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Title: The Works of John Marston - Volume 1
Author: Marston, John
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Works of John Marston - Volume 1" ***
The English Dramatists
JOHN MARSTON
VOLUME THE FIRST
THE WORKS
OF
JOHN MARSTON
EDITED BY
A. H. BULLEN, B.A.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOLUME THE FIRST
[Illustration: Printer's logo]
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
MDCCCLXXXVII
_Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have
been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market, and 80 for America.
Each copy numbered as issued._
_No. 30_
TO
AN OLD FRIEND AND FELLOW-STUDENT,
_CHARLES H. FIRTH,_
These Volumes
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY THE EDITOR.
PREFACE.
Marston's Works were edited in 1856 by Mr. Halliwell (3 vols. 8vo.)
for Mr. Russell Smith's _Library of Old Authors_. I yield to none
in my admiration for the best and the most accurate of living
Shakespearean scholars; but I am sure that Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,
who in his _Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare_ has set so
singularly high a standard of excellence, would be the first to
acknowledge that his edition of Marston's Works needs revision.
In the present volumes I have done my best to regulate the text, which
is frequently very corrupt; but I am painfully conscious that I have
left plenty of work for future editors.
A valuable edition of Marston's poems was published in 1879, for
private circulation, by Dr. Grosart. I have availed myself freely of
the results of Dr. Grosart's biographical researches; and I am
indebted to his edition for the text of the _Entertainment_ in vol.
iii.
Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, whose recently published edition of Reginald
Scot's _Discovery of Witchcraft_ met with the enthusiastic
welcome that it deserved, has helped me liberally with advice and
suggestions; and I have to thank Mr. P. A. Daniel, whose scholarship
is as sound as it is acute, for his kindness in reading my
Introduction.
In deference to friendly criticism, I have prefixed to each play a
brief summary of the plot.
_18th March 1887._
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
PREFACE vii
INTRODUCTION xi
FIRST PART OF ANTONIO AND MELLIDA 1
ANTONIO'S REVENGE: THE SECOND PART OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA 95
THE MALCONTENT 193
INTRODUCTION.
When other poets were repeating Horace's boast, "Exegi monumentum,"
&c., John Marston dedicated the first fruits of his genius "To
everlasting Oblivion." In much of Marston's satire there is an air of
evident insincerity, but the dedicatory address at the close of _The
Scourge of Villainy_ is of startling earnestness:--
"Let others pray
For ever their fair poems flourish may;
But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
Devour me quick, accept my orison,
My earnest prayers, which do importune thee,
With gloomy shade of thy still empery
To veil both me and my rude poesy."
Those lines were printed in 1598. Six and thirty years afterwards the
poet was laid in his grave, and on the grave-stone was inscribed
"Oblivioni sacrum." But prayers cannot purchase oblivion; and the
rugged Timon of the Elizabethan drama, who sought to shroud himself
"in the uncomfortable night of nothing," will be forced from time to
time to emerge from the shades and pass before the eyes of curious
scholars.
It was established by the genealogical researches of that acute and
indefatigable antiquary, Joseph Hunter,[1] that John Marston belonged
to the old Shropshire family of Marstons. The dramatist's father, John
Marston, third son of Ralph Marston of Gayton (or Heyton), co. Salop,
was admitted a member of the Middle Temple in 1570; married Maria,
daughter of Andrew Guarsi[2] (or Guersie), an Italian surgeon who had
settled in London, and had married Elizabeth Gray, daughter of a
London merchant; migrated to Coventry; was lecturer of the Middle
Temple in 1592.
The year of the poet's birth is unknown, but it may be fixed circ.
1575, and we shall probably not be wrong in assuming that the
birthplace was Coventry. For his early education Marston was doubtless
indebted to the Coventry free-school. On 4th February 1591-2, "John
Marston, aged 16, a gentleman's son, of co. Warwick," was matriculated
at Brazennose College, Oxford (Grosart's _Introduction_, p. x.).
There is not the slightest doubt that this John Marston, who was
admitted Bachelor of Arts on 6th February 1593-4 as the "eldest son of
an Esquire" (Wood's _Fasti_, ed. Bliss, i. 602), was the poet;
and Wood went wrong in identifying our John Marston with another John
Marston, or Marson, who belonged to Corpus. In the will of the elder
Marston, proved in 1599, there is a curious passage which shows that
the poet, contrary to his father's wishes, abandoned the profession
of the law. An abstract of the will (communicated by Col. Chester) has
been printed by Dr. Grosart, and is here reprinted:--
"John Marston of City of Coventry Gent dated 24 Oct. 1599 to Mary
my wife, my mansion &c. in Crosse Cheepinge in Coventry and other
premises for life rem^r to John my son and heirs of body rem^r to
heirs of body of Raphe Marston Gent my father dec^d rem^r to
right heirs of my s^d son[;] to s^d wife my interest in certain
lands &c. after death of John Butler[3] my father in law and
Margaret his now wife in par. Cropedy co. Oxon and others in
Wardington co. Oxon rem^r to John my son to s^d wife 1/2 of plate
and household stuff &c. to s^d son John my furniture &c. in my
chambers in the Middle Temple my law books &c. to my s^d son
_whom I hoped would have profited by them in the study of the
law but man proposeth and God disposeth_ &c. to kinsman and
servant Tho^s Marston 20 nobles to my poorest brother Rich^d
Marston 20 nobles for him and his children all residue to Mary my
wife &c. (G. Gascoigne a witness) Proved 29 Nov. 1599." In the
Prerogative Court of Canterbury (82 Kidd.).
Wood vaguely says that the poet (the John Marston of Brazennose
College) "after completing that degree [the degree of B.A.] by
determination, went his way and improved his learning in other
faculties." It is clear from his father's will that he found legal
studies distasteful, and we may conjecture that he quickly turned from
the professional career on which he had entered and devoted his
attention to literature and the stage. Few biographical facts
concerning Marston have come down. He married (but at what precise
date we cannot determine) Mary, daughter of the Rev. William Wilkes,
Chaplain to James I., and Rector of St. Martin's, co. Wilts. Ben
Jonson told Drummond of Hawthornden that "Marston wrote his
father-in-law's preachings, and his father-in-law his comedies;" a
witty remark, contrasting the asperity of Marston's comedies with the
blandness of his father-in-law's sermons. Marston's plays--with the
exception of _The Insatiate Countess_--were published between 1602 and
1607. He seems to have definitely abandoned play-writing about the
year 1607; but the date at which he entered the Church is not clearly
ascertained. On 10th October 1616 he was presented to the living of
Christ Church in Hampshire;[4] he compounded for the firstfruits of
Christ Church on 12th February 1616-7; and he formally resigned the
living (probably from ill-health) on 13th September 1631. William
Sheares the publisher issued in 1633 a collective edition of Marston's
plays, and in the dedicatory address to Lady Elizabeth Carey,
Viscountess Falkland, speaks of the author as "in his autumn and
declining age" and "far distant from this place." On 25th June 1634
Marston died in Aldermanbury parish, London. His will, dated 17th June
1634, was drawn up when he was so ill as to be compelled to make a
mark instead of affixing his signature. The will[5] runs thus:--
"In the name of God Amen I John Marston of London Clarke being
sicke in bodie but of perfect and sound mind and memorie doe make
my last Will and Testament in manner and forme following
Imprimise I give and bequeath my soule into the hands of
Allmightie God my Maker and Redeemer and my bodie to be buried in
Christian buriall in some convenient place where my executor
hereafter named shall appointe Item I give and bequeath to James
Coghill and James Boynton both of Christchurch in the County of
South^{tn} the somme of fortie shillinges apeece to be paide
within six mounthes after my decease Item I give and bequeath to
Marie Fabian the wife of W^m Fabian of Christchurch aforesaide
towards the educac'on of hir five sonnes the somme of twentie
eight pound of currant money of England to be paide to hir within
sixe monthes after my decease Item I give to the parrish Church
of Christchurch aforesaide the somme of five poundes to be paide
within sixe monthes next after my decease Item I give and
bequeath to my couzin Hunt of Ashford in the countie of Saloppe
the somme of twentie poundes to be paide within sixe moneths
after my decease Item I give and bequeath to my cozen Griffins
daughter of Kingston in the Countie of Surrey the somme of five
poundes to be paide unto hir within sixe monthes after my decease
Item I give to Marie Collice the daughter of my cozen Anne
Collis of Chancerie Lane the somme of five poundes to be paide
unto hir sixe monthes after my decease Item I give and bequeath
to my cozen Richard Marston of Newe Inne in the Countie of Midd'
my silver bason and ewre but my will is that my wife shall have
the use of it untill it shalbe demaunded of hir by the said
Richard or his attorney in that behalfe lawfullye deputed Item I
give and bequeath unto George Wallie and James Walley sonnes of
M^r Henry Wallie the somme of five poundes apeece to be paide to
the saide Henrie for theier vse within sixe monthes after my
decease Item all the rest of my goodes and cattles moveable and
vnmoveable my debts and legacies and funeral expences being
charged I give and bequeathe to my wel beloved wiefe Marie whome
I ordaine my soule Executrixe of this my last Will and Testament
And I doe hereby renounce and make voide all former Wills by me
heretofore made In Witnes whereof I have herevnto putt my hand
and seale the seaventeenth daie of June in the tenth yeere of the
rainge [_sic_] of oure Soveraigne Lord Charles 1634."
Wood tells us that he was buried beside his father "in the church
belonging to the Temple in the suburb of London, under the stone which
hath written on it _Oblivioni Sacrum_." Dr. Grosart prints the
following entry from the Temple Church burial-register:
"1634, June 26. Mr. John Marston, Minister, sometimes of the Middle
Temple, who died in Aldermanbury parish: buried below the Communion
Table on the Middle Temple side."
The will was proved on 9th July 1634 in the Prerogative Court of
Canterbury by his widow, who was buried by his side on 4th July 1657.
She had desired in her will,[6] dated 12th June 1657, that she should
be buried "by the body of my dear husband dec^d;" and she bequeathed
her "dear husband's picture" to Master Henry Wally of Stationers'
Hall. Neither in Marston's will nor in his widow's is there mention of
children.
Marston's earliest publication was _The Metamorphosis of Pygmalion's
Image_:[7] _And Certain Satires_, which was entered in the
Stationers' Registers on 27th May 1598, and issued in the same year.
Another series of satires, _The Scourge of Villainy_, was
published later in 1598; it had been entered in the Stationers'
Registers on 8th September. A second edition of the _Scourge_,
containing an additional satire (the tenth), appeared in 1599.
_Pygmalion_ is written in the same metre as _Venus and Adonis_ (from
which poem Marston drew his inspiration)--a metre which Lodge had
handled with considerable success. A poet who would approach the
subject of Pygmalion and his image ought to be gifted with tact and
delicacy. In our own day Mr. Morris (in _The Earthly Paradise_) has
told the old Greek story in choice and fluent narrative verse; no poet
could have treated it more gracefully. Tact and delicacy were
precisely the qualities in which Marston was deficient; but the
versification is tolerably smooth, and the licentiousness does not
call for any special reprehension. In the _Scourge of Villainy_ (sat.
vi.) Marston pretends that _Pygmalion_ was written to bring contempt
on the class of poems to which it belongs:--
"Hence, thou misjudging censor! know I wrote
Those idle rhymes to note the odious spot
And blemish that deforms the lineaments
Of modern poesy's habiliments."
But it would require keener observation than most readers possess to
discover in _Pygmalion_ any trace of that moral motive by which
the poet claimed to have been inspired. Archbishop Whitgift did not
approve of its moral tone, for in 1599 he ordered it to be committed
to the flames with Sir John Davies' _Epigrams_, Cutwode's
_Caltha Poetarum_, and other works of a questionable character.
In Cranley's _Amanda_, 1635, it is mentioned, in company with
_Hero and Leander_ and _Venus and Adonis_, as part of a
courtezan's library.
There is not much pleasure or profit to be derived from a perusal of
Marston's satires. The author deliberately adopted an uncouth and
monstrous style of phraseology; his allusions are frequently quite
unintelligible to modern readers, and even the wits of his
contemporaries must have been sorely exercised. After a course of
Marston's satires Persius is clear as crystal. In the second satire
there are some lines which aptly express the reader's bewilderment:
"O darkness palpable; Egypt's black night!
My wit is stricken blind, hath lost his sight:
My shins are broke with searching for some sense
To know to what his words have reference."
Our sense is deafened by the tumult of noisy verbiage "as when a
madman beats upon a drum." In Marston's satires there is little of the
raciness and buoyancy that we find in the elder satirists--Skelton,
Roy, and William Baldwin--who dealt good swashing blows in homely
vigorous English. Persius would not have been flattered by Marston's
or Hall's attempts at imitation: "nec pluteum cædit nec demorsos sapit
ungues" would have been his comment on the spurious pseudo-classical
Elizabethan satire. Hall claimed to have been the first to introduce
classical satire into England. In the prologue to the first book of
_Virgidemiæ_, 1597, he writes:--
"I first adventure with foolhardy might
To tread the steps of perilous despight:
I first adventure: follow me who list,
And be the second English satirist."
It matters little whether Hall's claim was well-founded or not; but it
has been often pointed out that there is extant a MS. copy of Donne's
satires dated 1593. Hall, who lived to be one of the glories of the
English Church, in early manhood certainly did not present an example
of Christian meekness and charity. He took a very low view of
contemporary writers, but never had the slightest misgivings about his
own abilities. It is not easy to ascertain how his quarrel with
Marston arose, but it seems clear that he was the aggressor.
_Pygmalion_ was published a year later than _Virgidemiæ_,
but it had probably been circulated in manuscript, according to the
custom of the time, before it issued from the press. There can be
little doubt that the ninth satire of book i. of _Virgidemiæ_, is
directed against Marston. The opening lines run thus:--
"Envy, ye Muses, at your thrilling mate,
Cupid hath crowned a new laureat;
I saw his statue gaily tired in green,
As if he had some second Phoebus been;
His statue trimm'd with the Venerean tree
And shrined fair within your sanctuary.
What! he that erst to gain the rhyming goal,
The worn recital-post of capitol,
Rhymed in rules of stewish ribaldry
Teaching experimental bawdery,
Whiles th' itching vulgar, tickled with the song,
Hanged on their unready poet's tongue?
Take this, ye patient Muses, and foul shame
Shall wait upon your once profaned name."
When _Pygmalion_ was published Hall wrote a poor epigram (see
vol. iii. p. 369), which he contrived to paste in those copies of the
poem "that came to the stationers at Cambridge."[8] One of the
satires, entitled "Reactio,"[9] appended to _Pygmalion_, is a violent
attack on Hall. In his "Defiance to Envy," prefixed to _Virgidemiæ_,
Hall had boasted that he could, an' that he would, hold his own with
any of the poets,--even hinting that he was a match for Spenser. The
"Defiance" is a well-written piece of verse, but it gave Marston an
excellent opportunity, which he used to the full in "Reactio," of
making a very effective attack. In the first satire of book vi. of
_Virgidemiæ_ Hall replies to Marston's raillery with less vigour than
we should have expected. Again and again in _The Scourge of Villainy_
Marston attacks Hall; he would not let the quarrel drop, but worried
his adversary with the pertinacity of a bull-dog. In 1601 a certain
"W. I.," who has been doubtfully identified (by Dr. Nicholson) with a
Cambridge man, William Ingram, published _The Whipping of the Satire_,
which was chiefly directed against Marston (with gibes at Ben Jonson
and others). There is a lengthy and spirited preface, in which Marston
is taken to task after this fashion:--
"Think you that foul words can beget fair manners? If you do I
will not bate you an ace of an ass, for experience gives you the
lie to your face. But your affection over-rules your reason, and
therefore you are as sudden of passion in all matters as an
interjection and yet as defective in most cases as an
heteroclite: you gathered up men's sins as though they had been
strawberries, and picked away their virtues as they had been but
the stalks. They shall not make me believe but that you were the
devil's intelligencer, for there went not a lie abroad but it was
presently entertained of your ear; and every sin kept
under writing for fear lest the devil waxing almost six thousand
years of age should fail in his memory and so chance to forget
it."
The following stanzas have a sting in them:--
"Can you seem wise to any simple men
That seem'd so simple unto all the wise
And fitter far to hold the plough than pen,
Such incompt stuff you rudely poetise?
Yet I confess there's much conceipt in it,
For you have shown great store of little wit.
Take me your staff and walk some half-score miles,
And I'll be hang'd if in that quantity
You find me out but half so many stiles
As you have made within your poesy:
Nay for your style there's none can you excel,
You may be called John-a-Stile full well.
· · · · · · ·
But he that mounts into the air of Fame
Must have two wings, Nature and Art, to fly;
And that he may soar safely with the same
Must take his rise low from humility;
And not with you a goose's quill to take,
Thinking with that an eagle's flight to make.
Your stately Muse, starched with stiff-neck'd pride,
Dain'd it amongst us, most imperiously;
With lavish laughter she did each deride
That came within the prospect of her eye:
Despising all, all her again despise,
Contemn'd of foolish and condemn'd of wise."
At this easy rate "W. I." ambles on; and the quiet leisurely stanzas
are a relief after the fury of the _Scourge_. Modern readers will feel
that Marston was not driven by "sæva indignatio" to write satire, and
they will not be inclined to accept the young author of _Pygmalion_ as
a sedate moralist. "W. I." puts the matter clearly:
"He scourgeth villainies in young and old
As boys scourge tops for sport on Lenten day."
The publication of _The Whipping of the Satire_ could hardly have
been agreeable to Marston, but it is highly improbable that he is to
be held responsible for the poor answer to _The Whipping_,
published anonymously in the same year, under the title of _The
Whipper of the Satire, his Penance in a White Sheet; or the Beadle's
Confutation_.[10] If I have read _The Whipper_ aright, it is
the work of one of Marston's personal friends, or of some admirer who
had more zeal than wit. There are some general remarks, of slight
account, on the use of satire; and Marston is exhorted to persist in
his task of scourging the vices of the age. It will be enough to quote
two stanzas:--
"Meantime, good satire, to thy wonted train,
As yet there are no lets to hinder thee:
_Thy touching quill with a sweet moving strain
Sings to the soul a blessèd lullaby_:
Thy lines beget a timorous fear in all,
And that same fear deep thoughts angelical.
So that the whilom lewd lascivious man
Is now remote from his abhorred life,
And cloathes [loathes?] the dalliance of a courtezan;
And every breathing wicked soul at strife,
Contending which shall first begin to mend
That they may glory in a blessèd end."
The italicised lines give a delightfully ludicrous description of
_The Scourge of Villainy_.
