The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (5 of 10), by Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher.

Fab. How now what's the matter?

Fra. O Sir my Brother! O my dearest Brother!

Clor. This drunken trowgh has kill'd him.

Fab. Kill'd him?

Clor. Yes.
For Heavens sake hang him quickly, he will do
Ev'ry day such a murder else, there is nothing
But a strong Gallows that can make him quiet,
I finde it in his nature too late.

Fab. Pray be quiet,
Let me come to him.

Clor. Some go for a Surgeon.

Fra. O what a wretched woman has he made me!
Let me alone good Sir.

Fab. To what a fortune,
Hast thou reserv'd thy life!

Ja. Fabritio.

Fab. Never entreat me, for I will not know thee,
Nor utter one word for thee, unless it be
To have thee hang'd; for Heaven sake be more temperate.

Jac. I have a sword still, and I am a villain.

Clor. &c. Hold, hold, hold.

Jac. Ha?

Clor. Away with him for Heavens sake
He's too desperate for our enduring.

Fab. Come, you shall sleep, come strive not
I'le have it so, here take him to his lodging, and
See him laid before you part. [Exeunt Jac. with Ser.

Serv. We will Sir.

Fred. Ne're wonder, I am living yet, and well,
I thank you Sister for your grief, pray keep it
Till I am fitter for it.

Fab. Do you live Sir?

Fred. Yes, but 'twas time to counterfeit, he was grown
To such a madness in his wine.

Fab. 'Twas well Sir,
You had that good respect unto his temper,
That no worse follow'd.

Fred. If I had stood him, certain one of us must have perish'd.
How now Frank?

Fra. Beshrew my heart I tremble like an aspin.

Clor. Let him come here no more for Heavens sake
Unless he be in chains.

Fra. I would fain see him
After he has slept, Fabritio, but to try
How he will be; chide him, and bring him back.

Clor. You'l never leave till you be worried with him.

Fra. Come Brother, we'l walk in, and laugh a little
To get this Fever off me.

Clor. Hang him squib,
Now could I grind him into priming powder.

Fra. Pray will you leave your fooling?

Fab. Come, all friends.

Fra. Thou art enough to make an age of men so,
Thou art so cross and peevish.

Fab. I will chide him,
And if he be not graceless, make him cry for't.

Clor. I would go a mile (to see him cry) in slippers
He would look so like a whey cheese.

Fra. Would we might see him once more.

Fab. If you dare
Venture a second tryal of his temper
I make no doubt to bring him.

Clor. No, good Frank,
Let him alone, I see his vein lyes only
For falling out at Wakes and Bear-baitings,
That may express him sturdy.

Fab. Now indeed
You are too sharp sweet Sister, for unless
It be this sin, which is enough to drown him,
I mean this sowrness, he's as brave a fellow,
As forward, and as understanding else
As any he that lives.

Fra. I do believe you,
And good Sir when you see him, if we have
Distasted his opinion any way,
Make peace again.

Fab. I will: I'le leave ye Ladies.

Clor. Take heed you had best, h'as sworn to pay you else.

Fab. I warrant you, I have been often threatned.

Clor. When he comes next, I'le have the cough or tooth-ach,
Or something that shall make me keep my chamber,
I love him so well.

Fra. Would you would keep your tongue. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Ang. I cannot keep from this ungodly woman,
This Lelia, whom I know too, yet am caught,
Her looks are nothing like her; would her faults
Were all in Paris print upon her face,
Cum Privilegio, to use 'em still,
I would write an Epistle before it, on the inside of her masque
And dedicate it to the whore of Babylon, with a preface upon
Her nose to the gentle Reader; and they should be to be sold
At the sign of the whores head i'th' pottage pot, in what
Street you please. But all this helps not me;—I
Am made to be thus catch'd, past any redress, with a thing
I contemn too.
I have read Epictetus twice over against the
Desire of these outward things, and still her face runs in
My mind, I went to say my prayers, and they were
So laid out o'th' way, that if I could find any prayers I
Had, I'm no Christian,
This is the door, and the short
Is, I must see her again.— [He knocks.

Maid. Who's there?

Ang. 'Tis I, I would speak with your Mistriss.

Maid. Did she send for you?

Ang. No, what then? I would see her, prethee by thy leave.

Maid. Not by my leave; for she will not see you, but doth hate you, and
Your friend, and doth wish you both hang'd, which being so proper
Men, is great pity, that you are not.

Ang. How's this?

