|
|
|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE VIRGIN-MARTYR, by PHILIP MASSINGER Poet's Biography
First Line: Come to caesarea to night
Last Line: [flourish. Exeunt.
First Line: Come to caesarea to night
Last Line: [flourish. Exeunt.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
DIOCLESIAN, Emperor of Rome.
MAXIMINUS, Emperor of Rome.
KING OF PONTUS.
KING OF EPIRE.
KING OF MACEDON.
SAPRITIUS, Governor of Cæsarea.
THEOPHILUS, a zealous Persecutor of the Christians.
SEMPRONIUS, Captain of SAPRITIUS' Guards.
ANTONINUS, Son to SAPRITIUS.
MACRINUS, Friend to ANTONINUS.
HARPAX, an evil Spirit, following. THEOPHILUS in the shape of a Secretary.
ANGELO, a good Spirit, serving DOROTHEA in the habit of a Page.
HIRCIUS, a Whoremaster, Servant of DOROTHEA.
SPUNGIUS, a Drunkard, Servant of DOROTHEA.
JULIANUS, Servants of THEOPHILUS.
GETA,
Priest of Jupiter.
British Slave.
Officers and Executioners.
ARTEMIA, Daughter of DIOCLESIAN.
CALISTA, Daughter of THEOPHILUS.
CHRISTETA, Daughter of THEOPHILUS.
DOROTHEA, the Virgin-Martyr.
SCENE—CÆSAREA.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—The Governor's Palace.
Enter THEOPHILUS and HARPAX.
THEO. Come to Cæsarea to night!
Harp. Most true, sir.
Theo. The emperor in person!
Harp. Do I live?
Theo. 'Tis wondrous strange! The marches of great princes,
Like to the motions of prodigious meteors,
Are step by step observed; and loud-tongued Fame
The harbinger to prepare their entertainment:
And, were it possible so great an army,
Though covered with the night, could be so near,
The governor cannot be so unfriended
Among the many that attend his person,
But, by some secret means, he should have notice
Of Cæsar's purpose;—in this, then, excuse me,
If I appear incredulous.
Harp. At your pleasure.
Theo. Yet, when I call to mind you never failed me
In things more difficult, but have discovered
Deeds that were done thousand leagues distant from me,
When neither woods, nor caves, nor secret vaults,
No, nor the Power they serve, could keep these Christians
Or from my reach or punishment, but thy magic
Still laid them open; I begin again
To be as confident as heretofore,
It is not possible thy powerful art
Should meet a check, or fail.
Enter the Priest of Jupiter, bearing an Image, and followed by CALISTA
and CHRISTETA.
Harp. Look on these Vestals,
The holy pledges that the gods have given you,
Your chaste, fair daughters. Were't not to upbraid
A service to a master not unthankful,
I could say these, in spite of your prevention,
Seduced by an imagined faith, not reason
(Which is the strength of nature), quite forsaking
The Gentile gods, had yielded up themselves
To this new-found religion. This I crossed,
Discovered their intents, taught you to use,
With gentle words and mild persuasions,
The power and the authority of a father,
Set off with cruel threats; and so reclaimed them:
And, whereas they with torments should have died,
(Hell's furies to me, had they undergone it!) [Aside.
They are now votaries in great Jupiter's temple,
And, by his priest instructed, grown familiar
With all the mysteries, nay, the most abstruse ones,
Belonging to his deity.
Theo. 'Twas a benefit
For which I ever owe you.—Hail, Jove's flamen!
Have these my daughters reconciled themselves,
Abandoning for ever the Christian way,
To your opinion?
Priest. And are constant in it.
They teach their teachers with their depth of judgment,
And are with arguments able to convert
The enemies to our gods, and answer all
They can object against us.
Theo. My dear daughters!
Cal. We dare dispute against this new-sprung sect,
In private or in public.
Harp. My best lady,
Perséver in it.
Chris. And what we maintain
We will seal with our bloods.
Harp. Brave resolution!
I e'en grow fat to see my labours prosper.
Theo. I young again. To your devotions.
Harp. Do—
My prayers be present with you.
[Exeunt Priest, CALISTA, and CHRISTETA.
Theo. O my Harpax!
Thou engine of my wishes, thou that steel'st
My bloody resolutions, thou that arm'st
My eyes 'gainst womanish tears and soft compassion,
Instructing me, without a sigh, to look on
Babes torn by violence from their mothers' breasts
To feed the fire, and with them make one flame;
Old men, as beasts, in beasts' skins torn by dogs;
Virgins and matrons tire the executioners;
Yet I, unsatisfied, think their torments easy—
Harp. And in that, just, not cruel.
Theo. Were all sceptres
That grace the hands of kings made into one,
And offered me, all crowns laid at my feet,
I would contemn them all,—thus spit at them;
So I to all posterities might be called
The strongest champion of the pagan gods,
And rooter-out of Christians.
Harp. Oh, mine own,
Mine own dear lord! to further this great work,
I ever live thy slave.
Enter SAPRITIUS and SEMPRONIUS.
Theo. No more—The governor.
Sap. Keep the ports close, and let the guards be doubled;
Disarm the Christians; call it death in any
To wear a sword, or in his house to have one.
Semp. I shall be careful, sir.
Sap. 'Twill well become you.
Such as refuse to offer sacrifice
To any of our gods, put to the torture.
Grub up this growing mischief by the roots;
And know, when we are merciful to them,
We to ourselves are cruel.
Semp. You pour oil
On fire that burns already at the height:
I know the emperor's edict, and my charge,
And they shall find no favour.
Theo. My good lord,
This care is timely for the entertainment
Of our great master, who this night in person
Comes here to thank you.
Sap. Who! the emperor?
Harp. To clear your doubts, he does return in triumph,
Kings lackeying by his triumphant chariot;
And in this glorious victory, my lord,
You have an ample share: for know, your son,
The ne'er-enough-commended Antoninus,
So well hath fleshed his maiden sword, and dyed
His snowy plumes so deep in enemies' blood,
That, besides public grace beyond his hopes,
There are rewards propounded.
Sap. I would know
No mean in thine, could this be true.
Harp. My head
Answer the forfeit.
Sap. Of his victory
There was some rumour: but it was assured,
The army passed a full day's journey higher,
Into the country.
Harp. It was so determined;
But, for the further honour of your son,
And to observe the government of the city,
And with what rigour, or remiss indulgence,
The Christians are pursued, he makes his stay here:
[Trumpets afar off.
For proof, his trumpets speak his near arrival.
Sap. Haste, good Sempronius, draw up our guards,
And with all ceremonious pomp receive
The conquering army. Let our garrison speak
Their welcome in loud shouts, the city show
Her state and wealth.
Semp. I'm gone. [Exit.
Sap. O, I am ravished
With this great honour! cherish, good Theophilus,
This knowing scholar. Send for your fair daughters;
I will present them to the emperor,
And in their sweet conversion, as a mirror,
Express your zeal and duty.
Theo. Fetch them, good Harpax. [Exit HARPAX.
Enter SEMPRONIUS, at the head of the guard, soldiers leading three
Kings
bound; ANTONINUS and MACRINUS bearing the Emperor's eagles;
DIOCLESIAN with a gilt laurel on his head, leading in ARTEMIA; SAPRITIUS
kisses the Emperor's hand, then embraces his Son; HARPAX brings in
CALISTA and CHRISTETA. Loud shouts.
Dioc. So: at all parts I find Cæsarea
Completely governed: the licentious solider
Confined in modest limits, and the people
Taught to obey, and not compelled with rigour:
The ancient Roman discipline revived,
Which raised Rome to her greatness, and proclaimed her
The glorious mistress of the conquered world;
But, above all, the service of the gods
So zealously observed, that, good Sapritius,
In words to thank you for your care and duty,
Were much unworthy Dioclesian's honour,
Or his magnificence to his loyal servants.—
But I shall find a time with noble titles
To recompense your merits.
Sap. Mightiest Cæsar,
Whose power upon this globe of earth is equal
To Jove's in heaven; whose victorious triumphs
On proud rebellious kings that stir against it,
Are perfect figures of his immortal trophies
Won in the Giants' war; whose conquering sword,
Guided by his strong arm, as deadly kills
As did his thunder! all that I have done,
Or, if my strength were centupled, could do,
Comes short of what my loyalty must challenge.
But, if in anything I have deserved
Great Cæsar's smile, 'tis in my humble care
Still to preserve the honour of those gods
That make him what he is: my zeal to them
I ever have expressed in my fell hate
Against the Christian sect that, with one blow,
(Ascribing all things to an unknown Power,)
Would strike down all their temples, and allow them
Nor sacrifice nor altars.
Dioc. Thou, in this,
Walk'st hand in hand with me: my will and power
Shall not alone confirm, but honour all
That are in this most forward.
Sap. Sacred Cæsar,
If your imperial majesty stand pleased
To shower your favours upon such as are
The boldest champions of our religion;
Look on this reverend man, [Points to THEOPHILUS] to whom the power
Of searching out and punishing such delinquents
Was by your choice committed: and, for proof,
He hath deserved the grace imposed upon him,
And with a fair and even hand proceeded,
Partial to none, not to himself, or those
Of equal nearness to himself, behold
This pair of virgins.
Dioc. What are these?
Sap. His daughters.
Artem. Now by your sacred fortune, they are fair ones,
Exceeding fair ones: would 'twere in my power
To make them mine!
Theo. They are the gods', great lady,
They were most happy in your service else:
On these, when they fell from their father's faith,
I used a judge's power, entreaties failing
(They being seduced) to win them to adore
The holy Powers we worship; I put on
The scarlet robe of bold authority,
And, as they had been strangers to my blood,
Presented them, in the most horrid form,
All kinds of tortures; part of which they suffered
With Roman constancy.
Artem. And could you endure,
Being a father, to behold their limbs
Extended on the rack?
Theo. I did; but must
Confess there was a strange contention in me,
Between the impartial office of a judge,
And pity of a father; to help justice
Religion stepped in, under which odds
Compassion fell:—yet still I was a father.
For e'en then, when the flinty hangman's whips
Were worn with stripes spent on their tender limbs,
I kneeled, and wept, and begged them, though they would
Be cruel to themselves, they would take pity
On my gray hairs: now note a sudden change,
Which I with joy remember; those, whom torture,
Nor fear of death could terrify, were o'ercome
By seeing of my sufferings; and so won,
Returning to the faith that they were born in,
I gave them to the gods. And be assured,
I that used justice with a rigorous hand,
Upon such beauteous virgins, and mine own,
Will use no favour, where the cause commands me,
To any other; but, as rocks, be deaf
To all entreaties.
Dioc. Thou deserv'st thy place;
Still hold it, and with honour. Things thus ordered
Touching the gods, 'tis lawful to descend
To human cares, and exercise that power
Heaven has conferred upon me;—which that you,
Rebels and traitors to the power of Rome,
Should not with all extremities undergo,
What can you urge to qualify your crimes,
Or mitigate my anger?
K. of Epir. We are now
Slaves to thy power, that yesterday were kings,
And had command o'er others; we confess
Our grandsires paid yours tribute, yet left us,
As their forefathers had, desire of freedom.
And, if you Romans hold it glorious honour,
Not only to defend what is your own,
But to enlarge your empire, (though our fortune
Denies that happiness,) who can accuse
The famished mouth, if it attempt to feed?
Or such whose fetters eat into their freedoms,
If they desire to shake them off?
K. of Pon. We stand
The last examples, to prove how uncertain
All human happiness is; and are prepared
To endure the worst.
K. of Mac. That spoke which now is highest
In Fortune's wheel must, when she turns it next,
Decline as low as we are. This considered,
Taught the Ægyptian Hercules, Sesostris,
That had his chariot drawn by captive kings,
To free them from that slavery;—but to hope
Such mercy from a Roman were mere madness:
We are familiar with what cruelty
Rome, since her infant greatness, ever used
Such as she triumphed over; age nor sex
Exempted from her tyranny; sceptered princes
Kept in her common dungeons, and their children,
In scorn trained up in base mechanic arts,
For public bondmen. In the catalogue
Of those unfortunate men, we expect to have
Our names remembered.
Dioc. In all growing empires,
Even cruelty is useful; some must suffer,
And be set up examples to strike terror
In others, though far off: but, when a state
Is raised to her perfection, and her bases
Too firm to shrink or yield, we may use mercy,
And do't with safety: but to whom? not cowards,
Or such whose baseness shames the conqueror,
And robs him of his victory, as weak Perseus
Did great Æmilius. Know, therefore, kings
Of Epire, Pontus, and of Macedon,
That I with courtesy can use my prisoners,
As well as make them mine by force, provided
That they are noble enemies: such I found you,
Before I made you mine; and, since you were so,
You have not lost the courages of princes,
Although the fortune. Had you borne yourselves
Dejectedly, and base, no slavery
Had been too easy for you: but such is
The power of noble valour, that we love it
Even in our enemies, and, taken with it,
Desire to make them friends, as I will you.
K. of Epir. Mock us not, Cæsar.
Dioc. By the gods, I do not.
Unloose their bonds:—I now as friends embrace you.
Give them their crowns again.
K. of Pont. We are twice o'ercome;
By courage, and by courtesy.
K. of Mac. But this latter
Shall teach us to live ever faithful vassals
To Dioclesian, and the power of Rome.
K. of Epir. All kingdoms fall before her!
K. of Pon. And all kings
Contend to honour Cæsar!
Dioc. I believe
Your tongues are the true trumpets of your hearts,
And in it I most happy. Queen of fate,
Imperious Fortune! mix some light disaster
With my so many joys, to season them,
And give them sweeter relish: I'm girt round
With true felicity; faithful subjects here,
Here bold commanders, here with new-made friends:
But, what's the crown of all, in thee, Artemia,
My only child, whose love to me and duty
Strive to exceed each other!
Artem. I make payment
But of a debt, which I stand bound to tender
As a daughter and a subject.
Dioc. Which requires yet
A retribution from me, Artemia,
Tied by a father's care, how to bestow
A jewel, of all things to me most precious:
Nor will I therefore longer keep thee from
The chief joys of creation, marriage rites;
Which that thou mayst with greater pleasures taste of,
Thou shalt not like with mine eyes, but thine own.
Amongst these kings, forgetting they were captives;
Or these, remembering not they are my subjects,
Make choice of any: by Jove's dreadful thunder,
My will shall rank with thine.
Artem. It is a bounty
The daughters of great princes seldom meet with;
For they, to make up breaches in the state,
Or for some other politic ends, are forced
To match where they affect not. May my life
Deserve this favour!
Dioc. Speak; I long to know
The man thou wilt make happy.
Artem. If that titles,
Or the adorèd name of Queen could take me,
Here would I fix mine eyes, and look no farther;
But these are baits to take a mean-born lady,
Not her that boldly may call Cæsar father:
In that I can bring honour unto any,
But from no king that lives receive addition:
To raise desert and virtue by my fortune,
Though in a low estate, were greater glory
Than to mix greatness with a prince that owes
No worth but that name only.
Dioc. I commend thee;
'Tis like thyself.
Artem. If, then, of men beneath me,
My choice is to be made, where shall I seek,
But among those that best deserve from you?
