SCENE II.

_Before the palace of_ PIERO.

_Enter_ ANTONIO, _in black, with a book_; LUCIO _and_ ALBERTO.

_Alb._ Nay, sweet, be comforted, take counsel and----.

_Ant._ Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton-sick, Whose stomach can digest and brook the diet Of stale ill-relish'd counsel. Pigmy cares Can shelter under patience' shield; but giant griefs Will burst all covert.

_Lu._ My lord, 'tis supper time.

_Ant._ Drink deep, Alberto; eat, good Lucio; But my pined heart shall eat on nought but woe.

_Alb._ My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.

_Ant._ You cannot leave Antonio alone. 10 The chamber of my breast is even throng'd With firm attendance that forswears to flinch. I have a thing sits here; it is not grief, 'Tis not despair, nor the [ut]most plague That the most wretched are infected with; But the most griefful,[248] [most] despairing, wretched, Accursèd, miserable--O, for heaven's sake Forsake me now; you see how light I am, And yet you force me to defame my patience.

_Lu._ Fair gentle prince----. 20

_Ant._ Away, thy voice is hateful: thou dost buzz, And beat my ears with intimations That Mellida, that Mellida is light, And stainèd with adulterous luxury! I cannot brook't. I tell thee, Lucio, Sooner will I give faith that Virtue's cant[249] In princes' courts will be adorn'd with wreath Of choice respect, and endear'd intimate; Sooner will I believe that friendship's rein Will curb ambition from utility, 30 Than Mellida is light. Alas, poor soul, Didst e'er see her?--good heart!--hast heard her speak? Kind, kind soul! Incredulity itself Would not be so brass-hearted, as suspect So modest cheeks.

_Lu._ My lord----.

_Ant._ Away! A self-sown[250] guilt doth only hatch distrust; But a chaste thought's as far from doubt as lust. I entreat you, leave me.

_Alb._ Will you endeavour to forget your grief?

_Ant._ I'faith I will, good friend, i'faith I will. 40 I'll come and eat with you. Alberto, see, I am taking physic, here's philosophy. Good honest, leave me, I'll drink wine anon.

_Alb._ Since you enforce us, fair prince, we are gone.

[_Exeunt_ ALBERTO _and_ LUCIO.

ANTONIO _reads_.

_A. Ferte[251] fortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Ille enim extra patientiam malorum, vos supra. Contemnite dolorem: aut solvetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunam: nullum telum, quo feriret animum habet._[252]

Pish, thy mother was not lately widowèd, Thy dear affièd love lately defam'd 50 With blemish of foul lust, when thou wrotest thus; Thou wrapt in furs, beaking[253] thy limbs 'fore fires; Forbid'st the frozen zone to shudder. Ha, ha! 'tis nought But foamy bubbling of a fleamy[254] brain, Nought else but smoke. O what dank marish spirit, But would be fired with impatience At my---- No more, no more; he that was never blest With height of birth, fair expectation Of mounted fortunes, knows not what it is 60 To be the pitied object of the world. O, poor Antonio, thou may'st sigh!

_Mel._ [_from beneath._] Ay me!

_Ant._ And curse.

_Pan._ [_from within._] Black powers!

_Ant._ And cry.

_Mar._ [_from within._] O Heaven!

_Ant._ And close laments with----.

_Mel._[255] [_from beneath._] O me, most miserable!

_Pan._ Woe for my dear, dear son! 70

_Mar._ Woe for my dear, dear husband!

_Mel._ Woe for my dear, dear love!

_Ant._ Woe for me all, close all your woes in me! In me, Antonio!--ha! where live these sounds? I can see nothing; grief's invisible, And lurks in secret angles of the heart. Come, sigh again, Antonio bears his part.

_Mel._ O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs. I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints. Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent. 80 Ay, that is Phoebe, empress of the night, That 'gins to mount; O chastest deity, If I be false to my Antonio, If the least soil of lust smears my pure love, Make me more wretched, make me more accurs'd Than infamy, torture, death, hell, and heaven, Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not, Purge my poor heart from[256] defamation's blot.

