[Loud music.
You strike sad tones unto this dismal act.
[Exeunt.
[207]Wrinkled.[208]Affianced.[209]Spur-royal was a gold coin worth fifteen shillings.[210]Nobles.[211]Embroidered (Fr.pourfiler).[212]To make a horsetread the ringwas an equestrian feat. Theringwas the circular piece of ground on which the horse displayed his agility. See note on Middleton,vol. i.p.190.[213]Stockado, stoccata,—a thrust in fencing.[214]Grin or snarl.[215]“Couleur de Roywas in the old time Purple; but now is the bright Tawnie which wee also tearmeCoulour de Roy.”—Cotgrave.[216]A counterfeit coin.[217]A reminiscence of Virgil:—“Tum gelidus toto manabat corpore sudor:Corripio e stratis corpus.”—Æn.iii.174-5.[218]Again we are reminded of Virgil:—“Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum,Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago.”—Æn.vi, 699-700.[219]For “I oped” oldeds.give “top’t.”[220]Old form of “monsieur.”—Balurdo is talking arrant nonsense.[221]The dramatists are fond of punning on the words, (1) bewray (betray), (2) beray (befoul).Cf.Middleton,i.82,&c.[222]Oldeds.“gellied,” which I take to bejellied—notgelid. In the first edition of Shelley’sCenci(iv.3) we have:—“Thegellyed bloodruns freely through my veins:” later editions readjellied.[223]Oldeds.“flow.”[224]Not marked ined.1602.[225]Reproach, upbraid.[226]“Luxurious twines”—lustful embraces.[227]Oldeds.“maine.”[228]Soed.1602.—Ed.1633, “swounded.”[229]The metrical harshness might be removed by reading “A father dead, a wife dishonour’d.”[230]Affections, feelings.[231]Oldeds.“and let’s sit.”[232]Saucy fellow.[233]“‘Grumean de sang, a clot orclutterof congealed blood,’ Cotgrave.Clutteredblood, ‘Holinshed,Hist. Engl.p.74.’”—Halliwell.[234]There seems to be an allusion to old Hieronymo’s frantic behaviour inThe Spanish Tragedy.[235]Well-balanced.[236]A Stoic sentiment. Seneca writes:—“Est aliquid quo sapiens antecedat deum: ille beneficio naturæ non timet, suo sapiens.” (Ep. Mor.,Lib. vi, Ep.1.) But see particularly the quotation from Seneca onp.133.
[207]Wrinkled.
[208]Affianced.
[209]Spur-royal was a gold coin worth fifteen shillings.
[210]Nobles.
[211]Embroidered (Fr.pourfiler).
[212]To make a horsetread the ringwas an equestrian feat. Theringwas the circular piece of ground on which the horse displayed his agility. See note on Middleton,vol. i.p.190.
[213]Stockado, stoccata,—a thrust in fencing.
[214]Grin or snarl.
[215]“Couleur de Roywas in the old time Purple; but now is the bright Tawnie which wee also tearmeCoulour de Roy.”—Cotgrave.
[216]A counterfeit coin.
[217]A reminiscence of Virgil:—
“Tum gelidus toto manabat corpore sudor:Corripio e stratis corpus.”—Æn.iii.174-5.
[218]Again we are reminded of Virgil:—
“Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum,Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago.”—Æn.vi, 699-700.
[219]For “I oped” oldeds.give “top’t.”
[220]Old form of “monsieur.”—Balurdo is talking arrant nonsense.
[221]The dramatists are fond of punning on the words, (1) bewray (betray), (2) beray (befoul).Cf.Middleton,i.82,&c.
[222]Oldeds.“gellied,” which I take to bejellied—notgelid. In the first edition of Shelley’sCenci(iv.3) we have:—“Thegellyed bloodruns freely through my veins:” later editions readjellied.
[223]Oldeds.“flow.”
[224]Not marked ined.1602.
[225]Reproach, upbraid.
