Part 12

EPIRE. How now, mad sister, your dear love is condemned? A sweet adulterer!

MAR. How! condemn'd before their trial?

EPIRE. No, they were condemn'd by act of parliament.

MAR. I do not hold thee, brother, for a man, For it is reasonless to mock calamity: If he die innocent, thrice-happy soul; If guilty, weep that man should so transgress: Nature of reason thus much doth importune, Man should partake in grief with man's misfortune.

EPIRE. For him, if e'er mine eyes weep, may they drop out, And leave my body blinder than my sense: Pity my foe, the ruin of my house, My valour's scandal, and mine honour's poison! No, let him fall, for blood must still quench lust, Law hath condemn'd him, then his death is just.

MAR. Spit out that monster envy, it corrupts you, And mildly hear me answer for my love. What did he 'gainst you was not honourable, Which you 'gainst him would not have gladly done? Will you hate him for acting your own thoughts? Can it be ill in him, yet good in you? Let reason weigh this difference, then you'll find His honour poises down his infamy.

EPIRE. Canst thou love him that brought thee to thy death?

MAR. No, like a God he made me with his breath.

EPIRE. Did he not win thy love, and then reject thee?

MAR. His honour, not his love doth now neglect me.

EPIRE. Fond maid, thy foolish dotage doth mistake him.

MAR. Hell shall have mercy, ere I will forsake him.

EPIRE. Farewell then, sister, friend to my greatest foe: Revenge strikes home, being ended with one blow.

[_Exit_ EPIRE.

MAR. Prevention, thou best midwife to misfortune, Unfold this ugly monster's treachery; And let his birth be ominous--struck dead, Ere it have being in this open world. Love commands nature. Brother, pardon me: Thine envy dies by my love's liberty. Invention, heart of wit, possess my brain, For treason is to treason her own bane. And you, bright heav'ns, now aid me in my plots, That truth may shine through falsehood's leprous spots; My life I'll hazard to redeem my love, Firm constancy like rocks can never move. Be bold then, maiden-heart, in his defence. He saved thy life: thy life's his recompense: My wit and hopes have furnish'd me with all The helps of art to bring forth treason's fall. Now to the means. Some say that gold hath power To enter without force a gateless tower: And I'll try that, which if it take fast hold, I'll never blame them more that doat on gold. Ho! who's within there?

_Enter_ JAILER.

JAILER. Who calls, what would you have? I thought you were a woman, you were so hasty: O, madam, is it you? I cry you mercy.

MAR. My grief speaks loud, sir, and my swift desire O'errules my tongue, makes it keep time with thought; I long to see a prisoner in this ill-built house.

JAILER. What prisoner, madam?

MAR. The worthy prince, the famous Philocles.

JAILER. Madam, I dare not, without especial warrant.

MAR. I have my brother's strong commission; hold, there is gold.

JAILER. This golden calf is an excellent idol, and few of my profession but serve it: this dumb god gives tongue to all men, wit to all men, honour to any man, but honesty to no man: and therefore as for honesty, I mean not to deal with so dear a commodity, but leave it to my better. Madam, those stairs direct you to his lodging.

MAR. I thank you, sir. [_Exit_ MARIANA.

JAILER. This is a worthy lady, to give thus much for the bare sight of a man in affliction; if he were at liberty, it were nothing; but being as it is, it is most bountiful: but it may be it is for the past hours of former recreations: well, let it be what it shall be, I am sure it was not that I should hold this disputation: but see, here she comes again.

_Enter_ PHILOCLES _in_ MARIANA'S _attire, and_ MARIANA _in his_.

PHIL. Madam, my soul cannot consent to leave Your life in this great hazard, nor can death Carry such ugly shape, as doth the thought, That you are left in this extremity: Indeed, I will not leave you.

MAR. Will you grow mad? what, shall your nobler spirit, Which is the school of wisdom, grow so fond[222] As to revolt from all our happiness? Our plots you know, and how to manage cares, Whose true events have true proportions; Then, dear lord, rest resolv'd--the jailer overhears-- Live you with safety. Most worthy maid, farewell.

PHIL. Farewell, fair prince: thanks, master jailer, and a kind commend.

JAILER. As much unto your ladyship. So now I'll lock my doors.

[_Exeunt_ MARIANA, PHILOCLES, _and_ JAILER.

_Enter_ CYPRUS, MECHANT, FLORIO, _and Attendants_.