It is abundantly clear that Marston's uncouth satires, which to-day
are so difficult to read, caused much excitement at the time of their
publication. Meres in _Palladis Tamia_, 1598, reckons Marston
among the leading English satirists. John Weever, in his
_Epigrams_, 1599, couples Marston's name with Jonson's:--
"_Ad Jo. Marston et Ben Johnson._
Marston, thy muse enharbours Horace' vein,
Then some Augustus give thee Horace' merit!
And thine, embuskin'd Johnson, doth retain
So rich a style and wondrous gallant spirit,
That if to praise your Muses I desired
My Muse would muse. Such wits must be admired."
The following address is from Charles Fitzgeoffrey's _Affaniæ_,
1601:--
"_Ad Joannem Marstonium._
Gloria, Marstoni, satirarum proxima primæ,
Primaque, fas primas si numerare duas!
Sin primam duplicare nefas, tu gloria saltem,
Marstoni, primæ proxima semper eris.
Nec te poeniteat stationis, Jane: secundus,
Cum duo sint tantum, est neuter at ambo pares."
But the most elaborate notice that any contemporary has given of
Marston's satires is to be found in _The Return from Parnassus_.[11]
The passage has been often quoted, but it must find a place here:--
"What, Monsieur Kinsayder, lifting up your leg and pissing
against the world? put up, man! put up, for shame!
Methinks he is a ruffian in his style,
Withouten bands or garters' ornament:
He quaffs a cup of Frenchman's Helicon,
Then roister-doister in his oily terms;
Cuts, thrusts, and foins at whomsoever he meets
And strews about Ram-Alley meditations.
Tut, what cares he for modest close-couch'd terms
Cleanly to gird our looser libertines?
Give him plain naked words stripp'd from their shirts,
That might become plain-dealing Aretine.
Ay, there is one that backs a paper-steed,
And manageth a pen-knife gallantly:
Strikes his poynado at a button's breadth,
Brings the great battering-ram of terms to towns,[12]
And at first volly of his cannon-shot
Batters the walls of the old fusty world."
Under date 28th September 1599 Henslowe records in his _Diary_
(p. 156, ed. Collier) that he lent "unto Mr. Maxton, the new poete
(Mr. Mastone), the sum of forty shillings" in earnest of an unnamed
play. The name "Mastone" is interlined in a different hand as a
correction for "Maxton;" but there can be no doubt that the "new
poete," whose name the illiterate manager misspelled, was John
Marston. There is no other mention of him in the _Diary_. In 1602 were
published Marston's _First Part of Antonio and Mellida_ and _Antonio's
Revenge_, which had been entered in the Stationers' Registers on 24th
October 1601, and had been ridiculed in that year by Ben Jonson in
_The Poetaster_. Considered as a work of art the two parts of _Antonio
and Mellida_ cannot be rated highly. The plot is clumsy and grotesque,
and the characters, from the prodigious nature of their sins and
sorrows, fail to excite in us any real interest. Marston was possessed
of high tragic power, but he has not done himself justice. The
magnificent prologue to _Antonio's Revenge_ prepares us to expect an
impressive tale of tragic woe, but the promise is not worthily
redeemed. He could conceive a fine situation, and he had at his
command abundance of striking imagery. But we are never sure of him:
from tragic solemnity he passes to noisy rhodomontade; at one moment
he gives us a passage Æschylean in its subtle picturesqueness, at
another he feebly reproduces the flaccid verbosity of Seneca's
tragedies. Lamb quoted in his _Specimens_ the finest scene of _Antonio
and Mellida_,--the scene where the old Andrugio on the Venice marsh,
overthrown by the chance of war and banished from his kingdom, gives
tongue to the conflicting passions that shake his breast. That scene
deserves the eloquent praise that it received from the hands of Lamb;
and if Marston had been able to keep the rest of the play at that
level the _First Part of Antonio and Mellida_ would rank with the
masterpieces of Webster. But what is to be said of a writer who, in
describing a shipwreck, gives us such lines as the following?--
"Lo! the sea grew mad,
His bowels rumbling with wind-passion;
Straight swarthy darkness popp'd out Phoebus' eye,
And blurr'd the jocund face of bright-cheek'd day;
Whilst crudled fogs mask'd even darkness' brow:
Heaven bad 's good night, and the rocks groan'd
At the intestine uproar of the main.
Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred paunch
Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck;
Which in an instant up was belkt again."
This is hardly a fair specimen of Marston's powers, but it exhibits to
perfection his besetting fault of straining his style a peg too high;
of seeking to be impressive by the use of exaggerated and unnatural
imagery. When he disencumbers himself of this fatal habit his verse is
clear and massive. Neither Webster nor Chapman ever gave utterance to
more dignified reflections than Marston puts into the mouth of the
discrowned Andrugio in the noble speech beginning, "Why, man, I never
was a prince till now" (vol. i., p. 64). There is nothing of bluster
in that speech; there is not a word that one would wish to alter. Nor
is Marston without something of that power, which Webster wielded so
effectively, of touching the reader's imagination with a vague sense
of dread. He felt keenly the mysteries of the natural world; the weird
stillness that precedes the breaking of the dawn, and
"the deep affright
That pulseth in the heart of night."
_Antonio and Mellida_ amply testifies that Marston possessed a
strangely subtle and vivid imagination; but few are the traces of that
"sanity" which Lamb declared to be an essential condition to true
genius.
In 1604 was published _The Malcontent_;[13] another edition,
augmented by Webster, appeared in the same year. From the Induction we
learn that it had been originally acted by the Children's Company at
the Blackfriars; and that when the Children appropriated _The
Spanish Tragedy_, in which the King's Company at the Globe had an
interest, the King's Company retaliated by acting Marston's play, with
Webster's additions. _The Malcontent_ has more dramatic interest
than _Antonio and Mellida_; it is also more orderly and artistic.
Jonson's criticism evidently had a salutary effect, for we find no
such flowers of speech as "glibbery urchin," "sliftred paunch," "the
fist of strenuous vengeance is clutch'd," &c. Marston has been at
pains to give a more civil aspect to his "aspera Thalia." Moreover,
the moralising is less tedious, and the satire more pungent than in
the earlier plays. There is less of declamation and more of action.
The atmosphere is not so stifling, and one can breathe with something
of freedom. There are no ghosts to shout "Vindicta!" and no boys to be
butchered at midnight in damp cloisters; nobody has his tongue cut out
prior to being hacked to pieces. Marston has on this occasion
contrived to write an impressive play without deeming it necessary to
make the stage steam like a shambles. As before, the scene is laid in
Italy; and again we have a vicious usurper, and a virtuous deposed
duke; but the characters are more human than in the earlier plays.
Mendoza, the upstart tyrant, is indeed a deeply debased villain, but
he is not deformed, like Piero, beyond all recognition. Altofronto,
the banished duke, who disguises himself in the character of a
malcontent and settles at the usurper's court, is a more possible
personage than Andrugio. The description that the malcontent gives of
himself in iii. 1, and the other description of the hermit's cell in
iv. 2, exemplify Marston's potent gift of presenting bold conceptions
in strenuously compact language.
_The Malcontent_ was dedicated by Marston in very handsome terms
to Ben Jonson, and there is a complimentary allusion to Jonson in the
epilogue. At this distance of time it is impossible to fully
understand the relations that existed between Jonson and Marston.
There seem to have been many quarrels and more than one
reconciliation. During his visit to Hawthornden, Jonson told Drummond
that "He had many quarrels with Marston, beat him and took his pistol
from him, wrote his _Poetaster_ on him; the beginning of them were
that Marston represented him in the stage in his youth given to
venery."[14] The original quarrel seems to have begun about the year
1598. In the apology at the end of _The Poetaster_, Jonson writes:
"Three years
They did provoke me with their petulant styles
On every stage: and I at last unwilling,
But weary, I confess, of so much trouble,
Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em."
_The Poetaster_ was produced in 1601; so these attacks on Jonson,
in which Marston must have taken a leading part, began about 1598. In
the address "To those that seem judicial Perusers" prefixed to _The
Scourge of Villainy_, Marston undoubtedly ridicules Ben Jonson for his
use of "new-minted epithets[15] (as _real_, _intrinsecate_,
_Delphic_)." "Real" occurs in _Every Man out of his Humour_ (ii. 1);
"intrinsecate" in _Cynthia's Revels_ (v. 2); and "Delphic" in an early
poem of Jonson's. But, as _Every Man out of his Humour_ was first
produced at Christmas 1599, and _Cynthia's Revels_ in 1600, these
"new-minted epithets" must have been used by Jonson in some early
plays that have perished. Jonson retaliated by attacking Marston in
_Every Man out of his Humour_, and _Cynthia's Revels_. In the former
play (iii. 1) he introduces two characters, Clove and Orange, who are
expressly described as "mere strangers to the whole scope of our
play." They are on the stage only for a few minutes. Clove is
represented as a pretender to learning: "he will sit you a whole
afternoon sometimes in a bookseller's shop, reading the Greek,
Italian, and Spanish, when he understands not a word of either."
Orange is a mere simpleton who can say nothing but "O Lord, sir," and
"It pleases you to say so, sir." In the "characters of the persons"
(prefixed to the play) we are told that this "inseparable case of
coxcombs ... being well flattered" will "lend money and repent when
they have done. Their glory is to invite players and make suppers."
Dr. Brinsley Nicholson suggests that Orange was intended as a
caricature of Dekker, and that Clove stands for Marston. This view is,
doubtless, partly correct, but we must not insist on it too strongly.
Dekker--whatever may be said of Marston--had no money to lend, and
would rather have expected to sup at the players' expense than to be
made the shot-clog of the feast: again and again in _The Poetaster_ he
is ridiculed on the score of poverty. It is undeniable that Jonson, to
raise a laugh against Marston, puts into Clove's mouth grotesque words
culled from _The Scourge of Villainy_. "Monsieur Orange," whispers
Clove to his companion, as they are walking in the middle aisle of
Paul's, "yon gallants observe us; prithee let's talk fustian a little
and gull them; make them believe we are great scholars." Presently we
have the passage containing the Marstonian words (which I have printed
in italics):--
"Now, sirs, whereas the ingenuity of the time and the soul's
_synderisis_ are but _embryons_ in nature, added to the
_paunch of Esquiline_,[16] and the intervallum of the
_zodiac_, besides the _ecliptic line_ being optic and
not mental, but by the contemplative and theoric part thereof
doth _demonstrate_ to us the vegetable circumference and the
ventosity of the _tropics_, and whereas our
_intellectual_, or _mincing capreal_ (according to the
metaphysics) as you may read in Plato's _Histriomastix_.[17]
You conceive me, sir?"
In the first scene of the second act, Puntarvolo addresses Carlo
Buffone as "thou _Grand Scourge_, or Second Untruss of the time,"
in allusion to Marston's _Scourge of Villainy_.
_Cynthia's Revels_ was produced in 1600 and printed in 1601. In this
play, Anaides and Hedon are represented as being jealous of Crites,
and as seeking by underhand means to bring him into discredit. It is
certain that Jonson was glancing particularly at Marston and Dekker.
In the second scene of the third act, Crites, defending himself
against his two traducers, observes:--
"If good Chrestus,
Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words,
They would have moved me, and I should have call'd
My thoughts and actions to a strict account
Upon the hearing; but when I remember
'Tis Hedon and Anaides, alas, then
I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd.
The one a light voluptuous reveller,
The other a strange arrogating puff,
Both impudent and arrogant enough;
That talk as they are wont, not as I merit;
Traduce by custom, as most dogs do bark;
Do nothing out of judgment, but disease;
Speak ill because they never could speak well:
And who'd be angry with this race of creatures?"
Dekker in _Satiromastix_[18] puts four of these lines ("I think
but what they are ... arrogant enough") into the mouth of Horace
(Jonson), plainly assuming that the abuse was intended for Marston and
himself. Marston, too, in _What You Will_ (p. xlviii.), fastens
on this speech of Crites and uses it as a weapon against Jonson.
_Cynthia's Revels_ was quickly followed by _The Poetaster_,
which was produced in 1601 by the Children of the Queen's Chapel.
Hitherto, Jonson had merely skirmished with his adversaries; in _The
Poetaster_ he assails them might and main with all the artillery of
invective. Marston is ridiculed as Crispinus, and Dekker as Demetrius
Fannius. Crispinus is represented as a coarse-minded, ill-conditioned
fellow, albeit of gentle parentage, who, like the bore encountered by
Horace in the Via Sacra, is prepared to adopt the meanest stratagems
in order to gain admittance to the society of courtiers and wits. He
plots with the shifty out-at-elbows Demetrius (a witless "dresser of
plays about the town here," to wit, Thomas Dekker), and a huffing
Captain Tucca, to disgrace Horace (Ben Jonson). But the attempt
results in a ludicrous failure; Crispinus and Demetrius are arraigned
at a session of the poets, and, after receiving a severe rebuke for
their calumnies, are contemptuously dismissed on taking oath for their
future good behaviours. In court a dose of hellebore is administered
to Crispinus, who thereupon proceeds to vomit up gobbets of Marston's
fustian vocabulary. When the physic has worked its effect Virgil gives
Crispinus such advice as Lycinus gave to Lexiphanes in Lucian's
dialogue; bidding him form his style on classical models and not
"hunt for wild outlandish terms
To stuff out a peculiar dialect."
_The Poetaster_ was entered in the Stationers' Register on 21st
December 1601, and _Satiromastix_ had already been entered on the
11th of the preceding month. The title-page of _Satiromastix_
bears only Dekker's name, and to Dekker the play is attributed in the
Stationers' Register. It was doubtless with Marston's approval that
Dekker took up the cudgels against the truculent Ben, but there is no
evidence to show that Marston had any share in the authorship of
_Satiromastix_. It is not necessary to deal here with Dekker's
spirited rejoinder, but there is one difficult passage, put into the
mouth of Horace, to which passing attention must be called:--
"As for Crispinus, that Crispin-ass and Fannius his play-dresser,
who (to make the Muses believe their subjests' [_sic_] ears
were starved and that there was a dearth of poesy) cut an
innocent Moor i'th middle, to serve him in twice, and when he had
done made Poules' work of it; as for these twins, these poet-apes,
Their mimic tricks shall serve
With mirth to feast our muse whilst their own starve."
(_Works_, 1873, i. 212.)
The meaning of this obscure passage seems to be that Marston and
Dekker wrote in conjunction a play which had a Moor for its leading
character; that the writers' barren invention prompted them to treat
the story again in a Second Part; and that the two parts, when they
had served their time upon the stage, were published in Paul's
Churchyard. At least that is the only intelligible explanation that I
can give to the words; but I am altogether unable to fix on any extant
play, in which a Moor figures, that could be attributed to Marston and
Dekker. From Henslowe's _Diary_ we know that Dekker was concerned
in the authorship of a play called _The Spanish Moor's Tragedy_
(which has been doubtfully identified with _Lust's Dominion_,
printed in 1657 as a work of Marlowe's); but Dekker's coadjutors in
that play were William Haughton and John Day.
It is curious to note that in the very year (1601) when the quarrel
between Marston and Jonson reached a climax, the two enemies are
contributing poems to the _Divers Poetical Essays_ appended to Robert
Chester's tedious and obscure _Love's Martyr_. The other contributors
were Shakespeare and Chapman; Marston's verses follow Shakespeare's
_Phoenix and Turtle_. In 1604, as we have noticed, Marston dedicated
his _Malcontent_ to Jonson in very cordial terms; and in 1605 he
prefixed some complimentary verses to _Sejanus_.
In 1605 was published the comedy of _The Dutch Courtezan_, which
had been acted by the Children's Company at the Blackfriars. There is
more of life and movement in this play than in any other of Marston's
productions. The character of the passionate and implacable courtesan,
Franceschina, is conceived with masterly ability. Few figures in the
Elizabethan drama are more striking than this fair vengeful fiend, who
is as playful and pitiless as a tigress; whose caresses are sweet as
honey and poisonous as aconite. All the characters are drawn with
skill and spirit. Young Freevill is a typical Elizabethan gallant,
very frank in his utterances, and not burthened with an excess of
modesty. Malheureux, his moody friend, is noted for his strictness of
life, but a glance from Franceschina scatters his virtuous
resolutions, and he is ready at the temptress' bidding to kill his
friend in order to satisfy his passion. The innocent shamefaced
Beatrice, affianced to young Freevill, is drawn with more tenderness
than Marston usually shows; and her gay prattling sister Crispinella
recalls (_longo intervallo_) another more famous Beatrice.
Cockledemoy, the droll and nimble trickster, who at every turn
dexterously cozens Master Mulligrub, the vintner, affords abundance of
amusement; but his plain speaking shocks the sensitively chaste ears
of Mary Faugh, the old bawd. Antony Nixon, in _The Black Year_, 1606,
speaks of the play as "corrupting English conditions";[19] but Nixon's
protest went for little. In December 1613 _The Dutch Courtezan_ was
acted at Court (Cunningham's _Extracts from the Accounts of the
Revels_, p. xliv.). Having received some alterations at the hands of
Betterton, it was revived in 1680 under the title of _The Revenge, or
A Match in Newgate_.
A singularly fresh and delightful study of city-life is the comedy of
_Eastward Ho_, published in 1605. Three dramatists combined to
produce this genial masterpiece--Chapman, Jonson, and Marston. It
seems to have been written shortly after James' accession, when the
hungry Scots were swarming southwards in quest of preferment.
Englishmen were justly indignant at the favours bestowed by James on
these Scotch adventurers, and a passage in _Eastward Ho_ stated
the grievance very plainly. "You shall live freely there" [_i.e._, in
Virginia], says Seagull, "without sergeants, or courtiers, or lawyers,
or intelligencers, only a _few_ industrious Scots, perhaps, who,
indeed, are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for
them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when
they are out on't, in the world, than they are. And for my part, I
would a hundred thousand of 'hem were there, for we are all one
countrymen now, ye know; and we should find ten times more comfort of
them there than we do here." At the instance of Sir James Graham, one
of James' newly-created knights, the playwrights were committed to
prison[20] for their abuse of the Scots, and the report went that
their ears were to be cut and their noses slit. Ben Jonson told
Drummond that he had not contributed the objectionable matter, and
that he voluntarily imprisoned himself with Chapman and Marston, who
"had written it amongst them." After his release from prison Jonson
gave a banquet to "all his friends," Camden and Selden being among the
guests. In the middle of the banquet his old mother drank to him and
produced a paper containing "lusty strong poison," which she had
intended, if the sentence had been confirmed, to take to the prison
and mix in his drink; and she declared--to show "that she was no
churl"--that "she minded first to have drunk of it herself." The
passage about the Scots is found only in some copies of the 4tos; in
others it was expunged. Scotch pride seems to have been easily
wounded. On 15th April, 1598, George Nicolson, the English agent at
the Scotch Court, writing from Edinburgh to Lord Burghley, stated that
"it is regretted that the Comedians of London should scorn the king
and the people of this land in their play; and it is wished that the
matter be speedily amended, lest the king and the country be stirred
to anger" (_Cal. of State Papers, Scotland_, ii. 749). Certainly the
reflections in _Eastward Ho_ have somewhat more of bitterness than
banter; but one would have thought that the favoured Scots about the
Court would be content to let the matter pass. Sir James Murray was
the person who acted as _delator_, and it is not improbable that he
found in the play some uncomplimentary allusions to himself, in
addition to the sweeping satire on his countrymen. In the first scene
of the fourth act there is a curious passage which has no point unless
we suppose that it is directed against some particular courtier:
"_1st Gent._ I ken the man weel; he's one of my thirty pound knights.
