[182] Not marked in old eds.

[183] Omitted in ed. 1631.

[184] Seemingly, here, a sort of apron.—The word is used in a variety of senses: see Nares’ Glossary.

[185] Properly a military expression, meaning—fear no enemy.

[186] Used with a quibble: (1) reason, (2) raisin.

[187] Old eds. “Count of Arsena;” and so below “to Isabella, Gvido Count of Arsena.”—It was Guido who prepared the masque (see p. 149), and he ought certainly to be one of the masquers; but if we suppose that he is the masquer with whom Isabella falls in love, we are involved at once in wild confusion. Throughout this scene the prefixes are constantly wrong. The masquer who is now called Guido is frequently transformed into Rogero: see p. 157, “The second change, Isabella fals in loue with Rogero” and what follows. Later in the scene Isabella sends her waiting-woman Anna to discover the unknown masquer’s name; and Anna returns with the announcement, “Madam, it was the worthy Count Massino.” In the third scene she sends her page to summon the stranger to her presence. When the page returns with him, the stage-direction is “Enter Count Arsena and a Page.” She flies with her paramour, and the first man to proffer his advice to Roberto is this same Guido, Count of Arsena, who—according to the old copies—is flying with the Countess to Pavia! In iii. 11 the stage-direction is “Enter Count Guido, Isabella,” &c., and presently Isabella addresses her paramour as Rogero. Isabella pretends that she is sick and Guido goes to fetch a doctor: when he returns the stage direction is “Enter Rogero, Anna, and Doctor.” So the changes are rung through several scenes. In iv. 3 Isabella speaks of—
“False Count Guido, treacherous Gniaca,
Counties of Gazia and of rich Massino.”

Gniaca is the Count of Gazia [Gaeta?], and it follows that Guido would be the name of the Count of Massino [Messina?]. But Guido is the Count of Arsena; and it will be intolerable to have another Guido. Throughout I shall give the name Massino to the paramour who elopes with the Countess, and shall prefix “Mass.” to his speeches. Count Arsena will have to be excluded from the masque. It is no fault of mine; the author (or authors) and the old printer must bear the blame.

[188] Old eds.Claridiana, to Abigal; to Isabella, Gvido Count of Arsena; to Thais, Rogero.”

[189] Ed. 1631 “I must.”

[190] i.e., motto.

[191] Shakespeare has a more elaborate quibble:—“And then comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster till he sink into his grave.”—Much Ado, ii. 1. Cinque-pace was the name of a lively dance.

[192] Old eds.Thais.”

[193] Old eds.Abig.

[194] Old eds.Rogero.”

[195] Old eds.when the changers speak.”

[196] To this speech and Rogero’s five following speeches the prefix “Men. ” is given in the old copies.

[197] Omitted in ed. 1631.

[198] Ed. 1631 “Mucaue.”

[199] Old eds.Robert” and “Rob.”

[200] Ed. 1631 “love’s.”

[201] Old eds.Gui.”

[202] Old eds.Rogero.”

[203] Omitted in ed. 1631.

[204] Old eds. “Candidi Ernigos” and “Erignos.”

[205] To Massino’s speeches old eds. give the prefix “Rog.

[206] Old eds. give the prefix “Men. ” here and at l. 184.

[207] Old eds.Mend.

[208] Old eds.Rogero.”

[209] Old eds. “Ile.”

[210] So ed. 1613.—Ed. 1631 “to supreme.”

[211] Omitted in ed. 1631.

[212] Old eds. “smiles.”

[213] Quy. “choice”?

[214] Old eds. “Sweuia.”

SCENE II.

Venice.—A street.

Enter at several doors Abigail and Thais.

Abi. Thais, you’re an early riser. I have that to show will make your hair stand an-end.[215]

Tha. Well, lady, and I have that to show you will bring your courage down. What would you say and I would name a party saw your husband court, kiss, nay, almost go through for the hole?

Abi. How, how? what would I say? nay, by this light! what would I not do? If ever Amazon fought better, or more at the face than I’ll do, let me never be thought a new married wife. Come, unmask her; ’tis some admirable creature, whose beauty you need not paint; I warrant you, ’tis done to your hand.    12

Tha. Would any woman but I be abused to her face? Prithee read the contents. Know’st thou the character?

