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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, by CYRIL TOURNEUR Poet's Biography
First Line: I saw my nephew charlemont but now
Last Line: [exeunt.
Subject(s): Revenge; Tragedy; War
First Line: I saw my nephew charlemont but now
Last Line: [exeunt.
Subject(s): Revenge; Tragedy; War
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
MONTFERRERS, a Baron
BELFOREST, a Baron.
D'AMVILLE, Brother of MONTFERRERS.
CHARLEMONT, Son of MONTFERRERS.
ROUSARD, elder Son of D'AMVILLE.
SEBASTIAN, younger Son of D'AMVILLE.
LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, a Puritan, Chaplain to BELFOREST.
BORACHIO, D'AMVILLE'S instrument.
FRESCO, Servant to CATAPLASMA.
Serjeant in war.
Soldiers, Servants, Watchmen, Judges, Officers.
LEVIDULCIA, Wife of BELFOREST.
CASTABELLA, Daughter of BELFOREST.
CATAPLASMA, a Maker of Periwigs and Attires.
SOQUETTE, a seeming Gentlewoman to CATAPLASMA.
SCENE—FRANCE.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—In the Grounds of D'AMVILLE'S Mansion.
Enter D'AMVILLE, BORACHIO, and Attendants.
D'AM. I saw my nephew Charlemont but now
Part from his father. Tell him I desire
To speak with him. [Exit Servant.
Borachio, thou art read
In nature and her large philosophy.
Observ'st thou not the very self-same course
Of revolution, both in man and beast?
Bor. The same, for birth, growth, state, decay and death;
Only a man's beholding to his nature
For the better composition o' the two.
D'Am. But where that favour of his nature is
Not full and free, you see a man becomes
A fool, as little-knowing as a beast.
Bor. That shows there's nothing in a man above
His nature; if there were, considering 'tis
His being's excellency, 'twould not yield
To nature's weakness.
D'Am. Then, if Death casts up
Our total sum of joy and happiness,
Let me have all my senses feasted in
The abundant fulness of delight at once,
And, with a sweet insensible increase
Of pleasing surfeit, melt into my dust.
Bor. That revolution is too short, methinks.
If this life comprehends our happiness,
How foolish to desire to die so soon!
And if our time runs home unto the length
Of nature, how improvident it were
To spend our substance on a minute's pleasure,
And after, live an age in misery!
D'Am. So thou conclud'st that pleasure only flows
Upon the stream of riches?
Bor. Wealth is lord
Of all felicity.
D'Am. 'Tis, oracle.
For what's a man that's honest without wealth?
Bor. Both miserable and contemptible.
D'Am. He's worse, Borachio. For if charity
Be an essential part of honesty,
And should be practised first upon ourselves,
Which must be granted, then your honest man
That's poor, is most dishonest, for he is
Uncharitable to the man whom he
Should most respect. But what doth this touch me
That seem to have enough?—thanks industry.
'Tis true, had not my body spread itself
Into posterity, perhaps I should
Desire no more increase of substance, than
Would hold proportion with mine own dimensions.
Yet even in that sufficiency of state,
A man has reason to provide and add.
For what is he hath such a present eye,
And so prepared a strength, that can foresee,
And fortify his substance and himself
Against those accidents, the least whereof
May rob him of an age's husbandry?
And for my children, they are as near to me
As branches to the tree whereon they grow;
And may as numerously be multiplied.
As they increase, so should my providence;
For from my substance they receive the sap,
Whereby they live and flourish.
Bor. Sir, enough.
I understand the mark whereat you aim.
Enter CHARLEMONT.
D'Am. Silence, we are interrupted. Charlemont!
Charl. Good morrow, uncle.
D'Am. Noble Charlemont,
Good morrow. Is not this the honoured day
You purposed to set forward to the war?
Charl. My inclination did intend it so.
D'Am. And not your resolution?
Charl. Yes, my lord;
Had not my father contradicted it.
D'Am. O noble war! Thou first original
Of all man's honour, how dejectedly
The baser spirit of our present time
Hath cast itself below the ancient worth
Of our forefathers, from whose noble deeds
Ignobly we derive our pedigrees.
Charl. Sir, tax not me for his unwillingness.
By the command of his authority
My disposition's forced against itself.
D'Am. Nephew, you are the honour of our blood.
The troop of gentry, whose inferior worth
Should second your example, are become
Your leaders; and the scorn of their discourse
Turns smiling back upon your backwardness.
Charl. You need not urge my spirit by disgrace,
'Tis free enough; my father hinders it.
To curb me, he denies me maintenance
To put me in the habit of my rank.
Unbind me from that strong necessity,—
And call me coward, if I stay behind.
D'Am. For want of means? Borachio, where's the gold?
I'd disinherit my posterity
To purchase honour. 'Tis an interest
I prize above the principal of wealth.
I'm glad I had the occasion to make known
How readily my substance shall unlock
Itself to serve you. Here's a thousand crowns.
Charl. My worthy uncle, in exchange for this
I leave my bond; so I am doubly bound;
By that, for the repayment of this gold,
And by this gold, to satisfy your love.
D'Am. Sir, 'tis a witness only of my love,
And love doth always satisfy itself.
Now to your father, labour his consent,
My importunity shall second yours.
We will obtain it.
Charl. If entreaty fail,
The force of reputation shall prevail. [Exit.
D'Am. Go call my sons, that they may take their leaves
Of noble Charlemont. Now, my Borachio!
Bor. The substance of our former argument
Was wealth.
D'Am. The question, how to compass it.
Bor. Young Charlemont is going to the war.
D'Am. O, thou begin'st to take me!
Bor. Mark me then.
Methinks the pregnant wit of man might make
The happy absence of this Charlemont
A subject of commodious providence.
He has a wealthy father, ready even
To drop into his grave. And no man's power,
When Charlemont is gone, can interpose
'Twixt you and him.
D'Am. Thou hast apprehended both
My meaning and my love. Now let thy trust,
For undertaking and for secrecy
Hold measure with thy amplitude of wit;
And thy reward shall parallel thy worth.
Bor. My resolution has already bound
Me to your service.
D'Am. And my heart to thee.
Enter ROUSARD and SEBASTIAN.
Here are my sons.—
There's my eternity. My life in them
And their succession shall for ever live.
And in my reason dwells the providence
To add to life as much of happiness.
Let all men lose, so I increase my gain,
I have no feeling of another's pain. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in MONTFERRERS' Mansion.
Enter MONTFERRERS and CHARLEMONT.
Mont. I prithee, let this current of my tears
Divert thy inclination from the war,
For of my children thou art only left
To promise a succession to my house.
And all the honour thou canst get by arms
Will give but vain addition to thy name;
Since from thy ancestors thou dost derive
A dignity sufficient, and as great
As thou hast substance to maintain and bear.
I prithee, stay at home.
Charl. My noble father,
The weakest sigh you breathe hath power to turn
My strongest purpose, and your softest tear
To melt my resolution to as soft
Obedience; but my affection to the war
Is as hereditary as my blood
To every life of all my ancestry.
Your predecessors were your precedents,
And you are my example. Shall I serve
For nothing but a vain parenthesis
I' the honoured story of your family?
Or hang but like an empty scutcheon
Between the trophies of my predecessors,
And the rich arms of my posterity?
There's not a Frenchman of good blood and youth,
But either out of spirit or example
Is turned a soldier. Only Charlemont
Must be reputed that same heartless thing
That cowards will be bold to play upon.
Enter D'AMVILLE, ROUSARD, and SEBASTIAN.
D'Am. Good morrow, my lord.
Mont. Morrow, good brother.
Charl. Good morrow, uncle.
D'Am. Morrow, kind nephew.
What, ha' you washed your eyes wi' tears this morning?
Come, by my soul, his purpose does deserve
Your free consent;—your tenderness dissuades him.
What to the father of a gentleman
Should be more tender than the maintenance
And the increase of honour to his house?
My lord, here are my boys. I should be proud
That either this were able, or that inclined
To be my nephew's brave competitor.
Mont. Your importunities have overcome.
Pray God my forced grant prove not ominous!
D'Am. We have obtained it.—Ominous! in what?
It cannot be in anything but death.
And I am of a confident belief
That even the time, place, manner of our deaths
Do follow Fate with that necessity
That makes us sure to die. And in a thing
Ordained so certainly unalterable,
What can the use of providence prevail?
Enter BELFOREST, LEVIDULCIA, CASTABELLA, and Attendants.
Bel. Morrow, my Lord Montferrers, Lord D'Amville.
Good morrow, gentlemen. Cousin Charlemont,
Kindly good morrow. Troth, I was afeared
I should ha' come too late to tell you that
I wish you undertakings a success
That may deserve the measure of their worth.
Charl. My lord, my duty would not let me go
Without receiving your commandëments.
Bel. Accompliments are more for ornament
Then use. We should employ no time in them
But what our serious business will admit.
Mont. Your favour had by his duty been prevented
If we had not withheld him in the way.
D'Am. He was a coming to present his service;
But now no more. The book invites to breakfast.
Wilt please your lordship enter?—Noble lady!
[Exeunt all except CHARLEMONT and CASTABELLA.
Charl. My noble mistress, this accompliment
Is like an elegant and moving speech,
Composed of many sweet persuasive points,
Which second one another, with a fluent
Increase and confirmation of their force,
Reserving still the best until the last,
To crown the strong impulsion of the rest
With a full conquest of the hearer's sense;
Because the impression of the last we speak
Doth always longest and most constantly
Possess the entertainment of remembrance.
So all that now salute my taking leave
Have added numerously to the love
Wherewith I did receive their courtesy.
But you, dear mistress, being the last and best
That speaks my farewell, like the imperious close
Of a most sweet oration, wholly have
Possessed my liking, and shall ever live
Within the soul of my true memory.
So, mistress, with this kiss I take my leave.
Cast. My worthy servant, you mistake the intent
Of kissing. 'Twas not meant to separate
A pair of lovers, but to be the seal
Of love; importing by the joining of
Our mutual and incorporated breaths,
That we should breathe but one contracted life.
Or stay at home, or let me go with you.
Charl. My Castabella, for myself to stay,
Or you to go, would either tax my youth
With a dishonourable weakness, or
Your loving purpose with immodesty.
Enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE.
And, for the satisfaction of your love,
Here comes a man whose knowledge I have made
A witness to the contract of our vows,
Which my return, by marriage, shall confirm.
Lang. I salute you both with the spirit of copulation, already
informed
of your matrimonial purposes, and will testimony to the integrity—
Cast. O the sad trouble of my fearful soul!
My faithful servant, did you never hear
That when a certain great man went to the war,
The lovely face of Heaven was masqued with sorrow,
The sighing winds did move the breast of earth,
The heavy clouds hung down their mourning heads,
And wept sad showers the day that he went hence
As if that day presaged some ill success
That fatally should kill his happiness.
And so it came to pass. Methinks my eyes
(Sweet Heaven forbid!) are like those weeping clouds,
And as their showers presaged, so do my tears.
Some sad event will follow my sad fears.
Charl. Fie, superstitious! Is it bad to kiss?
Cast. May all my fears hurt me no more than this!
Lang. Fie, fie, fie! these carnal kisses do stir up the
concupiscences
of the flesh.
Enter BELFOREST and LEVIDULCIA.
Lev. O! here's your daughter under her servant's lips.
Charl. Madam, there is no cause you should mistrust
The kiss I gave; 'twas but a parting one.
Lev. A lusty blood! Now by the lip of love,
Were I to choose your joining one for me—
Bel. Your father stays to bring you on the way.
Farewell. The great commander of the war
Prosper the course you undertake! Farewell.
Charl. My lord, I humbly take my leave.—Madam,
I kiss your hand.—And your sweet lip.—[To CASTABELLA.] Farewell.
[Exeunt BELFOREST, LEVIDULCIA, and CASTABELLA.
Her power to speak is perished in her tears.
Something within me would persuade my stay,
But reputation will not yield unto't.
Dear sir, you are the man whose honest trust
My confidence hath chosen for my friend.
I fear my absence will discomfort her.
You have the power and opportunity
To moderate her passion. Let her grief
Receive that friendship from you, and your love
Shall not repent itself of courtesy.
Lang. Sir, I want words and protestation to insinuate into your
credit;
but in plainness and truth, I will qualify her grief with the spirit of
consolation.
Charl. Sir, I will take your friendship up at use,
And fear not that your profit shall be small;
Your interest shall exceed your principal. [Exit.
Re-enter D'AMVILLE with BORACHIO.
D'Am. Monsieur Languebeau! happily encountered. The honesty of your
conversation makes me request more interest in your familiarity.
Lang. If your lordship will be pleased to salute me without
ceremony, I
shall be willing to exchange my service for your favour; but this worshipping
kind of entertainment is a superstitious vanity; in plainness and
truth, I love
it not.
D'Am. I embrace your disposition, and desire to give you as liberal
assurance of my love as my Lord Belforest, your deserved favourer.
Lang. His lordship is pleased with my plainness and truth of
conversation.
D'Am. It cannot displease him. In the behaviour of his noble daughter
Castabella a man may read her worth and your instruction.
Lang. That gentlewoman is most sweetly modest, fair, honest,
handsome,
wise, well-born, and rich.
D'Am. You have given me her picture in small.
Lang. She's like your diamond; a temptation in every man's
eye, yet not
yielding to any light impression herself.
D'Am. The praise is hers, but the comparison your own.
[Gives him the
ring.
Lang. You shall forgive me that, sir.
D'Am. I will not do so much at your request as forgive you it. I will
only give you it, sir. By—you will make me swear.
Lang. O! by no means. Profane not your lips with the foulness of that
sin. I will rather take it.
To save your oath, you shall lose your ring.—Verily, my lord, my praise
came short of her worth. She exceeds a jewel. This is but only for ornament:
she
both for ornament and use.
D'Am. Yet unprofitably kept without use. She deserves a worthy
husband,
sir. I have often wished a match between my elder son and her. The marriage
would join the houses of Belforest and D'Amville into a noble alliance.
Lang. And the unity of families is a work of love and charity.
D'Am. And that work an employment well becoming the goodness of your
disposition.
Lang. If your lordship please to impose it upon me I will carry it
without any second end; the surest way to satisfy your wish.
D'Am. Most joyfully accepted. Rousard! Here are letters to my Lord
Belforest, touching my desire to that purpose.
Enter ROUSARD, looking sickly.
Rousard, I send you a suitor to Castabella. To this gentleman's
discretion
I commit the managing of your suit. His good success shall be most thankful to
your trust. Follow his instructions; he will be your leader.
Lang. In plainness and truth.
Rous. My leader! Does your lordship think me too weak to give the
onset
myself?
Lang. I will only assist your proceedings.
Rous. To say true, so I think you had need; for a sick man can hardly
get a woman's good will without help.
Lang. Charlemont, thy gratuity and my promises were both
But words, and both, like words, shall vanish into air.
For thy poor empty hand I must be mute;
This gives me feeling of a better suit.
