  Sprinkle some sweet water to your shoe's heels,
  That your mistress may swear you have a sweet foot.

  _Cast._ Good, very good, very passing[115] passing good.         30

  _Feli._ Fut, what treble minikin[116] squeaks there, ha?
  "good, very good, very very good!"

  _Cast._ I will warble to the delicious conclave of my
  mistress' ear: and strike her thoughts with the pleasing
  touch of my voice.

                                                           [_A song._

  _Cast._ Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine.

  _Feli._ To thee, my love divine.

  _Cast._ I drink to thee, sweeting.

  _Feli._ [_Aside._] Plague on thee for an ass!

  _Cast._ Now thou hast seen the court, by the perfection
  of it, dost not envy it?                                         41

  _Feli._ I wonder it doth not envy me. Why, man,
  I have been borne upon the spirit's wings,
  The soul's swift Pegasus, the fantasy:
  And from the height of contemplation,
  Have view'd the feeble joints men totter on.
  I envy none; but hate, or pity all.
  For when I view, with an intentive thought,
  That creature fair but proud; him rich, but sot;
  Th' other witty, but unmeasured arrogant;                        50
  Him great, yet boundless in ambition;
  Him high-born, but of base life; t' other fear'd,
  Yet fearèd fears, and fears most to be loved;[117]
  Him wise, but made a fool for public use;
  The other learned, but self-opinionate:
  When I discourse all these, and see myself
  Nor fair, nor rich, nor witty, great, nor fear'd,
  Yet amply suited with all full content,
  Lord, how I clap my hands, and smooth my brow,
  Rubbing my quiet bosom, tossing up                               60
  A grateful spirit to Omnipotence!

  _Cast._ Hah, hah! but if thou knew'st my happiness,
  Thou would'st even grate away thy soul to dust,
  In envy of my sweet beatitude.
  I cannot sleep for kisses; I cannot rest
  For ladies' letters, that importune me
  With such unusèd vehemence of love,
  Straight to solicit them, that----.

  _Feli._ Confusion seize me, but I think thou liest.
  Why should I not be sought to then as well?                      70
  Fut, methinks I am as like a man.
  Troth, I have a good head of hair, a cheek
  Not as yet wan'd, a leg, 'faith, in the full.
  I ha' not a red beard, take not tobacco much:
  And 'slid, for other parts of manliness--

  _Cast._ Pew waw, you ne'er accourted[118] them in pomp,
  Put your good parts in presence graciously.
  Ha, and you had, why, they would ha' come off,
  Sprung to your arms, and sued, and prayed, and vowed,
  And opened all their sweetness to your love.                     80

  _Feli._ There are a number of such things as thou[119]
  Have often urged me to such loose belief;
  But, 'slid, you all do lie, you all do lie.
  I have put on good clothes, and smugg'd my face,
  Strook a fair wench with a smart, speaking eye;
  Courted in all sorts, blunt and passionate;
  Had opportunity, put them to the ah!
  And, by this light, I find them wondrous chaste,
  Impregnable; perchance a kiss, or so:
  But for the rest, O most inexorable!                             90

  _Cast._ Nay then, i'faith, prithee look here.

                 [_Shows him the superscription of a seeming letter._

  _Feli. To her most esteemed, loved, and generous servant,
  Sig. Castilio Balthazar._
  Prithee from whom comes this? faith, I must see.

    _From her that is devoted to thee, in most private sweets
    of love, Rossaline._

  Nay, God's my comfort, I must see the rest;
  I must, sans ceremony; faith, I must.

                           [FELICHE _takes away the letter by force_.

  _Cast._ O, you spoil my ruff, unset my hair; good,
  away!                                                           100

  _Feli. Item, for strait canvass, thirteen pence halfpenny;
  item, for an ell and a half of taffeta to cover your old
  canvass doublet, fourteen shillings and threepence._--'Slight,
  this is a tailor's bill.

  _Cast._ In sooth, it is the outside of her letter, on
  which I took the copy of a tailor's bill.

  _Dil._ But 'tis not cross'd, I am sure of that. Lord have
  mercy on him, his credit hath given up the last gasp.
  Faith, I'll leave him; for he looks as melancholy as a
  wench the first night she----                          [_Exit._ 110

  _Feli._ Honest musk-cod, 'twill not be so stitched together;
  take that [_striking him_], and that, and belie no
  lady's love: swear no more by Jesu, this madam, that
  lady; hence, go, forswear the presence, travel three years
  to bury this bastinado: avoid, puff-paste, avoid!

  _Cast._ And tell not my lady-mother. Well, as I am a
  true gentleman, if she had not willed me on her blessing
  not to spoil my face, if I could not find in my heart to
  fight, would I might ne'er eat a potato-pie more.          [_Exit._

  _Enter_ BALURDO, _backward_; DILDO _following him with a
    looking-glass in one hand, and a candle in the other hand_:
    FLAVIA _following him backward, with a looking-glass in one hand,
    and a candle in the other_; ROSSALINE _following her_; BALURDO
    _and_ ROSSALINE _stand setting of faces; and so the Scene begins_.

  _Feli._ More fool, more rare fools! O, for time and
  place, long enough, and large enough, to act these fools!
  Here might be made a rare scene of folly, if the plat[120]
  could bear it.                                                  123

  _Bal._ By the sugar-candy sky, hold up the glass higher,
  that I may see to swear in fashion. O, one loof[121]
  more would ha' made them shine; God's neaks,[122] they
  would have shone like my mistress' brow. Even so the
  Duke frowns, for all this curson'd[123] world: O, that
  gern[124] kills, it kills. By my golden--what's the richest
  thing about me?                                                130

  _Dil._ Your teeth.

  _Bal._ By my golden teeth, hold up, that I may put in:
  hold up, I say, that I may see to put on my gloves.

  _Dil._ O, delicious, sweet-cheek'd master, if you discharge
  but one glance from the level of that set face, O,
  you will strike a wench; you'll make any wench love
  you.

  _Bal._ By Jesu, I think I am as elegant a courtier as----.
  How likest thou my suit?

  _Cat._ All, beyond all, no peregal:[125] you are wondered
  at--[_Aside._] for an ass.                                      141

  _Bal._ Well, Dildo, no Christen creature shall know
  hereafter, what I will do for thee heretofore.

  _Ros._ Here wants a little white, Flavia.

  _Dil._ Ay, but, master, you have one little fault; you
  sleep open-mouth'd.

  _Bal._ Pew, thou jest'st. In good sadness, I'll have a
  looking-glass nail'd to the testern of the bed, that I may
  see when I sleep whether 'tis so or not; take heed you
  lie not: go to, take heed you lie not.                          150

  _Fla._ By my troth, you look as like the princess, now--Ay--but
  her lip is--lip is--a little----redder, a very
  little redder.

  _Ros._[126] But by the help of art or nature, ere I change my
  periwig, mine shall be as red.

  _Fla._[127] O ay, that face, that eye, that smile, that writhing
  of your body, that wanton dandling of your fan, becomes
  prethely, so sweethly, 'tis even the goodest lady that
  breathes, the most amiable----. Faith, the fringe of your
  satin petticoat is ript. Good faith, madam, they say you
  are the most bounteous lady to your women that ever----O
  most delicious beauty! Good madam, let me kith it.

  _Feli._ Rare sport, rare sport! A female fool, and a
  female flatterer.                                               164

  _Ros._ Body o' me, the Duke! away[128] the glass!

                          _Enter_ PIERO.

  _Pier._ Take up your paper, Rossaline.

  _Ros._ Not mine, my Lord.

  _Pier._ Not yours, my Lady? I'll see what 'tis.

  _Bal._ And how does my sweet mistress? O Lady
  dear, even as 'tis an old say, "'tis an old horse can neither
  wighy,[129] nor wag his tail:" even so do I hold my set face
  still: even so, 'tis a bad courtier that can neither discourse,
  nor blow his nose.                                              173

  _Pier._--[_reads._] _Meet me at Abraham's, the Jew's, where
  I bought my Amazon's disguise. A ship lies in the port,
  ready bound for England; make haste, come private._
                                                      ANTONIO.

                 _Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO.

  Forobosco, Alberto, Feliche, Castilio, Balurdo! run, keep
  the palace, post to the ports, go to my daughter's chamber!
  whither now? scud to the Jew's! stay, run to the gates,
  stop the gundolets,[130] let none pass the marsh! do all at
  once! Antonio! his head, his head! Keep you the
  court, the rest stand still, or run, or go, or shout, or search,
  or scud, or call, or hang, or do-do-do su-su-su something!
  I know not who-who-who what I do-do-do, nor who-who-who,
  where I am.                                                     185
     _O trista traditrice, rea ribalda fortuna,
      Negando mi vindetta mi causa fera morte._

                                           [_Exeunt all but_ FELICHE.

  _Feli._ Ha ha ha! I could break my spleen at his
  impatience.

                  _Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ MELLIDA.

  _Ant. Alma et graziosa fortuna siate favorevole,
  Et fortunati siano voti del_[_la_] _mia dolce Mellida, Mellida._

  _Mel._ Alas, Antonio, I have lost thy note!
  A number mount my stairs; I'll straight return.            [_Exit._

  _Feli._ Antonio,                                                194
  Be not affright, sweet Prince; appease thy fear,
  Buckle thy spirits up, put all thy wits
  In wimble[131] action, or thou art surprised.

  _Ant._ I care not.

  _Feli.</i. Art mad, or desperate? or----

  _Ant._ Both, both, all, all: I prithee let me lie;              200
  Spite of you all, I can, and I will die.

  _Feli.</i You are distraught; O, this is madness' breath!

  _Ant._ Each man take[s] hence life, but no man death:
  He's a good fellow, and keeps open house:
  A thousand thousand ways lead to his gate,
  To his wide-mouthèd porch, when niggard life
  Hath[132] but one little, little wicket through.
  We wring ourselves into this wretched world,
  To pule, and weep, exclaim, to curse and rail,
  To fret, and ban the fates, to strike the earth,                210
  As I do now. Antonio, curse thy birth,
  And die!

  _Feli.</i Nay, heaven's my comfort, now you are perverse:
  You know I always loved you; prithee live.
  Wilt thou strike dead thy friends, draw mourning tears?

  _Ant._ Alas, Feliche, I ha' ne'er a friend;
  No country, father, brother, kinsman left
  To weep my fate or sigh my funeral:
  I roll but up and down, and fill a seat
  In the dark cave of dusky misery.                               220

  _Feli._ 'Fore heaven, the Duke comes! hold you, take my key,
  Slink to my chamber; look you, that is it:
  There shall you find a suit I wore at sea;
  Take it, and slip away. Nay, 'precious!
  If you'll be peevish, by this light, I'll swear
  Thou rail'dst upon thy love before thou diedst,
  And call'd her strumpet.

  _Ant._ She'll not credit thee.

  _Feli.</i Tut, that's all one: I will defame thy love,
  And make thy dead trunk held in vile regard.

  _Ant._ Wilt needs have it so? why then, Antonio,                230
  _Vive esperanza in dispetto del fato._                     [_Exit._

         _Enter_ PIERO, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO,
             BALURDO, _and_ CASTILIO, _with weapons_.

  _Pier._ O, my sweet princes, was't not bravely found?
  Even there I found the note, even there it lay:
  I kiss the place for joy, that there it lay.
  This way he went, here let us make a stand:
  I'll keep this gate myself. O gallant youth!
  I'll drink carouse unto your country's health
  Even in Antonio's skull.

  _Bal._ Lord bless us, his breath is more fearful than a
  sergeant's voice when he cries, I arrest.                       240

             _Enter_ ANTONIO, _disguised as a sailor_.

  _Ant._ Stop Antonio! keep, keep Antonio!

  _Pier._ Where, where, man, where?

  _Ant._ Here, here: let me pursue him down the marsh!

  _Pier._ Hold, there's my signet, take a gundelet:
  Bring me his head, his head, and, by mine honour,
  I'll make thee the wealthiest mariner that breathes.

  _Ant._ I'll sweat my blood out till I have him safe.

  _Pier._ Spoke[133] heartily, i'faith, good mariner.
  O, we will mount in triumph; soon at night,
  I'll set his head up. Let's think where.                        250

  _Bal._ Upon his shoulders, that's the fittest place for it.
  If it be not as fit as if it were made for them, say,--
  Balurdo, thou art a sot, an ass.

            _Enter_ MELLIDA _in Pages attire, dancing_.

  _Pier._ Sprightly, i'faith. In troth he's somewhat like
  My daughter Mellida: but, alas! poor soul,
  Her honour's[134] heels, God knows, are[n't] half so light.

  _Mel._ [_Aside._] Escaped I am, spite of my father's spite. [_Exit._

  _Pier._ Ho, this will warm my bosom ere I sleep.

                     _Enter_ FLAVIA _running_.

  _Fla._ O my Lord, your daughter----

  _Pier._ Ay, ay, my daughter's safe enough, I warrant thee.--    260
  This vengeance on the boy will lengthen out
  My days unmeasuredly.
  It shall be chronicled in time to come,
  Piero Sforza slew Andrugio's son.

  _Fla._ Ay, but, my Lord, your daughter----

  _Pier._ Ay, ay, my good wench, she is safe enough.

  _Fla._ O, then, my Lord, you know she's run away.

  _Pier._ Run away, away! how run away?

  _Fla._ She's vanish'd in an instant, none knows whither.

  _Pier._ Pursue, pursue, fly, run, post, scud away!               270

  _Feli._ [_Sings._] "_And was not good king Salomon_," &c.

  _Pier._ Fly, call, run, row, ride, cry, shout, hurry, haste!
  Haste, hurry, shout, cry, ride, row, run, call, fly,
  Backward and forward, every way about!

  _Mal[e]detta fortuna che[135] dura sorte!
  Che farò, che dirò, pur fugir tanto mal!_

  _Cast._ 'Twas you that struck me even now: was it not?

  _Feli._ It was I that struck you even now.

  _Cast._ You bastinadoed me, I take it.

  _Feli._ I bastinadoed you, and you took it.                     280

  _Cast._ 'Faith, sir, I have the richest tobacco in the court
  for you; I would be glad to make you satisfaction, if I
  have wronged you. I would not the sun should set upon
  your anger; give me your hand.

  _Feli._ Content, faith; so thou'lt breed no more such lies.
  I hate not man, but man's lewd qualities.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [112] So the old eds., but I suspect that the true reading is
     "traverse light," _i.e._, light cast slant-wise.

     [113] Wanton excesses.

     [114] See note 2, p. 13.

     [115] "Passing passing good."--So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633, "passing
     good."

     [116] Fiddle-string.--Here applied to Castilio's squeaky voice.

     [117] Old eds. "most loved."

     [118] So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633 "courted."--Dilke gives "accosted";
     but Spenser has the word _accourt_ in Book II. of the
     _Faerie Queene_.

     [119] Old eds. "then."

     [120] Plot of the play.

     [121] There is no meaning in the word "loof:" perhaps we should
     read "one _touch_ more." Balurdo seems to be beautifying
     some part of his person; but his movements are not quite clear.

     [122] "God's neaks"--a meaningless oath constantly used by
     Marston.

     [123] A corruption of _christened_.

     [124] Snarl, grin.--The word is still used in the north country.

     [125] Equal.

     [126] The words "But by the help ... as red," are given to Flavia
     in the old eds.

     [127] Ed. 1633 gives this speech to Balurdo.

     [128] _I.e._, put the glass out of sight.

     [129] Neigh.--Cf. Fletcher's _Women Pleased_, iv. 1:--
          "This beast of Babylon I will never back again;
          His pace is sure prophane, and his lewd _wi-hies_
          The Songs of Hymyn and Gymyn in the wilderness."

     So Ben Jonson in _Every Man out of his Humour_, ii. 1:--"So
     the legerity for that, and the _whig-hie_ and the daggers in
     the nose."

     [130] "Gundolet"--old form of gondola.

     [131] Nimble.--The word is used by Spenser.

     [132] Should we not rather read "Hath but one little wicket
     _thorough which_"?

     [133] Old eds. "Speake."

     [134] Ed. 1. "honour."

     [135] Old eds. "_chy condura sorta_."




                              ACT IV.


                             SCENE I.

                     _Sea-shore near Venice._

            _Enter_ ANTONIO, _in his sea-gown running_.

  _Ant._ Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio!
  Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio's lost;
  He cannot find himself, not seize himself.
  Alas, this that you see is not Antonio;
  His spirit hovers in Piero's court,
  Hurling about his agile faculties,
  To apprehend the sight of Mellida:
  But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments
  To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit,
  Roll'd up in gloomy clouds as black as air                       10
  Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn.
  'Tis so; I'll give you instance that 'tis so.
  Conceit you me: as having clasp'd a rose[136]
  Within my palm, the rose being ta'en away,
  My hand retains a little breath of sweet:
  So may man's trunk, his spirit slipp'd away,
  Hold[137] still a faint perfume of his sweet guest.
  'Tis so; for when discursive powers fly out,
  And roam in progress through the bounds of heaven,
  The soul itself gallops along with them,                         20
  As chieftain of this wingèd troop of thought,
  Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,
  Until the soul return from----. What was't I said?
  O, this is naught but speckling melancholy.
  I have been--
  That Morpheus' tender skinp[138]--Cousin german
  Bear with me, good--
  Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall.
  Hell is beneath, yet heaven is over all.    [_Falls on the ground._

             _Enter_[139] ANDRUGIO, LUCIO, _and_ Page.

  _And._ Come, Lucio, let's go eat: what hast thou got?            30
  Roots, roots? alas, they are seeded, new cut up.
  O, thou hast wrongèd Nature, Lucio:
  But boots not much; thou but pursu'st the world,
  That cuts off virtue, 'fore it comes to growth,
  Lest it should seed, and so o'errun her son,
  Dull purblind error.--Give me water, boy.
  There is no poison in't, I hope; they say
  That lu[r]ks in massy plate: and yet the earth
  Is so infected with a general plague,
  That he's most wise, that thinks there's no man fool;            40
  Right prudent, that esteems no creature just;
  Great policy the least things to mistrust.
  Give me assay[140]----. How we mock greatness now!

  _Lu._ A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem;
  If not to be, 'tis comfort yet to seem.

  _And._ Why man, I never was a prince till now.
  'Tis not the barèd pate, the bended knees,
  Gilt tipstaves, Tyrrian purple, chairs of state,
  Troops of pied butterflies that flutter still
  In greatness' summer, that confirm a prince:                     50
  'Tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes,
  Shouting and clapping, with confusèd din,
  That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king,
  A true right king, that dares do aught save wrong;
  Fears nothing mortal but to be unjust;
  Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs
  Of spongy sycophants; who stands unmov'd,
  Despite the justling of opinion;
  Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng
  That strive to press his quiet out of him;                       60
  Who sits upon Jove's footstool, as I do,
  Adoring, not affecting, majesty;
  Whose brow is wreathèd with the silver crown
  Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king,
  And of this empire every man's possest
  That's worth his soul.

  _Lu._ My Lord, the Genoways had wont to say--

  _And._ Name not the Genoways: that very word
  Unkings me quite, makes me vile passion's slave.
  O, you that slide[141] upon the glibbery ice                     70
  Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio.
  Was never prince with more applause confirm'd,
  With louder shouts of triumph launchèd out
  Into the surgy main of government;
  Was never prince with more despite cast out,
  Left shipwrack'd, banish'd, on more guiltless ground.
  O rotten props of the crazed multitude,
  How you still double, falter under the lightest chance
  That strains your veins! Alas, one battle lost,
  Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your houts[142]
    and shouts,                                                    80
  Your smooth _God save's_, and all your devils lost[143]
  That tempts our quiet to your hell of throngs!
  Spit on me, Lucio, for I am turnèd slave:
  Observe how passion domineers o'er me.

  _Lu._ No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son,
  A country, crown, and----.

  _And._ Ay, Lucio, having lost a son, a son,
  A country, house, crown, son. _O lares, miseri[144] lares!_
  Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son,
  My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio!                              90

  _Ant._ Antonio?

  _And._ Ay, echo, ay; I mean Antonio.

  _Ant._ Antonio, who means Antonio?

  _And._ Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio?

  _Ant._ Yes.

  _And._ Lives he?

  _Ant._ No.

  _And._ Where lies he dead?

  _Ant._ Here.

  _And._ Where?

  _Ant._ Here.[145]

  _And._ Art thou Antonio?

  _Ant._ I think I am.

  _And._ Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself?

  _Ant._ He is a fool that thinks he knows himself.

  _And._ Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name.                 100

  _Ant._ I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood,
  If I denied my name's Antonio.

  _And._ I were not worthy to be call'd thy father,
  If I denied my name Andrugio.
  And dost thou live? O, let me kiss thy cheek,
  And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy.
  Now heaven's will be done: for I have lived
  To see my joy, my son Antonio.
  Give me thy hand; now fortune do thy worst,
  His blood, that lapp'd thy spirit in the womb,                  110
  Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb.

  _Ant._ Bless not the body with your twining arms,
  Which is accurs'd of heaven. O, what black sin
  Hath been committed by our ancient house,
  Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads,
  That thus the world and fortune casts us out,
  As loathèd objects, ruin's branded slaves!

  _And._ Do not expostulate the heavens' will,
  But, O, remember to forget thyself;
  Forget remembrance what thou once hast been.                    120
  Come, creep with me from out this open air:
  Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life.
  I am a-raising of our house, my boy,
  Which fortune will not envy, 'tis so mean,
  And like the world (all dirt): there shalt thou rip
  The inwards of thy fortunes in mine ears,
  While I sit weeping, blind with passion's tears.
  Then I'll begin, and we'll such order keep,
  That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.

                    [_Exeunt_ ANDRUGIO _and_ LUCIO, _leaving_ ANTONIO
                       _and the_ Page.

  _Ant_. I'll follow you. Boy, prithee stay a little.             130
  Thou hast had a good voice, if this cold marsh
  Wherein we lurk have not corrupted it.

    _Enter_ MELLIDA, _standing out of sight, in her Page's suit_.

  I prithee sing, but, sirra, (mark you me)
  Let each note breathe the heart of passion,
  The sad extracture of extremest grief.
  Make me a strain speak groaning like a bell
  That tolls departing souls;
  Breathe me a point that may enforce me weep,
  To wring my hands, to break my cursèd breast,
  Rave, and exclaim, lie grovelling on the earth,                 140
  Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida!
  Sing but, _Antonio hath lost Mellida_,
  And thou shalt see me (like a man possess'd)
  Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh
  Will squeeze out tears from out his spongy cheeks:
  The rocks even groan, and----prithee, prithee sing,
  Or I shall ne'er ha' done when I am in;
  'Tis harder for me end, than to begin.

                         [_The Boy runs a note_, ANTONIO _breaks it_.

  For look thee, boy, my grief that hath no end,                  149
  I may begin to plain, but----prithee, sing.

                                                           [_A song._

  _Mel._ Heaven keep you, sir!

  _Ant._ Heaven keep you from me, sir!

  _Mel._ I must be acquainted with you, sir.

  _Ant._ Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery,
  Sear'd with the anguish of calamity?
  Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief? canst weep?
  I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,

                                      [ANTONIO _falls on the ground_.

  Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven:
  O trifling nature, why inspired'st thou breath?

  _Mel._ Stay, sir, I think you namèd Mellida.

  _Ant._ Know'st thou Mellida?                                    160

  _Mel._ Yes.

  _Ant._ Hast thou seen Mellida?

  _Mel._ Yes.

  _Ant._ Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex,
  The music of Nature, the unequall'd lustre
  Of unmatch'd excellence, the united sweet
  Of heaven's graces, the most adorèd beauty,
  That ever strook amazement in the world!

  _Mel._ You seem to love her.

  _Ant._ With my very soul.

  _Mel._ She'll not requite it: all her love is fix'd             170
  Upon a gallant, one[146] Antonio,
  The Duke of Genoa's son. I was her page,
  And often as I waited, she would sigh,
  O, dear Antonio! and to strengthen thought,
  Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus.
  Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks
  Her beauty is not half so ravishing
  As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face,
  A low forehead, and a lumpish eye.                              179

  _Ant._ O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy!
  Boy, rogue, thou liest! and
  _Spavento del mio cor dolce Mellida,
  Di grave morte ristoro vero, dolce Mellida,
  Celeste salvatrice, sovrana Mellida
  Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida._

  _Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio,
  Godevole bellezza cortese Antonio.
  Signior mio e virginal amore bell'Antonio,
  Gusto delli miei sensi, car'Antonio._

  _Ant. O svanisce[147] il cor in un soave bacio._                190

  _Mel. Muoiono[148] i sensi nel desiato desio:_

  _Ant. Nel cielo può esser beltà più chiara?_

  _Mel._ Nel mondo può[149] esser beltà più chiara?_

  _Ant. Dammi un bacio da quella bocca beata,
  Lasciami[150] coglier l'aura odorata
  Che ha[151] sua seggia in quelle dolci labbra._

  _Mel. Dammi per impero del tuo gradit'amore
  Che bea me con sempiterno honore,
  Così, così mi converrà morir._
  Good sweet, scout o'er the marsh, for my heart trembles         200
  At every little breath that strikes my ear.
  When thou returnest, then I will discourse
  How I deceiv'd the court; then thou shalt tell
  How thou escaped'st the watch: we'll point our speech
  With amorous kissing[152] commas, and even suck
  The liquid breath from out each other's lips.

  _Ant._ Dull clod, no man but such sweet favour clips.
  I go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay.
  Turn coward in her sight? away, away!                  [_Exit._ 209

  [_Page._] I think confusion of Babel is fall'n upon those
  lovers, that they change their language; but I fear me,
  my master having but feigned the person of a woman,
  hath got their unfeigned imperfection, and is grown
  double tongued: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if
  she could not yield strange language. But howsoever,
  if I should sit in judgment, 'tis an error easier to be
  pardoned by the auditors, than excused by the authors;
  and yet some private respect may rebate the edge of
  the keener censure.

          _Enter_ PIERO, CASTILIO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO,
          FELICHE, GALEATZO, _at one door_; BALURDO, _and
                   his_ Page, _at another door_.

  _Pier._ This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen.
  How now, Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody?                 221


  _Bal._ As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat,
  that he hath ne'er a dry thread on him: and I can meet
  with no living creature, but men and beasts. In good
  sadness,[153] I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even
  now; for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep'd,
  and I spied a thing, and I peer'd, and I tweer'd[154] underneath:
  and truly a right wise man might have been deceived,
  for it was----.

  _Pier._ What, in the name of heaven?                            230

  _Bal._ A dun cow.

  _Feli._ Sh'ad ne'er a kettle[155] on her head?

  _Pier._ Boy, did'st thou see a young lady pass this way?

  _Gal._ Why speak you not?

  _Bal._ God's neaks, proud elf, give the Duke reverence!
  Stand bare with a----.
  Whogh! heavens bless me! Mellida, Mellida!

  _Pier._ Where man, where?

  _Bal._ Turned man, turned man; women wear the breeches.
  Lo, here!                                                       240

  _Pier._ Light and unduteous! kneel not, peevish elf;
  Speak not, entreat not, shame unto my house,
  Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio?
  Thou traitress to my hate, what, is he shipp'd
  For England now? well, whimpering harlot, hence!

  _Mel._ Good father!

  _Pier._ Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth?
  Ere thou canst term to-morrow morning old,
  Thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love.

  _Mel._ Ay me!                                                   250

  _Pier._ Blirt on your "ay me's!" guard her safely hence.
  Drag her away, I'll be your guard to-night.
  Young prince, mount up your spirits and prepare
  To solemnise your nuptial's eve with pomp.

  _Gal._ The time is scant: now nimble wits appear:
  Phoebus begins to[156] gleam, the welkin's clear.

                            [_Exeunt all but_ BALURDO _and his_ Page.

  _Bal._ Now nimble wits appear! I'll myself appear,
  Balurdo's self, that in quick wit doth surpass,
  Will show the substance of a complete----.

  _Dil._ Ass, ass.

  _Bal._ I'll mount my courser, and most gallantly prick----.     260

  _Dil._ Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in
  the verse, sir.

  _Bal._ I'll speak pure rhyme, and will so bravely prank
  it, that I'll toss love like a--prank, prank it!--a rhyme
  for prank it?

  _Dil._ Blanket.

  _Bal._ That I'll toss love, like a dog in a blanket. Hah
  hah, indeed, law. I think, hah hah; I think, hah hah,
  I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not
  dead, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.                     270

  _Dil._ Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.

  _Enter_ ANDRUGIO _and_ ANTONIO _wreathed together_, LUCIO.

  _And._ Now, come, united force of chap-fall'n death;
  Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress.
  O, thus enfolded, we have breasts of proof
  'Gainst all the venom'd stings of misery.

  _Ant._ Father, now I have an antidote
  'Gainst all the poison that the world can breathe:
  My Mellida, my Mellida doth bless
  This bleak waste with her presence.--How now, boy,
  Why dost thou weep? alas! where's Mellida?                      280

  _Page._[157] Ay me, my Lord.

  _Ant._[158] A sudden horror doth invade my blood;
  My sinews tremble, and my panting heart
  Scuds round about my bosom, to go out,
  Dreading the assailant, horrid passion.
  O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow;
  Speak quickly, briefly, boy.

  _Page._ Her father found, and seized her; she is gone.

  _And._ Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up with grief
  Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight                 290
  Of crushing mischief. O where's thy dauntless heart,
  Thy father's spirit! I renounce thy blood,
  If thou forsake thy valour.

  _Lu._ See how his grief speaks in his slow-paced steps.
  Alas!
  'Tis more than he can utter, let him go:
  Dumb solitary path best suiteth woe.                [_Exit_ ANTONIO.

  _And._ Give me my arms, my armour, Lucio.

  _Lu._ Dear lord, what means this rage? when lacking use[159]
  Scarce safe's your life, will you in armour rise?               300

  _And._ Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice.

  _Lu._ Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,
  And means to blaze it.

  _And. Nunquam potest non esse._

  _Lu._ Patience, my lord, may bring your ills some end.

  _And._ What patience, friend, can ruin'd hopes attend?
  Come, let me die like old Andrugio,
  Worthy my birth. O, blood-true-honour'd graves
  Are far more blessèd than base life of slaves.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [136] A correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ (1st ser., vol.
     ix. p. 513) points out that Erasmus has the same simile:--"Anima
     quæ moderatur utrumque corpus animantis improprie dicitur anima
     cum revera sint animæ reliquiæ, non aliter quam odor rosarum
     manet in manu etiam rosa sublata."--_Colloq._, Leyden ed.,
     i. 694.

     [137] Old ed. "Holds."

     [138] These ravings are unintelligible.

     [139] The stage-direction in the old eds. is "_Enter Andrugio,
     Lucio, Cole, and Norwood._" I suppose that Cole and Norwood
     are the names of the actors who personated Andrugio and Lucio.

     [140] "Give me assay" = taste it before I drink. The
     _assayer_ in courts and baronial halls was the officer who
     tasted the dishes before the banquet in order to make sure that
     no poison was concealed.

     [141] Old eds. "_made open_ the glibbery ice," which modern
     editors absurdly retain. The word "glibbery" has been already
     noticed (note 3, p. 22).

     [142] Cf. _Julius Cæsar_, i. 2 (text of First Folio):--"And then
     he offered it the third time; hee put it the third time by, and
     still as hee refus'd it the rabblement _howted_ and clapp'd their
     chopt hands." In that passage the first three folios give
     _howted_ and the fourth _houted_; but modern editors reject the
     word and read either _hooted_ or _shouted_. The present passage
     of Marston affords strong warrant for restoring the reading of
     the folios. _Hout_ is clearly an onomatopoeic word, like
     _hoit_:--He sings and _hoits_ and revels among his drunken
     companions," (_Knight of the Burning Pestle_).

     [143] Old eds. "last" (and so modern editors).

     [144] Old eds. "_misereri_."

     [145] Antonio is concealed behind a bush.

     [146] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "on."

     [147] Old eds. "_suamisce_."--Dilke reads "_smarisce_."

     [148] Old eds. "_Murono_."

     [149] Old eds. "_pol._"

     [150] So Dilke. Old eds. "_Bassiammi_."

     [151] Old eds. "_Che in sua neggia in quello_," &c.

     [152] Old eds. repeat the word "kissing."

     [153] "In good sadness" = seriously.

     [154] "Tweer" (or "twire") = peep, pry.

     [155] "The 'Dun Cow' is, we all know, intimately connected with
     the celebrated Guy, Earl of Warwick, and I believe his 'kettle'
     is one of the pretended relics still shown there. From the text I
     conjecture that the dun cow with the kettle on her head was in
     the time of Marston a well-known sign."--_Dilke._

     [156] Omitted in ed. 1602.

     [157] Old eds. "_Ant._"

     [158] Old eds. "_And._"

     [159] It is hard for Andrugio to escape detection even when he is
     unarmed; but if he puts on his armour he will be at once
     recognised. Cf. p. 46:--
                    "If you are but seen,
          Your arms display you; therefore put them off."




                              ACT V.


                             SCENE I.

                  _Palace of the Duke of Venice._

   _Enter_ BALURDO, _a_ Painter _with two pictures_, _and_ DILDO.

  _Bal._ And are you a painter? sir, can you draw, can
  you draw?

  _Pa._ Yes, sir.

  _Bal._ Indeed, law! now so can my father's forehorse.
  And are these the workmanship of your hands?

  _Pa._ I did limn them.

  _Bal._ Limn them? a good word, limn them: whose
  picture is this? _Anno Domini_, 1599. Believe me,
  master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when
  you limn'd him: 1599 years old! Let's see the other.
  _Ætatis suæ_ 24. Byrlady, he is somewhat younger.
  Belike master _Ætatis suæ_ was _Anno Domini's_ son.              12

  _Pa._ Is not your master a----

  _Dil._ He hath a little proclivity to him.

  _Pa._ Proclivity, good youth? I thank you for your
  courtly proclivity.

  _Bal._ Approach, good sir. I did send for you to draw
  me a device, an Imprezza, by _Synecdoche a Mott_. By
  Phoebus' crimson taffeta mantle, I think I speak as
  melodiously,--look you, sir, how think you on't? I
  would have you paint me, for my device, a good fat leg
  of ewe mutton, swimming in stewed broth of plums
  (boy, keel[160] your mouth, it runs over) and the word[161] shall
  be, _Hold my dish, whilst I spill my pottage_. Sure, in my
  conscience, 'twould be the most sweet device, now.               25

  _Pa._ 'Twould scent of kitchen-stuff too much.

  _Bal._ God's neaks, now I remember me, I ha' the
  rarest device in my head that ever breathed. Can you
  paint me a driveling reeling song, and let the word be,
  Uh.                                                              30

  _Pa._ A belch?

  _Bal._ O, no no: Uh, paint me Uh, or nothing.

  _Pa._ It cannot be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of
  drunkenness.

  _Bal._ No? well, let me have a good massy ring, with
  your own posy graven in it, that must sing a small treble,
  word for word, thus:

          _And if you will[162] my true lover be,
           Come follow me to the green wood._

  _Pa._ O Lord, sir, I cannot make a picture sing.                 40

  _Bal._ Why? 'slid, I have seen painted things sing as sweet;
  But I have't will tickle it for a conceit, i'faith.

                  _Enter_ FELICHE _and_ ALBERTO.

  _Alb._ O dear Feliche, give me thy device.
  How shall I purchase love of Rossaline?

  _Feli._ 'Swill, flatter her soundly.

  _Alb._ Her love is such, I cannot flatter her:
  But with my utmost vehemence of speech,
  I have ador'd her beauties.

  _Feli._ Hast writ good moving unaffected rhymes to her?

  _Alb._ O, yes, Feliche, but she scorns my writ.                  50

  _Feli._ Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts?

  _Alb._ Alas, my fortunes are too weak to offer them.

  _Feli._ O, then I have it, I'll tell thee what to do.

  _Alb._ What, good Feliche?

  _Feli._ Go and hang thyself; I say, go hang thyself,
  If that thou canst not give, go hang thyself:
  I'll rhyme thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.
  How think'st thou of a poet that sung thus?
  _Munera sola pacant, sola addunt munera formam:
  Munere sollicites Pallada, Cypris erit._                         60
  _Munera, munera!_

  _Alb._ I'll go and breathe my woes unto the rocks,
  And spend my grief upon the deafest seas.
  I'll weep my passion to the senseless trees,
  And load most solitary air with plaints.
  For woods, trees, sea, or rocky Apennine,
  Is not so ruthless as my Rossaline.
  Farewell, dear friend, expect no more of me:
  Here ends my part in this love's comedy.                         69

                                     [_Exeunt_ ALBERTO _and_ Painter.

  _Feli._ Now, master Balurdo, whither are you going, ha?

  _Bal._ Signior Feliche, how do you, faith? and by my
  troth, how do you?

  _Feli._ Whither art thou going, bully?[163]

  _Bal._ And as heaven help me, how do you?
  How, do you, i'faith, hee?

  _Feli._ Whither art going, man?

  _Bal._ O God, to the court; I'll be willing to give you
  grace and good countenance, if I may but see you in the
  presence.

  _Feli._ O, to court? farewell.                                   80

  _Bal._ If you see one in a yellow taffeta doublet, cut
  upon carnation velure,[164] a green hat, a blue pair of
  velvet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orange-tawny pair of
  worsted silk stockings, that's I, that's I.

  _Feli._ Very good: farewell.

  _Bal._ Ho, you shall know me as easily; I ha' bought
  me a new green feather with a red sprig; you shall see
  my wrought[165] shirt hang out at my breeches; you shall
  know me.                                                         89

  _Feli._ Very good, very good, farewell.

  _Bal._ Marry, in the mask 'twill be somewhat hard.
  But if you hear anybody speak so wittily, that he makes
  all the room laugh; that's I, that's I. Farewell, good
  Signior.

     _Enter_ FOROBOSCO, CASTILIO, _a Boy carrying a gilt harp_;
          PIERO, MELLIDA, _in night apparel_; ROSSALINE,
                       FLAVIA, _two Pages_.

  _Pier._ Advance the music's prize; now, cap'ring wits,
  Rise to your highest mount; let choice delight
  Garland the brow of this triumphant night.
  'Sfoot, 'a sits like Lucifer himself.

  _Ros._ Good sweet Duke,
  First let their voices strain for music's prize.[166]
  Give me the golden harp:                                                         100
  Faith, with your favour, I'll be umperess.

  _Pier._ Sweet niece, content: boys, clear your voice and
  sing.

                      _First[167] Boy sings._

  _Ros._ By this gold, I had rather have a servant with a
  short nose, and a thin hair, than have such a high-stretch'd
  minikin[168] voice.

  _Pier._ Fair niece, your reason?

  _Ros._ By the sweet of love, I should fear extremely
  that he were an eunuch.

  _Cast._ Spark spirit, how like you his voice?

  _Ros._ Spark spirit, how like you his voice!                    110
  So help me, youth, thy voice squeaks like a dry corkshoe:[169]
  come, come; let's hear the next.

                        _Second Boy sings._

  _Pier._ Trust me, a strong mean. Well sung, my boy.

                         _Enter_ BALRUDO.

  _Bal._ Hold, hold, hold: are ye blind? could ye not
  see my voice coming for the harp? And I knock not
  division[170] on the head, take hence the harp, make me
  a slip,[171] and let me go but for ninepence. Sir Mark,
  strike up for master Balurdo.

                        _Third Boy sings._

  Judgment, gentlemen, judgment! Was't not above line?
  I appeal to your mouths that heard my song.                     120
  Do[172] me right, and dub me knight, Balurdo.

  _Ros._ Kneel down, and I'll dub thee knight of the
  golden harp.

  _Bal._ Indeed, law, do, and I'll make you lady of the
  silver fiddlestick.

  _Ros._ Come, kneel, kneel.

                    _Enter a Page to_ BALURDO.

  _Bal._ My troth, I thank you, it hath never a whistle
  in't.

  _Ros._ Nay, good sweet coz, raise up your drooping
  eyes; and I were at the point of _To have and to hold
  from this day forward_, I would be asham'd to look thus
  lumpish. What, my pretty coz, 'tis but the loss of an
  odd maidenhead.                                                 133
  Shall's dance? thou art so sad, hark in thine[173] ear:
  I was about to say, but I'll forbear.

  _Bal._ I come, I come; more than most honeysuckle
  sweet ladies, pine not for my presence, I'll return in
  pomp. Well spoke, Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. As I am a
  true knight, I feel honourable eloquence begin to grope
  me already.                                            [_Exit._ 140

  _Pier._ Faith, mad niece, I wonder when thou wilt
  marry?

  _Ros._ Faith, kind uncle, when men abandon jealousy,
  forsake taking of tobacco, and cease to wear their beards
  so rudely long. O, to have a husband with a mouth
  continually smoking, with a bush of furze on the ridge
  of his chin, ready still to flop into his foaming chaps;
  ah, 'tis more than most intolerable.

  _Pier._ Nay faith, sweet niece, I was mighty strong in
  thought we should have shut up night with an old
  comedy: the Prince of Florence[174] shall have Mellida,
  and thou should'st have----.                                    152

  _Ros._ Nobody, good sweet uncle. I tell you, sir, I
  have thirty-nine servants, and my monkey that makes
  the fortieth. Now I love all of them lightly for something,
  but affect none of them seriously for anything.
  One's a passionate fool, and he flatters me above belief;
  the second's a testy ape, and he rails at me beyond
  reason; the third's as grave as some censor, and he
  strokes up his mustachios three times, and makes six
  plots of set faces, before he speaks one wise word; the
  fourth's as dry as the bur of an hartichoke; the fifth
  paints, and hath always a good colour for what he
  speaks; the sixth----.             164

  _Pier._ Stay, stay, sweet niece, what makes you thus
  suspect your gallants' worth?

  _Ros._ O, when I see one wear a periwig, I dread his
  hair; another wallow in a great slop,[175] I mistrust the
  proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot,[176] I fear
  the fashion of his leg. Thus, something in each thing, one
  trick in everything makes me mistrust imperfection in all
  parts; and there's the full point of my addiction.              172

      _The cornets sound a senet. Enter_ GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE,
                    _and_ BALURDO _in maskery_.

  _Pier._ The room's too scant: boys, stand in there, close.

  _Mel._ [_To_ GALEATZO.] In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance.

  _Pier._ How's that, how's that? too sad? By heaven, dance,
  And grace him too, or go to----, I say no more.

  _Mel._ A burning glass, the word[177] _splendente Phoebo_?
  It is too curious, I conceit it not.

  _Gal._ Faith, I'll tell thee. I'll no longer burn,
  Than you will shine and smile upon my love.                     180
  For look ye, fairest, by your pure sweets,
  I do not dote upon your excellence;
  And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams
  Of sunny favour and acceptive grace
  Upon my tender love, I do not burn:
  Marry, but shine, and I'll reflect your beams
  With fervent ardour. Faith! I would be loath to flatter
  thee, fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy
  husband, which thy father swears to-morrow morn I
  must be. This is all; and now from henceforth, trust
  me, Mellida, I'll not speak one wise word to thee more.

  _Mel._ I trust ye.                                              192

  _Gal._ By my troth, I'll speak pure fool[178] to thee
  now.

  _Mel._ You will speak the liker yourself.

  _Gal._ Good faith, I'll accept of the coxcomb, so you
  will not refuse the bable.[179]

  _Mel._ Nay, good sweet, keep them both; I am enamoured
  of neither.

  _Gal._ Go to, I must take you down for this. Lend
  me your ear.                                                    200

  _Ros._ A glow-worm? the word,--_Splendescit tantùm
  tenebris_.

  _Mat._ O, lady, the glow-worm figurates my valour,
  which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal, and horrid
  achievements.

  _Ros._ Or rather, your glow-worm represents your wit,
  which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed 'tis
  but an _ignis fatuus_, and shines only in the dark dead
  night of fools' admiration.

  _Mat._ Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos'd to
  ride you.                                                       211

  _Ros._ Faith, sir, your wit's spurs have but walking
  rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the
  gentlemen-ushers may admit them the presence, for any
  wrong they can do to ladies.

