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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY, by JOHN FORD (1586-1639)
First Line: To tell ye, gentlemen, in what true sense
Last Line: In this kind he'll not trouble you again.
First Line: To tell ye, gentlemen, in what true sense
Last Line: In this kind he'll not trouble you again.
PROLOGUE.
TO tell ye, gentlemen, in what true sense
The writer, actors, or the audience
Should mould their judgments for a play, might draw
Truth into rules; but we have no such law.
Our writer, for himself, would have ye know
That in his following scenes he doth not owe
To others' fancies, nor hath lain in wait
For any stolen invention, from whose height
He might commend his own, more than the right
A scholar claims, may warrant for delight.
It is art's scorn, that some of late have made
The noble use of poetry a trade.
For you parts, gentlemen, to quit his pains,
Yet you will please, that as you meet with strains
Of lighter mixture, but to cast your eye
Rather upon the main than on the bye,
His hopes stand firm, and we shall find it true,
The LOVER'S MELANCHOLY cured by you.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
PALADOR, Prince of Cyprus.
AMETHUS, Cousin to the Prince.
MELEANDER, an old Lord.
SOPHRONOS, Brother of MELEANDER.
MENAPHON, Son of SOPHRONOS.
ARETUS, Tutor to the Prince
CORAX, a Physician.
PELIAS, foolish Courtier.
CUCULUS, foolish Courtier.
RHETIAS (a reduced Courtier), Servant to EROCLEA.
TROLLIO, Servant to MELEANDER.
GRILLA, a Page of CUCULUS, in woman's dress.
Officers, Attendants, &c.
THAMASTA, Sister of AMETHUS, and Cousin to the Prince.
EROCLEA (as PARTHENOPHIL), Daughter of MELEANDER.
CLEOPHILA, Daughter of MELEANDER.
KALA, Waiting-maid to THAMASTA.
SCENE—FAMAGOSTA in CYPRUS.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—A Room in the Palace.
Enter MENAPHON and PELIAS.
MEN. Dangers! how mean you dangers? that so courtly
You gratulate my safe return from dangers?
Pel. From travels, noble sir.
Men. These are delights;
If my experience hath not, truant-like,
Misspent the time, which I have strove to use
For bettering my mind with observation.
Pel. As I am modest, I protest 'tis strange.
But is it possible?
Men. What?
Pel. To bestride
The frothy foams of Neptune's surging waves,
When blustering Boreas tosseth up the deep
And thumps a thunder-bounce?
Men. Sweet sir, 'tis nothing:
Straight comes a dolphin, playing near your ship,
Heaving his crookèd back up, and presents
A feather-bed to waft ye to the shore
As easily as if you slept i' the court.
Pel. Indeed! is't true, I pray?
Men. I will not stretch
Your faith upon the tenters.—Prithee, PELIAS,
Where didst thou learn this language?
Pel. I this language!
Alas, sir, we that study words and forms
Of compliment must fashion all discourse
According to the nature of the subject.
But I am silent:—now appears a sun,
Whose shadow I adore.
Enter AMETHUS, SOPHRONOS, and ATTENDANTS.
Men. My honoured father!
Soph. From mine eyes, son of my care, my love,
The joys that bid thee welcome do too much
Speak me a child.
Men. O princely sir, your hand.
Amet. Perform your duties where you owe them first;
I dare not be so sudden in the pleasures
Thy presence hath brought home.
Soph. Here thou still find'st
A friend as noble, MENAPHON, as when
Thou left'st at thy departure.
Men. Yes, I know it,
To him I owe more service—
Amet. Pray give leave:
He shall attend your entertainments soon,
Next day, and next day: for an hour or two
I would engross him only.
Soph. Noble lord!
Amet. Ye're both dismissed.
Pel. Your creature and your servant.
[Exeunt all but AMETHUS and MENAPHON.
Amet. Give me thy hand. I will not say, "Thou'rt welcome;"
That is the common road of common friends.
I'm glad I have thee here—O, I want words
To let thee know my heart!
Men. 'Tis pieced to mine.
Amet. Yes, 'tis; as firmly as that holy thing
Called friendship can unite it. Menaphon,
My Menaphon, now all the goodly blessings
That can create a Heaven on earth dwell with thee!
Twelve months we have been sundered; but henceforth
We never more will part, till that sad hour
In which death leaves the one of us behind,
To see the other's funerals performed.
Let's now awhile be free.—How have thy travels
Disburthened thee abroad of discontents?
Men. Such cure as sick men find in changing beds
I found in change of airs: the fancy flattered
My hopes with ease, as theirs do: but the grief
Is still the same.
Amet. Such is my case at home.
Cleophila, thy kinswoman, that maid
Of sweetness and humility, more pities
Her father's poor afflictions than the tide
Of my complaints.
Men. THamasta, my great mistress,
Your princely sister, hath, I hope, ere this
Confirmed affection on some worthy choice.
Amet. Not any, Menaphon. Her bosom yet
Is intermured with ice; though, by the truth
Of love, no day hath ever passed wherein
I have not mentioned thy deserts, thy constancy,
Thy—Come, in troth, I dare not tell thee what,
Lest thou mightst think I fawned upon—a sin
Friendship was never guilty of; for flattery
Is monstrous in a true friend.
Men. Does the court
Wear the old looks too?
Amet. If thou mean'st the prince,
It does. He's the same melancholy man
He was at's father's death; sometimes speaks sense,
But seldom mirth; will smile, but seldom laugh;
Will lend an ear to business, deal in none;
Gaze upon revels, antic fopperies,
But is not moved; will sparingly discourse,
Hear music; but what most he takes delight in
Are handsome pictures. One so young and goodly,
So sweet in his own nature, any story
Hath seldom mentioned.
Men. Why should such as I am
Groan under the light burthen of small sorrows,
Whenas a prince so potent cannot shun
Motions of passion? To be man, my lord,
Is to be but the exercise of cares
In several shapes: as miseries do grow,
They alter as men's forms; but how none know.
Amet. This little isle of Cyprus sure abounds
In greater wonders both for change and fortune
Than any you have seen abroad.
Men. Than any
I have observed abroad: all countries else
To a free eye and mind yield something rare;
And I, for my part, have brought home one jewel
Of admirable value.
Amet. Jewel, Menaphon!
Men. A jewel, my Amethus, a fair youth;
A youth, whom, if I were but superstitious,
I should repute an excellence more high
Than mere creations are: to add delight,
I'll tell ye how I found him.
Amet. Prithee do.
Men. Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales
Which poets of an elder time have feigned
To glorify their Tempe, bred in me
Desire of visiting that paradise.
To Thessaly I came; and living private,
Without acquaintance of more sweet companions
Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
I day by day frequented silent groves
And solitary walks. One morning early
This accident encountered me: I heard
The sweetest and most ravishing contention
That art and nature ever were at strife in.
Amet. I cannot yet conceive what you infer
By art and nature.
Men. I shall soon resolve ye.
A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather
Indeed entranced my soul. As I stole nearer,
Invited by the melody, I saw
This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute,
With strains of strange variety and harmony,
Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge
To the clear quiristers of the woods, the birds,
That, as they flocked about him, all stood silent,
Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too.
Amet. And so do I; good, on!
Men. A nightingale,
Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes
The challenge, and for every several strain
The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her own;
He could not run division with more art
Upon his quaking instrument than she,
The nightingale, did with her various notes
Reply to: for a voice and for a sound,
Amethus, 'tis much easier to believe
That such they were than hope to hear again.
Amet. How did the rivals part?
Men. You term them rightly;
For they were rivals, and their mistress, harmony.-
Some time thus spent, the young man grew at last
Into a pretty anger, that a bird,
Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes,
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study
Had busied many hours to perfect practice:
To end the controversy, in a rapture
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly,
So many voluntaries and so quick,
That there was curiosity and cunning,
Concord in discord, lines of differing method
Meeting in one full centre of delight.
Amet. Now for the bird.
Men. The bird, ordained to be
Music's first martyr, strove to imitate
These several sounds; which when her warbling throat
Failed in, for grief down dropped she on his lute,
And brake her heart. It was the quaintest sadness,
To see the conqueror upon her hearse
To weep a funeral elegy of tears;
That, trust me, my Amethus, I could chide
Mine own unmanly weakness, that made me
A fellow-mourner with him.
Amet. I believe thee.
Men. He looked upon the trophies of his art,
Then sighed, then wiped his eyes, then sighed and cried,
"Alas, poor creature! I will soon revenge
This cruelty upon the author of it;
Henceforth this lute, guilty of innocent blood,
Shall never more betray a harmless peace
To an untimely end:" and in that sorrow,
As he was pashing it against a tree,
I suddenly stept in.
Amet. Thou hast discoursed
A truth of mirth and pity.
Men. I reprieved
The intended execution with entreaties
And interruption.—But, my princely friend,
It was not strange the music of his hand
Did overmatch birds, when his voice and beauty,
Youth, carriage, and discretion must, from men
Endued with reason, ravish admiration:
From me they did.
Amet. But is this miracle
Not to be seen?
Men. I won him by degrees
To choose me his companion. Whence he is,
Or who, as I durst modestly inquire,
So gently he would woo not to make known;
Only—for reasons to himself reserved—
He told me, that some remnant of his life
Was to be spent in travel: for his fortunes,
They were nor mean nor riotous; his friends
Not published to the world, though not obscure;
His country Athens, and his name Parthenophil.
Amet. Came he with you to Cyprus?
Men. Willingly.
The fame of our young melancholy prince,
Meleander's rare distractions, the obedience
Of young Cleophila, Thamasta's glory,
Your matchless friendship, and my desperate love,
Prevailed with him; and I have lodged him privately
In Famagosta.
Amet. Now thou'rt doubly welcome:
I will not lose the sight of such a rarity
For one part of my hopes. When d'ye intend
To visit my great-spirited sister?
Men. May I
Without offence?
Amet. Without offence.—Parthenophil
Shall find a worthy entertainment too.
Thou art not still a coward?
Men. She's too excellent,
And I too low in merit.
Amet. I'll prepare
A noble welcome; and, friend, ere we part,
Unload to thee an overchargèd heart. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Another Room in the Palace.
Enter RHETIAS, carelessly attired.
Rhe. I will not court the madness of the times;
Nor fawn upon the riots that embalm
Our wanton gentry, to preserve the dust
Of their affected vanities in coffins
Of memorable shame. When commonwealths
Totter and reel from that nobility
And ancient virtue which renowns the great,
Who steer the helm of government, while mushrooms
Grow up, and make new laws to license folly;
Why should not I, a May-game, scorn the weight
Of my sunk fortunes? snarl at the vices
Which rot the land, and, without fear or wi
Be mine own antic? 'Tis a sport to live
When life is irksome, if we will not hug
Prosperity in others, and contemn
Affliction in ourselves. This rule is certain,
"He that pursues his safety from the school
Of state must learn to be madman or fool."
Ambition, wealth, ease, I renounce—the devil
That damns ye here on earth. Or I will be
Mine own mirth, or mine own tormentor.—So!
Here comes intelligence; a buzz o' the court.
Enter PELIAS.
Pel. Rhetias, sought thee out to tell thee news,
New, excellent new news. Cuculus, sirrah,
That gull, that young old gull, is coming this way.
Rhe. And thou art his forerunner?
Pel. Prithee, hear me.
Instead of a fine guarded page we've got him
A boy, tricked up in neat and handsome fashion;
Persuaded him that 'tis indeed a wench,
And he has entertained him: he does follow him,
Carries his sword and buckler, waits on's trencher,
Fills him his wine, tobacco; whets his knife,
Lackeys his letters, does what service else
He would employ his man in. Being asked
Why he is so irregular in courtship,
His answer is, that since great ladies use
Gentleman ushers to go bare before them,
He knows no reason but he may reduce
The courtiers to have women wait on them;
And he begins the fashion: he is laughed at
Most complimentally. Thou'lt burst to see him.
Rhe. Agelastus, so surnamed for his gravity, was a very wise fellow,
kept his countenance all days of his life as demurely as a judge that
pronounceth sentence of death on a poor rogue for stealing as much bacon as
would serve at a meal with a calf's head. Yet he smiled once, and never but
once:—thou art no scholar?
Pel. I have read pamphlets dedicated to me.—
Dost call him Agelastus? Why did he laugh?
Rhe. To see an ass eat thistles. Puppy, go study to be a singular
coxcomb. Cuculus is an ordinary ape; but thou art an ape of an ape.
Pel. Thou hast a patent to abuse thy friends.—
Look, look, he comes! observe him seriously.
Enter CUCULUS followed by GRILLA, both fantastically dressed.
Cuc. Reach me my sword and buckler.
Gril. They are here, forsooth.
Cuc. How now, minx, how now! where is your duty, your distance? Let
me
have service methodically tendered; you are now one of us. Your curtsy.
[GRILLA
curtsies.] Good! remember that you are to practise courtship. Was
thy father
a piper, sayest thou?
Cril. A sounder of some such wind-instrument, forsooth.
Cuc. Was he so?—Hold up thy head. Be thou musical to me, and I
will marry thee to a dancer; one that shall ride on his footcloth,
and maintain
thee in thy muff and hood.
Gril. That will be fine indeed.
Cuc. Thou art yet but simple.
Gril. D'ye think so?
Cuc. I have a brain, I have a head-piece: o' my conscience, if I take
pains with thee, I should raise thy understanding, girl, to the height of a
nurse, or a court-midwife at least: I will make thee big in time, wench.
Gril. E'en do your pleasure with me, sir.
Pel. [Coming forward] Noble, accomplished Cuculus!
Rhe. [Coming forward] Give me thy fist, innocent.
Cuc. Would 'twere in thy belly! there 'tis.
Pel. That's well; he's an honest blade, though he be blunt.
Cuc. Who cares? We can be as blunt as he, for's life.
