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diff --git a/16456.txt b/16456.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e9cb0f --- /dev/null +++ b/16456.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19668 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Works of John Dryden, Vol. 6 (of 18), by John Dryden + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of John Dryden, Vol. 6 (of 18) + Limberham; Oedipus; Troilus and Cressida; The Spanish Friar + +Author: John Dryden + +Editor: Walter Scott + +Release Date: August 6, 2005 [EBook #16456] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Fred Robinson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE + + WORKS + + OF + + JOHN DRYDEN, + + NOW FIRST COLLECTED + + _IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES._ + + + + ILLUSTRATED + + WITH NOTES, + + HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY; + + AND + + A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, + + BY + + WALTER SCOTT, ESQ. + + + + VOL. VI. + + LONDON: + + PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET, + + BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH. + + + 1808. + + + * * * * * + + + CONTENTS + + OF + + VOLUME SIXTH. + +Limberham, or the Kind Keeper, a Comedy + Epistle Dedicatory to Lord Vaughan + + +OEdipus, a Tragedy + Preface + + +Troilus and Cressida, or Truth found too late, a Tragedy + Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Sunderland + Preface + + +The Spanish Friar, or the Double Discovery + Epistle Dedicatory to Lord Haughton + + + * * * * * + + + LIMBERHAM; + + OR, + + THE KIND KEEPER. + + + A + + COMEDY. + + + [Greek: Ken me phages epi rhizan, homos eti karpophoreso. + Anthologia Dentera.] + + + _Hic nuptarum insanit amoribus; hic meretricum: + Omnes hi metuunt versus; odere poetas._ + HORAT. + + + + + LIMBERHAM. + + +The extreme indelicacy of this play would, in the present times +furnish ample and most just grounds for the unfavourable reception it +met with from the public. But in the reign of Charles II. many plays +were applauded, in which the painting is, at least, as coarse as that +of Dryden. "Bellamira, or the Mistress," a gross translation by Sir +Charles Sedley of Terence's "Eunuchus," had been often represented +with the highest approbation. But the satire of Dryden was rather +accounted too personal, than too loose. The character of Limberham has +been supposed to represent Lauderdale, whose age and uncouth figure +rendered ridiculous his ungainly affectation of fashionable vices. Mr +Malone intimates a suspicion, that Shaftesbury was the person levelled +at, whose lameness and infirmities made the satire equally poignant. +In either supposition, a powerful and leading nobleman was offended, +to whose party all seem to have drawn, whose loose conduct, in that +loose age, exposed them to be duped like the hero of the play. It is a +singular mark of the dissolute manners of those times, that an +audience, to whom matrimonial infidelity was nightly held out, not +only as the most venial of trespasses, but as a matter of triumphant +applause, were unable to brook any ridicule, upon the mere transitory +connection formed betwixt the keeper and his mistress. Dryden had +spared neither kind of union; and accordingly his opponents exclaimed, +"That he lampooned the court, to oblige his friends in the city, and +ridiculed the city, to secure a promising lord at court; exposed the +kind keepers of Covent Garden, to please the cuckolds of Cheapside; +and drolled on the city Do-littles, to tickle the Covent-Garden +Limberhams[1]." Even Langbaine, relentless as he is in criticism, +seems to have considered the condemnation of Limberham as the +vengeance of the faction ridiculed. + +"In this play, (which I take to be the best comedy of his) he so much +exposed the keeping part of the town, that the play was stopt when it +had but thrice appeared on the stage; but the author took a becoming +care, that the things that offended on the stage, were either altered +or omitted in the press. One of our modern writers, in a short satire +against keeping, concludes thus: + + "Dryden, good man, thought keepers to reclaim, + Writ a kind satire, call'd it Limberham. + This all the herd of letchers straight alarms; + From Charing-Cross to Bow was up in arms: + They damn'd the play all at one fatal blow, + And broke the glass, that did their picture show." + +Mr Malone mentions his having seen a MS. copy of this play, found by +Lord Bolingbroke among the sweepings of Pope's study, in which there +occur several indecent passages, not to be found in the printed copy. +These, doubtless, constituted the castrations, which, in obedience to +the public voice, our author expunged from his play, after its +condemnation. It is difficult to guess what could be the nature of the +indecencies struck out, when we consider those which the poet deemed +himself at liberty to retain. + +The reader will probably easily excuse any remarks upon this comedy. +It is not absolutely without humour, but is so disgustingly coarse, as +entirely to destroy that merit. Langbaine, with his usual anxiety of +research, traces back a few of the incidents to the novels of Cinthio +Giraldi, and to those of some forgotten French authors. + +Plays, even of this nature, being worth preservation, as containing +genuine traces of the manners of the age in which they appear, I +cannot but remark the promiscuous intercourse, which, in this comedy +and others, is represented as taking place betwixt women of character, +and those who made no pretensions to it. Bellamira in Sir Charles +Sedley's play, and Mrs Tricksy in the following pages, are admitted +into company with the modest female characters, without the least hint +of exception or impropriety. Such were actually the manners of Charles +the II.d's time, where we find the mistresses of the king, and his +brothers, familiar in the highest circles. It appears, from the +evidence in the case of the duchess of Norfolk for adultery, that Nell +Gwyn was living with her Grace in familiar habits; her society, +doubtless, paving the way for the intrigue, by which the unfortunate +lady lost her rank and reputation[2]. It is always symptomatic of a +total decay of morals, where female reputation neither confers +dignity, nor excites pride, in its possessor; but is consistent with +her mingling in the society of the libertine and the profligate. + +Some of Dryden's libellers draw an invidious comparison betwixt his +own private life and this satire; and exhort him to + + Be to vices, which he practised, kind. + +But of the injustice of this charge on Dryden's character, we have +spoken fully elsewhere. Undoubtedly he had the licence of this, and +his other dramatic writings, in his mind, when he wrote the following +verses; where the impurity of the stage is traced to its radical +source, the debauchery of the court: + + Then courts of kings were held in high renown, + Ere made the common brothels of the town. + There virgins honourable vows received, + But chaste, as maids in monasteries, lived. + The king himself, to nuptial rites a slave, + No bad example to his poets gave; + And they, not bad, but in a vicious age, + Had not, to please the prince, debauched the stage. + _Wife of Bath's Tale._ + +"Limberham" was acted at the Duke's Theatre in Dorset-Garden; for, +being a satire upon a court vice, it was deemed peculiarly calculated +for that play-house. The concourse of the citizens thither is alluded +to in the prologue to "Marriage-a-la-Mode." Ravenscroft also, in his +epilogue to the "Citizen turned Gentleman," acted at the same theatre, +disowns the patronage of the courtiers who kept mistresses, probably +because they Constituted the minor part of his audience: + + From the court party we hope no success; + Our author is not one of the noblesse, + That bravely does maintain his miss in town, + Whilst my great lady is with speed sent down, + And forced in country mansion-house to fix. + That miss may rattle here in coach-and-six. + +The stage for introducing "Limberham" was therefore judiciously +chosen, although the piece was ill received, and withdrawn after being +only thrice represented. It was printed in 1678. + + +Footnotes: +1. Reasons for Mr Bayes changing his Religion, p. 24. + +2. See State Trials, vol. viii. pp. 17, 18. + + + + + TO + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + JOHN, + + LORD VAUGHAN, &c[1]. + + +MY LORD, + +I cannot easily excuse the printing of a play at so unseasonable a +time[2], when the great plot of the nation, like one of Pharaoh's lean +kine, has devoured its younger brethren of the stage. But however weak +my defence might be for this, I am sure I should not need any to the +world for my dedication to your lordship; and if you can pardon my +presumption in it, that a bad poet should address himself to so great +a judge of wit, I may hope at least to escape with the excuse of +Catullus, when he writ to Cicero: + + _Gratias tibi maximas Catullus + Agit, pessimus omnium, poeta; + Tanto pessimus omnium poeta, + Quanto tu optimns omnium patronus._ + +I have seen an epistle of Flecknoe's to a nobleman, who was by some +extraordinary chance a scholar; (and you may please to take notice by +the way, how natural the connection of thought is betwixt a bad poet +and Flecknoe) where he begins thus: _Quatuordecim jam elapsi sunt +anni,_ &c.; his Latin, it seems, not holding out to the end of the +sentence: but he endeavoured to tell his patron, betwixt two languages +which he understood alike, that it was fourteen years since he had the +happiness to know him. It is just so long, (and as happy be the omen +of dulness to me, as it is to some clergymen and statesmen!) since +your lordship has known, that there is a worse poet remaining in the +world, than he of scandalous memory, who left it last[3]. I might +enlarge upon the subject with my author, and assure you, that I have +served as long for you, as one of the patriarchs did for his +Old-Testament mistress; but I leave those flourishes, when occasion +shall serve, for a greater orator to use, and dare only tell you, that +I never passed any part of my life with greater satisfaction or +improvement to myself, than those years which I have lived in the +honour of your lordship's acquaintance; if I may have only the time +abated when the public service called you to another part of the +world, which, in imitation of our florid speakers, I might (if I durst +presume upon the expression) call the _parenthesis of my life_. + +That I have always honoured you, I suppose I need not tell you at this +time of day; for you know I staid not to date my respects to you from +that title which now you have, and to which you bring a greater +addition by your merit, than you receive from it by the name; but I am +proud to let others know, how long it is that I have been made happy +by my knowledge of you; because I am sure it will give me a reputation +with the present age, and with posterity. And now, my lord, I know you +are afraid, lest I should take this occasion, which lies so fair for +me, to acquaint the world with some of those excellencies which I have +admired in you; but I have reasonably considered, that to acquaint the +world, is a phrase of a malicious meaning; for it would imply, that +the world were not already acquainted with them. You are so generally +known to be above the meanness of my praises, that you have spared my +evidence, and spoiled my compliment: Should I take for my common +places, your knowledge both of the old and the new philosophy; should +I add to these your skill in mathematics and history; and yet farther, +your being conversant with all the ancient authors of the Greek and +Latin tongues, as well as with the modern--I should tell nothing new +to mankind; for when I have once but named you, the world will +anticipate all my commendations, and go faster before me than I can +follow. Be therefore secure, my lord, that your own fame has freed +itself from the danger of a panegyric; and only give me leave to tell +you, that I value the candour of your nature, and that one character +of friendliness, and, if I may have leave to call it, kindness in you, +before all those other which make you considerable in the nation[4]. + +Some few of our nobility are learned, and therefore I will not +conclude an absolute contradiction in the terms of nobleman and +scholar; but as the world goes now, 'tis very hard to predicate one +upon the other; and 'tis yet more difficult to prove, that a nobleman +can be a friend to poetry. Were it not for two or three instances in +Whitehall, and in the town, the poets of this age would find so little +encouragement for their labours, and so few understanders, that they +might have leisure to turn pamphleteers, and augment the number of +those abominable scribblers, who, in this time of licence, abuse the +press, almost every day, with nonsense, and railing against the +government. + +It remains, my lord, that I should give you some account of this +comedy, which you have never seen; because it was written and acted in +your absence, at your government of Jamaica. It was intended for an +honest satire against our crying sin of _keeping_; how it would have +succeeded, I can but guess, for it was permitted to be acted only +thrice. The crime, for which it suffered, was that which is objected +against the satires of Juvenal, and the epigrams of Catullus, that it +expressed too much of the vice which it decried. Your lordship knows +what answer was returned by the elder of those poets, whom I last +mentioned, to his accusers: + + _--castum esse decet pium poetam + Ipsum. Versiculos nihil necesse est: + Qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem + Si sint molliculi et parum pudici._ + +But I dare not make that apology for myself; and therefore have taken +a becoming care, that those things which offended on the stage, might +be either altered, or omitted in the press; for their authority is, +and shall be, ever sacred to me, as much absent as present, and in all +alterations of their fortune, who for those reasons have stopped its +farther appearance on the theatre. And whatsoever hindrance it has +been to me in point of profit, many of my friends can bear me witness, +that I have not once murmured against that decree. The same fortune +once happened to Moliere, on the occasion of his "Tartuffe;" which, +notwithstanding, afterwards has seen the light, in a country more +bigot than ours, and is accounted amongst the best pieces of that +poet. I will be bold enough to say, that this comedy is of the first +rank of those which I have written, and that posterity will be of my +opinion. It has nothing of particular satire in it; for whatsoever may +have been pretended by some critics in the town, I may safely and +solemnly affirm, that no one character has been drawn from any single +man; and that I have known so many of the same humour, in every folly +which is here exposed, as may serve to warrant it from a particular +reflection. It was printed in my absence from the town, this summer, +much against my expectation; otherwise I had over-looked the press, +and been yet more careful, that neither my friends should have had the +least occasion of unkindness against me, nor my enemies of upbraiding +me; but if it live to a second impression, I will faithfully perform +what has been wanting in this. In the mean time, my lord, I recommend +it to your protection, and beg I may keep still that place in your +favour which I have hitherto enjoyed; and which I shall reckon as one +of the greatest blessings which can befall, + + My Lord, + + Your Lordship's most obedient, + Faithful servant, + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +Footnotes: +1. John, Lord Vaughan, was the eldest surviving son of Richard, Earl + of Carbery, to which title he afterwards succeeded. He was a man of + literature, and president of the Royal Society from 1686 to 1689. + Dryden was distinguished by his patronage as far back as 1664, + being fourteen years before the acting of this play. Lord Vaughan + had thus the honour of discovering and admiring the poet's genius, + before the public applause had fixed his fame; and, probably better + deserved the panegyric here bestowed, than was Usual among Dryden's + patrons. He wrote a recommendatory copy of verses, which are + prefixed to "The Conquest of Granada." Mr Malone informs us, that + this accomplished nobleman died at Chelsea, on 16th January, + 1712-13. + +2. The great popish plot, that scene of mystery and blood, broke out + in August 1678. + +3. Flecknoe was a Roman Catholic priest, very much addicted to + scribbling verses. His name has been chiefly preserved by our + author's satire of "Mack-Flecknoe;" in which he has depicted + Shadwell, as the literary son and heir of this wretched poetaster. + A few farther particulars concerning him may be found prefixed to + that poem. Flecknoe, from this dedication, appears to have been + just deceased. The particular passage referred to has not been + discovered; even Langbaine had never seen it: but Mr Malone points + out a letter of Flecknoe to the Cardinal Barberini, whereof the + first sentence is in Latin, and the next in English. Our author, in + an uncommon strain of self-depreciation, or rather to give a neat + turn to his sentence, has avouched himself to be a worse poet than + Flecknoe. But expressions of modesty in a dedication, like those of + panegyric, are not to be understood literally. As in the latter, + Dryden often strains a note beyond _Ela_, so, on the present + occasion, he has certainly sounded the very base string of + humility. Poor Flecknoe, indeed, seems to have become proverbial, + as the worst of poets. The Earl of Dorset thus begins a satire on + Edward Howard: + + Those damned antipodes to common sense, + Those toils to Flecknoe, pr'ythee, tell me whence + Does all this mighty mass of dulness spring, + Which in such loads thou to the stage dost bring? + +4. There is a very flat and prosaic imitation of this sentiment in the + Duke of Buckingham's lines to Pope: + + And yet so wondrous, so sublime a thing + As the great Iliad, scarce could make me sing; + Except I justly could at once commend + A good companion, and as firm a friend; + One moral, or a mere well-natured deed, + Does all desert in sciences exceed. + + Thus prose may be humbled, as well as exalted; into poetry. + + + + + PROLOGUE. + + + True wit has seen its best days long ago; + It ne'er looked up, since we were dipt in show; + When sense in doggrel rhimes and clouds was lost, + And dulness flourished at the actor's cost. + Nor stopt it here; when tragedy was done, + Satire and humour the same fate have run, + And comedy is sunk to trick and pun. + Now our machining lumber will not sell, + And you no longer care for heaven or hell; + What stuff will please you next, the Lord can tell. + Let them, who the rebellion first began + To wit, restore the monarch, if they can; + Our author dares not be the first bold man. + He, like the prudent citizen, takes care, + To keep for better marts his staple ware; + His toys are good enough for Sturbridge fair. + Tricks were the fashion; if it now be spent, + 'Tis time enough at Easter, to invent; + No man will make up a new suit for Lent. + If now and then he takes a small pretence, + To forage for a little wit and sense, + Pray pardon him, he meant you no offence. + Next summer, Nostradamus tells, they say, + That all the critics shall be shipped away, + And not enow be left to damn a play. + To every sail beside, good heaven, be kind; + But drive away that swarm with such a wind, + That not one locust may be left behind! + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + + ALDO, _an honest, good-natured, free-hearted old gentleman of the + town._ + WOODALL, _his son, under a false name; bred abroad, and now returned + from travel._ + LIMBERHAM, _a tame, foolish keeper, persuaded by what is last said + to him, and changing next word._ + BRAINSICK, _a husband, who, being well conceited of himself, + despises his wife: vehement and eloquent, as he thinks; + but indeed a talker of nonsense._ + GERVASE, WOODALL'S _man: formal, and apt to give good counsel._ + GILES, WOODALL'S _cast servant._ + + MRS SAINTLY, _an hypocritical fanatic, landlady of the + boarding-house._ + MRS TRICKSY, _a termagant kept mistress._ + MRS PLEASANCE, _supposed daughter to_ MRS SAINTLY: _Spiteful and + satirical; but secretly in love with_ WOODALL. + MRS BRAINSICK. + JUDITH, _a maid of the house._ + +SCENE--_A Boarding-house in Town._ + + + + + LIMBERHAM; + + OR, THE + + KIND KEEPER. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_An open Garden-House; a table in it, and chairs._ + + _Enter_ WOODALL _and_ GERVASE. + +_Wood._ Bid the footman receive the trunks and portmantua; and see +them placed in the lodgings you have taken for me, while I walk a turn +here in the garden. + +_Gerv._ It is already ordered, sir. But they are like to stay in the +outer-room, till the mistress of the house return from morning +exercise. + +_Wood._ What, she's gone to the parish church, it seems, to her +devotions! + +_Gerv._ No, sir; the servants have informed me, that she rises every +morning, and goes to a private meeting-house; where they pray for the +government, and practise against the authority of it. + +_Wood._ And hast thou trepanned me into a tabernacle of the godly? Is +this pious boarding-house a place for me, thou wicked varlet? + +_Gerv._ According to human appearance, I must confess, it is neither +fit for you, nor you for it; but have patience, sir; matters are not +so bad as they may seem. There are pious bawdy-houses in the world, or +conventicles would not be so much frequented. Neither is it +impossible, but a devout fanatic landlady of a boarding-house may be a +bawd. + +_Wood._ Ay, to those of her own church, I grant you, Gervase; but I am +none of those. + +_Gerv._ If I were worthy to read you a lecture in the mystery of +wickedness, I would instruct you first in the art of seeming holiness: +But, heaven be thanked, you have a toward and pregnant genius to vice, +and need not any man's instruction; and I am too good, I thank my +stars, for the vile employment of a pimp. + +_Wood._ Then thou art even too good for me; a worse man will serve my +turn. + +_Gerv._ I call your conscience to witness, how often I have given you +wholesome counsel; how often I have said to you, with tears in my +eyes, master, or master Aldo-- + +_Wood._ Mr Woodall, you rogue! that is my _nomme de guerre._ You know +I have laid by Aldo, for fear that name should bring me to the notice +of my father. + +_Gerv._ Cry you mercy, good Mr Woodall. How often have I said,--Into +what courses do you run! Your father sent you into France at twelve +years old; bred you up at Paris, first in a college, and then at an +academy: At the first, instead of running through a course of +philosophy, you ran through all the bawdy-houses in town: At the +latter, instead of managing the great horse, you exercised on your +master's wife. What you did in Germany, I know not; but that you beat +them all at their own weapon, drinking, and have brought home a goblet +of plate from Munster, for the prize of swallowing a gallon of Rhenish +more than the bishop. + +_Wood._ Gervase, thou shalt be my chronicler; thou losest none of my +heroic actions. + +_Gerv._ What a comfort are you like to prove to your good old father! +You have run a campaigning among the French these last three years, +without his leave; and now he sends for you back, to settle you in the +world, and marry you to the heiress of a rich gentleman, of whom he +had the guardianship, yet you do not make your application to him. + +_Wood._ Pr'ythee, no more. + +_Gerv._ You are come over, have been in town above a week _incognito_, +haunting play-houses, and other places, which for modesty I name not; +and have changed your name from Aldo to Woodall, for fear of being +discovered to him: You have not so much as inquired where he is +lodged, though you know he is most commonly in London: And lastly, you +have discharged my honest fellow-servant Giles, because-- + +_Wood._ Because he was too saucy, and was ever offering to give me +counsel: Mark that, and tremble at his destiny. + +_Gerv._ I know the reason why I am kept; because you cannot be +discovered by my means; for you took me up in France, and your father +knows me not. + +_Wood._ I must have a ramble in the town: When I have spent my money, +I will grow dutiful, see my father, and ask for more. In the mean +time, I have beheld a handsome woman at a play, I am fallen in love +with her, and have found her easy: Thou, I thank thee, hast traced her +to her lodging in this boarding-house, and hither I am come, to +accomplish my design. + +_Gerv._ Well, heaven mend all. I hear our landlady's voice without; +[_Noise._] and therefore shall defer my counsel to a fitter season. + +_Wood._ Not a syllable of counsel: The next grave sentence, thou +marchest after Giles. Woodall's my name; remember that. + + _Enter Mrs_ SAINTLY. + +Is this the lady of the house? + +_Gerv._ Yes, Mr Woodall, for want of a better, as she will tell you. + +_Wood._ She has a notable smack with her! I believe zeal first taught +the art of kissing close. [_Saluting her._ + +_Saint._ You are welcome, gentleman. Woodall is your name? + +_Wood._ I call myself so. + +_Saint._ You look like a sober discreet gentleman; there is grace in +your countenance. + +_Wood._ Some sprinklings of it, madam: We must not boast. + +_Saint._ Verily, boasting is of an evil principle. + +_Wood._ Faith, madam-- + +_Saint._ No swearing, I beseech you. Of what church are you? + +_Wood._ Why, of Covent-Garden church, I think. + +_Gerv._ How lewdly and ignorantly he answers! [_Aside_] She means, of +what religion are you? + +_Wood._ O, does she so?--Why, I am of your religion, be it what it +will; I warrant it a right one: I'll not stand with you for a trifle; +presbyterian, independent, anabaptist, they are all of them too good +for us, unless we had the grace to follow them. + +_Saint._ I see you are ignorant; but verily, you are a new vessel, and +I may season you. I hope you do not use the parish-church. + +_Wood._ Faith, madam--cry you mercy; (I forgot again) I have been in +England but five days. + +_Saint._ I find a certain motion within me to this young man, and must +secure him to myself, ere he see my lodgers. [_Aside._]--O, seriously, +I had forgotten; your trunk and portmantua are standing in the hall; +your lodgings are ready, and your man may place them, if he please, +while you and I confer together. + +_Wood._ Go, Gervase, and do as you are directed. [_Exit_ GER. + +_Saint._ In the first place, you must know, we are a company of +ourselves, and expect you should live conformably and lovingly amongst +us. + +_Wood._ There you have hit me. I am the most loving soul, and shall be +conformable to all of you. + +_Saint._ And to me especially. Then, I hope, you are no keeper of late +hours. + +_Wood._ No, no, my hours are very early; betwixt three and four in the +morning, commonly. + +_Saint._ That must be amended; but, to remedy the inconvenience, I +will myself sit up for you. I hope, you would not offer violence to +me? + +_Wood._ I think I should not, if I were sober. + +_Saint._ Then, if you were overtaken, and should offer violence, and I +consent not, you may do your filthy part, and I am blameless. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] I think the devil's in her; she has given me the +hint again.--Well, it shall go hard, but I will offer violence +sometimes; will that content you? + +_Saint._ I have a cup of cordial water in my closet, which will help +to strengthen nature, and to carry off a debauch: I do not invite you +thither; but the house will be safe a-bed, and scandal will be +avoided. + +_Wood._ Hang scandal; I am above it at those times. + +_Saint._ But scandal is the greatest part of the offence; you must be +secret. And I must warn you of another thing; there are, besides +myself, two more young women in my house. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] That, besides herself, is a cooling card.--Pray, +how young are they? + +_Saint._ About my age: some eighteen, or twenty, or thereabouts. + +_Wood._ Oh, very good! Two more young women besides yourself, and both +handsome? + +_Saint._ No, verily, they are painted outsides; you must not cast your +eyes upon them, nor listen to their conversation: You are already +chosen for a better work. + +_Wood._ I warrant you, let me alone: I am chosen, I. + +_Saint._ They are a couple of alluring wanton minxes. + +_Wood._ Are they very alluring, say you? very wanton? + +_Saint._ You appear exalted, when I mention those pit-falls of +iniquity. + +_Wood._ Who, I exalted? Good faith, I am as sober, a melancholy poor +soul!-- + +_Saint._ I see this abominable sin of swearing is rooted in you. Tear +it out; oh, tear it out! it will destroy your precious soul. + +_Wood._ I find we two shall scarce agree: I must not come to your +closet when I have got a bottle; for, at such a time, I am horribly +given to it. + +_Saint._ Verily, a little swearing may be then allowable: You may +swear you love me, it is a lawful oath; but then, you must not look on +harlots. + +_Wood._ I must wheedle her, and whet my courage first on her; as a +good musician always preludes before a tune. Come, here is my first +oath. [_Embracing her._ + + _Enter_ ALDO. + +_Aldo._ How now, Mrs Saintly! what work have we here towards? + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Aldo, my own natural father, as I live! I remember +the lines of that hide-bound face: Does he lodge here? If he should +know me, I am ruined. + +_Saint._ Curse on his coming! he has disturbed us. [_Aside._] Well, +young gentleman, I shall take a time to instruct you better. + +_Wood._ You shall find me an apt scholar. + +_Saint._ I must go abroad upon some business; but remember your +promise, to carry yourself soberly, and without scandal in my family; +and so I leave you to this gentleman, who is a member of it. + [_Exit_ SAINT. + +_Aldo._ [_Aside._] Before George, a proper fellow, and a swinger he +should be, by his make! the rogue would humble a whore, I warrant +him.--You are welcome, sir, amongst us; most heartily welcome, as I +may say. + +_Wood._ All's well: he knows me not.--Sir, your civility is obliging +to a stranger, and may befriend me, in the acquaintance of our +fellow-lodgers. + +_Aldo._ Hold you there, sir: I must first understand you a little +better; and yet, methinks, you should be true to love. + +_Wood._ Drinking and wenching are but slips of youth: I had those two +good qualities from my father. + +_Aldo._ Thou, boy! Aha, boy! a true Trojan, I warrant thee! [_Hugging +him._] Well, I say no more; but you are lighted into such a family, +such food for concupiscence, such _bona roba's_! + +_Wood._ One I know, indeed; a wife: But _bona roba's_, say you? + +_Aldo._ I say, _bona roba's_, in the plural number. + +_Wood._ Why, what a Turk Mahomet shall I be! No, I will not make +myself drunk with the conceit of so much joy: The fortune's too great +for mortal man; and I a poor unworthy sinner. + +_Aldo._ Would I lie to my friend? Am I a man? Am I a christian? There +is that wife you mentioned, a delicate little wheedling devil, with +such an appearance of simplicity; and with that, she does so +undermine, so fool her conceited husband, that he despises her! + +_Wood._ Just ripe for horns: His destiny, like a Turk's, is written in +his forehead.[1] + +_Aldo._ Peace, peace! thou art yet ordained for greater things. There +is another, too, a kept mistress, a brave strapping jade, a two-handed +whore! + +_Wood._ A kept mistress, too! my bowels yearn to her already: she is +certain prize. + +_Aldo._ But this lady is so termagant an empress! and he is so +submissive, so tame, so led a keeper, and as proud of his slavery as a +Frenchman. I am confident he dares not find her false, for fear of a +quarrel with her; because he is sure to be at the charges of the war. +She knows he cannot live without her, and therefore seeks occasions of +falling out, to make him purchase peace. I believe she is now aiming +at a settlement. + +_Wood._ Might not I ask you one civil question? How pass you your time +in this noble family? For I find you are a lover of the game, and I +should be loth to hunt in your purlieus. + +_Aldo._ I must first tell you something of my condition. I am here a +friend to all of them; I am their _factotum_, do all their business; +for, not to boast, sir, I am a man of general acquaintance: There is +no news in town, either foreign or domestic, but I have it first; no +mortgage of lands, no sale of houses, but I have a finger in them. + +_Wood._ Then, I suppose, you are a gainer by your pains. + +_Aldo._ No, I do all _gratis_, and am most commonly a loser; only a +buck sometimes from this good lord, or that good lady in the country: +and I eat it not alone, I must have company. + +_Wood._ Pray, what company do you invite? + +_Aldo._ Peace, peace, I am coming to you: Why, you must know I am +tender-natured; and if any unhappy difference have arisen betwixt a +mistress and her gallant, then I strike in, to do good offices betwixt +them; and, at my own proper charges, conclude the quarrel with a +reconciling supper. + +_Wood._ I find the ladies of pleasure are beholden to you. + +_Aldo._ Before George, I love the poor little devils. I am indeed a +father to them, and so they call me: I give them my counsel, and +assist them with my purse. I cannot see a pretty sinner hurried to +prison by the land-pirates, but nature works, and I must bail her; or +want a supper, but I have a couple of crammed chickens, a cream tart, +and a bottle of wine to offer her. + +_Wood._ Sure you expect some kindness in return. + +_Aldo._ Faith, not much: Nature in me is at low water-mark; my body's +a jade, and tires under me; yet I love to smuggle still in a corner; +pat them down, and pur over them; but, after that, I can do them +little harm. + +_Wood._ Then I'm acquainted with your business: You would be a kind of +deputy-fumbler under me. + +_Aldo._ You have me right. Be you the lion, to devour the prey; I am +your jackall, to provide it for you: There will be a bone for me to +pick. + +_Wood._ Your humility becomes your age. For my part, I am vigorous, +and throw at all. + +_Aldo._ As right as if I had begot thee! Wilt thou give me leave to +call thee son? + +_Wood._ With all my heart. + +_Aldo._ Ha, mad son! + +_Wood._ Mad daddy! + +_Aldo._ Your man told me, you were just returned from travel: What +parts have you last visited? + +_Wood._ I came from France. + +_Aldo._ Then, perhaps, you may have known an ungracious boy of mine +there. + +_Wood._ Like enough: Pray, what's his name? + +_Aldo._ George Aldo. + +_Wood._ I must confess I do know the gentleman; satisfy yourself, he's +in health, and upon his return. + +_Aldo._ That's some comfort: But, I hear, a very rogue, a lewd young +fellow. + +_Wood._ The worst I know of him is, that he loves a wench; and that +good quality he has not stolen. [_Music at the Balcony over head: Mrs_ +TRICKSY _and_ JUDITH _appear._]--Hark! There's music above. + +_Aldo._ 'Tis at my daughter Tricksy's lodging; the kept mistress I +told you of, the lass of mettle. But for all she carries it so high, I +know her pedigree; her mother's a sempstress in Dog-and-Bitch yard, +and was, in her youth, as right as she is. + +_Wood._ Then she's a two-piled punk, a punk of two descents. + +_Aldo._ And her father, the famous cobler, who taught Walsingham to +the black-birds. How stand thy affections to her, thou lusty rogue? + +_Wood._ All on fire: A most urging creature! + +_Aldo._ Peace! they are beginning. + + A SONG. + + I. + + _'Gainst keepers we petition, + Who would inclose the common: + 'Tis enough to raise sedition + In the free-born subject, woman. + Because for his gold, + I my body have sold, + He thinks I'm a slave for my life; + He rants, domineers, + He swaggers and swears, + And would keep me as bare as his wife._ + + II. + + _'Gainst keepers we petition, &c. + 'Tis honest and fair, + That a feast I prepare; + But when his dull appetite's o'er, + I'll treat with the rest + Some welcomer guest, + For the reckoning was paid me before._ + +_Wood._ A song against keepers! this makes well for us lusty lovers. + +_Trick._ [_Above._] Father, father Aldo! + +_Aldo._ Daughter Tricksy, are you there, child? your friends at Barnet +are all well, and your dear master Limberham, that noble Hephestion, +is returning with them. + +_Trick._ And you are come upon the spur before, to acquaint me with +the news. + +_Aldo._ Well, thou art the happiest rogue in a kind keeper! He drank +thy health five times, _supernaculum_,[2] to my son Brain-sick; and +dipt my daughter Pleasance's little finger, to make it go down more +glibly:[3] And, before George, I grew tory rory, as they say, and +strained a brimmer through the lily-white smock, i'faith. + +_Trick._ You will never leave these fumbling tricks, father, till you +are taken up on suspicion of manhood, and have a bastard laid at your +door: I am sure you would own it, for your credit. + +_Aldo._ Before George, I should not see it starve, for the mother's +sake: For, if she were a punk, she was good-natured, I warrant her. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Well, if ever son was blest with a hopeful father, +I am. + +_Trick._ Who is that gentleman with you? + +_Aldo._ A young _monsieur_ returned from travel; a lusty young rogue; +a true-milled whoremaster, with the right stamp. He is a +fellow-lodger, incorporate in our society: For whose sake he came +hither, let him tell you. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Are you gloating already? then there's hopes, +i'faith. + +_Trick._ You seem to know him, father. + +_Aldo._ Know him! from his cradle--What's your name? + +_Wood._ Woodall. + +_Ald._ Woodall of Woodall; I knew his father; we were contemporaries, +and fellow-wenchers in our youth. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] My honest father stumbles into truth, in spite of +lying. + +_Trick._ I was just coming down to the garden-house, before you came. + [TRICKSY _descends._ + +_Aldo._ I am sorry I cannot stay to present my son, Woodall, to you; +but I have set you together, that's enough for me. [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ [_Alone._] 'Twas my study to avoid my father, and I have run +full into his mouth: and yet I have a strong hank upon him too; for I +am privy to as many of his virtues, as he is of mine. After all, if I +had an ounce of discretion left, I should pursue this business no +farther: but two fine women in a house! well, it is resolved, come +what will on it, thou art answerable for all my sins, old Aldo-- + + _Enter_ TRICKSY, _with a box of essences._ + +Here she comes, this heir-apparent of a sempstress, and a cobler! and +yet, as she's adorned, she looks like any princess of the blood. + [_Salutes her._ + +_Trick._ [_Aside._] What a difference there is between this gentleman, +and my feeble keeper, Mr Limberham! he's to my wish, if he would but +make the least advances to me.--Father Aldo tells me, sir, you are a +traveller: What adventures have you had in foreign countries? + +_Wood._ I have no adventures of my own, can deserve your curiosity; +but, now I think on it, I can tell you one that happened to a French +cavalier, a friend of mine, at Tripoli. + +_Trick._ No wars, I beseech you: I am so weary of father Aldo's +Loraine and Crequi. + +_Wood._ Then this is as you would desire it, a love-adventure. This +French gentleman was made a slave to the Dey of Tripoli; by his good +qualities, gained his master's favour; and after, by corrupting an +eunuch, was brought into the seraglio privately, to see the Dey's +mistress. + +_Trick._ This is somewhat; proceed, sweet sir. + +_Wood._ He was so much amazed, when he first beheld her leaning over a +balcony, that he scarcely dared to lift his eyes, or speak to her. + +_Trick._ [_Aside._] I find him now.--But what followed of this dumb +interview? + +_Wood._ The nymph was gracious, and came down to him; but with so +goddess-like a presence, that the poor gentleman was thunder-struck +again. + +_Trick._ That savoured little of the monsieur's gallantry, especially +when the lady gave him encouragement. + +_Wood_ The gentleman was not so dull, but he understood the favour, +and was presuming enough to try if she were mortal. He advanced with +more assurance, and took her fair hands: was he not too bold, madam? +and would not you have drawn back yours, had you been in the sultana's +place? + +_Trick._ If the sultana liked him well enough to come down into the +garden to him, I suppose she came not thither to gather nosegays. + +_Wood._ Give me leave, madam, to thank you, in my friend's behalf, for +your favourable judgment. [_Kisses her hand._] He kissed her hand with +an exceeding transport; and finding that she prest his at the same +instant, he proceeded with a greater eagerness to her lips--but, +madam, the story would be without life, unless you give me leave to +act the circumstances. [_Kisses her._ + +_Trick._ Well, I'll swear you are the most natural historian! + +_Wood._ But now, madam, my heart beats with joy, when I come to tell +you the sweetest part of his adventure: opportunity was favourable, +and love was on his side; he told her, the chamber was more private, +and a fitter scene for pleasure. Then, looking on her eyes, he found +them languishing; he saw her cheeks blushing, and heard her voice +faultering in a half-denial: he seized her hand with an amorous +ecstacy, and-- [_Takes her hand._ + +_Trick._ Hold, sir, you act your part too far. Your friend was +unconscionable, if he desired more favours at the first interview. + +_Wood._ He both desired and obtained them, madam, and so will-- + +_Trick._ [_A noise within._] Heavens! I hear Mr Limberham's voice: +he's returned from Barnet. + +_Wood._ I'll avoid him. + +_Trick._ That's impossible; he'll meet you. Let me think a +moment:--Mrs Saintly is abroad, and cannot discover you: have any of +the servants seen you? + +_Wood._ None. + +_Trick._ Then you shall pass for my Italian merchant of essences: +here's a little box of them just ready. + +_Wood._ But I speak no Italian; only a few broken scraps, which I +picked from Scaramouch and Harlequin at Paris. + +_Trick._ You must venture that: When we are rid of Limberham, 'tis but +slipping into your chamber, throwing off your black perriwig, and +riding suit, and you come out an Englishman. No more; he's here. + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM. + +_Limb._ Why, how now, Pug? Nay, I must lay you over the lips, to take +hansel of them, for my welcome. + +_Trick._ [_Putting him back._] Foh! how you smell of sweat, dear! + +_Limb._ I have put myself into this same unsavoury heat, out of my +violent affection to see thee, Pug. Before George, as father Aldo +says, I could not live without thee; thou art the purest bed-fellow, +though I say it, that I did nothing but dream of thee all night; and +then I was so troublesome to father Aldo, (for you must know he and I +were lodged together) that, in my conscience, I did so kiss him, and +so hug him in my sleep! + +_Trick._ I dare be sworn 'twas in your sleep; for, when you are +waking, you are the most honest, quiet bed-fellow, that ever lay by +woman. + +_Limb._ Well, Pug, all shall be amended; I am come home on purpose to +pay old debts. But who is that same fellow there? What makes he in our +territories? + +_Trick._ You oaf you, do you not perceive it is the Italian seignior, +who is come to sell me essences? + +_Limb._ Is this the seignior? I warrant you, it is he the lampoon was +made on. [_Sings the tune of Seignior, and ends with,_ Ho, ho. + +_Trick._ Pr'ythee leave thy foppery, that we may have done with him. +He asks an unreasonable price, and we cannot agree. Here, seignior, +take your trinkets, and be gone. + +_Wood._ [_Taking the box._] _A dio, seigniora._ + +_Limb._ Hold, pray stay a little, seignior; a thing is come into my +head of the sudden. + +_Trick._ What would you have, you eternal sot? the man's in haste. + +_Limb._ But why should you be in your frumps, Pug, when I design only +to oblige you? I must present you with this box of essences; nothing +can be too dear for thee. + +_Trick._ Pray let him go, he understands no English. + +_Limb._ Then how could you drive a bargain with him, Pug? + +_Trick._ Why, by signs, you coxcomb. + +_Limb._ Very good! then I'll first pull him by the sleeve, that's a +sign to stay. Look you, Mr Seignior, I would make a present of your +essences to this lady; for I find I cannot speak too plain to you, +because you understand no English. Be not you refractory now, but take +ready money: that's a rule. + +_Wood._ _Seignioro, non intendo Inglese._ + +_Limb._ This is a very dull fellow! he says, he does not intend +English. How much shall I offer him, Pug? + +_Trick._ If you will present me, I have bidden him ten guineas. + +_Limb._ And, before George, you bid him fair. Look you, Mr Seignior, I +will give you all these. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Do you +see, Seignior? + +_Wood._ _Seignior, si._ + +_Limb._ Lo' you there, Pug, he does see. Here, will you take me at my +word? + +_Wood._ [_Shrugging up_] _Troppo poco, troppo poco._ + +_Limb._ _A poco, a poco!_ why a pox on you too, an' you go to that. +Stay, now I think on't, I can tickle him up with French; he'll +understand that sure. _Monsieur, voulez vous prendre ces dix guinees, +pour ces essences? mon foy c'est assez._ + +_Wood._ _Chi vala, amici: Ho di casa! taratapa, taratapa, eus, matou, +meau!_--[_To her._] I am at the end of my Italian; what will become of +me? + +_Trick._ [_To him._] Speak any thing, and make it pass for Italian; +but be sure you take his money. + +_Wood._ _Seignior, io non canno takare ten guinneo possibilmente; 'tis +to my losso._ + +_Limb._ That is, Pug, he cannot possibly take ten guineas, 'tis to his +loss: Now I understand him; this is almost English. + +_Trick._ English! away, you fop: 'tis a kind of _lingua Franca_, as I +have heard the merchants call it; a certain compound language, made up +of all tongues, that passes through the Levant. + +_Limb._ This _lingua_, what you call it, is the most rarest language! +I understand it as well as if it were English; you shall see me answer +him: _Seignioro, stay a littlo, and consider wello, ten guinnio is +monyo, a very considerablo summo._ + +_Trick._ Come, you shall make it twelve, and he shall take it for my +sake. + +_Limb._ Then, _Seignioro,_ for _Pugsakio, addo two moro: je vous donne +bon advise: prenez vitement: prenez me a mon mot._ + +_Wood._ _Io losero multo; ma pergagnare il vestro costumo, datemi +hansello._ + +_Limb._ There is both _hansello_ and _guinnio; tako, tako,_ and so +good-morrow. + +_Trick._ Good-morrow, seignior; I like your spirits very well; pray +let me have all your essence you can spare. + +_Limb._ Come, _Puggio,_ and let us retire in _secreto_, like lovers, +into our _chambro_; for I grow _impatiento--bon matin, monsieur, bon +matin et bon jour._ [_Exeunt_ LIMBERHAM _and_ TRICKSY. + +_Wood._ Well, get thee gone, 'squire Limberhamo, for the easiest fool +I ever knew, next my naunt of fairies in the Alchemist[4]. I have +escaped, thanks to my mistress's _lingua Franca_: I'll steal to my +chamber, shift my perriwig and clothes; and then, with the help of +resty Gervase, concert the business of the next campaign. My father +sticks in my stomach still; but I am resolved to be Woodall with him, +and Aldo with the women. [_Exit._ + + +ACT II. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ WOODALL _and_ GERVASE. + +_Wood._ Hitherto, sweet Gervase, we have carried matters swimmingly. I +have danced in a net before my father, almost check-mated the keeper, +retired to my chamber undiscovered, shifted my habit, and am come out +an absolute monsieur, to allure the ladies. How sits my _chedreux_? + +_Gerv._ O very finely! with the locks combed down, like a mermaid's on +a sign-post. Well, you think now your father may live in the same +house with you till doomsday, and never find you; or, when he has +found you, he will be kind enough not to consider what a property you +have made of him. My employment is at an end; you have got a better +pimp, thanks to your filial reverence. + +_Wood._ Pr'ythee, what should a man do with such a father, but use him +thus? besides, he does journey-work under me; 'tis his humour to +fumble, and my duty to provide for his old age. + +_Gerv._ Take my advice yet; down o' your marrow bones, and ask +forgiveness; espouse the wife he has provided for you; lie by the side +of a wholesome woman, and procreate your own progeny in the fear of +heaven. + +_Wood._ I have no vocation to it, Gervase: A man of sense is not made +for marriage; 'tis a game, which none but dull plodding fellows can +play at well; and 'tis as natural to them, as crimp is to a Dutchman. + +_Gerv._ Think on't, however, sir; debauchery is upon its last legs in +England: Witty men began the fashion, and now the fops are got into +it, 'tis time to leave it. + + _Enter_ ALDO. + +_Aldo._ Son Woodall, thou vigorous young rogue, I congratulate thy +good fortune; thy man has told me the adventure of the Italian +merchant. + +_Wood._ Well, they are now retired together, like Rinaldo and Armida, +to private dalliance; but we shall find a time to separate their +loves, and strike in betwixt them, daddy. But I hear there's another +lady in the house, my landlady's fair daughter; how came you to leave +her out of your catalogue? + +_Aldo._ She's pretty, I confess, but most damnably honest; have a care +of her, I warn you, for she's prying and malicious. + +_Wood._ A twang of the mother; but I love to graff on such a +crab-tree; she may bear good fruit another year. + +_Aldo._ No, no, avoid her; I warrant thee, young Alexander, I will +provide thee more worlds to conquer. + +_Gerv._ [_Aside._] My old master would fain pass for Philip of +Macedon, when he is little better than Sir Pandarus of Troy. + +_Wood._ If you get this keeper out of doors, father, and give me but +an opportunity-- + +_Aldo._ Trust my diligence; I will smoke him out, as they do bees, but +I will make him leave his honey-comb. + +_Gerv._ [_Aside._] If I had a thousand sons, none of the race of the +Gervases should ever be educated by thee, thou vile old Satan! + +_Aldo._ Away, boy! Fix thy arms, and whet, like the lusty German boys, +before a charge: He shall bolt immediately. + +_Wood._ O, fear not the vigorous five-and-twenty. + +_Aldo._ Hold, a word first: Thou saidst my son was shortly to come +over. + +_Wood._ So he told me. + +_Aldo._ Thou art my bosom friend. + +_Gerv._ [_Aside._] Of an hour's acquaintance. + +_Aldo._ Be sure thou dost not discover my frailties to the young +scoundrel: 'Twere enough to make the boy my master. I must keep up the +dignity of old age with him. + +_Wood._ Keep but your own counsel, father; for whatever he knows, must +come from you. + +_Aldo._ The truth on't is, I sent for him over; partly to have married +him, and partly because his villainous bills came so thick upon me, +that I grew weary of the charge. + +_Gerv._ He spared for nothing; he laid it on, sir, as I have heard. + +_Wood._ Peace, you lying rogue!--Believe me, sir, bating his necessary +expences of women, which I know you would not have him want, in all +things else, he was the best manager of your allowance; and, though I +say it-- + +_Gerv._ [_Aside._] That should not say it. + +_Wood._ The most hopeful young gentleman in Paris. + +_Aldo._ Report speaks otherwise; and, before George, I shall read him +a wormwood lecture, when I see him. But, hark, I hear the door unlock; +the lovers are coming out: I'll stay here, to wheedle him abroad; but +you must vanish. + +_Wood._ Like night and the moon, in the Maid's Tragedy: I into mist; +you into day[5]. [_Exeunt_ WOOD. _and_ GER. + + +SCENE _changes to_ LIMBERHAM'S _apartment._ + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM _and_ TRICKSY. + +_Limb._ Nay, but dear sweet honey Pug, forgive me but this once: It +may be any man's case, when his desires are too vehement. + +_Trick._ Let me alone; I care not. + +_Limb._ But then thou wilt not love me, Pug. + +_Aldo._ How now, son Limberham? There's no quarrel towards, I hope. + +_Trick._ You had best tell now, and make yourself ridiculous. + +_Limb._ She's in passion: Pray do you moderate this matter, father +Aldo. + +_Trick._ Father Aldo! I wonder you are not ashamed to call him so; you +may be his father, if the truth were known. + +_Aldo._ Before George, I smell a rat, son Limberham. I doubt, I doubt, +here has been some great omission in love affairs. + +_Limb._ I think all the stars in heaven have conspired my ruin. I'll +look in my almanack.--As I hope for mercy, 'tis cross day now. + +_Trick._ Hang your pitiful excuses. 'Tis well known what offers I have +had, and what fortunes I might have made with others, like a fool as I +was, to throw away my youth and beauty upon you. I could have had a +young handsome lord, that offered me my coach and six; besides many a +good knight and gentleman, that would have parted with their own +ladies, and have settled half they had upon me. + +_Limb._ Ay, you said so. + +_Trick._ I said so, sir! Who am I? Is not my word as good as yours? + +_Limb._ As mine gentlewoman? though I say it, my word will go for +thousands. + +_Trick._ The more shame for you, that you have done no more for me: +But I am resolved I'll not lose my time with you; I'll part. + +_Limb._ Do, who cares? Go to Dog-and-Bitch yard, and help your mother +to make footmen's shirts. + +_Trick._ I defy you, slanderer; I defy you. + +_Aldo._ Nay, dear daughter! + +_Limb._ I defy her too. + +_Aldo._ Nay, good son! + +_Trick._ Let me alone: I'll have him cudgelled by my footman. + + _Enter_ SAINTLY. + +_Saint._ Bless us! what's here to do? My neighbours will think I keep +a nest of unclean birds here. + +_Limb._ You had best peach now, and make her house be thought a +bawdy-house! + +_Trick._ No, no: While you are in it, you will secure it from that +scandal.--Hark hither, Mrs Saintly. [_Whispers._] + +_Limb._ Do, tell, tell, no matter for that. + +_Saint._ Who would have imagined you had been such a kind of man, Mr +Limberham! O heaven, O heaven! [_Exit._ + +_Limb._ So, now you have spit your venom, and the storm's over. + +_Aldo._ [_Crying._] That I should ever live to see this day! + +_Trick._ To show I can live honest, in spite of all mankind, I'll go +into a nunnery, and that is my resolution. + +_Limb._ Do not hinder her, good father Aldo; I am sure she will come +back from France, before she gets half way over to Calais. + +_Aldo._ Nay, but son Limberham, this must not be. A word in +private;--you will never get such another woman, for love nor money. +Do but look upon her; she is a mistress for an emperor. + +_Limb._ Let her be a mistress for a pope, like a whore of Babylon, as +she is. + +_Aldo._ Would I were worthy to be a young man, for her sake! She +should eat pearls, if she would have them. + +_Limb._ She can digest them, and gold too. Let me tell you, father +Aldo, she has the stomach of an ostrich. + +_Aldo._ Daughter Tricksy, a word with you. + +_Trick._ I'll hear nothing: I am for a nunnery. + +_Aldo._ I never saw a woman, before you, but first or last she would +be brought to reason. Hark you, child, you will scarcely find so kind +a keeper. What if he has some impediment one way? Every body is not a +Hercules. You shall have my son Woodall, to supply his wants; but, as +long as he maintains you, be ruled by him that bears the purse. + + LIMBERHAM SINGING. + + _I my own jailor was; my only foe, + Who did my liberty forego; + I was a prisoner, because I would be so._ + +_Aldo._ Why, look you now, son Limberham, is this a song to be sung at +such a time, when I am labouring your reconcilement? Come, daughter +Tricksy, you must be ruled; I'll be the peace-maker. + +_Trick._ No, I'm just going. + +_Limb._ The devil take me, if I call you back. + +_Trick._ And his dam take me, if I return, except you do. + +_Aldo._ So, now you will part, for a mere punctilio! Turn to him, +daughter: Speak to her, son: Why should you be so refractory both, to +bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave? + +_Limb._ I'll not be forsworn, I swore first; + +_Trick._ Thou art a forsworn man, however; for thou sworest to love me +eternally. + +_Limb._ Yes, I was such a fool, to swear so. + +_Aldo._ And will you have that dreadful oath lie gnawing on your +conscience? + +_Trick._ Let him be damned; and so farewell for ever.--[_Going._] + +_Limb._ Pug! + +_Trick._ Did you call, Mr Limberham? + +_Limb._ It may be, ay; it may be, no. + +_Trick._ Well, I am going to the nunnery; but, to shew I am in +charity, I'll pray for you. + +_Aldo._ Pray for him! fy, daughter, fy; is that an answer for a +Christian? + +_Limb._ What did Pug say? will she pray for me? Well, to shew I am in +charity, she shall not pray for me. Come back, Pug. But did I ever +think thou couldst have been so unkind to have parted with me? + [_Cries._ + +_Aldo._ Look you, daughter, see how nature works in him. + +_Limb._ I'll settle two hundred a-year upon thee, because thou said'st +thou would'st pray for me. + +_Aldo._ Before George, son Limberham, you will spoil all, if you +underbid so. Come, down with your dust, man: What, shew a base mind, +when a fair lady's in question! + +_Limb._ Well, if I must give three hundred-- + +_Trick._ No, it is no matter; my thoughts are on a better place. + +_Aldo._ Come, there is no better place than little London. You shall +not part for a trifle. What, son Limberham! four hundred a year is a +square sum, and you shall give it. + +_Limb._ It is a round sum indeed; I wish a three-cornered sum would +have served her turn.--Why should you be so pervicacious now, Pug? +Pray take three hundred. Nay, rather than part, Pug, it shall be so.-- +[_She frowns._] + +_Aldo._ It shall be so, it shall be so: Come, now buss, and seal the +bargain. + +_Trick._ [_Kissing him._] You see what a good natured fool I am, Mr +Limberham, to come back into a wicked world, for love of you.--You +will see the writings drawn, father? + +_Aldo._ Ay; and pay the lawyer too. Why, this is as it should be! I'll +be at the charge of the reconciling supper.--[_To her aside._] +Daughter, my son Woodall is waiting for you.--Come away, son Limberham +to the temple. + +_Limb._ With all my heart, while she is in a good humour: It would +cost me another hundred, if I should stay till Pug were in wrath +again. Adieu, sweet Pug.--[_Exeunt_ ALDO, _and_ LIMB.] + +_Trick._ That he should be so silly to imagine I would go into a +nunnery! it is likely; I have much nun's flesh about me. But here +comes my gentleman. + + _Enter_ WOODALL, _not seeing her._ + +_Wood._ Now the wife's returned, and the daughter too, and I have seen +them both, and am more distracted than before: I would enjoy all, and +have not yet determined with which I should begin. It is but a kind of +clergy-covetousness in me, to desire so many; if I stand gaping after +pluralities, one of them is in danger to be made a _sine cure_--[_Sees +her._] O, fortune has determined for me. It is just here, as it is in +the world; the mistress will be served before the wife. + +_Trick._ How now, sir, are you rehearsing your _lingua Franca_ by +yourself, that you walk so pensively? + +_Wood._ No faith, madam, I was thinking of the fair lady, who, at +parting, bespoke so cunningly of me all my essences. + +_Trick._ But there are other beauties in the house; and I should be +impatient of a rival: for I am apt to be partial to myself, and think +I deserve to be preferred before them. + +_Wood._ Your beauty will allow of no competition; and I am sure my +love could make none. + +_Trick._ Yes, you have seen Mrs Brainsick; she's a beauty. + +_Wood._ You mean, I suppose, the peaking creature, the married woman, +with a sideling look, as if one cheek carried more bias than the +other? + +_Trick._ Yes, and with a high nose, as visible as a land-mark. + +_Wood._ With one cheek blue, the other red; just like the covering of +Lambeth Palace. + +_Trick._ Nay, but her legs, if you could see them-- + +_Wood._ She was so foolish to wear short petticoats, and show them. +They are pillars, gross enough to support a larger building; of the +Tuscan order, by my troth. + +_Trick._ And her little head, upon that long neck, shows like a +traitor's skull upon a pole. Then, for her wit-- + +_Wood._ She can have none: There's not room enough for a thought to +play in. + +_Trick._ I think indeed I may safely trust you with such charms; and +you have pleased me with your description of her. + +_Wood._ I wish you would give me leave to please you better. But you +transact as gravely with me as a Spaniard; and are losing love, as he +does Flanders: you consider and demur, when the monarch is up in arms, +and at your gates[6]. + +_Trick._ But to yield upon the first summons, ere you have laid a +formal siege--To-morrow may prove a luckier day to you. + +_Wood._ Believe me, madam, lovers are not to trust to-morrow. Love may +die upon our hands, or opportunity be wanting; 'tis best securing the +present hour. + +_Trick._ No, love's like fruit; it must have time to ripen on the +tree; if it be green gathered, 'twill but wither afterwards. + +_Wood._ Rather 'tis like gun powder; that which fires quickest, is +commonly the strongest.--By this burning kiss-- + +_Trick._ You lovers are such froward children, ever crying for the +breast; and, when you have once had it, fall fast asleep in the +nurse's arms. And with what face should I look upon my keeper after +it? + +_Wood._ With the same face that all mistresses look upon theirs. Come, +come. + +_Trick._ But my reputation! + +_Wood._ Nay, that's no argument, if I should be so base to tell; for +women get good fortunes now-a-days, by losing their credit, as a +cunning citizen does by breaking. + +_Trick._ But, I'm so shame-faced! Well, I'll go in, and hide my +blushes. [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ I'll not be long after you; for I think I have hidden my +blushes where I shall never find them. + + _Re-enter_ TRICKSY. + +_Trick._ As I live, Mr Limberham and father Aldo are just returned; I +saw them entering. My settlement will miscarry, if you are found here: +What shall we do? + +_Wood._ Go you into your bed-chamber, and leave me to my fortune. + +_Trick._ That you should be so dull! their suspicion will be as strong +still: for what should make you here? + +_Wood._ The curse on't is too, I bid my man tell the family I was gone +abroad; so that, if I am seen, you are infallibly discovered. + [_Noise._ + +_Trick._ Hark, I hear them! Here's a chest which I borrowed of Mrs +Pleasance; get quickly into it, and I will lock you up: there's +nothing in't but clothes of Limberham's, and a box of writings. + +_Wood._ I shall be smothered. + +_Trick._ Make haste, for heaven's sake; they'll quickly be gone, and +then-- + +_Wood._ That _then_ will make a man venture any thing. + [_He goes in, and she locks the chest._ + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM _and_ ALDO. + +_Limb._ Dost thou not wonder to see me come again so quickly, Pug? + +_Trick._ No, I am prepared for any foolish freak of yours: I knew you +would have a qualm, when you came to settlement. + +_Limb._ Your settlement depends most absolutely on that chest. + +_Trick._ Father Aldo, a word with you, for heaven's sake. + +_Aldo._ No, no, I'll not whisper. Do not stand in your own light, but +produce the keys, daughter. + +_Limb._ Be not musty, my pretty St Peter, but produce the keys. I must +have the writings out, that concern thy settlement. + +_Trick._ Now I see you are so reasonable, I'll show you I dare trust +your honesty; the settlement shall be deferred till another day. + +_Aldo._ No deferring in these cases, daughter. + +_Trick._ But I have lost the keys. + +_Limb._ That's a jest! let me feel in thy pocket, for I must oblige +thee. + +_Trick._ You shall feel no where: I have felt already and am sure they +are lost. + +_Aldo._ But feel again, the lawyer stays. + +_Trick._ Well, to satisfy you, I will feel.--They are not here--nor +here neither. [_She pulls out her handkerchief, and the keys + drop after it:_ LIMBERHAM _takes them up._ + +_Limb._ Look you now, Pug! who's in the right? Well, thou art born to +be a lucky Pug, in spite of thyself. + +_Trick_ [_Aside._] O, I am ruined!--One word, I beseech you, father +Aldo. + +_Aldo._ Not a syllable. What the devil's in you, daughter? Open, son, +open. + +_Trick._ [_Aloud._] It shall not be opened; I will have my will, +though I lose my settlement. Would I were within the chest! I would +hold it down, to spite you. I say again, would I were within the +chest, I would hold it so fast, you should not open it.--The best on't +is, there's good inkle on the top of the inside, if he have the wit to +lay hold on't. [_Aside._ + +_Limb._ [_Going to open it._] Before George, I think you have the +devil in a string, Pug; I cannot open it, for the guts of me. _Hictius +doctius!_ what's here to do? I believe, in my conscience, Pug can +conjure: Marry, God bless us all good Christians! + +_Aldo._ Push hard, son. + +_Limb._ I cannot push; I was never good at pushing. When I push, I +think the devil pushes too. Well, I must let it alone, for I am a +fumbler. Here, take the keys, Pug. + +_Trick._ [_Aside._] Then all's safe again. + + _Enter_ JUDITH _and_ GERVASE. + +_Jud._ Madam, Mrs Pleasance has sent for the chest you borrowed of +her. She has present occasion for it; and has desired us to carry it +away. + +_Limb._ Well, that's but reason: If she must have it, she must have +it. + +_Trick_ Tell her, it shall be returned some time to-day; at present we +must crave her pardon, because we have some writings in it, which must +first be taken out, when we can open it. + +_Limb._ Nay, that's but reason too: Then she must not have it. + +_Gerv._ Let me come to't; I'll break it open, and you may take out +your writings. + +_Limb._ That's true: 'Tis but reasonable it should be broken open. + +_Trick._ Then I may be bound to make good the loss. + +_Limb._ 'Tis unreasonable it should be broken open. + +_Aldo._ Before George, Gervase and I will carry it away; and a smith +shall be sent for to my daughter Pleasance's chamber, to open it +without damage. + +_Limb._ Why, who says against it? Let it be carried; I'm all for +reason. + +_Trick._ Hold; I say it shall not stir. + +_Aldo._ What? every one must have their own; _Fiat justitia, aut ruat +mundus._ + +_Limb._ Ay, _fiat justitia,_ Pug: She must have her own; for +_justitia_ is Latin for justice. [ALDO _and_ GERV. _lift at it._ + +_Aldo._ I think the devil's in't. + +_Gerv._ There's somewhat bounces, like him, in't. 'Tis plaguy heavy; +but we'll take t'other heave. + +_Trick._ [_Taking hold of the chest._] Then you shall carry me too. +Help, murder, murder! [_A confused gabbling among them._ + + _Enter Mrs_ SAINTLY. + +_Saint._ Verily, I think all hell's broke loose among you. What, a +schism in my family! Does this become the purity of my house? What +will the ungodly say? + +_Limb._ No matter for the ungodly; this is all among ourselves: For, +look you, the business is this. Mrs Pleasance has sent for this same +business here, which she lent to Pug; now Pug has some private +businesses within this business, which she would take out first, and +the business will not be opened: and this makes all the business. + +_Saint._ Verily, I am raised up for a judge amongst you; and I say-- + +_Trick._ I'll have no judge: it shall not go. + +_Aldo._ Why son, why daughter, why Mrs Saintly; are you all mad? Hear +me, I am sober, I am discreet; let a smith be sent for hither, let him +break open the chest; let the things contained be taken out, and the +thing containing be restored. + +_Limb._ Now hear me too, for I am sober and discreet; father Aldo is +an oracle: It shall be so. + +_Trick._ Well, to show I am reasonable, I am content. Mr Gervase and I +will fetch an instrument from the next smith; in the mean time, let +the chest remain where it now stands, and let every one depart the +chamber. + +_Limb._ That no violence be offered to the person of the chest, in +Pug's absence. + +_Aldo._ Then this matter is composed. + +_Trick._ [_Aside._] Now I shall have leisure to instruct his man, and +set him free, without discovery. Come, Mr Gervase. + [_Exeunt all but_ SAINTLY. + +_Saint._ There is a certain motion put into my mind, and it is of +good. I have keys here, which a precious brother, a devout blacksmith, +made me, and which will open any lock of the same bore. Verily, it can +be no sin to unlock this chest therewith, and take from thence the +spoils of the ungodly. I will satisfy my conscience, by giving part +thereof to the hungry and the needy; some to our pastor, that he may +prove it lawful; and some I will sanctify to my own use. + [_She unlocks the chest, and_ WOODALL _starts up._ + +_Wood._ Let me embrace you, my dear deliverer! Bless us! is it you, +Mrs Saintly? [_She shrieks._ + +_Saint._ [_Shrieking._] Heaven of his mercy! Stop thief, stop thief! + +_Wood._ What will become of me now? + +_Saint._ According to thy wickedness, shall it be done unto thee. Have +I discovered thy backslidings, thou unfaithful man! thy treachery to +me shall be rewarded, verily; for I will testify against thee. + +_Wood._ Nay, since you are so revengeful, you shall suffer your part +of the disgrace; if you testify against me for adultery, I shall +testify against you for theft: There's an eighth for your seventh. + [_Noise._ + +_Saint._ Verily, they are approaching: Return to my embraces, and it +shall be forgiven thee. + +_Wood._ Thank you, for your own sake. Hark! they are coming! cry thief +again, and help to save all yet. + +_Saint._ Stop thief, stop thief! + +_Wood._ Thank you for your own sake; but I fear 'tis too late. + + _Enter_ TRICKSY _and_ LIMBERHAM. + +_Trick._ [_Entering._] The chest open, and Woodall discovered! I am +ruined. + +_Limb._ Why all this shrieking, Mrs Saintly? + +_Wood._ [_Rushing him down._] Stop thief, stop thief! cry you mercy, +gentleman, if I have hurt you. + +_Limb._ [_Rising._] 'Tis a fine time to cry a man mercy, when you have +beaten his wind out of his body. + +_Saint._ As I watched the chest, behold a vision rushed out of it, on +the sudden; and I lifted up my voice, and shrieked. + +_Limb._ A vision, landlady! what, have we Gog and Magog in our +chamber? + +_Trick._ A thief, I warrant you, who had gotten into the chest. + +_Wood._ Most certainly a thief; for, hearing my landlady cry out, I +flew from my chamber to her help, and met him running down stairs, and +then he turned back to the balcony, and leapt into the street. + +_Limb._ I thought, indeed, that something held down the chest, when I +would have opened it:--But my writings are there still, that's one +comfort.--Oh seignioro, are you here? + +_Wood._ Do you speak to me, sir? + +_Saint._ This is Mr Woodall, your new fellow-lodger. + +_Limb._ Cry you mercy, sir; I durst have sworn you could have spoken +_lingua Franca_--I thought, in my conscience, Pug, this had been thy +Italian _merchanto_. + +_Wood._ Sir, I see you mistake me for some other: I should be happy to +be better known to you. + +_Limb._ Sir, I beg your pardon, with all my _hearto_. Before George, I +was caught again there! But you are so very like a paltry fellow, who +came to sell Pug essences this morning, that one would swear those +eyes, and that nose and mouth, belonged to that rascal. + +_Wood._ You must pardon me, sir, if I do not much relish the close of +your compliment. + +_Trick._ Their eyes are nothing like:--you'll have a quarrel. + +_Limb._ Not very like, I confess. + +_Trick._ Their nose and mouth are quite different. + +_Limb._ As Pug says, they are quite different, indeed; but I durst +have sworn it had been he; and, therefore, once again, I demand your +_pardono_. + +_Trick._ Come, let us go down; by this time Gervase has brought the +smith, and then Mrs Pleasance may have her chest. Please you, sir, to +bear us company. + +_Wood._ At your service, madam. + +_Limb._ Pray lead the way, sir. + +_Wood._ 'Tis against my will, sir; but I must leave you in possession. + [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT III.--SCENE I. + + _Enter_ SAINTLY _and_ PLEASANCE. + +_Pleas._ Never fear it, I'll be a spy upon his actions; he shall +neither whisper nor gloat on either of them, but I'll ring him such a +peal! + +_Saint._ Above all things, have a care of him yourself; for surely +there is witchcraft betwixt his lips: He is a wolf within the +sheepfold; and therefore I will be earnest, that you may not fall. + [_Exit._ + +_Pleas._ Why should my mother be so inquisitive about this lodger? I +half suspect old Eve herself has a mind to be nibbling at the pippin. +He makes love to one of them, I am confident; it may be to both; for, +methinks, I should have done so, if I had been a man; but the damned +petticoats have perverted me to honesty, and therefore I have a grudge +to him for the privilege of his sex. He shuns me, too, and that vexes +me; for, though I would deny him, I scorn he should not think me worth +a civil question. + + _Re-enter_ WOODALL, _with_ TRICKSY, MRS BRAINSICK, + JUDITH, _and Music._ + +_Mrs Brain._ Come, your works, your works; they shall have the +approbation of Mrs Pleasance. + +_Trick._ No more apologies; give Judith the words, she sings at sight. + +_Jud._ I'll try my skill. + + A SONG FROM THE ITALIAN. + + _By a dismal cypress lying, + Damon cried, all pale and dying,-- + Kind is death, that ends my pain, + But cruel she I loved in vain. + The mossy fountains + Murmur my trouble, + And hollow mountains + My groans redouble: + Every nymph mourns me, + Thus while I languish; + She only scorns me, + Who caused my anguish. + No love returning me, but all hope denying; + By a dismal cypress lying, + Like a swan, so sung he dying,-- + Kind is death, that ends my pain, + But cruel she I loved in vain._ + +_Pleas._ By these languishing eyes, and those _simagres_ of yours, we +are given to understand, sir, you have a mistress in this company; +come, make a free discovery which of them your poetry is to charm, and +put the other out of pain. + +_Trick._ No doubt 'twas meant to Mrs Brainsick. + +_Mrs Brain._ We wives are despicable creatures; we know it, madam, +when a mistress is in presence. + +_Pleas._ Why this ceremony betwixt you? 'Tis a likely proper fellow, +and looks as he could people a new isle of Pines[7]. + +_Mrs Brain._ 'Twere a work of charity to convert a fair young +schismatick, like you, if 'twere but to gain you to a better opinion +of the government. + +_Pleas._ If I am not mistaken in you, too, he has works of charity +enough upon his hands already; but 'tis a willing soul, I'll warrant +him, eager upon the quarry, and as sharp as a governor of +Covent-Garden. + +_Wood._ Sure this is not the phrase of your family! I thought to have +found a sanctified sister; but I suspect now, madam, that if your +mother kept a pension in your father's time, there might be some +gentleman-lodger in the house; for I humbly conceive you are of the +half-strain at least. + +_Pleas._ For all the rudeness of your language, I am resolved to know +upon what voyage you are bound; your privateer of love, you Argier's +man, that cruize up and down for prize in the Straitsmouth; which of +the vessels would you snap now? + +_Trick._ We are both under safe convoy, madam; a lover and a husband. + +_Pleas._ Nay, for your part, you are notably guarded, I confess; but +keepers have their rooks, as well as gamesters; but they only venture +under them till they pick up a sum, and then push for themselves. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] A plague of her suspicions; they'll ruin me on that +side. + +_Pleas._ So; let but little minx go proud, and the dogs in +Covent-Garden have her in the wind immediately; all pursue the scent. + +_Trick._ Not to a boarding-house, I hope? + +_Pleas._ If they were wise, they would rather go to a brothel-house; +for there most mistresses have left behind them their maiden-heads, of +blessed memory: and those, which would not go off in that market, are +carried about by bawds, and sold at doors, like stale flesh in +baskets. Then, for your honesty, or justness, as you call it, to your +keepers, your kept-mistress is originally a punk; and let the cat be +changed into a lady never so formally, she still retains her natural +property of mousing. + +_Mrs. Brain._ You are very sharp upon the mistresses; but I hope +you'll spare the wives. + +_Pleas._ Yes, as much as your husbands do after the first month of +marriage; but you requite their negligence in household-duties, by +making them husbands of the first head, ere the year be over. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] She has me there, too! + +_Pleas._ And as for you, young gallant-- + +_Wood._ Hold, I beseech you! a truce for me. + +_Pleas._ In troth, I pity you; for you have undertaken a most +difficult task,--to cozen two women, who are no babies in their art: +if you bring it about, you perform as much as he that cheated the very +lottery. + +_Wood._ Ladies, I am sorry this should happen to you for my sake: She +is in a raging fit, you see; 'tis best withdrawing, till the spirit of +prophecy has left her. + +_Trick._ I'll take shelter in my chamber,--whither, I hope, he'll have +the grace to follow me. [_Aside._ + +_Mrs Brain._ And now I think on't, I have some letters to dispatch. + [_Exit_ TRICK. _and_ MRS BRAIN. _severally._ + +_Pleas._ Now, good John among the maids, how mean you to bestow your +time? Away to your study, I advise you; invoke your muses, and make +madrigals upon absence. + +_Wood._ I would go to China, or Japan, to be rid of that impetuous +clack of yours. Farewell, thou legion of tongues in one woman! + +_Pleas._ Will you not stay, sir? it may be I have a little business +with you. + +_Wood._ Yes, the second part of the same tune! Strike by yourself, +sweet larum; you're true bell-metal I warrant you. [_Exit._ + +_Pleas._ This spitefulness of mine will be my ruin: To rail them off, +was well enough; but to talk him away, too! O tongue, tongue, thou +wert given for a curse to all our sex! + + _Enter_ JUDITH. + +_Jud._ Madam, your mother would speak with you. + +_Pleas._ I will not come; I'm mad, I think; I come immediately. Well, +I'll go in, and vent my passion, by railing at them, and him too. + [_Exit._ + +_Jud._ You may enter in safety, sir; the enemy's marched off. + + _Re-enter_ WOODALL. + +_Wood._ Nothing, but the love I bear thy mistress, could keep me in +the house with such a fury. When will the bright nymph appear? + +_Jud._ Immediately; I hear her coming. + +_Wood._ That I could find her coming, Mrs Judith! + + _Enter_ MRS BRAINSICK. + +You have made me languish in expectation, madam. Was it nothing, do +you think, to be so near a happiness, with violent desires, and to be +delayed? + +_Mrs Brain._ Is it nothing, do you think, for a woman of honour, to +overcome the ties of virtue and reputation; to do that for you, which +I thought I should never have ventured for the sake of any man? + +_Wood._ But my comfort is, that love has overcome. Your honour is, in +other words, but your good repute; and 'tis my part to take care of +that: for the fountain of a woman's honour is in the lover, as that of +the subject is in the king. + +_Mrs Brain._ You had concluded well, if you had been my husband: you +know where our subjection lies. + +_Wood._ But cannot I be yours without a priest? They were cunning +people, doubtless, who began that trade; to have a double hank upon +us, for two worlds: that no pleasure here, or hereafter, should be +had, without a bribe to them. + +_Mrs Brain._ Well, I'm resolved, I'll read, against the next time I +see you; for the truth is, I am not very well prepared with arguments +for marriage; meanwhile, farewell. + +_Wood._ I stand corrected; you have reason indeed to go, if I can use +my time no better: We'll withdraw if you please, and dispute the rest +within. + +_Mrs Brain._ Perhaps, I meant not so. + +_Wood,_ I understand your meaning at your eyes. You'll watch, Judith? + +_Mrs Brain._ Nay, if that were all, I expect not my husband till +to-morrow. The truth is, he is so oddly humoured, that, if I were ill +inclined, it would half justify a woman; he's such a kind of man! + +_Wood._ Or, if he be not, well make him such a kind of man. + +_Mrs Brain._ So fantastical, so musical, his talk all rapture, and +half nonsense: like a clock out of order, set him a-going, and he +strikes eternally. Besides, he thinks me such a fool, that I could +half resolve to revenge myself, in justification of my wit. + +_Wood._ Come, come, no half resolutions among lovers; I'll hear no +more of him, till I have revenged you fully. Go out and watch, Judith. + [_Exit_ JUDITH. + +_Mrs Brain._ Yet, I could say, in my defence, that my friends married +me to him against my will. + +_Wood._ Then let us put your friends, too, into the quarrel: it shall +go hard, but I'll give you a revenge for them. + + _Enter_ JUDITH _again, hastily._ + +How now? what's the matter? + +_Mrs Brain._ Can'st thou not speak? hast thou seen a ghost?--As I +live, she signs horns! that must be for my husband: he's returned. + [JUDITH _looks ghastly, and signs horns._ + +_Jud._ I would have told you so, if I could have spoken for fear. + +_Mrs Brain._ Hark, a knocking! What shall we do? [_Knocking._ +There's no dallying in this case: here you must not be found, that's +certain; but Judith hath a chamber within mine; haste quickly thither; +I'll secure the rest. + +_Jud._ Follow me, sir. [_Exeunt_ WOODALL, JUDITH. + + _Knocking again. She opens: Enter_ BRAINSICK. + +_Brain._ What's the matter, gentlewoman? Am I excluded from my own +fortress; and by the way of barricado? Am I to dance attendance at the +door, as if I were some base plebeian groom? I'll have you know, that, +when my foot assaults, the lightning and the thunder are not so +terrible as the strokes: brazen gates shall tremble, and bolts of +adamant dismount from off their hinges, to admit me. + +_Mrs Brain._ Who would have thought, that 'nown dear would have come +so soon? I was even lying down on my bed, and dreaming of him. Tum a' +me, and buss, poor dear; piddee buss. + +_Brain._ I nauseate these foolish feats of love. + +_Mrs Brain._ Nay, but why should he be so fretful now? and knows I +dote on him? to leave a poor dear so long without him, and then come +home in an angry humour! indeed I'll ky. + +_Brain._ Pr'ythee, leave thy fulsome fondness; I have surfeited on +conjugal embraces. + +_Mrs Brain._ I thought so: some light huswife has bewitched him from +me: I was a little fool, so I was, to leave a dear behind at Barnet, +when I knew the women would run mad for him. + +_Brain._ I have a luscious air forming, like a Pallas, in my +brain-pain: and now thou com'st across my fancy, to disturb the rich +ideas, with the yellow jaundice of thy jealousy. [_Noise within._ +Hark, what noise is that within, about Judith's bed? + +_Mrs Brain._ I believe, dear, she's making it.--Would the fool would +go! [_Aside._ + +_Brain._ Hark, again! + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Aside_] I have a dismal apprehension in my head, that +he's giving my maid a cast of his office, in my stead. O, how it +stings me! [WOODALL _sneezes._ + +_Brain._ I'll enter, and find the reason of this tumult. + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Holding him._] Not for the world: there may be a thief +there; and should I put 'nown dear in danger of his life?--What shall +I do? betwixt the jealousy of my love, and fear of this fool, I am +distracted: I must not venture them together, whatever comes on it. +[_Aside._] Why Judith, I say! come forth, damsel. + +_Wood_. [_Within._] The danger's over; I may come out safely. + +_Jud._ [_Within._] Are you mad? you shall not. + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Aside._] So, now I'm ruined unavoidably. + +_Brain._ Whoever thou art, I have pronounced thy doom; the dreadful +Brainsick bares his brawny arm in tearing terror; kneeling queens in +vain should beg thy being.--Sa, sa, there. + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Aside._] Though I believe he dares not venture in, yet +I must not put it to the trial. Why Judith, come out, come out, +huswife. + + _Enter_ JUDITH, _trembling._ + +What villain have you hid within? + +_Jud._ O Lord, madam, what shall I say? + +_Mrs Brain._ How should I know what you should say? Mr Brainsick has +heard a man's voice within; if you know what he makes there, confess +the truth; I am almost dead with fear, and he stands shaking. + +_Brain._ Terror, I! 'tis indignation shakes me. With this sabre I'll +slice him as small as atoms; he shall be doomed by the judge, and +damned upon the gibbet. + +_Jud._ [_Kneeling._] My master's so outrageous! sweet madam, do you +intercede for me, and I'll tell you all in private. [_Whispers._ +If I say it is a thief, he'll call up help; I know not what of the +sudden to invent. + +_Mrs Brain._ Let me alone.--And is this all? Why would you not confess +it before, Judith? when you know I am an indulgent mistress. + [_Laughs._ + +_Brain._ What has she confessed? + +_Mrs Brain._ A venial love-trespass, dear: 'tis a sweetheart of hers; +one that is to marry her; and she was unwilling I should know it, so +she hid him in her chamber. + + _Enter_ ALDO. + +_Aldo._ What's the matter trow? what, in martial posture, son +Brainsick? + +_Jud._ Pray, father Aldo, do you beg my pardon of my master. I have +committed a fault; I have hidden a gentleman in my chamber, who is to +marry me without his friends' consent, and therefore came in private +to me. + +_Aldo._ That thou should'st think to keep this secret! why, I know it +as well as he that made thee. + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Aside._] Heaven be praised, for this knower of all +things! Now will he lie three or four rapping volunteers, rather than +be thought ignorant in any thing. + +_Brain._ Do you know his friends, father Aldo? + +_Aldo._ Know them! I think I do. His mother was an arch-deacon's +daughter; as honest a woman as ever broke bread: she and I have been +cater-cousins in our youth; we have tumbled together between a pair of +sheets, i'faith. + +_Brain._ An honest woman, and yet you two have tumbled together! those +are inconsistent. + +_Aldo._ No matter for that. + +_Mrs Brain._ He blunders; I must help him. [_Aside._] I warrant 'twas +before marriage, that you were so great. + +_Aldo._ Before George, and so it was: for she had the prettiest black +mole upon her left ancle, it does me good to think on't! His father +was squire What-d'ye-call-him, of what-d'ye-call-em shire. What think +you, little Judith? do I know him now? + +_Jud._ I suppose you may be mistaken: my servant's father is a knight +of Hampshire. + +_Aldo._ I meant of Hampshire. But that I should forget he was a +knight, when I got him knighted, at the king's coming in! Two fat +bucks, I am sure he sent me. + +_Brain._ And what's his name? + +_Aldo._ Nay, for that, you must excuse me; I must not disclose little +Judith's secrets. + +_Mrs Brain._ All this while the poor gentleman is left in pain: we +must let him out in secret; for I believe the young fellow is so +bashful, he would not willingly be seen. + +_Jud._ The best way will be, for father Aldo to lend me the key of his +door, which opens into my chamber; and so I can convey him out. + +_Aldo._ [_Giving her a key._] Do so, daughter. Not a word of my +familiarity with his mother, to prevent bloodshed betwixt us: but I +have her name down in my almanack, I warrant her. + +_Jud._ What, kiss and tell, father Aldo? kiss and tell! [_Exit._ + +_Mrs Brain._ I'll go and pass an hour with Mrs Tricksy. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM. + +_Brain._ What, the lusty lover Limberham! + + _Enter_ WOODALL, _at another door._ + +_Aldo._ O here's a monsieur, new come over, and a fellow-lodger; I +must endear you two to one another. + +_Brain._ Sir, 'tis my extreme ambition to be better known to you; you +come out of the country I adore. And how does the dear Battist[8]? I +long for some of his new compositions in the last opera. _A propos!_ I +have had the most happy invention this morning, and a tune trouling in +my head; I rise immediately in my night-gown and slippers, down I put +the notes slap-dash, made words to them like lightning; and I warrant +you have them at the circle in the evening. + +_Wood._ All were complete, sir, if S. Andre would make steps to them. + +_Brain._ Nay, thanks to my genius, that care's over: you shall see, +you shall see. But first the air. [_Sings._] Is it not very fine? Ha, +messieurs! + +_Limb._ The close of it is the most ravishing I ever heard! + +_Brain._ I dwell not on your commendations. What say you, sir? [_To_ +WOOD.] Is it not admirable? Do you enter into it? + +_Wood._ Most delicate cadence! + +_Brain._ Gad, I think so, without vanity. Battist and I have but one +soul. But the close, the close! [_Sings it thrice over._] I have words +too upon the air; but I am naturally so bashful! + +_Wood._ Will you oblige me, sir? + +_Brain._ You might command me, sir; for I sing too _en cavalier:_ +but-- + +_Limb._ But you would be entreated, and say, _Nolo, nolo, nolo,_ three +times, like any bishop, when your mouth waters at the diocese. + +_Brain._ I have no voice; but since this gentleman commands me, let +the words commend themselves. [_Sings._ + _My Phillis is charming--_ + +_Limb._ But why, of all names, would you chuse a Phillis? There have +been so many Phillises in songs, I thought there had not been another +left, for love or money. + +_Brain._ If a man should listen to a fop! [_Sings._ + _My Phillis--_ + +_Aldo._ Before George, I am on t'other side: I think, as good no song, +as no Phillis. + +_Brain._ Yet again!--_My Phillis--_ [_Sings._ + +_Limb._ Pray, for my sake, let it be your Chloris. + +_Brain._ [_Looking scornfully at him._] _My Phillis--_ [_Sings._ + +_Limb._ You had as good call her your Succuba. + +_Brain._ _Morbleu!_ will you not give me leave? I am full of Phillis. +[_Sings._] _My Phillis--_ + +_Limb._ Nay, I confess, Phillis is a very pretty name. + +_Brain._ _Diable!_ Now I will not sing, to spite you. By the world, +you are not worthy of it. Well, I have a gentleman's fortune; I have +courage, and make no inconsiderable figure in the world: yet I would +quit my pretensions to all these, rather than not be author of this +sonnet, which your rudeness has irrevocably lost. + +_Limb._ Some foolish French _quelque chose_, I warrant you. + +_Brain._ _Quelque chose!_ O ignorance, in supreme perfection! he means +a _kek shose_[9]. + +_Limb._ Why a _kek shoes_ let it be then! and a _kek shoes_ for your +song. + +_Brain._ I give to the devil such a judge. Well, were I to be born +again, I would as soon be the elephant, as a wit; he's less a monster +in this age of malice. I could burn my sonnet, out of rage. + +_Limb._ You may use your pleasure with your own. + +_Wood._ His friends would not suffer him: Virgil was not permitted to +burn his AEneids. + +_Brain._ Dear sir, I'll not die ungrateful for your approbation. +[_Aside to_ WOOD.] You see this fellow? he is an ass already; he has a +handsome mistress, and you shall make an ox of him ere long. + +_Wood._ Say no more, it shall be done. + +_Limb._ Hark you, Mr Woodall; this fool Brainsick grows insupportable; +he's a public nuisance; but I scorn to set my wit against him: he has +a pretty wife: I say no more; but if you do not graff him-- + +_Wood._ A word to the wise: I shall consider him, for your sake. + +_Limb._ Pray do, sir: consider him much. + +_Wood._ Much is the word.--This feud makes well for me. [_Aside._ + +_Brain._ [_To_ WOOD.] I'll give you the opportunity, and rid you of +him.--Come away, little Limberham; you, and I, and father Aldo, will +take a turn together in the square. + +_Aldo._ We will follow you immediately. + +_Limb._ Yes, we will come after you, bully Brainsick: but I hope you +will not draw upon us there. + +_Brain._ If you fear that, Bilbo shall be left behind. + +_Limb._ Nay, nay, leave but your madrigal behind: draw not that upon +us, and it is no matter for your sword. [_Exit_ BRAIN. + + _Enter_ TRICKSY, _and_ MRS BRAINSICK, _with a note for each._ + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Both together! either of them, apart, had been my +business: but I shall never play well at this three-hand game. + +_Limb._ O Pug, how have you been passing your time? + +_Trick._ I have been looking over the last present of orange gloves +you made me; and methinks I do not like the scent.--O Lord, Mr +Woodall, did you bring those you wear from Paris? + +_Wood._ Mine are Roman, madam. + +_Trick._ The scent I love, of all the world. Pray let me see them. + +_Mrs Brain._ Nay, not both, good Mrs Tricksy; for I love that scent as +well as you. + +_Wood._ [_Pulling them off, and giving each one._] I shall find two +dozen more of women's gloves among my trifles, if you please to accept +them, ladies. + +_Trick._ Look to it; we shall expect them.--Now to put in my +_billet-doux!