Chapter XI: Act V: Scene I (1)

_Pavia.--The place of execution._

_Enter_[298] MEDINA, _followed by soldiers with the dead body of_
Count MASSINO _on a bier_; DON SAGO _guarded_, Executioner. _A
scaffold laid out._

_Med._ Don Sago, quakest thou not to behold this spectacle--
This innocent sacrifice, murder'd nobleness--
When blood, the Maker ever promiseth,
Shall though with slow yet with sure vengeance rest?
'Tis a guerdon earn'd, and must be paid;
As sure revenge, as it is sure a deed;
I ne'er knew murder yet, but it did bleed.
Canst thou, after so many fearful conflicts
Between this object and thy guilty conscience,
Now thou art freed from out the serpent's jaws, 10
That vild adulteress, whose sorceries
Doth draw chaste men into incontinence--
Whose tongue flows over with harmful eloquence--
Canst thou, I say, repent this heinous act,
And learn to loathe that killing cockatrice?[299]

_Sago._ By this fresh blood, that from thy manly breast
I cowardly sluiced[300] out, I would in hell,
From this sad minute till[301] the day of doom,
To re-inspire vain Æsculapius,
And fill these crimson conduits, feel the fire 20
Due to the damnèd and this horrid fact![302]

_Med._ Upon my soul, brave Spaniard, I believe thee.

_Sago._ O cease to weep in blood, or teach me too!
The bubbling wounds[303] do murmur for revenge.
This is the end of lust, where men may see,
Murder's the shadow of adultery,
And follows it to death.

_Med._ But, hopeful lord, we do commiserate
Thy bewitch'd fortunes, a free pardon give
On this thy true and noble penitence. 30
Withal we make thee colonel of our horse,
Levied against the proud Venetian state.

_Sago._ Medina, I thank thee not; give life to him
That sits with Risus and the full-cheek'd Bacchus,
The rich and mighty monarchs of the earth;
To me life is ten times more terrible
Than death can be to me. O, break, my breast!
_Divines_[304] _and dying men may talk of hell,
But in my heart the several torments dwell._
What Tanais, Nilus, or what Tigris[305] swift, 40
What Rhenus ferier[306] than the cataract,--
Although[307] Neptolis cold, the waves of all the Northern Sea,
Should flow for ever through these guilty hands,
Yet the sanguinolent stain would extant be!

_Med._ God pardon thee! we do.

_Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mes._ The countess comes, my lord, unto the death;

[_A shout._

But so unwillingly and unprepared,
That she is rather forced, thinking the sum
She sent to you of twenty thousand pound
Would have assurèd her of life.

_Med._ O Heavens! 50
Is she not weary yet of lust and life?
Had it been Croesus' wealth, she should have died;
Her goods by law are all confiscate to us,
And die she shall: her lust
Would make a slaughter-house of Italy.
Ere she attain'd to four-and-twenty years,
Three earls, one viscount, and this valiant Spaniard,
Are known to ha' been the fuel to her lust;
Besides her secret lovers, which charitably
I judge to have been but few, but some they were. 60
Here is a glass wherein to view her soul,
A noble but unfortunate gentleman,
Cropp'd by her hand, as some rude passenger
Doth pluck the tender roses in the bud!
Murder and lust, the least of which is death,
And hath she yet any false hope of breath?

_Enter_ ISABELLA, _with her hair hanging down, a chaplet of flowers
on her head, a nosegay in her hand; Executioner before her, and
with her a Cardinal._

_Isa._ What place is this?

_Car._ Madam, the Castle Green.

_Isa._ There should be dancing on a green, I think.

_Car._ Madam,
To you none other than your dance of death. 70

_Isa._ Good my Lord Cardinal, do not thunder thus;
I sent to-day to my physician,
And, as he says, he finds no sign of death.

_Car._ Good madam, do not jest away your soul.

_Isa._ O servant, how hast thou betray'd my life!

[_To_ SAGO.

Thou art my dearest lover now, I see;
Thou wilt not leave me till my very death.
Bless'd be thy hand! I sacrifice a kiss
To it and vengeance. Worthily thou didst;
He died deservedly. Not content to enjoy 80
My youth and beauty, riches and my fortune,
But like a chronicler of his own vice,
In epigrams and songs he tuned my name,
Renown'd me for a strumpet in the courts
Of the French King and the great Emperor.
Did'st thou not kill him drunk?[308]

_Med._ O shameless woman!

_Isa._ Thou should'st, or in the embraces of his lust;
It might have been a woman's vengeance.[309]
Yet I thank thee, Sago, and would not wish him living
Were my life instant ransom.

_Car._ Madam, in your soul 90
Have charity.

_Isa._ There's money for the poor.

[_Gives him money._

_Car._ O lady, this is but a branch of charity,
An ostentation, or a liberal pride:
Let me instruct your soul, for that, I fear,
Within the painted sepulchre of flesh,
Lies in a dead consumption. Good madam, read.

[_Gives a book._

_Isa._ You put me to my book, my lord; will not that
save me?[310]

_Car._ Yes, madam, in the everlasting world.

_Sago._ Amen, amen!

_Isa._ While thou wert my servant, thou hast ever said 100
Amen to all my wishes. Witness this spectacle.
Where's my lord Medina?

_Med._ Here, Isabella. What would you?

_Isa._ May we not be reprieved?

_Med._ Mine honour's past; you may not.

_Isa._ No, 'tis my honour past.

_Med._ Thine honour's past, indeed.

_Isa._ Then there's no hope of absolute remission?

_Med._ For that your holy confessor will tell you;
Be dead to this world, for I swear you die, 110
Were you my father's daughter.

_Isa._ Can you do nothing, my Lord Cardinal?

_Car._ More than the world, sweet lady; help to save
What hand of man wants power to destroy.

_Isa._ You're all for this world, then why not I?
Were you in health and youth, like me, my lord,
Although you merited the crown of life,
And stood in state of grace assured of it,
Yet in this fearful separation,
Old as you are, e'en till your latest gasp, 120
You'd crave the help of the physician,
And wish your days lengthen'd one summer longer.
Though all be grief, labour, and misery,
Yet none will part with it, that I can see.

