Chapter 7

_Han_. One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune.

_Flo_. Out of tune, villaine? which way?

_Han_. Drunke (sir), ant please you?

_Flo_. Ist night with him alreadie?--Well, get other Musicke.

_Han_. So we had need in truth, sir. [_Exit Hans_.

_Doct_. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [_Exit_.

_Mar_. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [_Exit_.

_Flo_. _Albertus_, welcome.--And now, _Cornelia_, Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe. Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love In which we have been partiall towards thee (Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts) Receive this vertuous powder at my hands, And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine) Give it unto the Prince in his carowse. I meane no villanie heerein to him But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup. We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes; Why should we, then, shun any meanes we can To raise us to our auncient states againe? Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'st To have thy imperfections helpt by love.

_Corn_. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanes Forbidden by the lawes of God and men? Can that love prosper which is not begun By the direction of some heavenly fate?

_Flo_. I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet; I must provide for mine, and still preferre (Above all these) the honour of my house: Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge.

_Cor_. If you will have it so I must consent.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Alberdure, Hyanthe, Leander and Moth_.

_Alber_. My deere _Hyanthe_, my content, my life, Let no new fancie change thee from my love; And for my rivall (whom I must not wrong, Because he is my father and my Prince) Give thou him honour but give me thy love. O that my rivall bound me not in dutie To favour him, then could I tell _Hyanthe_ That he alreadie (with importun'd suite) Hath to the _Brunswick_ Dutchesse vow'd himselfe, That his desires are carelesse and his thoughts Too fickle and imperious for love: But I am silent, dutie ties my tongue.

_Hya_. Why? thinks my joy, my princely _Alderbure_, _Hyanthes_ faith stands on so weake a ground, That it will fall or bend with everie winde? No stormes or lingring miseries shall shake it, Much lesse vaine titles of commaunding love.

_Moth_. Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthlie purgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting and groaning in his sleepe, with "O, _Hyanthe_! my deare _Hyanthe_! And then hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewell by the eare.

_Alber_. Away, you wag.--And tell me now, my love, What is the cause Earle _Cassimere_ (your father) Hath been so long importunate with me To visit _Flores_ the brave Jeweller?

_Hyan_. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord, That he thinkes he doth honour every man Whom he acquaints with his perfections. Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfe To grace and sooth his great conceit of him; For everie jesture, everie word he speakes, Seemes to my father admirablie good.

_Lean_. Indeed, my Lord, his high conceipt of him Is more then any man alive deserves. He thinkes the Jeweller made all of Jewels, Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit, Faire spoken and well furnisht with good parts, Yet not so peerleslie to be admir'd.

_Enter Cassimere_.

_Cass_. Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure you You shall beholde so excellent a man, For his behaviour, for his sweete discourse, His sight in Musick and in heavenlie Arts, Besides the cunning judgement of his eie In the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes, That you will sorrow you have staide so long.

_Alber_. Alas, whie would not then your lordships favor Hasten me sooner? for I long to see him On your judiciall commendation.

_Cass_. Come, lets away then: go you in, _Hyanthe_, And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence See him (I pray) with honour entertain'd.

[_Exeunt_.

_Hya_. I will, my Lord.

_Leand_. I will accompanie your Ladiship, If you vouchsafe it.

_Hya_. Come, good _Leander_.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Constantine, Katherine, Ite, Vandercleeve, with others_.

_Const_. Lord _Vandercleeve_, go Lord Ambassadour From us to the renowmed Duke of _Saxon_, And know his highnesse reason and intent Whie being (of late) with such importunate suite Betroth'd to our faire sister _Dowager_ Of this our Dukedome, he doth now protract The time he urged with such speede of late His honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate.

_Kath_. But, good my Lord, temper your Ambassie With such respective termes to my renowme That I be cleer'd of all immodest haste To have our promist nuptials consummate; For his affects (perhaps) follow the season, Hot with the summer then, now colde with winter: And Dames (though nere so forward in desire) Must suffer men to blowe the nuptiall fire.

