Chapter VII: Act V: Scene I

_Franceschina's lodging._

_Enter_ FRANCESCHINA, Sir _LIONEL_, TYSEFEW, _with
Officers_.

_Fra._ You bin very velcom to mine shambra.

_Sir Lio._ But, how know ye, how are ye assured,
Both of the deed, and of his sure return?

_Fra._ O min-here, ick sall tell you. Metre Malheureux
came all bretless running a my shambra, his sword all
bloudy: he tel a me he had kil Freevill, and pred a me
to conceal him. Ick flatter him, bid bring monies, he
should live and lie vid me. He went, whilst ick (me
hope vidout sins), out of mine mush love to Freevill,
betray him. 10

_Sir Lio._ Fear not, 'tis well: good works get grace for
sin.

[_She conceals them behind the curtain._

_Fra._ Dere, peace, rest dere; so, softly, all go in.--
De net is lay, now sal ick be revenge.
If dat me knew a dog dat Freevill love,
Me would puisson him; for know de deepest hell
As a revenging woman's naught so fell.

_Enter_ MARY FAUGH.

_Mar._ Ho! Cousin Frank, the party you wot of,
Master Malheureux--

_Fra._ Bid him come up, I prede.

[_Cantat saltatque cum cithara._

_Enter_ MALHEUREUX.

_Fra._ O min-here man, a dere liver love, 20
Mine ten tousant times velcom love!
Ha! by mine trat, you bin de just--vat sall me say?
Vat seet honie name sall I call you?

_Mal._ Any from you
Is pleasure. Come, my loving prettiness,
Where's thy chamber? I long to touch your sheets.

_Fra._ No, no, not yet, mine seetest soft-lipp'd love,
You sall not gulp down all delights at once.
Be min trat, dis all-fles-lovers, dis ravenous wenchers[91]
dat sallow all down hole, vill have all at one bit; fie, fie,
fie! be min fait, dey do eat comfets vid spoons. 31
No, no, I'll make you chew your pleasure vit love;
De more degrees and steps, de more delight,
De more endearèd is de pleasure height.

_Mal._ What, you're a learn'd wanton, and proceed by art?

_Fra._ Go, little vag, pleasure should have a crane's long
neck, to relish de ambrosia of delight. And ick pre de
tell me, for me loves to hear of manhood very mush,
i'fait: ick prede--vat vas me a saying? Oh, ick prede
tell a me how did you killa Metre Freevill? 40

_Mal._ Why, quarrelled o' set purpose, drew him out,
Singled him, and, having the advantage
Of my sword and might, ran him through and through.

_Fra._ Vat did you vid him van he was sticken?

_Mal._ I dragg'd him by the heels to the next wharf,
And spurn'd him in the river.

[_Those in ambush rusheth forth and take him._

_Sir Lio._ Seize, seize him!
O monstrous! O ruthless villain!

_Mal._ What mean you, gentlemen? By heaven----

_Tyse._ Speak not of anything that's good. 49

_Mal._ Your errors gives you passion: Freevill lives.

_Sir Lio._ Thy own lips say thou liest.

_Mal._ Let me die, if at Shatewe's the jeweller he lives
not safe untouch'd.

_Tyse._ Meantime to strictest guard, to sharpest prison.

_Mal._ No rudeness, gentlemen: I'll go undragg'd.
O, wicked, wicked devil!

[_Exit._

_Sir Lio._ Sir, the day of trial is this morn; let's prosecute
The sharpest rigour and severest end:
Good men are cruel when they're vice's friend.

_Sir Hub._ Woman, we thank thee with no empty hand;
Strumpets are fit[92] for something. Farewell. 61

[_All save_ Young FREEVILL _depart_.