_Med._ Up to the scaffold with her, 'tis late.

_Isa._ Better late than never, my good lord; you think
You use square dealing, Medina's mighty duke,
Tyrant of France, sent hither by the devil.

[_She ascends the scaffold._

_Med._ The fitter to meet you.

_Car._ Peace! Good my lord, in death do not provoke her. 130

_Isa._ Servant,
Low as my destiny I kneel to thee,

[_To_ SAGO.

Honouring in death thy manly loyalty;
And what so e'er become of my poor soul,
The joys of both worlds evermore be thine.
Commend me to the noble Count Gniaca,
That should have shared thy valour and my hatred:
Tell him I pray his pardon, and--
Medina, art [thou] yet inspired from heaven?
Show thy Creator's image: be like Him, 140
Father of mercy.

_Med._ Head's-man, do thine office.

_Isa._ Now God lay all thy sins upon thy head,
And sink thee with them to infernal darkness,
Thou teacher of the furies' cruelty!

_Car._ O madam, teach yourself a better prayer;
This is your latest hour.

_Isa._ He is mine enemy, his sight torments me;
I shall not die in quiet.

_Med._ I'll be gone: off with her head there!

[_Exit._

_Isa._ Takest thou delight to torture misery? 150
Such mercy find thou in the day of doom.

_Soul._ My lord, here is a holy friar desires
To have some conference with the prisoners.

_Enter_ ROBERTO, _Count of Cyprus, in friar's weeds._

_Rob._ It is in private, what I have to say,
With favour of your fatherhood.

_Car._ Friar, in God's name, welcome.

[ROBERTO _ascends to_ ISABELLA.

_Rob._ Lady, it seems your eye is still the same--
Forgetful of what most it should behold.
Do not you know me, then?

_Isa._ Holy sir,
So far you are gone from my memory, 160
I must take truce with time ere I can know you.

_Rob._ Bear record, all you blessèd saints in heaven,
I come not to torment thee in thy death;
For of himself he's terrible enough.
But call to mind a lady like yourself;
And think how ill in such a beauteous soul,
Upon the instant morrow of her nuptials,
Apostasy and vild revolt would show:
Withal imagine that she had a lord,
Jealous the air should ravish her chaste looks:[311] 170
Doting like the creator in his models,
Who views them every minute, and with care
Mix'd in his fear of their obedience to him.
Suppose he[r] sung through famous Italy,
More common than the looser songs of Petrarch,
To every several zany's instrument;
And he, poor wretch, hoping some better fate
Might call her back from her adulterate purpose,
Lives in obscure and almost unknown life,
Till hearing that she is condemn'd to die-- 180
For he once loved her--lends his pinèd corpse
Motion to bring him to her stage of honour,
Where drown'd in woe at her so dismal chance,
He clasps her: thus he falls into a trance.

_Isa._ O, my offended lord, lift up your eyes:
But yet avert them from my loathèd sight.
Had I with you enjoyed the lawful pleasure,
To which belongs nor fear nor public shame,
I might have lived in honour, died in fame!
Your pardon on my falt'ring knees I beg, 190
Which shall confirm more peace unto my death
Than all the grave instructions of the Church.

_Rob._ Pardon belongs unto my holy weeds,
Freely thou hast it.
Farewell, my Isabella! let thy death
Ransom thy soul. O die a rare example!
The kiss thou gavest me in the church, here take;
As I leave thee, so thou the world forsake!

[_Exit_ ROBERTO.

_Car._[312] Rare accident, ill welcome, noble lord.
Madam, your executioner desires you to forgive him. 200

_Isa._ Yes, and give him too. What must I do, my
friend?

_Exec._ Madam, only tie up your hair.

_Isa._ O, these golden nets,
That have ensnared so many wanton youths,
Not one but has been held a thread of life,
And superstitiously depended on.
Now to the block we must vail! What else?

_Exec._ Madam, I must entreat you, blind your eyes.

_Isa._ I have lived too long in darkness, my friend;
And yet mine eyes, with their majestic light,
Have got new muses in a poet's sprite. 210
They have been more gazed at than the god of day:
Their brightness never could be flatterèd,
Yet thou command'st a fixèd cloud of lawn
To eclipse eternally these minutes of light.
What else?

_Exec._ Now, madam, all's done,
And when you please, I'll execute my office.

_Isa._ We will be for thee straight.
Give me your blessing, my Lord Cardinal.
Lord, I am well prepared:
Murder and lust, down with my ashes sink, 220
But, like ingrateful seed, perish in earth,
That you may never spring against my soul,
Like weeds to choke it in the heavenly harvest.
I fall to rise; mount to thy Maker, spirit!
Leave here thy body, death has her demerit.

[_The executioner strikes off her head._

_Car._ A host of angels be thy convey [_sic_] hence.

_Re-enter_ MEDINA.[313]

_Med._ To funeral with her body and this lord's.
None here, I hope, can tax us of injustice:
She died deservedly, and may like fate
Attend all women so insatiate. 230

[_Exeunt omnes._

[298] Old eds. "_Enter_ MEDINA, _the dead body of_ GUIDO _alias
Count_ ARSENA, _and Souldiours, &c._"

[299] A creature resembling a serpent. It was bred from a cock's
egg, and had a cock's crest; the sight of it caused sudden
death.--The term was frequently applied to a wanton woman.

[300] See note, vol. i. p. 189.

[301] Ed. 1613 "still."

[302] "Fact"--guilty deed, crime.

[303] It was a common superstition that the wounds of a murdered
man bled in the presence of the murderer.

[304] This couplet is from a copy of verses in Nashe's _Pierce
Penniless_, 1592 (_Works_, ed. Grosart, ii. 10). It is also found
in the _Yorkshire Tragedy_, 1608.

[305] Ed. 1613 "Tioris."

[306] _Fere_ = proud, fierce. The word was obsolete in Marston's
time.

[307] Quy. "Though _Neptune_ cold"?--The passage smacks of
_Macbeth_.

[308] Cf. _Hamlet_, iii. 3:--
"Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage;
Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed," &c.

[309] Marston almost invariably makes a trisyllable of "vengeance."

[310] _i.e._, cannot I be saved by "benefit of clergy"?

