ACT I. SCENE I.

_The Country. A Room in_ CHAROMONTE'_s House_.

_Enter_ CHAROMONTE _and_ CONTARINO.

_Char._ You bring your welcome with you.

_Cont._ Sir, I find it In every circumstance.

_Char._ Again most welcome. Yet, give me leave to wish (and pray you excuse me, For I must use the freedom I was born with) The great duke's pleasure had commanded you To my poor house upon some other service; Not this you are design'd to: but his will Must be obey'd, howe'er it ravish from me The happy conversation of one As dear to me as the old Romans held Their household Lars, whom they believed had power To bless and guard their families.

_Cont._ 'Tis received so On my part, signior; nor can the duke But promise to himself as much as may Be hoped for from a nephew. And 'twere weakness In any man to doubt, that Giovanni[60], Train'd up by your experience and care In all those arts peculiar and proper To future greatness, of necessity Must in his actions, being grown a man, Make good the princely education Which he derived from you.

_Char._ I have discharged, To the utmost of my power, the trust the duke Committed to me, and with joy perceive The seed of my endeavours was not sown Upon the barren sands, but fruitful glebe, Which yields a large increase: my noble charge, By his sharp wit, and pregnant apprehension, Instructing those that teach him; making use, Not in a vulgar and pedantic form, Of what's read to him, but 'tis straight digested, And truly made his own. His grave discourse, In one no more indebted unto years, Amazes such as hear him: horsemanship, And skill to use his weapon, are by practice Familiar to him: as for knowledge in Music, he needs it not, it being born with him; All that he speaks being with such grace deliver'd, That it makes perfect harmony.

_Cont._ You describe A wonder to me.

_Char._ Sir, he is no less; And that there may be nothing wanting that May render him complete, the sweetness of His disposition so wins on all Appointed to attend him, that they are Rivals, even in the coarsest office, who Shall get precedency to do him service; Which they esteem a greater happiness Than if they had been fashion'd and built up To hold command o'er others.

_Cont._ And what place Does he now bless with his presence?

_Char._ He is now Running at the ring[61], at which he's excellent. He does allot for every exercise A several hour; for sloth, the nurse of vices, And rust of action, is a stranger to him. But I fear I am tedious; let us pass, If you please, to some other subject, though I cannot Deliver him as he deserves.

_Cont._ You have given him A noble character.

_Char._ And how, I pray you, (For we, that never look beyond our villas, Must be inquisitive,) are state affairs Carried in court?

_Cont._ There's little alteration: Some rise, and others fall, as it stands with The pleasure of the duke, their great disposer.

_Char._ Does Lodovico Sanazarro hold Weight and grace with him?

_Cont._ Every day new honours Are shower'd upon him, and without the envy Of such as are good men; since all confess The service done our master in his wars 'Gainst Pisa and Sienna may with justice Claim what's conferr'd upon him.

_Char._ 'Tis said nobly; For princes never more make known their wisdom, Than when they cherish goodness where they find it: They being men, and not gods, Contarino, They can give wealth and titles, but no virtues; That is without their power. When they advance, Not out of judgment, but deceiving fancy, An undeserving man, howe'er set off With all the trim of greatness, state, and power, And of a creature even grown terrible To him from whom he took his giant form, This thing is still a comet, no true star; And when the bounties feeding his false fire Begin to fail, will of itself go out, And what was dreadful proves ridiculous. But in our Sanazarro 'tis not so, He being pure and tried gold; and any stamp Of grace, to make him current to the world, The duke is pleased to give him, will add honour To the great bestower; for he, though allow'd Companion to his master, still preserves His majesty in full lustre.

_Cont._ He, indeed, At no part does take from it, but becomes A partner of his cares, and eases him, With willing shoulders, of a burden which He should alone sustain.

_Char._ Is he yet married?

_Cont._ No, signior, still a bachelor; howe'er It is apparent that the choicest virgin For beauty, bravery, and wealth, in Florence, Would, with her parents' glad consent, be won, Were his affection and intent but known To be at his devotion.

_Char._ So I think too. But break we off--here comes my princely charge.

_Enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ CALANDRINO.