_Vander_. Madam, your name (in urging his intent) Shall not be usd, but your right princely brothers; Who, knowing it may breede in vulgar braines (That shall give note to this protraction) Unjust suspition of your sacred vertues, And other reasons touching the estate Of both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth mee To be resolv'd of his integritie.

_Const_. To that end go, my honourable Lord, Commend me and my sister to his love (If you perceive not he neglects our owne) And bring his princelie resolution.

_Kat_. Commend not me by any meanes, my lord, Unlesse your speedie graunted audience And kind entreatie make it requisite, For honour rules my nuptiall appetite.

[_Exeunt_.

_Finis Actus Primi_.

_Actus Secundus_.

_Enter Haunce, Lassingbergh and others following, serving in a Bancket_.

_Han_. Come, sir, it is not your painting alone makes your absolute man; ther's as fine a hand to be requir'd in carrying a dish, and as sweete arte to be shew'd in't as in any maister peece whatsoever; better then as you painted the Doctor eene now with his nose in an Urinall.

_Lass_. Be quiet, sir, or ile paint you by and by eating my maisters comfets. [_Exit_.

_Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Alberdure, Cornelia, and Moth.

Flor_. Prince _Alberdure_, my great desire to aunswere The greatnes of your birth and high deserts With entertainment fitting to your state Makes althings seem too humble for your presence.

_Alber_. Courteous S. _Flores_, your kinde welcome is Worthy the presence of the greatest Prince, And I am bound to good Earle _Cassimeere_ For honouring me with your desierd acquaintance.

_Cass_. Wilt please you therefore to draw neere, my lord?

_Flo_. Wilt please your grace to sit?

_Alber_. No, good S. _Flores_; I am heere admiring The cunning strangenes of your antick worke: For though the generall tract of it be rough Yet is it sprinckled with rare flowers of Art. See what a livelie piercing eye is here; Marke the conveiance of this lovelie hand; Where are the other parts of this rare cheeke? Is it not pittie that they should be hid?

_Flo_. More pittie 'tis (my lord) that such rare art Should be obscur'd by needie povertie; Hee's but a simple man kept in my house.

_Alber_. Come, sirra, you are a practitioner, Lets have your judgement here.

_Han_. Will you have a stoole, sir?

_Moth_. I, and I thanke you too, sir.

_Flo_. Hath this young Gentleman such skill in drawing?

_Alber_. Many great maisters thinke him (for his yeares) Exceeding cunning.

_Cass_. Now, sir, what thinke you?

_Moth_. My Lord, I thinke more Art is shaddowed heere Then any man in _Germanie_ can shew Except Earle _Lassingbergh_; and (in my conceipt) This work was never wrought without his hand.

_Flo_. Earle _Lassingbergh_! Aye me, my jealous thoughts Suspect a mischiefe which I must prevent. _Haunce_, call _Lucilia_ and the Painter strait, Bid them come both t'attend us at our feast.-- Is not your Grace yet wearie of this object? Ile shew your Lordship things more woorth the sight Both for their substance and their curious Art.

_Alber_. Thankes, good sir _Flores_.

_Flo_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; See naturally wrought out of the stone (Besides the perfect shape of every limme, Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) A waving mantle of celestiall blew Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.

_Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone As if they needed not the helpe of Art.

_Flo_. My Lord, you see all sorts of Jewells heere, I will not tire your grace with view of them; Ile onely shew you one faire Aggat more, Commended chiefely for the workmanship.

_Alber_. O excellent! this is the very face Of _Cassimeere_: by viewing both at once, Either I thinke that both of them do live Or both of them are Images and dead.

_Flo_. My Lord, I feare I trouble you too long: Wilt please your Lordships taste th[e]is homely cates?

