Part 33

CAR. Increase of health and a redoubled courage To chastity’s great soldier! what, so sad, madam?— The memory of her seven-years-deceas’d lord Springs yet into her eyes as fresh and full As at the seventh hour after his departure: What a perpetual fountain is her virtue!— [_Aside._ Too much t’ afflict yourself with ancient sorrow Is not so strictly for your strength requir’d; Your vow is charge enough, believe me ’tis, madam, You need no weightier task. DUCH. Religious sir, You heard the last words of my dying lord. CAR. Which I shall ne’er forget. DUCH. May I entreat Your goodness but to speak 'em over to me, As near as memory can befriend your utterance, That I may think awhile I stand in presence Of my departing husband. CAR. What’s your meaning In this, most virtuous madam? DUCH. ’Tis a courtesy I stand in need of, sir, at this time specially; Urge it no further yet; as it proves to me, You shall hear from me; only I desire it Effectually from you, sir, that’s my request. CAR. I wonder, yet I’ll spare to question farther.— [_Aside._ You shall have your desire. DUCH. I thank you, sir; A blessing come along with’t! CAR. _You see, my lords, what all earth’s glory is, Rightly defin’d in me, uncertain breath; A dream of threescore years to the long sleeper, To most not half the time: beware ambition; Heaven is not reach’d with pride, but with submission. And you, lord cardinal, labour to perfect Good purposes begun; be what you seem, Stedfast and uncorrupt; your actions noble, Your goodness simple, without gain[891] or art, And not in vesture holier than in heart. But ’tis a pain, more than the pangs of death, To think that we must part, fellow[892] of life, Thou richness of my joys, kind and dear princess; Death had no sting but for our separation; It would come more calm than an evening’s peace That brings on rest to labours: thou’rt so precious, I should depart in everlasting envy Unto the man that ever should enjoy thee: O, a new torment strikes his force into me When I but think on’t! I am rack’d and torn; Pity me in thy virtues._ DUCH. _My lov’d lord, Let you[r]confirm’d opinion of my life, My love, my faithful love, seal an assurance Of quiet to your spirit, that no forgetfulness Can cast a sleep so deadly on my senses, To draw my affections to a second liking._ CAR. _'T has ever been the[893] promise, and the spring Of my great love to thee. For once to marry Is honourable in woman, and her ignorance Stands for a virtue, coming new and fresh; But second marriage shews desires in flesh; Thence lust, and heat, and common custom grows; But she’s part virgin who but one man knows. I here expect a work of thy great faith At my last parting; I can crave no more, And with thy vow I rest myself for ever; My soul and it shall fly to heaven together: Seal to my spirit that quiet satisfaction, And I go hence in peace._ DUCH. _Then here I vow never_—— CAR. Why, madam! DUCH. I can go no further. CAR. What, Have you forgot your vow? DUCH. I have, too certainly. CAR. Your vow? that cannot be; it follows now Just where I left. DUCH. My frailty gets before it; Nothing prevails but ill. CAR. What ail you, madam? DUCH. Sir, I’m in love. CAR. O, all you powers of chastity, Look to this woman! let her not faint now, For honour of yourselves! If she be lost, I know not where to seek my hope in woman. Madam, O madam! DUCH. My desires are sicken’d Beyond recovery of good counsel, sir. CAR. What mischief ow’d a malice to the sex, To work this spiteful ill! better the man Had never known creation, than to live th’ unlucky ruin of so fair a temple. Yet think upon your vow, revive in faith; Those are eternal things: what are all pleasures, Flatteries of men, and follies upon earth, To your most excellent goodness? O she’s dead, Stark cold to any virtuous claim within her! What now is heat is sin’s. Have I approv’d Your constancy for this, call’d your faith noble, Writ volumes of your victories and virtues? I have undone my judgment, lost my praises, Blemish’d the truth of my opinion. Give me the man, that I may pour him out To all contempt and curses. DUCH. The man’s innocent, Full of desert and grace; his name Lactantio. CAR. How? DUCH. Your nephew. CAR. My nephew? DUCH. Beshrew the sight of him! he lives not, sir, That could have conquer’d me, himself excepted. CAR. He that I lov’d so dearly, does he wear Such killing poison in his eye to sanctity? He has undone himself for ever by’t; Has lost a friend of me, and a more sure one. Farewell all natural pity! though my affection Could hardly spare him from my sight an hour, I’ll lose him now eternally, and strive To live without him; he shall straight to Rome. DUCH. Not if you love my health or life, my lord. CAR. This day he shall set forth. DUCH. Despatch me rather. CAR. I’ll send him far enough. DUCH. Send me to death first. CAR. No basilisk, that strikes dead pure affection With venomous eye, lives under my protection. [_Exit._ DUCH. Now my condition’s worse than e’er ’twas yet; My cunning takes not with him; has broke through The net that with all art was set for him, And left the snarer here herself entangled With her own toils. O, what are we poor souls, When our dissembling fails us? surely creatures As full of want as any nation can be, That scarce have food to keep bare life about 'em. Had this but took effect, what a fair way Had I made for my love to th’ general, And cut off all suspect, all reprehension! My hopes are kill’d i’ th’ blossom. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_The Cardinal’s closet._

