The Tragedy of the Atheist Atheist The Tragedy of the EMOTHE0368

Texto utilizado para esta edición digital:
Tourneur, Cyril. The Tragedy of the Atheist, or, The Honest Man’s Revenge. 1611. Edited by Irving Ribner. London: Methuen, 1964. The Revels Plays.

Adaptación digital para EMOTHE:

Tronch Pérez, Jesus

Note on this digital edition

Reproduced with kind permission by Manchester University Press.

For this digital edition, speech prefixes have been expanded and stage directions printed at the end of a line in the source edition have been relocated on a new line.

With the support of research project GVAICO2016-094, funded by Generalitat Valenciana (2016-2017).

The Names and Qualities of the Actors

Montferrers, a baron

Belforest, a baron

D’Amville, brother to Montferrers

Levidulcia, Lady to Belforest

Castabella , daughter to Belforest

Charlemont, son to Montferrers

Rousard, elder son to D’Amville

Sebastian, younger son to D’Amville

Languebeau Snuffe, a Puritan, Chaplain to Belforest

Borachio, D’Amville’s instrument

Cataplasma, a maker of periwings and attires

Soquette, a seeming gentlewoman to Cataplasma

Fresco, servant to Cataplasma

Other servants

Sergeant in war

Soldiers

Watchmen

Officers

Doctor

Judges

Keeper of the prison

Executioner

Act I

[I.i]

Enter D’Amville, Borachio, attended.

D'Amville.

I saw my nephew Charlemont but now

Part from his father. Tell him I desire

To speak with him.

Exit servant

Borachio, thou art read

In Nature and her large philosophy.

Observ’st thou not the very self same course

Of revolution both in man and beast?

Borachio.

The same, for birth, growth, state, decay and death;

Only a man’s beholding to his Nature

For th’ better composition o’ the two.

D'Amville.

But where that favour of his Nature is

Not full and free, you see a man becomes

A fool, as little-knowing as a beast.

Borachio.

Tha shows there’s nothing in a man above

His Nature; if there were, consid’ring ’tis

His being’s excellency, ‘twould not yield

To Nature’s weakness.

D'Amville.

Then if death casts up

Our total sum of joy and happiness,

Let me have all my senses feasted in

Th’ abundant fulness of delight at once,

And with a sweet insensible increase

Of pleasing surfeit melt into my dust.

Borachio.

That revolution is too short methinks.

If this life comprehends our happiness,

How foolish to desire to die so soon!

And if our time runs home unto the lenght

Of Nature, how improvident it were

To spend our substance on a minute’s pleasure,

And after live an age in misery!

D'Amville.

So thou conclud’st that pleasure only flows

Upon the stream of riches.

Borachio.

Wealth is lord

Of all felicity.

D'Amville.

‘Tis oracle,

For what’s a man that’s honest without wealth?

Borachio.

Both miserable and contemptible.

D'Amville.

He’s worse, Borachio, For it charity

Be an essential part of honesty

And should be practis’d first upon ourselves,

Wich must be granted, then your honest man

That’s poor is most dishonest, for he is

Uncharitable to the man whom he

Should most respect. But what doth this touch me,

That seem to have enough? Thanks industry,

‘Tis true. Had not my body spread itself

Into posterity, perhaps I should

Desire no more increase of substance than

Would hold proportion with mine own dimensions.

Yet even in that sufficiency of state

A man has reason to provide and add,

For what is he hath such a present eye

And so prepar’d a strenght than can foresee

And fortify his substance and himself

Against those accidents, the least whereof

May rob him of an age’s husbandry?

And for my children, they are as near to me

As branches to the tree whereon they grow,

And may as numerously be multiply’d.

As they increase, so should my providence,

For from my substance they receive the sap

Whereby they live and flourish.

Borachio.

Sir, enough.

I undenstand the mark whereat you aim.

Enter Charlemont.

D'Amville.

Silence. W’ are interrupted. Charlemont!

Charlemont.

Good morrow, uncle.

D'Amville.

Noble Charlemont,

Good morrow. Is not this the honour’d day

You purpos’d to set forward to the war?

Charlemont.

My inclination did intend it so.

D'Amville.

And not your resolution?

Charlemont.

Yes, my lord,

Had not my father contradicted it.

D'Amville.

O noble war, thou first original

Of all man’s honour! How dejectedly

The baser spirit of our present time

Hath cast itself below the ancient worth

Of our forefathers, from whose noble deeds

Ignobly we derive our pedigrees.

Charlemont.

Sir, tax not me for his unwillingness.

By the command of his authority

My disposition’s forc’d against itself.

D'Amville.

Nephew, you are the honour of our blood.

The troop of gentry whose inferior worth

Should second your example are become

Your leaders, and the scorn of their discourse

Turns smiling back upon your backwardness.

Charlemont.

You need not urge my spirit by disgrace;

‘Tis free enough. My father hinders it.

To curb me, he denies me maintenance

To put me in the habit of my rank.

Unbind me from that strong necessity,

And call me coward if I stay behind.

D'Amville.

For want of means? Borachio, where’s the gold?

I’d disinherit my prosperity

To purchase honour. ’Tis an interest

I prize above the principal of wealth.

I’m glad I had th’ occasion to make known

How readily my substance shall unlock

Itself to serve you. Here’s a thousand crowns.

Charlemont.

My worthy uncle, in exchange for this

I leave my bond. So I am doubly bound,

By that for the repayment of this gold,

And by this gold to satisfy your love.

D'Amville.

Sir, ’tis a witness only of my love,

And love doth always satisfy itself.

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Now to your father; labour his consent.

My importunity shall second yours.

We will obtain it.

Charlemont.

If entreaty fail,

The force of reputation shall prevail.

Exit

D'Amville.

Go call my sons that they may take their leaves

105

Of noble Charlemont. Now, my Borachio!

Borachio.

The substance of our former argument

Was wealth.

D'Amville.

The question how to compass it.

Borachio.

Young Charlemont is going to the war.

D'Amville.

110

O, thou begin’s to take me.

Borachio.

Mark me then.

Methinks the pregnant wit of man might make

The happy absence of this Charlemont

A subject for commodious providence.

He has a wealthy father, ready ev’n

115

To drop into his grave, and no man’s power

When Charlemont is gone can interpose

‘Twixt you and him.

D'Amville.

Th’ hast apprehended –both

My meaning and my love. Now let thy trust

For undertaking and for secrecy

120

Hold measure with thy amplitude of wit,

And thy reward shall parallel thy worth.

Borachio.

My resolution has already bound

Me to your service.

D'Amville.

And my heart to thee.

Enter Rousard and Sebastian.

Here are my sons...

125

There’s my eternity. My life in them

And their succession shall for ever live,

And in my reason dwells the providence

To add to life as much of happiness.

Let all men lose, so I increase my gain:

130

I have no feeling of another’s pain.

Exeunt.

[I.ii]

Enter old Montferrers and Charlemont.

Montferrers.

I prithee let this current of my tears

Divert thy inclination from the war,

For of my children thou art only left

To promise a succession to my house,

And all the honour thou canst get by arms

Will give but vain addition to thy name,

Since from thy ancestors thou dost derive

A dignity sufficient, and as great

As thou hast substance to maintain and bear.

I prithee stay at home.

Charlemont.

My noble father,

The weakest sigh you breathe hath power to turn

My strongest purpose, and your softest tear

To melt my resolution to as soft

Obedience. But my affection to the war

Is as hereditary as my blood

To ev’ry life of all my ancestry.

Your predecessors were your precedents,

And you are my example. Shall I serve

For nothing but a vain parenthesis

I’ th’ honour’d story of your family,

Or hang but like an empty scutcheon

Between the trophies of my predecessors

And the rich arms of my posterity?

There’s not a Frenchman of good blood and youth,

But either out of spirit or example

Is turn’d a soldier. Only Charlemont

Must be reputed that same heartless thing

That cowards will be bold to play upon.

Enter D’Amville, Rousard and Sebastian.

D'Amville.

Good morrow, my lord.

Montferrers.

Morrow, good brother.

Charlemont.

Good morrow, uncle.

D'Amville.

Morrow, kind nephew.

What, ha’ you wash’d your eyes wi’ tears this morning?

[To Montferrers]

Come, by my soul, his purpose does deserve

Your free consent. Your tenderness dissuades him.

What to the father of a gentleman

Should be more tender than the maintenance

And the increase of honour to his house?

My lord, here are my boys. I should be proud

That either this were able or that inclin’d

To be my nephew’s brave competitor.

Montferrers.

Your importunities have overcome.

Pray God my forc’d grant prove not ominous.

D'Amville.

[Aside to Charlemont]

We have obtain’d it.

[To Montferrers]

Ominous? in what?

It cannot be in anything but death,

And I am of a confident belief

That ev’n the time, place, manner of our deaths

Do follow fate with that necessity

That makes us sure to die. And in a thing

Ordain’d so certainly unalterable,

What can the use of providence prevail?

[Enter] Belforest, Levidulcia, [and] Castabella, attended.

Belforest.

Morrow, my Lord Montferrers, Lord D’Amville.

Good morrow, gentlemen. Cousin Charlemont,

Kindly good morrow. Troth, I was afear’d

I should ha’ come too late to tell you that

I wish your undertakings a success

That may deserve the measure of their worth.

Charlemont.

My lord, my duty would not let me go

Without receiving your commandments.

Belforest.

Accompliments are more for ornament

Than use. We should employ no time in them

But what our serious business will admit.

Montferrers.

Your favour had by his duty been prevented

If we had not withheld him in the way.

D'Amville.

He was a-coming to present his service.

But now no more. The cook invites to breakfast.

Will’t please your lordship enter? Noble lady!

[Exeunt all except] Charlemont and Castabella.

Charlemont.

My noble mistress, this accompliment

Is like an elegant and moving speech

Compos’d of many sweet persuasive points

Which second one another with a fluent

Increase and confirmation of their force,

Reserving still the best until the last,

To crown the strong impulsion of the rest

With a full conquest of the hearer’s sense-

Because th’ impression of the last we speak

Doth always longest and most constantly

Possess the entertainment of remembrance.

So all that now salute my taking leave

Have added numeously to the love

Wherewith I did receive their courtesy.

But you, deas mistress, being the last and best

That speaks my farewell, like th’ imperious close

Of a most sweet oration, wholly have

Possess’d my liking and shall ever live

Within the soul of my true memory.

So, mistress, with this kiss I take my leave.

Castabella.

My worthy servant, you mistake th’ intent

Of kissing. ’Twas not meant to separate

A pair of lovers, but to be the seal

Of love, importing by the joining of

Our mutual and incorporated breaths

That we should breathe but one contracted life.

Or stay at home, or let me go with you.

Charlemont.

My Castabella! For myself to stay

Or you to go would either tax my youth

With a dishonourable weakness or

Your loving purpose with immodesty.

Enter Languebeau Snuffe.

And for the satisfaction of your love,

100

Here comes a man whose knowledge I have made

A witness to the contract of our vows,

Wich my return, by marriage, shall confirm.

Languebeau.

I salute you both with the spirit of copulation. I am already informed of your matrimonial purposes and will

105

be a testimony to the integrity of your promises.

Castabella.

O the sad trouble of my fearful soul!

My faithful servant! Did you never hear

That when a certain great man went to th’ war

The lovely face of Heav’n was mask’d with sorrow,

110

The sighing winds did move the breast of earth,

The heavy clouds hung down their mourning heads

And wept sad showers the day that he went hence,

As if that day presag’d some ill success

That fatally should kill his happiness,

115

And so it came to pass. Methinks my eyes,

Sweet Heav’n forbid, are like those weeping clouds,

And as their showers presag’d, so do my tears,

Some sad event will follow my sad fears.

Charlemont.

Fie, superstitious! Is it bad to kiss?

Castabella.

120

May all my fears hurt me no more than this.

[They kiss.]

Languebeau.

Fie, fie, these carnal kisses do stir up the concu- piscences of the flesh.

Enter Belforest and Levidulcia.

Levidulcia.

O, here’s your daughter under her servant’s lips.

Charlemont.

Madam, there is no cause you should mistrust

125

The kiss I gave; ’twas but a parting one.

Levidulcia.

A lustry blood! Now, by the lip of Love,

Were I to choose, your joining one for me.

Belforest.

Your father stays to bring you on the way.

Farewell. The Great Commander of the war

130

Prosper the course you undertake. Farewell.

Charlemont.

My lord, I humbly take my leave.

[To Levidulcia]

Madam,

I kiss your hand.

[To Castabella]

And your sweet lip. Farewell.

[Exeunt all except] Charlemont and Languebeau [Snuffe]

135

Her power to speak is perish’d in her tears.

Something within me would persuade my stay,

But reputation will not yield unto’t.

Dear sir, you are the man whose honest trust

My confidence hath chosen for my friend.

140

I fear my absence will discomfort her.

You have the power and opportunity

To moderate her passion. Let her grief

Receive that friendship from you, and your love

Shall not repent itself of courtesy.

Languebeau.

145

Sir, I want wordds and protestation to insinuate into your credit, but in plainness and truth, I will qualify her grief with the spirit of consolation.

Charlemont.

Sir, I will take your friendship up at use.

And fear not that your profit shall be small;

150

Your interest shall exceed your principal.

Exit.

Enter D’Amville and Borachio.

D'Amville.

Monsieur Languebeau, happily encountered. The honesty of your conversation makes me request more int’rest in your familiarity.

Languebeau.

If your lordship will be pleased to salute me without ceremony, I shall be willing to exchange my service for

155

your favour, but this worshipping kind of entertainment is a superstitious vanity; in plainness and truth I love it not.

D'Amville.

I embrace your disposition and desire to give you as liberal assurance of my love as my Lord Belforest, your

160

deserved favourer.

Languebeau.

His lordship is pleased with my plainness and truth of conversation.

D'Amville.

It cannot displease him. In the behaviour of his noble daughter Castabella a man may read her worth and your instruction.

Languebeau.

165

That gentlewoman is most sweetly modest, fair, honest, handsome, wise, well-born, and rich.

D'Amville.

You have given me her picture in small.

Languebeau.

She’s like your diamond, a temptation in every man’s eye, yet not yielding to any light impression herself.

D'Amville.

170

The praise is hers, but the comparison your own.

Gives him the ring.

Languebeau.

You shall forgive me that, sir.

D'Amville.

I will not do so much at your request as forgive you it. I will only give you it, sir. By – you will make me swear.

Languebeau.

O, by no means. Profane not your lips with the foulness

175

of that sin. I will rather take it. To save your oath, you shall lose your ring –Verily, my lord, my praise came short of her worth. She exceeds a jewel. This is but only for ornament, she both for ornament and use.

D'Amville.

Yet unprofitably kept without use. She deserves a

180

worthy husband, sir. I have often wished a match be- tween my elder son and her. The marriage would join the houses of Belforest and D’Amville into a noble alliance.

Languebeau.

And the unity of families is a work of love and charity.

D'Amville.

185

And that work an employment well becoming the goodness of your disposition.

Languebeau.

If your lordship please to impose it upon me, I will carry it without any second end, the surest way to satisfy your wish.

D'Amville.

190

Most joyfully accepted. –Rousard! Here are letters to my Lord Belforest touching my desire to that purpose. Enter Rousard, sickly. Rousard, I send you a suitor to Castabella. To this gentleman’s discretion I commit the managing of your suit. His good success shall be most thankful to your

195

trust. Follow his instructions; he will be your leader.

Languebeau.

In plainness and truth.

Rousard.

My leader? Does your lordship think me too weak to give the onset myself?

Languebeau.

I will only assist your proceedings.

Rousard.

200

To say true, so I think you had need, for a sick man can hardly get a woman’s good will without help.

