Part 9
MAR. Nay, I'll keep mine oath, Men shall abandon pride and jealousy Ere I'll be bound to their captivity: They shall live continent, and leave to range, But men (like to the moon) each month must change; Yet we must seek that nought their sight displeases, And mix our wedlock sweets with loath'd diseases; When we consume ourselves and our best beauty, All our reward is--why, 'twas but our duty.
PHIL. Judge not so hard of all for some offenders; For you are subject to the selfsame crimes, Of men and women always have been had Some good of each----
MAR. But for the most part bad: Therefore I'll have none at all, but die a perfect maid.
PHIL. That humour like a flower soon will fade; Once did mine own thoughts sing to that delight, Till love and you reform'd my barbarousness: Therefore, dear lady, pity my wounded heart.
MAR. A surgeon here for this love-wounded man! How deep's your ulcer'd orifice, I pray you tell?
PHIL. Quite thorough my heart.
MAR. 'Tis strange, and look so well! Yet ladies' eyes have power to murder men, And with one smile to make them whole again. Achilles' lance to a hair; but do you love me, prince?
PHIL. Dearer than my soul.
MAR. Would I could love you!
PHIL. Madam, so you may.
MAR. As yet I cannot: therefore let me go.
PHIL. O, do not leave me, grant me but one request, And here I vow by that divinest power, The salt-sea's glorious issue, whose bright sphere Rules my sick heart, and knows my chaste intent, That if you please to impose on me that task Which neither man nor monster can achieve, Which even angels have a dread to touch, Deeds which outstretch all possibility, 'Sfoot, more than can be thought--and I'll effect, Or else I'll perish in th' accomplishment.
MAR. Let your request fit virgin-modesty, And you obey your vow, I am content To give your thoughts contented happiness.
PHIL. 'Tis but a kiss I ask, a minute's joy.
MAR. Now Cupid help thee; is thy grief for this? Keep thy strong vow, and freely take a kiss. [_He kisses her._
PHIL. I have obtain'd my heaven, and in this touch I feel the breath of all deliciousness: Then freely give the sentence of my work, Muster up all the engines of your wit, Teach Juno rules beyond maliciousness; Whate'er it be, I'll die but I'll perform it.
MAR. Thou shalt not kill thyself, nor fight with monsters, Nor bring the great Turk's beard[172] to show thy zeal: Thy life thou shalt not hazard for my love, Nor will I tie thee to an endless task: But even with ease and gentle-tangled knots, Thou shalt entwine thy clue of miseries.
PHIL. Let it have passage, madam: give me my doom.
MAR. Then, Philocles, knit silence to my words, And mark thy doom; for thus my stricter will Loads grief upon thy vainer levity. Hence, for the space and compass of one year, Thou shalt abjure the liberty of speech; Thou shalt not speak for fully twelvemonth's space, For friend nor foe, for danger nor for death; But live, like air, with silent emptiness. Break thou this vow, I'll hold thee for a villain: And all the world shall know thy perjury.
PHIL. Be heaven and earth a witness of my vow And mine eternal silence!--I am dumb.
MAR. Why so, now shall I not be troubled with vain chat Or idle prate of idle wantonness: For love I cannot, therefore 'tis in vain; Would all my suitors' tongues I thus could rein! Then should I live free from feign'd sighs and groans, With, _O, take pity, 'tis your servant moans_, And such harsh stuff, that frets me to the heart; And sonnets made of Cupid's burning dart, Of Venus' lip, and Juno's majesty; Then were I freed from fools and foolery. In May the cuckoo sings: then she'll come hither. Her voice and yours will rarely tune together.
[_Exit_ MARIANA.
_Enter_ FLORIO.
FLO. Prince Philocles, the king would speak with you. [_Speaks louder and louder._ Prince Philocles, the king would speak with you. Prince Philocles, the king would speak with you.
[PHILOCLES _strikes_ FLORIO, _and fells him_.
FLO. The pox rot off your fingers for this blow! It is coronation-day thorough all my skull, There's such a fatal ringing in my brain: H' has won the set, has laid five fingers on: But 'twas a knavish part of him to play so. Hear me, ye gods: for this my open wrong, Make short his fingers, as you have his tongue.
[_Exit_ FLORIO.
_Enter_ MECHANT _alone_.
