Enter Belisea, Clariana and Thorowgood.
Bel. You may declare your will[97] here are no eares But those I will not banish, were your busines More secret.
Tho. Lady, I come to freeMy worthy freind and your owne servant,Bonvill,From an uniust suspition your conceiteRetaines of him. Your mother did employ meIn the unlucky message that pronouncd youEmpty of honor.
Bel. Has your worthles freind Hird you to sweare this?
Tho. I'me none that live By selling oathes.
Bel. Ile scarce believ't; he shall notWith all his cunning policie regaineMy good opinion of him. Sir, you cannotDoe a more pleasing office then to leave me:I do not love to heare of him.
Tho. Your pleasure rules me. [Exit.
Cla.Belisea, you did ill Not to heare out the Gent[leman].
Bel. Prethe why?His owne confession does appeach him oneIn the conspiracy against my honor.He sayes my mother was the originallOfBonvilesslaunder; and how impiousTwere for a child to thinke so, filiall dutyInstructs my knowlidge.
Cla. Be not confident;Your piety may misleade you. Though your mother,Shees passion like to us; we had it from her.Ile say no more; the event will testifieWhoes in the fault.[98]
Enter Sucket and Crackby.
Suc. Be not abashd; a little impudence is requisite; Observe me, with what a garbe and gesture martiall I will beseige their fortresses.
Bel. Who sent these fooles to trouble us?—Gent[lemen],We have some conference will admit no audienceBesides ourselves.We must desire you to withdraw, or give usLeave to do soe.
Suc. Men of warr are not soe easily put to a retreat; it suites not with their repute.
Cla. Heele fight with us, sister: weed best procure him bound toth peace.
Crac. Ladies, I must no more endure repulse; I come to be a suiter.
Bel. For what?
Crac. Why, that you would with Judgment overlooke This lovely countenance.
Cla. The hangman shall doe't sooner.
Crac. If you knew How many bewtious gentlewomen have sued To have my picture—
Cla. To hang at their beds head for amemento mori—
Crac. You would regard it with more curiosity. There was a merchants daughter the other day Runn mad at sight of itt.
Cla. It scared her from her witts: she thought the divell had haunted her.
Suc. Valour deserves regard, myne shall propugne Your bewty gainst all opposers.
Bel. Alasse! mine is so meane, None will contend with it, it needs no champions.
Crac. Contemne me not, lady; I am—
Cla. A most egregious asse.
Crac. Most nobly propagatted; my father was a man Well fu[rnish'd] with white and yellow mettall.
Cla. I lay my life a Tinker.
Crac. And in his parish of account.
Cla. A Scavenger.
Bel. Is it a badge of your profession To be uncivell?
Suc. Uncivell!Noe; what is in other men uncivillIn us is resolution; therefore yeild:I am invincible, flesh cannot standBefore me.
Bel. It must be drunke then.
Cla. I am not ith humour nowTo laugh, or else Ide not dismisse him yet.Good Mr.Crackby, does your wisdome thinkeThat I can love you?
Crac. My worth deserves it.
Cla. Well said, impudence.Goe, get you home toth Cittie; goe solicittSome neighbors daughter; match withNanyour SchoolefellowWith whome you usd to walk toPimblicoe[99]To eate plumbe cakes and creame,—one of your parish,Good what-doe-you-lack.
Crac. This is offensive to My reputation.
Cla. You shall heare more on't:When thou art married, if the kind charityOf other men permitt thee to geet thee childrenThat call thy wife mother, bring them upTo people shopps and cheat for 18d,The pretious youth that fathers them.Walke, walke, you and your CaptaineHufftoLondon,And tell thy mother how thou has't sped i'th country,And let her moane thee.
Crac. Captaine, we must give place; these girles are firebrands, And we as straw before them.
Suc. They may stand In neede of valour. [Exeunt Suc. and Crac.
Enter Thurston.
Cla. Have you oreheard us? these are the lads will do't, When 20 such as you will be cast off.
Thu. Like a bob'd[100] Hawke.—Mrs, if I mistake not, Your mother does inquire for you.
Bel. I will attend her pleasure. [Exit.
Cla. Doe not goe, wench; we shall scarce be honest.
Thu. Love, is it time, after the servicesI have perform'd, to have some salary?Noe labourer works without his hier; I wouldBe satisfied when you determine weShall end our hopes in marriage.
Cla. I have lookt for this month in my Calender And find that marriage is prohibited.
Thu. It is not Lent nor Advent;[101] if it were The Court is not so strickt but 'twill dispense With freinds, and graunt a licence.
Cla. Whole be bound With you that theres no hindrance but we may Be lawfully espoused?
Thu. Ime not so barren Of freinds but I shall find security For what will nere be question'd.
Cla. It may be soe; but one who calculated My birth did warne me to abstaine from marriage Til I was twenty.
Thu. You're noAtlanta; if you be, Ile playHippomanesand over runn you.
Cla. You'd scarce catch me,Though you hadVenusapples to seduceMy covetous eyes. Henceforth Ide have you leaveYour love to me.
Thu. I must leave to live then. Why doe you say soe?
Cla. Cause it is [un]iust You should mispend affection on her Who is incapeable of it.
Thu. You'd faine wrestA new expence of complement from me:If you delight to heare your praise, Ile hireSome mercenary [poet][102] to comendIn lofty verse your bewty.
Cla. You are merry: My humor is not specious; we must know A further distance.
Thu. Wherefore, pray? Our eyes are no more poysonous then they were.
Cla. Yes, they infect reciprocall.
Thu. This languageIs not accustomd; pray, tell me howMy presence is offensive, and Ile shun you[103]As I would doe my fate. You are not serious:My innocence assures me my desertsCan chalenge no such usage.
Cla. Tis confest; but weAre like thinne christall glasses that will crackBy touching one another: I coniure theeBy all our past love, from this parting minuteNere to behold me more. I dare not venterMy frailty with thee.
