Enter Fat Bishop with a book.
B. Kt.'s Pawn. He’s come now, sir.
F. Bishop. Here’s Taxa Pœnitentiaria, Knight,
The Book of General Pardons, of all prices:
I have been searching for his sin this half hour,
And cannot light upon’t.
B. Knight. That’s strange; let me see’t.
B. Kt.'s Pawn. Wretched that I am! hath my rage done that
There is no precedent of pardon for?
B. Knight. [reads] For wilful murder thirteen pound four shillings
And sixpence,—that’s reasonable cheap,—For killing,
Killing, killing, killing, killing, killing—
Why, here’s nothing but killing, Bishop, on this side.
F. Bishop. Turn the sheet o’er, and you shall find adultery
And other trivial sins.
B. Knight. Adultery? O,
I'm in’t now—[reads] For adultery a couple
Of shillings, and for fornication fivepence,—
Mass,[757] these are two good pennyworths! I cannot
See how a man can mend himself—For lying
With mother, sister, or[758] daughter,—ay, marry, sir,—
Thirty-three pounds three shillings and[759] threepence,—
The sin’s gradation right, paid all in threes too.
F. Bishop. You’ve read the story of that monster, sir,
That got his daughter, sister, and his wife
Of his own mother?
B. Knight. [reads] Simony, nine pound.
F. Bishop. They may thank me for that; it was nineteen
Before I came;
I've mitigated many of the sums.[760]
B. Knight. [reads] Sodomy, sixpence—you should put that sum
Ever on the backside of your book, Bishop.
F. Bishop. There’s few on’s very forward, sir.

B. Knight. What’s here, sir? [reads] Two old precedents of encouragement——

F. Bishop. Ay, those are ancient notes.

B. Knight. [reads] Given, as a gratuity, for the killing of an heretical prince with a poisoned knife, ducats five thousand.[761]

F. Bishop. True, sir; that was paid.

B. Knight. [reads] Promised also to doctor Lopez[762] for poisoning the maiden queen of the White Kingdom, ducats twenty thousand; which said sum was afterwards given as a meritorious alms to the nunnery at Lisbon, having at this present ten thousand pounds more at use in the town-house of Antwerp.

B. Kt.'s Pawn. What’s all this to my conscience, worthy holiness?
I sue for pardon; I've brought money with me.
F. Bishop. You must depart; you see there is no precedent
Of any price or pardon for your fact.
B. Kt.'s Pawn. Most miserable! Are fouler sins remitted,
Killing, nay, wilful murder?
F. Bishop. True, there’s instance:
Were you to kill him, I would pardon you;
There’s precedent for that, and price set down,
But none for gelding.
B. Kt.'s Pawn. I've pick’d out understanding now for ever
Out of that cabalistic bloody riddle:
I'll make away all my estate,[763] and kill him,
And by that act obtain full absolution.
[Aside, and exit.
Enter Black King.
B. King. Why, Bishop, Knight, where’s your removes, your traps?
Stand you now idle in the heat of game?
B. Knight. My life for yours, Black sovereign, the game’s ours;
I have wrought underhand for the White Knight
And his brave Duke, and find ’em coming both.
F. Bishop. Then for their sanctimonious Queen’s surprisal, sir,
In that state-puzzle and distracted hurry,
Trust my arch-subtlety with.
B. King.[764] O eagle pride!
Never was game more hopeful of our side.
[Exeunt B. King and F. Bishop.
B. Knight. If Bishop[765] Bull-beef be not snapt[766] next[767] bout,
As the men stand, I'll never trust art more. [Exit.

SCENE III.

Dumb Show.

Recorders. Enter Black Queen’s Pawn with a taper in her hand; she conducts White Queen’s Pawn, in her night-attire,[768] into one chamber, and then conveys Black Bishop’s Pawn, in his night-habit, into another chamber, and putting out the light, follows him.

SCENE IV.