CYP. Is our commission, as we gave in charge, Delivered o'er to the corregidors?

MECH. It is, and with such strictness and advice For speedy execution of the same, That by this time I know they are in the way Unto their execution; for the hour Of death doth run upon his latest minutes.

CYP. 'Tis well: for till their shameless lives have end, There can no comfort creep into my thoughts, Or aught save mischief keep me company. Why was I born to this malignity And lowness of base fortune, yet my place Above the level of the vulgars' sight? O, it is but to let me know thus much, That those which lie within the richest graves Were at the best but fortune's glorious slaves. But see, here comes my shame.

_Enter corregidors_, QUEEN _and_ MARIANA _disguised_ _like_ PHILOCLES, _both bound, and a guard of_ _halberts with the executioner_.

QUEEN. My dearest lord.

CYP. Pass, and respect me not, lascivious woman! Thy tears are like the tears of crocodiles.[223] See how I stop mine ears against thy plaints, And glue mine understanding from thy charms. Nay, call on him thou hast offended most; Mercy from me were worse than cruelty.

QUEEN My dearest, dreadest, my best[224] sovereign, Whom I have ne'er offended, but with zeal And constant love, loyal and honourable, Vouchsafe me, though a queen, a subject's right, And let me know for what offence I perish.

CYP. For thine adulterate and monstrous lust, Shameful and gross, and most unsufferable.

QUEEN. Who doth accuse us?

CYP. Ourself and our own soul, that have beheld Your vile and most lascivious passages.[225]

MAR. O, that my tongue would not betray my knowledge! Then would I amaze them all with mine assertions. Madam, challenge the law. [_Whispers._

QUEEN. My gracious lord, since no desert in me Can merit your belief, nor that your eye Can rightly judge my pure complexion: Yet as your handmaid let me beg the right, Due unto wretches from our country's laws.

CYP. The tenor of the law you do demand?

QUEEN. That in the case of slander, where the proof Proceeds as much from envy as from truth, We are allow'd our champions to defend Our innocence with a well-ordered sword.

CYP. I look'd for this objection, and allow it; Nor am I unprovided for your best And strongest hope in any victory: Lords, attend in my champion.

_Here the noble-men go forth, and bring in the_ DUKE OF EPIRE _like a combatant_.

QUEEN. Will you, my lord, approve the king's assertion?

EPIRE. Madam, although against the nature of my spirit, And my first duty bound to your allegiance, Yet now compell'd by duty and by truth, I must of force become your opposite.

QUEEN. Thou art no true Italian, nor true gentleman, Thus to confound the glory of thy judgment. Hath not that arm which now is arm'd against me-- That valour, spirit, judgment, and that worth, Which only makes you worthy--stood t' approve More than myself will challenge to my virtues? And are you now basely turn'd retrograde? Well, I perceive there's nought in you but spleen And time's observance, still to hold the best-- Still I demand the law.

CYP. And you shall have it in the amplest manner. Sound, cornets.

_Here the cornets sound thrice, and at the third sound_ _enters_ PHILOCLES, _disguised like a combatant_.

FLO. There is a combatant on the defendant's part; Your majesty's pleasure?

CYP. Give him his oath according to the laws.

FLO. Are the fair ends of this your warlike posture To prove the innocence of these two condemn'd? So help you Jove!

PHIL. They are.

CYP. Then give the warlike signal to the fight.

_Here the combat being fought_, PHILOCLES _overcomes_ _the_ DUKE.

PHIL. Thou art my slave, either confess or die.

EPIRE. Didst thou speak true, I would not sound a word To save the world from cinders; yet that thou may'st With more resolv'd fury murder me, This I confess: 'twas I that only stirr'd, Out of strong falsehood's hate and jealousy, The king's eternal wrath, and made him think Untruths, that even untruth would not suggest: And all my malice sprung from that Prince Philocles.

PHIL. No, 'twas from me, that still am Philocles.

CYP. My Philocles, my queen! O, double pardon me, My jealousy, his envy, and your virtues, Are sprung from such impatient contraries, I cannot reconcile them; yet, O, pardon me: My faith in life shall make you recompense. For thee, rare Mariana, thou hast wrought A work of noble constant magnitude. As for this monster, this my tempting devil, Whose forfeit life is witness to his shame, I give his life and fortunes to the queen, She, whom his malice would have brought to death, Shall now be judge and juror of his breath.

MAR. In which commission, madam, let it be enroll'd, He is my brother and my next[226] of blood.