That have served you most faithfully; that in dangers
Have stood next to you; that have interposed
Their breasts as shields of proof, to dull the swords
Aimed at your bosom; that have spent their blood
To crown your brows with laurel?
Macr. Cytherea,
Great Queen of Love, be now propitious to me!
Harp. [To SAPRITIUS.] Now mark what I foretold.
Anton. [Aside.] Her eye's on me.
Fair Venus' son, draw forth a leaden dart
And, that she may hate me, transfix her with it;
Or, if thou needs wilt use a golden one,
Shoot in the behalf of any other:
Thou know'st I am thy votary elsewhere.
Artem. [Advances to ANTONINUS.] Sir.
Theo. How he blushes!
Sap. Welcome, fool, thy fortune.
Stand like a block when such an angel courts thee!
Artem. I am no object to divert your eye
From the beholding.
Anton. Rather a bright sun,
Too glorious for him to gaze upon
That took not first flight from the eagle's aerie.
As I look on the temples, or the gods,
And with that reverence, lady, I behold you,
And shall do ever.
Artem. And it will become you,
While thus we stand at distance; but, if love,
Love born out of the assurance of your virtues,
Teach me to stoop so low_____
Anton. O, rather take
A higher flight.
Artem. Why, fear you to be raised?
Say I put off the dreadful awe that waits
On majesty, or with you share my beams,
Nay, make you to outshine me; change the name
Of Subject into Lord, rob you of service
That's due from you to me; and in me make it
Duty to honour you, would you refuse me?
Anton. Refuse you, madam! such a worm as I am,
Refuse what kings upon their knees would sue for!
Call it, great lady, by another name;
An humble modesty, that would not match
A molehill with Olympus.
Artem. He that's famous
For honourable actions in the war,
As you are, Antoninus, a proved soldier,
Is fellow to a king.
Anton. If you love valour,
As 'tis a kingly virtue, seek it out,
And cherish it in a king; there it shines brightest,
And yields the bravest lustre. Look on Epire,
A prince, in whom it is incorporate:
And let it not disgrace him that he was
O'ercome by Cæsar; it was a victory,
To stand so long against him: had you seen him,
How in one bloody scene he did discharge
The parts of a commander and a soldier,
Wise in direction, bold in execution;
You would have said, great Cæsar's self excepted,
The world yields not his equal.
Artem. Yet I have heard,
Encountering him alone in the head of his troop,
You took him prisoner.
K. of Epir. 'Tis a truth, great princess;
I'll not detract from valour.
Anton. 'Twas mere fortune;
Courage had no hand in it.
Theo. Did ever man
Strive so against his own good?
Sap. Spiritless villain!
How I am tortured! By the immortal gods,
I now could kill him.
Dioc. Hold, Sapritius, hold,
On our displeasure hold!
Harp. Why, this would make
A father mad; 'tis not to be endured
Your honour's tainted in't.
Sap. By Heaven, it is;
I shall think of it.
Harp. 'Tis not to be forgotten.
Artem. Nay, kneel not, sir; I am no ravisher,
Nor so far gone in fond affection to you,
But that I can retire, my honour safe:—
Yet say, hereafter, that thou hast neglected
What, but seen in possession of another,
Will run thee mad with envy.
Anton. In her looks
Revenge is written.
Mac. As you love your life,
Study to appease her.
Anton. Gracious madam, hear me.
Artem. And be again refused?
Anton. The tender of
My life, my service, nay, since you vouchsafe it,
My love, my heart, my all: and pardon me,
Pardon, dread princess, that I made some scruple
To leave a valley of security,
To mount up to the hill of majesty,
On which, the nearer Jove, the nearer lightning.
What knew I, but your grace made trial of me;
Durst I presume to embrace, where but to touch
With an unmannered hand, was death? The fox,
When he saw first the forest's king, the lion,
Was almost dead with fear; the second view
Only a little daunted him; the third,
He durst salute him boldly: pray you, apply this;
And you shall find a little time will teach me
To look with more familiar eyes upon you
Than duty yet allows me.
Sap. Well excused.
Artem. You may redeem all yet.
Dioc. And, that he may
Have means and opportunity to do so,
Artemia, I leave you my substitute
In fair Cæsarea.
Sap. And here, as yourself,
We will obey and serve her.
Dioc. Antoninus,
So you prove hers, I wish no other heir;
Think on't:—be careful of your charge, Theophilus;
Sapritius, be you my daughter's guardian.
Your company I wish, confederate princes,
In our Dalmatian wars; which finished
With victory I hope, and Maximinus,
Our brother and copartner in the empire,
At my request won to confirm as much,
The kingdoms I took from you we'll restore,
And make you greater than you were before.
[Exeunt all but ANTONINUS and MACRINUS.
Anton. Oh, I am lost for ever! lost, Macrinus!
The anchor of the wretched, hope, forsakes me,
And with one blast of Fortune all my light
Of happiness is put out.
Mac. You are like to those
That are ill only 'cause they are too well;
That, surfeiting in the excess of blessings,
Call their abundance want. What could you wish,
That is not fallen upon you? honour, greatness,
Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower;
And with a princess, whose excelling form
Exceeds her fortune.
Anton. Yet poison still is poison,
Though drunk in gold; and all these flattering glories
To me, ready to starve, a painted banquet,
And no essential food. When I am scorched
With fire, can flames in any other quench me?
What is her love to me, greatness, or empire,
That am slave to another, who alone
Can give me ease or freedom?
Mac. Sir, you point at
Your dotage on the scornful Dorothea:
Is she, though fair, the same day to be named
With best Artemia? In all their courses,
Wise men propose their ends: with sweet Artemia,
There comes along pleasure, security,
Ushered by all that in this life is precious:
With Dorothea (though her birth be noble,
The daughter to a senator of Rome,
By him left rich, yet with a private wealth,
And far inferior to yours) arrives
The emperor's frown, which, like a mortal plague,
Speaks death is near; the princess' heavy scorn,
Under which you will shrink; your father's fury,
Which to resist, even pity forbids:—
And but remember that she stands suspected
A favourer of the Christian sect; she brings
Not danger, but assured destruction with her.
This truly weighed, one smile of great Artemia
Is to be cherished, and preferred before
All joys in Dorothea: therefore leave her.
Anton. In what thou think'st thou art most wise, thou art
Grossly abused, Macrinus, and most foolish.
For any man to match above his rank,
Is but to sell his liberty. With Artemia
I still must live a servant; but enjoying
Divinest Dorothea, I shall rule,
Rule as becomes a husband: for the danger,
Or call it, if you will, assured destruction,
I slight it thus.—If, then, thou art my friend,
As I dare swear thou art, and wilt not take
A governor's place upon thee, be my helper.
Mac. You know I dare, and will do anything;
Put me unto the test.
Anton. Go then, Macrinus,
To Dorothea; tell her I have worn,
In all the battles I have fought, her figure,
Her figure in my heart, which, like a deity,
Hath still protected me. Thou canst speak well;
And of thy choicest language spare a little,
To make her understand how much I love her,
And how I languish for her. Bear her these jewels,
Sent in the way of sacrifice, not service,
As to my goddess: all lets thrown behind me,
Or fears that may deter me, say, this morning
I mean to visit her by the name of friendship:
—No words to contradict this.
Mac. I am yours:
And, if my travail this way be ill spent,
Judge not my readier will by the event. [Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I. —A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter SPUNGIUS and HIRCIUS.
SPUN. Turn Christian! Would he that first tempted me to have my shoes walk
upon
Christian soles, had turned me into a capon; for I am sure now, the stones of
all my pleasure, in this fleshly life, are cut off.
Hir. So then, if any coxcomb has a galloping desire to ride, here's a
gelding, if he can but sit him.
Spun. I kick, for all that, like a horse;—look else.
Hir. But that is a kickish jade, fellow Spungius. Have not I as much
cause to complain as thou hast? When I was a pagan, there was an infidel punk
of
mine, would have let me come upon trust for my curveting: a pox of your
Christian cockatrices! they cry, like poulterers' wives, "No money, no coney."
Spun. Bacchus, the god of brewed wine and sugar, grand patron of rob-
pots, upsy-freesy tipplers, and super-naculum takers; this Bacchus, who is
head
warden of Vintners'-hall, ale-conner, mayor of all victualling-houses, the sole
liquid benefactor to bawdy-houses; lanceprezado to red noses, and invincible
adelantado over the armado of pimpled, deep-scarleted, rubified, and
carbuncled
faces_____
Hir. What of all this?
Spun. This boon Bacchanalian skinker did I make legs to.
Hir. Scurvy ones, when thou wert drunk.
Spun. There is no danger of losing a man's ears by making these
indentures; he that will not now and then be Calabingo, is worse than a
Calamoothe. When I was a pagan, and kneeled to this Bacchus, I durst out-drink
a
lord; but your Christian lords out-bowl me. I was in hope to lead a sober
life,
when I was converted; but, now amongst the Christians, I can no sooner stagger
out of one alehouse, but I reel into another; they have whole streets of
nothing
but drinking-rooms, and drabbing-chambers, jumbled together.
Hir. Bawdy Priapus, the first schoolmaster that taught butchers how to
stick pricks in flesh, and make it swell, thou know'st, was the only ningle
that
I cared for under the moon; but, since I left him to follow a scurvy lady,
what
with her praying and our fasting, if now I come to a wench, and offer to
use her
anything hardly, (telling her, being a Christian, she must endure,) she
presently handles me as if I were a clove, and cleaves me with disdain,
as if I
were a calf's head.
Spun. I see no remedy, fellow Hircius, but that thou and I
must be half
pagans, and half Christians; for we know very fools that are Christians.
Hir. Right: the quarters of Christians are good for
nothing but to feed
crows.
Spun. True: Christian brokers, thou know'st, are made up of the
quarters of Christians; parboil one of these rogues, and he is not meat for a
dog: no, no, I am resolved to have an infidel's heart,
though in show I carry a
Christian's face.
Hir. Thy last shall serve my foot: so will I.
Spun. Our whimpering lady and mistress sent me with two great baskets
full of beef, mutton, veal, and goose, fellow Hircius_____
Hir. And woodcock, fellow Spungius.
Spun. Upon the poor lean ass-fellow, on which I ride, to all the
almswomen: what think'st thou I have done with all this good cheer?
Hir. Eat it; and be choked else.
Spun. Would my ass, basket and all, were in thy maw, if I did! No, as
I
am a demi-pagan, I sold the victuals, and coined the money into pottle-pots of
wine.
Hir. Therein thou showed'st thyself a perfect demichristian too, to
let
the poor beg, starve, and hang, or die of the pip. Our puling, snotty-nose
lady
sent me out likewise with a purse of money, to relieve and release
prisoners:—did I so, think you?
Spun. Would thy ribs were turned into grates of iron then.
Hir. As I am a total pagan, I swore they should be hanged first: for,
sirrah Spungius, I lay at my old ward of lechery, and cried, "A pox in your
twopenny wards!" and so I took scurvy common flesh for the money.
Spun. And wisely done; for our lady, sending it to prisoners, had
bestowed it out upon lousy knaves: and thou, to save that labour, cast'st it
away upon rotten whores.
Hir. All my fear is of that pink-an-eye jack-an-apes boy, her page.
Spun. As I am a pagan from my cod-piece downward, that white-faced
monkey frights me too. I stole but a dirty pudding, last day, out of an
almsbasket, to give my dog when he was hungry, and the peaking chitface page
hit
me in the teeth with it.
Hir. With the dirty pudding! so he did me once with a cow-turd, which
in knavery I would have crumbed into one's porridge, who was half a pagan too.
The smug dandiprat smells us out, whatsoever we are doing.
Spun. Does he? let him take heed I prove not his back-friend: I'll
make
him curse his smelling what I do.
Hir. 'Tis my lady spoils the boy; for he is ever at her tail, and she
is never well but in his company.
Enter ANGELO with a book, and a taper lighted; seeing him, they
counterfeit devotion.
Ang. O! now your hearts make ladders of your eyes,
In show to climb to Heaven, when your devotion
Walks upon crutches. Where did you waste your time,
When the religious man was on his knees,
Speaking the heavenly language?
Spun. Why, fellow Angelo, we were speaking in pedlar's
French, I hope.
Hir. We have not been idle, take it upon my word.
Ang. Have you the baskets emptied, which your lady
Sent, from her charitable hands, to women
That dwell upon her pity?
Spun. Emptied them! yes; I'd be loth to have my belly so empty: yet,
I
am sure, I munched not one bit of them neither.
Ang. And went your money to the prisoners?
Hir. Went! no; I carried it, and with these fingers paid it away.
Ang. What way? the devil's way, the way of sin,
The way of hot damnation, way of lust?
And you, to wash away the poor man's bread
In bowls of drunkenness?
Spun. Drunkenness! yes, yes, I use to be drunk; our next neighbour's
man, called Christopher, has often seen me drunk, has he not?
Hir. Or me given so to the flesh: my cheeks speak my doings.
Ang. Avaunt, you thieves and hollow hypocrites!
Your hearts to me lie open like black books,
And there I read your doings.
Spun. And what do you read in my heart?
Hir. Or in mine? come, amiable Angelo, beat the flint of your brains.
Spun. And let's see what sparks of wit fly out to kindle your
cerebrum.
Ang. Your names even brand you; you are Spungius called,
And, like a spunge, you suck up liquorous wines,
Till your soul reels to hell.
Spun. To hell! can any drunkard's legs carry him so far?
Ang. For blood of grapes you sold the widows' food,
And, starving them, 'tis murder; what's this but hell?—
Hircius your name, and goatish is your nature;
You snatch the meat out of the prisoner's mouth,
To fatten harlots: is not this hell too?
No angel, but the devil, waits on you.
Spun. Shall I cut his throat?
Hir. No; better burn him, for I think he is a witch: but
soothe, soothe
him.
Spun. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the company of
wicked he-Christians, for my part_____
Hir. And she-ones, for mine,—we have them swim in shoals hard
by_____
Spun. We must confess, I took too much out of the pot; and he of
t'other hollow commodity.
Hir. Yes, indeed, we laid Jill on both of us; we cozened the poor; but
'tis a common thing: many a one, that counts himself a better Christian than
we
two, has done it, by this light!
Spun. But pray, sweet Angelo, play not the tell-tale to my lady; and,
if you take us creeping into any of these mouse-holes of sin any more, let
cats
flay off our skins.
Hir. And put nothing but the poisoned tails of rats into those skins.
Ang. Will you dishonour her sweet charity,
Who saved you from the tree of death and shame?
Hir. Would I were hanged, rather than thus be told of my faults!
Spun. She took us, 'tis true, from the gallows; yet I hope she will not
bar yeoman sprats to have their swing.
Ang. She comes,—beware and mend.
Hir. Let's break his neck, and bid him mend.
Enter DOROTHEA.
Dor. Have you my messages, sent to the poor,
Delivered with good hands, not robbing them
Of any jot was theirs?
Spun. Rob them, lady! I hope neither my fellows nor I am thieves.
Hir. Delivered with good hands, madam! else let me never lick my
fingers more when I eat buttered fish.