  _Bal._ Truly, I have strained a note above ela[180] for a
  device: look you, 'tis a fair-ruled singing book; the
  word, _Perfect, if it were prick'd_.

  _Fla._ Though you are mask'd, I can guess who you
  are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo,
  the most rarely-shaped Balurdo.                                 221

  _Bal._ Who, I? No, I am not Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. I
  am not as well known by my wit as an alehouse by a
  red lattice.[181] I am not worthy to love and be beloved
  of Flavia.

  _Fla._ I will not scorn to favour such good parts
  As are applauded in your rarest self.       227

  _Bal._ Truly, you speak wisely, and like a jantlewoman
  of fourteen years of age. You know the stone called
  _lapis_; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is:
  and the bird, which the geometricians call _avis_, the
  farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the
  heaven; and love, the nigher it is to the flame, the
  more remote (there's a word, remote!) the more remote
  it is from the frost. Your wit is quick; a little thing
  pleaseth a young lady, and a small favour contenteth
  an old courtier; and so, sweet mistress, I truss my
  codpiece point.                                                 238

                         _Enter_ FELICHE.

  _Pier._ What might import this flourish? Bring us word.

  _Feli._ Stand away: here's such a company of flyboats,[182]
  hulling[183] about this galleasse[184] of greatness, that there's
  no boarding him.
  Do you hear, yon thing call'd duke?

  _Pier._ How now, blunt Feliche; what's the news?

  _Feli._ Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's head,
  And craves admittance to your chair of state.

        _Cornets sound a senet. Enter_ ANDRUGIO _in armour_.

  _Pier._ Conduct him with attendance sumptuous;
  Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy;
  Make triumph stand on tiptoe whilst we meet:
  O sight most gracious, O revenge most sweet!                    250

  _And. We vow, by the honour of our birth, to recompense
  any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twenty thousand
  double pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest
  love._

  _Pier._ We still with most unmoved resolve[185] confirm
  Our large munificence, and here breathe
  A sad and solemn protestation:
  When I recall this vow, O, let our house
  Be even commanded, stain'd, and trampled on,
  As worthless rubbish of nobility.                               260

  _And._ Then here [_raising his beaver_], Piero, is Andrugio's head,

  Royally casquèd in a helm of steel:
  Give me thy love, and take it. My dauntless soul
  Hath that unbounded vigour in his spirits
  That it can bear more rank indignity,
  With less impatience than thy canker'd hate
  Can sting and venom his untainted worth
  With the most vip'rous sound of malice. Strike!
  O, let no glimpse of honour light thy thoughts;
  If there be any heat of royal breath                            270
  Creeping in thy veins, O stifle it;
  Be still thyself, bloody and treacherous.
  Fame not thy house with an admirèd act
  Of princely pity. Piero, I am come
  To soil thy house with an eternal blot
  Of savage cruelty; strike, or bid me strike.
  I pray my death; that thy ne'er-dying shame
  Might live immortal to posterity.
  Come, be a princely hangman, stop my breath.
  O dread thou shame, no more than I dread death.                 280

  _Pier._ We are amazed, our royal spirit's numb'd
  In stiff astonish'd wonder at thy prowess.
  Most mighty, valiant, and high-tow'ring heart,
  We blush, and turn our hate upon ourselves,
  For hating such an unpeer'd excellence.
  I joy my state: him whom I loath'd before,
  That now I honour, love, nay more, adore.

                   [_The still flutes sound a mournful senet. Enter a
                         funeral procession, followed by_ LUCIO.

  But stay; what tragic spectacle appears!
  Whose body bear you in that mournful hearse?

  _Lu._ The breathless trunk of young Antonio.                    290

  _Mel._ Antonio! ay me! my lord, my love! my----.

  _And._ Sweet precious issue of most honour'd blood,
  Rich hope, ripe virtue, O untimely loss!
  Come hither, friend: prithee, do not weep.
  Why, I am glad he's dead; he shall not see
  His father's vanquish'd by his enemy,
  Even in princely honour. Nay, prithee, speak!
  How died the wretched boy?

  _Lu._ My lord!

  _And._ I hope he died yet like my son, i'faith.                 300

  _Lu._ Alas, my lord!

  _And._ He died unforced, I trust, and valiantly?

  _Lu._ Poor gentleman, being----

  _And._ Did his hand shake, or his eye look dull,
  His thoughts reel fearful when he struck the stroke?
  And if they did, I'll rend them out the hearse,
  Rip up his cerecloth, mangle his bleak face,
  That when he comes to heaven, the powers divine,
  Shall ne'er take notice that he was my son:
  I'll quite disclaim his birth. Nay, prithee, speak!             310
  And 'twere not hooped with steel, my breast would break.

  _Mel._ O that my spirit in a sigh could mount
  Into the sphere where thy sweet soul doth rest!

  _Pier._ O that my tears, bedewing thy wan cheek,
  Could make new spirit sprout in thy cold blood!

  _Bal._ Verily, he looks as pitifully as a poor John;[186]
  as I am true knight, I could weep like a ston'd
  horse.

  _And._ Villain, 'tis thou hast murderèd my son!
  Thy unrelenting spirit, thou black dog,      320
  That took'st no passion[187] of his fatal love,
  Hath forced him give his life untimely end.

  _Pier._ O! that my life, her love, my dearest blood,
  Would but redeem one minute of his breath!

  _Ant._ [_rising_.] I seize that breath. Stand not amazed,
     great states;
  I rise from death that never lived till now.
  Piero, keep thy vow, and I enjoy
  More unexpressèd height of happiness
  Than power of thought can reach; if not, lo, here
  There stands my tomb, and here a pleasing stage.                330
  Most-wish'd spectators of my tragedy,
  To this end have I feign'd, that her fair eye,
  For whom I lived, might bless me ere I die.

  _Mel._ Can breath depaint[188] my unconceivèd thoughts?
  Can words describe my infinite delight
  Of seeing thee, my lord Antonio?
  O no; conceit, breath, passion, words, be dumb,
  Whilst I instill the dew of my sweet bliss,
  In the soft pressure of a melting kiss!
  _Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras._                                340

  _Pier._ Fair son (now I'll be proud to call thee son),
  Enjoy me thus: my very breast is thine;
  Possess me freely, I am wholly thine.

  _Ant._ Dear father----

  _And._ Sweet son, sweet son, I can speak no more:
  My joy's passion flows above the shore,
  And chokes the current of my speech.

  _Pier._ Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg
  For a remittance of your interest.

  _Gal._ In your fair daughter? with all my thought.              350
  So help me faith, the nak'd truth I'll unfold;
  He that was never[189] hot will soon be cold.

  _Pier._ No man else makes claim unto her?

  _Mat._ The valiant speak truth in brief: no--

  _Bal._ Truly, for Sir Jeffrey Balurdo, he disclaims to
  have had anything in her.

  _Pier._ Then here I give her to Antonio.
  Royal, valiant, most respected prince,
  Let's clip our hands, I'll thus observe my vow:
  I promised twenty thousand double pistolets,                    360
  With the endearing to my dearest love,
  To him that brought thy head; thine be the gold,
  To solemnise our houses' unity;
  My love be thine, the all I have, be thine.
  Fill us fresh wine, the form we'll take by this;
  We'll drink a health, while they two sip a kiss.[190]
  Now there remains no discord that can sound
  Harsh accents to the ear of our accord:
  So please you,[191] niece, to match.                            369


  _Ros._ Troth, uncle, when my sweet-faced coz hath told
  me how she likes the thing called wedlock, may be I'll
  take a survey of the checkroll of my servants; and he
  that hath the best parts of--I'll prick him down for my
  husband.

  _Bal._ For passion of love now, remember me to my
  mistress, lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the
  good parts of her servants. As I am true knight, I grow
  stiff; I shall carry it.

  _Pier._ I will.
  Sound Lydian wires, once make a pleasing note                   380
  On nectar streams of your sweet airs to float.

  _Ant._ Here ends the comic crosses of true love;
  O! may the passage most successful prove!


     [160] Cool.--To _keel the pot_ was to stir the contents
     gently in order to keep them from boiling over.

     [161] Motto.

     [162] So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633 "thou wilt."

     [163] A familiar form of address.

     [164] A sort of velvet.

     [165] In _Every Man out of his Humour_, iv. 4, after Fastidious
     Brisk has been describing the damage done to his finery in a
     duel, Carlo observes--"I wonder he speaks not of his _wrought
     shirt_." Gifford remarks--"The linen, both of men and women, was
     either so worked as to resemble the finest lace, or was
     ornamented by the needle with representations of fruits, flowers,
     passages of history, &c."

     [166] Ed. 1602 "price."

     [167] This play was acted by the Paul's Children, whose voices
     were carefully trained: hence the frequent introduction of songs.

     [168] See note 2, p. 51.

     [169] "Their _corkèd shoes_ to bear them high."--Stephen Gosson's
     _Pleasant Quips, &c._

     [170] See note 6, p. 48.

     [171] "Slip"--counterfeit coin.

     [172] "Do me right and dub me knight."--Part of an old catch. So
     Silence in _2 Henry IV._, v. 3:--
                    "Do me right
                    And dub me knight,
                            Samingo."

     Again in Nashe's _Summer's Last Will and Testament_:--
          "_All. Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpass,
               In cup, in can, or glass._
          _Bac._ Ho, well shot a toucher, a toucher.
               _For quaffing Toy doth pass
               In cup, in can, or glass._
          _All. God Bacchus, do him right,
               And dub him knight._"

     [173] Old eds. "mine."

     [174] Old eds. "Millane;" but Galeatzo, son of the Duke of
     Florence, was the suitor whom Piero had chosen. Cf. p. 91:--
          "Young Florence prince, to you my lips must be,
          For a remittance of your interest."

     [175] Wide loose breeches.

     [176] "Ruffled boot."--See notes on Middleton, i. 26, viii. 70.

     [177] Motto.

     [178] "'Speak pure fool.'--This is idiomatic, and is in sense
     equivalent to, 'I will speak like a pure fool.' Thus in
     _Othello_, act ii., 'Drunk? and speak parrot?'--that is, talk
     foolishly or idly like a parrot."--_Halliwell_.

     [179] Old form of "bauble."

     [180] The highest note in the scale.--Cf. Nashe's _Christ's Tears
     over Jerusalem_ (_Works_, ed. Grosart, v. 188):--"No, no, either
     you must _strain your wits an ela above_ theirs," &c. The form of
     expression is not uncommon.

     [181] A red lattice was the distinguishing mark of a tavern.

     [182] "Flyboat" (Span. filibote)--a fast-sailing vessel.

     [183] "To float, to swim, as borne along or driven by wind or
     water."--Dyce's _Shakesp. Glossary_.

     [184] A large galley.

     [185] Old eds. "resolv'd."

     [186] "Poor John" = inferior dried hake. (Ed. 1633 "as Poor
     John.")

     [187] Sorrow, pity.

     [188] Depict.

     [189] Old eds. "nere."

     [190] "Sip a kiss"--a translation of the Latin expression "oscula
     libare."

     [191] Old eds. "your."




                             EPILOGUS.


_And._ Gentlemen, though I remain an armed Epilogue,[192]
I stand not as a peremptory challenger of desert, either
for him that composed the Comedy, or for us that acted
it; but a most submissive suppliant for both. What
imperfection you have seen in us, leave with us, and
we'll amend it; what hath pleased you, take with you,
and cherish it. You shall not be more ready to embrace
anything commendable, than we will endeavour to amend
all things reprovable. What we are, is by your favour.
What we shall be, rests all in your applausive encouragements.
                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [192] It was probably in derision of Marston's "armed Epilogue"
     that Ben Jonson heralded _The Poetaster_ with an armed
     Prologue. In _Troilus and Cressida_ we have an armed
     Prologue:--
                    "And hither am I come,
          A Prologue armed--but not in confidence
          Of author's pen."




                        ANTONIO'S REVENGE.

                _THE SECOND PART OF THE HISTORY OF
                       ANTONIO AND MELLIDA._




_Antonios Reuenge. The second part. As it hath beene sundry times
acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I. M. London. Printed for
Thomas Fisher, and are to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde._
1602. 4to.


                        STORY OF THE PLAY.

Piero had been a suitor for the hand of Maria, daughter of the Duke of
Ferrara, but his addresses had been rejected and Maria had married
Andrugio, the offspring of the union being Antonio. When Piero,
dissembling his hatred, affects to be reconciled to Andrugio, Lucio is
despatched to bring Maria to the Venetian Court. Piero, at a banquet
given on the eve of his daughter's marriage with Antonio, instils in
Andrugio's cup a poison which has no immediate effect but works
fatally after a few hours. With the help of a base creature, Strotzo,
he proceeds in the night to murder Antonio's friend, Feliche, whose
body is carried by Strotzo to Mellida's chamber. At sunrise Maria and
Lucio arrive at Venice. Antonio, whose sleep has been troubled by
hideous dreams, is abroad early, and is met by his mother as he paces
disquietly in front of Mellida's chamber. Presently the window-curtain
is drawn aside and there is exposed the body of Feliche, stabbed thick
with wounds. While Antonio is distractedly calling upon Mellida to
rise, Piero advances and proclaims himself the author of Feliche's
death, protesting that he had found his daughter in the embraces of
the murdered man. The scene of confusion is heightened by the entrance
of Strotzo, who announces that Andrugio has died from excess of joy at
his sudden change of fortunes. Mellida is put in close confinement,
and a day is appointed for her trial. Strotzo is instructed by Piero
to come forward at the trial and accuse Antonio of having instigated
the murders of Andrugio and Feliche. But before the trial Andrugio's
ghost appears to Antonio, discloses Piero's villainy, and bids Antonio
take vengeance on the murderer. Antonio stabs Piero's young son Julio
at Andrugio's shrine; he then disguises himself as Maria's fool and
watches his opportunity for further vengeance. The trial of Mellida is
held: Strotzo enters the court with a cord round his neck, declaring
that he had been suborned by Antonio to commit the crimes; and
officers are despatched to arrest Antonio, who in his fool's habit is
watching the proceedings. It had been part of the plot that Strotzo,
after making his confession, should break into passionate outbursts of
sorrow and implore Piero to rid him of a dishonourable life; whereupon
Piero was to spring forward, grasp the cord round Strotzo's neck as
with intent to strangle him, then suddenly to relax his hold, moved by
Strotzo's penitent conduct. Strotzo goes through his part of the
performance; but Piero, grasping one end of the cord while Castilio (a
courtier) grasps the other, is careful not to loose his hold before
the victim is strangled. Presently word is brought that Antonio in a
fit of distraction has flung himself from a high tower into the sea.
At this news Mellida falls into a deep swoon and is conveyed to her
chamber, whither Antonio after a short delay contrives to follow her,
but arrives only in time to see her expire. Piero, notwithstanding his
daughter's untoward death, determines that his marriage with Maria
(who affects to acquiesce in the arrangement) shall take place without
delay. A scheme of vengeance is contrived between Antonio, Pandulfo
(Feliche's father) and Alberto (Feliche's friend). The conspirators
attire themselves as maskers and appear at a banquet given by Piero on
the eve of his marriage. On the appearance of the maskers Piero
enquires for his son, Julio, and sends an attendant to fetch him to
see the dances. After dancing a measure the maskers request Piero to
have the hall cleared while they sit unmasked at the banquet.
Thereupon the guests and retainers withdraw, but Piero at the maskers'
request remains. He takes a seat at the banquet; the conspirators,
unmasking themselves, spring forward and bind him with cords to the
chair; insult over him, cut out his tongue, produce in a dish the
limbs of his murdered son, and finally hack him to death with their
swords. The tyrant's death is welcomed with universal joy. The
conspirators are hailed as saviours of their country, and are offered
high offices of state; but prefer to spend the rest of their lives in
the seclusion of a religious house.




                           THE PROLOGUE.



  The rawish dank of clumsy[193] winter ramps
  The fluent summer's vein; and drizzling sleet
  Chilleth the wan bleak cheek of the numb'd earth,
  Whilst snarling gusts nibble the juiceless leaves
  From the nak'd shudd'ring branch; and pills[194] the skin
  From off the soft and delicate aspects.
  O now, methinks, a sullen tragic scene
  Would suit the time with pleasing congruence.
  May we be happy in our weak devoir,
  And all part pleasèd in most wish'd content!                     10
  But sweat of Hercules can ne'er beget
  So blest an issue. Therefore, we proclaim,
  If any spirit breathes within this round,
  Uncapable of weighty passion,
  (As from his birth being huggèd in the arms,
  And nuzzled 'twixt the breasts of happiness)
  Who winks, and shuts his apprehension up
  From common sense of what men were and are,
  Who would not know what men must be--let such
  Hurry amain from our black-visaged shows:                        20
  We shall affright their eyes. But if a breast
  Nail'd to the earth with grief; if any heart
  Pierc'd through with anguish pant within this ring;
  If there be any blood whose heat is choked
  And stifled with true sense of misery;
  If ought of these strains fill this consort up--
  Th' arrive most welcome. O that our power
  Could lackey or keep wing with our desires,
  That with unusèd paize[195] of style and sense,
  We might weigh massy in judicious scale.      30
  Yet here's the prop that doth support our hopes:
  When our scenes falter, or invention halts,
  Your favour will give crutches to our faults.[196]         [_Exit._


     [193] Marston's use of the words _clumsy_ and _ramp_ is
     ridiculed in _The Poetaster_ (v. 1).

     [194] Peels.

     [195] An old form of _poise_.

     [196] "This prologue, for its passionate earnestness, and for the
     tragic note of preparation which it sounds, might have preceded
     one of those tales of Thebes, or Pelops' line, which Milton has
     so highly commended, as free from the common errors in his days,
     'of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity,
     brought in without discretion corruptly to gratify the people.'
     It is as solemn a preparative as the 'warning voice which he who
     saw th' Apocalypse heard cry.'"--_Charles Lamb._




                      _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._[197]



  PIERO SFORZA, _Duke of Venice_.
  ANTONIO, _son to the murdered_ ANDRUGIO, _affianced to_ MELLIDA.
  PANDULFO, _father to the murdered_ FELICHE.
  ALBERTO, _a Venetian gentleman_.
  BALURDO, _a rich gull_.
  MATZAGENTE, _a modern braggadoch_.
  GALEATZO, _son to the Duke of Milan_.
  FOROBOSCO, _a Parasite_.
  CASTILIO BALTHAZAR, _a spruce courtier_.
  LUCIO, _an old nobleman, attendant to_ MARIA.
  STROTZO, _a creature of_ PIERO.
  JULIO, _son to_ PIERO.

  MARIA, ANDRUGIO'S _widow, mother to_ ANTONIO.
  MELLIDA, _daughter to_ PIERO, _affianced to_ ANTONIO.
  NUTRICHE, _attendant to_ MARIA.
  _Two Senators, Herald, Waiting-women, Page, &c._

  _Ghost of_ ANDRUGIO, _Ghost of_ FELICHE.

                         THE SCENE--VENICE.


     [197] There is no list of characters in the old eds.




                        ANTONIO'S REVENGE.




                              ACT I.


                             SCENE I.

               _A corridor in the palace of_ PIERO.

     _Enter_ PIERO, _unbraced, his arms bare, smeared in blood,
      a poniard in one hand bloody, and a torch in the other_;
                STROTZO _following him with a cord_.

  _Pier._ Ho, Gasper Strotzo, bind Feliche's trunk
  Unto the panting side of Mellida!

                                                     [_Exit_ STROTZO.

  'Tis yet dead night, yet all the earth is clutch'd[198]
  In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleep;
  No breath disturbs the quiet of the air,
  No spirit moves upon the breast of earth,
  Save howling dogs, night-crows, and screeching owls,
  Save meagre ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.
  One, two!

                                                    [_Clock strikes._

  Lord, in two hours what a topless mount                          10
  Of unpeer'd mischief have these hands cast up!

                        _Re-enter_ STROTZO.

  I can scarce coop triumphing vengeance up
  From bursting forth in braggart passion.

  _Str._ My lord, 'tis firmly said that----

  _Pier._ Andrugio sleeps in peace: this brain hath choked
  The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs
  But as a bait upon the line of death,
  To tice on mischief. I am great in blood,
  Unequall'd in revenge. You horrid scouts
  That sentinel swart night, give loud applause                    20
  From your large palms. First, know, my heart was rais'd
  Unto Andrugio's life upon this ground--

  _Str._ Duke, 'tis reported----

  _Pier._ We both were rivals in our may of blood,
  Unto Maria, fair Ferrara's heir.
  He won the lady, to my honour's death,
  And from her sweets cropp'd this Antonio;
  For which I burnt in inward swelt'ring hate,
  And fester'd rankling malice in my breast,
  Till I might belk revenge upon his eyes:                         30
  And now (O blessèd now!) 'tis done. Hell, night,
  Give loud applause to my hypocrisy.
  When his bright valour even dazzled sense,
  In off'ring his own head, public reproach
  Had blurr'd my name. Speak, Strotzo, had it not?
  If then I had----

  _Str._ It had, so please----

  _Pier._ What had, so please? Unseasoned sycophant,
  Piero Sforza is no numbèd lord,
  Senseless of all true touch;[199] stroke not the head            40
  Of infant speech, till it be fully born;
  Go to!

  _Str._ How now! Fut, I'll not smother your speech.

  _Pier._ Nay, right thine eyes: 'twas but a little spleen,--
  (Huge plunge![200]
  Sin's grown a slave, and must observe slight evils;
  Huge villains are enforced to claw[201] all devils.)--
  Pish, sweet, thy thoughts, and give me----.

  _Str._ Stroke not the head of infant speech! go to!

  _Pier._ Nay, calm this storm. I ever held thy breast
  More secret, and more firm in league of blood,                   50
  Than to be struck in heat with each slight puff.
  Give me thy ears; huge infamy [had] press['d] down
  My honour, if even then, when his fresh act
  Of prowess bloom'd out full,
  I had ta'en vengeance on his hated head----.

  _Str._ Why it had----.

  _Pier._ Could I avoid to give a seeming grant
  Unto fruition of Antonio's love?

  _Str._ No.

  _Pier._ And didst thou ever see a Judas kiss                     60
  With a more covert touch of fleering hate?

  _Str._ No.

  _Pier._ And having clipt them with pretence of love,
  Have I not crush'd them with a cruel wring?

  _Str._ Yes.

  _Pier._ Say, faith, didst thou e'er hear, or read, or see
  Such happy vengeance, unsuspected death?
  That I should drop strong poison in the bowl,
  Which I myself caroused unto his health
  And future fortune of our unity!                                 70
  That it should work even in the hush[202] of night,
  And strangle him on sudden, that fair show
  Of death, for the excessive joy of his fate,
  Might choke the murder! Ha, Strotzo, is't not rare?
  Nay, but weigh it. Then Feliche stabb'd
  (Whose sinking thought[203] frighted my conscious heart),
  And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,
  And hale on mischief. This all in one night!
  Is't to be equall'd, think'st thou? O, I could eat
  Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagg'd censure. Fut,                80
  Is't not rare?

  _Str._ Yes.

  _Pier._ No? yes? nothing but _no_ and _yes_, dull lump?
  Canst thou not honey me with fluent speech,
  And even adore my topless villainy?
  Will I not blast my own blood for revenge,
  Must not thou straight be perjur'd for revenge,
  And yet no creature dream 'tis my revenge?
  Will I not turn a glorious bridal morn
  Unto a Stygian night? Yet naught but _no_ and _yes_!             90

  _Str._ I would have told you, if the incubus[204]
  That rides your bosom would have patience,
  It is reported that in private state
  Maria, Genoa's duchess, makes to court,
  Longing to see him, whom she ne'er shall see,
  Her lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiv'd
  The news of reconciliation.
  A[205] reconciliation with death!
  Poor lady! shall but find poor comfort in't.

  _Pier._ O, let me swoon for joy. By heaven, I think             100
  I ha' said my prayers, within this month at least;
  I am so boundless happy. Doth she come?
  By this warm reeking gore, I'll marry her.
  Look I not now like an inamorate?[206]
  Poison the father, butcher the son, and marry the mother, ha!
  Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleep;
  For see, the dapple grey coursers of the morn
  Beat up the light with their bright silver hooves,
  And chase it through the sky.--To bed, to bed!
  This morn my vengeance shall be amply fed.           [_Exeunt._ 110


     [198] Old eds. "cloucht," which we might regard as a misprint for
     "coucht" if Marston had not shown an excessive fondness
     (ridiculed in _The Poetaster_) for the word "clutch."

     [199] Feeling, perception.--See Dyce's _Shakesp. Glossary_.

     [200] _Plunge_ often has the meaning of--difficulty,
     embarrassment. I suppose it has that meaning here. Piero is
     annoyed at having to speak fair words to so paltry a rascal as
     Strotzo.

     [201] Stroke gently, flatter.--A common name for a flatterer was
     _clawback._--"Flatant.--Flattering, fawning, colloguing with,
     _clawing_, smoothing, stroaking."--_Cotgrave._

     [202] Old eds. "husht."

     [203] "Sinking thought" is a curious expression. It means, I
     suppose--deep discernment, penetrative shrewdness. Piero dreaded
     that his villainies would be detected by Feliche.

     [204] Marston's use of this word is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_
     (v. 1).

     [205] Old eds. "Reconciliation with a death?" Metre and sense
     show that the article "a" has been misplaced by the printer.

     [206] So old eds.


                             SCENE II.

                _Precincts of the palace of_ PIERO.

               _Enter_ LUCIO, MARIA, _and_ NUTRICHE.

  _Mar._ Stay, gentle Lucio, and vouchsafe thy hand.

  _Lu._ O, Madam----.

  _Mar._ Nay, prithee give me leave to say, vouchsafe;
  Submiss entreats beseem my humble fate.
  Here let us sit. O Lucio, fortune's gilt
  Is rubb'd quite off from my slight tin-foil'd state,
  And poor Maria must appear ungraced
  Of the bright fulgor of gloss'd majesty.

  _Lu._ Cheer up your spirits, Madam; fairer chance,
  Than that which courts your presence instantly,                  10
  Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought.

  _Mar._ Art thou assured the dukes are reconciled?
  Shall my womb's honour wed fair Mellida?
  Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head?
  Shall I once more clip my Andrugio,
  And wreath my arms about Antonio's neck?
  Or is glib rumour grown a parasite,
  Holding a false glass to my sorrow's eyes,
  Making the wrinkled front of grief seem fair,
  Though 'tis much rivell'd[207] with abortive care?               20

  _Lu._ Most virtuous princess, banish straggling fear,
  Keep league with comfort. For these eyes beheld
  The dukes united; yon faint glimmering light
  Ne'er peepèd through the crannies of the east,
  Since I beheld them drink a sound carouse,
  In sparkling Bacchus, unto each other's health;
  Your son assur'd[208] to beauteous Mellida,
  And all clouds clear'd of threat'ning discontent.

  _Mar._ What age is morning of?

  _Lu._ I think 'bout five.

  _Mar._ Nutriche, Nutriche!                                       30

  _Nut._ Beshrow your fingers! marry, you have disturb'd
  the pleasure of the finest dream. O God! I was even
  coming to it, law. O Jesu! 'twas coming of the sweetest.
  I'll tell you now, methought I was married, and methought
  I spent (O Lord, why did you wake me?), and
  methought I spent three spur-royals[209] on the fiddlers for
  striking up a fresh hornpipe. Saint Ursula! I was even
  going to bed, and you, methought, my husband, was
  even putting out the tapers, when you--Lord I shall never
  have such a dream come upon me, as long as----.                  40

  _Mar._ Peace, idle creature, peace!--When will the
  court rise?

  _Lu._ Madam, 'twere best you took some lodging up,
  And lay in private till the soil of grief
  Were clear'd your cheek, and new burnish'd lustre
  Clothèd your presence, 'fore you saw the dukes,
  And enter'd 'mong the proud Venetian states.[210]

  _Mar._ No, Lucio, my dear lord is wise, and knows
  That tinsel glitter, or rich purfled[211] robes,
  Curl'd hairs, hung full of sparkling carcanets,
  Are not the true adornments of a wife.                           50
  So long as wives are faithful, modest, chaste,
  Wise lords affect them. Virtue doth not waste
  With each slight flame of crackling vanity.
  A modest eye forceth affection,
  Whilst outward gayness' light looks but entice:
  Fairer than nature's fair is foulest vice.
  She that loves art to get her cheek more lovers,
  Much outward gauds, slight inward grace discovers.
  I care not to seem fair but to my lord:
  Those that strive most to please most strangers' sight,
  Folly may judge most fair, wisdom most light.                    61

                                      [_Music sounds a short strain._

  But hark, soft music gently moves the air!
  I think the bridegroom's up. Lucio, stand close.
  O now, Maria, challenge grief to stay
  Thy joy's encounter. Look, Lucio, 'tis clear day.

                             [_They retire to the back of the stage._

          _Enter_ ANTONIO, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, BALURDO,
         PANDULPHO, FELICHE, ALBERTO, FOROBOSCO, CASTILIO,
                           _and a Page_.

  _Ant._ Darkness is fled: look, infant morn hath drawn
  Bright silver curtains 'bout the couch of night;
  And now Aurora's horse trots azure rings,[212]
  Breathing fair light about the firmament.--
  Stand, what's that?                                                70

  _Mat._ And if a hornèd devil should burst forth,
  I would pass on him with a mortal stock.[213]

  _Alb._ Oh, a horned devil would prove ominous
  Unto a bridegroom's eyes.

  _Mat._ A horned devil? Good: ha, ha, ha!--very good!

  _Alb._ Good tann'd prince, laugh not. By the joys of love,
  When thou dost girn,[214] thy rusty face doth look
  Like the head of a roasted rabbit: fie upon't!

  _Bal._ By my troth, methinks his nose is just colour de roy.[215]

  _Mat._ I tell thee, fool, my nose will abide no jest.            80

  _Bal._ No, in truth, I do not jest; I speak truth. Truth
  is the touchstone of all things; and, if your nose will not
  abide the truth, your nose will not abide the touch; and,
  if your nose will not abide the touch, your nose is a
  copper nose, and must be nail'd up for a slip.[216]

  _Mat._ I scorn to retort the obtuse jest of a fool.

                 [BALURDO _draws out his writing tables, and writes_.

  _Bal._ Retort and obtuse, good words, very good words.

  _Gal._ Young prince, look sprightly; fie, a bridegroom sad!

  _Bal._ In truth, if he were retort and obtuse, no question
  he would be merry; but, and please my genius, I will be
  most retort and obtuse ere night. I'll tell you what I'll
  bear soon at night in my shield, for my device.                  92

  _Gal._ What, good Balurdo?

  _Bal._ O, do me right:--Sir Jeffrey Balurdo; sir, sir,
  as long as ye live, sir.

  _Gal._ What, good Sir Jeffrey Balurdo?

  _Bal._ Marry forsooth, I'll carry for my device my grandfather's
  great stone horse, flinging up his head, and
  jerking out his left leg: the word, "Wighy Purt." As I
  am a true knight, will't not be most retort and obtuse,
  ha?                                                             101

  _Ant._ Blow hence these sapless jests. I tell you, bloods,
  My spirit's heavy, and the juice of life
  Creeps slowly through my stiffen'd arteries.
  Last sleep, my sense was steep'd in horrid dreams:
  Three parts of night were swallow'd in the gulf
  Of ravenous time, when to my slumb'ring powers,
  Two meagre ghosts made apparition.
  The one's breast seem'd fresh paunch'd with bleeding wounds,
  Whose bubbling gore sprang in [my] frighted eyes;               110
  The other ghost assum'd my father's shape:
  Both cried, "Revenge!" At which my trembling joints,
  Icèd quite over with a frozed cold sweat,[217]
  Leap'd forth the sheets. Three[218] times I g[r]asp'd at shades,
  And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,
  I forc'd my thoughts make stand; when lo, I oped[219]
  A large bay window, th[o]rough which the night
  Struck terror to my soul. The verge of heaven
  Was ring'd with flames, and all the upper vault
  Thick-lac'd with flakes of fire; in midst whereof               120
  A blazing comet shot his threat'ning train
  Just on my face. Viewing these prodigies,
  I bow'd my naked knee and pierc'd the star
  With an outfacing eye, pronouncing thus:
  _Deus imperat astris_. At which, my nose straight bled;
  Then doubted I my word, so slunk to bed.                        126

  _Bal._ Verily, Sir Jeffrey had a monstrous strange dream
  the last night. For methought I dreamt I was asleep,
  and methought the ground yawn'd and belkt up the
  abhominable ghost of a misshapen simile, with two ugly
  pages; the one called master, even as going before; and
  the other mounser,[220] even so following after; whilst
  Signior Simile stalk'd most prodigiously in the midst.
  At which I bewray'd[221] the fearfulness of my nature, and
  being ready to forsake the fortress of my wit, start up,
  called for a clean shirt, ate a mess of broth, and with
  that I awaked.

  _Ant._ I prithee, peace. I tell you, gentlemen,
  The frightful shades of night yet shake my brain:
  My jellied[222] blood's not thaw'd: the sulphur damps,          140
  That flew[223] in wingèd lightning 'bout my couch,
  Yet stick within my sense, my soul is great
  In expectation of dire prodigies.

  _Pan._ Tut, my young prince, let not thy fortunes see
  Their lord a coward. He that's nobly born
  Abhors to fear: base fear's the brand of slaves.
  He that observes, pursues, slinks back for fright,
  Was never cast in mould of noble sprite.

  _Gal._ Tush, there's a sun will straight exhale these damps
  Of chilling fear. Come, shall's salute the bride?               150

  _Ant._ Castilio, I prithee mix thy breath with his:
  Sing one of Signior Renaldo's airs,
  To rouse the slumb'ring bride from gluttoning
  In surfeit of superfluous sleep. Good signior, sing.

                                                           [_A Song._

  What means this silence and unmovèd calm?
  Boy, wind thy cornet: force the leaden gates
  Of lazy sleep fly open with thy breath.
  My Mellida not up? not stirring yet? umh!

  _Mar._ That voice should be my son's, Antonio's.
  Antonio!                                                        160

  _Ant._ Here: who calls? here stands Antonio.

  _Mar._ Sweet son!

  _Ant._ Dear mother!

  _Mar._ Fair honour of a chaste and loyal bed,
  Thy father's beauty, thy sad mother's love,
  Were I as powerful as the voice of fate,
  Felicity complete should sweet thy state;
  But all the blessings that a poor banish'd wretch
  Can pour upon thy head, take, gentle son:
  Live, gracious youth, to close thy mother's eyes,               170
  Loved of thy parents, till their latest hour.
  How cheers my lord, thy father? O sweet boy,
  Part of him thus I clip, my dear, dear joy.

                                                  [_Embraces_ ANTONIO.

  _Ant._ Madam, last night I kissed his princely hand,
  And took a treasured blessing from his lips.
  O mother, you arrive in jubilee,
  And firm atonement of all boist'rous rage;
  Pleasure, united love, protested faith,
  Guard my loved father, as sworn pensioners:
  The dukes are leagued in firmest bond of love,                  180
  And you arrive even in the solsticy
  And highest point of sunshine happiness.

                                        [_One winds a cornet within._

  Hark, madam, how yon cornet jerketh up
  His strain'd shrill accents in the capering air,
  As proud to summon up my bright-cheek'd love!
  Now, mother, ope wide expectation;
  Let loose your amplest sense, to entertain
  Th' impression of an object of such worth
  That life's too poor to----

  _Gal._ Nay, leave hyperboles.

  _Ant._ I tell thee, prince, that presence straight appears
  Of which thou canst not form hyperboles;                        191
  The trophy of triumphing excellence,
  The heart of beauty, Mellida appears.
  See, look, the curtain stirs; shine nature's pride,
  Love's vital spirit, dear Antonio's bride.

            [_The curtain's drawn, and the body of_ FELICHE, _stabb'd
                thick with wounds, appears hung up_.

  What villain bloods the window of my love?
  What slave hath hung yon gory ensign up
  In flat defiance of humanity?
  Awake, thou fair unspotted purity!
  Death's at thy window, awake, bright Mellida!                   200
  Antonio calls!

            _Enter_ PIERO, _unbraced, with_ FOROBOSCO.

  _Pier._ Who gives these ill-befitting attributes
  Of chaste, unspotted, bright, to Mellida?
  He lies as loud as thunder: she's unchaste,
  Tainted, impure, black as the soul of hell.

           [ANTONIO _draws his rapier, offers to run at_ PIERO, _but_
               MARIA _holds his arm and stays him_.

  _Ant._ Dog! I will make thee eat thy vomit up,
  Which thou hast belkt 'gainst taintless Mellida.

  _Pier._[224] Ram't quickly down, that it may not rise up
  To imbraid[225] my thoughts. Behold my stomach;
  Strike me quite through with the relentless edge                210
  Of raging fury. Boy, I'll kill thy love.
  Pandulf Feliche, I have stabb'd thy son:
  Look, yet his lifeblood reeks upon this steel.
  Albert, yon hangs thy friend. Have none of you
  Courage of vengeance? Forget I am your duke;
  Think Mellida is not Piero's blood;
  Imagine on slight ground I'll blast his honour;
  Suppose I saw not that incestuous slave,
  Clipping the strumpet with luxurious twines![226]
  O, numb my sense of anguish, cast my life                       220
  In a dead sleep, whilst law cuts off yon maim,[227]
  Yon putrid ulcer of my royal blood!

  _For._ Keep league with reason, gracious sovereign.

  _Pier._ There glow no sparks of reason in the world;
  All are raked up in ashy beastliness.
  The bulk of man's as dark as Erebus,
  No branch of reason's light hangs in his trunk:
  There lives no reason to keep league withal.
  I ha' no reason to be reasonable.
  Her wedding eve, link'd to the noble blood                      230
  Of my most firmly-reconcilèd friend,
  And found even cling'd in sensuality!
  O heaven! O heaven! Were she as near my heart
  As is my liver, I would rend her off.

                          _Enter_ STROTZO.

  _Str._ Whither, O whither shall I hurl vast grief!

  _Pier._ Here, into my breast: 'tis a place built wide
  By fate, to give receipt to boundless woes.

  _Str._ O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleave
  With my keen-piercing news. Andrugio's dead.

  _Pier._ Dead!                                                   240

  _Mar._ O me, most miserable!

  _Pier._ Dead! alas, how dead?             [_Gives seeming passion._
  [_Aside._] Fut, weep, act, feign--Dead! alas, how dead?

  _Str._ The vast delights of his large sudden joys
  Open'd his powers so wide, that 's native heat
  So prodigally flow'd t' exterior parts,
  That th'inner citadel was left unmann'd,
  And so surpris'd on sudden by cold death.

  _Mar._ O fatal, disastrous, cursèd, dismal!
  Choke breath and life! I breathe, I live too long.              250
  Andrugio, my lord, I come, I come!                       [_Swoons._

  _Pier._ Be cheerful, princess; help, Castilio,
  The lady's swounèd;[228] help to bear her in:
  Slow comfort to huge cares is swiftest sin.

  _Bal._ Courage, courage, sweet lady, 'tis Sir Jeffrey
  Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an
  elephant about a lady.

                           [_Exeunt_ PIERO, CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO _and_
                                        BALURDO, _bearing out_ MARIA.

  _Pan._ Dead!

  _Ant._ Dead!

  _Alb._ Dead!                                                    260

  _Ant._ Why, now the womb of mischief is deliver'd,
  Of the prodigious issue of the night.

  _Pan._ Ha, ha, ha!

  _Ant._ My father dead: my love attaint of lust,--
  That's a large lie, as vast as spacious hell!
  Poor guiltless lady! O, accursèd lie!
  What, whom, whither, which shall I first lament?
  A[229] dead father, a dishonour'd wife? Stand.
  Methinks I feel the frame of nature shake.
  Cracks not the joints of earth to bear my woes?                 270

  _Alb._ Sweet prince, be patient.

  _Ant._ 'Slid, sir, I will not in despite of thee.
  Patience is slave to fools: a chain that's fixt
  Only to posts, and senseless log-like dolts.

  _Alb._ 'Tis reason's glory to command affects.[230]

  _Ant._ Lies thy cold father dead, his glossèd eyes
  New closèd up by thy sad mother's hands?
  Hast thou a love, as spotless as the brow
  Of clearest heaven, blurr'd with false defames?
  Are thy moist entrails crumpled up with grief                   280
  Of parching mischiefs? Tell me, does thy heart
  With punching anguish spur thy gallèd ribs?
  Then come, let's sit[231] and weep and wreathe our arms:
  I'll hear thy counsel.

  _Alb._ Take comfort.

  _Ant._ Confusion to all comfort! I defy it.
  Comfort's a parasite, a flattering jack,[232]
  And melts resolv'd despair. O boundless woe,
  If there be any black yet unknown grief,
  If there be any horror yet unfelt,                              290
  Unthought of mischief in thy fiend-like power,
  Dash it upon my miserable head;
  Make me more wretch, more cursèd if thou canst!
  O, now my fate is more than I could fear:
  My woes more weighty than my soul can bear.                [_Exit._

  _Pan._ Ha, ha, ha!

  _Alb._ Why laugh you, uncle? That's my coz, your son,
  Whose breast hangs casèd in his cluttered[233] gore.

  _Pan._ True, man, true: why, wherefore should I weep?
  Come, sit, kind nephew: come on; thou and I                     300
  Will talk as chorus to this tragedy.
  Entreat the music strain their instruments
  With a slight touch, whilst we--Say on, fair coz.

  _Alb._ He was the very hope of Italy,

                                              [_Music sounds softly._

  The blooming honour of your drooping age.

  _Pan._ True, coz, true. They say that men of hope are crush'd;
  Good are supprest by base desertless clods,
  That stifle gasping virtue. Look, sweet youth,
  How provident our quick Venetians are,
  Lest hooves of jades should trample on my boy:                  310
  Look how they lift him up to eminence,
  Heave him 'bove reach of flesh. Ha, ha, ha!

  _Alb._ Uncle, this laughter ill becomes your grief.

  _Pan._ Would'st have me cry, run raving up and down,
  For my son's loss? Would'st have me turn rank mad,
  Or wring my face with mimic action;
  Stamp, curse, weep, rage, and then my bosom strike?
  Away, 'tis aspish action, player-like.[234]
  If he is guiltless, why should tears be spent?
  Thrice blessèd soul that dieth innocent.                        320
  If he is leper'd with so foul a guilt,
  Why should a sigh be lent, a tear be spilt?
  The gripe of chance is weak to wring a tear
  From him that knows what fortitude should bear.
  Listen, young blood. 'Tis not true valour's pride
  To swagger, quarrel, swear, stamp, rave, and chide,
  To stab in fume of blood, to keep loud coil[s]
  To bandy factions in domestic broils,
  To dare the act of sins, whose filth excels
  The blackest customs of blind infidels.                         330
  No, my lov'd youth: he may of valour vaunt
  Whom fortune's loudest thunder cannot daunt;
  Whom fretful gales of chance, stern fortune's siege,
  Makes not his reason slink, the soul's fair liege;
  Whose well-pais'd[235] action ever rests upon
  Not giddy humours but discretion.
  This heart in valour even Jove out-goes:
  Jove is without, but this 'bove sense of woes:[236]
  And such a one, eternity. Behold--
  Good morrow, son; thou bid'st a fig for cold.                   340
  Sound louder music: let my breath exact              [_Loud music._
  You strike sad tones unto this dismal act.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [207] Wrinkled.

     [208] Affianced.

     [209] Spur-royal was a gold coin worth fifteen shillings.

     [210] Nobles.

     [211] Embroidered (_Fr._ pourfiler).

     [212] To make a horse _tread the ring_ was an equestrian feat.
     The _ring_ was the circular piece of ground on which the horse
     displayed his agility. See note on Middleton, vol. i. p. 190.

     [213] Stockado, stoccata,--a thrust in fencing.

     [214] Grin or snarl.

