The Gentleman Usher

By George Chapman

1606

Dramatis Personae:

Duke Alphonso.

Prince Vincentio, his son.

Medice, the duke's favourite.

A servant of Medice.

Strozza, a Lord.

Cynanche, wife of Strozza.

Poggio, his nephew.

Ancilla, a servant.

Earl Lasso, an old Lord.

Bassiolo, gentleman usher to Lasso.

Fungus, a servant of Lasso.

Cortezza, sister of Lasso.

Margaret, daughter of Lasso.

Benevemus, a doctor.

Sarpego, a pedant.

Julio, a courtier.

Attendants, servants, huntsmen,

guards, two pages, maids.

Figures in the Masques:

Enchanter, Spirits, Sylvanus,

A Nymph, Broom-man, Rush-man,

a man-bug, a woman-bug.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Before the House of Strozza.

Enter Strozza, Cynanche, and Poggio.

Stroz. Haste, nephew; what, a sluggard? Fie, for shame!

Shall he that was our morning cock, turn owl,

And lock out daylight from his drowsy eyes?

Pog. Pray pardon me for once, lord uncle, for I'll be

sworn I had such a dream this morning: methought one

came with a commission to take a sorrel curtal that was

stolen from him, wheresoever he could find him. And

because I feared he would lay claim to my sorrel curtal

in my stable, I ran to the smith to have him set on his

mane again and his tail presently, that the commission-

man might not think him a curtal. And when the smith

would not do it, I fell a-beating of him, so that I could

not wake for my life till I was revenged on him.

Cyn. This is your old valour, nephew, that will fight

sleeping as well as waking.

Pog. 'Slud, aunt, what if my dream had been true (as it

might have been for anything I knew)! There's never a

smith in Italy shall make an ass of me in my sleep, if I

can choose.

Stroz. Well said, my furious nephew; but I see

You quite forget that we must rouse to-day

The sharp-tusked boar; and blaze our huntsmanship

Before the Duke.

Pog. Forget, lord uncle? I hope not; you think belike

my wits are as brittle as a beetle, or as skittish as your

Barbary mare; one cannot cry wehee, but straight she

cries tehee.

Stroz. Well guessed, cousin Hysteron Proteron!

Pog. But which way will the Duke's Grace hunt to-day?

Stroz. Toward Count Lasso's house his Grace will hunt,

Where he will visit his late honoured mistress.

Pog. Who, Lady Margaret, that dear young dame? Will

his antiquity never leave his iniquity?

Cyn. Why, how now, nephew? Turned Parnassus lately?

Pog. “Nassus”? I know not; but I would I had all the

Duke's living for her sake; I'd make him a poor duke,

i'faith!

Stroz. No doubt of that, if thou hadst all his living.

Pog. I would not stand dreaming of the matter as I do

now.

Cyn. Why, how do you dream, nephew?

Pog. Marry, all last night methought I was tying her

shoe-string.

Stroz. What, all night tying her shoe-string?

Pog. Ay, that I was, and yet I tied it not neither; for,

as I was tying it, the string broke, methought, and

then, methought, having but one point at my hose,

methought, I gave her that to tie her shoe withal.

Cyn. A point of much kindness, I assure you.

Pog. Whereupon, in the very nick, methought, the

Count came rushing in, and I ran rushing out, with my

heels about my hose for haste.

Stroz. So, will you leave your dreaming, and dispatch?

Pog. Mum, not a word more, I'll go before, and

overtake you presently.

[Exit.]

Cyn. My lord, I fancy not these hunting sports,

When the bold game you follow turns again

And stares you in the face. Let me behold

A cast of falcons on their merry wings

Daring the stoopèd prey, that shifting flies;

Or let me view the fearful hare or hind,

Tossed like a music point with harmony

Of well-mouthed hounds. This is a sport for princes.

The other rude; boars yield fit game for boors.

Stroz. Thy timorous spirit blinds thy judgment, wife;

Those are most royal sports, that most approve

The huntsman's prowess and his hardy mind.

Cyn. My lord, I know too well your virtuous spirit;

Take heed, for God's love, if you rouse the boar,

You come not near him, but discharge aloof

Your wounding pistol, or well-aimèd dart.

Stroz. Ay, marry, wife, this counsel rightly flows

Out of thy bosom; pray thee take less care;

Let ladies at their tables judge of boars,

Lords in the field. And so farewell, sweet love;

Fail not to meet me at Earl Lasso's house.

Cyn. Pray pardon me for that. You know I love not

These solemn meetings.

Stroz. You must needs for once

Constrain your disposition; and indeed

I would acquaint you more with Lady Margaret

For special reason.

Cyn. Very good, my lord.

Then I must needs go fit me for that presence.

Stroz. I pray thee do, farewell!

[Exit Cynanche.]

Enter Vincentio.

Here comes my friend. −

Good day, my lord! Why does your Grace confront

So clear a morning with so cloudy looks?

Vinc. Ask'st thou my griefs that know'st my desp'rate love

Curbed by my father's stern riválity?

Must not I mourn that know not whether yet

I shall enjoy a stepdame or a wife?

Stroz. A wife, Prince, never doubt it; your deserts

And youthful graces have engaged so far

The beauteous Margaret that she is your own.

Vinc. Oh, but the eye of watchful jealousy

Robs my desires of means t' enjoy her favour.

Stroz. Despair not: there are means enow for you:

Suborn some servant of some good respect

That's near your choice, who, though she needs no wooing,

May yet imagine you are to begin

Your strange young love-suit, and so speak for you,

Bear your kind letters, and get safe accéss.

All which when he shall do, you need not fear

His trusty secrecy, because he dares not

Reveal escapes whereof himself is author;

Whom you may best attempt, she must reveal;

For, if she loves you, she already knows,

And in an instant can resolve you that.

Vinc. And so she will, I doubt not; would to Heaven

I had fit time, even now, to know her mind!

This counsel feeds my heart with much sweet hope.

Stroz. Pursue it then; 'twill not be hard t' effect:

The Duke has none for him, but Medice,

That fustian lord, who in his buckram face

Bewrays, in my conceit, a map of baseness.

Vinc. Ay, there's a parcel of unconstruèd stuff,

That unknown minion raised to honour's height,

Without the help of virtue, or of art

Or (to say true) of any honest part.

Oh, how he shames my father! He goes like

A prince's footman, in old-fashioned silks,

And most times in his hose and doubtlet only;

So miseráble, that his own few men

Do beg by virtue of his livery;

For he gives none, for any service done him,

Or any honour, any least reward.

Stroz. 'Tis pity such should live about a prince:

I would have such a noble counterfeit nailed

Upon the pillory, and, after, whipped

For his adultery with nobility.

Vinc. Faith, I would fain disgrace him by all means,

As enemy to his base-bred ignorance,

That, being a great lord, cannot write nor read.

Stroz. For that, we'll follow the blind side of him,

And make it sometimes subject of our mirth.

Enter Poggio post-haste.

Vinc. See, what news with your nephew Poggio?

Stroz. None good, I warrant you!

Pog. Where should I find my lord uncle?

Stroz. What's the huge haste with you?

Pog. O ho, you will hunt to-day!

Stroz. I hope I will.

Pog. But you may hap to hop without your hope, for

the truth is, Killbuck is run mad.

Stroz. What's this?

Pog. Nay, 'tis true, sir: and Killbuck being run mad,

bit Ringwood so by the left buttock, you might have

turned your nose in it.

Vinc. Out, ass!

Pog. By Heaven, you might, my lord! D'ye think I lie?

Vinc. Zounds, might I? Let's blanket him, my lord. A

blanket here!

Pog. Nay, good my lord Vincentio, by this rush I tell

you for good will: and Venus, your brach there, runs so

proud that your huntsman cannot take her down for his

life.

Stroz. Take her up, fool, thou wouldst say.

Pog. Why, sir, he would soon take her down, and he

could take her up, I warrant her!

Vinc. Well said, hammer, hammer!

Pog. Nay, good now, let's alone. And there's your

horse, Gray Strozza, too, has the staggers, and has

strook Bay Bettrice, your Barbary mare, so that she

goes halting o' this fashion, most filthily.

Stroz. What poison blisters thy unhappy tongue,

Evermore braying forth unhappy news? −

Our hunting sport is at the best, my lord:

How shall I satisfy the Duke your father,

Defrauding him of his expected sport?

See, see, he comes.

Enter Alphonso, Medice, Sarpego, with attendants.

Alph. Is this the copy of the speech you wrote, Signor

Sarpego?

Sarp. It is a blaze of wit poetical;

Read it, brave Duke, with eyes pathetical.

Alph. We will peruse it straight: − well met, Vincentio,

And good Lord Strozza; we commend you both

For your attendance; but you must conceive

'Tis no true hunting we intend to-day,

But an inducement to a certain show,

Wherewith we will present our beauteous love,

And therein we bespeak your company.

Vinc. We both are ready to attend your Highness.

Alph. See then, here is a poem that requires

Your worthy censures, offered, if it like,

To furnish our intended amorous show:

Read it, Vincentio.

Vinc. Pardon me, my lord.

Lord Medice's reading will express it better.

Med. My patience can digest your scoffs, my lord.

I care not to proclaim it to the world:

I can nor write nor read; and what of that?

I can both see and hear as well as you.

Alph. Still are your wits at war.

[To Vincentio] Here, read this poem.

Vinc. [Reads]

“The red-faced sun hath firked the flundering shades,

And cast bright ammel on Aurora's brow.”

Alph. High words and strange! Read on, Vincentio.

Vinc. “The busky groves that gag-toothed boars do shroud

With cringle-crangle horns do ring aloud.”

Pog. My lord, my lord, I have a speech here worth ten

of this, and yet I'll mend it too.

Alph. How likes Vincentio?

Vinc. It is strangely good,

No inkhorn ever did bring forth the like.

Could these brave prancing words with action's spur,

Be ridden throughly, and managed right,

'Twould fright the audience, and perhaps delight.

Sarp. Doubt you of action, sir?

Vinc. Ay, for such stuff.

Sarp. Then know, my lord, I can both act and teach

To any words; when I in Padua schooled it,

I played in one of Plautus' comedies,

Namely, Curculio, where his part I acted,

Projecting from the poor sum of four lines

Forty fair actions.

Alph. Let's see that, I pray.

Sarp. Your Highness shall command.

But pardon me, if in my action's heat,

Entering in post post haste, I chance to take up

Some of your honoured heels.

Pog. Y' ad best leave out

That action for a thing that I know, sir.

Sarp. Then shall you see what I can do without it.

[Sarpego puts on his parasite's costume.]

Alph. See, see! He hath his furniture and all.

Sarp. You must imagine, lords, I bring good news,

Whereof being princely proud I scour the street,

And over-tumble every man I meet.

[Exit Sarpego.]

Pog. Beshrew my heart if he take up my heels!

Enter Sarpego, running about the stage.

Sarp. Date viam mihi, noti atque ignoti, dum ego

hic officium meum.

Facio: fugite omnes, abite, et de via secedite,

Ne quern in cursu capite aut cubito aut pectore

offendam aut genu.

Alph. Thanks, good Signor Sarpego.

How like you, lords, this stirring action?

Stroz. In a cold morning it were good, my lord,

But something harsh upon repletiön.

Sarp. Sir, I have ventured, being enjoined, to eat

Three scholars' commons, and yet drew it neat.

Pog. Come, sir, you meddle in too many matters; let us,

I pray, tend on our own show at my lord Lasso's.

Sarp. Doing obeisance then to every lord,

I now consort you, sir, even toto corde.

[Exit Sarpego and Poggio.]

Med. My lord, away with these scholastic wits,

Lay the invention of your speech on me,

And the performance too; I'll play my part

That you shall say, Nature yields more than Art.

Alph. Be't so resolved; unartificial truth

And unfeigned passion can decipher best.

Vinc. But 'twill be hard, my lord, for one unlearn'd.

Med. Unlearn'd? I cry you mercy, sir; unlearn'd?

Vinc. I mean untaught, my lord, to make a speech

As a pretended actor, without clothes

More gracious than your doublet and your hose.

Alph. What, think you, son, we mean t' express a speech

Of special weight without a like attire?

[Alphonso puts rich robes on Medice.]

Vinc. Excuse me then, my lord; so stands it well.

Stroz. Has brought them rarely in to pageant him.

Med. What, think you, lord, we think not of attire?

Can we not make us ready at this age?

Stroz. Alas, my lord, your wit must pardon his.

Vinc. I hope it will; his wit is pitiful.

Stroz. [To Medice]

I pray stand by, my lord; y' are troublesome.

Med. To none but you; − am I to you, my lord?

Vinc. Not unto me.

Med. Why, then, you wrong me, Strozza.

Vinc. Nay, fall not out, my lords.

Stroz. May I not know

What your speech is, my Liege?

Alph. None but myself, and the Lord Medice.

Med. No, pray, my lord,

Let none partake with us.

Alph. No, be assured.

But for another cause:

[Aside to Strozza] a word, Lord Strozza;

I tell you true I fear Lord Medice

Will scarce discharge the speech effectually;

As we go, therefore, I'll explain to you

My whole intent, that you may second him

If need and his debility require.

Stroz. Thanks for this grace, my Liege.

[Vincentio overhears.]

Med. My lord, your son!

Alph. Why, how now, son? Forbear. − Yet 'tis no matter,

We talk of other business, Medice;

And come, we will prepare us to our show.

[Exeunt Alphonso, Medice, and attendants.]

Stroz. and Vinc. Which, as we can, we'll cast to overthrow.

[Exeunt.]

ACT I, SCENE II.

A Room in the House of Lasso.

Enter Lasso, Bassiolo, Sarpego, two Pages;

Bassiolo bare before.

Bass. Stand by there, make place!

Lasso. Say, now, Bassiolo, you on whom relies

The general disposition of my house

In this our preparation for the Duke,

Are all our officers at large instructed

For fit discharge of their peculiar places?

Bass. At large, my lord, instructed.

Lasso. Are all our chambers hung? Think you our house

Amply capacious to lodge all the train?

Bass. Amply capacious, I am passing glad.

And now, then, to our mirth and musical show,

Which, after supper, we intend t' endure,

Welcome's chief dainties; for choice cates at home

Ever attend on princes, mirth abroad.

Are all parts perfect?

Sarp. One I know there is.

Lasso. And that is yours.

Sarp. Well guessed, in earnest, lord!

I need not erubescere to take

So much upon me; that my back will bear.

Bass. Nay, he will be perfectiön itself

For wording well and dextrous action, too.

Lasso. And will these waggish pages hit their songs?

Both Pages. Re, mi, fa, sol, la.

Lasso. Oh they are practising; good boys, well done!

But where is Poggio? There y' are overshot,

To lay a capital part upon his brain,

Whose absence tells me plainly he'll neglect him.

Bass. Oh no, my lord, he dreams of nothing else,

And gives it out in wagers he'll excel;

And see (I told your lordship) he is come.

Enter Poggio.

Pog. How now, my lord, have you borrowed a suit for

me? Signor Bassiolo, can all say, are all things ready?