Dor. Who cheat the poor, and from them pluck their alms,
Pilfer from Heaven; and there are thunderbolts,
From thence to beat them ever. Do not lie;
Were you both faithful, true distributers?
Spun. Lie, madam! what grief is it to see you turn swaggerer, and
give
your poor-minded rascally servants the lie!
Dor. I'm glad you do not; if those wretched people
Tell you they pine for want of anything,
Whisper but to mine ear, and you shall furnish them.
Hir. Whisper! nay, lady, for my part I'll cry whoop.
Ang. Play no more, villains, with so good a lady;
For if you do_____
Spun. Are we Christians?
Hir. The foul fiend snap all pagans for me!
Ang. Away, and, once more, mend.
Spun. 'Takes us for botchers.
Hir. A patch, a patch!
[Exeunt SPUNGIUS and HIRCIUS.
Dor. My book and taper.
Ang. Here, most holy mistress.
Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never
Was ravished with a more celestial sound.
Were every servant in the world like thee,
So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us: thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art; get thee to rest,
Thy youth with too much watching is oppressed.
Ang. No, my dear lady, I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some quire in Heaven,
So blest I hold me in your company:
Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence,
For then you break his heart.
Dor. Be nigh me still, then:
In golden letters down I'll set that day
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body; when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand!—
And, when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom,
Methought, was filled with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
On wings of cherubins, than it did before.
Ang. Proud am I, that my lady's modest eye
So likes so poor a servant.
Dor. I have offered
Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents.
I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some,
To dwell with thy good father; for, the son
Bewitching me so deeply with his presence,
He that begot him must do't ten times more.
I pray thee, my sweet boy, show me thy parents;
Be not ashamed.
Ang. I am not: I did never
Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace,
Filled with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare assure you,
And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand,
My father is in Heaven; and, pretty mistress,
If your illustrious hour-glass spend his sand
No worse than yet it does, upon my life,
You and I both shall meet my father there,
And he shall bid you welcome.
Dor. A blessed day!
We all long to be there, but lose the way, [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Street, near DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter MACRINUS, met by THEOPHILUS and HARPAX.
Theo. The Sun, god of the day, guide thee, Macrinus!
Mac. And thee, Theophilus!
Theo. Glad'st thou in such scorn?
I call my wish back.
Mac. I'm in haste.
Theo. One word,
Take the least hand of time up:—stay.
Mac. Be brief.
Theo. As thought: I prithee tell me, good Macrinus,
How health and our fair princess lay together
This night, for you can tell; courtiers have flies,
That buzz all news unto them.
Mac. She slept but ill.
Theo. Double thy courtesy; how does Antoninus?
Mac. Ill, well, straight, crooked, —I know not how.
Theo. Once more;
—Thy head is full of windmills:—when doth the princess
Fill a bed full of beauty, and bestow it
On Antoninus, on the wedding-night.
Mac. I know not.
Theo. No! thou art the manuscript
Where Antoninus writes down all his secrets:
Honest Macrinus, tell me.
Mac. Fare you well, sir. [Exit.
Harp. Honesty is some fiend, and frights him hence
A many courtiers love it not.
Theo. What piece
Of this state-wheel, which winds up Antoninus,
Is broke, it runs so jarringly? the man
Is from himself divided. O thou, the eye
By which I wonders see, tell me, my Harpax,
What gad-fly tickles this Macrinus so,
That, upflinging the tail, he breaks thus from me.
Harp. Oh, sir, his brain-pan is a bed of snakes,
Whose stings shoot through his eye-balls, whose poisonous spawn
Ingenders such a fry of speckled villainies,
That, unless charms more strong than adamant
Be used, the Roman angel's wings shall melt,
And Cæsar's diadem be from his head
Spurned by base feet; the laurel which he wears,
Returning victor, be enforced to kiss
That which it hates, the fire. And can this ram,
This Antoninus-engine, being made ready
To so much mischief, keep a steady motion?—
His eyes and feet, you see, give strange assaults.
Theo. I'm turned a marble statue at thy language,
Which printed is in such crabbed characters,
It puzzles all my reading: what, in the name
Of Pluto, now is hatching?
Harp. This Macrinus,
The line is, upon which love-errands run
'TwixtAntoninus and that ghost of women,
The bloodless Dorothea; who in prayer
And meditation, mocking all your gods,
Drinks up her ruby colour: yet Antoninus
Plays the Endymion to this pale-faced moon,
Courts her, seeks to catch her eyes_____
Theo. And what of this?
Harp. These are but creeping billows,
Not got to shore yet: but if Dorothea
Fall on his bosom, and be fired with love,—
Your coldest women do so,—had you ink
Brewed from the infernal Styx, not all that blackness
Can make a thing so foul as the dishonours,
Disgraces, buffetings, and most base affronts
Upon the bright Artemia, star o' the court,
Great Cæsar's daughter.
Theo. I now conster thee.
Harp. Nay, more; a firmament of clouds, being filled
With Jove's artillery, shot down at once,
To pash your gods in pieces, cannot give,
With all those thunderbolts, so deep a blow
To the religion there, and pagan lore,
As this; for Dorothea hates your gods,
And, if she once blast Antoninus' soul,
Making it foul like hers, oh! the example_____
Theo. Eats through Cæsarea's heart like liquid poison.
Have I invented tortures to tear Christians,
To see but which, could all that feel hell's torments
Have leave to stand aloof here on earth's stage,
They would be mad till they again descended,
Holding the pains most horrid of such souls
May-games to those of mine; has this my hand
Set down a Christian's execution
In such dire postures, that the very hangman
Fell at my foot dead, hearing but their figures;
And shall Macrinus and his fellow-masquer
Strangle me in a dance?
Harp. No:—on; I do hug thee,
For drilling thy quick brains in this rich plot
Of tortures 'gainst these Christians: on; I hug thee!
Theo. Both hug and holy me: to this Dorothea,
Fly thou and I in thunder.
Harp. Not for kingdoms
Piled upon kingdoms: there's a villain page
Waits on her, whom I would not for the world
Hold traffic with; I do so hate his sight,
That, should I look on him, I must sink down.
Theo. I will not lose thee then, her to confound:
None but this head with glories shall be crowned.
Harp. Oh! mine own as I would wish thee!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter DOROTHEA, MACRINUS, and ANGELO.
Dor. My trusty Angelo, with that curious eye
Of thine, which ever waits upon my business,
I prithee watch those my still-negligent servants,
That they perform my will, in what's enjoined them
To the good of others; else will you find them flies,
Not lying still, yet in them no good lies:
Be careful, dear boy.
Ang. Yes, my sweetest mistress. [Exit.
Dor. Now, sir, you may go on.
Mac. I then must study
A new arithmetic, to sum up the virtues
Which Antoninus gracefully become.
There is in him so much man, so much goodness,
So much of honour, and of all things else,
Which make our being excellent, that from his store
He can enough lend others; yet, much taken from him,
The want shall be as little as when seas
Lend from their bounty, to fill up the poorness
Of needy rivers.
Dor. Sir, he is more indebted
To you for praise, than you to him that owes it.
Mac. If queens, viewing his presents paid to the whiteness
Of your chaste hand alone, should be ambitious
But to be parted in their numerous shares;
This he counts nothing: could you see main armies
Make battles in the quarrel of his valour,
That 'tis the best, the truest; this were nothing:
The greatness of his state, his father's voice,
And arm, awing Cæsarea, he ne'er boasts of;
The sunbeams which the emperor throws upon him
Shine there but as in water, and gild him
Not with one spot of pride; no, dearest beauty,
All these, heaped up together in one scale,
Cannot weigh down the love he bears to you
Being put into the other.
Dor. Could gold buy you
To speak thus for your friend, you, sir, are worthy
Of more than I will number; and this your language
Hath power to win upon another woman,
'Top of whose heart the feathers of this world
Are gaily stuck: but all which first you named,
And now this last, his love, to me are nothing.
Mac. You make me a sad messenger;—but himself
Enter ANTONINUS.
Being come in person, shall, I hope, hear from you
Music more pleasing.
Anton. Has your ear, Macrinus,
Heard none, then?
Mac. None I like.
Anton. But can there be
In such a noble casket, wherein lie
Beauty and chastity in their full perfections,
A rocky heart, killing with cruelty
A life that's prostrated beneath your feet?
Dor. I am guilty of a shame I yet ne'er knew,
Thus to hold parley with you;—pray, sir, pardon. [Going.
Anton. Good sweetness, you now have it, and shall go:
Be but so merciful, before your wounding me
With such a mortal weapon as "farewell,"
To let me murmur to your virgin ear
What I was loth to lay on any tongue
But this mine own.
Dor. If one immodest accent
Fly out, I hate you everlastingly.
Anton. My true love dares not do it.
Mac. Hermes inspire thee!
Enter above, ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, SPUNGIUS, and
HIRCIUS.
Spun. See you, do you see?—Our work is done; the fish you angle
for is nibbling at the hook, and therefore untruss the cod-piece-point of our
reward, no matter if the breeches of conscience fall about our heels.
Theo. The gold you earn is here; dam up your mouths, And no words of
it.
Hir. No; nor no words from you of too much damning neither. I know
women sell themselves daily, and are hackneyed out for silver: why may not we,
then, betray a scurvy mistress for gold?
Spun. She saved us from the gallows, and, only to keep one proverb
from
breaking his neck, we'll hang her.
Theo. 'Tis well done; go, go, you're my fine white boys.
Spun. If your red boys, 'tis well known more ill-favoured faces than
ours are painted.
Sap. Those fellows trouble us.
Theo. Away, away!
Hir. I to my sweet placket.
Spun. And I to my full pot.
[Exeunt HIRCIUS and SPUNGIUS.
Anton. Come, let me tune you:—glaze not thus your eyes
With self-love of a vowed virginity;
Make every man your glass; you see our sex
Do never murder propagation;
We all desire your sweet society,
And, if you bar me from it, you do kill me,
And of my blood are guilty.
Artem. O base villain!
Sap. Bridle your rage, sweet princess.
Anton. Could not my fortunes,
Reared higher far than yours, be worthy of you,
Methinks my dear affection makes you mine.
Dor. Sir, for your fortunes, were they mines of gold,
He that I love is richer; and for worth,
You are to him lower than any slave
Is to a monarch.
Sap. So insolent, base Christian!
Dor. Can I, with wearing out my knees before him,
Get you but be his servant, you shall boast
You're equal to a king.
Sap. Confusion on thee,
For playing thus the lying sorceress!
Anton. Your mocks are great ones; none beneath the sun
Will I be servant to.—On my knees I beg it,
Pity me, wondrous maid.
Sap. I curse thy baseness.
Theo. Listen to more.
Dor. O, kneel not, sir, to me.
Anton. This knee is emblem of an humbled heart:
That heart which tortured is with your disdain,
Justly for scorning others, even this heart,
To which for pity such a princess sues
As in her hand offers me all the world,
Great Cæsar's daughter.
Artem. Slave, thou liest.
Anton. Yet this
Is adamant to her, that melts to you
In drops of blood.
Theo. A very dog!
Anton. Perhaps
'Tis my religion makes you knit the brow;
Yet be you mine, and ever be your own:
I ne'er will screw your conscience from that Power
On which you Christians lean.
Sap. I can no longer
Fret out my life with weeping at thee, villain.
[Aloud.] Sirrah!
Would, when I got thee, the high Thunderer's hand
Had struck thee in the womb!
Mac. We are betrayed.
Artem. Is that your idol, traitor, which thou kneel'st to,
Trampling upon my beauty?
Theo. Sirrah, bandog!
Wilt thou in pieces tear our Jupiter
For her? our Mars for her? our Sol for her?—
A whore! a hell-hound! In this globe of brains,
Where a whole world of tortures for such furies
Have fought, as in a chaos, which should exceed,
These nails shall grubbing lie from skull to skull,
To find one horrider than all, for you,
You three!
Artem. Threaten not, but strike: quick vengeance flies Into thy
bosom;
caitiff! here all love dies.
[Exeunt above.
Anton. O! I am thunderstuck! We are both o'erwhelmed—
Mac. With one high-raging billow.
Dor. You a soldier,
And sink beneath the violence of a woman!
Anton. A woman! a wronged princess. From such a star
Blazing with fires of hate, what can be looked for,
But tragical events? my life is now
The subject of her tyranny.
Dor. That fear is base,
Of death, when that death doth but life displace
Out of her house of earth; you only dread
The stroke, and not what follows when you're dead;
There's the great fear, indeed: come, let your eyes
Dwell where mine do, you'll scorn their tyrannies.
Re-enter below, ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, a guard; ANGELO
comes
and stands close by DOROTHEA.
Artem. My father's nerves put vigour in mine arm,
And I his strength must use. Because I once
Shed beams of favour on thee, and, with the lion,
Played with thee gently, when thou struck'st my heart,
I'll not insult on a base, humbled prey,
By lingering out thy terrors; but, with one frown,
Kill thee:—hence with them to execution.
Seize him; but let even death itself be weary
In torturing her. I'll change those smiles to shrieks;
Give the fool what she's proud of, martyrdom:
In pieces rack that bawd too. [Points to MACRINUS.
Sap. Albeit the reverence
I owe our gods and you are, in my bosom,
Torrents so strong that pity quite lies drowned
From saving this young man, yet, when I see
What face death gives him, and that a thing within me
Says 'tis my son, I am forced to be a man,
And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg.
Artem. And I deny.
Anton. Sir, you dishonour me,
To sue for that which I disclaim to have.
I shall more glory in my sufferings gain
Than you in giving judgment, since I offer
My blood up to your anger; nor do I kneel
To keep a wretched life of mine from ruin:
Preserve this temple, builded fair as yours is,
And Cæsar never went in greater triumph
Than I shall to the scaffold.
Artem. Are you so brave, sir?
Set forward to his triumph, and let those two
Go cursing along with him.
Dor. No, but pitying,
For my part, I, that you lose ten times more
By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures:
Through all the army of my sins, I have even
Laboured to break, and cope with death to the face.
The visage of a hangman frights not me;
The sight of whips, racks, gibbets, axes, fires,
Are scaffoldings by which my soul climbs up
To an eternal habitation.
Theo. Cæsar's imperial daughter! hear me speak.
Let not this Christian thing, in this her pageantry
Of proud deriding both our gods and Cæsar,
Build to herself a kingdom in her death,
Going laughing from us: no; her bitterest torment
Shall be, to feel her constancy beaten down;
The bravery of her resolution lie
Battered, by the argument, into such pieces,
That she again shall, on her belly, creep
To kiss the pavements of our paynim gods.
Artem. How to be done?
Theo. I'll send my daughters to her,
And they shall turn her rocky faith to wax;
Else spit at me, let me be made your slave,
And meet no Roman's but a villain's grave.
Artem. Thy prisoner let her be, then; and, Sapritius,
Your son and that be yours: death shall be sent
To him that suffers them, by voice or letters,
To greet each other. Rifle her estate;
Christians to beggary brought grow desperate.
Dor. Still on the bread of poverty let me feed.
Ang. O! my admired mistress, quench not out
The holy fires within you, though temptations
Shower down upon you: clasp thine armour on,
Fight well, and thou shalt see, after these wars,
Thy head wear sunbeams, and thy feet touch stars.
