 |
Seb. Will you sweare to kill me, Vncle?
Med. Oh, not for twenty worlds.
Seb. Nay, then, draw and spare not, for I love fighting.
Med. Stand in the midst, sweet Cooz; we are your guard; These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crowne, If hit all right. Sweare therefore, noble friends By your high bloods, by true Nobility, By what you owe Religion, owe to your Country, Owe to the raising your posterity; By love you beare to vertue and to Armes (The shield of Innocence) sweare not to sheath Your Swords, when once drawne forth—
Onae. Oh, not to kill him For twenty thousand worlds!
Med. Will you be quiet?— Your Swords, when once drawne forth, till they ha forc'd Yon godlesse, perjurous, perfidious man—
Onae. Pray raile not at him so.
Med. Art mad? y'are idle:—till they ha forc'd him To cancell his late lawlesse bond he seal'd At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet, And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife.
Onae. I, I, that's well; pray sweare.
Omnes. To this we sweare.
Seb. Vncle, I sweare too.
Med. Our forces let's unite; be bold and secret, And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleepe: Streames smooth and slowly running are most deep. [Exeunt.
(SCENE 3.)
Enter King; Queen, Malateste, Valesco, Lopez.
King. The Presence doore be guarded; let none enter On forfeit of your lives without our knowledge. Oh, you are false physitians all unto me, You bring me poyson but no antidotes.
Queen. Your selfe that poyson brewes.
King. Prethe, no more.
Queen. I will, I must speake more.
King. Thunder aloud.
Queen. My child, yet newly quickened in my wombe, Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy.
King. Who? who dares once but thinke so in his dreame?
Mal. Medina's faction preached it openly.
King. Be curst he and his Faction: oh, how I labour For these preventions! but, so crosse is Fate, My ills are ne're hid from me but their Cures. What's to be done?
Queen. That which being left undone, Your life lyes at the stake: let 'em be breathlesse, Both brat and mother.
King. Ha!
Mal. She playes true Musicke, Sir: The mischiefes you are drench'd in are so full You need not feare to add to 'em; since now No way is left to guard thy rest secure But by a meanes like this.
Lop. All Spaine rings forth Medina's name and his Confederates.
Rod. All his Allyes and friends rush into troopes Like raging Torrents.
Val. And lowd Trumpet forth Your perjuries; seducing the wild people And with rebellious faces threatning all.
King. I shall be massacred in this their spleene E're I have time to guard my selfe; I feele The fire already falling: where's our guard?
Mal. Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge That none shall enter but by your command.
King. Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts, A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares; There is a storme in my hot boyling braines Which rises without wind; a horrid one. What clamor's that?
Queen. Some treason: guard the King!
Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals.
Bal. Not in?
Mal. One of your guard's slaine: keepe off the murderer!
Bal. I am none, Sir.
Val. There's a man drop'd down by thee.
King. Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us! Is murder all the story we shall read? What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed! What hast thou done?
Bal. No hurt.
King. Plaid even the Wolfe And from a fold committed to my charge Stolne and devour'd one of the flocke.
Bal. Y'ave sheepe enow for all that, Sir; I have kill'd none tho; or, if I have, mine owne blood shed in your quarrels may begge my pardon; my businesse was in haste to you.
King. I woo'd not have thy sinne scoar'd on my head For all the Indian Treasury. I prethee tell me, Suppose thou hast our pardon, O, can that cure Thy wounded conscience? can there my pardon helpe thee? Yet, having deserv'd well both of Spaine and us, We will not pay thy worth with losse of life, But banish thee for ever.
Bal. For a Groomes death?
King. No more; we banish thee our Court and kingdome: A King that fosters men so dipt in blood May be call'd mercifull but never good: Begone upon thy life.
Bal. Well: farewell. [Exit.
Val. The fellow is not dead but wounded, Sir.
Queen. After him, Malateste; in our lodging Stay that rough fellow; hee's the man shall doo't: Haste, or my hopes are lost. [Exit Mal. Why are you sad, Sir?
King. For thee, Paullina, swell my troubled thoughts, Like billowes beaten by too (two?) warring winds.
Queen. Be you but rul'd by me, I'le make a calme Smooth as the brest of heaven.
King. Instruct me how.
Queen. You (as your fortunes tye you) are inclin'd To have the blow given.
King. Where's the Instrument?
Queen. 'Tis found in Baltazar.
King. Hee's banished.
Queen. True, But staid by me for this.
King. His spirit is hot And rugged, but so honest that his soule Will ne're turn devill to do it.
Queen. Put it to tryall: Retire a little: hither I'le send for him, Offer repeale and favours if he doe it; But if deny, you have no finger in't, And then his doome of banishment stands good.
King. Be happy in thy workings; I obey. [Exit.
Queen. Stay, Lopez.
Lop. Madam.
Queen. Step to our Lodging, Lopez, And instantly bid Malateste bring The banish'd Baltazar to us.
Lop. I shall. [Exit.
Queen. Thrive my blacke plots; the mischiefes I have set Must not so dye; Ills must new Ills beget.
Enter Malateste and Baltazar.
Bal. Now! what hot poyson'd Custard must I put my Spoone into now?
Queen. None, for mine honour now is thy protection.
Mal. Which, Noble Souldier, she will pawn for thee But never forfeit.
Bal. 'Tis a faire gage; keepe it.
Queen. Oh, Baltazar, I am thy friend, and mark'd thee When the King sentenc'd thee to banishment: Fire sparkled from thine eyes of rage and griefe; Rage to be doom'd so for a Groome so base, And griefe to lose thy country. Thou hast kill'd none: The Milke-sop is but wounded, thou art not banish'd.
Bal. If I were I lose nothing; I can make any Countrey mine. I have a private Coat for Italian Steeletto's, I can be treacherous with the Wallowne, drunke with the Dutch, a Chimney-sweeper with the Irish, a Gentleman with the Welsh[202] and turne arrant theefe with the English: what then is my Country to me?
Queen. The King, who (rap'd with fury) banish'd thee, Shall give thee favours, yeeld but to destroy What him distempers.
Bal. So; and what's the dish I must dresse?
Queen. Onely the cutting off a paire of lives.
Bal. I love no Red-wine healths.
Mal. The King commands it; you are but Executioner.
Bal. The Hang-man? An office that will hold as long as hempe lasts: why doe not you begge the office, Sir?
Queen. Thy victories in field shall never crowne thee As this one Act shall.
Bal. Prove but that, 'tis done.
Queen. Follow him close; hee's yeelding.
Mal. Thou shalt be call'd thy Countries Patriot For quenching out a fire now newly kindling In factious bosomes; and shalt thereby save More Noble Spanyards lives than thou slew'st Moores.
Queen. Art thou not yet converted?
Bal. No point.
Queen. Read me then: Medina's Neece, by a contract from the King, Layes clayme to all that's mine, my Crowne, my bed; A sonne she has by him must fill the Throne If her great faction can but worke that wonder. Now heare me—
Bal. I doe with gaping eares.
Queen. I swell with hopefull issue to the King.
Bal. A brave Don call you mother.
Mal. Of this danger The feare afflicts the King.
Bal. Cannot much blame him.
Queen. If therefore by the riddance of this Dame—
Bal. Riddance? oh! the meaning on't is murder.
Mal. Stab her or so, that's all.
Queen. That Spaine be free from frights, the King from feares, And I, now held his Infamy, be called Queene; The Treasure of the kingdome shall lye open To pay thy Noble darings.
Bal. Come, Ile doo't, provided I heare Jove call to me tho he rores; I must have the King's hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it upon my Conscience.
Queen. Be firme, then; behold the King is come.
Enter King.
Bal. Acquaint him.
Queen. I found the metal hard, but with oft beating Hees now so softened he shall take impression From any seale you give him.
King. Baltazar, Come hither, listen; whatsoe're our Queene Has importun'd thee to, touching Onaelia (Neece to the Constable) and her young sonne, My voyce shall second it and signe her promise.
Bal. Their riddance?
King. That.
Bal. What way? by poyson?
King. So.
Bal. Starving, or strangling, stabbing, smothering?
Queen. Good.
King. Any way, so 'tis done.
Bal. But I will have, Sir, This under your owne hand; that you desire it, You plot it, set me on too't.
King. Penne, Inke and paper.
Bal. And then as large a pardon as law and wit Can engrosse for me.
King. Thou shalt ha my pardon.
Bal. A word more, Sir; pray will you tell me one thing?
King. Yes, any thing, deare Baltazar.
Bal. Suppose I have your strongest pardon, can that cure my wounded Conscience? can there your pardon help me? You not onely knocke the Ewe a'th head, but cut the Innocent Lambes throat too: yet you are no Butcher!
Queen. Is this thy promis'd yeelding to an Act So wholesome for thy Country?
King. Chide him not.
Bal. I woo'd not have this sinne scor'd on my head For all the Indaean Treasury.
