Goos. O good Madam, I feed am with nothing but fire, a purpose, Ile besworne they eat me five Faggots a-weeke in Charcoale.
Tal. Nay he has the strangest devices, Ladies, that ever you heard, I warrent ye.
Fur. That's a strange device indeed, my Lord.
Hip. But your sowing, sirGyles, is a most gentlewoman-like quality, I assure you.
Pene. O farr away, for now, servant, you neede never marry, you are both husband, and wife your selfe.
Goos. Nay indeed, mistris, I wood faine marry for all that, and ile tell you my reason, if you will.
Pene. Let's here it good servant.
Goos. Why, Madam, we have a great match at football towards, married men against batchellers, and the married men be all my friends, so I wood faine marry to take the married mens parts in truth.
Hip. The best reason for marriage that ever I heard sirGyles.
Goos. I pray will you keepe my worke a little, Mistris; I must needes straine a little courtesie in truth. [Exit Sir Gyles.
Hip. Gods my life, I thought he was a little to blame.
Rud. Come, come, you he[a]re not me, dame.
Pur. Well said, sirCut: to her now; we shall heare fresh courting.
Hip. Alas, sirCut, you are not worth the hearing, every body saies you cannot love, howsoever you talke on't.
Rud. Not love, dame? slidd what argument woodst have of my love, tro? lett me looke as redde as Scarlet a fore I see thee, and when thou comst in sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippards holland, I am aIeweto my Creator.
Hip. O excellent!
Rud. Let me burst like a Tode, if a frowne of thy browe has not turned the very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by the heeles for a fortnight to bring it to the right againe.
Hip. You shood have hangd longer sirCut: tis not right yet.
Rud. Zonnes, bid me cut off the best lymme of my body for thy love, and ile lai't in thy hand to prove it. Doost thinke I am no Christian, have I not a soule to save?
Hip. Yes tis to save yet I warrant it, and wilbe while tis a soule if you use this.
Fur. Excellent Courtship of all hands, only my Captaines Courtship, is not heard yet. Good Madam give him favour to court you with his voyce.
Eug. What shood he Court me withall else, my Lord?
Mom. Why, I hope Madam there be other things to Court Ladies withall besides voyces.
Fur. I meane with an audible sweete song Madam.
Eug. With all my heart my Lord, if I shall bee so much indebted to him.
Foul. Nay I will be indebted to your eares Ladie for hearing me sound musicke.
Fur. Well done Captaine, prove as it wil now.
Enter Messenger.
Me. My Lord, DoctorVerseythe Physitian is come to see masterClarence.
Mom. Light, and attend him to him presently.
Fur. To MasterClarence? what is your friend sicke?
Mom. Exceeding sicke.
Tal. I am exceeding sorrie.
King. Never was sorrow worthier bestowed Then for the ill state of so good a man.
Pene. Alas poore Gentleman; good my Lord lets see him.
Mom. Thankes gentle Ladie, but my friend is loth To trouble Ladies since he cannot quitt them. With anything he hath that they respect.
Hip. Respect, my Lord! I wood hold such a manIn more respect then any Emperour:For he cood make me Empresse of my selfeAnd in mine owne rule comprehend the World.
Mom. How now young Dame? what sodainly inspird?This speech hath silver haires, and reverence askes,And sooner shall have duty done of me,Then any pompe in temperall Emperie.
Hip. Good Madam get my Lord to let us greet him.
Eug. Alas we shall but wrong and trouble him. His Contemplations greet him with most welcome.
Fur. I never knew a man of so sweet a temper, So soft and humble, of so high a Spirit.
Mom. Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich,Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekesThe standing lake of Impudence corrupts;Hath nought in all the World, nor nought wood have,To grace him in the prostituted light.But if a man wood consort with a souleWhere all mans Sea of gall and bitternesIs quite evaporate with her holy flames,And in whose powers a Dove-like innocenceFosters her own deserts, and life and deathRunnes hand in hand before them, all the SkiesCleere, and transparent to her piercing eyes,Then wood my friend be something, but till thenACipher, nothing, or the worst of men.
Foul. Sweet Lord, lets goe visit him.
Enter Goose-cappe.
Goos. Pray, good my Lord, what's that you talke on?
Mom. Are you come from your necessarie busines, SirGyles? we talke of the visiting of my sicke friendClarence.
Goos. O good my Lord lets visite him, cause I knowe his brother.
Hip. Know his brother, nay then Count doe not denie him.
Goos. Pray my Lord whether was eldest, he or his elder brother?
Mom. O! the younger brother eldest while you live, sirGyles.
Goos. I say so still my Lord, but I am so borne downe with truth, as never any Knight ith world was I thinke.
Ta. A man wood thinke he speakes simply now; but indeed it is in the will of the parents, to make which child they will youngest, or eldest: For often we see the youngest inherite, wherein he is eldest.
Eug. Your logicall wit my Lord is able to make any thing good.
Mom. Well come sweet Lords, and Ladies, let us spendThe time till supper-time with some such sights,As my poore house is furnished withall,Pictures, and jewels; of which implements,It may be I have some will please you much.
Goos, Sweet Lord, lets see them.
[Exeunt.
Enter Clarence, and Doctor.
Do. I thinke your disease sir, be rather of the minde then the body.
Cla. Be there diseases of the mindeDoctor?
Do. No question sir, even as there be of the body.