Rhe. Cuculus, there is, within a mile or two, a sow-pig hath sucked a
brach, and now hunts the deer, the hare, nay, most unnaturally, the wild-boar,
as well as any hound in Cyprus.
Cuc. Monstrous sow-pig! is't true?
Pel. I'll be at charge of a banquet on thee for a sight of her.
Rhe. Every thing takes after the dam that gave it suck.
Where hadst thou thy milk?
Cuc. I? Why, my nurse's husband was a most excellent maker of
shittlecocks.
Pel. My nurse was a woman-surgeon.
Rhe. And who gave thee pap, mouse?
Gril. I never sucked, that I remember.
Rhe. La now, a shittlecock maker! all thy brains are stuck with cork
and feather, Cuculus. This learned courtier takes after the nurse too; a she-
surgeon; which is, in effect, a mere matcher of colours. Go learn to paint and
daub compliments, 'tis the next step to run into a new suit. My Lady
Periwinkle
here never sucked: suck thy master, and bring forth moon-calves, fop, do! This
is good philosophy, sirs; make use on't.
Gril. Bless us, what a strange creature this is!
Cuc. A gull, an arrant gull by proclamation.
Enter CORAX, passing over the stage.
Pel. Corax, the prince's chief physician!
What business speeds his haste?—Are all things well, sir?
Cor. Yes, yes, yes.
Rhe. Phew! you may wheel about, man; we know you're proud of your
slovenry and practice; 'tis your virtue. The prince's melancholy fit, I
presume,
holds still.
Cor. So do thy knavery and desperate beggary.
Cuc. Aha! here's one will tickle the ban-dog.
Rhe. You must not go yet.
Cor. I'll stay in spite of thy teeth. There lies my gravity.
[Throws
off his gown.] Do what thou darest; I stand thee.
Rhe. Mountebanks, empirics, quack-salvers, mineralists, wizards,
alchemists, cast-apothecaries, old wives and barbers, are all
suppositors to the
right worshipful doctor, as I take it. Some of ye are the
head of your art, and
the horns too—but they come by nature. Thou livest
single for no other end
but that thou fearest to be a cuckold.
Cor. Have at thee! Thou affectest railing only for thy health; thy
miseries are so thick and so lasting, that thou hast not one poor denier to
bestow on opening a vein, wherefore, to avoid a pleurisy, thou'lt be sure to
prate thyself once a month into a whipping, and bleed in the breech instead of
the arm.
Rhe. Have at thee again!
Cor. Come!
Cuc. There, there, there! O brave doctor!
Pel. Let 'em alone.
Rhe. Thou art in thy religion an atheist, in thy condition a cur, in
thy diet an epicure, in thy lust a goat, in thy sleep a hog; thou takest upon
thee the habit of a grave physician, but art indeed an impostorous empiric.
Physicians are the cobblers, rather the botchers, of men's bodies; as the one
patches our tattered clothes, so the other solders our diseased flesh. Come
on.
Cuc. To't, to't! hold him to't! hold him to't! to't, to't, to't!
Cor. The best worth in thee is the corruption of thy mind, for that
only entitles thee to the dignity of a louse, a thing bred out of the filth
and
superfluity of ill humours. Thou bitest anywhere, and any man who defends not
himself with the clean linen of secure honesty; him thou darest not come near.
Thou art fortune's idiot, virtue's bankrupt, time's dunghill, manhood's
scandal,
and thine own scourge. Thou wouldst hang thyself, so wretchedly miserable thou
art, but that no man will trust thee with as much money as will buy a halter;
and all thy stock to be sold is not worth half as much as may procure it.
Rhe. Ha, ha, ha! this is flattery, gross flattery.
Cor. I have employment for thee, and for ye all. Tut, these are but
good-morrows between us.
Rhe. Are thy bottles full?
Cor. Of rich wine; let's all suck together.
Rhe. Like so many swine in a trough.
Cor. I'll shape ye all for a device before the prince: we'll try how
that can move him.
Rhe. He shall fret or laugh.
Cuc. Must I make one?
Cor. Yes, and your feminine page too.
Gril. Thanks, most egregiously.
Pel. I will not slack my part.
Cuc. Wench, take my buckler.
Cor. Come all unto my chamber: the project is cast: the time only we
must attend.
Rhe. The melody must agree well and yield sport,
When such as these are, knaves and fools, consort.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. An Apartment in the House of THAMASTA.
Enter AMETHUS, THAMASTA and KALA.
Amet. Does this show well?
Tha. What would you have me do?
Amet. Not like a lady of the trim, new crept
Out of the shell of sluttish sweat and labour
Into the glittering pomp of ease and wantonness,
Embroideries, and all these antic fashions
That shape a woman monstrous; to transform
Your education and a noble birth
Into contempt and laughter. Sister, sister,
She who derives her blood from princes ought
To glorify her greatness by humility.
Tha. Then you conclude me proud?
Amet. Young Menaphon,
My worthy friend, has loved you long and truly:
To witness his obedience to your scorn,
Twelve months, wronged gentleman, he undertook
A voluntary exile. Wherefore, sister,
In this time of his absence have you not
Disposed of your affections on some monarch?
Or sent ambassadors to some neighbouring king
With fawning protestations of your graces,
Your rare perfections, admirable beauty?
This had been a new piece of modesty
Would have deserved a chronicle!
Tha. You're bitter;
And, brother, by your leave, not kindly wise.
My freedom is my birth's; I am not bound
To fancy your approvements, but my own.
Indeed, you are an humble youth! I hear of
Your visits and your loving commendation
To your heart's saint, Cleophila, a virgin
Of a rare excellence. What though she want
A portion to maintain a portly greatness?
Yet 'tis your gracious sweetness to descend
So low; the meekness of your pity leads ye!
She is your dear friend's sister! a good soul!
An innocent!—
Amet. Thamasta!
Tha. I have given
Your Menaphon a welcome home, as fits me;
For his sake entertained Parthenophil,
The handsome stranger, more familiarly
Than, I may fear, becomes me; yet, for his part,
I not repent my courtesies: but you—
Amet. No more, no more! be affable to both;
Time may reclaim your cruelty.
Tha. I pity
The youth; and, trust me, brother, love his sadness:
He talks the prettiest stories: he delivers
His tales so gracefully, that I could sit
And listen, nay, forget my meals and sleep,
To hear his neat discourses. Menaphon
Was well advised in choosing such a friend
For pleading his true love.
Amet. Now I commend thee;
Thou'lt change at last, I hope.
Tha. I fear I shall. [Aside.
Enter MENAPHON and PARTHENOPHIL.
Amet. Have ye surveyed the garden?
Men. 'Tis a curious,
A pleasantly contrived delight.
Tha. Your eye, sir,
Hath in your travels often met contents
Of more variety?
Par. Not any, lady.
Men. It were impossible, since your fair presence
Makes every place, where it vouchsafes to shine,
More lovely than all other helps of art
Can equal.
Tha. What you mean by "helps of art,"
You know yourself best: be they as they are;
You need none, I am sure, to set me forth.
Men. 'Twould argue want of manners, more than skill,
Not to praise praise itself.
Tha. For your reward,
Henceforth I'll call you servant.
Amet. Excellent sister!
Men. 'Tis my first step to honour. May I fall
Lower than shame, when I neglect all service
That may confirm this favour!
Tha. Are you well, sir?
Par. Great princess, I am well. To see a league
Between an humble love, such as my friend's is,
And a commanding virtue, such as yours is,
Are sure restoratives.
Tha. You speak ingeniously.—
Brother, be pleased to show the gallery
To this young stranger. Use the time a while,
And we will all together to the court:
I will present ye, sir, unto the prince.
Par. You're all composed of fairness and true bounty.
Amet. Come, come.—We'll wait thee, sister. This beginning
Doth relish happy process.
Men. You have blessed me.
[Exeunt MENAPHON, AMETHUS, and PARTHENOPHIL.
Tha. Kala, O Kala!
Kal. Lady?
Tha. We are private;
Thou art my closet.
Kal. Lock your secrets close, then:
I am not to be forced.
Tha. Never till now
Could I be sensible of being traitor
To honour and to shame.
Kal. You are in love.
Tha. I am grown base.—Parthenophil—
Kal. He's handsome,
Richly endowed; he hath a lovely face,
A winning tongue.
Tha. If ever I must fall,
In him my greatness sinks: Love is a tyrant,
Resisted. Whisper in his ear, how gladly
I would steal time to talk with him one hour:
But do it honourably; prithee, Kala,
Do not betray me.
Kal. Madam, I will make it
Mine own case; he shall think I am in love with him.
Tha. I hope thou art not, Kala.
Kal. 'Tis for your sake:
I'll tell him so; but, 'faith, I am not, lady.
Tha. Pray, use me kindly; let me not too soon
Be lost in my new follies. 'Tis a fate
That overrules our wisdoms; whilst we strive
To live most free, we're caught in our own toils.
Diamonds cut diamonds; they who will prove
To thrive in cunning must cure love with love. [Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter SOPHRONOS and ARETUS.
SOPH. Our commonwealth is sick: 'tis more than time
That we should wake the head thereof, who sleeps
In the dull lethargy of lost security.
The commons murmur, and the nobles grieve;
The court is now turned antic, and grows wild,
Whiles all the neighbouring nations stand at gaze,
And watch fit opportunity to wreak
Their just-conceivèd fury on such injuries
As the late prince, our living master's father,
Committed against laws of truth or honour.
Intelligence comes flying in on all sides;
Whilst the unsteady multitude presume
How that you, Aretus, and I engross,
Out of particular ambition,
The affairs of government; which I, for my part,
Groan under and am weary of.
Are. Sophronos,
I am as zealous too of shaking off
My gay state-fetters, that I have bethought
Of speedy remedy; and to that end,
As I have told ye, have concluded with
Corax, the prince's chief physician.
Soph. You should have done this sooner, Aretus;
You were his tutor, and could best discern
His dispositions, to inform them rightly.
Are. Passions of violent nature, by degrees
Are easiliest reclaimed. There's something hid
Of his distemper, which we'll now find out.
Enter CORAX, RHETIAS, PELIAS, CUCULUS, and GRILLA.
You come on just appointment. Welcome, gentlemen!
Have you won Rhetias, Corax?
Cor. Most sincerely.
Cuc. Save ye, nobilities! Do your lordships take notice of my page?
'Tis a fashion of the newest edition, spick and span new, without
example.—Do your honour, housewife.
Gril. There's a curtsey for you,—and a curtsey for you.
Soph. 'Tis excellent: we must all follow fashion,
And entertain she-waiters.
Are. 'Twill be courtly.
Cuc. I think so; I hope the chronicles will rear me one day for a
headpiece—
Rhe. Of woodcock, without brains in't! Barbers shall wear thee on
their
citterns, and hucksters set thee out in gingerbread.
Cuc. Devil take thee! I say nothing to thee now; can'st let me be
quiet?
Gril. You're too perstreperous, saucebox.
Cuc. Good girl!—If we begin to puff once—
Pel. Prithee, hold thy tongue; the lords are in the presence.
Rhe. Mum, butterfly!
Pel. The prince! stand and keep silence.
Cuc. O, the prince!—Wench, thou shalt see the prince now.
[Soft
music.
Enter PALADOR with a book.
Soph. Sir!
Are. Gracious sir!
Pal. Why all this company?
Cor. A book! is this the early exercise
I did prescribe? instead of following health,
Which all men covet, you pursue disease.
Where's your great horse, your hounds, your set at tennis,
Your balloon-ball, the practice of your dancing,
Your casting of the sledge, or learning how
To toss a pike? all changed into a sonnet!
Pray, sir, grant me free liberty to leave
The court; it does infect me with the sloth
Of sleep and surfeit: in the university
I have employments, which to my profession
Add profit and report; here I am lost,
And in your wilful dulness held a man
Of neither art nor honesty. You may
Command my head:—pray, take it, do! 'twere better
For me to lose it than to lose my wits,
And live in Bedlam; you will force me to't;
I'm almost mad already.
Pal. I believe it.
Soph. Letters are come from Crete, which do require
A speedy restitution of such ships
As by your father were long since detained;
If not, defiance threatened.
Are. These near parts
Of Syria that adjoin muster their friends;
And by intelligence we learn for certain
The Syrian will pretend an ancient interest
Of tribute intermitted.
Soph. Through your land
Your subjects mutter strangely, and imagine
More than they dare speak publicly.
Cor. And yet
They talk but oddly of you.
Cuc. Hang 'em, mongrels.
Pal. Of me! my subjects talk of me!
Cor. Yes, scurvily,
And think worse, prince.
Pal. I'll borrow patience
A little time to listen to these wrongs;
And from the few of you which are here present
Conceive the general voice.
Cor. So! now he's nettled. [Aside.
Pal. By all your loves I charge ye, without fear
Or flattery, to let me know your thoughts,
And how I am interpreted: speak boldly.
Soph. For my part, sir, I will be plain and brief.
I think you are of nature mild and easy,
Not willingly provoked, but withal headstrong
In any passion that misleads your judgment:
I think you too indulgent to such motions
As spring out of your own affections;
Too old to be reformed, and yet too young
To take fit counsel from yourself of what
Is most amiss.
Pal. So!—Tutor, your conceit?
Are. I think you dote—with pardon let me speak it—
Too much upon your pleasures; and these pleasures
Are so wrapt up in self-love, that you covet
No other change of fortune; would be still
What your birth makes you; but are loth to toil
In such affairs of state as break your sleeps.
Cor. I think you would be by the world reputed
A man in every point complete; but are
In manners and effect indeed a child,
A boy, a very boy.
Pel. May't please your grace,
I think you do contain within yourself
The great elixir, soul, and quintessence
Of all divine perfections; are the glory
Of mankind, and the only strict example
For earthly monarchs to square out their lives by;
Time's miracle, Fame's pride; in knowledge, wit,
Sweetness, discourse, arms, arts—
Pal. You are a courtier.
