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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SPANISH GIPSY, by THOMAS MIDDLETON Poet's Biography
First Line: Roderigo!
Last Line: [exeunt omnes.
Subject(s): Gypsies; Spain; Gipsies
First Line: Roderigo!
Last Line: [exeunt omnes.
Subject(s): Gypsies; Spain; Gipsies
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
FERNANDO DE AZEVIDA, corregidor of Madrid.
PEDRO DE CORTES, two old Dons.
FRANCISCO DE CARCOMO, two old Dons.
RODERIGO, son of Fernando.
LOUIS DE CASTRO.
DIEGO, his friend.
JOHN, son of Francisco.
SANCHO, a foolish gentleman and ward to Pedro.
SOTO, a merry fellow, his man.
ALVAREZ DE CASTILLA, an old lord disguised as the father of the gipsies.
CARLO, disguised as gipsies.
ANTONIO, and others, disguised as gipsies.
Servants.
MARIA, wife of Pedro.
CLARA, their daughter.
GUIAMARA, wife of Alvarez and sister to Fernando, disguised as the mother of
the
gipsies, and called by the name of Eugenia.
CONSTANZA, daughter of Fernando, disguised as a young Spanish gipsy, and
called
by the name of Pretiosa.
CHRISTIANA, a gentlewoman disguised as a gipsy.
CARDOCHIA, a young hostess to the gipsies.
SCENE—MADRID and its neighbourhood.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
The Neighbourhood of Madrid.
Enter RODERIGO, LOUIS, and DIEGO.
LOUIS. Roderigo!
Diego. Art mad?
Rod. Yes, not so much with wine: it's as rare to see a Spaniard a
drunkard as a German sober, an Italian no whoremonger, an Englishman to
pay his
debts. I am no borachio; sack, malaga, nor canary breeds the calenture in my
brains; mine eye mads me, not my cups.
Louis. What wouldst have us do?
Rod. Do?
Diego. So far as 'tis fit for gentlemen we'll venture.
Rod. I ask no more. I ha' seen a thing has bewitched me; a delicate
body, but this in the waist [showing the size by a sign]; foot and leg
tempting; the face I had only a glimpse of, but the fruit must needs be
delicious, the tree being so beautiful.
Louis. Prithee, to the point.
Rod. Here 'tis: an old gentleman—no matter who he is—an old
gentlewoman—I ha' nothing to do with her—but a young creature that
follows them, daughter or servant, or whatsoever she be, her I must have: they
are coming this way: shall I have her? I must have her.
Diego. How, how?
Louis. Thou speakest impossibilities.
Rod. Easy, easy, easy! I'll seize the young girl; stop you the old
man;
stay you the old woman.
Louis. How then?
Rod. I'll fly off with the young bird, that's all; many of our
Spanish
gallants act these merry parts every night. They are weak and old, we
young and
sprightly: will you assist me?
Louis. Troth, Roderigo, anything in the way of honour.
Rod. For a wench, man, any course is honourable.
Louis. Nay, not any; her father, if he be her father, may be noble.
Rod. I am as noble.
Louis. Would the adventure were so!
Rod. Stand close, they come.
Enter PEDRO, MARIA, and CLARA.
Ped. 'Tis late; would we were in Madrill!
Mar. Go faster, my lord.
Ped. Clara, keep close.
[LOUIS and DIEGO hold PEDRO and MARIA, while
RODERIGO seizes CLARA.
Cla. Help, help, help!
Rod. Are you crying out? I'll be your midwife.
[Exit, bearing off CLARA.
Ped. What mean you, gentlemen?
Mar. Villains! thieves! murderers!
Ped. Do you not know me? I am De Cortes, Pedro de Cortes.
Louis. De Cortes?—Diego, come away.
[Exit with DIEGO.
Ped. Clara!—where is my daughter?
Mar. Clara!—these villains
Have robbed us of our comfort, and will, I fear,
Her of her honour.
Ped. This had not wont to be
Our Spanish fashion; but now our gallants,
Our gentry, our young dons, heated with wine,—
A fire our countrymen do seldom sit at,—
Commit these outrages.—Clara!—Maria,
Let's homeward; I will raise Madrill to find
These traitors to all goodness.—Clara!
Mar. Clara! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Another Place in the Neighbourhood of Madrid.
Enter LOUIS and DIEGO.
Louis. O Diego, I am lost, I am mad!
Diego. So we are all.
Louis. 'Tis not with wine; I'm drunk with too much horror,
Inflamed with rage, to see us two made bawds
To Roderigo's lust: did not the old man
Name De Cortes, Pedro de Cortes?
Diego. Sure he did.
Louis. O Diego, as thou lov'st me, nay, on the forfeit
Of thine own life or mine, seal up thy lips,
Let 'em not name De Cortes! stay, stay, stay!
Roderigo has into his father's house
A passage through a garden_____
Diego. Yes, my lord.
Louis. Thither I must, find Roderigo out,
And check him, check him home: if he but dare—
No more!—Diego, along! my soul does fight
A thousand battles blacker than this night. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Bed-chamber in FERNANDO'S House.
RODERIGO and CLARA discovered.
Cla. Though the black veil of night hath overclouded
The world in darkness, yet ere many hours
The sun will rise again, and then this act
Of my dishonour will appear before you
More black than is the canopy that shrouds it:
What are you, pray? what are you?
Rod. Husht—a friend, a friend.
Cla. A friend? be then a gentle ravisher,
An honourable villain: as you have
Disrobed my youth of nature's goodliest portion,
My virgin purity, so with your sword
Let out that blood which is infected now
By your soul-staining lust.
Rod. Pish!
Cla. Are you noble?
I know you then will marry me; say!
Rod. Umh.
Cla. Not speak to me? are wanton devils dumb?
How are so many harmless virgins wrought
By falsehood of prevailing words to yield
Too easy forfeits of their shames and liberty,
If every orator of folly plead
In silence, like this untongued piece of violence?
You shall not from me. [Holding him.
Rod. Phew!—no more.
Cla. You shall not:
Who'er you are, disease of nature's sloth,
Birth of some monstrous sin, or scourge of virtue,
Heaven's wrath and mankind's burden, I will hold you;
I will: be rough, and therein merciful,
I will not loose my hold else.
Rod. There; 'tis gold. [Offers money.
Cla. Gold? why, alas! for what? the hire of pleasure
Perhaps is payment, mine is misery;
I need no wages for a ruined name,
More than a bleeding heart.
Rod. Nay, then, you're troublesome;
I'll lock you safe enough. [Shakes her off, and exit.
Cla. They cannot fear
Whom grief hath armed with hate and scorn of life.
Revenge, I kneel to thee! alas! 'gainst whom?
By what name shall I pull confusion down
From justice on his head that hath betrayed me?
I know not where I am: up, I beseech thee,
Thou lady regent of the air, the moon,
And lead me by thy light to some brave vengeance!
It is a chamber sure; the guilty bed,
Sad evidence against my loss of honour,
Assures so much. What's here, a window-curtain?
O Heaven, the stars appear too: ha, a chamber,
A goodly one? dwells rape in such a paradise?
Help me, my quickened senses! 'tis a garden
To which this window guides the covetous prospect,
A large one and a fair one; in the midst
A curious alabaster fountain stands,
Framed like—like what? no matter—swift, remembrance!
Rich furniture within too? and what's this?
A precious crucifix! I have enough.
[Takes the crucifix, and conceals it in her bosom.
Assist me, O you powers that guard the innocent!
Re-enter RODERIGO.
Rod. Now.
Cla. Welcome, if you come armèd in destruction:
I am prepared to die.
Rod. Tell me your name,
And what you are.
Cla. You urge me to a sin
As cruel as your lust; I dare not grant it.
Think on the violence of my defame;
And if you mean to write upon my grave
An epitaph of peace, forbear to question
Or whence or who I am. I know the heat
Of your desires is, after the performance
Of such a hellish act, by this time drowned
In cooler streams of penance; and for my part,
I have washed off the leprosy that cleaves
To my just shame in true and honest tears;
I must not leave a mention of my wrongs,
The stain of my unspotted birth, to memory;
Let it lie buried with me in the dust;
That never time hereafter may report
How such a one as you have made me live.
Be resolute, and do not stagger; do not,
For I am nothing.
Rod. Sweet, let me enjoy thee
Now with a free allowance.
Cla. Ha, enjoy me?
Insufferable villain!
Rod. Peace, speak low;
I mean no second force; and since I find
Such goodness in an unknown frame of virtue,
Forgive my foul attempt, which I shall grieve for
So heartily, that could you be yourself
Eye-witness to my constant vowed repentance,
Trust me, you'd pity me.
Sir, you can speak now.
Rod. So much I am the executioner
Of mine own trespass, that I have no heart
Nor reason to disclose my name or quality;
You must excuse me that; but, trust me, fair one,
Were this ill deed undone, this deed of wickedness,
I would be proud to court your love like him
Whom my first birth presented to the world.
This for your satisfaction: what remains,
That you can challenge as a service from me,
I both expect and beg it.
Cla. First, that you swear,
Neither in riot of your mirth, in passion
Of friendship, or in folly of discourse,
To speak of wrongs done to a ravished maid.
Rod. As I love truth, I swear!
Cla. Next, that you lead me
Near to the place you met me, and there leave me
To my last fortunes, ere the morning rise.
Rod. Say more.
Cla. Live a new man: if e'er you marry—
O me, my heart's a-breaking—but if e'er
You marry, in a constant love to her
That shall be then your wife, redeem the fault
Of my undoing. I am lost for ever:
Pray, use no more words.
Rod. You must give me leave
To veil you close.
Cla. Do what you will; no time
Can ransom me from sorrows or dishonours.
[RODERIGO throws a veil over her.
Shall we now go?
Rod. My shame may live without me,
But in my soul I bear my guilt about me.
Lend me your hand; now follow. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Before FERNANDO'S House.
Enter LOUIS, DIEGO, and Servant.
Louis. Not yet come in, not yet?
Ser. No, I'll assure your lordship; I've seldom known him
Keep out so long; my lord usually observes
More seasonable hours.
Louis. What time of night is't?
Ser. On the stroke of three.
Louis. The stroke of three? 'tis wondrous strange! Dost hear?_____
Ser. My lord?
Louis. Ere six I will be here again;
Tell thy lord so; ere six; 'a must not sleep;
Or if 'a do, I shall be bold to wake him;
Be sure thou tell'st him, do.
Ser. My lord, I shall. [Enters the house.
Louis. Diego,
Walk thou the street that leads about the Prado;
I'll round the west part of the city: meet me
At the Inquisition-chapel; if we miss him,
We'll both back to his lodgings.
Diego. At the chapel?
Louis. Ay, there we'll meet.
Diego. Agreed, I this way.
[Exit LOUIS: as DIEGO is going out,
Enter JOHN reading.
John. She is not noble, true; wise nature meant
Affection should ennoble her descent,
For love and beauty keeps as rich a seat
Of sweetness in the mean-born as the great.
I am resolved. [Exit
Diego. 'Tis Roderigo certainly,
Yet his voice makes me doubt; but I'll o'erhear him.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
A Street.
Enter LOUIS.
Louis. That I, I, only I should be the man
Made accessary and a party both
To mine own torment, at a time so near
The birth of all those comforts I have travailed with
So many, many hours of hopes and fears;
Now at the instant—
Enter RODERIGO.
Ha! stand! thy name,
Truly and speedily.
Rod. Don Louis?
Louis. The same;
But who art thou? speak!
Rod. Roderigo.
Louis. Tell me,
As you're a noble gentleman, as ever
You hope to be enrolled amongst the virtuous,
As you love goodness, as you wish t' inherit
The blessedness and fellowship of angels,
As you're my friend, as you are Roderigo,
As you are anything that would deserve
A worthy name, where have you been to-night?
O, how have you disposed of that fair creature
Whom you led captive from me? speak, O speak!
Where, how, when, in what usage have you left her?
Truth, I require all truth.
Rod. Though I might question
The strangeness of your importunity,
Yet, 'cause I note distraction in the height
Of curiosity, I will be plain
And brief.
Louis. I thank you, sir.
Rod. Instead of feeding
Too wantonly upon so rich a banquet,
I found, even in that beauty that invited me,
Such a commanding majesty of chaste
And humbly glorious virtue, that it did not
More check my rash attempt than draw to ebb
The float of those desires, which in an instant
Were cooled in their own streams of shame and folly.
Louis. Now all increase of honours
Fall in full showers on the, Roderigo,
The best man living!
Rod. You are much transported
With this discourse, methinks.
Louis. Yes, I am.
She told ye her name too?
Rod. I could not urge it
By any importunity.
Louis. Better still!
Where did you leave her?
Rod. Where I found her; farther
She would by no means grant me to wait on her:
O, Louis, I am lost!
Louis. This self-same lady
Was she to whom I have been long a suitor,
And shortly hope to marry.
Rod. She your mistress, then? Louis, since friendship
And noble honesty conjure our loves
To a continued league, here I unclasp
The secrets of my heart. O, I have had
A glimpse of such a creature, that deserves
A temple! if thou lov'st her—and I blame thee not,
For who can look on her, and not give up
His life unto her service?—if thou lov'st her,
For pity's sake conceal her; let me not
As much as know her name, there's a temptation in't
Let me not know her dwelling, birth, or quality,
Or anything that she calls hers, but thee;
In thee, my friend, I'll see her: and t' avoid
The surfeits and those rareties that tempt me,
So much I prize the happiness of friendship,
That I will leave the city_____
Louis. Leave it?