Abi. ’Tis my husband’s hand, and a love-letter; but for the contents I find none in it. Has the lustful monster, all back and belly, starved me thus? What defect does he see in me? I’ll be sworn, wench, I am of as pliant and yielding a body to him, e’en which way he will—he may turn me as he list himself. What? and dedicate to thee! Ay, marry, here’s a stile so high as a man cannot help a dog o’er it. He was wont to write to me in the city-phrase, My good Abigail. Here’s astonishment of nature, unparallel’d excellency, and most unequal rarity of creation!—three such words will turn any honest woman in the world[216] whore; for a woman is never won till she know not what to answer; and beshrew me if I understand any of these. You are the party, I perceive, and here’s a white sheet, that your husband has promis’d me to do penance in: you must not think to dance the shaking of the sheets[217] alone; though there be not such rare phrases in ’t, ’tis more to the matter: a legible hand, but for the dash or the (he) and (as):[218] short bawdy parentheses as ever you saw, to the purpose; he has not left out a prick, I warrant you, wherein he has promis’d to do me any good; but the law’s in mine own hand.    36

Tha. I ever thought by his red beard he would prove a Judas;[219] here am I bought and sold; he makes much of me indeed. Well, wench, we were best wisely in time seek for prevention; I should be loath to take drink and die on ’t, as I am afraid I shall, that he will lie with thee.

Abi. To be short, sweetheart, I’ll be true to thee, though a liar to my husband. I have signed your husband’s bill like a woodcock, as he is held; persuaded him (since naught but my love can assuage his violent passions) he should enjoy, like a private friend, the pleasures of my bed. I told him my husband was to go to Maurano to-day, to renew a farm he has; and in the meantime he might be tenant at will to use mine. This false fire has so took with him, that he’s ravish’d afore he come. I have had stones on him all red. Dost know this?

Tha. Ay, too well; it blushes, for his master.    53

[Points to the ring.

Abi. Now my husband will be hawking about thee anon, and thou canst meet him closely.

Tha. By my faith, I would be loth in the dark, and he knew me.

Abi. I mean thus: the same occasion will serve him too; they are birds of a feather, and will fly together, I warrant thee, wench; appoint him to come; say that thy husband’s gone for Maurano, and tell me anon if thou madest not his heart-blood spring for joy in his face.    62

Tha. I conceive you not all this while.

Abi. Then th’ art a barren woman, and no marvel if thy husband love thee not. The hour for both to come is six—a dark time fit for purblind lovers; and with cleanly conveyance by the nigglers our maids, they shall be translated into our bed-chambers. Your husband into mine, and mine into yours.

Tha. But you mean they shall come in at the backdoors?    71

Abi. Who? our husbands? nay, an’ they come not in at the fore-doors there will be no pleasure in ’t. But we two will climb over our garden-pales, and come in that way (the chastest that are in Venice will stray for a good turn), and thus wittily will we be stowed—you into my house to your husband, and I into your house to my husband; and I warrant thee before a month come to an end, they’ll crack louder of this night’s lodging than the bedsteads.    80

Tha. All is if our maids keep secret.

Abi. Mine is a maid I’ll be sworn; she has kept her secrets hitherto.

Tha. Troth, and I never had any sea-captain boarded in my house.

Abi. Go to, then; and the better to avoid suspicion, thus we must insist: they must come up darkling, recreate themselves with their delight an hour or two, and after a million kisses or so—    89

Tha. But is my husband content to come darkling?

Abi. What, not to save mine honour? He that will run through fire, as he has profess’d, will, by the heat of his love, grope in the dark! I warrant him he shall save mine honour.

Tha. I am afraid my voice will discover me.

Abi. Why, then, you’re best say nothing, and take it thus quietly when your husband comes.

Tha. Ay, but you know a woman cannot choose but speak in these cases.

Abi. Bite in your nether-lip, and I warrant you;    100 Or make as if you were whiffing tobacco; Or puich[220] like me. Gods so! I hear thy husband!

[Exit Abigail.

Tha. Farewell, wise woman.

Enter Rogero.[221]

Rog.[222] Now ’gins my vengeance mount high in my lust:
’Tis a rare creature, she’ll do ’t i’faith;
And I am arm’d at all points. A rare whiblin,[223]
To be revenged, and yet gain pleasure in ’t,
One height above revenge! Yet what a slave am I!
Are there not younger brothers enough, but we must
Branch one another? O but mine’s revenge!    110
And who on that does dream
Must be a tyrant ever in extreme.—
O my wife Thais, get my breakfast ready;
I must into the country to my farm I have
Some two miles off, and, as I think,
Shall not come home to-night. Jaques, Jaques?
Get my vessel ready to row me down the river.
Prithee make haste, sweet girl.

[Exit Rogero.[224]

Tha. So, there’s one fool shipp’d away. Are your cross-points discovered? Get your breakfast ready!    120
By this light I’ll tie you to hard fare; I have been too sparing of that you prodigally offer voluntary to another: well, you will be a tame fool hereafter,
The finest light is when we first defraud;
Husband, to-night ’tis I must lie abroad.