Field between the two Houses.
Enter White Knight and White Duke.
W. Knight. True, noble Duke, fair virtue’s[769] most endear’d one;
Let us prevent[770] their rank insinuation
With truth of cause and courage, meet their plots
With confident goodness that shall strike’em grovelling.
W. Duke. Sir, all the gins, traps, and alluring snares,
The devil hath been at work since eighty-eight[771] on,
Are laid for the great hope of this game only.
W. Knight. Why, the more noble will truth’s triumph be:
When they have wound about our constant courages
The glittering’st[772] serpent that e’er falsehood fashion’d,
And glorying most in his resplendent poisons,
Just heaven can find a bolt to bruise his head.
W. Duke. Look, would you see destruction lie a-sunning?
Enter Black Knight.
In yonder smile sit[773] blood and treachery basking;
In that perfidious model of face[774]-falsehood
Hell is drawn grinning.
W. Knight. What a pain it is
For truth to feign a little!
B. Knight. O fair Knight,
The rising glory of that House of Candour,
Have I so many protestations lost,
Lost, lost, quite lost? am I not worth your confidence?
I that have vow’d the faculties of soul,
Life, spirit, and brain, to your sweet game of youth,
Your noble, fruitful game? Can you mistrust
Any foul play in me, that have been ever
The most submiss observer of your virtues,
And no way tainted with ambition,
Save only to be thought your[775] first admirer?
How often have I chang’d, for your delight,
The royal presentation of my place
Into a mimic jester, and become,
For your sake and th' expulsion of sad thoughts,
Of a grave state-sire[776] a light son of pastime,
Made three-score years a tomboy, a mere wanton!
I'll tell you what I told a Savoy dame once,
New-wed, high-plump, and lusting for an issue:
Within the year I promis’d her a child,
If she could[777] stride over saint Rumbant’s[778] breeches,
A relique kept at Mechlin: the next morning
One my followers' old hose[779] was convey’d
Into her chamber, where she tried the feat;
By that, and a court-friend, after grew great.
W. Knight. Why, who could be without thee?
B. Knight. I will change
To any shape to please you; and my aim
Hath been to win your love in all this game.
W. Knight. Thou hast it nobly, and we long to see
The Black-House pleasure, state, and dignity.
B. Knight. Of honour you’ll so surfeit and delight,
You’ll ne’er desire again to see the White. [Exeunt.
Enter White Queen.
W. Queen. My love, my hope, my dearest! O, he’s gone,
Ensnar’d, entrapt, surpris’d amongst the Black ones!
I never felt extremity like this:
Thick darkness dwells upon this hour; integrity,
Like one of heaven’s bright luminaries, now
By error’s dullest element interpos’d,
Suffers a black eclipse. I never was
More sick of love than now I am of horror:
I shall be taken; the game’s lost, I'm set upon!—
Enter Fat Bishop.
O, ’tis the turncoat Bishop, having watch’d
Th' advantage of his play, comes now to seize on me!
O, I am hard beset, distrest most miserably!
F. Bishop. ’Tis vain to stir; remove which way you can,
I take you now; this is the time we’ve hop’d for:
Queen, you must down.
W. Queen. No rescue, no deliverance![780]
F. Bishop. The Black King’s blood burns for thy prostitution,
And nothing but die spring of thy chaste virtue
Can cool his inflammation; instantly
Enter White Bishop.
He dies upon a plurisy of luxury,[781]
If he deflower thee not.
W. Queen. O strait of misery!
W. Bishop. And is your holiness his divine procurer?
F. Bishop. The devil’s in’t, I'm taken by a ring-dove!
Where stood this Bishop that I saw him not?
W. Bishop. O,[782] you were so ambitious you look’d o’er me!
You aim’d at no less person than the Queen,
The glory of the game; if she were won,
The way were open to the master-check,
Enter White King.
Which, look you, he and his live[783] to give you;
Honour and virtue guide him in his station!
W. Queen. O my safe sanctuary!
W. King. Let heaven’s blessings
Be mine no longer than I am thy sure one!
The dove’s house is not safer in the rock
Than thou in my firm bosom.
W. Queen. I am blest in’t.
W. King. Is it that lump of rank ingratitude,
Swell’d with the poison of hypocrisy?
Could he be so malicious, hath partaken
Of the sweet fertile blessings of our kingdom?—
Bishop, thou’st done our White House gracious service,
And worthy the fair reverence of thy place.—
For thee, Black holiness, that work’st out thy death
As the blind mole, the properest son of earth,
Who, in the casting his ambitious hills up,
Is often taken and destroy’d i' the midst
Of his advancèd work; ’twere well with thee
If, like that verminous labourer, which thou imitat’st
In hills of pride and malice, when death puts thee up,
The silent grave might prove thy bag for ever;
No deeper pit than that: for thy vain hope
Of the White Knight and his most firm assistant,
Two princely pieces, which I know thy thoughts
Give lost for ever now, my strong assurance
Of their fix’d virtues, could you let in seas
Of populous untruths against that fort,
'Twould burst the proudest billows.
W. Queen. My fear’s past then.
W. King. Fear? you were never[784] guilty of an injury
To goodness, but in that.
W. Queen. It stay’d not with me, sir.
W. King. It was too much if it usurp’d a thought:
Place a strong[785] guard there.
W. Queen. Confidence is set, sir.
W. King. Take that prize hence; go, reverend of men,
Put covetousness into the bag again.
F. Bishop. The bag had need be sound, or’t goes to wrack;
Sin and my weight will make a strong one crack. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Before the Black House.