MECH. 'Tis not man's fortune, envy, or neglect, Which makes him miserable; but 'tis mean fate, Even sole predestination, a firm gift Fix'd to his birth, before the world was made. For were it otherwise, then within our lives We should find some distractions, various[173] change. And other toys of much uncertainty: But my mishaps are fix'd so to my blood, They have no sire but my creation: The queen, out of suspicion that my love First set an edge upon the king's desires, And made him woo her with a victor's sword. Cast me from favour, seizes all my lands, And turns my naked fortunes to the cold. The king, made proud with purchase of his wish, Neglects my sufferance for him, and o'erlooks The low tide of my fortunes; lest my woes Should speak my wrongs to his ingratitude: The whilst those lords, whose supple hams have bow'd To do me formal reverence, now despise And slight me in their meanest compliments. O, 'tis a torment more than hell yet knows, To be an honest flatterer, or to live A saint in limbo, which that I may prevent, I'll be nor best nor worst, but all indifferent, But here comes a nobleman; I must turn petitioner.
_Enter_ FLORIO.
My lord, may I not see the king?
FLO. You may not. His majesty is now down-press'd with seriousness: As for your suit, it is with Prate the orator, I heard his highness give him a special charge For your despatch with favour.
MECH. O, but he doth neglect, And slights me like his weak orations: And by your lordship's leave I do not think His wisdom worthy of the conference.
FLO. Nay, if you will correct the king's coin, you are not for my conference, farewell.
[_Exit_ FLORIO.
MECH. Why, and fare you well! sfoot, this is more than strange, That, being griev'd, I may not say I'm pain'd.
_Enter_ ALPHONSO.
But here comes another: mine honourable lord, May I not have some conference with the king?
ALPH. You may not; business of greater weight Imports both him and us: nay, pray you cease; As for your suit, 'tis with the orator.
MECH. Yet, methinks, 'twere meet------
ALPH. That you would rather trouble him than me.
MECH. It's strange.
ALPH. It's strange, indeed, to see you wrong your ease. I am not now for idle conferences. Adieu.
[_Exit_ ALPHONSO.
MECH. Why this is court-grace[174] to men in misery, And thus these tail-less lions with their roar Affright the simple herd: O, I could now Turn rebel 'gainst their pride.
_Enter_ EPIRE.
But here comes the duke: My gracious lord, vouchsafe to hear my griefs.
EPIRE. For God's love, cease your trouble, we are all Troubled with griefs of stranger qualities.
MECH. Words are no heavy burthen.
EPIRE. No, had I no other weight; But we are all press'd down with other poise: As for your suit, it is referr'd to Prate: And he must give you fair despatch with favour; Which if he slight for envy or for bribe, Repair to me, and I will not forget To give you ease, and chide his negligence; Mean space, I pray you leave me, for we all Are troubled now with greatest miracles.[175]
MECH. Your grace doth do me comfort, and I will Study with service to deserve your favours, And so I take my leave. [_Exit_ MECHANT.
_Enter two_ DOCTORS.
EPIRE. Your own contentments follow you. Now, gentlemen, What news within? can this dumb wonder speak? Have you cut off those lets that tied his speech, And made your fames to sound through Sicily?
1ST DOC. All hopeful means that man or art can find Have we made trial of, but 'tis in vain: For still, my lord, the cure's invincible.
2D DOC. Those organs nature gave to move the tongue, He fully doth possess as well as we: Which makes us think his sudden apoplexy Is either will, vow, or a miracle.
EPIRE. I should think strangely, had we not stranger things On earth; but wonders[176] now are most familiar: But here comes his majesty. Now we shall see If this dumb beast can speak before the king.
_Cornets, and enter_ CYPRUS, QUEEN, PHILOCLES, MARIANA, _and attendants_.
CYP. My best of friends, my dearest Philocles, Thy griefs run in my spirit, make me sad, And dull my sense with thine affliction. My soul with thine doth sympathise in woe, And passion governs him that should rule all, [PHILOCLES _does not reply_. What say you, doctors, is there no hope of help?
1ST DOC. No hope, my lord; the cure is desperate.