_Enter Cardinal._

CAR. Let me think upon’t; Set holy anger by awhile. There’s time Allow’d for natural argument: ’tis she That loves my nephew; she that loves, loves first; What cause have I to lay a blame on him then? He’s in no fault in this: say ’twas his fortune, At the free entertainment of the general, 'Mongst others the deserts and hopes of Milan, To come into her sight, where’s the offence yet? What sin was that in him? Man’s sight and presence Are free to public view: she might as well Have fix’d her heart’s love then upon some other; I would’t had lighted any where but there! Yet I may err to wish’t, since it appears The hand of heaven, that only pick’d him out To reward virtue in him by this fortune; And through affection I’m half conquer’d now; I love his good as dearly as her vow, Yet there my credit lives in works and praises: I never found a harder fight within me, Since zeal first taught me war; say I should labour To quench this love, and so quench life and all, As by all likelihood it would prove her death, For it must needs be granted she affects him As dearly as the power of love can force, Since her vow awes her not, that was her saint; What right could that be to religion, To be her end, and dispossess my kinsman? No, I will bear in pity to her heart, The rest commend to fortune and my art. [_Exit._

SCENE IV.

_An apartment in the Castle._

_Enter_ AURELIA’S _Father_, _Governor_, AURELIA, _and_ ANDRUGIO _disguised_.

GOV. I like him passing well. FATH. He’s a tall fellow. AND. A couple of tall[894] wits. [_Aside._]—I’ve seen some service, sir. GOV. Nay, so it seems by thy discourse, good fellow. AND. Good fellow?[895] calls me thief familiarly.— [_Aside._

I could shew many marks of resolution, But modesty could wish 'em rather hidden: I fetch’d home three-and-twenty wounds together In one set battle, where I was defeated At the same time of the third part of my nose; But meeting with a skilful surgeon, Took order for my snuffling. GOV. And a nose Well heal’d is counted a good cure in these days; It saves many a man’s honesty, which else Is quickly drawn into suspicion. This night shall bring you acquainted with your charge; In the meantime you and your valour’s welcome: Would w’had more store of you, although they come With fewer marks about 'em! FATH. So wish I, sir. [_Exeunt Father and Governor._ AND. I was about to call her, and she stays Of her own gift, as if she knew my mind; Certain she knows me not, not possible. [_Aside._ AUR. What if I left my token and my letter With this strange fellow, so to be convey’d Without suspicion to Lactantio’s servant? Not so, I’ll trust no freshman with such secrets; His ignorance may mistake, and give’t to one That may belong to th’ general, for I know He sets some spies about me; but all he gets Shall not be worth his pains. I would Lactantio Would seek some means to free me from this place; ’Tis prisonment enough to be a maid, But to be mew’d up too, that case is hard, As if a toy were kept by a double guard.