[311] Cf. _Hamlet_, i. 2:--
"So loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly."

[312] Old eds. "_Clarid._"

[313] Medina's re-entrance is not marked in old eds.

SCENE II.

_Venice.--The Senate-house._

_Enter_ AMAGO _the_ Duke, _the_ Watch, _and_ Senators.

_Duke._ I am amazèd at this maze of wonder,
Wherein no thread or clue presents itself,
To wind us from the obscure passages.
What says my nephew?

_Watch._ Still resolute, my lord, and doth confess the theft.

_Duke._ We'll use him like a felon; cut him off,
For fear he do pollute our sounder parts.
Yet why should he steal,
That is a loaden vine? Riches to him
Were adding sands into the Libyan shore, 10
Or far less charity. What say the other prisoners?

_Watch._ Like men, my lord, fit for the other world,
They take't upon their death, they slew your nephew.

_Duke._ And he is yet alive; keep them asunder;
We may scent out the wile.

_Enter_ CLARIDIANA _and_ ROGERO _bound; with a_
Friar _and_ Officers.

_Rog._ My friend, is it the rigour of the law
I should be tied thus hard, I'll undergo it;
If not, prithee then slacken. Yet I have deserved it;
This murder lies heavy on my conscience.

_Cla._ Wedlock, ay, here's my wedlock! O whore, whore, whore! 21

_Friar._ O, sir, be qualified.

_Cla._ Sir,[314] I am to die a dog's death, and will snarl
a little at the old signor. You are only a parenthesis,
which I will leave out of my execrations; but first to
our _quondam_ wives, that makes us cry our vowels in
red capital letters, "I[315] and U are cuckolds!" O may
bastard-bearing, with the pangs of childbirth, be doubled
to 'em![316] May they have ever twins, and be three week
in travail between! May they be so rivell'd[317] with
painting by that time they are thirty, that it may be
held a work of condign merit but to look upon 'em!
May they live to ride in triumph in a dung-cart, and be
brown'd with all the odious ceremonies belonging to 't!
may the cucking-stool be their recreation, and a dungeon
their dying-chamber! May they have nine lives like a
cat, to endure this and more! May they be burnt for
witches of a sudden! And lastly, may the opinion of
philosophers prove true, that women have no souls! 39

_Enter_ THAIS _and_ ABIGAIL.

_Tha._ What, husband--at your prayers so seriously?

_Cla._ Yes, a few orisons. Friar, thou that stand'st between
the soul of men and the devil, keep these female
spirits away, or I will renounce my faith else.

_Abi._ O husband, I little thought to see you in this
taking!

_Rog._ O whore, I little thought to see you in this
taking! I am governor of this castle of cornets; my
grave will be stumbled at, thou adult'rate whore! I
might have lived like a merchant.

_Abi._ So you may still, husband. 50

_Rog._ Peace! thou art very quick with me.

_Abi._ Ay, by my faith, and so I am, husband; belike
you know I am with child.

_Rog._ A bastard, a bastard, a bastard! I might have
lived like a gentleman, and now I must die like a
hanger on, show tricks upon a wooden horse, and run
through an alphabet of scurvy faces! Do not expect a
good look from me.

_Abi._ O me unfortunate! 59

_Cla._ O to think, whilst we are singing the last hymn,
and ready to be turn'd off, some new tune is inventing
by some metremonger, to a scurvy ballad of our death!
Again, at our funeral sermons, to have the divine divide
his text into fair branches! O, flesh and blood cannot
endure it! Yet I will take it patiently like a grave man.
Hangman, tie not my halter of a true lover's knot: I
burst it if thou dost.

_Tha._ Husband, I do beseech you on my knees,
I may but speak with you. I'll win your pardon,
Or with tears, like Niobe, bedew a-- 70

_Cla._ Hold thy water, crocodile, and say I am bound
to do thee no harm; were I free, yet I could not be
looser than thou; for thou art a whore! Agamemnon's
daughter, that was sacrificed for a good wind, felt but a
blast of the torments thou should'st endure; I'd make
thee swound oftener than that fellow that by his continual
practice hopes to become drum-major. What
sayst thou to tickling to death with bodkins? But thou
hast laugh'd too much at me already, whore! Justice,
O duke! and let me not hang in suspense. 80

_Abi._ Husband,
I'll nail me to the earth, but I'll win your pardon.
My jewels, jointure, all I have shall fly;
Apparel, bedding, I'll not leave a rug,
So you may come off fairly.

_Cla._ I'll come off fairly: thou[318] beg my pardon! I had
rather Chirurgeons' Hall should beg my dead body for an
anatomy[319] than thou beg my life. Justice, O duke! and
let us die!

_Duke._ Signior, think, and dally not with heaven, 90
But freely tell us, did you do the murder?

_Rog._ I have confess'd it to my ghostly father,
And done the sacrament of penance for it.
What would your highness more?

_Cla._ The like have I; what would your highness more?
And here before you all take't o' my death.

_Duke._ In God's name, then, on to the death with them.
For the poor widows that you leave behind,
Though by the law their goods are all confiscate,
Yet we'll be their good lord, and give 'em them. 100

_Cla._ O, hell of hells! Why did not we hire some
villain to fire our houses?

_Rog._ I thought not of that; my mind was altogether
of the gallows.

_Cla._ May the wealth I leave behind me help to damn her!
And as the cursèd fate of courtezan,
What she gleans with her traded art,
May one, as a most due plague, cheat from [her]
In the last dotage of her tirèd lust,
And leave her an unpitied age of woe! 110

_Rog._ Amen, amen!

_Watch._ I never heard men pray more fervently.

_Rog._ O that a man had the instinct of a lion!
He knows when the lioness plays false to him.[320]
But these solaces, these women, they bring man to grey
hairs before he be thirty; yet they cast out such mists
of flattery from their breath, that a man's lost again.
Sure I fell into my marriage-bed drunk, like the leopard;[321]
well, with sober eyes, would I had avoided it!
Come, grave, and hide me from my blasted fame.
O that thou couldst as well conceal my shame!

[_Exeunt ambo, with_ Officers.