[226]“Luxurious twines”—lustful embraces.
[227]Oldeds.“maine.”
[228]Soed.1602.—Ed.1633, “swounded.”
[229]The metrical harshness might be removed by reading “A father dead, a wife dishonour’d.”
[230]Affections, feelings.
[231]Oldeds.“and let’s sit.”
[232]Saucy fellow.
[233]“‘Grumean de sang, a clot orclutterof congealed blood,’ Cotgrave.Clutteredblood, ‘Holinshed,Hist. Engl.p.74.’”—Halliwell.
[234]There seems to be an allusion to old Hieronymo’s frantic behaviour inThe Spanish Tragedy.
[235]Well-balanced.
[236]A Stoic sentiment. Seneca writes:—“Est aliquid quo sapiens antecedat deum: ille beneficio naturæ non timet, suo sapiens.” (Ep. Mor.,Lib. vi, Ep.1.) But see particularly the quotation from Seneca onp.133.
SCENEI.
A dumb show.
The cornets sound a senet.
Enter two mourners with torches, two with streamers;CastilioandForobosco,with torches; a Herald bearingAndrugio’shelm and sword; the coffin;Mariasupported byLucioandAlberto;Antonio,by himself;PieroandStrotzo,talking;GaleatzoandMatzagente,BalurdoandPandulfo:the coffin set down; helm, sword, and streamers hung up, placed by the Herald, whilstAntonioandMariawet their handkerchers with their tears, kiss them, and lay them on the hearse, kneeling: all go out butPiero.Cornets cease, and he speaks.
Pier.Rot there, thou cerecloth that enfolds the fleshOf my loath’d foe; moulder to crumbling dust;Oblivion choke the passage of thy fame!Trophies of honour’d birth drop quickly down:Let nought of him, but what was vicious, live.Though thou art dead, think not my hate is dead:I have but newly twone my arm in the curl’d locksOf snaky vengeance. Pale, beetle-brow’d hateBut newly bustles up. Sweet wrong, I clap thy thoughts!O let me hug thy[237]bosom, rub thy[237]breast,10In hope of what may hap. Andrugio rots,Antonio lives: umh: how long? ha, ha! how long?Antonio pack’d hence, I’ll his mother wed,Then clear my daughter of supposèd lust,Wed her to Florence heir. O excellent!Venice, Genoa, Florence at my beck,At Piero’s nod.—Balurdo, O ho![238]—O ’twill be rare, all unsuspected done.I have been nursed in blood, and still have suck’dThe steam of reeking gore.—Balurdo, ho!20
EnterBalurdowith a beard, half off, half on.
Bal.When my beard is on, most noble prince, when my beard is on.
Pier.Why, what dost thou with a beard?
Bal.In truth, one told me that my wit was bald, and that a mermaid was half fish and half fish [sic]; and therefore to speak wisely, like one of your counsel, as indeed it hath pleased you to make me, not only being a fool of your counsel, but also to make me of your counsel being a fool: if my wit be bald, and a mermaid be half fish and half conger, then I must be forced to conclude—Thetiring man hath not glued on my beard half fast enough. God’s bores, it will not stick to fall off.32
Pier.Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this while?
Bal.O lord, duke, I would be sorry of that. Many men can utter that which no man but themselves can conceive: but I thank a good wit, I have the gift to speak that which neither any man else nor myself understands.
Pier.Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not what, shall never sin against his own conscience: go to, thou art wise.40
Bal.Wise? O no, I have a little natural discretion, or so; but for wise, I am somewhat prudent; but for wise, O lord!
Pier.Hold, take those keys, open the castle vault, And put in Mellida.
Bal.And put in Mellida? Well, let me alone.
Pier.Bid Forobosco and Castilio guard;Endear thyself Piero’s intimate.
Bal.Endear, and intimate; good, I assure you. I will endear and intimate Mellida into the dungeon presently.51
Pier.Will[239]Pandulfo Feliche wait on me.
