+San.+ Save you, my lord. Sir, your most obedient:
    And how likes your good lordship the great acts
    Of the strange cavalier? Was not his conduct
    Most happy for you in the late assault?

    +Vel.+ He happily supplied the office of
    Our general: howe'er, your city had
    Been ours; for though our Spanish forces may
    At first seem beaten, and we to retreat
    Awhile, to animate a giddy enemy,
    Yet we recover by our art and patience
    What fortune gives away. This unknown leader
    (I know not how to style him) press'd among
    Our soldiers, as they were returning back
    After a small repulse: encouraged them,
    (Though it was much superfluous) and got honour
    Perhaps not so deservingly; but 'twas well.

    +Oni.+ Your soldiers speak his glory even with wonder.

    +Vel.+ The ignorant are prone to it: but, sir,
    I think in our whole army there fought none
    But who had equal spirit. Fortune may
    Bestow success according to her dotage:
    I answer not for that.

    +San.+ This is pure Castile.
    But what is his birth, country, quality,
    And whither is he bound?

    +Vel.+ I seldom trouble
    My language with vain questions. Some report
    (It not imports who are the authors) that
    His country's Sicily, his name Ascanio
    (Or else some sound like that): that he's a lord
    (But what's an island-lord?) and that he came
    Into our continent to learn men and manners:
    And well he might; for the all-seeing sun
    Beholds no nation fiercer in attempt,
    More staid in counsel.

    +Oni.+ He's of a brave presence:
    I never saw more majesty in youth;
    Nor never such bold courage in a face
    So fashion'd to delight.

    +San.+ The queen commends him
    Almost with wonder.

    +Vel.+ Did the queen regard
    A man unknown?

    +Oni.+ His merits spoke his worth,
    And well might challenge a particular eye.

    +San.+ But his, as if in that dumb oratory
    He hoped to talk all the history of love,
    Still fix'd upon her.

    +Vel.+ Your most humble servant.                  [_Exit +Velasco+._

    +Oni.+ This is abrupt.

    +San.+ What most politic flea
    Is got into his Donship's ear?

    +Oni.+ Now must
    The Junto sit till midnight, till they rack
    Some strange design from this intelligence.

               _Enter +Cleantha+, and offers to go out._

    +San.+ Nay! on my honour, madam!

    +Cle.+ Good my lord!

    +San.+ Benight us not so soon! That short-liv'd day
    That gives the Russian in the winter hope
    Of heat, yet fails him, not so suddenly
    Forsakes the firmament. Stay, fairest madam,
    That we may look on you and live.

    +Cle.+ My lord, I fear you two were serious.

    +San.+ Never I, upon my conscience, madam.

    +Oni.+ No, I'll swear;
    Nor none of the whole form of you at court,
    Unless the stratagem be for a mistress,
    A fashion, or some cheating-match at tennis.

    +Cle.+ But happily[281] that gentleman had business.
    His face betrays my judgment if he be
    Not much in project.

    +San.+ You mistake him, madam.
    Though he talk positive, and bustle 'mong
    The sober lords, pretend to embassies
    And state-designs all day; he's one of us
    At night; he'll play, he'll drink,--you guess the rest.
    He'll quarrel too, then underhand compound.
    Why, for a need he'll jeer and speak profane;
    Court, and then laugh at her he courted. Madam,
    Forgive him his pretence to gravity,
    And he's an absolute cavalier.

    +Cle.+ My lord,
    He owes you for this fair certificate;
    Yet I fear your character's beyond his merit.

    +Oni.+ Madam, dissemble not so great a virtue;
    Nor, to obey the tyranny of custom,
    Become the court's fair hypocrite. I know
    This vanity for fashion-sake you wear,
    And all those gaieties you seem t' admire
    Are but your laughter.

    +Cle.+ Sir, your charity
    Abuseth you extremely.

    +Oni.+ Come, you cannot
    Disguise that wisdom, which doth glory in
    The beauteous mansion it inhabits. Madam,
    This soul of mine, how coarse soe'er 'tis cloth'd,
    Took the honour to admire you, soon as first
    You shin'd at court: nor had a timorous silence
    So long denied me to profess my service,
    But that I fear'd I might be lost i' the crowd
    Of your admirers.

    +Cle.+ Nor can I perceive
    Any strong hope now to the contrary.

    +Oni.+ Nor I: but give me licence t' undeceive
    The world, that so mistakes you. This young lord
    Flatters his folly that indeed you are
    Sick of that humour you but counterfeit;
    Believes y' are frail and easy; since, if not,
    His courtship were without design.

    +Cle.+ My lord,
    What means the gentleman? He hopes to talk me
    Into a virtue I ne'er practis'd yet,
    And much suspect I never shall.

    +San.+ Pray, madam,
    Pardon his ignorance: 'tis want of breeding.

    +Oni.+ Pardon your mirth, fair madam, and brush off
    This honour'd dust that soils your company;
    This thing whom nature carelessly obtruded
    Upon the world to teach that pride and folly
    Make titular greatness th' envy but of fools,
    The wise man's pity.

    +San.+ Sir, your words are rude.

    +Oni.+ Sure, no, my lord: perhaps in times of yore
    They might be construed so, when superstition
    Worshipp'd each lord an idol. Now we find,
    By sad experience, that you are mere men,
    If vice debauch you not to beasts.

    +San.+ The place is privileg'd, sir.

    +Oni.+ I know it is, and therefore speak thus boldly.
    If you grow hot, you have your grots, my lord,
    And in your villa you may domineer
    O'er th' humble country-gentleman, who stands
    Aloof and bare.

    +Cle.+ My lord, leave off the combat;
    Y' are hardly match'd. And see, the Lord Florentio!

                   _Enter +Florentio+ and +Velasco+._

    The queen attends his coming. Sir, you'll find
    A more convenient school to read this lecture.

    +Oni.+ But none so beautiful to hear me.

                       [_Exeunt, several ways, +Sanmartino+, +Cleantha+,
                                                          and +Oniate+._

    +Flo.+ And are you sure, my lord, he durst presume
    To look up at her?

    +Vel.+ Yes, and she commends
    His person and his spirit.

    +Flo.+ 'Twas too much
    T' observe his person. Sure, his spirit's great,
    And well may challenge the queen's memory.
    I have not seen him yet.

    +Vel.+ Nor I, my lord.

    +Flo.+ He had a fortune gentler far than mine.
    In envy of that service which I vowed
    To Arragon, Heaven used a stranger's arm
    In this great action: I was judged a thing
    Unfit for use.

    +Vel.+ Your glory was the greater,
    Your courage even opposing 'gainst your fate
    In the attempt.

    +Flo.+ But yet, mistaken man
    Esteems the happy only valiant.
    And if the queen, Velasco, should smile on
    His merits, and forget that love I have
    With such religion paid her----But these doubts
    Are impious, and I sin if I but listen
    To their disloyal whispers. And behold,

            _Enter the +Queen+, +Floriana+, +Cleantha+, &c._

    She opens, like a rock of diamond,
    To th' curious search of th' almost bankrupt merchant!
    So doth the pilot find his star, when storms
    Have even sunk his bark. Divinest madam!

    +Queen.+ Welcome, my lord! But pardon me my joys,
    If I must interrupt you with a sigh.
    I cannot look upon Florentio's arm,
    But I must grieve it bled for me.

    +Flo.+ O, spare
    The treasure of those tears! Some captive king,
    Whom fortune hath lock'd up in iron, wants
    One such to buy his freedom. Madam, all
    Those streams of blood which flow to warm my earth,
    Lest it congeal to death, cannot compare
    For value with the least drop shed for you,
    By such a quarrel made inestimable.

    +Queen.+ The war, I see, hath only been the field
    To exercise your fancy. Your discourse
    Shows that the court was kept beneath your tent;
    Yet cannot I, my lord, be jealous, but
    'Tis mingled with some love.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis a pure love,
    Unmix'd as is the soul. The world perhaps
    May judge a kingdom hath enamour'd me,
    And that your titles dress you forth, to raise
    My appetite up higher. Pardon love,
    If it grow envious even of your fortune,
    And that I'm forc'd to wish you had been daughter
    Of some poor mountain-cottager, without
    All dowry but your own beauty.[282] Then I might
    Have showed a flame untainted with ambition,
    And courted you; but now the circumstance
    Of greatness seems to challenge more than I
    Have power to give, and, working up my love,
    I serve my fortune.

    +Queen.+ You have not, my lord,
    Found me uneasy to your vows: and, when
    The troubled stream of my tempestuous state
    Shall meet a perfect calm, you then shall know
    How worthy I esteem your virtue.

    +Flo.+ Speak but those words again, and seat me in
    An orb above corruption! O, confirm
    Your thoughts but with a promise.

    +Queen.+ How, a promise!
    I shall repent my favour if I hear
    A syllable which sounds like that. Upon
    My marriage-day I have vowed to bring myself
    A free oblation to the holy altar;
    Not, like a fearful debtor, tender low[283]
    To save my bond. My lord, I must not hear
    One whisper of a promise.

    +Flo.+ I'm silent,
    And use me as your vassal; for a title
    More glorious I shall never covet. But----

    +Queen.+ No jealousy, my lord.

                            _Enter +Lerma+._

    +Ler.+ Your majesty
    Is great in mercy; and I hope a stranger
    Shall meet it, if his speech be an offence.

    +Queen.+ Your pleasure, sir?

    +Ler.+ The Lord Ascanio charg'd                           [_Kneels._
    Me fall yet lower, if the earth would license;
    For to so high a majesty obedience
    Cannot bend down enough: then he commanded,
    I, in his name, should beg the honour for him,
    Before he take his journey from your country,
    To kiss your hand.

    +Queen.+ Pray, sir, let's know the hour;
    But let it not be sudden. Years should sweat
    In preparation for his entertainment,
    And poets rack invention, till it reach
    Such praises as would reach the victories
    Of th' old heroes.

    +Ler.+ Madam, if his arm
    Did actions worthy memory, it receiv'd
    An influence from your quarrel, in the which
    A dwarf might triumph o'er an army. But
    He humbly craves his audience may not be
    With crowd and noise, as to embassadors;
    But with that silence which befits his business,
    For 'tis of moment.

    +Queen.+ Sir, we will obey
    His own desires, though ours could wish his welcome
    With a full ceremony. I attend him.                 [_Exit +Lerma+._

    +Flo.+ Madam, this stranger----

    +Queen.+ Pray, my lord, let love
    Not interrupt your business. I believe,
    The army which Decastro so expected
    Being now arriv'd, your soldiers tired, the city
    Ill-settled in her faith, much counsel will
    Be needful. When your leisure shall permit,
    Our joy shall be to see you.

    +Flo.+ I'm all obedience.

                     [_Exeunt +Queen+ and +Florentio+ at several doors._

                  _Manet +Sanmartino+ and +Cleantha+._

    +San.+ And when, sweet madam, will you crown our joys?
    Let's not, like riotous gamesters, throw away
    The treasure of our time: appoint the hour,
    The hour which must wear garlands of delight,
    By which we'll make't the envy of the age.

    +Cle.+ My lord, what mean you?

    +San.+ What all fine lords mean
    Who have plenty, youth and title.

    +Cle.+ But my fame!

    +San.+ 'Tis the fool's bugbear.

    +Cle.+ Then my conscience!

    +San.+ A scarecrow for old wives, whom wrinkles make
    Religious.

    +Cle.+ What will the court say?

    +San.+ Why, nothing.
    In mercy to themselves, all other ladies
    Will keep your counsel.

    +Cle.+ But will you not boast it?

    +San.+ I'll be degraded first.

    +Cle.+ Well, I'm resolv'd.

    +San.+ But when, sweet madam? Name
    The moment.

    +Cle.+ Never: for now I weigh things better;
    The antidote 'gainst fear is innocence.

    +San.+ Will you delude my hopes then? Pity, madam,
    A heart that withers if denied this favour.

    +Cle.+ In pity I may be induced to much;
    And, since you urge compassion, I will meet.

    +San.+ Where, excellent madam?

    +Cle.+ I' th' sycamore-walk.

    +San.+ The minute! O, the minute!

    +Cle.+ An hour hence.

    +San.+ Felicity! fit for thy envy, Love!
    You will not fail now, madam?

    +Cle.+ To be such,
    As you shall count that hour your happiest.               [_Exeunt._

                  _Enter +Browfildora+ and +Oniate+._

    +Oni.+ This is a challenge! Prythee, my small friend,
    May not a man take th' height of my lord's spirit,
    Looking on thee?

    +Brow.+ Pray, sir, leave off your mirth,
    And write my lord your answer.

    +Oni.+ Little sir,
    I never learnt that pretty quality:
    I cannot write; only by word of mouth----

    +Brow.+ Your place, sir?

    +Oni.+ The market-place.

    +Brow.+ 'Tis fantastic: and my lord will take it ill.
    Your weapons, sir.

    +Oni.+ Two English mastiffs, which
    Are yet but whelps, and not transported hither:
    So that the time will be, I know not when.

    +Brow.+ Your sport is dangerous. If my lord forgive you,
    I must resent th' affront as to myself,
    And will expect a most severe account.

    +Oni.+ Thou less, though[284] angrier, thing than wasp, farewell.

                                                              [_Exeunt._

                     _Enter +Queen+ and +Ascanio+._

    +Queen.+ I am inform'd, my lord, that you have business,
    And 'tis of moment?

    +Asc.+ Great as that of Nature's
    In her most mighty work, Creation.
    For to preserve from dissolution equals
    The gift of our first being. Not to hold
    Your majesty in riddles, 'tis to beg
    Your pardon for a soldier doom'd to die;
    Inevitably doom'd, unless your mercy
    Step between him and death.

    +Queen.+ My lord, we use
    T' examine well the fact for which he is
    To suffer, ere we pardon. There be crimes
    Of that black quality which often makes
    Mercy seem cruel.

    +Asc.+ That's the fear which frights
    Me to this paleness: sure, his crime is great;
    But fondly I, presuming on the service
    My fortune lately did you, gave my vow
    Ne'er to forsake your ear with earnest prayers,
    Till you had granted.

    +Queen.+ Would you had not vowed;
    For by the practice of my enemies
    My fame is 'mong the people yet unsettled,
    And my capacity for government
    Held much too feeble. Should I then by this
    Provoke them to disdain me, I might run
    Apparent hazard even of ruin, now
    War so distracts our kingdom. But, my lord,
    Your merits are too ponderous in the scale,
    And all respects weigh light--you have his pardon.

    +Asc.+ Your hand on that. The down on the swan's bosom,

                                                 [_Kisses and holds it._

    Not white and soft as this: here's such a dew
    As drops from bounteous heaven in the morning,
    To make the shadowy bank pregnant with violets.

    +Queen.+ My lord!

    +Asc.+ I kiss'd it, and the Phœnix seem'd
    (The last of the whole race) to yield a perfume
    More sweet than all his dying ancestors
    Breath'd from their funeral piles. O, shrink not back!
    My life is so concomitant with love,
    That if you frown on either, both expire,
    And I must part for ever hence.