[Exeunt all but ANGELO.
Enter HIRCIUS and SPUNGIUS.
Hir. How now, Angelo; how is it, how is it? What thread spins that
whore Fortune upon her wheel now?
Spun. Comesta, comesta poor knave?
Hir. Com a porte vou, com a porte vou, my petite gar-soone?
Spun. Me partha, wee comrade, my half-inch of man's flesh, how run the
dice of this cheating world, ha?
Ang. Too well on your sides; you are hid in gold,
O'er head and ears.
Hir. We thank our fates, the sign of the gingle-boys hangs at the
doors
of our pockets.
Spun. Who would think that we, coming forth of the arse, as it
were, or
fag-end of the world, should yet see the golden age, when so little silver is
stirring?
Hir. Nay, who can say any citizen is an ass, for lading his own back
with money till his soul cracks again, only to leave his son like a gilded
coxcomb behind him? Will not any fool take me for a wise man now,
seeing me draw
out of the pit of my treasury this little god with his belly full of gold?
Spun. And this, full of the same meat, out of my ambry?
Ang. That gold will melt to poison.
Spun. Poison! would it would! whole pints for healths should down my
throat.
Hir. Gold, poison! there is never a she-thrasher in Cæsarea,
that
lives on the flail of money, will call it so.
Ang. Like slaves you sold your souls for golden dross, Bewitching her
to death, who stepped between
You and the gallows.
Spun. It was an easy matter to save us, she being so well backed.
Hir. The gallows and we fell out: so she did but part us.
Ang. The misery of that mistress is mine own;
She beggared, I left wretched.
Hir. I can but let my nose drop in sorrow, with wet eyes for her.
Spun. The petticoat of her estate is unlaced, I confess.
Hir. Yes, and the smock of her charity is now all to pieces.
Ang. For love you bear to her, for some good turns
Done you by me, give me one piece of silver.
Hir. How! a piece of silver! if thou wert an angel of gold, I would
not
put thee into white money unless I weighed thee; and I weigh thee not a rush.
Spun. A piece of silver! I never had but two calves in my life, and
those my mother left me; I will rather part from the fat of them than from a
mustard-token's worth of argent.
Hir. And so, sweet nit, we crawl from thee.
Spun. Adieu, demi-dandiprat, adieu!
Ang. Stay,—one word yet; you now are full of gold.
Hir. I would be sorry my dog were so full of the pox.
Spun. Or any sow of mine of the meazles either.
Ang. Go, go! you're beggars both; you are not worth
That leather on your feet.
Hir. Away, away, boy!
Spun. Page, you do nothing but set patches on the soles of your
jests.
Ang. I am glad I tried your love, which, see! I want not,
So long as this is full.
Both. And so long as this, so long as this.
Hir. Spungius, you are a pickpocket.
Spun. Hircius, thou hast nimmed. "So long as!"—not so much money
is left as will buy a louse.
Hir. Thou art a thief, and thou liest in that gut through which thy
wine runs, if thou deniest it.
Spun. Thou liest deeper than the bottom of mine enraged pocket, if
thou
affrontest it.
Ang. No blows, no bitter language;—all your gold gone!
Spun. Can the devil creep into one's breeches?
Hir. Yes, if his horns once get into the cod-piece.
Ang. Come, sigh not; I so little am in love
With that whose loss kills you. that, see! 'tis yours,
All yours: divide the heap in equal share,
So you will go along with me to prison,
And in our mistress' sorrows bear a part:
Say, will you?
Both. Will we!
Spun. If she were going to hanging, no gallows should part us.
Hir. Let us both be turned into a rope of onions, if we do not.
Ang. Follow me, then; repair your bad deeds past;
Happy are men, when their best days are last!
Spun. True, master Angelo; pray, sir, lead the way.
[Exit ANGELO.
Hir. Let him lead that way, but follow thou me this way.
Spun. I live in a gaol!
Hir. Away, and shift for ourselves. She'll do well enough there; for
prisoners are more hungry after mutton than catchpoles after prisoners.
Spun. Let her starve then, if a whole gaol will not fill her belly.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, Priest, CALISTA, and CHRISTETA.
SAP. Sick to the death, I fear.
Theo. I meet your sorrow,
With my true feeling of it.
Sap. She's a witch,
A sorceress, Theophilus; my son
Is charmed by her enticing eyes; and, like
An image made of wax, her beams of beauty
Melt him to nothing: all my hopes in him,
And all his gotten honours, find their grave
In his strange dotage on her. Would, when first
He saw and loved her, that the earth had opened,
And swallowed both alive!
Theo. There's hope left yet.
Sap. Not any: though the princess were appeased,
All title in her love surrendered up,
Yet this coy Christian is so transported
With her religion, that unless my son
(But let him perish first!) drink the same potion,
And be of her belief, she'll not vouchsafe
To be his lawful wife.
Priest. But, once removed
From her opinion, as I rest assured
The reasons of these holy maids will win her,
You'll find her tractable to anything,
For your content or his.
Theo. If she refuse it,
The Stygian damps, breeding infectious airs,
The mandrake's shrieks, the basilisk's killing eye,
The dreadful lightning that does crush the bones
And never singe the skin, shall not appear
Less fatal to her than my zeal made hot
With love unto my gods. I have deferred it,
In hopes to draw back this apostata,
Which will be greater honour than her death,
Unto her father's faith; and, to that end,
Have brought my daughters hither.
Cal. And we doubt not
To do what you desire.
Sap. Let her be sent for.
Prosper in your good work; and were I not
To attend the princess, I would see and hear
How you succeed.
Theo. I am commanded too,
I'll bear you company.
Sap. Give them your ring,
To lead her as in triumph, if they win her,
Before her highness. [Exit.
Theo. Spare no promises,
Persuasions, or threats, I do conjure you:
If you prevail, 'tis the most glorious work
You ever undertook.
Enter DOROTHEA and ANGELO.
Priest. She comes.
Theo. We leave you;
Be constant, and be careful.
[Exeunt THEOPHILUS and Priest.
Cal. We are sorry
To meet you under guard.
Dor. But I more grieved
You are at liberty. So well I love you
That I could wish, for such a cause as mine,
You were my fellow-prisoners. Prithee, Angelo,
Reach us some chairs. Please you sit_____
Cal. We thank you:
Our visit is for love, love to your safety.
Chris. Our conference must be private; pray you, therefore,
Command your boy to leave us.
Dor. You may trust him
With any secret that concerns my life;
Falsehood and he are strangers: had you, ladies,
Been blessed with such a servant, you had never
Forsook that way, your journey even half ended,
That leads to joys eternal. In the place
Of loose lascivious mirth, he would have stirred you
To holy meditations; and so far
He is from flattery that he would have told you,
Your pride being at the height, how miserable
And wretched things you were, that, for an hour
Of pleasure here, have made a desperate sale
Of all your right in happiness hereafter.
He must not leave me; without him I fall:
In this life he's my servant, in the other
A wished companion.
Ang. 'Tis not in the devil,
Nor all his wicked arts, to shake such goodness.
Dor. But you were speaking, lady.
Cal. As a friend
And lover of your safety, and I pray you
So to receive it; and, if you remember
How near in love our parents were, that we,
Even from the cradle, were brought up together,
Our amity increasing with our years,
We cannot stand suspected.
Dor. To the purpose.
Cal. We come, then, as good angels, Dorothea,
To make you happy; and the means so easy
That, be not you an enemy to yourself,
Already you enjoy it.
Chris. Look on us,
Ruined as you are, once, and brought unto it
By your persuasion.
Cal. But what followed, lady?
Leaving those blessings which our gods gave freely,
And showered upon us with a prodigal hand,—
As to be noble born, youth, beauty, wealth,
And the free use of these without control,
Check, curb, or stop, such is our law's indulgence!—
All happiness forsook us; bonds and fetters,
For amorous twines; the rack and hangman's whips,
In place of choice delights; our parents' curses
Instead of blessings; scorn, neglect, contempt,
Fell thick upon us.
Chris. This considered wisely,
We made a fair retreat; and, reconciled
To our forsaken gods, we live again
In all prosperity.
Cal. By our example,
Bequeathing misery to such as love it,
Learn to be happy. The Christian yoke's too heavy
For such a dainty neck; it was framed rather
To be the shrine of Venus, or a pillar,
More precious than crystal, to support
Our Cupid's image: our religion, lady,
Is but a varied pleasure; yours a toil
Slaves would shrink under.
Dor. Have you not cloven feet; are you not devils?
Dare any say so much, or dare I hear it,
Without a virtuous and religious anger?
Now to put on a virgin modesty,
Or maiden silence, when His power is questioned
That is omnipotent, were a greater crime
Than in a bad cause to be impudent.
Your gods! your temples! brothel-houses rather,
Or wicked actions of the worst of men,
Pursued and practised. Your religious rites!
Oh! call them rather juggling mysteries,
The baits and nets of hell: your souls the prey
For which the devil angles; your false pleasures
A steep descent, by which you headlong fall
Into eternal torments.
Cal. Do not tempt
Our powerful gods
Dor. Which of your powerful gods?
Your gold, your silver, brass, or wooden ones,
That can nor do me hurt, nor protect you?
Most pitied women! will you sacrifice
To such,—or call them gods or goddesses,
Your parents would disdain to be the same,
Or you yourselves? O blinded ignorance!
Tell me, Calista, by the truth, I charge you,
Or anything you hold more dear, would you
To have him deified to posterity,
Desire your father an adulterer,
A ravisher, almost a parricide,
A vile incestuous wretch?
Cal. That, piety
And duty answer for me.
Dor. Or you, Christeta,
To be hereafter registered a goddess,
Give your chaste body up to the embraces
Of goatish lust? have it writ on your forehead,
"This is the common whore, the prostitute,
The mistress in the art of wantonness,
Knows every trick and labyrinth of desires
That are immodest?"
Chris. You judge better of me,
Or my affection is ill placed on you:
Shall I turn strumpet?
Dor. No, I think you would not.
Yet Venus, whom you worship, was a whore;
Flora, the foundress of the public stews,
And has, for that, her sacrifice; your great god,
Your Jupiter, a loose adulterer,
Incestuous with his sister: read but those
That have canónized them, you'll find them worse
Than, in chaste language, I can speak them to you.
Are they immortal, then, that did partake
Of human weakness, and had ample share
In men's most base affections; subject to
Unchaste loves, anger, bondage, wounds, as men are?
Here, Jupiter, to serve his lust, turned bull,
The ship, indeed, in which he stole Europa;
Neptune, for gain, builds up the walls of Troy
As a day-labourer; Apollo keeps
Admetus' sheep for bread; the Lemnian smith
Sweats at the forge for hire; Prometheus here,
With his still-growing liver, feeds the vulture;
Saturn bound fast in hell with adamant chains:
And thousands more, on whom abusèd error
Bestows a deity. Will you, then, dear sisters,
For I would have you such, pay your devotions
To things of less power than yourselves?
Cal. We worship
Their good deeds in their images.
Dor. By whom fashioned?
By sinful men. I'll tell you a short tale,
Nor can you but confess it was a true one:
A king of Egypt, being to erect
The image of Osiris, whom they honour,
Took from the matrons' neck the richest jewels,
And purest gold, as the materials,
To finish up his work; which perfected,
With all solemnity he set it up,
To be adored, and served himself his idol;
Desiring it to give him victory
Against his enemies: but, being overthrown,
Enraged against his god, (these are fine gods,
Subject to human fury!) he took down
The senseless thing, and, melting it again,
He made a bason, in which eunuchs washed
His concubine's feet; and for this sordid use
Some months it served: his mistress proving false,—
As most indeed do so,—and grace concluded
Between him and the priests, of the same bason
He made his god again! Think, think of this,
And then consider, if all worldly honours,
Or pleasures that do leave sharp stings behind them,
Have power to win such as have reasonable souls,
To put their trust in dross.
Cal. Oh, that I had been born
Without a father!
Chrisi. Piety to him
Hath ruined us for ever.
Dor. Think not so;
You may repair all yet: the attribute
That speaks His Godhead most, is merciful:
Revenge is proper to the fiends you worship,
Yet cannot strike without His leave.—You weep,—
Oh, 'tis a heavenly shower! celestial balm
To cure your wounded conscience! let it fall,
Fall thick upon it; and when that is spent,
I'll help it with another of my tears;
And, may your true repentance prove the child
Of my true sorrow, never mother had
A birth so happy!
Cal. We are caught ourselves,
That came to take you; and, assured of conquest,
We are your captives.
Dor. And in that you triumph:
Your victory had been eternal loss,
And this your loss immortal gain. Fix here,
And you shall feel yourselves inwardly armed
'Gainst tortures, death, and hell:—but, take heed, sisters,
That, or through weakness, threats, or mild persuasions,
Though of a father, you fall not into
A second and a worse apostasy.
Cal. Never, oh never! steeled by your example,
We dare the worst of tyranny.
Chris. Here's our warrant;
You shall along and witness it.
Dor. Be confirmed then;
And rest assured, the more you suffer here,
The more your glory, you to Heaven more dear.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The Governor's Palace.
Enter ARTEMIA, SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, and HARPAX.
Artem. Sapritius, though your son deserve no pity,
We grieve his sickness: his contempt of us,
We cast behind us, and look back upon
His service done to Cæsar, that weighs down
Our just displeasure. If his malady
Have growth from his restraint, or that you think
His liberty can cure him, let him have it:
Say, we forgive him freely.
Sap. Your grace binds us,
Ever your humblest vassals.
Artem. Use all means
For his recovery; though yet I love him,
I will not force affection. If the Christian,
Whose beauty hath out-rivalled mine, be won
To be of our belief, let him enjoy her;
That all may know, when the cause wills, I can
Command my own desires.
Theo. Be happy then,
My Lord Sapritius: I am confident,
Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwells
Upon my daughters' tongues, that they will work her
To anything they please.
Sap. I wish they may!
Yet 'tis no easy task to undertake,
To alter a perverse and obstinate woman.
[A shout within: loud music.
Artem. What means this shout?
Sap. 'Tis seconded with music,
Triumphant music.—Ha!
Enter SEMPRONIUS.
Semp. My lord, your daughters,
The pillars of our faith, having converted,
For so report gives out, the Christian lady,
The image of great Jupiter borne before them,
Sue for access.
Theo. My soul divined as much.
Blest be the time when first they saw this light!
Their mother, when she bore them to support
My feeble age, filled not my longing heart
With so much joy as they in this good work
Have thrown upon me.
Enter Priest, with the image of Jupiter, incense and censers; followed
by CALISTA and CHRISTETA leading DOROTHEA.
Welcome, oh, thrice welcome,
Daughters, both of my body and my mind!
Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort;
And, Dorothea, now more welcome too
Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravished
With the excess of joy:—speak, happy daughters,
The blest event.
Cal. We never gained so much
By any undertaking.
Theo. O my dear girl,
Our gods reward thee!
Dor. Nor was ever time,
On my part, better spent.
Chris. We are all now
Of one opinion.
Theo. My best Christeta!
