Chapter XII: Act IV: Scene I

_Enter_ ANTONIO _in a fool's habit, with a little toy of a
walnut shell, and soap to make bubbles_: MARIA _and_
ALBERTO.

_Mar._ Away with this disguise in any hand!

_Alb._ Fie, 'tis unsuiting to your elate spirit:
Rather put on some transhaped cavalier,
Some habit of a spitting critic, whose mouth
Voids nothing but gentile and unvulgar
Rheum of censure: rather assume----

_Ant._ Why, then should I put on the very flesh
Of solid folly. No, this cock's comb is a crown
Which I affect even with unbounded zeal.

_Alb._ 'Twill thwart your plot, disgrace your high resolve. 10

_Ant._ By wisdom's heart, there is no essence mortal
That I can envy, but a plump-cheek'd fool:
O, he hath a patent of immunities
Confirm'd by custom, seal'd by policy,
As large as spacious thought.

_Alb._ You cannot press among the courtiers,
And have access to----

_Ant._ What? not a fool? Why, friend, a golden ass,
A babled[285] fool, are sole canonical,
Whilst pale-cheek'd wisdom, and lean-ribbèd art 20
Are kept in distance at the halbert's point;
All held Apocrypha, not worth survey.
Why, by the genius of that Florentine,
Deep, deep observing, sound-brain'd Machiavel,
He is not wise that strives not to seem fool.
When will the Duke hold fee'd intelligence,
Keep wary observation in large pay,
To dog a fool's act?

_Mar._ Ay, but feigning known disgraceth much.

_Ant._ Pish! Most things that morally adhere to souls, 30
Wholly exist in drunk opinion:
Whose reeling censure, if I value not,
It values nought.

_Mar._ You are transported with too slight a thought,
If you but meditate of what is past,
And what you plot to pass.

_Ant._ Even in that note a fool's beatitude:
He is not capable of passion;
Wanting the power of distinction,
He bears an unturned sail with every wind: 40
Blow east, blow west, he stirs his course alike.
I never saw a fool lean: the chub-faced fop
Shines sleek with full-cramm'd fat of happiness,
Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice
From wisards'[286] cheeks: who making curious search
For nature's secrets, the first innating cause
Laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy apes
When they will zany men. Had Heaven been kind,
Creating me an honest senseless dolt,
A good poor fool, I should want sense to feel 50
The stings of anguish shoot through every vein;
I should not know what 'twere to lose a father;
I should be dead of sense to view defame
Blur my bright love; I could not thus run mad,
As one confounded in a maze of mischief,
Stagger'd, stark, fell'd with bruising stroke of chance;
I should not shoot mine eyes into the earth,
Poring for mischief that might counterpoise
Mischief, murder and----

_Enter_ LUCIO.

How now, Lucio?

_Lu._ My lord, the Duke, with the Venetian states,[287] 60
Approach the great hall to judge Mellida.

_Ant._ Ask'd he for Julio yet?

_Lu._ No motion[288] of him: dare you trust this habit?

_Ant._ Alberto, see you straight rumour me dead.
Leave me, good mother; leave me, Lucio;
Forsake me, all.

[_Exeunt omnes, saving_ ANTONIO.

Now patience hoop my sides
With steelèd ribs, lest I do burst my breast
With struggling passions. Now disguise, stand bold:
Poor scornèd habits oft choice souls enfold.

[_The cornets sound a senet._

_Enter_ CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO, _and_ ALBERTO,
_with pole-axes_, LUCIO _bare; followed by_ PIERO _and_
MARIA _talking together; two_ Senators, GALEATZO,
MATZAGENTE, _and_ NUTRICHE.

_Pier._ Entreat me not: there's not a beauty lives 70
Hath that imperial predominance
O'er my affects[289] as your enchanting graces:
Yet give me leave to be myself--

_Ant._ [_Aside._] A villain.

_Pier._ Just--

_Ant._ [_Aside._] Most just.

_Pier._ Most just and upright in our judgment seat.
Were Mellida mine eye, with such a blemish
Of most loath'd looseness, I would scratch it out.
Produce the strumpet in her bridal robes,
That she may blush t'appear so white in show, 80
And black in inward substance. Bring her in.

