[160]Cool.—Tokeel the potwas to stir the contents gently in order to keep them from boiling over.[161]Motto.[162]Soed.1602.—Ed.1633 “thou wilt.”[163]A familiar form of address.[164]A sort of velvet.[165]InEvery Man out of his Humour,iv.4, after Fastidious Brisk has been describing the damage done to his finery in a duel, Carlo observes—“I wonder he speaks not of hiswrought shirt.” Gifford remarks—“The linen, both of men and women, was either so worked as to resemble the finest lace, or was ornamented by the needle with representations of fruits, flowers, passages of history,&c.”[166]Ed.1602 “price.”[167]This play was acted by the Paul’s Children, whose voices were carefully trained: hence the frequent introduction of songs.[168]Seenote 2,p.51.[169]“Theircorkèd shoesto bear them high.”—Stephen Gosson’sPleasant Quips,&c.[170]Seenote 6,p.48.[171]“Slip”—counterfeit coin.[172]“Do me right and dub me knight.”—Part of an old catch. So Silence in2 HenryIV.,v.3:—“Do me rightAnd dub me knight,Samingo.”Again in Nashe’sSummer’s Last Will and Testament:—“All.Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpass,In cup, in can, or glass.Bac.Ho, well shot a toucher, a toucher.For quaffing Toy doth passIn cup, in can, or glass.All.God Bacchus, do him right,And dub him knight.”[173]Oldeds.“mine.”[174]Oldeds.“Millane;” but Galeatzo, son of the Duke of Florence, was the suitor whom Piero had chosen.Cf.p.91:—“Young Florence prince, to you my lips must be,For a remittance of your interest.”[175]Wide loose breeches.[176]“Ruffled boot.”—See notes on Middleton,i.26,viii.70.[177]Motto.[178]“‘Speak pure fool.’—This is idiomatic, and is in sense equivalent to, ‘I will speak like a pure fool.’ Thus inOthello, actii., ‘Drunk? and speak parrot?’—that is, talk foolishly or idly like a parrot.”—Halliwell.[179]Old form of “bauble.”[180]The highest note in the scale.—Cf.Nashe’sChrist’s Tears over Jerusalem(Works,ed.Grosart,v.188):—“No, no, either you muststrain your wits an ela abovetheirs,”&c.The form of expression is not uncommon.[181]A red lattice was the distinguishing mark of a tavern.[182]“Flyboat” (Span.filibote)—a fast-sailing vessel.[183]“To float, to swim, as borne along or driven by wind or water.”—Dyce’sShakesp. Glossary.[184]A large galley.[185]Oldeds.“resolv’d.”[186]“Poor John” = inferior dried hake. (Ed.1633 “as Poor John.”)[187]Sorrow, pity.[188]Depict.[189]Oldeds.“nere.”[190]“Sip a kiss”—a translation of the Latin expression “oscula libare.”[191]Oldeds.“your.”
[160]Cool.—Tokeel the potwas to stir the contents gently in order to keep them from boiling over.
[161]Motto.
[162]Soed.1602.—Ed.1633 “thou wilt.”
[163]A familiar form of address.
[164]A sort of velvet.
[165]InEvery Man out of his Humour,iv.4, after Fastidious Brisk has been describing the damage done to his finery in a duel, Carlo observes—“I wonder he speaks not of hiswrought shirt.” Gifford remarks—“The linen, both of men and women, was either so worked as to resemble the finest lace, or was ornamented by the needle with representations of fruits, flowers, passages of history,&c.”
[166]Ed.1602 “price.”
[167]This play was acted by the Paul’s Children, whose voices were carefully trained: hence the frequent introduction of songs.
[168]Seenote 2,p.51.
[169]“Theircorkèd shoesto bear them high.”—Stephen Gosson’sPleasant Quips,&c.
[170]Seenote 6,p.48.
[171]“Slip”—counterfeit coin.
[172]“Do me right and dub me knight.”—Part of an old catch. So Silence in2 HenryIV.,v.3:—
“Do me rightAnd dub me knight,Samingo.”
Again in Nashe’sSummer’s Last Will and Testament:—
“All.Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpass,In cup, in can, or glass.Bac.Ho, well shot a toucher, a toucher.For quaffing Toy doth passIn cup, in can, or glass.All.God Bacchus, do him right,And dub him knight.”
[173]Oldeds.“mine.”
[174]Oldeds.“Millane;” but Galeatzo, son of the Duke of Florence, was the suitor whom Piero had chosen.Cf.p.91:—
“Young Florence prince, to you my lips must be,For a remittance of your interest.”
[175]Wide loose breeches.
[176]“Ruffled boot.”—See notes on Middleton,i.26,viii.70.
[177]Motto.