[_Aside, and going._ AND. Away she steals again, not minding me: 'Twas not at me she offer’d. [_Aside._]—Hark you, gentlewoman. AUR. With me, sir? AND. I could call you by your name, But gentle’s the best attribute to woman. AUR. Andrugio? O, as welcome to my lips As morning-dew to roses! my first love! AND. Why, have you more then? AUR. What a word was there! More than thyself what woman could desire, If reason had a part of her creation? For loving you, you see, sir, I’m a prisoner, There’s all the cause they have against me, sir; A happy persecution I so count on’t: If any thing be done to me for your sake, ’Tis pleasing to me. AND. Are you not abus’d, Either through force or by your own consent? Hold you your honour perfect and unstain’d? Are you the same still that at my departure My honest thoughts maintain’d you to my heart? AUR. The same most just. AND. Swear’t. AUR. By my hope of fruitfulness, Love, and agreement, the three joys of marriage! AND. I am confirm’d; and in requital on’t, Ere long expect your freedom. AUR. O, you flatter me! It is a wrong to make a wretch too happy, So suddenly upon affliction; Beshrew me, if I be not sick upon’t! ’Tis like a surfeit after a great feast: My freedom, said you? AND. Does’t o’ercome you so? AUR. Temptation never overcame a sinner More pleasingly than this sweet news my heart: Here’s secret joy can witness, I am proud on’t. AND. Violence I will not use; I come a friend; 'Twere madness to force that which wit can end. AUR. Most virtuously deliver’d! AND. Thou’rt in raptures. AUR. My love, my love! AND. Most virtuously deliver’d! Spoke like the sister of a puritan midwife! Will you embrace the means that I have thought on With all the speed you can? AUR. Sir, any thing; You cannot name 't too dangerous or too homely. AND. Fie, [fie], you overact your happiness; You drive slight things to wonders. AUR. Blame me not, sir; You know not my affection. AND. Will you hear me? There are a sect of pilfering juggling people The vulgar tongue call gipsies. AUR. True, the same, sir; I saw the like this morning. Say no more, sir; I apprehend you fully. AND. What, you do not? AUR. No? hark you, sir. [_Whispers._ AND. Now by this light ’tis true! Sure if you prove as quick as your conceit,[896] You’ll be an excellent breeder. AUR. I should do reason by the mother’s side, sir, If fortune do her part in a good getter. AND. That’s not to do now, sweet, the man stands near thee. AUR. Long may he stand most fortunately, sir, Whom her kind goodness has appointed for me. AND. A while I’ll take my leave t’ avoid suspicion. AUR. I do commend your course: good sir, forget me not. AND. All comforts sooner. AUR. Liberty is sweet, sir. AND. I know there’s nothing sweeter, next to love, But health itself, which is the prince of life. AUR. Your knowledge raise you, sir! AND. Farewell till evening. [_Exit._ AUR. And after that, farewell, sweet sir, for ever. A good kind gentleman to serve our turn with, But not for lasting; I have chose a stuff Will wear out two of him, and one finer too: I like not him that has two mistresses, War and his sweetheart; he can ne’er please both: And war’s a soaker, she’s no friend to us; Turns a man home sometimes to his mistress Some forty ounces poorer than he went; All his discourse out of the Book of Surgery, Cere-cloth and salve, and lies you all in tents,[897] Like your camp-vict’lers: out upon’t! I smile To think how I have fitted him with an office: His love takes pains to bring our loves together, Much like your man that labours to get treasure, To keep his wife high for another’s pleasure. [_Exit._

ACT III. SCENE I.

LACTANTIO’S _lodgings in the Cardinal’s mansion_.

_Enter_ LACTANTIO _and Page_.[898]

PAGE. Think of your shame and mine. LAC. I prithee, peace: Thou art th’ unfortunat’st piece of taking business That ever man repented when day peep’d; I’ll ne’er keep such a piece of touchwood again, And[899] I were rid of thee once. Well fare those That never sham’d their master! I’ve had such, And I may live to see the time again; I do not doubt on’t. PAGE. If my too much kindness Receive your anger only for reward, The harder is my fortune: I must tell you, sir, To stir your care up to prevention, (Misfortunes must be told as well as blessings,) When I left all my friends in Mantua, For your love’s sake alone, then, with strange oaths, You promis’d present marriage. LAC. With strange oaths, quoth 'a? They’re not so strange to me; I’ve sworn the same things I’m sure forty times over, not so little; I may be perfect in 'em, for my standing. PAGE. You see ’tis high time now, sir. LAC. Yes, yes, yes, Marriage is nothing with you; a toy[900] till death. If I should marry all those I have promis’d, 'Twould make one vicar hoarse ere he could despatch us.— I must devise some shift when she grows big, Those masculine hose[901] will shortly prove too little: What if she were convey’d to nurse’s house? A good sure old wench; and she’d love the child well, Because she suckled the father: no ill course, By my mortality; I may hit worse.— [_Aside._

_Enter_ DONDOLO.