[_Exeunt_ FOROBOSCO _and_ CASTILIO.

I hold Antonio, for his father's sake,
So very dearly, so entirely choice,
That knew I but a thought of prejudice
Imagined 'gainst his high ennobled blood,
I would maintain a mortal feud, undying hate,
'Gainst the conceiver's life. And shall justice sleep
In fleshly lethargy, for mine own blood's favour,
When the sweet prince hath so apparent scorn
By my--I will not call her daughter? Go, 90
Conduct in the loved youth Antonio:

[_Exit_ ALBERTO _to fetch_ ANTONIO.

He shall behold me spurn my private good;
Piero loves his honour more than 's blood.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] The devil he does more than both.

_Bal._ Stand back there, fool; I do hate a fool most,
most pathetically. O, these that have no sap of retort
and obtuse wit in them: faugh!

_Ant._ Puff, hold, world; puff, hold, bubble; puff, hold,
world; puff, break not behind; puff, thou art full of
wind; puff, keep up thy[290] wind; puff, 'tis broke! and
now I laugh like a good fool at the breath of mine own
lips, he, he, he, he, he! 102

_Bal._ You fool!

_Ant._ You fool, puff!

_Bal._ I cannot disgest[291] thee, the unvulgar fool. Go,
fool.

_Pier._ Forbear, Balurdo; let the fool alone.
Come hither.[292] Is he your fool?

_Mar._ Yes, my loved lord.

_Pier._ [_Aside._] Would all the states[293] in Venice were
like thee!
O then I were secur'd. 110
He that's a villain, or but meanly soul'd,
Must still converse and cling to routs of fools,
That can not search the leaks of his defects.
O, your unsalted fresh fool is your only man:
These vinegar tart spirits are too piercing,
Too searching in the unglued joints of shaken wits.
Find they a chink, they'll wriggle in and in,
And eat like salt sea in his siddow[294] ribs,
Till they have opened all his rotten parts
Unto the vaunting surge of base contempt, 120
And sunk the tossèd galleasse[295] in depth
Of whirlpool scorn. Give me an honest fop.--
Dud a dud a! Why lo, sir, this takes he
As grateful now as a monopoly.

[_The still flutes sound softly._

_Enter_ FOROBOSCO _and_ CASTILIO: MELLIDA _supported by
two waiting-women_.

_Mel._ All honour to this royal confluence.

_Pier._ Forbear, impure, to blot bright honour's name
With thy defilèd lips. The flux of sin
Flows from thy tainted body: thou so foul,
So all dishonour'd, canst no honour give,
No wish of good, that can have good effect 130
To this grave senate, and illustrate bloods.
Why stays the doom of death?

_1st. Sen._ Who riseth up to manifest her guilt?

_2d Sen._ You must produce apparent proof, my lord.

_Pier._ Why, where is Strotzo?--he that swore he saw
The very act, and vow'd that Feliche fled
Upon his sight: on which I brake the breast
Of the adulterous lecher with five stabs.
Go, fetch in Strotzo. Now, thou impudent,
If thou hast any drop of modest blood 140
Shrouded within thy cheeks, blush, blush for shame,
That rumour yet may say thou felt'st defame.

_Mel._ Produce the devil; let your Strotzo come:
I can defeat his strongest argument,
With----

_Pier._ With what?

_Mel._ With tears, with blushes, sighs, and claspèd hands;
With innocent uprearèd arms to Heaven;
With my unnookt[296] simplicity. These, these
Must, will, can only quit my heart of guilt: 150
Heaven permits not taintless blood be spilt.
If no remorse live in your savage breast----

_Pier._ Then thou must die.

_Mel._ Yet dying, I'll be blest.

_Pier._ Accurst by me.

_Mel._ Yet blest, in that I strove
To live, and die----

_Pier._ My hate.

_Mel._ Antonio's love.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] Antonio's love!

_Enter_ STROTZO, _with a cord about his neck_.

_Str._ O what vast ocean of repentant tears
Can cleanse my breast from the polluting filth
Of ulcerous sin! Supreme Efficient,
Why cleavest thou not my breast with thunderbolts 160
Of wing'd revenge?

_Pier._ What means this passion?

_Ant._ [_Aside._] What villainy are they decocting now? Umh!

