Tis Pity She's a Whore

Texto utilizado para esta edición digital:
Ford, John. 'Tis Pity She's a Whore. Edited by N. W. Bawcutt. University of Nebraska Press, 1966. Regents Restoration Drama Series.

Adaptación digital para EMOTHE:

Perelló Pigazos, Sonia (Artelope)

Nota a la edición digital

TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR

With admiration I beheld this Whore
Adorn’d with beauty such as might restore
(If ever being as thy muse hath fam’d)
Her Giovanni, in his love unblam’d:
The ready Graces lent their willing aid,
Pallas herself now play’d the chambermaid,
And help’d to put her dressings on. Secure
Rest thou that thy name herein shall endure
To th’ end of age; and Annabella be
Gloriously fair, even in her infamy.
THOMAS ELLICE

TO THE TRULY NOBLE JOHN, EARL OF PETERBOROUGH, LORD MORDAUNT, BARON OF TURVEY

MY LORD,
Where a truth of merit hath a general warrant, there
love is but a debt, acknowledgment a justice. Greatness
cannot often claim virtue by inheritance; yet, in this, yours
appears most eminent, for that you are not more rightly
heir to your fortunes than glory shall be to your memory.
Sweetness of disposition ennobles a freedom of birth; in
both, your lawful interest adds honor to your own name
and mercy to my presumption. Your noble allowance of
these first fruits of my leisure in the action emboldens my
confidence of your as noble construction in this presentment;
especially since my service must ever owe particular duty to
your favors by a particular engagement. The gravity of the
subject may easily excuse the lightness of the title, otherwise
I had been a severe judge against mine own guilt. Princess
have vouchsaf’d grace to trifles offer’d from a purity of
devotion; your lordship may likewise please to admit into
your good opinion, with these weak endeavors, the constancy
of affection from the sincere lover of your deserts in honor,
JOHN FORD

The Actors’ Names

Bonaventura, a friar

A Cardinal, nuncio to the Pope

Soranzo, a nobleman

Florio, a citizen of Parma

Donado, another citizen

Grimaldi, a Roman Gentleman

Giovanni, son to Florio

Bergetto, nephew to Donado

Richardetto, a suppos’d physician

Vasques, servanto to Soranzo

Poggio, servant to Bergetto

Banditti

[Officers, Attendants, &c.]

Women

Annabella, daughter to Florio

Hippolita, wife to Richardetto

Philotis, his niece

Putana, tut’ress to Annabella

[Ladies]

The Scene: Parma

[I.i]

Enter Friar and Giovanni.

FRIAR.

Dispute no more in this, for know, young man,

These are no school-points; nice philosophy

May tolerate unlikely arguments,

But Heaven admits no jest: wits that presum’d

On wit too much, by striving how to prove

There was no God, with foolish grounds of art,

Discover’d first the nearest way to hell,

And fill’d the world with devilish atheism.

Such questions, youth, are fond; for better ’tis

To bless the sun than reason why it shines,

Yet He thou talk’st of is above the sun.

No more; I may not hear it.

GIOVANNI.

Gentle father,

To you I have unclasp’d my burdened soul,

Emptied the storehouse of my thoughts and heart,

Made myself poor of secrets; have not left

Another word untold, which hath not spoke

All what I ever durst or think or know;

And yet is here the comfort I shall have,

Must I not do what all men else may, love?

FRIAR.

Yes, you may love, fair son.

GIOVANNI.

Must I not praise

That beauty which, if fram’d anew, the gods

Would make a god of, if they had it there,

And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?

FRIAR.

Why, foolish madman–

GIOVANNI.

Shall a peevish sound,

A customary form, from man to man,

Of brother and of sister, be a bar

’Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?

Say that we had one father, say one womb

(Curse to my joys) gave both us life and birth;

Are we not therefore each to other bound

So much the more by nature, by the links

Of blood, of reason- nay, if you will have’t,

Even of religion –to be ever one,

One soul, one flesh, one love, one heart, one all?

FRIAR.

Have done, unhappy youth, for thou art lost.

GIOVANNI.

Shall then, for that I am her brother born,

My joys be ever banish’d from her bed?

No, father; in your eyes I see the change

Of pity and compassion; from your age,

As from a sacred oracle, distils

The life of counsel: tell me, holy man

What cure shall give me ease in these extremes.

FRIAR.

Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin:

For thou hast mov’d a Majesty above

With thy unranged-almost blasphemy.

GIOVANNI.

O do not speak of that, dear confessor!

FRIAR.

Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit

Who once, within these three months, wert esteem’d

A wonder of thine age, throughout Bononia?

How did the University applaud

Thy government, behaviour, learning, speech,

Sweetness, and all that could make up a man!

I was proud of my tutelage, and chose

Rather to leave my books than part with thee.

I did so: but the fruits of all my hopes

Are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself.

O, Giovanni, hast thou left the schools

Of knowledge to converse with lust and death?

For death waits on thy lust. Look through the world,

And thou shalt see a thousand faces shine

More glorious than this idol thou ador’st:

Leave her, and take thy choice, ’tis much less sin,

Though in such games as those they lose that win.

GIOVANNI.

It were more ease to stop the ocean

From floats and ebbs than to dissuade my vows.

FRIAR.

Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames

Already see thy ruin; Heaven is just.

Yet hear my counsel.

GIOVANNI.

As a voice of life.

FRIAR.

Hie to thy father’s house, there lock thee fast

Alone within thy chamber, then fall down

On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground:

Cry to thy heart, wash every word thou utter’st

In tears, and (if’t be possible) of blood:

Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust

That rots thy soul, acknowledge what thou art,

A wretch, a worm, a nothing: weep, sigh, pray

Three times a day, and three times every night.

For seven days’ space do this, then if thou find’st

No change in thy desires, return to me:

I’ll think on remedy. Pray for thyself

At home, whilst I pray for thee here. –Away,

My blessing with thee, we have need to pray.

GIOVANNI.

All this I’ll do, to free me from the rod

Of vengeance; else I’ll swear my fate’s my god.

Exeunt.

[I.ii]

Enter Grimaldi and Vasques ready to fight.

VASQUES.

Come, sir, stand to your tackling; if you prove craven, I’ll
make you run quickly.

GRIMALDI.

Thou art no equal match for me.

VASQUES.

Indeed I never went to the wars to bring home news,
nor cannot play the mountebank for a meal’s meat, and
swear I got my wounds in the field. See you these grey hairs?
They’ll not flinch for a bloody nose. Wilt thou to this gear?

GRIMALDI.

Why, slave, think’st thou I’ll balance my reputation with
a cast-suit? Call thy master, he shall know that I dare–

VASQUES.

Scold like a cot-quean, that’s your profession. Thou poor
shadow of a soldier, I will make thee know my master keeps
servants thy betters in quality and performance. Com’st thou
to fight or prate?

GRIMALDI.

Neither, with thee. I am a Roman and a gentleman, one that
have got mine honor with expense of blood.

VASQUES.

You are a lying coward and a fool; fight, or by these hilts
I’ll kill thee. –Brave my lord! You’ll fight?

GRIMALDI.

Provoke me not, for if thou dost–

VASQUES.

Have at you!

They fight, Grimaldi hath the worst.

Enter Florio, Donado, Soranzo.

FLORIO.

What mean these sudden broils so near my doors?

Have you not other places but my house

To vent the spleen of your disordered bloods?

Must I be haunted still with such unrest

As not to eat or sleep in peace at home?

Is this your love, Grimaldi? Fie, ’tis naught.

DONADO.

And Vasques, I may tell thee, ’tis not well

To broach these quarrels; you are ever forward

In seconding contentions.

Enter above Annabella and Putana.

FLORIO.

What’s the ground?

SORANZO.

That, with your patience, signors, I’ll resolve:

This gentleman, whom fame reports a soldier,

(for else I know not) rivals me in love

To Signor Florio’s daughter, to whose ears

He still prefers his suit, to my disgrace,

Thinking the way to recommend himself

Is to disparage me in his report.

But now, Grimaldi, though, may be, thou art

My equal in thy blood, yet this bewrays

A lowness in thy mind which, wert thou noble,

Thou wouldst as much disdain as I do thee

For this unworthiness; and on this ground

I will’d my servant to correct his tongue,

Holding a man so base no match for me.

VASQUES.

And had not your sudden coming prevented us, I had let
my gentleman blood under the gills; I should have worm’d
you, sir, for running mad.

GRIMALDI.

I’ll be reveng’d, Soranzo.

VASQUES.

On a dish of warm broth to stay your stomach –do, honest
innocence, do; spoon-meat is a wholesomer diet than a
Spanish blade.

GRIMALDI.

Remember this!

SORANZO.

I fear thee not, Grimaldi.

Exit Grimaldi.

FLORIO.

My Lord Soranzo, this is strange to me,

Why you should storm, having my word engag’d:

Owing her heart, what need you doubt her ear?

Losers may talk by law of any game.

VASQUES.

Yet the villainy of words, Signor Florio, may be such as
would make any unspleen’d dove choleric. Blame not my
lord in this.

FLORIO.

Be you more silent.

I would not for my wealth my daughter’s love,

Should cause the spilling of one drop of blood.

Vasques, put up, let’s end this fray in wine.

Exeunt [Florio, Donado, Soranzo and Vasques].

PUTANA.

How like you this, child? Here’s threat’ning, challenging,
quarrelling, and fighting, on every side, and all is for your
sake; you had need look to yourself, charge, you’ll be
stol’n away sleeping else shortly.

ANNABELLA.

But tut’ress, such a life gives no content

To me, my thoughts are fix’d on other ends;

Would you would leave me.

PUTANA.

Leave you? No marvel else. Leave me no leaving, charge;
this is love outright. Indeed I blame you not, you have choice
fit for the best lady in Italy.

ANNABELLA.

Pray do not talk so much.

PUTANA.

Take the worst with the best, there’s Grimaldi the soldier,
a very well-timber’d fellow: they say he is a Roman,
nephew to the Duke Montferrato, they say he did good
service in the wars against the Milanese, but ’faith, charge,
I do not like him, an’t be for nothing but for being a soldier;
not one amongst twenty of your skirmishing captains but
have some privy maim or other that mars their standing
upright. I like him the worse, he crinkles so much in the
hams; though he might serve if there were no more men,
yet he’s not the man I would choose.

ANNABELLA.

Fie, how thou prat’st.

PUTANA.

As I am a very woman, I like Signor Soranzo well; he is
wise, and what is more, rich; and what is more than that,
kind, and what is more than all this, a nobleman; such a
one, were I the fair Annabella myself, I would wish and
pray for. Then he is bountiful; besides, he is handsome, and
by my troth, I think wholesome (and that’s news in a gallant
of three and twenty); liberal, that I know; loving, that you
know; and a man sure, else he could never ha’ purchas’d
such a good name with Hippolita, the lusty widow, in her
husband’s lifetime: and ’twere but for that report, sweet-
heart, would ’a were thine. Commend a man for his
qualities, but take a husband as he is a plain-sufficient,
naked man: such a one is for your bed, and such a one is
Signor Soranzo, my life for’t.

ANNABELLA.

Sure the woman took her morning’s draught too soon.

Enter Bergetto and Poggio.

PUTANA.

But look, sweetheart, look what thing comes now: here’s
another of your ciphers to fill up the number. O brave
old ape in a silken coat! Observe.

BERGETTO.

Didst thou think, Poggio, that I would spoil my new
clothes, and leave my dinner, to fight?

POGGIO.

No, sir, I did not take you for so arrant a baby.

BERGETTO.

I am wiser than so: for I hope, Poggio, thou never heardst
of an elder brother that was a coxcomb. Didst, Poggio?

POGGIO.

Never indeed, sir, as long as they had either land or money
left them to inherit.

BERGETTO.

Is it possible, Poggio? O monstrous! Why, I’ll undertake
with a handful of silver to buy a headful of wit at any time;
but sirrah, I have another purchase in hand, I shall have the
wench, mine uncle says. I will but wash my face, and shift
socks, and then have at her i’faith! Mark my pace, Poggio.

[Walks affectedly.]

POGGIO.

Sir–[Aside.] I have seen an ass and a mule trot the
Spanish pavin with a better grace, I know not how often.

Exeunt [Bergetto and Poggio].

ANNABELLA.

This idiot haunts me too.

PUTANA.

Ay, ay, he needs no description; the rich magnifico that is
below with your father, charge, Signor Donado his uncle,
for that he means to make this his cousin a golden calf,
thinks that you will be a right Israelite and fall down to him
presently: but I hope I have tutor’d you better. They say a
fool’s bauble is a lady’s playfellow, yet you having wealth
enough, you need not cast upon the dearth of flesh at any
rate: hang him, innocent!

Enter Giovanni.

ANNABELLA.

But see, Putana, see: what blessed shape

Of some celestial creature now appears?

What man is he, that with such sad aspect

Walks careless of himself?

PUTANA.

Where?

ANNABELLA.

Look below.

PUTANA.

130

O, ’tis your brother, sweet.

ANNABELLA.

Ha!

PUTANA.

’Tis your brother.

ANNABELLA.

Sure ’tis not he: this is some woeful thing

Wrapp’d up in grief, some shadow of a man.

Alas, he beats his breast, and wipes his eyes

Drown’d all in tears: methinks I hear him sigh.

135

Let’s down, Putana, and partake the cause;

I know my brother, in the love he bears me,

Will not deny me partage in his sadness.

[Aside.]

My soul is full of heaviness and fear.

Exit [with Putana].

GIOVANNI.

Lost, I am lost: my fates have doom’d my death.

140

The more I strive, I love; the more I love,

The less I hope: I see my ruin certain.

What judgment or endeavors could apply

To my incurable and restless wounds

I thoroughly have examin’d, but in vain:

145

O that it were not in religion sin

To make our love a god and worship it!

I have even wearied Heaven with prayers, dried up

The spring of my continual tears, even starv’d

My veins with daily fasts: what wit or art

150

Could counsel, I have practic’d; but alas,

I find all these but dreams and old men’s tales

To fright unsteady youth; I’m still the same.

Or I must speak, or burst; ’tis not, I know,

My lust, but ’tis my fate that leads me on.

155

Keep fear and low faint-hearted shame with slaves;

I’ll tell her that I love her, though my heart

Were rated at the price of that attempt.

O me! She comes.

Enter Annabella and Putana.

ANNABELLA.

Brother!

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

If such a thing

As courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers,

160

Now double all that virtue in my tongue.

ANNABELLA.

Why, brother, will you not speak to me?

GIOVANNI.

Yes; how d’ee, sister?

ANNABELLA.

Howsoever I am, methinks you are not well.

PUTANA.

Bless us, why are you so sad, sir?

GIOVANNI.

Let me entreat you, leave us a while, Putana. Sister,
I would be private with you.

ANNABELLA.

Withdraw, Putana.

PUTANA.

I will.
[Aside.] If this were any other company for her, I
should think my absence an office of some credit; but I
will leave them together.

Exit Putana.

GIOVANNI.

Come, sister, lend your hand, let’s walk together.

ErrorMetrica

I hope you need not blush to walk with me;

Here’s none but you and I.

