Part 19
O perjurous woman! Sh’ad took the innocence of sleep upon her At my approach, and would not see me come; As if sh’ad lain there like a harmless soul, And never dream’d of mischief. What’s all this now? I feel no ease; the burden’s not yet off So long as the abuse sticks in my knowledge. O, ’tis a pain of hell to know one’s shame! Had it been hid and done, 't had been done happy, For he that’s ignorant lives long and merry. FRAN. I shall know all now. [_Aside._]—Brother! ANT. Come down quickly, For I must kill thee too. FRAN. Me? ANT. Stay not long: If thou desir’st to die with little pain, Make haste I’d wish thee, and come willingly; If I be forc’d to come, I shall be cruel Above a man to thee. FRAN. Why, sir!—my brother!—— ANT. Talk to thy soul, if thou wilt talk at all; To me thou’rt lost for ever. FRAN. This is fearful in you: Beyond all reason, brother, would you thus Reward me for my care and truth shewn to you? ANT. A curse upon 'em both, and thee for company! ’Tis that too diligent, thankless care of thine Makes me a murderer, and that ruinous[560] truth That lights me to the knowledge of my shame. Hadst thou been secret, then had I been happy, And had a hope, like man, of joys to come: Now here I stand a stain to my creation; And, which is heavier than all torments to me, The understanding of this base adultery; And that thou toldst me first, which thou deserv’st Death worthily for. FRAN. If that be the worst, hold, sir, Hold, brother; I can ease your knowledge[561] straight, By my soul’s hopes, I can! there’s no such thing. ANT. How? FRAN. Bless me but with life, I’ll tell you all: Your bed was never wrong’d. ANT. What? never wrong’d? FRAN. I ask but mercy as I deal with truth now: 'Twas only my deceit, my plot, and cunning, To bring disgrace upon her; by that means To keep mine own hid, which none knew but she: To speak troth, I had a child by Aberzanes, sir. ANT. How? Aberzanes? FRAN. And my mother’s letter Was counterfeited, to get time and place For my delivery. ANT. O, my wrath’s redoubled! FRAN. At my return she could speak all my folly, And blam’d me, with good counsel. I, for fear It should be made known, thus rewarded her; Wrought you into suspicion without cause, And at your coming rais’d up Gaspar suddenly, Sent him but in before you, by a falsehood, Which to your kindled jealousy I knew Would add enough: what’s now confess’d is true. ANT. The more I hear, the worse it fares with me. I ha’ kill’d 'em now for nothing; yet the shame Follows my blood still. Once more, come down: Look you, my sword goes up. [_Sheathing sword._] Call Hermio to me: Let the new man alone; he’ll wake too soon [_Exit_ FRANCISCA _above_. To find his mistress dead, and lose a service. Already the day breaks upon my guilt;
_Enter_ HERMIO.
I must be brief and sudden.—Hermio. HER. Sir? ANT. Run, knock up Aberzanes speedily; Say I desire his company this morning To yonder horse-race, tell him; that will fetch him: O, hark you, by the way—— [_Whispers._ HER. Yes, sir. ANT. Use speed now, Or I will ne’er use thee more; and, perhaps, I speak in a right hour. My grief o’erflows; I must in private go and vent my woes. [_Exeunt._
ACT V. SCENE I.
_A Hall in_ ANTONIO’S _House_.
_Enter_ ANTONIO[562] _and_ ABERZANES.
ANT. You’re welcome, sir. ABER. I think I’m worthy on’t, For, look you, sir, I come untruss’d,[563] in troth. ANT. The more’s the pity—honester men go to’t— That slaves should ’scape it. What blade have you got there? ABER. Nay, I know not that, sir: I am not acquainted greatly with the blade; I am sure ’tis a good scabbard, and that satisfies me. ANT. ’Tis long enough indeed, if that be good. ABER. I love to wear a long weapon; ’tis a thing commendable. ANT. I pray, draw it, sir. ABER. It is not to be drawn. ANT. Not to be drawn? ABER. I do not care to see’t: to tell you troth, sir, ’tis only a holyday thing, to wear by a man’s side. ANT. Draw it, or I’ll rip thee down from neck to navel, Though there’s small glory in’t. ABER. Are you in earnest, sir? ANT. I’ll tell thee that anon. ABER. Why, what’s the matter, sir? ANT. What a base misery is this in life now! This slave had so much daring courage in him To act a sin would shame whole generations, But hath not so much honest strength about him To draw a sword in way of satisfaction. This shews thy great guilt, that thou dar’st not fight. ABER. Yes, I dare fight, sir, in an honest cause. ANT. Why, come then, slave! thou’st made my sister a whore. ABER. Prove that an honest cause, and I’ll be hang’d. ANT. So many starting holes? can I light no way? Go to, you shall have your wish, all honest play.—Come forth, thou fruitful wickedness, thou seed Of shame and murder! take to thee in wedlock Baseness and cowardice, a fit match for thee!— Come, sir, along with me.
