Part 15
CATH. Sirrah, when I cry hold your hands, hold, you rogue-catcher, hold.—Bawd, are the French chilblains in your heels, that you can come no faster? are not you, bawd, a whore’s ancient,[453] and must not I follow my colours? MIS. H. O mistress Catherine, you do me wrong to accuse me here as you do, before the right worshipful! I am known for a motherly honest woman, and no bawd. CATH. Marry, foh, honest? burnt at fourteen, seven times whipt, six times carted, nine times ducked, searched by some hundred and fifty constables, and yet you are honest! honest mistress Horseleech! is this world a world to keep bawds and whores honest? how many times hast thou given gentlemen a quart of wine in a gallon pot? how many twelve-penny fees, nay, two-shillings fees, nay, when any ambassadors ha’ been here, how many half-crown fees hast thou taken? how many carriers hast thou bribed for country wenches? how often have I rinced your lungs in _aqua vitæ_?[454] and yet you are honest! DUKE. And what were you the whilst? CATH. Marry, hang you, master slave, who made you an examiner? LOD. Well said! belike this devil spares no man. CATH. What art thou, prithee? BOTS. Nay, what art thou, prithee? CATH. A whore: art thou a thief? BOTS. A thief? no, I defy[455] the calling; I am a soldier, have borne arms in the field, been in many a hot skirmish, yet come off sound. CATH. Sound, with a pox to ye, ye abominable rogue! you a soldier! you in skirmishes! where? amongst pottle-pots in a bawdy-house?—Look, look here, you madam Wormeaten, do not you know him? MIS. H. Lieutenant Bots, where have ye been this many a day? BOTS. Old bawd, do not discredit me, seem not to know me. MIS. H. Not to know ye, master Bots? as long as I have breath I cannot forget thy sweet face. DUKE. Why, do you know him? he says he is a soldier. CATH. He a soldier? a pander, a dog that will lick up sixpence. Do ye hear, you master swine’s-snout, how long is’t since you held the door for me, and cried, To’t again, nobody comes! ye rogue you? LOD. } Ha, ha, ha! you’re smelt out again, Bots. AST., _&c._ } BOTS. Pox ruin her nose for’t! and[456] I be not revenged for this—um, ye bitch! LOD. D'ye hear ye, madam? why does your ladyship swagger thus? you’re very brave,[457] methinks. CATH. Not at your cost, master cod’s-head. Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave? AST. Yes, I am; because good clothes upon a whore’s back is like fair painting upon a rotten wall. CATH. Marry muff,[458] master whoremaster! you come upon me with sentences. BER. By this light has small sense for’t. LOD. O fie, fie, do not vex her! and yet methinks a creature of more scurvy conditions should not know what a good petticoat were. CATH. Marry, come out, you’re so busy about my petticoat, you’ll creep up to my placket,[459] and[460] ye could but attain the honour: but and[460] the outsides offend your rogueships, look o’ the lining, ’tis silk. DUKE. Is’t silk ’tis lined with, then? CATH. Silk? ay, silk, master slave; you would be glad to wipe your nose with the skirt on’t. This ’tis to come among a company of cod’s-heads, that know not how to use a gentlewoman! DUKE. Tell her the duke is here. FIRST MAS. Be modest, Kate, the duke is here. CATH. If the devil were here, I care not.—Set forward, ye rogues, and give attendance according to your places! let bawds and whores be sad, for I’ll sing and[460] the devil were a-dying. [_Exit with_ MISTRESS HORSELEECH _and Beadles_. DUKE. Why before her does the basin ring? FIRST MAS. It is an emblem of their revelling. The whips we use let[461] forth their wanton blood, Making them calm; and, more to calm their pride, Instead of coaches they in carts do ride. Will your grace see more of this bad ware? DUKE. No, shut up shop, we’ll now break up the fair: Yet ere we part—you, sir, that take upon ye The name of soldier, that true name of worth, Which action, not vain boasting, best sets forth, To let you know how far a soldier’s name Stands from your title, and to let you see Soldiers must not be wrong’d where princes be, This be your sentence. LOD. } Defend yourself, Bots! AST., _&c._ } DUKE. First, all the private sufferance that the house Inflicts upon offenders, you, as the basest, Shall undergo it double; after which You shall be whipt, sir, round about the city, Then banish’d from the land. BOTS. Beseech your grace! DUKE. Away with him, see’t done. [_Exit_ BOTS _with Constable_. Panders and whores Are city-plagues, which being kept alive, Nothing that looks like goodness e’er can thrive.