Cla. And cures for them too?
Do. And cures for them too, but not by Physick.
Cla. You will have their diseases, greifes? will you not?
Do. Yes, oftentimes.
Cla. And doe not greifes ever rise out of passions?
Do. Evermore.
Cla. And doe not passions proceed from corporall distempers?
Do. Not the passions of the minde, for the minde many times is sicke, when the bodie is healthfull.
Cla. But is not the mindes-sicknes of power to make the body sicke?
Do. In time, certaine.
Cla. And the bodies ill affections able to infect the mind?
Do. No question.
Cla. Then if there be such a naturall commerce of Powers betwixt them, that the ill estate of the one offends the other, why shood not the medicines for one cure the other?
Do. Yet it will not you see.Hei mihi quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.[44]
Cla. Nay then, Doctor, since you cannot make any reasonable Connexion of these two contrarieties the minde, and the body, making both subiect to passion, wherein you confound the substances of both, I must tell you there is no disease of the minde but one, and that isIgnorance.
Do. Why what is love? is not that a disease of the mind?
Cla. Nothing so: for it springs naturally out of the bloode, nor are we subject to any disease, or sorrowe, whose causes or effects simply and natively concerne the body, that the minde by any meanes partaketh, nor are there any passions in the soule, for where there are no affections, there are no passions: AndAffectusyour MasterGalenrefersparti irascenti, Forillic est anima sentiens ubi sunt affectus: Therefore the Rationall Soule cannot be there also.
Do. But you know we use to say, my minde gives me this or that, even in those addictions that concerne the body.
Cla. We use to say so indeed, and from that use comes the abuse of all knowledge and her practice, for when the object in question only concerns the state of the body; why shood the soule bee sorry or glad for it? if she willingly mixe her selfe, then she is a foole, if of necessity, and against her will, a slave, and so, far from that wisdome and freedome that the Empresse of Reason and an eternall Substance shood comprehend.
Do. Divinely spoken, Sir, but verie Paradoxicallie.
Enter Momford, Tales, Kingcob, Furnif; Rudes, Goos: Foul: Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolyta, Winnifred.
Mom. Who's there?
[Fur.?] I, my Lord.
Mom. Bring hether the Key of the gallery, me thought I heard the Doctor, and my friend.
Fur. I did so sure.
Mom. Peace then a while, my Lord, We will be bold to evesdroppe; For I know My friend is as respective in his Chamber And by himselfe, of any thing he does As in aCriticke Synodscurious eyes, Following thereinPythagorasgolden rule—Maximè omnium teipsum reverere.
Cla. Know you the CountesseEugenia, Sir?
Do. Exceeding wel, Sir; she's a good learned scholler.
Cla. Then I perceive you know her well indeed.
Do. Me thinks you two shood use much conference.
Cla. Alas sir, we doe verie seldome meet,For her estate and mine are so unequall,And then her knowledge passeth mine so farre,That I hold much too sacred a respect,Of her high vertues to let mine attend them.
Do. Pardon me, Sir, this humblenes cannot flowe Out of your judgment but from passion.
Cla. Indeed I doe account that passionThe very high perfection of my minde,That is excited by her excellence,And therefore willingly, and gladly feele it.For what was spoken of the most chast QueeneOf richPasiaca[?] may be said of her.Moribus Antevenit sortem[45], virtutibus Annos,Sexum animo, morum Nobilitate Genus.
Do. A most excellentDistick.
Mom. Come, Lords, away, lets not presume too muchOf a good nature; not for all I haveWood I have him take knowledge of the wrongI rudely offer him: come then ile shewA few rare jewels to your honour'd eyes;And then present you with a common supper.
Goos. Iewells, my Lord? why is not this candlesticke one of your jewells pray?
Mom. Yes marry is it, sirGyles, if you will.
Goos. Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing but the languages.
Pene. The languages servant why the languages?
Goos. Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, and that had the languages I am sure.
Tal. I thought he had a reason for it Lady.
Pene. I, and a reason of the Sunne too, my Lord, for his father wood have bin ashamed on't. [Exeunt.
Do. Well, masterClarence, I perceive your mindeHath so incorparate it selfe with fleshAnd therein rarified that flesh to spirit,That you have need of no Physitians helpe.But, good Sir, even for holy vertues healthAnd grace of perfect knowledge, doe not makeThose ground workes of eternity you layMeanes to your ruine, and short being here:For the too strict and rationall Course you holdWill eate your body up; and then the World,Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives,Will suffer Diminution: It is nowBrought almost to a simple unity,Which is (as you well know)Simplicior puncto.And if that point faile once, why, then alasThe unity must onely be suppos'd.Let it not faile then, most men else have sold it;Tho you neglect your selfe, uphould it.So with my reverend love I leave you sir. [Exit.
Cla. Thanks, worthy Doctour, I do amply quite you;I proppe poore vertue, that am propt my selfe,And only by one friend in all the World!For vertues onely sake I use this wile,Which otherwise I wood despise, and scorne.The World should sinke, and all the pompe she hugsClose in her hart, in her ambitious gripe,Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joyntMou'd with the worth that worldlings love so wellHad power to save it from the throate of hell.[He drawes the curtains, and sits within them.
Enter Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolita.
Eug. Come on, faire Ladies, I must make you both Familiar witnesses of the most strange part And full of impudence, that ere I plaide.
Hip. What's that, good Madam?