Thu. What immodesty Has my demeaner uttred you should doubt Ravishing from me?
Cla. Thats not it, but causeI would not tempt my destinie: thy sightWould inflame marble, much more me whose heartIs prompt enough to fly into thy breastAnd leave mine empty. But 'tmust not remaineIn that lone habitation, least a curse,A fearefull one, sease on mee.
Thu. Can there beCurses more horrid, incident to earthFor its past Sinns, then would depend on youFor such a bold presumption as your breatchOf faith would be.
Cla. Our tyrant fate has foundYet uninvented torments to expresseOur loyall soules. O,Thurston, thou wert never—Not when our mutuall freindships might have taughtThe constant turtles amity—more deareTo me then now. I could, as well as then,Peruse love's dictats in thy amorous cheeks,Enioy the pressure of thy modest lipp;But Ime enioynd by powerfull menacesT'infring my wonted use and to disclaimeMy vowes to thee.
Thu. If this be possible,What will become of earth? men will no moreRespect Society or strive to saveHumanity alive: henceforth theyle seekeFor lost fidelity on Caves or toppsOf untrodd Rocks, and plight their trothes to beasts;Commix with them and generate a raceOf creatures, though less rationall, yet moreIndude with truth. OClariana, canThere be a motive able to convertThis pretious Christall temple, built for purityAnd goodnes adoration, to a faineFor Idoll falshoods worship? But I cannotLabour my wandring Judgment to beleifeThou speakst thy meaning. If I have not lovdWith that essential perfectnes thy worthThat man could doe, in charity declareMy Ignorant defect, and Ile amend itWith more then zealous industry.
Cla. Tis vaine:You may as easily penetrate the cloudesWith a soft whisper, as my eares, then whichNoe thunders deafer.Thurston, tis not causeI have in the intemperate heate of bloodGiven up my soule to a new choyce, that breedsThis soddaine mutability: I willPreserve my affection as inviolate to youAs Anchorites their vowes, and in my graveInterr my virgin glory. Teares will notPermitt more conference: fare you well; Ile keepeMy passion up till I have none to weepe. [Exit.
Thu. Shees gon! What vapor which the flattring sunnExhales to heaven as to create a starr,Yet throwst, a fading meteor, to the earth,Has falne like me? Divinity, that tellsUs there are soules in women, Ile no moreCredit thy dubiousTheoremsnor thinkeThy lawes astring us to preserve our faith.Let the nice Casuists, that dispute each clauseBelongs to conscience with a[l]ternate sense,Dispense with breach of promise and prescribeEquivocacons to evade all oathesWithout offending, or shees damnd.
Enter Lovell.
Lov. Well, Companion, at my friends Intreatie I am content to be reconsyld; but have a care, goe to, ha, oh ho, youle[104] … more; why, goe to then … pledge the companion … heeres to thee: what, what!
Thu. Heres one perchance will satisfie me.Sir, your habit speaks yer understanding:Please you resolve me one thing which disturbesThe quiet of my conscience.
Lov. Revenge may slumber but can never sleep: He that lets slip an Injury thats done Takes the next course to draw a greater on.
Thu. You counsell well. I pray, in all the volumesYour learning has perusd, did you ere findAny conclusion that allowd it lawfullTo breake an oath?
Lov. If she neglect and throw[105] disgrace on thee, Fly't thou as much and be thy scorne as free.
Thu. An Oracle speakes in him; but, pray, tell me Ist lawfull then to breake an oath?
Lov. Though time prolongs, we cannot style it sloath: My vowes are firme; hees damd that breaks an oath.
Thu. Good, good, agen: but the oath I treat on, Is of another kind: tis to a woman.
Lov. It could not be her fault; there's a mistake in't.
Thu. None o'my life, theres none.
Lov. Let me see, let me see: No, twas not hers, twasGrimesesknavery.
Thu. Ha, whether did wild fancy lead my apprehension. He minds me not but is in disputation With his owne thoughts.
Lov. Wilt thou pledge me ii cuppes? Why, goe to and goe to, then.Ha to thee, ha, sirraGrimes!—When man gainst man conspire to doe evill,For what Society is a fitt!
Thu. The Devill. [Claps him on the shoulder.
Lov. Oh helpe, helpe![106] [Exit.
Enter Lady.
Lady. I hope, sir,Noe occasion offerd in my houseBreedes your distast; I should be sorry ifIt be soe, and conceald from me.
Thu. Your goodnesIs to nice ore me; Ime exceeding well;Only some erring cogitationsTrouble my braine a little.
Lady. Tis much pittyDistraction should have roome in you; I wouldNot for the love you beare my daughter, have youBe discont[ent]ed here.
Thu. And your daughter Repayes me kindly fort.
Lady. Surely her breeding Affords her better manners then to iniure A gent[leman] of your deservings?
Thu. Alas, she has not: Twas but an unkindness triviall Mong freinds not worth the nameing.
Lady. It was to muchWert but an ill looke. If I may so far,Without immodesty, entreat the knowledgeOf what it was Ile chide her for't. Pray, sir,—We women are bold suitors; by your lookeIt is no meane perplexity her follyHas cast upon your temper,—pray, disclose it;And ift be anything the obedienceShe owes to me may countermand, she shallRepent her error.
Thu. Your humanityWould wrest a secret from me, though my lifeConsisted ith concealment: she has abolishdHer protestations to me, murdred vowesWhich like the blood of Innocents will pullCloudes of black vengeance on her, for no causeI can imagine but her humor; banishdMe her society and sight for ever.[107]
Lady. Tis above wonder: could I as well ruleHer will as her exterior actions,She should not thus reject you; but I cannotLimitt her mind, compell her to affectAgainst her liking. If perswations mayReduse her, Ile endevour it.
Thu. Twilbe needles;I am resolvd to meet her in revolt,Hug infidelity with as strong a faithAs she can possible; and if mans malliceCan passe a womans, my dispight shall winnePreheminence. I will inquire out oneBy nature framd in scorne of bewty, andIn your perfidious daughters presence give herThat heart which she reiected.