ANNABELLA.

How’s this?

GIOVANNI.

Faith, I mean no harm.

ANNABELLA.

Harm?

GIOVANNI.

No, good faith; how is’t with ’ee?

ANNABELLA.

[aside]. I trust he be not frantic. [To him.] I am very well, brother.

GIOVANNI.

180

Trust me, but I am sick, I fear so sick

’Twill cost my life.

ANNABELLA.

Mercy forbid it! ’Tis not so, I hope.

GIOVANNI.

I think you love me, sister.

ANNABELLA.

Yes, you know I do.

GIOVANNI.

I know’t indeed. –Y’are very fair.

ANNABELLA.

Nay then, I see you have a merry sickness.

GIOVANNI.

That’s as it proves. The poets feign, I read,

That Juno for her forehead did exceed

All other goddesses: but I durst swear

190

Your forehead exceeds hers, as hers did theirs.

ANNABELLA.

Troth, this is pretty!

GIOVANNI.

Such a pair of stars

As are thine eyes would, like Promethean fire,

If gently glanc’d, give life to senseless stones.

ANNABELLA.

Fie upon ‘ee!

GIOVANNI.

195

The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange,

Upon your dimpled cheeks do strive for change.

Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as those

Would make an anchorite lascivious.

ANNABELLA.

D’ee mock me or flatter me?

GIOVANNI.

200

If you would see a beauty more exact

Than art can counterfeit or nature frame,

Look in your glass and there behold your own.

ANNABELLA.

O you are a trim youth!

GIOVANNI.

Here.

Offers his dagger to her.

ANNABELLA.

What to do?

GIOVANNI.

–And here’s my breast, strike home.

ErrorMetrica

Rip up my bosom, there thou shalt behold

A heart in which is writ the truth I speak.

Why stand ‘ee?

ANNABELLA.

Are you earnest?

GIOVANNI.

Yes, most earnest.

210

You cannot love?

ANNABELLA.

Whom?

GIOVANNI.

Me. My tortur’d soul

Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.

O Annabella, I am quite undone:

The love of thee, my sister, and the view

Of thy immortal beauty hath untun’d

215

All harmony both of my rest and life.

Why d’ee not srike?

ANNABELLA.

Forbid it, my just fears!

If this be true, ’twere fitter I were dead.

GIOVANNI.

True, Annabella; ’tis no time to jest.

I have too long suppress’d the hidden flames

220

That almost have consum’d me; I have spent

Many a silent night in sighs and groans,

Ran over all my thoughts, despis’d my fate,

Reason’d against the reasons of my love,

Done all that smooth-cheek’d virtue could advise,

225

But found all bootles; ’tis my destiny

That you must either love, or I must die.

ANNABELLA.

Comes this in sadness from you?

GIOVANNI.

Let some mischief

Befall me soon, if I dissemble aught.

ANNABELLA.

You are my brother Giovanni.

GIOVANNI.

You

230

My sister Annabella; I know this:

And could afford you instance why to love

So much the more for this; to which intent

Wise nature first in your creation meant

To make you mine; else’t had been sin and foul

235

To share one beauty to a double soul.

Nearness in birth or blood doth but persuade

A nearer nearness in affection.

I have ask’d counsel of the holy church,

Who tells me I may love you, and ’tis just

240

That since I may, I should; and will, yes, will:

Must I now live, or die?

ANNABELLA.

Live: thou hast won

The field, and never fought; what thou hast urg’d

My captive heart had long ago resolv’d.

I blush to tell thee –but I’ll tell thee now–

245

For every sigh that thou hast spent for me

I have sigh’d ten; for every tear shed twenty:

And not so much for that I lov’d, as that

I durst not say I lov’d, nor scarcely think it.

GIOVANNI.

Let not this music be a dream, ye gods,

250

For pity’s sake, I beg ‘ee!

ANNABELLA.

On my knees,

She kneels.

Brother, even by our mother’s dust, I charge you,

Do not betray me to your mirth or hate,

Love me or kill me, brother.

GIOVANNI.

On my knees.

He kneels.

Sister, even by my mother’s dust, I charge you,

255

Do not betray me to your mirth or hate,

Love me or kill me, sister.

ANNABELLA.

You mean good sooth then?

GIOVANNI.

In good troth I do,

And so do you, I hope: say, I’m in earnest.

ANNABELLA.

I’ll swear’t, I.

GIOVANNI.

And I, and by this kiss,

Kisses her.

260

(Once more, yet once more; now let’s rise by this),

[They rise.]

I would not change this minute for Elysium.

What must we now do?

ANNABELLA.

What you will.

GIOVANNI.

Come then,

After so many tears as we have wept,

Let’s learn to court in smiles, to kiss, and sleep.

Exeunt.

[I.iii]

Enter Florio and Donado.

FLORIO.

Signor Donado, you have said enough,

I understand you; but would have you know

I will not force my daughter ‘gainst her will.

You see I have but two, a son and her;

And he is so devoted to his book,

As I must tell you true, I doubt his health:

Should he miscarry, all my hopes rely

Upon my girl; as for worldly fortune,

I am, I thank my stars, blest with enough.

My care is how to match her to her liking:

I would not have her marry wealth, but love,

And if she like your nephew, let him have her,

Here’s all that I can say.

DONADO.

Sir, you say well,

Like a true father, and for my part, I,

If the young folks can like (’twixt you and me),

Will promise to assure my nephew presently

Three thousand florins yearly during life,

And after I am dead, my whole estate.

FLORIO.

’Tis a fair proffer, sir; meantime your nephew

Shall have free passage to commence his suit:

If he can thrive, he shall have my consent.

So for this time I’ll leave you, signor.

Exit.

DONADO.

Well,

Here’s hope yet, if my nephew would have wit:

But he is such another dunce, I fear

He’ll never win the wench. When I was young

I could have done’t, i’faith, and so shall he

If he will learn of me; and in good time

He comes himself.

Enter Bergetto and Poggio.

How now, Bergetto, whither away so fast?

BERGETTO.

O uncle, I have heard the strangest news that ever came
out of the mint, have I not, Poggio?

POGGIO.

Yes indeed, sir.

DONADO.

What news, Bergetto?

BERGETTO.

Why, look ye, uncle, my barber told me just now that
there is a fellow come to town who undertakes to make a
mill go without the mortal help of any water or wind,
only with sand-bags: and this fellow hath a strange horse,
a most excellent beast, I’ll assure you, uncle (my barber
says), whose head, to the wonder of all Christian people,
stands just behind where his tail is; is’t not true, Poggio?

POGGIO.

So the barber swore, forsooth.

DONADO.

And you are running thither?

BERGETTO.

Ay forsooth, uncle.

DONADO.

Wilt thou be a fool still? Come, sir, you shall not go: you
have more mind of a puppet-play than on the business I
told ye; why, thou great baby, wilt never have wit, wilt
make thyself a may-game to all the world?

POGGIO.

Answer for yourself, master.

BERGETTO.

Why, uncle, should I sit at home still, and not go abroad
to see fashions like other gallants?

DONADO.

To see hobby-horses! What wise talk, I pray, had you with
Annabella, when you were at Signor Florio’s house?

BERGETTO.

O, the wench! Uds sa’ me, uncle, I tickled her with a rare
speech, that I make her almost burst her belly with laughing.

DONADO.

Nay, I think so, and what speech was’t?

BERGETTO.

What did I say, Poggio?

POGGIO.

Forsooth, my master said that he loved her almost as well
as he loved parmasent, and swore (I’ll be sworn for him)
that she wanted but such a nose as his was to be as pretty a
young woman as any was in Parma.

DONADO.

O gross!

BERGETTO.

Nay, uncle, then she ask’d me whether my father had any
more children than myself: and I said, “No, ’twere better
he should have had his brains knock’d out first.”

DONADO.

This is intolerable.

BERGETTO.

Then said she, “Will Signor Donado your uncle leave you
all his wealth?”

DONADO.

Ha! that was good, did she harp upon that string?

BERGETTO.

Did she harp upon that string? Ay, that she did. I answered,
“Leave me all his wealth? Why, woman, he hath no other
wit; if he had, he should hear on’t to his everlasting glory
and confusion: I know,” quoth I, “I am his white boy, and
will not be gull’d”; and with that she fell into a great smile
and went away. Nay, I did fit her.

DONADO.

Ah, sirrah, then I see there is no changing of nature. Well,
Bergetto, I fear thou wilt be a very ass still.

BERGETTO.

I should be sorry for that, uncle.

DONADO.

Come, come you home with me; since you are no better a
speaker, I’ll have you write to her after some courtly manner,
and enclose some rich jewel in the letter.

BERGETTO.

Ay marry, that will be excellent.

DONADO.

Peace, innocent.

ErrorMetrica

Once in my time I’ll set my wits to school,

If all fail, ’tis but the fortune of a fool.

BERGETTO.

Poggio, ’twill do, Poggio.

Exeunt.

[II.i]

Enter Giovanni and Annabella, as from their chamber.

GIOVANNI.

Come, Annabella: no more sister now,

But love, a name more gracious; do not blush,

Beauty’s sweet wonder, but be proud to know

That yielding thou hast conquer’d, and inflam’d

A heart whose tribute is thy brother’s life.

ANNABELLA.

And mine is his. O, how these stol’n contents

Would print a modest crimson on my cheeks,

Had any but my heart’s delight prevail’d!

GIOVANNI.

I marvel why the chaster of your sex

Should think this pretty toy call’d maidenhead

So strange a loss, when, being lost, ’tis nothing,

And you are still the same.

ANNABELLA.

’Tis well for you;

Now you can talk.

GIOVANNI.

Music as well consists

In th’ ear, as in the playing.

ANNABELLA.

O, y’are wanton;

Tell on’t, y’are best: do.

GIOVANNI.

Thou wilt chide me then.

Kiss me: so; thus hung Jove on Leda’s neck,

And suck’d divine ambrosia from her lips.

I envy not the mightiest man alive,

But hold myself in being king of thee

More great than were I king of all the world.

But I shall lose you, sweetheart.

ANNABELLA.

But you shall not.

GIOVANNI.

You must be married, mistress.

ANNABELLA.

Yes? To whom?

GIOVANNI.

Someone must have you.

ANNABELLA.

You must.

GIOVANNI.

Nay, some other.

ANNABELLA.

Now prithee do not speak so: without jesting,

You’ll make me weep in earnest.

GIOVANNI.

What, you will not!

But tell me, sweet, canst thou be dar’d to swear

That thou wilt live to me, and to no other?

ANNABELLA.

By both our loves I dare, for didst thou know,

My Giovanni, how all suitors seen

To my eyes hateful, thou wouldst trust me then.

GIOVANNI.

Enough, I take thy word. Sweet, we must part:

Remember what thou vow’st, keep well my heart.

ANNABELLA.

Will you be gone?

GIOVANNI.

I must.

ANNABELLA.

When to return?

GIOVANNI.

Soon.

ANNABELLA.

Look you do.

GIOVANNI.

Farewell.

Exit.

ANNABELLA.

Go where thou wilt, in mind I’ll keep thee here,

And where thou art, I know I shall be there.

Guardian!

Enter Putana.

PUTANA.

Child, how is’t, child? Well, thank Heaven, ha?

ANNABELLA.

O guardian, what a paradise of joy

Have I pass’d over!

PUTANA.

Nay, what a paradise of joy have you pass’d under! Why,
now I commend thee, charge: fear nothing, sweetheart;
what though he be your brother? Your brother’s a man,
I hope, and I say still, if a young wench feel the fit upon her,
let her take anybody, father or brother, all is one.

ANNABELLA.

I would not have it known for all the world.

PUTANA.

Nor I, indeed, for the speech of the people; else ’twere
nothing.

FLORIO.

(within). Daughter Annabella!

ANNABELLA.

O me, my father! –Here, sir! –Reach my work.

FLORIO.

(within).

What are you doing?

ANNABELLA.

So: let him come now.

Enter Florio, Richardetto like a doctor of physic, and Philotis with a lute in her hand.

FLORIO.

So hard at work? That’s well, you lose no time.

Look, I have brought you company: here’s one,

A learned doctor lately come from Padua,

Much skill’d in physic, and for that I see

You have of late been sickly, I entreated

This reverend man to visit you some time.

ANNABELLA.

Y’are very welcome, sir.

RICHARDETTO.

I thank you, mistress.

Loud fame in large report hath spoke your praise

As well for virtue as perfection:

For which I have been bold to bring with me

A kinswoman of mine, a maid, for song

And music one perhaps will give content;

Please you to know her.

ANNABELLA.

They are parts I love,

And she for them most welcome.

PHILOTIS.

Thank you, lady.

FLORIO.

Sir, now you know my house, pray make not strange,

And if you find my daughter need your art,

I’ll be your paymaster.

RICHARDETTO.

Sir, what I am

She shall command.

FLORIO.

You shall bind me to you.

Daughter, I must have conference with you

About some matters that concerns us both.

Good master doctor, please you but walk in,

We’ll crave a little of your cousin’s cunning.

I think my girl hath not quite forgot

To touch an instrument: she could have done’t;

We’ll hear them both.

RICHARDETTO.

I’ll wait upon you, sir.

Exeunt.

[II.ii]

Enter Soranzo in his study reading a book.

SORANZO.

“Love’s measure is extreme, the comfort, pain,

The life unrest, and the reward disdain.”

What’s here? Look’t o’er again; ’tis so, so writes

This smooth licentious poet in his rhymes.

But Sannazar, thou liest, for had thy bosom

Felt such oppression as is laid on mine,

Thou wouldst have kiss’d the rod that made thee smart.

To work then, happy muse, and contradict

What Sannazar hath in his envy writ.

“Love’s measure is the mean, sweet his annoys,

His pleasure’s life, and his reward all joys.”

Had Annabella liv’d when Sannazar

Did in his brief encomium celebrate

Venice, that queen of cities, he had left

That verse which gain’d him such a sum of gold,

And for one only look from Annabel

Had writ of her and her diviner cheeks.

O how my thoughts are–

VASQUES.

(within). Pray forbear; in rules of civility, let me give notice on’t: I
shall be tax’d of my neglect of duty and service.

SORANZO.

What rude intrusion interrupts my peace?

Can I be nowhere private?

VASQUES.

(within). Troth you wrong your modesty.

SORANZO.

What’s the matter, Vasques, who is’t?

Enter Hippolita and Vasques.

HIPPOLITA.

’Tis I:

Do you know me now? Look, perjur’d man, on her

Whom thou and thy distracted lust have wrong’d.

Thy sensual rage of blood hath made my youth

A scorn to men and angels, and shall I

Be now a foil to thy unsated change?

Thou know’st, false wanton, when my modest fame

Stood free from stain or scandal, all the charms

Of hell or sorcery could not prevail

Against the honor of my chaster bosom.

Thine eyes did plead in tears, thy tongue in oaths

Such and so many, that a heart of steel

Would have been wrought to pity, as was mine:

And shall the conquest of my lawful bed,

My husband’s death urg’d on by his disgrace,

My loss of womanhood, be ill rewarded

With hatred and contempt? No, know Soranzo,

I have spirit doth as much distaste

The slavery of fearing thee, as thou

Dost loathe the memory of what hath pass’d.