QUEEN. And only that is charter for his life-- Live, envious lord, more envious than thou'rt great, Live to lament thy worst of wretchedness, Live to repent, since this I certain know, Thine own gall'd conscience will be thy worst woe.

_Enter a guard of_ WATCHMEN _with_ ALPHONSO.

1ST WATCHMAN. Come, bring away, thrust him forward, though favour and a great purse were against him.

CYP. How now, what tumult have we there?

2D WATCH. An't please your majesty, we have brought you here a slip,[227] a piece of false coin: one that is neither stamped with true coin for his excuse, nor with good clothes for his redemption.

CYP. Alphonso! in the name of madness, how comes this metamorphosis? Nay, stand forth, discourse: if thou dost lie, thou art mine enemy.

MECH. Nay more, if thou stick in any bog, and by a trick seek to wind out, I will discover you.

ALPH. This conjuration (believe it, my lord), shall make me leap out of all fetters, and briefly thus: I have long time loved the fair wife of the orator, and, having no opportunity but his absence at the senate, I took that season; he, out of negligence, omitting his papers, returned unseasonably, found me [clothed] insufficiently, and forced to take sanctuary strangely, which, however, I purchased; yet he found mine apparel, and mistaken in the tenure, reached it presently, put it on immediately; and now in the senate-house is pleading in it seriously.

CYP. I cannot blame him, you having got so much within his inward garment.

MECH. Of all which, my lord, I being, in a strict conceit, a bawdy witness, and having, both from the orator's scorns and delays received many indignities, thought by this discovery to cry quittance with my proud enemy.

CYP. And you have amply done it; yet this jest So perfect doth deserve more memory. Florio, go bid the orator attend us presently. [_Exit_ FLORIO. And now to you, Drap and Velours, I did Refer you long since to the orator. Yet I note your attention: come, there is Some too close-fisted hardness in your hearts: You gripe too hard, your bribes will not disburse: Come, tell me truly, as you look for heaven, What must you pay for your despatches?

DRAP _and_ VEL. A thousand crowns we oft'er'd willingly.

CYP. And will your suit avail with such disbursement?

DRAP _and_ VEL. It will, and we most richly satisfied.

CYP. We'll see the business perfected.

DRAP _and_ VEL. With all our hearts, and be full-joy'd thereat; Here are the crowns.

CYP. You shall have your despatches.

_Enter_ PRATE _and_ FLORIO.

See, here comes the orator. Prate, come hither; These gentlemen, whom long since I referr'd To your despatches, are yet unsatisfied.

PRATE. Alas! my lord, the state----

CYP. ----I know, employs you, yet there's many minutes May give your best cares leisure; come, there is Some odd disburse, some bribe, some gratulance, Which makes you lock up leisure; come, tell true, What bribe must they give, what is your utmost price?

PRATE. But five hundred crowns, of my best conscience.

CYP. Tut, it is nothing, hold, here's the coin, And let them have their patents presently: Or look to lose both place and sovereignty.

PRATE. Legions of devils haunt their diligence!

CYP. Fie! I would not have a man of your high place, Or for respect of wealth or base observance, In smallest things thus to neglect your credit, Why, look you, my lords, This orator is not like others of his rank, Who from their garish[228] and fantastic humours Go through the streets, spotted with peacock's plumes, Wearing all colours, laces, broideries, Satins and silks, so antic-garnished, That when their gowns are off, you cannot find In Italy a master shap'd more nice. But this fellow Prate here's of another sort, Cloth'd like himself, demure and soberly: Nay, you shall see him for a precedent. [_Ungowns the orator._ Passion of mine eyesight' who have we here? This is Alphonso, there's the orator.

PRATE. Heart of impatience, I am then a cuckold! A scorn, a byword, and a laughing-stock. What, is my wife turn'd whore? and must her depth Be sounded by the plumbs[229] of foreigners? Well, the revenge that I will take for this my shame Shall make all whores hereafter dread my name.

CYP. Not for thy life, not for my love, I charge thee: Thy wife is honest, chaste, and virtuous: Only this wanton lord with lust and coin Hath much attempted, but prevail'd in nought. For proof, see here the crowns 'he would have given To have purchas'd her bed's honour, but she would not; Which I bestow on you for recompense. Therefore, as thou dost hope my grace to find, So to thy wife be loving, gentle, kind.

PRATE. Your majesty may mould me to your pleasure.