— Now, good Orlando, what say you to your bad son-in-law? OR. Marry, this, my lord; he is my son-in-law, and in law will I be his father, for if law can pepper him, he shall be so parboiled, that he shall stink no more i’ th’ nose of the commonwealth. BEL. Be yet more kind and merciful, good father! OR. Dost thou beg for him, thou precious man’s meat, thou? has he not beaten thee, kicked thee, trod on thee? and dost thou fawn on him like his spaniel? has he not pawned thee to thy petticoat, sold thee to thy smock, made ye leap at a crust? yet would’st have me save him? BEL. O yes, good sir! women shall learn of me To love their husbands in greatest misery; Then shew him pity, or you wreck myself. OR. Have ye eaten pigeons, that you’re so kind-hearted to your mate? Nay, you’re a couple of wild bears, I’ll have ye both baited at one stake: but as for this knave,—the gallows is thy due, and the gallows thou shalt have; I’ll have justice of the duke, the law shall have thy life.—What, dost thou hold him? let go his hand: if thou dost not forsake him, a father’s everlasting blessing fall upon both your heads! Away, go, kiss out of my sight; play thou the whore no more, nor thou the thief again, my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so shall my wine, but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die, so thou dost not fly high, take all; Yet, good Matheo, mend.[462] Thus for joy weeps Orlando, and doth end. DUKE. Then hear, Matheo: all[463] your woes are stay’d By your good father-in-law; all your ills Are clear purg’d from you by his working pills.— Come, signor Candido, these green young wits, We see by circumstance, this plot have[464] laid, Still to provoke thy patience, which they find A wall of brass; no armour’s like the mind: Thou’st taught the city patience; now our court Shall be thy sphere, where from thy good report, Rumours this truth unto the world shall sing, A patient man’s a pattern for a king. [_Exeunt omnes._
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THE WITCH.
_A Tragi-Coomodie, called The Witch; Long since acted by His Ma^{ties} Servants at the Black-Friers. Written by Tho. Middleton._
The MS., from which this drama is now given, forms part of Malone’s Collection in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. In 1778 a small impression of _The Witch_ was printed by Isaac Reed, for distribution among his friends: it was intended to exhibit the original text _verbatim et literatim_; but from a collation which was obligingly made for me by the Rev. Stephen Reay, I find that it is not without some errors and omissions.
On the disputed question, whether this drama was composed before or after the appearance of Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_, see the Account of Middleton and his writings.
Some of the incidents in _The Witch_ were suggested by the following passage of Machiavel’s _Florentine History_. “Their [the Lombards’] kingdom descending upon Alboinus a bold and warlike man, they passed the Danube, and encountering Comundus King of the Lepides then possessed of Pannonia, overthrew and slew him. Amongst the captives Alboinus finds Rosamund the daughter of Comundus, and taking her to wife becomes Lord of Pannonia; but out of a brutish fierceness in his nature, he makes a drinking cup of Comundus’s skull, and out of it used to carouse in memory of that victory. Invited now by Narsetes, with whom he had been in league during the Gothick war, he leaves Pannonia to the Huns, who, as we have said, were after the death of Attila returned into their own Countrey, and comes into Italy, which finding so strangely divided, he in an instant possesses himself of Pavia, Milan, Verona, Vicenza, all Tuscany, and the greatest part of Flaminia, at this day called Romania. So that by these great and sudden victories judging himself already Conquerour of Italy, he makes a solemn feast at Verona, and in the heat of wine growing merry, causes Comundus’s skull to be filled full of wine, and would needs have it presented to Queen Rosamund, who sate at table over against him, telling her so loud that all might hear, that in such a time of mirth he would have her drink with her father; those words were as so many darts in the poor ladies bosome, and consulting with revenge, she bethought her self, how Almachildis a noble Lombard, young and valiant, courted one of the Ladies of her bed-chamber; with her she contrives that she should promise Almachildis the kindness of admitting him by night to her chamber; and Almachildis according to her assignation being received into a dark room, lyes with the Queen, whilest he thought he lay with the Lady, who after the fact discovers herself, offering to his choice either the killing of Alboinus and enjoying her and the Crown, or the being made his sacrifice for defiling his bed. Almachildis consents to kill Alboinus; but they seeing afterwards their designs of seizing the kingdom prove unsuccessful, nay rather fearing to be put to death by the Lombards (such love bore they to Alboinus) they fled with all the Royal Treasure to Longinus at Ravenna,” &c. _English translation_, 1674, pp. 17, 18.