The Duke is hard by, and little thinks that I'll be an

actor, i'faith; I keep all close, my lord.

Lasso. Oh, 'tis well done, call all the ladies in; −

Sister and daughter, come, for God's sake, come,

Prepare your courtliest carriage for the Duke.

Enter Cortezza, Margaret, and Maids.

Cort. And, niece, in any case remember this:

Praise the old man, and when you see him first,

Look me on none but him, smiling and lovingly;

And then, when he comes near, make beisance low,

With both your hands thus moving, which not only

Is, as 'twere, courtly, and most comely too,

But speaks (as who should say “Come hither, Duke.”)

And yet says nothing, but you may deny.

Lasso. Well taught, sister!

Marg. Ay, and to much end;

I am exceeding fond to humour him.

Enter Enchanter, with spirits singing;

after them Medice like Sylvanus, next the Duke

bound, Vincentio, Strozza, with others.

Lasso. Hark! Does he come with music? What, and bound?

An amorous device; daughter, observe!

Vinc. [Aside to Strozza]

Now let's gull Medice; I do not doubt

But this attire put on, will put him out.

Stroz. [Aside to Vincentio]

We'll do our best to that end, therefore mark.

Enchanter. Lady or Princess, both your choice commands,

These spirits and I, all servants of your beauty,

Present this royal captive to your mercy.

Marg. Captive to me, a subject?

Vinc. Ay, fair nymph!

And how the worthy mystery befell,

Sylvanus here, this wooden god, can tell.

Alph. Now, my lord!

Vinc. Now is the time, man, speak!

Med. Peace!

Alph. Peace, Vincentio!

Vinc. 'Swounds, my lord,

Shall I stand by and suffer him to shame you? −

My lord Medice!

Stroz. Will you not speak, my lord?

Med. How can I?

Vinc. But you must speak, in earnest. −

Would not your Highness have him speak, my lord?

Med. Yes, and I will speak, and perhaps speak so

As you shall never mend: I can, I know.

Vinc. Do then, my good lord.

Alph. Medice, forth!

Med. Goddess, fair goddess, for no less − no less –

[Medice hesitates.]

Alph. No less, no less? No more, no more!

[To Strozza] Speak you.

Med. 'Swounds, they have put me out!

Vinc. Laugh you, fair goddess?

This nobleman disdains to be your fool.

Alph. Vincentio, peace!

Vinc. 'Swounds, my lord, it is as good a show! −

Pray speak, Lord Strozza.

Stroz. Honourable dame –

Vinc. Take heed you be not out, I pray, my lord.

Stroz. I pray forbear, my lord Vincentio. −

How this distressèd Prince came thus enthralled,

I must relate with words of height and wonder:

His Grace this morning, visiting the woods,

And straying far to find game for the chase,

At last out of a myrtle grove he roused

A vast and dreadful boar, so stern and fierce.

As if the fiend, fell Cruèlty herself,

Had come to fright the woods in that strange shape.

Alph. Excellent good!

Vinc. Too good, a plague on him!

Stroz. The princely savage being thus on foot,

Tearing the earth up with his thundering hoof,

And with th' enragèd Ætna of his breath

Firing the air, and scorching all the woods,

Horror held all us huntsmen from pursuit;

Only the Duke, incensed with our cold fear,

Encouraged like a second Hercules –

Vinc. Zounds, too good, man!

Stroz. Pray thee let me alone!

And like the English sign of great Saint George –

Vinc. Plague of that simile!

Stroz. Gave valorous example, and, like fire,

Hunted the monster close, and charged so fierce

That he enforced him (as our sense conceived)

To leap for soil into a crystal spring;

Where on the sudden strangely vanishing,

Nymph-like, for him, out of the waves arose

Your sacred figure, like Diana armed,

And (as in purpose of the beast's revenge)

Discharged an arrow through his Highness' breast,

Whence yet no wound or any blood appeared;

With which the angry shadow left the light;

And this enchanter, with his power of spirits,

Brake from a cave, scattering enchanted sounds,

That strook us senseless, while in these strange bands

These cruèl spirits thus enchained his arms,

And led him captive to your heavenly eyes,

Th' intent whereof on their report relies.

Enchanter. Bright nymph, that boar figured your cruèlty,

Chargèd by love, defended by your beauty.

This amorous huntsman here we thus enthralled

As the attendants on your Grace's charms,

And brought him hither, by your bounteous hands

To be released, or live in endless bands.

Lasso. Daughter, release the Duke! − Alas, my Liege,

What meant your Highness to endure this wrong?

Cort. Enlarge him, niece; come, dame, it must be so.

Marg. What, madam, shall I arrogate so much?

Lasso. His Highness' pleasure is to grace you so.

Alph. Perform it then, sweet love, it is a deed

Worthy the office of your honoured hand.

Marg. Too worthy, I confess, my lord, for me,

If it were serious; but it is in sport,

And women are fit actors for such pageants.

[She unbinds Alphonso.]

Alph. Thanks, gracious love; why made you strange of this?

I rest no less your captive than before;

For me untying, you have tied me more. −

Thanks, Strozza, for your speech. −

[To Medice] No thanks to you!

Med. No, thank your son, my lord!

Lasso. 'Twas very well,

Exceeding well performed on every part;

How say you, Bassiolo?

Bass. Rare, I protest, my lord!

Cort. Oh, my lord Medice became it rarely;

Methought I liked his manly being out;

It becomes noblemen to do nothing well.

Lasso. Now then, will't please your Grace to grace our house,

And still vouchsafe our service further honour?

Alph. Lead us, my lord; we will your daughter lead.

[Exeunt all but Vincentio and Strozza.]

Vinc. You do not lead, but drag her leaden steps.

Stroz. How did you like my speech?

Vinc. Oh, fie upon't!

Your rhetoric was too fine.

Stroz. Nothing at all;

I hope Saint George's sign was gross enough:

But (to be serious) as these warnings pass,

Watch you your father, I'll watch Medice,

That in your love-suit we may shun suspect;

To which end, with your next occasion urge

Your love to name the person she will choose,

By whose means you may safely write or meet.

Vinc. That's our chief business; and see, here she comes.

Enter Margaret in haste.

Marg. My lord, I only come to say, y' are welcome,

And so must say farewell.

Vinc. One word, I pray.

Marg. What's that?

Vinc. You needs must presently devise

What person trusted chiefly with your guard

You think is aptest for me to corrupt

In making him a mean for our safe meeting.

Marg. My father's usher, none so fit.

If you can work him well; − and so farewell,

With thanks, my good lord Strozza, for your speech.

[Exit.]

Stroz. I thank you for your patience, mocking lady.

Vinc. Oh, what a fellow has she picked us out!

One that I would have choosed past all the rest

For his close stockings only.

Stroz. And why not

For the most constant fashion of his hat?

Vinc. Nay, then, if nothing must be left unspoke,

For his strict form thus still to wear his cloak.

Stroz. Well, sir, he is your own, I make no doubt;

For to these outward figures of his mind

He hath two inward swallowing properties

Of any gudgeons, servile avarice

And overweening thought of his own worth,

Ready to snatch at every shade of glory:

And, therefore, till you can directly board him,

Waft him aloof with hats and other favours

Still as you meet him.

Vinc. Well, let me alone:

He that is one man's slave is free from none.

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Lasso.

Enter Medice, Cortezza,

a Page with a cup of sack.

Med. Come, lady, sit you here. Page, fill some sack.

[Aside] I am to work upon this agèd dame,

To glean from her if there be any cause

(In loving others) of her niece's coyness

To the most gracious love-suit of the Duke. –

Here, noble lady, this is healthful drink

After our supper.

Cort. Oh, 'tis that, my lord,

That of all drinks keeps life and soul in me.

Med. Here, fill it, page, for this my worthy love.

Oh, how I could embrace this good old widow!

Cort. Now, lord, when you do thus you make me think

Of my sweet husband, for he was as like you;

E'en the same words and fashion, the same eyes,

Manly, and choleric, e'en as you are, just;

And e'en as kind as you for all the world.

Med. Oh, my sweet widow, thou dost make me proud!

Cort. Nay, I am too old for you.

Med. Too old! That's nothing;

Come, pledge me, wench, for I am dry again,

And straight will charge your widowhood fresh, i'faith:

[She drinks.]

Why, that's well done!

Cort. Now fie on't, here's a draught!

Med. Oh, it will warm your blood; if you should sip,

'Twould make you heartburned.

Cort. 'Faith, and so they say;

Yet I must tell you, since I plied this gear,

I have been haunted with a whoreson pain here,

And every moon, almost, with a shrewd fever,

And yet I cannot leave it; for, thank God!

I never was more sound of wind and limb.

[Enter Strozza behind.]

Look you, I warrant you I have a leg,

[Cortezza shows a great bumbasted leg.]

Holds out as handsomely –

Med. Beshrew my life,

But 'tis a leg indeed, a goodly limb!

Stroz. [Aside] This is most excellent!

Med. Oh, that your niece

Were of as mild a spirit as yourself!

Cort. Alas, Lord Medice, would you have a girl

As well seen in behaviöur as I?

Ah, she's a fond young thing, and grown so proud,

The wind must blow at west still or she'll be angry.

Med. Mass, so methinks; how coy she's to the Duke!

I lay my life she has some younger love.

Cort. 'Faith, like enough!

Med. Gods me, who should it be?

Cort. If it be any − Page, a little sack −

If it be any, hark now, if it be –

I know not, by this sack − but if it be,

Mark what I say, my lord − I drink t'ye first.

Med. Well said, good widow; much good do't thy heart!

So, now what if it be?

Cort. Well, if it be −

To come to that, I said, for so I said –

If it be any, 'tis the shrewd young Prince;

For eyes can speak, and eyes can understand,

And I have marked her eyes; yet by this cup,

Which I will only kiss –

[She drinks.]

Stroz. [Aside] Oh, noble crone!

Now such a huddle and kettle never was.

Cort. I never yet have seen − not yet, I say –

But I will mark her after for your sake.

Med. And do, I pray, for it is passing like;

And there is Strozza, a sly counsellór

To the young boy: Oh, I would give a limb

To have their knavery limned and painted out.

They stand upon their wits and paper-learning;

Give me a fellow with a natural wit

That can make wit of no wit; and wade through

Great things with nothing, when their wits stick fast.

Oh, they be scurvy lords!

Cort. Faith, so they be!

Your lordship still is of my mind in all,

And e'en so was my husband.

Med. [Spying Strozza.] Gods my life!

Strozza hath eavesdropped here, and overheard us.

Stroz. They have descried me.

[Advancing.] What, Lord Medice,

Courting the lusty widow?

Med. Ay, and why not?

Perhaps one does as much for you at home.

Stroz. What, choleric, man? And toward wedlock too?

Cort. And if he be, my lord, he may do worse.

Stroz. If he be not, madam, he may do better.

Enter Bassiolo with Servants,

with rushes and a carpet.

Bass. My lords, and madam, the Duke's Grace entreats you

T'attend his new-made Duchess for this night

Into his presence.

Stroz. We are ready, sir.

[Exeunt Cortezza, Medice, Strozza and Page.]

Bass. Come, strew this room afresh; spread here this carpet;

Nay, quickly, man, I pray thee; this way, fool;

Lay me it smooth, and even; look if he will!

This way a little more; a little there.

Hast thou no forecast? 'Sblood, methinks a man

Should not of mere necessity be an ass.

Look, how he strows here, too: come, Sir Giles Goosecap,

I must do all myself; lay me 'em thus,

In fine smooth threaves; look you, sir, thus, in threaves.

Perhaps some tender lady will squat here,

And if some standing rush should chance to prick her,

She'd squeak, and spoil the songs that must be sung.

Enter Vincentio and Strozza.

Stroz. See, where he is; now to him, and prepare

Your familiarity.

Vinc. Save you, master Bassiolo!

I pray a word, sir; but I fear I let you.

Bass. No, my good lord, no let.

Vinc. I thank you, sir.

Nay, pray be covered; oh, I cry you mercy,

You must be bare.

Bass. Ever to you, my lord.

Vinc. Nay, not to me, sir.

But to the fair right of your worshipful place.

[Vincentio uncovers.]

Stroz. [Aside] A shame of both your worships.

Bass. What means your lordship?

[Exit Strozza.]

Vinc. Only to do you right, sir, and myself ease.

And what, sir, will there be some show to-night?

Bass. A slender presentation of some music,

And something else, my lord.

Vinc. 'Tis passing good, sir;

I'll not be overbold t' ask the particulars.

Bass. Yes, if your lordship please.

Vinc. Oh, no, good sir;

But I did wonder much, for, as me thought,

I saw your hands at work.

Bass. Or else, my lord,

Our busïness would be but badly done.

Vinc. How virtuous is a worthy man's example!

Who is this throne for, pray?

Bass. For my lord's daughter.

Whom the Duke makes to represent his Duchess.

Vinc. 'Twill be exceeding fit; and all this room

Is passing well prepared; a man would swear

That all presentments in it would be rare.

Bass. Nay, see if thou canst lay 'em thus, in threaves.

Vinc. In threaves, d'ye call it?

Bass. Ay, my lord, in threaves.

Vinc. A pretty term!

Well, sir, I thank you highly for this kindness,

And pray you always make as bold with me

For kindness more than this, if more may be.

Bass. Oh, my lord, this is nothing.

Vinc. Sir, 'tis much!

And now I'll leave you, sir; I know y' are busy.

Bass. Faith, sir, a little!

Vinc. I commend me t' ye, sir.

[Exit Vincentio.]

Bass. A courteous prince, believe it; I am sorry

I was no bolder with him; what a phrase

He used at parting, “I commend me t' ye.”

I'll ha't, i'faith!

[Enter Sarpego, half dressed.]

Sarp. Good Master Usher, will you dictate to me

Which is the part precédent of this night-cap,

And which posterior? I do ignorare

How I should wear it.

Bass. Why, sir, this, I take it,

Is the precédent part; ay, so it is.

Sarp. And is all well, sir, think you?

Bass. Passing well.

Enter Poggio and Fungus.

Pog. Why, sir, come on; the usher shall be judge. −

See, Master Usher, this same Fungus here,

Your lord's retainer, whom I hope you rule,

Would wear this better jerkin for the Rush-man,

When I do play the Broom-man, and speak first.

Fung. Why, sir, I borrowed it, and I will wear it.

Pog. What, sir; in spite of your lord's gentleman usher?

Fung. No spite, sir, but you have changed twice already,

And now would ha't again.

Pog. Why, that's all one, sir,

Gentility must be fantastical.

Bass. I pray thee, Fungus, let Master Poggio wear it.

Fung. And what shall I wear then?

Pog. Why, here is one

That was a rush-man's jerkin, and I pray,

Were't not absurd then, a broom-man should wear it?

Fung. Foh, there's a reason! I will keep it, sir.

Pog. Will, sir? Then do your office, Master Usher,

Make him put off his jerkin; you may pluck

His coat over his ears, much more his jerkin.

Bass. Fungus, y' ad best be ruled.

Fung. Best, sir! I care not.