Languebeau.

Charlemont, thy gratuity and my promises were both but words, and both like words shall vanish into air.

ErrorMetrica

For thy poor empty hand I must be mute;

205

This gives me feeling of a better suit.

Exeunt Languebeau [Snuffe] and Rousard.

D'Amville.

Borachio, didst precisely note this man?

Borachio.

His own profession would report him pure.

D'Amville.

And seems to know if any benefit

Arises of religion after death;

210

Yet but compare ’s profession with his life;

They so directly contradict themselves

As if the end of his instructions were

But to divert the world from sin that he

More easily might engross it to himself.

215

By that I am confirm’d an atheist.

Well, Charlemont is gone, and here thou see’st

His absence the foundation of my plot.

Borachio.

He is the man whom Castabella loves.

D'Amville.

That was the reason I propounded him

220

Employment fix’d upon a foreign place,

To draw his inclination out o’ th’ way.

Borachio.

’T has left the passage of our practice free.

D'Amville.

This Castabella is a wealthy heir,

And by her marriage with my elder son

225

My house is honour’d and my state increas’d.

This work alone deserves my industry,

But if it prosper thou shalt see my brain

Make this but an induction to a point

So full of profitable policy

230

That it would make the soul of honesty

Ambitious to turn villain.

Borachio.

I bespeak

Employment in ’t. I’ll be an instrument

To grace performance with dexterity.

D'Amville.

Thou shalt. No man shall rob thee of the honour.

235

Go presently and buy a crimson scarf

Like Charlemont’s. Prepare thee a disguise

I’ th’ habit of a soldier, hurt and lame,

And then be ready at the weeding feast,

Where thou shalt have employment in a work

240

Will please thy disposition.

Borachio.

As I vow’d,

Your instrument shall make your project proud.

D'Amville.

This marriage will bring wealth. If that succeed,

I will increase it though my brother bleed.

Exeunt.

[I.iii]

Enter Castabella, avoiding the importunity of Rousard.

Castabella.

Nay, good sir; in troth if you knew how little it pleases me, you would forbear it.

Rousard.

I will not leave thee till th’ hast entertained me for thy servant.

Castabella.

My servant? You are sick you say. You would tax me of indiscretion to entertain one that is not able to do me service.

Rousard.

The service of a gentlewoman consists most in chamber work, and sick men are fittest for the chamber. I prithee give me a favour.

Castabella.

Methinks you have a very sweet favour of your own.

Rousard.

I lack but your black eye.

Castabella.

If you go to buffets among the boys, they'll give you one.

Rousard.

Nay, if you grow bitter, I'll dispraise your black eye. The gray-eyed morning makes the fairest day.

Castabella.

Now that you dissemble not, I could be willing to give you a favour. What favour would you have?

Rousard.

Any toy, any light thing.

Castabella.

Fie! Will you be so uncivil to ask a light thing at a gentle-woman's hand?

Rousard.

Wilt give me a bracelet o' thy hair then?

Castabella.

Do you want hair, sir?

Rousard.

No, faith, I'll want no hair so long as I can have it for money.

Castabella.

What would you do with my hair then?

Rousard.

Wear it for thy sake, sweetheart.

Castabella.

Do you think I love to have my hair worn off?

Rousard.

Come, you are so witty now and so sensible.

Kisses her.

Castabella.

Tush, I would I wanted one o' my senses now.

Rousard.

Bitter again! What's that? Smelling?

Castabella.

No, no, no. Why now y' are satisfied, I hope. I have

given you a favour.

Rousard.

What favour? A kiss? I prithee give me another.

Castabella.

Show me that I gave you then.

Rousard.

How should I show it?

Castabella.

You are unworthy of a favour if you will not bestow the keeping of it one minute.

Rousard.

Well, in plain terms, dost love me? That's the purpose of my coming.

Castabella.

Love you? Yes, very well.

Rousard.

Give me thy hand upon 't.

Castabella.

Nay, you mistake me. If I love you very well, I must not

love you now, for now you are not very well; y' are sick.

Rousard.

This equivocation is for the jest now.

Castabella.

I speak't as 'tis now in fashion, in earnest. But I shall not be in quiet for you, I perceive, till I have given you a favour. Do you love me?

Rousard.

With all my heart.

Castabella.

Then with all my heart I'll give you a jewel to hang in your ear. Hark ye — I can never love you.

Exit.

Rousard.

Call you this a jewel to hang in mine ear? 'Tis no light favour, for I'll be sworn it comes somewhat heavily to me.

Well, I will not leave her for all this. Methinks it animates a man to stand to 't when a woman desires to be rid of him at the first sight.

Exit.

[I.iv]

Enter Belforest and Languebeau Snuffe.

Belforest.

I entertain the offer of this match

With purpose to confirm it presently.

I have already mov’d it to my daughter.

Her soft excuses savour’d at the first,

Methought, but of a modest innocence

Of blood, whose unmov’d stream was never drawn

Into the current of affection. But when I

Reply’d with more familiar arguments,

Thinking to make her apprehension bold,

Her modest blush fell to a pale dislike,

And she refus’d it with such confidence

As if she had been prompted by a love

Inclining firmly to some other man,

And in that obstinacy she remains.

Languebeau.

Verily, that disobedience doth not become a child. It proceedeth from an unsanctified liberty. You will be accessory to your own dishonour if you suffer it.

Belforest.

Your honest wisdom has advis’d me well.

Once more I'll move her by persuasive means.

If she resist, all mildness set apart,

I will make use of my authority.

Languebeau.

And instantly, lest fearing your constraint her contrary affection teach her some device that may prevent you.

Belforest.

To cut off ev’ry opportunity

Procrastination may assist her with,

This instant night she shall be married.

Languebeau.

Best.

Enter Castabella.

Castabella.

Please it your lordship, my mother attends

I' th' gallery and desires your conference.

Exit Belforest.

This means I us’d to bring me to your ear.

Time cuts off circumstance; I must be brief.

To your integrity did Charlemont

Commit the contract of his love and mine,

Which now so strong a hand seeks to divide

That if your grave advice assist me not,

I shall be forc’d to violate my faith.

Languebeau.

Since Charlemont's absence I have weighed his love with the spirit of consideration, and in sincerity I find it to be frivolous and vain. Withdraw your respect; his affection deserveth it not.

Castabella.

Good sir, I know your heart cannot profane

The holiness you make profession of

With such a vicious purpose as to break

The vow your own consent did help to make.

Languebeau.

Can he deserve your love who, in neglect

Of your delightful conversation and

In obstinate contempt of all your prayers

And tears, absents himself so far from your

Sweet fellowship, and with a purpose so

Contracted to that absence that you see

He purchases your separation with

The hazard of his blood and life, fearing

To want pretence to part your companies?

'Tis rather hate that doth division move;

Love still desires the presence of his love.

Verily, he is not of the Family of Love.

Castabella.

O do not wrong him. 'Tis a generous mind

That led his disposition to the war,

For gentle love and noble courage are

So near ally’d that one begets another,

Or love is sister, and courage is the brother.

Could I affect him better than before,

His soldier's heart would make me love him more.

Languebeau.

But Castabella—

Enter Levidulcia.

Levidulcia.

Tush, you mistake the way into a woman;

The passage lies not through her reason but her blood.

Exit Languebeau [Snuffe], Castabella about to follow.

Nay, stay! How wouldst thou call the child

That being rais’d with cost and tenderness

To full ability of body and means

Denies relief unto the parents who

Bestow’d that bringing up?

Castabella.

Unnatural.

Levidulcia.

Then Castabella is unnatural.

Nature, the loving mother of us all,

Brought forth a woman for her own relief;

By generation to revive her age.

Which, now thou hast hability and means

Presented, most unkindly dost deny.

Castabella.

Believe me, mother. I do love a man.

Levidulcia.

Prefer’st th' affection of an absent love,

Before the sweet possession of a man,

The barren mind before the fruitful body,

Where our creation has no reference

To man but in his body, being made

Only for generation which, unless

Our children can be gotten by conceit,

Must from the body come. If reason were

Our counsellor, we would neglect the work

Of generation for the prodigal

Expense it draws us to of that which is

The wealth of life. Wise Nature, therefore, hath

Reserv’d for an inducement to our sense

Our greatest pleasure in that greatest work,

Which being offer’d thee, thy ignorance

Refuses for th' imaginary joy

Of an unsatisfy’d affection to

An absent man — whose blood once spent i' th' war,

Then he'll come home sick, lame, and impotent,

And wed thee to a torment, like the pain

Of Tantalus, continuing thy desire

With fruitless presentation of the thing

It loves, still mov’d and still unsatisfy’d.

Enter Belforest, D’Amville, Rousard, Sebastian, Languebeau [Snuffe, and others].

Belforest.

100

Now, Levidulcia, hast thou yet prepar’d

My daughter's love to entertain this man,

Her husband here?

Levidulcia.

I'm but her mother i’law;

Yet if she were my very flesh and blood,

I could advise no better for her good.

Rousard.

105

Sweet wife! Thy joyful husband thus salutes

Thy cheek.

Castabella.

My husband? O, I am betray’d.

[To Languebeau Snuffe]

Dear friend of Charlemont, your purity

Professes a divine contempt o' th' world;

O be not brib’d by that you so neglect,

110

In being the world's hated instrument,

To bring a just neglect upon yourself.

Kneel[s] from one to another.

[To Belforest]

Dear father, let me but examine my

Affection.

[To D’Amville]

Sir, your prudent judgment can

Persuade your son that 'tis improvident

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To marry one whose disposition he

Did ne'er observe.

[To Rousard]

Good sir, I may be of

A nature so unpleasing to your mind,

Perhaps you'll curse the fatal hour wherein

You rashly marry’d me.

D'Amville.

My Lord Belforest,

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I would not have her forc’d against her choice.

Belforest.

Passion o' me, thou peevish girl. I charge

Thee by my blessing, and th' authority

I have to claim th' obedience, marry him.

Castabella.

Now Charlemont! O my presaging tears!

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This sad event hath follow’d my sad fears.

Sebastian.

A rape, a rape, a rape!

Belforest.

How now?

D'Amville.

What's that?

Sebastian.

Why what is't but a rape to force a wench

To marry, since it forces her to lie

With him she would not?

Languebeau.

Verily, his tongue

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Is an unsanctified member.

Sebastian.

Verily,

Your gravity becomes your perish’d soul

As hoary mouldiness does rotten fruit.

Belforest.

Cousin, y' are both uncivil and profane.

D'Amville.

Thou disobedient villain, get thee out of my sight.

135

Now, by my soul, I'll plague thee for this rudeness.

Belforest.

Come, set forward to the church.

Exeunt [all except] Sebastian.

Sebastian.

And verify the proverb —the nearer the church, the further from God. Poor wench, for thy sake may his ability die in his appetite, that thou beest not troubled

140

with him thou lovest not. May his appetite move thy desire to another man, so he shall help to make himself cuckold. And let that man be one that he pays wages to, so thou shalt profit by him thou hatest. Let the chambers be matted, the hinges oiled, the curtain rings silenced,

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and the chamber-maid hold her peace at his own request, that he may sleep the quietlier; and in that sleep let him be soundly cuckolded. And when he knows it and seeks to sue a divorce, let him have no other satisfaction than this: he lay by and slept; the law will take no hold of her,

150

because he winked at it.

Exit.

Act II

[II.i]

Music. A banquet. In the night.

Enter D'Amville, Belforest, Levidulcia, Rousard, Castabella, Languebeau Snuffe at one door; at the other door Cataplasma and Soquette, ushered by Fresco.

Levidulcia.

Mistress Cataplasma, I expected you an hour since.

Cataplasma.

Certain ladies at my house, madam, detained me; otherwise I had attended your ladyship sooner.

Levidulcia.

We are beholding to you for you company. My Lord, I pray you bid these gentlewomen welcome; th' are my

invited friends.

D'Amville.

Gentlewomen, y' are welcome; pray sit down.

Levidulcia.

Fresco, by my Lord D'Amville's leave I prithee go into the butt’ry. Thou sha’t find some o' my men there; if they bid thee not welcome, they are very loggerheads.

Fresco.

If your loggerheads will not, your hogsheads shall, madam, if I get into the butt’ry.

Exit.

D'Amville.

That fellow's disposition to mirth should be our pre- sent example. Let's be grave and meditate when our affairs require our seriousness. 'Tis out of season to be

heavily disposed.

Levidulcia.

We should be all wound up into the key of mirth.

D'Amville.

The music there!

Belforest.

Where's my lord Montferrers? Tell him here's a room attends him.

Enter Montferrers.

Montferrers.

Heaven give your marriage that I am deprived of, joy.

D'Amville.

My Lord Belforest! Castabella's health.

D'Amville drinks.

Set open 'the cellar doors, and let this health

Go freely round the house. —Another to

Your Son, my lord, to noble Charlemont.

He is a Soldier. Let the onstruments

Of wary congratulate his memory.

Drums and Trumpets.

Enter a Servant.

Servant.

My lord, here's one i' th’ habit of a soldier says he is newly returned from Ostend and has some business of import to speak.

D'Amville.

Ostend! Let him come in. My soul foretells

He brings the news will make our music full.

My brother's joy would do 't, and here comes he

Will raise it.

Enter Borachio disguised.

Montferrers.

O my spirit, it does dissuade

My tongue to question him, as if it knew

His answer would displease.

D'Amville.

Soldier, what news?

We heard a rumour of a blow you gave

The enemy.

Borachio.

'Tis very true, my lord.

Belforest.

Canst thou relate it?

Borachio.

Yes.

D'Amville.

I prithee do.

Borachio.

The enemy, defeated of a fair

Advantage by a flatt’ring stratagem,

Plants all th' artillery against the town,

Whose thunder and lightning made our bulwarks shake,

And threat’ned in that terrible report

The storm wherewith they meant to second it.

Th' assault was general, but for the place

That promis’d most advantage to be forc’d,

The pride of all their army was drawn forth

And equally divided into front

And rear. They march’d, and coming to a stand,

Ready to pass our channel at an ebb,

W' advis’d it for our safest course to draw

Our sluices up and make't unpassable.

Our governor oppos’d, and suffer’d 'em

To charge us home e'en to the rampier’s foot,

But when their front was forcing up our breach

At push o' pike, then did his policy

Let go the sluices and tripp’d up the heels

Of the whole body of their troop that stood

Within the violent current of the stream.

Their front, beleaguer’d twixt the water and

The town, seeing the flood was grown too deep,

To promise them a safe retreat, expos’d

The force of all their spirits, like the last

Expiring gasp of a strong-hearted man,

Upon the hazard of one charge, but were

Oppress’d and fell. The rest that could not swim

Were only drown’d, but those that thought to ‘scape

By swimming were by murderers that flanker’d

The level of the flood both drown’d and slain

D'Amville.

Now by my soul, soldier, a brave service.

Montferrers.

O what became of my dear Charlemont?

Borachio.

Walking next day upon the fatal shore,

Among the slaughter’d bodies of their men,

Which the full-stomach’d sea had cast upon

The sands, it was m' unhappy chance to light

Upon a face, whose favour when it liv’d

My astonish’d mind inform’d me I had seen.

He lay in 's armour as if that had been

His coffin, and the weeping sea, like one

Whose milder temper doth lament the death

Of him whom in his rage he slew, runs up

The shore, embraces him, kisses his cheek,

Goes back again, and forces up the sands

To bury him, and ev’ry time it parts

Sheds tears upon him, till at last, as if

It could no longer endure to see the man

Whom it had slain, yet loath to leave him, with

A kind of unresolv’d unwilling pace,

Winding her waves one in another, like

A man that folds his arms or wrings his hands

For grief, ebb’d from the body and descends,

As if it would sink down into the earth

And hide itself for shame of such a deed.

