Part 24

_Mar._ Live, live, thou Angel of thy sex: forgive, Till by those golden tresses thou be'st snatch'd Alive to Heaven: for thy corruption's So little, that it cannot suffer death. Was ever such a woman? O my mirror! How perfectly thou shew'st me all my faults, Which now I hate, and when I next attempt thee, Let all the fires in the _Zodiak_ Drop on this cursed head.

_All._ O blest event!

_Dor._ Rise like the sun again in all his glory, After a dark Eclipse.

_Mar._ Never without a pardon.

_Enter Sophocles, and two or three with him._

_Dor._ Sir, you have forgiven your self.

_Soph._ Behold their impudence: are my words just? Unthankful man, viper to Arms, and _Rome_ Thy natural mother; have I warm'd thee here To corrode ev'n my heart? _Martius_, prepare To kill me, or be kill'd.

_Mar._ Why _Sophocles_? Then prethee kill me; I deserve it highly; For I have both transgress'd 'gainst men, and gods; But am repentant now, and in best case To uncase my soul of this oppressing flesh; Which, though (Gods witness) nev'r was actually Injurious to thy wife and thee, yet 't was Her goodness that restrain'd and held me now: But take my life, dear friend, for my intent, Or else forgive it.

_Val._ By the gods of _Athens_, These words are true, and all direct again.

_Soph._ Pardon me, _Dorigen_.

_Mar._ Forgive me, _Sophocles_, And _Dorigen_ too, and every one that 's good.

_Dor._ Rise, noble Roman, belov'd _Sophocles_, Take to thy brest thy friend.

_Mar._ And to thy heart Thy matchless wife: Heaven has not stuff enough To make another such: for if it could, _Martius_ would marry too. For thy blest sake (O thou infinitie of excellence) Henceforth in mens discourse _Rome_ shall not take The wall of _Athens_, as 'tofore. But when In their fair honors we to speak do come, We'll say 'T was so in _Athens_, and in _Rome_.

[_Exeun[t] in pomp._

_Diana descends._

Diana. _Honor set ope thy gates, and with thee bring_ _My servant and thy friend, fair_ Dorigen_:_ _Let her triumph, with her, her Lord, and friend,_ _Who, though misled, still honor was their end_. [Flourish.

_Enter the Shew of_ Honors Triumph; _a great flourish of Trumpets and Drums within; Then enter a noise of Trumpets sounding cheerfully. Then follows an armed Knight bearing a Crimson Banneret in hand, with the inscription_ Valour: _by his side a Lady, bearing a Watchet Banneret, the inscription_ Clemencie: _next_ Martius _and_ Sophocles _with Coronets. Next, two Lad[i]es, one bearing a white Banneret, the inscription_ Chastity: _the other a black, the inscription_ Constancie. _Then_ Dorigen _crown'd. Last, a Chariot drawn by two Moors, in it a Person crown'd, with a Scepter: on the top, in an antick Scutcheon, is written_ Honor. _As they pass over_, Diana _ascends_.

_Rinald._ How like you it?

_Frig._ Rarely; so well, I would they would do it again. How many of our wives now adays would deserve to triumph in such a Chariot?

_Rinald._ That's all one; you see they triumph in Caroches.

_Frig._ That they do, by the mass; but not all neither; many of them are content with Carts. But Seignior, I have now found out a great absurditie i'faith.

_Rinald._ What was 't?

_Frig._ The Prologue presenting four Triumphs, made but three legs to the King: a three-legged Prologue, 't was monstrous.

_Rinald._ 'T had been more monstrous to have had a four-legg'd one. Peace, the King speaks.

_Em._ Here was a woman, _Isabel._

_Isa._ I, my Lord, But that she told a lye to vex her husband; Therein sh[e] fail'd.

_Em._ She serv'd him well enough; He that was so much man, yet would be cast To jealousie for her integrity. This teacheth us, the passion of love Can fight with Soldiers, and with Scholars too.

_Isa._ In _Martius_, clemencie and valour shown, In the other, courage and humanitie; And therefore in the Triumph they were usher'd By clemencie and valour.

_Em._ Rightly observ'd, As she by chastitie and constancie; What hurt's now in a Play, against which some rail So vehemently? thou and I, my love, Make excellent use methinks: I learn to be A lawful lover void of jealousie, And thou a constant wife. Sweet Poetry's A flower, where men, like Bees and Spiders, may Bear poison, or else sweets and Wax away. Be venom-drawing Spiders they that will; I'll be the Bee, and suck the honey still. [_Flourish._

_Cupid descends._

Cupid. _Stay, clouds, ye rack too fast: bright Phœbus see,_ _Honor has triumph'd with fair Chastity:_ _Give Love now leave, in purity to shew_ _Unchaste affe[ct]ions flie not from his bowe._ _Produce the sweet example of your youth._ _Whilst I provide a Triumph for your Truth._ [Flourish.