Pog. No, sir? I hope you are my lord's retainer.

I need not care a pudding for your lord:

But spare not, keep it, for perhaps I'll play

My part as well in this as you in that.

Bass. Well said. Master Poggio!

[To Fungus.] My lord shall know it.

Enter Cortezza, with the Broom-wench and

Rush-wench in their petticoats, cloaks over them,

with hats over their head-tires.

Cort. Look, Master Usher, are these wags well dressed?

I have been so in labour with 'em truly.

Bass. Y' ave had a very good deliverance, lady.

[Aside] How I did take her at her labour there;

I use to gird these ladies so sometimes.

Enter Lasso, with Sylvanus and a Nymph,

a man Bug, and a woman Bug.

1st Bug. I pray, my lord, must not I wear this hair?

Lasso. I pray thee, ask my usher; come, dispatch,

The Duke is ready; are you ready there?

2nd Bug. See, Master Usher, must he wear this hair?

1st Bug. Pray, Master Usher, where must I come in?

2nd Bug. Am not I well for a Bug, Master Usher?

Bass. What stir is with these boys here! God forgive me,

If 'twere not for the credit on't, I'd see

Your apish trash afire, ere I'd endure this.

1st Bug. But pray, good Master Usher –

Bass. Hence, ye brats!

You stand upon your tire; but for your action

Which you must use in singing of your songs

Exceeding dextrously and full of life,

I hope you'll then stand like a sort of blocks,

Without due motion of your hands and heads,

And wresting your whole bodies to your words;

Look to't, y' are best, and in; go, all go in!

Pog. Come in, my masters; let's be out anon.

[Exeunt all but Lasso and Bassiolo.]

Lasso. What, are all furnished well?

Bass. All well, my lord.

Lasso. More lights then here, and let loud music sound.

Bass. Sound music!

[Exeunt.]

Enter Vincentio, Strozza, bare, Margaret,

Cortezza and Cynanche bearing her train.

After her the Duke whispering with Medice,

Lasso with Bassiolo, etc.

Alph. Advance yourself, fair Duchess, to this throne,

As we have long since raised you to our heart;

Better decorum never was beheld,

Than twixt this state and you: and as all eyes

Now fixed on your bright graces think it fit,

So frame your favour to continue it.

Marg. My lord, but to obey your earnest will,

And not make serious scruple of a toy,

I scarce durst have presumed this minute's height.

Lasso. Usher, cause other music; begin your show.

Bass. Sound, consort! Warn the Pedant to be ready.

Cort. Madam, I think you'll see a pretty show.

Cyn. I can expect no less in such a presence.

Alph. Lo! what attention and state beauty breeds,

Whose moving silence no shrill herald needs.

Enter Sarpego.

Sarp. Lords of high degree,

And ladies of low courtesy,

I the Pedant here,

Whom some call schoolmaster,

Because I can speak best,

Approach before the rest.

Vinc. A very good reason.

Sarp. But there are others coming,

Without mask or mumming;

For they are not ashamed,

If need be, to be named;

Nor will they hide their faces,

In any place or places;

For though they seem to come,

Loaded with rush and broom,

The Broom-man, you must know,

Is Signor Poggio,

Nephew, as shall appear,

To my Lord Strozza here –

Stroz. Oh, Lord! I thank you, sir; you grace me much.

Sarp. And to this noble dame,

Whom I with finger name.

[Pointing to Cynanche.]

Vinc. A plague of that fool's finger!

Sarp. And women will ensue,

Which, I must tell you true,

No women are indeed,

But pages made, for need,

To fill up women's places,

By virtue of their faces,

And other hidden graces.

A hall, a hall! Whist, still, be mum!

For now with silver song they come.

Enter Poggio, Fungus, with the song,

Broom-maid and Rush-maid.

Sylvanus, a Nymph, and two Bugs.

After which Poggio.

Pog. Heroes and heroines of gallant strain,

Let not these brooms' motes in your eyes remain,

For in the moon there's one bears withered bushes;

But we (dear wights) do bear green brooms, green rushes,

Whereof these verdant herbals, clepèd broom,

Do pierce and enter every lady's room;

And to prove them high-born, and no base trash,

Water, with which your physnomies you wash,

Is but a broom. And, more truth to deliver,

Grim Hercules swept a stable with a river.

The wind, that sweeps foul clouds out of the air,

And for you ladies makes the welkin fair,

Is but a broom: and oh, Dan Titan bright,

Most clerkly called the scavenger of night,

What art thou, but a very broom of gold

For all this world not to be cried nor sold?

Philosophy, that passion sweeps from thought,

Is the soul's broom, and by all brave wits sought:

Now if philosophers but broom-men are,

Each broom-man then is a philosopher.

And so we come (gracing your gracious Graces)

To sweep Care's cobwebs from your cleanly faces.

Alph. Thanks, good Master Broom-man!

Fung. For me Rush-man, then,

To make rush ruffle in a verse of ten.

A rush, which now your heels do lie on here –

[Pointing to Vincentio.]

Vinc. Cry mercy, sir!

Fung. Was whilome usèd for a pungent spear,

In that odd battle never fought but twice

(As Homer sings) betwixt the frogs and mice.

Rushes make true-love knots; rushes make rings;

Your rush maugre the beard of Winter springs.

And when with gentle, amorous, lazy limbs,

Each lord with his fair lady sweetly swims

On these cool rushes, they may with these bables,

Cradles for children make, children for cradles.

And lest some Momus here might now cry “Push!”

Saying our pageant is not worth a rush,

Bundles of rushes, lo, we bring along,

To pick his teeth that bites them with his tongue.

Stroz. See, see, that's Lord Medice!

Vinc. Gods me, my lord!

Has he picked you out, picking of your teeth?

Med. What pick you out of that?

Stroz. Not such stale stuff

As you pick from your teeth.

Alph. Leave this war with rushes.

Good Master Pedant, pray forth with your show.

Sarp. Lo, thus far then (brave Duke) you see

Mere entertainment. Now our glee

Shall march forth in morality:

And this quaint Duchess here shall see

The fault of virgin nicety,

First wooed with rural courtesy.

Disburthen them, prance on this ground,

And make your Exit with your round.

[Poggio and Fungus dance with the

Broom-maid and Rush-maid, and exeunt.]

Well have they danced, as it is meet,

Both with their nimble heads and feet.

Now, as our country girls held off,

And rudely did their lovers scoff,

Our Nymph, likewise, shall only glance

By your fair eyes, and look askance

Upon her feral friend that woos her,

Who is in plain field forced to loose her.

And after them, to conclude all

The purlieu of our pastoral,

A female bug, and eke her friend,

Shall only come and sing, and end.

Bugs' Song:

Thus, Lady and Duchess, we conclude:

Fair virgins must not be too rude;

For though the rural wild and antic

Abused their loves as they were frantic,

Yet take you in your ivory clutches

This noble Duke, and be his Duchess.

Thus thanking all for their tacete,

I void the room, and cry valete.

[Exit Sarpego with Nymph, Sylvanus,

and the two Bugs.]

Alph. Generally well and pleasingly performed.

Marg. Now I resign this borrowed majesty,

Which sate unseemly on my worthless head,

With humble service to your Highness' hands.

Alph. Well you became it, lady, and I know

All here could wish it might be ever so.

Stroz. [Aside] Here's one says nay to that.

Vinc. [Aside to Strozza] Plague on you, peace!

Lasso. Now let it please your Highness to accept

A homely banquet to close these rude sports.

Alph. I thank your Lordship much.

Bass. Bring lights, make place!

Enter Poggio in his cloak and broom-man's attire.

Pog. How d'ye, my lord?

Alph. Oh, Master Broom-man, you did passing well.

Vinc. Ah, you mad slave, you! You are a tickling actor.

Pog. I was not out, like my Lord Medice. −

How did you like me, aunt?

Cyn. Oh, rarely, rarely!

Stroz. Oh, thou hast done a work of memory,

And raised our house up higher by a story.

Vinc. Friend, how conceit you my young mother here?

Cyn. Fitter for you, my lord, than for your father.

Vinc. No more of that, sweet friend; those are bugs' words.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Lasso.

Medice after the song whispers alone with his servant.

Med. Thou art my trusty servant, and thou know'st

I have been ever bountiful lord to thee,

As still I will be; be thou thankful then,

And do me now a service of import.

Serv. Any, my lord, in compass of my life.

Med. To-morrow, then, the Duke intends to hunt,

Where Strozza, my despiteful enemy,

Will give attendance busy in the chase;

Wherein (as if by chance, when others shoot

At the wild boar) do thou discharge at him,

And with an arrow cleave his cankered heart.

Serv. I will not fail, my lord.

Med. Be secret, then,

And thou to me shalt be the dear’st of men.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III, SCENE II.

Another Room in the House of Lasso.

Enter Vincentio and Bassiolo severally.

Vinc. [Aside] Now Vanity and Policy enrich me

With some ridiculous fortune on this usher. −

Where's Master Usher?

Bass. Now I come, my lord.

Vinc. Besides, good sir, your show did show so well.

Bass. Did it, indeed, my lord?

Vinc. Oh, sir, believe it!

'Twas the best-fashioned and well-ordered thing

That ever eye beheld; and, therewithal,

The fit attendance by the servants used,

The gentle guise in serving every guest

In other entertainments; everything

About your house so sortfully disposed,

That even as in a turn-spit called a jack

One vice assists another, the great wheels,

Turning but softly, make the less to whirr

About their business, every different part

Concurring to one cómmendable end, −

So, and in such conformance, with rare grace,

Were all things ordered in your good lord's house.

Bass. The most fit simile that ever was.

Vinc. But shall I tell you plainly my conceit,

Touching the man that I think caused this order?

Bass. Ay, good my lord!

Vinc. You note my simile?

Bass. Drawn from the turn-spit.

Vinc. I see you have me.

Even as in that quaint engine you have seen

A little man in shreds stand at the winder,

And seems to put all things in act about him,

Lifting and pulling with a mighty stir,

Yet adds no force to it, nor nothing does:

So (though your lord be a brave gentleman

And seems to do this business) he does nothing;

Some man about him was the festival robe

That made him show so glorious and divine.

Bass. I cannot tell, my lord, yet I should know

If any such there were.

Vinc. Should know, quoth you;

I warrant you know! Well, some there be

Shall have the fortune to have such rare men

(Like brave beasts to their arms) support their state,

When others of as high a worth and breed

Are made the wasteful food of them they feed.

What state hath your lord made you for your service?

Bass. He has been my good lord, for I can spend

Some fifteen hundred crowns in lands a year,

Which I have gotten since I served him first.

Vinc. No more than fifteen hundred crowns a year?

Bass. It is so much as makes me live, my lord,

Like a poor gentleman.

Vinc. Nay, 'tis pretty well;

But certainly my nature does esteem

Nothing enough for virtue; and had I

The Duke my father's means, all should be spent

To keep brave men about me; but, good sir,

Accept this simple jewèl at my hands,

Till I can work persuasion of my friendship

With worthier arguments.

Bass. No, good my lord!

I can by no means merit the free bounties

You have bestowed besides.

Vinc. Nay, be not strange,

But do yourself right, and be all one man

In all your actions; do not think but some

Have extraordinary spirits like yourself,

And will not stand in their society

On birth and riches, but on worth and virtue;

With whom there is no niceness, nor respect

Of others' common friendship; be he poor

Or basely born, so he be rich in soul

And noble in degrees of qualities,

He shall be my friend sooner than a king.

Bass. 'Tis a most kingly judgment in your lordship.

Vinc. Faith, sir, I know not, but 'tis my vain humour.

Bass. Oh, 'tis an honour in a nobleman.

Vinc. Y' ave some lords, now, so politic and proud,

They scorn to give good looks to worthy men.

Bass. Oh, fie upon 'em! By that light, my lord,

I am but servant to a nobleman,

But if I would not scorn such puppet lords,

Would I were breathless!

Vinc. You, sir? So you may;

For they will cog so when they wish to use men,

With, “Pray be covered, sir”, “I beseech you sit”,

“Who's there? Wait of Master Usher to the door”.

Oh, these be godly gudgeons: where's the deeds?

The perfect nobleman?

Bass. Oh, good my lord −

Vinc. Away, away, ere I would flatter so,

I would eat rushes like Lord Medice!

Bass. Well, well, my lord, would there were more such princes!

Vinc. Alas, 'twere pity, sir! They would be gulled

Out of their very skins.

Bass. Why, how are you, my lord?

Vinc. Who, I? I care not:

If I be gulled where I profess plain love,

Twill be their faults, you know.

Bass. Oh, 'twere their shames.

Vinc. Well, take my jewèl, you shall not be strange;

I love not many words.

Bass. My Lord, I thank you;

I am of few words too.

Vinc. 'Tis friendly said;

You prove yourself a friend, and I would have you

Advance your thoughts, and lay about for state

Worthy your virtues; be the miniön

Of some great king or duke; there's Medice

The minion of my father − Oh, the Father!

What difference is there? But I cannot flatter;

A word to wise men!

Bass. I perceive your lordship,

Vinc. Your lordship? Talk you now like a friend?

Is this plain kindness?

Bass. Is it not, my lord?

Vinc. A palpable flatt'ring figure for men common:

O my word, I should think, if 'twere another,

He meant to gull me.

Bass. Why, 'tis but your due.

Vinc. 'Tis but my due if you be still a stranger;

But as I wish to choose you for my friend,

As I intend, when God shall call my father,

To do I can tell what − but let that pass −

Thus 'tis not fit; let my friend be familiar,

Use not "my lordship", nor yet call me lord,

Nor my whole name, Vincentio, but Vince,

As they call Jack or Will; 'tis now in use

Twixt men of no equality or kindness.

Bass. I shall be quickly bold enough, my lord.

Vinc. Nay, see how still you use that coy term, “lord.”

What argues this but that you shun my friendship?

Bass. Nay, pray, say not so.

Vinc. Who should not say so?

Will you afford me now no name at all?

Bass. What should I call you?

Vinc. Nay, then 'tis no matter.

But I told you, “Vince”.

Bass. Why, then, my sweet Vince.

Vinc. Why, so, then; and yet still there is a fault

In using these kind words without kind deeds;

Pray thee embrace me too.

Bass. Why then, sweet Vince.

[He embraces Vincentio.]

Vinc. Why, now I thank you; 'sblood, shall friends be strange?

Where there is plainness, there is ever truth;

And I will still be plain since I am true.

Come, let us lie a little; I am weary.

Bass. And so am I, I swear, since yesterday.

[They lie down together.]

Vinc. You may, sir, by my faith; and, sirrah, hark thee,

What lordship wouldst thou wish to have, i'faith,

When my old father dies?

Bass. Who, I? Alas!

Vinc. Oh, not you! Well, sir, you shall have none;

You are as coy a piece as your lord's daughter.

Bass. Who, my mistress?

Vinc. Indeed! Is she your mistress?

Bass. I'faith, sweet Vince, since she was three year old.

Vinc. And are not we two friends?

Bass. Who doubts of that?

Vinc. And are not two friends one?

Bass. Even man and wife.