[Exeunt LANGUEBEAU and ROUSARD.
D'Am. Borachio, didst precisely note this man?
Bor. His own profession would report him pure.
D'Am. And seems to know if any benefit
Arises of religion after death.
Yet but compare's profession with his life;—
They so directly contradict themselves,
As if the end of his instructions were
But to divert the world from sin, that he
More easily might ingross it to himself.
By that I am confirmed an atheist.
Well! Charlemont is gone; and here thou seest
His absence the foundation of my plot.
Bor. He is the man whom Castabella loves.
D'Am. That was the reason I propounded him
Employment, fixed upon a foreign place,
To draw his inclination out o' the way.
Bor. It has left the passage of our practice free.
D'Am. This Castabella is a wealthy heir;
And by her marriage with my elder son
My house is honoured and my state increased.
This work alone deserves my industry;
But if it prosper, thou shalt see my brain
Make this but an induction to a point
So full of profitable policy,
That it would make the soul of honesty
Ambitious to turn villain.
Bor. I bespeak
Employment in't. I'll be an instrument
To grace performance with dexterity.
D'Am. Thou shalt. No man shall rob thee of the honour.
Go presently and buy a crimson scarf
Like Charlemont's: prepare thee a disguise
I' the habit of a soldier, hurt and lame;
And then be ready at the wedding feast,
Where thou shalt have employment in a work
Will please thy disposition.
Bor. As I vowed,
Your instrument shall make your project proud.
D'Am. This marriage will bring wealth. If that succeed,
I will increase it though my brother bleed.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—An Apartment in BELFOREST'S Mansion.
Enter CASTABELLA avoiding the importunity of ROUSARD.
Cast. Nay, good sir; in troth, if you knew how little it pleases me,
you would forbear it.
Rous. I will not leave thee till thou'st entertained me for thy
servant.
Cast. My servant! You are sick you say. You would tax me of
indiscretion to entertain one that is not able to do me service.
Rous. The service of a gentlewoman consists most in chamber work, and
sick men are fittest for the chamber. I prithee give me a favour.
Cast. Methinks you have a very sweet favour of your own.
Rous. I lack but your black eye.
Cast. If you go to buffets among the boys, they'll give you one.
Rous. Nay, if you grow bitter I'll dispraise your black eye.
The gray-eyed morning makes the fairest day.
Cast. Now that you dissemble not, I could be willing to give you a
favour. What favour would you have?
Rous. Any toy, any light thing.
Cast. Fie! Will you be so uncivil to ask a light thing at a
gentlewoman's hand?
Rous. Wilt give me a bracelet o' thy hair then?
Cast. Do you want hair, sir.
Rous. No, faith, I'll want no hair, so long as I can have it for
money.
Cast. What would you do with my hair then?
Rous. Wear it for thy sake, sweetheart.
Cast. Do you think I love to have my hair worn off?
Rous. Come, you are so witty now and so sensible.
[Kisses her.
Cast. Tush, I would I wanted one o' my senses now!
Rous. Bitter again? What's that? Smelling?
Cast. No, no, no. Why now y'are satisfied, I hope. I have given you a
favour.
Rous. What favour? A kiss? I prithee give me another.
Cast. Show me that I gave it you then.
Rous. How should I show it?
Cast. You are unworthy of a favour if you will not bestow the keeping
of it one minute.
Rous. Well, in plain terms, dost love me? That's the purpose of my
coming.
Cast. Love you? Yes, very well.
Rous. Give me thy hand upon't.
Cast. Nay, you mistake me. If I love you very well I must not love
you
now. For now y'are not very well, y'are sick.
Rous. This equivocation is for the jest now.
Cast. I speak't as 'tis now in fashion, in earnest.
But I shall not be in quiet for you, I perceive, till I have given you a
favour.
Do you love me?
Rous. With all my heart.
Cast. Then with all my heart I'll give you a jewel to hang in your
ear.—Hark ye—I can never love you. [Exit.
Rous. Call you this a jewel to hang in mine ear?
'Tis no light favour, for I'll be sworn it comes some-what heavily to
me. Well,
I will not leave her for all this. Methinks it animates a man to stand to't,
when a woman desires to be rid of him at the first sight. [Exit.
SCENE IV.—Another Apartment in the same.
Enter BELFOREST and LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE.
Bel. I entertain the offer of this match
With purpose to confirm it presently.
I have already moved it to my daughter.
Her soft excuses savoured at the first,
Methought, but of a modest innocence
Of blood, whose unmoved stream was never drawn
Into the current of affection. But when I
Replied with more familiar arguments,
Thinking to make her apprehension bold,—
Her modest blush fell to a pale dislike,
And she refused it with such confidence,
As if she had been prompted by a love
Inclining firmly to some other man;
And in that obstinacy she remains.
Lang. Verily, that disobedience doth not become a child. It
proceedeth
from an unsanctified liberty. You will be accessory to your own
dishonour if you
suffer it.
Bel. Your honest wisdom has advised me well.
Once more I'll move her by persuasive means.
If she resist, all mildness set apart,
I will make use of my authority.
Lang. And instantly, lest fearing your constraint
Her contrary affection teach her some
Device that may prevent you.
Bel. To cut off every opportunity
Procrastination may assist her with
This instant night she shall be married.
Lang. Best.
Enter CASTABELLA.
Cast. Please it your lordship, my mother attends
I' the gallery, and desires your conference.
[Exit BELFOREST.
This means I used to bring me to your ear.
[To LANGUEBEAU.
Time cuts off circumstance; I must be brief.
To your integrity did Charlemont
Commit the contract of his love and mine;
Which now so strong a hand seeks to divide,
That if your grave advice assist me not,
I shall be forced to violate my faith.
Lang. Since Charlemont's absence I have weighed his love with the
spirit of consideration; and in sincerity I find it to be frivolous and vain.
Withdraw your respect; his affection deserveth it not.
Cast. Good sir, I know your heart cannot profane
The holiness you make profession of
With such a vicious purpose as to break
The vow your own consent did help to make.
Lang. Can he deserve your love who in neglect
Of your delightful conversation and
In obstinate contempt of all your prayers
And tears, absents himself so far from your
Sweet fellowship, and with a purpose so
Contracted to that absence that you see
He purchases your separation with
The hazard of his blood and life, fearing to want
Pretence to part your companies.—
'Tis rather hate that doth division move.
Love still desires the presence of his love.—
Verily he is not of the family of love.
Cast. O do not wrong him! 'Tis a generous mind
That led his disposition to the war:
For gentle love and noble courage are
So near allied, that one begets another;
Or Love is sister and Courage is the brother.
Could I affect him better then before,
His soldier's heart would make me love him more.
Lang. But, Castabella—
Enter LEVIDULCIA.
Lev. Tush, you mistake the way into a woman.
The passage lies not through her reason but her blood.
[Exit LANGUEBEAU. CASTABELLA about to follow.
Nay, stay! How wouldst thou call the child,
That being raised with cost and tenderness
To full hability of body and means,
Denies relief unto the parents who
Bestowed that bringing up?
Cast. Unnatural.
Lev. Then Castabella is unnatural.
Nature, the loving mother of us all,
Brought forth a woman for her own relief
By generation to revive her age;
Which, now thou hast hability and means
Presented, most unkindly dost deny.
Cast. Believe me, mother, I do love a man.
Lev. Preferr'st the affection of an absent love
Before the sweet possession of a man;
The barren mind before the fruitful body,
Where our creation has no reference
To man but in his body, being made
Only for generation; which (unless
Our children can be gotten by conceit)
Must from the body come? If Reason were
Our counsellor, we would neglect the work
Of generation for the prodigal
Expense it draws us to of that which is
The wealth of life. Wise Nature, therefore, hath
Reserved for an inducement to our sense
Our greatest pleasure in that greatest work;
Which being offered thee, thy ignorance
Refuses, for the imaginary joy
Of an unsatisfied affection to
An absent man whose blood once spent i' the war
Then he'll come home sick, lame, and impotent,
And wed thee to a torment, like the pain
Of Tantalus, continuing thy desire
With fruitless presentation of the thing
It loves, still moved, and still unsatisfied.
Enter BELFOREST, D'AMVILLE, ROUSARD, SEBASTIAN, LANGUEBEAU, &c.
Bel. Now, Levidulcia, hast thou yet prepared
My daughter's love to entertain this man
Her husband, here?
Lev. I'm but her mother i' law;
Yet if she were my very flesh and blood
I could advise no better for her good.
Rous. Sweet wife,
Thy joyful husband thus salutes thy cheek.
Cast. My husband? O! I am betrayed.—
Dear friend of Charlemont, your purity
Professes a divine contempt o' the world;
O be not bribed by that you so neglect,
In being the world's hated instrument,
To bring a just neglect upon yourself!
[Kneels from one to another.
Dear father, let me but examine my
Affection.—Sir, your prudent judgment can
Persuade your son that 'tis improvident
To marry one whose disposition he
Did ne'er observe.—Good sir, I may be of
A nature so unpleasing to your mind,
Perhaps you'll curse the fatal hour wherein
You rashly married me.
D'Am. My Lord Belforest,
I would not have her forced against her choice.
Bel. Passion o' me, thou peevish girl! I charge
Thee by my blessing, and the authority
I have to claim thy obedience, marry him.
Cast. Now, Charlemont! O my presaging tears!
This sad event hath followed my sad fears.
Sebas. A rape, a rape, a rape!
Bel. How now!
D'Am. What's that?
Sebas. Why what is't but a rape to force a wench
To marry, since it forces her to lie
With him she would not?
Lang. Verily his tongue is an unsanctified member.
Sebas. Verily
Your gravity becomes your perished soul
As hoary mouldiness does rotten fruit.
Bel. Cousin, y'are both uncivil and profane.
D'Am. Thou disobedient villain, get thee out of my sight.
Now, by my soul, I'll plague thee for this rudeness.
Bel. Come, set forward to the church.
[Exeunt all except SEBASTIAN.
Sebas. And verify the proverb—The nearer the church the further
from God.—Poor wench! For thy sake may his hability die in his appetite,
that thou beest not troubled with him thou lovest not! May his appetite move
thy
desire to another man, so he shall help to make himself cuckold! And let that
man be one that he pays wages to; so thou shalt profit by him thou hatest. Let
the chambers be matted, the hinges oiled, the curtain rings silenced, and the
chambermaid hold her peace at his own request, that he may sleep the quieter;
and in that sleep let him be soundly cuckolded. And when he knows it, and
seeks
to sue a divorce, let him have no other satisfaction than this: He lay by and
slept: the law will take no hold of her because he winked at it. [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—The Banqueting Room in BELFOREST'S Mansion.
Night time. A Banquet set out. Music.
Enter D'AMVILLE, BELFOREST, LEVIDULCIA, ROUSARD, CASTABELLA, LANGUEBEAU
SNUFFE, at one side. At the other side enter CATAPLASMA and SOQUETTE,
ushered by FRESCO.
LEV. Mistress Cataplasma, I expected you an hour since.
Cata. Certain ladies at my house, madam, detained me; otherwise I had
attended your ladyship sooner.
Lev. We are beholden to you for your company. My lord, I pray you bid
these gentlewomen welcome; they're my invited friends.
D'Am. Gentlewomen, y'are welcome. Pray sit down.
Lev. Fresco, by my Lord D'Amville's leave, I prithee go into the
buttery. Thou shalt find some o' my men there. If they bid thee not welcome
they
are very loggerheads.
Fres. If your loggerheads will not, your hogsheads shall, madam, if I
get into the buttery. [Exit.
D'Am. That fellow's disposition to mirth should be our present example.
Let's be grave, and meditate when our affairs require our seriousness. 'Tis
out
of season to be heavily disposed.
Lev. We should be all wound up into the key of mirth.
D'Am. The music there!
Bel. Where's my Lord Montferrers? Tell him here's a room attends him.
Enter MONTFERRERS.
Mont. Heaven given your marriage that I am deprived of, joy!
D'Am. My Lord Belforest, Castabella's health!
[D'AMVILLE drinks.
Set ope the cellar doors, and let this health
Go freely round the house.—Another to
Your son, my lord; to noble Charlemont—
He is a soldier—Let the instruments
Of war congratulate his memory.
[Drums and trumpets.
Enter a Servant.
Ser. My lord, here's one, i' the habit of a soldier, says he is newly
returned from Ostend, and has some business of import to speak.
D'Am. Ostend! let him come in. My soul foretells
He brings the news will make our music full.
My brother's joy would do't, and here comes he
Will raise it.
Enter BORACHIO disguised.
Mont. O my spirit, it does dissuade
My tongue to question him, as if it knew
His answer would displease.
D'Am. Soldier, what news?
We heard a rumour of a blow you gave
The enemy.
Bor. 'Tis very true, my lord.
Bel. Canst thou relate it?
Bor. Yes.
D'Am. I prithee do.
Bor. The enemy, defeated of a fair
Advantage by a flatt'ring stratagem,
Plants all the artillery against the town;
Whose thunder and lightning made our bulwarks shake,
And threatened in that terrible report
The storm wherewith they meant to second it.
The assault was general. But, for the place
That promised most advantage to be forced,
The pride of all their army was drawn forth
And equally divided into front
And rear. They marched, and coming to a stand,
Ready to pass our channel at an ebb,
We advised it for our safest course, to draw
Our sluices up and mak't impassable.
Our governor opposed and suffered them
To charge us home e'en to the rampier's foot.
But when their front was forcing up our breach
At push o' pike, then did his policy
Let go the sluices, and tripped up the heels
Of the whole body of their troop that stood
Within the violent current of the stream.
Their front, beleaguered 'twixt the water and
The town, seeing the flood was grown too deep
To promise them a safe retreat, exposed
The force of all their spirits (like the last
Expiring gasp of a strong-hearted man)
Upon the hazard of one charge, but were
Oppressed, and fell. The rest that could not swim
Were only drowned; but those that thought to 'scape
By swimming, were by murderers that flanked
The level of the flood, both drowned and slain.
D'Am. Now, by my soul, soldier, a brave service.
Mont. O what became of my dear Charlemont?
Bor. Walking next day upon the fatal shore,
Among the slaughtered bodies of their men
Which the full-stomached sea had cast upon
The sands, it was my unhappy chance to light
Upon a face, whose favour when it lived,
My astonished mind informed me I had seen.
He lay in's armour, as if that had been
His coffin; and the weeping sea, like one
Whose milder temper doth lament the death
Of him whom in his rage he slew, runs up
The shore, embraces him, kisses his cheek,
Goes back again, and forces up the sands
To bury him, and every time it parts
Sheds tears upon him, till at last (as if
It could no longer endure to see the man
Whom it had slain, yet loth to leave him) with
A kind of unresolved unwilling pace,
Winding her waves one in another, like
A man that folds his arms or wrings his hands
For grief, ebbed from the body, and descends
As if it would sink down into the earth,
And hide itself for shame of such a deed.
D'Am. And, soldier, who was this?