Bal.I will make him come, most retort and obtuse, to you presently. I think Sir Jeffrey talks like a counsellor. Go to, god’s neaks, I think I tickle it.
Pier.I’ll seem to wind yon fool with kindest arm.He that’s ambitious-minded, and but man,Must have his followers beasts, damn’d[240]slavish sots,Whose service is obedience, and whose witReacheth no further than to admire their lord,60And stare in adoration of his worth.I loathe a slave, raked out of common mud,Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart.High-honour’d blood’s too squeamish to assentAnd lend a hand to an ignoble act:Poison from roses who could e’er abstract?—
EnterPandulfo.
How now, Pandulfo? weeping for thy son?
Pan.No, no, Piero, weeping for my sins:Had I been a good father, he had beenA gracious son.
Pier.Pollution must be purged.70
Pan.Why taint’st thou then the air with stench of flesh,And human putrefaction’s noisome scent?I pray his body. Who less boon can craveThan to bestow upon the dead his grave?
Pier.Grave! Why, think’st thou he deserves a grave,That hath defil’d the temple of——
Pan.Peace, peace!Methinks I hear a humming murmur creepFrom out his jellied[241]wounds. Look on those lips,Those now lawn pillows, on whose tender softnessChaste modest speech, stealing from out his breast,80Had wont to rest itself, as loath to postFrom out so fair an inn! look, look, they seem to stirAnd breathe defiance to black obloquy!
Pier.Think’st thou thy son could suffer wrongfully?
Pan.A wise man wrongfully, but never wrongCan take;[242]his breast’s of such well-tempered proofIt may be razed, not pierced by savage toothOf foaming malice: showers of darts may darkHeaven’s ample brow, but not strike out a spark,Much less pierce the sun’s cheek. Such songs as theseI often dittied till my boy did sleep;91But now I turn plain fool, alas, I weep.
Pier.[Aside.] ’Fore heaven he makes me shrug; would ’a were dead.He is a virtuous man: what has our court to doWith virtue, in the devil’s name!—Pandulpho, hark:My lustful daughter dies; start not, she dies.I pursue justice; I love sanctity,And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts.Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio’s dead:And I do fear a fetch;[243]but (umh) would I durst speak—I do mistrust but (umh)—[Aside.] Death is he all, all man,Hath he no part of mother in him, ha?102No licorish womanish inquisitiveness?
Pan.Andrugio’s dead!
Pier.Ay; and I fear his own unnatural blood,To whom he gave life, hath given death for life.[Aside.]How could he come on? I see false suspectIs viced; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart.—Well, I could give you reason for my doubts:You are of honour’d birth, my very friend:110You know how god-like ’tis to root out sin.Antonio is a villain: will you joinIn oath with me against the traitor’s life,And swear you knew he sought his father’s death?I loved him well, yet I love justice more:Our friends we should affect, justice adore.
Pan.My lord, the clapper of my mouth’s not glibb’dWith court-oil, ’twill not strike on both sides yet.
Pier.’Tis[244]just that subjects act commands of kings.
Pan.Command then just and honourable things.120
Pier.Even so, myself then will traduce his guilt.
Pan.Beware, take heed, lest guiltless blood be spilt.
Pier.Where only honest deeds to kings are free,It is no empire, but a beggary.
Pan.Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,It is no empire, but a tyranny.
Pier.Tush, juiceless graybeard, ’tis immunity,Proper to princes, that our state exacts;Our subjects not alone to bear, but praise our acts.129
Pan.O, but that prince, that worthful praise aspires,From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.
Pier.Pish!True praise the brow of common men doth ring,False only girts the temple of a king.He that hath strength and ’s ignorant of power,He was not made to rule, but to be rul’d.
Pan.’Tis praise to do, not what we can, but should.
Pier.Hence, doting stoic! by my hope of bliss,I’ll make thee wretched.