Cuc. But not of the ancient fashion, an't like your highness. 'Tis
I; I that
am the credit of the court, noble prince; and if thou wouldst, by proclamation
or patent, create me overseer of all the tailors in thy dominions, then, then
the golden days should appear again; bread should be cheaper, fools should
have
more wit, knaves more honesty, and beggars more money.
Gril. I think now—
Cuc. Peace, you squall!
Pal. [to RHETIAS] You have not spoken yet.
Cuc. Hang him! he'll nothing but rail.
Gril. Most abominable;—out upon him!
Cor. Away, Cuculus; follow the lords.
Cuc. Close, page, close.
[They all silently withdraw except PALADOR and RHETIAS.
Pal. You are somewhat long a' thinking.
Rhe. I do not think at all.
Pal. Am I not worthy of your thought?
Rhe. My pity you are, but not my reprehension.
Pal. Pity!
Rhe. Yes, for I pity such to whom I owe service, who exchange their
happiness for a misery.
Pal. Is it a misery to be a prince?
Rhe. Princes who forget their sovereignty, and yield to affected
passion, are weary of command.—You had a father, sir.
Pal. Your sovereign, whiles he lived: but what of him?
Rhe. Nothing. I only dared to name him; that's all.
Pal. I charge thee, by the duty that thou ow'st us,
Be plain in what thou mean'st to speak: there's something
That we must know: be free; our ears are open.
Rhe. O, sir, I had rather hold a wolf by the ears than stroke a lion:
the greatest danger is the last.
Pal. This is mere trifling.—Ha! are all stol'n hence?
We are alone: thou hast an honest look;
Thou hast a tongue, I hope, that is not oiled
With flattery: be open. Though 'tis true
That in my younger days I oft have heard
Agenor's name, my father, more traduced
Than I could then observe; yet I protest
I never had a friend, a certain friend,
That would inform me throughly of such errors
As oftentimes are incident to princes.
Rhe. All this may be. I have seen a man so curious in feeling of the
edge of a keen knife, that he has cut his fingers. My flesh is not of proof
against the metal I am to handle; the one is tenderer than the other.
Pal. I see, then, I must court thee. Take the word
Of a just prince; for anything thou speakest
I have more than a pardon,—thanks and love.
Rhe. I will remember you of an old tale that something concerns you.
Meleander, the great but unfortunate statesman, was by your father treated
with
for a match between you and his eldest daughter, the Lady Eroclea: you
were both
near of an age. I presume you remember a contract, and cannot forget her.
Pal. She was a lovely beauty. Prithee, forward!
Rhe. To court was Eroclea brought; was courted by your father, not
for
Prince Palador, as it followed, but to be made a prey to some less noble
design.
With your favour, I have forgot the rest.
Pal. Good, call it back again into thy memory;
Else, losing the remainder, I am lost too.
Rhe. You charm me. In brief, a rape by some bad agents was attempted;
by the Lord Meleander her father rescued, she conveyed away; Meleander accused
of treason, his land seized, he himself distracted and confined to the castle,
where he yet lives. What had ensued was doubtful; but your father shortly
after
died.
Pal. But what became of fair Eroclea?
Rhe. She never since was heard of.
Pal. No hope lives, then,
Of ever, ever seeing her again?
Rhe. Sir, I feared I should anger thee. There was, as I said, an old
tale:—I have now a new one, which may perhaps season the first with
a more
delightful relish.
Pal. I am prepared to hear; say what you please.
Rhe. My Lord Meleander failing,—on whose favour my fortunes
relied,—I furnished myself for travel, and bent my course to
Athens; where
a pretty accident, after a while, came to my knowledge,
Pal. My ear is open to thee.
Rhe. A young lady contracted to a noble gentleman, as
the lady we last
mentioned and your highness were, being hindered by their
jarring parents, stole
from her home, and was conveyed like a ship-boy in a merchant from the country
where she lived, into Corinth first, afterwards to Athens; where in much
solitariness she lived, like a youth, almost two years, courted by all for
acquaintance, but friend to none by familiarity.
Pal. In habit of a man?
Rhe. A handsome young man—till, within these three months or
less,—her sweetheart's father dying some year before or more,—she
had
notice of it, and with much joy returned home, and, as report voiced it at
Athens, enjoyed her happiness she was long an exile for. Now, noble sir, if you
did love the Lady Eroclea, why may not such safety and fate direct her as
directed the other? 'tis not impossible.
Pal. If I did love her, Rhetias! Yes, I did.
Give me thy hand: as thou didst serve Meleander,
And art still true to these, henceforth serve me.
Rhe. My duty and my obedience are my surety;
But I have been too bold.
Pal. Forget the sadder story of my father,
And only, Rhetias, learn to read me well;
For I must ever thank thee: thou'st unlocked
A tongue was vowed to silence; for requital,
Open my bosom, Rhetias.
Rhe. What's your meaning?
Pal. To tie thee to an oath of secrecy.
Unloose the buttons, man: thou dost it faintly.
What find'st thou there?
Rhe. A picture in a tablet.
Pal. Look well upon't.
Rhe. I do—yes—let me observe it—
'Tis hers, the lady's.
Pal. Whose?
Rhe. Eroclea's.
Pal. Hers that was once Eroclea. For her sake
Have I advanced Sophronos to the helm
Of government; for her sake will restore
Meleander's honours to him; will, for her sake,
Beg friendship from thee, Rhetias. O, be faithful,
And let no politic lord work from thy bosom
My griefs: I know thou wert put on to sift me;
But be not too secure.
Rhe. I am your creature.
Pal. Continue still thy discontented fashion,
Humour the lords, as they would humour me;
I'll not live in thy debt.—We are discovered.
Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, THAMASTA, KALA, and PARTHENOPHIL.
Amet. Honour and health still wait upon the prince!
Sir, I am bold with favour to present
Unto your highness Menaphon my friend,
Returned from travel.
Men. Humbly on my knees
I kiss your gracious hand.
Pal. It is our duty
To love the virtuous.
Men. If my prayers or service
Hold any value, they are vowed yours ever.
Rhe. I have a fist for thee too, stripling; thou'rt started up
prettily
since I saw thee. Hast learned any wit abroad? Canst tell news and swear lies
with a grace, like a true traveller?—What new ouzel's this?
Tha. Your highness shall do right to your own judgment
In taking more than common notice of
This stranger, an Athenian, named Parthenophil;
One who, if mine opinion do not soothe me
Too grossly, for the fashion of his mind
Deserves a dear respect.
Pal. Your commendations,
Sweet cousin, speak him nobly.
Par. All the powers
That sentinel just thrones double their guards
About your sacred excellence!
Pal. What fortune
Led him to Cyprus?
Men. My persuasions won him.
Amet. And if your highness please to hear the entrance Into
their first
acquaintance, you will say—
Tha. It was the newest, sweetest, prettiest accident
That e'er delighted your attention:
I can discourse it, sir.
Pal. Some other time.
How is he called?
Tha. Parthenophil.
Pal. Parthenophil!
We shall sort time to take more notice of him. [Exit.
Men. His wonted melancholy still pursues him.
Amet. I told you so.
Tha. You must not wonder at it.
Par. I do not, lady.
Amet. Shall we to the castle?
Men. We will attend ye both.
Rhe. All three,—I'll go too. Hark in thine ear,
gallant; I'll keep
the old madman in chat, whilst thou gabblest to the girl: my thumb's upon my
lips; not a word.
Amet. I need not fear thee, Rhetias. Sister, soon
Expect us: this day we will range the city.
Tha. Well, soon I shall expect ye.—Kala!
[Aside to KALA.
Kal. Trust me.
Rhe. Troop on!—Love, love, what a wonder thou art!
[Exeunt all but PARTHENOPHIL and KALA.
Kal. May I not be offensive, sir?
Par. Your pleasure?
Yet, pray, be brief.
Kal. Then, briefly; good, resolve me;
Have you a mistress or a wife?
Par. I've neither.
Kal. Nor did you ever love in earnest any
Fair lady, whom you wished to make your own?
Par. Not any, truly.
Kal. What your friends or means are
I will not be inquisitive to know,
Nor do I care to hope for. But admit
A dowry were thrown down before your choice,
Of beauty, noble birth, sincere affection,
How gladly would you entertain it! Young man,
I do not tempt you idly.
Par. I shall thank you,
When my unsettled thoughts can make me sensible
Of what 'tis to be happy; for the present
I am your debtor; and, fair gentlewoman,
Pray give me leave as yet to study ignorance,
For my weak brains conceive not what concerns me.
Another time— [Going.
Re-enter THAMASTA.
Tha. Do I break off your parley,
That you are parting? Sure, my woman loves you:
Can she speak well, Parthenophil?
Par. Yes, madam,
Discreetly chaste she can; she hath much won
On my belief, and in few words, but pithy,
Much moved my thankfulness. You are her lady;
Your goodness aims, I know, at her preferment;
Therefore I may be bold to make confession
Of truth: if ever I desire to thrive
In woman's favour, Kala is the first
Whom my ambition shall bend to.
Tha. Indeed!
But say a nobler love should interpose.
Par. Where real worth and constancy first settle
A hearty truth, there greatness cannot shake it;
Nor shall it mine: yet I am but an infant
In that construction, which must give clear light
To KALA'S merit; riper hours hereafter
Must learn me how to grow rich in deserts.
Madam, my duty waits on you. [Exit.
Tha. Come hither:—
"If ever henceforth I desire to thrive
In woman's favour, Kala is the first
Whom my ambition shall bend to." 'Twas so!
Kal. These very words he spake.
Tha. These very words
Curse thee, unfaithful creature, to thy grave.
Thou woo'dst him for thyself?
Kal. You said I should.
Tha. My name was never mentioned?
Kal. Madam, no;
We were not come to that.
Tha. Not come to that!
Art thou a rival fit to cross my fate?
Now poverty and a dishonest fame,
The waiting-woman's wages, be thy payment,
False, faithless, wanton beast! I'll spoil your marriage.
There's not a page, a groom, nay, not a citizen
That shall be cast away upon ye, Kala;
I'll keep thee in my service all thy lifetime,
Without hope of a husband or a suitor.
Kal. I have not verily deserved this cruelty.
Tha. Parthenophil shall know, if he respect
My birth, the danger of a fond neglect. [Exit.
Kal. Are you so quick? Well, I may chance to cross
Your peevishness. Now, though I never meant
The young man for myself, yet, if he love me,
I'll have him, or I'll run away with him;
And let her do her worst then! What! we're all
But flesh and blood; the same thing that will do
My lady good will please her woman too. [Exit.
SCENE II. An Apartment in the Castle.
Enter CLEOPHILA and TROLLIO.
Cleo. Tread softly, Trollio; my father sleeps still.
Trol. Ay, forsooth; but he sleeps like a hare, with his eyes open,
and
that's no good sign.
Cleo. Sure, thou art weary of this sullen living:
But I am not; for I take more content
In my obedience here than all delights
The time presents elsewhere.
Mel. [Within] O!
Cleo. Dost hear that groan?
Trol. Hear it! I shudder: it was a strong blast, young mistress, able
to root up heart, liver, lungs, and all.
Cleo. My much-wronged father! let me view his face.
[Draws the arras: MELEANDER discovered in a chair,
sleeping.
Trol. Lady mistress, shall I fetch a barber to steal away his rough
beard
whiles he sleeps? In's naps he never looks in a glass—and 'tis high time,
on conscience, for him to be trimmed; 'has not been under the shaver's hand
almost these four years.
Cleo. Peace, fool!
Trol. [Aside] I could clip the old ruffian; there's hair enough
to
stuff all the great codpieces in Switzerland. 'A begins to stir; 'a stirs.
Bless
us, how his eyes roll!—A good year keep your lordship in your right
wits, I
beseech ye!
Mel. Cleophila!
Cleo. Sir, I am here; how d'ye, sir?
Trol. Sir, is your stomach up yet? get some warm porridge in your
belly; 'tis a very good settle-brain.
Mel. The raven croaked, and hollow shrieks of owls
Sung dirges at her funeral; I laughed
The whiles, for 'twas no boot to weep. The girl
Was fresh and full of youth: but, O, the cunning
Of tyrants, that look big! their very frowns
Doom poor souls guilty ere their cause be heard.—
Good, what art thou?—and thou?
Cleo. I am Cleophila,
Your woeful daughter.
Trol. I am Trollio,
Your honest implement.
Mel. I know ye both, 'Las, why d'ye use me thus?
Thy sister, my Eroclea, was so gentle,
That turtles in their down do feed more gall
Than her spleen mixed with: yet, when winds and storm
Drive dirt and dust on banks of spotless snow,
The purest whiteness is no such defence
Against the sullying foulness of that fury.
So raved Agenor, that great man, mischief
Against the girl: 'twas a politic trick!
We were too old in honour. I am lean,
And fall'n away extremely; most assuredly
I have not dined these three days.
Cleo. Will you now, sir?
Trol. I beseech ye heartily, sir: I feel a horrible puking myself.
Mel. Am I stark mad?
Trol. [Aside] No, no, you are but a little staring; there's
difference between staring and stark mad. You are but whimsied yet;
crotcheted,
conumdrumed, or so.
Mel. Here's all my care; and I do often sigh
For thee, Cleophila; we are secluded
From all good people. But take heed; Amethus
Was son to Doryla, Agenor's sister;
There's some ill blood about him, if the surgeon
Have not been very skilful to let all out.
Cleo. I am, alas, too grieved to think of love;
That must concern me least.
Mel. Sirrah, be wise! be wise!
Trol. Who, I? I will be monstrous and wise immediately.
Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, PARTHENOPHIL, and RHETIAS.
Welcome, gentlemen; the more the merrier. I'll lay the cloth, and
set the stools
in a readiness, for I see here is some hope of dinner now. [Exit.