Rod. Speed me
For Salamanca; court my studies now
For physic 'gainst infection of the mind.
Louis. You do amaze me.
Rod. Here to live, and live
Without her, is impossible and wretched.
For Heaven's sake, never tell her what I was,
Or that you knew me! and when I find that absence
Hath lost her to my memory, I'll dare
To see ye again. Meantime, the cause that draws me
From hence shall be to all the world untold;
No friend but thou alone, for whose sake only
I undertake this voluntary exile,
Shall be partaker of my griefs: thy hand,
Farewell; and all the pleasures, joys, contents,
That bless a constant lover, henceforth crown thee
A happy bridegroom!
Louis. You have conquered friendship
Beyond example.
Enter DIEGO.
Diego. Ha, ha, ha! some one
That hath slept well to-night, should a' but see me
Thus merry by myself, might justly think
I were not well in my wits.
Louis. Diego?
Diego. Yes,
'Tis I, and I have had a fine fegary,
The rarest wild-goose chase!
Louis. 'T had made thee melancholy.
Diego. Don Roderigo here? 'tis well you met him;
For though I missed him, yet I met an accident
Has almost made me burst with laughter.
Louis. How so?
Diego. I'll tell you: as we parted, I perceived
A walking thing before me, strangely tickled
With rare conceited raptures; him I dogged
Supposing 't had been Roderigo landed
From his new pinnace, deep in contemplation
Of the sweet voyage he stole to-night.
Rod. You're pleasant.
Louis. Prithee, who was't?
Rod. Not I.
Diego. You're i' the right, not you indeed;
For 'twas that noble gentleman Don John,
Son to the Count Francisco de Carcomo.
Louis. In love, it seems?
Diego. Yes, peppered, on my life;
Much good may't do him; I'd not be so lined
For my cap full of double pistolets.
Louis. What should his mistress be?
Diego. That's yet a riddle
Beyond my resolution; but of late
I have observed him oft to frequent the sports
The gipsies newly come to th' city present.
Louis. It is said there is a creature with 'em,
Though young of years, yet of such absolute beauty,
Dexterity of wit, and general qualities,
That Spain reports her not without admiration.
Diego. Have you seen her?
Louis. Never.
Diego. Nor you, my lord?
Rod. I not remember.
Diego. Why, then, you never saw the prettiest toy
That ever sang or danced.
Louis. Is she a gipsy?
Diego. In her condition, not in her complexion:
I tell you once more, 'tis a spark of beauty
Able to set a world at gaze; the sweetest,
The wittiest rogue! shall's see 'em? they've fine gambols,
Are mightily frequented; court and city
Flock to 'em, but the country does 'em worship:
This little ape gets money by the sack-full,
It trolls upon her.
Louis. Will ye with us, friend?
Rod. You know my other projects; sights to me
Are but vexations.
Louis. O, you must be merry!—
Diego, we'll to th' gipsies.
Diego. Best take heed
You be not snapped.
Louis. How snapped?
Diego. By that little fairy;
'T has a shrewd tempting face and a notable tongue.
Louis. I fear not either.
Diego. Go, then.
Louis. Will you with us?
Rod. I'll come after.— [Exeunt LOUIS and DIEGO.
Pleasure and youth like smiling evils woo us
To taste new follies; tasted, they undo us. [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.
A Room in an Inn.
Enter ALVAREZ, CARLO, and ANTONIO, disguised as gipsies.
ALV. Come, my brave boys! the tailor's shears has cut us into shapes fitting
our
trades.
Car. A trade free as a mason's.
Ant. A trade brave as a courtier's; for some of them do but shark,
and
so do we.
Alv. Gipsies, but no tanned ones; no red-ochre rascals umbered with
soot and bacon as the English gipsies are, that sally out upon pullen, lie in
ambuscado for a rope of onions, as if they were Welsh freebooters; no, our
stile
has higher steps to climb over, Spanish gipsies, noble gipsies.
Car. I never knew nobility in baseness.
Alv. Baseness? the arts of Cocoquismo and Germania, used by our
Spanish
pickaroes—I mean filching, foisting, nimming, jilting—we defy; none i
n
our college shall study 'em! such graduates we degrade.
Ant. I am glad Spain has an honest company.
Alv. We'll entertain no mountebanking stroll,
No piper, fiddler, tumbler through small hoops,
No ape-carrier, baboon-bearer;
We must have nothing stale, trivial, or base:
Am I your major-domo, your teniente,
Your captain, your commander?
Ant. Who but you?
Alv. So then: now being entered Madrill, the enchanted circle of
Spain,
have a care to your new lessons.
Car. We listen.
Ant.
Alv. Plough deep furrows, to catch deep root in th' opinion of the best
grandoes, dukes, marquesses, condes, and other titulados; show your sports to
none but them: what can you do with three or four fools in a dish, and a
blockhead cut into sippets?
Ant. Scurvy meat!
Alv. The Lacedemonians threw their beards over their shoulders, to
observe what men did behind them as well as before; you must do't.
Car. We shall never do't.
Ant. Our muzzles are too short.
Alv. Be not English gipsies, in whose company a man's not sure of the
ears of his head, they so pilfer! no such angling; what you pull to land catch
fair: there is no iron so foul but may be gilded; and our gipsy profession,
how
base soever in show, may acquire commendations.
Car. Gipsies, and yet pick no pockets?
Alv. Infamous and roguy! so handle your webs, that they never come to
be woven in the loom of justice: take anything that's given you, purses,
knives,
handkerchers, rosaries, tweezers, any toy, any money! refuse not a maravedi, a
blank: feather by feather birds build nests, grain pecked up after grain makes
pullen fat.
Ant. The best is, we Spaniards are no great feeders.
Alv. If one city cannot maintain us, away to another! our horses must
have wings. Does Madrill yield no money? Seville shall; is Seville
closefisted?
Valladoly is open; so Cordova, so Toledo. Do not our Spanish wines please us?
Italian can then, French can. Preferment's bow is hard to draw, set all your
strengths to it; what you get, keep; all the world is a second Rochelle; make
all sure, for you must not look to have your dinner served in with trumpets.
Car. No, no, sack-buts shall serve us.
Alv. When you have money, hide it; sell all our horses but one.
Ant. Why one?
Alv. 'Tis enough to carry our apparel and trinkets, and the less our
ambler eats, our cheer is the better. None be sluttish, none thievish, none
lazy; all bees, no drones, and our hives shall yield us honey.
Enter GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, disguised as gipsies, and
CARDOCHIA.
Const. See, father, how I'm fitted; how do you like
This our new stock of clothes?
Alv. My sweet girl, excellent.—
See their old robes be safe.
Card. That, sir, I'll look to:
Whilst in my house you lie, what thief soever
Lays hands upon your goods, call but to me,
I'll make thee satisfaction.
Alv. Thanks, good hostess!
Card. People already throng into the inn,
And call for you into their private rooms.
Alv. No chamber-comedies: hostess, ply you your tide; flow let 'em to
a
full sea, but we'll show no pastime till after dinner, and that in a full ring
of good people, the best, the noblest; no closet-sweetmeats, pray tell 'em so.
Card. I shall. [Exit.
Alv. How old is Pretiosa?
Gui. Twelve and upwards.
Const. I am in my teens, assure you, mother; as little as I am, I
have
been taken for an elephant, castles and lordships offered to be set upon
me, if
I would bear 'em: why, your smallest clocks are the prettiest things to carry
about gentlemen.
Gui. Nay, child, thou wilt be tempted.
Const. Tempted? though I am no mark in respect of a huge butt, yet I
can tell you great bubbers have shot at me, and shot golden arrows, but
I myself
gave aim, thus,—wide, four bows; short, three and a half: they that crack
me shall find me as hard as a nut of Galicia; a parrot I am, but my teeth too
tender to crack a wanton's almond.
Alv. Thou art my noble girl: a many dons
Will not believe but that thou art a boy
In woman's clothes; and to try that conclusion,
To see if thou be'st alcumy or no,
They'll throw down gold in musses; but, Pretiosa,
Let these proud sakers and gerfalcons fly,
Do not thou move a wing; be to thyself
Thyself, and not a changeling.
Const. How? not a changeling?
Yes, father, I will play the changeling;
I'll change myself into a thousand shapes,
To court our brave spectators; I'll change my postures
Into a thousand different variations,
To draw even ladies' eyes to follow mine;
I'll change my voice into a thousand tones,
To chain attention: not a changeling, father?
None but myself shall play the changeling.
Alv. Do what thou wilt, Pretiosa. [A knocking within.
What noise is this?
Re-enter CARDOCHIA.
Card. Here's gentlemen swear all the oaths in Spain they have seen
you,
must see you, and will see you.
Alv. To drown this noise let 'em enter. [Exit CARD.
Enter SANCHO and SOTO.
San. Is your playhouse an inn, a gentleman cannot see you without
crumpling his taffeta cloak?
Soto. Nay, more than a gentleman, his man being a diminutive don too.
San. Is this the little ape does the fine tricks?
Const. Come aloft, Jack little ape!
San. Would my jack might come aloft! please you to set the watermill
with the ivory cogs in't a-grinding my handful of purging comfits. [Offers
comfits.
Soto. My master desires to have you loose from your company.
Const. Am I pigeon, think you, to be caught with cummin-seeds? a fly
to
glue my wings to sweetmeats, and so be ta'en?
San. When do your gambols begin?
Alv. Not till we ha' dined.
San. 'Foot, then your bellies will be so full, you'll be able to do
nothing.—Soto, prithee, set a good face on't, for I cannot, and give the
little monkey that letter.
Soto. Walk off and hum to yourself. [SANCHO retires.]
—I dedicate, sweet Destiny, into whose hand every Spaniard desires to
put a
distaff, these lines of love.
[Offering a paper to CONSTANZA.
Gui. What love? what's the matter?
Soto. Grave Mother Bumby, the mark's out a' your mouth.
Alv. What's the paper? from whom comes it?
Soto. The commodity warpped up in the paper are verses; the
warming-pan
that puts heat into 'em, yon fire-brained bastard of Helicon.
San. Hum, hum.
Alv. What's your master's name?
Soto. His name is Don Tomazo Portacareco, nuncle to young Don Hortado
de Mendonza, cousin-german to the Conde de Tindilla, and natural brother to
Francisco de Bavadilla, one of the commendadors of Alcantara, a gentleman of
long standing.
Alv. And of as long a style.
Const. Verses? I love good ones; let me see 'em.
[Taking paper.
San. [advancing.] Good ones? if they were not good ones, they
should
not come from me; at the name of verses I can stand on no ground.
Const. Here's gold too! whose is this?
San. Whose but yours? If there be any fault in the verses, I can mend
it extempore; for a stitch in a man's stocking not taken up in time, ravels
out
all the rest.
Soto. Botcherly poetry, botcherly! [Aside.
Const. Verses and gold! these then are golden verses.
San. Had every verse a pearl in the eye, it should be thine.
Const. A pearl in mine eye! I thank you for that; do you wish me
blind?
San. Ay, by this light do I, that you may look upon nobody's
rhymes but
mine.
Const. I should be blind indeed then.
Alv. Pray, sir, read your verses.
San. Shall I sing 'em or say 'em?
Alv. Which you can best.
Soto. Both scurvily. [Aside.
San. I'll set out a throat then.
Soto. Do, master, and I'll run division behind your back.
San. [sings.] O that I were a bee to sing
Hum, buz, buz, hum! I first would bring
Home honey to your hive, and there leave my sting.
Soto. [sings.] He maunders.
San. [sings.] O that I were a goose, to feed
At your barn door! such corn I need,
Nor would I bite, but goslings breed.
Soto. [sings.] And ganders.
San. [sings.] O that I were your needle's eye!
How through your linen would I fly,
And never leave one stitch awry!
Soto. [sings.] He'll touse ye.
San. [sings.] O would I were one of your hairs,
That you might comb out all my cares,
And kill the nits of my despairs!
Soto. [sings.] O lousy!
San. How? lousy? can rhymes be lousy?
Const. No, no, they're excellent.
Alv. But are these all your own?
San. Mine own? would I might never see ink drop out of the
nose of any
goose-quill more, if velvet cloaks have not clapped me for 'em! Do
you like 'em?
Const. Past all compare?
They shall be writ out: when you've as good or better,
For these and those, pray, book me down your debtor:
Your paper is long-lived, having two souls,
Verses and gold.
San. Would both those were in thy pretty little body, sweet gipsy!
Const. A pistolet and this paper? 'twould choke me.
Soto. No more than a bribe does a constable: the verses will easily
into your head, then buy what you like with the gold, and put it into your
belly. I hope I ha' chawed a good reason for you.
San. Will you chaw my jennet ready, sir?
Soto. And eat him down, if you say the word. [Exit.
San. Now the coxcomb my man is gone, because you're but a country
company
of strolls, I think your stock is threadbare; here, mend it with this cloak.
[Giving his cloak.
Alv. What do you mean, sir?
San. This scarf, this feather, and this hat.
[Giving his scarf, &c.
Alv. Dear signor!_____
San. If they be never so dear:—pox o' this hot ruff! little
gipsy,
wear thou that.