King. That song no more: Doe this and I will make thee a great man.
Bal. Is there no farther trick in't, but my blow, your purse, and my pardon?
Mal. No nets upon my life to entrap thee.
Bal. Then trust me, these knuckles worke it.
King. Farewell, be confident and sudden.
Bal. Yes; Subjects may stumble when Kings walk astray: Thine Acts shall be a new Apocrypha.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
SCAENA PRIMA.
Enter Medina, Alba and Daenia, met by Baltazar with a Ponyard and a Pistoll.
Bal. You meet a Hydra; see, if one head failes; Another with a sulphurous beake stands yawning.
Med. What hath rais'd up this Devill?
Bal. A great mans vices, that can raise all hell. What woo'd you call that man, who under-saile In a most goodly ship wherein he ventures His life, fortunes and honours, yet in a fury Should hew the Mast downe, cast Sayles over-boord, Fire all the Tacklings, and to crowne this madnesse Shoo'd blow up all the Deckes, burne th'oaken ribbes And in that Combat 'twixt two Elements Leape desperately and drowne himselfe i'th Seas,— What were so brave a fellow?
Omnes. A brave blacke villaine.
Bal. That's I; all that brave blacke villaine dwels in me, If I be that blacke villaine; but I am not: A Nobler Character prints out my brow, Which you may thus read: I was banish'd Spaine For emptying a Court-Hogshead, but repeal'd So I woo'd (e're my reeking Iron was cold) Promise to give it a deepe crimson dye In—none heare?—stay—no, none heare.
Med. Whom then?
Bal. Basely to stab a woman, your wrong'd Neece, And her most innocent sonne Sebastian.
Alb. The Boare now foames with whetting.
Daen. What has blunted Thy weapons point at these?
Bal. My honesty, A signe at which few dwell, pure honesty. I am a vassaile to Medina's house; He taught me first the A, B, C of warre[203] E're I was Truncheon-high I had the stile Of beardlesse Captaine, writing then but boy: And shall I now turne slave to him that fed me With Cannon-bullets, and taught me, Estridge[204]-like, To digest Iron and Steele? no: yet I yeelded With willow-bendings to commanding breaths.
Med. Of whom?
Bal. Of King and Queene: with supple Hams And an ill-boading looke I vow'd to doo't; Yet, lest some choake-peare[205] of State-policy Shoo'd stop my throat and spoyle my drinking-pipe, See (like his cloake) I hung at the Kings elbow Till I had got his hand to signe my life.
Daen. Shall we see this and sleepe?
Alb. No, whilst these wake.
Med. 'Tis the Kings hand.
Bal. Thinke you me a quoyner?
Med. No, no, thou art thy selfe still, Noble Baltazar; I ever knew thee honest, and the marke Stands still upon thy forehead.
Bal. Else flea the skin off.
Med. I ever knew thee valiant and to scorne All acts of basenesse: I have seene this man Write in the field such stories with his sword That our best chiefetaines swore there was in him As 'twere a new Philosophy of fighting, His deeds were so Puntillious. In one battell, When death so nearely mist my ribs, he strucke Three horses stone-dead under me: this man Three times that day (even through the jawes of danger) Redeem'd me up, and (I shall print it ever) Stood o're my body with Colossus thighes Whilst all the Thunder-bolts which warre could throw Fell on his head; and, Baltazar, thou canst not Be now but honest still and valiant still Not to kill boyes and women.
Bal. My byter here eats no such meat.
Med. Goe, fetch the mark'd-out Lambe for slaughter hither; Good fellow souldier, ayd him—and stay—marke, Give this false fire to the beleeving King, That the child's sent to heaven but that the mother Stands rock'd so strong with friends ten thousand billowes Cannot once shake her.
Bal. This I'le doe.
Med. Away; Yet one word more; your Counsel, Noble friends; Harke, Baltazar, because nor eyes nor tongues Shall by loud Larums that the poore boy lives Question thy false report, the child shall closely, Mantled in darknesse, forthwith be conveyed To the Monastery of Saint Paul.
Omnes. Good.
Med. Dispatch then; be quicke.
Bal. As Lightning. [Exit.
Alb. This fellow is some Angell drop'd from heaven To preserve Innocence.
Med. He is a wheele Of swift and turbulent motion; I have trusted him, Yet will not hang on him to many plummets Lest with a headlong Cyre (Gyre?) he ruines all. In these State-consternations, when a kingdome Stands tottering at the Center, out of suspition Safety growes often. Let us suspect this fellow; And that, albeit he shew us the Kings hand, It may be but a tricke.
Daen. Your Lordship hits A poyson'd nayle i'th head: this waxen fellow (By the Kings hand so bribing him with gold) Is set on skrews, perhaps is made his Creature To turne round every way.
Med. Out of that feare Will I beget truth; for my selfe in person Will sound the Kings brest.
Carl. How! your selfe in person.
Alb. That's half the prize he gapes for.
Med. I'le venture it, And come off well, I warrant you, and rip up His very entrailes, cut in two his heart And search each corner in't; yet shall not he Know who it is cuts up th'Anatomy.
Daen. 'Tis an exploit worth wonder.
Carl. Put the worst; Say some Infernall voyce shoo'd rore from hell The Infant's cloystering up.
Alb. 'Tis not our danger Nor the imprison'd Prince's, for what Theefe Dares by base sacrilege rob the Church of him?
Carl. At worst none can be lost but this slight fellow.
Med. All build on this as on a stable Cube: If we our footing keepe we fetch him forth And Crowne him King; if up we fly i'th ayre We for his soules health a broad way prepare.
Daen. They come.
Enter Baltazar and Sebastian.
Med. Thou knowest where To bestow him, Baltazar.
Bal. Come Noble[206] Boy.
Alb. Hide him from being discovered.
Bal. Discover'd? woo'd there stood a troope of Moores Thrusting the pawes of hungry Lions forth To seize this prey, and this but in my hand; I should doe something.
Seb. Must I goe with this blacke fellow, Vncle?
Med. Yes, pretty Coz; hence with him, Baltazar.
Bal. Sweet child, within few minutes I'le change thy fate And take thee hence, but set thee at heavens gate. [Exeunt Bal. and Seb.
Med. Some keepe aloof and watch this Souldier.
Carl. I'le doo't.
Daen. What's to be done now?
Med. First to plant strong guard About the mother, then into some snare To hunt this spotted Panther and there kill him.
Daen. What snares have we can hold him?
Med. Be that care mine: Dangers (like Starres) in darke attempts best shine.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 2.)
Enter Cornego, Baltazar.
Cor. The Lady Onaelia dresseth the stead[207] of her commendations in the most Courtly Attire that words can be cloth'd with, from her selfe to you by me.
Bal. So, Sir; and what disease troubles her now?
Cor. The King's Evill; and here she hath sent something to you wrap'd up in a white sheet; you need not feare to open it, 'tis no coarse.
Bal. What's here? a letter minc'd into five morsels? What was she doing when thou camest from her?
Cor. At the pricke-song[208].
Bal. So methinks, for here's nothing but sol-Re-fa-mi. What Crochet fils her head now, canst tell?
Cor. No Crochets, 'tis onely the Cliffe has made her mad.
Bal. What instrument playd she upon?
Cor. A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh.
Bal. Sol, Ra, me, Fa, Mi.
Cor. My wit has alwayes had a singing head; I have found out her Note, Captaine.
Bal. The tune? come.
Cor. Sol, my soule; re, is all rent and torne like a raggamuffin; me, mend it, good Captaine; fa, fa,—whats fa, Captaine?
Bal. Fa? why, farewell and be hang'd.
Cor. Mi, Captaine, with all my heart. Have I tickled my Ladies Fiddle well?
Bal. Oh, but your sticke wants Rozen to make the string sound clearely. No, this double Virginall being cunningly touch'd, another manner of Jacke[209] leaps up then is now in mine eye. Sol, Re, me, fa, mi—I have it now; Solus Rex me facit miseram. Alas, poore Lady! tell her no Pothecary in Spaine has any of that Assa Fetida she writes for.
Cor. Assa Fetida? what's that?
Bal. A thing to be taken in a glister-pipe?
Cor. Why, what ayles my Lady?
Bal. What ayles she? why, when she cryes out Solus Rex me facit miseram, she sayes in the Hypocronicall language that she is so miserably tormented with the wind-Chollicke that it rackes her very soule.
Cor. I said somewhat cut her soule in pieces.
Bal. But goe to her and say the oven is heating.
Cor. And what shall be bak'd in't?
Bal. Carpe pies, and besides tell her the hole in her Coat shall be mended; and tell her if the Dyall of good dayes goe true, why then bounce Buckrum.
Cor. The Divell lyes sicke of the Mulligrubs.
Bal. Or the Cony is dub'd, and three sheepskins—
Cor. With the wrong side outward.