Vinc. Then what to you she is, to me she should be.

Bass. Why, Vince, thou wouldst not have her?

Vinc. Oh, not I!

I do not fancy anything like you.

Bass. Nay, but I pray thee tell me.

Vinc. You do not mean to marry her yourself?

Bass. Not I, by Heaven!

Vinc. Take heed now; do not gull me.

Bass. No, by that candle!

Vinc. Then will I be plain.

Think you she dotes not too much on my father?

Bass. Oh yes, no doubt on't!

Vinc. Nay, I pray you speak!

Bass. You seely man, you! She cannot abide him.

Vinc. Why, sweet friend, pardon me; alas, I knew not!

Bass. But I do note you are in some things simple,

And wrong yourself too much.

Vinc. Thank you, good friend.

For your plain dealing, I do mean, so well.

Bass. But who saw ever summer mixed with winter?

There must be equal years where firm love is.

Could we two love so well so suddenly,

Were we not something equaller in years

Than he and she are?

Vinc. I cry ye mercy, sir,

I know we could not; but yet be not too bitter,

Considering love is fearful. And, sweet friend,

I have a letter t' entreat her kindness,

Which, if you would convey −

Bass. Ay, if I would, sir!

Vinc. Why, faith, dear friend, I would not die requiteless.

Bass. Would you not so, sir?

By Heaven a little thing would make me box you!

"Which if you would convey?" Why not, I pray,

“Which, friend, thou shalt convey?”

Vinc. Which, friend, you shall then.

Bass. Well, friend, and I will then.

Vinc. And use some kind persuasive words for me?

Bass. The best, I swear, that my poor tongue can forge.

Vinc. Ay, well said, "poor tongue!" Oh, 'tis rich in meekness;

You are not known to speak well? You have won

Direction of the Earl and all his house,

The favour of his daughter, and all dames

That ever I saw come within your sight,

With a poor tongue? A plague o' your sweet lips!

Bass. Well, we will do our best; and faith, my Vince,

She shall have an unwieldy and dull soul

If she be nothing moved with my poor tongue −

Call it no better, be it what it will.

Vinc. Well said, i'faith! Now if I do not think

'Tis possible, besides her bare receipt

Of that my letter, with thy friendly tongue

To get an answer of it, never trust me.

Bass. An answer, man? 'Sblood, make no doubt of that!

Vinc. By Heaven, I think so; now a plague of Nature,

That she gives all to some, and none to others!

Bass. [rising, aside]

How I endear him to me! − Come, Vince, rise;

Next time I see her I will give her this;

Which when she sees, she'll think it wondrous strange

Love should go by descent and make the son

Follow the father in his amorous steps.

Vinc. She needs must think it strange, that ne'er yet saw

I durst speak to her, or had scarce her sight.

Bass. Well, Vince, I swear thou shalt both see and kiss her.

Vinc. Swears my dear friend? By what?

Bass. Even by our friendship.

Vinc. Oh, sacred oath! Which how long will you keep?

Bass. While there be bees in Hybla, or white swans

In bright Meander; while the banks of Po

Shall bear brave lilies; or Italian dames

Be called the bona-robas of the world.

Vinc. 'Tis elegantly said; and when I fail,

Let there be found in Hybla hives no bees;

Let no swans swim in bright Meander stream,

Nor lilies spring upon the banks of Po,

Nor let one fat Italian dame be found,

But lean and brawn-fall'n; ay, and scarcely sound.

Bass. It is enough, but let's embrace withal.

Vinc. With all my heart.

Bass. So, now farewell, sweet Vince!

[Exit.]

Vinc. Farewell, my worthy friend! − I think I have him.

Enter Bassiolo.

Bass. [Aside]

I had forgot the parting phrase he taught me. −

I commend me t'ye, sir.

[Exit instanter.]

Vinc. At your wished service, sir. −

Oh fine friend, he had forgot the phrase:

How serious apish souls are in vain form!

Well, he is mine and he, being trusted most

With my dear love, may often work our meeting,

And being thus engaged, dare not reveal.

Enter Poggio in haste, Strozza following.

Pog. Horse, horse, horse, my lord, horse! Your father

is going a hunting.

Vinc. My lord horse? You ass, you! D'ye call my lord

horse?

Stroz. Nay, he speaks huddles still; let's slit his tongue.

Pog. Nay, good uncle now, 'sblood, what captious

merchants you be! So the Duke took me up even now,

my lord uncle here, and my old Lord Lasso. By Heaven

y' are all too witty for me; I am the veriest fool on you

all, I'll be sworn!

Vinc. Therein thou art worth us all, for thou know'st

thyself.

Stroz. But your wisdom was in a pretty taking last

night; was it not, I pray?

Pog. Oh, for taking my drink a little? I'faith, my lord,

for that, you shall have the best sport presently, with

Madam Cortezza, that ever was; I have made her so

drunk that she does nothing but kiss my lord Medice.

See, she comes riding the Duke; she's passing well

mounted, believe it.

Enter Alphonso, Cortezza leaning on the Duke,

Cynanche, Margaret, Bassiolo first, two women

attendants, and Huntsmen, Lasso.

Alph. Good wench, forbear!

Cort. My lord, you must put forth yourself among

ladies. I warrant you have much in you, if you would

show it; see, a cheek o' twenty, the body of a George,

a good leg still, still a good calf, and not flabby, nor

hanging, I warrant you; a brawn of a thumb here,

and 'twere a pulled partridge. − Niece Meg, thou shalt

have the sweetest bedfellow on him that ever called

lady husband; try him, you shame-faced bable you,

try him.

Marg. Good madam, be ruled.

Cort. What a nice thing it is! My lord, you must

set forth this gear, and kiss her; i'faith, you must! Get

you together and be naughts awhile, get you together.

Alph. Now, what a merry, harmless dame it is!

Cort. My lord Medice, you are a right noble man, and

will do a woman right in a wrong matter, and need be;

pray, do you give the Duke ensample upon me; you

come a wooing to me now; I accept it.

Lasso. What mean you, sister?

Cort. Pray, my lord, away; − consider me as I am, a

woman.

Pog. [Aside] Lord, how I have whittled her!

Cort. You come a wooing to me now; − pray thee,

Duke, mark my lord Medice; and do you mark me,

virgin. Stand you aside, my lords all, and you, give

place. Now, my lord Medice, put case I be strange a

little, yet you like a man put me to it. Come, kiss me,

my lord; be not ashamed.

Med. Not I, madam! I come not a wooing to you.

Cort. 'Tis no matter, my lord, make as though you did,

and come kiss me; I won't be strange a whit.

Lasso. Fie, sister, y' are to blame! Pray will you go to

your chamber?

Cort. Why, hark you, brother.

Lasso. What's the matter?

Cort. D'ye think I am drunk?

Lasso. I think so, truly.

Cort. But are you sure I am drunk?

Lasso. Else I would not think so.

Cort. But I would be glad to be sure on't.

Lasso. I assure you then.

Cort. Why, then, say nothing, and I'll begone. −

God b'w'y', Lord Duke, I'll come again anon.

[Exit.]

Lasso. I hope your Grace will pardon her, my Liege,

For 'tis most strange; she's as discreet a dame

As any in these countries, and as sober,

But for this only humour of the cup.

Alph. 'Tis good, my lord, sometimes.

Come, to our hunting; now 'tis time, I think.

Omnes. The very best time of the day, my lord.

Alph. Then, my lord, I will take my leave till night,

Reserving thanks for all my entertainment

Till I return; − in meantime, lovely dame,

Remember the high state you last presented,

And think it was not a mere festival show,

But an essential type of that you are

In full consent of all my faculties, −

And hark you, good my lord.

[He whispers to Lasso.]

[Vincentio and Strozza have all this while

talked together a pretty way.]

Vinc. [Aside to Strozza and Cynanche]

See now, they whisper

Some private order (I dare lay my life)

For a forced marriage 'twixt my love and father;

I therefore must make sure; and, noble friends,

I'll leave you all when I have brought you forth

And seen you in the chase; meanwhile observe

In all the time this solemn hunting lasts

My father and his minion, Medice,

And note if you can gather any sign

That they have missed me, and suspect my being;

If which fall out, send home my page before.

Stroz. I will not fail, my lord.

[Medice whispers with 1st Huntsman all this while.]

Med. Now take thy time.

1^st Hunts. I warrant you, my lord, he shall not scape me.

Alph. Now, my dear mistress, till our sports intended

End with my absence, I will take my leave.

Lasso. Bassiolo, attend you on my daughter.

[Exeunt Alphonso, Lasso, Medice, Strozza,

Poggio, Huntsmen, and attendants.]

Bass. I will, my lord.

Vinc. [Aside] Now will the sport begin; I think my love

Will handle him as well as I have done.

[Exit.]

Cyn. Madam, I take my leave, and humbly thank you.

Marg. Welcome, good madam; − maids, wait on my lady.

[Exit Cynanche.]

Bass. So, mistress, this is fit.

Marg. Fit, sir; why so?

Bass. Why so? I have most fortunate news for you.

Marg. For me, sir? I beseech you, what are they?

Bass. Merit and fortune, for you both agree;

Merit what you have, and have what you merit.

Marg. Lord, with what rhetoric you prepare your news!

Bass. I need not; for the plain contents they bear,

Uttered in any words, deserve their welcome;

And yet I hope the words will serve the turn.

Marg. What, in a letter?

[He offers her the letter.]

Bass. Why not?

Marg. Whence is it?

Bass. From one that will not shame it with his name,

And that is Lord Vincentio.

Marg. King of Heaven!

Is the man mad?

Bass. Mad, madam, why?

Marg. Oh, Heaven! I muse a man of your importance

Will offer to bring me a letter thus.

Bass. Why, why, good mistress, are you hurt in that?

Your answer may be what you will yourself.

Marg. Ay, but you should not do it; God's my life!

You shall answer it.

Bass. Nay, you must answer it.

Marg. I answer it! Are you the man I trusted,

And will betray me to a stranger thus?

Bass. That's nothing, dame; all friends were strangers first.

Marg. Now, was there ever woman over-seen so

In a wise man's discretion?

Bass. Your brain is shallow; come, receive this letter.

Marg. How dare you say so, when you know so well

How much I am engagèd to the duke?

Bass. The duke? A proper match! A grave old gentleman,

Has beard at will, and would, in my conceit,

Make a most excellent pattern for a potter,

To have his picture stampèd on a jug,

To keep ale-knights in memory of sobriety.

Here, gentle madam, take it.

Marg. Take it, sir?

Am I a common taker of love-letters?

Bass. Common? Why, when received you one before?

Marg. Come 'tis no matter; I had thought your care

Of my bestowing would not tempt me thus

To one I know not; but it is because

You know I dote so much on your direction.

Bass. On my direction?

Marg. No, sir, not on yours!

Bass. Well, mistress, if you will take my advice

At any time, then take this letter now.

Marg. 'Tis strange; I wonder the coy gentleman,

That seeing me so oft would never speak,

Is on the sudden so far rapt to write.

Bass. It showed his judgment that he would not speak,

Knowing with what a strict and jealous eye

He should be noted; hold, if you love yourself.

Now will you take this letter? Pray be ruled.

[Gives her the letter.]

Marg. Come, you have such another plaguy tongue!

And yet, i'faith, I will not.

[Drops the letter.]

Bass. Lord of Heaven!

What, did it burn your hands? Hold, hold, I pray.

And let the words within it fire your heart.

[Gives her the letter again.]

Marg. I wonder how the devil he found you out

To be his spokesman. − Oh, the Duke would thank you

If he knew how you urged me for his son.

[Reads the letter.]

Bass. [Aside] The Duke! I have fretted her,

Even to the liver, and had much ado

To make her take it; but I knew 'twas sure,

For he that cannot turn and wind a woman

Like silk about his finger is no man.

I'll make her answer 't too.

Marg. Oh, here's good stuff!

Hold, pray take it for your pains to bring it.

[Returning the letter.]

Bass. Lady, you err in my reward a little,

Which must be a kind answer to this letter.

Marg. Nay then, i'faith, 'twere best you brought a priest,

And then your client, and then keep the door.

Gods me, I never knew so rude a man!

Bass. Well, you shall answer; I'll fetch pen and paper.

[Exit.]

Marg. Poor usher, how wert thou wrought to this brake?

Men work on one another for we women,

Nay, each man on himself; and all in one

Say, “No man is content that lies alone.”

Here comes our gullèd squire.

Bass. Here, mistress, write.

Marg. What should I write?

Bass. An answer to this letter.

Marg. Why, sir, I see no cause of answer in it;

But if you needs will show how much you rule me,

Sit down and answer it as you please yourself;

Here is your paper, lay it fair afore you.

Bass. Lady, content; I'll be your secretary.

[He sits down to write.]

Marg. [Aside] I fit him in this task; he thinks his pen

The shaft of Cupid in an amorous letter.

Bass. Is here no great worth of your answer, say you?

Believe it, 'tis exceedingly well writ.

Marg. So much the more unfit for me to answer,

And therefore let your style and it contend.

Bass. Well, you shall see I will not be far short,

Although, indeed, I cannot write so well

When one is by as when I am alone.

Marg. Oh, a good scribe must write though twenty talk,

And he talk to them too.

Bass. Well, you shall see.

[He writes.]

Marg. [Aside]

A proper piece of scribeship, there's no doubt;

Some words picked out of proclamatiöns,

Or great men's speeches, or well-selling pamphlets:

See how he rubs his temples; I believe

His muse lies in the back part of his brain,

Which, thick and gross, is hard to be brought forward. −

What, is it loath to come?

Bass. No, not a whit:

Pray hold your peace a little.

Marg. [Aside]

He sweats with bringing on his heavy style;

I'll ply him still till he sweat all his wit out. −

What man, not yet?

Bass. 'Swoons, you'll not extort it from a man!

How do you like the word endear?

Marg. O fie upon't!

Bass. Nay, then, I see your judgment. What say you

to condole?

Marg. Worse and worse!

Bass. Oh brave! I should make a sweet answer, if I

should use no words but of your admittance.

Marg. Well, sir, write what you please.

Bass. Is model a good word with you?

Marg. Put them together, I pray.

Bass. So I will, I warrant you! [He writes.]

Marg. [Aside] See, see, see, now it comes pouring

down.

Bass. I hope you'll take no exceptions to believe it.

Marg. Out upon't! That phrase is so run out of breath

in trifles, that we shall have no belief at all in earnest

shortly. “Believe it, 'tis a pretty feather.” “Believe it, a

dainty rush.” “Believe it, an excellent cockscomb.”

Bass. So, so, so; your exceptions sort very collaterally.

Marg. Collaterally! There's a fine word now; wrest

in that if you can by any means.

Bass. I thought she would like the very worst of them

all! − How think you? Do not I write, and hear, and

talk too now?

Marg. By my soul, if you can tell what you write now,

you write very readily.

Bass. That you shall see straight.

Marg. But do you not write that you speak now?

Bass. Oh yes; do you not see how I write it? I cannot

write when anybody is by me, I!

Marg. God's my life! Stay, man; you'll make it too

long.