Maid. For your sweet self in particular, who she resolves perswaded your
Friend to neglect her, she deemeth whip-cord the most
Convenient unction for your back and shoulders.

Ang. Let me in, I'le satisfie her.

Ma. And if it shall happen that you are in doubt of these my speeches,
Insomuch that you shall spend more time in arguing at the
Door, I am fully perswaded that my Mistris in person from
Above, will utter her mind more at large by way of
Urine upon your head, that it may sink the more soundly
Into your understanding faculties.

Ang. This is the strangest thing, good pretty soul, why dost thou use me so?
I pray thee let me in sweet-heart.

Maid. Indeed I cannot sweet-heart.

Ang. Thou art a handsom one, and this crosseness do's not become thee.

Maid. Alas I cannot help it.

Ang. Especially to me; thou knowst when I was here, I said I lik'd thee of
All thy Mistriss Servants.

Maid. So did I you, though it be not my fortune to express
It at this present: for truly if you would cry, I cannot
Let you in.

Ang. Pox on her, I must go the down-right way: look you
Here is ten pound for you, let me speak with her.

Maid. I like your gold well, but it is a thing by heaven
I cannot do, she
Will not speak with you, especially at this time, she has affairs.

Ang. This makes her leave her jesting yet, but take it
And let me see her, bring me to a place
Where undiscerned of her self I may
Feed my desiring eyes but half an hour.

Maid. Why faith I think I can, and I will stretch my wits
And body too for gold: if you will swear as you
Are gentle, not to stir, or speak, where you shall
See or hear, now, or hereafter: give me your gold, I'le plant you.

Ang. Why, as I am a Gentleman, I will not.

Maid. Enough, quick, follow me. [Ex. Angelo, and Maid.

S. Why where's this maid, she has much care of her business, Nell?
I think she be sunk;—why Nell—whiew—

Maid within. What's the matter?

Ser. I pray you heartily, come away, oh, come, come, the Gentleman
My Mistris invited, is coming down the street, and the banquet
Not yet brought out?— [They bring in the Banquet.

Lel. within. Nell, Sirrah.

Maid. I come forsooth.

Ser. Now must I walk: when there's any fleshly matters in hand, my
Mistris sends me of a four hours errand: but if I go not
About mine own bodily business as well as she, I am a Turk.

Fa. What, all wide open? 'Tis the way to sin
Doubtless; but I must on; the gates of Hell
Are not more passable than these; how they
Will be to get out, God knows, I must try.
'Tis very strange, if there be any life
Within this house, would it would shew it self.
What's here? a Banquet? and no mouth to eat,
Or bid me do it? this is something like
The entertainment of adventurous Knights
Entring enchanted Castles: For the manner
Though there be nothing dismal to be seen
Amazes me a little; what is meant
By this strange invitation? I will sound
My Daughters meaning e're I speak to her,
If it be possible, for by my voyce— [Musique.
She will discover me! hark, whence is this.

Come hither you that love, and hear me sing
of joyes still growing
Green, fresh, and lusty, as the pride of Spring,
and ever blowing.

Come hither youths that blush, and dare not know
what is desire,
And old men worse than you, that cannot blow
one spark of fire.
And with the power of my enchanting Song,
Boyes shall be able men, and old men young.

Come hither you that hope, and you that cry,
leave off complaining,
Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never dye,
are here remaining.
Come hither fools, and blush, you stay so long
from being blest,
And mad men worse than you, that suffer wrong,
Yet seek no rest.
And in an hour, with my enchanting Song,
You shall be ever pleas'd, and young maids long.

Lel. Sir you are welcom hither, as this kiss
Given with a larger freedom than the use
Of strangers will admit, shall witness to you.
Put the gown on him, in this chair sit down;
Give him his slippers: be not so amaz'd,
Here's to your health, and you shall feel this wine
Stir lively in me, in the dead of night,
Give him some wine; fall to your banquet Sir,
And let us grow in mirth; though I am set
Now thus far off you, yet four glasses hence
I will sit here,
And try, till both our bloods
Shoot up and down to find a passage out,
Then mouth to mouth will we walk up to bed,
And undress one another as we go;
Where both my treasure, body, and my soul
Are your's to be dispos'd of.

Fa. Umh, umh.—Makes signs of his white head & [b]eard.