_Corn_. First (if it please you) give me leave to greete Your Princely hand with this unworthy gift, Yet woorthy since it represents your selfe.

_Alber_. What? my selfe, Lady? trust me it is pittie So faire a Jemme should hold so rude a picture.

_Cor_. My Lord, 'tis made a Jewell in your picture, Which otherwise had not deserv'd the name.

_Alber_. Kinde mistresse, kindly I accept your favor.

_Enter Lassingbergh, Haunce and Lucilia_.

_Flo_. Heere, you young gentleman; do you know this man?

[_Exit Han_.

_Mot_. Yes, signior _Flores_, 'tis Earle _Lassingbergh_.--My lord, what meane you to come this disguisd?

_Lu_. Aye me!

_Lass_. The foolish boye is mad; I am _Cornelius_. Earle _Lassingbergh_? I never heard of him.

_Flo_. O _Lassingbergh_, we know your villainie, And thy dishonour (fond _Lucilia_). Asse that I was, dull, sencelesse, grosse braynd fool That dayly saw so many evident signes Of their close dealings, winckings, becks and touches, And what not? To enforce me to discerne, Had I not been effatuate even by Fate. Your presence, noble Lords (in my disgrace) Doth deepely moove mee, and I heere protest Most solemnly (in sight of heaven and you) That if Earle _Lassingbergh_ this day refuse To make faire mends for this fowle trespasse done, I will revenge me on his treacherous heart Though I sustaine for him a thousand deaths.

_Cass_. This action (traitour _Lassingbergh_) deserves Great satisfaction or else great revenge.

_Alber_. Beleeve me, gallant Earle, your choice is faire. And worthy your most honourable love.

_Lassin_. My Lord, it greeves me to be thus unmaskt And made ridiculous in the stealth of love; But (for _Lucilias_ honour) I protest (Not for the desperate vowe that _Flores_ made) She was my wife before she knew my love, By secret promise made in sight of heaven. The marriage which he urgeth I accept, But this compulsion and unkinde disgrace Hath altered the condition of my love And filde my heart with yrksome discontent.

_Flor_. My Lord, I must preferre mine honour still Before the pleasure of the greatest Monarch, Which since your Lordship seekes to gratifie With just and friendly satisfaction, I will endeavour to redeeme the thought Of your affection and lost love to us. Wilt please you therefore now to associate This woorthy Prince at this unwoorthy banquet?

_Alber_. My Lord, let me intreate your company.

_Lassin_. Hold mee excusd, faire Prince; my grieved thoughts Are farre unmeete for festivall delights: Heere will I sit and feede on melancholie, A humour (now) most pleasing to my taste.

_Flor_. _Lucilia_, waite the pleasure of your love. My Lord, now to the banquet: Daughter, commaund us a carowse of wine.

[_Musick sounds awhile; and they sing Boire a le Fountaine_.

My Lord, I greete you with this first carowse, And as this wine (the Elements sweete soule) Shall grow in me to bloud and vitall spirit, So shall your love and honor grow in me.

_Alber_. I pledge you, sir.

_Cass_. How like you him, my Lord?

_Alber_. Exceeding well. [_Sing boyre a le fountaine_.

_Flor_. _Cornelia_, do you serve the Prince with wine?

[_Shee puts the powder into the Cup and gives it the Prince_.

_Alber_. I thanke you, Lady; Earle _Cassimeere_, I greete you, and remember Your faire _Hyanthe_.

_Cass_. I thanke your honour. [_Sing boyre a &c_.

_Flor_. Fill my Lord _Cassimere_ his right of wine.

_Cass_. _Cornelia_, I give you this dead carowse.

_Corn_. I thanke your Lordship. [_Sing boyre a &c_.

_Alber_. What smoake? smoake and fire.

_Cass_. What meanes your honour?

_Alber_. Powder, powder, _Etna_, sulphure, fier: quench it, quench it.

_Flor_. I feare the medcine hath distemper'd him.--O villaine Doctor!