Madam, if ever you did grace to worth,
Vouchsafe your princely hands.
Artem. Most willingly_____
Do you refuse it?
Cal. Let us first deserve it.
Theo. My own child still! Here set our god; prepare
The incense quickly. Come, fair Dorothea,
I will myself support you;—now kneel down,
And pay your vows to Jupiter.
Dor. I shall do it
Better by their example.
Theo. They shall guide you;
They are familiar with the sacrifice.
Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her,
Make a joint offering.
Chris. Thus_____ [They both spit at the image.
Cal. And thus_____ [They throw it down and spurn it.
Harp. Profane,
And impious! stand you now like a statue?
Are you the champion of the gods? where is
Your holy zeal, your anger?
Theo. I am blasted;
And, as my feet were rooted here, I find
I have no motion; I would I had no sight too!
Or, if my eyes can serve to any use,
Give me, thou injured Power! a sea of tears,
To expiate this madness in my daughters;
For, being themselves, they would have trembled at
So blasphemous a deed in any other:—
For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder,
And give me patience to demand a reason
For this accursèd act.
Dor. 'Twas bravely done.
Theo. Peace, damned enchantress, peace!—I should look on you
With eyes made red with fury, and my hand,
That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my tongue,
And seal my vengeance on your hearts;—but nature,
To you that have fallen once, bids me again
To be a father. Oh! how durst you tempt
The anger of great Jove?
Dor. Alack, poor Jove!
He is no swaggerer! how smug he stands!
He'll take a kick, or anything.
Sap. Stop her mouth.
Dor. It is the patient'st godling! do not fear him;
He would not hurt the thief that stole away
Two of his golden locks; indeed he could not:
And still 'tis the same quiet thing.
Theo. Blasphemer!
Ingenious cruelty shall punish this:
Thou art past hope. But for you yet, dear daughters,
Again bewitched, the dew of mild forgiveness
May gently fall, provided you deserve it,
With true contrition: be yourselves again;
Sue to the offended deity.
Chris. Not to be
The mistress of the earth.
Cal. I will not offer
A grain of incense to it, much less kneel,
Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn,
To have a thousand years conferred upon me
Of worldly blessings. We profess ourselves
To be, like Dorothea, Christians;
And owe her for that happiness.
Theo. My ears
Receive, in hearing this, all deadly charms,
Powerful to make man wretched.
Artem. Are these they
You bragged could convert others!
Sap. That want strength
To stand, themselves!
Harp. Your honour is engaged,
The credit of your cause depends upon it:
Something you must do suddenly.
Theo. And I will.
Harp. They merit death; but, falling by your hand,
'Twill be recorded for a just revenge,
And holy fury in you.
Theo. Do not blow
The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already;
Ætna is in my breast. wildfire burns here,
Which only blood must quench. Incensèd Power!
Which from my infancy I have adored,
Look down with favourable beams upon
The sacrifice, though not allowed thy priest,
Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased,
My fiery zeal inciting me to act it,
To call that justice others may style murder.
Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag you
Before this holy altar; thus look on you,
Less pitiful than tigers to their prey:
And thus, with mine own hand, I take that life
Which I gave to you. [Kills them.
Dor. O most cruel butcher!
Theo. My anger ends not here. Hell's dreadful porter,
Receive into thy ever-open gates
Their damnèd souls, and let the Furies' whips
On them alone be wasted! and, when death
Closes these eyes, 'twill be Elysium to me
To hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto,
Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls
Of this accursèd sect; nor let me fall,
Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all.
[Exit, with HARPAX hugging him.
Artem. 'Tis a brave zeal.
Enter ANGELO, smiling.
Dor. Oh, call him back again,
Call back your hangman! here's one prisoner left
To be the subject of his knife.
Artem. Not so;
We are not so near reconciled unto thee;
Thou shalt not perish such an easy way.
Be she your charge, Sapritius, now; and suffer
None to come near her, till we have found out
Some torments worthy of her.
Ang. Courage, mistress;
These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate;
You shall exceed them, and not imitate. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Room in DOROTHEA'S House.
Enter SPUNGIUS and HIRCIUS, ragged, at opposite doors.
Hir. Spungius!
Spun. My fine rogue, how is it? how goes this tattered world?
Hir. Hast any money?
Spun. Money! no. The tavern ivy clings about my money, and kills it.
Hast thou any money?
Hir. No. My money is a mad bull; and finding any gap opened, away it
runs.
Spun. I see then a tavern and a bawdy-house have faces much alike;
the
one has red grates next the door, the other has peeping-holes within doors; the
tavern hath evermore a bush, the bawdy-house sometimes neither hedge nor bush.
From a tavern a man comes reeling; from a bawdy-house, not able to stand. In
the
tavern you are cozened with paltry wine; in a bawdy-house, by a painted whore:
money may have wine, and a whore will have money; but neither can you cry
"Drawer, you rogue!" or, "Keep door, rotten bawd!" without a silver whistle.
We
are justly plagued, therefore, for running from our mistress.
Hir. Thou didst; I did not: yet I had run too, but that one gave me
turpentine pills, and that stayed my running.
Spun. Well! the thread of my life is drawn through the needle of
necessity, whose eye, looking upon my lousy breeches, cries out it cannot mend
them; which so pricks the linings of my body, (and those are heart, lights,
lungs, guts, and midriff,) that I beg on my knees to have Atropos, the tailor
to
the Destinies, to take her shears, and cut my thread in two; or to heat the
iron
goose of mortality, and so press me to death.
Hir. Sure thy father was some botcher, and thy hungry tongue bit off
these shreds of complaints, to patch up the elbows of thy nitty eloquence.
Spun. And what was thy father?
Hir. A low-minded cobbler, a cobbler whose zeal set many a woman
upright; the remembrance of whose awl (I now having nothing) thrusts such
scurvy
stitches into my soul, that the heel of my happiness has gone awry.
Spun. Pity that e'er thou trod'st thy shoe awry.
Hir. Long I cannot last; for all sowterly wax of comfort melting away,
and misery taking the length of my foot, it boots not me to sue for life, when
all my hopes are seam-rent, and go wet-shod.
Spun. This shows thou art a cobbler's son, by going through-stitch: O
Hircius, would thou and I were so happy to be cobblers!
Hir. So would I; for both of us being now weary of our lives, should
then be sure of shoemakers' ends.
Spun. I see the beginning of my end, for I am almost starved.
Hir. So am not I; but I am more than famished.
Spun. All the members in my body are in a rebellion one against
another.
Hir. So are mine; and nothing but a cook, being a constable, can
appease them, presenting to my nose, instead of his painted staff, a spit full
of roast meat.
Spun. But, in this rebellion, what uproars do they make! my belly
cries
to my mouth, "Why dost not gape and feed me?"
Hir. And my mouth sets out a throat to my hand, "Why dost not
thou lift
up meat, and cram my chops with it?"
Spun. Then my hand hath a fling at mine eyes, because they look not
out, and shark for victuals.
Hir. Which mine eyes seeing, full of tears, cry aloud, and curse my
feet, for not ambling up and down to feed colon: sithence, if good meat be in
any place, 'tis known my feet can smell.
Spun. But then my feet, like lazy rogues, lie still, and had
rather do
nothing than run to and fro to purchase anything.
Hir. Why, among so many millions of people, should thou and I only be
miserable tatterdemallions, ragamuffins, and lousy desperates?
Spun. Thou art a mere I-am-an-o, I-am-an-as: consider the whole
world,
and 'tis as we are.
Hir. Lousy, beggarly! thou whoreson assafœtida?
Spun. Worse; all tottering, all out of frame, thou fooliamini!
Hir. As how, arsenic? come, make the world smart.
Spun. Old honour goes on crutches, beggary rides caroched; honest men
make feasts, knaves sit at tables, cowards are lapped in velvet, soldiers (as
we) in rags; beauty turns whore, whore bawd, and both die of the pox: why,
then,
when all the world stumbles, should thou and I walk upright?
Hir. Stop, look! who's yonder?
Enter ANGELO.
Spun. Fellow Angelo! how does my little man? well?
Ang. Yes; and would you did so! Where are your clothes?
Hir. Clothes! You see every woman almost go in her loose gown,
and why
should not we have our clothes loose?
Spun. Would they were loose!
Ang. Why, where are they?
Spun. Where many a velvet cloak, I warrant, at this hour, keeps them
company; they are pawned to a broker.
Ang. Why pawned? where's all the gold I left with you?
Hir. The gold! we put that into a scrivener's hands, and he
has cozened
us.
Spun. And therefore, I prithee, Angelo, if thou hast
another purse, let
it be confiscate, and brought to devastation.
Ang. Are you made all of lies? I know which way
Your guilt-winged pieces flew. I will no more
Be mocked by you: be sorry for your riots,
Tame your wild flesh by labour; eat the bread
Got with hard hands; let sorrow be your whip,
To draw drops of repentance from your heart:
When I read this amendment in your eyes,
You shall not want; till then, my pity dies. [Exit.
Spun. Is it not a shame, that this scurvy puerilis should give us
lessons?
Hir. I have dwelt, thou know'st, a long time in the suburbs of the
conscience, and they are ever bawdy; but now my heart shall
take a house within
the walls of honesty.
Enter HARPAX behind.
Spun. O you drawers of wine, draw me no more to the bar of beggary; the
sound of "Score a pottle of sack" is worse than the noise of a scolding
oyster-
wench, or two cats incorporating.
Harp. This must not be. I do not like when conscience
Thaws; keep her frozen still. [Comes forward.] How now, my masters!
Dejected? drooping? drowned in tears? clothes torn?
Lean, and ill coloured? sighing? what's the whirlwind
Which raiseth all these mischiefs? I have seen you
Drawn better on't. O! but a spirit told me
You both would come to this, when in you thrust
Yourselves into the service of that lady,
Who shortly now must die. Where's now her praying?
What good got you by wearing out your feet,
To run on scurvy errands to the poor,
And to bear money to a sort of rogues
And lousy prisoners?
Hir. Pox on them! I never prospered since I did it.
Spun. Had I been a pagan still, I could not have spit white
for want of
drink; but come to any vintner now, and bid him trust me, because I turned
Christian, and he cries, Puh!
Harp. You're rightly served; before that peevish lady
Had to do with you, women, wine, and money
Flowed in abundance with you, did it not?
Hir, Oh, those days! those days!
Harp. Beat not your breasts, tear not your hair in madness;
Those days shall come again, be ruled by me;
And better, mark me, better.
Spun. I have seen you, sir, as I take it, an attendant on the Lord
Theophilus.
Harp. Yes, yes; in show his servant: but—hark, hither!—
Take heed nobody listens.
Spun. Not a mouse stirs.
Harp. I am a prince disguised.
Hir. Disguised! how? drunk?
Harp. Yes, my fine boy! I'll drink too, and be drunk;
I am a prince, and any man by me,
Let him but keep my rules, shall soon grow rich,
Exceeding rich, most infinitely rich:
He that shall serve me is not starved from pleasures
As other poor knaves are; no, take their fill.
Spun. But that, sir, we're so ragged_____
Harp. You'll say, you'd serve me?
Hir. Before any master under the zodiac.
Harp. For clothes no matter; I've a mind to both.
And one thing I like in you; now that you see
The bonfire of your lady's state burnt out,
You give it over, do you not?
Hir. Let her be hanged!
Spun. And poxed!
Harp. Why, now you're mine;
Come, let my bosom touch you.
Spun. We have bugs, sir.
Harp. There's money, fetch your clothes home; there's for you.
Hir. Avoid, vermin! give over our mistress—a man cannot prosper
worse, if he serve the devil.
Harp. How! the devil? I'll tell you what now of the devil,
He's no such horrid creature; cloven-footed,
Black, saucer-eyed, his nostrils breathing fire,
Asthese lying Christians make him.
Both. No!
Harp. He's more loving
To man, than man to man is.
Hir. Is he so? Would we two might come acquainted with him!
Harp. You shall: he's a wondrous good fellow, loves a cup of wine, a
whore, anything. You have money; it's ten to one but I'll bring him to some
tavern to you or other.
Spun. I'll bespeak the best room in the house for him.
Harp. Some people he cannot endure.
Hir. We'll give him no such cause.
Harp. He hates a civil lawyer, as a soldier does peace.
Spun. How a commoner?
Harp. Loves him from the teeth outward,
Spun. Pray, my lord and prince, let me encounter you with one foolish
question: does the devil eat any mace in his broth?
Harp. Exceeding much, when his burning fever takes him; and then he
has
the knuckles of a bailiff boiled to his breakfast.
Hir. Then, my lord, he loves a catchpole, does he not?
Harp. As a bearward does a dog. A catchpole! he has sworn, if ever he
dies, to make a serjeant his heir, and a yeoman his overseer.
Spun. How if he come to any great man's gate, will the porter let him
come in, sir?
Harp. Oh! he loves porters of great men's gates, because they are
ever
so near the wicket.
Hir. Do not they whom he makes much on, for all his stroking their
cheeks, lead hellish lives under him?
Harp. No, no, no, no; he will be damned before he hurts any man:
do but
you (when you are throughly acquainted with him) ask for anything, see if it
does not come.
Spun. Anything!
Harp. Call for a delicate rare whore, she is brought you.
Hir. Oh! my elbow itches. Will the devil keep the door?
Harp. Be drunk as a beggar, he helps you home.
Spun. O my fine devil! some watchman, I warrant;
I wonder who is his constable.
Harp. Will you swear, roar, swagger? he claps you_____
Hir. How? on the chops?
Harp. No, on the shoulder; and cries, "O, my brave boy!" Will any of
you kill a man?
Spun. Yes, yes; I, I.
Harp. What is his word? "Hang! hang! 'tis nothing."—Or stab a
woman?
Hir. Yes, yes; I, I.
Harp. Here is the worst word he gives you: "A pox on't, go on!"
Hir. O inveigling rascal!—I am ravished.
Harp. Go, get your clothes; turn up your glass of youth,
And let the sands run merrily: nor do I care
From what a lavish hand your money flies,
So you give none away, feed beggars_____
Hir. Hang them!
Harp. And to the scrubbing poor.
Hir. I'll see them hanged first.
Harp. One service you must do me.
Both. Anything.
Harp. Your mistress, Dorothea, ere she suffers,
Is to be put to tortures: have you hearts
To tear her into shrieks, to fetch her soul
Up in the pangs of death, yet not to die?
Hir. Suppose this she, and that I had no hands, here's my teeth.
Spun. Suppose this she, and that I had no teeth, here's my nails.
Hir. But will not you be there, sir?
Harp. No, not for hills of diamonds; the grand master,
Who schools her in the Christian discipline,
Abhors my company: should I be there,
You'd think all hell broke loose, we should so quarrel.
Ply you this business; he her flesh who spares
Is lost, and in my love never more shares. [Exit.
Spun. Here's a master, you rogue!
Hir. Sure he cannot choose but have a horrible number of servants.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—The Governor's Palace.
ANTONINUS on a couch asleep, with Doctors about him, SAPRITIUS and
MACRINUS.