D'Amville.

And, soldier, who was this?

Montferrers.

O Charlemont!

Borachio.

Your fear hath told you that whereof my grief

Was loath to be the messenger.

Castabella.

O God.

Exit.

D'Amville.

Charlemont drown’d? Why how could that be, since

It was the adverse party that received

The overthrow?

Borachio.

His forward spirit press’d into the front,

And being engag’d within the enemy

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When they retreated through the rising stream,

I' the violent confusion of the throng

Was overborne and perish’d in the flood.

And here's the sad remembrance of his life,

[He shows] the scarf.

Which for his sake I will for ever wear.

Montferrers.

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Torment me not with witnesses of that

Which I desire not to believe, yet must.

D'Amville.

Thou art a screech-owl and dost come i' night

To be the cursed messenger of death.

Away. Depart my house, or, by my soul,

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You'll find me a more fatal enemy

Than ever was Ostend. Be gone. Dispatch.

Borachio.

Sir ’twas my love.

D'Amville.

Your love to vex my heart

With that I hate? Hark, do you hear, you knave?

[Aside to Borachio]

O th’ art a most delicate sweet eloquent villain.

Borachio.

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[Aside to D’Amville]

Was't not well counterfeited?

D'Amville.

[Aside to Borachio]

Rarely.

[Aloud]

Be gone; I will not here reply.

Borachio.

Why then, farewell. I will not trouble you.

Exit.

D'Amville.

[Aside]

So. The foundation's laid. Now by degrees

The work will rise and soon be perfected.

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[To the others]

O this uncertain state of mortal man!

Belforest.

What then? It is th' inevitable fate

Of all things underneath the moon.

D'Amville.

'Tis true.

Brother, for health's sake overcome your grief.

Montferrers.

I cannot, sir. I am uncapable

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Of comfort. My turn will be next. I feel

Myself not well.

D'Amville.

You yield too much to grief.

Languebeau.

All men are mortal. The hour of death is uncertain. Age makes sickness the more dangerous, and grief is subject to distraction. You know not how soon you may

130

be deprived of the benefit of sense. In my understanding, therefore, you shall do well if you be sick to set your state in present order. Make your will.

D'Amville.

[Aside]

I have my wish.

[To the others]

Lights for my brother.

Montferrers.

I'll withdraw a while,

135

And crave the honest counsel of this man.

Belforest.

With all my heart, I pray attend him, sir.

Exeunt Montferrers and [Languebeau] Snuffe.

This next room, please your lordship.

D'Amville.

Where you will.

Exeunt Belforest and D'Amville.

Levidulcia.

My daughter's gone. Come son. Mistress Cataplasma, come; we'll up into her chamber. I'd fain see how she entertains the expectation of her husband's bedfellow-

140

ship.

Rousard.

'Faith, howsoever she entertains it, I

Shall hardly please her; therefore let her rest.

Levidulcia.

Nay, please her hardly, and you please her best.

Exeunt.

[II.ii]

Enter three servants, drunk, drawing in Fresco.

1 Servant.

Boy! Fill some drink, boy.

Fresco.

Enough, good sir; not a drop more by this light.

2 Servant.

Not by this light? Why then put out the candles, and we'll drink i' the dark and t' wou’t, old boy.

Fresco.

No, no, no, no, no.

3 Servant.

Why then take thy liquor. A health, Fresco!

Kneel[s].

Fresco.

Your health will make me sick sir.

1 Servant.

Then 'twill bring you o' your knees I hope, sir.

Fresco.

May I not stand and pledge it, sir?

2 Servant.

I hope you will do as we do.

Fresco.

Nay then, indeed I must not stand, for you cannot.

3 Servant.

Well said, old boy.

Fresco.

Old boy! You'll make me a young child anon, for if I continue this, I shall scarce be able to go alone.

1 Servant.

My body is as weak as water, Fresco.

Fresco.

Good reason, sir. The beer has sent all the malt up into your brain and left nothing but the water in your body.

Enter D'Amville and Borachio, closely observing their drunkenness.

D'Amville.

Borachio, seest those fellows?

Borachio.

Yes, my lord.

D'Amville.

Their drunkenness that seems ridiculous,

Shall be a serious instrument to bring

Our sober purposes to their success.

Borachio.

I am prepar’d for th' execution, sir.

D'Amville.

Cast off this habit and about it straight.

Borachio.

Let them drink healths and drown their brains i' the flood;

I'll promise them they shall be pledg’d in blood.

Exit.

1 Servant.

You ha' left a damnable snuff here.

2 Servant.

Do you take that in snuff, sir?

1 Servant.

You are a damnable rogue then.

[They fall] together by th' ears.

D'Amville.

[Asside]

Fortune, I honour thee. My plot still rises

According to the model of mine own desires.

[To the others] Lights for my brother! What, ha' you drunk yourselves mad, you knaves.

1 Servant.

My lord, the jacks abused me.

D'Amville.

I think they are the jacks indeed that have abused thee. Dost hear? That fellow is a proud knave. He has abused

thee. As thou goest over the fields by and by in lighting my brother home, I'll tell thee what sha’t do: knock him over the pate with thy torch; I'll bear thee out in't.

1 Servant.

I will singe the goose by this torch.

Exit.

D'Amville.

[to the Second Servant] Dost hear, fellow? Seest thou that proud knave? I have given him a lesson for his

sauciness. ‘Has wrong’d thee. I'll tell thee what sha’t do: as we go over the fields by and by, clap him suddenly o'er the coxcomb with thy torch; I'll bear thee out in't.

2 Servant.

I will make him understand as much.

Exit.

Enter Languebeau Snuffe.

D'Amville.

Now, Monsieur Snuffe, what has my brother done?

Languebeau.

Made his will, and by that will made you his heir, with this proviso, that as occasion shall hereafter move him, he may revoke or alter it when he pleases.

D'Amville.

Yes, let him if he can. —

(Aside)

I'll make it sure

From his revoking.

Enter Montferrers and Belforest, attended with lights.

Montferrers.

Brother, now good night.

D'Amville.

The sky is dark; we'll bring you o'er the fields.

[Aside]

Who can but strike wants wisdom to maintain;

He that strikes safe and sure has heart and brain.

Exeunt.

[II.iii]

Enter Castabella alone.

Castabella.

O love, thou chaste affection of the soul,

Without th' adult’rate mixture of the blood,

That virtue which to goodness addeth good,

The minion of Heaven's heart. Heaven, is 't my fate

For loving that thou lov'st, to get thy hate?

Or was my Charlemont thy chosen love,

And therefore hast receiv’d him to thyself?

Then I confess thy anger's not unjust.

I was thy rival. Yet to be divorc’d

From love has been a punishment enough,

Sweet Heaven, without being marry’d unto hate.

Hadst thou been pleas’d —Oh double misery!

Yet, since thy pleasure hath inflicted it,

If not my heart, my duty shall submit.

Enter Levidulcia, Rousard, Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco, with a lantern.

Levidulcia.

Mistress Cataplasma, good night. I pray when your man has brought you home, let him return and light me to my house.

Cataplasma.

He shall instantly wait on your ladyship.

Levidulcia.

Good, Mistress Cataplasma, for my servants are all drunk; I cannot be beholding to 'em for their attendance.

Exeunt Cataplasma, Soquette and Fresco.

ErrorMetrica

O here's your bride.

Rousard.

And melancholic too,

Methinks.

Levidulcia.

How can she choose? your sickness will

Distaste th' expected sweetness o' the night.

That makes her heavy.

Rousard.

That should make her light.

Levidulcia.

Look you to that.

Castabella.

What sweetness speak you of?

The sweetness of the night consists in rest.

Rousard.

With that sweetness thou shalt be surely blest

Unless my groaning wake thee. Do not moan.

Levidulcia.

Sh' had rather you would wake and make her groan.

Rousard.

Nay 'troth, sweetheart, I will not trouble thee.

Thou shalt not lose thy maidenhead tonight.

Castabella.

O might that weakness ever be in force,

I never would desire to sue divorce.

Rousard.

Wilt go to bed?

Castabella.

I will attend you, sir.

Rousard.

Mother, good night.

Levidulcia.

Pleasure be your bedfellow.

Exeunt Rousard and Castabella.

Why sure their generation was asleep

When she begot those dormice, that she made

Them up so weakly and imperfectly.

One wants desire, the t'other ability—

When my affection even with their cold bloods,

As snow rubb’d through an active hand does make

The flesh to burn, by agitation is

Inflam’d! I could unbrace and entertain

The air to cool it.

Enter Sebastian.

Sebastian.

That but mitigates

The heat; rather embrace and entertain

A younger brother; he can quench the fire.

Levidulcia.

Can you so, sir? Now I beshrew your ear.

Why, bold Sebastian, how dare you approach

So near the presence of your displeas’d father.

Sebastian.

Under the protection of his present absence.

Levidulcia.

Belike you knew he was abroad then?

Sebastian.

Yes.

Let me encounter you so; I'll persuade

Your means to reconcile me to his love.

Levidulcia.

Is that the way? I understand you not.

But for your reconcilement, meet m' at home;

I'll satisfy your suit.

Sebastian.

Within this half hour?

Exit

Levidulcia.

Or within this whole hour. When you will. —A lusty blood! Has both the presence and the spirit of a man. I like the freedom of his behaviour. Ho! Sebastian! Gone? Has set my blood a-boiling i' my veins, and now, like

water poured upon the ground that mixes itself with ev’ry moisture it meets, I could clasp with any man.

Enter Fresco with a lantern.

ErrorMetrica

O Fresco, art thou come?

If t'other fail, then thou art entertain’d.

Lust is a spirit which whosoe’er doth raise,

The next man that encounters boldly lays.

Exeunt.

[II.iv]

Enter Borachio warily and hastily over the stage, with a stone in either hand.

Borachio.

Such stones men use to raise a house upon,

But with these stones I go to ruin one.

Descends.

Enter two Servants, drunk, fighting with their torches; D'Amville, Montferrers, Belforest, and Languebeau Snuffe.

Belforest.

Passion o' me, you drunken knaves, you'll put

The lights out.

D'Amville.

No, my lord, th' are but in jest.

1 Servant.

Mine's out.

D'Amville.

Then light it at his head; that's light enough.

‘Fore God, th' are out. You drunken rascals, back

And light 'em.

Belforest.

'Tis exceeding dark.

Exeunt Servants.

D'Amville.

No matter;

I am acquainted with the way. Your hand.

Let's easily walk. I'll lead you till they come.

Montferrers.

My soul's oppress’d with grief. ’T lies heavy at

My heart. O my departed son, ere long

I shall be with thee.

D'Amville thrusts him down into the gravel pit.

D'Amville.

Marry, God forbid!

Montferrers.

O, O, O.

D'Amville.

Now all the host of heaven forbid! Knaves! Rogues!

Belforest.

Pray God he be not hurt! He's fall’n into the gravel pit.

D'Amville.

Brother, dear brother! Rascals, villains, knaves!

Enter the Servants with lights.

Eternal darkness damn you; come away.

Go round about into the gravel pit,

And help my brother up. Why what a strange

Unlucky night is this! Is 't not, my lord?

I think that dog that howl’d the news of grief,

That fatal screech-owl, usher’d on this mischief.

Enter [Servants] with the murdered body.

Lan.

Mischief indeed, my lord. Your brother's dead.

Belforest.

He's dead.

1 Servant.

He's dead.

D'Amville.

Dead be your tongues! Drop out

Mine eye-balls, and let envious Fortune play

At tennis with 'em. Have I liv’d to this?

Malicious Nature! Hadst thou born me blind,

Th' hadst yet been something favourable to me.

No breath? No motion? Prithee tell me, Heaven,

Hast shut thine eye to wink at murder, or

Hast put this sable garment on to mourn

At 's death?

Not one poor spark in the whole spacious sky

Of all that endless number would vouchsafe

To shine? You viceroys to the king of Nature!

Whose constellations govern mortal births,

Where is that fatal planet rul’d at his

Nativity? That might ha' pleas’d to light

Him out, as well into th' world, unless

It be asham’d t’ have been the instrument

Of such a good man's cursed destiny.

Belforest.

Passions transports you. Recollect yourself.

Lament him not. Whether our deaths be good

Or bad, it is not death but life that tries.

He liv’d well, therefore questionless well dies.

D'Amville.

Ay, ’tis an easy thing for him that has

No pain to talk of patience. Do you think

That Nature has no feeling?

Belforest.

Feeling? Yes.

But has she purpos’d anything for nothing?

What good receives this body by your grief?

Whether is 't more unnatural not to grieve

For him you cannot help with it, or hurt

Yourself with grieving and yet grieve in vain?

D'Amville.

Indeed, had he been taken from me like

A piece o' dead flesh, I should neither ha' felt it

Nor griev’d for 't. But come hither, pray look here.

Behold the lively tincture of his blood!

Neither the dropsy nor the jaundice in't,

But the true freshness of a sanguine red,

For all the fog of this black murd’rous night

Has mix’d with it. For anything, I know,

He might ha' liv’d till doomsday and ha' done

More good than either you or I. O Brother!

He was a man of such a native goodness,

As if regeneration had been given

Him in his mother's womb, so harmless

That rather than ha' trod upon a worm

He would ha' shunn’d the way, so dearly pitiful

That ere the poor could ask his charity

With dry eyes, he gave 'em relief wi' tears—

With tears — yes, faith, with tears.

Belforest.

Take up the corpse.

For wisdom's sake, let reason fortify

This weakness.

D'Amville.

Why, what would you ha' me do?

Foolish Nature will have her course in spite

O' wisdom. But I have e'en done.

All these words were but a great wind, and now

This shower of tears has laid it, I am calm

Again. You may set forward when you will.

I'll follow you like one that must and would not.

Languebeau.

Our opposition will but trouble him.

Belforest.

The grief that melts to tears by itself is spent;

Passion resisted grows more violent.

Exeunt [all except] D’Amville. Borachio ascends.

D'Amville.

Here's a sweet comedy. ’T begins with O

Dolentis and concludes with ha, ha, he.

Borachio.

Ha, ha, he.

D'Amville.

O my echo! I could stand

Reverberating this sweet musical air

Of joy till I had perish’d my sound lungs

With violent laughter. Lovely night-raven!

Th' hast seiz’d a carcass.

Borachio.

Put him out on's pain.

I lay so fitly underneath the bank

From whence he fell, that ere his falt’ring tongue

Could utter double O, I knock’d out's brains

With this fair ruby, and had another stone

Just of this form and bigness ready; that

I laid i' the broken skull upo' the ground

For 's pillow, against the which they thought he fell

And perish’d.

D'Amville.

Upon this ground I'll build my manor house,

100

And this shall be the chiefest corner-stone.

Borachio.

‘T has crown’d the most judicious murder that

The brain of man was e'er deliver’d of.

D'Amville.

Ay, mark the plot. Not any circumstance

That stood within the reach of the design

105

Of persons, dispositions, matter, time,

Or place, but by this brain of mine was made

An instrumental help, yet nothing from

Th' induction to th' accomplishment seem’d forc’d,

Or done o' purpose, but by accident.

Borachio.

110

First my report that Charlemont was dead,

Though false, yet cover’d with a mask of truth.

D'Amville.

Ay, and deliver’d in as fit a time,

When all our minds so wholly were possess’d

With one affair, that no man would suspect

115

A thought employ’d for any second end.

Borachio.

Then the precisian to be ready when

Your brother spake of death, to move his will.

D'Amville.

His business call’d him thither, and it fell

Within his office, unrequested to 't.

120

From him it came religiously and sav’d

Our project from suspicion, which if I

Had mov’d had been endanger’d.

Borachio.