Bass. Nay, if I cannot tell what belongs to the length

of a lady's device, i'faith!

Marg. But I will not have it so long.

Bass. If I cannot fit you!

Marg. Oh me, how it comes upon him! Prithee be

short.

Bass. Well, now I have done, and now I will read it:

Your lordship's motive accommodating my

thoughts with the very model of my heart's mature

consideration, it shall not be out of my element to

negotiate with you in this amorous duello; wherein

I will condole with you that our project cannot he so

collaterally made as our endeared hearts may very

well seem to insinuate.

Marg. No more, no more; fie upon this!

Bass. Fie upon this? He's accursed that has to do with

these unsound women of judgment: if this be not good,

i'faith!

Marg. But 'tis so good, 'twill not be thought to come

from a woman's brain.

Bass. That's another matter.

Marg. Come, I will write myself.

[She sits down to write.]

Bass. O' God's name lady! And yet I will not lose this

I warrant you; I know for what lady this will serve as

fit.

[Folding up his letter.]

Now we shall have a sweet piece of inditement.

Marg. How spell you foolish?

Bass. F-oo-l-i-sh.

[Aside] She will presume t' indite that cannot spell.

Marg. How spell you usher?

Bass. 'Sblood, you put not in those words together, do

you?

Marg. No, not together.

Bass. What is betwixt, I pray?

Marg. As the.

Bass. Ass the? Betwixt foolish and usher? God's

my life, foolish ass the usher!

Marg. Nay, then, you are so jealous of your wit! Now

read all I have written, I pray.

Bass. [Reads] “I am not so foolish as the usher

would make me” − Oh, so foolish as the usher would

make me? Wherein would I make you foolish?

Marg. Why, sir, in willing me to believe he loved me

so well, being so mere a stranger.

Bass. Oh, is't so? You may say so, indeed.

Marg. Cry mercy, sir, and I will write so too.

[She begins to write, but stops.]

And yet my hand is so vile. Pray thee sit thee down,

and write, as I bid thee.

Bass. With all my heart, lady! What shall I write now?

Marg. You shall write this, sir: I am not so foolish to

think you love me, being so mere a stranger −

Bass. [Writing] “So mere a stranger” −

Marg. And yet I know love works strangely −

Bass. “Love works strangely” −

Marg. And therefore take heed by whom you speak

for love −

Bass. “Speak for love” −

Marg. For he may speak for himself −

Bass. “May speak for himself” −

Marg. Not that I desire it −

Bass. “Desire it” −

Marg. But, if he do, you may speed, I confess.

Bass. “Speed, I confess.”

Marg. But let that pass, I do not love to discourage

anybody −

Bass. “Discourage anybody – “

Marg. Do you, or he, pick out what you can; and

so, farewell!

Bass. “And so, farewell.” Is this all?

Marg. Ay, and he may thank your siren's tongue that

it is so much.

Bass. [Looking over the letter] A proper letter, if you

mark it.

Marg. Well, sir, though it be not so proper as the

writer, yet 'tis as proper as the inditer. Every woman

cannot be a gentleman usher; they that cannot go

before must come behind.

Bass. Well, lady, this I will carry instantly: I commend

me t'ye, lady.

[Exit.]

Marg. Pitiful usher, what a pretty sleight

Goes to the working up of everything!

What sweet variety serves a woman's wit!

We make men sue to us for that we wish.

Poor men, hold out awhile, and do not sue.

And, spite of custom, we will sue to you.

[Exit.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Before the House of Strozza.

Enter Poggio, running in,

and knocking at Cynanche's door.

Pog. Oh, God, how weary I am! Aunt, Madam

Cynanche, aunt!

Enter Cynanche.

Cyn. How now?

Pog. O God, aunt! O God, aunt! O God!

Cyn. What bad news brings this man? Where is my lord?

Pog. Oh, aunt, my uncle! He's shot!

Cyn. Shot? Ay me!

How is he shot?

Pog. Why, with a forkèd shaft,

As he was hunting, full in his left side.

Cyn. Oh me accursed! Where is he? Bring me; where?

Pog. Coming with Doctor Benevemus;

I'll leave you, and go tell my Lord Vincentio.

[Exit.]

Enter Benevemus, with others,

bringing in Strozza with an arrow in his side.

Cyn. See the sad sight; I dare not yield to grief,

But force feigned patience to recomfort him. −

My lord, what chance is this? How fares your lordship?

Stroz. Wounded, and faint with anguish; let me rest.

Ben. A chair!

Cyn. Oh, Doctor, is't a deadly hurt?

Ben. I hope not, madam, though not free from danger.

Cyn. Why pluck you not the arrow from his side?

Ben. We cannot, lady; the forked head so fast

Sticks in the bottom of his solid rib.

Stroz. No mean then, Doctor, rests there to educe it?

Ben. This only, my good lord, to give your wound

A greater orifice, and in sunder break

The piercèd rib, which being so near the midriff,

And opening to the region of the heart,

Will be exceeding dangerous to your life.

Stroz. I will not see my bosom mangled so,

Nor sternly be anatomized alive;

I'll rather perish with it sticking still.

Cyn. Oh no! Sweet Doctor, think upon some help.

Ben. I told you all that can be thought in art,

Which since your lordship will not yield to use,

Our last hope rests in Nature's secret aid,

Whose power at length may happily expel it.

Stroz. Must we attend at Death's abhorrèd door

The torturing delays of slavish Nature?

My life is in mine own powers to dissolve:

And why not then the pains that plague my life?

Rise, Furies, and this fury of my bane

Assail and conquer: what men madness call

(That hath no eye to sense, but frees the soul,

Exempt of hope and fear, with instant fate)

Is manliest reason; − manliest reason, then,

Resolve and rid me of this brutish life,

Hasten the cowardly protracted cure

Of all diseases. King of physicians, Death,

I'll dig thee from this mine of misery.

Cyn. Oh, hold, my lord! This is no Christian part,

Nor yet scarce manly, when your mankind foe,

Imperious Death, shall make your groans his trumpets

To summon resignation of Life's fort,

To fly without resistance; you must force

A countermine of fortitude, more deep

Than this poor mine of pains, to blow him up,

And spite of him live victor, though subdued;

Patience in torment is a valour more

Than ever crowned th' Alcmenean conqueror.

Stroz. Rage is the vent of torment; let me rise.

Cyn. Men do but cry that rage in miseries,

And scarcely beaten children become cries;

Pains are like women's clamours, which the less

They find men's patience stirred, the more they cease.

Of this 'tis said afflictions bring to God,

Because they make us like him, drinking up

Joys that deform us with the lusts of sense,

And turn our general being into soul,

Whose actions, simply formèd and applied,

Draw all our body's frailties from respect.

Stroz. Away with this unmed'cinable balm

Of worded breath! Forbear, friends, let me rest;

I swear I will be bands unto myself.

Ben. That will become your lordship best indeed.

Stroz. I'll break away, and leap into the sea,

Or from some turret cast me headlong down

To shiver this frail carcase into dust.

Cyn. Oh, my dear lord, what unlike words are these

To the late fruits of your religious noblesse?

Stroz. Leave me, fond woman!

Cyn. I'll be hewn from hence

Before I leave you; − help, me, gentle Doctor.

Ben. Have patience, good my lord.

Stroz. Then lead me in;

Cut off the timber of this cursèd shaft,

And let the forked pile canker to my heart.

Cyn. Dear lord, resolve on humble sufferance.

Stroz. I will not hear thee, woman; be content.

Cyn. Oh, never shall my counsels cease to knock

At thy impatient ears, till they fly in

And salve with Christian patience pagan sin.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV, SCENE II.

A Room in the House of Lasso.

Enter Vincentio with a letter in his hand, Bassiolo.

Bass. This is her letter, sir; − you now shall see

How seely a thing 'tis in respect of mine,

And what a simple woman she has proved

To refuse mine for hers; I pray look here.

Vinc. Soft, sir, I know not, I being her sworn servant,

If I may put up these disgraceful words,

Given of my mistress, without touch of honour.

Bass. Disgraceful words! I protest I speak not

To disgrace her, but to grace myself.

Vinc. Nay then, sir, if it be to grace yourself,

I am content; but otherwise, you know,

I was to take exceptions to a king.

Bass. Nay, y' are i' th' right for that; but read, I pray;

If there be not more choice words in that letter

Than in any three of Guevara's Golden Epistles,

I am a very ass. How think you, Vince?

Vinc. By Heaven, no less, sir; it is the best thing −

[He rends it.]

Gods, what a beast am I!

Bass. It is no matter,

I can set it together again.

Vinc. Pardon me, sir, I protest I was ravished;

But was it possible she should prefer

Hers before this?

Bass. Oh, sir, she cried “Fie upon this!”'

Vinc. Well, I must say nothing; love is blind, you know,

and can find no fault in his beloved.

Bass. Nay, that's most certain.

Vinc. Gi'e 't me; I'll have this letter.

Bass. No, good Vince; 'tis not worth it.

Vinc. I'll ha't, i'faith. [Taking Bassiolo's letter.]

Here's enough in it to serve for my letters as long as

I live; I'll keep it to breed on as 'twere.

But I much wonder you could make her write.

Bass. Indeed there were some words belonged to that.

Vinc. How strong an influence works in well-placed words!

And yet there must be a preparèd love

To give those words so mighty a command.

Or 'twere impossible they should move so much:

And will you tell me true?

Bass. In anything.

Vinc. Does not this lady love you?

Bass. Love me? Why, yes; I think she does not hate me.

Vinc. Nay, but, i'faith, does she not love you dearly?

Bass. No, I protest!

Vinc. Nor have you never kissed her?

Bass. Kissed her? That's nothing.

Vinc. But you know my meaning;

Have you not been, as one would say, afore me?

Bass. Not I, I swear!

Vinc. Oh, y' are too true to tell.

Bass. Nay, by my troth, she has, I must confess,

Used me with good respect, and nobly still;

But for such matters −

Vinc. [Aside] Very little more

Would make him take her maidenhead upon him. −

Well, friend, I rest yet in a little doubt,

This was not hers.

Bass. 'Twas, by that light that shines!

And I'll go fetch her to you to confirm it.

Vinc. O passing friend!

Bass. But when she comes, in any case be bold,

And come upon her with some pleasing thing,

To show y' are pleased, however she behaves her:

As, for example, if she turn her back,

Use you that action you would do before,

And court her thus:

“Lady, your back part is as fair to me

As is your fore-part.”

Vinc. 'Twill be most pleasing.

Bass. Ay, for if you love

One part above another, 'tis a sign

You like not all alike; and the worst part

About your mistress you must think as fair,

As sweet and dainty, as the very best,

So much for so much, and considering, too,

Each several limb and member in his kind.

Vinc. As a man should.

Bass. True! Will you think of this?

Vinc. I hope I shall.

Bass. But if she chance to laugh,

You must not lose your countenance, but devise

Some speech to show you pleased, even being laughed at.

Vinc. Ay, but what speech?

Bass. God's precious, man, do something of yourself!

But I'll devise a speech.

[He studies.]

Vinc. [Aside] Inspire him, Folly.

Bass. Or 'tis no matter; be but bold enough,

And laugh when she laughs, and it is enough;

I'll fetch her to you.

[Exit.]

Vinc. Now was there ever such a demi-lance,

To bear a man so clear through thick and thin?

Enter Bassiolo.

Bass. Or hark you, sir, if she should steal a laughter

Under her fan, thus you may say: “Sweet lady,

If you will laugh and lie down, I am pleased.”

Vinc. And so I were, by Heaven! How know you that?

Bass. 'Slid, man, I'll hit your very thoughts in these things!

Vinc. Fetch her, sweet friend; I'll hit your words, I warrant!

Bass. Be bold then, Vince, and press her to it hard;

A shame-faced man is of all women barred.

[Exit.]

Vinc. How eas'ly worthless men take worth upon them,

And being over-credulous of their own worths,

Do underprize as much the worth of others.

The fool is rich, and absurd riches thinks

All merit is rung out where his purse chinks.

Enter Bassiolo and Margaret.

Bass. My lord, with much entreaty here's my lady. −

Nay, madam, look not back; − why, Vince, I say!

Marg. [Aside] Vince? Oh monstrous jest!

Bass. To her, for shame!

Vinc. Lady, your back part is as sweet to me

As all your fore-part.

Bass. [Aside] He missed a little: he said her back part

was sweet, when he should have said fair; but see, she

laughs most fitly to bring in the tother. −

Vince, to her again; she laughs.

Vinc. Laugh you, fair dame?

If you will laugh and lie down, I am pleased.

Marg. What villanous stuff is here?

Bass. Sweet mistress, of mere grace embolden now

The kind young prince here; it is only love

Upon my protestation that thus daunts

His most heroic spirit: so awhile

I'll leave you close together; Vince, I say −

[Exit.]

Marg. Oh horrible hearing! Does he call you Vince?

Vinc. Oh, ay, what else? And I made him embrace me,

Knitting a most familiar league of friendship.

Marg. But wherefore did you court me so absurdly?

Vinc. God's me, he taught me! I spake out of him.

Marg. Oh fie upon't! Could you for pity make him

Such a poor creature? 'Twas abuse enough

To make him take on him such saucy friendship;

And yet his place is great, for he's not only

My father's usher, but the world's beside,

Because he goes before it all in folly.

Vinc. Well, in these homely wiles must our loves mask,

Since power denies him his apparent right.

Marg. But is there no mean to dissolve that power,

And to prevent all further wrong to us

Which it may work by forcing marriage rites

Betwixt me and the Duke?

Vinc. No mean but one,

And that is closely to be married first,

Which I perceive not how we can perform;

For at my father's coming back from hunting,

I fear your father and himself resolve

To bar my interest with his present nuptials.

Marg. That shall they never do; may not we now

Our contract make, and marry before Heaven?

Are not the laws of God and Nature more

Than formal laws of men? Are outward rites

More virtuous than the very substance is

Of holy nuptials solemnized within?

Or shall laws made to curb the common world,

That would not be contained in form without them,

Hurt them that are a law unto themselves?

My princely love, 'tis not a priest shall let us;

But since th' eternal acts of our pure souls

Knit us with God, the soul of all the world,

He shall be priest to us; and with such rites

As we can here devise we will express

And strongly ratify our hearts' true vows,

Which no external violence shall dissolve.

Vinc. This is our only mean t' enjoy each other:

And, my dear life, I will devise a form

To execute the substance of our minds

In honoured nuptials. First, then, hide your face

With this your spotless white and virgin veil;

Now this my scarf I'll knit about your arm,

As you shall knit this other end on mine;

And as I knit it, here I vow by Heaven,

By the most sweet imaginary joys

Of untried nuptials, by Love's ushering fire

Fore-melting beauty, and Love's flame itself,

As this is soft and pliant to your arm

In a circumferent flexure, so will I

Be tender of your welfare and your will

As of mine own, as of my life and soul,

In all things, and for ever; only you

Shall have this care in fulness, only you

Of all dames shall be mine, and only you

I'll court, commend and joy in, till I die.

