SCENE I.

_A dumb show._

_The cornets sound a senet._

_Enter two mourners with torches, two with streamers_; CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO, _with torches; a Herald bearing_ ANDRUGIO'S _helm and sword; the coffin_; MARIA _supported by_ LUCIO _and_ ALBERTO; _Antonio_, _by himself_; PIERO _and_ STROTZO, _talking_; GALEATZO _and_ MATZAGENTE, BALURDO _and_ PANDULFO: _the coffin set down; helm, sword, and streamers hung up, placed by the Herald, whilst_ ANTONIO _and Maria wet their handkerchers with their tears, kiss them, and lay them on the hearse, kneeling: all go out but_ PIERO. _Cornets cease, and he speaks._

_Pier._ Rot there, thou cerecloth that enfolds the flesh Of my loath'd foe; moulder to crumbling dust; Oblivion choke the passage of thy fame! Trophies of honour'd birth drop quickly down: Let nought of him, but what was vicious, live. Though thou art dead, think not my hate is dead: I have but newly twone my arm in the curl'd locks Of snaky vengeance. Pale, beetle-brow'd hate But newly bustles up. Sweet wrong, I clap thy thoughts! O let me hug thy[237] bosom, rub thy[237] breast, 10 In hope of what may hap. Andrugio rots, Antonio lives: umh: how long? ha, ha! how long? Antonio pack'd hence, I'll his mother wed, Then clear my daughter of supposèd lust, Wed her to Florence heir. O excellent! Venice, Genoa, Florence at my beck, At Piero's nod.--Balurdo, O ho![238]-- O 'twill be rare, all unsuspected done. I have been nursed in blood, and still have suck'd The steam of reeking gore.--Balurdo, ho! 20

_Enter_ BALURDO _with a beard, half off, half on_.

_Bal._ When my beard is on, most noble prince, when my beard is on.

_Pier._ Why, what dost thou with a beard?

_Bal._ In truth, one told me that my wit was bald, and that a mermaid was half fish and half fish [_sic_]; and therefore to speak wisely, like one of your counsel, as indeed it hath pleased you to make me, not only being a fool of your counsel, but also to make me of your counsel being a fool: if my wit be bald, and a mermaid be half fish and half conger, then I must be forced to conclude--The tiring man hath not glued on my beard half fast enough. God's bores, it will not stick to fall off. 32

_Pier._ Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this while?

_Bal._ O lord, duke, I would be sorry of that. Many men can utter that which no man but themselves can conceive: but I thank a good wit, I have the gift to speak that which neither any man else nor myself understands.

_Pier._ Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not what, shall never sin against his own conscience: go to, thou art wise. 40

_Bal._ Wise? O no, I have a little natural discretion, or so; but for wise, I am somewhat prudent; but for wise, O lord!

_Pier._ Hold, take those keys, open the castle vault, And put in Mellida.

_Bal._ And put in Mellida? Well, let me alone.

_Pier._ Bid Forobosco and Castilio guard; Endear thyself Piero's intimate.

_Bal._ Endear, and intimate; good, I assure you. I will endear and intimate Mellida into the dungeon presently. 51

_Pier._ Will[239] Pandulfo Feliche wait on me.

_Bal._ I will make him come, most retort and obtuse, to you presently. I think Sir Jeffrey talks like a counsellor. Go to, god's neaks, I think I tickle it.

_Pier._ I'll seem to wind yon fool with kindest arm. He that's ambitious-minded, and but man, Must have his followers beasts, damn'd[240] slavish sots, Whose service is obedience, and whose wit Reacheth no further than to admire their lord, 60 And stare in adoration of his worth. I loathe a slave, raked out of common mud, Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart. High-honour'd blood's too squeamish to assent And lend a hand to an ignoble act: Poison from roses who could e'er abstract?--

_Enter_ PANDULFO.

How now, Pandulfo? weeping for thy son?

_Pan._ No, no, Piero, weeping for my sins: Had I been a good father, he had been A gracious son.

_Pier._ Pollution must be purged. 70

_Pan._ Why taint'st thou then the air with stench of flesh, And human putrefaction's noisome scent? I pray his body. Who less boon can crave Than to bestow upon the dead his grave?

_Pier._ Grave! Why, think'st thou he deserves a grave, That hath defil'd the temple of----

_Pan._ Peace, peace! Methinks I hear a humming murmur creep From out his jellied[241] wounds. Look on those lips, Those now lawn pillows, on whose tender softness Chaste modest speech, stealing from out his breast, 80 Had wont to rest itself, as loath to post From out so fair an inn! look, look, they seem to stir And breathe defiance to black obloquy!

_Pier._ Think'st thou thy son could suffer wrongfully?

_Pan._ A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong Can take;[242] his breast's of such well-tempered proof It may be razed, not pierced by savage tooth Of foaming malice: showers of darts may dark Heaven's ample brow, but not strike out a spark, Much less pierce the sun's cheek. Such songs as these I often dittied till my boy did sleep; 91 But now I turn plain fool, alas, I weep.

