4- f 4. 
 
 MERMAID 
 
 THE BEST TLc4YS OF 
 THE OLT) VT(c4mcAriSTS 
 
 JAMES 
 SHIRLEY. 
 
 EDMUND GOSSE. 
 
 
 <r*^s«^ 
 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THB 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 
 1934 
 
N0V15t948^fi 
 
 ^UM 1953 E^ 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PR 3142.G67 
 
 Jaines Shirley. 
 
 3 1924 013 166 347 
 

THE mET{mAIV SE\IES 
 
 Edited by Havelock Ellis. 
 
 THjE Best plays of the Old Dramatists. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
In Half-Crown Monthly Volumes uniform with the present Work. 
 
 THE MERMAID SERIES. 
 
 The Besi Plays of the Old Dramatists. 
 
 The following are among the earlier Volumes of the Series: — 
 
 MARLOWE. Edited by Havelock Ellis. With a General 
 Introduction by J. A. Symonds. 
 
 MASSINGER. Edited by ARTHUR Symons. 
 
 MIDDLETON. With an Introduction by A. C. SWINBURNE. 
 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (2 vols.). Edited by J. St. Loe 
 Strachey. 
 
 CONGREVE. Edited by Alexander C. Ewald. 
 
 DEKKER. Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 SHIRLEY. With an Introduction by Edmund Gosse. 
 
 NERO AND OTHER PLAYS. Edited by H. P. HoRNE, ARTHUR 
 Symons, &c. 
 
 WEBSTER & CYRIL TOURNEUR. Edited by J. A. Symonds. 
 
 BEN JONSON (2 vols.). Edited by C. H. Herford. 
 
 WYCHERLEY. Edited by W. C. Ward. 
 
 OTWAY. Edited by the Hon. RoDEN Noel. 
 
 FORD. Edited by Havelock Ellis. 
 
 THOMAS HEYWOOD. Edited by J. A. Symonds. 
 
 ARDEN of FEVERSHAM, and other Plays attributed to 
 Shakespeare. Edited by Arthur Symons. 
 
Cornell University 
 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013166347 
 
James sHiRLsy. 
 
 From, the, FtcZure in the BoillRian, Oallery. 
 
The Best Plays of the Old Dramatists. 
 
 JAMES SHIRLEY 
 
 n-lTH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 By Edmund Gosse M.A. 
 
 Clhrl! Lecturer at Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 "I lie and dream of your full Mermaid ^vxe."— Beaumont. 
 
 UNEXPURGATED EDITION 
 
 LONDON : 
 VIZETELLY & CO., 42, CATHERINE STREET, AND 
 l6,. HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 1888. - 
 
J\L 
 
 K ■ 
 
 ^17 
 
 lingB have 
 
 " What things hSve we seen 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 
 And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
 Ofhis dull life." 
 
 Master Francis Beaumont to Ben yonson. 
 
 "'^V.o 
 
 " Souls of Poets dead and gone. 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern. 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? ' 
 
 Keats. 
 
 LONDON : 
 Jl E; VJRtL'E and CO., LIMITED, PRINIERS, CITY ROAD. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 oXKo 
 
 James Shirley 
 
 PAGE 
 
 vii 
 
 The Witty Fair One 
 
 I 
 
 The Traitor '. . .... 
 
 . . 8s 
 
 Hyde Park .... . . 
 
 ■ 177 
 
 The Lady of Pleasure 
 
 . 259 
 
 The Cardinal 
 
 • • 357 
 
 The Triumph of Peace ... 
 
 ■ 437 
 
JoAmES SHIPLEY. 
 
 N considering the copious work 
 of Shirley we are brought face 
 to face with a man who was 
 obviously a student of the 
 printed writings of his imme- 
 diate predecessors. The works of the dramatists 
 had begun to be edited when he first came for- 
 ward. Ben Jonson had collected his plays in 
 1616, Shakespeare was edited in 1623 ; Lyly 
 followed in 1632, Marston in 1633. Shirley was, 
 obviously, a devourer of printed plays, and he is 
 sometimes scarcely to be distinguished from the 
 Barry Cornwalls and George Barleys who wrote 
 "dramatic scenes" in the Elizabethan spirit 
 two centuries later. More than enough has 
 been said of Shirley as a supposed repre- 
 sentative of the decadence; he has never re- 
 covered from the unjust sneers of Dryden. Yet, 
 in reality, to study the drama in the process of 
 pulverisation we must turn, hot to him, but to 
 Glanthorne. Brome. and Tasoer Mavne. Shirley, 
 
viii JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 an essentially literary poet, took up the drama 
 as literature, and held it up for fifteen years in 
 an artificial condition. Meanwhile, outside his 
 compact and unaltering' stage, it was rapidly 
 sinking year by year. Shirley neither sinks nor 
 rises. As a purely literary poet, although one 
 that went down to address the public on the 
 boards with great skill, he stood aloof from the 
 theatre, and in the retirement of his study he 
 was unaffected by the tempests of the times. He 
 is one of the most uniform of writers, always 
 graceful, fluent, and accomplished, never deviat- 
 ing far from a certain standard of excellence 
 which he had put before him, entirely unaffected 
 by the striking faults of his age, its violence, its 
 obscurity, its prosodical licence. Shirley writes 
 in the age of Ford, and again in the age of 
 Ravenscroft, without any change of note, always 
 polished, skilful, and unobtrusively adroit. He 
 has an apparently inexhaustible vein of delicate 
 poetry, which he has fed on the romantic parts 
 of Shakespeare, on the masques of Ben Jonson, 
 on the tragedies of "Webster, but most of all on 
 those pliant and luxurious dramas of Beaumont 
 and Fletcher which he so piously edited in 1647. 
 Little has been gleaned concerning our poet's 
 career since Gifford began, and Dyce so com- 
 petently finished the editing of his works in six 
 volumes, in 1833. James Shirley or Sherley, 
 was born, according to seven entries in the 
 tables of Merchant Taylors' School, on the 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. ix 
 
 13th of September, 1596, in a house soon 
 afterwards pulled down to make room for the 
 Stocks Market, and therefore presumably in the 
 parish of St. Mary Woolchurch, London. At 
 the time of his birth Marlowe and Greene were 
 dead, Shakespeare was opening his career, 
 Beaumont and Ford, the youngest of the great 
 dramatic school, were children. At the age of 
 twelve, Shirley was sent to Merchant Taylors' 
 School, where he did well, and remained for 
 nearly four years. From this school he pro- 
 ceeded to St. John's College, Oxford, of which 
 Laud was then President. According to Wood, 
 Laud, although very fond of Shirley, declined to 
 permit him to study for holy orders, on account 
 of a large mole which disfigured the young 
 man's left cheek. There is no sign of this defect 
 in the existing portraits of the poet. It is sup- 
 posed that Shirley soon transferred himself to 
 Cambridge, for "he did spend some precious 
 years at Catherine Hall," where he took his 
 degree. While he was at Cambridge his first 
 production. Echo, or the Unfortunate Lovers, was 
 printed in London in 16 18. There can be little 
 question that this was the same poem as the, 
 reprinted {hcec ohm) Narcissus of 1646; but no 
 copy has been seen since the middle of last 
 century, when Mr. Astle of Yoxall possessed 
 and described the volume. 
 
 Narcissus is perhaps the most graceful of the 
 humanistic successors of Shakespeare's popular 
 
X JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 Venus and Adorns, puhlished in 1593. It deals 
 with the familiar, long-drawn emotions of an 
 enamoured maiden vainly striving to awaken 
 passion in a cool woodland youth. This poem 
 lacks force and conviction, but it is full of pretty 
 ideas and picturesque conceits, and is composed 
 in smooth verses. The following stanzas give a 
 favourable idea of its merit : — 
 
 " The wind, thy herald, flies about the groves, 
 
 Aloud proclaiming thee the wood-nymphs' king 
 
 Snatching up odours, as he whistling roves, 
 At thy hand to unlade them from his wing ; 
 
 The sylvans frisk about, while nymphs prepare 
 
 A rosy garland to o'ertop thy hair. 
 
 ' ' Shepherds shall all the day new pastimes spring, 
 A masque of satyrs shall beguile the night ; 
 The choicest birds shall to the[ir] antics sing. 
 
 The stars grow brighter to behold the sight ; 
 Yet these but shadows of the mirth we'll prove 
 If thou wilt stay and be thy Echo's love. 
 
 ' ' I have a cloister overlooks the sea. 
 
 Where every morning we, secure from fear. 
 Will Eee the porpoise and the dolphin play. 
 And all the wonders (hat inhabit there ; 
 . While many a bark into the clouds doth leap. 
 While surges caper round about the ship. 
 
 " Lovely Narcissus, prithee stay with me ; 
 
 If thou do thirst, from every spring shall rise 
 Divinest nectar, and thy food shall be 
 
 The glorious apples of Hesperides ; 
 A nymph shall be thy Hebe, if thou need 
 Shalt have another for thy Ganiraede." 
 
 Already in this early poem we see Shirley 
 writing as a literary scholar of the greater and 
 older men. There is not merely the influence of 
 Shakespeare upon him, but that of Marlowe's 
 Hero and Leander and possibly of Beaumont's 
 Salmacis and Hermaphroditus as well. Yet he 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xi 
 
 is not a plagiarist, nor even a mere imitator ; he 
 goes to school to these poets, as the Fletchers 
 went to the school of Spenser, and takes a 
 genuine inspiration at second hand. 
 
 In 1619 he was still at Cambridge, and in 1623 
 he was appointed master at St. Albans Gram- 
 mar School. Between these dates it would 
 appear that Shirley took orders in the Church of 
 England, received a living in or near the town 
 of St. Albans, and on becoming a convert to 
 Rome, resigned the benefice without leaving 
 the town. It would seem from a passage in the 
 Grateful Servant that he was connected, as a 
 Catholic, with the order of Benedictines. He 
 remained faithfiil to his new convictions until 
 the end of his life. He continued to be a school- 
 master for about two years, probably resigning 
 his appointment, which was extremely irksome 
 to him, soon after the success of his first play. 
 
 The comedy originally called Love Tricks was 
 licensed on the loth of February, 1625. It was 
 not printed until 1631, when it appeared as The 
 School of Compliment ; it was one of Shirley's 
 most popular pieces and was reprinted several 
 times. In the prologue Shirley said that his 
 Muse had never before saluted an audience, and 
 that he himself had not made up his mind — 
 " To swear himself a factor for the scene." 
 
 The success of Love Tricks probably induced 
 him to take up the dramatic profession in earnest. 
 The play is not a 'good one ; it is a series of 
 
xii JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 fragments, most of them reminiscences of scenes 
 from writers of the preceding generation. The 
 first two acts are mainly sustained by fun about 
 the delusions of a love-sick old man, Rufaldo, 
 who fancies that passion has made him look 
 young. Into the third act is abruptly introduced 
 a mildly Aristophanic scene, possibly imitated 
 from The Clouds, of a school where young men 
 are taught to make rhetorical compliments. In 
 the fourth and fifth acts we get a somewhat 
 naive imitation of Shakespeare's and Fletcher's 
 pastoral passages. There is a brace of sisters, 
 Felice and Selina, who pass away into the forest 
 disguised, the former as a shepherdess, the latter 
 as a shepherd ; to them comes the melancholy 
 and romantic Infortunio, who is in love with 
 Selina, but does not recognise her dressed as a 
 boy. The bucolic bewilderment reaches its 
 climax when Selina, in the garb of a youth, 
 dances with Antonio, who is in woman's clothes. 
 The influence of As You Like It is very strongly 
 marked in this play, but' there are traces also of 
 Ben Jonson, Fletcher, and perhaps Massinger. 
 It is the most imitative of Shirley's works, and 
 yet, if it were anonymous, it would at once be 
 recognisable as his. It has his limpid fancy, 
 cheerful tone, and easy but correct versifica- 
 tion. 
 
 Exactly a year later, in 1626, Shirley produced 
 his second play and earliest tragedy. The Maid's 
 Revejige. He did not greatly value this piece 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xiii 
 
 himself; and it was not till 1639, and with many- 
 apologies, that he printed it. This Portuguese 
 tragedy was an attempt on the part of Shirley to 
 produce one of the blood-and-thunder melo- 
 dramas which were so popular at this time ; but 
 his gentle gifts were little fitted to be strained in 
 this violent way, and The Maid's Revenge is 
 uninteresting. The only incident which dwells 
 in the memory is the amiable kidnapping of Be- 
 rinthia, which is not very ingeniously managed. 
 The characters in the piece are singularly devoid 
 of individualisation. Later in the same year 
 Shirley produced another and a better tragedy, 
 The Brothers. In this play he has settled down 
 into the manner which is henceforth habitual to 
 his measured, well-constructed, and fluent pieces. 
 There is here an agreeable absence of violence, 
 a recurrence of honest and wholesome fancies 
 and reflections, and a vein of poetry that is 
 genuine if not very deep or rich. The descrip- 
 tion Fernando gives of his love was long ago 
 made famous by Dr. Farmer's praise. These 
 lines are as graceful and not so well known : — 
 
 " Yes, Felisarda, he is gone, that in 
 The morning promised many years ; but death 
 Hath in few hours made him as stiff as though 
 The winds of winter had thrown cold upon him, 
 And whispered hiin to marble.''^ 
 
 The last scene of the fourth act of The Brothers, 
 between Fernando and Felisarda, may be men- 
 tioned as the earliest satisfactory example of 
 Shirley's tender and innocent love-passages. 
 
xiv JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 The next play produced by our dramatist was, 
 it seems probable, The Wedding, which I pro- 
 pose to attribute to the year 1627. GifFord, 
 from whom no one would rashly differ on such a 
 point, placed it farther on in the list of Shirley's 
 writings, after The Witty Fair One. By some 
 accident it was not entered in Sir Henry Her- 
 bert's licensing book, but it was printed in 1629. 
 My reason for considering that it should be 
 given to an earlier year is that the style seems 
 to belong to a period of transition between The 
 Brothers and The Witty Fair One. It is brisker 
 and more skilful in construction than the-former, 
 but less easy and accomplished than the latter. 
 The Wedding is a variation upon the theme oi 
 Shakespeare's All's Well that Ends Well. The 
 action is overlaid with comic matter of rather 
 a poor kind, as it appears to me, but the some- 
 what narrow central thread of tragi-comedy is 
 very tenderly and hxlmorously worked out. The 
 distress and incredulity of Beauford when Mar- 
 wood first makes his accusation, and the heroic 
 patience of Gratiana under her agony, form 
 some of the best scenes which the poet has left 
 us ; and there is something happy in contriving 
 that Marwood himself should be able to make 
 his charges in good faith, although the particular 
 artifice by which this is effected is coarse and 
 improbable. In The Witty Fair One, which is 
 here reprinted, there are perhaps no scenes quite 
 so brilliant as those in the second act of The 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xv 
 
 Weddmg, but the former is the better play as a 
 whole, and the more characteristic example of 
 Shirley's skill as a dramatist. The Wedding, 
 which was the earliest of his theatriqal publica- 
 tions, was very popular and was several times 
 reprinted. The Witty Fair One, the author tells 
 us, "wanted no grace on the stage," when it 
 was brought out at Drury Lane in the autumn 
 of 1628; but it was not printed until 1633. In 
 both these plays a sense of reality is secured by 
 the fact that the scene is laid in the neighbour- 
 hood of London. 
 
 Shirley was now, in 1628, a recognised figure 
 in the world of dramatic letters. He had made 
 writing for the stage his profession, and during 
 the next decade we must look upon him as shar- 
 ing with Massinger its main profits. He now 
 began to be encouraged by the eulogies of his 
 great contemporaries. In 1629 Ford, who was 
 ten years his senior, declared that " loud Fame " 
 would " in every age renew " Shirley's name ; 
 and in 1630 Randolph very neatly defined his 
 friend's position among the " Lycophronian 
 buskins" of the hour. He praised, what we 
 still acknowledge; the grace and suavity of 
 Shirley's style. He says — 
 
 " Thy Helicon, like a smooth stream, doth fiow, 
 While others with disturbed channels go, 
 And headlong, like Nile-cataracts, do fall 
 With a huge noise, and yet not heard at all." 
 
 The great and excellent Massinger, too, in this 
 same year comes asking leave to be "a modest 
 
xvi JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 votary at the altar of thy Muse ;" and Habington 
 promises Shirley the crown of English poesy 
 when "divinest Jonson" dies. These panegyrits, 
 no doubt, express on the part of the poets a 
 feeling shared by the public and by the mana- 
 gers, since from this time forward the pen of 
 Shirley is exceedingly prolific. We possess no 
 fewer than twenty of his plays brought out 
 between 1629 and 1638, and although this is a 
 tribute of more than two dramas a year, doubt- 
 less it by no means exhausts the sum of his 
 actual production. It may perhaps a little take 
 away from the impression which we are apt to 
 receive, that Shirley belonged to a period of very- 
 late decadence, to remind ourselves that when 
 that great Elizabethan, Ben Jonson, died, Shirley 
 had already brought out on the boards, to our 
 certain knowledge, twenty-four pieces, and that 
 if he had been buried with that rare poet, we 
 should still possess all that is most characteristic 
 and most desirable from Shirley's pen. We 
 should all resign without any great reluctance 
 what our dramatist wrote during the last twenty- 
 five years of his life. 
 
 The Grateful Servant is styled a comedy by 
 the author ; we may rather take it as a type of 
 his skill in tragi-comedy. It was produced in 
 1629 and printed in 1630, being therefore, 
 Shirley's second appeal to the reading public. 
 In this play we meet with a character, Belinda 
 a lady of frolic temper, in whose mouth the poet 
 
jAMM SitlRLMY. svil 
 
 has placed some of his most elaborate and or- 
 nate language. " She is poetical," we are told, 
 "more than half a fury." In her extrava- 
 gances the poet abandons his usual reserve, with 
 something of conscious humour, and his blank 
 verse spreads its wings to the widest. Belinda 
 cries — 
 
 " I was not bom to perch upon a dukedom, ] 
 
 Or some such spot of earth, which the dull eyes . 
 Examine by a magnifying glass. 
 And wonder at ; the Roman eagles never 
 Did spread their wings upon so many shores ; 
 Tlie silver moon of Ottoman looks pale 
 Upon ■my greater empire ; kings of Spain, 
 That now may boast their ground doth stretch as wide 
 As day, are but poor landlords of a cell 
 Compar'd to mine inheritance ; the truth is 
 I am the Devil." 
 
 This is as near as Shirley ever gets to the 
 audacious rapture of Webster and Marlowe, and 
 it is to be noted that his reasonable nature can 
 ofily concede so much as this with a purpose 
 that is slightly comic. Some choice poetry is 
 placed in the old friar's mouth, and The Grateful 
 Servantf though not a very interesting play, 
 shows a definite advance upon its predecessors. 
 It was followed by a tragedy which marks 
 Shirley's highest achievement as a dramatic 
 poet. From this point we travel over a long 
 tableland, and then reaph a slow decline. 
 
 The tragedy of The Traitor, which we here 
 reprint, was licensed in May 163 1, and published 
 in 1635. It was always much admired, and in 
 1692 a mysterious attempt was made to wrest 
 it from the crown of Shirley. It was revived at 
 
xviii JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 the Theatre Royal, and the playwright Peter 
 Motteux, who perhaps was responsible for 
 adapting it for revival, wrote that " Shirley only 
 ushered it in to the Stage : the author of it was 
 one Mr. Rivers, a Jesuit, who wrote it in his 
 confinement at Newgate, where he died." Mot- 
 teux was probably repeating a vague rumour 
 that this Rivers had in some way been connected 
 with The Traitor. It is not impossible that 
 Shirley may have visited his co-religionist in 
 prison, and may have accepted from him some 
 hint of the plot. No one, however, who reads 
 the play will doubt for a moment that it is all 
 written as it now stands by the author whom it 
 represents in so typical a manner. The versi- 
 fication, the arrangement of scenes, the morality, 
 all belong to Shirley and to Shirley only. If 
 other evidence were needed, it is to be found in 
 the poet's epistle dedicatory to the Earl of 
 Newcastle, in which he uses language which 
 would be fraudulent were the writer of- the letter 
 not also the writer of the play. An adaptation 
 of The Traitor, by Sheil, was brought on the 
 stage so late as i8ig. 
 
 Shirley's next contribution to the players was 
 The Duke, 1631, which is not now known to 
 exist. Love's Cruelty, which was acted at Drury 
 Lane late in the same year, was not published 
 until 1640. It is a tragedy, which opens with a 
 very beautiful scene between Bellamente and his 
 mistress Clariana; the high level of these exqui- 
 
yAMES SHIRLEY. xix 
 
 site verses is hardly sustained throughout, and 
 we may consider Love's Cruelty as the first play 
 of Shirley's in which a certain' languor invades 
 the action of the piece. At the time when it 
 was produced, Clariana was one of the greatest 
 favourites with the public among all the author's 
 creations. It was played, until women's parts 
 were taken by girls, by the actor Burt;. Love's 
 Cruelty is an unpleasant piece, unusually coarse 
 for Shirley ; it may be consulted for two fine 
 soliloquies, one by Hippolita, in Act ii., ,^es- 
 cribing,the masques which were at that time so 
 fashionable, and the other Bellamente's descrip- 
 tion of a virtuous wife, in Act iii. It was printed 
 but once, ^ ■ ' ., ,7 ;, 
 
 We now reach a period during which Shirley 
 applied himself exclusively to comedy. From 
 1 63 1 to the close of 1635, when he went to reside 
 in Dublin, the fertile dramatist supplied . the 
 actors, to our knowledge, with twelve consecu- 
 tive comedies, and the list we'possess is pro- 
 bably not complete. The series terminated with 
 what is probably Shirley's finest comic work, both 
 in language and in construction. The Lady of 
 Pleasure. We must briefly enumerate the indi- 
 vidual plays, into a critical examination of which 
 we have no space to proceed, and the less in- 
 clination since our reprint presents the reader 
 with two specimens of this attractive and spark- 
 ling cluster of cornedies. The C^hangis-^^or Love 
 in a Maze, was acted at Salisbury Court'irjj^i632, 
 
XX yAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 and printed the same year. The Bird in the 
 Cage, 1632 (printed 1633), is ironically dedicated 
 to Prynne, who was at that moment in prison, 
 after standing " earless on high " in the pillory 
 for having printed his insolent Histriomastix, 
 16^2. This play comprises a masque, in which 
 the female parts were taken by women, an inno- 
 vation at that time very rare, and looked upon 
 with much suspicion. , In this masque ladies 
 drew a huge cage on to the scene, with Phi- 
 lenzo, in disguise, as "the Bird in the Cage." 
 Jlyde Park, 1652 (printed 1637), which we re- 
 print, was a very popular play. It was acted on 
 the occasion of the opening of Hyde Park to the 
 public by the first Earl of Holland, to whom the 
 park belonged. During the fourth act races 
 are proceeding ; when the play was revived in 
 Pepys' time the horses were led across the stage 
 itself, to the great excitement of the audience. 
 It would not appear that this was attempted by 
 Shirley, since the stage directions — " confused 
 noise of betting within," and " a shout within, 
 and crying, 'A jockey ' "—together with the 
 fact that the personages enter to inform their 
 friends of their luck, seem to show that the 
 horses were kept out of sight of the audience. 
 Hyde Park is unusually interesting as a study of 
 contemporary manners. 
 
 The Ball, in which Shirley enjoyed some 
 help from the aged George Chapman, was 
 brought out in 1632, and printed in 1639. 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xxi 
 
 This play, which includes a masque of the 
 same name, gave great offence at its first per- 
 formance, from the fact that in imitating one of 
 the fashionable court entertainments the actors 
 travestied the persons of well-known courtiers. 
 This does not appear to have been done in 
 malice, but the victims of the freedom warmly 
 objected, and the poet was threatened with 
 punishment. He was, however, high in favour 
 next year with the Master of the Revels, who has 
 made the following very interesting entry in his 
 ofi&ce-book on registering there Shirley's comedy 
 of The , young Admiral, on the 3rd of July, 
 1633 :— 
 
 " The comedy called the Young Admiral, being free from oaths, 
 profaijeness or obsceneness, hath given me much delight and 
 satisfaction in the reading, and may serve for a pattern to other 
 poets, not only for the bettering of manners and language, but for 
 the improvement of the quality, which hath received some brushings 
 of late. When Mr. Shirley hath read this approbation, I know it 
 will encourage him to pursue this beneficial and cleanly way of 
 poetry, and when other poets hear and see his good success, I ara 
 confident they will imitate the original for their own credit, and 
 make such copies in this harmless way as shall speak them masters 
 in their art, at the lirst sight, to all judicious spectators. It maybe 
 acted this 3rd July, 1633. I have entered this allowance for direc- 
 tion to ray successor, and for example to all poets that shall write 
 after the date hereof." 
 
 The Young Admiral is a very graceful play, 
 and its language is remarkably void of offence ; 
 but, in the face of so very unctuous a recommen- 
 dation of its chastity, we may notice that there 
 is a page in the fourth act which apparently 
 escaped Sir Henry Herbert's attention. The 
 expression " Oh, my stars ! " which we regret to 
 find in the fifth act, is perhaps an oath ; but, to 
 
xxii fAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 be serious, Shirley, after his scare with The Ball, 
 is seen in The Young Admiral on his very best 
 behaviour. The Gamester, 1633 (printed 1637), 
 was acted at Court; it was written to the King's 
 order, and his majesty deigned to supply the 
 outline of the plot. We are therefore not sur- 
 prised to be informed that "the King said it 
 was the best play he had seen for seven years." 
 An adaptation of The Gamester was acted in 
 1827. 
 
 The prologue to The Example, 1634 (printed 
 1637), shows that English drama was begin- 
 ning to pass . under the shadow of Puritanism. 
 The author writes in vague fear and trembling ;. 
 he says : — 
 
 " We have named our play 
 The Example, and for aught we know, it may 
 Be made one ; for at no time did the laws, 
 However understood, more fright the cause 
 Of unbefriended poesy." 
 
 This was followed in 1634 by The Opportunity, 
 printed in 1640, and in 1635 by The Coronation 
 (printed 1640), and Chabot, Admiral of France 
 (printed 1639), which latter was mainly a posthu- 
 mous work of Chapman ; by The Royal Master, 
 printed in 1638, and finally by that brilliant 
 comedy, The Lady of Pleasure, printed in 1637. 
 The Coronation was early claimed for Fletcher 
 who probably had some share in it. We know that 
 in 1633 Shirley "corrected" that writer's Night 
 Walker, and he had a hand in preparing several 
 other plays of Fletcher's for the stage. It is not 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xxiii 
 
 quite certain when The Royal Master was pro- 
 duced ; it was not licensed until 1638, but it seems 
 to have been acted in Dublin before the occasion 
 of Shirley's first appearance there, soon after the 
 opening of Ogilby's Castle Theatre in 1635. 
 The beautiful and sprightly drama of The Lady 
 of Pleasure, which is certainly the jewel in this 
 charming cluster of comedies, was licensed in 
 October, 1635, and printed in 1637. 
 
 After the production of The Lady of Pleasure, 
 Shirley proceeded to Ireland. Mr. Dyce con- 
 sidered that this exile was made in the year 
 1637. I believe that this is considerably too late 
 a date, and that his abrupt disappearance from 
 the books of Sir Henry Herbert, where we do 
 not find his name between January 1636 and 
 June 1 640, shows that he had soon after the for- 
 mer time transferred his services to the theatre 
 of his friend Ogilby in Dublin. If we could dis- 
 cover the date of the prologue in which Shirley 
 says that " two year he has lived in Dublin '• 
 we could settle this difficulty. As it is, we may 
 perhaps safely conjecture that he went over to 
 Ireland to help Ogilby at the new Werburgh 
 Street Theatre in the early part of. 1636. This is 
 borne out by the fact that in the dedication of 
 The Royal Master, printed in 1638, he tells Lord 
 Kildare that his affairs in England are hastening 
 his departure from Ireland, so that this is pro- 
 bably the terra of the " two year." In 1640 five 
 play.5 of Shirley's were printed, perhaps on occa- 
 
xxiv JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 sion of his final return to England. We cannot 
 tell when these dramas were originally pro- 
 duced, but certainly some, and probably all, of 
 them were designed in the first instance for 
 Irish audiences. They are the tragi-comedy of 
 The Doubtful Heir, the comedies of The Constant 
 Maid and The Humorous Courtier, the pastoral 
 of Sidney's A-rcadia dramatised, and the curious 
 drama called St. Patrick for Ireland, This latter 
 is an extraordinary work, to which due attention 
 has never been paid. The first act, describing 
 the arrival of the saint, is full of the most ele- 
 vated poetry that Shirley has written ; the 
 second act might have been taken from any of 
 its author's amatory comedies ; in the third he 
 stoops to buffooneries that are most unusual 
 with him, and then finishes off with a ghost. 
 The fourth act is a farrago of everything, farce 
 and tragedy, masque and high comedy; while 
 the fifth recovers much of the spiritual dignity 
 of the first act. St. Patrick for Ireland is a 
 failure, but it is the failure of a man of genius ; it 
 is Shirley's one divergence into the region of 
 pure eccentricity. The last speech which St. 
 Patrick makes is of singular beauty. A second 
 part of this play was promised, but has either 
 been lost or was never written. 
 
 To the brief period which lay between Shirley's 
 return from Ireland and the first ordinance for 
 the suppression of stage plays, belong nine or 
 ten dramas, some of which have disappeared, 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xxv 
 
 One, The Country Captain, was published at the 
 Hague in 1649, with an attribution to the Duke 
 of Newcastie. Mr. A. H. BuUen, who printed 
 this play in 1883 from a MS., was the first to 
 point out that the style of his comedy betrays 
 it as manifestly Shirley's. The following fine 
 poetical passage occurs at the end of the 
 fourth act : — 
 
 " My dream 
 Was full of rapture, such as I with all 
 My wakening sense would fly to meet. Methought 
 I saw a thousand Cupids slide from heaven, 
 And landing here made this their scene of revels. 
 Clapping their golden feathers, which kept time 
 While theirown feet struck music to their dance, 
 As they had trod and touched so many lutes ; 
 This done, within a cloud formed like a throne. 
 She to whom Love has consecrate this night, 
 My mistress, did descend, and, coming towards me, 
 My soul that ever wakes, angry to see 
 My body made a prisoner and so mock'd. 
 Shook off the chains of sleep, lest I should lose 
 Eesential pleasure for a dream. 'Tis happy ' 
 I will not trust myself with ease and silence. 
 But walk and wait her coming that must bless me." 
 
 The recovery of this valuable play is one of many 
 debts which the student of poetry owes to Mr. 
 BuUen's taste and industry. 
 
 The Gentleman of Venice, The Politician, The 
 Jmposture, The Cardinal, and The Sisters were all 
 first printed between 1652 and 1655, though of 
 course they had been written before the closing 
 of the theatres. These plays are, as a whole, 
 less interesting than Shirley's earlier works, but 
 perhaps only because we reach them when our 
 attention is already somewhat fatigued by the 
 monotony of his method of construction and the 
 
xxvi JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 even sweetness of his verse. We have selected 
 The Cardinal for the present reprint as a vigo- 
 rous example of Shirley's latest style, and as 
 perhaps the last great play produced by the 
 giants of the Elizabethan age. When we think 
 what English drama, from Tamburlaine the Great 
 to The Cardinal, consists of, we may well marvel 
 at the wealth poured out in sixty years. 
 
 Wood has described in the following terms 
 Shirley's fate during the Rebellion. It is almost 
 needless to say, by way of preface, that the 
 favourite dramatist of the Court was a convinced 
 JRoyalist : — 
 
 "When the Rebellion broke out, and he thereupon forced to 
 leave London, and so consequently his wife and children (who 
 afterwards were put to their shifts), he was invited by his most noble 
 patron, William, Earl (afterwards Marquess and Duke) of New- 
 castle, to take his fortune with him in the wars ; for that Count had 
 engaged him so much by his generous liberality towards him, that 
 he thought he could not do a worthier act, than to serve him, and 
 so consequently his prince." 
 
 It must, therefore, be taken for granted that, 
 with a neglect of his impoverished wife and 
 children which we could wish better explained, 
 Shirley retired to France, with Newcastle, after 
 the disaster of Marston Moor. It is very singular 
 by the way, that the Duchess makes no mention 
 of Shirley in her life of her husband. We 
 further learn from Wood that upon the complete 
 decline of the King's cause Shirley crept back 
 quietly to England, and found entertainment 
 with an old and wealthy friend, Thomas Stanley, 
 the poet and Hellenist. To eke out a livelihood 
 
JAMES SHIRLEY. xxvii 
 
 he had to take up the old distasteful business of 
 a schoolmaster, which he practised with great 
 success in Whitefriars. In 1646 he issued a 
 volume of his Poems, including his masque of 
 The Triumph of Beauty. Copies of this book, in 
 good condition, with the portrait-frontispiece, 
 are much sought after by bibliophiles. At the 
 Restoration Shirley's plays were once more set 
 upon the stage, but they were found to be old- 
 fashioned. His knowledge of the profession 
 was, however, taken advantage of by dramatic 
 amateurs, such as the Duke of Newcastle and 
 the Hon. Edward Howard, though to what extent 
 we cannot now discover.^ It is also said that 
 Ogilby used Shirley " as a drudge " in his heavy 
 translations of Homer and Virgil. Shirley's end 
 was melancholy in the extreme. His second 
 wife and he, at the great fire of London, were 
 driven out of their house near Fleet Street, and 
 died of terror and exposure on the same day in 
 the parish of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, where they 
 were buried in one grave, on the 29th of October, 
 1666. The poet was then aged seventy years 
 and three weeks. His dramatic work almost 
 immediately fell into a disrepute which is posi- 
 tively unaccountable. 
 
 ^ In 1853 Mr. Halliwell-Phillips printed at the end of the 
 catalogue of the Plymouth Public Library a verj' poor play called 
 The General. Mr. BuUen informs me that he has recently found 
 in the library of Worcester College another MS. of the same. But 
 the conjecture by which this performance has been fastened on 
 Shirley is certainly incorrect. The General has no trace of his 
 style. 
 
xxviii JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 No memoir of Shirley would be complete 
 which did not mention his masques. In the 
 preparation of these elaborate entertainments he 
 is surpassed only by Ben Jonson, whom, in this 
 department of his art, he studiously follows. 
 We have reprinted in this volume The Tri- 
 umph of Peace, which was presented by the Inns 
 of Court before the King and Queen in 1633, as 
 our typical example of these masques, in which 
 the enchantments of motion and melody, of 
 colour and verse, were united. Shirley's lan- 
 guage, whether in verse or prose, is nowhere 
 more gorgeous, more jewelled than it is in these 
 pages. But it is another masque. The Conten- 
 tion of A j ax and Ulysses, 1659, which contains 
 Shirley's noblest lyric, " the fine song which old 
 Bowman used to sing to King Charles :" — 
 
 " The glories of our blood and state 
 Are shadows, not substantial things j 
 There is no armour against fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings ; 
 Sceptre and crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade." 
 
 Almost as good is the ode beginning "Victo- 
 rious man of earth," in Cupid and Death, 1653. 
 As a lyrical poet Shirley attained great sweet- 
 ness ; his best songs have something in them 
 of the enamoured and roseate effusion of Carew. 
 Yet graceful as these lyrics are, it is difficult to 
 find one which is absolutely without a flaw. The 
 
yAMES SHIRLEY. xxix 
 
 following, from The Imposture, is perhaps the 
 best of Shirley's songs ; — 
 
 " Ye virgins, that did late despair 
 
 To keep your wealth from cruel men, 
 Tie up in sUk your careless hair, 
 Soft peace is come again. 
 
 " Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot 
 A [modest ?] flame that will not kill ; 
 The drum was angry, but the lute 
 Shall whisper what you will. 
 
 " Sing lo, 13 ! for his sake. 
 
 Who hath restored your drooping heads ; 
 With choice of sweetest flowers, make 
 A garden where he treads ; 
 
 " Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring, 
 A petty triumph to his brow. 
 Who is the master of the spring. 
 And all the bloom we owe." 
 
 In Shirley's own time his style was recog 
 nised as being " discreet," " sober," and " sweet- 
 tempered." These qualities were particularly 
 admirable in an age that was hurrying to. decay, 
 and attempting to recover its vitality by mere 
 storm and excess. Shirley's style is uniform to 
 an extraordinary degree, and the level country 
 over which his muse reigns, with its broad 
 flowery meadows, slow streams and rich woods, 
 is charming rather than striking, and pleases us 
 without creating astonishment or rapture. His 
 comedies are polite and amusing without gross- 
 ness ; his tragedies inspire pity rather than 
 terror or indignation. He is a remarkably ele- 
 gant and competent writer, whose high posi- 
 
tion in the second rank is never likely again to 
 be seriously assailed. If the^experiment which 
 the " Dramatic Students " have been making to 
 restore the Elizabethan masterpieces to the stage 
 should succeed, we may hope to see Shirley 
 again successful on the boards. His skill in 
 theatrical construction would probably make 
 him one of the easiest of the great playwrights 
 to present to a modern audience. 
 
 Edmund Gosse. 
 
THE WITTY F(iAI\ OU^fi. 
 
 Shir. 
 
HE Comedy of The Witty Fair One 
 was licensed by -the Master of the 
 Revels in October, 1628, acted by 
 His Majesty's Servants at the Private 
 House in Drury Lane, and published 
 
 in 1633. In 1666, shortly after Shirley's death, the play 
 
 was revived. 
 

 1 
 
 To the Truly Noble Knight, 
 SIR EDWARD BUSHELL. 
 Sir, 
 
 OUR candid censure of some unworthy 
 poems which I have presented to the 
 world, long since made me your servant 
 in my thoughts, and being unwilling to 
 rest long in the silent contemplation of 
 your nobleness, I presumed at last to 
 send this comedy, to kiss your hand, as 
 the first degree to my greater happiness in your more par- 
 ticular knowledge of me. It wanted no grace on the stage ; 
 if it appear acceptable to you in this new trim of the press, 
 it will improve abroad, and you oblige the author to 
 acknowledge a favour beyond the first applause. Pardon 
 the rudeness of my public address to you, in the number of 
 many whom with more excuse I might have interrupted. 
 I am bold, but your mercy will incline you not to despise 
 these (at the worse) but errors of my devotion, and the weak 
 expression of his service whose desires are to be known. 
 
 Your true hojnourer. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Sir George Richley, a rich old Knight. 
 
 Worthy, his Brother. 
 
 AiMWELL, Lover of Violetta. 
 
 Fowler, a wild young Gentleman. 
 
 Sir Nicholas Treedle, a foolish Knight. 
 
 Clare 
 
 Manly 
 
 Brains, Sir George Richley's Servant. 
 
 Whibble, Worthy's Servant. 
 
 Tutor and Companion to SIR NICHOLAS. 
 
 Two Gentlemen. 
 
 Footman. 
 
 Messenger, Servants, &c. 
 
 Gentlemen. 
 
 Violetta, Sir George Richley's Daughter. 
 
 Penelope, Worthy's Daughter. 
 
 Sensible ) n, , ., 
 
 \ Chambermaids. 
 Winnifred ) 
 
 SCENE— London and CrOydon. 
 
THE WITTY FqAI\ O^E. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE \.— London. The Garden of 'Worthy's House. 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley, Worthy, and Whibble. 
 OR. So soon after dinner? 
 
 Hick. I am engaged, and must away ; 
 excuse me, brother. 
 
 Wor. Well, make ready his horse. 
 Whib. His worship's pad shall be pre- 
 pared. — If your gelding be not ready 
 in a minute, your worship shall ride me. {Exit, 
 
 Rich. I shall 
 Not need to urge your care upon my daughter, 
 On whom, next the devotion of my soul 
 To Heaven, all my desires and thoughts reflect 
 I leave her to your trust, 
 And, in my absence, doubt not you will be 
 Both uncle and a father. 
 
 Wor. Willingly 
 I would depose myself from both these titles. 
 To serve my nice her virtue will reward me ; 
 I know she is your study ; in your want^ 
 I will put on your jealousy. 
 Rich. It would not 
 
 1 i.e. Absence, 
 
6 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act I. 
 
 Become me to confine your entertainments 
 
 Of friends and visitants ; but, remember, brother, 
 
 She's now my sole heir, and by the late death 
 
 Of her twin sister, she derives the right 
 
 Of all my wealth to her. Gallants, I fear, 
 
 I' the town hold too fruitful intelHgence 
 
 In these affairs ; and if they be not watched, 
 
 They'll with their wit charm all the dragons guard 
 
 These golden apples. 
 
 Wor. There are such, indeed. 
 Rich. Oh, sir, there are too, many ; not a virgin, 
 Left by her friends heir to a noble fortune. 
 But she's in danger of a marriage 
 To some puffed title. What are these enter the garden ? 
 
 Enter Aimwell, followed by Fowler and Clare. 
 
 War. The gentlemen that dined with us. 
 
 Foiv. Why, how now Frank ? grown musty on a sud- 
 den? 
 Head hung, and playing the thief thus with your friends, 
 To steal your person from us ! What's the matter ? 
 
 Aim. Nothing, nothing, gentlemen. 
 
 Clare. Very like. 
 And yet you leave our company for this nothing ! 
 
 Fow. Let's in again to the ladies. 
 
 [ExeuAt Aimwell, Fowler, and Clare. 
 
 Rich. What is he? 
 
 Wor. One Master Fowler, a reputed wit 
 1' the town, affected by young gentlemen 
 For his converse, yet lives upon no pension 
 But his own fortune, and a fair one. 
 The other. Master Clare, 
 A friend to Master Aimwell, whom they both 
 Seem to solicit. 
 
 Rich. Master Aimwell ! 
 
 Wor. A hopeful gentleman. 
 
 Rich. Brother, did you not observe at dinner 
 
SCENE!.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. j 
 
 His eyes shoot beams upon my daughter, more 
 Than I was pleased with ? Aimwell call you him ? 
 I may suspect unjustly, but such looks 
 Are often loose conveyers. 
 
 Wor. Make no part 
 Of him your fear. 
 
 Rich. I do not, when I call 
 To mind my daughter's virtue and obedience. 
 She knows my purpose to dispose her to 
 Sir Nicholas Treedle. 
 
 Wor. And how do you find 
 Her inclination ? 
 
 Rich. As I would direct it. 
 
 Wor. She will maintain it to your comfort, sir. 
 However, with what vigilance becomes me, 
 I will preserve 't, while she remains within 
 My custody. 
 
 Rich. I'll leave a servant to wait upon her. 
 
 Wor. Brains? 
 
 Rich. The same. 
 
 Wor. He is a cunning fellow. 
 
 Rich. He has a sconce 
 Carries some subtilty, which he employs 
 Slill honestly in discharge of any trust 
 Committed to him. 
 
 Wor. Good. 
 
 Rich. And 'tis his pride. 
 He was ne'er o'er-reached in any action. 
 
 Wor. He knows his charge ? 
 
 Rich. Perfectly ; but I lose time ; Sir Nicholas 
 Treedle expects me this night in the country. 
 
 Wor. When do you return? 
 
 Rich. Within these three days at most. 
 Trouble yourself no further. 
 
 Wor. I'll wait on you to your horse, sir. [Exetuii. 
 
8 THE WITTY FAIR ONE.. [act i. 
 
 SCENE \\.— Another fart of the same. 
 
 Enter Aimwell. 
 
 Aim. She has shot a fire into my bosom from 
 Her eye, or I have drawn in at mine own 
 Love poison. Oh, my stars were too ungentle 
 To point her out the mistress of my thoughts, 
 Who is so much, Hke them, above the hope . 
 Of ever chmbing to. I see a fatal 
 ImpossibiHty divide us ; yet, 
 The more I would discharge this new guest, it 
 Strengthens itself within me, and renews - 
 Vigour to keep possession. She's above me. 
 And her great fortune makes my expectation 
 So dull and painful ; a great heir— — Her uncle ! 
 
 Enter Worthy. 
 
 Wor. Master Aimwell, what, alone ! come, let's 
 To cards ; where be the gentlemen ? 
 
 Aim. Within, sir. 
 Has Sir George Richley left us ? 
 
 Wor. Some affairs 
 Importuned his departure, 
 
 Aim. When shall we expect him? 
 
 Wor. Three days hence. This your inquiry 
 Doth promise you have business with him. 
 
 Aim. Little — 
 But you did motion cards ; I'll choose my partner, 
 And for a set or two I'm at your service. 
 
 Wor. Make your own election. 
 
 Aim. Why do you mock me ? ' 
 
 Wor. How ! mock you ? 
 
 Aim. Yes. 
 
 Wor. You do n t mean in earnest. 
 
 Aim. I shall betray my passion. \ Aside. 
 
 ' Aimwell alTects to understand Worthy as permitting him to 
 make choice of his niege as z, partner for Ufe.—Gifford,, 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. g 
 
 Enter Violetta. 
 
 Wo-r. I find him. 
 
 Aim. You may, for I am lost. \Aside. 
 
 Vio. He's here. — Good uncle, is my father gone? 
 
 Wor. Yes, gentle niece. 
 
 Vio. Delight to both your walks ! I'll take this arbour. 
 
 \Retires., 
 
 Aim. So breaks the day, and hides itself again 
 Among the western shades ! Were she to dwell 
 Within your garden, it should need no sun ; 
 Her smiles were powerful to infuse a wamath 
 Into the flowers, her breath perfume your arbours. 
 The trees grow rich in blossom and bear fruit 
 At the same instant, as 'twere ever spring 
 And ever summer : .when she seats herself 
 Within some bower, the feathered quiristers 
 " Shall play their music to her, and take pride 
 To warble aery notes till she be weary. 
 Which, when she shall but with one accent of 
 Her own express, an hundred nightingales 
 Shall fall down dead from the soft boughs before her, 
 For grief to be o'erchanted. 
 
 Wor. Here's pretty madness ! 
 
 Aim. 'Tis so ; you have done my passion justice, sir ; 
 For love is but a straggling from our reason. 
 
 Wor. If you do love my niece, let you and I 
 Talk out of metaphor. 
 
 Aim. You knew my father? 
 
 Wor. He was my noble friend. 
 
 Aim. For his sake, give me your free answer to 
 One question. 
 
 Wor. What is't ? promise yourself. 
 What I can do or say is at your service. 
 
 Aim. Is there a possibility, admit 
 I loved your niece, she might be won at last 
 To be my wife ? 
 
 Wor. I'll not dispute the extent 
 
10 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [ACT t. 
 
 Of what is possible, yet my answer may 
 Be satisfactory. 
 
 Aim. You were ever generous. 
 
 Wor. I were uncivil not to reply to 
 A question ; you shall find my love more fruitful, 
 You shall have both my answer and my counsel. 
 
 Aim. Let me embrace a perfect friend. 
 
 Wor, Do you know what 
 Fortune my young niece may bring her husband ? 
 
 Aim. I guess a great one; but I set more value 
 Upon her person ; my affection springs 
 Not from her- wealth. 
 
 Wor. But yet her portion 
 Is worth your taking notice, Master Aimwell ; 
 Her father is a masn who, though he write 
 Himself but knight, keeps a warm house i' the country. 
 Amongst his tenants ; takes no lordly pride 
 To travel with a footman and a page 
 To London ; humbly rides in the old fashion, 
 With half a dozen wholesome liveries, 
 To whom he gives Christian wages, and not countenance 
 Alone, to live on ; can spend by the year 
 Eight hundred pounds, and put up five ; sleeps quietly 
 Without dreaming on mortgages or statutes. 
 Or such like curses on his land ; can number. 
 May be, ten thousand pound in ready coin 
 Of his own, yet never bought an office for't ; 
 Has plate, no question, and jewels too. 
 In his old lady's cabinet, beside 
 Other things worth an inventory, and all this 
 His daughter is an heir to. Now, pray tell me 
 What's your revenue ? 
 
 Aim. Some three hundred pounds — 
 
 Wor. Per annum ? Grant it ; what expectation 
 Have you abroad ? 
 Aim. None. 
 
 Wor. That's quickly summed. 
 You have not made your love known to my niece yet ? 
 
SCENE III.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. ri 
 
 Aim. No ; my intention was to pre-acquaint you. 
 Wor. You have done wisely ; do not think on her 
 When you're at prayers, she will but puzzle 
 Your devotion ; there's no hope of her. 
 
 Aim. Ha! 
 
 Wor. I mean for you to arrive at her, your own 
 Disparity in fortune. 
 
 Aim. I do find it. 
 
 Wor. Excuse my plainness, sir ; her father looks 
 A great deal higher; and, to take away 
 Your least encouragement to prosecute, 
 Within my knowledge she's designed already 
 To a wealthy gentleman, and within few days 
 'Twill be a marriage ; you shall but procure 
 Your own affliction' to employ your hope 
 Where things remain so desperate. 
 
 Aim. I thank you. 
 
 War. You do yourself more right. 
 
 Aim. If such affairs 
 Have past, it were not noble to continue 
 This path ; you have done me gentle office, sir ; 
 I must believe you are generous : this new flame 
 My reason shall suppress, before it grow 
 Too rriighty for me. 
 
 Wor. It becomes you well. 
 Love, like to sin, inveterate is strong ; 
 He prevents danger that destroys it young. — 
 Come, to your friends. \Exeiint. 
 
 SCENE III.— r-^e same. 
 
 Enter Fowler, Penelope, and Clare! 
 
 Few. Your soft stars will not let you be so cruel, lady, 
 to give repulse to a lover. 
 
 Clare. Do not believe him ; he does but compliment ; 
 I have known him court a hundred, with as much for- 
 
12 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act i. 
 
 mality, wooed them in the nuptial cut, made verses on 
 their hair, set lilies and roses, a whole garden, in their 
 cheeks, cherries in their lips, stellify their eyes, and yet in 
 a twinkling — 
 
 Pen. Sure you do him wrong, sir ? 
 Clare. Wrong ! 
 
 Fow. He measures my affection by the length of his 
 own : prithee, Satire, choose another walk, and leave us 
 to enjoy this ; thou knowest not my intent. 
 
 Clare. Thou mayst be honest with one, and that's a 
 miracle, and will ask a strong faith to beHeve it. I hope 
 she has more wit than to trust your voluble courtship. 
 I'll seek out my friend Aimwell. 
 
 [ViOLETTA comes from the arbour. 
 
 Viol. [Aside to Clare.] Sir, if your engagement require 
 
 no haste. \Tliey walk aside. 
 
 Pen. I do wonder a gentleman of your knowledge 
 
 should so deceive himself 
 
 Fow. Express yourself, fairest. 
 
 Pen. Fair sir, I am not taken with your flatteries ; I 
 can see through you. 
 
 Fow. If you have so active an eye, lady, you may see 
 a throng of passions flaming at my heart, set on fire by 
 your beauty, I protest to you ; come, shame not your 
 wisdom to believe report or opinion of the world ; 'tis a 
 maHcious age we live in ; if your ears have been abused 
 with any ill noise' of me, you shall tell yourself, if you 
 love me, the world is a shameless and miserable de- 
 tractor : you do not despise me, lady ? — 
 
 Pen. No, I pity so handsome a gentleman, and of so 
 fair a fortune, should want his eyes. 
 Fow. How ! blind ? 
 Pen. To your own follies, sir. 
 
 Fow. Shall I swear I love you as I am a gentleman ? 
 Pen. As you are a gentleman, I know you can swear 
 anythmg, 'tis a fashion you are most constant in, to be 
 religiously wicked ; an oath in your mouth, and a reser- 
 
SCENE HI.] TBE WITTY FAIR ONE. 13 
 
 vation in your heart, is a common courtship ! Do not 
 swear as you are a gentleman. 
 
 Fow. As I am an honest man? 
 
 Pen. Out upon't ! that's a worse ; my tailor cozened 
 me t'other, day with the same oath. Save your credit, 
 and let swearirig alone ; I dare take your word — 
 
 Fow. Well said. 
 
 Pen. For a greater matter, but not for this. You and 
 I have not eaten a bushel of salt yet ; in time I may be 
 converted, and think your tongue and heart keep house 
 together, for, at this time, I presume they are very far 
 asunder. 
 
 Fow. Would you have my tongue in my heart, lady ? 
 
 Pen. No, by my troth, I would rather find your heart 
 in your tongue ; but you are valiant, and 'tis only fear, 
 they say, brings a man's heart up to his mouth. 
 
 Fow. Why, your wit is a tyrant ; now, pray tell me, 
 do not you love me mightily above potatoes ? ' come I 
 see the httle bhnd boy in yOur eyes already. 
 
 Pen. Love you, sir? 
 
 Fow. Yes, I know by your bitterness you wish me 
 well, and think there is some hope I may be won too, 
 you take pains to whip me so handsomely ; come, I'll 
 be a good child, and kiss the rod. 
 
 Clare. [To Violetta.J— You oblige my service to 
 you ; I am one 
 Aimwell called friend, and shall be happy to 
 Convey him any knowledge may concern him. 
 
 Vw. Then briefly thus : I understand he loves me. 
 Pray you, do him the true office of a friend. 
 And counsel him desist; I am disposed of 
 Already in my father's thoughts, and must 
 
 1 Gifford remarks : " I have no great confidence in the genuine- 
 ness of this expression : if, however, it came from the author, it 
 would seem to mean, above the power of philtres or provocatives. 
 Potatoes, long after their introduction into this country, were not 
 considered as an article of food ; but were either used as conserves, 
 or brought to table higlily seasoned with spices, ambergiise, See." 
 
14 
 
 J..CHJ\. \JJ\J3-. LAl-J 
 
 Shew my obedience ; he shall beget 
 
 But his own trouble, if he move 
 
 My uncle or my father, and perhaps 
 
 Draw their suspicion and displeasure 
 
 On me too, by so indiscreet proceeding. 
 
 I wouid not have a gentleman of his worth 
 
 Do himself so great injury to run 
 
 A course of so much hazard ; if you please 
 
 To bear the burden of my thanks for his, 
 
 On my part, undeserved opinion. 
 
 And make him sensible, in time he may 
 
 Place his affection where he may expect 
 
 Better return, you shall discharge a friendship 
 
 To him, and with it make my thoughts your debtor. 
 Clare. You have expressed a nobleness in this ; 
 
 Were all of your mind, lady, there would be 
 
 Less willow worn. 
 Fow. You would have me praise you, how ; I could 
 
 ramble in your commendation. 
 Fen. I think so. 
 Fow. Do you but think so ? why, you shall hear me : 
 
 Your hairs are Cupid's nets, your forehead like 
 
 The fairest coast of Heaven without a cloud, 
 
 Your eyebrow is Love's brow, while either eye 
 
 Are arrows drawn to wound ; your lips the temple 
 
 Or sacred fane of kisses, often as they meet, exchanging 
 
 roses ; 
 Your tongue Love's lightning, neck the milky path 
 Or throne where sit the Graces. — 
 
 Do not I know that I have abused you all this while, or 
 do you think I love you a thought the better, or, with all 
 my poetical daubings, can alter the complexion of a hair, 
 now? 
 
 Fen. I would not have you, sir. 
 Fow. No dispraise to you, 
 I have seen as handsome a woman ride upoa a sack to 
 market, that never knew the impulsion of a coat or the 
 
SCENE III.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 15 
 
 price of a stammel ' petticoat ; and I have seen a worse 
 face in a countess ; what o' that ? Must you be proud 
 because men call you handsome ? and yet, though we 
 are so foolish to tell you so, you might have more wit 
 than to believe it ; your eyes may be matched, I hope ; 
 for your nose, there be richer in our sex ; 'tis true that 
 you have colour for your hair, we grant it, and for your 
 cheeks, but what do your teeth stand you in, lady ? your 
 lips are pretty, but you lay them too open, and men 
 breathe too much upon them ; for your tongue, we all 
 leave you, there's no contesting : your hand is fine, but 
 your gloves whiter, and for your leg, if the commendation 
 or goodness of it be in the small, there be bad enow in 
 gentlemen's stockings to compare with it ; come, re- 
 member you are imperfect creatures without a man ; be 
 not you a goddess ; I know you are mortal, and had 
 rather make you my companion than my idol : ' this is no 
 flattery now. 
 
 ■Enter Worthy, Aimwell, and Brains, 
 
 Wor. Where be these gentlemen ? 
 
 Fow. How now, Frank ! 
 
 Wor. You look well to your charge. Brains. {Aside. 
 
 Bra. A question, sir ; pray you, are you married, sir ? 
 
 Clare. Why dost thou ask ? 
 
 Bra. Because you should answer me ; 
 I cannot see it in your forehead, sir. 
 
 Clare. How now, my officious trencher-squire ? 
 
 Wor. Excuse him, Master Clare, 'tis his blunt zeal 
 To do his master service, who enjoined his 
 Best care and vigilance upon this gentlewoman. 
 
 Clare. I am married, sir. 
 
 .5ra. then I hope you have met with your match 
 already. 
 I have nothing^ to say to you — 
 
 Clare. This fellow's mad. 
 
 1 A kind of fine Worsted. 
 
i6 
 
 Bra. Nor my master neither, though he left his brams 
 behind him. I hope a man may ask a question, sir ? 
 Wor. Come hither, Brains. 
 
 Fouu. On my hfe thou art in love. 
 
 Clare. You are not. 
 
 Fow. Do not mistake yourself, for I am. 
 
 Clare. Caught ? I am glad on't. 
 
 Fow. No, indeed, not caught neither, therefore be not 
 overjoyed, good morality? why, dost thou think -it pos- 
 sible a woman's face, or anything without her, can 
 enchant me ? 
 
 Bra. \To Worthy.]— Let me alone. \Exit Worthy. 
 • Clare. Why dost thou court them, then ? 
 
 Fow. Why, to try their wits, with which I sharpen my 
 own. Dost think I am so mad to marry ? sacrifice my 
 liberty to a woman ; sell my patrimony to buy them 
 feathers and new fashions, and maintain a gentleman- 
 usher to ride in my saddle when I am knighted and 
 pointed at, with Pythagoras for my tame sufferance ; have 
 my wardrobe laid forth and my holiday breeches, when 
 my lady pleases I shall take the air in a coach with her, 
 together with her dog that is costive ; be appointed my 
 table, what I shall eat, according as her ladyship finds 
 her own body inclined ; fed upon this or that melancholy 
 dish by prescription, guarded with officious salads> like a 
 prisoner in a throng ; ^ praise her bountiful allowance of 
 coarse mutton, that have the world of dainty flesh before 
 me ? 'twere a sin to discretion, and my own freedom. 
 
 Bra. Young mistress, I observe you. \Aside. 
 
 Clare. You do not mean to die in this faith ? 
 
 Fow. Prithee, do not talk of dying ; a pox on the 
 bellman and his Omnia benes ! ' but that I think I know 
 thy father, I should hardly, believe thou wert a gentle-- 
 
 1 I do not understand this, unless a ridiculous pun be intended 
 between salads, vegetables, and sallet, a helmet. — Gifford. 
 
 " From the manner in vJhich this expression " All's well" is 
 introduced ; it would seem to have some leferenee (o the times of 
 " the sickness," always dreaded, and always fatal, — Gifford. 
 
SCENE in.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 17 
 
 man; however, thy Aristotle's Ethics will make thee 
 uncapable of their company shortly ; if you catechise 
 thus you shall have few gentlemen your disciples that 
 have any blood or spirit about them. There is no dis- 
 course so becoming your gaiUants now, as a horse race, 
 or Hyde-park, — ^what ladies' Kps are softest, wh9.t fashion 
 is most terse and courtly, what news abroad, which is 
 the best vaulting-house,' where shall we taste canary and 
 be drunk to-night ? talk of morality ! — here be ladies 
 still, you shall hear me court one of them ; I hope you 
 will not report abroad among my friends that I love 
 her J it is the love of mounting into her maidenhead, I 
 vow, Jack, and nothing else. 
 
 Clare. You are a mad lover. 
 
 \As AiMWELL comes towards Violetta she 
 turns, and exit. 
 
 Bra. Tha^ was cunningly cast about. 
 
 Fow. Whither is't, lady ? 
 
 Pen. I am walking in, sir. 
 
 Fow. I'll wait on you, and after that abroad ; 'tis an 
 inviting day, are you for the coach ? 
 
 Pen. No. 
 
 Fow. Or for the couch ? Take me a companion for 
 
 Pen; Neither. [either. 
 
 Fow. How! neither? blame yourself if you be idle; 
 howsoever, you shall not be alone : make use of my arm, 
 fairest ; you will to your lute, I heard you could touch it 
 cunningly ; pray bless my ears a little. 
 
 Pen. My lute's broke, sir. 
 
 Fow. A string, you mean ; but it is no matter, your 
 voice is not ; ravish a Httle with that, if you please, I can 
 help you to an heir :— by this black eye, which nature 
 hath given you, I'll not leave you, I'll follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Fowler and Penelope. 
 
 Aim. All this from her? 
 
 Clare. You may believe me, sir. 
 
 Aim. Why this to him? Could she not give me 
 1 Brothel. 
 
i8 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. L^CT i. 
 
 repulse, but she must thus proclaim it ? I never moved 
 it to her ; her uncle hath had no opportunity to acquaint 
 hei;. What's the mystery ?—[^^«(/tf.]— Prithee, repeat 
 again the substance of what she said. 
 
 Clare. With my best memory her vi^ords were: she 
 wished you not proceed, for she was already " disposed 
 of in her father's thoughts." 
 
 Aim. " In her father's thoughts " ? Haply not in her 
 own. 
 
 Clare. " It would be fruitless to move her uncle or her 
 father in it.'' 
 
 ■Aim.'H.a.l "not move her uncle or her father"? — 
 This may beget encouragement there's hope I may pro- 
 pound my affection to her, and be happy in't. Proceed. 
 
 Clare. " She would be sorry a gentleman of your worth 
 should run a course of so much hazard." 
 
 Aim. Hazard ! that word does yet imply there is a, 
 possibility. 
 
 Clare. So, with compliment of her thanks for your fair 
 opinion of her, she'd wish me " make you sensible in time 
 to place your love where you might expect better return." 
 
 Aim. Ah, that's wormwood ; let me see ; better return ; 
 this last return hath spoiled the whole term, and undone 
 my suit; umph ! No, it doth admit a fair construction; 
 " She would have me sensible in time to plant my love 
 where I may expect better return." Why — that I may 
 from her, for ought I know. 
 
 Clare. Amantes sibi somnia fingunt ; how apt are lovers 
 to conster' all to their desires ! 
 
 Aim. I will not let my action fall. 
 
 Clare. Do not build castles. 
 
 Aim. I'll smooth it with her uncle ; if it hit, 
 my blest stars! 
 
 Clare. He's a-bed already ! 
 
 Aim. Venus assist one to thy altar flies. 
 And I'll proclaim thy son hath found his eyes {Exeunt. 
 ' Constiue. 
 

 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE \.— Croydon. A Room in Sir Nicholas 
 TreeDle's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Treedle and a Servant. 
 
 REED. Where's Martext, my chaplain? 
 Ser. He is newly walked out of his 
 meditation in the kitchen into the garden. 
 Treed. Bid him read prayers in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 Ser. Before your worship come ? 
 Treed. I will not pray to-day. — Dost hear ? Bid my 
 tutor come down to me. 
 Ser. Which of them ? 
 
 Treed. Why, he that reads travel to me ; the wit that 
 I took up in Paul's' in a tiffany^ cloak without a hatband; 
 now I have put him into a doublet of satin Stay, he's 
 
 here. 
 
 Enter Tutor. 
 
 'Morrow, tutor ; what hour take you it ? 
 
 Tutor. It is no hour at all, sir. 
 
 Treed. How? 
 
 Tutor. Not directly any hour, for it is between eight 
 and nine, sir. 
 
 Treed. Very learnedly; then I was ready between six 
 and seven to-day. 
 
 Tutor. Are you disposed for lecture ? 
 
 ' St. Paul's was a general rendezvous tor those who sought em- 
 ployment. ' Very thin silic. 
 
20 The Witty fair one. [act h. 
 
 Treed. Yes, sir, yes. 
 
 Tutor. You remember my last preliction of the division 
 of the earth into parts real and imaginary ? The parts 
 real into continent and island, ...".> the subdivision 
 of the continent, into peninsula, isthmus, and promon- 
 tory? 
 
 Treed. In troth, sir, I remember some such things ; but 
 I have forgotten them. 
 
 Tutor. What is an isthmus ? 
 
 Treed. Why, an isthmus is an elbow of land. 
 
 Tutor. A neck, a neck. 
 
 Treed. A neck? Why, I was near it; if you had let 
 me alone, I should have come up to it. 
 
 Tutor. 'Twas well guessed. What is an island ? 
 
 Treed. An island is an high mountain, which shooteth 
 itself into the sea. 
 
 Tutor. That is a promontory. 
 
 Treed. Is it so ? An island then is — no matter, let it 
 go ; it is not the first island we have lost. 
 
 Tutor. How are you perfect in your circles, great and 
 less, mutable and immutable, tropical and polar ? 
 
 Treed. As perfect in them as I am in these ; faith, I 
 shall never con these things handsomely ? may not a man 
 study travel without these circles, degrees, and altilatitudes 
 you speak of? 
 
 Tutor. Yes, you may. 
 
 Treed. I do not care for the nearest way ; I have time 
 enough to go about. 
 
 Tutor. Very well, you shall lay aside your globe then. 
 
 Treed. Kj, and if t please you, I will have it stand in 
 my hall to make my tenants wonder, instead of the Book 
 of Martyrs.' 
 
 ' There is probably an omission here. 
 
 2 This custom is now worn out : but I have seen the Bonk nf 
 Martyrs, and Sir Richard Baker and Stow in the window seat of 
 more than one old hall, where, when books were not so common as 
 at piesent, they found many readers among the tenants and casual 
 visilors of the f&mWy.—Gifford. ^isuai 
 
SCENE I.] THE WITTY'FAIR ONE. 21 
 
 Tutor, It will do well j now name what kingdom or 
 province you have most mirid to. 
 
 Treed. What say you to England ? 
 
 Tutor. By no means ; it is not in fashion with gentle- 
 men to study their own nation ; you will discover a dull 
 easiness if you admire not, and with admiration prefer 
 not the weeds of other regions, before the most pleasant 
 ■ flowers of your own garden ; let your judgment reflect, 
 upon a serious consideration, who teaches you the mimic 
 posture of your body, the punctuality of your beard, the 
 formality of your pace, the elbows of your cloak, the heel 
 of your boot? do not other nations? Are not Italian 
 heads, Spanish shoulders, Dutch bellies, and French legs, 
 the only notions of your reformed English gentlemen ? 
 
 Treed. I am resolved to be ignorant of my own country; 
 say no more on it. What 'think you if I went over to 
 France, the first thing I did ? 
 
 Tutor. By sea ! 
 
 Treed. Do you think I have no more wit than to ven- 
 ture myself i'the salt water ; I had rather be pickled and 
 powdered at home by half, that I had. 
 
 Tutor. I apprehend — you are cautious; it is safe 
 travelling in your study; but I will not read France to 
 you. 
 
 Treed. No! 
 
 Tutor. Pardonnez-moi, it is unnecessary; all the French 
 fashions are here already, or rather your French cuts. 
 
 Treed. Cuts! 
 
 Tutor. Undei?stand me ; there are divers French cuts. 
 
 Treed. We have had too many French cuts already. 
 
 Tutor. First, there is your cut of the head. 
 
 Treed. That is dangerous. ■ 
 
 Tutor. Pshaw ! a hair, a hair, a periwig is your French 
 cut, and in fashion with your most courtly gallants ; your 
 own hair will naturally forsake you. 
 
 Treed. A bald reason. 
 
 Tutor, Right ; observe their prudent and weighty 
 
22 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act ii. 
 
 policy who have brought up this artificial head-piece, 
 because no man should appear light-headed. 
 
 Treed. He had no sound head that invented it ! 
 
 Tutor. Then there is the new cut of your doublet or 
 slash, the fashion of your apparel, a quaint cut. 
 
 Treed. Upon taffeta. 
 
 Tutor. Or what you please ; the slash is the emblem 
 of your valour, and, besides declareth that you are open 
 breasted. 
 
 Treed. Open, as much as you will, but no valour. 
 
 Tutor. Then, sir, there is the cut of your leg. 
 
 Treed. That is when a man is drunk, is it not ? 
 
 Tutor. Do not stagger in your judgment, for this cut is 
 the grace of your body : I mean dancing o' the French 
 cut in the leg is most fashionable, believe it, pupil, a 
 genteel carriage. 
 
 Treed. But it is fain to be supported sometime with a 
 bottom. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Here is Sir George Richley, sir, newly alighted. 
 
 Treed. Oh, my father-in-law that -shall be. 
 
 Tutor. Then we are cut off. 
 
 Treed. There is a match concluded between his 
 daughter and me, and now he comes for my answer. 
 Conduct him to the gallery. 
 
 Tutor. Rather, sir, meet him. 
 
 Treed. Let him go before, and tell him we are coming, 
 and we'll be there as soon as he. \Exeunt 
 
 SCENE \\.— London. -A Room in Worthy's House, 
 
 Brains and Whibble at table. 
 Whib. Brains! 
 Bra. What is the matter?, 
 Wliib. Let's rifle the other bottle of wine. 
 Bra. Do not endanger thy sconce. 
 
SCENE n.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 23 
 
 Whih. How? 
 
 Bra. I'll drink no more. 
 
 Whib. Why? 
 
 Bra. Because I will not be drunk for any man's plea- 
 sure. 
 
 Whih. Drunk! 
 
 £ra. It is good English now : it was Dutch.' May be 
 you have some conspiracy upon me. 
 
 W^id. I? — Who has betrayed me? his mistress pro- 
 cured the key of the wine-cellar, and bade me try if I could 
 wind up his brains handsomely, he knows on 't — [Aside.] 
 — Not one health more ? 
 
 Bra. Not one, good Whibble; if you urge again I 
 shall suspect. 
 
 WTiii. Suspect me ? 
 
 Bra. And beat you, Whibble, if you be not satisfied. 
 
 mik I am ; but in friendship — 
 
 Bra. Dost tempt me ? 
 
 Whik I will drink your health and be drunk alone. 
 
 [£xii. 
 Bra. This whelp has some plot upon me, I smell 
 powder j my young mistress would have blown up my 
 brains ! this peter-gunner' should have given fire : it is 
 not the first time she hath conspired so, but it will not do, 
 I was never yet cozened in my life, and if I pawn my 
 brains for a bottle of sack or claret, may my nose, as a 
 brand for my negligence, carry. everlasting, malmsey in it, 
 and be studded with rubies and carbuncles ! — Mistress, 
 you must pardon my officiousness ; be as angry as a tiger, 
 I must play the dragon, and watch your golden fleece: 
 my master has put me in tmst, and I am not so easily 
 corrupted. I have but two eyes, Argus had a hundred, 
 but he must be a cunning Mercury must pipe them both 
 asleep, I can tell you. And now I talk of sleep, my 
 
 ' Meaning that we derived the term as well as the vice from the 
 G-ermans. This was not strictly the case ; but the belief was pretty 
 general in Shirley's time, and the dissoluteness of those who had 
 served in the Low Countries was some support to it. — Gifford. 
 
 2 A derisive nickname given to gunners and sportsmen. 
 
24 xnj:, yyiMix r^ijx. ui\Ji. [ACT ii. 
 
 lodging is next to her chambers ; it is a confidence in my 
 master to let his livery lie so near her ; servingmen have 
 ere now proved themselves no eunuchs, with their 
 masters' daughters ; if I were so lusty as some of my own 
 tribe, it were no great labour to commit a burglary upon 
 a maidenhead ; but all my nourishment runs upward into 
 brains, and I am glad on 't ; a temperate blood is sign of 
 a good liver ; I am past tilting. — Here she is, with the 
 second part of her to the same tune, another maid that 
 has a grudging of the green sickness, and wants a man to 
 recover her. 
 
 Enter Violetta and Penelope. 
 
 Pen. Be this enough between us, to bind each to help 
 the other's designs. 
 
 Vio. Here is Brains ; he has not yet been drenched. 
 Pen. He is too subtle. 
 
 Vio. How now. Brains ? 
 
 Bra. As you see, forsooth. 
 
 Pen. Thou art very sad. 
 
 Bra. But I am in sober sadness, I thank my stars. 
 
 Vio. Witty! 
 
 Bra. As much wit as will keep Brains from melting 
 this hot weather. 
 
 Pen. A dry whoreson, not thus to be wrought upon. 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Bra. Very good sack and claret in the house. 
 
 Pen. Thou hast not tasted? 
 
 Bra. O yes, O yes, my brains swim in canary, exceed- 
 ing excellent sack ; I thank you, ladies, I know it is your 
 pleasure I should not want the best blood of the grape, 
 in hope there might be a stone in my cup to mar my 
 drinking afterwards : — 
 
 , Enter Sensible with a letter. 
 
 Mistress Sensible ! what jig's in the wind, she moves so 
 nimbly ? 
 
SCENE n.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 25 
 
 Pen. From whom ? 
 
 Sens. Master Fowler. 
 
 Bra. A letter ! whence flew that paper kite? 
 
 Pen. What is this? 
 
 Bra. Another enclosed, without direction ; happily 
 observed. 
 
 Pen. \Reads.\ " If you can love, I will study to deserve, 
 and be happy to give you proof of my service ; in the 
 mean time it shall be a testimony of your favour to deliver 
 this inclosed paper to your cousin, from her servant Aim- 
 well. Farewell, and remember Fowler." 
 Look you, cousin, what Master Fowler writes; I dare 
 trust you with the secret. At your opportunity peruse 
 this paper. 
 
 Bra. Conveyances! I read juggling in that paper 
 already ; and though you put it up I will not. Oh, for 
 so much magic to conjure that paper out of her bosom 
 into my pocket! now I do long to know what pitiful 
 lover, for it can be no other, is doing penance in that 
 white sheet already. — [Asiiie.] — Mistress Sensible, hark 
 ye ; whence came that letter? 
 
 Sens. From Master Fowler to my mistress. 
 
 Bra. It is a she letter, it seems. 
 
 Sens. A she letter; why so ? 
 
 Bra. Because it had a young one in the belly of it, or 
 I am much mistaken. , 
 
 Pen. Does he not write like a bold gamester ? 
 
 Bra. And a bowling-gamester, too, for his bias was 
 towards my mistress ; but I may chance to cast a rub in 
 his way, to keep him from kissing.' [Aside. 
 
 Vio. He hath very good parts in him, questionless; but 
 do you love him? 
 
 Bra. the cunning of these gipsie.s I how, when they 
 list, they can talk in a distinguishable dialect; they call 
 men foxes, but they make tame geese of some of us; and 
 
 1 These are all bowling terms ; the mistress was the stationary 
 bpwl at which the players aime<J, 
 
26 IJrtIL kVIJ-j. J. X'Ji.lJX. wl\Jli. LAi^i *'• 
 
 yet, like one of those in Rome, I may prove so happy to 
 
 preserve your distressed capitol. — What news brings this 
 
 kickshaw? \Aside: 
 
 Enter Winnifred. 
 
 Win. Master Fowler desires to speak with you. 
 
 Bra. Already ! he might have delivered his own letter. 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Vio. I'll to my chamber. 
 
 Bra. It will do very well. \_Aside. 
 
 Vio. I hope you will be careful that I am not troubled 
 with any visit of gentlemen; it will become your officious- 
 ness, good Dametas, to haveacare of your charge Pamela.' 
 
 Bra. So I can suffer this jest. \ExH. 
 
 Vio. Ha ! is he gone ? I am glad of it, I will take 
 this opportunity to read the paper Master Aimwell sent 
 me. No superscription ! 
 
 Re-enter Brains, behind. 
 Bra. She is at it already; thus far oif I can read her 
 countenance, if she spare her voice. 
 Vio. \Reads.'\ 
 
 "I do not court your fortune, but your love 
 If my wild apprehension of it prove 
 My error, punish gently, since the fire . 
 Comes from yourself, that kindled my desire. 
 So my poor heart, full of expectance, lies 
 To be your servant, or your sacrifice." 
 It shall be answered. \Exit. 
 
 Bra. It shall ! the game's afoot : were I best to dis- 
 cover thus much, or reserve it to welcome home the old 
 knight withal ? I will be more familiar with this juggling, 
 first : the scrivener has a name, and if he be worth his 
 own ears, he shall be worth my discovery. 
 
 Re-enter Penelope with Fowler. 
 Here come the gallant and the t'other toy, now. 
 
 ' Dametas is the foolish shepherd, in Sir P. Sidney's Arcadia in 
 whose charge Pamela was placed by the king her father. ' 
 
SCKNE ii.J THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 27 
 
 Pen. I received your letter, sir. 
 
 Fow. In good time. 
 
 Pen. You might have spared your hand a labour if 
 you had resolved to put your feet upon this expedition. 
 
 Bra. Good. 
 
 Fow. I confess I wrote something in my own cause ; 
 but the chief cause was to convey my friend's affection 
 to his mistress. 
 
 Bra. And I will convey your affection to somebody 
 else. \ExU. 
 
 Pen. Then you made me a property ? 
 
 Fow. It is for your honour, if you help any way to 
 advance an holiest business ; and yet, mistake me not ; 
 though the rack should enforce it from me — without a 
 second reason I had not wrote to you ; yet, for so much 
 as concerned .myself, by this kiss, my pen hath but set 
 down the resolution of my heart to serve you. 
 
 Pen. To serve me ! how ? 
 
 Fow. How ! why, ^ny way : give me your livery, I will 
 wear it, or a coat with a cognizance,'' by this light, I fear 
 you are an heretic still, and do not believe as you should 
 do j come, let me rectify your faith, serve you. 
 
 Pen. Since the comphment of service came up, gentle- 
 men have had excuse for their love. I would not have 
 you. serve me, sir. 
 
 Fow. Not serve you ! Why, do you think a man can- 
 not love and serve -too? 
 
 Pen. Not one serve two, well. 
 
 Fow. You are two Uteral; and yet in the strict sense I 
 have known a woman has served half a dozeii gentlemen 
 handsomely; so, so ; and yet the last had enough of her 
 too : why should not one man serve two gentlewomen ? 
 it argues against your sex, that you are more insatiable of 
 the two. But I have a simple affection, I protest, and 
 individual; I'll ne'er serve but one. 
 
 Pen. But one at once ! 
 
 1 A badge bearing the arms or crest of the family. 
 
28 THE WITXy FAIR ONE. [ACT ii. 
 
 Fow. But one at once, and but one always, by this 
 diamond. 
 
 Pen. Nay, keep your oath, sir. 
 
 Fow. I am forsworn if I do not; for I vowed, before I 
 came, to bestow itj come, wear it in your bosom, it shall 
 be an earnest of more precious jewels, though not of so 
 bright a lustre, that will follow. 
 
 Pen. I pray, sir, resolve me one thing, and be plain, — 
 Do you love me ? 
 
 Fow. Love you ! 
 
 Pen. It is my question. 
 
 Fow. It is a very foolish one ; to what purpose have I 
 been talking all this while, that you make it a question ? 
 has not it been the theme of all my discourse hitherto, 
 that I do love you ? 
 
 Pen. In what sense ? 
 
 Fow. In what sense ? Why, in any sense, at your own 
 choice, or in all the senses together, an you doubt me : 
 I do love to see your face, hear your voice, smell your 
 breath, touch your tree, and taste your golden apples. 
 
 Pen. But this does not satisfy me. 
 
 Fow. You do not doubt my sufficiency, do you ? 
 
 Pen. Now you are immodest ; I only ask if you love 
 me. 
 
 Fow. And have I not told you? Pray teach me a 
 better way to express it. Does a wise man love fools' 
 fortune, and a nobleman another beside my lady? Does 
 the devil love an usurer, a great man his flatterer, the 
 lawyer a full term, or the physician a dead time to 
 thrive in ? 
 
 Pen. Spare yourself ; this is but coarse love. 
 
 Fow.- I'll spin it finer and finer every day, sweet- to 
 be plain with thee, what dost thou think of me for a 
 husband ? I love thee that way. 
 
 Pen. Would you did else. \Aside. 
 
 Fow. Is there anything in me would commend itself, 
 that I may spare my other commendations? for I am 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 29 
 
 resolved to be yours at any rate of my own praise, or 
 what I can purchase from my friends. 
 
 Pen. Sir, if your meaning be no stranger to your lan- 
 guage, although I cannot promise myself, you bind me to 
 be thankful for it. 
 
 Fow. She nibbles already. \Aside. 
 
 Pen. But pardon me if I suspect you still ; you are too 
 wild and airy to be constant to that affection. 
 
 Enter Brains and Worthy. 
 
 Bra. There be the pigeons. 
 
 ' Wor. An't be no worse I care not. — Master Fowler, 
 A most welcome friend. 
 
 Fow. I would be to your daughter. 
 
 Bra. Let her use to entertain him so, and he will bid 
 himself welcome. — \Aside.\ — Hark you, sir, you do like 
 his company. 
 
 Wor. Yes. 
 
 Bra. So I say, but if I were worthy to give your 
 daughter counsel, she should have a special care how she 
 treads, for if this gentleman be not a whoremaster, he is 
 very like one, and if she chance any way to crack her 
 Venice glass, it will be not so easily soldered. 
 
 Wor. Meddle with your charge, sir, and let her alone. 
 
 Bra. I have done ; here is a fresh gamester. 
 
 Enter Manly. 
 
 Man. By your noble leave. 
 
 Wor. You are welcome, sir. 
 
 Man. I was directed hither to find a gentleman. 
 
 Fow. Manly, how is't ? 
 
 Man. I was to inquire for you at your lodging. 
 
 Fow. Pray know this gentleman, lady ; — Master 
 Worthy, he'll deserve your acquaintance. 
 
 Man. You oblige my services. — But what make you 
 here, my woman-errant ? 
 
 Wor. Come hither, Penelope. 
 
3° 
 
 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. L^CT 
 
 Fow. Soliciting a cause of Venus. 
 
 Man. I suspect as much ; but with her ? is she a 
 whore ? 
 
 Fow. No, but I'll do the best to make her one ; she 
 loves me already, that's some engagement; I dare trust 
 thee with my sins.— Who's here ? Aimwell and Clare ! 
 
 E7iter Aimwell, Clare, and Brains. 
 
 Wor. Withdraw yourself. 
 
 Fow. Frank ! 
 
 Aim. Master Worthy. 
 
 Wor. A knot of friends. 
 
 Aim. What of my letter? \Aside to Fowler. 
 
 Fow. 'Tis delivered ; you must expect. 
 
 Wor. What news, gentlemen ? 
 
 Aim. We hear none ; you visit, the Exchange, sir ; 
 pray furnish us. 
 
 Bra. What do all these butterflies here? I do not 
 like it. [Aside. 
 
 Aim. I hope your daughter is in health ? 
 
 Wor. Perfect, I thank Heaven. 
 
 Aim. And your niece, at whose naming I am bold to 
 tender jgiy thanks for your last friendship ; I might have 
 plunged by this time into passion, had not you nobly, just 
 as I was falling, prevented my unhappiness. 
 
 Wor. Your opinion of what I did gives value to the 
 action; however, 'twas a duty I was bound to. 
 
 Bra. This is the youth, I'll pawn my brains ; — [Aside."] 
 — Hark you, sir, what do you call this gentleman ? 
 
 Clare. Master Aimwell. 
 
 Bra. He may shoot short for all his aiming ; he wears 
 bachelors' buttons, does he not? 
 
 Clare. Yes, old truepenny and loops, too; thou art 
 jealous, now. 
 
 Bra. One word more. 
 
 Fow. I have a plot, and thou must help me. 
 
 Man. Let it be a safe one. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 31 
 
 Aim. May we not see her ? 
 
 Wor. Brains, where's thy mistress ? 
 
 Bra. She's a little busy. 
 
 Fow. Who's that? 
 
 Wor. My niece. 
 
 Fow. An she be but a Uttle busy she's more than half 
 at leisure. 
 
 Bra. Do not you know that a woman is more troubled 
 with a little business, than some men with managing the 
 troubles of a whole commonwealth ? it has been a pro- 
 verb, "as busy as a hen with one chicken;" marry, an 
 she had twenty, twenty to one she would not be so fond 
 of them. 
 
 ■ Wor. He' says right. — Gfentlemen, we are friends; it is 
 my brother's pleasure, who is her father, to deny frequent 
 access to her, till he hath finished a design ; for my part, 
 I am not of his mind, nor shall my daughter be a prisoner 
 to his fancy : — ;you see, sir, I do not seclude her ; if she 
 choose within any limits of reason, I move in her. 
 
 Aim. You speak nobly. 
 
 Enter Whibble. 
 
 Whib. Sir George Richley, sir, and Sir Nicholas 
 Treedle, are newly arrived. 
 
 Wor. My brother ! acquaint my niece. 
 
 Bra. 'Tis my office, I'll do it. \ExiU 
 
 Man. Shall's stay ? 
 
 Aim. By all means ; let's see the doughty knight that 
 must free the lady from her enchanted castle. 
 
 Clare. Didst ever see him ? 
 
 Aim. No ; but I've heard his character. 
 
 Man. Prithee let's have it. 
 
 Aim. They say he's one, was wise before he was a 
 man, for then his folly was excusable ; but since he came 
 to be of age, which had been a question till his death, 
 had not the law given him his father's lands, he is grown 
 wicked enough to be a landlord : he does pray but once 
 
32 TMJ£ iVJTIY I<AJK UJMJi. [ACT il- 
 
 a year, and that's for fair weather in harvest ; his inward 
 senses are sound, for none comes from him ; he speaks 
 words, but no matter, and therefore is in election to be 
 of the peace and quorum, which his tenants think him 
 fit for, and his tutor's judgment allows, whom he main- 
 tains to make him legs and speeches. He feeds well 
 himself, but, in obedience to government, he allows his 
 servants fasting days ; he loves law, because it killed his 
 father, whom the parson overthrew in a case of tithes ; 
 and, in memory, wears nothing suitable ; for his apparel 
 is a cento, or the ruins of ten fashions. He does not 
 much care for Heaven, for he's doubtful of any such 
 place ; only hell he's sure of, for the devil sticks to his 
 conscience : therefore, he does purpose, when he dies, to 
 turn his sins into alms-houses, that posterity may praise 
 him for his bountiful ordination of hot pottage; but he's 
 here already : you may read the rest as he comes towards 
 you. 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley, Sir Nicholas Treedle, 
 and Tutor. 
 
 Wor. Brother! 
 
 Rich. Let your kindest respects meet this gentleman. 
 
 Wor. Sir Nicholas Treedle, I desire you would write 
 me in the number of your servants. 
 
 Treed. 'Tis granted. ^-Gentlemen, I have an ambition 
 to be your eternal slave. 
 
 Fow. 'Tis granted. 
 
 Ttd. And I to be your everlasting servant. 
 
 Aim. 'Tis granted. 
 
 Clare. A couple of cockloches.' 
 
 Enter Penelope, Violetta, Winnifred, Sensible, 
 and Brains. 
 
 Rich. Here comes my daughter. 
 
 Treed. [To Penelope.] — Lady, and mistress of my 
 heart, which hath long melted for you, — 
 
 ' Silly coxcombs. Fr. Coqueluche. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 33 
 
 Rich. This is my daughter. 
 
 Treed. Then it melted for you, lady. 
 
 Fow. His heart is whole again. 
 
 Treed. Vouchsafe to entertain a servant, that shall 
 study to command — 
 
 Tut Well said ! 
 
 Treed. His extremest possibilities — in your business. 
 
 Aim. Abominable courtship ! 
 
 Sens. [Aside io Aimwell.] Sir, I am servant to Mis- 
 tress Violetta, who commends this paper to you. 
 
 Aim. O, my best angel ! 
 
 Bra. As the devil would have it ! are you there. 
 Sensible ? 
 
 Fow. Master Worthy, I take my leave. 
 
 Wor. Will you not stay supper ? 
 
 Man. We are engaged. 
 
 Aim. My service shall wait on you, gentlemen. 
 
 Clare. A.nd mine. 
 
 Treed. Come on, my queen of diamonds. 
 
 Rich. Brother, lead the way. \Exeunt. 
 
 Bra. If she carry away this letter so, call me shallow- 
 brains : I was never yet cozened in my life :^this night ? 
 it shall be so; I will not come with bare relation of your 
 plots, 
 
 I'll bring active intelligence that shall tell 
 Your secret aims, so crush them in the shell. 
 
 \Eodt. 
 
 Shir. 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I.— Sir George Richley's House. Violetta's 
 Bedchamber. 
 
 Brains is discovered with a paper in his hand. 
 
 RA. Sure this is it, my mistress and her 
 maid are both fast still ; I have watched 
 under the bed all night, to rob her 
 pocket of this paper, and I have done 
 it. Some fellow, at this opportunity, 
 would have wriggled himself into one 
 of their flesh. 
 
 Fw. Who's there? Sensible? 
 
 Bra. Death ! her tongue is awake already. 
 
 Via. Who's in the chamber ? 
 
 Bra. Help me, brains, before she wakes the t'other.— 
 'Tis I, forsooth, but looking for the chamber-pot. 
 
 [ Counterfeits Sensible's voice. 
 
 Vio. Beshrew you for your noise. 
 
 Bra. Where's the door ? \StumbUs. 
 
 Sens. Who's there ? 
 
 Bra. The t'other spirit is raised in the trundle-bed.' 
 What will become of me now ? 
 
 [Sensible comes forward. 
 Sens. Here's nobody. 
 
 r,n ^!? t^^s trundle-bed. A low bed occupied by the servants that 
 other bed '''' ^^^ '^ ° ^"^ ^' "'■?"' ^'""^ ^^"^''^ ">«. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 35 
 
 Vio. Make an end, and get thee to bed. 
 
 Sens. An end of what ? Does she talk in her sleep ? 
 
 she was not wont. 
 
 Bra. So, so ! [Exit- 
 
 Sens. [Going to the door.'] — ^Ha ! the spring is open, 
 
 I might forget to make "it fast last night; 
 
 'Tis so ; and happily some cur or cat 
 
 Has been in the chamber, for I hear a noise 
 
 About the door; I'll make it fast, 
 
 And so to bed 'again ; I think it is day already. \JRetires. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Tutor in his gown, with a paper. 
 
 Tutor. So ; this fancy, wrote for Sir Nicholas, like a 
 forked arrow, points two ways ; wenches are caught with 
 such conceits : they will imagine it none of his invention, 
 then, — whose but mine? my person does invite more 
 acceptation, but the father aims at the estate ; no matter, 
 if I can insinuate myself into her opinion ; 'tis no impos- 
 sibility; her portion will be enough for both. 
 Shall I live- still dependent, and not seek 
 Ways to advance myself? busy my brains 
 In ballads to the giddy chambermaids ? 
 Beggar myself with purse and pincushion ? 
 When she that is the mistress may be mine ? 
 'Twill be a masterpiece ifl can gull him. — 
 But he's here already. 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Treedle with a.paper. 
 
 Treed. Noble Tutor ! 'morrow to you ! have you 
 finished the whimsey for my mistress already? 
 
 Tutor. I have done it; this paper carries the love- 
 powder. -> 
 
 Treed. For fear you had forgotten me, I have made a 
 
36 — _ ^---. ^:^--_-^ 
 
 quibbling in praise of her myself; such a one as will 
 fetch up her heart, Tutor. 
 
 Tutor. That were a dangerous vomit, sir ; take heed 
 of that. 
 
 Treed. Ay, but I will not hurt her, I warrant thee ; an 
 she die within a twelvemonth and a day, I'll be hanged 
 for her. 
 
 Tutor. Will you, sir ? 
 
 Treed. Marry will I. Look you, sir. — But first let me 
 see yours. — Can you not write it in my own hand ? I 
 shall hardly read it. 
 
 Tutor. I'll read it to you. 
 
 Treed. Sir George ! — Give me it ! 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley and Worthy. 
 
 Rich. See, they are at it. 
 
 Treed. And how do you like it ? 
 
 Wor. 'Morrow, noble Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Rich. 'Morrow, gentlemen ! 
 
 Treed. 'Morrow to you both. — Sir George, I have 
 been making poetry this morning. 
 
 Tutor. He has a subtle fancy. 
 
 Rich. What's the subject ? 
 
 Tutor, No subject, but the queen of his affections. 
 
 Treed. I scorn subjects ; 'tis my empress your daugh- 
 ter's merit ' hath set my Muse on fire. 
 
 Tutor. Read, sir. 
 
 Treed. No, you shall read them for me. 
 
 Tutor. 'Tis a hue and cry, sir. 
 
 Rich. A hue and cry ! for what ? 
 
 Treed. For what ! why, for somewhat, I'll warrant you. 
 
 Tutor. You may call it " Love's hue and cry." 
 
 Treed. Call it what you will, I know what it is. 
 
