Chapter X: Act II: 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.'"

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.