Marg. With like conceit on your arm this I tie,

And here in sight of Heaven, by it I swear

By my love to you, which commands my life,

By the dear price of such a constant husband

As you have vowed to be, and by the joy

I shall embrace by all means to requite you,

I'll be as apt to govern as this silk,

As private as my face is to this veil,

And as far from offence as this from blackness.

I will be courted of no man but you;

In and for you shall be my joys and woes:

If you be sick, I will be sick, though well;

If you be well, I will be well, though sick:

Yourself alone my complete world shall be

Even from this hour to all eternity.

Vinc. It is enough, and binds as much as marriage.

Enter Bassiolo.

Bass. I'll see in what plight my poor lover stands, −

God's me, a beckons me to have me gone!

It seems he's entered into some good vein;

I'll hence; Love cureth when he vents his pain.

[Exit.]

Vinc. Now, my sweet life, we both remember well

What we have vowed shall all be kept entire

Maugre our fathers' wraths, danger, and death;

And to confirm this shall we spend our breath?

Be well advised, for yet your choice shall be

In all things as before, as large and free.

Marg. What I have vowed I'll keep, even past my death.

Vinc. And I: and now in token I dissolve

Your virgin state, I take this snowy veil

From your much fairer face, and claim the dues

Of sacred nuptials; and now, fairest Heaven,

As thou art infinitely raised from earth,

Different and opposite, so bless this match,

As far removed from custom's popular sects,

And as unstained with her abhorred respects.

Enter Bassiolo.

Bass. Mistress, away! Poggio runs up and down,

Calling for Lord Vincentio; come away.

For hitherward he bends his clamorous haste.

Marg. Remember, love!

[Exit Margaret and Bassiolo.]

Vinc. Or else forget me Heaven!

Why am I sought for by this Poggio?

The ass is great with child of some ill news,

His mouth is never filled with other sound.

Enter Poggio.

Pog. Where is my lord Vincentio? Where is my lord?

Vinc. Here he is, ass; what an exclaiming keep'st thou!

Pog. 'Slud, my lord, I have followed you up and

down like a Tantalus pig till I have worn out my hose

here-abouts, I'll be sworn, and yet you call me ass still,

but I can tell you passing ill news, my lord.

Vinc. I know that well, sir; thou never bring'st other;

What's your news now, I pray?

Pog. Oh, Lord, my lord uncle is shot in the side with an

arrow.

Vinc. Plagues take thy tongue! Is he in any danger?

Pog. Oh, danger, ay; he has lien speechless this two

hours, and talks so idly.

Vinc. Accursèd news! Where is he? Bring me to him.

Pog. Yes, do you lead, and I'll guide you to him.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV, SCENE III.

A Room in the House of Strozza.

Enter Strozza brought in a chair,

Cynanche, with others.

Cyn. How fares it now with my dear lord and husband?

Stroz. Come near me, wife; I fare the better far

For the sweet food of thy divine advice.

Let no man value at a little price

A virtuous woman's counsel; her winged spirit

Is feathered oftentimes with heavenly words,

And (like her beauty) ravishing, and pure;

The weaker body, still the stronger soul:

When good endeavours do her powers apply,

Her love draws nearest man's felicity.

Oh, what a treasure is a virtuous wife,

Discreet and loving! Not one gift on earth

Makes a man's life so highly bound to Heaven;

She gives him double forces, to endure

And to enjoy, by being one with him,

Feeling his joys and griefs with equal sense;

And like the twins Hippocrates reports,

If he fetch sighs, she draws her breath as short;

If he lament, she melts herself in tears;

If he be glad, she triumphs; if he stir,

She moves his way; in all things his sweet ape:

And is in alterations passing strange,

Himself divinely varied without change.

Gold is right precious, but his price infects

With pride and avarice; authority lifts

Hats from men's heads, and bows the strongest knees,

Yet cannot bend in rule the weakest hearts;

Music delights but one sense, nor choice meats;

One quickly fades, the other stirs to sin;

But a true wife both sense and soul delights,

And mixeth not her good with any ill;

Her virtues (ruling hearts) all powers command;

All store without her leaves a man but poor,

And with her poverty is exceeding store;

No time is tedious with her; her true worth

Makes a true husband think his arms enfold,

With her alone, a complete world of gold.

Cyn. I wish, dear love, I could deserve as much

As your most kind conceit hath well expressed;

But when my best is done, I see you wounded,

And neither can recure nor ease your pains.

Stroz. Cynanche, thy advice hath made me well;

My free submission to the hand of Heaven

Makes it redeem me from the rage of pain.

For though I know the malice of my wound

Shoots still the same distemper through my veins,

Yet the judicial patience I embrace

(In which my mind spreads her impassive powers

Through all my suff'ring parts) expels their frailty;

And rendering up their whole life to my soul,

Leaves me nought else but soul; and so like her,

Free from the passions of my fuming blood.

Cyn. Would God you were so; and that too much pain

Were not the reason you felt sense of none.

Stroz. Think'st thou me mad, Cynanche, for mad men,

By pains ungoverned, have no sense of pain?

But I, I tell you, am quite contrary,

Eased with well governing my submitted pain;

Be cheered then, wife, and look not for, in me,

The manners of a common wounded man.

Humility hath raised me to the stars;

In which (as in a sort of crystal globes)

I sit and see things hid from human sight.

Ay, even the very accidents to come

Are present with my knowledge; the seventh day

The arrow-head will fall out of my side.

The seventh day, wife, the forked head will out.

Cyn. Would God it would, my lord, and leave you well!

Stroz. Yes, the seventh day, I am assured it will;

And I shall live, I know it; I thank Heaven,

I know it well; and I'll teach my physician

To build his cures hereafter upon Heaven

More than on earthly med'cines; for I know

Many things shown me from the opened skies

That pass all arts. Now my physiciän

Is coming to me; he makes friendly haste;

And I will well requite his care of me.

Cyn. How know you he is coming?

Stroz. Passing well;

And that my dear friend, Lord Vincentio,

Will presently come see me too; I'll stay

My good physician till my true friend come.

Cyn. [Aside] Ay me, his talk is idle; and, I fear,

Foretells his reasonable soul now leaves him.

Stroz. Bring my physician in; he's at the door.

Cyn. Alas, there's no physician!

Stroz. But I know it;

See, he is come.

Enter Benevemus.

Ben. How fares my worthy lord?

Stroz. Good Doctor, I endure no pain at all,

And the seventh day the arrow's head will out.

Ben. Why should it fall out the seventh day, my lord?

Stroz. I know it; the seventh day it will not fail.

Ben. I wish it may, my lord.

Stroz. Yes, 'twill be so.

You come with purpose to take present leave,

But you shall stay awhile; my lord Vincentio

Would see you fain, and now is coming hither.

Ben. How knows your lordship? Have you sent for him?

Stroz. No, but 'tis very true; he's now hard by,

And will not hinder your affairs a whit.

Ben. [Aside] How want of rest distempers his light brain! −

Brings my lord any train?

Stroz. None but himself.

My nephew Poggio now hath left his Grace.

Good Doctor, go, and bring him by his hand,

(Which he will give you) to my longing eyes.

Ben. 'Tis strange, if this be true.

[Exit.]

Cyn. The Prince, I think,

Yet knows not of your hurt.

Enter Vincentio holding the Doctor's hand.

Stroz. Yes, wife, too well.

See, he is come; − welcome, my princely friend!

I have been shot, my lord; but the seventh day

The arrow's head will fall out of my side,

And I shall live.

Vinc. I do not fear your life; −

But, Doctor, is it your opinion

That the seventh day the arrow-head will out?

Stroz. No, 'tis not his opinion, 'tis my knowledge;

For I do know it well; and I do wish,

Even for your only sake, my noble lord,

This were the seventh day, and I now were well,

That I might be some strength to your hard state,

For you have many perils to endure:

Great is your danger, great; your unjust ill

Is passing foul and mortal; would to God

My wound were something well, I might be with you!

[Cynanche and Benevenius whisper.]

Nay, do not whisper; I know what I say

Too well for you, my lord; I wonder Heaven

Will let such violence threat an innocent life.

Vinc. Whate'er it be, dear friend, so you be well,

I will endure it all; your wounded state

Is all the danger I fear towards me.

Stroz. Nay, mine is nothing; for the seventh day

This arrow-head will out, and I shall live;

And so shall you, I think; but very hardly;

It will be hardly you will scape indeed.

Vinc. Be as will be, pray Heaven your prophecy

Be happily accomplished in yourself,

And nothing then can come amiss to me.

Stroz. What says my doctor? Thinks he I say true?

Ben. If your good lordship could but rest awhile,

I would hope well.

Stroz. Yes, I shall rest, I know,

If that will help your judgment.

Ben. Yes, it will;

And, good my lord, let's help you in to try.

Stroz. You please me much; I shall sleep instantly.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV, SCENE IV.

A Room in the House of Lasso.

Enter Alphonso and Medice.

Alph. Why should the humorous boy forsake the chase,

As if he took advantage of my absence

To some act that my presence would offend?

Med. I warrant you, my lord, 'tis to that end;

And I believe he wrongs you in your love.

Children, presuming on their parents' kindness,

Care not what unkind actions they commit

Against their quiet: and were I as you,

I would affright my son from these bold parts,

And father him as I found his deserts.

Alph. I swear I will: and can I prove he aims

At any interruption in my love,

I'll interrupt his life.

Med. We soon shall see.

For I have made Madame Cortezza search

With pick-locks all the ladies' cabinets

About Earl Lasso's house; and if there be

Traffic of love twixt any one of them

And your suspected son 'twill soon appear

In some sign of their amorous merchandize;

See where she comes, loaded with gems and papers.

Enter Cortezza.

Cort. See here, my lord, I have robbed all their caskets.

Know you this ring, this carcanet, this chain?

Will any of these letters serve your turn?

Alph. I know not these things; but come, let me read

Some of these letters.

Med. Madam, in this deed

You deserve highly of my lord the Duke.

Cort. Nay, my lord Medice, I think I told you

I could do pretty well in these affairs.

Oh, these young girls engross up all the love

From us, poor beldams; but, I hold my hand,

I'll ferret all the cony-holes of their kindness

Ere I have done with them.

Alph. Passion of death!

See, see. Lord Medice, my trait'rous son

Hath long joyed in the favours of my love;

Woe to the womb that bore him, and my care

To bring him up to this accursèd hour,

In which all cares possess my wretched life!

Med. What father would believe he had a son

So full of treachery to his innocent state?

And yet, my lord, this letter shows no meeting,

But a desire to meet.

Cort. Yes, yes, my lord,

I do suspect they meet; and I believe

I know well where too; I believe I do;

And therefore tell me, does no creature know

That you have left the chase thus suddenly,

And are come hither? Have you not been seen

By any of these lovers?

Alph. Not by any.

Cort. Come then, come follow me; I am persuaded

I shall go near to show you their kind hands.

Their confidence that you are still a-hunting

Will make your amorous son, that stole from thence,

Bold in his love-sports; come, come, a fresh chase!

I hold this pick-lock, you shall hunt at view.

What, do they think to scape? An old wife's eye

Is a blue crystal full of sorcery.

Alph. If this be true the trait'rous boy shall die.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV, SCENE V.

Another Rooom in the House of Lasso

Enter Lasso, Margaret, Bassiolo going before.

Lasso. Tell me, I pray you, what strange hopes they are

That feed your coy conceits against the Duke,

And are preferred before th' assurèd greatness

His Highness graciously would make your fortunes?

Marg. I have small hopes, my lord, but a desire

To make my nuptial choice of one I love;

And as I would be loath t' impair my state,

So I affect not honours that exceed it.

Lasso. Oh, you are very temp'rate in your choice,

Pleading a judgment past your sex and years.

But I believe some fancy will be found

The forge of these gay glosses: if it be,

I shall decipher what close traitor 'tis

That is your agent in your secret plots −

Bass. [Aside] 'Swoons!

Lasso. And him for whom you plot; and on you all

I will revenge thy disobedience

With such severe correction as shall fright

All such deluders from the like attempts:

But chiefly he shall smart that is your factor.

Bass. [Aside] Oh me accursed!

Lasso. Meantime I'll cut

Your poor craft short, i'faith!

Marg. Poor craft, indeed,

That I or any others use for me!

Lasso. Well, dame, if it be nothing but the jar

Of your unfitted fancy that procures

Your wilful coyness to my lord the Duke,

No doubt but time and judgment will conform it

To such obedience as so great desert

Proposed to your acceptance doth require. −

To which end do you counsel her, Bassiolo. −

And let me see, maid, gainst the Duke's return,

Another tincture set upon your looks

Than heretofore; for, be assured, at last

Thou shalt consent, or else incur my curse. −

Advise her you, Bassiolo.

[Exit.]

Bass. Ay, my good lord:

[Aside] God's pity, what an errant ass was I

To entertain the Prince's crafty friendship!

'Sblood, I half suspect the villain gulled me!

Marg. Our squire, I think, is startled.

Bass. Nay, lady, it is true;

And you must frame your fancy to the Duke;

For I protest I will not be corrupted,

For all the friends and fortunes in the world,

To gull my lord that trusts me.

Marg. Oh, sir, now

Y' are true too late.

Bass. No, lady, not a whit;

'Slud, and you think to make an ass of me,

May chance to rise betimes; I know't, I know.

Marg. Out, servile coward! Shall a light suspect,

That hath no slend'rest proof of what we do,

Infringe the weighty faith that thou hast sworn

To thy dear friend, the Prince, that dotes on thee,

And will in pieces cut thee for thy falsehood?

Bass. I care not. I'll not hazard my estate

For any prince on earth; and I'll disclose

The complot to your father, if you yield not

To his obedience.

Marg. Do, if thou dar'st,

Even for thy scraped-up living, and thy life;

I'll tell my father, then, how thou didst woo me

To love the young Prince; and didst force me, too,

To take his letters: I was well inclined,

I will be sworn, before, to love the Duke;

But thy vile railing at him made me hate him.

Bass. I rail at him?

Marg. Ay, marry, did you sir;

And said he was a pattern for a potter,

Fit t' have his picture stamped on a stone jug,

To keep ale-knights in memory of sobriety.

Bass. [Aside] Sh'as a plaguy memory!

Marg. I could have loved him else; nay, I did love him,

Though I dissembled it to bring him on,

And I by this time might have been a duchess;

And, now I think on't better, for revenge

I'll have the Duke, and he shall have thy head

For thy false wit within it to his love.

Now go and tell my father; pray begone!

Bass. Why, and I will go.

Marg. Go, for God's sake, go! Are you here yet?

Bass. Well, now I am resolved. [Going]

Marg. 'Tis bravely done; farewell! But do you hear, sir?

Take this with you, besides: the young Prince keeps

A certain letter you had writ for me

(Endearing, and condoling, and mature)

And if you should deny things, that, I hope,

Will stop your impudent mouth: but go your ways,

If you can answer all this, why, 'tis well.

Bass. Well, lady, if you will assure me here

You will refrain to meet with the young Prince,

I will say nothing.