    +Queen.+ How strange appears this ecstasy! My lord, I fear
    Your brain feels some disturbance: if I cause it,
    I will remove the object.

    +Asc.+ Pardon, madam,
    The error of my fancy (which oft seems
    To see things absent), if my tongue did utter
    What misbecame your ear; and do not forfeit
    Your servant to perpetual misery,
    For want of a short patience.

    +Queen.+ No, my lord;
    I have the memory of your great deeds
    Engrav'd so deep, no error can have power
    To raze them from a due respect. You begg'd
    To have a pardon: speak th' offender's name.

    +Asc.+ Th' offender's name is Love; his crime high treason;
    A plot, how to surprise and wound your heart:
    To this conspirator I have given harbour,
    And vow'd to beg your mercy for him.

    +Queen.+ How!

    +Asc.+ And if you break your grant, I will hereafter
    Scorn all your sex, since the most excellent
    Is cruel and inconstant.

    +Queen.+ Pray, my lord,
    Go recollect your reason, which your passion
    Hath too much scatter'd. Make me not have cause
    To hate whom I would ever strive to honour.

    +Asc.+ Madam, you haply scorn the vulgar earth,
    Of which I stand compacted: and because
    I cannot add a splendour to my name,
    Reflective from a royal pedigree,
    You interdict my language: but be pleas'd
    To know, the ashes of my ancestors,
    If intermingled in the tomb with kings,
    Could hardly be distinguished. The stars shoot
    An equal influence on the open cottage,
    Where the poor shepherd's child is rudely nurs'd,
    And on the cradle, where the prince is rock'd
    With care and whisper.

    +Queen.+ And what hence infer you?

    +Asc.+ That no distinction is 'tween man and man,
    But as his virtues add to him a glory,
    Or vices cloud him.

    +Queen.+ But yet Heaven hath made
    Subordination and degrees of men,
    And even religion doth authorise us
    To rule, and tells the subject 'tis a crime,
    And shall meet death, if he disdain obedience.

    +Asc.+ Kind Heaven made us all equal, till rude strength
    Or wicked policy usurp'd a power:
    And for religion, that exhorts t' obey
    Only for its own ease.

    +Queen.+ I must not hear
    Such insolence 'gainst majesty; and yet
    This less offends than love.

    +Asc.+ If reason bends
    You not to mercy, let my passion plead,
    And not meet death from her, in whose fair quarrel
    I could each moment bring a life to th' hazard.
    Philosophy hath taught me that content
    Lives under the coarse thatch of labourers
    With much more quiet than where the fam'd hand
    Of artists to the life have richly drawn
    Upon the roofs the fictions of the gods.
    How happy then might I lengthen my life,
    With some fair country girl, so ignorant
    She knew not her own beauties, rather than
    Endanger death and scorn in your denial,
    And in your grant nothing but pomp and envy!

    +Queen.+ My lord, be wise, and study that best content.
    This bold presumptuous love hath cancell'd all
    The bonds I owed your valour: henceforth hope
    Not for that usual favour I show strangers,
    Since you have thus abus'd it. Would I might
    With safety have appear'd more grateful.                    [_Exit._

    +Asc.+ She's gone, as life from the delinquent, when
    Justice sheathes up her sword. I fain would have
    Conceal'd love's treason, but desire t' obtain her
    Put me to th' torture, till each nerve did crack,
    And I confess'd, then died upon the rack.                   [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[281] Peradventure. Dr Johnson observes that in this sense _happily_
is written erroneously for _haply_--[a distinction surely without a
difference, since both are the same, _haply_ being merely a contracted
form of the other.]

"One thing more I shall wish you to desire of them, who _happily_ may
peruse these two treatises."--_Digby._

[282] Habington has the same thought in his "Castara," edit. 1640, p.
51--

            "Would Castara were
    The daughter of some mountain-cottager,
    Who, with his toil worn out, could dying leave
    Her no more dowre than what she did receive
    From bounteous nature; her would I then lead
    To th' temple, rich in her own wealth."

--_Steevens._

[283] [Old copy, _love_.]

[284] [Old copy, _thought_.]

ACT IV., SCENE I.

                   _Enter +Cleantha+ and +Floriana+._

    +Flo.+ Thy pride is such a flatterer of thy beauty,
    That no man sighs by accident, but thou
    Dost pity as enamour'd.

    +Cle.+ Floriana!
    Not so kind-natur'd, surely. I have put
    The sighs of courtiers in a scale, and find
    Some threescore thousand may weigh down a feather;
    I have tried their tears which, though of briny taste,
    Can only season the hearts of fools, not women.
    Their vows are like their duels, ever grounded
    Upon the idlest quarrel.

    +Flo.+ This experience
    Perhaps instructs you to; but yet your pride,
    I fear, is over-easy to believe.
    'Tis merely to fly idleness that my lord
    Hath troubled you with courtship: if the queen
    Would make a statesman, she might cure a lover.
    Want of employment made him dream on beauty,
    And yours came first t' his fancy.

    +Cle.+ I begin
    To think his making love but vanity,
    And a mistake in wit.

    +Flo.+ And you begin
    Perhaps to fear it?

    +Cle.+ True, perhaps I do;
    For though we care not for the lover, yet
    We love the passion: though we scorn the offering,
    We grieve to see it thrown away, and envy,
    If consecrated to another. Woman
    Hath no revenge 'gainst th' injury of custom,
    Which gives man superiority, but thus
    To fool it to subjection.

    +Flo.+ Yet, Cleantha,
    I could have wish'd your charity had spar'd
    This triumph o'er my lord.

    +Cle.+ You see I take
    The next way to redeem him. This the hour,
    And this the place. Here he resolves to raise
    A trophy in my ruin: and behold--

              _Enter +Sanmartino+, winding up his watch._

    The just man of his promise! Not a minute
    He fails when sin's the payment.

    +Flo.+ I'll endanger
    His virtue to a blush, and happily
    Convert an infidel.

    +Cle.+ This is my province,
    Nor shall you envy me the honour of
    A work so meritorious. Let him walk
    Awhile, and sin with his own fancy; then
    I'll undertake him, and if there be need,
    Be you prepared to assist me.

    +Flo.+ Thou dost build
    Such forts on the opinion of thy wit!

                                    [_Exeunt +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._

    +San.+ 'Tis a full hour, and half a minute over,
    And yet she not appears! How we severe
    Strict creditors in love stand on the minute,
    But yet the payment never comes unwelcome;
    Until the gold through age grow foul and rusty,
    We stand not on a grain or two too light.

                         _Enter +Browfildora+._

    Now your discovery?

    +Brow.+ My lord, I have
    Made search in every alley, every arbour,
    Not left a bush wherein my littleness
    Could creep without due scrutiny; and yet
    No whispering of taffaty: no dazzling
    Of your bright mistress forc'd me to a wink.
    I saw no mortal beauty.

    +San.+ Sure, she'll not
    Be so unworthy to delude me now!

    +Brow.+ But I had a more prosperous fate in love.
    My lord, I met my mistress.

    +San.+ You a mistress!

    +Brow.+ A mistress, to whose beauty I have paid
    My vows, most fervent vows, e'er since I was
    Of stature fit to be an amorist.

    +San.+ One of the maids-of-honour to Queen Mab?

    +Brow.+ Your lordship guesses near; for she is one
    O' th' chamberers to her Fairy Majesty:
    A lady of most subtle wit, who, while
    She puts a handkerchief or gorget on,
    Her little highness holds intelligence.
    She raiseth factions, and unites the angry:
    She's much upon design.

    +San.+ Where found you her?

    +Brow.+ Walking alone, under the shadow of
    A tulip, and inveighing 'gainst court-arts,
    'Cause one of Oberon's grooms had got from her
    The monopoly of transporting gnats--
    A project she long aim'd at.

    +San.+ No more fooling:
    I am grown angry with my patience.
    Boy, sing those verses were presented me
    This morning.

    +Brow.+ I will creep behind a bush,
    And then for voice vie with the nightingale:
    If seen, I am so bashful.

    +San.+ Take your way.

                          +Song+ (_without_).

    _Fine young folly, though you were
    That fair beauty I did swear,
      Yet you ne'er could reach my heart;
    For we courtiers learn at school
    Only with your sex to fool;
      Y'are not worth the serious part._

    _When I sigh and kiss your hand,
    Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand,
      Holding parley with your eye:
    Then dilate on my desires,
    Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires;
      All is but a handsome lie._

    _When I eye your curl or lace,
    Gentle soul, you think your face
      Straight some murder doth commit;
    And your virtue doth begin
    To grow scrupulous of my sin,
      When I talk to show my wit._

    _Therefore, madam, wear no cloud,
    Nor to check my love grow proud;
      In sooth I much do doubt,
    'Tis the powder in your hair,
    Not your breath, perfumes the air,
      And your clothes that set you out._

    _Yet though truth has this confess'd,
    And I vow I love in jest:
      When I next begin to court,
    And protest an amorous flame,
    You will swear I in earnest am:
      Bedlam! this is pretty sport._

              _As the song ends, enter +Cleantha+ veiled._

    She breaks forth like the morning in a cloud.
    'Tis for the safety of my eyes you veil
    The glory of your beauties, which else might
    Dazzle, not catch the sight; but I discern
    A fair Cleantha through this gloominess.
    Appear and speak, bright madam. Why such silence?
    O, famish not my ear, which greedily
    Longs to devour the music of your language:
    Is it to teach me that delight must be
    Entomb'd in secrecy, or else to show
    How mad a spendthrift I'm to talk away
    The treasure of this hour? Come, fair, unveil.

    +Cle.+ O, give me leave yet to retain my blushes.

    +San.+ Deceit of timorous modesty! Traitors
    To love your blushes are: your fears are envious
    Of your delights. Let's vanish hence, and ne'er
    To th' vulgar eye appear, till we,
    Grown old in pleasure, be transform'd t' a vine
    Or ivy, so for ever to entwine.

    +Cle.+ Then I unveil.

    +San.+ O, fly into my arms,
    As a rich odour to the ravish'd sense!
    Perfume me with thy kisses.

    +Cle.+ Stay, my lord!
    Actions of moment (as I take this is)
    Must be maturely thought on. I have call'd
    My reason to account.

    +San.+ Your reason, madam!

    +Cle.+ Yes, my good lord: that only doth distinguish
    A woman from brute beasts; or, what's more sensual,
    A vain loose man. What sin scandals my carriage,
    To give encouragement to this presumption?
    What privileg'd this attempt?

    +San.+ That tempting beauty.

    +Cle.+ It is a traitor then to my pure thoughts;
    And, to preserve your eye, would it were wrinkled:
    I could much easier suffer the reproach
    Of age than your bold courtship. If a lady
    Be young and sportive, use curiosity,
    And perhaps art, to help where nature seem'd
    Imperfect in her work, will you, from the
    False argument of your own loose blood, conclude
    Her guilty? Or, if she select a friend,
    Whose innocence gives warrant to her faith,
    Will you infer their whispers have no aim
    But that of brothels? 'Cause you find yourself
    Nought but loose flesh, will you turn heretic,
    And thence deny the soul?

    +San.+ This language, madam,
    Sounds nothing to the purpose of our meeting.

    +Cle.+ More to the benefit. But in your patent,
    'Mong all the privileges of a Conde,
    Where find you lust inserted? Without which,
    Till age hath made you wise or impotent,
    You think your honour is defective. 'Cause
    Your clothes are handsome and mine too, must we
    Deform our minds? Is it sufficient motive
    To sin, if opportunity and youth
    Persuade us? Such as you are those foul plagues
    Infect the air which breathes our fame, and make
    The cautious sirs o' th' country shun us.

    +San.+ Madam!

    +Cle.+ When we admit you to our bed-chamber,
    Powder, or haply bathe before you; what
    Of honour's here more than a groom may boast
    Our maids are tir'd with? Yet this with a smile
    Is whisper'd to your friend, and you infer
    How easy a more near approach will be.
    My lord, learn virtue, and your wit may then
    Not serve you to so fond a purpose. If
    That courage you are famed for be no slander,
    Go to the wars. 'Twill be a far less maim
    To lose an eye there than your honour here.
    If peace enamour you, and the court, live honest:
    And hope the heir, who shall succeed you, may
    Be yours. Revenge destroys more chastity
    Than all the temptings of such lords as you.

    +San.+ You shall not talk me, madam, from that pleasure
    This hour doth promise me.

    +Cle.+ You'll not commit
    A rape, my lord?

    +San.+ That is a question as
    Yet unresolv'd; for force is my last refuge.

    +Cle.+ Think on the danger; for the sin, I see,
    Little distracts your conscience.

    +San.+ I propose
    Felicity, which none can merit who
    Refuse so poor a venture. Here I vow,
    No prayer or art shall free you. If you will
    Hazard a life devoted to your service,
    I'll die your martyr.

    +Cle.+ Come, my lord, I'll free you
    From all such hazard.

    +San.+ There spoke harmony!

    +Cle.+ I'll not be cruel. You shall have kisses, such
    As will melt your soul into your lips: and what
    Is sweetest, no repentance shall be th' issue

                    _Enter +Floriana+ and +Oniate+._

    Of your delight. Look here, my lord! She's yours.

    +San.+ No halter now nor tree convenient? O!
    A steeple would be precious for my purpose!
    But Oniate's there. I'll fight with him,
    Be kill'd and be redeem'd. Sir, you receiv'd
    A challenge from me! but return'd no answer.

    +Oni.+ My lord, I had other business; you'll excuse me.

    +San.+ What satisfaction do men give when challeng'd?

    +Oni.+ According to their spirit: if they be
    Regardless of their fame, then they submit;
    If not, they fight.

    +San.+ What, sir, will you then do?

    +Oni.+ Let me consider. Neither.

    +San.+ Come, you shall fight.

    +Oni.+ My lord, I will not.

    +San.+ Then you shall subscribe
    Yourself a coward.

    +Oni.+ Not for the whole world!
    Such an apparent lie would be a sin
    Too heavy to my conscience. I subscribe
    Myself a coward! If I should, no soldier
    Would think but that my hand were counterfeited.

    +San.+ Then you must fight.

    +Oni.+ My lord, on no condition. Hope not for it.

    +San.+ Then you shall swear never to speak my name
    But with respect.

    +Oni.+ Hereafter, if you can
    Deserve it. For the present I must crave
    Your pardon with much mirth to laugh at you.

    +San.+ Sir, I shall meet you.

    +Oni.+ It shall contradict
    All my endeavours then.

    +San.+ I go, sir. But----                      [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

    +Cle.+ For mercy sake, go with thy lord. Repentance
    May turn to desperation.

    +Flo.+ I'll preserve him.                                   [_Exit._

    +Cle.+ Have you no business, sir, imports you more,
    Than t' hold discourse with me? Troth, I shall pity
    You want employment.

    +Oni.+ Madam, what can be
    More serious?

    +Cle.+ Nothing more, if your design
    Be to convert me: for I know you hold
    All ladies in a schism who are young and proud.

    +Oni.+ Your pardon, madam. I believe you[285] cunning
    Court-ladies choose some petty venial errors
    To set perfection off; for should you not
    Usurp a handsome pride, your fame would lie,
    Like unwall'd cities, open to the prey
    Of each invading youth. Did you not show
    A scorn, you would deserve it.