Pan.Defiance to thy power, thou rifted jawn![245]140Now, by the lovèd heaven, sooner thou shaltRinse thy foul ribs from the black filth of sinThat soots thy heart than make me wretched. Pish!Thou canst not coop me up. Hadst thou a jailWith treble walls, like antique Babylon,Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee, duke,I have old Fortunatus’ wishing-cap,And can be where I list even in a trice.I’ll skip from earth into the arms of heaven:And from triumphal arch of blessedness,150Spit on thy frothy breast. Thou canst not slaveOr banish me; I will be free at home,Maugre the beard of greatness. The port-holesOf sheathèd spirit are ne’er corbèd[246]up,But still stand open ready to dischargeTheir precious shot into the shrouds of heaven.
Pier.O torture! slave, I banish thee the town,Thy native seat of birth.
Pan.How proud thou speak’st! I tell thee, duke, the blasts159Of the swoll’n-cheek’d winds, nor all the breath of kingsCan puff me out my native seat of birth.The earth’s my body’s, and the heaven’s my soul’sMost native place of birth, which they will keepDespite the menace of mortality.Why, duke,That’s not my native place,[247]where I was rock’d.A wise man’s home is wheresoe’er he is wise;Now that, from man, not from the place, doth rise.
Pier.Would I were deaf! O plague! Hence, dotard wretch!Tread not in court: all that thou hast, I seize.170[Aside.] His quiet’s firmer than I can disease.
Pan.Go, boast unto thy flatt’ring sycophantsPandulpho’s slave Piero hath o’erthrown:Loose fortune’s rags are lost, my own’s my own.
[Pierogoing out, looks back.
’Tis true, Piero, thy vex’d heart shall see,Thou hast but tripp’d my slave, not conquered me.
[Exeunt at several doors.
[237]Soed.1633.—Ed.1602 “my.”[238]We are to suppose that Piero has left the church and is in the courtyard of the palace.[239]i.e., desire, order.[240]Oldeds.“dub’d.”[241]Seenote 2,p.114.[242]Pandulpho is again ready with his Stoic maxims. Seneca wrote a dissertation to show “Nec injuriam nec contumeliam accipere sapientem.”[243]“I do fear afetch,”i.e., I suspect that Andrugio has perished by treachery.Fetch= plot, device.[244]There is an Attic flavour in this passage ofstichomythia. For a passing moment one is reminded of Creon’s altercation with his son (in theAntigone):—Κρ. ὦ παγκάκιστε, διὰ δίκης ἰὼν πατρί.Αι. οὐ γὰρ δίκαιά σ’ ἐξαμαρτάνονθ’ ὁρῶ.Κρ. ἁμαρτάνω γὰρ τὰς ἐμὰς ἀρχὰς σέβων;Αι. οὐ γὰρ σέβεις, τιμάς γε τὰς θεῶν πατῶν.[245]Marston uses indifferently the formschawnandjawnfor a rift or chasm.[246]“Corbèd” (oldeds.“corb’d”) is “good,” as Polonius would say; but I have no suspicion as to its meaning. It would be a pity to suggest an emendation.[247]Seneca is fond of harping on this theme. “In ultimas expellaris terras licebit,” he writes in one of his epistles, “in quolibet barbariæ angulo colloceris, hospitalis tibi illa qualiscumque sedes erit; magis quis veneris quam quo, interest, et ideo nulli loco addicere debemus arbitrium. Cum hac persuasione vivendum est: ‘Non sum uni angulo natus, patria mea totus hic mundus est.’”
[237]Soed.1633.—Ed.1602 “my.”
[238]We are to suppose that Piero has left the church and is in the courtyard of the palace.
[239]i.e., desire, order.
[240]Oldeds.“dub’d.”
[241]Seenote 2,p.114.
[242]Pandulpho is again ready with his Stoic maxims. Seneca wrote a dissertation to show “Nec injuriam nec contumeliam accipere sapientem.”