See also _Histoires Tragiques_ de Belleforest, 1616, t. iv. Hist. lxxiii.
TO THE
TRULY WORTHY AND GENEROUSLY AFFECTED
THOMAS HOLMES, ESQUIRE.
NOBLE SIR,
As a true testimony of my ready inclination to your service, I have, merely upon a taste of your desire, recovered[465] into my hands, though not without much difficulty, this ignorantly ill-fated labour of mine.
Witches are, _ipso facto_, by the law condemned, and that only, I think, hath made her lie so long in an imprisoned obscurity. For your sake alone she hath thus far conjured herself abroad, and bears no other charms about her but what may tend to your recreation, nor no other spell but to possess you with a belief, that as she, so he that first taught her to enchant, will always be
Your devoted THO. MIDDLETON.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
_Duke._ _Lord Governor of Ravenna._ SEBASTIAN, _contracted to Isabella_. FERNANDO, _his friend_. ANTONIO, _husband to Isabella_. ABERZANES, } _gentlemen_. ALMACHILDES, } GASPARO, } HERMIO, } _servants to Antonio_. FIRESTONE, _Hecate’s son_. _Servants, &c._
_Duchess._ ISABELLA, _wife to Antonio, and niece to the governor_. FRANCISCA, _sister to Antonio_. AMORETTA, _the duchess’s woman_. FLORIDA, _a courtesan_. HECATE, _the chief witch_. STADLIN, } HOPPO, } _witches_. _Other Witches, &c._
Scene, RAVENNA and its neighbourhood.
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THE WITCH.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_An Apartment in the House of the Lord Governor: a banquet set out._
_Enter_ SEBASTIAN _and_ FERNANDO.
SEB. My three years spent in war has now undone My peace for ever. FER. Good, be patient, sir. SEB. She is my wife by contract before heaven And all the angels, sir. FER. I do believe you; But where’s the remedy now? you see she’s gone, Another has possession. SEB. There’s the torment! FER. This day, being the first of your return, Unluckily proves the first too of her fastening. Her uncle, sir, the governor of Ravenna, Holding a good opinion of the bridegroom, As he’s fair-spoken, sir, and wondrous mild—— SEB. There goes the devil in a sheep-skin! FER. With all speed Clapp’d it up suddenly: I cannot think, sure, That the maid over-loves him; though being married, Perhaps, for her own credit, now she intends Performance of an honest, duteous wife. SEB. Sir, I’ve a world of business: question nothing; You will but lose your labour; ’tis not fit For any, hardly mine own secrecy, To know what I intend. I take my leave, sir. I find such strange employments in myself, That unless death pity me and lay me down, I shall not sleep these seven years; that’s the least, sir. [_Exit._ FER. That sorrow’s dangerous can abide no counsel; ’Tis like a wound past cure: wrongs done to love Strike the heart deeply; none can truly judge on’t But the poor sensible sufferer whom it racks With unbelieved pains, which men in health, That enjoy love, not possibly can act, Nay, not so much as think. In troth, I pity him: His sighs drink life-blood in this time of feasting. A banquet towards[466] too! not yet hath riot Play’d out her last scene? at such entertainments still Forgetfulness obeys, and surfeit governs: Here’s marriage sweetly honour’d in gorg’d stomachs And overflowing cups!
_Enter_ GASPARO _and Servant_.
GAS. Where is she, sirrah? SER. Not far off. GAS. Prithee, where? go fetch her hither: I’ll rid him away straight.— [_Exit Servant._ The duke’s[467] now risen, sir. FER. I am a joyful man to hear it, sir, It seems has drunk the less; though I think he That has the least has certainly enough. [_Exit._ GAS. I have observ’d this fellow: all the feast-time He hath not pledg’d one cup, but look’d most wickedly Upon good Malaga; flies to the black-jack still, And sticks to small drink like a water-rat. O, here she comes:
_Enter_ FLORIDA.