Lel. You are old,
Is that your meaning? why, you are to me
The greater novelty, all our fresh youth
Are daily offer'd me, though you perform
As you think little, yet you satisfie
My appetite: from your experience
I may learn something in the way of lust
I may be better for. But I can teach
These young ones;
But this day I did refuse
A paire of 'em, Julio, and Angelo,
And told them they were as they were
Raw fools and whelps. [Ang. makes discontented signs.

Maid. Pray God he speak not.

Lel. Why speak you not sweet sir?

Fath. Umh.—

Lel. Peace there, that musique, now Sir speak
To me.

Fath. Umh.— [Points at the Maid.

Lel. Why? would you have her gone? you need not keep
Your freedom in for her; she knows my life
That she might write it;
Think she is a stone.
She is a kind of bawdy Confessor,
And will not utter secrets.

Fath. Umh.— [Points at her again.

Lel. Be gone then, since he needs will have it so,
'Tis all one. [Exit Maid.—Fath. locks the door.
Is all now as you would? come meet me then,
And bring a thousand kisses on thy lips,
And I will rob thee of 'em, and yet leave
Thy lips as wealthy as they were before.

Fath. Yes, all is as I would but thou.

Lel. By Heaven 'tis my Father.— [Starts.

Fath. And I do beseech thee
Leave these unheard of lusts which worse become thee,
Than mocking of thy Father; let thine eyes
Reflect upon thy soul, and there behold
How loathed black it is; and whereas now
Thy face is heavenly fair, but thy mind foul,
Go but into thy Closet, and there cry
Till thou hast spoil'd that face, and thou shalt find
How excellent a change thou wilt have made
For inward beauty.

Lel. Though I know him now
To be my Father, never let me live
If my lust do abate,
I'le take upon me
To have known him all this while.

Fath. Look, dost thou know me?

Lel. I knew ye Sir before.

Fath. What didst thou do?

Lel. Knew you, and so unmov'dly have you born
All the sad crosses that I laid upon you,
With such a noble temper, which indeed
I purposely cast on you, to discern
Your carriage in calamity, and you
Have undergone 'em with that brave contempt,
That I have turn'd the reverence of a child
Into the hot affection of a Lover.
Nor can there on the earth be found but yours
A spirit fit to meet with mine.

Fath. A woman? thou art not sure.

Lel. Look and believe.

Fath. Thou art
Something created to succeed the Devil
When he grows weary of his envious course,
And compassing the World; but I believe thee
Thou didst but mean to try my patience,
And dost so still; but better be advis'd,
And make thy tryal with some other things,
That safelier will admit a dalliance;
And if it should be earnest, understand
How curst thou art, so far from Heaven,
That thou believ'st it not enough to damn alone,
Or with a stranger, but wouldst heap all sins
Unnatural upon this aged head,
And draw thy Father to thy Bed, and Hell.

Lel. You are deceiv'd, Sir, 'tis not against nature
For us to lye together; if you have
An Arrow of the same Tree with your Bow,
Is't more unnatural to shoot it there
Than in another? 'Tis our general nature
To procreate, as fire is to consume,
And it will trouble you to find a stick
The fire will turn from; If't be Natures will
We should not mix, she will discover to us
Some most apparent crossness, as our organs
Will not be fit; which, if we do perceive,
We'll leave, and think it is her pleasure
That we should deal with others.

Fath. The doors are fast, thou shalt not say a Prayer,
'Tis not Heavens will thou shouldst; when this is done
I'll kill my self, that never man may tell me
I got thee.

Lel. I pray you, Sir, help her, for Heavens sake, Sir.

Ang. Hold, Reverend Sir, for honour of your Age.

Fath. Who's that?

Ang. For safety of your Soul, and of the Soul
Of that too-wicked woman yet to dye.

Fath. What art thou? and how cam'st thou to that place?

Ang. I am a man so strangely hither come,
That I have broke an Oath in speaking this,
But I believe 'twas better broke than kept,
And I desire your patience; let me in,
And I protest I will not hinder you
In any act you wish, more than by word,
If so I can perswade you, that I will not
Use violence, I'll throw my Sword down to you;
This house holds none but I, only a maid
Whom I will lock fast in as I come down.

Fath. I do not know thee, but thy tongue doth seem
To be acquainted with the truth so well,
That I will let thee in; throw down thy Sword.

Ang. There 'tis.

Lel. How came he there? I am betray'd to shame,
The fear of sudden death struck me all over
So violently, that I scarce have breath

To speak yet; but I have it in my head,
And out it shall, that (Father) may perhaps
O'r-reach you yet.