_Alber_. Downe with the battlements, powre water on! I burne, I burne; O give me leave to flie Out of these flames, these fiers that compasse me. [_Exit_.

_Cass_. What an unheard off accident is this? Would God, friend _Flores_, t'had not happen'd here.

_Flor_. My Lord, 'tis sure some Planet[53] striketh him; No doubt the furie will away againe.

_Cass_. Ile follow him. [_Exit_.

_Lass_. What hellish spright ordain'd this hatefull feast That ends with horror thus and discontent?

_Flor_. I hope no daunger will succeede therein; However, I resolve me to conceale it.-- My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit, And deck your selfe with ornaments more fit For celebration of your marriage?

_Lass_. I, I, put on me what attire you will; My discontent, that dwels within me still.

[_Exeunt_

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Haunce solus_.

_Hans_. Whom shall a man trust? a Painter? No: a servant? No: a bed fellowe? No: For, seeming for to see, it falls out right: All day a Painter, and an Earle at night.

_Enter Doctor_.

_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, bid _Ursula_ brushe my two, tree fine Damaske gowne; spread de rishe coverlet on de faire bed; vashe de fine plate; smoake all de shambra vit de sweete perfume.

_Hans_. Heer's the Doctor: what a gaping his wisedom keepes i'the streete! As if he could not have spoken all this within.

_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, if de grand patient come, you finde me signior _Flores_.

_Hans_. By your leave, maister Doctor.

_Doct_. _Hans_, my very speciall friend; fait and trot, me be right glad for see you veale.

_Hans_. What, do you make a Calfe of me, M. Doctor?

_Doct_. O no, pardona moy; I say vell, be glad for see you vell, in good health.

_Hans_. O, but I am sick, M. Doctor; very exceeding sick, sir.

_Doct_. Sick? tella me, by garr; me cure you presently.

_Hans_. A dead palsey, M. Doctor, a dead palsey.

_Doct_. Veare? veare?

_Hans_. Heere, M. Doctor; I cannot feele, I cannot feele.

_Doct_. By garr, you be de brave, merry man; de fine proper man; de very fine, brave, little, propta sweet Jack man; by garr, me loov'a you, me honour you, me kisse'a your foote.

_Hans_. You shall not stoope so lowe, good M. Doctor; kisse higher if it please you.

_Doct_. In my trot me honour you.

_Hans_. I, but you give me nothing, sir.

_Doct_. No? by garr, me giv'a de high commendation passe all de gold, precious pearle in de vorld.

_Hans_. I, sir, passe by it, you meane so, sir. Well, I shall have your good word, I see, M. Doctor.

_Doct_. I sayt.

_Hans_. But not a rag of money.

_Doct_. No, by my trot, no point money; me give de beggra de money, no point de brave man.

_Hans_. Would I were not so brave in your mouth.--But I can tell you newes, maister Doctor.

_Doct_. Vat be dat?

_Hans_. The young Prince hath drunke himselfe mad at my maisters to day.

_Doct_. By garr, drunke, I tinck.

_Hans_. No, sir, starke mad; he cryes out as if the towne were a fier.

_Doct_. By garr, me suspect a ting.

_Hans_. Nay, I can tell you more newes yet.

_Doct_. Vat newes?

_Hans_. If your cap be of capacitie to conceive it now, so it is. Ile deale with you by way of Interrogation:--

_Who is it must marry with_ Lucilia _bright? All day a Painter, and an Earle at night_.

_Doct_. By garr, me no conceive vatt you say.

_Hans_. Let wisdome answer: _I aske what is man? A Pancake tost in Fortune's frying pan_.

_Doct_. Vat frying pan? by garr, I tinck de foolish petit Jack is madd.

_Hans_. _For, as an Asse may weare a Lyons skinne, So noble Earles have sometimes Painters binne_.