[Giving his ruff.
Alv. Your meaning, sir?
San. My meaning is, not to be an ass, to carry a burden when I need
not. If you show your gambols forty leagues hence, I'll gallop to
'em.—Farewell, old greybeard;—adieu, mother mumble-crust;—to-
morrow, my little wart of beauty. [Exit.
Enter behind JOHN, muffled.
Alv. So, harvest will come in; such sunshine days
Will bring in golden sheaves, our markets raise:
Away to your task.
[Exeunt ALVAREZ, CHRISTIANA, CARLO, and ANTONIO; and as GUIAMARA
and CONSTANZA are going out, JOHN pulls the latter back.
Const. Mother! grandmother!
John. Two rows of kindred in one mouth?
Gui. Be not uncivil, sir; thus have you used her thrice.
John. Thrice? three thousand more: may I not use mine own?
Const. Your own! by what tenure?
John. Cupid entails this land upon me; I have wooed thee, thou
art coy:
by this air, I am a bull of Tarifa, wild, mad for thee! you trowed I was some
copper coin; I am a knight of Spain; Don Francisco de Carcomo my father, I Don
John his son; this paper tells you more. [Gives paper.]—Grumble not,
old granam; here's gold [gives money]; for I must, by this white hand,
marry
this cherry-lipped, sweet-mouthed villain.
Const. There's a thing called quando.
John. Instantly.
Gui. Art thou so willing?
John. Peace, threescore and five!
Const. Marry me? eat a chicken ere it be out o' th' shell? I'll
wear no
shackles; liberty is sweet; that I have, that I'll hold. Marry me? can
gold and
lead mix together? a diamond and a button of crystal fit one ring? You are too
high for me, I am too low; you too great, I too little.
Gui. I pray, leave her, sir, and take your gold again.
Const. Or if you doat, as you say, let me try you do this.
John. Anything; kill the great Turk, pluck out the Mogul's eye-teeth;
in earnest, Pretiosa, anything!
Const. Your task is soon set down; turn gipsy for two years, be one
of
us; if in that time you mislike not me nor I you, here's my hand: farewell.
[Exit.
Gui. There's enough for your gold.—Witty child!
[Aside, and exit.
John. Turn gipsy for two years? a capering trade;
And I in th' end may keep a dancing-school,
Having served for it; gipsy I must turn.
O beauty, the sun's fires cannot so burn! [Exit.
SCENE II.
A Room in the House of PEDRO.
Enter CLARA.
Cla. I have offended; yet, O Heaven, thou know'st
How much I have abhorred, even from my birth,
A thought that tended to immodest folly!
Yet I have fallen; thoughts with disgraces strive,
And thus I live, and thus I die alive.
Enter PEDRO and MARIA.
Ped. Fie, Clara, thou dost court calamity too much.
Mar. Yes, girl, thou dost.
Ped. Why should we fret our eyes out with our tears,
Weary Heaven with complaints? 'tis fruitless, childish
Impatience; for when mischief hath wound up
The full weight of the ravisher's foul life
To an equal height of ripe iniquity,
The poise will, by degrees, sink down his soul
To a much lower, much more lasting ruin
Than our joint wrongs can challenge.
Mar. Darkness itself
Will change night's sable brow into a sunbeam
For a discovery; and be thou sure,
Whenever we can learn what monster 'twas
Hath robbed thee of the jewel held so precious,
Our vengeance shall be noble.
Ped. Royal, anything:
Till then let's live securely; to proclaim
Our sadness were mere vanity.
Cla. 'A needs not;
I'll study to be merry.
Ped. We are punished,
Maria, justly; covetousness to match
Our daughter to that matchless piece of ignorance,
Our foolish ward, hath drawn this curse upon us.
Mar. I fear it has.
Ped. Off with this face of grief:
Here comes Don Louis.
Enter LOUIS and DIEGO.
Noble Sir.
Louis. My lord,
I trust I have your and your lady's leave
T' exchange a word with your fair daughter.
Ped. Leave
And welcome.—Hark, Maria.—Your ear too.
Diego. Mine, my lord?
Louis. Dear Clara, I have often sued for love,
And now desire you would at last be pleased
To style me yours.
Cla. Mine eyes ne'er saw that gentleman
Whom I more nobly in my heart respected
Than I have you, yet you must, sir, excuse me,
If I resolve to use awhile that freedom
My younger days allow.
Louis. But shall I hope?
Cla. You will do injury to better fortunes.
To your own merit, greatness, and advancement,
Which I beseech you not to slack.
Louis. Then hear me:
If ever I embrace another choice,
Until I know you elsewhere matched, may all
The chief of my desires find scorn and ruin!
Cla. O me!
Louis. Why sigh you, lady?
Cla. 'Deed, my lord,
I am not well.
Louis. Then all discourse is tedious;
I'll choose some fitter time; till when, fair Clara_____
Cla. You shall not be unwelcome hither, sir;
That's all that I dare promise.
Louis. Diego.
Diego. My lord?
Louis. What says Don Pedro?
Diego. He'll go with you.
Louis. Leave us.— [Exit DIEGO.
Shall I, my lord, entreat your privacy?
Ped. Withdraw, Maria; we'll follow presently.
[Exeunt MARIA and CLARA.
Louis. The great corregidor, whose politic stream
Of popularity glides on the shore
Of every vulgar praise, hath often urged me
To be a suitor to his Catholic Majesty
For a repeal from banishment for him
Who slew my father; compliments in vows
And strange well-studied promises of friendship;
But what is new to me, still as he courts
Assistance for Alvarez, my grand enemy,
Still he protests how ignorant he is
Whether Alvarez be alive or dead.
To-morrow is the day we have appointed
For meeting, at the Lord Francisco's house,
The Earl of Carcomo; now, my good lord,
The sum of my request is, you will please
To lend your presence there, and witness wherein
Our joint accord consists.
Ped. You shall command it.
Louis. But first, as you are noble, I beseech you
Help me with your advice what you conceive
Of great Fernando's importunity,
Or whether you imagine that Alvarez
Survive or not?
Ped. It is a question, sir,
Beyond my resolution: I remember
The difference betwixt your noble father
And Conde de Alvarez; how it sprung
From a mere trifle-first, a cast of hawks,
Whose made the swifter flight, whose could mount highest,
Lie longest on the wing: from change of words
Their controversy grew to blows, from blows
To parties, thence to faction; and, in short,
I well remember how our streets were frighted
With brawls, whose end was blood; till, when no friends
Could mediate their discords, by the king
A reconciliation was enforced,
Death threatened to the first occasioner
Of breach, besides the confiscation
Of lands and honours: yet at last they met
Again; again they drew to sides, renewed
Their ancient quarrel; in which dismal uproar
Your father hand to hand fell by Alvarez:
Alvarez fled; and after him the doom
Of exile was sent out: he, as report
Was bold to voice, retired himself to Rhodes;
His lands and honours by the king bestowed
On you, but then an infant.
Louis. Ha, an infant?
Ped. His wife, the sister to the corregidor,
With a young daughter, and some few that followed her,
By stealth were shipped for Rhodes, and by a storm
Shipwrecked at sea: but for the banished Conde,
'Twas never yet known what became of him:
Here's all I can inform you.
Louis. A repeal?
Yes, I will sue for't, beg for't, buy it, anything
That may by possibility of friends
Or money, I'll attempt.
Ped. 'Tis a brave charity.
Louis. Alas! poor lady, I could mourn for her!
Her loss was usury more than I covet;
But for the man, I'd sell my patrimony
For his repeal, and run about the world
To find him out; there is no peace can dwell
About my father's tomb, till I have sacrified
Some portion of revenge to his wronged ashes.
You will along with me?
Ped. You need not question it.
Louis. I have strange thoughts about me: two such furies
Revel amidst my joys as well may move
Distraction in a saint, vengeance and love.
I'll follow, sir.
Ped. Pray, lead the way, you know it.— [Exit LOUIS.
Enter SANCHO without his cloak, hat, &c., and SOTO.
How now? from whence come you, sir?
San. From flaying myself, sir.
Soto. From playing with fencers, sir; and they have beat him out of
his
clothes, sir.
Ped. Cloak, band, rapier, all lost at dice?
San. Nor cards neither.
Soto. This was one of my master's dog-days, and he would not sweat
too
much.
San. It was mine own goose, and I laid the giblets upon another
coxcomb's trencher: you are my guardian, best beg me for a fool now.
Soto. He that begs one begs t'other. [Aside.
Ped. Does any gentleman give away his things thus?
San. Yes, and gentlewomen give away their things too.
Soto. To gulls sometimes, and are cony-catched for their labour.
Ped. Wilt thou ever play the coxcomb?
San. If no other parts be given me, what would you have me do?
Ped. Thy father was as brave a Spaniard
As ever spake the haut Castilian tongue.
San. Put me in clothes, I'll be as brave as he.
Ped. This is the ninth time thou hast played the ass,
Flinging away thy trappings and thy cloth
To cover others, and go naked thyself.
San. I'll make 'em up ten, because I'll be even with you.
Ped. Once more your broken walls shall have new hangings.
Soto. To be well hung is all our desire.
Ped. And what course take you next?
San. What course? why, my man Soto and I will go make some maps.
Ped. What maps?
Soto. Not such maps as you wash houses with, but maps of countries.
San. I have an uncle in Seville, I'll go see him; an aunt in Siena in
Italy, I'll go see her.
Soto. A cousin of mine in Rome, I'll go to him with a mortar.
San. There's a courtesan in Venice, I'll go tickle her.
Soto. Another in England, I'll go tackle her.
Ped. So, so! and where's the money to do all this?
San. If my woods, being cut down, cannot fill this pocket, cut 'em
into
trapsticks.
Soto. And if his acres, being sold for a maravedi a turf for larks in
cages, cannot fill this pocket, give 'em to gold-finders.
Ped. You'll gallop both to the gallows; so fare you well. [Exit.
San. And be hanged you! new clothes, you'd best.
Soto. Four cloaks, that you may give away three, and keep one.
San. We'll live as merrily as beggars; let's both turn gipsies.
Soto. By any means; if they cog, we'll lie; if they toss, we'll
tumble.
San. Both in a belly, rather than fail.
Soto. Come, then, we'll be gipsified.
San. And tipsified too.
Soto. And we will show such tricks and such rare gambols
As shall put down the elephant and camels. [Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.
A Street.
Enter RODERIGO disguised as an Italian.
ROD. A thousand stings are in me: O, what vile prisons
Make we our bodies to our immortal souls!
Brave tenants to bad houses; 'tis a dear rent
They pay for naughty lodging: the soul, the mistress;
The body, the caroch that carries her;
Sins the swift wheels that hurry her away;
Our will, the coachman rashly driving on,
Till coach and carriage both are quite o'erthrown.
My body yet 'scapes bruises; that known thief
Is not yet called to th' bar: there's no true sense
Of pain but what the law of conscience
Condemns us to; I feel that. Who would lose
A kingdom for a cottage? an estate
Of perpetuity for a man's life
For annuity of that life, pleasure? a spark
To those celestial fires that burn about us;
A painted star to that bright firmament
Of constellations which each night are set
Lighting our way; yet thither how few get!
How many thousand in Madrill drink off
The cup of lust, and laughing, in one month,
Not whining as I do! Should this sad lady
Now meet me, do I know her? should this temple,
By me profaned, lie in the ruins here,
The pieces would scarce show her me: would they did!
She's mistress to Don Louis; by his steps,
And this disguise, I'll find her. To Salamanca
Thy father thinks thou'rt gone; no, close here stay;
Where'er thou travell'st, scorpions stop thy way.
Who are these?
Enter SANCHO and SOTO disguised as Gipsies.
San. Soto, how do I show?
Soto. Like a rusty armour new scoured; but, master, how show I?
San. Like an ass with a new piebald saddle on his back.
Soto. If the devil were a tailor, he would scarce know us in these
gaberdines.
San. If a tailor were the devil, I'd not give a louse for him, if he
should bring up this fashion amongst gentlemen, and make it common.
Rod. The freshness of the morning be upon you both!
San. The saltness of the evening be upon you single!
Rod. Be not displeased, that I abruptly thus
Break in upon your favours; your strange habits
Invite me with desire to understand
Both what you are and whence, because no country—
And I have measured some—shows me your like.
Soto. Our like? no, we should be sorry we or our clothes should be lik
e
fish, new, stale, and stinking in three days.
San. If you ask whence we are, we are Egyptian Spaniards; if what we
are, ut, re, mi, fa, sol, jugglers, tumblers, anything, anywhere,
everywhere.
Rod. A good fate hither leads me by the hand.—
[Aside.
Your quality I love; the scenical school
Has been my tutor long in Italy,
For that's my country; there have I put on
Sometimes the shape of a comedian,
And now and then some other.
San. A player! a brother of the tiring house!
Soto. A bird of the same feather!
San. Welcome! wu't turn gipsy?
Rod. I can nor dance nor sing; but if my pen
From my invention can strike music-tunes,
My head and brains are yours.
Soto. A calf's head and brains were better for my stomach.
San. A rib of poetry!
Soto. A modicum of the Muses! a horse-shoe of Helicon!
San. A magpie of Parnassus! welcome again! I am a firebrand of
Phœbus myself; we'll invoke together, so you will not steal my plot.