Eug. I that have bene so more then maiden-niceTo my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeldBy his importunate suite to his friends loveIn looke, or almost thought; will of my selfe,Farre past his expectation or his hope,In action and in person greete his friend,And comfort the poore gentlemans sicke state.
Pene. Is this a part of so much Impudence?
Eug. No but I feare me it will stretch to more.
Hip. Marry, Madam, the more the merrier.
Eug. Marrie Madam? what shood I marrie him?
Hip. You take the word me thinkes as tho you would,And if there be a thought of such kind heateIn your cold bosome, wood to god my breathMight blowe it to the flame of your kind hart.
Eug. Gods pretious, Ladie, know ye what you say,Respect you what I am, and what he is,What the whole world wood say, & what great LordsI have refused, and might as yet embrace,And speake you like a friend to wish me him?
Hip. Madam I cast all this, and know your choyseCan cast it quite out of the christall doresOf your Iudiciall eyes: I am but young,And be it said, without all pride I takeTo be a maid, I am one, and indeedYet in my mothers wombe to all the wilesWeeud[46] in the loomes of greatnes, and of state:And yet even by that little I have learn'dOut of continuall conference with you,I have cride haruest home of thus much judgmentIn my greene sowing time, that I cood placeThe constant sweetnes of goodClarenceminde,Fild with his inward wealth and noblenes,(Looke, Madam) here, when others outward trashShood be contented to come under here.
Pene. And so say I uppon my maidenhead.
Eug. Tis well said, Ladies, thus we differ then,I to the truth-wife, you to worldly men.And now sweet dames obserue an excellent jest(At least in my poore jesting.) Th'Erle my unckleWill misse me straite, and I know his close driftIs to make me, and his friendClarencemeeteBy some device or other he hath plotted.Now when he seekes us round about his houseAnd cannot find us, for we may be sureHe will not seeke me in his sicke friends Chamber,(I have at all times made his love so strange,)He straight will thinke, I went away displeas'd,Or hartely careles of his hardest suite.And then I know there is no griefe on EarthWill touch his hart so much; which I will suffer,To quite his late good pleasure wrought on me,For ile be sworne in motion, and progresseOf his friends suite, I never in my lifeWrastled so much with passion or was mov'dTo take his firme love in such jelouse part.
Hip. This is most excellent, Madam, and will prove A neecelike, and a noble friends Revenge.
Eug. Bould in a good cause; then lets greet his friend.—Where is this sickely gentleman? at his booke?Now in good truth I wood theis bookes were burndThat rapp men from their friends before their time,How does my uncles friend, no other nameI need give him, to whom I give my selfe.
Cla. O Madam let me rise that I may kneele, And pay some duty to your soveraigne grace.
Hip. GoodClarence, doe not worke your selfe disease My Lady comes to ease and comfort you.
Pene. And we are handmaides to her to that end.
Cla. Ladies, my hart will breake if it be held Within the verge of this presumtuous chaire.
Eug. Why,Clarenceis your judgement bent to showA common lovers passion? let the World,That lives without a hart, and is but showe,Stand on her empty, and impoisoned forme,I knowe thy kindenesse and have seene thy hartClest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes,And I am only now to speake and actThe rite's due to thy love: oh, I cood weepeA bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state,I cood give passion all her blackest ritesAnd make a thousand vowes to thy deserts.But these are common, knowledge is the bond,The seale, and crowne of our united mindes;And that is rare and constant, and for that,To my late written hand I give thee this.See, heaven, the soule thou gau'st is in this hand.This is the Knot of our eternitie,Which fortune, death, nor hell, shall ever loose.
Enter Bullaker, Iack, Wil.
Ia. What an unmannerly tricke is this of thy Countesse to give the noble count her uncle the slippe thus?
Wil. Vnmannerlie, you villaynes? O that I were worthy to weare a Dagger to any purpose for thy sake?
Bul. Why young Gentlemen, utter your anger with your fists.
Wil. That cannot be, man, for all fists are shut you know and utter nothing; and besides I doe not thinke my quarrell just for my Ladies protection in this cause, for I protest she does most abhominablie miscarrie her selfe.
Ia. Protest, you sawsie Iacke, you! I shood doe my country, and Court-ship good service to beare thy coalts teeth out of thy head, for suffering such a reverend word to passe their guarde; why, the oldest Courtier in the World, man, can doe noe more then protest.
Bul. Indeede, Page, if you were inFraunce, you wood be broken upon a wheele for it, there is not the bestDukessonne inFrancedares say I protest, till he be one and thirty yeere old at least, for the inheritance of that word is not to be possest before.
Wil. Well, I am sorry for my presumtion then, but more sory for my Ladies, marie most sorry for thee good LordMomford, that will make us most of all sory for our selves, if wee doe not fynde her out.
Ia. Why, alas, what shood wee doe? all the starres of our heaven see, we seeke her as fast as we can if she be crept into a rush we will seeke her out or burne her.
Enter Momford.