Amet. My Lord Meleander, Menaphon, your kinsman,
Newly returned from travel, comes to tender
His duty t'ye;—to you his love, fair mistress.
Men. I would I could as easily remove
Sadness from your remembrance, sir, as study
To do you faithful service.—My dear cousin,
All best of comforts bless your sweet obedience!
Cleo. One chief of 'em, my worthy cousin, lives
In you and your well-doing.
Men This young stranger
Will well deserve your knowledge.
Amet. For my friend's sake,
Lady, pray give him welcome.
Cleo. He has met it,
If sorrows can look kindly.
Par. You much honour me.
Rhe. [Aside] How he eyes the company! sure my passion will betray
my weakness.—O my master, my noble master, do not forget me; I am still
the
humblest and the most faithful in heart of those that serve you.
Mel. Ha, ha, ha!
Rhe. [Aside] There's wormwood in that laughter; 'tis the usher
to a
violent extremity.
Mel. I am a weak old man. All these are come
To jeer my ripe calamities.
Men. Good uncle!
Mel. But I'll outstare ye all: fools, desperate fools!
You're cheated, grossly cheated; range, range on,
And roll about the world to gather moss,
The moss of honour, gay reports, gay clothes,
Gay wives, huge empty buildings, whose proud roofs
Shall with their pinnacles even reach the stars.
Ye work and work like moles, blind in the paths
That are bored through the crannies of the earth,
To charge your hungry souls with such full surfeits
As being gorged once, make ye lean with plenty;
And when ye've skimmed the vomit of your riots,
Ye're fat in no felicity but folly:
Then your last sleeps seize on ye; then the troops
Of worms crawl round and feast; good cheer, rich fare,
Dainty, delicious!—Here's Cleophila;
All the poor stock of my remaining thrift:
You, you, the prince's cousin, how d'ye like her?
Amethus, how d'ye like her?
Amet. My intents
Are just and honourable.
Men. Sir, believe him.
Mel. Take her.—We two must part; go to him do.
Par. This sight is full of horror.
Rhe. There is sense yet
In this distraction.
Mel. In this jewel I have given away
All what I can call mine. When I am dead,
Save charge; let me buried in a nook:
No guns, no pompous whining; these are fooleries.
If, whiles we live, we stalk about the streets
Jostled by carmen, footposts, and fine apes
In silken coats, unminded and scarce thought on
It is not comely to be haled to the earth,
Like high-fed jades upon a tilting-day,
In antic trappings. Scorn to useless tears!
Eroclea was not coffined so; she perished,
And no eye dropped save mine—and I am childish:
I talk like one that dotes: laugh at me, Rhetias,
Or rail at me. They will not give me meat,
They've starved me; but I'll henceforth be mine own cook.
Good morrow! 'tis too early for my cares
To revel; I will break my heart a little,
And tell ye more hereafter. Pray be merry, [Exit.
Rhe. I'll follow him.—My Lord Amethus, use your time
respectively:
few words to purpose soonest prevail: study no long orations; be plain and
short.—I'll follow him. [Exit.
Amet. Cleophila, although these blacker clouds
Of sadness thicken and make dark the sky
Of thy fair eyes, yet give me leave to follow
The stream of my affections: they are pure,
Without all mixture of unnoble thoughts.
Can you be ever mine?
Cleo. I am so low
In mine own fortunes and my father's woes,
That I want words to tell ye you deserve
A worthier choice.
Amet. But give me leave to hope.
Men. My friend is serious.
Cleo. Sir, this for answer. If I ever thrive
In any earthly happiness, the next
To my good father's wished recovery
Must be my thankfulness to your great merit,
Which I dare promise: for the present time
You cannot urge more from me.
Mel. [Within] Ho, Cleophila!
Cleo. This gentleman is moved.
Amet. Your eyes, Parthenophil,
Are guilty of some passion.
Men. Friend, what ails thee?
Par. All is not well within me, sir.
Mel. [Within] Cleophila!
Amet. Sweet maid, forget me not; we now must part.
Cleo. Still you shall have my prayer.
Amet. Still you my truth.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—A Room in the Palace.
Enter CUCULUS and GRILLA; the former in a black velvet
cap and a white
feather, with a paper in his hand.
CUC. Do not I look freshly, and like a youth of the trim?
Gril. As rare an old youth as ever walked cross-gartered.
Cuc. Here are my mistresses mustered in white and black. [Reads]
"Kala, the waiting-woman"—I will first begin at the foot: stand thou for
Kala.
Gril. I stand for Kala; do your best and your worst.
Cuc. I must look big, and care little or nothing for her, because she
is a creature that stands at livery. Thus I talk wisely, and to no
purpose:—Wench, as it is not fit that thou shouldst be either fair or
honest, so, considering thy service, thou art as thou art, and so are thy
betters, let them be what they can be. Thus, in despite and defiance of all
thy
good parts, if I cannot endure thy baseness, 'tis more out of thy courtesy
than
my deserving; and so I expect thy answer.
Gril. I must confess—
Cuc. Well said.
Gril. You are—
Cuc. That's true too.
Gril. To speak you right, a very scurvy fellow.
Cuc, Away, away!—dost think so?
Gril. A very foul-mouthed and misshapen coxcomb.
Cuc. I'll never believe it, by this hand.
Gril. A maggot, most unworthy to creep in
To the least wrinkle of a gentlewoman's—
What d'ye call—good conceit, or so, or what
You will else,—were you not refined by courtship
And education, which in my blear eyes
Makes you appear as sweet as any nosegay,
Or savoury cod of musk new fall'n from the cat.
Cuc. This shall serve well enough for the waiting-woman. My next
mistress is CLEOPHILA, the old madman's daughter. I must come to her in
whining
tune; sigh, wipe mine eyes, fold my arms, and blubber out my speech as
thus:—Even as a kennel of hounds, sweet lady, cannot catch a hare
when they
are full-paunched on the carrion of a dead horse; so, even so, the gorge of my
affections being full-crammed with the garboils of your condolements doth
tickle
me with the prick, as it were, about me, and fellow-feeling of howling
outright.
Gril. This will do't, if we will hear.
Cuc. Thou seest I am crying ripe, I am such another tender-hearted
fool.
Gril. Even as the snuff of a candle that is burnt in the socket goes
out, and leaves a strong perfume behind it; or as a piece of toasted
cheese next
the heart in a morning is a restorative for a sweet breath; so, even so, the
odoriferous savour of your love doth perfume my heart—heigh-ho!—with
the pure scent of an intolerable content, and not to be endured.
Cuc. By this hand, 'tis excellent! Have at thee, last of all, for the
Princess Thamasta, she that is my mistress indeed. She is abominably proud, a
lady of a damnable high, turbulent, and generous spirit: but I have a
loudmouthed cannon of mine own to batter her, and a penned speech of purpose:
observe it.
Gril. Thus I walk by, hear, and mind you not.
Cuc. [Reads] "Though haughty as the devil or his dam
Thou dost appear, great mistress, yet I am
Like to an ugly firework, and can mount
Above the region of thy sweet ac—count.
Wert thou the moon herself, yet having seen thee,
Behold the man ordained to move within thee."
Look to yourself, housewife! answer me in strong lines, you're best.
Gril. Keep off, poor fool, my beams will strike thee blind;
Else, if thou touch me, touch me but behind.
In palaces, such as pass in before
Must be great princes; for at the back-door
Tatterdemalions wait, who know not how
To get admittance; such a one—art thou.
Cuc. 'Sfoot, this is downright roaring.
Gril. I know how to present a big lady in her own cue. But, pray, in
earnest, are you in love with all these?
Cuc. Pish! I have not a rag of love about me; 'tis only a foolish
humour I am possessed with, to be surnamed the conqueror. I will court
anything;
be in love with nothing, nor no—thing.
Gril. A rare man you are, I protest.
Cuc. Yes, I know I am a rare man, and I ever held myself so.
Enter PELIAS and CORAX.
Pel. In amorous contemplation, on my life;
Courting his page, by Helicon!
Cuc. 'Tis false.
Gril. A gross untruth; I'll justify it, sir,
At any time, place, weapon.
Cuc. Marry, shall she.
Cor. No quarrels, Goody Whisk! lay-by your trumperies, and
fall-to your
practice. Instructions are ready for you all. Pelias is your
leader; follow him:
get credit now or never. Vanish, doodles, vanish!
Cuc. For the device?
Cor. The same; get ye gone, and make no bawling.
[Exeunt all but CORAX.
To waste my time thus, drone-like, in the court,
And lose so many hours as my studies
Have hoarded up, is to be like a man
That creeps both on his hands and knees to climb
A mountain's top; where, when he is ascended,
One careless slip down-tumbles him again
Into the bottom, whence he first began.
I need no prince's favour; princes need
My art: then, Corax, be no more a gull;
The best of 'em cannot fool thee, nay, they shall not.
Enter SOPHRONOS and ARETUS.
Soph. We find him timely now; let's learn the cause.
Are. 'Tis fit we should.—Sir, we approve you learned.
And, since your skill can best discern the humours
That are predominant in bodies subject
To alteration, tell us, pray, what devil
This Melancholy is, which can transform
Men into monsters.
Cor. You're yourself a scholar,
And quick of apprehension. Melancholy
Is not, as you conceive, indisposition
Of body, but the mind's disease. So Ecstasy,
Fantastic Dotage, Madness, Frenzy, Rapture
Of mere imagination, differ partly
From Melancholy; which is briefly this,
A mere commotion of the mind, o'ercharged
With fear and sorrow; first begot i' the brain,
The seat of reason, and from thence derived
As suddenly into the heart, the seat
Of our affection.
Are. There are sundry kinds
Of this disturbance?
Cor. Infinite: it were
More easy to conjecture every hour
We have to live than reckon up the kinds
Or causes of this anguish of the mind.
Soph. Thus you conclude that, as the cause is doubtful,
The cure must be impossible; and then
Our prince, poor gentleman, is lost for ever
As well unto himself as to his subjects.
Cor. My lord, you are too quick: thus much I dare
Promise and do; ere many minutes pass
I will discover whence his sadness is,
Or undergo the censure of my ignorance.
Are. You are a noble scholar.
Soph. For reward
You shall make your own demand.
Cor. May I be sure?
Are. We both will pledge our truth.
Cor. 'Tis soon performed:
That I may be discharged from my attendance
At court, and never more be sent for after;
Or—if I be, may rats gnaw all my books,
If I get home once, and come here again!
Though my neck stretch a halter for't, I care not.
Soph. Come, come, you shall not fear it.
Cor. I'll acquaint ye
With what is to be done; and you shall fashion it.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in THAMASTA'S House.
Enter KALA and PARTHENOPHIL.
Kal. My lady does expect ye, thinks all time
Too slow till you come to her: wherefore, young man.
If you intend to love me, and me only,
Before we part, without more circumstance,
Let us betroth ourselves.
Par. I dare not wrong ye;—
You are too violent.
Kal. Wrong me no more
Than I wrong you; be mine, and I am yours:
I cannot stand on points.
Par. Then, to resolve
All further hopes, you never can be mine,
Must not, and—pardon though I say—you shall not.
Kal. [Aside]. The thing is sure a gelding.—Shall not! Well,
You're best to prate unto my lady now,
What proffer I have made.
Par. Never, I vow.
Kal. Do, do! 'tis but a kind heart of mine own,
And ill luck can undo me.—Be refused!
O scurvy!—Pray walk on, I'll overtake ye.
[Exit PARTHENOPHIL.
What a green-sickness-livered boy is this!
My maidenhead will shortly grow so stale
That 'twill be mouldy:—but I'll mar her market.
Enter MENAPHON.
Men. Parthenophil passed this way: prithee, Kala,
Direct me to him.
Kal. Yes, I can direct ye;
But you, sir, must forbear.
Men. Forbear!
Kal. I said so.
Your bounty has engaged my truth: receive
A secret, that will, as you are a man,
Startle your reason; 'tis but mere respect
Of what I owe to thankfulness. Dear sir,
The stranger whom your courtesy received
For friend is made your rival.
Men. Rival, Kala!
Take heed; thou art too credulous.
Kal. My lady
Dotes on him. I will place you in a room
Where, though you cannot hear, yet you shall see
Such passages as will confirm the truth
Of my intelligence.
Men. 'Twill make me mad.
Kal. Yes, yes.
It makes me mad too, that a gentleman
Se excellently sweet, so liberal,
So kind, so proper, should be so betrayed
By a young smooth-chinned straggler: but for love's sake,
Bear all with manly courage. Not a word;
I am undone then.
Men. That were too much pity:
Honest, most honest Kala, 'tis thy care,
Thy serviceable care.
Kal. You have even spoken
All can be said or thought.
Men. I will reward thee:
But as for him, ungentle boy, I'll whip
His falsehood with a vengeance.
Kal. O, speak little.
Walk up these stairs; and take this key: it opens
A chamber-door, where, at that window yonder,
You may see all their courtship.
Men. I am silent.
Kal. As little noise as may be, I beseech ye:
There is a back-stair to convey ye forth
Unseen or unsuspected. [Exit MENAPHON.
He that cheats
A waiting-woman of a free good turn
She longs for must expect a shrewd revenge.
Sheep-spirited boy! although he had not married me,
He might have proffered kindness in a corner,
And ne'er have been the worse for't.—They are come:
On goes my set of faces most demurely.
Enter THAMASTA and PARTHENOPHIL.
Tha. Forbear the room.
Kal. Yes, madam.
Tha. Whosoever
Requires access to me, deny him entrance
Till I call thee; aud wait without.
Kal. I shall.—
Sweet Venus, turn his courage to a snow-ball;
I heartily beseech it! [Aside, and exit.
Tha. I expose
The honour of my birth, my fame, my youth,
To hazard of much hard construction,
In seeking an adventure of a parley,
So private, with a stranger: if your thoughts
Censure me not with mercy, you may soon
Conceive I have laid by that modesty
Which should preserve a virtuous name unstained.