[Exit.

[215] “And each particular hair to stand an-end.”—Hamlet, i. 4.

[216] Ed. 1631 “a whore.”

[217] “The shaking of the sheets” was the name of an old dance. It is often used with a quibble (as in the text).

[218] I follow the reading of the old copies.

[219] In tapestry Judas was commonly represented with a red beard.

[220] Puke, simper.

[221] Old eds.Mizaldus.”

[222] Old eds.Miz.

[223] This word is used in a variety of senses: see Nares’ Gloss. Here the meaning seems to be “device, trick.” We have had the word “quiblin” in this sense: see p. 60.

[224] Old eds.Mizal.

SCENE III.

Venice.Roberto’s house.

Enter Isabella, and a Page with a letter.

Isa. Here, take this letter, bear it to the count.
But, boy, first tell, think’st thou I am in love?

Page. Madam, I cannot tell.

Isa. Canst thou not tell? Dost thou not see my face?
Is not the face the index of the mind?
And canst thou not distinguish love by that?

Page. No, madam.

Isa. Then take this letter and deliver it
Unto the worthy count. No, fie upon him!
Come back: tell me, why shouldst thou think    10
That same’s a love-letter?

Page. I do not think so, madam.

Isa. I know thou dost; for thou dost ever use
To hold the wrong opinion. Tell me true,
Dost thou not think that letter is of love?

Page. If you would have me think so, madam, yes.

Isa. What, dost thou think thy lady is so fond?
Give me the letter; thyself shall see it.
Yet I should tear it in the breaking ope,
And make him lay a wrongful charge on thee,    20
And say thou brokest it open by the way,
And saw what heinous things I charge him with.
But ’tis all one, the letter is not of love;
Therefore deliver it unto himself,
And tell him he’s deceived—I do not love him.
But if he think so, bid him come to me,
And I’ll confute him straight: I’ll show him reasons—
I’ll show him plainly why I cannot love him.
And if he hap to read it in thy hearing,
Or chance to tell thee that the words were sweet,    30
Do not thou then disclose my lewd intent
Under those siren words, and how I mean
To use him when I have him at my will;
For then thou wilt destroy the plot
[225] that’s laid,
And make him fear to yield when I do wish
Only to have him yield; for when I have him,
None but myself shall know how I will use him.
Begone! why stayest thou?—yet return again.

Page. Ay, madam.    39

Isa. Why dost thou come again? I bade thee go.
If I say go, never return again.

[Exit Page.

My blood, like to a troubled ocean,
Cuff’d with the winds, incertain where to rest,
Butts at the utmost shore
[226] of every limb!
My husband’s not the man I would have had.
O my new thoughts to this brave sprightly lord
Was fix’d to [by?] that hid fire lovers feel!
Where was my mind before—that refined judgment
That represents rare objects to our passions?
Or did my lust beguile me of my sense,    50
Making me feast upon such dangerous cates,
For present want, that needs must breed a surfeit?
How was I shipwrack’d? Yet, Isabella, think;
Thy husband is a noble gentleman,
Young, wise, and rich; think what fate follows thee,
And naught but lust doth blind thy worthy love.
I will desist. O no, it may not be.
Even as a headstrong courser bears away
His rider, vainly striving him to stay;
Or as a sudden gale thrusts into sea    60
The haven-touching bark, now near the lea,
So wavering Cupid brings me back amain,[227]
And purple Love resumes his darts again:
Here of themselves, thy shafts come as if shot,
Better than I thy quiver knows ’em not.

Enter Count Massino[228] and the Page.

Page. Madam, the count.

Mass.[229] So fell the Trojan wanderer on the Greek,
And bore away his ravish’d prize to Troy.
For such a beauty, brighter than his Danae,[230]
Jove should (methinks) now come himself again.    70
Lovely Isabella, I confess me mortal—
Not worthy to serve thee in thought, I swear;
Yet shall not this same overflow of favour
Diminish my vow’d duty to your beauty.

Isa. Your love, my lord, I blushingly proclaim it,
Hath power to draw me through a wilderness,
Were ’t armed with furies, as with furious beasts.
Boy, bid our train be ready; we’ll to horse.

[Exit Page.

My lord, I should say something, but I blush;
Courting is not befitting to our sex.    80

Mass. I’ll teach you how to woo. Say you have loved me long,
And tell me that a woman’s feeble tongue
Was never tuned unto a wooing-string;
Yet for my sake you will forget your sex,
And court my love with strain’d immodesty:
Then bid me make you happy with a kiss.

