ACT I., SCENE I.

_Enter +Sanmartino+ and +Cleantha+._

+Cle.+ My lord, let's change the subject: love is worn So threadbare out of fashion, and my faith So little leans to vows----

+San.+ The rage of time Or sickness first must ruin that bright fabric Nature took pride to build.

+Cle.+ I thank my youth then For the tender of your service; 'tis the last Good turn it did me. But by this my fears Instruct me, when the old bald man, call'd Time, Comes stealing on me, and shall steal away What you call beauty, my neglected face Must be enforc'd to go in quest for a new Knight-errant.

+San.+ Slander not my constant faith, Nor doubt the care Fate hath to stop the motion Of envious Time, might it endanger so Supreme a beauty.

+Cle.+ Sure, my lord, Fate hath More serious business, or divines make bold T' instruct us in a schism. But grant I could Induce myself (which I despair I shall) To hear and talk that empty nothing Love, Is't now in season, when an army lies Before our city-gates, and every hour A battery expected? Dear my lord, Let's seal our testament, and prepare for heaven; And, as I am inform'd by them who seem To know some part o' th' way, Love's not the nearest Path that leads thither.

+San.+ Madam, he is but A coward lover whom or death or hell Can fright from's mistress: and, for danger now Threat'ning the city, how can I so arm Myself, as by your favour proof against All stratagems of war?

+Cle.+ Your lordship then Shall walk as safe as if a Lapland witch (You will not envy me the honour of The metaphor) preserv'd you shot-free. But Who is your confessor? Yet spare his name; His function will forgive the glory of it: Sure he's ill-read in cases to allow A married lord the freedom of this courtship.

+San.+ Can you think, madam, that I trust my sins (But virtues are those loves I pay your beauty) To th' counsel of a cassock? Who hath art To judge of my confession, must have had At least a privy chamberer to his father. We of the court commit not, as the vulgar, Dull, ignorant sins: then, that I'm married, madam, Is rather safety to our love.

+Cle.+ My heart! How sick am I o' th' sudden! Good my lord, Call your dwarf hither.

+San.+ Garragantua! boy.

_Enter +Browfildora+._

+Cle.+ Prythee, thy pedigree?

+San.+ Madam, what mean you?

+Cle.+ O, anything, but to divert from love: Another word of courtship, and I swoon.

+Brow.+ My ancestors were giants, madam; giants, Pure Spanish, who disdain'd to mingle with The blood of Goth or Moor. Their mighty actions, In a small letter, nature printed on Your little servant.

+Cle.+ How so very little?

+Brow.+ By the decay of time, and being forc'd From fertile pastures to the barren hills Of Biscay: even in trees you may observe The wonder which, transplanted to a soil Less happy, lose in growth. Is not the once Huge body of the Roman empire now A very pigmy?

+Cle.+ But why change you not That so gigantic name of Browfildora?

+Brow.+ Spite of malignant nature, I'll preserve The memory of my forefathers: they shall live In me contracted.

+San.+ Madam, let's return To the love we last discours'd on.

+Cle.+ This, my lord, Is much more serious. What coarse thing is that?

_Enter +Oniate+ and +Floriana+._

+Flo.+ I owe you, sir, for the pleasure of this walk.

+Oni.+ Madam, it was to me the highest honour. [_Exit +Oniate+._

+Cle.+ Welcome, O, welcome, to redeem me!--What Can the best wit of woman fancy we Have been discoursing of?

+Flo.+ Sure, not of love?

+Cle.+ Of that most ridiculous hobby-horse, love; That fool that fools the world; that spaniel love, That fawns [the more] the more 'tis kick'd!

+San.+ Will you betray me?

+Cle.+ Thy lord hath so protested, Floriana, Vowed such an altar to my beauty, swore So many oaths, and such profane oaths too, To be religious in performing all That's impious towards heaven, and to a lady Most ruinous.

+Flo.+ Good Cleantha, all your detraction Wins no belief on my suspicion.

+Cle.+ Be credulous, and be abus'd. Floriana, There's no vice so great as to think him virtuous. Go mount your milk-white steed, Sir Lancelot, Your little squire attends you there: in suburbs Enchanted castles are, where ladies wait To be deliver'd by your mighty hand; Go and protest there.