_Doct_. Garrs blurr, he ryme de grand Rats[54] from my house: me no stay, me go seek 'a my faire _Cornelia_. [_Exit_.

_Hans_. Farewell Doctor Doddy, in minde and in body An excellent Noddy: A cockscomb[55] incony, but that he wants mony To give _legem pone_. O what a pittifull case is this! What might I have done with this wit if my friends had bestowed learning upon me? Well, when all's don, a naturall guift is woorth all.

[_Exit_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Alphonso, Hardenbergh, Hoscherman, with others, &c_.

_Hard_. The Ambassador of _Brunswick_ (good my lord) Begins to murmure at his long delayes?

_Hosc_. Twere requisit your highnes wold dismisse him.

_Alph_. Who holds him? let him go.

_Hard_. My Lord, you know his message is more great Then to depart so slightly without answer, Urging the marriage that your grace late sought With _Katherine_, sister to the Saxon Duke.

_Hosk_. Whom if your highnes should so much neglect As to forsake his sister and delude him, Considering already your olde jarre With the stoute _Lantsgrave_, what harmes might ensue?

_Alph_. How am I crost? _Hyanthe_ 'tis for thee That I neglect the Duchesse and my vowes.

_Hard_. My Lord, twere speciallie convenient Your grace would satisfie th'embassador.

_Alph_. Well, call him in.

_Hosk_. But will your Highnes then Forsake _Hyanthe_?

_Alph_. Nothing lesse, _Hosk[erman_].

_Hosk_. How will you then content th'embassadour?

_Alph_. I will delaie him with some kinde excuse.

_Hard_. What kinde excuse, my Lord?

_Alph_. For that let me alone; do thou but soothe What I my selfe will presently devise And I will send him satisfied away.

_Hard_. Be sure (my Lord) Ile soothe what ere you say.

_Alph_. Then let them come, we are provided for them.

_Enter Vandercleeve the Ambassador attended_.

My lord Ambassador, we are right sorrie Our urgent causes have deferd you thus In the dispatch of that we most desire. But for your answer: know I am deterr'd By many late prodigious ostents From present consumation of the nuptials Vowd twixt your beauteous Dutchesse and our selfe. O what colde feare mens jealous stomacks feele In that they most desire! suspecting still 'Tis eyther too too sweete to take effect Or (in th'effect) must meete with some harshe chaunce To intervent the joye of the successe. The same wisht day (my Lord) you heere arriv'd I bad Lord _Hardenbergh_ commaund two horse Should privately be brought for me and him, To meete you on the waye for honours sake And to expresse my joye of your repaire: When (loe!) the horse I us'd to ride upon (That would be gently backt at other times) Now, offring but to mount him, stood aloft, Flinging and bound. You know, Lord _Hardenbergh_.

_Hard_. Yes, my good Lord.

_Alph_. And was so strangely out of wonted rule That I could hardlie back him.

_Hard_. True, my liege; I stood amaz'd at it.

_Hard_. Well, yet I did, And riding (not a furlong) downe he fell.

_Hard_. That never heeretofore would trip with him.

_Alph_. Yet would I forward needs, but _Hardenbergh_. More timorous then wise, as I supposed, (For love so hardned me feare was my slave) Did ominate such likelie ill to me If I went forward, that with much enforcement Of what might chance he drave me to retreat. Didst thou not _Hardenbergh_.

_Hard_. I did, my Lord.

_Alph_. I warrant thou wilt say Thou never yet saw'st any man so loathe To be perswaded ill of so ill signes.

_Hard_. Never in all my life.

_Alph_. Thou wonderst at it?

_Hard_. I did indeed, my liege, not without cause.

_Alph_. O blame not, _Hardenbergh_, for thou dost know How sharpe my heart was set to entertaine The Lord of this Ambassage lovingly.

_Hard_. True, my good Lord.

_Alph_. But (coming back) how gently the Jade went,-- Did he not, _Hardenbergh_?