_Tha._ Your pardon and your favour, gracious duke, 120

[_Women kneel._

At once we do implore, that have so long
Deceived your royal expectation,
Assurèd that the comic knitting up
Will move your spleen unto the proper use
Of mirth, your natural inclination;
And wipe away the watery-coloured anger
From your enforcèd cheek. Fair lord, beguile
Them and your saf't[322] with a pleasing smile. 130

_Duke._ Now by my life I do: fair ladies, rise;
I ne'er did purpose any other end
To them and these designs. I was inform'd
Of some notorious error as I sat in judgment;
And--do you hear?--these night works require
A cat's eyes to impierce dejected darkness.
Call back the prisoners.

_Re-enter_ CLARIDIANA _and_ ROGERO, _with_ Officers.

_Cla._ Now what other troubled news, that we must
back thus? Has any senator begg'd my pardon upon
my wife's prostitution to him? 140

_Rog._ What a spite's this; I had kept in my breath of
purpose, thinking to go away the quieter, and must we
now back?

_Duke._ Since you are to die, we'll give you winding-sheets,
Wherein you shall be shrouded alive,
By which we wind out all these miseries.
Signor Rogero, bestow a while your eye,
And read here of your true wife's chastity.

[_Gives him a letter._

_Rog._ Chastity?
I will sooner expect a Jesuit's recantation, 150
Or the great Turk's conversion, than her chastity.
Pardon, my liege; I will not trust mine eyes:
Women and devils will deceive the wise!

_Duke._ The like, sir, is apparent on your side.

[_To_ CLARIDIANA.

_Cla._ Who? my wife?--chaste? Has your grace your
sense? I'll sooner believe a conjuror may say his prayers
with zeal, than her honesty. Had she been an hermaphrodite,
I would scarce have given credit to you.
Let him that hath drunk love-drugs trust a woman.
By Heaven, I think the air is not more common! 160

_Duke._ Then we impose a strict command upon you.
On your allegiance read what there is writ.

_Cla._ A writ of error, on my life, my liege!

_Duke._ You'll find it so, I fear.

_Cla._ What have we here--the Art of Brachygraphy?

[_Looks on the letter._

_Tha._ He's stung already:
As if his eyes were turn'd on Perseus' shield,
Their motion's fix'd, like to the pool of Styx.

_Abi._ Yonder's our flames; and from the hollow arches
Of his quick eyes comes comet-trains of fire, 170
Bursting like hidden furies from their caves.

_Cla._[323] [_reading._] _Yours till he sleep the sleep of all the
world, Rogero._

_Rog._ Marry, and that lethargy seize you! Read
again.

[_Reads again._

_Cla._ _Thy servant so made by his stars, Rogero._
A fire on your wand'ring stars, Rogero!

_Rog._ Satan, why hast thou tempted my wife?

[_To_ CLARIDIANA.

_Cla._ Peace, seducer; I am branded in the forehead
with your star-mark. May the stars drop upon thee,
and with their sulphur vapours choke thee, ere thou
come at the gallows! 181

_Rog._ Stretch not my patience, Mahomet.

_Cla._ Termagant,[324] that will stretch thy patience!

_Rog._ Had I known this I would have poison'd thee in the chalice
This morning, when we received the sacrament.[325]

_Cla._ Slave, know'st thou this? [_showing the ring_] 'tis an
appendix to the letter;
But the greater temptation is hidden within.
I will scour thy gorge like a hawk:
Thou shalt swallow thine own stone in this letter,
Seal'd and delivered in the presence of----

[_They bustle._

_Duke._ Keep them asunder; list to us, we command--

_Cla._ O violent villain! is not thy hand hereto, 192
And writ in blood to show thy raging lust?

_Tha._ Spice of a new halter, when you go a-ranging
thus like devils, would you might burn[326] for't as they do!

_Rog._ Thus 'tis to lie with another man's wife: he shall
be sure to hear on't again. But we are friends, sweet duck.

[_Kisses_ THAIS.

And this shall be my maxim all my life:--
Man never happy is till in a wife. 200

_Cla._ Here sink our hate lower than any whirlpool;
And this chaste kiss I give thee for thy care,

[_Kisses_ ABIGAIL.

Thou[327] fame of women, full as wise as fair.

_Duke._ You have saved us a labour in your love.
But, gentlemen, why stood you so prepost'rously?
Would you have headlong run to infamy--
In so defamed a death?

_Rog._ O, my liege, I had rather roar to death with
Phalaris' bull, than, Darius-like, to have one of my wings
extend to Atlas, the other to Europe. 210
What is a cuckold, learn of me:
Few can tell his pedigree,
Nor his subtile nature conster.
Born a man but dies a monster:
Yet great antiquaries say,
They spring from out Methusala,
Who after Noah's flood was found
To have his crest with branches crown'd.
God in Eden's happy shade
This same [wondrous] creature made. 220
Then to cut off all mistaking,
Cuckolds are of women's making;
From whose snares, good Lord deliver us!

_Cla._ Amen, amen!
Before I would prove a cuckold, I would endure a
winter's pilgrimage in the frozen zone--go stark naked
through Muscovia, where the climate is nine degrees
colder than ice. And thus much to all married
men:--
Now I see great reason why 230
Love should marry jealousy:
Since man's best of life is fame,
He hath need preserve the same;
When 'tis in a woman's keeping,
Let not Argus' eyes be sleeping.
The box[328] unto Pandora given
By the better powers of heaven,
That contains pure chastity,
And each virgin sovereignty,
Wantonly she oped and lost, 240
Gift whereof a god might boast.
Therefore, shouldst thou Diana wed,
Yet be jealous of her bed.

_Duke._ Night,[329] like a masque, is enter'd heaven's great hall,
With thousand torches ushering the way.
To Risus will we consecrate this evening;
Like[330] Mycerinus cheating th' oracle,
We'll make this night the day. Fair joys befall
Us and our actions. Are you pleasèd all?

[_Exeunt omnes._

[314] This scene is printed throughout as verse in old eds.

[315] "I and U"--so the editor of 1820. Old eds. "IOV."

[316] Old eds. "him."

[317] Wrinkled.

[318] Old eds. "then."

[319] _i.e._, subject for dissection.