     [215] "_Couleur de Roy_ was in the old time Purple; but now is
     the bright Tawnie which wee also tearme _Coulour de
     Roy_."--_Cotgrave._

     [216] A counterfeit coin.

     [217] A reminiscence of Virgil:--
          "Tum gelidus toto manabat corpore sudor:
          Corripio e stratis corpus."--_Æn._ iii. 174-5.

     [218] Again we are reminded of Virgil:--
          "Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum,
          Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago."--_Æn._ vi, 699-700.

     [219] For "I oped" old eds. give "top't."

     [220] Old form of "monsieur."--Balurdo is talking arrant
     nonsense.

     [221] The dramatists are fond of punning on the words, (1) bewray
     (betray), (2) beray (befoul). Cf. Middleton, i. 82, &c.

     [222] Old eds. "gellied," which I take to be _jellied_--not
     _gelid_. In the first edition of Shelley's _Cenci_ (iv. 3) we
     have:--"The _gellyed blood_ runs freely through my veins:" later
     editions read _jellied_.

     [223] Old eds. "flow."

     [224] Not marked in ed. 1602.

     [225] Reproach, upbraid.

     [226] "Luxurious twines"--lustful embraces.

     [227] Old eds. "maine."

     [228] So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633, "swounded."

     [229] The metrical harshness might be removed by reading "A
     father dead, a wife dishonour'd."

     [230] Affections, feelings.

     [231] Old eds. "and let's sit."

     [232] Saucy fellow.

     [233] "'_Grumean de sang_, a clot or _clutter_ of congealed
     blood,' Cotgrave. _Cluttered_ blood, 'Holinshed, _Hist. Engl._ p.
     74.'"--_Halliwell._

     [234] There seems to be an allusion to old Hieronymo's frantic
     behaviour in _The Spanish Tragedy_.

     [235] Well-balanced.

     [236] A Stoic sentiment. Seneca writes:--"Est aliquid quo sapiens
     antecedat deum: ille beneficio naturæ non timet, suo sapiens."
     (_Ep. Mor._, Lib. vi, Ep. 1.) But see particularly the quotation
     from Seneca on p. 133.




                              ACT II.


                             SCENE I.

                          _A dumb show._

                   _The cornets sound a senet._

  _Enter two mourners with torches, two with streamers_; CASTILIO
  _and_ FOROBOSCO, _with torches; a Herald bearing_ ANDRUGIO'S _helm
  and sword; the coffin_; MARIA _supported by_ LUCIO _and_ ALBERTO;
  _Antonio_, _by himself_; PIERO _and_ STROTZO, _talking_; GALEATZO
  _and_ MATZAGENTE, BALURDO _and_ PANDULFO: _the coffin set down;
  helm, sword, and streamers hung up, placed by the Herald, whilst_
  ANTONIO _and Maria wet their handkerchers with their tears, kiss
  them, and lay them on the hearse, kneeling: all go out but_ PIERO.
  _Cornets cease, and he speaks._

  _Pier._ Rot there, thou cerecloth that enfolds the flesh
  Of my loath'd foe; moulder to crumbling dust;
  Oblivion choke the passage of thy fame!
  Trophies of honour'd birth drop quickly down:
  Let nought of him, but what was vicious, live.
  Though thou art dead, think not my hate is dead:
  I have but newly twone my arm in the curl'd locks
  Of snaky vengeance. Pale, beetle-brow'd hate
  But newly bustles up. Sweet wrong, I clap thy thoughts!
  O let me hug thy[237] bosom, rub thy[237] breast,              10
  In hope of what may hap. Andrugio rots,
  Antonio lives: umh: how long? ha, ha! how long?
  Antonio pack'd hence, I'll his mother wed,
  Then clear my daughter of supposèd lust,
  Wed her to Florence heir. O excellent!
  Venice, Genoa, Florence at my beck,
  At Piero's nod.--Balurdo, O ho![238]--
  O 'twill be rare, all unsuspected done.
  I have been nursed in blood, and still have suck'd
  The steam of reeking gore.--Balurdo, ho!                         20

         _Enter_ BALURDO _with a beard, half off, half on_.

  _Bal._ When my beard is on, most noble prince, when
  my beard is on.

  _Pier._ Why, what dost thou with a beard?

  _Bal._ In truth, one told me that my wit was bald, and
  that a mermaid was half fish and half fish [_sic_]; and therefore
  to speak wisely, like one of your counsel, as indeed
  it hath pleased you to make me, not only being a fool of
  your counsel, but also to make me of your counsel being
  a fool: if my wit be bald, and a mermaid be half fish and
  half conger, then I must be forced to conclude--The
  tiring man hath not glued on my beard half fast enough.
  God's bores, it will not stick to fall off.                      32

  _Pier._ Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this while?

  _Bal._ O lord, duke, I would be sorry of that. Many
  men can utter that which no man but themselves can
  conceive: but I thank a good wit, I have the gift to speak
  that which neither any man else nor myself understands.

  _Pier._ Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not
  what, shall never sin against his own conscience: go to,
  thou art wise.                                                   40

  _Bal._ Wise? O no, I have a little natural discretion,
  or so; but for wise, I am somewhat prudent; but for
  wise, O lord!

  _Pier._ Hold, take those keys, open the castle vault,
  And put in Mellida.

  _Bal._ And put in Mellida? Well, let me alone.

  _Pier._ Bid Forobosco and Castilio guard;
  Endear thyself Piero's intimate.

  _Bal._ Endear, and intimate; good, I assure you. I
  will endear and intimate Mellida into the dungeon
  presently.                                                       51

  _Pier._ Will[239] Pandulfo Feliche wait on me.

  _Bal._ I will make him come, most retort and obtuse,
  to you presently. I think Sir Jeffrey talks like a counsellor.
  Go to, god's neaks, I think I tickle it.

  _Pier._ I'll seem to wind yon fool with kindest arm.
  He that's ambitious-minded, and but man,
  Must have his followers beasts, damn'd[240] slavish sots,
  Whose service is obedience, and whose wit
  Reacheth no further than to admire their lord,                   60
  And stare in adoration of his worth.
  I loathe a slave, raked out of common mud,
  Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart.
  High-honour'd blood's too squeamish to assent
  And lend a hand to an ignoble act:
  Poison from roses who could e'er abstract?--

                         _Enter_ PANDULFO.

  How now, Pandulfo? weeping for thy son?

  _Pan._ No, no, Piero, weeping for my sins:
  Had I been a good father, he had been
  A gracious son.

  _Pier._ Pollution must be purged.                                70

  _Pan._ Why taint'st thou then the air with stench of flesh,
  And human putrefaction's noisome scent?
  I pray his body. Who less boon can crave
  Than to bestow upon the dead his grave?

  _Pier._ Grave! Why, think'st thou he deserves a grave,
  That hath defil'd the temple of----

  _Pan._ Peace, peace!
  Methinks I hear a humming murmur creep
  From out his jellied[241] wounds. Look on those lips,
  Those now lawn pillows, on whose tender softness
  Chaste modest speech, stealing from out his breast,              80
  Had wont to rest itself, as loath to post
  From out so fair an inn! look, look, they seem to stir
  And breathe defiance to black obloquy!

  _Pier._ Think'st thou thy son could suffer wrongfully?

  _Pan._ A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong
  Can take;[242] his breast's of such well-tempered proof
  It may be razed, not pierced by savage tooth
  Of foaming malice: showers of darts may dark
  Heaven's ample brow, but not strike out a spark,
  Much less pierce the sun's cheek. Such songs as these
  I often dittied till my boy did sleep;                           91
  But now I turn plain fool, alas, I weep.

  _Pier._ [_Aside._] 'Fore heaven he makes me shrug; would 'a
     were dead.
  He is a virtuous man: what has our court to do
  With virtue, in the devil's name!--Pandulpho, hark:
  My lustful daughter dies; start not, she dies.
  I pursue justice; I love sanctity,
  And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts.
  Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio's dead:
  And I do fear a fetch;[243] but (umh) would I durst speak--
  I do mistrust but (umh)--[_Aside._] Death is he all, all man,
  Hath he no part of mother in him, ha?                           102
  No licorish womanish inquisitiveness?

  _Pan._ Andrugio's dead!

  _Pier._ Ay; and I fear his own unnatural blood,
  To whom he gave life, hath given death for life.
  [_Aside_.] How could he come on? I see false suspect
  Is viced; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart.--
  Well, I could give you reason for my doubts:
  You are of honour'd birth, my very friend:                      110
  You know how god-like 'tis to root out sin.
  Antonio is a villain: will you join
  In oath with me against the traitor's life,
  And swear you knew he sought his father's death?
  I loved him well, yet I love justice more:
  Our friends we should affect, justice adore.

  _Pan._ My lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glibb'd
  With court-oil, 'twill not strike on both sides yet.

  _Pier._ 'Tis[244] just that subjects act commands of kings.

  _Pan._ Command then just and honourable things.                 120

  _Pier._ Even so, myself then will traduce his guilt.

  _Pan._ Beware, take heed, lest guiltless blood be spilt.

  _Pier._ Where only honest deeds to kings are free,
  It is no empire, but a beggary.

  _Pan._ Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,
  It is no empire, but a tyranny.

  _Pier._ Tush, juiceless graybeard, 'tis immunity,
  Proper to princes, that our state exacts;
  Our subjects not alone to bear, but praise our acts.            129

  _Pan._ O, but that prince, that worthful praise aspires,
  From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.

  _Pier._ Pish!
  True praise the brow of common men doth ring,
  False only girts the temple of a king.
  He that hath strength and 's ignorant of power,
  He was not made to rule, but to be rul'd.

  _Pan._ 'Tis praise to do, not what we can, but should.

  _Pier._ Hence, doting stoic! by my hope of bliss,
  I'll make thee wretched.

  _Pan._ Defiance to thy power, thou rifted jawn![245]            140
  Now, by the lovèd heaven, sooner thou shalt
  Rinse thy foul ribs from the black filth of sin
  That soots thy heart than make me wretched. Pish!
  Thou canst not coop me up. Hadst thou a jail
  With treble walls, like antique Babylon,
  Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee, duke,
  I have old Fortunatus' wishing-cap,
  And can be where I list even in a trice.
  I'll skip from earth into the arms of heaven:
  And from triumphal arch of blessedness,                         150
  Spit on thy frothy breast. Thou canst not slave
  Or banish me; I will be free at home,
  Maugre the beard of greatness. The port-holes
  Of sheathèd spirit are ne'er corbèd[246] up,
  But still stand open ready to discharge
  Their precious shot into the shrouds of heaven.

  _Pier._ O torture! slave, I banish thee the town,
  Thy native seat of birth.

  _Pan._ How proud thou speak'st! I tell thee, duke, the blasts   159
  Of the swoll'n-cheek'd winds, nor all the breath of kings
  Can puff me out my native seat of birth.
  The earth's my body's, and the heaven's my soul's
  Most native place of birth, which they will keep
  Despite the menace of mortality.
  Why, duke,
  That's not my native place,[247] where I was rock'd.
  A wise man's home is wheresoe'er he is wise;
  Now that, from man, not from the place, doth rise.

  _Pier._ Would I were deaf! O plague! Hence, dotard wretch!
  Tread not in court: all that thou hast, I seize.                170
  [_Aside._] His quiet's firmer than I can disease.

  _Pan._ Go, boast unto thy flatt'ring sycophants
  Pandulpho's slave Piero hath o'erthrown:
  Loose fortune's rags are lost, my own's my own.

                                      [PIERO _going out, looks back_.

  'Tis true, Piero, thy vex'd heart shall see,
  Thou hast but tripp'd my slave, not conquered me.

                                          [_Exeunt at several doors._


     [237] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "my."

     [238] We are to suppose that Piero has left the church and is in
     the courtyard of the palace.

     [239] _i.e._, desire, order.

     [240] Old eds. "dub'd."

     [241] See note 2, p. 114.

     [242] Pandulpho is again ready with his Stoic maxims. Seneca
     wrote a dissertation to show "Nec injuriam nec contumeliam
     accipere sapientem."

     [243] "I do fear a _fetch_," _i.e._, I suspect that
     Andrugio has perished by treachery. _Fetch_ = plot, device.

     [244] There is an Attic flavour in this passage of
     _stichomythia_. For a passing moment one is reminded of
     Creon's altercation with his son (in the _Antigone_):--
          Kr. ô pankakiste, dia dikês iôn patri.
          Hai. ou gar dikaia s' examartanonth horô.
          Kr. hamartanô gar tas emas archas sebôn?
          Hai. ou gar sebeis, timas ge tas theôn patôn.

     [245] Marston uses indifferently the forms _chawn_ and _jawn_ for
     a rift or chasm.

     [246] "Corbèd" (old eds. "corb'd") is "good," as Polonius would
     say; but I have no suspicion as to its meaning. It would be a
     pity to suggest an emendation.

     [247] Seneca is fond of harping on this theme. "In ultimas
     expellaris terras licebit," he writes in one of his epistles, "in
     quolibet barbariæ angulo colloceris, hospitalis tibi illa
     qualiscumque sedes erit; magis quis veneris quam quo, interest,
     et ideo nulli loco addicere debemus arbitrium. Cum hac
     persuasione vivendum est: 'Non sum uni angulo natus, patria mea
     totus hic mundus est.'"


                             SCENE II.

                   _Before the palace of_ PIERO.

   _Enter_ ANTONIO, _in black, with a book_; LUCIO _and_ ALBERTO.

  _Alb._ Nay, sweet, be comforted, take counsel and----.

  _Ant._ Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton-sick,
  Whose stomach can digest and brook the diet
  Of stale ill-relish'd counsel. Pigmy cares
  Can shelter under patience' shield; but giant griefs
  Will burst all covert.

  _Lu._ My lord, 'tis supper time.

  _Ant._ Drink deep, Alberto; eat, good Lucio;
  But my pined heart shall eat on nought but woe.

  _Alb._ My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.

  _Ant._ You cannot leave Antonio alone.                           10
  The chamber of my breast is even throng'd
  With firm attendance that forswears to flinch.
  I have a thing sits here; it is not grief,
  'Tis not despair, nor the [ut]most plague
  That the most wretched are infected with;
  But the most griefful,[248] [most] despairing, wretched,
  Accursèd, miserable--O, for heaven's sake
  Forsake me now; you see how light I am,
  And yet you force me to defame my patience.

  _Lu._ Fair gentle prince----.                                    20

  _Ant._ Away, thy voice is hateful: thou dost buzz,
  And beat my ears with intimations
  That Mellida, that Mellida is light,
  And stainèd with adulterous luxury!
  I cannot brook't. I tell thee, Lucio,
  Sooner will I give faith that Virtue's cant[249]
  In princes' courts will be adorn'd with wreath
  Of choice respect, and endear'd intimate;
  Sooner will I believe that friendship's rein
  Will curb ambition from utility,                                 30
  Than Mellida is light. Alas, poor soul,
  Didst e'er see her?--good heart!--hast heard her speak?
  Kind, kind soul! Incredulity itself
  Would not be so brass-hearted, as suspect
  So modest cheeks.

  _Lu._ My lord----.

  _Ant._ Away!
  A self-sown[250] guilt doth only hatch distrust;
  But a chaste thought's as far from doubt as lust.
  I entreat you, leave me.

  _Alb._ Will you endeavour to forget your grief?

  _Ant._ I'faith I will, good friend, i'faith I will.              40
  I'll come and eat with you. Alberto, see,
  I am taking physic, here's philosophy.
  Good honest, leave me, I'll drink wine anon.

  _Alb._ Since you enforce us, fair prince, we are gone.

                                       [_Exeunt_ ALBERTO _and_ LUCIO.

                         ANTONIO _reads_.

  _A. Ferte[251] fortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Ille
  enim extra patientiam malorum, vos supra. Contemnite
  dolorem: aut solvetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunam:
  nullum telum, quo feriret animum habet._[252]

  Pish, thy mother was not lately widowèd,
  Thy dear affièd love lately defam'd                              50
  With blemish of foul lust, when thou wrotest thus;
  Thou wrapt in furs, beaking[253] thy limbs 'fore fires;
  Forbid'st the frozen zone to shudder. Ha, ha! 'tis nought
  But foamy bubbling of a fleamy[254] brain,
  Nought else but smoke. O what dank marish spirit,
  But would be fired with impatience
  At my----
  No more, no more; he that was never blest
  With height of birth, fair expectation
  Of mounted fortunes, knows not what it is                        60
  To be the pitied object of the world.
  O, poor Antonio, thou may'st sigh!

  _Mel._ [_from beneath._] Ay me!

  _Ant._ And curse.

  _Pan._ [_from within._] Black powers!

  _Ant._ And cry.

  _Mar._ [_from within._] O Heaven!

  _Ant._ And close laments with----.

  _Mel._[255] [_from beneath._] O me, most miserable!

  _Pan._ Woe for my dear, dear son!                                70

  _Mar._ Woe for my dear, dear husband!

  _Mel._ Woe for my dear, dear love!

  _Ant._ Woe for me all, close all your woes in me!
  In me, Antonio!--ha! where live these sounds?
  I can see nothing; grief's invisible,
  And lurks in secret angles of the heart.
  Come, sigh again, Antonio bears his part.

  _Mel._ O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs.
  I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.
  Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent.                    80
  Ay, that is Phoebe, empress of the night,
  That 'gins to mount; O chastest deity,
  If I be false to my Antonio,
  If the least soil of lust smears my pure love,
  Make me more wretched, make me more accurs'd
  Than infamy, torture, death, hell, and heaven,
  Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not,
  Purge my poor heart from[256] defamation's blot.

  _Ant._ Purge my poor heart from defamation's blot!
  Poor heart, how like her virtuous self she speaks.--             90
  Mellida, dear Mellida! it is Antonio:
  Slink not away, 'tis thy Antonio.

  _Mel._ How found you out, my lord? Alas! I know
  'Tis easy in this age to find out woe.
  I have a suit to you.

  _Ant._ What is't, dear soul?

  _Mel._ Kill me; i'faith I'll wink, not stir a jot.
  For God sake kill me; in sooth, lovèd youth,
  I am much injur'd; look, see how I creep.
  I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep.

  _Ant._ May I be cursèd, but I credit thee.                      100

  _Mel._ To-morrow I must die.

  _Ant._ Alas, for what?

  _Mel._ For loving thee. 'Tis true, my sweetest breast,
  I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart.
  Nets are a-knitting to entrap thy life.
  Thy father's death must make a paradise
  To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me, sweet,
  Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still?

  _Ant._ I do.

  _Mal._ Then welcome heaven's will.

  _Ant._ Madam, I will not swell, like a tragedian,
  In forcèd passion of affected strains.                          110
  If I had present power of ought but pitying you,
  I would be as ready to redress your wrongs
  As to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughts
  Crowd for their passage; somewhat I will do.
  Reach me thy hand; think this is honour's bent,
  To live unslavèd, to die innocent.

  _Mel._ Let me entreat a favour, gracious love.
  Be patient, see me die; good, do not weep:
  Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep.

  _Ant._ I'faith I cannot; but I'll force my face                 120
  To palliate my sickness.

  _Mel._ Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell:
  That's all my woe can breathe. Kiss: thus, farewell.

  _Ant._ Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts; stay, dove:
  And therefore I must speak: but what? O love!
  By this white hand: no more: read in these tears,
  What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears.

                    [ANTONIO _kisseth_ MELLIDA'S _hand: then_ MELLIDA
                        _goes from the grate_.

  Mel._ Good night, good heart.

  _Ant._ Thus heat from blood, thus souls from bodies part.       129

                   _Enter_ PIERO _and_ STROTZO.

  _Pier._ He grieves; laugh, Strotzo, laugh. He weeps.
  Hath he tears? O pleasure! hath he tears?
  Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whips
  Of knotty vengeance. Strotzo, cause me straight
  Some plaining ditty to augment despair.

                                                     [_Exit_ STROTZO.

  Triumph, Piero: hark, he groans. O rare!

  _Ant._ Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his tomb.
  His epitaph, thus: _Ne plus ultra_. Ho!
  Let none out-woe me: mine's Herculean woe.

            [_A song within._--_Exit_ PIERO _at the end of the song_.

                          _Enter_ MARIA.

  _Ant._ May I be more cursed than Heaven can make me, if
  I'm not more wretched than man can conceive me.                 140
  Sore forlorn orphant, what omnipotence
  Can make thee happy?

  _Mar._ How now, sweet son? Good youth,
  What dost thou?

  _Ant._ Weep, weep.

  _Mar._ Dost nought but weep, weep?

  _Ant._ Yes, mother, I do sigh, and wring my hands,
  Beat my poor breast, and wreathe my tender arms.
  Hark ye; I'll tell you wondrous strange, strange news.

  _Mar._ What, my good boy, stark mad?

  _Ant._ I am not.

  _Mar._ Alas!
  Is that strange news?                                           150

  _Ant._ Strange news? why, mother, is't not wondrous strange
  I am not mad--I run not frantic, ha?
  Knowing, my father's trunk scarce cold, your love
  Is sought by him that doth pursue my life!
  Seeing the beauty of creation,
  Antonio's bride, pure heart, defamed, and stowed
  Under the hatches of obscuring earth!
  _Heu, quo labor, quo vota ceciderunt mea!_

                           _Enter_ PIERO.

  _Pier._ Good evening to the fair Antonio;
  Most happy fortune, sweet succeeding time,                      160
  Rich hope: think not thy fate a bankrout,[257] though----

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] Umh! the devil in his good time and tide
     forsake thee.

  _Pier._ How now? hark ye, prince.

  _Ant._ God be with you.

  _Pier._ Nay, noble blood, I hope ye not suspect----

  _Ant._ Suspect! I scorn't. Here's cap and leg, good night.
  [_Aside._] Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight.

                                                     [_Exit_ ANTONIO.

  _Pier._ Madam, O that you could remember to forget----

  _Mar._ I had a husband and a happy son.

  _Pier._ Most powerful beauty, that enchanting grace----

  _Mar._ Talk not of beauty, nor enchanting grace,----            170
  My husband's dead, my son's distraught, accurs'd!
  Come, I must vent my griefs, or heart will burst.

                                                       [_Exit_ MARIA.

  _Pier._ She's gone, and yet she's here: she hath left a print
  Of her sweet graces fix'd within my heart,
  As fresh as is her face. I'll marry her.
  She's most fair,--true; most chaste,--false;[258] because
  Most fair, 'tis firm I'll marry her.

                          _Enter_ STROTZO.

  _Str._ My lord.

  _Pier._ Ha, Strotzo, my other soul, my life!
  Dear, hast thou steel'd the point of thy resolve?
  Will't not turn edge in execution?

  _Str._ No.                                                      180

  _Pier._ Do it with rare passion, and present thy guilt
  As if 'twere wrung out with thy conscience' gripe.
  Swear that my daughter's innocent of lust,
  And that Antonio bribed thee to defame
  Her maiden honour, on inveterate hate
  Unto my blood; and that thy hand was feed
  By his large bounty for his father's death.
  Swear plainly that thou choked'st Andrugio,
  By his son's only egging. Rush me in
  Whilst Mellida prepares herself to die,                        190
  Halter about thy neck, and with such sighs,
  Laments, and applications lifen it,
  As if impulsive power of remorse----

  _Str._ I'll weep.

  _Pier._ Ay, ay, fall on thy face and cry "why suffer you
  So lewd a slave as Strotzo is to breathe?"

  _Str._ I'll beg a strangling, grow importunate----

  _Pier._ As if thy life were loathsome to thee: then I
  Catch straight the cord's end; and, as much incens'd
  With thy damn'd mischiefs, offer a rude hand                    200
  As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath;
  But on the sudden straight I'll stand amaz'd,
  And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.

  _Str._ Applaud my agonies and penitence.

  _Pier._ Thy honest stomach, that could not disgest[259]
  The crudities of murder, but surcharged,
  Vomited'st them up in Christian piety.

  _Str._ Then clip me in your arms.

  _Pier._ And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,
  Make thee of council: tut, tut, what not? what not?             210
  Think on't, be confident, pursue the plot.

  _Str._ Look, here's a trope: a true rogue's lips are mute,
  I do not use to speak, but execute.

         [_He lays finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger.--Exit._

  _Pier._ So, so; run headlong to confusion:
  Thou slight-brain'd mischief, thou art made as dirt,
  To plaster up the bracks[260] of my defects.
  I'll wring what may be squeezed from out his use,
  And good night, Strotzo. Swell plump, bold heart;
  For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in:
  O now _Tragoedia Cothurnata_[261] mounts,                       220
  Piero's thoughts are fix'd on dire exploits.
  Pell mell--confusion and black murder guides
  The organs of my spirit: shrink not, heart!
  _Capienda[262] rebus in malis præceps via est._

                                                             [_Exit._


     [248] Old eds. "greeful."

     [249] Old eds. "scant."--_Cant_ = the corner or niche in which
     the statue of Virtue was placed. Cf. Middleton, vii.
     222:--"Directly under her, in a _cant_ by herself, was Arete
     (Virtue) enthroned."

     [250] Old eds. "self-one."

     [251] The quotation is from Seneca's _De Providentia_, cap. vi.

     [252] The true reading is _dedi_.

     [253] "'Beak'--bask in the heat. North."--_Halliwell._

     [254] _Fleam_ = phlegm.

     [255] Old eds. "_Alb._"

     [256] Ed. 1602 "with."

     [257] Old form of "bankrupt."

     [258] Ed. 1602 "most false."

     [259] Old form of _digest_.

     [260] Flaws, cracks.

     [261] Cf. _Spanish Tragedy_, v. 1:--
          "Give me a stately-written tragedy,
          _Tragoedia Cothurnata_, fitting kings."

     [262] "_Rapienda_ rebus," &c., is the true reading. The quotation
     is from Seneca's _Agamemnon_, l. 154.




                             ACT III.


                             SCENE I.

          _A dumb show. The cornets sounding for the Act._

  _Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO, ALBERTO _and_ BALURDO, _with
  poleaxes_; PIERO, _talking with_ STROTZO, _seemeth to send him out:
  exit_ STROTZO. _Re-enter_ STROTZO _with_ MARIA, NUTRICHE, _and_
  LUCIO. PIERO _passeth through his guard, and talks with_ MARIA _with
  seeming amorousness; she seemeth to reject his suit, flies to the
  tomb, kneels, and kisseth it_. PIERO _bribes_ NUTRICHE _and_ LUCIO;
  _they go to her, seeming to solicit his suit. She riseth, offers to
  go out_; PIERO _stayeth her, tears open his breast, embraceth and
  kisseth her; and so they go all out in state_.

  _After the dumb show enter two_ Pages, _the one with tapers, the
  other holding a chafing-dish with a perfume in it_; ANTONIO, _in his
  night-gown and a night-cap, unbraced, following after_.

  _Ant._ The black jades of swart night trot foggy rings[263]
  'Bout heaven's brow: [_clock strikes twelve_] 'tis now stark dead
     night.
  Is this Saint Mark's Church?

  _1st Pa._ It is, my lord.

  _Ant._ Where stands my father's hearse?

  _2d Pa._ Those streamers bear his arms. Ay, that is it.

  _Ant._ Set tapers to the tomb, and lamp the church:
  Give me the fire.--Now depart and sleep.

                                                     [_Exeunt_ Pages.

  I purify the air with odorous fume.
  Graves, vaults, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight;
  Cold flesh, bleak trunks, wrapt in your half-rot shrouds,
  I press you softly with a tender foot.                           11
  Most honour'd sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch
  Leave to weep o'er thee. Tomb, I'll not be long
  Ere I creep in thee, and with bloodless lips
  Kiss my cold father's cheek. I prithee, grave,
  Provide soft mold to wrap my carcass in.
  Thou royal spirit of Andrugio,
  Where'er thou hover'st, airy intellect,
  I heave up tapers to thee (view thy son)
  In celebration of due obsequies;                                 20
  Once every night I'll dew thy funeral hearse
  With my religious tears.
  O, blessèd father of a cursèd son,
  Thou died'st most happy, since thou lived'st not
  To see thy son most wretched, and thy wife
  Pursued by him that seeks my guiltless blood!
  O, in what orb thy mighty spirit soars,
  Stoop and beat down this rising fog of shame,
  That strives to blur thy blood, and girt defame
  About my innocent and spotless brows.                            30
  _Non est mori miserum, sed misere mori._

                                        [_Ghost of_ ANDRUGIO _rises_.

  _Ghost of And._ Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth up,
  And, lo, the ghost of old Andrugio
  Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge!
  I was empoison'd by Piero's hand.
  Revenge my blood! take spirit, gentle boy;
  Revenge my blood! Thy Mellida is chaste:
  Only to frustrate thy pursuit in love,
  Is blazed unchaste. Thy mother yields consent
  To be his wife, and give his blood a son,                        40
  That made her husbandless, and doth complot
  To make her sonless; but before I touch
  The banks of rest, my ghost shall visit her.
  Thou vigour of my youth, juice of my love,
  Seize on revenge, grasp the stern-bended front
  Of frowning vengeance with unpaiz'd[264] clutch.[265]
  Alarum Nemesis, rouse up thy blood!
  Invent some stratagem of vengeance,
  Which, but to think on, may like lightning glide
  With horror through thy breast! Remember this:                   50
  _Scelera[266] non ulcisceris, nisi vincis_.

                                          [_Exit_ ANDRUGIO'S _ghost_.

      _Enter_ MARIA, _her hair about her ears_; NUTRICHE _and_
                 LUCIO, _with Pages, and torches_.

  _Mar._ Where left you him? show me, good boys, away!

  _Nut._ God's me, your hair!

  _Mar._ Nurse, 'tis not yet proud day:
  The neat gay mists of the light's not up,
  Her cheek's not yet slur'd over with the paint
  Of borrow'd crimson; the unprankèd world
  Wears yet the night-clothes. Let flare my loosèd hair!
  I scorn the presence of the night.--
  Where's my boy?--Run: I'll range about the church,
  Like frantic Bacchanal or Jason's wife,                          60
  Invoking all the spirits of the graves
  To tell me where.--Ha? O my poor wretched blood!
  What dost thou up at midnight, my kind boy?
  Dear soul, to bed! O thou hast struck a fright
  Unto thy mother's panting----

  _Ant._[267] _O quisquis nova
  Supplicia functis dirus umbrarum arbiter
  Disponis, quisquis exeso jaces
  Pavidus sub antro,[268] quisquis venturi times
  Montis ruinam, quisquis avidorum feros[269]
  Rictus leonum, et dira furiarum agmina_                          70
  _Implicitus horres, Antonii vocem excipe
  Properantis ad vos--Ulciscar!_

  _Mar._ Alas! my son's distraught. Sweet boy, appease
  Thy mutining affections.

  _Ant._ By the astonning terror of swart night,
  By the infectious damps of clammy graves,
  And[270] by the mould that presseth down
  My dead father's skull, I'll be revenged!

  _Mar._ Wherefore? on whom? for what? Go, go to bed,
  Good, duteous son. Ho, but thy idle----                          80

  _Ant._ So I may sleep tomb'd in an honour'd hearse,
  So may my bones rest in that sepulchre,----

  _Mar._ Forget not duty, son: to bed, to bed.

  _Ant._ May I be cursèd by my father's ghost,
  And blasted with incensèd breath of Heaven,
  If my heart beat[271] on ought but vengeance!
  May I be numb'd with horror, and my veins
  Pucker with singeing torture, if my brain
  Disgest[272] a thought but of dire vengeance;
  May I be fetter'd slave to coward Chance,                        90
  If blood, heart, brain, plot ought save vengeance.

  _Mar._ Wilt thou to bed? I wonder when thou sleep'st!
  I'faith thou look'st sunk-ey'd; go couch thy head:
  Now, faith, 'tis idle: sweet, sweet son, to bed.

  _Ant._ I have a prayer or two to offer up
  For the good, good prince, my most dear, dear lord,
  The duke Piero, and your virtuous self;
  And then, when those prayers have obtain'd success,
  In sooth I'll come (believe it now) and couch
  My head in downy mould. But first I'll see                      100
  You safely laid: I'll bring ye all to bed.
  Piero, Maria, Strotzo, Lucio,
  I'll see you all laid: I'll bring you all to bed,
  And then, i'faith, I'll come and couch my head,
  And sleep in peace.

  _Mar._ Look then, we go before.

                                            [_Exeunt all but_ ANTONIO.

  _Ant._ Ay, so you must, before we touch the shore
  Of wish'd revenge. O, you departed souls,
  That lodge in coffin'd trunks, which my feet press,
  (If Pythagorean Axioms be true,
  Of spirits' transmigration) fleet no more                       110
  To human bodies, rather live in swine,
  Inhabit wolves' flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads,
  Rather than man. The curse of Heaven rains
  In plagues unlimited through all his days:
  His mature age grows only mature vice,
  And ripens only to corrupt and rot
  The budding hopes of infant modesty.
  Still striving to be more than man, he proves
  More than a devil. Devilish suspect,
  Devilish cruelty,                                               120
  All hell-strai[n']d juice is pourèd to his veins,
  Making him drunk with fuming surquedries;[273]
  Contempt of Heaven, untam'd arrogance,
  Lust, state, pride, murder.

  _Ghost of And._ Murder!  }
  _Ghost of Feli._ Murder! } _From above and beneath._
  _Pan._[274] Murder!      }

  _Ant._ Ay, I will murder: graves and ghosts
  Fright me no more, I'll suck red vengeance
  Out of Piero's wounds, Piero's wounds!

                                 [_Retires to the back of the stage._

  _Enter two boys, with_ PIERO _in his night-gown and
  night-cap_.

  _Pier._ Maria, love, Maria! she took this aisle.
  Left you her here? On, lights, away!
  I think we shall not warm our beds to-day.                      130

                  _Enter_ JULIO, FOROBOSCO, _and_ CASTILIO.

  _Jul._ Ho, father! father!

  _Pier._ How now, Julio, my little pretty son?
  Why suffer you the child to walk so late?

  _For._ He will not sleep, but calls to follow you,
  Crying that bug-bears and spirits haunted him.

                       [ANTONIO _offers to come near and stab_; PIERO
                          _presently withdraws_.

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] No, not so.
  This shall be sought for; I'll force him feed on life
  Till he shall loath it. This shall be the close
  Of vengeance' strain.

  _Pier._ Away there, pages, lead on fast with light;             140
  The church is full of damps; 'tis yet dead night.

                           [_Exeunt all, saving_ JULIO _and_ ANTONIO.

  _Jul._ Brother Antonio, are you here, i'faith?
  Why do you frown? Indeed my sister said
  That I should call you brother, that she did,
  When you were married to her. Buss me: good truth,
  I love you better than my father, 'deed.

  _Ant._ Thy father? Gracious, O bounteous Heaven!
  I do adore thy justice: _venit in nostras manus
  Tandem vindicta, venit et tota quidem_.[275]

  _Jul._ Truth, since my mother died, I loved you best.           150
  Something hath anger'd you; pray you, look merrily.

  _Ant._ I will laugh, and dimple my thin cheek
  With cap'ring joy; chuck, my heart doth leap
  To grasp thy bosom.--[_Aside._] Time, place, and blood,
  How fit you close together! Heaven's tones
  Strike not such music to immortal souls
  As your accordance sweets my breast withal.
  Methinks I pace upon the front of Jove,
  And kick corruption with a scornful heel!
  Griping this flesh, disdain mortality!                          160
  O that I knew which joint, which side, which limb,
  Were father all, and had no mother in't,
  That I might rip it vein by vein, and carve revenge
  In bleeding races! but since 'tis mix'd together,
  Have at adventure, pell mell, no reverse.--
  Come hither, boy. This is Andrugio's hearse.

  _Jul._ O God, you'll hurt me. For my sister's sake,
  Pray you do not hurt me. And you kill me, 'deed,
  I'll tell my father.

  _Ant._ O, for thy sister's sake, I flag revenge.                170

  _Ghost of And._ Revenge!

  _Ant._ Stay, stay, dear father, fright mine eyes no more.
  Revenge as swift as lightning bursteth forth,
  And cleaves[276] his heart.--Come, pretty tender child,
  It is not thee I hate, not thee I kill.
  Thy father's blood that flows within thy veins,
  Is it I loathe; is that revenge must suck.
  I love thy soul: and were thy heart lapp'd up
  In any flesh but in Piero's blood,
  I would thus kiss it; but being his, thus, thus,                180
  And thus I'll punch it. Abandon fears:
  Whilst thy wounds bleed, my brows shall gush out tears.

  _Jul._ So you will love me, do even what you will.

  _Ant._ Now barks the wolf against the full-cheek'd moon;
  Now lions half-clam'd[277] entrails roar for food;
  Now croaks the toad, and night-crows screech aloud,
  Fluttering 'bout casements of departed souls;
  Now gapes the graves, and through their yawns let loose
  Imprison'd spirits to revisit earth;
  And now, swart night, to swell thy hour out,                    190
  Behold I spurt warm blood in thy black eyes.

                  [_He stabs_ JULIO.--_From under the stage a groan._

  Howl not, thou putry[278] mould; groan not, ye graves;
  Be dumb, all breath. Here stands Andrugio's son,
  Worthy his father. So: I feel no breath.
  His jaws are fall'n, his dislodg'd soul is fled:
  And now there's nothing but Piero left:
  He is all Piero, father all. This blood,
  This breast, this heart, Piero all:
  Whom thus I mangle. Sprite of Julio,
  Forget this was thy trunk. I live thy friend:                   200
  May'st thou be twinèd with the soft'st embrace
  Of clear eternity: but thy father's blood
  I thus make incense of to vengeance.
  Ghost of my poison'd sire, suck this fume:
  To sweet revenge perfume thy circling air
  With smoke of blood. I sprinkle round his gore,
  And dew thy hearse with these fresh-reeking drops.
  Lo thus I heave my blood-dyed hands to heaven,
  Even like insatiate hell still crying, More!
  My heart hath thirsting dropsies after gore.                    210
  Sound peace and rest to church, night-ghosts, and graves:
  Blood cries for blood, and murder murder craves.

                                                             [_Exit._


     [263] See note 1, p. 111.

     [264] We should have expected "paizèd," _i.e._, steady,
     unfaltering. (The reader will note that Marston constantly uses
     "vengeance" as a trisyllable.)

     [265] Cf. p. 178. "The fist of strenuous vengeance is
     clutch'd"--a line which Ben Jonson ridicules in _The Poetaster_
     (v. i.)

     [266] A quotation from Seneca's _Thyestes_, 194-5.

     [267] Not marked in old eds.--The Latin lines are from Seneca's
     _Thyestes_. ll. 13-14, 75-80.

     [268] Ed. 1602 "antri."

     [269] Old eds. "_feres_."

     [270] The metre might be restored by reading--
             "And by the mould that presseth down the skull
              Of my dead father, I will be revenged."

     [271] Is busy with.--So in _The Tempest_:--
             "Do not infest your mind with _beating on_
              The strangeness of this business."

     [272] Old form of _digest_.

     [273] Wanton excesses.

     [274] It is hard to see why Pandulfo should be shouting with the
     ghosts.

     [275] Senec., _Thyestes_, 494-5:--
                           "Venit in nostras manus
             Tandem Thyestes; venit et totus quidem."

     [276] Old eds. "cleares."

     [277] Half-starved.

     [278] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "pury."


                             SCENE II.

                        _Chamber of Maria._

       _Enter two Pages with torches_; MARIA, _her hair loose,
                          and_ NUTRICHE.

  _Nut._ Fie, fie; to-morrow your wedding day, and
  weep! God's my comfort! Andrugio could do well:
  Piero may do better. I have had four husbands myself.
  The first I called, sweet duck; the second, dear heart;
  the third, pretty pug;[279] but the fourth, most sweet, dear,
  pretty, all in all; he was the very cockall of a husband.
  What, lady? your skin is smooth, your blood warm,
  your cheek fresh, your eye quick: change of pasture
  makes fat calves; choice of linen clean bodies, and (no
  question) variety of husbands perfect wives. I would
  you should know it: as few teeth as I have in my head,
  I have read _Aristotle's Problems_,[280] which saith that woman
  receiveth perfection by the man. What then be the
  men? Go to, to bed, lie on your back, dream not on
  Piero; I say no more. To-morrow is your wedding:
  go,[281] dream not of Piero.                                     16

                _Enter_ BALURDO _with a base viol_.

  _Mar._ What an idle prate thou keep'st, good nurse; go sleep.
  I have a mighty task of tears to weep.

  _Bal._ Lady, with a most retort and obtuse leg,
  I kiss the curlèd locks of your loose hair.                      20
  The Duke hath sent you the most musical Sir Jeffrey,
  with his not base, but most ennobled viol, to rock your
  baby thoughts in the cradle of sleep.

  _Mar._ I give the noble Duke respective[282] thanks.

  _Bal._ Respective; truly a very pretty word. Indeed,
  madam, I have the most respective fiddle; did you ever
  smell a more sweet sound? My ditty must go thus;
  very witty, I assure you: I myself in an humorous
  passion made it, to the tune of my mistress Nutriche's
  beauty. Indeed, very pretty, very retort, and obtuse,
  I'll assure you; 'tis thus:--                                    31

       My mistress' eye doth oil my joints,
         And makes my fingers nimble:
       O love, come on, untruss your points,
         My fiddlestick wants rozen.
       My lady's duggs are all so smooth,
         That no flesh must them handle:
       Her eyes do shine, for to say sooth,
         Like a new-snuffèd candle.

  _Mar._ Truly, very pathetical and unvulgar.                      40

  _Bal._ Pathetical and unvulgar; words of worth, excellent
  words. In sooth, madam, I have taken a murr,[283]
  which makes my nose run most pathetically, and unvulgarly.
  Have you any tobacco?

  _Mar._ Good Signior, your song.

  _Bal._ Instantly, most unvulgarly, at your service.
  Truly, here's the most pathetical rozen. Umh.

                                                           [_A Song._

  _Mar._ In sooth, most knightly sung, and like Sir Jeffrey.

  _Bal._ Why, look you, lady, I was made a knight
  only for my voice; and a councillor only for my wit.             51

  _Mar._ I believe it. Good night, gentle sir, good night.

  _Bal._ You will give me leave to take my leave of my
  mistress, and I will do it most famously in rhyme.

  Farewell, adieu! saith thy love true,
  As to part loath.
  Time bids us part, mine own sweet heart,
  God bless us both.

                                                     [_Exit_ BALURDO.

  _Mar._ Good night, Nutriche. Pages, leave the room.
  The life of night grows short, 'tis almost dead.                 60

                                        [_Exeunt Pages and_ NUTRICHE.

  O thou cold widow-bed, sometime thrice blest
  By the warm pressure of my sleeping lord,
  Open thy leaves, and whilst on thee I tread,
  Groan out,--Alas, my dear Andrugio's dead!

                       [MARIA _draweth the curtain: and the ghost of_
                         ANDRUGIO _is displayed, sitting on the bed_.

  Amazing terror, what portent is this!

  _Ghost of And._ Disloyal to our hymeneal[284] rites,
  What raging heat reigns in thy strumpet blood?
  Hast thou so soon forgot Andrugio?
  Are our love-bands so quickly cancellèd?
  Where lives thy plighted faith unto this breast?                 70
  O weak Maria! Go to, calm thy fears.
  I pardon thee, poor soul! O shed no tears;
  Thy sex is weak. That black incarnate fiend
  May trip thy faith that hath o'erthrown my life:
  I was impoison'd by Piero's hand.
  Join with my son to bend up strain'd revenge,
  Maintain a seeming favour to his suit,
  Till time may form our vengeance absolute.


  _Enter_ ANTONIO, _his arms bloody, bearing a torch,
  and a poniard_.

  _Ant._ See, unamazed I will behold thy face;
  Outstare the terror of thy grim aspect,                          80
  Daring the horrid'st object of the night.
  Look how I smoke in blood, reeking the steam
  Of foaming vengeance. O my soul's enthroned
  In the triumphant chariot of revenge!
  Methinks I am all air, and feel no weight
  Of human dirt clog. This is Julio's blood!
  Rich music, father: this is Julio's blood!
  Why lives that mother?