_Ant._ Purge my poor heart from defamation's blot! Poor heart, how like her virtuous self she speaks.-- 90 Mellida, dear Mellida! it is Antonio: Slink not away, 'tis thy Antonio.

_Mel._ How found you out, my lord? Alas! I know 'Tis easy in this age to find out woe. I have a suit to you.

_Ant._ What is't, dear soul?

_Mel._ Kill me; i'faith I'll wink, not stir a jot. For God sake kill me; in sooth, lovèd youth, I am much injur'd; look, see how I creep. I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep.

_Ant._ May I be cursèd, but I credit thee. 100

_Mel._ To-morrow I must die.

_Ant._ Alas, for what?

_Mel._ For loving thee. 'Tis true, my sweetest breast, I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart. Nets are a-knitting to entrap thy life. Thy father's death must make a paradise To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me, sweet, Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still?

_Ant._ I do.

_Mal._ Then welcome heaven's will.

_Ant._ Madam, I will not swell, like a tragedian, In forcèd passion of affected strains. 110 If I had present power of ought but pitying you, I would be as ready to redress your wrongs As to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughts Crowd for their passage; somewhat I will do. Reach me thy hand; think this is honour's bent, To live unslavèd, to die innocent.

_Mel._ Let me entreat a favour, gracious love. Be patient, see me die; good, do not weep: Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep.

_Ant._ I'faith I cannot; but I'll force my face 120 To palliate my sickness.

_Mel._ Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell: That's all my woe can breathe. Kiss: thus, farewell.

_Ant._ Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts; stay, dove: And therefore I must speak: but what? O love! By this white hand: no more: read in these tears, What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears.

[ANTONIO _kisseth_ MELLIDA'S _hand: then_ MELLIDA _goes from the grate_.

Mel._ Good night, good heart.

_Ant._ Thus heat from blood, thus souls from bodies part. 129

_Enter_ PIERO _and_ STROTZO.

_Pier._ He grieves; laugh, Strotzo, laugh. He weeps. Hath he tears? O pleasure! hath he tears? Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whips Of knotty vengeance. Strotzo, cause me straight Some plaining ditty to augment despair.

[_Exit_ STROTZO.

Triumph, Piero: hark, he groans. O rare!

_Ant._ Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his tomb. His epitaph, thus: _Ne plus ultra_. Ho! Let none out-woe me: mine's Herculean woe.

[_A song within._--_Exit_ PIERO _at the end of the song_.

_Enter_ MARIA.

_Ant._ May I be more cursed than Heaven can make me, if I'm not more wretched than man can conceive me. 140 Sore forlorn orphant, what omnipotence Can make thee happy?

_Mar._ How now, sweet son? Good youth, What dost thou?

_Ant._ Weep, weep.

_Mar._ Dost nought but weep, weep?

_Ant._ Yes, mother, I do sigh, and wring my hands, Beat my poor breast, and wreathe my tender arms. Hark ye; I'll tell you wondrous strange, strange news.

_Mar._ What, my good boy, stark mad?

_Ant._ I am not.

_Mar._ Alas! Is that strange news? 150

_Ant._ Strange news? why, mother, is't not wondrous strange I am not mad--I run not frantic, ha? Knowing, my father's trunk scarce cold, your love Is sought by him that doth pursue my life! Seeing the beauty of creation, Antonio's bride, pure heart, defamed, and stowed Under the hatches of obscuring earth! _Heu, quo labor, quo vota ceciderunt mea!_

_Enter_ PIERO.

_Pier._ Good evening to the fair Antonio; Most happy fortune, sweet succeeding time, 160 Rich hope: think not thy fate a bankrout,[257] though----

_Ant._ [_Aside._] Umh! the devil in his good time and tide forsake thee.

_Pier._ How now? hark ye, prince.

_Ant._ God be with you.