Fath. Come, Sir, what is't you say?

Lel. My Angelo, by all the joys of love,
Thou art as welcome as these pliant arms
Twin'd round, and fast about thee, can perswade thee.

Ang. Away.

Lel. I was in such a fright before thou cam'st,
Yond' old mad fellow (it will make thee laugh,
Though it feared me) has talkt so wildly here—
Sirrah, he rush'd in at my doors, and swore
He was my Father, and I think believ'd it;
But that he had a Sword, and threatned me—
I' faith he was good sport, good, thrust him out,
That thou and I may kiss together; wilt thou?

Fath. Are you her Champion? and with these fair words
Got in to rescue her from me? [Offers to run at him.

Ang. Hold, Sir,
I swear I do not harbour such a thought,
I speak it not, for that you have two Swords,
But for 'tis truth.

Lel. Two Swords, my Angelo?
Think this, that thou hast two young brawny arms
And ne'r a Sword, and he has two good Swords,
And ne'r an arm to use 'em; rush upon him,
I could have beaten him with this weak Body,
If I had had the spirit of a man.

Ang. Stand from me, and leave talking, or, by Heaven,
I'll trample thy last damning word out of thee.

Fath. Why do you hinder me then? stand away,
And I will rid her quickly.

Lel. Would I were
Clear of this business, yet I cannot pray.

Ang. Oh, be advis'd, why you were better kill her
If she were good, convey her from this place,
Where none but you, and such as you appoint,
May visit her; where, let her hear of nought
But death and damning, which she hath deserv'd,
Till she be truly, justly sorrowful,
And then lay mercy to her, who does know
But she may mend?

Fath. But whither should I bear her?

Ang. To my house,
'Tis large, and private, I will lend it you.

Fath. I thank you, Sir, and happily it fits
With some design I have: but how shall we
Convey her?

Lel. Will they carry me away?

Fath. For she will scratch and kick, and scream so loud
That people will be drawn to rescue her.

Ang. Why? none can hear her here but her own maid,
Who is as fast as she.

Fath. But in the street?

Ang. Why, we will take 'em both into the Kitchen,
There bind 'em, and then gag 'em, and then throw 'em
Into a Coach I'll bring to the back-door,
And hurry 'em away.

Fath. It shall be so,
I owe you much for this, and I may pay you,
There is your Sword, lay hold upon her quickly,
This way with me, thou disobedient Child,
Why does thy stubborn heart beat at thy breast?
Let it be still, for I will have it search'd
Till I have found a Well of living tears
Within it, that shall spring out of thine eyes,
And flow all o'r thy Body foul'd with sin,
Till it have wash'd it quite without a stain. [They drag her.

Lel. Help, help, ah! ah!
Murther, I shall be murthered, I shall be murthered.

Fath. This helps thee not.

Lel. Basely murthered, basely.

Fath. I warrant you. [Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Lod. This roguey Captain has made fine work with us.

Pis. I would the Devil in a storm would carry him
Home to his Garrison again; I ake all over,
That I am sure of; certainly my Body
Is of a wild-fire, for my head rings backward,
Or else I have a morise in my brains.

Lod. I'll deal no more with Souldiers; well remembred,
Did not the Vision promise to appear
About this time again?

Pis. Yes, here he comes;
He's just on's word.

Fath. O, they be here together,
She's penitent, and by my troth I stagger
Whether (as now she is) either of these
Two fools be worthy of her; yet because
Her youth is prone to fall again, ungovern'd,
And marriage now may stay her, one of 'em;
And Piso, since I understand him abler,
Shall be the man; the other bear the charges,
And willingly, as I will handle it.
I have a Ring here, which he shall believe
Is sent him from a woman I have thought of;
But e're I leave it, I'll have one of his
In pawn worth two on't; for I will not lose
By such a mess of sugar-sops as this is:
I am too old.

Lod. It moves again, let's meet it.

Fath. Now if I be not out, we shall have fine sport,
I am glad I have met you, Sir, so happily,
You do remember me I am sure.

Lod. I do, Sir.

Pis. This is a short præludium to a challenge.

Fa. I have a message, Sir, that much concerns you,
And for your special good; nay, you may hear too.

Pis. What should this fellow mean?

Fath. There is a Lady,
(How the poor thing begins to warm already)
Come to this town, (as yet a stranger here, Sir)
Fair, young, and rich, both in possessions,
And all the graces that make up a Woman,
A Widow, and a vertuous one; it works,
He needs no broth upon't.

