[Aside, and exit.
Lac. Nothing I fear so much, as in this time
Of my dull absence, her first love, the general,
Will wind himself into her affection
By secret gifts and letters; there’s the mischief!
I have no enemy like him; though my policy
Dissembled him a welcome, no man’s hate
Can stick more close unto a loath’d disease
Than mine to him.
Enter Cardinal.
Car. What ails this pretty boy to weep so often?—
Tell me the cause, child;—how his eyes stand full!—
Beshrew you, nephew, you’re too bitter to him!
He is so soft, th’ unkindness of a word
Melts him into a woman.—'Las, poor boy,
Thou shalt not serve him longer; 'twere great pity
That thou shouldst wait upon an angry master:
I’ve promis’d thee to one will make much of thee,
And hold thy weak youth in most dear respect.
Page. O, I beseech your grace that I may serve
No master else!
Car. Thou shalt not: mine’s a mistress,
The greatest mistress in all Milan, boy,
The duchess’ self.
Page. Nor her, nor any.
Car. Cease, boy!
Thou know’st not thine own happiness, through fondness,[913]
And therefore must be learnt: go, dry thine eyes.
Page. This rather is the way to make 'em moister.
[Aside, and exit.
Car. Now, nephew! nephew!
Lac. O, you’ve snatch’d my spirit, sir,
From the divinest meditation
That ever made soul happy!
Car. I’m afraid
I shall have as much toil to bring him on now,
As I had pains to keep her off from him. [Aside.
I’ve thought it fit, nephew, considering
The present barrenness of our name and house,
The only famine of succeeding honour,
To move the ripeness of your time to marriage.
Lac. How, sir, to marriage?
Car. Yes, to a fruitful life:
We must not all be strict; so generation
Would lose her right: thou’rt young; ’tis my desire
To see thee bestow’d happily in my lifetime.
Lac. Does your grace well remember who I am,
When you speak this?
Car. Yes, very perfectly;
You’re a young man, full in the grace of life,
And made to do love credit; proper, handsome,
And for affection pregnant.
Lac. I beseech you, sir,
Take off your praises rather than bestow 'em
Upon so frail a use. Alas, you know, sir,
I know not what love is, or what you speak of!
If woman be amongst it, I shall swoon;
Take her away, for contemplation’s sake:
Most serious uncle, name no such thing to me.
Prove but so strict and obstinate in age,
And you are well to pass. There’s honest love
Allow’d you now for recreation;
The years will come when all delights must leave you,
Stick close to virtue then; in the meantime
There’s honourable joys to keep youth company;
And if death take you there, dying no adulterer,
You’re out of his eternal reach; defy him.
List hither; come to me, and with great thankfulness
Welcome thy fortunes; ’tis the duchess loves thee!
Lac. The duchess?
Car. Doats on thee; will die for thee,
Unless she may enjoy thee.
Lac. She must die then.
Car. How?
Lac. 'Las, do you think she ever means to do’t, sir?
I’ll sooner believe all a woman speaks
Than that she’ll die for love: she has a vow, my lord,
That will keep life in her.
Car. Believe me, then,
That should have bounteous interest in thy faith,
She’s thine, and not her vow’s.
Lac. The more my sorrow,
My toil, and my destruction.— My blood dances![915]
[Aside.
Car. And though that bashful maiden virtue in thee,
That never held familiar league with woman,
Binds fast all pity to her heart that loves thee,
Let me prevail, my counsel stands up to thee,
Embrace it as the fulness of thy fortunes,
As if all blessings upon earth were clos’d
Within one happiness, for such another
Whole life could never meet with: go and present
Your service and your love; but, on your hopes,
Do it religiously. What need I doubt him
Whom chastity locks up?
Lac. O envy,
Hadst thou no other means to come by virtue
But by such treachery? the duchess’ love!
Thou wouldst be sure to aim it high enough,
Thou knew’st full well ’twas no prevailing else.—
[Aside.
Sir, what your will commands, mine shall fulfil;
I’ll teach my heart in all t’ obey your will.
Car. A thing you shall not lose by. Here come the lords:
Enter Lords.
Go, follow you the course that I advis’d you;
The comfort of thy presence is expected:
Away with speed to court; she languishes
For one dear sight of thee: for life’s sake, haste;
You lose my favour if you let her perish.