[178]“‘Speak pure fool.’—This is idiomatic, and is in sense equivalent to, ‘I will speak like a pure fool.’ Thus inOthello, actii., ‘Drunk? and speak parrot?’—that is, talk foolishly or idly like a parrot.”—Halliwell.
[179]Old form of “bauble.”
[180]The highest note in the scale.—Cf.Nashe’sChrist’s Tears over Jerusalem(Works,ed.Grosart,v.188):—“No, no, either you muststrain your wits an ela abovetheirs,”&c.The form of expression is not uncommon.
[181]A red lattice was the distinguishing mark of a tavern.
[182]“Flyboat” (Span.filibote)—a fast-sailing vessel.
[183]“To float, to swim, as borne along or driven by wind or water.”—Dyce’sShakesp. Glossary.
[184]A large galley.
[185]Oldeds.“resolv’d.”
[186]“Poor John” = inferior dried hake. (Ed.1633 “as Poor John.”)
[187]Sorrow, pity.
[188]Depict.
[189]Oldeds.“nere.”
[190]“Sip a kiss”—a translation of the Latin expression “oscula libare.”
[191]Oldeds.“your.”
And.Gentlemen, though I remain an armed Epilogue,[192]I stand not as a peremptory challenger of desert, either for him that composed the Comedy, or for us that acted it; but a most submissive suppliant for both. What imperfection you have seen in us, leave with us, and we’ll amend it; what hath pleased you, take with you, and cherish it. You shall not be more ready to embrace anything commendable, than we will endeavour to amend all things reprovable. What we are, is by your favour. What we shall be, rests all in your applausive encouragements.
[Exeunt.
[192]It was probably in derision of Marston’s “armed Epilogue” that Ben Jonson heraldedThe Poetasterwith an armed Prologue. InTroilus and Cressidawe have an armed Prologue:—“And hither am I come,A Prologue armed—but not in confidenceOf author’s pen.”
[192]It was probably in derision of Marston’s “armed Epilogue” that Ben Jonson heraldedThe Poetasterwith an armed Prologue. InTroilus and Cressidawe have an armed Prologue:—
“And hither am I come,A Prologue armed—but not in confidenceOf author’s pen.”
THE SECOND PART OF THE HISTORY OFANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
Antonios Reuenge. The second part. As it hath beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I. M. London. Printed for Thomas Fisher, and are to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde.1602.4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Piero had been a suitor for the hand of Maria, daughter of the Duke of Ferrara, but his addresses had been rejected and Maria had married Andrugio, the offspring of the union being Antonio. When Piero, dissembling his hatred, affects to be reconciled to Andrugio, Lucio is despatched to bring Maria to the Venetian Court. Piero, at a banquet given on the eve of his daughter’s marriage with Antonio, instils in Andrugio’s cup a poison which has no immediate effect but works fatally after a few hours. With the help of a base creature, Strotzo, he proceeds in the night to murder Antonio’s friend, Feliche, whose body is carried by Strotzo to Mellida’s chamber. At sunrise Maria and Lucio arrive at Venice. Antonio, whose sleep has been troubled by hideous dreams, is abroad early, and is met by his mother as he paces disquietly in front of Mellida’s chamber. Presently the window-curtain is drawn aside and there is exposed the body of Feliche, stabbed thick with wounds. While Antonio is distractedly calling upon Mellida to rise, Piero advances and proclaims himself the author of Feliche’s death, protesting that he had found his daughter in the embraces of the murdered man. The scene of confusion is heightened by the entrance of Strotzo, who announces that Andrugio has died from excess of joy at his sudden change of fortunes. Mellida is put in close confinement, and a day is appointed for her trial. Strotzo is instructed by Piero to come forward at the trial and accuse Antonio of having instigated the murders of Andrugio and Feliche. But before the trial Andrugio’s ghost appears to Antonio, discloses Piero’s villainy, and bids Antonio take vengeance on the murderer. Antonio stabs Piero’s young son Julio at Andrugio’sshrine; he then disguises himself as Maria’s fool and watches his opportunity for further vengeance. The trial of Mellida is held: Strotzo enters the court with a cord round his neck, declaring that he had been suborned by Antonio to commit the crimes; and officers are despatched to arrest Antonio, who in his fool’s habit is watching the proceedings. It had been part of the plot that Strotzo, after making his confession, should break into passionate outbursts of sorrow and implore Piero to rid him of a dishonourable life; whereupon Piero was to spring forward, grasp the cord round Strotzo’s neck as with intent to strangle him, then suddenly to relax his hold, moved by Strotzo’s penitent conduct. Strotzo goes through his part of the performance; but Piero, grasping one end of the cord while Castilio (a courtier) grasps the other, is careful not to loose his hold before the victim is strangled. Presently word is brought that Antonio in a fit of distraction has flung himself from a high tower into the sea. At this news Mellida falls into a deep swoon and is conveyed to her chamber, whither Antonio after a short delay contrives to follow her, but arrives only in time to see her expire. Piero, notwithstanding his daughter’s untoward death, determines that his marriage with Maria (who affects to acquiesce in the arrangement) shall take place without delay. A scheme of vengeance is contrived between Antonio, Pandulfo (Feliche’s father) and Alberto (Feliche’s friend). The conspirators attire themselves as maskers and appear at a banquet given by Piero on the eve of his marriage. On the appearance of the maskers Piero enquires for his son, Julio, and sends an attendant to fetch him to see the dances. After dancing a measure the maskers request Piero to have the hall cleared while they sit unmasked at the banquet. Thereupon the guests and retainers withdraw, but Piero at the maskers’ request remains. He takes a seat at the banquet; the conspirators, unmasking themselves, spring forward and bind him with cords to the chair; insult over him, cut out his tongue, produce in a dish the limbs of his murdered son, and finally hack him to death with their swords. The tyrant’s death is welcomed with universal joy. The conspirators are hailed as saviours of their country, and are offered high offices of state; but prefer to spend the rest of their lives in the seclusion of a religious house.