Make your approaches boldly; you will find A courteous entertainment. [CONT. _kneels_.

_Giov._ Pray you, forbear My hand, good signior; 'tis a ceremony Not due to me. 'Tis fit we should embrace With mutual arms.

_Cont._ It is a favour, sir, I grieve to be denied.

_Giov._ You shall o'ercome: But 'tis your pleasure, not my pride, that grants it. Nay, pray you, guardian, and good sir, put on: How ill it shows to have that reverend head Uncover'd to a boy!

_Char._ Your excellence Must give me liberty to observe the distance And duty that I owe you.

_Giov._ Owe me duty! I do profess (and when I do deny it, Good fortune leave me!) you have been to me A second father, and may justly challenge, For training up my youth in arts and arms, As much respect and service as was due To him that gave me life. And did you know, sir, Or will believe from me, how many sleeps Good Charomonte hath broken, in his care To build me up a man, you must confess Chiron, the tutor to the great Achilles, Compared with him, deserves not to be named. And if my gracious uncle, the great duke, Still holds me worthy his consideration, Or finds in me aught worthy to be loved, That little rivulet flow'd from this spring; And so from me report him.

_Cont._ Fame already Hath fill'd his highness' ears with the true story Of what you are, and how much better'd by him; And 'tis his purpose to reward the travail Of this grave sir with a magnificent hand: For though his tenderness hardly could consent To have you one hour absent from his sight, For full three years he did deny himself The pleasure he took in you, that you, here, From this great master, might arrive unto The theory of those high mysteries Which you, by action, must make plain in court. 'Tis, therefore, his request, (and that, from him, Your excellence must grant a strict command,) That instantly (it being not five hours' riding) You should take horse and visit him. These his letters Will yield you further reasons. [_Delivers a packet._

_Cal._ To the court! Farewell the flower, then, of the country's garland. This is our sun, and when he's set we must not Expect or spring or summer, but resolve For a perpetual winter.

_Char._ Pray you, observe [GIOVANNI _reading the letters_. The frequent changes in his face.

_Cont._ As if His much unwillingness to leave your house Contended with his duty.

_Char._ Now he appears Collected and resolved.

_Giov._ It is the duke! The duke, upon whose favour all my hopes And fortunes do depend; nor must I check At his commands for any private motives That do invite my stay here, though they are Almost not to be master'd. My obedience, In my departing suddenly, shall confirm I am his highness' creature; yet I hope A little stay to take a solemn farewell Of all those ravishing pleasures I have tasted In this my sweet retirement, from my guardian And his incomparable daughter, cannot meet An ill construction.

_Cont._ I will answer that: Use your own will.

_Giov._ I would speak to you, sir, In such a phrase as might express the thanks My heart would gladly pay; but----

_Char._ I conceive you: And something I would say; but I must do it In that dumb rhetoric which you make use of; For I do wish you all----I know not how, My toughness melts, and, spite of my discretion, I must turn woman. [_Embraces_ GIOVANNI.

_Cont._ What a sympathy There is between them!

_Cal._ Were I on the rack, I could not shed a tear. But I am mad, And, ten to one, shall hang myself for sorrow Before I shift my shirt. But hear you, sir, (I'll separate you), when you are gone, what will Become of me?

_Giov._ Why, thou shalt to court with me. [_Takes_ CHAR. _aside_.

_Cal._ To see you worried?

_Cont._ Worried, Calandrino!

_Cal._ Yes, sir: for, bring this sweet face to the court, There will be such a longing 'mong the madams, Who shall engross it first, nay, fight and scratch for 't, That, if they be not stopp'd----So much for him. There's something else that troubles me.

_Cont._ What's that?

_Cal._ Why, how to behave myself in court, and tightly. I have been told the very place transforms men, And that not one of a thousand, that before Lived honestly in the country on plain salads, But bring him thither, mark me that, and feed him But a month or two with custards and court cake-bread, And he turns knave immediately.--I'd be honest; But I must follow the fashion, or die a beggar.

_Giov._ And, if I ever reach my hopes, believe it, We will share fortunes.

_Char._ This acknowledgment

_Enter_ LIDIA.