Mont. O Charlemont!
Bor. Your fear hath told you that, whereof my grief
Was loth to be the messenger.
Cast. O God! [Exit.
D'Am. Charlemont drowned! Why how could that be, since
It was the adverse party that received
The overthrow?
Bor. His forward spirit pressed into the front,
And being engaged within the enemy
When they retreated through the rising stream,
I' the violent confusion of the throng
Was overborne, and perished in the flood.
And here's the sad remembrance of his life—the scarf,
Which, for his sake, I will for ever wear.
Mont. Torment me not with witnesses of that
Which I desire not to believe, yet must.
D'Am. Thou art a screech-owl and dost come i' the night
To be the cursèd messenger of death.
Away! depart my house, or, by my soul,
You'll find me a more fatal enemy
Than ever was Ostend. Begone; dispatch!
Bor. Sir, 'twas my love.
D'Am. Your love to vex my heart
With that I hate?
Hark, do you hear, you knave?
O thou'rt a most delicate, sweet, eloquent villain!
[Aside.
Bor. Was't not well counterfeited? [Aside.
D'Am. Rarely.—[Aside.] Begone. I will not here reply.
Bor. Why then, farewell. I will not trouble you.
[Exit.
D'Am. So. The foundation's laid. Now by degrees
[Aside.
The work will rise and soon be perfected.
O this uncertain state of mortal man!
Bel. What then? It is the inevitable fate
Of all things underneath the moon.
D'Am. 'Tis true.
Brother, for health's sake overcome your grief.
Mont. I cannot, sir. I am incapable
Of comfort. My turn will be next. I feel
Myself not well.
D'Am. You yield too much to grief.
Lang. All men are mortal. The hour of death is uncertain. Age makes
sickness the more dangerous, and grief is subject to distraction. You know not
how soon you may be deprived of the benefit of sense. In my understanding,
therefore,
You shall do well if you be sick to set
Your state in present order. Make your will.
D'Am. I have my wish. Lights for my brother.
Mont. I'll withdraw a while,
And crave the honest counsel of this man.
Bel. With all my heart. I pray attend him, sir.
[Exeunt MONTFERRERS and SNUFFE.
This next room, please your lordship.
D'Am. Where you will.
[Exeunt BELFOREST and D'AMVILLE.
Lev. My daughter's gone. Come, son, Mistress
Cataplasma, come, we'll up into her chamber. I'd fain see how she entertains
the
expectation of her husband's bedfellowship.
Rou. 'Faith, howsoever she entertains it, I
Shall hardly please her; therefore let her rest.
Lev. Nay, please her hardly, and you please her best. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The Hall in the same.
Enter three Servants, drunk, drawing in FRESCO.
1st Ser. Boy! fill some drink, boy.
Fres. Enough, good sir; not a drop more by this light.
2nd Ser. Not by this light? Why then put out the candles and we'll
drink i' the dark, and t'-to 't, old boy.
Fres. No, no, no, no, no.
3rd Ser. Why then take thy liquor. A health, Fresco! [Kneels.
Fres. Your health will make me sick, sir.
1st Ser. Then 'twill bring you o' your knees, I hope, sir.
Fres. May I not stand and pledge it, sir?
2nd Ser. I hope you will do as we do.
Fres. Nay then, indeed I must not stand, for you cannot.
3rd Ser. Well said, old boy.
Fres. Old boy! you'll make me a young child anon; for if I continue
this I shall scarce be able to go alone.
1st Ser. My body is as weak as water, Fresco.
Fres. Good reason, sir The beer has sent all the malt up into your
brain and left nothing but the water in your body.
Enter D'AMVILLE and BORACHIO, closely observing their
drunkenness.
D'Am. Borachio, seest those fellows?
Bor. Yes, my lord.
D'Am. Their drunkenness, that seems ridiculous,
Shall be a serious instrument to bring
Our sober purposes to their success.
Bor. I am prepared for the execution, sir.
D'Am. Cast off this habit and about it straight.
Bor. Let them drink healths and drown their brains i' the flood;
I promise them they shall be pledged in blood.
[Exit.
1st Ser. You ha' left a damnable snuff here.
2nd Ser. Do you take that in snuff, sir?
1st Ser. You are a damnable rogue then—
[Together by the ears.
D'Am. Fortune, I honour thee. My plot still rises
According to the model of mine own desires.
Lights for my brother———What ha' you drunk yourselves mad, you
knaves?
1st Ser. My lord, the jacks abused me.
D'Am. I think they are the jacks indeed that have abused thee. Dost
hear? That fellow is a proud knave. He has abused thee. As thou goest over the
fields by-and-by in lighting my brother home, I'll tell thee what shalt do.
Knock him over the pate with thy torch. I'll bear thee out in't.
1st Ser. I will singe the goose by this torch. [Exit.
D'Am. [To 2nd Servant.] Dost hear, fellow? Seest thou that proud
knave.
I have given him a lesson for his sauciness.
He's wronged thee. I will tell thee what shalt do:
As we go over the fields by-and-by
Clap him suddenly o'er the coxcomb with
Thy torch. I'll bear thee out in't.
2nd Ser. I will make him understand as much. [Exit.
Enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE.
D'Am. Now, Monsieur Snuffe, what has my brother done?
Lang. Made his will, and by that will made you his heir with this
proviso, that as occasion shall hereafter move him, he may revoke, or alter it
when he pleases.
D'Am. Yes. Let him if he can.—I'll make it sure From his
revoking.
[Aside.
Enter MONTFERRERS and BELFOREST attended with lights.
Mont. Brother, now good night.
D'Am. The sky is dark; we'll bring you o'er the fields.
Who can but strike, wants wisdom to maintain;
He that strikes safe and sure, has heart and brain.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—An Apartment in the same.
Enter CASTABELLA.
Cas. O love, thou chaste affection of the soul,
Without the adulterate mixture of the blood,
That virtue, which to goodness addeth good,—
The minion of Heaven's heart. Heaven! is't my fate
For loving that thou lov'st, to get thy hate,
Or was my Charlemont thy chosen love,
And therefore hast received him to thyself?
Then I confess thy anger's not unjust.
I was thy rival. Yet to be divorced
From love, has been a punishment enough
(Sweet Heaven!) without being married unto hate;
Hadst thou been pleased,—O double misery,—
Yet, since thy pleasure hath inflicted it,
If not my heart, my duty shall submit.
Enter LEVIDULCIA, ROUSARD, CATAPLASMA, SOQUETTE, and FRESCO with a
lanthorn.
Lev. Mistress Cataplasma, good night. I pray when your man has brought
you home, let him return and light me to my house.
Cata. He shall instantly wait upon your ladyship.
Lev. Good Mistress Cataplasma! for my servants are all drunk, I
cannot
be beholden to 'em for their attendance.
[Exeunt CATAPLASMA, SOQUETTE, and FRESCO.
O here's your bride!
Rous. And melancholic too, methinks.
Lev. How can she choose? Your sickness will
Distaste the expected sweetness o' the night
That makes her heavy.
Rous. That should make her light.
Lev. Look you to that.
Cast. What sweetness speak you of?
The sweetness of the night consists in rest.
Rous. With that sweetness thou shalt be surely blest
Unless my groaning wake thee. Do not moan.
Lev. She'd rather you would wake, and make her groan.
Rous. Nay 'troth, sweetheart, I will not trouble thee.
Thou shalt not lose thy maidenhead to-night.
Cast. O might that weakness ever be in force,
I never would desire to sue divorce.
Rous. Wilt go to bed?
Cast. I will attend you, sir.
Rous. Mother, good night.
Lev. Pleasure be your bedfellow.
[Exeunt ROUSARD and CASTABELLA.
Why sure their generation was asleep
When she begot those dormice, that she made
Them up so weakly and imperfectly.
One wants desire, the t'other ability,
When my affection even with their cold bloods
(As snow rubbed through an active hand does make
the flesh to burn) by agitation is
Inflamed, I could embrace and entertain
The air to cool it.
Enter SEBASTIAN.
Sebas. That but mitigates
The heat; rather embrace and entertain
A younger brother; he can quench the fire.
Lev. Can you so, sir? Now I beshrew your ear.
Why, bold Sebastian, how dare you approach
So near the presence of your displeased father?
Sebas. Under the protection of his present absence.
Lev. Belike you knew he was abroad then?
Sebas. Yes.
Let me encounter you so: I'll persuade
Your means to reconcile me to his loves.
Lev. Is that the way? I understand you not.
But for your reconcilement meet me at home;
I'll satisfy your suit.
Sebas. Within this half-hour? [Exit.
Lev. Or within this whole hour. When you will.—
A lusty blood! has both the presence and spirit of a man. I like the
freedom of
his behaviour.
—Ho!—Sebastian! Gone?—Has set
My blood o' boiling i' my veins. And now,
Like water poured upon the ground that mixes
Itself with every moisture it meets, I could
Clasp with any man.
Enter FRESCO with a lanthorn.
O, Fresco, art thou come?
If t'other fail, then thou art entertained.
Lust is a spirit, which whosoe'er doth raise,
The next man that encounters boldly, lays. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—A Country Road near a Gravel Pit. Night time.
Enter BORACHIO warily and hastily over the Stage with a stone in either
hand.
Bor. Such stones men use to raise a house upon,
But with these stones I go to ruin one. [Descends.
Enter two Servants drunk, fighting with their torches;
D'AMVILLE, MONTFERRERS, BELFOREST, and LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE.
Bel. Passion o' me, you drunken knaves! You'll put
The lights out.
D'Am. No, my lord; they are but in jest.
1st Ser. Mine's out.
D'Am. Then light it at his head,—that's light enough.—
'Fore God, they are out. You drunken rascals, back
And light 'em.
Bel. 'Tis exceeding dark. [Exeunt Servants.
D'Am. No matter;
I am acquainted with the way. Your hand.
Let's easily walk. I'll lead you till they come.
Mont. My soul's oppressed with grief. 'T lies heavy at
My heart. O my departed son, ere long
I shall be with thee!
[D'AMVILLE thrusts him down into the gravel bit.
D'Am. Marry, God forbid!
Mont. O, O, O!
D'Am. Now all the host of Heaven forbid! Knaves! Rogues!
Bel. Pray God he be not hurt. He's fallen into the gravel pit.
D'Am. Brother! dear brother! Rascals! villains! knaves!
Re-enter Servants with lights.
Eternal darkness damn you! come away!
Go round about into the gravel pit,
And help my brother up. Why what a strange
Unlucky night is this! Is't not, my lord?
I think that dog that howled the news of grief,
That fatal screech-owl, ushered on this mischief.
[Exit Servants and Re-enter with the murdered body.
Lang. Mischief indeed, my lord. Your brother's dead!
Bel. He's dead?
Ser. He's dead!
D'Am. Dead be your tongues! Drop out
Mine eye-balls and let envious Fortune play
At tennis with 'em. Have I lived to this?
Malicious Nature, hadst thou borne me blind,
Thou hadst yet been something favourable to me.
No breath? no motion? Prithee tell me, Heaven,
Hast shut thine eye to wink at murder; or
Hast put this sable garment on to mourn
At's death?
Not one poor spark in the whole spacious sky
Of all that endless number would vouchsafe
To shine?—You viceroys to the king of Nature,
Whose constellations govern mortal births,
Where is that fatal planet ruled at his
Nativity? that might ha' pleased to light him out,
As well as into the world, unless it be
Ashamèd I have been the instrument
Of such a good man's cursèd destiny.—
Bel. Passion transports you. Recollect yourself.
Lament him not. Whether our deaths be good
Or bad, it is not death, but life that tries.
He lived well; therefore, questionless, well dies.
D'Am. Ay, 'tis an easy thing for him that has
No pain, to talk of patience. Do you think
That Nature has no feeling?
Bel. Feeling? Yes.
But has she purposed anything for nothing?
What good receives this body by your grief?
Whether is't more unnatural, not to grieve
For him you cannot help with it, or hurt
Yourself with grieving, and yet grieve in vain?
D'Am. Indeed, had he been taken from me like
A piece o' dead flesh, I should neither ha' felt it
Nor grieved for't. But come hither, pray look here.
Behold the lively tincture of his blood!
Neither the dropsy nor the jaundice in't,
But the true freshness of a sanguine red,
For all the fog of this black murderous night
Has mixed with it. For anything I know
He might ha' lived till doomsday, and ha' done
More good than either you or I. O brother!
He was a man of such a native goodness,
As if regeneration had been given
Him in his mother's womb. So harmless
That rather than ha' trod upon a worm
He would ha' shunned the way.
So dearly pitiful that ere the poor
Could ask his charity with dry eyes he gave 'em
Relief with tears—with tears—yes, faith, with tears.
Bel. Take up the corpse. For wisdom's sake let reason fortify this
weakness.
D'Am. Why, what would you ha' me do? Foolish Nature
Will have her course in spite o' wisdom. But
I have e'en done. All these words were
But a great wind; and now this shower of tears
Has laid it, I am calm again. You may
Set forward when you will. I'll follow you
Like one that must and would not.
Lang. Our opposition will but trouble him.
Bel. The grief that melts to tears by itself is spent;
Passion resisted grows more violent.
[Exeunt all except D'AMVILLE. BORACHIO ascends.
D'Am. Here's a sweet comedy. 'T begins with O
Dolentis and concludes with ha, ha, he!
Bor. Ha, ha, he!
D'Am. O my echo! I could stand
Reverberating this sweet musical air
Of joy till I had perished my sound lungs
With violent laughter. Lonely night-raven,
Thou hast seized a carcase.
Bor. Put him out on's pain.
I lay so fitly underneath the bank,
From whence he fell, that ere his faltering tongue
Could utter double O, I knocked out's brains
With this fair ruby, and had another stone,
Just of this form and bigness, ready; that
I laid i' the broken skull upon the ground
For's pillow, against the which they thought he fell
And perished.
D'Am. Upon this ground I'll build my manor house;
And this shall be the chiefest corner stone.
Bor. 'T has crowned the most judicious murder that
The brain of man was e'er delivered of.
D'Am. Ay, mark the plot. Not any circumstance
That stood within the reach of the design
Of persons, dispositions, matter, time, or place
But by this brain of mine was made
An instrumental help; yet nothing from
The induction to the accomplishment seemed forced,
Or done o' purpose, but by accident.
Bor. First, my report that Charlemont was dead,
Though false, yet covered with a mask of truth.
D'Am. Ay, and delivered in as fit a time
When all our minds so wholly were possessed
With one affair, that no man would suspect
A thought employed for any second end.
Bor. Then the precisian to be ready, when
Your brother spake of death, to move his will.
D'Am. His business called him thither, and it fell
Within his office unrequested to't.
From him it came religiously, and saved
Our project from suspicion which if I
Had moved, had been endangered.
Bor. Then your healths,
Though seeming but the ordinary rites
And ceremonies due to festivals—
D'Am. Yet used by me to make the servants drunk,
An instrument the plot could not have missed.