The rawish dank of clumsy[193]winter rampsThe fluent summer’s vein; and drizzling sleetChilleth the wan bleak cheek of the numb’d earth,Whilst snarling gusts nibble the juiceless leavesFrom the nak’d shudd’ring branch; and pills[194]the skinFrom off the soft and delicate aspects.O now, methinks, a sullen tragic sceneWould suit the time with pleasing congruence.May we be happy in our weak devoir,And all part pleasèd in most wish’d content!10But sweat of Hercules can ne’er begetSo blest an issue. Therefore, we proclaim,If any spirit breathes within this round,Uncapable of weighty passion,(As from his birth being huggèd in the arms,And nuzzled ’twixt the breasts of happiness)Who winks, and shuts his apprehension upFrom common sense of what men were and are,Who would not know what men must be—let suchHurry amain from our black-visaged shows:20We shall affright their eyes. But if a breastNail’d to the earth with grief; if any heartPierc’d through with anguish pant within this ring;If there be any blood whose heat is chokedAnd stifled with true sense of misery;If ought of these strains fill this consort up—Th’ arrive most welcome. O that our powerCould lackey or keep wing with our desires,That with unusèd paize[195]of style and sense,We might weigh massy in judicious scale.30Yet here’s the prop that doth support our hopes:When our scenes falter, or invention halts,Your favour will give crutches to our faults.[196]
[Exit.
[193]Marston’s use of the wordsclumsyandrampis ridiculed inThe Poetaster(v.1).[194]Peels.[195]An old form ofpoise.[196]“This prologue, for its passionate earnestness, and for the tragic note of preparation which it sounds, might have preceded one of those tales of Thebes, or Pelops’ line, which Milton has so highly commended, as free from the common errors in his days, ‘of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity, brought in without discretion corruptly to gratify the people.’ It is as solemn a preparative as the ‘warning voice which he who saw th’ Apocalypse heard cry.’”—Charles Lamb.
[193]Marston’s use of the wordsclumsyandrampis ridiculed inThe Poetaster(v.1).
[194]Peels.
[195]An old form ofpoise.
[196]“This prologue, for its passionate earnestness, and for the tragic note of preparation which it sounds, might have preceded one of those tales of Thebes, or Pelops’ line, which Milton has so highly commended, as free from the common errors in his days, ‘of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity, brought in without discretion corruptly to gratify the people.’ It is as solemn a preparative as the ‘warning voice which he who saw th’ Apocalypse heard cry.’”—Charles Lamb.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[197]
Piero Sforza,Duke of Venice.Antonio,son to the murderedAndrugio,affianced toMellida.Pandulfo,father to the murderedFeliche.Alberto,a Venetian gentleman.Balurdo,a rich gull.Matzagente,a modern braggadoch.Galeatzo,son to the Duke of Milan.Forobosco,a Parasite.Castilio Balthazar,a spruce courtier.Lucio,an old nobleman, attendant toMaria.Strotzo,a creature ofPiero.Julio,son toPiero.
Maria,Andrugio’swidow, mother toAntonio.Mellida,daughter toPiero,affianced toAntonio.Nutriche,attendant toMaria.Two Senators, Herald, Waiting-women, Page,&c.
Ghost ofAndrugio,Ghost ofFeliche.
The Scene—Venice.
[197]There is no list of characters in the oldeds.
[197]There is no list of characters in the oldeds.