Binds me your debtor ever.--Here comes one In whose sad looks you easily may read What her heart suffers, in that she is forced To take her last leave of you.

_Cont._ As I live, A beauty without parallel!

_Lid._ Must you go, then, So suddenly?

_Giov._ There's no evasion, Lidia, To gain the least delay, though I would buy it At any rate. Greatness, with private men Esteem'd a blessing, is to me a curse; And we, whom, for our high births, they conclude The only freemen, are the only slaves. Happy the golden mean! Had I been born In a poor sordid cottage, not nursed up With expectation to command a court, I might, like such of your condition, sweetest, Have ta'en a safe and middle course, and not, As I am now, against my choice, compell'd Or to lie groveling on the earth, or raised So high upon the pinnacles of state, That I must either keep my height with danger, Or fall with certain ruin.

_Lid._ Your own goodness Will be your faithful guard.

_Giov._ O, Lidia!----

_Cont._ So passionate[62]! [_Aside._

_Giov._ For, had I been your equal, I might have seen and liked with mine own eyes, And not, as now, with others'; I might still, And without observation or envy, As I have done, continued my delights With you, that are alone, in my esteem, The abstract of society: we might walk In solitary groves, or in choice gardens; From the variety of curious flowers Contemplate nature's workmanship and wonders: And then, for change, near to the murmur of Some bubbling fountain, I might hear you sing, And, from the well-tuned accents of your tongue, In my imagination conceive With what melodious harmony a quire Of angels sing above their Maker's praises: And then with chaste discourse, as we return'd, Imp[63] feathers to the broken wings of time:-- And all this I must part from.

_Cont._ You forget The haste imposed upon us.

_Giov._ One word more, And then I come. And after this, when, with Continued innocence of love and service, I had grown ripe for hymeneal joys, Embracing you, but with a lawful flame, I might have been your husband.

_Lid._ Sir, I was, And ever am, your servant; but it was, And 'tis, far from me in a thought to cherish Such saucy hopes. If I had been the heir Of all the globes and sceptres mankind bows to, At my best you had deserved me; as I am, Howe'er unworthy, in my virgin zeal I wish you, as a partner of your bed, A princess equal to you; such a one That may make it the study of her life, With all the obedience of a wife, to please you. May you have happy issue, and I live To be their humblest handmaid!

_Giov._ I am dumb, And can make no reply.

_Cont._ Your excellence Will be benighted.

_Giov._ This kiss, bathed in tears, May learn you what I should say.

_Lid._ Give me leave To wait on you to your horse.

_Char._ And me to bring you To the one half of your journey.

_Giov._ Your love puts Your age to too much trouble.

_Char._ I grow young, When most I serve you.

_Cont._ Sir, the duke shall thank you. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[60] _Giovanni._] This word is used as a quadrisyllable. This is incorrect, and shows that Massinger had studied the language in books only: no Italian would or could pronounce it in this manner. He makes the same mistake in the name of the duchess:--Fiorinda is a trisyllable; yet he adopts the division of poor Calandrino, and constantly pronounces it Fi-o-rin-da.--GIFFORD.

[61] _Running at the ring._] This amusement made a part of nearly all those magnificent spectacles which used to be given on public occasions. A ring of a very small diameter was suspended by a string from a kind of gibbet, of which the horizontal beam moved on a swivel. At this the competitors ran with their spears couched, with loose reins, and, as the public regulations have it, "as much speed as the horses have." The object was to carry off the ring on the point of the spear, which was light, taper, and adapted to the purpose. It was of difficult attainment; for, from an account of a match made by King Edward the Sixth, seventeen against seventeen, of which he has left a description, it appears, that "in one hundred and twenty courses the ring was carried off but three times."--_King Edward's Journal, p. 26._ The victor was usually rewarded with a ring set with precious stones, and bestowed by the lady of the day.

[62] _So passionate!_] i. e. _so deeply affected_. In this sense the word perpetually occurs in our old writers.

[63] _To imp._] i. e. _to insert a new feather into the wing of a hawk in the place of a broken one_.--These lines are perhaps the most beautiful of a scene eminently graceful and elegant.