Then your healths,

Though seeming but the ordinary rites

And ceremonies due to festivals—

D'Amville.

125

Yet us’d by me to make the servants drunk,

An instrument the plot could not have miss’d.

‘Twas easy to set drunkards by the ears;

Th’ had nothing but their torches to fight with,

And when those lights were out—

Borachio.

Then darkness did

130

Protect the execution of the work

Both from prevention and discovery.

D'Amville.

Here was a murder bravely carry’d through

The eye of observation, unobserv’d.

Borachio.

And those that saw the passage of it made

135

The Instruments, yet knew not what they did.

D'Amville.

That power of rule philosophers ascribe

To him they call the supreme of the stars,

Making their influences governors

Of sublunary creatures, when their selves

140

Are senseless of their operations—

Thunder and lightning.

What!

Dost start at thunder? Credit my belief,

'Tis a mere effect of Nature,

An exhalation hot and dry, involv’d

Within a wat’ry vapour i' the middle

145

Region of the air, whose coldness

Congealing that thick moisture to a cloud,

The angry exhalation shut within

A prison of contrary quality,

Strives to be free, and with the violent

150

Eruption through the grossness of that cloud

Makes this noise we hear.

Borachio.

'Tis a fearful noise.

D'Amville.

'Tis a brave noise,

And methinks graces our accomplished

Project as a peal of ordnance

155

Does a triumph; it speaks encouragement.

Now Nature shows thee how it favour’d our

Performance, to forbear this noise when we

Set forth because it should not terrify

My brother’s going home, which would have dash’d

160

Our purpose —to forbear this lightning

In our passage, lest it should ha' warn’d him

O' the pitfall. Then propitious Nature wink’d

At our proceedings; now it doth express

How that forbearance favour’d our success.

Borachio.

165

You have confirm’d me, for it follows well

That Nature, since herself decay doth hate,

Should favour those that strengthen their estate.

D'Amville.

Our next endeavour is —since on the false

Report that Charlemont is dead depends

170

The fabric of the work —to credit that

With all the countenance we can.

Borachio.

Faith, sir,

Even let his own inheritance, whereof

Y' have dispossess’d him, countenance the act.

Spare so much out of that to give him a

175

Solemnity of funeral; 'twill quit

The cost and make your apprehension of

His death appear more confident and true.

D’Am.

I'll take thy counsel. Now farewell black night,

Thou beauteous mistress of a murderer;

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To honour thee, that hast accomplish’d all,

I'll wear thy colours at his funeral.

Exeunt.

[IV.v]

Enter Levidulcia into her chamber, manned by Fresco.

Levidulcia.

Th' art welcome into my chamber, Fresco. Prithee shut the door. —Nay, thou mistakest me. Come in and shut it.

Fresco.

'Tis somewhat late, madam.

Levidulcia.

No matter. I have somewhat to say to thee.

What, is not thy mistress towards a husband yet?

Fresco.

Faith, madam, she has suitors, but they will not suit her, methinks. They will not come off lustily, it seems.

Levidulcia.

They will not come on lustily, thou wouldst say.

Fresco.

I mean, madam, they are not rich enough.

Levidulcia.

But ay, Fresco, they are not bold enough. Thy mistress is

of a lively attractive blood, Fresco, and in troth she's o' my mind for that. A poor spirit is poorer than a poor purse. Give me a fellow that brings not only temptation with him, but has the activity of wit and audacity of spirit to apply every word and gesture of a woman's speech and

behaviour to his own desire, and make her believe she's the suitor herself, never give back till he has made her yield to it.

Fresco.

Indeed among our equals, madam, but otherwise we shall be put horribly out o 'countenance.

Levidulcia.

Thou art deceived, Fresco. Ladies are as courteous as yeomen's wives, and methinks they should be more gentle. Hot diet and soft ease makes 'em, like wax always kept warm, more easy to take impression. —Prithee untie my shoe. —What, art thou shamefaced too? Go roundly

to work, man. My leg is not gouty; 'twill endure the feeling, I warrant thee. Come hither, Fresco; thine ear. — 'S dainty, I mistook the place; I missed thine ear and hit thy lip.

Fresco.

Your ladyship has made me blush.

Levidulcia.

That shows th' art full o' lusty blood and thou knowest not how to use it. Let me see thy hand. Thou shouldst not be shamefaced by thy hand, Fresco. Here's a brawny flesh and a hairy skin, both signs of an able body. I do not like these phlegmatic, smooth-skinned, soft-fleshed fellows.

They are like candied suckets when they begin to perish, which I would always empty my closet of and give 'em my chambermaid. —I have some skill in palmistry; by this line that stands directly against me thou shouldst be near a good fortune, Fresco, if thou hadst the grace to en-

tertain it.

Fresco.

O what is that, madam, I pray?

Levidulcia.

No less than the love of a fair lady, if thou dost not lose her with faint-heartedness.

Fresco.

A lady, madam? Alas, a Lady is a great thing; I cannot

compass her.

Levidulcia.

No? Why, I am a lady. Am I so great I cannot be com- passed? Clasp my waist and try.

Fresco.

I could find i' my heart, madam.

Sebastian knocks within.

Levidulcia.

‘Uds body, my husband! Faint-hearted fool, I think

thou wert begotten between the North Pole and the con- gealed passage. Now, like an ambitious coward that betrays himself with fearful delay, you must suffer for the treason you never committed. Go, hide thyself behind yond’ arras instantly. Fresco hides himself Enter Sebastian.

Sebastian! What do you here so late?

Sebastian.

Nothing yet, but I hope I shall.

Kisses her.

Levidulcia.

Y' are very bold.

Sebastian.

And you very valiant, for you met me at full career.

Levidulcia.

You come to ha' me move your father's reconciliation.

I'll write a word or two i' your behalf.

Sebastian.

A word or two, madam? That you do for me will not be contained in less than the compass of two sheets. But in plain terms, shall we take the opportunity of privateness?

Levidulcia.

What to do?

Sebastian.

To dance the beginning of the world after the English manner.

Levidulcia.

Why not after the French or Italian?

Sebastian.

Fie, they dance it preposterously, backward.

Levidulcia.

Are you so active to dance?

Sebastian.

I can shake my heels.

Lev.

Y' are well made for't.

Sebastian.

Measure me from top to toe, you shall not find me differ much from the true standard of proportion.

Belforest knocks within.

Levidulcia.

I think I am accursed, Sebastian. There's one at the door has beaten opportunity away from us. In brief, I love thee, and it shall not be long before I give thee a testimony of it. To save thee now from suspicion, do no more but draw thy rapier, chafe thyself, and when he comes in rush

by without taking notice of him. Only seem to be angry, and let me alone for the rest.

Enter Belforest.

Sebastian.

Now by the hand of mercury—

Exit.

Belforest.

What's the matter, wife?

Levidulcia.

Ooh, ooh, husband!

Belforest.

Prithee what ail'st thou, woman?

Levidulcia.

O feel my pulse. It beats, I warrant you. Be patient a little, sweet husband; tarry but till my breath come to me again, and I'll satisfy you.

Belforest.

What ails Sebastian? He looks so distractedly.

Levidulcia.

The poor gentleman's almost out on's wits, I think. You remember the displeasure his father took against him about the liberty of speech he used even now when your daughter went to be married?

Belforest.

Yes, what of that?

Levidulcia.

‘T has crazed him sure. He met a poor man i' the street even now. Upon what quarrel I know not, but he pursued

him so violently that if my house had not been his rescue, he had surely killed him.

Belforest.

What a strange desperate young man is that!

Levidulcia.

Nay, husband, he grew so in rage when he saw the man was conveyed from him that he was ready even to have drawn his naked weapon upon me. And had not your

knocking at the door prevented him, surely h' had done something to me.

Belforest.

Where's the man?

Levidulcia.

Alas, here. I warrant you the poor fearful soul is scarce come to himself again yet. [Aside] If the fool have any wit he will apprehend me. [To Fresco] Do you hear, sir?

100

You may be bold to come forth; the Fury that haunted you is gone.

Fresco peeps fearfully forth from behind the arras.

Fresco.

Are you sure he is gone?

Belforest.

He's gone, he's gone, I warrant thee.

Fresco.

I would I were gone too. Has shook me almost into a

105

dead palsy.

Belforest.

How fell the difference between you?

Fresco.

I would I were out at the back door.

Belforest.

Th’ art safe enough. Prithee tell 's the falling out.

Fresco.

Yes sir, when I have recovered my spirits. My memory

110

is almost frighted from me. —O so, so, so. — Why, sir, as I came along the street, sir, —this same gentleman came stumbling after me and trod o' my heel. — I cried O. Do you cry, sirrah? says he. Let me see your heel; if it be not hurt, I'll make you cry for something. So he claps my

115

head between his legs, and pulls off my shoe. I having shifted no socks in a sennight, the gentleman cried Foh, and said my feet were base and cowardly feet; they stunk for fear. Then he knocked my shoe about my pate, and I cried O, once more. In the meantime comes a

120

shag-haired dog by and rubs against his shins. The gentleman took the dog in shag-hair to be some watch- man in a rug gown, and swore he would hang me up at the next door with my lantern in my hand, that passengers might see their way as they went without rubbing

125

against gentlemen's shins. So, for want of a cord, he took his own garters off, and as he was going to make a noose, I watched my time and ran away. And as I ran, indeed, I bid him hang himself in his own garters. So he, in choler, pursued me hither as you see.

Belforest.

130

Why this savours of distraction.

Levidulcia.

Of mere distraction

Fresco.

[Aside] Howsoever it savours, I am sure it smells like a lie.

Belforest.

Thou may’st go forth at the back door, honest fellow; the way is private and safe.

Fresco.

135

So it had need, for your fore-door here is both common and dangerous.

Exit Belforest.

Levidulcia.

Good night, honest Fresco.

Fresco.

Good night, madam. If you get me kissing o' ladies again—

Exit.

Levidulcia.

140

This falls out handsomely.

But yet the matter does not well succeed

Till I have brought it to the very deed.

Exit.

[II.vi]

Enter Charlemont, in arms, a Musketeer, and a Sergeant.

Charlemont.

Sergeant, what hour o' the night is 't?

Sergeant.

About one.

Charlemont.

I would you would relieve me, for I am

So heavy that I shall ha' much ado;

To stand out my perdu.

Thunder and lightning.

Sergeant.

I'll e'en but walk

The round, sir, and then presently return.

Musk.

For God's sake, sergeant, relieve me. Above five hours together in so foul a stormy night as this!

Sergeant.

Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth are now in consort, when the thunder and the cannon play one to another.

Exit.

Charlemont.

I know not why I should be thus inclin’d

To sleep. I feel my disposition press’d

With a necessity of heaviness.

Soldier! If thou hast any better eyes,

I prithee wake me when the sergeant comes.

Musk.

Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall

Scarce either see or hear him ere he comes

Upon me.

Charlemont.

I cannot force myself to wake.

Sleeps.

Enter the ghost of Montferrers.

Montferrers.

Return to France, for thy old father's dead

And thou by murder disinherited.

Attend with patience the success of things,

But leave revenge unto the King of kings.

Exit.

Charlemont starts and wakes.

Charlemont.

O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream

Was this that wak’d me? Dreams are but the rais’d

Impressions of premeditated things,

By serious apprehension left upon

Our minds, or else th' imaginary shapes

Of objects proper to th' complexion or

The dispositions of our bodies. These

Can neither of them be the cause why I

Should dream thus, for my mind has not been mov’d

With any one conception of a thought

To such a purpose, nor my nature wont

To trouble me with fantasies of terror.

It must be something that my Genius would

Inform me of. Now gracious heaven forbid!

O, let my spirit be depriv’d of all

Foresight and knowledge ere it understand

That vision acted, or divine that act

To come. Why should I think so? Left I not

My worthy father i' the kind regard

Of a most loving uncle? Soldier, saw'st

No apparition of a man?

Musketeer.

You dream,

Sir; I saw nothing.

Charlemont.

Tush, these idle dreams

Are fabulous. Our boiling fantasies

Like troubled waters falsify the shapes

Of things retain’d in them, and make 'em seem

Confounded when they are distinguish’d. So

My actions daily conversant with war,

The argument of blood and death, had left,

Perhaps, th' imaginary presence of

Some bloody accident upon my mind,

Which mix’d confusedly with other thoughts,

Whereof th' remembrance of my father might

Be one, presented all together seem

Incorporate, as if his body were

The owner of that blood, the subject of

That death, when he's at Paris and that blood

Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave

The war, for reputation's sake, upon

An idle apprehension, a vain dream.

Enter the Ghost.

Musketeer.

Stand, stand, I say. No? Why then have at thee.

Sir, if you will not stand, I'll make you fall.

Nor stand, nor fall? Nay, then the Devil's dam

Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is a spirit,

I shot it through, and yet it will not fall.

Exit.

The Ghost approaches Charlemont. He fearfully avoids it.

Charlemont.

O pardon me. My doubtful heart was slow

To credit that which I did fear to know.

Exeunt.

Act III

[III.i]

Enter [D’Amville with] the funeral of Montferrers.

D'Amville.

Set down the body. Pay earth what she lent,

But she shall bear a living monument

To let succeeding ages truly know

That she is satisfy’d what he did owe,

Both principal and use, because his worth

Was better at his death than at his birth.

A dead march. Enter the funeral of Charlemont as a soldier.

And with his body place that memory

Of noble Charlemont, his worthy son,

And give their graves the rites that do belong

To soldiers. They were soldiers both. The father

Held open war with sin, the son with blood,

This in a war more gallant, that more good.

The first volley.

There place their arms, and here their epitaphs,

And may these lines survive the last of graves:

The Epitaph of Montferrers.

Here lie the ashes of that earth and fire

Whose heat and fruit did feed and warm the poor,

And they, as if they would in sighs expire

And into tears dissolve, his death deplore.

He did that good freely, for goodness' sake,

Unforc’d, for gen’rousness he held so dear

That he fear’d none but him that did him make,

And yet he serv’d him more for love than fear.

So 's life provided that though he did die

A sudden death, yet died not suddenly.

The Epitaph of Charlemont.

His body lies interr’d within this would,

Who died a young man, yet departed old,

And in all strength of youth that man can have

Was ready still to drop into his grave.

For ag’d in virtue, with a youthful eye

He welcom’d it, being still prepar’d to die,

And living so, though young depriv’d of breath,

He did not suffer an untimely death,

But we may say of his brave bless’d decease:

He died in war, and yet he died in peace.

The second volley.

O might that fire revive the ashes of

This phoenix! Yet the wonder would not be

So great as he was good and wond’red at

For that. His life's example was so true

A practique of religion's theory

That her divinity seem’d rather the

Description than th' instruction of his life.

And of his goodness was his virtuous son

A worthy imitator. So that on

These two herculean pillars where their arms

Are plac’d there may be writ Non ultra. For

Beyond their lives, as well for youth as age,

Nor young nor old, in merit or in name,

Shall e'er exceed their virtues or their fame.

The third volley.

'Tis done. Thus fair accompliments make foul

Deeds gracious. Charlemont, come now when t' wout,

I've bury’d under these two marble stones

Thy living hopes And thy dead father's bones.

Exeunt.

Enter Castabella mourning, to the monument of Charlemont.

Castabella.

O thou that know’st me justly Charlemont’s,

Though in the forc’d possession of another,

Since from thine own free spirit we receive it

That our affections cannot be compell’d

Though our actions may, be not displeas’d, if on

The altar of his tomb I sacrifice

My tears. They are the jewels of my love

Dissolved into grief, and fall upon

His blasted spring as April dew upon

A sweet young blossom shak’d before the time.

Enter Charlemont with a Servant.

Charlemont.

Go see my trunks dispos’d of. I'll but walk

A turn or two i' th' church and follow you.