SCENEI.
A corridor in the palace ofPiero.
EnterPiero,unbraced, his arms bare, smeared in blood, a poniard in one hand bloody, and a torch in the other;Strotzofollowing him with a cord.
Pier.Ho, Gasper Strotzo, bind Feliche’s trunkUnto the panting side of Mellida!
[ExitStrotzo.
’Tis yet dead night, yet all the earth is clutch’d[198]In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleep;No breath disturbs the quiet of the air,No spirit moves upon the breast of earth,Save howling dogs, night-crows, and screeching owls,Save meagre ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.One, two!
[Clock strikes.
Lord, in two hours what a topless mount10Of unpeer’d mischief have these hands cast up!
Re-enterStrotzo.
I can scarce coop triumphing vengeance upFrom bursting forth in braggart passion.
Str.My lord, ’tis firmly said that——
Pier.Andrugio sleeps in peace: this brain hath chokedThe organ of his breast. Feliche hangsBut as a bait upon the line of death,To tice on mischief. I am great in blood,Unequall’d in revenge. You horrid scoutsThat sentinel swart night, give loud applause20From your large palms. First, know, my heart was rais’dUnto Andrugio’s life upon this ground—
Str.Duke, ’tis reported——
Pier.We both were rivals in our may of blood,Unto Maria, fair Ferrara’s heir.He won the lady, to my honour’s death,And from her sweets cropp’d this Antonio;For which I burnt in inward swelt’ring hate,And fester’d rankling malice in my breast,Till I might belk revenge upon his eyes:30And now (O blessèd now!) ’tis done. Hell, night,Give loud applause to my hypocrisy.When his bright valour even dazzled sense,In off’ring his own head, public reproachHad blurr’d my name. Speak, Strotzo, had it not?If then I had——
Str.It had, so please——
Pier.What had, so please? Unseasoned sycophant,Piero Sforza is no numbèd lord,Senseless of all true touch;[199]stroke not the head40Of infant speech, till it be fully born;Go to!
Str.How now! Fut, I’ll not smother your speech.
Pier.Nay, right thine eyes: ’twas but a little spleen,—(Huge plunge![200]Sin’s grown a slave, and must observe slight evils;Huge villains are enforced to claw[201]all devils.)—Pish, sweet, thy thoughts, and give me——.
Str.Stroke not the head of infant speech! go to!
Pier.Nay, calm this storm. I ever held thy breastMore secret, and more firm in league of blood,50Than to be struck in heat with each slight puff.Give me thy ears; huge infamy [had] press[’d] downMy honour, if even then, when his fresh actOf prowess bloom’d out full,I had ta’en vengeance on his hated head——.
Str.Why it had——.
Pier.Could I avoid to give a seeming grantUnto fruition of Antonio’s love?
Str.No.
Pier.And didst thou ever see a Judas kiss60With a more covert touch of fleering hate?
Str.No.
Pier.And having clipt them with pretence of love,Have I not crush’d them with a cruel wring?
Str.Yes.
Pier.Say, faith, didst thou e’er hear, or read, or seeSuch happy vengeance, unsuspected death?That I should drop strong poison in the bowl,Which I myself caroused unto his healthAnd future fortune of our unity!70That it should work even in the hush[202]of night,And strangle him on sudden, that fair showOf death, for the excessive joy of his fate,Might choke the murder! Ha, Strotzo, is’t not rare?Nay, but weigh it. Then Feliche stabb’d(Whose sinking thought[203]frighted my conscious heart),And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,And hale on mischief. This all in one night!Is’t to be equall’d, think’st thou? O, I could eatThy fumbling throat, for thy lagg’d censure. Fut,80Is’t not rare?
Str.Yes.
Pier.No? yes? nothing butnoandyes, dull lump?Canst thou not honey me with fluent speech,And even adore my topless villainy?Will I not blast my own blood for revenge,Must not thou straight be perjur’d for revenge,And yet no creature dream ’tis my revenge?Will I not turn a glorious bridal mornUnto a Stygian night? Yet naught butnoandyes!90
Str.I would have told you, if the incubus[204]That rides your bosom would have patience,It is reported that in private stateMaria, Genoa’s duchess, makes to court,Longing to see him, whom she ne’er shall see,Her lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiv’dThe news of reconciliation.A[205]reconciliation with death!Poor lady! shall but find poor comfort in’t.
Pier.O, let me swoon for joy. By heaven, I think100I ha’ said my prayers, within this month at least;I am so boundless happy. Doth she come?By this warm reeking gore, I’ll marry her.Look I not now like an inamorate?[206]Poison the father, butcher the son, and marry the mother, ha!Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleep;For see, the dapple grey coursers of the mornBeat up the light with their bright silver hooves,And chase it through the sky.—To bed, to bed!This morn my vengeance shall be amply fed.110
[Exeunt.