Rod. 'Tis not my fashion.
San. But now-a-days 'tis all the fashion.
Soto. What was the last thing you writ? a comedy?
Rod. No! 'twas a sad, too sad a tragedy.
Under these eaves I'll shelter me.
San. See, here comes our company; do our tops spin as you would have
'em?
Soto. If not, whip us round.
Enter ALVAREZ, GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, CARLO, ANTONIO, and
others, disguised as before.
San. I sent you a letter to tell you we were upon a march.
Alv. And you are welcome.—Yet these fools will trouble us!
[Aside.
Gui. Rich fools shall buy our trouble.
San. Hang lands! it's nothing but trees, stones, and dirt. Old
father,
I have gold to keep up our stock. Precious Pretiosa, for whose sake I
have thus
transformed myself out of a gentleman into a gipsy, thou shalt not want sweet
rhymes, my little musk-cat; for besides myself, here's an Italian
poet, on whom
I pray throw your welcomes.
Alv., Gui., &c. He's welcome!
Const. Sir, you're most welcome; I love a poet,
So he writes chastely; if your pen can sell me
Any smooth quaint romances, which I may sing,
You shall have bays and silver.
Rod. Pretty heart, no selling;
What comes from me is free.
San. And me too.
Alv. We shall be glad to use you, sir: our sports
Must be an orchard, bearing several trees,
And fruits of several taste; one pleasure dulls.
A time may come when we, besides these pastimes,
May from the grandoes and the dons of Spain
Have leave to try our skill even on the stage,
And then your wits may help us.
San. And mine too.
Rod. They are your servants.
Const. Trip softly through the streets till we arrive,
You know at whose house, father.
San. [sings.]
Trip it, gipsies, trip it fine,
Show tricks and lofty capers;
At threading needles we repine,
And leaping over rapiers:
Pindy-pandy rascal toys!
We scorn cutting purses;
Though we live by making noise,
For cheating none can curse us.
Over high ways, over low,
And over stones and gravel,
Though we trip it on the toe,
And thus for silver travel;
Though our dances waste our backs,
At night fat capons mend them,
Eggs well brewed in buttered sack,
Our wenches say befriend them.
O that all the world were mad!
Then should we have fine dancing;
Hobby-horses would be had,
And brave girls keep a-prancing;
Beggars would on cock-horse ride,
And boobies fall a-roaring,
And cuckolds, though no horns be spied,
Be one another goring.
Welcome, poet, to our ging!
Make rhymes, we'll give thee reason;
Canary bees thy brains shall sting,
Mull-sack did ne'er speak treason;
Peter-see-me shall wash thy noul
And malaga glasses fox thee;
If, poet, thou toss not bowl for bowl,
Thou shalt not kiss a doxy. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Garden belonging to FRANCISCO'S House.
Enter FERNANDO, FRANCISCO, JOHN, PEDRO, MARIA, LOUIS, and DIEGO.
Fer. Louis de Castro, since you circled are
In such a golden ring of worthy friends,
Pray, let me question you about that business
You and I last conferred on.
Louis. My lord, I wish it.
Fer. Then, gentlemen, though you all know this man,
Yet now look on him well, and you shall find
Such mines of Spanish honour in his bosom
As but in few are treasured.
Louis. O, my good lord_____
Fer. He's son to that De Castro o'er whose tomb
Fame stands writing a book, which will take up
The age of time to fill it with the stories
Of his great acts, and that his honoured father
Fell in the quarrel of those families,
His own and Don Alvarez de Castillas.
Fran. The volumes of those quarrels is too large
And too wide printed in our memory.
Louis. Would it had ne'er come forth!
Fran., Ped., &c. So wish we all.
Fer. But here's a son as matchless as the father,
For his mind's bravery; he lets blood his spleen,
Tears out the leaf in which the picture stands
Of slain De Castro, casts a hill of sand
On all revenge, and stifles it.
Fran., Ped., &c. 'Tis done nobly!
Fer. For I by him am courted to solicit
The king for the repeal of poor Alvarez,
Who lives a banished man, some say, in Naples.
Ped. Some say in Aragon.
Louis. No matter where;
That paper folds in it my hand and heart,
Petitioning the royalty of Spain
To free the good old man, and call him home:
But what hope hath your lordship that these beams
Of grace shall shine upon me?
Fer. The word royal.
Fran., Ped., &c. And that's enough.
Louis. Then since this sluice is drawn up to increase
The stream, with pardon of these honoured friends
Let me set ope another, and that's this;
That you, my lord Don Pedro, and this lady
Your noble wife, would in this fair assembly,
If still you hold me tenant to your favour,
Repeat the promise you so oft have made me,
Touching the beauteous Clara for my wife.
Ped. What I possess in her, before these lords
I freely once more give you.
Mar. And what's mine,
To you, as right heir to it, I resign.
Fer., Fran., &c. What would you more?
Louis. What would I more? the tree bows down his head.
Gently to have me touch it, but when I offer
To pluck the fruit, the top branch grows so high
To mock my reaching hand, up it does fly;
I have the mother's smile, the daughter's frown.
Fran., Ped., &c. O, you must woo hard!
Fer. Woo her well; she's thine own.
John. That law holds not 'mongst gipsies; I shoot hard,
And am wide off from the mark. [Aside.
[Flourish within.
Fer. Is this, my lord, your music?
Fran. None of mine.
Enter SOTO disguised as before, with a cornet in his hand.
Soto. A crew of gipsies with desire
To show their sports are at your gates a-fire.
Fran. How, how, my gates a-fire, knave?
John. Art panting? I am a-fire I'm sure! [Aside.
Fer. What are the things they do?
Soto. They frisk, they caper, dance and sing,
Tell fortunes too, which is a very fine thing;
They tumble—how? not up and down,
As tumblers do, but from town to town:
Antics they have and gipsy-masquing,
And toys which you may have for asking:
They come to devour nor wine nor good cheer,
But to earn money, if any be here;
But being asked, as I suppose,
Your answer will be, in your t'other hose;
For there's not a gipsy amongst 'em that begs,
But gets his living by his tongue and legs.
If therefore you please, dons, they shall come in:
Now I have ended, let them begin.
Fer., Ped., &c. Ay, ay, by any means.
Fran. But, fellow, bring you music along with you too?
Soto. Yes, my lord, both loud music and still music; the loud is that
which you have heard, and the still is that which no man can hear. [Exit.
Fer. A fine knave!
Fran. There's report of a fair gipsy,
A pretty little toy, whom all our gallants
In Madrill flock to look on: this she, trow?
John. Yes, sure 'tis she—I should be sorry else.
[Aside.
Enter ALVAREZ, GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, CARLO, ANTONIO, RODERIGO,
SANCHO, SOTO, and others, disguised, as before, with the following Song.
Come, follow your leader, follow;
Our convoy be Mars and Apollo!
The van comes brave up here;
(Answer.)—As hotly comes the rear:
Chorus. Our knackers are the fifes and drums,
Sa, sa, the gipsies' army comes!
Horsemen we need not fear,
There's none but footmen here;
The horse sure charge without;
Or if they wheel about,
Our knackers are the shot that fly,
Pit-a-pat rattling in the sky.
If once the great ordnance play,
That's laughing, yet run not away,
But stand the push of pike,
Scorn can but basely strike;
Then let our armies join and sing,
And pit-a-pat make our knackers ring.
Arm, arm! what bands are those?
They cannot be sure our foes;
We'll not draw up our force,
Nor muster any horse;
For since they pleased to view our sight,
Let's this way, this way give delight.
A council of war let's call,
Look either to stand or fall;
If our weak army stands,
Thank all these noble hands;
Whose gates of love being open thrown,
We enter, and then the town's our own.
Fer. A very dainty thing!
Fran. A handsome creature!
Ped. Look what a pretty pit there's in her chin!
John. Pit? 'tis a grave to bury lovers in.
Rod. My father? disguise guard me! [Aside.
San. Soto, there's De Cortes my guardian, but he smells not us.
Soto. Peace, brother gipsy.—Would any one here know his fortune?
Fer., Fran., &c. Good fortunes all of us!
Ped. 'Tis I, sir, needs a good one: come, sir, what's mine?
Mar. Mine and my husband's fortunes keep together;
Who is't tells mine?
San. I, I; hold up, madam; fear not your pocket, for
I ha' but two hands. [Examining her hands.
You are sad, or mad, or glad,
For a couple of cocks that cannot be had;
Yet when abroad they have picked store of grain.
Doodle-doo they will cry on your dunghills again.
Mar. Indeed I miss an idle gentleman,
And a thing of his a fool, but neither sad
Nor mad for them: would that were all the lead
Lying at my heart!
Ped. [while SOTO examines his hand.] What look'st thou on so
long?
Soto. So long! do you think good fortunes are fresh herrings, to come
in shoals? bad fortunes are like mackerel at midsummer: you have had a sore
loss
of late.
Ped. I have indeed; what is't?
Soto. I wonder it makes you not mad, for—
Through a gap in your ground thence late have been stole
A very fine ass and a very fine foal;
Take heed, for I speak not by habs and by nabs
Ere long you'll be horribly troubled with scabs.
Ped. I am now so; go, silly fool.
Soto. I ha' gi'n't him. [Aside.
San. O Soto, that ass and foal fattens me!
Fer. The mother of the gipsies, what can she do?
I'll have a bout with her.
John. I with the gipsy daughter.
Fran. To her, boy.
Gui. [examining FERNANDO'S hand.]
From you went a dove away,
Which ere this had been more white
Than the silver robe of day;
Her eyes, the moon has none so bright.
Sate she now upon your hand,
Not the crown of Spain could buy it;
But 'tis flown to such a land,
Never more shall you come nigh it:
Ha! yes, if palmistry tell true,
This dove again may fly to you.
Fer. Thou art a lying witch; I'll hear no more.
San. If you be so hot, sir, we can cool you with a song.
Soto. And when that song's done, we'll heat you again with a dance.
Louis. Stay, dear sir; send for Clara, let her know her fortune.
Mar. 'Tis too well known.
Louis. 'Twill make her
Merry to be in this brave company.
Ped. Good Diego, fetch her. [Exit DIEGO.
Fran. What's that old man? has he cunning too?
Gui., Car., &c. More than all we!
Louis. Has he? I'll try his spectacles.
Fer. Ha! Roderigo there? the scholar
That went to Salamanca takes his degrees
I' th' school of gipsies? let the fish alone,
Give him line: this is the dove—the dove?—the raven
That beldam mocked me with. [Aside.
Louis. [while. ALVAREZ examines his hand.] What worms pick you
out there now?
Alv. This:
When this line the other crosses,
Art tells me 'tis a book of losses:—
Bend your hand thus:—O, here I find
You have lost a ship in a great wind.
Louis. Lying rogue, I ne'er had any.
Alv. Hark, as I gather,
That great ship was De Castro called, your father.
Louis. And I must hew that rock that split him.
Alv. Nay, an you threaten_____ [Retires.
Fran. And what's, Don John, thy fortune?
Thou'rt long fumbling at it.
John. She tells me tales of the moon, sir.
Const. And now 'tis come to the sun, sir.
[To FRAN.] Your son would ride, the youth would run,
The youth would sail, the youth would fly;
He's tying a knot will ne'er be done,
He shoots, and yet has ne'er an eye:
You have two, 'twere good you lent him one,
And a heart too, for he has none.
Fran. Hoyday! lend one of mine eyes?
San. They give us nothing; we'd best put on a bold face and ask it.
[Sings.] Now that from the hive
You gathered have the honey,
Our bees but poorly thrive
Unless the banks be sunny;
Then let your sun and moon,
Your gold and silver shine,
My thanks shall humming fly to you,
Chorus. And mine, and mine, and mine.
[FRAN., FER., &c., give money.
ALV. [sings.] See, see, you gipsy, toys,
You mad girls, you merry boys,
A boon voyage we have made,
Loud peals must then be had;
If I a gipsy be,
A crack-rope I'm for thee:
O, here's a golden ring!
Such clappers please a king,
Chorus. Such clappers please a king.
ALV. [sings.] You pleased may pass away;
Then let your bell-ropes stay;
Now chime, 'tis holyday,
Chorus. Now chime, 'tis holyday.
Const. No more of this, pray, father; fall to your dancing. [CONST.,
CAR., &c., dance.
Louis. Clara will come too late now.
Fer. 'Tis great pity,
Besides your songs, dances, and other pastimes,
You do not, as our Spanish actors do,
Make trial of a stage.
Alv. We are, sir, about it;
So please your high authority to sign us
Some warrant to confirm us.
Fer. My hand shall do't,
And bring the best in Spain to see your sports.
Alv. Which is set off, this gentleman, a scholar_____
Rod. Pox on you! [Aside.
Alv. Will write for us.
Fer. A Spaniard, sir?
Rod. No, my lord, an Italian.
Fer. Denies
His country too? my son sings gipsy-ballads! [Aside.
Keep as you are, we'll see your poet's vein,
And yours for playing: time is not ill spent
That's thus laid out in harmless merriment.
[Exeunt ALVAREZ, GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, CARLO, ANTONIO,
RODERIGO, SANCHO, SOTO, and others dancing.
Ped. My lord of Carcomo, for this entertainment
You shall command our loves.
Fran. You're nobly welcome.
Ped. The evening grows upon us: lords, to all
A happy time of day.