SAP. O you, that are half gods, lengthen that life
Their deities lend us; turn o'er all the volumes
Of your mysterious Æsculapian science,
To increase the number of this young man's days;
And, for each minute of his time prolonged,
Your fee shall be a piece of Roman gold
With Cæsar's stamp, such as he sends his captains
When in the wars they earn well: do but save him,
And, as he's half myself, be you all mine.
Ist Doct. What art can do, we promise; physic's hand
As apt is to destroy as to preserve,
If Heaven make not the medicine: all this while,
Our skill hath combat held with his disease;
But 'tis so armed, and a deep melancholy,
To be such in part with death, we are in fear
The grave must mock our labours.
Mac. I have been
His keeper in this sickness, with such eyes
As I have seen my mother watch o'er me;
And, from that observation, sure I find
It is a midwife must deliver him.
Sap. Is he with child? a midwife!
Mac. Yes, with child;
And will, I fear, lose life, if by a woman
He is not brought to bed. Stand by his pillow
Some little while, and, in his broken slumbers,
Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea;
And, when his arms fly open to catch her,
Closing together, he falls fast asleep,
Pleased with embracings of her airy form.
Physicians but torment him, his disease
Laughs at their gibberish language; let him hear
The voice of Dorothea, nay, but the name,
He starts up with high colour in his face:
She, or none, cures him; and how that can be,
The princess' strict command barring that happiness,
To me impossible seems.
Sap. To me it shall not;
I'll be no subject to the greatest Cæsar
Was ever crowned with laurel, rather than cease
To be a father. [Exit.
Mac. Silence, sir, he wakes.
Anton. Thou kill'st me, Dorothea; oh, Dorothea!
Mac. She's here: enjoy her.
Anton. Where? Why do you mock me?
Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet,
Yet I'm an old man, a fond doting fool
Upon a woman. I, to buy her beauty,
(Truth, I am bewitched!) offer my life,
And she, for my acquaintance, hazards hers:
Yet, for our equal sufferings, none holds out
A hand of pity.
Ist Doct. Let him have some music.
Anton. Hell on your fiddling! [Starts from his couch.
Ist Doct. Take again your bed, sir;
Sleep is a sovereign physic.
Anton. Take an ass's head, sir:
Confusion on your fooleries, your charms!—
Thou stinking clyster-pipe, where's the god of rest,
Thy pills and base apothecary drugs
Threatened to bring unto me? Out, you impostors!
Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks! your skill
Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill.
Mac. Oh, be yourself, dear friend.
Anton. Myself, Macrinus!
How can I be myself, when I am mangled
Into a thousand pieces? Here moves my head,
But where's my heart? wherever—that lies dead.
Re-enter SAPRITIUS, dragging in DOROTHEA by the hair, ANGELO
following.
Sap. Follow me, thou damned sorceress! Call up thy spirits,
And, if they can, now let them from my hand
Untwine these witching hairs.
Anton. I am that spirit:
Or, if I be not, were you not my father,
One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces,
That so defaces this sweet monument
Of my love's beauty.
Sap. Art thou sick?
Anton. To death.
Sap. Wouldst thou recover?
Anton. Would I live in bliss!
Sap. And do thine eyes shoot daggers at that man
That brings thee health?
Anton. It is not in the world.
Sap. It's here.
Anton. To treasure, by enchantment locked
In caves as deep as hell, am I as near.
Sap. Break that enchanted cave: enter, and rifle
The spoils thy lust hunts after; I descend
To a base office, and become thy pander,
In bringing thee this proud thing: make her thy whore,
Thy health lies here; if she deny to give it,
Force it: imagine thou assault'st a town's
Weak wall: to't, 'tis thine own, beat but this down.—
Come, and, unseen, be witness to this battery,
How the coy strumpet yields.
Ist Doct. Shall the boy stay, sir?
Sap. No matter for the boy: pages are used
To these odd bawdy shufflings; and, indeed, are
Those little young snakes in a Fury's head,
Will sting worse than the great ones. Let the pimp stay.
[Exeunt SAPRITIUS, MACRINUS, and Doctors.
Dor. O, guard me, angels!
What tragedy must begin now?
Anton. When a tiger
Leaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws,
Being hunger-starved, what tragedy then begins?
Dor. Death; I am happy so. You, hitherto,
Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes,
Let not that orb be broken,
Ang. Fear not, mistress;
If he dare offer violence, we two
Are strong enough for such a sickly man.
Dor. What is your horrid purpose, sir? your eye
Bears danger in it.
Anton. I must_____
Dor. What?
Sap. [Within.] Speak it out.
Anton. Climb that sweet virgin tree.
Sap. [Within.] Plague o' your trees!
Anton. And pluck that fruit which none, I think, e'er tasted.
Sap. [Within.] A soldier, and stand fumbling so!
Dor. Oh, kill me, [Kneels.
And Heaven will take it as a sacrifice;
But, if you play the ravisher, there is
A hell to swallow you.
Sap. [Within.] Let her swallow thee!
Anton. Rise: for the Roman empire, Dorothea,
I would not wound thine honour. Pleasures forced
Are unripe apples; sour, not worth the plucking:
Yet, let me tell you, 'tis my father's will
That I should seize upon you, as my prey,
Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sin
The villainy of man did ever act.
SAPRITIUS breaks in with MACRINUS.
Dor. Die happy for this language!
Sap. Die a slave,
A blockish idiot!
Mac. Dear sir, vex him not.
Sap. Yes, and vex thee too: both, I think, are geldings;
Cold, phlegmatic bastard, thou'rt no brat of mine;
One spark of me, when I had heat like thine,
By this had made a bonfire: a tempting whore,
For whom thou'rt mad, thrust e'en into thine arms,
And stand'st thou puling! Had a tailor seen her
At this advantage, he, with his cross capers,
Had ruffled her by this. But thou shalt curse
Thy dalliance, and here, before her eyes,
Tear thy flesh in pieces, when a slave
In hot lust bathes himself, and gluts those pleasures
Thy niceness durst not touch. Call out a slave;
You, captain of our guard, fetch a slave hither.
Anton. What will you do, dear sir?
Sap. Teach her a trade,
Which many would learn in less than half an hour,—
To play the whore.
Enter Soldiers with a Slave.
Mac. A slave is come; what now?
Sap. Thou hast bones and flesh
Enough to ply thy labour; from what country
Wert thou ta'en prisoner, here to be our slave?
Slave. From Britain.
Sap. In the west ocean?
Slave. Yes.
Sap. An island?
Slave. Yes.
Sap. I'm fitted: of all nations
Our Roman swords e'er conquered, none comes near
The Briton for true whoring. Sirrah, fellow,
What wouldst thou do to gain thy liberty?
Slave. Do! liberty! fight naked with a lion,
Venture to pluck a standard from the heart
Of an armed legion. Liberty! I'd thus
Bestride a rampire, and defiance spit
I' the face of death, then when the battering ram
Was fetching his career backward, to pash
Me with his horns in pieces. To shake my chains off,
And that I could not do't but by thy death,
Stood'st thou on this dry shore, I on a rock
Ten pyramids high, down would I leap to kill thee,
Or die myself: what is for man to do,
I'll venture on, to be no more a slave.
Sap. Thou shalt, then, be no slave, for I will set thee
Upon a piece of work is fit for man,
Brave for a Briton:—drag that thing aside,
And ravish her.
Slave. And ravish her! is this your manly service?
A devil scorns to do it; 'tis for a beast,
A villain, not a man: I am, as yet,
But half a slave; but, when that work is past,
A damnèd whole one, a black ugly slave,
The slave of all base slaves:—do't thyself, Roman,
'Tis drudgery fit for thee.
Sap. He's bewitched too:
Bind him, and with a bastinado give him,
Upon his naked belly, two hundred blows.
Slave. Thou art more slave than I. [He is carried in.
Dor. That Power supernal on whom waits my soul
Is captain o'er my chastity.
Anton. Good sir, give o'er:
The more you wrong her, yourself's vexed the more.
Sap. Plagues light on her and thee!—thus down I throw
Thy harlot, thus by the hair nail her to earth.
Call in ten slaves, let every one discover
What lust desires, and surfeit here his fill.
Call in ten slaves.
Enter Slaves.
Mac. They are come, sir, at your call.
Sap. Oh, oh! [Falls down.
Enter THEOPHILUS.
Theo. Where is the governor?
Anton. There's my wretched father.
Theo. My Lord Sapritius—he's not dead!—my lord!
That witch there—
Anton. 'Tis no Roman gods can strike
These fearful terrors. O, thou happy maid,
Forgive this wicked purpose of my father.
Dor. I do.
Theo. Gone, gone; he's peppered. It is thou
Hast done this act infernal.
Dor. Heaven pardon you!
And if my wrongs from thence pull vengeance down,
I can no miracles work, yet, from my soul,
Pray to those Powers I serve, he may recover.
Theo. He stirs—help, raise him up,—my lord!
Sap. Where am I?
Theo. One cheek is blasted.
Sap. Blasted! where's the lamia
That tears my entrails? I'm bewitched; seize on her.
Dor. I'm here; do what you please.
Theo. Spurn her to the bar.
Dor. Come, boy, being there, more near to Heaven we are.
Sap. Kick harder; go out, witch!
[Exeunt all but ANTONINUS.
Anton. O bloody hangmen! Thine own gods give thee breath!
Each of thy tortures is my several death. [Exit.
SCENE II.—A Public Square.
Enter HARPAX, HIRCIUS, and SPUNGIUS.
Harp. Do you like my service now? say, am not I
A master worth attendance?
Spun. Attendance! I had rather lick clean the soles of your dirty
boots, than wear the richest suit of any infected lord, whose rotten life
hangs
between the two poles.
Hir. A lord's suit! I would not give up the cloak of your service, to
meet the splayfoot estate of any left-eyed knight above the antipodes; because
they are unlucky to meet.
Harp. This day I'll try your loves to me; 'tis only
But well to use the agility of your arms.
Spun. Or legs, I am lusty at them.
Hir. Or any other member that has no legs.
Spun. Thou'lt run into some hole.
Hir. If I meet one that's more than my match, and that I cannot stand
in their hands, I must and will creep on my knees.
Harp. Hear me, my little team of villains, hear me;
I cannot teach you fencing with these cudgels,
Yet you must use them; lay them on but soundly;
That's all.
Hir. Nay, if we come to mauling once, puh!
Spun. But what walnut-tree is it we must beat?
Harp. Your mistress.
Hir. How! my mistress? I begin to have a Christian's heart made of
sweet butter, I melt; I cannot strike a woman.
Spun. Nor I, unless she scratch;—bum my mistress!
Harp. You're coxcombs, silly animals.
Hir. What's that?
Harp. Drones, asses, blinded moles, that dare not thrust
Your arms out to catch fortune: say, you fall off,
It must be done. You are converted rascals,
And, that once spread abroad, why, every slave
Will kick you, call you motley Christians,
And half-faced Christians.
Spun. The guts of my conscience begin to be of whitleather.
Hir. I doubt me, I shall have no sweet butter in me.
Harp. Deny this, and each pagan whom you meet
Shall forkèd fingers thrust into your eyes_____
Hir. If we be cuckolds.
Harp. Do this, and every god the Gentiles bow to
Shall add a fathom to your line of years.
Spun. A hundred fathom, I desire no more.
Hir. I desire but one inch longer.
Harp. The senators will, as you pass along,
Clap you upon your shoulders with this hand,
And with this hand give you gold: when you are dead,
Happy that man shall be can get a nail,
The paring,—nay, the dirt under the nail,
Of any of you both, to say, this dirt
Belonged to Spungius or Hircius.
Spun. They shall not want dirt under my nails, I will keep them long
of
purpose, for now my fingers itch to be at her.
Hir. The first thing I do, I'll take her over the lips.
Spun. And I the hips,—we may strike anywhere?
Harp. Yes, anywhere.
Hir. Then I know where I'll hit her.
Harp. Prosper, and be mine own; stand by I must not
To see this done; great business calls me hence:
He's made can make her curse his violence. [Exit.
Spun. Fear it not, sir; her ribs shall be basted.
Hir. I'll come upon her with rounce, robble-hobble, and
thwick-thwack-
thirlery bouncing.
Enter DOROTHEA, led prisoner; SAPRITIUS, THEOPHILUS, ANGELO, and a
Hangman, who sets up a Pillar: SAPRITIUS and THEOPHILUS sit;
ANGELO
stands by DOROTHEA. A Guard attending..
Sap. According to our Roman customs, bind
That Christian to a pillar.
Theo. Infernal Furies,
Could they into my hand thrust all their whips
To tear thy flesh, thy soul, 'tis not a torture
Fit to the vengeance I should heap on thee,
For wrongs done me—me! for flagitious facts
By thee done to our gods: yet, so it stand
To great Cæsarea's governor's high pleasure,
Bow but thy knee to Jupiter, and offer
Any slight sacrifice; or do but swear
By Cæsar's fortune, and be free.
Sap. Thou shalt.
Dor. Not for all Cæsar's fortune, were it chained
To more worlds than are kingdoms in the world,
And all those worlds drawn after him. I defy
Your hangmen; you now show me whither to fly.
Sap. Are her tormentors ready?
Ang. Shrink not, dear mistress.
Spun. & Hir. My lord, we are ready for the business.
Dor. You two! whom I like fostered children fed,
And lengthened out your starvèd life with bread;
You be my hangmen! whom, when up the ladder
Death haled you to be strangled, I fetched down,
Clothed you, and warmed you, you two my tormentors!
Both. Yes, we.
Dor. Divine powers pardon you!
Sap. Strike.
[They strike at her; ANGELO Kneeling holds her fast.
Theo. Beat out her brains.
Dor. Receive me, you bright angels!
Sap. Faster, slaves.
Spun. Faster! I am out of breath, I am sure; if I were to beat
a buck,
I can strike no harder.
Hir. O mine arms! I cannot lift them to my head.
Dor. Joy above joys! are my tormentors weary
In torturing me, and, in my sufferings,
I fainting in no limb! tyrants, strike home,
And feast your fury full.
Theo. These dogs are curs, [Comes from his seat.
Which snarl, yet bite not. See, my lord, her face
Has more bewitching beauty than before:
Proud whore, it smiles! cannot an eye start out,
With these?
Hir. No, sir, nor the bridge of her nose fall; 'tis full of
iron-work.
Sap. Let's view the cudgels, are they not counterfeit?
Ang. There fix thine eye still;—thy glorious crown must come
Not from soft pleasure, but by martyrdom.
There fix thine eye still;—when we next do meet,
Not thorns, but roses, shall bear up thy feet:
There fix thine eye still. [Exit.
Dor. Ever, ever, ever!
Enter HARPAX, sneaking.
Theo. We're mocked; these bats have power to fell down giants,
Yet her skin is not scarred.
Sap. What rogues are these?
Theo. Cannot these force a shriek? [Beats SPUNGIUS.
Spun. Oh! a woman has one of my ribs, and now five more are broken.
Theo. Cannot this make her roar?
[Beats HIRCIUS; he roars.
Sap. Who hired these slaves? what are they?
Spun. We serve that noble gentleman, there; he enticed us to this dry
beating: oh, for one half pot!
Harp. My servants! two base rogues, and sometimes servants
To her, and for that cause forbear to hurt her.
