From his birth to his taking his B.A. Degree at Cambridge
CHAPTER III.
At Trinity College, Cambridge, from his taking his B.A. Degree to his taking charge of the Cambridge Observatory as Plumian Professor
CHAPTER IV.
At Cambridge Observatory, from his taking charge of the Cambridge Observatory to his residence at Greenwich Observatory as Astronomer Royal
CHAPTER V.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1836-1846
CHAPTER VI.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1846-1856
CHAPTER VII.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1856-1866
CHAPTER VIII.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1866-1876
CHAPTER IX.
At Greenwich Observatory, from January 1st, 1876, to his resignation of office on August 15th, 1881
CHAPTER X.
At the White House, Greenwich, from his resignation of office on August 15th, 1881, to his death on January 2nd, 1892
APPENDIX.
List of Printed Papers by G.B. Airy, and List of Books written by G.B. Airy
INDEX.
="id00131">2. It had not spoke such Spanish else.
1. When we did sett our feete even on their Mynes And brought their golden fagotts thence, their Ingotts And silver wedges; when each ship of ours Was able to spread sayles of silke; the tacklings Of twisted gold; when every marryner At his arrivall here had his deepe pockets Crammd full of Pistoletts; when the poorest ship-boy Might on the Thames make duckes and drakes with pieces Of eight fetchd out of Spayne: These were the Bellowes Which blew the Spanish bonfires of revenge; These were the times in which they calld our Nation Borachos,[12] Lutherans and Furias del Inferno.
2. Would we might now give them the selfe same cause To call us soe.
1. The very name of Drake Was a Bugbear to fright Children; Nurses still'd Their little Spanish Nynnyes when they cryde "Hush! the Drake comes."
2. All this must needs beget Their mortall hate to us.
1. It did; yet then We lovd them beyond measure.
2. Why?
1. Why, did not Spaine fetch gold from the West Indies for us To spend here merrily? She planted vines, We eate the Grapes; she playd the Spanish Pavine[13] Under our windowes, we in our bedds lay laughing To heare such Mynstrelsy.
2. How then turnd the windes? Why did this beauteous face of love in us Put on so blacke a Visour of hate to them?
1. Oh, sir, doe but looke backe to Eighty Eight, That Spanish glasse shall tell you, shew each wrinckle. England that yeare was but a bit pickd out To be layd on their Kinges Trencher. Who were their Cookes? Marry, sir, his Grandees and great Dons of Spaine, A Navy was provided, a royall fleete, Infinite for the bravery of Admiralls, Viceadmirall [sic], Generalls, Colonells and Commanders, Soldiers, and all the warlike furniture Cost or experience or mans witt could muster For such a mayne designe.
2. Stay; Eighty Eight,— Thirty eight yeares agoe: much about then Came I into the world.—Well, sir, this fleete?
1. Which made the Sea fish wonder what new kingdome Was building over theirs, beate downe the Billowes Before them to gett thither. 'Twas such a Monster In body, such a wonder in the eyes, And such a[14] thunder in the eares of Christendome That the Popes Holynes would needes be Godfather To this most mighty big limbd Child, and call it Th'Invincible Armado.
2. Thats to say A Fleete of Shipps not to be overcome By any power of man.
1. These were the Whales, These were the huge Levyathans of the Sea Which roaring came with wide and dreadfull Jawes To swallow up our Kingdom, Shipps & Nation. The fame of this Armado flew with Terrour Riding on Envyes wing; the preparation Was wayted on with wonder, and the approach Shewd the grim face of horrour: yet gainst all these Our Country and our Courages were armd.
2. St. George for England!
1. And St. George we cryde, Albeit, we heard, the Spanish Inquisition Was aboord every ship with torture, torments, Whipps strung with wyre, and knives to cutt our throates. But from the armed winds an hoast brake forth Which tare their shipps and sav'd ours.—Thus I have read Two storyes to you; one, why Spayne hates us, T'other why we love not them.
2. Oh, sir, I thank you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 3.
Ent. Teniente, Don John, Henrico.
Ten. I ever feard some ill fate pointed at This Citty.
Jo. Makes the fleete this way?
Hen. Buzzano!
Ten. I did dreame every night of't, and the Ravens With their unlucky throates never leave croaking Some danger to us all.
Hen. Where's Buzzano? Villaine!
Jo. Be not discomforted.
Ten. Don Fernando, too, Hath cut our strength off, taken away our swords Should save our throates. I did preiudicate Too rashly of the English; now we may Yield up the Towne.—Sirra, get you up to th'highest Enter Buzzano. Turret, that lookes three leagues into the Sea, And tell us what you can discover there.
Buz. Why, I can tell you ere I goe.
Hen. What?
Buz. Why there are fishes and shipps too in the sea; they were made for that purpose.
Ten. The fellow doates? climbe quickly, sirra, and tell us Whither any bend to this place: there's a fleete Abroad; skud, rascall.
Hen. Villayne, away; and cast your eyes into the Sea.
Buz. Ile be hangd first; some wiser then some: mine Eyes into the Sea? I see no reason for't.
Ten. Why stayest thou?—this slave is without sence. Get up and see, and report the truth.
Buz. Thats another matter: I will orelooke you all presently. [Exit.
Jo. What were I best to doe? I doe not like these Navyes.
Hen. 'Tis past question, If they were kenn'd this way, that they intend To make another meale of this Citty.
Ten. The first was but a Breakfast: they have shrewd stomakes. Oh for a lusty storme to bury all Their hopes in the waves now! one good swelling Gust Would breake their ribbs in pieces.
Jo. No witches abroad?
Buz. I see, I see, I see!
Enter Buzzano above.
All. What?
Buz. Nay, I cannot tell what yet: Something it is; I thinke it be a Towne.
Hen. Some Iland in the Sea!
Buz. It swims on the water.
Jo. 'Tis the fleete: come they this way?
Buz. Yes, th'are ships; I know 'em by their foule linen; now I see them plainely; they come, they come, they come!
Hen. How far off?
Ten. Speake, sirra.
Buz. If you would peace I might heare what they say; the wind serves to bring every word they speake: they make towards, yes, towards this Citty. A great fleete! stay, stay, look to your selves, Don: they spitt fire allready, and have hung up a thousand flaggs of defyance. They are at the fort, the castle, at the castle: would I were pelted to death with Oranges and Lymons.
Ten. Here comes Don Fernando. What newes?
Enter Fernando with Eleonora.
Fer. Assured danger, gentlemen, for all our men Already are in a palsye and doe flye They know not whither. They are English: The Citty's allmost desperate.
Ten. Don John, come with me And helpe to encourage the remayning soldiers.
Fer. New supply shall quickly cheare you hearts.— Henrico!
Hen. Sir?
Fer. In this confusion, when a thousand feares Present themselves & danger with full face Lookes on the generall Towne, let me locke up This Treasure in your armes; &, for you have At least an equall interest with mee In Eleonora, in your fathers house She may hope more security, being of strength; For this storme cannot last. But in your love She hath a stronger guard.
Hen. This act of confidence Binds me for ever to Fernando: come, Halfe of my soule, for we two must not bee In life devided. Though the Citty lye At mercy of the Enemy, yet from Don Pedro Gusman's house not all mankind Shall take thee from me.
Enter Buzzano and Spanyards flying.
Buz. They come, they come, they come!
Fer. Committing this my Jewell to your trust I must unto my charge: my blessing!
Ele. Oh doe not leave me, sir; for without you What safety can I have? you are my father: Pray, stay you with me.
Fer. Oh, my Girle, I cannot, Dare not be so unfaithfull to the trust His maiesty put me in, though I would stay.
Ele. I feare if you goe hence all will not long be well.
Hen. Distrust you me, Eleonora?
Ele. No, indeed: You ever had with me th'opinion Of a most noble gentleman.
Fer. What then?
Ele. I know not what besides my feare; and that Beggs I may share your fortune, since you may not Take up such safety here as I have.
Fer. Come, You are to blame: this heaven that now lookes on us With rugged brow may quickly smile againe And then I shall revisite my Eleonora. So, farewell. [Exit.
Hen. Till then with greater care then were the Dragons Supposd to watch the Golden Apples growing In the Hesperides, shall Henrico wayte On his best loved. Oh, my Eleonora, I would to heaven there were no war but here To shoote love darts! each smile from this fayre Eye May take an Army prisoners: let me give My life up here unto these lipps, and yet I shall, by the sweetnes of a kisse, take back The same againe. Oh thou in whom alone Vertue hath perfect figure, hide not day In such a Cloud: what feare hath enterd here? My life is twisted in a Thread with thine; Were't not defenced, there could nothing come To make this cheeke looke pale, which at your Eye Will not fall dead before you.—
Enter Buzzano.
Sirra, let all your care and duty bee Employed to cheere this Lady: pray, be merry.
Buz. Oh, sir, yonders such doings.
Hen. Hell on your bawling! not a sillable to affright her, or I shall tune your instrument there.
Buz. Hele breake the head of my instrument! Why, sir, weomen are not affraid to heare of doings.
Hen. Still jarring?
Buz. When the whole towne is altogether by th'eares you might give me leave to jar a little my selfe:—I have done, sir.
Hen. Putt on thy merryest face, Buzzano.
Buz. I have but one face, but I can make a great many.
Hen. My best Eleonora, I shall soone returne: In the meane time be owner of this house, The possesour. All danger, sweet, shall dwell Far off: Ile but enquire the state of things In the Citty, and fly back to thee with loves wings. [Exit.
Ele. I prithee call him backe.
Buz. Signior Henrico, She has something more to say to you. [Redit.
Hen. To me, sweetest?
Ele. Henrico, doe you love me?
Hen. By this faire hand.
Ele. And will you leave me, too?
Hen. Not for the wealth of Spaine.
Ele. Since I must be your prisoner let me have My keepers company, for I am afraid Some enemy in your absence, like a woolfe May ceize on me. I know not whither now I ere shall see my father: doe not you Ravish yourselfe from me, for at the worst We may dye here, Henrico; and I had rather Fall in your eye than in your absence be Dishonord; if the destinyes have not Spun out a longer thread, lets dye together.
Hen. Oh doe not racke my soule with these sad accents. Am I Henrico? there is not any place Can promise such security as this To Eleonora. Doe not talke of dying, Our best dayes are to come: putt on thy quiet, And be above the reach of a misfortune. Ile presently wayte on thee, by this kisse.
Buz. Would I might keepe your oath: so please you, lady, Buzzano will sweare too.
Hen. What?
Buz. That you'le be there and here agen presently.
Hen. Attend here, sirra.
Buz. If you must needes goe, pray, sir, keepe yourselfe out of Gun-shott.
Hen. Mind you your charge.
Buz. You shall heare a good report of my piece, I warrant you. Take heed you be not sent to heaven with a powder: a company of hott shotts[15] are abroad, I can tell you.
Ele. If you will goe may your successe be faire.
Hen. Farewell; heaven cannot chuse but heare your prayer. [Exit.
Buz. Now what please you, madam? that I shall amble, trott, or walke?
Ele. Any pace.
Buz. Yet, if you would referre it to me, I'de use none of them.
Ele. What wouldst doe?
Buz. Why I would gallop or run, for I think long till I be at home in our Castle of comfort. If it please you Ile lead you a hand gallop in the plaine ground, trott up hill with you & racke[16] downewards.
Ele. Talke not of rackes, prithee; the times present too many.
Buz. Ride me as you will, then; I am used both to curbe and snaffle.
Ele. I prithee tell me, Buzzano,—so, I heare thy master call thee—
Buz. He may call me at his pleasure, forsooth.
Ele. Dost thou know the nature of the English?
Buz. Both men and women: I travelled thither with an Embassadour. For the men Ile not misse you a haire of their condition; and for the women I know 'em as well as if I had bene in their bellyes.
Ele. Are they not cruell?
Buz. As Tygers, when they set on't: no mercy unlesse we aske them forgiveness.
Ele. That's somewhat yet.
Buz. But not to you; that's onely to men; for lett the women fall downe afore 'em never so often they'le rather fall upon them. Nay, some of them are so spitefull they'le breake their owne backes before they let 'em rise againe.
Ele. Foole, I meane not your way.
Buz. Keepe your owne way, madam; I meane the playne way.
Ele. Are they not unmercifull in their natures to such as are in their power, their Enemyes as we may be?
Buz. Their enemyes as we may be in their power! I had rather be cramm'd into a cannon and shott against their ships then you should prove a witch & tell true now. The Tartar is not halfe so grim; not a Turke would use us so like Jewes as they will. If it come to that once that they take the Towne You will see Spanish Dons heads cryed up and downe: as they doe our Orenges and Lymons; and the woemens heads shall off, too,—not a maydenhead of gold shall scape 'em.