  _Ghost of And._ Pardon ignorance.
  Fly, dear Antonio:
  Once more assume disguise, and dog the court                     90
  In feignèd habit, till Piero's blood
  May even o'erflow the brim of full revenge.
  Peace and all blessèd fortunes to you both!
  Fly thou from court, be peerless in revenge:

                                                     [_Exit_ ANTONIO.

  Sleep thou in rest, lo, here I close thy couch.

         [_Exit_ MARIA _to her bed_, ANDRUGIO _drawing the curtains_.

  And now ye sooty coursers of the night,
  Hurry your chariot into hell's black womb.
  Darkness, make flight; graves, eat your dead again:
  Let's repossess our shrouds. Why lags delay?
  Mount sparkling brightness, give the world his day!             100

                                                    [_Exit_ ANDRUGIO.


     [279] A common term for endearment.

     [280] _The Problemes of Aristotle, with other Philosophers and
     Phisitions, wherein are contayned diuers questions, with their
     answers, touching the estate of man's bodie_, 1595, 1597,
     &c.--an old chap-book.

     [281] Old eds. "do."

     [282] Respectful.

     [283] Violent cold.

     [284] Ed. 1602 "Hymniall."




                              ACT IV.


                              SCENE I.

     _Enter_ ANTONIO _in a fool's habit, with a little toy of a
         walnut shell, and soap to make bubbles_: MARIA _and_
                              ALBERTO.

  _Mar._ Away with this disguise in any hand!

  _Alb._ Fie, 'tis unsuiting to your elate spirit:
  Rather put on some transhaped cavalier,
  Some habit of a spitting critic, whose mouth
  Voids nothing but gentile and unvulgar
  Rheum of censure: rather assume----

  _Ant._ Why, then should I put on the very flesh
  Of solid folly. No, this cock's comb is a crown
  Which I affect even with unbounded zeal.

  _Alb._ 'Twill thwart your plot, disgrace your high resolve.      10

  _Ant._ By wisdom's heart, there is no essence mortal
  That I can envy, but a plump-cheek'd fool:
  O, he hath a patent of immunities
  Confirm'd by custom, seal'd by policy,
  As large as spacious thought.

  _Alb._ You cannot press among the courtiers,
  And have access to----

 _Ant._ What? not a fool? Why, friend, a golden ass,
  A babled[285] fool, are sole canonical,
  Whilst pale-cheek'd wisdom, and lean-ribbèd art                  20
  Are kept in distance at the halbert's point;
  All held Apocrypha, not worth survey.
  Why, by the genius of that Florentine,
  Deep, deep observing, sound-brain'd Machiavel,
  He is not wise that strives not to seem fool.
  When will the Duke hold fee'd intelligence,
  Keep wary observation in large pay,
  To dog a fool's act?

  _Mar._ Ay, but feigning known disgraceth much.

  _Ant._ Pish! Most things that morally adhere to souls,           30
  Wholly exist in drunk opinion:
  Whose reeling censure, if I value not,
  It values nought.

  _Mar._ You are transported with too slight a thought,
  If you but meditate of what is past,
  And what you plot to pass.

  _Ant._ Even in that note a fool's beatitude:
  He is not capable of passion;
  Wanting the power of distinction,
  He bears an unturned sail with every wind:                       40
  Blow east, blow west, he stirs his course alike.
  I never saw a fool lean: the chub-faced fop
  Shines sleek with full-cramm'd fat of happiness,
  Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice
  From wisards'[286] cheeks: who making curious search
  For nature's secrets, the first innating cause
  Laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy apes
  When they will zany men. Had Heaven been kind,
  Creating me an honest senseless dolt,
  A good poor fool, I should want sense to feel                    50
  The stings of anguish shoot through every vein;
  I should not know what 'twere to lose a father;
  I should be dead of sense to view defame
  Blur my bright love; I could not thus run mad,
  As one confounded in a maze of mischief,
  Stagger'd, stark, fell'd with bruising stroke of chance;
  I should not shoot mine eyes into the earth,
  Poring for mischief that might counterpoise
  Mischief, murder and----

                            _Enter_ LUCIO.

                          How now, Lucio?

  _Lu._ My lord, the Duke, with the Venetian states,[287]          60
  Approach the great hall to judge Mellida.

  _Ant._ Ask'd he for Julio yet?

  _Lu._ No motion[288] of him: dare you trust this habit?

  _Ant._ Alberto, see you straight rumour me dead.
  Leave me, good mother; leave me, Lucio;
  Forsake me, all.

                                     [_Exeunt omnes, saving_ ANTONIO.

                   Now patience hoop my sides
  With steelèd ribs, lest I do burst my breast
  With struggling passions. Now disguise, stand bold:
  Poor scornèd habits oft choice souls enfold.

                                        [_The cornets sound a senet._

        _Enter_ CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO, _and_ ALBERTO,
      _with pole-axes_, LUCIO _bare; followed by_ PIERO _and_
          MARIA _talking together; two_ Senators, GALEATZO,
                     MATZAGENTE, _and_ NUTRICHE.

  _Pier._ Entreat me not: there's not a beauty lives               70
  Hath that imperial predominance
  O'er my affects[289] as your enchanting graces:
  Yet give me leave to be myself--

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] A villain.

  _Pier._ Just--

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] Most just.

  _Pier._ Most just and upright in our judgment seat.
  Were Mellida mine eye, with such a blemish
  Of most loath'd looseness, I would scratch it out.
  Produce the strumpet in her bridal robes,
  That she may blush t'appear so white in show,                    80
  And black in inward substance. Bring her in.

                                  [_Exeunt_ FOROBOSCO _and_ CASTILIO.

  I hold Antonio, for his father's sake,
  So very dearly, so entirely choice,
  That knew I but a thought of prejudice
  Imagined 'gainst his high ennobled blood,
  I would maintain a mortal feud, undying hate,
  'Gainst the conceiver's life. And shall justice sleep
  In fleshly lethargy, for mine own blood's favour,
  When the sweet prince hath so apparent scorn
  By my--I will not call her daughter? Go,                         90
  Conduct in the loved youth Antonio:

                                  [_Exit_ ALBERTO _to fetch_ ANTONIO.

  He shall behold me spurn my private good;
  Piero loves his honour more than 's blood.

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] The devil he does more than both.

  _Bal._ Stand back there, fool; I do hate a fool most,
  most pathetically. O, these that have no sap of retort
  and obtuse wit in them: faugh!

  _Ant._ Puff, hold, world; puff, hold, bubble; puff, hold,
  world; puff, break not behind; puff, thou art full of
  wind; puff, keep up thy[290] wind; puff, 'tis broke! and
  now I laugh like a good fool at the breath of mine own
  lips, he, he, he, he, he!                                       102

  _Bal._ You fool!

  _Ant._ You fool, puff!

  _Bal._ I cannot disgest[291] thee, the unvulgar fool. Go,
  fool.

  _Pier._ Forbear, Balurdo; let the fool alone.
  Come hither.[292] Is he your fool?

  _Mar._ Yes, my loved lord.

  _Pier._ [_Aside._] Would all the states[293] in Venice were
     like thee!
  O then I were secur'd.                                          110
  He that's a villain, or but meanly soul'd,
  Must still converse and cling to routs of fools,
  That can not search the leaks of his defects.
  O, your unsalted fresh fool is your only man:
  These vinegar tart spirits are too piercing,
  Too searching in the unglued joints of shaken wits.
  Find they a chink, they'll wriggle in and in,
  And eat like salt sea in his siddow[294] ribs,
  Till they have opened all his rotten parts
  Unto the vaunting surge of base contempt,                       120
  And sunk the tossèd galleasse[295] in depth
  Of whirlpool scorn. Give me an honest fop.--
  Dud a dud a! Why lo, sir, this takes he
  As grateful now as a monopoly.

                                    [_The still flutes sound softly._

       _Enter_ FOROBOSCO _and_ CASTILIO: MELLIDA _supported by
                        two waiting-women_.

  _Mel._ All honour to this royal confluence.

  _Pier._ Forbear, impure, to blot bright honour's name
  With thy defilèd lips. The flux of sin
  Flows from thy tainted body: thou so foul,
  So all dishonour'd, canst no honour give,
  No wish of good, that can have good effect                      130
  To this grave senate, and illustrate bloods.
  Why stays the doom of death?

  _1st. Sen._ Who riseth up to manifest her guilt?

  _2d Sen._ You must produce apparent proof, my lord.

  _Pier._ Why, where is Strotzo?--he that swore he saw
  The very act, and vow'd that Feliche fled
  Upon his sight: on which I brake the breast
  Of the adulterous lecher with five stabs.
  Go, fetch in Strotzo. Now, thou impudent,
  If thou hast any drop of modest blood                           140
  Shrouded within thy cheeks, blush, blush for shame,
  That rumour yet may say thou felt'st defame.

  _Mel._ Produce the devil; let your Strotzo come:
  I can defeat his strongest argument,
  With----

  _Pier._ With what?

  _Mel._ With tears, with blushes, sighs, and claspèd hands;
  With innocent uprearèd arms to Heaven;
  With my unnookt[296] simplicity. These, these
  Must, will, can only quit my heart of guilt:                    150
  Heaven permits not taintless blood be spilt.
  If no remorse live in your savage breast----

  _Pier._ Then thou must die.

  _Mel._ Yet dying, I'll be blest.

  _Pier._ Accurst by me.

  _Mel._ Yet blest, in that I strove
  To live, and die----

  _Pier._ My hate.

  _Mel._ Antonio's love.

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] Antonio's love!

          _Enter_ STROTZO, _with a cord about his neck_.

  _Str._ O what vast ocean of repentant tears
  Can cleanse my breast from the polluting filth
  Of ulcerous sin! Supreme Efficient,
  Why cleavest thou not my breast with thunderbolts               160
  Of wing'd revenge?

  _Pier._ What means this passion?

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] What villainy are they decocting now? Umh!

  _Str. In[297] me convertite ferrum, O proceres.
  Nihil iste, nec ista._

  _Pier._ Lay hold on him!  What strange portent is this?

  _Str._ I will not flinch. Death, hell more grimly stare
  Within my heart than in your threatening brows.
  Record, thou threefold guard of dreadest power,[298]
  What I here speak is forcèd from my lips
  By the [im]pulsive strain of conscience.                        170
  I have a mount of mischief clogs my soul,
  As weighty as the high-noll'd[299] Apennine,
  Which I must straight disgorge, or breast will burst.
  I have defam'd this lady wrongfully,
  By instigation of Antonio,
  Whose reeling love, tost on each fancy's surge,
  Began to loath before it fully joyed.

  _Pier._ Go, seize Antonio! guard him strongly in!

                                                   [_Exit_ FOROBOSCO.

  _Str._ By his ambition being only bribed,
  Fee'd by his impious hand, I poisonèd                           180
  His agèd father, that his thirsty hope[s]
  Might quench their dropsy of aspiring drought
  With full unbounded quaff.

  _Pier._ Seize me, Antonio!

  _Str._ O, why permit you now such scum of filth
  As Strotzo is to live and taint the air
  With his infectious breath!

  _Pier._ Myself will be thy strangler, unmatched slave.

     PIERO _comes from his chair, snatcheth the cord's end, and_
            CASTILIO _aideth him: both strangle_ STROTZO.

  _Str._ Now change your----

  _Pier._ I--pluck Castilio!--I change my humour: pluck Castilio!
  Die, with thy death's entreats even in thy jaws.--              190
  [_Aside._] Now, now, now, now, now, my plot begins to work!
  Why, thus should statesmen do,
  That cleave through knots of craggy policies,
  Use men like wedges, one strike out another,
  Till by degrees the tough and knurly[300] trunk
  Be riv'd in sunder.--Where's Antonio?

                    _Enter_ ALBERTO, _running_.

  _Alb._ O, black accursèd fate! Antonio's drown'd.

  _Pier._ Speak, on thy faith, on thy allegiance, speak.

  _Alb._ As I do love Piero, he is drown'd.

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] In an inundation of amazement.                200

  _Mel._ Ay, is this the close of all my strains in love?
  O me most wretched maid!

  _Pier._ Antonio drown'd! how? how? Antonio drown'd!

  _Alb._ Distraught and raving, from a turret's top
  He threw his body in the swollen sea,
  And as he headlong topsy turvy ding'd[301] down,
  He still cried "Mellida!"

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] My love's bright crown!

  _Mel._ He still cried "Mellida"!

  _Pier._ Daughter, methinks your eyes should sparkle joy,
  Your bosom rise on tiptoe at this news.                         210

  _Mel._ Ay me!

  _Pier._ How now? Ay, me! why, art not great of thanks
  To gracious Heaven for the just revenge
  Upon the author of thy obloquies!

  _Mar._ Sweet beauty, I could sigh as fast as you,
  But that I know that, which I weep to know.
  [_Aside._] His[302] fortunes should be such he dare not show
  His open presence!

  _Mel._ I know he lov'd me dearly, dearly, ay:
  And since I cannot live with him, I die.             [_Swoons._ 220

  _Pier._ 'Fore Heaven, her speech falters; look, she swouns.
  Convey her up into her private bed.

            [MARIA, NUTRICHE, _and the Ladies bear out_
                    MELLIDA, _as being swooned_.

  I hope she'll live. If not----

  _Ant._ Antonio's dead! the fool will follow too.
  He, he, he!
  [_Aside._] Now works the scene; quick observation, scud
  To cote[303] the plot, or else the path is lost:
  My very self am gone, my way is fled:
  Ay, all is lost, if Mellida is dead.

                                                     [_Exit_ ANTONIO.

  _Pier._ Alberto, I am kind; Alberto, kind.                      230
  I am sorry for thy coz, i'faith I am.
  Go, take him down, and bear him to his father.
  Let him be buried; look ye, I'll pay the priest.

  _Alb._ Please you to admit his father to the court?

  _Pier._ No.

  _Alb._ Please you to restore his lands and goods again?

  _Pier._ No.

  _Alb._ Please you vouchsafe him lodging in the city?

  _Pier._ God's fut, no, thou odd uncivil fellow!
  I think you do forget, sir, where you are.                      240

  _Alb._ I know you do forget, sir, where you must be.

  _Foro._ You are too malapert, i'faith you are.
  Your honour might do well to----

  _Alb._ Peace, parasite; thou bur, that only sticks
  Unto the nap of greatness.

  _Pier._ Away with that same yelping cur--away!

  _Alb._ I--I am gone; but mark, Piero, this.
  There is a thing call'd scourging _Nemesis_.[304]

                                                     [_Exit_ ALBERTO.

  _Bal._ God's neaks, he has wrong, that he has: and
  s'fut, and I were as he, I would bear no coals.[305] Law, I,
  I begin to swell--puff.                                         251

  _Pier._ How now, fool, fop, fool!

  _Bal._[306] Fool, fop, fool! Marry muffe![307] I pray you,
  how many fools have you seen go in a suit of satin? I
  hope, yet, I do not look a fool i'faith! a fool! God's
  bores, I scorn't with my heel. 'S neaks, and I were
  worth but three hundred pound a year more, I could
  swear richly; nay, but as poor as I am, I will swear
  the fellow hath wrong.

  _Pier._ Young Galeatzo! Ay, a proper man;                       260
  Florence, a goodly city: it shall be so,
  I'll marry her to him instantly.
  Then Genoa mine, by my Maria's match,
  Which I'll solemnise ere next setting sun:
  Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagued.
  Excellent, excellent! I'll conquer Rome,
  Pop out the light of bright religion;
  And then, helter skelter, all cock-sure.

  _Bal._ Go to, 'tis just, the man hath wrong: go to.

  _Pier._ Go to, thou shall have right. Go to, Castilio,
  Clap him into the palace dungeon;                               271
  Lap him in rags, and let him feed on slime
  That smears the dungeon' cheek. Away with him.

  _Bal._ In very good truth, now, I'll ne'er do so more;
  this one time and----

  _Pier._ Away with him--observe it strictly--go!

  _Bal._ Why then, O wight!
  Alas, poor knight!
  O, welladay,
  Sir Jefferay!                                                   280
  Let poets roar,
  And all deplore;
  For now I bid you good-night.

                                     [_Exit_ BALURDO _with_ CASTILIO.

                         _Re-enter_ MARIA.

  _Mar._ O piteous end of love! O too, too rude hand
  Of unrespective death! Alas, sweet maid!

  _Pier._ Forbear me, Heaven.  What intend these plaints?

  _Mar._ The beauty of admired creation,
  The life of modest unmix'd purity,
  Our sex's glory, Mellida is----

  _Pier._ What, O Heaven, what!

  _Mar._ Dead!                                                    290

  _Pier._ May it not sad your thoughts, how?

  _Mar._ Being laid upon her bed, she grasp'd my hand,
  And kissing it, spake thus: "Thou very poor,
  Why dost not weep? The jewel of thy brow,
  The rich adornment that enchased thy breast,
  Is lost: thy son, my love, is lost, is dead.
  And do I live to say Antonio's dead?
  And have I lived to see his virtues blurr'd
  With guiltless blots? O world, thou art too subtle
  For honest natures to converse withal,                          300
  Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell, mart of woe,
  I fly to clip my love, Antonio!"
  With that her head sunk down upon her breast;
  Her cheek changed earth, her senses slept in rest,
  Until my fool, that press'd unto the bed,
  Screech'd out so loud that he brought back her soul,
  Call'd her again, that her bright eyes gan ope,
  And stared upon him. He, audacious fool,
  Dared kiss her hand, wish'd her "soft rest, loved bride;"
  She fumbled out, "thanks, good;" and so she died.               310

  _Pier._ And so she died! I do not use to weep;
  But by thy love (out of whose fertile sweet
  I hope for as fair fruit) I am deep sad.--
  I will not stay my marriage for all this.--
  Castilio, Forobosco, all,
  Strain all your wits, wind up invention
  Unto his highest bent, to sweet this night;
  Make us drink Lethe by your quaint conceits,
  That for two days oblivion smother grief.
  But when my daughter's exequies approach,                       320
  Let's all turn sighers. Come, despite of fate,
  Sound loudest music, let's pace out in state!

                                       [_The cornets sound.--Exeunt._


     [285] "Bable" was the old form of "bauble."

     [286] "Wisards" = wise men. In the _Ode on the Nativity_
     Milton styles the wise men from the East _wisards_:--
          "The star-led _wisards_ hasten with odours sweet."

     [287] Nobles.

     [288] _I.e._, there has been no question asked about him.

     [289] Affections.

     [290] Old eds. "by."

     [291] Old form of _digest_.

     [292] Old eds. "Come hither (_ficto_)." The bracketed word is, I
     suppose, a direction to the actor; Piero is to talk in an
     affected voice to Antonio,--treat him as a simpleton.

     [293] Nobles.

     [294] "The word _siddow_ is of very unusual occurrence in early
     English, but it is preserved in the provincial dialect of the
     West of England. In Gloucestershire peas which become pulpy soft
     by boiling are then said to be _siddow_."--_Halliwell._

     [295] Large galleon.

     [296] "_Unnookt_ simplicity" (if the reading is right) must mean
     "simplicity in which no guile is hidden."

     [297] A mangled quotation from _Æn._ ix. 427-8.

     [298] The "threefold guard of dreadest power" is, I suppose,
     "tergemina Hecate." Cf. p. 176 "By the d[r]ead brow of triple
     Hecate."

     [299] High-peaked.--_Nol_ = head, top.

     [300] Full of _knurs_, _i.e._ knotted, gnarled.

     [301] Dashed violently.--We have had the word before (p. 11) used
     transitively; but it is also used intransitively, as in Drayton's
     _Ballad of Agincourt_:--
               "This while our noble king,
               His broadsword brandishing.
               Down the French host did _ding_
                 As to o'erwhelm it." (Text of ed. 1619.)

     [302] _I.e._ alas, that his fortunes should be, &c.

     [303] Cote (another form of _quote_) = mark, note.

     [304] So Hieronymo in _The Spanish Tragedy_:--
              "Well heaven is heaven still!
               And there is Nemesis and furies,
               And things call'd whips."

     [305] "Bear coals" = put up with injuries.

     [306] Not marked in ed. 1602.

     [307] "Marry muffe"--a common expression of contempt.--Middleton,
     i. 42, 71, &c.]


                             SCENE II.

             _Enter_ ANTONIO _solus, in fool's habit_.

  _Ant._ Ay, heaven, thou may'st, thou may'st, omnipotence.
  What vermin bred of putrefacted slime
  Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees!
  O heaven, thou may'st indeed: she was all thine,
  All heavenly: I did but humbly beg
  To borrow her of thee a little time.
  Thou gavest her me, as some weak-breasted dame
  Giveth her infant, puts it out to nurse;
  And when it once goes high-lone,[308] takes it back.
  She was my vital blood, and yet, and yet,                        10
  I'll not blaspheme. Look here! behold!

            [ANTONIO _puts off his cap and lieth just upon his back_.

  I turn my prostrate breast upon thy face,
  And vent a heaving sigh. O hear but this!
  I am a poor, poor orphant--a weak, weak child,--
  The wrack of splitted fortune, the very ooze,
  The quicksand that devours all misery.
  Behold the valiant'st creature that doth breathe!
  For all this I dare live, and I will live,
  Only to numb some other's cursèd blood
  With the dead palsy of like misery.                              20
  Then, death, like to a stifling incubus,[309]
  Lie on my bosom. Lo, see,[310] I am sped.
  My breast is Golgotha, grave for the dead.

          _Enter_ PANDULPHO, ALBERTO, _and a Page, carrying_
            FELICHE'S _trunk in a winding sheet, and lay it
                    thwart_ ANTONIO'S _breast_.

  _Pan._ Antonio, kiss my foot: I honour thee,
  In laying thwart my blood upon thy breast.
  I tell thee, boy, he was Pandulpho's son;
  And I do grace thee with supporting him.
  Young man,
  He[311] who hath naught that fortune's gripe can seize,
  The domineering monarch of the earth;                            30
  He who is all impregnably his own,
  He whose great heart heaven cannot force with force,
  Vouchsafes his love. _Non servio Deo, sed assentio._

  _Ant._ I ha' lost a good wife.

  _Pan._ Didst find her good, or didst thou make her good?
  If found, thou may'st refind, because thou hadst her;
  If made, the work is lost, but thou that madest her
  Livest yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife?
  Thrice-blessèd man that lost her whilst she was good,
  Fair, young, unblemish'd, constant, loving, chaste.              40
  I tell thee, youth, age knows, young loves seem graced,
  Which with gray cares, rude jars, are oft defaced.

  _Ant._ But she was full of hope.

  _Pan._ May be, may be; but that which _may be_ stood,
  Stands now without all _may_. She dièd good,
  And dost thou grieve?

  _Alb._ I ha' lost a true friend.

  _Pan._ I live encompass'd with two blessèd souls.
  Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a true friend, ha!
  Two of the rarest lendings of the heavens,--
  But lendings which, at the fix'd day of pay                      50
  Set down by fate, thou must restore again.[312]
  O what unconscionable souls are here!
  Are you all like the spoke-shaves of the church?
  Have you no maw to restitution?
  Hast lost a true friend, coz? then thou hadst one.
  I tell thee, youth, 'tis all as difficult
  To find true friend in this apostate age
  (That balks all right affiance 'twixt two hearts)
  As 'tis to find a fixèd modest heart
  Under a painted breast. Lost a true friend!                      60
  O happy soul that lost him whilst he was true!
  Believe it, coz, I to my tears have found,
  Oft dirt's respect makes firmer friends unsound.

  _Alb._ You have lost a good son.

  _Pan._ Why, there's the comfort on't, that he was good.
  Alas, poor innocent!

  _Alb._ Why weeps mine uncle?

  _Pan._ Ha, dost ask me why? ha, ha!
  Good coz, look here!              [_He shows him his son's breast._
  Man will break out, despite philosophy.
  Why, all this while I ha' but played a part,                     70
  Like to some boy that acts a tragedy,
  Speaks burly words, and raves out passion;
  But, when he thinks upon his infant weakness,
  He droops his eye. I spake more than a god,
  Yet am less than a man.
  I am the miserablest soul that breathes.

                                                [ANTONIO _starts up_.

  _Ant._ 'Slid, sir, ye lie! by the heart of grief, thou liest!
  I scorn'd that any wretched should survive,
  Outmounting me in that superlative,
  Most miserable, most unmatch'd in woe.                           80
  Who dare assume that but Antonio?

  _Pan._ Wilt still be so, and shall yon blood-hound live?

  _Ant._ Have I an arm, a heart, a sword, a soul?

  _Alb._ Were you but private unto what we know----

  _Pan._ I'll know it all; first let's inter the dead.
  Let's dig his grave with that shall dig the heart,
  Liver, and entrails of the murderer.

                      [_They strike the stage with their daggers, and
                           the grave openeth._

  _Ant._ Wilt sing a dirge, boy?

  _Pan._ No, no song; 'twill be vile out of tune.

  _Alb._ Indeed, he's hoarse; the poor boy's voice is crack'd.     90

  _Pan._ Why, coz! why should it not be hoarse and crack'd,
  When all the strings of nature's symphony
  Are crack'd and jar? Why should his voice keep tune,
  When there's no music in the breast of man?
  I'll say an honest antic rhyme I have:
  Help me, good sorrow-mates, to give him grave.

                    [_They all help to carry_ FELICHE _to his grave_.

  Death, exile, plaints, and woe,
  Are but man's lackeys, not his foe.
  No mortal 'scapes from fortune's war
  Without a wound, at least a scar.                               100
  Many have led thee[313] to the grave;
  But all shall follow, none shall save.
  Blood of my youth, rot and consume;
  Virtue in dirt doth life assume.
  With this old saw close up this dust:--
  Thrice blessèd man that dieth just.

  _Ant._ The gloomy wing of night begins to stretch
  His lazy pinion o'er the air.
  We must be stiff and steady in resolve;
  Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our arms involve.             110

                                           [_They wreath their arms._

  _Pan._ Now swear we by this Gordian knot of love,
  By the fresh-turned up mould that wraps my son,
  By the d[r]ead brow of triple Hecate,
  Ere night shall close the lids of yon bright stars,
  We'll sit as heavy on Piero's heart,
  As Ætna doth on groaning Pelorus.

  _Ant._ Thanks, good old man; we'll cast at royal chance.
  Let's think a plot--then pell-mell, vengeance!

                                      [_Exeunt, their arms wreathed._


     [308] Quite alone.--See note on Middleton, i. 46.

     [309] See note 1, p. 107.

     [310] Old eds. "sir."

     [311] In old eds. ll. 29-30 are transposed, and the passage is
     rendered unintelligible. "The domineering monarch" is of course
     fortune.

     [312] Seneca moralises in the same strain:--"Rerum natura illum
     tibi non mancipio dedit sed commodavit: cum visum est deinde,
     repetiit nec tuam in eo satietatem secuta est, sed suam legem. Si
     quis pecuniam creditam solvisse se moleste ferat, eam præsertim
     cujus usum gratuitum acceperit, nonne injustus vir habeatur?"
     (_Ad Polybium de Consolatione._)

     [313] Old ed. "these."




                              ACT V.


                             SCENE I.

                  _The cornets sound for the Act._

                         _The dumb show._

  _Enter at one door_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO, _with halberts; four
  Pages with torches_; LUCIO, _bare_; PIERO, MARIA, _and_ ALBERTO,
  _talking_; ALBERTO _draws out his dagger_, MARIA _her knife, aiming
  to menace the Duke. Then_ GALEATZO, _betwixt two Senators, reading a
  paper to them, at which they all make semblance of loathing_ PIERO,
  _and knit their fists at him; two Ladies and_ NUTRICHE. _All these
  go softly over the stage, whilst at the other door enters the ghost
  of_ ANDRUGIO, _who passeth by them, tossing his torch about his head
  in triumph. All forsake the stage, saving_ ANDRUGIO, _who, speaking,
  begins the Act_.

  _Ghost of And. Venit dies, tempusque, quo reddat suis Animam
  squalentem sceleribus._

  The[314] fist of strenuous vengeance is clutch'd,
  And stern Vindicta tow'reth up aloft,
  That she may fall with a more weighty paise,
  And crush life's sap from out Piero's veins.
  Now 'gins the leprous cores of ulcered sins
  Wheel to a head; now is his fate grown mellow,
  Instant to fall into the rotten jaws
  Of chap-fall'n death. Now down looks Providence,                 10
  T'attend the last act of my son's revenge.
  Be gracious, observation, to our scene,
  For now the plot unites his scatter'd limbs
  Close in contracted bands. The Florence Prince
  (Drawn by firm notice of the Duke's black deeds)
  Is made a partner in conspiracy.
  The states of Venice are so swoll'n in hate
  Against the Duke for his accursèd deeds
  (Of which they are confirm'd by some odd letters
  Found in dead Strotzo's study, which had past                    20
  Betwixt Piero and the murd'ring slave)
  That they can scarce retain from bursting forth
  In plain revolt. O, now triumphs my ghost,
  Exclaiming, Heaven's just, for I shall see
  The scourge of murder and impiety!

                                                             [_Exit._


     [314] This line is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_, v. 1:--
                        "Break his back,
           O poets all and some! for now we list
          _Of strenuous vengeance to clutch the fist_."


                             SCENE I.

                  BALURDO _from under the Stage_.

  _Bal._ Ho, who's above there, ho? A murrain on all
  proverbs. They say hunger breaks through stone walls;
  but I am as gaunt as lean-ribb'd famine, yet I can burst
  through no stone walls. O now, Sir Jeffrey, show thy
  valour, break prison and be hang'd. Nor shall the
  darkest nook of hell contain the discontented Sir
  Balurdo's ghost. Well, I am out well; I have put
  off the prison to put on the rope. O poor shotten
  herring, what a pickle art thou in! O hunger, how thou
  domineer'st in my guts! O for a fat leg of ewe mutton
  in stewed broth, or drunken song to feed on! I could
  belch rarely, for I am all wind. O cold, cold, cold,
  cold, cold! O poor knight! O poor Sir Jeffrey, sing
  like an unicorn before thou dost dip thy horn in the
  water of death. O cold, O sing, O cold, O poor
  Sir Jeffrey, sing, sing!                                         16

                                                           [_A song._

        _Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ Alberto _at several doors, their
               rapiers drawn, in their masking attire_.

  _Ant._ Vindicta!

  _Alb._ Mellida!

  _Ant._ Alberto!

  _Alb._ Antonio!

  _Ant._ Hath the Duke supp'd?

  _Alb._ Yes, and triumphant revels mount aloft.
  The Duke drinks deep to overflow his grief;
  The court is rack'd to pleasure; each man strains
  To feign a jocund eye. The Florentine----

  _Ant._ Young Galeatzo!

  _Alb._ Even he is mighty on our part. The states of Venice----

         _Enter_ PANDULPHO, _running, in masking attire_.

  _Pan._ Like high-swoll'n floods drive down the muddy dams
  Of pent allegiance. O, my lusty bloods,
  Heaven sits clapping of our enterprise.                          30
  I have been labouring general favour firm,
  And I do find the citizens grown sick
  With swallowing the bloody crudities
  Of black Piero's acts; they fain would cast
  And vomit him from off their government.
  Now is the plot of mischief ript wide ope;
  Letters are found 'twixt Strotzo and the Duke,
  So clear apparent, yet more firmly strong
  By suiting circumstance, that, as I walk'd,
  Muffled, to eavesdrop speech, I might observe                    40
  The graver statesmen whispering fearfully.
  Here one gives nods and hums what he would speak;
  The rumour's got 'mong troop of citizens,
  Making loud murmur, with confusèd din;
  One shakes his head and sighs, "O ill-used power!"
  Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth,
  Foaming with rage, and swears this must not be;
  Here one complots, and on a sudden starts,
  And cries, O monstrous, O deep villainy!
  All knit their nerves, and from beneath swoll'n brows            50
  Appears a gloating eye of much mislike;
  Whilst swart Piero's lips reak steam of wine,
  Swallows lust-thoughts, devours all pleasing hopes,
  With strong imagination of--what not?
  O now Vindicta! that's the word we have,
  A royal vengeance, or a royal grave!

  _Ant._ Vindicta!

  _Bal._ [_From beneath the stage._] I am acold.

  _Pan._ Who's there? Sir Jeffrey?

  _Bal._ A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthood
  is bitten off with cold. O poor Sir Jeffrey, cold,
  cold!                                                            62

  _Pan._ What chance of fortune hath tripp'd up his heels,
  And laid him in the kennel, ha?

  _Alb._ I will discourse it all. Poor honest soul,
  Hadst thou a beaver to clasp up thy face,
  Thou should'st associate us in masquery,
  And see revenge.

  _Bal._ Nay, and you talk of revenge, my stomach's up,
  for I am most tyrannically hungry. A beaver! I have
  a headpiece, a skull, a brain of proof, I warrant ye.            71

  _Alb._ Slink to my chamber then, and tire thee.

  _Bal._ Is there a fire?

  _Alb._ Yes.

  _Bal._ Is there a fat leg of ewe mutton?

  _Alb._ Yes.

  _Bal._ And a clean shirt?

  _Alb._ Yes.

  _Bal._ Then am I for you, most pathetically, and unvulgarly,
  law!                                                             80

                                                             [_Exit._

  _Ant._ Resolved hearts, time curtails night, opportunity
  shakes us his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your
  resolve, embolden your spirit, grasp your swords; alarum
  mischief, and with an undaunted brow, out scout the
  grim opposition of most menacing peril.

  Hark! here proud pomp shoots mounting triumph up,
  Borne in loud accents to the front of Jove.

  _Pan._ O now, he that wants soul to kill a slave,
  Let him die slave, and rot in peasant's grave.

  _Ant._ Give me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart;
  Thus will we live, and, but thus, never part.                    91

                                          [_Exeunt, twined together._

                      _Cornets sound a senet._


                             SCENE II.

                       _A Banqueting-hall._

     _Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO; _two Pages, with torches_;
          LUCIO, _bare_; PIERO _and_ MARIA, GALEATZO, _two
                      Senators, and_ NUTRICHE.

  _Pier._ Sit close unto my breast, heart of my love;
  Advance thy drooping eyes, thy son is drown'd.
  Rich happiness that such a son is drown'd!
  Thy husband's dead: life of my joys most bless'd,
  In that the sapless log, that press'd thy bed
  With an unpleasing weight, being lifted hence,
  Even I, Piero, live to warm his place.
  I tell you, lady, had you view'd us both
  With an unpartial eye, when first we wooed
  Your maiden beauties, I had borne the prize.                     10
  'Tis firm I had; for, fair, I ha' done that----

  _Mar._ [_Aside._] Murder.

  _Pier._ Which he would quake to have adventurèd;
  Thou know'st I have----

  _Mar._ [_Aside._] Murder'd my husband.

  _Pier._ Borne out the shock of war, and done--what not,
  That valour durst? Dost love me, fairest? Say.

  _Mar._ As I do hate my son, I love thy soul.

  _Pier._ Why, then, Io[315] to Hymen, mount a lofty note!
  Fill[316] red-cheek'd Bacchus, let Lyæus float                   20
  In burnish'd goblets! Force the plump-lipp'd god.
  Skip light lavoltas[317] in your full-sapp'd veins!
  'Tis well, brim full. Even I have glut of blood:
  Let quaff carouse. I drink this Burdeaux wine
  Unto the health of dead Andrugio,
  Feliche, Strotzo, and Antonio's ghosts.
  [_Aside._] Would I had some poison to infuse it with;
  That having done this honour to the dead,
  I might send one to give them notice on't:
  I would endear my favour to the full.--                          30
  Boy, sing aloud; make heaven's vault to ring
  With thy breath's strength. I drink. Now loudly sing.

                 [_A song. The song ended the cornets sound a senet._

      _Enter_ ANTONIO, PANDULPHO, _and_ ALBERTO, _in maskery_;
                   BALURDO, _and a Torchbearer_.

  _Pier._ Call Julio hither. Where's the little soul?
  I saw him not to-day. Here's sport alone
  For him, i'faith; for babes and fools, I know,
  Relish not substance, but applaud the show.

  _Gal._ (_To the conspirators as they stand in rank for the
          measure._[318]) All blessèd fortune crown your brave
          attempt.                                     [_To_ ANTONIO.
  I have a troop to second your attempt.             [_To_ PANDULPHO.
  The Venice states join hearts unto your hands.       [_To_ ALBERTO.

  _Pier._ By the delights in contemplation                         40
  Of coming joys, 'tis magnificent.
  You grace my marriage eve with sumptuous pomp.
  Sound still, loud music! O, your breath gives grace
  To curious feet, that in proud measure pace.

  _Ant._ [_Aside to_ MARIA.] Mother, is Julio's body----

  _Mar._ [_Aside to_ ANTONIO.] Speak not, doubt not; all is
          above all hope.

  _Ant._ [_Aside._] Then will I dance and whirl about the air:
  Methinks I am all soul, all heart, all spirit.
  Now murder shall receive his ample merit.

                          _The measure._

  _While the measure is dancing_, ANDRUGIO'S _ghost is placed
                  betwixt the music-houses_.[319]

  _Pier._ Bring hither suckets, candied delicates.                 50
  We'll taste some sweetmeats, gallants, ere we sleep.

  _Ant._--We'll cook your sweetmeats, gallants, with tart sour sauce.

  _Ghost of And._ Here will I sit, spectator of revenge,
  And glad my ghost in anguish of my foe.

                                   [_The maskers whisper with_ PIERO.

  _Pier._ Marry and shall; i'faith I were too rude,
  If I gainsaid so civil fashion.--
  The maskers pray you to forbear the room
  Till they have banqueted. Let it be so:
  No man presume to visit them, on death.

                                        [_The maskers whisper again._

  Only my self? O, why, with all my heart;                         60

                           [_Exeunt all but_ PIERO _and the maskers_.

  I'll fill your consort. Here Piero sits;
  Come on, unmask, let's fall to.

               [_The conspirators bind_ PIERO, _pluck out his tongue,
                    and triumph over him_.

  _Ant._ Murder and torture! no prayers, no entreats!

  _Pan._ We'll spoil your oratory. Out with his tongue.

  _Ant._ I have 't, Pandulpho; the veins panting bleed,
  Trickling fresh gore about my fist. Bind fast--so, so!

  _Ghost of And._ Bless'd be thy hand! I taste the joys of heaven,
  Viewing my son triumph in his black blood.

  _Bal._ Down to the dungeon with him! I'll dungeon
  with him! I'll fool you; Sir Jeffrey will be Sir Jeffrey;
  I'll tickle you.                                                 71

  _Ant._ Behold, black dog!

  _Pan._ Grinn'st thou, thou snurling[320] cur?

  _Alb._ Eat thy black liver.

  _Ant._ To thine anguish see
  A fool triumphant in thy misery.
  Vex him, Balurdo.

  _Pan._ He weeps; now do I glorify my hands;
  I had no vengeance, if I had no tears.

  _Ant._ Fall to, good Duke. O these are worthless cates,
  You have no stomach to them; look, look here:
  Here lies a dish to feast thy father's gorge.                    80

                [_Uncovering the dish that contains_ LUCIO'S _limbs_.

  Here's flesh and blood, which I am sure thou lov'st.

                                   [PIERO _seems to condole his son_.

  _Pan._ Was he thy flesh, thy son, thy dearest son?

  _Ant._ So was Andrugio, my dearest father.

  _Pan._ So was Feliche, my dearest son.

                          _Enter_ MARIA.

  _Mar._ So was Andrugio my dearest husband.

  _Ant._ My father found no pity in thy blood.

  _Pan._ Remorse was banish'd, when thou slew'st my son.

  _Mar._ When thou empoisoned'st my loving lord,
  Exiled was piety.

  _Ant._ Now therefore pity, piety, remorse,                       90
  Be aliens to our thoughts; grim fire-ey'd rage
  Possess us wholly.

  _Pan._ Thy son? true; and which is my most joy,
  I hope no bastard, but thy very blood,
  Thy true-begotten, most legitimate
  And lovèd issue--there's the comfort on't.

  _Ant._ Scum of the mud of hell!

  _Alb._ Slime of all filth!

  _Mar._ Thou most detested toad!

  _Bal._ Thou most retort and obtuse rascal!

  _Ant._ Thus charge we death at thee; remember hell,
  And let the howling murmurs of black spirits,                   101
  The horrid torments of the damnèd ghosts,
  Affright thy soul as it descendeth down
  Into the entrails of the ugly deep.

  _Pan._ Sa, sa; no, let him die, and die, and still be dying.

           [_They offer to run all at_ PIERO, _and on a sudden stop_.

  And yet not die till he hath died and died
  Ten thousand deaths in agony of heart.

  Ant. Now pellmell: thus the hand of Heaven chokes
  The throat of murder. This for my father's blood!

                                                   [_He stabs_ PIERO.

  _Pan._ This for my son!                                         110

  _Alb._ This for them all!
  And this, and this, sink to the heart of hell!

                       [_They run all at_ PIERO _with their rapiers_.

  _Pan._ Murder for murder, blood for blood, doth yell!

  _And._ 'Tis done, and now my soul shall sleep in rest:
  Sons that revenge their father's blood are blest.

                          [_The curtains being drawn, exit_ ANDRUGIO.

         _Enter_ GALEATZO, _two_ Senators, LUCIO, FOROBOSCO,
                       CASTILIO, _and Ladies_.

  _1st Sen._ Whose hand presents this gory spectacle?

  _Ant._ Mine.

  _Pan._ No, mine.

  _Alb._ No, mine.

  _Ant._ I will not lose the glory of the deed,                   120
  Were all the tortures of the deepest hell
  Fix'd to my limbs. I pierced the monster's heart
  With an undaunted hand.

  _Pan._ By yon bright-spangled front of heaven 'twas I!
  'Twas I sluiced[321] out his life-blood.

  _Alb._ Tush, to say truth, 'twas all.

  _2d Sen._ Blest be you all, and may your honours live
  Religiously held sacred, even for ever and ever.

  _Gal._ (_to_ ANTONIO). Thou art another Hercules to us,
  In ridding huge pollution from our state.                       130

  _1st Sen._ Antonio, belief is fortified
  With most invincible approvements[322] of much wrong
  By this Piero to thee. We have found
  Beadrolls of mischief, plots of villainy,
  Laid 'twixt the Duke and Strotzo, which we found
  Too firmly acted.

  _2d Sen._ Alas, poor orphant!

  _Ant._ Poor!
  Standing triumphant over Belzebub!
  Having large interest for blood, and yet deem'd poor?

  _1st Sen._ What satisfaction outward pomp can yield,
  Or chiefest fortunes of the Venice state,                       140
  Claim freely. You are well-season'd props,
  And will not warp, or lean to either part;
  Calamity gives a man a steady heart.

  _Ant._ We are amaz'd at your benignity;
  But other vows constrain another course.

  _Pan._ We know the world, and did we know no more,
  We would not live to know; but since constraint
  Of holy bands forceth us keep this lodge
  Of dirt's corruption, till dread power calls
  Our soul's appearance, we will live enclosed                    150
  In holy verge of some religious order,
  Most constant votaries.

                        [_The curtains are drawn_, PIERO _departeth_.

  _Ant._ First let's cleanse our hands,
  Purge hearts of hatred, and entomb my love,
  Over whose hearse I'll weep away my brain
  In true affection's tears.
  For her sake here I vow a virgin bed:
  She lives in me, with her my love is dead.

  _2d Sen._ We will attend her mournful exequies;
  Conduct you to your calm sequestered life,
  And then----                                                    160

  _Mar._ Leave us to meditate on misery,
  To sad our thought with contemplation
  Of past calamities. If any ask
  Where lives the widow of the poison'd lord?
  Where lies the orphant of a murder'd father?
  Where lies the father of a butcher'd son?
  Where lives all woe?--conduct him to us three,
  The down-cast ruins of calamity.

