SCENE I.

_Sea-shore near Venice._

_Enter_ ANTONIO, _in his sea-gown running_.

_Ant._ Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio! Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio's lost; He cannot find himself, not seize himself. Alas, this that you see is not Antonio; His spirit hovers in Piero's court, Hurling about his agile faculties, To apprehend the sight of Mellida: But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit, Roll'd up in gloomy clouds as black as air 10 Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn. 'Tis so; I'll give you instance that 'tis so. Conceit you me: as having clasp'd a rose[136] Within my palm, the rose being ta'en away, My hand retains a little breath of sweet: So may man's trunk, his spirit slipp'd away, Hold[137] still a faint perfume of his sweet guest. 'Tis so; for when discursive powers fly out, And roam in progress through the bounds of heaven, The soul itself gallops along with them, 20 As chieftain of this wingèd troop of thought, Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste, Until the soul return from----. What was't I said? O, this is naught but speckling melancholy. I have been-- That Morpheus' tender skinp[138]--Cousin german Bear with me, good-- Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall. Hell is beneath, yet heaven is over all. [_Falls on the ground._

_Enter_[139] ANDRUGIO, LUCIO, _and_ Page.

_And._ Come, Lucio, let's go eat: what hast thou got? 30 Roots, roots? alas, they are seeded, new cut up. O, thou hast wrongèd Nature, Lucio: But boots not much; thou but pursu'st the world, That cuts off virtue, 'fore it comes to growth, Lest it should seed, and so o'errun her son, Dull purblind error.--Give me water, boy. There is no poison in't, I hope; they say That lu[r]ks in massy plate: and yet the earth Is so infected with a general plague, That he's most wise, that thinks there's no man fool; 40 Right prudent, that esteems no creature just; Great policy the least things to mistrust. Give me assay[140]----. How we mock greatness now!

_Lu._ A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem; If not to be, 'tis comfort yet to seem.

_And._ Why man, I never was a prince till now. 'Tis not the barèd pate, the bended knees, Gilt tipstaves, Tyrrian purple, chairs of state, Troops of pied butterflies that flutter still In greatness' summer, that confirm a prince: 50 'Tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes, Shouting and clapping, with confusèd din, That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king, A true right king, that dares do aught save wrong; Fears nothing mortal but to be unjust; Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs Of spongy sycophants; who stands unmov'd, Despite the justling of opinion; Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng That strive to press his quiet out of him; 60 Who sits upon Jove's footstool, as I do, Adoring, not affecting, majesty; Whose brow is wreathèd with the silver crown Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king, And of this empire every man's possest That's worth his soul.

_Lu._ My Lord, the Genoways had wont to say--

_And._ Name not the Genoways: that very word Unkings me quite, makes me vile passion's slave. O, you that slide[141] upon the glibbery ice 70 Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio. Was never prince with more applause confirm'd, With louder shouts of triumph launchèd out Into the surgy main of government; Was never prince with more despite cast out, Left shipwrack'd, banish'd, on more guiltless ground. O rotten props of the crazed multitude, How you still double, falter under the lightest chance That strains your veins! Alas, one battle lost, Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your houts[142] and shouts, 80 Your smooth _God save's_, and all your devils lost[143] That tempts our quiet to your hell of throngs! Spit on me, Lucio, for I am turnèd slave: Observe how passion domineers o'er me.

_Lu._ No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son, A country, crown, and----.

_And._ Ay, Lucio, having lost a son, a son, A country, house, crown, son. _O lares, miseri[144] lares!_ Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son, My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio! 90

_Ant._ Antonio?

_And._ Ay, echo, ay; I mean Antonio.

_Ant._ Antonio, who means Antonio?

_And._ Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio?

_Ant._ Yes.

_And._ Lives he?

_Ant._ No.

_And._ Where lies he dead?

_Ant._ Here.

_And._ Where?

_Ant._ Here.[145]

_And._ Art thou Antonio?

_Ant._ I think I am.

_And._ Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself?

_Ant._ He is a fool that thinks he knows himself.