_Str. In[297] me convertite ferrum, O proceres.
Nihil iste, nec ista._

_Pier._ Lay hold on him! What strange portent is this?

_Str._ I will not flinch. Death, hell more grimly stare
Within my heart than in your threatening brows.
Record, thou threefold guard of dreadest power,[298]
What I here speak is forcèd from my lips
By the [im]pulsive strain of conscience. 170
I have a mount of mischief clogs my soul,
As weighty as the high-noll'd[299] Apennine,
Which I must straight disgorge, or breast will burst.
I have defam'd this lady wrongfully,
By instigation of Antonio,
Whose reeling love, tost on each fancy's surge,
Began to loath before it fully joyed.

_Pier._ Go, seize Antonio! guard him strongly in!

[_Exit_ FOROBOSCO.

_Str._ By his ambition being only bribed,
Fee'd by his impious hand, I poisonèd 180
His agèd father, that his thirsty hope[s]
Might quench their dropsy of aspiring drought
With full unbounded quaff.

_Pier._ Seize me, Antonio!

_Str._ O, why permit you now such scum of filth
As Strotzo is to live and taint the air
With his infectious breath!

_Pier._ Myself will be thy strangler, unmatched slave.

PIERO _comes from his chair, snatcheth the cord's end, and_
CASTILIO _aideth him: both strangle_ STROTZO.

_Str._ Now change your----

_Pier._ I--pluck Castilio!--I change my humour: pluck Castilio!
Die, with thy death's entreats even in thy jaws.-- 190
[_Aside._] Now, now, now, now, now, my plot begins to work!
Why, thus should statesmen do,
That cleave through knots of craggy policies,
Use men like wedges, one strike out another,
Till by degrees the tough and knurly[300] trunk
Be riv'd in sunder.--Where's Antonio?

_Enter_ ALBERTO, _running_.

_Alb._ O, black accursèd fate! Antonio's drown'd.

_Pier._ Speak, on thy faith, on thy allegiance, speak.

_Alb._ As I do love Piero, he is drown'd.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] In an inundation of amazement. 200

_Mel._ Ay, is this the close of all my strains in love?
O me most wretched maid!

_Pier._ Antonio drown'd! how? how? Antonio drown'd!

_Alb._ Distraught and raving, from a turret's top
He threw his body in the swollen sea,
And as he headlong topsy turvy ding'd[301] down,
He still cried "Mellida!"

_Ant._ [_Aside._] My love's bright crown!

_Mel._ He still cried "Mellida"!

_Pier._ Daughter, methinks your eyes should sparkle joy,
Your bosom rise on tiptoe at this news. 210

_Mel._ Ay me!

_Pier._ How now? Ay, me! why, art not great of thanks
To gracious Heaven for the just revenge
Upon the author of thy obloquies!

_Mar._ Sweet beauty, I could sigh as fast as you,
But that I know that, which I weep to know.
[_Aside._] His[302] fortunes should be such he dare not show
His open presence!

_Mel._ I know he lov'd me dearly, dearly, ay:
And since I cannot live with him, I die. [_Swoons._ 220

_Pier._ 'Fore Heaven, her speech falters; look, she swouns.
Convey her up into her private bed.

[MARIA, NUTRICHE, _and the Ladies bear out_
MELLIDA, _as being swooned_.

I hope she'll live. If not----

_Ant._ Antonio's dead! the fool will follow too.
He, he, he!
[_Aside._] Now works the scene; quick observation, scud
To cote[303] the plot, or else the path is lost:
My very self am gone, my way is fled:
Ay, all is lost, if Mellida is dead.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

_Pier._ Alberto, I am kind; Alberto, kind. 230
I am sorry for thy coz, i'faith I am.
Go, take him down, and bear him to his father.
Let him be buried; look ye, I'll pay the priest.

_Alb._ Please you to admit his father to the court?

_Pier._ No.

_Alb._ Please you to restore his lands and goods again?

_Pier._ No.

_Alb._ Please you vouchsafe him lodging in the city?

_Pier._ God's fut, no, thou odd uncivil fellow!
I think you do forget, sir, where you are. 240

_Alb._ I know you do forget, sir, where you must be.