Mom. Villaines, where are your Ladies? seeke them out.Hence, home ye monsters, and still keepe you thereWhere levity keepes, in her inconstant Spheare. [Exeunt Pages.Away, you pretious villaines! what a plague,Of varried tortures is a womans hart?How like a peacockes taile with different lightes,They differ from themselves; the very ayreAlter the aspen humors of their bloods.Now excellent good, now superexcellent badd:Some excellent good, some? but one of all:Wood any ignorant babie serue her friendSuch an uncivill part? Sblood what is learning?An artificiall cobwebbe to catchflies,And nourishSpiders? cood she cut my throateWith her departure, I had byn her calfe,And made a dish at supper for my guestsOf her kinde charge; I am beholding to her.Puffe, is there not a feather in this ayreA man may challenge for her? what? a feather?So easie to be seene, so apt to trace,In the weake flight of her unconstant wings?A mote, man, at the most, that with the Sunne,Is onely seene, yet with his radiant eye,We cannot single so from other motes,To say this mote is she. Passion of death,She wrongs me past a death; come, come, my friendIs mine, she not her owne, and theres an end.
Eug. Come uncle shall we goe to supper now?
Mom. Zounes to supper? what a dorr is this?
Eug. Alas what ailes my uncle? Ladies, see.
Hip. Is not your Lordshippe well?
Pene. Good, speake my Lord.
Mom. A sweete plague on you all, ye witty rogues; Have you no pitty in your villanous jests, But runne a man quite from his fifteene witts?
Hip. Will not your Lordship see your friend, and Neece.
Mom. Wood I might sinke if I shame not to see herTush t'was a passion of pure jealousie,Ile make her now amends with Adoration.Goddesse of learning, and of constancy,Of friendshippe, and of everie other vertue.
Eug. Come, come you have abus'de me now, I know, And now you plaister me with flatteries.
Pene. My Lord, the contract is knit fast betwixt them.
Mom. Now all heavens quire of Angels sing Amen,And blesse theis true borne nuptials with their blisse;And Neece tho you have cosind me in this,Ile uncle you yet in an other thing,And quite deceive your expectation.For where you thinke you have contracted hartsWith a poore gentleman, he is sole heireTo all my Earledome, which to you and yoursI freely and for ever here bequeath.Call forth the Lords, sweet Ladies; let them seeThis sodaine, and most welcome Noveltie;But cry you mercy, Neece, perhaps your modestyWill not have them partake this sodaine match.
Eug. O uncle, thinke you so? I hope I made My choyce with too much Judgment to take shame Of any forme I shall performe it with.
Mom. Said like my Neece, and worthy of my friend.
Enter Furnifall, Tal: King: Goos: Rud: Foul: Ia: Will, Bullaker.
Mom. My Lords, take witnes of an absolute wonder, A marriage made for vertue, onely vertue: My friend, and my deere Neece are man and wife.
Fur. A wonder of mine honour, and withall A worthy presedent for all the World; Heaven blesse you for it, Lady, and your choyce.
Ambo. Thankes, my good Lord.
Ta. An Accident that will make pollicie blush,And all the Complements of wealth and state,In the succesfull and unnumbred RaceThat shall flow from it, fild with fame and grace.
Ki. So may it speed deere Countesse, worthyClarence.
Ambo. Thankes, good sirCuthberd.
Fur. Captaine be not dismaid, Ile marrie thee, For while we live, thou shalt my consort be.
Foul. ByFrancemy Lord, I am not griev'd a whit, SinceClarencehath her; he hath bin inFraunce, And therefore merits her if she were better.
Mom. Then, Knights, ile knit your happie nuptial knots.I know the Ladies minds better then you;Tho my rare Neece hath chose for vertue only,Yet some more wise then some, they chuse for both,Vertue and wealth.
Eug. Nay, uncle, then I plead This goes with my choise,Some more wise then some, For onely vertues choise is truest wisedome.
Mom. Take wealth, and vertue both amongst you then,They love ye, Knights, extreamely; and SirCut:I give the chastHippolitato you;SirGyles, this Ladie—
Pen. Nay, stay there, my Lord. I have not yet prov'd all his Knightly parts I heare he is an excellent Poet too.
Tal. That I forgot sweet Lady; good sirGyles, Have you no sonnet of your penne about ye?
Goos. Yes, that I have I hope, my Lord, my Cosen.
Fur. Why, this is passing fit.
Goos. I'de be loth to goe without paper about me against my Mistris, hold my worke againe; a man knows not what neede he shall have perhaps.
Mom. Well remembred a mine honour sirGyles.
Goos. Pray read my Lord, I made this sonnet of my Mistris.
Rud. Nay reade thy selfe, man.
Goos. No intruth, sirCut: I cannot reade mine owne hand.
Mom. Well I will reade it.Three things there be which thou shouldst only crave, Thou Pomroy or thou apple of mine eye; Three things there be which thou shouldst long to have And for which three each modest dame wood crie; Three things there be that shood thine anger swage, An English mastife and a fine French page.
Rud. Sblood, Asse, theres but two things, thou shamst thy selfe.
Goos. Why sirCut. thatsPoetica licentia, the verse wood have bin too long, and I had put in the third. Slight, you are no Poet I perceive.
Pene. Tis excellent, servant.
Mom. Keepe it Lady then, And take the onely Knight of mortall men.
Goos. Thanke you, good my Lord, as much as tho you had given me twenty shillings in truth; now I may take the married mens parts at football.
Mom. All comforts crowne you all; and you, Captaine, For merry forme sake let the willowe crowne: A wreath of willow bring us hither straite.
Fur. Not for a world shood that have bin forgot Captaine it is the fashion, take this Crowne.
Foul. With all my hart, my Lord, and thanke you too; I will thanke any man that gives me crownes.
