EnterSanmartinoandCleantha.
Cle.My lord, let's change the subject: love is wornSo threadbare out of fashion, and my faithSo little leans to vows——San.The rage of timeOr sickness first must ruin that bright fabricNature took pride to build.Cle.I thank my youth thenFor the tender of your service; 'tis the lastGood turn it did me. But by this my fearsInstruct me, when the old bald man, call'd Time,Comes stealing on me, and shall steal awayWhat you call beauty, my neglected faceMust be enforc'd to go in quest for a newKnight-errant.San.Slander not my constant faith,Nor doubt the care Fate hath to stop the motionOf envious Time, might it endanger soSupreme a beauty.Cle.Sure, my lord, Fate hathMore serious business, or divines make boldT' instruct us in a schism. But grant I couldInduce myself (which I despair I shall)To hear and talk that empty nothing Love,Is't now in season, when an army liesBefore our city-gates, and every hourA battery expected? Dear my lord,Let's seal our testament, and prepare for heaven;And, as I am inform'd by them who seemTo know some part o' th' way, Love's not the nearestPath that leads thither.San.Madam, he is butA coward lover whom or death or hellCan fright from's mistress: and, for danger nowThreat'ning the city, how can I so armMyself, as by your favour proof againstAll stratagems of war?Cle.Your lordship thenShall walk as safe as if a Lapland witch(You will not envy me the honour ofThe metaphor) preserv'd you shot-free. ButWho is your confessor? Yet spare his name;His function will forgive the glory of it:Sure he's ill-read in cases to allowA married lord the freedom of this courtship.San.Can you think, madam, that I trust my sins(But virtues are those loves I pay your beauty)To th' counsel of a cassock? Who hath artTo judge of my confession, must have hadAt least a privy chamberer to his father.We of the court commit not, as the vulgar,Dull, ignorant sins: then, that I'm married, madam,Is rather safety to our love.Cle.My heart!How sick am I o' th' sudden! Good my lord,Call your dwarf hither.San.Garragantua! boy.
Cle.My lord, let's change the subject: love is wornSo threadbare out of fashion, and my faithSo little leans to vows——
San.The rage of timeOr sickness first must ruin that bright fabricNature took pride to build.
Cle.I thank my youth thenFor the tender of your service; 'tis the lastGood turn it did me. But by this my fearsInstruct me, when the old bald man, call'd Time,Comes stealing on me, and shall steal awayWhat you call beauty, my neglected faceMust be enforc'd to go in quest for a newKnight-errant.
San.Slander not my constant faith,Nor doubt the care Fate hath to stop the motionOf envious Time, might it endanger soSupreme a beauty.
Cle.Sure, my lord, Fate hathMore serious business, or divines make boldT' instruct us in a schism. But grant I couldInduce myself (which I despair I shall)To hear and talk that empty nothing Love,Is't now in season, when an army liesBefore our city-gates, and every hourA battery expected? Dear my lord,Let's seal our testament, and prepare for heaven;And, as I am inform'd by them who seemTo know some part o' th' way, Love's not the nearestPath that leads thither.
San.Madam, he is butA coward lover whom or death or hellCan fright from's mistress: and, for danger nowThreat'ning the city, how can I so armMyself, as by your favour proof againstAll stratagems of war?
Cle.Your lordship thenShall walk as safe as if a Lapland witch(You will not envy me the honour ofThe metaphor) preserv'd you shot-free. ButWho is your confessor? Yet spare his name;His function will forgive the glory of it:Sure he's ill-read in cases to allowA married lord the freedom of this courtship.
San.Can you think, madam, that I trust my sins(But virtues are those loves I pay your beauty)To th' counsel of a cassock? Who hath artTo judge of my confession, must have hadAt least a privy chamberer to his father.We of the court commit not, as the vulgar,Dull, ignorant sins: then, that I'm married, madam,Is rather safety to our love.
Cle.My heart!How sick am I o' th' sudden! Good my lord,Call your dwarf hither.
San.Garragantua! boy.
EnterBrowfildora.