_Foro._ You are too malapert, i'faith you are.
Your honour might do well to----

_Alb._ Peace, parasite; thou bur, that only sticks
Unto the nap of greatness.

_Pier._ Away with that same yelping cur--away!

_Alb._ I--I am gone; but mark, Piero, this.
There is a thing call'd scourging _Nemesis_.[304]

[_Exit_ ALBERTO.

_Bal._ God's neaks, he has wrong, that he has: and
s'fut, and I were as he, I would bear no coals.[305] Law, I,
I begin to swell--puff. 251

_Pier._ How now, fool, fop, fool!

_Bal._[306] Fool, fop, fool! Marry muffe![307] I pray you,
how many fools have you seen go in a suit of satin? I
hope, yet, I do not look a fool i'faith! a fool! God's
bores, I scorn't with my heel. 'S neaks, and I were
worth but three hundred pound a year more, I could
swear richly; nay, but as poor as I am, I will swear
the fellow hath wrong.

_Pier._ Young Galeatzo! Ay, a proper man; 260
Florence, a goodly city: it shall be so,
I'll marry her to him instantly.
Then Genoa mine, by my Maria's match,
Which I'll solemnise ere next setting sun:
Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagued.
Excellent, excellent! I'll conquer Rome,
Pop out the light of bright religion;
And then, helter skelter, all cock-sure.

_Bal._ Go to, 'tis just, the man hath wrong: go to.

_Pier._ Go to, thou shall have right. Go to, Castilio,
Clap him into the palace dungeon; 271
Lap him in rags, and let him feed on slime
That smears the dungeon' cheek. Away with him.

_Bal._ In very good truth, now, I'll ne'er do so more;
this one time and----

_Pier._ Away with him--observe it strictly--go!

_Bal._ Why then, O wight!
Alas, poor knight!
O, welladay,
Sir Jefferay! 280
Let poets roar,
And all deplore;
For now I bid you good-night.

[_Exit_ BALURDO _with_ CASTILIO.

_Re-enter_ MARIA.

_Mar._ O piteous end of love! O too, too rude hand
Of unrespective death! Alas, sweet maid!

_Pier._ Forbear me, Heaven. What intend these plaints?

_Mar._ The beauty of admired creation,
The life of modest unmix'd purity,
Our sex's glory, Mellida is----

_Pier._ What, O Heaven, what!

_Mar._ Dead! 290

_Pier._ May it not sad your thoughts, how?

_Mar._ Being laid upon her bed, she grasp'd my hand,
And kissing it, spake thus: "Thou very poor,
Why dost not weep? The jewel of thy brow,
The rich adornment that enchased thy breast,
Is lost: thy son, my love, is lost, is dead.
And do I live to say Antonio's dead?
And have I lived to see his virtues blurr'd
With guiltless blots? O world, thou art too subtle
For honest natures to converse withal, 300
Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell, mart of woe,
I fly to clip my love, Antonio!"
With that her head sunk down upon her breast;
Her cheek changed earth, her senses slept in rest,
Until my fool, that press'd unto the bed,
Screech'd out so loud that he brought back her soul,
Call'd her again, that her bright eyes gan ope,
And stared upon him. He, audacious fool,
Dared kiss her hand, wish'd her "soft rest, loved bride;"
She fumbled out, "thanks, good;" and so she died. 310

_Pier._ And so she died! I do not use to weep;
But by thy love (out of whose fertile sweet
I hope for as fair fruit) I am deep sad.--
I will not stay my marriage for all this.--
Castilio, Forobosco, all,
Strain all your wits, wind up invention
Unto his highest bent, to sweet this night;
Make us drink Lethe by your quaint conceits,
That for two days oblivion smother grief.
But when my daughter's exequies approach, 320
Let's all turn sighers. Come, despite of fate,
Sound loudest music, let's pace out in state!

[_The cornets sound.--Exeunt._

[285] "Bable" was the old form of "bauble."

[286] "Wisards" = wise men. In the _Ode on the Nativity_
Milton styles the wise men from the East _wisards_:--
"The star-led _wisards_ hasten with odours sweet."

[287] Nobles.

[288] _I.e._, there has been no question asked about him.

[289] Affections.

[290] Old eds. "by."