Par. Lady,—to shorten long excuses,—time
And safe experience have so throughly armed
My apprehension with a real taste
Of your most noble nature, that to question
The least part of your bounties, or that freedom
Which heaven hath with a plenty made you rich in,
Would argue me uncivil; which is more,
Base-bred; and, which is most of all, unthankful.
Tha. The constant loadstone and the steel are found
In several mines; yet is there such a league
Between these minerals as if one vein
Of earth had nourished both. The gentle myrtle
Is not engraft upon an olive's stock,
Yet nature hath between them locked a secret
Of sympathy, that, being planted near,
They will, both in their branches and their roots,
Embrace each other: twines of ivy round
The well-grown oak; the vine doth court the elm;
Yet these are different plants. Parthenophil,
Consider this aright; then these slight creatures
Will fortify the reasons I should frame
For that ungrounded—as thou think'st—affection
Which is submitted to a stranger's pity.
True love may blush, when shame repents too late
But in all actions nature yields to fate.
Par. Great lady, 'twere a dulness must exceed
The grossest and most sottish kind of ignorance
Not to be sensible of your intents;
I clearly understand them. Yet so much
The difference between that height and lowness
Which doth distinguish our unequal fortunes
Dissuades me from ambition, that I am
Humbler in my desires than love's own power
Can any way raise up.
Tha. I am a princess,
And know no law of slavery; to sue,
Yet be denied!
Par. I am so much a subject
To every law of noble honesty,
That to transgress the vows of perfect friendship
I hold a sacrilege as foul and cursed
As if some holy temple had been robbed,
And I the thief.
Tha. Thou art unwise, young man,
T' enrage a lioness.
Par. It were unjust
To falsify a faith, and ever after,
Disrobed of that fair ornament, live naked,
A scorn to time and truth.
Tha. Remember well
Who I am, and what thou art.
Par. That remembrance
Prompts me to worthy duty. O, great lady,
If some few days have tempted your free heart
To cast away affection on a stranger;
If that affection have so overswayed
Your judgment, that it, in a manner, hath
Declined your sovereignty of birth and spirit;
How can ye turn your eyes off from that glass
Wherein you may new-trim and settle right
A memorable name?
Tha. The youth is idle.
Par. Days, months, and years are passed since Menaphon
Hath loved and served you truly; Menaphon,
A man of no large distance in his blood
From yours; in qualities desertful, graced
With youth, experience, every happy gift
That can by nature or by education
Improve a gentleman: for him, great lady,
Let me prevail, that you will yet at last
Unlock the bounty which your love and care
Have wisely treasured up, t'enrich his life.
Tha. Thou hast a moving eloquence, Parthenophil!—
Parthenophil, in vain we strive to cross
The destiny that guides us. My great heart
Is stooped so much beneath that wonted pride
That first disguised it, that I now prefer
A miserable life with thee before
All other earthly comforts.
Par. Menaphon,
By me, repeats the self-same words to you:
You are too cruel, if you can distrust
His truth or my report.
Tha. Go where thou wilt,
I'll be an exile with thee; I will learn
To bear all change of fortunes.
Par. For my friend
I plead with grounds of reason.
Tha. For thy love,
Hard-hearted youth, I here renounce all thoughts
Of other hopes, of other entertainments,—
Par. Stay, as you honour virtue.
Tha. When the proffers
Of other greatness,—
Par. Lady!
Tha. When entreats
Of friends,—
Par. I'll ease your grief.
Tha. Respect of kindred,—
Par. Pray, give me hearing.
Tha. Loss of fame,—
Par. I crave
But some few minutes.
Tha. Shall infringe my vows,
Let heaven,—
Par. My love speaks t'ye: hear, then go on.
Tha. Thy love! why, 'tis a charm to stop a vow
In its most violent course.
Par. Cupid has broke
His arrows here; and, like a child unarmed,
Comes to make sport between us with no weapon
But feathers stolen from his mother's doves.
Tha. This is mere trifling.
Par. Lady, take a secret.
I am as you are—in a lower rank,
Else of the self-same sex—a maid, a virgin
And now, to use your own words, "if your thoughts
Censure me not with mercy, you may soon
Conceive I have laid by that modesty
Which should preserve a virtuous name unstained."
Tha. Are you not mankind, then?
Par. When you shall read
The story of my sorrows, with the change
Of my misfortunes, in a letter printed
From my unforged relation, I believe
You will not think the shedding of one tear
A prodigality that misbecomes
Your pity and my fortune.
Tha. Pray, conceal
The errors of my passion.
Par. Would I had
Much more of honour—as for life, I value't not—
To venture on your secrecy!
Tha. It will be
A hard task for my reason to relinquish
The affection which was once devoted thine
I shall awhile repute thee still the youth
I loved so dearly.
Par. You shall find me ever
Your ready faithful servant.
Tha. O, the powers
Who do direct our hearts laugh at our follies!
We must not part yet.
Par. Let not my unworthiness
Alter your good opinion.
Tha. I shall henceforth
Be jealous of thy company with any:
My fears are strong and many.
Re-enter KALA.
Kal. Did your ladyship
Call me?
Tha. For what?
Kal. Your servant Menaphon
Desires admittance.
Enter MENAPHON.
Men. With your leave, great mistress,
I come,—So private! is this well, Parthenophil?
Par. Sir, noble sir,—
Men. You are unkind and treacherous;
This 'tis to trust a straggler!
Tha. Prithee, servant,—
Men. I dare not question you; you are my mistress,
My prince's nearest kinswoman: but he—
Tha. Come, you are angry.
Men. Henceforth I will bury
Unmanly passion in perpetual silence:
I'll court mine own distraction, dote on folly,
Creep to the mirth and madness of the age,
Rather than be so slaved again to woman,
Which in her best of constancy is steadiest
In change and scorn.
Tha. How dare ye talk to me thus?
Men. Dare! Were you not own sister to my friend,
Sister to my Amethus, I would hurl ye
As far off from mine eyes as from my heart;
For I would never more look on ye. Take
Your jewel t'ye!—And, youth, keep under wing,
Or—boy!—boy!—
Tha. If commands be of no force,
Let me entreat thee, Menaphon.
Mez. 'Tis naught.
Fie, fie, Parthenophil! have I deserved
To be thus used?
Par. I do protest—
Men. You shall not:
Henceforth I will be free, and hate my bondage.
Enter AMETHUS.
Amet. Away, away to court! The prince is pleased
To see a masque to-night; we must attend him:
'Tis near upon the time.—How thrives your suit?
Men. The judge, your sister, will decide it shortly.
Tha. Parthenophil, I will not trust you from me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Room in the Palace.
Enter PALADOR, SOPHRONOS, ARETUS, and CORAX; Servants with
torches.
Cor. Lights and attendance!—I will show your highness
A trifle of mine own brain. If you can,
Imagine you were now in the university,
You'll take it well enough; a scholar's fancy,
A quab—'tis nothing else—a very quab.
Pal. We will observe it.
Soph. Yes, and grace it too, sir,
For Corax else is humorous and testy.
Are. By any means; men singular in art
Have always some odd whimsey more than usual.
Pal. The name of this conceit?
Cor. Sir, it is called
The Masque of Melancholy.
Are. We must look for
Nothing but sadness here, then.
Cor. Madness rather
In several changes. Melancholy is
The root as well of every apish frenzy,
Laughter, and mirth, as dulness. Pray, my lord,
Hold, and observe the plot [Gives PALADOR a paper]: 'tis
there expressed
In kind, what shall be now expressed in action.
Enter AMETHUS, MENAPHON, THAMASTA, and PARTHENOPHIL.
No interruption; take your places quickly;
Nay, nay, leave ceremony.—Sound to the entrance!
[Flourish.
Enter RHETIAS, his face whited, with black shag hair and long nails, and
with a piece of raw meat.
Rhe. Bow, bow! wow, wow! the moon's eclipsed; I'll to the churchyard
and sup. Since I turned wolf, I bark, and howl, and dig up graves: I will
never
have the sun shine again: 'tis midnight, deep dark midnight,—get a prey,
and fall to—I have catched thee now—Arre!—
Cor. This kind is called Lycanthropia, sir; when men conceive
themselves wolves.
Pal. Here I find it. [Looking at the paper.
Enter PELIAS, with a crown of feathers and anticly rich.
Pel. I will hang 'em all, and burn my wife. Was I not an emperor? my
hand was kissed, and ladies lay down before me; in triumph did I ride with my
nobles about me till the mad dog bit me: I fell, and I fell, and I fell. It
shall be treason by statute for any man to name water, or wash his hands,
throughout all my dominions. Break all the looking-glasses; I will not see my
horns: my wife cuckolds me; she is a whore, a whore, a whore, a whore!
Pal. Hydrophobia term you this?
Cor. And men possessed so shun all sight of water:
Sometimes, if mixed with jealousy, it renders them
Incurable, and oftentimes brings death.
Enter a Philosopher in black rags, with a copper chain, an old gown half
off, and a book.
Phi. Philosophers dwell in the moon. Speculation and theory girdle
the
world about like a wall. Ignorance, like an atheist, must be damned in the
pit.
I am very, very poor, and poverty is the physic for the soul: my opinions are
pure and perfect. Envy is a monster, and I defy the beast.
Cor. Delirium this is called, which is mere dotage,
Sprung from ambition first and singularity,
Self-love, and blind opinion of true merit.
Pal. I not dislike the course.
Enter GRILLA, in a rich gown, a great farthingale, a great ruff, a
muff, a
fan, and a coxcomb on her head.
Gril. Yes forsooth, and no forsooth; is not this fine? I pray your
blessing, gaffer. Here, here, here—did he give me a shough, and cut off's
tail! Buss, buss, nuncle, and there's a pum for daddy.
Cor. You find this noted there phrenitis.
Pal. True.
Cor. Pride is the ground on't; it reigns most in women.
Enter CUCULUS like a BEDLAM, singing.
Cuc. They that will learn to drink a health in hell
Must learn on earth to take tobacco well,
To take tobacco well, to take tobacco well;
For in hell they drink nor wine nor ale nor beer,
But fire and smoke and stench, as we do here.
Rhe. I'll swoop thee up.
Pel. Thou'st straight to execution.
Gril. Fool, fool, fool! catch me an thou canst.
Phi. Expel him the house; 'tis a dunce.
Cuc. [Sings]
Hark! did ye not hear a rumbling?
The goblins are now a tumbling:
I'll tear 'em, I'll sear 'em,
I'll roar 'em, I'll gore 'em!
Now, now, now! my brains are a jumbling,—
Bounce! the gun's off.
Pal. You name this here hypochondriacal?
Cor. Which is a windy flatuous humour, stuffing
The head, and thence derived to the animal parts.
To be too over-curious, loss of goods
Or friends, excess of fear, or sorrows cause it.
Enter a Sea-Nymph big-bellied, singing and dancing.
Nymph. Good your honours,
Pray your worships,
Dear your beauties,—
Cuc. Hang thee!
To lash your sides,
To tame your hides,
To scourge your prides;
And bang thee.
Nymph. We're pretty and dainty, and I will begin:
See, how they do jeer me, deride me, and grin!
Come sport me, come court me, your topsail advance,
And let us conclude our delights in a dance!
All. A dance, a dance, a dance!
Cor. This is the Wanton Melancholy. Women
With child, possessed with this strange fury, often
Have danced three days together without ceasing.
Pal. 'Tis very strange: but Heaven is full of miracles.
[A Dance, after which the Masquers run out in couples.
We are thy debtor, CORAX, for the gift
Of this invention; but the plot deceives us:
What means this empty space? [Pointing to the paper.
Cor. One kind of Melancholy
Is only left untouched: 'twas not in art
To personate the shadow of that fancy;
'Tis named Love-Melancholy. As, for instance,
Admit this stranger here,—young man, stand forth—
[To PARTHENOPHIL.
Entangled by the beauty of this lady,
The great Thamasta, cherished in his heart
The weight of hopes and fears; it were impossible
To limn his passions in such lively colours
As his own proper sufferance could express.
Par. You are not modest, sir.
Tha. Am I your mirth?
Cor. Love is the tyrant of the heart; it darkens
Reason, confounds discretion; deaf to counsel,
It runs a headlong course to desperate madness.
O, were your highness but touched home and throughly
With this—what shall I call it—devil—
Pal. Hold!
Let no man henceforth name the word again.—
Wait you my pleasure, youth.—'Tis late; to rest! [Exit.
Cor. My lords,—
Soph. Enough; thou art a perfect arts-man.
Cor. Panthers may hide their heads, not change the skin;
And love pent ne'er so close, yet will be seen. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in THAMASTA'S House.
Enter AMETHUS and MENAPHON.
AMET. Dote on a stranger?
Men. Court him; plead, and sue to him.
Amet. Affectionately?
Men. Servilely; and pardon me
If I say basely.
Amet. Women, in their passions,
Like false fires, flash, to fright our trembling senses,
Yet in themselves contain nor light nor heat.
My sister do this! she, whose pride did scorn
All thoughts that were not busied on a crown,
To fall so far beneath her fortunes now!—
You are my friend.
Men. What I confirm is truth.
Amet. Truth, Menaphon?
Men. If I conceived you were
Jealous of my sincerity and plainness,
Then, sir,—
Amet. What then, sir?
Men. I would then resolve
You were as changeable in vows of friendship
As is Thamasta in her choice of love:
That sin is double, running in a blood,
Which justifies another being worse.
Amet. My Menaphon, excuse me; I grow mild,
And would not willingly believe the truth
Of my dishonour: she shall know how much
I am a debtor to thy noble goodness
By checking the contempt her poor desires
Have sunk her fame in. Prithee tell me, friend,
How did the youth receive her?
Men. With a coldness
As modest and as hopeless as the trust
I did repose in him could wish or merit.