_Enter_ FRANCISCA.
ABER. 'Las, what to do? I am too young to take a wife, in troth. ANT. But old enough to take a strumpet though: You’d fain get all your children beforehand, And marry when you’ve done; that’s a strange course, sir. This woman I bestow on thee: what dost thou say? ABER. I would I had such another to bestow on you, sir! ANT. Uncharitable slave! dog, coward as thou art, To wish a plague so great as thine to any! ABER. To my friend, sir, where I think I may be bold. ANT. Down, and do’t solemnly; contract yourselves With truth and zeal, or ne’er rise up again. I will not have her die i’ th’ state of strumpet, Though she took pride to live one.—Hermio, the wine!
_Enter_ HERMIO _with wine_.
HER. ’Tis here, sir.—Troth, I wonder at some things; But I’ll keep honest. [_Aside._ ANT. So, here’s to you both now, [_They drink._ And to your joys, if’t be your luck to find 'em: I tell you, you must weep hard, if you do. Divide it 'twixt you both; you shall not need A strong bill of divorcement after that, If you mislike your bargain. Go, get in now; Kneel and pray heartily to get forgiveness Of those two souls whose bodies thou hast murder’d.— [_Exeunt_ ABERZANES _and_ FRANCISCA. Spread, subtle poison! Now my shame in her Will die when I die; there’s some comfort yet. I do but think how each man’s punishment Proves still a kind of justice to himself. I was the man that told this innocent gentlewoman, Whom I did falsely wed and falsely kill, That he that was her husband first by contract Was slain i’ th’ field; and he’s known yet to live: So did I cruelly beguile his heart, For which I’m well rewarded; so is Gaspar, Who, to befriend my love, swore fearful oaths He saw the last breath fly from him. I see now ’Tis a thing dreadful t’ abuse holy vows, And falls most weight[il]y. HER. Take comfort, sir; You’re guilty of no death; they’re only hurt, And that not mortally.
_Enter_ GASPARO.
ᚩANT. Thou breath’st untruths. HER. Speak, Gaspar, for me then. GAS. Your unjust rage, sir, Has hurt me without cause. ANT. ’Tis chang’d to grief for’t. How fares my wife? GAS. No doubt, sir, she fares well, For she ne’er felt your fury. The poor sinner That hath this seven year kept herself sound for you, ’Tis your luck to bring her into th’ surgeon’s hands now. ANT. Florida? GAS. She: I know no other, sir; You were ne’er at charge yet but with one light-horse. ANT. Why, where’s your lady? where’s my wife to-night then? GAS. Nay, ask not me, sir; your struck doe within Tells a strange tale of her. ANT. This is unsufferable! Never had man such means to make him mad. O that the poison would but spare my life Till I had found her out! HER. Your wish is granted, sir: Upon the faithfulness of a pitying servant, I gave you none at all; my heart was kinder. Let not conceit abuse you; you’re as healthful, For any drug, as life yet ever found you. ANT. Why, here’s a happiness wipes off mighty sorrows: The benefit of ever-pleasing service Bless thy profession!—
_Enter Lord Governor, attended by Gentlemen._
O my worthy lord, I’ve an ill bargain, never man had worse! The woman that, unworthy, wears your blood To countenance sin in her, your niece, she’s false. GOV. False? ANT. Impudent, adulterous. GOV. You’re too loud, And grow too bold too with her virtuous meekness.
_Enter_ FLORIDA. Who dare accuse her? FLO. Here’s one dare and can. She lies this night with Celio, her own servant; The place, Fernando’s house. GOV. Thou dost amaze us. ANT. Why, here’s but lust translated from one baseness Into another: here I thought t’ have caught 'em, But lighted wrong, by false intelligence, And made me hurt the innocent. But now I’ll make my revenge dreadfuller than a tempest; An army should not stop me, or a sea Divide 'em from my revenge. [_Exit._ GOV. I’ll not speak To have her spar’d, if she be base and guilty: If otherwise, heaven will not see her wrong’d, I need not take care for her. Let that woman Be carefully look’d to, both for health and sureness.— It is not that mistaken wound thou wear’st Shall be thy privilege. FLO. You cannot torture me Worse than the surgeon does: so long I care not. [_Exit with_ GASPARO _and a Gentleman_.