Ele. It is no valour to use Tyranny Upon the conquerd: they have been reported A noble nation; and when last the pride Of this Citty adornd their victory, by command Or their brave Generall, no outrage ever The soldiers durst committ upon our persons: Though all our wealth ran in full streames upon them Our honours were preserved, or fame belys them.
Buz. No matter what fame sayes, perhaps I know more than she does; & yet, now you talk of valour, they are not comparable to us.
Ele. How?
Buz. Why, valour is but the courage of a man; courage is, as they say, the spirit of a man; and the spirit of a man is the greatnes, as we call it, of his stomake. Now 'tis well knowen to the whole world they feed better and eate more then we: ergo, we have better stomackes then they. But, see! we have talk't our selves at home already, and the point (port?) is open. Will't please you enter, or shall I enter before you? I am your man, madam.
Ele. You know the way best:—whilst abroad they are At fight, twixt hope and feare at home I warre.
[Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
(SCENE 1.)
Alarum; as the soft musicke begins a peale of ordnance goes off; then Cornetts sound a Battaile; which ended enter Captaine, Master of a ship, Dick Pike, with musketts.
Cap. Fought bravely, countrymen! Honour all this while Sate in a Throne of smoake with sparckling eyes Looking upon your courages & admiring Your resolutions, and now rewards your sweat With victory. The castle groanes at heart; Her strongest ribbs are bruizd with battering Cannons, And she hath tane into her bowells fire Enough to melt her.
Ma. My Lord came bravely up to her & shewd a spirit That commands danger; his honorable example Gave us new hearts.
Sol. Faith, give the Spanyards their due; they entertaind us handsomely with hott meat; 'twas no cold welcome.
Pike. But I would not willingly swallow their plums; they would rise shrewdly in a man's stomacke.
Cap. At the first shott, when the Convertine came in, 3 men were killd.
Ma. At the second 4, was't not?
Cap. At the third two more: one salutation Came so close that, with the very wind, My hands have almost lost the sense of feeling. Jewell, thou mad'st thy muskett spitt fire bravely.
Ma. And my Devonshire blade, honest Dick Pike, Spard not his Sugar pellets among my Spanyards.
Cap. He did like a soldier, as he that chargd his muskett told me: in this service he hath dischargd 70 bulletts.
Pike. I did my part, sir, and wish I had bene able to have layd 'em on thicker; but I have lynd somebodyes gutts, much good doe 'em with it; some of them have wishd well to me.
Cap. Art hurt?
Ma. Where?
Pike. Nowhere; one of my flanckes itches a little; if a piece of lead have crept in to hide it selfe cowardly I am not much in debt for't.
Cap. Let my Surgeons search it.
Pike. Search a pudding for plums; let my flesh alone; perhaps it wants souldering. Shall we to't agen: I have halfe a score pills for my Spanyards—better then purging comfitts.
Enter a Soldier.
Cap. What newes?
Sol. The fort is yielded.
Pike. They have bene speechlesse a good while; I thought they'de yield up the ghost shortly.
Sol. But on condition to march away with flying colours, which was granted.
Cap. What's become of the Captaine of the fort?
Sol. Don Francisco Bustament is carryed aboord our Generalls ship, where he had a soldier like welcome; but he & all his company are put over to Port Reall upon the maine land because they should not succour the Citty.
Cap. Unles he will swim to th'Iland.—And how fares the Convertine?
Sol. Her shroudes are torne to pieces & her tacklings to raggs.
Cap. No matter; she carryes the more honour.
Sol. 5 hundred Bulletts sticke in her sides.
Pike. 'Tis well they scaped her heart, lying all the fight little more than pistoll shott from 'em; her Starboard still to the fort & at least 200 Musketts playing upon her. I wish'd heartily some of our London roaring Boyes[17] had bene in the heate of't.
Sol. Wouldst have 'em twice burnt.
Pike. They should have found a difference betwixt the smoake of Tobacco and of a muskett; another manner of noise than dam me & refuse me[18], which they vomitt dayly. It might have done some of 'em good, for by that meanes they might have prayd heartily once in their lives.
Cap. The Whitehall[19] men did good service.
Ma. Who? the Collyers?
Sol. 4000 Bulletts their ordnance & the Hollanders dischargd upon the Castle.
Cap. 'Twas well done of all sides, Bullyes[20]: but, since our forces are landed, let it be your care to looke well to the Ships: and honest Dick of Devonshire be not too carelesse of your hurts; he meanes to fight againe that provides for his recovery soonest. Hold thee, here is something to pay the Surgeon and to wash your wound withall.
Pike. My noble Captaine, I'le have care of my owne and drinke your health with it.
Ma. Thou deservest more than common encouragement: prithee, remember me too.
[Exeunt Capt. & Mast.
Pike. Why, now am I sorry I have no more hurt, gentlemen; but I tooke it as earnest to receive more if occasion bee. I have but a barrell to bestow among my Dons; while that lasts let 'em come & welcome,—the drinke shalbe spicd to their hands. Their complexions are blacke, they shall want no Balls to wash their faces; if any doe light in their bodies they may chance be scourd all over.
Sol. 2. We may hap to be in the suddes ourselves.
Pike. There will be charges savd then; for my part I am but one, and there are shotts enough.
Sol. 2. More by a score then I hope wilbe payd these two dayes.
Pike. Talke not of paying: here's more then a month comes to. Well, if our service be done, & there be any other liquor to be gott, wele drinke no salt water as long as this lasts.
Sol. 2. Come, let's have a dish to our countrymen & let's remember Tavestock.
Pike. Godamercy for that, boy. A match, a match!
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 2.)
Enter Henrico Gusman, his sword drawne, & Eleonora.
Hen. Yet the Citty is safe enough; feare not, Eleonora; The Bullets make no noyse here: if the Towne Should yield her strength up to th'invader, thou Art lockd up like a spirit in a Christall: Not an enchanted Castle, held up by Strong charme, is halfe so safe. This house, though now It carry not the figure & faire shape Which the first workeman gave it, eating Time Having devourd the face of't, is within A Sanctuary, & hath so much cunning Couchd in the body not a Laborinth Is so full of Meanders.
Ele. Sir, your presence Confirmes me in opinion of my safety; Not of my life so much, for that's a thing I owe to nature & should one day be A-weary of it; like to Innes we take Our houses up, having but here a place Of Lodging not of dwelling:—but of honour You give me my assurance, for in such A time of thicke confusions I much feare That might be hazarded. And who knowes what The soldier that hath no lawe but that Of cruelty and rapine, when like a Bird Of prey his Tallents are possessd of one So weake as I am—
Hen. He that durst offend Thee with a sillable or but fright that bloud Out of thy Cheekes to seeke another place, Not daring to be seene there where it now Is of itselfe sufficient to ravish A mortall that with just eyes can looke on it, Had better be a divell. But a haire, The poorest part of thee & in this excellent Because 'tis thine, should any dare to ravish From these his soft companions, which the wind Would be for ever proud to play withall, H'had better dig his mothers coffin up And with his teeth eate what the wormes have left.
Ele. I know you will defend me.
Hen. Will defend thee! Have I a life, a soule that in thy service I would not wish expird! I doe but borrow My selfe from thee.
Ele. Rather you put to Interest And, for that principall you have credited To Eleonora her heart is paid backe As the iust Usury.
Hen. You undoe me, sweet, With too much love; if ere I marry thee I feare thou'lt kill me.
Ele. How?
Hen. With tendring me too much, my Eleonora; For in my conscience thou'lt extreamely love me, And extreames often kill.
Ele. There can be no extreme of love[21], sir.
Hen. Yes, but there may; and some say Jealousy Runs from the Sea, a rivolet but deducted From the mayne Channell.
Ele. This is a new language.
Hen. Have you not heard men have been killd with Joy? Our griefe doth but contract the heart, & gladnesse Dilate the same; and soo too much of eyther Is hott i'th' fourth degree.
Ele. Sir, your discourse Is stuff of severall pieces and knitts not With that you usd but now: if we can practize A vertuous love there's no hurt to exceed in't. —What doe you, Sir?
Hen. Looke on thee.
Ele. Why doe you eye me soe? this is not usuall. Are you well?
Hen. Well, never better.
Ele. Pray heaven it bode me no unhappinesse! How doth my father?
Hen. He's very well, too; feare not.
Ele. Still I read in your eyes—
Hen. What Babyes[22], prety one? Thy owne face, naught else; I receive that way all this beauty into My heart, and 'tis perhaps come backe to looke Out at the window. Come, Ile winke againe, It shall not trouble you:—hence my trayterous thoughts.
Ele. Indeed you are not well.
Hen. Indeed I am not; all's not well within me. Why should I be a villaine? Eleonora Doe not looke on me; turne those eyes away, They would betray thee to thy sorrow; or Lett me by parting carry along with me That which to know undoes thee.
Ele. Are you not hurt?
Hen. Yes.
Ele. Good heaven defend! I have a soveraigne Balme. [Exit.
Hen. Vanish, you ugly shapes, & with her presence Quitt your sharp stings! into what monstrous creature Feele I myself a-growing! yet I cannot Force backe the streame, it comes so fast upon me; I cannot.
Enter Eleonora.
Ele. Here, good Henrico, let me see your wound.
Hen. No, I am well againe; thankes, my best love. Come, let us walke and talke; I had a fancy, But 'tis no matter:—Buzzano!
Enter Buzzano.
Buz. Did you call?
Hen. Yes, the Balme here—
Buz. What shall I doe with it?
Hen. Lay it up safe; 'tis good for a greene wound But mines a blacke one:—and d'you heare, sirra, Draw up the bridge, give entrance unto none.
Buz. All my fellowes are abroad, sir; there's nobody at home but I.
Hen. No matter, let none enter; were my father Brought with a whirlwind backe, he finds all shutt Till I have done.
Buz. Well, sir;—madam, all this is that you should not b' afraid: you now see what a kind man he is,—he will suffer none to enter but himselfe. [Exit.
Ele. If all this proceed out of your care of me, how much am I bound to acknowledge you. Sir, methinkes you minde me not.
Hen. Yes, I doe nothing else but thinke of thee, & of my father, too, Don Pedro.
Ele. Ha! I hope he's well.
Hen. I wish he were returned, my Eleonora, for both our sakes.
Ele. The same wish I, sir.
Hen. That then our Joys, which now like flowers nippd With frost, hang downe the head as if the stalkes Could not sustaine the toppes, they droope to much;— At his returne th'art mine.
Ele. I am yours now In holyest Contract.
Hen. That's the ground we build on: Faith, since allready the foundation's layd, Let's work upon't. Y'are mine, you say, allready— Mine by all tearmes of Law, & nothing wanting But the possession: let's not then expect Th'uncertainety of a returne from France, But be all one ymediately.
Ele. I understand you not.
Hen. Since y'are a Tree reservd for me what now Should hinder me from climbing? All your apples I know are ripe allready; 'tis not stealth, I shall rob nobody.
Ele. You'le not be a divell?
Hen. No, I will but play the man with you: why, you know 'tis nothing.
Ele. Will you enforce mine honour? oh, Henrico, Where have you left your goodnesse? sure you cannot Be so ignoble, if you thinke me worthy To be your wife at least, to turne Eleonora Into a whore.
Hen. Pish! some hungry Landlords would have rent before The Quarter day,—I doe no more: by faire meanes Yield up your fort; the Tenement is mine owne And I must dwell in't.
Ele. My feares pointed wrong: You are no enemy, no wolfe; it was A villaine I disturbed: oh, make me not Find in your presence that destruction My thoughts were so affrighted with.
Hen. We shall have such adoe now!
Ele. Your fathers house will prove no castle to mee If you at home doe wound mee. 'Twas an Angell Spoke in you lately not my Cheeke should bee Made pale with feare. Lay not a lasting blush On my white name:—No haire should perish here Was vowed even now:—Oh let not a blacke deed, And by my sworne preserver, be my death My ever living death. Henrico, call To mind your holy vowes; thinke on our parents, Ourselves, our honest names; doe not kill all With such a murthering piece. You are not long T'expect, with the consent of men and angells, That which to take now from me will be losse A losse of heaven to thee. Oh, do not pawne it For a poore minutes sin.
Hen. If't be a worke, madam, of so short time, Pray let me beg a minutes privacy; 'Twill be soone done.