'Twas easy to set drunkards by the ears,
They'd nothing but their torches to fight with,
And when those lights were out—
Bor. Then darkness did
Protect the execution of the work
Both from prevention and discovery.
D'Am. Here was a murder bravely carried through
The eye of observation, unobserved.
Bor. And those that saw the passage of it made
The instruments, yet knew not what they did.
D'Am. That power of rule philosophers ascribe
To him they call the Supreme of the stars
Making their influences governors
Of sublunary creatures, when themselves
Are senseless of their operations.
What! [Thunder and lightning.
Dost start at thunder? Credit my belief
'Tis a mere effect of Nature—an exhalation hot
And dry involved within a watery vapour
I' the middle region of the air; whose coldness,
Congealing that thick moisture to a cloud,
The angry exhalation, shut within
A prison of contrary quality,
Strives to be free and with the violent
Eruption through the grossness of that cloud,
Makes this noise we hear.
Bor. 'Tis a fearful noise.
D'Am. 'Tis a brave noise, and methinks
Graces our accomplished project as
A peal of ordnance does a triumph. It speaks
Encouragement. Now Nature shows thee how
It favoured our performance, to forbear
This noise when we set forth, because it should
Not terrify my brother's going home,
Which would have dashed our purpose,—to forbear
This lightning in our passage lest it should
Ha' warned him o' the pitfall.
Then propitious Nature winked
At our proceedings: now it doth express
How that forbearance favoured our success.
Bor. You have confirmed me. For it follows well
That Nature, since herself decay doth hate,
Should favour those that strengthen their estate.
D'Am. Our next endeavour is, since on the false
Report that Charlemont is dead depends
The fabric of the work, to credit that
With all the countenance we can.
Bor. Faith, sir,
Even let his own inheritance, whereof
You have dispossessed him, countenance the act.
Spare so much out of that to give him a
Solemnity of funeral. 'Twill quit
The cost, and make your apprehension of
His death appear more confident and true.
D'Am. I'll take thy counsel. Now farewell, black Night;
Thou beauteous mistress of a murderer.
To honour thee that hast accomplished all
I'll wear thy colours at his funeral. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.—LEVIDULCIA'S Apartment.
Enter LEVIDULCIA manned by FRESCO.
Lev. Thou art welcome into my chamber, Fresco.
Prithee shut the door.—Nay, thou mistakest me.
Come in and shut it.
Fres. 'Tis somewhat late, madam.
Lev. No matter. I have somewhat to say to thee.
What, is not thy mistress towards a husband yet?
Fres. Faith, madam, she has suitors, but they will not suit her,
methinks. They will not come off lustily, it seems.
Lev. They will not come on lustily, thou wouldst say.
Fres. I mean, madam they are not rich enough.
Lev But ay, Fresco, they are not bold enough.
Thy mistress is of a lively attractive blood, Fresco, and in truth
she is of my
mind for that. A poor spirit is poorer than a poor purse. Give me
a fellow that
brings not only temptation with him, but has the activity of wit
and audacity of
spirit to apply every word and gesture of a woman's speech and
behaviour to his
own desire, and make her believe she's the suitor herself;
never give back till
he has made her yield to it.
Fres. Indeed among our equals, madam; but otherwise we shall be put
horribly out o' countenance.
Lev. Thou art deceived, Fresco. Ladies are as courteous as yeomen's
wives, and methinks they should be more gentle. Hot diet
and soft ease makes 'em
like wax always kept warm, more easy to take
impression.—Prithee, untie my
shoe.—What, art thou shamfaced too? Go
roundly to work, man. My leg is not
gouty: 'twill endure the feeling, I warrant thee. Come hither, Fresco: thine
ear. S'dainty, I mistook the place, I missed thine ear and hit thy lip.
Fres. Your ladyship has made me blush.
Lev. That shows thou art full o' lusty blood and thou knowest not how
to use it. Let me see thy hand. Thou shouldst not be shamefaced by thy hand,
Fresco. Here's a brawny flesh and a hairy skin. both sings of an able body. I
do
not like these phlegmatic, smooth-skinned, soft-fleshed fellows. They are like
candied suckets when they begin to perish, which I would always empty my
closet
of, and give 'em my chambermaid.—I have some skill in palmistry: by this
line that stands directly against me thou shouldst be near a good fortune,
Fresco, if thou hadst the grace to entertain it.
Fres. O what is that, madam, I pray?
Lev. No less than the love of a fair lady, if thou dost not lose her
with faint-heartedness.
Fres. A lady, madam? Alas, a lady is great thing: I cannot
compass her.
Lev. No? Why, I am a lady. Am I so great I cannot be compassed? Clasp
my waist, and try.
Fres. I could find i' my heart, madam—
[SEBASTIAN knocks within.
Lev. 'Uds body, my husband! Faint-hearted fool!
I think thou wert begotten between the North Pole and the congealed passage.
Now, like an ambitious coward that betrays himself with fearful delay, you
must
suffer for the treason you never committed. Go, hide thyself behind yon arras
instantly.
[FRESCO hides himself.
Enter SEBASTIAN.
Sebastian! What do you here so late?
Sebas. Nothing yet, but I hope I shall. [Kisses her.
Lev. Y'are very bold.
Sebas. And you very valiant, for you met me at full career.
Lev. You come to ha' me move your father's reconciliation. I'll
write a
word or two i' your behalf.
Sebas. A word or two, madam? That you do for me will not be contained
in less than the compass of two sheets. But in plain terms shall we take the
opportunity of privateness.
Lev. What to do?
Sebas. To dance the beginning of the world after the English manner.
Lev. Why not after the French or Italian?
Sebas. Fie! they dance it preposterously; backward!
Lev. Are you so active to dance?
Sebas. I can shake my heels.
Lev. Y'are well made for't.
Sebas. Measure me from top to toe you shall not find me differ much
from the true standard of proportion. [BELFOREST knocks within.
Lev. I think I am accursed, Sebastian. There's one at the door has
beaten
opportunity away from us. In brief, I love thee, and it shall not be long befor
e
I give thee a testimony of it. To save thee now from suspicion do no more but
draw thy rapier, chafe thyself, and when he comes in, rush by without taking
notice of him. Only seem to be angry, and let me alone for the rest.
Enter BELFOREST.
Sebas. Now by the hand of Mercury— [Exit.
Bel. What's the matter, wife?
Lev. Oh, oh, husband!
Bel. Prithee what ail'st thou, woman?
Lev. O feel my pulse. It beats, I warrant you. Be patient a little,
sweet husband: tarry but till my breath come to me again and I'll satisfy you.
Bel. What ails Sebastian? He looks so distractedly.
Lev. The poor gentleman's almost out on's wits, I think. You remember
the displeasure his father took against him about the liberty of speech he
used
even now, when your daughter went to be married?
Bel. Yes. What of that?
Lev. 'T has crazed him sure. He met a poor man i' the street even now.
Upon what quarrel I know not, but he pursued him so violently that if my house
had not been his rescue he had surely killed him.
Bel. What a strange desperate young man is that!
Lev. Nay, husband, he grew so in rage, when he saw the man was
conveyed
from him, that he was ready even to have drawn his naked weapon upon
me. And had
not your knocking at the door prevented him, surely he'd done something to me.
Bel. Where's the man?
Lev. Alas, here! I warrant you the poor fearful soul is scarce come
to
himself again yet.—If the fool have any wit he will apprehend me.
[Aside.]—Do you hear, sir? You may be bold to come forth: the fury
that
haunted you is gone.
[FRESCO peeps fearfully forth from behind the arras.
Fres. Are you sure he is gone?
Bel. He's gone, he's gone, I warrant thee.
Fres. I would I were gone too. H's shook me almost into a dead palsy.
Bel. How fell the difference between you?
Fres. I would I were out at the back door.
Bel. Thou art safe enough. Prithee tell's the falling out.
Fres. Yes, sir, when I have recovered my spirits. My memory is almost
frighted from me.—Oh, so, so, so!—Why, sir, as I came along the
street, sir—this same gentleman came stumbling after me and trod o' my
heel.—I cried O. Do you cry, sirrah? says he. Let me see your heel; if it
be not hurt I'll make you cry for something. So he claps my head between his
legs and pulls off my shoe. I having shifted no socks in a sen'night, the
gentleman cried foh! and said my feet were base and cowardly feet, they stunk
for fear. Then he knocked my shoe about my pate, and I cried O once more. In
the
meantime comes a shag-haired dog by, and rubs against his shins. The gentleman
took the dog in shag-hair to be some watchman in a rug gown, and swore he
would
hang me up at the next door with my lanthorn in my hand, that passengers might
see their way as they went, without rubbing against gentlemen's shins. So, for
want of a cord, he took his own garters off, and as he was going to make a
noose, I watched my time and ran away. And as I ran, indeed I bid him hang
himself in his own garters. So he, in choler, pursued me hither, as you see.
Bel. Why, this savours of distraction.
Lev. Of mere distraction.
Fres. Howsover it savours, I am sure it smells like a lie. [Aside.
Bel. Thou may'st go forth at the back door, honest fellow; the way is
private and safe.
Fres. So it had need, for your fore-door here is both common and
dangerous. [Exit BELFOREST.
Lev. Good night, honest Fresco.
Fres. Good night, madam. If you get me kissing o' ladies
again!—[Exit.
Lev. This falls out handsomely.
But yet the matter does not well succeed,
Till I have brought it to the very deed. [Exit.
SCENE VI.—A Camp.
Enter CHARLEMONT in arms, a Musketeer, and a Serjeant.
Charl. Serjeant, what hour o' the night is't?
Serj. About one.
Charl. I would you would relieve me, for I am So heavy that I shall
ha'
much ado
To stand out my perdu. [Thunder and lightning.
Serj. I'll e'en but walk
The round, sir, and then presently return.
Sol. For God's sake, serjeant, relieve me. Above five hours
together in
so foul a stormy night as this!
Serj. Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth are now in consort,
when the thunder and the cannon play one to another. [Exit Serjeant.
Charl. I know not why I should be thus inclined
To sleep. I feel my disposition pressed
With a necessity of heaviness.
Soldier, if thou hast any better eyes,
I prithee wake me when the serjeant comes.
Sol. Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall
Scarce either see or hear him, ere he comes
Upon me.
Charl. I cannot force myself to wake.— [Sleeps.
Enter the Ghost of MONTFERRERS.
Mont. Return to France, for thy old father's dead,
And thou by murder disinherited.
Attend with patience the success of things,
But leave revenge unto the King of kings. [Exit.
[CHARLEMONT starts and wakes.
Charl. O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream
Was this that waked me? Dreams are but the raised
Impressions of premeditated things
By serious apprehension left upon
Our minds; or else the imaginary shapes
Of objects proper to the complexion, or
The dispositions of our bodies. These
Can neither of them be the cause why I
Should dream thus; for my mind has not been moved
With any one conception of a thought
To such a purpose; nor my nature wont
To trouble me with fantasies of terror.
It must be something that my Genius would
Inform me of. Now gracious Heaven forbid!
Oh! let my spirit be deprived of all
Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand
That vision acted, or divine that act
To come. Why should I think so? Left I not
My worthy father i' the kind regard
Of a most loving uncle? Soldier, saw'st
No apparition of a man?
Sol. You dream,
Sir. I saw nothing.
Charl. Tush! these idle dreams
Are fabulous. Our boyling fantasies
Like troubled waters falsify the shapes
Of things retained in them, and make 'em seem
Confounded when they are distinguished. So,
My actions daily conversant with war,
The argument of blood and death had left
Perhaps the imaginary presence of
Some bloody accident upon my mind,
Which, mixed confusedly with other thoughts,
Whereof the remembrance of my father might
Be one presented, all together seem
Incorporate, as if his body were
The owner of that blood, the subject of
That death, when he's at Paris and that blood
Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave
The war, for reputation's sake, upon
An idle apprehension, a vain dream.
Enter the Ghost.
Sol. Stand! Stand, I say! No? Why then have at thee,
Sir. If you will not stand, I'll make you fall. [Fires.
Nor stand nor fall? Nay then, the devil's dam
Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is
A spirit.
I shot it through, and yet it will not fall. [Exit.
[The Ghost approaches CHARLEMONT who fearfully avoids
it.
Charl. O pardon me, my doubtful heart was slow
To credit that which I did fear to know. [Exeunt.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—Inside a Church.
Enter the funeral of MONTFERRERS.
D'AM. Set down the body. Pay Earth what she lent.
But she shall bear a living monument
To let succeeding ages truly know
That she is satisfied what he did owe,
Both principal and use; because his worth
Was better at his death than at his birth.
[A dead march. Enter the funeral of CHARLEMONT as a
Soldier.
D'Am. And with his body place that memory
Of noble Charlemont, his worthy son;
And give their graves the rites that do belong
To soldiers. They were soldiers both. The father
Held open war with sin, the son with blood:
This in a war more gallant, that more good.
[The first volley.
D'Am. there place their arms, and here their epitaphs
And may these lines survive the last of graves.
[Reads.
"The Epitaph of MONTFERRERS.
"Here lie the ashes of that earth and fire,
Whose heat and fruit did feed and warm the poor!
And they (as if they would in sighs expire,
And into tears dissolve) his death deplore.
He did that good freely for goodness' sake
Unforced, for generousness he held so dear
That he feared but Him that did him make
And yet he served Him more for love than fear.
So's life provided that though he did die
A sudden death, yet died not suddenly.
"The Epitaph of CHARLEMONT.
"His body lies interred within this mould,
Who died a young man yet departed old,
And in all strength of youth that man can have
Was ready still to drop into his grave.
For aged in virtue, with a youthful eye
He welcomed it, being still prepared to die,
And living so, though young deprived of breath
He did not suffer an untimely death,
But we may say of his brave blessed decease
He died in war, and yet he died in peace."
[The second volley.
D'Am. O might that fire revive the ashes of
This Phœnix! yet the wonder would not be
So great as he was good, and wondered at
For that. His life's example was so true
A practique of religion's theory
That her divinity seemed rather the
Description than the instruction of his life.
And of his goodness was his virtuous son
A worthy imitator. So that on
These two Herculean pillars where their arms
Are placed there may be writ Non ultra. For
Beyond their lives, as well for youth as age,
Nor young nor old, in merit or in name,
Shell e'er exceed their virtues or their fame.
[The third volley.
'Tis done. Thus fair accompliments make foul
Deeds gracious. Charlemont, come now when thou wilt,
I've buried under these two marble stones
Thy living hopes, and thy dead father's bones.
[Exeunt.
Enter CASTABELLA mourning, to the monument of CHARLEMONT.
Cast. O thou that knowest me justly Charlemont's,
Though in the forced possession of another,
Since from thine own free spirit we receive it
That our affections cannot be compelled
Though our actions may, be not displeased if on
The altar of his tomb I sacrifice
My tears. They are the jewels of my love
Dissolved into grief, and fall upon
His blasted Spring, as April dew upon
A sweet young blossom shaked before the time.
Enter CHARLEMONT with a Servant.