CYP. Then I am king of grief; for in his words Found I more music than in choirs of angels. It was as silver, as the chime of spheres, The breath of lutes, or love's deliciousness: Next to my queen, he is my joy on earth: Nor shall the world contain that happy good, Which with my tears I will not woo for him. My Lord of Epire, let it be straight proclaim'd Through all the cities in our kingdom's verge, That whoso will avow to cure this prince, And bring his work to wish'd effectualness, Shall have ten thousand crowns and our best love; But if he fail in his great enterprise, His daring is the loss of present life. Since no man hitherto could do him good, The next shall help him, or else lose his blood.
EPIRE. Your majesty shall have your will perform'd.
MAR. Not all so soon, dear brother; what, if a woman Now should turn Æsculapius, and restore This dumb Hippolitus? Nay, do not look strange, I dare avow and undertake the cure.
EPIRE. You, sister! are you in your wits?
MAR. Faith, of the outside of them, brother; yet a woman's tongue, Whose burthen still is superfluity, May lend a man an age's complement.
CYP. Madam, I would not have you, with the lark, Play yourself into dare-net;[177] this great cure, I fear, is far beyond your physic's help.
MAR. My lord, you know not how Apollo loves me; I have been thought as fair as Oenon was, And dare be bold to claim this miracle.
CYP. Mariana, attend; Glory and ruin compass thee about. This hand shall raise thee to a golden throne, And grace thee with all styles of dignity: This cast thee down Lower than life's misfortune, and overwhelm Thy beauties with thy grave. Perform--be great: Fail, and be worse than worst calamity.
QUEEN. Stay, gentle friend, my love doth bid thee stay; Attempt not, and be safe from misery.
EPIRE. Sister, you shall not grasp with mischief thus; My blood doth challenge interest in your ill, And I conjure you from this desperateness.
MAR. Brother, content yourself, words but augment our strife; I will perform, or else my pawn's my life.
CYP. Proceed, fair virgin.
MAR. Vouchsafe me privacy: now Venus bespeed. [_She walks aside with_ PHILOCLES. Speak, gentle Philocles, thine oath's bond I untie, And give thy vows a free enfranchisement; Thy well-kept league hath show'd thy strength of truth, And doth confirm me in thy[178] virtuousness: Thy martyrdom and sufferance is too long, And I restore it to new liberty. Then speak, my Philocles, speak, gentle prince, To her whose love respects and honours thee.
CYP. How now, what virtue from thy charms?
MAR. No hope is left! Dear Philocles, regard my miseries, Untie that wilful let which holds in speech, And make me happy through thy noble pity. I see the face of mine ill-shaped contempt, Where like with like hath quit most injury: Then speak, my lord: utter one angel breath To give me joy, and save me from strange death. What, not a word! hath this small silence brought An utter detestation to thy speech? Wilt thou not hear, nor speak, nor pity me? The gentle gods move thee to more remorse.
CYP. What, wilt not be? Fond maid, thou hast drawn affliction on thy head, And thrall'd thyself to worse calamity: Till morrow's sun thy incantations use, But, then effectless, all hope's desperate: Wert thou my bosom-love, thou di'st the death; Best ease for madness is the loss of breath.
[_Exeunt all but_ PHILOCLES _and_ MARIANA.
MAR. O Philocles, I am no court's disgrace, No city's prostitution, country's shame, Nor one shall bring Troy's fire unto thy house: Turn not away, hard-hearted myrmidon. See, on my knees I'll follow thee in court, And make the world condemn thy cruelty. Yet if my tears may mollify thy heart, Receive them as the flood of strangest tides; Turn not thy face from her that doats on thee. Love now hath made me subject to thy will, And pale disdain hath ta'en revenge on me. Behold, my knees[179] I'll wear upon this earth, And fill this roof with lamentations. What! dost thou smile I hath fury so much sway As even to banish poor civility? Then be thyself, and break thine itching spleen; For I disdain thy ransom's victory. Life, thou art weary brought: welcome my death, Sweet, because wish'd-for, good, because my choice:] Yet when I am dead, this of me shall be said, A cruel prince murder'd a loving maid; And after-ages to th' unborn shall tell Thy hate, my love: thy envy and my hell. Nay, do not speak, I charge thee: go, let nothing move thee, Death is my glory, since thou wilt not love me. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[162] [Edits., _whole_.]
[163] _i.e._, Puppet-shows.
[164] [Alluding to his jealousy.]
[165] [Old copy, _collect_.]