_And._ Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name. 100

_Ant._ I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood, If I denied my name's Antonio.

_And._ I were not worthy to be call'd thy father, If I denied my name Andrugio. And dost thou live? O, let me kiss thy cheek, And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy. Now heaven's will be done: for I have lived To see my joy, my son Antonio. Give me thy hand; now fortune do thy worst, His blood, that lapp'd thy spirit in the womb, 110 Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb.

_Ant._ Bless not the body with your twining arms, Which is accurs'd of heaven. O, what black sin Hath been committed by our ancient house, Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads, That thus the world and fortune casts us out, As loathèd objects, ruin's branded slaves!

_And._ Do not expostulate the heavens' will, But, O, remember to forget thyself; Forget remembrance what thou once hast been. 120 Come, creep with me from out this open air: Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life. I am a-raising of our house, my boy, Which fortune will not envy, 'tis so mean, And like the world (all dirt): there shalt thou rip The inwards of thy fortunes in mine ears, While I sit weeping, blind with passion's tears. Then I'll begin, and we'll such order keep, That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.

[_Exeunt_ ANDRUGIO _and_ LUCIO, _leaving_ ANTONIO _and the_ Page.

_Ant_. I'll follow you. Boy, prithee stay a little. 130 Thou hast had a good voice, if this cold marsh Wherein we lurk have not corrupted it.

_Enter_ MELLIDA, _standing out of sight, in her Page's suit_.

I prithee sing, but, sirra, (mark you me) Let each note breathe the heart of passion, The sad extracture of extremest grief. Make me a strain speak groaning like a bell That tolls departing souls; Breathe me a point that may enforce me weep, To wring my hands, to break my cursèd breast, Rave, and exclaim, lie grovelling on the earth, 140 Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida! Sing but, _Antonio hath lost Mellida_, And thou shalt see me (like a man possess'd) Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh Will squeeze out tears from out his spongy cheeks: The rocks even groan, and----prithee, prithee sing, Or I shall ne'er ha' done when I am in; 'Tis harder for me end, than to begin.

[_The Boy runs a note_, ANTONIO _breaks it_.

For look thee, boy, my grief that hath no end, 149 I may begin to plain, but----prithee, sing.

[_A song._

_Mel._ Heaven keep you, sir!

_Ant._ Heaven keep you from me, sir!

_Mel._ I must be acquainted with you, sir.

_Ant._ Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery, Sear'd with the anguish of calamity? Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief? canst weep? I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,

[ANTONIO _falls on the ground_.

Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven: O trifling nature, why inspired'st thou breath?

_Mel._ Stay, sir, I think you namèd Mellida.

_Ant._ Know'st thou Mellida? 160

_Mel._ Yes.

_Ant._ Hast thou seen Mellida?

_Mel._ Yes.

_Ant._ Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex, The music of Nature, the unequall'd lustre Of unmatch'd excellence, the united sweet Of heaven's graces, the most adorèd beauty, That ever strook amazement in the world!

_Mel._ You seem to love her.

_Ant._ With my very soul.

_Mel._ She'll not requite it: all her love is fix'd 170 Upon a gallant, one[146] Antonio, The Duke of Genoa's son. I was her page, And often as I waited, she would sigh, O, dear Antonio! and to strengthen thought, Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus. Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks Her beauty is not half so ravishing As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face, A low forehead, and a lumpish eye. 179

_Ant._ O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy! Boy, rogue, thou liest! and _Spavento del mio cor dolce Mellida, Di grave morte ristoro vero, dolce Mellida, Celeste salvatrice, sovrana Mellida Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida._

_Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio, Godevole bellezza cortese Antonio. Signior mio e virginal amore bell'Antonio, Gusto delli miei sensi, car'Antonio._

_Ant. O svanisce[147] il cor in un soave bacio._ 190

_Mel. Muoiono[148] i sensi nel desiato desio:_

_Ant. Nel cielo può esser beltà più chiara?_

_Mel._ Nel mondo può[149] esser beltà più chiara?_

_Ant. Dammi un bacio da quella bocca beata, Lasciami[150] coglier l'aura odorata Che ha[151] sua seggia in quelle dolci labbra._