  _Ant._[323] Sound doleful tunes, a solemn hymn advance,
  To close the last act of my vengeance;                          170
  And when the subject of your passion's spent,
  Sing _Mellida is dead_; all hearts will relent,
  In sad condolement at that heavy sound.
  Never more woe in lesser plot was found!
  And, O, if ever time create a muse,
  That to th' immortal fame of virgin faith
  Dares once engage his pen to write her death,
  Presenting it in some black tragedy,
  May it prove gracious; may his style be deck'd
  With freshest blooms of purest elegance;
  May it have gentle presence, and the scenes suck'd up
  By calm attention of choice audience;                           181
  And when the closing Epilogue appears,
  Instead of claps, may it obtain but tears.

                                            [_A song.--Exeunt omnes._

                    _Antonii vindictæ_ [_sic_].


     [315] "Io"--the joyful cry with which Hymen was invoked by the
     ancients. Cf. Catullus:--
               "Ite, concinite in modum:
               Io Hymen Hymenæe io,
               Io Hymen Hymenæe!"


     [316] Old eds. "Ful."

     [317] A sort of waltz, described in Sir John Davies'
     _Orchestra_, st. 70.--Cf. Chapman's _May Day_ (1611), iv. 1:--
          "Fill red-cheek'd Bacchus, let the Burdeux grape
          Skip like [sic] lavoltas in their swelling veins"
     --lines made up from the present passage.

     [318] "Measure"--a grave solemn dance.

     [319] See Collier's _Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry_, iii. 251-2
     (ed. 2).

     [320] So Marston uses "kn_u_rl'd" (p. 166) for "gn_a_rl'd."

     [321] Cf. _Richard II._, i. 1:--"_Sluiced out_ his innocent soul
     through streams of blood."

     [322] Proofs.

     [323] Old eds. "_And._"




                          THE MALCONTENT.




_The Malcontent. By Iohn Marston._ 1604. _At London printed by V. S.
for William Aspley, and are to be solde at his shop in Paules
Church-yard._ 4to.

_The Malcontent. Augmented by Marston. With the Additions played by
the Kings Maiesties servants. Written by Ihon Webster._ 1604. _At
London Printed by V. S. for William Aspley, and are to be sold at his
shop in Paules Church-yard._ 4to.


                        STORY OF THE PLAY.

Giovanni Altofronto, Duke of Genoa, driven from power by the plots of
Pietro Jacomo, disguises himself and lives under the name of Malevole
at the usurper's court, assuming the character of a malcontent. His
identity is known only to his faithful friend Celso. A crafty
courtier, Mendoza, who had assisted in dethroning Altofronto, has
adulterous intercourse with Pietro's wife, Aurelia. Malevole exposes
the intrigue to Pietro; but meanwhile Aurelia, induced by an old
procuress, Maquerelle, to believe that her lover is faithless,
discards Mendoza and engages in an intrigue with another courtier,
Ferneze. Pietro, sword in hand, seeks Mendoza, who makes passionate
protestations of his own innocence, and declares that the guilty
person is Ferneze. On that very night Ferneze has an appointment with
the Duchess; and it is agreed that Pietro with some of the guard shall
break into the Duchess' chamber, while Mendoza waits with his drawn
sword at the door. Ferneze is to be allowed to escape from the
chamber, only to be received on the sword of Mendoza, who is then to
stand over the body and pretend that he is guarding it from assault.
Thus Mendoza will not only serve Pietro, but by his seeming generosity
towards Ferneze will earn the gratitude of Aurelia, who, should she
attempt to take vengeance on her husband, will not fail to make
Mendoza acquainted with her plots, which he will incontinently reveal
to Pietro. At the hour appointed, Pietro and the guard invade the
Duchess' chamber; the flying gallant is stabbed by Mendoza and left
for dead (though he afterwards recovers from the wound); Aurelia
receives Mendoza again into favour, and practises with him to murder
Pietro. Mendoza, selecting a time when Pietro had gone a-hunting,
bribes Malevole to commit the murder. Malevole undertakes to kill
Pietro by stealth in the forest, fling his body into the sea, and then
return to announce that Pietro, distracted by grief at the dishonour
brought on him by his wife, has made away with himself by leaping into
the sea from a high rock. To the forest goes Malevole, finds Pietro,
and exposes to him the plot; presently Celso appears bringing a
hermit's weeds, into which Pietro shifts. They return to the court,
and the pretended hermit describes with much detail how he saw Pietro
perish, the narrative being substantiated by Malevole. Mendoza is
proclaimed Duke, and his first act is to pronounce a sentence of
perpetual banishment on Aurelia. He then commissions Malevole to bring
from the citadel (where she is confined) the wife of the banished
Altofronto, the virtuous Maria, whom he intends to make his Duchess.
His brain is now exercised to procure the destruction of the supposed
murderers. Malevole is instructed to poison the hermit at a supper
given in the citadel, and the hermit on the same occasion is to poison
Malevole; thus two awkward agents will be removed, and the suspicion
will fall on Maria, whose fears will drive her to submit to Mendoza.
Pietro informs Malevole of the instructions he had received, and
learns that similar instructions have been given to Malevole. Weighed
down with sorrow at his own dishonour, and disgusted with Mendoza's
villainy, Pietro declares his determination to dedicate his life to
religious solitude, and make it his one care that the banished
Altofronto shall be restored to the dukedom. Thereupon Malevole puts
off his disguise, and Pietro beholds the banished Duke. Ferneze now
approaches with Celso, and receives pardon from Pietro, who had
supposed him to be dead. The four then take counsel how they shall
depose Mendoza. Malevole goes to the usurper and announces that he has
poisoned the hermit; he then produces a box of poison, which, he
declares, will cause instant death on being opened and held to the
nostrils. Mendoza opens the box and tries its effects on Malevole, who
feigns to fall dead. A masque is ordered by Mendoza to be given in
honour of Maria, who shows herself indifferent both to the tyrant's
flatteries and threats. At the entertainment Malevole, Pietro, and
Ferneze appear masked; Malevole chooses Maria as his partner in the
dance, and Pietro is matched with Aurelia, who has deeply repented of
her misconduct. At the close of the dance, during which Malevole and
Pietro have discovered themselves to their partners, the maskers
environ Mendoza, level their pistols at his head, and unmask.
Altofronto is received with joyful acclamations by the assembled
company, and Mendoza--whose life the restored Duke disdains to
take--is banished with shameful ignominy.




                      BENIAMINO[324] JONSONIO,

                               POETÆ

                           ELEGANTISSIMO,

                            GRAVISSIMO,

                               AMICO

                     SVO, CANDIDO ET CORDATO,

                         IOHANNES MARSTON,

                         MVSARVM ALVMNVS,

                     ASPERAM HANC SVAM THALIAM

                               D. D.


     [324] Ed. 2. "_Beniamini._"




                          TO THE READER.


I am an ill orator; and, in truth, use to indite more honestly than
eloquently, for it is my custom to speak as I think, and write as I
speak.

In plainness, therefore, understand, that in some things I have
willingly erred, as in supposing a Duke of Genoa, and in taking names
different from that city's families: for which some may wittily accuse
me; but my defence shall be as honest as many reproofs unto me have
been most malicious. Since, I heartily protest, it was my care to
write so far from reasonable offence, that even strangers, in whose
state I laid my scene, should not from thence draw any disgrace to
any, dead or living. Yet, in despite of my endeavours, I understand
some have been most unadvisedly over-cunning in misinterpreting me,
and with subtlety as deep as hell have maliciously spread ill rumours,
which, springing from themselves, might to themselves have heavily
returned. Surely I desire to satisfy every firm spirit, who, in all
his actions, proposeth to himself no more ends than God and virtue do,
whose intentions are always simple: to such I protest that, with my
free understanding, I have not glanced at disgrace of any, but of
those whose unquiet studies labour innovation, contempt of holy
policy, reverend, comely superiority, and established unity: for the
rest of my supposed tartness, I fear not but unto every worthy mind it
will be approved so general and honest as may modestly pass with the
freedom of a satire. I would fain leave the paper; only one thing
afflicts me, to think that scenes, invented merely to be spoken,
should be enforcively published to be read, and that the least hurt I
can receive is to do myself the wrong. But, since others otherwise
would do me more, the least inconvenience is to be accepted. I have
myself, therefore, set forth this comedy; but so, that my enforced
absence must much rely upon the printer's discretion: but I shall
entreat slight errors in orthography may be as slightly over-passed,
and that the unhandsome shape which this trifle in reading presents,
may be pardoned for the pleasure it once afforded you when it was
presented with the soul of lively action.

            _Sine aliqua dementia nullus Phoebus._[325]


     [325] For this motto ed. 1. gives "_Me mea sequentur fata._"




                        THE INDUCTION[326]

                                 TO

            THE MALCONTENT, AND THE ADDITIONS ACTED BY
                  THE KING'S MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.

                     WRITTEN BY JOHN WEBSTER.


   _Enter_ W. SLY,[327] _a_ Tire-man _following him with a stool_.

  _Tire-man._ Sir, the gentlemen will be angry if you sit
  here.

  _Sly._ Why, we may sit upon the stage at the private
  house.[328] Thou dost not take me for a country gentleman,
  dost? dost think I fear hissing?[329] I'll hold my
  life thou tookest me for one of the players.

  _Tire-man._ No, sir.

  _Sly._ By God's slid, if you had, I would have given you
  but sixpence[330] for your stool. Let them that have stale
  suits sit in the galleries. Hiss at me! He that will be
  laughed out of a tavern or an ordinary, shall seldom feed
  well, or be drunk in good company.--Where's Harry
  Condell, Dick Burbadge, and William Sly? Let me
  speak with some of them.                                         14

  _Tire-man._ An't please you to go in, sir, you may.

  _Sly._ I tell you, no: I am one that hath seen this play
  often, and can give them intelligence for their action: I
  have most of the jests here in my table-book.

                       _Enter_ SINKLO.[331]

  _Sinklo._ Save you, coz!

  _Sly._ O, cousin, come, you shall sit between my legs
  here.                                                            21

  _Sinklo._ No, indeed, cousin: the audience then will
  take me for a viol-de-gambo, and think that you play
  upon me.

  _Sly._ Nay, rather that I work upon you, coz.

  _Sinklo._ We stayed for you at supper last night at my
  cousin Honeymoon's, the woollen-draper. After supper
  we drew cuts for a score of apricocks, the longest cut
  still to draw an apricock: by this light, 'twas Mistress
  Frank Honeymoon's fortune still to have the longest
  cut: I did measure for the women.--What be these,
  coz?                                                             32

       _Enter_ D. BURBADGE,[332] H. CONDELL, _and_ J. LOWIN.

  _Sly._ The players.--God save you!

  _Burbadge._ You are very welcome.

  _Sly._ I pray you, know this gentleman, my cousin;
  'tis Master Doomsday's son, the usurer.

  _Condell._ I beseech you, sir, be covered.

  _Sly._ No,[333] in good faith, for mine ease: look you, my
  hat's the handle to this fan: God's so, what a beast
  was I, I did not leave my feather at home! Well,
  but I'll take an order with you.                                 41

                                   [_Puts his feather in his pocket._

  _Burbadge._ Why do you conceal your feather, sir?

  _Sly._ Why, do you think I'll have jests broken upon
  me in the play, to be laughed at? this play hath beaten
  all your gallants out of the feathers: Blackfriars hath
  almost spoiled Blackfriars for feathers.[334]

  _Sinklo._ God's so, I thought 'twas for somewhat our
  gentlewomen at home counselled me to wear my feather
  to the play: yet I am loth to spoil it.

  _Sly._ Why, coz?                                                 50

  _Sinklo._ Because I got it in the tilt-yard; there was a
  herald broke my pate for taking it up: but I have worn
  it up and down the Strand, and met him forty times
  since, and yet he dares not challenge it.

  _Sly._ Do you hear, sir? this play is a bitter play.

  _Condell._ Why, sir, 'tis neither satire nor moral, but the
  mean passage of a history: yet there are a sort of discontented
  creatures that bear a stingless envy to great
  ones, and these will wrest the doings of any man to their
  base, malicious appliment; but should their interpretation
  come to the test, like your marmoset, they presently
  turn their teeth to their tail and eat it.                       62

  _Sly._ I will not go so far with you; but I say, any
  man that hath wit may censure,[335] if he sit in the twelve-penny
  room;[336] and I say again, the play is bitter.

  _Burbadge._ Sir, you are like a patron that, presenting
  a poor scholar to a benefice, enjoins him not to rail
  against anything that stands within compass of his
  patron's folly. Why should not we enjoy the ancient
  freedom of poesy? Shall we protest to the ladies that
  their painting makes them angels? or to my young
  gallant that his expenses in the brothel shall gain him
  reputation? No, sir, such vices as stand not accountable
  to law should be cured as men heal tetters, by casting
  ink upon them. Would you be satisfied in anything
  else, sir?                                                       76

  _Sly._ Ay, marry, would I: I would know how you
  came by this play?

  _Condell._ Faith, sir, the book was lost; and because
  'twas pity so good a play should be lost, we found it,
  and play it.                                                 81

  _Sly._ I wonder you would play it, another company
  having interest in it.

  _Condell._ Why not Malevole in folio with us, as Jeronimo
  in decimo-sexto[337] with them? They taught us a
  name for our play; we call it _One for another_.

  _Sly._ What are your additions?

  _Burbadge._ Sooth, not greatly needful; only as your
  salad to your great feast, to entertain a little more time,
  and to abridge the not-received custom of music in our
  theatre. I must leave you, sir.

                                                             [_Exit._

  _Sinklo._ Doth he play the Malcontent.                           92

  _Condell._ Yes, sir.

  _Sinklo._ I durst lay four of mine ears the play is not so
  well acted as it hath been.

  _Condell._ O, no, sir, nothing _ad Parmenonis suem_.[338]

  _Lowin._ Have you lost your ears, sir, that you are so
  prodigal of laying them?

  _Sinklo._ Why did you ask that, friend?

  _Lowin._ Marry, sir, because I have heard of a fellow
  would offer to lay a hundred-pound wager that was not
  worth five baubees:[339] and in this kind you might venture
  four of your elbows; yet God defend[340] your coat should
  have so many!                                                   104

  _Sinklo._ Nay, truly, I am no great censurer; and yet I
  might have been one of the college of critics once. My
  cousin here hath an excellent memory indeed, sir.

  _Sly._ Who, I? I'll tell you a strange thing of myself;
  and I can tell you, for one that never studied the art of
  memory, 'tis very strange too.                                  110

  _Condell._ What's that, sir?

  _Sly._ Why, I'll lay a hundred pound, I'll walk but once
  down by the Goldsmiths' Row in Cheap, take notice of
  the signs, and tell you them with a breath instantly.

  _Lowin._ 'Tis very strange.

  _Sly._ They begin as the world did, with Adam and
  Eve. There's in all just five and fifty.[341] I do use to
  meditate much when I come to plays too. What do
  you think might come into a man's head now, seeing all
  this company?                                                   120

  _Condell._ I know not, sir.

  _Sly._ I have an excellent thought. If some fifty of the
  Grecians that were crammed in the horse'-belly had
  eaten garlic, do you not think the Trojans might have
  smelt out their knavery?

  _Condell._ Very likely.

  _Sly._ By God, I would they[342] had, for I love Hector
  horribly.

  _Sinklo._ O, but, coz, coz!
  "Great[343] Alexander, when he came to the tomb of Achilles,
  Spake with a big loud voice, O thou thrice blessèd and happy!"  131

  _Sly._ Alexander was an ass to speak so well of a filthy
  cullion.[344]

  _Lowin._ Good sir, will you leave the stage? I'll help
  you to a private room.[345]

  _Sly._ Come, coz, let's take some tobacco.[346]--Have you
  never a prologue?

  _Lowin._ Not any, sir.

  _Sly._ Let me see, I will make one extempore.

               [_Come[347] to them, and fencing of a congey with arms
                    and legs, be round with them._

  Gentlemen,[348] I could wish for the women's sakes you
  had all soft cushions; and, gentlewomen, I could wish
  that for the men's sakes you had all more easy standings.

  What would they wish more but the play now? and
  that they shall have instantly.                                 144

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [326] The Induction was added in ed. 2.

     [327] For an account of William Sly and the other actors
     introduced in the Induction, see Collier's _Memoirs of the
     Principal Actors in the Plays of Shakespeare_.

     [328] _The Malcontent_ had been acted at the Blackfriars Theatre,
     a private theatre. It was afterwards acted at the Globe, a public
     theatre.

     [329] It was a common practice for gallants to sit on the stage;
     but when a coxcomb obstructed the view by planting himself in a
     prominent position, the audience naturally took offence. Dekker,
     in the chapter of the _Gull's Horn-Book_, describing "how a
     gallant should behave himself at a play-house," writes:--"But on
     the very rushes where the comedy is to dance, yea, and under the
     state of Cambyses himself, must our feathered estridge, like a
     piece of ordnance, be planted valiantly (because impudently),
     _beating down the mews and hisses of the opposed rascality_."

     [330] Sixpence, as we learn from the _Gull's Horn-Book_,
     Induction to _Cynthia's Revels_, &c., was the usual charge for
     the loan of a stool. Francis Lenton in his _Young Gallant's
     Whirligig_ tells us of an "expensive fool" who was ready to "pay
     an angel for a paltry stool." It was not uncommon to pay a
     shilling for the convenience.

     [331] Dr. Karl Elze in his _Notes on the Elizabethan Dramatists_
     (2nd. ser., pp. 160-4) indulges in some speculations about this
     actor.

     [332] From _A Funeral Elegy_ on Burbadge, first printed by
     Collier, we learn that the great actor took the part of Malevole
     in _The Malcontent_:--
               "Vindex is gone, and what a loss was he!
                Frankford, Brachiano, and Malevole."

     The elegy is in the main unquestionably genuine.

     [333] "A quotation from the part of Osrick in _Hamlet_. Sly might
     have been the original performer of that character."--_Steevens._

     [334] The meaning is that in _The Malcontent_, which had been
     originally acted at Blackfriars Theatre, the practice of wearing
     feathers had been so ridiculed that the feather-makers of
     Blackfriars had suffered injury in their business. In v. 4 occurs
     the passage in which the use of feathers is ridiculed:--"For as
     now-a-days no courtier but has his mistress, no captain but has
     his cockatrice, no cuckold but has his horns, and _no fool but
     has his feather._" &c. Blackfriars was noted as being the
     residence of Puritans, many of whom followed the trade of
     feather-makers. There is some amusing ridicule of the Puritan
     feather-makers in Ben Jonson's _Bartholomew Fair_, Randolph's
     _Muses' Looking-Glass_, &c.

     [335] Judge.

     [336] Box.

     [337] The expression "in decimo sexto" is used in reference to
     the company of the Children of the Chapel, acting at Blackfriars.
     Cf. Middleton's _Father Hubburd's Tales_ (_Works_, ed. Bullen,
     viii. 64):--"But for fear I interrupt this _small actor in less
     than decimo sexto_, "&c. The Children's Company at the
     Blackfriars seems to have appropriated Jeronimo, _i.e._, _The
     Spanish Tragedy_, in which the King's Company at the Globe had an
     interest; whereupon the King's Company retaliated by acting
     Malevole, _i.e. The Malcontent_. The expression "Malevole _in
     folio_" means "_The Malcontent_ acted by _men-actors_."--Dyce did
     not understand the passage.

     [338] A proverbial saying. "L. S." in the Shakespeare Society's
     _Papers_, ii. 85 (1847), quotes from Plutarch's Symposium, v.
     1:--"For upon what other account should men be moved to admire
     _Parmeno's sow_ so much as to pass it into a proverb? Yet 'tis
     reported that Parmeno, being very famous for imitating the
     grunting of a pig, some endeavoured to rival and outdo him. And
     when the hearers, being prejudiced, cried out, 'Very well,
     indeed, but nothing comparable to Parmeno's sow,' one took a pig
     under his arm and came upon the stage; and when, tho' they heard
     the very pig, they still continued, 'This is nothing comparable
     to Parmeno's sow,' he threw his pig amongst them to show that
     they judged according to opinion and not truth" (Creech's
     translation). Phædrus has a fable on the subject.

     [339] Halfpennies.

     [340] Forbid.

     [341] "This is a pleasant exaggeration on the part of Sly. There
     were in all, as Stow tells, 'ten fair dwelling-houses and
     fourteen shops.' See 'Goldsmiths' Row' in _Handbook of London_,
     ed. 1850.--_P. Cunningham_ (_Notes and Queries_, 2d ser. vol. i.
     71).

     [342] The old ed. "he."

     [343] These lines are a translation by Gabriel Harvey's younger
     brother John, of some lines of Petrarch, Son. cliii. They are
     quoted with two other "lusty hexameters" in a letter of Gabriel
     Harvey to Spenser. See Grosart's edition of Gabriel Harvey, i.
     89-90.

     [344] Rogue.

     [345] Box.

     [346] It was the practice for gallants to smoke in the theatre.
     "Fie, this stinking tobacco kills me!" says the citizen's wife,
     in _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_, to the gallants smoking on
     the stage: "Would there were none in England! Now, I pray,
     gentlemen, what good does this stinking tobacco do you? nothing,
     I warrant you: make chimnies o' your faces!"

     [347] This stage direction is printed as part of the text in old
     ed.

     [348] "This seems intended as a burlesque [?] on the epilogue to
     _As You Like It_."--_Reed._




                        _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._


  GIOVANNI ALTOFRONTO, _disguised as_ MALEVOLE, _sometime Duke
       of Genoa_.
  PIETRO JACOMO, _Duke of Genoa_.
  MENDOZA, _a minion to the_ Duchess of PIETRO JACOMO.
  CELSO, _a friend to_ ALTOFRONTO.
  BILIOSO, _an old choleric marshal_.
  PREPASSO, _a gentleman-usher_.
  FERNEZE, _a young courtier, and enamoured on the Duchess_.
  FERRARDO, _a minion to_ DUKE PIETRO JACOMO.
  EQUATO,   }
  GUERRINO, } _two courtiers_.
  PASSARELLO, _fool to_ BILIOSO.

  AURELIA, _Duchess to_ DUKE PIETRO JACOMO.
  MARIA, _Duchess to_ DUKE ALTOFRONTO.
  EMILIA,  }
  BIANCA,  } _two ladies attending on_ AURELIA.
  MAQUERELLE, _an old panderess_.


                         THE SCENE--GENOA.




                       THE MALCONTENT.[349]




                              ACT I.


                             SCENE I.

                  _Palace of the Duke of Genoa._

      _The vilest out-of-tune music being heard, enter_ BILIOSO
                          _and_ PREPASSO.

  _Bil._ Why, how now! are ye mad, or drunk, or both,
  or what?

  _Pre._ Are ye building Babylon there?

  _Bil._ Here's a noise in court! you think you are in a
  tavern, do you not?

  _Pre._ You think you are in a brothel-house, do you
  not?--This room is ill-scented.

                    _Enter One with a perfume._

  So, perfume, perfume; some upon me, I pray thee.--
  The duke is upon instant entrance: so, make place there!

           _Enter_ PIETRO, FERRARDO, EQUATO; CELSO _and_
                        GUERRINO _before_.


  _Pietro._ Where breathes that music?                             10

  _Bil._ The discord rather than the music is heard from
  the malcontent Malevole's chamber.

  _Fer._ [_calling_] Malevole!

  _Mal._ [_above, out of his chamber_] Yaugh, god-a-man,
  what dost thou there? Duke's Ganymede, Juno's jealous
  of thy long stockings: shadow of a woman, what wouldst,
  weasel? thou lamb o'court, what dost thou bleat for? ah,
  you smooth-chinned catamite!

  _Pietro._ Come down, thou rugged[350] cur, and snarl here;
  I give thy dogged sullenness free liberty: trot about and
  bespurtle whom thou pleasest.                                    21

  _Mal._ I'll come among you, you goatish-blooded
  toderers,[351] as gum into taffata, to fret, to fret: I'll fall
  like a sponge into water, to suck up, to suck up. [_Howls
  again._[352]] I'll go to church,[353] and come to you.

                                                       [_Exit above._

  _Pietro._ This Malevole is one of the most prodigious
  affections that ever conversed with nature: a man, or
  rather a monster, more discontent than Lucifer when he
  was thrust out of the presence. His appetite is unsatiable
  as the grave; as far from any content as from heaven:
  his highest delight is to procure others' vexation, and
  therein he thinks he truly serves heaven; for 'tis his
  position, whosoever in this earth can be contented is a
  slave and damned; therefore does he afflict all in that
  to which they are most affected. The elements struggle
  within him; his own soul is at variance within herself;[354]
  his speech is halter-worthy at all hours. I like him,
  faith: he gives good intelligence to my spirit, makes me
  understand those weaknesses which others' flattery
  palliates.--Hark! they sing. [_A song._] See, he comes.
  Now shall you hear the extremity of a malcontent: he is
  as free as air; he blows over every man.                         42

                     _Enter_ MALEVOLE _below_.

  And, sir, whence come you now?

  _Mal._ From the public place of much dissimulation,
  the church.[355]

  _Pietro._ What didst there?

  _Mal._ Talk with a usurer; take up at interest.

  _Pietro._ I wonder what religion thou art of?[356]

  _Mal._ Of a soldier's religion.

  _Pietro._ And what dost thou[357] think makes most infidels
  now?                                                             51

  _Mal._ Sects, sects. I have seen seeming piety change
  her robe so oft, that sure none but some arch-devil can
  shape her a new[358] petticoat.

  _Pietro._ O, a religious policy.

  _Mal._ But, damnation on a politic religion! I am
  weary: would I were one of the duke's hounds now![359]

  _Pietro._ But what's the common news abroad, Malevole?
  thou doggest rumour still.                                       59

  _Mal._ Common news! why, common words are, God
  save ye, Fare ye well; common actions, flattery and
  cozenage; common things, women and cuckolds.--And
  how does my little Ferrard? Ah, ye lecherous animal!--my
  little ferret, he goes sucking up and down the palace
  into every hen's nest, like a weasel:--and to what dost
  thou addict thy time to now more than to those antique
  painted drabs that are still effected of young
  courtiers,--flattery, pride, and venery?

  _Fer._ I study languages. Who dost think to be the
  best linguist of our age?                                        70

  _Mal._ Phew! the devil: let him possess thee; he'll
  teach thee to speak all languages most readily and
  strangely;[360] and great reason, marry, he's travelled greatly
  i' the world, and is everywhere.

  _Fer._ Save i' the court.

  _Mal._ Ay, save i' the court.--[_To_ BILIOSO.] And how
  does my old muckhill, overspread with fresh snow? thou
  half a man, half a goat, all a beast! how does thy young
  wife, old huddle?[361]

  _Bil._ Out, you improvident rascal!                              80

  _Mal._ Do, kick, thou hugely-horned old duke's ox,
  good Master Make-pleas.

  _Pietro._ How dost thou live nowadays, Malevole?

  _Mal._ Why, like the knight Sir Patrick Penlohans,[362]
  with killing o' spiders for my lady's monkey.[363]

  _Pietro._ How dost spend the night? I hear thou never
  sleepest.

  _Mal._ O, no; but dream the most fantastical! O heaven!
  O fubbery, fubbery!

  _Pietro._ Dream! what dreamest?                                  90

  _Mal._ Why, methinks I see that signior pawn his footcloth,[364]
  that metreza[365] her plate: this madam takes physic,
  that t'other monsieur may minister to her: here is a
  pander jewelled; there is[366] a fellow in shift of satin this
  day, that could not shift a shirt t'other night: here a Paris
  supports that Helen; there's a Lady Guinever bears up
  that Sir Lancelot: dreams, dreams, visions, fantasies,
  chimeras, imaginations, tricks, conceits!--[_To_ PREPASSO.]
  Sir Tristram Trimtram, come aloft,[367] Jack-an-apes, with a
  whim-wham: here's a knight of the land of Catito shall
  play at trap with any page in Europe; do the sword-dance
  with any morris-dancer in Christendom; ride at
  the ring[368] till the fin[369] of his eyes look as blue as the
  welkin; and run the wildgoose-chase even with Pompey
  the Huge.[370]                                                  105

  _Pietro._ You run!

  _Mal._ To the devil.--Now, signior Guerrino, that thou
  from a most pitied prisoner shouldst grow a most loathed
  flatterer!--Alas, poor Celso, thy star's oppressed: thou
  art an honest lord: 'tis pity.                                  110

  _Equato._ Is't pity?

  _Mal._ Ay, marry is't, philosophical Equato; and 'tis
  pity that thou, being so excellent a scholar by art, should
  be so ridiculous a fool by nature.--I have a thing to tell
  you, duke: bid 'em avaunt, bid 'em avaunt.

  _Pietro._ Leave us, leave us.

                          [_Exeunt all except_ PIETRO _and_ MALEVOLE.

  Now, sir, what is't?

  _Mal._ Duke, thou art a becco,[371] a cornuto.

  _Pietro._ How!

  _Mal._ Thou art a cuckold.                                      120

  _Pietro._ Speak, unshale[372] him quick.

  _Mal._ With most tumbler-like nimbleness.

  _Pietro._ Who? by whom? I burst with desire.

  _Mal._ Mendoza is the man makes thee a horned beast;
  duke, 'tis Mendoza cornutes thee.

  _Pietro._ What conformance? relate; short, short.

  _Mal._ As a lawyer's beard.
  There is an old crone in the court, her name is Maquerelle,
  She is my mistress, sooth to say, and she doth ever tell me.
  Blirt o' rhyme, blirt o' rhyme! Maquerelle is a cunning
  bawd; I am an honest villain; thy wife is a close drab;
  and thou art a notorious cuckold. Farewell, duke.               132

  _Pietro._ Stay, stay.

  _Mal._ Dull, dull duke, can lazy patience make lame
  revenge? O God, for a woman to make a man that
  which God never created, never made!

  _Pietro._ What did God never make?

  _Mal._ A cuckold: to be made a thing that's hoodwinked
  with kindness, whilst every rascal fillips his
  brows; to have a coxcomb with egregious horns pinned
  to a lord's back, every page sporting himself with delightful
  laughter, whilst he must be the last must know it:
  pistols and poniards! pistols and poniards!                     143

  _Pietro._ Death and damnation!

  _Mal._ Lightning and thunder!

  _Pietro._ Vengeance and torture!

  _Mal._ Catso![373]

  _Pietro._ O, revenge!

  _Mal._[374] Nay, to select among ten thousand fairs
  A lady far inferior to the most,
  In fair proportion both of limb and soul;
  To take her from austerer check of parents,
  To make her his by most devoutful rites,                        150
  Make her commandress of a better essence
  Than is the gorgeous world, even of a man;
  To hug her with as rais'd an appetite
  As usurers do their delv'd-up treasury
  (Thinking none tells it but his private self);
  To meet her spirit in a nimble kiss,
  Distilling panting ardour to her heart;
  True to her sheets, nay, diets strong his blood,
  To give her height of hymeneal sweets,----

  _Pietro._ O God!                                                160

  _Mal._ Whilst she lisps, and gives him some
     court-_quelquechose_,[375]
  Made only to provoke, not satiate:
  And yet even then the thaw of her delight
  Flows from lewd heat of apprehension,
  Only from strange imagination's rankness,
  That forms the adulterer's presence in her soul,
  And makes her think she clips the foul knave's loins.

  _Pietro._ Affliction to my blood's root!

  _Mal._ Nay, think, but think what may proceed of this;
  Adultery is often the mother of incest.                         170

  _Pietro._ Incest!

  _Mal._ Yes, incest: mark:--Mendoza of his wife begets
  perchance a daughter: Mendoza dies; his son marries
  this daughter: say you? nay, 'tis frequent, not only
  probable, but no question often acted, whilst ignorance,
  fearless ignorance, clasps his own seed.

  _Pietro._ Hideous imagination!

  _Mal._ Adultery? why, next to the sin of simony, 'tis
  the most horrid transgression under the cope of salvation.      180

  _Pietro._ Next to simony!

  _Mal._ Ay, next to simony, in which our men in next
  age shall not sin.

  _Pietro._ Not sin! why?

  _Mal._ Because (thanks to some churchmen) our age
  will leave them nothing to sin with. But adultery, O
  dulness! should show[376] exemplary punishment, that intemperate
  bloods may freeze but to think it. I would
  damn him and all his generation: my own hands should
  do it; ha, I would not trust heaven with my vengeance:
  --anything.                                                     191

  _Pietro._ Anything, anything, Malevole: thou shalt see
  instantly what temper my spirit holds. Farewell; remember
  I forget thee not; farewell.

                                                       [_Exit_ PIETRO.

  _Mal._[377] Farewell.
  Lean thoughtfulness, a sallow meditation,
  Suck thy veins dry, distemperance rob thy sleep!
  The heart's disquiet is revenge most deep:
  He that gets blood, the life of flesh but spills,
  But he that breaks heart's peace, the dear soul kills.          200
  Well, this disguise doth yet afford me that
  Which kings do seldom hear, or great men use,--
  Free speech: and though my state's usurp'd,
  Yet this affected strain gives me a tongue
  As fetterless as in an emperor's.
  I may speak foolishly, ay, knavishly,
  Always carelessly, yet no one thinks it fashion
  To poise my breath; for he that laughs and strikes
  Is lightly felt, or seldom struck again.
  Duke, I'll torment thee now; my just revenge                    210
  From thee than crown a richer gem shall part:
  Beneath God, naught's so dear as a calm heart.

                         _Re-enter_ CELSO.

  _Celso._ My honour'd lord,--

  _Mal._ Peace, speak low, peace! O Celso, constant lord,
  (Thou to whose faith I only rest discover'd,
  Thou, one of full ten millions of men,
  That lovest virtue only for itself;
  Thou in whose hands old Ops may put her soul)
  Behold forever-banish'd Altofront,
  This Genoa's last year's duke. O truly noble!                   220
  I wanted those old instruments of state,
  Dissemblance and suspect: I could not time it, Celso;
  My throne stood like a point midst[378] of a circle,
  To all of equal nearness; bore with none;
  Rein'd all alike; so slept in fearless virtue,
  Suspectless, too suspectless; till the crowd,
  (Still lickorous of untried novelties)
  Impatient with severer government
  Made strong with Florence, banish'd Altofront.

  _Celso._ Strong with Florence! ay, thence your mischief rose;   230
  For when the daughter of the Florentine
  Was match'd once with this Pietro, now duke,
  No stratagem of state untried was left,
  Till you of all----

  _Mal._ Of all was quite bereft:
  Alas, Maria too close prisonèd,
  My true-faith'd duchess, i' the citadel!

  _Celso._ I'll still adhere: let's mutiny and die.

  _Mal._ O, no,[379] climb not a falling tower, Celso;
  'Tis well held desperation, no zeal,
  Hopeless to strive with fate: peace; temporise.                 240
  Hope, hope, that ne'er forsak'st the wretched'st man,
  Yet bidd'st me live, and lurk in this disguise!
  What, play I well the free-breath'd discontent?
  Why, man, we are all philosophical monarchs
  Or natural fools. Celso, the court's a-fire;
  The duchess' sheets will smoke for't ere't be long:
  Impure Mendoza, that sharp-nos'd lord, that made
  The cursèd match link'd Genoa with Florence,
  Now broad-horns the duke, which he now knows.
  Discord to malcontents is very manna:                           250
  When the ranks are burst, then scuffle, Altofront.

  _Celso._ Ay, but durst----

  _Mal._ 'Tis gone; 'tis swallow'd like a mineral:
  Some way 'twill work; pheut, I'll not shrink:
  He's resolute who can no lower sink.


  BILIOSO _re-entering_, MALEVOLE _shifteth his speech_.


  O[380] the father of May-poles! did you never see a
  fellow whose strength consisted in his breath, respect
  in his office, religion in[381] his lord, and love in himself?
  why, then, behold.

  _Bil._ Signior,--                                               260

  _Mal._ My right worshipful lord, your court night-cap
  makes you have a passing high forehead.

  _Bil._ I can tell you strange news, but I am sure you
  know them already: the duke speaks much good of you.

  _Mal._ Go to, then: and shall you and I now enter
  into a strict friendship?

  _Bil._ Second one another?

  _Mal._ Yes.

  _Bil._ Do one another good offices?

  _Mal._ Just: what though I called thee old ox, egregious
  wittol, broken-bellied coward, rotten mummy? yet, since
  I am in favour----                                              272

  _Bil._ Words of course, terms of disport. His grace
  presents you by me a chain, as his grateful remembrance
  for--I am ignorant for what; marry, ye may impart: yet
  howsoever--come--dear friend; dost know my son?

  _Mal._ Your son!

  _Bil._ He shall eat wood-cocks, dance jigs, make
  possets, and play at shuttle-cock with any young lord
  about the court: he has as sweet a lady too; dost know
  her little bitch?                                               281

  _Mal._ 'Tis a dog, man.

  _Bil._ Believe me, a she-bitch: O, 'tis a good creature!
  thou shalt be her servant. I'll make thee acquainted with
  nothing. 'Tis grown to supper-time; come to my table:
  that, anything I have, stands open to thee.

  _Mal._ [_aside to_ CELSO] How smooth to him that is in state
      of grace,
  How servile is the rugged'st courtier's face!
  What profit, nay, what nature would keep down,                  290
  Are heav'd to them are minions to a crown.
  Envious ambition never sates his thirst,
  Till sucking all, he swells and swells, and burst.[382]

  _Bil._ I shall now leave you with my always-best wishes;
  only let's hold betwixt us a firm correspondence, a mutual
  friendly-reciprocal kind of steady-unanimous-heartily-leagued----

  _Mal._ Did your signiorship ne'er see a pigeon-house
  that was smooth, round, and white without, and full of
  holes and stink within? ha' ye not, old courtier?               300

  _Bil._ O, yes, 'tis the form, the fashion of them all.

  _Mal._ Adieu, my true court-friend; farewell, my dear
  Castilio.[383]

                                                     [_Exit_ BILIOSO.

  _Celso._ Yonder's Mendoza.

  _Mal._ True, the privy-key.

                                                 [_Descries_ MENDOZA.

  _Celso._ I take my leave, sweet lord.

  _Mal._ 'Tis fit; away!

                                                       [_Exit_ CELSO.

           _Enter_ MENDOZA _with three or four Suitors_.


  _Men._ Leave your suits with me; I can and will:
  attend my secretary; leave me.

                                                   [_Exeunt Suitors._

  _Mal._ Mendoza, hark ye, hark ye. You are a
  treacherous villain: God b' wi' ye!

  _Men._ Out, you base-born rascal!                               310

  _Mal._ We are all the sons of heaven, though a tripe-wife
  were our mother: ah, you whoreson, hot-reined he-marmoset!
  Ægisthus! didst ever hear of one Ægisthus?

  _Men._ Gisthus?

  _Mal._ Ay, Ægisthus: he was a filthy incontinent fleshmonger,
  such a one as thou art.

  _Men._ Out, grumbling rogue!

  _Mal._ Orestes, beware Orestes!

  _Men._ Out, beggar!

  _Mal._ I once shall rise.                                       320

  _Men._ Thou rise!

  _Mal._ Ay, at the resurrection.
  No vulgar seed but once may rise and shall;
  No king so huge but 'fore he die may fall.

                                                             [_Exit._

  _Men._ Now, good Elysium! what a delicious heaven
  is it for a man to be in a prince's favour! O sweet
  God! O pleasure! O fortune! O all thou best of
  life! what should I think, what say, what do to be a
  favourite, a minion? to have a general timorous respect
  observe a man, a stateful silence in his presence, solitariness
  in his absence, a confused hum and busy murmur
  of obsequious suitors training him; the cloth held up,
  and way proclaimed before him; petitionary vassals
  licking the pavement with their slavish knees, whilst
  some odd palace-lampreels that engender with snakes,
  and are full of eyes on both sides, with a kind of insinuated[384]
  humbleness, fix all their delights[385] upon his
  brow. O blessed state! what a ravishing prospect
  doth the Olympus of favour yield! Death, I cornute
  the duke! Sweet women! most sweet ladies! nay,
  angels! by heaven, he is more accursed than a devil
  that hates you, or is hated by you; and happier than a
  god that loves you, or is beloved by you: you preservers
  of mankind, life-blood of society, who would live, nay,
  who can live without you? O paradise! how majestical
  is your austerer presence! how imperiously chaste is
  your more modest face! but, O, how full of ravishing
  attraction is your pretty, petulant, languishing,
  lasciviously-composed countenance! these amorous smiles, those
  soul-warming sparkling glances, ardent as those flames
  that singed the world by heedless Phaeton! in body
  how delicate,[386] in soul how witty, in discourse how pregnant,
  in life how wary, in favours how judicious, in day how
  sociable, and in night how---- O pleasure unutterable!
  indeed, it is most certain, one man cannot deserve only
  to enjoy a beauteous woman: but a duchess! in despite
  of Phoebus, I'll write a sonnet instantly in praise of
  her.                                                            357

                                                             [_Exit._


     [349] In the margin of old eds., opposite the title, is printed
     "_Vexat censura columbas_." (Juvenal, _Sat._ ii. 63.)

     [350] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "ragged."

     [351] "I suppose this is a word coined from _tod_, a certain
     weight of sheep's wool. He seems willing to intimate that the
     duke, &c., are _mutton_-mongers. The meaning of _laced mutton_ is
     well known."--_Steevens._--Not at all satisfactory.

     [352] Old eds. "Howle againe"--printed as part of the text.

     [353] So ed. 2.--Ed. 1. "pray."

     [354] "Within herself"--added in ed. 2.

     [355] "The church"--added in ed. 2.

     [356] "Of"--added in ed. 2.

     [357] Omitted in ed. 2.

     [358] Omitted in ed. 2.

     [359] "I am weary ... now"--added in ed. 2.

     [360] There is an allusion to the old superstition (which Ben
     Jonson has amusingly illustrated in _The Devil is an Ass_, v. 5),
     that a person possessed by the devil was able to converse in
     various tongues.

     [361] A term of contempt for a sordid old man.--Cf. _The Widow_,
     ii. 2:--"Hear you me that, _old huddle_" (Middleton, v. 165).

     [362] Ed. 2. "Penlolians."

     [363] "_Monkeys_, apes, stellions, lizards, wasps, ichneumons,
     swallows, sparrows, muskins, hedge-sparrows _feed on spiders_,"
     says Dr. Muffet in one of his delightful chapters on spiders in
     _The Theater of Insects_ (Topsel's _Nat. Hist._, ed. 1658, p.
     1073).

     [364] The housings of a horse.

     [365] Mistress (_Ital._).

     [366] Added in ed. 2.

     [367] The cry of the ape-ward when the ape was to climb the pole
     and display his feats of agility.

     [368] The sport of Running at the Ring, in which the tilter tried
     to drive the point of his spear through a suspended ring.

     [369] This word is used in the _Duchess of Malfi_, ii. 1:--"The
     _fins_ of her eyelids look most teeming blue!"

     [370] "Greater than Great, great, great, great Pompey! _Pompey
     the Huge!_"--_Love's Labour Lost_, v. 2.

     [371] Cuckold (_Ital._).

     [372] Unshell.

     [373] Obscene exclamation (from the Italian).

     [374] "Nay, to select ... freeze but to think it" (ll.
     146-188).--This passage was added in ed. 2.

     [375] See Skeat's _Etym. Dict. s._ KICKSHAWS.

     [376] For "should show" old ed. gives "shue should."

     [377] This speech was added in ed. 2.

     [378] Ed. 2. "in middest."

     [379] Added in ed. 2.

     [380] "O the father ... my dear Castilio" (ll. 256-303).--This
     passage was added in ed. 2.

     [381] Old ed. "on."

     [382] Old ed. "burstes."

     [383] An allusion to Baldessar Castiglione, author of the famous
     book of manners, _Il Cortese_, which was translated into English
     (in 1561) by Sir Thomas Hoby.