Now, Dondolo, the news? DON. The news? LAC. How does she? DON. Soft, soft, sir; you think ’tis nothing to get news Out o’ th’ castle: I was there. LAC. Well, sir. DON. As you know, A merry fellow may pass any where. LAC. So, sir. DON. Never in better fooling in my life. LAC. What’s this to th’ purpose? DON. Nay, ’twas nothing to th’ purpose, that’s certain. LAC. How wretched this slave makes me! Didst not see her? DON. I saw her. LAC. Well, what said she then? DON. Not a word, sir. LAC. How, not a word? DON. Proves her the better maid, For virgins should be seen more than they’re heard. LAC. Exceeding good, sir; you are no sweet villain![902] DON. No, faith, sir, for you keep me in foul linen. LAC. Turn’d scurvy rhymer, are you? DON. Not scurvy neither, Though I be somewhat itchy in the profession: If you could hear me out with patience, I know Her mind as well as if I were in her belly. LAC. Thou saidst even now she never spake a word. DON. But she gave certain signs, and that’s as good. LAC. Canst thou conceive by signs? DON. O, passing well, sir, Even from an infant! did you ne’er know that? I was the happiest child in all our country; I was born of a dumb woman. LAC. How? DON. Stark dumb, sir. My father had a rare bargain of her, a rich pennyworth; There would have been but too much money given for her: A justice of peace was about her; but my father, Being then constable, carried her before him. LAC. Well, since we’re enter’d into these dumb shows, What were the signs she gave you? DON. Many and good, sir. _Imprimis_, she first gap’d, but that I guess’d Was done for want of air, 'cause she’s kept close; But had she been abroad and gap’d as much, 'T had been another case: then cast she up Her pretty eye and wink’d; the word methought was then, Come not till twitterlight:[903] Next, thus her fingers went, as who should say, I’d fain have a hole broke to ’scape away: Then look’d upon her watch, and twice she nodded, As who should say, the hour will come, sweetheart, That I shall make two noddies of my keepers. LAC. A third of thee. Is this your mother-tongue? My hopes are much the wiser for this language: There’s no such curse in love to[904] an arrant ass! DON. O yes, sir, yes, an arrant whore’s far worse. You never lin[905] Railing on me from one week’s end to another; But you can keep a little tit-mouse page there, That’s good for nothing but to carry toothpicks, Put up your pipe or so, that’s all he’s good for: He cannot make him ready[906] as he should do; I am fain to truss his points[907] every morning; Yet the proud, scornful ape, when all the lodgings Were taken up with strangers th’ other night, He would not suffer me to come to bed to him, But kick’d, and prick’d, and pinch’d me like an urchin;[908] There’s no good quality in him: o’ my conscience, I think he scarce knows how to stride a horse; I saw him with a little hunting nag But thus high t’other day, and he was fain To lead him to a high rail, and get up like a butter-wench: There’s no good fellowship in this dandiprat,[909] This dive-dapper,[910] as is in other pages; They’d go a-swimming with me familiarly I’ th’ heat of summer, and clap what-you-call-'ems; But I could never get that little monkey yet To put off his breeches: A tender, puling, nice, chitty-fac’d squall[911] ’tis. LAC. Is this the good you do me? his love’s wretched, And most distress’d, that must make use of fools. DON. Fool to my face still! that’s unreasonable; I will be a knave one day for this trick, Or’t shall cost me a fall, though it be from a gibbet; It has been many a proper man’s last leap. Nay, sure I’ll be quite out of the precincts Of a fool if I live but two days to an end; I will turn gipsy presently, And that’s the highway to the daintiest knave That ever mother’s son took journey to. O those dear gipsies! They live the merriest lives, eat sweet stoln hens, Pluck’d over pales or hedges by a twitch; They’re ne’er without a plump and lovely goose, Or beautiful sow-pig; Those things I saw with mine own eyes to-day: They call those vanities and trifling pilfries; But if a privy search were made amongst 'em, They should find other manner of ware about 'em, Cups, rings, and silver spoons, byrlady![912] bracelets, Pearl necklaces, and chains of gold sometimes: They are the wittiest thieves! I’ll stay no longer, But even go look what I can steal now presently, And so begin to bring myself acquainted with 'em. [_Aside, and exit._ LAC. Nothing I fear so much, as in this time Of my dull absence, her first love, the general, Will wind himself into her affection By secret gifts and letters; there’s the mischief! I have no enemy like him; though my policy Dissembled him a welcome, no man’s hate Can stick more close unto a loath’d disease Than mine to him.

_Enter Cardinal._