    +Cle.+ Sir, take heed.
    Hope not to win my favour by extolling
    What in our better thoughts we ourselves condemn.
    I am so wearied out with vows and oaths,
    With impious praises and most tedious flattery,
    That nothing but plain-speaking truth can gain
    On my affection.

    +Oni.+ Madam, your affection?

    +Cle.+ Pray, sir, do not comment upon the word;
    It doth portend no danger to you.

    +Oni.+ And if it did, where's the beatitude?
    For though I grant your virtues great as beauty
    Can entertain, and foolish I resolv'd
    To captivate my stock of life t' a woman,
    Yet would I not adventure on you, if
    You did not vow to perform articles.

    +Cle.+ Suppose the business come to articles?

    +Oni.+ I' th' first then, you should covenant love; not squinting
    On every finer youth or greater lord,
    But looking straight on me.

    +Cle.+ To the second, sir.

    +Oni.+ No dotage on the court, so far that my
    Estate must rue it; and no vanity
    Be started up, but my fond lady must
    Be melancholy, and take physic till
    She get into it.

    +Cle.+ Why, you envy then
    Us our own trouble; keep us from the expense,
    And leave us to our discontent for penance.

    +Oni.+ No! I would have the mind serene: without
    All passion, though a masque should be presented,
    And you i' th' country. I must have you wise,
    To know your beauty mortal, which you must
    Preserve to warm my eye, not aid by arts,
    To keep the courtier's wit in exercise.
    From his so practis'd flattery your ear
    Must turn with a brave scorn; and when his eye
    Doth offer parley, seem so ignorant
    As not to understand the language.

    +Cle.+ Sir,
    You haply will debar us our she-friends too?

    +Oni.+ As secret enemies, who'll first betray you.

    +Cle.+ You'll not allow us, wearied of our husbands,
    To send them on discovery of new worlds?
    Or if we take a toy ourselves to travel,
    Perhaps to Barbary or Tartary,
    Or the remotest parts?

    +Oni.+ To Bedlam sooner.

    +Cle.+ Or, if our sex should warrant it by custom,
    To play at tennis, or run at the ring,
    Or any other martial exercise:
    I fear me, scrupulous sir, you will condemn it
    As dangerous to my honour?

    +Oni.+ Sure, I should.

    +Cle.+ I then perceive small hope of our agreement.

    +Oni.+ But I a confidence; for I discern
    How much you loathe these follies you pretend.

    +Cle.+ Good sir, no more of this so kind mistake;
    You'll find some other lady more deserves it,
    And I aspire not to the honour.

    Oni. I'll try yet farther.        [_Exeunt +Oniate+ and +Cleantha+._

                     _Enter +Lerma+ and +Velasco+._

    +Ler.+ My lord, you offer nobly.

    +Vel.+ 'Tis a step
    Beneath Florentio's greatness, whether you
    His birth consider or his place. Sir, the queen
    By nature's seated and her high deserts,
    Where only mighty souls (such as the general's)
    May offer to aspire.

    +Ler.+ My lord, your lapse
    To this proud language is so injurious, that
    I must be forc'd to purge the humour. That
    The Lord Florentio offers by a duel
    To show no man can have fairer pretence
    To serve the queen, must be allowed; but that
    You dare cast disregard upon this lord,
    Although a stranger, urgeth me t' intreat
    You'd draw your sword.

    +Vel.+ It hath seen light, and made
    Way through an army, when fond victory
    Smil'd on our enemies: it hath done wonders,
    When the thick troops of Moors invaded us.
    It fears no opposition.

    +Ler.+ Show th' effect of't.

    +Vel.+ Not in a cause so trivial. Each small breath
    Disturbs the quiet of poor shallow waters;
    But winds must arm themselves ere the large sea
    Is seen to tremble. Pray your pardon, sir:
    I must not throw away my courage on
    A cause so trivial.

    +Ler.+ As you please, my lord.
    But, to omit all circumstance, you bring
    A challenge to my Lord Ascanio:
    The reason of the Lord Florentio's anger,
    A rivalship in love.

    +Vel.+ You speak it right.

    +Ler.+ I'll bring you back his resolution
    Before you have attended many minutes.

    +Vel.+ Sir, 'twill be decent, for my nature knows
    Not how to wait: and if no delays
    Be used, 'twill show a fierce valour in him,
    And happily prevent discovery.
    For you may easily conjecture, that
    A general's absence soon will wake the eye
    Of the suspicious soldier.

    +Ler.+ Is my lord
    In readiness?

    +Vel.+ He walks not far from hence.

    +Ler.+ You shall have use then but of a short patience.     [_Exit._

    +Vel.+ It will be grateful to us, sir. My lord!

                          _Enter +Florentio+._

    +Flo.+ And will Ascanio meet?

    +Vel.+ Immediately.

    +Flo.+ I had no other way; yet this is rough,
    And justice whispers 'tis unsafe to tread it.
    If to love her be sinful, what am I?
    How dare I call his passion to the bar,
    And nourish it myself? Why may not he,
    Who hath as bold a fortune, entertain
    As bold a love: and in the fate of war
    Having outgone my service, why not then
    Present it to the selfsame altar? But
    We cannot harbour both in the same port;
    Or he or I am shipwreck'd: for the storm
    Is rais'd, and, to appease it, death must be
    The sacrifice.

                            _Enter +Lerma+._

    +Vel.+ My lord, here is the second.
    This stranger dares not meet with your great spirit.

    +Flo.+ Suspect him not, my lord: he hath a courage
    Above the sense of fear. Well, sir, your answer?

    +Ler.+ My Lord Ascanio could have wish'd his life
    Might have been destin'd to a happier purpose,
    And charged me tell your lordship that he had
    Much rather have been lost with common dust
    In the cheap churchyard, than endanger'd fame
    In this great duel.

    +Flo.+ Sir, explain his reasons.

    +Ler.+ He calls to his sad thoughts the mischiefs, which
    This kingdom needs must fall into, when you
    Shall perish by his sword; for certainly
    You cannot 'scape it, thus provoking death.
    Then to what ruin may the queen, whose safety
    You both have labour'd, be engag'd? He could
    With patience almost suffer on his name
    The infamy of coward, rather than
    Hazard the quiet of her estate. But you----

    +Flo.+ Let me consider: 'tis an idle rage
    That heats me to this quarrel. Let her fate
    Remain unshaken, though she choose my foe
    Into her love and bosom. If she live
    Above the fear of ruin, I am mighty--
    Mighty enough, though by my griefs grown feeble,
    And weaken'd too: diseases fright the healthy.
    I will refer my cause and life to her,
    And ne'er dispute it by the sword.

    +Vel.+ My lord!

    +Flo.+ Velasco, I am safe enough against
    The taint of coward. Spain bears witness that
    I dare, as far as honour dares give warrant;
    But in this cause----

    +Vel.+ My lord, you'll lose the glory
    Of all your former actions, and become
    The mirth of courtiers--empty things, who brawl,
    Not fight, if you return after a challenge
    Without performance.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis a serious truth.

    +Vel.+ Moreover, this young gentleman hath hope
    To talk you from your resolution.
    The Lord Ascanio will too much exult,
    If this way too he can o'ercome you.

    +Flo.+ It must not be, sir: tell my lord I wait
    His leisure.

    +Ler.+ And your lordship shall not have
    Reason to think it long. Prepare yourself.
    His only prayer is now that, when he comes,
    There may be no discourse to take up time;
    He hath desire the business may be all:
    What he can say hath been by me deliver'd.                  [_Exit._

    +Flo.+ We will obey him. Tyrant Love! why is
    Thy cruelty so wanton, to delight
    In murder? Like that impious Roman prince,
    Thou joy'st to smother whom thou lov'st in roses,
    And stifle them with the choicest perfumes. But
    This is no place for reason; she may hold
    Dispute in sober schools, where study raises
    The soul to knowledge: here's the theatre
    For the brute part of man to fight his last.
    I must redeem the laurel fortune crown'd
    His temples with, or perish in th' attempt:
    My fate decrees it.

                     _Enter +Ascanio+ and +Lerma+._

    +Ler.+ Here's my Lord Ascanio.

    +Flo.+ Why doth he turn his face away, as if
    He durst not look on danger? Do his fears
    Now triumph o'er his courage?

    +Ler.+ Put it to the trial.                           [_They fight._

    +Flo.+ He's more than mortal, sure. He strikes like lightning,
    Himself not passive. But I'll try again,
    And disenchant the sorcerer. Ay, there
    I reach'd him home: you bleed; open your doublet;
    The wound, perhaps, is dangerous.

    +Asc.+ But a scratch.

    +Flo.+ Sure I have heard that voice, and seen that face!
    Velasco, 'tis the king.

    +Asc.+ My lord, what mean you?

    +Flo.+ Some planet strike me dead, and fix this arm
    A monument to tell posterity
    The treason of my error! Mighty sir,
    Show mercy to your creature, that my death
    (Which hastily steals on me) may not be
    Too foul for after-story.

    +Asc.+ Rise, Florentio,
    This act cannot endure the name of treason.

    +Flo.+ Some surgeons, quick, to search the wound! O sir,
    How do you feel yourself? Speak life, or I
    Shall sink down to my centre.

    +Asc.+ Not a man
    Stir hence: thy sword was loyal as thy thoughts,
    And scarce hath pierc'd the skin. O my Florentio!

    +Flo.+ My lord and king! But why did you engage
    Your sacred person into danger? 'Twas not well:
    How many thousand lives depend on yours!

    +Asc.+ Envy o' th' greatness I possess'd without
    The merit, and desire to know those perils
    We wantonly our subjects cast upon
    On every weak exception, wrought my youth
    Into this action. Nor can I repent
    Th' experience of this war.

    +Flo.+ But, O great sir,
    Why did your majesty suffer this duel?
    'Twas cruel and unkind. How easily
    This hand might have committed sacrilege!
    The very thought whereof, like some pale vision,
    Congeals my blood.

    +Asc.+ Search not that wound too deep.
    Florentio! I shall blush--blush like some lady
    Surpris'd in sin--if you too far examine.

    +Flo.+ Conceal it not, great sir, though in the speaking
    Poison steal through my ear. Be confident:
    Unveil your thoughts.

    +Asc.+ You needs must hate me, then,
    And will have justice to throw off that duty
    You owe me as a subject. Let it be
    Unspoken still, though smothering it be death.

    +Flo.+ Good Heaven defend! What is an army of us
    Exposed to certain slaughter, if compared
    To th' shortest moment that should serve your quiet?
    And shall I live, and see my sovereign wear
    A sorrow on his brow?

    +Asc.+ Florentio! thou
    Art glorious in thy virtue. So was I,
    Till looking on the queen I grew o' th' sudden
    Darker than midnight.

    +Flo.+ O my cruel fate!                                    [_Aside._

    +Asc.+ I grew a thief, a most ungrateful thief
    In my designs, and labour'd to have stole
    The jewel of thy life from thee; a jewel
    Myself so freely had bestowed upon
    The merits of thy youth.

    +Flo.+ My soul foresaw this.

    +Asc.+ How justly had I perish'd by thy sword!
    How happy for my safety! Then had I
    Been lost in my disguise, or died, my crime
    Unknown unto the world. Now, if I live,
    I must wade through a sea of injuries,
    T' attain an unsafe haven.

                          _Enter the +Queen+._

    +Flo.+ Cheer yourself,
    Dread sir. Though, as I give the legacy,
    I breathe my last, yet will I show a heart
    Thankful to your great favours. Madam, here
    Behold the Sovereign of Castile.

    +Queen.+ You have
    Been cruel in your kindness, sir, to keep
    So long your sacred person hid from us.

    +Flo.+ He is your lover, madam, and deserves
    The title: whether you observe his youth,
    So beauteous nature doats upon her work,
    Or weigh his greatness, powerful to defend you
    Should fate and all mankind conspire your ruin.
    And add to that, he merits you, his sword
    Having restored your freedom, when poor I
    Was judg'd, like some old instrument of war,
    Unfit for service. All my interest
    I here resign to th' author of my fate;
    My love I cannot, which must still remain
    Companion to my life: but I'll take heed
    My wound appear not, though it inward bleed.                [_Exit._

    +Asc.+ I wait here, madam, and attend your sentence;
    For 'tis my doom.

    +Queen.+ I am that sad wretch,
    Stands trembling at the bar. I know your merit,
    And know a gratitude, great as e'er was owing,
    By an injured soul relieved: I duly weigh
    That double tie, which doth oblige me yours.
    First, when you sent your soldiers to my rescue;
    Then, by exposing your most sacred person
    To th' dangers of a war.

    +Asc.+ A trivial nothing.

    +Queen.+ What honour can come equal to my state,
    As by so high a match? And 'gainst your person
    The envious cannot find a quarrel.

    +Asc.+ Madam,
    All this is circumstance the politic
    Busy their fancy with. I bring a love,
    An humble love, which is of value to
    Ennoble the parch'd labourer, and force
    An empress listen to his vows. Consider
    In me nothing of fortune; only look
    On that to which love new-created me.
    If once receiv'd your servant, what's Castile
    In the comparison? For princes are
    Too bold, if they bring wealth and victory
    To enter competition with those treasures
    A lover aims at in his mistress' favour.
    May I not hope your smile?

    +Queen.+ You must command it.

    +Asc.+ Then give me leave to whisper to my hopes
    What strange felicities I shall enjoy.

    +Queen.+ But, sir, consider how you gave away
    To your Florentio all that claim you might
    Have to me, as so great a neighbouring prince.

    +Asc.+ It was a gift my ignorance made, which I
    Was cosen'd in; for had my eye been honour'd
    With sight of such a beauty, safer he
    Might have petition'd for my sceptre, and
    The grant had not so soon begot repentance.

    +Queen.+ But promises of princes must not be
    By after-arts evaded. Who dares punish
    The breach of oath in subjects, and yet slight
    The faith he hath made them keep?

    +Asc.+ But my Florentio
    Hath given me back his interest.

    +Queen.+ That gift
    Was like a vow extorted, which religion
    Cancels, as forc'd from conscience.

    +Asc.+ But yourself
    Are free, and never by an oath made his.

    +Queen.+ My resolution, grounded on his service,
    Ties more than formal contracts.

    +Asc.+ I'll not urge
    You farther, but by these, which never yet
    Found passage through my eyes, not he nor all
    Mankind, contracted to one heart, can harbour
    A love that equals that I burn with. Madam,
    Think on't; and let your thoughts find out that path
    Which leads to mercy.                             [_Exit +Ascanio+._

    +Queen.+ How I am dazzled,
    Plac'd on a precipice by tyrant Love!
    The king is noble, and his merits claim
    A retribution great as I can make.
    He loves me, and yields only to Florentio,
    In the priority of service. My sad soul!

          _Enter +Florentio+, looks on the +Queen+, sighs, and
                            goes in again._

    Between these two I might stand distracted!
    But, virtue, guide me: nor can I e'er stray
    While that directs, and honour leads the way.             [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[285] [Old copy, _in_.]