Fer. The like to you, Don Pedro.
Louis. To my heart's sole lady
Pray let my service humbly be remembered;
We only missed her presence.
Mar. I shall truly
Report your worthy love. [Exeunt PEDRO and MARIA.
Fer. You shall no further;
Indeed, my lords, you shall not.
Fran. With your favour,
We will attend you home.
Re-enter DIEGO.
Diego. Where's Don Pedro?—
O sir!
Louis. Why, what's the matter?
Diego. The Lady Clara,
Passing near to my lord corregidor's house,
Met with a strange mischance.
Fer. How? what mischance?
Diego. The jester that so late arrived at court,
And there was welcome for his country's sake,
By importunity of some friends, it seems,
Had borrowed from the gentleman of your horse
The backing of your mettled Barbary;
On which being mounted, whilst a number gazed
To hear what jests he could perform on horseback,
The headstrong beast, unused to such a rider,
Bears the press of people on before him;
With which throng the Lady Clara meeting,
Fainted, and there fell down, not bruised, I hope,
But frighted and entranced.
Louis. Ill-destined mischief!
Fer. Where have you left her?
Diego. At your house, my lord;
A servant coming forth, and knowing who
The lady was, conveyed her to a chamber;
A surgeon, too, is sent for.
Fer. Had she been my daughter,
My care could not be greater than it shall be
For her recure.
Louis. But if she miscarry,
I am the most unhappy man that lives. [Exit.
Fer. Diego, coast about the fields,
And overtake Don Pedro and his wife;
They newly parted from us.
Diego. I'll run speedily. [Exit.
Fer. A strange mischance: but what I have, my Lord
Francisco, this day noted, I may tell you;
An accident of merriment and wonder.
Fran. Indeed, my lord!
Fer. I have not thoughts enough
About me to imagine what th' event
Can come to; 'tis indeed about my son;
Hereafter you may counsel me.
Fran. Most gladly.—
Re-enter LOUIS.
How fares the lady?
Louis. Callèd back to life,
But full of sadness.
Fer. Talks she nothing?
Louis. Nothing;
For when the women that attend on her
Demanded how she did, she turned about,
And answered with a sigh: when I came near,
And by the love I bore her begged a word
Of hope to comfort me in her well-doing,
Before she would reply, from her fair eyes
She greets me with a bracelet of her tears,
Then wished me not to doubt; she was too well;
Entreats that she may sleep without disturbance
Or company until her father came:
And thus I left her.
Fran. Sir, she's past the worst;
Young maids are oft so troubled.
Fer. Here come they
You talk of.—
Re-enter PEDRO and MARIA.
Sir, your daughter, for your comfort,
Is now upon amendment.
Mar. O, my lord,
You speak an angel's voice!
Fer. Pray, in and visit her;
I'll follow instantly. [Exeunt PEDRO and MARIA.]—
You shall not part
Without a cup of wine, my lord.
Fra. 'Tis now
Too troublesome a time.—Which way take you,
Don Louis?
Louis. No matter which; for till I hear
My Clara be recovered, I am nothing.—
My lord corregidor, I am your servant
For this free entertainment.
Fer. You have conquered me
In noble courtesy.
Louis. O, that no art
But love itself can cure a love-sick heart! [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Room in FERNANDO'S House.
CLARA discovered seated in a chair, PEDRO and MARIA standing
by.
Mar. Clara, hope of mine age!
Ped. Soul of my comfort!
Kill us not both at once: why dost thou speed
Thine eye in such a progress 'bout these walls?
Cla. Yon large window
Yields some fair prospect; good my lord, look out
And tell me what you see there.
Ped. Easy suit:
Clara, it overviews a spacious garden,
Amidst which stands an alabaster fountain,
A goodly one.
Cla. Indeed, my lord!
Mar. Thy griefs grow wild,
And will mislead thy judgment through thy weakness,
If thou obey thy weakness.
Cla. Who owns these glorious buildings?
Ped. Don Fernando
De Azevida, the corregidor
Of Madrill, a true noble gentleman.
Cla. May I not see him?
Mar. See him, Clara? why?
Cla. A truly noble gentleman, you said, sir?
Ped. I did: lo, here he comes in person.—
Enter FERNANDO.
We are,
My lord, your servants.
Fer. Good, no compliment.—
Young lady, there attends below a surgeon
Of worthy fame and practice.; is't your pleasure
To be his patient?
Cla. With your favour, sir,
May I impart some few but needful words
Of secrecy to you, to you yourself,
None but yourself?
Fer. You may.
Ped. Must I not hear 'em?
Mar. Nor I?
Cla. O Yes.—Pray, sit, my lord.
Fer. Say on.
Cla. You have been married?
Fer. To a wife, young lady,
Who, while the Heavens did lend her me, was fruitful
In all those virtues which styles woman good.
Cla. And you had children by her?
Fer. Had, 'tis true;
Now have but one, a son, and he yet lives;
The daughter, as if in her birth the mother
Had perfected the errand she was sent for
Into the world, from that hour took her life
In which the other that gave it her lost hers;
Yet shortly she unhappily, but fatally,
Perished at sea.
Cla. Sad story!
Fer. Roderigo,
My son_____
Cla. How is he called, sir?
Fer. Roderigo:
He lives at Salamanca; and I fear
That neither time, persuasions, nor his fortunes,
Can draw him thence.
Cla. My lord, d'ye know this crucifix?
[Showing the crucifix.
Fer. You drive me to amazement! 'twas my son's,
A legacy bequeathed him from his mother
Upon her deathbed, dear to him as life;
On earth there cannot be another treasure
He values at like rate as he does this.
Cla. O, then I am a cast-away!
Mar. How's that?
Ped. Alas! she will grow frantic!
Cla. In my bosom,
Next to my heart, my lord, I have laid up,
In bloody characters, a tale of horror.
Pray, read the paper; and if there you find
[Giving a paper.
Ought that concerns a maid undone and miserable,
Made so by one of yours, call back the piety
Of nature to the goodness of a judge,
An upright judge, not of a partial father;
For do not wonder that I live to suffer
Such a full weight of wrongs, but wonder rather
That I have lived to speak them: thou, great man,
Yet read, read on, and as thou readst consider
What I have suffered, what thou ought'st to do,
Thine own name, fatherhood, and my dishonour:
Be just as Heaven and fate are, that by miracle
Have in my weakness wrought a strange discovery:
Truth copied from my heart is texted there:
Let now my shame be th'roughly understood;
Sins are heard farthest when they cry in blood.
Fer. True, true, they do not cry but holla here;
This is the trumpet of a soul drowned deep
In the unfathomed seas of matchless sorrows.
I must lock fast the door. [Exit.
Mar. I have no words
To call for vengeance.
Ped. I am lost in marvel.
Re-enter FERNANDO.
Fer. Sit, pray sit as you sat before. White paper,
This should be innocence; these letters gules
Should be the honest oracles of revenge:
What's beauty but a perfect white and red?
Both here well mixed limn truth so beautiful,
That to distrust it, as I am a father,
Speaks me as foul as rape hath spoken my son;
'Tis true?
Cla. 'Tis true.
Fer. Then mark me how I kneel
Before the high tribunal of your injuries. [Kneels.
Thou too, too-much-wronged maid, scorn not my tears,
For these are tears of rage, not tears of love,—
Thou father of this too, too-much-wronged maid,—
Thou mother of her counsels and her cares,
I do not plead for pity to a villain;
O, let him die as he hath lived, dishonourably,
Basely and cursedly! I plead for pity
To my till now untainted blood and honour:
Teach me how I may now be just and cruel,
For henceforth I am childless.
Cla. Pray, sir, rise;
You wrong your place and age.
Fer. [rising.] Point me my grave
In some obscure by-path, where never memory
Nor mention of my name may be found out.
Cla. My lord, I can weep with you, nay, weep for ye,
As you for me; your passions are instructions,
And prompt my faltering tongue to beg at least
A noble satisfaction, though not revenge.
Fer. Speak that again.
Cla. Can you procure no balm
To heal a wounded name?
Fer, O, thou'rt as fair
In mercy as in beauty! wilt thou live,
And I'll be thy physician?
Cla. I'll be yours.
Fer. Don Pedro, we'll to counsel;
This daughter shall be ours.—Sleep, sleep, young angel,
My care shall wake about thee.
Cla. Heaven is gracious,
And I am eased!
Fer. We will be yet more private;
Night curtains o'er the world; soft dreams rest with thee!
The best revenge is to reform our crimes,
Then time crowns sorrows, sorrows sweeten times.
[Exeunt all except CLARA, on whom the scene shuts.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.
A Court before an Inn.
ALVAREZ, GUIAMARO, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, SANCHO, SOTO, ANTONIO, CARLO,
RODERIGO, and others discovered disguised, as before. A shout within.
Enter
JOHN.
ALV., Gui., &c. Welcome, welcome, welcome!
Soto. More sacks to the mill.
San. More thieves to the sacks.
Alv. Peace!
Const. I give you now my welcome without noise.
John. 'Tis music to me. [Offering to kiss CONSTANZA.
Alv., Gui., &c. O sir!
San. You must not be in your mutton before we are out of our veal.
Soto. Stay for vinegar to your oysters; no opening till then.
Gui. No kissing till you're sworn.
John. Swear me then quickly,
I have brought gold for my admission.
Alv. What you bring leave, and what you leave count lost.
San. I brought all my teeth, two are struck out; them
I count lost, so must you.
Soto. I brought all my wits; half I count lost, so must you.
John. To be as you are, I lose father, friends,
Birth, fortunes, all the world: what will you do
With the beast I rode on hither?
San. A beast? is't a mule? send him to Muly Crag-a-whee in Barbary.
Soto. Is't an ass? give it to a lawyer, for in Spain they ride upon
none else.
John. Kill him by any means, lest, being pursued,
The beast betray me.
Soto. He's a beast betrays any man.
San. Except a bailiff to be pumped.
John. Pray, bury the carcass and the furniture.
San. Do, do; bury the ass's household stuff, and in his skin sew any
man that's man for a woman.
Alv. Do so then, bury it: now to your oath.
Gui. All things are ready.
Alv. [sings.] Thy best hand lay on this turf of grass,
There thy heart lies, vow not to pass
From us two years for sun nor snow,
For hill nor dale, howe'er winds blow;
Vow the hard earth to be thy bed,
With her green cushions under thy head;
Flower-banks or moss to be thy board,
Water thy wine_____
San. [sings.] And drink like a lord.
Chorus. Kings can have but coronations;
We are as proud of gipsy-fashions:
Dance, sing, and in a well-mixed border
Close this new brother of our order.
Alv. [sings.] What we get with us come share,
You to get must vow to care;
Nor strike gipsy, nor stand by
When strangers strike, but fight, or die;
Our gipsy-wenches are not common,
You must not kiss a fellow's leman;
Nor to your own, for one you must,
In songs send errands of base lust.
Chorus. Dance, sing, and in a well-mixed border
Close this new brother of our order.
John. [sings.] On this turf of grass I vow
Your laws to keep, your laws allow.
All. A gipsy! a gipsy! a gipsy!
Gui. [sings.] Now choose what maid has yet no mate,
She's yours.
John. [sings.] Here then fix I my fate.
[Takes CONSTANZA by the hand and offers to kiss her.
San. Again fall to before you ha' washed?
Soto. Your nose in the manger before the oats are measured, jade so
hungry?
Alv. [sings.] Set foot to foot; those garlands hold;
Now mark well what more is told.
By cross arms, the lover's sign,
Vow, as these flowers themselves entwine,
Of April's wealth building a throne
Round, so your love to one or none;
By those touches of your feet,
You must each night embracing meet,
Chaste, howe'er disjoined by day;
You the sun with her must play,
She to you the marigold,
To none but you her leaves unfold;
Wake she or sleep, your eyes so charm,
Want, woe, nor weather do her harm.
Car. [sings.] This is your market now of kisses,
Buy and sell free each other blisses.
John. Most willingly.
Chorus. Holydays, high-days, gipsy-fairs,
When kisses are fairings, and hearts meet in pairs.
Alv. All ceremonies end here: welcome, brother gipsy!
San. And the better to instruct thee, mark what a brave life 'tis all
the year long.
[Sings.] Brave Don, cast your eyes
On our gipsy fashions:
In our antic hey-de-guize
We go beyond all nations;
Plump Dutch
At us grutch,
So do English, so do French,
He that lopes
On the ropes,
Show me such another wench.
We no camels have to show,
Nor elephant with growt head;
We can dance, he cannot go,
Because the beast is corn-fed;
No blind bears
Shedding tears,
For a collier's whipping;
Apes nor dogs,
Quick as frogs,
Over cudgels skipping.
Jack-in-boxes, nor decoys,
Puppets, nor such poor things,
Nor are we those roaring boys
That cozen fools with gilt rings;
For an ocean,
Not such a motion
As the city Nineveh;
Dancing, singing,
And fine ringing,
You these sports shall hear and see.
Come now, what shall his name be?
Const. His name shall now be Andrew.—Friend Andrew, mark me:
Two years I am to try you: prove fine gold,
The uncracked diamond of my faith shall hold.
John. My vows are rocks of adamant.
Const. Two years you are to try me: black when I turn
May I meet youth and want, old age and scorn!
John. King's diadems shall not buy thee.
Car. Do you think
You can endure the life, and love it?
