ACT I. SCENE I.

_A Chamber in the Palace of the Duke of Ferrara._

_Enter the_ DUKE, PRODITOR, LUSSURIOSO, INFESTO, _and other nobles, with attendants_.

DUKE. My lords, Know that we, far from any natural pride, Or touch of temporal sway, have seen our face In our grave council’s foreheads, where doth stand Our truest glass, made by Time’s wrinkled hand. We know we’re old; my days proclaim me so; Forty-five years I’ve gently rul’d this dukedom; Pray heaven it be no fault! For there’s as much disease, though not to th’ eye, In too much pity as in tyranny. INFES. Your grace hath spoke it right. DUKE. I know that life Has not long course in me; ’twill not be long Before I shew that kings have mortal bodies As well as subjects: therefore to my comfort, And your successful hopes, I have a son, Whom I dare boast of—— LUS. Whom we all do boast of; A prince elder in virtues than in years. INFES. His judgment is a father to his youth. PROD. Ay, ay, would he were from court! [_Aside._ INFES. Our largest hopes grow in him. PROD. And ’tis the greatest pity, noble lord, He is untravell’d. LUS. ’Tis indeed, my lord. PROD. Had he but travel to his time and virtue— O, he should ne’er return again! [_Aside._ DUKE. It shall be so: what is in hope begun,[793] Experience quickens; travel confirms the man, Who[794] else lives doubtful, and his days oft sorry: Who’s rich in knowledge has the stock of glory. PROD. Most true, my royal lord. DUKE. Some one attend our son. INFES. See, here he comes, my lord.

_Enter_ PHŒNIX, _attended by_ FIDELIO.

DUKE. O, you come well. PHŒ. ’Tis always my desire, my worthy father. DUKE. Your serious studies, and those fruitful hours That grow up into judgment, well become Your birth, and all our loves: I weep that you are my son, But virtuously I weep, the more my gladness. We have thought good and meet, by the consent Of these our nobles, to move you toward travel, The better to approve you to yourself, And give your apter power foundation: To see affections actually presented, E’en by those men that owe[795] them, yield[s] more profit, Ay, more content, than singly to read of them, Since love or fear make writers partial. The good and free example which you find In other countries, match it with your own, The ill to shame the ill; which will in time Fully instruct you how to set in frame A kingdom all in pieces. PHŒ. Honour’d father, With care and duty I have listen’d to you. What you desire, in me it is obedience: I do obey in all, knowing for right, Experience is a kingdom’s better sight. PROD. O, ’tis the very lustre of a prince, Travel! ’tis sweet and generous. DUKE. He that knows how to obey, knows how to reign; And that true knowledge have we found in you. Make choice of your attendants. PHŒ. They’re soon chose; Only this man, my lord, a loving servant of mine. DUKE. What! none but he? PHŒ. I do intreat no more; For that’s the benefit a private gentleman Enjoys beyond our state, when he notes all, Himself unnoted. For, should I bear the fashion of a prince, I should then win more flattery than profit, And I should give ’em time and warning then To hide their actions from me: if I appear a sun, They’ll run into the shade with their ill deeds, And so prevent[796] me. PROD. A little too wise,[797] a little too wise to live long. [_Aside._ DUKE. You have answer’d us with wisdom: let it be; Things private are best known through privacy. [_Exeunt all but_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO. PHŒ. Stay you, my elected servant. FID. My kind lord. PHŒ. The duke my father has a heavy burden Of years upon him. FID. My lord, it seems so, for they make him stoop. PHŒ. Without dissemblance he is deep in age; He bows unto his grave. I wonder much Which of his wild nobility it should be (For none of his sad[798] council has a voice in’t), Should so far travel into his consent, To set me over into other kingdoms, Upon the stroke and minute of his death? FID. My lord, ’tis easier to suspect them all, Than truly to name one. PHŒ. Since it is thus, By absence I’ll obey the duke my father, And yet not wrong myself. FID. Therein, my lord, You might be happy twice. PHŒ. So it shall be; I’ll stay at home, and travel. FID. Would your grace Could make that good! PHŒ. I can: and, indeed, a prince need no[t] travel farther than his own kingdom, if he apply himself faithfully, worthy the glory of himself and expectation of others: and it would appear far nobler industry in him to reform those fashions that are already in his country, than to bring new ones in, which have neither true form nor fashion; to make his court an owl, city an ape, and the country a wolf preying upon the ridiculous pride of either: and therefore I hold it a safer stern,[799] upon this lucky advantage, since my father is near his setting, and I upon the eastern hill to take my rise, to look into the heart and bowels of this dukedom, and, in disguise, mark all abuses ready for reformation or punishment. FID. Give me but leave unfeignedly to admire you, Your wisdom is so spacious and so honest. PHŒ. So much have the complaints and suits of men, seven, nay, seventeen years neglected, still interposed by coin and great enemies, prevailed with my pity, that I cannot otherwise think but there are infectious dealings in most offices, and foul mysteries throughout all professions: and therefore I nothing doubt but to find travel enough within myself, and experience, I fear, too much: nor will I be curious[800] to fit my body to the humblest form and bearing, so the labour may be fruitful; for how can abuses that keep low, come to the right view of a prince, unless his looks lie level with them, which else will be longest hid from him?—he shall be the last man sees ’em.

For oft between kings’ eyes and subjects’ crimes Stands there a bar of bribes: the under office Flatters him next above it, he the next, And so of most, or many. Every abuse will choose a brother: ’Tis through the world, this hand will rub the other. FID. You have set down the world briefly, my lord. PHŒ. But how am I assur’d of faith in thee? Yet I durst trust thee. FID. Let my soul be lost, When it shall loose your secrets: nor will I Only be a preserver of them, but, If you so please, an assister. PHŒ. It suffices: That king stands sur’st who by his virtue rises More than by birth or blood; that prince is rare, Who strives in youth to save his age from care. Let’s be prepar’d; away. FID. I’ll follow your grace.— [_Exit_ PHŒNIX. Thou wonder of all princes, president, and glory, True Phœnix, made of an unusual strain! Who labours to reform is fit to reign. How can that king be safe that studies not The profit of his people? See where comes The best part of my heart, my love.

_Enter_ NIECE.[801]

NIECE. Sir, I am bound to find you: I heard newly Of sudden travel which his grace intends, And only but yourself to accompany him. FID. You heard in that little beside the truth; Yet not so sudden as to want those manners, To leave you unregarded. NIECE. I did not think so unfashionably of you. How long is your return? FID. ’Tis not yet come to me, scarce to my lord. Unless the duke refer it to his pleasure; But long I think it is not: the duke’s age, If not his apt experience, will forbid it. NIECE. His grace commands, I must not think amiss: Farewell. FID. Nay, stay, and take this comfort; You shall hear often from us; I’ll direct Where you shall surely know; and I desire you Write me the truth, how my new father-in-law The captain bears himself toward my mother; For that marriage Knew nothing of my mind, it never flourish’d In any part of my affection. NIECE. Methinks sh’as much disgrac’d herself. FID. Nothing so, If he be good, and will abide the touch; A captain may marry a lady, if he can sail Into her good will. NIECE. Indeed that’s all. FID. ’Tis all In all; commend me to thy breast; farewell. [_Exit_ NIECE. So by my lord’s firm policy we may see, To present view, what absent forms would be. [_Exit._