ACT V., SCENE I.

                    _Enter +Decastro+ and his Army._

    +Dec.+ My fortune yet forsakes me not. There's something
    Whispers my soul that, though a storm did cloud
    My morning, I shall set the envy of
    My yet prevailing enemy. Had you,
    My fellow-soldiers, not been three hours' march
    From aiding us when the Castilian army
    Made the assault, we had given their fate a check,
    And taught them how unsafe it is to court
    Dangers abroad. I must entreat your courage
    To suffer for some moments; a short time
    Will bring us the queen's answer; if she yield
    (As reason may persuade her), we shall spare
    Much loss of blood; if not, your valour will
    Have liberty to show itself. Yet still
    Remember, that the city's forc'd t' obey
    A stranger; in their votes they fight for us.
    Did no man see the Lord Ossuna since
    Our fight i' th' morning?

    +Capt.+ He appear'd not, since
    We left the city to the enemy;
    Which hath bred jealousy, my lord, that he
    Chang'd with the present fortune.

    +Dec.+ Doubt him not:
    He hath a heart devoted to the greatness
    And safety of his country. Well, he may
    Be lost i' th' number of the slain; but fate
    Cannot enforce him stoop beneath the vow
    Of rescuing Arragon from foreign arms.

           _Enter two common +Soldiers+ haling +Ossuna+ in as
                               a hermit._

    What insolence is this? Unhand the man!
    Methinks his habit should beget respect.

    +Sol.+ My lord, we guess he is some spy, he came
    Skulking from th' enemy's camp. Pray, guard
    Your person; mischief often lurks in shapes
    As holy.

    +Dec.+ I allow your care, and thank it:
    Leave him to me, and for awhile retire.                   [_Exeunt._

    +Oss.+ Your lordship knows me not?

    +Dec.+ Ossuna, welcome!
    Bless'd be thy better angel who preserv'd thee!
    How happy to the fortune of this war
    Art thou restor'd! I should have fought unarm'd,
    Had I not had the fate t' embrace thee thus.
    How was my friend preserv'd?

    +Oss.+ By virtue of
    This sacred habit. In the midst of war
    Disguis'd I thus escap'd, though close pursued
    By some of the queen's faction. To this weed
    I owe my safety.

    +Dec.+ Quickly throw it off,
    And reinvest thy body in that steel,
    With which thou still hast triumph'd. O my lord,
    How oft have we, all bath'd in blood and sweat,
    Through clouds of dust, found out the way to force
    Back victory to our side, when Fortune seem'd
    To doat on th' enemy! We two have grown
    Like cedars up together, and made all
    Seem shrubs to us, no man sleeping secure
    But in our shadows.

    +Oss.+ Yes, we have been happy.

    +Dec.+ Thou speak'st so hollow, as there were a doubt
    We might not be so still.

    +Oss.+ But there's no faith
    In human fate. An emperor[286] did serve
    As footstool to the conqueror, and are we
    Better assur'd of destiny?

    +Dec.+ What strange
    Unworthy faintness weakens his great soul
    Who heretofore ne'er understood the language
    Danger speaks in? Hath one defeat lost you
    That mighty courage, which hath fix'd upon
    Your name a glorious memory? Reassume
    Yourself, my lord: let no degenerate fear
    Benight the lustre of your former acts.

    +Oss.+ I call yourself and Arragon to witness,
    My life hath yet been such, the reverend shades
    Of my great ancestors need not look pale,
    Or blush to know my story. To yourself,
    To whose brave youth I tied my youth a servant,
    I ever have perform'd all offices,
    Due to so brave a friendship.

    +Dec.+ 'Tis confess'd.

    +Oss.+ And here I vow, setting aside those fears
    Distract me as a Christian, I could smile,
    Smile like some wanton mistress upon death,
    Whatever shape it wears.

    +Dec.+ My lord, this war
    Is warranted by casuists for lawful;
    But they (you'll say) flatter the present state,
    And make divinity serve human ends.
    But in itself it's just: a war your judgment
    Gave approbation to, and urg'd me first
    To undertake. Therefore make good your own,
    And throw off this unuseful habit.

    +Oss.+ Never.

    +Dec.+ What said my friend?

    +Oss.+ By all things sacred, never.
    In this I will grow old, and with the weight
    Of years bend to the earth. In this I'll breathe
    A happier air than you in all your soft
    And varied silks.

    +Dec.+ Some coward devil, sure,
    Possesseth him.                                            [_Aside._

    +Oss.+ My lord, I am instructed
    T' a patience far above your injuries;
    Nor shall your scorn or anger triumph o'er
    My resolution. I'm fix'd here, unmov'd
    As is the centre.

    +Dec.+ I was much to blame:
    This may be a brave virtue. Pray, my lord,
    Give me your reasons why you tread this path,
    So little beaten by the feet of courtiers?
    I would not have the world mistake your aim,
    And construe it to fear or melancholy.

    +Oss.+ That cannot shake me: he who by the card
    O' th' world's opinion steers his course, shall harbour
    In no safe port. But to your ear, my lord,
    I give this free account. Seven winters pass'd,
    When I set sail from Sicily, a storm
    O'ertook the ship, so powerful, that the pilot
    Gave up the stern to the ordering of the waves,
    His art and hand grown useless; those kind stars
    The sailors used t' invoke were lost i' th' tempest,
    And nothing but a night, not to be seen,
    Was seen by us. When every one began
    T' advance himself toward death, as men condemn'd
    To th' axe, when hope of pardon is shut out;
    I, spite o' th' envious cloud, look'd up to heaven.
    And darted my faith thither, vowing to
    Forsake the flatter'd pomp and business of
    The faithless world, if I with safety might
    Attain the land.

    +Dec.+ Was not I there, my lord?

    +Oss.+ You were.

    +Dec.+ And made not I the selfsame vow?

    +Oss.+ Heaven hath recorded that we both did vow it--
    O' th' sudden, night forsook us, and the loud
    Unruly winds fled to their unknown dwellings;
    When a soft breath 'gan whisper to our sails,
    A calm was to ensue.

    +Dec.+ My memory
    Afflicts me much. But these are feeble vows,
    Made only by our fears: we ought to have
    Our reason undismay'd, whene'er a promise
    Can force performance.

    +Oss.+ I dispute it not--
    Soon as I reach'd the shore, I courted on
    Those vanities which had my youth enamour'd,
    Yet still with some remorse. Honours betray'd me
    Into a glorious trouble, and I grew
    Proud of my burthen; but if Heaven had been
    Severe to my delays in this diseas'd
    Surfeit of pomp, my soul might have been call'd
    T' her last account: and, O my lord, where then
    Had breach of vow been safe?

    +Dec.+ These are sad thoughts.

    +Oss.+ But necessary. When the morning's loss
    Made me search out a shape for flight, this habit
    Itself presented, and again redeem'd me;
    And know, I am resolv'd ne'er to forsake it,
    Till in the vault my earth and it together
    Shall wear away to dust.

    +Dec.+ My lord, you have
    Good title to your virtue. Pray, retire
    Into my tent: this sudden change, if known,
    May much amaze the soldier, and endanger
    The glory of th' attempt. I shall entreat
    Your prayer, since you deny your arm.

    +Oss.+ My lord, may Heaven direct you!             [_Exit +Ossuna+._

    +Dec.+ What have I obtain'd
    By all this sweat of business? Like the wind,
    Prosperous ambition only swell'd my sail,
    To give me courage to encounter with
    A tempest. Early cares and midnight frights,
    Faint hopes and causeless fears, successively,
    Like billows, have moved in me. What a fool
    Is human wisdom; what a beggar wealth;
    How scorn'd a nothing that proud state we doat on!
    Time laughs us out of greatness, and shuts up
    Our wide designs in a dark narrow room,
    Whence, when the valiant monarch shall creep forth,
    He will, like some poor coward, hide his eyes,
    And hope to skulk away. But these are thoughts,
    And now 'tis time for action.

                           _Enter +Soldier+._

    +Sol.+ If your lordship
    Will please for some few moments to retire
    Into your tent, her majesty in person
    Will give you parley here.

    +Dec.+ In person, sir?
    The favour bears some omen! She who in
    The tempest of misfortune still did spread
    Her sails at large, why doth she strike them now,
    The wind so prosperous? This is a descent
    Beneath her greatness.

    +Sol.+ I reach not, my lord,
    The mysteries of princes; but this message
    She charg'd me to return.

    +Dec.+ The acts of princes
    Are govern'd often by as frail a passion
    As those are of the vulgar: the same rage
    That stirs two footmen to a fray, creates
    War between kingdoms; but the zealous subject,
    Gazing afar on th' actions of the proud,
    Finds towers and lions in an empty cloud.
    But I'll obey her leisure. Watch you here
    Till you discover her advanc'd this way.         [_Exit +Decastro+._

                    _Enter +Ascanio+, +Florentio+._

    +Flo.+ Sir, you created me, and rais'd me up
    To th' state of duke, when I was common dust;
    And, had not fortune given me interest
    I' th' favour of the queen, I had continued
    In the worst fate of man, ingratitude.
    Now I can boast I have restored you back
    A love rich as the bounty you shower'd on me:
    'Tis all the stock of my poor life.

    +Asc.+ Sad fate!
    That I must wound thee to the heart to cure
    My leprosy with thy blood. Florentio, search
    I' th' stock of women; there's some other beauty.

    +Flo.+ O, no! no other.

    +Asc.+ I'll endow her with
    The wealth of all Castile.

    +Flo.+ Poor empty nothing!

    +Asc.+ If sovereignty be the idol of thy soul,
    I will divide my kingdom. Thou shalt reign
    As independent as myself.

    +Flo.+ Great sir,
    Continue but your favour, and my stars
    Cannot afford a greatness equals it.
    The treasures of th' ambitious are the scorn
    Of those who seriously contemplate life.
    My fortune's high enough: and now my thoughts
    Grow temperate. Not for the empire of the east,
    (Which yet retains the treasures man enjoy'd
    Ere he grew black with sin), would I have wanted
    This bless'd occasion to express the zeal
    I owe my prince. Here, with as free a soul
    I give her to your arms as e'er you threw
    A smile upon my service.

    +Asc.+ Thanks, dear friend!
    (That word must speak our loves). By this great gift
    Thou hast redeem'd me from the torture, and
    Possess'd me of the fairest.

    +Flo.+ O!

    +Asc.+ The fairest nature e'er made for wonder.

    +Flo.+ She is fair.

    +Asc.+ Enjoying her, thy king shall live, who else
    Were desperate beyond cure. He shall be envied;
    And every year, as age threatens decay,
    He shall regain new life from her. Florentio,
    Believe't, there's miracle in such a beauty.

    +Flo.+ Surely there is.

          _Enter +Queen+, +Sanmartino+, +Oniate+, +Cleantha+,
                              +Floriana+._

    And see sh' appears! how like some heavenly vision,
    That kills with too much glory!

    +Asc.+ Stand still, and wonder with me.

    +Queen.+ Cleantha! O, the prodigy! And how
    Wilt thou endure his serious face? Can'st thou,
    Whom nothing tempted but wit parcel-gilt
    And the last fashion, suffer Oniate?

    +Cle.+ Madam, I undertake him for a penance:
    Perhaps he was enjoin'd me.

    +Queen.+ It was Love
    You went to shrift with then. And yet how that
    Young wanton Idleness should counsel you
    To this conversion, still is more my riddle.

    +Cle.+ The court is full of wonders, madam; and
    'Tis handsome to do things extravagant.

    +Queen.+ But how, in th' heat of war, your thoughts should be
    So apt for Love's impression?

    +Cle.+ Love will dance
    As nimbly to the trumpet, fife, or drum,
    As to those many violins which play
    So loud at court. Moreover, it concern'd
    My safety; I so straitly was besieg'd,
    And by so strong a Cæsar.

    +Queen.+ O my lord!
    I am informed with how fierce a spirit
    You do assault our ladies.

    +San.+ Pray, your mercy!
    And if your majesty will please to banish
    The art of making love quite from the court,
    I'll not be out of fashion.

    +Queen.+ For your sake
    I will contrive it so: and, good my lord,
    Will you begin th' example, you will see
    How soon the fine young lords will follow you.--
    Your pardon, sir; had I but seen your highness,
    I had not lost so much of language from
    A most expressive gratitude.

    +Asc.+ Madam, you pay a trivial debt with too great interest;
    For how contemn'd a slightness was my life
    Until employ'd to serve you?

    +Flo.+ She glanced this way,
    And love's artillery played from her eye.
    Unhappy bankrupt, what a kingdom have
    I forfeited! So often in a calm
    Some vessel, rich in freight and proud in sail,
    Doth spring a sudden leak, and sinks for ever.

    +Asc.+ But, madam, is there hope your heart can yield
    To an exchange in love? My title's good,
    Florentio having given up his claim.

                        _Enter +Decastro+, &c._

    +Queen.+ But, sir, th' estate is still my own; nor have
    I need to sell it. But Decastro's here;
    And if your majesty will deign your presence
    Unto the parley, 'twill advance the honour
    And purpose of our meeting.

    +Asc.+ I'm your servant.

    +Queen.+ My lord, you see how near the safety of
    Our subjects toucheth us: we can stoop thus
    Beneath our majesty, and enter parley
    Even with a rebel.

    +Dec.+ Madam, 'tis in vain
    To hold dispute 'gainst what you will condemn;
    And it were insolence to boast my power
    Or speak my right, now when the hearts of all men
    Confirm the justice of my taking arms.
    Cast but your eye on this vast body, which
    The kingdom doth unite in my defence,
    And see how ruinous is your error, that
    Must lean to foreign succours.

    +Queen.+ 'Tis a refuge
    Your practice forc'd me to.

    +Dec.+ But would your highness
    Had lent a gentler ear to the safe counsel
    Of him who had no crime but too much love!

    +Flo.+ My lord, that word fell rudely from your tongue,
    And, I may say, unmannerly: 'tis duty
    You owe the queen.

    +Dec.+ Right, sir; an humble duty,
    Ambitious to expose my life to dangers,
    Greater than any other soul dares fancy.

    +Asc.+ Pray stay, Florentio: this is now my cause,
    And I (proud man) will tell you, your great heart
    Doth want expansion to receive a love
    Worthy her scorn.

    +Dec.+ And I will answer you,
    Proud monarch of Castile, what mould
    Soever nature casts me in, my mind
    Is vaster than your empire; and I can
    Love equally with him whose name did conquer
    Kingdoms as large as yours.

    +Asc.+ Your majesty
    Must license here my rage, to teach his folly
    (Presumptuous folly) a submiss repentance.

    +Dec.+ Sir, here I stand prepar'd.                [_A shout within._

    +Queen.+ What noise is that?

    +Oni.+ The city's all in mutiny, and vow
    To perish in the Lord Decastro's cause:
    They're ready now to lay rude hands upon
    The garrisons of Castile. Your majesty
    Should hinder mischief, if you suddenly
    Return, and by your presence stop their fury.