John. As usurers doat upon their treasure.
Soto. But when your face shall be tanned
Like a sailor's worky-day hand_____
San. When your feet shall be galled,
And your noddle be malled_____
Soto. When the woods you must forage,
And not meet with poor pease-porridge_____
San. Be all to-be-dabbled, yet lie in no sheet_____
Soto. With winter's frost, hail, snow, and sleet;
What life will you say it is then?
John. As now, the sweetest.
Diego [within.] Away! away! the corregidor has sent for you.
San. [sings.] Hence merrily fine to get money!
Dry are the fields, the banks are sunny,
Silver is sweeter far than honey;
Fly like swallows,
We for our conies must get mallows;
Who loves not his dill, let him die at the gallows.
Hence, bonny girls, foot it trimly,
Smug up your beetle-brows, none look grimly;
To show a pretty foot, O 'tis seemly!
[Exeunt all except SOTO: as he is going out,
Enter CARDOCHIA, who stays him.
Card. Do you hear, you gipsy? gipsy!
Soto. Me?
Card. There's a young gipsy newly entertained;
Sweet gipsy, call him back for one two words,
And here's a jewel for thee.
Soto. I'll send him.
Card. What's his name?
Soto. Andrew. [Exit.
Card. A very handsome fellow; I ha' seen courtiers
Jet up and down in their full bravery,
Yet here's a gipsy worth a drove of 'em.
Re-enter JOHN.
John. With me, sweetheart?
Card. Your name is Andrew?
John. Yes.
Card. You can tell fortunes, Andrew?
John. I could once.
But now I ha' lost that knowledge; I'm in haste,
And cannot stay to tell you yours.
Card. I cannot tell yours then;
And 'cause you're in haste, I'm quick; I am a maid_____
John. So, so, a maid quick?
Card. Juanna Cardochia,
That's mine own name; I am my mother's heir
Here to this house, and two more.
John. I buy no lands.
Card. They shall be given you, with some plate and money,
And free possession during life of me,
So the match like you; for so well I love you,
That I, in pity of this trade of gipsying,
Being base, idle, and slavish, offer you
A state to settle you, my youth and beauty,
Desired by some brave Spaniards, so I may call you
My husband: shall I, Andrew?
John. 'Las! pretty soul,
Better stars guide you! may that hand of Cupid
Ache, ever shot this arrow at your heart!
Sticks there one such indeed?
Card. I would there did not,
Since you'll not pluck it out.
John. Good sweet, I cannot;
For marriage, 'tis a law amongst us gipsies
We match in our own tribes; for me to wear you,
I should but wear you out.
Card. I do not care;
Wear what you can out, all my life, my wealth,
Ruin me, so you lend me but your love,
A little of your love!
John. Would I could give it,
For you are worth a world of better men,
For your free noble mind! all my best wishes
Stay with you; I must hence.
Card. Wear for my sake
This jewel.
John. I'll not rob you, I'll take nothing.
Card. Wear it about your neck but one poor moon;
If in that time your eye be as 'tis now,
Send my jewel home again, and I protest
I'll never more think on you; deny not this,
Put it about your neck.
John. Well then, 'tis done. [Putting on jewel.
Card. And vow to keep it there.
John. By all the goodness
I wish attend your fortunes, I do vow it! [Exit.
Card. Scorned! thou hast tempered poison to kill me
Thyself shall drink; since I cannot enjoy thee,
My revenge shall.
Enter DIEGO.
Diego. Where are the gipsies?
Card. Gone.
Diego, do you love me?
Diego. Love thee, Juanna?
Is my life mine? it is but mine so long
As it shall do thee service.
Card. There's a young gipsy newly entertained.
Diego. A handsome rascal; what of him?
Card. That slave in obscene language courted me,
Drew reals. out, and would have bought my body,
Diego, from thee.
Diego. Is he so itchy? I'll cure him.
Card. Thou shalt not touch the villain, I'll spin his fate;
Woman strikes sure, fall the blow ne'er so late.
Diego. Strike on, since thou wilt be a striker.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in FERNANDO'S House.
Enter FERNANDO, FRANCISCO, PEDRO, and LOUIS.
Fer. See, Don Louis; an arm,
The strongest arm in Spain, to the full length
Is stretched to pluck old Count Alvarez home
From his sad banishment.
Louis. With longing eyes,
My lord, I expect the man: your lordship's pardon,
Some business calls me from you.
Fer. Prithee, Don Louis,
Unless th' occasion be too violent,
Stay and be merry with us; all the gipsies
Will be here presently.
Louis. I'll attend your lordship
Before their sports be done.
Fer. Be your own carver. [Exit LOUIS.
[To FRAN.] Not yet shake off these fetters? I see a son
Is heavy when a father carries him
On his old heart.
Fran. Could I set up my rest
That he were lost, or taken prisoner,
I could hold truce with sorrow; but to have him
Vanish I know not how, gone none knows whither,
'Tis that mads me.
Ped. You said he sent a letter.
Fran. A letter? a mere riddle; he's gone to seek
His fortune in the wars; what wars have we?
Suppose we had, goes any man to th' field
Naked, unfurnished both of arms and money?
Fer. Come, come, he's gone a-wenching; we in our youth
Ran the self-same bias.
Enter DIEGO.
Diego. The gipsies, my lord, are come.
Fer. Are they? let them enter. [Exit DIEGO.
My lord De Cortes, send for your wife and daughter;
Good company is good physic: take the pains
To seat yourselves in my great chamber. See,
They are here.— [Exeunt FRANCISCO and PEDRO.
Enter ALVAREZ, GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, JOHN, RODERIGO, ANTONIO,
CARLO, SANCHO, and SOTO, disguised as before.
What's your number?
San. The figure of nine casts us all up, my lord.
Fer. Nine? let me see—you are ten, sure.
Soto. That's our poet, he stands for a cipher.
Fer. Ciphers make numbers:—what plays have you?
Alv. Five or six, my lord.
Fer. It's well so many already.
Soto. We are promised a very merry tragedy, if all hit right, of
Cobby
Nobby.
Fer. So, so; a merry tragedy! there is a way
Which the Italians and the Frenchmen use,
That is, on a word given, or some slight plot,
The actors will extempore fashion out
Scenes neat and witty.
Alv. We can do that, my lord;
Please you bestow the subject.
Fer. Can you?—Come hither,
You master poet: to save you a labour,
Look you, against your coming I projected
This comic passage [producing a paper]; your drama, that's the scene_____
Rod. Ay, ay, my lord.
Fer. I lay in our own country, Spain.
Rod. 'Tis best so.
Fer. Here's a brave part for this old gipsy; look you,
The father: read the plot; this young she-gipsy,
This lady: now the son, play him yourself.
Rod. My lord, I am no player.
Fer. Pray, at this time,
The plot being full, to please my noble friends,
Because your brains must into theirs put language,
Act thou the son's part; I'll reward your pains.
Rod. Protest, my lord_____
Fer. Nay, nay, shake off protesting;
When I was young, sir, I have played myself.
San. Yourself, my lord? you were but a poor company then.
Fer. Yes, full enough, honest fellow.—Will you do it?
Rod. I'll venture.
Fer. I thank you: let this father be a Don
Of a brave spirit.—Old gipsy, observe me_____
Alv. Yes, my lord.
Fer. Play him up high; not like a pantaloon,
But hotly, nobly, checking this his son,
Whom make a very rake-hell, a deboshed fellow.
This point, I think, will show well.
Rod. This of the picture?
It will indeed, my lord.
San. My lord, what part play I?
Fer. What parts dost use to play?
San. If your lordship has ever a coxcomb, I think I could fit you.
Fer. I thank your coxcombship.
Soto. Put a coxcomb upon a lord!
Fer. There are parts to serve you all; go, go, make ready,
And call for what you want. [Exit.
Alv. Give me the plot; our wits are put to trial.
What's the son's name? Lorenzo: that's your part.
[To RODERIGO.
Look only you to that; these I'll dispose.
Old Don Avero, mine; Hialdo, Lollio,
Two servants,—you for them. [To SANCHO and SOTO.
San. One of the foolish knaves give me; I'll be Hialdo.
Soto. And I, Lollio.
San. Is there a banquet in the play? we may call for what we will.
Rod. Yes, here is a banquet.
San. I'll go, then, and bespeak an ocean of sweetmeats, marmalade,
and
custards.
Alv. Make haste to know what you must do.
San. Do? call for enough; and when my belly is full, fill my pockets.
Soto. To a banquet there must be wine; fortune's a scurvy whore, if
she
makes not my head sound like a rattle, and my heels dance the canaries.
Alv. So, so; despatch whilst we employ our brains
To set things off to th' life.
Rod. I'll be straight with you.—
[Exeunt all except RODERIGO.
Why does my father put this trick on me;
Spies he me through my vizard? if he does,
He's not the King of Spain, and 'tis no treason;
If his invention jet upon a stage,
Why should not I use action? A deboshed fellow!
A very rake-hell! this reflects on me,
And I'll retort it: grown a poet, father?
No matter in what strain your play must run,
But I shall fit you for a roaring son. [Exit.
SCENE III.
A large Apartment in FERNANDO'S House.
Enter FERNANDO, FRANCISCO, PEDRO, DIEGO, MARIA, CLARA, and Servants.
Fer. Come, ladies, take your places. [Flourish within.] This
their
music?
'Tis very handsome: O, I wish this room
Were freighted but with pleasures, noble friends,
As are to you my welcomes!—Begin there, masters.
San. [within.] Presently, my lord; we want but a cold capon for a
property.
Fer. Call, call for one.
Enter SANCHO as Prologue.
Now they begin.
San. Both short and sweet some say is best;
We will not only be sweet, but short:
Take you pepper in the nose, you mar our sport.
Fer. By no means pepper.
San. Of your love measure us forth but one span;
We do though not the best, the best we can. [Exit.
Fer. A good honest gipsy!
Enter ALVAREZ (as AVERO), and SOTO (as LOLLIO).
Alv. Slave, where's my son, Lorenzo?
Soto. I have sought him, my lord, in all four elements: in earth, my
shoes are full of gravel; in water, I drop at nose with sweating; in air,
wheresoever I heard noise of fiddlers, or the wide mouths of gallon pots
roaring; and in fire, what chimney soever I saw smoking with good cheer, for
my
master's dinner, as I was in hope.
Alv. Not yet come home? before on this old tree
Shall grow a branch so blasted, I'll hew it off,
And bury it at my foot! Didst thou inquire
At my brother's?
Soto. At your sister's.
Alv. At my wife's father's?
Soto. At your uncle's mother's: no such sheep has broke through their
hedge; no such calf as your son sucks or bleats in their ground.
Alv. I am unblessed to have but one son only,
One staff to bear my age up, one taper left
To light me to my grave, and that burns dimly;
That leaves me darkling hid in clouds of woe:
He that should prop me is mine overthrow.
Fer. Well done, old fellow! is't not?
Fran., Ped., &c. Yes, yes, my lord.
Soto. Here comes his man Hialdo.
Enter SANCHO (as HIALDO).
Alv. Where's the prodigal your master, sirrah?
San. Eating acorns amongst swine, draff amongst hogs, and gnawing
bones
amongst dogs: has lost all his money at dice, his wits with his money, and his
honesty with both; for he bum-fiddles me, makes the drawers curvet, pitches
the
plate over the bar, scores up the vintner's name in the Ramhead, flirts his wif
e
under the nose, and bids you with a pox send him more money.
Alv. Art thou one of his curs to bite me too?
To nail thee to the earth were to do justice.
San. Here comes Bucephalus my prancing master; nail me now who dares.
Enter RODERIGO (as LORENZO).
Rod. I sit like an owl in the ivy-bush of a tavern; Hialdo,
I have drawn red wine from the vintner's own hogshead.
San. Here's two more, pierce them too.
Rod. Old Don, whom I call father, am I thy son? if I be, flesh me
with
gold, fat me with silver; had I Spain in this hand, and Portugal in this, puff
it should fly: where's the money I sent for?
I'll tickle you for a rake-hell! [Aside.
San. Not a marvedi.
Alv. Thou shalt have none of me.
Soto. Hold his nose to the grin' stone, my lord.
Rod. I shall have none?
Alv. Charge me a case of pistols;
What I have built I'll ruin: shall I suffer
A slave to set his foot upon my heart?
A son? a barbarous villain? or if heaven save thee
Now from my justice, yet my curse pursues thee.
Rod. Hialdo, carbonado thou the old rogue my father.
San. Whilst you slice into collops the rusty gammon his man there.
Rod. No money? Can taverns stand without anon, anon? fiddlers live
without scraping? taffeta girls look plump without pampering? If you will not
lard me with money, give me a ship, furnish me to sea.
Alv. To have thee hanged for piracy?
San. Trim, tram, hang master, hang man!
Rod. Then send me to the West Indies, buy me some office there.
Alv. To have thy throat cut for thy quarrelling?
Rod. Else send me and my ningle Hialdo to the wars.
San. A match; we'll fight dog, fight bear.
Enter ANTONIO (as HERNANDO).
Alv. O dear Hernando, welcome!—Clap wings to your heels, [To
SOTO.
And pray my worthy friends bestow upon me
Their present visitation.— [Exit SOTO.