"_2d Gent._ No, no, this is he that stole his knighthood o' the grand
day for four pound given to a page; all the money in's purse, I wot
well."
Satirical references to King James' knights, the men who purchased
knighthood from the king, are as common as blackberries; but in the
present passage there must be a covert allusion to some person who
procured the honour by an unworthy artifice, and I suspect that the
allusion is to Sir James Murray. It is surprising that, when the
reflections on the Scots were expunged, the passage in iv. 1 was
allowed to stand; for, whether Sir James Murray was or was not
personally ridiculed, the mimicry of James' Scotch accent is
unmistakeable. Perhaps the king joined in the laugh against himself,
when the play was acted before him by the Lady Elizabeth's Servants at
Whitehall on 25th January 1613-4 (Cunningham's _Extracts from the
Account of the Revels_, p. xliv.).
Of the merits of _Eastward Ho_ it would be difficult to speak too
highly. To any who are in need of a pill to purge melancholy this racy
old comedy may be safely commended. Few readers, after once making his
acquaintance, will forget Master Touchstone, the honest shrewd old
goldsmith, rough of speech at times but ever gentle at heart, thrifty
to outward show but bountiful as the sun in May: he lives in our
affections with Orlando Friscobaldo and Simon Eyre. Quicksilver, the
rowdy prentice, dazed from last night's debauch, reciting in a thick
voice stale scraps of Jeronymo as he reels about Master Touchstone's
shop, heedless of the maxims of temperance which frown in print from
the walls; Golding, the well-conducted prentice, the apple of his
master's eye, armed at all points with virtue and sobriety; Gertrude,
the goldsmith's extravagant daughter, with her magnificent visions of
coaches, and castles, and cherries at an angel a pound; Mildred, her
sister, simple and dutiful; Mistress Touchstone, who has been infected
with Gertrude's vanity, but quickly learns penitence in the school of
necessity; Sir Petronel Flash, the shifty knight, eager to escape from
creditors and serjeants to the new-found land of Virginia; Security,
the blood-sucker and egregious gull:--all these characters, and the
list is not exhausted, stand limned in all the warmth of life. Mr.
Swinburne, in his masterly essay on Chapman, says with truth that "in
no play of the time do we get such a true taste of the old city life
so often turned to mere ridicule by playwrights of less good humour,
or feel about us such a familiar air of ancient London as blows
through every scene."
It is very certain that Marston could never have written single-handed
so rich and genial a play. In all Marston's comedies there is a strong
alloy of bitterness; we are never allowed to rise from the comic feast
with a pleasant taste in the mouth. What precise share Marston had in
_Eastward Ho_ it would be difficult to determine with any approach to
certainty. In the very first scene (vol. iii. p. 8) we come across a
passage which is distinctly in Marston's manner:--
"I am entertained among gallants, true; they call me cousin Frank,
right; I lend them monies, good; they spend it well."
Compare a passage of _The Fawn_ (vol. ii. p. 181):--
"His brother your husband, right; he cuckold his eldest brother, true;
he get her with child, just."
But in the same opening scene there are equally unmistakable signs of
Jonson's presence. Touchstone says of Golding:--"He is a gentleman,
though my prentice ...; well friended, _well parted_." The curious
expression "_well parted_" will be at once recognised as Jonsonian by
the vigilant reader, who will remember how Macilente, in "The
Characters of the Persons" prefixed to _Every Man out of his
Humour_,[21] is described as "A man _well parted_, a sufficient
scholar," &c. Jonson and Marston worked on the first scene together;
and it seems to me that throughout the first two acts we have the
mixed work of these two writers. In the second scene of the third act,
as Mr. Swinburne notices, Chapman's hand is clearly seen in the quaint
allusion to "the ship of famous Draco." Quicksilver's moralising, in
iv. 1, after he has scrambled ashore at Wapping on the night of the
drunken shipwreck, is again in Chapman's manner; but his elaborate
devices for blanching copper and sweating angels (later in the
same scene) must, without the shadow of a doubt, be ascribed to the
invention of the author of _The Alchemist_. It would be of doubtful
advantage to pursue the inquiry at length.
_Eastward Ho_ was revived at Drury Lane on Lord Mayor's day 1751,
under the title of _The Prentices_ (n. d. 12mo), and again in 1775
under the title of _Old City Manners_. Hogarth is said to have drawn
from _Eastward Ho_ the plan of his prints _The Industrious and Idle
Prentices_. Nahum Tate's farce _Cuckold's Haven_, published in 1685,
is drawn partly from _Eastward Ho_ and partly from _The Devil is an
Ass_.
_Parasitaster, or the Fawn_, published in 1606, takes us again to
Italy, and once more we have to listen to a satirical exposure of the
courtiers' vices and follies. In spite of occasional tediousness the
play is interesting. Dulcimel, Gonzago's witty daughter, who gulls her
self-conceited old father by a pretended discovery of Tiberio's love
for her, and succeeds by her blandishments in converting the young
misogynist into a perfervid wooer, is a delightfully attractive
heroine. The stratagem employed by Dulcimel is of ancient date: it is
found in Terence's _Adelphi_, Boccaccio's _Decameron_ (third tale of
the third day), and Molière's _L'École des Maris_. I am half inclined
to suspect that Marston was slily glancing at the "wise fool" King
James in the person of the silly and pedantic Gonzago; and it is
probable that some social scandals of the time afforded material for
the description of the intrigues of Gonzago's courtiers. Granuffo, who
gains a reputation for wisdom by never opening his mouth, might
possibly be made an amusing character by an actor skilled in facial
contortions; but the humour of the thing is not very apparent in
print. Signior No in the _Noble Spanish Soldier_ (attributed to Samuel
Rowley, though the play may properly belong to Dekker), and Littleword
in Nabbes' _Covent Garden_, are somewhat similar characters. The
address _To the Equal Reader_, prefixed to _Parasitaster_, is
excellently written, and exhibits Marston in a very pleasant light.
"For mine own interest for once," he writes, with a frankness which is
not without a touch of pathos, "let this be printed,--that of men of
my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none; for let me truly
say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall
ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle
combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to
undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being)
love the least of their graces and only pity the greatest of their
vices." A candid and creditable avowal, but, alas, "words is wind and
wind is mutable." In the second edition there follows a briefer
address, in which the writer promises to "present a tragedy which
shall boldly abide the most curious perusal;" and from a marginal note
we learn that the tragedy of _Sophonisba_, published in 1606, was the
work which was so boldly to challenge criticism. It is to be feared
that this cherished offspring of Marston's imagination will not be
regarded with affection by many readers. For hideous blood-curdling
realism the description of the witch Erictho and her cave is, I
venture to think, without a parallel in literature. Tough as whipcord
must have been the nerves of an audience which could listen patiently
to the recital of Erictho's atrocities. If there were any women of
delicate health among the audience, a repetition of the mishaps
connected with the performance of the _Eumenides_ must surely have
been unavoidable. Regarded, however, as a whole, the play is not
impressive. Sophonisba is a fearless and magnanimous heroine, but her
temper is too masculine; she talks too much and too bluntly, and is
too fond of striking an attitude. Syphax, the villain of the play, is
so prodigiously brutal as to appear perfectly grotesque; and the hero
Massinissa bores us by his trite moral reflections. Marston strove to
produce a stately tragedy, and was under the impression that his
efforts had been crowned with success; but candid readers will judge
the performance to be stiff and crude, wanting in energy and dramatic
movement, too rhetorical, "climbing to the height of Seneca his
style." In the prefatory address he has a hit at _Sejanus_ (to which
in the previous year he had contributed a copy of eulogistic verses),
informing us that "to transcribe authors, quote authorities, and
translate Latin prose orations into English blank verse, hath, in this
subject, been the least aim of my studies." But _Sejanus_ has
certainly not less of dramatic interest than _Sophonisba_, and in
other respects it is far superior.
In 1607 was published the comedy of _What You Will_ (written, I
suspect, shortly after the appearance of _Cynthia's Revels_), which is
largely indebted for its plot to Plautus's _Amphitruo_. In the
Induction, Marston again has his fling at Ben Jonson. Philomusus'
heated denunciation of censorious critics,
"Believe it, Doricus, his spirit
Is higher blooded than to quake and pant
At the report of Scoff's artillery," &c.,
was evidently written in derisive mimicry of Jonson's scornful
addresses to the audience; and Doricus' remonstrance,
"Now out upon't, I wonder what tight brain
Wrung in this custom to maintain contempt
'Gainst common censure," &c.,
was unquestionably intended as a stiff rebuke to Jonson's towering
arrogance. But these strokes of personal satire are not confined to
the Induction. Quadratus' scathing ridicule of Lampatho Doria, in the
first scene of the second act, was certainly aimed at some adversary
of Marston's; and there can be little doubt that this adversary was
Ben Jonson. Lampatho is described in the following terms by his
admirer Simplicius Faber:--
"Monsieur Laverdure, do you see that gentleman? He goes but in black
satin, as you see, but, by Helicon! he hath a cloth of tissue wit. He
breaks a jest;[22] ha, he'll rail against the court till the
gallants--O God! he is very nectar: if you but sip of his love, you
were immortal." At first Lampatho speaks the language of an affected
gallant; it is nothing but "protest" with him. Quadratus is disgusted
with him:--
"A fusty cask
Devote to mouldy customs of hoary eld."
After listening to much abuse, Lampatho turns on his assailant:--
"So Phoebus warm my brain, I'll rhyme thee dead.
Look for the satire: if all the sour juice
Of a tart brain can souse thy estimate,
I'll pickle thee."
The threat only irritates Quadratus the more:--
"Why, you Don Kinsayder!
Thou canker-eaten rusty cur, thou snaffle
To freer spirits!
Think'st thou a libertine, an ungyved breast,
Scorns not the shackles of thy envious clogs?
You will traduce us unto public scorn?"
Curious that Marston should apply his own _nom de plume_ "Kinsayder"
to the adversary whom he is bullying! In the _Scourge of Villainy_ he
sneered at his own poem _Pygmalion_, and here he is referring
contemptuously to his own achievements in satire. A man who openly
ridicules himself blunts the edge of an enemy's sarcasm.
We have seen (p. xxxiii.) that Crites' bitter abuse of Anaides and
Hedon (_i.e._, Marston and Dekker), in _Cynthia's Revels_, was flung
back in Jonson's face by Dekker. Marston puts into the mouth of
Quadratus a speech, modelled closely on those lines of Crites:--
"_Lam._ O sir, you are so square, you scorn reproof."
"_Qua._ No, sir; should discreet Mastigophorus,
Or the dear spirit acute Canaidus
(That Aretine, that most of me beloved,
Who in the rich esteem I prize his soul,
I term myself); should these once menace me,
Or curb my humour with well-govern'd check,
I should with most industrious regard,
Observe, abstain, and curb my skipping lightness;
But when an arrogant, odd, impudent,
A blushless forehead, only out of sense
Of his own wants, bawls in malignant questing
At others' means of waving gallantry,--
Pight foutra!"
Who "discreet Mastigophorus" and "acute Canaidus" were it would be
useless to conjecture. But it is not to be doubted that Quadratus'
abuse of Lampatho was levelled at Ben Jonson; and that Marston was
avenging himself in this way for the insults showered upon him by
Jonson. In iv. 1, Quadratus sneers at Lampatho's verse. Lampatho
threatens to be revenged. "How, prithee?" says Quadratus; "in a play?
Come, come, be sociable."
The tragedy of _The Insatiate Countess_ was published in 1613, with
Marston's name on the title-page. In the Duke of Devonshire's library
there is a copy,[23] dated 1616, with no name on the title-page. The
play was reprinted in 1631, and Marston's name is found on the
title-page of most copies of that edition; but the Duke of Devonshire
possesses a copy,[24] in which the author's name is given as William
Barksteed. In the collected edition of Marston's plays, 1633, _The
Insatiate Countess_ is not included. It is therefore clear that
Marston's authorship is not established by external evidence. When we
come to examine the play itself, which has unfortunately descended in
a most corrupt state, the difficulty is not removed. Two picturesque
lines at the close of the last scene,
"Night, like a masque, is enter'd heaven's great hall,
With thousand torches ushering the way,"
are found verbatim in Barksteed's poem _Myrrha_. We know little of
Barksteed, but it is probable that he is to be identified with the
William Barksted, or Backsted, who was one of Prince Henry's players
in August 1611 (Collier's _Memoirs of Edward Alleyn_, p. 98), and
belonged to the company of the Prince Palatine's players in March
1615-6 (_ibid._, p. 126). He is the author of two poems,[25] which
display some graceful fancy (though the subject of the first is
ill-chosen),--_Myrrha the Mother of Adonis_, 1607, and _Hiren and the
Fair Greek_, 1611. As we read _The Insatiate Countess_ we cannot fail
to notice passages containing a richness of fancy, and a musical
fluency of expression, to which Marston's undoubted plays afford no
parallel. The italicised lines are certainly not in Marston's vein:--
"Like to the lion when he hears the sound
_Of Dian's bowstring in some shady wood_,
I should have couched my lowly limb on earth
_And held my silence a proud sacrifice_."
"Others, compared to her, show like faint stars
_To the full moon of wonder in her face_."
Again: the play contains an unusually large number of imitations of
Shakespearean passages. In fact I know no play of this early date in
which Shakespeare is so persistently imitated or plagiarised. Again
and again we find images and expressions borrowed more or less closely
from _Hamlet_. Shakespeare's historical plays, too, were laid
under contribution. In the very first scene we have these lines:--
"Slave, I will fight with thee at any odds;
Or name an instrument fit for destruction,
That e'er was made to make away a man,
I'll meet thee on the ridges of the Alps,
Or some inhospitable wilderness."
A very cool piece of plagiarism from _Richard II_. (i. 1):--
"Which to maintain I would allow him odds
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps
Or any other ground inhabitable."
In the lines,
"The ghosts of misers that imprison'd gold
Within _the harmless bowels of the earth_,"
the italicised words were unquestionably suggested by a passage of
Hotspur's famous speech in _Henry IV._, i. 2,--
"That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of _the bowels of the harmless earth_."
When Don Sago in iv. 3 exclaims--
"A hundred times in life a coward dies,"
we are immediately reminded of Shakespeare's _Julius Cæsar_ (ii.
2),
"Cowards die many times before their death;"
and Sago's lament in v. 1,
"Although ... the waves of all the Northern sea
Should flow for ever through these guilty hands,
Yet the sanguinolent stain would extant be,"
decidedly smacks of _Macbeth_. Occasionally, it is true, Marston does
not scruple to borrow from Shakespeare, but in none of his plays are
the Shakespearean echoes so clear and frequent as in _The Insatiate
Countess_. The text, as I have said, is extremely corrupt, and the
confusion among the _dramatis personæ_ is perplexing to the last
degree (see note, vol. iii. p. 154). I suspect that Marston, on
entering the church, left this tragedy in a fragmentary state, and
that it was completed by the actor Barksteed. The whole interest
centres in the beautiful and sinful Isabella, whose wayward glances,
as she moves in splendour, fascinate all beholders; who is indeed a
"glorious devil" without shame or pity, boundless and insatiable as
the sea in the enormity of her caprices.
In addition to his plays, his poem of _Pygmalion_, and his satires,
Marston wrote a Latin pageant on the occasion of the visit paid by the
King of Denmark to James I. in 1606, and an entertainment, which is
not without elegance, in honour of a visit paid by the Dowager
Countess of Derby to her son-in-law and daughter, Lord and Lady
Huntingdon, at Ashby. I strongly doubt whether _The Mountebank's
Masque_, performed at Court in February 1616-17 (when Marston was
attending to his clerical duties in Hampshire), has been correctly
assigned to Marston.
There are two anonymous plays[26] in which Marston's hand is plainly
discernible,--_Histriomastix_, published in 1610, and _Jack Drum's
Entertainment_, published in 1616. It has been mentioned (see note, p.
xxxii.) that Jonson in _Every Man out of his Humour_ puts into Clove's
mouth, with the object of ridiculing Marston, words and expressions
found in _Histriomastix_ (coupling them with flowers of speech culled
from _The Scourge of Villainy_), and even mentions the play by
name--"as you may read in Plato's _Histriomastix_." Only in a few
scenes of _Histriomastix_ can Marston's hand be detected. It is a
poor semi-allegorical play, a clumsy piece of patchwork. Marston's
additions must have been made before Christmas 1599 (when _Every Man
out of his Humour_ was produced), on the occasion of some revival. The
following lines, which occur early in the second act, seem to refer to
Ben Jonson:--
"How, you translating scholar? You can make
A stabbing satire or an epigram,
And think you carry just Rhamnusia's whip
To lash the patient! go, get you clothes:
Our free-born blood such apprehension loathes."
_Jack Drum's Entertainment_, an indifferent comedy, which appears to
have been written about the year 1600,[27] bears the clearest traces
of Marston's early style. All the monstrous phraseology of _The
Scourge of Villainy_ and _Antonio and Mellida_ is seen here in
perfection. When Jonson in _The Poetaster_ (v. 1) ridiculed Marston's
absurd vocabulary, he selected, _inter alia_, for castigation, some
expressions which occur only in _Jack Drum_, and are not found (in so
closely parallel a form) in the works published under Marston's name:
clear proof that the authorship of this play is to be ascribed, at
least in part if not entirely, to Marston. In act iii. of _Jack Drum_
we have--
"Crack not the sinews of my patience,"
which is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_--
"As if his organons of sense would crack
The sinews of my patience."
In act ii. are these ridiculous lines--
"Let clumsy chilblain'd gouty wits
Bung up their chief contents within the hoops
Of a stuff'd dry-fat;"
so in _The Poetaster_--
"Upon that puft-up lump of barmy froth,
Or clumsy chilblain'd judgment."
In act iv. Planet's reflections on the arrogant Old Brabant are
clearly directed against Jonson.