Amet. I will esteem him dearly.
Enter THAMASTA and KALA.
Men. Sir, your sister.
Tha. Servant, I have employment for ye.
Amet. Hark ye!
The mask of your ambition is fall'n off;
Your pride hath stooped to such an abject lowness,
That you have now discovered to report
Your nakedness in virtue, honours, shame,—
Tha. You are turned satire.
Amet. All the flatteries
Of greatness have exposed ye to contempt.
Tha. This is mere railing.
Amet. You have sold your birth
For lust.
Tha. Lust!
Amet. Yes; and at a dear expense
Purchased the only glories of a wanton.
Tha. A wanton!
Amet, Let repentance stop your mouth;
Learn to redeem your fault.
Kal. [Aside to MENAPHON.] I hope your tongue
Has not betrayed my honesty.
Men. [Aside to KALA.] Fear nothing.
Tha. If, Menaphon, I hitherto have strove
To keep a wary guard about my fame;
If I have used a woman's skill to sift
The constancy of your protested love;
You cannot, in the justice of your judgment,
Impute that to a coyness or neglect,
Which my discretion and your service aimed
For noble purposes.
Men. Great mistress, no.
I rather quarrel with mine own ambition,
That durst to soar so high as to feed hope
Of any least desert that might entitle
My duty to a pension from your favours.
Amet. And therefore, lady,—pray, observe him well,—
He henceforth covets plain equality;
Endeavouring to rank his fortunes low,
With some fit partner, whom, without presumption,
Without offence or danger, he may cherish,
Yes, and command too, as a wife,—a wife,
A wife, my most great lady!
Kal. [Aside] All will out.
Tha. Now I perceive the league of amity,
Which you have long between ye vowed and kept,
Is sacred and inviolable; secrets
Of every nature are in common to you.
I have trespassed, and I have been faulty;
Let not too rude a censure deem me guilty,
Or judge my error wilful without pardon.
Men. Gracious and virtuous mistress!
Amet. 'Tis a trick;
There is no trust in female cunning, friend.
Let her first purge her follies past, and clear
The wrong done to her honour, by some sure
Apparent testimony of her constancy;
Or we will not believe these childish plots:
As you respect my friendship, lend no ear
To a reply.—Think on't!
Men. Pray, love your fame.
[Exeunt MENAPHON and AMETHUS.
Tha. Gone! I am sure awaked. KALA, I find
You have not been so trusty as the duty
You owed required.
Kal. Not I? I do protest
I have been, madam.
Tha. Be—no matter what,
I'm paid in my own coin; something I must,
And speedily.—So!—Seek out Cuculus;
Bid him attend me instantly.
Kal. That antic!
The trim old youth shall wait ye.
Tha. Wounds may be mortal, which are wounds indeed;
But no wound's deadly till our honours bleed. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in the Castle.
Enter RHETIAS and CORAX.
Rhe. Thou'rt an excellent fellow. Diabolo! O these lousy close-stool
empirics, that will undertake all cures, yet know not the causes of any
disease!
Dog-leeches! By the four elements, I honour thee; could find in my
heart to turn
knave, and be thy flatterer.
Cor. Sirrah, 'tis pity thou'st not been a scholar;
Thou'rt honest, blunt, and rude enough, o' conscience.
But for thy lord now, I have put him to't.
Rhe. He chafes hugely, fumes like a stew-pot: is he not monstrously
overgone in frenzy?
Cor. Rhetias, 'tis not a madness, but his sorrows—
Close-griping grief and anguish of the soul—
That torture him; he carries hell on earth
Within his bosom: 'twas a prince's tyranny
Caused his distraction; and a prince's sweetness
Must qualify that tempest of his mind.
Rhe. Corax, to praise thy art were to assure
The misbelieving world that the sun shines
When 'tis i' the full meridian of his beauty:
No cloud of black detraction can eclipse
The light of thy rare knowledge. Henceforth, casting
All poor disguises off, that play in rudeness,
Call me your servant; only for the present,
I wish a happy blessing to your labours.
Heaven crown your undertakings! and believe me,
Ere many hours can pass, at our next meeting,
The bonds my duty owes shall be full cancelled.
Cor. Farewell. [Exit RHETIAS.
A shrewd-brained whoreson; there is pith In his untoward
plainness.
Enter TROLLIO, with a morion on.
Now, the news?
Trol. Worshipful Master Doctor, I have a great deal of I cannot tell
what to say t'ye. My lord thunders; every word that comes out of
his mouth roars
like a cannon; the house shook once:—my young lady dares not be seen.
Cor. We will roar with him, Trollio, if he roar.
Trol. He has got a great poleaxe in his hand, and fences it up and
down
the house, as if he were to make room for the pageants. I have provided me a
morion for fear of a clap on the coxcomb.
Cor. No matter for the morion; here's my cap:
Thus I will pull it down, and thus outstare him.
[He produces a frightful mask and headpiece.
Trol. [Aside] The physician is got as mad as my lord.—O
brave!
a man of worship.
Cor. Let him come, Trollio. I will firk his trangdido, and bounce and
bounce in metal, honest Trollio.
Trol. [Aside] He vapours like a tinker, and struts like a
juggler.
Mel. [Within] So ho, so ho!
Trol. There, there, there! look to your right worshipful, look to
yourself.
Enter MELEANDER with a poleaxe.
Mel. Show me the dog whose triple-throated noise
Hath roused a lion from his uncouth den
To tear the cur in pieces.
Cor. [Putting on his mask, and turning to MELEANDER.
Stay thy paws,
Courageous beast; else, lo, the Gorgon's skull,
That shall transform thee to that restless stone
Which Sisyphus rolls up against the hill,
Whence, tumbling down again, it with his weight
Shall crush thy bones and puff thee into air.
Mel. Hold, hold thy conquering breath; 'tis stronger far
Than gunpowder and garlic. If the fates
Have spun my thread, and my spent clue of life
Be now untwisted, let us part like friends.—
Lay up my weapon, Trollio, and be gone.
Trol. Yes, sir, with all my heart.
Mel. This friend and I
Will walk, and gabble wisely.
[Exit TROLLIO with the poleaxe.
Cor. I allow
The motion; on! [Takes off his mask.
Mel. So politicians thrive,
That, with their crabbèd faces and sly tricks,
Legerdemain, ducks, cringes, formal beards,
Crisped hairs, and punctual cheats, do wriggle in
Their heads first, like a fox, to rooms of state,
Then the whole body follows.
Cor. Then they fill
Lordships; steal women's hearts; with them and theirs
The world runs round; yet these are square men still.
Mel. There are none poor but such as engross offices.
Cor. None wise but unthrifts, bankrupts, beggars, rascals.
Mel. The hangman is a rare physician.
Cor. [Aside] That's not so good.—It shall be granted.
Mel. All
The buzz of drugs and minerals and simples,
Bloodlettings, vomits, purges, or what else
Is conjured up by men of art, to gull
Liege-people, and rear golden piles, are trash
To a strong well-wrought halter; there the gout,
The stone, yes, and the melancholy devil,
Are cured in less time than a pair of minutes:
Build me a gallows in this very plot,
And I'll dispatch your business.
Cor. Fix the knot
Right under the left ear.
Mel. Sirrah, make ready.
Cor. Yet do not be too sudden; grant me leave
To give a farewell to a creature long
Absented from me: 'tis a daughter, sir,
Snatched from me in her youth, a handsome girl;
She comes to ask a blessing.
Mel. Pray, where is she?
I cannot see her yet.
Cor. She makes more haste
In her quick prayers than her trembling steps,
Which many griefs have weakened.
Mel. Cruel man!
How canst thou rip a heart that's cleft already
With injuries of time?—Whilst I am frantic,
Whilst throngs of rude divisions huddle on,
And do disrank my brains from peace and sleep,
So long—I am insensible of cares.
As balls of wildfire may be safely touched,
Not violently sundered and thrown up;
So my distempered thoughts rest in their rage,
Not hurried in the air of repetition,
Or memory of my misfortunes past:
Then are my griefs struck home, when they're reclaimed
To their own pity of themselves.—Proceed;
What of your daughter now?
Cor. I cannot tell ye,
'Tis now out of my head again; my brains
Are crazy; I have scarce slept one sound sleep
These twelve months.
Mel. 'Las, poor man! canst thou imagine
To prosper in the task thou tak'st in hand
By practising a cure upon my weakness,
And yet be no physician for thyself?
Go, go, turn over all thy books once more,
And learn to thrive in modesty; for impudence
Does least become a scholar. Thou'rt a fool,
A kind of learned fool.
Cor. I do confess it.
Mel. If thou canst wake with me, forget to eat,
Renounce the thought of greatness, tread on fate,
Sigh out a lamentable tale of things
Done long ago, and ill done; and, when sighs
Are wearied, piece up what remains behind
With weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed to death;
Thou shalt be a companion fit for me,
And we will sit together, like true friends,
And never be divided. With what greediness
Do I hug my afflictions! there's no mirth
Which is not truly seasoned with some madness:
As, for example,— Exit hastily.
Cor. What new crotchet next?
There is so much sense in this wild distraction,
That I am almost out of my wits too,
To see and hear him: some few hours more
Spent here would turn me apish, if not frantic.
Re-enterMELEANDER with CLEOPHILA
Mel. In all the volumes thou hast turned, thou man
Of knowledge, hast thou met with any rarity,
Worthy thy contemplation, like to this?
The model of the heavens, the earth, the waters,
The harmony and sweet consent of times,
Are not of such an excellence, in form
Of their creation, as the infinite wonder
That dwells within the compass of this face:
And yet I tell thee, scholar, under this
Well-ordered sign is lodged such an obedience
As will hereafter, in another age,
Strike all comparison into a silence.
She had a sister too;—but as for her,
If I were given to talk, I could describe
A pretty piece of goodness—let that pass—
We must be wise sometimes. What would you with her?
Cor. I with her! nothing, by your leave, sir, I;
It is not my profession.
Mel. You are saucy,
And, as I take it, scurvy in your sauciness,
To use no more respect.—Good soul, be patient;
We are a pair of things the world doth laugh at:
Yet be content, Cleophila; those clouds,
Which bar the sun from shining on our miseries,
Will never be chased off till I am dead;
And then some charitable soul will take thee
Into protection: I am hasting on;
The time cannot be long.
Cleo. I do beseech ye,
Sir, as you love your health, as you respect
My safety, let not passion overrule you.
Mel. It shall not; I am friends with all the world.
Get me some wine; to witness that I will be
An absolute good fellow, I will drink with thee.
Cor. [Aside to CLEO.] Have you prepared his cup?
Cleo. [Aside to COR.] It is in readiness.
Enter CUCULUS and GRILLA.
Cuc. By your leave, gallants, I come to speak with a young lady, as
they say, the old Trojan's daughter of the house.
Mel. Your business with my lady-daughter, toss-pot?
Gril. Toss-pot! O base! toss-pot!
Cuc. Peace! dost not see in what case he is?—I would do my own
commendations to her; that's all.
Mel. Do.—Come, my Genius, we will quaff in wine Till we grow
wise.
Cor. True nectar is divine.
[Exeunt MELEANDER and CORAX.
Cuc. So! I am glad he is gone,—Page, walk aside.—Sweet
beauty, I am sent ambassador from the mistress of my thoughts to you, the
mistress of my desires.
Cleo. So, sir! I pray, be brief.
Cuc. That you may know I am not, as they say, an animal, which is, as
they say, a kind of cokes, which is, as the learned term it, an ass, a puppy,
a
widgeon, a dolt, a noddy, a—
Cleo. As you please.
Cuc. Pardon me for that, it shall be as you please indeed: forsooth, I
love to be courtly and in fashion.
Cleo. Well, to your embassy. What, and from whom?
Cuc. Marry, "What" is more than I know; for to know what's what is to
know what's what and for what's what:—but these are foolish figures and
to
little purpose.
Cleo. From whom, then, are you sent?
Cuc. There you come to me again. O, to be in the favour of great
ladies
is as much to say as to be great in ladies' favours.
Cleo. Good time o' day t'ye! I can stay no longer.
Cuc. By this light, but you must; for now I come to't.
The most excellent, most wise, most dainty, precious, loving, kind, sweet,
intolerably fair lady Thamasta commends to your little hands this letter of
importance. By your leave, let me first kiss, and then deliver it in
fashion to
your own proper beauty. [Delivers a letter.
Cleo. To me, from her? 'tis strange! I dare peruse it.
[Reads.
Cuc. Good.—O, that I had not resolved to live a single life!
Here's
temptation, able to conjure up a spirit with a witness. So, so! she has
read it.
[Aside.
Cleo. Is't possible? Heaven, thou art great and bountiful.—
Sir, I much thank your pains; and to the princess
Let my love, duty, service, be remembered.
Cuc. They shall mad-dam.
Cleo. When we of hopes or helps are quite bereaven,
Our humble prayers have entrance into Heaven.
Cuc. That's my opinion clearly and without doubt.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Room in the Palace.
Enter ARETUS and SOPHRONOS.
Are. The prince is throughly moved.
Soph. I never saw him
So much distempered.
Are. What should this young man be?
Or whither can he be conveyed?
Soph. 'Tis to me
A mystery; I understand it not.
Are. Nor I.
Enter PALADOR, AMETHUS, and PELIAS.
Pal. Ye have consented all to work upon
The softness of my nature; but take heed:
Though I can sleep in silence, and look on
The mockery ye make of my dull patience,
Yet ye shall know, the best of ye, that in me
There is a masculine, a stirring spirit,
Which, once provoked, shall, like a bearded comet,
Set ye at gaze, and threaten horror.
Pel. Good sir,—
Pal. Good sir! 'tis not your active wit or language,
Nor your grave politic wisdoms, lords, shall dare
To check-mate and control my just commands.
Enter MENAPHON.