[243]“I do fear afetch,”i.e., I suspect that Andrugio has perished by treachery.Fetch= plot, device.
[244]There is an Attic flavour in this passage ofstichomythia. For a passing moment one is reminded of Creon’s altercation with his son (in theAntigone):—
Κρ. ὦ παγκάκιστε, διὰ δίκης ἰὼν πατρί.
Αι. οὐ γὰρ δίκαιά σ’ ἐξαμαρτάνονθ’ ὁρῶ.
Κρ. ἁμαρτάνω γὰρ τὰς ἐμὰς ἀρχὰς σέβων;
Αι. οὐ γὰρ σέβεις, τιμάς γε τὰς θεῶν πατῶν.
[245]Marston uses indifferently the formschawnandjawnfor a rift or chasm.
[246]“Corbèd” (oldeds.“corb’d”) is “good,” as Polonius would say; but I have no suspicion as to its meaning. It would be a pity to suggest an emendation.
[247]Seneca is fond of harping on this theme. “In ultimas expellaris terras licebit,” he writes in one of his epistles, “in quolibet barbariæ angulo colloceris, hospitalis tibi illa qualiscumque sedes erit; magis quis veneris quam quo, interest, et ideo nulli loco addicere debemus arbitrium. Cum hac persuasione vivendum est: ‘Non sum uni angulo natus, patria mea totus hic mundus est.’”
SCENEII.
Before the palace ofPiero.
EnterAntonio,in black, with a book;LucioandAlberto.
Alb.Nay, sweet, be comforted, take counsel and——.
Ant.Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton-sick,Whose stomach can digest and brook the dietOf stale ill-relish’d counsel. Pigmy caresCan shelter under patience’ shield; but giant griefsWill burst all covert.
Lu.My lord, ’tis supper time.
Ant.Drink deep, Alberto; eat, good Lucio;But my pined heart shall eat on nought but woe.
Alb.My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.
Ant.You cannot leave Antonio alone.10The chamber of my breast is even throng’dWith firm attendance that forswears to flinch.I have a thing sits here; it is not grief,’Tis not despair, nor the [ut]most plagueThat the most wretched are infected with;But the most griefful,[248][most] despairing, wretched,Accursèd, miserable—O, for heaven’s sakeForsake me now; you see how light I am,And yet you force me to defame my patience.
Lu.Fair gentle prince——.20
Ant.Away, thy voice is hateful: thou dost buzz,And beat my ears with intimationsThat Mellida, that Mellida is light,And stainèd with adulterous luxury!I cannot brook’t. I tell thee, Lucio,Sooner will I give faith that Virtue’s cant[249]In princes’ courts will be adorn’d with wreathOf choice respect, and endear’d intimate;Sooner will I believe that friendship’s reinWill curb ambition from utility,30Than Mellida is light. Alas, poor soul,Didst e’er see her?—good heart!—hast heard her speak?Kind, kind soul! Incredulity itselfWould not be so brass-hearted, as suspectSo modest cheeks.
Lu.My lord——.
Ant.Away!A self-sown[250]guilt doth only hatch distrust;But a chaste thought’s as far from doubt as lust.I entreat you, leave me.
Alb.Will you endeavour to forget your grief?
Ant.I’faith I will, good friend, i’faith I will.40I’ll come and eat with you. Alberto, see,I am taking physic, here’s philosophy.Good honest, leave me, I’ll drink wine anon.
Alb.Since you enforce us, fair prince, we are gone.
[ExeuntAlbertoandLucio.
Antonioreads.