Collier in his _Memoirs of Edward Alleyn_ (p. 154) printed a letter of
Marston to Henslowe; but, as "the whole letter is manifestly a
forgery, having been first traced in pencil, the marks of which are in
places still visible" (Warner's _Catalogue of Dulwich Manuscripts and
Muniments_, p. 49), this relic is of no interest. Another letter,
addressed to Lord Kimbolton by a "John Marston,"[28] is printed in
Collier's _Shakespeare_[29] (i. 179, ed. 1858); but as it was written
in 1641, the writer could not have been the dramatist, who died in
1634. Among the additional MSS. (14,824-6) in the British Museum is a
poem entitled _The New Metamorphosis, or a Feast of Fancy or Poetical
Legends ... Written by J. M., Gent._, 1600, which has been, not very
wisely, ascribed to Marston. I must confess that I have only a
superficial acquaintance with this poem; but, as the work fills nearly
nine hundred closely-packed pages, I trust that my confession will not
be severely criticised. After the title-page is a leaf containing the
arguments of books i.-vi.; then comes a new title-page _An Iliad of
Metamorphosis or the Arraignment of Vice_, followed by a dialogue
between Cupid and Momus. Six lines headed "The Author to his Book"
follow the dialogue, and then comes "The Epistle Dedicatory,"
consisting of a couple of lines--
"To Momus, that same ever-carping mate,
And unto Cupid I this dedicate."
After the commendably brief epistle come two lines which inform us
that--
"My name is French, to tell you in a word;
Yet came not in with conquering William's sword."
(Marston's name was certainly not French; it was a good old Shropshire
name.) The prologue begins thus:--
"Upon the public stage to Albion's eye
I here present my new-born poesy,
Not with vain-glory puft to make it known,
Nor Indian-like with feathers not mine own
To deck myself, as many use to do;
To filching lines I am a deadly foe," &c.
Presently the poet indulges in his invocation:--
"Matilda fair, guide you my wand'ring quill!"
Having turned some thirty thousand verses off the reel, "J. M., Gent."
abruptly concludes, with the remark,--
"My leave I here of poetry do take,
For I have writ until my hand doth ache."
There is a fine field for an editor in _The New Metamorphosis_; virgin
soil, I warrant.
Manningham in his _Diary_, under date 21st November 1602, has been at
the pains to record a _bon mot_ of Marston:--"Jo. Marstone, the last
Christmas, when he daunct with Alderman Mores wives daughter, a
Spaniard borne, fell into a strange commendation of hir witt and
beauty. When he had done she thought to pay him home, and told him,
she _thought_ he was a poet. 'Tis true, said he, for poets feigne and
lye, and soe did I, when I commended your beauty, for you are
exceeding foule." Not a very witty saying, and not very polite.
In 1633, William Sheares the publisher issued, in 1 vol. sm. 8vo, _The
Workes_[30] _of Mr. John Marston, being Tragedies and Comedies
collected into one volume_ containing the two parts of _Antonio and
Mellida_, _Sophonisba_, _What You Will_, _The Fawn_, and _The Dutch
Courtezan_. The following dedicatory epistle to Viscountess Falkland,
in which the publisher insists on the modesty (save the mark!) of
Marston's Muse, is found in some copies:--
"TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY ELIZABETH
CAREY, VISCOUNTESS FALKLAND.
"Many opprobies and aspersions have not long since been cast upon
Plays in general, and it were requisite and expedient that they
were vindicated from them; but, I refer that task to those whose
leisure is greater, and learning more transcendent. Yet, for my
part, I cannot perceive wherein they should appear so vile and
abominable, that they should be so vehemently inveighed against.
Is it because they are PLAYS? The name, it seems, somewhat
offends them; whereas, if they were styled WORKS, they might have
their approbation also. I hope that I have now somewhat pacified
that precise sect, by reducing all our Author's several Plays
into one volume, and so styled them THE WORKS OF MR. JOHN
MARSTON, who was not inferior unto any in this kind of writing,
in those days when these were penned; and, I am persuaded, equal
unto the best poets of our times. If the lines be not answerable
to my encomium of him, yet herein bear with him, because they
were his JUVENILIA and youthful recreations. Howsoever, he is
free from all obscene speeches, which is the chief cause that
makes Plays to be so odious unto most men. He abhors such
writers, and their works; and hath professed himself an enemy to
all such as stuff their scenes with ribaldry, and lard their
lines with scurrilous taunts and jests; so that, whatsoever, even
in the spring of his years, he hath presented upon the private
and public theatre, now, in his autumn and declining age, he need
not be ashamed of. And, were it not that he is so far distant
from this place, he would have been more careful in revising the
former impressions, and more circumspect about this, than I can.
In his absence, Noble Lady, I have been emboldened to present
these WORKS unto your Honour's view; and the rather, because your
Honour is well acquainted with the Muses. In brief, Fame hath
given out that your Honour is the mirror of your sex, the
admiration, not only of this island, but of all adjacent
countries and dominions, which are acquainted with your rare
virtues and endowments. If your Honour shall vouchsafe to accept
this work, I, with my book, am ready pressed and bound to be
"Your truly devoted,
"WILLIAM SHEARES."
Ben Jonson's copy of the 1633 edition of Marston's plays is preserved
in the Dyce Library at South Kensington.
Marston's literary career barely covers a space of ten years: his
satires were published in 1598, and he seems to have entered the
Church, and to have abandoned the writing of plays, about the year
1607. It is hard to picture Marston as a preacher of the Gospel of
Glad Tidings. Were we to judge him by his writings we should say that
he was a scornful spirit, at strife with himself and with the world; a
man convinced of the hollowness of present life, and yet not looking
forward hopefully to any future sphere of activity; only anxious to
drop into the jaws of that oblivion which he invoked in his verse and
courted even on his gravestone. There was another, a greater than
Marston, who began by writing satires and ended by writing sermons.
Marston's sermons have perished, but the sermons of John Donne,[31]
Dean of St. Paul's, are imperishable. At the thought of that oblivion
for which Marston hungered the soul of Donne turned sick. "It is a
fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Fearful
indeed; but "_to fall out of the hands of the living God_," said Donne
in a sermon preached before the Earl of Carlisle, "is a horror beyond
our expression, beyond our imagination." In a strain of marvellous
eloquence he proceeds; and surely no utterance of poet or divine is
more pitiful and passionate than this cry wrung from the heart of the
great Dean Donne:--
"That God should let my soul fall out of His hand into a
bottomless pit and roll an unremovable stone upon it, ... and
never think more of that soul, never have more to do with it;
that of that providence of God, that studies the life of every
weed, and worm, and ant, and spider, and toad, and viper, there
should never, never any beam flow out upon me; that that God, who
looked upon me, when I was nothing, and called me when I was not,
as though I had been, out of the womb and depth of darkness, will
not look upon me now, when, though a miserable, and a banished,
and a damned creature, yet I am His creature still, and
contribute something to His glory, even in my damnation; that
that God, who hath often looked upon me in my foullest
uncleanness, and when I had shut out the eye of the day, the sun,
and the eye of the night, the taper, and the eyes of all the
world, with curtains and windows and doors, did yet see me, and
see me in mercy, by making me see that He saw me, and sometimes
brought me to a present remorse and (for that time) to a
forbearing of that sin, should so turn Himself from me to His
glorious Saints and Angels, as that no Saint nor Angel nor Christ
Jesus Himself should ever pray Him to look towards me, never
remember Him that such a soul there is; that that God,--who hath
so often said to my soul _Quare morieris_? Why wilt thou die? and
so often sworn to my soul _Vivit Dominus_, As the Lord liveth I
would not have thee die but live,--will neither let me die nor
let me live, but die an everlasting life and live an everlasting
death; that that God, who when He could not get into me by
standing and knocking, by His ordinary means of entering, by His
word, His mercies, hath applied His judgments and hath shaked the
house, this body, with agues and palsies, and set this house on
fire with fevers and calentures, and frighted the master of the
house, my soul, with horrors and heavy apprehensions, and so made
an entrance into me; that that God should frustrate all His own
purposes and practises upon me, and leave me and cast me away, as
though I had cost Him nothing; that this God at last should let
this soul go away, as a smoke, as a vapour, as a bubble, and that
then this soul cannot be a smoke, a vapour, nor a bubble, but
must lie in darkness, as long as the Lord of light is light
itself, and never spark of that light reach to my soul: what
Tophet is not Paradise, what brimstone is not amber, what
gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a
tickling, what torment is not a marriage-bed to this damnation,
to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of
God!"
[1] Add. MS. 24,487 ("Chorus Vatum").
[2] Grosart's _Introduction_ to Marston's _Poems_, 1879
(privately printed).
[3] Elizabeth Guarsi, the poet's grandmother, on the death of her
husband, Andrew Guarsi, had married John Butler of Wardington,
co. Oxon.
[4] I have to thank the Dean of Winchester for supplying me, from
the books of the Dean and Chapter of Winchester, with the date of
Marston's presentation. The date of his resignation had been
previously communicated to me by Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, who
procured it from the Diocesan Registry, Winchester.
[5] The will was printed in Halliwell's preface to his edition of
Marston. Dr. Grosart gives a literatim copy (which I have
followed) collated by Col. Chester with the original.
[6] An abstract of her will, communicated by Col. Chester, is
printed in Dr. Grosart's _Introduction_ (p. xxiv.). To her
"reverend Pastor Master Edward Calamy"--the famous puritan
minister, _Edmund_ Calamy--she leaves "6 angels as a token
of my respect."
[7] _Pygmalion's Image_ was republished, without the
satires, in 1613 and 1628, in a volume containing the anonymous
poem _Alcilia_ and S. P.'s [Samuel Page's?] _Amos and
Laura_.
[8] In the epigram he refers to the _nom de plume_
"Kinsayder" which Marston had adopted, and we learn that it was
derived from the "kinsing" (cutting the tails?) of dogs. It is to
be noticed that the name "Kinsayder" does not occur in the
_Pygmalion_ volume. The dedicatory verses to "The World's
Mighty Monarch, Good Opinion," are merely subscribed with the
initials "W. K." We first find the full name "W. Kinsayder" in
the address "To those that seem judicial perusers," prefixed to
_The Scourge of Villainy_.
[9] The title shows Hall was the original aggressor (at least in
Marston's opinion). Guilpin in the sixth satire of
_Skialetheia_ alludes to Marston's "Reactio" in a somewhat
enigmatic manner. See note, vol. iii. p. 287.
[10] Both _The Whipping_ and _The Whipper_ are
exceedingly rare. Sir Charles Isham, Bart., of Lamport Hall,
possesses a little volume (the loan of which I gratefully
acknowledge) which contains these two tracts and Nicholas
Breton's _No Whipping No Tripping_.
[11] Dr. Nicholson suggests that the character of Furor Poeticus
in this play was intended as a satirical portrait of Marston. The
suggestion is very plausible.
[12] "This should be _town_. To _bring to town_ = to
bring home."--P. A. Daniel. (I prefer the old reading.)
[13] There were really two separate editions of the unrevised
play published in 1604. I too hastily assumed that the copy in
the Dyce Library was identical with the copy in the British
Museum, apart from such textual variations as are frequently
found in copies of the same impression of an old play; but I have
since discovered that the two copies belong to separate editions.
The title of the enlarged edition is curious: _The Malcontent.
Augmented by Marston. With the Additions played by the Kings
Maiesties Servants. Written by Ihon Webster._ Slovenly wording
and vicious punctuation.
John Davies of Hereford, in the _Scourge of Folly_ (1611?),
has the following epigram on _The Malcontent_:--
"_To acute Mr. John Marston._
"Thy _Malcontent_ or Malcontentedness
Hath made thee change thy muse, as some do guess;
If time misspent make her a malcontent
Thou need'st not then her timely change repent.
The end will show it; meanwhile do but please
With virtuous pains as erst thou didst with ease,
Thou shalt be praised and kept from want and woe;
So blest are crosses that do bless us so."
[14] Perhaps some sage commentator of the future will tell us
that Syphax in _Sophonisba_ was intended as a satirical
portrait of Ben.
[15] It is hard to see why Jonson should be ridiculed for using
these epithets. Marston uses two of them ("real" and "Delphic")
himself.
[16] We have "Port Esquiline" twice in the _Scourge of
Villainy_; but the very phrase _Paunch of Esquiline_ occurs in
_Histriomastix_ (Simpson's _School of Shakspere_, ii. 51), an
anonymous play which undoubtedly contains some of Marston's work.
"Zodiac," "ecliptic line," "demonstrate," and "tropics" are also
found in _Histriomastix_ (_ibid._ ii. 25-6); they are not in
Marston's satires. The other words will be found in the _Scourge
of Villainy_.
[17] Of _Histriomastix_ I shall have to speak later.
[18] Dekker's _Works_ (Pearson's Reprint), i. 195.
[19] "Some booksellers this year," says Nixon, "shall not have
cause to boast of their winnings, for that many write that flow
with phrases and yet are barren in substance, and such are
neither wise nor witty; others are so concise that you need a
commentary to understand them, others have good wits but so
critical that they arraign other men's works at the tribunal seat
of every censurious Aristarch's understanding, when their own are
sacrificed in Paul's Churchyard for bringing in the _Dutch
Courtezan_ to corrupt English conditions and sent away
westward for carping both at court, city, and country. For they
are so sudden-witted that a flea can no sooner frisk forth but
they must needs comment on her."
[20] Among the Hatfield MSS. is a letter (communicated to Gifford
by the elder Disraeli), dated "1605," of Ben Jonson to Lord
Salisbury, in which Jonson writes that he had been committed to
prison unexamined and unheard, "and with me a gentleman (whose
name may perhaps have come to your lordship), one Mr. George
Chapman, a learned and honest man," for introducing into a play
some matter which had given offence. With much warmth he declares
that, since his "first error," he had been scrupulously careful
not to write anything against which objection could be taken.
Gifford assumed that "first error" referred to _Eastward
Ho_, and that Jonson was suffering for another offence when
the letter was written. What the "first error" was cannot be
determined with certainty, for it is not improbable that Jonson
was frequently in trouble. It is quite possible that the letter
was written when Jonson and Chapman were in prison on the
_Eastward Ho_ charge. Jonson may have written on Chapman's
behalf and his own, leaving Marston to shift for himself. But
such conduct would have been ungenerous; and I prefer to adopt
Gifford's view that the imprisonment of which the letter
complains was not connected with _Eastward Ho_. Besides, the
satirical reflections on the Scots, and any particular allusions
to Sir James Graham, would have been more pertinent in 1603 than
in 1605.
[21] In _Every Man out of his Humour_, iii. 3, we have:--
"Whereas let him be poor and meanly clad,
Though ne'er so richly _parted_," &c.
[22] The words "He [_i.e._, Lampatho] breaks a jest" have
the look of a stage-direction.
[23] _The Insatiate Countesse. London, Printed by N. O. for
Thomas Archer_, &c., 1616, 4to.
[24] The full title is [_The_] _Insatiate Covntesse. A
Tragedy: Acted, at White-Friers. Written, By William Barksteed.
London, Printed for Hvgh Perrie, and are to be sold at his shop
at the signe of the Harrow in Brittaines-Burse_. 1631. 4to.
[25] Reprinted in Dr. Grosart's valuable _Occasional
Issues_.
[26] These plays are printed in the second volume of Simpson's
_School of Shakspere_. I have not included them in this
edition of Marston; they are of little value and are easily
accessible. Marston's share in _Histriomastix_ was slight.
[27] See Simpson's _School of Shakespere_, ii. 127.
[28] Probably the Rev. John Marston, of St. Mary Magdalene,
Canterbury, who published in 1642 _A Sermon preached ... before
many ... Members of the House of Commons_.
[29] In his _Shakespeare_ Collier states that the letter was
written in 1605, and that it refers to the Gunpowder Plot; but in
his _Bibliographical Account_, 1. xxiv*, correcting his
former statement, he says that the letter was written in 1641,
and that it concerns the arrest of the Five Members.
[30] In some copies the author's name is not given, and the
title-page runs, _Tragedies and Comedies collected into one
volume, viz._ 1. _Antonio and Mellida._ 2. _Antonio's
Revenge._ 3. _The Tragedie of Sophonisba._ 4. _What You
Will._ 5. _The Fawne._ 6. _The Dutch Courtezan._
[31] Some verses, signed "Jo. Mar.," prefixed to Donne's
_Poems_, 1633, have been ascribed to Marston; but, as the
heading of the verses is "Hexasticon _Bibliopolæ_," and as
the publisher or _bibliopola_ was Jo[hn] Mar[riott],
Marston's claim can hardly be sustained.
ADDENDA.
Vol. i. page 13. "Blind Gew."--I have come upon a mention of this
actor in the fifth satire of Edward Guilpin's
_Skialetheia_, 1598:--
"But who's in yonder coach? my lord and fool,
One that for ape-tricks can put _Gue_ to school."
Guilpin's eleventh epigram is addressed "_To Gue_":--
"_Gue_, hang thyself for woe, since gentlemen
Are now grown cunning in thy apishness," &c.
Page 15, line 17. "_Heavy_ dryness."--I was wrong in
accepting the reading of ed. 1633 in preference to the
"_heathy_ dryness" of ed. 1602. _Heathy_ is a Marstonian
word; and we find it in act iv. of _Jack Drum's
Entertainment_:--
"Good faith, troth is they are all apes and gulls,
Vile imitating spirits, dry _heathy_ turfs."
Page 60, line 256. Dr. Nicholson proposes "Her _own_ heels,
God knows, _are not_ half so light"--a good emendation.
Page 239, line 21. "Distilled oxpith," &c.--We have a
similar list of provocatives in John Mason's _Turk_,
first published in 1610, but written some years
previously:--
"Here is a compound of Cantharides, diositerion, _marrow
of an ox_, _hairs of a lion_, stones of a goat,
_cock-sparrows' brains_, and such like." (_Sig. F. 3,
verso._)
Page 311, lines 88, 89. "Life is a frost ... vanity."--I
have discovered that these lines are from an epigram in
Thomas Bastard's _Chrestoleros_, 1598, sig. H. I quote
the epigram in full, as it is of striking solemnity:--
"When I behold with deep astonishment
To famous Westminster how there resort,
Living in brass or stony monument,
The princes and the worthies of all sort,
Do not I see reform'd nobility
Without contempt or pride or ostentation?
And look upon offenceless majesty
Naked of pomp or earthly domination?
And how a play-game of a painted stone
Contents the quiet now and silent sprites
Whom all the world, which late they stood upon,
Could not content nor squench [_sic_] their appetites?
_Life is a frost of cold felicity
And death the thaw of all our vanity._"
Vol. ii. page 355, line 274. Mr. P. A. Daniel suggests that for
"others' fate" we should read "adverse fate."