Loud music.[786] Black Bishop’s Pawn discovered above: enter Black Knight in his litter,[787] as passing in haste over the stage.

B. Knight. Hold, hold!
Is the Black Bishop’s Pawn, the Jesuit,
Planted above for his concise oration?[788]
B. B. Pawn. Ecce triumphantis[789] me fixum Cæsaris arce!
B. Knight. Art there, my holy boy? sirrah, Bishop Tumbrel
Is snapt[790] i' the bag by this time.
B. B. Pawn. Hæretici pereant sic!
B. Knight. All Latin! sure th' oration hath infected him.
Away, away, make haste, they are coming.

Hautboys again.[791] Enter Black King, Black Queen, Black Duke, with Pawns, meeting White Knight and White Duke: Black Bishop’s Pawn from above entertains him[792] with this Latin oration:[793]

B. B. Pawn. Si quid mortalibus unquam oculis hilarem et gratum aperuit diem, si quid peramantibus amicorum animis gaudium attulit peperitve lætitiam, Eques Candidissime, prælucentissime, felicem profecto tuum a Domo Candoris ad Domum Nigritudinis accessum promisisse, peperisse, attulisse fatemur: omnes adventus tui conflagrantissimi, omni qua possumus lætitia, gaudio, congratulatione, acclamatione, animis observantissimis, affectibus devotissimis, obsequiis venerabundis, te sospitem congratulamur!

B. King. Sir, in this short congratulatory speech
You may conceive how the whole House affects you.
B. Knight. The colleges and sanctimonious seed-plots.
W. Knight. ’Tis clear and so acknowledg’d, royal sir.
B. King. What honours, pleasures, rarities, delights,
Your noble thought can think——
B. Queen. Your fair eye fix[794] on,
That’s comprehended in the spacious circuit
Of our Black Kingdom, they’re your servants all.
W. Knight. How amply you endear us!
W. Duke. They are favours
That equally enrich the royal giver,
As the receiver, in the free donation.

[Music. An altar is discovered with tapers unlit, and divers images about it.