Cle.Prythee, thy pedigree?San.Madam, what mean you?Cle.O, anything, but to divert from love:Another word of courtship, and I swoon.Brow.My ancestors were giants, madam; giants,Pure Spanish, who disdain'd to mingle withThe blood of Goth or Moor. Their mighty actions,In a small letter, nature printed onYour little servant.Cle.How so very little?Brow.By the decay of time, and being forc'dFrom fertile pastures to the barren hillsOf Biscay: even in trees you may observeThe wonder which, transplanted to a soilLess happy, lose in growth. Is not the onceHuge body of the Roman empire nowA very pigmy?Cle.But why change you notThat so gigantic name of Browfildora?Brow.Spite of malignant nature, I'll preserveThe memory of my forefathers: they shall liveIn me contracted.San.Madam, let's returnTo the love we last discours'd on.Cle.This, my lord,Is much more serious. What coarse thing is that?
Cle.Prythee, thy pedigree?
San.Madam, what mean you?
Cle.O, anything, but to divert from love:Another word of courtship, and I swoon.
Brow.My ancestors were giants, madam; giants,Pure Spanish, who disdain'd to mingle withThe blood of Goth or Moor. Their mighty actions,In a small letter, nature printed onYour little servant.
Cle.How so very little?
Brow.By the decay of time, and being forc'dFrom fertile pastures to the barren hillsOf Biscay: even in trees you may observeThe wonder which, transplanted to a soilLess happy, lose in growth. Is not the onceHuge body of the Roman empire nowA very pigmy?
Cle.But why change you notThat so gigantic name of Browfildora?
Brow.Spite of malignant nature, I'll preserveThe memory of my forefathers: they shall liveIn me contracted.
San.Madam, let's returnTo the love we last discours'd on.
Cle.This, my lord,Is much more serious. What coarse thing is that?
EnterOniateandFloriana.
Flo.I owe you, sir, for the pleasure of this walk.Oni.Madam, it was to me the highest honour.[ExitOniate.Cle.Welcome, O, welcome, to redeem me!—WhatCan the best wit of woman fancy weHave been discoursing of?Flo.Sure, not of love?Cle.Of that most ridiculous hobby-horse, love;That fool that fools the world; that spaniel love,That fawns [the more] the more 'tis kick'd!San.Will you betray me?Cle.Thy lord hath so protested, Floriana,Vowed such an altar to my beauty, sworeSo many oaths, and such profane oaths too,To be religious in performing allThat's impious towards heaven, and to a ladyMost ruinous.Flo.Good Cleantha, all your detractionWins no belief on my suspicion.Cle.Be credulous, and be abus'd. Floriana,There's no vice so great as to think him virtuous.Go mount your milk-white steed, Sir Lancelot,Your little squire attends you there: in suburbsEnchanted castles are, where ladies waitTo be deliver'd by your mighty hand;Go and protest there.San.I thank your favour, madam.[ExitSanmartino.Cle.It is not so much worth, sir. Come, we'll follow.Flo.But stay, Cleantha. Prythee, what begotThat squeamish look, that scornful wry o' the mouth,When Oniate parted?Cle.Why, thou hadstSo strange a fellow in thy company,His garb was so uncourtly, I grew sick.Flo.He is a gentleman; and, add to that,Makes good the title.Cle.Haply he may so,And haply he's enamour'd on thy beauty.Flo.On mine, Cleantha?Cle.Yes, dear Floriana;Yet neither danger to thy chastity,Nor blemish to thy fame: custom approves it.But I owe little to my memory,If I e'er saw him 'mong the greater ladies:Sure, he's some suburb-courtier.Flo.He's noble,And hath a soul—a thing is question'd muchIn most of the gay youths whom you converse with.Cle.But how disorderly his hair did hang.Flo.Yet 'twas his own.Cle.How ill turn'd up his beard;And for his clothes——Flo.Though not fresh every morning,Yet in the fashion.Cle.Yes, i' th' sober fashion,Which courtiers wear who hope to be employ'd,And aim at business. But he's not genteel;Not discomposed enough to court a lady.Flo.His thoughts are much more serious.Cle.Guard me, Fortune!I would not have the court take notice thatI walked one hour with that state-aphorismEach autumn to renew my youth. Let usDiscourse with lords, whose heads and legs move moreThan do their tongues, and to as good a sense;Who, snatching from my hand a glove, can sigh,And print a kiss, and then return it back;Who on my busk,[273]even with a pin, can writeThe anagram of my name, present it humbly,Fall back, and smile.Flo.Cleantha, I perceiveThere is small hope of thy conversion;Thou art resolv'd to live in this heresy.Cle.Yes; since 'tis the religion of our sex:Sweet Floriana, I will not yet sufferFor unregarded truth court persecution.