_Hard_. As any horse on earth could do, my Lord.

_Alph_. Well, sir, this drew me into deepe conceit, And to recomfort me I did commaund Lord _Hardenbergh_ should ope a Cabanet Of my choise Jewels and to bring me thence A ring, a riche and Violet _Hiacinthe_, Whose sacred vertue is to cheere the heart And to excite our heavie spirits to mirthe; Which[56], putting on my finger, swift did breake. Now this, indeed, did much discomfort me, And heavie to the death I went to bed; Where in a slumber I did strongly thinke I should be married to the beautious Dutchesse, And coming to my Chappell to that end, Duke _Constantine_ her brother with his Lords And all our peeres (me thought) attending us, Forth comes my princelie _Katherine_ led by death, Who threatening me stood close unto her side, Urging by those most horrible portents That wedding her I married mine owne death. I, frighted in my sleepe, struggled and sweat, And in the violence of my thoughts cryed out So lowde that _Hardenberghe_ awakt and rose. Didst thou not _Hardenberghe_?

_Hard_. I felt I did, for never yet (my Lord) Was I in heart and soule so much dismaide.

_Alph_. Why thus you see (my Lord) how your delaies Were mightilie and with huge cause enforste.

_Amb_. But dreames (my lord) you know growe by the humors Of the moist night, which, store of vapours lending Unto our stomaches when we are in sleepe And to the bodies supreame parts ascending, Are thence sent back by coldnesse of the braine, And these present our idle phantasies With nothing true but what our labouring soules Without their active organs safelie worke.

_Alph_. My lord, know you there are two sorts of dreams, One sort whereof are onely phisicall, And such are they whereof your Lordship speakes; The other Hiper-phisicall, that is Dreames sent from heaven or from the wicked fiends, Which nature doth not forme of her owne power But are extrinsecate, by marvaile wrought; And such was mine. Yet, notwithstanding this, I hope fresh starres will governe in the spring; And then, assure your princelie friend your maister, Our promise in all honour shall be kept. Returne this answere, Lord Ambassador, And recommend me to my sacred love.

_Amb_. I will, my lord; but how it will be accepted I know not yet; your selfe shall shortly heare.

_Alph_. Lords, some of you associate him.--Ha, ha!

[_Exeunt all but Alph_. [_and Hard_.

_Hard_. Exceeding well and gravelie good, my lord.

_Alph_. Come, lets go and visit my _Hianthe_, She whose perfections are of power to moove The thoughts of _Caesar_ (did he live) to love.

[_Exeunt_.

_Finis Actus Secundus_.

_Actus Tertius_.

_Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Lassing., Lucil., Cor., Han., and Doct_.

_Ha_. Well, mistr., God give you more joy of your husband then your husband has of you.

_Doct_. Fie, too, too bad by my fait. Vat, my lord? melancholie? and ha de sweete Bride, de faire Bride, de verie fine Bride? ô monsieur, one, two, tree, voure, vive, with de brave capra, heigh!

_Han_. O the Doctor would make a fine frisking usher in a dauncing schoole.

_Doct_. O by garr, you must daunce de brave galliarr. A pox of dis melancholie!

_Cass_. My Lord, your humors are most strange to us, The humble fortune of a servants life Should in your carelesse state so much displease.

_Lass_. _Quod licet ingratum est, quod non licet acrius urit_.

_Flor_. Could my childes beautie moove you so, my lord, When Lawe and dutie held it in restraint, And now (they both allowe it) be neglected?

_Lass_. I cannot rellish joyes that are enforst; For, were I shut in Paradice it selfe, I should as from a prison strive t'escape.

_Luc_. Haplesse _Luci[li]a_, worst in her best estate!

_Lass_. He seeke me out some unfrequented place Free from these importunities of love, And onelie love what mine owne fancie likes.

_Luc_. O staie, my Lord.

_Flor_. What meanes Earle _Lassenbergh_?