Lac. And art thou come, brave fortune, the reward
Of neat'[st] hypocrisy that ever book’d it,[916]
Or turn’d up transitory white o’ th’ eye
After the feminine rapture? Duchess and I
Were a fit match, can be denied of no man;
The best dissembler lights on the best woman;
'Twere sin to part us. [Aside, and exit.
Car. You lights of state, truth’s friends, much-honour’d lords,
Faithful admirers of our duchess’ virtues,
And firm believers, it appears as plain
As knowledge to the eyes of industry,
That neither private motion, which holds counsel
Often with woman’s frailty and her blood,
Nor public sight, the lightning of temptations,
Which from the eye strikes sparks into the bosom,
And sets whole hearts on fire, hath power to raise
A heat in her 'bove that which feeds chaste life,
And gives that cherishing means; she’s the same still,
And seems so seriously employ’d in soul,
As if she could not 'tend to cast an eye
Upon deserts so low as those in man.
It merits famous memory I confess;
Yet many times when I behold her youth,
And think upon the lost hopes of posterity,
Succession, and the royal fruits of beauty,
All by the rashness of one vow made desperate,
It goes so near my heart, I feel it painful,
And wakes me into pity oftentimes,
When others sleep unmov’d.
First Lord. I speak it faithfully,
For ’tis poor fame to boast of a disease,
Your grace has not endur’d that pain alone,
'T has been a grief of mine; but where’s the remedy?
Car. True, there your lordship spake enough in little:
There’s nothing to be hop’d for but repulses;
She’s not to seek[917] for armour against love
That has bid battle to his powers so long;
He that should try her now had need come strong,
And with more force than his own arguments,
Or he may part disgrac’d, being put to flight;
That soldier’s tough has been in seven years’ fight.
Her vow’s invincible; for you must grant this,
If those desires, train’d up in flesh and blood
To war continually 'gainst good intents,
Prove all too weak for her, having advantage
Both of her sex and her unskilfulness
At a spiritual weapon, wanting knowledge
To manage resolution, and yet win,
What force can a poor argument bring in?
The books that I have publish’d in her praise
Commend her constancy, and that’s fame-worthy;
But if you read me o’er with eyes of enemies,
You cannot justly and with honour tax me
That I dissuade her life from marriage there:
Now heaven and fruitfulness forbid, not I!
She may be constant there, and the hard war
Of chastity is held a virtuous strife,
As rare in marriage as in single life;
Nay, by some writers rarer; hear their reasons,
And you’ll approve 'em fairly. She that’s single,
Either in maid or widow, oftentimes
The fear of shame, more than the fear of heaven,
Keeps chaste and constant; when the tempest comes,
She knows she has no shelter for her sin,
It must endure the weathers of all censure;
Nothing but sea and air that poor bark feels:
When she in wedlock is like a safe vessel
That lies at anchor; come what weathers can,
She has her harbour; at her great unlading,
Much may be stoln, and little waste;[918] the master
Thinks himself rich enough with what he has,
And holds content by that. How think you now, lords?
If she that might offend safe does not err,
What’s chaste in others is most rare in her.
Sec. Lord. What wisdom but approves it?
First Lord. But, my lord,
This should be told to her it concerns most;
Pity such good things should be spoke and lost.
Car. That were the way to lose 'em utterly;
You quite forget her vow: yet, now I think on’t,
What is that vow? ’twas but a thing enforc’d,
Was it not, lords?
First Lord. Merely compell’d indeed.
Car. Only to please the duke; and forcèd virtue
Fails in her merit, there’s no crown prepar’d for’t.
What have we done, my lords? I fear we’ve sinn’d
In too much strictness to uphold her in’t,
In cherishing her will; for woman’s goodness
Takes counsel of that first, and then determines;
She cannot truly be call’d constant now,
If she persèver, rather obstinate,
The vow appearing forcèd, as it proves,
Tried by our purer thoughts; the grace and triumph
Of all her victories are but idle glories,
She wilful, and we enemies to succession.
I will not take rest till I tell her soul
As freely as I talk to those I keep.
Lords. And we’ll all second you, my lord.
Car. Agreed:
We’ll knit such knots of arguments so fast,
All wit in her shall not undo in haste.
Sec. Lord. Nay, sure, I think all we shall be too hard for her,
Else she’s a huge wild creature.
First Lord. If we win,
And she yield marriage, then will I strike in. [Aside.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
An apartment in the house of the Duchess.