_Free._ Ay, for hell!
O, thou unreprievable, beyond all
Measure of grace damn'd irremediably![93]
That things of beauty created for sweet use,
Soft comfort, as[94] the very music of life,
Custom should make so unutterably[95] hellish!
O, heaven!
What difference is in women and their life!
What man, but worthy name of man, would leave 70
The modest pleasures of a lawful bed--
The holy union of two equal hearts
Mutually holding either dear as health--
Th' undoubted issues, joys of chaste sheets,
Th' unfeign'd embrace of sober ignorance--
To twine th' unhealthful loins of common loves,
The prostituted impudence of things,
Senseless like those by cataracts of Nile,
Their use so vile takes away sense! How vile
To love a creature made of blood and hell, 80
Whose use makes weak, whose company doth shame,
Whose bed doth beggar, issue doth defame!

_Re-enter_ FRANCESCHINA.

_Fra._ Metre Freevill live? ha, ha, live at Mestre
Shatewe's! Mush[96] at Metre Shatewe's! Freevill is dead,
Malheureux sall hang: and, sweet divel, dat Beatrice
would but run mad, dat she would but run mad! den me
would dance and sing. Metre Don Dubon, me pre ye
now go to Mestres Beatrice. Tell her Freevill is sure
dead, and dat he curse herself especially, for dat he was
sticked in her quarrel, swearing in his last gasp, dat if it
had bin in mine quarrels 'twould never have grieved him.

_Free._ I will. 92

_Fra._ Prede do, and say any ting dat vil vex her.

_Free._ Let me alone to vex her.

_Fra._ Vil you, vil you mak a her run mad? Here,
take dis ring, see me scorn to wear anyting dat was hers
or his. I prede torment her, ick cannot love her; she
honest and virtuous, forsooth!

_Free._ Is she so? O vile creature! then let me alone
with her. 100

_Fra._ Vat, vil you mak a her mad? seet, by min trat,
be pretta servan; bush,[97] ick sall go to bet now.

[_Exit._

_Free._ Mischief, whither wilt thou? O thou tearless woman!
How monstrous is thy devil,
The end of hell as thee!
How miserable were it to be virtuous,
If thou couldst prosper!
I'll to my love, the faithful Beatrice;
She has wept enough, and faith, dear soul, too much.
But yet how sweet is it to think how dear 110
One's life was to his love: how mourn'd his death!
'Tis joy not to be express'd with breath:
But O let him that would such passion drink,
Be quiet of his speech, and only think!

[_Exit._

[91] Old eds. "wenches."

[92] Ed. 1. "fit, fit."

[93] Old eds. "immediatlie."

[94] Ed. 1. "and as."

[95] Ed. 2. "vnutterable."

[96] Ironical exclamation.

[97] _i.e._, buss (kiss).

SCENE II.

BEATRICE'S _chamber_.

_Enter_ BEATRICE _and_ CRISPINELLA.

_Bea._ Sister, cannot a woman kill herself? is it not
lawful to die when we should not live?

_Cri._ O sister, 'tis a question not for us; we must do
what God will.

_Bea._ What God will? Alas, can torment be His
glory, or our grief His pleasure! Does not the nurse's
nipple, juiced over with wormwood, bid the child it
should not suck? And does not Heaven, when it hath
made our breath bitter unto us, say we should not live?
O my best sister, 10
To suffer wounds when one may 'scape this rod
Is against nature, that is against God!

_Cri._ Good sister,
Do not make me weep; sure Freevill was not false.
I'll gage my life that strumpet, out of craft
And some close second end, hath maliced[98] him.

_Bea._ O sister! if he were not false, whom have I lost?
If he were, what grief to such unkindness!
From head to foot I am all misery;
Only in this, some justice I have found-- 20
My grief is like my love, beyond all bound.

_Enter_ NURSE.

_Nur._ My servant, Master Caqueteur, desires to visit
you.

_Cri._ For grief's sake keep him out; his discourse is
like the long word _Honorificabilitudinitatibus_,[99] a great
deal of sound and no sense: his company is like a
parenthesis to a discourse,--you may admit it, or leave
it out, it makes no matter.

_Enter_ FREEVILL _in his disguise_.

_Free._ By your leave, sweet creatures.

_Cri._ Sir, all I can yet say of you is, you are uncivil.

_Free._ You must deny it. By your sorrow's leave, 31
I bring some music to make sweet your grief.