_ + +_Mrs Brain._ So, now, I have the opportunity to thrust in my note. + +_Trick._ Here, sir, take your glove again; the perfume's too strong +for me. + +_Mrs Brain._ Pray take the other to it; though I should have kept it +for a pawn. [Mrs BRAINSICK'S _note falls out,_ LIMB. _takes it up._ + +_Limb._ What have we here? [_Reads._] for Mr Woodall! + +_Both Women._ Hold, hold, Mr Limberham! [_They snatch it._ + +_Aldo._ Before George, son Limberham, you shall read it. + +_Wood._ By your favour, sir, but he must not. + +_Trick._ He'll know my hand, and I am ruined! + +_Mrs Brain._ Oh, my misfortune! Mr Woodall, will you suffer your +secrets to be discovered! + +_Wood._ It belongs to one of them, that's certain.--Mr Limberham, I +must desire you to restore this letter; it is from my mistress. + +_Trick._ The devil's in him; will he confess? + +_Wood._ This paper was sent me from her this morning; and I was so +fond of it, that I left it in my glove: If one of the ladies had found +it there, I should have been laughed at most unmercifully. + +_Mrs Brain._ That's well come off! + +_Limb._ My heart was at my mouth, for fear it had been Pug's. +[_Aside._]--There 'tis again--Hold, hold; pray let me see it once +more: a mistress, said you? + +_Aldo._ Yes, a mistress, sir. I'll be his voucher, he has a mistress, +and a fair one too. + +_Limb._ Do you know it, father Aldo. + +_Aldo._ Know it! I know the match is as good as made already: old +Woodall and I are all one. You, son, were sent for over on purpose; +the articles for her jointure are all concluded, and a friend of mine +drew them. + +_Limb._ Nay, if father Aldo knows it, I am satisfied. + +_Aldo._ But how came you by this letter, son Woodall? let me examine +you. + +_Wood._ Came by it! (pox, he has _non-plus'd_ me!) How do you say I +came by it, father Aldo? + +_Aldo._ Why, there's it, now. This morning I met your mistress's +father, Mr you know who-- + +_Wood._ Mr who, sir? + +_Aldo._ Nay, you shall excuse me for that; but we are intimate: his +name begins with some vowel or consonant, no matter which: Well, her +father gave me this very numerical letter, subscribed, for Mr. +Woodall. + +_Limb._ Before George, and so it is. + +_Aldo._ Carry me this letter, quoth he, to your son Woodall; 'tis from +my daughter such a one, and then whispered me her name. + +_Wood._ Let me see; I'll read it once again. + +_Limb._ What, are you not acquainted with the contents of it? + +_Wood._ O, your true lover will read you over a letter from his +mistress, a thousand times. + +_Trick._ Ay, two thousand, if he be in the humour. + +_Wood._ Two thousand! then it must be hers. [_Reads to himself._] +"Away to your chamber immediately, and I'll give my fool the +slip."--The fool! that may be either the keeper, or the husband; but +commonly the keeper is the greater. Humh! without subscription! it +must be Tricksy.--Father Aldo, pr'ythee rid me of this coxcomb. + +_Aldo._ Come, son Limberham, we let our friend Brainsick walk too long +alone: Shall we follow him? we must make haste; for I expect a whole +bevy of whores, a chamber-full of temptation this afternoon: 'tis my +day of audience. + +_Limb._ Mr Woodall, we leave you here--you remember? + [_Exeunt_ LIMB. _and_ ALDO. + +_Wood._ Let me alone.--Ladies, your servant; I have a little private +business with a friend of mine. + +_Mrs Brain._ Meaning me.--Well, sir, your servant. + +_Trick._ Your servant, till we meet again. [_Exeunt severally._ + + +SCENE II.--_Mr_ WOODALL'S _Chamber._ + + _Mrs_ BRAINSICK _alone._ + +_Mrs Brain._ My note has taken, as I wished: he will be here +immediately. If I could but resolve to lose no time, out of modesty; +but it is his part to be violent, for both our credits. Never so +little force and ruffling, and a poor weak woman is excused. +[_Noise._] Hark, I hear him coming.--Ah me! the steps beat double: He +comes not alone. If it should be my husband with him! where shall I +hide myself? I see no other place, but under his bed: I must lie as +silently as my fear will suffer me. Heaven send me safe again to my +own chamber! [_Creeps under the Bed._ + + _Enter_ WOODALL _and_ TRICKSY. + +_Wood._ Well, fortune at the last is favourable, and now you are my +prisoner. + +_Trick._ After a quarter of an hour, I suppose, I shall have my +liberty upon easy terms. But pray let us parley a little first. + +_Wood._ Let it be upon the bed then. Please you to sit? + +_Trick._ No matter where; I am never the nearer to your wicked +purpose. But you men are commonly great comedians in love-matters; +therefore you must swear, in the first place-- + +_Wood._ Nay, no conditions: The fortress is reduced to extremity; and +you must yield upon discretion, or I storm. + +_Trick._ Never to love any other woman. + +_Wood._ I kiss the book upon it. [_Kisses her. Mrs_ BRAIN. _pinches +him from underneath the Bed._] Oh, are you at your love-tricks +already? If you pinch me thus, I shall bite your lip. + +_Trick._ I did not pinch you: But you are apt, I see, to take any +occasion of gathering up more close to me.--Next, you shall not so +much as look on Mrs Brainsick. + +_Wood._ Have you done? these covenants are so tedious! + +_Trick._ Nay, but swear then. + +_Wood._ I do promise, I do swear, I do any thing. [_Mrs_ BRAIN. _runs +a pin into him._] Oh, the devil! what do you mean to run pins into me? +this is perfect caterwauling. + +_Trick._ You fancy all this; I would not hurt you for the world. Come, +you shall see how well I love you. [_Kisses him: Mrs_ BRAIN. _pricks +her._] Oh! I think you have needles growing in your bed. + [_Both rise up._ + +_Wood._ I will see what is the matter in it. + +_Saint._ [_Within._] Mr Woodall, where are you, verily? + +_Wood._ Pox verily her! it is my landlady: Here, hide yourself behind +the curtains, while I run to the door, to stop her entry. + +_Trick._ Necessity has no law; I must be patient. + [_She gets into the Bed, and draws the clothes over her._ + + _Enter_ SAINTLY. + +_Saint._ In sadness, gentleman, I can hold no longer: I will not keep +your wicked counsel, how you were locked up in the chest; for it lies +heavy upon my conscience, and out it must, and shall. + +_Wood._ You may tell, but who will believe you? where's your witness? + +_Saint._ Verily, heaven is my witness. + +_Wood._ That's your witness too, that you would have allured me to +lewdness, have seduced a hopeful young man, as I am; you would have +enticed youth: Mark that, beldam. + +_Saint._ I care not; my single evidence is enough to Mr Limberham; he +will believe me, that thou burnest in unlawful lust to his beloved: So +thou shalt be an outcast from my family. + +_Wood._ Then will I go to the elders of thy church, and lay thee open +before them, that thou didst feloniously unlock that chest, with +wicked intentions of purloining: So thou shalt be excommunicated from +the congregation, thou Jezebel, and delivered over to Satan. + +_Saint._ Verily, our teacher will not excommunicate me, for taking the +spoils of the ungodly, to clothe him; for it is a judged case amongst +us, that a married woman may steal from her husband, to relieve a +brother. But yet them mayest atone this difference betwixt us; verily, +thou mayest. + +_Wood._ Now thou art tempting me again. Well, if I had not the gift of +continency, what might become of me? + +_Saint._ The means have been offered thee, and thou hast kicked with +the heel. I will go immediately to the tabernacle of Mr Limberham, and +discover thee, O thou serpent, in thy crooked paths. [_Going._ + +_Wood._ Hold, good landlady, not so fast; let me have time to consider +on't; I may mollify, for flesh is frail. An hour or two hence we will +confer together upon the premises. + +_Saint._ Oh, on the sudden, I feel myself exceeding sick! Oh! oh! + +_Wood._ Get you quickly to your closet, and fall to your _mirabilis_; +this is no place for sick people. Begone, begone! + +_Saint._ Verily, I can go no farther. + +_Wood._ But you shall, verily. I will thrust you down, out of pure +pity. + +_Saint._ Oh, my eyes grow dim! my heart quops, and my back acheth! +here I will lay me down, and rest me. + [_Throws herself suddenly down upon the Bed;_ + TRICKSY _shrieks, and rises; Mrs_ BRAIN. + _rises from under the Bed in a fright._ + +_Wood._ So! here's a fine business! my whole seraglio up in arms! + +_Saint._ So, so; if Providence had not sent me hither, what folly had +been this day committed! + +_Trick._ Oh the old woman in the oven! we both overheard your pious +documents: Did we not, Mrs Brainsick? + +_Mrs Brain._ Yes, we did overhear her; and we will both testify +against her. + +_Wood._ I have nothing to say for her. Nay, I told her her own; you +can both bear me witness. If a sober man cannot be quiet in his own +chamber for her-- + +_Trick._ For, you know, sir, when Mrs Brainsick and I over-heard her +coming, having been before acquainted with her wicked purpose, we both +agreed to trap her in it. + +_Mrs Brain._ And now she would 'scape herself, by accusing us! but let +us both conclude to cast an infamy upon her house, and leave it. + +_Saint._ Sweet Mr Woodall, intercede for me, or I shall be ruined. + +_Wood._ Well, for once I'll be good-natured, and try my interest.-- +Pray, ladies, for my sake, let this business go no farther. + +_Trick. and Mrs Brain._ You may command us. + +_Wood._ For, look you, the offence was properly to my person; and +charity has taught me to forgive my enemies. I hope, Mrs Saintly, this +will be a warning to you, to amend your life: I speak like a +Christian, as one that tenders the welfare of your soul. + +_Saint._ Verily, I will consider. + +_Wood._ Why, that is well said.--[_Aside._] Gad, and so must I too; +for my people is dissatisfied, and my government in danger: But this +is no place for meditation.--Ladies, I wait on you. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT IV.--SCENE I. + + _Enter_ ALDO _and_ GEOFFERY. + +_Aldo._ Despatch, Geoffery, despatch: The outlying punks will be upon +us, ere I am in a readiness to give audience. Is the office well +provided? + +_Geoff._ The stores are very low, sir: Some dolly petticoats, and +manteaus we have; and half a dozen pair of laced shoes, bought from +court at second hand. + +_Aldo._ Before George, there is not enough to rig out a mournival of +whores: They'll think me grown a mere curmudgeon. Mercy on me, how +will this glorious trade be carried on, with such a miserable stock! + +_Geoff._ I hear a coach already stopping at the door. + +_Aldo._ Well, somewhat in ornament for the body, somewhat in counsel +for the mind; one thing must help out another, in this bad world: +Whoring must go on. + + _Enter Mrs_ OVERDON, _and her Daughter_ PRUE. + +_Mrs Over._ Ask blessing, Prue: He is the best father you ever had. + +_Aldo._ Bless thee, and make thee a substantial, thriving whore. Have +your mother in your eye, Prue; it is good to follow good example. How +old are you, Prue? Hold up your head, child. + +_Pru._ Going o'my sixteen, father Aldo. + +_Aldo._ And you have been initiated but these two years: Loss of time, +loss of precious time! Mrs Overdon, how much have you made of Prue, +since she has been man's meat? + +_Mrs Over._ A very small matter, by my troth; considering the charges +I have been at in her education: Poor Prue was born under an unlucky +planet; I despair of a coach for her. Her first maiden-head brought me +in but little, the weather-beaten old knight, that bought her of me, +beat down the price so low. I held her at an hundred guineas, and he +bid ten; and higher than thirty would not rise. + +_Aldo._ A pox of his unlucky handsel! He can but fumble, and will not +pay neither. + +_Pru._ Hang him; I could never endure him, father: He is the filthiest +old goat; and then he comes every day to our house, and eats out his +thirty guineas; and at three months end, he threw me off. + +_Mrs Over._ And since then, the poor child has dwindled, and dwindled +away. Her next maiden-head brought me but ten; and from ten she fell +to five; and at last to a single guinea: She has no luck to keeping; +they all leave her, the more my sorrow. + +_Aldo._ We must get her a husband then in the city; they bite rarely +at a stale whore at this end of the town, new furbished up in a tawdry +manteau. + +_Mrs Over._ No: Pray let her try her fortune a little longer in the +world first: By my troth, I should be loth to be at all this cost, in +her French, and her singing, to have her thrown away upon a husband. + +_Aldo._ Before George, there can come no good of your swearing, Mrs +Overdon: Say your prayers, Prue, and go duly to church o'Sundays, +you'll thrive the better all the week. Come, have a good heart, child; +I will keep thee myself: Thou shalt do my little business; and I'll +find thee an able young fellow to do thine. + + _Enter Mrs_ PAD. + +Daughter Pad, you are welcome: What, you have performed the last +Christian office to your keeper; I saw you follow him up the heavy +hill to Tyburn. Have you had never a business since his death? + +_Mrs Pad._ No indeed, father; never since execution-day. The night +before, we lay together most lovingly in Newgate; and the next morning +he lift up his eyes, and prepared his soul with a prayer, while one +might tell twenty; and then mounted the cart as merrily, as if he had +been going for a purse. + +_Aldo._ You are a sorrowful widow, daughter Pad; but I'll take care of +you.--Geoffery, see her rigged out immediately for a new voyage: Look +in figure 9, in the upper drawer, and give her out the flowered +justacorps, with the petticoat belonging to it. + +_Mrs Pad._ Could you not help to prefer me, father? + +_Aldo._ Let me see--let me see:--Before George, I have it, and it +comes as pat too! Go me to the very judge that sate upon him; it is an +amorous, impotent old magistrate, and keeps admirably. I saw him leer +upon you from the bench: He will tell you what is sweeter than +strawberries and cream, before you part. + + _Enter Mrs_ TERMAGANT. + +_Mrs Term._ O father, I think I shall go mad. + +_Aldo._ You are of the violentest temper, daughter Termagant! When had +you a business last? + +_Mrs Term._ The last I had was with young Caster, that son-of-a-whore +gamester: he brought me to taverns, to draw in young cullies, while he +bubbled them at play; and, when he had picked up a considerable sum, +and should divide, the cheating dog would sink my share, and +swear,--Damn him, he won nothing. + +_Aldo._ Unconscionable villain, to cozen you in your own calling! + +_Mrs Term._ When he loses upon the square, he comes home zoundsing and +blooding; first beats me unmercifully, and then squeezes me to the +last penny. He has used me so, that, Gad forgive me, I could almost +forswear my trade. The rogue starves me too: He made me keep Lent last +year till Whitsuntide, and out-faced me with oaths it was but Easter. +And what mads me most, I carry a bastard of the rogue's in my belly; +and now he turns me off, and will not own it. + +_Mrs Over._ Lord, how it quops! you are half a year gone, madam.-- + [_Laying her hand on her belly._ + +_Mrs Term._ I feel the young rascal kicking already, like his +father.--Oh, there is an elbow thrusting out: I think, in my +conscience, he is palming and topping in my belly; and practising for +a livelihood, before he comes into the world. + +_Aldo._ Geoffery, set her down in the register, that I may provide her +a mid-wife, and a dry and wet nurse: When you are up again, as heaven +send you a good hour, we will pay him off at law, i'faith. You have +him under black and white, I hope? + +_Mrs Term._ Yes, I have a note under his hand for two hundred pounds. + +_Aldo._ A note under his hand! that is a chip in porridge; it is just +nothing.--Look, Geoffery, to the figure 12, for old half-shirts for +childbed linen. + + _Enter Mrs_ HACKNEY. + +_Hack._ O, madam Termagant, are you here? Justice, father Aldo, +justice! + +_Aldo._ Why, what is the matter, daughter Hackney? + +_Hack._ She has violated the law of nations; for yesterday she +inveigled my own natural cully from me, a married lord, and made him +false to my bed, father. + +_Term._ Come, you are an illiterate whore. He is my lord now; and, +though you call him fool, it is well known he is a critic, +gentlewoman. You never read a play in all your life; and I gained him +by my wit, and so I'll keep him. + +_Hack._ My comfort is, I have had the best of him; he can take up no +more, till his father dies: And so, much good may do you with my +cully, and my clap into the bargain. + +_Aldo._ Then there is a father for your child, my lord's son and heir +by Mr Caster. But henceforward, to preserve peace betwixt you, I +ordain, that you shall ply no more in my daughter Hackney's quarters: +You shall have the city, from White-Chapel to Temple-Bar, and she +shall have to Covent-Garden downwards: At the play-houses, she shall +ply the boxes, because she has the better face; and you shall have the +pit, because you can prattle best out of a vizor mask. + +_Mrs Pad._ Then all friends, and confederates. Now let us have father +Aldo's delight, and so adjourn the house. + +_Aldo._ Well said, daughter.--Lift up your voices, and sing like +nightingales, you tory rory jades. Courage, I say; as long as the +merry pence hold out, you shall none of you die in Shoreditch. + + _Enter_ WOODALL. + +A hey, boys, a hey! here he comes, that will swinge you all! down, you +little jades, and worship him; it is the genius of whoring. + +_Wood._ And down went chairs and table, and out went every candle. Ho, +brave old patriarch in the middle of the church militant! whores of +all sorts; forkers and ruin-tailed: Now come I gingling in with my +bells, and fly at the whole covey. + +_Aldo._ A hey, a hey, boys! the town's thy own; burn, ravish, and +destroy! + +_Wood._ We will have a night of it, like Alexander, when he burnt +Persepolis: _tuez, tuez, tuez! point de quartier._ + [_He runs in amongst them, and they scuttle about the room._ + + _Enter_ SAINTLY, PLEASANCE, JUDITH, _with Broom-sticks._ + +_Saint._ What, in the midst of Sodom! O thou lewd young man! my +indignation boils over against these harlots; and thus I sweep them +from out my family. + +_Pleas._ Down with the Suburbians, down with them. + +_Aldo._ O spare my daughters, Mrs Saintly! Sweet Mrs Pleasance, spare +my flesh and blood! + +_Wood._ Keep the door open, and help to secure the retreat, father: +There is no pity to be expected. [_The Whores run out, followed by_ + SAINTLY, PLEASANCE, _and_ JUDITH. + +_Aldo._ Welladay, welladay! one of my daughters is big with bastard, +and she laid at her gascoins most unmercifully! every stripe she had, +I felt it: The first fruit of whoredom is irrecoverably lost! + +_Wood._ Make haste, and comfort her. + +_Aldo._ I will, I will; and yet I have a vexatious business, which +calls me first another way. The rogue, my son, is certainly come over; +he has been seen in town four days ago. + +_Wood._ It is impossible: I'll not believe it. + +_Aldo._ A friend of mine met his old man, Giles, this very morning, in +quest of me; and Giles assured him, his master is lodged in this very +street. + +_Wood._ In this very street! how knows he that? + +_Aldo._ He dogged him to the corner of it; and then my son turned +back, and threatened him. But I'll find out Giles, and then I'll make +such an example of my reprobate! [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ If Giles be discovered, I am undone!--Why, Gervase, where are +you, sirrah! Hey, hey! + + _Enter_ GERVASE. + +Run quickly to that betraying rascal Giles, a rogue, who would take +Judas's bargain out of his hands, and undersell him. Command him +strictly to mew himself up in his lodgings, till farther orders: and +in case he be refractory, let him know, I have not forgot to kick and +cudgel. That _memento_ would do well for you too, sirrah. + +_Gerv._ Thank your worship; you have always been liberal of your hands +to me. + +_Wood._ And you have richly deserved it. + +_Gerv._ I will not say, who has better deserved it of my old master. + +_Wood._ Away, old Epictetus, about your business, and leave your musty +morals, or I shall-- + +_Gerv._ Nay, I won't forfeit my own wisdom so far as to suffer for it. +Rest you merry: I'll do my best, and heaven mend all. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ SAINTLY. + +_Saint._ Verily, I have waited till you were alone, and am come to +rebuke you, out of the zeal of my spirit. + +_Wood._ It is the spirit of persecution. Dioclesian, and Julian the +apostate, were but types of thee. Get thee hence, thou old Geneva +testament: thou art a part of the ceremonial law, and hast been +abolished these twenty years. + +_Saint._ All this is nothing, sir. I am privy to your plots: I'll +discover them to Mr Limberham, and make the house too hot for you. + +_Wood._ What, you can talk in the language of the world, I see! + +_Saint._ I can, I can, sir; and in the language of the flesh and devil +too, if you provoke me to despair: You must, and shall be mine, this +night. + +_Wood._ The very ghost of queen Dido in the ballad.[10] + +_Saint._ Delay no longer, or-- + +_Wood._ Or! you will not swear, I hope? + +_Saint._ Uds-niggers but I will; and that so loud, that Mr Limberham +shall hear me. + +_Wood._ Uds-niggers, I confess, is a very dreadful oath. You could lie +naturally before, as you are a fanatic; if you can swear such rappers +too, there is hope of you; you may be a woman of the world in time. +Well, you shall be satisfied, to the utmost farthing, to-night, and in +your own chamber. + +_Saint._ Or, expect to-morrow-- + +_Wood._ All shall be atoned ere then. Go, provide the bottle of clary, +the Westphalia ham, and other fortifications of nature; we shall see +what may be done. What! an old woman must not be cast away. + [_Chucks her._ + +_Saint._ Then, verily, I am appeased. + +_Wood._ Nay, no relapsing into verily; that is in our bargain. Look +how she weeps for joy! It is a good old soul, I warrant her. + +_Saint._ You will not fail? + +_Wood._ Dost thou think I have no compassion for thy gray hairs? Away, +away; our love may be discovered: We must avoid scandal; it is thy own +maxim. [_Exit_ SAINTLY. +They are all now at ombre; and Brainsick's maid has promised to send +her mistress up. + + _Enter_ PLEASANCE. + +That fury here again! + +_Pleas._ [_Aside._] I'll conquer my proud spirit, I am resolved on it, +and speak kindly to him.--What, alone, sir! If my company be not +troublesome; or a tender young creature, as I am, may safely trust +herself with a man of such prowess, in love affairs--It wonnot be. + +_Wood._ So! there is one broadside already: I must sheer off. + [_Aside._ + +_Pleas._ What, you have been pricking up and down here upon a cold +scent[11]; but, at last, you have hit it off, it seems! Now for a fair +view at the wife or mistress: up the wind, and away with it: Hey, +Jowler!--I think I am bewitched, I cannot hold. + +_Wood._ Your servant, your servant, madam: I am in a little haste at +present. [_Going._ + +_Pleas._ Pray resolve me first, for which of them you lie in ambush; +for, methinks, you have the mien of a spider in her den. Come, I know +the web is spread, and whoever comes, Sir Cranion stands ready to dart +out, hale her in, and shed his venom. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] But such a terrible wasp, as she, will spoil the +snare, if I durst tell her so. + +_Pleas._ It is unconscionably done of me, to debar you the freedom and +civilities of the house. Alas, poor gentleman! to take a lodging at so +dear a rate, and not to have the benefit of his bargain!--Mischief on +me, what needed I have said that? [_Aside._ + +_Wood._ The dialogue will go no farther. Farewell, gentle, quiet lady. + +_Pleas._ Pray stay a little; I'll not leave you thus. + +_Wood._ I know it; and therefore mean to leave you first. + +_Pleas._ O, I find it now! you are going to set up your bills, like a +love-mountebank, for the speedy cure of distressed widows, old ladies, +and languishing maids in the green-sickness: a sovereign remedy. + +_Wood._ That last, for maids, would be thrown away: Few of your age +are qualified for the medicine. What the devil would you be at, madam? + +_Pleas._ I am in the humour of giving you good counsel. The wife can +afford you but the leavings of a fop; and to a witty man, as you think +yourself, that is nauseous: The mistress has fed upon a fool so long, +she is carrion too, and common into the bargain. Would you beat a +ground for game in the afternoon, when my lord mayor's pack had been +before you in the morning? + +_Wood._ I had rather sit five hours at one of his greasy feasts, then +hear you talk. + +_Pleas._ Your two mistresses keep both shop and warehouse; and what +they cannot put off in gross, to the keeper and the husband, they sell +by retail to the next chance-customer. Come, are you edified? + +_Wood._ I am considering how to thank you for your homily; and, to +make a sober application of it, you may have some laudable design +yourself in this advice. + +_Pleas._ Meaning, some secret inclination to that amiable person of +yours? + +_Wood._ I confess, I am vain enough to hope it; for why should you +remove the two dishes, but to make me fall more hungrily on the third? + +_Pleas._ Perhaps, indeed, in the way of honour-- + +_Wood._ Paw, paw! that word honour has almost turned my stomach: it +carries a villainous interpretation of matrimony along with it. But, +in a civil way, I could be content to deal with you, as the church +does with the heads of your fanatics, offer you a lusty benefice to +stop your mouth; if fifty guineas, and a courtesy more worth, will win +you. + +_Pleas._ Out upon thee! fifty guineas! Dost thou think I'll sell +myself? And at a playhouse price too? Whenever I go, I go all +together: No cutting from the whole piece; he who has me shall have +the fag-end with the rest, I warrant him. Be satisfied, thy sheers +shall never enter into my cloth. But, look to thyself, thou impudent +belswagger: I will he revenged; I will. [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ The maid will give warning, that is my comfort; for she is +bribed on my side. I have another kind of love to this girl, than to +either of the other two; but a fanatic's daughter, and the noose of +matrimony, are such intolerable terms! O, here she comes, who will +sell me better cheap. + + +SCENE _opens to_ BRAINSICK'S _Apartment._ + + _Enter Mrs_ BRAINSICK. + +_Mrs Brain._ How now, sir? what impudence is this of yours, to +approach my lodgings? + +_Wood._ You lately honoured mine; and it is the part of a well-bred +man, to return your visit. + +_Mrs Brain._ If I could have imagined how base a fellow you had been, +you should not then have been troubled with my company. + +_Wood._ How could I guess, that you intended me the favour, without +first acquainting me? + +_Mrs Brain._ Could I do it, ungrateful as you are, with more +obligation to you, or more hazard to myself, than by putting my note +into your glove? + +_Wood._ Was it yours, then? I believed it came from Mrs Tricksy. + +_Mrs Brain._ You wished it so; which made you so easily believe it. I +heard the pleasant dialogue betwixt you. + +_Wood._ I am glad you did; for you could not but observe, with how +much care I avoided all occasions of railing at you; to which she +urged me, like a malicious woman, as she was. + +_Mrs Brain._ By the same token, you vowed and swore never to look on +Mrs Brainsick! + +_Wood._ But I had my mental reservations in a readiness. I had vowed +fidelity to you before; and there went my second oath, i'faith: it +vanished in a twinkling, and never gnawed my conscience in the least. + +_Mrs Brain._ Well, I shall never heartily forgive you. + +_Jud._ [_Within._] Mr Brainsick, Mr Brainsick, what do you mean, to +make my lady lose her game thus? Pray, come back, and take up her +cards again. + +_Mrs Brain._ My husband, as I live! Well, for all my quarrel to you, +step immediately into that little dark closet: it is for my private +occasions; there is no lock, but he will not stay. + +_Wood._ Thus am I ever tantalized! [_Goes in._ + + _Enter_ BRAINSICK. + +_Brain._ What, am I become your drudge? your slave? the property of +all your pleasures? Shall I, the lord and master of your life, become +subservient; and the noble name of husband be dishonoured? No, though +all the cards were kings and queens, and Indies to be gained by every +deal-- + +_Mrs Brain._ My dear, I am coming to do my duty. I did but go up a +little, (I whispered you for what) and am returning immediately. + +_Brain._ Your sex is but one universal ordure, a nuisance, and +incumbrance of that majestic creature, man: yet I myself am mortal +too. Nature's necessities have called me up; produce your utensil of +urine. + +_Mrs Brain._ It is not in the way, child: You may go down into the +garden. + +_Brain._ The voyage is too far: though the way were paved with pearls +and diamonds, every step of mine is precious, as the march of +monarchs. + +_Mrs Brain._ Then my steps, which are not so precious, shall be +employed for you: I will call up Judith. + +_Brain._ I will not dance attendance. At the present, your closet +shall be honoured. + +_Mrs Brain._ O lord, dear, it is not worthy to receive such a man as +you are. + +_Brain._ Nature presses; I am in haste. + +_Mrs Brain._ He must be discovered, and I unavoidably undone! + [_Aside._ + [BRAINSICK _goes to the door, and_ WOODALL + _meets him: She shrieks out._ + +_Brain._ Monsieur Woodall! + +_Wood._ Sir, begone, and make no noise, or you will spoil all. + +_Brain._ Spoil all, quotha! what does he mean, in the name of wonder? + +_Wood._ [_Taking him aside._] Hark you, Mr Brainsick, is the devil in +you, that you and your wife come hither, to disturb my intrigue, which +you yourself engaged me in, with Mrs Tricksy, to revenge you on +Limberham? Why, I had made an appointment with her here; but, hearing +somebody come up, I retired into the closet, till I was satisfied it +was not the keeper. + +_Brain._ But why this intrigue in my wife's chamber? + +_Wood._ Why, you turn my brains, with talking to me of your wife's +chamber! do you lie in common? the wife and husband, the keeper and +the mistress? + +_Mrs Brain._ I am afraid they are quarrelling; pray heaven I get off. + +_Brain._ Once again, I am the sultan of this place: Mr Limberham is +the mogul of the next mansion. + +_Wood._ Though I am a stranger in the house, it is impossible I should +be so much mistaken: I say, this is Limberham's lodging. + +_Brain._ You would not venture a wager of ten pounds, that you are not +mistaken? + +_Wood._ It is done: I will lay you. + +_Brain._ Who shall be judge? + +_Wood._ Who better than your wife? She cannot be partial, because she +knows not on which side you have laid. + +_Brain._ Content.--Come hither, lady mine: Whose lodgings are these? +who is lord, and grand seignior of them? + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Aside._] Oh, goes it there?--Why should you ask me such +a question, when every body in the house can tell they are 'nown +dear's? + +_Brain._ Now are you satisfied? Children and fools, you know the +proverb-- + +_Wood._ Pox on me! nothing but such a positive coxcomb as I am, would +have laid his money upon such odds; as if you did not know your own +lodgings better than I, at half a day's warning! And that which vexes +me more than the loss of my money, is the loss of my adventure! + [_Exit._ + +_Brain._ It shall be spent: We will have a treat with it. This is a +fool of the first magnitude. + +_Mrs Brain._ Let my own dear alone, to find a fool out. + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM. + +_Limb._ Bully Brainsick, Pug has sent me to you on an embassy, to +bring you down to cards again; she is in her mulligrubs already; she +will never forgive you the last _vol_ you won. It is but losing a +little to her, out of complaisance, as they say, to a fair lady; and +whatever she wins, I will make up to you again in private. + +_Brain._ I would not be that slave you are, to enjoy the treasures of +the east. The possession of Peru, and of Potosi, should not buy me to +the bargain. + +_Limb._ Will you leave your perboles, and come then? + +_Brain._ No; for I have won a wager, to be spent luxuriously at +Long's; with Pleasance of the party, and Termagant Tricksy; and I will +pass, in person, to the preparation: Come, matrimony. + [_Exeunt_ BRAINSICK, _Mrs_ BRAIN. + + _Enter_ SAINTLY, _and_ PLEASANCE. + +_Pleas._ To him: I'll second you: now for mischief! + +_Saint._ Arise, Mr Limberham, arise; for conspiracies are hatched +against you, and a new Faux is preparing to blow up your happiness. + +_Limb._ What is the matter, landlady? Pr'ythee, speak good honest +English, and leave thy canting. + +_Saint._ Verily, thy beloved is led astray, by the young man Woodall, +that vessel of uncleanness: I beheld them communing together; she +feigned herself sick, and retired to her tent in the garden-house; and +I watched her out-going, and behold he followed her. + +_Pleas._ Do you stand unmoved, and hear all this? + +_Limb._ Before George, I am thunder-struck! + +_Saint._ Take to thee thy resolution, and avenge thyself. + +_Limb._ But give me leave to consider first: A man must do nothing +rashly. + +_Pleas._ I could tear out the villain's eyes, for dishonouring you, +while you stand considering, as you call it. Are you a man, and suffer +this? + +_Limb._ Yes, I am a man; but a man's but a man, you know: I am +recollecting myself, how these things can be. + +_Saint._ How they can be! I have heard them; I have seen them. + +_Limb._ Heard them, and seen them! It may be so; but yet I cannot +enter into this same business: I am amazed, I must confess; but the +best is, I do not believe one word of it. + +_Saint._ Make haste, and thine own eyes shall testify against her. + +_Limb._ Nay, if my own eyes testify, it may be so:--but it is +impossible, however; for I am making a settlement upon her, this very +day. + +_Pleas._ Look, and satisfy yourself, ere you make that settlement on +so false a creature. + +_Limb._ But yet, if I should look, and not find her false, then I must +cast in another hundred, to make her satisfaction. + +_Pleas._ Was there ever such a meek, hen-hearted creature! + +_Saint._ Verily, thou has not the spirit of a cock-chicken. + +_Limb._ Before George, but I have the spirit of a lion, and I will +tear her limb from limb--if I could believe it. + +_Pleas._ Love, jealousy, and disdain, how they torture me at once! and +this insensible creature--were I but in his place--[_To him._] Think, +that this very instant she is yours no more: Now, now she is giving up +herself, with so much violence of love, that if thunder roared, she +could not hear it. + +_Limb._ I have been whetting all this while: They shall be so taken in +the manner, that Mars and Venus shall be nothing to them. + +_Pleas._ Make haste; go on then. + +_Limb._ Yes, I will go on;--and yet my mind misgives me plaguily. + +_Saint._ Again backsliding! + +_Pleas._ Have you no sense of honour in you? + +_Limb._ Well, honour is honour, and I must go: But I shall never get +me such another Pug again! O, my heart! my poor tender heart! it is +just breaking with Pug's unkindness! [_They drag him out._ + + +SCENE II.--WOODALL _and_ TRICKSY _discovered in the Garden-house._ + + _Enter_ GERVASE _to them._ + +_Gerv._ Make haste, and save yourself, sir; the enemy's at hand: I +have discovered him from the corner, where you set me sentry. + +_Wood._ Who is it? + +_Gerv._ Who should it be, but Limberham? armed with a two-hand fox. O +Lord, O Lord! + +_Trick._ Enter quickly into the still-house, both of you, and leave me +to him: There is a spring-lock within, to open it when we are gone. + +_Wood._ Well, I have won the party and revenge, however: A minute +longer, and I had won the tout. [_They go in: She locks the Door._ + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM, _with a great Sword._ + +_Limb._ Disloyal Pug! + +_Trick._ What humour is this? you are drunk, it seems: Go sleep. + +_Limb._ Thou hast robbed me of my repose for ever: I am like Macbeth, +after the death of good king Duncan; methinks a voice says to +me,--Sleep no more; Tricksy has murdered sleep. + +_Trick._ Now I find it: You are willing to save your settlement, and +are sent by some of your wise counsellors, to pick a quarrel with me. + +_Limb._ I have been your cully above these seven years; but, at last, +my eyes are opened to your witchcraft; and indulgent heaven has taken +care of my preservation. In short, madam, I have found you out; and, +to cut off preambles, produce your adulterer. + +_Trick._ If I have any, you know him best: You are the only ruin of my +reputation. But if I have dishonoured my family, for the love of you, +methinks you should be the last man to upbraid me with it. + +_Limb._ I am sure you are of the family of your abominable great +grandam Eve; but produce the man, or, by my father's soul-- + +_Trick._ Still I am in the dark. + +_Limb._ Yes, you have been in the dark; I know it: But I shall bring +you to light immediately. + +_Trick._ You are not jealous? + +_Limb._ No; I am too certain to be jealous: But you have a man here, +that shall be nameless; let me see him. + +_Trick._ Oh, if that be your business, you had best search: And when +you have wearied yourself, and spent your idle humour, you may find me +above, in my chamber, and come to ask my pardon. [_Going._ + +_Limb._ You may go, madam; but I shall beseech your ladyship to leave +the key of the still-house door behind you: I have a mind to some of +the sweet-meats you have locked up there; you understand me. Now, for +the old dog-trick! you have lost the key, I know already, but I am +prepared for that; you shall know you have no fool to deal with. + +_Trick._ No; here is the key: Take it, and satisfy your foolish +curiosity. + +_Limb._ [_Aside._] This confidence amazes me! If those two gipsies +have abused me, and I should not find him there now, this would make +an immortal quarrel. + +_Trick._ [_Aside._] I have put him to a stand. + +_Limb._ Hang it, it is no matter; I will be satisfied: If it comes to +a rupture, I know the way to buy my peace. Pug, produce the key. + +_Trick._ [_Takes him about the neck._] My dear, I have it for you: +come, and kiss me. Why would you be so unkind to suspect my faith now! +when I have forsaken all the world for you.--[_Kiss again._] But I am +not in the mood of quarrelling to-night; I take this jealousy the best +way, as the effect of your passion. Come up, and we will go to bed +together, and be friends. [_Kiss again._ + +_Limb._ [_Aside._] Pug is in a pure humour to-night, and it would vex +a man to lose it; but yet I must be satisfied:--and therefore, upon +mature consideration, give me the key. + +_Trick._ You are resolved, then? + +_Limb._ Yes, I am resolved; for I have sworn to myself by Styx; and +that is an irrevocable oath. + +_Trick._ Now, see your folly: There's the key. [_Gives it him._ + +_Limb._ Why, that is a loving Pug; I will prove thee innocent +immediately: And that will put an end to all controversies betwixt us. + +_Trick._ Yes, it shall put an end to all our quarrels: Farewell for +the last time, sir. Look well upon my face, that you may remember it; +for, from this time forward, I have sworn it irrevocably too, that you +shall never see it more. + +_Limb._ Nay, but hold a little, Pug. What's the meaning of this new +commotion? + +_Trick._ No more; but satisfy your foolish fancy, for you are master: +and, besides, I am willing to be justified. + +_Limb._ Then you shall be justified. [_Puts the Key in the Door._ + +_Trick._ I know I shall: Farewell. + +_Limb._ But, are you sure you shall? + +_Trick._ No, no, he is there: You'll find him up in the chimney, or +behind the door; or, it may be, crowded into some little galley-pot. + +_Limb._ But you will not leave me, if I should look? + +_Trick._ You are not worthy my answer: I am gone. [_Going out._ + +_Limb._ Hold, hold, divine Pug, and let me recollect a little.--This +is no time for meditation neither: while I deliberate, she may be +gone. She must be innocent, or she could never be so confident and +careless.--Sweet Pug, forgive me. [_Kneels._ + +_Trick._ I am provoked too far. + +_Limb._ It is the property of a goddess to forgive. Accept of this +oblation; with this humble kiss, I here present it to thy fair hand: I +conclude thee innocent without looking, and depend wholly upon thy +mercy. [_Offers the Key._ + +_Trick._ No, keep it, keep it: the lodgings are your own. + +_Limb._ If I should keep it, I were unworthy of forgiveness: I will no +longer hold this fatal instrument of our separation. + +_Trick._ [_Taking it._] Rise, sir: I will endeavour to overcome my +nature, and forgive you; for I am so scrupulously nice in love, that +it grates my very soul to be suspected: Yet, take my counsel, and +satisfy yourself. + +_Limb._ I would not be satisfied, to be possessor of Potosi, as my +brother Brainsick says. Come to bed, dear Pug.--Now would not I change +my condition, to be an eastern monarch! [_Exeunt._ + + _Enter_ WOODALL _and_ GERVASE. + +_Gerv._ O lord, sir, are we alive! + +_Wood._ Alive! why, we were never in any danger: Well, she is a rare +manager of a fool! + +_Gerv._ Are you disposed yet to receive good counsel? Has affliction +wrought upon you? + +_Wood._ Yes, I must ask thy advice in a most important business. I +have promised a charity to Mrs Saintly, and she expects it with a +beating heart a-bed: Now, I have at present no running cash to throw +away; my ready money is all paid to Mrs Tricksy, and the bill is drawn +upon me for to-night. + +_Gerv._ Take advice of your pillow. + +_Wood._ No, sirrah; since you have not the grace to offer yours, I +will for once make use of my authority and command you to perform the +foresaid drudgery in my place. + +_Gerv._ Zookers, I cannot answer it to my conscience. + +_Wood._ Nay, an your conscience can suffer you to swear, it shall +suffer you to lie too: I mean in this sense. Come, no denial, you must +do it; she is rich, and there is a provision for your life. + +_Gerv._ I beseech you, sir, have pity on my soul. + +_Wood._ Have you pity of your body: There is all the wages you must +expect. + +_Gerv._ Well, sir, you have persuaded me: I will arm my conscience +with a resolution of making her an honourable amends by marriage; for +to-morrow morning a parson shall authorise my labours, and turn +fornication into duty. And, moreover, I will enjoin myself, by way of +penance, not to touch her for seven nights after. + +_Wood._ Thou wert predestinated for a husband, I see, by that natural +instinct: As we walk, I will instruct thee how to behave thyself, with +secrecy and silence. + +_Gerv._ I have a key of the garden, to let us out the back-way into +the street, and so privately to our lodging. + +_Wood._ 'Tis well: I will plot the rest of my affairs a-bed; for it is +resolved that Limberham shall not wear horns alone: and I am impatient +till I add to my trophy the spoils of Brainsick. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT V.--SCENE I. + + _Enter_ WOODALL _and_ JUDITH. + +_Jud._ Well, you are a lucky man! Mrs Brainsick is fool enough to +believe you wholly innocent; and that the adventure of the +garden-house, last night, was only a vision of Mrs Saintly's. + +_Wood._ I knew, if I could once speak with her, all would be set right +immediately; for, had I been there, look you-- + +_Jud._ As you were, most certainly. + +_Wood._ Limberham must have found me out; that _fe-fa-fum_ of a keeper +would have smelt the blood of a cuckold-maker: They say, he was +peeping and butting about in every cranny. + +_Jud._ But one. You must excuse my unbelief, though Mrs Brainsick is +better satisfied. She and her husband, you know, went out this morning +to the New Exchange: There she has given him the slip; and pretending +to call at her tailor's to try her stays for a new gown-- + +_Wood._ I understand thee;--she fetched me a short turn, like a hare +before her muse, and will immediately run hither to covert? + +_Jud._ Yes; but because your chamber will be least suspicious, she +appoints to meet you there; that, if her husband should come back, he +may think her still abroad, and you may have time-- + +_Wood._ To take in the horn-work. It happens as I wish; for Mrs +Tricksy, and her keeper, are gone out with father Aldo, to complete +her settlement; my landlady is safe at her morning exercise with my +man Gervase, and her daughter not stirring: the house is our own, and +iniquity may walk bare-faced. + +_Jud._ And, to make all sure, I am ordered to be from home. When I +come back again, I shall knock at your door, with, + _Speak, brother, speak;_ [_Singing._ + _Is the deed done?_ + +_Wood._ _Long ago, long ago;_--and then we come panting out together. +Oh, I am ravished with the imagination on't! + +_Jud._ Well, I must retire; good-morrow to you, sir. [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ Now do I humbly conceive, that this mistress in matrimony will +give me more pleasure than the former; for your coupled spaniels, when +they are once let loose, are afterwards the highest rangers. + + _Enter Mrs_ BRAINSICK, _running._ + +_Mrs Brain._ Oh dear Mr Woodall, what shall I do? + +_Wood._ Recover breath, and I'll instruct you in the next chamber. + +_Mrs Brain._ But my husband follows me at heels. + +_Wood._ Has he seen you? + +_Mrs Brain._ I hope not: I thought I had left him sure enough at the +Exchange; but, looking behind me, as I entered into the house, I saw +him walking a round rate this way. + +_Wood._ Since he has not seen you, there is no danger; you need but +step into my chamber, and there we will lock ourselves up, and +transform him in a twinkling. + +_Mrs Brain._ I had rather have got into my own; but Judith is gone out +with the key, I doubt. + +_Wood._ Yes, by your appointment. But so much the better; for when the +cuckold finds no company, he will certainly go a sauntering again. + +_Mrs Brain._ Make haste, then. + +_Wood._ Immediately.--[_Goes to open the Door hastily, and breaks his +Key._] What is the matter here? the key turns round, and will not +open! As I live, we are undone! with too much haste it is broken! + +_Mrs Brain._ Then I am lost; for I cannot enter into my own. + +_Wood._ This next room is Limberham's. See! the door's open; and he +and his mistress are both abroad. + +_Mrs Brain._ There is no remedy, I must venture in; for his knowing I +am come back so soon, must be cause of jealousy enough, if the fool +should find me. + +_Wood._ [_Looking in._] See there! Mrs Tricksy has left her Indian +gown upon the bed; clap it on, and turn your back: he will easily +mistake you for her, if he should look in upon you. + +_Mrs Brain._ I will put on my vizor-mask, however, for more security. +[_Noise._] Hark! I hear him. [_Goes in._ + + _Enter_ BRAINSICK. + +_Brain._ What, in a musty musing, monsieur Woodall! Let me enter into +the affair. + +_Wood._ You may guess it, by the post I have taken up. + +_Brain._ O, at the door of the damsel Tricksy! your business is known +by your abode; as the posture of a porter before a gate, denotes to +what family he belongs. [_Looks in._] It is an assignation, I see; for +yonder she stands, with her back toward me, drest up for the duel, +with all the ornaments of the east. Now for the judges of the field, +to divide the sun and wind betwixt the combatants, and a tearing +trumpeter to sound the charge. + +_Wood._ It is a private quarrel, to be decided without seconds; and +therefore you would do me a favour to withdraw. + +_Brain._ Your Limberham is nearer than you imagine: I left him almost +entering at the door. + +_Wood._ Plague of all impertinent cuckolds! they are ever troublesome +to us honest lovers: so intruding! + +_Brain._ They are indeed, where their company is not desired. + +_Wood._ Sure he has some tutelar devil to guard his brows! just when +she had bobbed him, and made an errand home, to come to me! + +_Brain._ It is unconscionably done of him. But you shall not adjourn +your love for this: the Brainsick has an ascendant over him; I am your +guarantee; he is doomed a cuckold, in disdain of destiny. + +_Wood._ What mean you? + +_Brain._ To stand before the door with my brandished blade, and defend +the entrance: He dies upon the point, if he approaches. + +_Wood._ If I durst trust it, it is heroic. + +_Brain._ It is the office of a friend: I will do it. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Should he know hereafter his wife were here, he +would think I had enjoyed her, though I had not; it is best venturing +for something. He takes pains enough, on conscience, for his +cuckoldom; and, by my troth, has earned it fairly.--But, may a man +venture upon your promise? + +_Brain._ Bars of brass, and doors of adamant, could not more secure +you. + +_Wood._ I know it; but still gentle means are best: You may come to +force at last. Perhaps you may wheedle him away: it is but drawing a +trope or two upon him. + +_Brain._ He shall have it, with all the artillery of eloquence. + +_Wood._ Ay, ay; your figure breaks no bones. With your good leave.-- + [_Goes in._ + +_Brain._ Thou hast it, boy. Turn to him, madam; to her Woodall: and St +George for merry England. _Tan ta ra ra ra, ra ra! Dub, a dub, dub; +Tan ta ra ra ra._ + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM. + +_Limb._ How now, bully Brainsick! What, upon the _Tan ta ra_, by +yourself? + +_Brain._ Clangor, _taratantara,_ murmur. + +_Limb._ Commend me to honest _lingua Franca_. Why, this is enough to +stun a Christian, with your Hebrew, and your Greek, and such like +Latin. + +_Brain._ Out, ignorance! + +_Limb._ Then ignorance, by your leave; for I must enter. + [_Attempts to pass._ + +_Brain._ Why in such haste? the fortune of Greece depends not on it. + +_Limb._ But Pug's fortune does: that is dearer to me than Greece, and +sweeter than ambergrease. + +_Brain._ You will not find her here. Come, you are jealous; you are +haunted with a raging fiend, that robs you of your sweet repose. + +_Limb._ Nay, an you are in your perbole's again! Look you, it is Pug +is jealous of her jewels: she has left the key of her cabinet behind, +and has desired me to bring it back to her. + +_Brain._ Poor fool! he little thinks she is here before him!--Well, +this pretence will never pass on me; for I dive deeper into your +affairs; you are jealous. But, rather than my soul should be concerned +for a sex so insignificant--Ha! the gods! If I thought my proper wife +were now within, and prostituting all her treasures to the lawless +love of an adulterer, I would stand as intrepid, as firm, and as +unmoved, as the statue of a Roman gladiator. + +_Limb._ [_In the same tone._] Of a Roman gladiator!--Now are you as +mad as a March hare; but I am in haste, to return to Pug: yet, by your +favour, I will first secure the cabinet. + +_Brain._ No, you must not. + +_Limb._ Must not? What, may not a man come by you, to look upon his +own goods and chattels, in his own chamber? + +_Brain._ No; with this sabre I defy the destinies, and dam up the +passage with my person; like a rugged rock, opposed against the +roaring of the boisterous billows. Your jealousy shall have no course +through me, though potentates and princes-- + +_Limb._ Pr'ythee, what have we to do with potentates and princes? Will +you leave your troping, and let me pass? + +_Brain._ You have your utmost answer. + +_Limb._ If this maggot bite a little deeper, we shall have you a +citizen of Bethlem yet, ere dog-days. Well, I say little; but I will +tell Pug on it. [_Exit._ + +_Brain._ She knows it already, by your favour-- [_Knocking._ +Sound a retreat, you lusty lovers, or the enemy will charge you in the +flank, with a fresh reserve: March off, march off upon the spur, ere +he can reach you. + + _Enter_ WOODALL. + +_Wood._ How now, baron Tell-clock[12], is the passage clear? + +_Brain._ Clear as a level, without hills or woods, and void of +ambuscade. + +_Wood._ But Limberham will return immediately, when he finds not his +mistress where he thought he left her. + +_Brain._ Friendship, which has done much, will yet do more. [_Shows a +key._] With this _passe par tout_, I will instantly conduct her to my +own chamber, that she may out-face the keeper, she has been there; +and, when my wife returns, who is my slave, I will lay my conjugal +commands upon her, to affirm, they have been all this time together. + +_Wood._ I shall never make you amends for this kindness, my dear +Padron. But would it not be better, if you would take the pains to run +after Limberham, and stop him in his way ere he reach the place where +he thinks he left his mistress; then hold him in discourse as long as +possibly you can, till you guess your wife may be returned, that so +they may appear together? + +_Brain._ I warrant you: _laissez faire a Marc Antoine._ [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ Now, madam, you may venture out in safety. + +_Mrs Brain._ [_Entering._] Pray heaven I may. [_Noise._ + +_Wood._ Hark! I hear Judith's voice: it happens well that she's +returned: slip into your chamber immediately, and send back the gown. + +_Mrs Brain._ I will:--but are not you a wicked man, to put me into all +this danger? [_Exit._ + +_Wood._ Let what can happen, my comfort is, at least, I have enjoyed. +But this is no place for consideration. Be jogging, good Mr Woodall, +out of this family, while you are well; and go plant in some other +country, where your virtues are not so famous. [_Going._ + + _Enter_ TRICKSY, _with a box of writings._ + +_Trick._ What, wandering up and down, as if you wanted an owner? Do +you know that I am lady of the manor; and that all wefts and strays +belong to me? + +_Wood._ I have waited for you above an hour; but friar Bacon's head +has been lately speaking to me,--that time is past. In a word, your +keeper has been here, and will return immediately; we must defer our +happiness till some more favourable time. + +_Trick._ I fear him not; he has this morning armed me against himself, +by this settlement; the next time he rebels, he gives me a fair +occasion of leaving him for ever. + +_Wood._ But is this conscience in you? not to let him have his +bargain, when he has paid so dear for it? + +_Trick._ You do not know him: he must perpetually be used ill, or he +insults. Besides, I have gained an absolute dominion over him: he must +not see, when I bid him wink. If you argue after this, either you love +me not, or dare not. + +_Wood._ Go in, madam: I was never dared before. I'll but scout a +little, and follow you immediately. [TRICK. _goes in._] I find a +mistress is only kept for other men: and the keeper is but her man in +a green livery, bound to serve a warrant for the doe, whenever she +pleases, or is in season. + + _Enter_ JUDITH, _with the Night-gown._ + +_Jud._ Still you're a lucky man! Mr Brainsick has been exceeding +honourable: he ran, as if a legion of bailiffs had been at his heels, +and overtook Limberham in the street. Here, take the gown; lay it +where you found it, and the danger's over. + +_Wood._ Speak softly; Mrs Tricksy is returned. [_Looks in._] Oh, she's +gone into her closet, to lay up her writings: I can throw it on the +bed, ere she perceive it has been wanting. [_Throws it in._ + +_Jud._ Every woman would not have done this for you, which I have +done. + +_Wood._ I am sensible of it, little Judith; there's a time to come +shall pay for all. I hear her returning: not a word; away. + [_Exit_ JUDITH. + + _Re-enter_ TRICKSY. + +_Trick._ What, is a second summons needful? my favours have not been +so cheap, that they should stick upon my hands. It seems, you slight +your bill of fare, because you know it; or fear to be invited to your +loss. + +_Wood._ I was willing to secure my happiness from interruption. A true +soldier never falls upon the plunder, while the enemy is in the field. + +_Trick._ He has been so often baffled, that he grows contemptible. +Were he here, should he see you enter into my closet; yet-- + +_Wood._ You are like to be put upon the trial, for I hear his voice. + +_Trick._ 'Tis so: go in, and mark the event now: be but as +unconcerned, as you are safe, and trust him to my management. + +_Wood._ I must venture it; because to be seen here would have the same +effect, as to be taken within. Yet I doubt you are too confident. + [_He goes in._ + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM _and_ BRAINSICK. + +_Limb._ How now, Pug? returned so soon! + +_Trick._ When I saw you came not for me, I was loth to be long without +you. + +_Limb._ But which way came you, that I saw you not? + +_Trick._ The back way; by the garden door. + +_Limb._ How long have you been here? + +_Trick._ Just come before you. + +_Limb._ O, then all's well. For, to tell you true, Pug, I had a kind +of villainous apprehension that you had been here longer: but whatever +thou sayest is an oracle, sweet Pug, and I am satisfied. + +_Brain._ [_Aside._] How infinitely she gulls him! and he so stupid not +to find it! [_To her._] If he be still within, madam, (you know my +meaning?) here's Bilbo ready to forbid your keeper entrance. + +_Trick._ [_Aside._] Woodall must have told him of our +appointment.--What think you of walking down, Mr Limberham? + +_Limb._ I'll but visit the chamber a little first. + +_Trick._ What new maggot's this? you dare not, sure, be jealous! + +_Limb._ No, I protest, sweet Pug, I am not: only to satisfy my +curiosity; that's but reasonable, you know. + +_Trick._ Come, what foolish curiosity? + +_Limb._ You must know, Pug, I was going but just now, in obedience to +your commands, to enquire of the health and safety of your jewels, and +my brother Brainsick most barbarously forbade me entrance:--nay, I +dare accuse you, when Pug's by to back me;--but now I am resolved I +will go see them, or somebody shall smoke for it. + +_Brain._ But I resolve you shall not. If she pleases to command my +person, I can comply with the obligation of a cavalier. + +_Trick._ But what reason had you to forbid him, then, sir? + +_Limb._ Ay, what reason had you to forbid me, then, sir? + +_Brain._ 'Twas only my caprichio, madam.--Now must I seem ignorant of +what she knows full well. [_Aside._ + +_Trick._ We'll enquire the cause at better leisure; come down, Mr +Limberham. + +_Limb._ Nay, if it were only his caprichio, I am satisfied; though I +must tell you, I was in a kind of huff, to hear him _Tan ta ra, tan ta +ra,_ a quarter of an hour together; for _Tan ta ra_ is but an odd kind +of sound, you know, before a man's chamber. + + _Enter_ PLEASANCE. + +_Pleas._ [_Aside._] Judith has assured me, he must be there; and, I am +resolved, I'll satisfy my revenge at any rate upon my rivals. + +_Trick._ Mrs Pleasance is come to call us: pray let us go. + +_Pleas._ Oh dear, Mr Limberham, I have had the dreadfullest dream +to-night, and am come to tell it you: I dreamed you left your +mistress's jewels in your chamber, and the door open. + +_Limb._ In good time be it spoken; and so I did, Mrs Pleasance. + +_Pleas._ And that a great swinging thief came in, and whipt them out. + +_Limb._ Marry, heaven forbid! + +_Trick._ This is ridiculous: I'll speak to your mother, madam, not to +suffer you to eat such heavy suppers. + +_Limb._ Nay, that's very true; for, you may remember she fed very much +upon larks and pigeons; and they are very heavy meat, as Pug says. + +_Trick._ The jewels are all safe; I looked on them. + +_Brain._ Will you never stand corrected, Mrs Pleasance? + +_Pleas._ Not by you; correct your matrimony.--And methought, of a +sudden this thief was turned to Mr Woodall; and that, hearing Mr +Limberham come, he slipt for fear into the closet. + +_Trick._ I looked all over it; I'm sure he is not there.--Come away, +dear. + +_Brain._ What, I think you are in a dream too, brother Limberham. + +_Limb._ If her dream should come out now! 'tis good to be sure, +however. + +_Trick._ You are sure; have not I said it?--You had best make Mr +Woodall a thief, madam. + +_Pleas._ I make him nothing, madam: but the thief in my dream was like +Mr Woodall; and that thief may have made Mr Limberham something. + +_Limb._ Nay, Mr Woodall is no thief, that's certain; but if a thief +should be turned to Mr Woodall, that may be something. + +_Trick._ Then I'll fetch out the jewels: will that satisfy you? + +_Brain._ That shall satisfy him. + +_Limb._ Yes, that shall satisfy me. + +_Pleas._ Then you are a predestinated fool, and somewhat worse, that +shall be nameless. Do you not see how grossly she abuses you? my life +on't, there's somebody within, and she knows it; otherwise she would +suffer you to bring out the jewels. + +_Limb._ Nay, I am no predestinated fool; and therefore, Pug, give way. + +_Trick._ I will not satisfy your humour. + +_Limb._ Then I will satisfy it myself: for my generous blood is up, +and I'll force my entrance. + +_Brain._ Here's Bilbo, then, shall bar you; atoms are not so small, as +I will slice the slave. Ha! fate and furies! + +_Limb._ Ay, for all your fate and furies, I charge you, in his +majesty's name, to keep the peace: now, disobey authority, if you +dare. + +_Trick._ Fear him not, sweet Mr Brainsick. + +_Pleas._ to _Brain._ But, if you should hinder him, he may trouble you +at law, sir, and say you robbed him of his jewels. + +_Limb._ That is well thought on. I will accuse him heinously; +there--and therefore fear and tremble. + +_Brain._ My allegiance charms me: I acquiesce. The occasion is +plausible to let him pass.--Now let the burnished beams upon his brow +blaze broad, for the brand he cast upon the Brainsick. [_Aside._ + +_Trick._ Dear Mr Limberham, come back, and hear me. + +_Limb._ Yes, I will hear thee, Pug. + +_Pleas._ Go on; my life for yours, he is there. + +_Limb._ I am deaf as an adder; I will not hear thee, nor have no +commiseration. [_Struggles from her, and rushes in._ + +_Trick._ Then I know the worst, and care not. + [LIMBERHAM _comes running out with + the Jewels, followed by_ WOODALL, + _with his Sword drawn._ + +_Limb._ O save me, Pug, save me! [_Gets behind her._ + +_Wood._ A slave, to come and interrupt me at my devotions! but I +will-- + +_Limb._ Hold, hold, since you are so devout; for heaven's sake, hold! + +_Brain._ Nay, monsieur Woodall! + +_Trick._ For my sake, spare him. + +_Limb._ Yes, for Pug's sake, spare me. + +_Wood._ I did his chamber the honour, when my own was not open, to +retire thither; and he to disturb me, like a profane rascal as he was. + +_Limb._ [_Aside._] I believe he had the devil for his chaplain, an' a +man durst tell him so. + +_Wood._ What is that you mutter? + +_Limb._ Nay, nothing; but that I thought you had not been so well +given. I was only afraid of Pug's jewels. + +_Wood._ What, does he take me for a thief? nay then-- + +_Limb._ O mercy, mercy! + +_Pleas._ Hold, sir; it was a foolish dream of mine that set him on. I +dreamt, a thief, who had been just reprieved for a former robbery, was +venturing his neck a minute after in Mr Limberham's closet. + +_Wood._ Are you thereabouts, i'faith! A pox of Artemidorus[13]. + +_Trick._ I have had a dream, too, concerning Mrs Brainsick, and +perhaps-- + +_Wood._ Mrs Tricksy, a word in private with you, by your keeper's +leave. + +_Limb._ Yes, sir, you may speak your pleasure to her; and, if you have +a mind to go to prayers together, the closet is open. + +_Wood._ [_To_ TRICK.] You but suspect it at most, and cannot prove it: +if you value me, you will not engage me in a quarrel with her husband. + +_Trick._ Well, in hope you will love me, I will obey. + +_Brain._ Now, damsel Tricksy, your dream, your dream! + +_Trick._ It was something of a flagelet, that a shepherd played upon +so sweetly, that three women followed him for his music, and still one +of them snatched it from the other. + +_Pleas._ [_Aside._] I understand her; but I find she is bribed to +secrecy. + +_Limb._ That flagelet was, by interpretation,--but let that pass; and +Mr Woodall, there, was the shepherd, that played the _tan ta ra_ upon +it: but a generous heart, like mine, will endure the infamy no longer; +therefore, Pug, I banish thee for ever. + +_Trick._ Then farewell. + +_Limb._ Is that all you make of me? + +_Trick._ I hate to be tormented with your jealous humours, and am glad +to be rid of them. + +_Limb._ Bear witness, good people, of her ingratitude! Nothing vexes +me, but that she calls me jealous; when I found him as close as a +butterfly in her closet. + +_Trick._ No matter for that; I knew not he was there. + +_Limb._ Would I could believe thee! + +_Wood._ You have both our words for it. + +_Trick._ Why should you persuade him against his will? + +_Limb._ Since you won't persuade me, I care not much; here are the +jewels in my possession, and I'll fetch out the settlement +immediately. + +_Wood._ [_Shewing the Box._] Look you, sir, I'll spare your pains; +four hundred a-year will serve to comfort a poor cast mistress. + +_Limb._ I thought what would come of your devil's _pater nosters_! + +_Brain._ Restore it to him for pity, Woodall. + +_Trick._ I make him my trustee; he shall not restore it. + +_Limb._ Here are jewels, that cost me above two thousand pounds; a +queen might wear them. Behold this orient necklace, Pug! 'tis pity any +neck should touch it, after thine, that pretty neck! but oh, 'tis the +falsest neck that e'er was hanged in pearl. + +_Wood._ 'Twould become your bounty to give it her at parting. + +_Limb._ Never the sooner for your asking. But oh, that word parting! +can I bear it? if she could find in her heart but so much grace, as to +acknowledge what a traitress she has been, I think, in my conscience I +could forgive her. + +_Trick._ I'll not wrong my innocence so much, nor this gentleman's; +but, since you have accused us falsely, four hundred a-year betwixt us +two will make us some part of reparation. + +_Wood._ I answer you not, but with my leg, madam. + +_Pleas._ [_Aside._] This mads me; but I cannot help it. + +_Limb._ What, wilt thou kill me, Pug, with thy unkindness, when thou +knowest I cannot live without thee? It goes to my heart, that this +wicked fellow-- + +_Wood._ How's that, sir? + +_Limb._ Under the rose, good Mr Woodall; but, I speak it with all +submission, in the bitterness of my spirit, that you, or any man, +should have the disposing of my four hundred a-year _gratis_; +therefore dear Pug, a word in private, with your permission, good Mr +Woodall. + +_Trick._ Alas, I know, by experience, I may safely trust my person +with you. [_Exeunt_ LIMB. _and_ TRICK. + + _Enter_ ALDO. + +_Pleas._ O, father Aldo, we have wanted you! Here has been made the +rarest discovery! + +_Brain._ With the most comical catastrophe! + +_Wood._ Happily arrived, i'faith, my old sub-fornicator; I have been +taken up on suspicion here with Mrs Tricksy. + +_Aldo._ To be taken, to be seen! Before George, that's a point next +the worst, son Woodall. + +_Wood._ Truth is, I wanted thy assistance, old Methusalem; but, my +comfort is, I fell greatly. + +_Aldo._ Well, young Phaeton, that's somewhat yet, if you made a blaze +at your departure. + + _Enter_ GILES, _Mrs_ BRAINSICK, _and_ JUDITH. + +_Giles._ By your leave, gentlemen, I have followed an old master of +mine these two long hours, and had a fair course at him up the street; +here he entered, I'm sure. + +_Aldo._ Whoop holyday! our trusty and well-beloved Giles, most +welcome! Now for some news of my ungracious son. + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Giles here! O rogue, rogue! Now, would I were safe +stowed over head and ears in the chest again. + +_Aldo._ Look you now, son Woodall, I told you I was not mistaken; my +rascal's in town, with a vengeance to him. + +_Giles._ Why, this is he, sir; I thought you had known him. + +_Aldo._ Known whom? + +_Giles._ Your son here, my young master. + +_Aldo._ Do I dote? or art thou drunk, Giles? + +_Giles._ Nay, I am sober enough, I'm sure; I have been kept fasting +almost these two days. + +_Aldo._ Before George, 'tis so! I read it in that leering look: What a +Tartar have I caught! + +_Brain._ Woodall his son! + +_Pleas._ What, young father Aldo! + +_Aldo._ [_Aside._] Now cannot I for shame hold up my head, to think +what this young rogue is privy to! + +_Mrs Brain._ The most dumb interview I ever saw! + +_Brain._ What, have you beheld the Gorgon's head on either side? + +_Aldo._ Oh, my sins! my sins! and he keeps my book of conscience too! +He can display them, with a witness! Oh, treacherous young devil! + +_Wood._ [_Aside._] Well, the squib's run to the end of the line, and +now for the cracker: I must bear up. + +_Aldo._ I must set a face of authority on the matter, for my +credit.--Pray, who am I? do you know me, sir? + +_Wood._ Yes, I think I should partly know you, sir: You may remember +some private passages betwixt us. + +_Aldo._ [_Aside._] I thought as much; he has me already!--But pray, +sir, why this ceremony amongst friends? Put on, put on; and let us +hear what news from France. Have you heard lately from my son? does he +continue still the most hopeful and esteemed young gentleman in Paris? +does he manage his allowance with the same discretion? and, lastly, +has he still the same respect and duty for his good old father? + +_Wood._ Faith, sir, I have been too long from my catechism, to answer +so many questions; but, suppose there be no news of your _quondam_ +son, you may comfort up your heart for such a loss; father Aldo has a +numerous progeny about the town, heaven bless them. + +_Aldo._ It is very well, sir; I find you have been searching for your +relations, then, in Whetstone's Park[14]! + +_Wood._ No, sir; I made some scruple of going to the foresaid place, +for fear of meeting my own father there. + +_Aldo._ Before George, I could find in my heart to disinherit thee. + +_Pleas._ Sure you cannot be so unnatural. + +_Wood._ I am sure I am no bastard; witness one good quality I have. If +any of your children have a stronger tang of the father in them, I am +content to be disowned. + +_Aldo._ Well, from this time forward, I pronounce thee--no son of +mine. + +_Wood._ Then you desire I should proceed to justify I am lawfully +begotten? The evidence is ready, sir; and, if you please, I shall +relate, before this honourable assembly, those excellent lessons of +morality you gave me at our first acquaintance. As, in the first +place-- + +_Aldo._ Hold, hold; I charge thee hold, on thy obedience. I forgive +thee heartily: I have proof enough thou art my son; but tame thee that +can, thou art a mad one. + +_Pleas._ Why this is as it should be. + +_Aldo._ [_To him._] Not a word of any passages betwixt us; it is +enough we know each other; hereafter we will banish all pomp and +ceremony, and live familiarly together. I'll be Pylades, and thou mad +Orestes, and we will divide the estate betwixt us, and have fresh +wenches, and _ballum rankum_ every night. + +_Wood._ A match, i'faith: and let the world pass. + +_Aldo._ But hold a little; I had forgot one point: I hope you are not +married, nor engaged? + +_Wood._ To nothing but my pleasures, I. + +_Aldo._ A mingle of profit would do well though. Come, here is a girl; +look well upon her; it is a mettled toad, I can tell you that: She +will make notable work betwixt two sheets, in a lawful way. + +_Wood._ What, my old enemy, Mrs Pleasance! + +_Mrs Brain._ Marry Mrs Saintly's daughter! + +_Aldo._ The truth is, she has past for her daughter, by my +appointment; but she has as good blood running in her veins, as the +best of you. Her father, Mr Palms, on his death-bed, left her to my +care and disposal, besides a fortune of twelve hundred a year; a +pretty convenience, by my faith. + +_Wood._ Beyond my hopes, if she consent. + +_Aldo._ I have taken some care of her education, and placed her here +with Mrs Saintly, as her daughter, to avoid her being blown upon by +fops, and younger brothers. So now, son, I hope I have matched your +concealment with my discovery; there is hit for hit, ere I cross the +cudgels. + +_Pleas._ You will not take them up, sir? + +_Wood._ I dare not against you, madam: I am sure you will worst me at +all weapons. All I can say is, I do not now begin to love you. + +_Aldo._ Let me speak for thee: Thou shalt be used, little Pleasance, +like a sovereign princess: Thou shalt not touch a bit of butchers' +meat in a twelve-month; and thou shall be treated-- + +_Pleas._ Not with _ballum rankum_ every night, I hope! + +_Aldo._ Well, thou art a wag; no more of that. Thou shall want neither +man's meat, nor woman's meat, as far as his provision will hold out. + +_Pleas._ But I fear he is so horribly given to go a house-warming +abroad, that the least part of the provision will come to my share at +home. + +_Wood._ You will find me so much employment in my own family, that I +shall have little need to look out for journey-work. + +_Aldo._ Before George, he shall do thee reason, ere thou sleepest. + +_Pleas._ No; he shall have an honourable truce for one day at least; +for it is not fair to put a fresh enemy upon him. + +_Mrs Brain._ [_To_ PLEAS.] I beseech you, madam, discover nothing +betwixt him and me. + +_Pleas._ [_To her._] I am contented to cancel the old score; but take +heed of bringing me an after-reckoning. + + _Enter_ GERVASE, _leading_ SAINTLY. + +_Gerv._ Save you, gentlemen; and you, my _quondam_ master: You are +welcome all, as I may say. + +_Aldo._ How now, sirrah? what is the matter? + +_Gerv._ Give good words, while you live, sir; your landlord, and Mr +Saintly, if you please. + +_Wood._ Oh, I understand the business; he is married to the widow. + +_Saint._ Verily the good work is accomplished. + +_Brain._ But, why Mr Saintly? + +_Gerv._ When a man is married to his betters, it is but decency to +take her name. A pretty house, a pretty situation, and prettily +furnished! I have been unlawfully labouring at hard duty; but a parson +has soldered up the matter: Thank your worship, Mr Woodall--How? Giles +here! + +_Wood._ This business is out, and I am now Aldo. My father has +forgiven me, and we are friends. + +_Gerv._ When will Giles, with his honesty, come to this? + +_Wood._ Nay, do not insult too much, good Mr Saintly: Thou wert but my +deputy; thou knowest the widow intended it to me. + +_Gerv._ But I am satisfied she performed it with me, sir. Well, there +is much good will in these precise old women; they are the most +zealous bed-fellows! Look, an' she does not blush now! you see there +is grace in her. + +_Wood._ Mr Limberham, where are you? Come, cheer up, man! How go +matters on your side of the country? Cry him, Gervase. + +_Gerv._ Mr Limberham, Mr Limberham, make your appearance in the court, +and save your recognizance. + + _Enter_ LIMBERHAM _and_ TRICKSY. + +_Wood._ Sir, I should now make a speech to you in my own defence; but +the short of all is this: If you can forgive what is past, your hand, +and I'll endeavour to make up the breach betwixt you and your +mistress: If not, I am ready to give you the satisfaction of a +gentleman. + +_Limb._ Sir, I am a peaceable man, and a good Christian, though I say +it, and desire no satisfaction from any man. Pug and I are partly +agreed upon the point already; and therefore lay thy hand upon thy +heart, Pug, and, if thou canst, from the bottom of thy soul, defy +mankind, naming no body, I'll forgive thy past enormities; and, to +give good example to all Christian keepers, will take thee to be my +wedded wife; and thy four hundred a-year shall be settled upon thee, +for separate maintenance. + +_Trick._ Why, now I can consent with honour. + +_Aldo._ This is the first business that was ever made up without me. + +_Wood._ Give you joy, Mr Bridegroom. + +_Limb._ You may spare your breath, sir, if you please; I desire none +from you. It is true, I am satisfied of her virtue, in spite of +slander; but, to silence calumny, I shall civilly desire you +henceforth, not to make a chapel-of-ease of Pug's closet. + +_Pleas._ [_Aside._] I'll take care of false worship, I'll warrant him. +He shall have no more to do with Bel and the Dragon. + +_Brain._ Come hither, wedlock, and let me seal my lasting love upon +thy lips. Saintly has been seduced, and so has Tricksy; but thou alone +art kind and constant. Hitherto I have not valued modesty, according +to its merit; but hereafter, Memphis shall not boast a monument more +firm than my affection. + +_Wood._ A most excellent reformation, and at a most seasonable time! +The moral of it is pleasant, if well considered. Now, let us to +dinner.--Mrs Saintly, lead the way, as becomes you, in your own house. + [_The rest going off._ + +_Pleas._ Your hand, sweet moiety. + +_Wood._ And heart too, my comfortable importance. + Mistress and wife, by turns, I have possessed: + He, who enjoys them both in one, is blessed. + + +Footnotes: +1. The Mahommedan doctrine of predestination is well known. They + reconcile themselves to all dispensations, by saying, "They are + written on the forehead" of him, to whose lot they have fallen. + +2. The custom of drinking _supernaculum_, consisted in turning down + the cup upon the thumb-nail of the drinker after his pledge, when, + if duly quaffed off, no drop of liquor ought to appear upon his + nail. + + With that she set it to her nose, + And off at once the rumkin goes; + No drops beside her muzzle falling, + Until that she had supped it all in: + Then turning't topsey on her thumb, + Says--look, here's _supernaculum._ + _Cotton's Virgil travestie._ + + This custom seems to have been derived from the Germans, who held, + that if a drop appeared on the thumb, it presaged grief and + misfortune to the person whose health was drunk. + +3. This piece of dirty gallantry seems to have been fashionable: + + Come, Phyllis, thy finger, to begin the go round; + How the glass in thy hand with charms does abound! + You and the wine to each other lend arms, + And I find that my love + Does for either improve, + For that does redouble, as you double your charms. + +4. Dapper, a silly character in Jonson's Alchemist, tricked by an + astrologer, who persuades him the queen of fairies is his aunt. + +5. The mask, introduced in the first act of the Maid's Tragedy, ends + with the following dialogue betwixt Cinthia and Night: + + _Cinthia_ Whip up thy team, + The day breaks here, and yon sun-flaring beam + Shot from the south. Say, which way wilt thou go? + + _Night._ I'll vanish into mists. + + _Cinthia._ I into day. + +6. In spring 1677, whilst the treaty of Nimeguen was under discussion, + the French took the three important frontier towns, Valenciennes, + St Omer, and Cambray. The Spaniards seemed, with the most passive + infatuation, to have left the defence of Flanders to the Prince of + Orange and the Dutch. + +7. Alluding to the imaginary history of Pine, a merchant's clerk, who, + being wrecked on a desert island in the South Seas, bestowed on it + his own name, and peopled it by the assistance of his master's + daughter and her two maid servants, who had escaped from the wreck + by his aid. + +8. Sulli, the famous composer. + +9. It would seem that about this time the French were adopting their + present mode of pronunciation, so capriciously distinct from the + orthography. + +10. "Queen Dido, or the wandering Prince of Troy," an old ballad, + printed in the "Reliques of Ancient Poetry," in which the ghost of + queen Dido thus addresses the perfidious AEneas: + + Therefore prepare thy flitting soul, + To wander with me in the air; + When deadly grief shall make it howl, + Because of me thou took'st no care. + Delay not time, thy glass is run, + Thy date is past, thy life is done. + +11. _Pricking_, in hare-hunting, is tracking the foot of the game by + the eye, when the scent is lost.] + +12. The facetious Tom Brown, in his 2d dialogue on Mr Bayes' changing + his religion, introduces our poet saying, + + "Likewise he (Cleveland) having the misfortune to call that + domestic animal a cock, + + The Baron Tell-clock of the night, + + I could never, igad, as I came home from the tavern, meet a + watchman or so, but I presently asked him, 'Baron Tell-clock of the + night, pr'ythee how goes the time?" + +13. Artemidorus, the sophist of Cnidos, was the soothsayer who + prophesied the death of Caesar. Shakespeare has introduced him in + his tragedy of "Julius Caesar." + +14. A common rendezvous of the rakes and bullies of the time; "For + when they expected the most polished hero in Nemours, I gave them a + ruffian reeking from Whetstone's Park." Dedication to Lee's + "Princess of Cleves." In his translation of Ovid's "Love Elegies," + Lib. II, Eleg. XIX. Dryden mentions, "an easy Whetstone whore." + + + + + EPILOGUE. + + SPOKEN BY LIMBERHAM. + + + I beg a boon, that, ere you all disband, + Some one would take my bargain off my hand: + To keep a punk is but a common evil; + To find her false, and marry,--that's the devil. + Well, I ne'er acted part in all my life, + But still I was fobbed off with some such wife. + I find the trick; these poets take no pity + Of one that is a member of the city. + We cheat you lawfully, and in our trades; + You cheat us basely with your common jades. + Now I am married, I must sit down by it; + But let me keep my dear-bought spouse in quiet. + Let none of you damned Woodalls of the pit, + Put in for shares to mend our breed in wit; + We know your bastards from our flesh and blood, + Not one in ten of yours e'er comes to good. + In all the boys, their fathers' virtues shine, + But all the female fry turn Pugs--like mine. + When these grow up, Lord, with what rampant gadders + Our counters will be thronged, and roads with padders! + This town two bargains has, not worth one farthing,-- + A Smithfield horse, and wife of Covent-Garden[1]. + + +Footnote: +1. Alluding to an old proverb, that whoso goes to Westminster for a + wife, to St Paul's for a man, and to Smithfield for a horse, may + meet with a whore, a knave, and a jade. Falstaff, on being informed + that Bardolph is gone to Smithfield to buy him a horse, observes, + "I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield; an + I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and + wived." _Second Part of Henry IV._ Act I. Scene II. + + + * * * * * + + + OEDIPUS. + + + A + + TRAGEDY. + + + _Hi proprium decus et partum indignantur honorem, + Ni teneant--_ + VIRG. + + + _Vos exemplaria Graeca + Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna._ + HORAT. + + + + + OEDIPUS. + + +The dreadful subject of this piece has been celebrated by several +ancient and modern dramatists. Of seven tragedies of Sophocles which +have reached our times, two are founded on the history of OEdipus. The +first of these, called "OEdipus Tyrannus," has been extolled by every +critic since the days of Aristotle, for the unparalleled art with +which the story is managed. The dreadful secret, the existence of +which is announced by the pestilence, and by the wrath of the offended +deities, seems each moment on the verge of being explained, yet, till +the last act, the reader is still held in horrible suspense. Every +circumstance, resorted to for the purpose of evincing the falsehood of +the oracle, tends gradually to confirm the guilt of OEdipus, and to +accelerate the catastrophe; while his own supposed consciousness of +innocence, at once interests us in his favour, and precipitates the +horrible discovery. Dryden, who arranged the whole plan of the +following tragedy, although assisted by Lee in the execution, was +fully aware of the merit of the "OEdipus Tyrannus;" and, with the +addition of the under-plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, has traced out +the events of the drama, in close imitation of Sophocles. The Grecian +bard, however, in concurrence with the history or tradition of Greece, +has made OEdipus survive the discovery of his unintentional guilt, and +reserved him, in blindness and banishment, for the subject of his +second tragedy of "OEdipus Coloneus." This may have been well judged, +considering that the audience were intimately acquainted with the +important scenes which were to follow among the descendants of +OEdipus, with the first and second wars against Thebes, and her final +conquest by the ancestors of those Athenians, before whom the play was +rehearsed, led on by their demi-god Theseus. They were also prepared +to receive, with reverence and faith, the belief on which the whole +interest turns, that if OEdipus should be restored to Thebes, the +vengeance of the gods against the devoted city might be averted; and +to applaud his determination to remain on Athenian ground, that the +predestined curse might descend on his unnatural sons and ungrateful +country. But while the modern reader admires the lofty tone of poetry +and high strain of morality which pervades "OEdipus Coloneus," it must +appear more natural to his feelings, that the life of the hero, +stained with unintentional incest and parricide, should be terminated, +as in Dryden's play, upon the discovery of his complicated guilt and +wretchedness. Yet there is something awful in the idea of the monarch, +blind and exiled, innocent in intention, though so horribly criminal +in fact, devoted, as it were, to the infernal deities, and sacred from +human power and violence by the very excess of his guilt and misery. +The account of the death of OEdipus Coloneus reaches the highest tone +of sublimity. While the lightning flashes around him, he expresses the +feeling, that his hour is come; and the reader anticipates, that, like +Malefort in the "Unnatural Combat," he is to perish by a thunder-bolt. +Yet, for the awful catastrophe, which we are artfully led to expect, +is substituted a mysterious termination, still more awful. OEdipus +arrays himself in splendid apparel, and dismisses his daughters and +the attending Athenians. Theseus alone remains with him. The storm +subsides, and the attendants return to the place, but OEdipus is there +no longer--he had not perished by water, by sword, nor by fire--no one +but Theseus knew the manner of his death. With an impressive hint, +that it was as strange and wonderful as his life had been dismally +eventful, the poet drops a curtain over the fate of his hero. This +last sublime scene Dryden has not ventured to imitate; and the rants +of Lee are a poor substitute for the calm and determined despair of +the "OEdipus Coloneus." + +Seneca, perhaps to check the seeds of vice in Nero, his pupil, to whom +incest and blood were afterwards so familiar[1], composed the Latin +tragedy on the subject of OEdipus, which is alluded to by Dryden in +the following preface. The cold declamatory rhetorical stile of that +philosopher was adapted precisely to counteract the effect, which a +tale of terror produces on the feelings and imagination. His taste +exerted itself in filling up and garnishing the more trifling +passages, which Sophocles had passed over as unworthy of notice, and +in adjusting incidents laid in the heroic age of Grecian simplicity, +according to the taste and customs of the court of Nero[2]. Yet though +devoid of dramatic effect, of fancy, and of genius, the OEdipus of +Seneca displays the masculine eloquence and high moral sentiment of +its author; and if it does not interest us in the scene of fiction, it +often compels us to turn our thoughts inward, and to study our own +hearts. + +The OEdipe of Corneille is in all respects unworthy of its great +author. The poet considering, as he states in his introduction, that +the subject of OEdipus tearing out his eyes was too horrible to be +presented before ladies, qualifies its terrors by the introduction of +a love intrigue betwixt Theseus and Dirce. The unhappy propensity of +the French poets to introduce long discussions upon _la belle +passion_, addressed merely to the understanding, without respect to +feeling or propriety, is nowhere more ridiculously displayed than in +"OEdipe." The play opens with the following polite speech of Theseus +to Dirce: + + _N'ecoutez plus, madame, une pitie cruelle, + Qui d'un fidel amant vous ferait un rebelle: + La gloire d'obeir n'a rien que me soit doux, + Lorsque vous m'ordonnez de m'eloigner de vous. + Quelque ravage affreux qu'etale ici la peste, + L'absence aux vrais amans est encore plus funeste; + Et d'un si grand peril l'image s'offre en vain, + Quand ce peril douteux epargne un mal certain._ + Act premiere, Scene premiere. + +It is hardly possible more prettily to jingle upon the _peril +douteux_, and the _mal certain_; but this is rather an awkward way of +introducing the account of the pestilence, with which all the other +dramatists have opened their scene. OEdipus, however, is at once +sensible of the cause which detained Theseus at his melancholy court, +amidst the horrors of the plague: + + _Je l'avais bien juge qu'_ un interet d'amour + _Fermait ici vos yeux aux perils de ma cour._ + +_OEdipo conjectere opus est_--it would have been difficult for any +other person to have divined such a motive. The conduct of the drama +is exactly suitable to its commencement; the fate of OEdipus and of +Thebes, the ravages of the pestilence, and the avenging of the death +of Laius, are all secondary and subordinate considerations to the +loves of Theseus and Dirce, as flat and uninteresting a pair as ever +spoke _platitudes_ in French hexameters. So much is this the +engrossing subject of the drama, that OEdipus, at the very moment when +Tiresias is supposed to be engaged in raising the ghost of Laius, +occupies himself in a long scene of scolding about love and duty with +Dirce; and it is not till he is almost bullied by her off the stage, +that he suddenly recollects, as an apology for his retreat, + + _Mais il faut aller voir ce qu'a fait Tiresias._ + +Considering, however, the declamatory nature of the French dialogue, +and the peremptory rule of their drama, that love, or rather +gallantry, must be the moving principle of every performance, it is +more astonishing that Corneille should have chosen so masculine and +agitating a subject, than that he should have failed in treating it +with propriety or success. + +In the following tragedy, Dryden has avowedly adopted the Greek model; +qualified, however, by the under plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, which +contributes little either to the effect or merit of the play. Creon, +in his ambition and his deformity, is a poor copy of Richard III., +without his abilities; his plots and treasons are baffled by the +single appearance of OEdipus; and as for the loves and woes of +Eurydice, and the prince of Argos, they are lost in the horrors of the +principal story, like the moonlight amid the glare of a conflagration. +In other respects, the conduct of the piece closely follows the +"OEdipus Tyrannus," and, in some respects, even improves on that +excellent model. The Tiresias of Sophocles, for example, upon his +first introduction, denounces OEdipus as the slayer of Laius, braves +his resentment, and prophesies his miserable catastrophe. In Dryden's +play, the first anathema of the prophet is levelled only against the +unknown murderer; and it is not till the powers of hell have been +invoked, that even the eye of the prophet can penetrate the horrible +veil, and fix the guilt decisively upon OEdipus. By this means, the +striking quarrel betwixt the monarch and Tiresias is, with great art, +postponed to the third act; and the interest, of course, is more +gradually heightened than in the Grecian tragedy. + +The first and third acts, which were wholly written by Dryden, +maintain a decided superiority over the rest of the piece. Yet there +are many excellent passages scattered through Lee's scenes; and as the +whole was probably corrected by Dryden, the tragedy has the appearance +of general consistence and uniformity. There are several scenes, in +which Dryden seems to have indulged his newly adopted desire of +imitating the stile of Shakespeare. Such are, in particular, the scene +of OEdipus walking in his sleep, which bears marks of Dryden's pen; +and such, also, is the incantation in the third act. Seneca and +Corneille have thrown this last scene into narrative. Yet, by the +present large size of our stages, and the complete management of light +and shade, the incantation might be represented with striking effect; +an advantage which, I fear, has been gained by the sacrifice of +others, much more essential to the drama, considered as a dignified +and rational amusement. The incantation itself is nobly written, and +the ghost of Laius can only be paralleled in Shakespeare. + +The language of OEdipus is, in general, nervous, pure, and elegant; +and the dialogue, though in so high a tone of passion, is natural and +affecting. Some of Lee's extravagancies are lamentable exceptions to +this observation. This may be instanced in the passage, where Jocasta +threatens to fire Olympus, destroy the heavenly furniture, and smoke +the deities _like bees out of their ambrosial hives_; and such is the +still more noted wish of OEdipus; + + Through all the inmost chambers of the sky, + May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark, + But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark! + +These blemishes, however, are entitled to some indulgence from the +reader, when they occur in a work of real genius. Those, who do not +strive at excellence, will seldom fall into absurdity; as he, who is +contented to walk, is little liable to stumble. + +Notwithstanding the admirable disposition of the parts of this play, +the gradual increase of the interest, and the strong impassioned +language of the dialogue, the disagreeable nature of the plot forms an +objection to its success upon a British stage. Distress, which turns +upon the involutions of unnatural or incestuous passion, carries with +it something too disgusting for the sympathy of a refined age; +whereas, in a simple state of society, the feelings require a more +powerful stimulus; as we see the vulgar crowd round an object of real +horror, with the same pleasure we reap from seeing it represented on a +theatre. Besides, in ancient times, in those of the Roman empire at +least, such abominations really occurred, as sanctioned the story of +OEdipus. But the change of manners has introduced not only greater +purity of moral feeling, but a sensibility, which retreats with +abhorrence even from a fiction turning upon such circumstances. Hence, +Garrick, who well knew the taste of an English audience, renounced his +intention of reviving the excellent old play of "King and no King;" +and hence Massinger's still more awful tragedy of "The Unnatural +Combat," has been justly deemed unfit for a modern stage. Independent +of this disgusting circumstance, it may be questioned Whether the +horror of this tragedy is not too powerful for furnishing mere +amusement? It is said in the "Companion to the Playhouse," that when +the piece was performing at Dublin, a musician, in the orchestra, was +so powerfully affected by the madness of OEdipus, as to become himself +actually delirious: and though this may be exaggerated, it is certain, +that, when the play was revived about thirty years ago, the audience +were unable to support it to an end; the boxes being all emptied +before the third act was concluded. Among all our English plays, there +is none more determinedly bloody than "OEdipus," in its progress and +conclusion. The entrance of the unfortunate king, with his eyes torn +from their sockets, is too disgusting for representation[3]. Of all +the persons of the drama, scarce one survives the fifth act. OEdipus +dashes out his brains, Jocasta stabs herself, their children are +strangled, Creon kills Eurydice, Adrastus kills Creon, and the +insurgents kill Adrastus; when we add to this, that the conspirators +are hanged, the reader will perceive, that the play, which began with +a pestilence, concludes with a massacre, + + And darkness is the burier of the dead. + +Another objection to OEdipus has been derived from the doctrine of +fatalism, inculcated by the story. There is something of cant in +talking much upon the influence of a theatre on public morals; yet, I +fear, though the most moral plays are incapable of doing much good, +the turn of others may make a mischievous impression, by embodying in +verse, and rendering apt for the memory, maxims of an impious or +profligate tendency. In this point of view, there is, at least, no +edification in beholding the horrible crimes unto which OEdipus is +unwillingly plunged, and in witnessing the dreadful punishment he +sustains, though innocent of all moral or intentional guilt, Corneille +has endeavoured to counterbalance the obvious conclusion, by a long +tirade upon free-will, which I have subjoined, as it contains some +striking ideas.