GOV. If she be[564] adulterous, I will never trust Virtues in women; they’re but veils for lust. [_Exit with Gentlemen._ HER. To what a lasting ruin mischief runs! I had thought I’d well and happily ended all, In keeping back the poison; and new rage now Spreads a worse venom. My poor lady grieves me: ’Tis strange to me that her sweet-seeming virtues Should be so meanly overtook with Celio, A servant: ’tis not possible.
_Enter_ ISABELLA _and_ SEBASTIAN.
ISA. Good morrow, Hermio: My sister stirring yet? HER. How? stirring, forsooth! Here has been simple stirring. Are you not hurt, madam? Pray, speak; we have a surgeon ready. ISA. How? a surgeon! HER. Hath been at work these five hours. ISA. How he talks! HER. Did you not meet my master? ISA. How, your master? Why, came he home to-night? HER. Then know you nothing, madam? Please you but walk in, you shall hear strange business. ISA. I’m much beholding[565] to your truth now, am I not? You’ve serv’d me fair; my credit’s stain’d for ever! [_Exit with_ HERMIO. SEB. This is the wicked’st fortune that e’er blew: We’re both undone, for nothing: there’s no way Flatters recovery now, the thing’s so gross: Her disgrace grieves me more than a life’s loss. [_Exit._
SCENE II.
_The Abode of_ HECATE: _a caldron in the centre_.
_Enter Duchess_, HECATE, _and_ FIRESTONE.
HEC. What death is’t you desire for Almachildes? DUCH. A sudden and a subtle. HEC. Then I’ve fitted you. Here lie the gifts of both; sudden and subtle: His picture made in wax, and gently molten By a blue fire kindled with dead men’s eyes, Will waste him by degrees. DUCH. In what time, prithee? HEC. Perhaps in a moon’s progress. DUCH. What, a month? Out upon pictures, if they be so tedious! Give me things with some life. HEC. Then seek no farther. DUCH. This must be done with speed, despatch’d this night, If it may possible. HEC. I have it for you; Here’s that will do’t: stay but perfection’s time, And that’s not five hours hence. DUCH. Canst thou do this? HEC. Can I! DUCH. I mean, so closely. HEC. So closely do you mean too! DUCH. So artfully, so cunningly. HEC. Worse and worse; doubts and incredulities! They make me mad. Let scrupulous creatures know _Cum volui,[566] ripis ipsis mirantibus, amnes In fontes rediere suos; concussaque sisto, Stantia concutio cantu freta; nubila pello, Nubilaque induco; ventos abigoque vocoque; Vipereas rumpo verbis et carmine fauces; Et silvas moveo; jubeoque tremiscere montes, Et mugire solum, manesque exire sepulchris. Te [quo]que, luna, traho._ Can you doubt me then, daughter, That can make mountains tremble, miles of woods walk, Whole earth’s foundation bellow, and the spirits Of the entomb’d to burst out from their marbles, Nay, draw yond moon to my involv’d designs? FIRE. I know as well as can be when my mother’s mad, and our great cat angry, for one spits French then, and th’ other spits Latin. [_Aside._ DUCH. I did not doubt you, mother. HEC. No! what did you? My power’s so firm, it is not to be question’d. DUCH. Forgive what’s past: and now I know th’ offensiveness That vexes art, I’ll shun th’ occasion ever. HEC. Leave all to me and my five sisters, daughter: It shall be convey’d in at howlet-time; Take you no care: my spirits know their moments; Raven or screech-owl never fly by th’ door But they call in—I thank 'em—and they lose not by’t; I give 'em barley soak’d in infants’ blood; They shall have _semina cum sanguine_, Their gorge cramm’d full, if they come once to our house; We are no niggard. [_Exit Duchess._ FIRE. They fare but too well when they come hither; they eat up as much t’other night as would have made me a good conscionable pudding. HEC. Give me some lizard’s-brain; quickly, Firestone.
[FIRESTONE _brings the different ingredients for the charm, as_ HECATE _calls for them_. Where’s grannam Stadlin, and all the rest o’ th’ sisters? FIRE. All at hand, forsooth.