Bal. Shall make the Fox a Night-cap.
Cor. So the Goose talkes French to the Buzzard.
Bal. But, Sir, if evill dayes justle our prognostication to the wall, then say there's a fire in the whore-masters Cod-peece.
Cor. And a poyson'd Bagge-pudding in Tom Thumbes belly.
Bal. The first cut be thine: farewell!
Cor. Is this all?
Bal. Woo't not trust an Almanacke?
Cor. Nor a Coranta[210] neither, tho it were seal'd with Butter; and yet I know where they both lye passing well.
Enter Lopez.
Lop. The King sends round about the Court to seek you.
Bal. Away, Otterhound.
Cor. Dancing Beare, I'me gone. [Exit.
Enter King attended.
King. A private roome.— [Exeunt Omnes. Is't done? hast drawne thy two edg'd sword out yet?
Bal. No, I was striking at the two Iron Barres that hinder your passage; and see, Sir. [Drawes.
King. What meanst thou?
Bal. The edge abated? feele.
King. No, no, I see it.
Bal. As blunt as Ignorance.
King. How? put up—So—how?
Bal. I saw by chance, hanging in Cardinall Alvarez Gallery, a picture of hell.
King. So; what of that?
Bal. There lay upon burnt straw ten thousand brave fellowes, all starke naked, some leaning upon Crownes, some on Miters, some on bags of gold; Glory in another Corner lay like a feather beaten in the raine; Beauty was turn'd into a watching Candle that went out stinking; Ambition went upon a huge high paire of stilts but horribly rotten; some in another nooke were killing Kings, and some having their elbowes shov'd forward by Kings to murther others: I was (methought) halfe in hell my selfe whilst I stood to view this peece.
King. Was this all?
Bal. Was't not enough to see that? a man is more healthfull that eats dirty puddings than he that feeds on a corrupted Conscience.
King. Conscience! what's that? a Conjuring booke ne're open'd Without the readers danger: 'tis indeed A scare-crow set i'th world to fright weake fooles. Hast thou seene fields pav'd o're with carkasses Now to be tender-footed, not to tread On a boyes mangled quarters and a womans?
Bal. Nay, Sir, I have search'd the records of the Low-Countries and finde that by your pardon I need not care a pinne for Goblins; and therefore I will doo't, Sir: I did but recoyle because I was double charg'd.
King. No more; here comes a Satyre with sharpe hornes.
Enter Cardinall, and Medina like a French Doctor.
Car. Sir, here's a Frenchman charg'd with some strange businesse Which to your close eare onely hee'll deliver, Or else to none.
King. A Frenchman?
Med. We, Mounsire.
King. Cannot he speake the Spanish?
Med. Si Signior, vr Poco:—Monsir, Acoutez in de Corner; me come for offer to your Bon gace mi trez humble service. By gar no John fidleco shall put into your neare braver Melody dan dis vn petite pipe shall play upon to your great bon Grace.
King. What is the tune you'll strike up? touch the string.
Med. Dis; me ha run up and downe mane Countrie and learne many fine ting and mush knavery; now more and all dis me know you ha jumbla de fine vench and fill her belly wid a Garsoone: her name is le Madame—
King. Onaelia.
Med. She by gar: Now, Monsire, dis Madam send for me to helpe her Malady, being very naught of her corpes (her body). Me know you no point love a dis vensh; but, royall Monsire, donne Moy ten towsand French Crownes, she shall kicke up her taile, by gar, and beshide lye dead as dog in the shannell.
King. Speake low.
Med. As de bagge-pipe when the winde is puff, Garbeigh.
King. Thou nam'st ten thousand Crownes; I'le treble them, Rid me but of this leprosie: thy name?
Med. Monsire Doctor Devile.
King. Shall I a second wheele adde to this mischiefe To set it faster going? if one breake, Th'other may keepe his motion.
Med. Esselent fort boone.
King. Baltazar, To give thy Sword an edge againe, this Frenchman Shall whet thee on, that if thy pistoll faile, Or ponyard, this can send the poyson home.
Bal. Brother Cain, wee'll shake hands.
Med. In de bowle of de bloody busher: tis very fine wholesome.
King. And more to arme your resolution, I'le tune this Churchman so that he shall chime In sounds harmonious. Merit to that man Whose hand has but a finger in that act.
Bal. That musicke were worth hearing.
King. Holy Father, You must give pardon to me in unlocking A Cave stuft full with Serpents which my State Threaten to poyson; and it lyes in you To breake their bed with thunder of your voyce.
Car. How, princely sonne?
King. Suppose an universall Hot Pestilence beat her mortiferous wings Ore all my Kingdome, am I not bound in soule To empty all our Achademes of Doctors And Aesculapian Spirits to charme this plague?
Car. You are.
King. Or had the Canon made a breach Into our rich Escuriall, down to beat it About our eares, shoo'd I to stop this breach Spare even our richest Ornaments, nay our Crowne, Could it keepe bullets off?
Car. No, Sir, you should not.
King. This Linstocke[211] gives you fire: shall then that strumpet And bastard breathe quicke vengeance in my face, Making my kingdome reele, my subjects stagger In their obedience, and yet live?
Car. How? live! Shed not their bloods to gaine a kingdome greater Then ten times this.
Med. Pishe, not mattera how Red-cap and his wit run.
King. As I am Catholike King I'le have their hearts Panting in these two hands.
Car. Dare you turne Hang-man? Is this Religion Catholicke, to kill, What even bruit beasts abhorre to doe, your owne! To cut in sunder wedlockes sacred knot Tyed by heavens fingers! to make Spaine a Bonfire To quench which must a second Deluge raine In showres of blood, no water! If you doe this There is an Arme Armipotent that can fling you Into a base grave, and your Pallaces With Lightning strike and of their Ruines make A Tombe for you, unpitied and abhorr'd. Beare witnesse, all you Lamps Coelestiall, I wash my hands of this. (Kneeling.)
King. Rise, my goon Angell, Whose holy tunes beat from me that evill spirit Which jogs mine elbow.—Hence, thou dog of hell!
Med. Baw wawghe.
King. Barke out no more, thou Mastiffe; get you all gone, And let my soule sleepe.—There's gold; peace, see it done. [Exit.
Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinall.
Bal. Sirra, you Salsa-Perilla Rascall, Toads-guts, you whorson pockey French Spawne of a bursten-bellyed Spyder, doe you heare, Monsire?
Med. Why doe you barke and snap at my Narcissus as if I were de Frenshe doag?
Bal. You Curre of Cerberus litter, (strikes him), you'll poyson the honest Lady? doe but once toot[212] into her chamber-pot and I'll make thee looke worse then a witch does upon a close-stoole.
Car. You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here Single before thee.
Bal. I'le cut the Rat into Anchovies.
Car. I'le make thee kisse his hand, imbrace him, love him, And call him— (Medina discovers)
Bal. The perfection of all Spanyards; Mars in little; the best booke of the art of Warre printed in these Times: as a French Doctor I woo'd have given you pellets for pills, but as my noblest Lord rip my heart out in your service.
Med. Thou art the truest Clocke That e're to time paidst tribute, honest Souldier. I lost mine owne shape and put on a French Onely to try thy truth and the kings falshood, Both which I find. Now this great Spanish volume Is open'd to me, I read him o're and o're, Oh what blacke Characters are printed in him!
Car. Nothing but certaine ruine threat your Neece, Without prevention; well this plot was laid In such disguise to sound him; they that know How to meet dangers are the lesse afraid: Yet let me counsell you not to text downe These wrongs in red lines.
Med. No, I will not, father: Now that I have Anatomiz'd his thoughts I'le read a lecture on 'em that shall save Many mens lives, and to the kingdome Minister Most wholesome Surgery: here's our Aphorisme,[213]— These letters from us in our Neeces name, You know, treat of a marriage.
Car. There's the strong Anchor To stay all in this tempest.
Med. Holy Sir, With these worke you the King and so prevaile That all these mischiefes Hull with Flagging saile.
Car. My best in this I'le doe.
Med. Souldier, thy brest I must locke better things in.
Bal. Tis your chest with 3 good keyes to keep it from opening, an honest hart, a daring hand and a pocket which scornes money.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
SCAENA PRIMA.
Enter King, Cardinall with letters, [Valasco and Lopez.]
King. Commend us to Medina, say his letters Right pleasing are, and that (except himselfe) Nothing could be more welcome: counsell him (To blot the opinion out of factious numbers) Onely to have his ordinary traine Waiting upon him; for, to quit all feares Vpon his side of us, our very Court Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons, Freely to prove our longings great to peace.
Car. The Constable expects some pawne from you That in this Fairy circle shall rise up No Fury to confound his Neece nor him.
King. A King's word is engag'd.
Car. It shall be taken. [Exit.
King. Valasco, call the Captaine of our Guard, Bid him attend us instantly.
Val. I shall. [Exit.