Lady. Twere pittyYour passion should undoe you; you may findMatches of noble quality: my daughterIn worth's inferior to you, yet I doubt notBut my perswasive oratorie may gaine youHer forfeited affection.
Thu. Let her reserve itFor them who sue to inioy it; Ile conferrMy fancy on a Negro new reclaim'dFrom prostitution; sacrifice my youthTo bedridd age, ere reinthrall my heartTo her insulting bewty.
Lady. Twould be a maime to your discretionTo abjure a certaine and a pleasing goodFor an uncertaine harme you would imposeIn malice on another. Yo'are a manIn whome the glorious soule of goodnes movesWith such a spacious posture that no woman,But such a squemish baby as my daughter,Would be most fortunate to enrich their choyseWith one so much deserving.
Thu. He experience Your affirmation: could you love me?
Lady. WhatI spoake was a contingent suppositionWhat others might doe, but not argumentI meant to love you.
Thu. But I know you will;I see a pleasing augury in your looksPresages mercy; and those eyes, whose lustreThe light (that scornes privation) cannot equall,Darts beames of comfort on me.
Lady. Twould be rareCould you perswade me to't, I can findNo such propension in my selfe; bewareLeast in this wildnes you ingage your heartTo one cannot accept it.
Thun. Pish!Ime sure you will: humanity forbidsRefusall of my affection, which shall beAs constant as insep[a]rable heateTo elementall fire.—I'me soddaine, lady,In my resolve, but firme as fate.
Lady. Surely, You are not well.
Thu. You are deceivd; I amExceeding well yett; all my facultiesRetaine their wonted motion; but Ime likeA new recoverd patient, whose relapseAdmitts no helpe of phisick: in your loveConsists my hope, futurity of health;And you have too much charity to sufferPerdition overwhelme me.
Lady. Your confidenceWorkes much uppon my lenity; but twouldOccasion scandall; every one would judgeI did supplant my daughter, should I yeildTo your desines.
Thu. Let the censorious worldFright those with harelipd Calumnie whose guiltMerritts detraction; your pure innocenceNo feind dares vitiatt.
Lady. You have prevaild.
Thu. Ile take you at your word, a holy kisseShall seale the contract. [kisse.Avaunt! stand of! she has poysond me, her lipsAre sault as sulpher, and her breath infects,Noe scorpions like it.
Lady. What ayles you, Sir?
Thu. Ha, ha, ha!Those who imagine such prodigious mischiefesShould be more cunning then to be ore reachtBy puisne[108] cosnage; Have you no more judgementThen to beleive I lov'd you.
Lady. Doe you not love me then?
Thu. Can a manRobd of a Jewell deare to him as breathAffect the theife, O murdresse?—for that titleBest suites thy impious quality, since thy curse,Thy cruell curse, imposd uppon my love,Has massacred two of the faithfulst heartsAffection ere united. Though your lustDesir'd smooth youth to sate it, pietyMight have reclamd you for attempting me,Your daughter's interest.—Ile not rayleCause tis unman[ner]ly,[109] untill you findWhat 'tis to cause true lovers prove unkind.[Exit.
Enter Alexan.
Lady. Was I a sleepe? What transitory dreameDeceivd my sense? did I not here my loveProtest affection? no, it was some feindVested in his mortallity, whome hellSent to abuse my weaknes.
Lov. She has bin sure tormented with that furie which cla[pt] me on my shoulder. She talkes of Hell, love and affection. Ha, goe to and goe to! the old Knight my Mrs. Goast, I hope does not haunt the house.
Lady. Twas he, Ime certaine on't; I felt his lips,And they were flesh; they breath'd on mine a warmthTemperate as westerne kisses which the morneWeaps liquid drops to purchase. This confirmesIt was no apparition that contemndMy willingnes, but he, his reall selfe,Mockt my integrity: he must not passe soe,To blase abroad my infamy.
Lov. Madam, feare nothing, be not troubled; the Goast meant no harme to you, uppon my life he did not; Goe to and goe to, I say and I sayt, he did not. He did appeare to me—your love, your husband, my old Mr.—here, clapt me on the shoulder, as his old custome was still when he usd to talke with me familiarly.
Lady. But, Sirrah, what familiarity Have you with any of my privasies? Sausie groome, practise your ancient duty.
Enter Young Mar.
Y. M. What meanes this fury, Madam?
Lady. O, deare boy,What haplesse fate exposd thee to the veiwOf this [sic] sad mothers sorrowes? but I charge thee,As thou respects thy duty, not to questionThe cause of my distemper; my iust fearesProhibits thee the knowledge of it.
Lov. Why, Sir, she has seene the Divell.
Lady. Ha!
Lov. Nay, Madam, I have don; they say the Divell has no power ore a Drunkard; once more Ile run the hazard.
Y. M. Whoe, what is he? speake,For heavens sake, speake: were he defensd with cloudsOr circled with unsteadfast boggs, my rageShould cut a passage to him.
Lady. Thou strait will grow More passionate then I: goe to your chamber, Ile but dispatch these gentlemen. [Exit Mar.
_Enter Sir Geffery, Crackby, [Suc]ett [and Bun]ch.
Sir Gef. O here she is.—Lady, I and my Nephew, being your good neighbors and of the worshipfull, I of the Country, he of the Cittie, have long desird a match with your daughters, but they are coy, so childish, so unmannerly; I know not how to terme them: they dispise who worship offers them, they may[110] hereafter doe worse and have worse, madam.
Crac. My uncle tells your ladiship the truth: We are noe peasants[111] or unhonorable To be affronted with indignities.
Suc. Here are men that has seene service.
Bunch. At a mustring or ith Artillery[112] garden.
Lady. 'Twas past my pleasure, good SirGeffery, you have had such harch entertainement from them: henceforth Ile lay my charge upon them to be more tractable.—Mr.Alexander, goe call my daughters hither.
