Enter the Duke, Duchess, Cleara, De Flame,
Dessandra, Attendants.
Duke. I'm in arrears yet unto your grace.
Claud. A widow's entertainment, sir, you please to honour.
Duke. I wish the hours but short, that bring the night
You are to lose that name in; and then, to what
Length your own desires would spin 'em,
Widow! Madam, there's disconsonancy in
The name, methinks. Claudilla widow!
Duchess, and still widow (like a cypress
Cast o'er a bed of lilies) darkens your other titles:
'Tis a weed in your garden, and will spoil the youth
And beauty it grows nigh: a word of mortality
Or a memento mori to all young ladies,
And a passing-bell to old ones. Indeed, it is
A mere privation; and all widows are in
The state of outlaws, till married again.
Claud. Your highness holds a merry opinion of us
Poor widows.
De F. I say virgins are the ore: widows,
The gold tried and refin'd.
Duke. A fair young lady and widow is
A rich piece of stuff rumpled: an old one's
A blotting-paper a man shall never
Write anything on—she sinks so.
Dessandro, your comment.
De F. Friend, you are dull o' th' sudden.
Cle. He is not well.
Des. Not well, madam.
Duke. Dull! Shall's to tennis? I have some pistolets
Will pay your borrow'd time, Dessandro.
Des. Your pardon, sir: I am unfit to wait on you.
My life hangs in a dew upon me;
And I have drunk poison.
De F. Ha!
A physician with all speed! Dessandro!
Cle. Dear sir!
Des. Cleara! Lend me thy hand: so—
I'm struck upon a rock. [Swoons.
Cle. He's dead; I shall not overtake him.
Duke. Look to the lady.
Claud. He swells like a stopp'd torrent or a teeming cloud;
Have I no servants there? [Carry him off.
De F. What a sudden storm is fallen?
Duke. How fares the lady?
Claud. Madam!
Cle. As you are tender-natur'd, let no hand
Close his eyes but mine: I am come back
Thus far to take my farewell on his cold lip. [De Flame returns.
De F. Sister, let thy warm blood flow back:
Thy Dessandro lives, my girl!
Cle. O, may I not see him?
De F. You shall. [Exeunt.
Duke. Give me leave to make this opportunity happy
On your hand. How! Not vouchsafe it? [Duchess goes off.
What a tyranny shot from her scornful eye!
Where have I lost myself and her?
There's a cross and peevish genius haunts my hopes;
A black and envious cloud; and I must get above it.
Not kiss your hand? Is your blood surfeited? I'll quit
This scorn; indeed I will, coy madam!
Thou, that are lord of my proud horoscope;
Great soul of mysteries, kindle my brain
With thy immortal fires!
That if I fall, my name may rise divine:
So Cæsar's glory set, and so set mine! [Exit.
Enter Silliman, a bottle tied in a riband to his
pocket.
Sil. Brave canary, intelligent canary,
That does refresh our weak and mortal bodies!
I will have thee canonis'd Saint Canary at
My own charge, and call my eldest son
Canary. Yet for a man to love thee at
His own cost is damnable, very damnable;
And I defy it.
And Siss is the blithest lass in our town,
For she sells ale by the pound and the dozen;
Ale! Hang ale!
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. By your worship's leave, I would speak with
Signior Silliman, the Duchess's steward, an't like ye.
Sil. Wou'd you speak with Signior Silliman, an't like ye?
Mes. Please God and your worship, an't like ye.
Sil. In what language wou'd you speak with him, hum?
Mes. Yes, verily, I would speak with him, an't like ye.
Sil. At what posture?
Mes. Marry, from a friend, an't like ye.
Sil. Very good, my friend. Didst ever say thy [Drinks.
Prayers in the canary tongue?
Mes. My prayers, an't like ye? Your worship's dispos'd
To be merry: I have a wife and seven small
Children, an't like ye, to wind and turn as they say,
Simple as your worship sees me here, an't like ye.
Sil. Pox o' wives; I'll not give a gazet for thy wife;
She's tough, and too much powder'd. Fetch me
Thy daughter, thy youngest daughter, sirrah!
If the creature be a virgin, and desirable:
Look ye! there's money to buy her clean linen.
I'll have a bath of rich canary and Venus' milk;
Where we will bathe and swim together, like
So many swans, and then be call'd Signior
Jupiter Sillimano. But is she man's meat?
I have a tender appetite, and can scarcely digest
One in her teens.
Mes. Does your worship think I wou'd be a Judas, an't like ye?
She's as neat a girl, and as tight at her business
As the back of your hand, an't like ye; but heaven
Bless ye, and cry ye mercy, if you be his worship,
Here's a letter from the Lady de Prate, an't like ye.
Sil. The Lady de Prate (mark me, sirrah) is a
Noble lady; we say so—— [Reads a letter.