_Pier._ [_Aside._] 'Fore heaven he makes me shrug; would 'a were dead. He is a virtuous man: what has our court to do With virtue, in the devil's name!--Pandulpho, hark: My lustful daughter dies; start not, she dies. I pursue justice; I love sanctity, And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts. Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio's dead: And I do fear a fetch;[243] but (umh) would I durst speak-- I do mistrust but (umh)--[_Aside._] Death is he all, all man, Hath he no part of mother in him, ha? 102 No licorish womanish inquisitiveness?

_Pan._ Andrugio's dead!

_Pier._ Ay; and I fear his own unnatural blood, To whom he gave life, hath given death for life. [_Aside_.] How could he come on? I see false suspect Is viced; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart.-- Well, I could give you reason for my doubts: You are of honour'd birth, my very friend: 110 You know how god-like 'tis to root out sin. Antonio is a villain: will you join In oath with me against the traitor's life, And swear you knew he sought his father's death? I loved him well, yet I love justice more: Our friends we should affect, justice adore.

_Pan._ My lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glibb'd With court-oil, 'twill not strike on both sides yet.

_Pier._ 'Tis[244] just that subjects act commands of kings.

_Pan._ Command then just and honourable things. 120

_Pier._ Even so, myself then will traduce his guilt.

_Pan._ Beware, take heed, lest guiltless blood be spilt.

_Pier._ Where only honest deeds to kings are free, It is no empire, but a beggary.

_Pan._ Where more than noble deeds to kings are free, It is no empire, but a tyranny.

_Pier._ Tush, juiceless graybeard, 'tis immunity, Proper to princes, that our state exacts; Our subjects not alone to bear, but praise our acts. 129

_Pan._ O, but that prince, that worthful praise aspires, From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.

_Pier._ Pish! True praise the brow of common men doth ring, False only girts the temple of a king. He that hath strength and 's ignorant of power, He was not made to rule, but to be rul'd.

_Pan._ 'Tis praise to do, not what we can, but should.

_Pier._ Hence, doting stoic! by my hope of bliss, I'll make thee wretched.

_Pan._ Defiance to thy power, thou rifted jawn![245] 140 Now, by the lovèd heaven, sooner thou shalt Rinse thy foul ribs from the black filth of sin That soots thy heart than make me wretched. Pish! Thou canst not coop me up. Hadst thou a jail With treble walls, like antique Babylon, Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee, duke, I have old Fortunatus' wishing-cap, And can be where I list even in a trice. I'll skip from earth into the arms of heaven: And from triumphal arch of blessedness, 150 Spit on thy frothy breast. Thou canst not slave Or banish me; I will be free at home, Maugre the beard of greatness. The port-holes Of sheathèd spirit are ne'er corbèd[246] up, But still stand open ready to discharge Their precious shot into the shrouds of heaven.

_Pier._ O torture! slave, I banish thee the town, Thy native seat of birth.

_Pan._ How proud thou speak'st! I tell thee, duke, the blasts 159 Of the swoll'n-cheek'd winds, nor all the breath of kings Can puff me out my native seat of birth. The earth's my body's, and the heaven's my soul's Most native place of birth, which they will keep Despite the menace of mortality. Why, duke, That's not my native place,[247] where I was rock'd. A wise man's home is wheresoe'er he is wise; Now that, from man, not from the place, doth rise.

_Pier._ Would I were deaf! O plague! Hence, dotard wretch! Tread not in court: all that thou hast, I seize. 170 [_Aside._] His quiet's firmer than I can disease.

_Pan._ Go, boast unto thy flatt'ring sycophants Pandulpho's slave Piero hath o'erthrown: Loose fortune's rags are lost, my own's my own.

[PIERO _going out, looks back_.

'Tis true, Piero, thy vex'd heart shall see, Thou hast but tripp'd my slave, not conquered me.

[_Exeunt at several doors._

[237] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "my."

[238] We are to suppose that Piero has left the church and is in the courtyard of the palace.

[239] _i.e._, desire, order.

[240] Old eds. "dub'd."

[241] See note 2, p. 114.

[242] Pandulpho is again ready with his Stoic maxims. Seneca wrote a dissertation to show "Nec injuriam nec contumeliam accipere sapientem."

[243] "I do fear a _fetch_," _i.e._, I suspect that Andrugio has perished by treachery. _Fetch_ = plot, device.

[244] There is an Attic flavour in this passage of _stichomythia_. For a passing moment one is reminded of Creon's altercation with his son (in the _Antigone_):-- Kr. ô pankakiste, dia dikês iôn patri. Hai. ou gar dikaia s' examartanonth horô. Kr. hamartanô gar tas emas archas sebôn? Hai. ou gar sebeis, timas ge tas theôn patôn.

[245] Marston uses indifferently the forms _chawn_ and _jawn_ for a rift or chasm.

[246] "Corbèd" (old eds. "corb'd") is "good," as Polonius would say; but I have no suspicion as to its meaning. It would be a pity to suggest an emendation.

[247] Seneca is fond of harping on this theme. "In ultimas expellaris terras licebit," he writes in one of his epistles, "in quolibet barbariæ angulo colloceris, hospitalis tibi illa qualiscumque sedes erit; magis quis veneris quam quo, interest, et ideo nulli loco addicere debemus arbitrium. Cum hac persuasione vivendum est: 'Non sum uni angulo natus, patria mea totus hic mundus est.'"