 Wor. Are you so poetical? 
 
 Treed. I have been dabbling in Helicon; next tq 
 travel, 'tis all my study.— Mark the invention. 
 
 1 Old copy, " muse." Gifford suggested " merit '' 
 
SCENE lit] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. ^'j 
 
 Tutor. \Reads!\ " In Love's name you are charged hereby 
 
 To make a speedy, hue ^nd cry, 
 
 After a face, who t' other day 
 
 Came and stole my heart away ; 
 
 For your directions in brief 
 
 These are best marks to know the thief: 
 
 Her hair a net of beams would prove, 
 
 Strong enough to captive Jove, 
 
 Playing the eagle : her clear brow 
 
 Is a comely field of snow. 
 
 A sparkling eye, so pure a gray 
 
 As when it shines it needs no day. 
 
 Ivory dwelleth on her nose ; 
 
 Lilies, married to the rose, 
 
 Have made her cheek the nuptial bed ; 
 
 Her lips betray their virgin red, 
 
 As they only blushed for this. 
 
 That they one another kiss ; 
 
 But observe, beside the rest, , 
 
 You shall know this felon best 
 
 By her tongue ; for if your ear 
 
 Shall once a heavenly music hear. 
 
 Such as neither gods nor men 
 
 But from that voice shall hear again. 
 
 That, that is she, oh, take her t'ye, 
 
 None can rock Heaven asleep but she.'' 
 Tr£e(i. How do you like my pippin of Parnassus, 
 gentlemen ? 
 J^ic/t. Wbr. Very handsome. 
 
 Treed. Nay, I'll warrant you, my Tutor has good fur- 
 niture in him. 
 
 Wor. I do not think he made them. \Aside to Rich. 
 Treed. Now you shall hear some verses of my own 
 making. 
 
 Rich. Your own ! did you not make these ? 
 
 Tutor. He betrays himself. \Aside. 
 
 Treed. Hum : yes, I made them too, my Tutor knows. 
 
38 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act ill. 
 
 Tutor. I'll take my oath' who made them. 
 Treed. But I wrote them for another gentleman that 
 had a mistress. 
 Rich. My daughter, you said. 
 
 Treed. I may say so; but, that their faces are nothing 
 alike, you would hardly know one from t' other. For 
 your better understanding,' I will read theifi myself. — 
 " Her foot— " 
 
 Wor. Do you begin there ? 
 Treed. Oh, I will rise by degrees. 
 \Reads7^ " Her foot is feat ' with diamond toes, 
 But she with'legs of ruby -goes: - 
 Thighs loadstones, and do draw unto her 
 The iron pin of any wooer." 
 Wor. Precious conceit 1 
 Treed. " Her head— " 
 Rich. Her head ! 
 
 Wor. You were between her thighs but now. 
 Treed. 'Tis my conceit : I do now mean to go down- 
 wards again, and meet where I left, in the middle — 
 [Relids.] " Her head is opal, neck of sapphire, 
 Breast carbuncles, shine like a fire ■ 
 And the naked truth to tell ye. 
 The very mother of pearl Tier belly. 
 How can she choose but hear my groans. 
 That is composed of precious stones ? " 
 Wor. Ay, marry, sir. 
 Treed. Now, " If you lik't you may."^ 
 Wor. A word with you, sir: pray what do you think 
 of your pupil ? 
 
 Tutor. I think nothing, sir. 
 
 Wor. But deal ingenuously ; your opinion ? 
 
 Tutor. Shall I tell you ? 
 
 Wor. Pray, sir. 
 
 Tutor. Nothing. 
 
 ' Fashioned. 
 
 ' This is from the prologue to Ben Jonson's Cynthia's Revels, 
 and was popular as a playful defiance. 
 
SCENE in.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 39 
 
 Wor. I think so too. What doth my brother mean, 
 to make this fond election ? 
 
 Tutor. For my own part, you hear me say nothing ; 
 but the good parts and qualities of men are to be valued. 
 
 Wor. This fellow's a knave ; I smell him. 
 
 Tutor. Something has some savour. 
 
 Treed. When you please; name your own time; I'm 
 ready to be married at midnight. 
 
 Rich. About a seven-night hence. 
 
 Treed. Let it be three or four, I care not how soon. 
 Is breakfast ready? 
 
 Rich. It waits upon you. 
 
 Treed. I do love to eat and drink in a morning, though 
 I fast all day after. 
 
 Rich. I'll follow, brother. 
 
 Wor. We'll both attend. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— AiMWELL'S Lodgings. 
 Enter Aimwell with a letter. 
 
 Aim. This opportunity let my covetous eye 
 Take to enrich itself ; but first prepare 
 With reverence, as to an altar> bring 
 No careless bilt religious, beams along 
 With you to this new object; this small paper 
 Carries the volume of my human fate, 
 I hold my destiny betwixt two fingers, 
 And thus am I wrapt up without a name. 
 Being, or expectation of world's joy 
 More than this table (when the curtain's drawn) 
 Presents in character to my thirsty eyesight. — 
 Hail, thou ambassador from thine and my 
 Mistress, bringing peace, or unkind war. 
 Thou emblem of her whiteness, which I kiss, 
 And thus again salute , 
 
40 
 
 IHJi Wlll!^ i^AlK U./t^A. — \ — C3ICi 
 
 Enter Boy and Clare. 
 
 Boy. There he is, alone. 
 
 Clare. So, leave us. {Exit Boy. 
 
 Aim. Coming from her. 
 Can it be guilty of defiance to me ? 
 Had she not meant me happy, she had given 
 My letter to the flame, and with it I, 
 In those thin ashes had been burifed, 
 Nor had she deigned this answer, which the circum- 
 stance 
 Of my receiving prompts me to believe 
 Gracious ; the gentle messenger comrnended it. 
 Not as a thing she would have public, but 
 With eyes full of suspicion, (which had been 
 Needless, had she contemned my services;) 
 So, smilingly, departed. Thus I sent my paper, 
 Which what but love taught her to imitate ? 
 Without a superscription. — \_Seeing Clare.] — Oh, Clare, 
 
 welcome, 
 welcome to that shall make thy heart dance in thy bosom 
 if thou beest a friend, and canst rejoice to know me 
 happy. You thought me ridiculous, and that I did with 
 too much flattery of myself, expound your story. Had I 
 been, like thee, of frosty apprehension, and cold, phleg- 
 matic judgment, I had missed a blessing that wanton 
 Jove would have been rival for. Dost see this paper ? 
 
 Clare. Nothing on the outside ? 
 
 Aim. 'Tis inly precious. 
 
 Clare. You have not searched the lining, that you pro- 
 mise so. 
 
 Aim. I see through it; hast thou not heard the perfect 
 magnet 
 Will, though inclosed within an ivory box. 
 Through the white wall shoot forth embracing virtue 
 To the loved needle? I can read it, Clare, 
 And read a joy in't that transports me ; this 
 
SCENE ill.] THE Wimt FAIR ONE. 41 
 
 Came from my mistress; having touched her hand, 
 
 Whence it received a whiteness, hath it not 
 
 Brought incense too ? dispersing a rich breath, 
 
 Sweeter than all Arabian spicery, 
 
 About the room, in which, while it remains. 
 
 We suck in perfumed air. It came from her, 
 
 My honest Clare, from her, whose rare wit taught, 
 
 When in thy dull opinion I was lost. 
 
 My apprehension a new hope to thrive 
 
 In my ambitious love. — Excellent woman ! 
 
 The top of all creation, I shall be 
 
 At once too happy. — Unrip thou the seal. 
 
 Read it, and let thy voice convey it gently, 
 
 Lest I be surfeited. But why should any 
 
 Be honoured to receive her loving letter ' 
 
 But I, to whom she hath directed it ? 
 
 By thy leave, silent paper ; — confident 
 
 Of bliss, I open my Elysium, 
 
 And let my soul into it. — Ha ! — \Reads. 
 
 Laden with mighty hopes, how desperately 
 
 Have I launched forth, and find a storm ! 
 
 Clare. What's this ? Your own letter returned ! 
 Can it be otherwise than in scorn ? 
 
 Aim. In scorn ! 
 
 Clare. Have you not now cause of triumph ? who is 
 now the truer prophet ? You would nourish hope in spite 
 of reason; now you feel a punishment in her derision. 
 
 Aim\ Is this credible ? 
 
 Clare. Credible ! 'Tis no wonder in a woman ; 
 Though she had promised, vowed, affection to you. 
 It had not been a miracle to find 
 A change in her affection ; yet yeu cannot 
 Accuse her much. 
 
 Aim. Appeared I so unworthy, 
 That 'mong so many ways she had to express 
 At what poor value she esteemed my proffered 
 
 1 The words "loving letter" Were supplied by GifFord. 
 
42 iJtiJi 14^111 y i'Jis.K uiyji. .[act hi. 
 
 Service, her pride could find out none but this, 
 To send me mine own again ! 
 
 Clare. Do but imagine 
 You sent a servant with a message to her, 
 She not within, he is returned again 
 Without an answer. 
 
 Aim. Incivility! 
 She might have thanked me, and subscribed her name? 
 I was not bound to her observance. 
 
 Clare. Come, be free again. 
 
 Aim. I will be so ; with this 
 That I could cancel my affection ! . - 
 
 \Tears the letter in pieces. 
 
 Clare. What do you mean ? it " having touched her 
 Is full of incense and Arabian spicery ; " [hand. 
 
 You are too prodigal of your perfume. 
 
 Aim. Do not thou mock me, too. 
 
 Clare. Well, I have done. 
 
 Aim. Would I had so ! I cannot empty all 
 My torment ! wherefore should a man love woman ? 
 Such airy mockeries ; nothing but mere echos, . 
 That owe their being to our opinion. 
 And in reward of honouring them, send back 
 As scornfully the language we bestowed. 
 Out of our too much dotage. 
 
 Clare. If they send 
 All they receive from us, accuse them not, . 
 We have our hearts again. 
 
 Aim. And I'll have mine. 
 I will, I have not yet : here wants a guest, 
 Invite him home again. Why should notT 
 Be as coy as she, and with as much neglect 
 Throw her behind my thoughts ? Instruct me with 
 Witty rev«age, and thou shalt see me toss" 
 This shuttlecock with as much pride ; and when 
 I'm sated with this sport, let fall this vanity 
 Into as low disdain ; psha ! 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 43 
 
 Clare. Nobly resolved ! 
 
 Aim. Come, to a tavern ; drench the memory 
 Of these poor thoughts. 
 
 Clare. Let's seek out Master Fowler and Manly. - 
 
 Aim. And warmed with sack, we'll try 
 Who can make satires best. 
 
 Clare. A match ! let's to them. \Exeunt. 
 
 -- SCENE IV.— Fowler's Zo4??'m^j. 
 
 Fowler, as if sick, upon a couch; a«^ Manly disguised as 
 a Physician attending him ; phials, &'c. on a table. 
 
 Fow. An thou dost not play the doctor handsomely, 
 I'll set the College of Physicians upon thee, for practising 
 without a license. 
 
 Man. Can you be sick ? 
 
 Fow. I would but counterfeit. 
 
 Man. So must I the physician. 
 
 Fo'w. I have known a spruce empiric hath given his 
 patient two or three stools with the bare repetition of 
 crude words and knotty sentences, which have come 
 from him like a phlegm, which, besides the operation 
 in the hearers, who admire him for it; while' he beats 
 like a drum, at their barrel- head, and turns their brains 
 like beer, does him the benefit to scour his own dirty 
 maw, whose dregs else would putrify; and infest his 
 cheeiks worse than a gangrene. 
 ' Man. Are you sure she will visit you ? 
 
 Fow. As sure as I am well ; for, an I were sick and 
 would sleep, I would rather take a nap on the ridge of 
 Etna, and the fall of deafening Nilus, than endure the 
 visitation of any of their tribe. — \Knocking within.^ 
 One knocks ; my pillow, and lay my head in the aching 
 posture. 
 
44 THJi IVITTY FAIR ONE. [ACT ill. 
 
 Enter AiMWELL and Clare. 
 
 Man. 'Tis Aimwell and Clare. 
 
 Aim. Where's my witty bacchanalian? — How now? 
 what means this apothecary's shop about thee ? art 
 physical ? 
 
 Fow. Sick, sick. 
 
 Aim. Didst not look in a glass to-day ? how scurvily 
 this nightcap shows upon thee 1 
 
 Clare. What's the disease? 
 
 Man. A fever, sir. 
 
 Aim. Hang fevers ! let's to the tavern, and inflame 
 ourselves with lusty wine ; suck in the spirit of sack, till 
 we be delphic, and prophesy, my bully-rook. 
 
 Fow. Alas ! 
 
 Aitn. A lass ! is that the disease ! Drench her, drench 
 Tier in sack : sick for a lass ! do not fool thyself beyond 
 the cure of Bedlam ; be wise and well again. 
 
 Fow. You are merry ; it seems you have won the lady. 
 
 Aim. What lady ? the lady i' the lobster ? I was half 
 sick for a fooHsh thing called a woman ; a toy took me 
 in the head, and had like to have taken away my heart 
 too ; but I have recovered. Do not trust thy body with 
 a physician, he'll make thy foolish bones go without 
 flesh in a fortnight, and thy soul walk without a body a 
 seven-night after. 
 
 Man. These are no doctors. 
 
 Aim. Doctor ! art a Parisian, a Paduan, or a Leyden ' 
 doctor? How many, and be true to us, hast thou killed 
 the last spring ? will it puzzle thy arithmetic, my precious 
 rectifier of nature the wrong way? — Faith, thou must 
 excuse me. Jack, that I cannot condole with thee ; by 
 this whey beard of Esculapius, I dare not endanger my- 
 self with so much melancholy, lest I fall into a relapse. 
 — Whom have we here ? 
 
 ' The old copy reads, "L{ .den "— perhap? the author intended 
 
 to be witty ; if so, there is a pun spoiled, — Gifford, 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 45 
 
 Enter Whibble and Penelope disguised. 
 
 Whib. 'Tis reported that Master Fowler is sick, and 
 keeps his chamber ; I hope he is within ? 
 
 Pen. Noble sir. 
 
 Aim. Fair lady. 
 
 Pen. How fare you, sir ? 
 
 Fow. The better to see you here. 
 
 Man. Upon the entrance of this gentlewoman, I find 
 your -grief much altered. 
 
 Pen. Upon mine ? 
 
 Man. Yes, and by that I dare presume to say, you are 
 the cause of his distemper? 
 
 Pen. I, sir? 
 
 Fow. A cunning doctor! 
 
 Man. For I observed, so soon as his searching eye 
 had fastened on her, his labouring pulse, that, through 
 his fevfer, did before stick hard, and frequent, now exceeds 
 in both these differences ; and this Galen himself found 
 true upon a woman that had doted upon a fencer. 
 
 Clare. Ay! 
 
 Whii. She did long for t'other bout then ? [Aside. 
 
 Pen. Give us leave, pray. 
 
 [Aimwell and the others walk aside. 
 
 Aim. A very pretty fellow. 
 
 Clare. Well skilled i' the pulse. 
 
 Aim. You know my disease too, do you not ? will not 
 my complexion give you the hint on't ? 
 
 Man. You are not very well. 
 
 Aim. How, sir? 
 
 Mftn. By your favour, you will come to't. 
 
 Aim. To what? 
 
 Man. To a burning fever. — Is there not one woman 
 in the world ? — 
 
 Aim. I think there is, and too much of that; what 
 then ? what conclude you? 
 
46 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act hi. 
 
 Man. Nothing but syrup of violet would comfort you, 
 going to bed. 
 
 Aim. Violet! 
 
 Clare. He has given it you. 
 
 Fow. It does me good, lady, to feel you by the 
 hand. 
 
 Pen. Would it were in my power to recover you. 
 
 Fow. The doctor, I thank him, has taken pains with 
 me ; but he says — nothing will do me good-^ 
 
 Pen. Nothing? 
 
 Fow. But that which is another sickness to reveal. 
 
 Pen. Pray, sir, acquaint me. 
 
 Fow. I know you love me. I have a great mind, an 
 'twere but for two or three minutes, to have a maid warm 
 my bed — 
 
 Pen. That may be done. 
 
 Fow. With her body — else 'twill do me no good, the 
 doctor says — to put life in some of my limbs, a little 
 virgin warmth would do it. 
 
 Pen. You have a burning fever. 
 
 Fow. But now and then I have such cold fits again — 
 and 'tis the doctor's opinion — a very learned man. 
 
 Pen. A learned pander. [Aside. 
 
 Man. He's at it. 
 
 Fow. Doctor! 
 
 Clare. [37; Aimwell.] Again passionate !. 
 
 Aim. Why, I may love her name without offence to 
 you. Why did he waken -my remembrance? I had for- 
 gotten her. ■ . . 
 
 Clare. Think upon her scorn, then. 
 
 Aim. I have done : and till I hear her name again, I 
 will throw this dulness off. 
 
 Clare. Let's choose another subject. 
 How closely they consult ! the doctor is in a fit of coun- 
 sel; I suspect some juggling — he comes off; I'll gage a 
 limb this fellow's an impostor. 
 
 Aim. Is there not much danger in him ? 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 47- 
 
 Man, Within two minutes, gaitlemen, I have dis- 
 covered happier symptoms. 
 
 Aim. So, sir. 
 
 Man. The redundant choleric mattet — 
 
 Aim. 'Tis no matter, sir. 
 
 Man. I think you do not love him. 
 
 Clare. Pursue it. 
 
 Aim. What shall I give you to poison him? 
 
 Man. How? 
 
 Aim. Would he were in Heaven ! do you like well of 
 this complexion ? \Shoivs him. money. 
 
 Man. It shall hire me to kill your father. 
 
 Fen. To show how much I value, sir, your life. 
 For I believe you do not mock, soon as 
 Your strength will give you leave to visit me 
 At my father's house, where I can command 
 An opportunity, my true love shall 
 Present you with your wishes ; my maid only 
 Shall be of counsel to admit you ; but 
 You'll make me satisfaction by marriage? 
 
 Foii). At a minute's warning. 
 
 Fen. One thing more ; ere I give up my honour, I will 
 have your oath no other woman hath enjoyed your person. 
 
 Fow, Willingly ; alas ! I could ne'er be tempted, and 
 but that there is a kind of necessity — 
 
 Fen. Be confident of my best love. 
 
 Fow. Seal it now ; [Kisses her. 
 
 I feel my spirits gather force already. 
 My blood shake off the corrupt humour ; ha? 
 What an I go home with you, lady? 
 
 Fen. You are pretty well already, then ! you may ex- 
 cuse our meeting. 
 
 Fow. O, no, no; we are all apt to flatter oursehes. 
 Farewell, sweet lady, — if I live, I'll see you; if I die — 
 
 Fen. Whibble.— 
 
 Whib. At hand and foot to do you service. 
 
 - [Exeunt Pen. and Whib. 
 
48 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act iil. 
 
 yi2'w. You will poison him? ' 
 
 Man. He is dead ; as you find me in this, lei me have 
 your custom. 
 
 Aim. You quicksalying rogue ! \Beats him. 
 
 Man. Do ; be valiant. \Discovers himself. 
 
 Fow. A stratagem, my noble Tully, a stratagem ; she's 
 my own, the castle of comfort is yielding up ; I see it 
 prostrate already, my valiant engineer. 
 
 " Clare. The old humour ; now has he the promise of 
 some maidenhead. 
 
 Fow. The believing creature could not hold out. 
 
 Aim. If you thrive so well in your wench, I am no 
 company for you. 
 
 Fow. Not for me ! I'll worry thee, Frank, to death, if 
 thou flinchest. To the Oracle,* boys, thou shouldst hunt, 
 as I do, these wanton rabbit-suckers. Come, we'll have 
 thy story in Apollo, now my own tale is over. I'll busy 
 my brains to set thy wheals in a handsome motion again. 
 Bold as I am, let no denial make thee remove thy siege ; 
 they must come to parly, make but wise conditions, and 
 the fort's thine own, I warrant thee. Come, to the 
 Oracle ! [^Exeurt. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Room in Sir George Richley's 
 House. 
 
 Etiter Brains with a letter. 
 
 Bra. Crack, my sides, with laughter: here's a pur- 
 chase happier than I expected ; her own letter to Aim- 
 well ! his (which was the most I could hope for) would 
 have been but presumption, this is evidence against the 
 world ; to this have I added seal and superscription to 
 the old knight my master. Oh, how I could hug hiyself 
 
 ' Jonson's club-room at the Devil tavern. Tlie allusion is to the 
 line over the door, "To the Oracle of Apollo." — Gifford. 
 
SCENE v.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 49 
 
 with the thought on't ! they may talk of women's wit, 'tis 
 as slender as their apron-strings, from whence they fetch 
 it ; they have no reaches in them. Here comes my mis- 
 tress's moveable, — 
 
 Enter Sensible. 
 she shall do the feat. — Mistress Sensible, here's a letter 
 to my master; I am going in some haste to dispatch 
 some business; when he comes, at opportunity do so 
 much as deliver it, wilt? 
 
 Sens. A greater courtesy than this for you. 
 
 Bra. Oh, that I were a youth of one and twenty 
 again ! — 
 
 Sens. What then ? 
 
 Bra. Hear my wish out, — and ten thousana pounds 
 in a musty coffer, a house well furnished, acres enough of 
 my own about it, fifty ploughs a going, twenty horse in 
 the stable, beside a caroch and six Flanders mares; ten 
 tall knaves in livery, eight velvet pages, six footmen ifci 
 cadis ; * I would marry thee, love thee, lie with thee, and 
 get so many Brains without sage, as should furnish any 
 nation in Christendom with politicians, girl. Farewell, 
 sweet, kind Sensible ! [£xii. 
 
 Sens. What crotchets be these ? the fellow's mad, I 
 think, 
 
 £nUr ViOLETTA, hastily. 
 
 Vio. Oh, look. Sensible, seek ever)rwhere about the 
 chamber ; I have lost the letter Aimwell sent me. If we 
 should be discovered, we are quite undone. What's that 
 in thy hand? 
 
 Sens. A letter. 
 
 Vio. Whence? 
 
 Sens. I know not ; 'twas left here, and Brains, having 
 some business to dispatch, requested me to deliver it. 
 
 Vio. Let me see't. "To, the right worshipful Sir 
 George Richley." I see him coming; lose no time; 
 ^ The cheap worsted fringe or lace with which the liveries of 
 servants were trimmed. 
 
 Shir. ^ 
 
50 THE WITTY FAIR UJNU. l^o^ ^xa. 
 
 employ thy diligence to search for mine; I will deliver 
 this. 
 
 Sens. I shall, mistress. {Exit. 
 
 Vio. My father presses me to marry Treedle: short 
 time's allowed for the prevention. 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley. 
 
 My good angel assist me. — Here's a letter, sir. 
 
 Rich. Whence? 
 
 Vio. I know not ; your servant Brains received it. 
 
 [Richley opens the ktter and reads. 
 
 Rich. What's here? — Daughter, do not you know 
 whence this letter came? 
 
 Vio. Not I, sir. 
 
 Rich. You cannot be so ignorant. 
 
 Vio. What means my father ? 
 
 Rich. You are familiar with the contents ? 
 
 Vio. I beseech you, sir, have no suspicion. 
 
 Rich. I'll read it to yo\i.-^\Reads.\ " Master Aimwell, I 
 received your letter, and praise your apprehension ; upon 
 the first view of your person, I conceived opinions of your 
 merit, the flame is now too great to be suppressed : it is no 
 time to protract your hopes, nor dishonour in me to yield 
 upon noble conditions at the first summon ; I accept your 
 love, and require your industry to prevent my father's pur- 
 pose. My servant Sensible you may trust; I will use some 
 invention to delay my expected marriage. Farewell." 
 
 Vio. My harsh fate ! \4side. 
 
 Rich. Do you know this character ? Where's my man 
 Brains ? 
 
 Vio. Your man devil. \Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Brains. 
 
 Bra. Did your worship call ? 
 Rich. Oh, my best servant. — 
 Does not thy very soul blush to deceive me ? 
 
SCENE v.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 51 
 
 Bra. What's the matter, mistress ? 
 
 Vio. Hear me, I beseech you. 
 
 Rich. In the height and puzzle of my care to make 
 Thee happy, to conspire thy overthrow ! 
 I will not hear. 
 
 Bra. Good sir. 
 
 Vio. This was your work, you can read. 
 
 Bra. And write, too, the superscription of a letter 
 or so. 
 
 Rich. Where's Sensible? 
 
 Re-enter Sensible. 
 
 For your good service to your mistress, housewife, 
 Pack up your trinkets, I here discharge you. 
 
 Bra. I hope you are Sensible ? 
 
 Vio. Oh, wench, my father hath my letter. 
 
 Sens. Yours ! 
 
 Vio. And I, mistaking, sealed and returned Aimwell 
 that which he sent. 
 
 Sens. How came he by it ? 
 
 Vio. Talk not of that. Oh, for some heart to help us ! 
 
 \They converse aside. 
 
 Bra. Let me counsel you not to express any violence 
 in your passions, lest you mar the possibility of reclaim- 
 ing her; it seems Aimwell has missed the intelligence. 
 Where shame is enforced too much upon the delinquent, 
 it begets rather an audacious defence of the sin, than 
 repentance. Soft rain slides to the root, and nourishes, 
 where great storms make a noise, wet but the skin i' the 
 earth, and run away in a channel. 
 
 Sens. A most rare project ! 
 
 Vio. It will appear the same ; both made together. 
 Which, since my sister's death, I have not worn. 
 
 Rich. Which of my cares reward'st thou with this 
 folly? 
 
 Via. Sir, can you pardon ? 
 
 Rich. I love you but too well ; go to your chamber. 
 
52 xjnji, yvmx j?m.ij^ kji\jz,. ^Ai^i ***. 
 
 Vio. But must we part ? 
 
 Rich. Dispute it not. 
 
 Bra. 'Bye, sweet Mistress Sensible ! I hope we shall 
 meet again as merry as we part. 
 
 Sens. 'Tis very violent, but we obey your pleasure ; I 
 have only apparel, and some few trifles — 
 
 Rich. Take them all with you, and be gone. 
 
 Vio. Beside my own misfortune, I have cause to pity 
 thine ; my father is displeased, and not unjustly. — Happy 
 genius ! — \Exeunt Violetta and Sensible. 
 
 Rich. So, things must be managed wisely; I will hasten 
 the marriage. 
 
 Bra. By all means let it be sudden. 
 
 Rich. Within two days — to-morrow. 
 
 Bra. I would not sleep till she be married — but carry 
 things smooth ; let not the knight suspect you are trou- 
 bled ; your daughter will be fetched about with a bias 
 again. 
 
 Rich. How thou deserv'st me ! let us, in. 
 
 Bra. Hereafter, for my sake, and subtle pains, 
 Whoe'er is wise, let the world call him Brains. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — ^Aimwell's Lodgings. 
 Enter Aimwell and Sensible. 
 
 IM. Can this be true ? 
 
 Sens. As I have faith to Heaven. 
 
 Aim. Take this, and this, and this, for 
 thy sweet story. \Gvves her money. 
 
 Thou hast entranced me with thy lan- 
 guage : laden 
 With my despairs, like a distressed bark 
 I gave myself up lost in the imagined 
 Tempest; but at point of striking 
 Upon a rock, what a celestial gale 
 Makes my sails swell with comfort ! and enforcing 
 My ship into the channel, I do feel it 
 Bound on the waves, discretion at the helm, 
 Which passion had forsaken ; I now bless 
 The minute I weighed anchor; oh, my destiny. 
 Dwell .longer on this thread, and make it firm ; 
 Upon it hangs the weight of such a fortune, 
 That, if it crack, will, swifter than Jove's flaming 
 Arrow, dig my grave in the earth's centre. 
 Forgive me, sacred sex of women, that 
 In thought or syllable, I have declaimed 
 Against your goodness, I will redeem it 
 With such religious honouring your names, 
 That when I die, some ne'er thought-stained virgin 
 Shall make a relic of my dust, and throw 
 
54 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act iv 
 
 My ashes, like a charm, upon those men 
 
 Whose faiths they hold suspected. To what pitch 
 
 Of blessedness are my thoughts mounted ! 
 
 Sens. Sir, 
 This is an opportunity for action ; 
 Time will run fast upon the minute. 
 
 Aim. Pardon 
 The trespass of my joy, it makes me wild; 
 I am too well rewarded for my suffering, 
 Promise thyself a noble recompense. 
 
 Enter Manly and Clare. 
 
 Man. Come, have you finished your discourse yet ? 
 
 Aim. You are my friends ; [Eodt Sensible, 
 
 I was deceived in my Violetta, 
 She loves, she has sent me proof; but a mistake . 
 Sent back my letter, and detained her answer. 
 Which was betrayed to her father. But keep youi 
 
 wonder 
 To honour her rare wit, which, if the stars 
 Show themselves not malicious, will assure 
 All my desires in her ; a divine project ; 
 She is the master-engine ; you must work too, 
 Will you not, friends ? 
 
 Clare. Man. You know you may command Ais. 
 
 Aim. Then spread your bosoms; you shall straight 
 procure 
 A caroch 1 be ready on the back side of my lodging ; 
 Do not lose time in questioning ; my fate 
 Depends upon you* haste. 
 
 Man. Promise it done. [Exit. 
 
 Aim. You shall disguise yourself; I must employ, you 
 In rougher action. 
 
 Clare. I refuse no office 
 To advance your hopes. 
 
 Aim. My certainties : on thee 
 
 ' Coach. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 55 
 
 The frame of our whole building lear s Come on. 
 Move slowly, time, until our work be done. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Sir George Richley's .SbKxe. 
 Enter Vioxetta and Tutor. 
 
 Vio. I was not blind to your deserts, 
 Nor can be so ungrateful now, as not 
 To give encouragement to your affection ; 
 My father may command my person, never 
 My love, to marry Treedle 
 
 Tutor. He is an ass ; I made his best verses for him. 
 
 Vio. I thought' his fancy could not reach them. 
 
 Tutor. His sconce is drier than a pumice. 
 
 Vio. There be ways to prevent marriage, for I'm 
 already changed. 
 
 Tutor. You are wise ; let us run away together. 
 
 Vio. But how shall I be sure your love- is firm ? 
 
 Tutor. Try me, and trust me after. 
 
 Vio. And I 'will, for it shall be a hard task- I will 
 impose on you ; dare you fight? 
 
 Tutor. If I like my enemy. .... 
 
 Vio. It is a poor old fellow. 
 
 Tutor. Then I will kill him; his name? 
 
 Vio. My father's servant. Brains-. 
 
 Tutor. He is dead 
 By this lime. 
 
 Vio. Stay, there is a circumstance ; - 
 To be observed : by some means I'll procure 
 He waits on me to the Strand this afternoon- 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Treedle, ,a«fl^WHiBBLE, wkqis 
 busied in adjusting the knighfs dress. 
 
 Sir Nicholas ! your ear forthe- rest. .-.. [ Wldspers him. 
 
 Tutor. He will suspect nothing by our privacy ;. 
 
S6 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. L^ct iv. 
 
 He bade me take occasion to urge 
 
 His good parts to you : should he ask, I'd swear 
 
 I did but press his commendations. 
 
 Treed. Is thy name Whibble ? 
 
 Whib. Yes, an't please your worship. 
 
 Treed. I like thee the better for that ; my name's 
 
 Whib. I thank your worship. [Treedle. 
 
 Treed. Hast done hooking o' me ? 
 
 Whib. Every eye hath his object already. 
 
 Treed. A witty knave ! what place dost thou occupy 
 under thy master ? 
 
 Wliib. I am commonly his journeyman, sir. 
 
 Treed. How? 
 
 Wliib. I look to his horses, sir. 
 
 Treed. Wilt serve me when I'm married ? 
 
 Whib. Alas ! I have no good parts to commend me. 
 
 Treed. No good parts ! an thou hast but skill in horses 
 and dogs, thou art fit for any gentleman in England. 
 
 Via. Just at that place assault him. 
 
 Tutor. By your fair hand I will. \Exit. 
 
 Vio. \Coming for'wardi\ My delight, how fare you? 
 
 Treed. I am studying some witty poesy for thy wed- 
 ding-ring ; let me see — 
 
 Vio. Trouble not your head. — Whibble, entreat my 
 father hither. 
 
 Treed. No matter ; I will send to the university. 
 
 Vio. Were you ever of any college ? 
 
 Treed. College ! I have had a head in most of the 
 butteries of Cambridge, and it has been sconced to 
 purpose. I know what belongs to sizing, and have 
 answered to my cue in my days ; I am free of the whole 
 university, I commenced with no worse than his majesty's 
 footmen. 
 
 Vio. And ever since you have had a running wit. You 
 were better consult our wits at home ; we have excellent 
 poets in the town, they say. 
 
 Treed. In the town ? What makes so many scholars 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 57 
 
 then come from Oxford and Cambridge, like market- 
 women, with dossers 1 full of lamentable tragedies, and 
 ridiculous comedies, which they might here vent to the 
 players, but they will take no money for them. 
 
 Via. Oh, my dearest ! How happy shall I be when 
 I'm married.. [JCisses him. 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley and Worthy. 
 
 Wor. Look ! they are ingendering at the lip. 
 
 Rich. I hke it well. 
 
 ^2(7. Why are our joys deferred ? 
 
 Rich. But till to-morrow. 
 
 Vio. 'Tis an age, methinks. 
 
 Treed. Kind worm ! 
 
 Wor. This cannot be deceit. 
 
 Vio. I want some trifles, the Exchange will furnish me; 
 Let it be your motion to my father. 
 
 Treed. Father and uncle, you will excuse our famiHar 
 conversation; I vow I will be honest till I be married; 
 not a touch of my flesh within the walls, only the suburbs 
 of her lips or hands, or so, and when, and when? — is to 
 morrow the day, the day of coupling and so forth ? have 
 you got a license ? 
 Rich. It shall be my next work. 
 
 Treed. Pray do, we will be married here, but keep our 
 wedding at my own house at Croydon, we will have the 
 city waites down with us, and a noise ^ of trumpets ; we 
 can have drums in the country, and the train-band, and 
 then let the Spaniards come an they dare ! — Dost hear ? 
 here is twenty pieces, you shall fribble them away at the 
 Exchange presently. 
 Rich. How, sir ? 
 
 Treed. By this gold she shall, father. — Lay it out in 
 tooth-picks, I will wear them in my hat. — Come, I will 
 with you for the Hcense. 
 Rich. Who shall with her? 
 
 1 Baskets. * Band. 
 
58 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [ACT r 
 
 Wor. I must attend a project of my daughter's. 
 
 Rich. Brains! {.^x^ 
 
 Enter Brains. 
 
 Bra. Sir. 
 
 Rich. Wait on my daughter to the Exchange ; obser\ 
 her carefully. 
 
 Bra. 'Point me a minute to return with her ; if I fai 
 put my brains into the pot, and let them be served u 
 with a calf s head, to-morrow for dinner. 
 
 Vio. It succeeds to my wish. \Asid 
 
 Treed. Violetta, look you lay out my gold at the Ej 
 change in Bartholomew-fairings ; farewell, Violetta. 
 
 \JExeunt Rich, and Treei 
 
 Bra. Come, mistress, will you walk? I would fai 
 see any mortal wit cozen me of my charge now. I wi 
 live to be the shame of politicians, and when I am dead 
 be clapt up into the Chronicles. \Exeu7u 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Roomiu Worthy's House, 
 Enter Fowler. 
 Fow. Ah, the desire of unlawful flesh ! what a conjui 
 ing dost thou keep within us to lay this little spirit c 
 concupiscence ! The world and the devil are tame an( 
 sprightlesS temptations, poor traffic, "to this staple com 
 niodity of whoring : this is the place where I must tak 
 shipping for the summer islands; if she keep touch, 
 will call them Fortunate, arid once a week make a lov 
 voyage to them. iMusic witAin]~B.a. ! are we enter 
 tained with music ? ^Qfte sings wit/iin 
 
 Song. 
 Back, back again ! fond man forbear. 
 Buy not a minute's play too dear ; 
 Come with holy flame, and be 
 Welcome to virtue and to me. 
 
SCENE HI.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 59 
 
 ' Fow. " Cqme with holy flame, and be 
 
 Welcome to virtue and to me." . 
 Flame ! I bring none with me, and I should be sorry to 
 meet any fireworks . here ; for those hereafter I look on 
 them afar off, and apprehefid them with less fear. — 
 Again ! [Music. 
 
 Song. 
 Love a thousand sweets distilling, 
 And with nectar bosOms filling, 
 Charm all eyes that none may find us; 
 Be above, before, behind us ; 
 And while we thy pleasures taste. 
 
 Enforce time itself to stay. 
 And by the fore-lock hold him fast, 
 Lest occasion slip away. 
 Fow. Ay, marry this is another manner of invitement ; 
 I will to her; but — 
 
 £nter Winnifred. 
 
 Here comes the squire of her mistress's body, — How 
 does my little taper of virgin wax ? thou hast been in 
 some damp, thou burn'st blue, methinks.. 
 Win. [In a hoarse voice.'] Noble sir. 
 
 .Fow. What!. a cold? 
 
 pyin. A great cold ; I have lost my voice. 
 Fow. An thou hast not. lost .thy rnaidenhead, it is no 
 matter; have a Httle cafe of thy frank tenement, and 
 thy tongue will come time enough to itself, I'll warrant 
 thee : what place has she chosen for the encounter ? 
 
 tVin. Her chariiber. ' ' 
 
 Fow. Her chamber! 
 - Win. It is. all dark. 
 
 Fow. Is it 3II dark? I commend her policy the 
 better; then the room, and the deed that -must-'be done 
 in it, will be of one complexion ; so 'she be light I care 
 not : prythee convey me to her. 
 Win. Follow me. 
 
6o THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act iv. 
 
 Fow. As thy shadow. — Woe be to some of the dear 
 sex when a chambermaid is usher to a gentleman. 
 
 \Esceunt. 
 
 SCENE VJ .—Another Room in the same, darkened.- 
 Enter Penelope and Worthy. 
 
 Pen. It shall be a harmless trial, sir. 
 
 War. Go too ; I know thou art virtuous ; put in exe- 
 cution thy purpose, I will be within the reach of thy voice. 
 
 \Retires. 
 
 Pen. It shall be my security. — 
 What ill star ruled at my nativity, 
 That I should be so miserable to love 
 A man, whose glory is his vice, whose study 
 Is but to ruin virtue ! 
 
 Enter Winnifred. 
 
 Win. Mistress! 
 
 Pen. Here, Winnifred. 
 
 Win. The gamester waits his entrance, jocund as a 
 bridegroom ; he has forgot his fever. 
 
 Pen. Away ; you know your charge ; be ready. — \Exit 
 Win. Pen. goes to the door, and speaks /ioarsely.'\ — Where 
 are you, sir ? Master Fowler. 
 
 Enter Fowler. 
 
 Fow. In hell, if darkness will carry it ; yet hell cannot 
 be so black, there are too many flames in it. Thy hand; 
 what monk's hole hast thou brought me to ? where is thy 
 mistress ? 
 
 Pen. This is the way. 
 
 Fow. Is this the way? it is a very blind one; the 
 devil can hardly know me if he meet here, that is my 
 comfort: yet if he did, he loves the sin too well to inter- 
 rupt so precious a meeting. Prithee, child of darkness, 
 conduct me to the handsome fairy I must dance withal. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 6i 
 
 Pen. It seems your fever hath left you. 
 
 Fow. My fever ! I forget myself, I should have coun- 
 terfeited sick all this while, but no matter, an thy mistress 
 know it not ; thou art -skilful in secrets, and ' I will 
 deserve it : two or three fits when I am in her presence, 
 will make her keep her promise with me about the cure, 
 for that she thinks I was so : Prithee do thy office, and 
 bring me to her ; I hope she is not within hearing. 
 
 Pen. Fear not. 
 
 Fow. So, about it then. 
 
 Pen. There is a fee belongs to my place first. 
 
 Fow. - A fee belonging to your place ? as I . hope for a 
 limb of thy mistress I had forgot it; there is gold, I can feel 
 it : by this darkness, for thou seest I have no light to swear 
 by, it is weight ; quick, periwinkle ! to thy mistress now. 
 
 Pen. This is not enough. 
 
 Fow. There is more ; take silver and all. 
 
 Pen. This is nothing. 
 
 Fow. Is it nothing ? by this hand, would I could see 
 it; it'is all I have; wilt search me ? 
 
 Pen. There is another fee belongs to us. 
 
 Fow. Another fee belongs to us ! what is that ? I 
 must kiss her : — \Kisses her-\ — thou hast a down lip, and 
 dost twang it handsomely ; now to the business. 
 
 Pen. This is not all I look for. 
 
 Fow. She will not tempt me to come aloft, will she ? 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Pen. If you could see me, I do blush. 
 
 Wor. What does ray daughter mean ? \Aside. 
 
 Fow. If I could see her she does blush, she says ; it is 
 so : oh the insatiable desires of chambermaids ! they were 
 wont to look no higher than the groom or servingman, 
 and be thankful ; or if the master would be pleased to 
 let them show him this lobby, t'other withdrawing cham- 
 ber, or the turret, in summer, and take occasion to com- 
 mend the situation and so forth, it was after the lady had 
 been served," out of his own mere motion and favour, 
 
62 THE ivnry i^aijs. w^yjz,. l^- — 
 
 and it was taken as an indearaient for ever of theii 
 service and secrecy ; now they must be tasters to -them 
 in the sweet sin; fees of the court must be .paid, or nc 
 suit commenced with iniquity. — O Venus, what will this 
 world come to ! 
 
 I'm. Hear me. 
 
 J^ow. Yes, I cannot see thee. 
 
 Pen. This chamber, by my policy, was made dark. 
 
 Pow. " This chamber, by your policy, was made 
 dark," so. 
 
 Pen. My mistress expected you without this ceremony. 
 
 Fow. "Your mistress expects me without this cere- 
 mony." — Cunning gipsy ! [Asitie. 
 
 Pen. But if you condescend not first — 
 
 Fow. " But if I condescend not first ; " will she 
 threaten me ? \Aside, 
 
 Pen. To impart to me the sweet pleasure of your 
 body — 
 
 Paw. " To impart to you the sweet pleasure of my 
 body ! " 
 
 Pen. Indeed, you shall not embrace my mistress, and 
 so forth. 
 
 Fow. " Indeed I shall not .embrace your mistress, and 
 so forth!" You will justify this to her face? 'tis not 
 that I stand upon a carri&re,' but I will not be compelled 
 to lie with any whore in Christendom. Was ever such a 
 goat in nature ! Why, hark ye, virgin above ground, 
 for a dark room or a cellar are all one for you, you that 
 are a degree above the kitchen, and make your master's 
 man run mad to hear you play on the virginals : whose 
 breath, though strengthened with garlic, you would suck 
 like a domestic cat at midnight, will not diet down with 
 you, but what is reserved for your mistress's palate? 
 You are in hope to filch a point from my breeches,, which, 
 executed at both ends, you will wear about your s'mutchy 
 wrist for a bracelet. I will seek out thy mistress rifle 
 her lady-ware, in spite of thee, and give my footman 
 1 Meaning, not caring what he does. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 63 
 
 charge not to kiss thee, an it would keep thee from starv- 
 ving. — ^Would I could see the way out again ! 
 
 Pen. I can betray, and will.. 
 
 Fow. She'll betray us, she has voice enough for such 
 a mischief. \Adde?\ — Dost hear ? do but consider she is 
 thy mistress, there's some reason she should be preferred. 
 
 Pen. I'll hear none. 
 
 Fow. She'll hear no reason! If the devil hath fed 
 her blood with the hope of me, would he would furnish 
 her with an incubus in my shape, to serve her, or let a 
 satyr leap her ! Oh, unmerciful chambermaids ! the grave 
 is sooner satisfied than their wantonness. \Aside\ — Dost 
 hear ? wilt have the truth on't ? 'twas a condition between 
 us, and I swore no woman should enjoy me before her; 
 there's conscience I should be honest to her ; prithee be 
 kind to a young sinner ; I wijl deserve thee hereafter in 
 the height of daUiance. 
 
 Pen. I am in tlie same humour still. 
 
 Fow. " She is in the same humour still ! " I must go 
 through her to her mistress. \Aside?[ — Art thou a Chris- 
 tian?- Well, thou art a brave girl, and I do love thy 
 resolution, and so soon as I have presented my first fruits 
 to thy mistress only for oath's sake, I'll return and ply 
 thee with embraces, as I am a gentleman. Prithee show 
 me the way. 
 
 Pen. I will not trust you, sir. 
 
 Fow. Will not you trust me? why, come on then, an 
 there be no remedy. 
 
 Pen. Will you satisfy my desire? 
 
 Fow. I'll do my endeavour; I am untrussing as fast as 
 I can ; nay, an I be provoked, I'm a tyrant ; have at your 
 bacon. 
 
 Pen. (Aloud.] Winnifred ! 
 
 Re-enter Winnifred with Or light. 
 
 Fow. Have you found your voice ? what mean you by 
 this light? 
 Pen. That you should see your shame. 
 
64 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Fow. Cheated; ha? 
 
 Pen. Is this your love to me, your noble love ? I did 
 suspect before how I should find you. 
 
 Fow. Penelope ! 
 
 Pen. Degenerated man ! what mad disease 
 Dwells in thy veins, that does corrupt the flowings 
 Of generous blood within thee ? 
 
 Fow. Shall I not vault, gentlewoman ? 
 
 Pen. What behaviour 
 Of mine gave thee suspicion I could be 
 So lost to virtue, to give up mine honour? 
 Poor man ! 
 
 How thou didst fool thyself to thy devouring 
 Lust, for 'twas it made thee so late a counterfeit. — 
 Go home, and pray 
 
 Thy sin may be forgiven, and with tears 
 Wash thy polluted soul. 
 
 Wor. I likethis well. 
 And find her noble aim. \Aside. 
 
 Pen. Be man again ; 
 For yet thou art a monster, and this act 
 Published, will make thee appear so black 
 And horrid, that even beasts will be ashamed 
 Of thy society. My goodness. 
 
 In hope of your conversion, makes me chide you so — 
 Ha ! Win, dost thou observe him ? Oh, my heart 
 Is full of fear; I tremble to look on him : 
 See, of a sudden, what a paleness has 
 Possessed his face ; do not his eyes retire 
 Into their hollow chambers ? Sir, how do you ? 
 
 Fow. Well. 
 
 Wor. What new project's this ? \Adde, 
 
 Win. A sudden change. 
 Sure, Heaven is just unto thy late imposture 
 And thou art punished now indeed with sickness 
 For mocking Heaven, I fear. Oh, dost thou see ? 
 
 Fow. What? 
 
SCENE v.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 65 
 
 Pen. Death sits upon his forehead ; I ne'er saw 
 The horror of a dying countenance, 
 But in this gentleman. — Winnifred, to my closet, 
 Fetch me the cordial. 
 
 Fow. What do you mean, gentlewoman ? 
 I do not feel any such dangerous sickness. 
 
 Pen. What a hollow voice he has ! oh, my misfortune, 
 If he should die here ! Fetch me some strong waters. 
 
 Fow. No, no, I can walk for them myself, if need be. 
 
 Pen. He talks wildly ; 
 I may suspect him ; if you have so much strength 
 To walk, go, home, call your" physician. 
 And friends; dispose of your estate, and settle 
 Your peace for Heaven, I do beseech you, sir ; 
 My prayers shall beg a mercy on your soul. 
 For I have no encouragement to hope 
 Your glass hath many sands. Farewell, sir ; cherish 
 Pure holy thoughts, ■ that if your life soon end, 
 Your better part may to yon court ascend. — 
 Come, to my father. \Exeunt all but Fowler. 
 
 Fow. What's the meaning of this ? sick and dying ! I 
 feel no pains. I have heard of some died with conceit; 
 if it should kill me, I were a precious coxcomb. Was 
 ever poor gentleman brought into such a foolish para- 
 dise? prepared for a race, and mounted into the saddle, — 
 I must go home and die ! well, if I live I'll quit your 
 cunning, and for the more certainty my revenge may 
 prosper, I will not say my prayers till it take effect. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 SCENE N.—The Street, near Sir George Richley's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Tutor. 
 
 Tutor. This is the place where I must exercise my 
 valour upon Brains; I. was ne'er given to fight, but I'm 
 
 Shir. *■ 
 
66 THE iVIlTi: J^JLixi uiv^. L"-- -■ 
 
 engaged for such a prize as I would challenge all thi 
 noble sciences in my own defence. 
 
 [ JValis about practising with Us sword 
 
 Enter Aimwell, Clare, and Manly. 
 
 Aim. I cannot spy them yet; pray Heaven no disastei 
 cross our project. 
 
 Clare. What thing's that walks about the door? 
 
 Aim. One practising, I think, 
 The postures of a fencer. 
 
 Tutor. Things occur worthy consideration. Were ] 
 best to speak before I strike him, or give him blows, and 
 tell him the reason afterwards ? I do not like expostula- 
 tions, they proclaim our anger, and give the enemy warn- 
 ing to defend himself; I'll strike him valiantly, and in 
 silence. 
 
 Clare. What does he mutter ? 
 
 Aim. What business stays him here ? some treachery. 
 
 Tutor. Being resolved to strike before I speak, 
 'Tis worth my judgment, whether fist or sword 
 Shall first salute hiin ; I'll be generous. 
 And give him first two or three wholesome buifets, 
 Which, well laid on, may haply so amaze him, 
 My weapon may be useless ; for I fear, 
 Should I begin with steel, her very face 
 Would force me make too deep incision, 
 And so there may be work for sessions : 
 I like not that, as valiant as I am : 
 Killing is common. 
 
 Aim. They are in sight ! down, down ! oh, my ravished 
 soul ! what bliss is in this object ! \Retires. 
 
 Tutor. Ha ! they are coming ; 'tis she and the old 
 ruffian; he has but a scurvy countenance; I have the 
 advantage in the first blow, and I should be very sorry 
 he should beat me in the conclusion. 
 
 Clare. Why does this fellow stay? 
 
 Tutor. I must on; she has spied me through hei 
 mask ; 
 
SCENE VI.] THR WITTY FAIR ONE. 67 
 
 I see her smile already ; and command 
 A present battery. 
 
 Enter Brains before Violetta. 
 
 Clare. Will this fellow prevent my office ? he goes 
 towards him with a quarrelling face. — Ha! I'll not 
 engage myself then ; 'tis so. 
 
 [Clare and Manly withdrwui. Tutor strikes Brains. 
 
 ;^w. Help! help! 
 \She runs in, and presently Sensible slips out, dressed 
 like her Mistress. 
 
 Bra, Mistress, stay. Fear nothing; alas, good gentle- 
 woman. — \Beats the T-aXQx\ — You black maggot; death! 
 I'll tread him into the kennel amongst his kindred. 
 
 \Beats him again; 
 
 lutor. Hold ! help ! murder ! 
 
 Bra. We shall have the whole street about us pre- 
 sently.. Let's on our journey. Who is this mole-catcher? 
 — An ye had not been with me, I would have cut Jiim 
 into more pieces than a tailor's cushion. — Sir Nicholas, 
 you shall know on't too. \Exeunt Brains and Sensible. 
 
 Tutor. They are gone together ; pox on this tough- 
 ness ! He has made an ass of me ; next him do I hate 
 the law most abominably, for if I might kill and not be 
 hanged for him, 'twould never trouble me. Shall I lose 
 my reputation so? I'll venture another pounding, but 
 I'll be revenged on him. \Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ nother part of the same. 
 Enter Brains before Sensible. 
 
 Bra. My mistress has grown very thrifty of her voice 
 o' the sudden ; I have asked her two or three questions, 
 and she answers me with holding out her hand, as the 
 post at St. Alban's, that points the way to London ; 
 either she is grown sullen, or the fright she was in of late, 
 like a wolf that sees a man first, hath taken away her 
 
68 'THU Willi: rj^iix^ iv^y^. u— - 
 
 voice.— I'll make her speak to mt.—\He stops, she pUi 
 him forward with her handi\ — Said you, forsooth ?- 
 'twill not do— what a blessed comfort shall he enjoy : 
 she continue speechless ! the Persians did worship a go 
 under the name of Silence, and, sure, Christians ma 
 have an excuse for their idolatry, if they can find- 
 woman whom nature hath posted into the world with 
 tongue, but no ability to make use of that miserabl 
 organ. — What do you think 'tis o'clock ? two not strucl 
 ha ? — [Sensible slips away.] — How now, mistress, tread 
 ing on t'other side ? this is your way to the Exchange. 
 
 Sens. My way, you saucy clown !— take that. 
 
 [Strikes him 
 
 Bra. You are bountiful ; 'tis more than I looked for. 
 
 Sens. [Unmasking.] — What have you to say to me 
 sirrah? Cannot a gentlewoman — 
 
 Bra. Ha, ah ! my brains melt ; I am undone, I an 
 undone ; you succuba, where is my mistress ? Proser 
 pine, speak ! 
 
 Enter Tutor, with Serjeants. 
 
 Tutor. That's he ; your office. 
 
 SerJ. We arrest you, sir. 
 
 Bra. Me, you toads ? 
 
 Sens. How's this ? 
 
 Tutor. Away with him to prison ; 'tis no slight action 
 at your perils, Serjeants.— My fairest mistress. 
 
 Sens. Mistress !— I'll humour this plot for the mirth 
 sake. 
 
 [Aside, and putting on her mask again, exit with Tutor 
 
 Bra. Sirrah, tadpole; what do you mean?— I owe hin 
 not a penny, by this flesh ; he has a conspiracy upon me 
 I charge you, in the king's name, unbind me. 
 
 Serj. We charge you, in the king's name, obey us. 
 
 Bra. May you live to be arrested of the pox, and di« 
 m a. dungeon! may inns o' court gentlemen, at nexi 
 tnmmmg, shave your ears and noses off, and then duel 
 you in their own boggards ! [Exeunt 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE \.—The Street before Sir George Richley's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley, Sir Nicholas Treedle, 
 and Worthy. 
 
 REED. So, now we have got a license, I 
 would see who dares marry your 
 daughter besides myself. Is she come 
 from the Exchange yet? 
 Won Not yet, sir. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mes. Your servant Brains remembers his duty in this 
 paper. 
 
 Rich. Letters. 
 
 Treed. Letters ! let me read them. 
 
 Rich. Your patience, sir. 
 
 Wor. I doubt all is not well ; what if some misfortune 
 should now befall your mistress? I hope you have armour 
 of patience ? 
 
 Treed. Ay, and of pro6f too, at home, as inuch as my 
 hall can hold; the story of the Prodigal can hardly be 
 seen for't;^ I have pikes and guns, enow for me and my 
 "predecessors, a whole wardrobe of swords and bucklers ; 
 when you come home you shall see them. 
 
 Rich. A conspiracy ! 
 
 Treed. Oh, treason ! 
 
 1 The story worked in the tapestry against which the arms hung. 
 
70 THE TVITTY I'AIK UIVH. LA<-i v 
 
 Rich. My man Brains is arrested by your Tutor; ; 
 plot to take away my daughter ; she is gone. 
 
 Wor. I did prophesy too soon. 
 
 Treed. My Tutor read travel to me, and run away wit) 
 my wench ! a very peripatetic — what shall I do,' then 
 an some one had arrested and clapped her up, too, wi 
 should have known where to find her. Do you hear '. 
 I did not mean to marry with a licence. 
 
 Wor. How, sir? 
 
 Treed. No, sir, I did mean to marry with your daugh' 
 ter. Am I a gull ? 
 
 Wor. Have patience. 
 
 Treed. I will have no patience; I will have Violetta 
 why does not Brains appear? 
 
 Wor. His heels are not at liberty ; he's in prison. 
 
 Treed. In prison ! why, an he had been hanged, he 
 might have brought us word. 
 
 Rich. I am rent with vexation. — Sirrah, you . go witl 
 me to the prison. \_Exeuni Rich, and Mes, 
 
 Wor. What will you do, sir ? 
 
 Treed. I'll geld my Tutor. 
 
 Wor. You were best' find him 'first; ' 
 
 Treed. Nay, I will find him, and find him again, an I 
 can light on him ; let me alone, I'll take half-a-dozen 
 with me, and about it instantly. Exit. 
 
 Wor. I wish thee well, niece, but a better husband. 
 
 Enter Yoy^i.-ER. 
 Who's yonder? 'tis Master Fowler, at an excellent oppor- 
 tunity. \^ExU, 
 -Pow. I do walk still ; by all circumstance I am alive, 
 not sick in part but my head, which has only the 
 pangs of mvention, and in travail of some precious 
 revenge for my worse than masculine affront : what if I 
 T^ort abroad she's dishonest? I cannot do them a 
 worse turn than to say so : some of our gallants take a 
 pnde to behe poor gentlewomen in that fashion, and 
 
SCENE I.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. ;i 
 
 think the discourse an honour to them ; confidently 
 boast the fruition of this or that lady, whose hand they 
 never kissed with the glove off: and why may not I make 
 it my revenge, to blur their fames a little for abusing me ? 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen at several doors. 
 
 1st Gent. Well met, friend; what! thou lookest sad. 
 
 2nd Gent. You will excuse me, and bear a part, when I 
 tell the cause. 
 
 1st Gent. What's the news ? 
 
 2}id Gent. Our friend. Master Fowler's dead. 
 
 Fow. Fowler ! ha! 
 
 ist Gent. Master John Fowler ? 
 
 Fow. That's I, that's I, ha ! 
 
 2nd Gent. The same. 
 
 Fow. Dead ! am I dead ? 
 
 1st Gent. It cannot be ; I saw him but this morning 
 Lusty and pleasant ; how died he ? 
 
 2nd Gent. Suddenly. 
 
 1st Gent. Where ? 
 
 2nd Gent. At Master Worthy's house. 
 
 1st Gent. Dead? 
 
 2nd Gent. Too true, sir. 
 
 Fow. I would not believe myself sick ; belike I am 
 dead ; 'tis more than I know yet. 
 
 ist Gent. He was a suitor to Master Worthy's daughter. 
 
 2nd Gent. Mistress Penelope ; right. 
 
 Fow. By all circumstance they mean me : these gentle- 
 men know me, too ; how long is it since I departed ? 
 Some mistake — 
 
 1st Gent. How poor a thing is life, that we cannot 
 Promise a minute's certainty; i' the height 
 And strength of youth, falling to dust again ! 
 
 Fow. Ha, ha, gentlemen ! what do you think of the 
 dead man ? 
 
 2nd Gent. 'Tis the last office I can do him, now. 
 To wait on him to the earth. 
 
72 _ TUM IVjLTTY I'AIR ON£. [ACT V. 
 
 Fow. Coxcombs, do ye not know me? I'm alive, do 
 you not see me ? 
 
 ist Gent. He was a noble fellow, and deserves 
 A memory ; if my brain have not lost 
 All his poetic juice, it shall go hard 
 But I'll squeeze out an elegy. 
 
 Fow. For whom, my furious poet ? Ha ! not know 
 me ! do I walk invisible, or am I my own ghost ? — An 
 you will not see me, you shall feel me, you have a nimble 
 pate, I may chance strike out some flash of wit — \Strikes 
 Aim.] — No — 
 
 Re-enter Worthy. 
 
 Here comes another. — Save you, Master Worthy. 
 
 \st Gent. Sir, I heard ill news. Master Fowler's dead. 
 
 Wor. He is indeed, sir. 
 
 Fow. Indeed you lie, sir. 
 
 Wor. I saw his eyes sealed up by death, and him 
 Wrapt in his last sheet. 
 
 xst Gent. Where's his body? 
 
 Wor. At my sad house, sir. 
 
 Fow. Is my body at your house ? 
 
 Wor. I did hope, gentlemen, we should have found 
 My house his bridal chamber, not his coffin. 
 But Heaven must be obeyed, my daughter loved him, 
 And much laments his loss. 
 
 Fow. Very good; then I am dead, am I not?" 
 
 Wor. You both were in the number of his friends, 
 I hope you'll add your presence to the rest 
 At the funeral. 
 
 Fow. Whose funeral, you man of Bedlam ? 
 
 2nd Gent. Cry you mercy, sir ; pray keep your way. 
 
 ^st Gent. It is a duty which, without invitement, we 
 are both prompt to discharge. 
 
 Fow. Master Worthy! Gentlemen! do ye hear? 
 \Exeunt all but Fowler.]— Is't possible ? not know me 
 not see me ! I am so thin, and airy, I have slipped out 
 o the world, it seems, and did not know on't,— If i be 
 
SCENE II.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 73 
 
 dead, what place am I in ? where am I ? This is not 
 hell, sure? I feel no torment, and there is too Httle 
 company ; no, 'tis not hell — and I have not lived after 
 the rate of going to Heaven yet ; beside, I met just now 
 a usurer, that only deals upon ounces, and carries his 
 scales at his girdle, with which he uses to weight, not 
 men's necessities, but the plate he is to lend money upon : 
 can this fellow come to heaven ? Here a poor fellow is 
 put in the stocks for being drunk, and the constable 
 himself reeling home, charges others in the king's name 
 to aid him. There's a spruce captain, newly crept out 
 of a gentlernan-usher, and shuffled into a buff jerkin with 
 gold lace, that never saw service beyond Finsbury or the 
 Artillery-garden,! marches waving a desperate feather in 
 his lady's beaver, while a poor soldier, bred up in the 
 school of war all his life, yet never commenced any 
 degree of commander, wants a piece of brass, to dis- 
 charge a wheaten bullet to his belly; — no, this is not 
 Heaven, I know by the people that traffic in't : where 
 am I, then ? Umph ! I'll to Worthy's before they bury 
 me, and inform myself better what's become of me ; If I 
 find not myself there in a coffin, there's hope I may 
 revive again ; if I be dead, I am in a world very like the 
 other ; I will get me a female spirit to converse withal, 
 and kiss, and be merry, and imagine myself alive again. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Treedle, Whibble, and 
 Footman. 
 
 Treed. Come, follow me, and be valiant, my masters. 
 Whib. Remember yourself, sir ; this is your worship's 
 footman, and, for mine own part, though I be not cut 
 
 * The usual places of exercise for the ciiy trajn-bands. 
 
74 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [act v. 
 
 according to your cloth, I am a true servant of yours; 
 where do you thinlc we shall find them ? 
 
 Treed. Where ! where dost thou think ? 
 
 Foot. I think' where his worship thinks. 
 
 Treed. No matter, whether we find them or no ; but, 
 when we have taken them,— -as if they be not, it is their 
 own fault, for we are ready, — for Violetta, upon sub- 
 mission, I will commit marriage with her ; but for the 
 rogue, my Tutor — 
 
 Wliib. What will you do with him ? 
 
 Treed. I'll do nothing to him ; thou shalt kill hipi for 
 me. 
 
 Whib. It will show better in your footman. 
 
 Treed. Thou sayest right, he can run him through 
 quickly ; but it is no matter who ; an the worst come to 
 the worst, it is but a hanging matter, and I'll get a 
 pardon first or last. I would kill him myself, but that I 
 should be taxed to kill a poor worm more than ever I 
 did in my life ; besides, it is not with my credit to be 
 hanged. 
 
 Wliib. An't please your worship, I'll make a fair 
 motion ; take your choice. Sir Nicholas, whether we shall 
 kill him and you'll be hanged for him, or you shall be 
 hanged for him, and we'll kill him. 
 
 Foot. Under, correction, I think it were better, to take 
 him prisoner. 
 
 Treed. I like my footman's reason; we will take him 
 first prisoner, and whosoever hath a mind to be hanged, 
 may kill him afterwards.— Oh that I had him here now, 
 I could cut him in pieces on my rapier's point ! 
 
 Whib. Has not your worship been at fence-school ? 
 
 Treed. At fence-school ? I think I have, I'll play so 
 many for so many, I name no weapons, with any high 
 -German English fencer of them all.— Canst not thou 
 fence, Whibble? 
 
 Whib. I, sir? alas. — 
 
 Treed. It is but thus and thus, and there is a man at 
 
SCENE 11.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 75 
 
 your mercy ; I would cleave a button, an it were as broad 
 as the brim of your hat now. Oh that I had but any 
 friend but to kill a little ! prithee try me, Whibble. 
 
 Wkib. I am none of your friends. 
 
 Treed. Why, then, an thou lovest me, be my foe a 
 little, for a bout or so. 
 
 Whib. I care not much to exercise your worship ; stand 
 aside. 
 
 Treed. Stay, let me see first — there is it — I cannot 
 with my honour wound thee, I do not stand upon 
 the odds of my weapon, which is longer than thine, but 
 thou seest thine is shorter than mine by an handful; — 
 too much is too much. 
 
 Enter Tutor, and Sensible masked as before. 
 
 foot. Your Tutor, sir, and Mistress Violetta ! 
 
 Treed. How! down with him, sora^^oAy \-^\Exit 
 Tutor.] — he is gone, follow him close ! — Oh, run away, 
 cowardly rascal, will ye not fight against three? Mistress, 
 it is my fortune, you see, or my destiny, to recover your 
 lost virginity ; I am sorry for nothing, but that I have 
 shed no blood ia your rescue : but where there is no 
 valour to be expected, it is best- to put up with valour 
 and reputation. Would the rascal -my Tutor have popped 
 in before me? I am glad I have prevented him, — do 
 you hear! — ^your father is mad, and I am little better 
 myself: but let us be wise, lose no time ; I know a parsqn 
 shall divide us into man and wife ere any body think on 
 it ; I will make all sure now, I will not be put into any 
 more of these frights, I will marry you ; if any man dare 
 run away with you afterwards, let it light upon mine own 
 head, and that is the worse I am sure they can do me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
76 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. LACi v. 
 
 SCENE III.— Worthy's ^oz^jff. Penelope's ^^<^- 
 chamber. ■ 
 
 Enter Worthy and two Gentlemen. 
 Wor. Gentlemen, I thank you ; you carried it to my 
 desire, most cunningly. 
 
 xst Gent. Do you think it has taken ? 
 2nd Gent. I am covetous to see the event, 
 Wor. Pray sit. — Penelope ! 
 
 Enter Penelope in mourning. 
 
 2nd Gent. In mourning ! 
 
 Wor. All parties in the engagement. 
 
 Pen. You oblige a woman's service. 
 
 2nd Gent, Gentle lady, 
 And if it prove fortunate, the design 
 Will be your honour, and the deed itself 
 Reward us in his benefit : he was ever wild. 
 
 \st Gent. Assured your ends are noble, we are happy 
 
 in't. 
 
 Enter Winnifred. 
 
 Win. Master Fowler. 
 Wor. Is he come already ? 
 Pen. Remove the hearse into this chamber. 
 
 \A hearse is brought in with tapers. 
 In your nobleness I desire you will 
 Interpret fairly what I am to personate. 
 And by the story you will find I have 
 Some cause of passion. \They sit round the hearse. 
 
 Enter Fowler. 
 
 Fow. This is the room I sickened in, and by report 
 died in ; umph ! I have heard of spirits walking with 
 aerial bodies, and have been wondered at by others but 
 I must only wonder at myself, for if they be not mad I 
 am come to my own burial; certain these clothes are 
 substantial, I owe my tailor for them to this hour if the 
 
SCENE III.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 77 
 
 devil be not my tailor, and hath furnished me with 
 another suit very like it. — \Rings his money.] — This is no 
 magical noise, essential gold and silver. What do I with 
 it if I be dead ? Here are no reckonings to be paid with 
 it, no tavern bills, no midnight revels, with the costly 
 tribe of amorous she-sinners; now I cannot spend it, 
 would the poor had it ; by their prayers I might hope to 
 get out of this new pitiful, purgatory, or at least know 
 which way I came into it. — Here they are in mourning, 
 what a devil do they mean- to do with me? — Not too 
 many tears, lady, you will but spoil your eyes, and draw 
 upon them the misery of spectacles : do not you know 
 me neither ? 
 
 Pen. Oh, Master Fowler ! 
 
 J^ow. Ha ! out with it ; nay, an the woman but 
 acknowledged me alive, there is some hope of me. 
 
 J^en. I loved thee living with a holy flame. 
 To purge the errors of thy wanton youth. 
 Iu>w. I'm dead again. 
 I'en. This made 
 Thy soul sue out so hasty a divorce. 
 And flee to airy dwellings : this hath left us 
 Thy cold pale figure. 
 
 Which we have commission but to chamber up 
 In melancholy dust, where thy own worms. 
 Like the false servants of some great man, shall 
 Devour thee first. 
 J^ow. I am worms' meat ! 
 J^en. We must all die. 
 
 I^ow. Would some of you would do it quickly, that 
 I might have company ! 
 
 Pen. But, wert 
 Thou now to live again with us, and that. 
 By miracle, thy soul should with thy body 
 Have second marriage, I believe thou'd'st study 
 To keep it a chaste temple, holy thoughts, 
 Like fumes of sacred incense, hovering 
 
78 
 
 J.XJ.JJJ yy J. ± J. J. X'.£XXJ.\. \yj.yj^m 
 
 About this heart, then thou would'st learn to be 
 Above thy frailties, and resist the flatteries 
 Of smooth-faced lust. 
 
 Fow. This is my funeral sermon. 
 
 Pen. The burden of which sin, my fears persuade me, 
 Both hastened and accompanied thy death. 
 
 Wor. This sorrow is unfruitful. 
 
 Pen. I have done ; 
 May this prayer profit him ! would his soul were 
 As sure to gain Heaven as his body is here ! 
 
 2nd Gent. We musthope the best, he was an inconstant 
 young man ; frequenting of some companies had cor- 
 rupted his nature, and a little debauched him. 
 
 Fow. In all this sermon I have heard little commenda- 
 tions of our dear brother departed ; rich men do not go 
 to the pit-hole without complement of christian burial. 
 It seems, if I had lived to have made a will, and be- 
 queathed so much legacy as would purchase some 
 preacher a neat cassock, I should have died in as good 
 estate and assurance for my soul as the best gentleman 
 in the parish, had my monument in a conspicuous place 
 of the church, where I should have been cut in a form of 
 prayer, as if I had been called away at my devotion, and 
 so for haste to be in Heaven, went thither with my book 
 and spectacles. — Do you hear, lady, and gentlemen, is it 
 your pleasure to see me, though not know me ? and to 
 inform a walking puisne when this so much lamented 
 brother of yours departed out of this world ? In his life 
 I had some relation to him : what disease died he of, 
 pray? who is his heir yet at common law? for he was 
 warm in the possession of lands, thank his kind father, 
 who having been in a consumption sixteen years, one 
 day, above all the rest, having nothing else to do, died, 
 that the young man might be a landlord, according to 
 the custom of his ancestors. 
 
 \st Gent. I doubt the project. {Aside. 
 
 Fow. You should be his heir or executor at least, by 
 
SCENE III.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 79 
 
 your dry eyes, sir; I commend thee; what a miserable 
 folly it is to weep for one that is dead, and has no sense 
 of our lamentation. Wherefore were blacks invented? 
 to save our eyes their tedious distillations ; it is enough 
 to be sad in our habits, they have cause to weep that 
 have no mourning cloth, it is a sign they gel little by the 
 dead, and that is the greatest sorrow now-a-days. You 
 loved him, lady ; to say truth, you had Uttle cause, a 
 wild young man, yet an he were alive again, as that is in 
 vain to wish, you know, he may perchance "be more 
 sensible, and reward you with better service, so you 
 would not proclaim his weakness. — Faith, speak well of 
 the dead hereafter, and bury all his faults with him, will 
 ye ? what, are these- all the guests ? ha ! what papers ?' 
 some elegy or epitaph ? who subscribes ? oh, this is your 
 poetry. \Reads. 
 
 " How he died some do suppose. 
 
 How he lived the parish knows.; 
 
 Whether he's gone to Heaven or hell. 
 
 Ask not me, I cannot tell." 
 Very well, would the gentleman your friend were alive to 
 give you thanks for them. What, have we more ? [Reads. 
 " Underneath, the fair not wise, 
 
 Too self-loved Narcissus hes. 
 
 Yet his sad destruction came 
 
 From no fountain but a flame. 
 
 Then, youth, quench your hot desires. 
 
 Purge your thoughts with chaster fires, 
 
 Lest with him it be too late. 
 
 And death triumph in your fate. 
 
 Hither all your virgins come. 
 
 Strew your tears upon this tomb. 
 
 Perhaps a timely weeping may 
 
 So dispose his scorched clay, 
 
 That a chaste and snowy flower 
 
 May reward your gentle shower. 
 
 ' These were the elegies or epitaphs fixed to the hearse. 
 
80 ---^ yr^^^^ ^^^^- 
 
 Very well done upon so dead a subject ; by the virgu 
 that is in it, you should owe this parcel of poetry, lady. 
 
 Pen. A woman's muse, sir. 
 
 Fow. Oh, now you can answer me j am I dead still ? 
 
 Pen. Yes. 
 
 Fow. Then you talk to a dead man ? 
 
 Pen. I do. 
 
 Fow. Where am I dead ? 
 
 Pen. Here, everywhere. 
 You're dead to virtue, to all noble thoughts, 
 And, till the proof of your conversion 
 To piety win my faith, you are to me 
 Without all life ; and charity to myself 
 Bids me endeavour with this ceremony 
 To give you burial. If hereafter I 
 Let in your memory to my thoughts, or see you, 
 You shall but represent his ghost or shadow 
 Which never shall have power to fright my innocence. 
 Or make my cheek look pale. My ends are compassed, 
 And here, in sight of Heaven — / 
 
 Fow. Stay, 
 Thou art a noble girl, and dost deserve 
 To marry with an emperor. Remove 
 This sad -thing from us. — 
 
 \The hearse and lights are taken out 
 You do know me, gentlemen 
 Witness my death to vanity, quitting all 
 Unchaste desires : — revive me in thy thoughts. 
 And I will love as thou hast taught me, nobly. 
 And like a husband, by this kiss, the seal 
 That I do shake my wanton slumber oif, 
 And wake to virtue. 
 
 Wor. Meet it daughter. 
 
 Pen. Now you begin to live. 
 
 Fow. I will grow old in the study of my honour ! thi 
 last conflict hath quite o'ercome me, make me happy ii 
 the style of your son. 
 
SCENE III.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 81 
 
 War. My blessings multiply. 
 Gent. We congratulate this event. 
 Wor. See, my brother. 
 
 Enter Sir George Richley and Brains. 
 
 Bra. Let not your rage be so high, sir, I have more 
 cause to be mad. 
 
 Rich. Thou? 
 
 Bra. I. 
 
 Rich. I have lost my daughter. 
 
 Bra. But I have lost my credit, that had nothing else 
 to live by. I was more proud of that than you could be 
 of twenty daughters. 
 
 Wor. Have you found them ? 
 
 Rich. No, not I ; and yet this old ruffian will not let 
 me vex for it ; he says the greatest loss is his. 
 
 Bra. And I will maintain it, it was my boast that I 
 was never cozened in my life ; have I betrayed so many 
 plots, discovered letters, deciphered characters, stript 
 knavery to the skin, and laid open the very soul of con- 
 spiracy, deserved for my cunning to be called Brains both 
 town and country over, and now to forfeit them, to see 
 them drenched in a muddy stratagem, cheated by a 
 woman, and a pedantical lousy wordmonger ! it is abomi- 
 nable; patience, I abhor thee. I desire him that bids 
 me go hang myself, which is the way to Surgeon's Hall ? 
 I will beg to have my skull cut, I have a suspicion my 
 .brains are filched, and. my head has been late stuffed 
 with woodcocks' feathers. 
 
 Fow. Be not mad. 
 
 Bra. I will, in spite of any man here; who shall 
 hinder me, if I have a mind to it ? 
 
 Rich. Your happiness removes my affliction. — Ha ! 
 
 Enter Whibble and Tutor. 
 
 Whih. Where is Sir Nicholas? we have brought the 
 gentleman. 
 
 Shir. G 
 
82 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. [ACT \ 
 
 Bra. Are you there ! — this was- the champion the 
 jostled me ; shall I fetch a dog- whip ? or let me cut hir 
 up, he will make excellent meat for the devil's trencher 
 I will carve him. — Sirrah ! 
 
 Rich. Forbear; — where is my daughter? villain, con 
 fess. 
 
 Tutor. Alas, sir, I was waiting upon her home, Si 
 Nicholas met me, and took her from me. 
 
 Rich. Wor. Sir Nicholas ! 
 
 Whib. Yes, Sir Nicholas hath Mistress Violetta, I an 
 a witness. 
 
 Bra. Why did he jostle me ? there began the treach 
 ery, ask him that. 
 
 Tutor. I pray you, sir, let it be forgotten, I have beei 
 kicked for it. 
 
 Enter at one door Aimwell, Violetta, Manly, am 
 Clare, at the other Sir Nicholas Treedle, am 
 Sensible disguised as Isefore. 
 
 Whib. Here she is ; no, there she is. 
 
 Rich. Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Wor. I am amazed. 
 
 Treed. Stay, which is my wife ? 
 
 Rich. Here is my daughter. 
 
 Bra. Mistress! 
 
 Fow. Fine juggling ! Frank, whence comest thou? 
 
 Aim. From the priest, if you have any joy for me 
 We are married. 
 
 Treed. Are there not two Sir Nicholases? pray wha 
 do you call this gentlewoman ? 
 
 Aim. Her name is Violetta. 
 
 Vio. Father, your pardon. 
 
 Treed This is fine, i' faith ; well may a woman mistak 
 her husband, when a man, that is the wiser vessel, canno 
 know his own wife. 
 
 Rich. Married to Aimwell ! 
 
 Man. Clare. We are witnesses. 
 
SCENE III.] THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 83 
 
 Treed. A good jest, faith; hark you, were you ever 
 catechised ? What is your name, forsooth ? 
 
 Sens. Faith, sir, guess. \Unmasks. 
 
 Aim. All passion will be fruitless but of joy. 
 
 Treed. Sensible ! Came I from Croydon for a cham- 
 bermaid? do you hear, every body? I have married 
 Sensible. 
 
 Man. Clare. We are witnesses of that, too. 
 
 Treed. No, no, this is my wife. 
 
 Aim. Touch her not with a rude hand. 
 
 Treed. Why, I know she meant to be my wife, and 
 only I have married her, as folks go to law, by attorney; 
 she is but her deputy; for the more state I married her 
 proxy. 
 
 Bra. [Aside to Treed.] — Do not deceive yourself, sir: 
 though princes depute men to marry their wives, women 
 do not use to be ciphers ; she is your wife in law, let me 
 counsel you, sir, to prevent laughter ;— somebody hath 
 been cozened, I name nobody ; sure it was your fortune 
 to marry this wench, which cannot now be undone; seem 
 not to be sorry for it, they do purpose to jeer you out of 
 your skin else. 
 
 Treed. Sayest thou so ? 
 
 Bra. Be confident, and laugh at them first that they 
 are so simple to think that you are gulled: commend 
 your choice, and say it was a trick of yours to deceive 
 their expectation. 
 
 Treed. Come hither. Madam Treedle. — Gentlemen, 
 you think now I have but an ill match on't, and that, as 
 they say, I am cheated ; do not beheve it — a lady is a 
 lady, a bargain is a bargain, and a knight is no gentle- 
 man — so much for that. — I grant I married her, in her 
 mistress's name, and though (as great men, that use to 
 choose wifes for their favourites or servants, when they 
 have done with them; I could put her off to my footman 
 or my Tutor here, I will not; I will maintain her my 
 
84 THE WITTY PAIR ONE. [ACT 1 
 
 wife, and publish her, do you see, publish her to any ma 
 that shall laugh at it, my own lady-bird. 
 
 Fow. You are happy, sir, in being deceived ; he is 
 noble gentleman. 
 
 Wor. Sir Nicholas has released her, 
 Let your consent be free, then. 
 
 Rich. You have won it. 
 Be my loved children, and I wish a joy 
 Flow in all bosoms. — Brains, we are reconciled. 
 
 Treed. Tutor, we pardon. 
 
 Vio. You may, sir ; he was my engine. Now, wha 
 says my factious servant ? nay, we are friends ; th 
 greatest politician may be deceived sometimes ; wit with 
 out brains, you see. 
 
 Bra. And Brains without wit too. 
 
 Fow. Frank, thou art married, and Sir Nicholas ha 
 made a lady, I have lived loose a great while, and d( 
 purpose to be made fast to this gentlewoman, to whosi 
 act I owe my true conversion. 
 
 When all things have their trial, you shall find 
 
 Nothing is constant but a virtuous mind. \Exeuni 
 
7HE T%zAnO\ 
 
S(M[^^ ^^ TRAITOR was licensed in 1631 
 acted by Her Majesty's Servants, am 
 published in 1635. " The plot," Wan 
 remarks, "is based on history; bu 
 the author has treated both the cha 
 racter and the fate of the principa 
 personage of his drama with con 
 siderable freedom. The real Lorenzini 
 de' Medici seems to have been singularly heedless in hi; 
 talk, if cautious in his designs; and instead of (as in thi 
 play) falling an immediate victim to his own evil ambition 
 he had survived his assassination of Duke Alessandro fo 
 eleven years, when vengeance (real or pretended) at las 
 overtook him." 
 
 Towards the end of the seventeenth century an attemp 
 was made to show that this play was written by Rivers, < 
 -Jesuit, in Newgate, where he died, and that Shirley "onl; 
 ushered it to the stage." 
 
 The Traitor was revived several times after the Restora 
 tion, and a successful play, written at the beginning of th( 
 present century, Sheil's Evadne, is an adaptation or recon 
 struction of it. 
 
To the Right Honourable 
 
 WILLIAM CAVENDISH, 
 
 earl of newcastle, viscount mansfield, 
 lord bolsover and ogle. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 HE honour of your name, and clearness 
 of soul, which want no living monu- 
 ments in the heart of princes, have 
 already made the title of this poem 
 innocent, though not the author ; who 
 confesseth his guilt of a long ambition, 
 by some service to be known to you, 
 and his boldness at last, by this rude attempt to kiss your 
 Lordship's hands. 
 
 Fame with one breath hath possessed the world with 
 your Lordship's general knowledge and excellent nature, 
 both an ornament to your blood, and in both you stand the 
 rare and justified example to our age. ' To the last, these 
 cold papers address themselves, which if (with truce to your 
 richer contemplations) you vouchsafe to read and smile 
 upon, not only they shall receive a life, beyond what the 
 scene exactly gave them, in the presentment, rewarded 
 with frequent applause, but your Lordship shall infinitely 
 honour him, whose glory is to be mentioned 
 
 the humblest of your Lordship's servants, 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 \^ 
 
 Alexander, Duke of Florence. 
 
 LoKENZO, his Kinsman and Favourite. 
 
 SciARRHA, Brother to Amidea. 
 
 PiSANO, Lover to Oriana. 
 
 Cosmo, his Friend. 
 
 Florio, Sciarrha's Brother. 
 
 Depazzi, a Creature of Lorenzo's. 
 
 Frederico, ) ^, , , 
 
 J Noblemen. 
 Alonzo, ), 
 
 Petruchio, Pisano's Servant. 
 
 RoGERO, Page to Depazzi. 
 
 Gentlemen. 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Amidea, Sciarrha's Sister. 
 Oriana, beloved of Pisano. 
 Morosa, her Mother. 
 
 Youth. 
 
 Lust. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Death. 
 
 Furies. 
 
 SCENE— Florence. 
 
THE TT^ITO\ 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I — A Room in Pisano's House, 
 Enter Pisano and Petruchio. 
 
 IS. Didst bid him come ? 
 
 Pet. I did. 
 
 Pis. Go back again, ' 
 And tell him I am gone abroad. 
 
 Pet. He's here 
 Already, sir. 
 
 Enter Cosmo, 
 
 Pis. Oh, Cosmo ! 
 
 Cos. Dear Pisano, 
 That I could let thee nearer into me ! 
 My heart counts this embrace a distance yet ; 
 Let us incorporate. 
 
 Pis. I was wooing, Cosmo, 
 My man, to tell thee I was gone abroad. 
 Before thou cam'st. 
 
 Cos.- How's this ? your words and looks 
 Are strange, and teach me to infer I am 
 Not welcome ; that, on riper counsel, you 
 Do wish my absence,. 
 
90 THJi IKJLiiuj.^. L-^ — - 
 
 Pis. What, for telling truth ? , 
 He thus should have but made thee fit to see 
 Thy friend ; thou com'st with expectation 
 To hear me talk sense, dost not ? 
 
 Cos. Yes. 
 
 Pis. La, now ! 
 And to discourse as I was wont, of state, 
 Our friendship, or of women ? no such matter. 
 
 Cos. This is more wild than usual ; your language 
 Is not so clear as it was wont ; it carries 
 Not the same even thread ; although some words 
 May knit, the sense is scattered. 
 
 Pis. Right, right, Cosmo, 
 The reason is, I have straggled, 
 And lost myself, I know not where, in what 
 Part of the world : — and would not this have shown 
 As well in him {Points to Pet.] to have prepared thee now i 
 
 Cos. What humour's this, Pisano ? I am yet 
 To understand. 
 
 Us. To understand ? why, Cosmo, 
 Had I not changed my dialect and method, 
 What need this tedious apology ? 
 That's it, I would have had thee know before. 
 Thou canst not understand me, yet thou hast 
 A name in Florence, for a ripe young man. 
 Of nimble apprehension, of a wise 
 And spreading observation ; of whom 
 Already our old men do prophesy 
 Good, and great things, worthy thy fair dimensions ! 
 
 Cos. This is an argument above the rest. 
 Pisano is not well ; for being temperate 
 He was not wont to flatter and abuse 
 His friend. 
 
 Pis. Beside, there is another reason, 
 Thou shouldst discover me at heart, through all 
 These mists ; thou art in love, too, and who cannot, ' 
 That feels himself the heat, but shrewdly guess 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 
 
 91 
 
 At every symptom of that wanton fever ? — 
 Oh, Cosmo ! 
 
 Cos. What misfortune can approach 
 Your happy love in fairest Amidea ? 
 You have been long contracted, and have passed 
 The tedious hope ; Hymen doth only wait 
 An opportunity to light his torch. 
 Which will hum glorious at your nuptials : 
 Let jealous lovers fear, and feel what 'tis 
 To languish, talk away their blood, and strength. 
 Question their unkind stars ; you have your game 
 Before you, sir. 
 
 Us. Before me ? Where ? why dost 
 Thou niock me, Cosmo ? she's not here. 
 
 Cos. It is 
 No pilgrimage to travel to her lip. 
 
 Pis. 'Tis not for you. 
 
 Cos. How, sir ; for me ? you've no 
 Suspicion I can be guilty of 
 A treason to our friendship. Be so just. 
 If malice have been busy with my fame. 
 To let me know — 
 
 Pis. You hastily interpret. 
 Thy pardon, I have only erred, but not 
 With the least scruple of thy faith and honour 
 To me. Thou hast a noble soul, and lov'st me 
 Rather too well ; I would thou wert my enemy. 
 That we had been bom in distant climes, and never 
 Took cement from, our sympathies in nature. 
 Would we had never seen, or known each other ! 
 This may seem strange from him that loves thee, Cosmo, 
 More precious -than his life. 
 
 ' Cos. Love me, and wish 
 This separation ? 
 
 Pis. I will give the proof; 
 So well I love thee^ nothing in the world 
 Thy soul doth-heartily affect, but I 
 
ga THE TRAITUK. L«^^ *• 
 
 Do love it too : does it not trouble thy 
 Belief? I wear not my own heart about me, ^ 
 But thine exchanged ; thy eyes let in my objects ; 
 Thou hear'st for me, talk'st, kissest, and enjoy'st 
 All my feKcittes. 
 
 Cos. What means this language ? 
 Pis. But what's all this to thee ? Go to Oriana, 
 And bathe thy lips in rosy dew of kisses ; 
 Renew thy eye, that looks as Saturn hung 
 Upon the lid; take in some golden beam, 
 She'll dart a thousand at one glance ; and if. 
 At thy return, thou find'st I have a being 
 In this vain world, I'll tell thee more. \Exit. 
 
 Cos. But, sir, you must not part so. 
 Pet. Not with my good will ; 
 I have no great ambition to be mad. 
 
 Cos. Petruchio, let me conjure thee, tell 
 What weight hangs on thy master's heart ? why does he 
 Appear so full of trouble ? 
 Pet. Do you not guess ? 
 Cos. Point at the cause ; I cannot. 
 Pet. Why he loves — 
 Cos. The beauteous Amidea, I know that 
 Pet. Some such thing was ; but you are his friend, my 
 lord: 
 His soul is now devoted to Oriana, 
 And he will die for her, if this ague hold him. 
 Cos. Ha ! 
 
 Pet. Your doublet pinch you, sir ?■ I cannot tell,' 
 But ne'er a woman in the world should make 
 Me hang myself. It may be, for his honour, 
 He'll choose another death, he is about one ; 
 For 'tis not possible, without some cure. 
 He should live long ; he has forgot to sleep. 
 And for his diet, he has not eaten this se'nnight 
 As much as would choke a sparrow ; a fly is 
 
 1 i.e. I know not what to think of it. '' 
 
SCENE 1.] THE TRAITOR. 93 
 
 An epicure to him.^ — Good sir, do you counsel him. — 
 
 \ExU Cosmo. 
 So, so, it works ; 
 
 This was my Lord Lorenzo's plot, and I 
 Have been his engine in the work, to batter 
 His love to Amidea, by praising 
 Oriana to him.— He is here. — My lord — 
 
 Enter Lorenzo attended. 
 
 Lor. Petruchio, where's your lord? how moves the 
 work ? 
 
 Pet. To your own wish, my lord ; he has thrown off 
 The thought of Amidea, and is mad 
 For Cosmo's mistress, whom, by your instructions, 
 I have commended so. 
 
 Lor. My witty villain ! 
 
 Pet. Cosmo is with him, to whom cunningly 
 1 have discovered his disease, and I 
 Beseech y'ou interrupt them not. 
 
 lj)r. This may 
 Have tragical effects, Petruchio : 
 For Cosmo, we shall prune his, fortune thus. 
 Oriana's wealth would swell him in the state ; 
 He grows too fast already. — Be still ours. 
 
 Pet. My lord, you bought my life, when you procured 
 My pardon from the duke. \Exit Lorenzo. 
 
 Re-enter Pisano and Cosmo. 
 
 Pis. O, friend, thou canst not be so merciful. 
 To give away such happiness : my love 
 Is, for some sin I have committed, thus 
 Transplanted. I looked rather thou shouldst kill me, 
 Than give away this comfort ; 'tis a charity 
 Will make thee poor, and 'twere a great deal better 
 That I should languish still, and die. 
 
 Cos. While I have art to help thee ? Oriana 
 And I were but in treaty ; howsoever, 
 
94 THE TRAITOR. [ACT I. 
 
 I were not worthy to be called his friend, 
 Whom I preferred not to a mistress. If 
 You can find dispensation to quit 
 With Amidea, your first love, be confident 
 Oriana may be won ; and it were necessary 
 You did prepare the mother ; be not modest. 
 
 Pis. Each syllable is a blessing. — Hark, Petruchio. 
 
 [ Whispers him. 
 
 Cos. There is an engine levelled at my fate, 
 And I must arm. \Aside. 
 
 Pis. Away ! \Exit Petruchio. 
 
 Cos. This for thy comfort : 
 Although some compliments have passed between 
 Me and Oriana, I am not warm 
 Yet in the mother's fancy, whose power may 
 Assist you much ; but lose no time : let's follow. 
 
 Pis. Thou miracle of friendship ! \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 1\.—A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke, Frederico, Florio, and Alonzo. 
 
 - Duke. Letters to us ? from whom ? 
 
 Alon. Castruchio. 
 
 Duke. The exile ? whence ? 
 
 Alon. Sienna, my good lord ; 
 It came enclosed within my letter, which 
 Imposed my care and duty, in the swift 
 Delivery. \He delivers letters, which the Duke reads. 
 
 Fred. The duke is pale o' the sudden. 
 
 Duke. A palsey does possess me ; ha ! Lorenzo ? 
 Our cousin the enemy of our life and state ! 
 My bosom kinsman ? — Not too loud : the traitor 
 May hear, and by escape prevent our justice. \A^ide. 
 
 Flo. What traitor? 
 
SCKNE 11.] THE TRAITOR. 95 
 
 Duke. Signior Alonzo, come you hither ; 
 What correspondence maintain you with this 
 Castruchio ? , 
 
 Alon. None, my lord; but I am happy 
 In his election, to bring the first 
 Voice to your safety. 
 
 Duke. Most ingrateful man ! 
 Turn rebel ! I have worn him in my blood. 
 
 Alon. 'Tis time to purge the humour. 
 