_Enter Violanta (with childe) and Gerrard._

_Viol._ Why does my _Gerr[a]rd_ grieve?

_Ger._ O my sweet Mistris, 'Tis not life (which by our _Milain_ law My fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive; That I would lose to save the little finger Of this your noble burthen, from least hurt, Because your blood is in't. But since your love Made poor incompatible me the parent, (Being we are not married) your dear blood Falls under the same cruel penalty; And can Heaven think fit ye die for me? For Heavens sake say I ravisht you, I'll swear it, To keep your life, and repute unstain'd.

_Viol._ O _Gerrard_, th' art my life and faculties: And if I lose thee, I'll not keep mine own; The thought of whom, sweetens all miseries. Wouldst have me murder thee beyond thy death? Unjustly scandal thee with ravishment? It was so far from rape, that Heaven doth know, If ever the first Lovers, ere they fell, Knew simply in the state of innocence, Such was this act, this, that doth ask no blush.

_Ger._ O! but my rarest _Violanta_, when My Lord _Randulpho_ brother to you[r] father, Shall understand this, how will he exclaim, That my poor Aunt, and me, which his free alms Hath nurs'd, since _Millain_ by the Duke of _Mantua_ (Who now usurps it) was surpriz'd? that time My father and my mother were both slain, With my Aunts husband, as she says, their states Despoil'd and seiz'd; 'tis past my memory, But thus she told me: onely thus I know, Since I could understand, your honor'd Uncle Hath given me all the liberal education, That his own son might look for, had he one; Now will he say, Dost thou requite me thus? O! the thought kills me.

_Viol._ Gentle, gentle _Gerrard_, Be cheer'd, and hope the best. My mother, father, And uncle love me most indulgently, Being the onely branch of all their stocks: But neither they, nor he thou wouldst not grieve With this unwelcom news, shall ever hear _Violanta_'s tongue reveal, much less accuse _Gerrard_ to be the father of his own; I'll rather silent die, that thou maist live To see thy little of-spring grow and thrive.

_Enter Dorothea._

_Dor._ Mistris, away, your Lord and father seeks you; I'll convey _Gerrard_ out at the back door; He has found a husband for you, and insults In his invention, little thinking you Have made your own choice, and possest him too.

_Viol._ A husband? 't mus[t] be _Gerrard_, or my death. Fare well; be onely true unto thy self, And know Heavens goodness shall prevented be, Ere worthiest _Gerrard_ suffer harm for me.

_Ger._ Fare well, my life and soul. Aunt, to your counsel I flee for aid. O unexpressible love! thou art An undigested heap of mixt extremes, Whose pangs are wakings, and whose pleasures dreams. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Benvoglio, Angelina, Ferdinand._

_Ben._ My _Angelina_, never didst thou yet So please me, as in this consent; and yet Thou hast pleas'd me well, I swear, old wench: ha, ha. _Ferdinand_, she's thine own; thou'st have her, boy, Ask thy good Lady else.

_Ferd._ Whom shall I have, Sir?

_Ben._ Whom d' ye think, ifaith?

_Angel._ Ghess.

_Ferd._ Noble Madam, I may hope (prompted by shallow merit) Through your profound grace, for your chamber-maid.

_Ben._ How 's that? how 's that?

[_Ferd._ Her chamber-maid, my Lord.

_Ben._] Her chamber-pot, my Lord. You modest ass, Thou never shew'dst thy self an ass till now. 'Fore Heaven I am angrie with thee. Sirha, sirha, This whitmeat spirit's not yours, legitimate, Advance your hope, and 't please you: ghess again.

_Ang._ And let your thoughts flee higher: aim them right; Sir, you may hit, you have the fairest white.

_Ferd._ If I may be so bold then, my good Lord, Your favour doth encourage me to aspire To catch my Ladyes Gentlewoman.

_Ben._ Where? Where would you catch her? Do you know my daughter _Violanta_, Sir?

_Ang._ Well said: no more about the bush.

_Ferd._ My good Lord, I have gaz'd on _Violanta_, and the stars, Whose Heavenly influence I admir'd, not knew, Nor ever was so sinful to believe I might attain 't.