_Bea._ Whate'er you please. O break my heart!
Canst thou yet pant? O dost thou yet survive?
Thou didst not love him if thou now canst live!

FREEVILL _sings_.[100]

_O Love, how strangely sweet
Are thy weak passions!
That love and joy should meet
In self-same fashions!
O who can tell 40
The cause why this should move?
But only this,--
No reason ask of Love!_

[BEATRICE _swounds_.[101]

_Cri._ Hold, peace!--the gentlest soul is sownd. O
my best sister!

_Free._ Ha, get you gone, close the doors! My Beatrice!

[_Discovers himself._

Cursed be my indiscreet trials! O my immeasurably
loving--

_Cri._ She stirs, give air, she breathes!

_Bea._ Where am I? Ha! how have I slipp'd off life?
Am I in heaven? O my lord, though not loving, 51
By our eternal being, yet give me leave
To rest by thy dear[102] side! Am I not in heaven?

_Free._ O eternally much loved,[103] recollect your spirits!

_Bea._ Ha, you do speak! I do see you, I do live!
I would not die now: let me not burst with wonder.

_Free._ Call up your blood; I live to honour you
As the admired glory of your sex.
Nor ever hath my love been false to you;
Only I presum'd to try your faith too much, 60
For which I most am grieved.

_Cri._ Brother, I must be plain with you, you have
wrong'd us.

_Free._ I am not so covetous to deny it;
But yet, when my discourse hath stay'd your quaking,
You will be smoother lipp'd; and the delight
And satisfaction which we all have got,
Under these strange disguisings, when you know,
You will be mild and quiet, forget at last:
It is much joy to think on sorrows past.

_Bea._ Do you then live? and are you not untrue? 70
Let me not die with joy; pleasure's more extreme
Than grief; there's nothing sweet to man but mean.

_Free._ Heaven cannot be too gracious to such goodness.
I shall discourse to you the several chances;
But hark, I must yet rest disguis'd;
The sudden close of many drifts now meet:
Where pleasure hath some profit, art is sweet.

_Enter_ TYSEFEW.

_Tyse._ News, news, news, news!

_Cri._ Oysters, oysters, oysters, oysters! 79

_Tyse._ Why, is not this well now? Is not this better
than louring and pouting and puling, which is hateful to
the living and vain to the dead? Come, come, you must
live by the quick, when all is done; and for my own part,
let my wife laugh at me when I am dead, so she'll smile
upon me whilst I live: but to see a woman whine, and
yet keep her eyes dry: mourn, and yet keep her cheeks
fat: nay, to see a woman claw her husband by the feet
when he is dead, that would have scratched him by
the face when he was living--this now is somewhat
ridiculous. 90

_Cri._ Lord, how you prate.

_Tyse._ And yet I was afraid, i'faith, that I should ha'
seen a garland on this beauty's hearse; but time, truth,
experience, and variety, are great doers with women.

_Cri._ But what's the news?--the news, I pray you?

_Tyse._ I pray you? ne'er pray me: for by your leave
you may command me. This 'tis:
The public sessions, which this day is past,
Hath doom'd to death ill-fortuned Malheureux.

_Cri._ But, sir, we heard he offer'd to make good, 100
That Freevill lived at Shatewe's the jeweller's----

_Bea._ And that 'twas but a plot betwixt them two.

_Tyse._ O, ay, ay, he gaged his life with it; but know,
When all approach'd the test, Shatewe[104] denied
He saw or heard of any such complot,
Or of Freevill; so that his own defence
Appeared so false, that, like a madman's sword,
He stroke his own heart; he hath the course of law,
And instantly must suffer. But the jest
(If hanging be a jest, as many make it) 110
Is to take notice of one Mulligrub,
A sharking vintner.

_Free._ What of him, sir?

_Tyse._ Nothing but hanging: the whoreson slave is mad
before he hath lost his senses.

_Free._ Was his fact[105] clear and made apparent, sir?