[166] [Edits., _I am_. He kisses her.]
[167] The edition of 1608 reads _toward_, which may be right. The edition of 1633 reads _coward_; but probably _covert_ is the correct word.--_Collier._
[168] [Edits., _death of_, which is assuredly nonsense.]
[169] The metre, and sense also, would be improved could any warrant be found for reading, _This kiss shall leave_, &c.--_Collier._
[170] [The sun, the eye of the world.]
[171] [In reference to the saying that maidens always say _nay_.]
[172] _Bird_ in the first edit., showing how the word was then pronounced.--_Collier._
[173] [Edits., _errors_.]
[174] [A play on the double meaning of the word.]
[175] [The speaker refers, as we shall presently see, to the newly-feigned dumbness of Philocles.]
[176] [Edits. read--
"I should think strangely, had we strange things on earth. But wonders now," &c.]
[177] The quartos, _day-net_, we should read _dare net_. Surrey, in "Henry VIII," act iii. sc. 3, says: "And _dare_ us with his cap-like larks." See Blome's "Gentleman's Recreation."--_Pegge._ [See also Dyce's "Shakespeare Glossary," _v._ Dare.]
[178] [Edits., _my_.]
[179] [Edits., _nerves_.]
ACTUS III., SCÆNA 1.
_Enter the_ DUKE OF EPIRE _and_ ALPHONSO.
EPIRE. Grief, which controls the motions of our thoughts, Reigns in my blood, and makes me passion's slave. My sister's misery torments my soul, And breaks my gall, when I but think of her: She was bewitch'd with spells to her misfortune, Or else born hapless under a low'ring star, And 'tis her fate to be thus miserable. O Philocles, hadst thou no other scale To mount thy heaven but by our miseries? Must all the noble fame of our great house Waste down her royal pillars, to make steps For thee to climb to glory? Well, I see Thou plott'st our shames in thy great dignity.
ALPH. Patience, great lord; methinks these ill-rais'd storms Have not more violence than may be borne: Come, we will both go sue unto the king, We there will kneel and pray eternally, And never rise till he remit his doom. It shall be so, I will unto the king, To beg great favour for a small offence: But if she die for this, then, king, take heed: Thou[180] and thy fortunes by this hand shall bleed. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ CHIP, SHAVING, _and others with a scaffold_.
CHIP. Come, my hearts, let's make all things ready for the execution; here's a maidenhead must be cut off without a feather-bed.
SHA. It's a sign she deals with sharp tools and a cruel headsman.
CHIP. If I had been her judge, she should have been tossed to death in a blanket.
SHA. No, I would have had her smothered in a feather-bed.
CHIP. They say she would not plead at her trial.
SHA. No, that's true, for she had a great desire to be pressed.[181]
CHIP. And I have known some of her sex have got that favour to be pressed for speaking.
SHA. Then she was unwise to hold her tongue, being a woman.
CHIP. What is her crime, that she must lose her head?
SHA. Because she lived honest, contrary to the statute.
CHIP. There is a great number of my neighbours will never suffer for that fault.
SHA. No, nor thou neither, if the truth were known; for my part I shun that danger.
CHIP. I think we are all out of danger of the law for that crime.
SHA. I know I am free, for I am a knave, if I have not forgot what wench had my maidenhead.
_Enter_ FLORIO.
FLO. Make room there: his majesty is coming to the execution.
CHIP. Come, now all things are ready, let's away. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ EPIRE _and_ ALPHONSO.
EPIRE. Mercy is banish'd courts; the king, like flint, Hardens his royal temper 'gainst our 'plaints, And makes our woes most unavoidable. What inauspicious star reign'd at her birth, That heaven thus frowns upon her misery? And, my good lord, now innocence must die, As white as untrod snow or culver down.[182] Kings' words are laws, and cannot be withstood; Yet 'tis false greatness, which delights in blood.
ALPH. Patience, my lord; I do not think this ill Is yet so big, as [to be] unrecoverable. The king doth hold you in most choice respect, And whom kings love, they study to oblige; Then call your reason home, make not this civil war, To suffer makes woes lesser than they are.
EPIRE. How well the sound can salve[183] the sick man's grief! But O, how ill he can digest his pills![184] O my good lord, you shall not lose a sister, That is the joy and comfort of your breath; Tis not your blood shall issue from her wound; But mine that runs in rivers from her tears, And drown my face in her calamity. Well, let her perish, since her soul is clear, And for her death I'll make a massacre.