King. Lopez, come hither: see Letters from Duke Medina, both in the name Of him and all his Faction, offering peace, And our old love (his Neece) Onaelia In Marriage with her free and faire consent To Cockadillio, a Don of Spaine.
Lop. Will you refuse this?
King. My Crowne as soone: they feele their sinowy plots Belike to shrinke i'th joynts, and fearing Ruine Have found this Cement out to piece up all, Which more endangers all.
Lop. How, Sir! endangers?
King. Lyons may hunted be into the snare, But if they once breake loose woe be to him That first seiz'd on 'em. A poore prisoner scornes To kisse his Jaylor; and shall a King be choak'd With sweete-meats by false Traytors! no, I will fawne On them as they stroake me, till they are fast But in this paw, and then—
Lop. A brave revenge.— The Captaine of your Guard.
Enter Captaine.
King. Vpon thy life Double our Guard this day, let every man Beare a charg'd Pistoll hid; and at a watch-word Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time, Rush in; and if Medina's Faction wrastle Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save. Be secret.
Alanz. I am charm'd, Sir. [Exit.
King. Watch, Valasco; If any weare a Crosse, Feather or Glove Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction, Table their names up; at our Court-gate plant Good strength to barre them out if once they swarme: Doe this upon thy life.
Val. Not death shall fright me.
[Exeunt Valasco and Lopez.
Enter Baltazar.
Bal. 'Tis done, Sir.
King. Death! what's done?
Bal. Young Cub's flayd, But the shee-fox shifting her hole is fled; The little Iackanapes the boy's braind.
King. Sebastian?
Bal. He shall ne're speake more Spanish.
King. Thou teachest me to curse thee.
Bal. For a bargaine you set your hand to?
King. Halfe my Crowne I'de lose were it undone.
Bal. But half a Crowne? that's nothing: His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours.
King. How lost I the French Doctor?
Bal. As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot staying for him.
King. Get thou, too, from my sight: the Queen wu'd see thee.
Bal. Your gold, Sir.
King. Goe with Judas and repent.
Bal. So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent; I'me gone, Sir.
King. Tell me true,—is he dead?
Bal. Dead.
King. No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge; The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall. [Exit.
Bal. Sinne is a Raven croaking[214] her owne fall. [Exit.
(SCENE 2.)
Enter Medina, Daenia, Alba, Carlo and the Faction, with Rosemary in their hats.
Med. Keepe lock'd the doore and let none enter to us But who shares in our fortunes.
Daen. Locke the dores.
Alb. What entertainment did the King bestow Vpon your letters and the Cardinals?
Med. With a devouring eye he read 'em o're Swallowing our offers into his empty bosome As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths Out of the cup of heaven.
Carl. Little suspecting What dangers closely lye enambushed.
Daen. Let not us trust to that; there's in his brest Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite: We must not now behold the narrowest loope-hole But presently suspect a winged bullet Flyes whizzing by our eares.
Med. For when I let The plummet fall to sound his very soule In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor-like, He to the Cardinals eare sung sorcerous notes; The burthen of his song to mine was death, Onaelia's murder and Sebastians. And thinke you his voyce alters now? 'Tis strange To see how brave this Tyrant shewes in Court, Throan'd like a god: great men are petty starres Where his rayes shine; wonder fills up all eyes By sight of him: let him but once checke sinne, About him round all cry "oh excellent king! Oh Saint-like man!" but let this King retire Into his Closet to put off his robes, He like a Player leaves his parte off, too: Open his brest and with a Sunne-beame search it, There's no such man; this King of gilded clay Within is uglinesse, lust, treachery, And a base soule tho reard Colossus-high.
(Baltazar beats to come in.)
Daen. None till he speakes and that we know his voyce: Who are you?
Within Bal. An honest house-keeper in Rosemary-lane, too, If you dwell in the same parish.
Med. Oh 'tis our honest Souldier, give him entrance.
Enter Baltazar.
Bal. Men show like coarses[215] for I meet few but are stuck with Rosemary: everyone ask'd mee who was married to-day, and I told 'em Adultery and Repentance, and that shame and a Hangman followed 'em to Church.
Med. There's but two parts to play: shame has done hers But execution must close up the Scaene, And for that cause these sprigs are worne by all, Badges of Mariage, now of Funerall, For death this day turns Courtier.
Bal. Who must dance with him?
Med. The King, and all that are our opposites; That dart or this must flye into the Court, Either to shoote this blazing starre from Spaine Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds Till all the fatall fires in him burne out, Leaving his State and conscience cleere from doubt Of following uprores.
Alb. Kill not but surprize him.
Carl. Thats my voyce still.
Med. Thine, Souldier.
Bal. Oh, this Collicke of a kingdome! when the wind of treason gets amongst the small guts, what a rumbling and a roaring it keepes! and yet, make the best of it you can, it goes out stinking. Kill a King! King!
Daen. Why?
Bal. If men should pull the Sun out of heaven every time 'tis ecclips'd, not all the Wax nor Tallow in Spaine woo'd serve to make us Candles for one yeare.
Med. No way to purge the sicke State but by opening a veine.
Bal. Is that your French Physicke? if every one of us shoo'd be whip'd according to our faults, to be lasht at a carts taile would be held but a flea-biting.
Enter Signeor No:[216] Whispers Medina.
Med. What are you? come you from the King?
No. No.
Bal. No? more no's? I know him, let him enter.
Med. Signeor, I thanke your kind Intelligence. The newes long since was sent into our eares, Yet we embrace your love; so fare you well.
Carl. Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary?
No. No.
Bal. Will you be hang'd?
No. No.
Bal. This is either Signeor No, or no Signeor.
Med. He makes his love to us a warning-peece To arme our selves against we come to Court, Because the guard is doubled.
Omnes. Tush, we care not.
Bal. If any here armes his hand to cut off the head, let him first plucke out my throat. In any Noble Act Ile wade chin-deepe with you: but to kill a King!
Med. No, heare me—
Bal. You were better, my Lord, saile 500 times to Bantam[217] in the West-Indies than once to Barathrum in the Low-Countries. It's hot going under the line there; the Callenture of the soule is a most miserable madnesse.
Med. Turne, then, this wheele of Fate from shedding blood, Till with her owne hand Iustice weyes all.
Bal. Good.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 3.)
Queen. Must then his Trul be once more sphear'd in Court To triumph in my spoyles, in my ecclipses? And I like moaping Iuno sit whilst Iove Varies his lust into five hundred shapes To steale to his whores bed? No, Malateste; Italian fires of Iealousie burn my marrow: For to delude my hopes the leacherous King Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage To cover his Incontinence, which flames Hot (as my fury) in his black desires. I am swolne big with child of vengeance now, And, till deliver'd, feele the throws of hell.
Mal. Iust is your Indignation, high and noble, And the brave heat of a true Florentine. For Spaine Trumpets abroad her Interest In the Kings heart, and with a black cole drawes On every wall your scoff'd at injuries. As one that has the refuse of her sheets, And the sick Autumne of the weakned King, Where she drunke pleasures up in the full spring.
Queen. That, Malateste, That, That Torrent wracks me; But Hymens Torch (held downe-ward) shall drop out, And for it the mad Furies swing their brands About the Bride-chamber.
Mal. The Priest that joyns them Our Twin-borne malediction.
Queen. Lowd may it speake.
Mal. The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way Be Cypresse, Eugh, cold Colloquintida.
Queen. Henbane and Poppey, and that magicall weed[218] Which Hags at midnight watch to catch the seed.
Mal. To these our execrations, and what mischiefe Hell can but hatch in a distracted braine Ile be the Executioner, tho it looke So horrid it can fright e'ne murder backe.
Queen. Poyson his whore to day, for thou shalt wait On the Kings Cup, and when, heated with wine, He cals to drinke the Brides health, Marry her Alive to a gaping grave.
Mal. At board?
Queen. At board.
Mal. When she being guarded round about with friends, Like a faire Iland hem'd with Rocks and Seas,— What rescue shall I find?
Queen. Mine armes? dost faint? Stood all the Pyrenaean hills, that part Spaine and our Country, on each others shoulders, Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou shouldst on, As being my steele of resolution First striking sparkles from my flinty brest. Wert thou to catch the horses of the Sunne Fast by their bridles and to turne back day, Wood'st thou not doo't (base coward) to make way To the Italians second blisse, revenge?
Mal. Were my bones threatned to the wheele of torture, Ile doo't.
Enter Lopes.
Queen. A ravens voyce, and it likes me well.
Lop. The King expects your presence.
Mal. So, so, we come, To turne this Brides day to a day of doome.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 4.)
A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one dore Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, Cardinall, with Don Cockadillio, Bridegroome; Queene and Malateste after. At the other dore Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia, leading Onaelia as Bride, Cornego and Iuanna after; Baltazar alone; Bride and Bridegroome kisse, and by the Cardinall are join'd hand in hand: King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly.