A. Ferte[251]fortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Ille enim extra patientiam malorum, vos supra. Contemnite dolorem: aut solvetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunam: nullum telum, quo feriret animum habet.[252]
Pish, thy mother was not lately widowèd,Thy dear affièd love lately defam’d50With blemish of foul lust, when thou wrotest thus;Thou wrapt in furs, beaking[253]thy limbs ’fore fires;Forbid’st the frozen zone to shudder. Ha, ha! ’tis noughtBut foamy bubbling of a fleamy[254]brain,Nought else but smoke. O what dank marish spirit,But would be fired with impatienceAt my——No more, no more; he that was never blestWith height of birth, fair expectationOf mounted fortunes, knows not what it is60To be the pitied object of the world.O, poor Antonio, thou may’st sigh!
Mel.[from beneath.] Ay me!
Ant.And curse.
Pan.[from within.] Black powers!
Ant.And cry.
Mar.[from within.] O Heaven!
Ant.And close laments with——.
Mel.[255][from beneath.] O me, most miserable!
Pan.Woe for my dear, dear son!70
Mar.Woe for my dear, dear husband!
Mel.Woe for my dear, dear love!
Ant.Woe for me all, close all your woes in me!In me, Antonio!—ha! where live these sounds?I can see nothing; grief’s invisible,And lurks in secret angles of the heart.Come, sigh again, Antonio bears his part.
Mel.O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs.I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent.80Ay, that is Phœbe, empress of the night,That ’gins to mount; O chastest deity,If I be false to my Antonio,If the least soil of lust smears my pure love,Make me more wretched, make me more accurs’dThan infamy, torture, death, hell, and heaven,Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not,Purge my poor heart from[256]defamation’s blot.
Ant.Purge my poor heart from defamation’s blot!Poor heart, how like her virtuous self she speaks.—90Mellida, dear Mellida! it is Antonio:Slink not away, ’tis thy Antonio.
Mel.How found you out, my lord? Alas! I know’Tis easy in this age to find out woe.I have a suit to you.
Ant.What is’t, dear soul?
Mel.Kill me; i’faith I’ll wink, not stir a jot.For God sake kill me; in sooth, lovèd youth,I am much injur’d; look, see how I creep.I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep.
Ant.May I be cursèd, but I credit thee.100
Mel.To-morrow I must die.
Ant.Alas, for what?
Mel.For loving thee. ’Tis true, my sweetest breast,I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart.Nets are a-knitting to entrap thy life.Thy father’s death must make a paradiseTo my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me, sweet,Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still?
Ant.I do.
Mal.Then welcome heaven’s will.
Ant.Madam, I will not swell, like a tragedian,In forcèd passion of affected strains.110If I had present power of ought but pitying you,I would be as ready to redress your wrongsAs to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughtsCrowd for their passage; somewhat I will do.Reach me thy hand; think this is honour’s bent,To live unslavèd, to die innocent.
Mel.Let me entreat a favour, gracious love.Be patient, see me die; good, do not weep:Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep.
Ant.I’faith I cannot; but I’ll force my face120To palliate my sickness.
Mel.Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell:That’s all my woe can breathe. Kiss: thus, farewell.
Ant.Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts; stay, dove:And therefore I must speak: but what? O love!By this white hand: no more: read in these tears,What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears.
[AntoniokissethMellida’shand: thenMellidagoes from the grate.
Mel.Good night, good heart.
Ant.Thus heat from blood, thus souls from bodies part.129
EnterPieroandStrotzo.
Pier.He grieves; laugh, Strotzo, laugh. He weeps.Hath he tears? O pleasure! hath he tears?Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whipsOf knotty vengeance. Strotzo, cause me straightSome plaining ditty to augment despair.
[ExitStrotzo.
Triumph, Piero: hark, he groans. O rare!
Ant.Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his tomb.His epitaph, thus:Ne plus ultra. Ho!Let none out-woe me: mine’s Herculean woe.
[A song within.—ExitPieroat the end of the song.
EnterMaria.
Ant.May I be more cursed than Heaven can make me, ifI’m not more wretched than man can conceive me.140Sore forlorn orphant, what omnipotenceCan make thee happy?
Mar.How now, sweet son? Good youth,What dost thou?
Ant.Weep, weep.
Mar.Dost nought but weep, weep?