Exit Servant.

O, here's the fatal monument of my

Dead father first presented to mine eye.

What's here? In memory of Charlemont?

Some false relation has abus’d belief.

I am deluded. But I thank thee, Heaven.

For ever let me be deluded thus.

My Castabella mourning o 'er my hearse?

Sweet Castabella, rise; I am not dead.

Castabella.

O Heaven defend me!

Falls in a swoon.

Charlemont.

I beshrew my rash

And inconsid’rate passion. —Castabella!—

That could not think —my Castabella!— that

My sudden presence might affright her sense.

I prithee, my affection, pardon me.

She rises.

Reduce thy understanding to thine eye.

Within this habit which thy misinform’d

Conceit takes only for a shape live both

The soul and body of thy Charlemont.

Castabella.

I feel a substance warm and soft and moist,

Subject to the capacity of sense.

Charlemont.

Which spirits are not, for their essence is

Above the nature and the order of

Those elements whereof our senses are

Created. Touch my lip. Why turn’st thou from me?

Castabella.

Grief above griefs! That which should woe relieve,

Wish’d and obtain’d, gives greater cause to grieve.

Charlemont.

Can Castabella think it cause of grief

That the relation of my death proves false?

Castabella.

The presence of the person we affect,

Being hopeless to enjoy him, makes our grief

More passionate than if we saw him not.

Charlemont.

Why not enjoy? Has absence chang’d thee?

Castabella.

Yes,

From maid to wife.

Charlemont.

Art marry’d?

Castabella.

O, I am.

Charlemont.

Marry’d! Had not my mother been a woman,

I should protest against the chastity

Of all thy sex. How can the merchant or

100

The Mariner, absent whole years, from wives

Experienc’d in the satisfaction of

Desire, promise themselves to find their sheets

Unspotted with adultery at their

Return, when you that never had the sense

105

Of actual temptation could not stay

A few short months?

Castabella.

O, do but hear me speak.

Charlemont.

But thou wert wise and didst consider that

A soldier might be maim’d and so perhaps

Lose his hability to please thee.

Castabella.

No.

110

That weakness pleases me in him I have.

Charlemont.

What, marry’d to a man unable too?

O strange incontinence! Why, was thy blood

Increas’d to such a pleurisy of lust,

That of necessity there must a vein

115

Be open’d, though by one that had no skill

To do't?

Castabella.

Sir, I beseech you hear me.

Charlemont.

Speak.

Castabella.

Heav’n knows I am unguilty of this act.

Charlemont.

Why, wert thou forc’d to do 't?

Castabella.

Heav’n knows I was.

Charlemont.

What villain did it?

Castabella.

Your uncle D'Amville.

120

And he that dispossess’d my love of you

Hath disinherited you of possession.

Charlemont.

Disinherited? Wherein have I deserv’d

To be depriv’d of my dear father's love?

Castabella.

Both of his love and him. His soul's at rest,

125

But here your injur’d patience may behold

The signs of his lamented memory.

Charlemont finds his father's Monument.

H’ has found it. When I took him for a ghost

I could endure the torment of my fear

More eas’ly than I can his sorrows hear.

Exit.

Charlemont.

130

Of all men's griefs must mine be singular?

Without example? Here I met my grave,

And all men's woes are bury’d i' their graves

But mine. In mine my miseries are born.

I prithee, sorrow, leave a little room

135

In my confounded and tormented mind

For understanding to deliberate

The cause or author of this accident—

A close advantage of my absence made

To dispossess me both of land and wife,

140

And all the profit does arise to him

By whom my absence was first mov’d and urg’d.

These circumstances, uncle, tell me you

Are the suspected author of those wrongs,

Whereof the lightest is more heavy than

145

The strongest patience can endure to bear.

Exit.

[III.ii]

Enter D'Amville, Sebastian, and Languebeau [Snuffe].

D'Amville.

Now sir, your business?

Sebastian.

My annuity.

D'Amville.

Not a denier.

Sebastian.

How would you ha' me live?

D'Amville.

Why, turn crier. Cannot you turn crier?

Sebastian.

Yes.

D'Amville.

Then do so; y' have a good voice for 't.

Y' are excellent at crying of a rape.

Sebastian.

Sir, I confess in particular respect to yourself I was some-what forgetful. Gen’ral honesty possessed me.

D'Amville.

Go, th’ art the base corruption of my blood,

And like a tetter grow’st unto my flesh.

Sebastian.

Inflict any punishment upon me. The severity shall not discourage me if it be not shameful, so you'll but put

money i' my purse. The want of money makes a free spirit more mad than the possession does an usurer.

D'Amville.

Not a farthing.

Sebastian.

Would you ha' me turn purse-taker? 'Tis the next way to do 't. For want is like the rack; it draws a man to endanger

himself to the gallows rather than endure it.

Enter Charlemont; D'amville counterfeits to take him for a ghost.

D'Amville.

What art thou? Stay! Assist my troubled sense.

My apprehension will distract me. Stay!

Languebeau Snuffe avoids him fearfully.

Sebastian.

What art thou? Speak!

Charlemont.

The spirit of Charlemont.

D'Amville.

O stay. Compose me. I dissolve.

Languebeau.

No, 'tis profane. Spirits are invisible. 'Tis the fiend i' the likeness of Charlemont. I will have no conversation with Sathan.

Exit.

Sebastian.

The spirit of Charlemont? I'll try that.

Strike[s], and the blow [is] returned.

‘Fore God, thou sayest true; th' art all spirit.

D'Amville.

Go call the officers.

Exit.

Charlemont.

Th’ art a villain and the son of a villain.

Sebastian.

You lie.

[They] fight. Sebastian is down.

Charlemont.

Have at thee.

Enter the Ghost of Montferrers.

Revenge, to thee I'll dedicate this work.

Montferrers.

Hold, Charlemont!

Let him revenge my murder, and thy wrongs,

To whom the justice of revenge belongs.

Exit.

Charlemont.

You torture me between the passion

Of my blood and the religion of my soul.

Sebastian rises.

Sebastian.

A good honest fellow.

Enter D'Amville with Officers.

D'Amville.

What, wounded? Apprehend him. Sir, is this

Your salutation for the courtesy

I did you when we parted last? You ha'

Forgot I lent you a thousand crowns.

[To the Officers]

First let

Him answer for this riot. When the law

Is satisfy’d for that, an an action for

His debt shall clap him up again.

[To Charlemont]

I took

You for a spirit, and I'll conjure you

Before I ha' done.

Charlemont.

No. I'll turn conjurer. Devil!

Within this circle, in the midst of all

Thy force and malice, I conjure thee do

Thy worst.

D'Amville.

Away with him!

Exeunt Officers with Charlemont.

Sebastian.

Sir, I have got

A scratch or two here for your sake. I hope

You'll give me money to pay the surgeon.

D'Amville.

Borachio, fetch me a thousand crowns. I am

Content to countenance the freedom of

Your spirit when 'tis worthily employed.

A’ God's name, give behaviour the full scope

Of gen’rous liberty, but let it not

Disperse and spend itself in courses of

Unbounded licence. Here, pay for your hurts.

Exit.

Sebastian.

I thank you, sir. Gen’rous liberty —that is to say, freely to bestow my abilities to honest purposes. Methinks I should not follow that instruction now, if having the

means to do an honest office for an honest fellow, I should neglect it. Charlemont lies in prison for a thousand crowns, and here I have a thousand crowns. Honesty tells me 'twere well done to release Charlemont. But discretion says I had much ado to come by this, and when this shall

be gone I know not where to finger any more, especially if I employ it to this use, which is like to endanger me into my father's perpetual displeasure. And then I may go hang myself, or be forced to do that will make another save me the labour. No matter. Charlemont, thou gav'st

me my life, and that's somewhat of a purer earth than gold, as fine as it is. ’Tis no courtesy I do thee, but thank- fulness. I owe thee it and I'll pay it. He fought bravely, but the officers dragged him villanously. Arrant knaves, for using him so discourteously, may the sins o' the poor

people be so few that you sha' not be able to spare so much out o' your gettings as will pay for the hire of a lame starved hackney to ride to an execution, but go a-foot to the gallows and be hanged. May elder brothers turn good husbands and younger brothers get good wives, that there

be no need of debt-books nor use of sergeants. May there be all peace but i' the war and all charity but i' the devil, so that prisons may be turned to hospitals, though the officers live o’ the benevolence. If this curse might come to pass, the world would say, Blessed be he that curseth.

Exit.

[III.iii]

Enter Charlemont in prison.

Charlemont.

I grant thee, Heaven, thy goodness doth command

Our punishments, but yet no further than

The measure of our sins. How should they else

Be just? Or how should that good purpose of

Thy justice take effect, by bounding men

Within the confines of humanity,

When our afflictions do exceed our crimes?

Then they do rather teach the barb’rous world

Examples that extend her cruelties

Beyond their own dimensions, and instruct

Our actions to be more, more barbarous.

O my afflicted soul, how torment swells

Thy apprehension with profane conceit,

Against the sacred justice of my God!

Our own constructions are the authors of

Our misery. We never measure our

Conditions but with men above us in

Estate, so while our spirits labour to

Be higher than our fortunes, th' are more base.

Since all those attributes which make men seem

Superior to us are man's subjects and

Were made to serve him, the repining man

Is of a servile spirit to deject

The value of himself below their estimation.

Enter Sebastian with the Keeper.

Sebastian.

Here. Take my sword. —How now, my wild swagg’rer, y' are tame enough now, are you not? The penury of a prison is like a soft consumption. 'Twill humble the pride o’ your mortality, and arm your soul in complete patience to endure the weight of affliction without feeling it. What,

hast no music in thee? Th' hast trebles and bases enough, treble injury and base usage. But trebles and bases make poor music without means. Thou want'st means, dost? What, dost droop? Art dejected?

Charlemont.

No, sir. I have a heart above the reach

Of thy most violent maliciousness.

A fortitude in scorn of thy contempt—

Since Fate is pleas’d to have me suffer it—

That can bear more than thou hast power t' inflict.

I was a baron; that thy father has

Depriv’d me off. Instead of that I am

Created king. I've lost a signiory

That was confin’d within a piece of earth,

A wart upon the body of the world.

But now I am an emp’ror of a world,

This little world of man. My passions are

My subjects, and I can command them laugh,

Whilst thou dost tickle 'em to death with misery.

Sebastian.

'Tis bravely spoken, and I love thee for 't. Thou liest here for a thousand crowns. Here are a thousand to re-

deem thee —not for the ransom o' my life thou gav'st me; that I value not at one crown. 'Tis none o' my deed; thank my father for 't. ’Tis his goodness. Yet he looks not for thanks, for he does it underhand, out of a reserved dispo- sition to do thee good without ostentation. — Out o’ great

heart you'll refuse 't now, will you?

Charlemont.

No. Since I must submit myself to Fate,

I never will neglect the offer of

One benefit, but entertain them as

Her favours and th' inductions to some end

Of better fortune, as whose instrument

I thank thy courtesy.

Sebastian.

Well, come along.

Exeunt.

[III.iv]

Enter D'Amville and Castabella.

D'Amville.

Daughter, you do not well to urge me. I

Ha' done no more than justice. Charlemont

Shall die and rot in prison, and 'Tis just.

Castabella.

O father, mercy is an attribute

As high as justice, an essential part

Of his unbounded goodness, whose divine

Impression, form, and image man should bear.

And methinks man should love to imitate

His mercy, since the only countenance

Of justice were destruction, if the sweet

And loving favour of his mercy did

Not mediate between it and our weakness.

D'Amville.

Forbear. You will displease me. He shall rot.

Castabella.

Dear sir, since by your greatness you

Are nearer heav’n in place, be nearer it

In goodness. Rich men should transcend the poor,

As clouds the earth, rais’d by the comfort of

The sun to water dry and barren grounds.

If neither the impression in your soul

Of goodness, nor the duty of your place

As goodness’ substitute can move you, then

Let Nature, which in savages, in beasts,

Can stir to pity, tell you that he is

Your kinsman.

D'Amville.

You expose your honesty

To strange construction. Why should you so urge

Release for Charlemont? Come you profess

More nearness to him than your modesty

Can answer. You have tempted my suspicion.

I tell thee he shall starve, and die, and rot.

Enter Charlemont and Sebastian.

Charlemont.

Uncle, I thank you.

D'Amville.

Much good do it you.

Who did release him?

Sebastian.

Exit Castabella.

D'Amville.

You are a villain.

Sebastian.

Y' are my father.

Exit.

D'Amville.

[Aside]

I must temporize.

[To Charlemont]

Nephew, had not his open freedom made

My disposition known, I would ha' borne

The course and inclination of my love

According to the motion of the sun,

Invisibly enjoy’d and understood.

Charlemont.

That shows your good works are directed to

No other end then goodness. I was rash,

I must confess, but —

D'Amville.

I will excuse you.

To lose a father and, as you may think,

Be disinherited, it must be granted,

Are motives to impatience. But for death,

Who can avoid it? And for his estate,

In the uncertainty of both your lives

‘Twas done discreetly to confer't upon

A known successor, being the next in blood,

And one, dear nephew, whom in time to come

You shall have cause to thank. I will not be

Your dispossessor, but your guardian.

I will supply your father's vacant place,

To guide your green improvidence of youth

And make you ripe for your inheritance.

Charlemont.

Sir, I embrace your gen’rous promises.

[They embrace.]

Enter Rousard sick, and Castabella.

Rousard.

Embracing? I behold the object that

Mine eye affects. Dear cousin Charlemont!

D'Amville.

My elder son. He meets you happily,

For with the hand of our whole family

We interchange th' indenture of ourLoves.

Charlemont.

And I accept it, yet not joyfully

Because y' are sick.

D'Amville.

Sir, his affection's sound

Though he be sick in body.

Rousard.

Sick indeed.

A gen’ral weakness did surprise my health

The very day I marry’d Castabella,

As if my sickness were a punishment

That did arrest me for some injury

I then committed.

[To Castabella]

Credit me, my love,

I pity thy ill fortune to be match’d

With such a weak unpleasing bedfellow.

Castabella.

Believe me, sir, it never troubles me.

I am as much respectless to enjoy

Such pleasure as ignorant what it is.

Charlemont.

Thy sex's wonder. Unhappy Charlemont.

D'Amville.

Come, let's to supper. There we will confirm

The eternal bond of our concluded love.

Exeunt.

Act IV

[IV.i]

Enter Cataplasma and Soquette with needlework.

Cataplasma.

Come, Soquette, your work; let's examine your work. What's here? A medlar with a plum tree growing hard by it, the leaves o’ the plum tree falling off, the gum issuing out o’ the perished joints, and the branches some of 'em dead and some rotten, and yet but a young plum tree. In

good sooth, very pretty.

Soquette.

The plum tree, forsooth, grows so near the medlar that the medlar sucks and draws all the sap from it and the natural strength o’ the ground, so that it cannot prosper.

Cataplasma.

How conceited you are! But here th’ hast made a tree to bear no fruit. Why's that?

Soquette.

There grows a savin tree next it, forsooth.

Cataplasma.

Forsooth, you are a little too witty in that.

Enter Sebastian.

Sebastian.

[Embracing her] But this honeysuckle winds about this whitethorn very prettily and lovingly, sweet Mistress Cataplasma.

Cataplasma.

Monsieur Sebastian! In good sooth, very uprightly welcome this evening.

Sebastian.

What, moralizing upon this gentlewoman's needlework? Let's see.

Cataplasma.

No, sir, only examining whether it be done to the true nature and life o’ the thing.

Sebastian.

