Part 10
CYP. I have not seen a war breed better wit. Or passion draw on more delightfulness: Proceed in your contention, for we boast, That love is best which is approved most. But now to revels, since our tragic scene Is turn'd to comic mirthful constancy; Instead of mourning, we will dance and banquet, And fill our empty veins with all delights: For oft we find that storms and sorrows prove The best forerunners of a happy love.
[_Exeunt all but_ EPIRE.
EPIRE. He will, but he will not: loves, but cannot like. Will and affection in this prince are like Two buckets, which do never both ascend; Or those star-twins which shine out in one sphere. O Philocles, I see thy soul grows fat, And feeds upon the glories of thy[188] fame; But I'll forestall thine epileptic fits; And by my plots breed thy destruction. Revenge now rules as sovereign of my blood, And others' ruins shall advance my good, Which once attain'd to, I will prove ambitious, Great men, like gods, are ne'er thought vicious. Now, Philocles, stand fast; king, guard thy crown, For by this brain you both shall tumble down. [_Exit._
_Enter_ VELOURS _and_ DRAP, PRECEDENT _sitting at_ _his desk_.
VEL. This is his chamber; let's enter, here's his clerk.
PRE. _Fondling, said she, since I have hemm'd thee here,_ _Within the circuit of this ivory pale._[189]
DRAP. I pray you, sir, help us to the speech of your master.
PRE. _I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer:_ He is very busy in his study. _Feed where thou wilt, in mountain or on dale:_ Stay awhile, he will come out anon. _Graze on my lips, and when those mounts are dry,_ _Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie._ Go thy way, thou best book in the world!
VEL. I pray you, sir, what book do you read?
PRE. A book that never an orator's clerk in this kingdom but is beholden unto; it is called "Maids' Philosophy, or Venus and Adonis." Look you, gentlemen, I have divers other pretty books.
DRAP. You are very well-stored, sir; but I hope your master will not stay long.
PRE. No, he will come presently.
_Enter_ MECHANT.
VEL. Whom have we here? another client, sure. Crows flock to carcases: O, 'tis the Lord Mechant.
MECH. Save you, gentlemen; sir, is your master at any leisure?
PRE. _Here sit thee down, where never serpent hisses,_ _And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses._[190] His businesses yet are many, you must needs attend awhile.
MECH. We must attend; umph! even snails keep state, When with slow thrust their horns peep forth the gate. We must attend! 'tis custom's fault, not mine, To make men proud, on whom great favours shine: Tis somewhat 'gainst my nature to attend, But when we must, we must be patient; A man may have admittance to the king As soon as to these long-robes, and as cheap. Come, gentlemen, shall we walk? Thus are the pavement-stones before the doors Of these great tongue-gilt orators worn smooth With clients dancing 'fore[191] them.
VEL. It's strange to see how the world waits upon them: therein they are the only men now.
MECH. O, only; they of all men in request. Your physician is the lawyer for your health, And moderates unruly humours best. Others are nobody compar'd with him: For all men neglect their health in regard of their profit.
DRAP. True, and that's it makes these men grow so fat-- Swell with rich purchases?
MECH. Yea, with golden fees And golden titles too; they can work miracles, And, like creators, even of empty nothing Erect a world of goodly livings, fair demesnes And gallant manors, heap'd one on another.
VEL. They gain indeed excessively, and are not like us citizens, Expos'd to hazard of the seas and traffic.
MECH. Why, here's a fellow now, this orator, Even Prate--you would little think it, his father was An honest proiner[192] of our country vines; Yet he's shot to his foot-cloth[193].
DRAP. O, he is! he proined him well, and brought him up to learning.
MECH. Faith, reasonable learning; a smattering in the Latin tongue. A little rhetoric, with wrangling sophistry, Were his preparatives unto his art.
VEL. After these preparatives (if you call them so) The physic wrought well; for a few years' practice Brought him in wondrous credit, and preferments Came tumbling in: O, such a sudden rise Hath Fortune for her minions! blame him not then, Though he look high on't.
MECH. Nay, for his pride, of weaker souls term'd state, It hurts none but himself.
DRAP. Yet to my seeming it is very strange, That from so base beginning men can breathe Such soaring fames.