 Duke. I will do it. — 
 Our guard ! — Were he more precious, had he shared 
 Our soul, as he but borrows of our flesh. 
 This action makes him nothing ; had I been 
 In heaven, I could have leant him my eternity. 
 He turn conspirator ? oh, the fate of princes ! 
 But stay, this paper speaks of no particular ; 
 He does not mention what design, what plot. 
 
 Alon. More providence is necessary. 
 
 Duke. Right, 
 Right, good Alonzo ; thou'rt an honest man, 
 And lov'st us well. — What's to be done ? 
 
 Alon. 'Tis best 
 To make his person sure ; by this you may 
 Discover soonest who are of his faction. 
 
 Duke. And at our leisure study of his punishment. 
 Which must exceed death ; every common trespass 
 Is so rewarded : first, apply all tortures 
 To enforce confession, who are his confederates, 
 And how they meant to murder us ; then some rare 
 Invention to execute the traitor. 
 So as he may be half a year in dying, 
 Will make us famed for justice. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo and Depazzi. 
 
 Alon. He is here, 
 Shall we apprehend him ? 
 
9.6 THE TRAITOR. [ACT I. 
 
 Lor. Happy morning to 
 My gracious sovereign ! 
 
 Duke. Good morrow, coz. — 
 Can treason couch itself within that frame ? — \Aside. 
 We have letters for you. \Gives Lorenzo the letters. 
 
 Lor. Letters ! these, dread sir. 
 Have no direction to me, your highness 
 Is only named. 
 
 Duke. They will concern your reading. — 
 Alonzo, now observe and watch him. — Florio, 
 Depazzi, come you hither ; does Lorenzo 
 Look like a traitor ? 
 
 Dep. How, sir ? a traitor ? 
 
 Duke. Ay, sir. 
 
 Dep. I, sir ? by my honour, not I, sir ; I defy him that 
 speaks it. — I am in a fine pickle. \Aside. 
 
 Lor. I have read. 
 
 Duke. Not blush ? not tremble ? read again. 
 
 Lor. The substance is, that you maintain 
 A vigilant eye over Lorenzo, who 
 Hath threatened, with your death, his country's liberty ; 
 And other things, touching reducing ' of 
 A commonwealth. 
 
 Duke. I like not that. \Adde. 
 
 Dep. All's out ! 
 A pox upon him for a traitor, he 
 Has hedged me in ; but I'll confess. \Aside. 
 
 Duke. What answer 
 Make you to this, Lorenzo ? 
 
 JLor. This, o' the sudden, 
 Sir : I must owe the title of a traitor 
 To your high favours ; envy first conspired, 
 And malice now accuses : but what story 
 Mentioned his name, that had his prince's bosoin 
 Without the people's hate ? 'tis sin enough. 
 In some men, to be great ; the throng of stars, 
 
 ' i.e. Bringing back. 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 97 
 
 The rout and common people of the sky, 
 Move still another way than the sun does, 
 That gilds the creature : take your honours back, 
 And if you can, that purple of my veins, 
 Which flows in your's, and you shall leave me in 
 A state I shall not fear the great ones' envy, 
 Nor common people's rage ; and yet, perhaps, 
 You may be credulous against me, 
 
 Duke. Ha ! 
 
 Alon. The duke is cool. 
 
 Duke. Alpnzo, look you prove 
 Lorenzo what you say. 1 
 
 Ahn. I say, my lord ? 
 I have discovered all my knowledge, sir. 
 
 Dep. Stand to 't. 
 
 Lor. With license of your highness, what 
 Can you imagine I should gain by treason ? 
 Admit I should be impious, as to kill you — 
 I am your nearest kinsman, and should forfeit 
 Both name and future title to the state, 
 By such a hasty, bloody disposition ; 
 The rabble hate me now, how shall I then 
 Expect a safety ? Is it reformation 
 Of Florence they accuse me of? suggesting 
 I disaffect a monarchy, which how 
 Vain and ridiculous would appear in me. 
 Your wisdom judge ; in you I live and flourish ; 
 What, in your death, can I expect, to equal 
 The riches I enjoy under your warmth ? 
 Should I, for the air and talk of a new government, 
 A commonwealth, lose all my certainties ? 
 And you above them all, whose favours have 
 Fallen like the dew upon me ? have I a soul 
 To think the guilt of such a murder easy. 
 Were there no other torments? or can I 
 Expect the people will reward your murderer 
 With anything but death ? a parricide ! 
 
 Shir. ' ^ 
 
^8 THE TRAITOR. [ACTl. 
 
 Alon. So, so, the duke's already in his circle. \Aside. 
 
 Lor. But I am tame, as if I had no sense, 
 Nor other argument to vindicate 
 My loyalty, thus poisoned by a paper, 
 In my eternal fame, and by a slave ? 
 Call to my brow some one that dare accuse me. 
 Let him have honour, great as mine, to forfeit. 
 Or, since your grace hath taken me so near 
 Your own height, that my scale may not expect 
 Such a proportioned adversary, yet let him 
 Have name within his country, and allow him 
 A soul, 'gainst which I may engage my more 
 Than equal honour, then I'll praise your justice"; 
 But let him not be on^ condemned already, 
 A desperate exile. — Is it possible 
 A treason hatched in Florence, 'gainst the duke. 
 Should have no eyes at home to penetrate 
 The growing danger, but at Siena one 
 Must with a perspective discover all ? 
 Ask this good counsellor, or these gentlemen, 
 Whose faiths are tried, whose cares are always waking 
 About your person, how have I appeared 
 To them, that thus I should be rendered hateful 
 To you and my good country ? they are virtuous, 
 And dare not blemish a white faith, accuse 
 My sound heart of dishonour. Sir, you must 
 Pardon my bold defence ; my virtue bleeds 
 By your much easiness, and I am compelled 
 To break all modest limits, and to waken 
 Your memory (if it be not too late 
 To say you have one) with the story of 
 My fair deservings. Who, sir, overthrew 
 With his designs, your late ambitious brother, 
 Hippolito, who, Uke a meteor, threatened 
 A black and fatal omen ? 
 
 Duke. 'Twas Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. Be yet as just, and say whose art directed 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 99 
 
 A countermine to check the pregnant hopes 
 Of Salviati, who for his cardinal's cap, 
 In Rome was potent, and here popular ? 
 
 Duke. None but Lorenzo. 
 
 Dep. Admirable traitor ! \Adde. 
 
 Lor. Whose service was commended when the exiles, 
 One of whose tribe accuseth me, had raised 
 Commotions in our Florence? When the hinge 
 Of state did faint under the burthen, and 
 The people sweat with their own fears, to think 
 The soldier should inhabit their calm dwellings. 
 Who then rose up your safety, and crushed all 
 Their plots to air ? 
 
 Duke. Our cousin, dear Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. When he that should reward, forgets the men 
 That purchased his security, 'tis virtue 
 To boast a merit. With my services 
 I have not starved your treasury; the grand 
 Captain Gonzales accounted to King Ferdinand 
 Three hundred thousand crowns, for spies ; what bills 
 Have I brought in for such intelligence ? 
 
 Dep. I do grow hearty. \Aside. 
 
 Duke. All thy actions 
 Stand fresh before us, and confirm thou art 
 Our best and dearest friend ; thus we assure 
 Our confidence; they love us not that feed 
 One jealous thought of our dear coz, Lorenzo. 
 New welcome to us all ; for you, Alonzo, 
 Give o'er your paper kites, learn wit, 'tis time. — 
 
 [ Walks aside with Lorenzo. 
 Where shall we meet to-night ? 
 
 Lor. Pardon me, sir ; 
 I am a dangerous man. 
 
 Duke. No more of that ; 
 I'll credit my soul with thee. — Shall we revel 
 This night with Amidea? 
 
 Dep. The duke courts him. 
 
100 
 
 THE TRAITOR. [ACT I. 
 
 Well, go thy ways, for one of the most excellent. 
 Impudent traitors — \Aside, 
 
 Duke. Yet a murmuring 
 Of traitor? we shall soon suspect him 
 That thinks Lorenzo guilty. 
 
 Dep. I, my lord, 
 Dare boldly swear, his honour is as free 
 From any treason, as myself; — 
 I did prophesy this issue. \Aside. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis an age 
 Till night ; I long to fold her in my arms. 
 Prepare Sciarrha, but be very wise 
 In the discovery; he is all touchwood. 
 
 Lor. I know he is her brother; leave the managing 
 Of things to me. 
 
 Duke. Still when we expect 
 Our bliss, time creeps ; but when the happier things 
 Call to enjoy, each saucy hour hath wings. \Eo<xunt. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in Sciarrha's House. 
 Enter Sciarrha and Lorenzo. 
 
 [CI. My sister! Though he be the duke, 
 he dares not. — 
 Patience,- patience ! if there be such a 
 
 virtue, 
 I want it, Heaven ; yet keep it a little 
 longer, 
 
 It were a sin to have it ; such an injury 
 Deserves a wrath next to your own. — My sister ! 
 It has thrown wild-fire in my brain, Lorenzo, 
 A thousand Furies revel in my skull. 
 Has he not sins enough in's court to damn him. 
 But my roof must be guilty of new lusts. 
 And none but Amidea ? these the honours 
 His presence brings our house ! 
 Lor. Temper your rage. 
 
 Sci. Are all the brothels rifled ? no quaint piece 
 Left him in Florence, that will meet his hot 
 And valiant luxury, that we are come to 
 Supply his blood out of our families ? 
 Diseases gnaw his title oif ! 
 Lor. My lord — 
 
 Sci. He is no prince of mine ; he forfeited 
 His greatness that black minute he first gave 
 Consent to my dishonour. 
 Lor. Then I'm sorry — 
 
102 THE TRAITOR. [ACT II. 
 
 Sci. Why should you be sorry, sir? 
 You say it is my sister he would strumpet, 
 Mine ! Amidea ! 'tis a wound you feel not ; 
 But it strikes through and through the poor Sciarrha. 
 I do not think but all the ashes of 
 My ancestors do swell in their dark urns, 
 At this report of Amidea's shame : 
 It is their cause, as well as mine ; and should 
 Heaven suffer the duke's sin to pass unpunished, 
 Their dust must of necessity conspire 
 To make an earthquake in the temple. 
 
 Lor. Sir, 
 You said you would hear me out. 
 
 Sci. Why, is there more 
 Behind ? 
 
 Lor. And greater : master your high blood 
 Till I conclude, Sciarrha. I accuse not 
 Your noble anger, which, I have observed. 
 Is not on_every cheap and giddy motion 
 Inilamed ; but, sir, be thrifty in your passion, 
 This is a petty trespass. 
 
 Sci. Has mischief any name 
 Beyond this ? will it kill me with the sound ? 
 
 L^r. My lord, though the dishonouring your sister 
 Be such a fact, the blood of any other 
 But Alexander could no less than expiate, 
 Yet this sin stretches farther, and involves, 
 With her's, your greater stain. Did you e'er promise 
 Yet, why do I make any question ? [him ?— ' 
 
 It were another crime to think Sciarrha 
 Could entertain a thought so far beneath 
 His birth. — ^You stoop to such a horrid baseness ! 
 Then all the virtue of mankind would sicken. 
 And soon take leave of earth. 
 
 Sci. You torture me. 
 
 Lar. What then could the duke find, to give him any 
 Encouragement, you would be guilty of 
 
SCENE 1.3 THE TRAITOR. 103 
 
 An act so fatal unto honour ? What, 
 When you were least yourself (as we are all 
 Frail compositions), did appear so wicked 
 In you, he should conceive a hope, and flatter 
 Himself with possibility to corrupt 
 Your soul to a deed so monstrous ? 
 
 Sci. To what? " 
 
 Lor. Though all the teeming glories of his dukedom, 
 Nay, Florence' state, offered itself a bribe. 
 And tempted the betraying of your name 
 To infamy, yet to imagine you 
 Would turn officious pander to his lust, 
 And interpose the mercenary bawd 
 To court your sister to his sinful coupling ! 
 'Tis horrid, affrights nature ; I grow stiff 
 With the imagination. 
 
 Sci. Ha! 
 
 Lor. Yet this 
 Was his command I should impose. 
 
 Sci. Lorenzo, 
 I do want breath ; my voice is ravished from me ; 
 I atn not what I was ; or — ^if I be 
 Sciarrha thou hast talked to all this while. 
 Look heedfully about me, and thou may'st 
 Discover, through some cranny of my flesh, 
 A fire within ; my soul is but one flame. 
 Extended to all parts of this frail building. 
 I shall turn ashes, I begin to shrink ; — 
 Is not already my complexion altered ? 
 Does not my face look parched, and my skin gather 
 Into a heap ? my breath is hot enough 
 To thaw the Alps. 
 
 Lor. Your fancy would transport you. 
 
 Sci. It is my rage ; but let it cool, Lorenzo ; 
 And then we'll talk of something, something, sir, 
 Shall be to purpose. 
 
 Lor. Now the flame is mounted, 
 
104 THE TRAITOR. [act ii. 
 
 My lord, I have given proof, although he be 
 
 My duke, and kinsman, I abhor his vices, 
 
 Howe'er the world, without examination. 
 
 Shoot their malicious noise, and stain my actions : 
 
 'Tis policy in princes to create 
 
 A favourite, who must bear all the guilt 
 
 Of things ill managed in the state ; if any 
 
 Design be happy, 'tis the prince's own. 
 
 Heaven knows, how I have counselled this young man. 
 
 By virtue to prevent his fate ; and govern 
 
 With modesty : O the religious days 
 
 Of commonwealths ! we have outlived that blessing. 
 
 . Sci. But I have thought a cure for this great state 
 
 Imposthume. 
 
 Lor. What? 
 
 Sci. To lance it ; is't not ripe ? 
 Let us draw cuts, whether your hand or mme 
 Shall do an act for Florence' liberty. 
 And send this tyrant to another world. 
 
 Lor. How ! I draw cuts ? 
 
 Sci. Coy it not thus, Lorenzo, 
 But answer : by your name and birth, you are 
 His kinsman, we all know it ; that you dwell 
 In's bosom, great in favour as in blood. 
 We know that too ; and let me tell you more, 
 We know you but disguise your heart, and wish 
 Florence would change her title. 
 
 Lor. How is this? 
 
 Sci. We know you have firm correspondence with 
 The banished men, whose desperate fortunes wait 
 Your call to tumult in our streets ; all this. 
 Not to feed your ambition with a dukedom, 
 By the remove of Alexander, but 
 To serve your country, and create their peace 
 Who groan under the tyranny of a proud, 
 Lascivious monarch. — Is't not true, Lorenzo ? 
 My phrase is blunt, my lord. 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 105 
 
 Lgr. My genius 
 And thine are friends ; I see they have conversed, 
 And I applaud the wisdom of my stars, 
 That made me for his friendship who preserves 
 The same religious fire. I will confess, 
 When Alexander left his piety 
 To Florence, I placed him beneath my country, 
 As we should all ; but we have lost our souls, 
 Or changed our active spirits, for a dull 
 And lazy sufferance ; let this secret be 
 An argument, how much I dare repose 
 Upon Sciarrha's honour ; virtue witness, 
 I choose no other destiny : command 
 Lorenzo's fate, dissolve me with your breath ; 
 I'll either Hve, in your exchange of faith, 
 A patriot, or die my country's martyr. 
 
 Sci. Thou hast a fire beyond Prometheus', 
 To quicken earth ; thy flame is but a prophecy 
 Of that high pyramid the world shall build 
 To thy irmnortal name: it was the glory 
 Of Romans to prefer their empire's safety 
 To their own lives ; they were but men like us. 
 And of the same ingredients, our souls 
 Create of no inferior substance ; ha ? — 
 
 Lor. Heaven knows, I've no particular design 
 To leap into a throne ; I will disclaim 
 The privilege of blood ; let me advance 
 Our liberty, restore the ancient laws 
 Of the repubhc, rescue from the jaws 
 Of lust your mothers, wives, your daughters, sisters — 
 
 Sci. Sisters 1 
 
 Lor. From horrid rape — 'las, Amidea ! 
 
 Sci. I am resolved ; by all that's blest, he dies. 
 Return my willingness to be his pander. 
 My sister's readiness to meet his dalliance ; 
 His promises have bought our shame : — he dies ; 
 The roof he would dishonour with his lust 
 
io6 THE TRAITOR. [ACT II. 
 
 Shall be his tomb ; — bid him be confident; 
 Conduct Jiim, good Lorenzo, I'll dispose 
 My house for this great scene of death. 
 Lor. Be constant. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Florio and Amidea. 
 
 Flo. Now, brother, what news brings the great Lorenzo ? 
 
 Sci. Let me have truce, vexation, for some minutes. — 
 
 [Aside. 
 What news ? preferments, honours, oifices. — 
 Sister, you must to court. 
 
 Ami. Who, I to court? 
 
 Sci. Or else the court, will come to you. The duke 
 Hath sent already for us, Amidea : 
 O that I knew what happy stars did govern 
 At thy nativity ! It were no sin 
 To adore their influence. 
 
 Ami. What means my brother ? 
 
 E/o. He is transported. 
 
 Ami. I shall suspect your health. 
 
 Sci. I easily could forget I am Sciarrha, 
 And fall in love myself. — Is she not fair. 
 Exceeding beautiful, and tempting, Florio ? 
 Look on her well, methinks I could turn poet. 
 And make her a more excellent piece than Heaven. 
 Let not fond men hereafter commend what 
 They most admire, by fetching from the stars. 
 Or flowers, their glory of similitude. 
 But from thyself the rule to know all beauty ; 
 And he that shall arrive at so much boldness. 
 To say his mistress' eyes, or voice, or breath, 
 Are half so bright, so clear, so sweet as thine, 
 Hath told the world enough of miracle. 
 These are the duke's own raptures, Amidea ; 
 His own poetic flames ; an argument 
 He loves my sister. 
 
 Ami. Love me ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 107 
 
 Sci. Infinitely. 
 I am in earnest ; he employed Lorenzo, 
 No meaner person, in this embassy ; 
 You must to court. Oh happiness ! 
 
 Ami. For what ? 
 
 Sci. What do great ladies do at court, I pray? 
 Enjoy the pleasures of the world, dance, kiss 
 The amorous lords, and change court breath ; sing ; 
 
 lose 
 Belief of other Heaven ; tell wanton dreams, 
 Rehearse their sprightly bed-scenes, and boast, which 
 Hath most idolaters ; accuse all faces 
 That trust to the simplicity of nature, 
 Talk witty blasphemy, 
 
 Discourse their gaudy wardrobes, plot new pride. 
 Jest upon courtiers' legs, laugh at the wagging 
 Of their own feathers, and a thousand more 
 Delights, which private ladies never think of. 
 But above all, and wherein thou shalt make 
 All other beauties envy thee, the duke. 
 The duke himself shall call thee his, and single 
 From the fair troop thy person forth, to exchange 
 Embraces with, lay siege to these soft lips. 
 And not remove, till he hath sucked thy heart. 
 Which soon dissolved with thy sweet breath, shall be 
 Made part of his, at the same instant he 
 Conveying a new soul into thy breast 
 With a creating kiss. 
 
 Ami. You make me wonder; 
 Pray speak, that I may -understand. 
 
 Sci. Why will you 
 Appear so ignorant? I speak the dialect 
 Of Florence to you. Come, I find you're cunning; •■ 
 The news does please, the rolling of your eye 
 Betrays you, and I see a guilty blush 
 Through this white veil, upon your cheek ; you would 
 1 Knowing. 
 
io8 THE TRAITOR. [act n. 
 
 Have it confirmed ; you shall; the duke himself 
 Shall swear he loves you. 
 
 Ami. Love me ! why ? 
 
 Sci. To court, 
 And ask him ; be not you too peevish now, 
 And hinder all our fortune : I have promised him, 
 To move you for his armful, as I am 
 Sciarrha, and your brother ; more, I have sent 
 Word to him by Lorenzo, that you should 
 Meet his high flame ; in plain Italian, 
 Love him, and — 
 
 Ami. What, for Heaven ! be the duke's whore? 
 
 Sci. No, no, his mistress ; command him, make us. 
 
 Ami. Give up my virgin honour to his lust? 
 
 Sci. You may give it a better name ; but do it. 
 
 Ami. I do mistake you, brother, do I not? 
 
 Sci. No, no, my meaning is so broad, you cannot. 
 
 Ami. I would I did then. Is't not possible 
 That this should be a dream ? where did you drop 
 Your virtue, sir ? — Florio, why move you not ? 
 Why are you slow to tell this man, — for sure 
 'Tis not Sciarrha, — he hath talked so ill. 
 And so much, that we may have cause to fear, 
 The air about's infected ? 
 
 Flo. Are not you 
 My brother? 
 
 Sci. Be not you a fool, to move 
 These empty questions, but join to make her 
 Supple and pliant for the duke. I hope 
 We are not the first have been advanced by a wagtail : ' 
 No matter for the talk of musty people. 
 Look up to the reward ; thou art young, and skilled 
 In these court temptings, naturally soft. 
 And moving, I am rough-hewn ; assist, wilt. 
 With some quaint charm, to win her to this game ? 
 
 Fh. My sister? 
 
 Sci. Ay, ay. 
 
 ' Wanton. 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 109 
 
 Ami. Come not near him, Florio, 
 'Tis not Sciarrha; sure, my brother's nurse 
 Played the imposter, and with some base issue 
 Cheated our house. 
 
 Sci. Qipsy, use better language, 
 Or I'll forget your sex. 
 
 Flo. Offer to touch her 
 With any rudeness, and by all that's virtuous — 
 
 Sci. Why, how now, boy ? 
 
 Fh. I do not fear your sword, \praws. 
 
 This, with my youth and inbocence, is more 
 Defence than all thy armoury; what devil 
 Has crept into thy soul ? 
 
 Sci. You will not help ? 
 
 Flo. I'll never' kill thee. 
 
 Sci. 'Tis very well. 
 Have you considered better o' the motion ? 
 
 Ami. Yes. 
 
 Sci. And what is your resolve ? 
 
 Ami. To have my name 
 Stand in the ivory register of virgins 
 When I am dead. Before one factious thought 
 Should lurk within me to betray my fame 
 To such a blot, my hands shall mutiny, 
 And boldly with a poniard teach my heart 
 To weep out a repentance. 
 
 Sci. Let me kiss thee, 
 My excellent, chaste sister. — Florio, 
 Thou hast my soul; I did but try your virtues. — 
 'Tis truth, the duke does love thee, viciously. 
 Let him, let him! he comes to be our guest; 
 This night he means to revel at our house, — 
 The Tarquin shall be entertained ; he shall. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Ser. My lord, Pisano is come. \Exit. 
 
 1 Query, rather. 
 
no THE TRAITOR. [act n. 
 
 Sci. I had forgot his promise. — Look up, sister, 
 And shine with thy own smiles ; Pisano's come, 
 Pisano, thy contracted, honoured friend ; 
 A gentleman so rich in hopes, we shall 
 Be happy in's alliance. — 
 
 Enter Pisano, Cosmo, and Frederico. 
 
 Welcome all, 
 But you above the rest, my brother shortly. — 
 Sister, and Florio, entertain your noble 
 Friends; some few minutes I am absent. We 
 Must not forget t' prepare for the duke's coming ; 
 I'll soon return. \Eout. 
 
 Ami. You are not cheerful, sir ; 
 How is't, my lord ? you were not wont to look 
 So sad when you came hither. 
 
 Pis. I am not well, Amidea. 
 
 Ami. Oh my heart ! 
 
 Pis. Be you 
 Comforted, lady ; let all griefs repair 
 To this, their proper centre. \Lays his hand on his breast, 
 
 Flo. Sir, how fare you ? 
 
 Pis. Altered of late a little. 
 
 Fred. Virtuous lady, 
 I cannot choose but pity her, and accuse 
 Pisano's levity. \Aside. 
 
 Pis. Would he were come back ! 
 I might have finished ere he went, and not 
 Delayed his business much; two or three words. 
 And I had dispatched. 
 
 Ami. How, sir ? your language is 
 Another than you used to speak ; you look not 
 With the same brow upoa me. 
 
 Cos. 'Las ! sweet lady. — 
 But who shall accuse me ? \Aside. 
 
 Pis. We shall expect-too long. — Lady, I am come 
 To render all my interest in your love, 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. in 
 
 And to demand myself again ; live happier 
 In other choice, fair Amidea, 'tis 
 Some shanie to say my heart's revolted. 
 
 Ami. Ha! 
 
 Pis. Here's witness, all is cancelled betwixt us ; 
 Nay, an you weep — Farewell ! 
 
 Ami. He's gone ! 
 
 Flo. I am amazed. 
 
 JPts. Now lead me to my blessing. 
 
 \Exeunt Pisano, Cosmo, ««rf Frederico. 
 
 Fh. Shall a long suit and speedihg in his love. 
 With the world's notice, and a general fame 
 Of contract too, just in the instant, when 
 A marriage is expected, be broke off 
 With infamy to our house ? 
 
 Ami. Brother, if ever 
 You loved poor Amidea, let not this 
 Arrive Sciarrha's ear, there's danger in 
 His knowledge of it ; this may be a trial 
 Of my affection. 
 
 Fh. A trial ! no, it showed 
 Too like a truth. 
 
 Ami. My tears entreat your silence. 
 
 Flo. You have power to command it ; dry your eyes 
 then, 
 He is returned. 
 
 Re-enter Sciarrha. 
 
 Set. How now ! 
 Weeping ? Where is Pisano, and his friends ? 
 
 Flo. They're gone, sir. 
 
 Sci. Ha! 
 
 Ami. Guess by my eyes you may. 
 Something of sorrow hath befallen ; no sooner 
 You were departed, but some strange distemper 
 Invaded him j we might discern a change 
 In's countenance, and though we prayed him to 
 Repose with us, he would straight back again ; 
 
112 THE TRAITOR. [ACT ii, 
 
 So, with Frederico, 
 
 And Signior Cosmo, he returned. 
 
 Fh. The alteration was strange and sudden. 
 
 Sci. 'Las ! noble gentleman — but come, clear up 
 Your face again, we hope it will not last : 
 Look bright again, I say, I have given order — 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. My lord, the duke's already come, \Exit. 
 
 Sci. Remove, 
 Good Amidea, and reserve thy person 
 To crown his entertainment ; be not seen yet. 
 
 \Exit Amidea, 
 
 Enter Duke, Lorenzo, Alonzo, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Sciarrha, we are come to be your guest. 
 
 Sci. Your highness doth an honour to our house. 
 
 Duke. But Where's thy sister ? she must bid us wel- 
 come. 
 
 Sci. She is your grace's handmaid. 
 
 Duke. For this night. 
 Let the whole world conspire to our delight. — 
 Lorenzo — [ Whispers him. 
 
 Lor. Sir, be confident and perish, \Aside 
 
 SCENE \\.—The Garden o/MoROSA's House. 
 
 Enter MoROSA, Oriana, and Servant. 
 Mor. You should not rashly give away your heart, 
 Nor must you, without me, dispose yourself, — 
 Pray give access to none — yet, if Pisano 
 Enquire, direct him to the garden. — \Exit Servant 
 
 Cosmo 
 Is young, and promising, but, while Lorenzo 
 Lives, must expect no sunshine. 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 113 
 
 Re-enter Servant with Pisano and Cosmo. 
 
 IHs. There's for thy pains. — \Exit Servant. 
 
 They are now at opportunity. 
 
 Cos. My lord, 
 Do you prepare the mother, and let me close 
 With Oriana. 
 
 Pis. What service can reward thee? 
 
 Cos. Take occasion 
 To leave us private ; this hour be propitious ! 
 Win but the matron to you. 
 
 Pis.- She is prepared already. 
 
 Cos. Lose no time, 
 Take the other walk. \Exeunt Pisano and Morosa. 
 
 Ori. My dear Cosmo. 
 
 Cos. My best Oriana. [you. 
 
 Ori. You have been too much absent, I must chide 
 
 Cos. You cannot, sweet; I would I knew which way 
 To make thee angry ; yes, that I might see 
 How well it would become thee. I do fear 
 Thou art some angel, and that sin would be 
 An argument to me, that thou wert mortal ; 
 I must suspect thy too much goodness else. 
 And leave thee for the fellowship of saints, 
 I am too wicked. 
 
 Ori. You will make me angry. 
 
 Cos. But you will love me still, I fear. 
 
 Ori. Do you fear it ? 
 Is't a misfortune ? 
 
 Cos. What? 
 
 Ori. My love. 
 
 Cos. Your anger ; 
 And yet the t'other oftentimes may cany 
 An evil with it ; we may love too well, 
 And that's a fault. 
 
 Ori. Not where the object's good. 
 
 Cos. O yes : always beware of the extremes. 
 
 Shir. I 
 
114 
 
 THE TRAITOR. [ACT il 
 
 Ori. What mean you ? I affect none but my Cosmo, 
 Nor him with too much flame. 
 
 Cos. If you should, lady, 
 'Twere nobly done. 
 
 Ori. To love another? 
 
 Cos. Yes, 
 If there be cause, that may be called a virtue : 
 For what have I to engross the affection 
 Of any lady, if she can discern 
 A greater merit in some other man ? 
 Wisdom forbid, but she command her smiles, 
 To warm and cherish him. 
 
 Ori. So we should be 
 Inconstant. 
 
 Cos. Why not ? if our reason be 
 Convinced that's no such fault, as the world goes. 
 Let us examine all the creatures, read 
 The book of nature through, and we shall find 
 Nothing doth still the same ; the stars do wander, 
 And have their divers influence, the elements 
 Shuffle into innumerable. changes: 
 Our constitutions vary ; herbs and trees 
 Admit their frost and summer; and why then 
 Should our desires, that are so nimble, and 
 More subtle than the spirits in our blood. 
 Be such stayed things within us, and not share 
 Their natural liberty? Shall we admit a change 
 In smaller things, and not allow it in 
 What most of all concerns us? 
 
 Ori. What? 
 
 Cos. Our loves. 
 
 Ori. Have you suspicion I am changed, and thus 
 Would school me for it ? or shall I imagine 
 That you are altered ? 
 
 Cos. Yes, I am, and therefore 
 Proclaim thy freedom ; I do love thee less, 
 To show I love thee more. 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 115 
 
 Ori. What riddle's this ? 
 Cos. I will explain. Upon maturity 
 Of counsel, Oriana, I have found 
 I am not worthy of thee, therefore come 
 To make thee satisfaction for my sin 
 Of loving thee, by pointing out a way, 
 And person, will become thy affection better. 
 Ori. You have a pretty humour. 
 Cos. What dost think 
 Of brave Pisano ? shall his merit plead 
 Succession in thy chaste thoughts ? 
 Ori. I do know him. 
 
 Cos. Thou canst not choose, and I could study 
 none 
 Worthy thy love but him. 
 
 Ori. 'Tis very likely 
 You would resign then ? 
 
 Cos. Ay, to honour thee; 
 His service will deserve thee at the best 
 And richest value. 
 
 Ori. Why, it shall be so. 
 
 Cos. Nay, but be serious, and declare me happy. 
 That I may say, I have made thee just amends. 
 And I will thank thee. 
 
 Ori. Why, sir, I do love him. 
 Cos. Oh, when did Cupid aim that golden shaft ? 
 But dost thou love him perfectly, with a 
 Desire, when sacred rites of marriage 
 Are past, to meet him in thy bed, and call him 
 Thy husband ? 
 
 Ori. Why, sir, did you ever think 
 I was so taken with your worth and person, 
 I could not love another lord as well ? 
 By your favour, there be many as proper men. 
 And as deserving ; you may save your plea, 
 And be assured I need no lesson to 
 Direct my fancy. I did love Pisano 
 
ii6 THE TRAITOR. [ACT i: 
 
 Before, but for your sake, I mean to place him 
 
 A great deal riearer. — Sure he does but jest. \Asid< 
 
 You did love me. 
 
 Cos. Now, by my heart, I love thee. 
 This act shall crown our story, Oriana, 
 Thou dost not know how much thou honourest me. 
 For he's not in the common list of friends, 
 And he does love thee past imagination. 
 Next his religion he has placed the thought 
 Of Oriana, he sleeps nothing else. 
 And I shall wake him into Heaven, to say 
 Thou hast consented to be his. 
 
 Ori. Pray tell me. 
 But truly, I beseech you ; do you wish 
 Pisano mine indeed ? or are you jealous. 
 And name him to accuse me ? ■ 
 
 Cos. Not, by goodness ; 
 But if there be a charm beyond thy innocence, 
 By that I would conjure thee, Oriana, 
 Love him, and make three happy; it shall be 
 My bliss to call you his, let me but own 
 A servant in your memory. 
 
 Ori. Unkind 
 And cruel Cosmo ! dost thou think it possible 
 I can love any but thyself ? thou wilt 
 Undo my heart for ever. 
 
 Re-enter Pisano and Morosa. 
 
 Mor. You shall be 
 Ever most welcome ; If I be her mother. 
 She must declare obedience. — Oriana — 
 
 Cos. Go cheerfully, thy mother calls, to him 
 Whose orator I have been,— 'Las, poor lady ! 
 I half repent me, since she is so constant : 
 But a friend's life weighs down all other love; 
 Beside I thus secure my fate ; Lorenzo 
 Threatens my spring, he is my enemy. \Aside., 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TRAITOR. 
 
 117 
 
 Ori. You'll not compel affection ? 
 
 Pis. No, but court it; 
 With honour, and religion, thus invite it. 
 
 Mor. I shall forget the nature of a parent, 
 Unless you show more softness, and regard 
 To what is urged. What promise could you make 
 To Cosmo without me ? or, if you had — 
 
 Cos. Here Cosmo doth give up all title to it; 
 I have no part in Oriana now. 
 
 Ori. I've heard too much; do with me what you 
 please, 
 I am all passive, nothing of myself, 
 But an obedience to unhappiness. \Exit. 
 
 Cos. Follow her, Pisano. 
 
 Pis. Thou art all friendship. 
 
 Cos. Trace their warm steps, virgins' resolves are 
 weak. 
 Leave not her eyes until you see day break. [^Exeunt. 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE l.—A Room in Depazzi's House. 
 
 Enter Depazzi and Rogero. 
 
 Rogero ! 
 Rag. My lord. 
 
 Dep. Make fast the chamber door, 
 stifle the keyhole and the crannies, I 
 must discourse of secret matters ; dost 
 thou smell nothing, Rogero? ha? 
 Rog. Smell ? not any thing, my lord, 
 to offend my nostril. 
 
 Dep. Come hither ; what do the people talk abroad of me? 
 Answer me justly, and to the point; what do they say? 
 Rog. Faith, my lord, they say that you are — 
 Dep. They He, I am not; they are a lousy, impudent 
 multitude, a many-headed, and- many-homed generation, 
 to say that I am — 
 
 Rog. A noble gentleman, a just and discreet lord, and 
 one that deserved to have his honours without money. 
 
 Dep. Oh, is that it ? I thought the rabble would have 
 said, I had been a traitor. — ^I am half mad, certainly, 
 ever since I consented to Lorenzo ; 'tis a very hard con- 
 dition, that a man must lose his head to recompense the 
 procuring of his honours : what if I discover him to the 
 duke ? — ten to one, if Lorenzo come but to speak, his 
 grace will not have the grace to believe me, and then I 
 run the hazard to be thrown out of all on t'other side; 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 119 
 
 'tis safest to be a traitor. \Aside.\ — Hum, who is that 
 you whispered to ? 
 
 Rog. I whisper ? 
 
 Dep. Marry did you, sirrah. 
 
 Rog. Not I, good faith, my lord. 
 
 Dep. Sirrah, sirrah, sirrah, I smell a rat behind the 
 hangings. \Takes up the hangings?^ — Here's nobody; ha? 
 are there no trunks ' to convey secret voices ? 
 
 Rog. Your lordship has a pair" on. 
 
 Dep. I do not like that face in the arras ; on my con- 
 science he points at me. 'Pox upon this treason, I have 
 no stomach to't; I do see myself upon a scaffold, making 
 a pitiful speech already; I shall have my head cut off. 
 Seven years ago I laid my head upon a wager, I remember, 
 and lost it ; let me see, — it shall be so, 'tis good policy 
 to be armed. \Asidei\ — Rogero, imagine I were a traitor. 
 
 Rog. How, sir? 
 
 Dep. I but say " imagine ; " we may put the case ; and 
 that I were apprehended for a traitor. 
 
 Rog. Heaven defend ! 
 
 Dep. Heaven has something else to do, than to defend 
 traitors. I say, imagine I were brought to the bar. 
 
 Rog. ■ Good, my lord ! you brought to the bar ? 
 
 Dep. I will beat you, if you will not imagine, at my 
 bidding r I say, suppose I now were at the bar, to answer 
 for my life. 
 
 Rog. Well, sir. 
 
 Dep. Well, sir? that's as it happens; you must imagine 
 I will answer the best I can for myself. Conceive, I 
 prithee, that these chairs were judges, most grave and 
 venerable beards and faces, at my arraignment, and that 
 thyself wert, in the name of the duke and state, to accuse 
 me, what couldst thou say to me? 
 
 Rog. I accuse your good honour ? for what, I beseech 
 
 Dep. For high treason, you blockhead. [you ? 
 
 Rog. I must be acquainted with some particulars first. 
 
 ' Tubes. ^ i.e. Trunk-hose, large breeches. 
 
120 
 
 THE TRAITOR. [act hi. 
 
 Dep. Mass, thou sayest right : why imagine,— do you 
 hear ? you must but imagine,— that some great man had 
 a conspiracy against the duke's person, and that I, being 
 an honest lord, and one of this great man's friends, had 
 been drawn in, for that's the plain truth on't; 'twas 
 against my will, but that's all one. Well, thou under- 
 stand'st me ; show thy wit, Rogero, scratch thy nimble 
 pericranium, and thunder out my accusation ex tempore. 
 Here I stand, Signior Depazzi, ready to answer the in- 
 dictment. 
 
 Rog. Good, my lord, it will not become me, being 
 your humble servant. 
 
 Dep. Humble coxcomb ! is it not for my good? I say, 
 accuse me, bring it home, jerk me soundly to the quick, 
 Rogero, tickle me, as thou lov'st thy lord; I do defy 
 thee, spare me not, and the devil take thee if thou be'st 
 not malicious. 
 
 Rog. Why then have at you. First, Signior Depazzi, 
 thou art indicted of high treason, hold up thy hand; 
 guilty, or not guilty? 
 
 Dep. Very good. 
 
 Rog. Nay, very bad, sir : — answer, I say ; guilty or not 
 guilty? 
 
 Dep. Not guilty. 
 
 Rog. 'Tis your best course to say so : — well, imagine 
 I rise up the duke's most learned in the laws, and his 
 nimble-tongued orator ; have at you signior. 
 
 Dep. Come, come on, sir, here I stand. 
 
 Rog. I will prove thou liest in thy throat, if thou 
 deniest thy treason, and so I address myself to the most 
 understanding seats of justice. — " Most wise, most honour- 
 able, and most incorrupt judges, sleep not, I beseech you ; 
 my place hath called me to plead, in the behalf of mj 
 prince and country, against this notable, this pemiciouS; 
 and impudent traitor, who hath plotted and contrived suet 
 high, heinous, and horrible treasons, as no age nor histor) 
 hath ever mentioned the like. Here he stands, whos< 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 121 
 
 birth I will not touch, because it is altogether unknown 
 who begot him. He was brought up among the small 
 wares in the city, became rich by sinister and indirect 
 practices, married a merchant's wife at adventures, and 
 was soon after advanced to be a head-officer." 
 
 Dep. Why, you rascal ! 
 
 Rog. Peace, sirrah, peace ! — " Nay, your lordships shall 
 find him very audacious : this fellow, not content to have 
 his branches spread within the city, I speak it to his face, 
 let him deny it, was afterward, by the corruption of his 
 confederate, and the mere grace of his highness, raised 
 to honour, received infinite favours from his prince of 
 blessed memory, yet, like a wretch, a villain, a viper, a 
 rat of Nilus, he hath practised treasons against the 
 sacred person of the duke, for which he deserveth not 
 only to die, but also to suffer tortures, whips, racks, 
 strapadoes, wheels, and all the fiery brazen bulls that can 
 be invented, as I shall make it appear to this honourable 
 and illustrious court." 
 
 Z>ep. This rogue's transported. 
 
 Rog. With all my heart ; " I obey your lordships : — 
 thus then I pass from these circumstances, and proceed 
 to the principal villainies that we have to lay to his 
 charge. Imprimis, thou, Signior Depazzi, didst offer to 
 a groom one hundred crowns to poison his highness' 
 hunting-saddle." 
 
 Dep. Did I? 
 
 Rog. Do not interrupt me, varlet ; I will prove it ; — 
 "his hunting saddle, and woe shall be unto thy breech 
 therefore; and finding this serpentine treason broken 
 in the shell, — do but lend your reverend ears to his next 
 designs — I will cut them off presently,— this irreligious, 
 nay, atheistical traitor, did with his own hands poison the 
 duke's prayer-book; oh, impiety! and had his highness, 
 as in former times he accustomed, but prayed once in a 
 month, which, by special grace, he omitted, how fatal 
 had it been to Florence ! but as by justice his excellence 
 
122 THE TRAITOR. [ACT ill. 
 
 did then, and by his own want of devotion, prevent this 
 assassinate's purpose, so we hope, in his own discretion, 
 and the counsel of his state, he will take heed how he 
 prays hereafter while he lives, to which every true subject 
 will say. Amen." 
 
 Dep. " May it please your honours — "- • 
 
 Rog. Thou impudent, brazen-faced traitor, wilt thou 
 denyit? " Moreover, an't like your good lordships,^ he hath 
 for this fortnight or three weeks before his apprehen- 
 sion, walked up and down the court with a case' of 
 pistols charged, wherewith, as he partly confessed, he 
 intended to send the duke to Heaven with a powder ! " 
 
 £>ep. This rogue will undo the devil at invention. — 
 " May it please this honourable — " 
 
 Rog. " These are but sprinklings of his treason." 
 
 £>ep. Will you justify this ? did I any of these things, 
 you tadpole ? 
 
 Rog. Hold yourself contented, my lord; he that is 
 brought to the bar in case of treason, must look to have 
 more objected than he can answer, or any man is able to 
 justify. 
 
 £>ep. " I confess, an't please your good lordships — " 
 
 Rog. " Mark, he will confess — ." 
 
 £>ep. That's the way to be sent of a headless errand : — 
 " Indeed I confess that I never intended any treason to 
 his highness, nor ever sought the prince's life ; true it is, 
 that I heard of a conspiracy." 
 
 Rog. " That, that, my lords, hath overthrown him ; he 
 saith he never sought the prince's life, ergo, he sought his 
 death ; besides, he hath heard of treason ; now, he that 
 heareth and discovereth not, is equally guilty in fact : for 
 in offences of this nature there are no accessories, ergo, 
 he is a principal, and being a principal traitor, he de- 
 serveth condemnation." 
 
 Bep. Shall I not speak ? 
 
 Rog. No, traitors must not be suffered to speak, for 
 ' Couple. 
 
SCENE I.] THM TRAITOR. 123 
 
 when they have leave, they have Kberty, and he that is a 
 traitor deserveth to be close prisoner. 
 
 Dep. "All that this fellow hath uttered is false and 
 forged, abominable lies." 
 
 Rog. I will speak truth, and I will be heard, and no 
 man else, in this place. 
 
 Dep. "I never dreamt of, a hunting- saddle, nor .never 
 had so much as a thought of iiny prayer-book." 
 
 Rog. " You sit here to do justice ; I speak for the duke, 
 and the safety of the commonwealth." 
 
 Dep. "As for pistols, 'tis well known I could never 
 endure the report of them. I defy powder and shot as 
 I do him that accuseth me." 
 
 Rog. " I defy all the world that will hear a traitor speak 
 for himself; 'tis against the law, which provides that no 
 man shall defend treason, and he that speaks for himself, 
 being a traitor, doth defend his treason : thou art a capital 
 obstreperous malefactor." 
 
 DeJ). Thou art a madman. 
 
 Rog. Go to, you have played the fool too much. 
 
 £>ejl>. Thou continual motion cease ; a pox upon thee, 
 hold thy tongue. 
 
 Rog. The pox will not serve your turn. 
 
 Dej). Why then this shall. [Beats him. 
 
 Rog. Hold, hold, good my lord, I am sensible; I have 
 done, imagine I have done ; I but obeyed your lordship, 
 whose batoon' I find stronger than my imagination. — 
 My lord, you will answer this> to strike in the court thus ? 
 
 Dep. I am as weary — hark, 'R.ogero, [^npcking within.'] 
 — one knocks ; see, see ; there's to make thee amends ; 
 [Gives him money.] — see, good Rogero, and say nothing. 
 [£xit Rogero.] — Pray Heaven it be no pursuivant. 
 
 Re-enter Rogero with Petruchio leaving a letter. 
 
 Rog. Petruchio, my Lord Pisano's secretary. , 
 
 Dep. But Lorenzo's engine a very knave. [Aside. 
 
 1 Stick. Fr. BAton. 
 
124 THE TRAITOR. [act ii 
 
 Pet. My very good lord. \Gives him the ktta 
 
 Dep. What's here? it can be no goodness. \Reau 
 aside.] — " My lord, I would not have you go to bed tc 
 night," — he will not let me sleep now, I dreamt as much 
 — " something will be done to give Florence liberty. I: 
 the depth of night you may cunningly disperse som 
 rumours in the city, that the duke is dead ; the peopl 
 must be distracted; in the common fright be not yo 
 wanting in your person to assist their fears, and speal 
 well of — Lorenzo. — " Speak well of the devil. — M 
 humble service to your lord, and say he has power ti 
 command me in all things. 
 
 jPei. My very good lord. 
 
 Dep. No matter, an you were both hanged. [Aside.]— 
 Rogero, show him the wine cellar. [£xeun( Rogero am 
 Petruchio.] — Let me see, I must report the duke' 
 death ; I cannot abide this word " death ; " yet he desirei 
 me but to report it : hum, if it be false, why so much thf 
 better ; there will be the less harm in it ; if it should prov( 
 true, they will believe me another time : well, I will drinl 
 myself half drunk, and be fortified. [£xit 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Sciarrha's House. 
 Preparations for a Masque. 
 
 Enter Duke, Amidea, Lorenzo, Sciarrha, Florio 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Sciarrha, you exceed in entertainment ; 
 Banquet our eyes too ? 
 
 Lor. He will feast all senses. 
 
 Sci. Only a toy, my lord ; I cannot call't 
 A masque, nor worthy of this presence, yet 
 It speaks the freedom of my heart, and gratitude 
 For this great honour. 
 
 Duke. Amidea must 
 Sit near us. 
 
SCENE n.] THE TRAITOR. 125 
 
 Sci. Lords, your places \ 'twill not be 
 Worth half this ceremony. — Let them begin. 
 
 Enter Lust, richly apparelled, the Pleasures attending'. 
 
 Duke. Who's the presenter ? 
 
 Sci. Lust, sir; pray observe. 
 
 Lust. Now let Lust possess the throne 
 Of Love, and rule in hearts alone : 
 You sweet tempters to my sin. 
 Beauty, smiles, and kisses win 
 Upon frail mortals, let them know 
 There is no happiness, but you. 
 Shoot no arrows tipped. with lead, 
 Each shaft have his golden head. 
 Call no love, delude men still. 
 Through the flesh their spirits kill. 
 Nor spend all your heart to take 
 Common persons ; greatness make, 
 By your potent charms, to be 
 Subjects unto hell and me : 
 Inflame but kings with loose desire, 
 You soon set all the world on fire. 
 
 Enter a Young Man richly habited, and crowned.^ 
 
 Duke. What's he? 
 
 Sci. A wild young man, that follows Lust ; 
 He has too much blood it seems. 
 Duke. Why looks he back ? 
 
 Sci. There is a thing called Death, that follows 
 him; 
 With a large train of Furies ; but the Syrens 
 Of Lust make him secure, and now the hag 
 Embraces him, and circles him with pleasures; 
 The harpies mean to dance too. — \Here Lust, the Plea- 
 sures, and the Young Man join in a Dance.] — 
 Hang his conscience ! 
 It whines too much. 
 
126 THE TRAITOR. [ACT in. 
 
 Lor. This is too plain. {Aside. 
 
 Set. He does not tremble yet. — 
 By-and-by, sir, you shall see all his tormentors 
 Join with them ; there's the sport on't. 
 
 Zor. Methinks they 
 Should have been first, for th' antimasque.^ 
 
 Sd. Oh no ! 
 In hell they do not stand upon the method, 
 As we at court; the grand masque and the glory 
 Begin the revels. — 
 
 £n(er Death. 
 
 Sister, you do ill 
 To keep the duke in talk ; he cannot see 
 The devil for you, and the whips : does not 
 That death's head look most temptingly ? the worms 
 Have kissed the lips off. — 
 
 £nier Furies, w/io join in the dance, and in the end carry 
 the Young Man away. The rest flee in confusion. 
 
 How does your highness like this dance ? 
 
 Duke. My eyes so feasted here, I did not mark it, 
 But I presume 'twas handsome. 
 
 Sci. O the lethargy 
 Of princes ! — We have kept you, sir, from bed. — 
 More lights. 
 
 Duke. Good night to all ; to you the best : — 
 Sciarrha, bind us ever by performance. 
 
 Sci. We are all your's. 
 
 Duke. And Florence thine. — Once more — 
 Brightest of ladies. 
 
 Lor. You are firm ? \Aside to Sciarrha. 
 
 Sci. Suspect not. {Exeunt all but Amidea and Florid. 
 
 Flo. I do not like my brother's moral masque ; 
 The duke himself was personated : I 
 Wonder it did not startle him. 
 
 ' A burlesque interlude in the masque. 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 12; 
 
 Ami. I hope 
 Sciarrha does not mean so ill as that 
 Did promise. He's returned ; his looks are full 
 
 Re-enter Sciarrha. 
 Of threat'ning. 
 
 Sci. Amidea, go not to bed ; 
 And yet no matter ; I can do't alone. 
 Take both your rest, and in your prayers commend 
 The duke to Heaven, 'tis charity; he has made 
 His will already, and bequeathed his body 
 To you, sister ; pity his soul, for 'tis now 
 Within few minutes of departing. 
 
 Ami. How? 
 
 Sci. Why, this way; \Showing a poniard^ — I must 
 help him in his groans, 
 To bring his flesh a-bed. 
 
 Ami. You will not kill him ? 
 
 Sci. I am not of your mind. 
 
 Ami. I know you cannot. 
 
 Sci. You are not studied so perfect in 
 His destiny, I hope ; I will endeavour — 
 
 Ami. To kill your prince ? 
 
 Fh. What, here ? 
 
 Sci. No, in his chamber. 
 
 Ami. Shall it be read in stories of our Florence, 
 Sciarrha first did stain his family 
 With such a treason ? 
 
 Flo. Was he not invited ? 
 
 Sci. Yes, by his lust. 
 
 Flo. And in your crowned tables, 
 And hospitality, will you murder him ? 
 
 Sci. Yes, and the reason wherefore he was mur- 
 dered, 
 Shall justify the deed to all posterity; 
 He came to wrong my sister. 
 
 Flo. Wanton heat ; 
 Let youthful blood excuse him. 
 
128 THE TRAITOR, [ACT 111. 
 
 Sci. So it must. 
 
 Flo. Mistake me not ; oh, think but who he is, 
 The duke, that word must needs awake your piety. 
 
 Ami. How will good men in this remembrance 
 Abhor your cruelty, that send to hell 
 One with the weight of all his sins upon him ? 
 
 Sci. It is too late to cool with argument 
 My incensed blood. Will you go dally with him. 
 And let him board your pinnace ? I have gone 
 So far in promise, if you clasp not with him, 
 It will be dangerous if he outlive 
 This night. 
 
 Ami. I have thought on't ; send him to my bed. 
 
 Set. Ha ! 
 
 Ami. Do not question what I purpose ; Heaven 
 Witness to my chaste thoughts. 
 
 Sci. Wilt thou trust him ? 
 
 Ami. I will do much, sir, to preserve his life, 
 And your innocence : be not you suspectful ; 
 At the worst you can but respite your revenge. 
 
 Sci. Dost thou not fear unhappy Lucrece' chance. 
 Or wretched Philomel's dishonour ? 
 
 Ami. No : 
 Give me his life, and send your wanton to me : 
 I'll to my chamber ; fear me not, Sciarrha, 
 Have not one thought so bad, I shall not prosper ; 
 Virgins in Heaven will suffer with me. 
 
 Flo. Trust her. \Exeunt Amidea and Florio. 
 
 Sci. 'Tis but deferring of my justice ; 
 She will not kill him, sure ; draw on her soul 
 The guilt she hates in mine ; if she do yield 
 To the hot encounter, ha ! 'twill then be just, 
 That both their hearts weep blood, to purge their lust. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
SCENE III.] THE TRAITOR. 129 
 
 SCENE \\\.— Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Florio and Amidea. 
 
 Flo. My poniard ? 
 
 Ami. I've no black intent 
 To stain't with any blood. 
 
 Flo. Take it, I know" 
 Thou art my virtuous sister, it were wickedness 
 To doubt thy purpose, or the event. 
 
 Ami. Now leave me. 
 
 Flo. Thou hast a guard of angels. 
 
 Ami. They are coming. 
 
 [Florio conceals himself behind the hangings. 
 
 Enter Sciarrha and the Duke. 
 
 Sci. Look, there she is, sir : you know how to undress 
 
 Duke. Dearest Sciarrha. [her. 
 
 Sci. To your recreation. — 
 Here I'll obscure myself. \Aside: sees Vi.O'sao as he retires 
 behind the hangingsi\ — Florio ? 'tis well. 
 
 Duke. Lady, you know me ? 
 
 Ami. Yes ; my prince. 
 
 Duke. I was so 
 Till I saw thee, but I gave up that title 
 A conquest to thy beauty, which, among 
 Her other wonders, hath created me 
 A subject and a servant, and I shall 
 Be happier to be received your's by 
 One of those names, than Duke of Tuscany. 
 
 Ami. Oh, take yourself again, sir ; use your greatness 
 To make the hearts of_ Florence bow to you, 
 And pay their duties thus. \Kneels. 
 
 Duke. Rise, Amidea, 
 And since you have given my power back, it will 
 Become me to command. 
 
 Ami. And me to obey. \Rises. 
 
 Duke, I see thy noble bwther hath been faithful 
 
 Sbir, K 
 
130 
 
 THE TRAITOR. [act hi. 
 
 To my desires ; he has prepared thee with 
 
 A story of my love, which thou reward'st 
 
 With too much humbleness : thou hast a quarrel, 
 
 And a just one, with thy stars, that did not make thee 
 
 A princess, Amidea ; yet thou'rt greater, 
 
 And born to justify unto these times, 
 
 Venus, the queen of Love, was but thy figure. 
 
 And all her graces prophecies of thine. 
 
 To make our last age best. I could dwell ever 
 
 Here, and imagine I am in a temple. 
 
 To offer on this altar of thy lip, {Kisses her often. 
 
 Myriads of flaming kisses, with a cloud 
 
 Of ' sighs breathed from my heart. 
 
 Which, by the oblation, would increase his stock, 
 To make my pay eternal. 
 
 Ami. What mean you? 
 
 Duke. That question is propounded timely : hadst 
 thou 
 Not interrupted me, I should have lost 
 Myself upon thy lips, and quite forgot 
 There is a bliss beyond it, which I came for. 
 Let others satisfy themselves to read 
 The wonders in thy face, make proud their eye, 
 By seeing thine, turn statues at thy voice. 
 And think they never fix enough to hear thee. 
 A man half dead with famine would wish here 
 To feed on smiles, of which the least hath power 
 To call an anchorite from his prayers, tempt saints 
 To wish their bodies on. Thou dost with ease 
 Captivate kings with every beam, and mayst 
 Lead them like prisoners round about the world. 
 Proud of such golden chains; this were enough, 
 Had not my fate provided more, to make me 
 Believe myself immortal in thy touches. 
 Come to thy bed, transform me there to happiness ; 
 I'll laugh at all the fables of the gods, 
 
 ^ Something appears to have dropped out here. 
 
SCENE III.] THE traitor:' 131 
 
 And teach our poets after I know thee, 
 To write the true Elysium. 
 
 Ami. Good, my lord, 
 I understand you not, and yet I fear 
 You do not mean well ; if you have brought with you 
 A sinful purpose, which I may suspect — 
 
 Duke. Why, lady, what do you imagine I 
 Came hither for ? 
 
 Ami. I know not. 
 
 Duke. How ! 
 Is't come to that ? your brother gave you more 
 Desirous of the sport, and brought me hither. 
 Ripe for your dalliance. Did you not expect me ? 
 
 Ami. Yes. 
 
 Duke. And to what other purpose ? 
 
 Ami. To tell you, that you are not virtuous. 
 
 Duke. I'm of your mind. 
 
 Ami. But I am not so wicked 
 To be of your's : oh, think but who you are. 
 Your title speaks you nearest Heaven, and points 
 You out a glorious reigti among the angels ; 
 Do not depose yourself of one, and be 
 Of the other disinherited. 
 
 Duke. I would 
 Your brother heard you ; prithee, do not waste 
 This tedious divinity, I am 
 Resolved to grapple with you. 
 
 Ami. Keep off. \_Shows the poniard. 
 
 Duke. Ha! 
 Turned Amazon ? 
 
 Ami. Prince, come not too near me. 
 For, by my honour, since you have lost your own. 
 Although I bow in duty to your person, 
 I hate your black thoughts ; tempt not my just hand 
 With violent approach, I dare, and will 
 Do that will grieve you, if you have a soul. 
 
 Duke. Thou dar'st not kill me. 
 
132 THE 2'RAITOR. [act HI. 
 
 Ami. True, but I dare die. 
 
 Duke. Be thy own murderer ? 
 
 Ami. Rather than you should be my ravisher. 
 
 Duke. Thou canst not be so merciless, 'tis less sin 
 To be unchaste ; I am thy prince, I prithee 
 Throw by that crael weapon, let our war 
 Be soft embraces, shooting amorous smiles, 
 Kill and restore each other with a kiss, 
 I know thou canst not be unkind so long : 
 Then, I command thee. 
 
 Ami. I must not obey 
 To be your strumpet : though my hand be unskilful, 
 I shall soon find my heart. 
 
 Duke. I'll not beHeve — 
 
 Avii. Let this deserve your faith I dare be just, 
 
 \_She wounds her arm. 
 This crimson river issuing from my arm. 
 
 Duke. Hold! 
 
 Ami. Never ; it shall flow, and if this channel 
 Yield not enough, I'll strike another vein. 
 And after that, another, and not pity 
 The murmuring stream, till through a prodigal wound 
 I have drained the fountain : this doth weep for you, 
 And shall extol my death, if it may teach 
 You to correct your blood. 
 
 Duke. There's so ijiuch gone 
 From me, I cool apace ; this action 
 Hath shot an ague through me ; Amidea, 
 Pity thyself. 
 
 Ami. Not, till you swear repentance ; 
 I do not faint yet, 'tis somewhat about. 
 But I can find a nearer way ; this does it. 
 
 \Offering to strike lurself again. 
 
 Duke. Contain ' ; I am sorry, sorry from my soul. 
 Trust me, I do bleed inward, Amidea, 
 Can answer all thy drops : oh, pardon me, 
 ' i.e. Abstain. 
 
SCENE III.] THE TRAITOR. 133 
 
 Thou faint' St already, dost not? I am fearful. 
 
 The phoenix, with her wings, when she is dying, 
 
 Can fan her ashes into another life ; 
 
 But when thy Ureath, more sweet than all the spice 
 
 That helps the other's funeral, returns 
 
 To Heaven, the world must be eternal loser. 
 
 Look to thy wound. 
 
 Ami. May I believe you, sir? 
 
 Duke. I dare not think awry ; again I ask 
 Forgiveness j in thy innocence I see 
 My own deformity. 
 
 [SciARRHA, folbwed by Florid, comes hastily from 
 behind the hangings and embraces Amidea. 
 
 Sci. Now a thousand blessings 
 Reward thy goodness ; thou deserv'st a statue, 
 A tall one, which should reach above the clouds, 
 Jostle the moon, that people afar off 
 Beholding it, may be invited hither. 
 In hope to cUmb to Heaven by't; but apply 
 Betimes unto thy wound. — Florio, assist her. — 
 
 [Florio leads off Amidea. 
 And now, my lord — 
 
 Duke. Sciarrha, I'll begin to be thy lord; 
 I brought intentions of dishonour to thee. 
 And thy fair sister, but I am reconciled 
 To virtue, and will study how to satisfy 
 For you and Florence. 
 
 Sci. You will be more precious, 
 Than had you never fallen j I am all joy 
 In your conversion. 
 
 Duke ' 
 
 Sci. Lorenzo ! I think, he has not said his prayers yet. 
 But— 
 
 Duke. What? 
 
 Sci. I cannot tell, may be- he does not use it. 
 
 ' Some words have probably dropped out here, as Sciarrha 
 appears to reply to a question from the 4uke relating to Lorenzo. 
 
134 ^-^^ TRAITOR. [ACT in. 
 
 Duke. How? 
 
 Sci. My lord, you now are lovely; 
 'Twere better you'd forget him ; he's not right 
 At heart, I fear. 
 
 Duke. Fear nothing. 
 
 Sci. To be plain, 
 You cherish your disease in him, and are 
 Not safe while he is near you. 
 
 Duke. Do not envy him.^ 
 
 Sci. Then I must tell you, sir, he is a traitor, 
 Within my knowledge, hath conspired your death. 
 
 Duke. With whom ? 
 
 Sci. With me ; I should have killed you, sir, 
 This night, and every minute he expects 
 To hear you numbered with the dead. I can 
 Demonstrate this : your pardon, but in truth. 
 The injuries you meant us were severe. 
 And he with as much violence did urge them 
 To your destruction ; but your piety 
 Hath charmed my purpose, and I look upon you 
 With new obedience. 
 
 Re-enter Florio. 
 
 Duke. Impossible ! 
 
 Sci. We will not shift the scene till you believe it. — 
 Florio, entreat my Lord Lorenzo hither. — \Exit Flo. 
 Step but behind the arras, and your ear 
 Shall tell you who's the greatest traitor living. 
 Observe but when I tell him you are slain. 
 How he'll rejoice, and call me Florence' great 
 Preserver, bless my arm, that in your blood 
 Hath given our groaning state a liberty ; 
 Then trust Sciarrlia : but obscure, I hear him. 
 
 \The Duke retires behind the hangings. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. Whom talked he to ? [Aside. 
 
 ' i.e. Do not bear him any ill-will; do not injure him. 
 
SCENE III.] THE TRAitOR. 13 S 
 
 Set. 'Tis done — 
 
 Lor. What, good Sciarrha ! 
 
 Sci. The duke is dead. 
 
 Lor. We are not left so miserable ! 
 Heav'n is more kind to Florence. 
 
 Sci. With this hand 
 I made a passage for his soul. 
 
 Lor. Defend, 
 Omnipotence ! what ! murdered ? and by noble 
 Sciarrha ? how my ear abuses me ! 
 
 Sd. Did not we plot it too ? 
 
 Lor. How ! we ? collect, 
 I fear you are not well : pray tell me why 
 You talk thus ? where's the duke ? he hath a guard, 
 An army of Heaven about him ; who in Floi-ence 
 Dares be so black a'devil to attempt 
 His death ? 
 
 Sci. This is fine cunning ; why, that devil is 
 Lorenzo, if he dare deny it ; we are in private. 
 You need appear no stranger to that's done 
 By your direction. 
 
 L/rr. I in the practice ? 
 Then let me creep into the earth, and rise 
 A monster to affright mankind. Sciarrha, 
 I must abhor thee for it. — Oh my prince ! 
 My dearest kinsman ! — may thy hand rot off ! — 
 Treason, treason ! 
 
 Sci. Then my sword shall fetch 
 Another witness in thy heart. 
 
 \As they draw the Duke comes hastily forth, and 
 
 interposes. 
 Duke. Hold! 
 Lor. Tiish, let him come, 
 My royal lord ; nay, let him kill me now : 
 I've so much joy and peace about me, 'twere 
 A sin to wish my life beyond this minute. 
 Duke. Put up, I say. 
 
136 THE TRAITOR. [ACT ill. 
 
 Sci. My lord, we are both cozened : 
 That very smile's a traitor. 
 
 Duke. Come, be calm : 
 You are too passionate, Sciarrha, and 
 Mistook Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. But I hold him noble : 
 I see he made this trial of my faith, 
 And I forgive him. 
 
 Duke. You shall be friends ; you shall, I say. 
 
 Enter hastily Cosmo and Alonzo. 
 
 Cos. The duke— 
 
 Alon. Where's the duke ? 
 
 Cos. My lord, we are blest to see you safe ; report 
 Hath frighted all the city with your death : 
 People forsake their beds, and seekir^ how 
 To be informed, increase the wretched tumult. 
 
 Alon. There's nothing but confusion ; all men tremble. 
 As if some general fire invaded Florence. 
 
 Sci. Have comfort, sir. 
 
 Duke. What's to be done ? 
 
 Lor. Depazzi has remembered. — \Aside. 
 
 My, lord, there is no safety for the state. 
 Unless you personally appease them, 
 
 Duke. How? 
 
 Lor. I hope they'll tear him ; would he were dead any 
 way ! \Aside. 
 
 Alon. He hath counselled well. 
 
 Cos. Your presence only hath the power to charm them. 
 
 Duke. I fear their rage : where is our guard ? 
 Alonzo, haste afore, proclaim our pardon. 
 And that we live to give the offenders mercy. 
 Why are we born to greatness, mocked with state, 
 When every tumult staggers our proud fate ? 
 
 Sd. [Aside to LoR.] — Our quarrel is deferred, sir. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
^^ft 
 
 M 
 
 
 
 M 
 
 B 
 
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 £S 
 
 ^^R 
 
 ^M 
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in Lorenzo's House. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 ,0R. My plots thrive notj my engines 
 all deceive me, 
 And in the very point of their dis- 
 charge 
 Recoil with danger to myself: are 
 
 there 
 No faithful villains left in nature ? all 
 Turned honest? man nor spirit aid Lorenzo, 
 Who hath not patience to expect his fate. 
 But must compel it. How Sciarrha played 
 The dog-bolt with me ! and had not I provided 
 In wisdom for him, that distress had ruined me. 
 His frozen sister, Amidea, too. 
 Hath half converted him ; but I must set 
 New wheels in motion, to make him yet 
 More hateful, and then cut him from his stalk. 
 Ripe for my vengeance. I'll not trust the rabble ; 
 Confusion on 'em ! — the giddy multitude. 
 That, but two minutes ere "the duke came at them, 
 Bellowed out "Liberty," shook the city with 
 Their throats, no sooner saw him, but they melted 
 With the hot apprehension of a gallows : 
 And when a pardon was proclaimed (a fine 
 State-snaffle for such mules), they turned iheir cry 
 To acclamations, and deafed Heaven to beg 
 
138 THE IRAITOR. [ACT IV. 
 
 His long and prosperous reign. A sudden rot 
 Consume this base herd ! an the devil want 
 Any cattle for his own teeth, these are for him. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Sciarrha, my lord, desires to speak with you. 
 Lor. Sciarrha ! come near — [ Whispers ^m.]— you 
 understand ? admit hinv \Exit Serv. 
 
 Enter Sciarrha. 
 Welcome, my noble lord ; 
 You were not wont to visit me. 
 
 Sci. Nor mean 
 Ever to do't again. 
 
 Lor. You bring frowns ; 
 I can be sullen too : what is your pleasure ? 
 
 Sci. You have abused me. 
 
 Lor. You have injured me. 
 
 Sci. In what ? 
 
 Lor. Betrayed me basely to the duke. 
 
 Sci. You denied then you were a traitor ? 
 
 Lor. Yes, 
 I was no fool to run my neck upon 
 The axe, and give you such a cause of triumph. 
 Were it again in question — 
 
 Sci. You are a villain, sir. 
 And I 
 
 Must have it certified under your own hand. 
 To show the duke. 
 
 Lor. You shall be humbled to 
 Confess the contrary, nay, subscribe 
 That I am honest, and desire my pardon. 
 Look, I have a sword, and ami, and vigour ; 
 Dare fight with thee, didst ride upon a whirlwind, 
 Provoke thee on a rock, in waves, in fire, 
 And kill thee without scruple ; such a strength 
 , Is innocence. 
 
 Sci. Innocence ! dost not fear a thunderbolt ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 
 
 139 
 
 I shall be charitable to the world, an I 
 
 Cut thee in pieces ; and yet then I fear 
 
 Thou wilt come together again : the devil does 
 
 Acknowledge thee on earth the greater mischief, 
 
 And has a fear, when thou art dead, he shall not 
 
 Be safe in hell ; thou wilt conspire with some 
 
 Of his black fiends, and get his kingdom from him. 
 
 Didst not thou rail upon the duk - " 
 
 Lor. I grant it. 
 
 Sci. Call him a tyrant ? 
 
 Lor. More, I do confess 
 I did exasperate you to kill or murder him ; 
 Give it what name you please ; with joy I broucrht him, 
 Under the colour of your guest, to be 
 The common sacrifice : all this I remember ; 
 But is Heaven's stock of mercy spent already, 
 That sins, though great and horrid, may not be 
 Forgiven, to the heart that groans with penitence ? 
 Are the eternal fountains quite sealed up ? 
 I was a villain, traitor, murderer. 
 In my consenting to his death, but hope 
 Those stains are now washed off. 
 
 Sci. Hast thou repented ? 
 
 Lor. Trust me, I have. 
 
 Sci. The devil is turned religious ! 
 Augment not thy damnation. 
 
 Lor. As he was 
 A lustful duke, a tyrant, I had lost him. 
 In his return to piety, he commanded 
 My prayers, and fresh obedience to wait on him \ 
 He's now ray prince again. 
 
 Sci. This is but cunning 
 To save your life. 
 
 Lor. My life ! — Within there ! Ha ! Welcome. 
 
 Enter divers Gentlemen armed. 
 \si- Gent. My gracious lord. 
 
140 THE TRAITOR, [act iv. 
 
 2nd Gent. Wilt please your honour 
 Command my service ? 
 
 ird Gent. Or me ? 
 
 /^th Gent. Or any ? 
 
 ^th Gent. Our swords and lives are yours. 
 
 Sci. Perhaps your lordship hath some business 
 with 
 These gentlemen, I'll take some other time. 
 
 Lor. By no means, good Sciarrha : 
 You visit seldom ; those are daily with me, . 
 Men that expect employment, that wear swords, 
 And carry spirits, both to be engaged. 
 If I but name a cause. — Gentlemen draw. 
 
 Sci. My providence has betrayed me. \Aside. 
 
 Lor. Now, Sciarrha, 
 You that with single valour dare come home 
 To affront me thus ; know, but too late, thy heart 
 Is at the mercy of my breath : these swords 
 Can fetch it when I please ; and, to prevent 
 Your boast of this great daring — I beseech. 
 As you do love and honour your Lorenzo, 
 No hand advance a weapon, sheath again, 
 And leave us ; I owe service to your loves. 
 But must not so dishonour you. 
 
 All Geiit. We obey. [Exeimi. 
 
 Sci. They're gone : this is some nobleness. [Aside. 
 
 Lor. You see 
 I do not fear your sword ; alone, I have, 
 Too much advantage ; yet you may imagine 
 How easily I could correct this rashness : 
 But in my fear to offend gracious Heaven 
 With a new crime, having so late obtained 
 My peace, I give you freedom. 
 
 Sci. Do I dream? 
 
 Lor. Pray chide me still, I will be patient 
 To hear my shame. 
 
 Sci. Is this to be believed ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 141 
 
 Doth not Lorenzo counterfeit this virtue ? 
 He does : it is impossible he should repent. 
 
 Lor. Why ? tell me, Sciarrha, and let us argue awhile 
 In cooler blood ; did not you once resolve 
 To kill the duke too ? 
 
 Sci. I confess — 
 
 Lor. To give him death with your own hand ? 
 Methinks it should be the same parricide 
 In you, if not a greater ; yet you changed 
 Your purposes ; why did you not go through. 
 And murder him ? 
 
 Sci. He was converted. 
 
 Lor. Good ! 
 That taught you mercy, and perhaps repentance 
 For your intent. 
 
 Sci. It did. 
 
 Lor. AVhy should not, sir, 
 The same conversion of the duke possess 
 My heart, with as much piety to him. 
 And sorrow for myself? If I should say 
 You are but cunning in this shape of honesty, 
 And still suspect your soul to be a traitor. 
 Might you not blame my want of charity ? 
 
 Sci. He says but right, we are both men, frail things. 
 
 \Aside. 
 'Tis not impossible. 
 
 Lor. I am reconciled 
 To Heaven already, and the duke: if you 
 Be still unsatisfied, I am ready, sir — 
 
 Sci. The circumstance considered, I incline 
 To think this may be honest. 
 
 Lor. Come, Sciarrha, 
 We are both hasty : pardon my rash language 
 In the beginning, I will study service 
 Shall make you 16ve me ; I have been too wicked, 
 Too full of passion, inexorable : 
 My nature is corrected ; at this minute 
 
142 THE TRAITOR. [act iv. 
 
 I'm friends with all the world, but in your love 
 Shall number many blessings. 
 Set. I am converted. 
 
 Enter Petruchio. 
 
 Lor. [Takes Pet. aside.] — What's the news? 
 
 Pet. My lord, Depazzi prays some conference 
 In the next chamber ; we arrived by chance 
 Together at your gate : I do not like 
 His talk, sir. 
 
 Zor. Hang him, property ! let him 
 Expect ; thou art come in the opportunity 
 I could have wished ; be wise, and second me. 
 
 [ Whispers him. 
 
 Sci. He waits upon Pisano, 
 Whose health I may enquire ; I have not seen him 
 Since he departed sick ; a fit occasion. 
 
 Lor. [Aloud.] Married to Oriana? thou mistak'st, 
 'Tis Amidea, Lord Sciarrha's sister. 
 
 Pet. That contract's broken, and the old lady Morosa 
 is violent to have the marriage finished with her daughter. 
 
 Lor. [ Coming forward. ] — S ciarrha, 
 Is't true Pisano marries Oriana, 
 The rich Morosa's daughter ? 
 
 Sci. Ha! 
 
 Lor. We did expect to hear your sister should 
 Have been his bride ; has he forsaken Amidea ? 
 
 Sci. Do not you serve Pisano ? 
 
 Pet. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Sci. And dare you talk he's to be married 
 To Oriana? 
 
 Pet. If they Kve till to-morrow : 
 There's great provision, to my knowledge, and — 
 
 Sci. Take that, and learn to speak a truth hereafter. 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 
 Lor. That blow shall cost his life. — [Aside. 
 
 It is not possible he dare affront 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 143 
 
 You thus ; the world takes notice of a contract ; 
 He's much to blame if he should wrong so sweet 
 A lady as Amidea. Now, by Hymen, 
 'Tis not so honourable ; he need not scorn 
 Such an alliance. 
 
 Pet. I am not to give 
 Account for my lord's actions, let him answer 
 And justify his honour : but, my lord, 
 Since I am provoked, I must declare he has 
 Called back his vows to Amidea, given 
 Her freedom, and does mean to use his own,. 
 And this he dares publish. 
 
 Lor. What ! disclaimed 
 A lady of her birth and glorious merit ? 
 
 Sci. Thou art a villain. 
 
 Lor. My lord, he is not worth your anger ; he 
 Declares but what his master hath committed, 
 'Tis none of his fault. 
 
 Pet. It becomes my duty 
 To take correction, my lord, from you ; 
 I am a servant, a poor gentleman. 
 
 Sci. Shall I 
 Suspect the circumstance at his departure ? \Aside. 
 
 Lor. It is strange you knew not this before. 
 
 Sci. I must examine if he dares — 
 
 iMr. Be patient. 
 
 Sci. Teach fools and children patience. 
 May dogs eat up Sciarrha : let me live 
 The prodigy of sorrow ; die a death 
 That may draw tears from Scythians, if Pisano 
 Lead o'er his threshold any soon-won dame, 
 To be my sister's shame ! I am calm now. 
 One thus false, Heaven, why should thy altars save ? 
 'Tis just that Hymen light him to his grave. {Exit. 
 
 Lor. A thousand Furies swell his rage ! although 
 Pisano bleed, this is the safest killing ; 
 Wise men secure their fates, and execute 
 
144 
 
 THE TRAITOR. [act IV. 
 
 Invisibly, like that most subtle flame 
 
 That burns the heart, yet leaves no part or touch 
 
 Upon the skin to follow or suspect it. — 
 
 Farewell, dull, passionate fool ! how this doth feed me ; 
 
 Kill, and be lost thyself ; or, if his sword 
 
 Conclude thy life, both ways I am revenged. 
 
 Petruchio, thou didst hit my instructions rarely, 
 
 And I applaud thee : now send in Depazzi, 
 
 And visit me anon. 
 
 Pet. I shall, my lord. \Exit. 
 
 Lor. Some politician. 
 That is not wise but by a precedent, 
 Would think me weak for using such an ins'trument 
 As this Depazzi ; but I know by proof, 
 Such men whom fear and honour make our creatures, 
 Do prove safe engines ; fools will still obey. 
 When cunning knaves our confidence betray. 
 
 Enter Depazzi. 
 
 Dep. My lord, I would speak a word or two in private. 
 
 Lor. You may. 
 
 Dep. Is no body within hearing ? all clear behind the 
 arras? 
 
 Lor. Make do doubt, sir. 
 
 Dep. My lord, the truth is — I am very fearful — is your 
 lordship sure there are no eaves-droppers ? 
 
 Lor. What needs this circumstance ? I pray come to 
 the point. 
 
 Dep. 'Tis not unknown to your lordship, that you 
 have been my very good lord,' neither am I ignorant, 
 that I am your humble servant; you advanced me, 
 brought me into the number of the nobles, and I brought 
 you a reasonable number of crowns : I am not the first 
 wise citizen that hath been converted into a foolish 
 courtier j but, my lord, I beseech you pardon me :— it 
 will out. 
 
 ' i.e. My patron. 
 
SCENE 1.] THE TRAITOR. 145 
 
 Lor. What's the matter? 
 
 Dep. I am ready to burst. 
 
 Lor. With what ? 
 
 Dep. Treason, treason; — now 'tis out, and I feel my 
 body the lighter for it already. The last plot did not 
 take, you see ; and I would humbly entreat your lordship 
 to excuse me, and get somebody else hereafter to be your 
 traitor, in my stead. 
 
 Lor. How, sir? 
 
 Dep. If you did but know the tenderness of my con- 
 stitution, or feel the pangs and convulsions that I suffer, 
 you would pity me : I fall away, you see, I cannot sleep 
 for dreaming of an axe ; I have caused my hangings of 
 Holofemes to be taken down in my drawing-room, be- 
 cause I dare not look upon a head that is cut off in it, 
 something of my complection : my wisdom tells me I am a 
 fool to be so fearful ; but my conscience tells me I am a 
 greater fool if I have not wit enough in my pate to keep 
 my head on my shoulders. I beseech your lordship take me 
 into your consideration ; I am but a mortal, though I be 
 a lord ; every man hath not the like gift of impudence ; 
 I have a weak stomach, and treason is physic to me, and 
 although I do not vomit up your secrets, they may out 
 some other way. 
 
 Lor. You will not betray me ? 
 
 Dep. But alas ! in such a case I may soon bewray my- 
 self, and then your lordship may be srnelt out : to pre- 
 vent, therefore, some mischief that may happen, I desire 
 to leave off while I am well, and that your lordship may 
 know I mean plainly, I have brought you all your letters ; 
 I durst not trust any other place with them, for fear of 
 state rats ; I have unript my bosom to you, and there 
 they are to a title — now, I may safely swear I have no 
 hand with your lordship. 
 
 Lor. This is very strange. 
 
 Dep. Mistake not, my good lord, I am still your 
 creature, but I have a great mind to be honest a little, 
 
146 THE TRAITOR. [act iv. 
 
 while among the weaker sort of notiUty : yet thus much 
 persuade yourself, I will never wrong your lordship in a 
 syllable ; should you tell me of a thousand treasons and 
 stratagems, I will never reveal any; I scorn that: but 
 your lordship must pardon me, I will be a traitor no 
 longer, that's certain, I will be honest, and the rather 
 because no body shall hit me in the teeth after I am 
 dead, and say, " Look where Depazzi carries his head 
 very high ! " — And, my lord, the more to induce your 
 lordship to dismiss me — Rogero ! 
 
 Enter Rogero. 
 
 Rog. My lord. 
 
 Def. Give me the gold. — I have brought fifteen hun- 
 dred crowns more. 
 
 Lor. Wherefore? 
 
 Dep. That I may have your lordship's good will, to 
 leave my office before it be taken from me, and preferred 
 to a worse ; 'tis half the price I paid for't. I love peace, 
 and a little honesty ; I know your honour will find an 
 abler man for it, and it is fit I should pay for my quietus. 
 
 Lor. And what do you resolve? 
 
 Dep. To return to the dunghill, from whence I came ; 
 for though I was born in the city, I have some land in 
 the country, dirty acres, and mansion-house, where I will 
 be the miracle of a courtier, and keep good hospitality, 
 love my neighbours, and their wives, and consequently 
 get their children;- be admired amongst the justices, sleep 
 upon every bench, keep a chaplain in my own house to 
 be my idolater, and furnish me with jests ; and when I 
 have nothing else to do, I will think of the court, and 
 how much I have been obliged to your lordship. My 
 lord, I may do you service with a leading voice in the 
 country ; the kennel will cry on my side if it come to 
 election : you or your friend shall carry it against the 
 commonwealth. 
 
 Lor, Well, sir, since you have expressed yourself so 
 freely, I will not counsel you against your disposition to 
 
SCENE 1.] THE TRAITOR: 147 
 
 stay at court ; you may go when and whither you please ; 
 and though at parting I have nothing worth your accep- 
 tation, I will bestow these crowns upon your servant. 
 
 \Gives RoGERO the money. 
 
 Dep. Thou shalt give them me again. 
 
 Rog. Indeed, my lord, I love a little honesty, 'tis his 
 lordship's bount)', it will be a stock to set me up for 
 myself at court, when your lordship is retired into the 
 country. — I humbly thank your lordship, and take my 
 leave of yours. \Exit with the money. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The duke, my lord. \Eidt Servant. 
 
 Dep. How ! the duke ? 
 
 Enter the Duke. 
 
 Duke. Signior Depazzi. • 
 
 Lor. He has been earnest with me, an't please your 
 . highness, 
 To be his humble suitor, he may have 
 Freedom to leave the court. 
 
 Duke. He shall be banished. 
 
 Dep. How? 
 
 Im'. What time will your grace allow him to provide ? 
 
 Duke. Two hours. 
 
 Dep. I had rather lose my head at home, and save 
 charges of travel, I beseech your grace. 
 
 Duke. Well, 'tis granted ; let him not trouble us. 
 
 Lor. Enjoy the country, and return when the duke 
 sends for you. 
 
 Dep. I humbly thank his highness, and will pray for 
 your increase of grace. \Exit. 
 
 Duke. Lorenzo, are we private_? 
 
 Lor. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Duke. I am very melancholy. 
 
 Lor. I know the cause, 'tis Amidea. 
 
 Duke. Right. 
 
 Lor. I do wish her dead. 
 
148 THE TRAITOR. [ACT IV. 
 
 Duke. It were a sin. 
 
 Lor. Not in Heaven, sir; yet there be ladies, that 
 would think it a promotion. 
 
 Duke. It were a pity she should leave the world, 
 Till she hath taught the rest by her example 
 The nearest way. 
 
 Lor. I am very confident she's yet honest.' 
 
 Duke, Yet, Lorenzo ? 
 
 Lor. Ay, sir, but I'm not of opinion 
 It is impossible to know a change. 
 
 Duke. Take heed. 
 
 Lor. I must confess she has been very valiant. 
 In making you remove your siege, and showed a 
 Pretty dexterity at the poniard ; 
 Let herself blood ; — but this a mortal virgin 
 Might do, and not be adored for't : other women 
 Have gone as far, or else false legends have 
 Been thrust upon the easy world; some say 
 There have been creatures that have killed themselves, 
 To save their sullen chastities ; but I 
 Have no strong faith that way ; yet you were startled 
 To see her strike her arm, and grew compassionate. 
 
 Duke. I was not marble ; we break adamant 
 With blood,' and could I be a man, and not 
 Be moved to see that hasty ebb of life 
 For my sake ? 
 
 Lor. I have read some aged stories : 
 What think you of Lucrece ? she is remembered. 
 
 Duke. Chastity's great example. 
 
 Lor. How the world 
 Was cozened in her? she knew of Tarquin first, 
 And then suspecting she should never meet 
 Again the active gentleman, and having 
 Determined of his death, with well dissembled 
 
 ' Chaste. 
 
 * This is a very ancient notion ; it is mentioned by Greene and 
 Lyly, and many more of our old writers, who had it from Plinyj 
 Solinus, Stc.—Giford. 
 
SCENE I,] THE TRAITOR. 149 
 
 Sorrow did stab herself, in hope to meet 
 
 The gamester in Elysium. Amidea 
 
 You will allow beneath this Roman dame ? 
 
 Duke. Lorenzo, had the burning ravisher 
 Made this attempt on Amidea, she 
 Would have compelled his penitence, to quench 
 His fire with holy tears. I had a body 
 Refined to air, or I was borne up by 
 A thousand wings : methought I could have flown 
 And kissed the cheek of Cynthia, thence with ease 
 Have leaped to Venus' star, but I was wounded, 
 And the gay feathers, in whose pride I had 
 My confidence, served now but with their weight 
 To hasten me to earth. 
 
 Lor. Ascend again. 
 And fix in your loved orb ; he brings this comfort 
 That can assure it, if you have not lost 
 A heart to entertain with love and pleasure 
 The beauteous Amidea. 
 
 Duke. Ha! 
 
 Lor. You shall enjoy her. 
 
 Duke. Enjoy fair Amidea? do not tempt 
 Or rather mock my frailty with such promise. 
 
 lj)r. Shake off your melancholy slumber, I 
 Have here decreed you shall possess her : she 
 Be sent submissive to your arms, and you 
 Be gracious to accept what she made coy of. 
 
 Duke. Is this in nature? 
 
 Lor. Thus : Sciarrha's life 
 And fortunes are already growing forfeit, 
 These brains have plotted so : your mercy shall 
 Purchase what you can wish for, in his sister ; 
 And he acknowledge rifling of her honour 
 A fair and cheap redemption. 
 
 Duke. Do this ; 
 And I'll repent the folly of my penitence, 
 And take thee to my soul, a nearer pledge,. 
 
ISO THE TRAITOR. [ACT IV, 
 
 Than blood or nature gave me : I'm renewed, 
 I feel my natural warmth return. When, where 
 Is this to be expected ? I grow old. 
 While our embraces are deferred. 
 
 Lor. I go 
 To hasten your delight ; prepare your blood 
 For amorous game : Sciarrha's fate is cast 
 Firmer than destiny. 
 
 Duke. Thou art my prophet, 
 I'll raise thee up an altar. 
 
 Lor. Trust these brains. 
 
 Duke. Thou makest my spirit caper in my veins. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 
 Cosmo and Two Gentlemen appear at an Upper 
 Window. 
 
 1st Gent. This way they pass. 
 
 Cos. I would not see them. 
 
 2nd Gent. Why? 
 
 1st Gent. What ! melancholy o' the sudden ? it is now 
 Past cure. 
 
 Cos. I know it is, and therefore do not 
 Desire to witness their solemnity. 
 Should Oriana see me to-day — 
 
 2nd Gent. What then? 
 
 Cos. The object, 
 I fear, would be too prodigious. 
 
 2nd Gent. We dispute not 
 Those nice formalities. 
 
 Enter Alonzo, Pisano, Oriana, and Moros a. 
 1st Gent. She has spied you already. 
 Cos. I am sorry for't. 
 
 [Oriana /^Mi/'j-. Cosmo and Gentlemen retire. 
 
SCENE li.] THE TRAITOR. 151 
 
 Mor. How is't, my child ? 
 
 Pis. My dearest Oriana ; — 
 She faints ! what grief is so unmannerly 
 To interrupt thee now ? Oriana ! 
 
 Mor. Daughter! 
 
 Pis. Will Heaven divorce us ere the priest have made 
 Our marriage perfect ? we in vain hereafter 
 Shall hear him teach, that our religion binds 
 To have the church's ceremony. She returns. 
 
 Ori: Why were you so unkind to call me from 
 A pleasing slumber ? Death has a fine dwelling. 
 
 Abn. This shows her heart's not yet coiisenting ; 'tis 
 Her mother's fierce command. 
 
 Ori. Something spake to me from that window. 
 
 Pis. There is nothing. 
 
 Ori. Nothing now. 
 
 Pis. Set forward. 
 
 Alon. I do not like this interruption ; it 
 Is ominous. 
 
 Enter Amidea hastily. 
 
 Ami. Not for my sake, but for your own, go back, 
 Or take some other way, this leads to death; 
 My brother — 
 
 IH.S. What of him ; 
 
 Ami. Transported with 
 The fury of revenge for my dishonour, 
 As he conceives, for 'tis against my will, 
 Hath vowed to kill you in your nuptial glory. 
 Alas ! I fear his haste ; now, good my lord, 
 Have mercy on yourself; I do not beg 
 Your pity upon me, I know too well 
 You cannot love me now, nor would I rob 
 This virgin of your faith, since you have pleased 
 To throw me from your love : I do not ask 
 One smile, nor one poor kiss ; enrich this maid, 
 Created for those blessings ; but again 
 
152 THE TRAITOH. [ACT IV. 
 
 I would beseech you, cherish your own life, 
 Though I be lost for ever. 
 
 Alon. It is worth 
 Your care, my lord, if there be any danger. 
 
 Pis. Alas ! her grief hath made her wild, poor lady 
 I should not love Oriana to go back ; 
 Set forward. — Amidea, you may live 
 To be a happier bride : Sciarrha is not 
 So irreligious to profane these rites. 
 
 Ami. Will you not then beHeve me ? — Pray persuade 
 him, 
 You are his friends. — Lady, it will concern 
 You most of all, indeed ; I fear you'll weep 
 To see him dead, as well as I. 
 
 Pis. No more ; 
 Go forward. 
 
 Ami. I have done ; pray be not angry. 
 That still I wish you well : may Heaven divert 
 All harms that threaten you ; full blessings crown 
 Your marriage ! I hope there is no sin in this ; 
 Indeed, I cannot choose but pray for you. 
 This might have been my wedding-day — 
 
 Ori. Good Heaven, 
 I would it were ! my heart can tell, I take 
 No joy in being his bride, none in your prayers ; 
 You shall have my consent to have him still • 
 I will resign my place, and wait on you. 
 If you will marry him. 
 
 Ami. Pray do not mock me. 
 But if you do, I can forgive you too. 
 
 Ori. Dear Amidea, do not think I mock 
 Your sorrow J by these tears, that are not worn 
 By every virgin on her wedding-day, 
 I am compelled to give away myself : 
 V'our hearts were promised, but he ne'er had mine. 
 Am not I wretched too. 
 
 Ami. Alas, poor maid ! 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 153 
 
 We two keep sorrow alive then ; but I prithee, 
 When thou art married, love him, prithee love him, 
 For he esteems thee well ; and once a day 
 Give him a kiss for me ; but do not tell him, 
 'Twas my desire : perhaps 'twill fetch a sigh 
 From him, and I had rather break my heart. 
 But one word more, and Heaven be with you all, — 
 Since you have led the way, I hope, my lord. 
 That I am free to marry too ? 
 
 Bs. Thou art. 
 
 Ami. Let me beseech you then, to be so kind. 
 After your own solemnities are done. 
 To grace my wedding; I shall be married shortly. 
 
 Pis. To whom ? 
 
 Ami. To one whom you have all heard talk of. 
 Your fathers knew him well : one, who will never 
 Give cause I should siispect him to forsake me ; 
 A constant lover, one whose lips, though cold, 
 Distil chaste kisses : though our bridal bed 
 Be not adorned with roses, 'twill be green ; 
 We shall have virgin laurel, cypress, yew. 
 To make us garlands ; though no pine do burn. 
 Our nuptial shall have torches, and our chamber 
 Shall be cut out of marble, where we'll sleep. 
 Free from all care for ever :- Death, my lord, 
 I hope, shall be my husband. Now, farewell ; 
 Although no kiss, accept my parting tear. 
 And give me leave to wear my willow here. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Sciarrha ; followed at a distance by Lorenzo, 
 with a Guard. 
 
 Akn. Sciarrha ! then I prophesy — 
 
 Sci. Pisano ! where's Pisano ? 
 
 Pis. Here, Sciarrha. 
 I should have answered with' less clamoui. 
 