Lov. She turnes againe.—I shall with all celerity wish them to approach. [Exit.
Sir Gef. Certainly, Madam, I can see no causeWherefore at first you might not, without puttingMy Knighthood to this trouble, have matched with meYour selfe; it had been somewhat fitter.
Enter Belisea and Clariana.
Bel. Are these fooles here?
Lady. Minions you might have expresd more kindnes In your behaviour to these Gent[lemen] Whom my strict caire provided for your husbands.
Bel. I hope they cannot blame us, we have usd them With that respect our modesties allowd.
Lady. Your peevish nicenes settle your affections To a more fayre demeaner towards their worth, Or you shall seeke a Mother and a portion.
Crac. Nay, if you take away their portions, Ile Meddle no further with them.
Lady. You both heare My not to be revoaked intention Respect this knight and his nephew in the way Of marriage, or I shall take another order with you. [Exit.
Cla. Was it you, good knight of the ill favord Countenance, Who procurd us these loving admonitions?
Sir Gef. Nay, and you begin agen, Ile call your Ladie Mother.
Suc. I do protest unto you, beauteous Lady, You do not cast a favorable aspect.
Bel. I am no Plannet.
Crac. Captaine, you doe me palpable affront: She is the election of my understanding.
Sir Geff. Retort not so abstrusly.—Will you disdainThe good of honour, condiscend to meAnd youthfull write me, lady, in your stile,And to each thread of thy sun-daseling h[air]Ile hang a pearle as orient as the gemmesThe eastern Queenes doe boast of. When thou walk[st],The country lasses, crownd with gorgeous flo[w]res,Shall fill each path and dance their rural jigsIn honour of this bewty.
Cla. Hey day, where did you borrow this? Sir, youle beg[one]: I feele the fitt a coming; I shall rayle instantly.
Crac. Baffeld before my Mrs? Death to fame! Captaine, good Captaine.
Suc. Pish, I doe but drill herFor you, friend; you shall have her, say your CaptaineSayes it, whose words doe ventilate destructionTo all who do oppugn what they designe.
Sir Gef. Come, you shall love me.
Cla. I cannot choose: goe, get you home, antiquity; thinke [of] heaven, say thy prayers often for thy old sinns and let [thy] maid diett thee with warme broathes least some cold appoplexis sease thee before thou art prepard.
Sir Gef. Madam! madam! shees in her old fitt!
Cla. Call her, I care not if she heare me, I councell better than your physician: every night drinke a good cup of muscadine,[113]—you will not have moysture left to ingender spitle to cleanse thy mouth ith morning. Goe, set thy feath[er] right, good mooncalfe[114]: you have your answeare.
Sir Gef, Contemne an old man and his feather,Bunch, Ile begon,B[unch].
[Exeunt Sir Gef. and Bunch.
Cla. Will you goe?—Sister, I have shakd mine off. What stayes this nifle[115] for?
Crac. Nay, call me what you will, she is my prise, And I will keepe her.—Captaine, to her Captaine.
Suc. You must not part thus, Mrs; here are men Has scapd—
Cla. The Gallowes.
Suc. Ile rigg you up; although you were a Carack I shall find tackling for you.
Bel. You are uncivill; pray, desist.
Crac. Not kisse a gentleman? a pretty ring this same: I have a mind to it and I must have it.
Bel. You will not robb me of it?
Suc. I will intreate this glove which shall adorne In fight my burgonett.
Cla. Some honest hostesse Ere this has made a chamber pot of it.
Crac. It is some rivalls ring and I will have it To weare in spight of him.
Bel. Helpe, Sister, helpe.
Enter Bonvill and Grimes.
Bon. She shall not neede. It is my ring the villaine desires soe importunatly: what untuterd slave art thou that darst inforce aught from this gentlewoman.
Crac. Whats that to you? you might have come before me.
Bel. What would you have don?
Crac. Entreated you againe to have come behind me.
Bel. O, myBonvill, so happy a benefit no hand but thine could have administred. Thou save[d]st the Jewell I esteeme next to my honour,—the Ring thou gavest me.
Crac. Nay, if you have more right to her than I, takt I pray you:— would I were off with a faire broken pate.
Suc. Is your life hatefull to you?
Bon. Why doe you inquire, good puff past?
Suc. My bladeIs of theBilbo[116] mettle; at its splendorMy foes does vanish.
Bon. Ile try that presently;—feare nothing, ladyes.
Suc. Death! now I thinke out, I did breake my blade this morning on foure that did waylay me: Ile goe fetch another, and then I am for you.
Crac. Take myne, Captaine.
Suc. Hold your peace, be wise: that fellowIn the blew garment has a countenancePresages losse of limme if we encounter.—Ile meet you presently.
Bon. It shall not serve your turne yet: Ile not blunt My sword upon such stock fish.Grimes, bestow Thy timber on them.
Grimes. Come, sir. [beats them.
Suc. Take me without a weapon? this cudgell sure Is Crabb tree, it tasts so sourely. [Exeunt.
Bel. Oh, my DeareBonvill.
Bon. Mistrisse, I sent an advocate to pleadMy guiltless cause: you, too[117] severe a JudgeForbad him audience; I am therefore comeOnce more to prove my innocence.
Cla. Come, without Ceremony Forgive you her and she shall pardon you Most willingly.
Bon. Can you have soe much mercy, You soe much goodnes?
Bel. Noe soule long tir'd with famine, whom kind deathHas new enfranchisd from the loathed flesh,With happier expedition enters heavenThen mine thy bosome,Bonvill. Let our loves,Like plants that by their cutting downe shoot up,Straiter and taller flourish: we are nowInseperable.
Cla. Your good fates, though I Repine not at them, makes my unhappy fortunes Appeare farr more disastrous.
Bon. Whats thy misfortune?
Bel. Alas, my mother has crost her in her affection as she did us.