[4] But the doctrine, which it expresses, is +contradictory of the whole tenor of the story; and the correct +deduction is much more justly summed up by Seneca, in the stoical +maxim of necessity: + + _Fatis agimur, cedite Fatis; + Non solicitae possunt curae, + Mutare rati stamina fusi; + Quicquid patimur mortale genus, + Quicquid facimus venit ex alto; + Servatque sua decreta colus, + Lachesis dura revoluta manu._ + +Some degree of poetical justice might have been preserved, and a +valuable moral inculcated, had the conduct of OEdipus, in his combat +with Laius, been represented as atrocious, or, at least, +unwarrantable; as the sequel would then have been a warning, how +impossible it is to calculate the consequences or extent of a single +act of guilt. But, after all, Dryden perhaps extracts the true moral, +while stating our insufficiency to estimate the distribution of good +and evil in human life, in a passage, which, in excellent poetry, +expresses more sound truth, than a whole shelf of philosophers: + + The Gods are just-- + But how can finite measure infinite? + Reason! alas, it does not know itself! + Yet man, vain man, would, with this, short-lined plummet, + Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. + Whatever is, is in its causes just, + Since all things are by fate. But purblind man + Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links; + His eyes not carrying to that equal beam, + That poises all above.-- + +The prologue states, that the play, if damned, may be recorded as the +"first buried since the Woollen Act." This enables us to fix the date +of the performance. By the 30th Charles II. cap. 3. all persons were +appointed to be buried in woollen after 1st August, 1678. The play +must therefore have been represented early in the season 1678-9. It +was not printed until 1679. + + +Footnotes: +1. Nero is said to have represented the character of OEdipus, amongst + others of the same horrible cast.--_Suetonius,_ Lib. VI. Cap. 21. + +2. Thus Seneca is justly ridiculed by Dacier, for sending Laius forth + with a numerous party of guards, to avoid the indecorum of a king + going abroad too slenderly attended. The guards lose their way + within a league of their master's capital; and, by this awkward + contrivance, their absence is accounted for, when he is met by + OEdipus. + +3. Voltaire, however, held a different opinion. He thought a powerful + effect might be produced by the exhibition of the blind king, + indistinctly seen in the back ground, amid the shrieks of Jocasta, + and the exclamations of the Thebans; provided the actor was capable + of powerful gesture, and of expressing much passion, with little + declamation. + +4. _Quoi! la necessite des vertus et des vices + D'un astre imperieux doit suivre les caprices? + Et Delphes malgre nous conduit nos actions + Au plus bizarre effet de ses predictions? + L'ame est donc toute esclave; une loi soveraine + Vers le bien ou le mal incessamment l'entraine; + Et nous recevons ni crainte ni desir, + De cette liberte qui n'a rien a choisir; + Attaches sans relache a cet ordre sublime, + Vertueux sans merite, et vicieux sans crime; + Qu'on massare les rois, qu'on brise les autels, + C'est la faute des dieux, et non pas des mortels; + De toute la vertu sur la terre epandue + Tout le prix ces dieux, toute la gloire est due; + Ils agissent en nous, quand nous pensons agir, + Alons qu'on delibere, on ne fait qu'obeir; + Et notre volonte n'aime, hait, cherche, evite, + Que suivant que d'en haut leur bras la precipite! + D'un tel aveuglement daignez me dispenser + Le ciel juste a punir, juste a recompenser, + Pour rendre aux actions leur peine ou leur salaire, + Doit nous offrir son aide et puis nous laisser faire._ + + + + + PREFACE. + + +Though it be dangerous to raise too great an expectation, especially +in works of this nature, where we are to please an insatiable +audience, yet it is reasonable to prepossess them in favour of an +author; and therefore, both the prologue and epilogue informed you, +that OEdipus was the most celebrated piece of all antiquity; that +Sophocles, not only the greatest wit, but one of the greatest men in +Athens, made it for the stage at the public cost; and that it had the +reputation of being his masterpiece, not only among the seven of his +which are still remaining, but of the greater number which are +perished. Aristotle has more than once admired it, in his Book of +Poetry; Horace has mentioned it: Lucullus, Julius Caesar, and other +noble Romans, have written on the same subject, though their poems are +wholly lost; but Seneca's is still preserved. In our own age, +Corneille has attempted it, and, it appears by his preface, with great +success. But a judicious reader will easily observe, how much the copy +is inferior to the original. He tells you himself, that he owes a +great part of his success, to the happy episode of Theseus and Dirce; +which is the same thing, as if we should acknowledge, that we were +indebted for our good fortune to the under-plot of Adrastus, Eurydice, +and Creon. The truth is, he miserably failed in the character of his +hero: If he desired that OEdipus should be pitied, he should have made +him a better man. He forgot, that Sophocles had taken care to show +him, in his first entrance, a just, a merciful, a successful, a +religious prince, and, in short, a father of his country. Instead of +these, he has drawn him suspicious, designing, more anxious of keeping +the Theban crown, than solicitous for the safety of his people; +hectored by Theseus, condemned by Dirce, and scarce maintaining a +second part in his own tragedy. This was an error in the first +concoction; and therefore never to be mended in the second or the +third. He introduced a greater hero than OEdipus himself; for when +Theseus was once there, that companion of Hercules must yield to none. +The poet was obliged to furnish him with business, to make him an +equipage suitable to his dignity; and, by following him too close, to +lose his other king of Brentford in the crowd. Seneca, on the other +side, as if there were no such thing as nature to be minded in a play, +is always running after pompous expression, pointed sentences, and +philosophical notions, more proper for the study than the stage: the +Frenchman followed a wrong scent; and the Roman was absolutely at cold +hunting. All we could gather out of Corneille was, that an episode +must be, but not his way: and Seneca supplied us with no new hint, but +only a relation which he makes of his Tiresias raising the ghost of +Laius; which is here performed in view of the audience,--the rites and +ceremonies, so far his, as he agreed with antiquity, and the religion +of the Greeks. But he himself was beholden to Homer's Tiresias, in the +"Odysses," for some of them; and the rest have been collected from +Heliodore's "Ethiopiques," and Lucan's Erictho[1]. Sophocles, indeed, +is admirable everywhere; and therefore we have followed him as close +as possibly we could. But the Athenian theatre, (whether more perfect +than ours, is not now disputed,) had a perfection differing from ours. +You see there in every act a single scene, (or two at most,) which +manage the business of the play; and after that succeeds the chorus, +which commonly takes up more time in singing, than there has been +employed in speaking. The principal person appears almost constantly +through the play; but the inferior parts seldom above once in the +whole tragedy. The conduct of our stage is much more difficult, where +we are obliged never to lose any considerable character, which we have +once presented. Custom likewise has obtained, that we must form an +under-plot of second persons, which must be depending on the first; +and their by-walks must be like those in a labyrinth, which all of +them lead into the great parterre; or like so many several lodging +chambers, which have their outlets into the same gallery. Perhaps, +after all, if we could think so, the ancient method, as it is the +easiest, is also the most natural, and the best. For variety, as it is +managed, is too often subject to breed distraction; and while we would +please too many ways, for want of art in the conduct, we please in +none[2]. But we have given you more already than was necessary for a +preface; and, for aught we know, may gain no more by our instructions, +than that politic nation is like to do, who have taught their enemies +to fight so long, that at last they are in a condition to invade +them[3]. + + +Footnotes: +1. Heliodorus, bishop of Trica, wrote a romance in Greek, called the + "Ethiopiques," containing the amours of Theagenes and Chariclea. He + was so fond of this production, that, the option being proposed to + him by a synod, he rather chose to resign his bishopric than + destroy his work. There occurs a scene of incantation in this + romance. The story of Lucan's witch occurs in the sixth book of the + Pharsalia. + + Dryden has judiciously imitated Seneca, in representing necromancy + as the last resort of Tiresias, after all milder modes of augury + had failed. + +2. It had been much to be wished, that our author had preferred his + own better judgment, and the simplicity of the Greek plot, to + compliance with this foolish custom. + +3. This seems to allude to the French, who, after having repeatedly + reduced the Dutch to extremity, were about this period defeated by + the Prince of Orange, in the battle of Mons. See the next note. + + + + + PROLOGUE. + + + When Athens all the Grecian slate did guide, + And Greece gave laws to all the world beside; + Then Sophocles with Socrates did sit, + Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit: + And wit from wisdom differed not in those, + But as 'twas sung in verse, or said in prose. + Then, OEdipus, on crowded theatres, + Drew all admiring eyes and list'ning ears: + The pleased spectator shouted every line, + The noblest, manliest, and the best design! + And every critic of each learned age, + By this just model has reformed the stage. + Now, should it fail, (as heaven avert our fear!) + Damn it in silence, lest the world should hear. + For were it known this poem did not please, + You might set up for perfect savages: + Your neighbours would not look on you as men, + But think the nation all turned Picts again. + Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit + You should suspect yourselves of too much wit: + Drive not the jest too far, but spare this piece; + And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece. + See twice! do not pell-mell to damning fall, + Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all: + Pray be advised; and though at Mons[1] you won, + On pointed cannon do not always run. + With some respect to ancient wit proceed; + You take the four first councils for your creed. + But, when you lay tradition wholly by, + And on the private spirit alone rely, + You turn fanatics in your poetry. + If, notwithstanding all that we can say, + You needs will have your penn'orths of the play, + And come resolved to damn, because you pay, + Record it, in memorial of the fact, + The first play buried since the woollen act. + + +Footnote: +1. On the 17th of August, 1678, the Prince of Orange, afterwards + William III. marched to the attack of the French army, which + blockaded Mons, and lay secured by the most formidable + entrenchments. Notwithstanding a powerful and well-served + artillery, the duke of Luxemburgh was forced to abandon his + trenches, and retire with great loss. The English and Scottish + regiments, under the gallant earl of Ossory, had their full share + in the glory of the day. It is strongly suspected, that the Prince + of Orange, when he undertook this perilous atchievement, knew that + a peace had been signed betwixt France and the States, though the + intelligence was not made public till next day. Carleton says, that + the troops, when drawn up for the attack, supposed the purpose was + to fire a _feu-de-joie_ for the conclusion of the war. The + enterprize, therefore, though successful, was needless as well as + desperate, and merited Dryden's oblique censure. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + OEDIPUS, _King of Thebes._ + ADRASTUS, _Prince of Argos._ + CREON, _Brother to_ JOCASTA. + TIRESIAS, _a blind Prophet._ + HAEMON, _Captain of the Guard._ + ALCANDER, } + DIOCLES, } _Lords of_ CREON'S _faction._ + PYRACMON, } + PHORBAS, _an old Shepherd._ + DYMAS, _the Messenger returned from Delphos._ + AEGEON, _the Corinthian Embassador._ + _Ghost of_ LAIUS, _the late King of Thebes._ + + JOCASTA, _Queen of Thebes._ + EURYDICE, _her Daughter, by_ LAIUS, _her first husband._ + MANTO, _Daughter of_ TIRESIAS. + + _Priests, Citizens, Attendants,_ &c. + +SCENE--_Thebes._ + + + + + OEDIPUS. + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_The Curtain rises to a plaintive Tune, representing the + present condition of Thebes; dead Bodies appear at a distance in the + Streets; some faintly go over the Stage, others drop._ + + _Enter_ ALCANDER, DIOCLES, _and_ PYRACMON. + +_Alc._ Methinks we stand on ruins; nature shakes +About us; and the universal frame +So loose, that it but wants another push, +To leap from off its hinges. + +_Dioc._ No sun to cheer us; but a bloody globe, +That rolls above, a bald and beamless fire, +His face o'er-grown with scurf: The sun's sick, too; +Shortly he'll be an earth. + +_Pyr._ Therefore the seasons +Lie all confused; and, by the heavens neglected, +Forget themselves: Blind winter meets the summer +In his mid-way, and, seeing not his livery, +Has driven him headlong back; and the raw damps, +With flaggy wings, fly heavily about, +Scattering their pestilential colds and rheums +Through all the lazy air. + +_Alc._ Hence murrains followed +On bleating flocks, and on the lowing herds: +At last, the malady +Grew more domestic, and the faithful dog +Died at his master's feet[1]. + +_Dioc._ And next, his master: +For all those plagues, which earth and air had brooded, +First on inferior creatures tried their force, +And last they seized on man. + +_Pyr._ And then a thousand deaths at once advanced, +And every dart took place; all was so sudden, +That scarce a first man fell; one but began +To wonder, and straight fell a wonder too; +A third, who stooped to raise his dying friend, +Dropt in the pious act.--Heard you that groan? [_Groan within._ + +_Dioc._ A troop of ghosts took flight together there. +Now death's grown riotous, and will play no more +For single stakes, but families and tribes. +How are we sure we breathe not now our last, +And that, next minute, +Our bodies, cast into some common pit, +Shall not be built upon, and overlaid +By half a people? + +_Alc._ There's a chain of causes +Linked to effects; invincible necessity, +That whate'er is, could not but so have been; +That's my security. + + _To them, enter_ CREON. + +_Cre._ So had it need, when all our streets lie covered +With dead and dying men; +And earth exposes bodies on the pavements, +More than she hides in graves. +Betwixt the bride and bridegroom have I seen +The nuptial torch do common offices +Of marriage and of death. + +_Dioc._ Now OEdipus +(If he return from war, our other plague) +Will scarce find half he left, to grace his triumphs. + +_Pyr._ A feeble paean will be sung before him. + +_Alc._ He would do well to bring the wives and children +Of conquered Argians, to renew his Thebes. + +_Cre._ May funerals meet him at the city gates, +With their detested omen! + +_Dioc._ Of his children. + +_Cre._ Nay, though she be my sister, of his wife. + +_Alc._ O that our Thebes might once again behold +A monarch, Theban born! + +_Dioc._ We might have had one. + +_Pyr._ Yes, had the people pleased. + +_Cre._ Come, you are my friends: +The queen my sister, after Laius' death, +Feared to lie single; and supplied his place +With a young successor. + +_Dioc._ He much resembles +Her former husband too. + +_Alc._ I always thought so. + +_Pyr._ When twenty winters more have grizzled his black locks, +He will be very Laius. + +_Cre._ So he will. +Meantime, she stands provided of a Laius, +More young, and vigorous too, by twenty springs. +These women are such cunning purveyors! +Mark, where their appetites have once been pleased, +The same resemblance, in a younger lover, +Lies brooding in their fancies the same pleasures, +And urges their remembrance to desire. + +_Dioc._ Had merit, not her dotage, been considered; +Then Creon had been king; but OEdipus, +A stranger! + +_Cre._ That word, _stranger_, I confess, +Sounds harshly in my ears. + +_Dioc._ We are your creatures. +The people, prone, as in all general ills, +To sudden change; the king, in wars abroad; +The queen, a woman weak and unregarded; +Eurydice, the daughter of dead Laius, +A princess young and beauteous, and unmarried,-- +Methinks, from these disjointed propositions, +Something might be produced. + +_Cre._ The gods have done +Their part, by sending this commodious plague. +But oh, the princess! her hard heart is shut +By adamantine locks against my love. + +_Alc._ Your claim to her is strong; you are betrothed. + +_Pyr._ True, in her nonage. + +_Dioc._ I heard the prince of Argos, young Adrastus, +When he was hostage here-- + +_Cre._ Oh name him not! the bane of all my hopes. +That hot-brained, head-long warrior, has the charms +Of youth, and somewhat of a lucky rashness, +To please a woman yet more fool than he. +That thoughtless sex is caught by outward form. +And empty noise, and loves itself in man. + +_Alc._ But since the war broke out about our frontiers, +He's now a foe to Thebes. + +_Cre._ But is not so to her. See, she appears; +Once more I'll prove my fortune. You insinuate +Kind thoughts of me into the multitude; +Lay load upon the court; gull them with freedom; +And you shall see them toss their tails, and gad, +As if the breeze had stung them. + +_Dioc._ We'll about it. [_Exeunt_ ALC. DIOC. _and_ PYR. + + _Enter_ EURYDICE. + +_Cre._ Hail, royal maid! thou bright Eurydice, +A lavish planet reigned when thou wert born, +And made thee of such kindred mould to heaven, +Thou seem'st more heaven's than ours. + +_Eur._ Cast round your eyes, +Where late the streets were so thick sown with men, +Like Cadmus' brood, they jostled for the passage; +Now look for those erected heads, and see them, +Like pebbles, paving all our public ways; +When you have thought on this, then answer me,-- +If these be hours of courtship? + +_Cre._ Yes, they are; +For when the gods destroy so fast, 'tis time +We should renew the race. + +_Eur._ What, in the midst of horror? + +_Cre._ Why not then? +There's the more need of comfort. + +_Eur._ Impious Creon! + +_Cre._ Unjust Eurydice! can you accuse me +Of love, which is heaven's precept, and not fear +That vengeance, which you say pursues our crimes, +Should reach your perjuries? + +_Eur._ Still the old argument. +I bade you cast your eyes on other men, +Now cast them on yourself; think what you are. + +_Cre._ A man. + +_Eur._ A man! + +_Cre._ Why, doubt you I'm a man? + +_Eur._ 'Tis well you tell me so; I should mistake you +For any other part o'the whole creation, +Rather than think you man. Hence from my sight, +Thou poison to my eyes! + +_Cre._ 'Twas you first poisoned mine; and yet, methinks, +My face and person should not make you sport. + +_Eur._ You force me, by your importunities, +To shew you what you are. + +_Cre._ A prince, who loves you; +And, since your pride provokes me, worth your love. +Even at its highest value. + +_Eur._ Love from thee! +Why love renounced thee ere thou saw'st the light; +Nature herself start back when thou wert born, +And cried,--the work's not mine. +The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw +Thy mountain back, and thy distorted legs, +Thy face itself; +Half-minted with the royal stamp of man, +And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long, +Whose right in thee were more; +And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames +Were not the holier work. + +_Cre._ Am I to blame, if nature threw my body +In so perverse a mould? yet when she cast +Her envious hand upon my supple joints, +Unable to resist, and rumpled them +On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge +Her bungled work, she stampt my mind more fair; +And as from chaos, huddled and deformed, +The god struck fire, and lighted up the lamps +That beautify the sky, so he informed +This ill-shaped body with a daring soul; +And, making less than man, he made me more. + +_Eur._ No; thou art all one error, soul and body; +The first young trial of some unskilled power, +Rude in the making art, and ape of Jove. +Thy crooked mind within hunched out thy back, +And wandered in thy limbs. To thy own kind +Make love, if thou canst find it in the world; +And seek not from our sex to raise an offspring, +Which, mingled with the rest, would tempt the gods, +To cut off human kind. + +_Cre._ No; let them leave +The Argian prince for you. That enemy +Of Thebes has made you false, and break the vows +You made to me. + +_Eur._ They were my mother's vows, +Made when I was at nurse. + +_Cre._ But hear me, maid: +This blot of nature, this deformed, loathed Creon, +Is master of a sword, to reach the blood +Of your young minion, spoil the gods' fine work, +And stab you in his heart. + +_Eur._ This when thou dost, +Then mayst thou still be cursed with loving me; +And, as thou art, be still unpitied, loathed; +And let his ghost--No, let his ghost have rest-- +But let the greatest, fiercest, foulest fury, +Let Creon haunt himself. [_Exit_ EUR. + +_Cre._ 'Tis true, I am +What she has told me--an offence to sight: +My body opens inward to my soul, +And lets in day to make my vices seen +By all discerning eyes, but the blind vulgar. +I must make haste, ere OEdipus return, +To snatch the crown and her--for I still love, +But love with malice. As an angry cur +Snarls while he feeds, so will I seize and stanch +The hunger of my love on this proud beauty, +And leave the scraps for slaves. + + _Enter_ TIRESIAS, _leaning on a staff, and led by his Daughter_ + MANTO. + +What makes this blind prophetic fool abroad? +Would his Apollo had him! he's too holy +For earth and me; I'll shun his walk, and seek +My popular friends. [_Exit_ CREON. + +_Tir._ A little farther; yet a little farther, +Thou wretched daughter of a dark old man, +Conduct my weary steps: And thou, who seest +For me and for thyself, beware thou tread not, +With impious steps, upon dead corps. Now stay; +Methinks I draw more open, vital air. +Where are we? + +_Man._ Under covert of a wall; +The most frequented once, and noisy part +Of Thebes; now midnight silence reigns even here, +And grass untrodden springs beneath our feet. + +_Tir._ If there be nigh this place a sunny bank, +There let me rest awhile:--A sunny bank! +Alas! how can it be, where no sun shines, +But a dim winking taper in the skies, +That nods, and scarce holds up his drowzy head, +To glimmer through the damps! [_A Noise within._ Follow, follow, + follow! A Creon, A Creon, A Creon! +Hark! a tumultuous noise, and Creon's name +Thrice echoed. + +_Man._ Fly, the tempest drives this way. + +_Tir._ Whither can age and blindness take their flight? +If I could fly, what could I suffer worse, +Secure of greater ills? [_Noise again,_ Creon, Creon, Creon! + + _Enter_ CREON, DIOCLES, ALCANDER, PYRACMON; _followed by the Crowd._ + +_Cre._ I thank ye, countrymen; but must refuse +The honours you intend me; they're too great, +And I am too unworthy; think again, +And make a better choice. + +_1 Cit._ Think twice! I ne'er thought twice in all my life; +That's double work. + +_2 Cit._ My first word is always my second; and therefore I'll have no +second word; and therefore, once again, I say, A Creon! + +_All._ A Creon, A Creon, A Creon! + +_Cre._ Yet hear me, fellow-citizens. + +_Dioc._ Fellow-citizens! there was a word of kindness! + +_Alc._ When did OEdipus salute you by that familiar name? + +_1 Cit._ Never, never; he was too proud. + +_Cre._ Indeed he could not, for he was a stranger; +But under him our Thebes is half destroyed. +Forbid it, heaven, the residue should perish +Under a Theban born! +'Tis true, the gods might send this plague among you, +Because a stranger ruled; but what of that? +Can I redress it now? + +_3 Cit._ Yes, you or none. +'Tis certain that the gods are angry with us, +Because he reigns. + +_Cre._ OEdipus may return; you may be ruined. + +_1 Cit._ Nay, if that be the matter, we are ruined already. + +_2 Cit._ Half of us, that are here present, were living men but +yesterday; and we, that are absent, do but drop and drop, and no man +knows whether he be dead or living. And therefore, while we are sound +and well, let us satisfy our consciences, and make a new king. + +_3 Cit._ Ha, if we were but worthy to see another coronation! and +then, if we must die, we'll go merrily together. + +_All._ To the question, to the question. + +_Dioc._ Are you content, Creon should be your king? + +_All_ A Creon, A Creon, A Creon! + +_Tir._ Hear me, ye Thebans, and thou Creon, hear me. + +_1 Cit._ Who's that would be heard? we'll hear no man; we can scarce +hear one another. + +_Tir._ I charge you, by the gods, to hear me. + +_2 Cit._ Oh, it is Apollo's priest, we must hear him; it is the old +blind prophet, that sees all things. + +_3 Cit._ He comes from the gods too, and they are our betters; and, in +good manners, we must hear him:--Speak, prophet. + +_2 Cit._ For coming from the gods, that's no great matter, they can +all say that: but he is a great scholar; he can make almanacks, an' he +were put to it; and therefore I say, hear him. + +_Tir._ When angry heaven scatters its plagues among you, +Is it for nought, ye Thebans? are the gods +Unjust in punishing? are there no crimes, +Which pull this vengeance down? + +_1 Cit._ Yes, yes; no doubt there are some sins stirring, that are the +cause of all. + +_3 Cit._ Yes, there are sins, or we should have no taxes. + +_2 Cit._ For my part, I can speak it with a safe conscience, I never +sinned in all my life. + +_1 Cit._ Nor I. + +_3 Cit._ Nor I. + +_2 Cit._ Then we are all justified; the sin lies not at our doors. + +_Tir._ All justified alike, and yet all guilty! +Were every man's false dealing brought to light, +His envy, malice, lying, perjuries, +His weights and measures, the other man's extortions, +With what face could you tell offended heaven, +You had not sinned? + +_2 Cit._ Nay, if these be sins, the case is altered; for my part, I +never thought any thing but murder had been a sin. + +_Tir._ And yet, as if all these were less than nothing, +You add rebellion to them, impious Thebans! +Have you not sworn before the gods to serve +And to obey this OEdipus, your king +By public voice elected? answer me, +If this be true! + +_2 Cit._ This is true; but its a hard world, neighbours, +If a man's oath must be his master. + +_Cre._ Speak, Diocles; all goes wrong. + +_Dioc._ How are you traitors, countrymen of Thebes? +This holy sire, who presses you with oaths, +Forgets your first; were you not sworn before +To Laius and his blood? + +_All._ We were; we were. + +_Dioc._ While Laius has a lawful successor, +Your first oath still must bind: Eurydice +Is heir to Laius; let her marry Creon. +Offended heaven will never be appeased, +While OEdipus pollutes the throne of Laius, +A stranger to his blood. + +_All._ We'll no OEdipus, no OEdipus. + +_1 Cit._ He puts the prophet in a mouse-hole. + +_2 Cit._ I knew it would be so; the last man ever speaks the best +reason. + +_Tir._ Can benefits thus die, ungrateful Thebans! +Remember yet, when, after Laius' death, +The monster Sphinx laid your rich country waste, +Your vineyards spoiled, your labouring oxen slew, +Yourselves for fear mewed up within your walls; +She, taller than your gates, o'er-looked your town; +But when she raised her bulk to sail above you, +She drove the air around her like a whirlwind, +And shaded all beneath; till, stooping down, +She clap'd her leathern wing against your towers, +And thrust out her long neck, even to your doors[2]. + +_Dioc. Alc. Pyr._ We'll hear no more. + +_Tir._ You durst not meet in temples, +To invoke the gods for aid; the proudest he, +Who leads you now, then cowered, like a dared[3] lark: +This Creon shook for fear, +The blood of Laius curdled in his veins, +'Till OEdipus arrived. +Called by his own high courage and the gods, +Himself to you a god, ye offered him +Your queen and crown; (but what was then your crown!) +And heaven authorized it by his success. +Speak then, who is your lawful king? + +_All._ 'Tis OEdipus. + +_Tir._ 'Tis OEdipus indeed: Your king more lawful +Than yet you dream; for something still there lies +In heaven's dark volume, which I read through mists: +'Tis great, prodigious; 'tis a dreadful birth, +Of wondrous fate; and now, just now disclosing. +I see, I see! how terrible it dawns, +And my soul sickens with it! + +_1 Cit._ How the god shakes him! + +_Tir._ He comes, he comes! Victory! conquest! triumph! +But oh! guiltless and guilty: murder! parricide! +Incest! discovery! punishment--'tis ended, +And all your sufferings o'er. + + _A Trumpet within: enter_ HAEMON. + +_Haem._ Rouse up, you Thebans; tune your _Io Paeans_! +Your king returns; the Argians are o'ercome; +Their warlike prince in single combat taken, +And led in bands by god-like OEdipus! + +_All._ OEdipus, OEdipus, OEdipus! + +_Creon._ Furies confound his fortune!-- [_Aside._ +Haste, all haste, [_To them._ +And meet with blessings our victorious king; +Decree processions; bid new holidays; +Crown all the statues of our gods with garlands; +And raise a brazen column, thus inscribed,-- +_To OEdipus, now twice a conqueror; deliverer of his Thebes._ +Trust me, I weep for joy to see this day. + +_Tir._ Yes, heaven knows why thou weep'st.--Go, countrymen, +And, as you use to supplicate your gods, +So meet your king with bays, and olive branches; +Bow down, and touch his knees, and beg from him +An end of all your woes; for only he +Can give it you. [_Exit_ TIRESIAS, _the People following._ + + _Enter_ OEDIPUS _in triumph;_ ADRASTUS _prisoner;_ DYMAS, _Train._ + +_Cre._ All hail, great OEdipus! +Thou mighty conqueror, hail; welcome to Thebes; +To thy own Thebes; to all that's left of Thebes; +For half thy citizens are swept away, +And wanting for thy triumphs; +And we, the happy remnant, only live +To welcome thee, and die. + +_OEdip._ Thus pleasure never comes sincere to man, +But lent by heaven upon hard usury; +And while Jove holds us out the bowl of joy, +Ere it can reach our lips, 'tis dashed with gall +By some left-handed god. O mournful triumph! +O conquest gained abroad, and lost at home! +O Argos, now rejoice, for Thebes lies low! +Thy slaughtered sons now smile, and think they won, +When they can count more Theban ghosts than theirs. + +_Adr._ No; Argos mourns with Thebes; you tempered so +Your courage while you fought, that mercy seemed +The manlier virtue, and much more prevailed; +While Argos is a people, think your Thebes +Can never want for subjects. Every nation +Will crowd to serve where OEdipus commands. + +_Cre._ [_To_ HAEM.] +How mean it shews, to fawn upon the victor! + +_Haem._ Had you beheld him fight, you had said otherwise. +Come, 'tis brave bearing in him, not to envy +Superior virtue. + +_OEdip._ This indeed is conquest, +To gain a friend like you: Why were we foes? + +_Adr._ 'Cause we were kings, and each disdained an equal. +I fought to have it in my power to do +What thou hast done, and so to use my conquest. +To shew thee, honour was my only motive, +Know this, that were my army at thy gates, +And Thebes thus waste, I would not take the gift, +Which, like a toy dropt from the hands of fortune, +Lay for the next chance-comer. + +_OEdip._ [_Embracing._] No more captive, +But brother of the war. 'Tis much more pleasant, +And safer, trust me, thus to meet thy love, +Than when hard gauntlets clenched our warlike hands, +And kept them from soft use. + +_Adr._ My conqueror! + +_OEdip._ My friend! that other name keeps enmity alive. +But longer to detain thee were a crime; +To love, and to Eurydice, go free. +Such welcome, as a ruined town can give, +Expect from me; the rest let her supply. + +_Adr._ I go without a blush, though conquered twice, +By you, and by my princess. [_Exit_ ADRASTUS. + +_Cre._ [_Aside._] Then I am conquered thrice; by OEdipus, +And her, and even by him, the slave of both. +Gods, I'm beholden to you, for making me your image; +Would I could make you mine! [_Exit_ CREON. + + _Enter the People with branches in their hands, holding them up, and + kneeling: Two Priests before them._ + +_OEdip._ Alas, my people! +What means this speechless sorrow, downcast eyes, +And lifted hands? If there be one among you, +Whom grief has left a tongue, speak for the rest. + +_1 Pr._ O father of thy country! +To thee these knees are bent, these eyes are lifted, +As to a visible divinity; +A prince, on whom heaven safely might repose +The business of mankind; for Providence +Might on thy careful bosom sleep secure, +And leave her task to thee. +But where's the glory of thy former acts? +Even that's destroyed, when none shall live to speak it. +Millions of subjects shalt thou have; but mute. +A people of the dead; a crowded desert; +A midnight silence at the noon of day. + +_OEdip._ O were our gods as ready with their pity, +As I with mine, this presence should be thronged +With all I left alive; and my sad eyes +Not search in vain for friends, whose promised sight +Flattered my toils of war. + +_1 Pr._ Twice our deliverer! + +_OEdip._ Nor are now your vows +Addrest to one who sleeps. +When this unwelcome news first reached my ears, +Dymas was sent to Delphos, to enquire +The cause and cure of this contagious ill, +And is this day returned; but, since his message +Concerns the public, I refused to hear it +But in this general presence: Let him speak. + +_Dym._ A dreadful answer from the hallowed urn, +And sacred tripos, did the priestess give, +In these mysterious words. + +_The Oracle._ _Shed in a cursed hour, by cursed hand, +Blood-royal unrevenged has cursed the land. +When Laius' death is expiated well, +Your plague shall cease. The rest let Laius tell._ + +_OEdip._ Dreadful indeed! Blood, and a king's blood too! +And such a king's, and by his subjects shed! +(Else why this curse on Thebes?) No wonder then +If monsters, wars, and plagues, revenge such crimes! +If heaven be just, its whole artillery, +All must be emptied on us: Not one bolt +Shall err from Thebes; but more be called for, more; +New-moulded thunder of a larger size, +Driven by whole Jove. What, touch anointed power! +Then, Gods, beware; Jove would himself be next, +Could you but reach him too. + +_2 Pr._ We mourn the sad remembrance. + +_OEdip._ Well you may; +Worse than a plague infects you: You're devoted +To mother earth, and to the infernal powers; +Hell has a right in you. I thank you, gods, +That I'm no Theban born: How my blood curdles! +As if this curse touched me, and touched me nearer +Than all this presence!--Yes, 'tis a king's blood, +And I, a king, am tied in deeper bonds +To expiate this blood. But where, from whom, +Or how must I atone it? Tell me, Thebans, +How Laius fell; for a confused report +Passed through my ears, when first I took the crown; +But full of hurry, like a morning dream, +It vanished in the business of the day.[4] + +_1 Pr._ He went in private forth, but thinly followed, +And ne'er returned to Thebes. + +_OEdip._ Nor any from him? came there no attendant? +None to bring news? + +_2 Pr._ But one; and he so wounded, +He scarce drew breath to speak some few faint words. + +_OEdip._ What were they? something may be learnt from thence. + +_1 Pr._ He said, a band of robbers watched their passage, +Who took advantage of a narrow way, +To murder Laius and the rest; himself +Left too for dead. + +_OEdip._ Made you no more enquiry, +But took this bare relation? + +_2 Pr._ 'Twas neglected; +For then the monster Sphinx began to rage, +And present cares soon buried the remote: +So was it hushed, and never since revived. + +_OEdip._ Mark, Thebans, mark! +Just then, the Sphinx began to rage among you; +The gods took hold even of the offending minute, +And dated thence your woes: Thence will I trace them. + +_1 Pr._ 'Tis just thou should'st. + +_OEdip._ Hear then this dreadful imprecation; hear it; +'Tis laid on all; not any one exempt: +Bear witness, heaven, avenge it on the perjured! +If any Theban born, if any stranger +Reveal this murder, or produce its author, +Ten attick talents be his just reward: +But if, for fear, for favour, or for hire, +The murderer he conceal, the curse of Thebes +Fall heavy on his head: Unite our plagues, +Ye gods, and place them there: From fire and water, +Converse, and all things common, be he banished. +But for the murderer's self, unfound by man, +Find him, ye powers celestial and infernal! +And the same fate, or worse than Laius met, +Let be his lot: His children be accurst; +His wife and kindred, all of his, be cursed! + +_Both Pr._ Confirm it, heaven! + + _Enter_ JOCASTA, _attended by Women._ + +_Joc._ At your devotions? Heaven succeed your wishes; +And bring the effect of these your pious prayers +On you, and me, and all. + +_Pr._ Avert this omen, heaven! + +_OEdip._ O fatal sound! unfortunate Jocasta! +What hast thou said! an ill hour hast thou chosen +For these fore-boding words! why, we were cursing! + +_Joc._ Then may that curse fall only where you laid it. + +_OEdip._ Speak no more! +For all thou say'st is ominous: We were cursing; +And that dire imprecation has thou fastened +On Thebes, and thee, and me, and all of us. + +_Joc._ Are then my blessings turned into a curse? +O unkind OEdipus! My former lord +Thought me his blessing; be thou like my Laius. + +_OEdip._ What, yet again? the third time hast thou cursed me: +This imprecation was for Laius' death, +And thou hast wished me like him. + +_Joc._ Horror seizes me! + +_OEdip._ Why dost thou gaze upon me? pr'ythee, love, +Take off thy eye; it burdens me too much. + +_Joc._ The more I look, the more I find of Laius: +His speech, his garb, his action; nay, his frown,-- +For I have seen it,--but ne'er bent on me. + +_OEdip._ Are we so like? + +_Joc._ In all things but his love. + +_OEdip._ I love thee more: So well I love, words cannot speak how well. +No pious son e'er loved his mother more, +Than I my dear Jocasta. + +_Joc._ I love you too +The self-same way; and when you chid, methought +A mother's love start[5] up in your defence, +And bade me not be angry. Be not you; +For I love Laius still, as wives should love; +But you more tenderly, as part of me: +And when I have you in my arms, methinks +I lull my child asleep. + +_OEdip._ Then we are blest; +And all these curses sweep along the skies +Like empty clouds, but drop not on our heads. + +_Joc._ I have not joyed an hour since you departed, +For public miseries, and for private fears; +But this blest meeting has o'er-paid them all. +Good fortune, that comes seldom, comes more welcome. +All I can wish for now, is your consent +To make my brother happy. + +_OEdip._ How, Jocasta? + +_Joc._ By marriage with his niece, Eurydice. + +_OEdip._ Uncle and niece! they are too near, my love; +'Tis too like incest; 'tis offence to kind: +Had I not promised, were there no Adrastus, +No choice but Creon left her of mankind, +They should not marry: Speak no more of it; +The thought disturbs me. + +_Joc._ Heaven can never bless +A vow so broken, which I made to Creon; +Remember, he is my brother. + +_OEdip._ That is the bar; +And she thy daughter: Nature would abhor +To be forced back again upon herself, +And, like a whirlpool, swallow her own streams. + +_Joc._ Be not displeased: I'll move the suit no more. + +_OEdip._ No, do not; for, I know not why, it shakes me, +When I but think on incest. Move we forward, + To thank the gods for my success, and pray + To wash the guilt of royal blood away. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_An open Gallery. A Royal Bed-chamber being supposed behind. + +The Time, Night. Thunder, &c._ + + _Enter_ HAEMON, ALCANDER, _and_ PYRACMON. + +_Haem._ Sure 'tis the end of all things! fate has torn +The lock of time off, and his head is now +The ghastly ball of round eternity! +Call you these peals of thunder, but the yawn +Of bellowing clouds? By Jove, they seem to me +The world's last groans; and those vast sheets of flame +Are its last blaze. The tapers of the gods, +The sun and moon, run down like waxen-globes; +The shooting stars end all in purple jellies[6], +And chaos is at hand. + +_Pyr._ 'Tis midnight, yet there's not a Theban sleeps, +But such as ne'er must wake. All crowd about +The palace, and implore, as from a god, +Help of the king; who, from the battlement, +By the red lightning's glare descried afar, +Atones the angry powers. [_Thunder, &c._ + +_Haem._ Ha! Pyracmon, look; +Behold, Alcander, from yon' west of heaven, +The perfect figures of a man and woman; +A sceptre, bright with gems, in each right hand, +Their flowing robes of dazzling purple made: +Distinctly yonder in that point they stand, +Just west; a bloody red stains all the place; +And see, their faces are quite hid in clouds. + +_Pyr._ Clusters of golden stars hang o'er their heads, +And seem so crowded, that they burst upon them: +All dart at once their baleful influence, +In leaking fire. + +_Alc._ Long-bearded comets stick, +Like flaming porcupines, to their left sides, +As they would shoot their quills into their hearts. + +_Haem._ But see! the king, and queen, and all the court! +Did ever day or night shew aught like this? + [_Thunders again. The Scene draws, + and discovers the Prodigies._ + + _Enter_ OEDIPUS, JOCASTA, EURYDICE, ADRASTUS; _and all coming + forward with amazement._ + +_OEdip._ Answer, you powers divine! spare all this noise, +This rack of heaven, and speak your fatal pleasure. +Why breaks yon dark and dusky orb away? +Why from the bleeding womb of monstrous night, +Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars? +Ha! my Jocasta, look! the silver moon! +A settling crimson stains her beauteous face! +She's all o'er blood! and look, behold again, +What mean the mystic heavens she journies on? +A vast eclipse darkens the labouring planet:-- +Sound there, sound all our instruments of war; +Clarions and trumpets, silver, brass, and iron, +And beat a thousand drums, to help her labour. + +_Adr._ 'Tis vain; you see the prodigies continue; +Let's gaze no more, the gods are humorous. + +_OEdip._ Forbear, rash man.--Once more I ask your pleasure! +If that the glow-worm light of human reason +Might dare to offer at immortal knowledge, +And cope with gods, why all this storm of nature? +Why do the rocks split, and why rolls the sea? +Why those portents in heaven, and plagues on earth? +Why yon gigantic forms, ethereal monsters? +Alas! is all this but to fright the dwarfs, +Which your own hands have made? Then be it so. +Or if the fates resolve some expiation +For murdered Laius; hear me, hear me, gods! +Hear me thus prostrate: Spare this groaning land, +Save innocent Thebes, stop the tyrant death; +Do this, and lo, I stand up an oblation, +To meet your swiftest and severest anger; +Shoot all at once, and strike me to the centre. + + _The Cloud draws, that veiled the Heads of the Figures in the Sky, + and shews them crowned, with the names of_ OEDIPUS _and_ JOCASTA, + _written above in great characters of gold._ + +_Adr._ Either I dream, and all my cooler senses +Are vanished with that cloud that fleets away, +Or just above those two majestic heads, +I see, I read distinctly, in large gold, +_OEdipus and Jocasta._ + +_Alc._ I read the same. + +_Adr._ 'Tis wonderful; yet ought not man to wade +Too far in the vast deep of destiny. + [_Thunder; and the Prodigies vanish._ + +_Joc._ My lord, my OEdipus, why gaze you now, +When the whole heaven is clear, as if the gods +Had some new monsters made? will you not turn, +And bless your people, who devour each word +You breathe? + +_OEdip._ It shall be so. +Yes, I will die, O Thebes, to save thee! +Draw from my heart my blood, with more content +Than e'er I wore thy crown.--Yet, O Jocasta! +By all the endearments of miraculous love, +By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure, +Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear, +On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear, +I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood +To blooming youth, a crime by me committed, +For which the awful gods should doom my death. + +_Joc._ 'Tis not you, my lord, +But he who murdered Laius, frees the land. +Were you, which is impossible, the man, +Perhaps my poniard first should drink your blood; +But you are innocent, as your Jocasta, +From crimes like those. This made me violent +To save your life, which you unjust would lose: +Nor can you comprehend, with deepest thought, +The horrid agony you cast me in, +When you resolved to die. + +_OEdip._ Is't possible? + +_Joc._ Alas! why start you so? Her stiffening grief, +Who saw her children slaughtered all at once, +Was dull to mine: Methinks, I should have made +My bosom bare against the armed god, +To save my OEdipus! + +_OEdip._ I pray, no more. + +_Joc._ You've silenced me, my lord. + +_OEdip._ Pardon me, dear Jocasta! +Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings, +And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs: +Yet, to restore my peace, I'll find him out. +Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance +On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name! +I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjured for it, +And nature all unravelled. + +_Joc._ Sacred sir-- + +_OEdip._ Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll fetch him, +Though lodged in air upon a dragon's wing, +Though rocks should hide him: Nay, he shall be dragged +From hell, if charms can hurry him along: +His ghost shall be, by sage Tiresias' power,-- +Tiresias, that rules all beneath the moon,-- +Confined to flesh, to suffer death once more; +And then be plunged in his first fires again. + + _Enter_ CREON. + +_Cre._ My lord, +Tiresias attends your pleasure. + +_OEdip._ Haste, and bring him in.-- +O, my Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus, +Creon, and all ye Thebans, now the end +Of plagues, of madness, murders, prodigies, +Draws on: This battle of the heavens and earth +Shall by his wisdom be reduced to peace. + + _Enter_ TIRESIAS, _leaning on a staff, led by his Daughter_ MANTO, + _followed by other Thebans._ + +O thou, whose most aspiring mind +Knows all the business of the courts above, +Opens the closets of the gods, and dares +To mix with Jove himself and Fate at council; +O prophet, answer me, declare aloud +The traitor, who conspired the death of Laius; +Or be they more, who from malignant stars +Have drawn this plague, that blasts unhappy Thebes? + +_Tir._ We must no more than Fate commissions us +To tell; yet something, and of moment, I'll unfold, +If that the god would wake; I feel him now, +Like a strong spirit charmed into a tree, +That leaps, and moves the wood without a wind: +The roused god, as all this while he lay +Entombed alive, starts and dilates himself; +He struggles, and he tears my aged trunk +With holy fury; my old arteries burst; +My rivell'd skin, +Like parchment, crackles at the hallowed fire; +I shall be young again:--Manto, my daughter, +Thou hast a voice that might have saved the bard +Of Thrace, and forced the raging bacchanals, +With lifted prongs, to listen to thy airs. +O charm this god, this fury in my bosom, +Lull him with tuneful notes, and artful strings, +With powerful strains; Manto, my lovely child, +Sooth the unruly godhead to be mild. + + SONG TO APOLLO. + + _Phoebus, god beloved by men, + At thy dawn, every beast is roused in his den; + At thy setting, all the birds of thy absence complain, + And we die, all die, till the morning comes again. + Phoebus, god beloved by men! + Idol of the eastern kings, + Awful as the god who flings + His thunder round, and the lightning wings; + God of songs, and Orphean strings, + Who to this mortal bosom brings + All harmonious heavenly things! + Thy drowsy prophet to revive, + Ten thousand thousand forms before him drive: + With chariots and horses all o'fire awake him, + Convulsions, and furies, and prophesies shake him: + Let him tell it in groans, though he bend with the load, + Though he burst with the weight of the terrible god._ + +_Tir._ The wretch, who shed the blood of old Labdacides, +Lives, and is great; +But cruel greatness ne'er was long. +The first of Laius' blood his life did seize, +And urged his fate, +Which else had lasting been and strong. +The wretch, who Laius killed, must bleed or fly; +Or Thebes, consumed with plagues, in ruins lie. + +_OEdip._ The first of Laius' blood! pronounce the person; +May the god roar from thy prophetic mouth, +That even the dead may start up, to behold; +Name him, I say, that most accursed wretch, +For, by the stars, he dies! +Speak, I command thee; +By Phoebus, speak; for sudden death's his doom: +Here shall he fall, bleed on this very spot; +His name, I charge thee once more, speak. + +_Tir._ 'Tis lost, +Like what we think can never shun remembrance; +Yet of a sudden's gone beyond the clouds. + +_OEdip._ Fetch it from thence; I'll have't, wheree'er it be. + +_Cre._ Let me entreat you, sacred sir, be calm, +And Creon shall point out the great offender. +'Tis true, respect of nature might enjoin +Me silence, at another time; but, oh, +Much more the power of my eternal love! +That, that should strike me dumb; yet Thebes, my country-- +I'll break through all, to succour thee, poor city! +O, I must speak. + +_OEdip._ Speak then, if aught thou knowest, +As much thou seem'st to know,--delay no longer. + +_Cre._ O beauty! O illustrious, royal maid! +To whom my vows were ever paid, till now; +And with such modest, chaste, and pure affection, +The coldest nymph might read'em without blushing; +Art thou the murdress, then, of wretched Laius? +And I, must I accuse thee! O my tears! +Why will you fall in so abhorred a cause? +But that thy beauteous, barbarous hand destroyed +Thy father, (O monstrous act!) both gods +And men at once take notice. + +_OEdip._ Eurydice! + +_Eur._ Traitor, go on; I scorn thy little malice; +And knowing more my perfect innocence, +Than gods and men, then how much more than thee, +Who art their opposite, and formed a liar, +I thus disdain thee! Thou once didst talk of love; +Because I hate thy love, +Thou dost accuse me. + +_Adr._ Villain, inglorious villain, +And traitor, doubly damned, who durst blaspheme +The spotless virtue of the brightest beauty; +Thou diest: Nor shall the sacred majesty, [_Draws and wounds him._ +That guards this place, preserve thee from my rage. + +_OEdip._ Disarm them both!--Prince, I shall make you know, +That, I can tame you twice. Guards, seize him. + +_Adr._ Sir, +I must acknowledge, in another cause +Repentance might abash me; but I glory +In this, and smile to see the traitor's blood. + +_OEdip._ Creon, you shall be satisfied at full. + +_Cre._ My hurt is nothing, sir; but I appeal +To wise Tiresias, if my accusation +Be not most true. The first of Laius' blood +Gave him his death. Is there a prince before her? +Then she is faultless, and I ask her pardon. +And may this blood ne'er cease to drop, O Thebes, +If pity of thy sufferings did not move me, +To shew the cure which heaven itself prescribed. + +_Eur._ Yes, Thebans, I will die to save your lives. +More willingly than you can wish my fate; +But let this good, this wise, this holy man, +Pronounce my sentence: For to fall by him, +By the vile breath of that prodigious villain, +Would sink my soul, though I should die a martyr. + +_Adr._ Unhand me, slaves.--O mightiest of kings, +See at your feet a prince not used to kneel; +Touch not Eurydice, by all the gods, +As you would save your Thebes, but take my life: +For should she perish, heaven would heap plagues on plagues, +Rain sulphur down, hurl kindled bolts +Upon your guilty heads. + +_Cre._ You turn to gallantry, what is but justice; +Proof will be easy made. Adrastus was +The robber, who bereft the unhappy king +Of life; because he flatly had denied +To make so poor a prince his son-in-law; +Therefore 'twere fit that both should perish. + +_1 Theb._ Both, let both die. + +_All Theb._ Both, both; let them die. + +_OEdip._ Hence, you wild herd! For your ringleader here, +He shall be made example. Haemon, take him. + +_1 Theb._ Mercy, O mercy! + +_OEdip._ Mutiny in my presence! +Hence, let me see that busy face no more. + +_Tir._ Thebans, what madness makes you drunk with rage? +Enough of guilty death's already acted: +Fierce Creon has accused Eurydice, +With prince Adrastus; which the god reproves +By inward checks, and leaves their fates in doubt. + +_OEdip._ Therefore instruct us what remains to do, +Or suffer; for I feel a sleep like death +Upon me, and I sigh to be at rest. + +_Tir._ Since that the powers divine refuse to clear +The mystic deed, I'll to the grove of furies; +There I can force the infernal gods to shew +Their horrid forms; each trembling ghost shall rise, +And leave their grisly king without a waiter. +For prince Adrastus and Eurydice, +My life's engaged, I'll guard them in the fane, +'Till the dark mysteries of hell are done. +Follow me, princes; Thebans, all to rest. +O, OEdipus, to-morrow--but no more. +If that thy wakeful genius will permit, +Indulge thy brain this night with softer slumbers: +To-morrow, O to-morrow!--Sleep, my son; +And in prophetic dreams thy fate be shown. + [_Exeunt_ TIR. ADR. EUR. MAN. _and Theb._ + + _Manent_ OEDIPUS, JOCASTA, CREON, PYRACMON, HAEMON, _and_ ALCANDER. + +_OEdip._ To bed, my fair, my dear, my best Jocasta. +After the toils of war, 'tis wondrous strange +Our loves should thus be dashed. One moment's thought, +And I'll approach the arms of my beloved. + +_Joc._ Consume whole years in care, so now and then +I may have leave to feed my famished eyes +With one short passing glance, and sigh my vows: +This, and no more, my lord, is all the passion +Of languishing Jocasta. [_Exit._ + +_OEdip._ Thou softest, sweetest of the world! good night.-- +Nay, she is beauteous too; yet, mighty love! +I never offered to obey thy laws, +But an unusual chillness came upon me; +An unknown hand still checked my forward joy, +Dashed me with blushes, though no light was near; +That even the act became a violation. + +_Pyr._ He's strangely thoughtful. + +_OEdip._ Hark! who was that? Ha! Creon, didst thou call me? + +_Cre._ Not I, my gracious lord, nor any here. + +_OEdip._ That's strange! methought I heard a doleful voice +Cry, OEdipus.--The prophet bade me sleep. +He talked of dreams, and visions, and to-morrow! +I'll muse no more; come what will, or can, +My thoughts are clearer than unclouded stars; +And with those thoughts I'll rest. Creon, good-night. + [_Exit with_ HAEM. + +_Cre._ Sleep seal your eyes up, sir,--eternal sleep! +But if he sleep and wake again, O all +Tormenting dreams, wild horrors of the night, +And hags of fancy, wing him through the air: +From precipices hurl him headlong down, +Charybdis roar, and death be set before him! + +_Alc._ Your curses have already taken effect, +For he looks very sad. + +_Cre._ May he be rooted, where he stands, for ever; +His eye-balls never move, brows be unbent, +His blood, his entrails, liver, heart, and bowels, +Be blacker than the place I wish him, hell. + +_Pyr._ No more; you tear yourself, but vex not him. +Methinks 'twere brave this night to force the temple, +While blind Tiresias conjures up the fiends, +And pass the time with nice Eurydice. + +_Alc._ Try promises and threats, and if all fail, +Since hell's broke loose, why should not you be mad? +Ravish, and leave her dead with her Adrastus. + +_Cre._ Were the globe mine, I'd give a province hourly +For such another thought.--Lust and revenge! +To stab at once the only man I hate, +And to enjoy the woman whom I love! +I ask no more of my auspicious stars, +The rest as fortune please; so but this night +She play me fair, why, let her turn for ever. + + _Enter_ HAEMON. + +_Haem._ My lord, the troubled king is gone to rest; +Yet, ere he slept, commanded me to clear +The antichambers; none must dare be near him. + +_Cre._ Haemon, you do your duty; [_Thunder._ +And we obey.--The night grows yet more dreadful! +'Tis just that all retire to their devotions. +The gods are angry; but to-morrow's dawn, +If prophets do not lie, will make all clear. + + _As they go off,_ OEDIPUS _enters, walking asleep in his shirt, with + a dagger in his right hand, and a taper in his left._ + +_OEdip._ O, my Jocasta! 'tis for this, the wet +Starved soldier lies on the cold ground; +For this, he bears the storms +Of winter camps, and freezes in his arms; +To be thus circled, to be thus embraced. +That I could hold thee ever!--Ha! where art thou? +What means this melancholy light, that seems +The gloom of glowing embers? +The curtain's drawn; and see she's here again! +Jocasta? Ha! what, fallen asleep so soon? +How fares my love? this taper will inform me.-- +Ha! Lightning blast me, thunder +Rivet me ever to Prometheus' rock, +And vultures gnaw out my incestuous heart!-- +By all the gods, my mother Merope! +My sword! a dagger! ha, who waits there? Slaves, +My sword!--What, Haemon, dar'st thou, villain, stop me? +With thy own poniard perish.--Ha! who's this? +Or is't a change of death? By all my honours, +New murder; thou hast slain old Polybus: +Incest and parricide,--thy father's murderer! +Out, thou infernal flame!--Now all is dark, +All blind and dismal, most triumphant mischief! +And now, while thus I stalk about the room, +I challenge Fate to find another wretch +Like OEdipus! [_Thunder,_ &c. + + _Enter_ JOCASTA _attended, with Lights, in a Night-gown._ + +_OEdip._ Night, horror, death, confusion, hell, and furies! +Where am I?--O, Jocasta, let me hold thee, +Thus to my bosom! ages let me grasp thee! +All that the hardest-tempered weathered flesh, +With fiercest human spirit inspired, can dare, +Or do, I dare; but, oh you powers, this was, +By infinite degrees, too much for man. +Methinks my deafened ears +Are burst; my eyes, as if they had been knocked +By some tempestuous hand, shoot flashing fire;-- +That sleep should do this! + +_Joc._ Then my fears were true. +Methought I heard your voice,--and yet I doubted,-- +Now roaring like the ocean, when the winds +Fight with the waves; now, in a still small tone +Your dying accents fell, as wrecking ships, +After the dreadful yell, sink murmuring down, +And bubble up a noise. + +_OEdip._ Trust me, thou fairest, best of all thy kind, +None e'er in dreams was tortured so before. +Yet what most shocks the niceness of my temper, +Even far beyond the killing of my father, +And my own death, is, that this horrid sleep +Dashed my sick fancy with an act of incest: +I dreamt, Jocasta, that thou wert my mother; +Which, though impossible, so damps my spirits, +That I could do a mischief on myself, +Lest I should sleep, and dream the like again. + +_Joc._ O OEdipus, too well I understand you! +I know the wrath of heaven, the care of Thebes, +The cries of its inhabitants, war's toils, +And thousand other labours of the state, +Are all referred to you, and ought to take you +For ever from Jocasta. + +_OEdip._ Life of my life, and treasure of my soul, +Heaven knows I love thee. + +_Joc._ O, you think me vile, +And of an inclination so ignoble, +That I must hide me from your eyes for ever. +Be witness, gods, and strike Jocasta dead, +If an immodest thought, or low desire, +Inflamed my breast, since first our loves were lighted. + +_OEdip._ O rise, and add not, by thy cruel kindness, +A grief more sensible than all my torments. +Thou thinkest my dreams are forged; but by thyself, +The greatest oath, I swear, they are most true; +But, be they what they will, I here dismiss them. +Begone, chimeras, to your mother clouds! +Is there a fault in us? Have we not searched +The womb of heaven, examined all the entrails +Of birds and beasts, and tired the prophet's art? +Yet what avails? He, and the gods together, +Seem, like physicians, at a loss to help us; +Therefore, like wretches that have lingered long, +We'll snatch the strongest cordial of our love; +To bed, my fair. + +_Ghost._ [_Within._] OEdipus! + +_OEdip._ Ha! who calls? +Didst thou not hear a voice? + +_Joc._ Alas! I did. + +_Ghost._ Jocasta! + +_Joc._ O my love, my lord, support me! + +_OEdip._ Call louder, till you burst your airy forms!-- +Rest on my hand. Thus, armed with innocence, +I'll face these babbling daemons of the air; +In spite of ghosts, I'll on. +Though round my bed the furies plant their charms, +I'll break them, with Jocasta in my arms; +Clasped in the folds of love, I'll wait my doom; +And act my joys, though thunder shake the room. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_A dark Grove._ + + _Enter_ CREON _and_ DIOCLES. + +_Cre._ 'Tis better not to be, than be unhappy. + +_Dioc._ What mean you by these words? + +_Cre._ 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon. +A thinking soul is punishment enough; +But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too, +Then every thought draws blood. + +_Dioc._ You are not wretched. + +_Cre._ I am: my soul's ill married to my body. +I would be young, be handsome, be beloved: +Could I but breathe myself into Adrastus!-- + +_Dioc._ You rave; call home your thoughts. + +_Cre._ I pr'ythee let my soul take air a while; +Were she in OEdipus, I were a king; +Then I had killed a monster, gained a battle, +And had my rival prisoner; brave, brave actions! +Why have not I done these? + +_Dioc._ Your fortune hindered. + +_Cre._ There's it; I have a soul to do them all: +But fortune will have nothing done that's great, +But by young handsome fools; body and brawn +Do all her work: Hercules was a fool, +And straight grew famous; a mad boist'rous fool, +Nay worse, a woman's fool; +Fool is the stuff, of which heaven makes a hero. + +_Dioc._ A serpent ne'er becomes a flying dragon, +Till he has eat a serpent[7]. + +_Cre._ Goes it there? +I understand thee; I must kill Adrastus. + +_Dioc._ Or not enjoy your mistress: +Eurydice and he are prisoners here, +But will not long be so: This tell-tale ghost +Perhaps will clear 'em both. + +_Cre._ Well: 'tis resolved. + +_Dioc._ The princess walks this way; +You must not meet her, +Till this be done. + +_Cre._ I must. + +_Dioc._ She hates your sight; +And more, since you accused her. + +_Cre._ Urge it not. +I cannot stay to tell thee my design; +For she's too near. + + _Enter_ EURYDICE. + +How, madam, were your thoughts employed? + +_Eur._ On death, and thee. + +_Cre._ Then were they not well sorted: Life and me +Had been the better match. + +_Eur._ No, I was thinking +On two the most detested things in nature: +And they are death and thee. + +_Cre._ The thought of death to one near death is dreadful! +O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more; +Or, if to be, to wander after death; +To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day; +And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths +That lead to graves; and in the silent vault, +Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, +Striving to enter your forbidden corps, +And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost +Into your lifeless lips; +Then, like a lone benighted traveller, +Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answered +By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake +Your tender form to atoms. + +_Eur._ Must I be this thin being? and thus wander? +No quiet after death! + +_Cre._ None: You must leave +This beauteous body; all this youth and freshness +Must be no more the object of desire, +But a cold lump of clay; +Which then your discontented ghost will leave, +And loath its former lodging. +This is the best of what comes after death. +Even to the best. + +_Eur._ What then shall be thy lot?-- +Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur, +Vicissitudes of fires, and then of frosts; +And an old guardian fiend, ugly as thou art, +To hollow in thy ears at every lash,-- +This for Eurydice; these for her Adrastus! + +_Cre._ For her Adrastus! + +_Eur._ Yes; for her Adrastus: +For death shall ne'er divide us: Death? what's death! + +_Dioc._ You seemed to fear it. + +_Eur._ But I more fear Creon: +To take that hunch-backed monster in my arms! +The excrescence of a man! + +_Dioc. to Cre._ See what you've gained. + +_Eur._ Death only can be dreadful to the bad: +To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dressed +To frighten children; pull but off his masque, +And he'll appear a friend. + +_Cre._ You talk too slightly +Of death and hell. Let me inform you better. + +_Eur._ You best can tell the news of your own country. + +_Dioc._ Nay, now you are too sharp. + +_Eur._ Can I be so to one, who has accused me +Of murder and of parricide? + +_Cre._ You provoked me: +And yet I only did thus far accuse you, +As next of blood to Laius: Be advised, +And you may live. + +_Eur._ The means? + +_Cre._ 'Tis offered you. +The fool Adrastus has accused himself. + +_Eur._ He has indeed, to take the guilt from me. + +_Cre._ He says he loves you; if he does, 'tis well: +He ne'er could prove it in a better time. + +_Eur._ Then death must be his recompence for love? + +_Cre._ 'Tis a fool's just reward; +The wise can make a better use of life. +But 'tis the young man's pleasure; his ambition: +I grudge him not that favour. + +_Eur._ When he's dead, +Where shall I find his equal! + +_Cre._ Every where. +Fine empty things, like him, the court swarms with them. +Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common, +Crows feed on nothing else: plenty of fools; +A glut of them in Thebes. +And fortune still takes care they should be seen: +She places 'em aloft, o'th' topmost spoke +Of all her wheel. Fools are the daily work +Of nature; her vocation; if she form +A man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive; +'Twould make ten fools: A man's a prodigy. + +_Eur._ That is, a Creon: O thou black detractor, +Who spit'st thy venom against gods and men! +Thou enemy of eyes; +Thou, who lov'st nothing but what nothing loves, +And that's thyself; who hast conspired against +My life and fame, to make me loathed by all, +And only fit for thee. +But for Adrastus' death,--good Gods, his death!-- +What curse shall I invent? + +_Dioc._ No more: he's here. + +_Eur._ He shall be ever here. +He who would give his life, give up his fame-- + + _Enter_ ADRASTUS. + +If all the excellence of woman-kind +Were mine;--No, 'tis too little all for him: +Were I made up of endless, endless joys! + +_Adr._ And so thou art: +The man, who loves like me, +Would think even infamy, the worst of ills, +Were cheaply purchased, were thy love the price. +Uncrowned, a captive, nothing left but honour,-- +'Tis the last thing a prince should throw away; +But when the storm grows loud, and threatens love, +Throw even that o'er-board; for love's the jewel, +And last it must be kept. + +_Cre._ [_To_ DIOC.] Work him, be sure, +To rage; he is passionate; +Make him the aggressor. + +_Dioc._ O false love, false honour! + +_Cre._ Dissembled both, and false! + +_Adr._ Darest thou say this to me? + +_Cre._ To you! why what are you, that I should fear you? +I am not Laius. Hear me, prince of Argos; +You give what's nothing, when you give your honour: +'Tis gone; 'tis lost in battle. For your love, +Vows made in wine are not so false as that: +You killed her father; you confessed you did: +A mighty argument to prove your passion to the daughter! + +_Adr._ [_Aside._] +Gods, must I bear this brand, and not retort +The lye to his foul throat! + +_Dioc._ Basely you killed him. + +_Adr._ [_Aside._] +O, I burn inward: my blood's all on fire! +Alcides, when the poisoned shirt sate closest, +Had but an ague-fit to this my fever. +Yet, for Eurydice, even this I'll suffer, +To free my love.--Well then, I killed him basely. + +_Cre._ Fairly, I'm sure, you could not. + +_Dioc._ Nor alone. + +_Cre._ You had your fellow thieves about you, prince; +They conquered, and you killed. + +_Adr._ [_Aside._] Down, swelling heart! +'Tis for thy princess all:--O my Eurydice!-- [_To her._ + +_Eur._ [_To him._] +Reproach not thus the weakness of my sex, +As if I could not bear a shameful death, +Rather than see you burdened with a crime +Of which I know you free. + +_Cre._ You do ill, madam, +To let your head-long love triumph o'er nature: +Dare you defend your father's murderer? + +_Eur._ You know he killed him not. + +_Cre._ Let him say so. + +_Dioc._ See, he stands mute. + +_Cre._ O power of conscience, even in wicked men! +It works, it stings, it will not let him utter +One syllable, one,--no, to clear himself +From the most base, detested, horrid act +That ere could stain a villain,--not a prince. + +_Adr._ Ha! villain! + +_Dioc._ Echo to him, groves: cry villain. + +_Adr._ Let me consider--did I murder Laius, +Thus, like a villain? + +_Cre._ Best revoke your words, +And say you killed him not. + +_Adr._ Not like a villain; pr'ythee, change me that +For any other lye. + +_Dioc._ No, villain, villain. + +_Cre._ You killed him not! proclaim your innocence, +Accuse the princess: So I knew 'twould be. + +_Adr._ I thank thee, thou instructest me: +No matter how I killed him. + +_Cre._ [_Aside._] Cooled again! + +_Eur._ Thou, who usurp'st the sacred name of conscience, +Did not thy own declare him innocent? +To me declare him so? The king shall know it. + +_Cre._ You will not be believed, for I'll forswear it. + +_Eur._ What's now thy conscience? + +_Cre._ 'Tis my slave, my drudge, my supple glove, +My upper garment, to put on, throw off, +As I think best: 'Tis my obedient conscience. + +_Adr._ Infamous wretch! + +_Cre._ My conscience shall not do me the ill office +To save a rival's life; when thou art dead, +(As dead thou shalt be, or be yet more base +Than thou think'st me, +By forfeiting her life, to save thy own,--) +Know this,--and let it grate thy very soul,-- +She shall be mine: (she is, if vows were binding;) +Mark me, the fruit of all thy faith and passion, +Even of thy foolish death, shall all be mine. + +_Adr._ Thine, say'st thou, monster! shall my love be thine? +O, I can bear no more! +Thy cunning engines have with labour raised +My heavy anger, like a mighty weight, +To fall and pash thee dead. +See here thy nuptials; see, thou rash Ixion, [_Draws._ +Thy promised Juno vanished in a cloud; +And in her room avenging thunder rolls, +To blast thee thus!--Come both!-- [_Both draw._ + +_Cre._ 'Tis what I wished. +Now see whose arm can launch the surer bolt, +And who's the better Jove! [_Fight._ + +_Eur._ Help; murther, help! + + _Enter_ HAEMON _and guards, run betwixt them, and + beat down their swords._ + +_Haem._ Hold, hold your impious hands! I think the furies, +To whom this grove is hallowed, have inspired you: +Now, by my soul, the holiest earth of Thebes +You have profaned with war. Nor tree, nor plant +Grows here, but what is fed with magick juice; +All full of human souls, that cleave their barks +To dance at midnight by the moon's pale beams: +At least two hundred years these reverend shades +Have known no blood, but of black sheep and oxen, +Shed by the priest's own hand to Proserpine. + +_Adr._ Forgive a stranger's ignorance: I knew not +The honours of the place. + +_Haem._ Thou, Creon, didst. +Not OEdipus, were all his foes here lodged, +Durst violate the religion of these groves, +To touch one single hair; but must, unarmed, +Parle as in truce, or surlily avoid +What most he longed to kill[8]. + +_Cre._ I drew not first, +But in my own defence. + +_Adr._ I was provoked +Beyond man's patience; all reproach could urge +Was used to kindle one, not apt to bear. + +_Haem._ 'Tis OEdipus, not I, must judge this act.-- +Lord Creon, you and Diocles retire: +Tiresias, and the brother-hood of priests, +Approach the place: None at these rites assist, +But you the accused, who by the mouth of Laius +Must be absolved or doomed. + +_Adr._ I bear my fortune. + +_Eur._ And I provoke my trial. + +_Haem._ 'Tis at hand. +For see, the prophet comes, with vervain crowned; +The priests with yew, a venerable band; +We leave you to the gods. [_Exit_ HAEMON _with_ CREON _and_ DIOCLES. + + _Enter_ TIRESIAS, _led by_ MANTO: _The Priests follow; all cloathed + in long black habits._ + +_Tir._ Approach, ye lovers; +Ill-fated pair! whom, seeing not, I know, +This day your kindly stars in heaven were joined; +When lo, an envious planet interposed, +And threatened both with death: I fear, I fear!-- + +_Eur._ Is there no God so much a friend to love, +Who can controul the malice of our fate? +Are they all deaf; or have the giants heaven? + +_Tir._ The gods are just; +But how can finite measure infinite? +Reason! alas, it does not know itself! +Yet man, vain man, would with this short-lined plummet, +Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. +Whatever is, is in its causes just; +Since all things are by fate. But purblind man +Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links; +His eyes not carrying to that equal beam, +That poises all above. + +_Eur._ Then we must die! + +_Tir._ The danger's imminent this day. + +_Adr._ Why then there's one day less for human ills; +And who would moan himself, for suffering that, +Which in a day must pass? something, or nothing;-- +I shall be what I was again, before +I was Adrastus.-- +Penurious heaven, can'st thou not add a night +To our one day? give me a night with her, +And I'll give all the rest. + +_Tir._ She broke her vow, +First made to Creon: But the time calls on; +And Laius' death must now be made more plain. +How loth I am to have recourse to rites +So full of horror, that I once rejoice +I want the use of sight!-- + +_1 Pr._ The ceremonies stay. + +_Tir._ _Chuse the darkest part o'the grove: +Such as ghosts at noon-day love. +Dig a trench, and dig it nigh_ +_Where the bones of Laius lie; +Altars, raised of turf or stone, +Will the infernal powers have none. +Answer me, if this be done?_ + +_All Pr._ _'Tis done._ + +_Tir._ _Is the sacrifice made fit? +Draw her backward to the pit: +Draw the barren heifer back; +Barren let her be, and black. +Cut the curled hair, that grows +Full betwixt her horns and brows: +And turn your faces from the sun: +Answer me, if this be done?_ + +_All Pr._ _'Tis done._ + +_Tir._ _Pour in blood, and blood like wine, +To mother Earth and Proserpine: +Mingle milk into the stream; +Feast the ghosts that love the steam; +Snatch a brand from funeral pile; +Toss it in to make them boil: +And turn your faces from the sun: +Answer me, if all be done?_ + +_All Pr._ _All is done._ [_Peal of Thunder; and flashes of Lightning; + then groaning below the stage._ + +_Man._ O, what laments are those? + +_Tir._ The groans of ghosts, that cleave the heart with pain, +And heave it up: they pant and stick half-way. + [_The Stage wholly darkened._ + +_Man._ And now a sudden darkness covers all, +True genuine night, night added to the groves; +The fogs are blown full in the face of heaven. + +_Tir._ Am I but half obeyed? infernal gods, +Must you have musick too? then tune your voices, +And let them have such sounds as hell ne'er heard, +Since Orpheus bribed the shades. + + _Musick First. Then Song._ + +_1. Hear, ye sullen powers below: + Hear, ye taskers of the dead. +2. You that boiling cauldrons blow, + You that scum the molten lead. +3. You that pinch with red-hot tongs; +1. You that drive the trembling hosts + Of poor, poor ghosts, + With your sharpened prongs; +2. You that thrust them off the brim; +3. You that plunge them when they swim: +1. Till they drown; + Till they go + On a row, + Down, down, down: + Ten thousand, thousand, thousand fathoms low._ + +_Chorus._ _Till they drown, &c._ + +_1. Musick for awhile + Shall your cares beguile: + Wondering how your pains were eased; +2. And disdaining to be pleas'd; +1. Till Alecto free the dead + From their eternal bands; + Till the snakes drop from her head, + And whip from out her hands. +1. Come away, + Do not stay, + But obey, + While we play, + For hell's broke up, and ghosts have holiday._ + +_Chorus._ _Come away, &c._ [_A flash of Lightning: The Stage is made + bright, and the Ghosts are seen passing + betwixt the Trees._ + +_1. Laius! 2. Laius! 3. Laius!_ + +_1. Hear! 2. Hear! 3. Hear!_ + +_Tir._ _Hear and appear! +By the Fates that spun thy thread!_ + +_Cho._ _Which are three._ + +_Tir._ _By the furies fierce and dread!_ + +_Cho._ _Which are three._ + +_Tir._ _By the judges of the dead!_ + +_Cho._ _Which are three. + Three times three!_ + +_Tir._ _By hell's blue flame: + By the Stygian Lake: + And by Demogorgon's name, + At which ghosts quake, + Hear and appear!_ + [_The Ghost of Laius rises armed in his chariot, + as he was slain. And behind his Chariot, + sit the three who were murdered with him._ + +_Ghost of Laius._ Why hast thou drawn me from my pain below, +To suffer worse above? to see the day, +And Thebes, more hated? Hell is heaven to Thebes. +For pity send me back, where I may hide, +In willing night, this ignominious head: +In hell I shun the public scorn; and then +They hunt me for their sport, and hoot me as I fly: +Behold even now they grin at my gored side, +And chatter at my wounds. + +_Tir._ I pity thee: +Tell but why Thebes is for thy death accurst, +And I'll unbind the charm. + +_Ghost._ O spare my shame! + +_Tir._ Are these two innocent? + +_Ghost._ Of my death they are. +But he who holds my crown,--Oh, must I speak!-- +Was doomed to do what nature most abhors. +The Gods foresaw it; and forbade his being, +Before he yet was born. I broke their laws, +And clothed with flesh his pre-existing soul. +Some kinder power, too weak for destiny, +Took pity, and endued his new-formed mass +With temperance, justice, prudence, fortitude, +And every kingly virtue: But in vain. +For fate, that sent him hood-winked to the world, +Performed its work by his mistaking hands. +Ask'st thou who murdered me? 'twas OEdipus: +Who stains my bed with incest? OEdipus: +For whom then are you curst, but OEdipus! +He comes, the parricide! I cannot bear him: +My wounds ake at him: Oh, his murderous breath +Venoms my airy substance! hence with him, +Banish him; sweep him out; the plague he bears +Will blast your fields, and mark his way with ruin. +From Thebes, my throne, my bed, let him be driven: +Do you forbid him earth, and I'll forbid him heaven. + [_Ghost descends._ + + _Enter_ OEDIPUS, CREON, HAEMON, &c. + +_OEdip._ What's this! methought some pestilential blast +Struck me, just entering; and some unseen hand +Struggled to push me backward! tell me why +My hair stands bristling up, why my flesh trembles? +You stare at me! then hell has been among ye, +And some lag fiend yet lingers in the grove. + +_Tir._ What omen sawest thou, entering? + +_OEdip._ A young stork, +That bore his aged parent on his back; +Till weary with the weight, he shook him off, +And pecked out both his eyes. + +_Adr._ Oh, OEdipus! + +_Eur._ Oh, wretched OEdipus! + +_Tir._ Oh, fatal king! + +_OEdip._ What mean these exclamations on my name? +I thank the gods, no secret thoughts reproach me: +No: I dare challenge heaven to turn me outward, +And shake my soul quite empty in your sight. +Then wonder not that I can bear unmoved +These fixed regards, and silent threats of eyes. +A generous fierceness dwells with innocence; +And conscious virtue is allowed some pride. + +_Tir._ Thou knowest not what thou sayest. + +_OEdip._ What mutters he? tell me, Eurydice: +Thou shak'st: Thy soul's a woman;--speak, Adrastus, +And boldly, as thou met'st my arms in fight:-- +Dar'st thou not speak? why then 'tis bad indeed.-- +Tiresias, thee I summon by thy priesthood, +Tell me what news from hell; where Laius points, +And whose the guilty head! + +_Tir._ Let me not answer. + +_OEdip._ Be dumb then, and betray thy native soil +To farther plagues. + +_Tir._ I dare not name him to thee. + +_OEdip._ Dar'st thou converse with hell, and canst thou fear +An human name? + +_Tir._ Urge me no more to tell a thing, which, known, +Would make thee more unhappy: 'Twill be found, +Though I am silent. + +_OEdip._ Old and obstinate! Then thou thyself +Art author or accomplice of this murther, +And shun'st the justice, which by public ban +Thou hast incurred. + +_Tir._ O, if the guilt were mine, +It were not half so great: Know, wretched man, +Thou only, thou art guilty! thy own curse +Falls heavy on thyself. + +_OEdip._ Speak this again: +But speak it to the winds, when they are loudest, +Or to the raging seas; they'll hear as soon, +And sooner will believe. + +_Tir._ Then hear me, heaven! +For, blushing, thou hast seen it; hear me, earth, +Whose hollow womb could not contain this murder, +But sent it back to light! And thou, hell, hear me! +Whose own black seal has 'firmed this horrid truth, +OEdipus murthered Laius! + +_OEdip._ Rot the tongue, +And blasted be the mouth that spoke that lie! +Thou blind of sight, but thou more blind of soul! + +_Tir._ Thy parents thought not so. + +_OEdip._ Who were my parents? + +_Tir._ Thou shalt know too soon. + +_OEdip._ Why seek I truth from thee? +The smiles of courtiers, and the harlot's tears, +The tradesman's oaths, and mourning of an heir, +Are truths to what priests tell. +O why has priest-hood privilege to lie, +And yet to be believed!--thy age protects thee. + +_Tir._ Thou canst not kill me; 'tis not in thy fate, +As 'twas to kill thy father, wed thy mother, +And beget sons, thy brothers[9]. + +_OEdip._ Riddles, riddles! + +_Tir._ Thou art thyself a riddle; a perplext +Obscure enigma, which when thou unty'st, +Thou shalt be found and lost. + +_OEdip._ Impossible!-- +Adrastus, speak; and, as thou art a king, +Whose royal word is sacred, clear my fame. + +_Adr._ Would I could! + +_OEdip._ Ha, wilt thou not? Can that plebeian vice +Of lying mount to kings? Can they be tainted? +Then truth is lost on earth. + +_Cre._ The cheat's too gross. +Adrastus is his oracle, and he, +The pious juggler, but Adrastus' organ. + +_OEdip._ 'Tis plain, the priest's suborned to free the prisoner. + +_Cre._ And turn the guilt, on you. + +_OEdip._ O, honest Creon, how hast thou been belied! + +_Eur._ Hear me. + +_Cre._ She's bribed to save her lover's life. + +_Adr._ If, OEdipus, thou think'st-- + +_Cre._ Hear him not speak. + +_Adr._ Then hear these holy men. + +_Cre._ Priests, priests; all bribed, all priests. + +_OEdip._ Adrastus, I have found thee: +The malice of a vanquished man has seized thee! + +_Adr._ If envy and not truth-- + +_OEdip._ I'll hear no more: Away with him. + [HAEMON _takes him off by force:_ CREON _and_ + EURYDICE _follow._ + +[_To_ TIR.] Why stand'st thou here, impostor? +So old, and yet so wicked,--Lie for gain? +And gain so short as age can promise thee! + +_Tir._ So short a time as I have yet to live, +Exceeds thy 'pointed hour;--remember Laius! +No more; if e'er we meet again, 'twill be +In mutual darkness; we shall feel before us +To reach each other's hand;--remember Laius! + [_Exit_ TIRESIAS: _Priests follow._ + + OEDIPUS _solus._ + +Remember Laius! that's the burden still: +Murther and incest! but to hear them named +My soul starts in me: The good sentinel +Stands to her weapons, takes the first alarm +To guard me from such crimes.--Did I kill Laius? +Then I walked sleeping, in some frightful dream; +My soul then stole my body out by night; +And brought me back to bed ere morning-wake +It cannot be even this remotest way, +But some dark hint would justle forward now, +And goad my memory.--Oh my Jocasta! + + _Enter_ JOCASTA. + +_Joc._ Why are you thus disturbed? + +_OEdip._ Why, would'st thou think it? +No less than murder. + +_Joc._ Murder! what of murder? + +_OEdip._ Is murder then no more? add parricide, +And incest; bear not these a frightful sound? + +_Joc._ Alas! + +_OEdip._ How poor a pity is alas, +For two such crimes!--was Laius us'd to lie? + +_Joc._ Oh no: The most sincere, plain, honest man; +One who abhorred a lie. + +_OEdip._ Then he has got that quality in hell. +He charges me--but why accuse I him? +I did not hear him speak it: They accuse me,-- +The priest, Adrastus and Eurydice,-- +Of murdering Laius!--Tell me, while I think on't, +Has old Tiresias practised long this trade? + +_Joc._ What trade? + +_OEdip._ Why, this foretelling trade. + +_Joc._ For many years. + +_OEdip._ Has he before this day accused me? + +_Joc._ Never. + +_OEdip._ Have you ere this inquired who did this murder? + +_Joc._ Often; but still in vain. + +_OEdip._ I am satisfied. +Then 'tis an infant-lye; but one day old. +The oracle takes place before the priest; +The blood of Laius was to murder Laius: +I'm not of Laius' blood. + +_Joc._ Even oracles +Are always doubtful, and are often forged: +Laius had one, which never was fulfilled, +Nor ever can be now. + +_OEdip._ And what foretold it? + +_Joc._ That he should have a son by me, foredoomed +The murderer of his father: True, indeed, +A son was born; but, to prevent that crime, +The wretched infant of a guilty fate, +Bored through his untried feet, and bound with cords, +On a bleak mountain naked was exposed: +The king himself lived many, many years, +And found a different fate; by robbers murdered, +Where three ways met: Yet these are oracles, +And this the faith we owe them. + +_OEdip._ Sayest thou, woman? +By heaven, thou hast awakened somewhat in me, +That shakes my very soul! + +_Joc._ What new disturbance? + +_OEdip._ Methought thou said'st--(or do I dream thou said'st it!) +This murder was on Laius' person done, +Where three ways meet? + +_Joc._ So common fame reports. + +_OEdip._ Would it had lied! + +_Joc._ Why, good my lord? + +_OEdip._ No questions. +'Tis busy time with me; despatch mine first; +Say where, where was it done! + +_Joc._ Mean you the murder? + +_OEdip._ Could'st thou not answer without naming murder? + +_Joc._ They say in Phocide; on the verge that parts it +From Daulia, and from Delphos. + +_OEdip._ So!--How long? when happened this? + +_Joc._ Some little time before you came to Thebes. + +_OEdip._ What will the gods do with me! + +_Joc._ What means that thought? + +_OEdip._ Something: But 'tis not yet your turn to ask: +How old was Laius, what his shape, his stature, +His action, and his mien? quick, quick, your answer!-- + +_Joc._ Big made he was, and tall: His port was fierce, +Erect his countenance: Manly majesty +Sate in his front, and darted from his eyes, +Commanding all he viewed: His hair just grizzled, +As in a green old age: Bate but his years, +You are his picture. + +_OEdip._ [_Aside._] Pray heaven he drew me not!-- +Am I his picture? + +_Joc._ So I have often told you. + +_OEdip._ True, you have; +Add that unto the rest:--How was the king +Attended, when he travelled? + +_Joc._ By four servants: +He went out private. + +_OEdip._ Well counted still:-- +One 'scaped, I hear; what since became of him? + +_Joc._ When he beheld you first, as king in Thebes, +He kneeled, and trembling begged I would dismiss him: +He had my leave; and now he lives retired. + +_OEdip._ This man must be produced: he must, Jocasta. + +_Joc._ He shall--yet have I leave to ask you why? + +_OEdip._ Yes, you shall know: For where should I repose +The anguish of my soul, but in your breast! +I need not tell you Corinth claims my birth; +My parents, Polybus and Merope, +Two royal names; their only child am I. +It happened once,--'twas at a bridal feast,-- +One, warm with wine, told me I was a foundling, +Not the king's son; I, stung with this reproach, +Struck him: My father heard of it: The man +Was made ask pardon; and the business hushed. + +_Joc._ 'Twas somewhat odd. + +_OEdip._ And strangely it perplexed me. +I stole away to Delphos, and implored +The god, to tell my certain parentage. +He bade me seek no farther:--'Twas my fate +To kill my father, and pollute his bed, +By marrying her who bore me. + +_Joc._ Vain, vain oracles! + +_OEdip._ But yet they frighted me; +I looked on Corinth as a place accurst, +Resolved my destiny should wait in vain, +And never catch me there. + +_Joc._ Too nice a fear. + +_OEdip._ Suspend your thoughts; and flatter not too soon. +Just in the place you named, where three ways met. +And near that time, five persons I encountered; +One was too like, (heaven grant it prove not him!) +Whom you describe for Laius: insolent, +And fierce they were, as men who lived on spoil. +I judged them robbers, and by force repelled +The force they used: In short, four men I slew: +The fifth upon his knees demanding life, +My mercy gave it;--Bring me comfort now. +If I slew Laius, what can be more wretched! +From Thebes, and you, my curse has banished me: +From Corinth, fate. + +_Joc._ Perplex not thus your mind. +My husband fell by multitudes opprest; +So Phorbas said: This band you chanced to meet: +And murdered not my Laius, but revenged him. + +_OEdip._ There's all my hope: Let Phorbas tell me this, +And I shall live again.-- +To you, good gods, I make my last appeal; +Or clear my virtue, or my crime reveal: +If wandering in the maze of fate I run, +And backward trod the paths I sought to shun, +Impute my errors to your own decree; +My hands are guilty, but my heart is free. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ PYRACMON _and_ CREON. + +_Pyr._ Some business of import, that triumph wears, +You seem to go with; nor is it hard to guess +When you are pleased, by a malicious joy, +Whose red and fiery beams cast through your visage +A glowing pleasure. Sure you smile revenge, +And I could gladly hear. + +_Cre._ Would'st thou believe! +This giddy hair-brained king, whom old Tiresias +Has thunder-struck with heavy accusation, +Though conscious of no inward guilt, yet fears: +He fears Jocasta, fears himself, his shadow; +He fears the multitude; and,--which is worth +An age of laughter,--out of all mankind, +He chuses me to be his orator; +Swears that Adrastus, and the lean-looked prophet[10], +Are joint conspirators; and wished me to +Appease the raving Thebans; which I swore +To do. + +_Pyr._ A dangerous undertaking; +Directly opposite to your own interest. + +_Cre._ No, dull Pyracmon; when I left his presence +With all the wings, with which revenge could aid +My flight, I gained the midst o'the city; +There, standing on a pile of dead and dying, +I to the mad and sickly multitude, +With interrupting sobs, cry'd out,--O Thebes! +O wretched Thebes, thy king, thy OEdipus, +This barbarous stranger, this usurper, monster, +Is by the oracle, the wise Tiresias, +Proclaimed the murderer of thy royal Laius: +Jocasta too, no longer now my sister, +Is found complotter in the horrid deed. +Here I renounce all tie of blood and nature, +For thee, O Thebes, dear Thebes, poor bleeding Thebes!