_Ben._ Now you are an ass again; For if thou ne'er attain'st, 't is onely long Of that faint heart of thine, which never did it. She is your Lords heir, mine, _Benvoglio_'s heir, My brothers too, _Randulpho_'s; her descent Not behinde any of the _Millanois_. And _Ferdinand_, although thy parentage Be unknown, thou know'st that I have bred thee up From five yeers old, and (do not blush to hear it) Have found thy wisdom, trust, and fair success So full in all my affa[ir]s, that I am fitter To call thee Master, then thou me thy Lord. Thou canst not be but sprung of gentlest blood; Thy minde shines thorow thee, like the radiant sun, Although thy body be a beauteous cloud. Come, seriously this is no flatterie, And well thou know'st it, though thy modest blood Rise like the morning in thy cheek to hear 't. Sir, I can speak in earnest: Vertuous service, So meritorious, _Ferdinand_, as yours, (Yet bashful still, and silent?) should extract A fuller price then impudence exact: And this is now the wages it must have; My daughter is thy wife, my wealth thy slave.

_Ferd._ Good Madam pinch; I sleep: does my Lord mock, And you assist? Custom's inverted quite; For old men now adays do flout the young.

_Ben._ Fetch _Violanta_. As I intend this Religiously, let my soul finde joy or pain. [_Exit Angelina._

_Ferd._ My honor'd Lord and Master, if I hold That worth could merit such felicitie, You bred it in me, and first purchas'd it; It is your own: and what productions In all my faculties my soul begets, Your very mark is on: you need not add Rewards to him, that is in [d]ebt to you: You sav'd my life, Sir, in the Massacre; There you begot me new, since foster'd me. O! can I serve to[o] much, or pray for you? Alas, 'tis slender paiment to your bountie. Your daughter is a paradice, and I Unworthie to be set there; you may chuse The royalst seeds of _Milain_.

_Ben._ Prethee peace, Thy goodness makes me weep; I am resolv'd: I am no Lord o' th' time, to tie my blood To sordid muck; I have enough: my name, My [s]tate and honors I will store in thee, Whose wisdom will rule well, keep and increase: A knave or fool, that could confer the like, Would bate each hour, diminish every day. Thou art her price-lot th[e]n, drawn out by fate; An honest wise man is a Princes mate.

_Ferd._ Sir, Heaven and you have over-charg'd my brest With grace beyond my continence; I shall burst: The blessing you have given me (witness Saints) I would not change for _Millain_. But, my Lord, Is she prepar'd?

_Ben._ What needs Preparative, Where such a Cordial is prescrib'd as thou? Thy person and thy virtues in one scale, Shall poize hers, with her beautie and her wealth; If not, I add my will unto thy weight; Thy mother's with her now. Son, take my keys, And let this prepar[a]tion for this Marriage, (This welcome Marriage) long determin'd here, Be quick, and gorgeous.--_Gerrard._

_Enter Gerrard._

_Ger._ My good Lord, My Lord, your brother craves your conference Instantly, on affairs of high import.

_Ben._ Why, what news?

_Ger._ The Tyrant, my good Lord, Is sick to death of his old Apoplexie, Whereon the States advise, that Letters-missive Be straight dispatcht to all the neighbour-Countreys, And Schedules too divulg'd on every post, To enquire the lost Duke forth: their purpose is To re-instate him.

_Ben._ 'Tis a pious deed. _Ferdinand_, to my daughter: this delay (Though to so good a purpose) angers me; But I'll recover it. Be secret, son. Go woo with truth and expedition. [_Exit._

_Ferd._ O my unsounded joy! how fares my _Gerrard_, My noble twin-friend? fie, thy l[oo]k is heavie, Sullen, and sowre; blanch it: didst thou know My cause of joy, thou 'ldst never sorrow more, I know thou lov'st me so, How dost thou?

_Ger._ Well, Too well: my fraught of health my sickness is; In life, I am dead; by living dying still.

_Ferd._ What sublunary mischief can predominate A wise man thus? or doth thy friendship play (In this antipathous extreme) with mine, Lest gladness suffocate me? I, I, I do feel My spirit's turn'd to fire, my blood to air, And I am like a purifi'd essence Tri'd from all drossie parts.

_Ger._ Were 't but my life, The loss were sacrific'd; but virtue Must for me be slain, and innocence made dust.

_Ferd._ Fare well good _Gerrard_.

_Ger._ Dearest friend, stay.

_Ferd._ Sad thoughts are no companions for me now, Much less sad words: thy bosom bindes some secret, Which do not trust me with; for mine retains Another, which I must conceal from thee.

_Ger._ I would reveal it: 't is a heavie tale: Canst thou be true, and secret still?

_Ferd._ Why, friend? If you continue true unto your self, I have no means of falshood. Lock this door; Come, yet your prisoner's sure.