     [384] Ed. 1. "insinuating."

     [385] Ed. 1. "lights."

     [386] "What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how
     infinite in faculties! in form, and moving, how express and
     admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how
     like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of
     animals!"--_Hamlet_, act ii. sc. 2.


                             SCENE II.

                  _Palace of the Duke of Genoa._

     _Enter_ FERNEZE _ushering_ AURELIA, EMILIA _and_ MAQUERELLE
          _bearing up her train_, BIANCA _attending: then
                   exeunt_ EMILIA _and_ BIANCA.

  _Aurel._ And is't possible? Mendoza slight me!
  possible?

  _Fer._ Possible!
  What can be strange in him that's drank with favour,[387]
  Grows insolent with grace?--Speak, Maquerelle, speak.

  _Maq._ To speak feelingly, more, more richly in solid
  sense than worthless words, give me those jewels of your
  ears to receive my enforced duty. As for my part, 'tis
  well known I can put up[388] anything [FERNEZE _privately
  feeds_ MAQUERELLE'S _hands with jewels during this speech_];
  can bear patiently with any man: but when I heard he
  wronged your precious sweetness, I was enforced to take
  deep offence. 'Tis most certain he loves Emilia with high
  appetite: and, as she told me (as you know we women
  impart our secrets one to another), when she repulsed his
  suit, in that he was possessed with your endeared grace,
  Mendoza most ingratefully renounced all faith to you.            16

  _Fer._ Nay, called you--Speak, Maquerelle, speak.

  Maq. By heaven, witch, dried biscuit; and contested
  blushlessly he loved you but for a spurt or so.

  _Fer._ For maintenance.

  _Maq._ Advancement and regard.

  _Aurel._ O villain! O impudent Mendoza!

  _Maq._ Nay, he is the rustiest-jawed,[389] the foulest-mouthed
  knave in railing against our sex: he will rail
  against[390] women--

  _Aurel._ How? how?

  _Maq._ I am ashamed to speak't, I.

  _Aurel._ I love to hate him: speak.

  _Maq._ Why, when Emilia scorned his base unsteadiness,
  the black-throated rascal scolded, and said--                    30

  _Aurel._ What?

  _Maq._ Troth, 'tis too shameless.

  _Aurel._ What said he?

  _Maq._ Why, that, at four, women were fools; at fourteen,
  drabs; at forty, bawds; at fourscore, witches; and
  [at] a hundred, cats.

  _Aurel._ O unlimitable impudency!

  _Fer._ But as for poor Ferneze's fixèd heart,
  Was never shadeless meadow drier parch'd
  Under the scorching heat of heaven's dog,                        40
  Than is my heart with your enforcing eyes.

  _Maq._ A hot simile.

  _Fer._ Your smiles have been my heaven, your frowns my hell:
  O, pity, then! grace should with beauty dwell.

  _Maq._ Reasonable perfect, by'r lady.

  _Aurel._ I will love thee, be it but in despite
  Of that Mendoza:--witch!--Ferneze,--witch!--
  Ferneze, thou art the duchess' favourite:
  Be faithful, private: but 'tis dangerous.

  _Fer._ His love is lifeless that for love fears breath:          50
  The worst that's due to sin, O, would 'twere death!

  _Aurel._ Enjoy my favour. I will be sick instantly and
  take physic: therefore in depth of night visit--

  _Maq._ Visit her chamber, but conditionally you shall
  not offend her bed: by this diamond!

  _Fer._ By this diamond.                   [_Giving diamond to_ MAQ.

  _Maq._ Nor tarry longer than you please: by this ruby!

  _Fer._ By this ruby.                         [_Giving ruby to_ MAQ.

  _Maq._ And that the door shall not creak.                        60

  _Fer._ And that the door shall not creak.

  _Maq._ Nay, but swear.

  _Fer._ By this purse.                       [_Giving purse to_ MAQ.

  _Maq._ Go to, I'll keep your oaths for you: remember,
  visit.

  _Aurel._ Dried biscuit!--Look where the base wretch
  comes.

               _Enter_ MENDOZA, _reading a sonnet_.

  _Men._ "_Beauty's life, heaven's model, love's queen_,"--

  _Maq._ That's his Emilia.

  _Men._ "_Natures triumph, best on[391] earth_,"--                70

  _Maq._ Meaning Emilia.

  _Men._ "_Thou only wonder that the world hath seen_,"--

  _Maq._ That's Emilia.

  _Aurel._ Must I, then, hear her praised?--Mendoza!

  _Men._ Madam, your excellency is graciously encountered:
  I have been writing passionate flashes in
  honour of--

                                                     [_Exit_ FERNEZE.

  _Aurel._ Out, villain, villain!
  O judgment, where have been my eyes? what
  Bewitch'd election made me dote on thee?                         80
  What sorcery made me love thee? But, be gone;
  Bury thy head. O, that I could do more
  Than loath thee! hence, worst of ill!
  No reason ask, our reason is our will.[392]

                                             [_Exit with_ MAQUERELLE.

  _Men._ Women! nay, Furies; nay, worse; for they
  torment only the bad, but women good and bad.
  Damnation of mankind! Breath, hast thou praised
  them for this? and is't you, Ferneze, are wriggled into
  smock-grace? sit sure. O, that I could rail against
  these monsters in nature, models of hell, curse of the
  earth, women! that dare attempt anything, and what
  they attempt they care not how they accomplish; without
  all premeditation or prevention; rash in asking,
  desperate in working, impatient in suffering, extreme in
  desiring, slaves unto appetite, mistresses in dissembling,
  only constant in unconstancy, only perfect in counterfeiting:
  their words are feigned, their eyes forged, their
  sighs[393] dissembled, their looks counterfeit, their hair
  false, their given hopes deceitful, their very breath
  artificial: their blood is their only god; bad clothes,
  and old age, are only the devils they tremble at. That
  I could rail now!                                               102

                _Enter_ PIETRO, _his sword drawn_.

  _Pietro._ A mischief fill thy throat, thou foul-jaw'd slave!
  Say thy prayers.

  _Men._ I ha' forgot 'em.

  _Pietro._ Thou shalt die.

  _Men._ So shalt thou. I am heart-mad.

  _Pietro._ I am horn-mad.

  _Men._ Extreme mad.

  _Pietro._ Monstrously mad.

  _Men._ Why?                                                     111

  _Pietro._ Why! thou, thou hast dishonoured my bed.

  _Men._ I! Come, come, sit; here's my bare heart to thee,
  As steady as is the centre to this[394] glorious world:
  And yet, hark, thou art a cornuto,--but by me?

  _Pietro._ Yes, slave, by thee.

  _Men._ Do not, do not with tart and spleenful breath
  Lose him can lose thee. I offend my duke!
  Bear record, O ye dumb and raw-air'd nights,
  How vigilant my sleepless eyes have been                        120
  To watch the traitor! record, thou spirit of truth,
  With what debasement I ha' thrown myself
  To under offices, only to learn
  The truth, the party, time, the means, the place,
  By whom, and when, and where thou wert disgrac'd!
  And am I paid with slave? hath my intrusion
  To places private and prohibited,
  Only to observe the closer passages,
  Heaven knows with vows of revelation,
  Made me suspected, made me deem'd a villain?                    130
  What rogue hath wrong'd us?

  _Pietro._ Mendoza, I may err.

  _Men._ Err! 'tis too mild a name: but err and err,
  Run giddy with suspect, 'fore through me thou know
  That which most creatures, save thyself, do know:
  Nay, since my service hath so loath'd reject,
  'Fore I'll reveal, shalt find them clipt together.

  _Pietro._ Mendoza, thou knowest I am a most plain-breasted
  man.

  _Men._ The fitter to make a cornuto:[395] would your
  brows were most plain too!                                      140

  _Pietro._ Tell me: indeed, I heard thee rail--

  _Men._ At women, true: why, what cold fleam[396] could choose,
  Knowing a lord so honest, virtuous,
  So boundless loving, bounteous, fair-shap'd, sweet,
  To be contemn'd, abus'd, defam'd, made cuckold?
  Heart! I hate all women for't: sweet sheets, wax lights,
  antic bedposts, cambric smocks, villainous curtains, arras
  pictures, oiled hinges, and all the[397] tongue-tied lascivious
  witnesses of great creatures' wantonness,--what salvation
  can you expect?                                                 150

  _Pietro._ Wilt thou tell me?

  _Men._ Why, you may find it yourself; observe,
  observe.

  _Pietro._ I ha' not the patience: wilt thou deserve me,
  tell, give it.

  _Men._ Take't: why, Ferneze is the man, Ferneze: I'll
  prove't; this night you shall take him in your sheets:
  will't serve?

  _Pietro._ It will; my bosom's in some peace: till night--

  _Men._ What?

  _Pietro._ Farewell.

  _Men._ God! how weak a lord are you!                            160
  Why, do you think there is no more but so?

  _Pietro._ Why!

  _Men._ Nay, then, will I presume to counsel you:
  It should be thus. You with some guard upon the sudden
  Break into the princess' chamber: I stay behind,
  Without the door, through which he needs must pass:
  Ferneze flies; let him: to me he comes; he's kill'd
  By me, observe, by me: you follow: I rail,
  And seem to save the body. Duchess comes,
  On whom (respecting her advancèd birth,                         170
  And your fair nature), I know, nay, I do know,
  No violence must be us'd; she comes: I storm,
  I praise, excuse Ferneze, and still maintain
  The duchess' honour: she for this loves me.
  I honour you; shall know her soul, you mine:
  Then naught shall she contrive in vengeance
  (As women are most thoughtful in revenge)
  Of her Ferneze, but you shall sooner know't
  Than she can think't. Thus shall his death come sure,
  Your duchess brain-caught: so your life secure.                 180

  _Pietro._ It is too well: my bosom and my heart
  When nothing helps, cut off the rotten part.

                                                             [_Exit._

  _Men._ Who cannot feign friendship can ne'er produce
  the effects of hatred. Honest fool duke! subtle lascivious
  duchess! silly novice Ferneze! I do laugh at ye. My
  brain is in labour till it produce mischief, and I feel
  sudden throes, proofs sensible, the issue is at hand.
  As bears shape young, so I'll form my device,
  Which grown proves horrid: vengeance makes men wise.

                                                             [_Exit._


     [387] "With favour"--omitted in some copies of ed. 2.

     [388] Omitted in ed. 2.

     [389] Ed. 2. "rustiest jade."

     [390] Ed. 1. "agen."

     [391] Ed. 1. "of."

     [392] Ed. 1. gives:--
               "No reason else, my reason is my will."

     [393] Old eds. "sights" (and, as Dyce remarks, so the word was
     sometimes written).

     [394] Ed. 1. "this center to this."--Ed. 2. "this centre to the."

     [395]  Ed. 2. "cuckolde."

     [396] Phlegm.

     [397]  Ed. 1. "ye."


                          SCENE III.[398]

                _The palace of the Duke of Genoa._

                _Enter_ MALEVOLE _and_ PASSARELLO.

  _Mal._ Fool, most happily encountered: canst sing,
  fool?

  _Pass._ Yes, I can sing, fool, if you'll bear the burden;
  and I can play upon instruments, scurvily, as gentlemen
  do. O, that I had been gelded! I should then have
  been a fat fool for a chamber, a squeaking fool for a
  tavern, and a private fool for all the ladies.

  _Mal._ You are in good case since you came to court,
  fool: what, guarded, guarded![399]                                9

  _Pass._ Yes, faith, even as footmen and bawds wear
  velvet, not for an ornament of honour, but for a badge
  of drudgery; for, now the duke is discontented, I am
  fain to fool him asleep every night.

  _Mal._ What are his griefs?

  _Pass._ He hath sore eyes.

  _Mal._ I never observed so much.

  _Pass._ Horrible sore eyes; and so hath every cuckold,
  for the roots of the horns spring in the eyeballs, and
  that's the reason the horn of a cuckold is as tender as
  his eye, or as that growing in the woman's forehead twelve
  years since,[400] that could not endure to be touched. The
  duke hangs down his head like a columbine.                       22

  _Mal._ Passarello, why do great men beg fools?[401]

  _Pass._ As the Welshman stole rushes when there was
  nothing else to filch; only to keep begging in fashion.

  _Mal._ Pooh, thou givest no good reason; thou speakest
  like a fool.

  _Pass._ Faith, I utter small fragments, as your knight
  courts your city widow with jingling[402] of his gilt spurs,
  advancing his bush-coloured beard,[403] and taking tobacco:
  this is all the mirror of their knightly complements.[404] Nay,
  I shall talk when my tongue is a-going once; 'tis like a
  citizen on horseback, evermore in a false gallop.                33

  _Mal._ And how doth Maquerelle fare nowadays?

  _Pass._ Faith, I was wont to salute her as our English
  women are at their first landing in Flushing;[405] I would
  call her whore: but now that antiquity leaves her as an
  old piece of plastic[406] to work by, I only ask her how her
  rotten teeth fare every morning, and so leave her. She
  was the first that ever invented perfumed smocks for the
  gentlewomen, and woollen shoes, for fear of creaking
  for the visitant. She were an excellent lady, but that
  her face peeleth like Muscovy glass.[407]                        43

  _Mal._ And how doth thy old lord, that hath wit enough
  to be a flatterer, and conscience enough to be a knave?

  _Pass._ O, excellent: he keeps beside me fifteen jesters,
  to instruct him in the art of fooling, and utters their jests
  in private to the duke and duchess: he'll lie like to
  your Switzer or lawyer; he'll be of any side for most
  money.                                                           50

  _Mal._ I am in haste, be brief.

  _Pass._ As your fiddler when he is paid.--He'll thrive,
  I warrant you, while your young courtier stands like
  Good-Friday in Lent; men long to see it, because more
  fatting days come after it; else he's the leanest and pitifullest
  actor in the whole pageant. Adieu, Malevole.

  _Mal._ [_Aside._] O world most vile, when thy loose vanities,
  Taught by this fool, do make the fool seem wise!

  _Pass._ You'll know me again, Malevole.

  _Mal._ O, ay, by that velvet.                                    60

  _Pass._ Ay, as a pettifogger by his buckram bag. I
  am as common in the court as an hostess's lips in the
  country; knights, and clowns, and knaves, and all share
  me: the court cannot possibly be without me. Adieu,
  Malevole.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [398] This scene was added in ed. 2.

     [399] Ornamented with _guards_ or facings.--The coats of fools
     were commonly guarded.

     [400] "The woman with the horn in her forehead was probably
     Margaret Griffith, wife of David Owen, of Llan Gaduain, in
     Montgomery. A portrait of her is in existence, prefixed to a
     scarce pamphlet, entitled, '_A miraculous and monstrous, but yet
     most true and certayne Discourse of a Woman, now to be seen in
     London, of the age of threescore yeares or thereabouts, in the
     midst of whose forehead there groweth out a crooked Horne of four
     ynches long. Imprinted at London, by Thomas Orwin, and are to be
     sold by Edward White, dwelling at the little north dore of Paules
     Church, at the signe of the Gun_, 1588.'"--_Gilchrist._

     [401] _To beg a person for a fool_ was to apply to be made
     guardian of a person who had been legally proved to be an idiot.
     It was in the king's power to grant the custody of an idiot's
     person and the profits of his estate to any subject.

     [402] Gallants prided themselves on wearing spurs that jingled.
     Middleton, after elaborately describing a young prodigal's
     attire, adds:--"Lastly, he walked the chamber with such a
     pestilent jingle that his spurs over-squeaked the lawyer"
     (_Works_, viii. 71). So Chapman in _Monsieur D'Olive_:--"You may
     hear them (the gallants) half a mile ere they come at you--six or
     seven make a perfect morice-dance; they need no bells, their
     spurs serve their turn."

     [403] This is the reading of Dyce's copy of ed. 2. Other copies
     read:-- "Faith, I utter small fragments as your knight courtes
     your Citty widow _with something of his guilt: some aduancing his
     high-colored beard_," &c.

     [404] Accomplishments.

     [405] "At this time Flushing was in the hands of the English as
     part of the security for money advanced by Queen Elizabeth to the
     Dutch. The governor and garrison were all Englishmen."--_Reed._

     [406] Model in wax or clay.

     [407] Talc.--Reed quotes from Giles Fletcher's _Russe
     Commonwealth_, 1591, p. 10:--"In the province of Corelia, and
     about the river Duyna towards the North-sea, there groweth a soft
     rock which they call Slude. This they cut into pieces, and so
     tear it into thin _flakes, which naturally it is apt for_, and so
     use it for glasse lanthorns and such like. It giveth both inwards
     and outwards a clearer light then glasse, and for this respect is
     better than either glasse or horne; for that it neither breaketh
     like glasse, nor yet will burne like the lanthorne."




                              ACT II.


                             SCENE I.

                  _Chamber in the Duke's Palace._

  _Enter_ MENDOZA _with a sconce,[408] to observe_ FERNEZE'S
  _entrance, who, whilst the act is playing, enters unbraced, two
  Pages before him with lights; is met by_ MAQUERELLE _and conveyed
  in; the Pages[409] are sent away_.

  _Men._ He's caught, the woodcock's head is i' the noose.
  Now treads Ferneze in dangerous path of lust,
  Swearing his sense is merely[410] deified:
  The fool grasps clouds, and shall beget Centaurs:
  And now, in strength of panting faint delight,
  The goat bids heaven envy him. Good goose,
  I can afford thee nothing
  But the poor comfort of calamity, pity.
  Lust's like the plummets hanging on clock-lines,
  Will ne'er ha' done till all is quite undone;                    10
  Such is the course salt sallow lust doth run;
  Which thou shalt try. I'll be reveng'd. Duke, thy suspect;
  Duchess, thy disgrace; Ferneze, thy rivalship;
  Shall have swift vengeance. Nothing so holy,
  No band of nature so strong,
  No law of friendship so sacred,
  But I'll profane, burst, violate, 'fore I'll
  Endure disgrace, contempt, and poverty.
  Shall I, whose very hum struck all heads bare,
  Whose face made silence, creaking of whose shoe                  20
  Forc'd the most private passages fly ope,
  Scrape like a servile dog at some latch'd door?
  Learn how to make a leg, and cry "Beseech ye,
  Pray ye, is such a lord within?" be aw'd
  At some odd usher's scoff'd formality?
  First sear my brains! _Unde cadis, non quo, refert_;[411]
  My heart cries, "Perish all!" How! how! what fate
  Can once avoid revenge, that's desperate?
  I'll to the duke: if all should ope--if! tush,
  Fortune still dotes on those who cannot blush.                   30

                                                             [_Exit._


     [408] Lantern.

     [409] Some copies of ed. 1. "the Dutches pages."

     [410] Wholly.

     [411] See note 1, p. 49.


                             SCENE II.

                  _Chamber in the Duke's Palace._

       _Enter_ MALEVOLE _at one door_; BIANCA, EMILIA, _and_
                  MAQUERELLE _at the other door_.

  _Mal._ Bless ye, cast o' ladies![412]--Ha, dipsas![413] how
  dost thou, old coal?

  _Maq._ Old coal!

  _Mal._ Ay, old coal: methinks thou liest like a brand
  under these[414] billets of green wood. He that will inflame
  a young wench's heart, let him lay close to her an old
  coal that hath first been fired, a panderess, my half-burnt
  lint, who though thou canst not flame thyself, yet art
  able to set a thousand virgin's tapers afire.--And how
  does[415] Janivere thy husband, my little periwinkle? is he
  troubled with the cough o' the lungs still? does he hawk
  o' nights still? he will not bite.                               12

  _Bian._ No, by my troth, I took him with his mouth
  empty of old teeth.

  _Mal._ And he took thee with thy belly full of young
  bones: marry, he took his maim by the stroke of his
  enemy.

  _Bian._ And I mine by the stroke of my friend.

  _Mal._ The close stock![416] O mortal wench! Lady,
  ha' ye now no restoratives for your decayed Jasons?[417]
  look ye, crab's guts baked,[418] distilled ox-pith,[419] the
  pulverised hairs of a lion's upper-lip, jelly of cock-sparrows,
  he-monkey's marrow, or powder of fox-stones?--And
  whither are all[420] you ambling now?                            24

  _Bian._ Why,[421] to bed, to bed.

  _Mal._ Do your husbands lie with ye?

  _Bian._ That were country fashion, i'faith.

  _Mal._ Ha' ye no foregoers about you? come, whither
  in good deed, la, now?

  _Maq._[422] In good indeed, la, now, to eat the most
  miraculously, admirably, astonishable composed posset
  with three curds, without any drink. Will ye help me
  with a he-fox?--Here's the duke.                                 33

  _Mal._[423] Fried frogs are very good, and French-like, too.

                                                    [_Exeunt Ladies._

       _Enter_ PIETRO, CELSO, EQUATO, BILIOSO, FERRARDO, _and_
                              MENDOZA.

  _Pietro._ The night grows deep and foul: what hour is't?

  _Celso._ Upon the stroke of twelve.

  _Mal._ Save ye, duke!

  _Pietro._ From thee: begone, I do not love thee; let
  me see thee no more; we are displeased.

  _Mal._ Why, God b'wi' thee![424] Heaven hear my
  curse,--may thy wife and thee live long together!                41

  _Pietro._ Begone, sirrah!

  _Mal. When Arthur first in court began_,[425]--Agamemnon
  --Menelaus--was ever any duke a cornuto?

  _Pietro._ Begone, hence!

  _Mal._ What religion wilt thou be of next?

  _Men._ Out with him!

  _Mal._ With most servile patience.--Time will come
  When wonder of thy error will strike dumb
  Thy bezzled[426] sense.--                                        50
  Slaves! ay, favour: ay, marry, shall he rise:[427]
  Good God! how subtle hell doth flatter vice!
  Mounts[428] him aloft, and makes him seem to fly,
  As fowl the tortoise mock'd, who to the sky
  The ambitious shell-fish rais'd! the end of all
  Is only, that from height he might dead fall.

  _Bil._[429] Why, when?[430] out, ye rogue! begone, ye rascal!

  _Mal._ I shall now leave ye with all my best wishes.

  _Bil._ Out, ye cur!

  _Mal._ Only let's hold together a firm correspondence.

  _Bil._ Out!                                                      61

  _Mal._ A mutual-friendly-reciprocal-perpetual kind of
  steady-unanimous-heartily-leagued--

  _Bil._ Hence, ye gross-jawed, peasantly--out, go!

  _Mal._ Adieu, pigeon-house; thou burr, that only
  stickest to nappy fortunes. The serpigo, the strangury,
  an eternal uneffectual priapism seize thee!

  _Bil._ Out, rogue!

  _Mal._ May'st thou be a notorious wittolly pander to
  thine own wife, and yet get no office, but live to be
  the utmost misery of mankind, a beggarly cuckold!                71

                                                             [_Exit._

  _Pietro._ It shall be so.

  _Men._ It must be so, for where great states revenge,
  'Tis requisite the parts be closely dogg'd,[431]
  (Which piety and soft respect forbears).
  Lay one into his breast shall sleep with him,
  Feed in the same dish, run in self-faction,
  Who may discover[432] any shape of danger;
  For once disgrac'd, displayèd[433] in offence,
  It makes man blushless, and man is (all confess)                 80
  More prone to vengeance than to gratefulness.
  Favours are writ in dust; but stripes we feel
  Depravèd nature stamps in lasting steel.

  _Pietro._ You shall be leagu'd with the duchess.

  _Equato._ The plot is very good.

  _Pietro._[434] You shall both kill, and seem the corse to save.

  _Fer._ A most fine brain-trick.

  _Celso._ [_aside_] Of a most cunning knave.

  _Pietro._ My lords, the heavy action we intend
  Is death and shame, two of the ugliest shapes
  That can confound a soul; think, think of it:                    90
  I strike, but yet, like him that 'gainst stone walls
  Directs, his shafts rebound in his own face;
  My lady's shame is mine, O God, 'tis mine!
  Therefore I do conjure all secrecy:
  Let it be as very little as may be,
  Pray ye, as may be.
  Make frightless entrance, salute her with soft eyes,
  Stain naught with blood; only Ferneze dies,
  But not before her brows. O gentlemen,
  God knows I love her! Nothing else, but this:--                 100
  I am not well: if grief, that sucks veins dry,
  Rivels[435] the skin, casts ashes in men's faces,
  Be-dulls the eye, unstrengthens all the blood,
  Chance to remove me to another world,
  As sure I once must die, let him succeed:
  I have no child; all that my youth begot
  Hath been your loves, which shall inherit me:
  Which as it ever shall, I do conjure it,
  Mendoza may succeed: he's nobly[436] born;
  With me of much desert.

  _Celso._ [_aside_] Much![437]                                   110

  _Pietro._ Your silence answers, "Ay:"
  I thank you. Come on now. O, that I might die
  Before her shame's display'd! would I were forc'd
  To burn my father's tomb, unheal[438] his bones,
  And dash them in the dirt, rather than this!
  This both the living and the dead offends:
  Sharp surgery where naught but death amends.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [412] "Cast o' ladies"--couple of ladies.

     [413] A very venomous little serpent. "A man or beast wounded
     with this serpent," says Topsel in his _Hist. of Serpents_ (ed.
     1658, p. 699), "is afflicted with intolerable thirst, insomuch as
     it is easier for him to break his belly than to quench his thirst
     with drinking; always gaping like a bull, casteth himself down
     into the water and maketh no spare of the cold liquor, but
     continually sucketh it in till either the belly break or the
     poison drive out the life by overcoming the vital spirits."

     [414] Omitted in ed. 2.--"A maquerela, in plain English a bawd,"
     says Overbury in his _Characters_, "is an old charcoal that hath
     been burnt herself, and therefore is able to kindle a whole green
     coppice."

     [415] Ed. 2. "dooth."

     [416] Stockado--a thrust in fencing.

     [417] Ed. 1. "Jason."

     [418] So in the _Scourge of Villainy_:
               "A crab's baked guts and lobster's butter'd thigh,
                I hear them swear is blood for venery."


     [419] Ox-pith is mentioned among other provocatives in John
     Taylor's _The Sculler_, ep. 32:--
              "Look how yon lecher's legs are worn away,
               With haunting of the whore-house every day!
               He knows more greasy panders, bawds and drabs,
               And eats more lobsters, artichokes and crabs,
               Blue roasted eggs, potatoes, muscadine,
               Oysters, and _pith that grows i' the ox's chine_,
               With many drugs, compounds, and simples store,
               Which makes him have a stomach to a whore."

     [420] Omitted in ed. 2.

     [421] Omitted in ed. 2.

     [422] This speech is given to Bianca in ed. 2.

     [423] This speech was added in ed. 2.

     [424] Ed. 2. "be with thee."

     [425] The first line of an old ballad (printed in Percy's
     _Reliques_). Falstaff is introduced humming a snatch of it
     in _2 Henry IV._, ii. 4.

     [426] Drunken.

     [427] The line is corrupt. Old eds. "slaues I fauour, I marry
     shall he rise."--Dyce reads "The slave's in favour: ay, marry,
     shall he rise."

     [428] Ed. 1. "mount."

     [429] "Why, when? ... cuckold" (ll. 57-71).--This passage was
     added in ed. 2.

     [430] A common exclamation of impatience.

     [431] The passage is very corrupt. Old eds. read:--
        "'Tis requisite, the parts [ed. 2. _partes_] with piety,
          And soft [ed. 2. and some copies of ed. 1. _loft_]
            respect forbeares, be closely dogg'd," &c.

     Dyce's emendation is:--
        "'Tis requisite the parties with piety
          And soft respect ever be closely dogg'd."

     W. N. Lettsom proposed:--
                                    "It must be so, for where
          Great states revenge, 'tis requisite the parties
          With spy of close respect be closely dogg'd."

     [432] Ed. 1. "disseuer."

     [433] Ed. 1. "discouered."

     [434] Old eds. "_Mend._"

     [435] Wrinkles.

     [436] Ed. 2. "noble."

     [437] Ironical exclamation.

     [438] Uncover.--"Descouvrir. To discover, uncover, _unhill_,
     denude, &c."--_Cotgrave._


                             SCENE III.

                 _A chamber in the Duke's Palace._

     _Enter_ MAQUERELLE, EMILIA, _and_ BIANCA, _with a posset_.

  _Maq._ Even here it is, three curds in three regions
  individually distinct, most methodically[439] according to
  art compos'd, without any drink.

  _Bian._ Without any drink!

  _Maq._ Upon my honour. Will ye sit and eat?

  _Emil._ Good, the composure: the receipt, how is't?

  _Maq._ 'Tis a pretty pearl; by this pearl (how does't
  with me?) thus it is. Seven and thirty yolks of Barbary
  hens' eggs; eighteen spoonfuls and a half of the
  juice of cock-sparrow bones; one ounce, three drams,
  four scruples, and one quarter of the syrup of Ethiopian
  dates; sweetened with three quarters of a pound of pure
  candied Indian eringoes; strewed over with the powder
  of pearl of America, amber of Cataia, and lamb-stones
  of Muscovia.                                                     15

  _Bian._ Trust me, the ingredients are very cordial, and,
  no question, good, and most powerful in restauration.[440]

  _Maq._ I know not what you mean by restauration;
  but this it doth,--it purifieth the blood, smootheth the
  skin, enliveneth the eye, strengtheneth the veins, mundifieth
  the teeth, comforteth the stomach, fortifieth the
  back, and quickeneth the wit; that's all.                        22

  _Emil._ By my troth, I have eaten but two spoonfuls,
  and methinks I could discourse most swiftly and wittily
  already.

  _Maq._ Have you the art to seem honest?

  _Bian._ Ay, thank advice and practice.                           27

  _Maq._ Why, then, eat me o' this posset, quicken your
  blood, and preserve your beauty. Do you know Doctor
  Plaster-face? by this curd, he is the most exquisite in
  forging of veins, sprightening of eyes, dying of hair,
  sleeking of skins, blushing of cheeks, surphling[441] of
  breasts, blanching and bleaching of teeth, that ever made
  an old lady gracious by torchlight; by this curd, la.

  _Bian._ Well,[442] we are resolved, what God has given us
  we'll cherish.                                                   36

  _Maq._ Cherish anything saving your husband; keep
  him not too high, lest he leap the pale: but, for your
  beauty, let it be your saint; bequeath two hours to it
  every morning in your closet. I ha' been young, and
  yet, in my conscience, I am not above five-and-twenty:
  but, believe me, preserve and use your beauty; for youth
  and beauty once gone, we are like bee-hives without
  honey, out-o'-fashion apparel that no man will wear:
  therefore use me your beauty.                                    45

  _Emil._ Ay, but men say--

  _Maq._ Men say! let men say what they will: life o'
  woman! they are ignorant of our[443] wants. The more in
  years, the more in perfection they grow; if they lose
  youth and beauty, they gain wisdom and discretion: but
  when our beauty fades, good-night with us. There cannot
  be an uglier thing than to see an old woman: from
  which, O pruning, pinching, and painting, deliver all
  sweet beauties!                                                  54

                                                     [_Music within._

  _Bian._ Hark! music!

  _Maq._ Peace, 'tis i' the duchess' bed-chamber.
  Good rest, most prosperously-graced ladies.

  _Emil._ Good night, sentinel.

  _Bian._ Night, dear Maquerelle.

  _Maq._ May my posset's operation send you my wit
  and honesty; and me, your youth and beauty: the
  pleasingest rest!                                                62

                         [_Exeunt, at one door_, BIANCA _and_ EMILIA;
                             _at another_ MAQUERELLE.

                          _A Song within._

  _Whilst the song is singing, enter_ MENDOZA _with his sword drawn,
   standing ready to murder_ FERNEZE _as he flies from the duchess'
                     chamber.--Tumult within._

  [_Within._] Strike, strike!

  [_Aur. within._] Save my Ferneze! O, save my Ferneze!

  [_Within._] Follow, pursue!

  [_Aur. within._] O, save Ferneze!

        _Enter_ FERNEZE _in his shirt, and is received upon_
                         MENDOZA'S _sword_.

  _Men._ Pierce, pierce!--Thou shallow fool, drop there!

                                    [_Thrusts his rapier in_ FERNEZE.

  He that attempts a princess' lawless love
  Must have broad hands, close heart, with Argus' eyes,
  And back of Hercules, or else he dies.                           70

         _Enter_ AURELIA, PIETRO, FERRARDO, BILIOSO, CELSO,
                           _and_ EQUATO.

  _All._ Follow, follow!

  _Men._ Stand off, forbear, ye most uncivil lords!

  _Pietro._ Strike!

  _Men._ Do not; tempt not a man resolv'd:

                    [MENDOZA _bestrides the wounded body of_ FERNEZE,
                        _and seems to save him_.

  Would you, inhuman murderers, more than death?

  _Aur._ O poor Ferneze!

  _Men._ Alas, now all defence too late!

  _Aur._ He's dead.

  _Pietro._ I am sorry for our shame.--Go to your bed:
  Weep not too much, but leave some tears to shed
  When I am dead.                                                  81

  _Aur._ What, weep for thee! my soul no tears shall find.

  _Pietr._ Alas, alas, that women's souls are blind!

  _Men._ Betray such beauty!
  Murder such youth! contemn civility!
  He loves him not that rails not at him.

  _Pietro._ Thou canst not move us: we have blood enough.--
  And please you, lady, we have quite forgot
  All your defects: if not, why, then--

  _Aur._ Not.

  _Pietro._ Not: the best of rest: good-night.                     90

                                  [_Exeunt_ PIETRO, FERRARDO, BILIOSO,
                                       CELSO, _and_ EQUATO.

  _Aur._ Despite go with thee!

  _Men._ Madam, you ha' done me foul disgrace; you
  have wronged him much loves you too much: go to,
  your soul knows you have.

  _Aur._ I think I have.

  _Men._ Do you but think so?

  _Aur._ Nay, sure, I have: my eyes have witnessed thy
  love: thou hast stood too firm for me.

  _Men._ Why, tell me, fair-cheeked lady, who even in
  tears art powerfully beauteous, what unadvised passion
  struck ye into such a violent heat against me? Speak,
  what mischief wronged us? what devil injured us?
  speak.                                                          103

  _Aur._ The thing ne'er worthy of the name of man, Ferneze;
  Ferneze swore thou lov'[d]st Emilia;
  Which to advance, with most reproachful breath
  Thou both didst blemish and denounce my love.

  _Men._ Ignoble villain! did I for this bestride
  Thy wounded limbs? for[444] this, rank opposite
  Even to my sovereign? for this, O God, for this,                110
  Sunk all my hopes, and with my hopes my life?
  Ripp'd bare my throat unto the hangman's axe?--
  Thou most dishonoured trunk!--Emilia!
  By life, I know her not--Emilia!--
  Did you believe him?

  _Aur._ Pardon me, I did.

  _Men._ Did you? and thereupon you gracèd him?

  _Aur._ I did.

  _Men._ Took him to favour, nay, even clasp'd with him?

  _Aur._ Alas, I did!

  _Men._ This night?                                              120

  _Aur._ This night.

  _Men._ And in your lustful twines the duke took you?

  _Aur._ A most sad truth.

  _Men._ O God, O God! how we dull honest souls,
  Heavy-brain'd men, are swallow'd in the bogs
  Of a deceitful ground! whilst nimble bloods,
  Light-jointed spirits speed;[445] cut good men's throats,
  And 'scape. Alas, I am too honest for this age,
  Too full of fleam and heavy steadiness;
  Stood still whilst this slave cast a noose about me;            130
  Nay, then to stand in honour of him and her,
  Who had even slic'd my heart!

  _Aur._ Come, I did err,
  And am most sorry I did err.

  _Men._ Why, we are both but dead: the duke hates us;
  And those whom princes do once groundly hate,
  Let them provide to die, as sure as fate.
  Prevention is the heart of policy.

  _Aur._ Shall we murder him?

  _Men._ Instantly?

  _Aur._ Instantly; before he casts a plot,                       140
  Or further blaze my honour's much-known blot,
  Let's murder him.

  _Men._ I would do much for you: will ye marry me?

  _Aur._ I'll make thee duke. We are of Medicis;
  Florence our friend; in court my faction
  Not meanly strengthful; the duke then dead;
  We well prepar'd for change; the multitude
  Irresolutely reeling; we in force;
  Our party seconded; the kingdom maz'd;
  No doubt of swift success all shall be grac'd.                  150

  _Men._ You do confirm me; we are resolute:
  To-morrow look for change; rest confident.
  'Tis now about the immodest waist of night:
  The mother of moist dew with pallid light
  Spreads gloomy shades about the numbèd earth.
  Sleep, sleep, whilst we contrive our mischief's birth.
  This man I'll get inhum'd. Farewell: to bed;
  Ay, kiss thy[446] pillow, dream the duke is dead.
  So, so, good night.

                                                     [_Exit_ AURELIA.

                    How fortune dotes on impudence!
  I am in private the adopted son                                 160
  Of yon good prince:
  I must be duke; why, if I must, I must.
  Most silly lord, name me! O heaven! I see
  God made honest fools to maintain crafty knaves.
  The duchess is wholly mine too; must kill her husband
  To quit her shame; much![447] then marry her: ay.
  O, I grow proud in prosperous treachery!
  As wrestlers clip, so I'll embrace you all,
  Not to support, but to procure your fall.

                         _Enter_ MALEVOLE.


  _Mal._ God arrest thee!                                         170

  _Men._ At whose suit?

  _Mal._ At the devil's. Ah, you treacherous, damnable
  monster, how dost? how dost, thou treacherous rogue?
  Ah, ye rascal! I am banished the court, sirrah.

  _Men._ Prithee, let's be acquainted; I do love thee,
  faith.

  _Mal._ At your service, by the Lord, la: shall's go to
  supper? Let's be once drunk together, and so unite a
  most virtuously-strengthened friendship: shall's, Huguenot?
  shall's?                                                        180

  _Men._ Wilt fall upon my chamber to-morrow morn?

  _Mal._ As a raven to a dunghill. They say there's one
dead here; pricked for the pride of the flesh.

  _Men._ Ferneze: there he is; prithee, bury him.

  _Mal._ O, most willingly: I mean to turn pure Rochelle[448]
  churchman, I.

  _Men._ Thou churchman! why, why?

  _Mal._ Because I'll live lazily, rail upon authority, deny
  kings' supremacy in things indifferent, and be a pope in
  mine own parish.                                                190

  _Men._ Wherefore dost thou think churches were made?

  _Mal._ To scour plough-shares: I ha'[449] seen oxen plough
  up altars; _et nunc seges ubi Sion fuit_.[450]

  _Men._ Strange!

  _Mal._ Nay, monstrous! I ha' seen a sumptuous steeple
  turned to a stinking privy; more beastly, the sacredest
  place made a dogs' kennel; nay, most inhuman, the
  stoned coffins of long-dead Christians burst up, and made
  hogs' troughs: _hic finis Priami_.[451] Shall I ha' some sack
  and cheese at thy chamber? Good night, good mischievous
  incarnate devil; good night, Mendoza; ah, ye
  inhuman villain, good night! night, fub.                        202

  _Men._ Goodnight: to-morrow morn?

  _Mal._ Ay, I will come, friendly damnation, I will come.
  [_Exit_ MENDOZA.] I do descry cross-points; honesty and
  courtship straddle as far asunder as a true Frenchman's
  legs.

  _Fer._ O!

  _Mal._ Proclamations! more proclamations!

  _Fer._ O! a surgeon!                                            210

  _Mal._ Hark! lust cries for a surgeon. What news from
  Limbo? how does[452] the grand cuckold, Lucifer?

  _Fer._ O, help, help! conceal and save me.

                       [FERNEZE _stirs, and_ MALEVOLE _helps him up_.

  _Mal._ Thy shame more than thy wounds do grieve me far:
  Thy wounds but leave upon thy flesh some scar;
  But fame ne'er heals, still rankles worse and worse;
  Such is of uncontrollèd lust the curse.
  Think what it is in lawless sheets to lie;
  But, O Ferneze, what in lust to die!
  Then thou that shame respect'st, O, fly converse                220
  With women's eyes and lisping wantonness!
  Stick candles 'gainst a virgin wall's white back,
  If they not burn, yet at the least they'll black.
  Come, I'll convey thee to a private port,
  Where thou shalt live (O happy man!) from court.
  The beauty of the day begins to rise,
  From whose bright form night's heavy shadow flies.
  Now 'gin close plots to work; the scene grows full,
  And craves his eyes who hath a solid skull.

                                   [_Exit, conveying_ FERNEZE _away_.


     [439] Ed. 2. "methodicall."

     [440] Some copies of ed. 1. "operation."

     [441] Washing with cosmetics.

     [442] Ed. 2. "We."

     [443] Ed. 2. "your."

     [444] "For this ... sovereign."--These words are omitted in ed.
     2.

     [445] Dodsley's correction.--Ed. 1. "pent;" ed. 2. "spent."

     [446] Ed. 2. "the."

     [447] Ironical exclamation.

     [448] At this time Rochelle was an asylum for persecuted
     Protestants.

     [449] Ed. 2. "have."

     [450] "Jam seges est ubi Troja fuit."--Ovid, _Her. Epist._ i. 53.

     [451] "Hæc finis Priami fatorum."--Virgil, _Æn._ ii. 554.

     [452] Ed. 2. "dooth."




                              ACT III.


                              SCENE I.

                   _A room in the Duke's Palace._

          _Enter_ PIETRO, MENDOZA, EQUATO, _and_ BILIOSO.

  _Pietro._ 'Tis grown to youth of day: how shall we waste
      this light?
  My heart's more heavy than a tyrant's crown.
  Shall we go hunt? Prepare for field.

                                                      [_Exit_ EQUATO.

  _Men._ Would ye could be merry!

  _Pietro._ Would God I could! Mendoza, bid 'em haste.

                                                     [_Exit_ MENDOZA.

  I would fain shift place; O vain relief!
  Sad souls may well change place, but not change grief:
  As deer, being struck, fly thorough many soils,[453]
  Yet still the shaft sticks fast, so----

  _Bil._ A good old simile, my honest lord.                        10

  _Pietro._ I am not much unlike to some sick man
  That long desirèd hurtful drink; at last
  Swills in and drinks his last, ending at once
  Both life and thirst. O, would I ne'er had known
  My own dishonour! Good God, that men should desire
  To search out that, which, being found, kills all
  Their joy of life! to taste the tree of knowledge,
  And then be driven from out paradise!--
  Canst give me some comfort?                                      19

  _Bil._ My lord, I have some books which have been
  dedicated to my honour, and I ne'er read 'em, and yet
  they had very fine names, _Physic for Fortune_,[454] _Lozenges
  of sanctified sincerity_,[455] very pretty works of curates,
  scriveners, and schoolmasters. Marry, I remember one
  Seneca, Lucius Annæus Seneca----

  _Pietro._ Out upon him! he writ of temperance and
  fortitude, yet lived like a voluptuous epicure, and died
  like an effeminate coward.--Haste thee to Florence:
  Here, take our letters; see 'em seal'd: away!
  Report in private to the honour'd duke                           30
  His daughter's forc'd disgrace; tell him at length
  We know too much: due compliments[456] advance:
  There's naught that's safe and sweet but ignorance.[457]

                                                             [_Exit._

                          _Enter_ BIANCA.

  _Bil._ Madam, I am going ambassador for Florence;
  'twill be great charges to me.

  _Bian._ No matter, my lord, you have the lease of two
  manors come out next Christmas; you may lay your
  tenants on the greater rack for it: and when you come
  home again, I'll teach you how you shall get two hundred
  pounds a-year by your teeth.                                     40

  _Bil._ How, madam?

  _Bian._ Cut off so much from house-keeping: that
  which is saved by the teeth, you know, is got by the
  teeth.

  _Bil._ 'Fore God, and so I may; I am in wondrous
  credit, lady.