    +Dec.+ Pray, Oniate, take this signet: tell
    The magistrates her majesty and I
    Are now accorded, with a due regard
    To th' public safety. Take some of my army,
    To give authority to what you say.
    Assure them all is well.                           [_Exit +Oniate+._

    +Asc.+ What means this wonder?

    +Flo.+ This speaks him noble, even to our envy.

    +Queen.+ My lord, in this you have oblig'd us. Pray,
    Inform us of your thoughts, that we may study
    To make this parley happy.

    +Dec.+ Mighty lady,
    I find my love hath not been dress'd so smooth
    To tempt your liking: and I must confess,
    My passion (like the spleen of witches) hath
    Begot whirlwinds and thunder. Would I might
    Have found a softer way t' have wrought my ends!
    For by your beauty (the most sacred oath
    A lover can swear by) that was the mark,
    The sole fair mark I aim'd at. For, if pride
    Had oversway'd my love, I could have stood
    O' th' level with that prince, so much your people
    Were vow'd to my devotion.

    +Queen.+ O my lord,
    You fairly speak your virtues.

    +Dec.+ And but view
    The vastness and good order of my camp,
    Your best towns sworn to run my fortune, and
    You'll say 'twas love did beg this interview.

    +Asc.+ My lord, your language cannot fright us from
    The queen's defence.

    +Dec.+ Great sir, she needs it not.
    Down on your knees, my fellow-soldiers, and
    With me bow to your sovereign: swear with me
    Never to lift your arm 'gainst her command.
    Thus as your subject; as your lover thus--
    Thus to the earth I fall, and with my lips
    Seal my obedience.                            [_Kisseth the ground._

    +Queen.+ Pray, rise up, my lord.
    Would I could merit thus much favour; but----

    +Dec.+ Pardon. I interrupt you--but you cannot
    Find love to answer mine; nor will I force it.
    Be happy in your choice, and wheresoe'er
    You fix, shine ever glorious. From this hour
    I'll never more disturb you.

    +Queen.+ Now beshrew me,
    Methinks I feel compassion. [_Aside._] Good my lord,
    Write in that blank all your demands, and, by
    The honour of a princess, I'll deny
    Nothing you shall insert.         [_He looks on it, and returns it._

    +Dec.+ There 'tis again,
    The paper innocent as when you gave it.

    +Queen.+ My lord, you have writ nothing.

    +Dec.+ And 'tis nothing,
    Now I have miss'd yourself, I can demand.
    Fortune, contract thy treasure from all nations,
    And gild it o'er with honour and with beauty,
    Yet hast thou not the power to force one wish,
    Now I have lost this lady.

    +Asc.+ A great spirit!

    +Dec.+ One humble prayer I have, which must not be
    Denied: and 'tis, your majesty will give
    Me leave ne'er more to see you.

    +Queen.+ O my lord----

    +Dec.+ My vow's irrevocable. I shall secure
    Your kingdom best by absence, and my eye
    Will never brook so rich a treasure made
    The purchase[287] of another. To a cave,
    Some undiscover'd cave, to which no path
    Doth lead the wandering lover, I have vowed
    The remnant of my days.

                           _Enter +Ossuna+._

    +Flo.+ A strange conversion!
    And 'twill behove my fate to follow him.

    +Dec.+ My Lord Ossuna here and I have sworn
    Our lives to solitude, which we'll observe
    Religiously: and since I cannot prove
    Possessor, I'll be conqueror, in love.

    +Asc.+ Pray stay, my lord. Behold Florentio there,
    He hath outdone you: he, for love of me,
    Hath done what you for love of heaven. All
    The interest he had in that bright queen
    He hath resign'd to me.

    +Dec.+ He hath paid you for your favours.

    +Flo.+ 'Tis confess'd: what's mine is yours.

    +Asc.+ Thanks, my Florentio; for with her my youth
    May be still happy, and my age disdain
    To know a weakness. From her eyes I may
    Draw still new vital heat, and find what fools
    Have studied for, th' elixir: in her arms
    I may be safe 'gainst all invasion from
    Abroad, or civil dangers nurs'd at home.

    +Queen.+ Your highness' pardon. I confess how high
    Your merits rise in my esteem; but must not,
    To honour your deserts, myself become
    Unworthy after-story, blemish'd with
    That scorn which still defames our sex, register'd
    A most inconstant woman; or, what's much
    More infamous, one who reserves her love
    To serve her profit, and exposeth it
    To the merchant that bids fairest.

    +Asc.+ Madam, spare that breath to clear
    The air, when poison'd by contagion.
    I know your settled thoughts, and that my power
    Or title weighs not in your love. Florentio,
    I will no longer rack you: though the queen
    Be th' only fire e'er warm'd this heart, and I
    Despair ever to love again, I will
    Disdain to be unjust. I will not be
    O'ercome in friendship: reassume thy right.

    +Flo.+ Sir, you undo me. In your injury
    I was less wretched: like a bankrupt now,
    Without all hope of payment, I must owe.

    +Asc.+ Th' ambition of my service, and disguise,
    Was to advance your fortune, madam; nor
    Can I attempt you farther, though the conquest
    Would wreathe my temples with a prouder laurel
    Than the addition of the world unto
    My sceptre. Be safe in your choice, and happy.

    +Queen.+ This goodness grows even to a miracle.
    In his behalf, sir, I must vow myself
    A subject, and your servant.

    +Asc.+ O, command;
    For I have nothing, madam, but obedience.
    My kingdom shall be proud to share with yours
    In danger, and I'll glory to be styled
    Your soldier.

    +Flo.+ I am lost in wonder! Sir,
    I know not how to entertain this blessing:
    I fear my joys will be my ruin.

    +Dec.+ Be both happy;
    And may time never father that black moment,
    Which shall appear to you less fortunate!

    +Asc.+ Join then your hands for ever. He doth live
    Mighty indeed, who hath power and will to give.           [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[286] Bajazet and Tamerlane.

[287] [Prize.]

THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.

    We have nothing left us but our blushes now
    For your much penance; and though we allow
    Our fears no comfort, since you must appear
    Judges corrupt, if not to us severe:
    Yet in your majesty we hope to find
    A mercy, and in that our pardon sign'd.
    And how can we despair you will forgive
    Them who would please, when oft offenders live?
    And if we have err'd, may not the courteous say,
    'Twas not their trade, and but the Author's play?

THE EPILOGUE AT THE FRIARS.

    What shall the Author do? It madness were
    To entreat a mercy from you, who are severe
    Stern judges, and a pardon never give;
    For only merit with you makes things live.
    He leaves you therefore to yourselves, and may
    You gently 'quit, or else condemn, the play,
    As in an upright conscience you'll think fit:
    Your sentence is the life and death of wit.
    The Author yet hath one safe plea, that though
    A Middlesex jury on his play should go,
    They cannot find the murder wilful, since
    'Twas acted by command in his own defence.

THE ANTIQUARY.

_EDITION._

  _The Antiquary. A Comedy, Acted by her maiesties Servants, at the
    Cock-Pit. Written by Shackerly Mermion, Gent. London. Printed
    by F. K. for I. W. and F. E. and are to be sold at the Crane,
    in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1641. 4º._

INTRODUCTION.

Shakerley Marmion was born at Aynho,[288] near Brackley, in the
county of Northampton, where his father was lord of the manor, and in
possession of a considerable estate. He received the early part of
his education at the free school, at Thame, in the county of Oxford,
under the care of Richard Boucher, commonly called Butcher, the master
thereof. In the year 1617 he became a gentleman-commoner of Wadham
College, in Oxford, and in 1624,[289] took the degree of Master of
Arts. Anthony Wood[290] says that he was "a goodly proper gentleman,
and had once in his possession seven hundred pounds per annum at
least." The whole of this ample fortune he dissipated; after which he
went into the Low Countries; but not meeting with promotion according
to his expectation, he returned to England, and was admitted one of the
troop raised by Sir John Suckling for the use of King Charles I. in
his expedition against the Scots, in the year 1639: but falling sick
at York, he returned to London, where he died in the same year.[291]
Besides several poems, scattered about in different publications,[292]
he wrote three plays,[293] viz.--

1. "Holland's Leaguer,[294] an excellent comedy, as it hath bin lately
and often acted with great applause by the high and mighty Prince
Charles his servants, at the private house in Salisbury Court, 1632."
4º.

To the _Dramatis Personæ_ of this play the names of the several
performers are added.[295]

2. "A Fine Companion,[296] acted before the king and queene, at White
hall, and sundrie times with great applause, at the private house in
Salisbury Court, by the Prince his servants. 1633." 4º.

3. "The Antiquary, a Comedy, acted by her Majesties servants, at the
Cockpit. 1641." 4º.

He also published "Cupid and Psyche; or an epick poem of Cupid and his
Mistress, as it was lately presented to the Prince Elector," 1637,[297]
1666.

Prefixed to this are complimentary verses by Richard Brome, Francis
Tuckyr, Thomas Nabbes, and Thomas Heywood.

Wood says he left some things in MS. ready for the press, which were
either lost or in obscure hands.

FOOTNOTES:

[288] Some authorities state that he was born "about the beginning of
January 1602," and this date seems consistent with the time when he was
entered at Wadham College.--_Collier._

[289] Langbaine, p. 345.

[290] "Athenæ Oxonienses," ii. 19. Oldys, in his MSS. notes on
Langbaine, says it was our author's father who squandered away his
fortune; but as he quotes no authority for this assertion, I have
followed Wood's account.

[291] Oldys' MSS. notes to Langbaine.

[292] [Among the rest, there are some verses by Marmion before Thomas
Heywood's "Dialogues and Dramas," 1637.]

[293] "The Crafty Merchant; or, The Soldier'd Citizen," has also been
attributed to Shakerley Marmion, but on no sufficient evidence, as well
as a pastoral, called "The Faithful Shepherd," which Philips assigns
to him. The first of these, which evidently was a comedy, was never
printed.--_Collier._ ["The Crafty Merchant," which seems to have been
originally entitled "The Merchant's Sacrifice," is in the list of plays
destroyed, according to Warburton the herald, by the ignorance of his
cook. It is there given to Marmion. See Lansd. MS. 807.]

[294] [In 1632, Nicholas Goodman published a prose tract entitled:
"Holland's Leagver; or, an Historicall Discourse of the Life and
Actions of Dona Britanica Hollandia," &c. See the full title in
Hazlitt, p. 232. "Holland's Leaguer," it may be well to explain, was
the name of one of the licensed stews in Southwark. It was a large
detached building, and stood till within some hundred years ago on the
site of Holland Street, Surrey Road. Boydell published a print in 1818,
containing a view of it.]

[295] They may be worth subjoining in a note: they were, William
Browne, Ellis Worth, Andrew Keyne, Matthew Smith, James Sneller,
Henry Gradwell, Thomas Bond, Richard Fowler, Edward May, Robert Huyt,
Robert Stafford, Richard Godwin, John Wright, Richard Fouch, Arthur
Savill, and Samuel Mannery. The last six played the female parts in the
play.--_Collier._

[296] The Prologue is a short conversation between a Critic and the
Author, which contains the following hit, perhaps at Ben Jonson:--

    "+Critic.+ Are you the author of this play?

    +Author.+ What then?

    +Critic.+ Out o' this poetry! I wonder what
    You do with this disease, a seed of vipers
    Spawn'd in Parnassus' pool; whom the world frowns on,
    And here you vent your poison on the stage.

    +Author.+ What say you, sir?

    +Critic.+ Oh, you are deaf to all
    Sounds but a _plaudite_; and yet you may
    Remember, if you please, what entertainment
    Some of your tribe have had, that have took pains
    To be contemn'd and laugh'd at by the vulgar,
    And then ascrib'd it to their ignorance.
    I should be loath to see you move their spleens
    With no better success, and then with some
    Commendatory epistles, fly to the press
    To vindicate your credit.

    +Author.+ What if I do?

    +Critic.+ By my consent, I'll have you
    Banish'd the stage, proscrib'd and interdicted
    Castalian water, and poetical fire."

--_Collier._

[297] [In a copy now before me, which, a note on the fly-leaf says,
sold at Sotheby's, in 1817, for £6. 16s. 6d., the date 1637 on the
engraved title has been altered with the pen, the "7" being changed
into "8." There is only one edition in 4º; but this circumstance has
led to the mistaken notion that there were impressions in 1637 and
1638.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  +The Duke of Pisa.+[298]
  +Leonardo+,  }  _two courtiers_.
  +Donato+,    }
  +Veterano+, _the Antiquary_.
  +Gasparo+, _a magnifico of Pisa_.
  +Lorenzo+, _an old gentleman_.
  +Mocinigo+, _an old gentleman that would appear young_.
  +Lionel+, _nephew to the Antiquary_.
  +Petrucio+, _a foolish gentleman, son to Gasparo_.
  +Aurelio+, _a young gentleman_.
  +Aurelio's Father+, _in the disguise of a bravo_.
  _His +Boy+._
  +Petro+, _the Antiquary's boy_.

  +Æmilia+, _wife to Lorenzo_.
  +Lucretia+, _daughter to Lorenzo_.
  +Angelia+, _sister to Lionel, in the disguise of a page_.
  +Julia+,   }  _two waiting-women_.
  +Baccha+,  }
  _A +Cook+._
  _Two +Servants+._

                           _The Scene, Pisa._

FOOTNOTES:

[298] The scene, however, seems to be laid at Venice. The Rialto is
mentioned in act i., and Venice is again spoken of in act iii. as where
the transactions of the play are carried on.--_Pegge._

[It may be added that there was never any _Duke of Pisa_, and that most
of the names are Venetian.]

                          THE ANTIQUARY.[299]

ACT I., SCENE I.

                    _Enter +Lionel+ and +Petrucio+._

    +Lio.+ Now, sir, let me bid you welcome to your country and
    the longing expectation of those friends that have almost
    languished for the sight of you. [_Aside._] I must flatter him,
    and stroke him too; he will give no milk else.

    +Pet.+ I have calculated by all the rules of reason and art
    that I shall be a great man; for what singular quality concurs
    to perfection and advancement that is defective in me? Take my
    feature and proportion; have they not a kind of sweetness and
    harmony, to attract the eyes of the beholders? the confirmation
    of which many authentical judgments of ladies have sealed and
    subscribed to.

    +Lio.+ How do you, sir? are you not well?

    +Pet.+ Next, my behaviour and discourse, according to
    the court-garb, ceremonious enough, more promising than
    substantial, able to keep pace with the best hunting wit
    of them all: besides, Nature has blessed me with boldness
    sufficient and fortune with means. What then should hinder me?
    Nothing but destiny, villanous destiny, that chains virtue to
    darkness and obscurity. Well, I will insinuate myself into the
    court and presence of the duke; and if he have not the grace to
    distinguish of worth, his ignorance upon him!

    +Lio.+ What, in a muse, sir?

    +Pet.+ Cannot a gentleman ruminate over his good parts, but you
    must be troubling of him?