Where is the youth, your friend? is he found yet?
Men. Not to be heard of.
Pal. Fly, then, to the desert,
Where thou didst first encounter this fantastic,
This airy apparition; come no more
In sight! Get ye all from me: he that stays
Is not my friend.
Amet. 'Tis strange.
Are. Soph. We must obey.
[Exeunt all but PALADOR.
Pal. Some angry power cheats with rare delusions
My credulous sense; the very soul of reason
Is troubled in me;—the physician
Presented a strange masque, the view of it
Puzzled my understanding; but the boy—
Enter RHETIAS.
Rhetias, thou art acquainted with my griefs:
Parthenophil is lost, and I would see him;
For he is like to something I remember
A great while since, a long, long time ago.
Rhe. I have been diligent, sir, to pry into every corner for
discovery,
but cannot meet with him. There is some trick, I am confident.
Pal. There is; there is some practice, sleight, or plot.
Rhe. I have apprehended a fair wench in an odd private lodging in the
city, as like the youth in face as can by possibility be discerned.
Pal. How, Rhetias!
Rhe. If it be not Parthenophil in long-coats, 'tis a spirit in his
likeness; answer I can get none from her: you shall see her.
Pal. The young man in disguise, upon my life,
To steal out of the land.
Rhe. I'll send him t'ye.
Pal. Do, do, my Rhetias. [Exit RHETIAS.
As there is by nature
In everything created contrariety,
So likewise is there unity and league
Between them in their kind: but man, the abstract
Of all perfection, which the workmanship
Of Heaven hath modelled, in himself contains
Passions of several qualities.
[Enter behind EROCLEA (PARTHENOPHIL), in female attire.
The music
Of man's fair composition best accords
When 'tis in consort, not in single strains:
My heart has been untuned these many months,
Wanting her presence, in whose equal love
True harmony consisted. Living here,
We are Heaven's bounty all, but Fortune's exercise.
Ero. Minutes are numbered by the fall of sands,
As by an hourglass; the span of time
Doth waste us to our graves, and we look on it:
An age of pleasures, revelled out, comes home
At last, and ends in sorrow; but the life,
Weary of riot, numbers every sand,
Wailing in sighs, until the last drop down;
So to conclude calamity in rest.
Pal. What echo yields a voice to my complaints?
Can I be nowhere private?
Ero. [Comes forward, and kneels] Let the substance
As suddenly be hurried from your eyes
As the vain sound can pass, sir, from your ear,
If no impression of a troth vowed yours
Retain a constant memory.
Pal. Stand up. [She rises.
'Tis not the figure stamped upon thy cheeks,
The cozenage of thy beauty, grace or tongue,
Can draw from me a secret, that hath been
The only jewel of my speechless thoughts.
Ero. I am so worn away with fears and sorrows,
So wintered with the tempests of affliction,
That the bright sun of your life-quickening presence
Hath scarce one beam of force to warm again
That spring of cheerful comfort, which youth once
Apparelled in fresh looks.
Pal. Cunning impostor!
Untruth hath made thee subtle in thy trade.
If any neighbouring greatness hath seduced
A free-born resolution to attempt
Some bolder act of treachery by cutting
My weary days off, wherefore, cruel-mercy,
Hast thou assumed a shape that would make treason
A piety, guilt pardonable, bloodshed
As holy as the sacrifice of peace?
Ero. The incense of my love-desires are flamed
Upon an altar of more constant proof.
Sir, O, sir, turn me back into the world,
Command me to forget my name, my birth,
My father's sadness, and my death alive,
If all remembrance of my faith hath found
A burial without pity in your scorn!
Pal. My scorn, disdainful boy, shall soon unweave
The web thy art hath twisted. Cast thy shape off,
Disrobe the mantle of a feignèd sex,
And so I may be gentle: as thou art,
There's witchcraft in thy language, in thy face,
In thy demeanours; turn, turn from me, prithee,
For my belief is armed else.—Yet, fair subtility,
Before we part,—for part we must,—be true:
Tell me, thy country.
Ero. Cyprus.
Pal. Ha!—Thy father?
Ero. Meleander.
Pal. Hast a name?
Ero. A name of misery;
The unfortunate Eroclea.
Pal. There is danger
In this seducing counterfeit. Great goodness,
Hath honesty and virtue left the time?
Are we become so impious, that to tread
The path of impudence is law and justice?—
Thou vizard of a beauty ever sacred,
Give me thy name.
Ero. Whilst I was lost to memory
Parthenophil did shroud my shame in change
Of sundry rare misfortunes; but, since now
I am, before I die, returned to claim
A convoy to my grave, I must not blush
To let Prince Palador, if I offend,
Know, when he dooms me, that he dooms Eroclea:
I am that woful maid.
Pal. Join not too fast
Thy penance with the story of my sufferings:—
So dwelt simplicity with virgin truth,
So martyrdom and holiness are twins,
As innocence and sweetness on thy tongue.
But, let me by degrees collect my senses;
I may abuse my trust. Tell me, what air
Hast thou perfumed, since tyranny first ravished
The contract of our hearts?
Ero. Dear sir, in Athens
Have I been buried.
Pal. Buried! Right; as I
In Cyrus.—Come to trial; if thou beest
EROCLEA, in my bosom I can find thee.
Ero. As I, Prince Palador in mine: this gift
[Shows him a tablet.
His bounty blessed me with, the only physic
My solitary cares have hourly took,
To keep me from despair.
Pal. We are but fools
To trifle in disputes, or vainly struggle
With that eternal mercy which protects us.
Come home, home to my heart, thou banished peace!
My ecstasy of joys would speak in passion,
But that I would not lose that part of man
Which is reserved to entertain content.
Eroclea, I am thine; O, let me seize thee
As my inheritance! Hymen shall now
Set all his torches burning, to give light
Throughout this land, new-settled in thy welcome.
Ero. You are still gracious, sir. How I have lived,
By what means been conveyed, by what preserved,
By what returned, Rhetias, my trusty servant,
Directed by the wisdom of my uncle,
The good Sophronos, can inform at large.
Pal. Enough. Instead of music, every night,
To make our sleeps delightful, thou shalt close
Our weary eyes with some part of thy story.
Ero. O, but my father!
Pal. Fear not; to behold
Eroclea safe will make him young again:
It shall be our first task.—Blush, sensual follies,
Which are not guarded with thoughts chastely pure:
There is no faith in lust, but baits of arts;
'Tis virtuous love keeps clear contracted hearts.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in the Castle.
Enter CORAX and CLEOPHILA.
COR. 'Tis well, 'tis well; the hour is at hand,
Which must conclude the business, that no art
Could all this while make ripe for wished content.
O, lady, in the turmoils of our lives,
Men are like politic states, or troubled seas,
Tossed up and down with several storms and tempests,
Change and variety of wrecks and fortunes;
Till, labouring to the havens of our homes,
We struggle for the calm that crowns our ends.
Cleo. A happy end Heaven bless us with!
Cor. 'Tis well said.
The old man sleeps still soundly.
Cleo. May soft dreams
Play in his fancy, that when he awakes,
With comfort he may, by degrees, digest
The present blessings in a moderate joy!
Cor. I drenched his cup to purpose; he ne'er stirred
At barber or at tailor. He will laugh
At his own metamorphosis, and wonder.—
We must be watchful. Does the couch stand ready?
Cleo. All, all as you commanded.
Enter TROLLIO.
What's your haste for?
Trol. A brace of big women, ushered by the young
old ape with his she-clog at his bum, are entered the castle. Shall they come
on?
Cor. By any means: the time is precious now.—Lady, be quick and
careful.—Follow, Trollio. [Exit.
Trol. I owe all sir-reverence to your right worshipfulness.
[Exit.
Cleo. So many fears, so many joys encounter
My doubtful expectations, that I waver
Between the resolution of my hopes
And my obedience: 'tis not—O my fate!—
The apprehension of a timely blessing
In pleasures shakes my weakness; but the danger
Of a mistaken duty that confines
The limits of my reason. Let me live,
Virtue, to thee as chaste as truth to time!
Enter THAMASTA, Speaking to some one without.
Tha. Attend me till I call.—My sweet Cleophila!
Cleo. Great princess,—
Tha. I bring peace, to sue a pardon
For my neglect of all those noble virtues
Thy mind and duty are apparelled with:
I have deserved ill from thee, and must say
Thou art too gentle, if thou canst forget it.
Cleo. Alas, you have not wronged me; for, indeed,
Acquaintance with my sorrows and my fortune
Were grown to such familiarity,
That 'twas an impudence, more than presumption,
To wish so great a lady as you are
Should lose affection on my uncle's son:
But that your brother, equal in your blood,
Should stoop to such a lowness as to love
A castaway, a poor despisèd maid,
Only for me to hope was almost sin;—
Yet, 'troth, I never tempted him.
Tha. Chide not
The grossness of my trespass, lovely sweetness,
In such an humble language; I have smarted
Already in the wounds my pride hath made
Upon your sufferings: henceforth 'tis in you
To work my happiness.
Cleo. Call any service
Of mine a debt; for such it is. The letter
You lately sent me, in the blest contents
It made me privy to, hath largely quitted
Every suspicion of your grace or goodness.
Tha. Let me embrace you with a sister's love,
A sister's love, Cleophila; for should
My brother henceforth study to forget
The vows that he hath made thee, I would ever
Solicit thy deserts.
Amet. Men. [Within] We must have entrance
Tha. Must! Who are they say must? you are unmannerly.
Enter AMETHUS and MENAPHON.
Brother, is't you? and you too, sir?
Amet. Your ladyship
Has had a time of scolding to your humour:
Does the storm hold still?
Cleo. Never fell a shower
More seasonably gentle on the barren
Parched thirsty earth than showers of courtesy
Have from this princess been distilled on me,
To make my growth in quiet of my mind
Secure and lasting.
Tha. You may both believe
That I was not uncivil.
Amet. Pish! I know
Her spirit and her envy.
Cleo. Now, in troth, sir,—
Pray credit me, I do not use to swear,—
The virtuous princess hath in words and carriage
Been kind, so over-kind, that I do blush
I am not rich enough in thanks sufficient
For her unequalled bounty.—My good cousin,
I have a suit to you.
Men. It shall be granted.
Cleo. That no time, no persuasion, no respects
Of jealousies, past, preset, or hereafter
By possibility to be conceived,
Draw you from that sincerity and pureness
Of love which you have oftentimes protested
To this great worthy lady: she deserves
A duty more than what the ties of marriage
Can claim or warrant; be for ever hers,
As she is yours, and Heaven increase your comforts!
Amet. Cleophila hath played the churchman's part;
I'll not forbid the banns.
Men. Are you consented?
Tha. I have one task in charge first, which concerns me.
Brother, be not more cruel than this lady;
She hath forgiven my follies, so may you.
Her youth, her beauty, innocence, discretion,
Without additions of estate or birth,
Are dower for a prince, indeed. You loved her;
For sure you swore you did: else, if you did not,
Here fix your heart; and thus resolve, if now
You miss this heaven on earth, you cannot find
In any other choice aught but a hell.
Amet. The ladies are turned lawyers, and plead handsomely
Their clients' cases: I'm an easy judge;
And so shalt thou be, Menaphon. I give thee
My sister for a wife; a good one, friend.
Men. Lady, will you confirm the gift?
Tha. The errors
Of my mistaken judgment being lost
To your remembrance, I shall ever strive
In my obedience to deserve your pity.
Men. My love, my care, my all!
Amet. What rests for me?
I'm still a bachelor.—Sweet maid, resolve me,
May I yet call you mine?
Cleo. My lord Amethus,
Blame not my plainness; I am young and simple,
And have not any power to dispose
Mine own will without warrant from my father;
That purchased, I am yours.
Amet. It shall suffice me.
Enter CUCULUS, PELIAS, and TROLLIO, plucking in GRILLA.
Cuc. Revenge! I must have revenge; I will have revenge, bitter and
abominable revenge; I will have revenge. This unfashionable mongrel, this
linseywolsey of mortality—by this hand, mistress, this
she-rogue is drunk,
and clapper-clawed me, without any reverence to my person or good
garments.—Why d'ye not speak, gentlemen?
Pel. Some certain blows have passed, an't like your highness.
Trol. Some few knocks of friendship, some love-toys, some cuffs in
kindness, or so.
Gril. I'll turn him away; he shall be my master no longer.
Men. Is this your she-page, Cuculus? 'tis a boy, sure.
Cuc. A boy, an errant boy in long-coats.
Trol. He has mumbled his nose, that 'tis as big as a great codpiece.
Cuc. O, thou cock-vermin of iniquity!
Tha. Pelias, take hence the wag, and school him for't.—
For your part, servant, I'll entreat the prince
To grant you some fit place about his wardrobe.
Cuc. Ever after a bloody nose do I dream of good luck.—I
horribly
thank your ladyship.—
Whilst I'm in office, the old garb shall agen
Grow in request, and tailors shall be men.—
Come, Trollio, help to wash my face, prithee.
Trol. Yes, and to scour it too.
[Exeunt CUCULUS, TROLLIO, PELIAS, and GRILLA.
Re-enter CORAX with RHETIAS.
Rhe. The prince and princess are at hand; give over
Your amorous dialogues.—Most honoured lady,
Henceforth forbear your sadness: are you ready
To practise your instructions?
Cleo. I have studied
My part with care, and will perform it, Rhetias,
With all the skill I can.
Cor. I'll pass my word for her.
A flourish—Enter. PALADOR, SOPHRONOS, ARETUS, and EROCLEA.
Pal. Thus princes should be circled, with a guard
Of truly noble friends and watchful subjects.
O, Rhetias, thou art just; the youth thou told'st me
That lived at Athens is returned at last
To her own fortunes and contracted love.
Rhe. My knowledge made me sure of my report, sir.