_Mel. Dammi per impero del tuo gradit'amore Che bea me con sempiterno honore, Così, così mi converrà morir._ Good sweet, scout o'er the marsh, for my heart trembles 200 At every little breath that strikes my ear. When thou returnest, then I will discourse How I deceiv'd the court; then thou shalt tell How thou escaped'st the watch: we'll point our speech With amorous kissing[152] commas, and even suck The liquid breath from out each other's lips.

_Ant._ Dull clod, no man but such sweet favour clips. I go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay. Turn coward in her sight? away, away! [_Exit._ 209

[_Page._] I think confusion of Babel is fall'n upon those lovers, that they change their language; but I fear me, my master having but feigned the person of a woman, hath got their unfeigned imperfection, and is grown double tongued: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if she could not yield strange language. But howsoever, if I should sit in judgment, 'tis an error easier to be pardoned by the auditors, than excused by the authors; and yet some private respect may rebate the edge of the keener censure.

_Enter_ PIERO, CASTILIO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO, FELICHE, GALEATZO, _at one door_; BALURDO, _and his_ Page, _at another door_.

_Pier._ This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen. How now, Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody? 221

_Bal._ As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat, that he hath ne'er a dry thread on him: and I can meet with no living creature, but men and beasts. In good sadness,[153] I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even now; for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep'd, and I spied a thing, and I peer'd, and I tweer'd[154] underneath: and truly a right wise man might have been deceived, for it was----.

_Pier._ What, in the name of heaven? 230

_Bal._ A dun cow.

_Feli._ Sh'ad ne'er a kettle[155] on her head?

_Pier._ Boy, did'st thou see a young lady pass this way?

_Gal._ Why speak you not?

_Bal._ God's neaks, proud elf, give the Duke reverence! Stand bare with a----. Whogh! heavens bless me! Mellida, Mellida!

_Pier._ Where man, where?

_Bal._ Turned man, turned man; women wear the breeches. Lo, here! 240

_Pier._ Light and unduteous! kneel not, peevish elf; Speak not, entreat not, shame unto my house, Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio? Thou traitress to my hate, what, is he shipp'd For England now? well, whimpering harlot, hence!

_Mel._ Good father!

_Pier._ Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth? Ere thou canst term to-morrow morning old, Thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love.

_Mel._ Ay me! 250

_Pier._ Blirt on your "ay me's!" guard her safely hence. Drag her away, I'll be your guard to-night. Young prince, mount up your spirits and prepare To solemnise your nuptial's eve with pomp.

_Gal._ The time is scant: now nimble wits appear: Phoebus begins to[156] gleam, the welkin's clear.

[_Exeunt all but_ BALURDO _and his_ Page.

_Bal._ Now nimble wits appear! I'll myself appear, Balurdo's self, that in quick wit doth surpass, Will show the substance of a complete----.

_Dil._ Ass, ass.

_Bal._ I'll mount my courser, and most gallantly prick----. 260

_Dil._ Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in the verse, sir.

_Bal._ I'll speak pure rhyme, and will so bravely prank it, that I'll toss love like a--prank, prank it!--a rhyme for prank it?

_Dil._ Blanket.

_Bal._ That I'll toss love, like a dog in a blanket. Hah hah, indeed, law. I think, hah hah; I think, hah hah, I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not dead, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot. 270

_Dil._ Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.

_Enter_ ANDRUGIO _and_ ANTONIO _wreathed together_, LUCIO.

_And._ Now, come, united force of chap-fall'n death; Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress. O, thus enfolded, we have breasts of proof 'Gainst all the venom'd stings of misery.

_Ant._ Father, now I have an antidote 'Gainst all the poison that the world can breathe: My Mellida, my Mellida doth bless This bleak waste with her presence.--How now, boy, Why dost thou weep? alas! where's Mellida? 280

_Page._[157] Ay me, my Lord.