I never knew what bondage was till now;
I fear the gilded heart you sent me was
Enchanted—(O, O)—I long to see you—
(Hum—hum)—therefore let me have the happiness
To know the place and time—(even so)—as
You love her, that blushes to write this——
Yes, yes, I'll enchant ye! I'll time and place ye!
Surely, there's something more about me, than I can
Perceive. Grant that I may bear my fate
Discreetly! I never knew what bondage was [Reads.
Till now. Well; 'tis heaven's goodness! For what am I,
Silly wretch, to such a lady, as she that writes so
Pitifully unto me? It wou'd overcome e'en a heart
Of flint: Good gentlewoman! [Weeps.
As you love her, that blushes to write this— [Reads.
Hum—yes, yes; she knows I love her: it
Will work—I can't contain my good-nature. [Drinks and weeps.
Enter La Gitterne and De Loome.
De L. Here he is; and stands like a map of
Sundry countries. [Aside.
La G. One wou'd take him for some foreign beast,
And that fellow to show him. How the gander
Ruffles and prunes himself, as if he would
Tread the goose by him!
De L. 'Tis a pure goat!
La G. And will clamber a pyramid in scent of's female.
De L. The wenches swear, he kisses like a giant still;
And will ride his heats as cleanly as a dieted
Gelding. Let's fall in. Signior Silliman!
My best wishes kiss your hand.
La G. Continue me worthy of the title of your servant, sir.
Sil. I am very glad to see you well; and hope you are
In good health and sound, gentlemen.
La G. And when shall's draw cuts again for a
Wench, signior, ha?
Sil. Your pleasure [is] to say so.
De L. The slave's rose-drunk, o' my life.
Sil. Please you to take notice of my worthy friend here.
De L. Your admirer, sir. [Salutes Messenger.
La G. Slave to your sedan, sir.
Mes. God bless the good duchess, and all that love the
King, I say, gentlemen, an't like ye.
De L. Pray, sir, what news abroad, or at court?
Mes. News, quotha! Indeed, sir, the truth is I am a
Shoemaker by my trade; my name is Latchet,
And I work to some ladies in the house here,
Though I say't myself; and yet the times were
Never harder, nor leather dearer.
De L. This winter will make amends;
You shall have horsehides cheap, horsehides dog-cheap.
Latch. Cheap, quotha! Why, sir, I'll tell you, (for you
Look like a very honest gentleman), I am put to
Find a pike myself; and must, the parish swears,
Or lose all the shoes in my shop.
De L. 'Tis very brave! Why, you look like a champion;
And have a face the parish may confide in.
Latch. Fide, quotha! sir; be judge yourself, if ever
You knew the like. I have been at the trade
This forty years, off and on; and those children's
Shoes, I have sold for sixpence or a groat upon some
Occasion, we now sell for twelvepence, as they say.
De L. Then the misery is, you get the more.
Latch. More, quotha! Pray, sir, a word. You are a
Courtier, if I may be so bold. They say we must
All be fain to shut up shop, and mortgage
Our wives to the soldiers. D'ye hear any
Such talk, sir?
De L. Some buzzing: but the blades will not accept 'em
Without special articles and a flock of money and
Plate, to keep the babies they shall beget valiant.
Latch. Valiant, quoth-a! Truly, sir, I'll tell ye,
On the truth of a poor man, my Lady de Prate's foot
Is but of the sixes: and yet we pay five pistoles
A dicker.
Sil. My lady's foot but o' the sixes? you lie, sirrah!
By Saint Hugh! there's never a lady i' th' land has a
Prettier foot and leg; if you ha' not spoil'd 'em
With your calf's-skin, sirrah.
La G. Why, the sixes is a good handsome size for a lady.
Latch. Lady, quotha! my life for her's, there's few ladies
I' the court go more upright, nor pay better:
I'll say that.
Sil. You say that? foh! I scorn to wear an inch
Of leather thy nasty flesh shall handle.
De L. O, your worthy friend, signior; and an elder in's parish;
A pikeman too for the republic. Come, come,
He shall be shoemaker to us all. Canst trust?
Latch. Trust, quotha! My name's Latchet, sir. I
Serv'd eleven years to my vocation, before I
Could be free, and have drunk many a good bowl
Of beer i' th' duchess's cellar since that.
De L. I like a man can answer so punctually
To a thing.
Latch. Thing, quotha! it is our trade, sir.
De L. Spoke like the warden of the company! [Exeunt.
Enter Claudilla, and Dessandro in a
nightgown.
Claud. I am at extremity of wonder.
Des. The story may deserve it, lady; when you shall
Cast your thoughts upon the man it treats on;
The circumstances and progress of my love:
Nay, it may raise your anger higher than your wonder;
And work the modest pantings of your breast
Into a hectic rage. I saw this tempest
Gather'd in a cloud, dismal and black, ready to break
Its womb in storms upon me; and I have cast
My soul on every frown and horror you can arm
Your passion with. I have held conflict with the wilder
Guilt and tremblings of my blood to rescue it; but
Heaven and my angry fate has thrown me grovelling
At your feet; and I want soul to break the charm.