[198]Oldeds.“cloucht,” which we might regard as a misprint for “coucht” if Marston had not shown an excessive fondness (ridiculed inThe Poetaster) for the word “clutch.”[199]Feeling, perception.—See Dyce’sShakesp.Glossary.[200]Plungeoften has the meaning of—difficulty, embarrassment. I suppose it has that meaning here. Piero is annoyed at having to speak fair words to so paltry a rascal as Strotzo.[201]Stroke gently, flatter.—A common name for a flatterer wasclawback.—“Flatant.—Flattering, fawning, colloguing with,clawing, smoothing, stroaking.”—Cotgrave.[202]Oldeds.“husht.”[203]“Sinking thought” is a curious expression. It means, I suppose—deep discernment, penetrative shrewdness. Piero dreaded that his villainies would be detected by Feliche.[204]Marston’s use of this word is ridiculed inThe Poetaster(v.1).[205]Oldeds.“Reconciliation with a death?” Metre and sense show that the article “a” has been misplaced by the printer.[206]So oldeds.
[198]Oldeds.“cloucht,” which we might regard as a misprint for “coucht” if Marston had not shown an excessive fondness (ridiculed inThe Poetaster) for the word “clutch.”
[199]Feeling, perception.—See Dyce’sShakesp.Glossary.
[200]Plungeoften has the meaning of—difficulty, embarrassment. I suppose it has that meaning here. Piero is annoyed at having to speak fair words to so paltry a rascal as Strotzo.
[201]Stroke gently, flatter.—A common name for a flatterer wasclawback.—“Flatant.—Flattering, fawning, colloguing with,clawing, smoothing, stroaking.”—Cotgrave.
[202]Oldeds.“husht.”
[203]“Sinking thought” is a curious expression. It means, I suppose—deep discernment, penetrative shrewdness. Piero dreaded that his villainies would be detected by Feliche.
[204]Marston’s use of this word is ridiculed inThe Poetaster(v.1).
[205]Oldeds.“Reconciliation with a death?” Metre and sense show that the article “a” has been misplaced by the printer.
[206]So oldeds.
SCENEII.
Precincts of the palace ofPiero.
EnterLucio, Maria,andNutriche.
Mar.Stay, gentle Lucio, and vouchsafe thy hand.
Lu.O, Madam——.
Mar.Nay, prithee give me leave to say, vouchsafe;Submiss entreats beseem my humble fate.Here let us sit. O Lucio, fortune’s giltIs rubb’d quite off from my slight tin-foil’d state,And poor Maria must appear ungracedOf the bright fulgor of gloss’d majesty.
Lu.Cheer up your spirits, Madam; fairer chance,Than that which courts your presence instantly,10Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought.
Mar.Art thou assured the dukes are reconciled?Shall my womb’s honour wed fair Mellida?Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head?Shall I once more clip my Andrugio,And wreath my arms about Antonio’s neck?Or is glib rumour grown a parasite,Holding a false glass to my sorrow’s eyes,Making the wrinkled front of grief seem fair,Though ’tis much rivell’d[207]with abortive care?20
Lu.Most virtuous princess, banish straggling fear,Keep league with comfort. For these eyes beheldThe dukes united; yon faint glimmering lightNe’er peepèd through the crannies of the east,Since I beheld them drink a sound carouse,In sparkling Bacchus, unto each other’s health;Your son assur’d[208]to beauteous Mellida,And all clouds clear’d of threat’ning discontent.
Mar.What age is morning of?
Lu.I think ’bout five.
Mar.Nutriche, Nutriche!30
Nut.Beshrow your fingers! marry, you have disturb’d the pleasure of the finest dream. O God! I was even coming to it, law. O Jesu! ’twas coming of the sweetest. I’ll tell you now, methought I was married, and methought I spent (O Lord, why did you wake me?), and methought I spent three spur-royals[209]on the fiddlers for striking up a fresh hornpipe. Saint Ursula! I was even going to bed, and you, methought, my husband, was even putting out the tapers, when you—Lord I shall never have such a dream come upon me, as long as——.40
Mar.Peace, idle creature, peace!—When will the court rise?