Flo.I owe you, sir, for the pleasure of this walk.
Oni.Madam, it was to me the highest honour.[ExitOniate.
Cle.Welcome, O, welcome, to redeem me!—WhatCan the best wit of woman fancy weHave been discoursing of?
Flo.Sure, not of love?
Cle.Of that most ridiculous hobby-horse, love;That fool that fools the world; that spaniel love,That fawns [the more] the more 'tis kick'd!
San.Will you betray me?
Cle.Thy lord hath so protested, Floriana,Vowed such an altar to my beauty, sworeSo many oaths, and such profane oaths too,To be religious in performing allThat's impious towards heaven, and to a ladyMost ruinous.
Flo.Good Cleantha, all your detractionWins no belief on my suspicion.
Cle.Be credulous, and be abus'd. Floriana,There's no vice so great as to think him virtuous.Go mount your milk-white steed, Sir Lancelot,Your little squire attends you there: in suburbsEnchanted castles are, where ladies waitTo be deliver'd by your mighty hand;Go and protest there.
San.I thank your favour, madam.[ExitSanmartino.
Cle.It is not so much worth, sir. Come, we'll follow.
Flo.But stay, Cleantha. Prythee, what begotThat squeamish look, that scornful wry o' the mouth,When Oniate parted?
Cle.Why, thou hadstSo strange a fellow in thy company,His garb was so uncourtly, I grew sick.
Flo.He is a gentleman; and, add to that,Makes good the title.
Cle.Haply he may so,And haply he's enamour'd on thy beauty.
Flo.On mine, Cleantha?
Cle.Yes, dear Floriana;Yet neither danger to thy chastity,Nor blemish to thy fame: custom approves it.But I owe little to my memory,If I e'er saw him 'mong the greater ladies:Sure, he's some suburb-courtier.
Flo.He's noble,And hath a soul—a thing is question'd muchIn most of the gay youths whom you converse with.
Cle.But how disorderly his hair did hang.
Flo.Yet 'twas his own.
Cle.How ill turn'd up his beard;And for his clothes——
Flo.Though not fresh every morning,Yet in the fashion.
Cle.Yes, i' th' sober fashion,Which courtiers wear who hope to be employ'd,And aim at business. But he's not genteel;Not discomposed enough to court a lady.
Flo.His thoughts are much more serious.
Cle.Guard me, Fortune!I would not have the court take notice thatI walked one hour with that state-aphorismEach autumn to renew my youth. Let usDiscourse with lords, whose heads and legs move moreThan do their tongues, and to as good a sense;Who, snatching from my hand a glove, can sigh,And print a kiss, and then return it back;Who on my busk,[273]even with a pin, can writeThe anagram of my name, present it humbly,Fall back, and smile.
Flo.Cleantha, I perceiveThere is small hope of thy conversion;Thou art resolv'd to live in this heresy.
Cle.Yes; since 'tis the religion of our sex:Sweet Floriana, I will not yet sufferFor unregarded truth court persecution.
EnterOssunaandOniate, with diversSoldiers.