 Sci. But 
 I would not lose my voice ; I must be heard, 
 
1 54 THE TRAITOR. [ACT IV. 
 
 And it does concern you. I profess no augury, 
 
 I have hot quartered out the heavens, to talce 
 
 The flight of birds, nor by inspection 
 
 Of entrails made a divination ; 
 
 But I must tell you, 'tis not safe to marry. 
 
 Pis. Why? 
 
 Sci. 'Twill be fatal j Hymen is gone abroad, 
 And Venus, lady of your nativity. 
 Is found, by wise astrologers, this day, 
 I' the House of Death. 
 
 Pis. This must not fright me, sir. — Set forward. 
 
 Sci. One cold word, — ^you are a villain ! 
 I do not flatter. 
 
 Pis. I am patient : 
 This day I consecrate to love, not anger j 
 We'll meet some other time. 
 
 Sci. Deride my fury? 
 Then to thy heart I send my own revenge, \Stdbs him. 
 And Amidea's. 
 
 Pis. I am murdered. 
 
 Mor. Help ! murder ! gentlemen ! oh, my unhappiness ! 
 [Lorenzo and. Guard come forward. 
 
 Pis. Bloody Sciarrha ! 
 
 \I)ies. They offer to seize Sciarrha. 
 
 Lor. Hold! 
 
 Sci. Come all at once ; 
 Yet let me tell you, my revenge is perfect. 
 And I would spare your blood, if you despise not 
 My charity — 
 
 Lor. No man attempt his death ; 
 I'll give you reasons : this fell deed deserves 
 An exemplary justice. 
 
 Sci. I am above 
 Your politic reach, and glory in the wound 
 That punished our dishonour. Is he dead ? 
 I would not be so miserable, not to have sped him, 
 For the empire. 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 
 
 155 
 
 Enter Cosmo. 
 
 Cos. Oh, my friend ! poor Oriana ! 
 
 Lor. [7b ^.^e Guard.] — Disarm him: 
 ■Return and comfort one another ; some 
 Remove Pisano's body, while I make it 
 My care Sciarrha 'scape not. 
 
 \Exeunt, bearing the body of Pisano, all but 
 Lorenzo, Sciarrha, and Guard. 
 
 Sci. None of all 
 Give me a scratch ? ^ 
 
 Lor. [To the Guard.] — You have forced him with dis- 
 
 Sci. Now what must I expect ? [cretion.. 
 
 Lor. You are my prisoner. 
 
 Set. I am so. 
 
 Lor. And be confident to find 
 That favour. — 
 
 Sci. Favour! 
 
 Lor. Be at distance more. — \The Guard retire. 
 
 My lord, I am sorry for your great misfortune, 
 And if you can but study how I may 
 Assist you, you shall soon discern my love, 
 My readiness to serve you. 
 
 Sci. Ha ! this honest ? 
 
 Lor. I would deserve your faith, 
 A friend but in affliction justifies 
 His heart and honour, I durst run some hazard, 
 Yight I secure your fate ; name something to me 
 J ml may declare my friendship. 
 
 Scii Be still safe. 
 And teach the world repentance for mistaking thee ; 
 I pity not myself, but envy thy 
 Heroic honours. 
 
 Lor. I will impose no more 
 Restraint, than your own house ; you're honourable : 
 You have many severe enemies ; the duke 
 Looked graciously upon Pisano, but — 
 
iS6 THE TRAITOR. [ACT IV. 
 
 Set. You shall not lose the smallest beam of favour, 
 To buy a man so desperate. I never 
 Thought death the monster that weak men have fancied, 
 As foil to make us more in love with life. 
 The devil's picture may affright poor souls 
 Into their bodies' paleness, but the substance 
 To resolute man's a shadow ; and cold sweat 
 Dare not approach his forehead. I am armed 
 To die, and give example of that fortitude 
 Shall shame the law's severity : my sister 
 May now give back Pisano his false vows. 
 To line his coffin : one tear shed on me is 
 Enough, the justice I have done shall make 
 My memory beloved. 
 
 Lor. I have thought a way 
 To recover you, if you incline to it ; 
 Dare you consent ? 
 
 Sci. To any thing that's noble ■ 
 Although I never feared to suffer, I 
 Am not so foolish to despise a life. 
 
 Lor. There is no difficulty attends it ; listen, 
 The time will not permit much circumstance : 
 The duke, you know, did love your sister. 
 
 Sci. Viciously. 
 
 Lor. Her virtue did but cool him for the present, 
 As sprinklings on a flame ; he's now more passionate 
 To enjoy her. 
 
 Sci. Ha! 
 
 Lor. If she consent to meet 
 His soft embrace, with his first kiss he seals 
 Your pardon ; then the act upon Pisano 
 Appears a true revenge, when none dares question it. 
 Beside addition of state and fortune. 
 To you and Amidea, weigh your danger. 
 And what a trifle she gives up, to save 
 Your life, that never can be valued. 
 Less recompensed ; the duke may be so taken 
 
sCteNE II.] THE TRAITOR. 157 
 
 With her return to his delight, who knows 
 
 But he may marry her, and discharge his duchess 
 
 With a quaint salad — > You do apprehend me ? 
 
 Sci. And repent more I had one good thought of thee, 
 Than I had killed a thousand : — save my life, 
 And prostitute my sister ! Though I have 
 No weapon, I will look thee dead, or breathe 
 A damp shall stifle thee : that I could vomit 
 Consuming flames, or stones, like Etna ! make 
 The earth with motion of my feet shrink lower. 
 And take thee in aUve ! oh that my voice 
 Could call a serpent from corrupted Nile, 
 To make thee part of her accursed bowels ! 
 Is this your noble friendship ? readiness- 
 To save my life ? let malice read all stories 
 Famous for cruelty, awake dead tyrants. 
 Or be instructed by their ghosts with tortures, 
 Such as will make a damned Fury weep 
 Only to see inflicted, I would bear them. 
 And weary my tormenters, ere consent 
 In thought to thy temptation. 
 
 Lor. I have done, 
 And praise your heathen resolution 
 Of death ; go practise immortality. 
 And tell us, when you can get leave to visit ^ 
 This world again, what fine things you enjoy 
 In hell, for thither these rash passions drive thee : 
 And ere thy body hath three days inhabited 
 A melancholy chamber in the earth. 
 Hung round about with skulls and dead men's bones. 
 Ere Amidea have told all her tears 
 Upon thy marble, or the epitaph 
 Bely thy soul, by saying it is fled 
 To Heaven, this sister shall be ravished, 
 Maugre thy dust' and heraldry. 
 
 Sci. Ha! ravished 
 
 1 -A salad dressed with poisonous oils. 
 
iS8 THE TRAITOR. [act iv. 
 
 When I am dead ? Was't not so ? oh my soul ! 
 I feel it weep within me, and the tears 
 Soften my flesh : Lorenzo, I repent 
 My fury. 
 
 Lor. I advised you the best way 
 My wisdom could direct. 
 
 Sci. I thank youfor't. 
 You have awaked my reason, I am ashamed 
 I was no sooner sensible ; does the duke 
 Affect my sister still, say you ? 
 
 Lor. Most passionately. 
 
 Sci. She shall obey him then, upon my life ; 
 That's it, my life. I know she loves me dearly. 
 I shall have much ado to win her to't, 
 But she shall come ; I'll send her. 
 
 Lor. Perform this. 
 
 Sci. I will not only send her, but prepared 
 Not to be disobedient to his highness ; 
 He shall command her any thing. 
 
 Lor. Do this, 
 And be for ever happy. When these have 
 Only for form waited on you home. 
 This disengages them. 
 
 Sci. My humblest service 
 To the duke. I pray, and tell him, Amidea 
 This night shall be at his dispose, by this.^ 
 
 Lor. I'na confident ; farewell ! — Attend Sciarrha. 
 
 \ExiL 
 
 Sci. Pity the seaman, that to avoid a shelf, 
 Must strike upon a rock to save himseE, 
 
 \Exit, with Guard. 
 
 ' That is, as I conceive, by some token, probably a ring, or 
 iignet, which he puts into Lorenzo's ha.nA.—Gifford. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Sciarrha's House. 
 Enter Sciarrha and Amidea. 
 
 CI. The doors are fast ; 
 Enough is wept already for Pisano : 
 There's something else that must be 
 
 thought on, and 
 Of greater consequence: I am yet 
 unsafe, 
 That, for thy sake, am guilty of his blood. 
 
 Ami. Though all my stock of tears were spent already 
 Upon Pisano's loss, and that my brain 
 Were banquferupt of moisture, and denied 
 To lend my grief one drop. more for his funeral 
 Yet the remembrance that you have made 
 A forfeit for my sake of your dear life 
 Is able to create a weeping spring 
 Within my barren head : oh, my lost broth 
 Thou hast a cruel destiny ! my eyes, 
 In pity of thy fate, desire to drown thee. 
 The law will only seek thee upon land ; 
 Hid in my tears, thou shalt prevent the stroke 
 Kills both our name and thee. 
 Sci. I know thou lov'st me, 
 Poor girl. I shall desire to cherish life. 
 If thou lament me thus : so rich a comfort 
 
i6o THE TRAITOR. [ACT V. 
 
 Will tempt me wish I might delay my journey 
 To Heaven. 
 
 Ami. Good Heaven, that we might go together! 
 
 Sci. That must not be. 
 
 A-mi. Then let me go before. 
 
 Sci. How? 
 
 Ami. Make my suit unto the prince, my blood 
 May be your ransom ; let me die, Sciarrha, 
 My life is fruitless unto all the world ; 
 The duke in justice will not deny this : 
 And though I weep, in telUng thee, I shall 
 Smile on the scaifold. 
 
 Sci. How my honour blushes 
 To hear thee, Amidea ! in this love 
 Thou wound'st me more, than thou desir'st to save. 
 Suffer for me ? why, thou art innocent : 
 I have provoked the punishment, and dare 
 Obey it manly; if thou could'st redeem me 
 With anything but death, I think I should 
 Consent to live, but I'd not have thee venture 
 All at one chance. 
 
 Ami. Nothing can be too precious 
 To save a brother, such a loving brother 
 As you have been. 
 
 Sci. Death's a devouring gamester. 
 And sweeps up all : what think'st thou of an eye ? 
 Couldst thou spare one, and think the blemish recom- 
 pensed. 
 To see me safe with t'other ? Or a hand ? 
 This white hand, Amidea, that hath so often, 
 With admiration, trembled on the lute. 
 Till we have prayed thee leave the Strings awhile, 
 And laid our ears close to thy ivory fingers, 
 Suspecting all the harmony proceeded 
 From their own motion, without the need 
 Of any dull or passive instrument. 
 No, Amidea, thou shalt not bear one scar* 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. i6i 
 
 To buy my life ; the sickle shall not touch 
 A flower that grows so fair upoiuhis stalk ; 
 Thy t'other hand will miss a white companion, 
 And wither on thy arm : what then can I 
 ' Expect from thee to save me ? I would live, 
 And owe my life to thee, so 'twere not bought 
 Too dear. 
 
 Ami. Do you believe I should not find 
 The way to Heaven ? were both mine eyes thy ransom, 
 I shall climb up those 'high and rugged cliffs 
 Without a hand. 
 
 Set. One way there is, if thou 
 Dost love me with that tenderness. 
 
 Ami. Pronounce it, 
 And let no danger that attends, incline you 
 To make a pause. 
 
 Sci. The duke, thou knOw'st, did love thee. 
 Ami. . Ha ! 
 
 Sd. Nay, do not start already, nor mistake me ; 
 I do not, as before, make trial of thee. 
 Whether thou canst, laying aside thy honour. 
 Meet his lascivious arms ; but, by this virtue, 
 I must beseech thee to forego it all, 
 And turn a sinful woman. 
 Ami. Bless me ! 
 
 Sci. I know the kingdoms of the world contain not 
 Riches enough to tempt thee to a fall 
 That will so much undo thee ; but I am 
 Thy brother, dying brother ; if thou lov'st 
 Him, therefore, that for thee hath done so much ; 
 Dyed his pale hands in blood, to revenge thee. 
 And in that murder wounded his own soul 
 Almost to death, consent to lose thy innocence ; 
 I know it makes thee grieve, but I shall live 
 To love thee better for it : we'll repent 
 Together for our sins, and pray and weep 
 Till Heaven hath pardoned all. 
 
i62 THE TRAITOR. [ACT V. 
 
 Ami. Oh, never, never. 
 
 Sci. Do but repeat thjr words, to " save my life," 
 And that will teach compassion, my life ; 
 Our shame, the stain of all our family. 
 Which will succeed in my ignoble death. 
 Thou washest off. 
 
 Ami. But stain myself for ever. 
 
 Sci. Where? In thy face, who shall behold one 
 blemish, 
 Or one spot more in thy whole frame ? thy beauty 
 Will be the very same, thy speech, thy person 
 Wear no deformity. 
 
 Ami. Oh, do not speak 
 So like a rebel to all modesty, 
 To all religion ; if these arguments 
 Spring from your jealousy that I arti fallen. 
 After a proof you did so late applaud — 
 
 Sci. I had not killed Pisano then ; I am now 
 More spotted than the marble : then my head 
 Did own no forfeiture to law, , 
 It does ache now ; then I but tried thy virtue. 
 Now my condition calls for mercy to thee. 
 Though to thyself thou appear cruel for't : 
 Come, we may live both, if you please. 
 
 Ami. I must never 
 Buy my poor breath at such a rate. Who has 
 Made you afraid to die ? I pity you. 
 And wish myself in any noble cause 
 Your leader. When our souls shall: leave this dwelling. 
 The glory of one fair and virtuous action 
 Is above all the 'scutcheons on our tomb, 
 Or silken banners over us. 
 
 Sci. So valiant ! 
 I will not interpose another syllable 
 To entreat your pity \ say your prayerSj and then 
 Thou'rt ripe to be translated from the earth, 
 To make a cherubin. 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 163 
 
 Ami. What means my brother ? 
 
 Sci. To kill you. 
 
 Ami. Do not fright me, good Sciarrha. 
 
 Sci. And I allow three minutes for devotion. 
 
 Ami. Will you murder me ? 
 
 Sci. Do you tremble ? 
 
 Ami. Not at the terror of your sword. 
 But at the horror will affright thy soul, 
 For this black deed. I see Pisano's blood 
 Is texted inthy forehead, and thy hands 
 Retain too many crimson spots already ; 
 Make not thyself, by murthering of thy sister, 
 All a red letter. 
 
 Sci. You shall be the martyr.' 
 
 Ami. Yet stay.; is there no remedy but death, 
 And from your hand ? then keep your word, arid let me 
 Use one short prayer. \Kneels. 
 
 Sci. I shall relent. \Aside. 
 
 Ami. Forgive me, Heaven, and witness I have still 
 My virgin thoughts ; 'tis not to save my life, 
 But his eternal one. — 
 
 Sciarrha, give me leave to veil my face, \Rises. 
 
 I dare not look upon you, and pronounce 
 I am too much a sister ; live ; hereafter, 
 I know, you will condemn my frailty for it. 
 I will obey the duke. 
 
 Sci. Darest thou consent ? \Stabs her. 
 
 Ami. \Unveiling!\ — Oh, let me see the wound ; 
 'Tis well, if any other hand had done it : 
 Some angel tell my brother now, I did 
 But seem consenting. 
 
 Sd. Ha! "but seem"? 
 
 Ami. You may believe my last breath. 
 
 Sci. Why didst say so ? 
 
 1 The allusions here are te the custom, still observed, of printing 
 the names of the martyrs in the Roman Calendar in red letters. — 
 Gifford. 
 
164 THE TRAITOR. [ACT v. 
 
 Ami. To gain some time, in hope you might call 
 in 
 Your bloody purpose, and prevent the guilt 
 Of being -my murderer ; but Heaven forgive thee. 
 
 Sci. Again, again forgive me, Amidea, 
 And pray for me ; live but a little longer. 
 To hear me speak ; my passion hath betrayed 
 Thee to this wound, for which I know not whether 
 I should rejoice, or weep, since thou art virtuous. 
 The duke, whose soul is black again, expects thee 
 To be his whore : — Good Death, be not so hasty. — 
 The agent for his lust, Lorenzo, has 
 My oath to send thee to his bed : for otherwise, 
 In my denial, hell and they decree. 
 When I am dead, to ravish thee — mark that. 
 To ravish thee ! — and I confess, in tears 
 As full of sorrow, as thy soul of innocence, 
 In my religious care to have thee spotless, ^ 
 
 I did resolve, when I had found thee ripe. 
 And nearest Heaven, with all thy best desires. 
 To send thee to thy peace : thy feigned consent 
 Hath brought thy happiness more early to thee. 
 And saved some guilt ; forgive me altogether. 
 
 Ami. With the same heart I beg Heaven for myself; 
 Farewell. \Swoons. 
 
 Sci. Thou shalt not die yet. Amidea ! sister ! — 
 
 \Knocking within. 
 I cannot come : — 
 
 But one word more : Oh, which way went thy sou! ? 
 Or is it gone so far it cannot hear me ? — 
 
 Florio breaks open the door and enters. 
 
 Look, here's our sister ! so, so ; chafe her : 
 She may return ; there is some motion. 
 
 Fk. Sister ! 
 
 Sci. Speak aloud, Florio ; if her spirit be not 
 Departed, I will seal this passage up ; 
 
SCENE I.] THE TRAITOR. 165 
 
 I feel her breath again. — Here's Florio, would 
 Fain take his leave. — So, so, she comes ! 
 
 Flo. Amidea, 
 How came this wound ? 
 
 Ami. I drew the weapon to it : 
 Heaven knows, my brother loved me : now, I hope, 
 The duke will not pursue me with new flames. 
 Sciarrha, tell the rest : love one another 
 The time you live together ; I'll pray for you 
 In Heaven : farewell ! kiss me when I am dead, 
 You else will stay my journey. \Dks. 
 
 Sci. Didst not hear 
 An angel call her? Florio, I have much 
 To tell thee : take her up ; stay, I will talk 
 A little more with her ; she is not dead, 
 Let her alone ; — nay then, she's gone indeed. 
 But hereabouts her soul must hover stil' 
 Let's speak to that : fair spirit — 
 
 Flo. You talk idly. 
 
 Sci. Do you talk wisely then ? An excellent pattern, 
 As she now stands, for her own alabaster; 
 Or may she not be kept from putrefaction. 
 And be the very figure on her tomb ? 
 Cannot thy tears and mine preserve her, Florio ? 
 If we want brine, a thousand virgins shall 
 Weep every day upon her, and themselves. 
 In winter, leaning round about her monument. 
 Being moist creatures, stiffen with the cold. 
 And freeze into so many white supporters. 
 But we lose time.— I charge thee, by thy love 
 To this pale rehc, be instructed by me. 
 Not to thy danger ; some revenge must be. 
 And I am lost already ; if thou fall, 
 Who shall survive, to give us funeral ? \_Exeunt. 
 
i66 THE TRAITOR. [ACT v. 
 
 SCENE W.—A Room in LORENZO'S House. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo and Petruchio. 
 
 Lor. Petruchio. 
 
 Pet. My lord: 
 
 Z(v.- Thou art now my servant. 
 
 Pet. I ever was in heart yotir humblest vassah 
 
 Lor. Thou art faithful ; I must cherish thy desert; 
 I shortly shall reward it, very shortly : 
 Next morning must salute me duke • the sun 
 And I must rise together. - . . 
 
 Pet. I shall pray 
 Your glory may outshine him in your Florence, 
 And when he sets, we may enjoy your sunbeam. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis handsome flattery, and becomes a courtier, 
 
 Pet. I flatter not, my lord. 
 
 L^r. Then, thou'rt a fool : 
 No music to a great man chimes so sweetly. 
 And men must thrive ; come hither. 
 How many hast thou killed ? 
 
 Pet. But one, my lord. 
 
 Lor. But one ! 
 
 Pet. And I must owe 
 My life to your lordship, I had been hanged else. 
 
 Lor. But one ? wait at the door ; \Exit Petruchio. 
 He is 
 Not fit to kill a duke, whose hand is guilty 
 But of a single murder ; or at least 
 Not fit alone to act it : I have been 
 Practised already, and though no man see it, 
 Nor scarce the eye of Heaven, yet every day 
 I kill a prince. — Appear, thou tragic witness, 
 
 [Brings forth the duke's picture, a poniard sticking in it. 
 Which, though it bleed not, I may boast a murder. 
 Here first the duke was painted to the life. 
 But with this pencil, to the death : I love 
 My brain for the invention, and thus 
 
SCENE II.] THE TRAITOR. 167 
 
 Confirmed, dare trust my resolution. 
 
 I did suspect his youth and beauty might 
 
 Win some compassion when I came to kill him ; 
 
 Or the remembrance that he is my kinsman, 
 
 Might thrill my blood ; or something in his title 
 
 Might give my hand repulse, and startle nature : 
 
 But thus I have armed myself against all pity. 
 
 That when I come to strike, my poniard may 
 
 Through all his charms as confidently wound him, 
 
 As thus I stab his picture, and stare on it. 
 
 \Stabs the picture. 
 Methinks the duke should feel me now : is not 
 His soul acquainted? can he less than tremble, 
 When I lift up my arm to wound his counterfeit ? 
 Witches can" persecute the lives of whorh 
 They hate, when they torment their senseless figures, 
 And stick the waxen model full of pins. 
 Can any stroke of mine carry less spell 
 To wound his heart, sent with as great a malice ? 
 He smiles, he smiles Upon me ! I will dig 
 Thy wanton eyes out, and supply the dark 
 And hollow cells with two pitch-burning tapers ; 
 Then place thee porter in some charnel-house. 
 To light the coffins in. — 
 
 Re-enter Petruchio. 
 Pet. My lord. 
 
 Lor. The duke's not come already ? 
 Pet. Signior Florio 
 Desires to speak with you. 
 
 Lor. This must retire 
 Again into my closet. \Puts back the picture. 
 
 Admit him. 
 
 Enter Florio. 
 
 Welcome ! how does Sdarrha ? 
 
 • Flo. He commends 
 
 His service to your .lordship, and hath sent — 
 
i68 THE TRAITOR. [ACT V. 
 
 Lor. His sister ? 
 
 Flo. Much ado he had to affect it ; 
 He hopes his grace will quickly sign his pardon. 
 
 Lor. It shall be done. 
 
 Flo. I have a suit, my lord. 
 
 Lor. To me ? 
 
 Flo. My sister would intreat your honour, 
 She may be admitted privately, and that 
 I may have privilege to prepare her chamber : 
 She does retain some modesty, and would not 
 Trust every servant with her shame ; their eyes 
 Are apt to instruct their tongues. 
 
 Lor. I will not see her myself. 
 Command what you desire. 
 
 Flo. You are gracious. 
 
 Lor. I'll give directions instantly : poor lady, 
 This is the duke's hot blood ; but Heaven convert him ! 
 Follow me, good Florio. 
 
 Flo. I attend, my lord. 
 
 Lj)r. Things shall be carried honourably. 
 
 Flo. We are all bound to you. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Recorders'^ sound. The body of Amidea discovered on a 
 bed, prepared by two Gentlewonien. 
 
 1st Gent. This is a sad employment. 
 
 2nd Gent. The last we e'er shall do my lady. 
 
 Enter Florio. 
 
 Flo. So ; now you may return : it will become 
 Your modest duties not to enquire the reason 
 Of this strange service, nor to pubHsh what 
 You have been commanded. — [Fxeunt Gentlewomen.] — 
 
 ' Flageolets. 
 
SCENE III.] THE TRAITOR. 169 
 
 Let me look upon 
 My sister now ; still she retains her beauty, 
 Death has been kind to leave her all this sweetness. 
 Thus in a morning have I oft saluted 
 My sister in her chamber, sat upon 
 Her bed, and talked of many harmless passages ; 
 But now 'tis night, and a long night with her, 
 I ne'er shall see these curtains drawn again, 
 Until we meet in Heaven. — The duke already ! 
 
 Enter Duke and Lorenzo. 
 
 Duke. May I believe ? 
 
 Lor. Trust me, my lord, hereafter. 
 
 Duke. Call me no more thy lord, but thy companion ; 
 I will not wear that honour in my title, 
 Shall not be thine. — Who's that ? 
 
 Lor. Her brother Florio. 
 
 Duke. She is abed. 
 
 JLor. The readier for your pastime. 
 She means to make a night on't. 
 
 Fb. This shall declare thee to posterity 
 The best of sisters. — What of that ? and is not 
 A brother's life more precious than a trifle ? 
 I prithee do not sigh : how many ladies 
 Would be ambitious of thy place to-night, 
 And thank his highness ? yes, and virgins too. 
 
 Duke. He pleads for me. 
 
 Lor, He will deserve some office 'bout your person. 
 
 Duke. With what words 
 Shall I express my joy ? 
 
 Lor. I leave you, sir, to action ; Florio 
 Is soon dismissed. \Exit. 
 
 Flo. He's come : good night — 
 
 Duke. Florio! 
 
 Fb. \Coming forward\—Yo\xx slave, 
 
 Duke. My friend ! 
 Thou Shalt be near our bosom. 
 
170 
 
 THE TRAITOR. [act v. 
 
 Flo. Pleasures crown 
 Your expectation ! {Exit. 
 
 Duke. All perfect; till this minute, I could never 
 Boast I was happy : all this world has not 
 A blessing to exchange : this world ! 'tis Heaven ; 
 And thus I take possession of my saint : 
 
 \Goes up to tlie bed. 
 Asleep already ? 'twere great pity to 
 Disturb her dream, yet if her soul be not 
 Tired with the body's weight, it must convey 
 Into her slumbers I wait here, and thus 
 Seal my devotion. \Kisses the corpse.^ — ^What winter dwells 
 Upon this lip ! 'twas no warm kiss ; I'll try 
 Again — \Kisses it again.]— the snow is not so cold ; I have 
 Drunk ice, and feel a numbness spread through all 
 My blood at once. — Ha ! let me examine 
 A little better ; Amidea ! she is dead, she is dead ! 
 What horror doth invade me ? — Help, Lorenzo ! 
 Murder ! where is Lorenzo ? 
 
 Re-enter Lorenzo with Petruchio. 
 
 Lor. Here, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Some traitor's hid within the chamber; see, 
 My Amidea's dead ! 
 
 Lor. Dead ! 'tis impossible, \Goes up to the bed. 
 
 Yet, she has a wound upon her breast. 
 
 Duke. I prithee kill me : — \They stab him. 
 
 Ha ! wilt thou murder me, Lorenzo ? — Villain ! — 
 
 \To Petruchio. 
 Oh, spare me to consider ; I would live 
 A little longer : treason ! 
 
 Lor. A little longer, say you ? 
 It was my duty to obey you, sir. 
 
 Ret. Let's make him sure, my lord. 
 
 Lor. What would you say ? — No ears but ours 
 Can reach his voice ; — but be not tedious. 
 
 Duke. Oh, spare me ; I may live, and pardon thee : 
 
SCENE III.] THE TRAITOR. 171 
 
 Thy prince begs mercy from thee, that did never 
 Deny thee any thing ; pity my poor soul ; 
 I have not prayed. 
 
 Lor. I could have wished you better 
 Prepared, but let your soul e'en take his chance. 
 
 \Stabs Mm again. 
 
 Duke. No tears prevail ! oh, whither must t wander ? 
 Thus Caesar fell by Brutus. I shall tell 
 News to the world I go to, will not be 
 Believed, Lorenzo killed me. 
 
 Lor. Will it not ? . . .' ' 
 
 I'll presently put in security. .. \Sfabs Um- again. 
 
 Duke. I am coming, Amidea, I am coming;— ^ 
 For thee, inhuman murderer, expect 
 My blood shall fly to Heaven, and there inflamed. 
 Hang a prodigious meteor all thy life, 
 And when by some as bloody hand as thine 
 Thy soul is ebbing forth, it shall descend 
 In flaming drops upon thee : oh, I faint ! — 
 Thou flattering world, farewell ! let princes gather 
 My dust into a glass, and learn to spend 
 Their hour of state, that's all they have ; for when 
 That's out. Time never turns the glass agen. \Dies. 
 
 Lor. So ! 
 Lay him beside his mistress ; hide their faces. . 
 The duke dismissed the train came with him ? 
 
 Pet. He did, my lord. 
 
 Lor. Run to Sciarrha, pray him come and speak with me; 
 Secure his passage to this chamber : haste 1 — 
 
 . [.ffasV Petruchio. 
 He's dead ; I'll trust him now, and his ghost too ; 
 Fools start at shadows, I'm in love with night 
 And her complexion. 
 
 Re-enter Petruchio. 
 
 Pet. My lord, he's come without your summons. 
 Lor. Already ? leave us. {Exit Petruchio. 
 
172 THE TRAITOR. [act V. 
 
 Enter Sciarrha and Florio. 
 
 Welcome, let embraces 
 
 Chain us together. — Noble Florio, welcome : — 
 
 ^ut I must honour thy great soul. 
 
 Sci. Where's the duke ? 
 
 Lor. They are abed together. 
 
 Sci. Ha ! 
 
 Lor. He's not stirring yet : 
 Thou kill'dst thy sister, didst not ? 
 
 Sci. I preserved her. 
 
 Lor. So ! it was bravely done. 
 
 Sci. But Where's the wanton duke ? 
 
 Lor. Asleep, I tell you. , 
 
 Sci. And he shall sleep eternally. 
 
 Lor. You cannot wake him ; look you. 
 
 \Leads Sciarrha up to the bed. 
 
 Sci. Is he dead ? 
 
 Lor. And in his death we two begin our life 
 Of greatness, and of empire ; nay, he's dead. 
 
 Sci. That labour's saved. 
 
 Lor. Now I pronounce, Sciarrha, 
 Thy pardon, and to recompense thy loss, 
 The share of Florence ; I'll but wear the title. 
 The power we'll divide. 
 
 Sci. I like this well : 
 You told a tale once of a commonwealth, 
 And liberty. 
 
 Lor. It was to gain a faction 
 With discontented persons, a fine trick 
 To make a buz of reformation. 
 My ends are compassed ; hang the ribble rabble ! 
 
 Sci. Shall we sweat for the people ? lose our breath 
 To get their fame ? 
 
 Lor. I'll have it given out 
 The duke did kill thy sister. 
 
 Sci. Excellent ! 
 
SCENE III.] THE TRAITOR. 173 
 
 Lor. Having first ravished her : he cannot be 
 Too hateful ; it will dull the examination 
 Of his own death ; or, if that come to question — 
 
 Sci. What if I say, I killed him in revenge 
 Of Amidea ? they will pity me ; 
 Beside, it will be in your power to pardon 
 Me altogether. 
 
 Lor. Most discreetly thought on. 
 
 Sci. The devil will not leave us o' the sudden. 
 
 Jjyr. Rare wit ! — 
 How hastily he climbs the precipice, 
 From whence one fillip topples him to ruin. [Aside. 
 
 We two shall live like brothers. 
 
 Sci. Stay ; we two ? — 
 Now I consider better, I have no mind 
 To live at all — and you shall not— 
 I'll give you proof; if you but make a noise, 
 You gallop to the devil. 
 
 Lor. I'm betrayed. 
 
 Sci. To death inevitable. — Brother, be you 
 Spectator only. 
 
 Lor. This is somewhat noble. 
 
 Sci. Thank me not, Lorenzo ; I will not engage 
 His innocence to- blood. — Thy hands are white. 
 Preserve them, Florio, and unless my arm 
 Grow feeble, do not interpose thy sword, 
 I charge thee. 
 
 Lor. None to assist me ? help, Petmchio ! help ! 
 
 [T/ieyJg/tf. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, and offers to run at Sciarrha, but is 
 intercepted by Florio. He runs out, crying Help ! 
 Florid makes fast the door. 
 
 Stretch thy jaws wider, villain ! cry out Murder ! 
 
 Treason ! anything ; hold — ohj . 
 
 Sci. Will you not fall, colossus ? 
 
 [Lorenzo falls, and dies. 
 
174 THE TRAITOR. [act v. 
 
 Flo. Are not you hurt ? 
 
 Sci. I know not. ■ Ha ? yes, he has pricked me some- 
 where, 
 But I'll make sure of him ; \Stabs him again.] — Now must 
 
 I follow : 
 I'll fight with him in the t'other world — thy hand, 
 Florio; farewell. [Dies. 
 
 Flo. He's dead too ? 'tis in vain for me to fly. 
 
 [ Within.'] Break ope the doors ! 
 
 Flo. You shall not need. [^Ojiens the door. 
 
 Re-enter Petruchio, with Cosmo, Alonzo, Frederico, 
 and Guard. 
 
 Alon. Disarm him. 
 
 Cos. Lorenzo and Sciarrha slain ? 
 
 Alon. Where is the duke ? 
 
 Pet. Look here, my lords. 
 
 Alon. What traitor ? 
 
 Fred. See, Amidea murdered too. 
 
 Cos. I tremble ; here is a heap of tragedies. 
 
 Alon. We must have an account from Florio. 
 
 Flo. He can inform you best that brought you hither. 
 
 Alon. Lay hands upon Petruchio ! disarm him ! 
 
 Cos. What blood is that upon his sword ? 'tis fresh. 
 
 Pet. I'm caught. 
 
 Cos. To tortures with him. 
 
 Fet. Spare your fury ; know 
 'Twas the best blood in Florence : I must quit ' 
 Young Florio ; Lorenzo, and myself, 
 Are only guilty of the prince's death. 
 
 Alon. Inhuman traitors ! 
 
 Cos. But who killed Amidea ? 
 
 Flo. The duke's lust : 
 There was no other way to save her honour ; 
 My brother has revenged it here, but fate 
 Denied him triumph. 
 
 ' i.e. Acquit. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE TRAITOR. 
 
 Alon. I never heard 
 Such killing stories ; but 'tis meet we first 
 Settle the state. — Cosmo, you are the next 
 Of blood to challenge Florence. 
 
 Cos. Pray defer 
 That till the morning. Brag that murderer 
 To prison.— Florio, you must not expect 
 Your liberty, till all things be examined. — 
 Lorenzo, now I am above thy malice, 
 And will make satisfaction to Oriana. — 
 'Tis a sad night, my lords ; by these you see 
 There is no stay in proud mortaUty. 
 
 17s 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
HYiyE TqA%K. 
 
 3hir. 
 
YDE PARK was licensed in 1632, acted 
 at Drur/ Lane by her Majesty's servants, 
 and published in 1637. It appears to have 
 been a "favourite with the public. After 
 the Restoration it was revived (in 1668), 
 and Pepys tells us that horses were 
 
 brought upon the stage. 
 
To the Right Honourable 
 
 HENRY EARL OF HOLLAND/ 
 
 Knight of the ■most nohle Order of the Garter, one of his Majesty's 
 
 most Honourable Privy Council, Chancellor of the 
 
 Uni-versity of Cambridge, &'c. 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 HE comedy, in the title, is a part of your 
 lordship's command, which heretofore 
 graced and made happy by your smile, 
 when it was presented, after a long 
 silence, upon first opening of the Park) 
 is come abroad to kiss your lordship's 
 hand. The applause it once received in 
 the action, is not considerable with that 
 honour your lordship may give it in your acceptance ; 
 that was too large, and might with some narrow and 
 stoical judgment render it suspected : but this, depending 
 upon your censure (to me above many theatres) is able to 
 impart a merit to the poem, and prescribe opinion. If your 
 lordship retired from business into a calm, and at truce with 
 those high affairs wherein your counsel and spirit is fortu- 
 nately active, vouchsafe to peruse these unworthy papers, 
 y«u not only give a life to the otherwise languishing numbers, 
 but quicken and exalt the genius of the author, whose 
 heart pointeth at no greater ambition, than to beinown. 
 My Lord, 
 to your name and honour, 
 
 the most humbly devoted, ' 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 1 This was Henry Rich, the first Earl of Holland, created in the 
 23rd of James the First, and beheaded with the Duke of Hamilton 
 and IrOrd Capel, in 1648-9, " dying a martyr," as Langbaine says, 
 "to retrieve his former forfeited loyalty to his prince." — Gifford. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 
 
 Lord Bonv^ile. 
 
 Fairfield, \ 
 
 Rider, > amorous Servants to Mistress Carol. 
 
 Venture, ) 
 
 Lacy, suitor to Mistress Bonavent. 
 
 Trier, suitor to Julietta. 
 
 Bonavent, a Merchant, supposed to have been lost at sea. 
 
 JARVIS, Servant to MISTRESS BONAVENT. 
 
 Page to BONVILE. 
 
 Gentlemen. 
 
 Jockey. 
 
 Officers. 
 
 Runners. 
 
 Bagpipers. 
 
 Park-keepers, Servants, &c. 
 
 MISTRESS Carol. 
 
 Mistress Bonavent, supposed to be a Widow. 
 
 JULiETTA, Sister to Fairfield. 
 
 Waiting- woman. 
 
 Milkmaid, &c. 
 
 SCENE— London and Hyde Park. 
 

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 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 
 Enter Trier and Lacy. 
 
 RI. And how, and how ? 
 Lacy. The cause depends — 
 Tri. No mistress ? 
 Lacy. Yes, but no wife. 
 Tri. For now she is a widow. 
 Za^y. But I resolve — 
 Tri. What does she say to thee ? 
 Lacy. She says — I know not what she says— but I 
 Must take another course ; and yet she is — 
 
 Tri. A creature of much sweetness, if all tongues 
 Be just in her report ; and yet 'tis strange, 
 Having seven years expected, and so much 
 Remonstrance of her husband's loss at sea. 
 She should continue thus. 
 
 Lacy. What if she should 
 Renew the bond of her devotion 
 For seven years more ? 
 
 Tri. You^will have time enough 
 To pay in your affection. 
 
 Lacy. I would make 
 A voyage to Cassandra's temple first, 
 Aird marry a deformed maid ; yet I must 
 Confess, she gives me a fair respect. 
 
1 82 HYDE PARK. , [ACT I. 
 
 Tri. Has she 
 A hope her husband may be living yet ? 
 
 Lacy. I cannot tell ; she may have a conceit 
 Some dolphin has preserved him in the storm, 
 Or that he may be tenant to some whale, 
 Within whose belly he may practise lent. 
 And feed on fish till he be vomited 
 Upon some coast : or, having 'scaped the seas. 
 And bills of exchange failing, he might purpose 
 To foot it o'er the Alps in his return. 
 And by mischance is fallen among the mice ' 
 With whom, perhaps, he battens upon sleep, 
 Beneath the snow. 
 
 Tri. This were a vagary. 
 . Lacy. I know not what to think ; or, is she not 
 The worse for the coy lady that lives with her ? 
 
 Tri. Her kinswoman ? 
 
 Lacy. Such a malicious piece, 
 (I mean to love,) 'tis pity any place 
 But a cold nunnery should be troubled with her. 
 If all maids were but her disciples, we 
 Should have no generation, and the world, 
 For want of children, in few years undone by't : 
 Here's one can tell you more. Is not that Jarvis, - 
 The widow's servant ? 
 
 Enter Venture and Jarvis meeting. 
 
 Vent. Whither in such haste, man ? 
 Jar. I am commanded, sir, to fetch a gentleman. 
 
 Vent. To thy mistress ? to give her a heat this morning? 
 Jar. I have spied him. — With your pardon — 
 
 \Goes to Lacy. 
 
 Tri. Good morrow, Master Venture. «4 
 
 Vent. Frank Trier? 
 
 Tri. You 
 Look high and jocund, Venus has been propitious ; 
 I dreamt last night thou wert a bridegroom. 
 
SCENK I.] HYDE PARK. 183 
 
 Vent. Such a thing may be ; the wind blows now 
 From a more happy coast. 
 
 Lacy. I must leave you ; I am sent for. 
 
 Tri. To thy mistress ? 
 
 Lacy. Without more ceremony, gentlemen, my service. 
 Farewell. \^Exit. 
 
 Vent. I'll tell thee, I have a mistress. 
 
 Tri. I believe it. 
 
 Vent. And yet I have her not. 
 
 Tri. But you have hope. 
 
 Vent. Or rather certainty. 
 
 Tri. Why, I hear she is 
 A very tyrant over men. 
 
 Vent. Worse, worse, , , 
 The needle of a dial never had 
 So many waverings ; but she is touched, 
 And she points only this way now, trye north ; 
 I am her pole. 
 
 Tri. And she your Ursa minor. 
 
 Vent. I laugh to think how; other of her rivals 
 Will look, when I enjoy her. 
 
 Tri. You are not yet contracted ? 
 
 Vent. No, she changed 
 Some amorous tokens ; do you see this diamond ? 
 A toy she gave me. 
 
 Tri. 'Cause she saw you a spark. 
 
 Vent. Her flame of love is here ; and in exchange 
 She took a chain of pearl. 
 
 Tri. You'll see it hanged.. 
 
 Vent. These to the wise are arguments of love, 
 And mutual promises. 
 
 Enter Lord Bonvile and Page. 
 
 Tri. Your lordship's welcome to town : » 
 I am blest to see your honour in good health. 
 Lord B. Prithee visit my lodgings. 
 
i84 HYDE PARK. [ACT I. 
 
 Tri. I shall presume to tender my humble service. 
 
 \Exeunt Lord B. and Page. 
 
 Vent. What's he? 
 
 Tri. A-sprig of the nobility, 
 That has a spirit equal to his fortunes ; 
 A gentleman that loves clean napery. 
 
 Vent. I guess your meaning. 
 
 Tri. A lady of pleasure; 'tis no shame for men 
 Of his high birth to love a wench ; his honour 
 May privilege more sins : next to a woman, 
 He loves a running horse. — 
 Setting aside these recreations, 
 He has a noble nature, valiant, bountiful. 
 
 Vent. 1 was of his humour till I fell in love, 
 I mean for wenching ; you may guess a little, 
 By my legs ; but I will now be very honest. 
 And when I am married — 
 
 Tri. Then you are confident 
 To carry away your mistress from them all ? 
 
 Vent. From Jove himself, though he should prac- 
 tise all 
 His shapes to court her; 'tis impossible 
 She should put any trick upon me, I 
 Have won her very soul. 
 
 Tri. Her body must 
 Needs be your own then. 
 
 Vent. I have a brace of rivals. 
 Would they were here, that I might jeer them ! 
 And see how opportunely one is come ! 
 
 Enter Rider. 
 
 I'll make you a little sport. 
 
 Tri. I have been melancholy. 
 You will express a favour in't. 
 
 Rid. Master Venture ! the first man in my wish ; 
 What gentleman is. that? 
 
 Vent. A friend of mine. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 185 
 
 Rid. I am his servant; look you, we are friends, 
 And't shall appear, however things succeed, 
 That I have loved you ; and you cannot take 
 My counsel in ill part. 
 
 Vent. What is the business. 
 
 Rid. For my part, I have 
 Used no enchantment, philter, no devices 
 That are unlawful, to direct the stream 
 Of her affection ; it flows naturally. 
 
 Vent. How's this? — Prithee observe. \Asideto'Yv.\%'^. 
 
 Tri. I do, and shall laugh presently. 
 
 Rid. For your anger, 
 I wear a sword, though I have no desire 
 It should be guilty of defacing any 
 Part of your body; yet upon a just 
 And noble provocation, wherein 
 My mistress' love and honour is engaged, 
 I dare draw blood. 
 
 Tri. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Vent. A "mistress' love and honour ! " this is pretty. 
 
 Rid. I know you cannot 
 But understand me ; yet, I say I love you, 
 And with a generous breast, and in the confidence 
 You will take it kindly, I return to that 
 I promised you, good counsel ; come, leave off 
 The prosecution. 
 
 Vent, Of what, I prithee ? 
 
 Rid. There will.be less affront than to expect 
 Till the last minute, and behold the victory 
 Another's ; you may guess why I declare this. 
 I am studious to preserve an honest friendship ; 
 For though it be my glory, to be adorned 
 With trophies of her vanquished love^ 
 
 Vent. Whose lave ? 
 
 Tri. This sounds as if he jeered you. 
 
 [Aside to Venture. 
 
 Vent. Mushroom! [Draws. 
 
1 86 HYDE PARK. [act I. 
 
 Tri. What do you mean, gentlemen ? friends and fall 
 About good counsel ! [out 
 
 Vent. I'll put up again, 
 Now I think better on't. 
 
 Tri. 'Tis done discreetly. 
 Cover the nakedness'of your tool, I pray. 
 
 Vent. Why, look you, sir ; if you bestow this counsel 
 Out of your love, I thank you ; yet there is 
 No great necessity, why you should be at 
 The cost of so much breath.; things well considered : 
 A lady's love is mortal, I know that, 
 And if a' thousand men should love a woman, 
 The dice must carry her ; but one of all 
 Can wear the garland. 
 
 Tri. Now you come to him. 
 
 Vent. For my own part, I loved. the lady well, 
 But you must pardon me, if I demonstrate 
 There's no such thing as you pretend, and therefor 
 In quittance of your loving, honest counsel, 
 I would not have you build an airy castle ; 
 Her stars have pointed her another way. 
 This instrument will take her height. 
 
 \Slwws the diamond ring. 
 
 Rid. Ha! 
 
 Vent. And you may guess what cause ypu have to 
 triumph; 
 I would not tell you this, but that I love you 
 And hope you will not .run yourself into 
 The cure of Bedlam. He that wears this favour, 
 Hath sense to apprehend. 
 
 Rid. That diamond ? 
 
 Vent. Observe it perfectly, there are no trophies 
 Of vanquished love, I take it, coming toward you ; 
 " It will be less affront, than to expect 
 Till the last minute, and behold the victory 
 Another's." 
 
 Rid. That ring I gave her. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 187 
 
 Tri. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Vent. This was his gift to her ; ha, ha, ha ! 
 Have patience, spleen ; ha, ha ! 
 
 Tri. The scene is changed ! 
 
 Rid. She will not use me thus ; she did receive it 
 With all the circumstance of love. 
 
 Vent. I pity him; my eyes run o'er. Dost hear ? — 
 I cannot choose but laugh, and yet I pity thee. 
 She has a jeering wit, and I shall love her 
 More heartily for this. What dost thou think ? 
 Poor gentleman, how he has fooled himself ! 
 
 Rid. I'll to her again. 
 
 Vent. Nay, be not passionate ! 
 I' faith, thou wert too confident, I knew 
 It could not hold ; dost think I'd say so much else ? 
 I can tell thee more ; but lose her memory. 
 
 Rid. Were it more rich \He shows a chain of fear I. 
 Than that which Cleopatra gave to Antony, 
 With scorn I would return it. 
 
 Tri. She give you this chain ? 
 
 Rid. She shall be hanged in chains ere I will keep it. 
 
 Vent. Stay, stay ; let my eye 
 Examine that -this chain ? — 
 
 Rid. Who would trust woman after this ? 
 
 Vent. The very same 
 She took of me, when I received this diamond ! 
 
 Rid. Ha, ha ! you do but jest ; she will not fool 
 You o' this fashion ; look a little better. 
 One may be like another. 
 
 Vent. 'Tis the same. 
 
 Rid. Ha, ha ! I would it were, that we might laugh 
 At one another ; by this hand I will 
 Forgive her : prithee tell me — ha, ha, ha 1 
 
 Tri. You will _" carry her 
 From Jove himself, though he should practise all 
 His shapes to court her." 
 
 Rid. By this pearl, — O rogue, 
 
i88 HYDE PARK. [act I. 
 
 How I do love her for't! — be not dejected; 
 " A lady's love is mortal, one of all 
 Must wear the garland ; do not fool yourself 
 Beyond the cure of Bedlam." 
 
 Tri. She has fitted you 
 With a pair of fools' coats, and as handsomely 
 As any tailor, that had taken measure. 
 
 Vent. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Tri. Nay,, lay your heads together 
 How to revenge it ; and so, gentlemen, 
 I take my leave. \Exit. 
 
 Vent. She has abused us. 
 
 Rid. Let us take his counsel ; 
 We can be but what we are. 
 
 Vent. A pair of credulous fools. 
 
 Rid. This other fellow, Fairfield, has prevailed. 
 
 Vent. Which if he have— 
 
 Rid. What shall we do ? 
 
 Vent. I think we were best let him alone. 
 
 Rid. Do you hear? We'll to her again ; (you will 
 Be ruled by me); and tell her what we think of her. 
 
 Vent. She may come to herself, and be ashamed on't. 
 
 Rid. If she would affect one of us, for my part 
 I am indifferent. 
 
 Vent. So say I too, but to give us both the canvas ! ' — • 
 Let's walk, and think how to behave ourselves. 
 
 \Exei4nt, 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in BonAVENt's House. 
 
 Enter Mistress Bonavent and Mistress Carol. 
 
 Mis. Car. What do you mean to do with him ? 
 
 ' I.e. Dismiss us both. From the practice of journeymen 
 mechanics carrying their tools with them, when dismissed they 
 were said to get the canvas or the bag, or, as we should say, the 
 sack. 
 
SCENE 11.] HYDE PARK. 189 
 
 Mis. Bon, Thou art 
 Too much a tyrant ; the seven years are past, 
 That did oblige me to expect my husband, 
 Engaged to sea ; and though within those limits 
 Frequent intelligence hath reported him 
 Lost, both to me, and his own life, I have 
 Been careful of my vow ; and were there hope 
 Yet to embrace him, I would think another 
 Seven years no penance : but I should thus 
 Be held a cruel woman, in his certain 
 Loss, to despise the love of all mankind. 
 And therefore I resolve, upon so large 
 A trial of his constancy, at last 
 To give him the reward of his respects 
 To me, and — 
 
 Mis. Car. Marry him. 
 
 Mis. Bon. You have apprehended. 
 
 Mis. Car. No marvel if men rail upon you then. 
 And doubt whether a widow may be saved. 
 We maids are thought the worse on, for your easiness. 
 How are poor women overseen ! We must 
 Cast away ourselves upon a whining lover. 
 In charity : I hope ffiy cousin's ghost 
 Will meet you as you go to church, or if 
 You 'scape it then, upon the wedding night — 
 
 Mis. Bon. Fie ! fie ! 
 
 Mis. Car. When you are both abed, and candles out. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Nay, put not out the candles. 
 
 Mis. Car. May they bum blue -then, at his second kiss. 
 And fright him from — well, I could say something ', 
 But take your course — He's come already. 
 
 Enter Lacy. 
 Put him off but another twelvemonth. [Mis. Bonavent 
 
 walks aside with Lacy.] — So, so. 
 Oh love, into what foolish labyrinths 
 Dost thou lead us ! I would all women were 
 
1 90 HYDE PARK. [ACT I. 
 
 But of my mind, we would have a new world 
 Quickly. I will go study poetry 
 On purpose to write verses in the praise 
 Of th' Amazonian ladies, in whom only 
 Appears true valour (for the instruction 
 Of all posterity), to beat their husbands. 
 
 Lacy. How you endear your servant ! 
 
 Mis. Car. I will not 
 Be guilty of more stay. 
 
 Enter Fairfield. 
 
 Fair. Sweet lady ! 
 
 Mis. Car. You're come in time, sir, to redeem me. 
 
 Fair. Why, lady ? 
 
 .Mis, Car. You will be as comfortable as strong 
 waters ; 
 There's a gentleman — 
 
 Fair. So uncivil to affront you ? 
 
 Mis. Car. I had no patience to hear hira longer ; 
 Take his offence, before yon questioii him. 
 
 Fair. And be most happy if, by any service. 
 You teach me to deserve your fair opinion. 
 
 Mis. Car. It is not civil to eavesdrop him, but 
 I'm sure he talks on't now. 
 
 Fair. Of what ? 
 
 Mis. Car. Of love ; is any thing more ridiculous ? 
 You know I never cherish that condition : ' 
 In you 'tis the most harsh, unpleasing discord ; 
 But I hope you will be instructed better. 
 Knowing how much my fancy goes against it. 
 Talk not of that, and welcome, 
 
 Fair. You retain, 
 I see, your unkind temper ; will no thought 
 Soften your heart ? disdain agrees but ill 
 With so much beauty ; if you would persuade 
 Me not to love you, strive to ;be less fair ; 
 
 ' Humour, disposition. 
 
SCENE II.] HYDE PARK. 191 
 
 Undo that face^ and so become a rebel 
 To heaven and nature. 
 
 Mis. Car- You do love my face then ? 
 
 Fair. As heavenly prologue to your mind ; I do not 
 Doat, like Pygmalion, on the colours. 
 
 Mis. Car. No, you cannot ; his was a painted mistress. 
 Or, if it be the mind you so pretend 
 To affect, you increase my wonder of your folly. 
 For I have told you that so often. 
 
 Fair. What? 
 
 Mis. Car. My mind, so opposite to all your courtship, 
 That I had rather hear the tedious tales 
 Of HoUinshed, than any thing that trenches 
 On love. If you come fraught with any o' 
 Cupid's devices, keep them for his whirligigs ; 
 Or load the next edition of his messenger. 
 Or post, with a mad packet, I shall but laugh 
 At them, and pity you. 
 
 Fair. That pity — 
 
 Mis. Car. Do not mistake me, it shall be a very 
 Miserable pity, without love ? 
 Were I a man, and had but half that handsomeness, 
 (For though I have not love, I hate detraction). 
 Ere I would put my invention to the sweat 
 Of compliment, to court my mistress' hand. 
 And call her smile, blessing beyond a sun-beam. 
 Entreat to wait upon her, give her rings 
 With wanton, or most lamentable poesies, 
 I would turn thrasher. 
 
 Fair. This is a new doctrine. 
 From women. 
 
 Mis. Car. 'Twill concern your peace, to have 
 Some faith in it. 
 Fair. You would not be neglected ? 
 Mis. Car^ Ybu neglect 
 Yourselves, the nobleness of your birth and nature. 
 By servile flattery of this jigging, 
 
192 HYDE PARK. [act I. 
 
 And that coy mistress ; keep your privilege, 
 Your masculine property. 
 
 Fair. Is there so great 
 A happiness in nature ? 
 
 Mis. Car. There is one \Points to Lacy. 
 
 Just of your mind ; can there be such happiness 
 In nature ? Fie upon't, if it were possible, 
 That ever I should be so mad to love. 
 To which, I thank my stars, I am not inclined, 
 I should not hold such servants worth my garters, 
 Though they would put me in security 
 To hang themselves, and ease me of their visits. 
 
 Fair. You are a strange gentlewoman ; why, look you, 
 lady: 
 I am not so enchanted with your virtues, 
 But I do know myself, and at what distance 
 To look upon such mistresses ; I can 
 Be scurvily conditioned ; you are — 
 
 Mis. Car. As thou dost hope for any good, rail now 
 But a little. 
 
 Fair. I could provoke you. 
 
 Mis. Car. To laugh, but not to lie down. Why, 
 prithee do. 
 
 Fair. Go, you are a foolish creature, and not worth 
 My services. 
 
 Mis. Car. Aloud, that they may hear; 
 The more the merrier, I'll take't as kindly 
 As if thou hadst given me the Exchange. What, all this 
 
 cloud 
 Without a shower ? 
 
 Fair. You are most ingrateful. 
 
 Mis. Car. Good ! 
 Abominable peevish, and a wench 
 That would be .beaten, beaten black and blue. 
 And then, perhaps, she may have colour for't. 
 Come, come, you cannot scold 
 With confidence, nor with grace ; you should look big. 
 
SCENE 11.] HYDE PARK. 193 
 
 And swear you are no gamester ; practise dice 
 And cards a little better, you will get 
 Many confusions and fine curses by't. 
 
 Fair. Is not she mad ? 
 
 Mis. Car. To show I have my reason, 
 I'll give you some good counsel, and be plain with you ; 
 None that have eyes will follow the direction 
 Of a blind guide, and what do you think of Cupid ? 
 Women are either fools, or very wise, 
 Take that from me ; the foolish women are 
 Not worth your love, and if a woman know 
 How to be wise, she will not care for you. 
 
 Fair. Do you give all this counsel without a fee ? 
 Come, be less wild. I know you cannot be 
 So hard of soul. \Offers to take her hand. 
 
 Mis. Car. Prithee let my body alone ! 
 
 Fair. .Why are you thus peremptory ? Had 
 Your mother been so cruel to mankind. 
 This heresy to love, with you had been 
 Unborn. 
 
 Mis. Car. My mother was no maid. 
 
 Fair. How, lady ? 
 
 Mis. Car. She was married long ere I was born, I 
 take it, 
 Which I shall never be, that rule's infallible ; 
 I would not have you fooled in the expectation, 
 A favour all my suitors cannot boast of. 
 Go home, and say your prayers, I will not look 
 For thanks till seven year hence. 
 
 Fair. I know not what 
 To say ; yes, I will home, and think a satire.— 
 Was ever man jeered thus for his good will ! \Exit. 
 
 Mis. Bon. The license will be soon. dispatched. 
 
 Lacy. Leave that 
 To my care, lady, and let him presume. 
 Whom you intend to bless with such a gift. 
 Seal on your lips the assurance of his heart. \Kisses her. 
 
194 HYDE PARK. [ACT I. 
 
 I have more wings than Mercury : expect 
 Your servant in three minutes. 
 
 Mis. Car. Take more time. 
 You'll overheat yourself, and catch a surfeit. 
 
 Lacy. My nimble lady, I have business ; we 
 Will have a dialogue another time. \Esdt. 
 
 Mis. Car. You do intend to marry him, then ? 
 
 Mis. Bon. I have promised 
 To be his wife ; and, for his more security. 
 This morning — 
 
 Mis, Car. How ! this morning? 
 
 Mis. Bon: What should one, 
 That has resolved, lose time ? I do not love 
 Much ceremony ; suits in love should not, 
 Like suits in law, be racked from term to term. 
 
 Mis. Car. You will join issue presently, without your 
 council, 
 You may be o'erthrown ; take heed, I have known wives 
 That have been o'erthrown in their own case, and after 
 Nonsuited too, that's twice to be undone. 
 But take your course ; some widows have been mortified. 
 
 Mis. Bon. And maids do now and then meet with their 
 match. 
 
 Mis. Car. What is in your condition makes you weary ? 
 You are sick of plenty and command ; you have 
 Too, too much liberty, too many servants ; ' 
 Your jewels are your own, and you would see 
 How they, will show upon your husband's wagtail.' 
 You have a coach now, and a Christian livery 
 To wait on you to church, and are not catechised 
 When you come home ; you have a waiting-woman, 
 A monkey, squirrel, and a brace of islands," 
 Which may be thought superfluous in your family, 
 When husbands come to rule. A pretty wardrobe, ■ 
 
 ' Mistress. . 
 
 ''■i.e. Shock-dogs. They seem to have been favourites of ladies. 
 Island is the old way of writing Iceland. 
 
SCENE 11.] HYDE PARK. 195 
 
 A tailor of your own, a doctor too, 
 That knows your body, and can make you sick 
 I' the spring, or fall, or when you have a mind to't, 
 Without control; you have the benefit 
 Of talking loud and idle at your table, 
 May sing a wanton ditty, and not be chid. 
 Dance, and go late to bed, say your own prayers. 
 Or go to Heaven by your chaplain. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Very fine. 
 
 Mis. Car. And ivill you lose all this, for 
 " I, Cicely, take thee,. John, to be my husband " ? 
 Keep him still to be your servant ; 
 Imitate me ; a hundred suitors cannot 
 Be half the trouble of one husband. I 
 Dispose my frowns and favours like a princess ; 
 Deject, advance, undo, create again ; ' 
 It keeps the subjects in obedience, , 
 And teaches 'em to look at me with distance. 
 
 Enter Venture and Rider. 
 
 Mis. Boh. But you encourage some. 
 Mis. Car. 'Tis when I have nothing else to do, for 
 sport. 
 As, for example — 
 
 Mis. Bon. But I am not now in tune to hear 'em ; 
 prithee 
 Let's withdraw. \Exeunt. 
 
 Vent. Nay, nay, lady, we must follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Venture and Rider. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I,— An outer Room in Bonavent's House. 
 Enter Bonavent in disguise, listening. 
 
 ONA. Music and revels ! they are very 
 merry. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 By your favour, sir. 
 Ser. You are welcome. 
 Bona. Pray, is this a dancing school ? 
 Ser. No dancing school. 
 Bona. And yet some voices sound like women. 
 Ser. Wilt please you 
 To taste a cup of wine ? 'tis this day free 
 As at a coronation ; you seem 
 A gentleman. 
 
 Bona. Prithee, who dwells here ? 
 Ser. The house this morning was a widow's, sir, 
 But now her husband's ; without circumstance. 
 She is married. 
 
 Bona. Prithee, her name ? 
 Ser. Her name was Mistress Bonavent. 
 Bona. How long is't since her husband died ? 
 Ser. 'Tis two years since she had intelligence 
 He was cast away; at his departure, he 
 Engaged her to a seven years expectation, 
 
SCENE II.] HYDE PARK. ig; 
 
 Which full expired, this moming she became 
 A bride. 
 
 Bona. What's the gentleman she has married ? 
 
 Ser. A man of pretty fortune, that has been 
 Her servant many years. 
 
 Bona. How do you mean ? 
 Wantonly ? or does he serve for wages ? 
 
 Ser. Neither, I mean a suitor. 
 
 Bona. Cry mercy; may I be acquainted with his name ? 
 
 Ser. And his person too, if you have a mind to't ; 
 Master Lacy ; I'll bring you to him. 
 
 Bona. Master Lacy, may be 'tis he; would thou couldst 
 help me to 
 A sight of this gentleman ! I have business with 
 One of his name, and cannot meet with him. 
 
 Ser. Please you walk in. 
 
 Bona. I would not be an intruder 
 In such a day ; if I might only see him. — 
 
 Ser. Follow me, and I'll do you that favour. \Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Lacy, Mistress Bonavent, Rider, Mistress 
 Carol, and Venture, dancing ; followed at a dis- 
 tance by Bonavent. 
 
 Vent. Who is that peeps ? 
 
 Lacy. Peeps ! — Who is that? [Bringing forward Bona- 
 vent] — Faith, you shall dance. 
 
 Bona. Good sir, you must excuse me, I am a stranger. 
 
 Zacy. Your tongue does walk our language, and your 
 Shall do as we do : take away his cloak [feet 
 
 And sword. — By this hand, you shall dance. Monsieur, 
 "iHo pardonnez moi. 
 
 Mis. Car. Well said, master bridegroom. 
 The gentleman may perhaps want exercise. 
 
198 HYDE PARK. [act 11. 
 
 Mis, Bon. He '^ill not take it well. 
 
 Vent. The bridegroom's merry. 
 
 Lacy. Take me no takes ; 
 Come, choose your firk,* for dance you shall. 
 
 Bona. I cannot ; 
 You'll not compel me ? 
 
 Lacy. I have sworn. 
 
 Bona. 'Tis an affront ; as I am a gentlemaii, 
 I know not how to foot your chamber jigs. 
 
 Lacy. No remedy; here's a lady longs for one 
 vagary. — - -^ . . 
 Fill a bowl of sack, and then to the Catlaries. 
 
 Bona. You are circled with your friends, and do not well 
 To use this pri^dlege to a' gentleman's 
 Dishonour. 
 
 Lacy. You shall shake your heels. 
 
 Bona. I shall ? 
 Ladies, it is this gentleman's desire 
 That I should make you mirth ; I cannot dance, 
 I tell you that afore. 
 
 Mis. Bon. He seems to be a gentleman and a soldier. 
 
 Mis. Car. Good Mars, be not so sullen; you'll do 
 more 
 With Venus privately. 
 
 Bonai Because this gentleman is engaged, I'll try. 
 
 \A Dance. 
 Will you excuse me yet ? 
 
 Lacy. Play excuse me ; yes, any thing you'll call for. 
 
 Mis. Ccir. This motion every morning will be wholesome 
 And beneficial ^o your body, sir. 
 
 Bona. So, so. . 
 
 Ms. Car. Your pretty lump requires it. 
 
 Bona. Where's my sword, sir? I have been your 
 hobby-horse. 
 
 Mis. Car. You danced something like one. 
 
 ' i.e. Your dance, or your partner. 
 
SCENE III.] HYDE PARK. 199 
 
 Bona. Jeer on, my whimsy lady. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Pray impute it 
 No trespass studied to affront you, sir. 
 But to the merry passion of a bridegroom. 
 
 Lacy. Prithee stay : we'll to Hyde Park together. 
 
 Bona. There you may meet with morris-dancers : for 
 You, lady, I wish you more joy, so farewell. \Eodt. 
 
 Lacy. Come, let's have t'other whirl, lustily, boys ! 
 
 \They dance off. 
 
 SCENE \\1.—A Room in Fairfield's House. 
 
 Enter Fairfield, Julietta, and Waiting-woman. 
 
 Jul. You are resolved then ? 
 
 Fair. I have no other cure left, 
 And if I do it not quickly, my affection 
 May be too far spent, and all physic will 
 Be cast away. 
 
 Jul. You will show a manly fortitude. 
 
 Fair. When saw you Master Trier ? 
 
 Jul. Not since yesterday. 
 
 Fair. Are not his visits frequent ? 
 
 Jul. He does see me sometimes. 
 
 Fair. Come, I know thou lov'st him, and he will 
 Deserve it; he's a pretty gentleman. 
 
 Jul. It was your character, that first commended 
 Him to my thoughts. 
 
 Fair. If he be slow to answer it. 
 He loses me again ; his mind, more than 
 His fortune, gain'd me to his praise : but I 
 Trifle my precious time. 
 Farewell ! all my good wishes stay wi'tn thee. \Eocit. 
 
 Enter Trier. 
 Jul. And mine attend you !— Master Trier ! 
 Tri. I come to kiss your hand. 
 
200 HYDE PARK. [act n. 
 
 Jul. And take your leave ? 
 
 Tri. Only to kiss't again ! 
 
 Jul. You begin to be a stranger; in two mornings 
 Not one visit, where you profess affection ! 
 
 Tri. I should be surfeited with happiness 
 If I should dwell here. 
 
 Jul. Surfeits in the spring 
 Are dangerous, and yet I never heard, 
 A lover would absent him from his mistress 
 Through fear to be more happy ; but I allow 
 That for a compliment^ and dispute not with you 
 A reason of your actions. You are now welcome, 
 And though you should be guilty of neglect, 
 My love would overcome any suspicion. 
 Tri. You are all goodness. — 
 
 Enter a Servant, and whispers Trier. 
 With me ? prithee admit him. \Eodt Servant. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, my lord saw you enter, and desires 
 To speak with you. 
 
 Tri. His lordship shall command ; where is he ? 
 
 Page. Below, sir. 
 
 Tri. Say, I instantly wait on him. — \Exit Page. 
 
 Shall I presume upon your favour, lady ? 
 
 Jul. In what ? 
 
 Tri. That I may entreat him hither ? you will honour 
 me 
 To bid him welcome ; he is a gentleman 
 To whom I owe all services, and in 
 Himself is worthy of your entertainment. 
 
 Jul. If he be your's command me. 
 
 Enter Lord Bonvile and Page. 
 
 Tri. My lord, excuse — 
 
 Lord B. Nay, I prevent your trouble, — Lady, I am 
 
SCENE HI.] HYDE PARK. 201 
 
 Your humble servant. — Pardon my intrusion, 
 I have no business, only I saw you enter. 
 
 Tri. Your lordship honours me. 
 
 Lord B. What gentlewoman's this ? 
 
 Tri. Why — [ Whispers him. 
 
 Lord B. A lady of pleasure ! I like her eye, it has 
 A pretty twirl with't ; A^ll she bid one welcome ? 
 
 Tri. Be confident, my lord.^Sweet lady, pray 
 Assure his lordship he is welcome. 
 
 Jul. I want words. 
 
 ' Lard B. Oh, sweet lady, your lip in silence 
 Speaks the best language. . 
 -Jul, Your lordship's welcome to this humble roof. 
 
 Lord B. I am confirmed. [Aside, 
 
 Tri. If you knew, lady, what 
 Perfection of honour dwells in him, 
 You would be studious, with all ceremony 
 To entertain him ! besides, to me 
 His lordship's goodness hath so flowed, you cannot 
 Study, what will oblige me more than in 
 His welcome. 
 
 Lord B. Come, you compliment. 
 
 Jul. Though I want both abiUty and language, 
 My wishes shall be zealous to express me 
 Your humble servant. 
 
 Lord B. Come, that humble was 
 But compliment in you, too. 
 
 Jul. I would not 
 Be guilty of dissembling with your lordship ; 
 I know words that have more proportion 
 With my distance to your noble birth and fortune, 
 Than humble servant. 
 
 Lord B. I do not love these distances. 
 
 Tri. You would have her be more humble. — 
 This will try her. 
 
 If she resist his siege, she is, a brave one,. 
 I know he'll put her to't. He that doth love 
 
202 HYDE PARK. _ [act ii. 
 
 Wisely, will see the trial of his mistress, 
 And what I want in impudence myself. 
 Another may supply for my advantage; 
 I'll frame excuse. \Aside. 
 
 Lord B. Frank, thou art melancholy. 
 
 Tri. My lord, I now reflected on a business 
 Concerns me equal with my fortune, and 
 It is the more unhappy that I must 
 So rudely take my leave. 
 
 Lord B. What ! not so soon? 
 
 Tri. Your honour's pardon.' 
 
 Jul. Are you, sir, in earnest ? 
 
 Tri. Love will instruct you to interpret fairly ; 
 They are affairs that cannot be dispensed with. — 
 I leave this noble gentleman. 
 
 Jul. He's a stranger; 
 You will not use me well, and show no care 
 Of me, nor of my honour ; I pray stay. 
 
 Tri. Thou hast virtue to secure all ; I am confident. 
 Temptations will shake thy innocence 
 No more than waves that dimb a rock, which soon 
 Betray their weakness, — and discover thee 
 More clear and more impregnable. 
 
 Jul. How is this ? 
 
 Tri. Farewell. 
 I will not sin against your honour's clemency, 
 To doubt your pardon. 
 
 Lord B. Well, an there be no remedy, I shall see 
 you 
 Anon in the Park ; the match holds. — \Exit Trier.] I 
 
 am not willing 
 To leave you alone, lady. 
 
 Jul. I have a servant. 
 
 Lord B. You have many ; in their number pray write 
 me, 
 I shall be very dutiful. 
 
 Jul. Oh, my lord. 
 
SCKNE in.] HYDE PARK. 203 
 
 Lord B. And when I have done a fault, I shall be 
 instructed, 
 But with a smile, to mend it. 
 
 Jul. Done what fault ? 
 
 Lord B. Faith, none at all, if you but think so. 
 
 Jul. I think your lordship would not willingly 
 Offend a woman. 
 
 Lord B. I wciuld never hurt 'em. 
 It has been my study still to please those women 
 That fell within my conversation. 
 I am very tender-hearted to a lady, 
 I can deny them nothing. 
 
 Jul. The whole sex 
 Is bound to you. 
 
 Lord B. If they well considered things. 
 And what a stickler I am in their -cause. 
 The common cause, but most especially 
 How zealous- 1 am in a virgin's honour, 
 As all true knights should be, no woman could 
 Deny me hospitjtlity, and let down. 
 When I desire access, the rude portcullice : 
 I have a natural synipathy with fair ones. 
 As they do, I do ; there's no handsome woman 
 Complains, that she has lost her maidenhead. 
 But I wish mine had been lost with it. 
 
 Jul. Your lordship's merry. 
 
 Lord B. 'Tis because you look pleasant.— 
 A very handsome lodging ; is there any ' ' 
 Accommodations that way. 
 
 Jul. There's a garden, 
 Will't please your lordship taste the air on't. 
 
 Lord B. I meant other conveniency ; but if 
 You please, I'll wait upon you thither. 
 
 [wEJtdK*/ Lord BONVILE fl«(^ JULIETTA. 
 
 Page. You and I had better stay, and in their absence 
 Exercise one another. 
 
 Wait. How mean you, page ? 
 
204 
 
 HYDE PARK. [act li. 
 
 Page. I'll teach you a way that we may follow 'em, 
 And not remove from hence. 
 
 Wait. How, prithee? 
 
 Page. Shall I beg your Hp ? 
 
 Wait. I cannot spare it. 
 
 Page. I'll give you both mine. 
 
 Wait. What means the child ? 
 
 Page. Because I have no upper lip, do you scorn me ? 
 I have kissed ladies, before now, and have 
 Been sent for to their chambers. 
 
 Wait. You sent for ! 
 
 Page. Yes, and been trusted with their closets too ! 
 We are such pretty things, we can play at 
 " All hid under a fardingale ; " how long 
 Have you been a waiting creature ? 
 
 Wait. Not a month yet. 
 
 Page. Nay then, I cannot blame your ignorance ; 
 You have perhaps your maidenhead. 
 
 Wait. • I hope so. 
 
 Page. Oh, lamentable ! away with it, for shame. 
 Chaffer it with the coachman, for the credit 
 Of your profession ; do not keep it long, 
 'Tis fineable in court. 
 
 Wait. Good master page, 
 How long have you been skilled in those affairs ? 
 
 Page. E'er since I was in breeches ; and you'll find 
 Your honesty so troublesome. 
 
 Wait. How so ? 
 
 Page. When you have trucked ' away your maidenhead, 
 You have excuse lawful to put off gamesters, 
 For you may swear, and give 'em satisfaction, 
 You have not what they looked for ; beside the benefit 
 Of being impudent as occasion serves, 
 A thing much in request with waiting creatures : 
 We pages can instruct you in that quality, 
 So you be tractable. 
 
 1 Trafficked, 
 
SCENE iv.] HTtDE pare:. 20S 
 
 Wait. The boy is wild. 
 
 Page. An you will lead me a chase, I'll follow you; 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 ^^^^ ' 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in BonAvent's House. 
 Enter Mistress Carol, Rider, 'and Venture. 
 
 Mis. Car. Why, did you ever think I could affect. 
 Of all men living, such a thing as you are ? 
 What hope, or what encouragement did I give you ? 
 Because I took your diamond, must you presently 
 Bound like a stoned horse ? 
 
 Rid. She's a very colt. [dancer. 
 
 Mis. Car. 'Cause you can put your hat off like a 
 And make a better leg ' than you were bom to. 
 For, to say truth, your calf is well amended. 
 Must this so overtake me, that I must 
 Straight fall in love with you ? one step to church. 
 Another into the streets?, more to a bargain; 
 You are wide a bow, and something overshot. 
 
 Vent. Then this is all that I must trust to, you 
 Will never have me ? 
 
 Mis. Car. In my right mind, I think so. 
 Why, prithee tell me, what I should do with thee ? 
 
 Vent. Can you find nothing to do with me ? 
 
 Mis. Car. To find my monkey spiders, were an office, 
 Perhaps, you would not execute ? 
 
 Vent. You are a gipsy. 
 And none of the twelve Sybils in a tavern. 
 Have such a tanned complexion ; there be dogs 
 And horses in the world. 
 
 Mis. Car. They'll keep you company. 
 
 Vent. Tell me of spiders ! 
 I'll wring your monkey's neck off. 
 
 1 Bow. 
 
206 HYDE PARK. [ACT ii. 
 
 Mis. Car. And then puzzle 
 Your brain to make an elegy, which shall be sung 
 To the tune of " The Devil and the Baker ; " good ! 
 You have a pretty ambling wit in summer ; 
 Do you. let it out, or keep't for your own riding? 
 Who holds your stirrup, while you jump 
 Into a jest, to the endangering 
 Of your ingenious quodlibets ? 
 
 Rid. Come, thou hast said enough. 
 
 Mis. Car. To him ; you would have some ? 
 
 Rid. Some testimony of your love, if it please you. 
 
 Mis. Car. Indeed, I have heard yOU are a precious 
 gentleman. 
 And in your younger days could play at trap well. 
 
 Rid. Fare you well, gentlewOmaii ! by this light a 
 devil ; 
 I'll follow my old game of horse-racing. 
 
 Vent. I could tear her ruff! I would thou wert 
 A whore, then I'd be revenged, and bring the 'prentices 
 To arraign thee on Shrove Tuesday ; ^ a pox upon you ! 
 
 Enter Faireield. 
 
 Mis. Car. A third man, a third man ! two fair game- 
 sters ; 
 
 Rid. For shame ! let's go. 
 
 Mis. Car. Will you stay, gentlemen? you have no 
 more wit [Exeunt Venture and Rider. 
 
 To vent ! keep your heads warm in any case. 
 There may be dregs in the bottom o' the brain pan. 
 Which may turn to somewhat in seven years; and set 
 You up again. — Now, sir. 
 
 Eair. Lady, I am come to you. 
 
 Mis. Car. It does appear so. 
 
 Eair. To take my leave. 
 
 Mis. Car. . 'Tis granted, sir ; good bye. 
 
 ' Shrove Tuesday was noted for the riotous conduct of the 
 London apprentices, who used to attack the brothels, etc. 
 
SCENE IV.] HYDE PARK. 207 
 
 Fair. But you must stay and hear a little more. 
 I promise not to trouble you with courtship, 
 I am as weary as you can be displeased with't, 
 
 Mis. Car. On these conditions, I would have the 
 patience 
 To he^r the brazen head speak.' 
 
 Fair. Whether, or how I purpose to dispose 
 Myself hereafter, as I know you have 
 No purpose to enquire, I have no great 
 Ambition to discourse ; but how I have 
 Studied your fair opinion, I remit 
 To time, and come now only to request 
 That you would grant, in lieu of my true service, 
 One boon at parting. 
 
 Mis. Car. Fort bon I proceed. 
 
 Fair. But you must swear to perform truly what 
 I shall desire ; and that you may not think 
 I come with any cunning to deceive you. 
 You shall accept whate'er you would deny me; 
 And after all, I'll make request. 
 
 Mis. Car. How's this? 
 
 Fair. But it concerns my life, or what can else 
 Be nearer to me, that you swear. 
 
 Mis. Car. To what? 
 
 Fair. When you have niade exceptions, and thought 
 What things in all the world you will exempt 
 From my petition, I'll be confident 
 To tell you my desire. 
 
 Mis. Car^ This is fair play. 
 
 Fair. I would not for an empire, by a trick 
 Oblige you to perform what should displease you. 
 
 Mis. Car. 'Tis a very strange request; are you in 
 earnest ? 
 Ere you begin, shall I except ? 'tis odds 
 
 1 In the prose-tract of the Famous Historie of Pryer'Bacon it is 
 related how " Friar Bacon made a brazen head to speak, hy which 
 he would have walled England about with brass." 
 
2o8 HYDE PARIt. [act 11. 
 
 But I may include, what you have a mind to, then 
 Where's your petition ? 
 
 Fair. I will run that hazard. 
 
 Mis. Car. You will ? why, look you ; for a little mirth's 
 sake. 
 And since you come so honestly, because 
 You shall not say, I .am composed of marble, 
 I do consent. 
 
 Fair. Swear. 
 
 Mis. Car. I am not come to that.; 
 I'll first set bounds to your request, and when 
 I have left nothing for you worth my grant, 
 I'll take a zealoiis oath to grant you any thing. 
 
 Fair. You have me at your mercy. 
 
 Mis. Car. First, you shall not 
 Desire that I should love you. 
 
 Fair. That's first; proceed. 
 
 Mis. Car. No more but " proceed " ? Do you know 
 what I say ? 
 
 Fair. Your first exception forbids to ask 
 That you should love me. 
 
 Mis. Car. And you are contented ? 
 
 Fair. I must be so. 
 
 Mis. Car. What, in the name of wonder, will he ask 
 me ? \Aside. 
 
 You shall not desire me to marry you. 
 
 Fair. That's the second. 
 
 Mis. Car. You shall neither directly nor indirectly, 
 wish me to lie with you. 
 Have I not dipt the wings of your conceit ? 
 
 Fair. That's the third. 
 
 Mis. Car. "That's the third!" is there any thing a 
 young man would 
 Desire of his mistress, when he must neither love, marry, 
 nor lie with her ? 
 
 Fair. My suit is still untouched. 
 
 Mis. Car. Suit ! if you have another 'tis out of fashion, 
 
SCENE IV.] HYDE PARK. 209 
 
 You cannot beg my state, yet I would willingly 
 Give part of that, to be rid of thee. 
 
 Fair. Not one jewel. [poison, 
 
 Mis. Car. You would not have me spoil my face, drink 
 Or kill any body ? 
 
 Fair. Goodness forbid, that I should wish you danger! 
 
 Mis. Car. Then you would not have me ride through 
 the city naked. 
 As once a princess of England did through Coventry ? 
 
 Fair. All my desires are modest. 
 
 Mis. Car. You shall not beg my parrot, nor entreat me 
 To fast, or wear a hairy smock. 
 
 Fair. None of these. 
 
 Mis. Car. I will not be confined to make me ready 
 At ten, and pray till dinner ; I will play 
 At gleek ' as often as I please, and see 
 Plays when I have a mind to't, and the races, 
 Though men should run Adamites^ before me. 
 
 Fair. None of these trench on what I have to ask. 
 
 Mis. Car. Why, then I swear — stay, 
 You shall not ask me before company 
 How old I am, a question most untoothsome. 
 I, know not what to say more; I'll not be 
 Bound from Spring-garden,' and the 'Sparagus.* 
 I will not have my tongue tied up, when I've 
 A mind to jeer my suitors, among which 
 Your worship shall not doubt to be remembered. 
 For I must have my humour, I am sick else ; 
 I will not be compelled to hear your sonnets, 
 A thing before I thought to advise you of; 
 Your words of hard concoction, your rude poetry, 
 
 ' A game at caMs. 
 
 ' Keligious enthusiasts who are said to have dispensed with 
 clothing at their meetings. 
 
 ^ Situated near Charing Cross and noted for its bowling alley 
 and ordinary, and for its " continual bibbing and drinking wine all 
 day under the trees, and two or three quarrels every week." 
 
 * A place of amusement frequented by Pepys, in Lambeth 
 Marsh. 
 
 SliiV. p 
 
210 HYDE PARK. [ACT ii. 
 
 Have much impaired my health, try sense another while 
 
 And calculate some prose according to 
 
 The elevation of our pole at London, 
 
 As says the learned almanack — but, come on. 
 
 And speak your mind, I have done ; I know not what 
 
 More to except ; if it be none of these, 
 
 And, as you say, feasible on my part, 
 
 I swear. 
 
 Fair. By what ? 
 
 Mis. Car. For once, a kiss, it may be a parting blow. 
 By that I will perform what you desire. \Kisses him. 
 
 Fair. In few words thus receive it : by that oath 
 I bind you never to desire my company 
 Hereafter; for no reason to affect me ; 
 This, I am sure, was none of your exceptions. 
 
 Mts. Car. What has the man said? - 
 
 Fair. 'Tis clear, I am confident, 
 To your understanding. 
 
 Mis. Car. You have made me swear 
 That I must never love you, nor desire 
 Your company. 
 
 Fair. I know you will not violate 
 What you have sworn, so all gbod thoughts possess you. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Mis. Car. Was all this circumstance for this ? I never 
 Found any inclination to trouble him 
 With too much love ; why should he bind me from it, 
 And make me swear ? an oath that, for the present, 
 I had no affection to him, had been reasonable ; 
 But for the time to come, never to love. 
 For any cause or reason, that may move me 
 Hereafter, very strange ! I know not what to think on't. 
 Although I never meant, to think well of him. 
 Yet to be limited, and be prescribed, 
 I must not do it, — 'twas a poor trick in him ; 
 But I'll go practise something to forget it. \EodU 
 
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 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE l.—A part of Hyde Park. 
 
 Enter Lord Bonvile and Julietta. 
 
 ORD B. Lady, you are welcome to 
 the spring ; the Park 
 Looks fresher to salute you : how the 
 
 birds 
 On every tree sing, with more cheer- 
 fulness 
 At your access, as if they prophesied 
 Nature would die, and resign her providence 
 To you, fit only to succeed her ! 
 
 Jul. You express 
 A master of all compliment ; I have 
 Nothing but plain humility, my lord, 
 To answer you. 
 
 Lord B. But I'll speak our own EngUsh, 
 Hang these affected strains, which we sometimes 
 Practise, to please the curiosity 
 
 Of talking ladies; by this lip thou'rt welcome, \Kissesher. 
 I'll swear a hundred oaths upon that book, 
 An't please you. 
 
 Enter Trier, behind. 
 
 Tri. They are at it. 
 
 Jul. You shall not need, my lord, I'm not incredulous, 
 I do believe your honour, and dare trust 
 For more than this. 
 
212 HYDE PARK, [act in. 
 
 Lord B. I will not break my credit 
 With any lady that dares trust me. 
 
 Jul. She had a cruel heart, that would not venture 
 Upon the engagement of your honour. 
 
 Lord B. What? 
 What durst thou venture now, and be plain with me ? 
 
 Jul. There's nothing in the verge of my command, 
 That should not serve your lordship. 
 
 Lord B. Speak, speak truth, 
 And flatter not, on what security? 
 
 Jul. On that which you propounded, sir, your honour : 
 It is above all other obligation. 
 And he that's truly noble, will not stain it. 
 
 Lord B. Upon my honour will you lend me then 
 But a night's lodging ? 
 
 Jul How, sir? 
 
 Lord B. She is angry ; 
 I shall obtain, I know the trick on't; had 
 She yielded at the first, it had been fatal. \Aside. 
 
 Jul. It seems your lordship speaks to one you know not. 
 
 Lord B. But I desire to know you better, lady. 
 
 Jul. Better I should desire, my lord. 
 
 Lord B. Better or worse, if you dare venture one, 
 I'll hazard t'other. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis your lordship's mirth. 
 
 Lord B. You're in the right, 'tis the best mirth of all. 
 
 Jul. I'll not believe, my lord, you mean so wantonly 
 As you profess. 
 
 Lord B. Refuse me,i if I do not. 
 Not mean ? I hope you have more charity 
 Than to suspect, I'll not perform as much. 
 And more than I have said ; I knew my fault, 
 I am too modest when I undertake, 
 But when I am to act, let me alone. 
 
 Tri, You shall be alone no longer. — \_Comes forward. 
 My good lord, 
 
 ^ A fashionable oath. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 213 
 
 Lord B. Frank Trier. 
 
 Tri. Which side holds your honour 
 
 Lord B. I am p' thy side, Frank. 
 
 Tri. I think so, 
 For all the Park's against me ; but six to four 
 Is odds enough. 
 
 Jul. Is it so much against you ? 
 
 Tri. Lady, I think 'tis two to one. 
 
 Lord B. We were on even terms till you came hither. — 
 I find her yielding. — And when do they run ? 
 
 Tri. They say presently. 
 
 Lord B. Will you venture anything, lady ? 
 
 Tri. Perhaps she reserves herself for the horse-race. 
 
 Jul. There I may venture somewhat with his lord- 
 ship. 
 
 Lord B. That was a witty one. [Aside. 
 
 Tri. You will be doing. 
 
 Lord B. You are for the footmen, 
 
 Tri. I run with the company. 
 
 £nier Rider and Ventvre. 
 
 Vent. I'll go your half. 
 
 Jiid. No, thank you, Jack; would I had ten pieces 
 more on't ! 
 
 Lord B. Which side? 
 
 Sid. On the Irishman. 
 
 Lord B. Done ; I'll maintain the English. 
 As many more with you ; 
 I love to cherish our own countrymen. 
 
 Vent. 'Tis done, my lord. 
 
 Tri. I'll rook for once; my lord, 
 I'll hold you twenty more. 
 
 Lord B. Done with you, too. 
 
 Jul. Your lordship is very confident. 
 
 Lord B. I'll lay with you, too. 
 
 Tri. Lie with her, he means. [Aside. 
 
 Lord B. Come ; you shall venture something. 
 
214 HYDE PARK. [act iii. 
 
 What gold against a kiss ? but if ypu lose, 
 You shall pay it fornially down upon my lip. 
 
 Tri. Though she should win, it would be held extortion 
 To take your money. 
 
 Jul. Rather want of modesty, 
 A greater sin, if you observe the circumstance. 
 I see his lordship has a disposition 
 To be merry, but proclaim not this free lay 
 ' To every one ; some women in the world 
 Would hold you all day. 
 
 Lord B. But not all night, sweet lady. 
 Vent, Will you not see.thern, my lord? 
 Lord B. Frank Trier, you'll wait upon this gentle- 
 woman ; 
 I must among the gamesters, I shall quickly 
 Return to kiss your hand. \Uxit. 
 
 Tri. How do you like this gallant ? 
 Jul. He's one it becomes not me to censure. 
 Tri. Do you not find him coming ? a wild gentleman; 
 You may in time convert him. 
 
 Jul. You made me acquainted vnth him to that purpose, 
 It was your confidence ; I'll do what I can, 
 Because he is your noble friend., and one 
 In whom was hid so much perfection 
 Of honour, for at first 'twas most invisible, 
 ■^ut it begins to appear, and I do perceive 
 yL glimmering, it may break out a flame, 
 I shall know all his thoughts at our next conference y 
 tie has a secret to impart, he says, 
 Only to me. 
 
 Tri. And will you hear it ? 
 Jul. Yes, sir ; 
 If it be honourable, there is no harm in't. 
 If otherwise, you do not doubt my innocence. 
 Tri. But do not tempt a danger, 
 Jul. From his lordship ? 
 Tri. I do not say from him. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 215 
 
 Jul. From mine own frailty ? 
 
 Tri. I dare not conclude that, but from- the matter 
 •Of his discourse, on which there may depend 
 A circumstance, that may not prove so happy. 
 
 Jul. Now I must tell you, sir, I see your heart 
 Is not so just as I deserve ; you have 
 Engaged me to this conversation, 
 Provoked by jealous thoughts, and now your fear 
 Betrays your want of goodness, for he never 
 Was right at home, that dare suspect his mistress. 
 Can love degenerate in noble breasts ? 
 Collect the arguments, that could invite you 
 To this unworthy trial; bring them to 
 My forehead, where you shall- inscribetheir names 
 For virgins to blush at me, if I do not 
 Fairly acquit myself. 
 
 Tri. Nay, be not passionate. 
 
 Jul. I am not, sir, so guilty to be angry ; 
 But you shall give me leave, unless you will 
 Declare, you dare not trust me any further. 
 Not to break off so rudely with his loirdship. 
 I will hear what he means to say to me, 
 And if my counsel may prevail with youj - 
 You shall not interrupt us; have but patience,-- - 
 I'll keep the story for y0u,-and assure - ■■-- -- 
 My ends have no base mixture, nor my love 
 To you could bribe me to the least dishonour, 
 Much less a stranger ;-. since- 1 have gone so far 
 By your commission, I -will proceed 
 A little further, at my peril, sir. 
 
 Tri. I know thou art proof againstia thousand engines. 
 Pursue what ways you please. \They walk aside. 
 
 Enter Lacy, Mistress Bonavent, Mistress Carol, and 
 Servant. 
 
 Jul. This moming.marriejd ? — ; ; 
 Tri. That's your brother's mistress. 
 
2i6 HYD^ PARK. [act HI. 
 
 Jul. She that jeers 
 All within gun-shot? 
 
 Tri. In the way of suitors, 
 She is reported such a tyrant. 
 
 Jul. My brother. 
 
 Enter Fairfikld. 
 Fair. Frank Trier. 
 
 Jul.. Brother, do you know that gentlewoman? 
 Fair. 'Tis she; then you and I must seem more 
 familiar, 
 And you — \To Lacy.] — shall not be angry, 
 Lacy. What gentlewoman's that ? 
 Tri. She does not know thee. 
 
 Mis. Car. [Seeing Fairfield and Julietta.] — Was this 
 his reason? [Aside.] — Pray, if you love me, let's 
 Walk by that gentleman. 
 Zacy. Master Fairfield. 
 Mis. Car. Is that well-trussed gentleman one of them 
 
 that run ? 
 Mis. Bon. Your sweetheart. 
 Mis. Car. Ha, ha ! I'd laugh at that. 
 If you allow a bushel of salt to acquaintance, 
 Pray vouchsafe two words to a bargain, while you Hve, 
 I scarce remember him. — Keep in, great heart. [Aside. 
 
 Enter Bonavent. 
 
 Lacy. Oh sir, you are very well met here. 
 
 Bona. We are met indeed, sir; thank you for your 
 
 music. 
 Lacy. It is not so much worth. 
 Bona. I made you merry. Master Bridegroom. 
 Lacy. I could not choose but laugh. 
 Bona. Be there any races here ? 
 Lacy. Yes, sir, horse and foot. 
 Bona. You'll give me leave to take my course, then. 
 Mu. Car. This is the captain that did dance. 
 
SCENE 1.] HYDE PARK. 217 
 
 Bona. Not so nimbly as your wit ; pray let me ask you 
 a question, \Takes Mistress Carol aside. 
 
 I hear that gentlewoman's married. 
 
 Mis. Car. Married ! without question, sir. 
 
 Bona. Do you think he has been aforehand ? 
 
 Mis. Car. How do you mean ? 
 
 Bona. In English, has he played the forward gamester, 
 And turned up trump ? 
 