CYP. I thank you, and will quittance it. Now, Mechant, we restore you to your lands, Your honours and near places, next ourself: To all that feel distaste in any sore, We give to cure them all our grace and favour. Thus storms bring gentle sunshine; and our hands May, after shipwreck, bring us to safe lands.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[222] Foolish.

[223] _Thy tears are of the spears of crocodiles_, are the words in both the quartos; probably the amendment of Mr Reed is correct.--_Collier._

[224] [Old copies, _My dearest dread, my best best_.]

[225] _i.e._, What hath passed between you. See notes of Dr Johnson and Mr Steevens to "All's Well that Ends Well," act i. sc. 1.

[226] [Old copies, _best_.]

[227] Again, in Day's "Law Tricks," 1608, act iii.--

"A gilded _slip_ carries as fair a show As perfect gold, gilt honour may do so. But put your _slip_ to trial, the slight gold Is soon rubb'd of."

[228] [Edits., _gainish_.]

[229] _i.e._, The plummets.--_Steevens._

THE MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON.

_EDITIONS._

(1.) _The Merry Deuill of Edmonton. As it hath beene sundry times Acted, by his Maiesties Seruants at the Globe on the banke-side. London Printed by Henry Ballard for Arthur Iohnson, dwelling at the signe of the White-horse in Paules Churchyard, ouer against the great North doore of Paules._ 1608. 4o.

(2.) _The Merry Devill of Edmonton. As it hath bene sundry times Acted by his Maiesties Seruants at the Globe on the Bancke side. London, Printed by Thomas Creede for Arthur Iohnson, dwelling &c._ 1612. 4o.

(3.) _The Merry Divel of Edmonton. As it hath beene sundry times acted by his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe on the Banke-side. At London. Printed by G. Eld, for Arthur Iohnson, dwelling at the signe of the white-Horse in Paules Churchyard, ouer against the great North Doore of Paules._ 1617. 4o.

(4.) _The Merry Deuill of Edmonton. As it hath been sundry times Acted by his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe, on the Banke-side. London printed by A.M. for Francis Falkner, and are to be sold at his Shoppe neere vnto S. Margarites-hill, in Southwarke._ 1626. 4o.

(5.) _The Merry Deuill of Edmonton. As it hath been sundry times Acted by his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe, on the Bancke-side. London. Printed by T.P. for Francis Falkner, and are to be sold at his Shoppe neere vnto S. Margarites-hill, in Southwarke._ 1631. 4o.

(6.) _The Merry Devil of Edmonton.... London. Printed for William Gilbertson, and are to be sold at his Shop, at the Sign of the Bible, in Giltspur-street, without Newgate_, 1655. 4o.[230]

INTRODUCTION.

[This play is anonymous, although some of our earlier antiquaries, such as Coxeter and Oldys, have attributed it to this or that author without the slightest authority. It was originally licensed by Sir George Buc to Joseph Hunt and Thomas Archer on the 22d October 1607. As neither of these stationers'[231] names is to the first edition, there was probably a transfer, or possibly an earlier impression than any now known. This drama was suggested by, rather than founded on, the traditional account handed down in print of Peter Fabel, popularly known as the "Merry Devil of Edmonton." In 1631 Thomas Brewer published a prose tract on the same subject.[232] "The Merry Devil of Edmonton" had been acted before 1608], being mentioned in the "Blacke Booke" by T.M., 1604. "Give him leave to see 'The Merry Devil of Edmunton, or A Woman kill'd with Kindness;'" and that it was a favourite performance, may be concluded from the following lines in Ben Jonson's Prologue to "The Devil is an Ass"--

"If you'll come To see new plays, pray you afford us room, And show this but the game face you have done _Your dear delight_, THE DEVIL OF EDMONTON. "[233]

A MS. note in Sir W. Tite's catalogue may be copied here with advantage:--"This is a dear little drama In manner it is broad and real; in situation, full of interest. The action, which is very bustling, is propelled merrily on by characters which are varied without end, and touched, the most inconsiderable of them, by strong individuality. _It has been ascribed to Shakespeare, and it reminds one constantly of the Merry Wives: it is decidedly in his manner, and though there is nothing that shows his greatest strength, there is certainly nothing unworthy of him._ We read it with gratification, and we rise from it with feelings of kindness towards human nature. How delightful, after the filth and atrocity which form the groundwork of so many contemporary publications!"