But what are they appear there?Flo.We'll away.[ExeuntFlorianaandCleantha.Oss.This is the place for interview. You, who areDeputed for this service from the LordFlorentio, use such caution as befitsYour charge. Howe'er, your general's person's safe,The Lord Decastro having pass'd his word.Oni.Yet 'tis my wonder that Florentio,A soldier so exact, practis'd in allThe mysteries of war and peace, should trustHimself, where th' enemies' faith must best secure him.Oss.The great Decastro, sir, whom our late kingDeputed regent at his death, and whomThe kingdom judgeth fit to marry withHis only heir the present queen (though sheDisdain his love and our desires) hath provedTo time and fortune that he fears no danger,But what may wound his honour. How can thenFlorentio (though he now sit down beforeOur city with so vast an army) chooseA place for interview by art and natureSo fortified, as where Decastro's faithMakes it impregnable?Oni.Distrust, my lord,Is the best councillor to great designs:Our confidence betrays us. But betweenThese two are other seeds of jealousy,Such as would almost force religion breakHer tying vows, authorise perjury,And make the scrupulous casuist say, that faithIs the fool's virtue. They both love the queen:Decastro building on his high deserts,And vote of Arragon; Florentio, onThe favour he gain'd from her majestyWhen here he lived employed by his great master,King of Castile.Oss.Such politic respectsMay warrant the bad statesman to dark actions;But both these generals by a noble warResolve to try their fate.Oni.But here, my lord,
But what are they appear there?
Flo.We'll away.[ExeuntFlorianaandCleantha.
Oss.This is the place for interview. You, who areDeputed for this service from the LordFlorentio, use such caution as befitsYour charge. Howe'er, your general's person's safe,The Lord Decastro having pass'd his word.
Oni.Yet 'tis my wonder that Florentio,A soldier so exact, practis'd in allThe mysteries of war and peace, should trustHimself, where th' enemies' faith must best secure him.
Oss.The great Decastro, sir, whom our late kingDeputed regent at his death, and whomThe kingdom judgeth fit to marry withHis only heir the present queen (though sheDisdain his love and our desires) hath provedTo time and fortune that he fears no danger,But what may wound his honour. How can thenFlorentio (though he now sit down beforeOur city with so vast an army) chooseA place for interview by art and natureSo fortified, as where Decastro's faithMakes it impregnable?
Oni.Distrust, my lord,Is the best councillor to great designs:Our confidence betrays us. But betweenThese two are other seeds of jealousy,Such as would almost force religion breakHer tying vows, authorise perjury,And make the scrupulous casuist say, that faithIs the fool's virtue. They both love the queen:Decastro building on his high deserts,And vote of Arragon; Florentio, onThe favour he gain'd from her majestyWhen here he lived employed by his great master,King of Castile.
Oss.Such politic respectsMay warrant the bad statesman to dark actions;But both these generals by a noble warResolve to try their fate.
Oni.But here, my lord,
EnterSanmartino.
Is a full period to all serious thought.This lord is so impertinent, yet stillUpon the whisper.Oss.He's a mischief, sir,No court is safe from.Oni.What fine tricks he showsEach morning on his jennet, but to gainA female vision from some half-op'd window:And if a lady smile by accident,Or but in scorn of him, yet he (kind soul)Interprets it as prophecy to someNear favour to ensue at night.Oss.I wonderWhat makes him thought a wit?Oni.A copper wit,Which fools let pass for current: so false coin,Such very alchemy that, who vents himFor aught but parcel-ass, may be in danger.Look on him, and in little there see drawnThe picture of the youth is so admiredOf the spruce sirs, whom ladies and their womenCall the fine gentleman.Oss.What are those papers,With such a sober brow he looks upon?Oni.Nor platform[274]nor intelligence; but a prologueHe comes to whisper to one of the maidsI' th' privy chamber after supper.Oss.I praise the courage of his folly yet,Whom fear cannot make wiser.San.My good lord,Brave Oniate, saw you not the general?Oni.He's upon entrance here. And how, my lord?I saw your lordship turning over papers!What's the discovery?San.It may importDecastro's knowledge. Never better languageOr neater wit: a paper of such verses,Writ by th' exactest hand.Oss.In time of business,As serious as our safety, to intrudeThe dreams of madmen!San.My judicious lord,It, with the favour of your lordship, mayConcern the general: such high raptureIn admiration of the queen, whom hePretends to love! How will her majestySmile on his suit, when in the heat of businessHe not neglects this amorous way to woo her?
Is a full period to all serious thought.This lord is so impertinent, yet stillUpon the whisper.
Oss.He's a mischief, sir,No court is safe from.