    +Lio.+ Wise men and fools are alike ambitious: this travelling
    motion[300] has been abroad in quest of strange fashions, where
    his spongy brain has sucked the dregs of all the folly he could
    possibly meet with, and is indeed more ass than he went forth.
    Had I an interest in his disgrace, I'd rail at him, and perhaps
    beat him for it; but he is as strange to me as to himself,
    therefore let him continue in his beloved simplicity.      [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ Next, when he shall be instructed of my worth and
    eminent sufficiencies, he cannot dignify me with less
    employment than the dignity of an embassador. How bravely
    shall I behave myself in that service! and what an ornament
    unto my country may I arrive to be, and to my kindred! But I
    will play the gentleman, and neglect them; that's the first
    thing I'll study.

    +Lio.+ Shall I be bold to interrupt you, sir?

    +Pet.+ Presently I'll be at leisure to talk with you: 'tis no
    small point in state policy still to pretend only to be thought
    a man of action, and rather than want a colour, be busied with
    a man's own self.

    +Lio.+ Who does this ass speak to? surely to himself: and
    'tis impossible he should ever be wise that has always such a
    foolish auditory.                                          [_Aside._

    +Pet.+ Then, with what emulous courtship will they strive
    to entertain me in foreign parts; and what a spectacle of
    admiration shall I be made amongst those who have formerly
    known me! How dost thou like my carriage?

    +Lio.+ Most exquisite, believe me.

    +Pet.+ But is it adorned with that even mixture of fluency and
    grace as are required both in a statist and a courtier?[301]

    +Lio.+ So far as the divine prospect of my understanding guides
    me, 'tis without parallel most excellent; but I am no professed
    critic in the mystery.

    +Pet.+ Well, thou hast Linceus' eyes for observation,
    or could'st ne'er have made such a cunning discovery of
    my practice. But will the ladies, think you, have that
    apprehension to discern and approve of me?

    +Lio.+ Without question; they cannot be so dull or
    stony-hearted as not to be infinitely taken with your worth.
    Why, in a while, you shall have them so enamoured that they'll
    watch every opportunity to purchase your acquaintance; then
    again revive it with often banqueting and visits; nay, and
    perhaps invite others, by their foolish example, to do the
    like; and some, that despair of so great happiness, will
    inquire out your haunts, and walk there two or three hours
    together, to get but a sight of you.

    +Pet.+ O infinite! I am transported with the thought on't! It
    draws near noon, and I appointed certain gallants to meet me at
    the five-crown ordinary: after, we are to wait upon the like
    beauties you talked of to the public theatre. I feel of late a
    strong and witty genius growing upon me, and I begin, I know
    not how, to be in love with this foolish sin of poetry.

    +Lio.+ Are you, sir? there's great hopes of you.

    +Pet.+ And the reason is, because they say 'tis both the cause
    and effect of a good wit, to which I can sufficiently pretend:
    for Nature has not played the stepdame with me.

    +Lio.+ In good time, sir.

    +Pet.+ And now you talk of time, what time of day is it by your
    watch?

    +Lio.+ I have none, sir.

    +Pet.+ How, ne'er a watch? O, monstrous! how do you consume
    your hours? Ne'er a watch! 'tis the greatest solecism in
    society that e'er I heard of: ne'er a watch!

    +Lio.+ How deeply you conceive of it!

    +Pet.+ You have not a gentleman, that's a true gentleman,
    without one; 'tis the main appendix to a plush lining:
    besides, it helps much to discourse; for while others confer
    notes together, we confer our watches, and spend good part of
    the day with talking of it.

    +Lio.+ Well, sir, because I'll be no longer destitute of such a
    necessary implement, I have a suit to you.

    +Pet.+ A suit to me? Let it alone till I am a great man, and
    then [_Aside._] I shall answer you with the greater promise and
    less performance.

    +Lio.+ I hope, sir, you have that confidence I will ask nothing
    to your prejudice, but what shall some way recompense the deed.

    +Pet.+ What is't? Be brief: I am in that point a courtier.

    +Lio.+ Usurp, then, on the proffer'd means;
    Show yourself forward in an action
    May speak you noble, and make me your friend.

    +Pet.+ A friend! what's that? I know no such thing.

    +Lio.+ A faithful, not a ceremonious friend;
    But one that will stick by you on occasions,
    And vindicate your credit, were it sunk
    Below all scorn, and interpose his life
    Betwixt you and all dangers: such a friend
    That, when he sees you carried by your passions
    Headlong into destruction, will so follow you
    That he will guide you from't, and with good counsel
    Redeem you from ill courses; and, not flattering
    Your idle humour to a vain expense,
    Cares not to see you perish, so he may
    Sustain himself awhile, and raise a fortune,
    Though mean, out of your ruins, and then laugh at you.

    +Pet.+ Why, be there any such friends as these?

    +Lio.+ A world:
    They walk like spirits, not to be discern'd;
    Subtle and soft like air; have oily balm
    Swimming o'er their words and actions;
    But below it a flood of gall.

    +Pet.+ Well, to the purpose: speak to the purpose.

    +Lio.+ If I stand link'd unto you,
    The Gordian knot was less dissoluble,
    A rock less firm, or centre movable.

    +Pet.+ Speak your demand.

    +Lio.+ Do it, and do it freely, then; lend me a hundred ducats.

    +Pet.+ How is that? lend you a hundred ducats! Not a ---- I'll
    never have a friend while I breathe first: no, I'll stand upon
    my guard; I give all the world leave to whet their wits against
    me, work like moles to undermine me, yet I'll spurn all their
    deceits like a hillock. I tell thee I'll not buy the small
    repentance of a friend or whore at the rate of a livre.

    +Lio.+ What's this? I dare not
    Trust my own ears, silence choke up my anger.
    A friend and whore! are they two parallels,
    Or to be nam'd together? May he never
    Have better friend that knows no better how
    To value them. Well, I was ever jealous[302]
    Of his baseness, and now my fears are ended.
    Pox o' these travels! they do but corrupt
    A good nature, and his was bad enough before.

                           _Enter +Angelia+._

    +Pet.+ What pretty sparkle of humanity have we here? Whose
    attendant are you, my little knave?

    +Ang.+ I wait, sir, on Master Lionel.

    +Lio.+ 'Tis well you are come. What says the gentleman?

    +Ang.+ I delivered your letter to him. He is very sorry he can
    furnish you no better; he has sent you twenty crowns, he says,
    towards the large debt he owes you.

    +Pet.+ A fine child! and delivers his tale with good method.
    Where, in the name of Ganymede, had'st thou this epitome of a
    servitor?

    +Lio.+ You'd little think of what consequence and pregnancy
    this imp is: you may hereafter have both cause to know and love
    him. What gentlemen are these?

                    _Enter +Gasparo+ and +Lorenzo+._

    +Pet.+ One is my father.

    +Lor.+ I hear your son, sir, is return'd from travel,
    Grown up a fine and stately gentleman,
    Outstrips his compeers in each liberal science.

    +Gas.+ I thank my stars he has improv'd his time
    To the best use, can render an account
    Of all his journey; how he has arriv'd,
    Through strange discoveries and compendious ways,
    To a most perfect knowledge of himself;
    Can give a model of each prince's court,
    And is become their pheer.[303] He has a mind
    Equally pois'd, and virtue without sadness;
    Hunts not for fame through an ill path of life;
    But is indeed, for all parts, so accomplish'd
    As I could wish or frame him.

    +Lor.+ These are joys,
    In their relation to you, so transcendant,
    As than yourself I know no man more happy.
    May I not see your son?

    +Gas.+ See where he stands,
    Accompanied with young Lionel, the nephew
    To Veterano the great antiquary.

    +Lor.+[304] I'll be bold, by your favour, to endear
    Myself in his acquaintance. Noble Petrucio,
    Darling of Venus, minion of the Graces,
    Let me adopt me heir unto your love:
    That is, yours by descent, and which your father,
    A grave wise man, and a magnifico,
    Has not disdain'd.

    +Pet.+ I am much bound to you for it.

    +Lor.+ Is that all?

    +Pet.+ See the abundant ignorance of this age! he cites my
    father for a precedent. Alas! he is a good old man, and no
    more; there he stands, he has not been abroad, nor known the
    world; therefore, I hope, will not be so foolishly peremptory
    to compare with me for judgment, that have travelled, seen
    fashions, and been a man of intelligence.

    +Lor.+ Signior, your ear; pray, let's counsel you.

    +Pet.+ Counsel me! the like trespass again; sure, the old man
    doats! Who counselled me abroad, when I had none but mine
    own natural wisdom for my protection? Yet I dare say I met
    with more perils, more variety of allurements, more Circes,
    more Calypsos, and the like, than e'er were feigned[305] upon
    Ulysses.

    +Lor.+ It show'd great wisdom that you could avoid them.
    Give o'er, and tempt your destiny no further;
    'Tis time now to retire unto yourself:
    Settle your mind upon some worthy beauty;
    A wife will tame all wild affections.
    I have a daughter who, for youth and beauty,
    Might be desir'd, were she ignobly born;
    And for her dowry, that shall no way part you.
    If you accept her, here, before your friends,
    I will betroth her to you.

    +Pet.+ I thank you, sir, you'd have me marry your daughter; is
    it so?

    +Lor.+ With your good liking, not otherwise.

    +Pet.+ You nourish too great an ambition. What do you see in
    me to make such a motion? No, be wise, and keep her; were I
    married to her, I should not like her above a month at most.

    +Lor.+ How! not above a month?

    +Pet.+ I'll tell you, sir, I have made an experience that way
    on my nature: when I have hired a creature for my pleasure,
    as 'tis the fashion in many places, for the like time that I
    told you of, I have been so tired with her before 'twas out,
    as no horse like me; I could not spur my affection to go a jot
    further.

    +Gas.+ Well said, boy! thou art e'en mine own son; when I was
    young, 'twas just my humour.

    +Lio.+ You give yourself a plausible commends.

    +Pet.+ I can make a shift to love: but, having enjoyed,
    fruition kills my appetite: no, I must have several objects of
    beauty to keep my thoughts always in action, or I am nobody.

    +Gas.+ Still mine own flesh and blood?

    +Pet.+ Therefore I have chose honour for my mistress, upon
    whose wings I will mount up to the heavens; where I will fix
    myself a constellation, for all this under-world of mortals to
    wonder at me.

    +Gas.+ Nay, he is a mad wag, I assure you, and knows how to put
    a price upon his desert.

    +Pet.+ I can no longer stay to dilate on these vanities;
    therefore, gallants, I leave you.                           [_Exit._

    +Lor.+ What, is he gone? Is your son gone?

    +Gas.+ So it seems. Well, gallants, where shall I see you anon?

    +Lor.+ You shall not part with us.

    +Gas.+ You shall pardon me; I must wait upon my son.        [_Exit._

    +Lor.+ Do you hear, signior? A pretty preferment!

    +Lio.+ O sir, the lustre of good clothes or breeding,
    Bestow'd upon a son, will make a rustic
    Or a mechanic father to commit
    Idolatry, and adore his own issue.

    +Ang.+ They are so well match'd, 'twere pity to part them.

    +Lor.+ Well said, little one,
    I think thou art wiser than both of them.
    But this same scorn I do not so well relish;
    A whoreson humorous fantastic novice,
    To contemn my daughter! He is not worthy
    To bear up her train.

    +Lio.+ Or kiss under it.
    Will you revenge this injury upon him?

    +Lor.+ Revenge! Of all the passions of my blood,
    'Tis the most sweet. I should grow fat to think on't,
    Could you but promise.

    +Lio.+ Will you have patience?
    Be rul'd by me, and I will compass it
    To your full wish. We'll set a bait afore him,
    That he shall seize as sharply as Jove's eagle
    Did snatch up Ganymede.

    +Lor.+ Do but cast the plot,
    I'll prosecute it with as much disgrace
    As hatred can suggest.

    +Lio.+ Do you see this page, then?

    +Lor.+ Ay, what of him?

    +Lio.+ That face of his shall do it.

    +Lor.+ What shall it do? Methinks he has a pretty innocent
    countenance.

    +Lio.+ O, but beware of a smooth look at all times.
    Observe what I say: he is a syren above,
    But below a very serpent. No female scorpion
    Did ever carry such a sting, believe it.

    +Lor.+ What should I do with him?

    +Lio.+ Take him to your house,
    There keep him privately, till I make all perfect.
    If ever alchemist did more rejoice
    In his projection, never credit me.

    +Lor.+ You shall prevail upon my faith beyond
    My understanding: and, my dapper squire,
    If you be such a precious wag, I'll cherish you.
    Come, walk along with me. Farewell, sir.

    +Lio.+ Adieu.                     [_Exeunt +Lorenzo+ and +Angelia+._
    Now I must travel on a new exploit
    To an old antiquary; he is my uncle,
    And I his heir. Would I could raise a fortune
    Out of his ruins! He is grown obsolete,
    And 'tis time he were out of date. They say he sits
    All day in contemplation of a statue
    With ne'er a nose, and doats on the decays
    With greater love than the self-lov'd Narcissus
    Did on his beauty. How shall I approach him?
    Could I appear but like a Sibyl's son,
    Or with a face rugged as father Nilus
    Is pictured on the hangings, there were hope
    He might look on me. How to win his love
    I know not. If I wist he were not precise,
    I'd lay to purchase some stale interludes,
    And give him them; books that have not attain'd
    To the Platonic year, but wait their course
    And happy hour, to be reviv'd again:
    Then would I induce him to believe they were
    Some of Terence's hundred and fifty comedies,
    That were lost in the Adriatic sea,
    When he return'd from banishment. Some such
    Gullery as this might be enforced upon him.
    I'll first talk with his man, and then consider.            [_Exit._

              _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Gasparo+, +Mocinigo+, and
                              +Angelia+._

    +Lor.+ How happ'd you did return again so soon, sir?

    +Gas.+ I'll tell you, sir. As I follow'd my son
    From the Rialto, near unto the bridge,
    We were encounter'd by a sort[306] of gallants,
    Sons of clarissimos and procurators,
    That knew him in his travels: whereupon
    He did insinuate with his eyes unto me,
    I should depart and leave them.

    +Lor.+ Seems he was asham'd of your company?

    +Gas.+ Like will to like, sir.

    +Lor.+ What grave and youthful gentleman's that with you?

    +Gas.+ Do you not know him?

    +Lor.+ No.

    +Gas.+ Not Signior Mocinigo?

    +Lor.+ You jest, I am sure.

    +Gas.+ Ay, and there hangs a jest:
    For, going to a courtesan this morning
    In his own proper colour, his grey beard,
    He had the ill-luck to be refus'd; on which
    He went and dy'd it, and came back again;
    And was again with the same scorn rejected,
    Telling him that she had newly deni'd his
    father.

    +Lor.+ Was that her answer?

    +Gas.+ It has so troubled him,
    That he intends to marry. What think you, sir,
    Of his resolution?

    +Lor.+ By'r Lady, it shows
    Great haughtiness of courage; a man of his years,
    That dares to venture on a wife.

    +Moc.+ A man of my years! I feel
    My limbs as able as the best of them;
    And in all places else, except my hair,
    As green as a bay-tree: and for the whiteness
    Upon my head, although it now lie hid,
    What does it signify, but like a tree that blossoms,
    Before the fruit come forth? And, I hope, a tree
    That blossoms is neither dry nor wither'd.