 Mis. Car. Before the cards be shuffled ? — 
 I lay my life you mean a coat card. 
 Deal again, you gave one too many 
 In the last trick, yet I'll tell you what I think. 
 
 Bona. What? 
 
 Mis. Car. I think she and you might have shown 
 more wit. 
 
 Bona. Why she and I ? 
 
 Mis. Car, She to have kept herself a widow, and you 
 Not to have asked me such a -foolish question ; 
 But if she had been half so wise, as in 
 My conscience she is honest, you have missed 
 That excellent occasion, to show 
 Your notable skill in dancing ; but it pleased 
 The learned Destinies to put things together, 
 And so we separate. {They come forward. 
 
 Bona. Fare you well, mistress. 
 
 Mis. Car. [To Rider.]— Come hither; go to that 
 gentleman. Master Fairfield — [ Whispers hint. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Prithee, sweetheart, who runs? 
 
 Zacy. An Irish and an English footman. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Will they run this way? 
 
 Zacy. Just before you ; I must have a bet. [Exit, 
 
 Mis. Bon. Nay, nay, you shall not leave me. 
 
 Ms. Car. Do it discreetly; [Exit Rider.] I must 
 speak to him. 
 To ease my heart, I shall burst else, [Aside. 
 
 We'll expect 'em here. — Cousin, do they run naked ? 
 
 Mis. Bon, That were a most immodest sight. ■ — ' 
 
2i8 HYDE PARK. [act hi. 
 
 Mis. Car. Here have been such- fellows, cousin. 
 
 Mis. Bon. It would fright the women. . 
 
 Mis. Car. Some are of opinion it -brings us hither. 
 
 \Noise within. 
 
 Hark, what a confusion of tongues there is ! 
 Let you and I venture a pair of gloves 
 Upon their feet ; I'll take the Irish. 
 
 Mts. Bon. 'Tis done ; but you shall pay if you lose. 
 Mis. Car. Here's my hand, you shall have the gloves, 
 
 if you win. 
 \A cry within^ A Teague ! a Teague ! Make way, for 
 
 shame! . • 
 
 Mis. Bon. I think they are started. 
 
 The two Runners cross the stage, followed by Lord Bon- 
 vile, Venture, and others. 
 
 Lord B. I hold any man forty pieces, yet. 
 
 Vent. A hundred pounds to ten ! a hundred pieces to 
 ten ! will no man take me ? 
 
 Bona. I hold youj six. 
 
 Vent. Well, you shall see.^- 
 
 [ Within.] — ^A Teague ! a Teague ! hey ! 
 
 Tri. Ha! wellrun Irish! ■• ■ 
 
 [Bxeunt all but Mis. Carol and Mis. Bqnavent. 
 
 Mis. Bon. He may be in- a bog anon. ■ 
 
 Mis. Car. Can they tell what they do in this noise? 
 Pray Heaven it do not break into the tombs 
 At Westminster, and wake the dead. 
 
 He-enter Fairfield and Julietta. 
 
 Fair. She's yonder still, she thinks thee a new mistress. 
 Jul. I observe her. 
 
 Re-enter Trier. 
 Fair. How go things, Frank ? 
 Prithee, observe that creature. 
 Tri. She Igers this way. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. ' ug 
 
 Fair. I have done such a strange cure upon her ! 
 She has sent for me, and I entreat thee, Fraiik," 
 To be a witness of my triumph ; 'tis 
 Now in my power to punish all her jeers ; 
 But I'll go to her : thou shalt keep at distance, 
 Only to hear how miraculously 
 I have brought things about. 
 
 Tri. The cry returns. [Exeunt Fairfield and Trier. 
 
 [ Within.\ — Make way there ! a Teague ! a Teague ! a 
 Teague ! 
 
 The two Runners re-cross the stage, followed by Lord Bon- 
 vile, Venture, Bonavent, 6-^. 
 
 Vent. Forty, fifty, a hundred pieces to ten ! 
 Bona. I hold you. 
 
 Vent. Well, yousTiall see, you shall see. 
 Bona. This gentleman does nothing but talk ; he makes 
 good no bet. 
 
 Vent. Talk ? you prate; I'll make good what I please, 
 
 sir. 
 Bona. 3Iake the best you can of that. 
 
 \They switch, and then draw. 
 Mis. Bon. For Heaven's sake, let's remove. 
 Mis. Car. What ! for a naked weapon ? 
 
 {Exeunt Mis. Bonavent and Carol. 
 Lord B. Fight, gentlemen. 
 You are fine fellows, 'tis a noble cause. — 
 
 \Exeunt Venture and Bonavent. 
 Come, lady, I'll discharge your fears. 
 A cup of sack, and Anthony at the Rose.' 
 Will reconcile their furies. 
 
 \Exeunt Bonvile and Julietta. 
 
 ' A famous tavern in Russell Street, Covent Garden. 
 
220 
 
 HYDE PARK. [act hi. 
 
 SCENE \\.— Another part of the Park. ■ 
 Enter Fairfield and Trier. 
 Fair. I make a doubt whether I should go to her, 
 Upon a single summons. 
 Tri. By any means. 
 Fair. What women are forbidden 
 They're mad to execute ; she's here, be you 
 In the reach of her voice, and see how I will humble her. 
 
 Enter Mistress Carol and Rider. 
 
 Mis. Car. But keep at some fit distance. 
 
 Rid. You honour me, and shall 
 Command me any service. \Exit. 
 
 Mis. Car. He has gone a stra,nge way to work with me. 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Fair. Well advised; observe and laugh, without a 
 noise. [Trier drops behind. 
 
 Mis. Car. I am ashamed to think what I must say 
 now. _ [Aside. 
 
 Fair. By your leave, lady ! I take it you sent for me ? 
 
 Mis. Car. You will not be so impudent ? I send for 
 By whom, or when ? [you ! 
 
 Fair. Your servant ^ — ; 
 
 Mis. Car. Was a villain, if he mentioned 
 I had any such desire ; he told me, indeed, 
 You courted him to entreat me, that I would 
 Be pleased to give you another audience. 
 And that you swore, I know not what, confound you, 
 You would not trouble me above six words. 
 
 Fair. You are prettily disposed. 
 
 Mis. Car. With much ado, you see, I have consented. 
 What is it you would say ? 
 
 Fair. Nay, what is't you would say ? 
 
 Mis. Car. Have you no prompter, to insinuate 
 
 ' i.e. Your lover ; Fairfield means Rider. 
 
SCENE II.] HYDE PARK. 
 
 221 
 
 The first word of your studied oration ? — 
 
 He's out on's part. — Come, come, I will imagine it, 
 
 Was it not something to this purpose — " Lady," 
 
 Or " Mistress," or what you will, " although 
 
 I must confess, you may with justice laugh at 
 
 My most ridiculous suit, and you will say 
 
 I am' a fool — " 
 
 Fair. You may say any thing. 
 
 Mis. Car. "To come again, whom you have so tor- 
 mented ; 
 For ne'er was simple camomile so trod on, 
 Yet still I grow in love ; ' but since there is 
 No hope to thaw your heart, I now am desperate ; 
 Oh give me, lend me but. the silken tie 
 About your leg, which some do call a garter, 
 To hang myself, and I am satisfied." 
 Am not I a witch ? 
 
 Fair. I think thou art past it. 
 Which of the Furies art thou made already ? 
 I shall depart the world, ne'er fear it, lady. 
 Without a necklace. Did not you send for me ? 
 
 Tri. I shall laugh aloud sure. 
 
 Mis. Car. What madness has possessed you ? have I 
 not sworn, 
 You know by what, never to, think well of you, 
 Of all men Uving, not to desire your company ? 
 And will you still intrude ? Shall I be haunted 
 For ever ? no place give me privilege ? 
 Oh man, what art thou come to ? 
 
 Fair. Oh woman ! 
 How far thy tongue and heart do live asunder ! 
 Come, I have found you out; off with this. veil. 
 It hides not your complexion; I do tell thee, 
 I see thy heart, and every thought within it; 
 
 • Falstaff in Henry IV. says, " Though the camomile the more 
 it is trodden on the faster it glows, yet youth the more it is wasted 
 the sooner it wears." 
 
222 HYDE PARK. [ACT III. 
 
 A little peevishness, to save your credit, 
 
 Had not been much amiss, but this over- 
 
 Over-doing the business, — ^it appears 
 
 Ridiculous, like my suit, as you inferred ; 
 
 But I forgive thee, and forget thy tricks 
 
 And trillabubs, and will swear to love thee heartily ; 
 
 Wenches must have their ways. 
 
 Mis. Car. Pardon me, sir, if I have seemed too light ; 
 It was not rudeness from my heart, but a 
 Disguise to save my honour, if I found 
 You still iricredulous. 
 
 Fair. I love thee better 
 For thy vagaries. 
 
 Mis. Car. In vain, I see, I should dissemble with you, 
 I must confess you have caught me ; had you still 
 Pursued the common path, I had fled from you ; 
 You found the constitution of women 
 In me, whose will, not reason, is their law; 
 Most apt to do, what most they are forbidden, 
 Impatient of curbs, in their desires. 
 
 Fair. Thou say'st right. 
 
 Mis. Car. Oh love, I am thy captive ; — 
 But I am forsworn, am I not, sir ? 
 
 Fair. Ne'er think of that. 
 
 Mis. Car. Ne'er think on't ! 
 
 Fair. 'Twas a vain oath, and well may be dispensed 
 with. 
 
 Mis. Car. Oh, sir, be more religious; I never 
 Did violate an oath in all my Ufe ; 
 Though I have been wild, I had a care of that. 
 An oath's a holy obligation, 
 And never dreaming of this chance, I took it 
 With true intention to perform your wishes. 
 
 Fair. 'Twas but a kiss, I'll give it thee again. 
 
 Mis. Car. But 'tis enrolled in that high court already. 
 I must confess, I could look on you now 
 With other eyes, for my rebellious heart 
 
SCENE 11.] HYDE PARK. 223 
 
 Is soft and capable of love's impression ; 
 Which may prove dangerous, if I cherish it, 
 Having forsworn your love. 
 
 Fair. Now I am fitted ! 
 I have made twigs to jerk iriyself. [Aside.] — Well 
 
 thought on ! 
 You shall absolve yourself; your oath does not 
 Oblige you to perform what you excepted, 
 And among them, if you remember, you 
 Said you must have your humour, you'd be sick else ; 
 Now, if your humour be to break your oath. 
 Your obligation's void. 
 
 Mis. Car. You have relieved me ! 
 But do not triumph in your conquest, sir. 
 Be modest in your victory. 
 
 Fair. Will not you 
 Fly off again, now you're at large ? 
 
 Mis. Car. If you 
 Suspect it, call some witness of my vows, 
 I will contract myself. 
 
 Fair. And I am provided. — 
 Frank Trier, appear, and shew thy physnomy. — 
 He is a friend of mine, and you may trust him. 
 
 [Trier comes forward. 
 
 Mis. Car. What sum of money is it you would 
 borrow ? 
 
 Tri. I borrow ? 
 
 Mis. Car. This gentleman, your friend, has fully 
 Possessed me with your wants ; nay, do not blush, 
 Debt is no sin : though my own monies, sir, 
 Are all abroad, yet, upon good security, 
 Which he answers you can put in, I will speak 
 To a friend of mine. 
 
 Fair. What security? 
 
 Mis. Car^ Yojirselveg, and two sufficient aldermen, 
 For men are mortal, and may break. 
 
 Fair. What mean you ? 
 
224 
 
 HYDE PARK. [act hi. 
 
 Mis. Car. You shall have fifty pounds for forty weeks, 
 To do you a pleasure. 
 
 Fair. You'll not use me thus? 
 
 Tri. Fare you well ; 
 You have miraculously brought things about. \ExiU 
 
 Mis. Car. You work by stratagem and ambuscado. 
 Do you not think yourself a proper gentleman, 
 Whom by your want of hair some hold a wit too ? 
 You know my heart, and every thought within it ! 
 How I am caught ! do I not melt like honey 
 I' the dog-days? Why do you look so staring ? 
 
 Fair. Do not you love me for all this ? 
 
 Mis. Car. Would I had art enough to draw your 
 picture, 
 It would show rarely at the Exchange ;^ you have 
 A medley in your face of many nations : 
 Your nose is Roman, which your next debauchment 
 At tavern, with the help of pot or candlestick. 
 May turn to Indian, flat ; your lip is Austrian, 
 And you do well to bite it ; for your chin. 
 It does incline to the Bavarian poke, 
 But seven years may disguise it with a beard, 
 And make it — more ill favoured ; you have eyes. 
 Especially when you goggle thus, not much 
 Unlike a Jew's, and yet some men might take 'em 
 For Turk's by the two half moons that rise about 'em. — 
 I am an infidel to use him thus. \Aside. 
 
 Fair. Till how, I never was myself; farewell 
 For ever, woman, not worth love or anger. 
 
 Mis. Car. Do you hear? one word. — I'd fain speak 
 kindly to him. [Aside. 
 
 Why dost not rail at me ? 
 
 Fair. No, I will laugh at thee, and at myself, 
 
 1 i.e. The new Exchange in the Strand, occupying part of the site 
 of the present Adelphi, and at the time a place of great resort wiih 
 people of fashion. It is frequently referred to in the plays of the 
 period. 
 
SCENE n.] HYDE PARK. 225 
 
 To have been so much a fool ; you are a fine may game. 
 
 Mis. Car. I shall fool too much. [Aside."] — But one 
 word more; 
 By all the faith and love of womankind, 
 Believe me now — it will not out. [Aside. 
 
 Fair. Farewell; 
 When next I doat upon thee, be a monster. 
 
 Mis. Car. Hark, sir, the nightingale; there is better 
 luck 
 Coming towards us. 
 
 Fair. When you are out of breath. 
 You will give over ; and for better luck, 
 I do believe the bird, for I can leave thee. 
 And not be in love with my own torment. 
 
 Mis., Car. How, sir? 
 
 Fair. I have said; stay you and practise with the 
 bird, 
 'Twas Philomel, they say; an thou wert one, 
 I should new ravish thee. [Exit, 
 
 Mis. Car. I must to the coach and weep, my heart 
 will break else ; 
 I'm glad he does not see me. [Exit. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. ' ' 
 
 SCENE \.— Another ^art of the Park. 
 Enter Lord Bon vile and Julietta. 
 
 UL. Whither will you walk, my lord? 
 you may engage 
 Yourself too far, and lose your sport. 
 
 Lord B. I would 
 Go farther for a little sport; you 
 
 mean 
 The horse-race; they're not come 
 into the Park yet, 
 I might do something else, and return time 
 Enough to win five hundred pieces. 
 
 Jul. Your lordship had no fortune in the last match ; 
 I wished your confidence a happier success. 
 
 Lord B. We must lose sometimes. — Hark the 
 
 nightingale ! 
 Jul. You win, my lord, I dare engage myself. 
 Lord B. You "make the omen fortunate ; this bird 
 Doth prophesy good luck. 
 Jul 'Tis the first time I heard it. 
 Lord B. And I, this spring; let's walk a little 
 
 further. 
 Jul. I am not weary, but — 
 Lord B. You may trust your person, lady. 
 Jul. I were too much wicked to suspect your honour. 
 And in this place. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 227 
 
 Lord B. This place ! the place were good enough, 
 If you were bad enough, and as prepared 
 As I. There have been stories, that some have 
 Struck many deer within the Park. 
 
 Jul. Foul play. 
 If I did think your honour had a thought 
 To venture at unlawful game, I should 
 Have brought less confidence. 
 
 Enter Trier, at a distance. 
 Lord B. Ha! Trier? 
 What, does he follow us ? 
 
 Jul. To show I dare 
 Be bold upon your virtue, take no notice, 
 I'll waft him back again ; my lord, "walk forward. 
 
 [ Waves her hand, and exit with Lord Bonvile. 
 . Tri. Thus far alone ? yet why do I suspect ? 
 Hang jealousy, 'tis naught, it breeds too many [me^ 
 Worms in our brains ; and yet she might have suffered 
 
 Enter Eacy awaT Mistress Bonavent. 
 Master Lacy, and his bride ! 
 
 Mis. Bon. I was wont to have one always in my 
 chamber. 
 
 Lacy. Thou shalt have a whole quire of nightingales. 
 
 Mis. Bon, I heard it yesterday warble so prettily ! 
 
 Lacy. They say 'tis lucky, when it is the first 
 Bird that salutes our ear. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Do you believe it ? 
 
 Tri. I am of his mind, and love a happy augury. 
 
 LMcy. Observe the first note always — 
 
 {Within?^ Cuckoo! 
 
 Ljacy. Is this the nightingale ? 
 
 Mis. Bon. Why do you look so ? 
 
 Lacy. Are not we married ? 
 I would not have been a bachelor to have heard it. 
 
 Mis. Bon. To them they say Jtis. fatal. 
 
228 HYDE PARK. [ACT iv. 
 
 Tri. And to married men 
 Cuckoo is no delightful note ; I shall 
 Be superstitious. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Let's walk a Uttle further. 
 Lacy. I wait upon thee. [" Cuckoo !" again wit/iin.] 
 Hark, still, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 [^Exeunt Mistress Bonavent and Lacy. 
 Tri. I am not much in love with the broad ditty. 
 
 Enter Fairfield. 
 
 Fair. Frank Trier, I have been seeking thee 
 About the Park. 
 
 7>-«. What to do ? 
 
 Fair. To be merry for half an hour ; I find 
 A scurvy rnelancholy creep upon me, 
 I'll try what sack will do ; I have sent my footman 
 To the Maurice i for a bottle, we shall meet him. 
 I'll tell thee t'other story of my lady. 
 
 Tri. I'll wait on you. 
 
 Fair. But that she is my sister, 
 I'd have thee forswear women ; but let's walk, [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Bonavent. 
 
 Bona. This way they marched ; I hope they will not 
 leap 
 The pale ; I do not know the disposition 
 Of my capering gentleman, and therefore 'twill not 
 Be indiscretion to observe him ; things 
 Must be a little better reconciled. — 
 The nightingale ! — this can presage no hurt. 
 But I shall lose my pigeons ; — they are in view. 
 Fair and far off. \Exit. 
 
 > The lodge, with the sign of Grave Maurice's head. 
 
SCENE III.] HYDE PARK. 229 
 
 SCENE III. — Another fart of the same. 
 Enter Venture and Rider. 
 
 Vent. He must be a Pegasus that beats me. 
 
 Rid. Yet your confidence may deceive you ; you will 
 ride 
 Against a jockey, that has horsemanship. 
 
 Vent. A jockey ! a jackanapes on horseback rather ; 
 A monkey or a masty ^ dog would show 
 A giant to him ; an I were Alexander, 
 I would lay the world upon my mare ; she shall 
 Run with the devil for a hundred pieces, 
 Make the match who will. 
 
 Rid. Not I, you shall excuse me, 
 Nor would I win his money. 
 
 Vent. Whose? 
 
 Rid. The devil's; 
 My gold has burnt this twelve months in my pocket ; 
 A Uttle of his amongst, would scorch my thighs. 
 And make such tinder of my linings, that 
 My breeches never after would hold money ; 
 But let this pass ; where's Lacy and his bride ? 
 
 Vent. They are walked to hear the nightingale. 
 
 Rid. The nightingale ! I have not heard one this year 
 
 Vent. Listen, and we shall hear one presently. 
 
 [ mthm.]— Cuckoo ! 
 
 Vent. The bird speaks to you. 
 
 Rid. No, 'tis to you. 
 
 Vent. Now. do I suspect 
 I shall lose the race. 
 
 Rid. Despair for a cuckoo ! 
 
 Vent. A cuckoo will not flatter, 
 His word will go before a gentleman's, 
 In the cify ; 'tis an understanding bird, 
 And seldom fails ; a cuckoo ! I'll hedge in 
 My money presently. 
 
 ' Mastiff. 
 
230 
 
 HYDE PARK. [ACT IV. 
 
 Rid. For shame, be confident. 
 Vent. Will you go half ? 
 Rid. I'll go it all, or any thing. 
 Vent. Hang cuckoos then. 
 
 Enter Lord Bonvile, Julietta, Lacy, and Mistress 
 
 BONAVENT. 
 
 Lord B. How now, gentlemen ? 
 Vent. Your honour's servants. 
 Rid. Ladies, I kiss your hands. 
 Lord B. You are the man will run away with a.11 
 The gold anon. 
 
 Vent. Your jockey must fly else. 
 Rid. I'll hold your honour thirty pieces inore. 
 Lord B. 'Tisdone. 
 Jul. Do you ride yourself ? 
 
 Vent. I shall have the reins in my own hand, lady. 
 Mis. B. Master Rider, saw you not my cousin ? 
 
 Enter Mistress Carol. 
 
 Cry mercy, she is here. — I thought you'd followed us. 
 
 Lord B. Your kinswoman ? — 
 I shall be honoiired to be your servant, lady. 
 
 Mis. Car. Alas, my lord, you'll lose by't ! 
 
 Lord B. What ? 
 
 Mis. Car. Hoiiour, by being my servant; here's a 
 brace 
 Of gentlemen will tell you as much. 
 
 Vent. But will 
 Say nothing, for our credits. 
 
 Mis. Bon. You look as you had wept. 
 
 Mis. Car. I weep ! For what ? 
 Come towards the lodge, and drink a syllabub. 
 
 Mis. Bon. A match ! 
 
 Lacy. And as we walk. Jack Venturfe, thou shalt sing 
 The song thou mad'st o' the horses. 
 
 Vent. You shall pardon me. - 
 
SCENE in.] HYDE PARK. 231 
 
 Rid. What, among friends ? my lord, if you'd speak 
 to him. 
 
 Lord B. A song by all .means. 
 Prithee let me entreat it ; what's the subject ? 
 
 Lacy. Of all the running horses. 
 
 Vent. Horses and mares, .put them together. 
 
 Lord B. Let's have it; come, I hear you can sing rarely, 
 
 Rid. An excellent voice. 
 
 ZaiTj;. A ravishing tone. ' ' 
 
 Vent. 'Tisa very ballad, my lord, and a coarse tune. 
 
 Lord B. The better; why, does-any tune become 
 A gentleman so well as a ballad ? hang 
 Curiosity ^ in music ; leave those crotchets 
 To men that get their living with a song. — 
 Come, come, begin. " [Venture sings^ 
 
 Song. 
 
 Come, Muses all, that dwell nigh the fountain. 
 
 Made by the wihgM horse's heel. 
 
 Which firked ^ with his rider over each mountain". 
 
 Let me your galloping raptures feel. 
 I do not sing of fleas, or frogs, 
 Nor of the well-mouthed hunting dogs. 
 
 Let me be just, all praises must 
 
 Be given to well-breathed JiHan Thrust. 
 
 Young Constable aiid Kill Deer's famous, 
 
 The Cat, the Mouse, and Neddy Gray ; 
 
 With nimble Peggybrig, you cannot shame us 
 
 With Spaniard nor with Spinola. . 
 
 Hill-climbing White Rose praise doth not lack. 
 Handsome Dunbar, and Yellow Jack; 
 
 But if I be just, all praises must 
 
 Be given to well-breathed Jilian Thrust. ^ 
 
 Sure-spurred Sloven, true-running Robin, 
 Of Young Shaver I do not say less, 
 
 ^ Nicety. ^ Hastened. 
 
^^2 HYDE PARK. [ACT IV. 
 
 Strawberry Soam, and let Spider pop in, 
 Fine Brackly, and brave Lurching Bess. 
 
 Victorious top was Herring Shotten, 
 
 And Spit-in's-arse is not forgotten ; 
 But if I be just, all honour must 
 Be given to well-breathed Jilian Thrust. 
 
 Lusty George, and, gentlemen, hark yet. 
 To winning Mackarel, fine-mouthed FreaK, 
 Bay Tarrall, that won the cup at Newmarket, 
 Thundering Tempest, Black Dragon eke. 
 
 Precious Sweet Lips, I do not lose, 
 
 Nor Toby with his golden shoes ; 
 But if I be just, all honour must 
 Be given to well-breathed Jilian Thrust. 
 
 Lord B. Excellent ! how think you, lady ? 
 
 Jul. I like it very well. 
 
 Mis. Car. I never thought you were a poet, Bir. 
 
 Vent. No, no, I do but dabble. 
 
 Mis. Car. You can sing rarely too ; how were these 
 parts 
 Unobserved, invisible ? 
 
 Vent. You may see, lady, 
 
 Jul. Good sir, your pardon. 
 
 Vent. Do you love singing ? hum ; la, la. \Sings. 
 
 Mis. Car. Who would have thought these qualities 
 were in you ? 
 
 Vent. Now or never. 
 
 Mis. Car. Why, I was cozened. 
 
 Vent. You are not the first I have cozened; shall I 
 wash 
 Your faces with the drops of Helicon ? 
 I have fancies in my head. 
 
 Mis. Car. Like Jupiter, you want a Vulcan but 
 To cleave your skull, and out peeps bright Minerva. 
 
 Jul. When you return I'll tell you more, my lord. 
 
 Veni, Give me a subject. 
 
SCENE III.] HYDE PARIC. 233 
 
 Mis. Bon. Prithee coz, do. 
 
 Mis. Car. Let it be — How much you dare suffer 
 
 for me. 
 Vent. Enough — hum, fa, la, la. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 Page. Master Venture, you are expected. 
 Lord B. Are they come ? 
 Page. This half hour, my lord. 
 
 Lord B. I must see the mare: you will excuse this 
 rudeness. — 
 Sirrah, stay you, and wait upon these ladies. 
 
 \Eodt Lord BoNVlLE. 
 Vent. 'Tis time to make me ready. — 
 Ladies, I take this leave in prose. 
 
 You shall see me next in other feet, \Exit. 
 
 Rid. I wish your syllabub were nectar, lady. 
 Mis. Bon. We thank you, sir, and here it comes 
 already. 
 
 Enter Milkmaid with a howl. 
 
 Jul, So, so ; is it good milk ? 
 
 Mis. Bon. Of a red cow ? 
 
 Mis. Car. You talk as you inclined to a consumption \ 
 Is the wine good ? 
 
 Milk. It comes from his Excellence' head.i 
 
 Mis. Car. My service to you, lady, and to him 
 Your thoughts prefer. 
 
 Mis. Bon. A health ! 
 
 Mis. Car. No deep one ; 'tis lawful for gentlewomen 
 To wish well to their friends. 
 
 Jul. You have obliged me — the wishes of all happiness 
 To him your heart hath chosen ! 
 
 Mis. Bon. Duty now 
 Requires I should be willing to receive it : 
 As many joys to you both, when you are married ! 
 
 1 Grave Maurice's. 
 
234 HYDE PARK, [ACT iv. 
 
 Mis. Car. Married? 
 
 Jul. You have not vowed" to die a virgin, 
 I know an humble servant of your's, lady. 
 
 Mis. Car. Mine! - , . . 
 
 Jul. Would be sorry you should be a nun. 
 
 Mis. Car. Do you think he loves me, then ? 
 
 Jul. I do not think - . ■ 
 
 He can dissemble where he does profess 
 Affection ; I know his heart by mine ; 
 Fairfield is my brother ! 
 
 Mis. Car. Your brother? then the danger's not so 
 great ; 
 But let us change our argument. With your pardon, 
 Come hither, pretty one ; how old are you? 
 
 Page. I am young, lady ; 
 I hope you do not take me for a dwarf. 
 
 Mis. Bon. How young, I pray then ? 
 
 Page. Four summers since my life was questioned, 
 And then a jury of years did pass upon me. 
 
 Mis. Car. He is upon the matter, then, fifteen. 
 
 Page. A game at noddy.i 
 
 Mis. Car. You can play your cards already, it seems : 
 Come, dririk of this syllabub. 
 
 Page. I shall spoilyour game, ladies; 
 For if there be sack in it, it may make 
 You flush a three. 
 
 Jul. The boy would seem witty. 
 
 Page. I hope, ladies, you will pardon me; my lord 
 commanded me towait upon you, arid I can do you no 
 better -service than to riiake you laugh. 
 
 Enter Fairfield and Trier. 
 
 Fair. They're here, bless you ! 
 
 Mis. Bon. Master Fairfield, you are welcome. 
 
 Fair. I presume so, but howsoever it skills" not. 
 
 ' An old game at cards. \ Matters. 
 
SCENE III.] HYDE PARK. 23s 
 
 Tri. I do not come to. borrow money. 
 
 Mis. Car. And yet all they that do so are no fools ; 
 Money or lands make not a man the-wiser, 
 I know handsome gentlemen have pawned their clothes. 
 
 Tri. I'll pawn my skin too, with a woman. 
 
 Mis, Car. Wipe your mouth; here's to you, sir ! 
 
 Tri. I'll pledge you, quicksilver. Where is your lord ? 
 
 Page. He has left Virgo, sir, to go to- Libra, 
 To see the horsemen weighed. 
 
 Tri. Lady, my service ! 
 
 Jul. Brother, you interpose too far ; my lord 
 Has used me honourably, and I must tell you. 
 Somebody, has made a fault- 
 
 Mis. Bon. Master Fairfield ! 
 
 Fair. I kiss your hand. 
 
 Tri. My lord and you have walked. 
 
 Jul. Yes, sir. ' ,■ . 
 
 Fair. My sister shall excuse ; here's to thee and thy 
 cream bowl. 
 
 Milk. I thank your worship. 
 
 Fair. There is more honesty in thy petticoat, 
 Than twenty satin ones. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Do you know that ? - .. . _ 
 
 Fair. I know by her pail ; an she were otherwise, 
 T'would turn her milk.— Come hither, let me kiss thee. 
 
 \Kisses the M^^xasSA.. 
 
 Now I am confirmed, he -that shall niarry thee 
 Shall take thee a virgin at- my peril. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Haveyotr^uch skill in maidenheads? 
 
 Fair. I'll know't by a kiss, 
 Better than any doctor by her urine. — 
 Be merry with thy cow, farewell ! — Come, Frank : 
 That wit and good clothes- should infect a woman ! 
 
 Jul. I'll tell you more hereafter; pray let's hear 
 Who wins. '"■"' -■ 
 
 Tri. Your servant, ladies. ' -- 
 
 [.£;*;««/, Fairfield ««rf Trier. 
 
235 HYDE PARK. [act IV. 
 
 Enter Jockey and Gentlemen, 
 ist Gent. What dost think, Jockey? 
 2nd Gent. The crack o' the field's against you. 
 Jock. Let 'em crack nuts. 
 \st Gent. What weight ? 
 2nd Gent. I think he has the heels. 
 %rd Gent. Get but the start. ' 
 
 Jock. However, if I get within his quarters 
 Let me alone. 
 yd Gent. Montez ci, cheval. \Exeunt. 
 
 [ Confused noise of betting within, after that a shout. 
 Mis. Car. They are started. 
 
 Re-enter Lord Bonvile, Rider, Trier, and Fairfield. 
 
 Rid. Twenty pounds to fifteen ! 
 
 Lord B. 'Tis done wi' ye ! 
 
 Fair. Forty pounds to thirty ! 
 
 Lord B. Done ! done ! I'll take all odds. 
 
 Tri. My lord, I hold as much. 
 
 Lord B. Not so. 
 
 Tri. Forty pounds to twenty. 
 
 Lord B. Done, done ! 
 
 Re-enter Lacy. 
 
 Lacy. You have lost all, my lord, an it were a million. 
 
 Lord B. In your imagination ; who can help it ? 
 
 Lacy. Venture had the start, and keeps it. 
 
 Lord B. Gentlemen, you have a fine time to triumph, 
 'Tis not your odds that makes you win. 
 
 [ Within^ Venture ! Venture ! 
 
 \Exeunt all but the ladies. 
 
 Jul. Shall we venture nothing o' the horses? 
 What odds against my lord 1 
 
 Mis. Car. Silk stockings. 
 
 Jul. To a pair of perfumed gloves ? I take it. 
 
 Mis. Car. Done ! 
 
SCENE III.] HYDE PARK. 237 
 
 Mis. Bon. And I as much. 
 
 Jul. Done, with you both ! 
 
 Mis.- Car. I'll have 'em Spanish scent. 
 
 Jul. The stockings shall be scarlet ; if you choose 
 Your scent, I'll choose my colour. 
 
 Mis. Car. 'Tis done ; if Venture 
 Knew but my lay, it would half break his neck now. 
 
 \A shout wiifdn, and cry of A jockey ! 
 
 Jul. Ha ! is the wind in that coast ? hark ! the noise 
 Is jockey now. 
 
 Mts. Car. 'Tis but a pair of gloves. 
 
 [ Within^ A jockey ! 
 
 Jul. Still it holds.— 
 
 Re-enter Lord Bonvile. 
 How have you sped, my lord ? 
 
 Lord B. Won, won ! I knew by instinct 
 The mare would put some trick upon him. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Then we have lost ; but, good my lord, the 
 circumstance. 
 
 Lord B. Great John-at-all-adventure, and grave Joc- 
 key. 
 Mounted their several mares. — I shall not tell 
 The story out for laughing, ha, ha, ha ! — 
 But this in brief — Jockey was left behind. 
 The pity and the scorn of all ; the odds 
 Played 'bout my ears like cannon, but less dangerous. 
 I took all still, the acclamations were 
 For Venture, whose disdainful mare threw dirt 
 In my old Jockey's face, all hopes forsaking us, 
 Two hundred pieces desperate, and two thousand 
 Oaths sent after them, upon the sudden. 
 When we expected no such trick, we saw 
 My rider, that was domineering ripe. 
 Vault o'er his mare into a tender slough, 
 Where he was much beholding to one shoulder, 
 For saving of his neck ; his beast recovered, 
 
238 HYDE PARK. [act iv. 
 
 And he by this time somewhaf mortified, 
 Besides mortarified/ hath lefit the triumph 
 To his Oljmipi'c adversary, who shall 
 Ride hither in full pomp on his Bucephalus, 
 With his victorious bagpipe. 
 
 Mis. Car. I would fain see 
 How Venture looks. 
 
 LordB. He's here ; ha, ha ! 
 
 Enter Venture, covered with mud, and Rider. 
 
 Vent. I told you as much before ; 
 You would not believe the cuckoo. 
 
 Mis. Car. Why, how now, sir? 
 
 Vent. An I had broke my neck in a clean way, 
 'T would ne'er have grieved me. — Lady, I am your's ; 
 Thus Caesar fell. 
 
 Lord B. Not in a slough, dear Jack. 
 
 Vent. You shall hear further from me. 
 
 Rid. Come to Knightsbridge. 
 
 Vent. That cuckoo was a witch, I'll take my death 
 on't. \Exit. 
 
 Lord B. Here comes the conqueror. 
 
 Enter a Bagpiper, and Jockey in triumph, followed by 
 BoNAVENT, Trier, and Fairfield. 
 
 " Lo, from the conquest of Jerusalem 
 
 Returns Vespasian ! " — Ha, ha ! mer — mercy, Jockey. 
 
 Jock. I told you, if I came within his quarters. 
 
 All. A jockey, a jockey ! - 
 [Exeunt all but Lacy, his Bride, and Mistress Carol. 
 
 Re-enter Bonavent and Bagpiper. 
 
 Bona. This shall be but your earnest; \Gives him 
 money.] — follow me 
 At pretty distance, and when I say " draw," 
 
 ' Suggested by Gifford in place of the "mortified of the old 
 copy. 
 
SCENE III.] HYDE PARK. 239 
 
 Play me a galliard.* — By your favour, sir, 
 Shall I speak a cool word with you? 
 
 Lacy. With all my heart. 
 
 Bona. You do owe me a dance, if you rettiembfet, 
 And I will have it now j no disjpute. — Draw ! 
 
 [Bagpiper //ajj. Lacy drww^ his'mtrd. 
 That will not serve ' yoiir turn ; comfe, shake your 
 
 heels, 
 You hear a tune ; I will not change my tool 
 For a case ■' of rapiers ; keep off, at your perils, 
 I have sworn. 
 
 Mis. Bon. For Heaven's sake some to part 'em. 
 
 Lacy. Dost hear? 
 
 Bona. And you may hear the bagpipe is not dumb : 
 Will you to this gear ? or do you-ineaTi to try 
 
 - \I)raws his sword. 
 How this will scower you ? Come, come, I will have it. 
 
 Lacy. Hold ! I will. 
 \He dances, meantime enter Lord Bonvile arid Trier. 
 
 Bona. So ; now we are on eqtia! terms, and if 
 You like it not, I'll use my t'other instrument. 
 
 Lacy. Thou art a brave fellow j come your ways. 
 
 LordB. Hold! 
 You shall not fight, I'll understand your quanel. 
 
 LMcy. Good my lord. 
 Let's have one pass. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Your weapons shall run through me; 
 And I must tell you, sir, you have been injurious — _ 
 
 Bona. Good lady, why ? in doing myself right ? 
 
 Mis. Bon. In wronging me. 
 
 Bona. I am not sensible of that. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Could any shame be fastened upon him, 
 Wherein I have no share ? 
 
 Bona. I was provoked 
 By him, if you rernember, and was not 
 
 1 A lively dance tune. ■' Couple. 
 
240 HYDE PARK. [ACT IV. 
 
 Born so unequal to him, I should suffer 
 His poor affront. 
 
 Mis. Bon. This was a day of peace, 
 The day wherein the holy priest hath tied 
 Our hearts together ; Hymen's tapers yet 
 Are burning, and it cannot be a sin 
 Less than a sacrilege, to extinguish them 
 With blood, and in contempt of Heaven's proceeding, 
 Thus to conspire our separation. 
 No Christian would profane the marriage day : 
 And when all other wish us joys, could you 
 Intrude yourself to poison all our mirth. 
 Blast, in the very budding, all our happiness 
 Our hopes had laid up for us ? 
 
 Bona, I was a stranger. 
 
 Mis. Bon. That makes you more uncivil; we were merry. 
 Which could not offend you. 
 
 Bona. I had no thought 
 To violate your mirth. 
 
 Mis. Bon. What came you for ? 
 With whom had you acquaintance ? or what favour 
 Gave you access, at so unfit a time. 
 To interrupt our calm and free delights ? 
 You cannot plead any abuse, where you 
 Were never known, that should incite you to 
 Revenge it there : I take it you were never 
 His rival. 
 
 Bona. 'Tis confessed. 
 
 Mis. Bon. What malice then 
 Prevailed above your reason to pursue us 
 With this injustice ? 
 
 Bona. Lady, give me leave. 
 I were a villain to be guilty of 
 The baseness you accuse me : your servant 
 Shall quit me from intrusion, and my soul 
 Is my best witness, that I brought no malice 
 But unstained thoughts into your roof ; -but when 
 
SCENE in.] ' MYDB PARK. 241 
 
 I was made the common laughter, I had been 
 
 Less than a man, to think of no return. 
 
 And had he been the only of my blood, 
 
 I would not be so much the shame of soldier. 
 
 To have been tamed, and suffered ; and you are 
 
 Too hasty in your judgment; I could say more, 
 
 But 'tis dishonour to expostulate 
 
 These causes with a woman : I had reason 
 
 To call him to account, you know not all 
 
 My provocation ; things are not with me 
 
 As with another man. 
 
 Mis. Bon. How is that ? the matter 
 May spread too far ; some former quarrel, — 'tis 
 My best to reconcile 'em. [Aside.] — Sir, I may 
 Be ignorant; if anything have passed 
 Before this morning, I pray pardon me ; 
 But as you are a gentleman, let me 
 Prevail, your differences may here conclude ; 
 'Las, I am part of him now, and between 
 A widow and his wife, if I be thus 
 Divorced — 
 
 Bona. I'll be his servant. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Sir, you show 
 A noble disposition. — Good my lord, 
 Compose -theii: differences. — Prithee meet his friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Bona. I have satisfaction, and desire his love. 
 
 Lacy. Thou hast done but hke a gentleman; thy 
 hand, 
 I'll love thee while I live. 
 
 Lord B. Why so; all- friends. 
 
 Bona. I meet it with a heart; and for disturbing 
 Your mirth to-day — 
 
 Lacy\ No, no disturbaince. 
 
 Bona. Then give me but the favour 
 To show^ I wish no sorrow to the bride : 
 I have a small oblation, which she must 
 
 stir. R 
 
242 HYDE PARK. [ACT iv. 
 
 Accept, or I shall doubt we are not friends ; 
 'Tis all I have to offer at your wedding. 
 
 \Gives Mistress Bonavent a paper. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Ha ! 
 
 Bona. There's my hand 
 To justify it at fit time.^Peruse it, 
 My lord, I shall be studious 
 How to deserve your favour. 
 
 Lord B. I am yours. 
 
 Lacy. My lord, let me obtain you'll honour me 
 To-night. 
 
 [Mistress Bonavent walks aside with the paper, andreads. 
 " I was taken by a Turkish pirate, and detained many 
 years a prisoner in an island-, where I had died his cap- 
 tive, had not a worthy merchant thence redeemed and 
 furnished me." — 
 
 Mis. Bon. Blessed delivery ! 
 
 Enter a Servant and delivers a letter to Mistress Carol. 
 
 Mis. Car. To me ! from Venture ? he is very mindful ; 
 
 [Reads. 
 Good, I shall make use of this. 
 
 Mis. Bon. [Reading."] — "Till then conceal me." 
 Mis. Car. Excellent stuff. 
 But I must have another name subscribed. 
 Lord B. Will you walk, ladies ? 
 
 [Gives money to the Park-keepers. 
 Mis. Car. Your servants wait upon you. 
 Keepers. We humbly thank your honour. 
 , 2nd Keep. A brave spark. 
 1st Keep. Spark ! he's the very Bonfire of nobility. 
 
 [Bpceunt. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Bona vent's House. 
 
 Enter Lacy, Mistress Bonavent, Lord- Bonvile, 
 JuLiETTA, Mistress Carol, and Trier. 
 
 ACY. My lord, you honour us. 
 Mis. Bon. And what we want 
 In honourable entertainment, we be- 
 seech 
 Our duties may supply in your con- 
 struction. 
 Lord B. What needs this cere- 
 Laey. Thou art welcome, too, Frank Trier. [mony ? 
 Tri. I give you thanks, and wish you still more joy, 
 
 sir. 
 Mis. Bon. We'll show your lordship a poor gallery. 
 Lacy. But, where's my new acquaifitaiice ? 
 Mis. Bon. His nag outstripped the coaches. 
 He'll be your guest anon, fear not I 
 
 \Exeunt all hut Mistress Carol and Julietta. 
 . Mis. Car. While they 
 Compliment with my lord, let you and I 
 Change a few words. 
 Jul. As many as you please. 
 
 Mis, Car. Then to the purpose. Touching your 
 brother, lady, 
 'Twere tedious' to repeat he has been" pleased 
 To think well of me; and to trouble you 
 
244 HYDE PARK. [act V. 
 
 With the discourse how I have answered it, 
 'Twere vain ; but thus — howe'er he seem to carry it 
 While you were present, I do find him desperate. 
 
 Jul. How ! 
 
 Mis. Car. Nay, I speak no conjecture ; 
 I have more inteUigence than you imagine. 
 You are his sister, 
 
 And nature binds you to affect his safety. 
 By some convenient messenger send for him ; 
 But, as you loVe his hfe, do not delay it : 
 Alas, I shall be sorry any gentleman 
 Should, for my sake, take any desperate course. 
 
 Jul. But are you serious ? 
 
 Mis. Car. Perhaps good counsel 
 AppUed while his despair is green, may cure him, 
 If not— 
 
 Jul. You make me wonder. 
 
 Mis. Car. I. know the inconsiderate will blame 
 Me for his death ; I shall be railed upon. 
 And have a thousand cruelties thrown on me ; 
 But would you have me promise love, and flatter him ? 
 I Would do much to save his life : I could 
 Show you a paper that would make you bleed 
 To see his resolution, and what 
 Strange and unimitable ways he has 
 Vowed to pursue ; I tremble to think on 'em, 
 There's not a punishment in fiction, 
 (And poets write enough of hell, if you 
 Have read their story,) but he'll try the worst. 
 Were it not that I fear him every minute. 
 And that all haste were requisite to Save him. 
 You should peruse his letter. 
 
 Jul. Letter I Since 
 We saw him? 
 
 Mis Car. Since ; I must confess I wondereci, 
 But you in this shall see I have no malice. 
 I pray send for him ; as I am a gentlewoman, 
 
SCENE 1.1 HYDE PARK. 245 
 
 I have pure intention to preserve his. life ; 
 
 And 'cause I see the' truth of his affliction, 
 
 Which may be your's, or mine, or anybody's, 
 
 Whose passions are neglected, I will try 
 
 My best skill to reduce ^ him. Here's Master Trier. 
 
 Re-enter Trier. 
 He now depends upon your charity ; 
 Send for him, by the love you bear a brother. 
 
 Tri. Will you not chide my want of manners, gentle- 
 women, 
 To interrupt your dialogue ? 
 Jul. We have done, sir. 
 Mis. Car. I shall be still your servant. 
 Jul. Here's a riddle ; 
 But I will do't.— 
 Shall I presume upon you for a favour? 
 
 Re-enter Lord Bonvile. 
 
 Tri. You shall impose on me a greater trouble. 
 My lord ! ^ ' 
 
 Jul. Your ear. [ Whispers Trier, 
 
 Lord B. We miss you above, lady. 
 
 Jul. My lord, I wait upon you; I beseech 
 Your pardon but a minute. — Will you do this ? 
 It is an office he may thank you for. 
 Beside my acknowledgment. 
 
 Tri. Yes, I'll go,— 
 And yet I do not like to be sent off, 
 This is the second time. \Aside, and exit. 
 
 Jul. Now I am for your lordship. What's your plea- 
 sure? 
 
 Lord B. I would be your echo, lady, and return 
 Your last word — pleasure. 
 
 Jul. May you never want it ! 
 
 Lord B. This will not serve my turn. 
 
 > Recover. 
 
.246 HYDE PARK. [ACT V. 
 
 Jul. What, my lord ? 
 
 Lord B. This is the charity of some rich men, 
 That, passing by some monument that stoops 
 With age, whose ruins plead for a: repair, ~ 
 
 Pity the fall of such a goodly pile, 
 But will not spare from their superfluous wealth, 
 To be the benefactor. 
 
 Jul. I a£knowledge . 
 
 That empty wishes are. their, shame^ that have 
 Ability to do a noble work. 
 And fly the action. 
 
 Lord B. Come, you may apply it. 
 I would not have you a gentlewoman of your word . 
 Alone, they're deeds that crown all ; what you wish me. 
 Is in your own ability to give ; 
 You understand me : will you at length consent 
 To multiply ? we'll 'point a place and time. 
 And all the world shall envy us. 
 
 Jul. My lord ! 
 
 Lord B. Lord me no lords ; shall we join lips upon't ? 
 Why do you look as you still wondered at me ? 
 Do I not make a reasonable motion ? 
 Is't only in myself? shall not you share 
 I' the delight? or do I appear a, monster, 
 'Bove all mankind, you shun .my embraces thus ? 
 There be some ladies in the world have drawn 
 Cuts for me ; I have been talked on and commended, 
 Howe'er you please to' value, me. 
 
 Jul. Did they 
 See you thus perfectly? 
 
 Lord B. Not always'; 'twas 
 Sometimes a little darker, when they praised me, 
 I have the same activity. 
 
 Jul. You are 
 Something — I would not name, my lord. -, • 
 
 Lord B. And yet you do ; you call me. lord, that's 
 soniething, 
 And you consider all men are not bom to't. 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 274 
 
 Jul. 'Twere better not to have been bom to honours, 
 Than forfeit them so poorly; he is' truly 
 Noble, and then best justifies his blood, 
 When he can number the descents of virtue. 
 i>-^ .5. You'll not degrade me? ^ 
 
 Jul. 'Tis not in my power, 
 Or will, my lord, and- yet you press me strangely. 
 As you are a person, separate and distinct, 
 By your high blood, above me and my fortunes, 
 Thus low I bend ; you have no noble title 
 Which I not bow to, -they are characters 
 Which we should read at distance, and there is 
 Not one that shall with more devotion 
 And honour of your birth, express her service : 
 It is my duty, where the king has sealed 
 His favours, I should show humility. 
 My best obedience, to his act. 
 
 Lord B. So should 
 All handsome women, that will be>good subjects. 
 
 Jul. But if to all those honourable names. 
 That marked you for the people's- reverence, 
 In such a vicious age, you dare rise up 
 Example too of goodness, they which teach 
 Their knees a compliment, will give their heart ; 
 And I among the number of the humblest. 
 Most proud to serve your lordship, and would refuse 
 No office or command, that should engage me 
 To any noble trial ; this addition • 
 Of virtue is above all shine of state, 
 And will draw more admirers : but I must 
 Be bold to tell you, sir, unless you prove 
 A friend to virtue, were your honour centupled, 
 Could you pile titles till you reach the clouds. 
 Were every petty manor you possess 
 A kingdom, and the blood of' many princes 
 United in your-veins, with these had you 
 A person that had more attraction 
 "Tiian nnpsv ran fumish. love withal, 
 
248 HYDE PARK. [act V. 
 
 Yet I, I in such infinite distance, am 
 As much above you in my innocence. 
 
 Lord. B. This becomes not. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis the first liberty 
 I ever took to speak myself ; I have 
 Been bold in the comparison, but find not 
 Wherein I have wronged virtue, pleading for it, 
 
 Lord B. How long will you continue thus ? 
 
 Jul. I wish 
 To have my last hour witness of these thoughts j 
 And I will hope, before that time, to hear 
 Yourjordship of another mind. 
 
 Lord B. I know not, 
 'Tis tinie enough to think o' that hereafter : 
 I'll be a convertite within' these two days. 
 Upon condition you and I may have 
 One bout to-night ; nobody hears. 
 • Jul. Alas! 
 
 You plunge too far, and are within this minute, 
 Further from Heaven than ever. 
 
 Lord B. I may live to 
 Requite the courtesy. 
 
 Jul. Live, my lord, to be 
 Your country's honour and support, and think not 
 Of these poor dreams. 
 
 Lord B. I find not 
 Desire to sleep ; — an I were abed with you — 
 
 Jul. 'Tis not improbable, my lord, but you 
 May live to be an old man, and fill up 
 A seat among the grave nobility ; 
 
 When your cold blood shall starve your wanton thoughts, 
 And your slow pulse beat like your body's knell. 
 When time hath snowed upon your hair, oh then 
 Will it be any comfort to remember 
 The sins of your wild youth ? how many wives 
 Or virgins you have dishonoured ? in their number, 
 Would any memory of me (should I 
 
SCENE I.] HYDE PARK. 249 
 
 Be sinful to consent), not fetch a teat 
 
 From you, perhaps a sigh, to break your heart ? 
 
 Will you not wish then you had never mixed 
 
 With atheists, and those men whose wits are vented 
 
 In oaths and blasphemy, (now the pride of gentle- 
 men,) 
 
 That strike at Heaven, and make a game of thunder ? 
 Lord B. If this be true, what a wretched thing 
 should I 
 
 Appear now, if I were any thing but a lord? 
 
 I do not like myself. — [Aside. 
 
 Give me thy hand; since there's no remedy, 
 
 Be honest !— there's no harm in this, I hope. 
 
 I will not tell thee all my mind at once ; 
 
 If I do turn Carthusian, and renounce 
 
 Flesh upon this, the devil is like to have 
 
 The worst on't. But I am-expected. [£xii. 
 
 Jul. My lord, I'll follow you. — 
 
 Enter Fairfield and Trier. 
 Brother, welcome ! — 
 Sir, we are both obliged to you. 
 A friend of your's desires some private conference. 
 
 Fair. With me ? 
 
 Jul. He does not look so desperate. — [Aside. 
 
 How do you, brother? 
 
 Fair. Well : — dost pot see me ? — 
 
 Jul. I'll come to you presently. [£xif. 
 
 Fair. What's the meaning ? 
 
 Tri, Nay, I know not; 
 She is full of mysteries of late. 
 
 Re-enter Julietta with Mistress Carol. 
 
 She'shere again; there is some trick in it. 
 
 Jul. Brother, I sent for you, and I think 'twas time ; 
 Pray hearken to this gentlewoman, she will 
 Give you good counsel. — You and I withdraw, sir. 
 
2S0 HYDE PARK. [act v. 
 
 Tri. Whither you please. 
 
 [j5ii;^«^«/ JuLiETTA ««^ Trier. 
 
 Mis. Car. You are a strange gentleman ; 
 Alas ! what do you inean ? is it because 
 I have dealt justly with you; without flattery 
 Told you my heart, you'll take these wicked courses ? 
 But J am loath to chide, yet I must tell you, 
 You are to blame; alas ! you know affection 
 Is not to be compelled ; I have been as kind 
 To you as other men, nay, I still thought 
 A little better of you, and will you 
 Give such example to the rest? — - 
 
 Because, forsooth, I do not love you, will you 
 Be desperate? • ' 
 
 Fair. Will I be desperate ? 
 
 Mis. Car. 'Twere a fine credit for you, but perhaps 
 You'll go to hell to be revenged on me, . ■ 
 And teach the other gentlemen to follow you. 
 That men may say, 'twas long of me, and rail at 
 My unkindness ; is this all your Christianity ? 
 Or could you not prosecute your impious purpose. 
 But you must send me word on't, and perplex 
 My conscience with your devilish devices ? 
 Is this a letter to be sent a mistress ? 
 
 Fair. I send a letter? \Gives him the letter. 
 
 Mis. Car. You were best deny your hand. 
 
 Fair. My nan^ie subscribed ! who has dene this ? — 
 
 [Reads. 
 " Rivers of hell, I come ; Charon, thy oar 
 Is needless, I will swim unto the shore. 
 And beg of Pluto, and of Proserpine, 
 That all the damnfed torments may be mine ; 
 With Tantalus I'll stand up to the chin 
 In waves ; upon Ixion's wheel I'll spin 
 The sister's thread ; quail Cerberus with my groan. 
 And take no physic for the rollinig stone : 
 I'll drown myself a hundred times a day^^" 
 
SCENE I.] H^DE Park. 251 
 
 Mis. Car. There be short days in hell. 
 
 I^air. "And burn myself as often, if you s£iy' 
 The word.— " 
 
 Mis.- Car. Kiss \ not I. 
 
 Fair. " And if I ever chance to come 
 Within the confines of Elysium, 
 The amazfed ghosts shall be aghast to see, 
 How I will hang myself on every tree, 
 
 Your's, till his neck be broke, Fairfield." 
 Here's a strange resolution ! 
 
 Mis Car. Is it not ? 
 Whither is fled your piety ? but, sir, 
 I have no meaning to exasperate- ; 
 Thoughts that oppose your safety, and to "show 
 I have compassion, aaid delight in no — 
 Man's ruin, I will frame myself to love you. 
 
 Fair. Will you ? why, thank you. 
 
 Mis. Car. Here's my hand, I will ; 
 Be comforted j I have a stronger faith. - - ' 
 
 Fair. I see then you have charity for a need. 
 
 Mis. Car. I'll lose my humour to preserve a Ufe. 
 You might have met with some hard-hearted inistressy - 
 
 That would have suifered you to hang or drown - 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Fair. I might indeed. 
 
 Mis: Car. And carried news '' ■- - 
 To the distressed ghosts ; but I am merciful : 
 But do not you mistake me, for I do not 
 This out of any extraordinary 
 Former good will, only to save your life. 
 There be so many beams convenient. 
 And you may slip out of the world biefore . 
 We are aware ; beside, yoii' dwell too near 
 The river ; if you should be melancholy, 
 After some tides, you would come in^ and be 
 More talked off than the pilchards ; but I have done. 
 You shall go to hell fox me : I now 
 
252 HYDM PARK. [act v. 
 
 Am very serious, and if you please 
 To think well of me, instantly we'll marry ; 
 I'll see how I can love you afterward. 
 Shall we to the priest? 
 
 Fair. By your good favour, no ; 
 I am in no such tune. 
 
 Mis. Car. You do suspect 
 I jeer still : by my troth, I am in earnest. 
 
 Fair. To save my life, you are content to marry me ? 
 ■Mis. Car. Yes, 
 
 Fair. To save thy life, I'll not be troubled with thge. 
 
 Mis. Car. How? 
 
 Fair. InTo, madam jeer-all, I am now resolved ; 
 Talk, and talk out thy heart, I will not lose 
 Myself a scruple ; have you no more letters ? 
 They're pretty mirth ; would I Jcnew who subscribed 
 My name ! I am so far from hanging of myself, 
 That I will live yet to be thy tormentor,. 
 Virtue, I thank thee for't ! arid for the more 
 Security, I'll never doat again ; 
 Nor marry, nor endure the imagination 
 Of your frail sex : this very night I will 
 Be fitted for you all ; I'll geld myself, 
 'Tis something less than hanging ; and when I 
 Have carved away all my concupiscence, 
 Observe but how I'll triumph ; nay, I'll do it. 
 An there were no more men in the world, \Going. 
 
 Mis. Car, Sir, sir ! as you love goodness, — 
 I'll tell you all ; first hear me, and then execute ; 
 You will not be so foohsh ; I do love you. 
 
 Fair. I hope so, that I may revenge thy peevishness. 
 
 Mis. Car. My heart is full, and modesty forbids 
 I should use many words; I see my folly, 
 You may be just, and use me with like cruelty. 
 But if you do, I can instruct myself, 
 And be as miserable in deed as I 
 Made you in supposition : my thoughts 
 
SCENE II.] HYDE PARK. 255 
 
 Point on no Sensuality; remit 
 What's past, and I will meet your best affection. 
 I know you love me still; do not refuse me. 
 If I go onee more back, you ne'er recover me. 
 
 Fair. I am as ticklish. 
 
 Mis. Car. Then, let's clap it up wisely. 
 While we are both i' the humour ; I do find 
 A grudging, and your last words stick in my stomach. 
 Say, is^t a match ? speak quickly. Or for ever 
 Hereafter hold your peace. 
 
 Fair. Done ! 
 
 Mis. Car. Why, done ! 
 
 Fair. Seal and dehver. 
 
 Mis. Car. My hand and heart ; this shall suffice till 
 morning. 
 
 Fair^ Each other's now by conquest, come let's to 
 If you should fail now 1 — ['em. 
 
 Mis. Car. Hold me not worth the hanging, \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \\.— Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Julietta, Lord Bonvile, and Trier. 
 
 Lord B. I knew not 
 She was thy mistress, which encouraged 
 All my discourses. 
 
 Tri. My lord, you have richly satisfied me, and 
 Now I dare write myself the happiest lover 
 In all the world. Know lady, I have tried you. 
 
 Jul. You have, it seems ! 
 Tri. And I have found thee right 
 And perfect gold, nor will I change thee for 
 A crown imperial. 
 
 Jul. And I have tried you. 
 And found you dross ; nor do I love my heart 
 So ill, to change it with you. 
 
254 HYDE PARK. .[actV, 
 
 Tri. How's this? 
 
 Jul. Unworthily you haye suspected me, 
 And cherished that bad humour, for which know 
 You never must have hope to. gain my love. 
 He that shall doubt my virtue, out of f^ncy, 
 Merits my just suspicion and disdain. 
 
 Lord B. Oh fie, Frank, practise jealousy so soon ! 
 Distrust the truth of her thou lov'st ! suspect 
 Thy own heart sooner.- — What I have said I have 
 Thy pardon for ; thou wert a wife for him 
 Whose thoughts were ne'er corrupted. 
 
 Tri. 'Twas but a trial, and may plead for p3,rdon. 
 
 Jul. I pray deny me not that liberty : 
 I will have proof, too, of the man I choose 
 My husband ; and believe me, if men be 
 At such a loss of goodness, I will value 
 Myself, and think no honour equal to 
 Remain a virgin. 
 
 Tri. I have made a trespass, 
 Which if I cannot expiate, yet let me 
 Dwell in your charity. 
 
 Jul. You shall not doubt that. — 
 
 Enter Fairfield, Mistress Carol, Lacy, and Mistress 
 
 BONAVENT. 
 
 Pray, my lord, know him for your servant. 
 
 Fair. I am much honoured. 
 
 Lord B, You cannot but deserve more 
 By the title of her brother. 
 
 Lacy. Another couple ! 
 
 Mis. Bon. Master Faiifield and my cousin are con- 
 tracted. 
 
 Mis. Car. 'Tis tirne, I think; sister I'll shortly call you, 
 
 Jul. I ever wished it. 
 
 Fair. Frank Trier is melancholy. — How hast thou 
 sped ? 
 
 Tri, No, no, I am very merry. 
 
SCENE II.] HYDE PARK. 255 
 
 Jul. Our banns, sir, are forbidden. 
 Fair. On what terms ? 
 
 Lacy. My lord, you meet but a coarse entertainment. 
 How chance the music speaks not ? Shall we dance ?. 
 
 Enter Venture a»^ Rider. 
 
 Vent. " Rivers of hell, I come ! " 
 
 Rid. " Charon, thy oar 
 Is needless." — Save you, gallants ! 
 
 Vent. " I will swim unto thy shore." Art not thou 
 Hero ? 
 
 Afis. Car. But you are not Leander, if you be 
 Not drowned in the Hellesponti 
 
 Vent. I told thee " I would drown mysetf a hundred 
 times a day." 
 
 Mis Car. Your letter did. 
 
 Vent. Ah ha ! 
 
 Mis. Car. It was a devilish good one. 
 
 Vent. Then I am come 
 To'tickle the "confines of Elysium." — 
 My lord, — I invite you to my wedding, and all this good 
 company. 
 
 Lord B. I am glad your shoulder is recovered ; 
 When is the day ? 
 
 Vent. Do thou set the time. 
 
 Mis. Car. After to-morrow, name it. 
 This gentleman and I 
 
 Shall be married in the morning, and you know 
 We must have a time to dine, and dance to bed. . 
 
 Vent. Married? 
 
 Fair. Yes, you may be a guest, sir, and be welcome. 
 
 Vent. I am bobbed 1 again ! 
 I'll bob for no more eels ; let her take her course. 
 > Lacy. Oh for some willow garlands! 
 
 • - •'-; . •! -.. . \Recorders^ sound within. 
 
 » Tricked, ^ Flageolets. 
 
as6 HYDE PARK. [act V. 
 
 Enter Page, followed by Bonavent in another disguise, 
 with willow garlands in his hand. 
 Lord B. This is my boy ; how now, sirrah? 
 Page. My lord, I am employed in a device. 
 Room for the melancholy wight, 
 Some do call him willow knight. 
 Who this pains hath undertaken. 
 To find out lovers are forsaken. 
 Whose heads, because but little witted, 
 Shall with garlands straight be fitted. 
 Speak, who are tost on Cupid's billows, 
 And receive the crown of willows. 
 This way, that way, round about, 
 
 [Bonavent goes round the company with the 
 garlands. 
 Keep your heads from breaking out. 
 Lacy. This is excellent ! Nay, nay, gentlemen, 
 You must obey the ceremony. 
 
 Vent. He took measure of my head, 
 
 Rid. And mine. 
 
 Tri. It must be my fate too. 
 
 [Bonavent /«/f a garland on Trier's head. 
 Vent. Now we be three. 
 
 Bona. And if you please to try, I do not think 
 But this would fit you excellently. 
 
 JLacy. Mine ! 
 What does he mean ? 
 
 Mis. Bon. I prithee. Master Lacy, try for once ; 
 Nay, he has some conceit. 
 
 Lacy. For thy sake, I'll do any thing ; what now ? 
 
 [Bonavent /«/f a garland on Lacy's head. 
 Bona. You are now a mess of willow — gentlemen' — 
 And now, my lord, [^Throws off his disguise."] — I'll pre- 
 sume to bid you welcome. 
 
 [Mistress Bonavent takes feord Bonvile aside. 
 Fair. Is not this the gentleman you made dance ? 
 Lacy. My new acquaintance I wherfi's thy beard ? 
 
SCENE II.] HYDE PARK. 257 
 
 Bona. I left it at the barber's ; it grew rank, 
 And he has reaped it. 
 
 Lacy. Here, take thy toy again. 
 
 \Takes off the garland. 
 
 Bona. It shall not need. 
 
 Lord B. You tell me wonders, lady ; is this gentleman 
 Your husband ? 
 
 Lacy and Mis. Car. How! her husband, my lord ? 
 
 Bona. Yes, indeed, lady ; if you please you may 
 Call me your kinsman : seven year and misfortune, 
 I confess, had much disguised me, but I was. 
 And by degrees may prove again, her husband. 
 
 Mis. Bon. After a tedious absence, supposed death. 
 Arrived to make me happy. 
 
 Vent. This is rare ! 
 
 Bona. My lord, and gentlemen. 
 You are no less welcome than before. — Master Lacy, 
 Droop not. 
 
 Lord B. This turn was above all expectation. 
 And full of wonder ; I congratulate 
 Your mutual happiness. 
 
 Vent. All of a brotherhood ! 
 
 Lacy. Master Bonavent ! on my conscience it is he ! 
 Did fortune owe me this ? 
 
 Mis. Car. A thousand welcomes. 
 
 Mis. Bon. Equal joys to thee and Master Fairfield. 
 
 Lord B, Nay, then, you but obey the ceremony. 
 
 Lacy. I was not ripe for such a blessing ; take her. 
 And with an honest heart I wish you joys. 
 Welcome to life again ! I see a providence 
 In this, and I obey it. 
 
 Vent. In such good company 'twould never grieve 
 A man to wear the willow. 
 
 Bona. You have but changed 
 Your host, whose heart proclaims a general welcome. 
 
 Mis. Bon. He was discovered to me in the Park, 
 Though I concealed it. 
 
258 HYDE PARK. [ACT v. 
 
 Bona. Every circumstance 
 Of my absence, after supper we'll discourse of. 
 I will not doubt your lordship means to honour us. 
 
 Lord B. I'll be your guest, and drink a jovial health 
 To your new marriage, and the joys of your 
 Expected bride ; hereafter you may do 
 As much for me. — Fair lady, will you write 
 Me in your thoughts ? if I desire to be 
 A servant to your virtue, will you not 
 Frown on me then ? 
 
 Jul. Never in noble ways ; 
 No virgin shall more honour you. 
 
 Lord B. By thy cure 
 I am now myself, yet dare call nothing mine, 
 Till I be perfect blest in being thine. \Exettnt. 
 
THE 
 LcAVY OF TLEqASUT^. 
 
T was in October, 1635, that the comedy 
 of The Lady of Pleasure was licensed 
 by the Master of the Revels and acted 
 by her Majesty's Servants at the 
 Private House in Drury Lane. . The 
 play seems to have been much liked. 
 The first and only edition of it issued 
 during Shirley's lifetime was published in 1637. 
 
To the Right Honourable 
 
 RICHARD LORD LOVELACE, OF HURLEY.i 
 My Lord, 
 
 CANNOT want encouragement to present 
 a poqm to your lordship, while you pos- 
 sess so noble a breast, in which so many 
 seeds of honour, to the example and 
 glory of your name, obtained, before your 
 years, a happy maturity. This comedy, 
 fortunate in the scene, and one that may challenge a 
 place in the first form of the author's compositions, most 
 humbly addresseth itself to your honour ; if it meet your 
 gracious acceptance, and that you repent not to be a 
 patron, your lordship will only crown the imagination, and 
 for ever, by this favour, oblige. 
 My Lord, 
 The most humble services of your honourer, 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 ' Sir Richard Lovelace was created Lord Lovelace of Hurley in 
 Berkshire in 1627. 
 
 
 
 
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Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 
 Lord A. 
 
 Sir William Scentlove, -. 
 
 Master Alexander Kickshaw, > Gallants. 
 
 Master John Littleworth, ) 
 
 Haircut, a Barber. 
 
 Master Frederick, nephew to Lady Boknweix. 
 
 Steward to Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 
 Steward to Celestina. 
 
 Secretary to Lord A. 
 
 Servants, &c. 
 
 Lady Bornwell, Wife of Sir Thomas. 
 Celestina, a young Widow. 
 Isabella, ) ^ . 
 
 MARIANA, j^""°'^^°^*=^^^^™^- 
 
 Decoy, a Procuress. 
 Gentlewoman. 
 
 SCENE— The Strand. 
 

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 "^/^it^^^r^S, 
 
 W^M 
 
 
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 ^3/^%'^^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 THE LzAVY OF TLE<iASUT{E. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in S'lrTnouAS Bornwell's jffowjf. 
 . Enter Lady Bornwell, and Steward. 
 
 TEW. Be patient, madam ; you may have 
 your pleasure. 
 Lady B. 'Tis that I caine to town for. 
 I would not 
 Endure again the country conversation, 
 To be the lady of six shires ! The men, 
 So near the primitive making, they retain 
 A sense of nothing but the earth ; their brains, 
 And barren heads standing as much in want 
 Of ploughing as their ground. To hear a fellow 
 Make himself merry and his horse, with whistling 
 Sellinger's Round !' To observe with what solemnity" 
 They keep their wakes, and throw for pewter candle- 
 sticks ! 
 How they become the morris, with whose bells 
 They ring all in to Whitsun-ales ; and sweat. 
 Through twenty scarfs and napkins, till the hobby-horse 
 Tire, and the Maid Marian, dissolved to a jelly, 
 Be kept for spoon meat ! 
 
 1 A tune adapted to country dances. 
 
3 64 THE LADY OF PLEA S URE. [act I. 
 
 Stew. These, with your pardon, are no argument 
 Ta make the country life appear so hateful ; 
 At least to your particular, who enjoyed 
 A blessing in that calm, would you be pleased 
 To think so, and the pleasure of a kingdom ; 
 While your own will commanded what should move 
 Delights, your husband's love and power joined 
 To give your life more harmony. You lived there 
 Secure, and innocent, beloved of all ; 
 Praised for your hospitality, and prayed for : 
 You might be envibd ; but malice knew 
 Not where you dwelt. I would not prophesy. 
 But leave to your own apprehension. 
 What may succeed your change. 
 
 Lady B. You do imagine. 
 No doubt, you have talked wisely, and confuted 
 London past all defence. Your master should . 
 Do well to send you back into the country. 
 With title of superintendentibailiff. 
 
 Slew. How, madam ! 
 
 Lady B. Even so, sir. 
 
 Stew. I am a gentleman. 
 Though now your servant. 
 
 Lady B. A country gentleman. 
 By your affection to converse with stubble. 
 His tenants will advance- your wit, and plump it so 
 With beef and bag-pudding ! 
 
 Stew. You may say your pleasure, 
 It becomes not me dispute. 
 
 Lady B. Complain to 
 The lord of the soil, your master. 
 
 Stew. You're a woman 
 Of an ungoverned passion, and I pity you. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 Born. How now ? What's the matter ? 
 Stew. Nothing, sir. . [Exit. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 265 
 
 Born. Angry, sweetheart ? 
 
 Lady B. I am angry with myself, 
 To be so miserably restrained in' things. 
 Wherein it doth concern your love and honour 
 To see me satisfied. 
 
 Born. In what, Aretina, 
 Dost thou accuse me ? Have I not obeyed 
 All thy desires ? against mine own opinion 
 Quitted the country, and removed the hope 
 Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship 
 We lived in ? changed a calm and retired life 
 For this wild town, composed of noise and charge ? 
 
 Lady B. What charge, more than is necessary for 
 A lady, of my birth and education ? 
 
 Born. I am not ignorant how much nobility 
 Flows in your blood ; your kinsmen great and powerful 
 I' the state ; but with this, lose not you memory 
 Of being my wife. I shall be studious, 
 Madam, to give the dignity of your birth 
 All the best ornaments which become my fortune ; 
 But would not flatter it, to ruin both. 
 And be the fable of the town, to teach 
 Other men loss of wit by mine, employed 
 To serve your vast expenses. 
 
 Lady B. Am I then 
 Brought in the balance ? So, sir ! 
 
 Boi-n. Though you weigh 
 Me in a partial scale, my heart is honest. 
 And must take liberty to think you have 
 Obeyed no modest counsel, to affect. 
 Nay, study ways of pride and costly ceremony : 
 -Your change of gaudy furniture, and pictures 
 Of this Italian master, and that Dutchman ; 
 Your inighty looking-glasses, like artillery. 
 Brought home on engines; the superfluous plate, 
 Antique and novel ; vanities of tires ; 
 Fourscore-pound suppers for my lord, your kinsman, 
 
266 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act i. 
 
 Banquets for t' other lady aunt, and cousins, 
 And perfumes that exceed all : train of servants, 
 To stifle us at home, and show abroad 
 More motley than the French or the Venetian, 
 About your coach, whose rude postillion 
 Must pester every narrow lane, till passengers 
 And tradesmen curse your choking up their stalls ; 
 And common cries pursue your ladyship. 
 For hindering of their market. 
 - Lady B. Have you done, sir ? 
 
 Born. I could accuse the gaiety of your wardrobe. 
 And prodigal embroideries, under which 
 Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare 
 Not show their own complexions ; your jewels. 
 Able to burn out the spectators' eyes. 
 And show like bonfires on you by the tapers : 
 Something might here be spared, with safety of 
 Your birth and honour, since the truest wealth 
 Shines from the soul, and draws up just admirers. — 
 I could urge something mpre. 
 
 Lady B. Pray do, I like 
 Your homily of thrift. 
 
 Born. I could wish, madam, 
 You would not game so much. 
 
 Lady B. A gamester too ! 
 
 Born. But are not come to that acquaintance yet, 
 Should teach you skill enough to raise your profit. 
 You look not through the subtilty of cards, 
 And mysteries of dice ; nor can you save 
 Charge with the box, buy petticoats and pearls. 
 And keep your family by the precious income ; 
 Nor do I wish you should : my poorest servant 
 Shall not upbraid my tables, nor his hire. 
 Purchased beneath my honour. You make play 
 Not a pastime but a tyranny, and vex 
 Yourself and my estate by it. 
 
 Lady B. Good ! proceed. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 267 
 
 ■ Born. Another game you have, which consumes more 
 Your fame than purse ; your revels in the night, 
 Your meetings called the Ball, to which repair, 
 As to the court of pleasure, all your gallants, 
 And ladies, thither bourid by a subpeena 
 Of Venus, and small Cupid's high displeasure ; 
 'Tis but the Family of Love ' translated 
 Into more costly sin ! There was a play on't. 
 And had the poet not been bribed to a modest 
 Expression of your antic gambols in't, 
 Some darks had been discovered, and the deeds too 
 In time he may repent, and make some blush. 
 To see the second part danced on the stage. 
 My thoughts acquit you for dishonouring me 
 By any foul act ; but the virtuous know, 
 'Tis not enough to clear ourselves, but the 
 Suspicions of our shame. 
 
 Lady B. Have you concluded 
 Your lecture ? 
 
 Born. I have done; and howsoever 
 My language may appear to you, it carries 
 No other than my fair and just intent 
 To your delights, without curb to their modest. 
 And noble freedom. 
 
 Lady B. I'll not be" so tedious 
 In my reply ; but, without art or elegance, 
 Assure you, I keep still my first opinion : 
 And though you veil your avaricious meaning 
 With handsome names of modesty and thrift, 
 I find you would intrench and wound the liberty 
 I was born with. Were my desires unprivileged 
 By example, while my judgment thought 'em fit. 
 You ought not to oppose ; but when the practice 
 And track of every honourable lady 
 
 1 The supposed licentiousness of this religious sect is often 
 noticed by the- writers of our poet's age. Middleton has a drama 
 wilh thij title. 
 
268 2HE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT I. 
 
 Authorise me, I take it great injustice 
 To have my pleasures circumscribed, and taught me. 
 . A narrow-minded husband is a thief 
 To his own fame, afid his preferment too ; 
 He shuts his parts and fortunes from the world; 
 While, from the popular vote and knowledge, men 
 Rise to employment in the state. 
 
 Born. I have 
 No great ambition to buy preferment at 
 So dear a rate. 
 
 Lady B. Nor I to sell my honour, 
 By living poor and sparingly ; I was not 
 Bred in that ebb of fortune, and my fate 
 Shall not conipel me to it. 
 
 Born. I know not. 
 Madam ; but you pursue these ways — 
 
 Lady B. What ways ? 
 
 Born. In the strict sense of honesty, I dare 
 Make oath they are innocent. 
 
 Lady B. Do not divert. 
 By busy troubling of your brain, those thoughts 
 That should preserve 'em. 
 
 Born. How was that? 
 
 Lady B. 'Tis English. 
 
 Born. But carries some unkind sense.. 
 
 Enter Decoy. 
 
 Dec. Good morrow, my sweet madam. 
 
 Lady B. Decoy ! welcome ; 
 This visit is a favour. 
 
 Dec. Alas, sweet madam, 
 I cannot stay ; I came but to present 
 My service to your ladyship ; I could not 
 Pass by your door, but I must take the boldness 
 To tender my respects. 
 
 Lady B. You oblige me, madam ; 
 But I must not dispense so with your absence. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 269 
 
 Dec. Alas, the coach, madam, stays for me at the 
 door. 
 
 Lady B. Thou shalt command mine; prithee, sweet 
 Decoy — 
 
 Dec. I would wait on you, madam, but I have many 
 Visits to make this morning ; I beseech — 
 
 Lady ^. So you will promise to dine with me. 
 
 Dec. I shall 
 Present a guest. 
 
 Lady B. Why, then good morrow, madam. 
 
 Dec. A happy day shine on your ladyship ! \Exit. ' 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 
 Lady B. What's your news, sir? 
 
 Stew. Madam, two gentlemen. 
 
 Xady B. What gentlemen ? Have they no names ? 
 
 Stew. They are. 
 The gentleman with his own head of hair. 
 Whom you commended for his horsemanship 
 In Hyde Park, and becoming so the saddle. 
 The t'other day. 
 
 Lady B. What circumstance is this 
 To know him by ? 
 
 Stew. His name's at my tongue's end : — 
 He liked the fashion of your pearl chain, madam ; 
 And borrowed it for his jeweller to take 
 A copy by it. 
 
 Born. What cheating gallant's this ? \Aside. 
 
 Stew. That never walks without a lady's busk. 
 And plays with fans — Master Alexander Kickshaw, — 
 I thought I should remember him. 
 
 Lady B. What's the other? 
 
 Stew. What an unlucky memory I have ! 
 The gallant that still dancetji'in the street, 
 And wears a gross of ribbon in his hat ; 
 That carries oringado in his pocket, 
 And sugar-plums, to sweeten his discourse; 
 
270 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act i. 
 
 That studies compliment, defies all wit 
 
 In black, and censures plays that are not bawdy — 
 
 Master John Littleworth. 
 
 Lady B. They are welcome ; but 
 Pray entertain them a small time, lest I 
 Be unprovided. 
 
 Born. Did they ask for me ? 
 
 Stew. No, sir. 
 
 Born. It matters not, they must be welcome. 
 
 Lady B. Fie ! how's this hair disordered ? Here's a 
 curl 
 Straddles most impiously. I must to my closet. \Exit. 
 
 Born. Wait on 'em ; my lady will return again. 
 
 \Exit Stewairi. 
 I have to such a height fulfilled her humour, 
 All application's dangerous : these gallants 
 Must be received, or she will fall into 
 A tempest, and the house be shook with names 
 Of all her kindred. 'Tis a servitude 
 I may in time shake off. 
 
 Enter Kickshaw and Littleworth. 
 
 Kick and Little. Save you. Sir Thomas ! 
 . Born. Save you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Kick. I kiss your hand. 
 
 Born. What day is it abroad ? 
 
 Little. The morning rises from your lady's eye : 
 If she look clear, we take the happy om.en 
 Of a fair day. 
 
 Born. She'll instantly appear, 
 To the discredit of your compliment ; 
 But you express your wit thus. 
 
 Kick. And you modesty. 
 Not to affect the praises of your own. 
 
 Born. Leaving this subject, what game's now on 
 foot? 
 What exercise carries the general vote 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 271 
 
 O' the town, now ? nothing moves without your know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Kick. The cocking now has all the noise ; I'll have 
 A hundred pieces on one battle. — Oh, 
 These birds of Mars ! 
 
 Little. Venus is Mars' bird too. 
 
 Kick. Why, and the ^etty doves are Venus's, 
 To show that kisses draw the chariot. 
 
 Little.. I am for that skirmish. 
 
 Born. When shall we have 
 More booths and bagpipes upon Banstead downs ? 
 No mighty race is expected ? — But my lady 
 Returns ! 
 
 Re-enter Lady Bornwell. 
 
 Lady B. Fair morning to you, gentlemen ! 
 You went not late to bed by your early visit. 
 You do me honour. 
 
 Kick. It becomes our service. 
 
 Lady B. What news abroad ? you hold precious intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 Little. All tongues are so much busy with your praise, 
 They have not lime to frame other discourse. 
 Will't please you, madam, taste a sugar-plum ? 
 
 Born. What does the goldsmith think the pearl is 
 worth 
 You borrowed of my lady ? 
 
 Kick. 'Tis a rich one. 
 
 Born. She has many other toys,, whose fashion you 
 Will like extremely : you- have no intention 
 To buy any of her jewels ? 
 s Kick. Understand me — 
 
 Born. You had rather sell, perhaps. But leaving this. 
 I hope you'll dine with us. 
 
 Kick. I came o' purpose. 
 
 Lady B. And where were you last night 
 
 Kick. I, madam ? where 
 
2/2 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act i. 
 
 I slept not ; it had been sin, where so much 
 
 Delight and beauty was to keep me waking. 
 
 There is a lady, madam, will be worth 
 
 Your free society; my conversation 
 
 Ne'er knew so elegant and brave a soul. 
 
 With most incomparable flesh and blood ; 
 
 So spirited ! so courtly ! speaks the languages. 
 
 Sings, dances, plays o' the lute to admiration ! 
 
 Is fair, and paints not ; games too, keeps a table, 
 
 And talks most witty satire ; has a wit 
 
 Of a clean Mercury — 
 
 Little. Is she married ? 
 
 Kick. No. 
 
 Lady B. A virgin ? 
 
 Kick. Neither. 
 
 Little. What ! a widow ! something 
 Of this wide commendation might have been 
 Excused. This such a prodigy ! 
 
 Kick. Repent, 
 Before I name her : she did never see 
 Yet full sixteen, an age, in the opinion 
 Of wise men, not contemptible. She has 
 Mourned out her year too for the honest knight 
 That had compassion of her youth, and died 
 So timely. Such a widow is not common ; 
 And now she shines more fresh and tempting 
 Than any natural virgin. 
 
 Lady B. What's her name ? 
 
 ICick. She was christened Celestina ; by her husband, 
 The Lady Bellamour: this ring was hers. 
 
 Born. You borrowed it to copy out the posy. 
 
 Kick. Are they not pretty rubies ? 'twas a grace 
 She was pleased to show me, that I might have one 
 Made of the self- same fashion ; for I love 
 All pretty forms. 
 
 Lady B. And is she glorious ? 
 
 Kick. She is full of jewels, madam ; but I am 
 
SCENE t.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 273 
 
 Most taken with the bravery of her mind, 
 Although her garments .have all grace and ornament. 
 
 Lady B. You have been high in praises. 
 
 Kick. I come short ; 
 No flattery can reach her. 
 
 Born. Now my lady 
 Is troubled, as she feared to be eclipsed : 
 This news will cost me somewhat. \Aside. 
 
 Lady B. You deserve 
 Her favour, for this noble character. 
 
 Kick. And I possess it, by my stars benevolence. 
 
 Lady B. You must bring us acquainted. 
 
 Born. I pray do, sir ; 
 I long Jo see her too. — Madam, I have 
 Thought upon't, and corrected my opinion. 
 Pursue what ways of pleasure your desires 
 Incline you to, not only with my state. 
 But with my person ; I will follow you : 
 I see the folly of my thrift, and will 
 Repent in sack and prodigahty, 
 To your own heart's content. 
 
 Lady B. But do not mock. 
 
 Born. Take me to your embraces, gentlemen. 
 And tutor me. 
 
 Little. And will you kiss the ladies ? 
 
 Born. And sing and dance. I long to see this beauty; 
 I would fain lose a hundred pounds at dice now. — 
 Thou shalt have another gown and petticoat 
 To-morrow ; — will you sell me running-horses ? 
 We have no Greek wine in the house, I think ; 
 Pray send one of our footmen to the merchant, 
 And throw the hogsheads of March-beer into 
 The kennel, to make room for sack and claret. 
 What think you to be drunk yet before dinner? 
 We will have constant music, and maintain 
 Them and their fiddles in fantastic liveries : 
 I'll tune my voice to catches. — I must have 
 
 Shir. T 
 
274 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act I. 
 
 My dining-room enlarged, to invite ambassadors 
 We'll feast the'parish in the fields, and teach 
 The military men new discipline, 
 Who shall charge all their great artillery 
 With oranges and lemons, boy, to play 
 All dinner upon our capons. 
 Kick. He's exalted ! 
 
 Born. I will do anything to please my lady. 
 Let that suffice ; and kiss o' the same condition. 
 I am converted ; do not you dispute, 
 But patiently allow the miracle. 
 
 Lady B. I am glad to hear you, sir, in so good tune. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the painter. 
 
 Lady B. I am to sit this morning. 
 
 Born. Do. 
 While I give new directions to my steward. 
 
 Kick. With your favour, we'll wait on you. 
 Sitting's but a melancholy exercise without 
 Some company to discourse. 
 
 Lady B. It does conclude 
 A lady's morning work. We rise, make fine. 
 Sit for our picture, and 'tis time to dine. 
 
 Little. Praying's forgot. 
 
 Kick. 'Tis out of fashion. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in Celestina's House. 
 Enter Celestina and her Steward. 
 
 Cel. Fie ! what an air this room has ! 
 
 Stew. 'Tis perfumed. 
 
 Cel. With some cheap stuff. Is it your wisdom's thrift 
 To infect my nostrils thus ? or is't to favour 
 The gout in your worship's hand, you are afraid 
 
SCENE 11.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 275 
 
 To exercise your pen in your account book ? 
 Or do you doubt my credit to discharge 
 Your bills? 
 
 Stew. Madam, I hope you have not found 
 My duty, with the guilt of sloth or jealousy, 
 Unapt to your command. 
 
 Cel. You can extenuate 
 Your faults with language, sir ; but I expect 
 To be obeyed. What hangings have we here ! 
 
 Stew. They are arras, madam. 
 
 Cel. Impudence ! I know't. 
 I will have fresher, and more rich ; not wrought 
 With faces that may scandalize a Christian, 
 With Jewish stories stuffed with com and camels.' 
 You had best wrap all my chambers in wild Irish, 
 And make a nursery of monsters here. 
 To fright the ladies come to visit me. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I hope — 
 
 CeL I say I will have other. 
 Good Master Steward, of a finer loom ; 
 Some silk and silver, if your worship please 
 To let me be at so much cost I'll have 
 Stories to fit the seasons of the year, 
 And change as often as I please. 
 
 Stew. You shall, madam. 
 
 Cel. I am bound to your consent, forsooth ! And is 
 My coach brought home ? 
 
 Stew. This morning I expect it. 
 
 Cel. The inside, as I gave directions. 
 Of crimson plush ? 
 
 Stew. Of crimson camel plush. 
 
 Cel. Ten thousand moths consume't ! Shall I ride 
 through 
 The streets in penance, wrapt up round in hair cloth ? 
 Sell't to an alderman, 'twill serve his wife 
 To go a feasting to their country-house; 
 
 ' The story of Joseph and his brethren. 
 
276 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act I. 
 
 Or fetch a merchant's nurse-child, and come home 
 Laden with fruit and cheese-cakes. I despise it ! 
 
 Stew. The nails adorn it, madam, set in method, 
 And pretty forms. 
 
 Cel. But single gilt, I warrant. 
 
 Stew. No, madam. 
 
 Cel. Another solecism ! Oh fie ! 
 This fellow will bring me to a consumption 
 With fretting at his ignorance.- Some lady 
 Had rather never pray, than go to church in't. 
 The nails not double gilt ! To market with't ; 
 'Twill hackney out to Mile-end, or convey 
 Your city tumblers, to be drunk with cream 
 And prunes at Islington. 
 
 Stew. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Cel. I'll rather be beholding to my aunt 
 The countess, for her mourning coach, than be 
 Disparaged so. Shall any juggling tradesman 
 Be at charge to shoe his running-horse with gold,' 
 And shall my coach nails be but single gilt ! 
 How dare these knaves abuse me so ? 
 
 Stew. Vouchsafe 
 To hear me speak. 
 
 Cel. Is my sedan yet finished, 
 And liveries for my men-mules, according 
 As I gave charge ? 
 
 Stew. Yes, madam, it is finished. 
 But without tilting-plumes at the four corners ; 
 The scarlet's pure, but not embroidered. 
 
 Cel. What mischief were it to your conscience 
 Were my coach lined with tissue, and my harness 
 Covered with needle-work ? if my sedan 
 Had all the story of the prodigal 
 Embroidered with pearl ? 
 
 1 See ante p. 232, where " Toby with his golden shoes " is 
 enumerated among the running-horses ; the above allusion is pro- 
 bably to the same animal, whose successes perhaps had led his 
 owner to distinguish him in so peculiar a way. — Gifiord. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 277 
 
 Siew. Alas, good madam, 
 I know 'tis your own cost ; I am but your steward. 
 And would discharge my duty the best way. 
 You have been pleased to hear me ; 'tis not for 
 My profit that I manage your estate, 
 And save expense, but for your honour, madam. 
 
 Cel. How, sir ! my honour ? 
 
 Stew. Though you hear it not, 
 Men's tongues are liberal in your character. 
 Since you began to live thus high. I know 
 Your fame is precious to you. 
 
 ■ Cel. I were best 
 Make you my governor : audacious varlet ! 
 How dare you interpose your doating counsel ! 
 Mind your affairs ^vith more obedience, 
 Or I shall ease you of an offence, sir. 
 Must I be limited to please your honour. 
 Or, for the vulgar breath, confine my pleasures ? 
 I will pursue 'em in what shapes I fancy. 
 Here, and abroad ; my entertainments shall 
 Be oftener, and more rich. Who shall control me ? 
 I live i' the Strand, whither few ladies come 
 To live, and purchase, more than fame. I will 
 Be hospitable then, and spare no cost 
 That may engage all generous report 
 To trumpet forth my bounty and my bravery. 
 Till the court envy, and remove. I'll have 
 My house the academy of wits, who shall 
 Exalt their genius with rich sack and sturgeon. 
 Write panegyrics of my feasts, and praise 
 The method of my witty superfluities. 
 The horses shall be taught, with frequent waiting 
 Upon my gates, to stop in their career 
 Toward Charing-cross, spite of the coachman's fury j 
 And not a tilter but shall strike his plume. 
 When he sails by my window : my balcony 
 Shall be the courtier's idol, and more gazed at 
 
278 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT I. 
 
 Than all the pageantry at Temple Bar, 
 By country clients. 
 
 Stew. Sure my lady's mad. 
 
 Cel. Take that for your ill manners. \Strikes him. 
 
 Stew. Thank you, madam. — 
 I would there were less quicksilver in your fingers. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Cel. There's more than simple honesty in a servant 
 Required to his full duty ; none should dare 
 But with a look, much less a saucy languag£, 
 Check at their mistress' pleasure. I'm resolved 
 To pay for some delight, my estate will bear it ; 
 I'll rein it shorter when I please. 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 
 Stew. A gentleman 
 Desires to speak with your ladyship. 
 
 Cel. His name ? 
 
 Stew. He says you know him not ; he seems to be 
 Of quahty. 
 
 Cel. Admit him. \Exit Steward. 
 
 Enter Haircut. 
 Sir, with me ? 
 
 Hair. Madam, I know not how you may receive 
 This boldness from me ; but my. fair intents 
 Known, will incline you to be charitable. 
 
 Cel. No doubt, sir. 
 
 Hair. He must live obscurely, madam. 
 That hath not heard what virtues you possess ; 
 And I, a poor admirer of your fame. 
 Am come to kiss your hand. 
 
 Cel. That all your business ? 
 
 Hair. Though it were worth much travel, I have more 
 In my ambition. 
 
 Cel. Speak it freely, sir. 
 
 Hair. You are a widow. 
 
 Cel. So ! 
 
SCENE 11.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 279 
 
 Hair. And I a bachelor. 
 
 Cel. You come a wooing, sir, and would perhaps 
 Show me a way to reconcile the two ? 
 
 Hair. And bless my stars for such a happiness. 
 
 Cel. I like you, sir, the better, that you do not 
 Wander about, but shoot home to the meaning ; 
 It is a confidence will make a man 
 Know sooner what to trust to : but I never 
 Saw you before, and I believe you come not 
 With hope to find me desperate upon marriage. 
 If maids, out of their ignorance of what 
 Men are, refuse these offers, widows may, 
 Out of their knowledge, be allowed some coyness : 
 And yet I know not how much happiness 
 A peremptory answer may deprive me of ; — 
 You may be some young lord, and though I see not 
 Your footmen and your groom, they may not be 
 Far off, in conference with your horse. Please you 
 To instruct me with your title, against which 
 I would not wilhngly offend. 
 