-- +And there I wept, and then the rabble howled. +And roared, and with a thousand antic mouths +Gabbled revenge! revenge was all the cry. + +_Pyr._ This cannot fail: I see you on the throne: +And OEdipus cast out. + +_Cre._ Then strait came on +Alcander, with a wild and bellowing crowd, +Whom he had wrought; I whispered him to join. +And head the forces while the heat was in them. +So to the palace I returned, to meet +The king, and greet him with another story.-- +But see, he enters. + + _Enter_ OEDIPUS _and_ JOCASTA, _attended._ + +_OEdip._ Said you that Phorbas is returned, and yet +Intreats he may return, without being asked +Of aught concerning what we have discovered? + +_Joc._ He started when I told him your intent, +Replying, what he knew of that affair +Would give no satisfaction to the king; +Then, falling on his knees, begged, as for life, +To be dismissed from court: He trembled too, +As if convulsive death had seized upon him, +And stammered in his abrupt prayer so wildly, +That had he been the murderer of Laius, +Guilt and distraction could not have shook him more. + +_OEdip._ By your description, sure as plagues and death +Lay waste our Thebes, some deed that shuns the light +Begot those fears; if thou respect'st my peace, +Secure him, dear Jocasta; for my genius +Shrinks at his name. + +_Joc._ Rather let him go: +So my poor boding heart would have it be, +Without a reason. + +_OEdip._ Hark, the Thebans come! +Therefore retire: And, once more, if thou lovest me, +Let Phorbas be retained. + +_Joc._ You shall, while I +Have life, be still obeyed. +In vain you sooth me with your soft endearments, +And set the fairest countenance to view; +Your gloomy eyes, my lord, betray a deadness +And inward languishing: That oracle +Eats like a subtle worm its venomed way, +Preys on your heart, and rots the noble core, +Howe'er the beauteous out-side shews so lovely. + +_OEdip._ O, thou wilt kill me with thy love's excess! +All, all is well; retire, the Thebans come. [_Exit_ JOC. + +_Ghost._ OEdipus! + +_OEdip._ Ha! again that scream of woe! +Thrice have I heard, thrice, since the morning dawned, +It hollowed loud, as if my guardian spirit +Called from some vaulted mansion, OEdipus! +Or is it but the work of melancholy? +When the sun sets, shadows, that shewed at noon +But small, appear most long and terrible; +So, when we think fate hovers o'er our heads, +Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds; +Owls, ravens, crickets seem the watch of death; +Nature's worst vermin scare her godlike sons; +Echoes, the very leavings of a voice, +Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves; +Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus; +While we fantastic dreamers heave and puff, +And sweat with an imagination's weight; +As if, like Atlas, with these mortal shoulders +We could sustain the burden of the world. [CREON _comes forward._ + +_Cre._ O, sacred sir, my royal lord-- + +_OEdip._ What now? +Thou seem'st affrighted at some dreadful action; +Thy breath comes short, thy darted eyes are fixt +On me for aid, as if thou wert pursued: +I sent thee to the Thebans; speak thy wonder: +Fear not; this palace is a sanctuary, +The king himself's thy guard. + +_Cre._ For me, alas, +My life's not worth a thought, when weighed with yours! +But fly, my lord; fly as your life is sacred. +Your fate is precious to your faithful Creon, +Who therefore, on his knees, thus prostrate begs +You would remove from Thebes, that vows your ruin. +When I but offered at your innocence, +They gathered stones, and menaced me with death, +And drove me through the streets, with imprecations +Against your sacred person, and those traitors +Who justified your guilt, which cursed Tiresias +Told, as from heaven, was cause of their destruction. + +_OEdip._ Rise, worthy Creon; haste and take our guard, +Rank them in equal part upon the square, +Then open every gate of this our palace, +And let the torrent in. Hark, it comes. [_Shout._ +I hear them roar: Begone, and break down all +The dams, that would oppose their furious passage. + [_Exit_ CREON _with Guards._ + + _Enter_ ADRASTUS, _his sword drawn._ + +_Adr._ Your city +Is all in arms, all bent to your destruction: +I heard but now, where I was close confined, +A thundering shout, which made my jailors vanish, +Cry,--fire the palace! where is the cruel king? +Yet, by the infernal Gods, those awful powers +That have accused you, which these ears have heard, +And these eyes seen, I must believe you guiltless; +For, since I knew the royal OEdipus, +I have observed in all his acts such truth, +And god-like clearness, that, to the last gush +Of blood and spirits, I'll defend his life, +And here have sworn to perish by his side. + +_OEdip._ Be witness, Gods, how near this touches me. [_Embracing him._ +O what, what recompence can glory make? + +_Adr._ Defend your innocence, speak like yourself, +And awe the rebels with your dauntless virtue. +But hark! the storm comes nearer. + +_OEdip._ Let it come. +The force of majesty is never known +But in a general wreck: Then, then is seen +The difference 'twixt a threshold and a throne. + + _Enter_ CREON, PYRACMON, ALCANDER, TIRESIAS, _Thebans._ + +_Alc._ Where, where's this cruel king?--Thebans, behold, +There stands your plague, the ruin, desolation +Of this unhappy--speak; shall I kill him? +Or shall he be cast out to banishment? + +_All Theb._ To banishment, away with him! + +_OEdip._ Hence, you barbarians, to your slavish distance! +Fix to the earth your sordid looks; for he, +Who stirs, dares more than madmen, fiends, or furies. +Who dares to face me, by the Gods, as well +May brave the majesty of thundering Jove. +Did I for this relieve you, when besieged +By this fierce prince, when cooped within your walls, +And to the very brink of fate reduced; +When lean-jawed famine made more havock of you, +Than does the plague? But I rejoice I know you, +Know the base stuff that tempered your vile souls: +The Gods be praised, I needed not your empire, +Born to a greater, nobler, of my own; +Nor shall the sceptre of the earth now win me +To rule such brutes, so barbarous a people. + +_Adr._ Methinks, my lord, I see a sad repentance, +A general consternation spread among them. + +_OEdip._ My reign is at an end; yet, ere I finish, +I'll do a justice that becomes a monarch; +A monarch, who, in the midst of swords and javelins, +Dares act as on his throne, encompast round +With nations for his guard. Alcander, you +Are nobly born, therefore shall lose your head: [_Seizes him._ +Here, Haemon, take him: but for this, and this, +Let cords dispatch them. Hence, away with them! + +_Tir._ O sacred prince, pardon distracted Thebes, +Pardon her, if she acts by heaven's award; +If that the infernal spirits have declared +The depth of fate; and if our oracles +May speak, O do not too severely deal! +But let thy wretched Thebes at least complain. +If thou art guilty, heaven will make it known; +If innocent, then let Tiresias die. + +_OEdip._ I take thee at thy word.--Run, haste, and save Alcander: +I swear, the prophet, or the king shall die. +Be witness, all you Thebans, of my oath; +And Phorbas be the umpire. + +_Tir._ I submit. [_Trumpet sounds._ + +_OEdip._ What mean those trumpets? + + _Enter_ HAEMON _with_ ALCANDER, _&c._ + +_Haem._ From your native country, +Great sir, the famed AEgeon is arrived, +That renowned favourite of the king your father: +He comes as an ambassador from Corinth, +And sues for audience. + +_OEdip._ Haste, Haemon, fly, and tell him that I burn +To embrace him. + +_Haem._ The queen, my lord, at present holds him +In private conference; but behold her here. + + _Enter_ JOCASTA, EURYDICE, _&c._ + +_Joc._ Hail, happy OEdipus, happiest of kings! +Henceforth be blest, blest as thou canst desire; +Sleep without fears the blackest nights away; +Let furies haunt thy palace, thou shalt sleep +Secure, thy slumbers shall be soft and gentle +As infants' dreams. + +_OEdip._ What does the soul of all my joys intend? +And whither would this rapture? + +_Joc._ O, I could rave, +Pull down those lying fanes, and burn that vault, +From whence resounded those false oracles, +That robbed my love of rest: If we must pray, +Rear in the streets bright altars to the Gods, +Let virgins' hands adorn the sacrifice; +And not a grey-beard forging priest come near, +To pry into the bowels of the victim, +And with his dotage mad the gaping world. +But see, the oracle that I will trust, +True as the Gods, and affable as men. + + _Enter_ AEGEON. _Kneels._ + +_OEdip._ O, to my arms, welcome, my dear AEgeon; +Ten thousand welcomes! O, my foster-father, +Welcome as mercy to a man condemned! +Welcome to me, as, to a sinking mariner, +The lucky plank that bears him to the shore! +But speak, O tell me what so mighty joy +Is this thou bring'st, which so transports Jocasta? + +_Joc._ Peace, peace, AEgeon, let Jocasta tell him!-- +O that I could for ever charm, as now, +My dearest OEdipus! Thy royal father, +Polybus, king of Corinth, is no more. + +_OEdip._ Ha! can it be? AEgeon, answer me; +And speak in short, what my Jocasta's transport +May over-do. + +_AEge._ Since in few words, my royal lord, you ask +To know the truth,--king Polybus is dead. + +_OEdip._ O all you powers, is't possible? what, dead! +But that the tempest of my joy may rise +By just degrees, and hit at last the stars, +Say, how, how died he? ha! by sword, by fire, +Or water? by assassinates, or poison? speak: +Or did he languish under some disease? + +_AEge._ Of no distemper, of no blast he died, +But fell like autumn-fruit that mellowed long; +Even wondered at, because he dropt no sooner. +Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years; +Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more: +Till, like a clock worn out with eating time, +The wheels of weary life at last stood still. + +_OEdip._ O, let me press thee in my youthful arms, +And smother thy old age in my embraces. +Yes, Thebans, yes, Jocasta, yes, Adrastus, +Old Polybus, the king my father's dead! +Fires shall be kindled in the midst of Thebes; +In the midst of tumult, wars, and pestilence, +I will rejoice for Polybus's death. +Know, be it known to the limits of the world; +Yet farther, let it pass yon dazzling roof, +The mansion of the Gods, and strike them deaf +With everlasting peals of thundering joy. + +_Tir._ Fate! Nature! Fortune! what is all this world? + +_OEdip._ Now, dotard; now, thou blind old wizard prophet, +Where are your boding ghosts, your altars now; +Your birds of knowledge, that in dusky air +Chatter futurity? And where are now +Your oracles, that called me parricide? +Is he not dead? deep laid in his monument? +And was not I in Thebes when fate attacked him? +Avaunt, begone, you vizors of the Gods! +Were I as other sons, now I should weep; +But, as I am, I have reason to rejoice: +And will, though his cold shade should rise and blast me. +O, for this death, let waters break their bounds; +Rocks, valleys, hills, with splitting Io's ring: +Io, Jocasta, Io paean sing! + +_Tir._ Who would not now conclude a happy end! +But all fate's turns are swift and unexpected. + +_AEge._ Your royal mother Merope, as if +She had no soul since you forsook the land, +Waves all the neighbouring princes that adore her. + +_OEdip._ Waves all the princes! poor heart! for what? +O speak. + +_AEge._ She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, +Grows cold, even in the summer of her age, +And, for your sake, has sworn to die unmarried. + +_OEdip._ How! for my sake, die and not marry! O +My fit returns. + +_AEge._ This diamond, with a thousand kisses blest, +With thousand sighs and wishes for your safety, +She charged me give you, with the general homage +Of our Corinthian lords. + +_OEdip._ There's magic in it, take it from my sight; +There's not a beam it darts, but carries hell, +Hot flashing lust, and necromantic incest: +Take it from these sick eyes, oh hide it from me!-- +No, my Jocasta, though Thebes cast me out, +While Merope's alive, I'll ne'er return. +O, rather let me walk round the wide world +A beggar, than accept a diadem +On such abhorred conditions. + +_Joc._ You make, my lord, your own unhappiness, +By these extravagant and needless fears. + +_OEdip._ Needless! O, all you Gods! By heaven, I would rather +Embrue my arms, up to my very shoulders, +In the dear entrails of the best of fathers, +Than offer at the execrable act +Of damned incest: therefore no more of her. + +_AEge._ And why, O sacred sir, if subjects may +Presume to look into their monarch's breast, +Why should the chaste and spotless Merope +Infuse such thoughts, as I must blush to name? + +_OEdip._ Because the god of Delphos did forewarn me, +With thundering oracles. + +_AEge._ May I entreat to know them? + +_OEdip._ Yes, my AEgeon; but the sad remembrance +Quite blasts my soul: See then the swelling priest! +Methinks, I have his image now in view!-- +He mounts the tripos in a minute's space, +His clouded head knocks at the temple-roof; +While from his mouth, +These dismal words are heard: +"Fly, wretch, whom fate has doomed thy father's blood to spill, +And with preposterous births thy mother's womb to fill!" + +_AEge._ Is this the cause, +Why you refuse the diadem of Corinth? + +_OEdip._ The cause! why, is it not a monstrous one! + +_AEge._ Great sir, you may return; and though you should +Enjoy the queen, (which all the Gods forbid!) +The act would prove no incest. + +_OEdip._ How, AEgeon? +Though I enjoy my mother, not incestuous! +Thou ravest, and so do I; and these all catch +My madness; look, they're dead with deep distraction: +Not incest! what, not incest with my mother? + +_AEge._ My lord, queen Merope is not your mother. + +_OEdip._ Ha! did I hear thee right? not Merope +My mother! + +_AEge._ Nor was Polybus your father. + +_OEdip._ Then all my days and nights must now be spent +In curious search, to find out those dark parents +Who gave me to the world; speak then, AEgeon. +By all the Gods celestial and infernal, +By all the ties of nature, blood and friendship, +Conceal not from this racked despairing king, +A point or smallest grain of what thou knowest: +Speak then, O answer to my doubts directly, +If royal Polybus was not my father, +Why was I called his son? +_AEge._ He from my arms +Received you, as the fairest gift of nature. +Not but you were adorned with all the riches +That empire could bestow, in costly mantles, +Upon its infant heir. + +_OEdip._ But was I made the heir of Corinth's crown, +Because AEgeon's hands presented me? + +_AEge._ By my advice, +Being past all hope of children, +He took, embraced, and owned you for his son. + +_OEdip._ Perhaps I then am yours; instruct me, sir; +If it be so, I'll kneel and weep before you. +With all the obedience of a penitent child, +Imploring pardon. +Kill me, if you please; +I will not writhe my body at the wound, +But sink upon your feet with a last sigh, +And ask forgiveness with my dying hands. + +_AEge._ O rise, and call not to this aged cheek +The little blood which should keep warm my heart; +You are not mine, nor ought I to be blest +With such a god-like offspring. Sir, I found you +Upon the mount Cithaeron. + +_OEdip._ O speak, go on, the air grows sensible +Of the great things you utter, and is calm: +The hurried orbs, with storms so racked of late, +Seem to stand still, as if that Jove were talking. +Cithaeron! speak, the valley of Cithaeron! + +_AEge._ Oft-times before, I thither did resort, +Charmed with the conversation of a man, +Who led a rural life, and had command +O'er all the shepherds, who about those vales +Tended their numerous flocks: in this man's arms, +I saw you smiling at a fatal dagger, +Whose point he often offered at your throat; +But then you smiled, and then he drew it back, +Then lifted it again,--you smiled again: +'Till he at last in fury threw it from him, +And cried aloud,--The Gods forbid thy death. +Then I rushed in, and, after some discourse, +To me he did bequeath your innocent life; +And I, the welcome care to Polybus. + +_OEdip._ To whom belongs the master of the shepherds? + +_AEge._ His name I knew not, or I have forgot: +That he was of the family of Laius, +I well remember. + +_OEdip._ And is your friend alive? for if he be, +I'll buy his presence, though it cost my crown. + +_AEge._ Your menial attendants best can tell +Whether he lives, or not; and who has now +His place. + +_Joc._ Winds, bear me to some barren island, +Where print of human feet was never seen; +O'er-grown with weeds of such a monstrous height, +Their baleful tops are washed with bellying clouds; +Beneath whose venomous shade I may have vent +For horrors, that would blast the barbarous world! + +_OEdip._ If there be any here that knows the person +Whom he described, I charge him on his life +To speak; concealment shall be sudden death: +But he, who brings him forth, shall have reward +Beyond ambition's lust. + +_Tir._ His name is Phorbas: +Jocasta knows him well; but, if I may +Advise, rest where you are, and seek no farther. + +_OEdip._ Then all goes well, since Phorbas is secured +By my Jocasta.--Haste, and bring him forth: +My love, my queen, give orders, Ha! what mean +These tears, and groans, and strugglings? speak, my fair, +What are thy troubles? + +_Joc._ Yours; and yours are mine: +Let me conjure you, take the prophet's counsel, +And let this Phorbas go. + +_OEdip._ Not for the world. +By all the Gods, I'll know my birth, though death +Attends the search. I have already past +The middle of the stream; and to return, +Seems greater labour than to venture over: +Therefore produce him. + +_Joc._ Once more, by the Gods, +I beg, my OEdipus, my lord, my life, +My love, my all, my only, utmost hope! +I beg you, banish Phorbas: O, the Gods, +I kneel, that you may grant this first request. +Deny me all things else; but for my sake, +And as you prize your own eternal quiet, +Never let Phorbas come into your presence. + +_OEdip._ You must be raised, and Phorbas shall appear, +Though his dread eyes were basilisks. Guards, haste, +Search the queen's lodgings; find, and force him hither. + [_Exeunt Guards._ + +_Joc._ O, OEdipus, yet send, +And stop their entrance, ere it be too late; +Unless you wish to see Jocasta rent +With furies,--slain out-right with mere distraction! +Keep from your eyes and mine the dreadful Phorbas. +Forbear this search, I'll think you more than mortal; +Will you yet hear me? + +_OEdip._ Tempests will be heard, +And waves will dash, though rocks their basis keep. +But see, they enter. If thou truly lovest me, +Either forbear this subject, or retire. + + _Enter_ HAEMON, _Guards, with_ PHORBAS. + +_Joc._ Prepare then, wretched prince, prepare to hear +A story, that shall turn thee into stone. +Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature, +A flaw made through the centre, by some God, +Through which the groans of ghosts may strike thy ears, +They would not wound thee, as this story will. +Hark, hark! a hollow voice calls out aloud, +Jocasta! Yes, I'll to the royal bed, +Where first the mysteries of our loves were acted, +And double-dye it with imperial crimson; +Tear off this curling hair, +Be gorged with fire, stab every vital part, +And, when at last I'm slain, to crown the horror, +My poor tormented ghost shall cleave the ground, +To try if hell can yet more deeply wound. [_Exit._ + +_OEdip._ She's gone; and, as she went, methought her eyes +Grew larger, while a thousand frantic spirits, +Seething like rising bubbles on the brim, +Peeped from the watry brink, and glowed upon me. +I'll seek no more; but hush my genius up, +That throws me on my fate.--Impossible! +O wretched man, whose too too busy thoughts +Hide swifter than the gallopping heaven's round, +With an eternal hurry of the soul. +Nay, there's a time when even the rolling year +Seems to stand still, dead calms are in the ocean, +When not a breath disturbs the drowzy waves: +But man, the very monster of the world, +Is ne'er at rest; the soul for ever wakes. +Come then, since destiny thus drives us on, +Let us know the bottom.--Haemon, you I sent; +Where is that Phorbas? + +_Haem._ Here, my royal lord. + +_OEdip._ Speak first, AEgeon, say, is this the man? + +_AEge._ My lord, it is; Though time has ploughed that face +With many furrows since I saw it first, +Yet I'm too well acquainted with the ground, +Quite to forget it. + +_OEdip._ Peace; stand back a while.-- +Come hither, friend; I hear thy name is Phorbas. +Why dost thou turn thy face? I charge thee answer +To what I shall enquire: Wert thou not once +The servant to king Laius here in Thebes? + +_Phor._ I was, great sir, his true and faithful servant; +Born and bred up in court, no foreign slave. + +_OEdip._ What office hadst thou? what was thy employment? + +_Phor._ He made me lord of all his rural pleasures; +For much he loved them: oft I entertained him +With sporting swains, o'er whom I had command. + +_OEdip._ Where was thy residence? to what part of the country +Didst thou most frequently resort? + +_Phor._ To mount Cithaeron, and the pleasant vallies +Which all about lie shadowing its large feet. + +_OEdip._ Come forth, AEgeon.--Ha! why start'st thou, Phorbas? +Forward, I say, and face to face confront him: +Look wistly on him,--through him, if thou canst! +And tell me on thy life, say, dost thou know him? +Didst thou e'er see him? e'er converse with him +Near mount Cithaeron? + +_Phor._ Who, my lord, this man? + +_OEdip._ This man, this old, this venerable man: +Speak, did'st thou ever meet him there? + +_Phor._ Where, sacred sir? + +_OEdip._ Near mount Cithaeron; answer to the purpose, +'Tis a king speaks; and royal minutes are +Of much more worth than thousand vulgar years: +Did'st thou e'er see this man near mount Cithaeron? + +_Phor._ Most sure, my lord, I have seen lines like those +His visage bears; but know not where, nor when. + +_AEge._ Is't possible you should forget your ancient friend? +There are, perhaps, +Particulars, which may excite your dead remembrance. +Have you forgot I took an infant from you, +Doomed to be murdered in that gloomy vale? +The swaddling-bands were purple, wrought with gold. +Have you forgot, too, how you wept, and begged +That I should breed him up, and ask no more? + +_Phor._ Whate'er I begged, thou, like a dotard, speak'st +More than is requisite; and what of this? +Why is it mentioned now? And why, O why +Dost thou betray the secrets of thy friend? + +_AEge._ Be not too rash. That infant grew at last +A king; and here the happy monarch stands. + +_Phor._ Ha! whither would'st thou? O what hast thou uttered! +For what thou hast said, death strike thee dumb for ever! + +_OEdip._ Forbear to curse the innocent; and be +Accurst thyself, thou shifting traitor, villain, +Damned hypocrite, equivocating slave! + +_Phor._ O heavens! wherein, my lord, have I offended? + +_OEdip._ Why speak you not according to my charge? +Bring forth the rack: since mildness cannot win you, +Torments shall force. + +_Phor._ Hold, hold, O dreadful sir! +You will not rack an innocent old man? + +_OEdip._ Speak then. + +_Phor._ Alas! What would you have me say? + +_OEdip._ Did this old man take from your arms an infant? + +_Phor._ He did: And, Oh! I wish to all the gods, +Phorbas had perished in that very moment. + +_OEdip._ Moment! Thou shalt be hours, days, years, a dying.-- +Here, bind his hands; he dallies with my fury: +But I shall find a way-- + +_Phor._ My lord, I said +I gave the infant to him. + +_OEdip._ Was he thy own, or given thee by another? + +_Phor._ He was not mine, but given me by another. + +_OEdip._ Whence? and from whom? what city? of what house? + +_Phor._ O, royal sir, I bow me to the ground; +Would I could sink beneath it! by the gods, +I do conjure you to inquire no more. + +_OEdip._ Furies and hell! Haemon, bring forth the rack, +Fetch hither cords, and knives, and sulphurous flames: +He shall be bound and gashed, his skin flead off, +And burnt alive. + +_Phor._ O spare my age. + +_OEdip._ Rise then, and speak. + +_Phor._ Dread sir, I will. + +_OEdip._ Who gave that infant to thee? + +_Phor._ One of king Laius' family. + +_OEdip._ O, you immortal gods!--But say, who was't? +Which of the family of Laius gave it? +A servant, or one of the royal blood? + +_Phor._ O wretched state! I die, unless I speak; +And if I speak, most certain death attends me! + +_OEdip._ Thou shalt not die. Speak, then, who was it? speak, +While I have sense to understand the horror; +For I grow cold. + +_Phor._ The queen Jocasta told me, +It was her son by Laius. + +_OEdip._ O you gods!--But did she give it thee? + +_Phor._ My lord, she did. + +_OEdip._ Wherefore? for what?--O break not yet, my heart; +Though my eyes burst, no matter:--wilt thou tell me, +Or must I ask for ever? for what end, +Why gave she thee her child? + +_Phor._ To murder it. + +_OEdip._ O more than savage! murder her own bowels, +Without a cause! + +_Phor._ There was a dreadful one, +Which had foretold, that most unhappy son +Should kill his father, and enjoy his mother. + +_OEdip._ But one thing more. +Jocasta told me, thou wert by the chariot +When the old king was slain: Speak, I conjure thee, +For I shall never ask thee aught again,-- +What was the number of the assassinates? + +_Phor._ The dreadful deed was acted but by one; +And sure that one had much of your resemblance. + +_OEdip._ 'Tis well! I thank you, gods! 'tis wondrous well! +Daggers, and poison! O there is no need +For my dispatch: And you, you merciless powers, +Hoard up your thunder-stones; keep, keep your bolts, +For crimes of little note. [_Falls._ + +_Adr._ Help, Haemon, help, and bow him gently forward; +Chafe, chafe his temples: How the mighty spirits, +Half-strangled with the damp his sorrows raised, +Struggle for vent! But see, he breathes again, +And vigorous nature breaks through opposition.-- +How fares my royal friend? + +_OEdip._ The worse for you. +O barbarous men, and oh the hated light, +Why did you force me back, to curse the day; +To curse my friends; to blast with this dark breath +The yet untainted earth and circling air? +To raise new plagues, and call new vengeance down, +Why did you tempt the gods, and dare to touch me? +Methinks there's not a hand that grasps this hell, +But should run up like flax all blazing fire. +Stand from this spot, I wish you as my friends, +And come not near me, lest the gaping earth +Swallow you too.--Lo, I am gone already. + [_Draws, and claps his Sword to his + Breast, which_ ADRASTUS _strikes + away with his Foot._ + +_Adr._ You shall no more be trusted with your life:-- +Creon, Alcander, Haemon, help to hold him. + +_OEdip._ Cruel Adrastus! wilt thou, Haemon, too? +Are these the obligations of my friends? +O worse than worst of my most barbarous foes! +Dear, dear Adrastus, look with half an eye +On my unheard of woes, and judge thyself, +If it be fit that such a wretch should live! +O, by these melting eyes, unused to weep, +With all the low submissions of a slave, +I do conjure thee, give my horrors way! +Talk not of life, for that will make me rave: +As well thou may'st advise a tortured wretch, +All mangled o'er from head to foot with wounds, +And his bones broke, to wait a better day. + +_Adr._ My lord, you ask me things impossible; +And I with justice should be thought your foe, +To leave you in this tempest of your soul. + +_Tir._ Though banished Thebes, in Corinth you may reign; +The infernal powers themselves exact no more: +Calm then your rage, and once more seek the gods. + +_OEdip._ I'll have no more to do with gods, nor men; +Hence, from my arms, avaunt. Enjoy thy mother! +What, violate, with bestial appetite, +The sacred veils that wrapt thee yet unborn! +This is not to be borne! Hence; off, I say! +For they, who let my vengeance, make themselves +Accomplices in my most horrid guilt. + +_Adr._ Let it be so; we'll fence heav'n's fury from you, +And suffer all together. This, perhaps, +When ruin comes, may help to break your fall. + +_OEdip._ O that, as oft I have at Athens seen +The stage arise, and the big clouds descend; +So now, in very deed I might behold +The pond'rous earth, and all yon marble roof +Meet, like the hand of Jove, and crush mankind! +For all the elements, and all the powers +Celestial, nay, terrestrial, and infernal, +Conspire the wreck of out-cast OEdipus! +Fall darkness then, and everlasting night +Shadow the globe; may the sun never dawn; +The silver moon be blotted from her orb; +And for an universal rout of nature +Through all the inmost chambers of the sky, +May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark, +But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark; +That jars may rise, and wrath divine be hurled, +Which may to atoms shake the solid world! [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT V.--SCENE I. + + _Enter_ CREON, ALCANDER, _and_ PYRACMON. + +_Creon._ Thebes is at length my own; and all my wishes, +Which sure were great as royalty e'er formed, +Fortune and my auspicious stars have crowned. +O diadem, thou centre of ambition, +Where all its different lines are reconciled, +As if thou wert the burning glass of glory! + +_Pyr._ Might I be counsellor, I would intreat you +To cool a little, sir; find out Eurydice; +And, with the resolution of a man +Marked out for greatness, give the fatal choice +Of death or marriage. + +_Alc._ Survey cursed OEdipus, +As one who, though unfortunate, beloved, +Thought innocent, and therefore much lamented +By all the Thebans: you must mark him dead, +Since nothing but his death, not banishment, +Can give assurance to your doubtful reign. + +_Cre._ Well have you done, to snatch me from the storm +Of racking transport, where the little streams +Of love, revenge, and all the under passions, +As waters are by sucking whirlpools drawn, +Were quite devoured in the vast gulph of empire. +Therefore, Pyracmon, as you boldly urged, +Eurydice shall die, or be my bride. +Alcander, summon to their master's aid +My menial servants, and all those whom change +Of state, and hope of the new monarch's favour, +Can win to take our part: Away.--What now? [_Exit_ ALCANDER. + + _Enter_ HAEMON. + +When Haemon weeps, without the help of ghosts +I may foretel there is a fatal cause. + +_Haem._ Is't possible you should be ignorant +Of what has happened to the desperate king? + +_Cre._ I know no more but that he was conducted +Into his closet, where I saw him fling +His trembling body on the royal bed; +All left him there, at his desire, alone; +But sure no ill, unless he died with grief, +Could happen, for you bore his sword away. + +_Haem._ I did; and, having locked the door, I stood; +And through a chink I found, not only heard, +But saw him, when he thought no eye beheld him. +At first, deep sighs heaved from his woful heart +Murmurs, and groans that shook the outward rooms. +And art thou still alive, O wretch! he cried; +Then groaned again, as if his sorrowful soul +Had cracked the strings of life, and burst away. + +_Cre._ I weep to hear; how then should I have grieved, +Had I beheld this wondrous heap of sorrow! +But, to the fatal period. + +_Haem._ Thrice he struck, +With all his force, his hollow groaning breast, +And thus, with outcries, to himself complained:-- +But thou canst weep then, and thou think'st 'tis well, +These bubbles of the shallowest emptiest sorrow, +Which children vent for toys, and women rain +For any trifle their fond hearts are set on; +Yet these thou think'st are ample satisfaction +For bloodiest murder, and for burning lust: +No, parricide! if thou must weep, weep blood; +Weep eyes, instead of tears:--O, by the gods! +'Tis greatly thought, he cried, and fits my woes. +Which said, he smiled revengefully, and leapt +Upon the floor; thence gazing at the skies, +His eye-balls fiery red, and glowing vengeance,-- +Gods I accuse you not, though I no more +Will view your heaven, till, with more durable glasses, +The mighty soul's immortal perspectives, +I find your dazzling beings: Take, he cried, +Take, eyes, your last, your fatal farewel-view. +Then with a groan, that seemed the call of death, +With horrid force lifting his impious hands, +He snatched, he tore, from forth their bloody orbs, +The balls of sight, and dashed them on the ground. + +_Cre._ A master-piece of horror; new and dreadful! + +_Haem._ I ran to succour him; but, oh! too late; +For he had plucked the remnant strings away. +What then remains, but that I find Tiresias, +Who, with his wisdom, may allay those furies, +That haunt his gloomy soul? [_Exit._ + +_Cre._ Heaven will reward +Thy care, most honest, faithful,--foolish Haemon! +But see, Alcander enters, well attended. + + _Enter_ ALCANDER, _attended._ + +I see thou hast been diligent. + +_Alc._ Nothing these, +For number, to the crowds that soon will follow; +Be resolute, +And call your utmost fury to revenge. + +_Cre._ Ha! thou hast given +The alarm to cruelty; and never may +These eyes be closed, till they behold Adrastus +Stretched at the feet of false Eurydice. +But see, they are here! retire a while, and mark. + + _Enter_ ADRASTUS, _and_ EURYDICE, _attended._ + +_Adr._ Alas, Eurydice, what fond rash man, +What inconsiderate and ambitious fool, +That shall hereafter read the fate of OEdipus, +Will dare, with his frail hand, to grasp a sceptre? + +_Eur._ 'Tis true, a crown seems dreadful, and I wish +That you and I, more lowly placed, might pass +Our softer hours in humble cells away: +Not but I love you to that infinite height, +I could (O wondrous proof of fiercest love!) +Be greatly wretched in a court with you. + +_Adr._ Take then this most loved innocence away; +Fly from tumultuous Thebes, from blood and murder, +Fly from the author of all villainies, +Rapes, death, and treason, from that fury Creon: +Vouchsafe that I, o'er-joyed, may bear you hence, +And at your feet present the crown of Argos. + [CREON _and attendants come up to him._ + +_Cre._ I have o'er-heard thy black design, Adrastus, +And therefore, as a traitor to this state, +Death ought to be thy lot: Let it suffice +That Thebes surveys thee as a prince; abuse not +Her proffered mercy, but retire betimes, +Lest she repent, and hasten on thy doom. + +_Adr._ Think not, most abject, most abhorred of men, +Adrastus will vouchsafe to answer thee;-- +Thebans to you I justify my love: +I have addrest my prayer to this fair princess; +But, if I ever meant a violence, +Or thought to ravish, as that traitor did, +What humblest adorations could not win, +Brand me, you gods, blot me with foul dishonour, +And let men curse me by the name of Creon! + +_Eur._ Hear me, O Thebans, if you dread the wrath +Of her whom fate ordained to be your queen; +Hear me, and dare not, as you prize your lives, +To take the part of that rebellious traitor. +By the decree of royal OEdipus, +By queen Jocasta's order, by what's more, +My own dear vows of everlasting love, +I here resign, to prince Adrastus' arms, +All that the world can make me mistress of. + +_Cre._ O perjured woman! +Draw all; and when I give the word, fall on.-- +Traitor, resign the princess, or this moment +Expect, with all those most unfortunate wretches, +Upon this spot straight to be hewn in pieces. + +_Adr._ No, villain, no; +With twice those odds of men, +I doubt not in this cause to vanquish thee.-- +Captain remember to your care I give +My love; ten thousand, thousand times more clear, +Than life or liberty. + +_Cre._ Fall on, Alcander.-- +Pyracmon you and I must wheel about +For nobler game, the princess. + +_Adr._ Ah, traitor, dost thou shun me? +Follow, follow, +My brave companions! see, the cowards fly! + [_Exeunt fighting:_ CREON'S _Party + beaten off by_ ADRASTUS. + + _Enter_ OEDIPUS. + +_OEdip._ O, 'tis too little this; thy loss of sight, +What has it done? I shall be gazed at now +The more; be pointed at, There goes the monster! +Nor have I hid my horrors from myself; +For, though corporeal light be lost for ever, +The bright reflecting soul, through glaring optics, +Presents in larger size her black ideas, +Doubling the bloody prospect of my crimes; +Holds fancy down, and makes her act again, +With wife and mother:--Tortures, hell and furies! +Ha! now the baleful offspring's brought to light! +In horrid form, they rank themselves before me;-- +What shall I call this medley of creation? +Here one, with all the obedience of a son, +Borrowing Jocasta's look, kneels at my feet, +And calls me father; there, a sturdy boy, +Resembling Laius just as when I killed him, +Bears up, and with his cold hand grasping mine, +Cries out, how fares my brother OEdipus? +What, sons and brothers! Sisters and daughters too! +Fly all, begone, fly from my whirling brain! +Hence, incest, murder! hence, you ghastly figures! +O Gods! Gods, answer; is there any mean? +Let me go mad, or die. + + _Enter_ JOCASTA. + +_Joc._ Where, where is this most wretched of mankind, +This stately image of imperial sorrow, +Whose story told, whose very name but mentioned, +Would cool the rage of fevers, and unlock +The hand of lust from the pale virgin's hair, +And throw the ravisher before her feet? + +_OEdip._ By all my fears, I think Jocasta's voice!-- +Hence fly; begone! O thou far worse than worst +Of damning charmers! O abhorred, loathed creature! +Fly, by the gods, or by the fiends, I charge thee, +Far as the East, West, North, or South of heaven, +But think not thou shalt ever enter there; +The golden gates are barred with adamant, +'Gainst thee, and me; and the celestial guards, +Still as we rise, will dash our spirits down. + +_Joc._ O wretched pair! O greatly wretched we! +Two worlds of woe! + +_OEdip._ Art thou not gone then? ha! +How darest thou stand the fury of the gods? +Or comest thou in the grave to reap new pleasures? + +_Joc._ Talk on, till thou mak'st mad my rolling brain; +Groan still more death; and may those dismal sources +Still bubble on, and pour forth blood and tears. +Methinks, at such a meeting, heaven stands still; +The sea, nor ebbs, nor flows; this mole-hill earth +Is heaved no more; the busy emmets cease: +Yet hear me on-- + +_OEdip._ Speak, then, and blast my soul. + +_Joc._ O, my loved lord, though I resolve a ruin, +To match my crimes; by all my miseries, +'Tis horror, worse than thousand thousand deaths, +To send me hence without a kind farewell. + +_OEdip._ Gods, how she shakes me!--stay thee, O Jocasta! +Speak something ere thou goest for ever from me! + +_Joc._ 'Tis woman's weakness, that I would be pitied; +Pardon me then, O greatest, though most wretched. +Of all thy kind! My soul is on the brink, +And sees the boiling furnace just beneath: +Do not thou push me off, and I will go, +With such a willingness, as if that heaven +With all its glory glowed for my reception. + +_OEdip._ O, in my heart I feel the pangs of nature; +It works with kindness o'er: give, give me way! +I feel a melting here, a tenderness, +Too mighty for the anger of the gods! +Direct me to thy knees: yet, oh forbear, +Lest the dead embers should revive. +Stand off, and at just distance +Let me groan my horrors!--here +On the earth, here blow my utmost gale; +Here sob my sorrows, till I burst with sighing; +Here gasp and languish out my wounded soul. + +_Joc._ In spite of all those crimes the cruel gods +Can charge me with, I know my innocence; +Know yours. 'Tis fate alone that makes us wretched, +For you are still my husband. + +_OEdip._ Swear I am, +And I'll believe thee; steal into thy arms, +Renew endearments, think them no pollutions, +But chaste as spirits' joys. Gently I'll come, +Thus weeping blind, like dewy night, upon thee, +And fold thee softly in my arms to slumber. + [_The Ghost of_ LAIUS _ascends by + degrees, pointing at_ JOCASTA. + +_Joc._ Begone, my lord! Alas, what are we doing? +Fly from my arms! Whirlwinds, seas, continents, +And worlds, divide us! O, thrice happy thou, +Who hast no use of eyes; for here's a sight +Would turn the melting face of mercy's self +To a wild fury. + +_OEdip._ Ha! what seest thou there? + +_Joc._ The spirit of my husband! O, the gods! +How wan he looks! + +_OEdip._ Thou ravest; thy husband's here. + +_Joc._ There, there he mounts +In circling fire among the blushing clouds! +And see, he waves Jocasta from the world! + +_Ghost._ Jocasta, OEdipus. [_Vanish with thunder._ + +_OEdip._ What wouldst thou have? +Thou knowest I cannot come to thee, detained +In darkness here, and kept from means of death. +I've heard a spirit's force is wonderful; +At whose approach, when starting from his dungeon, +The earth does shake, and the old ocean groans, +Rocks are removed, and towers are thundered down; +And walls of brass, and gates of adamant +Are passable as air, and fleet like winds. + +_Joc._ Was that a raven's croak, or my son's voice? +No matter which; I'll to the grave and hide me. +Earth open, or I'll tear thy bowels up. +Hark! he goes on, and blabs the deed of incest. + +_OEdip._ Strike then, imperial ghost; dash all at once +This house of clay into a thousand pieces; +That my poor lingering soul may take her flight +To your immortal dwellings. + +_Joc._ Haste thee, then, +Or I shall be before thee. See,--thou canst not see! +Then I will tell thee that my wings are on. +I'll mount, I'll fly, and with a port divine +Glide all along the gaudy milky soil, +To find my Laius out; ask every god +In his bright palace, if he knows my Laius, +My murdered Laius! + +_OEdip._ Ha! how's this, Jocasta? +Nay, if thy brain be sick, then thou art happy. +_Joc._ Ha! will you not? shall I not find him out? +Will you not show him? are my tears despised? +Why, then I'll thunder, yes, I will be mad, +And fright you with my cries. Yes, cruel gods, +Though vultures, eagles, dragons tear my heart, +I'll snatch celestial flames, fire all your dwellings, +Melt down your golden roofs, and make your doors +Of crystal fly from off their diamond hinges; +Drive you all out from your ambrosial hives, +To swarm like bees about the field of heaven. +This will I do, unless you show me Laius, +My dear, my murdered lord. O Laius! Laius! Laius! [_Exit_ JOCASTA. + +_OEdip._ Excellent grief! why, this is as it should be! +No mourning can be suitable to crimes +Like ours, but what death makes, or madness forms. +I could have wished, methought, for sight again, +To mark the gallantry of her distraction; +Her blazing eyes darting the wandering stars, +To have seen her mouth the heavens, and mate the gods, +While with her thundering voice she menaced high, +And every accent twanged with smarting sorrow; +But what's all this to thee? thou, coward, yet +Art living, canst not, wilt not find the road +To the great palace of magnificent Death; +Though thousand ways lead to his thousand doors, +Which, day and night, are still unbarred for all. + [_Clashing of Swords. Drums and Trumpets without._ +Hark! 'tis the noise of clashing swords! the sound +Comes near;--O, that a battle would come o'er me! +If I but grasp a sword, or wrest a dagger, +I'll make a ruin with the first that falls. + + _Enter_ HAEMON, _with Guards._ + +_Haem._ Seize him, and bear him to the western tower.-- +Pardon me, sacred sir; I am informed +That Creon has designs upon your life: +Forgive me, then, if, to preserve you from him, +I order your confinement. + +_OEdip._ Slaves, unhand me!-- +I think thou hast a sword;--'twas the wrong side. +Yet, cruel Haemon, think not I will live; +He, that could tear his eyes out, sure can find +Some desperate way to stifle this cursed breath: +Or if I starve!--but that's a lingering fate; +Or if I leave my brains upon the wall!-- +The airy soul can easily o'er-shoot +Those bounds, with which thou striv'st to pale her in. +Yes, I will perish in despite of thee; +And, by the rage that stirs me, if I meet thee +In the other world, I'll curse thee for this usage. [_Exit._ + +_Haem._ Tiresias, after him, and with your counsel, +Advise him humbly: charm, if possible, +These feuds within; while I without extinguish, +Or perish in the attempt, the furious Creon; +That brand which sets our city in a flame. + +_Tir._ Heaven prosper your intent, and give a period +To all our plagues. What old Tiresias can, +Shall straight be done.--Lead, Manto, to the tower. + [_Exeunt_ TIRESIAS _and_ MANTO. + +_Haem._ Follow me all, and help to part this fray, [_Trumpets again._ +Or fall together in the bloody broil. [_Exeunt._ + + _Enter_ CREON _with_ EURYDICE; PYRACMON, _and his party, giving + Ground to_ ADRASTUS. + +_Cre._ Hold, hold your arms, Adrastus, prince of Argos! +Hear, and behold; Eurydice is my prisoner. + +_Adr._ What would'st thou, hell-hound? + +_Cre._ See this brandished dagger; +Forego the advantage which thy arms have won. +Or, by the blood which trembles through the heart +Of her, whom more than life I know thou lovest, +I'll bury to the haft, in her fair breast, +This instrument of my revenge. + +_Adr._ Stay thee, damned wretch; hold, stop thy bloody hand! + +_Cre._ Give order, then, that on this instant, now, +This moment, all thy soldiers straight disband. + +_Adr._ Away, my friends, since fate has so allotted; +Begone, and leave me to the villain's mercy. + +_Eur._ Ah, my Adrastus! call them, call them back! +Stand there; come back! O, cruel barbarous men! +Could you then leave your lord, your prince, your king, +After so bravely having fought his cause, +To perish by the hand of this base villain? +Why rather rush you not at once together +All to his ruin? drag him through the streets, +Hang his contagious quarters on the gates; +Nor let my death affright you. + +_Cre._ Die first thyself, then. + +_Adr._ O, I charge thee hold!-- +Hence from my presence, all; he's not my friend +That disobeys.--See, art thou now appeased? [_Exeunt Attendants._ +Or is there aught else yet remains to do, +That can atone thee? slake thy thirst of blood +With mine; but save, O save that innocent wretch! + +_Cre._ Forego thy sword, and yield thyself my prisoner. + +_Eur._ Yet, while there's any dawn of hope to save +Thy precious life, my dear Adrastus, +Whate'er thou dost, deliver not thy sword; +With that thou may'st get off, tho' odds oppose thee. +For me, O fear not; no, he dares not touch me; +His horrid love will spare me. Keep thy sword; +Lest I be ravished after thou art slain. + +_Adr._ Instruct me, gods, what shall Adrastus do? + +_Cre._ Do what thou wilt, when she is dead; my soldiers +With numbers will o'erpower thee. Is't thy wish +Eurydice should fall before thee? + +_Adr._ Traitor, no; +Better that thou, and I, and all mankind, +Should be no more. + +_Cre._ Then cast thy sword away, +And yield thee to my mercy, or I strike. + +_Adr._ Hold thy raised arm; give me a moment's pause. +My father, when he blest me, gave me this: +My son, said he, let this be thy last refuge; +If thou forego'st it, misery attends thee.-- +Yet love now charms it from me; which in all +The hazards of my life I never lost. +'Tis thine, my faithful sword; my only trust; +Though my heart tells me that the gift is fatal. [_Gives it._ + +_Cre._ Fatal! yes, foolish love-sick prince, it shall: +Thy arrogance, thy scorn, my wound's remembrance. +Turn all at once the fatal point upon thee.-- +Pyracmon to the palace; dispatch +The king; hang Haemon up, for he is loyal, +And will oppose me.--Come, sir, are you ready? + +_Adr._ Yes, villain, for whatever thou canst dare. + +_Eur._ Hold, Creon, or through me, through me you wound. + +_Adr._ Off, madam, or we perish both; behold +I'm not unarmed, my poniard's in my hand; +Therefore, away. + +_Eur._ I'll guard your life with mine. + +_Cre._ Die both, then; there is now no time for dallying. + [_Kills_ EURYDICE. + +_Eur._ Ah, prince, farewell! farewell, my dear Adrastus! [_Dies._ + +_Adr._ Unheard-of monster! eldest-born of hell! +Down, to thy primitive flame. [_Stabs_ CREON. + +_Cre._ Help, soldiers, help; +Revenge me. + +_Adr._ More; yet more; a thousand wounds! +I'll stamp thee still, thus, to the gaping furies. + [ADRASTUS _falls, killed by the soldiers._ + + _Enter_ HAEMON, _Guards, with_ ALCANDER _and_ PYRACMON _bound; the + Assassins are driven off._ + +O Haemon, I am slain; nor need I name +The inhuman author of all villainies; +There he lies gasping. + +_Cre._ If I must plunge in flames, +Burn first my arm; base instrument, unfit +To act the dictates of my daring mind; +Burn, burn for ever, O weak substitute +Of that, the god, ambition. [_Dies._ + +_Adr._ She's gone;--O deadly marksman, in the heart! +Yet in the pangs of death she grasps my hand; +Her lips too tremble, as if she would speak +Her last farewell.--O, OEdipus, thy fall +Is great; and nobly now thou goest attended! +They talk of heroes, and celestial beauties, +And wondrous pleasures in the other world; +Let me but find her there, I ask no more. [_Dies._ + + _Enter a Captain to_ HAEMON; _with_ TERESIAS _and_ MANTO. + +_Cap._ O, sir, the queen Jocasta, swift and wild, +As a robbed tygress bounding o'er the woods, +Has acted murders that amaze mankind; +In twisted gold I saw her daughters hang +On the bed-royal, and her little sons +Stabbed through the breasts upon the bloody pillows. + +_Haem._ Relentless heavens! is then the fate of Laius +Never to be atoned? How sacred ought +Kings' lives be held, when but the death of one +Demands an empire's blood for expiation! +But see! the furious mad Jocasta's here. + + _Scene draws, and discovers_ JOCASTA _held by her women and stabbed + in many places of her Bosom, her Hair dishevelled, her Children + slain upon the Bed._ + +Was ever yet a sight of so much horror +And pity brought to view! + +_Joc._ Ah, cruel women! +Will you not let me take my last farewell +Of those dear babes? O let me run, and seal +My melting soul upon their bubbling wounds! +I'll print upon their coral mouths such kisses, +As shall recal their wandering spirits home. +Let me go, let me go, or I will tear you piece-meal. +Help, Haemon, help; +Help, OEdipus; help, Gods; Jocasta dies. + + _Enter_ OEDIPUS _above._ + +_OEdip._ I've found a window, and I thank the gods +'Tis quite unbarred; sure, by the distant noise, +The height will fit my fatal purpose well. + +_Joc._ What hoa, my OEdipus! see where he stands! +His groping ghost is lodged upon a tower, +Nor can it find the road. Mount, mount, my soul; +I'll wrap thy shivering spirit in lambent flames; and so we'll sail.-- +But see! we're landed on the happy coast; +And all the golden strands are covered o'er +With glorious gods, that come to try our cause. +Jove, Jove, whose majesty now sinks me down, +He, who himself burns in unlawful fires, +Shall judge, and shall acquit us. O, 'tis done; +'Tis fixt by fate, upon record divine; +And OEdipus shall now be ever mine. [_Dies._ + +_OEdip._ Speak, Haemon; what has fate been doing there? +What dreadful deed has mad Jocasta done? + +_Haem._ The queen herself, and all your wretched offspring, +Are by her fury slain. + +_OEdip._ By all my woes, +She has outdone me in revenge and murder, +And I should envy her the sad applause: +But oh, my children! oh, what have they done? +This was not like the mercy of the heavens, +To set her madness on such cruelty: +This stirs me more than all my sufferings, +And with my last breath I must call you tyrants. + +_Haem._ What mean you, sir? + +_OEdip._ Jocasta! lo, I come. +O Laius, Labdacus, and all you spirits +Of the Cadmean race, prepare to meet me, +All weeping ranged along the gloomy shore; +Extend your arms to embrace me, for I come. +May all the gods, too, from their battlements, +Behold and wonder at a mortal's daring; +And, when I knock the goal of dreadful death, +Shout and applaud me with a clap of thunder. +Once more, thus winged by horrid fate, I come, +Swift as a falling meteor; lo, I fly, +And thus go downwards to the darker sky. + [_Thunder. He flings himself from the Window: + The Thebans gather about his Body._ + +_Haem._ O prophet, OEdipus is now no more! +O cursed effect of the most deep despair! + +_Tir._ Cease your complaints, and bear his body hence; +The dreadful sight will daunt the drooping Thebans, +Whom heaven decrees to raise with peace and glory. +Yet, by these terrible examples warned, +The sacred Fury thus alarms the world:-- +Let none, though ne'er so virtuous, great, and high, +Be judged entirely blest before they die. [_Exeunt._ + + +Footnotes: +1. Imitated from the commencement of the plague in the first book of + the _Iliad_. + +2. The story of the Sphinx is generally known: She was a monster, who + delighted in putting a riddle to the Thebans, and slaying each poor + dull Boeotian, who could not interpret it. OEdipus guessed the + enigma, on which the monster destroyed herself for shame. Thus he + attained the throne of Thebes, and the bed of Jocasta. + +3. To _dare a lark_, is to fly a hawk, or present some other object of + fear, to engage the bird's attention, and prevent it from taking + wing, while the fowler draws his net: + + Farewell, nobility; let his grace go forward, + And dare us with his cap, like larks. + _Henry VIII._ Act III. Scene II. + +4. The carelessness of OEdipus about the fate of his predecessor is + very unnatural; but to such expedients dramatists are often + reduced, to communicate to their audience what must have been known + to the persons of the drama. + +5. _Start_ is here, and in p. 136, used for _started_, being borrowed + from _sterte_, the old perfect of the verb. + +6. It is a common idea, that falling stars, as they are called, are + converted into a sort of jelly. "Among the rest, I had often the + opportunity to see the seeming shooting of the stars from place to + place, and sometimes they appeared as if falling to the ground, + where I once or twice found a white jelly-like matter among the + grass, which I imagined to be distilled from them; and hence + foolishly conjectured, that the stars themselves must certainly + consist of a like substance." + +7. Serpens, serpentem vorans, fit draco. Peccata, peccatis + superaddita, monstra fiunt. _Hieroglyphica animalium, per + Archibaldum Simsonum Dalkethensis Ecclesiae pastorem, p. 95._ + +8. The idea of this sacred grove seems to be taken from that of + Colonus near Athens, dedicated to the Eumenides, which gives name + to Sophocles's second tragedy. Seneca describes the scene of the + incantation in the following lines: + + _Est procul ab urbe lucus illicibus niger + Dircaea circa vallis irriguae loca. + Cupressus altis exerens silvis caput + Virente semper alligat trunco nemus; + Curvosque tendit quercus et putres situ + Annosa ramos: hujus abrupit latus + Edax vetustas: illa jam fessa cadens + Radice, fulta pendet aliena trabe. + Amara baccas laurus; et tiliae leves + Et Paphia myrtus; et per immensum mare + Motura remos alnus; et Phoebo obvia + Enode Zephyris pinus opponens latus. + Medio stat ingens arbor, atque umbra gravi + Silvas minores urget; et magno ambitu + Diffusa ramos, una defendit nemus. + Tristis sub illa, lucis et Phoebi inscius + Restagnat humor, frigore aeterno rigens. + Limosa pigrum circuit fontem palus. + Actus Tertius. Scena prima._ + + This diffuse account of the different kinds of forest trees, which + composed the enchanted grove, is very inartificially put into the + mouth of Creon, who, notwithstanding the horrible message which he + has to deliver to OEdipus from the ghost, finds time to solace the + king with this long description of a place, which he doubtless knew + as well as Creon himself. Dryden, on the contrary, has, with great + address, rendered the description necessary, by the violence + committed within the sacred precinct, and turned it, not upon + minute and rhetorical detail, but upon the general awful properties + of this consecrated ground. Lucan's fine description of the + Massyllian forest, and that of the enchanted grove in Tasso, have + been both consulted by our author.] + +9. The quarrel betwixt OEdipus and the prophet, who announces his + guilt, is imitated from a similar scene in the OEdipus Tyrannus. + +10. Borrowed from Shakespeare; + + And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change. + _Richard II._ + + + + +EPILOGUE. + + + What Sophocles could undertake alone, + Our poets found a work for more than one; + And therefore two lay tugging at the piece, + With all their force, to draw the ponderous mass from Greece; + A weight that bent even Seneca's strong muse, + And which Corneille's shoulders did refuse. + So hard it is the Athenian harp to string! + So much two consuls yield to one just king. + Terror and pity this whole poem sway; + The mightiest machines that can mount a play. + How heavy will those vulgar souls be found, + Whom two such engines cannot move from ground! + When Greece and Rome have smiled upon this birth, + You can but damn for one poor spot of earth; + And when your children find your judgment such, + They'll scorn their sires, and wish themselves born Dutch; + Each haughty poet will infer with ease, + How much his wit must under-write to please. + As some strong churl would, brandishing, advance + The monumental sword that conquered France; + So you, by judging this, your judgment teach, + Thus far you like, that is, thus far you reach. + Since then the vote of full two thousand years + Has crowned this plot, and all the dead are theirs, + Think it a debt you pay, not alms you give, + And, in your own defence, let this play live. + Think them not vain, when Sophocles is shown, + To praise his worth they humbly doubt their own. + Yet as weak states each other's power assure, + Weak poets by conjunction are secure. + Their treat is what your palates relish most, + Charm! song! and show! a murder and a ghost! + We know not what you can desire or hope, + To please you more, but burning of a Pope.[1] + + +Footnote: +1. The burning a Pope in effigy, was a ceremony performed upon the + anniversary of queen Elizabeth's coronation. When parties ran high + betwixt the courtiers and opposition, in the latter part of Charles + the II. reign, these anti-papal solemnities were conducted by the + latter, with great state and expence, and employed as engines to + excite the popular resentment against the duke of York, and his + religion. The following curious description of one of these + tumultuary processions, in 1679, was extracted by Ralph, from a + very scarce pamphlet; it is the ceremony referred to in the + epilogue; and it shall be given at length, as the subject is + frequently alluded to by Dryden. + + [Illustration: + The Solemn Mock Procession of the POPE, Cardinals, Jesuits, + Friars, &c. + Through the CITY OF LONDON November 17.th 1679. + + London Published January 1808 by William Miller, Albemarle Street. + Dryden Works to face Vol 6th page 223] + + "On the said 17th of November, 1679, the bells, generally, about + the town, began to ring at three o'clock in the morning. At the + approach of the evening, (all things being in readiness) the solemn + procession began, setting forth from Moregate, and so passed, first + to Aldgate, and thence through Leadenhall-street, by the Royal + Exchange, through Cheapside, and so to Temple-bar in the ensuing + order, viz. + + "1. Came six whifflers, to clear the way, in pioneer caps, and red + waistcoats. + + "2. A bellman ringing, and with a loud (but doleful) voice, crying + out all the way, remember Justice Godfrey. + + "3. A dead body, representing justice Godfrey, in a decent black + habit, carried before a jesuit, in black, on horse-back, in + like manner as he was carried by the assassins to Primrose + Hill. + + "4. Next after Sir Edmonbury, so mounted, came a priest in a + surplice, with a cope embroidered with dead bones, skeletons, + skulls, and the like, giving pardons very plentifully to all + those who should murder protestants; and proclaiming it + meritorious. + + "5. Then a priest in black alone, with a great silver cross. + + "6. Four carmelites, in white and black habits. + + "7. Four grey-friars, in the proper habits of their order. + + "8. Six jesuits, with bloody daggers. + + "9. A concert of wind music. + + "10. Four bishops, in purple, and lawn sleeves, with a golden + crosier on their breast, and crosier-staves in their hands. + + "11. Four other bishops, in _Pontificalibus_, with surplices, and + rich embroidered copes, and golden mitres on their heads. + + "12. Six cardinals, in scarlet robes and caps. + + "13. The Pope's doctor, _i.e._ Wakeman,[a] with jesuits-powder in + one hand, and an urinal in the other. + + "14. Two priests in surplices, with two golden crosses. + + "Lastly, The Pope, in a lofty, glorious pageant, representing a + chair of state, covered with scarlet, richly embroidered and + fringed, and bedecked with golden balls and crosses: At his feet a + cushion of state, and two boys in surplices with white silk + banners, and bloody crucifixes and daggers with an incense pot + before them, censing his holiness, who was arrayed in a splendid + scarlet gown, lined through with ermin, and richly daubed with gold + and silver lace; on his head a triple crown of gold, and a glorious + collar of gold and precious stones, St Peter's keys, a number of + beads, agnus deis, and other catholic trumpery. At his back, his + holiness's privy counsellor, the degraded Seraphim, (_anglice_ the + devil,) frequently caressing, hugging, and whispering him, and oft + times instructing him aloud to destroy his majesty, to forge a + protestant plot, and to fire the city again, to which purpose he + held an infernal torch in his hand. + + "The whole procession was attended with 150 flambeaux and lights, + by order; but so many more came in volunteers, as made up some + thousands. + + "Never were the balconies, windows, and houses more numerously + lined, or the streets closer throng'd with multitudes of people, + all expressing their abhorrence of Popery, with continual shouts + and exclamations; so that 'tis modestly computed, that, in the + whole progress, there could not be fewer than two hundred thousand + spectators. + + "Thus with a slow, and solemn state, they proceeded to Temple Bar; + where with innumerable swarms, the houses seemed to be converted + into heaps of men, and women, and children, for whose diversion + there were provided great variety of excellent fireworks. + + "Temple Bar being, since its rebuilding, adorned with four stately + statues, viz. those of Queen Elizabeth and King James, on the + inward, or eastern side, fronting the city; and those of King + Charles the I. of blessed memory, and our present gracious + sovereign, (whom God, in mercy to these nations, long preserve!) on + the outside, facing towards Westminster; and the statue of Queen + Elizabeth in regard to the day, having on a crown of gilded laurel, + and in her hand a golden shield, with this motto inscribed: _The + Protestant Religion, and Magna Charta_, and flambeaux placed before + it. The Pope being brought up near thereunto, the following song, + alluding to the posture of those statues, was sung in parts, + between one representing the English Cardinal (_Howard_)[b] and + others acting the people: + + CARDINAL NORFOLK. + + From York to London town we come, + To talk of Popish ire, + To reconcile you all to Rome, + And prevent Smithfield fire. + + PLEBEIANS. + + Cease, cease, thou Norfolk Cardinal, + See yonder stands Queen Bess; + Who sav'd our souls from Popish thrall: + O Queen Bess, Queen Bess, Queen Bess! + + Your Popish plot, and Smithfield threat, + We do not fear at all; + For lo! beneath Queen Bess's feet, + You fall, you fall, you fall. + + "'Tis true, our King's on t'other side, + A looking tow'rds Whitehall: + But could we bring him round about; + He'd counterplot you all. + + "Then down with James, and set up Charles, + On good Queen Bess's side; + That all true Commons, Lords, and Earls, + May wish him a fruitfull bride." + + Now God preserve great Charles our King, + And eke all honest men; + And traitors all to justice bring: + Amen, Amen, Amen. + + "Then having entertained the thronging spectators for some time, + with the ingenious fireworks, a vast bonfire being prepared, just + over against the inner temple gate, his holiness, after some + compliments and reluctancies, was decently toppled from all his + grandeur, into the impartial flames; the crafty devil leaving his + infallibilityship in the lurch, and laughing as heartily at his + deserved ignominious end, as subtle jesuits do at the ruin of + bigotted Lay Catholics, whom themselves have drawn in; or, as + credulous Coleman's abettors did, when, with pretences of a + reprieve at last gasp, they had made him vomit up his soul with a + lye, and sealed his dangerous chops with a halter. This justice was + attended with a prodigious shout, that might be heard far beyond + Somerset-house; and 'twas believed the echo, by continued + reverberations, before it ceased, reached _Scotland_, (the Duke was + then there;) France, and even Rome, itself, damping them all with a + dreadfull astonishment." + + From a very rare broadside, in the collection made by Narcissus + Luttrell. + + Footnotes: + a. Sir George Wakeman was physician to the queen, and a catholic. + He was tried for the memorable Popish plot and acquitted, the + credit of the witnesses being now blasted, by the dying + declarations of those who suffered. + + b. Philip, the 3d son of Henry Earl of Arundel, and brother to the + Duke of Norfolk, created a Cardinal in 1675. He was a second + cousin of Lady Elizabeth Howard, afterwards the wife of our + poet. + + + * * * * * + + + TROILUS AND CRESSIDA: + + OR, + + TRUTH FOUND TOO LATE. + + + A + + TRAGEDY. + + + _Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, + Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus._ + HOR. + + + + + TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. + + +The story of Troilus and Cressida was one of the more modern fables, +engrafted, during the dark ages, on "the tale of Troy divine." +Chaucer, who made it the subject of a long and somewhat dull poem, +professes to have derived his facts from an author of the middle ages, +called Lollius, to whom he often refers, and who he states to have +written in Latin. Tyrwhitt disputes the existence of this personage, +and supposes Chaucer's original to have been the _Philostrato dell' +amorose fatiche de Troilo,_ a work of Boccacio. But Chaucer was never +reluctant in acknowledging obligations to his contemporaries, when +such really existed; and Mr Tyrwhitt's opinion seems to be +successfully combated by Mr Godwin, in his "Life of Chaucer." The +subject, whencesoever derived, was deemed by Shakespeare worthy of the +stage; and his tragedy, of Troilus and Cressida, contains so many +scenes of distinguished excellence, that it could have been wished our +author had mentioned it with more veneration. In truth, even the +partiality of an editor must admit, that on this occasion, the modern +improvements of Dryden shew to very little advantage beside the +venerable structure to which they have been attached. The arrangement +of the plot is, indeed, more artificially modelled; but the preceding +age, during which the infidelity of Cressida was proverbially current, +could as little have endured a catastrophe turning upon the discovery +of her innocence, as one which should have exhibited Helen chaste, or +Hector a coward. In Dryden's time, the prejudice against this +unfortunate female was probably forgotten, as her history had become +less popular. There appears, however, something too nice and +fastidious in the critical rule, which exacts that the hero and +heroine of the drama shall be models of virtuous perfection. In the +most interesting of the ancient plays we find this limitation +neglected, with great success; and it would have been more natural to +have brought about the catastrophe on the plan of Shakespeare and +Chaucer, than by the forced mistake in which Dryden's lovers are +involved, and the stale expedient of Cressida's killing herself, to +evince her innocence. For the superior order, and regard to the unity +of place, with which Dryden has new-modelled the scenes and entries, +he must be allowed the full praise which he claims in the preface. + +In the dialogue, considered as distinct from the plot, Dryden appears +not to have availed himself fully of the treasures of his predecessor. +He has pitilessly retrenched the whole scene, in the 3d act, between +Ulysses and Achilles, full of the purest and most admirable moral +precept, expressed in the most poetical and dignified language[1]. +Probably this omission arose from Dryden's desire to simplify the +plot, by leaving out the intrigues of the Grecian chiefs, and limiting +the interest to the amours of Troilus and Cressida. But he could not +be insensible to the merit of this scene, though he has supplied it by +one far inferior, in which Ulysses is introduced, using gross flattery +to the buffoon Thersites. In the latter part of the play, Dryden has +successfully exerted his own inventive powers. The quarrelling scene +between Hector and Troilus is very impressive, and no bad imitation of +that betwixt Brutus and Cassius, with which Dryden seems to have been +so much charmed, and which he has repeatedly striven to emulate. The +parting of Hector and Andromache contains some affecting passages, +some of which may be traced back to Homer; although the pathos, upon +the whole, is far inferior to that of the noted scene in the Iliad, +and destitute of the noble simplicity of the Grecian bard. + +Mr Godwin has justly remarked, that the delicacy of Chaucer's ancient +tale has suffered even in the hands of Shakespeare; but in those of +Dryden it has undergone a far deeper deterioration. Whatever is coarse +and naked in Shakespeare, has been dilated into ribaldry by the poet +laureat of Charles the second; and the character of Pandarus, in +particular, is so grossly heightened, as to disgrace even the obliging +class to whom that unfortunate procurer has bequeathed his name. So +far as this play is to be considered as an alteration of Shakespeare, +I fear it must be allowed, that our author has suppressed some of his +finest poetry, and exaggerated some of his worst faults. + +Troilus and Cressida was published in 1679. + + +Footnote: +1. I need only recall to the reader's remembrance the following + beautiful passage, inculcating the unabating energy necessary to + maintain, in the race of life, the ground which has been already + gained. + + _Ulys._ Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, + Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, + A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes: + These scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd + As fast as they are made, forgot as soon + As done: Perseverance, dear my lord, + Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang + Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail + In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; + For honour travels in a strait so narrow, + Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; + For emulation hath a thousand sons, + That one by one pursue: If you give way, + Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, + Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, + And leave you hindmost.-- + Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, + Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, + O'er run and trampled on: Then what they do in present, + Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: + For time is like a fashionable host, + That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; + And with his arms out stretch'd, as he would fly, + Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, + And Farewel goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek + Remuneration for the thing it was; + For beauty, wit, + High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, + Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all + To envious and calumniating time. + One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,-- + That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds, + Though they are made and moulded of things past; + And give to dust, that is a little gilt, + More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. + The present eye praises the present object: + Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, + That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax; + Since things in motion sooner catch the eye, + Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, + And still it might, and yet it may again, + If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive, + And case thy reputation in thy tent; + Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, + Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves, + And drave great Mars to faction. + + + + + TO + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + ROBERT, + + EARL OF SUNDERLAND[1], + + PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE, ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S + MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY-COUNCIL, &C. + + +MY LORD, + +Since I cannot promise you much of poetry in my play, it is but +reasonable that I should secure you from any part of it in my +dedication. And indeed I cannot better distinguish the exactness of +your taste from that of other men, than by the plainness and sincerity +of my address. I must keep my hyperboles in reserve for men of other +understandings. An hungry appetite after praise, and a strong +digestion of it, will bear the grossness of that diet; but one of so +critical a judgment as your lordship, who can set the bounds of just +and proper in every subject, would give me small encouragement for so +bold an undertaking. I more than suspect, my lord, that you would not +do common justice to yourself; and, therefore, were I to give that +character of you, which I think you truly merit, I would make my +appeal from your lordship to the reader, and would justify myself from +flattery by the public voice, whatever protestation you might enter to +the contrary. But I find I am to take other measures with your +lordship; I am to stand upon my guard with you, and to approach you as +warily as Horace did Augustus: + + _Cui male si palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus._ + +An ill-timed, or an extravagant commendation, would not pass upon you; +but you would keep off such a dedicator at arms-end, and send him back +with his encomiums to this lord, or that lady, who stood in need of +such trifling merchandise. You see, my lord, what an awe you have upon +me, when I dare not offer you that incense which would be acceptable +to other patrons; but am forced to curb myself from ascribing to you +those honours, which even an enemy could not deny you. Yet I must +confess, I never practised that virtue of moderation (which is +properly your character) with so much reluctancy as now: for it +hinders me from being true to my own knowledge, in not witnessing your +worth, and deprives me of the only means which I had left, to shew the +world that true honour and uninterested respect which I have always +paid you. I would say somewhat, if it were possible which might +distinguish that veneration I have for you, from the flatteries of +those who adore your fortune. But the eminence of your condition, in +this particular, is my unhappiness; for it renders whatever I would +say suspected. Professions of service, submissions, and attendance, +are the practice of all men to the great; and commonly they, who have +the least sincerity, perform them best; as they, who are least engaged +in love, have their tongues the freest to counterfeit a passion. For +my own part, I never could shake off the rustic bashfulness which +hangs upon my nature; but, valuing myself at as little as I am worth, +have been afraid to render even the common duties of respect to those +who are in power. The ceremonious visits, which are generally paid on +such occasions, are not my talent. They may be real even in courtiers, +but they appear with such a face of interest, that a modest man would +think himself in danger of having his sincerity mistaken for his +design. My congratulations keep their distance, and pass no farther +than my heart. There it is that I have all the joy imaginable, when I +see true worth rewarded, and virtue uppermost in the world. + +If, therefore, there were one to whom I had the honour to be known; +and to know him so perfectly, that I could say, without flattery, he +had all the depth of understanding that was requisite in an able +statesman, and all that honesty which commonly is wanting; that he was +brave without vanity, and knowing without positiveness; that he was +loyal to his prince, and a lover of his country; that his principles +were full of moderation, and all his counsels such as tended to heal, +and not to widen, the breaches of the nation: that in all his +conversation there appeared a native candour, and a desire of doing +good in all his actions: if such an one, whom I have described, were +at the helm; if he had risen by his merits, and were chosen out in the +necessity and pressures of affairs, to remedy our confusions by the +seasonableness of his advice, and to put a stop to our ruin, when we +were just rolling downward to the precipice; I should then +congratulate the age in which I live, for the common safety; I should +not despair of the republic, though Hannibal were at the gates; I +should send up my vows for the success of such an action, as Virgil +did, on the like occasion, for his patron, when he was raising up his +country from the desolations of a civil war: + + _Hunc saltem everso juvenem succurrere seclo + Ne, superi, prohibete._ + +I know not whither I am running, in this extacy which is now upon me: +I am almost ready to re-assume the ancient rights of poetry; to point +out, and prophecy the man, who was born for no less an undertaking, +and whom posterity shall bless for its accomplishment. Methinks, I am +already taking fire from such a character, and making room for him, +under a borrowed name, amongst the heroes of an epic poem. Neither +could mine, or some more happy genius, want encouragement under such a +patron: + + _Pollio amat nostram, quamvis sit rustica, musam._ + +But these are considerations afar off, my lord: the former part of the +prophecy must be first accomplished; the quiet of the nation must be +secured; and a mutual trust, betwixt prince and people, be renewed; +and then this great and good man will have leisure for the ornaments +of peace; and make our language as much indebted to his care, as the +French is to the memory of their famous Richelieu[2]. You know, my +lord, how low he laid the foundations of so great a work; that he +began it with a grammar and a dictionary; without which all those +remarks and observations, which have since been made, had been +performed to as little purpose, as it would be to consider the +furniture of the rooms, before the contrivance of the house. Propriety +must first be stated, ere any measures of elegance can be taken. +Neither is one Vaugelas sufficient for such a work[3]. It was the +employment of the whole academy for many years; for the perfect +knowledge of a tongue was never attained by any single person. The +court, the college, and the town, must be joined in it. And as our +English is a composition of the dead and living tongues, there is +required a perfect knowledge, not only of the Greek and Latin, but of +the old German, the French, and the Italian; and, to help all these, a +conversation with those authors of our own, who have written with the +fewest faults in prose and verse. But how barbarously we yet write and +speak, your lordship knows, and I am sufficiently sensible in my own +English. For I am often put to a stand, in considering whether what I +write be the idiom of the tongue, or false grammar, and nonsense +couched beneath that specious name of Anglicism; and have no other way +to clear my doubts, but by translating my English into Latin, and +thereby trying what sense the words will bear in a more stable +language. I am desirous, if it were possible, that we might all write +with the same certainty of words, and purity of phrase, to which the +Italians first arrived, and after them the French; at least that we +might advance so far, as our tongue is capable of such a standard. It +would mortify an Englishman to consider, that from the time of Boccace +and of Petrarch, the Italian has varied very little; and that the +English of Chaucer, their contemporary, is not to be understood +without the help of an old dictionary. But their Goth and Vandal had +the fortune to be grafted on a Roman stock; ours has the disadvantage +to be founded on the Dutch[4]. We are full of monosyllables, and those +clogged with consonants, and our pronunciation is effeminate; all +which are enemies to a sounding language. It is true, that to supply +our poverty, we have trafficked with our neighbour nations; by which +means we abound as much in words, as Amsterdam does in religions; but +to order them, and make them useful after their admission, is the +difficulty. A greater progress has been made in this, since his +majesty's return, than, perhaps, since the conquest to his time. But +the better part of the work remains unfinished; and that which has +been done already, since it has only been in the practice of some few +writers, must be digested into rules and method, before it can be +profitable to the general. Will your lordship give me leave to speak +out at last? and to acquaint the world, that from your encouragement +and patronage, we may one day expect to speak and write a language, +worthy of the English wit, and which foreigners may not disdain to +learn? Your birth, your education, your natural endowments, the former +employments which you have had abroad, and that which, to the joy of +good men you now exercise at home, seem all to conspire to this +design: the genius of the nation seems to call you out as it were by +name, to polish and adorn your native language, and to take from it +the reproach of its barbarity. It is upon this encouragement that I +have adventured on the following critique, which I humbly present you, +together with the play; in which, though I have not had the leisure, +nor indeed the encouragement, to proceed to the principal subject of +it, which is the words and thoughts that are suitable to tragedy; yet +the whole discourse has a tendency that way, and is preliminary to it. +In what I have already done, I doubt not but I have contradicted some +of my former opinions, in my loose essays of the like nature; but of +this, I dare affirm, that it is the fruit of my riper age and +experience, and that self-love, or envy have no part in it. The +application to English authors is my own, and therein, perhaps, I may +have erred unknowingly; but the foundation of the rules is reason, and +the authority of those living critics who have had the honour to be +known to you abroad, as well as of the ancients, who are not less of +your acquaintance. Whatsoever it be, I submit it to your lordship's +judgment, from which I never will appeal, unless it be to your good +nature, and your candour. If you can allow an hour of leisure to the +perusal of it, I shall be fortunate that I could so long entertain +you; if not, I shall at least have the satisfaction to know, that your +time was more usefully employed upon the public. I am, + + MY LORD, + + Your Lordship's most Obedient, + Humble Servant, + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +Footnotes: +1. This was the famous Earl of Sunderland, who, being a Tory under the + reign of Charles, a Papist in that of his successor, and a Whig in + that of William, was a favourite minister of all these monarchs. He + was a man of eminent abilities; and our author shews a high opinion + of his taste, by abstaining from the gross flattery, which was then + the fashionable stile of dedication. + +2. Alluding to the institution of an academy for fixing the language, + often proposed about this period. + +3. Author of a treatise on the French language. + +4. Dutch is here used generally for the High Dutch or German. + + + + + THE + + PREFACE. + + +The poet AEschylus was held in the same veneration by the Athenians of +after-ages, as Shakespeare is by us; and Longinus has judged, in +favour of him, that he had a noble boldness of expression, and that +his imaginations were lofty and heroic; but, on the other side, +Quintilian affirms, that he was daring to extravagance. It is certain, +that he affected pompous words, and that his sense was obscured by +figures; notwithstanding these imperfections, the value of his +writings after his decease was such, that his countrymen ordained an +equal reward to those poets, who could alter his plays to be acted on +the theatre, with those whose productions were wholly new, and of +their own. The case is not the same in England; though the +difficulties of altering are greater, and our reverence for +Shakespeare much more just, than that of the Grecians for AEschylus. In +the age of that poet, the Greek tongue was arrived to its full +perfection; they had then amongst them an exact standard of writing +and of speaking: the English language is not capable of such a +certainty; and we are at present so far from it, that we are wanting +in the very foundation of it, a perfect grammar. Yet it must be +allowed to the present age, that the tongue in general is so much +refined since Shakespeare's time, that many of his words, and more of +his phrases, are scarce intelligible. And of those which we +understand, some are ungrammatical, others coarse; and his whole style +is so pestered with figurative expressions, that it is as affected as +it is obscure. It is true, that in his latter plays he had worn off +somewhat of the rust; but the tragedy, which I have undertaken to +correct, was in all probability one of his first endeavours on the +stage. + +The original story was written by one Lollius a Lombard, in Latin +verse, and translated by Chaucer into English; intended, I suppose, a +satire on the inconstancy of women: I find nothing of it among the +ancients; not so much as the name Cressida once mentioned. +Shakespeare, (as I hinted) in the apprenticeship of his writing, +modelled it into that play, which is now called by the name of +"Troilus and Cressida," but so lamely is it left to us, that it is not +divided into acts; which fault I ascribe to the actors who printed it +after Shakespeare's death; and that too so carelessly, that a more +uncorrected copy I never saw. For the play itself, the author seems to +have begun it with some fire; the characters of Pandarus and +Thersites, are promising enough; but as if he grew weary of his task, +after an entrance or two, he lets them fall: and the latter part of +the tragedy is nothing but a confusion of drums and trumpets, +excursions and alarms. The chief persons, who give name to the +tragedy, are left alive; Cressida is false, and is not punished. Yet, +after all, because the play was Shakespeare's, and that there appeared +in some places of it the admirable genius of the author, I undertook +to remove that heap of rubbish under which many excellent thoughts lay +wholly buried. Accordingly, I new modelled the plot, threw out many +unnecessary persons, improved those characters which were begun and +left unfinished, as Hector, Troilus, Pandarus, and Thersites, and +added that of Andromache. After this, I made, with no small trouble, +an order and connection of all the scenes; removing them from the +places where they were inartificially set; and, though it was +impossible to keep them all unbroken, because the scene must be +sometimes in the city and sometimes in the camp, yet I have so ordered +them, that there is a coherence of them with one another, and a +dependence on the main design; no leaping from Troy to the Grecian +tents, and thence back again, in the same act, but a due proportion of +time allowed for every motion. I need not say that I have refined his +language, which before was obsolete; but I am willing to acknowledge, +that as I have often drawn his English nearer to our times, so I have +sometimes conformed my own to his; and consequently, the language is +not altogether so pure as it is significant. The scenes of Pandarus +and Cressida, of Troilus and Pandarus, of Andromache with Hector and +the Trojans, in the second act, are wholly new; together with that of +Nestor and Ulysses with Thersites, and that of Thersites with Ajax and +Achilles. I will not weary my reader with the scenes which are added +of Pandarus and the lovers, in the third, and those of Thersites, +which are wholly altered; but I cannot omit the last scene in it, +which is almost half the act, betwixt Troilus and Hector. The occasion +of raising it was hinted to me by Mr Betterton; the contrivance and +working of it was my own. They who think to do me an injury, by +saying, that it is an imitation of the scene betwixt Brutus and +Cassius, do me an honour, by supposing I could imitate the +incomparable Shakespeare; but let me add, that if Shakespeare's scene, +or that faulty copy of it in "Amintor and Melantius," had never been, +yet Euripides had furnished me with an excellent example in his +"Iphigenia," between Agamemnon and Menelaus; and from thence, indeed, +the last turn of it is borrowed. The occasion which Shakespeare, +Euripides, and Fletcher, have all taken, is the same,--grounded upon +friendship; and the quarrel of two virtuous men, raised by natural +degrees to the extremity of passion, is conducted in all three, to the +declination of the same passion, and concludes with a warm renewing of +their friendship. But the particular ground-work which Shakespeare has +taken, is incomparably the best; because he has not only chosen two of +the greatest heroes of their age, but has likewise interested the +liberty of Rome, and their own honours, who were the redeemers of it, +in this debate. And if he has made Brutus, who was naturally a patient +man, to fly into excess at first, let it be remembered in his defence, +that, just before, he has received the news of Portia's death; whom +the poet, on purpose neglecting a little chronology, supposes to have +died before Brutus, only to give him an occasion of being more easily +exasperated. Add to this, that the injury he had received from +Cassius, had long been brooding in his mind; and that a melancholy +man, upon consideration of an affront, especially from a friend, would +be more eager in his passion, than he who had given it, though +naturally more choleric. Euripides, whom I have followed, has raised +the quarrel betwixt two brothers, who were friends. The foundation of +the scene was this: The Grecians were wind-bound at the port of Aulis, +and the oracle had said, that they could not sail, unless Agamemnon +delivered up his daughter to be sacrificed: he refuses; his brother +Menelaus urges the public safety; the father defends himself by +arguments of natural affection, and hereupon they quarrel. Agamemnon +is at last convinced, and promises to deliver up Iphigenia, but so +passionately laments his loss, that Menelaus is grieved to have been +the occasion of it, and, by a return of kindness, offers to intercede +for him with the Grecians, that his daughter might not be sacrificed. +But my friend Mr Rymer has so largely, and with so much judgment, +described this scene, in comparing it with that of Melantius and +Amintor, that it is superfluous to say more of it; I only named the +heads of it, that any reasonable man might judge it was from thence I +modelled my scene betwixt Troilus and Hector. I will conclude my +reflections on it, with a passage of Longinus, concerning Plato's +imitation of Homer: "We ought not to regard a good imitation as a +theft, but as a beautiful idea of him who undertakes to imitate, by +forming himself on the invention and the work of another man; for he +enters into the lists like a new wrestler, to dispute the prize with +the former champion. This sort of emulation, says Hesiod, is +honourable, [Greek: Agathe d' eris esti Brotoisin]--when we combat for +victory with a hero, and are not without glory even in our overthrow. +Those great men, whom we propose to ourselves as patterns of our +imitation, serve us as a torch, which is lifted up before us, to +enlighten our passage, and often elevate our thoughts as high as the +conception we have of our author's genius." + +I have been so tedious in three acts, that I shall contract myself in +the two last. The beginning scenes of the fourth act are either added +or changed wholly by me; the middle of it is Shakespeare altered, and +mingled with my own; three or four of the last scenes are altogether +new. And the whole fifth act, both the plot and the writing, are my +own additions. + +But having written so much for imitation of what is excellent, in that +part of the preface which related only to myself, methinks it would +neither be unprofitable nor unpleasant to inquire how far we ought to +imitate our own poets, Shakespeare and Fletcher, in their tragedies; +and this will occasion another inquiry, how those two writers differ +between themselves: but since neither of these questions can be +solved, unless some measures be first taken, by which we may be +enabled to judge truly of their writings, I shall endeavour, as +briefly as I can, to discover the grounds and reason of all criticism, +applying them in this place only to Tragedy. Aristotle with his +interpreters, and Horace, and Longinus, are the authors to whom I owe +my lights; and what part soever of my own plays, or of this, which no +mending could make