Mom. Now will we consecrate our ready supperTo honourdHymenas his nuptiall rite;In forme whereof first daunce, faire Lords and Ladies,And after sing, so we will sing, and daunce,And to the skies our vertuous joyes advance.
The Measure.
Now to the song and doe this garland grace.
_Canto.
Willowe, willowe, willowe,our Captaine goes downe:Willowe, willowe, willowe,his vallor doth crowne.The rest with Rosemary we grace;O Hymen let thy lightWith richest rayes guild every face,and feast harts with delight.Willowe, willowe, willowe,we chaunt to the skies;And with blacke, and yellowe,give courtship the prize_.
NOTE.—In a letter to theAthenaeumof June 9, 1883, Mr. Fleay suggests thatSir Giles Goosecapis the work of George Chapman. "It was produced by the Children of the Chapel, and must therefore date between 1599 and 1601. The only other plays known to have been represented by the Chapel Children are Lyly'sLove's Metamorphosisand the threeComical Satiresof Ben Jonson. The present play bears palpable marks of Jonson's influence…. The author, then, must have been a stage writer at the end of the sixteenth century, probably a friend of Jonson's, and not surviving 1636. The only known playwrights who fulfil the time conditions are Marston, Middleton, and Chapman. Internal evidence, to say nothing of Jonson's enmity, is conclusive against Marston and Middleton. Chapman, on the other hand, fulfils the conditions required. He was Jonson's intimate friend, and died in 1634. In 1598 he was writing plays for Henslow at the Rose Theatre; on July 17, 1599, his connexion with the Admiral's Company there performing ceased; and his next appearance in stage history is as a writer for the Children of Her Majesty's Revels, the very company that succeeded, and was, indeed, founded on that of the Children of the Chapel at Blackfriars. If Chapman was not writing for the Chapel boys from 1599 to 1601, we do not know what he was doing at all. The external evidence, then, clearly points to Chapman. The internal is still more decisive. To say nothing of metrical evidence, which seems just now out of fashion, probably on account of the manner in which it has been handled, can there be any doubt of the authorship of such lines as these:—
'According to my master Plato's mind,' &c.—iii. II.
And for the lower comedy, act iv., sc. 1, in which Momford makes Eugenia dictate a letter to Clarence, should be compared with theGentleman Usher, iii. 1, andMonsieur d'Olive, iv. 1. These are clearly all from one mould." I, like Mr. Fleay, had been struck by the resemblance to Chapman's style in parts ofSir Gyles Goosecappe; but it seems to me that the likeness is stronger in the serious than in the comic scenes. If Chapman was the author, it is curious that his name did not appear on the title-page of the second edition. The reference to the Maréchal de Biron's visit, iii. 1, proves conclusively that the play cannot have been written earlier than the autumn of 1601.
After reading the passages from "Dr. Dodypoll" in Lamb's "Extracts from the Garrick Plays," many students must have felt a desire to have the play in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew already. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astounding inequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, between Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift of expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold with a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of Lassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is brought too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, the serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken English, is a desperate bore. Soon the stage is crowded with figures, and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the plot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. The elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the doctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been previously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained the affections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no great dexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The reader jumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couple cleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making Earl Cassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with her father, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's story of Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The third scene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of the enchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from "Midsummer Night's Dream," and in single lines of other scenes we catch Shakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest in the scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives to pierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for an instant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions. The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. And what shall be said of that exquisite description of the cameo in ii. 1?
"Flores. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containesThe image of that Goddesse and her sonne,Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love;See, naturally wrought out of the stone(Besides the perfect shape of every limme,Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire)A waving mantle of celestiall blewImbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.
Alber. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords)HowCupidswings do spring out of the stoneAs if they needed not the helpe of Art."
Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless?
As to the authorship of "Dr. Dodypoll" I am unable to form a conjecture. We learn from Henslowe's Diary that a play called the "French Doctor" was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece with "Dr. Dodypoll." Steevens states that the present play was composed before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song on p. 102, "What thing is love"? is found in William Drummond's MS. extracts from Peele's "Hunting of Cupid" (apud Dyce's Peele).[48]
The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.
As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles.
LONDON Printed byThomas Creede, forRichard Oliue, dwelling in Long Lane. 1600.
The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.
Actus Prima.
A Curtaine drawne, EarleLassingberghis discovered (like a Painter) paintingLucilia,who sits working on a piece of Cushion worke.
Lassinberge.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayesReveal'st the variant colours of the world,Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'stThe glorious parts of faireLucilia:Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares,And fix them there as an eternall lightFor Lovers to adore and wonder at:And this (long since) the high Gods would have done,But that they could not bring it back againeWhen they had lost so great divinitie.
Lu. You paint your flattering words, [Lord]Lassinbergh,Making a curious pensill of your tongue;And that faire artificiall hand of yoursWere fitter to have painted heavens faire storieThen here to worke on Antickes and on me.Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle)Are glad to be a mercinary Painter.
Lass. A Painter, faireLuci[li]a? Why, the worldWith all her beautie was by painting made.Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres,The firmamentall ground of it all blew:Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes,The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth:Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,—How much is natures painting honour'd there?Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore,Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne,Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles:Looke on that little world, the twofold man,Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still,And see what azure vaines in stream-like formeDivide the Rosie beautie of the skin.I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts,The severall colours of the Elements,Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietieIn making all things by their colours knowne.And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine,In all things she hath made is a meere Painter.