Ele. Yes, but the horrour of So foule a deed shall never: there's layd up Eternity of wrath in hell for lust: Oh, 'tis the devill's exercise! Henrico, You are a man, a man whom I have layd up Nearest my heart: in you 'twill be a sin To threaten heaven & dare that Justice throw Downe Thunder at you. Come, I know you doe But try my vertue, whether I be proofe Against anothers Battery: for these teares—
Hen. Nay, then I see you needs will try my strength: My bloud's on fire, I boyle with expectation To meete the pleasure and I will. [He forces her in.
Ele. Helpe, helpe!
Enter Buzzano.
Buz. Helpe? what nightingale was that? did one cry out for helpe? there's no Christian soule in the house but they two & my selfe; and 'twas not mine, I know by the smallnes of the voice; twas some woman cryde out, & therefore can be none but my young Lady,—it was she as sure as I am hungry; he's with her. But why, having one man did she cry out for more? oh, our Spanish ovens are not heated with one Bavyn.[23] Well, I must say nothing; my young Cocke has bene treading. Ile tread softly & see what they doe:—but, see!
Enter Henrico & Eleonora, loose haired and weeping.
Hen. What doe you looke after?
Buz. Why, sir, I looke after a voyce that appeard to me even now, crying "helpe,"—a very small one.
Hen. If what thou seest or heard'st be ever muttered by thee Though in thy sleep, villaine, Ile pistol thee.
Buz. Hum, it will not be safe to dreame of a knave shortly. Are you so good at a gun? if you use this too often your birding piece will scarce carry a yard levell.
Hen. Come, dresse your hayre up & be wise at last: No more, I have done.
Buz. So I thinke in my conscience,—he hath done with her.
Hen. If you can be so simple to proclaime it, I can be impudent.
Ele. Yet dar'st thou live? & doe I live to see Myselfe the shame of weomen? have I not Wept teares enough to drowne me? then let fire Enthrone it selfe within me & beget Prodigious Cometts, that with flaming haires May threaten danger to thee!
Hen. Nay, nay, nay, if you be so hott Ile brave you: like wine that's burnt you must be set light by, & then you'le come to a temper. [Exit.
Ele. Oh, helpe me out of hell!
Buz. Sh'has bene at Barleybreake.[24]—Madam I must say nothing: —there is a Pistol and so forth:—but if you have occasion to use me, try mee; if I doe not prove an honester man to you then my Master, would my Cod piece point were broake. I know what I know, and yet Ile tell no tales;—but if ever I come to speake once—I say nothing.
Ele. Oh that I could not breath! how can I have A Joy in life whose honour's in the Grave!
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 3.)
Enter Pike with his sword in his hand, a Cloake in his Arme.
Pike. The freshnes of this Ayre does well after the saltnes of the Sea. A pleasant Country, too, to looke upon, & would serve well to live upon if a man had it & knew how to place it out of this hott Clymate! I would I had a matter, or a Mannour, indeede, of a 1,000 acres of these woodlands & roome to sett it in Devonshire; I would compare with any prince betweene Tavistoke & Parradice for an Orchard. But I could wish I were not alone here in this Conceit, dreaming of Golden Apples, least they prove bitter fruite. Whether are our land soldiers straggeld, troe? I would faine sett eye on some of them; Ile venture a little farther; Devonshire Dick was never afraid yet.—How now, my hearts? upon a retreat so soone?
Enter Three Soldiers.
1. I, to the shipps; we have our loades here of the best merchandise we can find in this Quarter.
2. Will you taste a Lymon? excellent good to coole you.
Pike. They are goodly ones; where gott you them?
3. A little above here in an Orchard, where we left some of our Company.
Pike. But may one goe safe, without danger?
1. As safely as ever you gatherd nutts in England; the Spaniards are all fled.
2. Not soe much as the leg of a Spanyard left to squayle at their owne appletrees. [Exeunt Soldiers.
Pike. Ile have a pull at these pomcitrons for my noble Captaine; & if I had a Porters basket full of 'em I would count them no burthen in requitall of some part of the love he hath shewen me.
[Exit.
Enter 3 other Soldiers.
1. They cannot be far before us, I am sure.
2. But for the hedge we might descry them within two muskett shott.
3. Pray God the enemy be not within one musket shott of us behind their hedges; for I am sure I saw an Harquebuse whip ore the way before us but even now. Oh, oh!
[Three or 4 shott dischargd, 2 soldiers slaine, the other falls on his belly.
Enter Pike.
Pike. Are you bouncing? Ile no further. Sure these can be no Crowkeepers nor birdscarers from the fruite! what rascalls were my Countrymen to tell me there was no danger!—alas, what's here? 3 of our soldiers slaine! dead, shott through the very bowells! so, is this quite dead too? poore wretches, you have payd for your Capon sauce.
3. Oh, oh!
Pike. Here's some life in yt yet: what cheare? how is't, my heart of gold? speake, man, if thou canst; looke this way; I promise thee 'tis an honest man & a true Englishman that speakes to thee. Thou look'st away as if thou didst not trust me: I prithee speake to me any thing, Ile take thy word & thanke the, too. Alas, I feare he's past it; he strives and cannot speake.—'Tis good to shift this ground; they may be charging more hidden villany while I stand prating heere.—He breathes still; come, thou shalt not stay behind for want of leggs or shoulders to beare thee. If there be surgery in our ships to recover the use of thy tongue, thou mayst one day acknowledge a man & a Christian in honest Dicke of Devonshire. Come along;—nay now I feare my honesty is betrayd;—a horseman proudly mounted makes towards me, and 'tis a Don that thinkes himselfe as brave as St. Jaques. What shall I doe? there is no starting; I must stand th'encounter.—Lye still a while & pray if thou canst, while I doe my best to save my owne & the litle breath thou hast left. But I am in that prevented too: his breath's quite gone allready, and all the Christian duty I have now left for thee is to close thy eyes with a short prayer: mayst thou be in heaven, Amen.—Now Don Diego, & Don Thunderbolt, or Don Divell, I defye thee.
Enter Don John arm'd. Pike drawes & wrapps his Cloake about his arme.
Jo. Oh viliaco, diable, Anglese!
[They fight.
Pike. A pox upon thee, Hispaniola! Nay, if you be no better in the Reare then in the Van I shall make no doubt to vanquish, & vanquash you, too, before we part, my doughty Don Diego. [He hath him downe, & disarmes him.
Jo. Mercy, Englishman, oh spare my life! pardonne moye je vous pre.
Pike. And take your goods? is that your meaning, Don, it shall be so; your horse and weapons I will take, but no pilferage. I am no pocketeer, no diver into slopps: yet you may please to empty them your selfe, good Don, in recompense of the sweet life I give you; you understand me well. This coyne may passe in England: what is your Donship calld, I pray.
Jo. Don John, a knight of Spaine.
Pike. A knight of Spaine! and I a Squire of Tavestock: well, Don John, I am a little in hast & am unmannerly constreynd to leave your Castilian on foote, while my Devonshire worship shall teach your Spanish Jennett an English gallop. A dios, signior.—
Enter 12 musketiers.
Oh what a tyde of fortunes spight am I Now to swim through! beare up yet, Jovyall heart, And while thou knowest heavenly mercy doe not start. Once more let me embrace you, signior.
1. I say he is an Englishman: lett's shoote him.
2. I say the other is a Spanyard & Don John; & we dare not shoote the one for feare of killing th'other.
Jo. Oh hold and spare us both, for we are frends.
1. But by your leave we will part your embraces: so disarme, disarme.
Jo. I thanke you, Countrymen; I hope you'le trust my honour with my armes.
1. Yes, take them signior; but you will yeild the Englishman our prisoner?
Jo. Yes, with a Villaines marke. [He woundes him.
1. A villaines mark, indeed! wound a disarmed souldier!
Jo. He triumphd in the odds he had of me, And he shall know that from the Spanish race Revenge, though nere so bloudy, is not base. Away with him A prisoner into th'Citty!
Pike. Where you please, Although your Law's more merciles then Seas.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 5.)
Enter Don Ferdinando, the Teniente, with attendants; Bustamente brought in with a Guard.
Fer. Francisco Bustamente, late Captaine of the Castle, Stand forth accusd of Treason gainst his Maiesty.
Bust. It is a language I not understand And but that by the rule of loyalty Unto my king and country I am made Attendant to the Law, & in this honourd Presence, the Governour & Teniente, Under whose jurisdiction I hold place, I would not beare nor heare it.
Fer. I'de be glad You could as easily acquitt your selfe Of guilt as stand up in your owne defence; But, Bustamente, when it doth appeare To law & reason, on which law is grounded, Your great offence in daring to betray The Spanish honour unto Infamy, In yeilding up the fort on such slight cause, You can no lesse then yeild yourselfe most guilty.
Bust. Farre be it from your thought, my honourd Lord, To wrest the hazardous fortune of the warre Into the bloudyer censure of the Law. Was it my fault that in the first assault The Canoniers were slayne, whereby our strength, Our mayne offensive strength, was quite defeated And our defensive part so much enfeebled That possibility to subsist was lost, Or by resistance to preserve one life? While there was sparke of hope I did maintayne The fight with fiery resolution And (give me leave to speake it) like a Sodier.
Ten. To my seeming your resolution Was forwardest to yeild then to repell; You had else stood longer out.
Bust. We stood the losse of most of our best men, And of our musketiers no lesse then fifty Fell by the adverse shott; whose bodyes with their armes Were cast by my directions downe a well Because their armes should neyther arme our foes Nor of our losse the sight give them encouragement.
Fer. That pollicy pleades no excuse; you yet Had men enough, had they bene soldiers, Fit for a Leaders Justification. And doe not we know that 6 score at least Of those base Picaros with which you stuff'd The fort, to feed, not fight,—unworthy of The name of Spanyards, much lesse of soldiers— At once ran all away like sheep together, Having but ore the walls descryde th'approach Of th'Enemy? Some of the feare-spurrd villaines Were overturnd by slaughter in their flight, Others were taken & are sure to find Our lawes as sharpe as either Sword or Bullet. For your part, Bustamente, for that you have Done heretofore more for your Countryes love, You shall not doubt of honourable tryall, Which in the Court of warre shalbe determind, At Sherris, whitherward you instantly Shall with a guard be sent.—See't done: away.
Bust. The best of my desire is to obey.
[Exit with a Guard.
Enter Don John, Pike (with his face wounded}, a Guard of musketts.
Fer. Whence is that soldier?
1. Of England.
Jo. Or of hell.
1. It was our chance to come unto the rescue Of this renowned knight, Don John, Who was his prisoner as he now is ours. Some few more of his mates we shott & slew That were (out of their English liquorishness) Bold to robb orchards of forbidden fruite.
2. It was a fine ambition; they would have thought Themselves as famous as their Countryman That putt a girdle[25] round about the world, Could they have said, at their returne to England, Unto their Sons, "Looke Boyes; this fruite your father With his adventurous hands in Spayne did gather."
Fer. 'Tis a goodly fellow.
1. Had you not better have gone home without Lymons to eate Capons with your frends then to stay here without Capons to taste Lymons with us that you call Enemyes?
Pike. I could better fast with a noble Enemy then feast with unworthy frends.
Fer. How came he by these woundes?
Pike. Not by noble Enemyes: this on my face By this proud man, yet not more proud then base; For, when my hands were in a manner bound, I having given him life, he gave this wound.
Fer. 'Twas unadvisd.
Ten. The more unmanly done: And though, Don John, by law y'are not accusd, He being a common Enemy, yet being a man You in humanity are not excusd.
Jo. It was my fury & thirst of revenge.
Fer. Reason & manhood had become you better; Your honour's wounded deeper then his flesh. Yet we must quitt your person & committ The Englishman to prison.
Ten. To prison with him; but let best care be taken For the best surgeons, that his wounds be look'd to.
Pike. Your care is noble, and I yeild best thankes; And 'tis but need, I tell your Seignioryes, For I have one hurt more then you have seene, As basely given & by a baser person: A Flemming seeing me led a prisoner Cryde, "Whither doe you lead that English dog, Kill, kill him!" cryde hee, "he's no Christian;" And ran me in the bodie with his halbert At least four inches deepe.
Fer. Poore man, I pitty thee.—But to the prison with him.
Ten. And let him be carefully lookt to.
[Exeunt omnes.
Actus Tertius.
(SCENE 1.)
Enter Captaine, Hill, Secretary, Jewell.
Cap. Our Generall yet shewd himselfe right noble in offering ransome for poore Captive Pike.
Sec. So largely, too, as he did, Captaine.
Cap. If any reasonable price would have bene accepted it had bene given Mr. Secretary, I assure you.