Alas, the poor whore weeps! ’Tis not for grace now, all the world must judge; It is for spleen and madness 'gainst this marriage: I do but think how she could beat the vicar now, Scratch the man horribly that gave the woman, The woman worst of all, if she durst do it. [_Aside._ Why, how now, mistress? this weeping needs not; for though My master marry for his reputation, He means to keep you too. FLO. How, sir? GAS. He doth indeed; He swore’t to me last night. Are you so simple, And have been five years traded, as to think One woman would serve him? fie, not an empress! Why, he’ll be sick o’ th’ wife within ten nights, Or never trust my judgment. FLO. Will he, think’st thou? GAS. Will he! FLO. I find thee still so comfortable, Beshrew my heart, if I know[468] how to miss thee: They talk of gentlemen, perfumers, and such things; Give me the kindness of the master’s man In my distress, say I. GAS. ’Tis your great love, forsooth. Please you withdraw yourself to yond private parlour; I’ll send you venison, custard, parsnip-pie; For banqueting stuff, as suckets,[469] jellies, sirups, I will bring in myself. FLO. I’ll take 'em kindly, sir. [_Exit._ GAS. Sh’as your grand strumpet’s complement to a tittle. ’Tis a fair building: it had need; it has Just at this time some one and twenty inmates; But half of 'em are young merchants, they’ll depart shortly; They take but rooms for summer, and away they When’t grows foul weather: marry, then come the termers,[470] And commonly they’re well-booted for all seasons. But peace, no word; the guests are coming in. [_Retires._
_Enter_ ALMACHILDES _and_ AMORETTA.
ALM. The fates have bless’d me; have I met you privately? AM. Why, sir, why, Almachildes!—— ALM. Not a kiss? AM. I’ll call aloud, i’faith. ALM. I’ll stop your mouth. AM. Upon my love to reputation, I’ll tell the duchess once more. ALM. ’Tis the way To make her laugh a little. AM. She’ll not think That you dare use a maid of honour thus. ALM. Amsterdam[471] swallow thee for a puritan, And Geneva cast thee up again! like she that sunk[472] At Charing Cross, and rose again at Queenhithe! AM. Ay, these are the silly fruits of the sweet vine, sir. [_Retires._ ALM. Sweet venery be with thee, and I at the tail Of my wish! I am a little headstrong, and so Are most of the company. I will to the witches. They say they have charms[473] and tricks to make A wench fall backwards, and lead a man herself To a country-house,[474] some mile out of the town, Like a fire-drake. There be such whoreson kind girls And such bawdy witches; and I’ll try conclusions.[475]
_Enter Duke, Duchess, Lord Governor_, ANTONIO, ISABELLA, _and_ FRANCISCA.
DUKE. A banquet[476] yet! why surely, my lord governor, Bacchus could ne’er boast of a day till now, To spread his power, and make his glory known. DUCH. Sir, you’ve done nobly; though in modesty You keep it from us, know, we understand so much, All this day’s cost ’tis your great love bestows, In honour of the bride, your virtuous neice. GOV. In love to goodness and your presence, madam; So understood, ’tis rightly. DUKE. Now will I Have a strange health after all these. GOV. What’s that, my lord? DUKE. A health in a strange cup; and 't shall go round. GOV. Your grace need not doubt that, sir, having seen So many pledg’d already: this fair company Cannot shrink now for one, so it end there. DUKE. It shall, for all ends here: here’s a full period. [_Produces a skull set as a cup._ GOV. A skull, my lord? DUKE. Call it a soldier’s cup, man: Fie, how you fright the women! I have sworn It shall go round, excepting only you, sir, For your late sickness, and the bride herself, Whose health it is. ISA. Marry, I thank heaven for that! DUKE. Our duchess, I know, will pledge us, though the cup Was once her father’s head, which, as a trophy, We’ll keep till death in memory of that conquest. He was the greatest foe our steel e’er strook at, And he was bravely slain: then took we thee Into our bosom’s love: thou mad’st the peace For all thy country, thou, that beauty, did. We’re dearer than a father, are we not? DUCH. Yes, sir, by much. DUKE. And we shall find that straight. ANT. That’s an ill bride-cup for a marriage-day, I do not like the face on’t. GOV. Good my lord, The duchess looks pale: let her not pledge you there. DUKE. Pale? DUCH. Sir, not I. DUKE. See how your lordship fails now; The rose not fresher, nor the sun at rising More comfortably pleasing. DUCH. Sir, to you, The lord of this day’s honour. [_Drinks._ ANT. All first moving From your grace, madam, and the duke’s great favour, Since it must. [_Drinks._ FRAN. This the worst fright that could come To a conceal’d great belly! I’m with child; And this will bring it out, or make me come Some seven weeks sooner than we maidens reckon. [_Aside._ DUCH. Did ever cruel barbarous art match this? Twice have[477] his surfeits brought my father’s memory Thus spitefully and scornfully to mine eyes; And I’ll endure’t no more; ’tis in my heart since: I’ll be reveng’d as far as death can lead one. [_Aside._ ALM. Am I the last man, then? I may deserve To be first one day. [_Drinks._ GOV. Sir, it has gone round now. DUKE. The round?[478] an excellent way to train up soldiers! Where’s bride and bridegroom? ANT. At your happy service. DUKE. A boy to-night, at least; I charge you look to’t, Or I’ll renounce you for industrious subjects. ANT. Your grace speaks like a worthy and tried soldier. GAS. And you’ll do well for one that ne’er toss’d pike, sir. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_The abode of_ HECATE.