Oni.What fine tricks he showsEach morning on his jennet, but to gainA female vision from some half-op'd window:And if a lady smile by accident,Or but in scorn of him, yet he (kind soul)Interprets it as prophecy to someNear favour to ensue at night.
Oss.I wonderWhat makes him thought a wit?
Oni.A copper wit,Which fools let pass for current: so false coin,Such very alchemy that, who vents himFor aught but parcel-ass, may be in danger.Look on him, and in little there see drawnThe picture of the youth is so admiredOf the spruce sirs, whom ladies and their womenCall the fine gentleman.
Oss.What are those papers,With such a sober brow he looks upon?
Oni.Nor platform[274]nor intelligence; but a prologueHe comes to whisper to one of the maidsI' th' privy chamber after supper.
Oss.I praise the courage of his folly yet,Whom fear cannot make wiser.
San.My good lord,Brave Oniate, saw you not the general?
Oni.He's upon entrance here. And how, my lord?I saw your lordship turning over papers!What's the discovery?
San.It may importDecastro's knowledge. Never better languageOr neater wit: a paper of such verses,Writ by th' exactest hand.
Oss.In time of business,As serious as our safety, to intrudeThe dreams of madmen!
San.My judicious lord,It, with the favour of your lordship, mayConcern the general: such high raptureIn admiration of the queen, whom hePretends to love! How will her majestySmile on his suit, when in the heat of businessHe not neglects this amorous way to woo her?
EnterDecastro.
Dec.No man presume t' advance a foot. My lordOssuna, I desire your ear.San.My lord,I have a piece here of such elegant wit.Dec.Your pardon, good my lord; we'll find an hourLess serious to advise upon your papers,And then at large we'll whisper.San.As you please,My lord: you'll pardon the error of my duty.[ExitSanmartino.Oss.The queen, my lord, gave free access to whatI spoke o' th' public; but when I beganTo mention love——Dec.How? did she frown, or withWhat murdering scorn heard she Decastro named?Love! of thy labyrinth of art what pathLeft I untrodden? Humbly I have labour'dTo win her favour; and when that prevail'd not,The kingdom in my quarrel vow'd to emptyThe veins of their great body.Oss.Sir, her heartIs mightier than misfortune. Though her youth,Soft as some consecrated virgin wax,Seem easy for impression, yet her virtueHard as a rock of diamond, breaks allThe battery of the waves.Dec.Unkind and cruel!Oss.She charg'd me tell you that a faithless Moor,Who had gain'd honour only by the ruinOf what we hold religious, sooner sheWould welcome to her bed, than who t' his queenAnd Love had been a rebel.Dec.How a rebel?The people's suffrage, which inaugurates princes,Hath warranted my actions.Oss.But she answers,The subtle arts of faction, not free vote,Commanded her restraint.Dec.May even those stars,Whose influence made me great, turn their aspèctsTo blood and ruin, if ambition rais'dThe appetite of love. Her beauty hathA power more sovereign than the Eastern slaveAcknowledg'd ever in his idol king.To that I bowed a subject: but when IDiscover'd that her fancy fix'd uponFlorentio (General now of th' enemy's army),I let the people use their severe way,And they restrain'd her.Oss.But, my lord, their guiltIs made your crime. Yet all this new afflictionDisturbs her not to anger, but disdain.Dec.She hath a glorious spirit. Yet the world,The envious world itself, must justify,That howsoever fortune yielded upThe sceptre to my power, I did but kiss it,And offer'd it again into her hand.
Dec.No man presume t' advance a foot. My lordOssuna, I desire your ear.
San.My lord,I have a piece here of such elegant wit.
Dec.Your pardon, good my lord; we'll find an hourLess serious to advise upon your papers,And then at large we'll whisper.
San.As you please,My lord: you'll pardon the error of my duty.[ExitSanmartino.
Oss.The queen, my lord, gave free access to whatI spoke o' th' public; but when I beganTo mention love——
Dec.How? did she frown, or withWhat murdering scorn heard she Decastro named?Love! of thy labyrinth of art what pathLeft I untrodden? Humbly I have labour'dTo win her favour; and when that prevail'd not,The kingdom in my quarrel vow'd to emptyThe veins of their great body.