Jew. I can testify that at our returne, in our Generalls name & my owne, I made the large offer to the Teniente, who will by no meanes render him. Sure they hold him for some great noble purchace.
Sec. A Barronet at least, one of the lusty blood, Captaine.
Cap. Or perhaps, Mr. Secretary, some remarkable Commonwealths man, a pollitician in Government.
Sec. 'Twere a weake state-body that could not spare such members. Alas, poore Pike, I thinke thy pate holds no more pollicy than a Pollax.
Hill. Who is more expert in any quality then he that hath it at his fingers ends; & if he have more pollicy in his braines then dirt under his nayles Ile nere give 2 groates for a Calves head. But without all question he hath done some excellent piece of villany among the Diegoes, or else they take him for a fatter sheep to kill then he is.
Cap. Well, gentlemen, we all can but condole the losse of him; and though all that we all come hither for be not worth him, yet we must be content to leave him. The fleete is ready, the wind faire, and we must expect him no longer.
Hill. He was a true Devonshire blade.
Sec. My Countryman, sir: therefore would I have given the price of a hundred of the best Toledoes rather then heare the misse of him at home complayned by his Wife and Children.
Jew. Your tendernes becomes you, sir, but not the time, which wafts us hence to shun a greater danger.
Exeunt.
(SCENE 2.)
Enter Pike in shackles, nightcap, playsters on his face; a Jaylor.
Pike. The fleete is gone & I have now no hope of liberty; yet I am well refreshd in the care hath bene taken for my cure. But was ever English horse thus Spanish bitted & bossd![26]
Jay. Sir, the care of your keeper, by whom this ease hath been procured, requires remuneration.
Pike. Here's for you, my frend.
Jay. I assure you, the best Surgeons this part of Spaine affoords, through my care taken of you; & you may thanke me.
Pike. What an arrogant rascall's this!—Sir, I thought my thankes herein had chiefly appertaind to the humanity of the Governour, & that your especiall care had bene in providing these necessary shackles to keepe me from running into further danger: these I tooke to be the strong bonds of your frendship.
Jay. Sir, I hope they fitt you as well as if they had bene made for you. Oh, I am so much your servant that I doe wish 'em stronger for your sake.
Pike. 'Tis overwell as it is, sir.
Jay. You are most curteous. [Exit.
Pike. A precious rogue! If the Jaylors be so pregnant what is the hangman, troe? By the time my misery hath brought me to climbe to his acquaintance I shall find a frend to the last gaspe. What's here? a Lady? are the weomen so cruell here to insult ore Captive wretches.
Enter Catelyna & Jaylor.
Cat. Is this the English prisoner?
Jay. Yes, madam.
Cat. Trust me, a goodly person.
Pike. She eyes me wistly; sure she comes not to instruct her selfe in the art of painting by the patternes of my face!
Cat. Sir, shall I speake with you?
Pike. Yes, Lady, so you will not mock mee.
Cat. Indeed I cannot, but must needs acknowledge Myselfe beholding to you.
Pike. This I must beare; I will doe soe & call't my sweet affliction.
Cat. Will you heare me, sir? I am the Lady—
Pike. Yes, I doe heare you say you are the Lady; but let me tell you, madam, that Ladyes, though they should have tenderest sence of honour & all vertuous goodnesse, & so resemble Goddesses as well in soule as feature, doe often prove dissemblers & in their seemely breasts beare cruelty & mischiefe. If you be one of those, oh, be converted; returne from whence you came & know 'tis irreligious, nay divelish to tread & triumph over misery.
Cat. How well he speakes, yet in the sence bewraying A sence distracted: sure his captivity, His wounds, & hard entreaty make him franticke! Pray heare me, sir, & in two words Ile tell you Enough to win beleeife: I am the Lady Of the Knight vanquished by you, Don John.
Pike. Y'have said enough, indeed: pitty of heaven, What new invented cruelty is this! Was't not enough that by his ruthlesse basenes I had these wounds inflicted, but I must Be tortured with his wifes uniust reioycings! 'Twas well his politicke feare, which durst not come To glory in his handy worke himselfe, Could send your priviledg'd Ladyship.
Cat. Indeed, you much mistake me; as I live, As I hope mercy & for after life, I come for nothing but to offer thankes Unto your goodnes, by whose manly temper My lord and husband reassum'd his life; And aske your Christian pardon for the wrong Which by your suffering now pleads him guilty. Good sir, let no mistrust of my iust purpose Crosse your affection: did you know my love To honour and to honest actions, You would not then reiect my gratulations. And since that deeds doe best declare our meaning, I pray accept of this, This money and these clothes and my request Unto your keeper for best meats and wines That are agreable to your health and taste. And, honest frend, thou knowst and darest, I hope, Believe me I will see thee payd for all.
Jay. Yes, my good Lady.—Loe you, sir, you see Still how my care provides your good: you may Suppose the Governours humanity Takes care for you in this, too.
Pike. Excellent Ladye I doe now beleive Virtue and weomen are growne frends againe.
Enter Don John.
Jo. What magicall Illusion's this? 'tis she! Confusion seize your charitable blindnesse! Are you a prison visiter for this, To cherish my dishonour for your merit?
Cat. My lord, I hope my Charity workes for your honour, Releiving him whose mercy spard your life.
Jo. But that I'me subiect to the law & know My blowes are mortall, I would strike thee dead. Ignoble & degenerate from Spanish bloud, Darst thou maintaine this to be charity? Thy strumpett itch & treason to my bed Thou seekst to act in cherishing this villaine.
Cat. Saints be my witnesses you doe me wrong!
Jo. Thou robbst my honour.
Pike. You wound her honour and you robb yourselfe, And me and all good Christians, by this outrage.
Jo. Doe you prate, sir?
Pike. Sir, I may speake; my tongue's unshackled yet, And, were my hands and feete so, on free ground I would mayntayne the honour of this Lady Against an Hoast of such ignoble husbands.
Jo. You are condemnd allready by the Law I make no doubt; and therefore speake your pleasure. —And here come those fore whom my rage is silent.
Enter Ferdinando, Teniente, Guard.
Fer. Deliver up your prisoner to the Teniente. I need not, sir, instruct you in your place To beare him with a guard as is appointed Unto the publicke tryall held at Sherrys.
Ten. It shalbe done.
Fer. How long hath he bene your prisoner?
Jay. 18 days.
Fer. You & the Surgeons out of the Kings pay Ile see dischargd.—You have, according to the Order, Conveyd already Bustamente thither To yeild account for yeilding up the Castle?
Ten. 'Tis done, my Lord.
Fer. Don John, you likewise in his Maiesties name Stand chargd to make your personall appearance To give in evidence against this prisoner.
Jo. I shall be ready there, my Lord.
Pike. To Sherrys? they say the best sackes there. I meane to take one draught of dying comfort.
Cat. I hope you'le not deny my company To waite on you to Sherris?
Jo. No, you shall goe to see your frend there totter.[27]
Pike. I have a suite, my Lord; to see an Englishman, A merchant, prisoner here, before I goe.
Fer. Call him; that done, you know your charge.
[Exit Jaylor.
Ten. And shall performe it.
[Ex. Fer., John, Catalina.
Enter Jaylor & Woodrow.
Pike. Oh, Mr. Woodrow, I must now take leave Of prison fellowship with you. Your fortunes May call you into England, after payment Of some few money debts; but I am calld Unto a further tryall: my debt is life, Which if they take not by extortion, I meane by tortures, I shall gladly pay it.
Wo. I have heard, & thought you by what I had heard Free from feares passion: still continue soe, Depending on heavens mercy.
Pike. You doe instruct me well; but, worthy Countryman, Once more let me give you this to remember, And tis my last request:—that when your better stars Shall guide you into England, youle be pleasd To take my Country Devonshire in your way; Wheir you may find in Taverstoke (whom I left) My wife & children, wretched in my misfortunes. Commend me to them, tell them & my frends That if I be, as I suspect I shalbe, At Sherris putt to death, I dyed a Christian soldier, No way, I hope, offending my iust King Nor my religion, but the Spanish lawes.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 3.)
Enter Don Pedro, reading a Letter, & Manuell.
Man. Dear sir, let me have power to recall Your graver thoughts out of this violent storme Of passion that thus oerwhelmes your mind. Remember what you are, and with what strength, What more then manly strength, you have outworne Dangers of Battaile, when your warlike lookes Have outfac'd horrour.
Pedro. Oh, my son, my son, Horrour it selfe upon the wings of Death, Stretcht to the uttermost expansion Over the wounded body of an Army, Could never carry an aspect like this, This murthering spectacle, this field of paper Stucke all with Basiliskes eyes. Read but this word, 'The ravisht Eleonora!'—does't not seeme Like a full cloud of bloud ready to burst And fall upon our heads?
Man. Indeed you take too deepe a sence of it.
Pedro. What? when I see this meteor hanging ore it? This prodigy in figure of a man, Clad all in flames, with an Inscription Blazing on's head, 'Henrico the Ravisher!'
Man. Good sir, avoid this passion.
Pedro. In battailes I have lost, and seene the falls Of many a right good soldier; but they fell Like blessed grayne that shott up into honour. But in this leud exploit I lose a son And thou a brother, my Emanuell, And our whole house the glory of her name: Her beauteous name that never was distayned, Is by this beastly fact made odious.
Man. I pray, sir, be your selfe and let your Judgement Entertaine reason: From whom came this Letter?
Pedro. From the sad plaintiffe, Eleonora.
Man. Good; And by the common poast: you every weeke Receiving letters from your noble frendes Yet none of their papers can tell any such tidings.
Pedro. All this may be too, sir.
Man. Why is her father silent? has she no kindred, No frend, no gentleman of note, no servant Whom she may trust to bring by word of mouth Her dismall story.
Pedro. No, perhaps she would not Text up his name in proclamations.
Man. Some villaine hath filld up a Cup of poyson T'infect the whole house of the Guzman family; And you are greedyest first to take it downe.
Pedro. That villaine is thy brother.
Man. Were you a stranger Armd in the middle of a great Battalion And thus should dare to taxe him, I would wave My weapon ore my head to waft you forth To single combatt: if you would not come, Had I as many lives as I have hayres,[28] I'de shoot 'em all away to force my passage Through such an hoast untill I met the Traytour To my dear brother.—Pray, doe not thinke so, sir.
Pedro. Not? when it shall be said one of our name (Oh heaven could I but say he were not my son!) Was so dishonorable, So sacrilegious to defile a Temple Of such a beauty & goodnes as she was!
Man. As beauteous is my brother in his soule As she can be.
Pedro. Why dost thou take his part so?
Man. Because no dropp of honour falls from him But I bleed with it. Why doe I take his part? My sight is not so precious as my brother: If there be any goodnes in one man He's Lord of that; his vertues are full seas Which cast up to the shoares of the base world All bodyes throwne into them: he's no drunkard; I thinke he nere swore oath; to him a woman Was worse than any scorpion, till he cast His eye on Eleonora: and therefore, sir, I hope it is not so.
Pedro. Was not she so?
Man. I doe not say, sir, that she was not so, Yet women are strange creatures; but my hope Is that my brother was not so ignoble. Good sir, be not too credulous on a Letter: Who knowes but it was forgd, sent by some foe, As the most vertuous ever have the most? I know my Brother lov'd her honour so As wealth of kingdoms could not him entice To violate it or his faith to her. Perhapps it is some queint devise of theirs To hast your journey homeward out of France, To terminate their long-desired marriage.
Pedro. The language of her letter speakes no such comfort, But I will hasten home; &, for you are So confident as not to thinke his honour Any way toucht, your good hopes be your guide Auspiciously to find it to your wish. Therefore my counsaile is you post before, And, if you find that such a wrong be done, Let such provision instantly be Betwixt you made to hide it from the world By giving her due nuptiall satisfaction, That I may heare no noise of't at my comming. Oh, to preserve the Reputation Of noble ancestry that nere bore stayne, Who would not passe through fire or dive the mayne?
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 4.)
Enter Fernando & Eleonora.
Fer. Cease, Eleonora, cease these needles plaints, Less usefull than thy helpe of hands was at The deed of darkness,—oh, the blackest deed That ever overclouded[29] my felicity! To speake, or weepe thy sorrow, but allayes And quenches anger, which we must now cherish To further iust revenge. How I could wish But to call backe the strength of Twenty yeares!
Ele. That I might be in that unborne againe, sir.
Fer. No, Eleonora, that I were so ennabled With my owne hands to worke out thy wronge Upon that wretch, that villaine, oh, that Ravisher! But, though my hands are palsyed with rage, The Law yet weares a sword in our defence.
Enter Henrico.