Hazlitt also speaks very highly of this play,[234] which he describes as "perhaps the first example of sentimental comedy we have." He adds: "'The Merry Devil of Edmonton,' which has been sometimes attributed to Shakespeare, is assuredly not unworthy of him. It is more likely, however, both from the style and subject-matter, to have been Heywood's than any other person's.... Romantic, sweet, tender, it expresses the feelings of honour, of love, and friendship in their utmost delicacy, enthusiasm, and purity."

FOOTNOTES:

[230] [In the centre is a large woodcut of a man on horseback, with two others looking at him, alluding probably to the incident regarding the sign in the latter end of the play.--_Collier._]

[231] According to the Stationer's Registers (as quoted in Chalmer's "Supp. Apol." 201), this play was licensed by Sir George Buc, Master of the Revels, on the 22d October 1607.--_Gilchrist._

[232] [See Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, pp. 61, 191, 471. Also Warton's "History of Poetry," by Hazlitt, iv. 76, 77.]

[233] It went through various editions (the titles of which are inserted above) in 1608, [1612], 1617, 1626, 1631, and 1655. The first of these is the most rare, and was not long since sold by auction for eight guineas. Mr Reed states that, the last edition of 1655 is "unworthy of any notice from the number of errors it contains;" but these errors are chiefly literal, and some corrections of considerable importance are made in it, of which Mr Reed availed himself without acknowledgment.

It seems to have been revived before 1692, but at what precise date is not known. The following cast of parts is written on the back of a copy of the edition of 1655, in the Garrick Collection, in a hand no doubt of the time when it was again brought upon the stage:--

Sir Arthur Clare Mr Sandford. Sir R. Mounchensey Mr Freeman. Sir R. Jerningham Mr Betterton. Henry Clare Mr Hudgson. Raymond Mounchensey Mr Mountfort. Frank Jerningham Mr Alexander. Sir John Mr Noakes. Banks Mr Bright. Smug Mr Underhill. Bilbo Mr Bower. Host Mr Leigh. Brian Mr Bowman. Fabel Mr Kingston. Lady Clare Mrs Leigh. Millicent Mrs Bracegirdle. Abbess Mrs Cory.

--_Collier._

[234] ["Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth," 1820, p. 221.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SIR ARTHUR CLARE. SIR RICHARD MOUNCHENSEY. SIR RALPH JERNINGHAM. HENRY CLARE. RAYMOND MOUNCHENSEY. FRANK JERNINGHAM. SIR JOHN, _a Priest_. BANKS. SMUG. BILBO. BLAGUE, _the Host_. BRIAN. RALPH. SEXTON. FRIAR HILDERSHAM. BENEDIC. CHAMBERLAIN. FABEL, _the Merry Devil_. COREB, _a Spirit_.

LADY CLARE. MILLICENT. ABBESS _of Cheston Nunnery_. NUNS _and_ ATTENDANTS.

THE MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON

THE PROLOGUE.

Your silence and attention, worthy friends, That your free spirits may with more pleasing sense Relish the life of this our active scene: To which intent, to calm this murmuring breath, We ring this round with our invoking spells; If that your list'ning ears be yet prepar'd To entertain the subject of our play, Lend us your patience. 'Tis Peter Fabel,[235] a renowned scholar, Whose fame hath still been hitherto forgot By all the writers of this latter age. In Middlesex his birth and his abode: Not full seven miles from this great famous city; That, for his fame in sleights and magic won, Was call'd the merry fiend of Edmonton. If any here make doubt of such a name, In Edmonton yet fresh unto this day, Fix'd in the wall of that old ancient church, His monument remaineth to be seen: His memory yet in the mouths of men,[236] That whil'st he liv'd he could deceive the devil. Imagine now, that whilst he is retir'd From Cambridge back unto his native home, Suppose the silent sable-visag'd night Casts her black curtain over all the world; And whilst he sleeps within his silent bed, Toil'd with the studies of the passed day, The very time and hour wherein that spirit, That many years attended his command, And oftentimes 'twixt Cambridge and that town Had in a minute borne him through the air, By composition 'twixt the fiend and him, Comes now to claim the scholar for his due. [_Draws the curtain._ Behold him here laid on his restless couch! His fatal chime prepared at his head, His chamber guarded with these sable sleights, And by him stands that necromantic chair, In which he makes his direful invocations, And binds the fiends that shall obey his will. Sit with a pleased eye, until you know The comic end of our sad tragic show.

_The chime goes, in which time_ FABEL _is oft seen to_ _stare about him, and hold up his hands_.