_Enter_ CYPRUS, QUEEN, PHILOCLES, MARIANA _bound, a guard of halberts, and an executioner_.
CYP. Your suits are bootless: for my vows have glued And clos'd mine ears, that they retain no sound Of your entreaties; and even now the time Doth run upon his latest minutes, and Save but by speech, there's no recovery.
QUEEN. Have mercy, good my lord: O, let my tears intrude Betwixt your vows and her calamity: In her you take from me my best of life, My joy, my comfort, and my playfellow.
CYP. Content you, madam, for my vow is past, And is like fate still unrevocable: Ascend, poor model of calamity.
MAR. As lightly burden'd with the weight of crimes, As spotless infants or poor harmless lambs, Thus I ascend my heaven. This first step lower Mounts to this next; this thus and thus[185] hath brought My body's frame unto its highest throne: Here doth her office end, and hence my soul With golden wings of thought shall mount the sky, And reach a palace[186] of pure sanctity. Farewell, my sovereign! Madam, within your thoughts Make me a tomb, and love my memory. Brother, farewell; nay, do not mourn my death, It is not I that die to spot our house, Or make you live in after-obloquy. Then weep no more, but take my last adieu: My virtues, not my faults, preserve with you. Lastly, to you that are my last of hope-- Nay, do not hide your eyes, I love them still, To part friends now is greatest charity. O, be thy days as fruitful in delights, As Eden in choice flowers: thine honours such As all the world may strive to imitate. Be master of thy wishes: only this, When the sad nurse, to still the wrangling babe, Shall sing the careful story of my death, Give me a sigh from thy heart's purest breath: And so farewell.
EXE. Madam, kneel here; forgive me for your death.
MAR. With all my heart, thou art but law's poor hand. Thus to my death I bow, and yet arise; Angels, protect my spirit in the skies. [_He offers to strike._
PHIL. Hold, or thine hand shall be thine own destruction!
CYP. Never did music sound with better voice! Unbind the lady.
FLO. The fear of death hath brought her to a swoon.
CYP. Endeavour her recovery.
EPIRE. Sister, dear sister, call thy spirits back: Sister, O sister! hearken to my woes, Recover breath, and live with happiness.
QUEEN. She stirs; give way to air, that she may breathe: Speak, Mariana, thy woes are cancelled.
MAR. You are not charitable unto my moans, Thus to afflict me with a double punishment. One death for one poor fault might well suffice: They are most wretched who twice live and die.
PHIL. Madam, to save your life, I kill my soul, And speckle that which was immaculate. Black perjury, that open-ey'd disease, Which is the plague-sore of society, Brands me with mischief, and protests I hold Nothing within me but unworthiness: And all these ills are your creation.
MAR. Which to wash off, lo, here I yield myself An humble sacrifice to love and thee: All my best hopes, my fortunes and my love, My faith, my service, and my loyalty, Shall as thy slaves attend on thy commands, And make me famous in thy[187] suffrages.
CYP. Receive her, Philocles, for it pleaseth us.
PHIL. But not me, my thrice-royal sovereign; I'd rather wed a sooty blackamore, A leper, monster, incubus, or hag: A wretch deform'd in nature, loath'd of men. Than her that hath bemonster'd my pure soul. Her scorn and pride had almost lost her life; A maid so faulted seldom proves good wife.
QUEEN. What is the reason you not love her now, And were so passionate in love before?
PHIL. Not that I love her less, but rather more, Run I this backward course; only my vow Sith unperform'd craves satisfaction: Which thus I reconcile: when this fair maid Shall with as strong a love, as firm a zeal, A faith as constant, and a shame as strong, Requite my care, and show as ample proof In mine extremes, as I have in her death, Then will I love, enjoy, and honour her; Till when I will not think a loving thought, Or give the easy temper of my mind To lovesick passion or deliciousness; Only with those which do adore the sun, I'll give her all respect and reverence.
MAR. I am well pleas'd, and with a doubtful foe You have good reason thus to capitulate: Then hang your colours forth, extend your thought. Muster your strongest powers of strictest wit; And when your reason's best artillery's bent, Love not my love, if't be not excellent.