MECH. Strange! it's not strange a whit, Dunghills and marish bogs dart store of vapours And viscous exhalations against heaven, Which borrowing lustre there (though basely bred) Seem yet like glorious planets, fairest stars, To the weak eyes of wond'ring ignorance, When wise men know they are but meteors. But here comes the orator.
_Enter_ PRATE.
PRATE. What, Precedent, I say! Come and attend me to the senate-house.
PRE. I am ready, sir; if you have _copia verborum_, I have _copia rerum_, in a buckram bag here.
PRATE. Your lordship's pleasure!
MECH. Master orator, 'tis not unknown--my suit--
PRATE. Nay, your lordship must be brief, I'll not attend The shallow sleight of words--your suit, your suit.
MECH. The restoration of my lands and honours.
PRATE. They are confiscate.
MECH. My lands confiscate, and my body free?
PRATE. My lord, my lord, the queen's more merciful.
MECH. Sir, you forget my place.
PRATE. Sir, you forget your faith: 'Twas known unto the queen, the state, and us, Your malcontented spirit, your disease in duty, Your diligent perturbance of the peace! Your passages, occurrences, and--
MECH. Sir!
PRATE. Sir me no sirs, Do not I know you were the chief of those, Which rais'd the war in Sicil? and long since Wrought in the king's laws[194] bloody business? Did not you hold fair quarter and commerce With all the spies of Cyprus? fie, I am asham'd Blind impudence should make you be so bold, To bear your face before authority.
MECH. But hear me.
PRATE. I will hear no reply; Go home, repent, pray, and die. Come, gentlemen, what's your businesses?
VEL. Your confirmation to his highness' grant touching our trade with Spain, in which if it please you to assist us, we have a thousand crowns which shall attend you.
PRATE. O, I have you in my memory: the suit is great, and I must squeeze forth more than a thousand crowns. [_Aside._] Well, attend me to the senate; you shall have fair despatches.
[_Exeunt all but_ MECHANT.
MECH. _I'll not attend the shallow sleight of words,_ _Go home, repent, pray, and die!_ Excellent precepts for an orator's chamber. Where speech must bathe a handful deep in gold, Till, the poor giver's conduit being dry, The wretch goes home, doth curse, repent, and die. It is thy counsel, orator, thy stale[195] breath, Good only but to season infamy, But[196] this reproach, this uncaressing humour Hath taught my soul a new philosophy. I will go home, and there repent all good Done to thy name or thy profession; I will go home, and there new-frame myself More thirstily pernicious to thy state Than war or unabated mutiny. As for my prayers, orator, they are for thee. Thou hast a pretty, lovely, witty wife: O, may'st thou live both to be known and know Thyself the greatest cuckold in our land; And yet not dare to amend or grieve at it! May'st thou embrace thy shame with thankful arms, Hug thy disgrace, make thy black poison wine, And cap and crouch to thy dishonour! May thy remembrance live, upon my knees I pray, All night in bellmen's mouths, with Pasquil[197] in the day!
[_Retires._
_Enter_ ALPHONSO _unbraced_.
ALPH. Day be my speed, night shall not cloak my sin, If I have nought to do, it's by the sun, The light gives leave to all mine idleness. Quick business and ope eyes seize on mine orator, Whilst I create him horny precedents.
_Enter_ COLLAQUINTIDA.
But here's my bed-broker. Now, my great armful of good intelligence, where is my mistress?
COL. Fast locked in her bed, with a close ward to devour thee, my brave Paraquito:[198] but hush! no words; there is a calm before the tempest.
ALPH. Tut, tell me of no storms; but direct me to her bed-chamber, my noble firelock of a flesh pistol.
COL. Follow thy colours, my brave worthy, mount up thy standard: so enter and prosper.
[_She puts_ ALPHONSO _into the orator's house_.
Thou hast a rich room, safe locks, sweet sheets, a choice armful, with, O, the rare, rare thought of imagination.
MECH. What's this, what's this? Doth this Lord Alphonso turn the orator to an antelope? 'Tis more than excellent,
And from the juice of this despite I suck Delight more great than all my miseries. Observe, dear eyes, observe. [_Aside._
COL. Nay, go thy way for a camel or a camelion; thou mayest compare with all Europe, Afric, and Asia; and one that will change tricks, though thou wert worthy to be schoolmaster either to Proteus or Aretine: what an excellent gift did God give unto man when he gave him woman; but how much more when that woman was made fair! But O, the most of all when she had wit to use every member of her creation. Well, I'll stand to't, there's nothing but beauty, use, and old age that puts women of my rank out of request; and yet like old bucklers, though few of your gallant cavaliers will wear us, yet many of your stale ruffians will employ us, and that's our comfort still.