Bon. She shallCrosse ours no more.Belisia, if youleBe ruld by me you shall away with me;None but you sister shall be privy to it,And sheele keepe Councell.
Bel. Ile goe any whither To enjoy thy presence; theres no heaven without it.
Bon. You shalbe advertisd where she remaines, And certifie us how your mother takes it: When we are married we shall live to thanke you.
Cla. Will you leave me, then?
Bel. Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet, And all these stormes blowe over.
Cla. Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise But Ile allay its violence with my eyes.
Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quartus.
Enter Magdalen, Timothy and Alexander.
Ma. Run, good sweetTimothy; search the barnes, the stab[les], while I looke in the Chambers. Should she be lost or come to any harme my lady will hang us all. Why dost not fly?
Tim. Hey day, if her feet walke as fast as thy tongue, sh[e's] far enough ere this time. What a stir you make! Were you, as shee is, with your sweet heart, you would [be] pursud, would you? You would be hangd as soone. Al[as], good gentlewoman, heaven speed her!
Ma. You will not goe then?
Tim. No, indeed, will I not.Her mother may be angry if she please.The time has bin she would as willinglyBin at the sport her selfe as now her daughter.The ge[ntleman] shees gon with is a man,And see theres no harme d[one], I warrant you.
Lov. Ha, ha, gramercy,Timothy, thou hittst it right.Maudlin, goe to; shouldTimhere offer as much to you, ha, I beleave you would not lock your selfe up in my ladyes closett; goe to, and goe to.
[Exeunt.
Ma. Udsme, my lady!
Enter Lady.
Lady. Lost, past redemption! I pursue a fierWhich like the giddy Meteors that seduceWith their false light benighted travellersAllures me to distruction. To curse fateWere to allow I feard it, and admitParticipation in me of that spirittI most detest, a womans.
Lov. Please your good Ladyship.
Lady. Yes, that you depart.— [Exit Alexander.What can he see in her more worthy loveThen is in me? shees but a picture drawneBy my dimensions, and men sooner fancyThe Substance then the Shaddow. Oh, but sheeIs the true image not of what I amBut what I was, when like the spring I woreMy virgin roses on my cheeks.
Lov. Madam, you seeme—
Lady. Angry at your impertinency; learne manners, leave me.
Lov. She has coniurd downe my spirit: these are immodest devills that make modest ladyes become strickers[118]. Ile out oth storme, take shelter in the cellar. Goe to and goe to; tis better venter quarriling mongst those hogesheads. [Exit Alexander.
Enter Maudlin [and Timothy.]
Ma. Madam, your daughter—
Lady. Where is she? Who?Clariana?
Ma. The faireBelisea.
Enter Clariana.
Cla. Did you call me, madam.
Lady. Noe: were you soe neere? begon againe,— Yet stay.—Maudlin, avoid the Roome, and if you see Mr.Thurston, entreat him hither.Timothy, Find out my son and charge him to delay The execution of my late comaund Till I next speake with him. [Exeunt Mag. and Tim.Clariana, you did what I comanded?
Cla. Yes, on my Soule.
Lady. But thou art ignorant Why with such violence I inioyn[e]d thee To leave thyThurstonslove?
Cla. Were I not sureTheres nought in him that can be titled ill,I should have thought your circumspective JudgmentHad spide some error in him, and in careOf me your child forbidden me his love.But whatsoer's the cause, though your comaundWas like perdition welcome, my obedienceFullfild it truly, without questioningThe reason why or the unlimited powerOf you my mother.
Lady. You did very well.Now thou shalt know the reason, which beforeI doe relate, afford me leave to weepe,To save thy teares, which at the hearing of itWill, like the dew on lillies, pearle thy cheekes.I have beheld thee with a Rivalls eyeInThurstonslove; my penetrable heart,Like a moist cloud, has opened and receivdLoves fine bolt into it. Now thou knowst it,Methinks I see confusion in thy lookesPrepard to blast me.
Cla. Heaven forbid it IShould ere conceive the meanest thought of illOf you, my parent. Since you love him, hereTo heaven and you I give my interest upAnd would I could as well commaund his heartAs he might mine, beleive me you should thenAffect you with as true and deare a zealeAs ever I did him: I should be happieIn making you soe.
Lady. Charitable girle,Forgive thy cruell mother, who must yetImpose a stronger penance on thy duty:Thou must go to thyThurston, and obtaineHis love.
Cla. A little labour will serve for that.
Lady. Not for thy selfe but for thy haplesse mother,Who am, without it, nothing. Woe him for me,Use the inchanting musicke of thy voiceOn my behalfe, who, though thy Rivall, yetRemember I'm thy mother; nor canst thouConsigne thy breath to a more holy use(Though thou shouldst spend it in religious prayers)Then to redeeme thy parent. Weepe for me,And in requitall for each drop thou shedstI'll pay to heaven a Hecatombe of tearesFor thy successe. But take good heede, deare child,While thou art weeping, thou dost not discloseThat face of thine; for, were he mine by vow,Loves powerfull Retorick uttered [in?] thyne eyesWould winn from me.
Enter Thurston and Thorowgood.
Cla. Here comes the Gentleman.
Lady. Be earnest,Clariana, I shall heare you. [Exit.
Tho. Sir, you must iuistifie this.
Thu. Feare it not; yonder she goes; I'll tell her of it, sheele not denie it.
Cla. Mr.Thurston, whether do you walke soe fast?
Thu. O,Clarianna, are you there?
Cla. Nay, stay, I have a suite to you.
Thu. I wouldBe loth to offend your eyes; when we last metYou chargd me never to behold you more.
Cla. I did indeed, but on mature adviceI have reclaimd that imposition.You shall behold me dayly, talke with me,Doe all the acts that love with InnocenceCan suffer, if youle but overrule your willTo graunt me one request.
Thu. You wrong my faithIn questioning my graunt of any thingYou can desire wer't to undoe my selfeOr combate miseries as yet unheard of,You[r] least breath may expose me to them.