regular, shall fall under the condemnation of such +judges, it would be impudence in me to defend. I think it no shame to +retract my errors, and am well pleased to suffer in the cause, if the +art may be improved at my expence: I therefore proceed to + + THE GROUNDS OF CRITICISM IN TRAGEDY. + +Tragedy is thus defined by Aristotle (omitting what I thought +unnecessary in his definition). It is an imitation of one entire, +great, and probable action; not told, but represented; which, by +moving in us fear and pity, is conducive to the purging of those two +passions in our minds. More largely thus: Tragedy describes or paints +an action, which action must have all the properties above named. +First, it must be one or single; that is, it must not be a history of +one man's life, suppose of Alexander the Great, or Julius Caesar, but +one single action of theirs. This condemns all Shakespeare's +historical plays, which are rather chronicles represented, than +tragedies; and all double action of plays. As, to avoid a satire upon +others, I will make bold with my own "Marriage A-la-mode," where there +are manifestly two actions, not depending on one another; but in +"OEdipus" there cannot properly be said to be two actions, because the +love of Adrastus and Eurydice has a necessary dependence on the +principal design into which it is woven. The natural reason of this +rule is plain; for two different independent actions distract the +attention and concernment of the audience, and consequently destroy +the intention of the poet; if his business be to move terror and pity, +and one of his actions he comical, the other tragical, the former will +divert the people, and utterly make void his greater purpose. +Therefore, as in perspective, so in tragedy, there must be a point of +sight in which all the lines terminate; otherwise the eye wanders, and +the work is false. This was the practice of the Grecian stage. But +Terence made an innovation in the Roman: all his plays have double +actions; for it was his custom to translate two Greek comedies, and to +weave them into one of his, yet so, that both their actions were +comical, and one was principal, the other but secondary or +subservient. And this has obtained on the English stage, to give us +the pleasure of variety. + +As the action ought to be one, it ought, as such, to have order in it; +that is, to have a natural beginning, a middle, and an end. A natural +beginning, says Aristotle, is that which could not necessarily have +been placed after another thing; and so of the rest. This +consideration will arraign all plays after the new model of Spanish +plots, where accident is heaped upon accident, and that which is first +might as reasonably be last; an inconvenience not to be remedied, but +by making one accident naturally produce another, otherwise it is a +farce and not a play. Of this nature is the "Slighted Maid;" where +there is no scene in the first act, which might not by as good reason +be in the fifth. And if the action ought to be one, the tragedy ought +likewise to conclude with the action of it. Thus in "Mustapha," the +play should naturally have ended with the death of Zanger, and not +have given us the grace-cup after dinner, of Solyman's divorce from +Roxolana. + +The following properties of the action are so easy, that they need not +my explaining. It ought to be great, and to consist of great persons, +to distinguish it from comedy, where the action is trivial, and the +persons of inferior rank. The last quality of the action is, that it +ought to be probable, as well as admirable and great. It is not +necessary that there should be historical truth in it; but always +necessary that there should be a likeness of truth, something that is +more than barely possible; _probable_ being that which succeeds, or +happens, oftener than it misses. To invent therefore a probability and +to make it wonderful, is the most difficult undertaking in the art of +poetry; for that, which is not wonderful, is not great; and that, +which is not probable, will not delight a reasonable audience. This +action, thus described, must be represented and not told, to +distinguish dramatic poetry from epic: but I hasten to the end or +scope of tragedy, which is, to rectify or purge our passions, fear and +pity. + +To instruct delightfully is the general end of all poetry. Philosophy +instructs, but it performs its work by precept; which is not +delightful, or not so delightful as example. To purge the passions by +example, is therefore the particular instruction which belongs to +tragedy. Rapin, a judicious critic, has observed from Aristotle, that +pride and want of commiseration are the most predominant vices in +mankind; therefore, to cure us of these two, the inventors of tragedy +have chosen to work upon two other passions, which are, fear and pity. +We are wrought to fear, by their setting before our eyes some terrible +example of misfortune, which happened to persons of the highest +quality; for such an action demonstrates to us, that no condition is +privileged from the turns of fortune; this must of necessity cause +terror in us, and consequently abate our pride. But when we see that +the most virtuous, as well as the greatest, are not exempt from such +misfortunes, that consideration moves pity in us, and insensibly works +us to be helpful to, and tender over, the distressed; which is the +noblest and most godlike of moral virtues, Here it is observable, that +it is absolutely necessary to make a man virtuous, if we desire he +should be pitied: we lament not, but detest, a wicked man; we are glad +when we behold his crimes are punished, and that poetical justice is +done upon him. Euripides was censured by the critics of his time, for +making his chief characters too wicked; for example, Phaedra, though +she loved her son-in-law with reluctancy, and that it was a curse upon +her family for offending Venus, yet was thought too ill a pattern for +the stage. Shall we therefore banish all characters of villainy? I +confess I am not of that opinion; but it is necessary that the hero of +the play be not a villain; that is, the characters, which should move +our pity, ought to have virtuous inclinations, and degrees of moral +goodness in them. As for a perfect character of virtue, it never was +in nature, and therefore there can be no imitation of it; but there +are allays of frailty to be allowed for the chief persons, yet so that +the good which is in them shall outweigh the bad, and consequently +leave room for punishment on the one side, and pity on the other. + +After all, if any one will ask me, whether a tragedy cannot be made +upon any other grounds than those of exciting pity and terror in +us;--Bossu, the best of modern critics, answers thus in general: That +all excellent arts, and particularly that of poetry, have been +invented and brought to perfection by men of a transcendent genius; +and that, therefore, they, who practise afterwards the same arts, are +obliged to tread in their footsteps, and to search in their writings +the foundation of them; for it is not just that new rules should +destroy the authority of the old. But Rapin writes more particularly +thus, that no passions in a story are so proper to move our +concernment, as fear and pity; and that it is from our concernment we +receive our pleasure, is undoubted. When the soul becomes agitated +with fear for one character, or hope for another; then it is that we +are pleased in tragedy, by the interest which we take in their +adventures. + +Here, therefore, the general answer may be given to the first +question, how far we ought to imitate Shakespeare and Fletcher in +their plots; namely, that we ought to follow them so far only, as they +have copied the excellencies of those who invented and brought to +perfection dramatic poetry; those things only excepted, which +religion, custom of countries, idioms of languages, &c. have altered +in the superstructures, but not in the foundation of the design. + +How defective Shakespeare and Fletcher have been in all their plots, +Mr Rymer has discovered in his criticisms. Neither can we, who follow +them, be excused from the same, or greater errors; which are the more +unpardonable in us, because we want their beauties to countervail our +faults. The best of their designs, the most approaching to antiquity, +and the most conducing to move pity, is the "King and no King;" which, +if the farce of Bessus were thrown away, is of that inferior sort of +tragedies, which end with a prosperous event. It is probably derived +from the story of OEdipus, with the character of Alexander the Great, +in his extravagances, given to Arbaces. The taking of this play, +amongst many others, I cannot wholly ascribe to the excellency of the +action; for I find it moving when it is read. It is true, the faults +of the plot are so evidently proved, that they can no longer be +denied. The beauties of it must therefore lie either in the lively +touches of the passion; or we must conclude, as I think we may, that +even in imperfect plots there are less degrees of nature, by which +some faint emotions of pity and terror are raised in us; as a less +engine will raise a less proportion of weight, though not so much as +one of Archimedes's making; for nothing can move our nature, but by +some natural reason, which works upon passions. And, since we +acknowledge the effect, there must be something in the cause. + +The difference between Shakespeare and Fletcher, in their plottings, +seems to be this; that Shakespeare generally moves more terror, and +Fletcher more compassion: for the first had a more masculine, a +bolder, and more fiery genius; the second, a more soft and womanish. +In the mechanic beauties of the plot, which are the observation of the +three unities, time, place, and action, they are both deficient; but +Shakespeare most. Ben Jonson reformed those errors in his comedies, +yet one of Shakespeare's was regular before him; which is, "The Merry +Wives of Windsor." For what remains concerning the design, you are to +be referred to our English critic. That method which he has prescribed +to raise it, from mistake, or ignorance of the crime, is certainly the +best, though it is not the only; for amongst all the tragedies of +Sophocles, there is but one, OEdipus, which is wholly built after that +model. + +After the plot, which is the foundation of the play, the next thing to +which we ought to apply our judgment, is the manners; for now the poet +comes to work above ground. The ground-work, indeed, is that which is +most necessary, as that upon which depends the firmness of the whole +fabric; yet it strikes not the eye so much, as the beauties or +imperfections of the manners, the thoughts, and the expressions. + +The first rule which Bossu prescribes to the writer of an heroic poem, +and which holds too by the same reason in all dramatic poetry, is to +make the moral of the work; that is, to lay down to yourself what that +precept of morality shall be, which you would insinuate into the +people; as, namely, Homer's (which I have copied in my "Conquest of +Granada,") was, that union preserves a commonwealth and discord +destroys it. Sophocles, in his OEdipus, that no man is to be accounted +happy before his death. It is the moral that directs the whole action +of the play to one centre; and that action or fable is the example +built upon the moral, which confirms the truth of it to our +experience. When the fable is designed, then, and not before, the +persons are to be introduced, with their manners, characters, and +passions. + +The manners, in a poem, are understood to be those inclinations, +whether natural or acquired, which move and carry us to actions, good, +bad, or indifferent, in a play; or which incline the persons to such +or such actions. I have anticipated part of this discourse already, in +declaring that a poet ought not to make the manners perfectly good in +his best persons; but neither are they to be more wicked in any of his +characters, than necessity requires. To produce a villain, without +other reason than a natural inclination to villainy, is, in poetry, to +produce an effect without a cause; and to make him more a villain than +he has just reason to be, is to make an effect which is stronger than +the cause. + +The manners arise from many causes; and are either distinguished by +complexion, as choleric and phlegmatic, or by the differences of age +or sex, of climates, or quality of the persons, or their present +condition. They are likewise to be gathered from the several virtues, +vices, or passions, and many other common-places, which a poet must be +supposed to have learned from natural philosophy, ethics, and history; +of all which, whosoever is ignorant, does not deserve the name of +poet. + +But as the manners are useful in this art, they may be all comprised +under these general heads: First, they must be apparent; that is, in +every character of the play, some inclinations of the person must +appear; and these are shown in the actions and discourse. Secondly, +the manners must be suitable, or agreeing to the persons; that is, to +the age, sex, dignity, and the other general heads of manners: thus, +when a poet has given the dignity of a king to one of his persons, in +all his actions and speeches, that person must discover majesty, +magnanimity, and jealousy of power, because these are suitable to the +general manners of a king[1]. The third property of manners is +resemblance; and this is founded upon the particular characters of +men, as we have them delivered to us by relation or history; that is, +when a poet has the known character of this or that man before him, he +is bound to represent him such, at least not contrary to that which +fame has reported him to have been. Thus, it is not a poet's choice to +make Ulysses choleric, or Achilles patient, because Homer has +described them quite otherwise. Yet this is a rock, on which ignorant +writers daily split; and the absurdity is as monstrous, as if a +painter should draw a coward running from a battle, and tell us it was +the picture of Alexander the Great. + +The last property of manners is, that they be constant and equal, that +is, maintained the same through the whole design: thus, when Virgil +had once given the name of _pious_ to AEneas, he was bound to show him +such, in all his words and actions through the whole poem. All these +properties Horace has hinted to a judicious observer.--1. _Notandi +sunt tibi mores;_ 2. _Aut famam sequere,_ 3. _aut sibi concenientia +finge;_ 4. _Sercetur ad imum, qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi +constet._ + +From the manners, the characters of persons are derived; for, indeed, +the characters are no other than the inclinations, as they appear in +the several persons of the poem; a character being thus defined,--that +which distinguishes one man from another. Not to repeat the same +things over again, which have been said of the manners, I will only +add what is necessary here. A character, or that which distinguishes +one man from all others, cannot be supposed to consist of one +particular virtue, or vice, or passion only; but it is a composition +of qualities which are not contrary to one another in the same person. +Thus, the same man may be liberal and valiant, but not liberal and +covetous; so in a comical character, or humour, (which is an +inclination to this or that particular folly) Falstaff is a liar, and +a coward, a glutton, and a buffoon, because all these qualities may +agree in the same man; yet it is still to be observed, that one +virtue, vice, and passion, ought to be shown in every man, as +predominant over all the rest; as covetousness in Crassus, love of his +country in Brutus; and the same in characters which are feigned. + +The chief character or hero in a tragedy, as I have already shown, +ought in prudence to be such a man, who has so much more of virtue in +him than of vice, that he may be left amiable to the audience, which +otherwise cannot have any concernment for his sufferings; and it is on +this one character, that the pity and terror must be principally, if +not wholly, founded: a rule which is extremely necessary, and which +none of the critics, that I know, have fully enough discovered to us. +For terror and compassion work but weakly when they are divided into +many persons. If Creon had been the chief character in "OEdipus," +there had neither been terror nor compassion moved; but only +detestation of the man, and joy for his punishment; if Adrastus and +Eurydice had been made more appearing characters, then the pity had +been divided, and lessened on the part of OEdipus. But making OEdipus +the best and bravest person, and even Jocasta but an underpart to him, +his virtues, and the punishment of his fatal crime, drew both the +pity, and the terror to himself. + +By what has been said of the manners, it will be easy for a reasonable +man to judge, whether the characters be truly or falsely drawn in a +tragedy; for if there be no manners appearing in the characters, no +concernment for the persons can be raised; no pity or horror can be +moved, but by vice or virtue; therefore, without them, no person can +have any business in the play. If the inclinations be obscure, it is a +sign the poet is in the dark, and knows not what manner of man he +presents to you; and consequently you can have no idea, or very +imperfect, of that man; nor can judge what resolutions he ought to +take; or what words or actions are proper for him. Most comedies, made +up of accidents or adventures, are liable to fall into this error; and +tragedies with many turns are subject to it; for the manners can never +be evident, where the surprises of fortune take up all the business of +the stage; and where the poet is more in pain, to tell you what +happened to such a man, than what he was. It is one of the +excellencies of Shakespeare, that the manners of his persons are +generally apparent; and you see their bent and inclinations. Fletcher +comes far short of him in this, as indeed he does almost in every +thing. There are but glimmerings of manners in most of his comedies, +which run upon adventures; and in his tragedies, Rollo, Otto, the King +and no King, Melantius, and many others of his best, are but pictures +shown you in the twilight; you know not whether they resemble vice or +virtue, and they are either good, bad, or indifferent, as the present +scene requires it. But of all poets, this commendation is to be given +to Ben Jonson, that the manners even of the most inconsiderable +persons in his plays, are every where apparent. + +By considering the second quality of manners, which is, that they be +suitable to the age, quality, country, dignity, &c. of the character, +we may likewise judge whether a poet has followed nature. In this +kind, Sophocles and Euripides have more excelled among the Greeks than +AEschylus; and Terence more than Plautus, among the Romans. Thus, +Sophocles gives to OEdipus the true qualities of a king, in both those +plays which bear his name; but in the latter, which is the "OEdipus +Coloneus," he lets fall on purpose his tragic style; his hero speaks +not in the arbitrary tone; but remembers, in the softness of his +complaints, that he is an unfortunate blind old man; that he is +banished from his country, and persecuted by his next relations. The +present French poets are generally accused, that wheresoever they lay +the scene, or in whatsoever age, the manners of their heroes are +wholly French. Racine's Bajazet is bred at Constantinople; but his +civilities are conveyed to him, by some secret passage, from +Versailles into the seraglio. But our Shakespeare, having ascribed to +Henry the Fourth the character of a king and of a father, gives him +the perfect manners of each relation, when either he transacts with +his son or with his subjects. Fletcher, on the other side, gives +neither to Arbaces, nor to his king, in "The Maid's Tragedy," the +qualities which are suitable to a monarch; though he may be excused a +little in the latter, for the king there is not uppermost in the +character; it is the lover of Evadne, who is king only in a second +consideration; and though he be unjust, and has other faults which +shall be nameless, yet he is not the hero of the play. It is true, we +find him a lawful prince, (though I never heard of any king that was +in Rhodes) and therefore Mr Rymer's criticism stands good,--that he +should not be shown in so vicious a character. Sophocles has been more +judicious in his "Antigona;" for, though he represents in Creon a +bloody prince, yet he makes him not a lawful king, but an usurper, and +Antigona herself is the heroine of the tragedy: but when Philaster +wounds Arethusa and the boy; and Perigot his mistress, in the +"Faithful Shepherdess," both these are contrary to the character of +manhood. Nor is Valentinian managed much better; for, though Fletcher +has taken his picture truly, and shown him as he was, an effeminate, +voluptuous man, yet he has forgotten that he was an emperor, and has +given him none of those royal marks, which ought to appear in a lawful +successor of the throne. If it be enquired, what Fletcher should have +done on this occasion; ought he not to have represented Valentinian as +he was;--Bossu shall answer this question for me, by an instance of +the like nature: Mauritius, the Greek emperor, was a prince far +surpassing Valentinian, for he was endued with many kingly virtues; he +was religious, merciful, and valiant, but withal he was noted of +extreme covetousness, a vice which is contrary to the character of a +hero, or a prince: therefore, says the critic, that emperor was no fit +person to be represented in a tragedy, unless his good qualities were +only to be shown, and his covetousness (which sullied them all) were +slurred over by the artifice of the poet. To return once more to +Shakespeare; no man ever drew so many characters, or generally +distinguished them better from one another, excepting only Jonson. I +will instance but in one, to show the copiousness of his invention; it +is that of Caliban, or the monster, in "The Tempest." He seems there +to have created a person which was not in nature, a boldness which, at +first sight, would appear intolerable; for he makes him a species of +himself, begotten by an incubus on a witch; but this, as I have +elsewhere proved, is not wholly beyond the bounds of credibility, at +least the vulgar still believe it. We have the separated notions of a +spirit, and of a witch; (and spirits, according to Plato, are vested +with a subtle body; according to some of his followers, have different +sexes;) therefore, as from the distinct apprehensions of a horse, and +of a man, imagination has formed a centaur; so, from those of an +incubus and a sorceress, Shakespeare has produced his monster. Whether +or no his generation can be defended, I leave to philosophy; but of +this I am certain, that the poet has most judiciously furnished him +with a person, a language, and a character, which will suit him, both +by father's and mother's side: he has all the discontents, and malice +of a witch, and of a devil, besides a convenient proportion of the +deadly sins; gluttony, sloth, and lust, are manifest; the dejectedness +of a slave is likewise given him, and the ignorance of one bred up in +a desert island. His person is monstrous, and he is the product of +unnatural lust; and his language is as hobgoblin as his person; in all +things he is distinguished from other mortals. The characters of +Fletcher are poor and narrow, in comparison of Shakspeare's; I +remember not one which is not borrowed from him; unless you will +except that strange mixture of a man in the "King and no King;" so +that in this part Shakespeare is generally worth our imitation; and to +imitate Fletcher is but to copy after him who was a copyer. + +Under this general head of manners, the passions are naturally +included, as belonging to the characters. I speak not of pity and of +terror, which are to be moved in the audience by the plot; but of +anger, hatred, love, ambition, jealousy, revenge, &c. as they are +shown in this or that person of the play. To describe these naturally, +and to move them artfully, is one of the greatest commendations which +can be given to a poet: to write pathetically, says Longinus, cannot +proceed but from a lofty genius. A poet must be born with this +quality: yet, unless he help himself by an acquired knowledge of the +passions, what they are in their own nature, and by what springs they +are to be moved, he will be subject either to raise them where they +ought not to be raised, or not to raise them by the just degrees of +nature, or to amplify them beyond the natural bounds, or not to +observe the crisis and turns of them, in their cooling and decay; all +which errors proceed from want of judgment in the poet, and from being +unskilled in the principles of moral philosophy. Nothing is more +frequent in a fanciful writer, than to foil himself by not managing +his strength; therefore, as, in a wrestler, there is first required +some measure of force, a well-knit body and active limbs, without +which all instruction would be vain; yet, these being granted, if he +want the skill which is necessary to a wrestler, he shall make but +small advantage of his natural robustuousness: so, in a poet, his +inborn vehemence and force of spirit will only run him out of breath +the sooner, if it be not supported by the help of art. The roar of +passion, indeed, may please an audience, three parts of which are +ignorant enough to think all is moving which is noisy, and it may +stretch the lungs of an ambitious actor, who will die upon the spot +for a thundering clap; but it will move no other passion than +indignation and contempt from judicious men. Longinus, whom I have +hitherto followed, continues thus:--If the passions be artfully +employed, the discourse becomes vehement and lofty: if otherwise, +there is nothing more ridiculous than a great passion out of season: +and to this purpose he animadverts severely upon AEschylus, who writ +nothing in cold blood, but was always in a rapture, and in fury with +his audience: the inspiration was still upon him, he was ever tearing +it upon the tripos; or (to run off as madly as he does, from one +similitude to another) he was always at high-flood of passion, even in +the dead ebb, and lowest water-mark of the scene. He who would raise +the passion of a judicious audience, says a learned critic, must be +sure to take his hearers along with him; if they be in a calm, 'tis in +vain for him to be in a huff: he must move them by degrees, and kindle +with them; otherwise he will be in danger of setting his own heap of +stubble on fire, and of burning out by himself, without warming the +company that stand about him. They who would justify the madness of +poetry from the authority of Aristotle, have mistaken the text, and +consequently the interpretation: I imagine it to be false read, where +he says of poetry, that it is [Greek: Euphuous e manikou], that it had +always somewhat in it either of a genius, or of a madman. 'Tis more +probable that the original ran thus, that poetry was [Greek: Euphuous +ou manikou], That it belongs to a witty man, but not to a madman. Thus +then the passions, as they are considered simply and in themselves, +suffer violence when they are perpetually maintained at the same +height; for what melody can be made on that instrument, all whose +strings are screwed up at first to their utmost stretch, and to the +same sound? But this is not the worst: for the characters likewise +bear a part in the general calamity, if you consider the passions as +embodied in them; for it follows of necessity, that no man can be +distinguished from another by his discourse, when every man is +ranting, swaggering, and exclaiming with the same excess: as if it +were the only business of all the characters to contend with each +other for the prize at Billingsgate; or that the scene of the tragedy +lay in Bethlem. Suppose the poet should intend this man to be +choleric, and that man to be patient; yet when they are confounded in +the writing, you cannot distinguish them from one another: for the man +who was called patient and tame, is only so before he speaks; but let +his clack be set a-going, and he shall tongue it as impetuously and as +loudly, as the arrantest hero in the play. By this means, the +characters are only distinct in name; but, in reality, all the men and +women in the play are the same person. No man should pretend to write, +who cannot temper his fancy with his judgment: nothing is more +dangerous to a raw horseman, than a hot-mouthed jade without a curb. + +It is necessary therefore for a poet, who would concern an audience by +describing of a passion, first to prepare it, and not to rush upon it +all at once. Ovid has judiciously shown the difference of these two +ways, in the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses: Ajax, from the very +beginning, breaks out into his exclamations, and is swearing by his +Maker,--_Agimus, proh Jupiter, inquit._ Ulysses, on the contrary, +prepares his audience with all the submissiveness he can practise, and +all the calmness of a reasonable man; he found his judges in a +tranquillity of spirit, and therefore set out leisurely and softly +with them, till he had warmed them by degrees; and then he began to +mend his pace, and to draw them along with his own impetuousness: yet +so managing his breath, that it might not fail him at his need, and +reserving his utmost proofs of ability even to the last. The success, +you see, was answerable; for the crowd only applauded the speech of +Ajax;-- + + _Vulgique secutum ultima murmur erat:--_ + +But the judges awarded the prize, for which they contended, to +Ulysses; + + _Mota manus procerum est; et quid facundia posset + Tum patuit, fortisque viri tulit arma disertus._ + +The next necessary rule is, to put nothing into the discourse, which +may hinder your moving of the passions. Too many accidents, as I have +said, incumber the poet, as much as the arms of Saul did David; for +the variety of passions, which they produce, are ever crossing and +justling each other out of the way. He, who treats of joy and grief +together, is in a fair way of causing neither of those effects. There +is yet another obstacle to be removed, which is,--pointed wit, and +sentences affected out of season; these are nothing of kin to the +violence of passion: no man is at leisure to make sentences and +similes, when his soul is in an agony. I the rather name this fault, +that it may serve to mind me of my former errors; neither will I spare +myself, but give an example of this kind from my "Indian Emperor." +Montezuma, pursued by his enemies, and seeking sanctuary, stands +parleying without the fort, and describing his danger to Cydaria, in a +simile of six lines; + + As on the sands the frighted traveller + Sees the high seas come rolling from afar, &c. + +My Indian potentate was well skilled in the sea for an inland prince, +and well improved since the first act, when he sent his son to +discover it. The image had not been amiss from another man, at another +time: _Sed nunc non erat his locus:_ he destroyed the concernment +which the audience might otherwise have had for him; for they could +not think the danger near, when he had the leisure to invent a simile. + +If Shakespeare be allowed, as I think he must, to have made his +characters distinct, it will easily be inferred, that he understood +the nature of the passions: because it has been proved already, that +confused passions make distinguishable characters: yet I cannot deny +that he has his failings; but they are not so much in the passions +themselves, as in his manner of expression: he often obscures his +meaning by his words, and sometimes makes it unintelligible. I will +not say of so great a poet, that he distinguished not the blown puffy +stile, from true sublimity; but I may venture to maintain, that the +fury of his fancy often transported him beyond the bounds of judgment, +either in coining of new words and phrases, or racking words which +were in use, into the violence of a catachresis. It is not that I +would explode the use of metaphors from passion, for Longinus thinks +them necessary to raise it: but to use them at every word, to say +nothing without a metaphor, a simile, an image, or description; is, I +doubt, to smell a little too strongly of the buskin. I must be forced +to give an example of expressing passion figuratively; but that I may +do it with respect to Shakespeare, it shall not be taken from any +thing of his: it is an exclamation against Fortune, quoted in his +Hamlet, but written by some other poet: + + Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! all you gods, + In general synod, take away her power; + Break all the spokes and felleys from her wheel, + And bowl the round nave down the hill of heav'n, + As low as to the fiends. + +And immediately after, speaking of Hecuba, when Priam was killed +before her eyes: + + But who, ah woe! had seen the mobled queen + Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flame + With bisson rheum; a clout about that head, + Where late the diadem stood; and, for a rob + About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, + A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up. + Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd + 'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd; + But if the gods themselves did see her then, + When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport + In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, + The instant burst of clamour that she made + (Unless things mortal move them not at all) + Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven, + And passion in the gods. + +What a pudder is here kept in raising the expression of trifling +thoughts! would not a man have thought that the poet had been bound +prentice to a wheel-wright, for his first rant? and had followed a +rag-man, for the clout and blanket, in the second? Fortune is painted +on a wheel, and therefore the writer, in a rage, will have poetical +justice done upon every member of that engine: after this execution, +he bowls the nave down-hill, from heaven, to the fiends: (an +unreasonable long mark, a man would think;) 'tis well there are no +solid orbs to stop it in the way, or no element of fire to consume it: +but when it came to the earth, it must be monstrous heavy, to break +ground as low as the center. His making milch the burning eyes of +heaven, was a pretty tolerable flight too: and I think no man ever +drew milk out of eyes before him: yet, to make the wonder greater, +these eyes were burning. Such a sight indeed were enough to have +raised passion in the gods; but to excuse the effects of it, he tells +you, perhaps they did not see it. Wise men would be glad to find a +little sense couched under all these pompous words; for bombast is +commonly the delight of that audience, which loves poetry, but +understands it not: and as commonly has been the practice of those +writers, who, not being able to infuse a natural passion into the +mind, have made it their business to ply the ears, and to stun their +judges by the noise. But Shakespeare does not often thus; for the +passions in his scene between Brutus and Cassius are extremely +natural, the thoughts are such as arise from the matter, the +expression of them not viciously figurative. I cannot leave this +subject, before I do justice to that divine poet, by giving you one of +his passionate descriptions: 'tis of Richard the Second when he was +deposed, and led in triumph through the streets of London by Henry of +Bolingbroke: the painting of it is so lively, and the words so moving +that I have scarce read any thing comparable to it, in any other +language. Suppose you have seen already the fortunate usurper passing +through the crowd, and followed by the shouts and acclamations of the +people; and now behold King Richard entering upon the scene: consider +the wretchedness of his condition, and his carriage in it; and refrain +from pity, if you can: + + As in a theatre, the eyes of men, + After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, + Are idly bent on him that enters next, + Thinking his prattle to be tedious: + Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes + Did scowl on Richard: no man cry'd, God save him: + No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home, + But dust was thrown upon his sacred head, + Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, + His face still combating with tears and smiles, + (The badges of his grief and patience) + That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd + The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, + And barbarism itself have pitied him. + +To speak justly of this whole matter: it is neither height of thought +that is discommended, nor pathetic vehemence, nor any nobleness of +expression in its proper place; but it is a false measure of all +these, something which is like them, and is not them: it is the +Bristol-stone, which appears like a diamond; it is an extravagant +thought, instead of a sublime one; it is roaring madness, instead of +vehemence; and a sound of words, instead of sense. If Shakespeare were +stripped of all the bombasts in his passions, and dressed in the most +vulgar words, we should find the beauties of his thoughts remaining; +if his embroideries were burnt down, there would still be silver at +the bottom of the melting-pot: but I fear (at least let me fear it for +myself) that we, who ape his sounding words, have nothing of his +thought, but are all outside; there is not so much as a dwarf within +our giant's clothes. Therefore, let not Shakespeare suffer for our +sakes; it is our fault, who succeed him in an age which is more +refined, if we imitate him so ill, that we copy his failings only, and +make a virtue of that in our writings, which in his was an +imperfection. + +For what remains, the excellency of that poet was, as I have said, in +the more manly passions; Fletcher's in the softer: Shakespeare writ +better betwixt man and man; Fletcher, betwixt man and woman: +consequently, the one described friendship better; the other love: yet +Shakespeare taught Fletcher to write love: and Juliet and Desdemona +are originals. It is true, the scholar had the softer soul; but the +master had the kinder. Friendship is both a virtue and a passion +essentially; love is a passion only in its nature, and is not a virtue +but by accident: good nature makes friendship; but effeminacy love. +Shakespeare had an universal mind, which comprehended all characters +and passions; Fletcher a more confined and limited: for though he +treated love in perfection, yet honour, ambition, revenge, and +generally all the stronger, passions, he either touched not, or not +masterly. To conclude all, he was a limb of Shakespeare. + +I had intended to have proceeded to the last property of manners, +which is, that they must be constant, and the characters maintained +the same from the beginning to the end; and from thence to have +proceeded to the thoughts and expressions suitable to a tragedy: but I +will first see how this will relish with the age. It is, I confess, +but cursorily written; yet the judgment, which is given here, is +generally founded upon experience: but because many men are shocked at +the name of rules, as if they were a kind of magisterial prescription +upon poets, I will conclude with the words of Rapin, in his +Reflections on Aristotle's Work of Poetry: "If the rules be well +considered, we shall find them to be made only to reduce nature into +method, to trace her step by step, and not to suffer the least mark of +her to escape us: it is only by these, that probability in fiction is +maintained, which is the soul of poetry. They are founded upon good +sense, and sound reason, rather than on authority; for though +Aristotle and Horace are produced, yet no man must argue, that what +they write is true, because they writ it; but 'tis evident, by the +ridiculous mistakes and gross absurdities, which have been made by +those poets who have taken their fancy only for their guide, that if +this fancy be not regulated, it is a mere caprice, and utterly +incapable to produce a reasonable and judicious poem." + + +Footnote: +1. The _dictum_ of Rymer, concerning the royal prerogative in poetry, + is thus expressed: "We are to presume the highest virtues, where we + find the highest of rewards; and though it is not necessary that + all heroes should be kings, yet, undoubtedly, all crowned heads, by + poetical right, are heroes. This character is a flower; a + prerogative so certain, so inseparably annexed to the crown, as by + no parliament of poets ever to be invaded." _The Tragedies of the + last Age considered,_ p. 61. Dryden has elsewhere given his assent + to this maxim, that a king, in poetry, as in our constitution, can + do no wrong. The only apology for introducing a tyrant upon the + stage, was to make him at the same time an usurper. + + + + + PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON, + REPRESENTING THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE. + + + See, my loved Britons, see your Shakespeare rise, + An awful ghost confessed to human eyes! + Unnamed, methinks, distinguished I had been + From other shades, by this eternal green, + About whose wreaths the vulgar poets strive, + And with a touch, their withered bays revive. + Untaught, unpractised, in a barbarous age, + I found not, but created first the stage. + And, if I drained no Greek or Latin store, + 'Twas, that my own abundance gave me more. + On foreign trade I needed not rely, + Like fruitful Britain, rich without supply. + In this my rough-drawn play, you shall behold + Some master-strokes, so manly and so bold, + That he who meant to alter, found 'em such, + He shook, and thought it sacrilege to touch. + Now, where are the successors to my name? + What bring they to fill out a poet's fame? + Weak, short-lived issues of a feeble age; + Scarce living to be christened on the stage! + For humour farce, for love they rhyme dispense, + That tolls the knell for their departed sense. + Dulness might thrive in any trade but this: + 'Twould recommend to some fat benefice. + Dulness, that in a playhouse meets disgrace, + Might meet with reverence, in its proper place. + The fulsome clench, that nauseates the town, + Would from a judge or alderman go down, + Such virtue is there in a robe and gown! + And that insipid stuff which here you hate, + Might somewhere else be called a grave debate; + Dulness is decent in the church and state. + But I forget that still 'tis understood, + Bad plays are best decried by showing good. + Sit silent then, that my pleased soul may see + A judging audience once, and worthy me; + My faithful scene from true records shall tell, + How Trojan valour did the Greek excell; + Your great forefathers shall their fame regain, + And Homer's angry ghost repine in vain[1]. + + +Footnote: +1. The conceit, which our ancestors had adopted, of their descent from + Brutus, a fugitive Trojan, induced their poets to load the Grecian + chiefs with every accusation of cowardice and treachery, and to + extol the character of the Trojans in the same proportion. Hector + is always represented as having been treacherously slain. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + HECTOR, } _Sons of_ PRIAM. + TROILUS, } + PRIAM, _King of Troy._ + AENEAS, _a Trojan Warrior._ + PANDARUS, _Uncle to_ CRESSIDA. + CALCHAS, _a Trojan Priest, and Father to_ CRESSIDA, _a fugitive to + the Grecian camp._ + AGAMEMNON, } + ULYSSES, } + ACHILLES, } + AJAX, } _Grecian Warriors, engaged in the_ + NESTOR, } _siege of Troy._ + DIOMEDES, } + PATROCLUS, } + MENELAUS, } + THERSITES, _a slanderous Buffoon._ + + CRESSIDA, _Daughter to_ CALCHAS. + ANDROMACHE, _Wife to_ HECTOR. + + + + + TROILUS AND CRESSIDA + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I.--_A Camp._ + + _Enter_ AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, _and_ NESTOR. + +_Agam._ Princes, it seems not strange to us, nor new, +That, after nine years siege, Troy makes defence, +Since every action of recorded fame +Has with long difficulties been involved, +Not answering that idea of the thought, +Which gave it birth; why then, you Grecian chiefs, +With sickly eyes do you behold our labours, +And think them our dishonour, which indeed +Are the protractive trials of the gods, +To prove heroic constancy in men? + +_Nest._ With due observance of thy sovereign seat, +Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply +Thy well-weighed words. In struggling with misfortunes +Lies the true proof of virtue: On smooth seas, +How many bauble-boats dare set their sails, +And make an equal way with firmer vessels! +But let the tempest once enrage that sea, +And then behold the strong-ribbed argosie, +Bounding between the ocean and the air, +Like Perseus mounted on his Pegasus. +Then where are those weak rivals of the main? +Or, to avoid the tempest, fled to port, +Or made a prey to Neptune. Even thus +Do empty show, and true-prized worth, divide +In storms of fortune. + +_Ulys._ Mighty Agamemnon! +Heart of our body, soul of our designs, +In whom the tempers, and the minds of all +Should be inclosed,--hear what Ulysses speaks. + +_Agam._ You have free leave. + +_Ulys._ Troy had been down ere this, and Hector's sword +Wanted a master, but for our disorders: +The observance due to rule has been neglected, +Observe how many Grecian tents stand void +Upon this plain, so many hollow factions: +For, when the general is not like the hive, +To whom the foragers should all repair, +What honey can our empty combs expect? +Or when supremacy of kings is shaken, +What can succeed? How could communities, +Or peaceful traffic from divided shores, +Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, +But by degree, stand on their solid base? +Then every thing resolves to brutal force, +And headlong force is led by hoodwinked will. +For wild ambition, like a ravenous wolf, +Spurred on by will, and seconded by power, +Must make an universal prey of all, +And last devour itself. + +_Nest._ Most prudently Ulysses has discovered +The malady, whereof our state is sick. + +_Diom._ 'Tis truth he speaks; the general's disdained +By him one step beneath, he by the next; +That next by him below: So each degree +Spurns upward at superior eminence. +Thus our distempers are their sole support; +Troy in our weakness lives, not in her strength. + +_Agam._ The nature of this sickness found, inform us +From whence it draws its birth? + +_Ulys._ The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns +The chief of all our host, +Having his ears buzzed with his noisy fame, +Disdains thy sovereign charge, and in his tent +Lies, mocking our designs; with him Patroclus, +Upon a lazy bed, breaks scurril jests, +And with ridiculous and aukward action, +Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, +Mimics the Grecian chiefs. + +_Agam._ As how, Ulysses? + +_Ulys._ Even thee, the king of men, he does not spare, +(The monkey author) but thy greatness pageants, +And makes of it rehearsals: like a player, +Bellowing his passion till he break the spring, +And his racked voice jar to his audience; +So represents he thee, though more unlike +Than Vulcan is to Venus. +And at this fulsome stuff,--the wit of apes,-- +The large Achilles, on his prest bed lolling, +From his deep chest roars out a loud applause, +Tickling his spleen, and laughing till he wheeze. + +_Nest._ Nor are you spared, Ulysses; but, as you speak in council, +He hems ere he begins, then strokes his beard, +Casts down his looks, and winks with half an eye; +Has every action, cadence, motion, tone, +All of you but the sense. + +_Agam._ Fortune was merry +When he was born, and played a trick on nature, +To make a mimic prince; he ne'er acts ill, +But when he would seem wise: +For all he says or does, from serious thought, +Appears so wretched, that he mocks his title, +And is his own buffoon. + +_Ulys._ In imitation of this scurril fool, +Ajax is grown self-willed as broad Achilles. +He keeps a table too, makes factious feasts, +Rails on our state of war, and sets Thersites +(A slanderous slave of an o'erflowing gall) +To level us with low comparisons. +They tax our policy with cowardice, +Count wisdom of no moment in the war, +In brief, esteem no act, but that of hand; +The still and thoughtful parts, which move those hands, +With them are but the tasks cut out by fear, +To be performed by valour. + +_Agam._ Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse +Is more of use than he; but you, grave pair, +Like Time and Wisdom marching hand in hand, +Must put a stop to these encroaching ills: +To you we leave the care; +You, who could show whence the distemper springs, +Must vindicate the dignity of kings. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II.--_Troy._ + + _Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ TROILUS. + +_Troil._ Why should I fight without the Trojan walls, +Who, without fighting, am o'erthrown within? +The Trojan who is master of a soul, +Let him to battle; Troilus has none. + +_Pand._ Will this never be at an end with you? + +_Troil._ The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, +Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness wary; +But I am weaker than a woman's tears, +Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, +And artless as unpractised infancy. + +_Pand_ Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part I'll not +meddle nor make any further in your love; he, that will eat of the +roastmeat, must stay for the kindling of the fire. + +_Troil._ Have I not staid? + +_Pand._ Ay, the kindling; but you must stay the spitting of the meat. + +_Troil._ Have I not staid? + +_Pand._ Ay, the spitting; but there's two words to a bargain; you must +stay the roasting too. + +_Troil._ Still have I staid; and still the farther off. + +_Pand._ That's but the roasting, but there's more in this word stay; +there's the taking off the spit, the making of the sauce, the dishing, +the setting on the table, and saying grace; nay, you must stay the +cooling too, or you may chance to burn your chaps. + +_Troil._ At Priam's table pensive do I sit, +And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts-- +(Can she be said to come, who ne'er was absent!) + +_Pand._ Well, she's a most ravishing creature; and she looked +yesterday most killingly; she had such a stroke with her eyes, she cut +to the quick with every glance of them. + +_Troil._ I was about to tell thee, when my heart +Was ready with a sigh to cleave in two, +Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, +I have, with mighty anguish of my soul, +Just at the birth, stifled this still-born sigh, +And forced my face into a painful smile. + +_Pand._ I measured her with my girdle yesterday; she's not half a yard +about the waist, but so taper a shape did I never see; but when I had +her in my arms, Lord, thought I,--and by my troth I could not forbear +sighing,--If prince Troilus had her at this advantage and I were +holding of the door!--An she were a thought taller,--but as she is, +she wants not an inch of Helen neither; but there's no more comparison +between the women--there was wit, there was a sweet tongue! How her +words melted in her mouth! Mercury would have been glad to have such a +tongue in his mouth, I warrant him. I would somebody had heard her +talk yesterday, as I did. + +_Troil._ Oh Pandarus, when I tell thee I am mad +In Cressid's love, thou answer'st she is fair; +Praisest her eyes, her stature, and her wit; +But praising thus, instead of oil and balm, +Thou lay'st, in every wound her love has given me, +The sword that made it. + +_Pand._ I give her but her due. + +_Troil._ Thou giv'st her not so much. + +_Pand._ Faith, I'll speak no more of her, let her be as she is; if she +be a beauty, 'tis the better for her; an' she be not, she has the +mends in her own hands, for Pandarus. + +_Troil._ In spite of me, thou wilt mistake my meaning. + +_Pand._ I have had but my labour for my pains; ill thought on of her, +and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, and am ground in +the mill-stones for my labour. + +_Troil._ What, art thou angry, Pandarus, with thy friend? + +_Pand._ Because she's my niece, therefore she's not so fair as Helen; +an' she were not my niece, show me such another piece of woman's +flesh: take her limb by limb: I say no more, but if Paris had seen her +first, Menelaus had been no cuckold: but what care I if she were a +blackamoor? what am I the better for her face? + +_Troil._ Said I she was not beautiful? + +_Pand._ I care not if you did; she's a fool to stay behind her father +Calchas: let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her. For my part, I +am resolute, I'll meddle no more in your affairs. + +_Troil._ But hear me! + +_Pand._ Not I. + +_Troil._ Dear Pandarus-- + +_Pand._ Pray speak no more on't; I'll not burn my fingers in another +body's business; I'll leave it as I found it, and there's an end. + [_Exit._ + +_Troil._ O gods, how do you torture me! +I cannot come to Cressida but by him, +And he's as peevish to be wooed to woo, +As she is to be won. + + _Enter_ AENEAS. + +_AEneas._ How now, prince Troilus; why not in the battle? + +_Troil._ Because not there. This woman's answer suits me, +For womanish it is to be from thence. +What news, AEneas, from the field to-day? + +_AEn._ Paris is hurt. + +_Troil._ By whom? + +_AEn._ By Menelaus. Hark what good sport [_Alarm within._ +Is out of town to-day! When I hear such music, +I cannot hold from dancing. + +_Troil._ I'll make one, +And try to lose an anxious thought or two +In heat of action. +Thus, coward-like, from love to war I run, +Seek the less dangers, and the greater shun. [_Exit_ TROIL. + + _Enter_ CRESSIDA. + +_Cres._ My lord AEneas, who were those went by? +I mean the ladies. + +_AEn._ Queen Hecuba and Helen. + +_Cres._ And whither go they? + +_AEn._ Up to the western tower, +Whose height commands, as subject, all the vale, +To see the battle. Hector, whose patience +Is fixed like that of heaven, to-day was moved; +He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer, +And, as there were good husbandry in war. +Before the sun was up he went to field; +Your pardon, lady, that's my business too. [_Exit_ AENEAS. + +_Cres._ Hector's a gallant warrior. + + _Enter_ PANDARUS. + +_Pand._ What's that, what's that? + +_Cres._ Good-morrow, uncle Pandarus. + +_Pand._ Good-morrow, cousin Cressida. When were you at court? + +_Cres._ This morning, uncle. + +_Pand._ What were you a talking, when I came? Was Hector armed, and +gone ere ye came? Hector was stirring early. + +_Cres._ That I was talking of, and of his anger. + +_Pand._ Was he angry, say you? true, he was so, and I know the cause. +He was struck down yesterday in the battle, but he'll lay about him; +he'll cry quittance with them to-day. I'll answer for him. And there's +Troilus will not come far behind him: let them take heed of Troilus, I +can tell them that too. + +_Cres._ What, was he struck down too? + +_Pand._ Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. + +_Cres._ Oh Jupiter! there's no comparison! Troilus the better man. + +_Pand._ What, no comparison between Hector and Troilus? do you know a +man if you see him? + +_Cres._ No: for he may look like a man, and not be one. + +_Pand._ Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. + +_Cres._ That's what I say; for I am sure he is not Hector. + +_Pand._ No, nor Hector is not Troilus: make your best of that, niece! + +_Cres._ 'Tis true, for each of them is himself. + +_Pand._ Himself! alas, poor Troilus! I would he were himself: well, +the gods are all-sufficient, and time must mend or end. I would he +were himself, and would I were a lady for his sake. I would not answer +for my maidenhead.--No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. + +_Cres._ Excuse me. + +_Pand._ Pardon me; Troilus is in the bud, 'tis early day with him; you +shall tell me another tale when Troilus is come to bearing; and yet he +will not bear neither, in some sense. No, Hector shall never have his +virtues. + +_Cres._ No matter. + +_Pand._ Nor his beauty, nor his fashion, nor his wit; he shall have +nothing of him. + +_Cres._ They would not become him, his own are better. + +_Pand._ How, his own better! you have no judgment, niece; Helen +herself swore, the other day, that Troilus, for a manly brown +complexion,--for so it is, I must confess--not brown neither. + +_Cres._ No, but very brown. + +_Pand._ Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Come, I swear to +you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris: nay, I'm sure she +does. She comes me to him the other day, into the bow-window,--and you +know Troilus has not above three or four hairs on his chin,-- + +_Cres._ That's but a bare commendation. + +_Pand._ But to prove to you that Helen loves him, she comes, and puts +me her white hand to his cloven chin. + +_Cres._ Has he been fighting then? how came it cloven? + +_Pand._ Why, you know it is dimpled. I cannot chuse but laugh, to +think how she tickled his cloven chin. She has a marvellous white +hand, I must needs confess. But let that pass, for I know who has a +whiter. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on it, think +on it. + +_Cres._ So I do, uncle. + +_Pand._ I'll be sworn it is true; he will weep ye, an' it were a man +born in April. [_A retreat sounded._ +Hark, they are returning from the field; shall we stay and see them as +they come by, sweet niece? do, sweet niece Cressida. + +_Cres._ For once you shall command me. + +_Pand._ Here, here, here is an excellent place; we may see them here +most bravely, and I'll tell you all their names as they pass by; but +mark Troilus above the rest; mark Troilus, he's worth your marking. + + AENEAS _passes over the Stage._ + +_Cres._ Speak not so loud then. + +_Pand._ That's AEneas. Is it not a brave man that? he's a swinger, many +a Grecian he has laid with his face upward; but mark Troilus: you +shall see anon. + + _Enter_ ANTENOR _passing._ + +That's Antenor; he has a notable head-piece I can tell you, and he's +the ablest man for judgment in all Troy; you may turn him loose, +i'faith, and by my troth a proper person. When comes Troilus? I'll +shew you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me. + + HECTOR _passes over._ + +That's Hector, that, that, look you that; there's a fellow! go thy +way, Hector; there's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector, look how he +looks! there's a countenance. Is it not a brave man, niece? + +_Cres._ I always told you so. + +_Pand._ Is he not? it does a man's heart good to look on him; look +you, look you there, what hacks are on his helmet! this was no boy's +play, i'faith; he laid it on with a vengeance, take it off who will, +as they say! there are hacks, niece! + +_Cres._ Were those with swords? + +_Pand._ Swords, or bucklers, faulchions, darts, and lances! any thing, +he cares not! an' the devil come, it is all one to him: by Jupiter he +looks so terribly, that I am half afraid to praise him. + + _Enter_ PARIS. + +Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris! look ye yonder, niece; is it +not a brave young prince too? He draws the best bow in all Troy; he +hits you to a span twelve-score level:--who said he came home hurt +to-day? why, this will do Helen's heart good now! ha! that I could see +Troilus now! + + _Enter_ HELENUS. + +_Cres._ Who's that black man, uncle? + +_Pand._ That is Helenus.--I marvel where Troilus is all this +while;--that is Helenus.--I think Troilus went not forth +to-day;--that's Helenus. + +_Cres._ Can Helenus fight, uncle? + +_Pand._ Helenus! No, yes; he'll fight indifferently well.--I marvel in +my heart what's become of Troilus:--Hark! do you not hear the people +cry, Troilus?--Helenus is a priest, and keeps a whore; he'll fight for +his whore, or he's no true priest, I warrant him. + + _Enter_ TROILUS _passing over._ + +_Cres._ What sneaking fellow comes yonder? + +_Pand._ Where, yonder? that's Deiphobus: No, I lie. I lie, that's +Troilus! there's a man, niece! hem! O brave Troilus! the prince of +chivalry, and flower of fidelity! + +_Cres._ Peace, for shame, peace! + +_Pand._ Nay, but mark him then! O brave Troilus! there's a man of men, +niece! look you how his sword is bloody, and his helmet more hacked +than Hector's, and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! +he never saw two-and-twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way! had I a +sister were a grace, and a daughter a goddess, he should take his +choice of them. O admirable man! Paris, Paris is dirt to him, and I +warrant, Helen, to change, would give all the shoes in her shop to +boot. + + _Enter common Soldiers passing over._ + +_Cres._ Here come more. + +_Pand._ Asses, fools, dolts, dirt, and dung, stuff, and lumber, +porridge after meat; but I could live and die with Troilus. Ne'er +look, niece, ne'er look, the lions are gone: apes and monkeys, the fag +end of the creation. I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than +Agamemnon and all Greece. + +_Cres._ There's Achilles among the Greeks, he's a brave man. + +_Pand._ Achilles! a carman, a beast of burden; a very camel: have you +any eyes, niece? do you know a man? is he to be compared with Troilus? + + _Enter Page._ + +_Page._ Sir, my lord Troilus would instantly speak with you. + +_Pand._ Where boy, where? + +_Page._ At his own house, if you think convenient. + +_Pand._ Good boy, tell him I come instantly: I doubt he's wounded. +Farewell, good niece. But I'll be with you by and by. + +_Cres._ To bring me, uncle! + +_Pand._ Ay, a token from prince Troilus. [_Exit_ PANDAR. + +_Cres_. By the same token, you are a procurer, uncle. + + CRESSIDA _alone._ + +A strange dissembling sex we women are: +Well may we men, when we ourselves deceive. +Long has my secret soul loved Troilus; +I drunk his praises from my uncle's mouth, +As if my ears could ne'er be satisfied: +Why then, why said I not, I love this prince? +How could my tongue conspire against my heart, +To say I loved him not? O childish love! +'Tis like an infant, froward in his play, +And what he most desires, he throws away. [_Exit._ + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_Troy._ + + _Enter_ PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, _and_ AENEAS. + +_Priam._ After the expence of so much time and blood, +Thus once again the Grecians send to Troy;-- +Deliver Helen, and all other loss +Shall be forgotten.--Hector, what say you to it? + +_Hect._ Though no man less can fear the Greeks than I, +Yet there's no virgin of more tender heart, +More ready to cry out,--who knows the consequence? +Than Hector is; for modest doubt is mixed +With manly courage best: let Helen go. +If we have lost so many lives of ours, +To keep a thing not ours, not worth to us +The value of a man, what reason is there +Still to retain the cause of so much ill? + +_Troil._ Fye, fye, my noble brother! +Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, +So great as Asia's monarch, in a scale +Of common ounces thus? +Are fears and reasons fit to be considered, +When a king's fame is questioned? + +_Hect._ Brother, she's not worth +What her defence has cost us. + +_Troil._ What's aught, but as 'tis valued? + +_Hect._ But value dwells not in opinion only: +It holds the dignity and estimation, +As well, wherein 'tis precious of itself, +As in the prizer: 'tis idolatry, +To make the service greater than the god. + +_Troil._ We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, +When we have worn them; the remaining food +Throw not away, because we now are full. +If you confess, 'twas wisdom Paris went;-- +As you must needs, for you all cried, _Go, go:--_ +If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize;-- +As you must needs, for you all clapped your hands, +And cried, _Inestimable!_--Why do you now +So under-rate the value of your purchase? +For, let me tell you, 'tis unmanly theft, +When we have taken what we fear to keep. + +_AEne._ There's not the meanest spirit in our party, +Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, +When Helen is defended: None so noble, +Whose life were ill bestowed, or death unfamed, +When Helen is the subject. + +_Priam._ So says Paris, +Like one besotted on effeminate joys; +He has the honey still, but these the gall. + +_AEne._ He not proposes merely to himself +The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; +But he would have the stain of Helen's rape +Wiped off, in honourable keeping her. + +_Hect._ Troilus and AEneas, you have said; +If saying superficial things be reason. +But if this Helen be another's wife, +The moral laws of nature and of nations +Speak loud she be restored. Thus to persist +In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong, +But makes it much more so. Hector's opinion +Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless, +My sprightly brother, I incline to you +In resolution to defend her still: +For 'tis a cause on which our Trojan honour +And common reputation will depend. + +_Troil._ Why there you touched the life of our design: +Were it not glory that we covet more +Than war and vengeance, (beasts' and women's pleasure) +I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood +Spent more in her defence; but oh! my brother, +She is a subject of renown and honour; +And I presume brave Hector would not lose +The rich advantage of his future fame +For the wide world's revenue:--I have business; +But glad I am to leave you thus resolved. +When such arms strike, ne'er doubt of the success. + +_AEn._ May we not guess? + +_Troil._ You may, and be deceived. [_Exit_ TROIL. + +_Hect._ A woman, on my life: even so it happens, +Religion, state-affairs, whate'er's the theme, +It ends in woman still. + + _Enter_ ANDROMACHE. + +_Priam._ See, here's your wife, +To make that maxim good. + +_Hect._ Welcome, Andromache: your looks are chearful, +You bring some pleasing news. + +_Andro._ Nothing that's serious. +Your little son Astyanax has employed me +As his ambassadress. + +_Hect._ Upon what errand? + +_Andro._ No less than that his grandfather this day +Would make him knight: he longs to kill a Grecian: +For should he stay to be a man, he thinks +You'll kill them all; and leave no work for him. + +_Priam._ Your own blood, Hector. + +_Andro._ And therefore he designs to send a challenge +To Agamemnon, Ajax, or Achilles, +To prove they do not well to burn our fields, +And keep us cooped like prisoners in a town, +To lead this lazy life. + +_Hect._ What sparks of honour +Fly from this child! the gods speak in him sure: +--It shall be so--I'll do't. + +_Priam._ What means my son? + +_Hect._ To send a challenge to the boldest Greek. +Is not that country ours? those fruitful fields +Washed by yon silver flood, are they not ours? +Those teeming vines that tempt our longing eyes, +Shall we behold them? shall we call them ours, +And dare not make them so? by heavens I'll know +Which of these haughty Grecians dares to think +He can keep Hector prisoner here in Troy. + +_Priam._ If Hector only were a private man, +This would be courage; but in him 'tis madness. +The general safety on your life depends; +And, should you perish in this rash attempt, +Troy with a groan would feel her soul go out, +And breathe her last in you. + +_AEn._ The task you undertake is hazardous: +Suppose you win, what would the profit be? +If Ajax or Achilles fell beneath +Your thundering arm, would all the rest depart? +Would Agamemnon, or his injured brother, +Set sail for this? then it were worth your danger. +But, as it is, we throw our utmost stake +Against whole heaps of theirs. + +_Priam._ He tells you true. + +_AEn._ Suppose one Ajax, or Achilles lost, +They can repair with more that single loss: +Troy has but one, one Hector. + +_Hect._ No, AEneas! +What then art thou; and what is Troilus? +What will Astyanax be? + +_Priam._ An Hector one day, +But you must let him live to be a Hector; +And who shall make him such, when you are gone? +Who shall instruct his tenderness in arms, +Or give his childhood lessons of the war? +Who shall defend the promise of his youth, +And make it bear in manhood? the young sapling +Is shrouded long beneath the mother-tree, +Before it be transplanted from its earth, +And trust itself for growth. + +_Hect._ Alas, my father! +You have not drawn one reason from yourself, +But public safety, and my son's green years: +In this neglecting that main argument, +Trust me you chide my filial piety; +As if I could be won from my resolves +By Troy, or by my son, or any name +More dear to me than yours. + +_Priam._ I did not name myself, because I know +When thou art gone, I need no Grecian sword +To help me die, but only Hector's loss.-- +Daughter, why speak not you? why stand you silent? +Have you no right in Hector, as a wife? + +_Andro._ I would be worthy to be Hector's wife: +And had I been a man, as my soul's one, +I had aspired a nobler name,--his friend. +How I love Hector,--need I say I love him?-- +I am not but in him: +But when I see him arming for his honour, +His country and his gods, that martial fire, +That mounts his courage, kindles even to me: +And when the Trojan matrons wait him out +With prayers, and meet with blessings his return, +The pride of virtue beats within my breast, +To wipe away the sweat and dust of war, +And dress my hero glorious in his wounds. + +_Hect._ Come to my arms, thou manlier virtue, come! +Thou better name than wife! would'st thou not blush +To hug a coward thus? [_Embrace._ + +_Priam._ Yet still I fear! + +_Andro._ There spoke a woman; pardon, royal sir; +Has he not met a thousand lifted swords +Of thick-ranked Grecians, and shall one affright him? +There's not a day but he encounters armies; +And yet as safe, as if the broad-brimmed shield, +That Pallas wears, were held 'twixt him and death. + +_Hect._ Thou know'st me well, and thou shalt praise me more; +Gods make me worthy of thee! + +_Andro._ You shall be +My knight this day; you shall not wear a cause +So black as Helen's rape upon your breast. +Let Paris fight for Helen; guilt for guilt: +But when you fight for honour and for me, +Then let our equal gods behold an act, +They may not blush to crown. + +_Hect._ AEneas, go, +And bear my challenge to the Grecian camp. +If there be one amongst the best of Greece, +Who holds his honour higher than his ease, +Who knows his valour, and knows not his fear; +Who loves his mistress more than in confession, +And dares avow her beauty and her worth, +In other arms than hers,--to him this challenge. +I have a lady of more truth and beauty, +Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; +And will to-morrow, with the trumpet's call, +Mid-way between their tents and these our walls, +Maintain what I have said. If any come, +My sword shall honour him; if none shall dare, +Then shall I say, at my return to Troy, +The Grecian dames are sun-burnt, and not worth +The splinter of a lance. + +_AEn._ It shall be told them, +As boldly as you gave it. + +_Priam._ Heaven protect thee! [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II. + + _Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ CRESSIDA. + +_Pand._ Yonder he stands, poor wretch! there stands he with such a +look, and such a face, and such begging eyes! there he stands, poor +prisoner! + +_Cress._ What a deluge of words do you pour out, uncle, to say just +nothing? + +_Pand._ Nothing, do you call it! is that nothing, do you call that +nothing? why he looks, for all the world, like one of your rascally +malefactors, just thrown off the gibbet, with his cap down, his arms +tied down, his feet sprunting, his body swinging. Nothing do you call +it? this is nothing, with a vengeance! + +_Cress._ Or, what think you of a hurt bird, that flutters about with a +broken wing? + +_Pand._ Why go to then, he cannot fly away then; then, that's certain, +that's undoubted: there he lies to be taken up: but if you had seen +him, when I said to him,--Take a good heart, man, and follow me; and +fear no colours, and speak your mind, man: she can never stand you; +she will fall, an' 'twere a leaf in autumn,-- + +_Cress._ Did you tell him all this, without my consent? + +_Pand._ Why you did consent, your eyes consented; they blabbed, they +leered, their very corners blabbed. But you'll say, your tongue said +nothing. No, I warrant it: your tongue was wiser; your tongue was +better bred; your tongue kept its own counsel: nay, I'll say that for +you, your tongue said nothing.--Well, such a shamefaced couple did I +never see, days o'my life! so 'fraid of one another; such ado to bring +you to the business! Well, if this job were well over, if ever I lose +my pains again with an aukward couple, let me be painted in the +sign-post for the _labour in vain_: Fye upon't, fye upon't! there's no +conscience in't: all honest people will cry shame on't. + +_Cress._ Where is this monster to be shown? what's to be given for a +sight of him? + +_Pand._ Why, ready money, ready money; you carry it about you: give +and take is square-dealing; for in my conscience he's as arrant a maid +as you are. I was fain to use violence to him, to pull him hither: and +he pulled, and I pulled: for you must know he's absolutely the +strongest youth in Troy. T'other day he took Helen in one hand, and +Paris in t'other, and danc'd 'em at one another at arms-end an' 'twere +two moppets:--there was a back! there were bone and sinews! there was +a back for you! + +_Cress._ For these good procuring offices you'll be damned one day, +uncle. + +_Pand._ Who, I damned? Faith, I doubt I shall; by my troth I think I +shall: nay if a man be damned for doing good, as thou say'st, it may +go hard with me. + +_Cress._ Then I'll not see prince Troilus; I'll not be accessary to +your damnation. + +_Pand._ How, not see prince Troilus? why I have engaged, I have +promised, I have past my word. I care not for damning, let me alone +for damning; I value not damning in comparison with my word. If I am +damned, it shall be a good damning to thee, girl, thou shalt be my +heir; come, 'tis a virtuous girl; thou shalt help me to keep my word, +thou shalt see prince Troilus. + +_Cress._ The venture's great. + +_Pand._ No venture in the world; thy mother ventured it for thee, and +thou shalt venture it for my little cousin, that must be. + +_Cress._ Weigh but my fears: Prince Troilus is young.-- + +_Pand._ Marry is he; there's no fear in that, I hope: the fear were, +if he were old and feeble. + +_Cress._ And I a woman. + +_Pand._ No fear yet; thou art a woman, and he's a man; put them +together, put them together. + +_Cress._ And if I should be frail-- + +_Pand._ There's all my fear, that thou art not frail: thou should'st +be frail, all flesh is frail. + +_Cress._ Are you my uncle, and can give this counsel to your own +brother's daughter? + +_Pand._ If thou wert my own daughter a thousand times over, I could do +no better for thee; what wouldst thou have, girl? he's a prince, and a +young prince and a loving young prince! an uncle, dost thou call me? +by Cupid, I am a father to thee; get thee in, get thee in, girl, I +hear him coming. And do you hear, niece! I give you leave to deny a +little, 'twill be decent; but take heed of obstinacy, that's a vice; +no obstinacy, my dear niece. [_Exit_ CRESSIDA. + + _Enter_ TROILUS. + +_Troil._ Now, Pandarus. + +_Pand._ Now, my sweet prince! have you seen my niece? no, I know you +have not. + +_Troil._ No, Pandarus; I stalk about your doors. +Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks, +Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, +And give me swift transportance to Elysium, +And fly with me to Cressida. + +_Pand._ Walk here a moment more: I'll bring her strait. + +_Troil._ I fear she will not come; most sure she will not. + +_Pand._ How, not come, and I her uncle! why, I tell you, prince, she +twitters at you. Ah poor sweet rogue! ah, little rogue, now does she +think, and think, and think again of what must be betwixt you two. Oh +sweet,--oh sweet--O--what, not come, and I her uncle? + +_Troil._ Still thou flatter'st me; but pr'ythee flatter still; for I +would hope; I would not wake out of my pleasing dream. Oh hope, how +sweet thou art! but to hope always, and have no effect of what we +hope! + +_Pand._ Oh faint heart, faint heart! well, there's much good matter in +these old proverbs! No, she'll not come, I warrant her; she has no +blood of mine in her, not so much as will fill a flea. But if she does +not come, and come, and come with a swing into your arms--I say no +more, but she has renounced all grace, and there's an end. + +_Troil._ I will believe thee: go then, but be sure. + +_Pand._ No, you would not have me go; you are indifferent--shall I go, +say you? speak the word then:--yet I care not: you may stand in your +own light, and lose a sweet young lady's heart--well, I shall not go +then. + +_Troil._ Fly, fly, thou torturest me. + +_Pand._ Do I so, do I so? do I torture you indeed? well, I will go. + +_Troil._ But yet thou dost not go. + +_Pand._ I go immediately, directly, in a twinkling, with a thought: +yet you think a man never does enough for you; I have been labouring +in your business like any moyle. I was with prince Paris this morning, +to make your excuse at night for not supping at court; and I found +him--faith, how do you think I found him? it does my heart good to +think how I found him: yet you think a man never does enough for you. + +_Troil._ Will you go then?--What's this to Cressida? + +_Pand._ Why, you will not hear a man! what's this to Cressida? Why, I +found him a-bed, a-bed with Helena, by my troth: 'Tis a sweet queen, a +sweet queen; a very sweet queen,--but she's nothing to my cousin +Cressida; she's a blowse, a gipsy, a tawny moor to my cousin Cressida; +and she lay with one white arm underneath the whoreson's neck: Oh such +a white, lilly-white, round, plump arm as it was--and you must know it +was stripped up to the elbows; and she did so kiss him, and so huggle +him!--as who should say-- + +_Troil._ But still thou stayest:--what's this to Cressida? + +_Pand._ Why, I made your excuse to your brother Paris; that I think's +to Cressida:--but such an arm, such a hand, such taper fingers! +t'other hand was under the bed-cloaths; that I saw not, I confess; +that hand I saw not. + +_Troil._ Again thou torturest me. + +_Pand._ Nay, I was tortured too; old as I am, I was tortured too: but +for all that, I could make a shift, to make him, to make your excuse, +to make your father--by Jove, when I think of that hand, I am so +ravished, that I know not what I say: I was tortured too. + [TROILUS _turns away discontented._ +Well, I go, I go; I fetch her, I bring her, I conduct her; not come +quotha, and I her uncle! [_Exit_ PANDARUS. + +_Troil._ I'm giddy; expectation whirls me round: +The imaginary relish is so sweet, +That it enchants my sense; what will it be, +When I shall taste that nectar? +It must be either death, or joy too fine +For the capacity of human powers. +I fear it much: and I do fear beside, +That I shall lose distinction in my joys; +As does a battle, when they charge on heaps +A flying enemy. + + _Re-enter_ PANDARUS. + +_Pand._ She's making her ready; she'll come strait: you must be witty +now!--she does so blush, and fetches her breath so short, as if she +were frighted with a sprite; 'tis the prettiest villain! she fetches +her breath so short, as 'twere a new-ta'en sparrow. + +_Troil._ Just such a passion does heave up my breast! +My heart beats thicker than a feverish pulse: +I know not where I am, nor what I do; +Just like a slave, at unawares encountering +The eye of majesty.--Lead on, I'll follow. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III.--_The Camp._ + + _Enter_ NESTOR, _and_ ULYSSES. + +_Ulys._ I have conceived an embryo in my brain: +Be you my time to bring it to some shape. + +_Nest._ What is't, Ulysses? + +_Ulys._ The seeded pride, +That has to this maturity blown up +In rank Achilles, must or now be cropped, +Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like ill, +To overtop us all. + +_Nest._ That's my opinion. + +_Ulys._ This challenge which AEneas brings from Hector, +However it be spread in general terms, +Relates in purpose only to Achilles. +And will it wake him to the answer, think you? + +_Nest._ It ought to do: whom can we else oppose, +Who could from Hector bring his honour off, +If not Achilles? the success of this, +Although particular, will give an omen +Of good or bad, even to the general cause. + +_Ulys._ Pardon me, Nestor, if I contradict you: +Therefore 'tis fit Achilles meet not Hector. +Let us, like merchants, show our coarsest wares, +And think, perchance they'll sell; but, if they do not, +The lustre of our better, yet unshown, +Will show the better: let us not consent, +Our greatest warrior should be matched with Hector; +For both our honour and our shame in this +Shall be attended with strange followers. + +_Nest._ I see them not with my old eyes; what are they? + +_Ulys._ What glory our Achilles gains from Hector, +Were he not proud, we all should share with him: +But he already is too insolent: +And we had better parch in Afric sun, +Than in his pride, should he 'scape Hector fair. +But grant he should be foiled; +Why then our common reputation suffers +In that of our best man. No, make a lottery; +And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw +The chance to fight with Hector: among ourselves, +Give him allowance as the braver man; +For that will physic the great Myrmidon, +Who swells with loud applause; and make him fall +His crest, if brainless Ajax come safe off: +If not, we yet preserve a fair opinion, +That we have better men. + +_Nest._ Now I begin to relish thy advice: +Come, let us go to Agamemnon strait, +To inform him of our project. + +_Ulys._ 'Tis not ripe. +The skilful surgeon will not lance a sore, +Till nature has digested and prepared +The growing humours to her healing purpose; +Else must he often grieve the patient's sense, +When one incision, once well-timed, would serve. +Are not Achilles and dull Ajax friends? + +_Nest._ As much as fools can be. + +_Ulys._ That knot of friendship first must be untied, +Ere we can reach our ends; for, while they love each other, +Both hating us, will draw too strong a bias, +And all the camp will lean that way they draw; +For brutal courage is the soldier's idol: +So, if one prove contemptuous, backed by t'other, +'Twill give the law to cool and sober sense, +And place the power of war in madmen's hands. + +_Nest._ Now I conceive you; were they once divided, +And one of them made ours, that one would check +The other's towering growth, and keep both low, +As instruments, and not as lords of war. +And this must be by secret coals of envy +Blown in their breast; comparisons of worth; +Great actions weighed of each; and each the best, +As we shall give him voice. + +_Ulys._ Here comes Thersites, + + _Enter_ THERSITES. + +Who feeds on Ajax, yet loves him not, because he cannot love; +But, as a species differing from mankind, +Hates all he sees, and rails at all he knows; +But hates them most from whom he most receives, +Disdaining that his lot should be so low, +That he should want the kindness which he takes. + +_Nest._ There's none so fit an engine:--Save ye, Thersites. + +_Ulys._ Hail, noble Grecian! thou relief of toils, +Soul of our mirth, and joy of sullen war, +In whose converse our winter nights are short, +And summer days not tedious. + +_Thers._ Hang you both. + +_Nest._ How, hang us both! + +_Thers._ But hang thee first, thou very reverend fool! +Thou sapless oak, that liv'st by wanting thought, +And now, in thy three hundredth year, repin'st +Thou shouldst be felled: hanging's a civil death, +The death of men; thou canst not hang; thy trunk +Is only fit for gallows to hang others. + +_Nest._ A fine greeting. + +_Thers._ A fine old dotard, to repine at hanging +At such an age! what saw the Gods in thee, +That a cock-sparrow should but live three years, +And thou shouldst last three ages? he's thy better; +He uses life; he treads himself to death. +Thou hast forgot thy use some hundred years. +Thou stump of man, thou worn-out broom, thou lumber! + +_Nest._ I'll hear no more of him, his poison works; +What, curse me for my age! + +_Ulys._ Hold, you mistake him, Nestor; 'tis his custom: +What malice is there in a mirthful scene? +'Tis but a keen-edged sword, spread o'er with balm, +To heal the wound it makes. + +_Thers._ Thou beg'st a curse? +May'st thou quit scores then, and be hanged on Nestor, +Who hangs on thee! thou lead'st him by the nose; +Thou play'st him like a puppet; speak'st within him; +And when thou hast contrived some dark design, +To lose a thousand Greeks, make dogs-meat of us, +Thou lay'st thy cuckoo's egg within his nest, +And mak'st him hatch it; teachest his remembrance +To lie, and say, the like of it was practised +Two hundred years ago; thou bring'st the brain, +And he brings only beard to vouch thy plots. + +_Nest._ I'm no man's fool. + +_Thers._ Then be thy own, that's worse. + +_Nest._ He'll rail all day. + +_Ulys._ Then we shall learn all day. +Who forms the body to a graceful carriage, +Must imitate our aukward motions first; +The same prescription does the wise Thersites +Apply, to mend our minds. The same he uses +To Ajax, to Achilles, to the rest; +His satires are the physic of the camp. + +_Thers._ Would they were poison to't, ratsbane and hemlock! +Nothing else can mend you, and those two brawny fools. + +_Ulys._ He hits 'em right; +Are they not such, my Nestor? + +_Thers._ Dolt-heads, asses, +And beasts of burden; Ajax and Achilles! +The pillars, no, the porters of the war. +Hard-headed rogues! engines, mere wooden engines +Pushed on to do your work. + +_Nest._ They are indeed. + +_Thers._ But what a rogue art thou, +To say they are indeed! Heaven made them horses, +And thou put'st on their harness, rid'st and spurr'st them; +Usurp'st upon heaven's fools, and mak'st them thine. + +_Nest._ No; they are headstrong fools, to be corrected +By none but by Thersites; thou alone +Canst tame and train them to their proper use; +And, doing this, may'st claim a just reward +From Greece and royal Agamemnon's hands. + +_Thers._ Ay, when you need a man, you talk of giving, +For wit's a dear commodity among you; +But when you do not want him, then stale porridge, +A starved dog would not lap, and furrow water, +Is all the wine we taste: give drabs and pimps; +I'll have no gifts with hooks at end of them. + +_Ulys._ Is this a man, O Nestor, to be bought? +Asia's not price enough! bid the world for him. +And shall this man, this Hermes, this Apollo, +Sit lag of Ajax' table, almost minstrel, +And with his presence grace a brainless feast? +Why they con sense from him, grow wits by rote, +And yet, by ill repeating, libel him, +Making his wit their nonsense: nay, they scorn him; +Call him bought railer, mercenary tongue! +Play him for sport at meals, and kick him off. + +_Thers._ Yes, they can kick; my buttocks feel they can; +They have their asses tricks; but I'll eat pebbles, +I'll starve,--'tis brave to starve, 'tis like a soldier,-- +Before I'll feed those wit-starved rogues with sense. +They shall eat dry, and choak for want of wit, +Ere they be moistened with one drop of mine. +Ajax and Achilles! two mud-walls of fool, +That only differ in degrees of thickness. + +_Ulys._ I'd be revenged of both. When wine fumes high, +Set them to prate, to boast their brutal strength, +To vie their stupid courage, till they quarrel, +And play at hard head with their empty skulls. + +_Thers._ Yes; they shall butt and kick, and all the while +I'll think they kick for me; they shall fell timber +On both sides, and then logwood will be cheap. + +_Nest._ And Agamemnon-- + +_Thers._ Pox of Agamemnon! +Cannot I do a mischief for myself, +But he must thank me for't? + +_Ulys._ to _Nest._ Away; our work is done. [_Exeunt_ ULYS. _and_ NEST. + +_Thers._ This Agamemnon is a king of clouts, +A chip in porridge,-- + + _Enter_ AJAX. + +_Ajax._ Thersites. + +_Thers._ Set up to frighten daws from cherry-trees,-- + +_Ajax._ Dog! + +_Thers._ A standard to march under. + +_Ajax._ Thou bitch-wolf! can'st thou not hear? feel then. + [_Strikes him._ + +_Thers._ The plague of Greece, and Helen's pox light on thee, +Thou mongrel mastiff, thou beef-witted lord! + +_Ajax._ Speak then, thou mouldy leaven of the camp; +Speak, or I'll beat thee into handsomeness. + +_Thers._ I shall sooner rail thee into wit; thou canst kick, canst +thou? A red murrain on thy jades tricks! + +_Ajax._ Tell me the proclamation. + +_Thers._ Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. + +_Ajax._ You whorson cur, take that. [_Strikes him._ + +_Thers._ Thou scurvy valiant ass! + +_Ajax._ Thou slave! + +_Thers._ Thou lord!--Ay, do, do,--would my buttocks were iron, for thy +sake! + + _Enter_ ACHILLES _and_ PATROCLUS. + +_Achil._ Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you this? +How now, Thersites, what's the matter, man? + +_Thers._ I say this Ajax wears his wit in's belly, and his guts in's +brains. + +_Achil._ Peace, fool. + +_Thers._ I would have peace, but the fool will not. + +_Patro._ But what's the quarrel? + +_Ajax._ I bade him tell me the proclamation, and he rails upon me. + +_Thers._ I serve thee not. + +_Ajax._ I shall cut out your tongue. + +_Thers._ 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much sense as thou +afterwards. I'll see you hanged ere I come any more to your tent; I'll +keep where there's wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. + [_Going._ + +_Achil._ Nay, thou shalt not go, Thersites, till we have squeezed the +venom out of thee: pr'ythee, inform us of this proclamation. + +_Thers._ Why, you empty fuz-balls, your heads are full of nothing else +but proclamations. + +_Ajax._ Tell us the news, I say. + +_Thers._ You say! why you never said any thing in all your life. But, +since you will know, it is proclaimed through the army, that Hector is +to cudgel you to-morrow. + +_Achil._ How, cudgel him, Thersites! + +_Thers._ Nay, you may take a child's part on't if you have so much +courage, for Hector has challenged the toughest of the Greeks; and it +is in dispute which of your two heads is the soundest timber. A knotty +piece of work he'll have betwixt your noddles. + +_Achil._ If Hector be to fight with any Greek, +He knows his man. + +_Ajax._ Yes; he may know his man without art magic. + +_Thers._ So he had need; for, to my certain knowledge, neither of you +two are conjurers to inform him. + +_Achil._ to _Ajax._ You do not mean yourself, sure? + +_Ajax._ I mean nothing. + +_Thers._ Thou mean'st so always. + +_Achil._ Umh! mean nothing! + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] Jove, if it be thy will, let these two fools +quarrel about nothing! 'tis a cause that's worthy of them. + +_Ajax._ You said he knew his man; is there but one? +One man amongst the Greeks? + +_Achil._ Since you will have it, +But one to fight with Hector. + +_Ajax._ Then I am he. + +_Achil._ Weak Ajax! + +_Ajax._ Weak Achilles. + +_Thers._ Weak indeed; God help you both! + +_Patro._ Come, this must be no quarrel. + +_Thers._ There's no cause for't + +_Patro._ He tells you true, you are both equal. + +_Thers._ Fools. + +_Achil._ I can brook no comparisons. + +_Ajax._ Nor I. + +_Achil._ Well, Ajax. + +_Ajax._ Well, Achilles. + +_Thers._ So, now they quarrel in monosyllables; a word and a blow, +an't be thy will. + +_Achil._ You may hear more. + +_Ajax._ I would. + +_Achil._ Expect. + +_Ajax._ Farewell. [_Exeunt severally._ + +_Thers._ Curse on them, they want wine; your true fool will never +fight without it. Or a drab, a drab; Oh for a commodious drab betwixt +them! would Helen had been here! then it had come to something. + Dogs, lions, bulls, for females tear and gore; + And the beast, man, is valiant for his whore. [_Exit_ THERSITES. + + +ACT III. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ THERSITES. + +_Thers._ Shall the idiot Ajax use me thus? he beats me, and I rail at +him. O worthy satisfaction! would I could but beat him, and he railed +at me! Then there's Achilles, a rare engineer; if Troy be not taken +till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of +themselves. Now the plague on the whole camp, or rather the pox; for +that's a curse dependent on those that fight, as we do, for a +cuckold's quean.--What, ho, my lord Achilles! + + _Enter_ PATROCLUS. + +_Patro._ Who's there, Thersites? Good Thersites, come in and rail. + +_Thers._ If I could have remembered an ass with gilt trappings, thou +hadst not slipped out of my contemplation. But it is no matter: +thyself upon thyself! the common curse of mankind, folly and +ignorance, be thine in great abundance! Heavens bless thee from a +tutor, and discipline come not near thee!--I have said my prayers; and +the devil, Envy, say Amen. Where's Achilles? + + _Enter_ ACHILLES. + +_Achil._ Who's there, Thersites? Why, my digestion, why hast thou not +served thyself to my table so many meals? Come, begin; what's +Agamemnon? + +_Thers._ Thy commander, Achilles.--Then tell me, Patroclus, what's +Achilles? + +_Patro._ Thy benefactor, Thersites. Then tell me, pr'ythee, what's +thyself? + +_Thers._ Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art +thou? + +_Patro._ Thou mayest tell, that knowest. + +_Achil._ O, tell, tell.