MECH. Was ever heard a bawd more damnable! A very mountebank of wench-flesh, an empiric, A dog-leech for the putrified sores Of these lust-canker'd great ones. O, I could Even mad myself with railing at their vices. [_Aside._ PRATE _knocks at the door_. But hark! one knocks: O, for the orator! Heavens, I beseech thee, O, for the orator!
COL. How now, who knocks so rudely at the door?
PRATE. 'Tis I, I say: open the door: I am in haste.
MECH. 'Tis he, just heavens, 'tis he, 'fore God, the orator.
[_Aside._
COL. Soul of my bawdy office; how are we betray'd! Anon, anon, sir. What, Mistress Prate, I say; Arise for shame, your husband's at the door, I come, I come; Lord God, how dull you are When danger's at your heels! rise quickly.
PRATE. Open the door, or I will break it ope.
COL. I come, I come; I think he's mad with haste. What, John; what, Thomas, Robert, where's these knaves? What, Julian, Mary, Cicely, ne'er a maid within?
LOL. For God's love, stay; I'll find the key straightway.
_Enter_ LOLLIA, _and_ ALPHONSO _in his shirt_.
O Mistress Collaquintida, what shall become of us?
COL. Nay, I'm at my wit's end, and am made Duller than any spur-gall'd, tired jade.
ALPH. 'Sfoot, if he enter, I will break his neck.
LOL. Not for a world, dear love, step into my closet.
ALPH. Did ever slave come thus unluckily?
LOL. Nay, now's no time for passion; good lord, in.
[_Exit_ ALPHONSO.
_Enter_ PRATE.
COL. Fie! I have almost broke my heart with running.
LOL. How now, dear husband, what hath mov'd this haste?
PRATE. I think I was not bless'd this morning when I rose; for through my forgetfulness I have left behind me in my study the breviates of all my causes, and now the senate is fain to dance attendance on my leisure; fie, fie, fie! [_Exit_ PRATE.
LOL. Nay, if he smell nothing but papers, I care not for his dry foot-hunting,[199] nor shall I need to puff pepper in his nostrils; but see, he comes again.
_Enter_ PRATE, _and, stumbling at his wife's bed, sees_ ALPHONSO'S _rich apparel lying thereon_.
PRATE. I think the devil hath laid his horns in my way.
MECH. Yes, and if you had wit, you might conjure him out of your wife's closet. [_Aside._
PRATE. _Sancte Benedicite_, what have we here? Hath the golden snake cast his skin upon our bed?
Go to, wife; I smell, I smell! methinks your plain rug should not agree with this rich counter-point.
LOL. Husband, either I have fitted you now, or else I shall never fit you, whilst I breathe. You oft have told me, that like those of your rank, Who both adorn their credits and themselves, Yea, even their causes with their costly clothes, Yourself in like sort would strive to imitate; And now my neighbour here hath brought this suit, Which if you please to buy, 'tis better cheap Than e'er 'twas made by full five thousand crowns.
PRATE. Say'st thou me so, wench? a kiss for that, i' faith; 'Fore God, it is a delicate fine suit, Rich stuff, rare work, and of the newest fashion: Nay, if the senate's business were never so hasty, I will stay to try it on; come, help; Good wenches, help. So, there, there, there.
[_The orator puts on_ ALPHONSO'S _apparel_.
MECH. 'Sfoot, will the ox put on the lion's hide! He will, he will, 'tis more than excellent; So gild the tomb that holds but rottenness! Laughter, I fear, will burst me; look how he struts. O God, that ever man should look Upon this maumet,[200] and not laugh at him!
[_Aside._
PRATE. Fit, fit, excellent fit, as though The body it was made for wore my mould. Wife, I will have it: we'll dispute no price.
_Enter_ VELOURS.
VEL. Master orator, the senate are set, and can despatch no causes through your absence; therefore they earnestly entreat your presence.
PRATE. I come, I come; good friend, go, say I come. And, wife, see that You pay for this suit, whatsoe'er it cost. [_Exit_ PRATE.
MECH. Not above making you cuckold: that's the most.
LOL. What, is he gone?
COL. He is.