Isa. Sir, though women do not woo, yet for your sake
I am content to leave that civil custom,
And pray you kiss me.

Mass. Now use some unexpected ambages[231]    90
To draw me further into Vulcan’s net.

Isa. You love not me so well as I love you.

Mass. Fair lady, but I do.

Isa. Then show your love.

Mass. Why, in this kiss I show ’t, and in my vowed service
This wooing shall suffice: ’tis easier far
To make the current of a silver brook
Convert his flowing backward to his spring
Than turn a woman wooer. There’s no cause
Can turn the settled course of Nature’s laws.

Isa. My lord, will you pursue the plot?    100

Mass. The letter gives direction here for Pavy.
To horse, to horse! Thus on Eurydice,[232]
With looks regardiant [sic], did the Thracian gaze,
And lost his gift while he desired the sight:
But wiser I, led by more powerful charm,
I’d see the world win thee from out mine arm.

[Exeunt.

[225] Ed. 1631 “plots.”

[226] Old eds. “share.”

[227] Old eds. “againe.”

[228] Old eds.Arsena.”

[229] The prefix to Massino’s speeches in old eds. is “Rog.

[230] Old eds. “Dana.”

[231] Old. eds. “vmbages.” The word ambages (= roundabout statements) is not uncommon. Cf. Spanish Tragedy:—
“Tush, tush, my lord, let go these ambages,
And in plain terms acquaint me with your love.”
—Hazlitt’s Dodsley, v. 30.

[232] Old eds. “once Eridace” (and “Fridace”).

SCENE IV.

Venice.—Courtyard of Robert’s house.

Enter at several doors Claridiana and Guido.

Gui. Zounds! is the hurricano coming? Claridiana, what’s the matter?

[A trampling of horses heard.

Cla. The Countess of Suevia has new taken horse.—
Fly, Phœbus, fly, the hour is six o’clock.!

Gui. Whither is she gone, signior?

Cla. Even as Jove went to meet his Semele—
To the devil, I think.

Gui. You know not wherefore?

Cla. To say sooth. I do not.—
So in immortal wise shall I arrive——

Gui. At the gallows. What, in a passion, signior?    10

Cla. Zounds! do not hold me, sir.—
Beauteous Thais, I am all thine wholly.
The staff is now advancing for the rest,
And when I tilt, Rogero,
[233] ’ware thy crest!

[Exit Claridiana.

Gui. What’s here?
The cap’ring god-head[234] tilting in the air?

Enter Roberto in his night-gown and cap, with
Servants; he kneels down.

Rob. The gods send her remorse,[235] a poor old age,
Eternal woe, and sickness’ lasting rage!

Gui. My lord, you may yet o’ertake ’em.

Rob. Furies supply that place, for I will not! No:    20
She can forsake me when pleasure’s in the full,
Fresh and untired;
What would she on the least barren coldness?
I warrant you she has already got
Her bravoes and her ruffians; the meanest whore
Will have one buckler, but your great ones more.
The shores of Sicil retain not such a monster,
Though to galley-slaves they daily prostitute.
To let the nuptial tapers give light to her new lust!
Who would have thought it? She that could no more
Forsake my company than can the day    31
Forsake the glorious presence of the sun!—
When I was absent then her gallèd eyes
Would have shed April showers, and outwept
The clouds in that same o’er-passionate mood,
When they drowned all the world, yet now forsakes me!
Women, your eyes shed glances like the sun:
Now shines your brightness, now your light is done.
On the sweetest flowers
[236] you shine—’tis but by chance,
And on the basest weed you’ll waste a glance.    40
Your beams, once lost, can never more be found,
Unless we wait until your course run round,
And take you at fifth hand. Since I cannot
Enjoy the noble title of a man,
But after-ages, as our virtues are
Buried whilst we are living, will sound out
My infamy and her degenerate shame,
Yet in my life I’ll smother ’t, if I may,
And like a dead man to the world bequeath
These houses of vanity, mills, and lands.    50
Take what you will, I will not keep, among you, servants:
And welcome some religious monastery.
A true sworn beads-man I’ll hereafter be,
And wake the morning cock with holy prayers.

Ser. Good my lord—noble master—

Rob. Dissuade me not, my will shall be my king;
I thank thee, wife; a fair change thou has given;
I leave thy lust to woo the love of Heaven!    58

[Exit cum servis.

Gui. This is conversion, is ’t not—as good as might have been? He turns[237] religious upon his wife’s turning courtesan. This is just like some of our gallant prodigals, when they have consum’d their patrimonies wrongfully, they turn Capuchins for devotion.

[Exit.