Charl. Go see my trunks disposed of. I'll but walk
A turn or two i' th' church and follow you.
[Exit Servant.
O! here's the fatal monument of my
Dead father first presented to mine eye.
What's here?—"In memory of Charlemont?"
Some false relation has abused belief.
I am deluded. But I thank thee, Heaven.
For ever let me be deluded thus.
My Castabella mourning o'er my hearse?
Sweet Castabella, rise. I am not dead.
Cast. O Heaven defend me! [Falls in a swoon.
Charl. I—Beshrew my rash
And inconsiderate passion.—Castabella!
That could not think—my Castabella!—that
My sudden presence might affright her sense.—
I prithee, my affection, pardon me. [She rises.
Reduce thy understanding to thine eye.
Within this habit, which thy misinformed
Conceit takes only for a shape, live both
The soul and body of thy Charlemont.
Cast. I feel a substance warm, and soft, and moist,
Subject to the capacity of sense.
Charl. Which spirits are not; for their essence is
Above the nature and the order of
Those elements whereof our senses are
Created. Touch my lip. Why turn'st thou from me?
Cast. Grief above griefs! That which should woe relieve
Wished and obtained, gives greater cause to grieve.
Charl. Can Castabella think it cause of grief
That the relation of my death prove false?
Cast. The presence of the person we affect,
Being hopeless to enjoy him, makes our grief
More passionate than if we saw him not.
Charl. Why not enjoy? Has absence changed thee.
Cast. Yes.
From maid to wife.
Charl. Art married?
Cast. O! I am.
Charl. Married?—Had not my mother been a woman,
I should protest against the chastity
Of all thy sex. How can the merchant or
The mariners absent whole years from wives
Experienced in the satisfaction of
Desire, promise themselves to find their sheets
Unspotted with adultery at their
Return, when you that never had the sense
Of actual temptation could not stay
A few short months?
Cast. O! do but hear me speak.
Charl. But thou wert wise, and did'st consider that
A soldier might be maimed, and so perhaps
Lose his ability to please thee.
Cast. No.
That weakness pleases me in him I have.
Charl. What, married to a man unable too?
O strange incontinence! Why, was thy blood
Increased to such a pleurisy of lust,
That of necessity there must a vein
Be opened, though by one that had no skill
To do't?
Cast. Sir. I beseech you hear me.
Charl. Speak.
Cast. Heaven knows I am unguilty of this act.
Charl. Why? Wert thou forced to do't?
Cast. Heaven knows I was.
Charl. What villain did it?
Cast. Your uncle D'Amville.
And he that dispossessed my love of you
Hath disinherited you of possession.
Charl. Disinherited? wherein have I deserved
To be deprived of my dear father's love?
Cast. Both of his love and him. His soul's at rest;
But here your injured patience may behold
The signs of his lamented memory.
[CHARLEMONT finds his Father's monument.
He's found it. When I took him for a ghost
I could endure the torment of my fear
More eas'ly than I can his sorrows hear. [Exit.
Charl. Of all men's griefs must mine be singular?
Without example? Here I met my grave.
And all men's woes are buried i' their graves
But mine. In mine my miseries are born.
I prithee, sorrow, leave a little room
In my confounded and tormented mind
For understanding to deliberate
The cause or author of this accident.—
A close advantage of my absence made
To dispossess me both of land and wife,
And all the profit does arise to him
By whom my absence was first moved and urged.
These circumstances, uncle, tell me you
Are the suspected author of those wrongs,
Whereof the lightest is more heavy than
The strongest patience can endure to bear. [Exit.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in D'AMVILLE'S Mansion.
Enter D'AMVILLE, SEBASTIAN, and LANGUEBEAU.
D'Am. Now, sir, your business?
Sebas. My annuity.
D'Am. Not a denier.
Sebas. How would you ha' me live?
D'Am. Why; turn crier. Cannot you turn crier?
Sebas. Yes.
D'Am. Then do so: y' have a good voice for't.
Y'are excellent at crying of a rape.
Sebas. Sir, I confess in particular respect to yourself I was
somewhat
forgetful. General honesty possessed me.
D'Am. Go, th'art the base corruption of my blood; And, like a tetter,
growest unto my flesh.
Sebas. Inflict any punishment upon me. The severity shall not
discourage me if it be not shameful, so you'll but put money i' my purse. The
want of money makes a free spirit more mad than the possession does an usurer.
D'Am. Not a farthing.
Sebas. Would you ha' me turn purse-taker? 'Tis the next way to do't.
For want is like the rack: it draws a man to endanger himself to the gallows
rather than endure it.
Enter CHARLEMONT. D'AMVILLE counterfeits to take him for a Ghost.
D'Am. What art thou? Stay—Assist my troubled sense—
My apprehension will distract me—Stay.
[LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE avoids him fearfully.
Sebas. What art thou? Speak.
Charl. The spirit of Charlemont.
D'Am. O! stay. Compose me. I dissolve.
Lang. No. 'Tis profane. Spirits are invisible.
'Tis the fiend i' the likeness of Charlemont. I will have no conversation with
Satan. [Exit.
Sebas. The spirit of Charlemont? I'll try that.
[He strikes, and the blow is returned.
'Fore God thou sayest true: th'art all spirit.
D'Am. Go, call the officers. [Exit.
Charl. Th'art a villain, and the son of a villain.
Sebas. You lie.
Charl. Have at thee.
[They fight SEBASTIAN falls.
Enter the Ghost of MONTFERRERS.
Revenge, to thee I'll dedicate this work.
Mont. Hold, Charlemont.
Let him revenge my murder and thy wrongs
To whom the justice of revenge belongs. [Exit.
'Charl. You torture me between the passion of
My blood and the religion of my soul.
Sebas. [Rising.] A good honest fellow!
Re-enter D'AMVILLE with Officers.
D'Am. What, wounded? Apprehend him. Sir, is this
Your salutation for the courtesy
I did you when we parted last? You have
Forgot I lent you a thousand crowns. First, let
Him answer for this riot. When the law
Is satisfied for that, an action for
His debt shall clap him up again. I took
You for a spirit and I'll conjure you
Before I ha' done.
Charl. No, I'll turn conjuror. Devil!
Within this circle, in the midst of all
Thy force and malice, I conjure thee do
Thy worst.
D'Am. Away with him!
[Exeunt Officers with CHARLEMONT.
Sebas. Sir, I have got
A scratch or two here for your sake. I hope
You'll give me money to pay the surgeon.
D'Am. Borachio, fetch me a thousand crowns. I am
Content to countenance the freedom of
Your spirit when 'tis worthily employed.
'A God's name, give behaviour the full scope
Of generous liberty, but let it not
Disperse and spend itself in courses of
Unbounded licence. Here, pay for your hurts.
[Exit.
Sebas. I thank you, sir.—Generous liberty!—that is to say,
freely to bestow my abilities to honest purposes. Methinks I should not follow
that instruction now, if having the means to do an honest office for an honest
fellow, I should neglect it. Charlemont lies in prison for a thousand crowns.
Honesty tells me 'twere well done to release Charlemont. But discretion says I
had much ado to come by this, and when this shall be gone I know not where to
finger any more, especially if I employ it to this use, which is like to
endanger me into my father's perpetual displeasure. And then I may go hang
myself, or be forced to do that will make another save me the labour. No
matter,
Charlemont, thou gavest me my life. and that's somewhat of a purer earth than
gold, fine as it is. 'Tis no courtesy, I do thee but thankfulness. I owe it
thee, and I'll pay it. He fought bravely, but the officers dragged him
villanously. Arrant knaves! for using him so discourteously; may the
sins o' the
poor people be so few that you sha' not be able to spare so much out of your
gettings as will pay for the hire of a lame starved hackney to ride to an
execution, but go a-foot to the gallows and be hanged. May elder brothers turn
good husbands, and younger brothers get good wives, that there be no need of
debt books nor use of serjeants. May there be all peace, but i' the war and
all
charity, but i' the devil, so that prisons may be turned to hospitals, though
the officers live o' the benevolence. If this curse might come to pass, the
world would say, "Blessed be he that curseth." [Exit.
SCENE III.—Inside a Prison.
CHARLEMONT discovered.
Charl. I grant thee, Heaven, thy goodness doth command
Our punishments, but yet no further than
The measure of our sins. How should they else
Be just? Or how should that good purpose of
Thy justice take effect by bounding men
Within the confines of humanity,
When our afflictions do exceed our crimes?
Then they do rather teach the barbarous world
Examples that extend her cruelties
Beyond their own dimensions, and instruct
Our actions to be much more barbarous.
O my afflicted soul! How torment swells
Thy apprehension with profane conceit,
Against the sacred justice of my God!
Our own constructions are the authors of
Our misery. We never measure our
Conditions but with men above us in
Estate. So while our spirits labour to
Be higher than our fortunes, they are more base.
Since all those attributes which make men seem
Superior to us, are man's subjects and
Were made to serve him. The repining man
Is of a servile spirit to deject
The value of himself below their estimation.
Enter SEBASTIAN with the Keeper.
Sebas. Here. Take my sword.—How now, my wild swagerer? Y'are
tame
enough now, are you not? The penury of a prison is like a soft consumption.
'Twill humble the pride o' your mortality, and arm your soul in complete
patience to endure the weight of affliction without feeling it. What, hast no
music in thee? Th' hast trebles and basses enough. Treble injury and base
usage.
But trebles and basses make poor music without means. Thou wantest means, dost?
What? Dost droop? art dejected?
Charl. No, sir. I have a heart above the reach
Of thy most violent maliciousness;
A fortitude in scorn of thy contempt
(Since Fate is pleased to have me suffer it)
That can bear more than thou hast power t' inflict.
I was a baron. That thy father has
Deprived me of. Instead of that I am
Created king. I've lost a signiory
That was confined within a piece of earth,
A wart upon the body of the world,
But now I am an emperor of a world,
This little world of man. My passions are
My subjects, and I can command them laugh,
Whilst thou dost tickle 'em to death with misery.
Sebas. 'Tis bravely spoken, and I love thee for't.
Thou liest here for a thousand crowns. Here are a thousand to redeem thee. Not
for the ransom o' my life thou gavest me,—that I value not at one
crown—'tis none o' my deed. Thank my father for't. 'Tis his goodness. Yet
he looks not for thanks. For he does it under hand, out of a reserved
disposition to do thee good without ostentation.—Out o' great heart
you'll
refuse't now; will you?
Charl. No. Since I must submit myself to Fate,
I never will neglect the offer of
One benefit, but entertain them as
Her favours and the inductions to some end
Of better fortune. As whose instrument,
I thank thy courtesy.
Sebas. Well, come along. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—An Apartment in D'AMVILLE'S Mansion.
Enter D'AMVILLE and CASTABELLA.
D'Am. Daughter, you do not well to urge me. I
Ha' done no more than justice. Charlemont
Shall die and rot in prison, and 'tis just.
Cast. O father, mercy is an attribute
As high as justice, an essential part
Of his unbounded goodness, whose divine
Impression, form, and image man should bear!
And, methinks, man should love to imitate
His mercy, since the only countenance
Of justice were destruction, if the sweet
And loving favour of his mercy did
Not mediate between it and our weakness.
D'Am. Forbear. You will displease me. He shall rot.
Cast. Dear sir, since by your greatness you
Are nearer heaven in place, be nearer it
In goodness. Rich men should transcend the poor
As clouds the earth, raised by the comfort of
The sun to water dry and barren grounds.
If neither the impression in your soul
Of goodness, nor the duty of your place
As goodness' substitute can move you, then
Let nature, which in savages, in beasts,
Can stir to pity, tell you that he is
Your kinsman.—
D'Am. our expose your honesty
To strange construction. Why should you so urge
Release for Charlemont? Come, you profess
More nearness to him than your modesty
Can answer. You have tempted my suspicion.
I tell thee he shall starve, and die, and rot.
Enter CHARLEMONT and SEBASTIAN.
Charl. Uncle, I thank you.
D'Am. Much good do it you.—Who did release him?
Sebas. I. [Exit CASTABELLA.
D'Am. You are a villain.
Sebas. Y'are my father. [Exit SEBASTIAN.
D'Am. I must temporize.— [Aside.
Nephew, had not his open freedom made
My disposition known, I would ha' borne
The course and inclination of my love
According to the motion of the sun,
Invisibly enjoyed and understood.
Charl. That shows your good works are directed to
No other end than goodness. I was rash,
I must confess. But—
D'Am. I will excuse you.
To lose a father and, as you may think,
Be disinherited, it must be granted
Are motives to impatience. But for death,
Who can avoid it? And for his estate,
In the uncertainty of both your lives
'Twas done discreetly to confer't upon
A known successor being the next in blood.
And one, dear nephew, whom in time to come
You shall have cause to thank. I will not be
Your dispossessor but your guardian.
I will supply your father's vacant place
To guide your green improvidence of youth,
And make you ripe for your inheritance.
Charl. Sir, I embrace your generous promises.
Enter ROUSARD looking sickly, and CASTABELLA.
Rous. Embracing! I behold the object that
Mine eye affects. Dear cousin Charlemont!
D'Am. My elder son! He meets you happily.
For with the hand of our whole family
We interchange the indenture of our loves.
Charl. And I accept it. Yet not so joyfully
Because y'are sick.
D'Am. Sir, his affection's sound
Though he be sick in body.
Rous. Sick indeed.
A general weakness did surprise my health
The very day I married Castabella,
As if my sickness were a punishment
That did arrest me for some injury
I then committed. Credit me, my love,
I pity thy ill fortune to be matched
With such a weak, unpleasing bedfellow.
Cast. Believe me, sir, it never troubles me.
I am as much respectless to enjoy
Such pleasure, as ignorant what it is.
Charl. Thy sex's wonder. Unhappy Charlemont!
D'Am. Come, let's to supper. There we will confirm
The eternal bond of our concluded love. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in CATAPLASMA'S House.
Enter CATAPLASMA and SOQUETTE with needlework.
CATAPLASMA. Come, Soquette, your work! let's examine your work. What's here? a
medlar with a plum tree growing hard by it; the leaves o' the plum tree
falling
off; the gum issuing out o' the perished joints; and the branches some of 'em
dead, and some rotten; and yet but a young plum tree. In good sooth
very pretty.
Soqu. The plum tree, forsooth, grows so near the medlar
that the medlar
sucks and draws all the sap from it and the natural strength o' the ground, so
that it cannot prosper.
Cata. How conceited you are! But here th'ast made a tree to bear no
fruit. Why's that?
Soqu. There grows a savin tree next it, forsooth.
Cata. Forsooth you are a little too witty in that.
Enter SEBASTIAN.
Sebas. But this honeysuckle winds about this white thorn very
prettily
and lovingly, sweet Mistress Cataplasma.
Cata. Monsieur Sebastian! in good sooth very uprightly welcome this
evening.
Sebas. What, moralizing upon this gentlewoman's needlework?
Let's see.