Enter Duchess and Celia.
Duch. Thou tell’st me happy things, if they be certain,
To bring my wishes about wondrous strangely;
Lactantio, nephew to the cardinal,
The general’s secret enemy?
Celia. Most true, madam;
I had it from a gentleman, my kinsman,
That knows the best part of Lactantio’s bosom.
Duch. It happens passing fortunately to save
Employment in another; he will 'come now
A necessary property; he may thank
The need and use we have of him for his welcome.
[Knocking within.
Now, who’s that knocks?
Celia [after going out and re-entering.] Madam, ’tis he, with speed:
I thought he had brought his horse to th’ chamber-door,
He made such haste and noise.
Duch. Admit him, prithee,
And have a care your heart be true and secret.
Celia. Take life away from’t when it fails you, madam.
Duch. Enough; I know thee wise.— [Exit Celia.
He comes with haste indeed.
Enter Lactantio.
Are you come now, sir?
You should have stay’d yet longer, and have found me
Dead, to requite your haste.
Lac. Love bless you better, madam!
Duch. Must I bid welcome to the man undoes me,
The cause of my vow’s breach, my honour’s enemy;
One that does all the mischief to my fame,
And mocks my seven years’ conquest with his name?
This is a force of love was never felt;
But I’ll not grudge at fortune, I will take
Captivity cheerfully: here, seize upon me,
And if thy heart can be so pitiless
To chain me up for ever in those arms,
I’ll take it mildly, ay, and thank my stars,
For we’re all subject to the chance of wars.
Lac. We are so; yet take comfort, vanquish’d duchess,
I’ll use you like an honourable prisoner,
You shall be [well] entreated; day shall be
Free for all sports to you, the night for me;
That’s all I challenge, all the rest is thine;
And for your fare 't shall be no worse than mine.
Duch. Nay, then, I’m heartily pleasant, and as merry
As one that owes no malice, and that’s well, sir:
You cannot say so much for your part, can you?
Lac. Faith, all that I owe is to one man, madam,
And so can few men say: marry, that malice
Wears no dead flesh about it, ’tis a stinger.
Duch. What is he that shall dare to be your enemy,
Having our friendship, if he be a servant
And subject to our law?
Lac. Yes, trust me, madam,
Of a vild[919] fellow I hold him a true subject;
There’s many arrant knaves that are good subjects,
Some for their living’s sakes, some for their lives,
That will unseen eat men, and drink their wives.
Duch. They are as much in fault that know such people,
And yet conceal 'em from the whips of justice.
For love’s sake give me in your foe betimes,
Before he vex you further; I will order him
To your heart’s wishes, load him with disgraces,
That your revenge shall rather pity him
Than wish more weight upon him.
Lac. Say you so, madam?—
Here’s a bless’d hour, that feeds both love and hate;
Then take thy time, brave malice. [Aside.]—Virtuous princess,
The only enemy that my vengeance points to
Lives in Andrugio.
Duch. What, the general?
Lac. That’s the man, madam.
Duch. Are you serious, sir?
Lac. As at my prayers.
Duch. We meet happily then
In both our wishes; he’s the only man
My will has had a longing to disgrace,
For divers capital contempts; my memory
Shall call 'em all together now; nay, sir,
I’ll bring his faith in war now into question,
And his late conference with the enemy.
Signor, your neck’s a-cracking.
Duch. Stay, stay, sir;
Take pen and ink.
Lac. Here’s both, and paper, madam.
Duch. I’ll take him in a fine trap.
Lac. That were excellent.
Duch. A letter so writ would abuse him strangely.
Lac. Good madam, let me understand your mind,
And then take you no care for his abusing;
I serve for nothing else. I can write fast and fair,
Most true orthography, and observe my stops.
Duch. Stay, stay awhile;
You do not know his hand.
Lac. A bastard Roman,
Much like mine own; I could go near it, madam.
Duch. Marry, and shall.
Lac. We were once great together,
And writ Spanish epistles one to another,
To exercise the language.
Duch. Did you so?
It shall be a bold letter of temptation,
With his name to’t, as writ and sent to me.
Lac. Can be no better, lady; stick there, madam,
And ne’er seek further.
Duch. Begin thus: Fair duchess, say;
We must use flattery if we imitate man,
'Twill ne’er be thought his pen else.