  _Bian._ See the use of flattery: I did ever counsel you
  to flatter greatness, and you have profited well: any
  man that will do so shall be sure to be like your Scotch
  barnacle,[458] now a block, instantly a worm, and presently a
  great goose: this it is to rot and putrefy in the bosom of
  greatness.                                                       52

  _Bil._ Thou art ever my politician. O, how happy is
  that old lord that hath a politician to his young lady!
  I'll have fifty gentlemen shall attend upon me: marry,
  the most of them shall be farmers' sons, because they
  shall bear their own charges; and they shall go apparelled
  thus,--in sea-water-green suits, ash-colour cloaks, watchet
  stockings, and popinjay-green feathers: will not the
  colours do excellent?                                            60

  _Bian._ Out upon't! they'll look like citizens riding to
  their friends at Whitsuntide; their apparel just so many
  several parishes.

  _Bil._ I'll have it so; and Passarello, my fool, shall go
  along with me; marry, he shall be in velvet.

  _Bian._ A fool in velvet!

  _Bil._ Ay, 'tis common for your fool to wear satin; I'll
  have mine in velvet.

  _Bian._ What will you wear, then, my lord?                       69

  _Bil._ Velvet too; marry, it shall be embroidered,
  because I'll differ from the fool somewhat. I am horribly
  troubled with the gout: nothing grieves me, but that
  my doctor hath forbidden me wine, and you know your
  ambassador must drink. Didst thou ask thy doctor what
  was good for the gout?

  _Bian._ Yes; he said, ease, wine, and women, were good
  for it.

  _Bil._ Nay, thou hast such a wit! What was good to
  cure it, said he?                                                79

  _Bian._ Why, the rack. All your empirics could never
  do the like cure upon the gout the rack did in England,
  or your Scotch boot.[459] The French harlequin[460] will
  instruct you.

  _Bil._ Surely, I do wonder how thou, having for the
 instructmost part of thy lifetime been a country body, shouldst
 instructhave so good a wit.

  _Bian._ Who, I? why, I have been a courtier thrice two
 instructmonths.                                                   88

  _Bil._ So have I this twenty year, and yet there was a
 instructgentleman-usher called me coxcomb t'other day, and to
 instructmy face too: was't not a backbiting rascal? I would I
 instructwere better travelled, that I might have been better
 instructacquainted with the fashions of several countrymen: but
 instructmy secretary, I think, he hath sufficiently instructed me.

  _Bian._ How, my lord?

  _Bil._ "Marry, my good lord," quoth he, "your lordship
 instructshall ever find amongst a hundred Frenchmen forty
 instructhot-shots; amongst a hundred Spaniards, three-score
 instructbraggarts; amongst a hundred Dutchmen, four-score
 instructdrunkards; amongst an hundred Englishmen, four-score
 instructand ten madmen; and amongst an hundred Welshmen"----     102

  _Bian._ What, my lord?

  _Bil._ "Four-score and nineteen gentlemen."[461]

  _Bian._ But since you go about a sad embassy, I would
 instructhave you go in black, my lord.

  _Bil._ Why, dost think I cannot mourn, unless I wear
  my hat in cipres,[462] like an alderman's heir? that's vile,
  instruct very old, in faith.

  _Bian._ I'll learn of you shortly: O, we should have a
  fine gallant of you, should not I instruct you! How will
  you bear yourself when you come into the Duke of
  Florence' court?                                                113

  _Bil._ Proud enough, and 'twill do well enough: as I
  walk up and down the chamber, I'll spit frowns about
  me, have a strong perfume in my jerkin, let my beard
  grow to make me look terrible, salute no man beneath
  the fourth button; and 'twill do excellent.

  _Bian._ But there is a very beautiful lady there; how
  will you entertain her?                                         120

  _Bil._ I'll tell you that, when the lady hath entertained
  me: but to satisfy thee, here comes the fool.

                        _Enter_ PASSARELLO.

  Fool, thou shalt stand for the fair lady.

  _Pass._ Your fool will stand for your lady most willingly
  and most uprightly.

  _Bil._ I'll salute her in Latin.

  _Pass._ O, your fool can understand no Latin.

  _Bil._ Ay, but your lady can.

  _Pass._ Why, then, if your lady take down your fool, your
  fool will stand no longer for your lady.                        130

  _Bil._ A pestilent fool! 'fore God, I think the world
  be turned upside down too.

  _Pass._ O, no, sir; for then your lady and all the ladies
  in the palace should go with their heels upward, and that
  were a strange sight, you know.

  _Bil._ There be many will repine at my preferment.

  _Pass._ O, ay, like the envy of an elder sister, that hath
  her younger made a lady before her.

  _Bil._ The duke is wondrous discontented.

  _Pass._ Ay, and more melancholic than a usurer having
  all his money out at the death of a prince.                     141

  _Bil._ Didst thou see Madam Floria to-day?

  _Pass._ Yes, I found her repairing her face to-day; the
  red upon the white showed as if her cheeks should have
  been served in for two dishes of barberries in stewed
  broth, and the flesh to them a woodcock.

  _Bil._ A bitter fool![463]--Come, madam, this night thou
  shalt enjoy me freely, and to-morrow for Florence.              148

  _Pass._ What a natural fool is he that would be a pair
  of boddice to a woman's petticoat, to be trussed and
  pointed to them! Well, I'll dog my lord; and the word
  is proper: for when I fawn upon him, he feeds me; when
  I snap him by the fingers, he spits in my mouth. If a
  dog's death were not strangling, I had rather be one
  than a serving-man; for the corruption of coin is either
  the generation of a usurer or a lousy beggar.

                                   [_Exeunt_ BIANCA _and_ PASSARELLO.

       _Enter_ MALEVOLE _in some frize gown, whilst_ BILIOSO
                        _reads his patent_.

  _Mal._ I cannot sleep; my eyes' ill-neighbouring lids
  Will hold no fellowship. O thou pale sober night,
  Thou that in sluggish fumes all sense dost steep;
  Thou that giv'st all the world full leave to play,              160
  Unbend'st the feebled veins of sweaty labour!
  The galley-slave, that all the toilsome day
  Tugs at his oar against the stubborn wave,
  Straining his rugged veins, snores fast;
  The stooping scythe-man, that doth barb the field,
  Thou mak'st wink sure: in night all creatures sleep;
  Only the malcontent, that 'gainst his fate
  Repines and quarrels,--alas, he's goodman tell-clock!
  His sallow jaw-bones sink with wasting moan;
  Whilst others' beds are down, his pillow's stone.               170

  _Bil._ Malevole!

  _Mal._ Elder of Israel, thou honest defect of wicked
  nature and obstinate ignorance, when did thy wife let
  thee lie with her?

  _Bil._ I am going ambassador to Florence.

  _Mal._ Ambassador! Now, for thy country's honour,
  prithee, do not put up mutton and porridge i' thy cloakbag.
  Thy young lady wife goes to Florence with thee
  too, does she not?

  _Bil._ No, I leave her at the palace.                           180

  _Mal._ At the palace! Now, discretion shield, man;
  for God's love, let's ha' no more cuckolds! Hymen
  begins to put off his saffron[464] robe: keep thy wife i' the
  state of grace. Heart o' truth, I would sooner leave my
  lady singled in a bordello than in the Genoa palace:
  Sin there appearing in her sluttish shape,
  Would soon grow loathsome, even to blushes' sense;
  Surfeit would choke[465] intemperate appetite,
  Make the soul scent the rotten breath of lust.
  When in an Italian lascivious palace,                           190
  A lady guardianless,
  Left to the push of all allurement,
  The strongest incitements to immodesty,
  To have her bound, incens'd with wanton sweets,
  Her veins fill'd high with heating delicates,
  Soft rest, sweet music, amorous masquerers,
  Lascivious banquets, sin itself gilt o'er,
  Strong fantasy tricking up strange delights,
  Presenting it dress'd pleasingly to sense,
  Sense leading it unto the soul, confirm'd                       200
  With potent examples impudent custom,
  Entic'd by that great bawd, opportunity;[466]
  Thus being prepar'd, clap to her easy ear
  Youth in good clothes, well-shap'd, rich,
  Fair-spoken, promising, noble, ardent, blood-full,
  Witty, flattering,--Ulysses absent,
  O Ithaca,[467] can chastest Penelope hold out?

  _Bil._ Mass, I'll think on't. Farewell.

  _Mal._ Farewell. Take thy wife with thee. Farewell.

                                                     [_Exit_ BILIOSO.

  To Florence; um! it may prove good, it may;                     210
  And we may once unmask our brows.

                           _Enter_ CELSO.

  _Celso._ My honour'd lord,--

  _Mal._ Celso, peace! how is't? speak low: pale fears
  Suspect that hedges, walls, and trees, have ears:
  Speak, how runs all?

  _Celso._ I'faith, my lord, that beast with many heads,
  The staggering multitude, recoils apace:
  Though thorough great men's envy, most men's malice,
  Their much-intemperate heat hath banish'd you,
  Yet now they find[468] envy and malice ne'er                    220
  Produce faint reformation.
  The duke, the too soft duke, lies as a block,
  For which two tugging factions seem to saw;
  But still the iron through the ribs they draw.

  _Mal._ I tell thee, Celso, I have ever found
  Thy breast most far from shifting cowardice
  And fearful baseness: therefore I'll tell thee, Celso,
  I find the wind begins to come about;
  I'll shift my suit of fortune.
  I know the Florentine, whose only force,                        230
  By marrying his proud daughter to this prince,
  Both banish'd me, and made this weak lord duke,
  Will now forsake them all; be sure he will:
  I'll lie in ambush for conveniency,
  Upon their severance to confirm myself.

  _Celso._ Is Ferneze interr'd?

  _Mal._ Of that at leisure: he lives.

  _Celso._ But how stands Mendoza? how is't with him?

  _Mal._ Faith, like a pair of snuffers, snibs[469] filth in other
  men, and retains it in himself.[470]                            240

  _Celso._ He does fly from public notice, methinks, as a
  hare does from hounds; the feet whereon he flies betray
  him.

  _Mal._ I can track him, Celso.
  O, my disguise fools him most powerfully!
  For that I seem a desperate malcontent,
  He fain would clasp with me: he's the true slave
  That will put on the most affected grace
  For some vile second cause.

  _Celso._ He's here.

  _Mal._ Give place.

                                                       [_Exit_ CELSO.

                          _Enter_ MENDOZA.

  Illo, ho, ho, ho! art there, old truepenny?[471] Where hast
  thou spent thyself this morning? I see flattery in thine
  eyes, and damnation in thy soul. Ha, ye[472] huge rascal!

  _Men._ Thou art very merry.                                     253

  _Mal._ As a scholar _futuens gratis_. How does[473] the
  devil go with thee now?

  _Men._ Malevole, thou art an arrant knave.

  _Mal._ Who, I? I have been a sergeant, man.

  _Men._ Thou art very poor.

  _Mal._ As Job, an alchymist, or a poet.

  _Men._ The duke hates thee.                                     260

  _Mal._ As Irishmen[474] do bum-cracks.

  _Men._ Thou hast lost his amity.

  _Mal._ As pleasing as maids lose their virginity.

  _Men._ Would thou wert of a lusty spirit! would thou
  wert noble!                                                     265

  _Mal._ Why, sure my blood gives me I am noble, sure
  I am of noble kind; for I find myself possessed with all
  their qualities;--love dogs, dice, and drabs, scorn wit in
  stuff-clothes; have beat my shoemaker, knocked my
  semstress, cuckold my pothecary, and undone my tailor.
  Noble! why not? since the stoic said, _Neminem servum
  non ex regibus, neminem regem non ex servis esse oriundum_;[475]
  only busy Fortune touses, and the provident Chances
  blend them together. I'll give you a simile: did you e'er
  see a well with two buckets, whilst one comes up full
  to be emptied, another goes down empty to be filled?
  such is the state of all humanity. Why, look you, I
  may be the son of some duke; for, believe me, intemperate
  lascivious bastardy makes nobility doubtful: I have
  a lusty daring heart, Mendoza.                                  280

  _Men._ Let's grasp; I do like thee infinitely: wilt enact
  one thing for me?

  _Mal._ Shall I get by it?             [MEN. _gives him his purse_.]
  Command me; I am thy slave, beyond death and hell.

  _Men._ Murder the duke.

  _Mal._ My heart's wish, my soul's desire, my fantasy's
  dream, my blood's longing, the only height of my hopes!
  How, O God, how! O, how my united spirits throng
  together, to[476] strengthen my resolve!

  _Men._ The duke is now a-hunting.                               290

  _Mal._ Excellent, admirable, as the devil would have it!
  Lend me, lend me, rapier, pistol, cross-bow: so, so, I'll
  do it.

  _Men._ Then we agree.

  _Mal._ As Lent and fishmongers. Come, a-cap-a-pe,
  how? inform.

  _Men._ Know that this weak-brain'd duke, who only stands
  On Florence' stilts, hath out of witless zeal
  Made me his heir, and secretly confirm'd
  The wreath to me after his life's full point.                   300

  _Mal._ Upon what merit?

  _Men._ Merit! by heaven, I horn him:
  Only Ferneze's death gave me state's life.
  Tut, we are politic, he must not live now.

  _Mal._ No reason, marry: but how must he die now?

  _Men._ My utmost project is to murder the duke, that
  I might have his state, because he makes me his heir;
  to banish the duchess, that I might be rid of a cunning
  Lacedæmonian, because I know Florence will forsake
  her; and then to marry Maria, the banished Duke
  Altofront's wife, that her friends might strengthen me
  and my faction: that is all, la.                                311

  _Mal._ Do you love Maria?

  _Men._ Faith, no great affection, but as wise men do
  love great women, to ennoble their blood and augment
  their revenue. To accomplish this now, thus now. The
  duke is in the forest next the sea: single him, kill him,
  hurl him i' the main, and proclaim thou sawest wolves
  eat him.

  _Mal._ Um! not so good. Methinks when he is slain,
  To get some hypocrite, some dangerous wretch                    320
  That's muffled o['e]r with feignèd holiness,
  To swear he heard the duke on some steep cliff
  Lament his wife's dishonour, and, in an agony
  Of his heart's torture, hurl'd his groaning sides
  Into the swollen sea,--this circumstance
  Well made sounds probable: and hereupon
  The duchess----

  _Men._ May well be banish'd:
  O unpeerable invention! rare!
  Thou god of policy! it honeys me.                               330

  _Mal._ Then fear not for the wife of Altofront;
  I'll close to her.

  _Men._ Thou shalt, thou shalt. Our excellency is pleas'd:
  Why wert not thou an emperor? when we
  Are duke, I'll make thee some great man, sure.

  _Mal._ Nay,
  Make me some rich knave, and I'll make myself
  Some great man.

  _Men._ In thee be all my spirit:
  Retain ten souls, unite thy virtual powers:
  Resolve; ha, remember greatness! heart, farewell:               340
  The fate of all my hopes in thee doth dwell.

                                                             [_Exit._

                         _Re-enter_ CELSO.

  _Mal._ Celso, didst hear?--O heaven, didst hear
  Such devilish mischief? suffer'st thou the world
  Carouse damnation even with greedy swallow,
  And still dost wink, still does thy vengeance slumber?
  If now thy brows are clear, when will they thunder?

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [453] Streams.--A deer was said to _take soil_ when it took to
     the water to escape the hunters.

     [454] "In 1579 was published a book, entitled _Physic against
     Fortune, as well prosperous as adverse, contained in two Books.
     Written in Latin by Francis Petrarch, a most famous poet and
     oratour, and now first Englished by Thomas Twyne._ 4to. B.
     L."--_Reed._

     [455] This seems to be a fictitious book, but some of the old
     divines chose titles quite as quaint. One of Thomas Becon's works
     is entitled _The Pomander of Prayer_.

     [456] Ed. 1. "complaints."

     [457] What follows, down to the entrance of Malevole (l. 156),
     was added in ed. 2.

     [458] It was a common superstition that this shell-fish turned
     itself into a solan-goose. See _Nares' Glossary_.

     [459] A horrid instrument of torture by which the legs were
     crushed. In Milloeus' _Praxis Criminis Persequendi_, Paris, 1541,
     fol., there is a blood-curdling representation of a victim
     undergoing this torture. The instrument was never used in
     England; but was frequently applied in France and Scotland to
     extort confession from criminals.

     [460] Old ed. "herlakeene."

     [461] Concerning Welshmen's pride in their gentility, see
     Middleton, iii. 23 (_note_).

     [462] Fine crape.

     [463] Old ed. "fowl."--The word _fowl_ seems to have been
     pronounced _fool_ (Middleton, vi. 249). Perhaps the reading
     "fowl" (after the mention of "woodcock") should be retained, as
     some sort of joke may have been intended.

     [464] Hymen was usually represented in masques with a saffron
     robe.

     [465] Old eds. "cloake" and "cloke."

     [466] "So in Shakespeare's _Lucrece_:
               'O _Opportunity_, thy guilt is great!
                   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
                Thou foul abettor! thou notorious _bawd_!'"--_Dyce._

     So Heywood:--
                      "Win _Opportunity_,
              She's the _best bawd_."--_Fair Maid of the West_, i. 1.

     [467] Ed. 2. "O Ithacan."

     [468] Some copies of ed. 1. "faind."

     [469] Snubs, rebukes. Cf. Middleton's _Five Gallants_, ii.
     3:--"Push! i'faith, sir, you're to blame; you have _snibbed_ the
     poor fellow too much."

     [470] Ed. 2. "itself."

     [471] "_Hor._ [_within_] _Hillo, ho, ho_, my lord!
            _Ham. Hillo, ho, ho_, boy! come, bird, come.
            ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
            ·   ·   · _art thou there, truepenny_?"--_Hamlet_, i. 5.

     [472] Ed. 2. "thou."

     [473] Ed. 2. "dooth."

     [474] "This fantastical cohibition against the freedom of Nature
     in this part, makes me reflect upon as inconvenient a restraint
     (deserving but a collateral insertion) imposed upon the reverse
     of this and the benefit we receive from the egestions of Port
     Esquiline. For the Guineans are very careful [_ne pardant_], and
     wondered much at the Netherlanders' rusticity and impudence....
     _The Irish are much of the same opinion in this point of
     unnatural restraint_, whereas the Romans, by an edict of Claudius
     the Emperor, most consonant to the law of Nature, at all times
     and in all places, upon a just necessity, freely challenged the
     benefit of Nature."--Bulwer's _Artificial Changeling_, ed. 1650,
     p. 220.

     [475] Seneca, _Epist._ xliv.

     [476] Old eds. "so."


                             SCENE II.

                      _A forest near the sea._

          _Enter_ PIETRO, FERRARDO, PREPASSO, _and_ Three
                               Pages.

  _Fer._ The dogs are at a fault.

                                        [_Cornets like horns within._

  _Pietro._ Would God nothing but the dogs were at it!
  Let the deer pursue safety,[477] the dogs follow the game,
  and do you follow the dogs: as for me, 'tis unfit one
  beast should hunt another; I ha' one chaseth me: an't[478]
  please you, I would be rid of ye a little.

  _Fer._ Would your grief would, as[479] soon as we, leave
  you to quietness!

  _Pietro._ I thank you.

                                   [_Exeunt_ FERRARDO _and_ PREPASSO.

  Boy, what dost thou dream of now?                                10

  _First Page._ Of a dry summer, my lord; for here's a
  hot world towards: but, my lord, I had a strange dream
  last night.

  _Pietro._ What strange dream?

  _First Page._ Why, methought I pleased you with
  singing, and then I dreamt that you gave me that short
  sword.

  _Pietro._ Prettily begged: hold thee, I'll prove thy
  dream true; take't.

                                                     [_Giving sword._

  _First Page._ My duty: but still I dreamt on, my lord;
  and methought, an't[478] shall please your excellency, you
  would needs out of your royal bounty give me that jewel
  in your hat.                                                     23

  _Pietro._ O, thou didst but dream, boy; do not believe
  it: dreams prove not always true; they may hold in a
  short sword, but not in a jewel. But now, sir, you
  dreamt you had pleased me with singing; make that
  true, as I ha' made the other.

  _First Page._ Faith, my lord, I did but dream, and
  dreams, you say, prove not always true; they may hold
  in a good sword, but not in a good song: the truth is, I
  ha' lost my voice.                                               32

  _Pietro._ Lost thy voice! how?

  _First Page._ With dreaming, faith: but here's a couple
  of sirenical rascals shall enchant ye: what shall they
  sing, my good lord?

  _Pietro._ Sing of the nature of women; and then the
  song shall be surely full of variety, old crotchets, and
  most sweet closes: it shall be humorous, grave, fantastic,
  amorous, melancholy, sprightly, one in all, and all in
  one.                                                             41

  _First Page._ All in one!

  _Pietro._ By'r lady, too many. Sing: my speech grows
  culpable of unthrifty idleness: sing. Ah, so, so, sing.

                _Song by_ Second _and_ Third Pages.

  I am heavy: walk off; I shall talk in my sleep: walk
  off.

                                                     [_Exeunt_ Pages.

  _Enter_ MALEVOLE, _with cross-bow and pistol_.


  _Mal._ Brief, brief: who? the duke! good heaven, that fools
  Should stumble upon greatness!--Do not sleep, duke;
  Give ye good-morrow: I[480] must be brief, duke;
  I am fee'd to murder thee: start not: Mendoza,                   50
  Mendoza hir'd me; here's his gold, his pistol,
  Cross-bow, and[481] sword: 'tis all as firm as earth.
  O fool, fool, chokèd with the common maze
  Of easy idiots, credulity!
  Make him thine heir! what, thy sworn murderer!

  _Pietro._ O, can it be?

  _Mal._ Can!

  _Pietro._ Discover'd he not Ferneze?

  _Mal._ Yes, but why? but why? for love to thee?
  Much, much![482] to be reveng'd upon his rival,
  Who had thrust his jaws awry;
  Who being slain, suppos'd by thine own hands,                    60
  Defended by his sword, made thee most loathsome,
  Him most gracious with thy loose princess:
  Thou, closely yielding egress and regress to her,
  Madest him heir; whose hot unquiet lust
  Straight tous'd thy sheets, and now would seize thy state.
  Politician! wise man! death! to be
  Led to the stake like a bull by the horns;
  To make even kindness cut a gentle throat!
  Life, why art thou numb'd? thou foggy dulness, speak:
  Lives not more faith in a home-thrusting tongue                  70
  Than in these fencing tip-tap courtiers?

  _Enter_ CELSO, _with a hermit's gown and beard_.

  _Pietro._[483] Lord Malevole, if this be true----

  _Mal._ If! come, shade thee with this disguise. If!
  thou shalt handle it; he shall thank thee for killing thyself.
  Come, follow my directions, and thou shalt see
  strange sleights.

  _Pietro._ World, whither wilt thou?

  _Mal._ Why, to the devil. Come, the morn grows late:
  A steady quickness is the soul of state.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [477] Old eds. "safely."

     [478] Ed. 1. "and please you."

     [479] Ed. 2. "as soone leaue you as we to quietnesse."

     [480] For "I must" ed. 1. reads "must;" ed. 2. "you must."

     [481] Omitted in ed. 1.

     [482] Ironical exclamation.

     [483] Old eds. "_Cel._"




                               ACT IV.


                              SCENE I.

                       _Palace of the Duke._

                         Enter MAQUERELLE.

  _Maq._ [_Knocking at the ladies' door._] Medam, medam,
  are you stirring, medam? if you be stirring, medam,--if
  I thought I should disturb ye--

                           _Enter_ Page.

  _Page._ My lady is up, forsooth.

  _Maq._ A pretty boy, faith: how old art thou?

  _Page._ I think fourteen.

  _Maq._ Nay, an ye be in the teens--are ye a gentleman
  born? do you know me? my name is Medam Maquerelle;
  I lie in the old Cunny-court.

  [_Page._] See, here the ladies.                                  10

                   _Enter_ BIANCA _and_ EMILIA.

  _Bian._ A fair day to ye, Maquerelle.

  _Emil._ Is the duchess up yet, sentinel?

  _Maq._ O ladies, the most abominable mischance! O
  dear ladies, the most piteous disaster! Ferneze was
  taken last night in the duchess' chamber: alas, the duke
  catched him and killed him!

  _Bian._ Was he found in bed?                                     17

  _Maq._ O, no; but the villainous certainty is, the door
  was not bolted, the tongue-tied hatch held his peace: so
  the naked troth is, he was found in his shirt, whilst I,
  like an arrant beast, lay in the outward chamber, heard
  nothing; and yet they came by me in the dark, and yet
  I felt them not, like a senseless creature as I was. O
  beauties, look to your busk-points;[484] if not chastely, yet
  charily: be sure the door be bolted.--Is your lord gone
  to Florence?

  _Bian._ Yes, Maquerelle.                                         27

  _Maq._ I hope you'll find the discretion to purchase a
  fresh gown 'fore his return.--Now, by my troth, beauties,
  I would ha' ye once wise: he loves ye; pish! he is witty;
  bubble! fair-proportioned; mew! nobly-born; wind!
  Let this be still your fixed position; esteem me every
  man according to his good gifts, and so ye shall ever remain
  most worthy to be, most dear ladies.

  _Emil._ Is the duke returned from hunting yet?

  _Maq._ They say not yet.

  _Bian._ 'Tis now in midst of day.                                37

  _Emil._ How bears the duchess with this blemish now?

  _Maq._ Faith, boldly; strongly defies defame, as one
  that has a duke to her father. And there's a note to
  you: be sure of a stout friend in a corner, that may
  always awe your husband. Mark the behaviour of the
  duchess now: she dares defame; cries, "Duke, do what
  thou canst, I'll quit mine honour:" nay, as one confirmed
  in her own virtue against ten thousand mouths that
  mutter her disgrace, she's presently for dances.

  _Bian._ For dances!

  _Maq._ Most true.

  _Emil._ Most strange.

                         _Enter_ FERRARDO.

  See, here's my servant, young Ferrardo: how many servants
  thinkest thou I have, Maquerelle?                                51

  _Maq._ The more, the merrier: 'twas well said, use
  your servants as you do your smocks; have many, use
  one, and change often; for that's most sweet and court-like.

  _Fer._ Save ye, fair ladies! Is the duke return'd?

  _Bian._ Sweet sir, no voice of him as yet in court.

  _Fer._ 'Tis very strange.

  _Bian._ And how like you my servant, Maquerelle?                 59

  _Maq._ I think he could hardly draw Ulysses' bow; but,
  by my fidelity, were his nose narrower, his eyes broader,
  his hands thinner, his lips thicker, his legs bigger, his
  feet lesser, his hair blacker, and his teeth whiter, he were
  a tolerable sweet youth, i'faith. And he will come to my
  chamber, I will read him the fortune of his beard.

                                             [_Cornets sound within._

  _Fer._ Not yet returned! I fear--but the duchess
  approacheth.

        _Enter_ MENDOZA _supporting_ AURELIA _and_ GUERRINO:
         _the ladies that are on the stage rise_: FERRARDO
                  _ushers in_ AURELIA, _and then
              takes a lady to tread a measure_.[485]

  _Aur._ We will dance:--music!--we will dance.

  _Guer. Les quanto_[486] lady, _Pensez bien, Passa regis_, or
  _Bianca's brawl_?                                                70

  _Aur._ We have forgot the brawl.

  _Fer._ So soon? 'tis wonder.

  _Guer._ Why, 'tis but two singles on the left, two on
  the right, three doubles[487] forward, a traverse of six round:
  do this twice, three singles side, galliard trick-of-twenty,[488]
  coranto-pace; a figure of eight, three singles broken
  down, come up, meet, two doubles, fall back, and then
  honour.

  _Aur._ O Dædalus, thy maze! I have quite forgot it.

  _Maq._ Trust me, so have I, saving the falling-back, and
  then honour.                                                     81

  _Aur._ Music, music!

                         _Enter_ PREPASSO.

  _Prep._ Who saw the duke? the duke?

  _Aur._ Music!

                          _Enter_ EQUATO.

  _Equato._ The duke? is the duke returned?

  _Aur._ Music!

                          _Enter_ CELSO.

  _Celso._ The duke is either quite invisible, or else is not.

  _Aur._ We are not pleased with your intrusion upon
  our private retirement; we are not pleased: you have
  forgot yourselves.                                               90

                          _Enter a_ Page.

  _Celso._ Boy, thy master? where's the duke?

  _Page._ Alas, I left him burying the earth with his spread
  joyless limbs: he told me he was heavy, would sleep;
  bade[489] me walk off, for that the strength of fantasy oft
  made him talk[490] in his dreams. I straight obeyed, nor
  ever[491] saw him since: but wheresoe'er he is, he's sad.

  _Aur._ Music, sound high, as is our heart! sound high!

     _Enter_ MALEVOLE, _and_ PIETRO _disguised like an hermit_.

  _Mal._ The duke,--peace!--the duke is dead.

  _Aur._ Music!

  _Mal._ Is't music?                                              100

  _Men._ Give proof.

  _Fer._ How?

  _Celso._ Where?

  _Prep._ When?

  _Mal._ Rest in peace, as the duke does; quietly sit: for
  my own part, I beheld him but dead; that's all: marry,
  here's one can give you a more particular account of him.

  _Men._ Speak, holy father, nor let any brow
  Within this presence fright thee from the truth:
  Speak confidently and freely.

  _Aur._ We attend.                                               110

  _Pietro._ Now had the mounting sun's all-ripening wings
  Swept the cold sweat of night from earth's dank breast,
  When I, whom men call Hermit of the Rock,
  Forsook my cell, and clambered up a cliff,
  Against whose base the heady Neptune dash'd
  His high-curl'd brows; there 'twas I eas'd my limbs:
  When, lo! my entrails melted with the moan
  Some one, who far 'bove me was climb'd, did make--
  I shall offend.

  _Men._ Not.                                                     120

  _Aur._ On.

  _Pietro._ Methinks I hear him yet:--"O female faith!
  Go sow the ingrateful sand, and love a woman:
  And do I live to be the scoff of men?
  To be the[492] wittol-cuckold, even to hug
  My poison? Thou knowest, O truth!
  Sooner hard steel will melt with southern wind,
  A seaman's whistle calm the ocean,
  A town on fire be extinct with tears,
  Than women, vow'd to blushless impudence,                       130
  With sweet behaviour and soft minioning[493]
  Will turn from that where appetite is fix'd.
  O powerful blood! how thou dost slave their soul!
  I wash'd an Ethiop, who, for recompense,
  Sullied my name: and must I, then, be forc'd
  To walk, to live thus black? must! must! fie!
  He that can bear with must, he cannot die."
  With that, he sigh'd so[494] passionately deep,
  That the dull air even groan'd: at last he cries,
  "Sink shame in seas, sink deep enough!" so dies;                140
  For then I viewed his body fall, and souse[495]
  Into the foamy main. O, then I saw,
  That which methinks I see, it was the duke;
  Whom straight the nicer-stomach'd sea belch'd up:
  But then----

  _Mal._ Then came I in; but, 'las, all was too late!
  For even straight he sunk.

  _Pietro._ Such was the duke's sad fate.

  _Celso._ A better fortune to our Duke Mendoza!

  _Omnes._ Mendoza!                                               150

                                                 [_Cornets flourish._

  _Men._ A guard, a guard!

                         _Enter a Guard._

                          We, full of hearty tears,
  For our good father's loss,
  (For so we well may call him
  Who did beseech your loves for our succession),
  Cannot so lightly over-jump his death
  As leave his woes revengeless.--Woman of shame,      [_To_ AURELIA.
  We banish thee for ever to the place
  From whence this good man comes; nor permit,
  On death, unto thy[496] body any ornament;
  But, base as was thy life, depart away.                         160

  _Aur._ Ungrateful!

  _Men._ Away!

  _Aur._ Villain, hear me!

  _Men._ Begone!

      [PREPASSO _and_ GUERRINO _lead away_ AURELIA _guarded_.

                                My lords,
  Address to public council; 'tis most fit:
  The train of fortune is borne up by wit.
  Away! our presence shall be sudden; haste.

               [_All depart, except_ MENDOZA, MALEVOLE, _and_ PIETRO.

  _Mal._ Now, you egregious devil! ha, ye murdering
  politician! how dost, duke? how dost look now? brave
  duke, i'faith.                                                  170

  _Men._ How did you kill him?

  _Mal._ Slatted[497] his brains out, then soused him in the
  briny sea.

  _Men._ Brained him, and drowned him too?

  _Mal._ O 'twas best, sure work; for he that strikes a
  great man, let him strike home, or else 'ware, he'll prove
  no man: shoulder not a huge fellow, unless you may be
  sure to lay him in the kennel.

  _Men._ A most sound brain-pan! I'll make you both
  emperors.                                                       180

  _Mal._ Make us Christians, make us Christians.

  _Men._ I'll hoist ye, ye shall mount.

  _Mal._ To the gallows, say ye? come:[498] _præmium incertum
  petit certum scelus_.[499] How stands the progress?

  _Men._ Here, take my ring unto the citadel;         [_Giving ring._
  Have entrance to Maria, the grave duchess
  Of banish'd Altofront. Tell her we love her;
  Omit no circumstance to grace our person: do't.

  _Mal._ I'll[500] make an excellent pander: duke, farewell;
  'dieu, adieu, duke.                                             190

  _Men._ Take Maquerelle with thee; for 'tis found
  None cuts a diamond but a diamond.

                                                     [_Exit_ MALEVOLE.

                                   Hermit,
  Thou art a man for me, my confessor:
  O thou selected spirit, born for my good!
  Sure thou wouldst make
  An excellent elder in a deform'd church.
  Come, we must be inward,[501] thou and I all one.

  _Pietro._ I am glad I was ordained for ye.

  _Men._ Go to, then; thou must know that Malevole is a
  strange villain; dangerous, very dangerous: you see how
  broad 'a speaks; a gross-jawed rogue: I would have thee
  poison him: he's like a corn upon my great toe, I cannot go
  for him; he must be cored out, he must. Wilt do't, ha?

  _Pietro._ Anything, anything.                                   204

  _Men._ Heart of my life! thus, then. To the citadel:
  Thou shalt consort with this Malevole;
  There being at supper, poison him: it shall be laid
  Upon Maria, who yields love or dies:
  Scud quick.[502]

  _Pietro._ Like lightning: good deeds crawl, but mischief
      flies.                                             [_Exit._ 210

                        _Re-enter_ MALEVOLE.

  _Mal._ Your devilship's ring has no virtue: the buff-captain,
  the sallow Westphalian gammon-faced zaza cries,
  "Stand out;" must have a stiffer warrant, or no pass
  into the castle of comfort.

  _Men._ Command our sudden letter.--Not enter! sha't:
  what place is there in Genoa but thou shalt? into my
  heart, into my very heart: come, let's love; we must love,
  we two, soul and body.

  _Mal._ How didst like the hermit? a strange hermit,
  sirrah.                                                         220

  _Men._ A dangerous fellow, very perilous:
  He must die.

  _Mal._ Ay, he must die.

  _Men._ Thou'st[503] kill him.
  We are wise; we must be wise.

  _Mal._ And provident.

  _Men._ Yea, provident: beware an hypocrite;
  A churchman once corrupted, O, avoid!
  A fellow that makes religion his stalking-horse,[504]
  He breeds a plague: thou shalt poison him.

  _Mal._ O, 'tis wondrous necessary: how?

  _Men._ You both go jointly to the citadel;
  There sup, there poison him: and Maria,                         230
  Because she is our opposite, shall bear
  The sad suspect; on which she dies or loves us.

  _Mal._ I run.                                              [_Exit._

  _Men._ We that are great, our sole self-good still moves us.
  They shall die both, for their deserts crave more
  Than we can recompense: their presence still
  Imbraids[505] our fortunes with beholdingness,
  Which we abhor; like deed, not doer: then conclude,
  They live not to cry out "Ingratitude!"
  One stick burns t'other, steel cuts steel alone:                240
  'Tis good trust few; but, O, 'tis best trust none!

                                                             [_Exit._


     [484] The tagged laces by which the busk (the upright piece of
     whalebone in the front of the stays) was fastened.

     [485] A slow solemn dance.

     [486] "Qy. '_Los guantes?_' Mr. Collier (_Shakespeare Soc.
     Papers_, i. 28), quotes from Rawlinson's MS. No. 108, Bodl. Lib.,
     a list of dances, among which is 'Quarto dispayne;' while Mr.
     Halliwell (_Dict. of Arch. and Prov. Words_) gives from the same
     MS., '_Quanto_-dispaine.'--In Munday's _Banquet of Daintie
     Conceits_, 1588, is:--

     "'A Dyttie expressing a familiar controversie between Wit and
     Will: wherein Wit mildlie rebuketh the follies of Will, and
     sheweth him (as in a glasse) the fall of wilfull heads.

     "'This Dittie may be sung after the note of a courtlie daunce,
     called _Les Guanto_.'"--_Dyce._

     [487] Ed. 1. "double."

     [488] We have the expression "trick-of-twenty" again in the
     _Dutch Courtesan_. What the particular figure was I am unable to
     say. (Sometimes "trick-of-twenty" is used in the sense of
     "excellent device." Cf. Brome's _City Wit_, iv. 2:--"Well, 'twas
     mine error, not malice; but as for the procurer of it, if I pay
     not him in his own coin, Mr. Footwell! I'll show you a _trick of
     twenty_.")

     [489] Ed. 2. "bid."

     [490] Ed. 1. "talking."

     [491] Some copies of ed. 1. "neuer."

     [492] Ed. 1. "their."

     [493] "_i.e._, being treated as a minion or darling."--_Steevens._

     [494] Ed. 2. "too."

     [495] Fall with violence.--The word is used of a hawk swooping
     down on its prey.

     [496] Old eds. "the."

     [497] "i.e., _dashed_. It is a North-country word. See Ray's
     _Collection of English Words_, p. 54, ed. 1768."--_Reed._

     [498] Some copies of ed. 1. "O ô me."

     [499]        "præmium incertum petis,
            Certum scelus."--Seneca, _Phoen._ 632.

     [500] Ed. 1. "Iste."

     [501] Intimate.

     [502] Ed. 2. "Skud quicke like lightning.
\                  _Pie._ Good deedes crawl, but mischiefe flies."

     [503] A contraction of "_Thou must_."

     [504] "In the margin at this place, the words '_shoots under
     his belly_' are inserted; which is merely an explanation of
     the manner in which a corrupted churchman makes religion his
     _stalking-horse_, viz. by shooting at his object under its
     belly."--_Collier._

     [505] Upbraids.


                             SCENE II.

                       _Court of the Palace._

        _Enter_ MALEVOLE _and_ PIETRO, _still disguised, at
                          several doors_.

  _Mal._ How do you? how dost, duke?

  _Pietro._ O, let
  The last day fall! drop, drop on[506] our curs'd heads!
  Let heaven unclasp itself, vomit forth flames:

  _Mal._ O, do not rave,[507] do not turn player; there's
[_Exit._more of them than can well live one by another already.
  What, art an infidel still?

  _Pietro._ I am amazed;[508] struck in a swown with wonder:
  I am commanded to poison thee--

  _Mal._ I am commanded to poison thee at supper--

  _Pietro._ At supper--

  _Mal._ In the citadel--

  _Pietro._ In the citadel.                                        10

  _Mal._ Cross capers! tricks! truth o' heaven! he[509]
  would discharge us as boys do eldern guns, one pellet to
  strike out another. Of what faith art now?

  _Pietro._ All is damnation; wickedness extreme:
  There is no faith in man.

  _Mal._ In none but usurers and brokers; they deceive
  no man: men take 'em for blood-suckers, and so they
  are. Now, God deliver me from my friends!

  _Pietro._ Thy friends!                                           19

  _Mal._ Yes, from my friends; for from mine enemies
  I'll deliver myself. O, cut-throat friendship is the rankest
  villainy! Mark this Mendoza; mark him for a villain:
  but heaven will send a plague upon him for a rogue.

  _Pietro._ O world!

  _Mal._ World! 'tis the only region of death, the greatest
  shop of the devil; the crudest prison of men, out of
  the which none pass without paying their dearest breath
  for a fee; there's nothing perfect in it but extreme, extreme
  calamity, such as comes yonder.

    _Enter_ AURELIA, _two halberts before and two after, supported
             by_ CELSO _and_ FERRARDO; AURELIA _in base
                         mourning attire_.

  _Aur._ To banishment! lead[510] on to banishment!                30

  _Pietro._ Lady, the blessedness of repentance to you!

  _Aur._ Why, why, I can desire nothing but death,
  Nor deserve anything but hell.
  If heaven should give sufficiency of grace
  To clear my soul, it would make heaven graceless:
  My sins would make the stock of mercy poor;
  O, they would tire[511] heaven's goodness to reclaim them!
  Judgment is just yet[512] from that vast villain;
  But, sure, he shall not miss sad punishment
  'Fore he shall rule.--On to my cell of shame!                    40

  _Pietro._ My cell 'tis, lady; where, instead of masks,
  Music, tilts, tourneys, and such court-like shows,
  The hollow murmur of the checkless winds
  Shall groan again; whilst the unquiet sea
  Shakes the whole rock with foamy battery.
  There usherless[513] the air comes in and out:
  The rheumy vault will force your eyes to weep,
  Whilst you behold true desolation:
  A rocky barrenness shall pain[514] your eyes,
  Where all at once one reaches where he stands,                   50
  With brows the roof, both walls with both his hands.

  _Aur._ It is too good.--Bless'd spirit of my lord,
  O, in what orb soe'er thy soul is thron'd,
  Behold me worthily most miserable!
  O, let the anguish of my contrite spirit
  Entreat some reconciliation!
  If not, O, joy, triumph in my just grief!
  Death is the end of woes and tears' relief.

  _Pietro._ Belike your lord not lov'd you, was unkind.

  _Aur._ O heaven!                                                 60

  As the soul loves[515] the body, so lov'd he:
  'Twas death to him to part my presence, heaven
  To see me pleas'd.
  Yet I, like to a wretch given o'er to hell,
  Brake all the sacred rites of marriage,
  To clip a base ungentle faithless villain;
  O God! a very pagan reprobate--
  What should I say? ungrateful, throws me out,
  For whom I lost soul, body, fame, and honour.
  But 'tis most fit: why should a better fate                      70
  Attend on any who forsake chaste sheets;
  Fly the embrace of a devoted heart,
  Join'd by a solemn vow 'fore God and man,
  To taste the brackish flood[516] of beastly lust
  In an adulterous touch? O ravenous immodesty!
  Insatiate impudence of appetite!
  Look, here's your end; for mark, what sap in dust,
  What good in sin,[517] even so much love in lust.
  Joy to thy ghost, sweet lord! pardon to me!

  _Celso._ 'Tis the duke's pleasure this night you rest in court.  80

  _Aur._ Soul, lurk in shades; run, shame, from brightsome skies:
  In night the blind man misseth not his eyes.

                        [_Exit with_ CELSO, FERRARDO, _and halberts_.

  _Mal._ Do not weep, kind cuckold: take comfort,
  man; thy betters have been beccos:[518] Agamemnon,
  emperor of all the merry Greeks, that tickled all the
  true Trojans, was a cornuto; Prince Arthur, that cut
  off twelve kings' beards, was a cornuto; Hercules,
  whose back bore up heaven, and got forty wenches with
  child in one night,--

  _Pietro._ Nay, 'twas fifty.                                        90

  _Mal._ Faith, forty's enow, o' conscience,--yet was a
  cornuto. Patience; mischief grows proud: be wise.

  _Pietro._ Thou pinchest too deep; art too keen upon
  me.

  _Mal._ Tut, a pitiful surgeon makes a dangerous sore:
  I'll tent thee to the ground. Thinkest I'll sustain myself
  by flattering thee, because thou art a prince? I had
  rather follow a drunkard, and live by licking up his vomit,
  than by servile flattery.

  _Pietro._ Yet great men ha' done 't.                            100

  _Mal._ Great slaves fear better than love, born naturally
  for a coal-basket;[519] though the common usher of princes'
  presence, Fortune, ha'[520] blindly given them better place.
  I am vowed to be thy affliction.