 Hair. I am 
 A gentleman ; my name is Haircut, madam. 
 
 Cel'. Sweet Master Haircut ! are you a courtier ? 
 
 Hair. Yes. 
 
 Cel. I did think so, by your confidence. 
 Not to detain you, sir, with circumstance, 
 I was not so unhappy in my husband, 
 But that 'tis possible I may be a wife 
 Again ; but I must tell you, he that wim 
 My affection, shall deserve me. 
 
 Hair. I will hope. 
 If you can love, I shall not present, madam. 
 An object to displease you in my person : 
 And when time, and your patience, shall possess you 
 With further knowledge of me, and the truth 
 Of my devotion, you will not repent 
 The offer of my service. 
 
28o THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT I. 
 
 Cel. You say well. 
 How long do you imagine you can love, sir ? 
 Is it a quotidian, or will it hold 
 But every other day ? 
 
 Hair. You are pleasant, madam. 
 
 Cel. Does it take you with a burning at the first. 
 Or with a cold fit ? for you gentlemen 
 Have both your summer and your winter service. 
 
 Hair. I am ignorant what you mean ; but I shall never 
 Be cold in my affection to such beauty. 
 
 Cel. And 'twill be somewhat long ere I be warm in't. 
 
 Hair. If you vouchsafe me so much ht)nour, madam, 
 That I may wait on you sometimes, I shall not 
 Despair to see a change. 
 
 Cel. But, now I know 
 Your mind, you shall not need to tell it when 
 You come again ; I shall remember it. 
 
 Hair. You make me fortunate. 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 
 Stew. Madam, your kinswomen, 
 The lady Novice, and her sister, are 
 New lighted from their coach. 
 
 Cel. I did expect 'em. 
 They partly are my pupils. I'll attend them. 
 
 \Exit Steward. 
 
 Hair. Madam, I have been too great a trespasser 
 Upon your patience ; I will take my leave : 
 You have affairs, and I have some employment 
 Calls me to court ; I shall present again 
 A servant to you. \Exit. 
 
 Cel. Sir, you may present. 
 But not give fire, I hope. — Now to the ladies. 
 This recreation's past, the next must be 
 To read to them some court philosophy. [Exit, 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in Sir THOMAS BORNWEiL'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 I ORN. 'Tis a strange humour I have 
 undertaken, 
 To dance, and play, and spend as fast as 
 
 she does; 
 But I am resolved : it may do good upon 
 
 her, 
 
 And fright her into thrift. Nay, I'll endeavour 
 To make her jealous too ; if this do not 
 Allay her gamboling, she's past a woman. 
 And only a miracle must tame her. 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 Stew. 'Tis master Frederick, my lady's riephew. 
 Born. What of him ? 
 Stew. Is come from the university. 
 Born. By whose directions ? 
 Stew. It seems, my lady's. 
 Born. Let me speak with him 
 Before he sees his aunt. S^Exit Stew.]— I do not like it.— 
 
 Re-enter Steward, with Frederick, in his college dress. 
 Master Frederick, welcome ! I expected not 
 So soon your presence; what's the hasty cause? 
 
 Pred. These letters, from my tutor, will acquaint you. 
 
 Y^ive^ Bornwell letters. 
 
282 THE LADY OF PLEA S URE. [ACT ii . 
 
 Stew. Welcome home, sweet Master Frederick ! 
 
 Fred. Where's my aunt ? 
 
 Stew. She's busy about her painting", in her closet ; 
 The outlandish man of art is copying out 
 Her countenance. 
 
 Fred. She is sitting for her picture ? 
 
 Stew. Yes, sir ; and when 'tis drawn she will be hanged 
 Next the French cardinal, in the dining-room. 
 But when she hears you are come, she will dismiss 
 The Belgic gentleman, to entertain 
 Your worship. 
 
 Fred. Change of air has made you witty. 
 
 Born. Your tutor gives you a handsome character, 
 Frederick, and is sorry your aunt's pleasure 
 Commands you from your studies ; but I hope 
 You have no quarrel to the liberal arts : 
 Learning is an addition beyond 
 Nobility of birth. Honour of blood. 
 Without the ornament of knowledge, is 
 A glorious ignorance. 
 
 Fred. I never knew 
 More sweet and happy hours than I employed 
 Upon my books. I heard 
 A part of my philosophy, and was so 
 Delighted with the harmony of nature, 
 I could have wasted my whole life upon it. 
 
 Born. 'Tis pity a rash indulgence should corrupt 
 So fair a genius ! She's here ; I'll observe. \Aside. 
 
 Enter Lady Bornwell, Kickshaw, and Littleworth. 
 
 Fred. My most loved aunt ! 
 
 Lady B. Support me, I shall faint. 
 
 Little. What ails your ladyship ? 
 
 Lady B. Is that Frederick, 
 In black ? 
 
 Kick. Yes, madam ; but the doublet's satin. 
 
 JLady B. The boy's undone ! 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 283 
 
 Fred. Madam, you appear troubled. 
 
 Lady B. Have I not cause ? Was not I trusted with 
 Thy education, boy, and have they sent thee 
 Home Kke a very scholar ! 
 
 Kick. 'Twas ill done, 
 Howe'er they used him in the university, 
 To send him to his friends thus. 
 
 Fred. Why, sir? black, 
 (For 'tis the colour that offends your eye-sight,) 
 Is not, within my reading, any blemish ; 
 Sables are no disgrace in heraldry. 
 
 Kick. 'Tis coming from the college thus, that makes it 
 Dishonourable. While you wore it for 
 Your father, it was commendable ; or were 
 Your aunt dead, you might mourn, and justify. 
 
 Lady B. What luck I did not send him into France ! 
 They would have given him generous education. 
 Taught him another garb, to wear his lock,' 
 And shape, as gaudy as the summer ; how 
 To dance, and wag his feather cL-la-mode, 
 To compliment, and cringe ; to talk not modestly, 
 Like, " ay forsooth," and " no forsooth ;" to blush. 
 And look so like a chaplain ! — There he might 
 Have learned a brazen confidence, and observed 
 So well the custom of the country, that 
 He might, by this time, have invented fashions 
 For us, and been a benefit to the kingdom ; 
 Preserved our tailors in their wits, and saved 
 The charge of sending into foreign courts 
 For pride and antic fashipns.^ — Observe 
 In what a posture he does hold his hat now ! 
 
 Fred. Madam, with your pardon you have practised 
 Another dialect than was taught me when 
 I was commended to your care and breeding. 
 I understand not this ; Latin or Greek 
 Are more familiar to my apprehension : 
 1 Hair. 
 
284 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act ii. 
 
 Logic was not so hard in my first lectures 
 As your strange language. 
 
 Lady B. Some strong waters ; oh ! 
 
 Little. Comfits will be as comfortable to your stomach, 
 madam. {Offers his box. 
 
 Lady B. I fear he's spoiled for ever ! he did name 
 Logic, and may, for aught I know, be gone 
 So far to understand it. I did always 
 Suspect they would corrupt him in the college. — 
 Will your Greek saws and sentences discharge 
 The mercer ? or is Latin a fit language 
 To court a mistress in ? — Master Alexander, 
 If you have any charity, let me 
 Commend him to your breeding. ^I suspect 
 I must employ my doctor first, to purge 
 The university that lies in's head ; 
 It alters his complexion. 
 
 Kick. If you dare 
 Trust me to serve him — 
 
 Lady B. Master Littleworth, 
 Be you joined in commission. 
 
 Little. I will teach him 
 Postures and rudiments. 
 
 Lady B. I have no patience 
 To see him in this shape ; it turns my stomach. 
 When he has cast his academic skin 
 He shall be your's. I am bound in conscience 
 To see him bred ; his own state shall maintain 
 The charge, while he's my ward. — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Fred. What does my aunt mean to do with me ? 
 
 Stew. To make you a fine gentleman, and translate 
 you 
 Out of your learned language, sir, into 
 The present Goth and Vandal, which is French. 
 
 Born. Into what mischief will this humour ebb ? 
 She will undo the boy ; I see him ruined. 
 My patience is not manly ; but I must 
 
SCENE 1.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 285 
 
 Use stratagem to reduce her ; open ways 
 
 Giv€ me no hope. \Aside. 
 
 Stew. You shall be obeyed, madam. 
 
 \Exeunt all but Frederick and Steward. 
 
 Fred. Master Steward, are you sure we do not dream ? 
 Was't not my aunt you talked to ? 
 
 Stew. One that loves you 
 Dear as her life. These clothes do not becoriie you, 
 You must have better, sir — 
 
 Fred. These are not old. 
 
 Stew. More suitable to the town and time ; we keep 
 No Lent here, nor is't my lady's pleasure you 
 Should fast from anything you have a mind to ; 
 Unless it be your learning, which she would have you 
 Forget with all convenient speed that may be. 
 For the credit of your noble family. 
 The case is altered since we lived i' the country ; 
 We do not now invite the poor o' the parish 
 To dinner, keep a table for the tenants ; 
 Our kitchen does not smell of beef ; the cellar 
 Defies the price of malt and hops ; the footmen 
 And coach-drivers may be drunk like gentlemen. 
 With wine ; nor will three fiddlers upon holidays. 
 With aid of bag-pipes, that called in the country 
 To dance, and plough the hall up with their hob-nails. 
 Now make my lady merry. We do feed 
 Like princes, and feast nothing else but princes ; 
 And are these robes fit to be seen amongst 'em ? 
 
 Fred. My lady keeps a court then ! Is Sir Thomas 
 Affected with this state and cost ? 
 
 Stew. He was not ; 
 But is converted : and I hope you will not 
 Persist in heresy, but take a course 
 Of riot, to content your friends ; you shall 
 Want nothing, if you can be proud, and spend it 
 For my lady's honour. Here are a hundred 
 Pieces, will serve you till you have new clothes ; 
 
286 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act ii. 
 
 I will present you with a nag of mine, 
 Poor tender of my service, please you accept ; 
 My lady's smile more than rewards me for it. 
 I must provide fit servants to attend you, 
 Monsieurs, for horse and foot. 
 
 Fred. I shall submit, 
 If this be my aunt's pleasure, and be ruled ; 
 My eyes are opened with this purse already, 
 And sack will help to inspire me. I must spend it ? 
 
 Stew. What else, sir ? 
 
 Fred. I'll begin with you : to encourage 
 You to have still a special care of me, 
 There is five pieces, — not for your nag. 
 
 Stew. No, sir ; I hope it is not. 
 
 Fred. Buy a beaver 
 For thy own block ;^ I shall be ruled. Who does 
 Command the wine cellar ? 
 
 Stew. Who commands but you, sir ? 
 
 Fred. I'll try to drink a health or two, my aunt's. 
 Or anybody's ; and if that foundation 
 Stagger me not too much, I will commence 
 In all the arts of London. 
 
 Stew. If you find, sir, 
 The operation of the wine exalt 
 Your blood to the desire of any female 
 Delight, I know your aunt will not deny 
 Any of her chambermaids to practise on ; 
 She loves you but too well. 
 
 Fred. I know not how 
 
 I may be for that exercise — Farewell, Aristotle 
 
 Prithee commend me to the library 
 
 At Westminster ; my bones I bequeath thither, 
 
 And to the learned worms that mean to visit 'em. 
 
 I will compose myself ; I begin to think 
 
 I have lost time indeed. — Come to the wine cellar. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 1 The block was the mould on which the hat was shaped, but here 
 the head is evidently intended. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 287 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in Celestina's House. 
 Enter Celestina, Mariana, and Isabella. 
 
 Mar. But shall we not, madam, expose ourselves 
 To censure for this freedom ? 
 
 Cel. Let them answer. 
 That dare mistake us. Shall we be so much 
 Cowards, to be frighted from our pleasure, 
 Because men have malicious tongues, and show 
 What miserable souls they have ? No, cousin, 
 We hold our life and fortunes upon no 
 Man's charity ; if they dare show so little 
 Discretion to traduce our fames, we will 
 Be guilty of so much wit to laugh at them. 
 
 Isab. 'Tis a becoming fortitude. 
 
 Cel. My stars 
 Are yet kind to me ; for, in a happy minute 
 Be it spoke, I'm not in love, and men shall never 
 Make my heart lean with sighing, nor with tears 
 Draw on my eyes the infamy of spectacles. 
 'Tis the chief principle to keep your heart 
 Under your own obedience ; jest, but love not. 
 I say my prayers^ yet can wear good clothes, 
 And only satisfy my ta,ilor for them. 
 I will not lose my privilege. 
 
 Mar. And yet they say your entertainments are. 
 Give me your pardon, madam, to proclaim 
 Yourself a widow, and to get a husband. 
 
 Cel. As if a lady of my years, some beauty. 
 Left by her husband rich, that had mourned for him 
 A twelvemonth too, could live so obscure i' the town. 
 That gallants would not know her, and invite 
 Themselves, without her chargeable proclamations ! 
 Then we are worse than citizens : no widow 
 Left wealthy can be thoroughly warm in mourning, 
 But some one noble blood, or lusty kindred. 
 Claps in, with his gilt coach, and Flandrian trotters, 
 
288 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act It. 
 
 And hurries her away to be a countess. 
 Courtiers have spies, and great ones with large titles, 
 Cold in their own estates, would warm themselves 
 At a rich city bonfire. 
 
 Isab. Most true, madam. 
 
 Cel. No matter for corruption of the blood : 
 Some undone courtier made her husband rich, 
 And this new lord receives it back again. 
 Admit it were my policy, and that 
 My entertainments pointed to acquaint me 
 With many suitors, that I might be safe. 
 And make the best election, could you blame me ? 
 
 Mar. Madam, 'tis wisdom. 
 
 Cel. But I should be 
 In my thoughts miserable, to be fond 
 Of leaving the sweet freedom I possess, 
 And court myself into new marriage fetters. 
 I now observe men's several wits, and windings, 
 And can laugh at their follies. 
 
 Mar. You have given 
 A most ingenious satisfaction. 
 
 Cel. One thing I'll tell you more, and this I give you 
 Worthy your imitation, from my practice : 
 You see me merry, full of song and dancing, 
 Pleasant in language, apt to all delights 
 That crown a public meeting ; but you cannot 
 Accuse me of being prodigal of my favours 
 To any of my guests. I do not summon, 
 By any wink, a gentleman to follow me. 
 To my withdrawing chamber ; I hear all 
 Their pleas in court, nor can they boast abroad. 
 And do me justice, after a salute. 
 They have much conversation with my lip. 
 I hold the kissing of my hand a courtesy, 
 And he that loves "me, must, upon the strength 
 Of that, expect till I renew his favour. 
 Some ladies are so expensive in their graces, 
 
SCENE 11.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 289 
 
 To those that honour them, and so prodigal, 
 
 That in a Uttle time they have nothing but 
 
 The naked sin left to reward their servants ; 
 
 Whereas, a thrift in our rewards will keep 
 
 Men long in their devotion, and preserve 
 
 Ourselves in stock, to encourage those that honour us. 
 
 Isab. This is an art worthy a lady's practice. 
 
 Cel. It takes not from the freedom of our mirth. 
 But seems to advance it, when we can possess 
 Our pleasures with security of our honour; 
 And, that preserved, I welcome all the joys 
 My fancy can let in. In this I have given 
 The copy of my mind, nor do I blush 
 You understand it. 
 
 Isab. You have honoured us. 
 
 Enter Celestina's Gentlewoman. 
 
 Gentlew. Mg,dam, Sir WilKam Scentlove's come, to 
 wait on you. 
 
 Cel. There's one would be a client. — Make excuse 
 For a few minutes. [^Exit Gentlewoman. 
 
 Mar. One that comes a wooing ? 
 
 Cel. Such a thing he would seem, but in his guiltiness 
 Of little land, his expectation is not 
 So vaUant as it might be. He wears rich clothes, 
 And feeds with noblemen ; to some, I hear, 
 No better than a wanton emissary. 
 Or scout for Venus' wild fowl ; which made tame, 
 He thinks no shame to stand court sentinel. 
 In hope of the reversion. 
 
 Mar. I have heard 
 That some of them are often my lord's tasters. 
 The first fruits they condition for, and will 
 Exact as fees, for the promotion. 
 
 Cel. Let them agree, there's no account shall lie 
 For me among their traffic. 
 
 Shir. U 
 
290 
 
 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act ii. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlewoman. 
 
 GenUew. Master Haircut, madam, 
 Is new come in, to tender you his service. 
 
 ■ Cel. Let him discourse a httle with Sir William. 
 
 Mar. What is this gentleman, Master Haircut, madam ? 
 I note him very gallant, and much courted 
 By gentlemen of quality. 
 
 Cel. I know not. 
 More than a trim gay man ; he has some great office, 
 Sure, by his confident behaviour : 
 He would be entertained under the title 
 Of servant to me, and I must confess. 
 He is the sweetest of all men that visit me. 
 
 hah. How mean you, madam ? 
 Cel. He is full of powder ; 
 He will save much in perfume for my chamber, 
 Were he but constant here. Give them access. 
 
 \Exit Gentlewoman. 
 
 Enter Sir William Scentlove and Haircut. 
 
 Scent. Madam, the humblest of your servants is 
 Exalted to a happiness, if you smile 
 Upon my visit. 
 
 Hair. I must beg your charity 
 Upon my rudeness, madam ; I shall give 
 That day up lost to any happiness. 
 When I forget to tender you my service. 
 
 Cel. You practise courtship, gentlemen. 
 
 Scejit. But cannot 
 Find wherewith more desert to exercise it. 
 What lady's this, I pray ? 
 
 Cel. A kinswoman 
 Of mine, Sir William. 
 
 Scent. I am more her servant. 
 
 CeL You came from court, now, I presume ? 
 
 Hair. 'Tis, madam, 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 291 
 
 The sphere I move in, and my destiny 
 Was kind to place me there, where I enjoy 
 All blessings that a mortal can possess. 
 That lives not in your presence ; and I should 
 Fix my ambition, when you would vouchsafe 
 Me so much honour, to accept from me 
 An humble entertainment there. 
 
 Cel. But by 
 What name shall I be known ? in what degree 
 Shall I be of kindred to you ? 
 
 ■Hair. How mean you, madam ? 
 
 Cel. Perhaps you'll call me sister, I shall take it 
 A special preferment ; or it may be 
 I may pass under title of your mistress. 
 If I seem rich, and fair enough, to engage 
 Your confidence to own me. 
 
 Hair. I would hope — 
 
 Cel. But 'tis not come to that yet : you will, sir. 
 Excuse my mirth. 
 
 Hair. Sweet madam ! 
 
 Cel Shall I take 
 Boldness to ask what place you hold in court ? 
 'Tis an uncivil curiosity ; 
 But you'll have mercy to a woman's question. 
 
 Hair. My present condition, madam, carries 
 Honour and profit, though not to be named 
 With that employment I expect i' the state. 
 Which shall discharge the first maturity 
 Upon your knowledge ; until then, I beg 
 You allow a modest silence. 
 
 Cel. I am charmed, sir ; _ 
 And if you 'scape ambassador, you cannot 
 Reach a preferment wherein I'm against you. 
 But where is Sir WiUiam Scentlove ? 
 
 Hair. Give him leave 
 To follow his nose, madam, while he hunts 
 In view, — he'll soon be at a fault. 
 
292 
 
 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act II. 
 
 Cel. You know him ? 
 
 Hair. Know Scentlove? not a page but can decipher 
 him ; 
 The waiting-women know him to a scruple ; 
 He's called the blister-maker of the town. 
 
 Cel. What's that? 
 
 Hair. The laundry ladies can resolve you, 
 And you may guess : an arrant epicure, 
 As this day lives, born to a pretty wit, 
 A knight, too ; but no gentleman. I must 
 Be plain to you ; — your ladyship may have 
 Use of this knowledge, but conceal the author. 
 
 Scent. I kiss your fairest hand; 
 
 Mar. You make a difference ; 
 Pray reconcile them to an equal whiteness. 
 
 Scent. You wound my meaning, lady. 
 
 Cel. Nay, Sir WilHam 
 Has the art of compliment. 
 
 Scent. Madam, you honour me 
 'Bove my desert of language. 
 
 Cel. Will you please 
 To enrich me with your knowledge of that gentleman ? 
 
 Scent. Do you not know him, madam ? 
 
 Cel. What is he ? 
 
 Scent. A camphire ball; you shall know more here- 
 after ; 
 He shall tell you himself, and save my character ; 
 Till then, — you see he's proud. 
 
 Cel. One thing, gentlemen, 
 I observe in your behaviour, which is rare 
 In two that court one mistress : you preserve 
 A noble friendship ; there's no gum within 
 Your hearts ; you cannot fret,' or show an envy 
 Of one another's hope ; some would not govern 
 Their passions with that temper ! 
 
 ' An allusion to Shakespeare's Henry IV. "I have hid Falstaff's 
 horse, and he frets like gummed velvet."— Gifford. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. . 293 
 
 Scent. The whole world 
 Shall nor divorce our friendship. — Master Haircut ! 
 Would I had lives to serve him ! he is lost 
 To goodness does not honour him. 
 
 Hair. My knight! 
 
 Cel. This is right playing at court shuttlecock. \Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlewoman. 
 
 Gentlew. Madam, there is a gentleman desires 
 To speak with you, one Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 
 Cel. Bornwell ? 
 
 Gentlew. He says he is a stranger to your ladyship. 
 
 Scent. I know him. 
 
 Hair. Your neighbour, madam. 
 
 Scent. Husband to 
 The lady that so revels in the Strand. 
 
 Hair. He has good parts, they say, but cannot help 
 His lady's bias. 
 
 Cel. They have both much fame 
 I' the town, for several merits. Pray admit him. 
 
 \Exit Gentlewoman. 
 
 Hair. What comes he for ? \Aside. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 
 Born. Your pardon, noble lady, that I have 
 Presumed, a stranger to your knowledge, — 
 
 \Salntes Celestina. 
 
 Cel. Sir, 
 Your worth was here before you, and your person 
 Cannot be here ungrateful. 
 
 Born. 'Tis the bounty 
 Of your sweet disposition, madam. — Make me 
 Your servant, lady, by her fair example. 
 To favour me. \Offers to salute Isabella, who turns 
 
 from him.'] — I, never knew one turn 
 Her cheek to a gentleman that came to kiss her, 
 
294 THE LADY OP PLEASURE. [act ii. 
 
 But she'd a stinking breath \Aside. ^—Yom servant, gen- 
 tlemen. 
 Will-Scentlove, how is't? 
 
 Cel. I am sorry, coz, 
 To accuse you ; we in nothing more betray 
 Ourselves to censure of ridiculous pride. 
 Than answering a fair salute too rudely. 
 Oh, it shows ill upon a gentlewoman 
 Not to return the modest lip, if she 
 Would have the world believe her breath is not 
 Offensive. 
 
 Born. Madam, I have business 
 With you. 
 
 Scent. His looks are pleasant. 
 Cel. With me, sir? 
 
 Born. I hear you have an excellent wit, madam ; 
 I see you are fair. 
 
 Cel. The first is but report ; 
 And do not trust your eye-sight fOr the last, 
 'Cause I presume you're mortal, and may err. 
 Hair. He is very gamesome. 
 Born. You have an excellent voice, 
 (They say you catched it from a dying swan,) 
 With which, joined to the harmony of your lute. 
 You ravish all mankind. 
 Cel. Ravish mankind ? 
 Born. With their consent. 
 Cel. It were the stranger rape ; 
 But there's the less indictment lies against it : 
 And there is hope your little honesties 
 Cannot be much the worse, for men do rather 
 Believe they had a maidenhead, than put 
 Themselves to the rack of memory how long 
 'Tis since they left the burden of their innocence. 
 Born. Why, you are bitter, madam ! 
 Cel. So is physic ; 
 I do not know your constitution. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 295 
 
 Born. You shall, if 't please you, madam. 
 
 Cel. You're too hasty, 
 I must examine what certificate 
 You have first, to prefer you. 
 
 Born. Fine ! certificate ? 
 
 Cel. Under your lady's hand and seal. 
 
 Born. Go to; 
 I see you are a wag. 
 
 Cel. But take heed how 
 You trust to't. 
 
 Born. I can love you in my wedlock. 
 As well as that young gallant o' the first hair. 
 Or the knight-bachelor ; and can return 
 As amorous delight to your soft bosom. 
 
 Cel. Your person and your language are both 
 strangers. 
 
 Born. But may be more familiar ; I have those 
 That dare make affidavit for my body. 
 
 Cel. Do you mean your surgeon ? 
 
 Born. My surgeon, madam ? 
 I know not how you value my abilities. 
 But- 1 dare undertake as much, to express 
 My service to your ladyship, and with 
 As fierce ambition fly to your commands. 
 As the most valiant of these lay siege to you. 
 
 Cel. You dare not, sir. 
 
 Born. How, madam? 
 
 Cel. I will justify it. 
 You dare not marry me ; and I imagine 
 Some here, should I consent, would fetch a priest 
 Out of the fire. 
 
 Born. I have a wife indeed. 
 
 Cel. And there's a statute not repealed, I take it. 
 
 Born. You're in the right; I must confess you've 
 hit 
 And bled me in a master vein. 
 
 Cel You think 
 
2g6 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT ll. 
 
 I took you on the advantage ; use your best 
 Skill at defence, I'll come up to your valour, 
 And show another work you dare not do : 
 You dare not, sir, be virtuous. 
 
 Born. I dare, 
 By this fair hand I dare ; and ask a pardon, 
 If my rude words offend your innocence. 
 Which, in a form so beautiful, would shine 
 To force a blush in them suspected it. 
 And from the rest draw wonder. 
 
 Hair. I like not 
 Their secret parley ; shall I interrupt them ? 
 
 Isab. By no means, sir. 
 
 Scent. Sir Thomas was not wont 
 To show so much a courtier. 
 
 Mar. He cannot 
 Be prejudicial to you ; suspect not 
 Your own deserts so much ; he's married. 
 
 Born. I have other business, madam: you keep 
 music : 
 I came to try how you can dance. 
 
 Cel. You did ? — I'll try his humour out of breath. 
 
 \Aside. 
 Although I boast no cunning, sir, in revels, 
 If you desire to show your art that way, 
 I can wait on you. 
 
 Born. You much honour me ; 
 Nay, all must join to make a harmony. \They dance. 
 
 Born. I have nothing now, madam, but to be- 
 seech, 
 After a pardon for my boldness, you 
 AVould give occasion to pay my gratitude : 
 I have a house will be much honoured. 
 If you vouchsafe your presence ; and a wife 
 Desires to present herself your servant. 
 I came with the ambition to invite you. 
 
SCENE 11.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 297 
 
 Deny me not ; your person you shall trust 
 On fair security. 
 
 Cel. Sir, although I use not 
 This freedom with a stranger, you shall have 
 No cause to hold me obstinate. 
 
 Born. You grace me. 
 Sir William Scentlove — 
 
 Hair. I must take my leave. 
 You will excuse me, madam ; court attendances — 
 
 Cel. By any means. 
 
 Born. Ladies, you will vouchsafe 
 Your company ? 
 
 Isab. We wait upon you, sir. \Exetmt. 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 -A dressing Room, with 
 Haircut ;pre^aring a 
 
 SCENE I.— Lord A.'s House.- 
 tahle and looking-glass; 
 ;peruke. 
 
 'WW^^'3^ '^^■^- [^«W«.]— What hour is't? 
 ri^ P^'^^^^^l^^ Hair. 'Bout three o'clock, my lord. 
 
 Lord. 'Tis time to rise. 
 
 Enter Lord A., in his dressing-gown. 
 Hair. Your lordship went but late 
 
 To bed last night. 
 Lord. 'Twas early in the morning. 
 Sec. [ WitJiin.'\ — Expect awhile, my lord is busy. 
 
 Enter Secretary. 
 
 Lord. What's the matter ? 
 
 Sec. Here is a lady 
 Desires access to you upon some affairs. 
 She says, may specially concern your lordship. 
 
 Lord. A lady ? what's her name ? 
 
 Sec. Madam Decoy. 
 
 Lord. Decoy ? Prithee admit her. — \Exit Secretary. 
 
 Re-enter Secretary, with Decoy. 
 Have you business, madam. 
 With me ? 
 
 Dec. And such, I hope, as will not be 
 Offensive to your lordship. 
 
 Lord. I pray speak it. 
 
 Dec. I would desire your lordship's ear more private. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 299 
 
 Lord. Wait i' the next chamber till I call. \Exeunt 
 Haircut and Secretary.] — Now, madam. 
 
 Dec. Although I am a stranger to your lordship, 
 I would not lose a fair occasion offered, 
 To show how much I honour, and would serve you. 
 
 Lord. Please you to give me the particular. 
 That I may know the extent of my engagement. 
 I am ignorant by what desert you should' 
 Be encouraged to have care of me. 
 
 Dec. My lord, 
 I will take boldness to be plain ; beside 
 Your other excellent parts, you have much fame 
 For your sweet inclination to our sex. 
 
 Lord. How do you mean, madam ? 
 
 Dec. I' that way your lordship 
 Hath honourably practised upon some 
 Not to be named. Your noble constancy 
 To a mistress, hath deserved our general vote ; 
 And I, a part of womankind, have thought 
 How to express my duty. 
 
 Lord. In what, madam? 
 
 Dec. Be not so strange, my lord ; I knew the beauty 
 And pleasures of your eyes ; that handsome creature 
 With whose fair life all your delight took leave, 
 And to whose memory you have paid too much 
 Sad tribute. 
 
 Lord. What's all this ? 
 
 Dec. This : if your lordship 
 Accept my service, in pure zeal to cure 
 Your melancholy, I could point where you might 
 Repair your loss. 
 
 Lxird. Your ladyship, I conceive. 
 Doth traffic in flesh merchandize. 
 
 Dec. To men 
 Of honour, like, yourself I am well known 
 To some in court, and come not with ambition 
 Now to supplant your officer. 
 
300 
 
 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act hi. 
 
 Lord. What is 
 The Lady of Pleasure you prefer ? 
 
 Dec. A lady 
 Of birth and fortune, one upon whose virtue 
 I may presume, the Lady Aretina. 
 
 Lord. Wife to Sir Thomas Bornwell ? 
 
 Dec. The same, sir. 
 
 Lord. Have you prepared her ? 
 
 Dec. Not for your lordship, till I have found your pulse. 
 I am acquainted with her disposition. 
 She has a very appliable nature. 
 
 Lord. And, madam, when expect you to be whipped 
 For doing these fine favours ? 
 
 Dec. How, my lord ? 
 Your lordship does but jest, I hope ; you make 
 A difference between a lady that 
 Does honourable offices, and one 
 They call a bawd. Your lordship was not worit 
 To have such coarse opinion of our practice. 
 
 Lord. The Lady Aretina is my kinswoman. 
 
 Dec. What if she be, my lord ? the nearer blood, 
 The dearer sympathy. 
 
 Lord. I'll have thee carted. 
 
 Dec. Your lordship will not so much stain your honour 
 And education, to use a woman 
 Of my quality — 
 
 Lord. 'Tis possible you may 
 Be sent off with an honourable convoy 
 Of halberdiers. 
 
 Dec. Oh, my good lord ! 
 
 Lord. Your ladyship shall be no protection, 
 If you but stay three minutes. 
 
 Dec. I am gone. — 
 When next you find rebelHon in your blood. 
 May all within ten mile o' the court turn honest ! \Exit. 
 
 Lord. I do not find that proneness, since the fair 
 Bella Maria died ; my blood is cold, 
 
SCENE 1.] THE LADY OP PLEASURE. 301 
 
 Nor is there beauty enough surviving 
 
 To heighten me to wantonness. — Who waits ? 
 
 Re-enter Haircut and Secretary. 
 
 And what said my lady ? 
 
 Hair. The silent language of her face, my lord, 
 Was not so pleasant, as it showed upon 
 Her entrance. 
 
 Lord. Would any man that meets 
 This lady take her for a bawd ? 
 
 Hair. She does 
 The trade an honour, credit to the profession. 
 We may, in time, see baldness, quarter noses, 
 And rotten legs to take the wall of footcloths. 
 
 Lord. I have thought better; call the lady back. — 
 I will not lose this opportunity. — 
 Bid her not fear. \Exit Secretary.] — The favour is not 
 
 common. 
 And I'll reward it. I do wonder much 
 Will Scentlove was not here to-day. 
 
 Hair. I heard him say this morning he would wait 
 Upon your lordship. — 
 She is returned, sir. 
 
 Re-enter Secretary and Decoy. 
 
 Sec. Madam, be confident, my lord's not angry. 
 Lord. You return welcome, madam ; you are better 
 Read in your art, I hope, than to be frighted 
 With any shape of anger, when you bring 
 Such news to gentlemen. Madam, you shall 
 Soon understand how I accept the office. 
 
 Dec. You are the first lord, since I studied carriage, 
 That showed such infidelity and fury 
 _ Upon so kind a message. Every gentleman 
 ' Will show some breeding; but if one right honourable 
 Should not have noble blood — 
 
302 THE LAD Y OF PLEA SURE. [act hi. 
 
 Lord. You shall return 
 My compliment, in a letter, to my lady 
 Aretina. Favour me with a little patience. — 
 Show her that chamber. 
 
 Dec. I'll attend your lordship. 
 
 \_Exeunt DEcay and Haircut. — Secretary seats 
 himself at a table. 
 Lord. Write, — " Madam, where your honour is in 
 danger, my love must not be silent." 
 
 Enter Sir William Scentlove and Kickshaw. 
 
 Scentlove and Kickshaw ! 
 
 Kick. Your lordship's busy. 
 
 Lord. Writing a letter ; — nay, it shall not bar 
 Any discourse. 
 [ Walks alternately to tjie Secretar)^ and to Scentlove 
 and Kickshaw. 
 
 Sec. "Silent." 
 
 Lord. " Though I be no physician, I may prevent a 
 fever in your blood." — 
 And where have you spent the morning's conversation ? 
 
 Scent. Where you would have given the best barbary 
 In your stable, to have met on honourable terms. 
 
 Lord. What new beauty ? You acquaint yourselves 
 With none but wonders. 
 
 Scent. 'Tis too low, — a miracle. 
 
 Lord. It will require a strong faith. 
 
 Sec. "Your blood." 
 
 Lord. " If you be innocent, preserve, your fame, lest 
 this Decoy-madam betray it, to your repentance." — 
 By what name is she known ? 
 
 Scent. Ask Alexander. 
 He knows her. 
 
 Kick. Whom? 
 
 Scent. The lady Celestina. 
 
 Lord. He has a vast knowledge of ladies. 'Las, poor 
 Alexander ! 
 When dost thou mean thy body shall lie fallow? 
 
SCKNE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 303 
 
 Kick. When there is mercy in a petticoat : 
 I must turn pilgrim for some breath. 
 
 Lord. I think 
 'Twere cooler travel, if you examine it, 
 Upon the hoof through Spain. 
 
 Scent. Through Ethiopia. 
 
 Lord. Nay, less laborious to serve a prenticeship 
 In Peru, and dig gold out of the mine. 
 Though all the year were dog-days. 
 
 Sec. "To repentance." 
 
 Lord. " In brief, this lady, could you fall from virtue, 
 within my knowledge, will not blush to be a bawd." 
 
 Scent. But hang 't, 'tis honourable journey-work ; 
 Thou art famous by it, and thy name's up. 
 
 LCick. So, sir! 
 Let me ask you a question, my dear knight : 
 Which is less servile, to bring up the pheasant, 
 And wait, or sit at table uncontrolled. 
 And carve to my own appetite ? 
 
 Scent. No more ; 
 Thou'rt witty, as I am. 
 
 Sec. "A bawd." 
 
 Scent. How's that 1 
 
 Kick. Oh, 
 You are famous by't, and your name's up, sir. 
 
 JLord. "Be wise, and reward my caution with timely 
 care of yourself, so I shall not repent to be known your 
 loving kinsman and servant" — 
 Gentlemen, the lady Celestina, 
 Is she so rare a thing ? 
 
 Kick. If you'll have my 
 Opinion, my lord, I never saw 
 So sweet, so fair, so rich a piece of nature. 
 
 JLord. I'll show thee a fairer presently, to shame 
 Thy eyes and judgment ; look on that. \Gives him a 
 miniature.^ — So ; I'll subscribe. [Signs his name 
 to the letter. 
 
304 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act ill. 
 
 Kick. Bella Maria's picture ! she was handsome. 
 
 Scent. But not to be compared — 
 
 Lo7-d. Your patience, gentlemen ; I'll return instantly. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Kick. Whither is my lord gone ? 
 
 Sec. To a lady i' the next chamber. 
 
 Scent. What is she ? 
 
 Sec. You shall pardon me, I am his secretary. 
 
 Scent. I was wont to be of his counsel. A new officer, 
 And I not know't ? I am resolved to batter 
 All other with the praise of Celestina : 
 I must retain him. 
 
 Re-enter Lord A. 
 
 Lord. Has not that object 
 Convinced your erring judgments ? 
 
 Kick. What ! this picture ? 
 
 Lord. Were but your thoughts as capable as mine 
 Of her idea, you would wish no thought 
 That were not active in her praise, above 
 All worth and memory of her sex. 
 
 Scent. She was fair, 
 I must confess ; but had your lordship looked 
 With eyes more narrow, and some less affection. 
 Upon her face, — - 
 
 Kick. I do not love the copies 
 Of any dead, they make me dream of goblins ; 
 Give me a living mistress, with but half 
 The beauty of Celestina. \Returns the miniature. — 
 
 Come, my lord, 
 'Tis pity that a lord of so much flesh 
 Should waste upon a ghost, when they are living 
 Can give you a more honourable consumption. 
 
 Scent. Why, do you mean, my lord, to live an infidel ? 
 Do, and see what will come on't ; observe still. 
 And dote upon your vigils ; build a chamber 
 Within a rock, a tomb among the worms, 
 Not far off, where you may, in proof apocryphal, 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 305 
 
 Court 'em not to devour the pretty pile 
 Of flesh your mistress carried to the grave. ' 
 There are no women in the world ; all eyes, 
 , And tongues, and lips, are buried in her coffin ! 
 
 Lord. Why, do you think yourselves competent judges 
 Of beauty, gentlemen ? 
 
 Both. What should hinder us ? 
 
 Kick. I have seen and tried as many as another. 
 With a mortal back. 
 
 Lord. Your eyes are bribed. 
 And your hearts chained to some desires ; you cannot 
 Enjoy the freedom of a' sense. 
 
 Kick. Your lordship 
 Has a clear eyesight, and can judge and penetrate. 
 
 L^rd. I can, and give a perfect censure of 
 Each line and point ; distinguish beauty from 
 A thousand forms, which your corrupted optics 
 Would pass for natural. 
 
 Scent. I desire no other 
 Judge should determine us, and if your lordship 
 Dare venture but your eyes upon this lady, 
 I'll stand their justice, and be confident 
 You shall give Celestina victory, 
 And triumph, o'er all beauties past and living. 
 
 Kick. . I dare, my lord, venture a suit of clothes. 
 You'll be o'ercome. 
 
 Lord. You do not know my fortitude. 
 
 Scent. Nor frailty ; you dare not trust yourself to see 
 her. [ture 
 
 Lord. Think you so, gentlemen ? I dare see this crea- 
 To make you know your errors, and the difference 
 Of her, whose memory is my saint. Not trust 
 My senses ! I dare see, and speak with her. 
 Which holds the best acquaintance to prepare 
 My visit to her ? 
 
 Scent. I will do't, my lord. 
 
 Kick. She is a lady free in entertainments. 
 
 X 
 
3o6 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT iii. 
 
 Lord. I would give this advantage to your cause, 
 Bid her appear in all the ornaments 
 Did ever wait on beauty, all the riches 
 Pride can put on, and teach her face more charms 
 Than ever poet drest up Venus in ; 
 Bid her be all the Graces, and the queen 
 Of love in one, I'll see her, Scentlove, and 
 Bring off my heart, armed but with a single thought . 
 Of one that's dead, without a wound ; and when 
 I have made your folly prisoner, I'll laugh at you. 
 
 Scent. She shall expect you; trust to me for know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Lord: I'm for the present somewhere else engaged ; 
 Let me hear from you. _ " \Exit. 
 
 Scent. So ! I am glad he's yet 
 So near conversion. 
 
 KicU. I am for Aretina. 
 
 Scent. No mention of my lord. 
 
 Kick. Prepare his lady, 
 'Tis time he were reduced ^ to the old sport ; 
 One lord like him more would undo the court. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Sir Thomas Bornwell's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Lady Bornwell with a letter, and Decoy. 
 
 Dec. He is the ornament of your blood, madam ; 
 I am much bound to his lordship. 
 
 Lady B. He gives you 
 A noble character, 
 
 Dec. 'Tis his goodness, madam. 
 
 Lady B. I wanted such an engine. My lord has 
 Done me a courtesy, to disclose her nature ; 
 
 ' i.e. Brought back. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 307 
 
 I "now know one to trust, and will employ her. — \Aside. 
 
 Touching my lord, for reasons which I shall 
 
 Offer to your ladyship hereafter, I 
 
 Desire you would be silent ; but, to show 
 
 How much I dare be confident in your secrecy, 
 
 I pour my bosom forth : I love a gentleman, 
 
 One whom there would not need much conjuration 
 
 To meet. — Your ear. [ Whispers her. 
 
 Dec. I apprehend you, and I shall 
 Be happy to be serviceable. I am sorry 
 Your ladyship did not know me before now : 
 I have done offices : and not a few 
 Of the nobility but have done feats 
 Within my house, which is convenient 
 For situation, and artful chambers, 
 And pretty pictures to provoke the fancy. 
 
 Enter Littleworth. 
 
 Little. Madam, all pleasures languish in your absence. 
 
 Lady B. Your pardon a few minutes, sir. — You must 
 Contrive it thus. \Walks' aside with Decoy. 
 
 Little. I attend, and shall account it 
 Honour to wait on your return. 
 
 Lady B. He must not 
 Have the least knowledge of my name or person. 
 
 Dec. I have practised that already for some great ones, 
 And dare again, to satisfy you, madam ; 
 I have a thousand ways to- do sweet offices. 
 
 Little. If this Lady Aretina should be honest, 
 I have lost time : she's free as air ; I must 
 Have closer conference, and if I have art, 
 Make her affect me in revenge. 
 
 Dec. This evening? 
 Leave me to manage things. 
 
 Lady B. You will oblige me. 
 
 Dec. You shall command my art, and thank me after, 
 
 \Exit. 
 
3o8 THE- LADY OF PLEASURE. [act in. 
 
 Lady B. I hope the revels are maintained within? 
 
 Little. By Sir Thomas and his mistress. 
 
 Lady B. How ? his mistress ? 
 
 Little. The lady Celestina; I never saw 
 Eyes shoot more amorous ijiterchange. 
 
 Lady B. Is't so ? 
 
 Little. He wears her favour with more pride — 
 
 Lady B. Her favour ? 
 
 Little. A feather that he ravished from her fan ; 
 And is so full of courtship ! which she smiles on. 
 
 Lady B. 'Tis well. 
 
 Little. And praises her beyond all poetry. 
 
 Lady B. I am glad he has so much wit. 
 
 Little. Not jealous ! \Aside. 
 
 Lady B. This secures me. What would make other 
 ladies pale 
 AVith jealousy, gives but license to my wanderings. 
 Let him now tax me, if he dare ; and yet 
 Her beauty's worth my envy, and I wish 
 Revenge upon it, not because he loves, 
 But that it shines above my own. \Aside. 
 
 Enter Kickshaw. 
 
 Kick. Dear madam ! 
 
 Lady B. I have it. — You two gentlemen profess 
 Much service to me ; if I have a way 
 To employ your wit and secrecy ? — 
 
 Both. You'll honour us. 
 
 Lady B. You gave a high and worthy character 
 Of Celestina. 
 
 Kick. I remember, madam. 
 
 Lady B. Do either of you love' her? 
 
 Kick. Not I, madam. 
 
 Little. I would not, if I might. 
 
 Lady B. She's now my guest, 
 And, by a trick, invited by my husband, 
 To disgrace me. — You, gentlemen, are held 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 3oq 
 
 Wits of the town, the consuls that do govern 
 The senate here, whose jeers are all authentic. 
 .The taverns and the ordinaries are 
 Made academies, where you come, and all 
 Your sins and surfeits made the time's example. 
 Your very nods can quell a, theatre. 
 No speech or poem good without your seal ; 
 You can protect scurriUty, and publish, 
 By your authority believed, no rapture 
 Ought to have honest meaning. 
 
 'Kick. Leave our characters. 
 
 Little. And name the employment. 
 
 Lady B. You must exercise 
 The strength of both your wits upon this lady, 
 And talk her into humbleness or anger. 
 Both which are equal, to my thought. If you 
 Dare undertake this slight thing for my sake, 
 My favour shall reward it ; but be faithful. 
 And seem to let all spring froih your own freedom. 
 
 Kick. This all ! We can defame her ; if you please, 
 My friend shall call her whore, or any thing. 
 And never be endangered to a duel. 
 
 iMdy B. How's that? 
 
 Kick. He can endjire a cudgelling, and no man 
 Will fight after so fair a satisfaction : 
 But leave us to our art, and do not limit us. 
 
 JLady B. They are here; begin not till I whisper 
 you. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell, Celestina, Mariana, 
 and Isabella. 
 
 Lady B. y^e vous prie, madame, d^excuser Pimportunite 
 de mes affaires, qui m'ont fait offenser, par mon absence, 
 une dame de laquellefai re(u tcCnt d obligations. 
 
 Cel. Pardonnez moi, madame; vous me faites trop 
 d^hofineur. 
 
 Lady B. Cest bien de la douceur de voire naturel, que 
 
310 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act in. 
 
 vous tenez, ceite langage ; mais j'espcre que mon marin'a 
 pas mangue de vous eiitretenir en mon absence. 
 
 Cel. En v'erite, monsieur nous a fort oblige. 
 
 Lady B. // eut trop failli, sHl n'eut tacU de iouf son 
 pouvoir a vous rendre toutes series de services. 
 
 Cel. C'est de sa honte quHl nous a tant favorisL 
 
 Lady B. De la voire plutot, madame, que vous fait 
 donner dinterpr 'elation si benigne a ses efforts. 
 
 Cel. y^e vols bien que la victoire sera toujours a madame, 
 et de langage et de la cotiriesie. 
 
 Lady B. Vraiment, madame, que jamais personne a plus 
 desire Vlwnneur de voire compagnie que moi. 
 
 Cel. Zaissons-en, je vous supplie, des complimens, et per- 
 mettez a voire servante de vous baiser les mains. 
 
 Lady B. Vous m'obligez trop. 
 
 Born. I have no more patience ; let's be merry 
 again 
 In our own language : madam, our mirth cools. 
 Our nephew ! 
 
 Enter _ Frederick intoxicated, and Steward. 
 
 Lady B. Passion of my brain ! 
 
 Fred. Save you, gentlemen ! save you, ladies ! 
 
 Lady B. 1 am undone. 
 
 Fred. I must salute ; no matter at which end I begin. 
 
 \Salutes Cele.sj'ina. 
 
 Lady B. There's a compliment ! 
 
 Cel. Is this your nephew, madam ? 
 
 Lady B. Je vous p7-ie, madame, d'excuser les habits, et 
 le rude comportement de mon cousin. II est tout fraiche- 
 ment venu de r university, oil on Fa tout gate. 
 
 Cel. Excusez moi, madame, ilest bien accompli. 
 
 Fred. This language should be French by the motions 
 of your heads, and the mirth of your faces. 
 
 Lady B. I am dishonoured. 
 
 Fred. 'Tis one of the finest tongues for ladies to show 
 their teeth in ; if you'll Latin it, I am for you, or Greek 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEA S URE. 3 1 1 
 
 it ; my tailor has not put me into French yet. Milk 
 basia, basia milk'. 
 
 Cel. y^e ne vous entend's pas, monsieur ; 
 I understand you not, sir. 
 
 Fred. Why, so! _ 
 
 You and I then shall be in charity; 
 For though we should be abusive, we have the benefit 
 Not to understand one another. Where's my aunt? 
 I did hear music somewhere ; and my brains'. 
 Tuned with a bottle of your capering claret, 
 Made haste to show their dancing. 
 
 Little. Please you, madam, 
 
 \Offering his box of sweetmeats to Celestina. 
 They are yery comforta,ble. 
 
 Stew. Alas, madam. 
 How would you have me help it? I did use 
 All means I could, after he heard the music, 
 To make him drunk, in hope so to contain him ; 
 But the wine matde him lighter, and his head 
 Flew hither, ere I missed his heels. 
 
 Kick. Nay, he 
 Spoke Latin to the lady. 
 
 Lady B. Oh, inost unpardonable ! 
 Get him ofif quickly, and discreetly too. 
 Or, if I live— 
 
 Stew. It is not in my power ] he swears I am 
 An absurd sober fellow ; and if you keep 
 Aservant in his house to cross his humour, , ■ 
 When the rich sword and belt come home, he'll kill him. 
 
 Lady B. What shall I do ? Try your skill. Master 
 Littleworth. 
 
 Little. He has n^'er a sword. — Sweet master Frede- 
 rick — 
 
 Born. 'Tis pity, madam, such a scion should 
 Be lost J but you are clouded. 
 
 Cel. Not I, sir, 
 I never found myself more clear at heart. 
 
312 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act III. 
 
 Born. I could play with a feather ; your fan, lady.— 
 Gentlemen, Aretina, ta, ra, ra, ra ! Come, madam. 
 
 Fred. Why, my good tutor in election. 
 You might have been a scholar. 
 
 Little. But I thank 
 My friends, they brought me up a little better. 
 Give me the town wits, that deliver jests 
 Clean from the bow, that whistle in the air. 
 And cleave the pin at twelvescore ! Ladies do 
 But laugh at a gentleman that has any learning ; 
 'Tis sin enough to have your clothes suspected. 
 Leave us, and I will find a time to instruct you. 
 Come, here are sugar plums ; 'tis a good Frederick. 
 
 Fred. Why, is not this my aunt's house in the Strand? 
 The noble rendezvous? Who laughs at me? 
 Go, I will root here if I Hst, and talk 
 Of rhetoric, logic, Latin, Greek, or any thing, 
 And understand 'em too; who says the contrary? 
 Yet, in a fair way, I contemn all learning, 
 And will be as ignorant as he, or he, 
 Or any taffata, satin, scarlet, plush. 
 Tissue, or cloth o' bodkin gentleman. 
 Whose manners are most gloriously infected. — 
 Did you laugh at me, lady ? 
 
 Cel. Not I, sir ; 
 But if I did show mirth upon your question, 
 I hope you would not beat me, little gentleman ? 
 
 Fred. How ! "little gentleman?" you dare not say 
 These words to my new clothes, and fighting sword. 
 
 Lady B. Nephew Frederick ! 
 
 Fred. " Little gentleman ! " 
 'Tis an affront both to my blood and person. 
 I am a gentleman of as tall a birth 
 As any boast nobility ; though my clothes 
 Smell o' the lamp, my coat is honourable. 
 Right honourable, full of or and argent. — 
 A " Uttle gentleman ! " 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 313 
 
 Born. Coz, you must be patient ; 
 My lady meant you no dishonour, and 
 You must remember she's a woman. 
 
 Fred. Is she a woman ? that's another matter.— 
 Do you hear ? my uncle tells me what you are. 
 
 Cel. So, sir. 
 
 Fred. You called me " little gentleman." 
 
 Cel. I did, sir. 
 
 Fred. A little pink ' has. made a lusty ship 
 Strike her top-sail; the crow may beard the elephant, 
 A whelp may tame the tiger, spite of all 
 False decks and murderers ; ^ and a " little gentleman " - 
 Be hard enough to grapple with your ladyship, 
 Top and top-gallant. — Will you go drink, uncle, 
 T' other enchanted bottle ? you and I 
 Will tipple, and talk philosophy.. 
 
 Born. Come, nephew. — 
 You will excuse a minute's absence, madam. — 
 Wait you on us. 
 
 Stew. My duty, sir. 
 
 \Exeunt Sir Thomas Bornwell, Frederick, and 
 Steward. 
 
 Lady B. Now, gentlemen. 
 
 Kick. Madam, I had rather you excuse my language 
 For speaking truth, than virtue suffer in 
 My further silence ; and it is my wonder 
 That you, whose noble carriage hath deserved 
 All honour and opinion, should now 
 Be guilty of ill manners. 
 
 Cel. What was that 
 You. told me, sir? 
 
 Little. Do you not>blush, madam. 
 To ask that question? 
 
 Cel. You amaze rather 
 My cheek to paleness. What mean you by this ? 
 
 ' A small vessel. 
 
 * Cannon charged with grape-shot. 
 
3 H THE LADY OF PLEA SURE. [act hi. 
 
 I am not troubled with the hickup, gentlemen, 
 You should bestow this fright upon me. 
 
 Little. Then 
 Pride and ill memory go together. 
 
 Cel. How, sir? 
 
 Kick. The gentleman on whom you exercised. 
 Your thin wit, was a nephew to the lady 
 Whose guest you are ; and though her modesty 
 Look calm on the abuse of one so near 
 Her blood, -the affront was impious. 
 
 Little. I am ashamed on't. 
 You an ingenious lady, and well mannered ! 
 I'll teach a bear as much civility. 
 
 Cel. You may be master of the college, sir, 
 For aught I know. 
 
 Little. What college? 
 
 Cel. ,0f the bears. 
 Have you a plot upon me ? Do you possess 
 Your wits, or know me, gentlemen ? 
 
 Re-enter Sir Thomas Bornwell behind. 
 
 Born. How's this? 
 
 IGck. Know you ? yes ; we do know you to an atom. 
 
 Little. Madam, we know what stuff your soul is made on. 
 
 Cel. But do not bark so like a mastiff, pray. — 
 Sure they are mad. — Let your brains stand awhile, 
 And settle, gentlemen ; you know not me ; 
 What am I ? 
 
 Little. Thou'rt a puppet, a thing made 
 Of clothes and painting, and not half 'so handsome 
 As that which played Susanna in the fair. 
 
 Cel. I heard you visited those canvas tragedies, 
 One of their constant audience, and so taken 
 With Susan, that you wished yourself a rival 
 With the two wicked elders. 
 
 Kick. You think this 
 Is wit now. Come, you are — 
 
SCENK II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 315 
 
 Cel. What, I beseech you ? 
 Your character will be full of salt and satire, 
 No doubt. What am I? 
 
 Kick. Why, you are a woman — 
 
 Cel. And that's at least a bow wide of your knowledge. 
 
 Kick. Would be thought handsome^ and might pass 
 i' the country 
 Upon a market day ; but so miserably 
 Forfeit to pride and fashions, that if Heaven 
 Were a new gown, you'd not stay in't a fortnight. 
 
 Cel. It must be miserably out of fashion then. 
 Have I no sin but pride ? 
 
 Kick. Hast any virtue. 
 Or but a good face, to excuse that want ? 
 
 Cel. You praised it yesterday. 
 , Kick. That made you proud. 
 
 Cel. More pride ! 
 
 Kick. You need not : — to close up the praise, 
 I have seen a better countenance in a sybil. 
 
 Cel. When you wore spectacles of sack, mistook 
 The painted cloth,' and kissed it for your mistress. 
 
 Kick. Let me ask you a question : how much 
 Have you consumed in expectation 
 That I would love you ? 
 
 Cel. Why I think as much 
 As you have paid away in honest debts 
 This seven year. 'Tis a pretty impudence. 
 But cannot make me angry. 
 
 Little. Is there any 
 Man that will cast away his limbs upon her ? 
 
 Kick. You do not sing so well as I imagined. 
 Nor dance ; you reel in your coranto,' and pinch 
 Your petticoat too hard : you've no good ear 
 To the' music, and incline too much one shoulder, 
 
 ' Canvas or cloth, painted in imitation of tapestry, for which it 
 was a cheap substitute. 
 ' A quiclc, lively dance. 
 
3t6 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT III. 
 
 As you were dancing on the rope, and falling. 
 . You speak abominable JFrench, and make 
 A curtsey like a dairy-maid, — Not mad ! [Aside. 
 
 Little. Do we not sting her handsomely ? 
 
 Born. A conspiracy ! 
 
 Klick. Your state is not so much as 'tis reported, 
 When you confer notes, all your husband's debts. 
 And your own reconciled ; but that's not it 
 Will so much spoil your marriage. 
 
 Cel. As what, sir ? 
 Let me know all my faults. 
 
 Kick. Some men do whisper 
 You are not over honest. 
 
 Cel. All this shall not 
 Move me to more than laughter, and some pity, 
 Because you have the shapes of gentlemen ; 
 And though you, have been insolent upon me, 
 I will engage no friend to kick or cudgel you. 
 To spoil your living and your limbs together : 
 I leave that to diseases that attend you, 
 And spare my curse, poor silken vermin ! and 
 Hereafter shall distinguish men from monkeys. 
 
 Born. Brave soul! — You brace of horse-leeches! 
 _ [ Coming forward.'] — I have heard 
 Their barbarous language, madam ; you are too merciful : 
 They shall be silent to your tongue ; pray punish them. 
 
 Cel. They are things not worth my character, nor 
 mention 
 Of any clean breath ; so lost in honesty. 
 They cannot satisfy for wrongs enough, 
 Though they should steal out of the world at Tyburn. 
 
 Little. We are hanged already. 
 
 Cel. Yet I will talk a httle to the pilchards. — 
 You two, that have not 'twixt you both the hundred 
 Part of a soul, coarse wooUen-witted fellows. 
 Without a nap, with bodies made for burdens ! 
 You, that are only stuffings for apparel. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 317 
 
 As you were made but engines for your tailors 
 
 To frame -their clothes upon, and get them custom, 
 
 Until men see you move ; yet, then you dare not, 
 
 Out of your guilt of being the ignobler beast, 
 
 But give a horse the wall, whom you excel 
 
 Only in dancing of the brawls, because 
 
 The horse was not taught the French way. Your two 
 
 faces. 
 One fat, like Christmas, t' other lean, like Candlemas, 
 And prologue to a Lent, both bound together, 
 Would figure Janus, and do many cures 
 On agues, and the green disease, by frighting 
 But neither can, with all the characters 
 And conjuring circles, charm a woman, though 
 She'd fourscore years upon her, and but one 
 Tooth in her head, to love, or think well of you : 
 And I were miserable, to be at cost 
 To court such a complexion, as your malice 
 Did impudently insinuate. But I waste time. 
 And stain my breath in talking to such tadpoles. 
 Go home, and wash your tongues in barle.y-water. 
 Drink clean tobacco,' be not hot i' the mouth. 
 And you may 'scape the beadle ; so I leave you 
 To shame, and your own garters ! — Sir, I must 
 Entreat you, for my honour, do not penance them. 
 They are not worth your anger. How shall I 
 Acquit your lady's silence ? 
 
 Born. Madam, I 
 Am sorry to suspect, and dare revenge. 
 
 Cel. No cause of mine. 
 
 Born. It must become me to attend you home. 
 
 Cel. You are noble. — Farewell, mushrooms. 
 
 [^Exit with Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 
 Lady B. Is she gone ? 
 
 Little. I think we peppered her. 
 
 1 The expression "drink tobacco," simply implied the smoking 
 of it. 
 
3i8 THE LADY- OF PLEASURE. [act ill. 
 
 Kick. I'm glad 'tis over ; 
 But I repent no service for you, madam. — 
 
 Enter Servant, with a letter and a jewel, which he delivers 
 
 to KiCKSHAVSf." 
 
 To me ? from whence ? — a jewel ! a good preface. 
 
 Be happy the conclusion ! \Reads and smiles. 
 
 Lady B. Some love letter. 
 
 Little. He has a hundred mistresses : you may 
 Be charitable, madam, I have none ; 
 He surfeits, and I fall away i'.the kidneys. 
 
 Kick. I'll meet. — \Exit Servant. 
 
 'Tis some great lady, questionless, that has 
 Taken notice, and would satisfy her appetite. \Aside. 
 
 Lady B. Now, Master Alexander, you look bright o' 
 the sudden ; 
 Another spirit's in your eye. 
 
 Kick. Not mine, madam ; 
 Only a summons to meet a friend. 
 
 Lady B. What friend ? 
 
 Little. By this jewel, I know her not. 
 
 Lady B. 'Tis a she-friend. I'll follow, gentlemen; 
 We may have a game at cent' before you go. 
 
 LGck. I shall attend you, madam. 
 
 Little. 'Tis our duty. 
 
 \Exeunt Kickshaw and Littleworth. 
 
 Lady B. I blush while I converse with my own 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 Some strange fate governs me, but I must on ; 
 
 The ways are cast already, and we thrive 
 
 When our sin fears no eye nor perspective. \Exit. 
 
 > A gjnie at caiicls, supposed to liave resembled piqutt : a =core of 
 a hundred was the game. 
 
ACT- THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in Decoy's House. 
 
 Enter two men leading Kickshaw Minded, and go off 
 suddenly. 
 ICK. I am not hurt ; my patience to 
 obey them, 
 Not without fear to have my throat cut 
 
 else, 
 Did me. a courtesy. Whither have they 
 brought me ? \JPtdls off a bandage. 
 'Tis deviUsh dark ; the bottom of a well 
 At midnight, with but two stars on the top, 
 Were broad day to this darkness. I but think 
 How like a whirlwind the rogues caught me up, 
 And smothered my eyesight. Let me see. 
 These may be spirits, and, for aught I know. 
 Have brought me hither over twenty steeples. 
 Pray Heaven they were not bailiffs ! that's more worth 
 My fear, and this a prison. All my debts 
 Reek in my nostril, and my bones begin 
 To ache with fear to be made dice ; and yet 
 This is too calm and quiet for a prison. — ^ 
 What if the riddle prove I am robbed ? and yet 
 I did not feel 'em search me. How now ! music ! 
 
 \_M2isic within. 
 Enter Decoy, disguised like an old Woman, with a light. 
 And a light ! What beldam's this ? I cannot pray. — 
 What art ? 
 
320 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act iv. 
 
 Dec. A friend. Fear not, young man, I am 
 No spirit. 
 
 Kick. Off! 
 
 Dec. Despise me not for age, 
 Or this coarse outside, which I wear not put 
 Of poverty : thy eyes be witness ; 'tis 
 No cave, or beggar's cell, thou'rt brought to ; let 
 That gold speak here's no want, which thou mayst spend. 
 And find a spring to tire even prodigality. 
 If thou be'st wise. \Gives him a purse. 
 
 Kick. The devil was a coiner 
 From the beginning ; yet the gold looks current. 
 
 Dec. Thou'rt still in wonder : know,- 1 am mistress of 
 This house, and of a fortune that shall serve 
 And feed thee with delights ; 'twas I sent for thee ; 
 The jewel and the letter came from me. 
 It was my art thus to contrive our meeting. 
 Because I would not trust thee with my fame. 
 Until I found thee worth a woman's honour. 
 
 Kick. Honour and fame ! the devil means to have 
 A care on's credit. Though she sent for me, 
 I hope she has another customer 
 To do the trick withal ; I would not turn 
 Familiar to a witch. ' \Aside. 
 
 Dec. What say'st ? Canst thou 
 Dwell in my arms to-night ? shall we change kisses. 
 And entertain the silent hours with pleasure. 
 Such as old Time shall be delighted with. 
 And blame the too swift motion of his wings. 
 While we embrace ? 
 
 Kick. Embrace ! she has had no teeth 
 This twenty years, and the next violent cough 
 Brings up her tongue ; it cannot possibly 
 Be sound at root. I do not think but one 
 Strong sneeze upon her, and well meant, would make 
 Her quarters fall away ; one kick would blow 
 Her up like gunpowder, and loose all her limbs. 
 
SCENE 1.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 321 
 
 She is so cold, an incubus would not heat her ; 
 Her phlegm would quench a furnace, and her breath 
 -Would damp a musket bullet. \Aside. 
 
 Dec. Have you^- sir, 
 Considered ? 
 Kick. What? 
 Dec. My proposition. 
 Canst love ? 
 
 Kick. I coujd have done ; whom do you mean ? 
 I know you are pleased but to make sport. 
 
 Dec. Thou art not 
 So. dull of soul as thou appear'st.. 
 
 Kick. This is 
 BuJ some device ; my grannam has some trick in't. — 
 Yes, I can love. 
 
 Dec. But canst thou affect me ? 
 Kick. Although to reverence so grave a matron 
 Were an ambitious Word in Kie, yet since 
 You give me boldness, I do love you. 
 
 Dec. Then 
 Thou art my own. 
 
 Kick. Has she no cloven foot ? 
 Dec. And I am thine, and all that I command. 
 Thy servants ; from this minute thou art happy, 
 And fate in thee will crown all my desires. 
 I grieved a proper man should be compelled 
 To bring his body to the common market. 
 My wealth shall muke thee glorious ; and, the more 
 To encourage thee, howe'er this form may fright 
 Thy youthful eyes, yet thou wilt find, by light 
 Of thy own sense, for other light is banished 
 My chamber, when our arms tie lovers' knots, 
 And kisses seal the welcome of our lips, 
 I shall not there affright thee, nor seem old. 
 With rivelled veins ; my skin is smooth and soft 
 As ermines, with a spirit to meet thine. 
 Active, and equal to the queen of love's, 
 
322 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT n'. 
 
 Kick. This doth more .. 
 Confirm she is a devil, and I am 
 Within his own dominions. I must on, 
 Or else be torn o' pieces. I have heard 
 These succub» must not be crossed. {Aside. 
 
 Dec. We trifle 
 Too precious time away ; I'll show you a prospect ' 
 Of the next chamber, and then out the candle. 
 
 Kick. Have you no sack i' the house ? I would go 
 Upon this breach. [armed 
 
 Dec. It shall not need. 
 
 Kick. One word, 
 Mother; have not you been a cat in your days? 
 
 Dec. I am glad you are so merry, sir. You observe 
 That bed ? \Opens a door. 
 
 Kick. A very brave one. 
 
 Dec. When you are 
 Disrobed, you can come thither in the dark. - 
 You shall not stay for me ? Come, as you wish 
 For happiness. \Exit. 
 
 Kick. I am preferred, if I 
 Be modest and obey : she cannot have 
 The heart to do me harm, an she were Hecate, 
 Herself. I will have a strong faith, and think 
 I march upon a mistress, the less evil. 
 If I 'scape fire now, I defy the devil. \Esdt. 
 
 SCENE \\.—A Room in Sir Thomas Bornwell's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Frederick gaily dressed, Littleworth, ana 
 Steward. 
 
 Fred. And how do you like me now ? 
 
 Stew. Most excellent. 
 
 Fred. Your opinion. Master Littleworth. 
 
SCENE 11 . ] THE LA DY OF PLEA S URE. 323 
 
 Little. Your French tailor 
 Has made you a perfect gentleman ; I may 
 Converse now with you, and preserve my credit. 
 Do you find no alteration in your body 
 With these new clothes ? 
 
 Fred. My body altered ? No. 
 
 Little. You are not yet in fashion then? that must 
 Have a new motion, garb, and posture too. 
 Or all your pride is cast away ; it is not 
 The cut of your apparel makes a gallant, 
 But the geometrical wearing of your clothes. 
 
 Stew. Master Littleworth tells you right ; you wear 
 your hat 
 Too like a citizen. 
 
 Little. 'Tis like a midwife ; 
 Place it with best advantage of your hair. 
 Is half your feather moulted ? This does make 
 No show ; it should spread over, like a canopy ; 
 Your hot-reined monsieur wears it for a shade. 
 And cooler to his back. Your doublet must 
 Be more unbuttoned hereabouts ; you'll not 
 Be a sloven else, a foul shirt is no blemish ; 
 You must be confident, and outface clean linen. 
 Your doublet and your breeches must be allowed 
 No private meeting here ; your cloak's too long. 
 It reaches to your buttock, and doth smell 
 Too much of Spanish gravity ; the fashion 
 Is to wear nothing but a cape ; a coat 
 Maybe allowed a covering for one elbow. 
 And some, to avoid the trouble choose to walk 
 In querpo^ thus. 
 
 Stew. Your coat and cloak's a brushing 
 In Long-lane, Lombard. \Aside. 
 
 Fred. But what if it rain ? 
 
 Little. Your belt about your shoulder is sufficient 
 
 1 2,1?. Cuerpo', stripped of the upper garment. 
 
324 THE LaDV op pleasure. [act IV. 
 
 To keep off any storm ; beside, a reed ' 
 But waved discreetly, has so many pores, 
 It sucks up all the rain that falls about one, 
 With this defence, when other men have been 
 Wet to the skin through all their cloaks, I have 
 Defied a tempest, and walked by the taverns 
 Dry as a bone. 
 
 Stew. Because he had no money 
 To call for wine. \Aside. 
 
 Fred. Why, do you walk enchanted ? 
 Have you such pretty charms in town ? But stay ; 
 Who must I have to attend me ? 
 
 Little. Is not that 
 Yet thought upon? 
 
 Ste%v. I have laid out for servants. 
 
 Little. They are everywhere. 
 
 Stew. I cannot yet be furnished 
 With such as I would put into his hands. 
 
 Fred. Of what condition must they be, and how 
 Many in number, sir ? 
 
 Little. Beside your fencing. 
 Your singing, dancing, riding, and French master. 
 Two may serve domestic, to be constant waiters 
 Upon a gentleman ; a fool, a pimp. 
 
 Stew. For these two officers I have enquired, 
 And I am promised a convenient whiskin : 
 I could save charges, and employ the pie-wench, 
 That carries her intelligence in whitepots ; 
 Or 'tis but taking order with the woman 
 That trolls the ballads, she could fit him with 
 A concubine to any tune ; but I 
 Have a' design to place a fellow with him 
 That has read all Sir Pandarus' works ; a Trojan 
 That lies concealed, and is acquainted with 
 Both city and suburban fripperies, 
 
 1 This is a Plymouth cloak, as our old dramatists called a 
 cudgel. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 325 
 
 Can fetch 'em with a spell at midnight to him, 
 And warrant which are for his turn ; can, for 
 A need, supply the surgeon too. 
 
 Fred. I like thy providence ; such a one deserves 
 A livery twice a year. 
 
 Stmt. It shall not need ; a cast suit of your worship's 
 Will serve ; he'll find a cloak to cover it. 
 Out of his share with those he brings to bed to you, 
 
 Fred. But must I call this fellow pimp ? 
 
 Little. It is 
 Not necessary ; Tom, or Jack, or Harry. 
 Or what he's known abroad by, will sound better. 
 That men may think he is a Christian. 
 
 Fred. But hear you, Master Littleworth : is there not 
 A method, and degrees of title in 
 Men of this art ? 
 
 Little. According to the honour 
 Of men that do employ 'em. An emperor 
 May give this office to a duke ; a ting 
 May have his viceroy to negociate for him ; 
 A duke may use a lord ; the lord a knight, 
 A knight may trust a gentleman ; and when 
 They are abroad, and merry, gentlemen 
 May pimp to one another. 
 
 Fred. Good, good fellowship ! 
 But for the fool now, that should wait on me. 
 And break me jests ? 
 
 Little. A fool is necessary. 
 
 Stew. By any means. 
 
 Fred. But which of these two servants 
 Must now take place? 
 
 Little. That question. Master Frederick, 
 The school of heraldry should conclude upon :, 
 But if my judgment may be heard, the fool 
 Is your first man; and it is known a point 
 Of state to have a fool. 
 
 Stew. But, sir, the other 
 
326 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act IV. 
 
 Is held the finer servant ; his employments 
 Are full of trust, his person clean and nimble, 
 And none so soon can leap into preferment, 
 Where fools are poor. 
 
 Little. Not all ; there's story for't ; - 
 
 Princes have been no wiser than they should be. 
 Would any nobleman, that were no fool. 
 Spend all in hope of the philosopher's stone. 
 To buy new lordships in another country ? 
 Would knights build colleges, or gentlemen 
 Of good estates challenge the field, and fight. 
 Because a whore will not be honest ? Come, 
 Fools are a family over all the world ; 
 We do affect one naturally ; indeed 
 The fool is leiger' with us. 
 
 Stew. Then- the pimp 
 Is extraordinary. 
 
 Fred. Do not you fall out 
 About their places. — Here's my noble aunt ! 
 
 Enter Lady Bornwell. 
 
 Little. How do you like your nephew, madam, now? 
 
 Lady B. Well ! turn about, Frederick. Very well ! 
 
 Fred. Am I not now a proper gentleman ? 
 The virtue of rich clothes ! Now could I take 
 The wall of Julius Csesar, or affront 
 Great Pompey's upper lip, and defy the senate. 
 Nay, I can be as proud as your own heart, madam, 
 You may take that for your comfort,' I put on 
 That virtue with my clothes, and I doubt not 
 But in a little time I shall be impudent 
 As any page, or player's boy. I am 
 Beholding to this gentleman's good discipline ; 
 
 1 "Leiger," in the language of diplomacy at this period, meant 
 resident. In this sprightly scene, and particularly in this speech, 
 there are several personal allusions, which seem to show that the 
 censorship of the stage had now somewhat relaxed. — Gifford. 
 
SCENE II.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 327 
 
 But I shall do him credit in my practice. 
 Your steward has some pretty notions too, 
 In moral mischief. 
 
 Lady B. Your desert in this 
 Exceeds all other service, and shall bind me 
 Both to acknowledge and reward. 
 
 Little. Sweet madam, 
 Think me but worth your favour ; I would creep 
 Upon my knees to honour you, and for every 
 Minute you lend to my reward, I'll pay 
 A year of serviceable tribute. 
 
 Lady B. You 
 Can compliment. 
 
 Little. Thus still she puts me off; unless I speak 
 The downright word, she'll never understand me. 
 A man would think that creeping on one's knees 
 Were English to a lady. \Aside. 
 
 Enter Kickshaw. 
 
 Kick. How is't. Jack ? — Pleasures attend you, madam ! 
 How does my plant of honour ? 
 
 Lady B. Who is this? 
 
 Kick. 'Tis Alexander. 
 
 Lady B. Rich and glorious ! 
 
 Little. 'Tis Alexander the Great. 
 
 Kick. And my Bucephalus 
 Waits at the door. 
 
 Lady B. Your case is altered, sir. 
 
 Kick. I cannot help these things, the Fates will 
 have it ; 
 'Tis not my land does this. 
 
 Little. But thou hast a plough 
 That brings it in. 
 
 Lady B. Now he looks brave and lovely. 
 
 Fred. Welcome, my gallant Macedonian. 
 
 Kick. Madam, you gave your nephew for my pupil. 
 I read but in a tavern ; if you'll honour us, 
 
328 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT IV. 
 
 The Bear at the Bridge foot ' shall entertain you. 
 A drawer is my Ganymede, he shall skink'' 
 Brisk nectar to us ; we will only have 
 A dozen partridge in a dish ; as many pheasants, 
 Quails, cocks, and godwits shall come marching up 
 Like the trained-band ; a fort of sturgeon 
 Shall give most bold defiance to an army, 
 -And triumph o'er the table. — 
 
 Lady B. Sir, it will 
 But dull the appetite to hear more, and mine 
 Must be excused. Another time I may be 
 Your guest. 
 
 Kick. 'Tis grown In fashion now with ladies ; 
 When you please, I'll attend you. Littleworth. — 
 Come, Frederick. 
 
 Fred. We'll have music; I love noise. 
 We will out-roar the Thames, and shake the bridge, boy. 
 
 \Exit tuith Kickshaw. 
 
 Little. Madam, I kiss your hand; would yOu would 
 think 
 Of your poor servant ; flesh and blood is frail. 
 And troublesome to carry, without help. 
 
 Lady B. A coach will easily convey it, or 
 You may take water at Strand-bridge. 
 
 Little. But I 
 Have taken fire. 
 
 Lady B. The Thames will cool it, sir. 
 
 Little. But never quench rriy heart ; your charity 
 Can only do that. 
 
 Lady B. I will keep it cold 
 Of purpose. 
 
 Little. Now you bless me, and I dare 
 Be drunk in expectation. \Exit. 
 
 ' The Bear was a well-known tavern. The Strand-bridge crossed 
 the Strand nearly opposite the present Catherine-street, where the 
 collected waters from the high grounds were discharged into the 
 Thames. 3 Pour out. 
 
SCENE n.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 329 
 
 Lady JB. I am confident 
 He knows me not, and I were worse than mad 
 To be my own betrayer.— Here's my husband. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell. 
 
 Born. Why, how now, Aretina ? What ! alone ? 
 The mystery of this soUtude ? My house 
 Turn desert o' the sudden ! all the gamesters 
 Blown up ! Why is the music put to silence ? 
 Or have their instruments caught a cold, since we - 
 Gave them the last heat? I must know thy ground 
 Of melancholy. 
 
 Lady B. You are merry, as 
 You came from kissing Celestirta. 
 
 Born. I 
 Feel her yet warm upon my lip ; she is 
 Most excellent company : I did not think 
 There was that sweetness in her sex. I must 
 Acknowledge, 'twas thy care to disenchant me 
 From a dull husband to an active lover. 
 With such a lady I could spend more years 
 Than since my birth my glass hath ;run soft minutes, 
 And yet be young ; her presence has a spell 
 To keep off age ; she has an eye would strike 
 Fire through an adamant. 
 
 Lady B. I have heard as much 
 Bestowed upon a dull-faced chambermaid, 
 Whom love and wit would thus commend. True beauty 
 Is mocked when we compare thus, itself being 
 Above what can be fetched to make it -lovely; 
 Or, could our thoughts reach something to .declare 
 The glories of a face, or body's elegance, 
 That touches but our sense ; when beauty spreads 
 Over the soul, and calls up understanding 
 To look what thence is offered, and admire. 
 In both I must acknowledge Celestina 
 Most excellently fair, fair above all 
 
33° 
 
 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT iv. 
 
 The beauties I have seen, and one most worthy 
 Man's love and wonder. 
 
 Born. Do you speak, Aretina, 
 This with a pure sense to commend ? or is't 
 The mockery of my praise ? 
 
 Lady B. Although it shame 
 Myself, I must be just, and give her all 
 The excellency of women ; and were, I 
 A man — 
 
 Born. What then? 
 Lady B. I know not with what loss 
 I should attempt her love. She is a piece 
 So angelically moving, I should think 
 Frailty excused to dote upon her form, 
 And almost virtue to be wicked with her. \ExU. 
 
 Born. What should this mean ? This is no jealousy. 
 Or she believes I counterfeit. I feel 
 Something within me, like a heat, to give 
 Her cause, would Celestina but consent. 
 What a frail thing is man ! It is not worth 
 Our glory to be chaste, while we' deny 
 Mirth and converse with women. He is good 
 That dares the tempter, yet corrects his blood \Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in Celestina's House. 
 
 Enter C^i.zSTi^&., Mariana, and Isabella. 
 
 Cel. I have told you all my knowledge: since he is 
 pleased 
 To invite himself, he shall be entertained, 
 And you shall be my witnesses. 
 
 Mar. Who comes with him ?. 
 
 Cel. Sir William Scentlove, that prepared me for 
 The honourable encounter. I expect 
 His lordship every minute. . ... 
 
SCENE III.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 331 
 
 Enter Sir William Scentlove. 
 
 Scent. My lord is come. 
 Cel. He has honoured me. 
 
 Enter Lord A. and Haircut. 
 
 Scent. My lord, your periwig is awry. 
 
 Lord. You, sir — 
 
 [ While Haircut is busy about his hair. Sir Wil- 
 liam Scentlove goes to Celestina. 
 
 Scent. You may guess at the gentleman that's with 
 him. 
 It is his barber, madam, do you observe ? 
 An your ladyship wants a shaver. 
 
 Hair. She is here, sir. 
 I am betrayed. — Scentlove, your plot. I may 
 Have opportunity to be revenged. \Exit. 
 
 Scent. She is in the midst. 
 
 Lord. She's fair, I must confess ; 
 But does she keep this distance out of state ? 
 
 Cel. Though I am poor in language to express 
 How much your lordship honours me, my heart 
 Is rich and proud in such a guest. I shall 
 Be out of love with every air abroad, 
 And for this grace done my unworthy house, 
 Be a fond prisoner, become anchorite. 
 And spend my hours in prayer, to reward 
 The blessing and the bounty of this presence. 
 
 Lord. Though you could turn each place you move 
 in to 
 A temple, rather than a wall should hide 
 So rich a beauty from the world, it were 
 Less want to lose our piety and your prayer. 
 A throne were fitter to present you to 
 Our wonder,, whence your eyes^ more worth than all 
 They look on, should chain every heart a prisoner. 
 Scent. 'Twas pretty well come off. 
 
332 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act IV. 
 
 Lord. Py your example 
 I shall know how to compliment ; in this, 
 You more confirm my welcome. 
 
 Cel. I shall love 
 My lips the better, if their silent language 
 Persuade your lordship but to think so truly. 
 
 Lord. You make me smile, madam. 
 
 Cel. I hope you came not 
 With fear that any sadness here should shake 
 One blossom from your eye. I should be miserable 
 To present any object should displease you. — 
 
 lj)rd. You do not, madam. 
 
 Cel. As I should account 
 It no less sorrow, if your lordship should 
 Lay too severe a censure on my freedom. 
 I will not court a prince against his justice, 
 Nor bribe him with a smile to think me honest. 
 Pardon, my lord, this boldness, and the mirth 
 That may flow from me. I believe my father 
 Thought of no winding-sheet when he begot me. 
 
 Lord. She has a merry soul. — It will become 
 Me ask your pardon, madam, for my rude 
 Approach, so much a stranger to your knowledge. 
 
 Cel. Not, my lord, so much stranger to my know- 
 ledge; 
 Though I have but seen your person afar off, 
 I am acquainted with your character, 
 Which I have heard so often, I can speak it. 
 
 Lord. You shall do me an honour. 
 
 Cel. If your lordship will 
 Be patient. 
 
 iMrd. And glad to hear my faults. 
 
 Cel. That as your conscience can agree upon them : 
 However, if your lordship give me privilege, 
 I'll tell you what's the opinion of the world. 
 
 lArrd. You cannot please me better. 
 
 Cel, You're a lord, 
 
SCENE iii.j THE LADY OF PLEASVRE. 333 
 
 Born with as much nobility as would, 
 
 Divided, serve to make ten noblemen, 
 
 Without a herald ; but with So much spirit 
 
 And height of soul, as well might furnish twenty. ■ 
 
 You are learned, a thing not compatible now 
 
 With native honour ; and are master of 
 
 A language that doth chain all ears, and charm 
 
 All hearts, where you persuade ; a wit so flowing, 
 
 And prudence to correct it, that all men 
 
 Believe they only meet in you, which, with 
 
 A spacious memory, make up the full wonders ; 
 
 To these you have joined valour, and upon 
 
 A noble cause, know how to use a sword 
 
 To honour's best advantage, though you wear none. 
 
 You are as bountiful as the showers that fall 
 
 Into the spring's green bosom ; as you were 
 
 Created lord of Fortune, not her steward ; 
 
 So constant to the cause in which you make 
 
 Yourself an advocate, you dare all -dangers ; 
 
 And men had rather you should be their friend. 
 
 Than justice or the bench bound up together. 
 
 Lord, But did you hear all this ? 
 
 Cel. And more, my lord. 
 
 Lord. Pray let me have it, madam. 
 
 Cel. To all these virtues there is -added one, — 
 (Your lordship will remember, when I name it, 
 I speak but what I gather from the voice 
 Of others) — it is grown to a full fame 
 That you have loved a woman. 
 
 Lord. But one, madam ? 
 
 Cel. Yes, many ; give me leave to smile, my lord, 
 I shall not need to interpret in what sense ; 
 But you have showed yourself right honourable, 
 And, for your love to ladies, have deserved, 
 If their vote might prevail, a marble statue. 
 I make no comment on the people's text, — 
 My lord, I should be sorry to offend. 
 
334 1HE LADY OF PL^ASUHE. [act IV. 
 
 Lord. You cannot, madam ; these are things we owe 
 To nature for. 
 
 Cel. And honest men will pay 
 Their debts. 
 
 Lord. If they be able, or compound. 
 
 Cel. She had a hard heart would be unmerciful, 
 And not give day to men so promising ; 
 But you owed women nothing. 
 
 Lord. Yes, I am 
 Still in their debt, and I must owe them love, 
 It was part of my character. 
 
 Cel. With your lordship's 
 Pardon, I only said you had a fame 
 For loving women ; but of late, men say 
 You have, against the imperial laws of love. 
 Restrained the active flowings of your blood, 
 And with a mistress buried all that is 
 Hoped for in love's succession, as all beauty 
 Had died with her, and left the world benighted ! 
 In this you more dishonour all our sex 
 Than you did grace a part ; when everywhere^ 
 Love tempts your eye to admire a glorious harvest. 
 And everywhere as full blown ears submit 
 Their golden heads, the laden trees bow down 
 Their willing fruit, and court your amorous tasting. 
 
 Lord. I see men would dissect me to a fibre ; 
 But do you beHeve this ? 
 
 Cel. It is my wonder, 
 I must confess, a man of nobler earth 
 Than goes to vulgar composition, 
 (Born and bred high, so unconfined, so rich 
 In fortunes, and so read in all that sum 
 Up human knowledge, to feed gloriously, 
 And live at court, the only sphere wherein 
 True beauty moves ; nature's most wealthy garden, 
 Where every blossom is more worth than all 
 The Hesperian fruit by jealous dragon watched, 
 
SCENE III.] THE LADY OT PLEASURE. 335 
 
 Where all delights do circle appetite, 
 And pleasures multiply by being tasted,) 
 Should be so lost with thought of one turned ashes. 
 There's nothing left, my lord,' that can excuse you, 
 Unless you plead, what I am ashamed to prompt 
 Your wisdom to ? 
 
 Lord. What's that ? 
 
 Cel. That you have played 
 The surgeon with yourself. 
 
 Lord. And am made eunuch ? 
 
 Cel. It were much pity. 
 
 Lord. Trouble not yourself, 
 I could convince your fears with demonstration 
 That I am man enough, but knew not where, 
 Until this meeting, beauty dwelt. The court 
 You talk of must be where the queen of love is, 
 Which moves but with your person ; in your eye 
 Her glory shines, and only at that flame 
 Her wanton boy doth light his quickening torch. 
 
 Cel. Nay, now you compUment ; I would it did. 
 My lord, for your own sake. 
 
 Lord. You would be kind. 
 And love me then ? 
 
 Cel. My lord, I should be loving. 
 Where I found worth to invite it, and should cherish 
 A constant man. 
 
 Lord. Then you should me, madam. 
 
 Cel. But is the ice about your heart fallen off ? 
 Can you return to do what love commands ? — 
 Cupid, thou shalt have instant sacrifice, 
 And I dare be the priest. 
 
 Lord. Your hand, your lip ; \Kisses her. 
 
 Now I am proof 'gainst all temptation. 
 
 Cel. Your meaning, my good lord ? 
 
 Lord. I, that have strength 
 Against thy voice and beauty, after this 
 May dare the charms of womankind.^ — Thou art. 
 
336 TBE LADY OP PLEA SURE. [ACT IV, 
 
 Bella Maria, unprofaned yet ; 
 This magic has no power upon my blood.^ 
 Farewell, madam ! if you durst be the example 
 Of chaste as well as fair, yoia were a brave one. 
 
 Cel. I hope your lordship means not this for earnest: 
 Be pleased to grace a banquet. 
 
 Lord. Pardon, madam. — 
 Will Scentlove, follow ; I must laugh at you. 
 
 Cel. My lord, I must beseech you stay, for honour, 
 For her whose memory you love best. 
 
 Lord. Your pleasure. 
 
 Cel. And by that virtue you have now professed, 
 I charge you to believe me too ; I can 
 Now glory that you have been worth my trial, 
 Which, I beseech you, pardon. Had not you 
 So valiantly recovered in this conflict. 
 You had been my triumph, without hope of more 
 Than my just scorn upon your wanton flame ; 
 Nor will I think these noble thoughts grew first 
 From melancholy, for some female loss, 
 As the fantastic world beheves^ but from 
 Truth, and your love of innocence, which shine 
 So bright in the two royal luminaries 
 At court, you cannot lose your way to chastity.' 
 Proceed, and speak of me as honour guides you. 
 
 \Exit Lord A. 
 I am almost tired. — Come, ladies, we'll beguile 
 Dull time, and take the air another while. \Exeu7it. 
 
 1 This tribute to the nuptial virtues of Charles and Henrietta was 
 not unmerited. The compliment, though frequent enough on the 
 stage, was not always paid at so small an expense of truth. — 
 Giford. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE l.—A Room in Sir Thomas Bornwell's House. 
 
 Enter Lady Bornwell, and a Servant with a purse. 
 
 ADY B. But hath Sir Thomas lost five 
 hundred pounds 
 
 Already? 
 
 Serv. And five hundred more he bor- 
 rowed. 
 
 The dice are notable devourers, madam; 
 
 They make no more of pieces than of 
 But thrust their heaps together, to engender. [pebbles, 
 " Two hundred more the caster ! " cries this gentleman. 
 " I am with you. — I have that to nothii^g, sir." 
 Again; " 'Tis covered ! " and the table too. 
 With sums that frightened me. Here one sneaks out, 
 And with a martyr's patience smiles upon 
 His money's executioner, the dice; 
 Commands a pipe of good tobacco, and 
 I' the smoke on't vanishes. Another makes 
 The bones vault o'er his head, swears that ill-throwing 
 Has put his shoulder out of joint, calls for 
 A bone-setter. That looks to the box, to bid 
 His master send him some more hundred pounds, 
 Which lost, he takes tobacco, and is quiet. 
 Here a strong arm throws in and in, with which 
 He brushes all the table, pays the rooks 
 
 Shir. ^ 
 
338 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. ^ [ACT v. 
 
 That went their smelts a piece upon his hand, 
 
 Yet swears he has not drawn a stake this seven year. 
 
 But I was bid make haste ; my master may 
 
 Lose this five hundred pounds ere I come hither. \Exit. 
 
 Lady B. If we both waste so fast, we shall soon find 
 Our state is not immortal. Something in 
 His other ways appear not well already. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell, and Servants, one with a 
 purse. 
 
 Born. Ye tortoises, why make ye no more haste ? 
 Go pay to the master of the house that money, 
 And tell the noble gamesters I have another 
 Superfluous thousand ; at night I'll visit 'em. 
 Do you hear? 
 
 Serv. Yes, an please you. 
 
 Born. Do't ye drudges. \_Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Ta, ra, ra ! — Aretina ! 
 
 Lady B. You have a pleasant humour, sir. 
 
 Born. What ! should a gentleman be sad ? 
 
 Lady B. You have lost — 
 
 Born. A transitory sum ; as good that way 
 As another. 
 
 Lady B. Do you not vex within for't ? 
 
 Born. I had rather lose a thousand more, than one 
 Sad thought come near my heart for't. Vex for trash ! 
 Although it go from other men like drops 
 Of their life blood, we lose with the alacrity 
 We drink a cup of sack, or kiss a mistress. 
 No money is considerable with a gamester ; 
 They have souls more spacious than kings. Did two 
 Gamesters divide the empire of the world, 
 They'd make one throw for't all, and he that lost 
 Be no more melancholy than to have played for 
 A morning's draught. Vex a rich soul for dirt ! 
 The quiet of whose every thought is worth 
 A province. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 339 
 
 Lady B. But when dice have consumed all, 
 Your patience will not pawn for as much more. 
 
 Born. Hang pawning! sell outright, and the fear's 
 over. 
 
 Lady B. Say you so? I'll have, another coach to- 
 If there be rich above ground. [morrow 
 
 Born. I forgot 
 To bid the fellow ask my jeweller 
 Whether the chain of diamonds be made up ; 
 I will present it to my Lady Bellamour, 
 Fair Celestina. 
 
 Lady B. This gown I have worn 
 Six days already; it looks dull, I'll give it 
 My waiting-woman, and have one of cloth 
 Of gold embroidered ; shoes and pantables ' 
 Will show well of the same. 
 
 Born. I have invited 
 A covey of ladies, and as many gentlemen 
 To-morrow, to the Italian ordinary ; 
 I shall have rarities and regalias 
 To pay for, madam ; music, wanton songs, 
 And tunes of silken petticoats to dance to. 
 
 Lady B, And to-morrow have I invited half the court 
 To dine here. What misfortune 'tis your company 
 And our's should be divided]! j After dinner 
 I entertain them with a play. 
 
 Born. By that time 
 Your play inclines to the epilogue, shall we 
 Quit our Italian host ; and whirl in coaches 
 To the Dutch magazine of sauce, the Stillyard, 
 Where deal, and backrag,' and what strange wine else 
 They dare but give a name to in the reckoning, 
 Shall flow into our room, and drown Westphalias, 
 
 ' Slippers; appajently a corruption of the French word /awfoajf^. 
 