Vol. iii. page 51, lines 41-2. "_But a little higher, but a little
higher_," &c.--These lines are from a song of Campion,
beginning--
"Mistress, since you so much desire
To know the place of Cupid's fire," &c.
No. xvi. in Campion and Rosseter's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
They occur again in Campion's _Fourth Book of Airs_, No.
xxii.
Page 243, line 247. "Like Mycerinus," &c.--I notice that a
similar emendation is made, in a seventeenth century
hand, in the margin of one of Dyce's copies at South
Kensington. My emendation was printed before I discovered
that it had been anticipated.
ERRATA.
VOL. I.
Page 64, line 48, for _Tyrrian_ read _Tyrian_.
Page 120, note 2, for _Grumean_ read _Grumeau_.
Page 159, note 1, for "The star-led wisards _hasten_" read "The
star-led wisards _haste_."
Page 191, after "_Antonii Vindictæ_" the word "_Finis_" should be
added (_i.e._, "End of Antonio's Revenge").
VOL. II.
Page 125, note 2, after "_The Famous History of Fryer_" add
"_Bacon_."
Page 322, line 15, for "Sir Signior" read "Sir, Signior" (comma
after "Sir").
Page 363, for "Still _went_ on went I" read "Still on went I" (an
annoying blunder).
Page 394, lines 158-9, in "delicious, sweet" the comma should be
struck out, as "sweet" is doubtless to be taken as a
substantive.
VOL. III.
Page 3, five lines from the bottom, read "insists _on_ starting."
Page 342, note 2, in "Huc usque _of_ Xylinum" del. "of."
ADDITIONAL CORRECTIONS AND EMENDATIONS.
For the following corrections and emendations I am indebted to Mr. P.
A. Daniel. I am sorry that I did not have them earlier.
First I will correct the actual mistakes for which I must bear the
responsibility (in whole or part).
Vol. i., page xxxviii., line 11, for "Sir James Graham" read "Sir
James Murray."
Vol. i., page 26, line 205, for "The first thing he spake" read "The
first _word that_ he spake."
Vol. i., page 60, line 263, for "_in_ time to come" the old eds. read
"time to come." (I prefer "_in_ time," but should not have added
"_in_" silently.)
Vol. i., page 89, line 296, "His father's" [fathers] is the reading of
ed. 1602; but ed. 1633 gives "His father"--a better reading.
Vol. i., page 121, line 318, for "aspish" read "apish."
Vol. i., page 175, line 78, for "scorn'_d_" read "scorn'_t_."
Vol. ii., page 17, the stage-direction "_Enter_ COCLEDEMOY" is
superfluous.
Vol. ii., page 28, line 160, for "_feast_ o' grace" (where old eds.
give _fiest_) read "_fist_ o' grace," and compare page 42, line 58,
&c.
Vol. ii., page 32, line 33, for "not swaggering" read "not _of_
swaggering."
Vol. ii., page 109. The address should be headed "To _my_ Equal
Reader."
Vol. ii., page 197, line 417, for "show" read "sue" (the reading of
ed. 1633).
Vol. ii., page 213, line 92, delete "not."
Vol. ii., page 222, line 308, in "thy vice _from_ apparent here"
delete "from." (But query "thy vice from apparent heir"?)
Vol. ii., page 277, line 117, "All but Zanthia and Vangue depart."
Unquestionably these words are a stage-direction. They are printed as
part of the text in ed. 1633; but in ed. 1606 they are italicised, and
(though printed in the same line as "Withdraw, withdraw") evidently
form part of the previous stage-direction.
Vol. ii., page 328, for "For many debts" read "For many many debts."
Vol. ii., page 341, line 227, for "For" read "Fore."
Vol. ii., page 346, line 51, for "_hoary_ eld" ed. 1607 reads "hoard,"
and ed. 1633 "hoar'd." Probably the true reading is "hoar."
Vol. ii., page 369, lines 37-38. These lines have been transposed by
my printers; line 38 ("And those that rank," &c.) should stand before
line 37 ("Study a faint salute," &c.).
In the foregoing instances it is I who am chiefly to blame, and not
the old copies. I now come to Mr. Daniel's valuable emendations.
Vol. i., page 8, line 35, for "great" read "create" (an excellent
emendation).
Vol. i., page 32, line 56. Does not this speech belong to Feliche?
Vol. i., page 53, line 107. The prefix should be "_Cat_."
Vol. i., page 60, line 247. Add the stage-direction "_Exit_ ANTONIO."
Vol. i., page 70, line 182. Mr. Daniel suggests that for "_Spavento_"
(an awkward word here) we should read "_Speranza_."
Vol. i., page 110. "_Enter_ ANTONIO," &c.--Strike out the names of
Feliche and Forobosco.
Vol. i., page 128, line 107, for "How could he come on?" Mr. Daniel
proposes "How coldly he comes on!"
[Vol. i., page 142, line 2. In old eds. the line stands thus:--"Bout
heauens brow. (12) Tis now starke dead night." The bracketed "(12)" I
expanded into a stage-direction; but Mr. Swinburne suggests to me that
"the word 'twelve'--ejaculated by Antonio on hearing the clock
strike--is wanted for the metre." If we are to insert the word
"twelve" I should place it at the end of the line.]
Vol. i., page 145, line 54, for "The neat gay _mists_ of the light's
not up" Mr. Daniel suggests "The neat gay mistress," &c. (_i.e._,
Aurora)--an admirable emendation.
[Vol. i., page 150, line 190, for "swell thy _hour_ out" Mr. Swinburne
proposes "honour." If any change is needed I should prefer to read
"horror;" but "hour" frequently has a dissyllabic value.]
Vol. i., page 151, line 211, for "night-ghosts and graves" Mr. Daniel
would read "Night (_i.e._, good-night), ghosts and graves."
Vol. i., page 156, line 99, for "Why lags delay" Mr. Daniel would read
"Why, lags, delay?" taking lags as a substantive ("the sooty coursers
of the night").
Vol. i., page 158, line 41. I should have mentioned in a footnote that
"stirs" is an old form of "steers."
[Vol. i., page 172, line 22. Mr. Swinburne doubts whether my
correction "see" for "sir" is necessary, as the apostrophe "sir" or
"sirs" is occasionally found in a monologue.]
Vol. ii., page 9, line 54. Here, and in line 58, the prefix should be
"_Tys._"; and at line 62 Tysefew's _exit_ should be marked.
Vol. ii., page 16. At the bottom of the page should be marked "_Exit_
MARY," and at line 180 "_Exit_ COCLEDEMOY."
Vol. ii., page 86. "_Enter_ FRANCESCHINA," &c. Among those who enter
should be included "FREEVILLE _disguised_."
Vol. ii., page 93, line 46. "Ha, get you gone." It is a question
whether these words apply to Freeville's disguise or are addressed to
musicians. (In spite of line 32, "I bring some music," it is doubtful
whether there are any musicians on the stage.)
Vol. ii., page 139, line 111. "Nymphadoro, in direct phrase." Mr.
Daniel proposes (rightly) to read:-- "_Nym._ In direct phrase," &c.
Vol. ii., page 145, line 252. This speech should probably be given to
Herod.
Vol. ii., page 153, line 460. The prefix should doubtless be "_Zuc_."
Vol. ii., page 154, lines 477, 478. "And nose" should doubtless be
given to Hercules, and "And brain" to Zuccone.
Vol. ii., page 157, line 569. The old. eds give "Venice duke," but we
should read "Urbin's duke" (cf. page 226, line 444).
Vol. ii., page 171, line 299. Mr. Daniel suggests that we should place
a full stop after the word "speaks" and read "His signs to me and
_mien_ of profound reach."
Vol. ii., page 248, line 134. The words "No more: I bleed" appear to
belong to the wounded Carthalon.
Vol. ii., page 261, lines 21, 22. Query "bemoan'_t_" and
"revenge'_t_"?
Vol. ii., page 414, line 244, for "prolonged" Mr. Daniel ingeniously
suggests "prologued."
Vol. iii., page 214, line 78, for "faint" Mr. Daniel proposes
"feigned" (a certain emendation). In line 91, for "I resisted" he
proposes "if resisted."
Vol. iii., page 240, line 166, for "stung" Mr. Daniel proposes "stone."
Mr. Daniel sends me the following note on the plot of _What You
Will_:--
"A somewhat similar plot is found in _I Morti Vivi_,
Comedia, del molto excellente signore Sforza D'Oddi,
nell'Academia degli Insensati detto Forsennato, 1576. Oranta, a
lady of Naples, whose husband, Tersandro, is supposed drowned at
sea, is about to re-marry with Ottavio. Luigi, another suitor for
her hand, to hinder the marriage conspires with others to induce
one Iancola to personate Tersandro. Tersandro, however, has
escaped the sea, and arrives to find himself denied by his own
family (who have discovered Luigi's plot), and to be mistaken by
the conspirators themselves for Iancola. Tersandro's adventures
till his identity is established are somewhat similar to those of
Albano in _What You Will_.
"D'Oddi apparently derived many incidents of his plot from the
Greek romance of _Clitophon and Leucippe_, by Achilles
Tatius; as also did Anibal Caro for his comedy of _Gli
Straccioni_, 1582."
FIRST PART
OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
_The History of Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath
beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I.
M. London Printed for Mathewe Lownes, and Thomas Fisher, and are
to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde._ 1602. 4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Andrugio, Duke of Genoa, being utterly defeated in a sea-fight by
Piero Sforza, Duke of Venice, and banished by the Genoways, conceals
himself, with Lucio (an old courtier) and a page, among the marshes
round Venice. Piero proclaims throughout Italy that whoever brings the
head of Andrugio or of Andrugio's son, Antonio (who is in love with
Piero's daughter, Mellida), shall receive a reward of twenty thousand
pistolets. Antonio disguises himself as an Amazon, and, obtaining an
interview with Mellida, announces that her lover has been drowned at
sea. The pretended Amazon is received as a guest in Piero's palace,
and there quickly discovers himself to Mellida. Arrangements are made
by the lovers to escape to England; but Piero gaining intelligence
(through a letter that Mellida has dropped) of the intended flight,
the plot is frustrated and Mellida escapes to the marshes in the
disguise of a page. While Piero is giving orders for Antonio's arrest,
a sailor rushes forward, pretending to be in hot pursuit of Antonio
towards the marshes. The pursuer is Antonio himself, who had assumed
the disguise of a sailor at the instance of Feliche, a high-minded
gentleman of the Venetian court. Piero gives the pretended sailor his
signet-ring that he may pass the watch and not be hindered in the
pursuit. Arrived at the marshes, Antonio, distracted with grief for
the fall of his father and for the loss of Mellida, flings himself
prostrate on the ground. Presently Andrugio approaches with Lucio and
the page, and a joyful meeting ensues between father and son. Andrugio
and Lucio retire to a cave which they had fitted up as a dwelling, and
Antonio, promising to quickly rejoin them, stays to hear a song from
Andrugio's page. Meanwhile Mellida, disguised as a page, approaches
unobserved, and hearing her name passionately pronounced, recognises
the sailor as Antonio. She discovers herself to her lover, and after a
brief colloquy despatches him across the marsh to observe whether any
pursuers are in sight. Hardly has Antonio departed when Piero and his
followers come up, and Mellida is drawn from a thicket where she had
concealed herself. Piero hastens back to the court with his daughter,
whom he resolves to marry out of hand to Galeatzo, son of the Duke of
Florence. Antonio, returning in company with Andrugio and Lucio to the
spot where he had left Mellida, learns from Andrugio's page that she
has been carried away. Andrugio now separates himself from Antonio and
Lucio; proceeds, clad in a complete suit of armour, to the court of
Piero, and announces that he has come to claim the reward offered for
Andrugio's head. Piero declares his willingness to pay the reward; and
then Andrugio, raising his beaver, discovers himself to Piero and the
assembled courtiers. Piero affects to be struck with admiration for
his adversary's magnanimity, and professes friendship for the future.
A funeral procession now enters, followed by Lucio, who announces that
he has brought the body of Antonio. Andrugio mourns for the death of
his son and Piero affects to share his grief, protesting that he would
give his own life or his daughter's hand to purchase breath for the
dead man. Thereupon Antonio, who had died only in conceit, rises from
the bier and claims the hand of Mellida. Piero assents, and the _First
Part of Antonio and Mellida_ closes joyfully.
_To the only rewarder and most just poiser of virtuous merits, the
most honourably renowned_ NOBODY,[32] _bounteous Mecænas of poetry
and Lord Protector of oppressed innocence_, do dedicoque.
Since it hath flowed with the current of my humorous blood to affect
(a little too much) to be seriously fantastical, here take (most
respected Patron) the worthless present of my slighter idleness. If
you vouchsafe not his protection, then, O thou sweetest perfection
(Female Beauty), shield me from the stopping of vinegar bottles. Which
most wished favour if it fail me, then _Si nequeo flectere superos,
Acheronta movebo_. But yet, honour's redeemer, virtue's advancer,
religion's shelter, and piety's fosterer, yet, yet, I faint not in
despair of thy gracious affection and protection; to which I only
shall ever rest most servingman-like, obsequiously making legs and
standing (after our free-born English garb) bareheaded. Thy only
affied slave and admirer,
J. M.
[32] So Day dedicates his _Humour out of Breath_ to "Signior
Nobody."
_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._[33]
PIERO SFORZA, _Duke of Venice_.
ANDRUGIO, _Duke of Genoa_.
ANTONIO, _son to_ ANDRUGIO, _in love with_ MELLIDA.
FELICHE, _a high-minded courtier_.
ALBERTO, _a Venetian gentleman, in love with_ ROSSALINE.
BALURDO, _a rich gull_.
MATZAGENTE, _a modern braggadoch, son to the Duke of Milan_.
GALEATZO, _son to the Duke of Florence, a suitor to_ MELLIDA.
FOROBOSCO, _a Parasite_.
CASTILIO BALTHAZAR, _a spruce courtier_.
LUCIO,[34] _an old nobleman, friend to_ ANDRUGIO.
CATZO, _page to_ CASTILIO.
DILDO, _page to_ BALURDO.
_Painter_, ANDRUGIO'S _page, &c._
MELLIDA, _daughter to_ PIERO, _in love with_ ANTONIO.
ROSSALINE, _niece to_ PIERO.
FLAVIA, _a waiting-woman_.
SCENE--VENICE AND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.
[33] There is no list of characters in old eds.
[34] Dilke (_Old English Plays_, 1814, vol. ii.) wrongly
describes Lucio as Andrugio's page.
INDUCTION.[35]
_Enter_ GALEATZO, PIERO, ALBERTO, ANTONIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO,
MATZAGENTE, _and_ FELICHE, _with parts in their hands; having
cloaks cast over their apparel_.
_Gal._ Come, sirs, come! the music will sound straight for entrance.
Are ye ready, are ye perfect?
_Pier._ Faith! we can say our parts; but we are ignorant in what
mould we must cast our actors.
_Alb._ Whom do you personate?
_Pier._ Piero, Duke of Venice.
_Alb._ O! ho! then thus frame your exterior shape
To haughty form of elate majesty,
As if you held the palsy-shaking head
Of reeling chance under your fortune's belt 10
In strictest vassalage: grow big in thought,
As swoln with glory of successful arms.
_Pier._ If that be all, fear not; I'll suit it right.
Who cannot be proud, stroke up the hair, and strut?
_Alb._ Truth; such rank custom is grown popular;
And now the vulgar fashion strides as wide,
And stalks as proud upon the weakest stilts
Of the slight'st fortunes, as if Hercules
Or burly Atlas shoulder'd up their state.
_Pier._ Good: but whom act you? 20
_Alb._ The necessity[36] of the play forceth me to act two
parts: Andrugio, the distressed Duke of Genoa, and
Alberto, a Venetian gentleman, enamoured on the Lady
Rossaline; whose fortunes being too weak to sustain
the port of her, he proved always disastrous in love; his
worth being much underpoised by the uneven scale, that
currents all things by the outward stamp of opinion.
_Gal._ Well, and what dost thou play?
_Bal._ The part of all the world.
_Alb._ The part of all the world? What's that? 30
_Bal._ The fool. Ay, in good deed law now, I play
Balurdo, a wealthy mountbanking burgomasco's heir of
Venice.
_Alb._ Ha! ha! one whose foppish nature might seem
great, only for wise men's recreation; and, like a juiceless
bark, to preserve the sap of more strenuous spirits.
A servile hound, that loves the scent of forerunning
fashion, like an empty hollow vault, still giving an echo
to wit: greedily champing what any other well valued
judgment had beforehand chew'd.[37] 40
_Foro._ Ha! ha! ha! tolerably good, good faith, sweet
wag.
_Alb._ Umph; why tolerably good, good faith, sweet
wag? Go, go; you flatter me.
_Foro._ Right; I but dispose my speech to the habit
of my part.
_Alb._ Why, what plays he? [_To_ FELICHE.
_Feli._ The wolf that eats into the breasts of princes;
that breeds the lethargy and falling sickness in honour;
makes justice look asquint; and blinds[38] the eye of
merited reward from viewing desertful virtue. 51
_Alb._ What's all this periphrasis, ha?
_Feli._ The substance of a supple-chapt flatterer.
_Alb._ O! doth he play Forobosco the Parasite? Good,
i'faith. Sirrah, you must seem now as glib and straight
in outward semblance as a lady's busk,[39] though inwardly
as cross as a pair of tailors' legs; having a tongue as
nimble as his needle, with servile patches of glavering
flattery to stitch up the bracks[40] of unworthily
honour'd-- 60
_Foro._ I warrant you, I warrant you, you shall see me
prove the very periwig to cover the bald pate of brainless
gentility. Ho! I will so tickle the sense of _bella
gratiosa madonna_ with the titillation of hyperbolical praise,
that I'll strike it in the nick, in the very nick, chuck.
_Feli._ Thou promisest more than I hope any spectator
gives faith of performance; but why look you so dusky,
ha? [_To_ ANTONIO.
_Ant._ I was never worse fitted since the nativity of my
actorship; I shall be hiss'd at, on my life now. 70
_Feli._ Why, what must you play?
_Ant._ Faith, I know not what; an hermaphrodite, two
parts in one; my true person being Antonio, son to the
Duke of Genoa; though for the love of Mellida, Piero's
daughter, I take this feigned presence of an Amazon,
calling myself Florizell, and I know not what. I a voice
to play a lady! I shall ne'er do it.
_Alb._ O! an Amazon should have such a voice,
virago-like. Not play two parts in one? away, away,
'tis common fashion. Nay, if you cannot bear two
subtle fronts under one hood, idiot, go by, go by, off
this world's stage! O time's impurity! 82
_Ant._ Ay, but when use hath taught me action
To hit the right point of a lady's part,
I shall grow ignorant, when I must turn
Young prince again, how but to truss[41] my hose.