+San.+ I thank your favour, madam. [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

+Cle.+ It is not so much worth, sir. Come, we'll follow.

+Flo.+ But stay, Cleantha. Prythee, what begot That squeamish look, that scornful wry o' the mouth, When Oniate parted?

+Cle.+ Why, thou hadst So strange a fellow in thy company, His garb was so uncourtly, I grew sick.

+Flo.+ He is a gentleman; and, add to that, Makes good the title.

+Cle.+ Haply he may so, And haply he's enamour'd on thy beauty.

+Flo.+ On mine, Cleantha?

+Cle.+ Yes, dear Floriana; Yet neither danger to thy chastity, Nor blemish to thy fame: custom approves it. But I owe little to my memory, If I e'er saw him 'mong the greater ladies: Sure, he's some suburb-courtier.

+Flo.+ He's noble, And hath a soul--a thing is question'd much In most of the gay youths whom you converse with.

+Cle.+ But how disorderly his hair did hang.

+Flo.+ Yet 'twas his own.

+Cle.+ How ill turn'd up his beard; And for his clothes----

+Flo.+ Though not fresh every morning, Yet in the fashion.

+Cle.+ Yes, i' th' sober fashion, Which courtiers wear who hope to be employ'd, And aim at business. But he's not genteel; Not discomposed enough to court a lady.

+Flo.+ His thoughts are much more serious.

+Cle.+ Guard me, Fortune! I would not have the court take notice that I walked one hour with that state-aphorism Each autumn to renew my youth. Let us Discourse with lords, whose heads and legs move more Than do their tongues, and to as good a sense; Who, snatching from my hand a glove, can sigh, And print a kiss, and then return it back; Who on my busk,[273] even with a pin, can write The anagram of my name, present it humbly, Fall back, and smile.

+Flo.+ Cleantha, I perceive There is small hope of thy conversion; Thou art resolv'd to live in this heresy.

+Cle.+ Yes; since 'tis the religion of our sex: Sweet Floriana, I will not yet suffer For unregarded truth court persecution.

_Enter +Ossuna+ and +Oniate+, with divers +Soldiers+._

But what are they appear there?

+Flo.+ We'll away. [_Exeunt +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._

+Oss.+ This is the place for interview. You, who are Deputed for this service from the Lord Florentio, use such caution as befits Your charge. Howe'er, your general's person's safe, The Lord Decastro having pass'd his word.

+Oni.+ Yet 'tis my wonder that Florentio, A soldier so exact, practis'd in all The mysteries of war and peace, should trust Himself, where th' enemies' faith must best secure him.

+Oss.+ The great Decastro, sir, whom our late king Deputed regent at his death, and whom The kingdom judgeth fit to marry with His only heir the present queen (though she Disdain his love and our desires) hath proved To time and fortune that he fears no danger, But what may wound his honour. How can then Florentio (though he now sit down before Our city with so vast an army) choose A place for interview by art and nature So fortified, as where Decastro's faith Makes it impregnable?

+Oni.+ Distrust, my lord, Is the best councillor to great designs: Our confidence betrays us. But between These two are other seeds of jealousy, Such as would almost force religion break Her tying vows, authorise perjury, And make the scrupulous casuist say, that faith Is the fool's virtue. They both love the queen: Decastro building on his high deserts, And vote of Arragon; Florentio, on The favour he gain'd from her majesty When here he lived employed by his great master, King of Castile.

+Oss.+ Such politic respects May warrant the bad statesman to dark actions; But both these generals by a noble war Resolve to try their fate.

+Oni.+ But here, my lord,

_Enter +Sanmartino+._

Is a full period to all serious thought. This lord is so impertinent, yet still Upon the whisper.

+Oss.+ He's a mischief, sir, No court is safe from.

+Oni.+ What fine tricks he shows Each morning on his jennet, but to gain A female vision from some half-op'd window: And if a lady smile by accident, Or but in scorn of him, yet he (kind soul) Interprets it as prophecy to some Near favour to ensue at night.

+Oss.+ I wonder What makes him thought a wit?

+Oni.+ A copper wit, Which fools let pass for current: so false coin, Such very alchemy that, who vents him For aught but parcel-ass, may be in danger. Look on him, and in little there see drawn The picture of the youth is so admired Of the spruce sirs, whom ladies and their women Call the fine gentleman.