Lu.Madam, ’twere best you took some lodging up,And lay in private till the soil of griefWere clear’d your cheek, and new burnish’d lustreClothèd your presence, ’fore you saw the dukes,And enter’d ’mong the proud Venetian states.[210]
Mar.No, Lucio, my dear lord is wise, and knowsThat tinsel glitter, or rich purfled[211]robes,Curl’d hairs, hung full of sparkling carcanets,Are not the true adornments of a wife.50So long as wives are faithful, modest, chaste,Wise lords affect them. Virtue doth not wasteWith each slight flame of crackling vanity.A modest eye forceth affection,Whilst outward gayness’ light looks but entice:Fairer than nature’s fair is foulest vice.She that loves art to get her cheek more lovers,Much outward gauds, slight inward grace discovers.I care not to seem fair but to my lord:Those that strive most to please most strangers’ sight,Folly may judge most fair, wisdom most light.61
[Music sounds a short strain.
But hark, soft music gently moves the air!I think the bridegroom’s up. Lucio, stand close.O now, Maria, challenge grief to stayThy joy’s encounter. Look, Lucio, ’tis clear day.
[They retire to the back of the stage.
EnterAntonio, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Balurdo, Pandulpho, Feliche, Alberto, Forobosco, Castilio,and a Page.
Ant.Darkness is fled: look, infant morn hath drawnBright silver curtains ’bout the couch of night;And now Aurora’s horse trots azure rings,[212]Breathing fair light about the firmament.—Stand, what’s that?70
Mat.And if a hornèd devil should burst forth,I would pass on him with a mortal stock.[213]
Alb.Oh, a horned devil would prove ominousUnto a bridegroom’s eyes.
Mat.A horned devil? Good: ha, ha, ha!—very good!
Alb.Good tann’d prince, laugh not. By the joys of love,When thou dost girn,[214]thy rusty face doth lookLike the head of a roasted rabbit: fie upon’t!
Bal.By my troth, methinks his nose is just colour de roy.[215]
Mat.I tell thee, fool, my nose will abide no jest.80
Bal.No, in truth, I do not jest; I speak truth. Truth is the touchstone of all things; and, if your nose will not abide the truth, your nose will not abide the touch; and, if your nose will not abide the touch, your nose is a copper nose, and must be nail’d up for a slip.[216]
Mat.I scorn to retort the obtuse jest of a fool.
[Balurdodraws out his writing tables, and writes.
Bal.Retort and obtuse, good words, very good words.
Gal.Young prince, look sprightly; fie, a bridegroom sad!
Bal.In truth, if he were retort and obtuse, no question he would be merry; but, and please my genius, I will be most retort and obtuse ere night. I’ll tell you what I’ll bear soon at night in my shield, for my device.92
Gal.What, good Balurdo?
Bal.O, do me right:—Sir Jeffrey Balurdo; sir, sir, as long as ye live, sir.
Gal.What, good Sir Jeffrey Balurdo?
Bal.Marry forsooth, I’ll carry for my device my grandfather’s great stone horse, flinging up his head, and jerking out his left leg: the word, “Wighy Purt.” As I am a true knight, will’t not be most retort and obtuse, ha?101
Ant.Blow hence these sapless jests. I tell you, bloods,My spirit’s heavy, and the juice of lifeCreeps slowly through my stiffen’d arteries.Last sleep, my sense was steep’d in horrid dreams:Three parts of night were swallow’d in the gulfOf ravenous time, when to my slumb’ring powers,Two meagre ghosts made apparition.The one’s breast seem’d fresh paunch’d with bleeding wounds,Whose bubbling gore sprang in [my] frighted eyes;110The other ghost assum’d my father’s shape:Both cried, “Revenge!” At which my trembling joints,Icèd quite over with a frozed cold sweat,[217]Leap’d forth the sheets. Three[218]times Ig[r]asp’dat shades,And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,I forc’d my thoughts make stand; when lo, I oped[219]A large bay window, th[o]rough which the nightStruck terror to my soul. The verge of heavenWas ring’d with flames, and all the upper vaultThick-lac’d with flakes of fire; in midst whereof120A blazing comet shot his threat’ning trainJust on my face. Viewing these prodigies,I bow’d my naked knee and pierc’d the starWith an outfacing eye, pronouncing thus:Deus imperat astris. At which, my nose straight bled;Then doubted I my word, so slunk to bed.126
Bal.Verily, Sir Jeffrey had a monstrous strange dream the last night. For methought I dreamt I was asleep, and methought the ground yawn’d and belkt up the abhominable ghost of a misshapen simile, with two ugly pages; the one called master, even as going before; and the other mounser,[220]even so following after; whilstSignior Simile stalk’d most prodigiously in the midst. At which I bewray’d[221]the fearfulness of my nature, and being ready to forsake the fortress of my wit, start up, called for a clean shirt, ate a mess of broth, and with that I awaked.
Ant.I prithee, peace. I tell you, gentlemen,The frightful shades of night yet shake my brain:My jellied[222]blood’s not thaw’d: the sulphur damps,140That flew[223]in wingèd lightning ’bout my couch,Yet stick within my sense, my soul is greatIn expectation of dire prodigies.