_Ger._ Stay, _Ferdinand_.

_Ferd._ What is this trouble? Love? Why, thou art capable of any woman. Doth want oppress thee? I will lighten thee: Hast thou offended law? My Lord and thine, And I, will save thy life. Does servitude Upbraid thy freedom, that she suffers it? Have patience but three days, and I will make thee Thy Lords companion. Can a friend do more?

_Ger._ Lend me the means. How can this be?

_Ferd._ First let this Cabinet keep your pawn, and I will trust: Yet for the form of satisfaction, Take this my Oath to boot. By my presum'd Gentrie, and sacred known Christianitie, I'll die, ere I reveal thy trust.

_Ger._ Then hear it. Your Lords fair daughter _Violanta_ is My betrothed wife, goes great with childe by me; And by this deed both made a pr[e]y to Law. How may I save her life? advise me, friend.

_Ferd._ What did he say? _Gerrard_, whose voice was that? O death unto my heart, bane to my soul! My wealth is vanish'd like the rich mans store: In one poor minute all my daintie fare But jugling dishes; my fat hope, despair.

_Ger._ Is this so odious? where's your mirth?

_Ferd._ Why thou Hast robb'd me of it. _Gerrard_, draw thy sword; And if thou lov'st my Mistris chastitie, Defend it, else I'll cut it from thy heart, Thy theevish heart that stole it, and restore 't, Do miracles to gain her.

_Ger._ Was she thine?

_Ferd._ Never, but in my wish, and her fathers vow, Which now he left with me, on such sure terms; He call'd me son, and will'd me to provide My Wedding-preparation.

_Ger._ Strange.

_Ferd._ Come, let's Kill one another quickly.

_Ger. Ferdinand_, my love is old to her, thine new begot: I have not wrong'd thee; think upon thine Oath.

_Ferd._ It manacles me, _Gerrard_, else this hand Should bear thee to the Law. Fare well for ever: Since friendship is so fatal, never more Will I have friend: thou hast put so sure a plea, That all my weal's litigious made by thee.

_Ger._ I did no crime to you. His love transports him; And yet I mourn, that cruel destinie Should make us two thus one anothers cross: We have lov'd since boys; for the same time cast him On Lord _Benvoglio_, that my Aunt and I Were succour'd by _Randulpho_: men have call'd us The parallels of _Millain_; and some said We were not much unlike. O Heaven divert, That we should (ever since that time) be breeding Mutual destruction.

_Enter Dorothea._

_Dor._ O where are you? you have made a fair hand. By ---- yonder is your Aunt with my Lady; she came in, just as she was wooing your Mistris for another; and what did me she, but out with her purse, and shew'd all the naked truth, ifaith. Fie upon you, you should never trust an old woman with a secret; they cannot hold; they cannot hold so well as we, and you'ld hang 'em. First, there was swearing and staring, then there was howling and weeping, and O my daughter, and O my mother.

_Ger._ The effect, the effect.

_Dor._ Marry no way, but one with you.

_Ger._ Why welcom. Shall she scape?

_Dor._ Nay, she has made her scape already.

_Ger._ Why, is she gone?

_Dor._ The scape of her virginitie, I mean. You men are as dull, you can conceive nothing; You think it is enough to beget.

_Ger._ I; but surely, _Dorothea_, that scap'd not; Her maiden-head suffer'd.

_Dor._ And you were the Executioner.

_Ger._ But what's the event? lord, how thou starv'st me, _Doll_!

_Dor._ Lord how thou starv'st me, _Doll_? By ---- I would fain see you cry a little. Do you stand now, as if you could get a child? Come, I'll rack you no more: This is the heart of the business: always provided, Signior, that if it please the fates to make you a Lord, you be not proud, nor forget your poor handmaid _Doll_, who was partly accessary to the incision of this _Holofernian_ Maidenhead.

_Ger._ I will forget my name first. Speak.

_Dor._ Then thus; My Lady knows all; her sorrow is reasonably well digested; has vow'd to conceal it from my Lord, till delay ripen things better; Wills you to attend her this evening at the back gate; I'll let you in; where her own Confessor shall put you together lawfully, e'r the child be born; which birth is very near, I can assure you: all your charge is your vigilance; and to bring with you some trusty Nurse, to convey the Infant out of the house.

_Ger._ Oh beam of comfort, take! go, tell my Lady I pray for her as I walk: my joys so flow, That what I speak or do, I do not know. [_Exeunt._

Dumb Shew.