SORANZO.

Nay, dear Hippolita–

HIPPOLITA.

Call me not dear,

Nor think with supple words to smooth the grossness

Of my abuses; ’tis not your new mistress,

Your goodly madam-merchant, shall triumph

On my dejection: tell her thus from me,

My birth was nobler and by much more free.

SORANZO.

You are too violent.

HIPPOLITA.

You are too double

In your dissimulation. Seest thou this,

This habit, these black mourning-weeds of care?

’Tis thou art cause of this, and hast divorc’d

My husband from his life and me from him,

And made me widow in my widowhood.

SORANZO.

Will you yet hear?

HIPPOLITA.

More of thy perjuries?

Thy soul is drown’d too deeply in those sins;

Thou need’st not add to th’ number.

SORANZO.

Then I’ll leave you;

You are past all rules of sense.

HIPPOLITA.

And thou of grace.

VASQUES.

Fie, mistress, you are not near the limits of reason: if my lord
had a resolution as noble as virtue itself, you take the course
to unedge it all. Sir, I beseech you, do not perplex her;
griefs, alas, will have a vent. I dare undertake Madam
Hippolita will now freely hear you.

SORANZO.

Talk to a woman frantic! Are these the fruits of your love?

HIPPOLITA.

They are the fruits of thy untruth, false man:

Didst thou not swear, whilst yet my husband liv’d,

That thou wouldst wish no happiness on earth

More than to call me wife? Didst thou not vow,

When he should die, to marry me? For which,

The devil in my blood, and thy protests,

Caus’d me to counsel him to undertake

A voyage to Ligorn, for that we heard

His brother there was dead, and left a daughter

Young and unfriended, who, with much ado,

I wish’d him to bring hither: he did so,

And went; and as thou know’st died on the way.

Unhappy man, to buy his death so dear

With my advice! Yet thou for whom I did it

Forget’st thy vows, and leav’st me to my shame.

SORANZO.

Who could help this?

HIPPOLITA.

Who? Perjur’d man, thou couldst,

If thou hadst faith or love.

SORANZO.

You are deceiv’d.

The vows I made, if you remember well,

Were wicked and unlawful: ’twere more sin

To keep them than to break them; as for me,

I cannot mask my penitence. Think thou

How much thou hast digress’d from honest shame

In bringing of a gentleman to death

Who was thy husband, such a one as he,

So noble in his quality, condition,

Learning, behaviour, entertainment, love,

As Parma could not show a braver man.

VASQUES.

You do not well, this was not your promise.

SORANZO.

I care not; let her know her monstrous life.

Ere I’ll be servile to so black a sin,

I’ll be accurs’d. Woman, come here no more:

Learn to repent and die, for by my honor

I hate thee and thy lust: you have been too foul.

[Exit.]

VASQUES.

[aside]. This part has been scurvily play’d.

HIPPOLITA.

How foolishly this beast contemns his fate,

And shuns the use of that which I more scorn

Than I once lov’d, his love; but let him go.

My vengeance shall give comfort to this woe.

She offers to go away.

VASQUES.

Mistress, mistress, Madam Hippolita, pray, a word or two!

HIPPOLITA.

With me, sir?

VASQUES.

With you, if you please.

HIPPOLITA.

What is’t?

VASQUES.

I know you are infinitely mov’d now, and you think you
have cause: some I confess you have, but sure not so much as
you imagine.

HIPPOLITA.

Indeed?

VASQUES.

O, you were miserably bitter, which you followed even to
the last syllable. Faith, you were somewhat too shrewd;
by my life you could not have took my lord in a worse
time, since I first knew him: tomorrow you shall find him
a new man.

HIPPOLITA.

Well, I shall wait his leisure.

VASQUES.

Fie, this is not a hearty patience, it comes sourly from you;
troth, let me persuade you for once.

HIPPOLITA.

[aside]. I have it, and it shall be so; thanks, opportunity! [To him.] Persuade me to what?

VASQUES.

Visit him in some milder temper. O if you could but master
a little your female spleen, how might you win him!

HIPPOLITA.

He will never love me. Vasques, thou hast been a too
trusty servant to such a master, and I believe thy reward
in the end will fall out like mine.

VASQUES.

So perhaps too.

HIPPOLITA.

Resolve thyself it will. Had I one so true, so truly honest,
so secret to my counsels, as thou hast been to him and his,
I should think it a slight acquittance, not only to make
him master of all I have, but even of myself.

VASQUES.

O you are a noble gentlewoman!

HIPPOLITA.

Wilt thou feed always upon hopes? Well, I know thou art
wise, and seest the reward of an old servant daily, what it is.

VASQUES.

Beggary and neglect.

HIPPOLITA.

True: but Vasques, wert thou mine, and wouldst be
private to me and my designs, I here protest myself and
all what I can else call mine should be at thy dispose.

VASQUES.

[aside]. Work you that way, old mole? Then I have the wind of
you. [To her.] I were not worthy of it by any desert that
could lie within my compass; if I could–

HIPPOLITA.

What then?

VASQUES.

I should then hope to live in these my old years with rest
and security.

HIPPOLITA.

145

Give me thy hand: now promise but thy silence,

And help to bring to pass a plot I have;

And here in sight of Heaven, that being done,

I make thee lord of me and mine estate.

VASQUES.

Come, you are merry; this is such a happiness that I can
neither think or believe.

HIPPOLITA.

Promise thy secrecy, and ’tis confirm’d.

VASQUES.

Then here I call our good genii for witnesses, whatsoever
you designs are, or against whomsoever, I will not only
be a special actor therein, but never disclose it till it be
effected.

HIPPOLITA.

I take thy word, and with that, thee for mine;

Come then, let’s more confer of this anon.

On this delicious bane my thoughts shall banquet:

Revenge shall sweeten what my griefs have tasted.

Exeunt.

[II.iii]

Enter Richardetto and Philotis.

RICHARDETTO.

Thou seest, my lovely niece, these strange mishaps,

How all my fortunes turn to my disgrace,

Wherein I am but as a looker-on,

Whiles others act my shame and I am silent.

PHILOTIS.

But uncle, wherein can this borrowed shape

Give you content?

RICHARDETTO.

I’ll tell thee, gentle niece.

Thy wanton aunt in her lascivious riots

Lives now secure, thinks I am surely dead

In my late journey to Ligorn for you,

As I have caus’d it to be rumor’d out;

Now would I see with what an impudence

She gives scope to her loose adultery,

And how the common voice allows hereof:

Thus far I have prevail’d.

PHILOTIS.

Alas, I fear

You mean some strange revenge.

RICHARDETTO.

O, be not troubled;

Your ignorance shall plead for you in all.

But to our business: what, you learn’d for certain

How Signor Florio means to give his daughter

In marriage to Soranzo?

PHILOTIS.

Yes, for certain.

RICHARDETTO.

But how find you young Annabella’s love

Inclin’d to him?

PHILOTIS.

For aught I could perceive,

She neither fancies him or any else.

RICHARDETTO.

There’s mystery in that which time must show.

She us’d you kindly?

PHILOTIS.

Yes.

RICHARDETTO.

And crav’d your company?

PHILOTIS.

Often.

RICHARDETTO.

’Tis well: it goes as I could wish.

I am the doctor now, and as for you,

None knows you; if all fail not, we shall thrive.

But who comes here?

Enter Grimaldi.

I know him: ’tis Grimaldi,

A Roman and a soldier, near allies

Unto the duke of Montferrato, one

Attending on the nuncio of the pope

That now resides in Parma, by which means

He hopes to get the love of Annabella.

GRIMALDI.

Save you, sir.

RICHARDETTO.

And you, sir.

GRIMALDI.

I have heard

Of your approv’d skill, which through the city

Is freely talk’d of, and would crave your aid.

RICHARDETTO.

For what, sir?

GRIMALDI.

Marry, sir, for this–

But I would speak in private.

RICHARDETTO.

Leave us, cousin.

Exit Philotis.

GRIMALDI.

I love fair Annabella, and would know

Whether in art there may not be receipts

To move affection.

RICHARDETTO.

Sir, perhaps there may,

But these will nothing profit you.

GRIMALDI.

Not me?

RICHARDETTO.

Unless I be mistook, you are a man

Greatly in favour with the cardinal.

GRIMALDI.

What of that?

RICHARDETTO.

In duty to his grace,

I will be bold to tell you, if you seek

To marry Florio’s daughter, you must first

Remove a bar ’twixt you and her.

GRIMALDI.

Who’s that?

RICHARDETTO.

Soranzo is the man that hath her heart,

And while he lives, be sure you cannot speed.

GRIMALDI.

Soranzo! What, mine enemy! Is’t he?

RICHARDETTO.

Is he your enemy?

GRIMALDI.

The man I hate

Worse than confusion–

I’ll kill him straight.

RICHARDETTO.

Nay then, take mine advice,

Even for his grace’s sake, the cardinal:

I’ll find a time when he and she do meet,

Of which I’ll give you notice, and to be sure

He shall not ’scape, I’ll provide a poison

To dip your rapier’s point in; if he had

As many heads as Hydra had, he dies.

GRIMALDI.

But shall I trust thee, doctor?

RICHARDETTO.

As yourself;

Doubt not in aught.

[aside.]

Thus shall the fates decree:

By me Soranzo falls, that ruin’d me.

Exeunt.

[II.iv]

Enter Donado, Bergetto, and Poggio.

DONADO.

Well, sir, I must be content to be both you secretary and
your messenger myself. I cannot tell what this letter may
work, but as sure as I am alive, if thou come once to talk
with her, I fear thou wilt mar whatsoever I make.

BERGETTO.

You make, uncle? Why, am not I big enough to carry mine
own letter, I pray?

DONADO.

Ay, ay, carry a fool’s head o’ thy own! Why, thou dunce,
wouldst thou write a letter and carry it thyself?

BERGETTO.

Yes, that I would, and read it to her with my own mouth;
for you must think, if she will not believe me myself when
she hears me speak, she will not believe another’s hand-
writing. O, you think I am a blockhead, uncle! No, sir,
Poggio knows I have indited a letter myself, so I have.

POGGIO.

Yes, truly, sir; I have it in my pocket.

DONADO.

A sweet one, no doubt; pray let’s see’t.

BERGETTO.

I cannot read my own hand very well, Poggio: read it,
Poggio.

DONADO.

Begin.

POGGIO.

(reads). “Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress, I could call you
fair, and lie as fast as any that loves you, but my uncle
being the elder man, I leave it to him, as more fit for his age
and the color of his beard. I am wise enough to tell you I
can bourd where I see occasion; or if you like my uncle’s
wit better than mine, you shall marry me; if you like mine
better than this, I will marry you in spite of your teeth. So
commending my best parts to you, I rest– Yours upwards
and downwards, or you may choose, Bergetto.”

BERGETTO.

Aha, here’s stuff, uncle.

DONADO.

Here’s stuff indeed to shame us all. Pray whose advice
did you take in this learned letter?

POGGIO.

None, upon my word, but mine own.

BERGETTO.

And mine, uncle, believe it, nobody’s else; ’twas mine
own brain, I thank a good wit for’t.

DONADO.

Get you home, sir, and look keep within doors till I
return.

BERGETTO.

How! That were a jest indeed; I scorn it i’faith.

DONADO.

What! You do not?

BERGETTO.

Judge me, but I do now.

POGGIO.

Indeed, sir, ’tis very unhealthy.

DONADO.

Well, sir, if I hear any of your apish running to motions
and fopperies, till I come back, you were as good not; look
to’t.

Exit Donado.

BERGETTO.

Poggio, shall’s steal to see this horse with the head in’s tail?

POGGIO.

Ay, but you must take heed of whipping.

BERGETTO.

Dost take me for a child, Poggio? Come, honest Poogio.

Exeunt.

[II.v]

Enter Friar and Giovanni.

FRIAR.

Peace! Thou hast told a tale, whose every word

Threatens eternal slaughter to the soul.

I’m sorry I have heard it; would mine ears

Had been one minute deaf, before the hour

That thou cam’st to me. O young man castaway,

By the religious number of mine order,

I day and night have wak’d my aged eyes,

Above my strength, to weep on thy behalf:

But Heaven is angry, and be thou resolv’d,

Thou art a man remark’d to taste a mischief:

Look for’t; though it come late, it will come sure.

GIOVANNI.

Father, in this you are uncharitable;

What I have done, I’ll prove both fit and good.

It is a principle, which you have taught

When I was yet your scholar, that the frame

And composition of the mind doth follow

The frame and composition of the body:

So where the body’s furniture is beauty,

The mind’s must needs be virtue; which allowed,

Virtue itself is reason but refin’d,

And love the quintessence of that. This proves

My sister’s beauty being rarely fair

Is rarely virtuous; chiefly in her love,

And chiefly in that love, her love to me.

If hers to me, then so is mine to her;

Since in like causes are effects alike.

FRIAR.

O ignorance in knowledge! Long ago,

How often have I warn’d thee this before?

Indeed, if we were sure there were no deity,

Nor Heaven nor hell, then to be led alone

By nature’s light, as were philosophers

Of elders times, might instance some defense.

But ’tis not so; then, madmam, thou wilt find

That nature is in Heaven’s positions blind.

GIOVANNI.

Your age o’errules you; had you youth like mine,

You’d make her love your Heaven, and her divine.

FRIAR.

Nay then, I see thou’rt too far sold to hell,

It lies not in the compass of my prayers

To call thee back; yet let me counsel thee:

Persuade thy sister to some marriage.

GIOVANNI.

Marriage? Why, that’s to damn her! That’s to prove

Her greedy of variety of lust.

FRIAR.

O fearful! If thou wilt not, give me leave

To shrive her, lest she should die unabsolv’d.

GIOVANNI.

At your best leisure, father: then she’ll tell you

How dearly she doth prize my matchless love.

Then you will know what pity ’twere we two

Should have been sunder’d from each other’s arms.

View well her face, and in that little round

You may observe a world of variety:

For color, lips: for sweet perfumes, her breath;

For jewels, eyes; for threads of purest gold,

Hair; for delicious choice of flowers, cheeks;

Wonder in every portion of that throne:

Hear her but speak, and you will swear the spheres

Make music to the citizens in Heaven.

But, father, what is else for pleasure fram’d,

Lest I offend your ears, shall go unnam’d.

FRIAR.

The more I hear, I pity thee the more,

That one so excellent should give those parts

All to a second death; what I can do

Is but to pray: and yet I could advise thee,

Wouldst thou be rul’d.

GIOVANNI.

In what?

FRIAR.

Why, leave her yet;

The throne of mercy is above your trespass,

Yet time is left you both –

GIOVANNI.

To embrace each other,

Else let all time be struck quite out of number.

She is like me, and I like her, resolv’d.

FRIAR.

No more! I’ll visit her; this grieves me most,

Things being thus, a pair of souls are lost.

Exeunt.

[II.vi]

Enter Florio, Donado, Annabella, Putana.

FLORIO.