B. Knight. Hark, to enlarge your welcome, from all parts
Is heard sweet-sounding airs! abstruse things open
Of voluntary freeness; and yon altar,
The seat of adoration, seems t' adore
The virtues you bring with you.
W. Knight. There’s a taste
Of the old vessel still.
W. Duke. Th' erroneous relish.[795]
Song.
Wonder work some strange delight,
(This place was never yet without),
To welcome the fair[796] White-House Knight,
And to bring our hopes about!
May from the altar flames aspire,
Those tapers set themselves on fire!
May senseless things our joys approve,[797]
And those brazen statues move,
Quicken’d by some power above,
Or what more strange, to shew our love!

[Flames rise from the altar, the tapers take fire, and the images move in a dance.

B. Knight. A happy omen waits upon this hour;
All move portentously the right-hand way.
B. King.[798] Come, let’s set free all the most choice delights,
That ever adorn’d days or quicken’d nights. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Field between the two Houses.
Enter White Queen’s Pawn.
W. Q. Pawn. I see ’twas but a trial of my duty now;
Hath a more[799] modest mind, and in that virtue
Most worthily hath fate provided for me.
Enter Black Bishop’s Pawn in his reverend habit.
Hah! ’tis the bad man in the reverend habit:
Dares he be seen again, traitor to holiness,
O marble-fronted impudence! and knows
How much has wrong’d[800] me? I'm asham’d he blushes not.
B. B. Pawn. Are you yet stor’d with any woman’s pity?
Are you the mistress of so much devotion,
Kindness, and charity, as to bestow
An alms of love on your poor sufferer yet
For your sake only?
W. Q. Pawn. Sir, for the reverend respect you ought
To give to sanctity, though none to me,
In being her servant vow’d and wear her livery,
If I might counsel, you should never speak
The language of unchasteness in that habit;
You would not think how ill it doth with you.
The world’s a stage on which all parts are play’d:
You’d think it most absurd to see a devil
Presented there not in a devil’s shape,
Or, wanting one, to send him out in yours;
You’d rail at that for an absurdity
No college e’er committed. For decorum' sake, then,
For pity’s cause, for sacred virtue’s honour,
If you’ll persist still in your devil’s part,
Present him as you should do, and let one
That carries up the goodness of the play
Come in that habit, and I'll speak with him;
Then will the parts be fitted, and the spectators
Know which is which: they must have cunning judgments[801]
To find it else, for such a one as you
Is able to deceive a mighty audience;
Nay, those you have seduc’d, if there be any
In the assembly, when[802] they see what manner
You play your game with me, they cannot love you.
Is there so little hope of you, to smile, sir?
B. B. Pawn. Yes, at your fears, at th' ignorance of your power,
The little use you make of time, youth, fortune,
Knowing you have a husband for lust’s shelter,
You dare not yet make bold with a friend’s comfort;
This is the plague of weakness.
W. Q. Pawn. So hot burning!
The syllables of sin fly from his lips
As if the letter came new-cast[803] from hell.
B. B. Pawn. Well, setting by[804] the dish you loathe so much,
Which hath been heartily tasted by your betters,
I come to marry you to the gentleman
That last enjoy’d you: I hope that pleases you;
There’s no immodest relish in that office.
W. Q. Pawn. Strange of all men he should first light on him
To tie that holy knot that sought t' undo me!
[Aside.
Were you requested to perform that business, sir?
B. B. Pawn. I name you a sure token.
W. Q. Pawn. As for that, sir,
Now you’re most welcome; and my fair hope’s of you,
You’ll[805] never break the sacred knot you tie once