_Tyse._ No, faith, suspicious; for 'twas thus protested:
A cloak was stol'n; that cloak he had; he had it,
Himself confess'd, by force; the rest of his defence
The choler of a justice wronged in wine, 120
Join'd with malignance of some hasty jurors,
Whose wit was lighted by the justice' nose;
The knave was cast.
But, Lord, to hear his moan, his prayers, his wishes,
His zeal ill-timèd, and his words unpitied,
Would make a dead man rise and smile,
Whilst he observed how fear can make men vile.

_Cri._ Shall we go meet the execution?

_Bea._ I shall be ruled by you.

_Tyse._ By my troth, a rare motion;[106] you must haste,
For malefactors goes like the world, upon wheels. 130

_Bea._ Will you man us? You shall be our guide.

[_To_[107] FREEVILL.

_Free._ I am your servant.

_Tyse._ Ha, servant? Zounds, I am no companion for
panders! you're best make him your love.

_Bea._ So will I, sir; we must live by the quick, you say.

_Tyse._ 'Sdeath o' virtue! what a damn'd thing's this!
Who'll trust fair faces, tears, and vows? 'Sdeath! not I.
She is a woman,--that is,--she can lie.

_Cri._ Come, come, turn not a man of time,[108] to make all ill
Whose goodness you conceive not, since the worst of chance 140
Is to crave grace for heedless ignorance.

[_Exeunt._

[98] See note 1, p. 40. [Transcriber's Note: Footnote [44]]

[99] This word, which occurs in _Love's Labour Lost_ (and in
several old plays), was invented long before Shakespeare's time.
See Dyce's _Shakesp. Glossary_.

[100] So ed. 2.--Ed. 1. "_He sings, she sounds._"

[101] Swoons. (The stage direction is from ed. 2.)

[102] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "dead."

[103] Ed. 1. "laved."

[104] Ed. 1. "Shatews."

[105] Guilt.

[106] Proposal.

[107] The stage direction is printed as part of the text in old
eds.

[108] The text seems to be corrupt.

SCENE III.

_A Public Place._

_Enter_ COCLEDEMOY, _like a sergeant_.

_Coc._ So, I ha' lost my sergeant in an ecliptic mist,
drunk! horrible drunk! he is fine. So now will I fit
myself; I hope this habit will do me no harm; I am an
honest man already. Fit, fit, fit, as a punk's tail, that
serves everybody. By this time my vintner thinks of
nothing but hell and sulphur; he farts fire and brimstone
already. Hang toasts! the execution approacheth.

_Enter_ Sir LIONEL, Sir HUBERT; MALHEUREUX, _pinioned_;
TYSEFEW, BEATRICE, FREEVILL, CRISPINELLA, FRANCESCHINA,
_and halberds_.

_Mal._ I do not blush, although condemned by laws;
No kind of death is shameful but the cause,
Which I do know is none; and yet my lust 10
Hath made the one (although not cause) most just.
May I not be reprieved? Freevill is but mislodg'd;
Some lethargy hath seiz'd him--no, much malice;
Do not lay blood upon your souls with good intents;
Men may do ill, and law sometime repents.

[COCLEDEMOY _picks_ MALHEUREUX' _pocket
of his purse_.

_Sir Lio._ Sir, sir, prepare; vain is all lewd defence.

_Mal._ Conscience was law, but now law's conscience.
My endless peace is made; and to the poor,--
My purse, my purse!

_Coc._ Ay, sir; and it shall please you, the poor has
your purse already. 21

_Mal._ You[109] are a wily[110] man.
--But now, thou source of devils, oh, how I loathe
The very memory of that I adored!
He that's of fair blood, well mien'd, of good breeding,
Best famed, of sweet acquaintance, and true friends,
And would with desperate impudence lose all these,
And hazard landing at this fatal shore,--
Let him ne'er kill, nor steal, but love a whore.

_Fra._ De man does rave; tinck a got, tinck a got, and
bid de flesh, de world, and the dible, farewell. 31

_Mal._ Farewell!

_Free._ Farewell!

[FREEVILL _discovers himself_.

_Fra._ Vat ist you see?--Hah!