Lac. Most fair duchess. [Writing.
Duch. What need you have put in most? yet since ’tis in,
Let 't even go on; few women would find fault with’t;
We all love to be best, but seldom mend:
Go on, sir.
Lac. Most fair duchess! here’s an admiration-point. [Writing.
Duch. The report of your vow shall not fear me——
Lac. Fear me; two stops at fear me. [Writing.
Duch. I know you’re but a woman——
Lac. But a woman; a comma at woman. [Writing.
Duch. And what a woman is, a wise man knows.
Lac. Wise man knows; a full prick there.
[Writing.
Duch. Perhaps my condition[921], may seem blunt to you——
Lac. Blunt to you; a comma here again. [Writing.
Duch. But no man’s love can be more sharp set——
Lac. Sharp set; there a colon, for colon[922] is sharp set oftentimes. Writing.
Duch. And I know desires in both sexes have skill at that weapon.
Lac. Skill at that weapon; a full prick here at weapon. [Writing.
Duch. So, that will be enough; subscribe it thus now,
One that vows service to your affections; signor such a one.
Lac. Signor Andrugio, G.; that stands for general.
[Writing.
Duch. And you shall stand for goose-cap. [Aside.]—Give me that: [Taking letter.
Betake you to your business speedily, sir;
We give you full authority from our person,
In right of reputation, truth, and honour,
To take a strong guard, and attach his body;
That done, to bring him presently before us;
Then we know what to do.
Lac. My hate finds wings;
Man’s spirit flies swift to all revengeful things.
[Aside, and exit.
Duch. Why, here’s the happiness of my desires;
The means safe, unsuspected, far from thought;
His state is like the world’s condition right,
Greedy of gain, either by fraud or stealth;
And whilst one toils, another gets the wealth. [Exit.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
The rendezvous of the Gipsies,[923] near Milan.
Enter Andrugio.
And. Now, fortune, shew thyself the friend of love,
Make her way plain and safe; cast all their eyes
That guard the castle
Into a thicker blindness than thine own,
Darker than ignorance or idolatry,
That in that shape my love may pass unknown,
And by her freedom set my comforts free.
This is the place appointed for our meeting,
Yet comes she [not]; I’m covetous of her sight;
That gipsy-habit alters her so far
From knowledge, that our purpose cannot err;
She might have been here now by this time largely,
And much to spare: I would not miss her now
In this plight for the loss of a year’s joy.
She’s ignorant of this house, nor knows she where
Or which way to bestow herself through fear.
Enter Lactantio with a Guard.
Lac. Close with him, gentlemen.—In the duchess’ name
We do attach your body.
And. How, my body?
What means this rudeness?
Lac. You add to your offences,
Calling that rudeness that is fair command,
Immaculate justice, and the duchess’ pleasure.
And. Signor Lactantio! O, are you the speaker?
Lac. I am what I am made.
And. Shew me my crime.
Lac. I fear you’ll have too many shewn you, sir.
And. The father of untruths possesses thy spirit,
As he commands thy tongue: I defy fear
But in my love, it only settles there.
Lac. Bring him along.
And. Let law’s severest brow
Bend at my deeds, my innocence shall rise
A shame to thee and all my enemies.
Lac. You’re much the happier man.
And. O, my hard crosses!
Grant me the third part of one hour’s stay.
Lac. Sir, not a minute.
And. O, she’s lost!
Lac. Away! [Exeunt.
Enter Aurelia disguised as a Gipsy.
Aur. I’m happily escap’d, not one pursues me;
This shape’s too cunning for 'em; all the sport was,
The porter would needs know his fortune of me
As I pass’d by him: ’twas such a plunge[924] to me,
I knew not how to bear myself; at last
I did resolve of somewhat, look’d in’s hand,
Then shook my head, bade him make much on’s eyes,
He’d lose his sight clean long before he dies;
And so[925] away went I; he lost the sight of me quickly:
I told him his fortune truer for nothing than some
Of my complexion that would have cozen’d him of his money.
This is the place of meeting; where’s this man now
That has took all this care and pains for nothing?
The use of him is at the last cast now,
Shall only bring me to my former face again,
And see me somewhat cleanlier at his cost,
And then farewell, Andrugio; when I’m handsome,
I’m for another straight. I wonder, troth,
That he would miss me thus; I could have took
Many occasions besides this to have left him;
I’m not in want, he need not give me any;
A woman’s will has still enough to spare
To help her friends, and[926] need be. What, not yet?