Oss.Sir, her heartIs mightier than misfortune. Though her youth,Soft as some consecrated virgin wax,Seem easy for impression, yet her virtueHard as a rock of diamond, breaks allThe battery of the waves.
Dec.Unkind and cruel!
Oss.She charg'd me tell you that a faithless Moor,Who had gain'd honour only by the ruinOf what we hold religious, sooner sheWould welcome to her bed, than who t' his queenAnd Love had been a rebel.
Dec.How a rebel?The people's suffrage, which inaugurates princes,Hath warranted my actions.
Oss.But she answers,The subtle arts of faction, not free vote,Commanded her restraint.
Dec.May even those stars,Whose influence made me great, turn their aspèctsTo blood and ruin, if ambition rais'dThe appetite of love. Her beauty hathA power more sovereign than the Eastern slaveAcknowledg'd ever in his idol king.To that I bowed a subject: but when IDiscover'd that her fancy fix'd uponFlorentio (General now of th' enemy's army),I let the people use their severe way,And they restrain'd her.
Oss.But, my lord, their guiltIs made your crime. Yet all this new afflictionDisturbs her not to anger, but disdain.
Dec.She hath a glorious spirit. Yet the world,The envious world itself, must justify,That howsoever fortune yielded upThe sceptre to my power, I did but kiss it,And offer'd it again into her hand.
EnterFlorentio,Velasco, and others.
Oni.My lord, the general of Castile, Florentio.Dec.He's safely welcome. Now let each man keepAt a due distance. I have here attendedYour lordship's presence.Flo.O my lord, are we,Whom love obligeth to the same allegiance,Brought hither on these terms?Dec.They're terms of honour,And I yet never knew to frame excuse,Where that begot the quarrel.Flo.Yet methinksWe might have found another way to it.We might have sought out danger, where the proud,Insulting Moor profanes our holy places.The noise of war had been no trouble then;But now too much 'twill fright the gentle earOf her we both are vow'd to serve.Dec.That love,Which arms us both, bears witness that I hadMuch rather have encounter'd lightning, thanCreate the least distraction to her peace.But since the vote of Arragon decreesThat my long service hath the justest claimTo challenge her regard, thus I must standArm'd to make good the title.Flo.This vain languageScarce moves my pity. What desert can riseSo high to merit her? Were each short momentO' th' longest-liv'd commander lengthen'd toAn age, and that exposed to dangers mighty,As cowards frame them, can you think his serviceMight challenge her regard? Like th' heavenly bounty,She may distribute favour; but 'tis sinTo say our merits may pretend a title.Dec.You talk, sir, like a courtier.Flo.But, my lord,You'll find a soldier in this arm which, strengthen'dBy such a cause, may level mountains high,As those the giants (emblems of your thoughts)Piled up to have scal'd heaven.Dec.That must beDecided by the sword: and if, my lord,Our interview hath no more sober endThan a dispute so froward, let us makeThe trumpet drown the noise.Flo.You shall not wantThat music. But before we yielded upOur reason unto fury, I desiredWe might expostulate the ground of thisSo fatal war, and bring you to that lowObedience nature placed you in.Dec.My ear attends you.Flo.Where is then that humble zealYou owe a mistress, if you can throw offThat duty which you owe her as your queen?What justice (that fair rule of human actions)Can you pretend for taking arms?Dec.Pray, forward.Flo.I'll not deny (for from an enemyI'll not detract) during her nonage, whenThe public choice and her great father's willEnthron'd you in the government, you manag'dAffairs with prudence equal to the fameYou gain'd: and when your sword did fight her quarrel,'Twas crown'd with victory.Dec.I thank your memory.Flo.But hence ambition and ingratitudeDrew only venom: for by these great actionsYou labour'd not t' advance her state or honour,But subtly wrought upon the people's love—A love begot by error, following stillApparency, not truth.Dec.You construe fairly.Flo.The sun is not more visible, when notOne cloud wrinkles the brow of heaven; forOn that false strength you had i' th' multitudeYou swell'd to insolence, dared court your queen,Boasting your merit like some wanton tyrantI' th' vanity