Claud. This is a strange mystery, to betray my virtue
With your own; and I shall sin to hear it.
Des. If pity be a sin, lock up those beauties
From the view of men; or they will damn all the
Eyes that look upon you.
Claud. Has your blood lost all the virtue it should inherit?
And think you by this treacherous siege to take
My honour in? Let me shun you, or you will
Talk me leprous.
Des. Do, madam.
Tear up the wounds your eyes have made——
I'll keep them bleeding sacrifices to your cruelty.
And when cold Death has cast his gloomy shade
O'er this dust, perhaps you may bestow one gentle
Sigh to hallow it: when you shall know
The height of my desires was but to die worthy
Of your pardon, without the ambition of a bolder thought:
And still had scorch'd and smother'd here without
A tongue, only to beg your mercy to my grave.
Claud. Play not yourself into a shame will rūst your brightest
Worths, and hide your dust in curses and black fame:
I now shall think your valour flatter'd, that can
Sink it to such effeminate and lovesick crafts,
For our stale women to mollify the usher with.
Dessandro has a fame, high and active as the voice
It flies on; and could you wander from your
Religious self in such a dream as this?
Cleara's virtue has an interest near your heart,
Should wake you to your first man again.
Des. Cleara still is here in the first sculpture of
Her virtues; and I their honourer.
Claud. No more!——
My grief and shame are passionate, to find
So much bad man got near your heart; and shows
This sick complexion in your honour, more
Tainted than the face of your imposture.——
You have play'd the excellent counterfeit, and your skill
Does make you proud: you cannot blush— [Exit.
Des. She's gone;—
A star shot from her eye, and light'ned through
My blood. I must provide for thunder and
Thy revenge, De Flame, as horrid as thought can
Shape it.
Enter Cleara.
Cle. Sir!
Des. Proud love, I'll meet thee with burning sighs
And bleeding turtles at thy shrine. [Aside.
Cle. This is too bold a hazard for your health,
Which yet sits wan and troubled on your cheek.
Des. Madam!
Cle. Indeed, I'll chide ye. [Aside.
Des. O, cry ye mercy!
Some retired meditations.
Cle. I shall observe 'em;
Let me but leave you with the joy to know
I stand not in the hazard of that frown.
Des. We'll kiss next time.
Cle. Sir!
Des. Or never.
Cle. Ha! d'ye know me?
Des. So well, methinks we should not part so soon:
Our hearts have been more ceremonious, and hung
In panting sighs upon our lips, to bid adieu.
One kiss must now sum up all; and seal their
General release. I know Cleara more constant
To her virtue and brave mind, than to ask heaven
Idle questions. 'Tis fate, not will. [Exit.
Cle. So.
I feel thy marble hand lie here: 'Tis cold, and heavy!
How my poor heart throbs under it, and struggles to
Find air! not one kind sigh lend thee a gale
For yonder haven! It's gone! quite vanish'd!
Beshrew me, it was a most horrible apparition!
I wou'd not see it again
In such a cruel look for all my hopes;
Yet it held me gently by the hand, and left a warm farewell there,
As my Dessandro us'd. As my Dessandro, said I?
O, how fain my hopes would mock my apprehension;
And that my sorrow!——
I'll woo thy pity with my groans, kind earth!
And lay my throbbing breast to thine!
Until I am dissolv'd into a spring,
Whose murmurs shall eternally repeat
This minute's story.
Enter De Flame.
De F. Ha!
Cleara, drown'd in her own tears? Sister! Cleara!
Cle. I had a gentle slumber; and all the world
(Methought) was in a midnight calm.
De F. Dear girl,
Clear up those sad eyes and my cold doubts.
Prythee, tell me, is our Dessandro dead?
Cle. Heaven defend!
De F. No! what then, in all the volumes of black destiny
And nature, can throw you into this posture?
Unkind Cleara, why dost dissemble it? I see him
Breathless on thy cheek, and lost.
De F. My fears did prompt me so. For ever!
There's horror and amazement in the thought.
See, Cleara, my eyes can overtake thee.
Gone at so short a farewell, friend? Death,
Thou art the murderer of all our joys and hopes.
Cle. Sir, Dessandro's well, very well; we parted
Even but now.
De F. What!
Cle. O brother, I have lost a jewel that he gave me;
I shall vex my eyes out.
De F. Beshrew this serious folly; you have vex'd my
Blood into a sullen fit.
Cle. You shall not chide me;
Tell me, didst ever in thy life meet with a grief
That made thy poor heart sick, and did divide
Thy sleeps and hours into groans and sighs?
De F. Never, [I] thank my indifferent fate.
Cle. Nor in the legend of some injur'd maid,
That made thine eye to pause, and with a tear
Bedew it?
De F. I cannot untie riddled knots, Cleara.
Cle. Come, I'll but dry mine eyes, and tell you a story,
That shall deserve a groan. [Exeunt.