Where’s Giovanni?

ANNABELLA.

Newly walk’d abroad,

And, as I heard him say, gone to the friar,

His reverend tutor.

FLORIO.

That’s a blessed man,

A man made up of holiness; I hope

He’ll teach him how to gain another world.

DONADO.

Fair gentlewoman, here’s a letter sent

To you from my young cousin; I dare swear

He loves you in his soul: would you could hear

Sometimes what I see daily, sighs and tears,

As if his breast were prison to his heart.

FLORIO.

Receive it, Annabella.

ANNABELLA.

Alas, good man.

DONADO.

What’s that she said?

PUTANA.

An’t please you, sir, she said, “Alas, good man.” Truly
I do commend him to her every night before her first
sleep, because I would have her dream of him, and she hear-
kens to that most religiously.

DONADO.

Say’st so? God a-mercy, Putana, there’s something for thee [gives her money] , and prithee do what thou canst on his
behalf; sha’ not be lost labor, take my word for’t.

PUTANA.

Thank you most heartily, sir; now I have a feeling of your
mind, let me alone to work.

ANNABELLA.

Guardian!

PUTANA.

Did you call?

ANNABELLA.

Keep this letter.

DONADO.

Signor Florio, in any case bid her read it instantly.

FLORIO.

Keep it for what? Pray read it me hereright.

ANNABELLA.

I shall, sir.

She reads.

DONADO.

How d’ee find her inclin’d, signor?

FLORIO.

Troth, sir, I know not how; not all so well

As I could wish.

ANNABELLA.

Sir, I am bound to rest your cousin’s debtor.

The jewel I’ll return; for if he love,

I’ll count that love a jewel.

DONADO.

Mark you that?

Nay, keep them both, sweet maid.

ANNABELLA.

You must excuse me;

Indeed I will not keep it.

FLORIO.

Where’s the ring,

That which you mother in her will bequeath’d,

And charg’d you on her blessing not to give’t

To any but your husband? Send back that.

ANNABELLA.

I have it not.

FLORIO.

Ha, have it not! Where is’t?

ANNABELLA.

My brother in the morning took it from me,

Said he would wear’t today.

FLORIO.

Well, what do you say

To young Bergetto’s love? Are you content

To match with him? Speak.

DONADO.

There’s the point indeed.

ANNABELLA.

[aside].

What shall I do? I must say something now.

FLORIO.

What say? Why d’ee not speak?

ANNABELLA.

Sir, with your leave,

Please you to give me freedom?

FLORIO.

Yes, you have it.

ANNABELLA.

Signor Donado, if your nephew mean

To raise his better fortunes in his match,

The hope of me will hinder such a hope;

Sir, if you love him, as I know you do,

Find one more worthy of his choice than me.

In short, I’m sure I sha’ not be his wife.

DONADO.

Why, here’s plain dealing, I commend thee for’t,

And all the worst I wish thee is, Heaven bless thee!

Your father yet and I will still friends,

Shall we not, Signor Florio?

FLORIO.

Yes, why not?

Look, here your cousin comes.

Enter Bergetto and Poggio.

DONADO.

[aside]. O coxcomb, what doth he make here?

BERGETTO.

Where’s my uncle, sirs?

DONADO.

What’s the news now?

BERGETTO.

Save you, uncle, save you! You must not think I come
for nothing, masters: and how, and how is’t? What, you
have read my letter? Ah, there I – tickled you i’faith!

POGGIO.

But ’twere better you had tickled her in another place.

BERGETTO.

Sirrah sweetheart, I’ll tell thee a good jest; and riddle what
’tis.

ANNABELLA.

You say you’d tell me.

BERGETTO.

As I was walking just now in the street, I met a swaggering
fellow would needs take the wall of me, and because he
did thrust me, I very valiantly call’d him rogue. He here-
upon bade me draw: I told him I had more wit than so,
but when he saw that I would not, he did so maul me with
the hilts of his rapier that my head sung whilst my feet
caper’d in the kennel.

DONADO.

[aside]. Was ever the like ass seen?

ANNABELLA.

And what did you all this while?

BERGETTO.

Laugh at him for a gull, till I see the blood run about
mine ears, and then I could not choose but find in my
heart to cry; till a fellow with a broad beard – they say
he is a new-come doctor – call’d me into his house, and
gave me a plaster – look you, here ’tis – and, sir, there was
a young wench wash’d my face and hands most excellently,
i’faith, I shall love her as long as I live for’t, did she not,
Poggio?

POGGIO.

Yes, and kiss’d him too.

BERGETTO.

Why, la now, you think I tell a lie, uncle, I warrant.

DONADO.

Would he that beat thy blood out of thy head had beaten
some wit into it; for I fear thou never wilt have any.

BERGETTO.

O, uncle, but there was a wench would have done a man’s
heart good to have look’d on her –by this light she had
a face methinks worth twenty of you, Mistress Annabella.

DONADO.

Was ever such a fool born?

ANNABELLA.

I am glad she lik’d you, sir.

BERGETTO.

Are you so? By my troth I thank you, forsooth.

FLORIO.

Sure ’twas the doctor’s niece, that was last day with us here.

BERGETTO.

’Twas she, ’twas she.

DONADO.

How do you know that, simplicity?

BERGETTO.

Why, does not he say so? If I should have said no, I should
have given him the lie, uncle, and so have deserv’d a dry
beating again; I’ll none of that.

FLORIO.

A very modest well-behav’d young maid

As I have seen.

DONADO.

Is she indeed?

FLORIO.

Indeed

She is, if I have any judgment.

DONADO.

Well, sir, now you are free, you need not care for sending
letters: now you are dismiss’d, your mistress here will none
of you.

BERGETTO.

No? Why, what care I for that? I can have wenches
enough in Parma for a half-a-crown apiece, cannot I, Poggio?

POGGIO.

I’ll warrant you, sir.

DONADO.

Signor Florio,

ErrorMetrica

I thank you for your free recourse you gave

For my admittance; and to you, fair maid,

That jewel I will give you ’gainst your marriage.

Come, will you go, sir?

BERGETTO.

Ay, marry will I. Mistress, farewell, mistress: I’ll come
again tomorrow. Farewell, mistress.

Exit Donado, Bergetto, and Poggio.

Enter Giovanni.

FLORIO.

Son, where have you been? What, alone, alone still?

I would not have it so, you must forsake

This over-bookish humor. Well, you sister

120

Hath shook the fool off.

GIOVANNI.

’Twas no match for her.

FLORIO.

’Twas not indeed, I meant it nothing less;

Soranzo is the man I only like–

Look on him, Annabella. Come, ’tis supper-time,

And it grows late.

Exit Florio.

GIOVANNI.

125

Whose jewel’s that?

ANNABELLA.

Some sweetheart’s.

GIOVANNI.

So I think.

ANNABELLA.

A lusty youth,

Signor Donado, gave it me to wear

Against my marriage.

GIOVANNI.

But you shall not wear it:

Send it him back again.

ANNABELLA.

What, you are jealous?

GIOVANNI.

130

That you shall know anon, at better leisure.

Welcome, sweet night! The evening crowns the day.

Exeunt.

[III.i]

Enter Bergetto and Poggio.

BERGETTO.

Does my uncle think to make me a baby still? No, Poggio,
he shall know I have a sconce now.

POGGIO.

Ay, let him not bob you off like an ape with an apple.

BERGETTO.

’Sfoot, I will have the wench if he were ten uncles, in despite
of his nose, Poggio.

POGGIO.

Hold him to the grindstone and give not a jot of ground.
She hath in a manner promised you already.

BERGETTO.

True, Poggio, and her uncle the doctor swore I should
marry her.

POGGIO.

He swore, I remember.

BERGETTO.

And I will have her, that’s more; didst see the codpiece-
point she gave me and the box of marmalade?

POGGIO.

Very well; and kiss’d you, that my chops water’d at the
sight on’t. There’s no way but to clap up a marriage in
hugger-mugger.

BERGETTO.

I will do’t; for I tell thee, Poggio, I begin to grow valiant
methinks, and my courage begins to rise.

POGGIO.

Should you be afraid of your uncle?

BERGETTO.

Hang him, old doting rascal! No, I say I will have her.

POGGIO.

Lose no time then.

BERGETTO.

I will beget a race of wise men and constables, that shall
cart whores at their own charges, and break the duke’s
peace ere I have done myself. –Come away.

Exeunt.

[III.ii]

Enter Florio, Giovanni, Soranzo, Annabella, Putana, and Vasques.

FLORIO.

My Lord Soranzo, though I must confess

The proffers that are made me have been great

In marriage of my daughter, yet the hope

Of your still rising honors have prevail’d

Above all other jointures; here she is:

She knows my mind, speak for yourself to her,

And hear you, daughter, see you use him nobly;

For any private speech I’ll give you time.

Come, son, and you the rest, let them alone:

Agree they as they may.

SORANZO.

I thank you, sir.

GIOVANNI.

[aside to Annabella].

Sister, be not all woman, think on me.

SORANZO.

Vasques.

VASQUES.

My Lord?

SORANZO.

Attend me without.

Exeunt omnes, manet Soranzo and Annabella.

ANNABELLA.

Sir, what’s your will with me?

SORANZO.

Do you not know

what I should tell you?

ANNABELLA.

Yes, you’ll say you love me.

SORANZO.

And I’ll swear it too; will you believe it?

ANNABELLA.

’Tis no point of faith.

Enter Giovanni above.

SORANZO.

Have you not will to love?

ANNABELLA.

Not you.

SORANZO.

Whom then?

ANNABELLA.

That’s as the fates infer.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

Of those I’m regent now.

SORANZO.

What mean you, sweet?

ANNABELLA.

To live and die a maid.

SORANZO.

O, that’s unfit.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

Here’s one can say that’s but a woman’s note.

SORANZO.

Did you but see my heart, then would you swear–

ANNABELLA.

That you were dead.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

That’s true, or somewhat near it.

SORANZO.

See you these true love’s tears?

ANNABELLA.

No.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

Now she winks.

SORANZO.

They plead to you for grace.

ANNABELLA.

Yet nothing speak.

SORANZO.

O grant my suit!

ANNABELLA.

What is’t?

SORANZO.

To let me live.

ANNABELLA.

Take it.

SORANZO.

–Still yours.

ANNABELLA.

That is not mine to give.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

One such another word would kill his hopes.

SORANZO.

Mistress, to leave those fruitless strifes of wit,

Know I have lov’d you long and lov’d you truly:

Not hope of what you have, but what you are,

Have drawn me on; then let me not in vain

Still feel the rigor of your chaste disdain.

I’m sick, and sick to th’ heart.

ANNABELLA.

Help, aqua-vitae!

SORANZO.

What mean you?

ANNABELLA.

Why, I thought you had been sick.

SORANZO.

Do you mock my love?

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

There, sir, she was too nimble.

SORANZO.

[aside].

’Tis plain, she laughs at me.

[To her.]

these scornful taunts

Neither become your modesty or years.

ANNABELLA.

You are no looking glass; or if you were,

I’d dress my language by you.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

I’m comfirm’d.

ANNABELLA.

To put you out of doubt, my lord, methinks

Your common sense should make you understand

That if I lov’d you, or desir’d your love,

Some way I should have given you better taste:

But since you are a nobleman, and one

I would not wish should spend his youth in hopes,

Let me advise you to forbear your suit,

And think I wish you well, I tell you this.

SORANZO.

Is’t you speak this?

ANNABELLA.

Yes, I myself; yet know–

Thus far I give you comfort–if mine eyes

Could have pick’d out a man amongst all those

That sued to me, to make a husband of,

You should have been that man. Let this suffice;

Be noble in your secrecy and wise.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

Why, now I see she loves me.

ANNABELLA.

One word more:

As ever virtue liv’d within your mind,

As ever noble courses were your guide,

As ever you would have me know you lov’d me,

Let not my father know hereof by you;

If I hereafter find that I must marry,

It shall be you or none.

SORANZO.

I take that promise.

ANNABELLA.

O, O, my head!

SORANZO.

What’s the matter? Not well?

ANNABELLA.

O, I begin to sicken.

GIOVANNI.

[aside]. Heaven forbid!

Exit from above.

SORANZO.

Help, help within there, ho!

Enter Florio, Giovanni, Putana.

Look to your daughter, Signor Florio.

FLORIO.

Hold her up, she swoons.

GIOVANNI.

Sister, how d’ee?

ANNABELLA.

Sick –brother, are you there?

FLORIO.

Convey her to her bed instantly, whilst I send for a physician;
quickly, I say.

PUTANA.

Alas, poor child!

Exeunt, manet Soranzo.

Enter Vasques.

VASQUES.

My lord?

SORANZO.

O Vasques, now I doubly am undone

Both in my present and my future hopes;

She plainly told me that she could not love,

And thereupon soon sicken’d, and I fear

Her life’s in danger.

VASQUES.

[aside]. By’r lady, sir, and so is yours, if you knew all. [To him.] ’Las, sir, I am sorry for that; may be ’tis but the maid’s-
sickness, an over-flux of youth, and then, sir, there is no such
present remedy as present marriage. But hath she given you
an absolute denial?

SORANZO.

She hath and she hath not; I’m full of grief,

But what she said I’ll tell thee as we go.

Exeunt.

[III.iii]

Enter Giovanni and Putana.

PUTANA.

O sir, we are all undone, quite undone, utterly undone,
and sham’d forever; your sister, O your sister!

GIOVANNI.

What of her? For Heaven’s sake, speak, how does she?

PUTANA.

O that ever I was born to see this day!

GIOVANNI.

She is not dead, ha? Is she?

PUTANA.

Dead? No, she is quick; ’tis worse, she is with child. You
know what you have done; Heaven forgive ’ee! ’Tis too late
to repent now, Heaven help us.

GIOVANNI.

With child? How dost thou know’t?

PUTANA.

How do I know’t? Am I at these years ignorant what the
meanings of qualms and water-pangs be? Of changing of
colors, queasiness of stomachs, pukings, and another
thing that I could name? Do not, for her and your credit’s
sake, spend the time in asking how, and which way, ’tis so;
she is quick, upon my word: if you let a physician see her
water, y’are undone.

GIOVANNI.

But in what case is she?

PUTANA.

Prettily amended; ’twas but a fit which I soon espied,
and she must look for often henceforward.

GIOVANNI.

Commend me to her, bid her take no care;

Let not the doctor visit her, I charge you,

Make some excuse, till I return. –O me!

I have a world of business in my head.

Do not discomfort her.–

How does this news perplex me! –If my father

Come to her, tell him she’s recover’d well,

Say ’twas but some ill diet; d’ee hear, woman?

Look you to’t.

PUTANA.

I will, sir.

Exeunt.

[III.iv]

Enter Florio and Richardetto.

FLORIO.

And how d’ee find her, sir?

RICHARDETTO.

Indifferent well;

I see no danger, scarce perceive she’s sick,

But that she told me, she had lately eaten

Melons, and, as she thought, those disagreed

With her young stomach.

FLORIO.

Did you give her aught?

RICHARDETTO.

An easy surfeit-water, nothing else.