 * i.e. Baccarach, a famous Rhine winefl There was a Rhenish 
 wine house in the Steelyard,- which was at this epoch famous for 
 its Rhenish wines. , . 
 
340 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT V, 
 
 Tongues, and anchovies, like some little town 
 Endangered by a sluice, through whose fierce ebb 
 We wade, and wash ourselves, into a boat. 
 And bid our coachmen drive their leather tenements 
 By land, while we sail home, with a fresh tide. 
 To some new rendezvous. 
 
 Lady B. If you have not 
 Pointed the place, pray bring your ladies hither ; 
 I mean to have a ball to-morrow night, 
 And a rich banquet for 'em, where we'll dance 
 Till morning rise, and blush to interrupt us. 
 
 Born. Have you no ladies i' the next room, to advance 
 A present mirth ? What a dull house you govern ! 
 Farewell ! a wife's no company. — Aretina, 
 I've summed up my estate, and find we may have 
 A month good yet. 
 
 Lady B. What mean you ? 
 
 Born. And I'd rather 
 Be lord one month of pleasures, to the height 
 And rapture of our senses, than be years 
 Consuming what we have in foolish temperance. 
 Live in the dark, and no fame wait upon us ! 
 I will live so, posterity shall stand 
 At gaze when I am mentioned. 
 
 Lady B. A month good ! 
 And what shall be done then ? 
 
 Born. I'll over sea. 
 And trail a pike. With watching, marching, lying 
 In trenches, with enduring cold and hunger. 
 And taking here and there a musket-shot, 
 I can earn every week four shillings, madam ; 
 And if the bullets favour me to snatch 
 Any superfluous limb, when I return. 
 With good friends, I despair not to be enrolled 
 Poor knight of Windsor. For your course, madam. 
 No doubt you may do well ; your friends are great ; 
 Or if your poverty, and their pride, cannot 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 341 
 
 Agree, you need not trouble much invention, 
 To find a trade to live by ; there are customers. 
 Farewell, be frolic, madam I If I live, 
 I will feast all my senses, and not fall 
 Less than a Phaeton from my throne of pleasure. 
 Though my estate flame like the world about me. \ExU. 
 Lady B. 'Tis very pretty ! — 
 
 Enter Decoy. 
 Madam Decoy ! 
 
 Dec. What! melancholy. 
 After so sweet a night's work ? Have not I 
 Showed myself mistress of my art ? 
 
 Lady B. A lady. 
 
 Dec. That title makes the credit of the act 
 A story higher. You've not seen him yet ? 
 I wonder what he'll say. 
 
 Lady B. He's here. 
 
 Enter Kickshaw and Frederick. 
 
 Kick. Bear up. 
 My little myrmidon ; does not Jack Littleworth 
 Follow ? 
 
 Fred. Follow ? he fell into the Thames 
 At landing. 
 
 Kick. The devil shall dive for him. 
 Ere I endanger my silk stockings for him : 
 Let the watermen alone, they have drags and engines. 
 When he has drunk hjs julep, I shall laugh 
 To see him come in pickled the next tide. 
 
 Fred. He'll never sink, he has^ such a cork brain. 
 
 Kick. Let him be hanged or drowned, all's one to me ; 
 Yet he deserves to die by water, cannot 
 Bear his wine credibly. 
 
 Fred. Is not this my aunt ? 
 
 Kick. And another handsome lady ; I must know her. 
 
 \Goes up to Decoy. 
 
342 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [ACT v. 
 
 Fred. My blood is rampant too, I must court some- 
 body ; 
 As good my aunt as any other body. 
 
 Lady B. Where have you beeCj cousin ? 
 
 Fred: At the Bear 
 At the Bridge-foot, where our first health began 
 To the fair Aretina, whose sweet company 
 Was wished by all. We CQuld not get a lay, 
 A' tumbler, a device, a bona roba,^ 
 For any money ; drawers were grown dull : - 
 We wanted our true firks, and our ^vagaries. — 
 When were you in drink, aunt? 
 
 Lady B. How? 
 
 Fred. Do not ladies 
 Play the good fellows too ? There's no true mirth 
 Without 'em. I have now such tickling fancies ! 
 That doctor of the chair of wit has read 
 A precious lecture, how I should behave 
 Myself to ladies ; as now, for example. 
 
 \Goes up to Lady Bornwell. 
 
 Lady B. Would you practise upon me ? 
 
 Fred. I first salute you. 
 You have a soft hand, madam ; are you so 
 All over? 
 
 Lady B. Nephew ! 
 
 Fred. Nay, you should but smile. 
 And then again I kiss you ; and thus draw 
 OtF your white glove, and start, to see your hand 
 More excellently white : I grace my own 
 Lip with this touch, and turning gently thus. 
 Prepare you for my skill in palmistry. 
 Which, out of curiosity, no lady 
 But easily applies to : the first line 
 I look with most ambition to find out. 
 Is Venus' girdle, a fair semicircle. 
 Enclosing both the mount of Sol and Saturn ; 
 
 ' Courtesan.- 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 343 
 
 If that appear, she's for my turn ; a lady 
 Whom nature has prepared for the career ; 
 And, Cupid at my elbow, I put forward: 
 You have this very line, aunt. 
 
 Lady B. The boy's frantic ! - 
 
 Fred. You have a couch or pallet; I can shut 
 The chamber door. Enrich a stranger, when 
 Your nephew's coming into play ! 
 
 Lady B. No more. - 
 
 Fred. Are you so coy to your own flesh and blood ? 
 
 Kick. Here, take your playfellow ; I talk of sport. 
 And she would have me marry her. 
 
 Fred. Keren's Littleworth. 
 
 Enter Littleworth, wet. 
 
 Why, how now, tutor? 
 
 Little. I have been fishing. 
 
 Fred. And what have you caught ? 
 
 Little. My belly full of water. 
 
 Kick. Ha, ha ! Where's thy rapier? 
 
 Little. My rapier is drowned. 
 And I am little better ; I was held up by the heels. 
 And out came a ton of water, beside wine. 
 
 Kick. It has made thee sober. 
 
 Little. Would you have me drunk 
 With water? 
 
 Lady B. I hope your fire is quenched by this time, 
 
 Fred. It is not now, as when " your worship walked 
 By all the taverns. Jack, dry as a bone." 
 
 Kick. You had store of fish under water. Jack. 
 
 Little. It has made a poor John of me. 
 
 Fred. I do not think but if we cast an angle 
 Into his belly, we might find some pilchards. 
 
 Little. And boiled, by this time. — Dear madam, a 
 bed. 
 
 Kick. Carry but the water-spaniel to a grass-plot. 
 Where he may roll himself; let him but shake 
 
344 THE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act v. 
 
 His ears twice in the sun, and you may grind him 
 Into a posset. 
 
 Fred. Come, thou shalt to my bed, 
 Poor pickerel. 
 
 Dec. Alas, sweet gentleman ! 
 
 Little. I have ill luck an I should smell by this time ; 
 I am but new ta'en, I am sure.— Sweet gentlewoman ! 
 
 Dec. Your servant. 
 
 Little. Pray do not pluck off my skin ; 
 It is so wet, unless you have good eyes, 
 You'll hardly know it from a shirt. 
 
 Dec. Fear nothing. 
 
 \Exeunt all but Kickshaw and Lady Bornwell. 
 
 Lady B. He has sack enough, and I may find his 
 humour. \Aside. 
 
 Kick. And how is't with your ladyship ? You look 
 Without a sunshine in your face. 
 
 Lady B. You are glorious 
 In mind and habit. 
 
 Kick. Ends of gold and silver ! 
 
 Lady B. Your other clothes were not so rich. Who 
 was 
 Your tailor, sir? 
 
 IGck. They were made for me long since ; 
 They have known but two bright days upon my back. 
 I had a humour, madam, to lay things by ; 
 They will serve two days more : I think I have gold 
 
 enough 
 To go ta the mercer. I'll now allow myself 
 A suit a week, as this, with necessary 
 Dependances, beaver, silk stockings, garters, 
 And roses, in their due conformity; 
 Boots are forbid~a clean leg, but to ride "in. 
 My linen every morning comes in new. 
 The old goes to great bellies. 
 
 Lady B. You are charitable. 
 
 Kick. I may dine with you sometime, or at the court. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 345 
 
 To meet good company, not for the table. 
 My clerk o' the kitchen's here, a witty epicure, 
 A spirit, that, to please me with what's rare, 
 Can fly a hundred mile a day to market. 
 And make me lord of fish and fowl. I shall 
 Forget there is a butcher ; and to make 
 My footman nimble, he shall feed on nothing 
 But wings of wild fowl. 
 
 Lady B. These ways are costly. 
 
 Kick. Therefore I'll have it so; I have sprung a 
 mine. 
 
 Lady B. You make me wonder, sir, to see this change 
 Of fortune : your revenue was not late 
 So plentiful. 
 
 Kick. Hang dirty land, and lordships ! 
 I would not change one lodging I have got, 
 For the Chamber of London. 
 
 LM,dy B. Strange, of such a sudden, 
 To rise to this estate ! No fortunate hand 
 At dice could lift you up so, for 'tis since 
 Last night : yesterday, you were no such monarch. 
 
 Kick. There be more games than dice. 
 
 Lady B. It cannot be 
 A mistress, though your person is worth love ; 
 None possibly are rich enough to feed 
 As you have cast the method of your riots. 
 A princess, after all her jewels, must 
 Be forced to sell her provinces. 
 
 Kick. Now you talk 
 Of jewels, what do you think of this? 
 
 Lady B. A rich one. 
 
 Kick. You'll honour me to wear't ; this other toy 
 I had from you ; this chain I borrowed of you, 
 A friend had it in keeping. \Gives her the jewel and 
 
 chain."] — If your ladyship 
 Want any sum, you know your friend, and Alexander. 
 
 Lady B. Dare you trust my security? 
 
346 THE LADY OP PLEA S URE. [act v. 
 
 Kick. There's gold, 
 I shall have more to-morrow. 
 
 Lady B. Yoti astoiiish me ; 
 Who can supply these ? 
 
 Kick. A dear friend I have. ' 
 She promised we should meet again i' the morning. 
 
 Lady B. Not that I wish to know 
 More of your happiness than I have already 
 Heart to congratulate, — ^be pleased to lay 
 My wonder. 
 
 Kick. 'Tis a secret — 
 
 Lady B. Which I'll die 
 Ere I'll betray. 
 
 Kick. You have always wished me well ; 
 But you shall swear not to reveal the party. 
 
 Lady B. I'll lose the benefit of my tongue. 
 
 Kick. Nor be 
 Afraid at what I say. What think you first 
 Of an old witch, a strange ill-favoured hag. 
 That, for my company last night, has wrought 
 This cure upon my fortune ? I do sweat 
 To think upon her name. 
 
 Lady B. How, sir ! a witch ? 
 
 Kick. I would not fright your ladyship too much 
 At first, but witches are akin to spirits. 
 The truth is — Nay, if you look pale already, 
 I have done. 
 
 Lady B. Sir, I beseech you. 
 
 Kick. If you have 
 But courage then to know the truth, I'll tell you 
 In one word ; my chief friend is — the devil ! 
 
 Lady B. What devil ? how I tremble ! 
 
 Kick. Have a heart ; 
 'Twas a she-devil too, a most insatiate, 
 Abominable devil, with a tail 
 Thus long. 
 
 Lady B. Goodness defend me ! did you see her ? 
 
SCENE I.] fllM LADY OF PLEASURE. 347 
 
 Kick. No, 'twas i' the dark ; but she appeared first to 
 me 
 I' the likeness of a beldam, and wais brought, 
 I know not how, nor whither, by two goblins, 
 More hooded than a hawk. 
 
 Lady B. But would you venture 
 Upon a devil ! 
 
 Kick, Ay, for means. 
 
 Lady B. How black 
 An impudence is this ! [Aside."] — But are you sure 
 It was the devil you enjoyed? 
 
 Kick. Say nothing ; 
 I did the best to please her ; but as sure 
 As you live, 'twas a hell-cat. 
 
 Lady B. Do you not quake ? 
 
 Kick. I found myself in the very room i' the morning, 
 Where two of her familiars had left me. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord is come to visit you. 
 
 Kick. No words. 
 As you respect my safety. I have told tales 
 Out of the devil's school ; if it be known, 
 I lose a friend. 'Tis now about the time 
 I promised her to meet again ; at my 
 Return I'll tell you wonders. Not a word. \Exit. 
 
 Lady B. 'Tis a false glass ; sure I am more deformed : 
 
 \LooJis in her pocket mirror. 
 What have I done? — my soul is miserable. 
 
 Enter Lord A. 
 JLord. I sent you a letter, madam. 
 lM.dy B. You expressed 
 Your noble care of me, my lord. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Thomas Bornwell with Celestina. 
 Born. Your lordship 
 Does me an honour. 
 
348 THE LADY OP PLEASURE.. [actV. 
 
 Lord. Madam, I am glad 
 To see you here ; I meant to have kissed your hand, 
 Ere my return to court. 
 
 Cel. Sir Thomas has 
 Prevailed to bring me, to his trouble, hither. 
 
 Lord. You do him grace. 
 
 Born. Why, what's the matter, madam? 
 Your eyes are tuning Lachrimse.' 
 
 Lady B. hs, you 
 Do hope for Heaven, withdraw, and give me but 
 The patience of ten minutes. 
 
 Born. Wonderful ! 
 I will not hear you above that proportion. 
 She talks of Heaven : — Come, where must we to counsel? 
 
 Lady B. You shall conclude me when you please. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Born. I follow. 
 
 JLord. What alteration is this? I, that so late 
 Stood the temptation of her eye and voice, 
 Boasted a heart ■'bove all licentious flame, 
 At second view turn renegade, and think 
 I was too superstitious, and full 
 Of phlegm, not to reward her amorous courtship 
 With manly freedom. 
 
 Cel. I obey you, sir. 
 
 Born. I'll wait upon your lordship presently. \ExU. 
 
 Lord. She could not want a cunning to seem honest 
 When I neglected her. I am resolved. — 
 You still look pleasant, madam. 
 
 Cel. I have cause. 
 My lord, the rather for your presence, which 
 Hath power to charm all trouble in my thoughts. 
 
 LLord. I must translate that compliment, and owe 
 All that is cheerful in myself to these 
 All-quick'ning smiles : and rather than such bright 
 
 1 The name of a popular musical work by John Dowland, the 
 lutenist. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 349 
 
 Eyes should repent their influence upon me, 
 I would release the aspects, and quit the bounty 
 Of all the other stars. Did you not think me 
 A strange and melancholy gentleman, 
 To use you so unkindly? 
 Cel. Me, my lord? 
 
 Lord. I hope you made no loud complaint ; I would 
 not 
 Be tried by a jury of ladies. 
 Cel. For what, my lord ? 
 Lord. I did not meet that noble entertainment 
 You were late pleased to show me. 
 
 Cel. I observed 
 No such defect in your lordship, but a brave 
 And noble fortitude. 
 
 Lord. A noble folly ; 
 I bring repentance for't. I know you have, 
 Madam, a gentle faith, and will not ruin 
 What you have built to honour you. 
 Cel What's that ? 
 
 Lord. If you can love, I'll tell your ladyship. 
 Cel. I have a stubborn soul else. 
 LMrd. You are all 
 Composed of harmony. 
 
 Cel. yVhat love do you mean ? 
 
 Lord. That which doth perfect both ; madam, you have 
 heard 
 I can be constant, and if you consent 
 To grace it so, there is a spacious dwelling 
 Prepared within my heart for such a mistress. 
 Cel Your mistress, my good lord ? 
 Lord. Why, my good lady. 
 Your sex doth hold it no dishonour 
 To become mistress to a noble servant 
 In the now court Platonic way. Consider 
 Who 'tis that pleads to you; my birth, and present 
 Value, can be no stain to your embrace ; 
 
350 THE LADY OF PLEA S URE. [act v. 
 
 But these are shadows when my love appears, 
 
 Which shall, in his first miracle, return 
 
 Me in my bloom of youth, and thee a virgin ; 
 
 When I, within some new Elysium, 
 
 Of purpose made and meant for us, shall be 
 
 In every thing Adonis, but in his 
 
 Contempt of love ; and court thee from a Daphne 
 
 Hid in the cold rind of a bashful tree. 
 
 With such warm language and dehght, till thou 
 
 Leap from that bays into the queen of love, 
 
 And pay my conquest with composing garlands 
 
 Of thy own myrtle for me. 
 
 Cel. What's all this ? 
 
 Lord. Consent to be my mistress, Celestina, 
 And we will have it spring-time all the year ; 
 Upon whose invitations, when we walk. 
 The winds shall play soft descant to our feet, 
 And breathe rich odours to re-pure the air : • 
 Green bowers on every side shall tempt our stay. 
 And violets stoop to have us tread upon 'em. 
 The red rose shall grow pale, being near thy cheek, 
 And the white blush, o'ercome with such a forehead. 
 Here laid, and measuring with ourselves some bank, 
 A thousand birds shall from the woods repair. 
 And place themselves so cunningly behind 
 The leaves of every tree, that while they pay 
 Us tribute of their songs, thou shalt imagine 
 The very trees bear music, and sweet voices 
 Do grow in every arbour. Here can we 
 Embrace and kiss, tell tales, and kiss again, 
 And none but Heaven our rival. 
 
 Cel. When we are 
 Weary of these, what if we shift our paradise. 
 And through a grove of tall and even pine, 
 Descend into a valley, that shall shame 
 All the delights of Ternpe; upon whose 
 Green plush the Graces shall be called to dance, 
 
SCENE 1 .] THE LADY OF PLEA S URE. 35 1 
 
 To please us, and maintain their fairy revels,- 
 To the harmonious murmurs of a stream 
 That gently falls upon a rock of pearl. 
 Here doth the nymph, forsaken Echo, dwell. 
 To whom we'll tell the story of our love. 
 Till at our surfeit and her want of joy. 
 We break her heart with envy. Not far off, 
 A grove shall call us to a wanton river, 
 To see a dying swan give up the ghost. 
 The fishes shooting up their tears in bubbles, 
 That they must lost the genius of their waves — 
 And such love linsey woolsey, to no purpose. 
 
 Lord. You chide me handsomely ; pray tell me how 
 You like this language. 
 
 Cel. Good my lord, forbear. 
 
 Lord. You need not fly out of this circle, madam ; 
 These widows are so full of circumstance ! 
 I'll undertake, in this time I have courted 
 Your ladyship for the toy, to have broken ten. 
 Nay, twenty colts, virgins I mean, and taught 'em 
 The amble, or what pace I most affected. 
 
 Cel. You're not, my lord, again, the lord I thought 
 you; 
 And I must tell you now, you do forget 
 Yourself and me. 
 
 Lord. You'll not be angry, madam ? 
 
 Cel. Nor rude, (though gay men have a privilege,) 
 It shall appear : — there is a man, my lord. 
 Within my acquaintance, rich in worldly fortunes, 
 But cannot boast any descent of blood. 
 Would buy a coat of arms. 
 
 Lord. He may, and legs 
 Booted and spurred, to ride into the country. 
 " Cel. But these will want antiquity, my lord. 
 The seal of honour. What's a coat cut out 
 But yesterday, to make a man a gentleman ? 
 Your family, as old as the first virtue 
 
352 J-HE LADY OF PLEASURE. [act v. 
 
 That merited an escutcheon, doth owe' 
 
 A glorious coat of arms ; if you will sell now 
 
 All that your name doth challenge, in that ensign, 
 
 I'll help you to a chapman, that shall pay. 
 
 And pour down wealth enough for't. 
 
 Lord. Sell my arms ! 
 I cannot, madam. 
 
 Cel. Give but your consent. 
 You know not how the state may be inclined 
 To dispensation ; we may prevail 
 Upon the Heralds' office afterward. 
 
 Lord. I'll sooner give these arms to the hangman's 
 axe, 
 My head, my heart, to twenty executions, 
 Than sell one atom from my name. 
 
 Cel. Change that. 
 And answer him would buy my honour from me ; 
 Honour, that is not worn upon a flag, 
 Or pennon, that, without the owner's dangers. 
 An enemy may ravish, and bear from me ; 
 But that which grows and withers with my soul. 
 Beside the body's stain : think, think, my lord, 
 To what you would unworthily betray me. 
 If you would not, for price of gold, or pleasure, 
 (If that be more your idol,) lose the glory 
 And painted honour of your house. — I have done. 
 
 Lord. Enough to rectify a satyr's blood. 
 Obscure my blushes here. 
 
 Enter Sir William Scentlove and Haircut behind. 
 
 Hair. Or this, or fight with me ; 
 It shall be no exception that I wait 
 Upon my lord ; I am a gentleman. 
 You may be less, and be a knight : the office 
 I do my lord is honest, sir. How many 
 Such you have been guilty of Heaven knows. 
 
 ' i.e. Own. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. ^<,i 
 
 Scent. 'Tis no fear of your sword, but that I would n»t 
 Break the good laws established against duels. 
 
 Hair. Off with your periwig, and stand bare. 
 
 [Sir William Scentlove takes off his periwig. 
 
 Lord. From this 
 Minute I'll be a servant to your goodness ; 
 A mistress in the wanton sense is common, 
 I'll honour you with chaste thoughts, and call you so. 
 
 Cel. I'll study to be worth your fair opinion. 
 
 Lord. Scentlove, your head was used to a covering, 
 Beside a hat ; when went the hair away ? 
 
 Scent. I laid a wager, my lord, with Haircut, 
 Who thinks I shall catch cold, that I'll stand bare 
 This half hour. 
 
 Hair. Pardon my ambition. 
 Madam, I told you truth ; I am a gentleman, 
 And cannot fear that name is drowned in my 
 Relation to my lord. 
 
 Cel. I dare not think so. 
 
 Hair. From henceforth call my service duty, madam : 
 That pig's head, that betrayed me to your mirth, 
 Is doing penance for't. 
 
 Scent. Why may not I, 
 My lord, begin a fashion of no hair ? 
 
 Cel. Do you sweat. Sir William ? 
 
 Scent. Not with store of nightcaps. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Thomas and Lady Bornwell, in 
 conversation. 
 
 Lady B. Heaven has dissolved the clouds that hung 
 upon 
 My eyes, and if you can with mercy meet 
 A penitent, I throw my own will off. 
 And now in all things obey yours. My nephew 
 Send back again to the college, and myself 
 To what place you'll confine me. 
 
 Born. Dearer now 
 
354 
 
 l^HE LADY OF PLEA S URE. [ACT V. 
 
 Than ever to my bosom, thou shalt please 
 Me best to live at thy own choice. I did 
 But fright thee with a noise of my expenses ; 
 The sums are safe, and we have wealth enough, 
 If yet we use it nobly. My lord — mad&,m, - 
 Pray honour us to-night. 
 
 Lady B. I beg your presence. 
 And pardon. 
 
 Born. I know not how my Aretina 
 May be disposed to-morrow for the country. 
 
 Cel. You must not go before you have done 
 Me honour to accept an entertainment 
 Where I have power ; on those terms I'm your guest. 
 
 Born. You grace us, madam. 
 
 Lady B. Already 
 I feel a cure upon my soul, and promise 
 My after life to virtue. Pardon, Heaven, 
 My shame, yet hid from the world's eye. S^Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Decoy behind. 
 
 Dec, Sweet madam ! 
 
 Lady B. Not for the world be seen here ! we are lost. 
 I'll visit you at home. [Exit Decoy.] — But not to practise 
 What she expects : my counsel may recover her. \Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Kickshaw. 
 
 Kick. Where's madam ? — Pray lend me a little money, 
 My spirit has deceived me ; Proserpine 
 Has broke her word. 
 
 Lady B. Do you expect to find 
 The devil true to you ? 
 
 Kick. Not too loud. 
 
 Lady B. I'll voice it 
 Louder, to all the world, your horrid sin, 
 Unless you promise me religiously. 
 To purge your foul blood by repentance, sir. 
 
 Kick, Then I'm undone. 
 
SCENE I.] THE LADY OF PLEASURE. 355 
 
 Lady B. Not while I have power 
 To encourage you to virtue ; I'll endeavour 
 To find you out some nobler way at court, 
 To thrive ih. 
 
 Kick. Do't, and I'll forsake the devil, 
 And bring my flesh to obedience. You shall steer me. — 
 My lord, your servant. 
 
 Lord. You are brave again. 
 
 Kick. Madam, your pardon. 
 
 Born. Your offence requires 
 Humility. 
 
 Kick. Low as my heart. — Sir Thomas, 
 I'll sup with you, a part of satisfaction. 
 
 Born. Our pleasures cool. Music ! and when our 
 ladies 
 Are tired with active motion, to give 
 Them rest, in some new rapture to advance 
 Full mirth, our souls shall leap into a dance. \Exeunt. 
 
THE CqAT^IVX^L. 
 
IR HEISTRY HERBERT, Master of the 
 Revels, licensed the tragedy of The 
 Chrdmal'va. 1641, and it was acted the 
 same year at the Blackfriars play- 
 house. It was first printed with five 
 other plays in an octavo volume in 
 1652. After the Restoration The Cardinal was re- 
 vived, and Pepys saw it at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, 
 in 1662. 
 
 Dyce considers that in writing this play Shirley was 
 under the influence of Webster's Duchess of Malfy.\ 
 
To my Worthily Honoured Friend, 
 G. B. ESQ. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 DID suffer at the first some contention 
 within me, and looking upon myself, was 
 inclined to stifle my, ambitious thoughts in 
 this dedication ; but when some time, and 
 a happy conversation, had preferred me to 
 more acquaintance with you, (which was 
 more argument to me than the fame I had 
 heard of your reputation, with the most 
 temperate and ingenious men,) I found you not only an ex- 
 cellent judge, but a good man : at this my modesty took 
 full encouragement, to make this offering, which, as I con- 
 ceive, to be the best of my flock, I knew not a better altar 
 whereon to make it a sacrifice, with this protestation, that 
 it comes (and that is it only which makes all devotions 
 acceptable) from the heart ; and your candid acceptance 
 will bind me with all my services and remembrance, to 
 merit a reception with you in the quality and honour of, 
 
 Sir, 
 Your most humble devoted servant, 
 
 James Shirley. 
 

 The Cardinal ! 'Cause we express no scene, 
 
 We do believe most of you, gentlemen. 
 
 Are at this hour in France, and busy there, 
 
 Though you vouchsafe to lend your bodies here ; 
 
 But keep your fancy active, till you know. 
 
 By the progress of our play, 'tis nothing so. 
 
 A poet's art is to lead on your thought 
 
 Through subtle paths and workings of a plot ; 
 
 And where your expectation does not thrive, 
 
 If things fall better, yet you may forgive. 
 
 I will say nothing positive ; you may 
 
 Think what you please ; we call it but a Play : 
 
 Whether the comic Muse; or ladies' love, 
 
 Romance, or direful tragedy it prove. 
 
 The bill determines not ; and would you be 
 
 Persuaded, I would have't a Comedy, 
 
 For all the purple in the name, and state 
 
 Of him that owns it ; but 'tis left to fate : 
 
 Yet I will tell you, ere you see it played. 
 
 What the author, and he blushed too, when he said. 
 
 Comparing with his own, (for't had been pride. 
 
 He thought, to build his wit a pyramid 
 
 Upon another's wounded fame,) this play 
 
 Might rival with his best, and dared to say — 
 
 Troth, I am out : he said no more. You, then. 
 
 When 'tis done, may Say your pleasures, gentlemen. 
 
King of Navarre. 
 
 The Cardinal. 
 
 COLDMBO, the Cardinal's Nephew. 
 
 Count d'Alvarez. 
 
 Hernando, a Colonel. 
 
 Alphonso, a Captain. 
 
 Lords. 
 
 Antonio, Secretary to the Duchess. 
 
 Colonels. 
 
 Antonelli, the Cardinal's Servant. 
 
 Gentleman-Usher. 
 
 Surgeon. 
 
 JAQUES, Pedro, and other Servants. 
 
 Guard.- 
 
 Attendants, &c. 
 
 Duchess Rosaura. 
 
 Valeria, ) ^ ,. 
 
 Celinda, \ L^<^'^«- 
 
 Placentia, the Duchess's Waiting- woman. ] 
 
 SCENE— The Capital of Navarre, and once on the 
 frontiers. 
 
ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace, 
 
 Enter at one door, two Lords ; at the other, Antonio. 
 
 IRST LORD. Who is that? 
 
 2nd Lord. The duchess' secretary. 
 1st Lord. Signior! 
 Ant Your lordship's servant. 
 ist Lord. How does her grace, since 
 she left off her mourning 
 For the young Duke Mendoza, whose timeless death 
 At sea left her a virgin and a widow? 
 
 2nd Lord. She's now inclining to a second bridegroom. 
 When is the day of mighty marriage 
 To our great Cardinal's nephew, Don Columbo ? 
 
 Ant. When they agree, they will not steal to church ; 
 I guess the ceremonies will be loud and public. 
 Your lordships will excuse me. [£xi/. 
 
 1st Lord. When they agree ! Alas ! poor lady, she 
 Dotes not upon Columbo, when she thinks 
 Of the young Count d'Alvarez, divorced from her 
 By the king's power. 
 
 2nd Lord. And counsel of the Cardinal, 
 To advance his nephew to the duchess' bed ; 
 It is not well. 
 
 \st Lord. T^ke heed ; the Cardinal holds 
 Intelligence with every bird i' the air. 
 
364 1HE CARDINAL. [act-i. 
 
 * 
 
 ind Lord. Death on his purple pride! he governs all; 
 And yet Columbo is a gallant gentleman. 
 
 1st Lord. The darling of the war, whom victory- 
 Hath often courted ; a man of daring, 
 And most exalted spirit. Pride in him 
 Dwells like an ornament, where so much honour 
 Secures his praise. 
 
 27id Lord. This is no argument 
 He should usurp, and wear Alvarez' title 
 To the fair duchess ; men of coarser blood, 
 Would not so tamely give this treasure up. 
 
 1st Lord. Although Columbo's name is great, in war, 
 Whose glorious art and practice is above 
 The greatness of Alvarez, yet he cannot 
 Want soul, in whom alone survives the virtue 
 Of many noble ancestors, being the last 
 Of his great family. 
 
 2nd Lord. 'Tis not safe, you'll say, 
 To wrestle with the king. 
 
 1st Lord. More danger if the Cardinal be displeased, 
 Who sits at helm of state. Count d' Alvarez 
 Is wiser to obey the stream, than by 
 Insisting on his privilege to her love, 
 Put both their fates upon a storm. 
 
 2nd Lord. If wisdom, 
 Not inborn fear, make him compose, I like it. 
 How does the duchess bear herself? 
 
 1st Lord. She moves by the rapture ' of another wheel. 
 That must be obeyed ; like some sad passenger, 
 That looks upon the coast his wishes fly to. 
 But is transported by an adverse wind. 
 Sometimes a churlish pilot. 
 
 2nd Lord. She has a sweet and noble nature. 
 
 1st Lord. That 
 Commends Alvarez ; Hymen cannot tie 
 A knot of two more equal hearts and blood, 
 
 1 i.e. Force. 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 365 
 
 Enter Alphonso. 
 
 2nd Lord. Alphonso ! 
 
 Alph. My good lord. , 
 
 \st Lor a. What great affair 
 Hath brought you from the confines ? 
 
 Alph. Such as will 
 Be worth your counsels, when the king hath read 
 My letters from the governor : the Arragonians, 
 Violating their confederate oath and league, 
 Are now in arms : they have not yet marched towards us ; 
 But 'tis not safe to expect, if we may timely 
 Prevent invasion. 
 
 2nd Lord. Dare they be so insolent ? 
 
 \st Lord. This storm I did foresee. 
 
 2nd Lord. What have they, but 
 The sweetness of the king, to make a crime ? 
 
 ist Lord. But how appears the Cardinal at this news ? 
 
 Alph. Not pale, although 
 He knows they have no cause to think him innocent, 
 As by whose counsel they were once surprised. 
 
 \st Lord. There is more 
 Than all our present art can fathom in 
 This story, and I fear I may conclude, 
 This flame has breath at home to cherish it ; 
 There's treason in some hearts, whose faces are 
 Smooth to the state. 
 
 Alph. My lord, I take my leave. 
 
 2nd Lord. Your friends, good* captain. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 1\.^-A Room in the Duchess's House. 
 Enter Duchess, Valeria, and Celinda. 
 
 Val. Sweet madam, be less thoughtful ; this obedience 
 To passion will destroy the noblest frame 
 Of beauty that this kingdom ever boasted. 
 
 ^.7 T-u;. „„j_^„„ „;„!,<. \.^r.^.^^ — , ^ther habit, 
 
366 THE CARDINAL. [act i. 
 
 And ceremonies black, for him that died. 
 The times of sorrow are expired ; and all 
 The joys that wait upon the court, your birth, 
 And a new Hymen, that is coming towards you, 
 Invite a change. 
 
 Duch. Ladies, I thank you both ; 
 I pray excuse a little melancholy 
 That is behind ; my year of mourning hath not 
 So cleared my account with sorrow, but there may 
 Soine dark thoughts stay, with sad reflections. 
 Upon my heart, for him I lost. Even this 
 New dress, and smiling garment, meant to show 
 A peace concluded 'twixt my grief and me. 
 Is but a sad remembrance ; but I resolve 
 To entertain more pleasing thoughts j and if 
 You wish me heartily to smile, you must 
 Not mention gri^ef, not in advice to leave it. 
 Such counsels open but afresh the wounds 
 You would close up, and keep alive the cause. 
 Whose bleeding you would cure., Let's talk of some- 
 That may delight. You two are read in all [thing 
 
 The histories of our court : tell me, Valeria, 
 Who has thy vote for the most handsome man ? — • 
 Thus I must counterfeit a peace, when all 
 Within me is at mutiny. . \Aside, 
 
 Val. I have examined 
 All that are candidates for the praise of ladies. 
 But find — may I speak boldly to your grace ? 
 And will you not return it in your mirth. 
 To make me blush ? 
 
 Duch. No, no ; speak freely. 
 
 Val. I will not rack your patience, madam ; but 
 Were I a princess, I should think the Count d' Alvarez 
 Had sweetness to deserve me- from the world. 
 
 Duch. Alvarez ! she's a spy upon my heart. \Aside. 
 
 Val. He's young and active, and composed most 
 
 Duch. I have seen a face more tempting. [sweetly. 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 367 
 
 Val. It had then 
 Too much of, woman in't : his eyes speak movingly, 
 Which may excuse his voice, and lead away 
 All female pride his captive ; his hair, black, 
 Which, naturally falling into curls — 
 
 Duch. Prithee, no more ; thou art in love with him. — 
 The man in your esteem, Celinda, now ? 
 
 Cel. Alvarez is, I must confess, a gentleman 
 Of handsome composition; but with 
 His mind, the greater excellence, I think 
 Another may delight a lady more. 
 If man be well considered, that's Columbo, 
 Now, madam, voted to be yours. 
 Dtich. My torment! ■ \Aside. 
 
 Val. She affects him not. 
 Cel. He has a person, and a bravery beyond 
 All men, that I observe. 
 Val. He is a soldier, 
 A rough-hewn man, and may show well at distance. 
 His talk will fright a lady ; War, and grim- 
 Faced Honour are his mistresses ; he raves 
 To hear a lute ; Love meant him not his priest. — 
 Again your pardon, madam. We may talk, 
 But you have art to choose, and crown affection. 
 
 [Celinda and Valeria walk aside. 
 Duch. What is it to be bom above these ladies, ^'1 
 And want their freedom ! they are not constrained, / 
 Nor slaved by their own greatness, or the king's ; J 
 
 But let their free hearts look abroad, and choose 
 By their own eyes to love. I must repair 
 My poor afflicted bosom, and assume 
 The privilege I was bom with, which now prompts me 
 To tell the kihg, he hath no power nor art 
 To steer a lover's soul. — 
 
 Enter Antonio, 
 What says Count d'Alvarez ? 
 
3.68 THE CARDINAL. [act i. 
 
 Ant. Madam, he'll attend you. 
 
 Duch. Wait you, as I directed. When he conies, 
 Acquaint me privately. 
 
 Ant. Madam, I have news ; 
 'Tis now arrived the court ; we shall have wars. 
 ' Duch. I find an army here of killing thoughts. 
 
 Ant. The king has chosen Don Columbo general. 
 Who is immediately to take his leave. 
 
 Duch. What flood is let into my heart ! How far 
 Is he to go ? 
 
 Ant. To Arragon. 
 
 Duch. That's well 
 At first ; he should not want a pilgrimage 
 To the unknown world, if my thought* might convey 
 him. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis not impossible he may go thither. 
 
 Duch. How ? 
 
 Ant. To the unknown world ; he goes to fight. 
 That's in his way : such stories are in nature. 
 
 Duch. Conceal this news. 
 
 Ant. He will not be long absent ; 
 The affair will make him shift 
 To kiss your grace's hand. • ' \Exit. 
 
 Duch. He cannot fly 
 With too much wing to take his leave. — I must 
 Be admitted to your conference ; you have 
 Enlarged my spirits ; they shall droop no more. 
 
 Cel. We are happy, if we may advance one thought 
 To your grace's pleasure. 
 
 Val. Your eye before was in edipse ; these smiles 
 Become you, madam. 
 
 Duch. I have not skill to contain myself. \Aside. 
 
 Enter Placentia. 
 Pla. The Cardinal's nephew, madam, Don Columbo. 
 Duch. Already ! Attend him. \Exit Placentia, 
 
 Val. Shall we take our leave ? 
 
SCENE II.] TUB CARDINAL. 369 
 
 Duch. He shall not know, Celinda,' how you praised 
 
 him. 
 Cel. If he did, madam, I should have the confidence 
 To tell him my free thoughts. 
 
 Enter ColumbO. 
 
 Duch. My lord, while I am in study to requite 
 The favour you have done me, you increase 
 My debt to such a sum, still by new honouring 
 Your servant, I despair of my own freedom. 
 
 Colum. Madam, he kisses your white hand, that must 
 Not surfeit in this happiness — and, ladies, 
 I take your smiles for my encouragement ! 
 I have not long to practise these xourt tactics. 
 
 \Kisses them. 
 
 Cel. He has been taught to kiss. 
 
 Duch. There's Something, sir. 
 Upon your brow I did not read before. 
 
 Colum. Does the character please you, madam ? 
 
 Duch. More, 
 Because it speaks you cheerful. 
 
 Colum. 'Tis for such 
 Access of honour, as must make Columbo 
 Worth all your love ; the king is pleased to think 
 Me fit to lead his army. 
 
 Duch. How! an army? 
 
 Colum. We must not use the priest, till I bring home 
 Another triumph, that now stays for me. 
 To reap it in the purple iield of glory. 
 
 Duch. But do you mean to leave me, and expose 
 Yourself to the devouring war ? No enemy 
 Should divide us ; the king is not so cruel. 
 
 Colum, The king is honourable ; and this grace 
 
 ' The old copy reads, "Valeria; "but erroneously, as appears from 
 the dialogue, ou p. 367, and the commencement of the third act. 
 In fact, the names of these two ladies are strangely confounded ; 
 and in a subsequent part of this scene it has been found necessary 
 to make them everywhere change places.— (?z^o/-<?. 
 
 BB 
 
370 THE CARDINAL. [act i. 
 
 More answers my ambition, than his gift 
 
 Of thee, and all thy beauty, which I can 
 
 Love, as becomes thy soldier, and fight 
 
 To come again, a conqueror of thee. - \_She weeps. 
 
 Then I must chide this fondness. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio. 
 Ant. Madam, the king, and my lord Cardinal. \Exit. 
 
 Enter King, Cardinal, and Lords. 
 
 King. Madam, I come to call a servant from you. 
 And strengthen his excuse ; the public cause 
 Will plead for your consent ; at his return 
 Your marriage shall receive triumphant ceremonies ; 
 Till then you must dispense. 
 
 Car. She appears sad 
 To part with him. — I like it fairly, nephew. 
 
 Cel. Is Hot the General a gallant man ? 
 What lady would deny him a small courtesy ? 
 
 Val. Thou hast converted me, and I begin 
 To wish it were no sin. 
 
 Cel. Leave that to narrow consciences. 
 
 Val. You are pleasant. 
 
 Cel. But he would please one better. Do such men 
 Lie with their pages ? 
 
 Val. Wouldst thou make a shift? 
 
 Cel. He is going to a bloody business ; 
 'Tis pity he should die without some heir : 
 That lady were hard-hearted now, that would 
 Not help posterity, for the mere good 
 Of the king and commonwealth. 
 
 Val. Thou art wild ; we may be observed. 
 
 Duch. Your will must guide me ; happiness and con- 
 quest 
 Be ever waiting on his sword ! 
 
 Colum. Farewell. 
 
 [^Exeunt King, Columbo, Cardinal, and Lords. 
 
SCENE 11.] THE CARDINAL. 371 
 
 Duch. Pray give me leave to examine a few thoughts.; — 
 Expect me in the garden. 
 
 Cek We attend. \E!xeunt Celinda and Valeria, 
 
 Duch. This is above all expectation happy. 
 Forgive me, Virtue, that I have dissembled. 
 And witness with me, I have not a thought 
 To tempt or to betray him, but secure 
 The promise I first made, to love and honour. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. The Count d'Alvarez, madam. 
 
 Duch. Admit him. 
 And let none interrupt us. \Eodt Antonio.] — How 
 
 shall I 
 Behave my looks ? The guilt of my neglect. 
 Which had no seal from hence, will call up blood 
 To write upon my cheeks the shame and story 
 In some red letter. 
 
 Enter Alvarez. 
 
 Alv. Madam, I present 
 One that was glad to obey your grace, and come 
 To know what your commands are. 
 
 Duch. Where I once 
 Did promise love, a love that had the. power 
 And office of a priest to chain my heart 
 To yours, it were injustice to. command. 
 
 Ah). But I can look upon you, madam, as 
 Becomes a servant ; with as much, humility. 
 In tenderness of your honour and great fortune. 
 Give up, when you, call back your:bounty, all that 
 Was mine, as I had pride to think, them favours. 
 
 Duch. Hath love taught thee.no more assurance in 
 Our mutual vows, thou canst suspect it possible 
 I should revoke a promise, jnade tp heaven 
 And thee, so soon ? This must arise from some 
 Distrust of thy own faith. , 
 
2,iz. rtiE cardwal. [act t. 
 
 Alv. Your grace's pardon ; 
 To speak with freedom, I am not so old 
 In cunning to betray, nor young in time. 
 Not to see when and where I am at loss. 
 And how to bear my fortune, and my wounds, 
 Which, if I look for health, must still bleed inward, 
 A hard and desperate condition. 
 I am not ignorant your birth and greatness 
 Have placed you to grow up with the king's grace 
 And jealousy, which, to remove, his power 
 Hath chosen a fit object for your beauty 
 To shine upon, Columbo, his great favourite. 
 I am a man, on whom but late the king 
 Has pleased to cast a beam, which was not meant 
 To make me proud, but wisely to direct, 
 And light me to my safety. Oh, dear madam ! 
 I will not call more witness of my love 
 (If you will let me still give it that name) 
 Than this, that I dare make myself a loser, 
 And to your will give all my blessings up. 
 Preserve your greatness, and forget a trifle, 
 That shall, at best, when you have drawn me up. 
 But hang about you like a cloud, and dim 
 The glories you are born to. 
 
 Duch. Misery 
 ■ Of birth and state ! That I could shift into 
 A meaner blood, or find some art to purge 
 That part which makes my veins unequal 1 yet 
 Those nice distinctions have no place in us ; 
 There's but a shadow difference, a title : 
 Thy stock partakes as much of noble sap 
 As that which feeds the root of kings ; and he 
 That writes a lord hath all the essence of 
 Nobility. 
 
 Alv. 'Tis not a name that makes 
 Our separation j the king's displeasure 
 Hangs a portent to fright us, and the matter 
 
SCENE II.] THji CARDINAL, 273 
 
 That feeds this exhalation is the Cardinal's 
 Plot to advance his nephew ; then Columbo, 
 A man made up for some prodigious act, 
 Is fit to be considered : in all three 
 There is no character you fix upon 
 But has a form of ruin to us both, 
 
 Duck. Then you do look on these with fear ? 
 
 A/v. With eyes 
 That should think tears a duty, to lament 
 Your least unkind fate ; but my youth dares boldly 
 Meet all the tyranny o' the stars, whose black 
 Malevolence but shoots my single tragedy. 
 You are above the value of many worlds, 
 Peopled with such as I am. 
 
 Duch. What if Columbo, 
 Engaged to war, in his hot thirst of honour, 
 Find out the way to death ? 
 
 Ah. 'Tis possible. 
 
 Duch. Or say, (no matter by what art or motive,) 
 He give his title up, and leave me to 
 My own election ? 
 
 Ah). If I then be happy 
 To have a name within your thought, there can 
 Be nothing left to crown me with new blessing ; 
 ■ But I dream thus of heaven, and wake to find 
 My amorous soul a mockery. When the priest . 
 Shall tie you to another, and the joys 
 Of marriage leave no thought at leisure to 
 Look back upon Alvarez, that must wither 
 For loss of you ; yet then I cannot lose 
 So much of what I was once in your favour, 
 But, in a sigh, pray still you may live happy. \^Exit. 
 
 Duch. My heart is in a mist ; some good star smile 
 Upon my resolution, and direct 
 Two lovers in their chaste embrace to meet ! 
 CoIuRibo's bed contains my winding sheet, \Exit, 
 
MM 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 s 
 
 & 
 
 S 
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE \.— Before the Walls of the frontier City.— 
 CoLUMBO'S Tent. 
 
 CoLUMBO, Hernando, two Colonels, Alphonso, two 
 Captains, and other Officers, seated at a Council of War.- 
 
 OLUM. I see no face in all this council 
 that 
 Hath one pale fear upon't, though we 
 
 arrived not 
 So timely to secure the town, which gives 
 Our enemy such triumph. 
 ist Col. 'Twas betrayed. 
 Alph. The wealth of that one city 
 Will make the enemy glorious. 
 
 xst Col. They dare 
 Not plunder it. 
 
 Alph. They give fair quarter yet : 
 They only seal up men's estates, and keep 
 Possession for the city's use : they take up 
 No wares without security ; and he, 
 Whose single credit will not pass, puts in 
 Two lean comrades, upon whose bonds 'tis not 
 Religion to deny them. 
 
 Colum.. To repair this 
 With honour, gentlemen ? 
 
 Her. My opinion is 
 To expect awhile. 
 
 Colum. Your reason ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE CARDINAL. 375 
 
 Her. Till their own 
 Surfeit betray them ; for their soldierSj 
 Bred up with coarse and common bread, will show 
 Such appetites on the rich cates they find, 
 They'll spare our swords a victory, when their own 
 Riot and luxury destroys them. 
 
 xst Col. That 
 Will show our patience too like a fear. 
 With favour of his excellence, I think 
 The spoil of cities takes not off the courage, 
 But doubles it on soldiers ; besides, 
 While we have tameness to expect, the noise 
 Of their success and plenty will increase 
 Their army. 
 
 Her. 'Tis considerable ; we do not 
 Exceed in foot or horse, our muster not 
 'Bove sixteen thousand both ; and the infantry 
 Raw, and not disciplined to act. 
 
 Alph. Their hearts. 
 But with a brave thought of their country's honour. 
 Will teach them how to fight, had they not seen 
 A sword. But we decline our own too much • ' 
 The men are forward in their arms, and take 
 The use with avarice of fame. \They.rise, and talk aside. 
 
 Colum. [Staying Hernando.] — Colonel, 
 I do suspect you are a coward. 
 
 Her. Sir! 
 
 Colum. Or else a traitor ; take your choice. No more. 
 I called you to a council, sir, of war ; 
 Yet keep your place. 
 
 Her. I have worn other names. 
 
 Colum. Deserve them. Such 
 Another were enough to unsoul an army. 
 Ignobly talk of patience, till they drink 
 And reel to death ! we came to fight, and force them 
 
 1 i.e. Form too low an estimate of the militaly qualities of our 
 own troops. 
 
376 THE CARDINAL. [act ii. 
 
 To mend their pace : thou hast no hbnour in thee, 
 Not enough noble blood to make a blush 
 For thy tame eloquence. 
 
 Her. My lord, I know 
 My duty to a general : yet there are 
 Some that have known me here. Sir, I desire 
 To quit my regiment. 
 
 Colum. You shall have license.— 
 Ink and paper ! 
 
 Enter Attendant with ink and paper, and exit. 
 
 1st Col. The general's displeased. 
 
 2nd Col. How is't, Hernando ? 
 
 Her. The general has found out employment for me; 
 He is writing letters back. 
 
 Alph. and Copt. To his mistress? 
 
 Her. Pray do not trouble me ; yet, prithee speak. 
 And flatter not thy friend. Dost think I dare 
 Not draw my sword, and use it, when a cause. 
 With honour, calls to action ? 
 
 Alph. and ist Col. With the most valiant man alive. 
 
 Her. You'll do me some displeasure in your loves : 
 Pray to your places. 
 
 Colum. So ; bear those letters to the king ; 
 They speak my resolution, before 
 Another sun decline, to charge the enemy. 
 
 Her. A pretty court way 
 Of dismissing an officer. — I obey ; success 
 Attend your counsels ! \Exit, 
 
 Colum. If here be any dare not look on danger. 
 And meet it like a man, with scorn of death, 
 I beg his absence ; and a coward's fear 
 Consume him to a ghost ! 
 
 1st Col. None such are here. 
 Colum. Or, if in all your regiments you find 
 One man that does not ask to bleed with honour, 
 Give him a double pay to leave the army; 
 
SCENE I.] THE CARDINAL. 2'J^ 
 
 There's service to be done will call the spirits 
 And aid of men. 
 
 \st Col. You give us all new flame. 
 
 Colum. I am confirmed, and you must lose no time ; * 
 The soldier that was took last night, to me 
 Discovered their whole strength, and that we have 
 A party in the town. The river, that 
 Opens the city to the west, 's unguarded \-^ 
 We must this night use art and resolution \ 
 We cannot fall ingloriously. 
 
 I St Capt. That voice 
 Is every man's. 
 
 Enter Soldier, and Antonio with a letter. 
 
 Colum. What now ? 
 
 Sold. Letters. 
 
 Colum. Whence ? 
 
 Sold. From the duchess. 
 
 Colum. They are welcome. — \2^akes the letter. 
 
 Meet at my tent again this evening ; 
 Yet stay, some wine. — The duchess' health ! \Drinks. 
 See it go round. \0f ens the letter. 
 
 Ant. It will not please his excellence. 
 
 \st Col. The duchess' health. {Drinks. 
 
 2nd Capt. To me ! more wine. 
 
 Ant. The clouds are gathering, and his eyes shoot fire; 
 Observe what thunder follows. 
 
 2nd Capt. The general has but ill news. I suspect 
 The duchess sick, or else the king, 
 
 \st Capt. May be 
 The Cardinal. 
 
 znd Capt. His soul has long been looked for. 
 
 Colum. She dares not be so insolent. It is 
 The duchess' hand. How am I shrunk in fame 
 To be thus played withal ! She writes, and counsels, 
 Under my hand, to send her back a free 
 Resign of all my interest to her person, 
 
378 2HE CARDINAL. [act ii. 
 
 Promise, or love ; that there's no other way, 
 
 With safety of my honour, to revisit her. 
 
 The woman is possessed with some bold devil, 
 
 And wants an exorcism ; or, I am grown 
 
 A cheap, dull, phlegmatic fool, a post, that's carved 
 
 I' the common street, and holding out my forehead 
 
 To every scurril wit to pin disgrace 
 
 And libels on't. — Did you bring this to me, sir? 
 
 My thanks shall warm your heart. \I)raws a pistol. 
 
 Ant. Hold, hold ! my lord ! 
 I know not what provokes this tempest, but 
 Her grace ne'er showed more freedom from a storm 
 When I received this paper. If you have 
 A will to do an execution. 
 
 Your looks, without that engine, sir, may serve. — • 
 I did not seek the employment. 
 
 Coliim. Ha ! had she 
 No symptom, in her eye or face, of anger. 
 When she gave this in charge ? 
 
 Ant. Serene, as I 
 Have seen the morning rise upon the spring ; 
 No trouble in her breath, but such a wind 
 As came to kiss, and fan the smiUng flowers. 
 
 Colum. No poetry. 
 
 Ant. By all the truth in prose. 
 By honesty, and your own honour, sir, 
 I never saw her look more calm and gentle. 
 
 Colum. I am too passionate ; you must forgive me. 
 I have found it out ; the duchess loves me dearly ; 
 She expressed a trouble in her when I took 
 My leave, and chid me with a sullen eye : 
 'Tis a device to hasten my return ; 
 Love has a- thousand arts. • I'll answer it 
 Beyond her expectation, and put 
 Her soul to a noble test.— Your patience, gentlemen ; 
 The king's health will deserve a sacrifice 
 Of wine. {Retires to the table and writes. 
 
SCENE I.] THE CARDINAL. 379 
 
 Ant. I am glad to see this change, and thank my wit 
 For my redemption. \Aside. 
 
 isf Col. Sir, the soldier's curse 
 On him loves not our master ! 
 
 2nd Col. And they curse , 
 Loud enough to be heard. 
 
 2nd Capt. Their curse has the^nature of gunpowder. 
 
 Ant. They do not pray with half the noise. 
 
 \st Col. Our general is not well mixed ; 
 He has too great a portion of fire. 
 
 2nd Col. His mistress cool him, (her complexion 
 Carries some phlegm,) when they two meet in bedj — 
 
 2nd Capt. A third may follow. 
 
 xst Capt. 'Tis much pity 
 The young duke lived not, to take the virgin off. 
 
 xst Col. 'Twas the king's act, to match two rabbit- 
 
 2nd Col. A common trick of state ; ' [suckers. 
 
 The little great man marries, travels then 
 Till both grow up, and dies when he should do 
 The feat ; these things are still unlucky 
 On the male side. 
 
 Colum. This to the duchess' fair hand. 
 
 \Gives Antonio a letter. 
 
 Ant. She will think 
 Time hath no wing, till I return. \Exit. 
 
 Colum. Gentlemen, 
 Now each man to his quartef, and encourage 
 The soldier. I shall take a pride to know 
 Your diligence, when I visit all ybiir several 
 Commands. ' ' 
 
 All. We shall expect; 
 
 2nd Col. And move 
 By your directions. 
 
 Colttm. You are all noble. [£xeunt. 
 
 1 Shirley was thinking of his own government here ; he had seen 
 more than one example of the marriages which he menlions, and 
 their unlucky termination " on the male side." — Giffori. 
 
•380 THE CARDINAL. [act ii. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in the Duchess's House. 
 Enter Cardinal, Duchess, and Placentia. 
 
 Car. I shall perform a visit daily, madam, 
 In th' absence of my nephew, and be happy 
 If you accept my care, 
 
 Duch. You have honoured me ; 
 And if your entertainment have not been 
 Worthy your grace's person, 'tis because 
 Nothing can reach it in my power; but where 
 There is no want of zeal, other defect 
 Is only a fault to exercise your mercy. 
 
 Car. You are bounteous in all. I take my leave, 
 My fair niece, shortly, when Columbo has 
 Purchased more honours to prefer his name. 
 And value to your noble thoughts ; meantime. 
 Be confident you have a friend, whose office 
 And favour with the king shall be effectual 
 To serve your grace, 
 
 Duch. Your own good deeds reward you. 
 Till mine rise equal to deserve their benefit. — 
 
 \Exit Cardinal. 
 Leave me awhile. — \^Exit Placentia. 
 
 Do not I walk upon the teeth of serpents. 
 And, as I had a charm against their poison, 
 Play with their stings ? The Cardinal is subtle, 
 Whom 'tis not wisdom to incense, till I 
 Hear to what destiny Columbo leaves me : 
 May be the greatness of his soul will scorn 
 To own what comes with murmur ; — if he can 
 Interpret me so happily. — Art come ? 
 
 Enter Antonio with a letter. 
 
 Ant. His excellence salutes your grace. 
 Duch. Thou hast 
 A melancholy brow, How did hg take my letter 
 
seiiNfe II.] TtliS CARDINAL. 381 
 
 Ant. As he would take a blow ; with so much sense 
 Of anger, his whole soul boiled in his face \ 
 And such prodigious flame in both his eyes, 
 As they'd been the only seat of fire, and at 
 Each look a salamander leaping forth, 
 Not able to endure the furnace. 
 
 Duch. Ha I thou dost 
 Describe him with some horror. 
 
 Ant. Soon as he 
 Had read again, and understood your meaning, 
 His rage had sliot me with a pistol, had not 
 I used some soft and penitential language, 
 To charm the bullet. 
 
 Duch. Wait at some more distance. — 
 My soul doth bathe itself in a cold dew ; 
 Imagine I am opening of a tomb ; \Opens the letter. 
 
 Thus I throw off the marble, to discover 
 What antic posture death presents in this 
 Pale monufnent to fright me. — Ha ! \Reads. 
 
 My heart, that called my blood and spirits to 
 Defend it from the invasion of my fears. 
 Must keep a guard about it still, lest this 
 Strange and too mighty joy crush it to nothing. — ■ 
 Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Madam. 
 
 Duch. Bid my steward give thee 
 Two thousand ducats. Art sure I am awake ? 
 
 Ant. I shall be able to resolve yoii, madam. 
 When he has paid the money. 
 
 Duch. Columbo now is noble. - \Exit. 
 
 Ant. This is better 
 Than I expected ; if my lady be 
 Not mad, and live to justify her bounty. \Exit. 
 
38z THE CARDINAL. [act ii. 
 
 SCENE III.— An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King, Alvarez, Hernando, and Lords. 
 
 King. The war is left to him ; but we must have 
 You reconciled, if that be all your difference. 
 His rage flows like a torrent, when he meets 
 With opposition ; leave to wrestle with him. 
 And his hot blood retreats into a calm, 
 And then he chides his passion. You shall back 
 With letters from us. 
 
 Her. Your commands are not 
 To be disputed. 
 
 King. Alvarez. [Takes him aside. 
 
 1st Lord. Lose not 
 Yourself by cool submission ; he will find 
 His error, and the want of such a soldier. 
 
 2nd Lord. Have you seen the Cardinal? 
 
 Her. Not yet. 
 
 \st Lord. He wants no plot — 
 
 Her. The king I must obey : 
 But let the purple gownman place his engines 
 I' the dark, that wound me. 
 
 2nd Lord. Be assured 
 Of what we can to friend you ; and the king 
 Cannot forget your service. 
 
 Her. I am sorry 
 For that poor gentleman. 
 
 Ah. I must confess, sir. 
 The duchess has been pleased to think me worthy 
 Her favours, and in that degree of honour, 
 That has obliged my life to make the best 
 Return of service, which is not, with bold ^ 
 Affiance in her love, to interpose 
 Against her happiness, and your election. 
 I love so much her honour, I have quitted 
 All my desires ; yet would not shrink to bleed 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 383 
 
 Out my warm stock of life, so the last drop 
 Might benefit her wishes. 
 
 King. I shall find 
 A compensation for this act, Alvarez ; 
 It hath much pleased us. 
 
 Enter Duchess with a letter. 
 
 Duch. Sir, you are the king, 
 And in that sacred title it were sin 
 To doubt a justice : all that does concern 
 My essence in this world, and a great part 
 Of the other's bliss, lives in your breath. 
 
 King. What intends the duchess ? 
 
 Duch. That will instruct you, sir. \Gives the letteri\ — 
 Columbo has, 
 Upon some better choice, or discontent, 
 Set my poor soul at freedom. 
 
 King. 'Tis his character. \Reads. 
 
 "Madam, I easily discharge all my pretensions to your 
 love and person ; I leave you to your own choice ; 
 and in what you have obliged yourself to me, resume a 
 power to cancel, if you please. Columbo." 
 This is strange ! 
 
 Duch. Now do an act to make 
 Your chronicle beloved and read for ever. 
 
 King. Express yourself. 
 
 Duch. Since by divine infusion, — 
 For 'tis no art could force the general to 
 This change, second this justice, and bestow 
 The heart you would have given from me, by 
 Your strict commands to love Columbo, where 
 'Twas meant by. Heaven"^ and let your breath return 
 Whom you divorced, Alvarez, mine. 
 
 Lords. This is 
 But justice, sir. 
 
 King. It was decreed above ; 
 And since Columbo has released his interest, 
 
384 THE CARDINAL^ [act ll, 
 
 Which we had wrought him, not without some force 
 Upon your will, I give you your own wishes : 
 Receive your own Alvarez. When yOu please 
 To celebrate your nuptial, I invite 
 Myself your guest. 
 
 DucJi. Eternal blessings crown you ! 
 
 All. And every joy your marriage ! 
 
 \As the King is going out, hemieets tlu Cardinal ; 
 they converse together. 
 
 Alv. I know not whether I shall wonder most, 
 Or joy to meet this happiness. 
 
 Duch. Now the king 
 Hath planted us, methinks we grow already, 
 , And twist our loving souls, above the wrath 
 Of thunder to divide t^s. 
 
 Alv. Ha I the Cardinal 
 Has met the king ! I do not like this conference ; 
 He looks with anger this way. I expect 
 A tempest. 
 
 Duch. Take no notice of his presence ; 
 Leave me to meet, and answer it. If the king 
 Be firm in's royal word, I fear no lightning. 
 Expect me in the garden. 
 
 Alv. I obey; 
 But fear a shipwreck on the coast. \Exit. 
 
 Car. Madam. 
 
 Duch. My lord. 
 
 Car. The king speaks of a letter that has brought 
 A riddle in't. 
 
 Duch. 'Tis easy to interpret. 
 
 Car. From my nephew ? May I deserve the favour? 
 \The Duchess gives him the letter. 
 
 Duch. He looks as though his eyes would fire the 
 paper. 
 They are a pair of burning glasses, and 
 His envious blood doth give them flame. 
 
 Car. What lethargy 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 385 
 
 Could thus unspirit him ? I am all wonder. \Aside. 
 
 Do not believe, madam, 
 
 But that Columbo's love is yet more sacred 
 
 To honour and yourself, than thus to forfeit 
 
 What I have heard him call the glorious wreath 
 
 To all his merits, given him by the king, 
 
 From whom he took you with more pride than ever 
 
 He came from victory : his kisses hang 
 
 Yet panting on your lips ; and he but now 
 
 Exchanged religious farewell to return, 
 
 But with more triumph, to be yours. 
 
 Duch. My lord, 
 You do believe your nephew's hand was not 
 Surprised or strained to this ? 
 
 Car. Strange arts and windings in - the world ! most 
 dark 
 And subtle progresses ! Who brought this letter? 
 
 Duch. I enquired not his name ; I thought it not 
 Considerable ' to take such narrow knowledge. 
 
 Car. Desert and honour urged it here, nor can 
 I blame you to be angry ; yet his person 
 Obliged you should have given a nobler pause. 
 Before you made your faith and change so violent. 
 From his known worth, into the arms of one. 
 However fashioned to your amorous wish. 
 Not equal to his cheapest fame, with all 
 The gloss of blood and merit. 
 
 Duch. This comparison, 
 My good lord Cardinal, I cannot think ' 
 
 Flows from an even justice; it betrays 
 You partial where your blood runs. 
 
 Car. I fear, madam. 
 Your own takes too much license, and will soon 
 Fall to the censure of unruly tongues. 
 Because Alvarez has a softer cheek, 
 Can, like a woman, trim his wanton hair^ 
 ' i.e. Of sufficient importance. 
 
386 THE CARDII^AL. [ACT II. 
 
 Spend half a day with looking in the glass, 
 
 To find a posture to present himself, 
 
 And bring more effeminacy than man, 
 
 Or honour, to your bed, must he supplant him? 
 
 Take heed, the. common murmur, when it catches 
 
 The scent of a lost fame — 
 
 Buck. My fame, lord Cardinal ? 
 It stands upOn an innocence as clear 
 As the dev6tions you pay to Heaven. 
 I shall not urge, my lord, your soft indulgence 
 At my next shrift. 
 
 Car. You are a fine court lady ! 
 
 Duch. And you should be a reverend churchman. 
 
 Car. One, 
 That if you have not thrown off modesty, 
 W.ould counsel you to leave Alvarez. 
 
 Diich. 'Cause 
 You dare do worse than marriage, must not I 
 Be admitted what the church and law allows me ? 
 
 Car. Insolent ! Then you dare marry him ? 
 
 Duch. Dare ! 
 Let your contracted flame and malice, with 
 Columbo's rage, higher than that, meet us 
 When we approach the holy place, clasped hand 
 In hand, we'll break through all your force, and fix 
 Our sacred vows together there. 
 
 Car. I knew 
 When, with as chaste a brow, you promised fair 
 To another. You are no dissembling lady ! 
 
 Duch. Would all your actions had no falser lights 
 About them ! 
 
 Car. Ha! 
 
 Duch. The people would not talk, and curse so loud. 
 
 Car. I'll have you chid into a blush for this^. 
 
 Duch. Begin at home, great man,' there's cause 
 enough : 
 You turn the wrong end of the perspective 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 387 
 
 Upon your crimes, to drive them te a far 
 
 And lesser sight ; but let your eyes look right, 
 
 What giants would your pride and surfeit seem ! 
 
 How gross your avarice, eating up whole 'families ! 
 
 How vast are your corruptions and abuse 
 
 Of the king's ear ! at which you hang a pendant, 
 
 Not to adorn, but ulcerate, while the honest 
 
 Nobility, like pictures in the arras. 
 
 Serve only for court ornament. If they speak, 
 
 'Tis when you set their tongues, which you wind up. 
 
 Like clocks, to strike at the just hour you please. 
 
 Leave, leave, my lord, these usurpations, 
 
 And be what you were meant, a man to cure. 
 
 Not let in, agues to religion : 
 
 Look on the church's wounds. 
 
 Car. You dare presume. 
 In your rude spleen to me, to abuse the church ? 
 
 Duch. Alas, you give false aim, my lord ; 'tis your 
 Ambition and scarlet sins, that rob 
 Her altar of the glory, and leave wounds 
 Upon her brow ; which fetches grief and paleness 
 Into her cheeks, making her troubled bosom 
 Pant with her groans, and shroud her holy blushes 
 Within your reverend purples. 
 
 Car. Will you now take breath ? 
 
 Duch. In hope, my lord, you will behold yourself 
 In a true glass, and see those unjust acts 
 That so deform you, and by timely cure 
 Prevent a shame, before the short-haired men ' 
 Do crowd and call for justice ; I take leave. \Exit. 
 
 Car. This woman has a spirit, that may rise 
 
 1 I am not sure that I understand this : but it seems as if the 
 poet was again thinking of England, and meant to warn the prdates 
 not to push their pretensions too far, lest they should exasperate the 
 Puritans (short-haired men), and unite them in a body against them. 
 In 1641 (when tWs play was written), this hint might not perhaps 
 be very generous or charitable; but it might, unfortunately, be 
 offered with impunity.— 6^5^«?-A 
 
388 
 
 THE CARDINAL. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 To tame the devil's : there's no dealing with 
 Her angry tongue ; 'tis action and revenge 
 Must calm her fury. Were Columbo here, 
 I could resolve ; but letters shall be sent 
 To th' army, which may wake him into sense 
 Of his rash folly, or direct his spirit 
 Some way to snatch his honour from this flame : 
 All great men know the soul of life is fame. 
 
 \Exit. 
 

 aiMTm 
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE 1. — :^« Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Valeria ««// Celinda. 
 
 AL. I did not think, Celinda, when I 
 praised 
 Alvarez to the duchess, that things thus 
 Would come about. What does your 
 
 ladyship 
 Think of Columbo now ? It staggers all 
 The court, he should forsake his mistress ; I 
 Am lost with wonder yet. 
 Cel. 'Tis very strange. 
 Without a spell ; but there's a fate in love ; — 
 I like him ne'er the worse. 
 
 'Enter two Lords. 
 
 \st Lord. JJothing but marriages and triumph now ! 
 
 Val. What new access of joy makes you, my lord. 
 So pleasant? 
 
 -1st Lord. There's a packet come to court 
 Makes the king merry ; we are all concerned in't. 
 Columbo hath given the enemy a great 
 And glorious defeat, and is already 
 Preparing to march home. 
 
 Cel. He thrived the better for my prayers. 
 
 ind Lord. You have been 
 His great admirer, madam. 
 
 \st Lord. The king longs 
 To see him. 
 
39° THE CARDINAL. [ACT III. 
 
 Val. This news exalts the Cardinal. 
 Enter Cardinal. 
 
 \st Lord. He's here ! 
 He appears Avith discontent ; the marriage 
 With Count d' Alvarez hath a bitter taste, 
 And's not worn off his palate : but let us leave him. 
 
 Cel. and Val. We'll to the duchess. \Exeunt. 
 
 Car. He has not won so much upon the ArragoiL 
 As he has lost at home ; and. his neglect 
 Of what my studies had contrived,, to add 
 More lustre to our family by the" access 
 Of the great duchess' fortune,- cools his triumph, 
 And makes me wild. 
 
 Enter Hernando. 
 
 Her. My good lord Cardinal ! 
 
 Car. You made complaint to the king about your 
 general ?. 
 
 Her. Not a complaint, my lord ; I did but satisfy 
 Some questions o' the king's. 
 
 Car. You see he thrives- 
 Without your personal valour or advice. 
 Most grave and learned in the wars. 
 
 Her. My lord, 
 I envy riot his fortune. 
 
 Car. 'Tis above 
 Your malice, and your noise not worth his anger; 
 'Tis barking 'gainst the moon. 
 
 Her. More temper would 
 Become that habit. 
 
 Car. The military thing would show some spleen. 
 I'll blow an army of such wasps about 
 The world. — Go look your sting you left i' the camp, sir. 
 
 Enter King and Lords. 
 Her. The king!— This may be one day counted for. 
 
 \_Exii. 
 
SCENE I. THE CARDINAL. 391 
 
 King. All things conspire, my lord, to make you 
 fortunate. 
 Your nephew's glory — 
 
 Car. 'Twas your cause and justice 
 Made him victorious ; had he been so valiant 
 At home he had had another conquest to 
 Invite, and bid her welcome to new wars. 
 
 King. You must be reconciled to providence. 
 My lord, 
 
 I heard you had a controversy with 
 The duchess; I will have you friends. 
 
 Car. I am not angry. 
 
 King. For my sake, then, 
 You shall be pleased, and with me grace the marriage, — 
 A churchman must show charity'; and shine 
 , With first example : slie's a woman. 
 
 Car. You shall prescribe in all things, sir. You cannot 
 Accuse my love, if I still wish my nephew 
 Had been so happy, to be constant to 
 Your own, and my election ; yet my brain 
 Cannot reach how this comes about ; I know 
 My nephew loved her with a near affection. 
 
 Re-enter Hernando. 
 
 King. He'll give you fair account at his return. — 
 Colonel, your letters may be spared ; the general 
 Has finished, and is coming home. \^Exit. 
 
 Her. I am glad on't, sir. — My good lord Cardinal, 
 'Tis not impossible but some man provoked, 
 May have a precious mind to cut your throat. 
 
 Car. You shall command me, noble Colonel ; 
 I know you will not fail to be at the wedding. 
 
 Her. Tis not Columbo that is married, sir. 
 
 Car. Go teach the postures of the pike and musket; 
 Then drill your myrmidons" into a ditch, 
 Where starve, arid stink in pickle. ^You shall find 
 Me reasonable; you see the king expects me. \Exit. 
 
392 
 
 THE CARD-INAL. [ACT HI. 
 
 Her. So does the devil. — 
 Some desperate hand may help you on your journey. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Room in the Duchess's House. 
 
 Enter Antonio and four Servants, with masques, 
 dresses, &>€. 
 
 Ant. Here, this ; ay, this will fit your part : you shall 
 wear the slashes, because you are a soldier. Here's for 
 the blue mute.' 
 
 \st Serv. This doublet will never fit me; pox on't! 
 are these breeches good enough for a prince too ? Pedro 
 plays but a lord, and he has two laces more in a seam. 
 
 Ant. You . must- consider Pedro is a foolish lord; he 
 may wear what lace he please. 
 
 znd Serv. Does my beard fit my clothes well, gentle- 
 men ? 
 
 Ant. Pox o' your beard ! 
 
 yd Serv. That will fright away the hair. 
 
 1st Serv. This fellow plays but a mute, and he is so 
 troublesome, and talks. 
 
 yd Serv. Master Secretary ^night have let Jaques play 
 the soldier ; he has a black patch already. 
 
 2nd Serv. By your favour, Master Secretary, I was 
 asked who writ this play for us ? 
 
 Ant. For us ? Why, art thou any more than a blue 
 mute ? 
 
 2nd Serv. And, by my troth, I said, I thought it was 
 all your own. 
 
 Ant. Away, you coxcomb ! i 
 
 i,ih Serv. Dost think he has no more wit than to write 
 a comedy ? My lady's chaplain made the play, though 
 
 1 i.e. For the mute who was to take the servant's part, blue 
 being the general colour of a servant's livery. 
 
SCENE n.] 2HE CARDINAL. 393 
 
 he is content, for the honour and trouble of the business, 
 to be seen in't. 
 
 Enter '-^ih Servant. 
 
 ^th Serv. Did anybody see my head, gentlemen ? 'twas 
 here but now. — I shall have never a head to play my 
 part in. 
 
 Ant. Is thy head gone ? 'twas well thy part was not 
 in't. Look, look about ; has not Jaques it? 
 
 /^th Serv. His head ? 'twill not come on upon my 
 shoulders. \Exit e^th Servant. 
 
 Ant. Make haste, gentlemen, I'll see whether the king 
 has supped. Look every man to his wardrobe and his 
 part. ■ [^Exit. 
 
 2nd Serv. Is he gone? In my mind, a masque had 
 been fitter for a marriage. 
 
 ^th Serv. Why, mute ? There was no time for't, and 
 the scenes are troublesome. 
 
 2nd Serv. Half a score deal tacked together in the 
 clouds, what's that ? a throne, to come down and dance ; 
 all the properties have been paid forty times over, and 
 are in the court stock :— but the secretary must have a 
 play, to show his wit. 
 
 /Stth Serv. Did not I tell thee 'twas the chaplain's ? 
 Hold your tongue, mute. 
 
 ij-^ Serv. Under the rose, and would this cloth of silver 
 doublet might never come off again, if there be any.more 
 plot than you see in the back of my hand. 
 
 2nd Serv. You talk of a plot ! I'll not give this for the 
 best poet's plot in the world, an if it be not well carried. 
 
 4/^ Serv. Well said, mute. 
 
 2,rd Serv. Ha, ha ! Pedro, since he put on his doublet, 
 has repeated but three lines, and he has broke five 
 buttons. 
 
 2nd Serv. I know not; but by this false beard, and 
 here's hair enough to hang a reasonable honest man, I 
 do not remember, to say, a strong line indeed in the 
 
394 THE CARDINAL. [act hi. 
 
 whole comedy, but when the chambermaid kisses the 
 captain. 
 
 yd Serv. Excellent, mute ! 
 
 Re-enter %th Servant. 
 
 ^ih Serv. They have almost supped, and I cannot find 
 my head yet. 
 
 4th Serv. Play in thine own. 
 
 Sth Serv. Thank you for that ! so I may have it made 
 a property. If I have not a head found me, let Master 
 Secretary play my part himself without it. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Are you all ready, my masters ? The king is 
 coming through the gallery. Are the women dressed? 
 
 \st Serv. Rogero wants a head. 
 
 Ant. Here, with a pox to you! take mine.' You a 
 player ! you a puppy-dog. Is the music ready? 
 
 Enter Gentleman-Usher. 
 
 Gent. Gentlemen, it is my lady's pleasure that you 
 expect till she call for you. There are a company of 
 cavaliers, in gallant equipage, newly alighted, have offered 
 to present their Revels in honour of this Hymen ; and 
 'tis her grace's command, that you be silent till their en- 
 tertainment be over. 
 
 rst Serv. Gentlemen ? 
 
 2nd Serv. Affronted? 
 
 ^th Serv. Master Secretary, there's' your head again; 
 a man's a man. Have I broken my sleep, to study fifteen 
 lines for an ambassador, and after that a constable, and 
 is it come to this ? 
 
 Ant. Patience, gentlemen, be not so hot ; 'tis but de- 
 ferred, and the play may do well enough cold. 
 
 ^th Serv. If it be not presented, the chaplain will have 
 the greatest loss ; he loses his wits. \Hautbois play . 
 
 Ant. This music speaks the king upon entrance. Re- 
 tire, retire,, and grumble not. {Exeunt all but Antonio. 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 395 
 
 Enter King, Cardinal, Alvarez, Duchess, Celinda, 
 Valeria, Placentia, Lords, md Hernando, and 
 take their seats : then enter Columbo and five more, in 
 rich habits, vizarded ; between every two a Torch- 
 bea,rer : they dance, and afterwards beckon to Alvarez, 
 as' if desirous to speak with him. 
 
 Alv. With me ! [TV^j embrace and whisper, and exeunt. 
 
 JCing. Do you know the masquers, madam ? 
 
 Duch. Not I, sir. 
 
 Car. -There's- one, —but that my- nephew is abroad, 
 And has more soul.than.thus to- jig upon 
 Their hymeneal night, I should suspect 
 'Twere he. \Aside. 
 
 Duch. Where's my Lord Alvarez ? 
 
 King. Call in the bridegroom. 
 
 \Recorders ' sound within. 
 
 Re-enter Cot.vuBO, followed by the fiveMdiSqasrs, bringing 
 in the dead body of Alvarez in one of their habits, and 
 having laid it down, exeunt, all but Columbo. 
 
 Duch. What mystery is this ? 
 Car. We want the bridegroom still. 
 King. Where is Alvarez ? 
 
 \Q,ai.\}tA'&o points to the body ; they takeoff the mask 
 and habit, and find Alvarez bleeding. 
 Duch. Oh, 'tis my lord ! he's murdered,! 
 King. Who durst commit this horrid act ? 
 Colum. I, sir. [^Throws off his disguise. 
 
 King. Columbo? Ha! 
 Colum. Yes ; Columbo, that dares stay 
 To justify that act. 
 ITer. Most barbarous ! 
 Duch. Oh, my dearest lord ! 
 King. Our guard ! 
 
 ' Flageolets,- 
 
396 ^ THE CARDINAL. [ACT in. 
 
 Enter Guard. 
 
 Seize On them all : 
 This sight doth shake all that is man within me. 
 Poor Alvarez, is this thy wedding day ? 
 
 Duch. If you do think there is a Heaven, or pains 
 To punish such black crimes i' the other world. 
 Let me have swift, and such exemplar justice, 
 As shall become this great assassinate ; 
 You will take off our faith else : and, if here 
 Such innocence must bleed, and you look on. 
 Poor men, that call you gods on earth, will doubt 
 To obey your laws, nay, practise to be devils, 
 As fearing, if such monstrous sins go on. 
 The saints will not be safe in Heaven. 
 
 King. You shall. 
 You shall have justice. 
 
 Car. Now to come off were brave. \Aside. 
 
 Enter Servarrt. 
 
 Serv. The masquers, sir, are fled ; their horse, prepared 
 At gate, expected to receive them, where 
 They quickly mounted : coming so like friends. 
 None could suspect their haste, which is secured 
 By advantage of the night. 
 
 Colum. I answer for them all ; 'tis stake enough 
 For many lives : but if that poniard 
 Had voice, it would convince they were but all 
 Spectators of my act. And now, if you 
 Will give your judgments leave, though at the first 
 Face of this object your cool bloods were frighted, 
 I can excuse this deed, and call it justice ; 
 An act, your honours, and your office, sir. 
 Is bound to build a law upon, for others 
 To imitate. I have but took his life, 
 And punished her with mercy, who had both 
 Conspired to kill the soul of all my fame. 
 Read there; and read an injury as deep 
 
SCENE 11.] THE CARDINAL. 
 
 397 
 
 In my dishonour, as the devil knew 
 
 A woman had capacity or malice 
 
 To execute : read there, how you were cozened, sir, 
 
 {Gives the Duchess's Utter to the King. 
 Your power affronted, and my faith ; her smiles, 
 A juggling witchcraft to betray, and make 
 My love her horse to stalk withal, and catch 
 Her curled minion. 
 
 Car. Is it possible 
 The duchess could dissemble so, and forfeit 
 Her modesty with you, and to us all ? 
 Yet 'I must pity her. My nephew has 
 Been too severe ; though this affront would call 
 A dying man from prayers, and turn him tiger ; 
 There being nothing dearer than our fame. 
 Which, if a common man, whose blood has no 
 Ingredient, of honour, labour to 
 Preserve, a soldier (by his nearest tie 
 To glory) is, above all others, bound 
 To vindicate : — and yet it might have been 
 Less bloody. 
 
 Her. Charitable devil ! 
 
 King. \Reads.'\ " I pray, my lord, release under your 
 hand, what you dare challenge in my love or person, as a 
 just forfeit to myself; this act will speak you honourable 
 to my thoughts ; and when you have conquered thus 
 yourself, you may proceed to many victories, and after, 
 with safety of your fame, visit again 
 
 the lost Rosaura." 
 To this your answer was a free resign ? 
 
 Colum. Flattered with great opinion of her faith. 
 And my desert of her (with thought that she. 
 Who seemed to weep and chide my easy will 
 To part with her, could not be guilty of 
 A treason, or apostasy so soon. 
 But rather meant this a device to make 
 Me expedite the affairs of war,) I sent 
 
398 THE CARDINAL. [act iil. 
 
 That paper, which her wickedness, not justice. 
 Applied (what I meant trial,) her divorce. 
 I loved her so, I dare call heaven to witness, 
 I knew not whether I loved most ; while she, 
 With him, whose crimson penitence I 'provoked,^ 
 Conspired my everlasting infamy : 
 Examine but the circumstance. 
 
 Car. 'Tis clear ; 
 This match was made at home, before she sent 
 That cunning writ, in hope to take him off. 
 As knowing his impatient soul would scorn 
 To own a blessing came on crutches to him. 
 It was not well to raise his expectation, 
 (Had you, sir, no affront ?) to ruin him 
 With so much scandal and contempt. 
 
 King. We have 
 Too plentiful a circumstance, to accuse 
 You, madam, as the cause of your own sorrows ; 
 But not without an accessary more 
 Than young Alvarez. 
 
 Car. Any other instrument ? 
 ' — King. Yes ; I am guilty, with herself, and Don 
 Columbo, though our acts looked several ways, 
 That thought a lover might so soon be ransomed ; 
 ,,j;-;__-And did exceed the office of a king. 
 To exercise dojninion over hearts, 
 That owe to the prerogative of Heaven 
 Their choice, or separation : you must, therefore, 
 When you do kneel for justice and revenge. 
 Madam, consider me a lateral agent 
 In poor Alvarez' tragedy. 
 
 \si Lord. It was your love to Don Columbo, sir. 
 
 ffer. So, so ! the king is charmed. - Do -you observe. 
 How, to acquit Columbo, he would draw 
 Himself into the plot. Heaven, isthis jiistice? 
 
 Car. Your judgment is divine in this. 
 
 ' i.e. Compelled. 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 399 
 
 King. And yet 
 Columbo cannot be secure, and we 
 Just in his pardon, that durst make so great 
 And insolent a breach of law and duty. 
 
 2.nd Lord. Ha ! will he turn again ? 
 
 King. And should we leave 
 This guilt of blood to Heaven, which cries, and strikes 
 With loud appeals the palace of eternity ; 
 Yet here is more to charge Columbo than 
 Alvarez' blood, and bids me punish it, 
 Or be no king. 
 
 Her. 'Tis come about, my lords. 
 
 King. And if I should forgive 
 His timeless death, I cannot the offence, 
 That with such boldness struck at me. Has my 
 Indulgence to your merits, which are great, 
 Made me so cheap, your rage could meet no time 
 Nor place for your revenge, but where my eyes 
 Must be affrighted, and affronted with 
 The bloody execution ? This contempt 
 Of majesty transcends my power to pardon, 
 And you shall feel my anger, sir. 
 
 Her. Thou shalt 
 Have one short prayer more for that. 
 
 Colum. Have I, 
 I' the progress of my life. 
 No actions to plead me iip deserving 
 Against this ceremony? 1 
 
 Car. Contain yourself. 
 
 Colum. I must be dumb then. Where is honour, 
 And gratitude of kings, when they forget 
 Whose hand secured their greatness ? Take my head off; 
 Examine then which of your silken lords. 
 As I have done, will throw himself on dangers ; 
 Like to a. floating island move in "blood; 
 And where your great defence calls him to stand 
 
 1 This and the preceding line are hopelessly corrupti 
 
400 THE CARDINAL. [act hi. 
 
 A bulwark, upon his bold breast to take' 
 
 In death, that you may live : — but soldiers are 
 
 Your valiant fools, whom, when your own securities 
 
 Are bleeding, you can cherish ; but when once 
 
 Your state and nerves are knit, not thinking when 
 
 To use their surgery again, you cast 
 
 Them off, and let them hang in dusty armories, 
 
 Or make it death to ask for pay. 
 
 King. No more ; 
 We thought to have put your victory and merits 
 In balance with Alvarez' death, which, while 
 Our mercy was to judge, had been your safety ; 
 But the affront to us, made greater by 
 This boldness to upbraid our royal bounty. 
 Shall tame, or make you nothing. 
 
 Lord. Excellent ! 
 
 Her. The Cardinal is not- pleased. 
 
 Car. Humble yourself 
 To the king. 
 
 Colum. And beg my life ? Let cowards do't, 
 That dare not die ; I'll rather have no head, 
 Than owe it to his charity. 
 
 King. To the castle with him ! — 
 
 [CoLUMBO is led off by the Guard. 
 Madam, I leave you to your grief, and what 
 The king can recompense to your tears, or honour 
 Of your dead lord, expect. 
 
 Duch. This shows like justice. \Exeunt severally. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter two Lords and Hernando. 
 
 IRST LORD. This is the age of wonders. 
 2nd Lord. Wonderous mischiefs ! 
 Her. Among those guards, which some 
 
 call tutelar angels, 
 Whose office is to govern provinces, 
 Is there not one will undertake Navarre ? 
 Hath Heaven forsook us quite ? 
 \st Lord. Columbo at large ! 
 2nd JLord. And graced now more than ever. 
 xst Lord. He was not pardoned ; 
 That word was prejudicial to his fame. 
 
 Her. But, as the murder done had been a dream, 
 Vanished to memory, he's courted as 
 Preserver of his country. With what chains " 
 Of magic, does this Cardinal hold the king ? 
 
 2nd Lord. What will you say, my lord, if they enchant 
 The duchess now, and by some impudent art, 
 Advance a marriage to Columbo yet ? 
 
 Her. Say! 
 I'll say no woman can- be saved ; nor is 
 It fit, indeed, any should pretend to Heaven, 
 After one such impiety in their sex : 
 And yet my faith has been so staggered, since 
 The king restored Columbo, I'll be now 
 Of no religion. 
 
 1st Lord. 'Tis not possible 
 
402 
 
 THE CARDINAL. [act IV. 
 
 She can forgive the murder ; I observed 
 Her tears. 
 
 Her. Why, so did I, my lord ; 
 And if they be not honest, 'tis to be 
 Half damned, to look upon a woman weeping. 
 When do you think the Cardinal said his prayers ? 
 '2nd Lord. I know not. 
 Her. Heaven forgive my want of charity ! 
 / But, if I were to kill him, he should have. 
 V No time to pray ; his life could be no sacrifice, 
 v\ Unless his soul went too. 
 
 \st Lord. That were too much. 
 Her. When you mean to dispatch him, you may give 
 Time for confession : they have injured me 
 After another rate. 
 
 2nd JLord. You are too passionate, cousin, 
 
 CoLUMBO, Colonels, Alphonso, and Conriiers,, pass over 
 the stage. 
 
 Her. How the gay men do flutter, to congratulate 
 His gaol delivery ! There's one honest man : 
 What pity 'tis, a gallant fellow should 
 Depend on knaves for Jiis preferment ! 
 
 \st Lord. Except this cruelty upon Alvarez, 
 Columbo has no mighty stain upon him ; 
 But for his uncle — 
 
 Her. If I had a son 
 Of twelve years old that would not fight with him. 
 And stake his soul against his cardinal's cap, 
 I would disinherit him. Time has took a lease 
 But for three lives, I hope ; a fourth may see 
 Honesty walk without a crutch. 
 
 2nd Lord. This is 
 But air and wildness. 
 
 Her. I will see the duchess. 
 
 T.st Lord. You may do well to comfort her; we must 
 Attend the king. 
 
 Her. Your pleasures. [Exiti 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 403 
 
 Enter King and Cardinal. 
 
 T-st Lord. A man of a brave soul. 
 
 2nd Lord. The less his safety. — 
 The king and Cardinal in consult ! 
 
 King. Commend us to the duchess, and employ 
 What language you think fit and powerful, 
 To reconcile her- to some peace. — My lords. 
 
 Car. Sir, I possess all for your sacred uses. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in the Duchess's House. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Celinda. 
 
 Ant. Madam, you are the welcomest lady living. 
 
 Cel. To whom. Master Secretary ? 
 
 Ant. If you have mercy 
 To pardon so much boldness, I durst say. 
 To me-^I am a gentleman. 
 
 Cel. And handsome. 
 
 Ant. But iriy lady has 
 Much wanted you. 
 
 Cel. Why, Master Secretary ? 
 
 Ant. You are the prettiest, — • 
 
 Cel. So ! 
 
 Ant. The wittiest,— 
 
 Cel. So! 
 
 Ant. The merriest lady i' the court. 
 
 Cel. And I was wished, to make the duchess pleasant? 
 
 Ant. She never had so deep a cause of sorrow ; 
 Her chamber's but a coffin of a larger 
 Volume, wherein she walks so like a ghost, 
 'Twould make you pale to see her. 
 
 Cel Tell her grace 
 I attend here. 
 
 4nt T shall most willinfflv.— 
 
 set! 
 
404 
 
 IHE CARDINAL. [act iv. 
 
 She is excellent company among the lords. 
 
 Sure she has an admirable treble. — Madam. \^Exit. 
 
 Cel. I do suspect this fellow would be nibbling, 
 Like some, whose narrow fortunes will not rise 
 To wear things when the invention's rare and new : 
 But treading on the heel of pride, they hunt 
 The fashion when 'tis crippled, like fell tyrants. 
 I hope I am not old yet ; I had the honour 
 To be saluted by our Cardinal's nephew 
 This morning : there's a man ! 
 
 Re-enter Antonio. 
 Ant. I have prevailed. 
 Sweet madam, use what eloquence you can 
 Upon her ; and if ever I be useful 
 
 To your ladyship's service, your least breath commands 
 me. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Duchess. 
 
 Ducfi. Madam, I come to ask you but one question ; 
 If you were in my state, my state of grief, 
 I mean, an exile from all happiness 
 Of this world, and almost of Heaven, (for my 
 Affliction is finding out despair,) 
 What would you think of Don Columbo ? 
 
 Cel. Madam? 
 
 Duch. Whose bloody hand wrought all this misery. 
 Would you 'not weep, as I do, and wish rather 
 An everlasting spring of tears to drown 
 Your sight, than let your eyes be cursed to see 
 The murderer again, and glorious ? 
 So careless of his sin, that he is made 
 Fit for new parricide, even while his soul 
 Is purpled o'er, and reeks with innocent blood ? 
 But do not, do not answer me ; I know 
 You have so great a spirit, (which I want, 
 The horror of his fact surprising all 
 My faculties), you would not let him live : 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 405 
 
 But I, poor I, must suffer more. There's not 
 One little star in Heaven will look on me, 
 Unless to choose me out the mark, on whom 
 It may shoot down some angry influence. 
 
 Enter Placentia. 
 Pla. Madam, here's Don Columbo says he must 
 Speak with your grace. 
 
 Duch. But he must, not, I charge you. 
 
 \Exit Placentia. 
 None else wait ? — Is this well done. 
 To triumph in his tyranny ? — Speak, madam, 
 Speak but your conscience. 
 
 Enter Columbo and Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Sir, you must not see her. 
 
 Colum. Not see her ? Were she cabled up above 
 The search of bullet or of fire, were she 
 Within her grave, and that the toughest mine 
 That ever nature teemed and groaned withal, 
 I would force some way to see her. — Do not fear 
 I come to court you, madam ; you are not worth 
 The humblest of my kinder thoughts. I come 
 To show the man you have provoked, and lost, 
 And tell you what remains of my revenge. — 
 Live, but never presume again to, marry ; 
 I'll kill the next at the altar, and quench all 
 The smihng tapers with his blood : if after. 
 You dare provoke the priest and Heaven so much, 
 To take another, in thy bed I'll cut him from 
 Thy warm embrace, and throw his heart to ravens. 
 