_Enter_ ALPHONSO _in his shirt_.
LOL. Why, then, come forth, poor naked lord.
ALPH. What, is he gone? May the devil and his horns both follow him!
LOL. He is gone; but yet he hath discover'd your treason.
ALPH. How?
COL. Yes, and in revenge thereof hath vowed that in this naked sort as you are you shall do penance through the city for your sin of unchastity.
ALPH. I pray thee, leave thy woman's phrase, and speak, like a man, plainly, plainly.
LOL. Then plainly thus--he is gone, and hath taken away your apparel.
ALPH. Upon what accident?
LOL. This: when your negligence had left your clothes upon my bed, he espied them, tasked me for the owner; I, in excuse, told him it was a suit brought by my gossip to be sold; he straight, like a child proud of a new coat, presently puts it on, presently is sent for to the senate, and at this present hath left you, that the world may behold your naked doings.
ALPH. I would it were washed in the blood of a centaur,[201] that when he puts it off, his skin might follow it: but how shall I get to my chamber?
LOL. Truly, I know not, except you will wear a smock's upper coat.
ALPH. What, a petticoat? you mad me with your mirth.
LOL. Then seriously thus: as he hath ta'en your clothes, you must take his; and let the world know you have had more than fiddler's fare, for you have meat, money, and cloth.
ALPH. 'Sfoot, how shall I look in this devil's suit? sure, I shall grow sick to see my shape.
LOL. Well, extremity must then be your physic; but come, you shall attire yourself in my chamber.
[_Exeunt_ ALPHONSO, LOLLIA, _and_ COLLAQUINTIDA.
MECH. Are these the winding turns of female shames, Loose woman's gambols, and the tricks of sin? And are we born to bear these suffrages? O, he that's tied unto a brothel bed Feels his worst hell on earth, and may presume There is no sickness like his pestilence. Well, what the issue of this jest will prove, My wit but yet conceives, and aftertime Shall perfect it and give it liberty, In such sort that, if it true fire strike, A world of apes shall study for the like. [_Exit._
_Enter the_ DUKE OF EPIRE _alone_.
EPIRE. My thoughts are troubled, joy forsakes me quite, And all my meditations are revenge: Ambition and fell murder join in one, And aid each other to untwine a state, And make whole millions prove unfortunate. Now must I practise court-art, flattery, And wisely temporise with blackest deeds: I'll smile and stab: now weep, then laugh, then frown, And with sly tricks of state kill all suspicion; Devils must seem like angels, saith ambition. The blackest thoughts I'll study to excel; Crowns and revenge have made men dive to hell. My plot is current, and it cannot miss, Whilst wisdom winds me on the clue of bliss. The king shall kill the queen; that acted right, I soon will turn his brightest day to night. He's simple, honest, and loves downy rest; Then he must fall: 'tis policy in state To hurl them down are bless'd with happy fate. Thus each shall scourge himself with his own rod; Who is all policy avows no God-- Who is within there, ho?
_Enter_ FLORIO.
FLO. Did your grace call?
EPIRE. I did; where's the king?
FLO. He's in his privy chamber playing at chess.
EPIRE. Go straight, and tell him I must speak with him, And say my business doth import great haste.
FLO. I go, my lord. [_Exit._
EPIRE. Be a bless'd Mercury: now mount thee up, my spirit, And show thyself a politician; Let slander rule thy tongue, envy thy heart, And let destruction be the[202] period Of what thou speak'st; for this my maxim is: But rule no heaven, and but revenge no bliss.
_Enter_ CYPRUS, FLORIO, _and Attendants_.
Here comes the king. My lord, we must be private[203].
CYP. Remove your hearings from our conference. [_Exeunt_ FLORIO, _&c._ Now speak, my lord, speak freely, as to heaven.
EPIRE. First with my knee I kiss this prostrate earth, And humbly beg that which my tongue shall speak, So it proceed from love and vassalage, May bear a pardon or forgetfulness.
CYP. You have it; rise, discharge an open breast.
EPIRE. O my dread liege, my speech will make you sad-- And kings do seldom relish their distastes-- And from that sadness such a storm will rise As will even drown up all credulity. O, that my loyal heart could cover sin, Or that my tongue, inured unto grief, Might lose its spleen, ere it distemper you! But love and mine allegiance bid me speak.
CYP. Then speak, and do not rack me with delay.