You need not doubt her health; I rather think

Her sickness is a fulness of her blood –

You understand me?

FLORIO.

I do; you counsel well,

And once, within these few days, will so order’t

She shall be married ere she know the time.

RICHARDETTO.

Yet let not haste, sir, make unworthy choice;

That were dishonor.

FLORIO.

Master Doctor, no;

I will not do so neither; in plain words,

My Lord Soranzo is the man I mean.

RICHARDETTO.

A noble and a virtuous gentleman.

FLORIO.

As any is in Parma. Not far hence

Dwells Father Bonaventure, a grave friar,

Once tutor to my son; now at his cell

I’ll have ’em married.

RICHARDETTO.

You have plotted wisely.

FLORIO.

I’ll send one straight to speak with him tonight.

RICHARDETTO.

Soranzo’s wise, he will delay no time.

FLORIO.

It shall be so.

Enter Friar and Giovanni.

FRIAR.

Good peace be here and love.

FLORIO.

Welcome, religious friar; you are one

That still bring blessing to the place you come to.

GIOVANNI.

Sir, with what speed I could, I did my best

To draw this holy man from forth his cell

To visit my sick sister, that with words

Of ghostly comfort, in this time of need,

He might absolve her, whether she live or die.

FLORIO.

’Twas well done, Giovanni; thou herein

Hast showed a Christian’s care, a brother’s love.

Come, father, I’ll conduct you to her chamber,

And one thing would entreat you.

FRIAR.

Say on, sir.

FLORIO.

I have a father’s dear impression,

And wish, before I fall into my grave,

That I might see her married, as ’tis fit;

A word from you, grave man, will win her more

Than all our best persuasions.

FRIAR.

Gentle sir,

All this I’ll say, that Heaven may prosper her.

Exeunt.

[III.v]

Enter Grimaldi.

GRIMALDI.

Now if the doctor keep his word, Soranzo,

Twenty to one you miss your bride; I know

’Tis an unnoble act, and not becomes

A soldier’s valor, but in terms of love,

Where merit cannot sway, policy must.

I am resolv’d; if this physician

Play not on both hands, then Soranzo falls.

Enter Richardetto.

RICHARDETTO.

You are come as I could wish; this very night

Soranzo, ’tis ordain’d, must be affied

To Annabella, and, for aught I know,

Married.

GRIMALDI.

How!

RICHARDETTO.

Yet your patience.

The place, ’tis Friar Bonaventure’s cell.

Now I would wish you to bestow this night

In watching thereabouts; ’tis but a night:

If you miss now, tomorrow I’ll know all.

GRIMALDI.

Have you the poison?

RICHARDETTO.

Here ’tis in this box.

Doubt nothing, this will do’t; in any case,

As you respect your life, be quick and sure.

GRIMALDI.

I’ll speed him.

RICHARDETTO.

Do; away! For ’tis not safe

You should be seen much here. –Ever my love!

GRIMALDI.

And mine to you.

Exit Grimaldi.

RICHARDETTO.

So; if this hit, I’ll laugh and hug revenge,

And they that now dream of a wedding-feast

May chance to mourn the lusty bridegroom’s ruin.

But to my other business. –Niece Philotis!

Enter Philotis.

PHILOTIS.

Uncle?

RICHARDETTO.

My lovely niece!

You have bethought ’ee?

PHILOTIS.

Yes, and, as you counsel’d,

Fashion’d my heart to love him; but he swears

He will tonight be married, for he fears

His uncle else, if he should know the drift,

Will hinder all, and call his coz to shrift.

RICHARDETTO.

Tonight? Why, best of all! –but let me see,

I –ha–yes: so it shall be; in disguise

We’ll early to the friar’s, I have thought on’t.

Enter Bergetto and Poggio.

PHILOTIS.

Uncle, he comes.

RICHARDETTO.

Welcome, my worthy coz.

BERGETTO.

Lass, pretty lass, come buss, lass! –Aha, Poggio!

[Kisses her.]

POGGIO.

There’s hope of this yet!

RICHARDETTO.

You shall have time enough; withdraw a little,

We must confer at large.

BERGETTO.

Have you not sweetmeats or dainty devices for me?

PHILOTIS.

You shall have enough, sweetheart.

BERGETTO.

Sweetheart! Mark that, Poggio! By my troth, I cannot choose
but kiss thee once more for that word “sweetheart.” –
Poggio, I have a monstrous swelling about my stomach,
whatsoever the matter be.

POGGIO.

You shall have physic for’t, sir.

RICHARDETTO.

Time runs apace.

BERGETTO.

Time’s a blockhead.

RICHARDETTO.

Be rul’d; when we have done what’s fit to do,

Then you may kiss your fill, and bed her too.

Exeunt.

[III.vi]

Enter the Friar sitting in a chair, Annabella kneeling and whispering to him: a table before them and wax-lights: she weeps and wrings her hands.

FRIAR.

I am glad to see this penance; for, believe me,

You have unripp’d a soul so foul and guilty

As I must tell you true, I marvel how

The earth hath borne you up: but weep, weep on,

These tears may do you good; weep faster yet,

Whiles I do read a lecture.

ANNABELLA.

Wretched creature!

FRIAR.

Ay, you are wretched, miserably wretched,

Almost condemn’d alive. There is a place –

List, daughter –in a black and hollow vault,

Where day is never seen; there shines no sun,

But flaming horror of consuming fires,

A lightless sulphur, chok’d with smoky fogs

Of an infected darkness; in this place

Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts

Of never-dying deaths; there damned souls

Roar without pity; there are gluttons fed

With toads and adders; there is burning oil

Pour’d down the drunkard’s throat; the usurer

Is forc’d to sup whole draughts of molten gold;

There is the murderer forever stabb’d,

Yet can he never die; there lies the wanton

On racks of burning steel, whiles in his soul

He feels the torment of his raging lust.

ANNABELLA.

Mercy, O mercy!

FRIAR.

There stands these wretched things

Who have dream’d out whole years in lawless sheets

And secret incests, cursing one another:

Then you will wish each kiss your brother gave

Had been a dagger’s point; then you shall hear

How he will cry, “O would my wicked sister

Had first been damn’d, when she did yield to lust!”–

But soft, methinks I see repentance work

New motions in your heart; say, how is’t with you?

ANNABELLA.

Is there no way left to redeem my miseries?

FRIAR.

There is, despair not; Heaven is merciful,

And offers grace even now. ’Tis thus agreed,

First, for your honor’s safety, that you marry

The Lord Soranzo; next, to save your soul,

Leave off this life, and henceforth live to him.

ANNABELLA.

Ay me!

FRIAR.

Sigh not; I know the baits of sin

Are hard to leave–O, ’tis a death to do’t.

Remember what must come. Are you content?

ANNABELLA.

I am.

FRIAR.

I like it well; we’ll take the time.

Who’s near us there?

Enter Florio and Giovanni.

FLORIO.

Did you call, father?

FRIAR.

Is Lord Soranzo come?

FLORIO.

He stays below.

FRIAR.

Have you acquainted him at full?

FLORIO.

I have,

And he is overjoy’d.

FRIAR.

And so are we;

Bid him come near.

GIOVANNI.

[aside].

My sister weeping, ha?

I fear this friar’s falsehood.

[To him.]

I will call him.

Exit.

FLORIO.

Daughter, are you resolv’d?

ANNABELLA.

Father, I am.

Enter Giovanni, Soranzo, and Vasques.

FLORIO.

My Lord Soranzo, here

Give me your hand; for that I give you this.

[Joins their hands.]

SORANZO.

Lady, say you so too?

ANNABELLA.

I do, and vow

To live with you and yours.

FRIAR.

Timely resolv’d:

My blessing rest on both; more to be done,

You may perform it on the morning sun.

Exeunt.

[III.vii]

Enter Grimaldi with his rapier drawn and a dark lantern.

GRIMALDI.

’Tis early night as yet, and yet too soon

To finish such a work; here I will lie

To listen who comes next.

He lies down.

Enter Bergetto and Philotis disguis’d, and after Richardetto and Poggio.

BERGETTO.

We are almost at the place, I hope, sweetheart.

GRIMALDI.

[aside].

I hear them near, and hear one say “sweetheart”.

’Tis he; now guide my hand, some angry justice,

Home to his bosom.

[Aloud.]

Now have at you, sir!

Strikes Bergetto and exit.

BERGETTO.

O help, help! Here’s a stich fallen in my guts, O for a
flesh-tailor quickly!–Poggio!

PHILOTIS.

What ails my love?

BERGETTO.

I am sure I cannot piss forward and backward, and yet I
am wet before and behind. –Lights, lights! ho, lights!

PHILOTIS.

Alas, some villain here has slain my love!

RICHARDETTO.

O Heaven forbid it! –Raise up the next neighbors

Instantly, Poggio, and bring lights.

Exit Poggio.

How is’t, Bergetto? Slain! It cannot be;

Are you sure y’are hurt?

BERGETTO.

O my belly seethes like a porridge-pot, some cold water,
I shall boil over else; my whole body is in a sweat, that you
may wring my shirt; feel here–Why, Poggio!

Enter Poggio with Officers and lights and halberts.

POGGIO.

Here! Alas, how do you?

RICHARDETTO.

Give me a light. What’s here? All blood! O sirs,

Signor Donado’s nephew now is slain.

Follow the murderer with all the haste

Up to the city, he cannot be far hence;

Follow, I beseech you.

OFFICERS.

Follow, follow, follow!

Exeunt Officers.

RICHARDETTO.

Tear off thy linen, coz, to stop his wounds;

Be of good comfort, man.

BERGETTO.

Is all this mine own blood? Nay, then, good night with
me. Poggio, commend me to my uncle, dost hear? Bid him
for my sake make much of this wench. O!–I am going
the wrong way sure, my belly aches so. –O, farewell,
Poggio!–O!–O!

Dies.

PHILOTIS.

O, he is dead!

POGGIO.

How! Dead!

RICHARDETTO.

He’s dead indeed.

’Tis now too late to weep; let’s have him home

And with what speed we may, find out the murderer.

POGGIO.

O my master, my master, my master!

Exeunt.

[III-viii]

Enter Vasques and Hippolita.

HIPPOLITA.

Betroth’d?

VASQUES.

I saw it.

HIPPOLITA.

And when’s the marriage-day?

VASQUES.

Some two days hence.

HIPPOLITA.

Two days! Why, man, I would but wish two hours

To send him to his last and lasting sleep;

And, Vasques, thou shalt see I’ll do it bravely.

VASQUES.

I do not doubt your wisdom, nor, I trust, you my secrecy;
I am infinitely yours.

HIPPOLITA.

I will be thine in spite of my disgrace.

So soon? O, wicked man, I durst be sworn,

He’d laugh to see me weep.

VASQUES.

And that’s a villainous fault in him.

HIPPOLITA.

No, let him laugh, I’m arm’d in my resolves;

Be thou still true.

VASQUES.

I should get little by treachery against so hopeful a prefer-
ment as I am like to climb to.

HIPPOLITA.

Even to my bosom, Vasques. Let my youth

Revel in these new pleasures; if we thrive,

He now hath but a pair of days to live.

Exeunt.

[III.ix]

Enter Florio, Donado, Richardetto, Poggio, and Officers.

FLORIO.

’Tis bootles now to show yourself a child,

Signor Donado; what is done, is done.

Spend not the time in tears, but seek for justice.

RICHARDETTO.

I must confess, somewhat I was in fault

That had not first acquainted you what love

Pass’d ’twixt him and my niece; but, as I live,

His fortune grieves me as it were mine own.

DONADO.

Alas, poor creature, he meant no man harm,

That I am sure of.

FLORIO.

I believe that too.

But stay, my masters, are you sure you saw

The murderer pass here?

OFFICER.

And it please you, sir, we are sure we saw a ruffian, with a
naked weapon in his hand all bloody, get into my lord
cardinal’s grace’s gate, that we are sure of; but for fear of
his grace, bless us, we durst go no further.

DONADO.

Know you what manner of man he was?

OFFICER.

Yes, sure, I know the man, they say ’a is a soldier; he that
lov’d your daughter, sir, an’t please ye; ’twas he for certain.

FLORIO.

Grimaldi, on my life!

OFFICER.

Ay, ay, the same.

RICHARDETTO.

The cardinal is noble; he no doubt

Will give true justice.

DONADO.

Knock someone at the gate.

POGGIO.

I’ll knock, sir.

Poggio knocks.

SERVANT.

(within) What would ’ee?

FLORIO.

We require speech with the lord cardinal

About some present business; pray inform

His grace that we are here.

Enter Cardinal and Grimaldi.

CARDINAL.

Why, how now, friends! What saucy mates are you,

That know nor duty nor civility?

Are we a person fit to be your host,

Or is our house become your common inn,

To beat our doors at pleasure? What such haste

Is yours as that it cannot wait fit times?

Are you the masters of this commonwealth,

And know no more discretion? O, your news

Is here before you; you have lost a nephew,

Donado, last night by Grimaldi slain:

Is that your business? Well, sir, we have knowledge on’t.

Let that suffice.

GRIMALDI.

In presence of your grace,

In thought I never meant Bergetto harm.

But Florio, you can tell, with how much scorn

Soranzo, back’d with his confederates,

Hath often wrong’d me; I to be reveng’d,

(For that I could not win him else to fight)

Had thought by way of ambush to have kill’d him,

But was unlucklily therein mistook,

Else he had felt what late Bergetto did:

And though my fault to him were merely chance,

Yet humbly I submit me to your grace,

To do with me as you please.

[Kneels.]

CARDINAL.

Rise up, Grimaldi.

You citizens of Parma, if you seek

For justice, know, as nuncio from the pope,

For this offense I here receive Grimaldi

Into his holiness’ protection.

He is no common man, but nobly born;

Of princes’ blood, though you, Sir Florio,

Thought him too mean a husband for your daughter.

If more you seek for, you must go to Rome,

For he shall thither; learn more wit, for shame.

Bury your dead. –Away, Grimaldi–leave ’em!

Exeunt Cardinal and Grimaldi.

DONADO.

Is this a churchman’s voice? Dwells justice here?

FLORIO.

Justice is fled to Heaven and comes no nearer.

Soranzo! Was’t for him? O impudence!

Had he the face to speak it, and not blush?

Come, come, Donado, there’s no help in this,

When cardinals think murder’s not amiss.

Great men may do their wills, we must obey;

But Heaven will judge them for’t another day.

Exeunt.

[IV.i]

A Banquet. Hautboys. Enter the Friar, Giovanni, Annabella, Philotis, Soranzo, Donado, Florio, Richardetto, Putana, and Vasques.

FRIAR.

These holy rites perform’d, now take your times

To spend the remnant of the day in feast;

Such fit repasts are pleasing to the saints,

Who are your guests, though not with mortal eyes

To be beheld. –Long prosper in this day,

You happy couple, to each other’s joy!

SORANZO.

Father, your prayer is heard; the hand of goodness

Hath been a shield for me against my death,

And, more to bless me, hath enrich’d my life

With this most precious jewel; such a prize

As earth hath not another like to this.