Sap. Unbind her; hang up these.
Theo. Hang the two hounds on the next tree.
Hir. Hang us! Master Harpax, what a devil, shall we be thus used?
Harp. What bandogs but you two would worry a woman?
Your mistress? I but clapped you, you flew on.
Say I should get your lives, each rascal beggar
Would, when he met you, cry "Out, hell-hounds! traitors!"
Spit at you, fling dirt at you; and no woman
Ever endure your sight: 'tis your best course
Now, had you secret knives, to stab yourselves;—
But, since you have not, go and be hanged.
Hir. I thank you.
Harp. 'Tis your best course.
Theo. Why stay they trifling here?
To the gallows drag them by the heels;—away!
Spun. By the heels! no, sir, we have legs to do us that service.
Hir. Ay, ay, if no woman can endure my sight, away with me.
Harp. Dispatch them.
Spun. The devil dispatch thee!
[Exeunt Guard with SPUNGIUS and HIRCIUS.
Sap. Death this day rides in triumph, Theophilus.
See this witch made away too.
Theo. My soul thirsts for it;
Come, I myself the hangman's part could play.
Dor. O hasten me to my coronation day! [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—The Place of Execution. A scaffold, block, & c.
Enter ANTONINUS, supported by MACRINUS, and Servants.
Anton. Is this the place where virtue is to suffer,
And heavenly beauty, leaving this base earth,
To make a glad return from whence it came?
Is it, Macrinus?
Mac. By this preparation,
You well may rest assured that Dorothea
This hour is to die here.
Anton. Then with her dies
The abstract of all sweetness that's in woman!
Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand
Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once
Take my last leave both of this light and her:
For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself
To me's Cimmerian darkness.
Mac. Strange affection!
Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death,
And kills, instead of giving life.
Anton. Nay, weep not;
Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm,
On me they're cast away. It is decreed
That I must die with her; our clue of life
Was spun together.
Mac. Yet, sir, 'tis my wonder,
That you, who, hearing only what she suffers,
Partake of all her tortures, yet will be,
To add to your calamity, an eye-witness
Of her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper,
And make the wound more desperate.
Anton. Oh, Macrinus!
'Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me,
Which is the end I aim at: being to die too,
What instrument more glorious can I wish for
Than what is made sharp by my constant love
And true affection? It may be, the duty
And loyal service with which I pursued her,
And sealed it with my death, will be remembered
Among her blessèd actions: and what honour
Can I desire beyond it?
Enter a Guard bringing in DOROTHEA, a Headsman before her;
followed by THEOPHILUS, SAPRITIUS, and HARPAX.
See, she comes;
How sweet her innocence appears! more like
To Heaven itself than any sacrifice
That can be offered to it. By my hopes
Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful
In my belief; nor can I think our gods
Are good, or to be served, that take delight
In offerings of this kind: that, to maintain
Their power, deface the master-piece of nature,
Which they themselves come short of. She ascends,
And every step raises her nearer Heaven.
What god soe'er thou art, that must enjoy her,
Receive in her a boundless happiness!
Sap. You are to blame
To let him come abroad.
Mac. It was his will;
And we were left to serve him, not command him.
Anton. Good sir, be not offended; nor deny
My last of pleasures in this happy object,
That I shall e'er be blest with.
Theo. Now, proud contemner
Of us, and of our gods, tremble to think
It is not in the Power thou serv'st to save thee.
Not all the riches of the sea, increased
By violent shipwrecks, nor the unsearched mines
(Mammon's unknown exchequer), shall redeem thee:
And, therefore, having first with horror weighed
What 'tis to die, and to die young; to part with
All pleasures and delights; lastly, to go
Where all antipathies to comfort dwell,
Furies behind, about thee, and before thee;
And, to add to affliction, the remembrance
Of the Elysian joys thou mightst have tasted,
Hadst thou not turned apostata to those gods
That so reward their servants; let despair
Prevent the hangman's sword, and on this scaffold
Make thy first entrance into hell.
Anton. She smiles,
Unmoved, by Mars! as it she were assured
Death, looking on her constancy, would forget
The use of his inevitable hand.
Theo. Derided too! dispatch, I say.
Dor. Thou fool!
That gloriest in having power to ravish
A trifle from me I am weary of.
What is this life to me? not worth a thought;
Or, if it be esteemed, 'tis that I lose it
To win a better: even thy malice serves
To me but as a ladder to mount up
To such a height of happiness, where I shall
Look down with scorn on thee, and on the world;
Where, circled with true pleasures, placed above
The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory
To think at what an easy price I bought it.
There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth:
No joint-benumbing cold, nor scorching heat,
Famine, nor age, have any being there.
Forget, for shame, your Tempe; bury in
Oblivion your feigned Hesperian orchards:—
The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon,
Which did require a Hercules to get it,
Compared with what grows in all plenty there,
Deserves not to be named. The Power I serve
Laughs at your happy Araby, or the
Elysian shades; for He hath made His bowers
Better in deed than you can fancy yours.
Anton. O, take me thither with you!
Dor. Trace my steps,
And be assured you shall.
Sap. With mine own hands
I'll rather stop that little breath is left thee,
And rob thy killing fever.
Theo. By no means;
Let him go with her: do, seduced young man,
And wait upon thy saint in death; do, do:
And, when you come to that imagined place,
That place of all delights,—pray you, observe me,—
And meet those cursèd things I once called daughters,
Whom I have sent as harbingers before you;
If there be any truth in your religion,
In thankfulness to me, that with care hasten
Your journey thither, pray you send me some
Small pittance of that curious fruit you boast of.
Anton. Grant that I may go with her, and I will.
Sap. Wilt thou in thy last minute damn thyself?
Theo. The gates to hell are open.
Dor. Know, thou tyrant,
Thou agent for the devil, thy great master,
Though thou art most unworthy to taste of it,
I can, and will.
Enter ANGELO in the Angel's habit.
Harp. Oh! mountains fall upon me,
Or hide me in the bottom of the deep,
Where light may never find me!
Theo. What's the matter?
Sap. This is prodigious, and confirms her witch-craft.
Theo. Harpax, my Harpax, speak!
Harp. I dare not stay:
Should I but hear her once more, I were lost.
Some whirlwind snatch me from this cursèd place,
To which compared (and with what now I suffer,)
Hell's torments are sweet slumbers! [Exit.
Sap. Follow him.
Theo. He is distracted, and I must not lose him.—
Thy charms upon my servant, cursèd witch,
Give thee a short reprieve. Let her not die
Till my return. [Exeunt SAPRITIUS and THEOPHILUS.
Anton. She minds him not: what object
Is her eye fixed on?
Mac. I see nothing.
Anton. Mark her.
Dor. Thou glorious minister of the Power I serve!
(For thou art more than mortal,) is't for me,
Poor sinner, thou art pleased awhile to leave
Thy heavenly habitation, and vouchsafest,
Though glorified, to take my servant's habit?—
For, put off thy divinity, so looked
My lovely Angelo.
Ang. Know, I am the same;
And still the servant to your piety.
Your zealous prayers and pious deeds first won me
(But 'twas by His command to whom you sent them)
To guide your steps. I tried your charity,
When in a beggar's shape you took me up,
And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed,
As you believed, my famished mouth. Learn all,
By your example, to look on the poor
With gentle eyes! for in such habits, often,
Angels desire an alms. I never left you.
Nor will I now; for I am sent to carry
Your pure and innocent soul to joys eternal,
Your martyrdom once suffered; and before it,
Ask anything from me, and rest assured
You shall obtain it.
Dor. I am largely paid
For all my torments. Since I find such grace,
Grant that the love of this young man to me,
In which he languisheth to death, may be
Changed to the love of Heaven.
Ang. I will perform it;
And in that instant when the sword sets free
Your happy soul, his shall have liberty.
Is there aught else?
Dor. For proof that I forgive
My persecutor, who in scorn desired
To taste of that most sacred fruit I go to,
After my death, as sent from me, be pleased
To give him of it.
Ang. Willingly, dear mistress.
Mac. I am amazed.
Anton. I feel a holy fire,
That yields a comfortable heat within me;
I am quite altered from the thing I was.
See! I can stand, and go alone; thus kneel
To heavenly Dorothea, touch her hand
With a religious kiss. [Kneels.
Re-enter SAPRITIUS and THEOPHILUS.
Sap. He is well now,
But will not be drawn back.
Theo. It matters not;
We can discharge this work without his help.
But see your son.
Sap. Villain!
Anton. Sir, I beseech you,
Being so near our ends, divorce us not.
Theo. I'll quickly make a separation of them.
Hast thou aught else to say?
Dor. Nothing, but to blame
Thy tardiness in sending me to rest;
My peace is made with Heaven, to which my soul
Begins to take her flight: strike, O! strike quickly;
And, though you are unmoved to see my death,
Hereafter, when my story shall be read,
As they were present now, the hearers shall
Say this of Dorothea, with wet eyes,
"She lived a virgin, and a virgin dies."
[Her head is struck off.
Anton. O, take my soul along, to wait on thine!
Mac. Your son sinks too. [ANTONINUS falls.
Sap. Already dead!
Theo. Die all
That are, or favour this accursèd sect:
I triumph in their ends, and will raise up
A hill of their dead carcasses, to o'erlook
The Pyrenean hills, but I'll root out
These superstitious fools, and leave the world
No name of Christian.
[Loud music. Exit ANGELO, having first laid his hand upon the mouths
of ANTONINUS and DOROTHEA.
Sap. Ha! heavenly music!
Mac. 'Tis in the air.
Theo. Illusions of the devil,
Wrought by some witch of her religion,
That fain would make her death a miracle;
It frights not me. Because he is your son,
Let him have burial; but let her body
Be cast forth with contempt in some highway,
And be to vultures and to dogs a prey. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—THEOPHILUS discovered sitting in his Study; books about him.
THEO. Is't holiday, O Cæsar, that thy servant,
Thy provost, to see execution done
On these base Christians in Cæsarea,
Should now want work? Sleep these idolaters,
That none are stirring?—As a curious painter,
When he has made some admirable piece,
Stands off, and with a searching eye examines
Each colour, how 'tis sweetened; and then hugs
Himself for his rare workmanship—so here,
Will I my drolleries, and bloody landscapes,
Long past wrapped up, unfold, to make me merry
With shadows, now I want the substances,
My muster-book of hell-hounds. Were the Christians,
Whose names stand here, alive and armed, not Rome
Could move upon her hinges. What I've done,
Or shall hereafter, is not out of hate
To poor tormented wretches; no, I'm carried
With violence of zeal, and streams of service
I owe our Roman gods. [Reads.] "Great Britain,"—what?
"A thousand wives, with brats sucking their breasts,
Had hot irons pinch them off, and thrown to swine;
And then their fleshy back-parts, hewed with hatchets,
Were minced, and baked in pies to feed the starved Christians."
Ha! ha!
Again, again,—"East Angles,"—oh! "East Angles:
Bandogs, kept three days hungry, worrièd
A thousand British rascals, stied up fat
Of purpose, stripped naked, and disarmed."
I could outstare a year of suns and moons,
To sit at these sweet bull-baitings, so I
Could thereby but one Christian win to fall
In adoration to my Jupiter.—[Reads.] "Twelve hundred
Eyes bored with augers out"—Oh! "Eleven thousand
Torn by wild beasts: two hundred rammed in the earth
To the armpits, and full platters round about them,
But far enough for reaching." Eat, dogs, ha! ha! ha!
Tush, all these tortures are but fillipings, [He rises.
Fleabitings; I, before the Destinies
Consort. Enter ANGELO with a basket filled with fruit and flowers.
My bottom did wind up, would flesh myself
Once more upon some one remarkable
Above all these. This Christian slut was well,
A pretty one; but let such horror follow
The next I feed with torments, that when Rome
Shall hear it, her foundation at the sound
May feel an earthquake. How now? [Music.
Ang. Are you amazed, sir?
So great a Roman spirit—and does it tremble!
Theo. How cam'st thou in? to whom thy business?
Ang. To you;
I had a mistress, late sent hence by you
Upon a bloody errand; you entreated,
That, when she came into that blessèd garden
Whither she knew she went, and where, now happy,
She feeds upon all joy, she would send to you
Some of that garden fruit and flowers; which here,
To have her promise saved, are brought by me.
Theo. Cannot I see this garden?
Ang. Yes, if the Master
Will give you entrance. [He vanishes.
Theo. 'Tis a tempting fruit,
And the most bright-cheeked child I ever viewed:
Sweet-smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are these?
In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous,
Compared with these, are weeds: is it not February,
The second day she died? frost, ice, and snow
Hang on the beard of winter: where's the sun
That gilds this summer? pretty, sweet boy, say,
In what country shall a man find this garden?—
My delicate boy,—gone! vanished! within there,
Julianus and Geta!—
Enter JULIANUS and GETA.
Both. My lord.
Theo. Are my gates shut?
Geta. And guarded.
Theo. Saw you not
A boy?
Jul. Where?
Theo. Here he entered; a young lad;
A thousand blessings danced upon his eyes:
A smoothfaced, glorious thing, that brought this basket.
Geta. No, sir.
Theo. Away—but be in reach, if my voice calls you.
[Exeunt JULIANUS and GETA.
No!—vanished and not seen!—Be thou a spirit,
Sent from that witch to mock me, I am sure
This is essential, and, howe'er it grows,
Will taste it. [Eats of the fruit.
Harp. [Within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theo. So good! I'll have some more, sure.
Harp. Ha, ha, ha, ha! great liquorish fool!
Theo. What art thou!
Harp. A fisherman.
Theo. What dost thou catch?
Harp. Souls, souls; a fish called souls.
Theo. Geta.
Re-enter GETA.
Geta. My lord.
Harp. [Within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theo. What insolent slave is this, dares laugh at me?
Or what is't the dog grins at so?
Geta. I neither know, my lord, at what, nor whom; for there is none
without but my fellow Julianus, and he is making a garland for Jupiter.
Theo. Jupiter! all within me is not well;
And yet not sick.
Harp. [Within.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theo. What's thy name, slave?
Harp. [At one end of the room.] Go look.
Geta. 'Tis Harpax' voice.
Theo. Harpax! go, drag the caitiff to my foot,
That I may stamp upon him.
Harp. [At the other end.] Fool, thou liest!
Geta. He's yonder now, my lord.
Theo. Watch thou that end,
Whilst I make good this.
Harp. [In the middle.] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Theo. He is at barley-break, and the last couple
Are now in hell.
Search for him. [Exit GETA.] All this ground, me-thinks, is bloody,
And paved with thousands of those Christians' eyes
Whom I have tortured; and they stare upon me.
What was this apparition? sure it had
A shape angelical. Mine eyes, though dazzled,
And daunted at first sight, tell me it wore
A pair of glorious wings; yes, they were wings;
And hence he flew:_____'tis vanished! Jupiter,
For all my sacrifices done to him,
Never once gave me smile.—How can stone smile?
Or wooden image laugh? [Music.] Ha! I remember,
Such music gave a welcome to my ear,
When the fair youth came to me:—'tis in the air,
Or from some better place; a Power divine,
Through my dark ignorance, on my soul does shine,
And makes me see a conscience all stained o'er,
Nay, drowned, and damned for ever in Christian gore.