_Free._ Sir, your pardon, with my this defence:
Do not forget protested violence
Of your low affections: no requests,
No arguments of reason, no known danger,
No assured wicked bloodiness,
Could draw your heart from this damnation. 40

_Mal._ Why, stay!

_Fra._ Unprosperous devil, vat sall me do now?

_Free._ Therefore, to force you from the truer danger,
I wrought the feignèd; suffering this fair devil
In shape of woman to make good her plot:
And, knowing that the hook was deeply fast,
I gave her line at will, till, with her own vain strivings,
See here she's tired. O thou comely damnation!
Dost think that vice is not to be withstood?
O what is woman, merely made of blood! 50

_Sir Lio._ You maze us all; let us not be lost in darkness!

_Free._ All shall be lighted; but this time and place
Forbids longer speech; only what you can think
Has been extremely ill, is only hers.

_Sir Lio._ To severest prison with her! With what heart canst live--
What eyes behold a face?

_Fra._ Ick vil not speak; torture, torture your fill,
For me am worse than hang'd; me ha' lost my will.

[_Exit_ FRANCESCHINA _with the guard_.

_Sir Lio._ To the extremest whip and jail.

_Free._ Frolic, how is it, sirs? 60

_Mal._ I am myself. How long was't ere I could
Persuade my passion to grow calm to you!
Rich sense makes good bad language, and a friend
Should weigh no action, but the action's end.
I am now worthy yours; when before
The beast of man, loose blood, distemper'd us:
He that lust rules cannot be virtuous.

_Enter_ MULLIGRUB, Mistress MULLIGRUB, _and Officers_.

_Off._ On afore there! room for the prisoners!

_Mul._ I pray you do not lead me to execution through
Cheapside. I owe Master Burnish, the goldsmith,
money, and I fear he'll set a sergeant on my back for it.

_Coc._ Trouble not your sconce, my Christian brothers,
but have an eye unto the main chance. I will warrant
your shoulders; as for your neck, _Plinius Secundus_, or
_Marcus Tullius Cicero_, or somebody it is, says that a
threefold cord is hardly broken. 75

_Mul._ Well, I am not the first honest man that hath
been cast away; and I hope shall not be the last.

_Coc._ O, sir, have a good stomach and maws; you shall
have a joyful supper.

_Mul._ In troth I have no stomach to it; and it please
you, take my trencher; I use to fast at nights. 81

_Mistress Mul._ O husband! I little thought you should
have come to think on God thus soon;[111] nay, and you
had been hang'd deservedly it would never have grieved
me; I have known of many honest innocent men have
been hang'd deservedly: but to be cast away for nothing!

_Coc._ Good woman, hold your peace, your prittles and
your prattles, your bibbles and your babbles; for I pray
you hear me in private: I am a widower, and you are
almost a widow; shall I be welcome to your houses, to
your tables, and your other things? 92

_Mistress Mul._ I have a piece of mutton and a featherbed
for you at all times; I pray make haste.

_Mul._ I do here make my confession: if I owe any
man anything, I do heartily forgive him; if any man
owe me anything, let him pay my wife.

_Coc._ I will look to your wife's payment, I warrant
you.

_Mul._ And now, good yoke-fellow, leave thy poor
Mulligrub. 101

_Mistress Mul._ Nay, then I were unkind; i'faith I will
not leave you until I have seen you hang.

_Coc._ But brother,[112] brother, you must think of your
sins and iniquities; you have been a broacher of profane
vessels; you have made us drink of the juice of the whore
of Babylon: for whereas good ale, perrys, bragots,[113]
cyders, and metheglins, was the true ancient British and
Troyan drinks, you ha' brought in Popish wines, Spanish
wines, French wines, _tam Marti quam Mercurio_, both muscadine
and malmsey, to the subversion, staggering, and
sometimes overthrow of many a good Christian. You
ha' been a great jumbler; O remember the sins of your
nights! for your night works ha' been unsavoury in the
taste of your customers. 115

_Mul._ I confess, I confess; and I forgive as I would
be forgiven. Do you know one Cocledemoy?