Cheer up, my love, and gentlemen, my friends,

Rejoice with me in mirth; this day we’ll crown

With lusty cups to Annabella’s health.

GIOVANNI.

(aside).

O torture! Were the marriage yet undone,

Ere I’d endure this sight, to see my love

Clipp’d by another, I would dare confusion,

And stand the horror of ten thousand deaths.

VASQUES.

Are you not well, sir?

GIOVANNI.

Prithee, fellow, wait;

I need not thy officious diligence.

FLORIO.

Signor Donado, come, you must forget

Your late mishaps, and drown your cares in wine.

SORANZO.

Vasques!

VASQUES.

My lord?

SORANZO.

Reach me that weighty bowl.

Here, brother Giovanni, here’s to you;

Your turn comes next, though now a bachelor.

Here’s to your sister’s happiness and mine!

GIOVANNI.

I cannot drink.

SORANZO.

What!

GIOVANNI.

’Twill indeed offend me.

ANNABELLA.

Pray do not urge him, if he be not willing.

Hautboys.

FLORIO.

How now, what noise is this?

VASQUES.

O, sir, I had forgot to tell you; certain young maidens
of Parma, in honor to Madam Annabella’s marriage, have
sent their loves to her in a masque, for which they humbly
crave your patience and silence.

SORANZO.

We are much bound to them, so much the more

As it comes unexpected; guide them in.

Enter Hippolita and Ladies in [masks and] white robes, with garlands of willows. Music and a dance.

Thanks, lovely virgins; now might we but know

To whom we have been beholding for this love,

We shall acknowledge it.

HIPPOLITA.

Yes, you shall know;

[Unmasks.]

What think you now?

OMNES.

Hippolita!

HIPPOLITA.

’Tis she,

Be not amaz’d; nor blush, young lovely bride,

I come not to defraud you of your man.

’Tis now no time to reckon up the talk

What Parma long hath rumor’d of us both:

Let rash report run on; the breath that vents it

Will, like a bubble, break itself at last.

But now to you, sweet creature: lend’s your hand;

Perhaps it hath been said that I would claim

Some interest in Soranzo, now your lord.

What I have right to do, his soul knows best:

But in my duty to your noble worth,

Sweet Annabella, and my care of you,

Here take, Soranzo, take this hand from me:

I’ll once more join what by the holy church

Is finish’d and allow’d; have I done well?

SORANZO.

You have too much engag’d us.

HIPPOLITA.

One thing more.

That you may know my single charity,

Freely I here remit all interest

I e’er could claim, and give you back your vows;

And to confirm’t–reach me a cup of wine–

My Lord Soranzo, in this draught I drink

Long rest t’ee!–Look to it, Vasques.

VASQUES.

Fear nothing.

He gives her a poison’d cup: she drinks.

SORANZO.

Hippolita, I thank you, and will pledge

This happy union as another life;

Wine, there!

VASQUES.

You shall have none, neither shall you pledge her.

HIPPOLITA.

How!

VASQUES.

Know now, Mistress She-Devil, your own mischievous
Treachery hath kill’d you; I must not marry you.

HIPPOLITA.

Villain!

OMNES.

What’s the matter?

VASQUES.

Foolish woman, thou art now like a firebrand that hath
kindled others and burnt thyself; troppo sperar, inganna,
thy vain hope hath deceived thee, thou art but dead; if
thou hast any grace, pray.

HIPPOLITA.

Monster!

VASQUES.

Die in charity, for shame! This thing of malice, this
woman, had privately corrupted me with promise of
marriage, under this politic reconciliation, to poison
my lord, whiles she might laugh at his confusion on his
marriage day. I promise’d her fair, but I knew what my
reward should have been; and would willingly have
spar’d her life, but that I was acquainted with the danger
of her disposition, and now have fitted her a just payment
in her own coin. There she is, she hath yet––and end
thy days in peace, vile woman; as for life there’s no hope,
think not on’t.

OMNES.

Wonderful justice!

RICHARDETTO.

Heaven, thou art righteous.

HIPPOLITA.

O, ’tis true;

I feel my minute coming. Had that slave

Kept promise (O, my torment!), thou this hour

Hadst died, Soranzo –heat above hell fire!–

Yet ere I pass away –cruel, cruel flames!–

Take here my curse amongst you; may thy bed

Of marriage be a rack unto thy heart,

Burn blood and boil in vengeance–O my heart,

My flame’s intolerable!–Mayst thou live

To father bastards, may her womb bring forth

Monsters, and die together in your sins,

Hated, scorn’d, and unpitied!–O!–O!–

Dies.

FLORIO.

100

Was e’er so vile a creature?

RICHARDETTO.

Here’s the end

Of lust and pride.

ANNABELLA.

It is a fearful sight.

SORANZO.

Vasques, I know thee now a trusty servant,

And never will forget thee. –Come, my love,

We’ll home, and thank the Heavens for this escape.

105

Father and friends, we must break up this mirth;

It is too sad a feast.

DONADO.

Bear hence the body.

FRIAR.

Here’s an ominous change;

Mark this, my Giovanni, and take heed.

I fear the event; that marriage seldom’s good,

110

Where the bride-banquet so begins in blood.

Exeunt.

[IV.ii]

Enter Richardetto and Philotis.

RICHARDETTO.

My wretched wife, more wretched in her shame

Than in her wrongs to me, hath paid too soon

The forfeit of her modesty and life;

And I am sure, my niece, though vengeance hover,

Keeping aloof yet from Soranzo’s fall,

Yet he will fall, and sink with his own weight.

I need not now–my heart persuades me so–

To further his confusion; there is One

Above begins to work, for, as I hear,

Debates already ’twixt his wife and him

Thicken and run to head; she, as ’tis said,

Slightens his love, and he abandons hers.

Much talk I hear; since things go thus, my niece,

In tender love and pity of your youth,

My counsel is, that you should free your years

From hazard of these woes by flying hence

To fair Cremona, there to vow your soul

In holiness a holy votaress:

Leave me to see the end of these extremes.

All human worldly courses are uneven;

No life is blessed but the way to Heaven.

PHILOTIS.

Uncle, shall I resolve to be a nun?

RICHARDETTO.

Ay, gentle niece, and in your hourly prayers

Remember me, your poor unhappy uncle.

Hie to Cremona now, as fortune leads,

Your home your cloister, your best friends your beads.

Your chaste and single life shall crown your birth;

Who dies a virgin lives a saint on earth.

PHILOTIS.

Then farewell, world, and worldly thoughts, adieu!

Welcome, chaste vows; myself I yield to you.

Exeunt.

[IV.iii]

Enter Soranzo unbrac’d, and Annabella dragg’d in.

SORANZO.

Come, strumpet, famous whore! Were every drop

Of blood that runs in thy adulterous veins

A life, this sword–dost see’t?–should in one blow

Confound them all. Harlot, rare, notable harlot,

That with thy brazen face maintains thy sin,

Was there no man in Parma to be bawd

To your loose cunning whoredom else but I?

Must your hot itch and pleurisy of lust,

The heyday of your luxury, be fed

Up to a surfeit, and could none but I

Be pick’d out to be cloak to your close tricks,

Your belly-sports? Now I must be the dad

To all that gallimaufry that’s stuff’d

In thy corrupted bastard-bearing womb,

Say, must I?

ANNABELLA.

Beastly man! Why, ’tis thy fate.

I sued not to thee; for, but that I thought

Your over-loving lordship would have run

Mad on denial, had ye lent me time,

I would have told ‘ee in what case I was.

But you would needs be doing.

SORANZO.

Whore of whores!

Dar’st thou tell me this?

ANNABELLA.

O yes, why not?

You were deceiv’d in me; ’twas not for love

I choose you, but for honor; yet know this,

Would you be patient yet, and hide your shame,

I’d see whether I could love you.

SORANZO.

Excellent quean!

Why, art thou not with child?

ANNABELLA.

What needs all this

When ’tis superfluous? I confess I am.

SORANZO.

Tell me by whom.

ANNABELLA.

Soft, sir, ’twas not in my bargain.

Yet somewhat, sir, to stay your longing stomach,

I’m content t’acquaint you with; the man,

The more than man, that got this sprightly boy–

For ’tis a boy; that’s for your glory, sir,

Your heir shall be a son–

SORANZO.

Damnable monster!

ANNABELLA.

Nay, and you will not hear, I’ll speak no more.

SORANZO.

Yes, speak, and speak thy last.

ANNABELLA.

A match, a match!

This noble creature was in every part

So angel-like, so glorious, that a woman

Who had not been but human, as was I,

Would have kneel’d to him, and have begg’d for love.

You! Why, you are not worthy once to name

His name without true worship, or, indeed,

Unless you kneel’d, to hear another name him.

SORANZO.

What was he call’d?

ANNABELLA.

We are not come to that.

Let it suffice that you shall have the glory

To father what so brave a father got.

In brief, had not this chance fall’n out as’t doth,

I never had been troubled with a thought

That you had been a creature; but for marriage,

I scarce dream yet of that.

SORANZO.

Tell me his name.

ANNABELLA.

Alas, alas, there’s all!

Will you believe?

SORANZO.

What?

ANNABELLA.

You shall never know.

SORANZO.

How!

ANNABELLA.

Never; if you do, let me be curs’d.

SORANZO.

Not know it, strumpet! I’ll rip up thy heart,

And find it there.

ANNABELLA.

Do, do!

SORANZO.

And with my teeth

Tear the prodigious lecher joint by joint.

ANNABELLA.

Ha, ha, ha, the man’s merry!

SORANZO.

Dost thou laugh?

Come, whore, tell me your lover, or, by truth,

I’ll hew thy flesh to shreds; who is’t?

ANNABELLA.

(sings).

Che morte piu dolce che morire per amore?

SORANZO.

Thus will I pull thy hair, and thus I’ll drag

Thy lust-be-leper’d body through the dust.

Yet tell his name.

ANNABELLA.

(sings).

Morendo in gratia Dei, morirei senza dolore.

SORANZO.

Dost thou triumph? The treasure of the earth

Shall not redeem thee; were there kneeling kings;

Did beg thy life, or angels did come down

To plead in tears, yet should not all prevail

Against my rage! Dost thou not tremble yet?

ANNABELLA.

At what? To die? No, be a gallant hangman.

I dare thee to the worst: strike, and strike home;

I leave revenge behind, and thou shalt feel’t.

SORANZO.

Yet tell me ere thou diest, and tell me truly,

Knows thy old father this?

ANNABELLA.

No, by my life.

SORANZO.

Wilt thou confess, and I will spare thy life?

ANNABELLA.

My life! I will not buy my life so dear.

SORANZO.

I will not slack my vengeance.

Enter Vasques.

VASQUES.

What d’ee mean, sir?

SORANZO.

Forbear, Vasques; such a damned whore

Deserves no pity.

VASQUES.

Now the gods forfend! And would you be her executioner,
and kill her in your rage too? O, ’twere most unmanlike.
She is your wife: what faults hath been done by her before
she married you, were not against you; alas, poor lady, what
hath she committed which any lady in Italy in the like case
would not? Sir, you must be ruled by your reason and
not by your fury, that were unhuman and beastly.

SORANZO.

She shall not live.

VASQUES.

Come, she must. You would have her confess the author
of her present misfortunes, I warrant’ee; ’tis an unconscion-
able demand, and she should lose the estimation that I,
for my part, hold of her worth, if she had done it. Why,
sir, you ought not all men living to know it: good sir,
be reconciled; alas, good gentlewoman!

ANNABELLA.

Pish, do not beg for me: I prize my life

As nothing; if the man will needs be mad,

Why, let him take it.

SORANZO.

Vasques, hear’st thou this?

VASQUES.

Yes, and commend her for it; in this she shows the nobleness
of a gallant spirit, and beshrew my heart, but it becomes her
rarely. [Aside to Soranzo.] Sir, in any case smother
your revenge; leave the scenting-out your wrongs to me;
be rul’d, as you respect your honor, or you mar all. [Aloud.] Sir, if ever my service were of any credit with you, be not so
violent in your distractions. You are married now; what a
triumph might the report of this give to other neglected
suitors! ’Tis as manlike to bear extremities as godlike to
forgive.

SORANZO.

O Vasques, Vasques, in this piece of flesh,

This faithless face of hers, had I laid up

The treasure of my heart! –Hadst thou been virtuous,

Fair, wicked woman, not the matchless joys

110

Of life itself had made me wish to live

With any saint but thee; deceitful creature,

How hast thou mock’d my hopes, and in the shame

Of thy lewd womb even buried me alive!

I did too dearly love thee.

VASQUES.

(aside). This is well; follow this temper with some passion. Be brief
and moving; ’tis for the purpose.

SORANZO.

Be witness to my words thy soul and thoughts,

And tell me, didst not think that in my heart

I did too superstitiously adore thee?

ANNABELLA.

120

I must confess I know you lov’d me well.

SORANZO.

And wouldst thou use me thus? O, Annabella,

Be thou assur’d, whatsoe’er the villain was

That thus hath tempted thee to this disgrace,

Well he might lust, but never lov’d like me.

125

He doted on the picture that hung out

Upon thy cheeks, to please his humorous eye;

Not on the part I lov’d, which was thy heart,

And, as I thought, thy virtues.

ANNABELLA.

O my lord!

These words wound deeper than your sword could do.

VASQUES.

Let me not ever take comfort, but I begin to weep myself,
so much I pity him; why, madam, I knew when his rage was
over-past, what it would come to.

SORANZO.

Forgive me, Annabella: though thy youth

Hath tempted thee above thy strength to folly,

135

Yet will not I forget what I should be,

And what I am, a husband; in that name

Is hid divinity; if I do find

That thou wilt yet be true, here I remit

All former faults, and take thee to my bosom.

VASQUES.

By my troth, and that’s a point of noble charity.

ANNABELLA.

Sir, on my knees–

[Kneels.]

SORANZO.

Rise up, you shall not kneel.

Get you to your chamber, see you make no show

Of alteration; I’ll be with you straight.

My reason tells me now that ’tis as common

145

To err in frailty as to be a woman.

Go to your chamber.

Exit Annabella.

VASQUES.

So, this was somewhat to the matter; what do you think
of your heaven of happiness now, sir?

SORANZO.

I carry hell about me: all my blood

150

Is fir’d in swift revenge.

VASQUES.

That may be, but know you how, or on whom? Alas, to
marry a great woman, being made great in the stock to
your hand, is a usual sport in these says; but to know
what ferret it was that haunted your cony-berry, there’s
the cunning.

SORANZO.

I’ll make her tell herself, or–

VASQUES.

Or what? You must not do so. Let me yet persuade your
sufferance a little while; go to her, use her mildly, win her
if it be possible to a voluntary, to a weeping tune; for the
rest, if all hit, I will not miss my mark. Pray, sir, go in; the
next news I tell you shall be wonders.

SORANZO.

Delay in vengeance gives a heavier blow.

Exit.

VASQUES.