Marg. Good sir, say your worst,

For I will meet him, and that presently.

Bass. Then be content, I pray, and leave me out,

And meet hereafter as you can yourselves.

Marg. No, no, sir, no; 'tis you must fetch him to me,

And you shall fetch him, or I'll do your errand.

Bass. [Aside] 'Swounds, what a spite is this! I will resolve

T 'endure the worst; 'tis but my foolish fear

The plot will be discovered − O the gods!

Tis the best sport to play with these young dames; −

I have dissembled, mistress, all this while;

Have I not made you in a pretty taking?

Marg. Oh, 'tis most good! Thus you may play on me;

You cannot be content to make me love

A man I hated till you spake for him

With such enchanting speeches as no friend

Could possibly resist; but you must use

Your villanous wit to drive me from my wits;

A plague of that bewitching tongue of yours,

Would I had never heard your scurvy words!

Bass. Pardon, dear dame, I'll make amends, i'faith!

Think you that I'll play false with my dear Vince?

I swore that sooner Hybla should want bees,

And Italy bona-robas, than I faith;

And so they shall.

Come, you shall meet, and double meet, in spite

Of all your foes, and dukes that dare maintain them.

A plague of all old doters! I disdain them.

Marg. Said like a friend; oh, let me comb thy coxcomb.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Room in the House of Lasso.

Enter Alphonso, Medice, Lasso, Cortezza above.

Cort. Here is the place will do the deed, i'faith!

This, Duke, will show thee how youth puts down age,

Ay, and perhaps how youth does put down youth.

Alph. If I shall see my love in any sort

Prevented or abused, th' abuser dies.

Lasso. I hope there is no such intent, my Liege,

For sad as death should I be to behold it.

Med. You must not be too confident, my lord,

Or in your daughter or in them that guard her.

The Prince is politic, and envies his father;

And though not for himself, nor any good

Intended to your daughter, yet because

He knows 'twould kill his father, he would seek her.

Cort. Whist, whist, they come!

Enter Bassiolo, Vincentio, and Margaret.

Bass. Come, meet me boldly, come.

And let them come from hunting when they dare.

Vinc. Has the best spirit.

Bass. Spirit? What, a plague!

Shall a man fear capriches? − You forsooth

Must have your love come t'ye, and when he comes

Then you grow shamefaced, and he must not touch you:

But “Fie, my father comes!” and “Foh, my aunt!”

Oh, 'tis a witty hearing, is't not, think you?

Vinc. Nay, pray thee, do not mock her, gentle friend.

Bass. Nay, you are even as wise a wooer too;

If she turn from you, you even let her turn,

And say you do not love to force a lady,

'Tis too much rudeness. Gosh hat! What's a lady?

Must she not be touched? What, is she copper, think you,

And will not bide the touchstone? Kiss her, Vince,

And thou dost love me, kiss her.

Vinc. Lady, now

I were too simple if I should not offer.

[He kisses her.]

Marg. O God, sir, pray away! This man talks idly.

Bass. How shay by that? Now by that candle there,

Were I as Vince is, I would handle you

In rufty-tufty wise, in your right kind.

Marg. [Aside]

Oh, you have made him a sweet beagle, ha' y' not?

Vinc. [Aside] 'Tis the most true believer in himself

Of all that sect of folly; faith's his fault.

Bass. So, to her, Vince! I give thee leave, my lad.

“Sweet were the words my mistress spake,

When tears fell from her eyes.”

[He lies down by them.]

Thus, as the lion lies before his den,

Guarding his whelps, and streaks his careless limbs,

And when the panther, fox, or wolf comes near,

He never deigns to rise to fright them hence,

But only puts forth one of his stern paws,

And keeps his dear whelps safe, as in a hutch.

So I present his person, and keep mine.

Foxes, go by, I put my terror forth.

Cantat

Let all the world say what they can,

Her bargain best she makes,

That hath the wit to choose a man

To pay for that he takes.

Belle piu, etc.

Iterum cantat.

Dispatch, sweet whelps; the bug, the Duke, comes straight:

Oh, 'tis a grave old lover, that same Duke,

And chooses minions rarely, if you mark him,

The noble Medice, that man, that Bobadilla,

That foolish knave, that hose and doublet stinkard.

Med. 'Swounds, my lord, rise, let's endure no more!

Alph. A little, pray, my lord, for I believe

We shall discover very notable knavery.

Lasso. Alas, how I am grieved and shamed in this!

Cort. Never care you, lord brother, there's no harm done!

Bass. But that sweet creature, my good lord's sister,

Madam Cortezza, she, the noblest dame

That ever any vein of honour bled;

There were a wife now, for my lord the Duke,

Had he the grace to choose her; but indeed,

To speak her true praise, I must use some study.

Cort. Now truly, brother, I did ever think

This man the honestest man that e'er you kept.

Lasso. So, sister, so; because he praises you.

Cort. Nay, sir, but you shall hear him further yet.

Bass. Were not her head sometimes a little light,

And so unapt for matter of much weight,

She were the fittest and the worthiest dame

To leap a window and to break her neck

That ever was.

Cort. God's pity, arrant knave!

I ever thought him a dissembling varlet.

Bass. Well now, my hearts, be wary, for by this

I fear the Duke is coming; I'll go watch

And give you warning. I commend me t'ye.

[Exit.]

Vinc. Oh, fine phrase!

Marg. And very timely used.

Vinc. What now, sweet life, shall we resolve upon?

We never shall enjoy each other here.

Marg. Direct you, then, my lord, what we shall do,

For I am at your will, and will endure

With you the cruell’st absence from the state

We both were born to that can be supposed.

Vinc. That would extremely grieve me; could myself

Only endure the ill our hardest fates

May lay on both of us, I would not care;

But to behold thy sufferance I should die.

Marg. How can your lordship wrong my love so much,

To think the more woe I sustain for you

Breeds not the more my comfort? I, alas,

Have no mean else to make my merit even

In any measure with your eminent worth.

Enter Bassiolo.

Bass. [Aside] Now must I exercise my timorous lovers,

Like fresh-armed soldiers, with some false alarms,

To make them yare and wary of their foe,

The boist'rous, bearded Duke: I'll rush upon them

With a most hideous cry. − The Duke! the Duke! the Duke!

[Vincentio and Margaret run out.]

Ha, ha, ha! Wo ho, come again, I say!

The Duke's not come, i'faith!

[Enter Vincentio and Margaret.]

Vinc. God's precious, man!

What did you mean to put us in this fear?

Bass. Oh, sir, to make you look about the more:

Nay, we must teach you more of this, I tell you;

What, can you be too safe, sir? What, I say,

Must you be pampered in your vanities?

[Aside] Ah, I do domineer, and rule the roast.

[Exit.]

Marg. Was ever such an ingle? Would to God

(If 'twere not for ourselves) my father saw him.

Lasso. Minion, you have your prayer, and my curse,

For your good huswifery.

Med. What says your Highness?

Can you endure these injuries any more?

Alph. No more, no more! Advise me what is best

To be the penance of my graceless son.

Med. My lord, no mean but death or banishment

Can be fit penance for him, if you mean

T' enjoy the pleasure of your love yourself.

Cort. Give him plain death, my lord, and then y' are sure.

Alph. Death, or his banishment, he shall endure,

For wreak of that joy's exile I sustain.

Come, call our guard, and apprehend him straight.

[Exeunt Alphonso, Lasso, Medice, and Cortezza.]

Vinc. I have some jewèls then, my dearest life,

Which, with whatever we can get beside,

Shall be our means, and we will make escape.

Enter Bassiolo running.

Bass. 'Sblood, the Duke and all come now in earnest.

The Duke, by Heaven, the Duke!

Vinc. Nay, then, i' faith,

Your jest is too too stale.

Bass. God's precious!

By these ten bones, and by this hat and heart,

The Duke and all comes! See, we are cast away.

[Exeunt Bassiolo and Vincentio.]

Enter Alphonso, Medice, Lasso, Cortezza, and Julio.

Alph. Lay hands upon them all; pursue, pursue!

Lasso. Stay, thou ungracious girl!

Alph. Lord Medice,

Lead you our guard, and see you apprehend

The treacherous boy, nor let him scape with life,

Unless he yield to his eternal exile.

Med. 'Tis princely said, my lord.

[Exit.]

Lasso. And take my usher.

Marg. Let me go into exile with my lord;

I will not live, if I be left behind.

Lasso. Impudent damsel, wouldst thou follow him?

Marg. He is my husband, whom else should I follow?

Lasso. Wretch, thou speakest treason to my lord the Duke.

Alph. Yet love me, lady, and I pardon all.

Marg. I have a husband, and must love none else.

Alph. Despiteful dame, I'll disinherit him,

And thy good father here shall cast off thee,

And both shall feed on air, or starve, and die.

Marg. If this be justice, let it be our dooms:

If free and spotless love in equal years,

With honours unimpaired, deserve such ends,

Let us approve what justice is in friends.

Lasso. You shall, I swear. − Sister, take you her close

Into your chamber; lock her fast alone,

And let her stir, nor speak with any one.

Cort. She shall not, brother. − Come, niece, come with me.

Marg. Heaven save my love, and I will suffer gladly.

[Exeunt Cortezza and Margaret.]

Alph. Haste, Julio, follow thou my son's pursuit,

And will Lord Medice not to hurt nor touch him,

But either banish him or bring him back;

Charge him to use no violence to his life.

Jul. I will, my lord.

[Exit Julio.]

Alph. Oh, Nature, how, alas,

Art thou and Reason, thy true guide, opposed!

More bane thou tak'st to guide sense, led amiss,

Than, being guided, Reason gives thee bliss.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V, SCENE II.

A Room in the House of Strozza.

Enter Cynanche, Benevemus, Ancilla,

Strozza having the arrow head in his hand.

Stroz. Now, see, good Doctor, 'twas no frantic fancy

That made my tongue presage this head should fall

Out of my wounded side the seventh day;

But an inspired rapture of my mind,

Submitted and conjoined in patiënce

To my Creator, in whom I foresaw

(Like to an angel) this divine event.

Ben. So is it plain, and happily approved

In a right Christian precedent, confirming

What a most sacred med'cine patience is,

That with the high thirst of our souls' clear fire,

Exhausts corporeal humour and all pain,

Casting our flesh off, while we it retain.

Cyn. Make some religious vow then, my dear lord,

And keep it in the proper memory

Of so celestiäl and free a grace.

Stroz. Sweet wife, thou restest my good angel still,

Suggesting by all means these ghostly counsels.

Thou weariest not thy husband's patient ears

With motions for new fashions in attire,

For change of jewèls, pastimes, and nice cates,

Nor studiest eminence and the higher place

Amongst thy consorts, like all other dames;

But knowing more worthy objects appertain

To every woman that desires t' enjoy

A blessed life in marriage, thou contemn'st

Those common pleasures, and pursu'st the rare,

Using thy husband in those virtuous gifts

For which thou first didst choose him, and thereby

Cloy'st not with him, but lov'st him endlessly.

In reverence of thy motion, then, and zeal

To that most sovereign power that was my cure,

I make a vow to go on foot to Rome,

And offer humbly in Saint Peter's Temple

This fatal arrow-head: which work let none judge

A superstitious rite, but a right use,

Proper to this peculiar instrument,

Which, visibly resigned to memory,

Through every eye that sees will stir the soul

To gratitude and progress, in the use

Of my tried patience, which, in my powers ending,

Would shut th' example out of future lives.

No act is superstitious that applies

All power to God, devoting hearts through eyes.

Ben. Spoke with the true tongue of a nobleman:

But now are all these excitations toys,

And Honour fats his brain with other joys.

I know your true friend, Prince Vincentio,

Will triumph in this excellent effect

Of your late prophecy.

Stroz. Oh, my dear friend's name

Presents my thoughts with a most mortal danger

To his right innocent life: a monstrous fact

Is now effected on him.

Cyn. Where, or how?

Stroz. I do not well those circumstances know,

But am assured the substance is too true. −

Come, reverend Doctor, let us harken out

Where the young Prince remains, and bear with you

Med'cines, t' allay his danger: if by wounds,

Bear precious balsam, or some sovereign juice;

If by fell poison, some choice antidote;

If by black witchcraft, our good spirits and prayers

Shall exorcise the devilish wrath of hell

Out of his princely bosom.

Enter Poggio running.

Pog. Where, where, where?

Where's my lord uncle, my lord my uncle?

Stroz. Here's the ill-tidings bringer; what news now

With thy unhappy presence?

Pog. Oh, my lord, my lord Vincentio,

Is almost killed by my lord Medice.

Stroz. See, Doctor, see, if my presage be true!

And well I know if he have hurt the Prince,

'Tis treacherously done, or with much help.

Pog. Nay, sure he had no help, but all the Duke's

guard; and they set upon him indeed; and after he had

defended himself − d'ye see? − he drew, and having as

good as wounded the lord Medice almost, he strake at

him, and missed him − d'ye mark?

Stroz. What tale is here? Where is this mischief done?

Pog. At Monkswell, my lord; I'll guide you to him

presently.

Stroz. I doubt it not; fools are best guides to ill,

And mischief's ready way lies open still.

Lead, sir, I pray.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V, SCENE III.

Cortezza's Chamber.

Enter Cortezza and Margaret above.

Cort. Quiet yourself, niece; though your love be slain,

You have another that's worth two of him.

Marg. It is not possible; it cannot be

That Heaven should suffer such impiety.

Cort. 'Tis true, I swear, niece.

Marg. Oh, most unjust truth!

I'll cast myself down headlong from this tower,

And force an instant passage for my soul

To seek the wand'ring spirit of my lord.

Cort. Will you do so, niece? That I hope you will not;

And yet there was a maid in Saint Mark's street

For such a matter did so, and her clothes

Flew up about her so as she had no harm;

And, grace of God, your clothes may fly up too,

And save you harmless, for your cause and hers

Are e'en as like as can be.

Marg. I would not scape;

And certainly I think the death is easy.

Cort. Oh, 'tis the easiest death that ever was;

Look, niece, it is so far hence to the ground

You should be quite dead long before you felt it.

Yet do not leap, niece.

Marg. I will kill myself

With running on some sword, or drink strong poison;

Which death is easiest I would fain endure.

Cort. Sure Cleopatra was of the same mind,

And did so; she was honoured ever since:

Yet do not you so, niece.

Marg. Wretch that I am, my heart is soft and faint,

And trembles at the very thought of death,

Though thoughts tenfold more grievous do torment it:

I'll feel death by degrees, and first deform

This my accursèd face with ugly wounds;

That was the first cause of my dear love's death.

Cort. That were a cruèl deed; yet Adelasia,

In Pettie's Palace of Petit Pleasure,

For all the world, with such a knife as this

Cut off her cheeks and nose, and was commended

More than all dames that kept their faces whole.

[Margaret seizes the knife and offers to cut her face.]

Oh, do not cut it.

Marg. Fie on my faint heart!

It will not give my hand the wishèd strength;

Behold the just plague of a sensual life,

That to preserve itself in Reason's spite,

And shun Death's horror, feels it ten times more.