Pan.Tut, my young prince, let not thy fortunes seeTheir lord a coward. He that’s nobly bornAbhors to fear: base fear’s the brand of slaves.He that observes, pursues, slinks back for fright,Was never cast in mould of noble sprite.
Gal.Tush, there’s a sun will straight exhale these dampsOf chilling fear. Come, shall’s salute the bride?150
Ant.Castilio, I prithee mix thy breath with his:Sing one of Signior Renaldo’s airs,To rouse the slumb’ring bride from gluttoningIn surfeit of superfluous sleep. Good signior, sing.
[A Song.
What means this silence and unmovèd calm?Boy, wind thy cornet: force the leaden gatesOf lazy sleep fly open with thy breath.My Mellida not up? not stirring yet? umh!
Mar.That voice should be my son’s, Antonio’s. Antonio!160
Ant.Here: who calls? here stands Antonio.
Mar.Sweet son!
Ant.Dear mother!
Mar.Fair honour of a chaste and loyal bed,Thy father’s beauty, thy sad mother’s love,Were I as powerful as the voice of fate,Felicity complete should sweet thy state;But all the blessings that a poor banish’d wretchCan pour upon thy head, take, gentle son:Live, gracious youth, to close thy mother’s eyes,170Loved of thy parents, till their latest hour.How cheers my lord, thy father? O sweet boy,Part of him thus I clip, my dear, dear joy.
[EmbracesAntonio.
Ant.Madam, last night I kissed his princely hand,And took a treasured blessing from his lips.O mother, you arrive in jubilee,And firm atonement of all boist’rous rage;Pleasure, united love, protested faith,Guard my loved father, as sworn pensioners:The dukes are leagued in firmest bond of love,180And you arrive even in the solsticyAnd highest point of sunshine happiness.
[One winds a cornet within.
Hark, madam, how yon cornet jerketh upHis strain’d shrill accents in the capering air,As proud to summon up my bright-cheek’d love!Now, mother, ope wide expectation;Let loose your amplest sense, to entertainTh’ impression of an object of such worthThat life’s too poor to——
Gal.Nay, leave hyperboles.
Ant.I tell thee, prince, that presence straight appearsOf which thou canst not form hyperboles;191The trophy of triumphing excellence,The heart of beauty, Mellida appears.See, look, the curtain stirs; shine nature’s pride,Love’s vital spirit, dear Antonio’s bride.
[The curtain’s drawn, and the body ofFeliche,stabb’d thick with wounds, appears hung up.
What villain bloods the window of my love?What slave hath hung yon gory ensign upIn flat defiance of humanity?Awake, thou fair unspotted purity!Death’s at thy window, awake, bright Mellida!200Antonio calls!
EnterPiero,unbraced, withForobosco.
Pier.Who gives these ill-befitting attributesOf chaste, unspotted, bright, to Mellida?He lies as loud as thunder: she’s unchaste,Tainted, impure, black as the soul of hell.
[Antoniodraws his rapier, offers to run atPiero,butMariaholds his arm and stays him.
Ant.Dog! I will make thee eat thy vomit up,Which thou hast belkt ’gainst taintless Mellida.
Pier.[224]Ram’t quickly down, that it may not rise upTo imbraid[225]my thoughts. Behold my stomach;Strike me quite through with the relentless edge210Of raging fury. Boy, I’ll kill thy love.Pandulf Feliche, I have stabb’d thy son:Look, yet his lifeblood reeks upon this steel.Albert, yon hangs thy friend. Have none of youCourage of vengeance? Forget I am your duke;Think Mellida is not Piero’s blood;Imagine on slight ground I’ll blast his honour;Suppose I saw not that incestuous slave,Clipping the strumpet with luxurious twines![226]O, numb my sense of anguish, cast my life220In a dead sleep, whilst law cuts off yon maim,[227]Yon putrid ulcer of my royal blood!
For.Keep league with reason, gracious sovereign.
Pier.There glow no sparks of reason in the world;All are raked up in ashy beastliness.The bulk of man’s as dark as Erebus,No branch of reason’s light hangs in his trunk:There lives no reason to keep league withal.I ha’ no reason to be reasonable.Her wedding eve, link’d to the noble blood230Of my most firmly-reconcilèd friend,And found even cling’d in sensuality!O heaven! O heaven! Were she as near my heartAs is my liver, I would rend her off.
EnterStrotzo.
Str.Whither, O whither shall I hurl vast grief!
Pier.Here, into my breast: ’tis a place built wideBy fate, to give receipt to boundless woes.
Str.O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleaveWith my keen-piercing news. Andrugio’s dead.
Pier.Dead!240
Mar.O me, most miserable!