Ah, sirrah, here’s work for the nonce! I had a suspicion
of a bad matter in my head a pretty whiles ago; but after
my madam’s scurvy looks here at home, her waspish
perverseness and loud fault-finding, then I remember’d
the proverb, that where hens crow and cocks hold their
peace there are sorry houses. ’Sfoot, if the lower parts of a
she-tailor’s cunning can cover such a swelling in the
stomach, I’ll never blame a false stitch in a shoe whiles I
live again. Up and up so quick? And so quickly too?
’Twere a fine policy to learn by whom this must be known;
and I have thought on’t –here’s the way, or none. Enter Putana.
What, crying, old mistress! Alas, alas, I cannot blame ’ee,
we have a lord, Heaven help us, is so mad as the devil
himself, the more shame for him.

PUTANA.

O Vasques, that ever I was born to see this day! Doth he
use thee so too, sometimes, Vasques?

VASQUES.

Me? Why, he makes a dog of me. But if some were of my
mind, I know what we would do; as sure as I am an honest
man, he will go near to kill my lady with unkindness.
Say she be with child, is that such a matter for a young
woman of her years to be blam’d for?

PUTANA.

Alas, good heart, it is against her will full sore.

VASQUES.

I durst be sworn, all his madness is for that she will not
confess whose ’tis, which he will know, and when he doth
know it, I am so well acquainted with his humor, that he
will forget all straight. Well, I could wish she would in
plain terms tell all, for that’s the way indeed.

PUTANA.

Do you think so?

VASQUES.

Foh, I know’t; provided that he did not win her to’t by
force. He was once in a mind that you could tell, and
meant to have wrung it out of you, but I somewhat pacified
him for that; yet sure you know a great deal.

PUTANA.

Heaven forgive us all! I know a little, Vasques.

VASQUES.

Why should you not? Who else should? Upon my conscience,
she loves you dearly, and you would not betray her to any
affliction for the world.

PUTANA.

Not for all the world, by my faith and troth, Vasques.

VASQUES.

’Twere pity of your life if you should, but in this you
should both relieve her present discomforts, pacify my
lord, and gain yourself everlasting love and preferment.

PUTANA.

Dost think so, Vasques?

VASQUES.

Nay, I know’t; sure ’twas some near and entire friend.

PUTANA.

’Twas a dear friend indeed; but–

VASQUES.

But what? Fear not to name him; my life between you and
danger. Faith, I think ’twas no base fellow.

PUTANA.

Thou wilt stand between me and harm?

VASQUES.

’Ud’s pity, what else? You shall be rewarded too, trust me.

PUTANA.

’Twas even no worse than her own brother.

VASQUES.

Her brother Giovanni, I warrant ’ee!

PUTANA.

Even he, Vasques; as brave a gentleman as ever kiss’d fair
lady. O, they love most perpetually!

VASQUES.

A brave gentleman indeed; why, therein I commend her
choice. –Better and better! –You are sure ’twas he?

PUTANA.

Sure; and you shall see he will not be long from her too.

VASQUES.

He were to blame if he would: but may I believe thee?

PUTANA.

Believe me! Why, dost think I am a Turk or a Jew? No,
Vasques, I have known their dealings too long to belie
them now.

VASQUES.

Where are you there? Within, sirs!

Enter Banditti.

PUTANA.

How now, what are these?

VASQUES.

You shall know presently. Come, sirs, take me this old
damnable hag, gag her instantly, and put out her eyes.
Quickly, quickly!

PUTANA.

Vasques, Vasques!

VASQUES.

Gag her, I say! ’Sfoot, d’ee suffer her to prate? What d’ee
fumble about? Let me come to her; I’ll help your old
gums, you toad-bellied bitch. Sirs, carry her closely into the
coalhouse, and put out her eyes instantly; if she roars, slit her
nose: d’ee hear, be speedy and sure. Why, this is excellent
and above expectation. Exeunt [Banditti] with Putana.
Her own brother! O horrible! To what a height of liberty
in damnation hath the devil train’d our age, her brother!
Well, there’s yet but a beginning: I must to my lord, and
tutor him better in his points of vengeance; now I see
how a smooth tale goes beyond a smooth tail. But soft–
What thing comes next? Enter Giovanni.
Giovanni! As I would wish; my belief is strengthen’d,
’tis as firm as winter and summer.

GIOVANNI.

Where’s my sister?

VASQUES.

Troubled with a new sickness, my lord; she’s somewhat
ill.

GIOVANNI.

Took too much of the flesh, I believe.

VASQUES.

Troth, sir, and you, I think, have e’en hit it. But my
virtuous lady–

GIOVANNI.

Where’s she?

VASQUES.

In her chamber; please you visit her, she is alone. [Giovanni gives him money.] Your liberality hath doubly
made me your servant, and ever shall, ever. Exit Giovanni. Enter Soranzo.
Sir, I am made a man, I have plied my cue with cunning
and success; I beseech you let’s be private.

SORANZO.

My lady’s brother’s come; now he’ll know all.

VASQUES.

Let him know’t: I have made some of them fast enough.
How have you dealt with my lady?

SORANZO.

255

Gently, as thou hast counsel’d. O, my soul

Runs circular in sorrow for revenge!

But, Vasques, thou shalt know–

VASQUES.

Nay, I will know no more, for now comes your turn to
know; I would not talk so openly with you. Let my young
master take time enough, and go at pleasure; he is sold to
death, and the devil shall not ransom him. Sir, I beseech
you, your privacy.

SORANZO.

No conquest can gain glory of my fear.

Exeunt.

[V.i]

Enter Annabella above.

ANNABELLA.

Pleasures, farewell, and all ye thriftless minutes

Wherein false joys have spun a weary life!

To these my fortunes now I take my leave.

Thou, precious Time, that swiftly rid’st in post

Over the world, to finish up the race

Of my last fate, here stay thy restless course,

And bear to ages that are yet unborn

A wretched, woeful woman’s tragedy.

My conscience now stands up against my lust

With depositions character’d in guilt,

Enter Friar [below].

And tells me I am lost: now I confess

Beauty that clothes the outside of the face

Is cursed if it be not cloth’d with grace.

Here like a turtle mew’d up in a cage,

Unmated, I converse with air and walls,

And descant on my vile unhappiness.

O Giovanni, that hast had the spoil

Of thine own virtues and my modest fame,

Would thou hadst been less subject to those stars

That luckless reign’d at my nativity:

O would the scourge due to my black offense

Might pass from thee, that I alone might feel

The torment of an uncontrolled flame!

FRIAR.

[aside].

What’s this I hear?

ANNABELLA.

That man, that blessed friar,

Who join’d in ceremonial knot my hand

To him whose wife I now am, told me oft

I trod the path to death, and showed me how.

But they who sleep in lethargies of lust

Hug their confusion, making Heaven unjust,

And so did I.

FRIAR.

[aside].

Here’s music to the soul!

ANNABELLA.

Forgive me, my good genius, and this once

Be helpful to my ends; let some good man

Pass this way, to whose trust I may commit

This paper double-lin’d with tears and blood:

Which being granted, here I sadly vow

Repentance, and a leaving of that life

I long have died in.

FRIAR.

Lady, Heaven hath heard you,

And hath by providence ordain’d that I

Should be his minister for your behoof.

ANNABELLA.

Ha, what are you?

FRIAR.

Your brother’s friend, the friar;

Glad in my soul that I have liv’d to hear

This free confession ’twixt your peace and you.

What would you, or to whom? Fear not to speak.

ANNABELLA.

Is Heaven so bountiful? Then I have found

More favour than I hop’d. Here, holy man–

Throws a letter.

Commend me to my brother; give him that,

That letter; bid him read it and repent.

Tell him that I, imprison’d in my chamber,

Barr’d of all company, even of my guardian,

Who gives me cause of much suspect, have time

To blush at what hath pass’d; bid him be wise,

And not believe the friendship of my lord.

I fear much more than I can speak: good father,

The place is dangerous, and spies are busy;

I must break off–you’ll do’t?

FRIAR.

Be sure I will;

And fly with speed–my blessing ever rest

With thee, my daughter: live, to die more blessed!

Exit Friar.

ANNABELLA.

Thanks to the Heavens, who have prolong’d my breath

To this good use: now I can welcome death.

Exit.

[V.ii]

Enter Soranzo and Vasques.

VASQUES.

Am I to be believ’d now? First marry a strumpet that cast
herself away upon you but to laugh at your horns, to feast
on your disgrace, riot in your vexations, cuckold you in
your bride-bed, waste your estate upon panders and bawds!

SORANZO.

No more, I say, no more!

VASQUES.

A cuckold is a goodly tame beast, my lord.

SORANZO.

I am resolv’d; urge not another word.

My thoughts are great, and all as resolute

As thunder; in mean time I’ll cause our lady

To deck herself in all her bridal robes,

Kiss her, and fold her gently in my arms.

Begone–yet hear you, are the banditti ready

To wait in ambush?

VASQUES.

Good sir, trouble not yourself about other business than
your own resolution; remember that time lost cannot be
recall’d.

SORANZO.

With all the cunning words thou canst, invite

The states of Parma to my birthday’s feast;

Haste to my brother-rival and his father,

Entreat them gently, bid them not to fail.

Be speedy, and return.

VASQUES.

Let not your pity betray you till my coming back; think upon
incest and cuckoldry.

SORANZO.

Revenge is all the ambition I aspire:

To that I’ll climb or fall; my blood’s on fire.

Exeunt.

[V.iii]

Enter Giovanni.

GIOVANNI.

Busy opinion is an idle fool,

That as a school-rod keeps a child in awe,

Frights the unexperienc’d temper of the mind:

So did it me; who, ere my precious sister

Was married, thought all taste of love would die

In such a contract; but I find no change

Of pleasure in this formal law of sports.

She is still one to me, and every kiss

As sweet and as delicious as the first

I reap’d, when yet the privilege of youth

Entitled her a virgin. O the glory

Of two united hearts like hers and mine!

Let poring book-men dream of other worlds,

My world, and all of happiness, is here,

And I’d not change it for the best to come:

A life of pleasure is Elysium.

Enter Friar.

Father, you enter on the jubilee

Of my retir’d delights; now I can tell you,

The hell you oft have prompted is nought else

But slavish and fond superstitious fear;

And I could prove it too–

FRIAR.

Thy blindness slays thee.

Look there, ’tis writ to thee.

Gives the letter.

GIOVANNI.

From whom?

FRIAR.

Unrip the seals and see;

The blood’s yet seething hot, that will anon

Be frozen harder than congeal’d coral.

Why d’ee change color, son?

GIOVANNI.

’Fore Heaven, you make

Some petty devil factor ’twixt my love

And your religion-masked sorceries.

Where had you this?

FRIAR.

Thy conscience, youth, is sear’d,

Else thou wouldst stoop to warning.

GIOVANNI.

’Tis her hand,

I know’t; and ’tis all written in her blood.

She writes I know not what. Death? I’ll not fear

An armed thunderbolt aim’d at my heart.

She writes, we are discovered –pox on dreams

Of low faint-hearted cowardice! Discovered?

The devil we are; which way is’t possible?

Are we grown traitors to our own delights?

Confusion take such dotage, ’tis but forg’d;

This is your peevish chattering, weak old man.

Enter Vasques.

Now, sir, what news bring you?

VASQUES.

My lord, according to his yearly custom keeping this day a
feast in honor of his birthday, by me invites you thither.
Your worthy father, with the Pope’s reverend nuncio, and
other magnificoes of Parma, have promis’d their presence;
will’t please you to be of the number?

GIOVANNI.

Yes, tell him I dare come.

VASQUES.

“Dare come”?

GIOVANNI.

So I said; and tell him more, I will come.

VASQUES.

These words are strange to me.

GIOVANNI.

Say I will come.

VASQUES.

You will not miss?

GIOVANNI.

Yet more? I’ll come! Sir, are you answer’d?

VASQUES.

So I’ll say. –My service to you.

Exit Vasques.

FRIAR.

You will not go, I trust.

GIOVANNI.

Not go! For what?

FRIAR.

O, do not go! This feast, I’ll gage my life,

Is but a plot to train you to your ruin;

Be rul’d, you sha’ not go.

GIOVANNI.

Not go? Stood Death

Threat’ning his armies of confounding plagues,

With hosts of dangers hot as blazing stars,

I would be there. Not go? Yes, and resolve

To strike as deep in slaughter as they all.

For I will go.

FRIAR.

Go where thou wilt; I see

The wildness of thy fate draws to an end,

To a bad fearful end. I must not stay

To know thy fall; back to Bononia I

With speed will haste, and shun this coming blow.

Parma, farewell; would I had never known thee,

Or aught of thine! Well, young man, since no prayer

Can make thee safe, I leave thee to despair.

Exit Friar.

GIOVANNI.

Despair, or tortures of a thousand hells,

All’s one to me; I have set up my rest.

Now, now, work serious thoughts on baneful plots,

Be all a man, my soul; let not the curse

Of old prescription rend from me the gall

Of courage, which enrols a glorious death.

If I must totter like a well-grown oak,

Some under-shrubs shall in my weighty fall

Be crush’d to splits: with me they all shall perish.

Exit.

[V.iv]

Enter Soranzo, Vasques, and Banditti.

SORANZO.

You will not fail, or shrink in the attempt?

VASQUES.

I will undertake for their parts. Be sure, my masters, to be
bloody enough, and as unmerciful as if you were preying
upon a rich booty on the very mountains of Liguria; for
your pardons, trust to my lord, but for reward you shall
trust none but your own pockets.

BANDITTI OMNES.

We’ll make a murder.

SORANZO.

Here’s gold, here’s more; want nothing; what you do

Is noble, and an act of brave revenge.

I’ll make ye rich banditti, and all free.

OMNES.

Liberty, liberty!

VASQUES.

Hold, take every man a vizard; when ye are withdrawn,
keep as much silence as you can possibly. You know the
watchword; till which be spoken, move not, but when you
hear that, rush in like a stormy flood; I need not instruct
ye in your own profession.

OMNES.

No, no, no.

VASQUES.

In, then: your ends are profit and preferment. –Away!

Exeunt Banditti.

SORANZO.

The guests will all come, Vasques?

VASQUES.

Yes, sir. And now let me a little edge your resolution. You
see nothing is unready to this great work, but a great mind
in you: call to your remembrance your disgraces, your
loss of honor, Hippolita’s blood, and arm your courage
in your own wrongs; so shall you best right those wrongs
in vengeance, which you may truly call your own.

SORANZO.

’Tis well; the less I speak, the more I burn,

And blood shall quench that flame.

VASQUES.

Now you begin to turn Italian. This beside–when my
young incest-monger comes, he will be sharp set on his
old bit: give him time enough, let him have your chamber
and bed at liberty; let my hot hare have law ere he be
hunted to his death, that if it be possible, he may post to
hell in the very act of his damnation.

Enter Giovanni.

SORANZO.

It shall be so; and see, as we would wish,

He comes himself first. Welcome, my much-lov’d brother!

Now I perceive you honor me; y’are welcome.

But where’s my father?

GIOVANNI.

With the other states,

Attending on the nuncio of the Pope,

To wait upon him hither. How’s my sister?

SORANZO.

Like a good housewife, scarcely ready yet;

Y’are best walk to her chamber.