With any lewd soliciting hereafter.
B. B. Pawn. But all the craft’s in getting of it knit:
You’re all on fire to make your cozening market.
I am the marrier and the man—do you know me?
Do you know me, nice iniquity, strict luxury,[806]
And holy whoredom?—that would clap on marriage
With all hot speed to solder up your game:
See what a scourge fate hath provided for thee!
You were a maid; swear still, you’re no worse now,
I left you as I found you: have I startled you?
I'm quit with you now for my discovery,
Your outcries, and your cunning:[807] farewell, brokage!
W. Q. Pawn. Nay, stay, and hear me but give thanks a little,
If your ear can endure a work so gracious;
Then you may take your pleasure.
B. B. Pawn. I have done that.
W. Q. Pawn. Thou[808] power, that hath preserv’d me from this devil——
B. B. Pawn. How?
W. Q. Pawn. This that may challenge the chief chair in hell,
And sit above his master——
B. B. Pawn. Bring in merit.
W. Q. Pawn. That suffered’st him, through blind lust, to be led
Last night to the action of some common bed——
B. Q. Pawn [within]. Not over-common neither.
B. B. Pawn. Hah, what voice is that?
W. Q. Pawn. Of virgins be thou ever honourèd!—
Now you may go; you hear I've given thanks, sir.
B. B. Pawn. Here’s a strange game! Did not I lie with you?
B. Q. Pawn [within]. No.
B. B. Pawn. What the devil art thou?
W. Q. Pawn. I will not answer you, sir,
After thanksgiving.
B. B. Pawn. Why, you made promise to me
After the contract.
B. Q. Pawn [within]. Yes.
B. B. Pawn. Mischief confound thee!
I speak not to thee—and you were prepar’d for’t,
And set your joys more high——
B. Q. Pawn [within]. Than you could reach, sir.
B. B. Pawn. This is some[809] bawdy Pawn; I'll slit the throat on’t!
Enter Black Queen’s Pawn.
B. Q. Pawn. What, offer violence to your bedfellow?
To one that works so kindly without rape?
B. B. Pawn. My bedfellow?
B. Q. Pawn. Do you plant your scorn against me?
Why, when I was probationer at Brussels,
That engine was not known; then adoration
Fill’d up the place, and wonder was in fashion:
Is’t turn’d to the wild seed of contempt so soon?
Can five years stamp a bawd? pray, look upon me, sir,
I've youth enough to take it: ’tis no longer
Since you were chief agent for the transportation
Of ladies' daughters, if you be remember’d:
Some of their portions I could name; who purs’d ’em too:
They were soon dispossess’d of worldly cares
That came into your fingers.
B. B. Pawn. Shall I hear her?
B. Q. Pawn. Holy derision, yes, till thy ears[810] swell
With thine own venom, thy profane life’s vomit:
Whose niece was she you poison’d, with child twice,
And gave her out possess’d with a foul spirit,
When ’twas indeed your bastard?
B. B. Pawn. I am taken
In mine own toils!
Enter White Queen and White Bishop’s Pawn.
W. B. Pawn. Yes, and ’tis just you should be.
W. Queen.[811] And thou, lewd Pawn, the shame of womanhood!
B. B. Pawn. I'm lost of all hands!
B. Q. Pawn. And I cannot feel
The weight of my perdition; now he’s taken,
'T hath not the burden of a grasshopper.
B. B. Pawn. Thou whore of order, cockatrice[812] in voto!
Enter Black Knight’s Pawn.
B. Kt.'s Pawn. Yon’s the White Bishop’s Pawn;
I'll play at’s heart now.
W. Q. Pawn. How now, black villain! would’st thou heap a murder
On thy first foul offence? O merciless bloodhound,
’Tis time that thou wert taken!
B. Kt.'s Pawn. Death![813] prevented?
W. Q. Pawn. For thy sake and that partner in thy shame,
I'll never know man further than by name. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

In the Black House.

Enter Black King, Black Queen, Black Knight, Black Duke, Black Bishop, White Knight, and White Duke.