of a new conquest. And,When you perceiv'd her judgment did instruct herTo frown on the attempt, profanely, 'gainstAll laws of love and majesty, you madeThe people in your quarrel seize uponThe sacred person of the fairest queenStory e'er boasted.Dec.Have you done, my lord?Flo.Not yet. This injury provok'd my masterTo raise these mighty forces for her rescue,And named me general: whose aim is notA vain ambition, but t' advance her service.Ere we begin to punish, take this offer:Restore the queen to liberty, with eachDue circumstance that such a majestyMay challenge, freely to make choice of whomShe shall advance to th' honour of her bed.If your deserts bear that high rate you mention,Why should you doubt your fortune? On these termsThe king, King of Castile, may be inducedTo pardon the error of your ruin.Dec.Thus,In short, my answer. How unlimitedSoe'er my power hath been, my reason andMy love have circumscrib'd it. True, the queenStands now restrain'd: but 'tis by the decreeOf the whole kingdom, lest her error shouldPersuade her to some man less worthy.Flo.How!Dec.Less worthy than myself; for so they judgeThe proudest subject to a foreign prince.But when you mention love, where are your blushes?What can you answer for the practisingThe queen's affection, when embassadorYou lay here from Castile, pretending onlyAffairs importing both the kingdoms? NorCan you, my lord, be tax'd by your discretion,That by the humblest arts of love you labourTo win so bright a beauty, and a queenSo potent. Your affection looks not hereWithout an eye upon your profit.Flo.Witness, Love!Dec.No protestation. If you will withdrawYour forces from our kingdom, and permitUs to our laws and government, that peace,Which hath continued many ages sacred,Stands firm between us. But if not——Flo.To arms!Dec.Pray stay, my lord. Doth not your lordship seeTh' advantage I have in the place? With howMuch ease I may secure my fortune fromThe greatest danger of your forces?Flo.Ha!'Twas inconsiderate in me: but I trustedTo th' honour of your word, which you'll not violate.Dec.Go safely off, my lord. And now be dumbAll talk of peace: we'll parley in the drum.
Oni.My lord, the general of Castile, Florentio.
Dec.He's safely welcome. Now let each man keepAt a due distance. I have here attendedYour lordship's presence.
Flo.O my lord, are we,Whom love obligeth to the same allegiance,Brought hither on these terms?
Dec.They're terms of honour,And I yet never knew to frame excuse,Where that begot the quarrel.
Flo.Yet methinksWe might have found another way to it.We might have sought out danger, where the proud,Insulting Moor profanes our holy places.The noise of war had been no trouble then;But now too much 'twill fright the gentle earOf her we both are vow'd to serve.
Dec.That love,Which arms us both, bears witness that I hadMuch rather have encounter'd lightning, thanCreate the least distraction to her peace.But since the vote of Arragon decreesThat my long service hath the justest claimTo challenge her regard, thus I must standArm'd to make good the title.
Flo.This vain languageScarce moves my pity. What desert can riseSo high to merit her? Were each short momentO' th' longest-liv'd commander lengthen'd toAn age, and that exposed to dangers mighty,As cowards frame them, can you think his serviceMight challenge her regard? Like th' heavenly bounty,She may distribute favour; but 'tis sinTo say our merits may pretend a title.
Dec.You talk, sir, like a courtier.
Flo.But, my lord,You'll find a soldier in this arm which, strengthen'dBy such a cause, may level mountains high,As those the giants (emblems of your thoughts)Piled up to have scal'd heaven.
Dec.That must beDecided by the sword: and if, my lord,Our interview hath no more sober endThan a dispute so froward, let us makeThe trumpet drown the noise.
Flo.You shall not wantThat music. But before we yielded upOur reason unto fury, I desiredWe might expostulate the ground of thisSo fatal war, and bring you to that lowObedience nature placed you in.
Dec.My ear attends you.
Flo.Where is then that humble zealYou owe a mistress, if you can throw offThat duty which you owe her as your queen?What justice (that fair rule of human actions)Can you pretend for taking arms?