What will become of me in this shape then?
If I know where to go, I’m no dissembler;
And I’ll not lose my part in woman[927] so
For such a trifle, to forswear myself.
But comes he not indeed?
Enter Dondolo.
Don. O excellent! by this light here’s one of them! I thank my stars: I learnt that phrase in the Half-moon tavern. [Aside.]—By your leave, good gipsy;
I pray how far off is your company?
Aur. O happiness! this is the merry fellow
My love, signor Lactantio, takes delight in;
I’ll send him away speedily with the news
Of my so strange and fortunate escape,
And he’ll provide my safety at an instant. [Aside.
My friend, thou serv’st signor Lactantio?
Don. Who, I serve? gipsy, I scorn your motion;[928] and if the rest of your company give me no better words, I will hinder 'em the stealing of more pullen[929] than fifty poulterers were ever worth, and prove a heavier enemy to all their pig-booties; they shall travel like Jews, that hate swine’s flesh, and never get a sow by th’ ear all their lifetime. I serve Lactantio! I scorn to serve any body; I am more gipsy-minded than so: though my face look of a Christian colour, if my belly were ripped up, you shall find my heart as black as any patch about you. The truth is, I am as arrant a thief as the proudest of your company; I’ll except none: I am run away from my master in the state of a fool, and till I be a perfect knave I never mean to return again.
Aur. I’m ne’er the happier for this fortune now;
It did but mock me. [Aside.
Don. Here they come, here they come!
Enter Gipsy Captain with a company of Gipsies, male and female, carrying booties of hens and ducks, &c., and singing.
G. Cap. Come, my dainty doxies,
My dells,[930] my dells most dear;
We have neither house nor land,
Yet never want good cheer.
Chorus. We never want good cheer.
G. Cap. We take no care for candle rents.
Sec. Gip. We lie.
Th. Gip. We snort.
Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners.
Our store is never taken
Without pigs, hens, or bacon,
And that’s good meat for sinners:
At makes and fairs me cozen
Poor country folks by dozen;
If one have money, he disburses;
Whilst some tell fortunes, some pick purses;
Rather than be out of use,
We’ll steal garters, hose, or shoes,
Boots, or spurs with gingling rowels,
Shirts or napkins, smocks or towels.
Come live with us, come live with us,
All you that love your eases;
He that’s a gipsy
May be drunk or tipsy
At what hour he pleases.
Chorus. We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we scuffle;
We cheat, we drab, we filch, we shuffle.
Don. O sweet! they deserve to be hanged for ravishing of me.
Aur. What will become of me? if I seem fearful now,
Or offer sudden flight, then I betray myself;
I must do neither. [Aside.
Hows-drows.
Sec. Gip. Rumbos stragadelion
Alla piskitch in sows-clows.
Oh, oh!
Don. Piskitch in howse-clout! I shall never keep a good tongue in my head till I get this language.
G. Cap. Umbra fill kevolliden, magro-pye.
Aur. I love your language well, but understand it not.
G. Cap. Hah!
Aur. I am but lately turn’d to your profession;
Yet from my youth I ever lov’d it dearly,
But never could attain to’t: steal I can,
It was a thing I ever was brought up to;
My father was a miller, and my mother
A tailor’s widow.
Don. She’s a thief on both sides.
G. Cap. Give me thy hand; thou art no bastard born,
We have not a more true-bred thief amongst us.
Gipsies. Not any, captain.
Don. I pray, take me into some grace amongst you too; for though I claim no goodness from my parents to help me forward into your society, I had two uncles that were both hanged for robberies, if that will serve your turn, and a brave cut-purse to my cousin-german: if kindred will be taken, I am as near akin to a thief as any of you that had fathers and mothers.
G. Cap. What is it thou requirest, noble cousin?
Don. Cousin? nay, and[934] we be so near akin already, now we are sober, we shall be sworn brothers when we are drunk: the naked truth is, sir, I would be made a gipsy as fast as you could devise.
G. Cap. A gipsy?
Don. Ay, with all the speed you can, sir; the very sight of those stolen hens eggs me forward horribly.
G. Cap. Here’s dainty ducks too, boy.
Don. I see 'em but too well; I would they were all rotten roasted and stuffed with onions.