[She kisses her hand.
[Lu.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill,Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art,Of which my beauties can deserve no part.
Lass. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearstThy severall parts, if I uniting allHad figur'd there the trueLucilia,Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine ArtAnd devout people would from farre repaire,Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice,Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves.Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold,Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye;Here, underneath this little Rosie bush,Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it;HereCupid(hanging downe his wings) doth sit,Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes:Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand,Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper'st,Least ravisht I should dote on mine own workeOr Envy-burning eyes should malice it.
Lu. No more, my Lord; see, here comesHaunceour man.
Enter Haunce.
Haunce. We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes. Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my MistresseLucilia, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints no pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie. But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers: A, the finest wench.
Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise,And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes.
EnterCorneliasola, looking upon the picture ofAlberdurein a little Jewell, and singing. Enter theDoctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her.
What thing is love? for sure I am it is a thing,It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a prettie, prettie thing;It is a fire, it is a cole, whose flame creeps in at every hoale;And as my wits do best deviseLoves dwelling is in Ladies eies.
Haunce. O rare wench!
Cor. Faire Prince, thy picture is not here imprest With such perfection as within my brest.
Mar. Soft, maister Doctor.
Doct.Cornelia, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is too sawcie by garr. Foole, holde off hand, foole; let de Doctor speake.
Han. Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jewes Trump.
Doct. Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you. Me pray you not to say no.
Cor. Maister Doctor, I think you do not love me; I am sure you shall not marry me, And (in good sadnes) I must needs say no.
Mar. What say you to this, maister Doctor. Mistresse, let me speake. That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter: and I do live or die upon yourMonasi[la]ble, I or no.
Doct. By gar if you will see deMarshanhang himselfe, say no: a good shasse by garr.
Han. A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman.
Mar. Mistresse, Ile bring you fromArabia,Turckie, andIndia, where the Sunne doth rise, Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, To beautifie you more then all the paintings Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes.
Doct. You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding. Me vit one, two, tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by garr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foure yere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who shall toush your fine hand? ô shall, ô sweete, by garr.
Mar. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinals in the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie ever at hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship.
Doct. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee live againe for sav'a de law.
Han. A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre.
Doct. Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire.
Cor. You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary.
Doct. Know? what you know? You no see your selfe, by garr me see you; me speake vatt me see; you no point speake so:
Han. Peace, Doctor, I vise you. Do not court in my maisters hearing, you were best.
Enter Flores.
Flo. Where are these wooers heere? poore sillie men,Highly deceiv'd to gape for marriage heereOnely for gaine: I have another reacheMore high then their base spirits can aspire:Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide,That hath alreadie promist me a drugWhose vertue shall effect my whole desires.
Doct. OMonsieur Flores, mee be your worships servant; mee lay my hand under your Lordships foote by my trot.
Flo. O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, And you,Albertus, it doth please me much To see you vowed rivalls thus agree.
Doct. Agree? by my trot sheele not have him.
Ma. You finde not that in your urins, M. Doctor.
Doct.Mounsieur Flores, come hedder, pray.
Flo. What sayes maister Doctor? have you remembred me?
Doct. I, by garr: heere be de powdra, you give de halfe at once.
Flo. But are you sure it will worke the effect?
Doct. Me be sure? by garr she no sooner drinke but shee hang your neck about; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse your lippe, by garr.
Flo. What, wilt thou eate me, Doctor?
Doct. By garr, mee must shew you de vertue by plaine demonstration.
Flo. Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no?
Doct. By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kisse my sweete mistresse.
Flo. Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speake; is't best in wine or no?
Doct. O, good Lort! in vyne: vat else I pray you? you give de vench to loove vatra? be garre me be ashame of you.
Flo. Well, thankes, gentle Doctor. And now (my friends) I looke to day for strangers of great state, And must crave libertie to provide for them. Painter, goe leave your worke, and you,Lucilia, Keepe you (I charge you) in your chamber close. [Exeunt Cass. and Lucilia.Haunce, see that all things be in order set Both for our Musicke and our large Carowse, That (after our best countrie fashion) I may give entertainment to the Prince.
Han. One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune.
Flo. Out of tune, villaine? which way?
Han. Drunke (sir), ant please you?
Flo. Ist night with him alreadie?—Well, get other Musicke.
Han. So we had need in truth, sir. [Exit Hans.
Doct. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [Exit.
Mar. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [Exit.
Flo.Albertus, welcome.—And now,Cornelia,Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe.Daughter, I charge thee now even by that loveIn which we have been partiall towards thee(Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts)Receive this vertuous powder at my hands,And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine)Give it unto the Prince in his carowse.I meane no villanie heerein to himBut love to thee wrought by that charmed cup.We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes;Why should we, then, shun any meanes we canTo raise us to our auncient states againe?Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'stTo have thy imperfections helpt by love.
Corn. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanesForbidden by the lawes of God and men?Can that love prosper which is not begunBy the direction of some heavenly fate?
Flo. I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet;I must provide for mine, and still preferre(Above all these) the honour of my house:Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge.
Cor. If you will have it so I must consent.
[Exeunt.
Enter Alberdure, Hyanthe, Leander and Moth.