King. For halfe Spaines weight in Ingots I'de not lose This little man to day.
Med. Nor for so much Twice told, Sir, would I misse your kingly presence, Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face So long, and I so little late read o're That Index of the royall book your mind, That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell When in those leaves you turne o're smiles or frownes.
King. 'Tis dimnesse of your sight, no fault i'th letter; Medina, you shall find that free from Errata's: And for a proofe, If I could breath my heart in welcomes forth, This Hall should ring naught else. Welcome, Medina; Good Marquesse Daenia, Dons of Spaine all welcome! My dearest love and Queene, be it your place To entertaine the Bride and doe her grace.
Queen. With all the love I can, whose fire is such, To give her heat, I cannot burne too much.
King. Contracted Bride and Bridegroome sit; Sweet flowres not pluck'd in season lose their scent, So will our pleasures. Father Cardinall, Methinkes this morning new begins our reigne.
Car. Peace had her Sabbath ne're till now in Spaine.
King. Where is our noble Souldier, Baltazar? So close in conference with that Signior?
No. No.
King. What think'st thou of this great day Baltazar?
Bal. Of this day? why, as of a new play, if it ends well all's well. All men are but Actors; now if you, being the King, should be out of your part, or the Queene out of hers or your Dons out of theirs, here's No wil never be out of his.
No. No.
Bal. 'Twere a lamentable peece of stuffe to see great Statesmen have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but plaudities in all your Eyes.
King. Mine, I protest, are free.
Queen. And mine, by heaven!
Mal. Free from one goode looke till the blow be given.
King. Wine; a full Cup crown'd to Medina's health!
Med. Your Highnesse this day so much honors me That I, to pay you what I truly owe, My life shall venture for it.
Daen. So shall mine.
King. Onaelia, you are sad: why frownes your brow?
Onae. A foolish memory of my past ills Folds up my looke in furrowes of old care, But my heart's merry, Sir.
King. Which mirth to heighten Your Bridegroome and your selfe first pledge this health Which we begin to our high Constable.
(Three Cups fild: 1 to the King, 2 to the Bridegroome, 3 to Onaelia, with whom the King complements.)
Queen. Is't speeding?
Mal. As all our Spanish figs[219] are.
King. Here's to Medina's heart with all my heart.
Med. My hart shal pledge your hart i'th deepest draught That ever Spanyard dranke.
King. Medina mockes me Because I wrong her with the largest Bowle: Ile change with thee, Onaelia.
(Mal. rages)
Queen. Sir, you shall not.
King. Feare you I cannot fetch it off?
Queen. Malateste!
King. This is your scorne to her, because I am doing This poorest honour to her.—Musicke sound! It goes were it ten fadoms to the ground.
Cornets. King drinkes; Queen and Mal. storms.
Mal. Fate strikes with the wrong weapon.
Queen. Sweet royall Sir, no more: it is too deepe.
Mal. Twill hurt your health, Sir.
King. Interrupt me in my drinke! 'tis off.
Mal. Alas, Sir, You have drunke your last: that poyson'd bowle I fill'd, Not to be put into your hand but hers.
King. Poyson'd?
Omnes. Descend black speckled soule to hell. (kil Mal. dyes.)
Mal. The Queene has sent me thither?
Card. What new furie shakes now her snakes locks?
Queen. I, I, tis I, Whose soule is torne in peeces till I send This Harlot home.
Car. More Murders? save the lady.
Balt. Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus.
Med. Keepe 'em asunder.
Car. How is it royall sonne?
King. I feele no poyson yet; only mine eyes Are putting out their lights: me thinks I feele Deaths Icy fingers stroking downe my face; And now I'me in a mortall cold sweat.
Queen. Deare my Lord.
King. Hence! call in my Physicians.
Med. Thy Physician, Tyrant, Dwels yonder: call on him or none.
King. Bloody Medina! stab'st thou, Brutus, too?
Daen. As hee is so are we all.
King. I burne; My braines boyle in a Caldron: O, one drop Of water now to coole me!
Onae. Oh, let him have Physicians!
Med. Keepe her backe.
King. Physicians for my soule: I need none else. You'll not deny me those? Oh, holy Father, Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud For me, a miserable King, so drench'd In perjury and murder?
Car. Oh, Sir, great store.
King. Come downe, come quickly downe.
Car. I'll forthwith send For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor.
King. Doe, doe.
Car. And he shall cure your wounded soule: —Fetch him, good Souldier.
Bal. So good a work I'le hasten.
King. Onaelia! oh, shee's drown'd in tears. Onaelia! Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands.
Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others.
Car. Here comes a better Surgeon.
Seb. Haile my good Sonne! I come to be thy ghostly Father.
King. Ha! My child? tis my Sebastian, or some spirit Sent in his shape to fright me.
Bal. 'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele: your owne flesh and blood, and much younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son. Had I bin as ready to cut his sheeps throat as you were to send him to the shambles, he had bleated no more. There's lesse chalke upon you[r] score of sinnes by these round o'es.
King. Oh, my dul soule, looke up; thou art somewhat lighter. Noble Medina, see, Sebastian lives: Onaelia, cease to weepe, Sebastian lives. Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer, Can my hands doo't, He raise thee one step higher. Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while, sweet boy?
Seb. I had but coarse cheere.
King. Thou couldst nere fare better: Religious houses are those hyves where Bees Make honey for mens soules. I tell thee, Boy, A Fryery is a Cube which strongly stands, Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands: Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high, I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity. Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight, And both are thine: you that our Contract know, See how I scale it with this Marriage; My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine.
Omnes. Long live Sebastian!
Onae. Doff that Fryers course gray, And since hee's crown'd a king, clothe him like one.
King. Oh no; those are right Soveraigne Ornaments: Had I been cloth'd so I had never fill'd Spaine's Chronicle with my blacke Calumny. My worke is almost finish'd: where's my Queene?
Queen. Heere, peece-meale torne by Furies.
King. Onaelia! Your hand, Paulina, too; Onaelia, yours: This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith), By you usurp'd, is her Inheritance. My love is turn'd, see, as my fate is turn'd: Thus they to day laugh, yesterday which mourn'd: I pardon thee my death. Let her be sent Backe into Florence with a trebled dowry. Death comes: oh, now I see what late I fear'd; A Contract broke, tho piec'd up ne're so well, Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell. (Moritur.)
Onae. Oh, I could dye with him!
Queen. Since the bright spheare I mov'd in falls, alas, what make I here? [Exit.
Med. The hammers of blacke mischiefe now cease beating, Yet some irons still are heating. You, Sir Bridegroome, (Set all this while up as a marke to shoot at) We here discharge you of your bed fellow: She loves no Barbars washing.
Cock. My Balls are sav'd then.
Med. Be it your charge, so please you, reverend Sir, To see the late Queene safely sent to Florence: My Neece Onaelia, and that trusty Souldier, We doe appoint to guard the infant King. Other distractions Time must reconcile; The State is poyson'd like a Crocodile.
[Exeunt.
FINIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The title, I suppose, of "Cuckold."
[2] Tacitus in a few words gives a most masterly description of Poppea: —"Huic mulieri cuncta alia fuere praeter honestum animum: quippe mater eius, aetatis suae feminas pulchritudine supergressa, gloriam pariter et formam dederat: opes claritudini generis sufficiebant: sermo comis, nec absurdum ingenium: modestiam praeferre et lascivia uti: rarus in publicum egressus, idque velata parte oris, ne satiaret aspectum, vel quia sic decebat. Famae numquam pepercit, maritos et adulteros non distinguens, neque affectui suo aut alieno obnoxia: unde utilitas ostenderetur, illuc libidinem transtulit."—Ann. XIII. 45.
[3] 4to. Why? Is he rais'd.
[4] Cf. Dion Cassius, [Greek: X G] 20.
[5] 4to. cleare th'ayre.
[6] "Push" and "pish" are used indifferently by Elizabethan writers.
[7] Cf. Verg. Aen. vi. 805-6:—
"Nec qui pampineis victor iuga flectit habenis, Liber, agens celso Nysae de vertice tigres."
[8] 4to. Turpuus. (Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 20.)
[9] Tacitus (Ann. xvi. 14) mentions an astrologer of this name, who was banished by Nero.
[10] Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 25.
[11] 4tos. Servinus.
[12] Tacit. Ann. xv. 49.
[13] By those "wicked armes" is meant, I suppose, the struggle between Caesar and Pompey. Posterity will think the horrors of civil war compensated by the pleasure of reading Lucan's epic!
[14] 4tos. Ciria.
[15] 4tos. beeds.
[16] 4tos. begins.
[17] A certain Volusius Proculus was one of the infamous agents in the murder of Agrippina, and afterwards betrayed the fearless woman Epicharis who confided to him the secret of Piso's conspiracy; but no one of this name was executed by Nero.