[291] Old form of _digest_.

[292] Old eds. "Come hither (_ficto_)." The bracketed word is, I
suppose, a direction to the actor; Piero is to talk in an
affected voice to Antonio,--treat him as a simpleton.

[293] Nobles.

[294] "The word _siddow_ is of very unusual occurrence in early
English, but it is preserved in the provincial dialect of the
West of England. In Gloucestershire peas which become pulpy soft
by boiling are then said to be _siddow_."--_Halliwell._

[295] Large galleon.

[296] "_Unnookt_ simplicity" (if the reading is right) must mean
"simplicity in which no guile is hidden."

[297] A mangled quotation from _Æn._ ix. 427-8.

[298] The "threefold guard of dreadest power" is, I suppose,
"tergemina Hecate." Cf. p. 176 "By the d[r]ead brow of triple
Hecate."

[299] High-peaked.--_Nol_ = head, top.

[300] Full of _knurs_, _i.e._ knotted, gnarled.

[301] Dashed violently.--We have had the word before (p. 11) used
transitively; but it is also used intransitively, as in Drayton's
_Ballad of Agincourt_:--
"This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing.
Down the French host did _ding_
As to o'erwhelm it." (Text of ed. 1619.)

[302] _I.e._ alas, that his fortunes should be, &c.

[303] Cote (another form of _quote_) = mark, note.

[304] So Hieronymo in _The Spanish Tragedy_:--
"Well heaven is heaven still!
And there is Nemesis and furies,
And things call'd whips."

[305] "Bear coals" = put up with injuries.

[306] Not marked in ed. 1602.

[307] "Marry muffe"--a common expression of contempt.--Middleton,
i. 42, 71, &c.]

SCENE II.

_Enter_ ANTONIO _solus, in fool's habit_.

_Ant._ Ay, heaven, thou may'st, thou may'st, omnipotence.
What vermin bred of putrefacted slime
Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees!
O heaven, thou may'st indeed: she was all thine,
All heavenly: I did but humbly beg
To borrow her of thee a little time.
Thou gavest her me, as some weak-breasted dame
Giveth her infant, puts it out to nurse;
And when it once goes high-lone,[308] takes it back.
She was my vital blood, and yet, and yet, 10
I'll not blaspheme. Look here! behold!

[ANTONIO _puts off his cap and lieth just upon his back_.

I turn my prostrate breast upon thy face,
And vent a heaving sigh. O hear but this!
I am a poor, poor orphant--a weak, weak child,--
The wrack of splitted fortune, the very ooze,
The quicksand that devours all misery.
Behold the valiant'st creature that doth breathe!
For all this I dare live, and I will live,
Only to numb some other's cursèd blood
With the dead palsy of like misery. 20
Then, death, like to a stifling incubus,[309]
Lie on my bosom. Lo, see,[310] I am sped.
My breast is Golgotha, grave for the dead.

_Enter_ PANDULPHO, ALBERTO, _and a Page, carrying_
FELICHE'S _trunk in a winding sheet, and lay it
thwart_ ANTONIO'S _breast_.

_Pan._ Antonio, kiss my foot: I honour thee,
In laying thwart my blood upon thy breast.
I tell thee, boy, he was Pandulpho's son;
And I do grace thee with supporting him.
Young man,
He[311] who hath naught that fortune's gripe can seize,
The domineering monarch of the earth; 30
He who is all impregnably his own,
He whose great heart heaven cannot force with force,
Vouchsafes his love. _Non servio Deo, sed assentio._

_Ant._ I ha' lost a good wife.

_Pan._ Didst find her good, or didst thou make her good?
If found, thou may'st refind, because thou hadst her;
If made, the work is lost, but thou that madest her
Livest yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife?
Thrice-blessèd man that lost her whilst she was good,
Fair, young, unblemish'd, constant, loving, chaste. 40
I tell thee, youth, age knows, young loves seem graced,
Which with gray cares, rude jars, are oft defaced.

_Ant._ But she was full of hope.

_Pan._ May be, may be; but that which _may be_ stood,
Stands now without all _may_. She dièd good,
And dost thou grieve?

_Alb._ I ha' lost a true friend.