W. Knight. You have enrich’d my knowledge, royal[814] sir,
And my content together.
B. King. ’Stead of riot
We set you only welcome: surfeit is
A thing that’s seldom heard of in these parts.
W. Knight. I hear of the more virtue when I miss on’t.
B. Knight. We do not use to bury in our bellies
Two hundred thousand ducats, and then boast on’t;
Or exercise th' old Roman painful idleness
With care of fetching fishes far from home,
The golden-headed coracine out of Egypt,
The salpa from Ebusus,[815] or the pelamis,
Which some call summer-whiting, from Chalcedon,
Salmons from Aquitaine, helops from Rhodes,
Cockles from Chios, frank’d[816] and fatted up
With far and sapa,[817] flour and cocted wine;
We cram no birds, nor, Epicurean[818]-like,
Enclose some creeks o' the sea, as Sergius Orata[819] did,
He that invented the first stews for oysters
And other sea-fish, who, besides the pleasure of his
Own throat, got large revenues by th' invention,
Whose fat example the nobility follow’d;
Nor do we imitate that arch-gormandiser
With two-and-twenty courses at one dinner,
And, betwixt every course, he and his guests
Wash’d and us’d women, then sat down and strengthen’d,
Lust swimming in their dishes, which no sooner
Was tasted but was ready to be vented.
W. Knight. Most impious epicures!
B. Knight. We commend rather,
Of two extremes, the parsimony of Pertinax,
Who had half-lettuces set up to serve again;
Or his successor Julian,[820] that would make
Three meals of a lean hare, and often[821] sup
With a green fig and wipe his beard, as we can.
The old bewailers of excess in those days
Complain’d there was more coin bid for a cook
Than for a war-horse; but now cooks are purchas’d
After the rate of triumphs,[822] and some dishes
After the rate of cooks; which must needs make
Some of your White-House gormandizers, ’specially
Your wealthy plump plebeians, like the hogs
Which Scaliger cites,[823] that could not move for fat,
So insensible of either prick or goad,
That mice made holes to needle[824] in their buttocks,
And they ne’er felt ’em. There was once a ruler,
Cyrene’s governor,[825]] chok’d with his own paunch;
Which death fat Sanctius,[826] king of Castile, fearing,
Through his infinite mass of belly, rather chose
To be kill’d suddenly by a pernicious herb
Taken to make him lean, which old Corduba,
King of Morocco, counsell’d his fear to,
Than he would hazard to be stunk[827] to death,
As that huge cormorant that was chok’d before him.
W. Knight. Well, you’re as sound a spokesman, sir, for parsimony,
Clean abstinence, and scarce one meal a-day,
As ever spake with tongue.
B. King. Censure him mildly, sir;
’Twas but to find discourse.
B. Queen. He’ll raise['t] of any thing.
W. Knight. I shall be half afraid to feed hereafter.
W. Duke. Or I, beshrew my heart, for I fear fatness,
The fog of fatness, as I fear a dragon:
The comeliness I wish for, that’s as glorious.
W. Knight. Your course is wondrous strict: I should transgress, sure,[828]
Were I to change my side, as you’ve much wrought me.
B. Knight. How you misprize! this is not meant to you-ward:
You that are wound up to the height of feeding
By clime and custom, are dispens’d withal;
You may eat kid, cabrito, calf, and tons,[829]
Eat and eat every day, twice, if you please;
Nay, the frank’d[830] hen, fatten’d with milk and corn,
A riot which th' inhabitants of Delos
Were first inventors of, or the cramm’d cockle.
W. Knight. Well, for the food I'm happily resolv’d[831] in;
But for the diet of my disposition,
There comes a trouble; you will hardly find
Food to please that.
B. Knight. It must be a strange nature
We cannot find a dish for, having Policy,
The master-cook of Christendom, to dress it:
Pray, name your nature’s diet.
W. Knight. The first mess
Is hot ambition.
B. Knight. That’s but serv’d in puff-paste;
Alas, the meanest of our cardinals' cooks
Can dress that dinner: your ambition, sir,
Can fetch no further compass than the world?