[18] Quy. How! bruised, &c.
[19] Quy. Say that I had no skill!—If the reading of the 4tos. is right the meaning must be, "As for his saying that I had no skill."
[20] A copy of the 1633 4to. gives "shoulder-eac't," which is hardly less intelligible than the reading in the text. Everybody knows that Pelops received an ivory shoulder for the one that was consumed; but the word "shoulder-packt" conveys no meaning. "Shoulder-pieced," i.e., "fitted with an (ivory) shoulder," would be a shade more intelligible; but it is a very ugly compound.
[21] Dion Cassius ([Greek: XB]. 14. ed. Bekker) reports this brutal gibe of Nero's; Rubellius Plautus was the luckless victim:—[Greek: "ho de dae Neron kai gelota kai skommata, ta ton syngenon kaka hepoieito ton goun Plauton apokteinas, hepeita taen kephalaen autou prosenechtheisan oi idon, 'ouk haedein,' hephae 'oti megalaen rina eichen,' osper pheisamenos an autou ei touto proaepistato."]
[22] Persius' tutor, immortalised in his pupil's Fifth Satire.
[23] Quy. with.
[24] Machlaean—a word coined from [Greek: machlos] (sc. libidinosus).
[25] Partly a translation from Persius, Sat. I. 11. 99-102:—
"Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis, Et raptum vitulo caput ablatura superbo Bassaris, et lyncem Maenas flexura corymbis Euion ingeminat: reparabilis assonat Echo";
which lines are supposed to be a parody of some verses of Nero. Persius' comment—
"summa delumbe saliva Hoc natat: in labris et in udo est Maenas et Attis; Nec pluteum caedit, nec demorsos sapit ungues"—
agrees with the judgment of Tacitus (Ann. xiv. 16). Suetonius (Vit. Ner. 52), who had seen some of Nero's MSS., speaks of the extreme care that had been given to correction; and the few verses preserved by Seneca make against the estimate of Tacitus and Persius.
[26] 4tos. Ennion.
[27] Vid. Dion Cassius [Greek: XB]. 29.
[28] 4tos. conductors.
[29] 4tos. again.
[30] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 48.
[31] The 4to. points the passage thus:—
"The thing determinde on our meeting now, Is of the meanes, and place, due circumstance, As to the doing of things t'is requir'd, So done, it names the action."
The words "t'is requir'd ... action," I take to mean, "The assassination must be accomplished in such a way as to appear an act of patriotism and make the actors famous."
[32] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 52
[33] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 49:—"Mirum et vel praecipue notabile inter haec fuerit, nihil eum patientius quam maledicta et convitia hominum tulisse, neque in ullos lemorem quam qui se dictis aut carminibus lucessissent exstitisse. Multa Graece Latineque proscripta aut vulgata sunt, sicut illa:—
* * * * * Roma domus fiet: Veios migrate Quirites, Si non et Veios occupat ista domus."
[34] 4tos. Servi.
[35] 4tos. Servinus.
[36] Cf. Tac. Ann. xvi. 5; and Sueton. Vit Ner. 23.
[37] 4to. time.
[38] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 23. "Itaque et enixae quaedam in spectaculis dicuntur, et multi taedio audiendi laudandique, clausis oppidorum portis, aut furtim desiluisse de muro aut morte simulata funere elati."
[39] 4tos. And.
[40] The 4tos. give "Agrippa," which is nonsense. By a slip of the tongue, Nero was going to say "Agrippina's death," when he hastily corrected himself. Tacitus and Suetonius tell us that Nero was always haunted with the memory of his murdered mother.
[41] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 5. "Ferebantque Vespasianum, tamquam somno conniveret, a Phoebo liberto increpitum aegreque meliorum precibus obtectum, mox imminentem perniciem maiore fato effugisse."
[42] 4tos. Ile.
[43] 4to. 1624. innocents.
[44] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 4.
[45] 4to. I'd.
[46] 4to. 1624. Aegamemnon.
[47] This magnificent speech is quoted in Charles Lamb's Specimens.
[48] 4tos. I'd.
[49] "Nec quisquam defendere audebat, crebris multorum minis restinguere prohibentium, et quia alii palam faces iaciebant atque esse sibi auctorem vociferabantur, sive ut raptus licentius exercerent, seu jussu."—Tac. Ann. xv. 37.
[50] The simile is from Vergil, Aen. ii. 304-308—
"In segetem veluti quum flamma furentibus Austris Incidit; aut rapidus montano flumine torrens Sternit agros, sternit sata laeta boumque labores, Praecipitesque trahit silvas: stupet inscius alto Accipiens sonitum saxi de vertice pastor."
[51] The author may have had in his mind a passage in Dion Cassius' description of the fire:—[Greek: thorybos te oun exaisios pantachou pantas katelambanen, kai dietrichon ohi men tae ohi de tae hosper emplaektoi, kai allois tines epamynontes epynthanonto ta oikoi kaiomena kai heteroi prin kai akousai hoti ton spheteron ti empepraestai,
emanthanon, hoti apololen. XB. 16].
[52] 4tos. Cannos.
[53] 4tos. Allius.
[54] The 4tos. give "thee gets." I feel confident that my emendation restores the true reading.
[55] The reading of the 4tos. is the, "The most condemned," &c. A tribe named the "Moschi" (of whom mention is made in Herodotus) dwelt a little to the south of the Colchians.
[56] So the 4tos. "Low hate" is nonsense. "Long and native hate" would be spiritless; while "bow and arrow laid apart" involves far too violent a change. I reluctantly give the passage up.
[57] I suppose that the sentence is left unfinished; but perhaps it is more likely that the text is corrupt.
[58] Quy. I now command the Souldiery i'the Citie.
[59] Sc. descendants. Vid. Nares, s.v.
[60] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 53.
[61] 4tos. losse.
[62] 4tos. soft.
[63] Quy. they.—The passage, despite its obscurity of expression, seems to me intelligible; but I dare not venture to paraphrase it.
[64] 4tos. are we.
[65] "Call me cut" meant commonly nothing more than Falstaff's "call me horse"; but as applied to Sporus the term "cutt-boy" was literally correct. For what follows in the text cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. cap. 28.
[66] 4to. Subius, Flavius.
[67] Quy. "I, [sc. aye] to himselfe; 'twould make the matter cleare," &c.
[68] 4tos. Gallii. Our author is imitating Juvenal (Sat. x. ll. 99-102):—
"Huius qui trahitur praetextam sumere mavis, An Fidenarum Gabiorumque esse potestas Et de mensura ius dicere, vasa minora Frangere, pannosus vacuis Aedilis Ulubris?"
[69] Cf. Tacitus, Annals, xv. 59.
[70] 4tos. refuge.
[71] Quy. Euphrates.
[72] According to Tacitus, Piso retired to his house and there opened his veins. Vid. Ann. xv. 59.
[73] Cf. Shakespeare, "Make mad the guilty and appal the free." Hamlet, II. 2.
[74] So the 4tos; but Quy.
"The Emperour's much pleas'd That some have named Seneca."
[75] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 45; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 32.
[76] In Tacitus' account (Ann. xv. 67) the climax is curious:— "'Oderam te,' inquit; 'nec quisquam tibi fidelior militum fuit dum amari meruisti: odisse coepi, postquam parricida matris et uxoris, auriga et histrio et incendiarius extitisti.'"
[77] The verses would run better thus:—
"A feeling one; Tigellinus, bee't thy charge, And let me see thee witty in't.
Tigell. Come, sirrah; Weele see." &c.
[78] Quy. was oreheard to say.
[79] 4tos. your.
[80] Quy. even skies.
[81] Quy. I'the firmament.
[82] 4tos. loath by.
[83] Martial, in a clever but coarse epigram (lib. xi. 56), ridicules the Stoic's contempt of death:—
"Hanc tibi virtutem fracta facit urceus ansa, Et tristis nullo qui tepet igne focus, Et teges et cimex et nudi sponda grabati, Et brevis atque eadem nocte dieque toga. O quam magnus homo es, qui faece rubentis aceti Et stipula et nigro pane carere potes. * * * * * Rebus in angustis facile est contemnere vitam: Fortiter ille facit qui miser esse potest."
[84] Cf. Juv. Sat. v. 36, 37:—
"Quale coronati Thrasea Helvidiusque bibebant, Brutorum et Cassi natalibus."
The younger Pliny (Ep. iii. 7) relates that Eilius Italicus religiously observed Vergil's birthday.
[85] The 4tos. punctuate thus:—
"Here faire Enanthe, whose plumpe ruddy cheeke Exceeds the grape, it makes this; here my geyrle."
Petronius is speaking hurriedly. He begins to answer Enanthe's question: "it makes this" (i.e. "means this"), he says, but breaks off his explanation, and pledges his mistress.
[86] 4tos. walles.
[87] 4tos. Ith.