_Pan._ I live encompass'd with two blessèd souls.
Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a true friend, ha!
Two of the rarest lendings of the heavens,--
But lendings which, at the fix'd day of pay 50
Set down by fate, thou must restore again.[312]
O what unconscionable souls are here!
Are you all like the spoke-shaves of the church?
Have you no maw to restitution?
Hast lost a true friend, coz? then thou hadst one.
I tell thee, youth, 'tis all as difficult
To find true friend in this apostate age
(That balks all right affiance 'twixt two hearts)
As 'tis to find a fixèd modest heart
Under a painted breast. Lost a true friend! 60
O happy soul that lost him whilst he was true!
Believe it, coz, I to my tears have found,
Oft dirt's respect makes firmer friends unsound.

_Alb._ You have lost a good son.

_Pan._ Why, there's the comfort on't, that he was good.
Alas, poor innocent!

_Alb._ Why weeps mine uncle?

_Pan._ Ha, dost ask me why? ha, ha!
Good coz, look here! [_He shows him his son's breast._
Man will break out, despite philosophy.
Why, all this while I ha' but played a part, 70
Like to some boy that acts a tragedy,
Speaks burly words, and raves out passion;
But, when he thinks upon his infant weakness,
He droops his eye. I spake more than a god,
Yet am less than a man.
I am the miserablest soul that breathes.

[ANTONIO _starts up_.

_Ant._ 'Slid, sir, ye lie! by the heart of grief, thou liest!
I scorn'd that any wretched should survive,
Outmounting me in that superlative,
Most miserable, most unmatch'd in woe. 80
Who dare assume that but Antonio?

_Pan._ Wilt still be so, and shall yon blood-hound live?

_Ant._ Have I an arm, a heart, a sword, a soul?

_Alb._ Were you but private unto what we know----

_Pan._ I'll know it all; first let's inter the dead.
Let's dig his grave with that shall dig the heart,
Liver, and entrails of the murderer.

[_They strike the stage with their daggers, and
the grave openeth._

_Ant._ Wilt sing a dirge, boy?

_Pan._ No, no song; 'twill be vile out of tune.

_Alb._ Indeed, he's hoarse; the poor boy's voice is crack'd. 90

_Pan._ Why, coz! why should it not be hoarse and crack'd,
When all the strings of nature's symphony
Are crack'd and jar? Why should his voice keep tune,
When there's no music in the breast of man?
I'll say an honest antic rhyme I have:
Help me, good sorrow-mates, to give him grave.

[_They all help to carry_ FELICHE _to his grave_.

Death, exile, plaints, and woe,
Are but man's lackeys, not his foe.
No mortal 'scapes from fortune's war
Without a wound, at least a scar. 100
Many have led thee[313] to the grave;
But all shall follow, none shall save.
Blood of my youth, rot and consume;
Virtue in dirt doth life assume.
With this old saw close up this dust:--
Thrice blessèd man that dieth just.

_Ant._ The gloomy wing of night begins to stretch
His lazy pinion o'er the air.
We must be stiff and steady in resolve;
Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our arms involve. 110

[_They wreath their arms._

_Pan._ Now swear we by this Gordian knot of love,
By the fresh-turned up mould that wraps my son,
By the d[r]ead brow of triple Hecate,
Ere night shall close the lids of yon bright stars,
We'll sit as heavy on Piero's heart,
As Ætna doth on groaning Pelorus.

_Ant._ Thanks, good old man; we'll cast at royal chance.
Let's think a plot--then pell-mell, vengeance!

[_Exeunt, their arms wreathed._

[308] Quite alone.--See note on Middleton, i. 46.

[309] See note 1, p. 107.

[310] Old eds. "sir."

[311] In old eds. ll. 29-30 are transposed, and the passage is
rendered unintelligible. "The domineering monarch" is of course
fortune.

[312] Seneca moralises in the same strain:--"Rerum natura illum
tibi non mancipio dedit sed commodavit: cum visum est deinde,
repetiit nec tuam in eo satietatem secuta est, sed suam legem. Si
quis pecuniam creditam solvisse se moleste ferat, eam præsertim
cujus usum gratuitum acceperit, nonne injustus vir habeatur?"
(_Ad Polybium de Consolatione._)

[313] Old ed. "these."