Cata. No, sir. Only examining whether it be done to the
true nature and
life o' the thing.
Sebas. Here y' have set a medlar with a bachelor's button o' one side
and a snail o' the tother. The bachelor's button should have held his head up
more pertly towards the medlar: the snail o' the tother side should ha' been
wrought with an artificial laziness, doubling his tail and putting out his
horn
but half the length. And then the medlar falling (as it were) from the lazy
snail and ending towards the pert bachelor's button, their branches spreading
and winding one within another as if they did embrace. But here's a moral. A
poppring pear tree growing upon the bank of a river seeming continually to look
downwards into the water as if it were enamoured of it, and ever as the fruit
ripens lets it fall for love (as it were) into her lap. Which the wanton
stream,
like a strumpet, no sooner receives but she carries it away and bestows
it upon
some other creature she maintains, still seeming to play and dally under the
poppring so long that it has almost washed away the earth from the
root, and now
the poor tree stands as if it were ready to fall and perish by that whereon it
spent all the substance it had.
Cata. Moral for you that love those wanton running waters.
Sebas. But is not my Lady Levidulcia come yet?
Cata. Her purpose promised us her company ere this. Sirrah, your lute
and your book.
Sebas. Well said. A lesson o' the lute, to entertain the time with
till
she comes.
Cata. Sol, fa, mi, la.———Mi, mi,
mi.———Precious! Dost not see mi between the two
crotchets?
Strike me full there.———So———forward. This is a
sweet strain, and thou finger'st it beastly. Mi is a laerg there, and
the prick that stands before mi a long; always halve your
note.———Now———Run your division pleasingly with
these quavers. Observe all your graces i' the touch.———Here's a
sweet close———strike it full; it sets off your music
delicately.
Enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE and LEVIDULCIA.
Lang. Purity be in this house.
Cata. 'Tis now entered; and welcome with your good ladyship.
Sebas. Cease that music. Here's a sweeter instrument.
Lev. Restrain your liberty. See you not Snuffe?
Sebas. What does the stinkard here? put Snuffe out. He's offensive.
Lev. No. The credit of his company defends my being abroad from the eye
of suspicion.
Cata. Wilt please your ladyship go up into the closet? There are
those
falls and tires I told you of.
Lev. Monsieur Snuffe, I shall request your patience. My stay will not
be long. [Exit with SEBASTIAN.
Lang. My duty, madam.———Falls and tires! I begin to
suspect what falls and tires you mean. My lady and Sebastian the fall and the
tire, and I the shadow. I perceive the purity of my conversation is used but
for
a property to cover the uncleanness of their purposes. The very
contemplation o'
the thing makes the spirit of the flesh begin to wriggle in my blood. And here
my desire has met with an object already. This gentlewoman, methinks, should
be
swayed with the motion, living in a house where moving example is so
common.———Mistress Cataplasma, my lady, it seems, has some
business that requires her stay. The fairness o' the evening invites me into th
e
air. Will it please you give this gentlewoman leave to leave her work and walk
a
turn or two with me for honest recreation?
Cata. With all my heart, sir. Go, Soquette: give ear to his
instructions. You may get understanding by his company, I can tell you.
Lang. In the way of holiness, Mistress Cataplasma.
Cata. Good Monsieur Snuffe!—I will attend your return.
Lang. Your hand, gentlewoman.—[To SOQUETTE.]
The flesh is humble till the spirit move it.
But when 'tis raised it will command above it.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in D'AMVILLE'S Mansion.
Enter D'AWVILLE, CHARLEMONT, and BORACHIO.
D'Am. Your sadness and the sickness of my son
Have made our company and conference
Less free and pleasing than I purposed it.
Charl. Sir, for the present I am much unfit
For conversation or society.
With pardon I will rudely take my leave.
D'Am. Good night, dear nephew.
[Exit CHARLEMONT.
Seest thou that same man?
Bor. Your meaning, sir?
D'Am. That fellow's life, Borachio,
Like a superfluous letter in the law,
Endangers our assurance.
Bor. Scrape him out.
D'Am. Wilt do't?
Bor. Give me your purpose—I will do't.
D'Am. Sad melancholy has drawn Charlemont
With meditation on his father's death
Into the solitary walk behind the church.
Bor. The churchyard? 'Tis the fittest place for death.
Perhaps he's praying. Then he's fit to die.
We'll send him charitably to his grave.
D'Am. No matter how thou tak'st him. First take this— [Gives
him
a pistol.
Thou knowest the place. Observe his passages,
And with the most advantage make a stand,
That, favoured by the darkness of the night,
His breast may fall upon thee at so near
A distance that he sha' not shun the blow.
The deed once done, thou may'st retire with safety.
The place is unfrequented, and his death
Will be imputed to the attempt of thieves.
Bor. Be careless. Let your mind be free and clear.
This pistol shall discharge you of your fear. [Exit.
D'Am. But let me call my projects to account
For what effect and end have I engaged
Myself in all this blood? To leave a state
To the succession of my proper blood.
But how shall that succession be continued?
Not in my elder son, I fear. Disease
And weakness have disabled him for issue.
For the other,—his loose humour will endure
No bond of marriage. And I doubt his life,
His spirit is so boldly dangerous.
O pity that the profitable end
Of such a prosperous murder should be lost!
Nature forbid! I hope I have a body
That will not suffer me to lose my labour
For want of issue yet. But then't must be
A bastard.—Tush! they only father bastards
That father other men's begettings. Daughter!
Be it mine own. Let it come whence it will,
I am resolved. Daughter!
Enter Servant.
Ser. My lord.
D'Am. I prithee call my daugter.
Enter CASTABELLA.
Cast. Your pleasure, sir.
D'Am. Is thy husband i' bed?
Cast. Yes, my lord.
D'Am. The evening's fair. I prithee walk a turn or two.
Cast. Come, Jaspar.
D'Am. No.
We'll walk but to the corner o' the church;
And I have something to speak privately.
Cast. No matter; stay. [Exit Servant.
D'Am. This falls out happily. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—The Churchyard.
Enter CHARLEMONT.—BORACHIO dogging him. The clock strikes
twelve.
Charl. Twelve.
Bor. 'Tis a good hour: 'twill strike one anon.
Charl. How fit a place for contemplation is this dead of night, among
the dwellings of the dead.—This grave—Perhaps the inhabitant was in
his lifetime the possessor of his own desires. Yet in the midst of all his
greatness and his wealth he was less rich and less contented than in this poor
piece of earth lower and lesser than a cottage. For here he neither wants nor
cares. Now that his body savours of corruption
He enjoys a sweeter rest than e'er he did
Amongst the sweetest pleasures of this life,
For here there's nothing troubles him.—And there
—In that grave lies another. He, perhaps,
Was in his life as full of misery
As this of happiness. And here's an end
Of both. Now both their states are equal. O
That man with so much labour should aspire
To worldly height, when in the humble earth
The world's condition's at the best, or scorn
Inferior men, since to be lower than
A worm is to be higher than a king.
Bor. Then fall and rise.
[Discharges the pistol, which misses fire.
Charl. What villain's hand was that?
Save thee, or thou shalt perish. [They fight.
Bor. Zounds! unsaved
I think. [Falls.
Charl. What? Have I killed him? Whatsoe'er thou beest,
I would thy hand had prospered. For I was
Unfit to live and well prepared to die.
What shall I do? Accuse myself? Submit
Me to the law? And that will quickly end
This violent increase of misery.
But 'tis a murder to be accessory
To mine own death. I will not. I will take
This opportunity to 'scape. It may
Be Heaven reserves me to some better end. [Exit.
Enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE and SOQUETTE.
Soqu. Nay, good sir, I dare not. In good sooth I come of a generation
both by father and mother that were all as fruitful as costermongers' wives.
Lang. Tush! then a tympany is the greatest danger can be feared. Their
fruitfulness turns but to a certain kind of phlegmatic windy disease.
Soqu. I must put my understanding to your trust, sir. I would be loth
to be deceived.
Lang. No, conceive thou sha't not. Yet thou shalt profit by my
instruction too. My body is not every day drawn dry, wench.
Soqu. Yet methinks, sir, your want of use should rather make your
body
like a well,—the lesser 'tis drawn, the sooner it grows dry.
Lang. Thou shalt try that instantly.
Soqu. But we want place and opportunity.
Lang. We have both. This is the back side of the house which the
superstitious call St. Winifred's church, and is verily a convenient
unfrequented place.—
Where under the close curtains of the night—
Soqu. You purpose i' the dark to make me light.
[SNUFFE pulls out a sheet, a hair, and a beard.
But what ha' you there?
Lang. This disguise is for security's sake, wench. There's a
talk, thou
know'st, that the ghost of old Montferrers walks. In this church he
was buried.
Now if any stranger fall upon us before our business be ended, in
this disguise
I shall be taken for that ghost, and never be called to examination, I warrant
thee. Thus we shall 'scape both prevention and discovery. How do I look in
this
habit, wench?
Soqu. So like a ghost that notwithstanding I have some
foreknowledge of
you, you make my hair stand almost on end.
Lang. I will try how I can kiss in this beard. O, fie, fie, fie! I wil
l
put it off and then kiss, and then put it on. I can do the rest without
kissing.
Re-enter CHARLEMONT doubtfully, with his sword drawn; he comes upon them
before they are aware. They run out different ways, leaving the disguise
behind.
Charl. What ha' we here? A sheet! a hair! a beard!
What end was this disguise intended for?
No matter what. I'll not expostulate
The purpose of a friendly accident.
Perhaps it may accommodate my 'scape.
—I fear I am pursued. For more assurance,
I'll hide me here i' th' charnel house,
This convocation-house of dead men's skulls.
[In getting into the charnel house he takes hold of a death's
head; it
slips, and he staggers.
Death's head, deceivest my hold?
Such is the trust to all mortality.
[Hides himself in the charnel house.
Enter D'AMVILLE and CASTABELLA.
Cast. My lord, the night grows late. Your lordship spake
Of something you desired to move in private.
D'Am. Yes. Now I'll speak it. The argument is love.
The smallest ornament of thy sweet form
(That abstract of all pleasure) can command
The senses into passion and thy entire
Perfection is my object, yet I love thee
With the freedom of my reason. I can give
Thee reason for my love.
Cast. Love me, my lord?
I do believe it, for I am the wife
Of him you love.
D'Am. 'Tis true. By my persuasion thou wert forced
To marry one unable to perform
The office of a husband. I was the author
Of the wrong.
My conscience suffers under't, and I would
Disburthen it by satisfaction.
Cast. How?
D'Am. I will supply that pleasure to thee which he cannot.
Cast. Are ye a devil or a man?
D'Am. A man, and such a man as can return
Thy entertainment with as prodigal
A body as the covetous desire,
Or woman ever was delighted with.
So that, besides the full performance of
Thy empty husband's duty, thou shalt have
The joy of children to continue the
Succession of thy blood. For the appetite
That steals her pleasure, draws the forces of
The body to an united strength, and puts 'em
Altogether into action, never fails
Of procreation. All the purposes
Of man aim but at one of these two ends—
Pleasure or profit; and in this one sweet
Conjunction of our loves they both will meet.
Would it not grieve thee that a stranger to
Thy blood should lay the first foundation of
His house upon the ruins of thy family?
Cast. Now Heaven defend me! May my memory
Be utterly extinguished, and the heir
Of him that was my father's enemy
Raise his eternal monument upon
Our ruins, ere the greatest pleasure or
The greatest profit ever tempt me to
Continue it by incest.
D'Am. Incest? Tush!
These distances affinity observes
Are articles of bondage cast upon
Our freedoms by our own objections.
Nature allows a general liberty
Of generation to all creatures else.
Shall man,
To whose command and use all creatures were
Made subject, be less free than they?
Cast. O God!
Is Thy unlimited and infinite
Omnipotence less free because thou doest
No ill?
Or if you argue merely out of nature,
Do you not degenerate from that, and are
You not unworthy the prerogative
Of Nature's masterpiece, when basely you
Prescribe yourself authority and law
From their examples whom you should command?
I could confute you, but the horror of
The argument confutes my understanding.—
Sir, I know you do but try me in
Your son's behalf, suspecting that
My strength
And youth of blood cannot contain themselves
With impotence.—Believe me, sir,
I never wronged him. If it be your lust,
O quench it on their prostituted flesh
Whose trade of sin can please desire with more
Delight and less offence.—The poison o' your breath,
Evaporated from so foul a soul,
Infects the air more than the damps that rise
From bodies but half rotten in their graves.
D'Am. Kiss me. I warrant thee my breath is sweet.
These dead men's bones lie here of purpose to
Invite us to supply the number of
The living. Come we'll get young bones, and do't.
I will enjoy thee. No? Nay then invoke
Your great supposed protector; I will do't.
Cast. Supposed protector! Are ye an atheist? Then
I know my prayers and tears are spent in vain.
O patient Heaven! Why dost thou not express
Thy wrath in thunderbolts to tear the frame
Of man in pieces? How can earth endure
The burthen of this wickedness without
An earthquake? Or the angry face of Heaven
Be not inflamed with lighting?
D'Am. Conjure up
The devil and his dam: cry to the graves:
The dead can hear thee: invocate their help.
Cast. O would this grave might open and my body
Were bound to the dead carcass of a man
For ever, ere it entertain the lust
Of this detested villain!
D'Am. Tereus-like
Thus I will force my passage to—
Charl. The Devil!
[CHARLEMONT rises in the disguise, and frightens D'AMVILLE
away.
Now, lady, with the hand of Charlemont
I thus redeem you from the arm of lust.
—My Castabella!
Cast. My dear Charlemont!
Charl. For all my wrongs I thank thee, gracious Heaven,
Th'ast made me satisfaction to reserve
Me for this blessed purpose. Now, sweet Death,
I'll bid thee welcome. Come, I'll guide thee home,
And then I'll cast myself into the arms
Of apprehension, that the law may make
This worthy work the crown of all my actions,
Being the best and last.
Cast. The last? The law?
Now Heaven forbid! What ha' you done?
Charl. Why, I have
Killed a man; not murdered him, my Castabella.
He would ha' murdered me.
Cast. Then, Charlemont,
The hand of Heaven directed thy defence.
That wicked atheist! I suspect his plot.
Charl. My life he seeks. I would he had it, since
He has deprived me of those blessings that
Should make me love it. Come, I'll give it him.
Cast. You sha' not. I will first expose myself
To certain danger than for my defence
Destroy the man that saved me from destruction.
Charl. Thou canst not satisfy me better than
To be the instrument of my release
From misery.
Cast. Then work it by escape.
Leave me to this protection that still guards
The innocent. Or I will be a partner
In your destiny.
Charl. My soul is heavy. Come, lie down to rest;
These are the pillows whereon men sleep best.
[They lie down, each of them with a death's head for a pillow.
Re-enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, seeking SOQUETTE.
Lang. Soquette, Soquette, Soquette! O art thou there?
[He mistakes the body of BORACHIO for SOQUETTE.