Cla. Nay, in this theres no danger; if there be A real happines on earth, this way You shall arrive to it.
Tho. He were unwise Would he not graunt it then.
Thu. Please you declare it.
Cla. There is a lady,Of such a perfect virtue, grace and sweetnes,That Nature was to all our sex besideA niggard, only bountiful to her;One whose harmonious bewtie may intituleAll hearts its captive: yet she doats on youWith such a masculine fancy that to love herIs duty in you.
Thu. It is herselfe, Ime sure.
Tho. It surely is no other.
Cla. No, tis oneSo farr transcending me, that twere a sinneShould I deprive you, the most perfect man,Of her, the perfectest woman. She will weepeEven at your name; breath miriads of sighes;Wring her hands thus; demonstrate all the signesOf a destracted lover; that in pitty,Though I did love you well, I have transferdMy right to her, and charge you by all tiesThat you affect her with the same true zealeWhich you did me, and ift be possible,Purer and better.
Tho. This is the strangest madnes I ere heard of.
Thu. Is it you,Clariana, that speake all this?
Cla. You know and heare it is.
Thu. But I doe scarceCredit my hearing, or conceive I amMortall, for surely, had I bin, your wordsLike the decree of heaven had struck me dead.What strong temptation lay you on my faith!O,Clariana, let me but declinePassion, and tell you seriously that thisIs cruel in you, first to scorne my love,Next to admitt a scruple of beleife,Though you can be perfidious to your selfe,That I can be soe. Noe; since you are lost,Ile like the solitary turtle mourneCause I must live without you. But, pray, tell meWhat is she you would have me love?
Cla. My Mother.
Thu. Ha, your Mother!
Tho. Ist possible, lady? you much doe wrongYour innocence in laboring to enforceThat upon him which is my interest. HeavenSmild at the contract twixt us; quiers of SaintsReceivd our mutuall vowes, and though your MotherMay in her passion seeme to have forgottHer pretious faith, yet when I shall awakeHer sleeping reason with the memoryOf that has past betwixt us, my strong hopeTells me I shall induce her to the spheareWhich she has movd from.
Cla. Would heaven you could! How coldly in this causeDoe I perswade! when I would speake, my heartChecks its bold orator, my tongue, and tells itTis traitorous to its Mr.—Noble Sir, [kneeleI doe conceit you infinitly good,So pittiful that mercy is in youEven naturally superlative, (forgive me,If I offend) you doe in this transgresseHumanity, to let a lady love youWithout requitall. But I must professeTo heaven and you, that here Ile fix to earth,Weepe till I am a statue, but Ile gaineYour pitie for her: pray consider ont.
Thu. Consider ont? wonder has soe engrossdTo its wild use all corners of my heartThat there remaines scarce one poore concave leftTo hold consideration. I must eitherLove her I hate or see her whome I loveWilfully perish. See, shee kneeles and weeps,Prays as she meant to expiate all the sinnsEarth ere committed. One of those pure dropsDoes (as my lives blood in a soddaine trance)Surround my heart. You have prevaild, arise:At your request I will performe an act,Which may no story hold least all who loveHereafter curse the president,—Ile love her.That deathfull word comes from my torturd souleAs a consent doth from a timorous maidFor an enforcing ravisher.
Tho. You are not mad, sir? what doe you meane?
Cla. I thanke you.But love her dearely,Thurston, sheele deserv't:I doe remember, when my Father livd,How he would praise her goodnes. Think on meAs one that lovd you well, but neer like her;And, if you please, bestow each day a kisseUppon her in my memory. Soe, farewell.—Sorrows flow high: one griefe succeed another;I die in piety to redeeme my Mother. [Exit.
Tho. But, harke you, sir, do you intend to love her.
Thu. Good sir, torment me not.
Enter Grimes.
Grimes. By your leave, gentlemen: good Mr.Thorowgood, a word or two in private.
Thu. Compeld to love my enemy! what man,That had but so much spiritt as a mule,Could suffer this! Lay nice prescriptions,Ambiguous bookmen, on submissive slaves;Affright with terror of a wilfull deathThose whom black murders of inhumane sinHas living damnd; Ime yet in my owne heartWhite as a babe, as Innocent as lightFrom any mortall guilt; and were my souleDrawn fro this mew[119] of flesh twould quickly streatchLike a swift Falkon her aspiring wingsAnd soare at heaven. Nature instructs us DeathIs due to all: how can't be then a SinnTo die, or he more guilty of offenseThat kills himselfe or [than?] he who in his bedSome shivoring ague murders? Ime resol[v']d;Ile rather chuse to immolate my lifeIn Martirdome to virtue then reserve'tTill it be staind with mischiefes.
Enter Lady.
Lady. How doe you, sir?
Thu. Oh, oh, my head, my head!Stand further of, good nightcrow: if thou comstAs a presaging harbinger of death,Howlt in thy direfulst and most horrid notes,And ['t] will be wellcome as choyse musick to meAnd Ile adore thee fort, with teares of ioyMake thy black feathers white.
Lady. Good sir, mistake me not, I am your friend.
Thu. I cry you mercy, lady; you are sheeWhom I had vowd to love;—a wild conceiteHad seasd my fancy. Pardon me, I mustProclaim to heaven and to the world a truthWhich I should study to forget: you areA Creature so suparlatively badThat, were the earth as absolute from sinnAs in its first creation, youre sole crimesWould pull a curse upon it. I should tell youThe specialties wherein you're foule, but dare notBreath in the same ayre with you; I beginTo feel infection:—fare you well. [Exit.
Lady. Contemnd againe! deprive me of the name And soule of woman! render me a scorne To the most base of our revengefull sex! If I beare this while there be knives or swords, Poyson or ought left to extinguish life That womans spleene can compasse—Alexander! within there!
Enter Alexander.
Goe to my sonn; inioyne him by all rightsOf naturall duty to accomplish thatWhich in youre hearing I comanded him.Beare him this Jewell and this gold, that whenTis don he may escape; be carefull,As you expect my favour.