Unworthy women! Why do men adore

Our fading beauties, when, their worthiest lives

Being lost for us, we dare not die for them? −

Hence, hapless ornaments that adorned this head,

Disorder ever these enticing curls,

And leave my beauty like a wilderness

That never man's eye more may dare t' invade.

Cort. I'll tell you, niece − and yet I will not tell you

A thing that I desire to have you do −

But I will tell you only what you might do,

Cause I would pleasure you in all I could.

I have an ointment here, which we dames use

To take off hair when it does grow too low

Upon our foreheads, and that, for a need,

If you should rub it hard upon your face

Would blister it, and make it look most vildly.

Marg. Oh, give me that, aunt!

Cort. Give it you, virgin? That were well indeed;

Shall I be thought to tempt you to such matters?

Marg. None (of my faith) shall know it; gentle aunt,

Bestow it on me, and I'll ever love you.

Cort. God's pity, but you shall not spoil your face!

Marg. I will not, then, indeed.

Cort. Why, then, niece, take it;

But you shall swear you will not.

Marg. No, I swear!

[She seizes the box and rubs her face

with the ointment.]

Cort. What, do you force it from me? God's my dear!

Will you misuse your face so? What, all over?

Nay, if you be so desp'rate, I'll be gone.

[Exit.]

Marg. Fade, hapless beauty; turn the ugliest face

That ever Æthiop or affrightful fiend

Showed in th' amazèd eye of profaned light;

See, precious love, if thou be yet in air,

And canst break darkness and the strongest towers

With thy dissolvèd intellectual powers,

See a worse torment suffered for thy death

Than if it had extended his black force

In sevenfold horror to my hated life. −

Smart, precious ointment, smart, and to my brain

Sweat thy envenomed fury; make my eyes

Burn with thy sulphur like the lakes of hell,

That fear of me may shiver him to dust

That eat his own child with the jaws of lust.

[Exit.]

ACT V, SCENE IV.

A Room in Lasso's House.

Enter Alphonso, Lasso, and others.

Alph. I wonder how far they pursued my son

That no return of him or them appears;

I fear some hapless accident is chanced

That makes the news so loath to pierce mine ears.

Lasso. High Heaven vouchsafe no such effect succeed

Those wretched causes that from my house flow,

But that in harmless love all acts may end.

Enter Cortezza.

Cort. What shall I do? Alas, I cannot rule

My desperate niece; all her sweet face is spoiled,

And I dare keep her prisoner no more:

See, see, she comes frantíc and all undressed.

Enter Margaret.

Marg. Tyrant, behold how thou hast used thy love!

See, thief to nature, thou hast killed and robbed,

Killed what myself killed, robbed what makes thee poor.

Beauty (a lover's treasure) thou hast lost,

Where none can find it; all a poor maid's dower

Thou hast forced from me; all my joy and hope.

No man will love me more; all dames excel me.

This ugly thing is now no more a face,

Nor any vile form in all earth resembled,

But thy foul tyranny; for which all the pains

Two faithful lovers feel, that thus are parted,

All joys they might have felt, turn all to pains;

All a young virgin thinks she does endure

To lose her love and beauty, on thy heart

Be heaped and pressed down till thy soul depart.

Enter Julio.

Jul. Haste, Liege, your son is dangerously hurt!

Lord Medice, contemning your command,

By me delivered as your Highness willed,

Set on him with your guard, who strook him down;

And then the coward lord with mortal wounds

And slavish insolency plowed up his soft breast;

Which barbarous fact, in part, is laid on you,

For first enjoining it, and foul exclaims

In pity of your son your subjects breathe

Gainst your unnatural fury; amongst whom

The good lord Strozza desperàtely raves,

And vengeance for his friend's injustice craves.

See where he comes, burning in zeal of friendship.

Enter Strozza, Vincentio brought in a chair,

Benevemus, Poggio, Cynanche, with a guard,

and Medice.

Stroz. Where is the tyrant? Let me strike his eyes

Into his brain with horror of an object. −

See, pagan Nero, see how thou hast ripped

Thy better bosom, rooted up that flower

From whence thy now spent life should spring anew,

And in him killed (that would have bred thee fresh)

Thy mother and thy father.

Vinc. Good friend, cease!

Stroz. What hag with child of monster would have nursed

Such a prodigious longing? But a father

Would rather eat the brawn out of his arms

Than glut the mad worm of his wild desires

With his dear issue's entrails.

Vinc. Honoured friend,

He is my father, and he is my prince,

In both whose rights he may command my life.

Stroz. What is a father? Turn his entrails gulfs

To swallow children when they have begot them?

And what's a prince? Had all been virtuous men,

There never had been prince upon the earth,

And so no subject; all men had been princes:

A virtuous man is subject to no prince,

But to his soul and honour; which are laws

That carry fire and sword within themselves,

Never corrupted, never out of rule;

What is there in a prince that his least lusts

Are valued at the lives of other men,

When common faults in him should prodigies be,

And his gross dotage rather loathed than soothed?

Alph. How thick and heavily my plagues descend,

Not giving my mazed powers a time to speak!

Pour more rebuke upon me, worthy lord,

For I have guilt and patience for them all: −

Yet know, dear son, I did forbid thy harm;

This gentleman can witness, whom I sent

With all command of haste to interdict

This forward man in mischief not to touch thee: −

Did I not, Julio? Utter nought but truth.

Jul. All your guard heard, my lord, I gave your charge

With loud and violent iteratiöns,

After all which Lord Medice cowardly hurt him.

The Guard. He did, my princely lord.

Alph. Believe then, son,

And know me pierced as deeply with thy wounds: −

And pardon, virtuous lady, that have lost

The dearest treasure proper to your sex,

Ay me, it seems by my unhappy means!

Oh, would to God, I could with present cure

Of these unnatural wounds, and moaning right

Of this abusèd beauty, join you both

(As last I left you) in eternal nuptials.

Vinc. My lord, I know the malice of this man,

Not your unkind consent, hath used us thus.

And since I make no doubt I shall survive

These fatal dangers, and your Grace is pleased

To give free course to my unwounded love,

'Tis not this outward beauty's ruthful loss

Can any thought discourage my desires: −

And therefore, dear life, do not wrong me so

To think my love the shadow of your beauty;

I woo your virtues, which as I am sure

No accident can alter or impair,

So, be you certain, nought can change my love.

Marg. I know your honourable mind, my lord,

And will not do it that unworthy wrong,

To let it spend her forces in contending

(Spite of your sense) to love me thus deformed;

Love must have outward objects to delight him,

Else his content will be too grave and sour.

It is enough for me, my lord, you love,

And that my beauty's sacrifice redeemed

My sad fear of your slaughter. You first loved me

Closely for beauty; which being withered thus,

Your love must fade: when the most needful rights

Of Fate and Nature have dissolved your life,

And that your love must needs be all in soul,

Then will we meet again; and then, dear love,

Love me again; for then will beauty be

Of no respect with love's eternity.

Vinc. Nor is it now; I wooed your beauty first

But as a lover; now as a dear husband,

That title and your virtues bind me ever.

Marg. Alas, that title is of little force

To stir up men's affections! When wives want

Outward excitements, husbands' loves grow scant.

Ben. Assist me, Heaven and Art! − Give me your mask; −

Open, thou little store-house of great Nature,

Use an elixir drawn through seven years' fire,

That like Medea's cauldron can repair

The ugliest loss of living temp'rature;

And for this princely pair of virtuous turtles

Be lavish of thy precious influence. −

Lady, t' atone your honourable strife,

And take all let from your love's tender eyes,

Let me for ever hide this stain of beauty

With this recureful mask.

[Putting a mask on Margaret's face.]

Here be it fixed

With painless operation; of itself,

(Your beauty having brooked three days' eclipse)

Like a dissolvèd cloud it shall fall off,

And your fair looks regain their freshest rays;

So shall your princely friend (if Heaven consent)

In twice your suffered date renew recure;

Let me then have the honour to conjoin

Your hands, conformèd to your constant hearts.

Alph. Grave Benevemus, honourable Doctor,

On whose most sovereign Æsculapian hand

Fame with her richest miracles attends,

Be fortunate, as ever heretofore,

That we may quite thee both with gold and honour,

And by thy happy means have power to make

My son and his much injured love amends;

Whose well-proportioned choice we now applaud,

And bless all those that ever furthered it. −

Where is your discreet usher, my good lord,

The special furtherer of this equal match?

Jul. Brought after by a couple of your guard.

Alph. Let him be fetched, that we may do him grace.

Pog. I'll fetch him, my lord; away, you must not go. Oh,

here he comes. [Enter Bassiolo guarded.] Oh, Master

Usher, I am sorry for you; you must presently be

chopped in pieces.

Bass. Woe to that wicked Prince that e'er I saw him!

Pog. Come, come, I gull you, Master Usher; you are

like to be the Duke's minion, man; d'ye think I would

have been seen in your company and you had been out

of favour? − Here's my friend Master Usher, my lord.

Alph. Give me your hand, friend; pardon us, I pray.

We much have wronged your worth, as one that knew

The fitness of this match above ourselves.

Bass. Sir, I did all things for the best, I swear,

And you must think I would not have been gulled;

I know what's fit, sir, as I hope you know now. −

Sweet Vince, how far'st thou? Be of honoured cheer.

Lasso. Vince, does he call him? Oh, fool, dost thou call

The Prince Vince, like his equal?

Bass. Oh, my lord, alas!

You know not what has passed twixt us two. −

Here in thy bosom I will lie, sweet Vince,

And die if thou die, I protest by Heaven.

Lasso. I know not what this means.

Alph. Nor I, my lord;

But sure he saw the fitness of the match

With freer and more noble eyes than we.

Pog. Why, I saw that as well as he, my lord. I knew

'twas a foolish match betwixt you two; did not you think

so, my lord Vincentio? Lord uncle, did not I say at first

of the Duke: “Will his antiquity never leave his

iniquity?”

Stroz. Go to, too much of this; but ask this lord

If he did like it.

Pog. Who, my lord Medice?

Stroz. Lord Stinkard, man, his name is. Ask him: “Lord

Stinkard, did you like the match?” Say.

Pog. My lord Stinkard, did you like the match betwixt

the Duke and my lady Margaret?

Med. Presumptuous sycophant, I will have thy life!

[Draws.]

Alph. Unworthy lord, put up: thirst'st thou more blood?

Thy life is fittest to be called in question

For thy most murth'rous cowardice on my son;

Thy forwardness to every cruèlty

Calls thy pretended noblesse in suspect.

Stroz. Noblesse, my lord? Set by your princely favour,

That gave the lustre to his painted state,

Who ever viewed him but with deep contempt,

As reading vileness in his very looks?

And if he prove not son of some base drudge,

Trimmed up by Fortune, being disposed to jest

And dally with your state, then that good angel

That by divine relation spake in me,

Foretelling these foul dangers to your son,

And without notice brought this reverend man

To rescue him from death, now fails my tongue,

And I'll confess I do him open wrong.

Med. And so thou dost; and I return all note

Of infamy or baseness on thy throat:

Damn me, my lord, if I be not a lord.

Stroz. My Liege, with all desert even now you said

His life was daily forfeit for the death

Which in these barbarous wounds he sought your son;

Vouchsafe me then his life, in my friend's right,

For many ways I know he merits death;

Which (if you grant) will instantly appear,

And that, I feel, with some rare miracle.

Alph. His life is thine, Lord Strozza; give him death.

Med. What, my lord,

Will your Grace cast away an innocent life?

Stroz. Villain, thou liest; thou guilty art of death

A hundred ways, which now I'll execute.

Med. Recall your word, my lord.

Alph. Not for the world!

Stroz. Oh, my dear Liege, but that my spirit prophetic

Hath inward feeling of such sins in him

As ask the forfeit of his life and soul,

I would, before I took his life, give leave

To his confession and his penitence:

Oh, he would tell you most notorious wonders

Of his most impious state; but life and soul

Must suffer for it in him, and my hand

Forbidden is from Heaven to let him live

Till by confession he may have forgiveness.

Die therefore, monster!

Vinc. Oh, be not so uncharitable, sweet friend,

Let him confess his sins, and ask Heaven pardon.

Stroz. He must not, princely friend; it is Heaven's justice

To plague his life and soul, and here's Heaven's justice.

[Draws.]

Med. Oh, save my life, my lord!

Lasso. Hold, good Lord Strozza!

Let him confess the sins that Heaven hath told you,

And ask forgiveness.

Med. Let me, good my lord,

And I'll confess what you accuse me of:

Wonders indeed, and full of damned deserts.

Stroz. I know it, and I must not let thee live

To ask forgiveness.

Alph. But you shall, my lord,

Or I will take his life out of your hand.

Stroz. A little then I am content, my Liege: −

Is thy name Medice?

Med. No, my noble lord,

My true name is Mendice.

Stroz. Mendice? See,

At first a mighty scandal done to honour. −

Of what country art thou?

Med. Of no country I,

But born upon the seas, my mother passing

Twixt Zant and Venice.

Stroz. Where wert thou christened?

Med. I was never christened,

But, being brought up with beggars, called Mendice,

Alph. Strange and unspeakable!

Stroz. How cam'st thou then

To bear that port thou didst, ent'ring this Court?

Med. My lord, when I was young, being able-limbed,

A captain of the gipsies entertained me,

And many years I lived a loose life with them;

At last I was so favoured that they made me

The King of Gipsies; and being told my fortune

By an old sorceress that I should be great

In some great prince's love, I took the treasure

Which all our company of gipsies had

In many years by several stealths collected;

And leaving them in wars, I lived abroad

With no less show than now; and my last wrong

I did to noblesse was in this high Court.

Alph. Never was heard so strange a counterfeit.

Stroz. Didst thou not cause me to be shot in hunting?

Med. I did, my lord; for which, for Heaven's love, pardon.

Stroz. Now let him live, my lord; his blood's least drop

Would stain your Court more than the sea could cleanse;

His soul's too foul to expiate with death.

Alph. Hence then; be ever banished from my rule,

And live a monster, loathed of all the world.

Pog. I'll get boys and bait him out o' th' Court, my lord.

Alph. Do so, I pray thee; rid me of his sight.

Pog. Come on, my lord Stinkard, I'll play “Fox, Fox,

come out of thy hole”' with you, i'faith.

Med. I'll run and hide me from the sight of Heaven.

Pog. Fox, fox, go out of thy hole! A two-legged fox,

a two-legged fox!

[Exit with Pages beating Medice.]

Ben. Never was such an accident disclosed.

Alph. Let us forget it, honourable friends,

And satisfy all wrongs with my son's right,

In solemn marriage of his love and him.

Vinc. I humbly thank your Highness: − honoured Doctor,

The balsam you infused into my wounds

Hath eased me much, and given me sudden strength

Enough t' assure all danger is exempt

That any way may let the general joy

My princely father speaks of in our nuptials.

Alph. Which, my dear son, shall with thy full recure

Be celebrate in greater majesty

Than ever graced our greatest ancestry.

Then take thy love, which Heaven with all joys bless,

And make ye both mirrors of happiness.

FINIS