_Ant._[158] A sudden horror doth invade my blood; My sinews tremble, and my panting heart Scuds round about my bosom, to go out, Dreading the assailant, horrid passion. O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow; Speak quickly, briefly, boy.

_Page._ Her father found, and seized her; she is gone.

_And._ Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up with grief Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight 290 Of crushing mischief. O where's thy dauntless heart, Thy father's spirit! I renounce thy blood, If thou forsake thy valour.

_Lu._ See how his grief speaks in his slow-paced steps. Alas! 'Tis more than he can utter, let him go: Dumb solitary path best suiteth woe. [_Exit_ ANTONIO.

_And._ Give me my arms, my armour, Lucio.

_Lu._ Dear lord, what means this rage? when lacking use[159] Scarce safe's your life, will you in armour rise? 300

_And._ Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice.

_Lu._ Then valour gets applause, when it hath place, And means to blaze it.

_And. Nunquam potest non esse._

_Lu._ Patience, my lord, may bring your ills some end.

_And._ What patience, friend, can ruin'd hopes attend? Come, let me die like old Andrugio, Worthy my birth. O, blood-true-honour'd graves Are far more blessèd than base life of slaves.

[_Exeunt._

[136] A correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ (1st ser., vol. ix. p. 513) points out that Erasmus has the same simile:--"Anima quæ moderatur utrumque corpus animantis improprie dicitur anima cum revera sint animæ reliquiæ, non aliter quam odor rosarum manet in manu etiam rosa sublata."--_Colloq._, Leyden ed., i. 694.

[137] Old ed. "Holds."

[138] These ravings are unintelligible.

[139] The stage-direction in the old eds. is "_Enter Andrugio, Lucio, Cole, and Norwood._" I suppose that Cole and Norwood are the names of the actors who personated Andrugio and Lucio.

[140] "Give me assay" = taste it before I drink. The _assayer_ in courts and baronial halls was the officer who tasted the dishes before the banquet in order to make sure that no poison was concealed.

[141] Old eds. "_made open_ the glibbery ice," which modern editors absurdly retain. The word "glibbery" has been already noticed (note 3, p. 22).

[142] Cf. _Julius Cæsar_, i. 2 (text of First Folio):--"And then he offered it the third time; hee put it the third time by, and still as hee refus'd it the rabblement _howted_ and clapp'd their chopt hands." In that passage the first three folios give _howted_ and the fourth _houted_; but modern editors reject the word and read either _hooted_ or _shouted_. The present passage of Marston affords strong warrant for restoring the reading of the folios. _Hout_ is clearly an onomatopoeic word, like _hoit_:--He sings and _hoits_ and revels among his drunken companions," (_Knight of the Burning Pestle_).

[143] Old eds. "last" (and so modern editors).

[144] Old eds. "_misereri_."

[145] Antonio is concealed behind a bush.

[146] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "on."

[147] Old eds. "_suamisce_."--Dilke reads "_smarisce_."

[148] Old eds. "_Murono_."

[149] Old eds. "_pol._"

[150] So Dilke. Old eds. "_Bassiammi_."

[151] Old eds. "_Che in sua neggia in quello_," &c.

[152] Old eds. repeat the word "kissing."

[153] "In good sadness" = seriously.

[154] "Tweer" (or "twire") = peep, pry.

[155] "The 'Dun Cow' is, we all know, intimately connected with the celebrated Guy, Earl of Warwick, and I believe his 'kettle' is one of the pretended relics still shown there. From the text I conjecture that the dun cow with the kettle on her head was in the time of Marston a well-known sign."--_Dilke._

[156] Omitted in ed. 1602.

[157] Old eds. "_Ant._"

[158] Old eds. "_And._"

[159] It is hard for Andrugio to escape detection even when he is unarmed; but if he puts on his armour he will be at once recognised. Cf. p. 46:-- "If you are but seen, Your arms display you; therefore put them off."