Ele. Away, my Lord & Father! see the monster Approaching towards you! who knowes but now He purposeth an assassinate on your life, As he did lately on my Virgin honour?
Fer. Fury, keepe off me!
Hen. What life, what honour meane you? Eleonora, What is the matter? Who hath lost anything?
Ele. Thou impudent as impious, I have lost—
Hen. Doe you call me names?
Ele. The solace of my life, for which—
Hen. A fine new name for a maydenhead!
Ele. May all the curses of all iniured weomen Fall on thy head!
Hen. Would not the curses of all good ones serve? So many might perhaps be borne: but, pray, Tell me what moves you thus? Why stand you soe Aloofe, my Lord? I doe not love to bee Usd like a stranger: welcome's all I looke for.
Fer. What boldnesse beyond madnesse gives him languadge! Nothing but well-bred stuffe! canst see my daughter And not be strooke with horrour of thy shame To th' very heart? Is't not enough, thou Traytour, To my poore Girles dishonour to abuse her, But thou canst yett putt on a divells visour To face thy fact & glory in her woe?
Hen. I would I were acquainted with your honours meaning all this while.
Fer. The forreine Enemy which came to the Citty And twice dancd on the Sea before it, waving Flaggs of defyance & of fury to it, Were nor before nor now this second time So cruell as thou. For when they first were here Now well nigh 40 yeares since, & marched through The very heart of this place, trampled on The bosomes of our stoutest soldiers, The weomen yet were safe, Ladyes were free And that by the especial command Of the then noble Generall: & now being safe From common danger of our enemyes, Thou lyon-like hast broake in on a Lambe And preyd upon her.
Hen. How have I preyd?
Fer. Dost thou delight To heare it named, villaine, th'hast ravisht her.
Hen. I am enough abusd, & now 'tis time To speake a litle for my selfe, my Lord. By all the vowes, the oathes & imprecations That ere were made, studied, or practised, As I have a soule, as she & you have soules, I doe not know, nor can, nor will confesse Any such thing, for all your Circumventions: Ile answer all by Law.
Ele. Oh, my Lord, heare me! By all that's good—
Fer. Peace, Eleonora; I have thought the Course. If you dare justify the accusation You shall to Sherrys, and then before the Judges Plead your owne cause.
Hen. And there Ile answer it.
Fer. There, if you prove the Rape, he shalbe forcd Eyther to satisfy you by marriage Or else to loose his periurd head.
Hen. I am content. And instantly I will away to Sherrys, There to appeale to the high Court of Justice: 'Tis time, I thinke, such slanderous accusations Assayling me; but there I shalbe righted.
Fer. You shall not need to doubt it:—come, Eleonora.
[Exeunt.[30]
Hen. What will become of me in this, I know not: I have a shrewd guese though of the worst. Would one have thought the foolish ape would putt The finger in the eye & tell it daddy! 'Tis a rare guift 'mong many maides of these dayes; If she speed well she'le bring it to a Custome, Make her example followed to the spoyle Of much good sport: but I meane to looke to't. Now, sir, your newes?
Enter Buzzano.
Buz. The most delicious, rare, absolute newes that ere came out of France, sir!
Hen. What's done there? have they forsaken the Divell & all his fashions? banishd their Taylors & Tyrewomen?
Buz. You had a father & a Brother there; & can you first thinke upon the Divell & his Limetwiggs.
Hen. Had, Buzzano? had a father & a Brother there? have I not so, still, Buzzano?
Buz. No, sir, your Elder Brother is—
Hen. What? speake, Buzzano: I imagine, dead.
Buz. Nay, you shall give me something by your leave; you shall pay the poast:—good newes for nothing?
Hen. Here, here, Buzzano; speake quickly, crowne me with the felicity of a younger brother: is he dead, man?
Buz. No, he's come home very well, sir; doe you thinke I goe on dead men's errands.
Hen. Pox on the Buzzard! how he startled my bloud!
Buz. But he is very weary & very pensive, sir; talkes not at all, but calls for his bed;—pray God your Father be not dead!—and desires when you come in to have you his Bedfellow, for he hath private speech with ye.
Hen, Well, sir, you that are so apt to take money for newes, beware how you reflect one word, sillable or thought concerning Eleonora: you knowe what I meane?
Bus. Yes, & meane what you know, sir.
Hen. What's that?
Buz. Ile keepe your Counsaile
Hen. My life goes for it else.
{Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
(SCENE 1.)
Enter Henrico (as newly risen).
Hen. Buzzano! slave! Buzzano!
Enter Buzzano with Cloake & Rapier.
Buz. Signior, what a buzzing you make, as if you were a fly at Bartholomew-tyde at a Butchers stall: doe you think I am deafe?
Hen. No, but blind; do'st sleepe as thou goest?
Buz. No, but I goe as I sleepe, & that's scurvily.
Hen. Call my brother Manuell.
Buz. Brother Manuell!
Hen. How? pray (goodman rascall) how long have he & you bene Brothers?
Buz. I know not; may be ever since we were borne, for your father used to come home to my mother, & why may not I be a chipp of the same blocke out of which you two were cutt? Mothers are sure of their children, but no man is able to sweare who was his father.
Hen. You are very lusty.
Buz. I eate eringoes[31] and potchd eggs last night.
Hen. Goe & call him.
Buz. What?
Hen. You hound, is he up?
Buz. No, he's in Bed, and yet he may be up too; Ile goe see.
Hen. Stay, and speake low.—How now?
[Buz. falls downe.
Buz. I can speake no lower unlesse I creepe into the Cellar.
Hen. I'me glad you are so merry, sir.
Buz. So am I; my heart is a fiddle; the strings are rozend with ioy that my other young Mr. is come home, & my tongue the sticke that makes the fiddle squeake.
Hen. Come hither, leave your fooling & tell me truely: didst sleepe to night or no?
Buz. Sleepe? Not that I remember: Ile sweare (& my eyes should come out as 2 witnesses) that I nere slept worse; for what with ycur Spanish flyes (the pocky, stinging musquitoes) & what with your skip Jacke fleas, the nap of my sleepe was worne off.
Buz. 12 & one? Then was I in my dead sleepe, cursing the fleas.
Hen. Or about one & two.
Buz. That's Three:—Now the Beetle[32] of my head beates it into my memory that as you & your brother Manuell lay in the high Bed, & I trondling[33] underneath, I heard one of you talke most stigmatically in his sleepe—most horriferously.
Hen. Right, now thou com'st to me,—so did I.
Buz. And then once or twice the sleepy voice cryde out, "Oh it was I that murthered him! this hand killd him!"
Hen. Art sure thou heardst this?
Buz. Am I sure these are my eares?
Hen. And dar'st thou sweare thou heardst it?
Buz. Lay downe 20 oathes, and see if Ile not take them.
Hen. And whose voice was it did appeare to thee?
Buz. Whose voice was it? Well said, yong Master! make an asse of your fathers man!
Hen. Come, come, be serious: whose voice?
Buz. Whose voice? why then, if your windpipe were slitt now and opend, there should the voice be found. I durst at midnight be sworne that the Ghost of your voice appeard before me.
Hen. No; me it frighted too; up stood my haire stiffe & on end.
Buz. As a Catts does at sight of a dog.
Hen. A cold sweat pearld in dropps all ore my body; For 'twas my Brothers voice, & were I calld Before a thousand Judges I must sweare It could be no mans els.
Buz. Why, then, I must sweare so, too.
Hen. "Oh it was I that murthered him! this hand killed him!"
[Within, Man] Buzzano!
Hen. He's up.
[Man.] Buzzano!
Buz. I come.
Hen. Helpe to make him ready,[34] but not a word on thy life.
Buz. Mum. [Exit.
Hen. So let it worke; thus far my wheeles goe true. Because a Captaine, leading up his men In the proud van, has honour above them, And they his vassailes; must my elder brother Leave me a slave to the world? & why, forsooth? Because he gott the start in my mother's belly, To be before me there. All younger brothers Must sitt beneath the salt[35] & take what dishes The elder shoves downe to them. I doe not like This kind of service: could I, by this tricke, Of a voice counterfeited & confessing The murther of my father, trusse up this yonker And so make my selfe heire & a yonger brother Of him, 'twere a good dayes worke. Wer't not fine angling? Hold line and hook: Ile puzzle him.
Enter Manuell & Buzzano.
Man. Morrow, brother.
Hen. Oh, good morrow: you have slept soundly.
Man. Travellers that are weary have sleepe led in a string.
Buz. So doe those that are hangd: all that travell & are weary doe not sleepe.
Man. Why, Mr. Buzzano, why?
Buz. Midwives travell at night & are weary with eating groaning pyes[36], & yet sleepe not: shall I hooke you?
Man. Hooke me? what meanst?
Buz. These Taylors are the wittyest knaves that live by bread.
Hen. And why witty, out of your wisdome?
Buz. In old time gentlemen would call to their men & cry, "Come, trusse me": now the word is "Come, hooke me"; for every body now lookes so narrowly to Taylors bills (some for very anger never paying them) that the needle lance knights, in revenge of those prying eyes, put so many hookes & eyes to every hose & dubblet.
Man. Well, sir, Ile not be hookd then now.
Buz. Tis well if you be not. [Exit.
Hen. France is an excellent country.
Man. Oh, a brave one.
Hen. Your Monsieurs gallant sparkes.
Man. Sparkes? oh, sir, all fire, The soule of complement, courtship & fine language; Witty & active; lovers of faire Ladyes, Short naggs & English mastives; proud, fantasticke, Yet such a pride & such fantasticknes, It so becomes them, other Nations (Especially the English) hold themselves No perfect gentlemen till frenchifyed.
Hen. Tush, England breeds more apes than Barbary.— How chance my father came not home with you?
Man. He was too hard tyed by the leg with busines.
Hen. What busines?
Man. Tis but stepping into France. And he perhaps will tell you.
Hen. Perhaps? tis well: What part of France did you leave him in?
Man. What part? why I left him at Nancy in Lorraine. No, no, I lye, now I remember me twas at Chaalons in Burgundy.
Hen. Hoyda, a most loving child That knowes not where he left his father, & yet Comes but now from him! had you left in France Your whore behind you, in your Table bookes You would have sett downe the streets very name, Yes, and the baudy signe, too.
Man. Hum, you say well, sir. Now you are up to th'eares in Baudery, Pray tell me one thing, Brother; (I am sorry To putt forth such a question) but speake truly; Have you not in my fathers absence done A piece of worke (not your best masterpiece) But such an one as on the house of Guzman Will plucke a vengeance, & on the good old man (Our noble father) heape such hills of sorrow To beate him into his grave?
Hen. What's this your foolery?
Man. Pray heaven it prove soe: have not you defac'd That sweet & matchles goodnes, Eleonora, Fernando's daughter?
Hen. How defacd her?
Man. Hearke, sir: playd Tarquin's part and ravisht her.
Hen. 'Tis a lye.
Man. I hope so too.
Hen. What villaine speakes it?
Man. One with so wide a throat, that uttering it 'Twas heard in France; a letter, sir, informed My father so.
Hen. Letter? from whom?
Man. A woman.
Hen. She's a whore.
Man. Twas Eleonora.
Hen. She's, then, a villanous strumpet so to write, And you an asse, a coxcomb to beleeve it.
Man. Nettled? then let me tell you that I feare I shall for ever blush when in my hearing Any names Henrico Guzman for my brother. In right of vertue & a womans honour (This deare wrongd Ladies) I dare call thee Villaine.
Hen. Villaine!
They fight: Enter Ferdinand and attendants.
Fer. Part them, part them!
Hen. Let me see his heart Panting upon my weapons point; then part us. Oh, pray, forbeare the roome.
Fer. Fy, Fy! two Brothers. Two Eaglets of one noble Aery, Pecke out each others eyes!—Welcome from France! How does your honourd father?
Man. Well, my Lord: I left him late in Paris.
Hen. So, so; in Paris! Hath he 3 bodyes? Lorraine, Burgundy, & Paris! My Lord, his Highnes putts into your hand A sword of Justice: draw it forth, I charge you By the oath made to your king, to smite this Traytour, The murtherer of my father!
Man. I?
Hen. Yes, thou: Thou, slave, hast bene his Executioner.
Man. Where? when?
Hen. There, there; in France.
Man. Oh heavenly powers!
Hen. Oh, intollerable villaine! parricide! Monster of mankind! Spaniards shame!
Fer. Pray, heare me: Are you in earnest?
Hen. Earnest?
Fer. Be advisd.
Hen. Lay hold on him, the murtherer of my father: I have armd proofes against him.