Harp. [Within.] Ha, ha, ha!
Theo. Again!—What dainty relish on my tongue
This fruit hath left! some angel hath me fed;
If so toothfull, I will be banqueted. [Eats again.
Enter HARPAX in a fearful shape, fire flashing out of the Study.
Harp. Hold!
Theo. Not for Cæsar.
Harp. But for me thou shalt.
Theo. Thou art no twin to him that last was here.
You Powers, whom my soul bids me reverence, guard me!
What art thou?
Harp. I am thy master.
Theo. Mine!
Harp. And thou my everlasting slave: that Harpax,
Who hand in hand hath led thee to thy hell,
Am I.
Theo. Avaunt!
Harp. I will not; cast thou down
That basket with the things in't, and fetch up
What thou hast swallowed, and then take a drink,
Which I shall give thee, and I'm gone.
Theo. My fruit!
Does this offend thee? see! [Eats again.
Harp. Spit it to the earth,
And tread upon it, or I'll piecemeal tear thee.
Theo. Art thou with this affrighted! see, here's more.
[Pulls out a handful of flowers.
Harp. Fling them away, I'll take thee else, and hang thee
In a contorted chain of icicles,
In the frigid zone: down with them!
Theo. At the bottom
One thing I found not yet. See!
[Holds up a cross of flowers.
Harp. Oh! I am tortured.
Theo. Can this do't! hence, thou fiend infernal, hence!
Harp. Clasp Jupiter's image, and away with that.
Theo. At thee I'll fling that Jupiter; for, methinks,
I serve a better master: he now checks me
For murdering my two daughters, put on by thee.—
By thy damned rhetoric did I hunt the life
Of Dorothea, the holy virgin-martyr.
She is not angry with the axe, nor me,
But sends these presents to me; and I'll travel
O'er worlds to find her, and from her white hand
To beg a forgiveness.
Harp. No; I'll bind thee here.
Theo. I serve a strength above thine; this small weapon,
Methinks, is armour hard enough.
Harp. Keep from me. [Sinks a little.
Theo. Art posting to thy centre? down, hell-hound! down!
Me hast thou lost. That arm, which hurls thee hence,
[HARPAX disappears.
Save me, and set me up, the strong defence,
In the fair Christian's quarrel!
Re-enter ANGELO.
Ang. Fix thy foot there,
Nor be thou shaken with a Cæsar's voice,
Though thousand deaths were in it; and I then
Will bring thee to a river, that shall wash
Thy bloody hands clean and more white than snow;
And to that garden where these blest things grow,
And to that martyred virgin, who hath sent
That heavenly token to thee: spread this brave wing,
And serve, than Cæsar, a far greater king. [Exit.
Theo. It is, it is, some angel. Vanished again!
Oh, come back, ravishing boy! bright messenger!
Thou hast, by these mine eyes fixed on thy beauty,
Illumined all my soul. Now look I back
On my black tyrannies, which, as they did
Outdare the bloodiest, thou, blest spirit, that lead'st me,
Teach me what I must do, and to do well,
That my last act the best may parallel. [Exit.
SCENE II.—DIOCLESIAN'S Palace.
Enter DIOCLESIAN, MAXIMINUS, the Kings of Epire, Pontus, and
Macedon, meeting ARTEMIA; Attendants.
Artem. Glory and conquest still attend upon
Triumphant Cæsar!
Dioc. Let thy wish, fair daughter,
Be equally divided; and hereafter
Learn thou to know and reverence Maximinus,
Whose power, with mine united, makes one Cæsar,
Max. But that I fear 'twould be held flattery,
The bonds considered in which we stand tied,
As love and empire, I should say, till now
I ne'er had seen a lady I thought worthy
To be my mistress.
Artem. Sir, you show yourself
Both courtier and soldier; but take heed,
Take heed, my lord, though my dull-pointed beauty,
Stained by a harsh refusal in my servant,
Cannot dart forth such beams as may inflame you,
You may encounter such a powerful one,
That with a pleasing heat will thaw your heart,
Though bound in ribs of ice. Love still is Love;
His bow and arrows are the same. Great Julius,
That to his successors left the name of Cæsar,
Whom war could never tame, that with dry eyes
Beheld the large plains of Pharsalia covered
With the dead carcases of senators
And citizens of Rome; when the world knew
No other lord but him, struck deep in years too,
(And men gray-haired forget the lusts of youth,)
After all this, meeting fair Cleopatra,
A suppliant too, the magic of her eye,
Even in his pride of conquest, took him captive:
Nor are you more secure.
Max. Were you deformed,
(But, by the gods, you are most excellent,)
Your gravity and discretion would o'ercome me;
And I should be more proud in being a prisoner
To your fair virtues, than of all the honours,
Wealth, title, empire, that my sword hath purchased.
Dioc. This meets my wishes. Welcome it, Artemia,
With outstretched arms, and study to forget
That Antoninus ever was: thy fate
Reserved thee for this better choice; embrace it.
Max. This happy match brings new nerves to give strength
To our continued league.
Dioc. Hymen himself
Will bless this marriage, which we'll solemnize
In the presence of these kings.
King of Pont. Who rest most happy,
To be eye-witnesses of a match that brings
Peace to the empire.
Dioc. We much thank your loves:
But where's Sapritius, our governor,
And our most zealous provost, good Theophilus?
If ever prince were blest in a true servant,
Or could the gods be debtors to a man,
Both they and we stand far engaged to cherish
His piety and service.
Artem. Sir, the governor
Brooks sadly his son's loss, although he turned
Apostata in death: but bold Theophilus,
Who, for the same cause, in my presence sealed
His holy anger on his daughters' hearts,
Having with tortures first tried to convert her,
Dragged the bewitching Christian to the scaffold,
And saw her lose her head.
Dioc. He is all worthy:
And from his own mouth I would gladly hear
The manner how she suffered.
Artem. 'Twill be delivered
With such contempt and scorn, (I know his nature,)
That rather 'twill beget your highness' laughter
Than the least pity.
Dioc. To that end I would hear it.
Enter THEOPHILUS, SAPRITIUS, and MACRINUS.
Artem. He comes; with him the governor.
Dioc. O, Sapritius,
I am to chide you for your tenderness;
But yet remembering that you are a father,
I will forget it. Good Theophilus,
I'll speak with you anon.—Nearer, your ear.
[To SAPRITIUS.
Theo. [Aside to MACRINUS.] By Antoninus' soul, I do conjure you,
And though not for religion, for his friendship,
Without demanding what's the cause that moves me,
Receive my signet:—by the power of this,
Go to my prisons, and release all Christians
That are in fetters there by my command.
Mac. But what shall follow?
Theo. Haste then to the port;
You there shall find two tall ships ready rigged,
In which embark the poor distressèd souls,
And bear them from the reach of tyranny.
Inquire not whither you are bound: the Deity
That they adore will give you prosperous winds,
And make your voyage such, and largely pay for
Your hazard, and your travail. Leave me here;
There is a scene that I must act alone:
Haste, good Macrinus; and the great God guide you!
Mac. I'll undertake't; there's something prompts me to it;
'Tis to save innocent blood, a saint-like act:
And to be merciful has never been
By moral men themselves esteemed a sin. [Exit.
Dioc. You know your charge?
Sap. And will with care observe it.
Dioc. For I profess he is not Cæsar's friend
That sheds a tear for any torture that
A Christian suffers. Welcome, my best servant,
My careful, zealous provost! thou hast toiled
To satisfy my will, though in extremes:
I love thee for't; thou art firm rock, no changeling.
Prithee deliver, and for my sake do it,
Without excess of bitterness or scoffs,
Before my brother and these kings, how took
The Christian her death?
Theo. And such a presence,
Though every private head in this large room
Were circled round with an imperial crown,
Her story will deserve, it is so full
Of excellency and wonder.
Dioc. Ha! how is this!
Theo. O! mark it, therefore, and with that attention
As you would hear an embassy from Heaven
By a winged legate; for, the truth delivered,
Both how, and what, this blessèd virgin suffered,
And Dorothea but hereafter named,
You will rise up with reverence, and no more,
As things unworthy of your thoughts, remember
What the canonized Spartan ladies were,
Which lying Greece so boasts of. Your own matrons,
Your Roman dames, whose figures you yet keep
As holy relics, in her history
Will find a second urn: Gracchus' Cornelia,
Paulina, that in death desired to follow
Her husband Seneca, nor Brutus' Portia,
That swallowed burning coals to overtake him,
Though all their several worths were given to one,
With this is to be mentioned.
Max. Is he mad?
Dioc. Why, they did die, Theophilus, and boldly;
This did no more.
Theo. They, out of desperation,
Or for vain glory of an after-name,
Parted with life: this had not mutinous sons,
As the rash Gracchi were; nor was this saint
A doting mother, as Cornelia was.
This lost no husband, in whose overthrow
Her wealth and honour sunk; no fear of want
Did make her being tedious; but, aiming
At an immortal crown, and in His cause
Who only can bestow it; who sent down
Legions of ministering angels to bear up
Her spotless soul to Heaven, who entertained it
With choice celestial music, equal to
The motion of the spheres; she, uncompelled,
Changed this life for a better. My Lord Sapritius,
You were present at her death: did you e'er hear
Such ravishing sounds?
Sap. Yet you said then 'twas witchcraft,
And devilish illusions.
Theo. I then heard it
With sinful ears, and belched out blasphemous words
Against His Deity, which then I knew not,
Nor did believe in Him.
Dioc. Why, dost thou now?
Or dar'st thou, in our hearing_____
Theo. Were my voice
As loud as is His thunder, to be heard
Through all the world, all potentates on earth
Ready to burst with rage, should they but hear it;
Though hell, to aid their malice, lent her furies,
Yet I would speak, and speak again, and boldly,
I am a Christian, and the Powers you worship
But dreams of fools and madmen.
Max. Lay hands on him.
Dioc. Thou twice a child! for doting age so makes thee,
Thou couldst not else, thy pilgrimage of life
Being almost passed through, in the last moment
Destroy whate'er thou hast done good or great—
Thy youth did promise much; and, grown a man,
Thou mad'st it good, and, with increase of years,
Thy actions still bettered: as the sun,
Thou didst rise gloriously, kept'st a constant course
In all thy journey; and now, in the evening,
When thou shouldst pass with honour to thy rest,
Wilt thou fall like a meteor?
Sap. Yet confess
That thou art mad, and that thy tongue and heart
Had no agreement.
Max. Do; no way is left, else,
To save thy life, Theophilus.
Dioc. But, refuse it,
Destruction as horrid, and as sudden,
Shall fall upon thee, as if hell stood open,
And thou wert sinking thither.
Theo. Hear me, yet;
Hear, for my service past.
Artem. What will he say?
Theo. As ever I deserved your favour, hear me,
And grant one boon; 'tis not for life I sue for;
Nor is it fit that I, that ne'er knew pity
To any Christian, being one myself,
Should look for any; no, I rather beg
The utmost of your cruelty. I stand
Accountable for thousand Christians' deaths;
And, were it possible that I could die
A day for every one, then live again
To be again tormented, 'twere to me
An easy penance, and I should pass through
A gentle cleansing fire; but, that denied me,
It being beyond the strength of feeble nature,
My suit is, you would have no pity on me.
In mine own house there are a thousand engines
Of studied cruelty, which I did prepare
For miserable Christians; let me feel,
As the Sicilian did his brazen bull,
The horrid'st you can find; and I will say,
In death, that you are merciful.
Dioc. Despair not;
In this thou shalt prevail. Go fetch them hither.
[Exeunt some of the Guard.
Death shall put on a thousand shapes at once,
And so appear before thee; racks, and whips!—
Thy flesh, with burning pincers torn, shall feed
The fire that heats them; and what's wanting to
The torture of thy body, I'll supply
In punishing thy mind. Fetch all the Christians
That are in hold; and here, before his face,
Cut them in pieces.
Theo. 'Tis not in thy power:
It was the first good deed I ever did.
They are removed out of thy reach; howe'er,
I was determined for my sins to die,
I first took order for their liberty;
And still I dare thy worst.
Re-enter Guard with racks and other instruments of torture.
Dioc. Bind him, I say;
Make every artery and sinew crack:
The slave that makes him give the loudest shriek
Shall have ten thousand drachmas: wretch! I'll force thee
To curse the Power thou worshipp'st.
Theo. Never, never:
No breath of mine shall e'er be spent on Him,
But what shall speak His majesty or mercy.
[They torment him
I'm honoured in my sufferings. Weak tormentors,
More tortures, more:—alas! you are unskilful—
For Heaven's sake more; my breast is yet untorn:
Here purchase the reward that was propounded.
The irons cool,—here are arms yet, and thighs;
Spare no part of me.
Max. He endures beyond
The sufferance of a man.
Sap. No sigh nor groan,
To witness he has feeling.
Dioc. Harder, villains!
Enter HARPAX.
Harp. Unless that he blaspheme, he's lost for ever.
If torments ever could bring forth despair,
Let these compel him to it:—Oh me!
My ancient enemies again! [Falls down.
Enter DOROTHEA in a white robe, a crown upon her head, led in by
ANGELO;
ANTONINUS, CALISTA, and CHRISTETA following, all in white, but less
glorious; ANGELO holds out a crown to THEOPHILUS.
Theo. Most glorious vision!—
Did e'er so hard a bed yield man a dream
So heavenly as this? I am confirmed,
Confirmed, you blessèd spirits, and make haste
To take that crown of immortality
You offer to me. Death! till this blest minute,
I never thought thee slow-paced; nor could I
Hasten thee now, for any pain I suffer,
But that thou keep'st me from a glorious wreath,
Which through this stormy way I would creep to,
And, humbly kneeling, with humility wear it.
Oh! now I feel thee:—blessèd spirits! I come;
And, witness for me all these wounds and scars,
I die a soldier in the Christian wars. [Dies.
Sap. I have seen thousands tortured, but ne'er yet
A constancy like this.
Harp. I am twice damned.
Ang. Haste to thy place appointed, cursèd fiend!
[HARPAX sinks with thunder and lightning.
In spite of hell, this soldier's not thy prey;
'Tis I have won, thou that hast lost the day.
[Exit with DOROTHEA, &C.
Dioc. I think the centre of the earth be cracked—
Yet I stand still unmoved, and will go on:
The persecution that is here begun,
Through all the world with violence shall run.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!
Other Poems of Interest...
A SONG OF PLEASURE, FR. THE PICTURE by PHILIP MASSINGER
BELIEVE AS YOU LIST by PHILIP MASSINGER
EUDOCIA'S SONG, FR. THE EMPOEROR OF THE EAST by PHILIP MASSINGER
THE CITY MADAM by PHILIP MASSINGER
THE DUKE OF MILAN by PHILIP MASSINGER
THE FATAL DOWRY by PHILIP MASSINGER
THE FOREST'S QUEEN by PHILIP MASSINGER
THE GREAT DUKE OF FLORENCE by PHILIP MASSINGER
THE GUARDIAN by PHILIP MASSINGER