Pier.Dead! alas, how dead?
[Gives seeming passion.
[Aside.] Fut, weep, act, feign—Dead! alas, how dead?
Str.The vast delights of his large sudden joysOpen’d his powers so wide, that ’s native heatSo prodigally flow’d t’ exterior parts,That th’inner citadel was left unmann’d,And so surpris’d on sudden by cold death.
Mar.O fatal, disastrous, cursèd, dismal!Choke breath and life! I breathe, I live too long.250Andrugio, my lord, I come, I come!
[Swoons.
Pier.Be cheerful, princess; help, Castilio,The lady’s swounèd;[228]help to bear her in:Slow comfort to huge cares is swiftest sin.
Bal.Courage, courage, sweet lady, ’tis Sir Jeffrey Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an elephant about a lady.
[ExeuntPiero, Castilio, ForoboscoandBalurdo,bearing outMaria.
Pan.Dead!
Ant.Dead!
Alb.Dead!260
Ant.Why, now the womb of mischief is deliver’d,Of the prodigious issue of the night.
Pan.Ha, ha, ha!
Ant.My father dead: my love attaint of lust,—That’s a large lie, as vast as spacious hell!Poor guiltless lady! O, accursèd lie!What, whom, whither, which shall I first lament?A[229]dead father, a dishonour’d wife? Stand.Methinks I feel the frame of nature shake.Cracks not the joints of earth to bear my woes?270
Alb.Sweet prince, be patient.
Ant.’Slid, sir, I will not in despite of thee.Patience is slave to fools: a chain that’s fixtOnly to posts, and senseless log-like dolts.
Alb.’Tis reason’s glory to command affects.[230]
Ant.Lies thy cold father dead, his glossèd eyesNew closèd up by thy sad mother’s hands?Hast thou a love, as spotless as the browOf clearest heaven, blurr’d with false defames?Are thy moist entrails crumpled up with grief280Of parching mischiefs? Tell me, does thy heartWith punching anguish spur thy gallèd ribs?Then come, let’s sit[231]and weep and wreathe our arms:I’ll hear thy counsel.
Alb.Take comfort.
Ant.Confusion to all comfort! I defy it.Comfort’s a parasite, a flattering jack,[232]And melts resolv’d despair. O boundless woe,If there be any black yet unknown grief,If there be any horror yet unfelt,290Unthought of mischief in thy fiend-like power,Dash it upon my miserable head;Make me more wretch, more cursèd if thou canst!O, now my fate is more than I could fear:My woes more weighty than my soul can bear.
[Exit.
Pan.Ha, ha, ha!
Alb.Why laugh you, uncle? That’s my coz, your son,Whose breast hangs casèd in his cluttered[233]gore.
Pan.True, man, true: why, wherefore should I weep?Come, sit, kind nephew: come on; thou and I300Will talk as chorus to this tragedy.Entreat the music strain their instrumentsWith a slight touch, whilst we—Say on, fair coz.
Alb.He was the very hope of Italy,
[Music sounds softly.
The blooming honour of your drooping age.
Pan.True, coz, true. They say that men of hope are crush’d;Good are supprest by base desertless clods,That stifle gasping virtue. Look, sweet youth,How provident our quick Venetians are,Lest hooves of jades should trample on my boy:310Look how they lift him up to eminence,Heave him ’bove reach of flesh. Ha, ha, ha!
Alb.Uncle, this laughter ill becomes your grief.
Pan.Would’st have me cry, run raving up and down,For my son’s loss? Would’st have me turn rank mad,Or wring my face with mimic action;Stamp, curse, weep, rage, and then my bosom strike?Away, ’tis aspish action, player-like.[234]If he is guiltless, why should tears be spent?Thrice blessèd soul that dieth innocent.320If he is leper’d with so foul a guilt,Why should a sigh be lent, a tear be spilt?The gripe of chance is weak to wring a tearFrom him that knows what fortitude should bear.Listen, young blood. ’Tis not true valour’s prideTo swagger, quarrel, swear, stamp, rave, and chide,To stab in fume of blood, to keep loud coil[s]To bandy factions in domestic broils,To dare the act of sins, whose filth excelsThe blackest customs of blind infidels.330No, my lov’d youth: he may of valour vauntWhom fortune’s loudest thunder cannot daunt;Whom fretful gales of chance, stern fortune’s siege,Makes not his reason slink, the soul’s fair liege;Whose well-pais’d[235]action ever rests uponNot giddy humours but discretion.This heart in valour even Jove out-goes:Jove is without, but this ’bove sense of woes:[236]And such a one, eternity. Behold—Good morrow, son; thou bid’st a fig for cold.340Sound louder music: let my breath exact