Man. An armd devill, And that's thy selfe! Produce thy proofes.
Hen. I will, sir; But I will doe't by law.
Fer. You are up allready Too deepe, I feare, in Law.
Hen. If you can, sett then Your foote upon my head & drowne me, your worst: Let me have Justice here.
Fer. Well, sir, you shall. Manuell, I can no lesse than lay upon you The hand of my authority. In my Caroach[37] You shall with mee to Sherris, 3 leagues off, Where the Lords sitt to-morrow: there you must answer This most unbrotherly accusation.
Man. And prove him a false caytiffe.
Fer. I will be both your guard, sir, and your bayle And make no doubt to free you from this Viper.
Hen. Viper!
Fer. Y'are bound to appeare at Sherris, sir; And you were best not fayle. I have a certaine Daughter there shall meete you. Come.
[Exit Fer., Man., &[38]
Hen. Thither I dare you both, all three.—Buzzano!
Buz. Sir?
Hen. Saddle my Jennet? Ile to Sherris presently.
Buz. And I?
Hen. And you; but I must schoole you, sirra.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 2.)
Enter Pike, shackled, & his Jaylour.
Jay. Boon Coragio, man! how is't?
Pike. Not very well & yet well enough, considering how the cheating dice of the world run.
Jay. I dare not, though I have a care of you, ease you of one Iron unles I desire such Gyves my selfe.
Pike. Las, if they were all knockt off I'me loaden with Gyves, Shackles, and fetters enough for the arrantest theefe that ever lay in my owne country in Newgate.
Jay. Shackles, gyves, and fetters enough! I see none but these at your heeles, which come on without a shoeing horne.
Pike. Yes, at my heart I weare them—a wife & children (my poore Lambes at home); there's a chaine of sighes and sobbes and sorrow, harder then any Iron; and this chaine is so long it reaches from Sherrys to Tavestock in Devonshire.
Jay. That's farre enough in Conscience.
Pike. Could I shake those Chaines off I would cutt Capers: poore Dick Pike would dance though Death pip'd to him; yes, and spitt in your Hangman's face.
Jay. Not too much of that nayther: some 2 dayes hence he will give you a choake peare[39] will spoyle your spitting.
Pike. Pheu!
Jay. For, let me see, to-day is Sunday; to-morrow the Lords sitt, and then I must have a care—a cruell care—to have your leggs handsome and a new cleane ruff band about your necke, of old rusty iron; 'twill purge your choller.
Pike. I, I, let it, let it: Collers, halters, & hangmen are to me bracelets and frendly companions.
[Knocking-within.
Jay. So hasty? stay my leasure.—(Enter 2 fryers) Two fryers come to prepare you. [Exit.
I. Hayle, Countryman! for we, though fryers in Spaine, Were born in Ireland.
Pike. Reverend sir, y'are welcome: Too few such visitants, nay none at all, Have I seen in this damnable Limbo.
2. Brother, take heed; doe not misuse that word Of Limbo.[40]
1. Brother Pike, for so we heare, Men call you, we are come in pure devotion And charity to your soule, being thereto bound By holy orders of our mother Church.
Pike. What to doe, pray, with me?[41]
1. To point with our fingers Out all such rockes, shelves, quicksands, gulfes, & shallowes Lying in the sea through which you are to passe In the most dangerous voyage you ere made: Eyther by our care to sett you safe on land, Or, if you fly from us your heavenly pilotts, Sure to be wrackt for ever.
Pike. What must I doe?
2. Confesse to one of us what rancke and foule impostumes Have bred about your soule.
1. What Leprosies Have run ore all your Conscience.
2. What hott feavers Now shake your peace of mind.
1. For we are come To cure your old Corruptions.
2. We are come To be your true and free Physitians.
1. Without the hope of gold, to give you health.
2. To sett you on your feete on the right way.
1. To Palestine, the New Jerusalem.
2. Say; Will you unlocke the closet of your heart To one of us? chuse which, & be absolvd For all your blacke Crimes on a free confession?
1. To him or me, for you must dye to morrow.
Pike. Welcome! To morrow shall I be in another country, Where are no Examiners, nor Jayles, Nor bolts, nor barres, nor irons. I beseech you Give me a little respite to retire Into the next roome, & I will instantly Returne to give you satisfaction. [Exit.
Ambo. Goe, brother.
1. A goodly man!
2. Well limbd & strong of heart.
1. Now I well view his face did not we two At our last being in Plymouth in disguise, When there the King of England rode about To see the soldiers in their musterings And what their armes were, just before this fleet Sett out, did we not see him there?
2. May be we did; I know not; if he were there 'tis now out of my memory.
Enter Pike.
1. Are you resolvd?
Pike. Yes.
2. To confesse?
Pike. I ha' don't already.
1. To whom?
Pike. To one who is in better place And greater power then you to cure my sicke Infected part, though maladies as infinite As the sea sands, the grassy spears on earth, Or as the dropps of raine & stars in the firmament Stucke on me he can cleare all, cleanse me throughly.
2. You will not then confesse?
Pike. No, I confesse I will not.
1. We are sorry for you; For Countryes sake this Counsaile do I give you: When y'are before the Lords rule well your tongue, Be wary how you answer, least they tripp you; For they know the whole number of your shipps, Burthen, men & munition, as well As you in England.
Pike. I thanke you both.
2. Prepare to dye. [Exeunt Fryers.
Pike. I will so.—Prepare to dye! An excellent bell & it sounds sweetly. He that prepares to dye rigges a goodly ship; he that is well prepard is ready to launch forth; he that prepares well & dyes well, arrives at a happy haven. Prepare to dye! preparation is the sauce, death the meate, my soule & body the guests; & to this feast will I goe, boldly as a man, humbly as a Christian, & bravely as an Englishman. Oh my Children, my Children! my poore Wife & Children!
Enter Jaylour, & 3 Spanish Picaroes chayned.
Jay. Here's a chearefull morning towards, my brave blouds!
1. Yes, Jaylor, if thou wert to be hangd in one of our roomes.
Jay. On, on; the Lords will sitt presently.
2. What's hee?
Jay. An Englishman.
3. A dog!
1. A divell!
2. Let's beate out his braines with our Irons.
Jay. On, on; leave rayling, cursing & lying: had you not run from the Castle the hangman & you had bene "hayle fellow! well met:" On!
All. Crowes pecke thy eyes out, English dog, curre, toad, hell hound! [Exeunt.
Pike. Patience is a good armour, humility a strong headpiece, would I had you all three, I know where.
Enter Bustamente shackled, & Jaylor.
Bust. Whither dost lead me?
Jay. To a roome by your selfe: 'tis my office to have a care of my nurse children.
Bust. I have worne better Spanish gaiters: thus rewarded for my service!
Jay. See, Capt. Bustamente; doe you know this fellow?
Bust. No.
Jay. The Englishman brought prisoner into the Citty, & from thence hither.
Pike. Oh, Captaine, I saw you at the fort performe the part of a man.
Bust. And now thou seest me acting the part of a slave. Farewell, soldier. I did not hate thee at the first, though there we mett enemyes; and if thou & I take our leaves at the Gallowes, prithee letts part friends. [_A Table out, sword & papers[42]
Jay. Come along, you two.
Pike. Hand in hand, if the Captaine please: noble Bustamente, at the winning of the fort we had a brave breakfast.
Bust. True, but I doubt not we shall have worse cheare at dinner.
Jay. When was ever any meat well dressd in the hangmans kitchen!
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 3.)
Enter Fernando, bareheaded, talking with the Duke of Macada; Duke Gyron, Medyna, Marquesse d'Alquevezzas; 2 Gen., one with Pikes sword, which is laid on a table; Jaylour, Teniente; Clarke with papers.
Mac. Where's the Teniente?
Clarke. The Duke calls for you.
Ten. Here, my Lord.
Mac. 'Tis the King's pleasure that those fugitives Which basely left the fort should not be honourd With a judiciall tryall, but presently (Both those you have at home & these in Sherrys) To dye by martiall law.
Ten. My Lord, Ile see it done.
Mac. Dispatch the rest here.
Jay. Yes, my Lord; Ile bring them carefully together to end the busines.
Gyr. Bring Bustamente in. [Exit Jaylour.
Mac. My Lords, here's Don Fernando relates to me Two stories full of wonder; one of his daughter, Fam'd for her vertues, faire Eleonora, Accusing Don Henrico, youngest sonne To noble Pedro Guzman, of a rape; Another of the same Henrico's, charging His elder brother Manuell with the murther Of Pedro Guzman, who went late to France.
Gyr. Are all the parties here?
Fer. Yes. [Exit Fernan.
Enter Jaylour, Bustamente, Guard.
Gyr. Bring them in.
Mac. Bustamente, The King, our master, looking with sharpe eyes, Upon your trayterous yeilding up the fort, Putts off your Tryall here; you must abide Longer imprisonment.
Bust. I have allready quitted My selfe, my lord, of that which you call Treason, Which had in any here (he doing the like) Bene a high point of honour.
Alq. These braves[43] cannot serve you.
Gyr. You must not be your owne Judge.
Mac. You gave the English More glory by your base ignoble rendring That fort up then our Nation gott from them In all our undertakings.
Bust. Heare me, my Lords,
Mac. Sir, sir, w'have other anviles; Bustamente, Prepare your selfe for death.
Bust. For all my service!
All. Take him away!
Bust. You are Lyons & I your prey.
[Exit with Jaylour.
Mac. Which are Don Pedro's sons?
Enter Fernando, Henrico, Manuell.
Fer. These two.
Mac. Which youngest?
Hen. I, my Lord.
Enter Jaylour.
Mac. You charge this Gentleman, your elder brother, With murther of your father.
Hen. Which I can prove.
Mac. And hither flyes a ravisht Ladyes voice To charge you with a Rape; the wronged Daughter Of this most noble Gentleman.
Hen. Let them prove that
Mac. These accusations & the proofes shall meete Here face to face, in th' afternoone. Meantime Pray, Don Fernando, let it be your care To see these gentlemen attended on By a strong guard.
Fer. The wrongs done to my selfe Work me, my lord, to that.
Man. I would your Grace would heare me speake a little.
All. You shall have time.
Med. Take them away, And at their Tryall have the Lady here.
[Ex. Fer., Hen., Man., & Jaylour.
Gyr. Where is the Englishman?
Clarke. The Englishman!
Alq. What do you call him? Dick of Devonshire?
Med. Because he is a soldier let him have A soldier's honour; bring him from his prison Full in the face of the whole Towne of Sherrys, With drums and musketts.
Mac. How many soldiers are in the Towne?
Clarke. 5000.
Med. Let 200 march hither along with him as his guard: where's the Teniente?
Ten. Here, my Lord.
Med. Pray, see this done & in good order.
Ten. I shall. [Exit.
Enter Don John below.
Gyr. What makes Don John here? Oh, now I remember: You come against the Englishman.
Jo. Yes, my Lord.
Enter his Lady and a Gentlewoman above.
Mac. Give me the Note there of the English advertisements.
[They all conferre.
Lady. Here may we see & heare: poore Englishman! Sadnes! I cast on thee a noble pitty, A pitty mixt with sorrow that my Husband Has drawne him to this misery, to whom The soldier gave life being at his mercy.
Gent. Twas bravely done, no doubt he'le speed the better For his mind.
Lady. I visited him in prison, And did with much adoe win from Don John This journey, for I vowd to see th'event How they will deale with him.
Gent. I hope most fairely.
Enter 2 drums, Teniente, divers musketts, Fernando with Pike (without band, an Iron about his necke, 2 Chaines manackling his wrists, a great chaine at his heeles); Jaylour, 3 or 4 halberts. A Barre sett out.
Clarke. Silence!
Mac. You see how much our Spanish soldiers love you To give this brave attendance; though your Nation Fought us & came to hunt us to our deathes.
Pike. My Lords, this, which in shew is brave attendance And love to me, is the worldes posture right, Where one man's falling downe setts up another. My sorrowes are their triumphes; so in kings courts, When officers are thrust out of their roomes, Others leape laughing in while they doe mourne. I am at your mercy.
Mac. Sirra Englishman, Know you that weapon?—reach it him.
Pike. Yes, it Was once mine; and drawes teares from me to think How 'twas forced from me.
Mac. How many Spanyards Killd you with that sword?
Pike. Had I killd one This Barre had nere bene guilty of my pleading Before such Princely Judges: there stands the man.
Gyr. Don John, sett he on you or you on him?
Jo. He upon me first.
Pike. Let me then be torne Into a thousand pieces.
Lady. My Husband speaks untruth.