Lorenzo, see the anger of a father;
Although it be as loud and quick as thunder,
Yet 'tis done instantly: cast off thy wildness,
Be mine, be mine, for I to call thee home
Have, with my honoured friend here, Don Hernando,
Provided thee a wife.
Rod. A wife! is she handsome? is she rich? is she fair? is she witty?
is she honest? hang honesty! has she a sweet face, cherry-cheek,
strawberry-lip,
white skin, dainty eye, pretty foot, delicate legs, as there's a girl now?
Ant. It is a creature both for birth and fortunes,
And for most excellent graces of the mind,
Few like her are in Spain.
Rod. When shall I see her?—
Now, father, pray take your curse off.
Alv. I do: the lady
Lives from Madrill very near fourteen leagues,
But thou shalt see her picture.
Rod. That! that! most ladies in these days are but very fine
pictures.
Enter CARLO, JOHN, GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, and CHRISTIANA (as
friends of AVERO).
Alv. Ladies, to you first welcome; my lords, Alonzo,
And you worthy marquis, thanks for these honours.—
Away you! [Exit SANCHO.
To th' cause now of this meeting. My son Lorenzo,
Whose wildness you all know, comes now to th' lure,
Sits gently; has called home his wandering thoughts,
And now will marry.
Const. A good wife fate send him!
Gui. One staid may settle him.
Rod. Fly to the mark, sir; show me the wench, or her face,
or anything
I may know 'tis a woman fit for me.
Alv. She is not here herself, but here's her picture.
[Shows a picture.
Fer. My Lord De Carcomo, pray, observe this.
Fran. I do, attentively.—Don Pedro, mark it.
Re-enter SOTO.
Soto. [to JOHN.] If you ha' done your part, yonder's a wench
would
ha' a bout with you. [Exit.
John. Me? [Exit.
Diego. A wench! [Exit.
Alv. Why stand you staring at it? how do you like her?
Rod. Are you in earnest?
Alv. Yes, sir, in earnest.
Rod. I am not so hungry after flesh to make the devil a cuckold.
Ant. Look not upon the face, but on the goodness
That dwells within her.
Rod. Set fire on the tenement!
Alv. She's rich; nobly descended.
Rod. Did ever nobility look so scurvily?
Alv. I'm sunk in fortunes, she may raise us both.
Rod. Sink, let her to her granam! marry a witch? have you fetched a
wife for me out of Lapland? an old midwife in a velvet hat were a goddness to
this: that a red lip?
Const. There's red nose.
Rod. That a yellow hair?
Gui. Why, her teeth may be yellow.
Rod. Where's the full eye?
Chris. She has full blabber-cheeks.
Alv. Set up thy rest, her marriest thou or none.
Rod. None then: were all the water in the world one sea, all kingdoms
one mountain, I would climb on all fours up to the top of that hill, and
headlong hurl myself into that abyss of waves, ere I would touch the skin of
such rough haberdine, for the breath of her picture stinks hither.
A noise within. Re-enter, in a hurry, JOHN, DIEGO, SANCHO, and
SOTO, with CARDOCHIA.
Fer. What tumult's this?
San. Murder, murder, murder!
Soto. One of our gipsies is in danger of hanging, hanging!
Ped. Who is hurt?
Diego. 'Tis I, my lord, stabbed by this gipsy.
John. He struck me first, and I'll not take a blow
From any Spaniard breathing.
Ped. Are you so brave?
Fer. Break up your play; lock all the doors.
Diego. I faint, my lord.
Fran. Have him to a surgeon.—
[Servants remove DIEGO.
How fell they out?
Card. O, my good lord, these gipsies when they lodged
At my house, I had a jewel from my pocket
Stolen by this villain.
John. 'Tis most false, my lords;
Her own hands gave it me.
Const. She that calls him villain,
Or says he stole_____
Fer. Hoyday! we hear your scolding.
Card. And the hurt gentleman finding it in his bosom,
For that he stabbed him.
Fer. Hence with all the gipsies!
Ped. Ruffians and thieves; to prison with 'em all!
Alv. My lord, we'll leave engagements in plate and money
For all our safe forthcomings; punish not all
For one's offence; we'll prove ourselves no thieves.
San. O Soto, I make buttons!
Soto. Would I could make some, and leave this trade!
Fer. Iron him then, let the rest go free; but stir not
One foot out of Madrill. Bring you in your witness.
[Exeunt JOHN in custody of Servants, ALVAREZ, GUIAMARA,
CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, ANTONIO, CARLO, and CARDOCHIA.
Soto. Prick him with a pin, or pinch him by the elbow; anything.
San. My lord Don Pedro, I am your ward; we have spent a little money to
get a horrible deal of wit, and now I am weary of it.
Ped. My runaways turned jugglers, fortune-tellers?
Soto. No great fortunes.
Fer. To prison with 'em both: a gentleman play the ass!
San. If all gentlemen that play the ass should to prison, you must
widen your jails.—Come, Soto, I scorn to beg; set thy foot to mine, and
kick at shackles.
Fer. So so; away with 'em!
Soto. Send all our company after, and we'll play there, and be as
merry
as you here.
[Exeunt SANCHO and SOTO with Servants.
Fer. Our comedy turned tragical! Please you, lords, walk:
This actor here and I must change a word,
And I come to you.
Fran., Ped., &c. Well, my lord, your pleasure.
[Exeunt all except FERNANDO and RODERIGO.
Fer. Why, couldst thou think in any base disguise
To blind my sight? fathers have eagles' eyes.
But pray, sir, why was this done? why, when I thought you
Fast locked in Salamanca at your study,
Leaped you into a gipsy?
Rod. Sir, with your pardon,
I shall at fit time to you show cause for all.
Fer. Meantime, sir, you have got a trade to live by:
Best to turn player; an excellent ruffian, ha!
But know, sir, when I had found you out, I gave you
This project of set purpose; 'tis all myself;
What the old gipsy spake must be my language;
Nothing are left me but my offices
And thin-faced honours; and this very creature,
By you so scorned, must raise me by your marrying her.
Rod. You would not build your glory on my ruins?
Fer. The rascal has belied the lady,
She is not half so bad; all's one, she's rich.
Rod. O, will you sell the joys of my full youth
To dunghill muck? seek out some wretch's daughter,
Whose soul is lost for gold then: you're more noble
Than t' have your son, the top-branch of your house,
Grow in a heap of rubbish: I must marry a thing
I shall be ashamed to own, ashamed to bring her
Before a sunbeam.
Fer. I cannot help it, sir;
Resolve upon't, and do't.
Rod. And do't, and die!
Is there no face in Spain for you to pick out
But one to fright me? when you sat the play here,
There was a beauty, to be lord of which
I would against an army throw defiance.
Fer. She? alas!
Rod. How? she! at every hair of hers
There hangs a very angel; this! I'm ready
To drop down looking at it: sir, I beseech you
Bury me in this earth [kneels], on which I'm humbled
To beg your blessing on me, for a gipsy,
Rather than—O, I know not what to term it!
Pray, what is that young pensive piece of beauty?
Your voice for her; I eyed her all the scene.
Fer. I saw you did.
Rod. Methought 'twas a sweet creature.
Fer. Well, though my present state stands now on ice,
I'll let it crack and fall rather than bar thee
Of thy content; this lady shall go by then.
Rod. Hang let her there, or anywhere!
Fer. That young lannard,
Whom you have such a mind to, if you can whistle her
To come to fist, make trial; play the young falconer;
I will nor mar your marriage nor yet make;
Beauty, no wealth,—wealth, ugliness,—which you will take.
Rod. I thank you, sir. [Exit FERNANDO.]—Put on your
mask, good
madam. [To the picture.
The sun will spoil your face else. [Exit.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
A Room in FERNANDO'S House.
FERNANDO, FRANCISCO, PEDRO, RODERIGO, CLARA, and MARIA, pass over the
stage from church; as the others exeunt, FERNANDO stays RODERIGO.
FER. Thou hast now the wife of thy desires.
Rod. Sir, I have,
And in her every blessing that makes life
Loth to be parted with.
Fer. Noble she is,
And fair; has to enrich her blood and beauty,
Plenty of wit, discourse, behaviour, carriage.
Rod. I owe you duty for a double birth,
Being in this happiness begot again,
Without which I had been a man of wretchedness.
Fer. Then henceforth, boy, learn to obey thy fate;
Tis fallen upon thee; know it, and embrace it;
'Thy wife's a wanton.
Rod. A wanton?
Fer. Examine through the progress of thy youth
What capital sin, what great one 'tis, for 'tis
A great one thou'st committed.
Rod. I, a great one?
Fer. Else Heaven is not so wrathful to pour on thee
A misery so full of bitterness:
I am thy father; think on't, and be just;
Come, do not dally.
Rod. Pray, my lord
Fer. Fool, 'twere
Impossible that justice should rain down
In such a frightful horror without cause.
Sir, I will know it; rather blush thou didst
An act thou dar'st not name, than that it has
A name to be known by.
Rod. Turn from me then,
And as my guilt sighs out this monster,—rape,
O, do not lend an ear?
Fer. Rape? fearful!
Rod. Hence,
Hence springs my due reward.
Fer. Thou'rt none of mine,
Or if thou be'st, thou dost belie the stamp
Of thy nativity.
Rod. Forgive me!
Fer. Had she,
Poor wrongèd soul, whoe'er she was, no friend,
Nor father, to revenge? had she no tongue
To roar her injuries?
Rod. Alas! I know her not!
Fer. Peace! thou wilt blaze a sin beyond all precedent:
Young man, thou shouldst have married her; the devil
Of lust that riots in thy eye should there
Have let fall love and pity, not on this stranger
Whom thou hast doted on.
Rod. O, had I married her,
I had been then the happiest man alive!
Re-enter CLARA, MARIA, and PEDRO, from behind the arras.
Cla. As I the happiest woman, being married:
Look on me, sir.
Ped. You shall not find a change
So full of fears as your most noble father,
In his wise trial, urged.
Mar. Indeed you shall not,
The forfeit of her shame shall be her pawn.
Rod. Why, pray, d'ye mock my sorrows? now, O, now,
My horrors flow about me!
Fer. No, thy comforts,
Thy blessings, Roderigo.
Cla. By this crucifix [Showing crucifix.
You may remember me.
Rod. Ha! art thou
That lady wrongèd?
Cla. I was, but now am
Righted in noble satisfaction.
Rod. How can I turn mine eyes, and not behold
On every side my shame?
Fer. No more: hereafter
We shall have time to talk at large of all:
Love her that's now thine own; do, Roderigo;
She's far from what I charactered.
Cla. My care
Shall live about me to deserve your love.
Rod. Excellent Clara!—Fathers both, and mother,
I will redeem my fault.
Fer., Ped., Mar. Our blessings dwell on ye!
Re-enter FRANCISCO with LOUIS.
Louis. Married to Roderigo?
Fran. Judge yourself:
See where they are. [Exit.
Louis. Is this your husband, lady?
Cla. He is, sir: Heaven's great hand, that on record
Fore-points the equal union of all hearts,
Long since decreed what this day hath been perfected
Louis. 'Tis well then; I am free, it seems.
Cla. Make smooth,
My lord, those clouds, which on your brow deliver
Emblems of storm; I will, as far as honour
May privilege, deserve a noble friendship
As you from me deserve a worthy memory.
Louis. Your husband has proved himself a friend to me
Trusty and tried; he's welcome, I may say,
From the university.
Rod. To a new school
Of happy knowledge, Louis.
Louis. Sir, I am
Not so poor as to put this injury up:
The best blood flows within you is the price.
Rod. Louis, for this time calm your anger; and if
I do not give you noble satisfaction,
Call me to what account you please.
Louis. So, so.—I come for justice t'ye,
And you shall grant it.
Fer. Shall and will.
Louis. With speed too;
My poor friend bleeds the whiles.
Fer. You shall yourself,
Before we part, receive the satisfaction
You come for.—Who attends?
Servant [within.] My lord?
Fer. The prisoner!
Servant [within.] He attends your lordship's pleasure.
Enter CONSTANZA, GUIAMARA, and ALVAREZ.
Louis. What would this girl?
Foh, no tricks; get you to your cabin, huswife;
We have no ear for ballads.
Fer. Take her away.
Cla. A wondrous lovely creature!
Const. Noble gentlemen,
If a poor maid's, a gipsy-virgin's tears
May soften the hard edge of angry justice,
Then grant me gracious hearing; as you're merciful,
I beg my husband's life!
Fer. Thy husband's little one?
Const. Gentle sir, our plighted troths are chronicled
In that white book above which notes the secrets
Of every thought and heart; he is my husband,
I am his wife.
Louis. Rather his whore.
Const. Now, trust me,
You're no good man to say so; I am honest,
'Deed, la, I am; a poor soul, that deserves not
Such a bad word: were you a better man
Than you are, you do me wrong.
Louis. The toy grows angry!
Cla. And it becomes her sweetly; troth, my lord,
I pity her.
Rod. I thank you, sweet.
Louis. Your husband,
You'll say, is no thief.
Const. Upon my conscience,
He is not.
Louis. Dares not strike a man.
Const. Unworthily
He dares not; but if trod upon, a worm
Will turn again.
Louis. That turning turns your worm
Off from the ladder, minion.