Alex. I shall inculcate your desires unto him. —Her favour! goe to, theres comfort. [Exit.
Enter Thorowgood.
Tho. Madam, theres one brings a sad message to you.
Lady. From whome, I pray you.
Tho. From two friends of yours Your cruelty has murdred,
Lady. My cruelty Never extended to that horrid height, Not to my foes. Who are they?
Tho. Your daughter, The innocentBelisia, and my friend, Her worthy suiter,Bonvill.
Lady. Your freind and my daughter dead and by my meanes!This cannot be; my daughters sure in the house.Good sir, unfould this ridle, it begettsWonder and terror in me.
Tho. Madam, you know with what a cruel messuageYou sent me to my friend, which provd as falseAs your faire daughter virtuous. Why you did itI will not question, nor upbraid you withThis violation of your faith.
Lady. This story Conduces nothing to the deathes you talkd of.
Tho. Yes, since thenA iust mistrust that you would crosse their matchCausd them last night privatly to steale henceWith an intention to have reacht the houseWhereBonvillsmother lives; but see the fatesHow they dispose of men! crossing the RiverThat runns beneath your orchard, and ith darke,Their headstrong horses missing the ford overthrew themAnd, which I cannot without true griefe utter,There drownd them both.Was it not soe,Grimes?
Grimes. Tis too sad a truth; and I,After all meanes to save their life was past,Lookd to my owne and got the shore: their bodiesI feare the violence of the tide has carriedInto the Sea by this time.
Lady. Enough, good friend; no more.Had a rudeScythian, ignorant of teares,Unlesse the wind enforcd them from his eyes,Heard this relation, sure he would have wept;And yet I cannot. I have lost all senseOf pitty with my womanhood, and nowThat once essentiall Mistress of my soule,Warme charity, no more inflames my brestThan does the glowewormes ineffectual fireThe ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desistThe agravation of your sad report; [WeepeIve to much greife already.
Tho. It becomes you:You do appeare more glorious in these t[ears]Then the red morne when she adornes her cheeksWithNabatheanpearls: in such a postureStandPhaetonssisters when they doe distillTheir much prisd amber. Madam, but resumeYour banishd reason to you, and considerHow many Iliads of preposterous mischeifeFrom your intemperate breach of faith to meFetch their loathed essence; thinke but on the love,The holy love I bore you, that we two—Had you bin constant—might have taught the wor[ld]Affections primitive purenes; when, fromYour abrogation of it, Bonvills death,Your daughter['s] losse have luc[k]lessly insu'd.The streame that, like a Crocodile, did weepeOre them whom with an over ravenous kisseIts moyst lips stifled, will record your faultIn watery characters as lastinglyAs iff twere cut in marble. Heaven, forgive you;Ile pray for you; repent.
[Exeunt Thorowgood and Grimes.
Grimes. O, my deare Master!
Lady. Repent! should I but spendThe weakest accent of my breath in sighesOr vaine compunction, I should feare I sinndAgainst my will, then which I doe confesNoe other diety. Passions[120] doe surroundMy intellectual powers; only my heart,Like to a Rocky Island, does advanceAbove the foming violence of the wavesIts unmovd head, bids me my fate outdare.Ills sure prevention is a swift despaire.
[Exit.
Enter Alexander and Young Marlowe.
Alex. Thinke, sir, to whome the Iniury was don,—go to—your Lady Mother, a vertuous lady, I say and I sayt agen, a very vertuous lady. Had I but youth and strength as you have, in what cause should I sooner hazard both then in this?
Y. M. Murder, my friend!
Alex. Noe, tis doing sacrifice to slaunderd goodnes.
Y. M. Rob my beloved Sister of a husband!
Alex. Yes, to redeeme to your mother her lost honour.
Y. M. Art not a Divell?
Alex. Ha!
Y. M. Thy breath has blasted me.
Alex. I must confes indeed I have eaten garlicke.
Y. M. All pious thoughts that lately fild this spheareAre scatterd with the winds that issu'd from thee,Which, like the infectious yawning of a hill,Belching forth death inevitable,Has distroyd freindship and nature in me.Thou canst not poyson worse: I can feed now,Feed and nere burst with mallice. Sing, Syren, singAnd swell me with revenge sweet as the strainesFalls from theThrasianlyre; charme each senceWith musick of Revenge, let InnocenceIn softest tunes like the expiring SwannDy singing her owne Epitaph.
Alex. What meane you, sir? are you mad? goe to and goe to; you doe not use me well; I say and I say, you do not. Have I this for my love to you and your good Mother? Why, I might be your Father by my age, which is falne on me in my old Mrs service; he would have used me better.
Y. M. Dost weepe, old Crocodile? looke dost see this sword.
Alex. Oh, I beseech you, sir; goe to; what meane you?
Y. M. No harme to thee; this was my Fathers once,My honord Father; this did never viewThe glaring Sunn but in a noble cause,And then returnd home blushing with red spoyles,Which sung his fame and conquest. Goe, intreatMy Mother be as pleasant as she wasThat night my Father got me. I am going, say,Most cheerfully to finish her comaund.
Alex. Heaven prosper you. Ha!
Enter Thurston.
Thu. Freind, I was looking for you.
Y. M. And you have found me, Villaine.
Thu. What meane you?
Y. M. If thou darst follow me I will conduct thee Unto the seate of death.
Thu. Dare! Ile goe with thee, hand in hand; goe on.
[Exeunt ambo.
Alex. Goe, goe to and goe to, I say and I sait; here wilbe some revenge. If the Gent[leman] fall my lady has promist me a farme of 100 pounds a yeare; goe to, then. Now, if her sonn be slayne, heres then this purse of gold and this rich Jewell which she sent to him. By this wee see, whoever has the worst, The fox fares well, but better when hees curst.[121] Goe to and goe to then.
[Exit.