[88] "Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum." Horat. Epist. i. 17, 36 ([Greek: ou pantos andros es Korinthon esth' ho plous]).
[89] Quy. Th'old Anicean (sc. Anacreon).
[90] A paraphrase of Horace's well-known lines:
"Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens Uxor; neque harum, quas colis, arborum, Te, praeter invisas cupressos, Ulla brevem dominum sequeter."
—Odes, ii. 14, ll. 21-29.
[91] 4to. your.
[92] 4tos. thy.
[93] Cf. Horace, Od. i. 12, ll. 37, 38:—
"Regulum, et Scauros animaeque magnae Prodigum Paulum."
[94] Vid. Tacitus, Ann. xi. 11; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 6.
[95] 4tos. have.
[96] 4tos. night.
[97] The punning on the fairies' names recalls Bottom's pleasantries (M.N.D. iii. 1), and the resemblance is certainly too close to be accidental.
[98] "Uncoth" here = wild, unfrequented; Cf. As You Like It, ii. 6, "If this uncouth forest yield anything savage," &c.
[99] A "Hunts up" was a hunting song, a reveillee, to rouse the hunters. An example of a "Hunts up" may be found, set to music by J. Bennet, in a collection of Ravenscroft, 1614.
[100] Quy. "kind;" but our author is not very particular about his rhymes.
[101] "Rascal" was the regular name for a lean deer (As You like It, iii. 3, &c.).
[102] The whole scene is printed as verse in the 4to.
[103] This very uncommon word (French: legerete) occurs in Henry V. (iv. i. l. 23).
[104] More commonly written "cote," a cottage.
[105] To "draw dry foot" meant to follow by the scent. (Com. of Errors, iv. 2.)
[106] No doubt the writer had in his mind the description of "Morpheus house" in the Faerie Queene (Book i., Canto I).
[107] "Whisht" (more commonly "whist") = hushed, stilled. Cf. Milton, Ode on the Nativity:—
"The winds with wonder whist Smoothly the waters kist."
[108] "Plancher" (Fr. planche) = a plank. Cf. Arden of Feversham, I. i. "Whilst on the planchers pants his weary body," Shakespeare (Measure for Measure, iv. 1) has "a planched gate."
[109] "Incontinent" = immediately. The expression is very common (Richard II., v. 6, &c.).
[110] These verses and Frisco's "Can you blow the little horne"? are evidently fragments of Old Ballads—to be recovered, let us hope, hereafter.
[111] These four lines are from the old ballad of Fortune my foe, which will be found printed entire in the Bagford Ballads (Ed. J.W. Ebsworth, part iv. pp. 962-3); the music is given in Mr. W. Chappell's Popular Music of the Olden Time, I. 162. Mr. Ebsworth writes me:— "I have ascertained (assuredly) that what I at first thought to be a reference to 'Fortune my foe' in the Stationers' Registers, 1565-66, entered to John Charlewood (Arber's Transcripts, l. 310), as 'of one complaining of ye mutabilitie of Fortune' is not 'Fortune my foe,' but one of Lempill's ballads, printed by R. Lekpriwicke (sic), and still extant in the Huth Collections—the true title being 'Ane Complaint vpon Fortoun;' beginning 'Inconstant world, fragill and friuolus.'"
[112] Nares quotes from Chapman's May Day, "Lord, how you roll in your rope-ripe terms." Minshew explains the word as "one ripe for a rope, or for whom the gallows groans." I find the expression "to rowle in their ropripe termes" in William Bullein's rare and curious "Dialogue both pleasaunt and pietiful," 1573, p. 116.
[113] A very common term for a pimp.
[114] "Bale of dice"—a pair of dice; the expression occurs in the New Inn, I. 3, &c.
[115] This song is set to music in an old collection by Ravenscroft, 1614.
[116] More usually written "mammets," i.e., puppets (Rom. & Jul. iii. 5; though, no doubt, in Hen. IV., ii. 3, Gifford was right in connecting the word with Lat. mamma).
[117] Cf. Drayton's Fairy Wedding:—
"Besides he's deft and wondrous airy, And of the noblest of the fairy! Chiefe of the Crickets of much fame In fairy a most ancient name."
So in Merry Wives, v. 5, l. 47.
[118] Quy. What kind o' God, &c.
[119] "There is a kind of crab-tree also or wilding that in like manner beareth twice a yeare." Holland's Plinie, b. xvi.
[120] "Assoyle" usually = absolve; here resolve, explain.
[121] The italics are my own, as I suppose that the four lines were intended to be sung.
[122] 4to. It is, it is not, &c.
[123] The sense of "fine, rare," rather than that of "frequent, abundant" (as Nares explains), would seem to suit the passages in Shakespeare and elsewhere where the word is used colloquially.
[124] "Sib" = akin. Possibly the word still lingers in the North Country: Sir Walter Scott uses it in the Antiquary, &c.
[125] "Wonning" sc. dwelling (Germ. wohnen). Spenser frequently uses the word.
[126] A Spenserian passage (as Mr. Collier has pointed out): vid. F.Q., B. 2. C. xii. 71.
[127] 4to. then.
[128] 4to. And here she woman.
[129] "Caul" = part of a lady's head-dress: "reticulum crinale vel retiolum," Withals' Dictionarie, 1608 (quoted by Nares).
[130] "The battaile. The Combattantes Sir Ambrose Vaux, knight, and Glascott the Bayley of Southwarke: the place the Rule of the Kings Bench."
[131] In some copies the name "John Kirke" is given in full.
[132] Bottom = a ball of worsted. George Herbert in a letter to his mother says: "Happy is he whose bottom is wound up, and laid ready for work in the New Jerusalem." So in the Virgin Martyr (v. 1),—"I, before the Destinies my bottom did wind up, would flesh myself once more upon some one remarkable above all these."
[133] 4to. your.
[134] Cf. the catalogue of torments in the Virgin Martyr (v. 1).
[135] The 4to prints the passage thus:—
"I have now livd my full time; Tell me, my Henricke, thy brave successe, That my departing soule May with thy story," &c.
Several times further on I shall have to alter the irregular arrangement of the 4to in order to restore the blank verse; but I shall not think it necessary to note the alteration.
[136] 4to, Horne.
[137] 4to, Aloft.
[138] The 4to gives 'The further,' and in the next line 'Or further.'
[139] The whole of this scene is printed as verse in the 4to. I have printed the early part as prose, that the reader's eye may not be vexed by metrical monstrosities.
[140] Sharpe i.e. sword. Vid. Halliwell's Dictionary.
[141] 4to. field.
[142] Sir Thomas Browne in Vulgar Errors (Book 2, cap. 5) discusses this curious superstition at length:—'And first we hear it in every mouth, and in many good authors read it, that a diamond, which is the hardest of stones, not yielding unto steel, emery, or any thing but its own powder, is yet made soft, or broke by the blood of a goat. Thus much is affirmed by Pliny, Solinus, Albertus, Cyprian, Austin, Isidore, and many Christian writers: alluding herein unto the heart of man, and the precious blood of our Saviour, who was typified by the goat that was slain, and the scape goat in the wilderness: and at the effusion of whose blood, not only the hard hearts of his enemies relented, but the stony rocks and veil of the temple were shattered,' &c.
[143] The expression, to 'carry coals' (i.e. to put up with insults) is too common to need illustration.
[144] 4to. deaths prey. The change restores the metre.
[145] 'Owe' for 'own' is very common in Shakespeare.
[146] The 4to. prints this scene throughout as verse.
[147] 'Larroones,' from Fr. larron (a thief). Cf. Nabbes' Bride, iii. 3. 'Remercie, Monsieur. Voe call a me Cooke now! de greasie Larone!'
[148] Quy. rogues.
[149] Quy. had. There seems to be a reference to Stephen's martyrdom described in The Acts.
[150] "Black Jack" and "bombard" were names given to wide leathern drinking-vessels.
[151] A term in venery.
[152] A hound's chaps were called "flews".
[153] 'Sparabiles,' nails used by shoemakers. Nares quotes Herrick:
Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells, His thumb-nailes par'd afford him sperrables.'
The word is of uncertain derivation.
[154] 4to. recovering.
[155] 'Champion' is the old form of 'champain.'
[156] 'Diet-bread' was the name given to a sort of sweet seedcake: Vid. Nares' Glossary.
[157] Quy. Oh! what cold, famine, &c.
[158] For an account of the "bezoar nut" and the Unicorn's horn vid. Sir Thomas Browne's "Vulgar Errors," book iii. cap. xxiii.
[159] Vid. Liddell and Scott, s.v. [Greek: hypostasis].
[160] Sc. diaphoretick ([Greek: diaphoraetikos]), causing perspiration.
[161] Rabby Roses is no doubt a corruption of Averroes, the famous editor of Aristotle, and author of numerous treatises on theological and medical subjects.