_Coc._ O very well. Know him!--an honest man he is,
and a comely; an upright dealer with his neighbours,
and their wives speak good things of him. 120

_Mul._ Well, wheresoe'er he is, or whatsoe'er he is, I'll
take it on my death he's the cause of my hanging. I
heartily forgive him, and if he would come forth he
might save me; for he only knows the why and the
wherefore.

_Coc._ You do, from your hearts and midrifs and entrails,
forgive him then? you will not let him rot in rusty irons,
procure him to be hang'd in lousy linen without a song,
and after he is dead piss on his grave?

_Mul._ That hard heart of mine has procured all this;
but I forgive as I would be forgiven. 131

_Coc._ [_Discovering himself_] Hang toasts, my worshipful
Mulligrub. Behold thy Cocledemoy, my fine vintner;
my castrophomical fine boy; behold and see!

_Tyse._ Bliss o' the blessed, who would but look for
two knaves here?

_Coc._ No knave, worshipful friend, no knave; for observe,
honest Cocledemoy restores whatsoever he has
got, to make you know that whatsoever he has done,
has been only _euphoniæ gratia_--for wit's sake. I
acquit this vintner, as he has acquitted me; all has
been done for emphasis of wit, my fine boy, my worshipful
friends.

_Tyse._ Go, you are a flatt'ring knave. 143

_Coc._ I am so; 'tis a good thriving trade; it comes
forward better than the seven liberal sciences, or the
nine cardinal virtues; which may well appear in this,
you shall never have flattering knave turn courtier.
And yet I have read of many courtiers that have turned
flattering knaves.

_Sir Hub._ Was't even but so? why, then all's well. 150

_Mul._ I could even weep for joy.

_Mistress Mul._ I could weep too, but God knows for
what!

_Tyse._ Here's another tack to be given--your son and
daughter.

_Sir Hub._ Is't possible? heart, ay, all my heart; will
you be joined here?

_Tyse._ Yes, faith, father; marriage and hanging are
spun both in one hour.

_Coc._ Why, then, my worshipful good friends, I bid
myself most heartily welcome to your merry nuptials
and wanton jigga-joggies.--And now, my very fine
Heliconian gallants, and you, my worshipful friends in
the middle region, 164
If with content our hurtless mirth hath been,
Let your pleased minds at our much care be seen;[114]
For he shall find, that slights such trivial wit,
'Tis easier to reprove than better it.
We scorn to fear, and yet we fear to swell;
We do not hope 'tis best,--'tis all, if well. 170

[_Exeunt._

[109] Ed. 1. "Thou art."

[110] Old eds. "Welyman" and "wely-man."

[111] The reader will be reminded of Mistress Quickly's
description of Falstaff's last moments:--"'How now, Sir John,'
quoth I, 'what, man! be o' good cheer.' So a' cried out 'God,
God, God!' three or four times. Now I to comfort him, bid him a'
should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble
himself with any such thoughts yet."

[112] Old eds. "brothers, brothers."

[113] _Bragot_ was the name of a sort of mead, once popular in
Wales and in the West of England. See Nares' _Glossary_, s.
BRAGGET.

[114] Ed. 1. "as our much care _hath bin_." Ed. 2. "_as_ our much
care be seene."

THE FAWN.

_Parasitaster, Or The Fawne, As It Hath Bene Divers times presented
at the blacke Friars, by the Children of the Queenes Maiesties
Reuels. Written by Iohn Marston. At London Printed by T. P. for
W. C._ 1606. 4to.

_Parasitaster, Or The Fawne, As It Hath Bene Divers Times Presented
at the blacke Friars, by the Children of the Queenes Maiesties
Reuels, and since at Powles. Written by Iohn Marston. And now
corrected of many faults, which by reason of the Author's
absence, were let slip in the first edition. At London Printed
by T. P. for W. C._ 1606. 4to.

STORY OF THE PLAY.