+Oss.+ What are those papers, With such a sober brow he looks upon?

+Oni.+ Nor platform[274] nor intelligence; but a prologue He comes to whisper to one of the maids I' th' privy chamber after supper.

+Oss.+ I praise the courage of his folly yet, Whom fear cannot make wiser.

+San.+ My good lord, Brave Oniate, saw you not the general?

+Oni.+ He's upon entrance here. And how, my lord? I saw your lordship turning over papers! What's the discovery?

+San.+ It may import Decastro's knowledge. Never better language Or neater wit: a paper of such verses, Writ by th' exactest hand.

+Oss.+ In time of business, As serious as our safety, to intrude The dreams of madmen!

+San.+ My judicious lord, It, with the favour of your lordship, may Concern the general: such high rapture In admiration of the queen, whom he Pretends to love! How will her majesty Smile on his suit, when in the heat of business He not neglects this amorous way to woo her?

_Enter +Decastro+._

+Dec.+ No man presume t' advance a foot. My lord Ossuna, I desire your ear.

+San.+ My lord, I have a piece here of such elegant wit.

+Dec.+ Your pardon, good my lord; we'll find an hour Less serious to advise upon your papers, And then at large we'll whisper.

+San.+ As you please, My lord: you'll pardon the error of my duty. [_Exit +Sanmartino+._

+Oss.+ The queen, my lord, gave free access to what I spoke o' th' public; but when I began To mention love----

+Dec.+ How? did she frown, or with What murdering scorn heard she Decastro named? Love! of thy labyrinth of art what path Left I untrodden? Humbly I have labour'd To win her favour; and when that prevail'd not, The kingdom in my quarrel vow'd to empty The veins of their great body.

+Oss.+ Sir, her heart Is mightier than misfortune. Though her youth, Soft as some consecrated virgin wax, Seem easy for impression, yet her virtue Hard as a rock of diamond, breaks all The battery of the waves.

+Dec.+ Unkind and cruel!

+Oss.+ She charg'd me tell you that a faithless Moor, Who had gain'd honour only by the ruin Of what we hold religious, sooner she Would welcome to her bed, than who t' his queen And Love had been a rebel.

+Dec.+ How a rebel? The people's suffrage, which inaugurates princes, Hath warranted my actions.

+Oss.+ But she answers, The subtle arts of faction, not free vote, Commanded her restraint.

+Dec.+ May even those stars, Whose influence made me great, turn their aspècts To blood and ruin, if ambition rais'd The appetite of love. Her beauty hath A power more sovereign than the Eastern slave Acknowledg'd ever in his idol king. To that I bowed a subject: but when I Discover'd that her fancy fix'd upon Florentio (General now of th' enemy's army), I let the people use their severe way, And they restrain'd her.

+Oss.+ But, my lord, their guilt Is made your crime. Yet all this new affliction Disturbs her not to anger, but disdain.

+Dec.+ She hath a glorious spirit. Yet the world, The envious world itself, must justify, That howsoever fortune yielded up The sceptre to my power, I did but kiss it, And offer'd it again into her hand.

_Enter +Florentio+, +Velasco+, and others._

+Oni.+ My lord, the general of Castile, Florentio.

+Dec.+ He's safely welcome. Now let each man keep At a due distance. I have here attended Your lordship's presence.

+Flo.+ O my lord, are we, Whom love obligeth to the same allegiance, Brought hither on these terms?

+Dec.+ They're terms of honour, And I yet never knew to frame excuse, Where that begot the quarrel.

+Flo.+ Yet methinks We might have found another way to it. We might have sought out danger, where the proud, Insulting Moor profanes our holy places. The noise of war had been no trouble then; But now too much 'twill fright the gentle ear Of her we both are vow'd to serve.

+Dec.+ That love, Which arms us both, bears witness that I had Much rather have encounter'd lightning, than Create the least distraction to her peace. But since the vote of Arragon decrees That my long service hath the justest claim To challenge her regard, thus I must stand Arm'd to make good the title.

+Flo.+ This vain language Scarce moves my pity. What desert can rise So high to merit her? Were each short moment O' th' longest-liv'd commander lengthen'd to An age, and that exposed to dangers mighty, As cowards frame them, can you think his service Might challenge her regard? Like th' heavenly bounty, She may distribute favour; but 'tis sin To say our merits may pretend a title.