EPIRE. Women, why were you made for man's affliction? The first that ever made us taste of grief, And last of whom in torments we complain: You devils shap'd like angels, through whose deeds Our forked shames are made most visible! No soul of sense would wrong bright majesty, Nor stain their blood with such impurity.
CYP. Nay, good lord, leave this allegoric speech, And give me knowledge from a plainer phrase.
EPIRE. Then plainly thus: your bed is press'd with lust, I know you do not credit--nay, what's more, I know you hate me for my virtuousness: Your queen behaves her like a courtesan: I know you hold me for a vile impostor! O foolish zeal, that makes me be so fond To leave my faith unto black censuring. O, she hath sinn'd, and done a double wrong To you and to her[204] sacred chastity.
CYP. Duke, thou art valiant, and with a valiant mind Slander is worse than theft or sacrilege, Nay more, than murder or the height of treason-- A step beyond the utmost plagues in hell. Then thou, which in that nature wrong'st a queen, Deserv'st a scourge beyond their punishments; Virtue should kill thee now.
EPIRE. Nay, do: my breast is bare unto thy steel. Kill me, because I love thee and speak true. Is this the merit of a Roman faith? For this have I observ'd, pry'd in unto, And search'd each secret shift of vanity? Nay, pray you kill me; faith, I'll patient stand. Live still a monster, hold shame in your hand.
CYP. Speak a word more! a king shall be thy death.
EPIRE. Death is a slave to him that is resolv'd, And my soul loathes this servile flattery, Nor will I cover such intemperate sin, But to the world make them and that transparent, Unless yourself will seek to right yourself.
CYP. Thou hast awak'd me, and thy piercing words Have split my sense in sunder: yet what ground Remains whereon to ground suspicion? A cuckold, cuckold, ha!
EPIRE. Your absence is the bawd to her desires, For their masques, dancings, gaming, banquetting, Strange private meetings, and all toils in love, As wanton speeches to stir appetite, And all enchantments that inflame desire: When you return, then all is hush'd and still, And she demurely walks like virtue's ghost. Before your face she's like a puritan: Behind your back a blushless courtesan.
CYP. O, I have drank in poison at mine ears, Which makes my blood boil with unquenched flames. But speak, who is it that dishonours me?
EPIRE. He that you prize a line before your life; I know you will not credit--faith you will not.
CYP. Nay, if thou cease to speak, thou hat'st my life; Tak'st thou delight to kill me? then forbear: 'Sfoot, I am mortal man, kill me, do, do![205]
EPIRE. Your best of friends, your dearest Philocles, Usurps your bed, and makes you a cornute. A creature uncreate in paradise, And one that's only of a woman's making.
CYP. Is't possible! can I give faith to this?
EPIRE. Nay, be but patient, smooth your brow a little, And you shall take them, as they clip each other, Even in their height of sin[206], then damn them both, And let them sink before they ask God pardon, That your revenge may stretch unto their souls.
CYP. To be a cuckold doth exceed all grief.
EPIRE. To have a pleasant scoff at majesty.
CYP. To taste the fruit forbidden from my tree!
EPIRE. But he shall lose his paradise for that.
CYP. The slave will make base songs in my disgrace.
EPIRE. And wound your reputation in strange lands.
CYP. This injury sads all my joys on earth.
EPIRE. Horns are not shunn'd by wisdom, wealth, or birth.
CYP. Watch their close meetings, and then give us notice; Mean space, my love shall in thy bosom rest. My grief is like my birth, great--great and high. Give close intelligence: till then farewell. Lust is the broadest path which leads to hell.
[_Exit_ CYPRUS.
IRE. He's gone with black suspicion in his heart: And his soul made a slave to jealousy, My plots shall drive him to his own destruction; And I gain both revenge and dignity. He shall no sooner put his queen to death, But I'll proclaim her spotless innocence; All men will hate him for so vile an act, And mad with rage depose him from his crown. Then I will be his death: his state doth give: Kings once depos'd long after must not live. For, like a ph[oe]nix rare in jealousy, He shall consume himself in scorching flames, Whilst from his ashes I a phoenix spring. Many renounce their God to be a king, And I'll be one to kill men with a frown, None dare dispute the actions of a crown. [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[180] [Edits., _thee_.]
[181] Alluding to the old law for pressing prisoners who refused to plead.
[182] _i.e._, Dove's down.--_Steevens._