[320] Topsel in his account of the lion writes:--"Their sight and
their smelling are most excellent, for they sleep with their eyes
open, and because of the brightness of their eyes they cannot
endure the light of fire, for fire and fire cannot agree: also
their smelling (for which cause they are called _Odorati_)
is very eminent, for _if the lioness have committed adultery
with the leopard the male discovereth it by the sense of his
nose_."--_History of Fourfooted Beasts_, ed. 1658, p.
360.

[321] Topsel has some remarks on the fondness of leopards for
wine.

[322] Quy. "Them, and _yourself too_"?

[323] Not marked in old eds.

[324] Often mentioned in company with Mahomet and regarded as a
Saracen deity. In the miracle-plays he was introduced as a noisy
ranter, like Herod.

[325] In the closing chapter of _Vulgar Errors_, Sir Thomas
Browne writes:--"I hope it is not true, and some indeed have
probably denied, what is recorded of the monk who poisoned Henry
the emperor in a draught of the Holy Eucharist. 'Twas a
scandalous wound unto the Christian religion, and I hope all
Pagans will forgive it, when they shall read that a Christian was
poisoned in a cup of Christ and received his bane in a draught of
his salvation."

[326] An allusion to _lues venerea_.

[327] Old eds. "That."

[328] The waggish old printers read "The pox is unto panders
given!" The line (which was properly restored by the editor of
1820) must have been purposely misprinted.

[329] "Night ... the way."--These lines are found in Barkstead's
_Myrrha_, 1607. See Introduction to vol. i.

[330] Old eds. "Like _Missermis_ cheating of the _brack_." The
editor of 1820 reads "Like Missermis cheating of the brach," and
to the word _brach_ appends a note, "_i.e._, the bitch;" but who
was Missermis and what the bitch? Every reader of Herodotus (and
every reader of Matthew Arnold) will remember how Mycerinus
cheated the oracle by turning the day into the night. Six
thousand years ago the torches flared in Mycerinus' palace; and I
saw his bones this afternoon at Bloomsbury!

THE
METAMORPHOSIS
OF
PYGMALION'S IMAGE,
AND CERTAIN SATIRES.

_The Metamorphosis of Pigmalions Image. And Certaine Satyres. At
London, Printed for Edmond Matts, & are to be sold at the signe
of the hand and Plough in Fleet streete._ 1598. 8vo.

_TO THE WORLD'S MIGHTY MONARCH_,

GOOD OPINION.

Sole regent of affection, perpetual ruler of judgment, most famous
justice of censures, only giver of honour, great procurer of
advancement, the world's chief balance, the all of all, and all
in all, by whom all things are that that they are, I humbly offer
this my poem.

Thou soul of pleasure, honour's only substance,
Great arbitrator, umpire of the earth,
Whom fleshly epicures call virtue's essence;
Thou moving orator, whose powerful breath
Sways all men's judgment--Great Opinion,
Vouchsafe to gild my imperfection.

If thou but deign to grace my blushing style,
And crown my muse with good opinion;
If thou vouchsafe with gracious eye to smile
Upon my young new-born invention,
I'll sing a hymn in honour of thy name
And add some trophy to enlarge thy fame.

But if thou wilt not with thy deity
Shade and inmask the errors of my pen,
Protect an orphan poet's infancy,
I will disclose, that all the world shall ken
How partial thou art in honours giving,
Crowning the shade, the substance' praise depriving.

W. K.[331]

[331] W. K[insayder].--See _Introduction_, vol. i.

_THE ARGUMENT OF THE POEM._

Pygmalion, whose chaste mind all the beauties in Cyprus could not ensnare, yet, at the length having carved in ivory an excellent proportion of a beauteous woman, was so deeply enamoured on his own workmanship that he would oftentimes lay the image in bed with him, and fondly use such petitions and dalliance as if it had been a breathing creature. But in the end, finding his fond dotage, and yet persevering in his ardent affection, made his devout prayers to Venus, that she would vouchsafe to inspire life into his love, and then join them both together in marriage. Whereupon Venus, graciously condescending to his earnest suit, the maid (by the power of her deity) was metamorphosed into a living woman. And after, Pygmalion (being in Cyprus) begat a son of her, which was called Paphus; whereupon that island Cyprus, in honour of Venus, was after, and is now, called by the inhabitants, Paphos.[332]

[332] Paphos was the name of a town in Cyprus (celebrated for its
temple of Aphrodite)--not of the island itself.

_TO HIS MISTRESS._

My wanton muse lasciviously doth sing
Of sportive love, of lovely dallying.
O beauteous angel! deign thou to infuse
A sprightly wit into my dullèd muse.
I invocate none other saint but thee,
To grace the first blooms of my poesy.
Thy favours, like Promethean sacred fire,
In dead and dull conceit can life inspire;
Or, like that rare and rich elixir stone,
Can turn to gold leaden invention.
Be gracious then, and deign to show in me
The mighty power of thy deity;
And as thou read'st (fair) take compassion--
Force me not envy my Pygmalion:
Then when thy kindness grants me such sweet bliss,
I'll gladly write thy Metamorphosis.

PYGMALION.

Pygmalion, whose high love-hating mind
Disdain'd to yield servile affection
Or amorous suit to any woman-kind,
Knowing their wants and men's perfection;
Yet love at length forced him to know his fate,
And love the shade whose substance he did hate.

For having wrought in purest ivory
So fair an image of a woman's feature,[333]
That never yet proudest mortality
Could show so rare and beauteous a creature 10
(Unless my mistress' all-excelling face,
Which gives to beauty beauty's only grace)--

He was amazèd at the wondrous rareness
Of his own workmanship's perfection.
He thought that Nature ne'er produced such fairness,
In which all beauties have their mansion;
And, thus admiring, was enamourèd
On that fair image himself portrayèd.

And naked as it stood before his eyes,
Imperious Love declares his deity: 20
O what alluring beauties he descries
In each part of his fair imagery!
Her nakedness each beauteous shape contains;
All beauty in her nakedness remains.