Alber. My deereHyanthe, my content, my life,Let no new fancie change thee from my love;And for my rivall (whom I must not wrong,Because he is my father and my Prince)Give thou him honour but give me thy love.O that my rivall bound me not in dutieTo favour him, then could I tellHyantheThat he alreadie (with importun'd suite)Hath to theBrunswickDutchesse vow'd himselfe,That his desires are carelesse and his thoughtsToo fickle and imperious for love:But I am silent, dutie ties my tongue.
Hya. Why? thinks my joy, my princelyAlderbure,Hyanthesfaith stands on so weake a ground, That it will fall or bend with everie winde? No stormes or lingring miseries shall shake it, Much lesse vaine titles of commaunding love.
Moth. Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthlie purgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting and groaning in his sleepe, with "O,Hyanthe! my deareHyanthe! And then hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewell by the eare.
Alber. Away, you wag.—And tell me now, my love,What is the cause EarleCassimere(your father)Hath been so long importunate with meTo visitFloresthe brave Jeweller?
Hyan. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord,That he thinkes he doth honour every manWhom he acquaints with his perfections.Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfeTo grace and sooth his great conceit of him;For everie jesture, everie word he speakes,Seemes to my father admirablie good.
Lean. Indeed, my Lord, his high conceipt of himIs more then any man alive deserves.He thinkes the Jeweller made all of Jewels,Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit,Faire spoken and well furnisht with good parts,Yet not so peerleslie to be admir'd.
Enter Cassimere.
Cass. Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure youYou shall beholde so excellent a man,For his behaviour, for his sweete discourse,His sight in Musick and in heavenlie Arts,Besides the cunning judgement of his eieIn the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes,That you will sorrow you have staide so long.
Alber. Alas, whie would not then your lordships favor Hasten me sooner? for I long to see him On your judiciall commendation.
Cass. Come, lets away then: go you in,Hyanthe, And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence See him (I pray) with honour entertain'd.
[Exeunt.
Hya. I will, my Lord.
Leand. I will accompanie your Ladiship, If you vouchsafe it.
Hya. Come, goodLeander.
[Exeunt.
Enter Constantine, Katherine, Ite,Vandercleeve, with others.
Const. LordVandercleeve, go Lord AmbassadourFrom us to the renowmed Duke ofSaxon,And know his highnesse reason and intentWhie being (of late) with such importunate suiteBetroth'd to our faire sisterDowagerOf this our Dukedome, he doth now protractThe time he urged with such speede of lateHis honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate.
Kath. But, good my Lord, temper your AmbassieWith such respective termes to my renowmeThat I be cleer'd of all immodest hasteTo have our promist nuptials consummate;For his affects (perhaps) follow the season,Hot with the summer then, now colde with winter:And Dames (though nere so forward in desire)Must suffer men to blowe the nuptiall fire.
Vander. Madam, your name (in urging his intent)Shall not be usd, but your right princely brothers;Who, knowing it may breede in vulgar braines(That shall give note to this protraction)Unjust suspition of your sacred vertues,And other reasons touching the estateOf both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth meeTo be resolv'd of his integritie.
Const. To that end go, my honourable Lord,Commend me and my sister to his love(If you perceive not he neglects our owne)And bring his princelie resolution.
Kat. Commend not me by any meanes, my lord,Unlesse your speedie graunted audienceAnd kind entreatie make it requisite,For honour rules my nuptiall appetite.
[Exeunt.
Finis Actus Primi.
Actus Secundus.
Enter Haunce, Lassingbergh and others following, serving in a Bancket.
Han. Come, sir, it is not your painting alone makes your absolute man; ther's as fine a hand to be requir'd in carrying a dish, and as sweete arte to be shew'd in't as in any maister peece whatsoever; better then as you painted the Doctor eene now with his nose in an Urinall.
Lass. Be quiet, sir, or ile paint you by and by eating my maisters comfets. [Exit.
_Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Alberdure, Cornelia, and Moth.
Flor_. PrinceAlberdure, my great desire to aunswereThe greatnes of your birth and high desertsWith entertainment fitting to your stateMakes althings seem too humble for your presence.
Alber. Courteous S.Flores, your kinde welcome isWorthy the presence of the greatest Prince,And I am bound to good EarleCassimeereFor honouring me with your desierd acquaintance.
Cass. Wilt please you therefore to draw neere, my lord?
Flo. Wilt please your grace to sit?
Alber. No, good S.Flores; I am heere admiringThe cunning strangenes of your antick worke:For though the generall tract of it be roughYet is it sprinckled with rare flowers of Art.See what a livelie piercing eye is here;Marke the conveiance of this lovelie hand;Where are the other parts of this rare cheeke?Is it not pittie that they should be hid?
Flo. More pittie 'tis (my lord) that such rare art Should be obscur'd by needie povertie; Hee's but a simple man kept in my house.
Alber. Come, sirra, you are a practitioner, Lets have your judgement here.
Han. Will you have a stoole, sir?
Moth. I, and I thanke you too, sir.
Flo. Hath this young Gentleman such skill in drawing?
Alber. Many great maisters thinke him (for his yeares) Exceeding cunning.
Cass. Now, sir, what thinke you?
Moth. My Lord, I thinke more Art is shaddowed heereThen any man inGermaniecan shewExcept EarleLassingbergh; and (in my conceipt)This work was never wrought without his hand.