Hercules, the widowed Duke of Ferrara, is anxious that his son Tiberio should marry Dulcimel, daughter of Gonzago, Duke of Urbin; but, finding that he cannot persuade his son to marriage, he declares that he will himself marry Dulcimel. Tiberio is sent to the Court of Urbin to negotiate on his father's behalf. Hercules follows in disguise to watch the issue, and attaches himself (under the name of Faunus) to Tiberio's train at Urbin, where by adroit flattery he quickly gains the favour of Gonzago and the confidence of the courtiers. Dulcimel falls in love with Tiberio, and determines to make him her husband. She imposes on her father, Gonzago, a weak-minded lord with a boundless belief in his own wisdom, by a pretended discovery of Tiberio's love to her; and Gonzago, acting throughout under the impression that he is foiling Tiberio, becomes in the hands of his witty daughter the instrument by which her project is accomplished. Taxed by Gonzago with having made love to Dulcimel, Tiberio warmly denies the charge, but at length he perceives that the lady is making amorous advances, and his blood is fired. In the courtyard of the palace grew a plane-tree by which it was possible to ascend to the window of Dulcimel's bedchamber. Dulcimel informs her father that Tiberio intended to climb the plane-tree at night and enter her chamber, and that he had asked her to have a priest to be in readiness to conduct the marriage service. Gonzago upbraids Tiberio with his perfidy, and commands him to leave the court before the next morning. Tiberio asks for an explanation, and Gonzago then repeats what his daughter had said. Tiberio is not slow to avail himself of Dulcimel's invitation; he mounts the plane-tree, the priest is ready, and the marriage is consummated. Gonzago's chagrin is changed to satisfaction when Hercules, putting off his disguise, expresses his approval of the match.

Much of the play is devoted to an exposure of the faults and follies of Gonzago's courtiers. At the close of the fifth act there is holden a court of Cupid, at which the delinquents are arraigned.

_TO THE EQUAL READER._

I have ever more endeavoured to know myself, than to be known of others; and rather to be unpartially beloved of all, than factiously to be admired of a few; yet so powerfully have I been enticed with the delights of poetry, and (I must ingeniously[115] confess) above better desert so fortunate in the stage-pleasings, that (let my resolutions be never so fixed to call mine eyes into myself) I much fear that most lamentable death of him,

"Qui nimis notus omnibus,
Ignotus moritur sibi."--_Seneca._[116]

But since the over-vehement pursuit of these delights hath been the sickness of my youth, and now is grown to be the vice of my firmer age--since to satisfy others, I neglect myself--let it be the courtesy of my peruser rather to pity my self-hindering labours than to malice[117] me; and let him be pleased to be my reader, and not my interpreter, since I would fain reserve that office in my own hands, it being my daily prayer:--"Absit[118] a jocorum nostrorum simplicitate malignus interpres."--_Martial._

If any shall wonder why I print a comedy, whose life rests much in the actor's voice, let such know that it cannot avoid publishing; let it therefore stand with good excuse that I have been my own setter out.

If any desire to understand the scope of my comedy, know it hath the same limits which Juvenal gives to his _Satires_:--

"Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,
Gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago libelli est."--_Juvenal._

As for the factious malice and studied detractions of some few that tread in the same path with me, let all know I most easily neglect them, and (carelessly slumbering to their vicious endeavours) smile heartily at their self-hurting baseness. My bosom friend, good Epictetus, makes me easily to contemn all such men's malice: since other men's tongues are not within my teeth, why should I hope to govern them? For mine own interest for once, let this be printed,--that of men of my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none; for let me truly say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being) love the least of their graces, and only pity the greatest of their vices.

And now, to kill envy, know you, that affect to be the only minions of Phoebus, I am not so blushlessly ambitious as to hope to gain any the least supreme eminency among you; I affect not only the "'Euge' tuum et 'Belle!'"[119]--'tis not my fashion to think no writer virtuously confident that is not swellingly impudent; nor do I labour to be held the only spirit whose poems may be thought worthy to be kept in cedar[120] chests:--

"Heliconidasque pallidamque Pyrenen
Illis relinquo quorum imagines lambunt
Hederæ sequaces...."--_Persius._

He that pursues fame shall, for me, without any rival, have breath enough. I esteem felicity to be a more solid contentment; only let it be lawful for me, with unaffected modesty and full thought, to end boldly with that of Persius:--

"Ipse semipaganus
Ad sacra vatum carmen affero nostrum."--_Persius._

JO. MARSTON.