--This must be very foolish; and I die to have +my spleen tickled. + +_Thers._ I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; +Achilles is my benefactor; I am Patroclus's knower; and Patroclus is a +fool. + +_Patro._ You rascal! + +_Achil,_ He is a privileged man; proceed, Thersites. Ha, ha, ha! +pr'ythee, proceed, while I am in the vein of laughing. + +_Thers._ And all these foresaid men are fools. Agamemnon's a fool, to +offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool, to be commanded by him; +I am a fool, to serve such a fool; and Patroclus is a fool positive. + +_Patro._ Why am I a fool? + +_Thers._ Make that demand to heaven; it suffices me, thou art one. + +_Acini._ Ha, ha, ha! O give me ribs of steel, or I shall split with +pleasure.--Now play me Nestor at a night alarm: mimick him rarely; +make him cough and spit, and fumble with his gorget, and shake the +rivets with his palsy hand, in and out, in and out; gad, that's +exceeding foolish. + +_Patro._ Nestor shall not escape so; he has told us what we are. Come, +what's Nestor? + +_Thers._ Why, he is an old wooden top, set up by father Time three +hundred years ago, that hums to Agamemnon and Ulysses, and sleeps to +all the world besides. + +_Achil._ So let him sleep, for I'll no more of him.--O, my Patroclus, +I but force a smile; Ajax has drawn the lot, and all the praise of +Hector must be his. + +_Thers._ I hope to see his praise upon his shoulders, in blows and +bruises; his arms, thighs, and body, all full of fame, such fame as he +gave me; and a wide hole at last full in his bosom, to let in day upon +him, and discover the inside of a fool. + +_Patro._ How he struts in expectation of honour! he knows not what he +does. + +_Thers._ Nay, that's no wonder, for he never did. + +_Achil._ Pr'ythee, say how he behaves himself? + +_Thers._ O, you would be learning to practise against such another +time?--Why, he tosses up his head as he had built castles in the air; +and he treads upward to them, stalks into the element; he surveys +himself, as it were to look for Ajax: he would be cried, for he has +lost himself; nay, he knows nobody; I said, "Good-morrow, Ajax," and +he replied, "Thanks, Agamemnon." + +_Achil._ Thou shalt be my ambassador to him, Thersites. + +_Thers._ No, I'll put on his person; let Patroclus make his demands to +me, and you shall see the pageant of Ajax. + +_Achil._ To him, Patroclus; tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax +to invite the noble Hector to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for +him from our captain general Agamemnon. + +_Patro._ Jove bless the mighty Ajax! + +_Thers._ Humh! + +_Patro._ I come from the great Achilles. + +_Thers._ Ha! + +_Patro._ Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent. + +_Thers._ Humh! + +_Patro._ And to procure him safe conduct from Agamemnon. + +_Thers._ Agamemnon? + +_Patro._ Ay, my lord. + +_Thers._ Ha! + +_Patro._ What say you to it? + +_Thers._ Farewell, with all my heart. + +_Patro._ Your answer, sir? + +_Thers._ If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one +way or the other; however, he shall buy me dearly. Fare you well, with +all my heart. + +_Achil._ Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? + +_Thers._ No; but he's thus out of tune. What music will be in him when +Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not, nor I care not; but if +emptiness makes noise, his head will make melody. + +_Achil._ My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred; And I myself +see not the bottom on't. + +_Thers._ Would the fountain of his mind were clear, that he might see +an ass in it! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant +ignorance. [_Aside._ + + _Enter_ AGAMEMNON, AJAX, DIOMEDES, _and_ MENELAUS. + +_Patro._ Look, who comes here. + +_Achil._ Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody;--come in after me, +Thersites. [_Exeunt_ ACHILLES _and_ THERSITES. + +_Again._ Where's Achilles? + +_Patro._ Within, but ill disposed, my lord. + +_Men._ We saw him at the opening of his tent. + +_Again._ Let it be known to him, that we are here. + +_Patro._ I shall say so to him. [_Exit_ PATROC. + +_Diom._ I know he is not sick. + +_Ajax._ Yes, lion-sick, sick of a proud heart: you may call it +melancholy, if you will humour him; but, on my honour, it is no more +than pride; and why should he be proud? + +_Men._ Here comes Patroclus; but no Achilles with him. + + _Enter_ PATROCLUS. + +_Patro._ Achilles bids me tell you, he is sorry +If any thing more than your sport and pleasure +Did move you to this visit: He's not well, +And begs you would excuse him, as unfit +For present business. + +_Agam._ How! how's this, Patroclus? +We are too well acquainted with these answers. +Though he has much desert, yet all his virtues +Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss. +We came to speak with him; you shall not err, +If you return, we think him over-proud, +And under-honest. Tell him this; and add, +That if he overhold his price so much, +We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine +Not portable, lie lag of all the camp. +A stirring dwarf is of more use to us, +Than is a sleeping giant: tell him so. + +_Patro._ I shall, and bring his answer presently. + +_Agam._ I'll not be satisfied, but by himself: +So tell him, Menelaus. [_Exeunt_ MENELAUS _and_ PATROCLUS. + +_Ajax._ What's he more than another? + +_Agam._ No more than what he thinks himself. + +_Ajax._ Is he so much? Do you not think, he thinks himself a better +man than me? + +_Diom._ No doubt he does. + +_Ajax._ Do you think so? + +_Agam._ No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant but much more +courteous. + +_Ajax._ Why should a man be proud? I know not what pride is; I hate a +proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads. + +_Diom._ [_Aside._] 'Tis strange he should, and love himself so well. + + _Re-enter_ MENELAUS. + +_Men._ Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. + +_Agam._ What's his excuse? + +_Men._ Why, he relies on none +But his own will; possessed he is with vanity. +What should I say? he is so plaguy proud, +That the death-tokens of it are upon him, +And bode there's no recovery. + + _Enter_ ULYSSES _and_ NESTOR. + +_Agam._ Let Ajax go to him. + +_Ulys._ O Agamemnon, let it not be so. +We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes, +When they go from Achilles. Shall that proud man +Be worshipped by a greater than himself, +One, whom we hold our idol? +Shall Ajax go to him? No, Jove forbid, +And say in thunder, go to him, Achilles. + +_Nest._ [_Aside._] O, this is well; he rubs him where it itches. + +_Ajax._ If I go to him, with my gauntlet clenched I'll pash him o'er +the face. + +_Agam._ O no, you shall not go. + +_Ajax._ An he be proud with me, I'll cure his pride; a paultry +insolent fellow! + +_Nest._ How he describes himself! [_Aside._ + +_Ulys._ The crow chides blackness: [_Aside._]--Here is a man,--but +'tis before his face, and therefore I am silent. + +_Nest._ Wherefore are you? He is not envious, as Achilles is. + +_Ulys._ Know all the world, he is as valiant. + +_Ajax._ A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us! Would a were a +Trojan! + +_Ulys._ Thank heaven, my lord, you're of a gentle nature; +Praise him that got you, her that brought you forth; +But he, who taught you first the use of arms, +Let Mars divide eternity in two, +And give him half. I will not praise your wisdom, +Nestor shall do't; but, pardon, father Nestor,-- +Were you as green as Ajax, and your brain +Tempered like his, you never should excel him, +But be as Ajax is. + +_Ajax._ Shall I call you father? + +_Ulys._ Ay, my good son. + +_Diom._ Be ruled by him, lord Ajax. + +_Ulys._ There is no staying here; the hart Achilles +Keeps thicket;--please it our great general, +I shall impart a counsel, which, observed, +May cure the madman's pride. + +_Agam._ In my own tent our talk will be more private. + +_Ulys._ But nothing without Ajax; +He is the soul and substance of my counsels, +And I am but his shadow. + +_Ajax._ You shall see +I am not like Achilles. +Let us confer, and I'll give counsel too. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II. + + _Enter_ PANDARUS, TROILUS, _and_ CRESSIDA. + +_Pand._ Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby; swear the +oaths now to her, that you swore to me: What, are you gone again? you +must be watched ere you are made tame, must you? Why don't you speak +to her first?--Come, draw this curtain and let's see your picture; +alas-a-day, how loth you are to offend day-light! [_They kiss._] +That's well, that's well; nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I +part you. So so--so so-- + +_Troil._ You have bereft me of all words, fair Cressida. + +_Pand._ Words pay no debts; give her deeds.--What billing again! +Here's, in witness whereof the parties interchangeably--come in, come +in, you lose time both. + +_Troil._ O Cressida, how often have I wished me here! + +_Cres._ Wished, my lord!--The gods grant!--O, my lord-- + +_Troil._ What should they grant? what makes this pretty interruption +in thy words? + +_Cres._ I speak I know not what! + +_Troil._ Speak ever so; and if I answer you +I know not what--it shows the more of love. +Love is a child that talks in broken language, +Yet then he speaks most plain. + +_Cres._ I find it true, that to be wise, and love, +Are inconsistent things. + +_Pand._ What, blushing still! have you not done talking yet? + +_Cres._ Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you. + +_Pand._ I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll give +him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, I'll be hanged for him.--Now +am I in my kingdom! [_Aside._ + +_Troil._ You know your pledges now; your uncle's word, and my firm +faith. + +_Pand._ Nay, I'll give my word for her too: Our kindred are constant; +they are burs, I can assure you; they'll stick where they are thrown. + +_Cres._ Boldness comes to me now, and I can speak: +Prince Troilus, I have loved you long. + +_Troil._ Why was my Cressida then so hard to win? + +_Cres._ Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord-- +What have I blabbed? who will be true to us, +When we are so unfaithful to ourselves! +O bid me hold my tongue; for, in this rapture, +Sure I shall speak what I should soon repent. +But stop my mouth. + +_Troil._ A sweet command, and willingly obeyed. [_Kisses._ + +_Pand._ Pretty, i'faith! + +_Cres._ My lord, I do beseech you pardon me; +'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. +I am ashamed;--O heavens, what have I done! +For this time let me take my leave, my lord. + +_Pand._ Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow morning, call me Cut. + +_Cres._ Pray, let me go. + +_Troil._ Why, what offends you, madam? + +_Cres._ My own company. + +_Troil._ You cannot shun yourself. + +_Cres._ Let me go try; +I have a kind of self resides in you. + +_Troil._ Oh that I thought truth could be in a woman, +(As if it can, I will presume in you,) +That my integrity and faith might meet +The same return from her, who has my heart, +How should I be exalted! but, alas, +I am more plain than dull simplicity, +And artless as the infancy of truth! + +_Cres._ In that I must not yield to you, my lord. + +_Troil._ All constant lovers shall, in future ages, +Approve their truth by Troilus. When their verse +Wants similes,--as turtles to their mates, +Or true as flowing tides are to the moon, +Earth to the centre, iron to adamant,-- +At last, when truth is tired with repetition, +As true as Troilus, shall crown up the verse, +And sanctify the numbers. + +_Cres._ Prophet may you be! +If I am false, or swerve from truth of love, +When Time is old, and has forgot itself +In all things else, let it remember me; +And, after all comparisons of falsehood, +To stab the heart of perjury in maids, +Let it be said--as false as Cressida. + +_Pand._ Go to, little ones; a bargain made. Here I hold your hand, and +here my cousin's: if ever you prove false to one another, after I have +taken such pains to bring you together, let all pitiful goers-between +be called to the world's end after my name, _Pandars._ + +_Cres._ And will you promise, that the holy priest +Shall make us one for ever? + +_Pand._ Priests! marry hang them, they make you one! Go in, go in, and +make yourselves one without a priest; I'll have no priest's work in my +house. + +_Cres._ I'll not consent, unless you swear. + +_Pand._ Ay, do, do swear; a pretty woman's worth an oath at any time. +Keep or break, as time shall try; but it is good to swear, for the +saving of her credit. Hang them, sweet rogues, they never expect a man +should keep it. Let him but swear, and that's all they care for. + +_Troil._ Heavens prosper me, as I devoutly swear, +Never to be but yours! + +_Pand._ Whereupon I will lead you into a chamber; and suppose there be +a bed in it, as, ifack, I know not, but you'll forgive me if there +be--away, away, you naughty hildings; get you together, get you +together. Ah you wags, do you leer indeed at one another! do the neyes +twinkle at him! get you together, get you together. [_Leads them out._ + + _Enter at one Door_ AENEAS, _with a Torch; at another,_ HECTOR _and_ + DIOMEDE, _with Torches._ + +_Hect._ So ho, who goes there? AEneas! + +_AEn._ Prince Hector! + +_Diom._ Good-morrow, lord AEneas. + +_Hect._ A valiant Greek, AEneas; take his hand; +Witness the process of your speech within; +You told how Diomede a whole week by days +Did haunt you in the field. + +_AEn._ Health to you, valiant sir, +During all business of the gentle truce; +But, when I meet you armed, as black defiance, +As heart can think, or courage execute. + +_Diom._ Both one and t'other Diomede embraces. +Our bloods are now in calm; and so long, health; +But when contention and occasion meet, +By Jove I'll play the hunter for thy life. + +_AEn._ And thou shall hunt a lion, that will fly +With his face backward. Welcome, Diomede, +Welcome to Troy. Now, by Anchises' soul, +No man alive can love in such a sort +The thing he means to kill more excellently. + +_Diom._ We know each other well. + +_AEn._ We do; and long to know each other worse.-- +My lord, the king has sent for me in haste; +Know you the reason? + +_Hect._ Yes; his purpose meets you. +It was to bring this Greek to Calchas' house, +Where Pandarus his brother, and his daughter +Fair Cressida reside; and there to render +For our Antenor, now redeemed from prison, +The lady Cressida. + +_AEn._ What! Has the king resolved to gratify +That traitor Calchas, who forsook his country, +And turned to them, by giving up this pledge? + +_Hect._ The bitter disposition of the time +Is such, though Calchas, as a fugitive, +Deserve it not, that we must free Antenor, +On whose wise counsels we can most rely; +And therefore Cressida must be returned. + +_AEn._ A word, my lord--Your pardon, Diomede-- +Your brother Troilus, to my certain knowledge, +Does lodge this night in Pandarus's house. + +_Hect._ Go you before. Tell him of our approach, +Which will, I fear, be much unwelcome to him. + +_AEn._ I assure you, +Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, +Than Cressida from Troy. + +_Hect._ I know it well; and how he is, beside, +Of hasty blood. + +_AEn._ He will not hear me speak; +But I have noted long betwixt you two +A more than brother's love; an awful homage +The fiery youth pays to your elder virtue. + +_Hect._ Leave it to me; I'll manage him alone; +Attend you Diomede.--My lord, good-morrow; [_To_ DIOM. +An urgent business takes me from the pleasure +Your company affords me; but AEneas, +With joy, will undertake to serve you here, +And to supply my room. + +_AEn._ [_To_ DIOM.] My lord, I wait you. + [_Exeunt severally;_ DIOMEDE _with_ AENEAS, + HECTOR _at another Door._ + + _Enter_ PANDARUS, _a Servant, Music._ + +_Pand._ Softly, villain, softly; I would not for half Troy the lovers +should be disturbed under my roof: listen, rogue, listen; do they +breathe? + +_Serv._ Yes, sir; I hear, by some certain signs, they are both awake. + +_Pand._ That's as it should be; that's well o' both sides. +[_Listens._]--Yes, 'faith, they are both alive:--There was a creak! +there was a creak! they are both alive, and alive like;--there was a +creak! a ha, boys!--Is the music ready? + +_Serv._ Shall they strike up, sir? + +_Pand._ Art thou sure they do not know the parties? + +_Serv._ They play to the man in the moon, for aught they know. + +_Pand._ To the man in the moon? ah rogue! do they so indeed, rogue! I +understand thee; thou art a wag; thou art a wag. Come, towze rowze! in +the name of love, strike up, boys. + + _Music, and then a Song; during which_ PANDARUS _listens._ + + I. + + _Can life be a blessing, + Or worth the possessing, + Can life be a blessing, if love were away? + Ah, no! though our love all night keep us waking, + And though he torment us with cares all the day, + Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking; + There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay._ + + II. + + _In every possessing, + The ravishing blessing, + In every possessing, the fruit of our pain, + Poor lovers forget long ages of anguish, + Whate'er they have suffered and done to obtain; + 'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish, + When we hope, when we hope to be happy again._ + +_Pand._ Put up, and vanish; they are coming out: What a ferrup, will +you play when the dance is done? I say, vanish. [_Exit music._ +[_Peeping._] Good, i'faith! good, i'faith! what, hand in hand--a fair +quarrel, well ended! Do, do, walk him, walk him;--a good girl, a +discreet girl: I see she will make the most of him. + + _Enter_ TROILUS _and_ CRESSIDA. + +_Troil._ Farewell, my life! leave me, and back to bed: +Sleep seal those pretty eyes, +And tie thy senses in as soft a band, +As infants void of thought. + +_Pand._ [_Shewing himself._] How now, how now; how go matters? Hear +you, maid, hear you; where's my cousin Cressida? + +_Cres._ Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle: +You bring me to do ill, and then you jeer me! + +_Pand._ What ill have I brought you to do? Say what, if you dare +now?--My lord, have I brought her to do ill? + +_Cres._ Come, come,--beshrew your heart, you'll neither be good +yourself, nor suffer others. + +_Pand._ Alas, poor wench! alas, poor devil! Has not slept to-night? +would a'not, a naughty man, let it sleep one twinkle? A bugbear take +him! + +_Cres._ [_Knock within._] +Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see:-- +My lord, come you again into my chamber.-- +You smile and mock, as if I meant naughtily! + +_Troil._ Indeed, indeed! + +_Cres._ Come, you're deceived; I think of no such thing.-- + [_Knock again._ +How earnestly they knock! Pray, come in: I would +not for all Troy you were seen here. [_Exeunt_ TROIL. _and_ CRES. + +_Pand._ Who's there? What's the matter? +Will you beat down the house there! + + _Enter_ HECTOR. + +_Hect._ Good morrow, my lord Pandarus; good morrow! + +_Pand._ Who's there? prince Hector! What news with you so early? + +_Hect._ Is not my brother Troilus here? + +_Pand._ Here! what should he do here? + +_Hect._ Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him: +It does import him much to speak with me. + +_Pand._ Is he here, say you? It is more than I know, I'll be sworn! +For my part, I came in late.--What should he do here? + +_Hect._ Come, come, you do him wrong ere you're aware; you'll be so +true to him, that you'll be false to him: You shall not know he's +here; but yet go fetch him hither; go. [_Exit_ PAND. + + _Enter_ TROILUS. + +I bring you, brother, most unwelcome news; +But since of force you are to hear it told, +I thought a friend and brother best might tell it: +Therefore, before I speak, arm well your mind, +And think you're to be touched even to the quick; +That so, prepared for ill, you may be less +Surprised to hear the worst. + +_Troil._ See, Hector, what it is to be your brother! +I stand prepared already. + +_Hect._ Come, you are hot; +I know you, Troilus, you are hot and fiery: +You kindle at a wrong, and catch it quick, +As stubble does the flame. + +_Troil._ 'Tis heat of blood, +And rashness of my youth; I'll mend that error: +Begin, and try my temper. + +_Hect._ Can you think +Of that one thing, which most could urge your anger, +Drive you to madness, plunge you in despair, +And make you hate even me? + +_Troil._ There can be nothing. +I love you, brother, with that awful love +I bear to heaven, and to superior virtue: +And when I quit this love, you must be that, +Which Hector ne'er can be. + +_Hect._ Remember well +What you have said; for, when I claim your promise, +I shall expect performance. + +_Troil._ I am taught: +I will not rage. + +_Hect._ Nor grieve beyond a man? + +_Troil._ I will not be a woman. + +_Hect._ Do not, brother: +And I will tell my news in terms so mild, +So tender, and so fearful to offend, +As mothers use to sooth their froward babes; +Nay, I will swear, as you have sworn to me, +That, if some gust of passion swell your soul +To words intemperate, I will bear with you. + +_Troil._ What would this pomp of preparation mean? +Come you to bring me news of Priam's death, +Or Hecuba's? + +_Hect._ The gods forbid I should! +But what I bring is nearer you, more close, +An ill more yours. + +_Troil._ There is but one that can be. + +_Hect._ Perhaps, 'tis that. + +_Troil._ I'll not suspect my fate +So far; I know I stand possessed of that. + +_Hect._ 'Tis well: consider at whose house I find you. + +_Troil._ Ha! + +_Hect._ Does it start you? I must wake you more; +Antenor is exchanged. + +_Troil._ For whom? + +_Hect._ Imagine. + +_Troil._ It comes, like thunder grumbling in a cloud, +Before the dreadful break: If here it fall, +The subtle flame will lick up all my blood, +And, in a moment, turn my heart to ashes. + +_Hect._ That Cressida for Antenor is exchanged, +Because I knew 'twas harsh, I would not tell; +Not all at once; but by degrees and glimpses +I let it in, lest it might rush upon you, +And quite o'erpower your soul: In this, I think, +I showed a friend: your part must follow next; +Which is, to curb your choler, tame your grief, +And bear it like a man. + +_Troil._ I think I do, +That I yet live to hear you. But no more; +Hope for no more; for, should some goddess offer +To give herself and all her heaven in change, +I would not part with Cressida: So return +This answer as my last. + +_Hect._ 'Twill not be taken: +Nor will I bear such news. + +_Troil._ You bore me worse. + +_Hect._ Worse for yourself; not for the general state, +And all our common safety, which depends +On freed Antenor's wisdom. + +_Troil._ You would say, +That I'm the man marked out to be unhappy, +And made the public sacrifice for Troy. + +_Hect._ I would say so indeed; for, can you find +A fate more glorious than to be that victim? +If parting from a mistress can procure +A nation's happiness, show me that prince +Who dares to trust his future fame so far, +To stand the shock of annals, blotted thus,-- +He sold his country for a woman's love! + +_Troil._ O, she's my life, my being, and my soul! + +_Hect._ Suppose she were,--which yet I will not grant,-- +You ought to give her up. + +_Troil._ For whom? + +_Hect._ The public. + +_Troil._ And what are they, that I should give up her, +To make them happy? Let me tell you, brother, +The public is the lees of vulgar slaves; +Slaves, with the minds of slaves; so born, so bred. +Yet such as these, united in a herd, +Are called, the public! Millions of such cyphers +Make up the public sum. An eagle's life +Is worth a world of crows. Are princes made +For such as these; who, were one soul extracted +From all their beings, could not raise a man?-- + +_Hect._ And what are we, but for such men as these? +'Tis adoration, some say, makes a god: +And who should pay it, where would be their altars, +Were no inferior creatures here on earth? +Even those, who serve, have their expectancies, +Degrees of happiness, which they must share, +Or they'll refuse to serve us. + +_Troil._ Let them have it; +Let them eat, drink, and sleep; the only use +They have of life. + +_Hect._ You take all these away, +Unless you give up Cressida. + +_Troil._ Forbear: +Let Paris give up Helen; she's the cause, +And root, of all this mischief. + +_Hect._ Your own suffrage +Condemns you there: you voted for her stay. + +_Troil._ If one must stay, the other shall not go. + +_Hect._ She shall not? + +_Troil._ Once again I say, she shall not. + +_Hect._ Our father has decreed it otherwise. + +_Troil._ No matter. + +_Hect._ How! no matter, Troilus? +A king, a father's will! + +_Troil._ When 'tis unjust. + +_Hect._ Come, she shall go. + +_Troil._ She shall? then I am dared. + +_Hect._ If nothing else will do. + +_Troil._ Answer me first, +And then I'll answer that,--be sure I will,-- +Whose hand sealed this exchange? + +_Hect._ My father's first; +Then all the council's after. + +_Troil._ Was yours there? + +_Hect._ Mine was there too. + +_Troil._ Then you're no more my friend: +And for your sake,--now mark me what I say,-- +She shall not go. + +_Hect._ Go to; you are a boy. + +_Troil._ A boy! I'm glad I am not such a man, +Not such as thou, a traitor to thy brother; +Nay, more, thy friend: But friend's a sacred name, +Which none but brave and honest men should wear: +In thee 'tis vile; 'tis prostitute; 'tis air; +And thus, I puff it from me. + +_Hect._ Well, young man, +Since I'm no friend, (and, oh, that e'er I was, +To one so far unworthy!) bring her out; +Or, by our father's soul, of which no part +Did e'er descend to thee, I'll force her hence. + +_Troil._ I laugh at thee. + +_Hect._ Thou dar'st not. + +_Troil._ I dare more, +If urged beyond my temper: Prove my daring, +And see which of us has the larger share +Of our great father's soul. + +_Hect._ No more!--thou know'st me. + +_Troil._ I do; and know myself. + +_Hect._ All this, ye gods! +And for the daughter of a fugitive, +A traitor to his country! + +_Troil._ 'Tis too much. + +_Hect._ By heaven, too little; for I think her common. + +_Troil._ How, common! + +_Hect._ Common as the tainted shambles, +Or as the dust we tread. + +_Troil._ By heaven, as chaste as thy Andromache. + [HECTOR _lays his hand on_ TROILUS'S _arm,_ + TROILUS _does the same to him._ + +_Hect._ What, namest thou them together! + +_Troil._ No, I do not: +Fair Cressida is first; as chaste as she, +But much more fair. + +_Hect._ O, patience, patience, heaven! +Thou tempt'st me strangely: should I kill thee now, +I know not if the gods can he offended, +Or think I slew a brother: But, begone! +Begone, or I shall shake thee into atoms; +Thou know'st I can. + +_Troil._ I care not if you could. + +_Hect._ [_walking off._] +I thank the gods, for calling to my mind +My promise, that no words of thine should urge me +Beyond the bounds of reason: But in thee +'Twas brutal baseness, so forewarned, to fall +Beneath the name of man; to spurn my kindness; +And when I offered thee (thou know'st how loth!) +The wholesome bitter cup of friendly counsel, +To dash it in my face. Farewell, farewell, +Ungrateful as thou art: hereafter use +The name of brother; but of friend no more. [_Going out._ + +_Troil._ Wilt thou not break yet, heart?--stay, brother, stay; +I promised too, but I have broke my vow, +And you keep yours too well. + +_Hect._ What would'st thou more? +Take heed, young man, how you too far provoke me! +For heaven can witness, 'tis with much constraint +That I preserve my faith. + +_Troil._ Else you would kill me? + +_Hect._ By all the gods I would. + +_Troil._ I'm satisfied. +You have condemned me, and I'll do't myself. +What's life to him, who has no use of life? +A barren purchase, held upon hard terms! +For I have lost (oh, what have I not lost!) +The fairest, dearest, kindest, of her sex; +And lost her even by him, by him, ye gods! +Who only could, and only should protect me! +And if I had a joy beyond that love, +A friend, have lost him too! + +_Hect._ Speak that again,-- +For I could hear it ever,--saidst thou not, +That if thou hadst a joy beyond that love, +It was a friend? O, saidst thou not, a friend! +That doubting _if_ was kind: then thou'rt divided; +And I have still some part. + +_Troil._ If still you have, +You do not care to have it. + +_Hect._ How, not care! + +_Troil._ No, brother, care not. + +_Hect._ Am I but thy brother? + +_Troil._ You told me, I must call you friend no more. + +_Hect._ How far my words were distant from my heart! +Know, when I told thee so, I loved thee most. +Alas! it is the use of human frailty, +To fly to worst extremities with those, +To whom we are most kind. + +_Troil._ Is't possible! +Then you are still my friend. + +_Hect._ Heaven knows I am! + +_Troil._ And can forgive the sallies of my passion? +For I have been to blame, oh! much to blame; +Have said such words, nay, done such actions too, +(Base as I am!) that my awed conscious soul +Sinks in my breast, nor dare I lift an eye +On him I have offended. + +_Hect._ Peace be to thee, +And calmness ever there. I blame thee not: +I know thou lov'st; and what can love not do! +I cast the wild disorderly account, +Of all thy words and deeds, on that mad passion: +I pity thee, indeed I pity thee. + +_Troil._ Do, for I need it: Let me lean my head +Upon thy bosom, all my peace dwells there; +Thou art some god, or much, much more than man! + +_Hect._ Alas, to lose the joys of all thy youth, +One who deserved thy love! + +_Troil._ Did she deserve? + +_Hect._ She did. + +_Troil._ Then sure she was no common creature? + +_Hect._ I said it in my rage; I thought not so. + +_Troil._ That thought has blessed me! But to lose this love, +After long pains, and after short possession! + +_Hect._ I feel it for thee: Let me go to Priam, +I'll break this treaty off; or let me fight: +I'll be thy champion, and secure both her, +And thee, and Troy. + +_Troil._ It must not be, my brother; +For then your error would be more than mine: +I'll bring her forth, and you shall bear her hence; +That you have pitied me is my reward. + +_Hect._ Go, then; and the good gods restore her to thee, +And, with her, all the quiet of thy mind! +The triumph of this kindness be thy own; + And heaven and earth this testimony yield, + That friendship never gained a nobler field. [_Exeunt severally._ + + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + + _Enter_ PANDARUS _and_ CRESSIDA _meeting._ + +_Pand._ Is't possible? no sooner got but lost? +The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad: +A plague upon Antenor! would they had broke his neck! + +_Cres._ How now? what's the matter? Who was here? + +_Pand._ Oh, oh! + +_Cres._ Why sigh you so? O, where's my Troilus? +Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? + +_Pand._ Would I were as deep under the earth, as +I am above it! + +_Cres._ O, the gods! What's the matter? + +_Pand._ Pr'ythee get thee in; would thou hadst never been born! +I knew thou wouldst be his death; oh, poor gentleman! +A plague upon Antenor! + +_Cres._ Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, tell me what's the +matter? + +_Pand._ Thou must be gone, girl; thou must be gone, to the fugitive +rogue-priest, thy father: (and he's my brother too; but that's all one +at this time:) A pox upon Antenor! + +_Cres._ O, ye immortal gods! I will not go. + +_Pand._ Thou must, thou must. + +_Cres._ I will not: I have quite forgot my father. +I have no touch of birth, no spark of nature, +No kin, no blood, no life; nothing so near me, +As my dear Troilus! + + _Enter_ TROILUS. + +_Pand._ Here, here, here he comes, sweet duck! + +_Cres._ O, Troilus, Troilus! [_They both weep over each other; + she running into his arms._ + +_Pand._ What a pair of spectacles is here! let me embrace too. _Oh, +heart,_--as the saying is,-- + _--o heart, o heavy heart, + Why sigh'st thou without breaking!_ +Where he answers again, + _Because thou can'st not ease thy smart, + By friendship nor by speaking._ +There was never a truer rhyme: let us cast away nothing, for we may +live to have need of such a verse; we see it, we see it.--How now, +lambs? + +_Troil._ Cressid, I love thee with so strange a purity, +That the blest gods, angry with my devotions, +More bright in zeal than that I pay their altars, +Will take thee from my sight. + +_Cres._ Have the gods envy? + +_Pand._ Ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case! + +_Cres._ And is it true, that I must go from Troy? + +_Troil._ A hateful truth. + +_Cres._ What, and from Troilus too? + +_Troil._ From Troy and Troilus,--and suddenly; +So suddenly, 'tis counted out by minutes. + +_Cres._ What, not an hour allowed for taking leave? + +_Troil._ Even that's bereft us too: Our envious fates +Jostle betwixt, and part the dear adieus +Of meeting lips, clasped hands, and locked embraces. + +_AEneas._ [_Within._] My lord, is the lady ready yet? + +_Troil._ Hark, you are called!--Some say, the genius so +Cries,--Come, to him who instantly must die. + +_Pand._ Where are my tears? some rain to lay this wind, +Or my heart will be blown up by the roots! + +_Troil._ Hear me, my love! be thou but true, like me. + +_Cres._ I true! how now, what wicked thought is this? + +_Troil._ Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, +For it is parting from us. +I spoke not, be thou true, as fearing thee; +But be thou true, I said, to introduce +My following protestation,--be thou true, +And I will see thee. + +_Cres._ You'll be exposed to dangers. + +_Troil._ I care not; but be true. + +_Cres._ Be true, again? + +_Troil._ Hear why I speak it, love. +The Grecian youths are full of Grecian arts: +Alas! a kind of holy jealousy, +Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin, +Makes me afraid how far you may be tempted. + +_Cres._ O heavens, you love me not! + +_Troil._ Die I a villain then! +In this I do not call your faith in question, +But my own merit. + +_Cres._ Fear not; I'll be true. + +_Troil._ Then, fate, thy worst! for I will see thee, love; +Not all the Grecian host shall keep me out, +Nor Troy, though walled with fire, should hold me in. + +_AEneas._ [_Within._] My lord, my lord Troilus! I must call you. + +_Pand._ A mischief call him! nothing but screech-owls? do, do, call +again; you had best part them now in the sweetness of their +love!--I'll be hanged if this AEneas be the son of Venus, for all his +bragging. Honest Venus was a punk; would she have parted lovers? no, +he has not a drop of Venus' blood in him--honest Venus was a punk. + +_Troil._ [_To Pand._] Pr'ythee, go out, and gain one minute more. + +_Pand._ Marry and I will: follow you your business; lose no time, 'tis +very precious; go, bill again: I'll tell the rogue his own, I warrant +him. [_Exit_ PANDARUS. + +_Cres._ What have we gained by this one minute more? + +_Troil._ Only to wish another, and another, +A longer struggling with the pangs of death. + +_Cres._ O, those, who do not know what parting is, +Can never learn to die! + +_Troil._ When I but think this sight may be our last, +If Jove could set me in the place of Atlas, +And lay the weight of heaven and gods upon me, +He could not press me more. + +_Cres._ Oh let me go, that I may know my grief; +Grief is but guessed, while thou art standing by: +But I too soon shall know what absence is. + +_Troil._ Why, 'tis to be no more; another name for death: +'Tis the sun parting from the frozen north; +And I, methinks, stand on some icy cliff, +To watch the last low circles that he makes, +'Till he sink down from heaven! O only Cressida, +If thou depart from me, I cannot live: +I have not soul enough to last for grief, +But thou shalt hear what grief has done with me. + +_Cres._ If I could live to hear it, I were false. +But, as a careful traveller, who, fearing +Assaults of robbers, leaves his wealth behind, +I trust my heart with thee; and to the Greeks +Bear but an empty casket. + +_Troil._ Then I will live, that I may keep that treasure; +And, armed with this assurance, let thee go, +Loose, yet secure as is the gentle hawk, +When, whistled off, she mounts into the wind. +Our love's like mountains high above the clouds; +Though winds and tempests beat their aged feet, +Their peaceful heads nor storm nor thunder know, +But scorn the threatening rack that rolls below. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II. + + ACHILLES _and_ PATROCLUS _standing in their tent._--ULYSSES + AGAMEMNON, MENELAUS, NESTOR, _and_ AJAX, _passing over the stage._ + +_Ulys._ Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent: +Please it our general to pass strangely by him, +As if he were forgot; and, princes all, +Look on him with neglectful eyes and scorn: +Pride must be cured by pride. + +_Agam._ We'll execute your purpose, and put on +A form of strangeness as we pass along; +So do each prince; either salute him not, +Or else disdainfully, which will shake him more +Than if not looked on. I will lead the way. + +_Achil._ What, comes the general to speak with me? +You know my mind; I'll fight no more with Troy. + +_Agam._ What says Achilles? would he aught with us? + +_Nest._ Would you, my lord, aught with the general? + +_Achil._ No. + +_Nest._ Nothing, my lord. + +_Agam._ The better. + +_Menel._ How do you, how do you? + +_Achil._ What, does the cuckold scorn me! + +_Ajax._ How now, Patroclus? + +_Achil._ Good morrow, Ajax. + +_Ajax._ Ha! + +_Achil._ Good morrow. + +_Ajax._ Ay; and good next day too. + [_Exeunt all but_ ACHILLES _and_ PATROCLUS. + +_Achil._ What mean these fellows? know they not Achilles? + +_Patro._ They pass by strangely; they were used to bow, +And send their smiles before them to Achilles; +To come as humbly as they used to creep +To holy altars. + +_Achil._ Am I poor of late? +'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, +Must fall out with men too: what the declined is, +He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, +As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, +Show not their mealy wings but to the summer. + +_Patro._ 'Tis known you are in love with Hector's sister, +And therefore will not fight; and your not fighting +Draws on you this contempt. I oft have told you, +A woman, impudent and mannish grown, +Is not more loathed than an effeminate man, +In time of action: I am condemned for this: +They think my little appetite to war +Deads all the fire in you; but rouse yourself, +And love shall from your neck unloose his folds; +Or, like a dew-drop from a lion's mane, +Be shaken into air. + +_Achil._ Shall Ajax fight with Hector? + +_Patro._ Yes, and perhaps shall gain much honour by him. + +_Achil._ I see my reputation is at stake. + +_Patro._ O then beware; those wounds heal ill, that men +Have given themselves, because they give them deepest. + +_Achil._ I'll do something; +But what I know not yet.--No more; our champion. + + _Re-enter_ AJAX, AGAMEMNON, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDE, + _Trumpet._ + +_Agam._ Here art thou, daring combat, valiant Ajax. +Give, with thy trumpet, a loud note to Troy, +Thou noble champion, that the sounding air +May pierce the ears of the great challenger, +And call him hither. + +_Ajax._ Trumpet, take that purse: +Now crack thy lungs, and split the sounding brass; +Thou blow'st for Hector. + [_Trumpet sounds, and is answered from within._ + + _Enter_ HECTOR, AENEAS, _and other Trojans._ + +_Agam._ Yonder comes the troop. + +_AEn._ [_Coming to the Greeks._] +Health to the Grecian lords:--What shall be done +To him that shall be vanquished? or do you purpose +A victor should be known? will you, the knights +Shall to the edge of all extremity +Pursue each other, or shall be divided +By any voice or order of the field? +Hector bade ask. + +_Agam._ Which way would Hector have it? + +_AEn._ He cares not, he'll obey conditions. + +_Achil._ 'Tis done like Hector, but securely done; +A little proudly, and too much despising +The knight opposed; he might have found his match. + +_AEn._ If not Achilles, sir, what is your name? + +_Achil._ If not Achilles, nothing. + +_AEn._ Therefore Achilles; but whoe'er, know this; +Great Hector knows no pride: weigh him but well, +And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. +This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood, +In love whereof half Hector stays at home. + +_Achil._ A maiden battle? I perceive you then. + +_Agam._ Go, Diomede, and stand by valiant Ajax; +As you and lord AEneas shall consent, +So let the fight proceed, or terminate. + [_The trumpets sound on both sides, while_ AENEAS + _and_ DIOMEDE _take their places, as Judges of + the field. The Trojans and Grecians rank + themselves on either side._ + +_Ulys._ They are opposed already. + [_Fight equal at first, then_ AJAX _has_ HECTOR + _at disadvantage; at last_ HECTOR _closes,_ + AJAX _falls on one knee,_ HECTOR _stands over + him, but strikes not, and_ AJAX _rises._ + +_AEn._ [_Throwing his gauntlet betwixt them._] +Princes, enough; you have both shown much valour. + +_Diom._ And we, as judges of the field, declare, +The combat here shall cease. + +_Ajax,_ I am not warm yet, let us fight again. + +_AEn._ Then let it be as Hector shall determine. + +_Hect._ If it be left to me, I will no more.-- +Ajax, thou art my aunt Hesione's son; +The obligation of our blood forbids us. +But, were thy mixture Greek and Trojan so, +That thou couldst say, this part is Grecian all, +And this is Trojan,--hence thou shouldst not bear +One Grecian limb, wherein my pointed sword +Had not impression made. But heaven forbid +That any drop, thou borrowest from my mother, +Should e'er be drained by me: let me embrace thee, cousin. +By him who thunders, thou hast sinewy arms: +Hector would have them fall upon him thus:-- [_Embrace._ +Thine be the honour, Ajax. + +_Ajax._ I thank thee, Hector; +Thou art too gentle, and too free a man. +I came to kill thee, cousin, and to gain +A great addition from that glorious act: +But thou hast quite disarmed me. + +_Hect._ I am glad; +For 'tis the only way I could disarm thee. + +_Ajax._ If I might in intreaty find success, +I would desire to see thee at my tent. + +_Diom._ 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles; +Both long to see the valiant Hector there. + +_Hect._ AEneas, call my brother Troilus to me; +And you two sign this friendly interview. + [AGAMEMNON, _and the chief of both + sides approach._ + +_Agam._ [_To HECT._] +Worthy of arms, as welcome as to one, +Who would be rid of such an enemy.-- +[_To_ TROIL.] My well-famed lord of Troy, no less to you. + +_Nest._ I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee often, +Labouring for destiny, make cruel way +Through ranks of Grecian youth; and I have seen thee +As swift as lightning spur thy Phrygian steed, +And seen thee scorning many forfeit lives, +When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th' air, +Not letting it decline on prostrate foes; +That I have said to all the standers-by, +Lo, Jove is yonder, distributing life. + +_Hect._ Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, +Who hast so long walked hand in hand with time: +Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. + +_Ulys._ I wonder now, how yonder city stands, +When we have here her base and pillar by us. + +_Hect._ I know your count'nance, lord Ulysses, well. +Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, +Since first I saw yourself and Diomede +In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. + +_Achil._ Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; +I have with exact view perused thee, Hector, +And quoted joint by joint. + +_Hect._ Is this Achilles? + +_Achil._ I am Achilles. + +_Hect._ Stand fair, I pr'ythee, let me look on thee. + +_Achil._ Behold thy fill. + +_Hect._ Nay, I have done already. + +_Achil._ Thou art too brief. I will, the second time, +As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. + +_Hect._ O, like a book of sport, thou read'st me o'er; +But there's more in me than thou understand'st. + +_Achil._ Tell me, ye heavens, in which part of his body +Shall I destroy him? there, or there, or there? +That I may give the imagined wound a name, +And make distinct the very breach, whereout +Hector's great spirit flew! answer me, heavens! + +_Hect._ Wert thou an oracle to tell me this, +I'd not believe thee; henceforth guard thee well, +I'll kill thee every where. +Ye noble Grecians, pardon me this boast; +His insolence draws folly from my lips; +But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, +Else may I never-- + +_Ajax._ Do not chafe thee, cousin;-- +And you, Achilles, let these threats alone; +You may have every day enough of Hector, +If you have stomach; the general state, I fear, +Can scarce intreat you to perform your boast. + +_Hect._ I pray you, let us see you in the field; +We have had pelting wars, since you refused +The Grecian cause. + +_Achil._ Do'st thou entreat me, Hector? +To-morrow will I meet thee, fierce as death; +To-night, all peace. + +_Hect._ Thy hand upon that match. + +_Agam._ First, all you Grecian princes, go with me, +And entertain great Hector; afterwards, +As his own leisure shall concur with yours, +You may invite him to your several tents. + [_Exeunt_ AGAM. HECT. MENEL. NEST. DIOM. + _together._ + +_Troil._ My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, +In what part of the field does Calchas lodge? + +_Ulys._ At Menelaus' tent: +There Diomede does feast with him to-night; +Who neither looks on heaven or on earth, +But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view +On Cressida alone. + +_Troil._ Shall I, brave lord, be bound to you so much, +After we part from Agamemnon's tent, +To bring me thither? + +_Ulys._ I shall wait on you. +As freely tell me, of what honour was +This Cressida in Troy? had she no lovers there, +Who mourn her absence? + +_Troil._ O sir, to such as boasting show their scars, +Reproof is due: she loved and was beloved; +That's all I must impart. Lead on, my lord. + [_Exeunt_ ULYSSES _and_ TROILUS. + +_Achil._ [_To_ PATRO.] +I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, +Which with my sword I mean to cool to-morrow. +Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. + + _Enter_ THERSITES. + +_Patro._ Here comes Thersites. + +_Achil._ How now, thou core of envy, +Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? + +_Thers._ Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, thou idol of ideot +worshippers, there's a letter for thee. + +_Achil._ From whence, fragment? + +_Thers._ Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. + +_Patro._ Well said, adversity! what makes thee so keen to-day? + +_Thers._ Because a fool's my whetstone. + +_Patro._ Meaning me? + +_Thers._ Yes, meaning thy no meaning; pr'ythee, be silent, boy, I +profit not by thy talk. Now the rotten diseases of the south, +gut-gripings, ruptures, catarrhs, loads of gravel in the back, +lethargies, cold palsies, and the like, take thee, and take thee +again! thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a +prodigal's purse, thou! Ah how the poor world is pestered with such +water-flies, such diminutives of nature! + +_Achil._ My dear Patroclus, I am quite prevented +From my great purpose, bent on Hector's life. +Here is a letter from my love Polyxena, +Both taxing and engaging me to keep +An oath that I have sworn; and will not break it +To save all Greece. Let honour go or stay, +There's more religion in my love than fame. + [_Exeunt_ ACHILLES _and_ PATROCLUS. + +_Thers._ With too much blood, and too little brain, these two are +running mad before the dog-days. There's Agamemnon, too, an honest +fellow enough, and loves a brimmer heartily; but he has not so much +brains as an old gander. But his brother Menelaus, there's a fellow! +the goodly transformation of Jupiter when he loved Europa; the +primitive cuckold; a vile monkey tied eternally to his brother's +tail,--to be a dog, a mule, a cat, a toad, an owl, a lizard, a herring +without a roe, I would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire +against destiny.--Hey day! Will with a Wisp, and Jack a Lanthorn! + + HECTOR, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, DIOMEDE, ULYSSES, TROILUS, _going with + Torches over the Stage._ + +_Agam._ We go wrong, we go wrong. + +_Ajax._ No, yonder 'tis; there, where we see the light. + +_Hect._ I trouble you. + +_Ajax._ Not at all, cousin; here comes Achilles himself, to guide us. + + _Enter_ ACHILLES. + +_Achil._ Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all. + +_Agam._ So now, brave prince of Troy, I take my leave; Ajax commands +the guard to wait on you. + +_Men._ Good night, my lord. + +_Hect._ Good night, sweet lord Menelaus. + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] Sweet, quotha! Sweet sink, sweet sewer, sweet +jakes! + +_Achil._ Nestor will stay; and you, lord Diomede, +Keep Hector company an hour or two. + +_Diom._ I cannot, sir; I have important business. + +_Achil._ Enter, my lords. + +_Ulys._ [_To_ TROIL.] Follow his torch: he goes to Calchas's tent. + [_Exeunt_ ACHIL. HECT. AJAX, _one way;_ DIOMEDE + _another; and after him_ ULYSSES + _and_ TROILUS. + +_Thers._ This Diomede's a false-hearted rogue, an unjust knave; I will +no more trust him when he winks with one eye, than I will a serpent +when he hisses. He will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabbler +the hound; but when he performs, astronomers set it down for a +prodigy: though I long to see Hector, I cannot forbear dogging him. +They say he keeps a Trojan drab; and uses Calchas's tent, that +fugitive priest of Troy, that canonical rogue of our side. I'll after +him; nothing but whoring in this age; all incontinent rascals! + [_Exit_ THERSITES. + + _Enter_ CALCHAS _and_ CRESSIDA. + +_Calch._ O, what a blessing is a virtuous child! +Thou has reclaimed my mind, and calmed my passions +Of anger and revenge; my love to Troy +Revives within me, and my lost tiara +No more disturbs my mind. + +_Cres._ A virtuous conquest! + +_Calch._ I have a woman's longing to return; +But yet which way, without your aid, I know not. + +_Cres._ Time must instruct us how. + +_Calch._ You must dissemble love to Diomede still: +False Diomede, bred in Ulysses' school, +Can never be deceived, +But by strong arts and blandishments of love. +Put them in practice all; seem lost and won, +And draw him on, and give him line again. +This Argus then may close his hundred eyes, +And leave our flight more easy. + +_Cres._ How can I answer this to love and Troilus? + +_Calch._ Why, 'tis for him you do it; promise largely; +That ring he saw you wear, he much suspects +Was given you by a lover; let him have it. + +_Diom._ [_Within._] Ho, Calchas, Calchas! + +_Calch._ Hark! I hear his voice. +Pursue your project; doubt not the success. + +_Cres._ Heaven knows, against my will; and yet my hopes, +This night to meet my Troilus, while 'tis truce, +Afford my mind some ease. + +_Calch._ No more: retire. [_Exit_ CRESSIDA. + + _Enter_ DIOMEDE: TROILUS _and_ ULYSSES _appear listening at one + Door, and_ THERSITES _watching at another._ + +_Diom._ I came to see your daughter, worthy Calchas. + +_Calch._ My lord, I'll call her to you. [_Exit_ CALCHAS. + +_Ulys._ [_To_ TROIL.] Stand where the torch may not discover us. + + _Enter_ CRESSIDA. + +_Troil._ Cressida comes forth to him! + +_Diom._ How now, my charge? + +_Cres._ Now, my sweet guardian; hark, a word with you. [_Whisper._ + +_Troil._ Ay, so familiar! + +_Diom._ Will you remember? + +_Cres._ Remember? yes. + +_Troil._ Heavens, what should she remember! Plague and madness! + +_Ulys._ Prince, you are moved: let us depart in time, +Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself +To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous; +The time unlit: beseech you, let us go. + +_Troil._ I pray you stay; by hell, and by hell's torments, I will not +speak a word. + +_Diom._ I'll hear no more: good night. + +_Cres._ Nay, but you part in anger! + +_Troil._ Does that grieve thee? O withered truth! + +_Diom._ Farewell, cozener. + +_Cres._ Indeed I am not: pray, come back again. + +_Ulys._ You shake, my lord, at something: will you go? +You will break out. + +_Troil._ By all the gods I will not. +There is, between my will and all my actions, +A guard of patience: stay a little while. + +_Thers._ [_aside._] How the devil luxury, with his fat rump, and +potato-finger, tickles these together!--Put him off a little, you +foolish harlot! 'twill sharpen him the more. + +_Diom._ But will you then? + +_Cres._ I will, as soon as e'er the war's concluded. + +_Diom_ Give me some token, for the surety of it; +The ring I saw you wear. + +_Cres._ [_Giving it._] If you must have it. + +_Troil._ The ring? nay, then, 'tis plain! O beauty, where's thy faith! + +_Ulys._ You have sworn patience. + +_Thers._ That's well, that's well, the pledge is given; hold her to +her word, good devil, and her soul's thine, I warrant thee. + +_Diom._ Whose was't? + +_Cres._ By all Diana's waiting train of stars, +And by herself, I will not tell you whose. + +_Diom._ Why then thou lov'st him still: farewell for ever: +Thou never shalt mock Diomede again. + +_Cres._ You shall not go: one cannot speak a word, +But straight it starts you. + +_Diom._ I do not like this fooling. + +_Thers._ Nor I, by Pluto: but that, which likes not you, pleases me +best. + +_Diom._ I shall expect your promise. + +_Cres._ I'll perform it. +Not a word more, good night--I hope for ever: +Thus to deceive deceivers is no fraud. [_Aside._ + [_Exeunt_ DIOMEDE _and_ CRESSIDA _severally._ + +_Ulys._ All's done, my lord. + +_Troil_ Is it? + +_Ulys._ Pray let us go. + +_Troil._ Was Cressida here? + +_Ulys._ I cannot conjure, Trojan. + +_Troil._ She was not, sure! she was not; +Let it not be believed, for womanhood: +Think we had mothers, do not give advantage +To biting satire, apt without a theme +For defamation, to square all the sex +By Cressid's rule; rather think this not Cressida. + +_Thers._ Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes? + +_Troil._ This she! no, this was Diomede's Cressida. +If beauty have a soul, this is not she:-- +I cannot speak for rage;--that ring was mine:-- +By heaven I gave it, in that point of time, +When both our joys were fullest!--If he keeps it, +Let dogs eat Troilus. + +_Thers._ He'll tickle it for his concupy: this will be sport to see! +Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore; a +parrot will not do more for an almond, than he will for a commodious +drab:--I would I could meet with this rogue Diomede too: I would croak +like a raven to him; I would bode: it shall go hard but I'll find him +out. [_Exit_ THERSITES. + + _Enter_ AENEAS. + +_AEn._ I have been seeking you this hour, my lord: +Hector by this is arming him in Troy. + +_Ulys._ Commend me, gallant Troilus, to your brother: +Tell him, I hope he shall not need to arm; +The fair Polyxena has, by a letter, +Disarmed our great Achilles of his rage. + +_Troil._ This I shall say to Hector. + +_Ulys._ So I hope. +Pray heaven Thersites have informed me true!-- [_Aside._ + +_Troil._ Good night, my lord; accept distracted thanks! + [_Exit_ ULYSSES. + + _Enter_ PANDARUS. + +_Pand._ Hear ye, my lord, hear ye; I have been seeing yon poor girl. +There have been old doings there, i'faith. + +_Troil._ [_Aside._] +Hold yet, my spirits: let him pour it in: +The poison's kind: the more I drink of it, +The sooner 'twill dispatch me. + +_AEn._ to _Pand._ Peace, thou babbler! + +_Pand._ She has been mightily made on by the Greeks: she takes most +wonderfully among 'em. Achilles kissed her, and Patroclus kissed her: +nay, and old Nestor put aside his grey beard, and brushed her with his +whiskers. Then comes me Agamemnon with his general's staff, diving +with a low bow even to the ground, and rising again, just at her lips: +and after him came Ulysses, and Ajax, and Menelaus: and they so pelted +her, i'faith, pitter patter, pitter patter, as thick as hail-stones. +And after that, a whole rout of 'em: never was a woman in Phrygia +better kissed. + +_Troil._ [_Aside._] Hector said true: I find, I find it now! + +_Pand._ And, last of all, comes me Diomede, so demurely: that's a +notable sly rogue, I warrant him! mercy upon us, how he laid her on +upon the lips! for, as I told you, she's most mightily made on among +the Greeks. What, cheer up, I say, man! she has every one's good word. +I think, in my conscience, she was born with a caul upon her head. + +_Troil._ [_Aside._] Hell, death, confusion, how he tortures me! + +_Pand._ And that rogue-priest, my brother, is so courted and treated +for her sake: the young sparks do so pull him about, and haul him by +the cassock: nothing but invitations to his tent, and his tent, and +his tent. Nay, and one of 'em was so bold, as to ask him, if she were +a virgin; and with that, the rogue, my brother, takes me up a little +god in his hand, and kisses it, and swears devoutly that she was; then +was I ready to burst my sides with laughing, to think what had passed +betwixt you two. + +_Troil._ O I can bear no more! she's falsehood all: +False by both kinds; for with her mother's milk +She sucked the infusion of her father's soul. +She only wants an opportunity; +Her soul's a whore already. + +_Pand._ What, would you make a monopoly of a woman's lips? a little +consolation, or so, might be allowed, one would think, in a lover's +absence. + +_Troil._ Hence from my sight! +Let ignominy brand thy hated name; +Let modest matrons at thy mention start; +And blushing virgins, when they read our annals, +Skip o'er the guilty page that holds thy legend, +And blots the noble work. + +_Pand._ O world, world: thou art an ungrateful patch of earth! Thus +the poor agent is despised! he labours painfully in his calling, and +trudges between parties: but when their turns are served, come out's +too good for him. I am mighty melancholy. I'll e'en go home, and shut +up my doors, and die o' the sullens, like an old bird in a cage! + [_Exit_ PANDARUS. + + _Enter_ DIOMEDE _and_ THERSITES. + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] There, there he is; now let it work: now play thy +part, jealousy, and twinge 'em: put 'em between thy mill-stones, and +grind the rogues together. + +_Diom._ My lord, I am by Ajax sent to inform you, +This hour must end the truce. + +_AEn._ to _Troil._ Contain yourself: +Think where we are. + +_Diom._ Your stay will be unsafe. + +_Troil._ It may, for those I hate. + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] Well said, Trojan: there's the first hit. + +_Diom._ Beseech you, sir, make haste; my own affairs call me another +way. + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] What affairs? what affairs? demand that, +dolt-head! the rogue will lose a quarrel, for want of wit to ask that +question. + +_Troil._ May I enquire where your affairs conduct you? + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] Well said again; I beg thy pardon. + +_Diom._ Oh, it concerns you not. + +_Troil._ Perhaps it does. + +_Diom._ You are too inquisitive: nor am I bound +To satisfy an enemy's request. + +_Troil._ You have a ring upon your finger, Diomede, +And given you by a lady. + +_Diom._ If it were, +'Twas given to one that can defend her gift. + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] So, so; the boars begin to gruntle at one another: +set up your bristles now, a'both sides: whet and foam, rogues. + +_Troil._ You must restore it, Greek, by heaven you must; +No spoil of mine shall grace a traitor's hand: +And, with it, give me back the broken vows +Of my false fair; which, perjured as she is, +I never will resign, but with my soul. + +_Diom._ Then thou, it seems, art that forsaken fool, +Who, wanting merit to preserve her heart, +Repines in vain to see it better placed; +But know, (for now I take a pride to grieve thee) +Thou art so lost a thing in her esteem, +I never heard thee named, but some scorn followed: +Thou wert our table-talk for laughing meals; +Thy name our sportful theme for evening-walks, +And intermissive hours of cooler love, +When hand in hand we went. + +_Troil._ Hell and furies! + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] O well stung, scorpion! +Now Menelaus's Greek horns are out o' doors, there's a new cuckold +starts up on the Trojan side. + +_Troil._ Yet this was she, ye gods, that very she, +Who in my arms lay melting all the night; +Who kissed and sighed, and sighed and kissed again, +As if her soul flew upward to her lips, +To meet mine there, and panted at the passage; +Who, loth to find the breaking day, looked out, +And shrunk into my bosom, there to make +A little longer darkness. + +_Diom._ Plagues and tortures! + +_Thers._ Good, good, by Pluto! their fool's mad, to lose his harlot; +and our fool's mad, that t'other fool had her first. If I sought peace +now, I could tell 'em there's punk enough to satisfy 'em both: whore +sufficient! but let 'em worry one another, the foolish curs; they +think they never can have enough of carrion. + +_AEn._ My lords, this fury is not proper here +In time of truce; if either side be injured, +To-morrow's sun will rise apace, and then-- + +_Troil._ And then! but why should I defer till then? +My blood calls now, there is no truce for traitors; +My vengeance rolls within my breast; it must, +It will have vent,-- [_Draws._ + +_Diom._ Hinder us not, AEneas, +My blood rides high as his; I trust thy honour, +And know thou art too brave a foe to break it.-- [_Draws._ + +_Thers._ Now, moon! now shine, sweet moon! let them have just light +enough to make their passes; and not enough to ward them. + +_AEn._ [_Drawing too._] +By heaven, he comes on this, who strikes the first. +You both are mad; is this like gallant men, +To fight at midnight; at the murderer's hour; +When only guilt and rapine draw a sword? +Let night enjoy her dues of soft repose; +But let the sun behold the brave man's courage. +And this I dare engage for Diomede,-- +For though I am,--he shall not hide his head, +But meet you in the very face of danger. + +_Diom._ [_Putting up._] +Be't so; and were it on some precipice, +High as Olympus, and a sea beneath, +Call when thou dar'st, just on the sharpest point +I'll meet, and tumble with thee to destruction. + +_Troil._ A gnawing conscience haunts not guilty men, +As I'll haunt thee, to summon thee to this; +Nay, shouldst thou take the Stygian lake for refuge, +I'll plunge in after, through the boiling flames, +To push thee hissing down the vast abyss. + +_Diom._ Where shall we meet? + +_Troil._ Before the tent of Calchas. +Thither, through all your troops, I'll fight my way; +And in the sight of perjured Cressida, +Give death to her through thee. + +_Diom._ 'Tis largely promised; +But I disdain to answer with a boast. +Be sure thou shalt be met. + +_Troil._ And thou be found. [_Exeunt_ TROILUS _and_ AENEAS _one way;_ + DIOMEDE _the other._ + +_Thers._ Now the furies take AEneas, for letting them sleep upon their +quarrel; who knows but rest may cool their brains, and make them rise +maukish to mischief upon consideration? May each of them dream he sees +his cockatrice in t'other's arms; and be stabbing one another in their +sleep, to remember them of their business when they wake: let them be +punctual to the point of honour; and, if it were possible, let both be +first at the place of execution; let neither of them have cogitation +enough, to consider 'tis a whore they fight for; and let them value +their lives at as little as they are worth: and lastly, let no +succeeding fools take warning by them; but, in imitation of them, when +a strumpet is in question, + Let them beneath their feet all reason trample, + And think it great to perish by example. [_Exit._ + + +ACT V. SCENE I. + + HECTOR, _Trojans,_ ANDROMACHE. + +_Hect._ The blue mists rise from off the nether grounds, +And the sun mounts apace. To arms, to arms! +I am resolved to put to the utmost proof +The fate of Troy this day. + +_Andr._ [_Aside._] Oh wretched woman, oh! + +_Hect._ Methought I heard you sigh, Andromache. + +_Andr._ Did you, my lord? + +_Hect._ Did you, my lord? you answer indirectly; +Just when I said, that I would put our fate +Upon the extremest proof, you fetched a groan; +And, as you checked yourself for what you did, +You stifled it and stopt. Come, you are sad. + +_Andr._ The gods forbid! + +_Hect._ What should the gods forbid? + +_Andr._ That I should give you cause of just offence. + +_Hect._ You say well; but you look not chearfully. +I mean this day to waste the stock of war, +And lay it prodigally out in blows. +Come, gird my sword, and smile upon me, love; +Like victory, come flying to my arms, +And give me earnest of desired success. + +_Andr._ The gods protect you, and restore you to me! + +_Hect._ What, grown a coward! Thou wert used, Andromache, +To give my courage courage; thou would'st cry,-- +Go Hector, day grows old, and part of fame +Is ravished from thee by thy slothful stay. + +_Andr._ [_Aside._] +What shall I do to seem the same I was?-- +Come, let me gird thy fortune to thy side, +And conquest sit as close and sure as this. + [_She goes to gird his sword, and it falls._ +Now mercy, heaven! the gods avert this omen! + +_Hect._ A foolish omen! take it up again, +And mend thy error. + +_Andr._ I cannot, for my hand obeys me not; +But, as in slumbers, when we fain would run +From our imagined fears, our idle feet +Grow to the ground, our struggling voice dies inward; +So now, when I would force myself to chear you, +My faltering tongue can give no glad presage: +Alas, I am no more Andromache. + +_Hect._ Why then thy former soul is flown to me; +For I, methinks, am lifted into air, +As if my mind, mastering my mortal part, +Would bear my exalted body to the gods. +Last night I dreamt Jove sat on Ida's top, +And, beckoning with his hand divine from far, +He pointed to a choir of demi-gods, +Bacchus and Hercules, and all the rest, +Who, free from human toils, had gained the pitch +Of blest eternity;--Lo there, he said, +Lo there's a place for Hector. + +_Andr._ Be to thy enemies this boding dream! + +_Hect._ Why, it portends me honour and renown. + +_Andr._ Such honour as the brave gain after death; +For I have dreamt all night of horrid slaughters, +Of trampling horses, and of chariot wheels +Wading in blood up to their axle-trees; +Of fiery demons gliding down the skies, +And Ilium brightened with a midnight blaze: +O therefore, if thou lovest me, go not forth. + +_Hect._ Go to thy bed again, and there dream better.-- +Ho! bid my trumpet sound. + +_Andr._ No notes of sally, for the heaven's sweet sake! +'Tis not for nothing when my spirits droop; +This is a day when thy ill stars are strong, +When they have driven thy helpless genius down +The steep of heaven, to some obscure retreat. + +_Hect._ No more; even as thou lovest my fame, no more; +My honour stands engaged to meet Achilles. +What will the Grecians think, or what will he, +Or what will Troy, or what wilt thou thyself, +When once this ague fit of fear is o'er, +If I should lose my honour for a dream? + +_Andr._ Your enemies too well your courage know, +And heaven abhors the forfeit of rash vows, +Like spotted livers in a sacrifice. +I cannot, O I dare not let you go; +For, when you leave me, my presaging mind +Says, I shall never, never see you more. + +_Hect._ Thou excellently good, but oh too soft, +Let me not 'scape the danger of this day; +But I have struggling in my manly soul, +To see those modest tears, ashamed to fall, +And witness any part of woman in thee! +And now I fear, lest thou shouldst think it fear, +If, thus dissuaded, I refuse to fight, +And stay inglorious in thy arms at home. + +_Andr._ Oh, could I have that thought, I should not love thee; +Thy soul is proof to all things but to kindness; +And therefore 'twas that I forbore to tell thee, +How mad Cassandra, full of prophecy, +Ran round the streets, and, like a Bacchanal, +Cried,--Hold him, Priam, 'tis an ominous day; +Let him not go, for Hector is no more. + +_Hect._ Our life is short, but to extend that span +To vast eternity, is virtue's work; +Therefore to thee, and not to fear of fate, +Which once must come to all, give I this day. +But see thou move no more the like request; +For rest assured, that, to regain this hour, +To-morrow will I tempt a double danger. +Mean time, let destiny attend thy leisure; +I reckon this one day a blank of life. + + _Enter_ TROILUS. + +_Troil._ Where are you, brother? now, in honour's name, +What do you mean to be thus long unarmed? +The embattled soldiers throng about the gates; +The matrons to the turrets' tops ascend, +Holding their helpless children in their arms, +To make you early known to their young eyes, +And Hector is the universal shout. + +_Hect._ Bid all unarm; I will not fight to-day. + +_Troil._ Employ some coward to bear back this news, +And let the children hoot him for his pains. +By all the gods, and by my just revenge, +This sun shall shine the last for them or us; +These noisy streets, or yonder echoing plains, +Shall be to-morrow silent as the grave. + +_Andr._ O brother, do not urge a brother's fate, +But, let this wreck of heaven and earth roll o'er, +And, when the storm is past, put out to sea. + +_Troil._ O now I know from whence his change proceeds; +Some frantic augur has observed the skies; +Some victim wants a heart, or crow flies wrong. +By heaven, 'twas never well, since saucy priests +Grew to be masters of the listening herd, +And into mitres cleft the regal crown; +Then, as the earth were scanty for their power, +They drew the pomp of heaven to wait on them. +Shall I go publish, Hector dares not fight, +Because a madman dreamt he talked with Jove? +What could the god see in a brain-sick priest, +That he should sooner talk to him than me? + +_Hect._ You know my name's not liable to fear. + +_Troil._ Yes, to the worst of fear,--to superstition. +But whether that, or fondness of a wife, +(The more unpardonable ill) has seized you, +Know this, the Grecians think you fear Achilles, +And that Polyxena has begged your life. + +_Hect._ How! that my life is begged, and by my sister? + +_Troil._ Ulysses so informed me at our parting, +With a malicious and disdainful smile: +'Tis true, he said not, in broad words, you feared; +But in well-mannered terms 'twas so agreed, +Achilles should avoid to meet with Hector. + +_Hect._ He thinks my sister's treason my petition; +That, largely vaunting, in my heat of blood, +More than I could, it seems, or durst perform, +I sought evasion. + +_Troil._ And in private prayed-- + +_Hect._ O yes, Polyxena to beg my life. + +_Andr._ He cannot think so;--do not urge him thus. + +_Hect._ Not urge me! then thou think'st I need his urging. +By all the gods, should Jove himself descend, +And tell me,--Hector, thou deservest not life, +But take it as a boon,--I would not live. +But that a mortal man, and he, of all men, +Should think my life were in his power to give, +I will not rest, till, prostrate on the ground, +I make him, atheist-like, implore his breath +Of me, and not of heaven. + +_Troil._ Then you'll refuse no more to fight? + +_Hect._ Refuse! I'll not be hindered, brother. +I'll through and through them, even their hindmost ranks, +Till I have found that large-sized boasting fool, +Who dares presume my life is in his gift. + +_Andr._ Farewell, farewell; 'tis vain to strive with fate! +Cassandra's raging god inspires my breast +With truths that must be told, and not believed. +Look how he dies! look how his eyes turn pale! +Look how his blood bursts out at many vents! +Hark how Troy roars, how Hecuba cries out, +And widowed I fill all the streets with screams! +Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, +Like antiques meet, and tumble upon heaps! +And all cry, Hector, Hector's dead! Oh Hector! [_Exit._ + +_Hect._ What sport will be, when we return at evening, +To laugh her out of countenance for her dreams! + +_Troil._ I have not quenched my eyes with dewy sleep this night; +But fiery fumes mount upward to my brains, +And, when I breathe, methinks my nostrils hiss! +I shall turn basilisk, and with my sight +Do my hands' work on Diomede this day. + +_Hect._ To arms, to arms! the vanguards are engaged +Let us not leave one man to guard the walls; +Both old and young, the coward and the brave, +Be summoned all, our utmost fate to try, +And as one body move, whose soul am I. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II--_The Camp._ + + _Alarm within. Enter_ AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, MENELAUS, _Soldiers._ + +_Agam._ Thus far the promise of the day is fair. +AEneas rather loses ground than gains. +I saw him over-laboured, taking breath, +And leaning on his spear, behold our trenches, +Like a fierce lion looking up to toils, +Which yet he durst not leap. + +_Ulys._ And therefore distant death does all the work; +The flights of whistling darts make brown the sky, +Whose clashing points strike fire, and gild the dusk; +Those, that reach home, from neither host are vain, +So thick the prease; so lusty are their arms, +That death seemed never sent with better will. +Nor was with less concernment entertained. + + _Enter_ NESTOR. + +_Agam._ Now, Nestor, what's the news? + +_Nest._ I have descried +A cloud of dust, that mounts in pillars upwards, +Expanding as it travels to our camp; +And from the midst I heard a bursting shout, +That rent the heaven; as if all Troy were swarmed. +And on the wing this way. + +_Menel._ Let them come, let them come. + +_Agam._ Where's great Achilles? + +_Ulys._ Think not on Achilles, +Till Hector drag him from his tent to fight; +Which sure he will, for I have laid the train. + +_Nest._ But young Patroclus leads his Myrmidons, +And in their front, even in the face of Hector, +Resolves to dare the Trojans. + +_Agam._ Haste, Ulysses, bid Ajax issue forth and second him. + +_Ulys._ Oh noble general, let it not be so. +Oppose not rage, while rage is in its force, +But give it way awhile, and let it waste. +The rising deluge is not stopt with dams; +Those it o'erbears, and drowns the hopes of harvest; +But, wisely managed, its divided strength +Is sluiced in channels, and securely drained. +First, let small parties dally with their fury; +But when their force is spent and unsupplied, +The residue with mounds may be restrained, +And dry-shod we may pass the naked ford. + + _Enter_ THERSITES. + +_Thers._ Ho, ho, ho! + +_Menel._ Why dost thou laugh, unseasonable fool? + +_Thers._ Why, thou fool in season, cannot a man laugh, but thou +thinkest he makes horns at thee? Thou prince of the herd, what hast +thou to do with laughing? 'Tis the prerogative of a man, to laugh. +Thou risibility without reason, thou subject of laughter, thou fool +royal! + +_Ulys._ But tell us the occasion of thy mirth? + +_Thers._ Now a man asks me, I care not if I answer to my own +kind.--Why, the enemies are broken into our trenches; fools like +Menelaus fall by thousands yet not a human soul departs on either +side. Troilus and Ajax have almost beaten one another's heads off, but +are both immortal for want of brains. Patroclus has killed Sarpedon, +and Hector Patroclus, so there is a towardly springing fop gone off; +he might have made a prince one day, but now he's nipt in the very bud +and promise of a most prodigious coxcomb. + +_Agam._ Bear off Patroclus' body to Achilles; +Revenge will arm him now, and bring us aid. +The alarm sounds near, and shouts are driven upon us, +As of a crowd confused in their retreat. + +_Ulys._ Open your ranks, and make these madmen way, +Then close again to charge upon their backs, +And quite consume the relics of the war. [_Exeunt all but_ THERSITES. + +_Thers._ What shoals of fools one battle sweeps away! How it purges +families of younger brothers, highways of robbers, and cities of +cuckold-makers! There is nothing like a pitched battle for these brisk +addle-heads! Your physician is a pretty fellow, but his fees make him +tedious, he rides not fast enough; the fools grow upon him, and their +horse bodies are poison proof. Your pestilence is a quicker remedy, +but it has not the grace to make distinction; it huddles up honest men +and rogues together. But your battle has discretion; it picks out all +the forward fools, and sowses them together into immortality. [_Shouts +and alarms within_] Plague upon these drums and trumpets! these sharp +sauces of the war, to get fools an appetite to fighting! What do I +among them? I shall be mistaken for some valiant ass, and die a martyr +in a wrong religion. [_Here Grecians fly over the stage pursued by + Trojans; one Trojan turns back upon_ + THERSITES _who is flying too._ + +_Troj._ Turn, slave, and fight. + +_Thers._ [_turning._] What art thou? + +_Troj._ A bastard son of Priam's. + +_Thers._ I am a bastard too, I love bastards, I am bastard in body, +bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. A +bear will not fasten upon a bear; why should one bastard offend +another! Let us part fair, like true sons of whores, and have the fear +of our mothers before our eyes. + +_Troj._ The devil take thee, coward. [_Exit Troj._ + +_Thers._ Now, would I were either invisible or invulnerable! These +gods have a fine time on it; they can see and make mischief, and never +feel it. [_Clattering of swords at both doors; he runs each + way, and meets the noise._ +A pox clatter you! I am compassed in. Now would I were that blockhead +Ajax for a minute. Some sturdy Trojan will poach me up with a long +pole! and then the rogues may kill one another at free cost, and have +nobody left to laugh at them. Now destruction! now destruction! + + _Enter_ HECTOR _and_ TROILUS _driving in the Greeks._ + +_Hect._ to _Thers._ Speak what part thou fightest on! + +_Thers._ I fight not at all; I am for neither side. + +_Hect._ Thou art a Greek; art thou a match for Hector? +Art thou of blood and honour? + +_Thers._ No, I am a rascal, a scurvy railing knave, a very filthy +rogue. + +_Hect._ I do believe thee; live. + +_Thers._ God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but the devil break +thy neck for frighting me. [_Aside._ + +_Troil._ (_returning._) What prisoner have you there? + +_Hect._ A gleaning of the war; a rogue, he says. + +_Troil._ Dispatch him, and away. [_Going to kill him._ + +_Thers._ Hold, hold!--what, is it no more but dispatch a man and away! +I am in no such haste: I will not die for Greece; I hate Greece, and +by my good will would never have been born there; I was mistaken into +that country, and betrayed by my parents to be born there. And +besides, I have a mortal enemy among the Grecians, one Diomede, a +damned villain, and cannot die with a safe conscience till I have +first murdered him. + +_Troil._ Shew me that Diomede, and thou shalt live. + +_Thers._ Come along with me, and I will conduct thee to Calchas's +tent, where I believe he is now, making war with the priest's +daughter. + +_Hect._ Here we must part, our destinies divide us; +Brother and friend, farewell. + +_Troil._ When shall we meet? + +_Hect._ When the gods please; if not, we once must part. +Look; on yon hill their squandered troops unite. + +_Troil._ If I mistake not, 'tis their last reserve: +The storm's blown o'er, and those but after-drops. + +_Hect._ I wish our men be not too far engaged; +For few we are and spent, as having born +The burthen of the day: But, hap what can, +They shall be charged; Achilles must be there, +And him I seek, or death. +Divide our troops, and take the fresher half. + +_Troil._ O brother! + +_Hect._ No dispute of ceremony: +These are enow for me, in faith enow. +Their bodies shall not flag while I can lead; +Nor wearied limbs confess mortality, +Before those ants, that blacken all yon hill, +Are crept into the earth. Farewell. [_Exit_ HECT. + +_Troil._ Farewell.--Come, Greek. + +_Thers._ Now these rival rogues will clapperclaw one another, and I +shall have the sport of it. [_Exit_ TROIL. _with_ THERS. + + _Enter_ ACHILLES _and Myrmidons._ + +_Achill._ Which way went Hector? + +_Myrmid._ Up yon sandy hill; +You may discern them by their smoking track: +A wavering body working with bent hams +Against the rising, spent with painful march, +And by loose footing cast on heaps together. + +_Achil._ O thou art gone, thou sweetest, best of friends! +Why did I let thee tempt the shock of war, +Ere yet the tender nerves had strung thy limbs, +And knotted into strength! Yet, though too late, +I will, I will revenge thee, my Patroclus! +Nor shall thy ghost thy murderers long attend, +But thou shalt hear him calling Charon back, +Ere thou art wafted to the farther shore.-- +Make haste, my soldiers; give me this day's pains +For my dead friend: strike every hand with mine, +Till Hector breathless on the ground we lay! +Revenge is honour, the securest way. [_Exit with Myrm._ + + _Enter_ THERSITES, TROILUS, _Trojans._ + +_Thers._ That's Calchas's tent. + +_Troil._ Then, that one spot of earth contains more falsehood, +Than all the sun sees in his race beside. +That I should trust the daughter of a priest! +Priesthood, that makes a merchandise of heaven! +Priesthood, that sells even to their prayers and blessings +And forces us to pay for our own cozenage! + +_Thers._ Nay, cheats heaven too with entrails and with offals; +Gives it the garbage of a sacrifice, +And keeps the best for private luxury. + +_Troil._ Thou hast deserved thy life for cursing priests. +Let me embrace thee; thou art beautiful: +That back, that nose, those eyes are beautiful: +Live; thou art honest, for thou hat'st a priest. + +_Thers._ [_Aside._] Farewell, Trojan; if I escape with life, as I +hope, and thou art knocked on the head, as I hope too, I shall be the +first that ever escaped the revenge of a priest after cursing him; and +thou wilt not be the last, I prophesy, that a priest will bring to +ruin. [_Exit_ THER. + +_Troil._ Methinks, my soul is roused to her last work; +Has much to do, and little time to spare. +She starts within me, like a traveller, +Who sluggishly outslept his morning hour, +And mends his pace to reach his inn betimes. + [_Noise within,_ Follow, follow! +A noise of arms! the traitor may be there; +Or else, perhaps, that conscious scene of love, +The tent, may hold him; yet I dare not search, +For oh, I fear to find him in that place. [_Exit_ TROILUS. + + _Enter_ CALCHAS _and_ CRESSIDA. + +_Cres._ Where is he? I'll be justified, or die. + +_Calch._ So quickly vanished! he was here but now. +He must be gone to search for Diomede; +For Diomede told me, here they were to fight. + +_Cres._ Alas! + +_Calch._ You must prevent, and not complain. + +_Cres._ If Troilus die, I have no share in life. + +_Calch._ If Diomede sink beneath the sword of Troilus +We lose not only a protector here, +But are debarred all future means of flight. + +_Cres._ What then remains? + +_Calch._ To interpose betimes +Betwixt their swords; or, if that cannot be, +To intercede for him, who shall be vanquished. +Fate leaves no middle course. [_Exit_ CALCHAS. + + _Clashing within._ + +_Cres._ Ah me! I hear them, +And fear 'tis past prevention. + + _Enter_ DIOMEDE, _retiring before_ TROILUS, _and falling as he + enters._ + +_Troil._ Now beg thy life, or die. + +_Diom._ No; use thy fortune: +I loath the life, which thou canst give, or take. + +_Troil._ Scorn'st thou my mercy, villain!--Take thy wish.-- + +_Cres._ Hold, hold your hand, my lord, and hear me speak. + [TROILUS _turns back; in which time_ DIOMEDE _rises, + Trojans and Greeks enter, and rank themselves on + both sides of their Captains._ + +_Troil._ Did I not hear the voice of perjured Cressida? +Com'st thou to give the last stab to my heart? +As if the proofs of all thy former falsehood +Were not enough convincing, com'st thou now +To beg my rival's life? +Whom, oh, if any spark of truth remained, +Thou couldst not thus, even to my face, prefer. + +_Cres._ What shall I say!--that you suspect me false, +Has struck me dumb! but let him live, my Troilus; +By all our loves, by all our past endearments, +I do adjure thee, spare him. + +_Troil._ Hell and death! + +_Cres._ If ever I had power to bend your mind, +Believe me still your faithful Cressida; +And though my innocence appear like guilt, +Because I make his forfeit life my suit, +'Tis but for this, that my return to you +Would be cut off for ever by his death; +My father, treated like a slave, and scorned; +Myself in hated bonds a captive held. + +_Troil._ Could I believe thee, could I think thee true, +In triumph would I bear thee back to Troy, +Though Greece could rally all her shattered troops, +And stand embattled to oppose my way. +But, oh, thou syren, I will stop my ears +To thy enchanting notes; the winds shall bear +Upon their wings thy words, more light than they. + +_Cres._ Alas! I but dissembled love to him. +If ever he had any proof, beyond +What modesty might give-- + +_Diom._ No! witness this.-- [_The Ring shewn._ +There, take her, Trojan, thou deserv'st her best; +You good, kind-natured, well-believing fools, +Are treasures to a woman. +I was a jealous, hard, vexatious lover, +And doubted even this pledge,--till full possession; +But she was honourable to her word, +And I have no just reason to complain. + +_Cres._ O unexampled, frontless impudence! + +_Troil._ Hell, show me such another tortured wretch as Troilus! + +_Diom._ Nay, grieve not; I resign her freely up; +I'm satisfied; and dare engage for Cressida, +That, if you have a promise of her person, +She shall be willing to come out of debt. + +_Cres._ [_Kneeling._] +My only lord, by all those holy vows, +Which, if there be a Power above, are binding, +Or, if there be a hell below, are fearful, +May every imprecation, which your rage +Can wish on me, take place, if I am false! + +_Diom._ Nay, since you're so concerned to be believed, +I'm sorry I have pressed my charge so far: +Be what you would be thought; I can be grateful. + +_Troil._ Grateful! Oh torment! now hell's bluest flames +Receive her quick, with all her crimes upon her! +Let her sink spotted down! let the dark host +Make room, and point, and hiss her as she goes! +Let the most branded ghosts of all her sex +Rejoice, and cry,--"Here comes a blacker fiend!" +Let her-- + +_Cres._ Enough, my lord; you've said enough. +This faithless, perjured, hated Cressida, +Shall be no more the subject of your curses: +Some few hours hence, and grief had done your work; +But then your eyes had missed the satisfaction, +Which thus I give you,--thus-- + [_She stabs herself; they both run to her._ + +_Diom._ Help! save her, help! + +_Cres._ Stand off, and touch me not, thou traitor Diomede;-- +But you, my only Troilus, come near: +Trust me, the wound, which I have given this breast, +Is far less painful than the wound you gave it. +Oh, can you yet believe, that I am true? + +_Troil._ This were too much, even if thou hadst been false! +But oh, thou purest, whitest innocence,-- +For such I know thee now, too late I know it!-- +May all my curses, and ten thousand more, +Heavier than they, fall back upon my head; +Pelion and Ossa, from the giants' graves +Be torn by some avenging deity, +And hurled at me, a bolder wretch than they, +Who durst invade the skies! + +_Cres._ Hear him not, heavens; +But hear me bless him with my latest breath! +And, since I question not your hard decree, +That doomed my days unfortunate and few, +Add all to him you take away from me; +And I die happy, that he thinks me true. [_Dies._ + +_Troil._ She's gone for ever, and she blest me dying! +Could she have cursed me worse! she died for me, +And, like a woman, I lament for her. +Distraction pulls me several ways at once: +Here pity calls me to weep out my eyes, +Despair then turns me back upon myself, +And bids me seek no more, but finish here. + [_Points his Sword to his Breast._ +Ha, smilest thou, traitor! thou instruct'st me best, +And turn'st my just revenge to punish thee. + +_Diom._ Thy worst, for mine has been beforehand with thee; +I triumph in thy vain credulity, +Which levels thy despairing state to mine; +But yet thy folly, to believe a foe, +Makes thine the sharper and more shameful loss. + +_Troil._ By my few moments of remaining life, +I did not hope for any future joy; +But thou hast given me pleasure ere I die, +To punish such a villain.