Flo. EarleLassingbergh! Aye me, my jealous thoughts Suspect a mischiefe which I must prevent.Haunce, callLuciliaand the Painter strait, Bid them come both t'attend us at our feast.— Is not your Grace yet wearie of this object? Ile shew your Lordship things more woorth the sight Both for their substance and their curious Art.
Alber. Thankes, good sirFlores.
Flo. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containesThe image of that Goddesse and her sonne,Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love;See naturally wrought out of the stone(Besides the perfect shape of every limme,Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire)A waving mantle of celestiall blewImbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.
Alber. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) HowCupidswings do spring out of the stone As if they needed not the helpe of Art.
Flo. My Lord, you see all sorts of Jewells heere,I will not tire your grace with view of them;Ile onely shew you one faire Aggat more,Commended chiefely for the workmanship.
Alber. O excellent! this is the very faceOfCassimeere: by viewing both at once,Either I thinke that both of them do liveOr both of them are Images and dead.
Flo. My Lord, I feare I trouble you too long: Wilt please your Lordships taste th[e]is homely cates?
Corn. First (if it please you) give me leave to greete Your Princely hand with this unworthy gift, Yet woorthy since it represents your selfe.
Alber. What? my selfe, Lady? trust me it is pittie So faire a Jemme should hold so rude a picture.
Cor. My Lord, 'tis made a Jewell in your picture, Which otherwise had not deserv'd the name.
Alber. Kinde mistresse, kindly I accept your favor.
Enter Lassingbergh, Haunce and Lucilia.
Flo. Heere, you young gentleman; do you know this man?
[Exit Han.
Mot. Yes, signiorFlores, 'tis EarleLassingbergh.—My lord, what meane you to come this disguisd?
Lu. Aye me!
Lass. The foolish boye is mad; I amCornelius. EarleLassingbergh? I never heard of him.
Flo. OLassingbergh, we know your villainie,And thy dishonour (fondLucilia).Asse that I was, dull, sencelesse, grosse braynd foolThat dayly saw so many evident signesOf their close dealings, winckings, becks and touches,And what not? To enforce me to discerne,Had I not been effatuate even by Fate.Your presence, noble Lords (in my disgrace)Doth deepely moove mee, and I heere protestMost solemnly (in sight of heaven and you)That if EarleLassingberghthis day refuseTo make faire mends for this fowle trespasse done,I will revenge me on his treacherous heartThough I sustaine for him a thousand deaths.
Cass. This action (traitourLassingbergh) deserves Great satisfaction or else great revenge.
Alber. Beleeve me, gallant Earle, your choice is faire. And worthy your most honourable love.
Lassin. My Lord, it greeves me to be thus unmasktAnd made ridiculous in the stealth of love;But (forLuciliashonour) I protest(Not for the desperate vowe thatFloresmade)She was my wife before she knew my love,By secret promise made in sight of heaven.The marriage which he urgeth I accept,But this compulsion and unkinde disgraceHath altered the condition of my loveAnd filde my heart with yrksome discontent.
Flor. My Lord, I must preferre mine honour stillBefore the pleasure of the greatest Monarch,Which since your Lordship seekes to gratifieWith just and friendly satisfaction,I will endeavour to redeeme the thoughtOf your affection and lost love to us.Wilt please you therefore now to associateThis woorthy Prince at this unwoorthy banquet?
Alber. My Lord, let me intreate your company.
Lassin. Hold mee excusd, faire Prince; my grieved thoughtsAre farre unmeete for festivall delights:Heere will I sit and feede on melancholie,A humour (now) most pleasing to my taste.
Flor.Lucilia, waite the pleasure of your love. My Lord, now to the banquet: Daughter, commaund us a carowse of wine.
[Musick sounds awhile; and they singBoire a le Fountaine.
My Lord, I greete you with this first carowse,And as this wine (the Elements sweete soule)Shall grow in me to bloud and vitall spirit,So shall your love and honor grow in me.
Alber. I pledge you, sir.
Cass. How like you him, my Lord?
Alber. Exceeding well. [Sing boyre a le fountaine.
Flor.Cornelia, do you serve the Prince with wine?
[Shee puts the powder into the Cup and gives it the Prince.
Alber. I thanke you, Lady; EarleCassimeere, I greete you, and remember Your faireHyanthe.
Cass. I thanke your honour. [Sing boyre a &c.
Flor. Fill my LordCassimerehis right of wine.
Cass.Cornelia, I give you this dead carowse.
Corn. I thanke your Lordship. [Sing boyre a &c.
Alber. What smoake? smoake and fire.
Cass. What meanes your honour?
Alber. Powder, powder,Etna, sulphure, fier: quench it, quench it.
Flor. I feare the medcine hath distemper'd him.—O villaine Doctor!
Alber. Downe with the battlements, powre water on! I burne, I burne; O give me leave to flie Out of these flames, these fiers that compasse me. [Exit.
Cass. What an unheard off accident is this? Would God, friendFlores, t'had not happen'd here.
Flor. My Lord, 'tis sure some Planet[53] striketh him; No doubt the furie will away againe.
Cass. Ile follow him. [Exit.
Lass. What hellish spright ordain'd this hatefull feast That ends with horror thus and discontent?
Flor. I hope no daunger will succeede therein;However, I resolve me to conceale it.—My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit,And deck your selfe with ornaments more fitFor celebration of your marriage?
Lass. I, I, put on me what attire you will; My discontent, that dwels within me still.
[Exeunt