Enter Pirez and Sampayo.
Pir. Is't possible?
Dessandro quit from his command o' th' citadel?
So sharply too? Brushing times, my lord!
Pray, by virtue of what offence?
Samp. It may be treason to ask their wisdoms that;
But the huge mountebank, the vulgar rout,
Quarrel'd with's religion; 'cause 'tis not in the
Smallest print: and the king——was to say nothing.
Pir. Good King! I could wish something;
And heartily, if I durst: Well, from grave hypocrisy
And beardless wisdom, good heaven deliver us!
Nothing in his great father's memory to hold him
Worthy of his place.
Samp. That makes him taste it
To the extremity of sense and anger.
Pir. Let us but slight some gull; or his gay dress,
Whose clothes and folly are his sense of honour;
How will it conjure up his blood, and bend his brow?
And can Dessandro want a just and valiant anger
To feel the merits of so brave a father,
And his own too (kept at a noble height)
Rendered disgraced and sullied? He may believe
H' has deserv'd better, both in himself and father:
But how does his resolution take it?
Samp. As fire and air compress'd when (struggling) they
Break forth in thunders; or the vexed wind, amongst
A grove of trees, spending his scorn and rage.
Pir. Men of his soul and constitution cannot
Play with their passions, and stroke 'em tame,
When so provok'd. The duke!
Enter Duke De Bereo, passing over the stage, De
Castro whispering with him, De Loome, La
Gitterne, and other Attendants.
Duke. Let him be confident of me, in something
More worthy of himself than the command
H' has lost; and bid him use my promise.
De C. We are the creatures
Of your favour; and but own our lives
T' acknowledge it. [Exeunt.
Pir. Here's state embroidery!
But pray'e, what holiday things be they that spread
So in his train? I don't remember I left
Such faces in the court.
Samp. The first of them
Stalks in a knighthood, like a boy
In a Dutch burgher's doublet; and 'tis as much
Too wide for him; he has travell'd, and speaks languages,
As a barber's boy plays o' th' gittern; and those gay clouts, sir,
Came out of's father's shop.
Pir. His remnants.
The other? That looks like the age to come,
Which must be worse than this.
Samp. His fortune and industry
Has preferr'd him to be barber and pimp;
Two men's places, till of late our noblemen,
Growing frugal, do find one may do
Both the employments.
Pir. It is both thriving and genteel.
Samp. Genteel indeed; for they have produc'd knights,
And made statesmen of broken citizens with the help
Of a wife. But he, whose youth and sorrow shows him
Like a fair day, set in a cloudy evening is——
Pir. The Lord de Castro—I know him: and methinks
Some sparks of his father, great Velasco's, character
Shines in this young man through all the darkness
Of his fate.
Samp. That name alone has glory enough
To make him a brave presage to us.
The duke's father's character was deriv'd,
And circled in himself; and a full age
Of men shall rarely show another of
So much great and balanc'd man in't.
Pir. They are all court-fancies; pageants of state:
And want allowance both of brain and soul,
To make their blood and titles weight
Samp. He was strangely
Shuffled to the block.
Pir. That blow did bleed Castile too weak,
And left us in a faint and sickly pang.
Samp. The pulse, sir, of Castile beats in another temper,
Than when you left it.
Pir. I find it: The city wears a cap, and looks
As if all were not right there.
Samp. Except their wives.
Pir. The court, methinks, has strangely chang'd
Complexion too.
Samp. Those that deride us say the clergy
Has catch'd the falling-sickness: the court, a deep
Consumption; and that the commons have the spleen.
Pir. I know not what disease the court has; but the Lords
Look as if they had oversat themselves at play,
And lost odds, so scurvily—
Samp. How does your lordship find
The ladies?
Pir. I ha' not been amongst 'em yet
To take up my arrears: only had the court-happiness
To kiss her hand, who in herself contracts them all
For grace and lustre, the widow-duchess Claudilla.
Samp. Why, there my admiration leaves you; I grant her
A brave and courtly girl; has trim and dazzle,
Enough of white and red, to attract the eye,
Like an indifferent copy, flourish'd with golden trails.
But place your judgment nearer, it retreats,
And cries you mercy for the mistake. At distance,
She is a goodly landskip.
Pir. Alas, her blooming beauties
Yet languish and pine o'er her husband's hearse,
Like roses scatter'd from the morning's brow
Into the day's parch'd lap.
Samp. Their spring will shine again; grow glorious
And fruitful in the arms of her De Flame;
It is my hearty wish to their affections;
That count does bear an honour'd character
From all that know him.