Dec.Pray, forward.
Flo.I'll not deny (for from an enemyI'll not detract) during her nonage, whenThe public choice and her great father's willEnthron'd you in the government, you manag'dAffairs with prudence equal to the fameYou gain'd: and when your sword did fight her quarrel,'Twas crown'd with victory.
Dec.I thank your memory.
Flo.But hence ambition and ingratitudeDrew only venom: for by these great actionsYou labour'd not t' advance her state or honour,But subtly wrought upon the people's love—A love begot by error, following stillApparency, not truth.
Dec.You construe fairly.
Flo.The sun is not more visible, when notOne cloud wrinkles the brow of heaven; forOn that false strength you had i' th' multitudeYou swell'd to insolence, dared court your queen,Boasting your merit like some wanton tyrantI' th' vanity of a new conquest. And,When you perceiv'd her judgment did instruct herTo frown on the attempt, profanely, 'gainstAll laws of love and majesty, you madeThe people in your quarrel seize uponThe sacred person of the fairest queenStory e'er boasted.
Dec.Have you done, my lord?
Flo.Not yet. This injury provok'd my masterTo raise these mighty forces for her rescue,And named me general: whose aim is notA vain ambition, but t' advance her service.Ere we begin to punish, take this offer:Restore the queen to liberty, with eachDue circumstance that such a majestyMay challenge, freely to make choice of whomShe shall advance to th' honour of her bed.If your deserts bear that high rate you mention,Why should you doubt your fortune? On these termsThe king, King of Castile, may be inducedTo pardon the error of your ruin.
Dec.Thus,In short, my answer. How unlimitedSoe'er my power hath been, my reason andMy love have circumscrib'd it. True, the queenStands now restrain'd: but 'tis by the decreeOf the whole kingdom, lest her error shouldPersuade her to some man less worthy.
Flo.How!
Dec.Less worthy than myself; for so they judgeThe proudest subject to a foreign prince.But when you mention love, where are your blushes?What can you answer for the practisingThe queen's affection, when embassadorYou lay here from Castile, pretending onlyAffairs importing both the kingdoms? NorCan you, my lord, be tax'd by your discretion,That by the humblest arts of love you labourTo win so bright a beauty, and a queenSo potent. Your affection looks not hereWithout an eye upon your profit.
Flo.Witness, Love!
Dec.No protestation. If you will withdrawYour forces from our kingdom, and permitUs to our laws and government, that peace,Which hath continued many ages sacred,Stands firm between us. But if not——
Flo.To arms!
Dec.Pray stay, my lord. Doth not your lordship seeTh' advantage I have in the place? With howMuch ease I may secure my fortune fromThe greatest danger of your forces?
Flo.Ha!'Twas inconsiderate in me: but I trustedTo th' honour of your word, which you'll not violate.
Dec.Go safely off, my lord. And now be dumbAll talk of peace: we'll parley in the drum.
[Exeunt several ways, the drum beating.
FOOTNOTES:[272]This play being by the author communicated to Philip Earl of Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain of the Household to King Charles I., he caused it to be acted at court, and afterwards published against the author's consent. It was revived at the Restoration, when a Prologue and Epilogue, written by the author of "Hudibras," were spoken.—See Butler's "Remains," vol. i. p. 185.[273]See note to "Lingua," act ii. sc. 2.[274][Programme of policy.]
[272]This play being by the author communicated to Philip Earl of Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain of the Household to King Charles I., he caused it to be acted at court, and afterwards published against the author's consent. It was revived at the Restoration, when a Prologue and Epilogue, written by the author of "Hudibras," were spoken.—See Butler's "Remains," vol. i. p. 185.
[272]This play being by the author communicated to Philip Earl of Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain of the Household to King Charles I., he caused it to be acted at court, and afterwards published against the author's consent. It was revived at the Restoration, when a Prologue and Epilogue, written by the author of "Hudibras," were spoken.—See Butler's "Remains," vol. i. p. 185.
[273]See note to "Lingua," act ii. sc. 2.
[273]See note to "Lingua," act ii. sc. 2.
[274][Programme of policy.]
[274][Programme of policy.]