+Dec.+ You talk, sir, like a courtier.

+Flo.+ But, my lord, You'll find a soldier in this arm which, strengthen'd By such a cause, may level mountains high, As those the giants (emblems of your thoughts) Piled up to have scal'd heaven.

+Dec.+ That must be Decided by the sword: and if, my lord, Our interview hath no more sober end Than a dispute so froward, let us make The trumpet drown the noise.

+Flo.+ You shall not want That music. But before we yielded up Our reason unto fury, I desired We might expostulate the ground of this So fatal war, and bring you to that low Obedience nature placed you in.

+Dec.+ My ear attends you.

+Flo.+ Where is then that humble zeal You owe a mistress, if you can throw off That duty which you owe her as your queen? What justice (that fair rule of human actions) Can you pretend for taking arms?

+Dec.+ Pray, forward.

+Flo.+ I'll not deny (for from an enemy I'll not detract) during her nonage, when The public choice and her great father's will Enthron'd you in the government, you manag'd Affairs with prudence equal to the fame You gain'd: and when your sword did fight her quarrel, 'Twas crown'd with victory.

+Dec.+ I thank your memory.

+Flo.+ But hence ambition and ingratitude Drew only venom: for by these great actions You labour'd not t' advance her state or honour, But subtly wrought upon the people's love-- A love begot by error, following still Apparency, not truth.

+Dec.+ You construe fairly.

+Flo.+ The sun is not more visible, when not One cloud wrinkles the brow of heaven; for On that false strength you had i' th' multitude You swell'd to insolence, dared court your queen, Boasting your merit like some wanton tyrant I' th' vanity of a new conquest. And, When you perceiv'd her judgment did instruct her To frown on the attempt, profanely, 'gainst All laws of love and majesty, you made The people in your quarrel seize upon The sacred person of the fairest queen Story e'er boasted.

+Dec.+ Have you done, my lord?

+Flo.+ Not yet. This injury provok'd my master To raise these mighty forces for her rescue, And named me general: whose aim is not A vain ambition, but t' advance her service. Ere we begin to punish, take this offer: Restore the queen to liberty, with each Due circumstance that such a majesty May challenge, freely to make choice of whom She shall advance to th' honour of her bed. If your deserts bear that high rate you mention, Why should you doubt your fortune? On these terms The king, King of Castile, may be induced To pardon the error of your ruin.

+Dec.+ Thus, In short, my answer. How unlimited Soe'er my power hath been, my reason and My love have circumscrib'd it. True, the queen Stands now restrain'd: but 'tis by the decree Of the whole kingdom, lest her error should Persuade her to some man less worthy.

+Flo.+ How!

+Dec.+ Less worthy than myself; for so they judge The proudest subject to a foreign prince. But when you mention love, where are your blushes? What can you answer for the practising The queen's affection, when embassador You lay here from Castile, pretending only Affairs importing both the kingdoms? Nor Can you, my lord, be tax'd by your discretion, That by the humblest arts of love you labour To win so bright a beauty, and a queen So potent. Your affection looks not here Without an eye upon your profit.

+Flo.+ Witness, Love!

+Dec.+ No protestation. If you will withdraw Your forces from our kingdom, and permit Us to our laws and government, that peace, Which hath continued many ages sacred, Stands firm between us. But if not----

+Flo.+ To arms!

+Dec.+ Pray stay, my lord. Doth not your lordship see Th' advantage I have in the place? With how Much ease I may secure my fortune from The greatest danger of your forces?

+Flo.+ Ha! 'Twas inconsiderate in me: but I trusted To th' honour of your word, which you'll not violate.

+Dec.+ Go safely off, my lord. And now be dumb All talk of peace: we'll parley in the drum.

[_Exeunt several ways, the drum beating._

FOOTNOTES:

[272] This play being by the author communicated to Philip Earl of Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain of the Household to King Charles I., he caused it to be acted at court, and afterwards published against the author's consent. It was revived at the Restoration, when a Prologue and Epilogue, written by the author of "Hudibras," were spoken.--See Butler's "Remains," vol. i. p. 185.

[273] See note to "Lingua," act ii. sc. 2.

[274] [Programme of policy.]