Alq. Sett he on you first? more coward you to suffer an enemy be aforehand.
Pike. Indeed in England my countrymen are good at bidding stand; but I was not now upon a robbery but a defence, sett round with a thousand dangers. He sett upon me; I had him at my feete, sav'd him, and for my labour was after basely hurt by him.
Fer. This was examined by me, my Lords; And Don John, thus accusd, was much ashamd Of his unmanly dealing.
Gyr. He may be now soe.
Lady. I blush for him my selfe.
Alq. Disgrace to Spanyards!
Mac. Sirra, you English, what was the ship you came in?
Pike. The Convertine.
Mac. What Ordnance did she carry?
Pike. 40 peeces.
Gyr. No, sir, but 38; see here, my Lord.
Alq. Right, no more then 38.
Mac. Your fort at Plymouth strong?
Pike. Yes, very strong.
Mac. What Ordnance in't?
Pike. 50 Peeces.
Gyr. Oh fye, doe not belye your country; there's not so many.
Alq. How many soldiers keepe you in that fort?
Pike. 200.
Mac. Much about such a number.—There is a little iland before Plymouth: What strength is that of?
Pike. I doe not know.
Gyr. We doe, then.
Alq. Is Plymouth a walld Towne?
Pike. Yes, it is walld.
Mac. And a good wall?
Pike. A very good strong wall.
Gyr. True tis a good strong wall, and built so high One with a leape staffe may leape over it.
Mac. Why did not your good navy, being in such bravery, As it tooke Puntall seize Cales?
Pike. Our Generall Might easily have tane it, for he had Almost a thousand scaling ladders to sett up; And without mayme to's army he might loose A thousand men: but he was loath to robb An almes-house when he had a richer market To buy a conquest in.
Mac. What was that market?
Pike. Genoa or Lisbon: wherefore should we venture Our lives to catch the wind, or to gett knockes And nothing else. [They consult.
Mac. A poast with speed, to Lisbon, And see't well mand.
Ten. One shalbe sent, my Lord.
[Exit. The soldiers laugh.
Alq. How now, why is this laughter?
Fer. One of the soldiers, being merry among themselves, is somewhat bold with th'English, and sayes th'are dainty Hennes.
All. [Alq.?] Hens! ha, ha, ha!
Mac. Sirra, view well these soldiers, And freely telle us, thinke you these will prove Such hens as are your English, when next yeare They land in your owne Country.
Pike. I thinke they will not, My lord, prove hens, but somewhat neere to hens.
Mac. How mean'st thou?
Pike. Let my speech breed no offence: I thinke they would prove pulletts.
Gyr. Dar'st thou fight With any one of these our Spanish pulletts?
Pike. What heart have I to fight when tis beaten flatt To earth with sad afflictions? can a prisoner Glory in playing the Fencer? my life's at stake Allready; can I putt it in for more? Our army was some 14000 men Of which more than 12000 had spirits so high Mine never shall come neere them: would some of them Were here to feed your expectations! Yet, silly as I am, having faire pardon From all your Graces and your Greatnesses, Ile try if I have strength in this chayned arme To breake a rapier.
Mac. Knock off all his gyves; And he that has a stomacke for Spaines honour To combate with this Englishman, appeare.
Pike. May he be never calld an Englishman That dares not looke a divell in the face, [One stepps forth. Come he in face of man, come how he can.
Mac. Your name?
Tia. Tiago.
All. Well done Tiago.
Mac. Let drums beate all the time they fight.
Lady. I pray for thee.
Gent. And I.
[They fight: Pike disarmes & tripps him downe.
Pike. Onely a Devonshire hugg, sir:—at your feete I lay my winnings.
Tia. Diable!
[Exit, biting his thumb[44]; the soldiers stampe.
Gyr. Wilt venter on oanother?
Pike. I beseech you To pardon me, and taske me to no more.
Alq. Come, come, one more; looke you, here's a young Cockerell[45] Comes crowing into the pitt. [Another steps in.
All. Prithee, fight with him.
Pike. I'me in the Lyon's gripe & to gett from him There's but one way; that's death.
Mac. English, What say you? will you fight or no?
Pike. Ile fight.
All. Give 'em roome! make way there!
Pike. Ile fight till every Joynt be cutt in pieces To please such brave spectators; yes Ile fight While I can stand, be you but pleasd, my Lords, The noble Dukes here, to allow me choice Of my owne Country weapon.
All. What?
Pike. A Quarter staffe,—this, were the head off.
Mac. Off with the head, and roome! How dost thou like this Spaniard?
Pike. Well: he's welcome. Here's my old trusty frend: are there no more? One! what, but one? why, I shall make no play, No sport before my princely Judges with one. More sackes to the Mill! come, another! what, no more?
Mac. How many wouldst thou have?
Pike. Any number under six.
All. Ha, ha, sure he's mad!
Mac. Dar'st coape with Three?
Pike. Where are they? let 'em shew their faces: so; welcome!
Mac. How dost thou like these chickens?
Pike. When I have drest them With sorrell sopps Ile tell you.
Lady. Now guard him heaven!
[Drums. They fight, one is killd, the other 2 disarmed.
1. Hell take thy Quarter staffe!
2. Pox on thy quarters!
Mac. The matter? why this noyse?
[A noyse within of Diable Englese.
Jay. The soldiers rayle, stampe & stare, and sweare to cutt His throat for all the Jaylors care of him.
Mac. Make proclamation, my lord Fernando, That who soever dares but touch his finger To hurt him, dyes.
Fer. I will, sir. [Exit.
Lady. This is done nobly.
Mac. Here, give him this gold.
Ten. The Duke Macada gives you this gold.
All. And this.
Ten. The Duke of Medina this; Duke Gyron this; &, looke you, the Marquesse Alqueveza as much as all the rest.
Alq. Where's any of my men? give him your Cloake, sirra; Fetch him cleane Band and Cuffs. I embrace thee, Pike; And hugg thee in my armes: scorne not to weare A Spanish livery.
Pike. Oh, my Lord, I am proud of't.
Mac. He shalbe with a Convoy sent to the King.
Alq. 4 of my gentlemen shall along with him: Ile beare thy charges, soldier, to Madrid, 5 peeces of 8 a day in travell, & Lying still thou shalt have halfe that.
Pike. On my knees Your vassaile thankes heaven, you, and these Princes.
Mac. Breake up the Court till afternoon: then the 2 Guzmans tryall.
All. Come, Englishman.
Med. How we honour valour thus our loves epresse: Thou hast a guard of Dukes and Marquesses.
[Exeunt all.
Actus Quintus.
(SCENE 1.)
Enter Teniente & Henrico.
Ten. The Lords are not yett risen: let us walke & talke. Were not you better yeild to marry her Then yeild to suffer death? know you the law?
Hen. Law! yes; the spiders Cobweb[46], out of which great flyes breake and in which the little are hangd: the Tarriers snaphance[47], limetwiggs, weavers shuttle & blankets in which fooles & wrangling coxcombes are tossd. Doe I know't now or not?
Ten. If of the rape she accuse you 'tis in her choise To have you marry her or to have you hangd[48].
Hen. Hangd, hangd by any meanes! marry her? had I The King of Spaines 7 Kingdomes, Gallicia, Navarre, the 2 Castiles, Leon, Arragon, Valentia, Granada, And Portugall to make up 8, Ide lose them All to be rid of such a piece of flesh.
Ten. How? such a piece of flesh? Why, she has limbes Mad out of wax.[49]
Hen. Then have her to some faire And shew her for money.
Ten. Is she not sweet complexiond?
Hen. As most Ladyes are that studye painting.
Ten. What meate will downe your throat, when you scorne pheasant, partridge, woodcocke & coney? Would I had such a dish.
Hen. Woodcocke and coney take to you, my Don Teniente; Ile none; and because you keepe such a wondering why my stomach goes against the wench (albeit I might find better talke, considering what ladder I stand upon) Ile tell you, signior, what kind of wife I must have or none.
Ten. Pray let me see her picture.
Hen. Draw then this curtaine: Give me a wife that's sound of wind and limbe; Whose teeth can tell her age; whose hand nere felt A touch lascivious; whose eyes are balls Not tossd by her to any but to me; Whose breath stinkes not of sweatmeates; whose lippes kisse Onely themselves and mine; whose tongue nere lay At the signe of the Bell. She must not be a scold, No, nor a foole to be in love with Bables[50]; No, nor too wise to think I nere saile true But when she steares the rudder. I'de not have Her belly a drum, such as they weave points on, Unles they be taggd with vertue; nor would I have Her white round breasts 2 sucking bottles to nurse Any Bastards at them.
Ten. I believe you would not.
Hen. I would not have her tall, because I love not To dance about a May pole; nor too lowe (Litle clocks goe seldome true); nor, sir, too fatt (Slug[51] shipps can keepe no pace); no, nor too leane, To read Anatomy lectures ore her Carcas. Nor would I have my wife exceeding faire, For then she's liquorish meate; & it would mad me To see whoremasters teeth water at her, Red haird by no meanes, though she would yeild money To sell her to some Jew for poyson. No, My wife shall be a globe terrestriall, Moving upon no axeltree but mine; Which globe when I turne round, what land soever I touch, my wife is with me, still Ime at home.
Ten. But where will you find such a wife on earth?
Hen. No, such a wife in the Moone for me doth tarry: If none such shine here I with none will marry.
Ten. The Lordes are come.
Hen. I care neyther for Lords nor Ladies.
Enter the Nobles as before; Fernando, Manuell, Clarke, Jaylor.
Mac. Where are these gentlemen? sett 'em both to a Barre And opposite, face to face: a Confrontation May perhaps daunt th'offender & draw from him More then he'de utter. You accuse your Brother As murtherer of your father: where's the proofe?
Hen. First call my fathers man in.
Clark. What's his name?
Hen. Buzzano.
Clark. Call Buzzano in!
Enter Buzzano.
Buz. Here I am, here.
Clark. Stand out: whither goe you?
Buz. To stand out.
Clark. Stand there.
Mac. Now what can he say?
Hen. First, my Lord, heare mee: My brother & I lying in one bed together, And he just under us—
Buz. In my fleabitten Trundle bed.[52]
Clark. Peace, sirra.
Hen. About midnight I awaking, And this Buzzano too, my brother in his sleepe Thus cryde out, "Oh, twas I that murtherd him, This hand that killd him"!
Gyr. Heard you this, sirra?
Buz. As sure as I heare you now.
Alq. And you'le be sworne 'twas he that so cryde out?
Buz. If I were going to be hangd Ide sweare.
Clark. Forbeare the Court. [Exit Buzzano.
Mac. All this is but presumption: if this be all The shott you make against him your bullets stick In a mud wall, or if they meete resistance They backe rebound & fly in your owne face.
Med. Bring your best forces up, for these are weak ones.
Hen. Then here I throw my glove & challenge him To make this good upon him: that at comming home He first told me my father dyed in France, Then some hours after that he was not dead But that he left him in Lorraine at Nancy, Then at Chaalons in Burgundy, & lastly He said to Don Fernando he was in Paris.
Fer. He did indeed.
Mac. What then?
Hen. Then, when in's chamber we were going to bed, He suddenly lookd wild, catchd me by the hand And, falling on his knees, with a pale face And troubled conscience he confessed he killd him, Nay, swore he basely murtherd him.
Mac. What say you to this?
Alq. Now he comes close up to you.
Man. He is my murtherer For I am none, so lett my Innocence guard me. I never spake with a distracted voice; Nere fell to him on my knees; spake of no father, No murtherd father. He's alive as I am, And some foule divell stands at the fellowes elbow, Jogging him to this mischefe. The Villaine belyes me, And on my knees, my lord, I beg that I And my white Innocence may tread the path Beaten out before us by that man, my brother. Command a case of rapiers to be sent for, And lett me meete his daring. I know him valiant; But I am doubly armd, both with a Courage Fiery as his can be, and with a cause That spitts his accusation full in the face.
Mac. The combate in this case cannot be granted, And here's the reason: when a man accuses A frend, much more a brother, for a fact So foule as murther (murther of a father), The Law leapes straight way to the Challenger To take his part. Say he that doth accuse Should be decrepitt, lame and weake, or sickly, The other strong and lusty; thinke you a kingdome Will hazard so a subject, when the quarrell Is for a kingdomes right? If y'are so valiant You then must call the law into the field But not the man.
Man. I have done; let law proceed.
Mac. This cannot serve your turne, say he does belye you; He stakes against your body his owne soule. Say there is no such murther, yet the Law Fastens on you; for any man accusd For killing of his father may be rackd To draw confession from him. Will you confesse?