_Feli._ Tush, never put them off; for women wear the
breeches still.
_Mat._ By the bright honour of a Milanoise,
And the resplendent fulgor of this steel, 90
I will defend the feminine to death,
And ding[42] his spirit to the verge of hell,
That dares divulge a lady's prejudice!
[_Exeunt_ MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO, _and_ BALURDO.[43]
_Feli._ Rampum scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine!
What rattling thunderclap breaks from his lips?
_Alb._ O! 'tis native to his part. For acting a modern[44]
braggadoch under the person of Matzagente, the Duke
of Milan's son, it may seem to suit with good fashion
of coherence. 99
_Pier._ But methinks he speaks with a spruce Attic
accent of adulterate Spanish.
_Alb._ So 'tis resolv'd. For Milan being half Spanish,
half high Dutch, and half Italians, the blood of chiefest
houses is corrupt and mongrel'd; so that you shall see
a fellow vain-glorious for a Spaniard, gluttonous for a
Dutchman, proud for an Italian, and a fantastic idiot
for all. Such a one conceit this Matzagente.
_Feli._ But I have a part allotted me, which I have
neither able apprehension to conceit, nor what I conceit
gracious ability to utter. 110
_Gal._ Whoop, in the old cut![45] Good, show us a
draught of thy spirit.
_Feli._ 'Tis steady and must seem so impregnably fortressed
with his own content that no envious thought
could ever invade his spirit; never surveying any man
so unmeasuredly happy, whom I thought not justly
hateful for some true impoverishment; never beholding
any favour of Madam Felicity gracing another, which
his well-bounded content persuaded not to hang in
the front of his own fortune; and therefore as far
from envying any man, as he valued all men infinitely
distant from accomplished beatitude. These native
adjuncts appropriate to me the name of Feliche. But
last, good, thy humour. 124
[_Exeunt_ PIERO, ALBERTO, _and_ GALEATZO.[46]
_Ant._ 'Tis to be described by signs and tokens. For
unless I were possessed with a legion of spirits, 'tis
impossible to be made perspicuous by any utterance:
for sometimes he must take austere state, as for the
person of Galeatzo, the son of the Duke of Florence,
and possess his exterior presence with a formal majesty:
keep popularity in distance, and on the sudden fling
his honour so prodigally into a common arm, that he
may seem to give up his indiscretion to the mercy of
vulgar censure. Now as solemn as a traveller,[47] and as
grave as a Puritan's ruff;[48] with the same breath as
slight and scattered in his fashion as a--a--anything;
now as sweet and neat as a barber's casting-bottle;[49]
straight as slovenly as the yeasty breast of an ale-knight:
now lamenting, then chafing, straight laughing,
then----. 140
_Feli._ What then?
_Ant._ Faith, I know not what; 't had been a right
part for Proteus or Gew. Ho! blind Gew[50] would ha'
done 't rarely, rarely.
_Feli._ I fear it is not possible to limn so many persons
in so small a tablet as the compass of our plays
afford.
_Ant._ Right! therefore I have heard that those persons,
as he and you, Feliche, that are but slightly drawn
in this comedy, should receive more exact accomplishment
in a second part; which, if this obtain gracious
acceptance, means to try his fortune. 151
_Feli._ Peace, here comes the Prologue: clear the stage.
[_Exeunt._
[35] We have an Induction before _What you Will_ and _The
Malcontent_. Ben Jonson was particularly fond of introducing
preliminary dialogues, which are usually so tedious that we are
fain to exclaim with Cordatus (in the Induction to _Every Man
out of his Humour_), "I would they would begin once; this
protraction is able to sour the best settled patience in the
theatre."
[36] _I.e._, the poverty of the theatrical company. It was
common for an actor to represent two characters (or more) in the
same play. For example, William Shurlock personated Maharbal and
Prusias in Nabbes' _Hannibal and Scipio_, 1635; and in the
same play, Hugh Clerke, besides taking the part of Syphax,
personated the Nuntius.
[37] Old eds. "shew'd."
[38] So ed. 1633.--The 4to gives "blinks."
[39] A piece of whalebone, steel, or wood worn down the front of
the stays to keep them straight.
[40] Rents, cracks.
[41] "Truss my hose" = tie the tagged laces of my breeches.
[42] Hurl violently.
[43] Old eds. "_Exeunt_ ANT. _and_
ALB."
[44] Common, worthless.--The use of "modern" in this sense is
frequently found, and was sanctioned by Shakespeare; but it did
not escape Ben Jonson's censure in _The Poetaster_, v. i.:--
"Alas! that were no _modern_ consequence
To have cothurnal buskins frightened hence."
[45] "The old cut" = the old fashion. So Nashe in the epistle
dedicatory prefixed to _Strange News of the Intercepting
Certain Letters_, 1593:--"You are amongst grave Doctors and
men of judgment in both laws every day. I pray ask them the
question in my absence whether such a man as I have described
this epistler to be ... that hath made many proper rhymes of the
_old cut_ in his days," &c.
[46] Old eds. "_Exit_ ALB."
[47] "Jaques in _As You Like It_, describing his own
melancholy, says it is extracted from many objects, and that the
contemplation of his travels often wraps him in a most humorous
sadness: on which Rosalind observes--'A traveller! by my faith
you have great reason to be sad!'"--_Dilke._
[48] The Puritans' short starched ruffs were constantly
ridiculed. See Middleton's _Works_, viii. 69.
[49] A bottle for sprinkling perfumes.
[50] Probably an actor who had gone blind; but I can find no
information about him.
THE PROLOGUE.
The wreath of pleasure and delicious sweets,
Begirt the gentle front of this fair troop!
Select and most respected auditors,
For wit's sake do not dream of miracles.
Alas! we shall but falter, if you lay
The least sad weight of an unusèd hope
Upon our weakness; only we give up
The worthless present of slight idleness
To your authentic censure. O! that our Muse
Had those abstruse and sinewy faculties, 10
That, with a strain of fresh invention,
She might press out the rarity of Art;
The pur'st elixèd juice of rich conceit
In your attentive ears; that with the lip
Of gracious elocution we might drink
A sound carouse into your health of wit.
But O! the heavy[51] dryness of her brain,
Foil to your fertile spirits, is asham'd
To breathe her blushing numbers to such ears.
Yet (most ingenious) deign to veil our wants; 20
With sleek acceptance polish these rude scenes;
And if our slightness your large hope beguiles,
Check not with bended brow, but dimpled smiles.
[_Exit_ Prologue.
[51] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "heathy."
THE FIRST PART
OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
_Neighbourhood of Venice._
_The cornets sound a battle within._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _disguised like an Amazon_.
_Ant._ Heart, wilt not break? and thou abhorrèd life,
Wilt thou still breathe in my enragèd blood?
Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not,
Burst and divulst with anguish of my grief?
Can man by no means creep out of himself,
And leave the slough of viperous grief behind?
Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea,
As horrid as the hideous day of doom,
Betwixt thy father, Duke of Genoa,
And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince: 10
In which the sea hath swoln with Genoa's blood,
And made spring-tides with the warm reeking gore,
That gush'd from out our galleys' scupper-holes?
In which thy father, poor Andrugio,
Lies sunk, or leap'd into the arms of chance,
Choked with the labouring ocean's brackish foam;
Who, even despite Piero's canker'd hate,
Would with an armèd hand have seized thy love,
And link'd thee to the beauteous Mellida.
Have I outlived the death of all these hopes? 20
Have I felt anguish pour'd into my heart,
Burning like balsamum in tender wounds!
And yet dost live! Could not the fretting sea
Have roll'd me up in wrinkles of his brow?
Is death grown coy, or grim confusion nice,
That it will not accompany a wretch,
But I must needs be cast on Venice' shore,
And try new fortunes with this strange disguise
To purchase my adorèd Mellida?
[_The cornets sound a flourish; cease._
Hark how Piero's triumphs beat the air! 30
O, rugged mischief, how thou grat'st my heart!--
Take spirit, blood; disguise, be confident;
Make a firm stand; here rests the hope of all:
Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.
_The cornets sound a senet. Enter_ FELICHE _and_ ALBERTO, CASTILIO
_and_ FOROBOSCO, _a_ Page _carrying a shield_; PIERO _in armour_;
CATZO _and_ DILDO _and_ BALURDO. _All these_ (_saving_ PIERO)
_armed with petronels_.[52] _Being entered, they make a stand in
divided files_.
_Pier._ Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand,
Hurleth my glory 'bout this ball of earth,
Whilst the Venetian Duke is heavèd up
On wings of fair success, to overlook
The low-cast ruins of his enemies,
To see myself adored and Genoa quake; 40
My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.
_Feli._ Stand; the ground trembleth.
_Pier._ Ha! an earthquake?
_Bal._ O! I smell a sound.
_Feli._ Piero, stay, for I descry a fume
Creeping from out the bosom of the deep,
The breath of darkness, fatal when 'tis wist
In greatness' stomach. This same smoke, call'd pride,
Take heed: she'll lift thee to improvidence,
And break thy neck from steep security; 50
She'll make thee grudge to let Jehovah share
In thy successful battles. O! she's ominous;
Enticeth princes to devour heaven,
Swallow omnipotence, out-stare dread fate,
Subdue eternity in giant thought;
Heaves[53] up their heart[54] with swelling, puff'd conceit,
Till their souls burst with venom'd arrogance.
Beware, Piero; Rome itself hath tried,
Confusion's train blows up this Babel pride.
_Pier._ Pish! _Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi._[55] 60
Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fix'd decree
Unto the Genoan ambassador?
Are they content, if that their Duke return,
To send his and his son Antonio's head,
As pledges steep'd in blood, to gain their peace?
_Alb._ With most obsequious sleek-brow'd entertain,
They all embrace it as most gracious.
_Pier._ Are proclamations sent through Italy,
That whosoever brings Andrugio's head,
Or young Antonio's, shall be guerdonèd 70
With twenty thousand double pistolets,
And be endearèd to Piero's love?
_Foro._ They are sent every way: sound policy,
Sweet lord.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Confusion to these limber sycophants!
No sooner mischiefs born in regency,
But flattery christens it with policy.[56]
_Pier._ Why, then,--_O me coelitum excelsissimum!_
The intestine malice and inveterate hate
I always bore to that Andrugio, 80
Glories in triumph o'er his misery;
Nor shall that carpet-boy[57] Antonio
Match with my daughter, sweet-cheek'd Mellida.
No; the public power makes my faction strong.
_Feli._ Ill, when public power strength'neth private wrong.
_Pier._ 'Tis horse-like not for man to know his force.
_Feli._ 'Tis god-like for a man to feel remorse.[58]
_Pier._ Pish! I prosecute my family's revenge,
Which I'll pursue with such a burning chase,
Till I have dried up all Andrugio's blood; 90
Weak rage, that with slight pity is withstood.--
[_The cornets sound a flourish._
What means that fresh triumphal flourish sound?
_Alb._ The prince of Milan, and young Florence' heir,
Approach to gratulate your victory.
_Pier._ We'll girt them with an ample waste of love.
Conduct them to our presence royally;
Let vollies of the great artillery
From off our galleys' banks[59] play prodigal,
And sound loud welcome from their bellowing mouths.
[_Exeunt all but_ PIERO.
_The cornets sound a senet. Enter above_, MELLIDA, ROSSALINE,
_and_ FLAVIA. _Enter below_, GALEATZO _with Attendants_; PIERO
_meeteth him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish_;
PIERO _and_ GALEATZO _exeunt; the rest stand still_.
_Mel._ What prince was that passed through my father's guard? 100
_Fla._ 'Twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.
_Ros._ Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead;
Enter the walls, i'faith (sweet Mellida),
If that thy flankers be not cannon-proof.
_Mel._ O, Mary Ambree,[60] good, thy judgment, wench?
Thy bright election's clear:[61] what will he prove?
_Ros._ Hath a short finger and a naked chin,
A skipping eye; dare lay my judgment (faith)
His love is glibbery;[62] there's no hold on't, wench.
Give me a husband whose aspect is firm; 110
A full-cheek'd gallant with a bouncing thigh:
O, he is the _Paradizo dell madonne contento_.
_Mel._ Even such a one was my Antonio.
[_The cornets sound a senet._
_Ros._ By my nine and thirtieth servant, sweet,
Thou art in love; but stand on tiptoe,[63] fair;
Here comes Saint Tristram Tirlery Whiffe, i'faith.
_Enter_ MATZAGENTE; PIERO _meets him, embraceth; at which the
cornets sound a flourish: they two stand, using seeming
compliments, whilst the scene passeth above_.
_Mel._ St. Mark, St. Mark! what kind of thing appears?
_Ros._ For fancy's passion, spit upon him! Fie,
His face is varnish'd. In the name of love,
What country bred that creature?
_Mel._ What is he, Flavia? 120
_Fla._ The heir of Milan, Signior Matzagente.
_Ros._ Matzagente! now, by my pleasure's hope,
He is made like a tilting-staff; and looks
For all the world like an o'er-roasted pig:
A great tobacco-taker too, that's flat;
For his eyes look as if they had been hung
In the smoke of his nose.
_Mel._ What husband will he prove, sweet Rossaline?
_Ros._ Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg,
A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard; 130
And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet;
For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,
A thin lip, and a little monkish eye.
'Precious! what a slender waist he hath!
He looks like a may-pole,[64] or a notched stick;
He'll snap in two at every little strain.
Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,
Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense;
Fools relish not a lady's excellence.
[_Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a
flourish, and a peal of shot is given._
_Mel._ The triumph's ended; but look, Rossaline! 140
What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65]
Walks on the pavement?
_Ros._ Good sweet, let's to her; prithee, Mellida.
_Mel._ How covetous thou art of novelties!
_Ros._ Pish! 'tis our nature to desire things
That are thought strangers to the common cut.
_Mel._ I am exceeding willing, but----
_Ros._ But what? prithee, go down; let's see her face:
God send that neither wit nor beauty wants,
Those tempting sweets, affection's adamants. 150
[_Exeunt._
_Ant._ Come down: she comes like--O, no simile
Is precious, choice, or elegant enough
To illustrate her descent! Leap heart, she comes!
She comes! smile heaven, and softest southern wind
Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath.
She comes! creation's purity, admir'd,
Ador'd amazing rarity, she comes!
O, now, Antonio, press thy spirit forth
In following passion, knit thy senses close,
Heap up thy powers, double all thy man. 160
_Enter_ MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, _and_ FLAVIA.
She comes!
O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart!
Mount blood! soul to my lips! taste Hebe's cup:
Stand firm on deck, when beauty's close fight's[66] up.
_Mel._ Lady, your strange habit doth beget
Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,
To be acquaint with your condition.
_Ros._ Good, sweet lady, without more ceremonies,
What country claims your birth? and, sweet, your name?
_Ant._ In hope your bounty will extend itself 170
In self-same nature of fair courtesy,
I'll shun all niceness; my name's Florizell,
My country Scythia; I am Amazon,
Cast on this shore by fury of the sea.
_Ros._ Nay, faith, sweet creature, we'll not veil our names.
It pleas'd the font to dip me Rossaline;
That lady bears the name of Mellida,
The Duke of Venice' daughter.
_Ant._ Madam, I am oblig'd to kiss your hand,
By imposition of a now dead man. 180
[_To_ MELLIDA, _kissing her hand_.
_Ros._ Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought,
To know the man; sweet beauty, deign his name.
_Ant._ Lady, the circumstance is tedious.
_Ros._ Troth, not a whit; good fair, let's have it all:
I love not, I, to have a jot left out,
If the tale come from a loved orator.
_Ant._ Vouchsafe me, then, your hush'd observances.--
Vehement in pursuit of strange novelties,
After long travel through the Asian main,
I shipp'd my hopeful thoughts for Brittany;[67] 190
Longing to view great Nature's miracle,
The glory of our sex, whose fame doth strike
Remotest ears with adoration.
Sailing some two months with inconstant winds,
We view'd the glistering Venetian forts,
To which we made: when lo! some three leagues off,
We might descry a horrid spectacle;
The issue of black fury strew'd the sea
With tatter'd carcasses of splitted ships,
Half sinking, burning, floating topsy-turvy. 200
Not far from these sad ruins of fell rage,
We might behold a creature press the waves;
Senseless he sprawl'd, all notch'd with gaping wounds.
To him we made, and (short) we took him up;
The first thing he spake was,--Mellida!
And then he swooned.[68]
_Mel._ Ay me!
_Ant._ Why sigh you, fair?
_Mel._[69] Nothing but little humours; good sweet, on.
_Ant._ His wounds being dress'd, and life recoverèd,
We 'gan discourse; when lo! the sea grew mad,
His bowels rumbling with wind-passion; 210
Straight swarthy darkness popp'd out Phoebus' eye,
And blurr'd the jocund face of bright-cheek'd day;
Whilst crudled[70] fogs masked even darkness' brow:
Heaven bad's good night, and the rocks groan'd
At the intestine uproar of the main.
Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred[71] paunch
Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck; 220
Which in an instant up was belkt again.
When thus this martyr'd soul began to sigh:
"Give me your hand (quoth he): now do you grasp
Th' unequall'd[72] mirror of ragg'd misery:
Is't not a horrid storm? O, well-shaped sweet,
Could your quick eye strike through these gashèd wounds,
You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,
Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.
Wolt[73] do me a favour? if thou chance survive,
But visit Venice, kiss the precious white 230
Of my most,--nay, all epithets are base
To attribute to gracious Mellida:
Tell her the spirit of Antonio
Wisheth his last gasp breath'd upon her breast."
_Ros._ Why weeps soft-hearted Florizell?
_Ant._ Alas, the flinty rocks groan'd at his plaints.
"Tell her, (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
Hath crack'd his bosom;" therewithal he wept,
And thus sigh'd on: "The sea is merciful;
Look how it gapes to bury all my grief! 240
Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb:
My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe;
Die, unmatch'd anguish, die, Antonio!"
With that he totter'd from the reeling deck,
And down he sunk.
_Ros._ Pleasure's body! what makes my Lady weep?
_Mel._ Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air's sharp[74]--
My father's palace, Madam, will be proud
To entertain your presence, if you'll deign
To make repose within. Ay me! 250
_Ant._ Lady, our fashion is not curious.[75]
_Ros._ 'Faith, all the nobler, 'tis more generous.
_Mel._ Shall I then know how fortune fell at last,
What succour came, or what strange fate ensued?
_Ant._ Most willingly: but this same court is vast,
And public to the staring multitude.
_Ros._ Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth
We'll be bedfellows: dirt on compliment froth![76]
[_Exeunt_; ROSSALINE _giving_ ANTONIO _the way_.
[52] Carbines.
[53] Ed. 1633 "Heavens."