 Cel. This will appear an unexampled cruelty. 
 
 Colum. Your pardon, madam ; rage, and my revenge, 
 Not perfect, took away my eyes. You are 
 A noble lady, this not worth your eye-beam ; 
 One of so slight a making, and so thin, 
 An autumn leaf is of too great a value 
 To play, which shall be soonest lost i' the air. 
 
4o6 THE CARDINAL. [act iv. 
 
 Be pleased to own me. by some name, in your 
 Assurance, I despise to be received 
 There ; let her witness that I call you mistress ; 
 Honour me to make these pearls your carkanet. 
 
 \Gives her a necklace. 
 ■ Cel. My lord, you are too humble in your thoughts. 
 
 Coluni. There's no vexation too great to punish her. 
 
 \Aside, and exit. 
 
 Ant. Now, madam. 
 
 Cel. Away, you saucy fellow ! — Madam, I 
 Must be excused, if I do think more honourably 
 Than you have cause, of this great lord. 
 
 Duch. Why, is not 
 All womankind concepied to hate what's impious ? 
 
 Cel. For my part — 
 
 Duch. Antonio, is this a woman ? 
 
 Ant. I know not whether she be man or woman ; 
 I should be nimble to find out the experiment. 
 She looked with less state when Columbo came. 
 
 Duch. Let me entreat your absence. I am cozened 
 in her. — [Aside. 
 
 I took you for a modest, honest lady. 
 
 Cel. Madam, I scorn any accuser ; and 
 Deducting the great title of a duchess, 
 I shall not need one grain of your dear honour 
 To make me full weight : if your grace be jealous, 
 I can remove. [£xii. 
 
 Ant. She is gone. 
 
 Duch. Prithee remove 
 My fears of her return \Exit Ant.] — She is not worth 
 Considering ; my anger's mounted higher. 
 He need not put in caution for my next 
 Marriage. — Alvarez, I must come to thee, 
 Thy virgin wife, and widow ; but not till 
 I have paid those tragic duties to thy hearse 
 Become my piety and love. But how? 
 Who shall instruct a way ? 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 407 
 
 Enter Placentia, 
 
 Pla. Madam, Don 
 Hernando much desires to speak with you. 
 
 Duch. Will not thy own discretion think I am 
 Unfit for visit ? 
 
 Pla. Please your grace, he brings 
 Something, he says, imports your ear, and love 
 Of the dead lord, Alvarez. 
 
 Duch. Then admit him. \Exit Placentia. 
 
 Re-enter Placentia with Hernando. 
 
 Her. I would speak, madam, to yourself. 
 
 Duch. Your absence. \Exit Placentia. 
 
 Her. I know not how your grace will censure so 
 Much boldness, when you know the affairs I come for. ' 
 
 Duch. My servant has prepared me to receive it. 
 If it concern my dead lord. 
 
 Her. Can you name 
 So much of your Alvarez in a breath, 
 Without one word of your revenge ? O, madam, j 
 
 I come to chide you, and repent my great 
 Opinion of your virtue, that can walk, 
 And spend so many hours in naked solitude ; 
 As if you thought that no arrears were due 
 To his death, when you had paid his funeral charges. 
 Made your eyes red, and wet a handkerchief — 
 I come to tell you, tfiat I saw him bleed ; 
 I, that can challenge nothing in his name 
 And honour, saw his murdered body warm, 
 And panting with the labour of his spirits. 
 Till my amazed soul shrunk and hid itself; 
 While barbarous Columbo grinning stood. 
 And mocked the weeping wounds. It is too much. 
 That you should keep your heart alive so long 
 After this spectacle, and not revenge it. 
 
 Duch. You do not know the business of my heart, 
 
4o8 THE CARDINAL. [ACT IV. 
 
 That censure me so rashly ; yet I thank you : 
 And, if you be Alvarez' friend, dare tell 
 Your confidence, that I despise my life, 
 But know not how to use it in a service. 
 To speak me his revenger : this will need 
 No other proof, than that you, who may 
 Be sent with cunning to betray me, I 
 Have made this bold confession. I so m.uch 
 Desire to sacrifice to that hovering ghost 
 Columbo's life, that I am not ambitious 
 To keep my own two minutes after it. 
 
 Her. If you will call me coward, which is equal 
 To think I am a traitor, I forgive it 
 For this brave resolution, which time 
 And all the destinies must aid. I beg 
 That I may kiss your hand for this ; and may 
 The soul of angry honour guide it — 
 
 Duch. Whither? 
 
 Her. To Don Columbo's heart. 
 
 Duch. It is too weak, I fear, alone. 
 
 Her. hXtyix^'i are you in earnest? Why, will it 
 not 
 Be a dishonour to your justice, madam. 
 Another arm should interpose ? But that 
 It were a saucy act to mingle with you, 
 I durst, nay, I am bound in the revenge 
 Of him that's dead, (since the whole world has interest 
 In every good man's loss,) to offer it : 
 Dare you command me, madam? 
 
 Duch. Not command ; 
 But I should more than honour such a truth 
 In man, that durst, against so mighty odds. 
 Appear Alvarez' friend, and mine. The Cardinal — 
 
 Her. Is for the second course ; Columbo must 
 Be first cut up ; his ghost must lead the dance : 
 Let him die first. 
 
 Duch. But how ? 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. ' 409 
 
 Jler. How ! with a sword ; and, if I undertake it, 
 I will not lose so'much of my own honour. 
 To kill him basely. 
 
 Duch. How shall I reward 
 This infinite service? 'Tis not modesty 1 
 
 While now my husband groans beneath his tomb, 
 And calls me to his marble bed, to promise. 
 What this great act might well deserve, myself, 
 If you survive the victor ; but if thus 
 Alvarez' ashes be appeased, it must __ j. 
 
 Deserve an honourable memory ; 
 And though Columbo (as he had all power. 
 And grasped the fates) has vowed to kill the man 
 That shall succeed Alvarez — 
 
 Her. Tyranny ! 
 
 Duch. Yet, if ever 
 I entertain a thought of love hereafter, 
 Hernando from the world shall challenge it ; 
 Till when, my prayers and fortune shall wait on you. 
 
 Her. This is too mighty recompense. 
 
 Duch. 'Tis all just. 
 
 Her. If I outlive Columbo, I must not 
 Expect security at home. 
 
 Duch. Thou canst 
 Not fly where all my fortunes, and my love 
 Shall not attend to guard thee. 
 
 Her. If I die— 
 
 Duch. Thy memory 
 Shall have a shrine, the next within my heart. 
 To my Alvarez. 
 
 Her. Once again your hand. 
 Your cause is so religious, you need not 
 Strengthen it with your prayers ; trust it to me. 
 
 Re-enter Placentia, with the Cardinal. 
 
 Pla. Madam, the Cardinal 
 Duch. Will you appear? 
 
410 
 
 THE CARDINAL. [ACT iv. 
 
 Her. An he had all the horror of the devil 
 In's face, I would not baulk him. 
 
 \He stares upon the Cardinal in his exit. 
 Car. What makes Hernando here ? I da not like 
 They should consult ; I'll take no note. {Aside.'\-~Th.& 
 
 king 
 Fairly salutes your grace ; by whose command 
 I am to tell you, though his will and actions 
 Illimited, stoop not to satisfy 
 The vulgar inquisition, he is 
 Yet willing to retain a just opinion 
 With those that are placed near him ; and although 
 You look with nature's eye upon yourself. 
 Which needs no perspective to reach, nor art 
 Of any optic to make greater, what 
 Your narrow sense applies an injury, 
 (Ourselves still nearest to ourselves,) yet there's 
 Another eye that looks abroad, and walks 
 In search of reason, and the weight of things, 
 With which, if you look on him, you will find 
 His pardon to Columbo cannot be 
 So much against his justice, as your erring 
 Faith would persuade your anger. 
 
 Duch. Good my lord, 
 Your phrase has too much landscape, and I cannot 
 Distinguish, at this distance you present, 
 The figure perfect ; but indeed my eyes 
 May pray your lordship find excuse, for tears 
 Have almost made them blind. 
 
 Car. Fair peace restore tliem ! 
 To bring the object nearer, the king says, 
 /a& could not be severe to Don Columbo 
 I Without injustice to his other merits, 
 I Which call more loud for their reward and honour, 
 J Than you for your revenge; the kingdom made 
 7) Happy by those; you only, by the last, 
 ^Unfortunate : — nor was it rational, 
 
 I speak the king's own language, he should die - 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 411 
 
 For taking one man's breath, without whose valour 
 None now had been alive without dishonour. 
 
 Duch. In my poor understanding, 'tis the crown 
 Of virtue to proceed in its own track, 
 Not deviate from honour. If you acquit 
 A man of murder, 'cause he has done brave 
 Things in the war, you will bring down his valour 
 To a crime, nay, to a bawd, if it secure 
 A rape, and but teach those that deserve well. 
 To sin with greater license : but dispute 
 Is now too late, my lord ; 'tis done \ and you. 
 By the good king, in tender of my sorrows, 
 Sent to persuade me 'tis unreasonable > 
 
 That justice should repair me. -' 
 
 Car. You mistake ; 
 For if Columbo's death could make Alvarez 
 Alive, the king had given him up to law, 
 YoUr bleeding sacrifice ; but when his life 
 Was but afaother treasure thrown away. 
 To obey a clamorous statute, it was wisdom 
 To himself, and common safety, to take off 
 This killing edge of law, and keep Columbo 
 To recompense the crime by noble acts. 
 And sorrow, that in time might draw your pity. 
 
 Duch. This is a greater tyranny than that 
 Columbo exercised ; lie killed my lord ; 
 And you have not the charity to let 
 Me think it worth a punishment. 
 
 Car. To that. 
 In my own name, I answer : I condemn. 
 And urge the bloody guilt against my nephew ; 
 'Tis violent and cruel, a black deed ; 
 A deed, whose memory doth make me shudder ; 
 An act, that did betray a tyrannous nature. 
 Which he took up in war, the school of vengeance ; 
 And though the king's compassion spare him here, 
 Unless his heart 
 WTt^p-r, itsi^lf nut in nenitent tears.^ — 
 
412 THE CARDINAL. [ACT IV. 
 
 Duch. This sounds 
 As you were now a good man. 
 
 Car. Does your grace 
 Think I have conscience to allow the murder ! 
 Although, when it was done, I did obey 
 The stream of nature, as he was my kinsman, 
 To plead he might not pay his forfeit life, 
 Could I do less for one so near my blood ? 
 Consider, madam, and be charitable ; 
 Let not this wild injustice make me lose 
 The character I bear, and reverend habit. 
 To make you full acquainted with my innocence, 
 I, challenge here my soul, and Heaven to witness. 
 If I had any thought, or knowledge with 
 My nephew's plot, or person, when he came. 
 Under the smooth pretence of friend, to violate 
 Your hospitable laws, and do that act. 
 Whose frequent mention draws this tear, a whirlwind 
 Snatch me to endless flames ! 
 
 Duch. I must believe. 
 And ask your grace's pardon. I confess 
 I have not loved you since Alvarez' death. 
 Though we were reconciled. 
 
 Car. I do not blame 
 Your jealousy, nor any zeal you had 
 To prosecute revenge against me, madam. 
 As I then stood suspected, nor can yet 
 Implore your mercy to Columbo. All 
 I have to say is, to retain my first 
 Opinion and credit with your grace ; 
 Which you may think I urge not out of fear, 
 Or ends upon you, (since, I thank the king, 
 I stand firm on the base of royal favour,) 
 But for your own sake, and to show I have 
 Compassion of your sufferings. 
 
 Duch. You have cleared 
 A doubt, my lord ; and by this fair remonstrance, 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 413 
 
 Given my sorrow so much truce, to think 
 That we may meet again, and yet be friends. — 
 But be not angry, if I still remember 
 By whom Alvarez died, and weep, and wake 
 Another justice with my prayers. 
 
 Car. All thoughts 
 That may advance a better peace dwell with you ! \Exit. 
 
 Duch. How would this cozening statesman bribe my 
 faith 
 With flatteries, to think him innocent ! 
 No ; if his nephew die, this Cardinal must not 
 Be long-lived. All the prayers of a wronged widow 
 Make firm Hernando's sword ! and my. own hand 
 Shall have some glory in the next revenge. 
 I will pretend my brain with grief distracted, jv/v/>- 
 
 It may gain easy credit ; and beside 
 The taking off examination 
 For great Columbo's death, it makes what act 
 I do in that believed want of my reason. 
 Appear no crime, but my defence. — Look down. 
 Soul of my lord, from thy eternal shade, 
 And unto all thy blest companions boast. 
 Thy duchess busy to revenge thy ghost ! ■' ' \ExH. 
 
 SCENE III. — A retired s^ot wiHiout the City. 
 
 Enter on one side CoI/UMBo and Alphonso ; on the other, 
 Hernando and a Colonel. 
 
 Colum. Hernando, now I love thee, and do half 
 Repent the affront my passion threw upon thee. 
 
 Her. You will not be too prodigal o' your penitence. 
 
 Colum. This makes good thy nobility of birth ; 
 Thou may'st be worth my anger and my sword, ^ 
 If thou dost execute as daringly 
 
414 
 
 THE CARDINAL. [ACT IV. 
 
 As thou provok'st a quarrel. I did think 
 Thy soul a starveling, or asleep. 
 
 Her. You'll find it 
 Active enough to keep your spirit waking ; 
 Which to exasperate, for yet I think 
 It is not high enough to meet my rage — 
 Do you smile ? 
 
 Coliim. This noise is worth it. — Gentlemen, 
 I'm sorry this great soldier has engaged 
 Your travail; all his business is to talk. 
 
 Her. A little of your lordship's patience, 
 You shall have other sport, and swords that will 
 Be as nimble 'bout your heart as you can wish. 
 'Tis pity more than our two single lives 
 Should be at stake. 
 
 Colufn. Make that no scruple, sir. 
 
 Her. To him then that survives, if fate allow. 
 That difference, I speak, that he may tell 
 The world, I came not hither on slight anger, ' 
 But to revenge my honour, stained and trampled on 
 By this proud man ;, when general, he commanded 
 My absence from the field. 
 
 Colum. I do remember. 
 And I will give your soul now a discharge. 
 
 Her. I come 
 To meet it, if your courage be so fortunatei 
 But there is more than my own injury 
 You must account for, sir, if my sword prosper j 
 Whose point and every edge is made more keen 
 With young Alvarez' blood, -in which I had 
 A noble interest. Does not that sin benumb 
 Thy arteries, and turn the guilty flowings 
 To trembling jelly in thy veins ? Canst hear 
 Me name that murder, and thy spirits not 
 Struck into air, as thou wert shot by some 
 Engine from Heaven ? 
 
 Colum. You are the duchess' champion 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 415 
 
 Thou hast given me a quarrel now. I grieve 
 It is determined all must fight, and I 
 Shall lose much honour in his fall. 
 
 Her. That duchess, 
 (Whom but to mention with thy breath is sacrilege, 
 An orphan of thy making, and condemned 
 By thee to eternal soHtude, I come 
 To vindicate ; and while I am killing thee. 
 By virtue of her prayers sent up for justice, 
 At the same time, in Heaven I am pardoned for't. 
 
 Colutn. I cannot hear the bravo. 
 
 Her. Two words more, 
 • And take your chance. Before you all I must 
 Pronounce that noble lady without knowledge. 
 Or thought of what I undertake for her. 
 Poor soul 1 she's now at her devotions. 
 Busy with Heaven, and wearing out the earth 
 With her stiff knees, and 'bribing her good angel 
 \ With treasures of her eyes,jto tell her lord ' 
 
 How much she longs to see him. My attempt 
 Needs no commission from her : were I 
 A stranger in Navarre, the inborn right 
 Of every gentleman to Alvarez' loss 
 Is reason to engage their swords and Uves 
 Against the common enemy of virtue. 
 
 Coltim. Now have you finished? I have an instru 
 , ment 
 Shall cure this noise, and fly up to thy tongue. 
 To murder all thy words. 
 
 Her. One little knot 
 Of phlegm, that clogs my stomach, and I have done : — 
 You have an uncle, called a Cardinal, 
 Would he were lurking now about thy heart, 
 That the same wounds might reach you both, and send 
 Your reeling souls together 1 Now have at you. 
 
 Alph. We must not, sir, be idle. 
 
 \ They fight; AlfhO'SSO is s/ain. 
 
.116 THE CARDINAL. [act iV. 
 
 Her. What think you now of praying ? 
 
 Colum. Time enough. \He kills Hernando's second. 
 Commend me to my friend ; the scales are even : 
 I would be merciful, and give you time 
 Now to consider of the other world ; 
 You'll find your soul benighted presently. 
 
 Her. I'll find my way i' the dark. 
 
 \They fight, and close ; Columbo gets both the 
 swords, and Hernando takes up tJie second's 
 weapon. 
 
 Colum. A stumble's dangerous. 
 Now ask thy life. — Ha ! 
 
 Her. I despise to wear it, - 
 A gift from any but the first bestower. 
 
 Colum. I scorn a base advantage.^ [Columbo throws 
 away one of the swords ; they fight ; Hernando 
 wounds Columbo.] — Ha ! 
 
 Her. I am now 
 Out of your debt. 
 
 Colum. Thou hast done't, and I forgive thee. 
 Give me thy hand ; when shall we meet again ? 
 
 Her. Never, I hope. 
 
 Colum. I feel life ebb apace ; yet I'll look upwards, 
 And show my face to Heaven. \^Dies. 
 
 Her. The matter's done ; 
 I must not stay to bury him. [Exit. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 . SCENE I.— A Garden. 
 
 Enter two Lords. 
 
 IRST LORD. Columbo's death doth 
 mucli afflict the king. 
 2,nd Lord. I thought the Cardinal 
 would have lost his wits 
 At first, for's nephew ; it drowns all the 
 Of the others that were slain. ftalk 
 
 xst Lord. We are friends. 
 I do suspect Hernando had some interest, 
 And knew how their wounds came. 
 2nd Lord. His flight confirms it. 
 For whom the Cardinal has spread his nets. 
 
 1st Lord. -He is not so weak to trust himself at home 
 To his enemy's gripe. 
 
 2nd Lord. All strikes not me so much. 
 As that the duchess, most oppressed lady, 
 Should be distracted, and before Columbo 
 Was slain. 
 
 Tist JLord. But that the Cardinal should be made 
 Her guardian, is to me above that wonder. 
 
 2nd Lord. So it pleased the king ; and she, with that 
 Of reason left her,, is so kind and smooth [small stock 
 Upon him. 
 
 1st Lord. She's turned a child again : a madness, 
 That would have made her brain and blood boil high, 
 In which distemper she might have wrought something,— 
 2«i/Z^<f. Had been to purpose. 
 
 Shir. EK 
 
41 8 THE CARDINAL. [ACT V. 
 
 ijjf Lord. The Cardinal is cunning \ and howe'er 
 His brow does smile, he does suspect Hernando 
 Took fire from her, and waits a time to punish it. 
 
 ind Lord. But what a subject of disgrace and mirth 
 Hath poor CeUnda made herself by pride, 
 In her beUef Columbo was her servant ! 
 Her head hath stooped, much, since he died, and she 
 Almost ridiculous at court. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, Antonelli, and Servant. 
 
 \st Lord. The Cardinal 
 Is come into the garden, now — 
 
 Car. Walk off. — [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 It troubles me the duchess, by her loss 
 Of brain, is now beneath my great revenge. 
 She is not capable to feel my anger, 
 Which, like to unregarded thunder spent 
 In woods, and lightning aimed at senseless trees. 
 Must idly fall, and hurt her not, not to 
 That sense her guilt deserves : a fatal stroke, 
 Without the knowledge for what crime, to fright her, 
 When she takes leave, and make her tug with death. 
 Until her soul sweat, is a pigeon's torment, 
 And she is sent a babe to the other world. 
 Columbo's death will not be satisfied, 
 And I but wound her with a two-edged feather; 
 I must do more : I have all opportunity, 
 (She by the king now made my charge,) but she's 
 So much a turtle, I shall lose by killing her. 
 Perhaps do her a pleasure and preferment ; 
 That must not be. 
 
 Enter Celinda with a parchment. 
 
 Anton. \Stopping her.]— Is not this she, that would 
 be thought to have been 
 Columbo's mistress ?— Madam, his grace Is piiVate, 
 And would not be disturbed ; you may displease him. 
 
SCENE I.] THE CARDINAL. 419 
 
 Cel. What will your worship wager that he shall 
 Be pleased again before we part ? 
 
 Anton. I'll lay this diamond, madam, 'gainst a kiss. 
 And trust yourself to keep the stakes. 
 
 Cel. 'Tis done. [Comes forward. 
 
 Anton. I have long had an appetite to this lady ; 
 But the lords keep her up so high — this toy 
 May bring her on. 
 
 Car. This interruption tastes not of good manners. 
 
 Cel. But where necessity, my lords, compel 
 The boldness may meet pardon, and when you 
 Have found my purpose, I may less appear 
 Unmannerly. 
 
 Car. To the business. 
 
 Cel. It did please 
 Your nephew, sir, before his death, to credit me 
 With so much honourable favour, I 
 Am come to tender to his near'st of blood, 
 Yourself, what does remain a debt to him. 
 Not to delay your grace with circumstance. 
 That deed, if you accept, makes you my heir 
 Of no contemptible estate. — This way [He reads. 
 
 Is only left to tie up scurril tongues 
 And saucy men, that since Columbo's death 
 Venture to libel on my pride and folly ; 
 His greatness and this gift, which I enjoy 
 Still for my life, (beyond which term a kingdom's 
 Nothing,) will curb the giddy spleens of men 
 That live on iriipudent rhyme, and raihng at 
 Each wandering fame they catch. [Aside. 
 
 Car. Madam, this bounty 
 Will bind my gratitude, and. care to serve you. 
 
 Cel. I am your grace's servant. 
 
 Car. Antonelli ! — [ Whispers. 
 
 And when this noble lady visits me. 
 Let her not wait. 
 
 Cel. What think you, my officious sir ? His grace 
 
420 
 
 THn CAkDIlSTKL. [ACt V. 
 
 >^x-^i 
 
 Is pleased, you may conjecture : I may keep 
 Your gem ; the kiss was never yours. 
 
 Anton. Sweet madam — 
 
 Cel. Talk if you date \ you know I must not wait ; 
 And so, farewell for this time. \Exit. 
 
 Car. 'Tis in my brain already, and it forms 
 Apace — good, excellent, revenge, and pleasant ! 
 She's now within my talons : 'tis too cheap 
 A satisfaction for Columbo's death. 
 Only to kill her by soft charm or force. 
 I'll rifle first her darling chastity ; 
 It will be after time enough to poison her. 
 And she to the world be thought her o>vn destroyer. 
 As I will frame the circumstance, this night 
 All may be finished : for the colonel,- 
 Her agent in my nephew's death, (whom I 
 Disturbed at counsel with her,) I may reach him 
 Hereafter, and be master of his fate. 
 We starve bur conscience when we thrive in stateTy 
 
 \Ekeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in the Duchess's House. 
 Enter Antonio and Placentia. 
 
 Ant. Placentia, we two are only left 
 jdi all my lady's servants ; let us be true 
 To her, and one another * and be sure. 
 When we are at prayers, to curse the Cardinal. 
 
 Pla. I pity my sweet lady. 
 
 Ant. I pity her too, but am a little angry ; 
 She might have found another time to lose 
 Her wits. 
 
 Pla. That I were a man ! 
 
 Ant. What would'st thou do, Placentia ? 
 
 Pla. I would revenge my lady. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis better, being a woman ; thou may'st do 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 421 
 
 Things that may prosper better, and the fruit 
 Be thy own another day, 
 
 Pla. Your wit still loves 
 To play the wanton. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis a sad time, Placentia ; 
 Some pleasure would do well : the truth is, I 
 Am weary of my life, and I would have 
 One fit of mirth before I leave the world. 
 
 Pla. Do not you blush to talk thus wildly ? 
 
 Ant. 'Tis good manners | 
 
 To be a little mad after my lady ; 
 But I have done. Who is with her now ? 
 
 Pla. Madam Valeria. 
 
 Ant. Not Celinda ? There's a lady for my humour ! 
 A pretty book of flesh and blood, and well 
 Bound up, in a fair letter too. Would I- 
 Had her with all the errata ! 
 
 Pla. She has not 
 An honourable fame. 
 
 Ant. Her fame ! that's nothing ; 
 A Uttle stain ;— her wealth will fetch again 
 The colour, and bring honour into her cheeks 
 As fresh ; — 
 
 If she were mine, and I had her exchequer, 
 I know the way to make her honest ; 
 Honest to the touch, the test, and the last trial. 
 
 Pla. How, prithee ? 
 
 Ant. Why, 
 First I would marry her, that's a verb material ; 
 Then I would print her with an index 
 Expurgatorius ; a table drawn 
 Of her court heresies ; and when she's read. 
 Cum privilegio, who dares call her whore ? 
 
 Pla. I'll leave you, if you talk thus. 
 
 Ant. I have done ; 
 Placentia, thou may'st be better company 
 After another progress : ^nd now teJl pie, 
 
432 THE CARDINAL. [ACT v. 
 
 Didst ever hear of such a patient madness 
 As my lady is possessed with ? She has raved 
 But twice : — an she would fright the Cardinal, 
 Or at a supper if she did but poison him, 
 It were a frenzy I could bear withal. 
 She calls him her dear governor. — 
 
 Enter Hernando disguised, with a letter. 
 
 Pla. Who is this? 
 
 Her. Her secretary ! — Sir, 
 Here is a letter, if it may have so 
 Much happiness to kiss her grace's hand. 
 
 Ant. From whom ? 
 
 Her. That's not in your commission, sir, 
 To ask, or mine to satisfy ; she will want 
 No understanding when she reads. 
 
 Ant. Alas ! 
 Under your favour, sir, you are mistaken ; 
 Her grace did never more want understanding. 
 
 Her. How ? 
 
 Ant. Have you not heard ? her skull is broken, sir. 
 And many pieces taken out; she's mad. 
 
 Her. The sad fame of her distraction 
 Has too much truth, it seems, 
 
 Pla. If please you, sir. 
 To expect awhile, I will present the letter. 
 
 Her. Pray do. — \Eodt Placentia. 
 
 How long has she been thus distempered, sir? 
 
 Ant. Before the Cardinal came to govern here, 
 Who, for that reason, by the king was made 
 Her guardian. We are now at his devotion. 
 
 Her. A lamb given up to a tiger ! May diseases 
 Soon eat him through his heart ! 
 
 Ant. Your pardon, sir. 
 I love that voice ; I know it too a little. 
 Are not you — be not angry, noble sir, 
 I can with ease be ignorant again. 
 
SCENE II.] THE CARDINAL. 423 
 
 And think you are another man ; but if 
 You be that valiant gentleman they call — 
 
 Her. Whom? what? 
 
 Ant. That killed — I would not name him, if I thought 
 You were not pleased to be that very gentleman. 
 
 Her. Am I betrayed ? 
 
 Ant. The devil shall not 
 Betray you here : kill me, and I will take 
 ■My death you are the noble colonel. 
 We are all bound to you for the generaPs death, 
 Valiant Hernando ! When my lady knows 
 You are here, I hope 'twill fetch her wits again. 
 But do not talk too loud j we are not all 
 Honest i' the house ; some are the Cardinal's creatures. 
 
 Her. Thou wert faithful to thy lady. I am glad 
 'Tis night. But tell me how the churchman uses 
 The duchess. 
 
 Enter Antonelli. 
 
 Ant. He carries angels in his tongue and face, but I 
 Suspect his heart : this is one of his spawns,^- 
 Signior AntoneUi. 
 
 Anton. Honest Antonio ! 
 
 Ant. And how, and how — a friend of mine — ^where is 
 The Cardinal's grace ? 
 
 Her. That will be never answered. \Aside. 
 
 Anton. He means to sup here with the duchess. 
 
 Ant. Will he? 
 
 Anton. We'll have the charming bottles at my chamber. 
 Bring that gentleman ; we'll be mighty merry. 
 
 Her. I may disturb your jollity. . ' \Aside. 
 
 Anton. Fafewell, sweet — \Exit. 
 
 Ant. Dear Antonelli !— A round pox confound you! 
 This is court rhetoric at the back- stairs. 
 
 Enter PtACENTiA. 
 Pla. Do you know this gentleman ? 
 Ant. Not I. 
 
424 
 
 THE CARDINAL. [ACT v. 
 
 Pla. My lady presently dismissed Valeria, 
 And bade me bring him to her bed-chamber. 
 
 Ant. The gentleman has an honest face. 
 
 Pla. Her words 
 Fell from her with some evenness and joy. — 
 Her grace desires your presence. 
 
 Her. I'll attend her. \Exit with Placentia. 
 
 Ant, I would this soldier had the Cardinal 
 Upon a promontory, with what a spring 
 The churchman would leap down ! it were a spectacle 
 Most rare, to see him topple from the precipice, 
 And souse in the salt water with a noise 
 To stun the fishes ; and if he fell into 
 A net, what wonder would the simple sea-gulls 
 Have, to draw up the o'ergrown lobster. 
 So ready boiled ! He shall have my good wishes. 
 This colonel's coming may be lucky ; I 
 Will be sure none shall interrupt them. 
 
 Enter Celinda. 
 
 Cel. Is 
 Her grace at opportunity ? 
 
 Ant. No, sweet madam ; 
 She is asleep, her gentlewoman says. 
 
 Cel. My business is but a visit. I'll expect. 
 
 Ant. That must not be, although I like your company. 
 
 Cel. You are grovm rich. Master Secretary. 
 
 Ant. I, madam ? Alas ! 
 
 CeL I hear you are upon another purchase. 
 
 Ant. I upon a purchase ! 
 
 Cel. If you .Want any sum — 
 
 Ant, If I could purchase your sweet favour, madam. 
 
 CeL You shall command me, and my fortune, sir. 
 
 Ant. How's this? \Aside, 
 
 Cel. I have observed you, sir, a staid 
 And prudent gentleman — and I shall want — 
 
 Ant. Not me ? 
 
 C(l, A father for some infant ; he has credit 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 425 
 
 I' the world. I am not the first cast lady 
 
 Has married a secretary. \Aside. 
 
 Ant. Shall I wait upon you ? 
 
 Cel. Whither? 
 
 Ant. Any whither. 
 
 Cel. I may chance lead you then — 
 
 Ant. I shall be honoured to obey. My blood 
 Is up, and in this humour I'm for anything. 
 
 Cel. Well, sir, I'll try your manhood. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis my happiness ; 
 You cannot please me better. 
 
 Cel, This was struck 
 r the opportunity. ' \Aside, and exit. 
 
 Ant. I am made for ever. \Eodt, following her. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Hernando and Duchess. 
 
 Her. Dear madam, do not weep. 
 
 Duch. You're very welcome ; 
 I have done ; I will not shed a tear more 
 Till I meet Alvarez, then I'll weep for joy. 
 He was a fine young gentleman, and sung sweetly; 
 An you had heard him but the night before 
 We were married, you would have sworn he had been 
 A swan, and sung, his own sad epitaph. 
 But we'll talk o' the Cardinal. 
 
 Her. Would his death 
 Might ransom your fair sense ! he should not live 
 To triumph in the loss, Beshrew my manhood, 
 But I begin to melt. 
 
 Duch. I pray, sir, tell me, 
 For I can understand, although they say 
 I have lost my wits ; but they are safe enough. 
 And I shall have them when the Cardinal dies ; 
 
426 THE CARDINAL. [ACT V. 
 
 Who had a letter from his nephew, too, 
 Since he was slain. 
 
 Her. From whence ? 
 
 Duch. I know not where he is. But in some bower 
 Within a garden he is making chaplets, 
 And means to send me one; but I'll not take it ; 
 I have flowers enough, I thalnk him, while I live. 
 
 Her. But do you love your governor ? 
 
 Duch. Yes, but I'll never marry hjm ; I am promised 
 Already. 
 
 Her. To whom, madam ? 
 
 Duch. Do not you 
 Blush when you ask me that? must not you be 
 My husband ? I know why, but that's a secret. 
 Indeed, if you believe me, I do love 
 No man alive so well as you : the Cardinal 
 Shall never know't ; he'll kill us both ; and yet 
 He says he loves me dearly, and has promised 
 To make me well again ; but I'm afraid. 
 One time or other, he will give me poison. 
 
 Her. Prevent him, madam, and take nothing from 
 him. 
 
 Duch. Why, do you think 'twill hurt me ? 
 
 Her. It will kill you. 
 
 Duch. I shall but die, and meet my dear-loved lord, 
 Whom, when I have kissed, I'll come again and work 
 A bracelet of my hair for you to carry him. 
 When you are going to Heaven ; the posy shall 
 Be my own name, in little teafs, that I 
 Will weep next winter, which congealed i' the frost,' 
 Will show like seed-pearl. You'll deliver it? 
 I know he'll love, and wear it for my sake. 
 
 Her. She is quite lost. 
 
 Duch. Pray give me, sir, your pardon : 
 I know I talk not wisely; but if you had 
 The burthen of my sorrow, you would miss 
 Sometimes your better reason. Now I'm well ; 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 427 
 
 What will you do when the Cardinal comes ? 
 He must not see you for the world. 
 
 Ifer. He shall not ; 
 I'll take my leave before he come. 
 
 Duch. Nay, stay ; 
 I shall have no friend left me when you go. 
 He will but sup ; he shall not stay to he with me ; 
 I have the picture of my lord abedj 
 Three are too much this weather. 
 
 Enter Placentia, 
 
 Fla. Madam, the Cardinal. 
 
 Her. He shall sup with the devil. 
 
 Duch. I dare not stay ; 
 The red cock will be angry. I'll come again. 
 
 \Exeunt Duchess and Placentia. 
 
 Her. This sorrow is no fable. Now I find 
 My curiosity is sadly satisfied. — 
 Ha ! if the duchess in her strangled wits 
 Let fall words to betray me to the Cardinal, 
 The panther will not leap more fierce to meet 
 His prey, when a long want of food hath parched 
 His starvbd maw, than he to print his rage. 
 And tear my heart-strings. Everything is fatal ; 
 And yet she talked sometimes with chain of sense. 
 And said she loved me. Ha ! they come not yet. 
 I have a sword about me, and I left 
 My own security to visit death. 
 Yet I may pause a little, and consider 
 Which way does lead me to't most honourably. 
 Does not the chamber that I walk in tremble ? 
 What will become of her, and me,, and all 
 The world in one small hour ? I do not think 
 Ever to see the day again ; 'the wings 
 Of night spread o'er me like a sable hearse-cloth ;J 
 The stars are all close mourners too ; but I 
 Must not alone to the cold silent grave, 
 
428 THE CA-RBINAL. [act v. 
 
 I must not. — If thou cans't, Alvarez, open 
 
 That ebon curtain, and behold the man. 
 
 When the world's justice fails, shall right thy ashes, 
 
 And feed their thirst with blood ! thy duchegs is 
 
 Almost a ghost already, and doth wear 
 
 Her body Hke an useless upper garment. 
 
 The trim and fashion of it lost, — Ha I 
 
 Re-enter Placentia. 
 
 Pla. You need not doubt me, sir. — My lady prays 
 You would not think it long ; she in my ear 
 Commanded me to tell you, that when last 
 She drank, she had happy wishes to your health. 
 
 Her. And did the Cardinal pledge it ? 
 
 Pla. He was not 
 Invited to't, nor must he know you are here. 
 
 Her. What do they talk of, prithee ? 
 
 Pla. His grace is very pleasant \A lute is heard. 
 
 And kind to her \ but her returns are after 
 The sad condition of her sense, sometimes 
 Unjointed, 
 
 Her. They have music. 
 
 Pla. A lute, only. 
 His grace prepared ; they say, the best of Italy, 
 That waits upon my lord. 
 
 Her. He thinks the duchess 
 Is stung with a tarantula. 
 
 Pla. Your pardon ; 
 My duty is expected, \Exit, 
 
 Her. Gentle lady ! — A voice too ? 
 
 Song within. 
 Strep. Come, my Daphne, come away, 
 
 We do waste the crystal day; 
 
 'Tis Strephon calls. Dap. What would my love? 
 Strep. Come, follow to the myrtle grove, 
 
 Where Venus shall prepare 
 
 New chaplets for thy hair, 
 
SCENte III.] THE CARDINAL. 429 
 
 Dap. Were I shut up within a tree, 
 
 I rend my bark to follow thee. 
 Strep. My shepherdess, make haste. 
 
 The minutes sUde too fast. 
 Dap. In those cooler shades will I, 
 
 Blind as Cupid, kiss thine eye. 
 Strep. In thy perfumed bosom then I'll stray ; 
 
 In such warm snow who would not lose his 
 way? 
 Chor. We'll laugh, and leave the world behind, 
 And gods themselves that see, 
 Shall envy thee and me. 
 
 But never find 
 Such joys, when they embrace a deity. 
 
 Her. If at this distance I distinguish, 'tis not 
 Church music ; and the air's wanton, and no anthem 
 Sung to't, but some strange ode of love and kisses. 
 What should this mean ? — Ha ? he is coming hither. 
 
 \Praws his sword. 
 I am betrayed ; he marches in her hand. 
 I'll trust a little more ; mute as the arras, 
 My sword and I here. 
 
 \Conceals hiMself behind the arras. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, Duchess, Antonelli, and Attendants. 
 
 Car. Wait you in the first chamber, and let none 
 Presume to interrupt us. 
 
 [Exeunt Antonelli and Attendants. 
 She is pleasant ; 
 Now for some art, to poison all her innocence. 
 
 Duch. I do not like the Cardinal's humour ; he 
 Little suspects what guest is in my chamber. 
 
 Car. Now, madam, you are safe. [Embraces her. 
 
 Duch. How means your lordship ? 
 
 Car. Safe in my arms, sweet duchess. 
 
 Duch. Do not hurt me. 
 
 Car. Not for the treasures of the world ! You are 
 
430 THE CARDINAL. [act v. 
 
 My pretty charge. Had I as many lives 
 As I have careful thoughts to do you service, 
 I should think all a happy forfeit, to 
 Delight your grace one minute; 'tis a Heaven 
 To see you smile. 
 
 Duch. What kindness call you this ? 
 
 Car. It cannot want a name while you preserve 
 So plentiful a sweetness ; it is love. 
 
 Duch. Of me ? How shall I know't, my lord ? 
 
 Car. By this, and this, swift messengers to whisper 
 Our hearts to one another. ■ \Kisses her. 
 
 Duch. Pray do you come a wooing.? 
 
 Car. Yes, sweet madam ; 
 You cannot be so cruel to deny me. 
 
 Duch. What ? my lord. 
 
 Car. Another kiss. 
 
 Duch. Can you 
 Dispense with this, my lord ? — Alas, I fear 
 Hernando is asleep, or vanished from me \Aside. 
 
 Car. I have mocked my blood into a flame; and 
 My angry soul had formed for my revenge, [what 
 
 Is now the object of my amorous sense. 
 I have took a strong enchantment from her lips. 
 And fear I shall forgive Columbo's death. 
 If she consent to my embrace. [Aside.] — Come, madam. 
 
 Duch. Whither ? my lord. 
 
 Car. But to your bed or couch. 
 Where, if you will be kind, and but allow 
 Yourself a knowledge, love, whose shape and raptures 
 Wise poets have but glorified in dreams. 
 Shall make your chamber his eternal palace ; 
 And with such active and essental streams 
 Of new delights glide o'er your bosom, you 
 Shall wonder to what unknown world you are 
 By some blest change translated. Why do you pause. 
 And look so wild ? Will you deny your governor ? 
 
 Duch. How came you by that cloven foot ? 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 431 
 
 Car. Your fancy 
 Would turn a traitor to your happiness. 
 I am your friend ; you must be kind. 
 
 Duch. Unhand me, 
 Or I'll cry out a rape. 
 
 Car. You will not, sure ? 
 
 Duch. I have been cozened with Hernando's shadow; 
 Here's none but Heaven to hear me. — Help ! a rape ! 
 
 Car. Are you so good at understanding ? then, 
 I must use other argument. 
 
 \He seizes her. Hernando rushes from the arras. 
 
 Her. Go to. Cardinal. \Strikes him ; exit Duchess. 
 
 Car. Hernando ? Murder ! treason ! help ! 
 
 Her. An army shall not rescue thee. Your blood 
 Is much inflamed ; I have brought a lancet with me 
 Shall open your hot veins, and cool your fever. — 
 To vex your parting soul, it was the same 
 Engine that pierced Columbo's heart. 
 
 Car. Help ! murder ! [Stabs him. 
 
 Enter Antonelli and Servants. 
 
 Anton. Some ring the bell, 'twill rafse the court ; 
 My lord is murdered ! 'Tis Hernando. \The Ml rings. 
 Her. I'll make you all some sport. — \Stabs himself. ^ 
 -:— So ; now we are even. 
 Where is the duchess ? I would take my leave 
 Of her, and then bequeath my curse among you. 
 
 [Hefalls. 
 
 Enter King, Duchess, Valeria, Lords, and Guard. 
 
 King. How come these bloody objects? 
 
 Her. With a trick my sword found out. I hope he's 
 
 paid. 
 1st Lord. I hope SO too. — A surgeon 
 For my lord Cardinal 1 
 King. Hernando? 
 Duch. Justice 1 .oh, |ustice, sir, against a ravisher ! 
 
432 THM CAHDINAL. [act v. 
 
 Her. Sir, I have done you service. 
 King. A bloody service. 
 Her. 'Tis pure scarlet. 
 
 Enter Surgeon. 
 
 Car. After such care to perfect liiy revenge, 
 Thus bandied out of the world by a woman's plot ! 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Her. I have preserved the duchess from a rape. 
 .Good night to me and all the world for ever ! \Dies. 
 
 King. So impious ! 
 
 Duch. 'Tis most true ; Alvarez' blood 
 Is now revenged ; I find my brain return, 
 And every straggling sense repairing home. 
 
 Car. I have deserved you should turn from me, sir. 
 My life hath been prodigiously wicked ; 
 My blood is now the kingdom's balm. Oh, sir, 
 I have abused your ear, your trust, your people, 
 And my own sacred office ; my conscience 
 Feels now the sting. Oh, show your charity, 
 And with your pardon, like a cool soft gale. 
 Fan my poor sweating soul, that wanders through 
 Unhabitable climes, and parchfed deserts. — 
 But I am lost, if the great world forgive me, 
 Unless I find your mercy for a crime 
 You know not, madam, yet, against your life, 
 I must confess, more than my black intents 
 U-pon your honour ; you're already poisoned. 
 
 King. By whom ? 
 
 Car. By me. 
 In the revenge I owed Columbo's loss ; 
 With your last meat was mixed a poison, thatj 
 By subtle, and by sure degrees, must let 
 In death. 
 
 King. Look to the duchess, our physicians ! 
 
 Car. Stay ; 
 I will deserve her mercy, though I cannot 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 433 
 
 Call back the deed. In proof of my repentance, 
 
 If the last breath of a now dying man 
 
 May gain your charity and belief, receive 
 
 This ivory box; in it an antidote, 
 
 'Bove that they boast the great magistral medicine : 
 
 That powder, mixed with wine, by a most rare 
 
 And quick access to the heart, will fortify it 
 
 Against the rage of the most nimble poison. 
 
 I am not worthy to present her with it. 
 
 Oh, take it, and preserve her innocent life. 
 
 xst Lord. Strange, he should have a good thing in such 
 readiness. 
 
 Car. 'Tis that, which in my jealousy and state, 
 Trusting to false predictions of my birth, 
 That I should die by poison, 1 preserved 
 For my own safety ; wonder not, I made 
 That my companion was to be my refuge. 
 
 Enter Servant with a bowl of wine. 
 
 1st Lord. Here is some touch of grace. 
 
 Car. In greater proof of my pure thoughts, I take 
 This first, and with my dying breath confirm 
 My penitence ; it may benefit her life, 
 But not my wounds. [He drinks.] Oh, hasten to pre- 
 serve her ; 
 And though I merit not her pardon, let not 
 Her fair soul be divorced. 
 
 [The Duchess takes the bowl and drinks. 
 
 King. This is some charity ; may it prosper, madam ! 
 
 Val. How does your grace? 
 
 Duck. And must I owe my life to him, whose death 
 Was my ambition ? Take this free acknowledgment ; 
 I had intent, this night, with my own hand 
 To be Alvarez' justicer. 
 
 King. You were mad, 
 And thought past apprehension of revenge. 
 
 Buck. That shape I did usurp, great sir, to give 
 
434 THE CARDINAL. [ACT y. 
 
 My heart more freedom and defence ; but when 
 
 Hernando came to visit me, I thought 
 
 I might defer my execution ; 
 
 Which his own rage suppHed without my guilt, 
 
 And when his lust grew high, met with his blood. 
 
 \st Lord. The Cardinal smiles. 
 
 Car. Now my revenge has met 
 With you, my nimble duchess ! I have took 
 A shape ^ to give my act more freedom too. 
 And now I am sure she's poisoned with that dose 
 I gave her last. 
 
 King. Thou'rt not so horrid. 
 
 Duch. Ha ! some cordial. 
 
 Car. Alas, no preservative 
 Hath wings to overtake it ; were her heart 
 Locked in a quarry it would search, and kill 
 Before the aids can reach it. I am sure 
 You shall not now laugh at me. 
 
 King. How came you by that poison ? 
 
 Car. I prepared it. 
 Resolving, when I had enjoyed her, which 
 The colonel prevented, by some art 
 To make her take it, and by deatl; conclude 
 My last revenge. You have the fatal story. 
 
 King. This is so great a wickedness, it will 
 Exceed belief 
 
 Car. I knew I could not live. 
 
 Surg. Your wounds, sir, were not desperate. 
 
 Car. Not mortal ? Ha ! were they not mortal ? 
 
 Surg. If I have skill in surgery. 
 
 Car. Then I have caught myself in my own engine. 
 
 2nd Lord. It was your fate, you said, to die by poison. 
 
 Car. That was my own prediction, to abuse 
 Your faith ; no human art can now resist it : 
 I feel it knocking at the seat of life ; 
 It must come in ; I have wrecked all my own, 
 
 1 Shape is the technical word for a stage-dress, a disguise. 
 
SCENE III.] THE CARDINAL. 435 
 
 To try your charities : now it would be rare, — 
 
 If you but waft me with a little pralyer ; 
 
 My wings that flag may catch the wind ; but 'tis 
 
 In vain, the mist is risen, and there's none 
 
 To steer my wandering bark. {Dies. 
 
 1st Lord. He's dead. 
 
 King. With him 
 Die all deceived trust. 
 
 2nd Lord. This was a strange impiety. 
 
 Ktng. When men 
 Of gifts and sacred function once decline 
 From virtue, their ill deeds transcend example. 
 
 Duch. The minute's come that I must take my leave. 
 Your hand, great sir ; and though you be a king, [too. 
 We may exchange forgiveness. Heaven forgive you. 
 And all the world ! I come, I come, Alvarez. \Dies. 
 
 King, Dispose their bodies for becoming funeral. 
 How much are kings abused by those they take 
 To royal grace, whom, when they cherish most 
 By nice indulgence, they do often arm 
 Against themselves ! from whence this maxim springs : 
 None have more need of perspectives' than kings.- 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 [ Within.] Master Pollard ! where's Master Pollard, for 
 the epilogue? 
 
 \ffe is thrust upon the stage, and falls. 
 Epi. [Rising.] lam coming to you, gentlemen ; the 
 poet 
 Has helped me thus far on my way, but I'll 
 Be even with him ; the play is a tragedy, 
 ' Telescopes. 
 
436 THE CARDINAL. 
 
 The first that ever he composed for us, 
 Wherem he thinks he has done prettily, 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 And I am sensible. — I prithee look, 
 
 Is nothing out of joint? has he broke nothing? 
 
 Serv. No, sir, I hope. 
 
 Epi. Yes, he has broke his epilogue all to pieces. 
 Canst thou put it together again ? 
 
 Serv. Not I, sir. 
 
 Epi. Nor I ; prithee be gone. \Exit Serv.] — Hum ! — 
 Master poet, 
 I have a teeming mind to be revenged. — 
 You may assist, and not be seen in't now. 
 If you please, gentlemen, for I do know- 
 He listens to the issue of his cause ; 
 But blister not your hands in his applause ; 
 Your private smile, your nod, or hem ! to tell 
 My fellows that you like the business well ; 
 And when, without a clap, you go away, 
 I'll drink a small-beer health to his second day ; 
 And break his heart, or make him swear and rage. 
 He'll write no more for the unhappy stage. 
 But that's too much ; so we should lose ; faith, shew it, 
 And if you like his play, 'tis as well he knew it. 
 
THE TTqumTH OF TEzACE. 
 
\HE TRIUMPH OF PEACE, which 
 Dyce calls " the most magnificent 
 pageant ever, perhaps, exhibited in 
 England," was presented to the King 
 and Queen early in February, 1633-4, 
 by the members of the four Inns of 
 Court. It originated in an avowed 
 intention to " confute " Prynne, who, 
 in his famous Histriomastix (pub- 
 lished in 1632) had attacked Interludes. The musical 
 department was assigned, to Whitelock, who appointed 
 Simon Ives and William Lawes to compose the airs, and 
 called in the assistance of eminent English, French, Italian, 
 and German musicians. The scenes were prepared by 
 Inigo Jones at the lower end of the Banqueting House. 
 
 On the evening of the 3rd February the Masquers 
 assembled at Ely House, Holborn, and moved in solemn 
 procession down Chancery Lane to Whitehall, with torches 
 by the side of the chariots, while the streets were thronged 
 by multitudes who " seemed loath to part with so glorious 
 a spectacle." The Queen and her ladies joined in the 
 dances, < and towards morning a stately banquet was served 
 up to the Gentlemen of the Inns of Court. 
 
 The expenses amounted tO;^2i,O0Q, oreven a larger sum. 
 The Masque was printed, as "invented and written" by 
 Shirley, and reached a third edition in the same year. 
 
Ih the Four Equal and Honourable Societies, 
 THE INNS OF COURT. 
 
 WANT words to express your cheerful 
 and active desires, to present your duties 
 to their royal Majesties, in this Masque ; 
 to celebrate, by this humble tender of 
 your hearts and services, the happiness 
 of our Kingdom, so blest in the present 
 government, and never so rich in the pos- 
 session of so many and great pledges of their Parents' 
 virtue, our native Princes. 
 
 Your clear devotions already offered and accepted, let 
 not me want an altar for my oblation to you. This enter- 
 tainment, which took life from your command, and v^fanted 
 no motion or growth it could derive from my weak fancy, I 
 sacrifice again to you, and under your smile to the world. 
 Let it not repent you to look upon, what is the second time 
 made your own, and with it, the heart of the sacrificer, in- 
 finitely bound to acknowledge your free, and noble souls, 
 that have left no way for a poet to satisfy his ambition, 
 how to thank you, but with thinking, he shall never be able 
 to satisfy it. 
 
 I dare not rack my preface to a length. Proceed to be 
 yourselves (the ornament of our nation), and when you have 
 leisure to converse with imaginations of this-kind, it shall 
 be an addition to your many favours, to read these papers, 
 and oblige beside the seals of your other encouragement. 
 
 The humblest of your honourers, 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
SPEAKING CHARACTERS IN THE MASQUE. 
 
 Opinion. 
 
 Confidence. 
 
 Fancy. 
 
 Jollity. 
 
 Laughter. 
 
 Novelty. 
 
 Admiration. 
 
 Irene. 
 Eunomia. 
 
 DiCHE, 
 Genius. 
 Amphiluche. 
 The Hours. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Carpenter. 
 Taylor. 
 Blackguard. 
 Painter. 
 
 Guards. 
 
 Taylor's wife; 
 Property-man's wife 
 Feather-maker's wife. 
 Embroiderer's wife. 
 
THE TT^UmTH OF TEoACE. 
 
 THE MASQUE OF THE GENTLEMEN 
 
 O F TH E FOUR HONOURABLE SOCIETIES, OR INNS OF 
 COURT. 
 
 At Ely and Hatton Houses, the gentlemen and their assist- 
 ants met, and in this manner prepared for the Court. 
 
 The Antimasquers were ushered by a hornpipe, and a 
 shawm ; ^ riding in coats and caps of yellow taffeta, spotted 
 with silver, their feathers red, their horses led by men in 
 coats of blue taffeta, their wings red, and part of their 
 sleeves yellow, caps and feathers ; all the torchbearers in 
 the same habit appointed to attend, and give plentiful light 
 to the whole train. 
 
 Fancy in a suit of several-coloured feathers, hooded, a 
 pair of bat's wings on his shoulders, riding alone, as sole 
 presenter of the Antimasques. 
 
 After him rode Opinion and Confidence together : 
 
 Opinion in an old fashioned doublet of black velvet, and 
 trunk hose, a short cloak of the same with an antique cape, 
 a black velvet cap pinched up, with a white fall, and a staff 
 in his hand ; 
 
 Confidence in a slashed doublet parti-toloured, breeches 
 suitable with points at knees, favours upon his breast and 
 arm, a broad-brimmed hat, tied up on one side, banded with 
 
442 THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 
 
 afeatlier, a long lock of hair, trimmed with severalrcoloured 
 ribands, wide hoots, and great spurs with bells for rowels. 
 
 Next rode Jollity and Laughter ; 
 
 Jollity in a flame-coloured suit, but tricked like a morris 
 dancer, with scarfs and napkins, his hat fashioned like a 
 cone, with a little fall; 
 
 Laughter in a long side coat of several colours, laugh- 
 ing, vizards on his breast and back, a cap with two grinning 
 faces, and feathers between. 
 
 Then followed variety of antic music; after which rode 
 six Projectors, one after another, their horses led by torch- 
 bearers : 
 
 The first, ^ a Jockey with' a bonnet on his head, upon the 
 top of it a whip, he^ seeming much to observe and affect a 
 bridle which he had in his hdnd ; 
 
 The second, a Country fellow in a leather doublet and 
 grey trunk hose, a wheel with a perpetual motion on his 
 head, and in his hand a flail ; 
 
 The third a grim Philosophical-faced fellow, in his 
 gown, furred and girdled about him, a furnace upon his 
 head, and in his hand a lamp ; 
 
 The fourth, in a casejjf black leather, vast to t/ie middle, 
 and round on the top, with glass eyes, and bellows under 
 each arm ; 
 
 ' " First in this Antimasque, rode a fellow upon a little horse, 
 with a great bit in his mouth, and upon the man's head was a bit, 
 with headstall and reins fastened, and signified a Projector who 
 begged a patent that none in the kingdom might ride their 
 horses, but with such bits as they should buy of him. Then came 
 another fellow with a bunch of carrots upon his head, and a capon 
 upon his fist, describing a Projector who begged a patent of mono- 
 poly, as the first inventor of the art to feed capons fat with carrots, 
 and that none but himself might make use of that invention, and 
 have the privilege for fourteen years, according to the statute. 
 Several other Projectors were in like manner personated in this 
 Antimasque ; and it pleased the spectators the more, because by it 
 an information was covertly given to the King of the unfitness and 
 ridiculousness of these projects against the law ; and the Attorney 
 Noy, who had most knowledge of them, had a great hand in this 
 Antimasque of the Projectors." — Whitelock's Memorials, quoted by 
 Dyce. 
 
Tim TkWMPH OJ-' PEACE. 443 
 
 The fifth, a Physician, on his head a hat with a bunch 
 of carrots, a capon percJud upon his fist ; 
 
 The sixth, like a Seaman, a ship upon his head and hold- 
 ing a line and plummet in his hand: 
 
 Next these, rode so many Beggars 1 in timorous looks and 
 gestures, as pursued by two Mastiffs that came barking after 
 
 Here variety of other antic music, counterfeiting the 
 voices of birds ; and after these rode, a Magpie, a -Crow, 
 a ] ay, and a Kite, in a quadrangular figure, and in the- 
 midst an Owl ; ' these were followed by three Satyrs, two 
 abreast, and one single, sided with torchbearers ; then three 
 Dotterels in the same manner and attendance. 
 
 After these a Windmill, against which a fantastic Knight 
 with his lance, and his Squire armed, seemed to make their 
 attempts. 
 
 These moving forward in ridiculous show and postures, 
 a Drummer followed on horseback, in a crimson taffeta 
 coat, a white liat and feather tipped with crimson, beating 
 two kettle drums. Then fourteen Trumpeters, in crimson 
 satin coats, white hats and feathers, and rich banners. 
 
 The Marshal followed these, bravely mounted ; attended 
 with ten horse and forty foot, in coats and hose of scarlet 
 trimmed with silver lace, white hats and feathers, their 
 truncheons tipped with silver ; these upon every occasion 
 moving to and fro, to preserve the order of their march, and 
 restrain the rudeness of people, that in such triumphs, are 
 wont to be insolent, and tumultuary . 
 
 After these an hundred Gentlemen, gloriously furnished 
 and gallantly mounted, riding two and two abreast, every 
 gentleman having his two pages richly attired, and a groom 
 to attend him. 
 
 1 The Beggars, says Whitelock, "had their music of keys and 
 tongs, and the like, snapping, and yet playing in a consort before 
 them. These Beggars were also mounted, but on the poorest lean- 
 est jades that could be gotten out of the dirt-carts or elsewhere." 
 
 2 "These," says Whitelock, "were little boys put into covers of 
 the shapes of those birds, rarely fitted, and sitting on small 
 
 1 — «a= " Hjf 
 
444 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 
 
 Next after these, a chariot drawn ly four horses, two 
 and two together, richly furnished and adorned with gold 
 and silver, the charioteer in a Polonian coat of green cloth 
 of silver. In this were advanced Musicians, like Priests 
 and Sybills, sons and daughters of harmony, some with 
 coronets, others with wreaths of laurel and myrtle, playing 
 upon their lutes, three footmen on each side in blue satin 
 wrought with silver, and every one a flambeau in his hand. 
 
 In the next chariot of equal glorj/, were placed on the 
 lowest stairs four in sky-coloured taffeta robes seeded with 
 stars, mantles ash-coloured, adorned with fringe and silver 
 lace, coronets with stars upon ' their lieads, ' In a seat a 
 little more elevate sat Genius and Amphiluche. 
 
 On the highest seat of this chariot, sat the three Hours, 
 or heavenly sisters, Irene, Diche, and Eunomia ; all whose 
 habits shall be described in their proper places : this chariot 
 attended as the former. 
 
 After tliese, came the four triumpJiah or magnificent 
 chariots, in which were mounted the Grand Masquers, one 
 of the four houses in every chariot, seated within an half 
 oval, with a glorious canopy over their heads, all bordered 
 with silver fringe, and beautified with ilumes of feathers 
 on the top ; 
 
 TIte first chariot, silver and orange, 
 
 The second, silver and watchet^ 
 
 The third, silver and crimson, 
 
 The fourth, silver and white ; 
 
 All after the Roman form, adorned with much embossed 
 and carved works, and each of them wrought with silver, 
 and his several colour ; they were mounted on carriages, the 
 spring-trees, pole and axle-trees, the charioteer's seat, and 
 slanders, wheels, with the fellies, spokes, and naves, ah 
 wrought with silver, and their several colour. 
 
 They were all drawn with four horses afront, after the 
 magnificent Roman triumphs, their furniture, harness, head- 
 stall, bits, reins, and traces, chamfron, cronet, petronel, and 
 
 > Pale blue. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 445 
 
 barb of rich cloth of silver, of several works and colours, 
 answerable to the linings of the chariots. 
 
 The charioteers in Polony coats of the same colour of the 
 chariots, their caps, feathers, and buskins answerable. 
 
 The two, out-horses of every chariot led by two men, in 
 habits wrought with silver, and conformable to the colour of 
 the other furniture, four footmen on either side of every 
 chariot, in rich habits, also wrought with silver, answerable 
 to the rest, every one carrying a flambeau in his hand. 
 
 Between every of these chariots, four musicians in their 
 robes and garlands, were mounted, riding two abreast, 
 attended with torchbearers. 
 
 The habit of the Masquers gave infinite splendour to this 
 solemnity ; which more aptly shall be expressed in Us place. 
 
 This Masque was presented in the Banquetting-house at 
 Whitehall, before the King and Queen's Majesties, and a 
 great ^ assembly of lords and ladies, and other persons of 
 quality, whose aspect, sitting on t/ie degrees prepared for that 
 purpose, gave a great grace to this spectacle, especially being 
 all richly attired. 
 
 At the lower end of the room, opposite to the State,^ was 
 raised a stage with a descent of stairs in two branches, land- 
 ing into the room. This basement was painted in rustic 
 work. 
 
 The border of the front and sides that enclosed all the 
 scene, had first a ground of arbour-work, intermixed with 
 loose branches and leaves ; and in this was two niches ; and 
 in them two great figures standing in easy postures, in their 
 natural colours, and much bigger than the life. The one,. 
 attired of ter the Grecian manner, held in one hand a sceptre, 
 and in the other a scroll, and a picked antique crown on his 
 head, his cuirass was of gold richly enchased, his robe blue 
 and silver, his arms and thighs bare, with buskins enriched 
 
 » i.e. The raised platform on which were placed the royal seats 
 
446 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE, 
 
 with orndMmis Of gold, his broiiOn locks loHg and CUfUd, 
 his kard ihiikf but not long, and Us face voas of a grave 
 and jODtal aspect; this figure stood on a round pedestal, 
 feigned of white marble, enriched with several carvings ; 
 above this in a compartmnt of gold was written Minos. 
 The figure on tM other sidi was in a Roman habit, holding 
 a tabk'^ in om hand, and a pen in the other, and a white 
 bend or diadem about his head, his robe was crimson and 
 gold, his mantle yellow and silver, his buskins watchet 
 trimmed with silver, his hair and beard long and white, 
 with a venerable aspect, standing likewise on a round pedestal 
 answerable to the other ; and in the compartment over him 
 was written Numa. Above all this, in a proportionate dis- 
 tance, hung two great festoons of fruits in colours, which 
 served for finishing to these sides. The upper part, in 
 manner of a large frieze, was adorned with several com- 
 partments with draperies hanging dowti, and the ends tied 
 up in knots, with trophies proper to feasts and triumphs^ 
 composed of masking vizards and torches. In one of the 
 lesser compartments, was figured a sharp-sighted eye, and , 
 in the other a golden yoke ; in the midst was a more great 
 and rich compartment, on the sides of which sat naked chil- 
 dren in their natural colours, with silver wings, in action 
 of sounding golden trumpets, and in this was figured a 
 caduceus with an olive branch, all which, are hieroglyphics 
 of Peace, Justice, and Law. 
 
 A curtain being suddenly drawn up, the Scene was dis- 
 covered, representing a large street with sumptuous palaces, 
 lodges, porticos, and other noble pieces of architecture, with 
 pleasant trees and grounds ; this going far from the eye, 
 opens itself into a spacious place, adorned with public and 
 private buildings seen afar off, representing the forum or 
 piazza of Peace. Over all was a clear sky with transparent 
 clouds, which enlightened all the scene. 
 
 The spectators having entertained their eyes awhile with 
 the beauty and variety of this scene, from one of the sides 
 of the streets 
 
 1 Writing tablet. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. • 447 
 
 Enter Opinion ; Confidence meets him; they salute. 
 
 Con. Most grave Opinion ! 
 
 Opin. Confidence, most welcome ! 
 Is Fancy come to court ? 
 
 Con. Breaking his way 
 Thorough the guard. 
 
 Opin. So violent? 
 
 Con. With jests 
 Which they are less able to resist • 
 He'll crack a halbert with his wit. 
 
 Opin. A most 
 Strong Fancy ! yet we have known a little engine 
 Break an ingenious head-piece. But your master^- 
 
 Con. Companion, sir; Fancy will keep no servants, 
 And Confidence scorns to wait. 
 
 Opin. Cry mercy, sir ; 
 But is this gentleman, this Signor Fancy, 
 So rare a thing, so subtle, as men speak him? 
 
 Con. He's a great prince of th' air, believe it, sir, 
 And yet a bird of night. 
 
 Opin. A bird ! 
 
 Con. Between 
 An owl and bat, a quaint hermaphrodite. 
 Begot of Mercury and Venus, Wit and Love ; 
 He's worth your entertainment, 
 
 Opiin. I am most 
 Ambitious to see him ; he is not 
 So. nimble as I wish him. Where's my wife, 
 My Lady Novelty? 
 
 Enter Novelty. 
 
 Nov. Your wife! you might 
 Have framed a newer word ; they can but call 
 Us so i' the country. 
 
 Opin. No exception. 
 t)ear Madam Novelty ; I must prepare you, 
 
448 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 
 
 To entertain a gentleman. Where's Admiration, 
 Our daughter ? 
 
 Enter Admiration. 
 
 Adm. Here, sir. What gay man is this ? 
 
 Opin. Please yon honour us; and bring in your friend, 
 
 Con. I'll do't ; but he prevents me. [sir. 
 
 Enter Fancy, Jollity, and Laughter. 
 
 Opin. Sir, I am ignorant 
 By what titles to salute you, but you're welcome 
 To court. 
 
 Fan. Save yourself, sir, your name's Opinion. 
 
 Opin. And your's Fancy. 
 
 Fan. Right. 
 
 Jol. Mine Jolhty. 
 
 Laugh. Mine Laughter ; ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Nov. Here's a strange shape ! 
 
 Adm. I never saw the like. 
 
 Fan. I come to do you honour with my friends here. 
 And help the masque. 
 
 Opin. You'll do a special favour. 
 
 Fan. How many antimasques ' have they ? of what 
 nature ? 
 For these are fancies that take most ; your dull 
 And phlegmatic inventions are exploded. 
 Give me a nimble antimasque. 
 
 Opin. They have none, sir. 
 
 Laugh. No antimasque ! I'd laugh at that, i'faith. 
 
 Jol. What make we here ? No jollity ! 
 
 Fan. No antimasque ! 
 Bid 'em down with the scene, and sell the timber. 
 Send Jupiter to grass, and bid Apollo 
 Keep cows again ; take all their gods and goddesses. 
 For these must farce up this night's entertainment, 
 
 ' The antimasque was a direct contrast to the principal masque, 
 and admitted of the wildest extravagances. It was mostly per- 
 formed by professional actors. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 449 
 
 And pray the court may have some mercy on 'em, 
 They will be jeered to death else for their ignorance. 
 The soul of wit moves here ; yet there be some, 
 If my intelligence fail not, mean to show 
 Themselves jeer majors ; some tall ' critics have 
 Planted artillery and wit murderers. 
 No antimasque ! let 'em look to't. 
 
 0;pin. I have heard, sir ; 
 Confidence made 'em trust, you'd furnish 'em : 
 I fear they should have made their address earlier 
 To your invention, but your brain's nimble. 
 Pray, for the expectation that's upon 'em, 
 Lend them some witty fancies, set some engines 
 In motion, that may conduce to the design. 
 I am their friend against the crowd that envy 'em. 
 And since they come with pure devotions 
 To sacrifice their duties to the king 
 And queen, I wish 'em prosper. 
 
 Fan. You have charmed me : 
 I'll be their friend to-night ; I have a fancy 
 Already. 
 
 Laugh. Let it be ridiculous. 
 
 Con. And confident. 
 
 Jol. And jolly. 
 
 Pan. The first antimasque 
 We will present ourselves in our own persons ; 
 What think you on't ? Most grave Opinion, 
 You shall do well to lead the dance, and give it 
 Authority with your face ; your lady may 
 Admire what she finds new. 
 
 Nov. I shall applaud 
 The novelties. 
 
 Adm. And I admire. 
 
 Fan. They tumble ; 
 My skull's too narrow. 
 
 Laugh. Now his fancies caper. 
 
 1 Great. 
 Shir. G G 
 
450 THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 
 
 Fan. Confidence, wait you upon Opinion ; 
 Here Admiration, there Novelty ; 
 This is the place for Jollity and Laughter ; 
 Fancy will darice himself too. 
 
 The first Antimasque, the dance expressing the natures of 
 the presenters. 
 
 Fan. How like you this device ? 
 
 Opin. 'Tis handsome, but — 
 
 Laugh. Opinion will like nothing. 
 
 Nov. It seems new. 
 
 Con. 'Twas bold. 
 
 Jol. 'Twas jocund. 
 
 Laugh. Did not I do the fool well ? 
 
 Ad. Most admirably. 
 
 Laugh. Nay, and the ladies do but take 
 My part, and laugh at me, I am made, ha, ha ! 
 
 Opin. I could wish something, sir, of other nature, 
 To satisfy the present expectation. 
 
 Fan. I imagine ; nay, I'm not ignorant of proprieties 
 And persons ; 'tis a time of peace, I'll fit you. 
 And instantly make you a representation 
 Of the effects. 
 
 Opin. Of peace ? I Hke that well. 
 
 Fan. And since in nothing they are more expressed 
 Than in good fellowship, I'll present you with 
 A tavern. 
 
 Thz Scene is changed into a Tavern, with a flaming red 
 lattice, several drinking-rooms, and a back door, but espe- 
 cially, a conceited sign, and an eminent bush. 
 
 Nov. A spick and span new tavern ! 
 
 Ad. Wonderful ! here was none within two minutes. 
 
 Laugh. No such wonder, lady: taverns are quickly up ; 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 451 
 
 it is but hanging out a bush at a nobleman's door, or an 
 alderman's gate, and 'tis made instantly. 
 
 Con. Will't please you, ladies, to accept the wine ? 
 Jol. Well said, Confidence. 
 Nov. It will be new for ladies 
 To go to th' tavern ; but it may be a fashion. 
 Follow me, Admiration. 
 Laugh. And the fool ; 
 I may supply the absence of your fiddlers. 
 
 Jol. If we can, let's leave Opinion behind us ; 
 Fancy will make him drunk. 
 
 \Exeunt to the tavern, Confidence, Jollity, 
 Laughter, Novelty, ««^ Admiration. 
 
 Another Antimasque of the Master of the tavern, his Wife, 
 and Servants. After these a Maquerelle,' two 
 Wenches, two wanton Gamesters. These having 
 danced and expressed their natures, go into the tavern. 
 Then enter a Gentleman, and four Beggars. The 
 Gentleman first danceth alone ; to him the Beggars ; 
 he bestows his charity ; the Cripples, upon his going 
 off, throw away their legs, and dance. 
 
 Opin. I am glad they are off : 
 Are these effects of peace ? 
 Corruption rather. 
 
 Fan. Oh, the beggars show 
 The benefit of peace. 
 
 Opin. Their very breath 
 Hath stifled all the candles, poisoned the 
 Perfumes : beggars a fit presentment ! how 
 They cleave still to my nostril ! I must tell you, 
 I do not like such base and sordid persons, 
 And they become not here. 
 
 Fan. I apprehend. 
 If these distaste you, I can fit you with 
 
 I Old French, meaning a bawd. 
 
452 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. ] 
 
 Persons more cleanly ; 
 
 What think you of projectors ? 
 
 Opin. How, projectors? 
 
 J^an. Here's one already. 
 
 £nter a Jockey. 
 This is a jockey : 
 
 He is to advance a rare and cunning bridle. 
 Made hollow in the iron part, wherein 
 A vapour subtly conveyed, shall so 
 Cool and refresh a horse, he shall ne'er tire ; 
 And now he falls to his pace. {The Jockey dances. 
 
 Enter a Country- Fellow. 
 Opin. This other ? 
 Fan. His habit speaks him ; 
 A country fellow, that hath sold his acres 
 To purchase him a flail, which, by the motion 
 Of a quaint wheel, shall, without help of hands, 
 Thresh com all day ; and now he lays about him. 
 
 \The Country-fellow dances. 
 
 Enter a third Projector. 
 
 This with a face philosophical and beard, 
 Hath with the study of twenty years found out 
 A lamp, which placed beneath a furnace, shall 
 Boil beef so thoroughly, that the very steam 
 Of the first vessel shall alone be able 
 To make another pot above seethe over. 
 
 Opin. A most scholastic project ! his feet follow 
 
 \The third Projector dances. 
 The motions of his brain. 
 
 Enter a fourth Projector. 
 But what thing's this ? 
 A chimera out of Rabelais ? 
 
 Fan. A new project, 
 A case to walk you all day under water ; 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 453 
 
 So vast for the necessity of air, 
 
 Which, with an artificial bellows cooled. 
 
 Under each arm is kept still from corruption ; 
 
 With those glass eyes he sees, and can fetch up 
 
 Gold or whatever jewels have been lost, 
 
 In any river o' the world. 
 
 \The fourth Projector dances. 
 Opin. Strange water-rat ! 
 
 Enter a fifth Projector. 
 
 Fan. This grave man, some years past, was a physician, 
 A Galenist, and parcel Paracelsus ; ^ 
 Thrived by diseases, but quite lost his practice, 
 To study a new way to fatten poultry 
 With scrapings of a carrot, a great benefit 
 To th' commonwealth. \The fifth Projector fl'aww. 
 
 Opin. He will deserve a monument. 
 
 Enter a sixth Projector. 
 
 Fan. This is a kind of sea-gull too, that will 
 Compose a ship to sail against the winds ; 
 He'll undertake to build a most strong castle 
 On Goodwin sands, to melt huge rocks to jelly. 
 And cut 'em out like sweetmeats with his keel ; 
 And thus he sails. \The sixth Projector dances. 
 
 All the Projectors dance after their Antimasque. The 
 Maquerelle, Wenches, Gentlemen, return, as from the 
 tavern; they dance togetJier ; the Gallants are cheated ; 
 and left to dance in, with a drunken repentance. 
 
 Opin. I know not, sir, how this may satisfy ; 
 But might we be beholding to your fancy 
 For some more quaint variety, some other 
 Than human shapes, would happily delight 
 And reach the expectation ; I have seen 
 
 1 i.e. Partly a follower of Paracelsus. 
 
454 THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 
 
 Dainty devices in this kind, baboons 
 
 In quellios,* and so forth. 
 Fan. I can furnish you. ■ 
 Opin. Fancy will much oblige us. 
 Fan. If these objects 
 
 Please not, Fancy can present a change. 
 
 What see you now ? 
 
 The Scene becomes a woody Landscape, with low grounds 
 proper for hunting, the furthest part more desert, with 
 bushes and bye-ways representing a place fit for purse- 
 taking. 
 
 In the furthest part of the scene is seen an ivy-bush, out of 
 which comes an Owl. 
 
 Opin. A wood, a broad-faced owl. 
 An ivy-bush, and other birds about her ! 
 
 Fan. These can imagination create. 
 Silence, observe. 
 
 An Owl", a Crow, a Kite, a Jay, a Magpie. The birds 
 dance and wonder at the Owl. When these are gone, 
 enter a Merchant, «' Horseback with his portmanteau ; 
 two Thieves, set upon him and rob him : these by a Con- 
 stable and Officers are apprehended and carried off. 
 Then four N)rmphs enter dancing, with their javelins ; 
 three Satyrs spy them and attempt their persons ; one of 
 the Nymphs escapeth ; a noise of hunters and their horns 
 within, as at the fall of a deer ; then enter, four Hunts- 
 men and one Nymph ; these drive away the Satyrs, and 
 having rescued the Nymphs, dance with them. 
 
 Opin. This all you will present ? 
 Fan. You speak as if 
 Fancy could be exhaust ; invention flows 
 
 ' RufFs : Span, cuello. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 455 
 
 From an immortal spring ; you shall taste other 
 Variety, nimble as thought. We change the scene. 
 
 The Scene, a Landscape ; enter three Dotterels, and three 
 Dotterel-catchers. 
 
 Opin. What are these ? 
 
 Fan. Dotterels; be patient, and expect. 
 
 After the Dotterels are caught by several imitations,^ enter 
 a Windmill, a fantastic Knight and his Squire armed. 
 The fantastic adventurer with his lance makes many 
 attempts upon the Windmill, which his Squire imitates : to 
 them enter a Country-gentleman and his Servant. These 
 are assaulted by the Knight and his Squire, hut are sent 
 off lame for their folly. Then enter four Bowlers, who 
 show much variety of sport in their game and postures, 
 and conclude the Antimasque. 
 
 Enter Confidence, Jollity, Laughter, Novelty, 
 Admiration. 
 
 Opin. Madam, accuse your absence — 
 'Nov. Come, we know 
 All your devices, sir ; but I will have 
 An antimasque of my own, in a new place too. 
 
 Opin. Hah, what's the matter ? 
 Confidence, Jollity, Laughter, Admiration, 
 And Madam Novelty, all drunk ! these are 
 Extremes indeed. 
 
 Adm. Admirable Opinion ! 
 
 Con. Be confident. 
 
 Laugh. And fooHsh. 
 
 1 These foolish birds were said to let themselves be taken in the 
 net of the fowler, while they were mimicking his gestures ; if he 
 stretched out a leg, so did the dotterel, &c. — Dyce. 
 
4S6 THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 
 
 Jot. I am as light now ! — 
 Fan. Let 'em enjoy their fancies. 
 Opin. What new change 
 Is this ? these strains are heavenly. 
 
 [Fancy and the rest go off fear futty. 
 
 Tfie Antimasquers being gone, there appears in thetiigtiest 
 and foremost part of i/ie heaven, by tittte and tittte to break 
 forth, a whitish ctoud, bearing a chariot feigned of gotd- 
 smiih's worti; and in it sat Irene, or Peace, in a flowery 
 vesture tike the spring, a gartand of olives on her head, a 
 branch of palm in tier hand, buskins of green taffeta, great 
 puffs about her neck and shoulders. 
 
 Song I. 
 
 Irene. Hence, ye profane, far hence away ! 
 
 Time hath sick feathers while you stay. 
 Is this delight 
 For such a glorious night, 
 Wherein two skies 
 Are to be seen, 
 
 One starry, but an agfed sphere, 
 Another here. 
 
 Created new and brighter from the eyes 
 Of king and queen ? 
 Ctw. Hence, ye profane, far hence away I 
 
 Time hath sick feathers while you stay. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 457 
 
 Song II. 
 Irene. Wherefore do my sisters stay ? 
 Appear, appear Eunomia ! 
 'Tis Irene calls to thee, 
 
 Irene calls : 
 Like dew that falls 
 Into a stream, 
 I'm lost with them 
 That know not how to order me. 
 
 Cho. See where she shines, oh see 
 In her celestial gaiety ! 
 Crowned with a wreath of stars, to show 
 The evening's glory in her brow. 
 
 Here, out of the higJiest part of the opposite side, came softly 
 descending another cloud, of an orient colour, bearing a silver 
 chariot curiously wrought, and differing in all things from 
 the first; in which sate Eunomia or Law, in a purple 
 satin robe, adorned with golden stars, a mantle of carnation 
 laced, and fringed with gold, a coronet of light upon her 
 head, buskins of purple, drawn out with yellow. This 
 chariot attended as the former. 
 
 Song III. 
 Euno. Think not I could absent myself this night : 
 But Peace is gentle and doth still invite 
 Eunomia ; yet shouldst thou silent be, 
 
 The rose and lily which thou strowest 
 All the cheerful way thou goest. 
 Would direct to follow thee. 
 Irene. Thou dost beautify increase. 
 
 And chain security with peace. 
 Euno. Irene fair, and first divine, 
 
 All my blessings spring from thine. 
 Irene. I am but wild without thee, thou abhorrest 
 What is rude, or apt to wound, 
 Canst throw proud trees to the ground, 
 
458 THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 
 
 Euno. No more, no more, but join 
 
 Thy voice and lute with mine. 
 Both. The world shall give prerogative to neither ; 
 
 We cannot flourish but together. 
 Cho. Irene enters like a perfumed spring, 
 
 Eunomia ripens everything. 
 
 And in the golden harvest leaves 
 
 To every sickle liis own sheaves. 
 
 At this, a third cloud of various colour from the other 
 two, begins to descend toward the middle of the scene with 
 sowewhat a more swifter motion; and in it sat a person, 
 representing Diche or Justice, in the midst, in a white 
 robe and mantle of satin,' a fair long hair circled with a 
 coronet of silver pikes, white wings and buskins, a crown 
 imperial in her hand. 
 
 Song IV. 
 
 Diche. Swiftly, oh, swiftly ! I do move too slow. 
 What holds my wing from making haste 
 When every cloud sails by so fast ? 
 I heard my sisters' voice and know 
 They have forsaken Heaven's bright gate. 
 To attend another state. 
 Of gods below. 
 Irene, chaste Eunomia !- 
 
 Irene and Euno. We, 
 Diche, have stayed expecting thee ; 
 Thou giv'st perfection to our glory. 
 And seal to this night's story ; - 
 Astrea, shake the cold dew from thy wing. 
 
 Euno. Descend. - 
 
 Irene. Descend. 
 
 Euno. Descend, and, help us sing 
 The triumph of Jove's upper court abated. 
 And all the deities translated. 
 
 Cho. The triumph of Jove's upper court abated, 
 And all the deities translated. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 459 
 
 Etrno. Now gaze, and when thy wonder will allow, 
 Tell what thou hast beheld. 
 
 Biche. Never, till now. 
 Was poor Astrea blind; oh strange surprise. 
 That too much sight should take away my eyes ! 
 Am I in earth or Heaven ? 
 
 Irene. What throne is that. 
 On which so many stars do wait ? 
 
 Dkh. My eyes are blest again, and now I see 
 The parents of us three : 
 'Tis Jove and Themis ; forward niove, 
 And sing to Themis, and to Jove. 
 
 Then the whole train of Musicians move in a comely 
 figure towards the king and queen, and lowing to their 
 State, this following ode is sung. 
 
 Song V. 
 To you, great king and queen, whose smile 
 Doth scatter blessings through this isle, 
 
 To make it best 
 
 And wonder of the rest, 
 We pay the duty of our birth; 
 Proud to wait upon that earth 
 
 Whereon you move, 
 
 Which shall be named 
 And by your chaste embraces famed, 
 
 The paradise of love. 
 Irene, plant thy olives here ; 
 Thus warmed, at once they'll bloom and bear: 
 
 Eunomia, pay thy light ; 
 While Diche, covetous to stay. 
 Shall throw her silver wings away. 
 
 To dwell within your sight. 
 
46o THE TRIUMPH OP PEA CM. 
 
 The Scene is changed, and the Masquers appear sitting 
 on the ascent of a hill, cut out like the degrees of a theatre; 
 and over them a delicious arbour with terms of young men, 
 their arms converted into scrolls, and under their waists a 
 foliage with other carvings to cover the joining of tJie term 
 from the naked, all feigned of silver ; these bore up an 
 architrave, from which was raised a light covering arched, 
 and interwoven with branches through which the sky beyond 
 was seen. 
 
 The Masquers were sixteen in number, the sons <?/ Peace, 
 Law, and Justice, who sitting in a gracious but not set 
 form, every part of the seats made a various composition, 
 but all together tending to a pyramidal figure. 
 
 Their habits were mixed, between the ancient ^ and modern ; 
 their bodies carnation, the shoulders trimmed with knots of 
 pure silver, and scallops of white and carnation, under them 
 the labels of the same, tJte under sleeves white, and a puffed 
 sleeve full of gathering, falling down to the elbow ; about 
 their waist was a small scallop, and a slender girdle ; their 
 under bases were carnation and white, with labels as at their 
 shoulders, and all this m every part was richly embroidered 
 with pure silver ; their hats carnation low crowned, the brim 
 double, and cut into several quarters lined with white, and 
 all over richly embroidered, as the rest ; about their hats 
 were wreaths of olive, and plumes of white feathers with 
 several f alb, the longest toward the back ; their long stock- 
 ings were white, with white shoes and roses. 
 
 Beneath these a Genius or angelical person, with wings 
 of several coloured feathers, a carnation robe tucked up, 
 yellow, long hair, bound with a silver coronet, a small white 
 rod in his hand, white buskins; who descended to the stage 
 speaketh. 
 
 Gen. No foreign persons I make known, 
 But here present you with your own, 
 The children of your reign, not blood ; 
 Of age, when they are understood. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 461 
 
 Not. seen by faction or owl's sight, 
 Whose trouble is the clearest light. 
 But treasures to their eye, and ear. 
 That love good for itself, not fear. 
 Oh, smile on what yourselves have made ! 
 These have no form, no sun, no shade, 
 But what your virtue doth create ; 
 Exalted by your glorious fate, 
 They'll tower to heaven, next which, they know, 
 . And wish no blessedness but you. 
 That very look into each eye \T}w Masquers move. 
 
 Hath shot a soul, I saw it fly. 
 Descend, move nimbly, and advance, 
 Your joyful tribute in a dance. 
 
 Here, with loud music, the Masquers descend and dance 
 their entry to the violins ; which ended, they retire to the 
 scene, and then the Hours and Chori again move toward 
 the State and sing. 
 
 Song VI. 
 
 They that were never happy Hours 
 
 Till now, return to thank the powers 
 That made them so. 
 The Island doth rejoice. 
 
 And all her waves are echo to our voice, 
 
 Which, in no ages past, hath known 
 Such treasures of her own. 
 
 Live, royal pair, and when your sands are spent 
 With Heaven's and your consent. 
 Though late, from your high bowers. 
 Look down on what was yours j 
 
 For, till old Time his glass hath hurled, 
 
 And lost it in the ashes of the world, 
 
 We prophesy, you shall be read and seen, 
 
 In every branch, a king or queen. 
 
462 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 
 
 The song ended, and the Musicians returned, the Mas- 
 quers dance their main dance ; after which they again retire 
 to the scene ; at which they no sooner arrive, but there is 
 heard a great noise, and confusion of voices within, some 
 crying, "We will come in," others "Knock 'em down, 
 call the rest of the guard ; " then a crack is heard in the 
 ■works, as if there were some danger by some piece of the 
 machines falling ; this continued a little time, there rush in 
 a Carpenter, a Painter, one of the Black guard,' a Tailor, 
 the Tailor's Wife, an Embroiderer's Wife, a Feather 
 maker's Wife, and a Property man's Wife. 
 
 Carp. D'ye think to keep us out ? 
 
 1st Guard. Knock her down. 
 
 Tdi. Knock down my wife ! I'd see the tallest beef- 
 eater on you all but hold up his halberd in the way of 
 knocking my wife down, and I'll bring him a button hole 
 lower. 
 
 Tai. Wife. Nay, let 'em, let 'em, husband, at their peril. 
 
 2nd Guard. Complain to my lord chamberlain. 
 
 Property m. Wife. My husband is somewhere in the 
 works; I'm sure I helped to make him an owl and a 
 hobby horse, and I see no reason but his wife may be 
 admitted in forma paperis,^ to see as good a masque as 
 this. 
 
 £1. guard. I never saw one afore : I am one of the 
 guard, though of another complexion, and I will see't, 
 now I am here, though I be turned out of the kitchen 
 to-morrow for't. 
 
 Paint. Ay, come, be resolute ; we know the worst, and 
 let us challenge a privilege; those stairs were of my 
 painting. 
 
 Carp. And that timber I set up ; somebody is my 
 witness. 
 
 Feath. Wife. I am sure my husband sold *em most of 
 the feathers ; somebody promised me a fall too, if I came 
 to court, but let that pass. 
 
 • The meanest drudges in royal residences, who carried coals, &c. 
 ''■ i.e. Pauperis. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 463 
 
 Emb. Wife. And mine embroidered two of the best 
 habits ; what though we be no ladies, we are Christians 
 in these clothes, and the king's subjects, God bless us. 
 
 Tai. Nay, now I am in, I will see a- dance, though my 
 shop windows be shut up for't. Tell us ? — hum ? d'ye 
 hear? do not they laiigh at us ? what were we best to 
 do ? The masquiers will do no feats as long as we are 
 here: be ruled by me, hark every one; 'tis our best 
 course to dance a figary ourselves, and then they'll think 
 it a piece of the plot, and we may go off again with the 
 more credit ; we may else kiss the porter's lodge ' for't ; 
 let's put a trick upon 'em in revenge, 'twill seem a new 
 device too. 
 
 All. Content. 
 
 Tai. And the musicians knew but our mind now ? 
 
 [ The violins play. 
 Hark, they are at it ; now for a lively frisk. \They- dance. 
 Now, let us go off cleanly, and somebody will think this 
 was meant for an antimasque. 
 
 They being gone, the Masquers are encouraged by a song, 
 to their revels with the ladies. 
 
 Song VII. 
 Why do you dwell so long in clouds, 
 
 And smother your best graces? 
 'Tis time to cast away those shrouds, 
 
 And clear your manly faces. 
 
 Do not behave yourselves like spies 
 
 Upon the ladies here ; 
 On even term s go meet their eyes. 
 
 Beauty and love shine there. 
 
 You tread dul measures thus alone, 
 
 Not satisfy delight ; • 
 Go kiss their hands, -and make your oWn 
 
 With every touch more white. 
 
 ' Where servants were punished. 
 
464 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 
 
 The Revels being passed, the Scene is changed into a 
 plain champaign country, which terminates with the horizon, 
 and above a darkish sky, with dusky clouds, through which 
 appeared the new moon, but with a faint light by the 
 approach of the morning ; from the furthest part of this 
 ground, arose by little and little a great vapour, which being 
 come about' the middle of the scene, it slackens its motion, and 
 begins to fall downward to the earth from whence it came; 
 and out of this rose another cloud of a strange . shape and 
 colour, on which sate a young maid, with a dim torch in her 
 hand; her face was an olive colour, so was her arms and 
 breast, on her head a curious dressing, and about her neck a 
 string of great pearl ; her garment was transparent, the 
 ground dark blue, and sprinkled with silver spangles, her 
 buskins white, trimmed with gold ; by these marks she was 
 known to be the forerunner of the morning, called by the 
 ancients Amphiluche, and is that glimpse of light, which 
 is seen when the night is past, and the day not yet appearing-. 
 
 Song VIII. 
 Amph. In envy to the Night, 
 That keeps such revels here, 
 With my unwelcome light. 
 Thus I invade her sphere ; 
 
 Proclaiming wars 
 To Cynthia, and all her stars. 
 That, like proud spangles, dress 
 
 Her azure tress. 
 Because I cannot be a guest, I rise 
 To shame the Moon, and put out all her eyes. 
 
 Amphiluche ascending, the Masquers are: called from^ 
 their revels by other voices. 
 
 Song IX. 
 
 \st Voice. Come away, away, away, 
 See the dawning of the day. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 465 
 
 Risen from the murmuring streams : 
 
 Some stars show with sickly beams, 
 
 What stock of flame they are allowed, 
 
 Each retiring to a cloud ; 
 
 Bid your active sports adieu. 
 
 The morning else will blush for you. 
 
 2nd Voice. Ye feather-footed Hours run 
 To dress the chariot of the Sun ; 
 Harness the steeds, it quickly will 
 Be time to mount the eastern hill. 
 
 yd Voice. The lights grow pale with modest fears, 
 Lest you offend their sacred ears, 
 And eyes, that lent you all this grace ; 
 Retire, retire, to your own place. 
 
 ^th Voice. And as you move from that blest pair, 
 ■Let each heart kneel, and think a prayer,, 
 That all, that can make up the glory 
 Of good and great may fill their story. 
 
 Amphiluche hidden in the heavens, and the Masquers 
 retired, the Scene clOseth. 
 
 And thus concluded this Masque, which was, for the variety of 
 the shows, and lichness of the habits, the most magnificent that 
 hath been brought to court in our time. 
 
 The scene and ornament, was the act of Inigo Jones, Esquire, 
 Surveyor of his Majesty's worlcs. 
 
 The composition of the music, was performed by Mr. William 
 Lawes, and Mr. Simon Ives, whose art gave an harmonious soul to 
 the otherwise languishing numbers. 
 
 Sbir. 
 
466 THE TRIUMPH OF PEA CE. 
 
 A Speech to the King and Queen's Majesties, when they 
 were pleased to honour the City with their presence, and gave a 
 gracious command, the former Triumph should attend them. 
 
 Genius. Most great and glorious princes, once more, I 
 Present to your most sacred Majesty 
 The sons of Peace, who tender you, by me. 
 Their joy-exalted heart, and humble knee ; 
 Happy in their ambition to wait, 
 And pay this second duty to your state. 
 Acknowledging no triumph but in you : 
 The honour you have done them is so new, 
 And active in their souls, that it must grow 
 A part of them, and be immortal too. 
 These wonders you create, and every man 
 Receives as much joy as the island can ; 
 Which shows you nearest heaven, that can let fall 
 Unequal, yet a perfect bliss to all. 
 Dwell still within yourselves, for other place 
 Is straight, and cannot circumscribe your grace, 
 Whilst men grow old with prayers for your blest reign, 
 Yet with your smiles shall 'be restored again.