Pal. Eroclea, clear thy fears; when the sun shines
Clouds must not dare to muster in the sky,
Nor shall they here.—
[CLEOPHILA and AMETHUS kneel.
Why do they kneel?—Stand up;
The day and place is privileged.
Soph. Your presence,
Great sir, makes every room a sanctuary.
Pal. Wherefore does this young virgin use such circumstance
In duty to us?—Rise.
Ero. 'Tis I must raise her.—[Raises CLEOPHILA.
Forgive me, sister, I have been too private,
In hiding from your knowledge any secret
That should have been in common 'twixt our souls,
But I was ruled by counsel.
Cleo. That I show
Myself a girl, sister, and bewray
Joy in too soft a passion 'fore all these,
I hope you cannot blame me.
[Weeps, and falls into the arms of EROCLEA.
Pal. We must part
The sudden meeting of these two fair rivulets
With the island of our arms. [Embraces EROCLEA]—CLEOPHILA,
The custom of thy piety hath built,
Even to thy younger years, a monument
Of memorable fame: some great reward
Must wait on thy desert.
Soph. The prince speaks t'ye, niece
Cor. Chat low, I pray; let us about our business.
The good old man awakes.—My lord, withdraw.—
RHETIAS, let's settle here the couch
Pal. Away, then! [Exeunt.
Soft music.—Re-enter CORAX and RHETIAS with MELEANDER
asleep
on a couch, his hair and beard trimmed, habit and gown changed. While they are
placing the couch, a Boy sings without.
SONG.
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep!
Though the eyes be overtaken,
Yet the heart doth ever waken
Thoughts, chained up in busy snares
Of continual woes and cares:
Love and griefs are so exprest
As they rather sigh than rest.
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep!
Mel. [Awakes] Where am I? ha! What sounds are these? 'Tis day,
sure.
O, I have slept belike; 'tis but the foolery
Of some beguiling dream. So, so! I will not
Trouble the play of my delighted fancy,
But dream my dream out.
Cor. Morrow to your lordship!
You took a jolly nap, and slept it soundly.
Mel. Away, beast! let me alone.
[The music ceases.
Cor. O, by your leave, sir,
I must be bold to raise ye; else your physic
Will turn to further sickness.
[He assists MELEANDER to sit up.
Mel. Physic, bear-leech?
Cor. Yes, physic; you are mad.
Mel. Trollio! Cleophila!
Rhe. Sir, I am here.
Mel. I know thee, Rhetias; prithee rid the room
Of this tormenting noise. He tells me, sirrah,
I have took physic, Rhetias; physic, physic!
Rhe. Sir, true, you have; and this most learnèd scholar
Applied 't ye. O, you were in dangerous plight
Before he took ye in hand.
Mel. These things are drunk,
Directly drunk—Where did you get your liquor?
Cor. I never saw a body in the wane
Of age so overspread with several sorts
Of such diseases as the strength of youth
Would groan under and sink.
Rhe. The more your glory
In the miraculous cure.
Cor. Bring me the cordial
Prepared for him to take after his sleep;
'Twill do him good at heart.
Rhe. I hope it will, sir. [Exit.
Mel. What dost thou think I am, that thou shouldst fiddle
So much upon my patience? Fool, the weight
Of my disease sits on my heart so heavy,
That all the hands of art cannot remove
One grain, to ease my grief. If thou couldst poison
My memory, or wrap my senses up
Into a dulness hard and cold as flints;
If thou couldst make me walk, speak, eat, and laugh
Without a sense or knowledge of my faculties,
Why, then, perhaps, at marts thou mightst make benefit
Of such an antic motion, and get credit
From credulous gazers, but not profit me.
Study to gull the wise; I am too simple
To be wrought on.
Cor. I'll burn my books, old man,
But I will do thee good, and quickly too.
Re-enter ARETUS with a patent.
Are. Most honoured Lord Meleander, our great master,
Prince Palador of Cyprus, hath by me
Sent you this patent, in which is contained
Not only confirmation of the honours
You formerly enjoyed, but the addition
Of the marshalship of Cyprus; and ere long
He means to visit you. Excuse my haste;
I must attend the prince. [Exit.
Cor. There's one pill works.
Mel. Dost know that spirit? 'tis a grave familiar,
And talked I know not what.
Cor. He's like, methinks,
The prince's tutor, Aretus.
Mel. Yes, yes;
It may be I have seen such a formality;
No matter where or when.
Re-enter AMETHUS, with a staff.
Ame. The prince hath sent ye,
My lord, this staff of office, and withal
Salutes you Grand Commander of the Ports
Throughout his principalities. He shortly
Will visit you himself: I must attend him. [Exit.
Cor. D'ye feel your physic stirring yet?
Mel. A devil
Is a rare juggler, and can cheat the eye,
But not corrupt the reason, in the throne
Of a pure soul.
Re-enter SOPHRONOS, with a tablet.
Another!—I will stand thee;
Be what thou canst, I care not.
Soph. From the prince,
Dear brother, I present you this rich relic,
A jewel he hath long worn in his bosom:
Henceforth, he bade me say, he does beseech you
To call him son, for he will call you father;
It is an honour, brother, that a subject
Cannot but entertain with thankful prayers.
Be moderate in your joys: he will in person
Confirm my errand, but commands my service. [Exit.
Cor. What hope now of your cure?
Mel. Stay, stay!—What earthquakes
Roll in my flesh! Here's prince, and prince, and prince;
Prince upon prince! The dotage of my sorrows
Revels in magic of ambitious scorn:
Be they enchantments deadly as the grave,
I'll look upon 'em. Patent, staff, and relic!
To the last first. [Taking up the miniature] Round me, ye guarding
ministers,
And ever keep me waking, till the cliffs
That overhang my sight fall off, and leave
These hollow spaces to be crammed with dust!
Cor. 'Tis time, I see, to fetch the cordial. Prithee,
Sit down; I'll instantly be here again. [Exit.
Mel. Good, give me leave; I will sit down: indeed,
Here's company enough for me to prate to.
[Looks at the picture.
Eroclea!—'tis the same; the cunning arts-man
Faltered not in a line. Could he have fashioned
A little hollow space here, and blown breath
T' have made it move and whisper, 't had been excellent:—
But, faith, 'tis well, 'tis very well as 'tis,
Passing, most passing well.
Re-enter CLEOPHILA leading EROCLEA, and followed by RHETIAS.
Cleo. The sovereign greatness,
Who, by commission from the powers of Heaven,
Sways both this land and us, our gracious prince,
By me presents you, sir, with this large bounty,
A gift more precious to him than his birthright.
Here let your cares take end; now set at liberty
Your long-imprisoned heart, and welcome home
The solace of your soul, too long kept from you.
Ero. [Kneeling] Dear sir, you know me?
Mel. Yes, thou art my daughter,
My eldest blessing. Know thee! why, Eroclea,
I never did forget thee in thy absence.
Poor soul, how dost?
Ero. The best of my well-being
Consists in yours.
Mel. Stand up: the gods, who hitherto
[EROCLEA rises.
Have kept us both alive, preserve thee ever!—
Cleophila, I thank thee and the prince:—
I thank thee too, Eroclea, that thou wouldst,
In pity of my age, take so much pains
To live, till I might once more look upon thee,
Before I broke my heart: O, 'twas a piece
Of piety and duty unexampled!
Rhe. [Aside] The good man relisheth his comforts strangely;
The sight doth turn me child.
Ero. I have not words
That can express my joys.
Cleo. Nor I.
Mel. Nor I:
Yet let us gaze on one another freely,
And surfeit with our eyes. Let me be plain:
If I should speak as much as I should speak,
I should talk of a thousand things at once,
And all of thee; of thee, my child, of thee!
My tears, like ruffling winds locked up in caves,
Do bustle for a vent;—on t'other side,
To fly out into mirth were not so comely.
Come hither, let me kiss thee. [To EROCLEA] With a pride,
Strength, courage, and fresh blood, which now thy presence
Hath stored me with, I kneel before their altars,
Whose sovereignty kept guard about thy safety.
Ask, ask thy sister, prithee, she will tell thee
How I have been much mad.
Cleo. Much discontented,
Shunning all means that might procure him comfort.
Ero. Heaven has at last been gracious.
Mel. So say I:
But wherefore drop thy words in such a sloth,
As if thou wert afraid to mingle truth
With thy misfortunes? Understand me throughly;
I would not have thee to report at large,
From point to point, a journal of thy absence,
'Twill take up too much time; I would securely
Engross the little remnant of my life,
That thou mightst every day be telling somewhat,
Which might convey me to my rest with comfort.
Let me bethink me: how we parted first,
Puzzles my faint remembrance—but soft—
Cleophila, thou told'st me that the prince
Sent me this present.
Cleo. From his own fair hands
I did receive my sister.
Mel. To requite him,
We will not dig his father's grave anew,
Although the mention of him much concerns
The business we inquire of:—as I said,
We parted in a hurry at the court;
I to this castle, after made my jail.
But whither thou, dear heart?
Rhe. Now they fall to't;
I looked for this.
Ero. I, by my uncle's care.
Sophronos, my good uncle, suddenly
Was like a sailor's boy conveyed a-shipboard
That very night.
Mel. A policy quick and strange.
Ero. The ship was bound for Corinth; whither first,
Attended only with your servant Rhetias
And all fit necessaries, we arrived:
From thence, in habit of a youth, we journeyed
To Athens, where, till our return of late,
Have we lived safe.
Mel. O, what a thing is man,
To bandy factions of distempered passions
Against the sacred Providence above him!
Here, in the legend of thy two years' exile,
Rare pity and delight are sweetly mixed.—
And still thou wert a boy?
Ero. So I obeyed
My uncle's wise command.
Mel. 'Twas safely carried:
I humbly thank thy fate.
Ero. If earthly treasures
Are poured in plenty down from Heaven on mortals,
They rain amongst those oracles that flow
In schools of sacred knowledge; such is Athens:
Yet Athens was to me but a fair prison:
The thoughts of you, my sister, country, fortunes,
And something of the prince, barred all contents,
Which else might ravish sense; for had not Rhetias
Been always comfortable to me, certainly
Things had gone worse.
Mel. Speak low, Eroclea.
That "something of the prince" bears danger in it:
Yet thou hast travelled, wench, for such endowments
As might create a prince a wife fit for him,
Had he the world to guide: but touch not there.
How cam'st thou home?
Rhe. Sir, with your noble favour,
Kissing your hand first, that point I can answer.
Mel. Honest, right honest Rhetias!
Rhe. Your grave brother
Perceived with what a hopeless love his son,
Lord Menaphon, too eagerly pursued
Thamasta, cousin to our present prince;
And, to remove the violence of affection,
Sent him to Athens, where, for twelve months' space,
Your daughter, my young lady, and her cousin,
Enjoyed each other's griefs; till by his father,
The Lord Sophronos, we were all called home.
Mel. Enough, enough: the world shall henceforth witness
My thankfulness to Heaven and those people
Who have been pitiful to me and mine.—
Lend me a looking-glass.—How now! how came I
So courtly, in fresh raiments?
Rhe. Here's the glass, sir.
[Hands a glass to MELEANDER.
Mel. I'm in the trim too.—O Cleophila,
This was the goodness of thy care and cunning.—
[Loud music.
Whence comes this noise?
Rhe. The prince, my lord, in person.
[They kneel.
Re-enter PALADOR, SOPHRONOS, ARETUS, AMETHUS, MENAPHON, CORAX,
THAMASTA, with KALA.
Pal. Ye shall not kneel to us; rise all, I charge ye.—
[They rise.
Father, you wrong your age; henceforth my arms
[Embracing MELEANDER.
And heart shall be your guard: we have o'erheard
All passages of your united loves.
Be young again, Meleander; live to number
A happy generation, and die old
In comforts as in years! The offices
And honours which I late on thee conferred
Are not fantastic bounties, but thy merit:
Enjoy them liberally.
Mel. My tears must thank ye,
For my tongue cannot.
Cor. I have kept my promise,
And given you a sure cordial.
Mel. O, a rare one!
Pal. Good man, we both have shared enough of sadness,
Though thine has tasted deeper of the extreme:
Let us forget it henceforth. Where's the picture
I sent ye? Keep it; 'tis a counterfeit;
And, in exchange of that, I seize on this,
[Takes EROCLEA by the hand.
The real substance. With this other hand
I give away, before her father's face,
His younger joy, Cleophila, to thee,
Cousin Amethus: take her, and be to her
More than a father, a deserving husband.
Thus robbed of both thy children in a minute,
They cares are taken off.
Mel. My brains are dulled;
I am entranced, and know not what you mean.
Great, gracious sir, alas, why do you mock me?
I am a weak old man, so poor and feeble,
That my untoward joints can scarcely creep
Unto the grave, where I must seek my rest.
Pal. Eroclea was, you know, contracted mine;
Cleophila my cousin's, by consent
Of both their hearts; we both now claim our own:
It only rests in you to give a blessing,
For confirmation.
Rhe. Sir, 'tis truth and justice.
Mel. The gods, that lent ye to me, bless your vows!
O, children, children, pay your prayers to Heaven,
For they have showed much mercy.—But, Sophronos,
Thou art my brother—I can say no more—
A good, good brother!
Pal. Leave the rest to time.—
Cousin Thamasta, I must give you too.—
She's thy wife, Menaphon.—Rhetias, for thee,
And Corax, I have more than common thanks.—
On to the temple! there all solemn rites
Performed, a general feast shall be proclaimed.
The LOVER'S MELANCHOLY hath found cure;
Sorrows are changed to bride-songs. So they thrive
Whom fate in spite of storms hath kept alive. [Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
To be too confident is as unjust
In any work as too much to distrust:
Who from the laws of study have not swerved
Know begged applauses never were deserved.
We must submit to censure: so doth he
Whose hours begot this issue; yet, being free,
For his part, if he have not pleased you, then
In this kind he'll not trouble you again.
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