[54] Old eds. "hurt."
[55] Senec. _Thyestes_, 888.
[56] "Christens it with policy" = dignifies it with the title of
policy.
[57] A term of contempt, like "carpet-knight," for an effeminate
gallant "who never charged beyond a mistress' lips."
[58] Pity.
[59] The rowers' benches.
[60] The famous Amazon, whose "valorous acts performed at Gaunt"
(Ghent), circ. 1584, are celebrated in a fine old ballad. The
name was commonly applied to any woman of spirit.
[61] "Thy bright election's clear" = you are a woman of keen
perception.
[62] A favourite word with Marston. It is ridiculed by Ben Jonson
in _The Poetaster_, v. 1:--
"What, shall thy lubrical and _glibbery_ muse
Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews?"
[63] Old eds. "tiptoed."
[64] It was a common form of abuse to compare a person to a
may-pole. Hermia, railing at Helena, addresses her as "thou
painted may-pole" (_Midsummer Night's Dream_, iii. 2).
[65] Accoutrements.--Elsewhere Marston has the original French
form "accoustrements," which is also found in Spenser.
[66] "_Close fight_ is an old sea-term. 'A ship's _close
fights_ are small ledges of wood laid cross one another, like
the grates of iron in a prison window, betwixt the main-mast and
fore-mast, and are called gratings or nettings.' Smith's _Sea
Grammar_, 1627."--_Halliwell._
[67] The form "Brittany," for "Britain," is not uncommon. Marlowe
uses it in _Edward II._, ii. 2. l. 42; and I have restored
it, _metri causa_, in the prologue to the _Jew of
Malta_, l. 29.
[68] Ed. 1633 "swounded."
[69] Old eds. "_Ros._"
[70] Thick, curdled.
[71] Cleft, rifted.
[72] Old eds. "unequal," which Dilke explains to mean "the
partial and unjust representative"--an explanation which I wholly
fail to understand. Later in the present play (p. 42, l. 309) we
have "_unmatch'd mirrors_ of calamity."
[73] Wilt.
[74] Dilke quotes appositely from _Richard II._:--
"_Rich._ And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?
_Aum._ 'Faith none by me: except _the north-east wind_,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
_Awak'd the sleepy rheum_; and so, by chance,
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear."
[75] "Our fashion is not curious," _i.e._, Amazons do not
stand on ceremony.
[76] Rossaline, seeing Antonio make way for her to pass, insists
on giving him precedence. "No empty compliments! take the lead."
ACT II.
SCENE I.
_Palace of the Duke of Venice._
_Enter_ CATZO, _with a capon eating_; DILDO _following him_.
_Dil._ Hah, Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher:
do you hear?
Balurdo calls for your diminutive attendance.
_Cat._ The belly hath no ears,[77] Dildo.
_Dil._ Good pug,[78] give me some capon.
_Cat._ No capon, no not a bit, ye smooth bully;[78]
capon's no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibbery urchin,
is food for infants.
_Dil._ Upon mine honour.
_Cat._ Your honour with a paugh! 'slid, now every jackanapes
loads his back with the golden coat of honour;
every ass puts on the lion's skin and roars his honour.
Upon your honour? By my lady's pantable,[79] I fear I shall
live to hear a vintner's boy cry, "'Tis rich neat canary."
Upon my honour! 14
_Dil._ My stomach's up.
_Cat._ I think thou art hungry.
_Dil._ The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the
linstock[80] of rage, and will presently set fire to the touch-hole
of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of
my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech.
_Cat._ I'll stop the barrel thus: good Dildo, set not fire
to the touch-hole. 22
_Dil._ My rage is stopp'd, and I will eat to the health
of the fool, thy master Castilio.
_Cat._ And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the
health of the idiot, thy master Balurdo.
_Dil._ Faith, our masters are like a case[81] of rapiers
sheathed in one scabbard of folly.
_Cat._ Right Dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at
the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from
the ship-sides, to view our masters pluck their plumes
and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark. 32
_Dil._ 'Slud (cried Signior Balurdo), O for Don
Rosicleer's[82] armour, in the _Mirror of Knighthood_! what
coil's here? O for an armour, cannon-proof! O, more
cable, more featherbeds![83] more featherbeds, more cable!
till he had as much as my cable-hatband[84] to fence
him.
_Enter_ FLAVIA _in haste, with a rebato_.[85]
_Cat._ Buxom Flavia, can you sing? song, song!
_Fla._ My sweet Dildo, I am not for you at this time:
Madam Rossaline stays for a fresh ruff to appear in the
presence: sweet, away. 41
_Dil._ 'Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark-eyed,
sleek-skinn'd, slender-waisted, clean-legg'd, rarely-shaped--
_Fla._ Who? I'll be at all your service another season:
my faith, there's reason in all things.
_Dil._ Would I were reason then, that I might be in all
things.
_Cat._ The breve and the semiquaver is, we must have
the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.
_Fla._ Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly. 51
_Cat._ Troth not a wit, if you seem to come off quickly.
_Fla._ Pert Catzo, knock[86] it lustily then.
[_A song._
_Enter_ FOROBOSCO, _with two torches_: CASTILIO _singing
fantastically_; ROSSALINE _running a coranto[87] pace, and_
BALURDO; FELICHE _following, wondering at them all_.
_Foro._ Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches;
the prince approacheth the presence.
_Dil._ What squeaking cart-wheel have we here? ha!
"Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches; the prince
approacheth the presence."
_Ros._ Faugh, what a strong scent's here! somebody
useth to wear socks. 60
_Bal._ By this fair candle light, 'tis not my feet; I never
wore socks since I sucked pap.
_Ros._ Savourly put off.
_Cast._ Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galls off the skin
with the tart acrimony of her sharp quickness: by sweetness,
she is the very Pallas that flew out of Jupiter's
brainpan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe me your service:
by the purity of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage.
_Ros._ I vouchsafe it; be my slave.--Signior Balurdo,
wilt thou be my servant, too? 70
_Bal._ O God,[88] forsooth in very good earnest, law, you
would make me as a man should say, as a man should
say--
_Feli._ 'Slud, sweet beauty, will you deign him your
service?
_Ros._ O, your fool is your only servant. But, good
Feliche, why art thou so sad? a penny for thy thought,
man.
_Feli._ I sell not my thought so cheap: I value my
meditation at a higher rate. 80
_Bal._ In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should
have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson satin
that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence
halfpenny a yard, that you should, law!
_Ros._ What was thy thought, good servant?
_Bal._ Marry forsooth, how many strike of pease would
feed a hog fat against Christtide.
_Ros._ Paugh! [_she spits_] servant,[89] rub out my rheum, it
soils the presence.
_Cast._ By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoe
with an unmeasured honour: I will preserve the sole of
it, as a most sacred relic for this service. 92
_Ros._ I'll spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] O that the stomach of this queasy age
Digests, or brooks such raw unseasoned gobs,
And vomits not them forth! O! slavish sots!
Servant, quoth you? faugh! if a dog should crave
And beg her service, he should have it straight:
She'd give him favours too, to lick her feet,
Or fetch her fan, or some such drudgery: 100
A good dog's office, which these amorists
Triumph of: 'tis rare, well give her more ass,
More sot, as long as dropping of her nose
Is sworn rich pearl by such low slaves as those.
_Ros._ Flavia, attend me to attire me.
[_Exeunt_ ROSSALINE _and_ FLAVIA.
_Bal._ In sad good earnest, sir, you have touched the
very bare of naked truth; my silk stocking hath a good
gloss, and I thank my planets, my leg is not altogether
unpropitiously shaped. There's a word: unpropitiously?
I think I shall speak unpropitiously as well as any courtier
in Italy. 111
_Foro._ So help me your sweet bounty, you have the
most graceful presence, applausive elecuty, amazing volubility,
polish'd adornation, delicious affability.
_Feli._ Whoop: fut, how he tickles yon trout under the
gills! you shall see him take him by and by with groping
flattery.
_Foro._ That ever ravish'd the ear of wonder. By your
sweet self, than whom I know not a more exquisite, illustrate,
accomplished, pure, respected, adored, observed,
precious, real,[90] magnanimous, bounteous--if you have
an idle rich cast jerkin, or so, it shall not be cast away,
if--ha! here's a forehead, an eye, a head, a hair, that
would make a--: or if you have any spare pair of silver
spurs, I'll do you as much right in all kind offices--
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Of a kind parasite.
_Foro._ As any of my mean fortunes shall be able to.
_Bal._ As I am true Christian now, thou hast won the
spurs.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] For flattery. 130
O how I hate that same Egyptian louse,
A rotten maggot, that lives by stinking filth
Of tainted spirits! vengeance to such dogs,
That sprout by gnawing senseless carrion!
_Enter_ ALBERTO.
_Alb._ Gallants, saw you my mistress, the lady Rossaline?
_Foro._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, left the presence
even now.
_Cast._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her
gracious aspect even now.
_Bal._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her
gracious aspect even now. 141
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Well said, echo.
_Alb._ My mistress, and his mistress, and your mistress,
and the dog's mistress. Precious dear heaven, that
Alberto lives to have such rivals!--
'Slid, I have been searching every private room,
Corner, and secret angle of the court:
And yet, and yet, and yet she lives conceal'd.
Good sweet Feliche, tell me how to find
My bright-faced mistress out. 150
_Feli._ Why man, cry out for lanthorn and candle-light:[91]
for 'tis your only way, to find your bright-flaming wench
with your light-burning torch: for most commonly, these
light creatures live in darkness.
_Alb._ Away, you heretic, you'll be burnt for----
_Feli._ Go, you amorous hound, follow the scent of your
mistress' shoe; away!
_Foro._ Make a fair presence; boys, advance your lights;
the princess makes approach.
_Bal._ And please the gods, now in very good deed,
law, you shall see me tickle the measures for the heavens.
Do my hangers[92] show? 162
_Enter_ PIERO, ANTONIO, MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE,
ALBERTO, _and_ FLAVIA. _As they enter_, FELICHE _and_ CASTILIO
_make a rank for the_ DUKE _to pass through_. FOROBOSCO _ushers
the_ DUKE _to his state_:[93] _then, whilst_ PIERO _speaketh his
first speech,_ MELLIDA _is taken by_ GALEATZO _and_ MATZAGENTE _to
dance, they supporting her_: ROSSALINE, _in like manner, by_
ALBERTO _and_ BALURDO: FLAVIA, _by_ FELICHE _and_ CASTILIO.
_Pier._ Beauteous Amazon, sit and seat your thoughts
In the reposure of most soft content.
Sound music there! Nay, daughter, clear your eyes,
From these dull fogs of misty discontent:
Look sprightly, girl. What? though Antonio's drown'd,--
That peevish dotard on thy excellence,
That hated issue of Andrugio,--
Yet may'st thou triumph in my victories; 170
Since, lo, the high-born bloods of Italy
Sue for thy seat of love.--Let[94] music sound!
Beauty and youth run descant on love's ground.[95]
_Mat._ Lady, erect your gracious symmetry,
Shine in the sphere of sweet affection:
Your eye['s] as heavy, as the heart of night.
_Mel._ My thoughts are as black as your beard; my
fortunes as ill-proportioned as your legs; and all the
powers of my mind as leaden as your wit, and as dusty
as your face is swarthy. 180
_Gal._ Faith, sweet, I'll lay thee on the lips for that jest.
_Mel._ I prithee intrude not on a dead man's right.
_Gal._ No, but the living's just possession:
Thy lips and love are mine.
_Mel._ You ne'er took seizin on them yet: forbear.
There's not a vacant corner of my heart,
But all is fill'd with dead Antonio's loss.
Then urge no more; O leave to love at all;
'Tis less disgraceful not to mount than fall.
_Mat._ Bright and refulgent lady, deign your ear: 190
You see this blade,--had it a courtly lip,
It would divulge my valour, plead my love,
Justle that skipping feeble amorist
Out of your love's seat; I am Matzagent.
_Gal._ Hark thee; I pray thee, taint not thy sweet ear
With that sot's gabble; by thy beauteous cheek,
He is the flagging'st bulrush that e'er droop'd
With each slight mist of rain. But with pleased eye
Smile on my courtship.
_Mel._ What said you, sir? alas my thought was fix'd 200
Upon another object. Good, forbear:
I shall but weep. Ay me, what boots a tear!
Come, come, let's dance. O music, thou distill'st
More sweetness in us than this jarring world:
Both time and measure from thy strains do breathe,
Whilst from the channel of this dirt doth flow
Nothing but timeless grief, unmeasured woe.
_Ant._ O how impatience cramps my crackèd veins
And cruddles thick my blood, with boiling rage!
O eyes, why leap you not like thunderbolts, 210
Or cannon bullets in my rival's face!
_Ohime infeliche misero, O lamentevol fato!_
_Alb._ What means the lady fall upon the ground?
_Ros._ Belike the falling sickness.
_Ant._ I cannot brook this sight, my thoughts grow wild:
Here lies a wretch, on whom heaven never smiled.
_Ros._ What, servant, ne'er a word, and I here man?
I would shoot some speech forth, to strike the time
With pleasing touch of amorous compliment.
Say, sweet, what keeps thy mind, what think'st thou on? 220
_Alb._ Nothing.
_Ros._ What's that nothing?
_Alb._ A woman's constancy.
_Ros._ Good, why, would'st thou have us sluts, and never shift
The vesture of our thoughts? Away for shame.
_Alb._ O no, th'art too constant to afflict my heart,
Too too firm fixèd in unmovèd scorn.
_Ros._ Pish, pish; I fixed in unmovèd scorn!
Why, I'll love thee to-night.
_Alb._ But whom to-morrow?
_Ros._ Faith, as the toy puts me in the head.
_Bal._ And pleased the marble heavens, now would I
might be the toy, to put you in the head, kindly to conceit
my--my--my--pray you, give in an epithet for love.
_Feli._ Roaring, roaring. 232
_Bal._[96] O love, thou hast murder'd me, made me a
shadow, and you hear not Balurdo, but Balurdo's ghost.
_Ros._ Can a ghost speak?
_Bal._ Scurvily, as I do.
_Ros._ And walk?
_Bal._ After their fashion.
_Ros._ And eat apples?
_Bal._ In a sort, in their garb. 240
_Feli._ Prithee, Flavia, be my mistress.
_Fla._ Your reason, good Feliche?
_Feli._ Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I
not much disdain that thou should'st make up the full
score.
_Fla._ O, I hear you make commonplaces of your mistresses
to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in
ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith,
now they are new dyed, pink'd, and scoured, they show
as well as if they were new. What, mute, Balurdo? 250
_Feli._ Ay, in faith, and 'twere not for printing, and
painting, my breech and your face would be out of
reparation.[97]
_Bal._ Ay, in[98] faith, and 'twere not for printing, and
painting,[99] my breech and your face would be out of
reparation.
_Feli._ Good again, Echo.
_Fla._ Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected.
_Feli._ And thou, by art, too fair to be beloved.
By wit's life, most spark spirits, but hard chance.
_La ty dine._ 261
_Pier._ Gallants, the night grows old; and downy sleep
Courts us to entertain his company:
Our tirèd limbs, bruis'd in the morning fight,
Entreat soft rest, and gentle hush'd repose.
Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cressit-light:[100]
We'll have a banquet: Princes, then good-night.
[_The cornets sound a senet, and the_ DUKE _goes out
in state_. _As they are going out_, ANTONIO _stays_
MELLIDA: _the rest exeunt_.
_Ant._ What means these scatter'd looks? why tremble you?
Why quake your thoughts in your distracted eyes?
Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see? 270
Dost not behold a ghost?
Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief,
Darting his soul upon thy wond'ring eyes.
Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out
His wretched arms to gird thy loved waist,
With a most wish'd embrace: see'st him not yet?
Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well may'st err:
For look, he walks not like Antonio:
Like that Antonio, that this morning shone
In glistering habiliments of arms, 280
To seize his love, spite of her father's spite:
But like himself, wretched, and miserable,
Banish'd, forlorn, despairing, strook quite through,
With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles
Of plagues [un]vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee.
_Mel._ Alas, I cannot hear, nor see him.
_Ant._ Why? all this night about the room he stalk'd,
And groan'd, and howl'd, with raging passion,
To view his love (life-blood of all his hopes,
Crown of his fortune) clipp'd by strangers' arms. 290
Look but behind thee.
_Mel._ O Antonio!
My lord, my love, my----
_Ant._ Leave passion, sweet; for time, place, air, and earth,
Are all our foes: fear, and be jealous; fair,
Let's fly.
_Mel._ Dear heart, ha, whither?
_Ant._ O, 'tis no matter whither, but let's fly.
Ha! now I think on't, I have ne'er a home,
No father, friend, or country to embrace
These wretched limbs: the world, the all that is, 300
Is all my foe: a prince not worth a doit:
Only my head is hoisèd to high rate,
Worth twenty thousand double pistolets,
To him that can but strike it from these shoulders.
But come, sweet creature, thou shalt be my home;
My father, country, riches, and my friend,
My all, my soul; and thou and I will live,--
Let's think like what--and you and I will live
Like unmatch'd mirrors of calamity.
The jealous ear of night eave-drops our talk. 310
Hold thee, there's a jewel; and look thee, there's a note
That will direct thee when, where, how to fly.
Bid me adieu.
_Mel._ Farewell, bleak misery!
_Ant._ Stay, sweet, let's kiss before you go!
_Mel._ Farewell, dear soul!
_Ant._ Farewell, my life, my heart!
[_Exeunt._
[77] A proverbial expression: gastêr ôtas ouk echei.
[78] A familiar form of address.
[79] Slipper.
[80] The stick which held the gunner's match.
[81] "Case of rapiers"--pair of rapiers.
[82] All the editions give "Bessicler's;" but this is evidently a
misprint. Rosicleer was the brother of the Knight of the Sun, and
he figures prominently in the group of romances published under
the _Mirror of Knighthood_ (7 pts., 1583-1601). He had an
excellent suit of armour, which proved very serviceable in his
combats with giants.
[83] Dilke, in 1814, says that featherbeds were still used to
protect the men from the fire of the enemy. As to the use of
cables I refer the reader to Sir William Monson's _Naval
Tracts_ (_Collection of Voyages and Travels_,
1704, iii. 358), where in the directions "How to preserve the men
in fighting" it is stated:--"I prefer the coiling of cables on
the deck, and keeping part of the men within them...; for the
soldiers are in and out speedily upon all sudden occasions to
succour any part of the ship, or to enter an enemy, without
trouble to the sailors in handling their sails or to the gunners
in playing their ordnance."
[84] A twisted band worn round the hat. In _Every Man out of
his Humour_ (1599), the "cable-hatband" is mentioned as a
novelty of the latest fashion:--"I had on a gold cable hat-band
_then new come up_."