_Enter_ Violanta _at one door, we[e]ping, supported by_ Cornelia _and a Frier; at another door_, Angelina _weeping, attended by_ Dorothea. Violanta _kneels down for pardon_. Angelina _shewing remorse, takes her up, and cheers her; so doth_ Cornelia. Angelina _sends_ Dorothea _for_ Gerrard. _Enter_ Gerrard _with_ Dorothea: Angelina _and_ Cornelia _seem to_ _chide him, shewing_ Violanta's _heavy plight_: Violanta _rejoyceth in him: he makes signes of sorrow, intreating pardon_: Angelina _brings_ Gerrard _and_ Violanta _to the Frier; he joyns them hand in hand, takes a Ring from_ Gerrard, _puts it on_ Violanta's _finger; blesseth them_; Gerrard _kisseth her: the Frier takes his leave_. Violanta _makes shew of great pain, is instantly conveyed in by the Women_, Gerrard _is bid stay; he walks in meditation, seeming to pray. Enter_ Dorothea, _whispers him, sends him out. Enter_ Gerrard _with a Nurse blindfold; gives her a purse. To them Enter_ Angelina _and_ Cornelia _with an Infant; they present it to_ Gerrard; _he kisseth and blesseth it; puts it into the Nurses arms, kneels, and takes his leave_. Exeunt _all severally_.

_Enter_ Benvoglio _and_ Randulpho.

_Ben._ He's dead, you say then.

_Rand._ Certainly: and to hear The people now dissect him now he's gone, Makes my ears burn, that lov'd him not: such Libels, Such Elegies and Epigrams they have made, More odious than he was. Brother, great men Had need to live by love, meting their deeds With virtues rule; sound, with the weight of judgement, Their privat'st action: for though while they live Their power and policie masque their villanies, Their bribes, their lust, pride, and ambition, And make a many slaves to worship 'em, That are their flatterers, and their bawds in these: These very slaves shall, when these great beasts dye, Publish their bowels to the vulgar eye.

_Ben._ 'Fore Heaven 'tis true. But is _Rinaldo_ (brother) our good Duke, heard of living?

_Rand._ Living, Sir, and will be shortly with the Senate: has Been close conceal'd at _Mantua_, and reliev'd: But what's become of his? no tidings yet? But brother, till our good Duke shall arrive, Carry this news, here. Where's your _Ferdinand_?

_Ben._ Oh busie, Sir, about this marriage: And yet my Girl o'th' suddain is fall'n sick: You'll see her e'r you go?

_Rand._ Yes; well I love her; And yet I wish I had another daughter To gratifie my _Gerrard_, who (by ----) Is all the glory of my family, But has too much worth to [l]ive so obscure; I'll have him Secretary of Estate Upon the Dukes return: for credit me, The value of that Gentleman's not known; His strong abilities are fit to guide The whole Republique: he hath Learning, youth, Valour, discretion, honesty of a Saint; His Aunt is wondrous good too.

_Enter_ Violanta _in a bed_; Angelina _and_ Dorothea _sitting by her_.

_Ben._ You have spoke The very character of _Ferdinand_: One is the others mirror. How now, Daughter?

_Rand._ How fares my Neece?

_Viol._ A little better, Uncle, then I was, I thank you.

_Rand._ Brother, a meer cold.

_Angel._ It was a cold and heat, I think: but Heaven be thanked We have broken that away.

_Ben._ And yet, _Violanta_, You'll lie alone still, and you see what's got.

_Dor._ Sure, Sir, when this was got, she had a bed-fellow.

_Rand._ What has her chollick left her in her belly?

_Dor._ 'T has left her, but she has had a sore fit.

_Rand._ I, that same Collick and Stone's inherent to us O' th' womans side: our Mothers had them both.

_Dor._ So has she had, Sir. How these old fornicators talk! she had more Need of Mace-Ale, and Rhenish-wine Caudles, heaven knows, Then your aged Discipline.

_Ben._ Say?

_Enter_ Ferdinand.

_Ang._ She will have the man; and on recovery Will wholly be dispos'd by you.

_Ben._ That's my wench: How now? what change is this? why _Ferdinand_, Are these your Robes of joy should be indu'd? Doth _Hymen_ wear black? I did send for you To have my honorable Brother witness The Contract I will make 'twixt you and her. Put off all doubt; she loves ye? what d' ye say?

_Rand._ Speak man, Why look you so distractedly?

_Ferd._ There are your keys, [Sir:] I'll no Contract[s, I] Divinest _V[i]olanta_, I will serve you Thus on my knees, and pray for you: _Juno, Lucina fer opem_. My inequality ascends no higher: I dare not marry you.

_Ben._ How's this?