ACT III. SCENE I.

_The same. A Camp before the Walls of Sienna._

_Enter_ GONZAGA, ASTUTIO, RODERIGO, _and_ JACOMO.

_Gonz._ What I have done, sir, by the law of arms I can and will make good.

_Ast._ I have no commission To expostulate the act. These letters speak The king my master's love to you, and his Vow'd service to the duchess, on whose person I am to give attendance.

_Gonz._ At this instant, She's at Fienza: you may spare the trouble Of riding thither: I have advertised her Of our success, and on what humble terms Sienna stands: though presently I can Possess it, I defer it, that she may Enter her own, and, as she please, dispose of The prisoners and the spoil.

_Ast._ I thank you, sir. In the mean time, if I may have your licence, I have a nephew, and one once my ward, For whose liberties and ransoms I would gladly Make composition.

_Gonz._ They are, as I take it, Call'd Gasparo and Antonio.

_Ast._ The same, sir.

_Gonz._ For them, you must treat with these; but, for Bertoldo, He is mine own: if the king will ransom him, He pays down fifty thousand crowns; if not, He lives and dies my slave.

_Ast._ Pray you, a word: [_Aside to_ GONZ. The king will rather thank you to detain him, Than give one crown to free him.

_Gonz._ At his pleasure. I'll send the prisoners under guard: my business Calls me another way. [_Exit._

_Ast._ My service waits you. Now, gentlemen, for this ransom, since you are not To be brought lower, there is no evading; I'll be your paymaster.

_Rod._ We desire no better.

_Ast._ But not a word of what's agreed between us, Till I have school'd my gallants.

_Jac._ I am dumb, sir.

_Enter a Guard, with_ BERTOLDO, ANTONIO, _and_ GASPARO, _in irons_.

_Bert._ And where removed now? hath the tyrant found out Worse usage for us?

_Ant._ Worse it cannot be. My greyhound has fresh straw, and scraps, in his kennel; But we have neither.

_Gasp._ Did I ever think To wear such garters on silk stockings? or That my too curious appetite, that turn'd At the sight of godwits, pheasant, partridge, quails, Larks, woodcocks, calver'd salmon[157], as coarse diet, Would leap at a mouldy crust?

_Ant._ And go without it, So oft as I do? Oh! how have I jeer'd The city entertainment! A huge shoulder Of glorious fat ram-mutton, seconded With a pair of tame cats or conies, a crab-tart, With a worthy loin of veal, and valiant capon, Mortified to grow tender!--these I scorn'd, From their plentiful horn of abundance, though invited: But now I could carry my own stool to a tripe[158], And call their chitterlings charity, and bless the founder.

_Bert._ O that I were no further sensible Of my miseries than you are! you, like beasts, Feel only stings of hunger, and complain not But when you're empty: but your narrow souls (If you have any) cannot comprehend How insupportable the torments are, Which a free and noble soul, made captive, suffers. Most miserable men!--and what am I, then, That envy you? Fetters, though made of gold, Express base thraldom; and all delicates Prepared by Median cooks for epicures, When not our own, are bitter: quilts fill'd high With gossamere and roses cannot yield The body soft repose, the mind kept waking With anguish and affliction.

_Ast._ My good lord----

_Bert._ This is no time nor place for flattery, sir: Pray you, style me as I am, a wretch forsaken Of the world, as myself.

_Ast._ I would it were In me to help you.

_Bert._ If that you want power, sir, Lip-comfort cannot cure me. Pray you, leave me To mine own private thoughts. [_Walks by._

_Ast._ [_comes forward._] My valiant nephew! And my more than warlike ward! I am glad to see you, After your glorious conquests. Are these chains Rewards for your good service? if they are, You should wear them on your necks, since they are massy, Like aldermen of the war.

_Ant._ You jeer us too!

_Gasp._ Good uncle, name not, as you are a man of honour, That fatal word of war; the very sound of it Is more dreadful than a cannon.

_Ant._ But redeem us From this captivity, and I'll vow hereafter Never to wear a sword, or cut my meat With a knife that has an edge or point; I'll starve first.

_Ast._ Well, have more wit hereafter: for this time You are ransom'd.

_Jac._ Off with their irons!

_Rod._ Do, do: If you are ours again, you know your price.

_Ant._ Pray you, despatch us: I shall ne'er believe I am a free man, till I set my foot In Sicily again, and drink Palermo, And in Palermo too.

_Ast._ The wind sits fair; You shall aboard to-night: with the rising sun You may touch upon the coast. But take your leaves Of the late general first.

_Gasp._ I will be brief.

_Ant._ And I. My lord, Heaven keep you!

_Gasp._ Yours, to use In the way of peace; but as your soldiers, never.

_Ant._ A pox of war! no more of war. [_Exeunt_ ROD. JAC. ANT. _and_ GASP.

_Bert._ Have you Authority to loose their bonds, yet leave The brother of your king, whose worth disdains Comparison with such as these, in irons? If ransom may redeem them, I have lands, A patrimony of mine own, assign'd me By my deceased sire, to satisfy Whate'er can be demanded for my freedom.

_Ast._ I wish you had, sir; but the king, who yields No reason for his will, in his displeasure Hath seized on all you had; nor will Gonzaga, Whose prisoner now you are, accept of less Than fifty thousand crowns.

_Bert._ I find it now, That misery never comes alone. But, grant The king is yet inexorable, time May work him to a feeling of my sufferings. I have friends that swore their lives and fortunes were At my devotion, and, among the rest, Yourself, my lord, when forfeited to the law For a foul murder, and in cold blood done, I made your life my gift, and reconciled you To this incensed king, and got your pardon. --Beware ingratitude! I know you are rich, And may pay down the sum.

_Ast._ I might, my lord; But pardon me.

_Bert._ And will Astutio prove, then, To please a passionate man, (the king's no more,) False to his maker, and his reason, which Commands more than I ask? O summer friendship, Whose flattering leaves, that shadow'd us in our Prosperity, with the least gust drop off In the autumn of adversity! How like A prison is to a grave! when dead, we are With solemn pomp brought thither, and our heirs, Masking their joy in false dissembled tears, Weep o'er the herse; but earth no sooner covers The earth brought thither, but they turn away, With inward smiles, the dead no more remember'd: So, enter'd in a prison----

_Ast._ My occasions Command me hence, my lord.

_Bert._ Pray you, leave me, do; And tell the cruel king, that I will wear These fetters till my flesh and they are one Incorporated substance. [_Exit_ ASTUTIO.] In myself, As in a glass, I'll look on human frailty, And curse the height of royal blood; since I, In being born near to Jove, am near his thunder[159]. Cedars once shaken with a storm, their own Weight grubs their roots out.--Lead me where you please; I am his, not fortune's martyr, and will die The great example of his cruelty. [_Exit guarded._

FOOTNOTES:

[157] _Calver'd salmon_ appears to have differed but little from what is now called pickled salmon, as the directions for preparing it are--"to boil it in vinegar with oil and spices." The word is still in use, but not in the exact sense of the text. To _calver_ fish is now a very simple process.--GIFFORD.

[158] --------_To a tripe_,] i. e. _to a tripe shop_. By "carrying his own stool," he means that he would not wait for the formality of an invitation, but trust to the vender's hospitality for a meal. The singular custom of uninvited or unexpected guests bringing their seats with them is frequently noticed by the writers of Massinger's time. It is probable that the practice originated in necessity. Our ancient houses were not much encumbered with furniture, and the little which they had was moved from place to place as occasion required.--GIFFORD.

[159] _In being born near to Jove, am near his thunder._] [Greek: Porrhô Dios kai te porrho keraunou].