[85] Ruff, falling-band.
[86] "So in _King Henry VIII._:--
'Let the music knock it.'"--_Dilke._
[87] A quick lively dance.
[88] "The exclamation was too fashionable in the time of Marston
for those who had nothing else to say; and is ridiculed by Ben
Jonson in the character of Orange in _Every Man out of his
Humour_, as 'O Lord, sir,' is by Shakespeare in _All's Well
that Ends Well_. Orange is thus described:--''Tis as dry an
Orange as ever grew: nothing but salutation; and, O God, sir;
and, it please you to say so, sir.'"--_Dilke._
[89] Lover, suitor.
[90] Regal, noble.--In the address "To those that seem judicial
observers" prefixed to the _Scourge of Villainy_, Marston
ridicules Ben Jonson (under the name of Torquatus) for
introducing "new-minted epithets, as _real_, intrinsecate,
Delphic."
[91] "Lanthorn and candle-light"--the bellman's cry.
[92] Loops or straps (fastened to the girdle) in which the rapier
was suspended.
[93] Throne, chair of dignity.
[94] "Let music sound!" is printed as a stage-direction in the
old copies.
[95] Musical term for an air on which variations or divisions
were to be made.
[96] The words "O love ... Balurdo's ghost" are given to Feliche
in old eds.
[97] There is the same joke in the _Merry Jests of George
Peele_, 1627:--"George used often to an ordinary in this town,
where a kinswoman of the good wife's in the house held a great
pride and vain opinion of her own mother-wit; for her tongue was
a jack continually wagging.... Now this titmouse, what she
scanted by nature, she doth replenish by art, as her boxes of red
and white daily can testify. But to come to George, who arrived
at the ordinary among other gallants, throws his cloak upon the
table, salutes the gentlemen, and presently calls for a cup of
canary. George had a pair of hose on, that for some offence durst
not to be seen in that hue they were first dyed in, but from his
first colour being a youthful green, his long age turned him into
a mournful black, and for his antiquity was in print. Which this
busybody perceiving, thought now to give it him to the quick; and
drawing near Master Peele, looking upon his breeches, 'By my
troth, sir,' quoth she, 'these are exceedingly well printed.' At
which word, George, being a little moved in his mind that his old
hose were called in question, answered, 'And by my faith,
mistress,' quoth George, 'your face is most damnably ill
painted.' 'How mean you, sir?' quoth she. 'Marry thus, mistress,'
quoth George, 'that if it were not for printing and painting, my
arse and your face would grow out of reparations.'"
[98] Old eds. "an."
[99] Ed. 1602, "pointing."
[100] See Dyce's _Shakesp. Gloss., s._ CRESSETS.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
_The sea-shore._
_Enter_ ANDRUGIO _in armour_, LUCIO _with a shepherd's gown in his
hand, and a Page_.
_And._ Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn that flakes
With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?
_Lu._ I think it is, so please your excellence.
_And._ Away! I have no excellence to please.
Prithee observe the custom of the world,
That only flatters greatness, states exalts.
And please my excellence! O Lucio,
Thou hast been ever held respected dear,
Even precious to Andrugio's inmost love.
Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou giv'st not faith 10
That I am wretched, O read that, read that.
PIERO SFORZA _to the_ Italian Princes, _fortune_.
_Lu._ [reads] _EXCELLENT, the just overthrow_ ANDRUGIO
_took in the Venetian gulf, hath so assured the Genoways
of the [in]justice of his cause, and the hatefulness of his
person, that they have banish'd him and all his family:
and, for confirmation of their peace with us, have
vowed, that if he or his son can be attached, to send
us both their heads. We therefore, by force of our
united league, forbid you to harbour him, or his blood:
but if you apprehend his person, we entreat you to send
him, or his head, to us. For we vow, by the honour
of our blood, to recompense any man that bringeth his
head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the
endearing of our choicest love. From_ Venice: PIERO SFORZA. 24
_And._ My thoughts are fix'd in contemplation
Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,
That eats her children, should not have eyes and ears.
Philosophy maintains that Nature's wise,
And forms no useless or unperfect thing.
Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature? 30
For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man,
Moulds me up honour; and, like a cunning Dutchman,
Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,
And gives a sot appearance of a soul.
Go to, go to; thou liest, Philosophy.
Nature forms things unperfect, useless, vain.
Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears
That she might see desert, and hear men's plaints?
That when a soul is splitted, sunk with grief,
He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth, 40
[_He throws himself on the ground._
Exclaiming thus: O thou all-bearing earth,
Which men do gape for, till thou cramm'st their mouths,
And chokest their throats with dust; O chaune[101] thy breast,
And let me sink into thee! Look who knocks;
Andrugio calls.--But O, she's deaf and blind:
A wretch but lean relief on earth can find.
_Lu._ Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarm.
Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,
We are roll'd up upon the Venice marsh,
Let's clip all fortune, lest more low'ring fate-- 50
_And._ More low'ring fate! O Lucio, choke that breath.
Now I defy chance: Fortune's brow hath frown'd,
Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend:
Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests,
What son, what comfort that she can deprive?
Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow?
Gapes not my native country for my blood?
Lies not my son tomb'd in the swelling main?
And yet more low'ring fate! There's nothing left
Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio: 60
And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take.
Fortune my fortunes, not my mind, shall shake.
_Lu._ Spoke[102] like yourself; but give me leave, my Lord,
To wish your safety. If you are but seen,
Your arms display you; therefore put them off,
And take----.
_And._ Would'st thou have me go unarm'd among my foes?
Being besieg'd by passion, ent'ring lists,
To combat with despair and mighty grief;
My soul beleaguer'd with the crushing strength 70
Of sharp impatience? ha, Lucio, go unarm'd?
Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth;
Myself, myself will dare all opposites:[103]
I'll muster forces, an unvanquish'd power:
Cornets of horse shall press th' ungrateful earth;
This hollow wombèd mass shall inly groan,
And murmur to sustain the weight of arms:
Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,
Whilst trumpets clamour with a sound of death. 80
_Lu._ Peace, good my Lord, your speech is all too light.
Alas, survey your fortunes, look what's left
Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes:
A weak old man, a page, and your poor self.
_And._ Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms,--
Why that's an army all invincible!
He who hath that, hath a battalion royal,
Armour of proof, huge troops of barbèd steeds,
Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebush.
O, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide; 90
Legions of angels fight upon her side.[104]
_Lu._ Then, noble spirit, slide, in strange disguise,
Unto some gracious Prince, and sojourn there,
Till time and fortune give revenge firm means.
_And._ No, I'll not trust the honour of a man.
Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness
A common waiter in most princes' courts:
He's in the check-roll;[105] I'll not trust my blood;
I know none breathing but will cog a die[106]
For twenty thousand double pistolets. 100
How goes the time?
_Lu._ I saw no sun to-day.[107]
_And._ No sun will shine, where poor Andrugio breathes.
My soul grows heavy: boy, let's have a song:
We'll sing yet, faith, even in[108] despite of fate.
[_A song._
_And._ 'Tis a good boy, and by my troth, well sung.
O, and thou felt'st my grief, I warrant thee,
Thou would'st have strook division[109] to the height,
And made the life of music breathe: hold, boy; why so.
For God's sake call me not Andrugio,
That I may soon forget what I have been. 110
For heaven's name, name not Antonio,
That I may not remember he was mine.
Well, ere yon sun set, I'll show myself,
Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that's all.
No[110] matter whither, but from whence we fall.[111]
[_Exeunt._
[101] Open (Gr. chainô, chaunô). Cotgrave gives:--"To
_chawne_,--se fendre, gercer, crevasser, crever, se jarcer."
[102] Old eds. "Speake" (and "Speak").
[103] "'The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger.'
_Richard III._"--_Dilke._
[104] Cf. _Richard III._ (v. 3):--
"God and good angels fight on Richmond's side."
[105] Old eds. "Chekle-roule."
[106] "Cog a die" = load a die.
[107] Dilke compares _Richard III._ (v. 3):--
"Who saw the sun to-day?
_Rat._ Not I, my lord.
_Rich._ Then he disdains to shine."
[108] Omitted in ed. 1.
[109] Variations in music.
[110] The sentiment is from Seneca's _Thyestes_, l. 925:--
"Magis unde cadas
Quam quo refert."
[111] "The situation of Andrugio and Lucio resembles that of Lear
and Kent, in that King's distresses. Andrugio, like Lear,
manifests a kind of royal impatience, a turbulent greatness, an
affected resignation. The enemies which he enters lists to
combat, 'Despair, and mighty Grief, and sharp Impatience;' and
the Forces ('Cornets of Horse,' &c.) which he brings to vanquish
them, are in the boldest style of allegory. They are such a 'race
of mourners' as 'the infection of sorrows loud' in the intellect
might beget on 'some pregnant cloud' in the
imagination."--_Charles Lamb._
SCENE II.
_Palace of the Duke of Venice._
_Enter_ FELICHE _walking, unbraced_.
_Feli._ Castilio, Alberto, Balurdo! none up?
Forobosco! Flattery, nor thou up yet?
Then there's no courtier stirring: that's firm truth?
I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests
In these court lodgings. I have walk'd all night,
To see if the nocturnal court delights
Could force me envy their felicity:
And by plain troth, I will confess plain troth,
I envy nothing but the travense[112] light.
O, had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might 10
See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries.[113]
O, if that candle-light were made a poet,
He would prove a rare firking satirist,
And draw the core forth of imposthum'd sin.
Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content
Can envy nothing, but poor candle-light.
As for the other glistering copper spangs,
That glisten in the tire of the court,
Praise God, I either hate, or pity them.
Well, here I'll sleep till that the scene of up 20
Is pass'd at court. O calm hush'd rich Content,
Is there a being blessedness without thee?
How soft thou down'st the couch where thou dost rest,
Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast!
_Enter_ CASTILIO _and his Page_ CATZO: CASTILIO _with a
casting-bottle_[114] _of sweet water in his hand, sprinkling
himself_.
_Cast._ Am not I a most sweet youth now?
_Cat._ Yes, when your throat's perfum'd; your very words
Do smell of ambergris. O stay, sir, stay;
Sprinkle some sweet water to your shoe's heels,
That your mistress may swear you have a sweet foot.
_Cast._ Good, very good, very passing[115] passing good. 30
_Feli._ Fut, what treble minikin[116] squeaks there, ha?
"good, very good, very very good!"
_Cast._ I will warble to the delicious conclave of my
mistress' ear: and strike her thoughts with the pleasing
touch of my voice.
[_A song._
_Cast._ Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine.
_Feli._ To thee, my love divine.
_Cast._ I drink to thee, sweeting.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Plague on thee for an ass!
_Cast._ Now thou hast seen the court, by the perfection
of it, dost not envy it? 41
_Feli._ I wonder it doth not envy me. Why, man,
I have been borne upon the spirit's wings,
The soul's swift Pegasus, the fantasy:
And from the height of contemplation,
Have view'd the feeble joints men totter on.
I envy none; but hate, or pity all.
For when I view, with an intentive thought,
That creature fair but proud; him rich, but sot;
Th' other witty, but unmeasured arrogant; 50
Him great, yet boundless in ambition;
Him high-born, but of base life; t' other fear'd,
Yet fearèd fears, and fears most to be loved;[117]
Him wise, but made a fool for public use;
The other learned, but self-opinionate:
When I discourse all these, and see myself
Nor fair, nor rich, nor witty, great, nor fear'd,
Yet amply suited with all full content,
Lord, how I clap my hands, and smooth my brow,
Rubbing my quiet bosom, tossing up 60
A grateful spirit to Omnipotence!
_Cast._ Hah, hah! but if thou knew'st my happiness,
Thou would'st even grate away thy soul to dust,
In envy of my sweet beatitude.
I cannot sleep for kisses; I cannot rest
For ladies' letters, that importune me
With such unusèd vehemence of love,
Straight to solicit them, that----.
_Feli._ Confusion seize me, but I think thou liest.
Why should I not be sought to then as well? 70
Fut, methinks I am as like a man.
Troth, I have a good head of hair, a cheek
Not as yet wan'd, a leg, 'faith, in the full.
I ha' not a red beard, take not tobacco much:
And 'slid, for other parts of manliness--
_Cast._ Pew waw, you ne'er accourted[118] them in pomp,
Put your good parts in presence graciously.
Ha, and you had, why, they would ha' come off,
Sprung to your arms, and sued, and prayed, and vowed,
And opened all their sweetness to your love. 80
_Feli._ There are a number of such things as thou[119]
Have often urged me to such loose belief;
But, 'slid, you all do lie, you all do lie.
I have put on good clothes, and smugg'd my face,
Strook a fair wench with a smart, speaking eye;
Courted in all sorts, blunt and passionate;
Had opportunity, put them to the ah!
And, by this light, I find them wondrous chaste,
Impregnable; perchance a kiss, or so:
But for the rest, O most inexorable! 90
_Cast._ Nay then, i'faith, prithee look here.
[_Shows him the superscription of a seeming letter._
_Feli. To her most esteemed, loved, and generous servant,
Sig. Castilio Balthazar._
Prithee from whom comes this? faith, I must see.
_From her that is devoted to thee, in most private sweets
of love, Rossaline._
Nay, God's my comfort, I must see the rest;
I must, sans ceremony; faith, I must.
[FELICHE _takes away the letter by force_.
_Cast._ O, you spoil my ruff, unset my hair; good,
away! 100
_Feli. Item, for strait canvass, thirteen pence halfpenny;
item, for an ell and a half of taffeta to cover your old
canvass doublet, fourteen shillings and threepence._--'Slight,
this is a tailor's bill.
_Cast._ In sooth, it is the outside of her letter, on
which I took the copy of a tailor's bill.
_Dil._ But 'tis not cross'd, I am sure of that. Lord have
mercy on him, his credit hath given up the last gasp.
Faith, I'll leave him; for he looks as melancholy as a
wench the first night she---- [_Exit._ 110
_Feli._ Honest musk-cod, 'twill not be so stitched together;
take that [_striking him_], and that, and belie no
lady's love: swear no more by Jesu, this madam, that
lady; hence, go, forswear the presence, travel three years
to bury this bastinado: avoid, puff-paste, avoid!
_Cast._ And tell not my lady-mother. Well, as I am a
true gentleman, if she had not willed me on her blessing
not to spoil my face, if I could not find in my heart to
fight, would I might ne'er eat a potato-pie more. [_Exit._
_Enter_ BALURDO, _backward_; DILDO _following him with a
looking-glass in one hand, and a candle in the other hand_:
FLAVIA _following him backward, with a looking-glass in one hand,
and a candle in the other_; ROSSALINE _following her_; BALURDO
_and_ ROSSALINE _stand setting of faces; and so the Scene begins_.
_Feli._ More fool, more rare fools! O, for time and
place, long enough, and large enough, to act these fools!
Here might be made a rare scene of folly, if the plat[120]
could bear it. 123
_Bal._ By the sugar-candy sky, hold up the glass higher,
that I may see to swear in fashion. O, one loof[121]
more would ha' made them shine; God's neaks,[122] they
would have shone like my mistress' brow. Even so the
Duke frowns, for all this curson'd[123] world: O, that
gern[124] kills, it kills. By my golden--what's the richest
thing about me? 130
_Dil._ Your teeth.
_Bal._ By my golden teeth, hold up, that I may put in:
hold up, I say, that I may see to put on my gloves.
_Dil._ O, delicious, sweet-cheek'd master, if you discharge
but one glance from the level of that set face, O,
you will strike a wench; you'll make any wench love
you.
_Bal._ By Jesu, I think I am as elegant a courtier as----.
How likest thou my suit?
_Cat._ All, beyond all, no peregal:[125] you are wondered
at--[_Aside._] for an ass. 141
_Bal._ Well, Dildo, no Christen creature shall know
hereafter, what I will do for thee heretofore.
_Ros._ Here wants a little white, Flavia.
_Dil._ Ay, but, master, you have one little fault; you
sleep open-mouth'd.
_Bal._ Pew, thou jest'st. In good sadness, I'll have a
looking-glass nail'd to the testern of the bed, that I may
see when I sleep whether 'tis so or not; take heed you
lie not: go to, take heed you lie not. 150
_Fla._ By my troth, you look as like the princess, now--Ay--but
her lip is--lip is--a little----redder, a very
little redder.
_Ros._[126] But by the help of art or nature, ere I change my
periwig, mine shall be as red.
_Fla._[127] O ay, that face, that eye, that smile, that writhing
of your body, that wanton dandling of your fan, becomes
prethely, so sweethly, 'tis even the goodest lady that
breathes, the most amiable----. Faith, the fringe of your
satin petticoat is ript. Good faith, madam, they say you
are the most bounteous lady to your women that ever----O
most delicious beauty! Good madam, let me kith it.
_Feli._ Rare sport, rare sport! A female fool, and a
female flatterer. 164
_Ros._ Body o' me, the Duke! away[128] the glass!
_Enter_ PIERO.
_Pier._ Take up your paper, Rossaline.
_Ros._ Not mine, my Lord.
_Pier._ Not yours, my Lady? I'll see what 'tis.
_Bal._ And how does my sweet mistress? O Lady
dear, even as 'tis an old say, "'tis an old horse can neither
wighy,[129] nor wag his tail:" even so do I hold my set face
still: even so, 'tis a bad courtier that can neither discourse,
nor blow his nose. 173
_Pier._--[_reads._] _Meet me at Abraham's, the Jew's, where
I bought my Amazon's disguise. A ship lies in the port,
ready bound for England; make haste, come private._
ANTONIO.
_Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO.
Forobosco, Alberto, Feliche, Castilio, Balurdo! run, keep
the palace, post to the ports, go to my daughter's chamber!
whither now? scud to the Jew's! stay, run to the gates,
stop the gundolets,[130] let none pass the marsh! do all at
once! Antonio! his head, his head! Keep you the
court, the rest stand still, or run, or go, or shout, or search,
or scud, or call, or hang, or do-do-do su-su-su something!
I know not who-who-who what I do-do-do, nor who-who-who,
where I am. 185
_O trista traditrice, rea ribalda fortuna,
Negando mi vindetta mi causa fera morte._
[_Exeunt all but_ FELICHE.
_Feli._ Ha ha ha! I could break my spleen at his
impatience.
_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ MELLIDA.
_Ant. Alma et graziosa fortuna siate favorevole,
Et fortunati siano voti del_[_la_] _mia dolce Mellida, Mellida._
_Mel._ Alas, Antonio, I have lost thy note!
A number mount my stairs; I'll straight return. [_Exit._
_Feli._ Antonio, 194
Be not affright, sweet Prince; appease thy fear,
Buckle thy spirits up, put all thy wits
In wimble[131] action, or thou art surprised.
_Ant._ I care not.
_Feli.
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