_Enter_ HECATE.[479]
HEC. Titty and Tiffin, Suckin and Pidgen, Liard and Robin! white spirits, black spirits, grey spirits, red spirits! devil-toad, devil-ram, devil-cat, and devil-dam! why, Hoppo and Stadlin,[480] Hellwain[481] and Puckle![482] STAD. [_within_] Here, sweating at the vessel. HEC. Boil it well. HOP. [_within_] It gallops now. HEC. Are the flames blue enough? Or shall I use a little seething more? STAD. [_within_] The nips of fairies[483] upon maids’ white hips Are not more perfect azure. HEC. Tend it carefully. Send Stadlin to me with a brazen dish, That I may fall to work upon these serpents, And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour: Why, when?[484]
_Enter_ STADLIN _with a dish_.
STAD. Here’s Stadlin and the dish. HEC. There, take this unbaptised brat;[485] [_Giving the dead body of a child._
Boil it well; preserve the fat: You know ’tis precious to transfer Our 'nointed flesh into the air, In moonlight nights, on steeple-tops, Mountains, and pine-trees, that like pricks or stops Seem to our height; high towers and roofs of princes Like wrinkles in the earth; whole provinces Appear to our sight then even leek[486] A russet mole upon some lady’s cheek. When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing, Dance, kiss, and coll,[487] use every thing: What young man can we wish to pleasure us, But we enjoy him in an incubus? Thou know’st it, Stadlin? STAD. Usually that’s done. HEC. Last night thou got’st the mayor of Whelplie’s[488] son; I knew him by his black cloak lin’d with yellow; I think thou’st spoil’d the youth, he’s but seventeen: I’ll have him the next mounting. Away, in: Go, feed the vessel for the second hour. STAD. Where be the magical herbs? HEC. They’re down his throat;[489] His mouth cramm’d full, his ears and nostrils stuff’d. I thrust in eleoselinum lately, Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot— You may see that, he looks so b[l]ack i’ th’ mouth— Then sium, acorum vulgare too, Pentaphyllon,[490] the blood of a flitter-mouse,[491] Solanum somnificum et oleum. STAD. Then there’s all, Hecate. HEC. Is the heart of wax Stuck full of magic needles? STAD. ’Tis done, Hecate. HEC. And is the farmer’s picture and his wife’s Laid down to th’ fire yet? STAD. They’re a-roasting both too. HEC. Good [_exit_ STADLIN]; then their marrows are a-melting subtly, And three months’ sickness sucks up life in 'em. They denied me often flour, barm, and milk, Goose-grease and tar, when I ne’er hurt their churnings,[492] Their brew-locks, nor their batches, nor forespoke Any of their breedings. Now I’ll be meet[493] with 'em: Seven of their young pigs I’ve bewitch’d already, Of the last litter; Nine ducklings, thirteen goslings, and a hog, Fell lame last Sunday after even-song too; And mark how their sheep prosper, or what sup Each milch-kine gives to th’ pail: I’ll send these snakes Shall milk 'em all Beforehand; the dew-skirted[494] dairy-wenches Shall stroke dry dugs for this, and go home cursing; I’ll mar their sillabubs and swathy feastings[495] Under cows’ bellies with the parish-youths. Where’s Firestone, our son Firestone?
_Enter_ FIRESTONE.
FIRE. Here am I, mother. HEC. Take in this brazen dish full of dear ware: [_Gives dish._