Pir. A brave young man; and one that is more honour
To his title, than it to him. But when
Must their hymeneal tapers flame, and she
Offer her turtle pantings at the altar,
Purpling the morn with blushes, as she goes;
And scatter such bright rays, as the sun may
Dress his beams with for that day's glory?
Samp. After
He has deliver'd his sister to Dessandro's hand,
He will not defer those minutes long; and he thinks himself
Behind in some expression of their friendship,
Until the knot meet there.
Pir. Cleara is a lady
Of a sweet and honour'd fame.
Samp. All other of her sex
Are dull and sullied imitations, pale glimmerings,
Set by her. Whate'er the modest fictions
Of sweet'ned pens has meant, she is their moral.
Pir. You speak like one that knows what virtue is,
And can love it.
Enter De Castro and Dessandro to them.
Des. I thank the duke; he has a right soul.
But, prythee, no more of these sad consolations;
They hang upon my heart like pond'rous weights
At trembling wires; or like the dull labourings
Of that clock, which groan'd out our dear father's
Fatal minute.
De C. I have done.
Des. I could chide this tame and phlegmy vapour
From my blood. Our passions melt into soft
Murmurs, like hollow springs:
The manhood of cold hinds would not be tempted
To this sense, but leap with rage into their eyes;
Brother, it would; and wake 'em into tempests.
A wretched fly would show its spleen.
De C. This anger will but show men, where you bleed,
And keep the wound still green.
Des. The scar will stick for ever.
O, the dark hypocrisy and juggling of our times!
Great men are slaves to slaves; and we are theirs:
The law's a tame wolf cowards and fools
May stroke with giving hands: while he shall
Couchant lie, and wag the tail; but show
His fangs at you and I. A noble wish
Is dangerous: is't not, my lord?
Pir. What, Dessandro?
Des. The vulgar's a kennel of black-mouth'd dogs,
That worry men's deserts and fame: my curse
Fester in their temples!
De C. Prythee, Dessandro, collect these scatter'd thoughts.
Des. I'll hollow them through all the world, and say't
Again. Worth and honour now are crimes, and giants
'Gainst the state. My lords, shall's be merry,
And talk something the hangman may thank
Us for?
Pir. Treason? I vow, Dessandro, I speak the worst
Ex tempore of any man living.
Samp. I could mutter it well enough; but I'm to marry
A city widow, and buy a place at court.
Pir. When I have sold my land, we'll venture on
A merry catch, and ever subscribe your servant,
Noble Dessandro.
Des. I shall find a time and place to pay your lordship
The accompt of my engagements.
De C. Brother, my attendance calls me to the king;
I'll wait upon your lordship, if y'are for the court.
Pir. Your lordship's servant thither. [Exeunt.
Des. So streams divide, and ruffle by their banks.
My brother's of a safe contracted bosom:
Can strangle his labouring rages in their thought;
When they do tug like poisons at my breast,
Until I give them air. But I'll observe,
And creep into men's souls: hug my dear anger
To myself, until it gnaw my entrails through,
That men may court my patience and discourse,
As now they shun it.
And when black night has stretch'd her gloomy limbs,
And laid her head upon some mountain-top,
Bound up in foggy mists, then keep my haunts
By some dull-groaning stream, with screeching owls
And bats; there pay my broken thoughts
Unto thy ghost, Velasco!——
Echo shall wake, and midnight, to help me curse their souls
That thrust thee to thy grave; whilst I will hang
About night's neck, until the moon do wake
To rescue her.
Enter the Duke.
Duke. Dessandro,
You must not be angry my power came short
Of my desires to serve you: we'll try some other way.
You see by what engines the times move;
The king refers all to his council; and though
They do not tie his hands, they hold 'em by a strange
Courtesy. I'm but a single looker-on: perhaps
They may take notice of me for his brother;
That is, when they please, too; but this
Came nearest to me; upon the engagement of my honour
To deny my friend, and one, whose single faith
Had been enough for all the kingdom's safety—
The holding of such a trifle as the citadel.
Des. It has recompens'd me in part to know, where
That close annoy lay which wounded me i' th' dark:
I shall now collect myself against it; and know,
My lord, where my poor life and powers are
To be prostrate. Could I enlarge them to my wish,
They might appear, sir, to your highness' use.
Duke. I know how far you can, bravest man;
Your worth has taken fire here, where I will
Preserve it in a noble flame.
My greatest thirst of fame is my expression
To men of your merit, who cannot want
A friend, whilst I have power to be one:
But I am scanted and weak'ned in my desires,
Else fam'd Velasco had not yet slept in his dust
To please the common hangman; nor men of glorious
Parts live shrouded in obscure homes, like
Pamphlets out of date.