Verily thou liest in a fine premeditated readiness for the purpose. Come,
kiss me, sweet Soquette.—Now purity defend me from the sin of
Sodom!—This is a creature of the masculine gender.—Verily the man is
blasted.—Yea, cold and stiff!—Murder, murder, murder! [Exit.
Re-enter D'AMVILLE distractedly: he starts at the sight of a death's
head.
D'Am. Why dost thou stare upon me? Thou art not
The soul of him I murdered. What hast thou
To do to vex my conscience? Sure thou wert
The head of a most doggèd usurer,
Th'art so uncharitable. And that bawd,
The sky there: she could shut the windows and
The doors of this great chamber of the world,
And draw the curtains of the clouds between
Those lights and me, above this bed of earth,
When that same strumpet Murder and myself
Committed sin together. Then she could
Leave us i' the dark till the close deed was done.
But now that I begin to feel the loathsome horror of
my sin, and, like a lecher emptied of his lust, desire
to bury my face under my eye-brows, and would steal
from my shame unseen, she meets me
I' the face with all her light corrupted eyes
To challenge payment o' me. O behold!
Yonder's the ghost of old Montferrers, in
A long white sheet climbing you lofty mountain
To complain to Heaven of me.—
Montferrers! pox o' fearfulness! 'Tis nothing
But a fair white cloud. Why, was I born a coward?
He lies that says so. Yet the countenance of
A bloodless worm might ha' the courage now
To turn my blood to water.
The tembling motion of an aspen leaf
Would make me, like the shadow of that leaf,
Lie shaking under 't. I could now commit
A murder were it but to drink the fresh
Warm blood of him I murdered to supply
The want and weakness o' mine own,
'Tis grown so cold and phlegmatic.
Lang. Murder, murder, murder! [Within.
D'Am. Mountains o'erwhelm me: the ghost of old
Montferrers haunts me.
Lang. Murder, murder, murder!
D'Am. O were my body circumvolved
Within that cloud, that when the thunder tears
His passage open, it might scatter me
To nothing in the air!
Re-enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE with the Watch.
Lang. Here you shall find
The murdered body.
D'Am. Black Beelzebub,
And all his hell-hounds, come to apprehend
Lang. No, my good lord, we come to apprehend me?
The murderer.
D'Am. The ghost (great Pluto!) was
A fool unfit to be employed in
Any serious business for the state of hell.
Why could not he ha' suffered me to raise
The mountains o' my sins with one as damnable
As all the rest, and then ha' tumbled me
To ruin? But apprehend me e'en between
The purpose and the act before it was
Committed!
Watch. Is this the murderer? He speaks suspiciously.
Lang. No, verily. This is my Lord D'Amville. And his distraction, I
think, grows out of his grief for the loss of a faithful servant. For surely I
take him to be Borachio that is slain.
D'Am. Hah! Borachio slain? Thou look'st like Snuffe, dost not?
Lang. Yes, in sincerity, my lord.
D'Am. Hark thee—sawest thou not a ghost?
Lang. A ghost? Where, my lord?—I smell a fox.
D'Am. Here i' the churchyard.
Lang. Tush! tush! their walking spirits are mere imaginary fables.
There's no such thing in rerum natura. Here is a man slain. And with the
spirit of consideration I rather think him to be the murderer got into that
disguise than any such fantastic toy.
D'Am. My brains begin to put themselves in order. I apprehend thee
now.—'Tis e'en so.—Borachio, I will search the centre, but I'll find
the murderer.
Watch. Here, here, here.
D'Am. Stay. Asleep? so soundly,
So sweetly upon Death's heads? and in a place
So full of fear and horror? Sure there is
Some other happiness within the freedom
Of the conscience than my knowledge e'er attained to.—Ho, ho, ho!
Charl. Y'are welcome, uncle. Had you sooner come
You had been sooner welcome. I'm the man
You seek. You sha' not need examine me.
D'Am. My nephew and my daughter! O my dear
Lamented blood, what fate has cast you thus
Unhappily upon this accident?
Charl. You know, sir, she's as clear as chastity.
D'Am. As her own chastity. The time, the place
All circumstances argue that unclear.
Cast. Sir, I confess it; and repentantly
Will undergo the selfsame punishment
That justice shall inflict on Charlemont.
Charl. Unjustly she betrays her innocence.
Watch. But, sir, she's taken with you, and she must
To prison with you.
D'Am. There's no remedy.
Yet were it not my son's bed she abused,
My land should fly, but both should be excused.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—An Apartment in BELFOREST'S Mansion.
Enter BELFOREST and a Servant.
Bel. Is not my wife come in yet?
Ser. No, my lord.
Bel. Methinks she's very affectedly inclined
To young Sebastian's company o' late.
But jealousy is such a torment that
I am afraid to entertain it. Yet
The more I shun by circumstances to meet
Directly with it, the more ground I find
To circumvent my apprehension. First,
I know she has a perpetual appetite,
Which being so oft encountered with a man
Of such a bold luxurious freedom as
Sebastian is, and of so promising
A body, her own blood corrupted will
Betray her to temptation.
Enter FRESCO closely.
Fres. Precious! I was sent by his lady to see if her lord were in bed.
I
should ha' done't slily without discovery, and now I am blurted upon 'em
before
I was aware. [Exit.
Bel. Know not you the gentlewoman my wife brought home?
Ser. By sight, my lord. Her man was here but now.
Bel. Her man? I prithee, run and call him quickly. This villain! I
suspect him ever since I found him hid behind the tapestry.
Re-enter FRESCO.
Fresco! th'art welcome, Fresco. Leave us. [Exit Servant.] Dost hear,
Fresco? Is not my wife at thy mistress's?
Fres. I know not, my lord.
Bel. I prithee tell me, Fresco—we are private—tell me:
Is not thy mistress a good wench?
Fres. How means your lordship that? A wench o' the trade?
Bel. Yes, faith, Fresco; e'en a wench o' the trade.
Fres. O no, my lord. Those falling diseases cause baldness, and my
mistress recovers the loss of hair, for she is a periwig maker.
Bel. And nothing else?
Fres. Sells falls, and tires, and bodies for ladies, or so.
Bel. So, sir; and she helps my lady to falls and bodies now and then,
does she not?
Fres. At her ladyship's pleasure, my lord.
Bel. Her pleasure, you rogue? You are the pander to her pleasure, you
varlet, are you not? You know the conveyances between Sebastian and my wife?
Tell me the truth, or by this hand I'll nail thy bosom to the earth. Stir not,
you dog, but quickly tell the truth.
Fres. O yes! [Speaks like a crier.
Bel. Is not thy mistress a bawd to my wife?
Fres. O yes!
Bel. And acquainted with her tricks, and her plots, and her devices?
Fres. O yes! If any man, o' court, city, or country, has found my Lady
Levidulcia in bed but my Lord Belforest, it is Sebastian.
Bel. What, dost thou proclaim it? Dost thou cry it, thou villain?
Fres. Can you laugh it, my lord? I thought you meant to proclaim
yourself cuckold.
Enter The Watch.
Bel. The watch met with my wish. I must request the assistance of
your
offices.
[FRESCO runs away.
'Sdeath, stay that villain; pursue him! [Exeunt.
SCENE V.—A Room in CATAPLASMA'S House.
Enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, importuning SOQUETTE.
Soqu. Nay, if you get me any more into the churchyard!
Lang. Why, Soquette, I never got thee there yet.
Soqu. Got me there! No, not with child.
Lang. I promised thee I would not, and I was as good as my word.
Soqu. Yet your word was better than your deed. But steal up into the
little matted chamber o' the left hand.
Lang. I prithee let it be the right hand. Thou leftest me before, and
I
did not like that.
Soqu. Precious quickly.———So soon as my mistress shall
be in bed I'll come to you. [Exit SNUFFE.
Enter SEBASTIAN, LEVIDULCIA, and CATAPLASMA.
Cata. I wonder Fresco stays so long.
Sebas. Mistress Soquette, a word with you.
[Whispers.
Lev. If he brings word my husband is i' bed
I will adventure one night's liberty
To be abroad.—
My strange affection to this man!—'Tis like
That natural sympathy which e'en among
The senseless creatures of the earth commands
A mutual inclination and consent.
For though it seems to be the free effect
Of mine own voluntary love, yet I can
Neither restrain it nor give reason for't.
But now 'tis done, and in your power it lies
To save my honour, or dishonour me.
Cata. Enjoy your pleasure, madam, without fear,
I never will betray the trust you have
Committed to me. And you wrong yourself
To let consideration of the sin
Molest your conscience. Methinks 'tis unjust
That a reproach should be inflicted on
A woman for offending but with one,
When 'tis a light offence in husbands to
Commit with many.
Lev. So it seems to me.—
Why, how now, Sebastian, making love to that gentlewoman? How many mistresses
ha' you i' faith?
Sebas. In faith, none; for I think none of 'em are faithful; but
otherwise, as many as clean shirts. The love of a woman is like a
mushroom,—it grows in one night and will serve somewhat pleasingly next
morning to breakfast, but afterwards waxes fulsome and unwholesome.
Cata. Nay, by Saint Winifred, a woman's love lasts as long as winter
fruit.
Sebas. 'Tis true—till new come in. By my experience no longer.
Enter FRESCO running.
Fres. Somebody's doing has undone us, and we are like to pay dearly
for't.
Sebas. Pay dear? For what?
Fres. Will't not be a chargeable reckoning, think you, when here are
half a dozen fellows coming to call us to account, with every man a several
bill
in his hand that we are not able to discharge.
[Knock at the door.
Cata. Passion o' me! What bouncing's that?
Madam, withdraw yourself.
Lev. Sebastian, if you love me, save my honour.
[Exeunt all except SEBASTIAN.
Sebas. What violence is this? What seek you?
You shall not pass. [Zounds!
Enter BELFOREST with the Watch.
Bel. Pursue the strumpet [Exit. Watch]. Villain, give me way,
Or I will make a passage through thy blood.
Sebas. My blood will make it slippery, my lord,
'Twere better you would take another way.
You may hap fall else.
[They fight. Both are slain. SEBASTIAN falls first.
Sebas. I ha't, I' faith. [Dies.
[While BELFOREST is staggering enter LEVIDULCIA.
Lev. O God! my husband! my Sebastian! Husband!
Neither can speak, yet both report my shame.
Is this the saving of my honour when
Their blood runs out in rivers, and my lust
The fountain whence it flows? Dear husband, let
Not thy departed spirit be displeased
If with adulterate lips I kiss thy cheek.
Here I behold the hatefulness of lust,
Which brings me kneeling to embrace him dead
Whose body living I did loathe to touch.
Now I can weep. But what can tears do good
When I weep only water, they weep blood.
But could I make an ocean with my tears
That on the flood this broken vessel of
My body, laden heavy with light lust,
Might suffer shipwreck and so drown my shame.
Then weeping were to purpose, but alas!
The sea wants water enough to wash away
The foulness of my name. O! in their wounds
I feel my honour wounded to the death.
Shall I out-live my honour? Must my life
Be made the world's example? Since it must,
Then thus in detestation of my deed,
To make the example move more forceably
To virtue, thus I seal it with a death
As full of horror as my life of sin. [Stabs herself.
Enter the Watch with CATAPLASMA, FRESCO, LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE,
and SOQUETTE.
Watch. Hold, madam! Lord, what a strange night is this!
Lang. May not Snuffe be suffered to go out of himself?
Watch. Nor you, nor any. All must go with us.
O with what virtue lust should be withstood!
Since 'tis a fire quenched seldom without blood.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—A Room in D'AMVILLE'S Mansion.
A Servant sleeping, with lights and money before him. Music.
Enter D'AMVILLE.
D'AM. What, sleep'st thou?
Ser. (Awaking) No, my lord. Nor sleep nor wake;
But in a slumber troublesome to both.
D'Am. Whence comes this gold?
Ser. 'Tis part of the revenue
Due to your lordship since your brother's death.
D'Am. To bed. Leave me my gold.
Ser. And me my rest.
Two things wherewith one man is seldom blest.
[Exit.
D'Am. Cease that harsh music. We are not pleased with it. [He handles
the gold.
Here sounds a music whose melodious touch
Like angels' voices ravishes the sense.
Behold, thou ignorant astronomer
Whose wandering speculation seeks among
The planets for men's fortunes, with amazement
Behold thine error and be planet-struck.
These are the stars whose operations make
The fortunes and the destinies of men.
Yon lesser eyes of Heaven (like subjects raised
Into their lofty houses, when their prince
Rides underneath the ambition of their loves)
Are mounted only to behold the face
Of your more rich imperious eminence
With unprevented sight. Unmask, fair queen.
[Unpurses the gold.
Vouchsafe their expectations may enjoy
The gracious favour they admire to see.
These are the stars, the ministers of Fate,
And man's high wisdom the superior power
To which their forces are subordinate. [Sleeps.
Enter the Ghost of MONTFERRERS.
Mont. D'Amville! With all thy wisdom th'art a fool.
Not like those fools that we term innocents,
But a most wretched miserable fool
Which instantly, to the confusion of
Thy projects, with despair thou shalt behold.
[Exit Ghost.
D'Am. (Starting up). What foolish dream dares interrupt my rest
To my confusion? How can that be, since
My purposes have hitherto been borne
With prosperous judgment to secure success,
Which nothing lives to dispossess me of
But apprehended Charlemont. And him
This brain has made the happy instrument
To free suspicion, to annihilate
All interest and title of his own
To seal up my assurance, and confirm
My absolute possession by the law.
Thus while the simple, honest worshipper
Of a fantastic providence, groans under
The burthen of neglected misery,
My real wisdom has raised up a state
That shall eternise my posterity.
Enter Servant with the body of SEBASTIAN.
What's that?
Ser. The body of your younger son,
Slain by the Lord Belforest.
D'Am. Slain! You lie!
Sebastian! Speak, Sebastian! He's lost
His hearing. A physician presently.
Go, call a surgeon.
Rous. O—oh! [Within.
D'Am. What groan was that?
How does my elder son? The sound came from
His chamber.
Ser. He went sick to bed, my lord.
Rous. O—oh! [Within.
D'Am. The cries of mandrakes never touched the ear
With more sad horror than that voice does mine.
Enter a Servant running.
Ser. Never you will see your son alive—
D'Am. Nature forbid I e'er should see him dead.
[A bed drawn forth with ROUSARD on it.
Withdraw the curtains. O how does my son?
Ser. Methinks he's ready to give up the ghost.
D'Am. Destruction take thee and thy fatal tongue.
Dead! where's the doctor?—Art not thou the face
Of that prodigious apparition stared upon
Me in my dream?
Ser. The doctor's come, my lord.
Enter Doctor.
D'Am. Doctor, behold two patients in whose cure
Thy skill may purchase an eternal fame.
If thou'st any reading in Hippocrates,
Galen, or Avicen; if herbs, or drugs,
Or minerals have any power to save,
Now let thy practice and their sovereign use
Raise thee to wealth and honour.