Lod. What of her, Sir?

Fath. No more but this; she loves you.

Lod. Loves me?

Fath. Yes,
And with a strong affection, but a fair one,
If ye be wise and thankful ye are made; there's the whole matter.

Lod. I am sure I hear this.

Fath. Here is a Ring, Sir, of no little value;
Which after she had seen you at a window,
She bad me haste, and give it, when she blush'd
Like a blown Rose.

Lod. But pray, Sir, by your leave—Methinks
your years should promise no ill meaning.

Fath. I am no Bawd, nor Cheater, nor a Courser
Of broken-winded women; if you fear me,
I'll take my leave, and let my Lady use
A fellow of more form; an honester
I am sure she cannot.

Lod. Stay, you have confirm'd me,
Yet let me feel; you are in health?

Fath. I hope so,
My water's well enough, and my pulse.

Lod. Then
All may be excellent; pray pardon me,
For I am like a Boy that had found money,
Afraid I dream still.

Pis. Sir, what kind of woman?
Of what proportion is your Lady?

Lod. I.

Fath. I'll tell you presently her very Picture,
Do you know a woman in this town they call
(Stay, yes, it is so) Leila?

Piso. Not by sight.

Fath. Nor you, Sir?

Lod. Neither.

Fath. These are precious Rogues
To rail upon a woman they never saw;
So they would use their Kindred.

Pis. We have heard though
She is very fair and goodly.

Fath. Such another,
Just of the same Complexion, making, speech,
But a thought sweeter is my Lady.

Lod. Then
She must be excellent indeed.

Fath. Indeed she is,
And you will find it so; you do believe me?

Lod. Yes marry do I, and I am so alter'd—

Fath. Your happiness will alter any man:
Do not delay the time, Sir; at a house
Where Don Valasco lay, the Spanish Seignior
(Which now is Seignior Angelo's) she is.

Lod. I know it.

[Fath.] But before you shew your self,
Let it be night by all means, willingly
By day she would not have such Gallants seen
Repair unto her, 'tis her modesty.

Lod. I'll go and fit my self.

Fath. Do, and be sure
You send provision in, in full abundance,
Fit for the Marriage; for this night I know
She will be yours, Sir, have you never a token
Of worth to send her back again? you must,
She will expect it.

Lod. Yes, pray give her this.
And with it all I have; I am made for ever. [Exit Lod.

Pis. Well, thou hast fools luck; should I live as long
As an old Oak, and say my prayers hourly,
I should not be the better of a penny;
I think the Devil be my ghostly father;
Upon my conscience I am full as handsome,
I am sure I have more wit, and more performance,
Which is a pretty matter.

Fath. Do you think, Sir,
That your friend, Seignior Piso, will be constant
Unto my Lady? you should know him well.

Piso. Who? Seignior Piso?

Fath. Yes, the Gentleman.

Piso. Why, you are wide, Sir.

Fath. Is not his name Piso?

Piso. No, mine is Piso.

Fath. How?

Piso. 'Tis indeed, Sir,
And his is Lodowick.

Fath. Then I am undone, Sir,
For I was sent at first to Piso; what a Rascal
Was I, so ignorantly to mistake you?

Piso. Peace,
There is no harm done yet.

Fath. Now 'tis too late,
I know my errour;
At turning of a Street,
For you were then upon the right hand of him,
You chang'd your places suddenly; where I
(Like a cross block-head) lost my memory;
What shall I do? my Lady utterly
Will put me from her favour.

Piso. Never fear it,
I'll be thy guard I warrant thee; O, O,
Am I at length reputed? for the Ring,
I'll fetch it back with a light vengeance from him;
H'ad better keep tame Devils than that Ring;
Art thou not Steward?

Fath. No.

Pis. Thou shalt be shortly.

Fath. Lord, how he takes it!

Piso. I'll go shift me streight;
Art t' sure [it] was to Piso?

Fath. O, too sure, Sir.

Piso. I'll mount thee if I live for't,
Give me patience, heav'n, to bear this blessing I beseech thee;
I am but man, I prithee break my head
To make me understand I am sensible.

Fath. Lend me your Dagger, and I will, Sir.

Piso. No.
I believe now like a good Christian.

Fath. Good Sir, make hast; I dare not go without ye
Since I have so mistaken.

Piso. 'Tis no matter,
Meet me within this half hour at St. Marg'rets.
Well, go thy ways, old Lad, thou hast the trick on't.