Actus Quintus.
Enter Lady Marlowe sola.
Lady. Twas[122] here about; these are the poplars, thisThe yewe he named. How prettily thees treesBow, as each meant to Consecrate a branchTo the drownd lovers! and, methinks, the streamePitt[y]ing their herse should want all funerall rights,Snatches the virgin lillies from his bankesTo strow their watry sepulcher. Who wouldDesire an easier wafting to their deathThen through this River? what a pleasing soundIts liquid fingers, harping on the stones,Yeilds to th'admiring eare!
Enter Thorowgood, Clariana, and Magdalen.
Mag. This way she went, Ime sure. She has deliv[er']dSo many strang distractions that I feareSheele act some wilfull violence on her selfeIf we prevent it not.
Cla. Yonder is somebody among the Trees Hard by the River: alasse, tis shee!
Tho. Come softly; if she heare our footing, her disp[aire May] anticipate our diligence.
Lady. Tempt me not, frailty: I disdaine revoltFrom ought the awfull violence of my willHas once[123] determind. Dost thou tremble, flesh?Ile cure thy ague instantly: I shall,Like some insatiate drunkard of the age,But take a cup to much and next day sleepeAn hower more then ordinary.
Tho. Heaven and good Angells guard you!
Cla. My deare Mother!
Mag. My gratious Lady!
Lady. What inhumaine creaturesAre you that rob me of the priviledgeOf wellcome death, which I will run to meetSpight of your malice!
Tho. Oh decline those thoughts;Let not the lucid tapers of your soule,Bright grace and reason, fondly be extinct.Essentiall virtue, whether art thou fled,To what unknowne place? wert thou hid mongst ro[cks]Or horid grots where comfortable lightHates to dispence its luster, yet my searchShould find thee out, reduce thee to this brestOnce[124] thy lovd Paradice. Pray, madam, pray:From those faire eyes one penetentiall teareWould force whole legions of heavens brightest Sa[ints]If they have power to intercede for earthTo beg for mercy for you.
Lady. These are toyesForgd to delude mortality: let me dieAnd afterwards my uncontroled GhostShall visitt you. I only goe and askeHow myBelisiadoes enioy her healthSince she exchangd her native ayre of earthFor those dull regions. If I find the climeDoes to our constitutions promise life,Ile come to you and in those happy shadesWill live in peace eternally.
[[125]Cla. Alas, I feare shees Irrecoverable. Twas Ill don to affright her thus.
Mag. Expect the best: The Gentleman will perswade her.
Tho. O, dispaire,Grimme homicide of soules, how thou involvstMore haplesse creatures in distracted IllsOre [w]home thou triumpst; but Ile fright thee hence:No feind shall add a trophy to thy actsFor victory over her.] Deare madam, heare me:You had a noble husband, while he livd;And I beleiveThat no perswasion cold have forcd you yeildTo vitiation of his honord bed,Not with a prince. And will you give your soule,Which heaven in its creation had designdA bride to faire eternity of blisse,By vild procurement of hells bawd, despaire,To prostitution of unnaturall deathAnd then of woes erelasting which admitNoe diminution? Can you heare this, Madam,And does the flintie substance of your heartNot thaw, like to a hill ofRussianIceWhen fires applid to't? Yes, your eyes demonstrateIt[126] melts already.
Cla. Deare Mother, please you walke Into your Chamber: here the wind is cold And may disease your weaknes.
Mag. Here is your vayle, and't please your ladiship.
Lady. Let me alone, you trouble me; I feeleA soddaine change; each organ of my souleSuffers a strong vicissitude; and, thoughI do detest a voluntary death,My Conscience tells me that it is most iustThat the cursd author of such impious illsOught not to live.
Tho. O thinke not soe: those wordsRetaine affinity with that passionI hop'd youd left. The greatest of your SinnsMercy will smile at, when you doe imploreIts unconsuming grace: the dullest cloudWill, when you pray, be active as the ayreIn opening to receive that breath to heavenThats spent to purge your ills. Why, you may liveTo make a faire lustration for your faultsAnd die a happie Convert.
[Ho]llow within: Follow, follow, follow! that way he went.
Enter Young Marlowe, Alexander, [Consta]ble and [office]rs.
Y. M. Hell, I will flie no farther; since my hand Is guilt in murder it shall sacrifice Some of my apprehenders.
Tho. Whats the matter? Deare Sir, what ayles you?
Lady. O my Sonne! I feare.
Alex. Stand back, goe to; what meanes this rudenes. I say goe to, keepe back.
Con. Sir, we must enter: here he is. I charge you Asist us to lay hold on him.
Lady. Why, how now, Fellowes? what makes you presse in here thus rudely? Whom do you follow?
Con. Madam, Ime sorry my authorityEnforces me to doe it: your sonn iust nowHas slaine one Mr.Thurstone, and the lawCommaunds us apprehend him.
Y. M. Here take my sword:When I but doe waigh the iustnes of the causeFor which I suffer, though I could escape,My Conscience would forbid me. Come, Ile goeWhither you please.
Lady. Stay, officers; all accessaries areAs liable to punishment for murderAs those who act it. I confesse twas IEnforcd my son to slay that gentleman.Your warrant extends to take me with him.
Tho. Alas, beleive her not; greife for her sonne Has made her franticke.
Lady. By heaven tis truth!If you refuse to execute your officeI shall confesse my act unto the JudgAnd soe condemne you of partiality.My Sonn knowes this is truth.
Y. M. I must acknowledge Mr.Alexanderoft did instigate me To kill him.
Con. Sir, you must clere your selfe of this.
Alex. Who? I? Goe, take the babe from its Mothers teat and taxe him with this crime. I accessary to a murder! goe to.
Con. Why, and goe to, sir, and avoid resistance; You must goe. Will your ladiship walke with us?
Lady. Yes, most willingly. I doe this most abhorrid life despise Since tis to iustice a iust sacrifice.
[Exeunt omnes.