    +Lor.+ But pray, what piece of beauty's that you mean
    To make the object of your love?

    +Moc.+ Ay, there
    You pose me; for I have a curious eye,
    And am as choice in that point to be pleased
    As the most youthful. Here, one's beauty takes me;
    And there, her parentage and good behaviour;
    Another's wealth or wit; but I'd have one
    Where all these graces meet, as in a centre.

    +Gas.+ You are too ambitious. You'll hardly find
    Woman or beast that trots sound of all four:
    There will be some defect.

    +Moc.+ Yet this I resolve on,
    To have a maid tender of age and fair.
    Old fish and young flesh, that's still my diet.[307]

    +Lor.+ What think you of a widow?

    +Moc.+ By no means:
    They are too politic a generation;
    Prov'd so by similes. Many voyages
    Make an experienc'd seaman; many offices
    A crafty knave; so many marriages
    A subtle, cunning widow. No, I'll have one
    That I may mould, like wax, unto my humour.

    +Lor.+ This doating ass is worth at least a million;
    And, though he cannot propagate his stock,
    Will be sure to multiply. I'll offer him my daughter.
    By computation of age he cannot
    Live past ten years; by that time she'll get strength
    To break this rotten hedge of matrimony
    And after have a fair green field to walk in,
    And wanton, where she please. [_Aside._] Signior, a word:
    And by this guess my love. I have a daughter
    Of beauty fresh, of her demeanour gentle,
    And of a sober wisdom: you know my estate.
    If you can fancy her, seek no further.

    +Moc.+ Thank you, signior: pray, of what age
    Is your daughter?

    +Lor.+ But sixteen at the most.

    +Moc.+ But sixteen! Is she no more? She is too young, then.

    +Gas.+ You wish'd for a young one, did you not?

    +Moc.+ Not that I would have her in years.

    +Gas.+ I warrant you!

    +Moc.+ Well, mark what I say: when I come to her,
    She'll ne'er be able to endure me.

    +Lor.+ I'll trust her.

    +Gas.+ I think your choice, sir, cannot be amended,
    She is so virtuous and so amiable.

    +Moc.+ Is she so fair and amiable? I'll have her.
    She may grow up to what she wants; and then
    I shall enjoy such pleasure and delight,
    Such infinite content in her embraces,
    I may contend with love for happiness!
    Yet one thing troubles me.

    +Gas.+ What's that?

    +Moc.+ I shall live so well on earth,
    I ne'er shall think of any other joys.

    +Gas.+ I wish all joy to you; but 'tis in th' power
    Of fate to work a miracle upon you.
    You may obtain the grace, with other men,
    To repent your bargain before you have well seal'd it.

    +Lor.+ Or she may prove his purgatory, and send him
    To heaven the sooner.

    +Gas.+ Suchlike effects as these
    Are not unheard of in nature.

    +Moc.+ For all these scruples,
    I am resolv'd. Bring me, that I may see her;
    Young handsome ladies are like prizes at a horse-race, where
    Every well-breath'd gentleman may put in for his share.   [_Exeunt._

                     _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._

    +Leo.+ But are you resolved of this course, sir?

    +Duke.+ Yes; we'll be once mad in our days, and do an exploit
    for posterity to talk of. Will you join with me?

    +Leo.+ I am at your grace's disposing.

    +Duke.+ No grace, nor no respect, I beseech you, more than
    ordinary friendship allows of: 'tis the only bar to hinder our
    designs.

    +Leo.+ Then, sir, what fashion you are pleased to appoint me, I
    will be glad to put on.

    +Duke.+ 'Tis well. For my part, I am determined to lay by all
    ensigns of my royalty for awhile, and walk abroad under a
    mean coverture. Variety does well; and 'tis as great delight
    sometimes to shroud one's head under a coarse roof as a rich
    canopy of gold.

    +Leo.+ But what's your intent in this?

    +Duke.+ I have a longing desire to see the fashions of the
    vulgar, which, should I affect in mine own person, I might
    divert them from their humours. The face of greatness would
    affright them, as Cato did the Floralia[308] from the theatre.

    +Leo.+ Indeed familiarity begets boldness.

    +Duke.+ 'Tis true, indulgency and flattery take away the
    benefit of experience from princes, which ennobles the fortunes
    of private men.

    +Leo.+ But you are a duke, sir; and this descent from your
    honour will undervalue you.

    +Duke.+ Not a whit. I am so toiled out with grand affairs
    and despatching of embassages, that I am ready to sink under
    the burden. Why may not an Atlas of state, such as myself,
    that bears up the weight of a commonwealth, now and then, for
    recreation's sake, be glad to ease his shoulders? Has not
    Jupiter thrown away his rays and his thunder to walk among
    mortals? Does not Apollo suffer himself to be deprived of his
    quiver, that he may waken up his muse sometimes, and sing to
    his harp.

    +Leo.+ Nay, sir, to come to a more familiar example: I have
    heard of a nobleman that has been drunk with a tinker, and of a
    magnifico that has played at blow-point.[309]

    +Duke.+ Very good; then take our degrees alike, and the act's
    as pardonable.

    +Leo.+ In a humour, sir, a man may do much. But how will you
    prevent their discovery of you?

    +Duke.+ Very well; the alteration of our clothes will abolish
    suspicion.

    +Leo.+ And how for our faces?

    +Duke.+ They shall pass without any seal of disguise. Who ne'er
    were thought on, will ne'er be mistrusted.

    +Leo.+ Come what will, greatness can justify any action
    whatsoever, and make it thought wisdom; but if we do walk
    undiscerned, 'twill be the better. It tickles me to think what
    a mass of delight we shall possess in being, as 'twere, the
    invisible spectators of their strange behaviours. I heard, sir,
    of an antiquary who, if he be as good at wine as at history, he
    is sure an excellent companion: and of one Petrucio, who plays
    the eagle in the clouds: and indeed divers others, who verify
    the proverb, _So many men, so many humours._

    +Duke.+ All these we'll visit in order: but how we shall comply
    with them, 'tis as occasion shall be offered; we will not now
    be so serious to consider.

    +Leo.+ Well, sir, I must trust to your wit to manage it. Lead
    on; I attend you.                                         [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[299] Mr Samuel Gale told Dr Ducarel that this comedy was acted
two nights in 1718, immediately after the revival of the Society
of Antiquaries, and that therein had been introduced a ticket of a
turnpike (then new), which was called a _Tessera_.--_Nott._

[300] _Motion_ is a _puppet_. In Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of
his Humour," act iv. sc. 5, Captain Pod, the celebrated owner of a
puppet-show, and his _motion_, are mentioned.

Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Rule a Wife and have a Wife," act
ii.--

    "If he be that _motion_ that you tell me of,
    And make no more noise, I shall entertain him."

In "The Queen of Corinth," by the same, act i. sc. 3--

        "Good friends, for half an hour remove your _motion_;"

and in Dekker's "Villanies Discovered by Lanthorne and Candle-light,"
1620, ch. iv.: "This labour being taken, the master of the _motion_
hearkens where such a nobleman, &c. The _motion_ is presented before
him."

[301] A _statist_ is a _statesman_. So in Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's
Revels," act ii. sc. 3: "Next is your _statist's_ face, a serious,
solemn, and supercilious face, full of formal and square gravity."

And in "The Magnetick Lady," by the same, act i. sc. 7--

                                  "He
    Will screw you out a secret from a _statist_."

[302] [Suspicious.]

[303] [Old copy, _fear_. _Feer_ or _pheer_ is a companion or friend.]

[304] This speech seems more properly to belong to Lorenzo, to whom
Gasparo has just pointed out his son standing with Lionel.--_Collier._
[It is given to Lorenzo in a copy of the original edition before
me.--_H._]

[305] [Query, should we read _foined_, thrust, as the speaker rather
speaks of the adventures of Ulysses as a reality than a myth.]

[306] A company.

[307] This is taken from Chaucer--

    "But one thing warn I you, my frendis dere,
    I woll no old wife have in no manere.
    She shall not passin sixtene yere certeine,
    _Old fish, and yong flesh woll I have full faine_."

--"Merchant's Tale," l. 930. Which Mr Pope hath modernised in the
following manner--

    "One caution yet is needful to be told,
    To guide our choice; This wife must not be old:
    There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said,
    _Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed_."

--"January and May," l. 99.

    "For sondry scholis maketh sotill clarkis,
    Woman of many scholis half a clark is:
    But certainly a yong thing may men gye,
    Right as men may warm wax with hondis plie."

--"Merchant's Tale," l. 943.

    "No crafty widow shall approach my bed;
    Those are too wise for batchelors to wed.
    As subtle clerks by many schools are made,
    Twice-married dames are mistresses o' th' trade;
    But young and tender virgins, rul'd with ease,
    We form like wax, and mould them as we please."

--"January and May," l. 106.

[308] The Floralia or feast of Flora, Goddess of Flowers, were
celebrated with public sports on the 5th of the Kalends of May.
The chief part of the "solemnity was managed by a company of lewd
strumpets, who ran up and down naked, sometimes dancing, sometimes
fighting, or acting the mimic. However it came to pass, the wisest and
gravest Romans were not for discontinuing this custom, though the most
indecent imaginable: for Portius Cato, when he was present at these
games, and saw the people ashamed to let the women strip while he was
there, immediately went out of the theatre to let the ceremony have its
course."--Kennet's "Roman Antiquities," p. 297.

[309] So in "The Return from Parnassus," act iii. sc. 1: "My mistress
upon good days puts on a piece of a parsonage; and we pages _play at
blow-point_ for a piece of a parsonage."

And in Donne ("Poems," 1719, p. 119)--

                "Shortly, boys shall not _play_
    At span-counter, or _blow-point_, but shall pay
    Toll to some courtier."

ACT II., SCENE I.

                   _Enter +Aurelio+ and +Musicians+._

    +Aur.+ This is the window. Now, my noble Orpheus,
    As thou affect'st the name of rarity,
    Strike with the soul of music, that the sound
    May bear my love on his bedewed wing,
    To charm her ear: as when a sacrifice
    With his perfumed steam flies up to heaven
    Into Jove's nostrils, and there throws a mist
    On his enraged brow. O, how my fancy
    Labours with the success!                             [_Song above._

                          _Enter +Lucretia+._

    +Luc.+ Cease your fool's note there; I am not in tune
    To dance after your fiddle. Who are you?
    What saucy groom, that dares so near intrude,
    And with offensive noise grate on my ears?

    +Aur.+ What more than earthly light breaks through that window?
    Brighter than all the glittering train of nymphs
    That wait on Cynthia, when she takes her progress
    In pursuit of the swift enchased deer
    Over the Cretan or Athenian hills;
    Or when, attended with those lesser stars,
    She treads the azure circle of the heavens.

    +Luc.+ Heyday, this is excellent! What voice is that?
    O, is it you? I cry you mercy, sir:
    I thought as much; these are your tricks still with me:
    You have been sotting on't all night with wine,
    And here you come to finish out your revels.
    I shall be, one day, able to live private,
    I shall, and not be made the epilogue
    Of all your drunken meetings. For shame, away!
    The rosy morning blushes at thy baseness.
    Julia, go throw the music a reward,
    And set them hence.

    +Aur.+ Divine Lucretia,
    Do not receive with scorn my proffer'd service:
    O, turn again, though from your arched brow,
    Stung with disdain, and bent down to your eyen,
    You shoot me through with darts of cruelty.
    Ah, foolish man, to court the flame that burns him!

    +Luc.+ What would this fellow have?

    +Aur.+ Shine still, fair mistress;
    And though in silence, yet still look upon me.
    Your eye discourses[310] with more rhetoric
    Than all the gilded tongues of orators.

    +Luc.+ Out of my pity, not my love, I'll answer.
    You come to woo me, and speak fair; 'tis well.
    You think to win me too: you are deceiv'd.
    For when I hate a person, all his actions,
    Though ne'er so good, prove but his prejudice:
    For flatteries are like sweet pills--though sweet,
    Yet if they work not straight, invert to poison.

    +Aur.+ Why do you hate me, lady? Was there ever
    Woman so cruel to hate him that lov'd her?
    O, do not so degenerate from nature,
    Which form'd you of a temper soft as silk;
    And to the sweet composure of your body
    Took not a drop of gall or corrupt humour!
    But all your blood was clear and purified.
    Then, as your limbs are fair, so be your mind:
    Cast not a scandal on her curious hand,
    To say she made that crooked or uneven;
    For virtue is the best, which is deriv'd
    From a sweet feature. Women crown their youth
    With the chaste ornaments of love and truth.

    +Luc.+ This is a language you are studied in,
    And you have spoke it to a thousand.

    +Aur.+ Never, never to any; for my soul is cut so
    To the proportion of what you are,
    That all the other beauty in the world
    That is not found within your face, seems vile.
    O, that I were a veil upon that face,[311]
    To hide it from the world! methinks I could
    Envy the very sun for gazing on you!

    +Luc.+ I wonder that a fellow of no worth
    Should talk thus liberally: be so impudent,
    After so many slightings and abuses
    Extorted from me beyond modesty,
    To press upon me still. Have not I told you
    My mind in words, plain to be understood,
    How much I hate you? Can I not enjoy
    The freedom of my chamber, but you must
    Stand in my prospect? If you please, I will
    Resign up all, and leave you possession.
    What can I suffer or expect more grievous
    From the enforcement of an enemy?

    +Aur.+ Do not insult upon my sufferings.
    I had well hop'd I should receive some comfort
    From the sweet influence of your words or looks;
    But now must fly, and vanish like a cloud,
    Chas'd with the wind into the colder regions,
    Where sad despair sits ever languishing;
    There will I calculate my injuries,
    Summ'd up with my deserts: then shall I find
    How you are wanting to all good and pity,
    And that you do but juggle with our sense;
    That you appear gentle and smooth as water
    When no wind breathes on it, but indeed
    Are far more hard than rocks of adamant:
    That you are more inconstant than your mistress,
    Fortune, that guides you; that your promises
    Are all deceitful; and that wanton Love,
    Whom former ages, flattering their vice,
    And to procure more freedom for their sin,
    Have term'd a god, laughs at your perjuries.

    +Luc.+ You will do this? Why, do so. Ease your mind,
    So I be free from you. There's no such torment
    As to be troubled with an insolent lover
    That will receive no answer: bonds and fetters,
    Perpetual imprisonment, are not like it:
    'Tis worse than to be seiz'd on with a fever,
    A continual surfeit. For heaven's sake leave me,
    And let me hear no more of you.

    +Aur.+ Is this the best reward for all my hopes,
    The dear expenses of [my] youth and service,
    Spent in the execution of your follies?
    When not a day or hour but witness'd with me
    With what great study and affected care,
    More than of fame or honour, I invented
    New ways to fit your humour; what observance,
    As if you were the arbitress of courtship,
    I sought to please you with: laid out for fashions,
    And bought them for you; feasted you with banquets;
    Read you asleep i' th' afternoon with pamphlets;
    Sent you elixirs and preservatives,
    Paintings and powders, that would have restor'd
    Old Niobe to youth. The beauty you pretend to,
    Is all my gift. Besides, I was so simple
    To wear your foolish colours,[312] cry your wit up,
    And judgment, when you had none, and swore to it;
    Drank to your health whole nights in hippocras[313]
    Upon my knees with more religion
    Then e'er I said my prayers: which Heaven forgive me!