Doct. If any root of life remains within 'em
Capable of physic, fear 'em not, my lord.
Rous. O—oh!
D'Am. His gasping sighs are like the falling noise
Of some great building when the groundwork breaks.
On these two pillars stood the stately frame
And architecture of my lofty house.
An earthquake shakes 'em. The foundation shrinks.
Dear Nature, in whose honour I have raised
A work of glory to posterity,
O bury not the pride of that great action
Under the fall and mine of itself.
Doct. My lord, these bodies are deprived of all
The radical ability of Nature.
The heat of life is utterly extinguished.
Nothing remains within the power of man
That can restore them.
D'Am. Take this gold, extract
The spirit of it, and inspire new life
Into their bodies.
Doct. Nothing can, my lord.
D'Am. You ha' not yet examined the true state
And constitution of their bodies. Sure
You ha' not. I'll reserve their waters till
The morning. Questionless, their urines will
Inform you better.
Doct. Ha, ha, ha!
D'Am. Dost laugh,
Thou villain? Must my wisdom that has been
The object of men's admiration now
Become the subject of thy laughter?
Rou. O—oh! [Dies.
All. He's dead.
D'Am. O there expires the date
Of my posterity! Can nature be
So simple or malicious to destroy
The reputation of her proper memory?
She cannot. Sure there is some power above
Her that controls her force.
Doct. A power above
Nature? Doubt you that, my lord? Consider but
Whence man receives his body and his form.
Not from corruption like some worms and flies,
But only from the generation of
A man. For Nature never did bring forth
A man without a man; nor could the first
Man, being but the passive subject, not
The active mover, be the maker of
Himself. So of necessity there must
Be a superior power to Nature.
D'Am. Now to myself I am ridiculous.
Nature, thou art a traitor to my soul.
Thou hast abused my trust. I will complain
To a superior court to right my wrong.
I'll prove thee a forger of false assurances.
In you Star Chamber thou shalt answer it.
Withdraw the bodies. O the sense of death
Begins to trouble my distracted soul. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Hall of Justice. A scaffold at one end.
Enter Judges and Officers.
1st Judge. Bring forth the malefactors to the bar.
Enter CATAPLASMA, SOQUETTE, and FRESCO.
Are you the gentlewoman in whose house
The murders were committed?
Cata. Yes, my lord.
1st Judge. That worthy attribute of gentry which
Your habit draws from ignorant respect
Your name deserves not, nor yourself the name
Of woman, since you are the poison that
Infects the honour of all womanhood.
Cata. My lord, I am a gentlewoman; yet
I must confess my poverty compels
My life to a condition lower than
My birth or breeding.
2nd Judge. Tush, we know your birth.
1st Judge. But, under colour to profess the sale
Of tires and toys for gentlewomen's pride,
You draw a frequentation of men's wives
To your licentious house, and there abuse
Their husbands.—
Fres. Good my lord, her rent is great.
The good gentlewoman has no other thing
To live by but her lodgings. So she's forced
To let her fore-rooms out to others, and
Herself contented to lie backwards.
2nd Judge. So.
1st Judge. Here is no evidence accuses you
For accessories to the murder, yet
Since from the spring of lust, which you preserved
And nourished, ran the effusion of that blood,
Your punishment shall come as near to death
As life can bear it. Law cannot inflict
Too much severity upon the cause
Of such abhorred effects.
2nd Judge. Receive your sentence.
Your goods (since they were gotten by that means
Which brings diseases) shall be turned to the use
Of hospitals. You carted through the streets
According to the common shame of strumpets,
Your bodies whipped, till with the loss of blood
You faint under the hand of punishment.
Then that the necessary force of want
May not provoke you to your former life,
You shall be set to painful labour, whose
Penurious gains shall only give you food
To hold up Nature, mortify your flesh,
And make you fit for a repentant end.
All. O good my lord!
1st Judge. No more. Away with 'em.
[Exeunt CATAPLASMA, SOQUETTE, and FRESCO.
Enter LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE.
2nd Judge. Now, Monsieur Snuffe! A man of your profession
Found in a place of such impiety!
Lang. I grant you. The place is full of impurity. So much the more
need
of instruction and reformation. The purpose that carried me thither was
with the
spirit of conversion to purify their uncleanness, and I hope your
lordship will
say the law cannot take hold o' me for that.
1st Judge. No, sir, it cannot; but yet give me leave
To tell you that I hold your wary answer
Rather premeditated for excuse
Then spoken out of a religious purpose.
Where took you your degrees of scholarship?
Lang. I am no scholar, my lord. To speak the sincere
truth, I am Snuffe
the tallow-chandler.
2nd Judge. How comes your habits to be altered thus?
Lang. My Lord Belforest, taking a delight in the cleanness of my
conversation, withdrew me from that unclean life and put me
in a garment fit for
his society and my present profession.
1st Judge. His lordship did but paint a rotten post,
Or cover foulness fairly. Monsieur Snuffe,
Back to your candle-making! You may give
The world more light with that, than either with
Instruction or the example of your life.
Lang. Thus the Snuffe is put out. [Exit.
Enter D'AMVILLE distractedly with the hearses of his two Sons borne
after him.
D'Am. Judgment! Judgment!
2nd Judge. Judgment, my lord, in what?
D'Am. Your judgment must resolve me in a case.
Bring in the bodies. Nay, I'll ha' it tried.
This is the case, my lord. By providence,
Even in a moment, by the only hurt
Of one, or two, or three at most, and those
Put quickly out o' pain, too, mark me, I
Had wisely raised a competent estate
To my posterity. And is there not
More wisdom and more charity in that
Than for your lordship, or your father, or
Your grandsire to prolong the torment and
The rack of rent from age to age upon
Your poor penurious tenants, yet perhaps
Without a penny profit to your heir?
Is't not more wise? more charitable? Speak.
1st Judge. He is distracted.
D'Am. How? distracted? Then
You ha' no judgment. I can give you sense
And solid reason for the very least
Distinguishable syllable I speak.
Since my thrift
Was more judicious than your grandsires', why
I would fain know why your lordship lives to make
A second generation from your father,
And the whole fry of my posterity
Extinguished in a moment. Not a brat
Left to succeed me.—I would fain know that.
2nd Judge. Grief for his children's death distempers him.
1st Judge. My lord, we will resolve you of your question.
In the meantime vouchsafe your place with us.
D'Am. I am contented, so you will resolve me.
[Ascends.
Enter CHARLEMONT and CASTABELLA.
2nd Judge. Now, Monsieur Charlemont, you are accused
Of having murdered one Borachio, that
Was servant to my Lord D'Amville. How can
You clear yourself? Guilty or not guilty?
Charl. Guilty of killing him, but not of murder.
My lords, I have no purpose to desire
Remission for myself.—
[D'AMVILLE descends to CHARLEMONT.
D'Am. Uncivil boy!
Thou want'st humanity to smile at grief.
Why dost thou cast a cheerful eye upon
The object of my sorrow—my dead sons?
1st Judge. O good my lord, let charity forbear
To vex the spirit of a dying man.
A cheerful eye upon the face of death
Is the true countenance of a noble mind.
For honour's sake, my lord, molest it not.
D'Am. Y'are all uncivil. O! is't not enough
That he unjustly hath conspired with Fate
To cut off my posterity, for him
To be the heir to my possessions, but
He must pursue me with his presence.
And, in the ostentation of his joy,
Laugh in my face and glory in my grief?
Charl. D'Amville, to show thee with what light respect
I value death and thy insulting pride,
Thus, like a warlike navy on the sea,
Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land,
Passed through the stormy troubles of this life,
And now arrived upon the armed coast
In expectation of the victory
Whose honour lies beyond this exigent,
Through mortal danger, with an active spirit
Thus I aspire to undergo my death.
[Leaps up the scaffold. CASTABELLA leaps after him.
Cast. And thus I second thy brave enterprise.
Be cheerful, Charlemont. Our lives cut off
In our young prime of years are like green herbs
Wherewith we strew the hearses of our friends.
For, as their virtue, gathered when they are green,
Before they wither or corrupt, is best;
So we in virtue are the best for death
While yet we have not lived to such an age
That the increasing canker of our sins
Hath spread too far upon us.—
D'Am. A boon, my lords,
I beg a boon.
1st Judge. What's that, my lord?
D'Am. His body when 'tis dead
For an anatomy.
2nd Judge. For what, my lord?
D'Am. Your understanding still comes short o' mine.
I would find out by his anatomy
What thing there is in Nature more exact
Than in the constitution of myself.
Methinks my parts and my dimensions are
As many, as large, as well composed as his;
And yet in me the resolution wants
To die with that assurance as he does.
The cause of that in his anatomy
I would find out.
1st Judge. Be patient and you shall.
D'Am. I have bethought me of a better way.
—Nephew, we must confer.—Sir, I am grown
A wondrous student now o' late. My wit
Has reached beyond the scope of Nature, yet
For all my learning I am still to seek
From whence the peace of conscience should proceed.
Charl. The peace of conscience rises in itself.
D'Am. Whether it be thy art of nature, I
Admire thee, Charlemont. Why, thou hast taught
A woman to be valiant. I will beg
Thy life.—My lords, I beg my nephew's life.
I'll make thee my physician. Thou shalt read
Philosophy to me. I will find out
The efficient cause of a contented mind.
But if I cannot profit in't, then 'tis
No more good being my physician,
But infuse
A little poison in a potion when
Thou giv'st me physic, unawares to me.
So I shall steal into my grave without
The understanding or the fear of death.
And that's the end I aim at. For the thought
Of death is a most fearful torment; is it not?
2nd Judge. Your lordship interrupts the course of law.
1st Judge. Prepare to die.
Charl. My resolution's made.
But ere I die, before this honoured bench,
With the free voice of a departing soul,
I here protest this gentlewoman clear
Of all offence the law condemns her for.
Cast. I have accused myself. The law wants power
To clear me. My dear Charlemont, with thee
I will partake of all thy punishments.
Charl. Uncle, for all the wealthy benefits
My death advances you, grant me but this:
Your mediation for the guiltless life
Of Castabella, whom your conscience knows
As justly clear as harmless innocence.
D'Am. Freely. My mediation for her life
And all my interest in the world to boot;
Let her but in exchange possess me of
The resolution that she dies withal.
—The price of things is best known in their want.
Had I her courage, so I value it:
The Indies should not buy't out o' my hands.
Charl. Give me a glass of water.
D'Am. Me of wine.—
This argument of death congeals my blood.
Cold fear, with apprehension of thy end,
Hath frozen up the rivers of my veins.—
[Servant brings him a glass of wine.
I must drink wine to warm me and dissolve
The obstruction; or an apoplexy will
Possess me.—Why, thou uncharitable knave,
Dost thou bring me blood to drink? The very glass
Looks pale and trembles at it.
Ser. 'Tis your hand, my lord.
D'Am. Canst blame me to be fearful, bearing still
The presence of a murderer about me?
[Servant gives CHARLEMONT a glass of water.
Charl. Is this water?
Ser. Water, sir.
Charl. Come, thou clear emblem of cool temperance,
Be thou my witness that I use no art
To force my courage nor have need of helps
To raise my spirits, like those of weaker men
Who mix their blood with wine, and out of that
Adulterate conjunction do beget
A bastard valour. Native courage, thanks.
Thou lead'st me soberly to undertake
This great hard work of magnanimity.
D'Am. Brave Charlemont, at the reflexion of
Thy courage my cold fearful blood takes fire,
And I begin to emulate thy death.
[Executioner comes forward.
—Is that thy executioner? My lords,
You wrong the honour of so high a blood
To let him suffer by so base a hand.
Judges. He suffers by the form of law, my lord.
D'Am. I will reform it. Down, you shag-haired cur.
The instrument that strikes my nephew's blood
Shall be as noble as his blood. I'll be
Thy executioner myself.
1st Judge. Restrain his fury. Good my lord, forbear.
D'Am. I'll butcher out the passage of his soul
That dares attempt to interrupt the blow.
2nd Judge. My lord, the office will impress a mark
Of scandal and dishonour on your name.
Charl. The office fits him: hinder not his hand,
But let him crown my resolution with
An unexampled dignity of death.
Strike home. Thus I submit me.
[Is made ready for execution.
Cast. So do I.
In scorn of death thus hand in hand we die.
D'Am. I ha' the trick on't, nephew. You shall see
How easily I can put you out of pain.—Oh!
[As he raises up the axe he strikes out his own brains, and
staggers off the scaffold.
Exe. In lifting up the axe
I think he's knocked his brains out.
D'Am. What murderer was he that lifted up
My hand against my head?
1st Judge. None but yourself, my lord.
D'Am. I thought he was a murderer that did it.
1st Judge. God forbid!
D'Am. Forbid? You lie, judge. He commanded it.
To tell thee that man's wisdom is a fool.
I came to thee for judgment, and thou think'st
Thyself a wise man, I outreached thy wit
And made thy justice murder's instrument,
In Castabella's death and in Charlemont's,
To crown my murder of Montferrers with
A safe possession of his wealthy state.
Charl. I claim the just advantage of his words.
2nd Judge. Descend the scaffold and attend the rest.
D'Am. There was the strength of natural understanding.
But Nature is a fool. There is a power
Above her that hath overthrown the pride
Of all my projects and posterity,
For whose surviving blood
I had erected a proud monument,
And struck 'em dead before me, for whose deaths
I called to thee for judgment. Thou didst want
Discretion for the sentence. But yon power
That struck me knew the judgment I deserved,
And gave it.—O! the lust of death commits
A rape upon me as I would ha' done
On Castabella. [Dies.
1st Judge. Strange is his death and judgment.
With the hands
Of joy and justice I thus set you free.
The power of that eternal providence
Which overthrew his projects in their pride
Hath made your griefs the instruments to raise
Your blessings to a higher height than ever.
Charl. Only to Heaven I attribute the work,
Whose gracious motives made me still forbear
To be mine own revenger. Now I see
That patience is the honest man's revenge.
1st Judge. Instead of Charlemont that but e'en now
Stood ready to be dispossessed of all,
I now salute you with more titles both
Of wealth and dignity, than you were born to.
And you, sweet madam, Lady of Belforest,
You have the title by your father's death.
Cast. With all the titles due to me, increase
The wealth and honour of my Charlemont,
Lord of Montferrers, Lord D'Amville Belforest,—
And for a close to make up all the rest—
[Embraces CHARLEMONT.
The Lord of Castabella. Now at last
Enjoy the full possession of my love,
As clear and pure as my first chastity.
Charl. The crown of all my blessings!—I will tempt
My stars no longer, nor protract my time
Of marriage. When those nuptial rites are done,
I will perform my kinsmen's funeral.
1st Judge. The drums and trumpets! Interchange the sounds
Of death and triumph. For these honoured lives,
Succeeding their deserved tragedies.
Charl. Thus, by the work of heaven, the men that thought
To follow our dead bodies without tears
Are dead themselves, and now we follow theirs.
[Exeunt.
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