Here y’ have set a medlar with a bachelor’s button o’ one side, and a snail o’ th' t’other. The bachelor’s button should have held his head up more pertly towards the medlar;

the snail o’ th' t’other side should ha' been wrought with an artificial laziness, doubling his tail and putting out his horn but half the length, and then the medlar falling, as it were, from the lazy snail and inclining towards the pert bachelor’s button, their branches spreading and winding

one within another as if they did embrace. But here's a moral. A popp’ring pear tree growing upon the bank of a river, seeming continually to look downwards into the water as if it were enamoured of it, and ever as the fruit ripens lets it fall for love, as it were, into her lap; which

the wanton stream, like a strumpet, no sooner receives but she carries it away and bestows it upon some other creature she maintains, still seeming to play and dally under the popp’ring so long that it has almost washed away the earth from the root, and now the poor tree stands as if

it were ready to fall and perish by that whereon it spent all the substance it had.

Cataplasma.

Moral for you that love those wanton running waters.

Sebastian.

But is not my Lady Levidulcia come yet?

Cataplasma.

Her purpose promised us her company ere this. Lirie,

your lute and your book.

Sebastian.

Well said. A lesson o’ th' lute to entertain the time with till she comes.

Cataplasma.

Sol, fa, mi, la —Mi, mi mi. — Precious! Dost not see mi between the two crochets? Strike me full there. —So —

forward. —This is a sweet strain, and thou finger’st it beastly. Mi is a large there, and the prick that stands before mi, a long; always halve your note. Now —run your division pleasingly with those quavers. Observe all your graces i' the touch. Here's a sweet close —strike it full; it

sets off your music delicately.

Enter Languebeau Snuffe and Levidulcia.

Languebeau.

Purity be in this house.

Cataplasma.

'Tis now entered, and welcome with your good lady- ship.

Sebastian.

Cease that music. Here's a sweeter instrument.

[Goes to embrace her.]

Levidulcia.

Restrain your liberty. See you not Snuffe?

Sebastian.

What does the stinkard here? Put Snuffe out. He's offensive.

Levidulcia.

No. The credit of his company defends my being abroad from the eye of suspicion.

Cataplasma.

Wil 't please your ladyship go up into the closet?

There are those falls and tires I told you of.

Levidulcia.

Monsieur Snuffe, I shall request your patience. My stay will not be long.

Exit with Sebastian.

Languebeau.

My duty, madam. Falls and tires? I begin to suspect what falls and tires you mean. My lady and Sebastian the

fall and the tire, and I the shadow. I perceive the purity of my conversation is used but for a property to cover the uncleanness of their purposes. The very contemplation o’ the thing makes the spirit of the flesh begin to wriggle in my blood. And here my desire has met with an object

already. This gentlewoman, methinks, should be swayed with the motion, living in a house where moving example is so common. Temptation has prevailed over me, and I will attempt to make it overcome her. —Mistress Cata- plasma, my lady, it seems, has some business that requires

her stay. The fairness o’ the evening invites me into the air; will it please you give this gentlewoman leave to leave her work, and walk a turn or two with me for honest recreation?

Cataplasma.

With all my heart, sir. Go, Soquette, give ear to his instructions. You may get understanding by his com-

pany, I can tell you.

Languebeau.

In the way of holiness, Mistress Cataplasma.

Cataplasma.

Good Monsieur Snuffe! I will attend your return.

Languebeau.

[To Soquette]

Your hand, gentlewoman.

[Aside]

The flesh is humble till the spirit move it,

But when 'tis rais’d it will command above it.

Exeunt.

[IV.ii]

Enter D'Amville, Charlemont, and Borachio.

D'Amville.

Your sadness and the sickness of my son

Have made our company and conference

Less free and pleasing then I purpos’d it.

Charlemont.

Sir, for the present I am much unfit

For conversation or society.

With pardon I will rudely take my leave.

D'Amville.

Good night, dear nephew.

Exit Charlemont.

Seest thou that same man?

Borachio.

Your meaning, sir?

D'Amville.

That fellow's life, Borachio,

Like a superfluous letter in the Law,

Endangers our assurance.

Borachio.

Scrape him out.

D'Amville.

Wou’t do ’t?

Borachio.

Give me your purpose; I will do 't.

D'Amville.

Sad melancholy has drawn Charlemont

With meditation on his father's death,

Into the solitary walk behind the Church.

Borachio.

The churchyard? This the fittest place for death.

Perhaps he's praying. Then he's fit to die.

We'll send him charitably to his grave.

D'Amville.

No matter how thou tak'st him. First take this.

[Gives him a] pistol.

Thou know’st the place. Observe his passages,

And with the most advantage make a stand,

That favour’d by the darkness of the night,

His breast may fall upon thee at so near

A distance that he sha' not shun the blow.

The deed once done, thou may'st retire with safety.

The place is unfrequented, and his death

Will be imputed to th' attempt of thieves.

Borachio.

Be careless. Let your mind be free and clear.

This pistol shall discharge you of your fear.

Exit.

D'Amville.

But let me call my projects to account,

For what effect and end I have engag’d

Myself in all this blood. To leave a state

To the succession of my proper blood.

But how shall that succession be continu’d?

Not in my elder son, I fear. Disease

And weakness have disabled him for issue.

For th' t’other, his loose humour will endure

No bond of marriage. And I doubt his life;

His spirit is so boldly dangerous.

O pity that the profitable end

Of such a prosp’rous murder should be lost!

Nature forbid. I hope I have a body

That will not suffer me to lose my labour

For want of issue yet. But then 't must be

A Bastard. Tush, they only father bastards

That father other men's begettings. Daughter!

Be it mine own, let it come whence it will.

I am resolv’d. Daughter!

Enter Servant.

Servant.

My lord.

D'Amville.

I prithee call my daughter.

Enter Castabella.

Castabella.

Your pleasure, sir?

D'Amville.

Is thy husband i' bed?

Castabella.

Yes, my lord.

D'Amville.

The evening's fair. I prithee

Walk a turn or two.

Castabella.

Come, Jaspar.

D'Amville.

No.

We'll walk but to the corner o' the church,

And I have something to speak privately.

Castabella.

No matter; stay.

Exit Servant.

D'Amville.

This falls out happily.

Exeunt.

[IV.iii]

Enter Charlemont, Borachio, dogging him in the churchyard. The clock strikes twelve.

Charlemont.

Twelve.

Borachio.

'Tis a good hour; 'twill strike one anon.

Charlemont.

How fit a place for contemplation is this dead of night, among the dwellings of the dead. — This grave —perhaps th' inhabitant was in his lifetime the possessor of his own

desires. Yet in the midst of all his greatness and his wealth he was less rich and less contented than in this poor piece of earth, lower and lesser than a cottage, for here he neither wants nor cares.

ErrorMetrica

Now that his body favours of corruption,

He enjoys a sweeter rest than e'er he did

Amongst the sweetest pleasures of this life,

For here, there's nothing troubles him. —And there—

In that grave lies another. He, perhaps,

Was in his life as full of misery

As this of happiness, and here's an end

Of both. Now both their states are equal. O

That man with so much labour should aspire

To worldly height, when in the humble earth

The world's condition's at the best! Or scorn

Inferior men, since to be lower than

A worm is to be higher than a king.

Borachio.

Then fall and rise.

Discharges [the pistol, wich] gives false fire.

Charlemont.

What villain's hand was that?

Save thee or thou shalt perish.

They fight.

Borachio.

Zounds, unsav’d, I think.

Fall[s].

Charlemont.

What, have I kill'd him? Whatsoe'er thou beest,

I would thy hand had prosper’d, for I was

Unfit to live and well prepar’d to die.

What shall I do? Accuse myself, submit

Me to the law, and that will quickly end

This violent increase of misery.

But 'tis a murder to be accessory

To mine own death. I will not. I will take

This opportunity to ‘scape. It may

Be Heav’n reserves me to some better end.

Exit.

Enter [Languebeau] Snuffe and Soquette into the churchyard.

Soquette.

Nay, good sir, I dare not. In good sooth I come of a generation both by father and mother that were all as

fruitful as costermonger’s wives.

Languebeau.

Tush, then a tympany is the greatest danger can be feared. Their fruitfulness turns but to a certain kind of phlegmatic windy disease.

Soquette.

I must put my understanding to your trust, sir. I would be loath to be deceived.

Languebeau.

No, conceive, thou sha’t not. Yet thou shalt profit by my instruction too. My body is not every day drawn dry, wench.

Soquette.

Yet methinks, sir, your want of use should rather make your body like a well: the lesser 'tis drawn, the sooner it grows dry.

Languebeau.

Thou shalt try that instantly.

Soquette.

But we want place and opportunity.

Languebeau.

We have both. This is the back side of the house which the superstitious call Saint Winifred's church, and is verily a convenient unfrequented place,

ErrorMetrica

Where under the close curtains of the night —

Soquette.

You purpose i' the dark to make me light.

[Snuffe] pulles out a sheet, a hair, and a beard.

But what ha' you there?

Languebeau.

This disguise is for security sake, wench. There's a talk, thou know’st, that the ghost of old Montferrers walks. In this church he was buried. Now if any stranger fall upon us before our business be ended, in this disguise

I shall be taken for that ghost and never be called to examination, I warrant thee. Thus we shall ‘scape both prevention and discovery. How do I look in this habit, wench?

Soquette.

So like a ghost that, notwithstanding I have some fore-

knowledge of you, you make my hair stand almost on end.

Languebeau.

I will try how I can kiss in this beard. —Oh fie, fie, fie. I will put it off, and then kiss, and then put it on. I can do the rest without kissing.

Enter Charlemont doubtfully, with his sword drawn. [He] is upon them before they are aware. They run out divers ways and leave the disguise.

Charlemont.

What ha' we here? A sheet, a hair, a beard?

What end was this disguise intended for?

No matter what. I'll not expostulate

The purpose of a friendly accident.

Perhaps it may accommodate my ‘scape.

I fear I am pursu’d. For more assurance,

I'll hide me here i' th' charnel house,

This convocation-house of dead men'sskulls.

To get into the charnel house he takes hold of a death's head; it slips and staggers him.

Death's head, deceiv'st my hold?

Such is the trust to all mortality.

Hides himself in the charnel house.

Enter D'Amville and Castabella.

Castabella.

My lord, the night grows late. Your lordship spake

Of something you desir’d to move in private.

D'Amville.

Yes, now I'll speak it. Th' argument is love.

The smallest ornament of thy sweet form,

That abstract of all pleasure, can command

The senses into passion, and thy entire

Perfection is my object; yet I love

Thee with the freedom of my reason. I

Can give thee reason for my love.

Castabella.

Love me,

My lord? I do believe it, for I am

The wife of him you love.

D'Amville.

'Tis true. By my

Persuasion thou wert forc’d to marry one

Unable to perform the office of

A husband. I was author of the wrong.

My conscience suffers under't, and I would

Disburden it by satisfaction.

Castabella.

How?

D'Amville.

I will supply that pleasure to thee which

He cannot.

Castabella.

Are y' a devil or a man?

D'Amville.

A man, and such a man as can return

Thy entertainment with as prodigal

A body as the covetous desire

Of woman ever was delighted with;

So that, besides the full performance of

Thy empty husband's duty, thou shalt have

The joy of children to continue the

Succession of thy blood; for the appetite

100

That steals her pleasure, draws the forces of

The body to an united strength and puts

'Em altogether into action,

Never fails of procreation.

All the purposes of man

105

Aim but at one of these two ends, pleasure

Or profit, and in this one sweet conjunction

Of our loves they both will meet. Would it

Not grieve thee, that a stranger to thy blood

Should lay the first foundation of his house

110

Upon the ruins of thy family?

Castabella.

Now Heav’n defend me! May my memory

Be utterly extinguish’d, and the heir

Of him that was my father's enemy

Raise his eternal monument upon

115

Our ruins, ere the greatest pleasure or

The greatest profit ever tempt me to

Continue it by incest.

D'Amville.

Incest, tush.

These distances affinity observes

Are articles of bondage cast upon

120

Our freedoms by our own subjections.

Nature allows a gen’ral liberty

Of generation to all creatures else.

Shall man, to whose command and use all creatures

Were made subject, be less free than they?

Castabella.

125

O God,

Is thy unlimited and infinite

Omnipotence less free because thou dost

No ill? Or if you argue merely out

Of Nature, do you not degenerate

130

From that, and are you not unworthy the

Prerogative of Nature's masterpiece,

When basely you prescribe yourself

Authority and law from their examples

Whom you should command? I could confute

135

You, but the horror of the argument

Confounds my understanding. — Sir, I know

You do but try me in your son's behalf,

Suspecting that my strength and youth of blood

Cannot contain themselves with impotence.

140

Believe me, sir,

I never wrong’d him. If it be your lust,

O quench it on their prostituted flesh,

Whose trade of sin can please desire with more

Delight and less offence. —The poison of

145

Your breath, evaporated from so foul a soul,

Infects the air more than the damps that rise

From bodies but half rotten in their graves.

D'Amville.

Kiss me. I warrant thee my breath is sweet.

These dead men's bones lie here of purpose to

150

Invite us to supply the number of

The living. Come, we'll get young bones and do 't.

I will enjoy thee. No? Nay then invoke

Your great suppos’d protector. I will do't.

Castabella.

Suppos’d protector? Are y' an atheist? Then

155

I know my prayers and tears are spent in vain.

O patient Heav’n, why dost thou not express

Thy wrath in thunderbolts, to tear the frame

Of man in pieces? How can earth endure

The burden of this wickedness without

160

An earthquake, or the angry face of Heav’n

Be not inflam’d with lightning?

D'Amville.

Conjure up

The devil and his dam; cry to the graves;

The dead can hear thee; invocate their help.

Castabella.

O would this grave might open, and my body

165

Were bound to the dead carcass of a man

For ever, ere it entertain the lust

Of this detested villain.

D'Amville.

Tereus-like,

Thus I will force my passage to—

Charlemont.

The devil!

Charlemont rises in the disguise and frights D'Amville away.

Now Lady, with the hand of Charlemont

170

I thus redeem you from the arm of lust.

My Castabella!

Castabella.

My dear Charlemont!

Charlemont.

For all my wrongs I thank thee, gracious Heav’n;

Th’ hast made me satisfaction, to reserve

Me for this blessed purpose. Now, sweet death,

175

I'll bid thee welcome. Come, I'll guard thee home,

And then I'll cast myself into the arms

Of apprehension, that the law may make

This worthy work the crown of all my actions,

Being the best and last.

Castabella.

The last? The law?

180

Now Heav’n forbid, what ha' you done?

Charlemont.

Why, I have kill’d

A man, not murder’d him, my Castabella;

He would ha' murdered me.

Castabella.

Then, Charlemont,

The hand of Heav’n directed thy defence.

That wicked atheist, I suspect his plot.

Charlemont.

185

My life he seeks. I would he had it, since

He has depriv’d me of those blessings that

Should make me love it. Come, I'll give it him.

Castabella.

You sha' not. I will first expose myself

To certain danger than for my defence

190

Destroy the man that sav’d me from destruction.

Charlemont.

Thou canst not satisfy me better than

To be the instrument of my release

From misery.

Castabella.

Then work it by escape.

Leave me to this protection that still guards

195

The innocent, or I will be a partner

In your destiny.

Charlemont.

My soul is heavy. Come, lie down to rest;

These are the pillows whereon men sleep best.

They lie down with either of them a death's head for a pillow.

Enter [Languebeau] Snuffe seeking Soquette.

Languebeau.

Soquette, Soquette, Soquette! O art thou there? He mistakes the body of Borachio for Soquette.

200

Verily thou liest in a fine premeditate readiness for the purpose. Come, kiss me, sweet Soquette. —Now purity defend me from the sin of Sodom! This is a creature of the masculine gender. —Verily the man is blasted. —Yea, cold and stiff! —Murder, murder, murder.