--Fight apart; [_To his Soldiers._ +For heaven and hell have marked him out for me, +And I should grudge even his least drop of blood +To any other hand. [TROILUS _and_ DIOMEDE _fight, and both Parties + engage at the same time. The Trojans make + the Greeks retire, and_ TROILUS _makes_ DIOMEDE + _give ground, and hurts him. Trumpets + sound._ ACHILLES _enters with his Myrmidons, + on the backs of the Trojans, who fight in a + ring, encompassed round._ TROILUS, _singling_ + DIOMEDE, _gets him down, and kills him; and_ + ACHILLES _kills_ TROILUS _upon him. All the + Trojans die upon the place,_ TROILUS _last._ + + _Enter_ AGAMEMNON, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, AJAX, _and + Attendants._ + +_Achil._ Our toils are done, and those aspiring walls, +The work of gods, and almost mating heaven, +Must crumble into rubbish on the plain. + +_Agam._ When mighty Hector fell beneath thy sword, +Their old foundations shook; their nodding towers +Threatened from high the amazed inhabitants; +And guardian-gods, for fear, forsook their fanes. + +_Achil._ Patroclus, now be quiet; Hector's dead; +And, as a second offering to thy ghost, +Lies Troilus high upon a heap of slain; +And noble Diomede beneath, whose death +This hand of mine revenged. + +_Ajax._ Revenged it basely: +For Troilus fell by multitudes opprest, +And so fell Hector; but 'tis vain to talk. + +_Ulys._ Hail, Agamemnon! truly victor now! +While secret envy, and while open pride, +Among thy factious nobles discord threw; +While public good was urged for private ends, +And those thought patriots, who disturbed it most; +Then, like the headstrong horses of the sun, +That light, which should have cheered the world, consumed it: +Now peaceful order has resumed the reins, +Old Time looks young, and Nature seems renewed. + Then, since from home-bred factions ruin springs, + Let subjects learn obedience to their kings. [_Exeunt._ + + + + + EPILOGUE, + + SPOKEN BY THERSITES. + + + These cruel critics put me into passion; + For, in their lowering looks I read damnation: + You expect a satire, and I seldom fail; + When I'm first beaten, 'tis my part to rail. + You British fools, of the old Trojan stock, + That stand so thick, one cannot miss the flock, + Poets have cause to dread a keeping pit, + When women's cullies come to judge of wit. + As we strew rat's-bane when we vermin fear, + 'Twere worth our cost to scatter fool-bane here; + And, after all our judging fops were served, + Dull poets, too, should have a dose reserved; + Such reprobates, as, past all sense of shaming, + Write on, and ne'er are satisfied with damning: + Next, those, to whom the stage does not belong, + Such whose vocation only is--to song; + At most to prologue, when, for want of time, + Poets take in for journey-work in rhime. + But I want curses for those mighty shoals + Of scribbling Chloris's, and Phyllis' fools: + Those oafs should be restrained, during their lives, + From pen and ink, as madmen are from knives. + I could rail on, but 'twere a task as vain, + As preaching truth at Rome, or wit in Spain: + Yet, to huff out our play was worth my trying; + John Lilburn 'scaped his judges by defying:[1] + If guilty, yet I'm sure o' the church's blessing, + By suffering for the plot, without confessing. + + +Footnote: +1. Lilburn, the most turbulent, but the boldest and most upright of + men, had the merit of defying and resisting the tyranny of the + king, of the parliament, and of the protector. He was convicted in + the star-chamber, but liberated by the parliament; he was tried on + the parliamentary statute for treasons in 1651, and before + Cromwell's high court of justice in 1654; and notwithstanding an + audacious defence,--which to some has been more perilous than a + feeble cause,--he was, in both cases, triumphantly acquitted. + + + * * * * * + + + THE + + SPANISH FRIAR; + + OR, + + THE DOUBLE DISCOVERY. + + + _Ut melius possis fallere, sume togam._ + --MART. + + + _--Alterna revisens + Lasit, et in solido rursus fortuna locavit._ + --VIRG. + + + + + THE SPANISH FRIAR. + + +The Spanish Friar, or the Double Discovery, is one of the best and +most popular of our poet's dramatic efforts. The plot is, as Johnson +remarks, particularly happy, for the coincidence and coalition of the +tragic and comic plots. The grounds for this eminent critic's encomium +will be found to lie more deep than appears at first sight. It was, +indeed, a sufficiently obvious connection, to make the gay Lorenzo an +officer of the conquering army, and attached to the person of +Torrismond. This expedient could hardly have escaped the invention of +the most vulgar playwright, that ever dovetailed tragedy and comedy +together. The felicity of Dryden's plot, therefore, does not consist +in the ingenuity of his original conception, but in the minutely +artificial strokes, by which the reader is perpetually reminded of the +dependence of the one part of the play on the other. These are so +frequent, and appear so very natural, that the comic plot, instead of +diverting our attention from the tragic business, recals it to our +mind by constant and unaffected allusion. No great event happens in +the higher region of the camp or court, that has not some indirect +influence upon the intrigues of Lorenzo and Elvira; and the part which +the gallant is called upon to act in the revolution that winds up the +tragic interest, while it is highly in character, serves to bring the +catastrophe of both parts of the play under the eye of the spectator, +at one and the same time. Thus much seemed necessary to explain the +felicity of combination, upon which Dryden justly valued himself, and +which Johnson sanctioned by his high commendation. But, although +artfully conjoined, the different departments of this tragi-comedy are +separate subjects of critical remark. + +The comic part of the Spanish Friar, as it gives the first title to +the play, seems to claim our first attention. Indeed, some precedence +is due to it in another point of view; for, though the tragic scenes +may be matched in All for Love, Don Sebastian, and else where, the +Spanish Friar contains by far the most happy of Dryden's comic +effusions. It has, comparatively speaking, this high claim to +commendation, that, although the intrigue is licentious, according to +the invariable licence of the age, the language is, in general, free +from the extreme and disgusting coarseness, which our author too +frequently mistook for wit, or was contented to substitute in its +stead. The liveliness and even brilliancy of the dialogue, shows that +Dryden, from the stores of his imagination, could, when he pleased, +command that essential requisite of comedy; and that, if he has seldom +succeeded, it was only because he mistook the road, or felt difficulty +in travelling it. The character of Dominic is of that broadly +ludicrous nature, which was proper to the old comedy. It would be +difficult to show an ordinary conception more fully brought out. He +is, like Falstaff, a compound of sensuality and talent, finely varied +by the professional traits with which it suited the author's purpose +to adorn his character. Such an addition was, it is true, more comic +than liberal; but Dryden, whose constant dislike to the clerical order +glances out in many of his performances, was not likely to be +scrupulous, when called upon to pourtray one of their members in his +very worst colours. To counterbalance the Friar's scandalous +propensities of every sort, and to render him an object of laughter, +rather than abhorrence, the author has gifted this reprobate churchman +with a large portion of wit; by means of which, and by a ready +presence of mind, always indicative of energy, he preserves an +ascendence over the other characters, and escapes detection and +disgrace, until poetical justice, and the conclusion of the play, +called for his punishment. We have a natural indulgence for an amusing +libertine; and, I believe, that, as most readers commiserate the +disgrace of Falstaff, a few may be found to wish that Dominic's +penance had been of a nature more decent and more theatrical than the +poet has assigned him[1]. From the dedication, as well as the +prologue, it appears that Dryden, however contrary to his sentiments +at a future period, was, at present, among those who held up to +contempt and execration the character of the Roman catholic +priesthood. By one anonymous lampoon, this is ascribed to a temporary +desertion of the court party, in resentment for the loss, or +discontinuance of his pension. This allowance, during the pressure +upon the Exchequer, was, at least, irregularly paid, of which Dryden +repeatedly complains, and particularly in a letter to the Earl of +Rochester. But the hardship was owing entirely to the poverty of the +public purse; and, when the anonymous libeller affirms, that Dryden's +pension was withdrawn, on account of his share in the Essay on Satire, +he only shows that his veracity is on a level with his poverty[2]. The +truth seems to be, that Dryden partook in some degree of the general +ferment which the discovery of the Popish Plot had excited; and we may +easily suppose him to have done so without any impeachment to his +monarchial tenets, since North himself admits, that at the first +opening of the plot, the chiefs of the loyal party joined in the cry. +Indeed, that mysterious transaction had been investigated by none more +warmly than by Danby, the king's favourite minister, and a high +favourer of the prerogative. Even when writing Absalom and Achitophel, +our author by no means avows an absolute disbelief of the whole plot, +while condemning the extraordinary exaggerations, by which it had been +rendered the means of much bloodshed and persecution[3]. It seems, +therefore, fair to believe, that, without either betraying or +disguising his own principles, he chose, as a popular subject for the +drama, an attack upon an obnoxious priesthood, whom he, in common with +all the nation, believed to have been engaged in the darkest intrigues +against the king and government. I am afraid that this task was the +more pleasing, from that prejudice against the clergy, of all +countries and religions, which, as already noticed, our author +displays, in common with other wits of that licentious age[4]. The +character of the Spanish Friar was not, however, forgotten, when +Dryden became a convert to the Roman Catholic persuasion; and, in many +instances, as well as in that just quoted, it was assumed as the means +of fixing upon him a charge of inconsistency in politics, and +versatility in religion[5]. + +The tragic part of the "Spanish Friar" has uncommon merit. The opening +of the Drama, and the picture of a besieged town in the last +extremity, is deeply impressive, while the description of the noise of +the night attack, and the gradual manner in which the intelligence of +its success is communicated, arrests the attention, and prepares +expectation for the appearance of the hero, with all the splendour +which ought to attend the principal character in tragedy. The +subsequent progress of the plot is liable to a capital objection, from +the facility with which the queen, amiable and virtuous, as we are +bound to suppose her, consents to the murder of the old dethroned +monarch. We question if the operation of any motive, however powerful, +could have been pleaded with propriety, in apology for a breach of +theatrical decorum, so gross, and so unnatural. But, in fact, the +queen is only actuated by a sort of reflected ambition, a desire to +secure to her lover a crown, which she thought in danger; but which, +according to her own statement, she only valued on his account. This +is surely too remote and indirect a motive, to urge a female to so +horrid a crime. There is also something vilely cold-hearted, in her +attempt to turn the guilt and consequences of her own crime upon +Bertran, who, whatever faults he might have to others, was to the +queen no otherwise obnoxious, than because the victim of her own +inconstancy. The gallant, virtuous, and enthusiastic character of +Torrismond, must be allowed, in some measure, to counterbalance that +of his mistress, however unhappily he has placed his affections. But +the real excellence of these scenes consists less in peculiarity of +character, than in the vivacity and power of the language, which, +seldom sinking into vulgarity, or rising into bombast, maintains the +mixture of force and dignity, best adapted to the expression of tragic +passion. Upon the whole, as the comic part of this play is our +author's master-piece in comedy, the tragic plot may be ranked with +his very best efforts of that kind, whether in "Don Sebastian," or +"All for Love." + +The "Spanish Friar" appears to have been brought out shortly after Mr +Thynne's murder, which is alluded to in the Prologue, probably early +in 1681-2. The whimsical caricature, which it presented to the public, +in Father Dominic, was received with rapture by the prejudiced +spectators, who thought nothing could be exaggerated in the character +of a Roman Catholic priest. Yet, the satire was still more severe in +the first edition, and afterwards considerably softened[6]. It was, as +Dryden himself calls it, a Protestant play; and certainly, as Jeremy +Collier somewhere says, was rare Protestant diversion, and much for +the credit of the Reformation. Accordingly, the "Spanish Friar" was +the only play prohibited by James II. after his accession; an +interdict, which may be easily believed no way disagreeable to the +author, now a convert to the Roman church. It is very remarkable, +that, after the Revolution, it was the first play represented by order +of queen Mary, and honoured with her presence; a choice, of which she +had abundant reason to repent, as the serious part of the piece gave +as much scope for malicious application against herself, as the comic +against the religion of her father[7]. + + +Footnotes: +1. Collier remarks the injustice of punishing the agent of Lorenzo's + vice, while he was himself brought off with flying colours. He + observes, "'Tis not the fault which is corrected, but the priest. + The author's discipline is seldom without a bias. He commonly gives + the laity the pleasure of an ill action, and the clergy the + punishment." _View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the Stage_, + p. 100. + + +2. To satire next thy talent was addressed, + Fell foul on all thy friends among the rest; + Nay, even thy royal patron was not spared, + But an obscene, a sauntering wretch declared. + Thy loyal libel we can still produce, + Beyond example, and beyond excuse. + O strange return, to a forgiving king, + (But the warmed viper wears the greatest sting,) + For pension lost, and justly without doubt; + When servants snarl we ought to kick them out. + They that disdain their benefactor's bread. + No longer ought by bounty to be fed. + That lost, the visor changed, you turn about, + And straight a true-blue protestant crept out. + The Friar now was writ, and some will say, + They smell a malcontent through all the play. + The papist too was damned, unfit for trust, + Called treacherous, shameless, profligate, unjust, + And kingly power thought arbitrary lust. + This lasted till thou didst thy pension gain, + And that changed both thy morals and thy strain. + _The Laureat, 24th October, 1678._ + +3. From hence began that plot, the nation's curse, + Bad in itself, but represented worse. + Raised in extremes, and in extremes decryed, + With oaths affirmed, with dying vows denied; + Nor weighed nor winnowed by the multitude, + But swallowed in the mass unchewed and crude. + Some truth there was, but dashed and bruised with lies, + To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. + Succeeding times did equal folly call. + Believing nothing, or believing all. + +4. "Thus we see," says Collier, "how hearty these people are in their + ill-will; how they attack religion under every form, and pursue the + priesthood through all the subdivisions of opinion. Neither Jews + nor Heathens, Turk nor Christians, Rome nor Geneva, church nor + conventicle, can escape them. They are afraid lest virtue should + have any quarters, undisturbed conscience any corner to retire to, + or God worshipped in any place." _Short View, &c._ p. 110. + +5. "I have read somewhere in Mons. Rapin's _Reflections sur la + Poetique_, that a certain Venetian nobleman, Andrea Naugeria by + name, was wont every year to sacrifice a Martial to the manes of + Catullus: In imitation of this, a celebrated poet, in the preface + before the Spanish Friar, is pleased to acquaint the world, that he + has indignation enough to burn a Bussy D'Amboys, annually, to the + memory of Ben Jonson. Since the modern ceremony, of offering up one + author at the altar of another, is likely to advance into a + fashion; and having already the authority of two such great men to + recommend it, the courteous reader may be pleased to take notice, + that the author of the following dialogue is resolved, (God + willing) on the festival of the Seven Sleepers, as long as he + lives, to sacrifice the Hind and Panther to the memory of Mr + Quarels and John Bunyan: Or, if a writer that has notoriously + contradicted himself, and espoused the quarrel of two different + parties, may be considered under two distinct characters, he + designs to deliver up the author of the Hind and Panther, to be + lashed severely by, and to beg pardon of, the worthy gentleman that + wrote the Spanish Friar, and the Religion Laici." _The reason of Mr + Bayes' changing his religion._ Preface. + +6. "The Revolter," a tragi-comedy, 1687, p. 29. + +7. It is impossible to avoid transcribing the whole account of this + representation, with some other curious particulars, contained in a + letter from the earl of Nottingham, published by Sir John + Dalrymple, from a copy given him by the bishop of Dromore; and also + inserted by Mr Malone in his third volume of Dryden's prose works. + + "I am loth to send blank paper by a carrier, but am rather willing + to send some of the tattle of the town, than nothing at all; which + will at least serve for an hour's chat,--and then convert the + scrawl to its proper use. + + "The only day her Majesty gave herself the diversion of a play, and + that on which she designed to see another, has furnished the town + with discourse for near a month. The choice of the play was THE + SPANISH FRIAR, the only play forbid by the late K[ing], Some + unhappy expressions, among which those that follow, put her in some + disorder, and forced her to hold up her fan, and often look behind + her, and call for her palatine and hood, and any thing she could + next think of; while those who were in the pit before her, turned + their heads over their shoulders, and all in general directed their + looks towards her, whenever their fancy led them to make any + application of what was said. In one place, where the queen of + Arragon is going to church in procession, 'tis said by a spectator, + 'Very good; she usurps the throne, keeps the old king in prison, + and, at the same time, is praying for a blessing on her army;'--And + when said, 'That 'tis observed at Court, who weeps, and who wears + black for good king Sancho's death,' 'tis said, 'Who is that, that + can flatter a Court like this? Can I sooth tyranny? seem pleas'd to + see my Royal Master murthered; his crown usurped; a distaff in the + throne?'--And 'What title has this queen, but lawless force; and + force must pull her down'--Twenty more things are said, which may + be wrested to what they were never designed: but however, the + observations then made furnished the town with talk, till something + else happened, which gave it much occasion for discourse; for + another play being ordered to be acted, the queen came not, being + taken up with other diversion. She dined with Mrs Gradens, the + famous woman in the hall, that sells fine laces and head-dresses; + from thence she went to the Jew's, that sells Indian things; to Mrs + Ferguson's, De Vett's, Mrs Harrison's, and other Indian houses; but + not to Mrs Potter's, though in her way; which caused Mrs Potter to + say, that she might as well have hoped for that honour as others, + considering that the whole design of bringing the queen and king + was managed at her house, and the consultations held there; so that + she might as well have thrown away a little money in raffling + there, as well as at the other houses: but it seems that my lord + Devonshire has got Mrs Potter to be laundress: she has not much + countenance of the queen, her daughter still keeping the Indian + house her mother had. The same day the queen went to one Mrs + Wise's, a famous woman for telling fortunes, but could not prevail + with her to tell anything; though to others she has been very true, + and has foretold that king James shall came in again, and the duke + of Norfolk shall lose his head: the last, I suppose, will naturally + be the consequence of the first. These things, however innocent, + have passed the censure of the town: and, besides a private + reprimand given, the king gave one in _public_; saying to the + queen, that he heard she dined at a bawdy-house, and desired the + next time she went, he might go. She said, she had done nothing but + what the late queen had done. He asked her, if she meant to make + her, her example. More was said on this occasion than ever was + known before; but it was borne with all the submission of a good + wife, who leaves all to the direction of the k----, and diverts + herself with walking six or seven miles a-day, and looking after + her buildings, making of fringes, and such like innocent things; + and does not meddle in government, though she has better title to + do it than the late queen had." + + + + + TO + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + JOHN, + + LORD HAUGHTON[1]. + + +MY LORD, + +When I first designed this play, I found, or thought I found, somewhat +so moving in the serious part of it, and so pleasant in the comic, as +might deserve a more than ordinary care in both; accordingly, I used +the best of my endeavour, in the management of two plots, so very +different from each other, that it was not perhaps the talent of every +writer to have made them of a piece. Neither have I attempted other +plays of the same nature, in my opinion, with the same judgment, +though with like success. And though many poets may suspect themselves +for the fondness and partiality of parents to their youngest children, +yet I hope I may stand exempted from this rule, because I know myself +too well to be ever satisfied with my own conceptions, which have +seldom reached to those ideas that I had within me; and consequently, +I may presume to have liberty to judge when I write more or less +pardonably, as an ordinary marksman may know certainly when he shoots +less wide at what he aims. Besides, the care and pains I have bestowed +on this, beyond my other tragi-comedies, may reasonably make the world +conclude, that either I can do nothing tolerably, or that this poem is +not much amiss. Few good pictures have been finished at one sitting; +neither can a true just play, which is to bear the test of ages, be +produced at a heat, or by the force of fancy, without the maturity of +judgment. For my own part, I have both so just a diffidence of myself, +and so great a reverence for my audience, that I dare venture nothing +without a strict examination; and am as much ashamed to put a loose +indigested play upon the public, as I should be to offer brass money +in a payment; for though it should be taken, (as it is too often on +the stage) yet it would be found in the second telling; and a +judicious reader will discover, in his closet, that trashy stuff, +whose glittering deceived him in the action. I have often heard the +stationer sighing in his shop, and wishing for those hands to take off +his melancholy bargain, which clapped its performance on the stage. In +a playhouse, every thing contributes to impose upon the judgment; the +lights, the scenes, the habits, and, above all, the grace of action, +which is commonly the best where there is the most need of it, +surprise the audience, and cast a mist upon their understandings; not +unlike the cunning of a juggler, who is always staring us in the face, +and over-whelming us with gibberish, only that he may gain the +opportunity of making the cleaner conveyance of his trick. But these +false beauties of the stage are no more lasting than a rainbow; when +the actor ceases to shine upon them, when he gilds them no longer with +his reflection, they vanish in a twinkling. I have sometimes wondered, +in the reading, what was become of those glaring colours which amazed +me in "Bussy D'Amboys" upon the theatre; but when I had taken up what +I supposed a fallen star, I found I had been cozened with a jelly[2]; +nothing but a cold, dull mass, which glittered no longer than it was +shooting; a dwarfish thought, dressed up in gigantic words, repetition +in abundance, looseness of expression, and gross hyperboles; the sense +of one line expanded prodigiously into ten; and, to sum up all, +uncorrect English, and a hideous mingle of false poetry, and true +nonsense; or, at best, a scantling of wit, which lay gasping for life, +and groaning beneath a heap of rubbish. A famous modern poet used to +sacrifice every year a Statius to Virgil's manes[3]; and I have +indignation enough to burn a D'AMBOIS annually, to the memory of +Jonson[4]. But now, my lord, I am sensible, perhaps too late, that I +have gone too far: for, I remember some verses of my own Maximin and +Almanzor, which cry vengeance upon me for their extravagance, and +which I wish heartily in the same fire with Statius and Chapman. All I +can say for those passages, which are, I hope, not many, is, that I +knew they were bad enough to please, even when I wrote them; but I +repent of them amongst my sins; and, if any of their fellows intrude +by chance into my present writings, I draw a stroke over all those +Dalilah's of the theatre; and am resolved I will settle myself no +reputation by the applause of fools. It is not that I am mortified to +all ambition, but I scorn as much to take it from half-witted judges, +as I should to raise an estate by cheating of bubbles. Neither do I +discommend the lofty style in tragedy, which is naturally pompous and +magnificent; but nothing is truly sublime, that is not just and +proper. If the antients had judged by the same measure, which a common +reader takes, they had concluded Statius to have written higher than +Virgil, for, + + _Quae super-imposito moles geminata Colosso_ + +carries a more thundering kind of sound, than + + _Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi:_ + +yet Virgil had all the majesty of a lawful prince, and Statius only +the blustering of a tyrant. But when men affect a virtue which they +cannot easily reach, they fall into a vice, which bears the nearest +resemblance to it. Thus, an injudicious poet, who aims at loftiness, +runs easily into the swelling puffy style, because it looks like +greatness. I remember, when I was a boy, I thought inimitable Spencer +a mean poet, in comparison of Sylvester's "Dubartas," and was wrapt +into an ecstasy when I read these lines: + + Now, when the winter's keener breath began + To crystalize the Baltic ocean; + To glaze the lakes, to bridle up the floods, + And periwig with snow the bald-pate woods:--[5] + +I am much deceived if this be not abominable fustian, that is, +thoughts and words ill-sorted, and without the least relation to each +other; yet I dare not answer for an audience, that they would not clap +it on the stage: so little value there is to be given to the common +cry, that nothing but madness can please madmen, and the poet must be +of a piece with the spectators, to gain a reputation with them. But, +as in a room, contrived for state, the height of the roof should bear +a proportion to the area; so, in the heightenings of poetry, the +strength and vehemence of figures should be suited to the occasion, +the subject, and the persons. All beyond this is monstrous: it is out +of nature, it is an excrescence, and not a living part of poetry. I +had not said thus much, if some young gallants, who pretend to +criticism, had not told me, that this tragi-comedy wanted the dignity +of style; but, as a man, who is charged with a crime of which he +thinks himself innocent, is apt to be too eager in his own defence; +so, perhaps, I have vindicated my play with more partiality than I +ought, or than such a trifle can deserve. Yet, whatever beauties it +may want, it is free at least from the grossness of those faults I +mentioned: what credit it has gained upon the stage, I value no +farther than in reference to my profit, and the satisfaction I had, in +seeing it represented with all the justness and gracefulness of +action. But, as it is my interest to please my audience, so it is my +ambition to be read: that I am sure is the more lasting and the nobler +design: for the propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden +beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of +action: all things are there beheld, as in a hasty motion, where the +objects only glide before the eye, and disappear. The most discerning +critic can judge no more of these silent graces in the action, than he +who rides post through an unknown country can distinguish the +situation of places, and the nature of the soil. The purity of phrase, +the clearness of conception and expression, the boldness maintained to +majesty, the significancy and sound of words, not strained into +bombast, but justly elevated; in short, those very words and thoughts, +which cannot be changed, but for the worse, must of necessity escape +our transient view upon the theatre; and yet, without all these, a +play may take. For, if either the story move us, or the actor help the +lameness of it with his performance, or now and then a glittering beam +of wit or passion strike through the obscurity of the poem, any of +these are sufficient to effect a present liking, but not to fix a +lasting admiration; for nothing but truth can long continue; and time +is the surest judge of truth. I am not vain enough to think that I +have left no faults in this, which that touchstone will not discover; +neither, indeed, is it possible to avoid them in a play of this +nature. There are evidently two actions in it; but it will be clear to +any judicious man, that with half the pains I could have raised a play +from either of them; for this time I satisfied my humour, which was to +tack two plays together; and to break a rule for the pleasure of +variety. The truth is, the audience are grown weary of continued +melancholy scenes; and I dare venture to prophecy, that few tragedies, +except those in verse, shall succeed in this age, if they are not +lightened with a course of mirth; for the feast is too dull and solemn +without the fiddles. But how difficult a task this is, will soon be +tried; for a several genius is required to either way; and, without +both of them, a man, in my opinion, is but half a poet for the stage. +Neither is it so trivial an undertaking, to make a tragedy end +happily; for it is more difficult to save, than it is to kill. The +dagger and the cup of poison are always in a readiness; but to bring +the action to the last extremity, and then by probable means to +recover all, will require the art and judgement of a writer; and cost +him many a pang in the performance. + +And now, my lord, I must confess, that what I have written, looks more +like a Preface, than a Dedication; and, truly, it was thus far my +design, that I might entertain you with somewhat in my own art, which +might be more worthy of a noble mind, than the stale exploded trick of +fulsome panegyrics. It is difficult to write justly on any thing, but +almost impossible in praise. I shall therefore wave so nice a subject; +and only tell you, that, in recommending a protestant play to a +protestant patron, as I do myself an honour, so I do your noble family +a right, who have been always eminent in the support and favour of our +religion and liberties. And if the promises of your youth, your +education at home, and your experience abroad, deceive me not, the +principles you have embraced are such, as will no way degenerate from +your ancestors, but refresh their memory in the minds of all true +Englishmen, and renew their lustre in your person; which, my lord, is +not more the wish, than it is the constant expectation, of + + Your lordship's + Most obedient, faithful servant, + JOHN DRYDEN. + + +Footnotes: +1. John, Lord Haughton, eldest son of the Earl of Clare. succeeded to + his father, was created Marquis of Clare, and died 1711, leaving an + only daughter, who married the eldest son of the famous Robert + Harley, Earl of Oxford. + +2. See note on OEdipus, p. 151. + +3. Dryden appears to have alluded to the following passage in Strada, + though without a very accurate recollection of its contents: _"Sane + Andreas Naugerius Valerio Martiali acriter infensus, solemne jam + habebat in illum aliquanto petulantius jocari. Etenim natali suo, + accitis ad geniale epulum amicis, postquam prolixe de poeticae + laudibus super mensam disputaverat; ostensurum se aiebat a caena, + quo tandem modo laudari poesim deceret: Mox aferri jubebat + Martialis volumen, (haec erat mensae appendix) atque igni proprior + factus, illustri conflagratione absumendum flammis imponebat: + addebatque eo incendio litare se Musis, Manibusque Virgilij, cujus + imitatorem cultoremque prestare se melius haud posset, quam si + vilia poetarum capita per undas insecutus ac flammas perpetuo + perdidisset. Nec se eo loco tenuit, sed cum Silvas aliquot ab se + conscriptas legisset, audissetque Statianu characteri similes + videri, iratus sibi, quod a Martiale fugiens alio declinasset a + Virgilio, cum primum se recessit domum, in Silvas conjecit ignem."_ + _Stradae Prolusiones_, Lib. II. Pro. 5. From this passage, it is + obvious, that it was Martial, not Statius, whom Andreas Navagero + sacrificed to Virgil, although he burned his own verses when they + were accused of a resemblance to the style of the author of the + Thebaid. In the same prolusion, Strada quotes the "blustering" + line, afterwards censured by Dryden; but erroneously reads, + + Super imposito moles _gemmata_ colosso. + +4. "Bussy D'Ambois," a tragedy, once much applauded, was the favourite + production of George Chapman. If Dryden could have exhausted every + copy of this bombast performance in one holocaust, the public would + have been no great losers, as may be apparent from the following + quotations: + + _Bussy._ I'll sooth his plots, and strew my hate with smiles, + Till, all at once, the close mines of my heart + Rise at full state, and rush into his blood. + I'll bind his arm in silk, and rub his flesh, + To make the veine swell, that his soule may gush + Into some kennel, where it loves to lie; + And policy be flanked with policy. + Yet shall the feeling centre, where we meet. + Groan with the weight of my approaching feet. + I'll make the inspired threshold of his court + Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps, + Before I enter; yet, I will appear + Like calm securitie, befor a ruin. + A politician must, like lightning, melt + The very marrow, and not taint the skin; + His wayes must not be seen through, the superficies + Of the green centre must not taste his feet, + When hell is plowed up with the wounding tracts, + And all his harvest reap't by hellish facts. + + Montsurry, when he discovers that the Friar had acted as confident + in the intrigue betwixt his lady and d'Ambois, thus elegantly + expresses the common idea of the world being turned _upside down._ + + Now, is it true, earth moves, and heaven stands still; + Even heaven itself must see and suffer ill. + The too huge bias of the world hath swayed + Her back-part upwards, and with _that_ she braves + This hemisphere, that long her month hath mocked. + The gravity of her religious face, + Now grown too weighty with her sacrilege, + And here discerned sophisticate enough, + Turns to the antipodes, and all the forms + That here allusions have impressed in her, + Have eaten through her back, and now all see + How she is riveted with hypocrisie. + + Yet, I observe, from the prologue to the edition of 1641, that the + part of D'Ambois was considered as a high test of a players' + talents: + + --Field is gone, + Whose action first did give it name; and one + Who came the neatest to him, is denied, + By his grey beard, to shew the height and pride + Of d'Ambois' youth and braverie. Yet to hold + Our title still a-foot, and not grow cold, + By giving't o'er, a third man with his best + Of care and paines defends our interest. + As Richard he was liked, nor do we fear, + In personating d'Ambois, heile appear + To faint, or goe lesse, so your free consent, + As heretofore, give him encouragement. + + I believe the successor of Field, in this once favourite character, + was Hart. The piece was revived after the Restoration with great + success. + +5. Dryden has elsewhere ridiculed this absurd passage. The original + has "periwig with _wool_." + + + + + PROLOGUE. + + + Now, luck for us, and a kind hearty pit; + For he, who pleases, never fails of wit: + Honour is yours; + And you, like kings at city-treats, bestow it; + The writer kneels, and is bid rise a poet; + But you are fickle sovereigns, to our sorrow; + You dub to-day, and hang a man to-morrow: + You cry the same sense up, and down again, + Just like brass-money once a year in Spain: + Take you in the mood, whate'er base metal come, + You coin as fast as groats at Birmingham: + Though 'tis no more like sense, in antient plays, + Than Rome's religion like St Peter's days. + In short, so swift your judgments turn and wind, + You cast our fleetest wits a mile behind. + 'Twere well your judgments but in plays did range, + But e'en your follies and debauches change + With such a whirl, the poets of our age + Are tired, and cannot score them on the stage; + Unless each vice in short-hand they indict, + Even as notch'd prentices whole sermons write[1]. + The heavy Hollanders no vices know, + But what they used a hundred years ago; + Like honest plants, where they were stuck, they grow. + They cheat, but still from cheating sires they come; + They drink, but they were christened first in mum. + Their patrimonial sloth the Spaniards keep, + And Philip first taught Philip how to sleep. + The French and we still change; but here's the curse, + They change for better, and we change for worse; + They take up our old trade of conquering, + And we are taking theirs, to dance and sing: + Our fathers did, for change, to France repair, + And they, for change, will try our English air; + As children, when they throw one toy away, + Strait a more foolish gewgaw comes in play: + So we, grown penitent, on serious thinking, + Leave whoring, and devoutly fall to drinking. + Scowering the watch grows out-of-fashion wit: + Now we set up for tilting in the pit, + Where 'tis agreed by bullies chicken-hearted, + To fright the ladies first, and then be parted. + A fair attempt has twice or thrice been made, + To hire night murderers, and make death a trade[2]. + When murder's out, what vice can we advance? + Unless the new-found poisoning trick of France: + And, when their art of rats-bane we have got, + By way of thanks, we'll send them o'er our plot. + + +Footnotes +1. It was anciently a part of the apprentice's duty, not only to carry + the family bible to church, but to take notes of the sermon for the + edification of his master or mistress. + +2. Alluding apparently to the assassination of Thomas Thynne, esq. in + Pall-Mall, by the hired bravoes of count Coningsmark. + + + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + + TORRISMOND, _Son of_ SANCHO, _the deposed King, believing + himself Son of_ RAYMOND. + BERTRAN, _a Prince of the blood._ + ALPHONSO, _a general Officer, Brother to_ RAYMOND. + LORENZO, _his Son._ + RAYMOND, _a Nobleman, supposed Father of_ TORRISMOND. + PEDRO, _an Officer._ + GOMEZ, _an old Usurer._ + DOMINICK, _the Spanish Friar._ + + LEONORA, _Queen of Arragon._ + TERESA, _Woman to_ LEONORA. + ELVIRA, _Wife to_ GOMEZ. + + + + + THE + + SPANISH FRIAR: + + OR THE + + DOUBLE DISCOVERY. + + +ACT I.--SCENE I. + + ALPHONSO _and_ PEDRO _meet, with Soldiers on each Side, Drums, &c._ + +_Alph._ Stand: give the word. + +_Ped._ The queen of Arragon. + +_Alph._ Pedro?--how goes the night? + +_Ped._ She wears apace. + +_Alph._ Then welcome day-light; we shall have warm work on't. +The Moor will 'gage +His utmost forces on this next assault, +To win a queen and kingdom. + +_Ped._ Pox on this lion-way of wooing, though. +Is the queen stirring yet? + +_Alph._ She has not been abed, but in her chapel +All night devoutly watched, and bribed the saints +With vows for her deliverance. + +_Ped._ O, Alphonso! +I fear they come too late. Her father's crimes +Sit heavy on her, and weigh down her prayers. +A crown usurped; a lawful king deposed, +In bondage held, debarred the common light; +His children murdered, and his friends destroyed,-- +What can we less expect than what we feel, +And what we fear will follow? + +_Alph._ Heaven avert it! + +_Ped._ Then heaven must not be heaven. Judge the event +By what has passed. The usurper joyed not long +His ill-got crown:--'tis true, he died in peace,-- +Unriddle that, ye powers!--but left his daughter, +Our present queen, engaged upon his death-bed, +To marry with young Bertran, whose cursed father +Had helped to make him great. +Hence, you well know, this fatal war arose; +Because the Moor Abdalla, with whose troops +The usurper gained the kingdom, was refused; +And, as an infidel, his love despised. + +_Alph._ Well, we are soldiers, Pedro; and, like lawyers, +Plead for our pay. + +_Ped._ A good cause would do well though: +It gives my sword an edge. You see this Bertran +Has now three times been beaten by the Moors: +What hope we have, is in young Torrismond, +Your brother's son. + +_Alph._ He's a successful warrior, +And has the soldiers' hearts: upon the skirts +Of Arragon our squandered troops he rallies. +Our watchmen from the towers with longing eyes +Expect his swift arrival. + +_Ped._ It must be swift, or it will come too late. + +_Alph._ No more.--Duke Bertran. + + _Enter_ BERTRAN _attended._ + +_Bert._ Relieve the sentries that have watched all night. +[_To Ped._] Now, colonel, have you disposed your men, +That you stand idle here? + +_Ped._ Mine are drawn off +To take a short repose. + +_Bert._ Short let it be: +For, from the Moorish camp, this hour and more, +There has been heard a distant humming noise, +Like bees disturbed, and arming in their hives. +What courage in our soldiers? Speak! What hope? + +_Ped._ As much as when physicians shake their heads, +And bid their dying patient think of heaven. +Our walls are thinly manned; our best men slain; +The rest, an heartless number, spent with watching, +And harassed out with duty. + +_Bert._ Good-night all, then. + +_Ped._ Nay, for my part, 'tis but a single life +I have to lose. I'll plant my colours down +In the mid-breach, and by them fix my foot; +Say a short soldier's prayer, to spare the trouble +Of my new friends above; and then expect +The next fair bullet. + +_Alph._ Never was known a night of such distraction; +Noise so confused and dreadful; jostling crowds. +That run, and know not whither; torches gliding, +Like meteors, by each other in the streets. + +_Ped._ I met a reverend, fat, old gouty friar,-- +With a paunch swoll'n so high, his double chin +Might rest upon it; a true son of the church; +Fresh-coloured, well thriven on his trade,-- +Come puffing with his greasy bald-pate choir, +And fumbling o'er his beads in such an agony, +He told them false, for fear. About his neck +There hung a wench, the label of his function, +Whom he shook off, i'faith, methought, unkindly. +It seems the holy stallion durst not score +Another sin, before he left the world. + + _Enter a Captain._ + +_Capt._ To arms, my lord, to arms! +From the Moors' camp the noise grows louder still: +Rattling of armour, trumpets, drums, and ataballes; +And sometimes peals of shouts that rend the heavens, +Like victory: then groans again, and howlings, +Like those of vanquished men; but every echo +Goes fainter off, and dies in distant sounds. + +_Bert._ Some false attack: expect on t'other side. +One to the gunners on St Jago's tower; bid them, for shame, +Level their cannon lower: On my soul +They are all corrupted with the gold of Barbary, +To carry over, and not hurt the Moor. + + _Enter a second Captain._ + +_2 Capt._ My lord, here's fresh intelligence arrived. +Our army, led by valiant Torrismond, +Is now in hot engagement with the Moors; +'Tis said, within their trenches. + +_Bert._ I think all fortune is reserved for him!-- +He might have sent us word though; +And then we could have favoured his attempt +With sallies from the town. + +_Alph._ It could not be: +We were so close blocked up, that none could peep +Upon the walls and live. But yet 'tis time. + +_Bert._ No, 'tis too late; I will not hazard it: +On pain of death, let no man dare to sally. + +_Ped._ Oh envy, envy, how it works within him! [_Aside._ +How now? what means this show? + +_Alph._ 'Tis a procession. +The queen is going to the great cathedral, +To pray for our success against the Moors. + +_Ped._ Very good: she usurps the throne, keeps the old king in prison, +and, at the same time, is praying for a blessing. Oh religion and +roguery, how they go together! + [_A Procession of Priests and Choristers in White, + with Tapers, followed by the Queen and Ladies, + goes over the Stage: the Choristers singing,_ + + _Look down, ye blessed above, look down, + Behold our weeping matrons' tears, + Behold our tender virgins' fears, + And with success our armies crown. + + Look down, ye blessed above, look down: + Oh! save us, save as, and our state restore; + For pity, pity, pity, we implore: + For pity, pity, pity, we implore._ + [_The Procession goes off; and shout within. Then_ + + _Enter_ LORENZO, _who kneels to_ ALPHONSO. + +_Bert._ [_To Alph._] A joyful cry; and see your son +Lorenzo. Good news, kind heaven! + +_Alph._ [_To Lor._] +O welcome, welcome! is the general safe? +How near our army? when shall we be succoured? +Or, are we succoured? are the Moors removed? +Answer these questions first, and then a thousand more; +Answer them all together. + +_Lor._ Yes, when I have a thousand tongues, I will. +The general's well; his army too is safe, +As victory can make them. The Moors' king +Is safe enough, I warrant him, for one. +At dawn of day our general cleft his pate, +Spite of his woollen night-cap: a slight wound; +Perhaps he may recover. + +_Alph._ Thou reviv'st me. + +_Ped._ By my computation now, the victory was gained before the +procession was made for it; and yet it will go hard but the priests +will make a miracle of it. + +_Lor._ Yes, faith; we came like bold intruding guests, +And took them unprepared to give us welcome. +Their scouts we killed, then found their body sleeping; +And as they lay confused, we stumbled o'er them, +And took what joint came next, arms, heads, or legs, +Somewhat indecently. But when men want light, +They make but bungling work. + +_Bert._ I'll to the queen, +And bear the news. + +_Ped._ That's young Lorenzo's duty. + +_Bert._ I'll spare his trouble.-- +This Torrismond begins to grow too fast; +He must be mine, or ruined. [_Aside, and Exit._ + +_Lor._ Pedro a word:--[_whisper._] + +_Alph._ How swift he shot away! I find it stung him, +In spite of his dissembling. +[_To Lorenzo._] How many of the enemy are slain? + +_Lor._ Troth, sir, we were in haste, and could not stay +To score the men we killed; but there they lie: +Best send our women out to take the tale; +There's circumcision in abundance for them. [_Turns to_ PEDRO _again._ + +_Alph._ How far did you pursue them? + +_Lor._ Some few miles.-- +[_To Pedro_] Good store of harlots, say you, and dog-cheap? +Pedro, they must be had, and speedily; +I've kept a tedious fast. [_Whisper again._ + +_Alph._ When will he make his entry? he deserves +Such triumphs as were given by ancient Rome: +Ha, boy, what say'st thou? + +_Lor._ As you say, sir, that Rome was very ancient. +[_To Pedro._] I leave the choice to you; fair, black, tall, low, +Let her but have a nose; and you may tell her, +I am rich in jewels, rings, and bobbing pearls, +Plucked from Moors' ears. + +_Alph._ Lorenzo. + +_Lor._ Somewhat busy +About affairs relating to the public.-- +A seasonable girl, just in the nick now-- [_To Pedro._ + [_Trumpets within._ + +_Ped._ I hear the general's trumpet. Stand and mark +How he will be received; I fear, but coldly. +There hung a cloud, methought, on Bertran's brow. + +_Lor._ Then look to see a storm on Torrismond's; +Looks fright not men. The general has seen Moors +With as bad faces; no dispraise to Bertran's. + +_Ped._ 'Twas rumoured in the camp, he loves the queen. + +_Lor._ He drinks her health devoutly. + +_Alph._ That may breed bad blood betwixt him and Bertran. + +_Ped._ Yes, in private. +But Bertran has been taught the arts of court, +To gild a face with smiles, and leer a man to ruin, +O here they come.-- + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND _and Officers on one Side,_ BERTRAN _attended on + the other; they embrace,_ BERTRAN _bowing low._ + +Just as I prophesied.-- + +_Lor._ Death and hell, he laughs at him!--in his face too. + +_Ped._ O you mistake him; 'twas an humble grin, +The fawning joy of courtiers and of dogs. + +_Lor._ Here are nothing but lies to be expected: I'll even go lose +myself in some blind alley, and try if any courteous damsel will think +me worth the finding. [_Aside, and Exit._ + +_Alph._ Now he begins to open. + +_Bert._ Your country rescued, and your queen relieved,-- +A glorious conquest, noble Torrismond! +The people rend the skies with loud applause, +And heaven can hear no other name but yours. +The thronging crowds press on you as you pass, +And with their eager joy make triumph slow. + +_Torr._ My lord, I have no taste +Of popular applause; the noisy praise +Of giddy crowds, as changeable as winds; +Still vehement, and still without a cause; +Servant to chance, and blowing in the tide +Of swoln success; but veering with its ebb, +It leaves the channel dry. + +_Bert._ So young a stoick! + +_Torr._ You wrong me, if you think I'll sell one drop +Within these veins for pageants; but, let honour +Call for my blood, and sluice it into streams: +Turn fortune loose again to my pursuit, +And let me hunt her through embattled foes, +In dusty plains, amidst the cannons' roar, +There will I be the first. + +_Bert._ I'll try him farther.-- [_Aside._ +Suppose the assembled states of Arragon +Decree a statue to you, thus inscribed: +"To Torrismond, who freed his native land." + +_Alph._ [_To Ped._] +Mark how he sounds and fathoms him, +To find the shallows of his soul! + +_Bert._ The just applause +Of god-like senates, is the stamp of virtue, +Which makes it pass unquestioned through the world. +These honours you deserve; nor shall my suffrage +Be last to fix them on you. If refused, +You brand us all with black ingratitude: +For times to come shall say,--Our Spain, like Rome, +Neglects her champions after noble acts, +And lets their laurels wither on their heads. + +_Torr._ A statue, for a battle blindly fought, +Where darkness and surprise made conquest cheap! +Where virtue borrowed but the arms of chance, +And struck a random blow!--'Twas fortune's work, +And fortune take the praise. + +_Bert._ Yet happiness +Is the first fame. Virtue without success +Is a fair picture shewn by an ill light; +But lucky men are favourites of heaven: +And whom should kings esteem above heaven's darlings? +The praises of a young and beauteous queen +Shall crown your glorious acts. + +_Ped._ [_To Alph._] There sprung the mine. + +_Torr._ The queen! that were a happiness too great! +Named you the queen, my lord? + +_Bert._ Yes: you have seen her, and you must confess, +A praise, a smile, a look from her is worth +The shouts of thousand amphitheatres. +She, she shall praise you, for I can oblige her: +To-morrow will deliver all her charms +Into my arms, and make her mine for ever.-- +Why stand you mute? + +_Torr._ Alas! I cannot speak. + +_Bert._ Not speak, my lord! How were your thoughts employed? + +_Torr._ Nor can I think, or I am lost in thought. + +_Bert._ Thought of the queen, perhaps? + +_Torr._ Why, if it were, +Heaven may be thought on, though too high to climb. + +_Bert._ O, now I find where your ambition drives! +You ought not to think of her. + +_Torr._ So I say too, +I ought not; madmen ought not to be mad; +But who can help his frenzy? + +_Bert._ Fond young man! +The wings of your ambition must be clipt: +Your shame-faced virtue shunned the people's praise, +And senate's honours: But 'tis well we know +What price you hold yourself at. You have fought +With some success, and that has sealed your pardon. + +_Torr._ Pardon from thee!--O, give me patience, heaven!-- +Thrice vanquished Bertran, if thou dar'st, look out +Upon yon slaughtered host, that field of blood; +There seal my pardon, where thy fame was lost. + +_Ped._ He's ruined, past redemption! + +_Alph._ [_To_ TORR.] Learn respect +To the first prince of the blood. + +_Bert._ O, let him rave! +I'll not contend with madmen. + +_Torr._ I have done: +I know, 'twas madness to declare this truth: +And yet, 'twere baseness to deny my love. +'Tis true, my hopes are vanishing as clouds; +Lighter than children's bubbles blown by winds: +My merit's but the rash result of chance; +My birth unequal; all the stars against me: +Power, promise, choice, the living and the dead; +Mankind my foes; and only love to friend: +But such a love, kept at such awful distance, +As, what it loudly dares to tell a rival, +Shall fear to whisper there. Queens may be loved, +And so may gods; else why are altars raised? +Why shines the sun, but that he may be viewed? +But, oh! when he's too bright, if then we gaze, +'Tis but to weep, and close our eyes in darkness. [_Exit._ + +_Bert._ 'Tis well; the goddess shall be told, she shall, +Of her new worshipper. [_Exit._ + +_Ped._ So, here's fine work! +He has supplied his only foe with arms +For his destruction. Old Penelope's tale +Inverted; he has unravelled all by day, +That he has done by night. What, planet struck! + +_Alph._ I wish I were; to be past sense of this! + +_Ped._ Would I had but a lease of life so long, +As 'till my flesh and blood rebelled this way, +Against our sovereign lady;--mad for a queen? +With a globe in one hand, and a sceptre in t'other? +A very pretty moppet! + +_Alph._ Then to declare his madness to his rival! +His father absent on an embassy; +Himself a stranger almost; wholly friendless! +A torrent, rolling down a precipice, +Is easier to be stopt, than is his ruin. + +_Ped._ 'Tis fruitless to complain; haste to the court; +Improve your interest there for pardon from the queen. + +_Alph._ Weak remedies; +But all must be attempted. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II. + + _Enter_ LORENZO. + +_Lor._ Well, I am the most unlucky rogue! I have been ranging over +half the town; but have sprung no game. Our women are worse infidels +than the Moors: I told them I was one of the knight-errants, that +delivered them from ravishment; and I think in my conscience, that is +their quarrel to me. + +_Ped._ Is this a time for fooling? Your cousin is run honourably mad +in love with her majesty; he is split upon a rock, and you, who are in +chase of harlots, are sinking in the main ocean. I think, the devil's +in the family. [_Exit._ + +_Lor._ [_Solus._] My cousin ruined, says he! hum, not that I wish my +kinsman's ruin; that were unchristian: but, if the general is ruined, +I am heir; there's comfort for a Christian! Money I have; I thank the +honest Moors for it; but I want a mistress. I am willing to be lewd; +but the tempter is wanting on his part. + + _Enter_ ELVIRA, _veiled._ + +_Elv._ Stranger! Cavalier!--will you not hear me? you Moor-killer, you +Matador!-- + +_Lor._ Meaning me, madam? + +_Elv._ Face about, man! you a soldier, and afraid of the enemy! + +_Lor._ I must confess, I did not expect to have been charged first: I +see souls will not be lost for want of diligence in this devil's +reign. [_Aside._] Now, Madam Cynthia, behind a cloud, your will and +pleasure with me? + +_Elv._ You have the appearance of a cavalier; and if you are as +deserving as you seem, perhaps you may not repent of your adventure. +If a lady like you well enough to hold discourse with you at first +sight; you are gentleman enough, I hope, to help her out with an +apology, and to lay the blame on stars, or destiny, or what you +please, to excuse the frailty of a woman? + +_Lor._ O, I love an easy woman! there's such ado, to crack a +thick-shelled mistress; we break our teeth, and find no kernel. 'Tis +generous in you, to take pity on a stranger, and not to suffer him to +fall into ill hands at his first arrival. + +_Elv._ You may have a better opinion of me than I deserve; you have +not seen me yet; and, therefore, I am confident you are heart-whole. + +_Lor._ Not absolutely slain, I must confess; but I am drawing on +apace: you have a dangerous tongue in your head, I can tell you that; +and if your eyes prove of as killing metal, there is but one way with +me. Let me see you, for the safeguard of my honour; 'tis but decent +the cannon should be drawn down upon me before I yield. + +_Elv._ What a terrible similitude have you made, colonel, to shew that +you are inclining to the wars? I could answer you with another in my +profession: Suppose you were in want of money, would you not be glad +to take a sum upon content in a sealed bag, without peeping?--but, +however, I will not stand with you for a sample. [_Lifts up her veil._ + +_Lor._ What eyes were there! how keen their glances! you do well to +keep them veiled; they are too sharp to be trusted out of the +scabbard. + +_Elv._ Perhaps now, you may accuse my forwardness; but this day of +jubilee is the only time of freedom I have had; and there is nothing +so extravagant as a prisoner, when he gets loose a little, and is +immediately to return into his fetters. + +_Lor._ To confess freely to you, madam, I was never in love with less +than your whole sex before; but now I have seen you, I am in the +direct road of languishing and sighing; and, if love goes on as it +begins, for aught I know, by to-morrow morning you may hear of me in +rhyme and sonnet. I tell you truly, I do not like these symptoms in +myself. Perhaps I may go shufflingly at first; for I was never before +walked in trammels; yet, I shall drudge and moil at constancy, till I +have worn off the hitching in my pace. + +_Elv._ Oh, sir, there are arts to reclaim the wildest men, as there +are to make spaniels fetch and carry: chide them often, and feed them +seldom. Now I know your temper, you may thank yourself, if you are +kept to hard meat. You are in for years, if you make love to me. + +_Lor._ I hate a formal obligation with an _Anno Domini_ at end on't; +there may be an evil meaning in the word years, called matrimony. + +_Elv._ I can easily rid you of that fear: I wish I could rid myself as +easily of the bondage. + +_Lor._ Then you are married? + +_Elv._ If a covetous, and a jealous, and an old man be a husband. + +_Lor._ Three as good qualities for my purpose as I could wish: now +love be praised! + + _Enter_ ELVIRA'S _Duenna, and whispers to her._ + +_Elv._ [_Aside._] If I get not home before my husband, I shall be +ruined. [_To him._] I dare not stay to tell you where. +Farewell!--Could I once more-- [_Exit._ + +_Lor._ This is unconscionable dealing; to be made a slave, and know +not whose livery I wear. Who have we yonder? + + _Enter_ GOMEZ. + +By that shambling in his walk, it should be my rich old banker, Gomez, +whom I knew at Barcelona: As I live 'tis he!--What, old Mammon here! + [_To_ GOMEZ. + +_Gom._ How! young Beelzebub? + +_Lor._ What devil has set his claws in thy haunches, and brought thee +hither to Saragossa? Sure he meant a farther journey with thee. + +_Gom._ I always remove before the enemy: When the Moors are ready to +besiege one town, I shift quarters to the next; I keep as far from the +infidels as I can. + +_Lor._ That's but a hair's breadth at farthest. + +_Gom._ Well, you have got a famous victory; all true subjects are +overjoyed at it: There are bonfires decreed; an the times had not been +hard, my billet should have burnt too. + +_Lor._ I dare say for thee, thou hast such a respect for a single +billet, thou wouldst almost have thrown on thyself to save it; thou +art for saving every thing but thy soul. + +_Gom._ Well, well, you'll not believe me generous, 'till I carry you +to the tavern, and crack half a pint with you at my own charges. + +_Lor._ No; I'll keep thee from hanging thyself for such an +extravagance; and, instead of it, thou shalt do me a mere verbal +courtesy. I have just now seen a most incomparable young lady. + +_Gom._ Whereabouts did you see this most incomparable young lady?--My +mind misgives me plaguily. [_Aside._ + +_Lor._ Here, man, just before this corner-house: Pray heaven, it prove +no bawdy-house. + +_Gom._ [_Aside._] Pray heaven, he does not make it one! + +_Lor._ What dost thou mutter to thyself? Hast thou any thing to say +against the honesty of that house? + +_Gom._ Not I, colonel; the walls are very honest stone, and the timber +very honest wood, for aught I know; but for the woman, I cannot say, +till I know her better: Describe her person, and, if she live in this +quarter, I may give you tidings of her. + +_Lor._ She is of a middle stature, dark-coloured hair, the most +bewitching leer with her eyes, the most roguish cast! her cheeks are +dimpled when she smiles, and her smiles would tempt an hermit. + +_Gom._ [_Aside._] I am dead, I am buried, I am damned.--Go on, +colonel; have you no other marks of her? + +_Lor._ Thou hast all her marks; but she has a husband, a jealous, +covetous, old hunks: Speak! canst thou tell me news of her? + +_Gom._ Yes; this news, colonel, that you have seen your last of her. + +_Lor._ If thou help'st me not to the knowledge of her, thou art a +circumcised Jew. + +_Gom._ Circumcise me no more than I circumcise you, colonel Hernando: +Once more, you have seen your last of her. + +_Lor._ [_Aside._] I am glad he knows me only by that name of Hernando, +by which I went at Barcelona; now he can tell no tales of me to my +father.--[_To him._] Come, thou wer't ever good-natured, when thou +couldst get by it--Look here, rogue; 'tis of the right damning colour: +Thou art not proof against gold, sure!--Do not I know thee for a +covetous-- + +_Gom._ Jealous old hunks? those were the marks of your mistress's +husband, as I remember, colonel. + +_Lor._ Oh the devil! What a rogue in understanding was I, not to find +him out sooner! [_Aside._ + +_Gom._ Do, do, look sillily, good colonel; 'tis a decent melancholy +after an absolute defeat. + +_Lor._ Faith, not for that, clear Gomez; but-- + +_Gom._ But--no pumping, my dear colonel. + +_Lor._ Hang pumping! I was thinking a little upon a point of +gratitude. We two have been long acquaintance; I know thy merits, and +can make some interest;--Go to; thou wert born to authority; I'll make +thee Alcaide, Mayor of Saragossa. + +_Gom._ Satisfy yourself; you shall not make me what you think, +colonel. + +_Lor._ Faith, but I will; thou hast the face of a magistrate already. + +_Gom._ And you would provide me with a magistrate's head to my +magistrate's face; I thank you, colonel. + +_Lor._ Come, thou art so suspicious upon an idle story! That woman I +saw, I mean that little, crooked, ugly woman,--for t'other was a +lie,--is no more thy wife,--As I'll go home with thee, and satisfy +thee immediately, my dear friend. + +_Gom._ I shall not put you to that trouble; no, not so much as a +single visit; not so much as an embassy by a civil old woman, nor a +serenade of _twinkledum twinkledum_ under my windows; nay, I will +advise you, out of my tenderness to your person, that you walk not +near yon corner-house by night; for, to my certain knowledge, there +are blunderbusses planted in every loop-hole, that go off constantly +of their own accord, at the squeaking of a fiddle, and the thrumming +of a guitar. + +_Lor._ Art thou so obstinate? Then I denounce open war against thee; +I'll demolish thy citadel by force; or, at least, I'll bring my whole +regiment upon thee; my thousand red locusts, that shall devour thee in +free quarters. Farewell, wrought night-cap. [_Exit_ LORENZO. + +_Gom._ Farewell, Buff. Free quarters for a regiment of red-coat +locusts? I hope to see them all in the Red-Sea first! But oh, this +Jezabel of mine! I'll get a physician that shall prescribe her an +ounce of camphire every morning, for her breakfast, to abate +incontinency. She shall never peep abroad, no, not to church for +confession; and, for never going, she shall be condemned for a +heretic. She shall have stripes by Troy weight, and sustenance by +drachms and scruples: Nay, I'll have a fasting almanack, printed on +purpose for her use, in which + No Carnival nor Christmas shall appear, + But lents and ember-weeks shall fill the year. [_Exit._ + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I.--_The Queen's Antechamber._ + + _Enter_ ALPHONSO _and_ PEDRO. + +_Alph._ When saw you my Lorenzo? + +_Ped._ I had a glimpse of him; but he shot by me, +Like a young hound upon a burning scent; +He's gone a harlot-hunting. + +_Alph._ His foreign breeding might have taught him better. + +_Ped._ 'Tis that has taught him this. +What learn our youth abroad, but to refine +The homely vices of their native land? +Give me an honest home-spun country clown +Of our own growth; his dulness is but plain, +But theirs embroidered; they are sent out fools, +But come back fops. + +_Alph._ You know what reasons urged me; +But now, I have accomplished my designs, +I should be glad he knew them. His wild riots +Disturb my soul; but they would sit more close, +Did not the threatened downfal of our house, +In Torrismond, o'erwhelm my private ills. + + _Enter_ BERTRAN, _attended, and whispering with a Courtier, aside._ + +_Bert._ I would not have her think, he dared to love her; +If he presume to own it, she's so proud, +He tempts his certain ruin. + +_Alph._ [_To_ PED.] +Mark how disdainfully he throws his eyes on us. +Our old imprisoned king wore no such looks. + +_Ped._ O! would the general shake off his dotage to the usurping queen, +And re-enthrone good venerable Sancho, +I'll undertake, should Bertran sound his trumpets, +And Torrismond but whistle through his fingers, +He draws his army off. + +_Alph._ I told him so; +But had an answer louder than a storm. + +_Ped._ Now, plague and pox on his smock-loyalty! +I hate to see a brave bold fellow sotted, +Made sour and senseless, turned to whey by love; +A drivelling hero, fit for a romance.-- +O, here he comes! what will their greetings be? + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND, _attended;_ BERTRAN _and he meet and jostle._ + +_Bert._ Make way, my lords, and let the pageant pass. + +_Tor._ I make my way, where'er I see my foe; +But you, my lord, are good at a retreat. +I have no Moors behind me. + +_Bert._ Death and hell! +Dare to speak thus when you come out again. + +_Tor._ Dare to provoke me thus, insulting man! + + _Enter_ TERESA. + +_Ter._ My lords, you are too loud so near the queen; +You, Torrismond, have much offended her. +'Tis her command you instantly appear, +To answer your demeanour to the prince. + [_Exit_ TERESA; BERTRAN, _with his company, + follow her._ + +_Tor._ O, Pedro, O, Alphonso, pity me! +A grove of pikes, +Whose polished steel from far severely shines, +Are not so dreadful as this beauteous queen. + +_Alph._ Call up your courage timely to your aid, +And, like a lion, pressed upon the toils, +Leap on your hunters. Speak your actions boldly; +There is a time when modest virtue is +Allowed to praise itself. + +_Ped._ Heart! you were hot enough, too hot, but now; +Your fury then boiled upward to a foam; +But since this message came, you sink and settle, +As if cold water had been poured upon you. + +_Tor._ Alas! thou know'st not what it is to love! +When we behold an angel, not to fear, +Is to be impudent: No, I am resolved, +Like a led victim, to my death I'll go, +And, dying, bless the hand, that gave the blow. [_Exeunt._ + + _The_ SCENE _draws, and shews the Queen sitting in state;_ BERTRAN + _standing next to her; then_ TERESA, _&c. She rises, and comes to + the front._ + +_Leonora._ [_To_ BERT.] +I blame not you, my lord; my father's will, +Your own deserts, and all my people's voice, +Have placed you in the view of sovereign power. +But I would learn the cause, why Torrismond, +Within my palace-walls, within my hearing, +Almost within my sight,--affronts a prince, +Who shortly shall command him. + +_Bert._ He thinks you owe him more than you can pay; +And looks as he were lord of human kind. + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND, ALPHONSO, PEDRO. TORRISMOND _bows low, then + looks earnestly on the Queen, and keeps at Distance._ + +_Teresa._ Madam, the general.-- + +_Leo._ Let me view him well. +My father sent him early to the frontiers; +I have not often seen him; if I did, +He passed unmarked by my unheeding eyes:-- +But where's the fierceness, the disdainful pride, +The haughty port, the fiery arrogance?-- +By all these marks, this is not, sure, the man. + +_Bert._ Yet this is he, who filled your court with tumult, +Whose fierce demeanour, and whose insolence, +The patience of a god could not support. + +_Leo._ Name his offence, my lord, and he shall have +Immediate punishment. + +_Bert._ 'Tis of so high a nature, should I speak it, +That my presumption then would equal his. + +_Leo._ Some one among you speak. + +_Ped._ Now my tongue itches. [_Aside._ + +_Leo._ All dumb! On your allegiance, Torrismond, +By all your hopes, I do command you, speak. + +_Tor._ [_Kneeling._] +O seek not to convince me of a crime, +Which I can ne'er repent, nor can you pardon; +Or, if you needs will know it, think, oh think, +That he who, thus commanded, dares to speak, +Unless commanded, would have died in silence. +But you adjured me, madam, by my hopes! +Hopes I have none, for I am all despair; +Friends I have none, for friendship follows favour; +Desert I've none, for what I did was duty:-- +Oh that it were!--that it were duty all! + +_Leo._ Why do you pause? proceed. + +_Tor._ As one, condemned to leap a precipice, +Who sees before his eyes the depth below, +Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub +To break his dreadful fall.--so I-- +But whither am I going? If to death, +He looks so lovely sweet in beauty's pomp, +He draws me to his dart.--I dare no more. + +_Bert._ He's mad, beyond the cure of hellebore. +Whips, darkness, dungeons, for this insolence. + +_Tor._ Mad as I am, yet I know when to bear. + +_Leo._ You're both too bold.--You, Torrismond, withdraw, +I'll teach you all what's owing to your queen.-- +For you, my lord,-- +The priest to-morrow was to join our hands; +I'll try if I can live a day without you.-- +So both of you depart, and live in peace. + +_Alph._ Who knows which way she points? +Doubling and turning like an hunted hare;-- +Find out the meaning of her mind who can. + +_Pedr._ Who ever found a woman's? backward and forward, +The whole sex in every word. +In my conscience, when she was getting, her mother was thinking of a +riddle. [_Exeunt all but the Queen and_ TERESA. + +_Leo._ Haste, my Teresa, haste, and call him back. + +_Ter._ Whom, madam? + +_Leo._ Him. + +_Ter._ Prince Bertran? + +_Leo._ Torrismond; +There is no other he. + +_Ter._ [_Aside._] A rising sun, +Or I am much deceived. [_Exit_ TERESA. + +_Leo._ A change so swift what heart did ever feel! +It rushed upon me like a mighty stream, +And bore me, in a moment, far from shore. +I loved away myself; in one short hour +Already am I gone an age of passion. +Was it his youth, his valour, or success? +These might, perhaps, be found in other men: +'Twas that respect, that awful homage, paid me; +That fearful love, which trembled in his eyes, +And with a silent earthquake shook his soul. +But, when he spoke, what tender words he said! +So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow, +They melted as they fell.-- + + _Enter_ TERESA _with_ TORRISMOND. + +_Ter._ He waits your pleasure. + +_Leo._ 'Tis well; retire.--Oh heavens, that I must speak +So distant from my heart!-- [_Aside._ +[_To_ TOR.] How now! What boldness brings you back again? + +_Tor._ I heard 'twas your command. + +_Leo._ A fond mistake, +To credit so unlikely a command; +And you return, full of the same presumption, +To affront me with your love! + +_Tor._ If 'tis presumption, for a wretch condemned, +To throw himself beneath his judge's feet: +A boldness more than this I never knew; +Or, if I did, 'twas only to your foes. + +_Leo._ You would insinuate your past services, +And those, I grant, were great; but you confess +A fault committed since, that cancels all. + +_Tor._ And who could dare to disavow his crime, +When that, for which he is accused and seized, +He bears about him still! My eyes confess it; +My every action speaks my heart aloud: +But, oh, the madness of my high attempt +Speaks louder yet! and all together cry,-- +I love and I despair. + +_Leo._ Have you not heard, +My father, with his dying voice, bequeathed +My crown and me to Bertran? And dare you, +A private man, presume to love a queen? + +_Tor._ That, that's the wound! I see you set so high, +As no desert or services can reach.-- +Good heavens, why gave you me a monarch's soul, +And crusted it with base plebeian clay? +Why gave you me desires of such extent, +And such a span to grasp them? Sure, my lot +By some o'er-hasty angel was misplaced +In fate's eternal volume!--But I rave, +And, like a giddy bird in dead of night, +Fly round the fire that scorches me to death. + +_Leo._ Yet, Torrismond, you've not so ill deserved, +But I may give you counsel for your cure. + +_Tor._ I cannot, nay, I wish not to be cured. + +_Leo._ [_Aside._] Nor I, heaven knows! + +_Tor._ There is a pleasure, sure, +In being mad, which none but madmen know! +Let me indulge it; let me gaze for ever! +And, since you are too great to be beloved, +Be greater, greater yet, and be adored. + +_Leo._ These are the words which I must only hear +From Bertran's mouth; they should displease from you: +I say they should; but women are so vain, +To like the love, though they despise the lover. +Yet, that I may not send you from my sight +In absolute despair,--I pity you. + +_Tor._ Am I then pitied! I have lived enough!-- +Death, take me in this moment of my joy; +But, when my soul is plunged in long oblivion, +Spare this one thought! let me remember pity, +And, so deceived, think all my life was blessed. + +_Leo._ What if I add a little to my alms? +If that would help, I could cast in a tear +To your misfortunes. + +_Tor._ A tear! You have o'erbid all my past sufferings, +And all my future too! + +_Leo._ Were I no queen-- +Or you of royal blood-- + +_Tor._ What have I lost by my forefathers' fault! +Why was not I the twentieth by descent +From a long restive race of droning kings? +Love! what a poor omnipotence hast thou, +When gold and titles buy thee? + +_Leo._ [_Sighs._] Oh, my torture!-- + +_Tor._ Might I presume,--but, oh, I dare not hope +That sigh was added to your alms for me! + +_Leo._ I give you leave to guess, and not forbid you +To make the best construction for your love: +Be secret and discreet; these fairy favours +Are lost, when not concealed[1].--provoke not Bertran.-- +Retire: I must no more but this,--Hope, Torrismond. [_Exit._ + +_Tor._ She bids me hope; oh heavens, she pities me! +And pity still foreruns approaching love, +As lightning does the thunder! Tune your harps, +Ye angels, to that sound; and thou, my heart, +Make room to entertain thy flowing joy. +Hence, all my griefs and every anxious care; +One word, and one kind glance, can cure despair. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II.--_A Chamber. A Table and Wine set out._ + + _Enter_ LORENZO. + +_Lor._ This may hit; 'tis more than barely possible; for friars have +free admittance into every house. This jacobin, whom I have sent to, +is her confessor; and who can suspect a man of such reverence for a +pimp? I'll try for once; I'll bribe him high; for commonly none love +money better than they, who have made a vow of poverty. + + _Enter Servant._ + +_Serv._ There's a huge, fat, religious gentleman coming up, sir. He +says he's but a friar, but he's big enough to be a pope; his gills are +as rosy as a turkey cock's; his great belly walks in state before him, +like an harbinger; and his gouty legs come limping after it: Never was +such a ton of devotion seen. + +_Lor._ Bring him in, and vanish. [_Exit Servant._ + + _Enter Father_ DOMINICK. + +_Lor._ Welcome, father. + +_Dom._ Peace be here: I thought I had been sent for to a dying man; to +have fitted him for another world. + +_Lor._ No, faith, father, I was never for taking such long journeys. +Repose yourself, I beseech you, sir, if those spindle legs of yours +will carry you to the next chair. + +_Dom._ I am old, I am infirm, I must confess, with fasting. + +_Lor._ 'Tis a sign by your wan complexion, and your thin jowls, +father. Come, to our better acquaintance:--here's a sovereign remedy +for old age and sorrow. [_Drinks._ + +_Dom._ The looks of it are indeed alluring: I'll do you reason. + [_Drinks._ + +_Lor._ Is it to your palate, father? + +_Dom._ Second thoughts, they say, are best: I'll consider of it once +again. [_Drinks._] It has a most delicious flavour with it. Gad +forgive me, I have forgotten to drink your health, Son, I am not used +to be so unmannerly. [_Drinks again._ + +_Lor._ No, I'll be sworn, by what I see of you, you are not:--To the +bottom;--I warrant him a true church-man.--Now, father, to our +business: 'tis agreeable to your calling; I do intend to do an act of +charity. + +_Dom._ And I love to hear of charity; 'tis a comfortable subject. + +_Lor._ Being in the late battle, in great hazard of my life, I +recommended my person to good Saint Dominick. + +_Dom._ You could not have pitched upon a better; he's a sure card; I +never knew him fail his votaries. + +_Lor._ Troth, I also made bold to strike up a bargain with him, that, +if I escaped with life and plunder, I would present some brother of +his order with part of the booty taken from the infidels, to be +employed in charitable uses. + +_Dom._ There you hit him; Saint Dominick loves charity exceedingly; +that argument never fails with him. + +_Lor._ The spoils were mighty; and I scorn to wrong him of a farthing. +To make short my story; I inquired among the jacobins for an almoner, +and the general fame has pointed out your reverence as the worthiest +man:--here are fifty good pieces in this purse. + +_Dom._ How, fifty pieces? 'tis too much, too much in conscience. + +_Lor._ Here, take them, father. + +_Dom._ No, in troth, I dare not; do not tempt me to break my vow of +poverty. + +_Lor._ If you are modest, I must force you; for I am strongest. + +_Dom._ Nay, if you compel me, there's no contending; but, will you set +your strength against a decrepit, poor, old man? [_Takes the Purse._] +As I said, 'tis too great a bounty; but Saint Dominick shall owe you +another scape: I'll put him in mind of you. + +_Lor._ If you please, father, we will not trouble him 'till the next +battle. But you may do me a greater kindness, by conveying my prayers +to a female saint. + +_Dom._ A female saint! good now, good now, how your devotions jump +with mine! I always loved the female saints. + +_Lor._ I mean, a female, mortal, married-woman-saint: Look upon the +superscription of this note; you know Don Gomez's wife. + [_Gives him a Letter._ + +_Dom._ Who? Donna Elvira? I think I have some reason; I am her ghostly +father. + +_Lor._ I have some business of importance with her, which I have +communicated in this paper; but her husband is so horribly given to be +jealous,-- + +_Dom._ Ho, jealous? he's the very quintessence of jealousy; he keeps +no male creature in his house; and from abroad he lets no man come +near her. + +_Lor._ Excepting you, father. + +_Dom._ Me, I grant you; I am her director and her guide in spiritual +affairs: But he has his humours with me too; for t'other day he called +me false apostle. + +_Lor._ Did he so? that reflects upon you all; on my word, father, that +touches your copy-hold. If you would do a meritorious action, you +might revenge the church's quarrel.--My letter, father,-- + +_Dom._ Well, so far as a letter, I will take upon me; for what can I +refuse to a man so charitably given? + +_Lor._ If you bring an answer back, that purse in your hand has a +twin-brother, as like him as ever he can look; there are fifty pieces +lie dormant in it, for more charities. + +_Dom._ That must not be; not a farthing more, upon my priesthood.--But +what may be the purport and meaning of this letter? that, I confess, a +little troubles me. + +_Lor._ No harm, I warrant you. + +_Dom._ Well, you are a charitable man; and I'll take your word: my +comfort is, I know not the contents; and so far I am blameless. But an +answer you shall have; though not for the sake of your fifty pieces +more: I have sworn not to take them; they shall not be altogether +fifty. Your mistress--forgive me, that I should call her your +mistress, I meant Elvira,--lives but at next door: I'll visit her +immediately; but not a word more of the nine-and-forty pieces. + +_Lor._ Nay, I'll wait on you down stairs.--Fifty pounds for the +postage of a letter! to send by the church is certainly the dearest +road in Christendom. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE III.--_A Chamber._ + + _Enter_ GOMEZ _and_ ELVIRA. + +_Gom._ Henceforth I banish flesh and wine: I'll have none stirring +within these walls these twelve months. + +_Elv._ I care not; the sooner I am starved, the sooner I am rid of +wedlock. I shall learn the knack to fast o' days; you have used me to +fasting nights already. + +_Gom._ How the gipsey answers me! Oh, 'tis a most notorious hilding. + +_Elv._ [_Crying._] But was ever poor innocent creature so hardly dealt +with, for a little harmless chat? + +_Gom._ Oh, the impudence of this wicked sex! Lascivious dialogues are +innocent with you! + +_Elv._ Was it such a crime to inquire how the battle passed? + +_Gom._ But that was not the business, gentlewoman: you were not asking +news of a battle passed; you were engaging for a skirmish that was to +come. + +_Elv._ An honest woman would be glad to hear, that her honour was +safe, and her enemies were slain. + +_Gom._ [_In her tone._] And to ask, if he were wounded in your +defence; and, in case he were, to offer yourself to be his +chirurgeon;--then, you did not describe your husband to him, for a +covetous, jealous, rich, old hunks. + +_Elv._ No, I need not; he describes himself sufficiently: but, in what +dream did I do this? + +_Gom._ You walked in your sleep, with your eyes broad open, at +noon-day; and dreamt you were talking to the foresaid purpose with one +Colonel Hernando-- + +_Elv._ Who, dear husband, who? + +_Gom._ What the devil have I said?--You would have farther +information, would you? + +_Elv._ No; but my dear, little, old man, tell me now, that I may avoid +him for your sake. + +_Gom._ Get you up into your chamber, cockatrice; and there immure +yourself; be confined, I say, during our royal pleasure. But, first, +down on your marrowbones, upon your allegiance, and make an +acknowledgement of your offences; for I will have ample satisfaction. + [_Pulls her down._ + +_Elv._ I have done you no injury, and therefore I'll make you no +submission: but I'll complain to my ghostly father. + +_Gom._ Ay, there's your remedy; when you receive condign punishment, +you run with open mouth to your confessor; that parcel of holy guts +and garbadge: he must chuckle you and moan you; but I'll rid my hands +of his ghostly authority one day, [_Enter_ DOMINICK.] and make him +know he's the son of a--[_Sees him._] So;--no sooner conjure, but the +devil's in the circle. + +_Dom._ Son of a what, Don Gomez? + +_Gom._ Why, a son of a church; I hope there's no harm in that, father? + +_Dom._ I will lay up your words for you, till time shall serve; and +to-morrow I enjoin you to fast, for penance. + +_Gom._ There's no harm in that; she shall fast too: fasting saves +money. [_Aside._ + +_Dom._ [_To_ ELVIRA.] What was the reason that I found you upon your +knees, in that unseemly posture? + +_Gom._ O horrible! to find a woman upon her knees, he says, is an +unseemly posture; there's a priest for you! [_Aside._ + +_Elv._ [_To_ DOM.] I wish, father, you would give me an opportunity of +entertaining you in private: I have somewhat upon my spirits that +presses me exceedingly. + +_Dom._ This goes well: [_Aside._] Gomez, stand you at a +distance,--farther yet,--stand out of ear shot;--I have somewhat to +say to your wife in private. + +_Gom._ Was ever man thus priest-ridden? would the steeple of his +church were in his belly: I am sure there's room for it. [_Aside._ + +_Elv._ I am ashamed to acknowledge my infirmities; but you have been +always an indulgent father, and therefore I will venture to--and yet I +dare not!-- + +_Dom._ Nay, if you are bashful;--if you keep your wound from the +knowledge of your surgeon,-- + +_Elv._ You know my husband is a man in years; but he's my husband, and +therefore I shall be silent; but his humours are more intolerable than +his age: he's grown so froward, so covetous, and so jealous, that he +has turned my heart quite from him; and, if I durst confess it, has +forced me to cast my affections on another man. + +_Dom._ Good:--hold, hold; I meant abominable.--Pray heaven this may be +my colonel! [_Aside._ + +_Elv._ I have seen this man, father, and have encouraged his +addresses; he's a young gentleman, a soldier, of a most winning +carriage: and what his courtship may produce at last, I know not; but +I am afraid of my own frailty. + +_Dom._ 'Tis he, for certain;--she has saved the credit of my function, +by speaking first; now must I take gravity upon me. [_Aside._ + +_Gom._ This whispering bodes me no good, for certain; but he has me so +plaguily under the lash, that I dare not interrupt him. [_Aside._ + +_Dom._ Daughter, daughter, do you remember your matrimonial vow? + +_Elv._ Yes, to my sorrow, father, I do remember it; a miserable woman +it has made me: but you know, father, a marriage-vow is but a thing of +course, which all women take when they would get a husband. + +_Dom._ A vow is a very solemn thing; and 'tis good to keep it: but, +notwithstanding, it may be broken upon some occasions. Have you +striven with all your might against this frailty? + +_Elv._ Yes, I have striven; but I found it was against the stream. +Love, you know, father, is a great vow-maker; but he's a greater +vow-breaker. + +_Dom._ 'Tis your duty to strive always; but, notwithstanding, when we +have done our utmost, it extenuates the sin. + +_Gom._ I can hold no longer.--Now, gentlewoman, you are confessing +your enormities; I know it, by that hypocritical downcast +look:--enjoin her to sit bare upon a bed of nettles, father; you can +do no less, in conscience. + +_Dom._ Hold your peace; are you growing malapert? will you force me to +make use of my authority? your wife's a well disposed and a virtuous +lady; I say it, _In verbo sacerdotis._ + +_Elv._ I know not what to do, father; I find myself in a most +desperate condition; and so is the colonel, for love of me. + +_Dom._ The colonel, say you! I wish it be not the same young gentleman +I know. 'Tis a gallant young man, I must confess, worthy of any lady's +love in Christendom,--in a lawful way, I mean: of such a charming +behaviour, so bewitching to a woman's eye, and, furthermore, so +charitably given; by all good tokens, this must be my colonel +Hernando. + +_Elv._ Ay, and my colonel too, father:--I am overjoyed!--and are you +then acquainted with him? + +_Dom._ Acquainted with him! why, he haunts me up and down; and, I am +afraid, it is for love of you; for he pressed a letter upon me, within +this hour, to deliver to you. I confess I received it, lest he should +send it by some other; but with full resolution never to put it into +your hands. + +_Elv._ Oh, dear father, let me have it, or I shall die! + +_Gom._ Whispering still! A pox of your close committee! I'll listen, +I'm resolved. [_Steals nearer._ + +_Dom._ Nay, if you are obstinately bent to see it, use your +discretion; but, for my part, I wash my hands of it.--What makes you +listening there? get farther off; I preach not to thee, thou wicked +eaves dropper. + +_Elv._ I'll kneel down, father, as if I were taking absolution, if +you'll but please to stand before me. + +_Dom._ At your peril be it then. I have told you the ill consequences; +_et liberavi animam meam._ Your reputation is in danger, to say +nothing of your soul. Notwithstanding, when the spiritual means have +been applied, and fail, in that case the carnal may be used. You are a +tender child, you are, and must not be put into despair; your heart is +as soft and melting as your hand. [_He strokes her face, takes her by + the hand, and gives the letter._ + +_Gom._ Hold, hold, father, you go beyond your commission; palming is +always held foul play amongst gamesters. + +_Dom._ Thus good intentions are misconstrued by wicked men; you will +never be warned till you are excommunicated. + +_Gom._ Ah, devil on him; there's his hold! If there were no more in +excommunication than the church's censure, a wise man would lick his +conscience whole with a wet finger; but, if I am excommunicated, I am +outlawed, and then there is no calling in my money. [_Aside._ + +_Elv._ [_Rising._] I have read the note, father, and will send him an +answer immediately; for I know his lodgings by his letter. + +_Dom._ I understand it not, for my part; but I wish your intentions be +honest. Remember, that adultery, though it be a silent sin, yet it is +a crying sin also. Nevertheless, if you believe absolutely he will +die, unless you pity him; to save a man's life is a point of charity; +and actions of charity do alleviate, as I may say, and take off from +the mortality of the sin. Farewell, daughter.--Gomez, cherish your +virtuous wife; and thereupon I give you my benediction. [_Going._ + +_Gom._ Stay; I'll conduct you to the door,--that I may be sure you +steal nothing by the way. Friars wear not their long sleeves for +nothing.--Oh, 'tis a Judas Iscariot. [_Exit after the Friar._ + +_Elv._ This friar is a comfortable man! He will understand nothing of +the business, and yet does it all. + Pray, wives and virgins, at your time of need, + For a true guide, of my good father's breed. [_Exit._ + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I.--_The Street._ + + _Enter_ LORENZO _in a Friars Habit, meeting_ DOMINICK. + +_Lor._ Father Dominick, father Dominick; why in such haste, man? + +_Dom._ It should seem, a brother of our order. + +_Lor._ No, faith, I am only your brother in iniquity; my holiness, +like yours, is mere outside. + +_Dom._ What! my noble colonel in metamorphosis! On what occasion are +you transformed? + +_Lor._ Love, almighty love; that, which turned Jupiter into a +town-bull, has transformed me into a friar. I have had a letter from +Elvira, in answer to that I sent by you. + +_Dom._ You see I have delivered my message faithfully; I am a friar of +honour, where I am engaged. + +_Lor._ O, I understand your hint; the other fifty pieces are ready to +be condemned to charity. + +_Dom._ But this habit, son! this habit! + +_Lor._ It is a habit, that, in all ages, has been friendly to +fornication: you have begun the design in this clothing, and I'll try +to accomplish it. The husband is absent, that evil counsellor is +removed and the sovereign is graciously disposed to hear my +grievances. + +_Dom._ Go to, go to; I find good counsel is but thrown away upon you. +Fare you well, fare you well, son! Ah-- + +_Lor._ How! will you turn recreant at the last cast? You must along to +countenance my undertaking: we are at the door, man. + +_Dom._ Well, I have thought on't, and I will not go. + +_Lor._ You may stay, father, but no fifty pounds without it; that was +only promised in the bond: "But the condition of this obligation is +such, that if the above-named father, father Dominick, do not well and +faithfully perform--" + +_Dom._ Now I better think on't, I will bear you company; for the +reverence of my presence may be a curb to your exorbitancies. + +_Lor._ Lead up your myrmidons, and enter. [_Exeunt._ + + +SCENE II.--ELVIRA'S _Chamber._ + + _Enter_ ELVIRA. + +_Elv._ He'll come, that's certain; young appetites are sharp, and +seldom need twice bidding to such a banquet. Well, if I prove +frail,--as I hope I shall not till I have compassed my design,--never +woman had such a husband to provoke her, such a lover to allure her, +or such a confessor to absolve her. Of what am I afraid, then? not my +conscience, that's safe enough; my ghostly father has given it a dose +of church-opium, to lull it. Well, for soothing sin, I'll say that for +him, he's a chaplain for any court in Christendom. + + _Enter_ LORENZO _and_ DOMINICK. + +O, father Dominick, what news?--How, a companion with you! What game +have you in hand, that you hunt in couples? + +_Lor._ [_Lifting up his Hood._] I'll shew you that immediately. + +_Elv._ O, my love! + +_Lor._ My life! + +_Elv._ My soul! [_They embrace._ + +_Dom._ I am taken on the sudden with a grievous swimming in my head, +and such a mist before my eyes, that I can neither hear nor see. + +_Elv._ Stay, and I'll fetch you some comfortable water. + +_Dom._ No, no; nothing but the open air will do me good. I'll take a +turn in your garden; but remember that I trust you both, and do not +wrong my good opinion of you. [_Exit_ DOMINICK. + +_Elv._ This is certainly the dust of gold which you have thrown in the +good man's eyes, that on the sudden he cannot see; for my mind +misgives me, this sickness of his is but apocryphal. + +_Lor._ 'Tis no qualm of conscience, I'll be sworn. You see, madam, it +is interest governs all the world. He preaches against sin; why? +because he gets by it: He holds his tongue; why? because so much more +is bidden for his silence. + +_Elv._ And so much for the friar. + +_Lor._ Oh, those eyes of yours reproach me justly, that I neglect the +subject which brought me hither. + +_Elv._ Do you consider the hazard I have run to see you here? if you +do, methinks it should inform you, that I love not at a common rate. + +_Lor._ Nay, if you talk of considering, let us consider why we are +alone. Do you think the friar left us together to tell beads? Love is +a kind of penurious god, very niggardly of his opportunities: he must +be watched like a hard-hearted treasurer; for he bolts out on the +sudden, and, if you take him not in the nick, he vanishes in a +twinkling. + +_Elv._ Why do you make such haste to have done loving me? You men are +all like watches, wound up for striking twelve immediately; but after +you are satisfied, the very next that follows, is the solitary sound +of a single--one! + +_Lor._ How, madam! do you invite me to a feast, and then preach +abstinence? + +_Elv._ No, I invite you to a feast where the dishes are served up in +order: you are for making a hasty meal, and for chopping up your +entertainment, like a hungry clown. Trust my management, good colonel, +and call not for your desert too soon: believe me, that which comes +last, as it is the sweetest, so it cloys the soonest. + +_Lor._ I perceive, madam, by your holding me at this distance, that +there is somewhat you expect from me: what am I to undertake, or +suffer, ere I can be happy? + +_Elv._ I must first be satisfied, that you love me. + +_Lor._ By all that's holy! by these dear eyes!-- + +_Elv._ Spare your oaths and protestations; I know you gallants of the +time have a mint at your tongue's end to coin them. + +_Lor._ You know you cannot marry me; but, by heavens, if you were in a +condition-- + +_Elv._ Then you would not be so prodigal of your promises, but have +the fear of matrimony before your eyes. In few words, if you love me, +as you profess, deliver me from this bondage, take me out of Egypt, +and I'll wander with you as far as earth, and seas, and love, can +carry us. + +_Lor._ I never was out at a mad frolic, though this is the maddest I +ever undertook. Have with you, lady mine; I take you at your word; and +if you are for a merry jaunt, I'll try for once who can foot it +farthest. There are hedges in summer, and barns in winter, to be +found; I with my knapsack, and you with your bottle at your back: we +will leave honour to madmen, and riches to knaves; and travel till we +come to' the ridge of the world, and then drop together into the next. + +_Elv._ Give me your hand, and strike a bargain. + [_He takes her hand, and kisses it._ + +_Lor._ In sign and token whereof, the parties interchangeably, and so +forth.--When should I be weary of sealing upon this soft wax? + +_Elv._ O heavens! I hear my husband's voice. + + _Enter_ GOMEZ. + +_Gom._ Where are you, gentlewoman? there's something in the wind, I'm +sure, because your woman would have run up stairs before me; but I +have secured her below, with a gag in her chaps.--Now, in the devil's +name, what makes this friar here again? I do not like these frequent +conjunctions of the flesh and spirit; they are boding. + +_Elv._ Go hence, good father; my husband, you see, is in an ill +humour, and I would not have you witness of his folly. + [LORENZO _going._ + +_Gom._ [_Running to the door._] By your reverence's favour, hold a +little; I must examine you something better, before you go.--Heyday! +who have we here? Father Dominick is shrunk in the wetting two yards +and a half about the belly. What are become of those two timber logs, +that he used to wear for legs, that stood strutting like the two black +posts before a door? I am afraid some bad body has been setting him +over a fire in a great cauldron, and boiled him down half the +quantity, for a recipe. This is no father Dominick, no huge overgrown +abbey-lubber; this is but a diminutive sucking friar. As sure as a +gun, now, father Dominick has been spawning this young slender +anti-christ. + +_Elv._ He will be found, there's no prevention. [_Aside._ + +_Gom._ Why does he not speak? What! is the friar possessed with a dumb +devil? if he be, I shall make bold to conjure him. + +_Elv._ He is but a novice in his order, and is enjoined silence for a +penance. + +_Gom._ A novice, quotha! you would make a novice of me, too, if you +could. But what was his business here? answer me that, gentlewoman, +answer me that. + +_Elv._ What should it be, but to give me some spiritual instructions. + +_Gom._ Very good; and you are like to edify much from a dumb preacher. +This will not pass, I must examine the contents of him a little +closer.