_Enter_ STADLIN, HOPPO, _and other Witches_. HEC. Give me marmaritin, some bear-breech: when?[567]
FIRE. Here’s bear-breech and lizard’s-brain, forsooth. HEC. Into the vessel; And fetch three ounces of the red-hair’d girl I kill’d last midnight. FIRE. Whereabouts, sweet mother? HEC. Hip; hip or flank. Where is the acopus?[568] FIRE. You shall have acopus, forsooth. HEC. Stir, stir about, whilst I begin the charm. Black spirits[569] and white, red spirits and gray, Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may! Titty, Tiffin, Keep it stiff in; Firedrake, Puckey, Make it lucky; Liard, Robin, You must bob in. Round, around, around, about, about! All ill come running in, all good keep out! FIRST WITCH. Here’s the blood of a bat. HEC. Put in that, O, put in that! SEC. WITCH. Here’s libbard’s-bane. HEC. Put in again![570] FIRST WITCH. The juice of toad, the oil of adder. SEC. WITCH. Those will make the younker madder. HEC. Put in—there’s all—and rid the stench. FIRE. Nay, here’s three ounces of the red-hair’d wench. ALL THE WITCHES. Round, around, around, &c. HEC. So, so, enough: into the vessel with it. There, 't hath the true perfection. I’m so light At any mischief! there’s no villany But is a tune, methinks. FIRE. A tune? ’tis to the tune of damnation then, I warrant you, and that song hath a villanous burthen. [_Aside._
HEC. Come, my sweet sisters; let the air[571] strike our tune, Whilst we shew reverence to yond peeping moon. [_They dance the Witches’ Dance, and exeunt._
SCENE III.
_An Apartment in the House of the Lord Governor._
_Enter Lord Governor_, ISABELLA, FLORIDA, SEBASTIAN, GASPARO, _and Servants_.[572]
ISA. My lord, I’ve given you nothing but the truth Of a most plain and innocent intent. My wrongs being so apparent in this woman— A creature that robs wedlock of all comfort, Where’er she fastens—I could do no less But seek means privately to shame his folly. No farther reach’d my malice; and it glads me That none but my base injurer is found To be my false accuser. GOV. This is strange, That he should give the wrongs, yet seek revenge.— But, sirrah, you; you are accus’d here doubly: First, by your lady, for a false intelligence That caus’d her absence, which much hurts her name, Though her intents were blameless; next, by this woman, For an adulterous design and plot Practis’d between you to entrap her honour, Whilst she, for her hire, should enjoy her husband. Your answer. SEB. Part of this is truth, my lord, To which I’m guilty in a rash intent, But clear in act; and she most clear in both, Not sanctity more spotless.
_Enter_ HERMIO.
HER. O my lord! GOV. What news breaks there? HER. Of strange destruction: Here stands the lady that within this hour Was made a widow. GOV. How?[573] HER. Your niece, my lord. A fearful, unexpected accident Brought death to meet his fury: for my lord Entering Fernando’s house, like a rais’d tempest, Which nothing heeds but its own violent rage, Blinded with wrath and jealousy, which scorn guides, From a false trap-door fell into a depth Exceeds a temple’s height, which takes into it Part of the dungeon that falls threescore fathom Under the castle. GOV. O you seed of lust, Wrongs and revenges wrongful, with what terrors You do present yourselves to wretched man When his soul least expects you! ISA. I forgive him All his wrongs now, and sign it with my pity. FLO. O my sweet servant! [_Swoons._ GOV. Look to yond light mistress. GAS. She’s in a swoon, my lord. GOV. Convey her hence: It is a sight would grieve a modest eye To see a strumpet’s soul sink into passion[574] For him that was the husband of another.— [_Servants remove_ FLORIDA. Yet all this clears not you. SEB. Thanks to heaven That I am now of age to clear myself then. [_Discovers himself._ GOV. Sebastian! SEB. The same, much wronged, sir. ISA. Am I certain Of what mine eye takes joy to look upon? SEB. Your service cannot alter me from knowledge; I am your servant ever. GOV. Welcome to life, sir.— Gaspar, thou swor’st his death. GAS. I did indeed, my lord, And have been since well paid for’t: one forsworn mouth Hath got me two or three more here. SEB. I was dead, sir, Both to my joys and all men’s understanding, Till this my hour of life; for ’twas my fortune To make the first of my return to Urbin A witness to that marriage; since which time I’ve walk’d beneath myself, and all my comforts Like one on earth whose joys are laid above: And though it had been offence small in me T’ enjoy mine own, I left her pure and free. GOV. The greater and more sacred is thy blessing; For where heaven’s bounty holy ground-work finds, ’Tis like a sea, encompassing chaste minds. HER. The duchess comes, my lord.