He thought he saw the blood run through the vein
And leap, and swell with all alluring means;
Then fears he is deceived, and then again
He thinks he seeth the brightness of the beams
Which shoot from out the fairness of her eye;
At which he stands as in an ecstasy. 30

Her amber-colourèd, her shining hair,
Makes him protest the sun hath spread her head
With golden beams, to make her far more fair;
But when her cheeks his amorous thoughts have fed,
Then he exclaims, "Such red and so pure white,
Did never bless the eye of mortal sight!"

Then views her lips, no lips did seem so fair
In his conceit, through which he thinks doth fly
So sweet a breath, that doth perfume the air;
Then next her dimpled chin he doth descry, 40
And views and wonders, and yet views her still,--
Love's eyes in viewing never have their fill.

Her breasts like polish'd ivory appear,
Whose modest mount do bless admiring eye,
And makes him wish for such a pillowbear.[334]
Thus fond Pygmalion striveth to descry
Each beauteous part, not letting over-slip
One parcel of his curious workmanship;

Until his eye descended so far down
That it descrièd Love's pavilion, 50
Where Cupid doth enjoy his only crown,
And Venus hath her chiefest mansion:
There would he wink, and winking look again,
Both eyes and thoughts would gladly there remain.

Who ever saw the subtile city-dame
In sacred church, when her pure thoughts should pray,
Peer through her fingers, so to hide her shame,
When that her eye, her mind would fain bewray:
So would he view and wink, and view again;
A chaster thought could not his eyes retain. 60

He wondered that she blush'd not when his eye
Saluted those same parts of secresy:
Conceiting not it was imagery
That kindly yielded that large liberty.
O that my mistress were an image too,
That I might blameless her perfections view!

But when the fair proportion of her thigh
Began appear, "O Ovid!" would he cry,
"Did e'en Corinna show such ivory
When she appeared in Venus livery!" 70
And thus enamour'd dotes on his own art
Which he did work, to work his pleasing smart.

And fondly doting, oft he kiss'd her lip;
Oft would he dally with her ivory breasts;
No wanton love-trick would he over-slip,
But still observ'd all amorous beheasts,
Whereby he thought he might procure the love
Of his dull image, which no plaints could move.

Look how the peevish[335] Papists crouch and kneel
To some dumb idol with their offering, 80
As if a senseless carvèd stone could feel
The ardour of his bootless chattering,
So fond he was, and earnest in his suit
To his remorseless image, dumb and mute.

He oft doth wish his soul might part in sunder
So that one half in her had residence;
Oft he exclaims, "O beauty's only wonder!
Sweet model of delight, fair excellence,
Be gracious unto him that formèd thee,
Compassionate his true love's ardency." 90

She with her silence seems to grant his suit;
Then he all jocund, like a wanton lover,
With amorous embracements doth salute
Her slender waist, presuming to discover
The vale of Love, where Cupid doth delight
To sport and dally all the sable night.

His eyes her eyes kindly encounterèd;
His breast her breast oft joinèd close unto;
His arms' embracements oft she sufferèd;
Hands, arms, eyes, tongue, lips, and all parts did woo; 100
His thigh with hers, his knee play'd with her knee,--
A happy consort when all parts agree!

But when he saw, poor soul, he was deceivèd
(Yet scarce he could believe his sense had failed[336]),
Yet when he found all hope from him bereavèd,
And saw how fondly all his thoughts had erred,
Then did he like to poor Ixion seem,
That clipt a cloud instead of Heaven's Queen.

I oft have smiled to see the foolery
Of some sweet youths, who seriously protest 110
That love respects not actual luxury,
But only joys to dally, sport, and jest;
Love is a child, contented with a toy;
A busk-point[337] or some favour stills the boy.

Mark my Pygmalion, whose affections' ardour
May be a mirror to posterity;
Yet viewing, touching, kissing (common favour),
Could never satiate his love's ardency:
And therefore, ladies, think that they ne'er love you,
Who do not unto more than kissing move you. 120

For Pygmalion kiss'd, view'd, and embraced,
And yet exclaims, "Why were these women made,
O sacred gods, and with such beauties graced!
Have they not power as well to cool and shade,
As for to heat men's hearts? Or is there none,
Or are they all, like mine, relentless stone?"

With that he takes her in his loving arms,
And down within a down-bed softly laid her;
Then on his knees he all his senses charms,
To invocate sweet Venus for to raise her 130
To wishèd life, and to infuse some breath
To that which, dead, yet gave a life to death.

"Thou sacred queen of sportive dallying"
(Thus he begins), "Love's only emperess,
Whose kingdom rests in wanton revelling,
Let me beseech thee show thy powerfulness
In changing stone to flesh! Make her relent,
And kindly yield to thy sweet blandishment.

"O gracious goodess,[338] take compassion;
Instil into her some celestial fire, 140
That she may equalise affection,
And have a mutual love, and love's desire!
Thou know'st the force of love, then pity me--
Compassionate my true love's ardency."

Thus having said, he riseth from the floor
As if his soul divinèd him good fortune,
Hoping his prayers to pity moved some power;
For all his thoughts did all good luck importune;
And therefore straight he strips him naked quite,
That in the bed he might have more delight. 150

Then thus, "Sweet sheets," he says, "which now do cover
The idol of my soul, the fairest one
That ever loved, or had an amorous lover--
Earth's only model of perfection--
Sweet happy sheets, deign for to take me in,
That I my hopes and longing thoughts may win!"

With that his nimble limbs do kiss the sheets,
And now he bows him for to lay him down;
And now each part with her fair parts do meet,
Now doth he hope for to enjoy love's crown; 160
Now do they dally, kiss, embrace together,
Like Leda's twins at sight of fairest weather.

Yet all's conceit--but shadow of that bliss
Which now my muse strives sweetly to display
In this my wondrous Metamorphosis.
Deign to believe me--now I sadly[339] say--
The stony substance of his image feature
Was straight transform'd into a living creature!

For when his hands her fair-form'd limbs had felt,
And that his arms her naked waist embraced, 170
Each part like wax before the sun did melt,
And now, O now, he finds how he is graced
By his own work! Tut! women will relent
When as they find such moving blandishment.