    +Luc.+ Are these such miracles? 'Twas but your duty,
    The tributary homage all men owe
    Unto our sex. Should we enjoin you travel,
    Or send you on an errand into France
    Only to fetch a basket of musk-melons,
    It were a favour for you. Put the case
    That I were Hero, and you were Leander:
    If I should bid you swim the Hellespont,
    Only to know my mind, methinks you might
    Be proud of the employment. Were you a Puritan,
    Did I command you wait me to a play;
    Or to the church, though you had no religion,
    You might not question it.

    +Aur.+ Pretty, very pretty!

    +Luc.+ And then, because I am familiar,
    And deign out of my nobleness and bounty
    To grace your weak endeavours with the title
    Of courtesy, to wave my fan at you,
    Or let you kiss my hand, must we straight marry?
    I may esteem you in the rank of servants,
    To cast off when I please, ne'er for a husband.

    +Aur.+ If ever devil damn'd in a woman's tongue,
    'Tis in thine. I am glad yet you tell me this;
    I might have else proceeded, and gone on
    In the lewd[314] way of loving you, and so
    Have wander'd farther from myself: but now
    I'll study to be wiser, and henceforth
    Hate the whole gang of you; denounce a war,
    Ne'er to be reconcil'd, and rejoice in it;
    And count myself bless'd for't; and wish all men
    May do the like to shun you. For my part,
    If, when my brains are troubled with late drinking
    (I shall have else the grace, sure, to forget you),
    Then but my labouring fancy dream of you,
    I'll start, affrighted at the vision.

    +Luc.+ 'Las! how pitifully it takes it to heart!
    It would be angry too, if it knew how.

    +Aur.+ Come near me none of you: if I hear
    The sound of your approach, I'll stop my ears;
    Nay, I'll be angry, if I shall imagine
    That any of you think of me: and, for thy sake,
    If I but see the picture of a woman,
    I'll hide my face and break it. So farewell.     [_Exit +Lucretia+._

             _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, and +Angelia+._

    +Lor.+ What are you, friend, and what's your business?

    +Aur.+ Whate'er it be, now 'tis despatch'd.

    +Lor.+ This is rudeness.

    +Aur.+ The fitter for the place and persons then.

    +Lor.+ How's that?

    +Aur.+ You are a nest of savages: the house
    Is more inhospitable than the quicksands:
    Your daughter sits on that enchanted bay
    Like a siren[315] to entice passengers,
    Who, viewing her through a false perspective,
    Neglect the better traffic of their life;
    But yet, the more they labour to come near her,
    The further she flies back; until at last,
    When she has brought them to some rock or shelf,
    She proudly looks down on the wreck of lovers.

    +Lor.+ Why, who has injur'd you?

    +Aur.+                            No matter who:
    I'll first talk with a sphinx, ere [I'll] converse with you.

    +Lor.+ A word. Expound your wrongs more to the full,
    If you expect a remedy.

    +Aur.+ I'll rather
    Seek out diseases, choose my death and pine,
    Than stay to be cur'd by you.                               [_Exit._

                    _Enter +Æmilia+ and +Lucretia+._

    +Lor.+ If you be so obstinate,
    Take your course. Why, wife Æmilia,
    Daughter Lucretia, what's the matter here
    With this same fellow? Do you owe him money?

    +Luc.+ Owe him money, sir! Does he look like one
    That should lend money? He is a gentleman,
    And they seldom credit anybody.

    +Lor.+ Well, wife,
    Where was your matron's wisdom, that should keep
    A vigilant care upon your house and daughter,
    And not have suffer'd her to be surpris'd
    With every loose aspèct and gazing eye
    That suck in hot and lustful motions?
    You were best turn bawd, and prostitute her beauty.

    +Æmi.+ You were best turn an old ass,
    And meddle with your bonds and brokage.

    +Lor.+ What was his business?

    +Luc.+ To tell you true, sir, he is one of those,
    Whom love and fortune have conspir'd to fool,
    And make the subject of a woman's will.
    His idle brain, being void of better reason,
    Is fill'd with toys and humours; and, for want
    Of other exercise, he takes great pains
    For the expressing of his folly: sometimes
    With starts and sighs, hung head, and folded arms,
    Sonnets and pitiful tunes; forgetting
    All due respect unto himself and friends
    With doating on a mistress: she again
    As little pitying him, whose every frown
    Strikes him as dead as fate, and makes him walk
    The living monument of his own sorrow.

    +Lor.+ I apprehend he came a-wooing to thee.
    'Tis so, and thou didst scorn him, girl: 'twas well done.
    I'll ease thee of that care: see, I have brought
    A husband to thy hand. Look on him well;
    A worthy man, and a clarissimo.

    +Luc.+ A husband, said you? Now Venus be propitious!
    He looks more like the remedy of love,
    A julip to cool it. She that could take fire
    At such a dull flame as his eyes, I should
    Believe her more than touchwood!                           [_Aside._

    +Moc.+ A ravishing creature!
    If her condition answer but her feature,
    I am fitted. Her form answers my affection;
    It arrides[316] me exceedingly. I'll speak to her.         [_Aside._
    Fair mistress, what your father has propos'd
    In the fair way of contract, I stand ready
    To ratify; and let me not seem less
    In your esteem, because I am so easy
    In my consent. Women love out of fancy,
    Men from advice.

    +Luc.+ You do not mean in earnest?
    Now Cupid deliver me!

    +Moc.+ How, not in earnest!
    As I am strong and mighty in desires,
    You wrong me to question it.

    +Luc.+ Good sir, consider
    The infinite distance that is between us
    In age and manners.

    +Moc.+ No distance at all:
    My age is youthful, and your youth is aged.

    +Luc.+ But you are wise, and will you sell your freedom
    Unto a female tyranny, in despair
    E'er to be quit? You run a strange adventure,
    Without perceiving what a certain hazard
    A creature of my inclination
    Is apt to draw you to.

    +Moc.+ I cannot think it.

    +Luc.+ 'Tis strange you'll not believe me, unless I lay
    My imperfection open. I have a nature
    Ambitious beyond thought, quite giv'n over
    To entertainments and expense: no bravery
    That's fashionable can escape me; and then,
    Unless you are of a most settled temper,
    Quite without passion, I shall make you
    Horn-mad with jealousy.

    +Moc.+ Come, come, I know
    Thou'rt virtuous, and speakest this but to try me.
    You will not be so adverse to your fortune
    And all obedience, to contradict
    What your father has set down.

    +Luc.+ These are my faults
    I cannot help, if you'll be so good
    As to dispense with them.

    +Moc.+ With all my heart. I forgive thee before thou offend'st.

    +Luc.+ Then I am mighty stubborn and self-will'd,
    And shall sometimes e'en long to abuse you:
    And for my tongue, 'tis like a stone thrown down,
    Of an impetuous motion, not to be still'd.

    +Moc.+ All these cannot dismay me; for, considering
    How they are passions proper to your sex,
    In a degree they are virtues.

    +Luc.+ O my fate!
    He will not be terrified. Then, not to feed you
    With further hopes, or pump for more excuses,
    Take it in brief, though I am loth to speak,
    But you compel me to it--I cannot love you.

    +Lor.+ How do you speed, sir? Is she tractable?
    Do you approve of her replies?

    +Moc.+ I know not;
    Guess you: she said she cannot love me; and 'tis
    The least thing I should have mistrusted; I durst
    Have sworn she would ne'er have made scruple on't.

    +Lor.+ Not love you! Come, she must and shall.
    Do you hear, housewife?
    No more of this, as you affect my friendship.
    What, shall I bring here a right worshipful prætor
    Unto my house, in hope you'll be rul'd,
    And you prove recreant to my commands?
    But, my vex'd soul, thou hast done a deed were able,
    In the mere questioning of what I bid,
    Were not I a pious and indulgent father,
    To thrust thee, as a stranger, from my blood.

    +Moc.+ Be not too rash, sir: women are not won
    With force, but fair entreaty. Have I been vers'd
    Thus long i' th' school of love; know all their arts,
    Their practices, their ways, and subtleties,
    In all my encounters still return'd a victor,
    And have not left a stratagem at last
    To work on her affection, let me suffer.

    +Lor.+ Nay, and you have that confidence, I'll leave you.

    +Moc.+ Lady, a word in private with you.                 [_Whisper._

    +Æmi.+ Pray, sweetheart,
    What pretty youth is that?

    +Lor.+ Who, this same chicken?
    He is the son of a great nobleman,
    And my especial friend. His father's gone
    Into the country to survey his lands,
    And let new leases, and left him in charge
    With me till his return.

    +Æmi.+ Now, as I live,
    'Tis a well-favour'd lad, and his years promise
    He should have an ability to do,
    And wit to conceal. When I take him single,
    I'll try his disposition.                                  [_Aside._

    +Moc.+ This, for your sake,
    I'll undertake and execute.

    +Luc.+ For my sake!
    You shall not draw me to the fellowship
    Of such a sin.

    +Moc.+ I know 'tis pleasing to thee,
    And therefore am resolv'd.

    +Luc.+ I may prevent you.

    +Lor.+ What, are you resolv'd?

    +Moc.+ We are e'en at a point, sir.

    +Lor.+ What's more to be done, let's in and consider.     [_Exeunt._

                    _Enter +Antiquary+ and +Petro+._

    +Ant.+ Well, sirrah! but that I have brought you up, I would
    cashier you for these reproofs.

    +Pet.+ Good sir, consider, 'tis no benefit to me: he is your
    nephew that I speak for, and 'tis charity to relieve him.

    +Ant.+ He is a young knave, and that's crime enough; and he
    were old in anything, though 'twere in iniquity, there were
    some reverence to be had of him.

    +Pet.+ Why, sir, though he be a young knave, as you term him,
    yet he is your kinsman, and in distress too.

    +Ant.+ Why, sir, and you know again, that 'tis an old custom
    (which thing I will no way transgress) for a rich man not to
    look upon any as his kinsman in distress.

    +Pet.+ 'Tis an ill custom, sir, and 'twere good 'twere repealed.

    +Ant.+ I have something else to look after. Have you disposed
    of those relics, as I bad you?

    +Pet.+ Yes, sir.

    +Ant.+ Well, thou dost not know the estimation of what thou
    hast in keeping. The whole Indies, seeing they are but newly
    discovered, are not to be valued with them: the very dust that
    cleaves to one of those monuments is more worth than the ore of
    twenty mines!

    +Pet.+ Yet, by your favour, sir, of what use can they be to you?

    +Ant.+ What use! Did not the Signiory build a state-chamber for
    antiquities? and 'tis the best thing that e'er they did: they
    are the registers, the chronicles, of the age they were made
    in, and speak the truth of history better than a hundred of
    your printed commentaries.

    +Pet.+ Yet few are of your belief.

    +Ant.+ There's a box of coins within, most of them brass, yet
    each of them a jewel, miraculously preserved in spite of time
    or envy; and are of that rarity and excellence that saints may
    go a pilgrimage to them, and not be ashamed.

    +Pet.+ Yet, I say still, what good can they do to you, more
    than to look on?

    +Ant.+ What good, thou brute! And thou wert not worth a penny,
    the very showing of them were able to maintain thee. Let me see
    now, and you were put to it, how you could advance your voice
    in their commendation. Begin.

    +Pet.+ All you gentlemen that are affected with such
    rarities,[317] the world cannot produce the like, snatched
    from the jaws of time, and wonderfully collected by a studious
    antiquary, come near and admire.

    +Ant.+ Thou say'st right: the limbs of Hippolitus were never so
    dispersed.

    +Pet.+ First, those twelve pictures that you see there, are the
    portraitures of the Sibyls, drawn five hundred years since by
    Titianus of Padua, an excellent painter and statuary.

    +Ant.+ Very well.

    +Pet.+ Then here is Venus all naked, and Cupid by her, on a
    dolphin: both these were drawn by Apelles of Greece.

    +Ant.+ Proceed.

    +Pet.+ Then here is Hercules and Antæus; and that Pallas at
    length in alabaster, with her helmet and feathers; and that's
    Jupiter, with an eagle at his back.

    +Ant.+ Exceeding well!

    +Pet.+ Then there's the great silver box that Nero kept his
    beard in.

    +Ant.+ Good again.

    +Pet.+ And after decking it with precious stones, did
    consecrate it to the Capitol.

    +Ant.+ That's right.

    +Pet.+ And there hangs the net that held Mars and his mistress,
    while the whole bench of bawdy deities stood spectators of
    their sport.

    +Ant.+ Admirable good!

    +Pet.+ Then here is Marius to the middle,[318] and there
    Cleopatra with a veil over her face; and next to her, Marcus
    Antonius, the Triumvir; then he with half a nose is Corvinus,
    and he with ne'er a one is Galba.

    +Ant.+ Very sufficient!

    +Pet.+ Then here is Vitellius, and there Titus and Vespasian:
    these three were made by Jacobus Sansovinus the Florentine.

    +Ant.+ 'Tis enough.

    +Pet.+ Last of all, this is the urn that did contain the ashes
    of the emperors.

    +Ant.+ And each of these worth a king's ransom----

                  _Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._[319]

    +Duke.+ Save you, sir!

    +Ant.+ You are welcome, gentlemen.

    +Duke.+ I come, sir, a suitor to you. I hear you are possessed
    of many various and excellent antiquities; and though I am a
    stranger, I would entreat your gentleness a favour.

    +Ant.+ What's that, sir?

    +Duke.+ Only that you would vouchsafe me to be a spectator of
    their curiosity and worth, which courtesy shall engage me yours
    for ever.

    +Ant.+ For their worth I will not promise: 'tis as you please
    to esteem of them.

    +Leo.+ No doubt, sir, we shall ascribe what dignity belongs to
    them and to you their preserver.

    +Ant.+ You speak nobly; and thus much let me tell you, to your
    edifying: the foolish doating on these present novelties is the
    cause why so many rare inventions have already perished; and
    (which is pity) antiquity has not left so much as a foot-step
    behind her, more than of her vices.

    +Leo.+ 'Tis the more pity, sir.

    +Ant.+ Then, what raises such vanities amongst us, and sets
    fantastical fancies awork? What's the reason that so many
    fresh tricks and new inventions of fashions and diseases come
    daily over sea, and land upon a man that never durst adventure
    to taste salt water, but only the neglect of those useful
    instructions which antiquity has set down.

    +Duke.+ You speak oracles, sir.

    +Ant.+ Look farther, and tell me what you find better or more
    honourable than age. Is not wisdom entailed upon it? Take the
    preheminence of it in everything--in an old friend, in old
    wine, in an old pedigree.

    +Leo.+ All this is certain.

    +Ant.+ I confess to you, gentlemen, I must reverence and prefer
    the precedent times before these, which consumed their wits in
    experiments: and 'twas a virtuous emulation amongst them, that
    nothing which should profit posterity should perish.

    +Leo.+ It argued a good fatherly providence.