_Enter Duchess and_ AMORETTA.
GOV. Be you then all witnesses Of an intent most horrid. DUCH. One poor night, Ever Almachildes now.[575] Better his meaner fortunes wept than ours, That took the true height of a princess’ spirit To match unto their greatness. Such lives as his Were only made to break the force of fate Ere it came at us, and receive the venom. ’Tis but a usual friendship for a mistress To lose some forty years’ life in hopeful time, And hazard an eternal soul for ever: As young as he has done['t], and more desertful. [_Aside._ GOV. Madam. DUCH. My lord? GOV. This is the hour that I’ve so long desir’d; The tumult’s full appeas’d; now may we both Exchange embraces with a fortunate arm, And practise to make love-knots, thus. [_A curtain is drawn, and the Duke discovered on a couch, as if dead._ DUCH. My lord! GOV. Thus, lustful woman and bold murderess, thus. Blessed powers, To make my loyalty and truth so happy! Look thee, thou shame of greatness, stain of honour, Behold thy work, and weep before thy death! If thou be’st blest with sorrow and a conscience, Which is a gift from heaven, and seldom knocks At any murderer’s breast with sounds of comfort, See this thy worthy and unequall’d piece; A fair encouragement for another husband! DUCH. Bestow me upon death, sir; I am guilty, And of a cruelty above my cause: His injury was too low for my revenge. Perform a justice that may light all others To noble actions: life is hateful to me, Beholding my dead lord. Make us an one In death, whom marriage made one of two living, Till cursed fury parted us: my lord, I covet to be like him. GOV. No, my sword Shall never stain the virgin brightness on’t With blood of an adulteress. DUCH. There, my lord, I dare my accusers, and defy the world, Death, shame, and torment: blood I’m guilty of, But not adultery, not the breach of honour. GOV. No?—Come forth, Almachildes! _Enter_ ALMACHILDES. DUCH. Almachildes? Hath time brought him about to save himself By my destruction? I am justly doom’d. GOV. Do you know this woman? ALM. I’ve known her better, sir, than at this time. GOV. But she defies you there. ALM. That’s the common trick of them all. DUCH. Nay, since I’m touch’d so near, before my death then, In right of honour’s innocence, I’m bold To call heaven and my woman here to witness. My lord, let her speak truth, or may she perish! AMO. Then, sir, by all the hopes of a maid’s comfort Either in faithful service or blest marriage, The woman that his blinded folly knew Was only a hir’d strumpet, a professor Of lust and impudence, which here is ready To approve what I have spoken. ALM. A common strumpet? This comes of scarfs: I’ll never more wear An haberdasher’s shop before mine eyes again. GOV. My sword is proud thou’rt lighten’d of that sin: Die then a murderess only! DUKE [_rising and embracing her_]. Live a duchess! Better than ever lov’d, embrac’d, and honour’d. DUCH. My lord! DUKE. Nay, since in honour thou canst justly rise, Vanish all wrongs, thy former practice dies!— I thank thee, Almachildes, for my life, This lord for truth, and heaven for such a wife, Who, though her intent sinn’d, yet she makes amends With grief and honour, virtue’s noblest ends.— What griev’d you then shall never more offend you; Your father’s skull with honour we’ll inter, And give the peace due to the sepulchre: And in all times may this day ever prove A day of triumph, joy, and honest love! [_Exeunt omnes._
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THE WIDOW.
_The Widdow A Comedie. As it was Acted at the private House in Black-Fryers, with great Applause, by His late Majesties Servants._
{ _Ben: Johnson._ } _Written by_ { _John Fletcher._ } _Gent._ { _Tho: Middleton._ }
_Printed by the Originall Copy. London, Printed for Humphrey Moseley and are to be Sold at his Shop, at the Sign of the Princes Arms in St. Pauls Church-yard._ 1652. 4to.
On the title-page of a copy of the 4to, in my possession, “_Ben: Johnson_” and “_John Fletcher_” are drawn through with a pen, and the word “alone” is written, in an old hand, after “_Tho: Middleton_.”
This drama has been reprinted in the various editions of Dodsley’s _Old Plays_ (vol. vi. of the first ed. and vol. xii. of the last two eds.); also in Weber’s edition of Beaumont and Fletcher’s _Works_, vol. xiv.
Malone, by mistake, has stated that “Middleton wrote _The Widow_ with Fletcher and _Massinger_:” _Life of Shakespeare_, p. 434—(_Sh._ by Boswell, vol. ii.)