Const. Sir, I hope
You're not his judge; you are too young, too choleric,
Too passionate; the price of life or death
Requires a much more grave consideration
Than your years warrant: here sit they, like gods,
Upon whose heads the reverend badge of time
Hath sealed the proof of wisdom; to these oracles
Of riper judgment, lower in my heart [Kneels.
Than on my knees, I offer up my suit,
My lawful suit, which begs they would be gentle
To their own fames, their own immortal stories.
O, do not think, my lords, compassion thrown
On a base low estate, on humble people,
Less meritorious than if you had favoured
The faults of great men! and indeed great men
Have oftentimes great faults: he whom I plead for
Is free; the soul of innocence itself
Is not more white: will you pity him?
I see it in your eyes, 'tis a sweet sunbeam,
Let it shine out; and to adorn your praise,
The prayers of the poor shall crown your days,
And theirs are sometimes heard.
Fer. Beshrew the girl,
She has almost melted me to tears!
Louis. Hence, trifler!—Call in my friends!
Enter JOHN, DIEGO, CARDOCHIA, and Servants.
What hope of ease?
Diego. Good hope, but still I smart;
The worst is in my pain.
Louis. The price is high
Shall buy thy vengeance: to receive a wound
By a base villain's hand, it maddens me.
John. Men subject to th' extremity of law
Should carry peace about 'em to their graves;
Else, were you nobler than the blood you boast of,
Could any way, my lord, derive you, know
I would return sharp answer to your slanders;
But it suffices, I am none of ought
Your rage misterms me.
Louis. None of 'em? no rascal?
John. No rascal?
Louis. Nor no thief?
John. Ask her that's my accuser: could your eyes
Pierce through the secrets of her foul desires,
You might without a partial judgment look into
A woman's lust and malice.
Card. My good lords,
What I have articled against this fellow,
I justify for truth.
John. On then, no more:
This being true she says, I have deserved
To die.
Fer. We sit not here to bandy words,
But minister the law, and that condemns thee
For theft unto the gallows.
Const. O my misery!
Are you all marble-breasted? are your bosoms
Hooped round with steel? to cast away a man,
More worthy life and honours than a thousand
Of such as only pray unto the shadow
Of abused greatness!
John. 'Tis in vain to storm;
My fate is here determinèd.
Const. Lost creature,
Art thou grown dull too? is my love so cheap
That thou court'st thy destruction 'cause I love thee?—
My lords, my lords!—Speak, Andrew, prithee, now,
Be not so cruel to thyself and me;
One word of thine will don't.
Fer. Away with him!
To-morrow is his day of execution.
John. Even when you will.
Const. Stay, man; thou shalt not go,
Here are more women yet.—Sweet madam, speak!
You, lady, you methinks should have some feeling
Of tenderness; you may be touched as I am:
Troth, were't your cause, I'd weep with you, and join
In earnest suit for one you held so dear.
Cla. My lord, pray speak in his behalf.
Rod. I would,
But dare not; 'tis a fault so clear and manifest.
Louis. Back with him to his dungeon!
John. Heaven can tell
I sorrow not to die, but to leave her
Who whiles I live is my life's comforter.
[Exit with Servants.
Card. Now shall I be revenged!
[Aside, and exit with DIEGO.
Const. O me unhappy! [Swoons.
Fer. See, the girl falls!
Some one look to her.
Cla. 'Las, poor maid!
Gui. Pretiosa!
She does recover: mine honourable lord_____
Fer. In vain: what is't?
Gui. Be pleased to give me private audience;
I will discover something shall advantage
The noblest of this land.
Fer. Well, I will hear thee;
Bring in the girl.
[Exeunt FERNANDO, MARIA, PEDRO, CLARA, RODERIGO, GUIAMARA,
and
CONSTANZA: ALVAREZ stays LOUIS.
Louis. Ought with me; what is't?
I care not for thy company, old ruffian;
Rascal, art impudent?
Alv. To beg your service.
Louis. Hang yourself!
Alv. By your father's soul, sir, hear me!
Louis. Despatch!
Alv. First promise me you'll get reprieve
For the condemnèd man, and by my art
I'll make you master of what your heart on earth
Can wish for or desire.
Louis. Thou liest; thou canst not!
Alv. Try me.
Louis. Do that, and then, as I am noble,
I will not only give thy friend his life,
But royally reward thee, love thee ever.
Alv. I take your word; what would you?
Louis. If thou mock'st me,
'Twere better thou wert damned!
Alv. Sir, I am resolute.
Louis. Resolve me, then, whether the Count Alvarez,
Who slew my father, be alive or dead?
Alv. Is this the mighty matter? the count lives.
Louis. How?
Alv. The count lives.
Louis. O fate! Now tell me where,
And be my better genius.
Alv. I can do't:
In Spain 'a lives; more, not far from Madrill,
But in disguise, much altered.
Louis. Wonderful scholar!
Miracle of artists! Alvarez living?
And near Madrill too? now, for Heaven's sake, where?
That's all, and I am thine.
Alv. Walk off, my lord,
To the next field, you shall know all.
Louis. Apace, then!
I listen to thee with a greedy ear:
The miserable and the fortunate
Are alike in this, they cannot change their fate. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Field.
Enter ALVAREZ and LOUIS.
Alv. Good, good: you would fain kill him, and revenge
Your father's death?
Louis. I would.
Alv. Bravely, or scurvily?
Louis. Not basely, for the world!
Alv. We are secure. [Produces two swords.
Young Louis, two more trusty blades than these
Spain has not in her armoury: with this
Alvarez slew thy father; and this other
Was that the King of France wore then great Charles
In a set battle took him prisoner;
Both I resign to thee.
Louis. This is a new mystery.
Alv. Now see this naked bosom; turn the points
Of either on this bulwark, if thou covet'st,
Out of a sprightly youth and manly thirst
Of vengeance, blood; if blood be thy ambition,
Then call to mind the fatal blow that struck
De Castro, thy brave father, to his grave;
Remember who it was that gave that blow,
His enemy Alvarez: hear, and be sudden,
Behold Alvarez!
Louis. Death, I am deluded!
Alv. Thou art incredulous; as fate is certain,
I am the man.
Louis. Thou that butcher?
Alv. Tremble not, young man, trust me, I have wept
Religiously to wash off from my conscience
The stain of my offence: twelve years and more,
Like to a restless pilgrim I have run
From foreign lands to lands to find out death.
I'm weary of my life; give me a sword:
That thou mayst know with what a perfect zeal
I honour old De Castor's memory,
I'll fight with thee; I would not have thy hand
Dipped in a wilful murder; I could wish
For one hour's space I could pluck back from time
But thirty of my years, that in my fall
Thou might'st deserve report: now if thou conquer'st,
Thou canst not triumph; I'm half dead already,
Yet I'll not start a foot.
Louis. Breathes there a spirit
In such a heap of age?
Alv. O, that I had
A son of equal growth with thee, to tug
For reputation! by thy father's ashes,
I would not kill thee for another Spain,
Yet now I'll do my best. Thou art amazed;
Come on.
Louis. Twelve tedious winters' banishment?
'Twas a long time.
Alv. Could they redeem thy father,
Would every age had been twelve ages, Louis,
And I for penance every age a-dying!
But 'tis too late to wish.
Louis. I am o'ercome;
Your nobleness hath conquered me: here ends
All strife between our families, and henceforth
Acknowledge me for yours.
Alv. O, thou reviv'st
Fresh horrors to my fact! for in thy gentleness
I see my sin anew.
Louis. Our peace is made;
Your life shall be my care: 'twill be glad news
To all our noble friends.
Alv. Since Heaven will have it so,
I thank thee, glorious majesty! My son,
For I will call thee so, ere the next morrow
Salute the world, thou shalt know stranger mysteries.
Louis. I have enough to feed on: sir, I'll follow ye.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Room in FERNANDO'S House.
Enter FERNANDO, GUIAMARA, and CONSTANZA,
Fer. Don John, son to the Count of Carcomo?
Woman, take heed thou trifle not.
Gui. Is this,
My lord, so strange?
Fer. Beauty in youth, and wit
To set it forth, I see, transforms the best
Into what shape love fancies.
Const. Will you yet
Give me my husband's life?
Fer. Why, little one,
He is not married to thee.
Const. In his faith
He is; and faith and troth I hope bind faster
Than any other ceremonies can;
Do they not, pray, my lord?
Fer. Yes, where the parties
Pledged are not too unequal in degree,
As he and thou art.
Const. This is new divinity.
Gui. My lord, behold this child well: in her face
You may observe, by curious insight, something
More than belongs to every common birth.
Fer. True, 'tis a pretty child.
Gui. The glass of misery
Is, after many a change of desperate fortune,
At length run out: you had a daughter called
Constanza?
Fer. Ha!
Gui. A sister, Guiamara,
Wife to the Count Alvarez?
Fer. Peace, O, peace!
Gui. And to that sister's charge you did commit
Your infant daughter, in whose birth your wife,
Her mother, died?
Fer. Woman thou art too cruel!
Const. What d'ye mean, granam? 'las, the nobleman
Grows angry!
Fer. Not I, indeed I do not:—
But why d'ye use me thus?
Gui. Your child and sister,
As you supposed, were drowned?
Fer. Drowned? talking creature!
Supposed?
Gui. They live; Fernando, from my hand,
Thy sister's hand, receive thine own Constanza,
The sweetest, best child living.
Const. Do you mock me?
Fer. Torment me on; yet more, more yet, and spare not,
My heart is now a-breaking; now!
Gui. O brother!
Am I so far removed off from your memory,
As that you will not know me? I expected
Another welcome home: look on this casket,
[Showing casket.
The legacy your lady left her daughter,
When to her son she gave her crucifix.
Fer. Right, right; I know ye now.
Gui. In all my sorrows,
My comfort has been here, she should be yours,
Be yours at last.—Constanza, kneel, sweet child,
To thy old father.
Const. How? my father? [Kneels.
Fer. Let not
Extremity of joys ravish life from me
Too soon, Heaven, I beseech thee! Thou art my sister,
My sister Guiamara! How have mine eyes
Been darkened all this while! 'tis she!
Gui. 'Tis, brother;
And this Constanza, now no more a stranger,
No Pretiosa henceforth.
Fer. My soul's treasure,
Live to an age of goodness; and so thrive
In all thy ways, that thou mayst die to live!
Const. But must I call your father?
Fer. Thou wilt rob me else
Of that felicity, for whose sake only
I am ambitious of being young again:
Rise, rise, mine own Constanza!
Const. [rising.] 'Tis a new name,
But 'tis a pretty one; I may be bold
To make a suit t'ye?
Fer. Anything.
Const. O father,
And if you be my father, think upon
Don John my husband! without him, alas,
I can be nothing!
Fer. As I without thee;
Let me alone, Constanza.—Tell me, tell me,
Lives yet Alvarez?
Gui. In your house.
Fer. Enough:
Cloy me not; let me by degrees digest
My joys.—Within, my Lords Francisco, Pedro!
Come all at once! I have a world within me;
I am not mortal sure, I am not mortal:
Enter FRANCISCO, PEDRO, MARIA, RODERIGO, and CLARA.
My honourable lords, partake my blessings;
The Count Alvarez lives here in my house;
Your son, my Lord Francisco, Don John, is
The condemned man falsely accused of theft;
This, my Lord Pedro, is my sister Guiamara;
Madam, this is Constanza, mine own child,
And I am a wondrous merry man.—Without!
The prisoner!
Enter ALVAREZ, LOUIS, JOHN, DIEGO, SANCHO, SOTO, and CARDOCHIA.
Louis. Here, free and acquitted,
By her whose folly drew her to this error;
And she for satisfaction is assured
To my wronged friend.
Card. I crave your pardons;
He whose I am speaks for me.
Diego. We both beg it!
Fer. Excellent! admirable! my dear brother!
Alv. Never a happy man till now; young Louis
And I are reconciled.
Louis. For ever, faithfully,
Religiously.
Fran., Ped., &c. My noble lord, most welcome!
Alv. To all my heart pays what it owes, due thanks;
Most, most, brave youth, to thee!
John. I all this while
Stand but a looker-on; and though my father
May justly tax the violence of my passions,
Yet if this lady, lady of my life,
Must be denied, let me be as I was,
And die betimes.
Const. You promised me_____
Fer. I did.—
My lord of Carcomo, you see their hearts
Are joined already, so let our consents
To this wished marriage.
Fran. I forgive thine errors;
Give me thy hand.
Fer. [to Constanza]. Me thine.—But wilt thou love
My daughter, my Constanza?
John. As my bliss.
Const. I thee as life, youth, beauty, anything
That makes life comfortable.
Fer. Live together
One, ever one!
Fran., Rod., &c. And Heaven crown your happiness!
Ped. Now, sir, how like you a prison?
San. As gallants do a tavern, being stopped for a reckoning,
scurvily.
Soto. Though you caged us up never so close, we sung like cuckoos.
Fer. Well, well, you be yourself now.
San. Myself?—am I out of my wits, Soto?
Fer. Here now are none but honourable friends:
Will you, to give a farewell to the life
You ha' led as gipsies, these being now found none,
But noble in their births, altered in fortunes,
Give it a merry shaking by the hand,
And cry adieu to folly?
San. We'll shake our hands, and our heels, if you'll give us leave.
[A dance.
Fer. On, brides and bridegrooms! to your Spanish feasts
Invite with bent knees all these noble guests.
[Exeunt omnes.
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