Exit.

Enter D'Amville distractedly; [he] starts at the sight of a death's head.

D'Amville.

205

Why dost thou stare upon me? Thou art not

The skull of him I murder’d. What hast thou

To do to vex my conscience? Sure thou wert

The head of a most dogged usurer,

Th’ art so uncharitable. And that bawd,

210

The sky there, she could shut the windows and

The doors of this great chamber of the world,

And draw the curtains of the clouds between

Those lights and me about this bed of earth,

When that same strumpet, Murder, and myself

215

Committed sin together. Then she could

Leave us i’ the dark till the close deed

Was done, but now that I begin to feel

The loathsome horror of my sin and, like

A lecher empty’d of his lust, desire

220

To bury my face under my eyebrows and

Would steal from my shame unseen, she meets me

I’ the face with all her light corrupted eyes

To challenge payment o’ me. O behold!

Yonder's the ghost of old Montferrers in

225

A long white sheet, climbing yond’ lofty mountain

To complain to Heav’n of me. Montferrers!

'Pox o’ fearfulness. ’Tis nothing but

A fair white cloud. Why, was I born a coward?

He lies that says so. Yet the count’nance of

230

A bloodless worm might ha' the courage now

To turn my blood to water. The trembling motion

Of an aspen leaf, would make me, like

The shadow of that leaf, lie shaking under't.

I could now commit a murder, were

235

It but to drink the fresh warm blood of him

I murder’d, to supply the want and weakness

O'mine own, 'Tis grown so cold and phlegmatic.

Languebeau.

(Within.)

Murder, murder, murder.

D'Amville.

Mountains o’erwhelm me, the ghost of old Montferrers haunts me.

Languebeau.

240

Murder, murder, murder.

D'Amville.

O were my body circumvolv’d

Within that cloud, that when the thunder tears

His passage open, it might scatter me

To nothing in the air!

Enter Languebeau Snuffe with the Watch.

Languebeau.

Here you shall find

245

The murder’d body.

D'Amville.

Black Beelzebub

And all his hell-hounds come to apprehend me?

Languebeau.

No my good lord, we come to apprehend

The murderer.

D'Amville.

The ghost, great Pluto, was

A fool, unfit to be employ’d in any

250

Serious business for the state of hell.

Why could not he ha' suffer’d me to raise

The mountain o’ my sins with one as damnable

As all the rest, and then ha' tumbled me t

To ruin? But apprehend me e'en between

255

The purpose and the act, before it was

Committed!

Watchman.

Is this the murderer? He speaks suspiciously.

Languebeau.

No verily. This is my Lord D'Amville, and his dis- traction, I think, grows out of his grief for the loss of a

260

faithful servant, for surely I take him to be Borachio that is slain.

D'Amville.

Ha! Borachio slain? Thou look'st like Snuffe, dost not?

Languebeau.

Yes, in sincerity, my lord.

D'Amville.

Hark thee? —sawest thou not a ghost?

Languebeau.

265

A ghost? Where, my lord? [Aside] I smell a fox.

D'Amville.

Here i' the churchyard.

Languebeau.

Tush, tush, their walking spirits are mere imaginary fables. There's no such thing in rerum natura. Here is a man slain, and with the spirit of consideration I rather

270

think him to be the murderer got into that disguise than any such fantastic toy.

D'Amville.

My brains begin to put themselves in order. I appre- hend thee now. ’Tis e’en so. —Borachio!— I will search the centre, but I'll find the murderer.

Watchman.

275

Here, here, here.

D'Amville.

Stay. Asleep? So soundly? And so sweetly upon death's heads? And in a place so full of fear and horror? Sure there is some other happiness within the freedom of the conscience than my knowledge e'er attained to. —

280

Ho, ho, ho!

Charlemont.

Y' are welcome, uncle. Had you sooner come,

You had been sooner welcome. I'm the man

You seek. You sha' not need examine me.

D'Amville.

My nephew! And my daughter! O my dear

285

Lamented blood, what fate has cast you thus

Unhappily upon this accident?

Charlemont.

You know, sir, she's as clear as chastity.

D'Amville.

As her own chastity. The time, the place,

All circumstances argue that unclear.

Castabella.

290

Sir, I confess it, and repentantly

Will undergo the selfsame punishment

That justice shall inflict on Charlemont.

D'Amville.

Unjustly she betrays her innocence.

Watchman.

But, sir, she's taken with you, and she must

295

To prison with you.

D'Amville.

There's no remedy,

Yet were it not my son's bed she abus’d,

My land should fly but both should be excus’d.

Exeunt.

[IV.iv]

Enter Belforest and a Servant.

Belforest.

Is not my wife come in yet?

Servant.

No, my lord.

Belforest.

Methinks she's very affectedly inclin’d

To young Sebastian's company o' late,

But jealousy is such a torment that

I am afraid to entertain it. Yet

The more I shun by circumstance to meet

Directly with it, the more ground I find

To circumvent my apprehension. First

I know sh' has a perpetual appetite,

Which being so oft encounter’d with a man

Of such a bold luxurious freedom as

Sebastian is; and of so promising

A body, her own blood, corrupted, will

Betray her to temptation.

Enter Fresco closely.

Fresco.

[Aside] 'Precious! I was sent by his lady to see if her lord were in bed. I should ha' done 't slyly without dis- covery, and now I am blurted upon 'em before I was aware.

Exit.

Belforest.

Know not you the gentlewoman my wife brought home?

Servant.

By sight, my lord. Her man was here but now.

Belforest.

Her man? I prithee run and call him quickly. [Exit servant] This villain, I suspect him ever since I found him hid behind the tapestry. [Enter Fresco with Servant] Fresco! Th’ art welcome, Fresco. Leave us. [Exit Servant]

Dost hear, Fresco? Is not my wife at thy mistress’s?

Fresco.

I know not, my lord.

Belforest.

I prithee tell me, Fresco, we are private, tell me. Is not thy mistress a good wench?

Fresco.

How means your lordship that? A wench o' the trade?

Belforest.

Yes faith, Fresco, e'en a wench o' the trade.

Fresco.

O no, my lord. Those falling diseases cause baldness, and my mistress recovers the loss of hair, for she is a peri- wig maker.

Belforest.

And nothing else?

Fresco.

Sells falls and tires and bodies for ladies, or so.

Belforest.

So, sir, and she helps my lady to falls and bodies now and then, does she not?

Fresco.

At her ladyship's pleasure, my lord.

Belforest.

Her pleasure, you rogue? You are the pander to her pleasure, you varlet, are you not? You know the conveyances between Sebastian and my wife. Tell me the truth, or by

this hand I'll nail thy bosom to the earth. Stir not, you dog, but quickly tell the truth.

Fresco.

O yes!

Speak[s] like a crier.

Belforest.

Is not thy mistress a bawd to my wife?

Fresco.

O yes!

Belforest.

And acquainted with her tricks and her plots and her devices?

Fresco.

O yes! If any man, court, city or country, has found my Lady Levidulcia in bed but my Lord Beforest, it is Sebastian.

Belforest.

What, dost thou proclaim it? Dost thou cry it, thou

villain?

Fresco.

Can you laugh it, my lord? I thought you meant to pro- claim yourself cuckold.

Enter the Watch.

Belforest.

The watch? Met with my wish. I must request th' assis- tance of your offices. Fresco runs away.

'Sdeath, stay that villain; pursue him.

Exeunt.

[IV.v]

Enter [Languebeau] Snuffe importuning Soquette.

Soquette.

Nay, if you get me any more into the churchyard.

Languebeau.

Why, Soquette, I never got thee there yet.

Soquette.

Got me there? No, not with child.

Languebeau.

I promised thee I would not, and I was as good as my word.

Soquette.

Yet your word was better then than your deed. But steal up into the little matted chamber o' the left hand.

Languebeau.

I prithee let it be the right hand; thou left'st me before, and I did not like that.

Soquette.

'Precious, quickly —so soon as my mistress shall be in

bed I'll come to you.

Exit [Languebeau] Snuffe.

Enter Sebastian, Levidulcia and Cataplasma.

Cataplasma.

I wonder Fresco stays so long.

Sebastian.

Mistress

Soquette, a word with you.

Whisper[s].

Levidulcia.

If he brings word

My husband is i' bed; I will adventure

One night's liberty to lie abroad.—

My strange affection to this man! 'Tis like

That natural sympathy which e'en among

The senseless creatures of the earth commands

A mutual inclination and consent.

For though it seems to be the free effect

Of mine own voluntary love, yet I

Can neither restrain it, nor give reason for't.

But now 'tis done, and in your power it lies

To save my honour or dishonour me.

Cataplasma.

Enjoy your pleasure, madam, without fear.

I never will betray the trust you have

Committed to me, and you wrong yourself

To let consideration of the sin

Molest your conscience. Methinks 'tis unjust

That a reproach should be inflicted on

A woman for offending but with one,

When 'tis a light offence in husbands to

Commit with many.

Levidulcia.

So it seems to me.—

Why, how now, Sebastian, making love to that gentle- woman? How many mistresses ha' you i' faith?

Sebastian.

In faith, none, for I think none of 'em are faithful, but otherwise, as many as clean shirts. The love of a woman is like a mushroom; it grows in one night and will serve somewhat pleasingly next morning to breakfast, but afterwards waxes fulsome and unwholesome.

Cataplasma.

Nay, by Saint Winifred, a woman's love lasts as long as winter fruit.

Sebastian.

'Tis true. —till new come in, by my experience no longer.

Enter Fresco running.

Fresco.

Somebody's doing has undone us, and we are like pay dearly for 't.

Sebastian.

Pay dear? For what?

Fresco.

Wil 't not be a chargeable reckoning, think you, when

here are half a dozen fellows coming to call us to account, with ev’ry man a several bill in his hand that we are not able to discharge.

Knock at the door.

Cataplasma.

Passion o’ me, what bouncing's that? Madam, with- draw yourself.

Levidulcia.

Sebastian, if you love me, save my honour.

Exeunt [all except Sebastian].

Enter Belforest and the Watch.

Sebastian.

What violence is this? What seek you? Zounds, you shall not pass.

Belforest.

Pursue the strumpet.

[Exeunt Watch]

Villain, give me way,

Or I will make my passage through thy blood.

Sebastian.

My blood will make it slippery, my lord.

'Twere better you would take another way.

You may hap fall else.

They fight. Both [are] slain. Sebastian falls first.

I ha ’t i’ faith.

Dies.

While Belforest is staggering, enter Levidulcia.

Levidulcia.

O God! My husband! My Sebastian! Husband!

Neither can speak; yet both report my shame.

Is this the saving of my honour, when

Their blood runs out in rivers, and my lust

The fountain whence it flows? Dear husband, let

Not thy departed spirit be displeas’d

If with adult’rate lips I kiss thy cheek.

Here I behold the hatefulness of lust,

Which brings me kneeling to embrace him dead,

Whose body living I did loathe to touch.

Now I can weep. But what can tears do good?

When I weep only water, they weep blood.

But could I make an ocean with my tears,

That on the flood this broken vessel of

My body, laden heavy with light lust,

Might suffer shipwreck, and so drown my shame,

Then weeping were to purpose; but alas,

The Sea wants water enough to wash away

The foulness of my name. O, in their wounds

I feel my honour wounded to the death.

Shall I outlive my honour? Must my life

Be made the world's example? Since it must,

Then thus in detestation of my deed,

To make th' example move more forcibly

To virtue, thus I seal it with a death

As full of horror as my life of sin.

Stabs herself.

Enter the Watch with Cataplasma, Fresco, [Languebeau] Snuffe and Soquette.

Watchman.

Hold, madam! Lord, what a strange night is this!

Languebeau.

May not Snuffe be suffered to go out of himself?

Watchman.

Nor you, nor any. All must go with us.

Oh with what virtue lust should be withstood,

Since 'tis a fire quench’d seldom without blood.

Exeunt.

Act V

[V.i]

Music. A closet discovered. A Servant sleeping with lights and money before him. Enter D’Amville.

D'Amville.

What, sleep'st thou?

Servant.

No, my lord, nor sleep nor wake,

But in a slumber troublesome to both.

D'Amville.

Whence comes this gold?

Servant.

'Tis part of the revenue

Due to your lordship since your brother's death.

D'Amville.

To bed. Leave me my gold.

Servant.

And me my rest.

Two things wherewith one man is seldom blest.

Exit.

D'Amville.

Cease that harsh music. W’ are not pleas’d with it.

He handles the gold.

Here sounds a music whose melodious touch

Like angels’ voices ravishes the sense.

Behold, thou ignorant astronomer,

Whose wand'ring speculation seeks among

The planets for men's fortunes! With amazement,

Behold thine error and be planet-struck.

These are the stars whose operations make

The fortunes and the destinies of men.

Yond’ lesser eyes of Heav’n, like subjects reis’d

Into their lofty houses when their prince

Rides underneath th' ambition of their loves,

Are mounted only to behold the face,

Of your more rich imperious eminence,

With unprevented sight. Unmask, fair queen;

Unpurses the gold.

Vouchsafe their expectations may enjoy

The gracious favour they admire to see.

These are the stars, the ministers of fate,

And man's high wisdom the superior power

To which their forces are subordinate.

Sleeps.

Enter the Ghost of Montferrers.

Montferrers.

D’Amville, with all thy wisdom th’ art a fool,

Not like those fools that we term innocents,

But a most wretched miserable fool,

Which instantly, to the confusion of

Thy projects, with despair thou shalt behold.

Exit.

D’Amville starts up.

D'Amville.

What foolish dream dares interrupt my rest

To my confusion? How can that be, since

My purposes have hitherto been borne

With prosp’rous judgement to secure success—

Which nothing lives to dispossess me of

But apprehended Charlemont, and him,

This brain has made the happy instrument

To free suspicion, to annihilate

All interest and title of his own,

To seal up my assurance and confirm

My absolute possession by the law.

Thus while the simple, honest worshipper

Of a fantastic providence groans under

The burden of neglected misery,

My real wisdom has rais’d up a state,

That shall eternize my posterity.

Enter Servants with the body of Sebastian.

What's that?

Servant.

The body of your younger son,

Slain by the Lord Belforest.

D'Amville.

Slain? You lie.

Sebastian! Speak, Sebastian! H’ has lost

His hearing. A physician presently!

Go, call a surgeon.

Rousard.

Within.

D'Amville.

What groan was that?

How does my elder son? The sound came from

His chamber.

Servant.

He went sick to bed, my lord.

Rousard.

(Within.)

D'Amville.

The cries of mandrakes never touch’d the ear

With more sad horror then that voice does mine.

Enter a Servant running.

Servant.

If ever you will see your son alive—

D'Amville.

Nature forbid I e'er should see him dead.

A Bed drawn forth with Rousard.

Withdraw the curtains. O how does my son?

Servant.

Methinks he's ready to give up the ghost.

D'Amville.

Destruction take thee and thy fatal tongue.

Death! Where's the Doctor? Art not thou the face

Of that prodigious apparition star’d upon

Me in my dream?

Servant.

The doctor's come, my lord.

Enter Doctor.

D'Amville.

Doctor, behold two patients in whose cure

Thy skill may purchase an eternal fame.

If thou hast any reading in Hippocrates,

Galen or Avice, if herbs or drugs

Or minerals have any power to save,

Now let thy practice and their sovereign use

Raise thee to wealth and honour.

Doctor.

If any root

Of life remains within 'em capable

Of physic, fear 'em not, my lord.

Rousard.

D'Amville.

His gasping sighs are like the falling noise

Of some great building when the groundwork breaks.

On these two pillars stood the stately frame

And architecture of my lofty house.

An earthquake shakes 'em; the foundation shrinks.