[162] Sir Thomas Browne (Vulgar Errors, I. vii.) quotes from Pierius another strange cure for a scorpion's bite, "to sit upon an ass with one's face towards his tail, for so the pain leaveth the man and passeth into the beast."
[163] "Bandogs" (or, more correctly speaking, "band-dogs")—dogs that had to be kept chained on account of their fierceness.
[164] (4to): men.
[165] 'Carbonardoed'—cut into collops for grilling: a common expression.
[166] 'Rochet.'
"A linen vest, like a surplice, worn by bishops, under their satin robes. The word, it is true, is not obsolete, nor the thing disused, but it is little known."—Nares. ("Lent unto thomas Dowton, the 11 of Aprel 1598, to bye tafitie to macke a Rochet for the beshoppe in earlle good wine, xxiiii s." Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 122.)
[167] (4to): by.
[168] The word "portage" occurs in a difficult passage of Pericles, iii. 1,—
"Even at the first Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit With all thou canst find here."
If there be no corruption in the passage of Pericles, the meaning can only be (as Steevens explained) "thy safe arrival at the port of life." Our author's use of the word "portage" is even more perplexing than Shakespeare's; "Thy portion" would give excellent sense; but, with the passage of Pericles before us, we cannot suppose that there is a printer's error. [In Henry V. 3, i, we find 'portage' for 'port-holes.']
[169] Quy. ever?
[170] The subst. mouse is sometimes found as an innocent term of endearment, but more often in a wanton sense (like the Lat. passer).
[171] 'Felt locks'—matted locks, commonly called "elf-locks": the various forms "felted," "felter'd" and "feutred" are found.
[172] 'Stavesucre' (said to be a corruption of [Greek: staphis]. and usually written 'Staves-acre') a kind of lark-spur considered efficacious in destroying lice. Cf. Marlowe's Dr. Faustus (i. 4)— 'Stavesacre? that's good to kill vermin; then belike, if I serve you, I shall be lousy.'
[173] Quy. early-rioting.
[174] Ought we to read 'fins'? Webster (Duchess of Malfi, ii. 1) has the expression the 'fins of her eye-lids'; it is found also in the Malcontent (i. 1), The confusion between the 'f' and the long 's' is very common.
[175] Shakespeare uses the verb 'fang' (Timon of Athens, iv. 3) in the sense of 'seize, clutch.'
[176] Varlet—'the serjeant-at-mace to the city counters was so called,' Halliwell (who, however, gives no instance of this use).
[177] 'Trunk-hose' wide breeches stuffed with wool, &c.
[178] I can make nothing of this verse: the obscurity is not at all removed by putting a comma after 'rules.' Doubtless the passage is corrupt.
[179] Our rest we set in pleasing, &c., i.e., we have made up our mind to please. The metaphor is taken from primero (a game, seemingly, not unlike the Yankee 'poker'), where to 'set up rest' meant to stand on one's cards; but the expression was also used in a military sense. Vid: Furness' Variorum Shakesp., Rom. & Iul., iv. 5.
[180] In Vol. IX. of the Transactions of the Royal Historical Society is an elaborate paper (since reprinted for private circulation) by the Rev. F.G. Fleay 'On the Actor Lists, 1538-1642.' The learned writer tells us nothing new about Samuel Rowley; but his essay well deserves a careful study.
[181] Quy. a fury's face.
[182] 'Lacrymae'—one of the many allusions to John Dowland's musical work of that name.
[183] 'Laugh and lay down' (more usually written 'lie down') was the name of a game at cards. A prose-tract by 'C.T.,' published in 1605, is entitled 'Laugh and Lie Down: or the World's Folly.' The expression, it need hardly be said, is often used in a wanton sense.
[184] 4to. joyes.
[185] Quy. prove.
[186] Much of this scene is found, almost word for word, in colloquy 4 of John Day's Parliament of Bees.
[187] One of the characters in the New Inn is Fly, 'the Parasite of the Inn'; and in the Virgin Martyr (ii. 2) we also find the word 'fly' used (like Lat. musca) for an inquisitive person. In the text I suspect we should read 'fly-about' for flye-boat.
[188] 'Blacke gard' was the name given to the lowest drudges who rode amongst the pots and pans in royal processions: vid. Gifford's Jonson, II. 169.
[189] The compositor seems to have been dozing: the word 'Vaw' points to the reading 'Vaward,' and probably the passage ran—'this the Vaward, this the Rearward.'
[190] 'Totter'd' i.e. tatter'd. Cf. Richard II. (iii. 3) 'the castle's totter'd battlements' (the reading of the 4to.; the Folios give 'tatter'd'). In King John (v. 5) I think, with Staunton, that the expression 'tott'ring colours' means 'drooping colours' rather than, as usually explained, 'tattered.'
[191] 'Spurn-point—An old game mentioned in a curious play called Apollo Shroving, 12mo., Lond. 1627, p. 49.' Halliwell.
[192] 'Grandoes'—I find the word so spelt in Heywood's A Challenge for Beauty—'I, and I assure your Ladiship, ally'de to the best Grandoes of Spaine.' (Works, v. 18.)
[193] 4to. Albia.
[194] Cornego is telling the Captain to 'duck'—to make his bow—to Onaelia.
[195] Nares quotes from the Owles Almanacke, 1618, p. 6, an allusion to this worthy,—'Since the German fencer cudgell'd most of our English fencers, now about 5 moneths past.'
[196] It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that 'bastard' was the name of a sweet Spanish wine.
[197] 'Goll'—A cant expression for 'hand': it is found continually in our old writers.
[198] The words 'Some scurvy thing, I warrant' should no doubt be given to Cornego.
[199] The conversation between Onaelia and the Poet very closely resembles, in parts, Character 5 of John Day's Parliament of Bees.
[200] 4to lanch.
[201] 'The Hanging Tune' i.e. the tune of 'Fortune my Foe,' to which were usually sung ballads relating to murders. The music of 'Fortune my Foe,' is given in Mr. Chappell's 'Popular Music of the Olden Time'; and the words may be seen in the 'Bayford Ballads' (edited by Mr. Ebsworth, our greatest master of ballad-lore).
[202] Cf. Dekker's Match me in London (Dramatic Works, iv. 180)—
'I doe speake English When I'de move pittie; when dissemble, Irish; Dutch when I reele; and tho I feed on scalions If I should brag Gentility I'de gabble Welch.'
[203] Cf. Day's Parliament of Bees, Character 4.
[204] 'Estridge' is the common form of 'ostrich' among the Elizabethans (I Henry IV., iv. 1, &c).
[205] "Poire d'angoisse. A choke-Peare; or a wild soure Peare." Cotgrave.
[206] 4to. Moble.
[207] Quy. head.
[208] "Prick-song"—"harmony written or pricked down, in opposition to plain-song, where the descant rested with the will of the singer." Chappell's Popular Music, &c., I. 51.
[209] The keys of the 'virginal' were called 'Jacks.' For a description of the 'virginal' see Mr. Chappell's Popular Music, &c. I, 103.
[210] 'Coranta' i.e. curranto, news-sheet: Ben Jonson's 'Staple of News' gives us a good notion of the absurdities that used to be circulated.
[211] 'Linstocke' (or, more correctly, 'lint-stock')—a stick for holding a gunner's match.
[212] Toot—to pry into: 'tooter' was formerly the name for a 'tout' (vid. Todd's Johnson).
[213] 'Aphorisme. An Aphorisme (or generall rule in Physicke).' Cotgrave.
[214] 4to. creaking.
[215] Rosemary was used at marriages and funerals.
[216] Day dedicates his Humour out of Breath to 'Signeor Nobody': 'Signeor No,' the shorter form, is not unfrequently found (e.g. Ile of Guls, p. 59—my reprint). To whatever advantage No may have appeared on the stage, he certainly is a pitiful object in print.
[217] Baltazar's notions of Geography are vague. A most interesting account of Bantam, the capital of Java, may be seen in Vol. v. of Hakluyt's 'Collection of early Voyages,' ed. 1812. It occurs in the Description of a Voyage made by certain Ships of Holland to the East Indies &c. ... Translated out of Dutch into English by W.P. London. 1589. 'The towne,' we are told, 'is not built with streetes nor the houses placed in order, but very foule, lying full of filthy water, which men must passe through or leap over for they have no bridges.' For the people—'it is a very lying and theevish kind of people, not in any sort to be trusted.'
[218] The 'magical weed' I take to be hemlock; cf. Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens—
'And I have been plucking, plants among, Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's bane And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.'
[219] The poisoned 'Spanish fig' acquired considerable notoriety among the early Dramatists: cf. Webster, White Devil (p. 30, ed. Dyce, 1857.) 'I do look now for a Spanish fig or an Italian salad daily': Dekker. (iv. 213, Pearson) 'Now doe I looke for a fig': whether Pistol's allusion (Henry V, iii. 6) is to the poisoned fig may be doubted.
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