--O thou confessor, confess who thou art, or thou art no friar +of this world!--[_He comes to_ LORENZO, _who struggles with him; his +Habit flies open, and discovers a Sword;_ GOMEZ _starts back._]--As I +live, this is a manifest member of the church militant. + +_Lor._ [_Aside._] I am discovered; now, impudence be my refuge.--Yes, +faith, 'tis I, honest Gomez; thou seest I use thee like a friend; this +is a familiar visit. + +_Gom._ What! colonel Hernando turned a friar! who could have suspected +you of so much godliness? + +_Lor._ Even as thou seest, I make bold here. + +_Gom._ A very frank manner of proceeding; but I do not wonder at your +visit, after so friendly an invitation as I made you. Marry, I hope +you will excuse the blunderbusses for not being in readiness to salute +you; but let me know your hour, and all shall be mended another time. + +_Lor._ Hang it, I hate such ripping up of old unkindness: I was upon +the frolic this evening, and came to visit thee in masquerade. + +_Gom._ Very likely; and not finding me at home, you were forced to toy +away an hour with my wife, or so. + +_Lor._ Right; thou speak'st my very soul. + +_Gom._ Why, am not I a friend, then, to help thee out? you would have +been fumbling half an hour for this excuse. But, as I remember, you +promised to storm my citadel, and bring your regiment of red locusts +upon me for free quarters: I find, colonel, by your habit, there are +black locusts in the world, as well as red. + +_Elv._ When comes my share of the reckoning to be called for? + [_Aside._ + +_Lor._ Give me thy hand; thou art the honestest, kind man!--I was +resolved I would not out of thy house till I had seen thee. + +_Gom._ No, in my conscience, if I had staid abroad till midnight. But, +colonel, you and I shall talk in another tone hereafter; I mean, in +cold friendship, at a bar before a judge, by the way of plaintiff and +defendant. Your excuses want some grains to make them current: Hum, +and ha, will not do the business.--There's a modest lady of your +acquaintance, she has so much grace to make none at all, but silently +to confess the power of dame Nature working in her body to youthful +appetite. + +_Elv._ How he got in I know not, unless it were by virtue of his +habit. + +_Gom._ Ay, ay, the virtues of that habit are known abundantly. + +_Elv._ I could not hinder his entrance, for he took me unprovided. + +_Gom._ To resist him. + +_Elv._ I'm sure he has not been here above a quarter of an hour. + +_Gom._ And a quarter of that time would have served the turn. O thou +epitome of thy virtuous sex! Madam Messalina the second, retire to thy +apartment: I have an assignation there to make with thee. + +_Elv._ I am all obedience. [_Exit_ ELVIRA. + +_Lor._ I find, Gomez, you are not the man I thought you. We may meet +before we come to the bar, we may; and our differences may be decided +by other weapons than by lawyers' tongues. In the mean time, no ill +treatment of your wife, as you hope to die a natural death, and go to +hell in your bed. Bilbo is the word, remember that and tremble.-- + [_He's going out._ + + _Enter_ DOMINICK. + +_Dom._ Where is this naughty couple? where are you, in the name of +goodness? My mind misgave me, and I durst trust you no longer with +yourselves: Here will be fine work, I'm afraid, at your next +confession. + +_Lor._ [_Aside._] The devil is punctual, I see; he has paid me the +shame he owed me; and now the friar is coming in for his part too. + +_Dom._ [_Seeing_ GOM.] Bless my eyes! what do I see? + +_Gom._ Why, you see a cuckold of this honest gentleman's making; I +thank him for his pains. + +_Dom._ I confess, I am astonished! + +_Gom._ What, at a cuckoldom of your own contrivance! your head-piece, +and his limbs, have done my business. Nay, do not look so strangely; +remember your own words,--Here will be fine work at your next +confession. What naughty couple were they whom you durst not trust +together any longer?--when the hypocritical rogue had trusted them a +full quarter of an hour;--and, by the way, horns will sprout in less +time than mushrooms. + +_Dom._ Beware how you accuse one of my order upon light suspicions. +The naughty couple, that I meant, were your wife and you, whom I left +together with great animosities on both sides. Now, that was the +occasion,--mark me, Gomez,--that I thought it convenient to return +again, and not to trust your enraged spirits too long together. You +might have broken out into revilings and matrimonial warfare, which +are sins; and new sins make work for new confessions. + +_Lor._ Well said, i'faith, friar; thou art come off thyself, but poor +I am left in limbo. [_Aside._ + +_Gom._ Angle in some other ford, good father, you shall catch no +gudgeons here. Look upon the prisoner at the bar, friar, and inform +the court what you know concerning him; he is arraigned here by the +name of colonel Hernando. + +_Dom._ What colonel do you mean, Gomez? I see no man but a reverend +brother of our order, whose profession I honour, but whose person I +know not, as I hope for paradise. + +_Gom._ No, you are not acquainted with him, the more's the pity; you +do not know him, under this disguise, for the greatest cuckold-maker +in all Spain. + +_Dom._ O impudence! O rogue! O villain! Nay, if he be such a man, my +righteous spirit rises at him! Does he put on holy garments, for a +cover-shame of lewdness? + +_Gom._ Yes, and he's in the right on't, father: when a swinging sin is +to be committed, nothing will cover it so close as a friar's hood; for +there the devil plays at bo-peep,--puts out his horns to do a +mischief, and then shrinks them back for safety, like a snail into her +shell. + +_Lor._ It's best marching off, while I can retreat with honour. +There's no trusting this friar's conscience; he has renounced me +already more heartily than e'er he did the devil, and is in a fair way +to prosecute me for putting on these holy robes. This is the old +church-trick; the clergy is ever at the bottom of the plot, but they +are wise enough to slip their own necks out of the collar, and leave +the laity to be fairly hanged for it. [_Aside and exit._ + +_Gom._ Follow your leader, friar; your colonel is trooped off, but he +had not gone so easily, if I durst have trusted you in the house +behind me. Gather up your gouty legs, I say, and rid my house of that +huge body of divinity. + +_Dom._ I expect some judgment should fall upon you, for your want of +reverence to your spiritual director: Slander, covetousness, and +jealousy, will weigh thee down. + +_Gom._ Put pride, hypocrisy, and gluttony into your scale, father, and +you shall weigh against me: Nay, an sins come to be divided once, the +clergy puts in for nine parts, and scarce leaves the laity a tithe. + +_Dom._ How dar'st thou reproach the tribe of Levi? + +_Gom._ Marry, because you make us laymen of the tribe of Issachar. You +make asses of us, to bear your burthens. When we are young, you put +panniers upon us with your church-discipline; and when we are grown +up, you load us with a wife: after that, you procure for other men, +and then you load our wives too. A fine phrase you have amongst you to +draw us into marriage, you call it--_settling of a man;_ just as when +a fellow has got a sound knock upon the head, they say--_he's +settled:_ Marriage is a settling-blow indeed. They say every thing in +the world is good for something; as a toad, to suck up the venom of +the earth; but I never knew what a friar was good for, till your +pimping shewed me. + +_Dom._ Thou shalt answer for this, thou slanderer; thy offences be +upon thy head. + +_Gom._ I believe there are some offences there of your planting. +[_Exit_ DOM.] Lord, Lord, that men should have sense enough to set +snares in their warrens to catch polecats and foxes, and yet-- + Want wit a priest-trap at their door to lay, + For holy vermin that in houses prey. [_Exit_ GOM. + + +SCENE III.--_A Bed Chamber._ + + LEONORA, _and_ TERESA. + +_Ter._ You are not what you were, since yesterday; +Your food forsakes you, and your needful rest; +You pine, you languish, love to be alone; +Think much, speak little, and, in speaking, sigh: +When you see Torrismond, you are unquiet; +But, when you see him not, you are in pain. + +_Leo._ O let them never love, who never tried! +They brought a paper to me to be signed; +Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name, +And writ, for Leonora, Torrismond. +I went to bed, and to myself I thought +That I would think on Torrismond no more; +Then shut my eyes, but could not shut out him. +I turned, and tried each corner of my bed, +To find if sleep were there, but sleep was lost. +Fev'rish, for want of rest, I rose, and walked, +And, by the moon-shine, to the windows went; +There, thinking to exclude him from my thoughts, +I cast my eyes upon the neighbouring fields, +And, ere I was aware, sighed to myself,-- +There fought my Torrismond. + +_Ter._ What hinders you to take the man you love? +The people will be glad, the soldiers shout, +And Bertran, though repining, will be awed. + +_Leo._ I fear to try new love, +As boys to venture on the unknown ice, +That crackles underneath them while they slide. +Oh, how shall I describe this growing ill! +Betwixt my doubt and love, methinks I stand +Altering, like one that waits an ague fit; +And yet, would this were all! + +_Ter._ What fear you more? + +_Leo._ I am ashamed to say, 'tis but a fancy. +At break of day, when dreams, they say, are true, +A drowzy slumber, rather than a sleep, +Seized on my senses, with long watching worn: +Methought I stood on a wide river's bank, +Which I must needs o'erpass, but knew not how; +When, on a sudden, Torrismond appeared, +Gave me his hand, and led me lightly o'er, +Leaping and bounding on the billows' heads, +'Till safely we had reached the farther shore. + +_Ter._ This dream portends some ill which you shall 'scape. +Would you see fairer visions, take this night +Your Torrismond within your arms to sleep; +And, to that end, invent some apt pretence +To break with Bertran: 'twould be better yet, +Could you provoke him to give you the occasion, +And then, to throw him off. + + _Enter_ BERTRAN _at a distance._ + +_Leo._ My stars have sent him; +For, see, he comes. How gloomily he looks! +If he, as I suspect, have found my love, +His jealousy will furnish him with fury, +And me with means, to part. + +_Bert._ [_Aside._] +Shall I upbraid her? Shall I call her false? +If she be false, 'tis what she most desires. +My genius whispers me,--Be cautious, Bertran! +Thou walkest as on a narrow mountain's neck, +A dreadful height, with scanty room to tread. + +_Leo._ What business have you at the court, my lord? + +_Bert._ What business, madam? + +_Leo._ Yes, my lord, what business? +'Tis somewhat, sure, of weighty consequence, +That brings you here so often, and unsent for. + +_Bert._ 'Tis what I feared; her words are cold enough, +To freeze a man to death. [_Aside._]--May I presume +To speak, and to complain? + +_Leo._ They, who complain to princes, think them tame: +What bull dares bellow, or what sheep dares bleat, +Within the lion's den? + +_Bert._ Yet men are suffered to put heaven in mind +Of promised blessings; for they then are debts. + +_Leo._ My lord, heaven knows its own time when to give; +But you, it seems, charge me with breach of faith! + +_Bert._ I hope I need not, madam; +But as, when men in sickness lingering lie, +They count the tedious hours by months and years,-- +So, every day deferred, to dying lovers, +Is a whole age of pain! + +_Leo._ What if I ne'er consent to make you mine? +My father's promise ties me not to time; +And bonds, without a date, they say, are void. + +_Bert._ Far be it from me to believe you bound; +Love is the freest motion of our minds: +O could you see into my secret soul, +There might you read your own dominion doubled, +Both as a queen and mistress. If you leave me, +Know I can die, but dare not be displeased. + +_Leo._ Sure you affect stupidity, my lord; +Or give me cause to think, that, when you lost +Three battles to the Moors, you coldly stood +As unconcerned as now. + +_Bert._ I did my best; +Fate was not in my power. + +_Leo._ And, with the like tame gravity, you saw +A raw young warrior take your baffled work, +And end it at a blow. + +_Bert._ I humbly take my leave; but they, who blast +Your good opinion of me, may have cause +To know, I am no coward. [_He is going._ + +_Leo._ Bertran, stay. +[_Aside._] This may produce some dismal consequence +To him, whom dearer than my life I love. +[_To him._] Have I not managed my contrivance well, +To try your love, and make you doubt of mine? + +_Bert._ Then, was it but a trial? +Methinks I start as from some dreadful dream, +And often ask myself if yet I wake.-- +This turn's too quick to be without design; +I'll sound the bottom of't, ere I believe. [_Aside._ + +_Leo._ I find your love, and would reward it too, +But anxious fears solicit my weak breast. +I fear my people's faith; +That hot-mouthed beast, that bears against the curb, +Hard to be broken even by lawful kings, +But harder by usurpers. +Judge then, my lord, with all these cares opprest, +If I can think of love. + +_Bert._ Believe me, madam, +These jealousies, however large they spread, +Have but one root, the old imprisoned king; +Whose lenity first pleased the gaping crowd; +But when long tried, and found supinely good, +Like AEsop's Log, they leapt upon his back. +Your father knew them well; and, when he mounted, +He reined them strongly, and he spurred them hard: +And, but he durst not do it all at once, +He had not left alive this patient saint, +This anvil of affronts, but sent him hence +To hold a peaceful branch of palm above, +And hymn it in the quire. + +_Leo._ You've hit upon the very string, which, touched. +Echoes the sound, and jars within my soul;-- +There lies my grief. + +_Bert._ So long as there's a head, +Thither will all the mounting spirits fly; +Lop that but off, and then-- + +_Leo._ My virtue shrinks from such an horrid act. + +_Bert._ This 'tis to have a virtue out of season. +Mercy is good, a very good dull virtue; +But kings mistake its timing, and are mild, +When manly courage bids them be severe: +Better be cruel once, than anxious ever. +Remove this threatening danger from your crown, +And then securely take the man you love. + +_Leo._ [_Walking aside._] +Ha! let me think of that:--The man I love? +'Tis true, this murder is the only means, +That can secure my throne to Torrismond: +Nay, more, this execution, done by Bertran, +Makes him the object of the people's hate. + +_Bert._ The more she thinks, 'twill work the stronger in her. + [_Aside._ + +_Leo._ How eloquent is mischief to persuade! +Few are so wicked, as to take delight +In crimes unprofitable, nor do I: +If then I break divine and human laws, +No bribe but love could gain so bad a cause. [_Aside._ + +_Bert._ You answer nothing. + +_Leo._ 'Tis of deep concernment, +And I a woman, ignorant and weak: +I leave it all to you; think, what you do, +You do for him I love. + +_Bert._ For him she loves? +She named not me; that may be Torrismond, +Whom she has thrice in private seen this day; +Then I am fairly caught in my own snare. +I'll think again. [_Aside._]--Madam, it shall be done; +And mine be all the blame. [_Exit._ + +_Leo._ O, that it were! I would not do this crime, +And yet, like heaven, permit it to be done. +The priesthood grossly cheat us with free-will: +Will to do what--but what heaven first decreed? +Our actions then are neither good nor ill, +Since from eternal causes they proceed; +Our passions,--fear and anger, love and hate,-- +Mere senseless engines that are moved by fate; +Like ships on stormy seas, without a guide, +Tost by the winds, and driven by the tide. + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND. + +_Tor._ Am I not rudely bold, and press too often +Into your presence, madam? If I am-- + +_Leo._ No more, lest I should chide you for your stay: +Where have you been? and how could you suppose, +That I could live these two long hours without you? + +_Tor._ O words, to charm an angel from his orb! +Welcome, as kindly showers to long-parched earth! +But I have been in such a dismal place, +Where joy ne'er enters, which the sun ne'er cheers, +Bound in with darkness, overspread with damps; +Where I have seen (if I could say I saw) +The good old king, majestic in his bonds, +And, 'midst his griefs, most venerably great: +By a dim winking lamp, which feebly broke +The gloomy vapours, he lay stretched along +Upon the unwholesome earth, his eyes fixed upward; +And ever and anon a silent tear +Stole down, and trickled from his hoary beard. + +_Leo._ O heaven, what have I done!--my gentle love, +Here end thy sad discourse, and, for my sake, +Cast off these fearful melancholy thoughts. + +_Tor._ My heart is withered at that piteous sight, +As early blossoms are with eastern blasts: +He sent for me, and, while I raised his head, +He threw his aged arms about my neck; +And, seeing that I wept, he pressed me close: +So, leaning cheek to cheek, and eyes to eyes, +We mingled tears in a dumb scene of sorrow. + +_Leo._ Forbear; you know not how you wound my soul. + +_Tor._ Can you have grief, and not have pity too? +He told me,--when my father did return, +He had a wond'rous secret to disclose: +He kissed me, blessed me, nay--he called me son; +He praised my courage; prayed for my success: +He was so true a father of his country, +To thank me, for defending even his foes, +Because they were his subjects. + +_Leo._ If they be,--then what am I? + +_Tor._ The sovereign of my soul, my earthly heaven. + +_Leo._ And not your queen? + +_Tor._ You are so beautiful, +So wond'rous fair, you justify rebellion; +As if that faultless face could make no sin, +But heaven, with looking on it, must forgive. + +_Leo._ The king must die,--he must, my Torrismond, +Though pity softly plead within my soul; +Yet he must die, that I may make you great, +And give a crown in dowry with my love. + +_Tor._ Perish that crown--on any head but yours! +O, recollect your thoughts! +Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand +Is ebbing to the last: +A little longer, yet a little longer, +And nature drops him down, without your sin; +Like mellow fruit, without a winter storm. + +_Leo._ Let me but do this one injustice more. +His doom is past, and, for your sake, he dies. + +_Tor._ Would you, for me, have done so ill an act, +And will not do a good one! +Now, by your joys on earth, your hopes in heaven, +O spare this great, this good, this aged king; +And spare your soul the crime! + +_Leo._ The crime's not mine; +'Twas first proposed, and must be done, by Bertran, +Fed with false hopes to gain my crown and me; +I, to enhance his ruin, gave no leave, +But barely bade him think, and then resolve. + +_Tor._ In not forbidding, you command the crime: +Think, timely think, on the last dreadful day; +How will you tremble, there to stand exposed, +And foremost, in the rank of guilty ghosts, +That must be doomed for murder! think on murder: +That troop is placed apart from common crimes; +The damned themselves start wide, and shun that band, +As far more black, and more forlorn than they. + +_Leo._ 'Tis terrible! it shakes, it staggers me; +I knew this truth, but I repelled that thought. +Sure there is none, but fears a future state; +And, when the most obdurate swear they do not, +Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues. + + _Enter_ TERESA. + +Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly +Not to proceed, but wait my farther pleasure. + +_Ter._ Madam, he sends to tell you, 'tis performed. [_Exit._ + +_Tor._ Ten thousand plagues consume him! furies drag him, +Fiends tear him! blasted be the arm that struck, +The tongue that ordered!--only she be spared, +That hindered not the deed! O, where was then +The power, that guards the sacred lives of kings? +Why slept the lightning and the thunder-bolts, +Or bent their idle rage on fields and trees, +When vengeance called them here? + +_Leo._ Sleep that thought too; +'Tis done, and, since 'tis done, 'tis past recal; +And, since 'tis past recal, must be forgotten. + +_Tor._ O, never, never, shall it be forgotten! +High heaven will not forget it; after-ages +Shall with a fearful curse remember ours; +And blood shall never leave the nation more! + +_Leo._ His body shall be royally interred, +And the last funeral-pomps adorn his hearse; +I will myself (as I have cause too just,) +Be the chief mourner at his obsequies; +And yearly fix on the revolving day +The solemn marks of mourning, to atone, +And expiate my offence. + +_Tor._ Nothing can, +But bloody vengeance on that traitor's head,-- +Which, dear departed spirit, here I vow. + +_Leo._ Here end our sorrows, and begin our joys: +Love calls, my Torrismond; though hate has raged, +And ruled the day, yet love will rule the night. +The spiteful stars have shed their venom down, +And now the peaceful planets take their turn. +This deed of Bertran's has removed all fears, +And given me just occasion to refuse him. +What hinders now, but that the holy priest +In secret join our mutual vows? and then +This night, this happy night, is yours and mine. + +_Tor._ Be still my sorrows, and be loud my joys. +Fly to the utmost circles of the sea, +Thou furious tempest, that hast tossed my mind, +And leave no thought, but Leonora there.-- +What's this I feel, a boding in my soul, +As if this day were fatal? be it so; +Fate shall but have the leavings of my love: +My joys are gloomy, but withal are great. +The lion, though he sees the toils are set, +Yet, pinched with raging hunger, scowers away, +Hunts in the face of danger all the day; +At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o'er his prey. [_Exeunt._ + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I.--_Before Gomez's Door._ + + _Enter_ LORENZO, DOMINICK, _and two Soldiers at a distance._ + +_Dom._ I'll not wag an ace farther: the whole world shall not bribe me +to it; for my conscience will digest these gross enormities no longer. + +_Lor._ How, thy conscience not digest them! There is ne'er a friar in +Spain can shew a conscience, that comes near it for digestion. It +digested pimping, when I sent thee with my letter; and it digested +perjury, when thou swor'st thou didst not know me: I am sure it has +digested me fifty pounds, of as hard gold as is in all Barbary. +Pr'ythee, why shouldest thou discourage fornication, when thou knowest +thou lovest a sweet young girl? + +_Dom._ Away, away; I do not love them;--pah; no,--[_spits._] I do not +love a pretty girl--you are so waggish!-- [_Spits again._ + +_Lor._ Why thy mouth waters at the very mention of them. + +_Dom._ You take a mighty pleasure in defamation, colonel; but I wonder +what you find in running restless up and down, breaking your brains, +emptying your purse, and wearing out your body, with hunting after +unlawful game. + +_Lor._ Why there's the satisfaction on't. + +_Dom._ This incontinency may proceed to adultery, and adultery to +murder, and murder to hanging; and there's the satisfaction on't. + +_Lor._ I'll not hang alone, friar; I'm resolved to peach thee before +thy superiors, for what thou hast done already. + +_Dom._ I'm resolved to forswear it, if you do. Let me advise you +better, colonel, than to accuse a church-man to a church-man; in the +common cause we are all of a piece; we hang together. + +_Lor._ If you don't, it were no matter if you did. [_Aside._ + +_Dom._ Nay, if you talk of peaching, I'll peach first, and see whose +oath will be believed; I'll trounce you for offering to corrupt my +honesty, and bribe my conscience: you shall be summoned by an host of +parators; you shall be sentenced in the spiritual court; you shall be +excommunicated; you shall be outlawed;--and-- + [_Here_ LORENZO _takes a purse, and plays with it, + and at last lets the purse fall chinking on the + ground, which the Friar eyes._ +[_In another tone._] I say, a man might do this now, if he were +maliciously disposed, and had a mind to bring matters to extremity: +but, considering that you are my friend, a person of honour, and a +worthy good charitable man, I would rather die a thousand deaths than +disoblige you. [LORENZO _takes up the purse, and pours it into + the Friar's sleeve._ +Nay, good sir;--nay, dear colonel;--O lord, sir, what are you doing +now! I profess this must not be: without this I would have served you +to the utter-most; pray command me.--A jealous, foul-mouthed rogue +this Gomez is; I saw how he used you, and you marked how he used me +too. O he's a bitter man; but we'll join our forces; ah, shall we, +colonel? we'll be revenged on him with a witness. + +_Lor._ But how shall I send her word to be ready at the door? for I +must reveal it in confession to you, that I mean to carry her away +this evening, by the help of these two soldiers. I know Gomez suspects +you, and you will hardly gain admittance. + +_Dom._ Let me alone; I fear him not. I am armed with the authority of +my clothing: yonder I see him keeping sentry at his door:--have you +never seen a citizen, in a cold morning, clapping his sides, and +walking forward and backward, a mighty pace before his shop? but I'll +gain the pass, in spite of his suspicion; stand you aside, and do but +mark how I accost him. + +_Lor._ If he meet with a repulse, we must throw off the fox's skin, +and put on the lion's.--Come, gentlemen, you'll stand by me? + +_Sol._ Do not doubt us, colonel. + [_They retire all three to a corner of the stage;_ + DOMINICK _goes to the door where_ GOMEZ _stands._ + +_Dom._ Good even, Gomez; how does your wife? + +_Gom._ Just as you'd have her; thinking on nothing but her dear +colonel, and conspiring cuckoldom against me. + +_Dom._ I dare say, you wrong her; she is employing her thoughts how to +cure you of your jealousy. + +_Gom._ Yes, by certainty. + +_Dom._ By your leave, Gomez; I have some spiritual advice to impart to +her on that subject. + +_Gom._ You may spare your instructions, if you please, father; she has +no farther need of them. + +_Dom._ How, no need of them! do you speak in riddles? + +_Gom._ Since you will have me speak plainer,--she has profited so well +already by your counsel, that she can say her lesson without your +teaching: Do you understand me now? + +_Dom._ I must not neglect my duty, for all that; once again, Gomez, by +your leave. + +_Gom._ She's a little indisposed at present, and it will not be +convenient to disturb her. [DOMINICK _offers to go by him, but + t'other stands before him._ + +_Dom._ Indisposed, say you? O, it is upon those occasions that a +confessor is most necessary; I think, it was my good angel that sent +me hither so opportunely. + +_Gom._ Ay, whose good angels sent you hither, that you best know, +father. + +_Dom._ A word or two of devotion will do her no harm, I'm sure. + +_Gom._ A little sleep will do her more good, I'm sure: You know, she +disburthened her conscience but this morning to you. + +_Dom._ But, if she be ill this afternoon, she may have new occasion to +confess. + +_Gom._ Indeed, as you order matters with the colonel, she may have +occasion of confessing herself every hour. + +_Dom._ Pray, how long has she been sick? + +_Gom._ Lord, you will force a man to speak;--why, ever since your last +defeat. + +_Dom._ This can be but some slight indisposition; it will not last, +and I may see her. + +_Gom._ How, not last! I say, it will last, and it shall last; she +shall be sick these seven or eight days, and perhaps longer, as I see +occasion. What? I know the mind of her sickness a little better than +you do. + +_Dom._ I find, then, I must bring a doctor. + +_Gom._ And he'll bring an apothecary, with a chargeable long bill of +_ana's_: those of my family have the grace to die cheaper. In a word, +Sir Dominick, we understand one another's business here: I am resolved +to stand like the Swiss of my own family, to defend the entrance; you +may mumble over your _pater nosters_, if you please, and try if you +can make my doors fly open, and batter down my walls with bell, book, +and candle; but I am not of opinion, that you are holy enough to +commit miracles. + +_Dom._ Men of my order are not to be treated after this manner. + +_Gom._ I would treat the pope and all his cardinals in the same +manner, if they offered to see my wife, without my leave. + +_Dom._ I excommunicate thee from the church, if thou dost not open; +there's promulgation coming out. + +_Gom._ And I excommunicate you from my wife, if you go to that: +there's promulgation for promulgation, and bull for bull; and so I +leave you to recreate yourself with the end of an old song-- +_And sorrow came to the old friar._ [_Exit._ + + LORENZO _comes to him._ + +_Lor._ I will not ask you your success; for I overheard part of it, +and saw the conclusion. I find we are now put upon our last trump; the +fox is earthed, but I shall send my two terriers in after him. + +_Sold._ I warrant you, colonel, we'll unkennel him. + +_Lor._ And make what haste you can, to bring out the lady.--What say +you, father? Burglary is but a venial sin among soldiers. + +_Dom._ I shall absolve them, because he is an enemy of the +church.--There is a proverb, I confess, which says, that dead men tell +no tales; but let your soldiers apply it at their own perils. + +_Lor._ What, take away a man's wife, and kill him too! The wickedness +of this old villain startles me, and gives me a twinge for my own sin, +though it comes far short of his.--Hark you, soldiers, be sure you use +as little violence to him as is possible. + +_Dom._ Hold a little; I have thought better how to secure him, with +less danger to us. + +_Lor._ O miracle, the friar is grown conscientious! + +_Dom._ The old king, you know, is just murdered, and the persons that +did it are unknown; let the soldiers seize him for one of the +assassinates, and let me alone to accuse him afterwards. + +_Lor._ I cry thee mercy with all my heart, for suspecting a friar of +the least good nature; what, would you accuse him wrongfully? + +_Dom._ I must confess, 'tis wrongful, _quoad hoc_, as to the fact +itself; but 'tis rightful, _quoad hunc_, as to this heretical rogue, +whom we must dispatch. He has railed against the church, which is a +fouler crime than the murder of a thousand kings. _Omne majus continet +in se minus:_ He, that is an enemy to the church, is an enemy unto +heaven; and he, that is an enemy to heaven, would have killed the king +if he had been in the circumstances of doing it; so it is not wrongful +to accuse him. + +_Lor._ I never knew a churchman, if he were personally offended, but +he would bring in heaven by hook or crook into his quarrel.--Soldiers, +do as you were first ordered. [_Exeunt Soldiers._ + +_Dom._ What was't you ordered them? Are you sure it's safe, and not +scandalous? + +_Lor._ Somewhat near your own design, but not altogether so +mischievous. The people are infinitely discontented, as they have +reason; and mutinies there are, or will be, against the queen: now I +am content to put him thus far into the plot, that he should be +secured as a traitor; but he shall only be prisoner at the soldiers' +quarters; and when I am out of reach, he shall be released. + +_Dom._ And what will become of me then? for when he is free, he will +infallibly accuse me. + +_Lor._ Why then, father, you must have recourse to your infallible +church-remedies; lie impudently, and swear devoutly, and, as you told +me but now, let him try whose oath will be first believed. Retire, I +hear them coming. [_They withdraw._ + + _Enter the Soldiers with_ GOMEZ _struggling on their backs._ + +_Gom._ Help, good Christians! help, neighbours! my house is broken +open by force, and I am ravished, and like to be assassinated!--What +do you mean, villains? will you carry me away, like a pedlar's pack, +upon your backs? will you murder a man in plain day-light? + +_1 Soldier._ No; but we'll secure you for a traitor, and for being in +a plot against the state. + +_Gom,_ Who, I in a plot! O Lord! O Lord! I never durst be in a plot: +Why, how can you in conscience suspect a rich citizen of so much wit +as to make a plotter? There are none but poor rogues, and those that +can't live without it, that are in plots. + +_2 Soldier._ Away with him, away with him. + +_Gom._ O my gold! my wife! my wife! my gold! As I hope to be saved +now, I know no more of the plot than they that made it. + [_They carry him off, and exeunt._ + +_Lor._ Thus far we have sailed with a merry gale, and now we have the +Cape of Good Hope in sight; the trade-wind is our own, if we can but +double it. [_He looks out._ +[_Aside._] Ah, my father and Pedro stand at the corner of the street +with company; there's no stirring till they are past. + + _Enter_ ELVIRA _with a casket._ + +_Elv._ Am I come at last into your arms? + +_Lor._ Fear nothing; the adventure's ended, and the knight may carry +off the lady safely. + +_Elv._ I'm so overjoyed, I can scarce believe I am at liberty; but +stand panting, like a bird that has often beaten her wings in vain +against her cage, and at last dares hardly venture out, though she +sees it open. + +_Dom._ Lose no time, but make haste while the way is free for you; and +thereupon I give you my benediction. + +_Lor._ 'Tis not so free as you suppose; for there's an old gentleman +of my acquaintance, that blocks up the passage at the corner of the +street. + +_Dom._ What have you gotten there under your arm, daughter? somewhat, +I hope, that will bear your charges in your pilgrimage. + +_Lor._ The friar has an hawk's eye to gold and jewels. + +_Elv._ Here's that will make you dance without a fiddle, and provide +better entertainment for us, than hedges in summer, and barns in +winter. Here's the very heart, and soul, and life-blood of Gomez; +pawns in abundance, old gold of widows, and new gold of prodigals, and +pearls and diamonds of court ladies, till the next bribe helps their +husbands to redeem them. + +_Dom._ They are the spoils of the wicked, and the church endows you +with them. + +_Lor._ And, faith, we'll drink the church's health out of them. But +all this while I stand on thorns. Pr'ythee, dear, look out, and see if +the coast be free for our escape; for I dare not peep, for fear of +being known. [ELVIRA _goes to look, and_ GOMEZ _comes + running in upon her: She shrieks out._ + +_Gom._ Thanks to my stars, I have recovered my own territories.--What +do I see? I'm ruined! I'm undone! I'm betrayed! + +_Dom._ [_Aside._] What a hopeful enterprise is here spoiled! + +_Gom._ O, colonel are you there?--and you, friar? nay, then I find how +the world goes. + +_Lor._ Cheer up, man, thou art out of jeopardy; I heard thee crying +out just now, and came running in full speed, with the wings of an +eagle, and the feet of a tiger, to thy rescue. + +_Gom._ Ay, you are always at hand to do me a courtesy, with your +eagle's feet, and your tiger's wings.--And what were you here for, +friar? + +_Dom._ To interpose my spiritual authority in your behalf. + +_Gom._ And why did you shriek out, gentlewoman? + +_Elv._ 'Twas for joy at your return. + +_Gom._ And that casket under your arm, for what end and purpose? + +_Elv._ Only to preserve it from the thieves. + +_Gom._ And you came running out of doors-- + +_Elv._ Only to meet you, sweet husband. + +_Gom._ A fine evidence summed up among you; thank you heartily, you +are all my friends. The colonel was walking by accidentally, and +hearing my voice, came in to save me; the friar, who was hobbling the +same way too, accidentally again, and not knowing of the colonel, I +warrant you, he comes in to pray for me; and my faithful wife runs out +of doors to meet me, with all my jewels under her arm, and shrieks out +for joy at my return. But if my father-in-law had not met your +soldiers, colonel, and delivered me in the nick, I should neither have +found a friend nor a friar here, and might have shrieked out for joy +myself, for the loss of my jewels and my wife. + +_Dom._ Art thou an infidel? Wilt thou not believe us? + +_Gom._ Such churchmen as you would make any man an infidel.--Get you +into your kennel, gentlewoman; I shall thank you within doors for your +safe custody of my jewels and your own. + [_He thrusts his wife off the stage._ +As for you, colonel Huffcap, we shall try before a civil magistrate, +who's the greater plotter of us two, I against the state, or you +against the petticoat. + +_Lor._ Nay, if you will complain, you shall for something. + [_Beats him._ + +_Gom._ Murder, murder! I give up the ghost! I am destroyed! help, +murder, murder! + +_Dom._ Away, colonel; let us fly for our lives: the neighbours are +coming out with forks, and fire-shovels, and spits, and other domestic +weapons; the militia of a whole alley is raised against us. + +_Lor._ This is but the interest of my debt, master usurer; the +principal shall be paid you at our next meeting. + +_Dom._ Ah, if your soldiers had but dispatched him, his tongue had +been laid asleep, colonel; but this comes of not following good +counsel; ah-- [_Exeunt_ LOR. _and Friar severally._ + +_Gom._ I'll be revenged of him, if I dare; but he's such a terrible +fellow, that my mind misgives me; I shall tremble when I have him +before the judge. All my misfortunes come together. I have been +robbed, and cuckolded, and ravished, and beaten, in one quarter of an +hour; my poor limbs smart, and my poor head aches: ay, do, do, smart +limb, ache head, and sprout horns; but I'll be hanged before I'll pity +you:--you must needs be married, must ye? there's for that; [_Beats +his own head._] and to a fine, young, modish lady, must ye? there's +for that too; and, at threescore, you old, doting cuckold! take that +remembrance;--a fine time of day for a man to be bound prentice, when +he is past using of his trade; to set up an equipage of noise, when he +has most need of quiet; instead of her being under covert-baron, to be +under covert-femme myself; to have my body disabled, and my head +fortified; and, lastly, to be crowded into a narrow box with a shrill +treble, + That with one blast through the whole house does bound, + And first taught speaking-trumpets how to sound. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II.--_The Court._ + + _Enter_ RAYMOND, ALPHONSO, _and_ PEDRO. + +_Raym._ Are these, are these, ye powers, the promised joys, +With which I flattered my long, tedious absence, +To find, at my return, my master murdered? +O, that I could but weep, to vent my passion! +But this dry sorrow burns up all my tears. + +_Alph._ Mourn inward, brother; 'tis observed at court, +Who weeps, and who wears black; and your return +Will fix all eyes on every act of yours, +To see how you resent King Sancho's death. + +_Raym._ What generous man can live with that constraint +Upon his soul, to bear, much less to flatter, +A court like this! Can I sooth tyranny? +Seem pleased to see my royal master murdered, +His crown usurped, a distaff in the throne, +A council made of such as dare not speak, +And could not, if they durst; whence honest men +Banish themselves, for shame of being there: +A government, that, knowing not true wisdom, +Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home? + +_Alph._ Virtue must be thrown off; 'tis a coarse garment, +Too heavy for the sun-shine of a court. + +_Raym._ Well then, I will dissemble, for an end +So great, so pious, as a just revenge: +You'll join with me? + +_Alph._ No honest man but must. + +_Ped._ What title has this queen, but lawless force? +And force must pull her down. + +_Alph._ Truth is, I pity Leonora's case; +Forced, for her safety, to commit a crime, +Which most her soul abhors. + +_Raym._ All she has done, or e'er can do, of good, +This one black deed has damned. + +_Ped,_ You'll hardly gain your son to our design. + +_Raym._ Your reason for't? + +_Ped._ I want time to unriddle it: +Put on your t'other face, the queen approaches. + + _Enter_ LEONORA, BERTRAN, _and Attendants._ + +_Raym._ And that accursed Bertran +Stalks close behind her, like a witch's fiend, +Pressing to be employed; stand, and observe them. + +_Leo._ to _Bert._ Buried in private, and so suddenly! +It crosses my design, which was to allow +The rites of funeral fitting his degree, +With all the pomp of mourning. + +_Bert._ It was not safe: +Objects of pity, when the cause is new, +Would work too fiercely on the giddy crowd: +Had Caesar's body never been exposed, +Brutus had gained his cause. + +_Leo._ Then, was he loved? + +_Bert._ O, never man so much, for saint-like goodness. + +_Ped._ Had bad men feared him, but as good men loved him, +He had not yet been sainted. [_Aside._ + +_Leo._ I wonder how the people bear his death. + +_Bert._ Some discontents there are; some idle murmurs. + +_Ped._ How, idle murmurs! Let me plainly speak: +The doors are all shut up; the wealthier sort, +With arms across, and hats upon their eyes, +Walk to and fro before their silent shops; +Whole droves of lenders crowd the bankers' doors, +To call in money; those, who have none, mark +Where money goes; for when they rise, 'tis plunder: +The rabble gather round the man of news, +And listen with their mouths; +Some tell, some hear, some judge of news, some make it; +And he, who lies most loud, is most believed. + +_Leo._ This may be dangerous. + +_Raym._ Pray heaven it may! [_Aside._ + +_Bert._ If one of you must fall, +Self-preservation is the first of laws; +And if, when subjects are oppressed by kings, +They justify rebellion by that law, +As well may monarchs turn the edge of right +To cut for them, when self-defence requires it. + +_Leo._ You place such arbitrary power in kings, +That I much fear, if I should make you one, +You'll make yourself a tyrant; let these know +By what authority you did this act. + +_Bert._ You much surprise me, to demand that question: +But, since truth must be told, 'twas by your own. + +_Leo._ Produce it; or, by heaven, your head shall answer +The forfeit of your tongue. + +_Raym._ Brave mischief towards. [_Aside._ + +_Bert._ You bade me. + +_Leo._ When, and where? + +_Bert._ No, I confess, you bade me not in words; +The dial spoke not, but it made shrewd signs, +And pointed full upon the stroke of murder: +Yet this you said, +You were a woman, ignorant and weak, +So left it to my care. + +_Leo._ What, if I said, +I was a woman, ignorant and weak, +Were you to take the advantage of my sex, +And play the devil to tempt me? You contrived, +You urged, you drove me headlong to your toils; +And if, much tired, and frighted more, I paused, +Were you to make my doubts your own commission? + +_Bert._ This 'tis, to serve a prince too faithfully; +Who, free from laws himself, will have that done, +Which, not performed, brings us to sure disgrace; +And, if performed, to ruin. + +_Leo._ This 'tis, to counsel things that are unjust; +First, to debauch a king to break his laws, +Which are his safety, and then seek protection +From him you have endangered; but, just heaven, +When sins are judged, will damn the tempting devil, +More deep than those he tempted. + +_Bert._ If princes not protect their ministers, +What man will dare to serve them? + +_Leo._ None will dare +To serve them ill, when they are left to laws; +But, when a counsellor, to save himself, +Would lay miscarriages upon his prince, +Exposing him to public rage and hate; +O, 'tis an act as infamously base, +As, should a common soldier sculk behind, +And thrust his general in the front of war: +It shews, he only served himself before, +And had no sense of honour, country, king, +But centered on himself, and used his master, +As guardians do their wards, with shews of care, +But with intent to sell the public safety, +And pocket up his prince. + +_Ped._ Well said, i'faith; +This speech is e'en too good for an usurper. [_Aside._ + +_Bert._ I see for whom I must be sacrificed; +And, had I not been sotted with my zeal, +I might have found it sooner. + +_Leo._ From my sight! +The prince, who bears an insolence like this, +Is such an image of the powers above, +As is the statue of the thundering god, +Whose bolts the boys may play with. + +_Bert._ Unrevenged +I will not fall, nor single. [_Exit._ + +_Leo._ Welcome, welcome! [_To_ RAYM. _who kisses her hand._ +I saw you not before: One honest lord +Is hid with ease among a crowd of courtiers. +How can I be too grateful to the father +Of such a son as Torrismond? + +_Raym._ His actions were but duty. + +_Leo._ Yet, my lord, +All have not paid that debt, like noble Torrismond. +You hear, how Bertran brands me with a crime, +Of which, your son can witness, I am free. +I sent to stop the murder, but too late; +For crimes are swift, but penitence is slow: +The bloody Bertran, diligent in ill, +Flew to prevent the soft returns of pity. + +_Raym._ O cursed haste, of making sure of sin!-- +Can you forgive the traitor? + +_Leo._ Never, never: +'Tis written here in characters so deep, +That seven years hence, ('till then should I not meet him,) +And in the temple then, I'll drag him thence, +Even from the holy altar to the block. + +_Raym._ She's fired, as I would wish her; aid me, justice, [_Aside._ +As all my ends are thine, to gain this point, +And ruin both at once.--It wounds, indeed, [_To her._ +To bear affronts, too great to be forgiven, +And not have power to punish; yet one way +There is to ruin Bertran. + +_Leo._ O, there's none; +Except an host from heaven can make such haste +To save my crown, as he will do to seize it. +You saw, he came surrounded with his friends, +And knew, besides, our army was removed +To quarters too remote for sudden use. + +_Raym._ Yet you may give commission +To some bold man, whose loyalty you trust, +And let him raise the train-bands of the city. + +_Leo._ Gross feeders, lion talkers, lamb-like fighters. + +_Raym._ You do not know the virtues of your city, +What pushing force they have; some popular chief, +More noisy than the rest, but cries halloo, +And, in a trice, the bellowing herd come out; +The gates are barred, the ways are barricadoed, +And _One and all's_ the word; true cocks o'the game, +That never ask, for what, or whom, they fight; +But turn them out, and shew them but a foe, +Cry--_Liberty!_ and that's a cause of quarrel. + +_Leo._ There may be danger in that boisterous rout: +Who knows, when fires are kindled for my foes, +But some new blast of wind may turn those flames +Against my palace-walls? + +_Raym._ But still their chief +Must be some one, whose loyalty you trust. + +_Leo._ And who more proper for that trust than you, +Whose interests, though unknown to you, are mine? +Alphonso, Pedro, haste to raise the rabble; +He shall appear to head them. + +_Raym._ [_Aside to_ ALPH. _and_ PED.] +First sieze Bertran, +And then insinuate to them, that I bring +Their lawful prince to place upon the throne. + +_Alph._ Our lawful prince! + +_Raym._ Fear not; I can produce him. + +_Ped._ [_To_ ALPH.] +Now we want your son Lorenzo: what a mighty faction +Would he make for us of the city-wives, +With,--Oh, dear husband, my sweet honey husband, +Wont you be for the colonel? if you love me, +Be for the colonel; Oh, he's the finest man! + [_Exeunt_ ALPH. _and_ PED. + +_Raym._ So, now we have a plot behind the plot. +She thinks, she's in the depth of my design, +And that 'tis all for her; but time shall show, +She only lives to help me ruin others, +And last, to fall herself. [_Aside._ + +_Leo._ Now, to you, Raymond: can you guess no reason +Why I repose such confidence in you? +You needs must think, +There's some more powerful cause than loyalty: +Will you not speak, to save a lady's blush? +Need I inform you, 'tis for Torrismond, +That all this grace is shown? + +_Raym._ By all the powers, worse, worse than what I feared! [_Aside._ + +_Leo._ And yet, what need I blush at such a choice? +I love a man whom I am proud to love, +And am well pleased my inclination gives +What gratitude would force. O pardon me; +I ne'er was covetous of wealth before; +Yet think so vast a treasure as your son, +Too great for any private man's possession; +And him too rich a jewel, to be set +In vulgar metal, or for vulgar use. + +_Raym._ Arm me with patience, heaven! + +_Leo._ How, patience, Raymond? +What exercise of patience have you here? +What find you in my crown to be contemned; +Or in my person loathed? Have I, a queen, +Past by my fellow-rulers of the world, +Whose vying crowns lay glittering in my way, +As if the world were paved with diadems? +Have I refused their blood, to mix with yours, +And raise new kings from so obscure a race, +Fate scarce knew where to find them, when I called? +Have I heaped on my person, crown, and state, +To load the scale, and weighed myself with earth, +For you to spurn the balance? + +_Raym._ Bate the last, and 'tis what I would say: +Can I, can any loyal subject, see +With patience, such a stoop from sovereignty, +An ocean poured upon a narrow brook? +My zeal for you must lay the father by, +And plead my country's cause against my son. +What though his heart be great, his actions gallant, +He wants a crown to poise against a crown, +Birth to match birth, and power to balance power. + +_Leo._ All these I have, and these I can bestow; +But he brings worth and virtue to my bed; +And virtue is the wealth which tyrants want: +I stand in need of one, whose glories may +Redeem my crimes, ally me to his fame, +Dispel the factions of my foes on earth, +Disarm the justice of the powers above. + +_Raym._ The people never will endure this choice. + +_Leo._ If I endure it, what imports it you? +Go, raise the ministers of my revenge, +Guide with your breath this whirling tempest round, +And see its fury fall where I design. +At last a time for just revenge is given; +Revenge, the darling attribute of heaven: +But man, unlike his Maker, bears too long; +Still more exposed, the more he pardons wrong; +Great in forgiving, and in suffering brave; +To be a saint, he makes himself a slave. [_Exit Queen._ + +_Raym._ [_Solus._] +Marriage with Torrismond! it must not be, +By heaven, it must not be! or, if it be, +Law, justice, honour, bid farewell to earth, +For heaven leaves all to tyrants. + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND, _who kneels to him._ + +_Tor._ O, very welcome, sir! +But doubly now! You come in such a time, +As if propitious fortune took a care, +To swell my tide of joys to their full height, +And leave me nothing farther to desire. + +_Raym._ I hope, I come in time, if not to make, +At least to save your fortune and your honour. +Take heed you steer your vessel right, my son; +This calm of heaven, this mermaid's melody, +Into an unseen whirlpool draws you fast, +And, in a moment, sinks you. + +_Tor._ Fortune cannot, +And fate can scarce; I've made the port already, +And laugh securely at the lazy storm, +That wanted wings to reach me in the deep. +Your pardon, sir; my duty calls me hence; +I go to find my queen, my earthly goddess, +To whom I owe my hopes, my life, my love. + +_Raym._ You owe her more, perhaps, than you imagine; +Stay, I command you stay, and hear me first. +This hour's the very crisis of your fate, +Your good or ill, your infamy or fame, +And all the colour of your life, depends +On this important now. + +_Tor._ I see no danger; +The city, army, court, espouse my cause, +And, more than all, the queen, with public favour, +Indulges my pretensions to her love. + +_Raym._ Nay, if possessing her can make you happy, +'Tis granted, nothing hinders your design. + +_Tor._ If she can make me blest? she only can; +Empire, and wealth, and all she brings beside, +Are but the train and trappings of her love: +The sweetest, kindest, truest of her sex, +In whose possession years roll round on years, +And joys, in circles, meet new joys again; +Kisses, embraces, languishing, and death, +Still from each other to each other move, +To crown the various seasons of our love; +And doubt you if such love can make me happy? + +_Raym._ Yes; for, I think, you love your honour more. + +_Tor._ And what can shock my honour in a queen? + +_Raym._ A tyrant, an usurper? + +_Tor._ Grant she be; +When from the conqueror we hold our lives, +We yield ourselves his subjects from that hour; +For mutual benefits make mutual ties. + +_Raym._ Why, can you think I owe a thief my life, +Because he took it not by lawless force? +What, if he did not all the ill he could? +Am I obliged by that to assist his rapines, +And to maintain his murders? + +_Tor._ Not to maintain, but bear them unrevenged. +Kings' titles commonly begin by force, +Which time wears off, and mellows into right; +So power, which, in one age, is tyranny, +Is ripened, in the next, to true succession: +She's in possession. + +_Raym._ So diseases are: +Should not a lingering fever be removed, +Because it long has raged within my blood? +Do I rebel, when I would thrust it out? +What, shall I think the world was made for one, +And men are born for kings, as beasts for men, +Not for protection, but to be devoured? +Mark those, who dote on arbitrary power, +And you shall find them either hot-brained youth, +Or needy bankrupts, servile in their greatness, +And slaves to some, to lord it o'er the rest. +O baseness, to support a tyrant throne, +And crush your freeborn brethren of the world! +Nay, to become a part of usurpation; +To espouse the tyrant's person and her crimes, +And, on a tyrant, get a race of tyrants, +To be your country's curse in after ages. + +_Tor._ I see no crime in her whom I adore, +Or, if I do, her beauty makes it none: +Look on me as a man abandoned o'er +To an eternal lethargy of love; +To pull, and pinch, and wound me, cannot cure, +And but disturb the quiet of my death. + +_Raym._ O virtue, virtue! what art thou become, +That man should leave thee for that toy, a woman, +Made from the dross and refuse of a man! +Heaven took him, sleeping, when he made her too; +Had man been waking, he had ne'er consented. +Now, son, suppose +Some brave conspiracy were ready formed, +To punish tyrants, and redeem the land, +Could you so far belie your country's hope, +As not to head the party? + +_Tor._ How could my hand rebel against my heart? + +_Raym._ How could your heart rebel against your reason? + +_Tor._ No honour bids me fight against myself; +The royal family is all extinct, +And she, who reigns, bestows her crown on me: +So must I be ungrateful to the living, +To be but vainly pious to the dead, +While you defraud your offspring of their fate. + +_Raym._ Mark who defraud their offspring, you or I? +For know, there yet survives the lawful heir +Of Sancho's blood, whom when I shall produce, +I rest assured to see you pale with fear, +And trembling at his name. + +_Tor._ He must be more than man, who makes me tremble. +I dare him to the field, with all the odds +Of justice on his side, against my tyrant: +Produce your lawful prince, and you shall see +How brave a rebel love has made your son. + +_Raym._ Read that; 'tis with the royal signet signed, +And given me, by the king, when time should serve, +To be perused by you. + +_Tor._ [_Reads._] _I, the king. +My youngest and alone surviving son, +Reported dead, to escape rebellious rage, +Till happier times shall call his courage forth, +To break my fetters, or revenge my fate, +I will that Raymond educate as his, +And call him Torrismond--_ +If I am he, that son, that Torrismond, +The world contains not so forlorn a wretch! +Let never man believe he can be happy! +For, when I thought my fortune most secure, +One fatal moment tears me from my joys; +And when two hearts were joined by mutual love, +The sword of justice cuts upon the knot, +And severs them for ever. + +_Raym._ True, it must. + +_Tor._ O, cruel man, to tell me that it must! +If you have any pity in your breast, +Redeem me from this labyrinth of fate, +And plunge me in my first obscurity. +The secret is alone between us two; +And, though you would not hide me from myself, +O, yet be kind, conceal me from the world, +And be my father still! + +_Raym._ Your lot's too glorious, and the proof's too plain. +Now, in the name of honour, sir, I beg you,-- +Since I must use authority no more,-- +On these old knees, I beg you, ere I die, +That I may see your father's death revenged. + +_Tor._ Why, 'tis the only business of my life; +My order's issued to recall the army, +And Bertran's death's resolved. + +_Raym._ And not the queen's? O, she's the chief offender! +Shall justice turn her edge within your hand? +No, if she 'scape, you are yourself the tyrant, +And murderer of your father. + +_Tor._ Cruel fates! +To what have you reserved me? + +_Raym._ Why that sigh? + +_Tor._ Since you must know,--but break, O break, my heart, +Before I tell my fatal story out!-- +The usurper of my throne, my house's ruin! +The murderer of my father,--is my wife! + +_Raym._ O horror, horror!--After this alliance, +Let tigers match with hinds, and wolves with sheep, +And every creature couple with his foe. +How vainly man designs, when heaven opposes! +I bred you up to arms, raised you to power, +Permitted you to fight for this usurper, +Indeed to save a crown, not hers, but yours, +All to make sure the vengeance of this day, +Which even this day has ruined. One more question +Let me but ask, and I have done for ever;-- +Do you yet love the cause of all your woes, +Or is she grown, as sure she ought to be, +More odious to your sight than toads and adders? + +_Tor._ O there's the utmost malice of my fate, +That I am bound to hate, and born to love! + +_Raym._ No more!--Farewell, my much lamented king!-- +I dare not trust him with himself so far, +To own him to the people as their king, +Before their rage has finished my designs +On Bertran and the queen; but in despite, +Even of himself, I'll save him. [_Aside and exit._ + +_Tor._ 'Tis but a moment since I have been king, +And weary on't already; I'm a lover, +And loved, possess,--yet all these make me wretched; +And heaven has given me blessings for a curse. +With what a load of vengeance am I prest, +Yet, never, never, can I hope for rest; +For when my heavy burden I remove, +The weight falls down, and crushes her I love. [_Exit._ + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I.--_A Bed-Chamber._ + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND. + +_Tor._ Love, justice, nature, pity, and revenge, +Have kindled up a wildfire in my breast, +And I am all a civil war within! + + _Enter Queen and_ TERESA, _at a distance._ + +My Leonora there!-- +Mine! is she mine? my father's murderer mine? +O! that I could, with honour, love her more, +Or hate her less, with reason!--See, she weeps! +Thinks me unkind, or false, and knows not why +I thus estrange my person from her bed! +Shall I not tell her?--no; 'twill break her heart; +She'll know too soon her own and my misfortunes. [_Exit._ + +_Leo._ He's gone, and I am lost; did'st thou not see +His sullen eyes? how gloomily they glanced? +He looked not like the Torrismond I loved. + +_Ter._ Can you not guess from whence this change proceeds? + +_Leo._ No: there's the grief, Teresa: Oh, Teresa! +Fain would I tell thee what I feel within, +But shame and modesty have tied my tongue! +Yet, I will tell, that thou may'st weep with me.-- +How dear, how sweet his first embraces were! +With what a zeal he joined his lips to mine! +And sucked my breath at every word I spoke, +As if he drew his inspiration hence: +While both our souls came upward to our mouths, +As neighbouring monarchs at their borders meet; +I thought--Oh, no; 'tis false! I could not think; +'Twas neither life nor death, but both in one. + +_Ter._ Then, sure his transports were not less than yours. + +_Leo._ More, more! for, by the high-hung tapers' light, +I could discern his cheeks were glowing red, +His very eyeballs trembled with his love, +And sparkled through their casements humid fires; +He sighed, and kissed; breathed short, and would have spoke, +But was too fierce to throw away the time; +All he could say was--love and Leonora. + +_Ter._ How then can you suspect him lost so soon? + +_Leo._ Last night he flew not with a bridegroom's haste, +Which eagerly prevents the appointed hour: +I told the clocks, and watched the wasting light, +And listened to each softly-treading step, +In hope 'twas he; but still it was not he. +At last he came, but with such altered looks, +So wild, so ghastly, as if some ghost had met him: +All pale, and speechless, he surveyed me round; +Then, with a groan, he threw himself a-bed, +But, far from me, as far as he could move, +And sighed and tossed, and turned, but still from me. + +_Ter._ What, all the night? + +_Leo._ Even all the livelong night. +At last, (for, blushing, I must tell thee all,) +I pressed his hand, and laid me by his side; +He pulled it back, as if he touched a serpent. +With that I burst into a flood of tears, +And asked him how I had offended him? +He answered nothing, but with sighs and groans; +So, restless, past the night; and, at the dawn, +Leapt from the bed, and vanished. + +_Ter._ Sighs and groans, +Paleness and trembling, all are signs of love; +He only fears to make you share his sorrows. + +_Leo._ I wish 'twere so; but love still doubts the worst; +My heavy heart, the prophetess of woes, +Forebodes some ill at hand: to sooth my sadness, +Sing me the song, which poor Olympia made, +When false Bireno left her. + + SONG. + + _Farewell, ungrateful traitor! + Farewell, my perjured swain! + Let never injured creature + Believe a man again. + The pleasure of possessing + Surpasses all expressing, + But 'tis too short a blessing, + And love too long a pain._ + + _'Tis easy to deceive us, + In pity of your pain; + But when we love, you leave us, + To rail at you in vain. + Before we have descried it, + There is no bliss beside it; + But she, that once has tried it, + Will never love again._ + + _The passion you pretended, + Was only to obtain; + But when the charm is ended, + The charmer you disdain. + Your love by ours we measure, + Till we have lost our treasure; + But dying is a pleasure, + When living is a pain._ + + _Re-enter_ TORRISMOND. + +_Tor._ Still she is here, and still I cannot speak; +But wander, like some discontented ghost, +That oft appears, but is forbid to talk. [_Going again._ + +_Leo._ O, Torrismond, if you resolve my death, +You need no more, but to go hence again; +Will you not speak? + +_Tor._ I cannot. + +_Leo._ Speak! oh, speak! +Your anger would be kinder than your silence. + +_Tor._ Oh!-- + +_Leo._ Do not sigh, or tell me why you sigh. + +_Tor._ Why do I live, ye powers! + +_Leo._ Why do I live to hear you speak that word? +Some black-mouthed villain has defamed my virtue. + +_Tor._ No, no! Pray, let me go. + +_Leo._ [_Kneeling._] You shall not go! +By all the pleasures of our nuptial bed, +If ever I was loved, though now I'm not, +By these true tears, which, from my wounded heart, +Bleed at my eyes-- + +_Tor._ Rise. + +_Leo._ I will never rise; +I cannot chuse a better place to die. + +_Tor._ Oh! I would speak, but cannot. + +_Leo._ [_Rising._] +Guilt keeps you silent then; you love me not: +What have I done, ye powers, what have I done, +To see my youth, my beauty, and my love, +No sooner gained, but slighted and betrayed; +And, like a rose, just gathered from the stalk, +But only smelt, and cheaply thrown aside, +To wither on the ground. + +_Ter._ For heaven's sake, madam, moderate your passion! + +_Leo._ Why namest thou heaven? there is no heaven for me. +Despair, death, hell, have seized my tortured soul! +When I had raised his grovelling fate from ground, +To power and love, to empire, and to me; +When each embrace was dearer than the first; +Then, then to be contemned; then, then thrown off! +It calls me old, and withered, and deformed, +And loathsome! Oh! what woman can bear loathsome? +The turtle flies not from his billing mate, +He bills the closer; but, ungrateful man, +Base, barbarous man! the more we raise our love, +The more we pall, and kill, and cool his ardour. +Racks, poison, daggers, rid me of my life; +And any death is welcome. + +_Tor._ Be witness all ye powers, that know my heart, +I would have kept the fatal secret hid; +But she has conquered, to her ruin conquered: +Here, take this paper, read our destinies;-- +Yet do not; but, in kindness to yourself, +Be ignorantly safe. + +_Leo._ No! give it me, +Even though it be the sentence of my death. + +_Tor._ Then see how much unhappy love has made us. +O Leonora! Oh! +We two were born when sullen planets reigned; +When each the other's influence opposed, +And drew the stars to factions at our birth. +Oh! better, better had it been for us, +That we had never seen, or never loved. + +_Leo._ There is no faith in heaven, if heaven says so; +You dare not give it. + +_Tor._ As unwillingly, +As I would reach out opium to a friend, +Who lay in torture, and desired to die. [_Gives the Paper._ +But now you have it, spare my sight the pain +Of seeing what a world of tears it costs you. +Go, silently, enjoy your part of grief, +And share the sad inheritance with me. + +_Leo._ I have a thirsty fever in my soul; +Give me but present ease, and let me die. [_Exeunt Queen and_ TERESA. + + _Enter_ LORENZO. + +_Lor._ Arm, arm, my lord! the city bands are up; +Drums beating, colours flying, shouts confused; +All clustering in a heap, like swarming hives, +And rising in a moment. + +_Tor._ With design to punish Bertran, and revenge the king; +'Twas ordered so. + +_Lor._ Then you're betrayed, my lord. +'Tis true, they block the castle kept by Bertran, +But now they cry, "Down with the palace, fire it, +Pull out the usurping queen!" + +_Tor._ The queen, Lorenzo! durst they name the queen? + +_Lor._ If railing and reproaching be to name her. + +_Tor._ O sacrilege! say quickly, who commands +This vile blaspheming rout? + +_Lor._ I'm loth to tell you; +But both our fathers thrust them headlong on, +And bear down all before them. + +_Tor._ Death and hell! +Somewhat must be resolved, and speedily. +How say'st thou, my Lorenzo? dar'st thou be +A friend, and once forget thou art a son, +To help me save the queen? + +_Lor._ [_Aside._] Let me consider:-- +Bear arms against my father? he begat me;-- +That's true; but for whose sake did he beget me? +For his own, sure enough: for me he knew not. +Oh! but says conscience,--Fly in nature's face?-- +But how, if nature fly in my face first? +Then nature's the aggressor; let her look to't.-- +He gave me life, and he may take it back: +No, that's boys' play, say I. +'Tis policy for a son and father to take different sides: +For then, lands and tenements commit no treason. +[_To_ TOR.] Sir, upon mature consideration, I have found my father to +be little better than a rebel, and therefore, I'll do my best to +secure him, for your sake; in hope, you may secure him hereafter for +my sake. + +_Tor._ Put on thy utmost speed to head the troops, +Which every moment I expect to arrive; +Proclaim me, as I am, the lawful king: +I need not caution thee for Raymond's life, +Though I no more must call him father now. + +_Lor._ [_Aside._] How! not call him father? I see preferment alters a +man strangely; this may serve me for a use of instruction, to cast off +my father when I am great. Methought too, he called himself the lawful +king; intimating sweetly, that he knows what's what with our sovereign +lady:--Well if I rout my father, as I hope in heaven I shall, I am in +a fair way to be the prince of the blood.--Farewell, general; I will +bring up those that shall try what mettle there is in orange tawny. + [_Exit._ + +_Tor._ [_At the Door._] +Haste there; command the guards be all drawn up +Before the palace-gate.--By heaven, I'll face +This tempest, and deserve the name of king! +O Leonora, beauteous in thy crimes, +Never were hell and heaven so matched before! +Look upward, fair, but as thou look'st on me; + Then all the blest will beg, that thou may'st live, + And even my father's ghost his death forgive. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II.--_The Palace-Yard. Drums and Trumpets within._ + + _Enter_ RAYMOND, ALPHONSO, PEDRO, _and their Party._ + +_Raym._ Now, valiant citizens, the time is come, +To show your courage, and your loyalty. +You have a prince of Sancho's royal blood, +The darling of the heavens, and joy of earth; +When he's produced, as soon he shall, among you, +Speak, what will you adventure to reseat him +Upon his father's throne? + +_Omn._ Our lives and fortunes. + +_Raym._ What then remains to perfect our success; +But o'er the tyrant's guards to force our way? + +_Omn._ Lead on, lead on. [_Drums and Trumpets on the other side._ + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND _and his Party: As they are going to fight, he + speaks._ + +_Tor._ [_To his._] Hold, hold your arms. + +_Raym._ [_To his._] Retire. + +_Alph._ What means this pause? + +_Ped._ Peace; nature works within them. [ALPH. _and_ PED. _go apart._ + +_Tor._ How comes it, good old man, that we two meet +On these harsh terms? thou very reverend rebel; +Thou venerable traitor, in whose face +And hoary hairs treason is sanctified, +And sin's black dye seems blanched by age to virtue. + +_Raym._ What treason is it to redeem my king, +And to reform the state? + +_Tor._ That's a stale cheat; +The primitive rebel, Lucifer, first used it, +And was the first reformer of the skies. + +_Raym._ What, if I see my prince mistake a poison, +Call it a cordial,--am I then a traitor, +Because I hold his hand, or break the glass? + +_Tor._ How darest thou serve thy king against his will? + +_Raym._ Because 'tis then the only time to serve him. + +_Tor._ I take the blame of all upon myself; +Discharge thy weight on me. + +_Raym._ O never, never! +Why, 'tis to leave a ship, tossed in a tempest, +Without the pilot's care. + +_Tor._ I'll punish thee; +By heaven, I will, as I would punish rebels, +Thou stubborn loyal man! + +_Raym._ First let me see +Her punished, who misleads you from your fame; +Then burn me, hack me, hew me into pieces, +And I shall die well pleased. + +_Tor._ Proclaim my title, +To save the effusion of my subjects' blood; and thou shalt still +Be as my foster-father near my breast, +And next my Leonora. + +_Raym._ That word stabs me. +You shall be still plain Torrismond with me; +The abettor, partner, (if you like that name,) +The husband of a tyrant; but no king, +Till you deserve that title by your justice. + +_Tor._ Then farewell, pity; I will be obeyed.-- +[_To the People._] Hear, you mistaken men, whose loyalty +Runs headlong into treason: See your prince! +In me behold your murdered Sancho's son; +Dismiss your arms, and I forgive your crimes. + +_Raym._ Believe him not; he raves; his words are loose +As heaps of sand, and scattering wide from sense. +You see he knows not me, his natural father; +But, aiming to possess the usurping queen, +So high he's mounted in his airy hopes, +That now the wind is got into his head, +And turns his brains to frenzy. + +_Tor._ Hear me yet; I am-- + +_Raym._ Fall on, fall on, and hear him not; +But spare his person, for his father's sake. + +_Ped._ Let me come; if he be mad, I have that shall cure him. There's +no surgeon in all Arragon has so much dexterity as I have at breathing +of the temple-vein. + +_Tor._ My right for me! + +_Raym._ Our liberty for us! + +_Omn._ Liberty, liberty! + + _As they are ready to Fight, enter_ LORENZO _and his Party._ + +_Lor._ On forfeit of your lives, lay down your arms. + +_Alph._ How, rebel, art thou there? + +_Lor._ Take your rebel back again, father mine: The beaten party are +rebels to the conquerors. I have been at hard-head with your butting +citizens; I have routed your herd; I have dispersed them; and now they +are retreated quietly, from their extraordinary vocation of fighting +in the streets, to their ordinary vocation of cozening in their shops. + +_Tor._ [_To_ RAYM.] +You see 'tis vain contending with the truth; +Acknowledge what I am. + +_Raym._ You are my king;--would you would be your own! +But, by a fatal fondness, you betray +Your fame and glory to the usurper's bed. +Enjoy the fruits of blood and parricide, +Take your own crown from Leonora's gift, +And hug your father's murderer in your arms! + + _Enter Queen,_ TERESA, _and Women._ + +_Alph._ No more; behold the queen. + +_Raym._ Behold the basilisk of Torrismond, +That kills him with her eyes--I will speak on; +My life is of no farther use to me: +I would have chaffered it before for vengeance; +Now let it go for failing. + +_Tor._ My heart sinks in me while I hear him speak, +And every slackened fibre drops its hold, +Like nature letting down the springs of life; +So much the name of father awes me still-- [_Aside._ +Send off the crowd; for you, now I have conquered, +I can hear with honour your demands. + +_Lor._ [_To_ ALPH.] Now, sir, who proves the traitor? My conscience is +true to me; it always whispers right, when I have my regiment to back +it. [_Exeunt_ LOR. ALPH. PED. &c. + +_Tor._ O Leonora, what can love do more? +I have opposed your ill fate to the utmost; +Combated heaven and earth to keep you mine; +And yet at last that tyrant justice! Oh-- + +_Leo._ 'Tis past, 'tis past, and love is ours no more; +Yet I complain not of the powers above; +They made me a miser's feast of happiness, +And could not furnish out another meal. +Now, by yon stars, by heaven, and earth, and men, +By all my foes at once, I swear, my Torrismond, +That to have had you mine for one short day, +Has cancelled half my mighty sum of woes! +Say but you hate me not. + +_Tor._ I cannot hate you. + +_Raym._ Can you not? say that once more, +That all the saints may witness it against you. + +_Leo._ Cruel Raymond! +Can he not punish me, but he must hate? +O, 'tis not justice, but a brutal rage, +Which hates the offender's person with his crimes! +I have enough to overwhelm one woman, +To lose a crown and lover in a day: +Let pity lend a tear, when rigour strikes. + +_Raym._ Then, then you should have thought of tears and pity, +When virtue, majesty, and hoary age, +Pleaded for Sancho's life. + +_Leo._ My future days shall be one whole contrition: +A chapel will I build, with large endowment, +Where every day an hundred aged men +Shall all hold up their withered hands to heaven, +To pardon Sancho's death. + +_Tor._ See, Raymond, see; she makes a large amends: +Sancho is dead; no punishment of her +Can raise his cold stiff limbs from the dark grave; +Nor can his blessed soul look down from heaven, +Or break the eternal sabbath of his rest, +To see, with joy, her miseries on earth. + +_Raym._ Heaven may forgive a crime to penitence, +For heaven can judge if penitence be true; +But man, who knows not hearts, should make examples +Which, like a warning piece, must be shot off, +To fright the rest from crimes. + +_Leo._ Had I but known that Sancho was his father, +I would have poured a deluge of my blood, +To save one drop of his. + +_Tor._ Mark that, inexorable Raymond, mark! +'Twas fatal ignorance, that caused his death. + +_Raym._ What! if she did not know he was your father, +She knew he was a man, the best of men; +Heaven's image double-stamped, as man and king. + +_Leo._ He was, he was, even more than you can say; +But yet-- + +_Raym._ But yet you barbarously murdered him. + +_Leo._ He will not hear me out! + +_Tor._ Was ever criminal forbid to plead? +Curb your ill-mannered zeal. + +_Raym._ Sing to him, syren; +For I shall stop my ears: Now mince the sin, +And mollify damnation with a phrase; +Say, you consented not to Sancho's death, +But barely not forbade it. + +_Leo._ Hard-hearted man, I yield my guilty cause; +But all my guilt was caused by too much love. +Had I, for jealousy of empire, sought +Good Sancho's death, Sancho had died before. +'Twas always in my power to take his life; +But interest never could my conscience blind, +Till love had cast a mist before my eyes, +And made me think his death the only means +Which could secure my throne to Torrismond. + +_Tor._ Never was fatal mischief meant so kind, +For all she gave has taken all away. +Malicious powers! is this to be restored? +'Tis to be worse deposed than Sancho was. + +_Raym._ Heaven has restored you, you depose yourself. +Oh, when young kings begin with scorn of justice, +They make an omen to their after reign, +And blot their annals in the foremost page. + +_Tor._ No more; lest you be made the first example, +To show how I can punish. + +_Raym._ Once again: +Let her be made your father's sacrifice, +And after make me hers. + +_Tor._ Condemn a wife! +That were to atone for parricide with murder. + +_Raym._ Then let her be divorced: we'll be content +With that poor scanty justice; let her part. + +_Tor._ Divorce! that's worse than death, 'tis death of love. + +_Leo._ The soul and body part not with such pain, +As I from you; but yet 'tis just, my lord: +I am the accurst of heaven, the hate of earth, +Your subjects' detestation, and your ruin; +And therefore fix this doom upon myself. + +_Tor._ Heaven! Can you wish it, to be mine no more? + +_Leo._ Yes, I can wish it, as the dearest proof, +And last, that I can make you of my love. +To leave you blest, I would be more accurst +Than death can make me; for death ends our woes, +And the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene: +But I would live without you, to be wretched long; +And hoard up every moment of my life, +To lengthen out the payment of my tears, +Till even fierce Raymond, at the last, shall say,-- +Now let her die, for she has grieved enough. + +_Tor._ Hear this, hear this, thou tribune of the people! +Thou zealous, public blood-hound, hear, and melt! + +_Raym._ [_Aside._] +I could cry now; my eyes grow womanish, +But yet my heart holds out. + +_Leo._ Some solitary cloister will I chuse, +And there with holy virgins live immured: +Coarse my attire, and short shall be my sleep, +Broke by the melancholy midnight bell. +Now, Raymond, now be satisfied at last: +Fasting and tears, and penitence and prayer, +Shall do dead Sancho justice every hour. + +_Raym._ [_Aside._] By your leave, manhood! [_Wipes his eyes._ + +_Tor._ He weeps! now he is vanquished. + +_Raym._ No: 'tis a salt rheum, that scalds my eyes. + +_Leo._ If he were vanquished, I am still unconquered. +I'll leave you in the height of all my love, +Even when my heart is beating out its way, +And struggles to you most. +Farewell, a last farewell, my dear, dear lord! +Remember me!--speak, Raymond, will you let him? +Shall he remember Leonora's love, +And shed a parting tear to her misfortunes? + +_Raym._ [_Almost crying._] Yes, yes, he shall; pray go. + +_Tor._ Now, by my soul, she shall not go: why, Raymond, +Her every tear is worth a father's life. +Come to my arms, come, my fair penitent! +Let us not think what future ills may fall. +But drink deep draughts of love, and lose them all. + [_Exeunt_ TOR. _with the Queen._ + +_Raym._ No matter yet, he has my hook within him. +Now let him frisk and flounce, and run and roll, +And think to break his hold; he toils in vain. +This love, the bait he gorged so greedily, +Will make him sick, and then I have him sure. + + _Enter_ ALPHONSO _and_ PEDRO. + +_Alph._ Brother, there's news from Bertran; he desires +Admittance to the king, and cries aloud,-- +This day shall end our fears of civil war!-- +For his safe conduct he entreats your presence, +And begs you would be speedy. + +_Raym._ Though I loath +The traitor's sight, I'll go. Attend us here. [_Exit._ + + _Enter_ GOMEZ, ELVIRA, DOMINICK, _with Officers, to make the Stage + as full as possible._ + +_Ped._ Why, how now, Gomez? what mak'st thou here, with a whole +brotherhood of city-bailiffs? Why, thou look'st like Adam in Paradise, +with his guard of beasts about him. + +_Gom._ Ay, and a man had need of them, Don Pedro; for here are the two +old seducers, a wife and priest,--that's Eve and the serpent,--at my +elbow. + +_Dom._ Take notice how uncharitably he talks of churchmen. + +_Gom._ Indeed, you are a charitable belswagger! My wife cried out,-- +"Fire, fire!" and you brought out your church-buckets, and called for +engines to play against it. + +_Alph._ I am sorry you are come hither to accuse your wife; her +education has been virtuous, her nature mild and easy. + +_Gom._ Yes! she's easy, with a vengeance; there's a certain colonel +has found her so. + +_Alph._ She came a spotless virgin to your bed. + +_Gom._ And she's a spotless virgin still for me--she's never the worse +for my wearing, I'll take my oath on't. I have lived with her with all +the innocence of a man of threescore, like a peaceable bed-fellow as I +am. + +_Elv._ Indeed, sir, I have no reason to complain of him for disturbing +of my sleep. + +_Dom._ A fine commendation you have given yourself; the church did not +marry you for that. + +_Ped._ Come, come, your grievances, your grievances. + +_Dom._ Why, noble sir, I'll tell you. + +_Gom._ Peace, friar! and let me speak first. I am the plaintiff. Sure +you think you are in the pulpit, where you preach by hours. + +_Dom._ And you edify by minutes. + +_Gom._ Where you make doctrines for the people, and uses and +applications for yourselves. + +_Ped._ Gomez, give way to the old gentleman in black. + +_Gom._ No! the t'other old gentleman in black shall take me if I do; I +will speak first!--Nay, I will, friar, for all your _verbum +sacerdotis_. I'll speak truth in few words, and then you may come +afterwards and lie by the clock as you use to do.--For, let me tell +you, gentlemen, he shall lie and forswear himself with any friar in +all Spain; that's a bold word now.-- + +_Dom._ Let him alone; let him alone; I shall fetch him back with a +_circum-bendibus_, I warrant him. + +_Alph._ Well, what have you to say against your wife, Gomez? + +_Gom._ Why, I say, in the first place, that I and all men are married +for our sins, and that our wives are a judgment; that a +batchelor-cobler is a happier man than a prince in wedlock; that we +are all visited with a household plague, and, _Lord have mercy upon +us_ should be written on all our doors[2]. + +_Dom._ Now he reviles marriage, which is one of the seven blessed +sacraments. + +_Gom._ 'Tis liker one of the seven deadly sins: but make your best +on't, I care not; 'tis but binding a man neck and heels, for all that. +But, as for my wife, that crocodile of Nilus, she has wickedly and +traitorously conspired the cuckoldom of me, her anointed sovereign +lord; and, with the help of the aforesaid friar, whom heaven confound, +and with the limbs of one colonel Hernando, cuckold-maker of this +city, devilishly contrived to steal herself away, and under her arm +feloniously to bear one casket of diamonds, pearls, and other jewels, +to the value of 30,000 pistoles.--Guilty, or not guilty? how sayest +thou, culprit? + +_Dom._ False and scandalous! Give me the book. I'll take my corporal +oath point-blank against every particular of this charge. + +_Elv._ And so will I. + +_Dom._ As I was walking in the streets, telling my beads, and praying +to myself, according to my usual custom, I heard a foul out-cry before +Gomez' portal; and his wife, my penitent, making doleful lamentations: +thereupon, making what haste my limbs would suffer me, that are +crippled with often kneeling, I saw him spurning and listing her most +unmercifully; whereupon, using Christian arguments with him to desist, +he fell violently upon me, without respect to my sacerdotal orders, +pushed me from him, and turned me about with a finger and a thumb, +just as a man would set up a top. Mercy! quoth I.--Damme! quoth +he;--and still continued labouring me, until a good-minded colonel +came by, whom, as heaven shall save me, I had never seen before. + +_Gom._ O Lord! O Lord! + +_Dom._ Ay, and O lady! O lady too!--I redouble my oath, I had never +seen him. Well, this noble colonel, like a true gentleman, was for +taking the weaker part, you may be sure; whereupon this Gomez flew +upon him like a dragon, got him down, the devil being strong in him, +and gave him bastinado upon bastinado, and buffet upon buffet, which +the poor meek colonel, being prostrate, suffered with a most Christian +patience. + +_Gom._ Who? he meek? I'm sure I quake at the very thought of him; why, +he's as fierce as Rhodomont; he made assault and battery upon my +person, beat me into all the colours of the rainbow; and every word +this abominable priest has uttered is as false as the Alcoran. But if +you want a thorough-paced liar, that will swear through thick and +thin, commend me to a friar. + + _Enter_ LORENZO, _who comes behind the Company, and stands at his + Fathers back unseen, over-against_ GOMEZ. + +_Lor._ How now! What's here to do? my cause a trying, as I live, and +that before my own father.--Now fourscore take him for an old bawdy +magistrate, that stands like the picture of madam Justice, with a pair +of scales in his hand, to weigh lechery by ounces! [_Aside._ + +_Alph._ Well--but all this while, who is this colonel Hernando? + +_Gom._ He's the first begotten of Beelzebub, with a face as terrible +as Demogorgon. [LORENZO _peeps over_ ALPHONSO'S _Head, + and stares at_ GOMEZ. +No! I lie, I lie. He's a very proper handsome fellow! well +proportioned, and clean shaped, with a face like a cherubin. + +_Ped._ What, backward and forward, Gomez! dost thou hunt counter? + +_Alph._ Had this colonel any former design upon your wife? for, if +that be proved, you shall have justice. + +_Gom._ [_Aside._] Now I dare speak,--let him look as dreadfully as he +will.--I say, sir, and I will prove it, that he had a lewd design upon +her body, and attempted to corrupt her honesty. + [LORENZO _lifts up his fist clenched at him._ +I confess my wife was as willing--as himself; and, I believe, 'twas +she corrupted him; for I have known him formerly a very civil and +modest person. + +_Elv._ You see, sir, he contradicts himself at every word; he's +plainly mad. + +_Alph._ Speak boldly, man! and say what thou wilt stand by: did he +strike thee? + +_Gom._ I will speak boldly; he struck me on the face before my own +threshold, that the very walls cried shame to him. + [LORENZO _holds up again._ +'Tis true, I gave him provocation, for the man's as peaceable a +gentleman as any is in all Spain. + +_Dom._ Now the truth comes out, in spite of him. + +_Ped._ I believe the friar has bewitched him. + +_Alph._ For my part, I see no wrong that has been offered him. + +_Gom._ How? no wrong? why, he ravished me, with the help of two +soldiers, carried me away _vi et armis,_ and would put me into a +plot against government. [LORENZO _holds up again._ +I confess, I never could endure the government, because it was +tyrannical; but my sides and shoulders are black and blue, as I can +strip and show the marks of them. [LORENZO _again._ +But that might happen, too, by a fall that I got yesterday upon the +pebbles. [_All laugh._ + +_Dom._ Fresh straw, and a dark chamber; a most manifest judgment! +there never comes better of railing against the church. + +_Gom._ Why, what will you have me say? I think you'll make me mad: +truth has been at my tongue's end this half hour, and I have not power +to bring it out, for fear of this bloody-minded colonel. + +_Alph._ What colonel? + +_Gom._ Why, my colonel--I mean my wife's colonel, that appears there +to me like my _malus genius_, terrifies me. + +_Alph._ [_Turning._] Now you are mad indeed, Gomez; this is my son +Lorenzo. + +_Gom._ How? your son Lorenzo! it is impossible. + +_Alph._ As true as your wife Elvira is my daughter. + +_Lor._ What, have I taken all this pains about a sister? + +_Gom._ No, you have taken some about me; I am sure, if you are her +brother, my sides can show the tokens of our alliance. + +_Alph._ to _Lor._ You know I put your sister into a nunnery, with a +strict command not to see you, for fear you should have wrought upon +her to have taken the habit, which was never my intention; and +consequently, I married her without your knowledge, that it might not +be in your power to prevent it. + +_Elv._ You see, brother, I had a natural affection to you. + +_Lor._ What a delicious harlot have I lost! Now, pox upon me, for +being so near a-kin to thee! + +_Elv._ However, we are both beholden to friar Dominick; the church is +an indulgent mother, she never fails to do her part. + +_Dom._ Heavens! what will become of me? + +_Gom._ Why, you are not like to trouble heaven; those fat guts were +never made for mounting. + +_Lor._ I shall make bold to disburden him of my hundred pistoles, to +make him the lighter for his journey: indeed, 'tis partly out of +conscience, that I may not be accessory to his breaking his vow of +poverty. + +_Alph._ I have no secular power to reward the pains you have taken +with my daughter; but I shall do it by proxy, friar: your bishop's my +friend, and is too honest to let such as you infect a cloister. + +_Gom._ Ay, do, father-in-law, let him be stript of his habit, and +disordered.--I would fain see him walk in querpo, like a cased rabbit, +without his holy fur upon his back, that the world may once behold the +inside of a friar. + +_Dom._ Farewell, kind gentlemen; I give you all my blessing before I +go.--May your sisters, wives, and daughters, be so naturally lewd, +that they may have no occasion for a devil to tempt, or a friar to +pimp for them. [_Exeunt, with a rabble pushing him._ + + _Enter_ TORRISMOND, LEONORA, BERTRAN, RAYMOND, TERESA, &c. + +_Tor._ He lives! he lives! my royal father lives! +Let every one partake the general joy. +Some angel with a golden trumpet sound, +King Sancho lives! and let the echoing skies +From pole to pole resound, king Sancho lives!-- +Bertran, oh! no more my foe, but brother; +One act like this blots out a thousand crimes. + +_Bert._ Bad men, when 'tis their interest, may do good. +I must confess, I counselled Sancho's murder; +And urged the queen by specious arguments: +But, still suspecting that her love was changed, +I spread abroad the rumour of his death, +To sound the very soul of her designs. +The event, you know, was answering to my fears; +She threw the odium of the fact on me, +And publicly avowed her love to you. + +_Raym._ Heaven guided all, to save the innocent. + +_Bert._ I plead no merit, but a bare forgiveness. + +_Tor._ Not only that, but favour. Sancho's life, +Whether by virtue or design preserved, +Claims all within my power. + +_Leo._ My prayers are heard; +And I have nothing farther to desire, +But Sancho's leave to authorise our marriage. + +_Tor._ Oh! fear not him! pity and he are one; +So merciful a king did never live; +Loth to revenge, and easy to forgive. + But let the bold conspirator beware, + For heaven makes princes its peculiar care. [_Exeunt._ + + +Footnotes: +1. Alluding to the common superstition, that the continuance of the + favours of fairies depends upon the receiver's secrecy:--"This is + fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with it, keep it close; + home, home, the nearest way. We are lucky, boy, and, to be so + still, requires nothing but secrecy;" _Winter's Tale._ + +2. A red cross, with the words, "Lord have mercy upon us," was placed, + during the great plague, upon the houses visited by the disease. + + + + + EPILOGUE. + + BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. + + + There's none, I'm sure, who is a friend to love, + But will our Friar's character approve: + The ablest spark among you sometimes needs + Such pious help, for charitable deeds. + Our church, alas! (as Rome objects) does want + These ghostly comforts for the falling saint: + This gains them their whore-converts, and may be + One reason of the growth of popery. + So Mahomet's religion came in fashion, + By the large leave it gave to fornication. + Fear not the guilt, if you can pay for't well; + There is no Dives in the Roman Hell: + Gold opens the strait gate, and lets him in; + But want of money is a mortal sin. + For all besides you may discount to heaven, + And drop a bead to keep the tallies even. + How are men cozened still with shows of good! + The bawd's best mask is the grave friar's hood; + Though vice no more a clergyman displeases, + Than doctors can be thought to hate diseases. + 'Tis by your living ill, that they live well, + By your debauches, their fat paunches swell. + 'Tis a mock-war between the priest and devil; + When they think fit, they can be very civil. + As some, who did French counsels most advance, + To blind the world, have railed in print at France, + Thus do the clergy at your vices bawl, + That with more ease they may engross them all. + By damning yours, they do their own maintain; + A churchman's godliness is always gain: + Hence to their prince they will superior be; + And civil treason grows church loyalty. + They boast the gift of heaven is in their power; + Well may they give the god, they can devour! + Still to the sick and dead their claims they lay; + For 'tis on carrion that the vermin prey. + Nor have they less dominion on our life, + They trot the husband, and they pace the wife. + Rouse up, you cuckolds of the northern climes, + And learn from Sweden to prevent such crimes. + Unman the Friar, and leave the holy drone + To hum in his forsaken hive alone; + He'll work no honey, when his sting is gone. + Your wives and daughters soon will leave the cells, + When they have lost the sound of Aaron's bells. + + + * * * * * + + + END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME. + + + Edinburgh, + + Printed by J. 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