Do but conceive a mother's passing gladness
(After that death her only son had seized,
And overwhelm'd her soul with endless sadness)
When that she sees him 'gin for to be raised
From out his deadly swoun to life again:
Such joy Pygmalion feels in every vein. 180

And yet he fears he doth but dreaming find
So rich content and such celestial bliss;
Yet when he proves and finds her wondrous kind,
Yielding soft touch for touch, sweet kiss for kiss,
He's well assured no fair imagery
Could yield such pleasing love's felicity.

O wonder not to hear me thus relate,
And say to flesh transformèd was a stone!
Had I my love in such a wishèd state
As was afforded to Pygmalion, 190
Though flinty-hard, of her you soon should see
As strange a transformation wrought by me.

And now methinks some wanton itching ear,
With lustful thoughts and ill attention,
Lists to my muse, expecting for to hear
The amorous description of that action
Which Venus seeks, and ever doth require,
When fitness grants a place to please desire.

Let him conceit but what himself would do
When that he had obtainèd such a favour 200
Of her to whom his thoughts were bound unto,
If she, in recompence of his love's labour,
Would deign to let one pair of sheets contain
The willing bodies of those loving twain.

Could he, O could he! when that each to either
Did yield kind kissing and more kind embracing--
Could he when that they felt and clipp'd together,
And might enjoy the life of dallying--
Could he abstain midst such a wanton sporting,
From doing that which is not fit reporting? 210

What would he do when that her softest skin
Saluted his with a delightful kiss;
When all things fit for love's sweet pleasuring
Invited him to reap a lover's bliss?
What he would do, the self-same action
Was not neglected by Pygmalion.

For when he found that life had took his seat
Within the breast of his kind beauteous love--
When that he found that warmth and wishèd heat
Which might a saint and coldest spirit move-- 220
Then arms, eyes, hands, tongue, lips, and wanton thigh,
Were willing agents in love's luxury!

Who knows not what ensues? O pardon me!
Ye gaping ears that swallow up my lines,
Expect no more: peace, idle poesy,
Be not obscene though wanton in thy rhymes;
And, chaster thoughts, pardon if I do trip,
Or if some loose lines from my pen do slip.

Let this suffice, that that same happy night,
So gracious were the gods of marriage, 230
Midst all their pleasing and long-wish'd delight
Paphus was got; of whom in after age
Cy[p]rus was Paphos call'd, and evermore
Those islanders do Venus' name adore.

_The_ AUTHOR _in praise of his precedent Poem._

Now, Rufus, by old Glebron's fearful mace,
Hath not my muse deserved a worthy place?
Come, come, Luxurio, crown my head with bays,
Which, like a Paphian, wantonly displays
The Salaminian[340] titillations,
Which tickle up our lewd Priapians.
Is not my pen complete? Are not my lines
Right in the swaggering humour of these times?
O sing pæana to my learnèd muse:
_Io bis dicite!_ Wilt thou refuse? 10
Do not I put my mistress in before,
And piteously her gracious aid implore?
Do not I flatter, call her wondrous fair,
Virtuous, divine, most debonair?
Hath not my goddess, in the vaunt-guard[341] place,
The leading of my lines their plumes to grace?
And then ensues my stanzas, like odd bands
Of voluntaries[342] and mercenarians,
Which, like soldados[343] of our warlike age,
March rich bedight in warlike equipage, 20
Glittering in dawbèd laced accoustrements,[344]
And pleasing suits of love's habiliments;
Yet puffy as Dutch hose they are within,
Faint and white-liver'd, as our gallants bin;
Patch'd like a beggar's cloak, and run as sweet
As doth a tumbril[345] in the pavèd street.
And in the end (the end of love, I wot),
Pygmalion hath a jolly boy begot.
So Labeo did complain his love was stone,
Obdurate, flinty, so relentless none; 30
Yet Lynceus knows that in the end of this
He wrought as strange a metamorphosis.
Ends not my poem then surpassing ill?
Come, come, Augustus, crown my laureate quill.
Now, by the whips of epigrammatists,
I'll not be lasht for my dissembling shifts;
And therefore I use Popelings'[346] discipline,
Lay ope my faults to Mastigophoros' eyne;
Censure my self, 'fore others me deride
And scoff at me, as if I had denied 40
Or thought my poem good, when that I see
My lines are froth, my stanzas sapless be.
Thus having rail'd against myself a while,
I'll snarl at those which do the world beguile
With maskèd shows. Ye changing Proteans, list,
And tremble at a barking satirist.

[333] Shape.

[334] Pillowcase.--An old word used by Chaucer in the prologue to
the _Canterbury Tales_.

[335] Idle, silly.

[336] Quy. "swerved" (an imperfect rhyme to "erred")?

[337] See note, vol. i. p. 9.

[338] Old eds. "Gods."

[339] "Sadly"--in sober truth.

[340] Salamis,--a town of Cyprus.

[341] Van-guard.

[342] Volunteers.

[343] Soldiers. (_Span._)

[344] See note, vol. i. p. 24.

[345] Dung-cart.

[346] Contemptuous term for Papists.

SATIRES.

SATIRE I.