Ant.Yes, mother, I do sigh, and wring my hands,Beat my poor breast, and wreathe my tender arms.Hark ye; I’ll tell you wondrous strange, strange news.
Mar.What, my good boy, stark mad?
Ant.I am not.
Mar.Alas!Is that strange news?150
Ant.Strange news? why, mother, is’t not wondrous strangeI am not mad—I run not frantic, ha?Knowing, my father’s trunk scarce cold, your loveIs sought by him that doth pursue my life!Seeing the beauty of creation,Antonio’s bride, pure heart, defamed, and stowedUnder the hatches of obscuring earth!Heu, quo labor, quo vota ceciderunt mea!
EnterPiero.
Pier.Good evening to the fair Antonio;Most happy fortune, sweet succeeding time,160Rich hope: think not thy fate a bankrout,[257]though——
Ant.[Aside.] Umh! the devil in his good time and tide forsake thee.
Pier.How now? hark ye, prince.
Ant.God be with you.
Pier.Nay, noble blood, I hope ye not suspect——
Ant.Suspect! I scorn’t. Here’s cap and leg, good night.[Aside.] Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight.
[ExitAntonio.
Pier.Madam, O that you could remember to forget——
Mar.I had a husband and a happy son.
Pier.Most powerful beauty, that enchanting grace——
Mar.Talk not of beauty, nor enchanting grace,——170My husband’s dead, my son’s distraught, accurs’d!Come, I must vent my griefs, or heart will burst.
[ExitMaria.
Pier.She’s gone, and yet she’s here: she hath left a printOf her sweet graces fix’d within my heart,As fresh as is her face. I’ll marry her.She’s most fair,—true; most chaste,—false;[258]becauseMost fair, ’tis firm I’ll marry her.
EnterStrotzo.
Str.My lord.
Pier.Ha, Strotzo, my other soul, my life!Dear, hast thou steel’d the point of thy resolve?Will’t not turn edge in execution?
Str.No.180
Pier.Do it with rare passion, and present thy guiltAs if ’twere wrung out with thy conscience’ gripe.Swear that my daughter’s innocent of lust,And that Antonio bribed thee to defameHer maiden honour, on inveterate hateUnto my blood; and that thy hand was feedBy his large bounty for his father’s death.Swear plainly that thou choked’st Andrugio,By his son’s only egging. Rush me inWhilst Mellida prepares herself to die,190Halter about thy neck, and with such sighs,Laments, and applications lifen it,As if impulsive power of remorse——
Str.I’ll weep.
Pier.Ay, ay, fall on thy face and cry “why suffer youSo lewd a slave as Strotzo is to breathe?”
Str.I’ll beg a strangling, grow importunate——
Pier.As if thy life were loathsome to thee: then ICatch straight the cord’s end; and, as much incens’dWith thy damn’d mischiefs, offer a rude hand200As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath;But on the sudden straight I’ll stand amaz’d,And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.
Str.Applaud my agonies and penitence.
Pier.Thy honest stomach, that could not disgest[259]The crudities of murder, but surcharged,Vomited’st them up in Christian piety.
Str.Then clip me in your arms.
Pier.And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,Make thee of council: tut, tut, what not? what not?210Think on’t, be confident, pursue the plot.
Str.Look, here’s a trope: a true rogue’s lips are mute,I do not use to speak, but execute.
[He lays finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger.—Exit.
Pier.So, so; run headlong to confusion:Thou slight-brain’d mischief, thou art made as dirt,To plaster up the bracks[260]of my defects.I’ll wring what may be squeezed from out his use,And good night, Strotzo. Swell plump, bold heart;For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in:O nowTragœdia Cothurnata[261]mounts,220Piero’s thoughts are fix’d on dire exploits.Pell mell—confusion and black murder guidesThe organs of my spirit: shrink not, heart!Capienda[262]rebus in malis præceps via est.
[Exit.