[115] Ed. 3 (_i.e._, the 8vo of 1633) "ingenuously." I have
retained the reading of the earlier eds., as _ingenious_ was
commonly used in the sense of _ingenuous_ (Middleton, iv. 14,
&c.)

[116] _Thyestes_, 402-3.

[117] See note, p. 40.
[Transcriber's Note: Footnote [44]]

[118] From the prose preface to Martial's epigrams.

[119] Persius, _Sat._ i. l. 49.

[120] "Cedro digna locutus."--Persius, _Sat._ i. l. 42.

_TO THE READER._[121]

Reader, know I have perused this copy, to make some satisfaction for the first faulty impression; yet so urgent hath been my business that some errors have still passed, which thy discretion may amend. Comedies are writ to be spoken, not read; remember the life of these things consists in action; and for such courteous survey of my pen, I will present a tragedy[122] to you, which shall boldly abide the most curious perusal.

[121] This note is from the second 4to.

[122] "Sophonisba."--Marginal note in the second 4to.

PROLOGUS.

Let those once know that here with malice lurk,
'Tis base to be too wise in others' work;
The rest sit thus saluted:--
Spectators, know you may, with freest faces,
Behold this scene; for here no rude disgraces
Shall taint a public or a private name;
This pen at viler rate doth value fame,
Than at the price of others' infamy
To purchase it. Let others dare the rope,
Your modest pleasure is our author's scope. 10
The hurdle and the rack to them he leaves
That have naught left to be accompted any,
But by not being; nor doth he hope to win
Your louder hand with that most common sin
Of vulgar pens, rank bawdry, that smells
Even through your masks, _usque ad nauseam_.
The Venus of this scene doth loathe to wear
So vile, so common, so immodest clothings;
But if the nimble form of comedy,
Mere spectacle of life and public manners, 20
May gracefully arrive to your pleased ears,
We boldly dare the utmost death of fears;
For we do know that this most fair-fill'd room
Is loaden with most attic judgments, ablest spirits,
Than whom there are none more exact, full, strong,
Yet none more soft, benign in censuring.
I know there's not one ass in all this presence--
Not one calumnious rascal, or base villain
Of emptiest merit--that would tax and slander,
If innocency herself should write, not one we know't. 30
O you are all the very breath of Phoebus;
In your pleas'd gracings all the true lifeblood
Of our poor author lives,--you are his very grace.
Now if that any wonder why he's drawn
To such base soothings, know his play's--THE FAWN.[123]

[123] _Fawner_, sycophant.--A word coined by Marston.

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._

HERCULES, _Duke of Ferrara, disguised as_ FAUNUS.
GONZAGO, _Duke of Urbin, a weak lord of a self-admiring wisdom_.
TIBERIO, _son to_ HERCULES.
GRANUFFO, _a silent lord_.
Don ZUCCONE, _a causelessly jealous lord_.
Sir AMOROSO DEBILE-DOSSO, _a sickly knight_.
HEROD FRAPPATORE, _brother to_ Sir AMOROSO_._
NYMPHADORO, _a young courtier and a common lover_.
DONDOLO, _a bald fool_.
RENALDO, _brother to_ HERCULES.

DULCIMEL, _daughter to_ GONZAGO.
PHILOCALIA, _an honourable learned lady, companion to the Princess_
DULCIMEL.
Donna ZOYA, _a virtuous, fair, witty lady, wife to_ Don ZUCCONE.
Donna GARBETZA, _wife to_ Sir AMOROSO.
POVEIA, }
DONNETTA, } _two ladies, attendants on_ DULCIMEL.
PUTTOTTA, _a poor laundress of the court that washeth and diets
footmen_.
Pages.

SCENE--URBIN.

THE FAWN.