_Quoedam videntur, et non sunt._

I cannot show in strange proportion,
Changing my hue like a cameleon;
But you all-canning[347] wits, hold water out,
Ye vizarded-bifronted-Janian rout.
Tell me, brown Ruscus, hast thou Gyges' ring,
That thou presumest as if thou wert unseen?
If not, why in thy wits half capreal
Lett'st thou a superscribèd letter fall?
And from thyself unto thyself dost send,
And in the same thyself thyself commend? 10
For shame! leave running to some satrapas,
Leave glavering[348] on him in the peopled press;
Holding him on as he through Paul's doth walk,
With nods and legs[349] and odd superfluous talk;
Making men think thee gracious in his sight,
When he esteems thee but a parasite.
For shame! unmask; leave for to cloke intent,
And show thou art vain-glorious, impudent.
Come, Briscus, by the soul of compliment,
I'll not endure that with thine instrument 20
(Thy gambo-viol placed betwixt thy thighs,
Wherein the best part of thy courtship lies)
Thou entertain the time, thy mistress by.
Come, now let's hear thy mounting Mercury.
What! mum? Give him his fiddle once again,
Or he's more mute than a Pythagoran.
But oh! the absolute Castilio,[350]--
He that can all the points of courtship show;
He that can trot a courser, break a rush,
And arm'd in proof, dare dure a straw's strong push; 30
He, who on his glorious scutcheon
Can quaintly show wit's new invention,
Advancing forth some thirsty Tantalus,
Or else the vulture on Prometheus,
With some short motto of a dozen lines;
He that can purpose it in dainty rhymes,
Can set his face, and with his eye can speak,
Can dally with his mistress' dangling feak,[351]
And wish that he were it, to kiss her eye
And flare about her beauty's deity:-- 40
Tut! he is famous for his revelling,
For fine set speeches, and for sonnetting;
He scorns the viol and the scraping stick,
And yet's but broker of another's wit.
Certes, if all things were well known and view'd,
He doth but champ that which another chew'd.
Come, come, Castilion, skim thy posset curd,
Show thy queer substance, worthless, most absurd.
Take ceremonious compliment from thee!
Alas! I see Castilio's beggary. 50
O if Democritus were now alive,
How he would laugh to see this devil thrive!
And by an holy semblance blear men's eyes,
When he intends some damnèd villanies.
Ixion makes fair weather unto Jove,
That he might make foul work with his fair love;
And is right sober in his outward semblance,
Demure, and modest in his countenance;
Applies himself to great Saturnus' son,
Till Saturn's daughter yields his motion. 60
Night-shining Phoebe knows what was begat--
A monstrous Centaur illegitimate.
Who would not chuck to see such pleasing sport--
To see such troops of gallants still resort
Unto Cornuto's shop? What other cause
But chaste Brownetta,[352] Sporo thither draws?
Who now so long hath praised the chough's white bill,
That he hath left her ne'er a flying quill:
His meaning gain, though outward semblance love,
So like a crabfish Sporo still doth move. 70
Laugh, laugh, to see the world, Democritus,
Cry like that strange transformèd Tereus.[353]
Now Sorbo, with a feignèd gravity,
Doth fish for honour and high dignity.
Nothing within, nor yet without, but beard,
Which thrice he strokes, before I ever heard
One wise grave word to bless my listening ear.
But mark how Good Opinion doth him rear:
See, he's in office, on his foot-cloth placed;
Now each man caps, and strives for to be graced 80
With some rude nod of his majestic head,
Which all do wish in limbo harrièd.
But O I grieve that good men deign to be
Slaves unto him that's slave to villany!
Now Sorbo swells with self-conceited sense,
Thinking that men do yield this reverence
Unto his virtues: fond credulity!
Ass, take[354] off Isis, no man honours thee.
Great Tubrio's feather gallantly doth wave,
Full twenty falls[355] doth make him wondrous brave. 90
O golden jerkin! royal arming coat!
Like ship on sea, he on the land doth float.
He's gone, he's shipp'd, his resolution
Pricks him[356] (by Heaven) to this action.
The pox it doth! Not long since did I view
The man betake him to a common stew;
And there (I wis), like no quaint-stomach'd man,
Eats up his arms; and war's munition,
His waving plume, falls in the broker's chest.
Fie! that his ostrich stomach should disgest 100
His ostrich feather, eat up Venice lace!
Thou[357] that didst fear to eat poor-johns a space,
Lie close, ye slave, at beastly luxury!
Melt and consume in pleasure's surquedry![358]
But now, thou that didst march with Spanish pike before,
Come with French pox out of that brothel door.
The fleet's return'd. What news from Rodio?[359]
"Hot service, by the Lord," cries Tubrio.
Why dost thou halt? "Why, six times through each thigh
Push'd with the pike of the hot enemy! 110
Hot service, hot, the Spaniard is a man;
I say no more, and as a gentleman
I served in his face. Farewell. Adieu."
Welcome from Netherland, from steaming stew.
Ass to thy crib, doff that huge lion's skin,
Or else the owl will hoot and drive thee in.
For shame, for shame! lewd-living Tubrio,
Presume not troop among that gallant crew
Of true heroic spirits; come, uncase,
Show us the true form of Dametas'[360] face. 120
Hence, hence, ye slave! dissemble not thy state,
But henceforth be a turncoat, runagate.
O hold my sides! that I may break my spleen
With laughter at the shadows I have seen!
Yet I can bear with Curio's nimble feet,
Saluting me with capers in the street,
Although in open view and people's face,
He fronts me with some spruce, neat, cinquepace;[361]
Or Tullus, though, whene'er he me espies,
Straight with loud mouth "A bandy, sir,"[362] he cries; 130
Or Robrus, who, addict to nimble fence,
Still greets me with stockado's[363] violence.
These I do bear, because I too well know
They are the same they seem in outward show.
But all confusion sever from mine eye
This Janian bifront, Hypocrisy.

[347] _i.e._, all-_kenning_, all-knowing. Marston uses
the word two or three times.

[348] Fawning.

[349] Bows.

[350] A mirror of refinement, a gallant of Castilian breeding.
But there is also a reference to Baldessar Castiglione, author of
the celebrated treatise _Il Cortese_. So in Guilpin's
_Skialeheia_, 1598, the name "Balthazer" is applied to a
spruce courtier:--
"Come to the court, and _Balthazer_ affords
Fountains of holy and rose-water words.
Hast thou need of him and wouldst find him kind?
Nay, then, go by, the gentleman is blind." Sig. C. 4.

[351] Lock of hair?

[352] See note, vol. ii. p. 60.

[353] Who was transformed into the hoopoe. Old ed. "Tyreus."

[354] Old ed. "talke;" but the correction is made in the author's
list of errata.

[355] Falling bands, which lay upon the shoulders.

[356] "Him"--omitted in old ed., but supplied in the author's
list of errata.

[357] _i.e._, you who feared a short while ago ("a space")
that you would have to dine off stock-fish.

[358] Wantonness.

[359] "Is the reference to Essex's expedition to Cadiz in 1596?
_Rodao_ is the Italian form of a Portuguese town in the
province of Beira."--_Grosart._

[360] The foolish shepherd in Sir Philip Sidney's _Arcadia_.

[361] The name of a dance.

[362] Tullus can talk of nothing but tennis.

[363] A thrust in fencing.

SATIRE II.

_Quædam sunt, et non videntur._