GIOVANNI.

If you will.

SORANZO.

I must expect my honourable friends;

Good brother, get her forth.

GIOVANNI.

You are busy, sir.

Exit Giovanni.

VASQUES.

Even as the great devil himself would have it; let him go
and glut himself in his own destruction. Flourish.
Hark, the nuncio is at hand; good sir, be ready to receive
him.

Enter Cardinal, Florio, Donado, Richardetto, and Attendants.

SORANZO.

Most reverend lord, this grace hath made me proud,

That you vouchsafe my house; I ever rest

Your humble servant for this noble favour.

CARDINAL.

You are our friend, my lord; his Holiness

Shall understand how zealously you honor

Saint Peter’s vicar in his substitute.

Our special love to you.

SORANZO.

Signors, to you

My welcome, and my ever best of thanks

For this so memorable courtesy.

Pleaseth your grace to walk near?

CARDINAL.

My lord, we come

To celebrate your feast with civil mirth,

As ancient custom teacheth: we will go.

SORANZO.

Attend his grace there! Signors, keep your way.

Exeunt.

[V.v]

Enter Giovanni and Annabella lying on a bed.

GIOVANNI.

What, chang’d so soon? Hath your new sprightly lord

Found out a trick in night-games more than we

Could know in our simplicity? Ha! Is’t so?

Or does the fit come on you, to prove treacherous

To your past vows and oaths?

ANNABELLA.

Why should you jest

At my calamity, without all sense

Of the approaching dangers you are in?

GIOVANNI.

What danger’s half so great as thy revolt?

Thou art a faithless sister, else thou know’st

Malice, or any treachery beside,

Would stoop to my bent brows; why, I hold fate

Clasp’d in my fist, and could command the course

Of time’s eternal motion, hadst thou been

One thought more steady than an ebbing sea.

And what? You’ll now be honest, that’s resolv’d?

ANNABELLA.

Brother, dear brother, know what I have been,

And know that now there’s but a dining-time

’Twixt us and our confusion: let’s not waste

These precious hours in vain and useless speech.

Alas, these gay attires were not put on

But to some end; this sudden solemn feast

Was not ordain’d to riot in expense;

I, that have now been chamber’d here alone,

Barr’d of my guardian, or of any else,

Am not for nothing at an instant freed

To fresh access. Be not deceiv’d, my brother:

This banquet is an harbinger of death

To you and me; resolve yourself it is,

And be prepar’d to welcome it.

GIOVANNI.

Well, then;

The schoolmen teach that all this globe of earth

Shall be consum’d to ashes in a minute.

ANNABELLA.

So I have read too.

GIOVANNI.

But ’twere somewhat strange

To see the water burn: could I believe

This might be true, I could believe as well

There might be hell or Heaven.

ANNABELLA.

That’s most certain.

GIOVANNI.

A dream, a dream! Else in this other world

We should know one another.

ANNABELLA.

So we shall.

GIOVANNI.

Have you heard so?

ANNABELLA.

For certain.

GIOVANNI.

But d’ee think

That I shall see you there? –You look on me?

May we kiss one another, prate or laugh,

Or do as we do here?

ANNABELLA.

I know not that.

But good, for the present, what d’ee mean

To free yourself from danger? Some way think

How to escape; I’m sure the guests are come.

GIOVANNI.

Look up, look here; what see you in my face?

ANNABELLA.

Distraction and a troubled countenance.

GIOVANNI.

Death, and a swift repining wrath–yet look,

What see you in mine eyes?

ANNABELLA.

Methinks you weep.

GIOVANNI.

I do indeed; these are the funeral tears

Shed on your grave; these furrowed up my cheeks

When first I lov’d and knew not how to woo.

Fair Annabella, should I here repeat

The story of my life, we might lose time.

Be record all the spirits of the air,

And all things else that are, that day and night,

Early and late, the tribute which my heart

Hath paid to Annabella’s sacred love

Hath been these tears, which are her mourners now.

Never till now did Nature do her best

To show a matchless beauty to the world,

Which in an instant, ere it scarce was seen,

The jealous Destinies requir’d again.

Pray, Annabella, pray; since we must part,

Go thou, white in thy soul, to fill a throne

Of innocence and sanctity in Heaven.

Pray, pray, my sister!

ANNABELLA.

Then I see your drift–

Ye blessed angels, guard me!

GIOVANNI.

So say I.

Kiss me; if ever after-times should hear

Of our fast-knit affections, though perhaps

The laws of conscience and of civil use

May justly blame us, yet when they but know

Our loves, that love will wipe away that rigor

Which would in other incests be abhorr’d.

Give me your hand; how sweetly life doth run

In these well-colored veins! How constantly

These palms do promise health! But I could chide

With nature for this cunning flattery.

Kiss me again–forgive me.

ANNABELLA.

With my heart.

GIOVANNI.

Farewell.

ANNABELLA.

Will you be gone?

GIOVANNI.

Be dark, bright sun,

And make this midday night, that thy gilt rays

May not behold a deed will turn their splendor

More sooty than the poets feign their Styx!

One other kiss, my sister.

ANNABELLA.

What means this?

GIOVANNI.

To save thy fame, and kill thee in a kiss.

Thus die, and die by me, and by my hand!

Revenge is mine; honor doth love command.

Stabs her.

ANNABELLA.

O brother, by your hand?

GIOVANNI.

When thou art dead

I’ll give my reasons for’t; for to dispute

With thy (even in thy death) most lovely beauty,

Would make me stagger to perform this act,

Which I most glory in.

ANNABELLA.

Forgive him, Heaven–and me my sins; farewell.

Brother unkind, unkind!–Mercy, great Heaven–O!–O!–

Dies.

GIOVANNI.

She’s dead, alas, good soul! The hapless fruit

That in her womb receiv’d its life from me

Hath had from me a cradle and a grave.

I must not dally. This sad marriage-bed,

In all her best, bore her alive and dead.

Soranzo, thou hast miss’d thy aim in this;

100

I have prevented now thy reaching plots,

And kill’d a love, for whose each drop of blood

I would have pawn’d my heart. Fair Annabella,

How over-glorious art thou in thy wounds,

Triumphing over infamy and hate!

105

Shrink not, courageous hand, stand up, my heart,

And boldly act my last and greater part.

Exit with the body.

[V. vi]

A Banquet. Enter Cardinal, Florio, Donado, Soranzo, Richardetto, Vasques, and Attendants; they take their places.

VASQUES.

Remember, sir, what you have to do, be wise and resolute.

SORANZO.

Enough –my heart is fix’d.–Pleaseth your grace

To taste these coarse confections; though the use

Of such set entertainments more consists

In custom than in cause, yet, reverend sir,

I am still made your servant by your presence.

CARDINAL.

And we your friend.

SORANZO.

But where’s my brother Giovanni?

Enter Giovanni with a heart upon his dagger.

GIOVANNI.

Here, here, Soranzo; trimm’d in reeking blood,

That triumphs over death; proud in the spoil

Of love and vengeance! Fate or all the powers

That guide the motions of immortal souls

Could not prevent me.

CARDINAL.

What means this?

FLORIO.

Son Giovanni!

SORANZO.

Shall I be forestall’d?

GIOVANNI.

Be not amaz’d; if your misgiving hearts

Shrink at an idle sight, what bloodless fear

Of coward passion would have seiz’d your senses,

Had you beheld the rape of life and beauty

Which I have acted? My sister, O my sister!

FLORIO.

Ha! What of her?

GIOVANNI.

The glory of my deed

Darkn’d the midday sun, made noon as night.

You came to feast, my lords, with dainty fare;

I came to feast too; but I digg’d for food

In a much richer mine than gold or stone

Of any value balanc’d; ’tis a heart,

A heart, my lords, in which is mine entomb’d:

Look well upon’t; d’ee know’t?

VASQUES.

What strange riddle’s this?

GIOVANNI.

’Tis Annabella’s heart, ’tis; why d’ee startle?

I vow ’tis hers; this dagger’s point plough’d up

Her fruitful womb, and left to me the fame

Of a most glorious executioner.

FLORIO.

Why, madman, art thyself?

GIOVANNI.

Yes, father; and that times to come may know

How as my fate I honor’d my revenge,

List, father, to your ears I will yield up

How much I have deserv’d to be your son.

FLORIO.

What is’t thou say’st?

GIOVANNI.

Nine moons have had their changes

Since I first thoroughly view’d and truly lov’d

Your daughter and my sister.

FLORIO.

How! –Alas,

My lords, he’s a frantic madman!

GIOVANNI.

Father, no.

For nine month’s space in secret I enjoy’d

Sweet Annabella’s sheets; nine months I liv’d

A happy monarch of her heart and her.

Soranzo, thou know’st this; thy paler cheek

Bears the confounding print of thy disgrace,

For her too fruitful womb too soon bewray’d

The happy passage of our stol’n delights,

And made her mother to a child unborn.

CARDINAL.

Incestuous villain!

FLORIO.

O, his rage belies him.

GIOVANNI.

It does not, ’tis the oracle of truth;

I vow it is so.

SORANZO.

I shall burst with fury;

Bring the strumpet forth!

VASQUES.

I shall, sir.

Exit Vasques.

GIOVANNI.

Do, sir! Have you all no faith

To credit yet my triumphs? Here I swear

By all that you call sacred, by the love

I bore my Annabella whilst she liv’d,

These hands have from her bosom ripp’d this heart.

Entes Vasques.

Is’t true or no, sir?

VASQUES.

’Tis most strangely true.

FLORIO.

Cursed man! –Have I liv’d to–

Dies.

CARDINAL.

Hold up, Florio.

Monster of children, see what thou hast done,

Broke thy old father’s heart! Is none of you

Dares venture on him?

GIOVANNI.

Let ‘em! O, my father,

How well his death becomes him in his griefs!

Why, this was done with courage; now survives

None of our house but I, guilt in the blood

Of a fair sister and a hapless father.

SORANZO.

Inhuman scorn of men, hast thou a thought

T’outlive thy murders?

GIOVANNI.

Yes, I tell thee, yes;

For in my fists I bear the twists of life.

Soranzo, see this heart, which was thy wife’s;

Thus I exchange it royally for thine,

[Stabs him.]

And thus and thus! Now brave revenge is mine.

VASQUES.

I cannot hold any longer. –You, sir, are you grown
insolent in your butcheries? Have at you!

[They] fight.

GIOVANNI.

Come, I am arm’d to meet thee.

VASQUES.

No, will it not be yet? If this will not, another shall. Not yet?
I shall fit you anon. –Vengeance!

Enter Banditti [and fight Giovanni].

GIOVANNI.

Welcome, come more of you whate’er you be,

I dare your worst–

O, I can stand no longer! Feeble arms,

Have you so soon lost strength?

VASQUES.

Now you are welcome, sir! –Away, my masters, all is done,
shift for yourselves! Your reward is your own: shift for
yourselves.

BANDITTI.

Away, away!

Exeunt Banditti.

VASQUES.

How d’ee, my lord: see you this? How is’t?

SORANZO.

Dead; but in death well pleased that I have liv’d

To see my wrongs reveng’d on that black devil.

O Vasques, to thy bosom let me give

My last of breath; let not that lecher live–O!–

Dies.

VASQUES.

The reward of peace and rest be with him, my ever dearest
lord and master.

GIOVANNI.

Whose hand gave me this wound?

VASQUES.

Mine, sir, I was your first man; have you enough?

GIOVANNI.

I thank thee; thou hast done for me but what

I would have else done on myself. Art sure

100

Thy lord is dead?

VASQUES.

O impudent slave! As sure as I am sure to see thee die.

CARDINAL.

Think on thy life and end, and call for mercy.

GIOVANNI.

Mercy? Why, I have found it in this justice.

CARDINAL.

Strive yet to cry to Heaven.

GIOVANNI.

O, I bleed fast.

105

Death, thou art a guest long look’d for; I embrace

Thee and thy wounds; O, my last minute comes!

Where’er I go, let me enjoy this grace,

Freely to view my Annabella’s face.

Dies.

DONADO.

Strange miracle of justice!

CARDINAL.

110

Raise up the city; we shall be murdered all!

VASQUES.

You need not fear, you shall not; this strange task being
ended, I have paid the duty to the son which I have vowed
to the father.

CARDINAL.

Speak, wretched villain, what incarnate fiend

115

Hath led thee on to this?

VASQUES.

Honesty, and pity of my master’s wrongs; for know, my
lord, I am by birth a Spaniard, brought forth my country
in my youth by Lord Soranzo’s father, whom whilst he
liv’d I serv’d faithfully; since whose death I have been
to this man as I was to him. What I have done was duty,
and I repent nothing but that the loss of my life had not
ransom’d his.

CARDINAL.

Say, fellow, know’st thou any yet unnam’d

Of counsel in this incest?

VASQUES.

Yes, and old woman, sometimes guardian to his murdered
lady.

CARDINAL.

And what’s become of her?

VASQUES.

Within this room she is; whose eyes, after her confession, I
caus’d to be put out, but kept alive, to confirm what from
Giovanni’s own mouth you have heard. Now, my lord, what
I have done you may judge of, and let your own wisdom be
a judge in your own reason.

CARDINAL.

Peace! First this woman, chief in these effects:

My sentence is, that forthwith she be ta’en

135

Out of the city, for example’s sake,

There to be burnt to ashes.

DONADO.

’Tis most just.

CARDINAL.

Be it your charge, Donado, see it done.

DONADO.

I shall.

VASQUES.

What for me? If death, ’tis welcome; I have been honest
to the son as I was to the father.

CARDINAL.

Fellow, for thee: since what thou didst was done

Not for thyself, being no Italian,

We banish thee forever, to depart

Within three days; in this we do dispense

145

With grounds of reason, not of thine offense.

VASQUES.

’Tis well; this conquest is mine, and I rejoice that a
Spaniard outwent an Italian in revenge.

Exit Vasques.

CARDINAL.

Take up these slaughtered bodies, see them buried;

And all the gold and jewels, or whatsoever

150

Confiscate by the canons of the church,

We seize upon to the Pope’s proper use.

RICHARDETTO.

[discovers himself].

Your grace’s pardon! Thus long I liv’d disguis’d

To see the effect of pride and lust at once

Brought both to shameful ends.

CARDINAL.

155

What, Richardetto whom we thought for dead?

DONADO.

Sir, was it you–

RICHARDETTO.

Your friend.

CARDINAL.

We shall have time

To talk at large of all; but never yet

Incest and murder have so strangely met.

Of one so young, so rich in nature’s store,

160

Who could not say, ’tis pity she’s a whore?

Exeunt.

John Ford

Tis Pity She's a Whore

[I.i]

[I.ii]

[I.iii]

[II.i]

[II.ii]

[II.iii]

[II.iv]

[II.v]

[II.vi]

[III.i]

[III.ii]

[III.iii]

[III.iv]

[III.v]

[III.vi]

[III.vii]

[III-viii]

[III.ix]

[IV.i]

[IV.ii]

[IV.iii]

[V.i]

[V.ii]

[V.iii]

[V.iv]

[V.v]

[V. vi]

FINIS