W. Knight. That’s certain, sir.
B. Knight. We’re about that already;
And in the large feast of our vast ambition
We count but the White Kingdom, whence you come from,
The garden for our cook to pick his salads;
The food’s lean France, larded with Germany;
Before which comes the grave, chaste signiory
Of Venice, serv’d in, capon-like, in white broth;
From our chief oven, Italy, the bake-meats;
Savoy the salt, Geneva the chipt manchet;[832]
Below the salt[833] the Netherlands are plac’d,
A common dish at lower end a' the table,
For meaner pride to fall to: for our second course,
A spit of Portugals serv’d in for plovers;
Indians and Moors for blackbirds: all this while
Holland stands ready-melted to make sauce
On all occasions: when the voider[834] comes,
And with such cheer our full hopes we suffice,
Zealand says grace for fashion; then we rise.
W. Knight. Here’s meat enough, in[835] conscience, for ambition!
B. Knight. If there be any want, there’s Switzerland,
Polonia, and such pickled things will serve
To furnish out the table.
W. Knight. You say well, sir:
But here’s the misery; when I've stopt the mouth
Of one vice, there’s another gapes for food;
I am as covetous as a barren womb,
The grave, or what’s more ravenous.
B. Knight. We’re for you, sir:
Call you that heinous, that’s good husbandry?
Why, we make money of our faith,[836] our prayers;
We make the very deathbed buy her comforts,
Most dearly pay for all her[837] pious counsels,
Leave rich revenues for a few weak orisons,
Or else they pass unreconcil’d without ’em:
Did you but view the vaults within our monasteries,
You’d swear then Plutus, whom[838] the fiction calls
The lord of riches, were entombèd there.[839]
W. Knight. Is’t possible?
B. Duke. You cannot walk for tuns.
W. Duke. But how shall I bestow the vice I bring, sirs?
You quite forget me; I shall be shut out
By your strict key of life.
B. Knight. Is yours so vild,[840] sir?
W. Duke. Some that are pleas’d to make a wanton on’t,
Call it infirmity of blood, flesh-frailty;
But certain there’s a worse name in your books for’t.
B. Knight. The trifle of all vices, the mere innocent,
The very novice of this house of clay,—venery:
If I but hug thee hard, I shew the worst on’t;
’Tis all the fruit we have here after supper;
Nay, at the ruins of a[841] nunnery once,
Six thousand infants' heads found in a fish-pond.
W. Duke. How!
B. Knight. Ay, how? how came they thither, think you?
Huldrick, bishop of Augsburg, in’s Epistle[842]
To Nicholas the first, can tell you how;
May be he was at cleansing of the pond:
I can but smile to think how it would puzzle
All mother-maids that ever liv’d in those parts
To know their own child’s head. But is this all?
B. Duke. Are you ours yet?
W. Knight. One more, and I am silenc’d:
But this that comes now will divide us questionless;
’Tis ten times, ten times worse than the forerunners.
B. Knight. Is it so vild there is no name ordain’d for’t?
Toads have their titles, and creation gave
Serpents and adders those names to be known by.
W. Knight. This of all others bears the hiddenest venom,
The smoothest poison; I'm an arch-dissembler, sir.
B. Knight. How?
W. Knight. ’Tis my nature’s brand; turn from me, sir;
The time is yet to come that e’er I spoke
What my heart meant.
B. Knight. And call you that a vice?—
Avoid all profanation, I beseech you,—
The only prime state-virtue upon earth,
The policy of empires; O, take heed, sir,
For fear it take displeasure and forsake you!
’Tis like a jewel of that precious value,
Whose worth’s not known but to the skilful lapidary;
The instrument that picks ope princes' hearts,
And locks up ours from them, with the same motion:
You never came so near our souls as now.
B. Duke. Now you’re a brother to us.
B. Knight. What we have done
Hath been dissemblance ever.
W. Knight. There you lie then,
And the game’s ours; we give thee check-mate by
Discovery, King, the noblest mate of all!
B. Knight.[843] I'm lost, I'm taken!