_Pier._ Nay, noble blood, I hope ye not suspect----

_Ant._ Suspect! I scorn't. Here's cap and leg, good night. [_Aside._] Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

_Pier._ Madam, O that you could remember to forget----

_Mar._ I had a husband and a happy son.

_Pier._ Most powerful beauty, that enchanting grace----

_Mar._ Talk not of beauty, nor enchanting grace,---- 170 My husband's dead, my son's distraught, accurs'd! Come, I must vent my griefs, or heart will burst.

[_Exit_ MARIA.

_Pier._ She's gone, and yet she's here: she hath left a print Of her sweet graces fix'd within my heart, As fresh as is her face. I'll marry her. She's most fair,--true; most chaste,--false;[258] because Most fair, 'tis firm I'll marry her.

_Enter_ STROTZO.

_Str._ My lord.

_Pier._ Ha, Strotzo, my other soul, my life! Dear, hast thou steel'd the point of thy resolve? Will't not turn edge in execution?

_Str._ No. 180

_Pier._ Do it with rare passion, and present thy guilt As if 'twere wrung out with thy conscience' gripe. Swear that my daughter's innocent of lust, And that Antonio bribed thee to defame Her maiden honour, on inveterate hate Unto my blood; and that thy hand was feed By his large bounty for his father's death. Swear plainly that thou choked'st Andrugio, By his son's only egging. Rush me in Whilst Mellida prepares herself to die, 190 Halter about thy neck, and with such sighs, Laments, and applications lifen it, As if impulsive power of remorse----

_Str._ I'll weep.

_Pier._ Ay, ay, fall on thy face and cry "why suffer you So lewd a slave as Strotzo is to breathe?"

_Str._ I'll beg a strangling, grow importunate----

_Pier._ As if thy life were loathsome to thee: then I Catch straight the cord's end; and, as much incens'd With thy damn'd mischiefs, offer a rude hand 200 As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath; But on the sudden straight I'll stand amaz'd, And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.

_Str._ Applaud my agonies and penitence.

_Pier._ Thy honest stomach, that could not disgest[259] The crudities of murder, but surcharged, Vomited'st them up in Christian piety.

_Str._ Then clip me in your arms.

_Pier._ And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state, Make thee of council: tut, tut, what not? what not? 210 Think on't, be confident, pursue the plot.

_Str._ Look, here's a trope: a true rogue's lips are mute, I do not use to speak, but execute.

[_He lays finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger.--Exit._

_Pier._ So, so; run headlong to confusion: Thou slight-brain'd mischief, thou art made as dirt, To plaster up the bracks[260] of my defects. I'll wring what may be squeezed from out his use, And good night, Strotzo. Swell plump, bold heart; For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in: O now _Tragoedia Cothurnata_[261] mounts, 220 Piero's thoughts are fix'd on dire exploits. Pell mell--confusion and black murder guides The organs of my spirit: shrink not, heart! _Capienda[262] rebus in malis præceps via est._

[_Exit._

[248] Old eds. "greeful."

[249] Old eds. "scant."--_Cant_ = the corner or niche in which the statue of Virtue was placed. Cf. Middleton, vii. 222:--"Directly under her, in a _cant_ by herself, was Arete (Virtue) enthroned."

[250] Old eds. "self-one."

[251] The quotation is from Seneca's _De Providentia_, cap. vi.

[252] The true reading is _dedi_.

[253] "'Beak'--bask in the heat. North."--_Halliwell._

[254] _Fleam_ = phlegm.

[255] Old eds. "_Alb._"

[256] Ed. 1602 "with."

[257] Old form of "bankrupt."

[258] Ed. 1602 "most false."

[259] Old form of _digest_.

[260] Flaws, cracks.

[261] Cf. _Spanish Tragedy_, v. 1:-- "Give me a stately-written tragedy, _Tragoedia Cothurnata_, fitting kings."

[262] "_Rapienda_ rebus," &c., is the true reading. The quotation is from Seneca's _Agamemnon_, l. 154.