Dear Nature, in whose honour I have rais’d

A work of glory to posterity,

O bury not the pride of that great action

Under the fall and ruin of itself.

Doctor.

My lord, these bodies are depriv’d of all

The radical ability of nature.

The heat of life is utterly extinguish’d.

Nothing remains within the power of man

That can restore them.

D'Amville.

Take this gold; extract

The spirit of it, and inspire new life

Into their bodies.

Doctor.

Nothing can, my lord.

D'Amville.

You ha' not yet examin’d the true state

And constitution of their bodies. Sure,

You ha' not. I'll reserve their waters till

The morning. Questionless, their urines

Will inform you better.

Doctor.

Ha, ha, ha.

D'Amville.

Dost laugh,

Thou villain? Must my wisdom that has been

The object of men's admiration now

Become the subject of thy laughter?

Rousard.

Dies.

All.

He's dead.

D'Amville.

O there expires the date

100

Of my posterity. Can Nature be

so simple or malicious to destroy

The reputation of her proper memory?

She cannot. Sure there is some power above

Her that controls her force.

Doctor.

A power above Nature?

105

Doubt you that, my lord? Consider but

Whence man receives his body and his form:

Not from corruption like some worms and flies,

But only from the generation of

A man, for Nature never did bring forth

110

A man without a man; nor could the first

Man, being but the passive subject, not

The active mover, be the maker of

Himself; so of necessity there must

Be a superior power to Nature.

D'Amville.

115

Now to myself I am ridiculous.

Nature, thou art a traitor to my soul.

Thou hast abus’d my trust. I will complain

To a superior court to right my wrong.

I'll prove thee a forger of false assurances.

120

In yond’ Star chamber thou shalt answer it.

Withdraw the bodies. O the sense of death

Begins to trouble my distracted soul.

Exeunt.

[V.ii]

Enter Judges and Officers.

1 Judge.

Bring forth the malefactors to the bar.

Enter Cataplasma, Soquette and Fresco.

Are you the gentlewoman in whose house

The murders were committed?

Cataplasma.

Yes, my lord.

1 Judge.

That worthy attribute of gentry which

Your habit draws from ignorant respect

Your name deserves not, nor yourself the name

Of woman, since you are the poison that

Infects the honour of all womanhood.

Cataplasma.

My lord, I am a gentlewoman, yet

I must confess my poverty compels

My life to a condition lower than

My birth or breeding.

2 Judge.

Tush, we know your birth.

1 Judge.

But under colour to profess the sale

Of tires and toys for gentlewomen's pride,

You draw a frequentation of men's wives

To your licentious house, and there abuse

Their Husbands.

Fresco.

Good my lord, her rent is great.

The good gentlewoman has no other thing

To live by but her lodgings; so she's forc’d

To let her fore-rooms out to others, and

Herself contented to lie backwards.

2 Judge.

So.

1 Judge.

Here is no evidence accuses you

For accessaries to the murder; yet

Since from the spring of lust which you preserv’d

And nourish’d ran th' effusion of that blood,

Your punishment shall come as near to death

As life can bear it. Law cannot inflict

Too much severity upon the cause

Of such abhorr’d effects.

2 Judge.

Receive your sentence.

Your goods, since they were gotten by that means,

Which brings diseases, shall be turn’d to th' use

Of hospitals; you carted through the streets

According to the common shame of strumpets,

Your bodies whipp’d till with the loss of blood

You faint under the hand of punishment.

Then, that the necessary force of want

May not provoke you to your former life,

You shall be set to painful labour, whose

Penurious gains shall only give you food

To hold up nature, mortify your flesh,

And make you fit for a repentant end.

All.

O good my lord!

1 Judge.

No more; away with 'em.

Exeunt [Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco]

Enter Languebeau Snuffe

2 Judge.

Now, Monsieur Snuffe, a man of your profession

Found in a place of such impiety!

Languebeau.

I grant you the place is full of impurity. So much the more need of instruction and reformation. The purpose that carried me thither was with the spirit of conversion to purify their uncleanness, and I hope your lordship will say, the law cannot take hold o’ me for that.

1 Judge.

No, Sir, it cannot; but yet give me leave

To tell you that I hold your wary answer

Rather premeditated for excuse

Than spoken out of a religious purpose.

Where took you your degrees of scholarship?

Languebeau.

I am no scholar, my lord. To speak the sincere truth, I am Snuffe the tallow-chandler.

2 Judge

How comes your habit to be alter’d thus?

Languebeau.

My Lord Belforest, taking a delight in the cleanness of my conversation, withdrew me from that unclean life and

put me in a garment fit for his society and my present profession.

1 Judge.

His lordship did but paint a rotten post,

Or cover foulness fairly. Monsieur Snuffe,

Back to your candle-making. You may give

The world more light with that than either with

Instruction or th' example of your life.

Languebeau.

Thus the Snuffe is put out.

Exit.

Enter D’Amville distractedly, with the hearses of his two sons borne after him.

D'Amville.

Judgement, judgement!

2 Judge.

Judgement, my lord, in what?

D'Amville.

Your judgements must resolve me in a case.

Bring in the bodies. Nay, I will ha 't tried.

This is the case, my lord: my providence,

Ev’n in a moment, by the only hurt

Of one, or two, or three at most —and those

Put quickly out o’ pain too, mark me; I

Had wisely rais’d a competent estate

To my posterity; and is there not

More wisdom and more charity in that,

Than for your lordship, or your father, or

Your grandsire to prolong the torment and

The rack of rent from age to age upon

Your poor penurious tenants, yet perhaps

Without a penny profit to your heir?

Is 't not more wise, more charitable? Speak.

1 Judge.

He is distracted.

D'Amville.

How? distracted? Then

You ha' no judgement. I can give you sense

And solid reason for the very least

Distinguishable syllable I speak.

Since my thrift was more charitable, more

Judicious than your grandsire’s, why, I would

Fain know why your lordship lives to make

A second generation from your father,

And the whole fry of my posterity

Extinguish’d in a moment, not a brat

Left to succeed me —I would fain know that.

2 Judge.

Grief for his children's death distempers him.

1 Judge.

My lord, we will resolve you of your question.

In the meantime vouchsafe your place with us.

D'Amville.

I am contented, so you will resolve me.

Ascends.

Enter Charlemont and Castabella.

2 Judge.

Now, Monsieur Charlemont, you are accus’d

100

Of having murder’d one Borachio that

Was servant to my Lord D’Amville. How can

You clear yourself? Guilty or not guilty?

Charlemont.

Guilty of killing him, but not of murder.

My lords, I have no purpose to desire

105

Remission for myself.

D’Amville descends to Charlemont.

D'Amville.

Uncivil boy,

Thou want'st humanity to smile at grief.

Why dost thou cast a cheerful eye upon

The object of my sorrow, my dead sons?

1 Judge.

O good my lord, let charity forbear

110

To vex the spirit of a dying man.

A cheerful eye upon the face of death

Is the true count’nance of a noble mind.

For honour's sake, my lord, molest it not.

D'Amville.

Y’ are all uncivil. O, is 't not enough

115

That he unjustly hath conspir’d with Fate

To cut off my posterity, for him

To be the heir to my possessions, but

He must pursue me with his presence, and

In the ostentation of his joy

120

Laugh in my face and glory in my grief?

Charlemont.

D’Amville! To show thee with what light respect

I value death and thy insulting pride,

Thus, like a warlike navy on the sea,

Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land,

125

Pass’d through the stormy troubles of this life

And now arriv’d upon the armed coast,

In expectation of the victory

Whose honour lies beyond this exigent,

Through mortal danger, with an active spirit,

130

Thus I aspire to undergo my death.

Leaps up the scaffold. Castabella leaps after him.

Castabella.

And thus I second thy brave enterprise.

Be cheerful, Charlemont. Our lives cut off

In our young prime of years are like green herbs

Wherewith we strew the hearses of our friends,

135

For as their virtue gather’d when th' are green,

Before they wither or corrupt, is best,

So we in virtue are the best for death

While yet we have not liv’d to such an age

That the increasing canker of our sins

140

Hath spread too far upon us.

D'Amville.

A boon, my lords;

I beg a boon.

1 Judge.

What's that, my lord?

D'Amville.

His body when 'tis dead

For an anatomy.

2 Judge.

For what, my lord?

D'Amville.

Your understanding still come short o' mine.

145

I would find out by his anatomy

What thing there is in Nature more exact

Then in the constitution of myself.

Methinks my parts and my dimensions are

As many, as large, as well compos’d as his,

150

And yet in me the resolution wants

To die with that assurance as he does.

The cause of that in his anatomy

I would find out.

1 Judge.

Be patient and you shall.

D'Amville.

I have bethought me of a better way.

155

Nephew, we must confer. Sir, I am grown

A wond’rous student now o' late. My wit

Has reach’d beyond the scope of Nature; yet

For all my learning I am still to seek

From whence the peace of conscience should proceed.

Charlemont.

160

The peace of conscience rises in itself.

D'Amville.

Whether it be thy art or nature, I

Admire thee, Charlemont. Why, thou hast taught

A woman to be valiant. I will beg

Thy life. My lords, I beg my nephew's life.

165

I'll make thee my physician. Thou shalt read

Philosophy to me. I will find out

Th' efficient cause of a contented mind.

But if I cannot profit in 't, then 'tis

No more, being my physician, but infuse

170

A little poison in a potion when

Thou giv'st me physic, unawares to me.

So I shall steal into my grave without

The understanding or the fear of death,

And that's the end I aim at, for the thought

175

Of death is a most fearful torment; is 't not?

2 Judge.

Your lordship interrupts the course of law.

1 Judge.

Prepare to die.

Charlemont.

My resolution's made.

But ere I die, before this honour’d bench,

With the free voice of a departing soul,

180

I here protest this gentlewoman clear

Of all offence the law condemns her for.

Castabella.

I have accus’d myself. The law wants power

To clear me. My dear Charlemont, with thee

I will partake of all thy punishments.

Charlemont.

185

Uncle, for all the wealthy benefits

My death advances you, grant me but this:

Your mediation for the guiltless life

Of Castabella, whom your conscience knows

As justly clear as harmless innocence.

D'Amville.

190

Freely. My mediation for her life,

And all my int’rest in the world to boot,

Let her but in exchange possess me of

The resolution that she dies withal.

The price of things is best known in their want.

195

Had I her courage, so I value it,

The Indies should not buy 't out o' my hands.

Charlemont.

Give me a glass of water.

D'Amville.

Me, of wine.

This argument of death congeals my blood.

Cold fear, with apprehension of thy end,

200

Hath frozen up the rivers of my veins.

[A Servant gives him] a glass of wine.

I must drink wine to warm me and dissolve

The obstruction, or an apoplexy will

Possess me. Why, thou uncharitable knave,

Dost bring me blood to drink? The very glass

205

Looks pale and trembles at it.

Servant.

'Tis your hand, my lord.

D'Amville.

Canst blame me to be fearful, bearing still

The presence of a murderer about me?

Charlemont.

Is this water?

Servant.

Water, sir.

[Gives him] a glass of water.

Charlemont.

210

Come, thou clear emblem of cool temperance,

Be thou my witness that I use no art

To force my courage, nor have need of helps

To raise my spirits, like those weaker men

Who mix their blood with wine, and out of that

215

Adulterate conjunction do beget

A bastard valour. Native courage, thanks.

Thou lead’st me soberly to undertake

This great hard work of magnanimity.

D'Amville.

Brave Charlemont, at the reflection of

220

Thy courage my cold fearful blood takes fire,

And I begin to emulate thy death.

[Executioner comes forward]

Is that thy executioner? My lords,

You wrong the honour of so high a blood

To let him suffer by so base a hand.

Judges.

225

He suffers by the form of law, my lord.

D'Amville.

I will reform it. Down, you shag-hair’d cur.

The instrument that strikes my nephew's blood

shall be as noble as his blood. I'll be

Thy executioner myself.

1 Judge.

230

Restrain his fury. Good my lord, forbear.

D'Amville.

I'll butcher out the passage of his soul

That dares attempt to interrupt the blow.

2 Judge.

My lord, the office will impress a mark

Of scandal and dishonour on your name.

Charlemont.

235

The office fits him; hinder not his hand,

But let him crown my resolution with

An unexampled dignity of death.

Strike home. Thus I submit me.

[Makes] ready for execution.

Castabella.

So do I.

In scorn of death thus hand in hand we die.

D'Amville.

240

I ha' the trick on 't, nephew. You shall see

How eas’ly I can put you out of pain. —O.

As he raises up the axe [he] strikes out his own brains, [and then] staggers off the Scaffold.

Executioner.

In lifting up the axe, I think h’ has knock’d

His brains out.

D'Amville.

What murderer was he

That lifted up my hand against my head?

1 Judge.

245

None but yourself, my lord.

D'Amville.

I thought he was

A murderer that did it.

1 Judge.

God forbid.

D'Amville.

Forbid? You lie, judge; he commanded it

To tell thee that man's wisdom is a fool.

I came to thee for judgement, and thou think'st

250

Thyself a wise man. I outreach’d thy wit

And made thy justice murder’s instrument

In Castabella's death and Charlemont's.

To crown my murder of Montferrers with

A safe possession of his wealthy state.

Charlemont.

255

I claim the just advantage of his words.

2 Judge.

Descend the scaffold and attend the rest.

D'Amville.

There was the strength of natural understanding.

But Nature is a fool. There is a power

Above her that hath overthrown the pride

260

Of all my projects and posterity,

For whose surviving blood I had erected

A proud monument and struck 'em dead

Before me, for whose deaths I call’d to thee

For judgement. Thou didst want discretion for

265

The sentence, but yond’ power that struck me knew

The judgement I deserv’d, and gave it. O,

The lust of death commits a rape upon me,

As I would ha' done on Castabella.

Dies.

1 Judge.

Strange is his death and judgement. With the hands

270

Of joy and justice I thus set you free.

The power of that eternal providence

Which overthrew his projects in their pride

Hath made your griefs the instruments to raise

Your blessings to a greater height than ever.

Charlemont.

275

Only to Heav’n I attribute the work,

Whose gracious motives made me still forbear

To be mine own revenger. Now I see,

That patience is the honest man's revenge.

1 judge.

Instead of Charlemont that but e'en now

280

Stood ready to be dispossess’d of all,

I now salute you with more titles, both

Of wealth and dignity, than you were born to.

And you, sweet madam, Lady of Belforest

You have that title by your father's death.

Castabella.

285

With all the titles due to me increase

The wealth and honour of my Charlemont,

Lord of Montferrers, Lord D’Amville, Belforest,

And for a close to make up all the rest,

Embrace[s Charlemont]

The lord of Castabella. Now at last

290

Enjoy the full possession of my love,

As clear and pure as my first chastity.

Charlemont.

The crown of all my blessings! I will tempt

My stars no longer, nor protract my time

Of marriage. When those nuptial rites are done,

295

I will perform my kinsmen's funerals.

1 Judge.

The drums and trumpets interchange the sounds

Of death and triumph for these honour’d lives

Succeeding their deserved tragedies.

Charlemont.

Thus by the work of Heav’n the men that thought

300

To follow our dead bodies without tears,

Are dead themselves, and now we follow theirs.

Exeunt

FINIS

Cyril Tourneur

The Tragedy of the Atheist

Act I

[I.i]

[I.ii]

[I.iii]

[I.iv]

Act II

[II.i]

[II.ii]

[II.iii]

[II.iv]

[IV.v]

[II.vi]

Act III

[III.i]

[III.ii]

[III.iii]

[III.iv]

Act IV

[IV.i]

[IV.ii]

[IV.iii]

[IV.iv]

[IV.v]

Act V

[V.i]

[V.ii]