Des. You are the patron of our honoured actions,
And all their glory meets and circles in
Your fame.
Duke. I will disengage you from this forc'd compliment:
It keeps me at too great a distance from that
Bosom, where I would lodge a friend, Dessandro:
I must take't unkindly too, that in the scroll
Of all your friends I stand dash'd out, a stranger
To your joys.
Des. My lord!
Duke. But you shall not steal the day so: I'll be
One at the ceremony, though the bride tell me
In a blush, I came unwish'd-for.
Des. 'Tis but the busy voice that, like the nightmare,
Rides men, and can find strange shapes and prodigies
I'th' clouds. I must confess, Cleara has the
Engagement of all her virtues and a brother's on me.
When it concerns me nearer, it must not be a secret
To your highness, to whom all that's deriv'd
To my poor life and fortune is a just debt.
Duke. You know the way unto a friend—if you can think
I have power enough to make me so.
Des. Sir, I was only showed to the world to be talk'd on:
Fortune (I thank her) has given me many knacks
To play with in her mood, but taken 'em away again scurvily,
To tell me I was not born to any real purpose;
And I wish nothing she can give me.
Duke. She will acknowledge her mistake, and put
On her smiles to court your merits.
La Gitterne, is the king come from's sport? [La Gitterne waits.
La G. He dines abroad, my lord.
Duke. Colonel, this day you shall bestow on me:
I owe the Duchess Claudilla a visit;
Make ready straight; we'll spend a dinner-time
There, and the afternoon at tennis. [Exeunt.
A Song.
That done, Claudilla and De Flame discovered
sitting in a rich couch; at each end a lady
waiting.
De F. This does but find our melancholy out,
And cast it in a minute's trance; when one
Soft accent from Claudilla's voice leaves nought
That's earth about me. My soul's in her Elysium,
And every sense immortal, dilated into joys:
Heaven becomes attentive, and the soft winds
Put on their perfum'd wings to hover near those lips.
That blush does show the sparkles of some incensed thought!
My poor expressions rob ye; but I appeal
To this white hand for pardon.
Claud. Sir, my thoughts are all acknowledgments of that delight
I hear and see you with, what dress soe'er you please
To send your courtship in to try 'em;
We have outliv'd those arts and common charms,
And need not seek our hearts in scatter'd flames;
As those, whose lesson yet is at the hand or eye;
Our hearts have read Love's deep divinity
And all his amorous volumes over; we must write
Stories of our love, my lord.
De F. And chaste ones, madam:
How glorious the frontispiece would show
With great Claudilla's name, tried in a true
Love's knot to her De Flame's! Though the
Great distance of your shining attributes both
Of blood and virtue, consider'd in the poverty of mine,
Would draw squint eyes and envy to my stars;
But speak your name great as the example of your
Goodness, and make it worth the imitation
Of all noble minds, that shall but read your love
And sweetness, which (most excellent of your sex)
Condescended unto me, who else had
Languish'd in a heap of ashes.
Claud. My lord, you have found an easy way into
My heart, and won me from myself, ere I
Could call my thoughts [forth] to resistance;
Such strength brought your deserts! But now
I hope, nay, can be confident (best sir), they are
Treasured in a breast, whose virtues will
Preserve them with themselves.
De F. O madam!
Claud. It may be, some discourse that, when first
I entertain'd your love, I had not yet given
The world and my dead husband's earth a full
Accompt of sorrow, or paid his memory
A year's just rent of tears: but I appeal
To my own heart; and you, my lord, can say——
De F. Your heart has been but too severe unto itself;
And I can say I have not seen a beam break
From those eyes, but through dark clouds and showers;
Or like the sun, drench'd in the swelling main;
Nor a look with the least comfort of a smile in't.
Nay, divinest madam, now you do but chide
Heaven in your tears, and cannot raise the dead.
Claud. True, sir.
De F. Tears are but shallow murmurs of our grief.
I envy not his grave a tear, but owe all
Noble mention to't; yet, madam, I did hope
You had discharg'd the smart and cruelty of grief
From your soft breast, and would call your beauties
[Back] to their natural springs.
Look on yourself, rare lady, in this change:
With what high flame and rapture it becomes you:
So breaks the morning forth of a crystal cloud,
And so the sun ascends his glittering chair,
And from his burnish'd locks shakes day about.
The summer puts not on more delights and various
Glory, than shines in bright Claudilla;
And shall the grave exhaust their pride
And youth?
Enter Torguina.
Tor. Madam, the king's brother gives you a visit.
De F. Who's with him?
Tor. The colonel your lordship calls friend.
De F. Dessandro?
Claud. Let's meet 'em, sir. [Exeunt.