  _Pietro._ Prithee, be;
  I love much misery, and be thou son to me.

  _Mal._ Because you are an usurping duke.----

                          _Enter_ BILIOSO.

  Your lordship's well returned from Florence.

  _Bil._ Well returned, I praise my horse.

  _Mal._ What news from the Florentines?

  _Bil._ I will conceal the great duke's pleasure; only
  this was his charge: his pleasure is, that his daughter
  die; Duke Pietro be banished for banishing his blood's
  dishonour; and that Duke Altofront be re-accepted.
  This is all: but I hear Duke Pietro is dead.                    114

  _Mal._ Ay, and Mendoza is duke: what will you do?

  _Bil._ Is Mendoza strongest?

  _Mal._ Yet he is.

  _Bil._ Then yet I'll hold with him.

  _Mal._ But if that Altofront should turn straight again?

  _Bil._ Why, then, I would turn straight again.                  120
  'Tis good run still with him that has most might:
  I had rather stand with wrong, than fall with right.

  _Mal._[521] What religion will you be of now?

  _Bil._ Of the duke's religion,[522] when I know what it is.

  _Mal._ O Hercules!

  Bil. Hercules! Hercules was the son of Jupiter and
  Alcmena.

  _Mal._ Your lordship is a very wit-all.

  _Bil._ Wittal!

  _Mal._ Ay, all-wit.                                             130

  _Bil._ Amphitryo was a cuckold.

  _Mal._ Your lordship sweats; your young lady will get
  you a cloth for your old worship's brows.

                                                     [_Exit_ BILIOSO.

  Here's a fellow to be damned: this is his inviolable
  maxim,--flatter the greatest and oppress the least: a
  whoreson flesh-fly, that still gnaws upon the lean galled
  backs.

  _Pietro._ Why dost, then, salute him?                           138

  _Mal._ Faith,[523] as bawds go to church, for fashion' sake.
  Come, be not confounded; thou'rt but in danger to lose
  a dukedom. Think this:--this earth is the only grave
  and Golgotha wherein all things that live must rot; 'tis
  but the draught wherein the heavenly bodies discharge
  their corruption; the very muck-hill on which the
  sublunary orbs cast their excrements: man is the slime
  of this dung-pit, and princes are the governors of these
  men; for, for our souls, they are as free as emperors,
  all of one piece; there[524] goes but a pair of shears
  betwixt an emperor and the son of a bagpiper; only
  the dying, dressing, pressing, glossing, makes the difference.
  Now, what art thou like to lose?                                151

  A gaoler's office to keep men in bonds,
  Whilst toil and treason all life's good confounds.

  _Pietro._ I here renounce for ever regency:
  O Altofront, I wrong thee to supplant thy right,
  To trip thy heels up with a devilish sleight!
  For which I now from throne am thrown: world-tricks abjure;
  For vengeance though't[525] comes slow, yet it comes sure.
  O, I am chang'd! for here, 'fore the dread power,
  In true contrition, I do dedicate                               160
  My breath to solitary holiness,
  My lips to prayer, and my breast's care shall be,
  Restoring Altofront to regency.

  _Mal._ Thy vows are heard, and we accept thy faith.

                                             [_Undisguiseth himself._

                  _Re-enter_ FERNEZE _and_ CELSO.

  Banish amazement: come, we four must stand
  Full shock of fortune: be not so wonder-stricken.

  _Pietro._ Doth Ferneze live?

  _Fer._ For your pardon.

  _Pietro._ Pardon and love. Give leave to recollect
  My thoughts dispers'd in wild astonishment.
  My vows stand fix'd in heaven, and from hence                   170
  I crave all love and pardon.

  _Mal._ Who doubts of providence,
  That sees this change? a hearty faith to all!
  He needs must rise who[526] can no lower fall:
  For still impetuous vicissitude
  Touseth[527] the world; then let no maze intrude
  Upon your spirits: wonder not I rise;
  For who can sink that close can temporise?
  The time grows ripe for action: I'll detect
  My privat'st plot, lest ignorance fear suspect.
  Let's close to counsel, leave the rest to fate:                 180
  Mature discretion is the life of state.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [506] Ed. 1. "in."

     [507] Ed. 2. "rand."

     [508] Some copies of ed. 1. "mazde."

     [509] Added in ed. 2.

     [510] Ed. 1. "led."--Ed. 2. "ledde."

     [511] Some copies of ed. 1. "try."

     [512] The text is not satisfactory, though the meaning is
     perfectly plain.--Quy. "Judgment is just, _yea_, _e'en_ from,"
     &c.

     [513] "_i.e._ without the ceremony of an usher to give notice of
     its approach, as is usual in courts. As fine as Shakespeare: 'the
     bleak air thy boisterous chamberlain.'"--_Charles Lamb._

     [514] Ed. 2. "pierce."

     [515] Old eds. "lou'd."

     [516] Old eds. "bloud."

     [517] Old eds. "What sinne in good," &c.

     [518] Cuckolds.

     [519] _To carry coals_ was esteemed the vilest employment to
     which a man could be put.

     [520] Ed. 2. "hath."

     [521] "What [ed. 1. _Of what_] religion ... cuckold" (ll.
     123-137).--This passage is not found in some copies of ed. 1.

     [522] Cf. Day's _Isle of Gulls_, iii. 1:--
       "_Lys._ Thou speak'st like a Christian: prethee what
     religion art of?
       _Man._ How many soever I make use of, I'll answer with
     Piavano Orlotto the Italian, I profess the Duke's only.
       _Demet._ What's his reason for that?
       _Man._ A very sound reason: for, says he, I came raw into
     the world and I would not willingly go roasted out."

     [523] Ed. 2. "Yfaith."

     [524] "There goes but a pair of shears betwixt"--_i.e._, they are
     cut out of the same piece. An old proverbial expression.

     [525] Ed. 1. "that."

     [526] Omitted in ed. 2.

     [527] Ed. 1. "Looseth"




                               ACT V.


                           SCENE I.[528]

                      _A room in the Palace._

                 _Enter_ BILIOSO _and_ PASSARELLO.

  _Bil._ Fool, how dost thou like my calf in a long
  stocking?

  _Pass._ An excellent calf, my lord.

  _Bil._ This calf hath been a reveller this twenty year.
  When Monsieur Gundi lay here ambassador, I could
  have carried a lady up and down at arm's end in a
  platter; and I can tell you, there were those at that time
  who, to try the strength of a man's back and his arm,
  would be coistered.[529] I have measured calves with most
  of the palace, and they come nothing near me; besides,
  I think there be not many armours in the arsenal will
  fit me, especially for the headpiece. I'll tell thee--           12

  _Pass._ What, my lord?

  _Bil._ I can eat stewed broth as it comes seething off
  the fire; or a custard as it comes reeking out of the
  oven; and I think there are not many lords can do it.
  A good pomander,[530] a little decayed in the scent; but
  six grains of musk, ground with rose-water, and tempered
  with a little civet, shall fetch her again presently.

  _Pass._ O, ay, as a bawd with aqua-vitæ.                         20

  _Bil._ And, what, dost thou rail upon the ladies as thou
  wert wont?

  _Pass._ I were better roast a live cat, and might do it
  with more safety. I am as secret to [the] thieves as
  their painting. There's Maquerelle, oldest bawd and a
  perpetual beggar--did you never hear of her trick to
  be known in the city?

  _Bil._ Never.

  _Pass._ Why, she gets all the picture-makers to draw
  her picture; when they have done, she most courtly
  finds fault with them one after another, and never
  fetcheth them: they, in revenge of this, execute her in
  pictures as they do in Germany, and hang her in their
  shops: by this means is she better known to the stinkards
  than if she had been five times carted.                          35

  _Bil._ 'Fore God, an excellent policy.

  _Pass._ Are there any revels to-night, my lord?

  _Bil._ Yes.

  _Pass._ Good my lord, give me leave to break a fellow's
  pate that hath abused me.                                        40

  _Bil._ Whose pate?

  _Pass._ Young Ferrardo, my lord.

  _Bil._ Take heed, he's very valiant; I have known him
  fight eight quarrels in five days, believe it.

  _Pass._ O, is he so great a quarreller? why, then, he's an
  arrant coward.

  _Bil._ How prove you that?

  _Pass._ Why, thus. He that quarrels seeks to fight;
  and he that seeks to fight seeks to die; and he that seeks
  to die seeks never to fight more; and he that will quarrel,
  and seeks means never to answer a man more, I think
  he's a coward.                                                   52

  _Bil._ Thou canst prove anything.

  _Pass._ Anything but a rich knave; for I can flatter no
  man.

  _Bil._ Well, be not drunk, good fool: I shall see you
  anon in the presence.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [528] This scene was added in ed. 2.

     [529] Reed suggests that this word may be derived from old Fr.
     _coisser_ (= incommoder) or _coiter_ (= presser, exciter). Nares
     explains _coistered_ to mean "coiled up into a small compass."

     [530] A ball of perfumed paste, worn round the neck or at the
     girdle.


                             SCENE II.

                       _Before the Citadel._

      _Enter, from opposite sides_, MALEVOLE _and_ MAQUERELLE,
                             _singing_.

  _Mal. The Dutchman for a drunkard_,--

  _Maq. The Dane for golden locks_,--

  _Mal. The Irishman for usquebaugh_,--

  _Maq. The Frenchman for the_ (----).

  _Mal._ O, thou art a blessed creature! had I a modest
  woman to conceal, I would put her to thy custody; for
  no reasonable creature would ever suspect her to be in
  thy company: ah, thou art a melodious Maquerelle,--thou
  picture of a woman, and substance of a beast!

                  _Enter_ PASSARELLO _with wine._

  _Maq._ O fool,[531] will ye be ready anon to go with me to
  the revels? the hall will be so pestered anon.                   11

  _Pass._ Ay, as the country is with attorneys.

  _Mal._ What hast thou there, fool?

  _Pass._ Wine; I have learned to drink since I went with
  my lord ambassador: I'll drink to the health of Madam
  Maquerelle.

  _Mal._ Why, thou wast wont to rail upon her.

  _Pass._ Ay; but since I borrowed money of her, I'll
  drink to her health now; as gentlemen visit brokers, or
  as knights send venison to the city, either to take up
  more money, or to procure longer forbearance.                    21

  _Mal._ Give me the bowl. I drink a health to Altofront,
  our deposed duke.                                        [_Drinks._

  _Pas._ I'll take it [_Drinks_]:--so. Now I'll begin a
  health to Madam Maquerelle.                              [_Drinks._

  _Mal._ Pooh! I will not pledge her.

  _Pass._ Why, I pledged your lord.

  _Mal._ I care not.

  _Pass._ Not pledge Madam Maquerelle! why, then,
  will I spew up your lord again with this fool's finger.          30

  _Mal._ Hold; I'll take it.                               [_Drinks._

  _Maq._ Now thou hast drunk my health, fool, I am
  friends with thee.

  _Pass._ Art? art?
       When Griffon[532] saw the reconcilèd quean
         Offering about his neck her arms to cast,
       He threw off sword and heart's malignant spleen,
         And lovely her below the loins embrac'd.--
  Adieu, Madam Maquerelle.                                  [_Exit._

  _Mal._ And how dost thou think o' this transformation
  of state now?                                                      41

  _Maq._ Verily, very well; for we women always note,
  the falling of the one is the rising of the other; some must
  be fat, some must be lean; some must be fools, and some
  must be lords; some must be knaves, and some must be
  officers; some must be beggars, some must be knights;
  some must be cuckolds, and some must be citizens. As
  for example, I have two court-dogs, the most fawning
  curs, the one called Watch, the other Catch: now I, like
  Lady Fortune, sometimes love this dog, sometimes raise
  that dog, sometimes favour Watch, most commonly fancy
  Catch. Now, that dog which I favour I feed; and he's
  so ravenous, that what I give he never chaws it, gulps it
  down whole, without any relish of what he has, but with
  a greedy expectation of what he shall have. The other
  dog now----                                                      56

  _Mal._ No more dog, sweet Maquerelle, no more dog.
  And what hope hast thou of the Duchess Maria? will
  she stoop to the duke's lure? will she come,[533] thinkest?

  _Maq._ Let me see, where's the sign now? ha' ye e'er a
  calendar? where's the sign, trow you?                            61

  _Mal._ Sign! why, is there any moment in that?

  _Maq._ O, believe me, a most secret power: look ye, a
  Chaldean or an Assyrian, I am sure 'twas a most sweet
  Jew, told me, court any woman in the right sign, you
  shall not miss. But you must take her in the right vein
  then; as, when the sign is in Pisces, a fishmonger's
  wife is very sociable; in Cancer, a precisian's wife is very
  flexible; in Capricorn, a merchant's wife hardly holds
  out; in Libra, a lawyer's wife is very tractable, especially
  if her husband be at the term; only in Scorpio 'tis very
  dangerous meddling. Has the duke sent any jewel, any
  rich stones?                                                     73

  _Mal._ Ay, I think those are the best signs to take a
  lady in.

                          _Enter_ Captain.

  By your favour, signior, I must discourse with the Lady
  Maria, Altofront's duchess; I must enter for the duke.

  _Capt._ She here shall give you interview: I received
  the guardship of this citadel from the good Altofront,
  and for his use I'll keep't, till I am of no use.                80

  _Mal._ Wilt thou? O heavens, that a Christian should
  be found in a buff-jerkin! Captain Conscience, I love
  thee, captain. We attend.

                                                     [_Exit_ Captain.

  And what hope hast thou of this duchess' easiness?

  _Maq._ 'Twill go hard, she was a cold creature ever;
  she hated monkeys, fools, jesters, and gentlemen-ushers
  extremely; she had the vile trick on't, not only to be
  truly modestly honourable in her own conscience, but
  she would avoid the least wanton carriage that might
  incur suspect; as, God bless me, she had almost brought
  bed-pressing out of fashion; I could scarce get a fine for
  the lease of a lady's favour once in a fortnight.                92

  _Mal._ Now, in the name of immodesty, how many
  maidenheads has thou brought to the block?

  _Maq._ Let me see: heaven forgive us our misdeeds!--Here's
  the duchess.

                   _Enter_ MARIA _with_ Captain.

  _Mal._ God bless thee, lady!

  _Maria._ Out of thy company!

  _Mal._ We have brought thee tender of a husband.

  _Maria._ I hope I have one already.                             100

  _Maq._ Nay, by mine honour, madam, as good ha' ne'er
  a husband as a banished husband; he's in another world
  now. I'll tell ye, lady, I have heard of a sect that maintained,
  when the husband was asleep the wife might
  lawfully entertain another man, for then her husband
  was as dead; much more when he is banished.

  _Maria._ Unhonest creature!

  _Maq._ Pish, honesty is but an art to seem so:
  Pray ye, what's honesty, what's constancy,
  But fables feign'd, odd old fools' chat, devis'd                110
  By jealous fools to wrong our liberty?

  _Mal._ Molly, he that loves thee is a duke, Mendoza;
  he will maintain thee royally, love thee ardently, defend
  thee powerfully, marry thee sumptuously, and keep thee,
  in despite of Rosicleer or Donzel del Phebo.[534] There's
  jewels: if thou wilt, so; if not, so.

  _Maria._ Captain, for God's love,[535] save poor wretchedness
  From tyranny of lustful insolence!
  Enforce me in the deepest dungeon dwell,
  Rather than here; here round about is hell.--                   120
  O my dear'st Altofront! where'er thou breathe,
  Let my soul sink into the shades beneath,
  Before I stain thine honour! 'tis[536] thou has't,
  And long as I can die, I will live chaste.

  _Mal._ 'Gainst him that can enforce how vain is strife!

  _Maria._ She that can be enforc'd has ne'er a knife:
  She that through force her limbs with lust enrolls,
  Wants Cleopatra's asps and Portia's coals.
  God amend you!                                                  129

                                                [_Exit with_ Captain.

  _Mal._ Now, the fear of the devil for ever go with
      thee!--Maquerelle,
  I tell thee, I have found an honest
  woman: faith, I perceive, when all is done, there is of
  women, as of all other things, some good, most bad;
  some saints, some sinners: for as nowadays no courtier
  but has his mistress, no captain but has his cockatrice,[537]
  no cuckold but has his horns, and no fool but has his
  feather; even so, no woman but has her weakness and
  feather too, no sex but has his--I can hunt the letter no
  farther.--[_Aside_] O God, how loathsome this toying is
  to me! that a duke should be forced to fool it! well,
  _stultorum plena sunt omnia_:[538] better play the fool lord
  than be the fool lord.--Now, where's your sleights,
  Madam Maquerelle?                                               143

  _Maq._ Why, are ye ignorant that 'tis said a squeamish
  affected niceness is natural to women, and that the
  excuse of their yielding is only, forsooth, the difficult
  obtaining? You must put her to't: women are flax, and
  will fire in a moment.

  _Mal._ Why, was the flax put into thy mouth, and yet
  thou--Thou set fire, thou inflame her!                          150

  _Maq._ Marry, but I'll tell ye now, you were too hot.

  _Mal._ The fitter to have inflamed the flax, woman.

  _Maq._ You were too boisterous, spleeny, for, indeed----

  _Mal._ Go, go, thou art a weak pandress: now I see,

  Sooner earth's fire heaven itself shall waste,
  Than all with heat can melt a mind that's chaste.

  Go: thou the duke's lime-twig! I'll make the duke turn
  thee out of thine office: what, not get one touch of hope,
  and had her at such advantage!                                  160

  Maq. Now, o' my conscience, now I think in my discretion,
  we did not take her in the right sign; the blood
  was not in the true vein, sure.

                                                             [_Exit._

                          _Enter_ BILIOSO.

  _Bil._ Make way[539] there! the duke returns from the
  enthronement.--Malevole,--

  _Mal._ Out, rogue!

  _Bil._ Malevole,--

  _Mal._ Hence, ye gross-jawed, peasantly--out, go![540]          168

  _Bil._ Nay, sweet Malevole, since my return I hear you
  are become the thing I always prophesied would be,--an
  advanced virtue, a worthily-employed faithfulness, a
  man o' grace, dear friend. Come; what! _Si quoties
  peccant homines_[541]--if as often as courtiers play the knaves,
  honest men should be angry--why, look ye, we must
  collogue[542] sometimes, forswear sometimes.

  _Mal._ Be damned sometimes.

  _Bil._ Right: _nemo omnibus horis sapit_; no man can be
  honest at all hours: necessity often depraves virtue.

  _Mal._ I will commend thee to the duke.

  _Bil._ Do: let us be friends, man.                              180

  _Mal._ And knaves, man.

  _Bil._ Right: let us prosper and purchase:[543] our lordships
  shall live, and our knavery be forgotten.

  _Mal._ He that by any ways gets riches, his means never
  shames him.

  _Bil._ True.

  _Mal._ For impudency and faithlessness are the main
  stays to greatness.

  _Bil._ By the Lord, thou art a profound lad.

  _Mal._ By the Lord, thou art a perfect knave: out, ye
  ancient damnation!                                              191

  _Bil._ Peace, peace! and thou wilt not be a friend to
  me as I am a knave, be not a knave to me as I am thy
  friend, and disclose me. Peace! cornets!

      _Enter_ PREPASSO and FERRARDO, _two_ Pages _with lights_,
           CELSO _and_ EQUATO, MENDOZA _in duke's robes,
                           and_ GUERRINO.

  _Men._ On, on; leave us, leave us.

                         [_Exeunt all except_ MALEVOLE _and_ MENDOZA.

  Stay, where is the hermit?

  _Mal._ With Duke Pietro, with Duke Pietro.

  _Men._ Is he dead? is he poisoned?

  _Mal._ Dead, as the duke is.

  _Men._ Good, excellent: he will not blab; secureness
  lives in secrecy. Come hither, come hither.                     201

  _Mal._ Thou hast a certain strong villainous scent about
  thee my nature cannot endure.

  _Men._ Scent, man! What returns Maria, what answer
  to our suit?

  _Mal._ Cold, frosty; she is obstinate.

  _Men._ Then she's but dead; 'tis resolute, she dies:
  Black deed only through black deed[544] safely flies.

  _Mal._ Pooh! _per scelera semper sceleribus tutum est iter_.[545]

  _Men._ What, art a scholar? art a politician? sure, thou
  art an arrant knave.                                            211

  _Mal._ Who, I? I ha' been twice an under-sheriff,
  man.[546] Well, I will go rail upon some great man, that I
  may purchase the bastinado, or else go marry some rich
  Genoan lady, and instantly go travel.

  _Men._ Travel, when thou art married?

  _Mal._ Ay, 'tis your young lord's fashion to do so,
  though he was so lazy, being a bachelor, that he would
  never travel so far as the university: yet when he
  married her, tales off, and, Catso,[547] for England!           220

  _Men._ And why for England?

  _Mal._ Because there is no brothel-houses there.

  _Men._ Nor courtezans?

  _Mal._ Neither; your whore went down with the stews,
  and your punk came up with your puritan.

  _Men._ Canst thou empoison? canst thou empoison?

  _Mal._ Excellently; no Jew, pothecary, or politician
  better. Look ye, here's a box: whom wouldst thou
  empoison? here's a box [_Giving it_], which, opened and
  the fume ta'en[548] up in conduits[549] thorough which the
  brain purges itself, doth instantly for twelve hours' space
  bind up all show of life in a deep senseless sleep: here's
  another [_Giving it_], which, being opened under the
  sleeper's nose, chokes all the pores[550] of life, kills him
  suddenly.                                                       235

  _Men._ I'll try experiments; 'tis good not to be deceived.--So,
  so; catso!                [_Seems to poison_ MALEVOLE,_ who falls._
         Who would fear that may destroy?
           Death hath no teeth nor[551] tongue;
         And he that's great, to him are slaves,                  240
           Shame, murder, fame, and wrong.--
  Celso!

                           _Enter_ CELSO.

  _Celso._ My honour'd lord?

  _Men._ The good Malevole, that plain-tongu'd man,
  Alas, is dead on sudden, wondrous strangely!
  He held in our esteem good place. Celso,
  See him buried, see him buried.

  _Celso._ I shall observe ye.

  _Men._ And, Celso, prithee, let it be thy care to-night
  To have some pretty show, to solemnise
  Our high instalment; some music, maskery.                       250
  We'll give fair entertain unto Maria,
  The duchess to the banish'd Altofront:
  Thou shalt conduct her from the citadel
  Unto the palace. Think on some maskery.

  _Celso._ Of what shape, sweet lord?

  _Men._ What[552] shape! why, any quick-done fiction;
  As some brave spirits of the Genoan dukes,
  To come out of Elysium, forsooth,
  Led in by Mercury, to gratulate
  Our happy fortune; some such anything,                          260
  Some far-fet[553] trick good for ladies, some stale toy
  Or other, no matter, so't be of our devising.
  Do thou prepare't; 'tis but for fashion[554] sake;
  Fear not, it shall be grac'd, man, it shall take.

  _Celso._ All service.

  _Men._ All thanks; our hand shall not be close to thee: farewell.
  [_Aside._] Now is my treachery secure, nor can we fall:
  Mischief that prospers, men do virtue call.
  I'll trust no man: he that by tricks gets wreaths
  Keeps them with steel; no man securely breathes                 270
  Out of deservèd[555] ranks; the crowd will mutter, "fool:"
  Who cannot bear with spite, he cannot rule.
  The chiefest secret for a man of state
  Is, to live senseless of a strengthless hate.

                                                             [_Exit._

  _Mal._ [_starting up_] Death of the damned thief! I'll
  make one i' the mask; thou shalt ha' some brave spirits
  of the antique dukes.

  _Cel._ My lord, what strange delusion?

  _Mal._ Most happy, dear Celso, poisoned with an empty
  box: I'll give thee all, anon: my lady comes to court;
  there is a whirl of fate comes tumbling on; the castle's
  captain stands for me, the people pray for me, and the
  great leader of the just stands for me: then courage,
  Celso;                                                          284
  For no disastrous chance can ever move him
  That leaveth nothing but a God above him.

                                                           [_Exeunt._


     [531] "O fool.... Adieu, Madam Maquerelle" (ll. 10-39).--This
     passage was added in ed. 2.

     [532] "_Griffon_ is one of the heroes of _Orlando Furioso_, from
     whence one might suspect these lines to be taken. I do not,
     however, find them there."--_Reed._ For "spleen" in l. 37 all the
     editions give "stream."

     [533] _i.e._, yield.--Ed. 2. "cowe."

     [534] Rosicleer and Donzel del Phebo were heroes in the romance
     of _The Mirrour of Knighthood_. See note 3, p. 30.

     [535] Ed. 2. "sake."

     [536] Ed. 2. "this."

     [537] The term _cockatrice_ seems to have been specially applied
     to a captain's mistress, though it is also found as a general
     name for a courtesan.

     [538] Cicero, _Epist. ad Fam._ ix. 22.

     [539] "Make way there.... Peace! cornets!" (ll. 164-194).--This
     passage was added in ed. 2.

     [540] These are the words that Bilioso had used to Malevole, ii.
     2. l. 64.

     [541] Ovid's _Tristia_, ii. 33.

     [542] Cog, wheedle.--"Sadayer. To handle gently or stroke softly;
     also to flatter, smooth, cog, or _collogue with_."--_Cotgrave._
     The word also means--confer for an unlawful purpose.

     [543] Acquire wealth.--_Purchase_ was a cant term for stolen
     goods, but it was also used in the general sense of riches.

     [544] Ed. 1. "deedes."

     [545] Seneca, _Agam._ 115.

     [546] Ed. 2. continues thus:--
                  "_Enter_ MALEVOLE _and_ MENDOZA.
           _Mend._ Hast bin with Maria?
           _Mal._ As your scriuener to your vsurer I haue delt about
           taking of this commoditie, but she's could-frosty. Well, I
           will go raile, &c."
     Perhaps the scene was intended to begin here and the preceding
     speeches were not properly cancelled.--Ed. 1. omits a few
     speeches and proceeds as in l. 226:--
                      "_Men._ Canst thou empoison?" &c.

     [547] An obscene expression (_Ital._)

     [548] Ed. 2. "taken up."

     [549] Some copies of ed. 2. "cõmodites."--The compositor was
     thinking of the common expression _take up commodities_.

     [550] Ed. 2. "power."

     [551] Ed. 2. "or."

     [552] Old eds. "Why."

     [553] An allusion to the proverb _Far fet and dear bought is
     good for ladies_.

     [554] Ed. 2. and some copies of ed. 1. "a fashion."


                             SCENE III.

                      _The Presence-Chamber._

     _Enter_ BILIOSO _and_ PREPASSO, _two_ Pages _before them_;
                 MAQUERELLE, BIANCA, _and_ EMILIA.

  _Bil._ Make room there, room for the ladies! why,
  gentlemen, will not ye suffer the ladies to be entered in
  the great chamber? why, gallants! and you, sir, to drop
  your torch where the beauties must sit too!

  _Pre._ And there's a great fellow plays the knave; why
  dost not strike him?

  _Bil._ Let him play the knave, o' God's name; thinkest
  thou I have no more wit than to strike a great fellow?--The
  music! more lights! revelling-scaffolds! do you
  hear? Let there be oaths enow ready at the door,
  swear out the devil himself. Let's leave the ladies, and
  go see if the lords be ready for them.                           12

                            [_Exeunt_ BILIOSO, PREPASSO, _and_ Pages.

  _Maq._ And, by my troth, beauties, why do you not put
  you into the fashion? this is a stale cut; you must come
  in fashion: look ye, you must be all felt, felt and feather,
  a felt upon your bare hair:[556] look ye, these tiring things
  are justly out of request now: and, do ye hear? you
  must wear falling-bands, you must come into the falling
  fashion: there is such a deal o' pinning these ruffs, when
  the fine clean fall is worth all: and again, if ye should
  chance to take a nap in the afternoon, your falling-band
  requires no poting-stick[557] to recover his form: believe
  me, no fashion to the falling,[558] I say.                       23

  _Bian._ And is not Signior St. Andrew[559] a gallant fellow
  now.

  _Maq._ By my maidenhead, la, honour and he agree as
  well together as a satin suit and woollen stockings.

  _Emilia._ But is not Marshal Make-room, my servant
  in reversion, a proper gentleman?                                29

  _Maq._ Yes, in reversion, as he had his office; as, in
  truth, he hath all things in reversion: he has his mistress
  in reversion, his clothes in reversion, his wit in reversion;
  and, indeed, is a suitor to me for my dog in
  reversion: but, in good verity, la, he is as proper a
  gentleman in reversion as--and, indeed, as fine a man
  as may be, having a red beard and a pair of warpt[560] legs.

  _Bian._ But, i'faith, I am most monstrously in love with
  Count Quidlibet-in-quodlibet: is he not a pretty, dapper,
  unidle[561] gallant?                                             39

  _Maq._ He is even one of the most busy-fingered lords;
  he will put the beauties to the squeak most hideously.

                        _Re-enter_ BILIOSO.

  _Bil._ Room! make a lane there! the duke is entering:
  stand handsomely for beauty's sake, take up the ladies
  there! So, cornets, cornets!

  _Re-enter_ PREPASSO, _joins to_ BILIOSO; _then enter two_
  Pages _with lights_, FERRARDO, MENDOZA; _at the other door, two_
  Pages _with lights, and the Captain leading in_ MARIA; MENDOZA
  _meets_ MARIA _and closeth with her; the rest fall back_.

  _Men._ Madam, with gentle ear receive my suit;
  A kingdom's safety should o'er-peise[562] slight rites;
  Marriage is merely nature's policy:
  Then, since unless our royal beds be join'd,
  Danger and civil tumults fright the state,
  Be wise as you are fair, give way to fate.                       50

  _Maria._ What wouldst thou, thou affliction to our house?
  Thou ever-devil, 'twas thou that banished'st
  My truly noble lord!

  _Men._ I!

  _Maria._ Ay, by thy plots, by thy black stratagems:
  Twelve moons have suffer'd change since I beheld
  The lovèd presence of my dearest lord.
  O thou far worse than death! he parts but soul
  From a weak body; but thou soul from soul
  Dissever'st, that which God's own hand did knit;                 60
  Thou scant of honour, full of devilish wit!

  _Men._ We'll check your too-intemperate lavishness:
  I can, and will.

  _Maria._ What canst?

  _Men._ Go to; in banishment thy husband dies.

  _Maria._ He ever is at home that's ever wise.

  _Men._ You'st[563] ne'er meet more: reason should love control.

  _Maria._ Not meet!
  She that dear loves, her love's still in her soul.

  _Men._ You are but a woman, lady, you must yield.                70

  _Maria._ O, save me, thou innated bashfulness,
  Thou only ornament of woman's modesty!

  _Men._ Modesty! death, I'll torment thee.

  _Maria._ Do, urge all torments, all afflictions try;
  I'll die my lord's as long as I can die.

  _Men._ Thou obstinate, thou shalt die.--Captain, that lady's life
  Is forfeited to justice: we have examin'd her,
  And we do find she hath empoisonèd
  The reverend hermit; therefore we command
  Severest custody.--Nay, if you'll do's no good,                  80
  You'st do's no harm: a tyrant's peace is blood.

  _Maria._ O, thou art merciful; O gracious devil,
  Rather by much let me condemnèd be
  For seeming murder than be damn'd for thee!
  I'll mourn no more; come, girt my brows with flowers:
  Revel and dance, soul, now thy wish thou hast;
  Die like a bride, poor heart, thou shalt die chaste.

                _Enter_ AURELIA _in mourning habit_.

  Life[564] is a frost of cold felicity,--

  _Aur._ And death the thaw of all our vanity:
  Was't not an honest priest that wrote so?                        90

  _Men._ Who let her in?

  _Bil._ Forbear!

  _Pre._ Forbear!

  _Aur._ Alas, calamity is everywhere:
  Sad misery, despite your double doors,
  Will enter even in court.

  _Bil._ Peace!

  _Aur._I ha' done.[565]

  _Bil._ One word,--take heed!

  _Aur._ I ha' done.

                 _Enter_ MERCURY _with loud music_.

  _Mer._ Cyllenian Mercury, the god of ghosts,
  From gloomy shades that spread the lower coasts,[566]
  Calls four high-famèd Genoan[567] dukes to come,                100
  And make this presence their Elysium,
  To pass away this high triumphal night
  With song and dances, court's more soft delight.

  _Aur._ Are you god of ghosts? I have a suit pending
  in hell betwixt me and my conscience; I would fain have
  thee help me to an advocate.

  _Bil._ Mercury shall be your lawyer, lady.

  _Aur._ Nay, faith, Mercury has too good a face to be a
  right lawyer.

  _Pre._ Peace, forbear! Mercury presents the mask.               110

  _Cornets: the song to the cornets, which playing, the mask enters_;
     MALEVOLE, PIETRO, FERNEZE, _and_ CELSO, _in white robes, with
     dukes' crowns upon laurel-wreaths, pistolets and short swords
     under their robes_.

  _Men._ Celso, Celso, court[568] Maria for our love.--
  Lady, be gracious, yet grace.

  _Maria._ With me, sir?

                                  [MALEVOLE _takes_ MARIA _to dance_.

  _Mal._ Yes, more lovèd than my breath;
  With you I'll dance.

  _Maria._ Why, then, you dance with death.
  But, come, sir, I was ne'er more apt for[569] mirth.
  Death gives eternity a glorious breath:
  O, to die honour'd, who would fear to die?

  _Mal._ They die in fear who live in villainy.

  _Men._ Yes, believe him, lady, and be rul'd by him.

  _Pietro._ Madam, with me.

                                  [PIETRO _takes_ AURELIA _to dance_.

  _Aur._ Wouldst, then, be miserable?                             120

  _Pietro._ I need not wish.

  _Aur._ O, yet forbear my hand! away! fly! fly!
  O, seek not her that only seeks to die!

  _Pietro._ Poor lovèd soul!

  _Aur._ What, wouldst court misery?

  _Pietro._ Yes.

  _Aur._ She'll come too soon:--O my grievèd heart!

  _Pietro._ Lady, ha' done, ha' done:
  Come,[570] let us dance; be once from sorrow free.

  _Aur._ Art a sad man?

  _Pietro._ Yes, sweet.

  _Aur._ Then we'll agree.                                        128

                      [FERNEZE _takes_ MAQUERELLE _and_ CELSO BIANCA:
                         _then the cornets sound the measure, one
                         change, and rest_.

  _Fer._ [_to_ BIANCA.] Believe it, lady; shall I swear? let
  me enjoy you in private, and I'll marry you, by my soul.

  _Bian._ I had rather you would swear by your body:
  I think that would prove the more regarded oath with
  you.

  _Fer._ I'll swear by them both, to please you.

  _Bian._ O, damn them not both to please me, for God's
  sake!                                                           136

  _Fer._ Faith, sweet creature, let me enjoy you to-night,
  and I'll marry you to-morrow fortnight, by my troth, la.

  _Maq._ On his troth, la! believe him not; that kind of
  cony-catching is as stale as Sir Oliver Anchovy's perfumed[571]
  jerkin: promise of matrimony by a young gallant,
  to bring a virgin lady into a fool's paradise; make her a
  great woman, and then cast her off;--'tis as common
  and[572] natural to a courtier, as jealousy to a citizen,
  gluttony to a puritan, wisdom to an alderman, pride to
  a tailor, or an empty hand-basket[573] to one of these sixpenny
  damnations: of his troth, la! believe him not;
  traps to catch pole-cats.

  _Mal._ [_to_ MARIA]. Keep your face constant, let no sudden passion
  Speak in your eyes.

  _Maria._ O my Altofront!                                        150

  _Pietro._ [_to_ AURELIA.] A tyrant's jealousies
  Are very nimble: you receive it all?

  _Aur._ My heart, though not my knees, doth humbly fall
  Low as the earth, to thee.

  _Mal._[574] Peace! next change; no words.

  _Maria._ Speech to such, ay, O, what will affords!

                        [_Cornets sound the measure over again; which
                             danced, they unmask._

  _Men._ Malevole!

             [_They environ_ MENDOZA, _bending their pistols on him_.

  _Mal._ No.

  _Men._ Altofront! Duke Pietro![575] Ferneze! ha!

  _All._ Duke Altofront! Duke Altofront!

                  [_Cornets, a flourish._--_They seize upon_ MENDOZA.

  _Men._ Are we surpris'd? what strange delusions mock            160
  Our senses? do I dream? or have I dreamt
  This two days' space? where am I?

  _Mal._ Where an arch-villain is.

  _Men._ O, lend me breath till[576] I am fit to die!
  For peace with heaven, for your own souls' sake,
  Vouchsafe me life!

  _Pietro._ Ignoble villain! whom neither heaven nor hell,
  Goodness of God or man, could once make good!

  _Mal._ Base, treacherous wretch! what grace canst thou expect,
  That hast grown impudent in gracelessness?                      170

  _Men._ O, life!

  _Mal._ Slave, take thy life.
  Wert thou defencèd, th[o]rough blood and wounds,
  The sternest horror of a civil fight,
  Would I achieve thee; but prostrate at my feet,
  I scorn to hurt thee: 'tis the heart of slaves
  That deigns to triumph over peasants' graves;
  For such thou art, since birth doth ne'er enroll
  A man 'mong monarchs, but a glorious soul.
  O,[577] I have seen strange accidents of state!                 180
  The flatterer, like the ivy, clip the oak,
  And waste it to the heart; lust so confirm'd,
  That the black act of sin itself not sham'd
  To be term'd courtship.
  O, they that are as great as be their sins,
  Let them remember that th' inconstant people
  Love many princes[578] merely for their faces
  And outward shows; and they do covet more
  To have a sight of these than of their virtues.
  Yet thus much let the great ones still conceive,[579]           190
  When they observe not heaven's impos'd conditions,
  They are no kings,[580] but forfeit their commissions.

  _Maq._ O good my lord, I have lived in the court this
  twenty year: they that have been old courtiers, and
  come to live in the city, they are spited at, and thrust
  to the walls like apricocks, good my lord.

  _Bil._ My lord, I did know your lordship in this disguise;
  you heard me ever say, if Altofront did return, I
  would stand for him: besides, 'twas your lordship's
  pleasure to call me wittol and cuckold: you must not
  think, but that I knew you, I would have put it up so
  patiently.                                                      202

  _Mal._ You o'er-joy'd spirits, wipe your long-wet eyes.

                                          [_To_ PIETRO _and_ AURELIA.

  Hence with this man [_Kicks out_ MENDOZA]: an eagle takes
     not flies.
  You to your vows [_To_ PIETRO _and_ AURELIA]: and thou
     into the suburbs.[581]                         [_To_ MAQUERELLE.
  You to my worst friend I would hardly give;
  Thou art a perfect old knave [_To_ BILIOSO]: all-pleas'd live
  You two unto my breast [_To_ CELSO and the Captain]:
     thou to my heart.                                   [_To_ MARIA.
  The rest of idle actors idly part:
  And as for me, I here assume my right,                          210
  To which I hope all's pleas'd: to all, good-night.

                                      [_Cornets, a flourish. Exeunt._


     [555] Some copies of ed. 1. "distuned."

     [556] Some copies of ed. 1. "head."

     [557] Sticks for setting the plaits of ruffs. They were first
     made of wood or bone, but afterwards of steel.

     [558] Some copies of ed. 1. "falling-band."

     [559] Some copies of ed. 1. "St. Andrew Jaques."

     [560] Ed. 2. "wrapt."

     [561] This is the reading of ed. 2.--Some copies of ed. 1. give
     "windle." Perhaps the true reading is "wimble" (= nimble), a word
     which Marston uses in _The First Part of Antonio and Mellida_
     (see p. 58).

     [562] Outweigh.

     [563] Contraction of "you must."

     [564] Given to _Aurelia_ (perhaps rightly) in ed. 2. and
     some copies of ed. 1.

     [565] "I ha' done," &c.--Old eds.:--
           "_Aur._ I ha done; one word, take heede, I ha done."

     [566] Regions.--"Marche. A region, _coast_, or
     quarter."--_Cotgrave._

     [567] Some copies of ed. 1. "Genoa."

     [568] Ed. 2. "count."

     [569] Ed. 2. "to."

     [570] Some copies of ed. 1. "come downe."

     [571] A _frotted_ jerkin--a jerkin in which sweet oil had
     been rubbed. Cf. _Cynthia's Revels_, v. 2:--
       "_Amo._ Is the perfume rich in this jerkin?
       _Per._ Taste, smell; I assure you, sir, pure benjamin, the
     only spirited scent that ever awaked a Neapolitan nostril.... I
     frotted a jerkin for a new-revenued gentleman yielded me three
     score crowns but this morning, and the same titillation."

     [572] Old eds. "as."

     [573] Omitted in some copies of ed. 1.

     [574] Old eds. "_Pietro._"

     [575] Some copies of ed. 1. "_Lorenzo._"

     [576] Some copies of ed. 1. "to liue till."

     [577] "O, I have seen ... so patiently" (ll. 180-202).--This
     passage was added in ed. 2.

     [578] Some copies read "men."

     [579] Old ed. "conceale."

     [580] Some copies read "men."

     [581] Where the bawdy-houses were located.




            AN[582] IMPERFECT ODE, BEING BUT ONE STAFF,

                      SPOKEN BY THE PROLOGUE.


  To wrest each hurtless thought to private sense
  Is the foul use of ill-bred impudence:
          Immodest censure now grows wild,
                  All over-running.
          Let innocence be ne'er so chaste,
                Yet at the last
                She is defil'd
          With too nice-brainèd cunning.
                O you of fairer soul,
                    Control          10
                With an Herculean arm
                    This harm;
  And once teach all old freedom of a pen,
  Which still must write of fools, whiles't writes of men!


     [582] The "imperfect ode" and the epilogue are not found in some
     copies of ed. 1.




                             EPILOGUS.


  Your modest silence, full of heedy stillness,
  Makes me thus speak: a voluntary illness
  Is merely[583] senseless; but unwilling error,
  Such as proceeds from too rash youthful fervour,
  May well be call'd a fault, but not a sin:
  Rivers take names from founts where they begin.
  Then let not too severe an eye peruse
  The slighter brakes[584] of our reformèd Muse,
  Who could herself herself of faults detect,
  But that she knows 'tis easy to correct,                         10
  Though some men's labour: troth, to err is fit,
  As long as wisdom's not profess'd, but wit.
  Then till another's happier Muse appears,[585]
  Till his Thalia feast your learnèd ears,
  To whose desertful lamps pleased Fates impart
  Art above nature, judgment above art,
  Receive this piece, which hope nor fear yet daunteth:
  He that knows most knows most how much he wanteth.


     [583] Wholly.

     [584] Clearly another form of _bracks_, _i.e._, cracks, flaws.

     [585] A fine compliment to Ben Jonson.




                           END OF VOL. I.

               PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
                       EDINBURGH AND LONDON.




                        Transcriber's Note:

Minor punctuation errors were corrected. Footnotes were renumbered
sequentially and were moved to follow the section of text or scene of
the play in which the related anchors occur. Phrases in Greek have
been transliterated. Words in italics are surrounded by underscores,
_like this_. Superscripted letters are preceded by a carat, li^{ke}
thi^s. The text of prose portions of plays was not wrapped, to
maintain the line numbers.

Anomolies noted and retained unchanged:

  Both the prologue and the first scene of Act V of "Antonio's
    Revenge" are identified as "Scene 1."
  Footnotes [78], [237], and [478] each have two anchors that refer to
    the note.
  Line counts in the original do not appear to be accurate in several
    places.

Changes to text:

  Introduction - 'indentified' to 'identified'
     ... he is to be identified with ...
  First part of Antonio and Mellida, Act III, Scene 1, line 113:
    duplicate "myself" removed from
      ... Well, ere yon sun set, I'll show myself myself,...
  The Malcontent, Act V, Scene 3, line 88:
    duplicate "a" removed from
       ... Life is a a frost of cold felicity,...





End of Project Gutenberg's The Works of John Marston, by John Marston