Man. I cannot, must not, will not.
Mac. Jaylour, take & prepare him for the racke: Wele see it done here.
Hen. You are righteous Judges.
Man. Oh villaine, villaine, villaine!
[Exit with the Jaylour.
Med. Where's the wrongd Lady?
Alq. Stand you still at the Barre. You are now another man, sir; your scale turnes.
Fernando fetches in Eleonora.
Mac. Looke on the prisoner: doe you know him, Lady?
Ele. Would I had nere had cause to say I know him.
Mac. Of what doe you accuse him?
Ele. As the murtherer Both of my name and honour. In the hurry, When the Citty (they said) was ready to be taken, I being betrothed to this young gentleman, My father brought me to his father's house, Telling me their dwelt safety.—There dwelt villany, Treason, lust, basenes! for this godlesse man (The storme being ore) came in & forcd from me The Jewell of my virgin honour.
Hen. False!
Fer. I would not have thee thinke (thou graceles wretch) She, being contracted to thee, loving thee, Loving thee far more dearly then her selfe, Would wound her vertue soe, so blott her fame And bring a scandall on my house & me, Were not the fact most true.
Hen. Most false by all that ever man can sweare by. We falling out, I told her once I nere Would marry her; & soe she workes this mischiefe.
Gyr. You here stand chargd for ravishing her, & you Must marry her or she may have your life.
Mac. Lady, what say you? which had you rather have, His life or him?
Ele. I am not cruell; pay me my first Bond Of marriage, which you seald to, & I free you And shall with Joy run flying to your armes.
All. Law you?[53]
Mac. That's easy enough.
Hen. Rackes, Gibbetts, wheeles make sausages of my flesh first! Ile be ty'd to no man's Strumpet.
Alq. Then you muste look to dye.
Mac. Lady, withdraw.
Hen. Well, if I doe, somebody shall packe.
Ele. Oh me, unfortunate Creature! [Exit.
Enter Manuell to be rackt; Jaylour & Officers.
Med. Don Manuell Guzman ere you taste the tortures, Which you are sure to feele, will you confesse This murther of your father?
Man. Pray, give me privacy a little with my brother.
All. [Alq.?] Take it.
Man. O brother your owne Conscience knowes you wrong me: Ile rather suffer on the Gallow Tree Then thus be torne in pieces. Canst thou see mee Thus worryed amongst hangmen? deare Henrico, For heavens sake, for thine owne sake pitty mee.
All. [Alq.?] What sayes he?
Hen. Cunning, cunning, cunning Traytour! In my eare he confesses all again and prayes me To speake to you.
Mac. Will you openly confesse?
Man. No, no, I cannot. Caytiffe, I spake not soe: I must not wound my Conscience to lay on it A guilt it knowes not. Ile not so dishonour My father, nor my ancestours before me, Nor my posterity with such an earthquake To shake our noble house.
Mac. Give him the Law then.
Man. Ile meete a thousand deaths first.
Hen. Plucke, & plucke home, for he's a murtherous Villaine.
Man. Thou worse, a divell.
Mac. Racke him!
Man. Oh stay! for heavens sake spread your mercy! I doe confesse the murther; I killd my father.
All. Take him off!
Man. This hand stabbd him.
Mac. Where?
Man. Neere St. Germains In Paris, in a darke night, & then I fled.
Mac. Thy owne tongue is thy Judge; take him away: To-morrow looke to dye: send him a Confessour.
Jay. Ile have a holy care of him.
[Exit Manuell, led by the Jaylour.
Hen. Who's now, my lords, the Villaine?
Enter Eleonora & Buzzano.
Ele. Oh Justice, here's a witnesse of my Rape.
Mac. Did you see't, sirra?
Buz. See't! no, sir, would I had; but when she was in labour I heard her cry out "helpe! helpe!" & the Gamboll being ended she came in like a mad woman, ruffled & crumpled, her haire about her eares; & he all unbrac'd, sweating as if he had bene thrashing; & afterwards he told me, my lords, that he had downe diddled her.
Hen. I now am lost indeed, & on my knee Beg pardon of that goodnes, that pure Temple Which my base lust prophand, & will make good My wrongs to her by marriage.
Mac. What say you, Lady?
Ele. He spurnd my mercy when it flew to him And courted him to kisse it; therefore now Ile have his life.
Fer. That life, so had, redeemes Thine & thy fathers infamy. Justice! my Lords.
Hen. Cruell Creature!
Mac. Take him away & lead him to his brother; You both must die next morning.
Hen. I deserve it; And so that Slave, too, that betrayed his Master.
Buz. Why should I not betray my Master, when he betrayed his Mistris.
Ele. Get you gone, sirra.
[Exeunt Henrico & Buzzano.
Mac. You are dismissd: Faire Lady, You shall have Law, your Ravisher shall dye.
Ele. Oh that my life from death could sett him free! [Exit.
Mac. Pray, Don Fernando, follow her & soften Her heart to pitty the poore gentleman: The Crime is not so Capitall.
Fer. Ile doe my best. [Exit.
Mac. That such a noble Spanyard as Don Pedro Should be so cursed in's Children!
Enter Buzzano, Don Pedro, Fernando & Eleonora.
Buz. Hee's come, hee's come, my Lord! Don Pedro Gusman is still alive,—see, see!
Mac. Let us descend to meet a happinesse Crownes all our expectations.
Pedro. Whilst I meet A Thunder strikes me dead. Oh, poore, wrongd Lady, The poyson which the villaine poures on thy honour Runs more into my veines then all the Venome He spitts at me or my deare Boy, his brother. My Lords, your pardon that I am transported With shame & sorrow thus beyond my selfe, Not paying to you my duty.
All. Your love, Don Pedro.
Mac. Conceale your selfe a while; your sons wele send for, And shew them deaths face presently.
Pedro. Ile play a part in't. [Exit.
Mac. Let them be fetcht, & speake not of a father.
Ten. This shall be done. [Exit.
Mac. Is your Compassion, Lady, yet awake? Remember that the scaffold, hangman, sword, And all the Instruments death playes upon, Are hither calld by you; 'tis you may stay them. When at the Barre there stood your Ravisher You would have savd him, then you made your choyce To marry him: will you then kill your husband?
Ele. Why did that husband then rather chuse death Then me to be his bride? is his life mine? Why, then, because the Law makes me his Judge, Ile be, like you, not cruell, but reprieve him; My prisoner shall kisse mercy.
Mac. Y'are a good Lady.
Med. Lady, untill they come, repose your selfe.
[Exit Eleonora.
Mac. How now? so soone come back? why thus returned?
Enter Pike & a Gentleman, with Letters.
Gen. Our Journey to Madrid the Kinge himselfe Cutts off, by these his royall letters sent Upon the wings of speed to all your Graces. He lay one night since at your house, my Lord Where, by your noble Wife, he had a wellcome Fitting his greatnes & your will.
Alq. I'me glad of't.
Mac. The King, our Master, writes heere, Englishman, He has lost a subiect by you; yet referres Himselfe to us about you.
Pike. Againe, I stand heere To lay my own life downe, please his high Maiesty To take it: for what's lost his fate to fall Was fortune de la guerre, & at the feete Of his most royal Maiesty & at yours (My Princely Lords & Judges) low as th'earth I throw my wretched selfe & begg his mercy.
Mac. Stand up; that mercy which you aske is signd By our most royall master.
Pike. My thankes to heaven, him & your Graces.
Mac. The King further writes heere, That though your Nation came in Thunder hither Yet he holds out to you his Enemy 2 friendly proffers: serve him in his dominions Eyther by land or sea, & thou shalt live Upon a golden pension, such a harvest As thou nere reapst in England.
Pike. His kingly favours Swell up in such high heapes above my merit, Could I reare up a thousand lives, they cannot Reach halfe the way. Ime his, to be his Vassaile, His Gally Slave, please you to chaine me to the oare; But, with his highnes pardon & your allowance, I beg one Boone.
All. What is't?
Pike. That I may once more See my owne Country Chimneys cast out smoake. I owe my life and service to the King, (The king of England) let me pay that Bond Of my allegeance; &, that being payd, There is another obligation, One to a woefull Wife & wretched Children Made wretched by my misery. I therefore beg, Intreat, emplore, submissively hold up my hands To have his Kingly pitty & yours to lett me goe.
All. [Alq.?] Let him ene goe.
Mac. Well, since we cannot win you to our service, We will not weane you from your Countryes love. The king, our lord, commands us here to give you A hundred pistoletts to beare you home.
Pike. A royall bounty, which my memory Shall never loose; no, nor these noble favours Which from the Lady Marquesse Alquevezze Raynd plenteously on me.
Alq. What did she to thee?
Gyr. How did she entertaine thee?
Pike. Rarely; it is a brave, bounteous, munificent, magnificent Marquezza! the great Turke cannot tast better meat then I have eaten at this ladies Table.
Alq. So, so.
Pike. And for a lodging, if the curtaines about my bed had bene cutt of Sunbeames, I could not lye in a more glorious Chamber.
Mac. You have something, then, to speake of our weomen when y'are in England.
Pike. This Box, with a gold chaine in't for my Wife & some pretty things for my Children, given me by your honourd Lady would else cry out on me. There's a Spanish shirt, richly lacd & seemd, her guift too; & whosoever layes a foul hand upon her linnen in scorne of her bounty, were as good flea[54] the Divells skin over his eares.
Mac. Well said: in England thou wilt drinke her health?
Pike. Were it a glasse as deepe to the bottome as a Spanish pike is long, an Englishman shall doe't. Her health, & Don Johns wives too.
Enter Jaylor.
Jay. The Prisoners are upon comming.
Mac. Stand by, Englishman.
Enter Teniente, Henrico, Manuell, Pedro (as a fryer); at another dore Eleonora.
Mac. Give the Lady roome there!
Clark. Peace!
Mac. Your facts are both so foule your hated lives Cannot be too soone shortned; therefore these Lords Hold it not fitt to lend you breath till morning, But now to cutt you off.
Both. The stroke is welcome.
Pedro. Shall I prepare you?
Hen. Save your paynes, good father.
Man. We have allready cast up our accounts And sent, we hope, our debts up into heaven.
Fer. Our sorrowes & our sighes fly after them.
Ped. Then your confession of the murther stands As you your selfe did sett it downe?
Man. It does; But on my knees I beg this marginall note May sticke upon the paper; that no guilt, But feare of Tortures frighted me to take That horrid sin upon me. I am as innocent And free as are the starres from plotting treason Gainst their first mover.
Pedro. I was then in France When of your fathers murther the report Did fill all Paris.
Man. Such a reverend habit Should not give harbour to so blacke a falshood.
Hen. Tis blacke, & of my dying; for 'twas I To cheate my brother of my fathers lands, Layd this most hellish plott.
Fer. 3[55] hellish sins, Robbery, Rape & Murther.
Hen. I'me guilty of all Three; his soul's as white And cleare from murther as this holy man From killing mee.
Pedro. No [know], there's a thing about me Shall strike thee into dust & make thy tongue With trembling to proclayme thyselfe a Villaine More then thou yet hast done:—See, tis my Eye.
Hen. Oh, I am confounded! [Falls.
Man. But I comforted With the most heavenly apparition Of my deare honourd father.
Fer. Take thou comfort By two more apparitions, of a father And a lost daughter, yet heere found for thee.
Man. Oh, noble sir, I pray forgive my brother.
Ele. See, sir, I doe; & with my hand reach to him My heart to give him new life.
Fer. Rise, my Henrico!
Mac. Rise & receive a noble minded wife Worth troupes of other weomen.
Hen. Shame leaves me speechles.
Pedro. Gett thee a tongue againe, & pray, & mend.
Mac. Letters shall forthwith fly into Madrid To tell the King the storyes of Two Brothers, Worthy the Courtiers reading. Lovers, take hands: Hymen & gentle faeryes strew your way: Our Sessions turnes into a Bridall day.
All. Fare thee well, Englishman.
Pike. I will ring peales of prayers of you all, My Lords & noble Dons.
Mac. Doe soe, if thou hast iust cause: howsoever, When thy swift ship cutts through the curled mayne, Dance to see England, yet speake well of Spayne.
Pike. I shall.—Where must I leave my pistoletts?
Gent. Follow mee.
[Exeunt Omnes.
FINIS.
The authorship of this anonymous play, now printed for the first time (from Eg. MS. 1994), is not difficult to discover. Any one who has had the patience to read the Plays of Henry Glapthorne cannot fail to be amused by the bland persistence with which certain passages are reproduced in one play after another. Glapthorne's stock of fancies was not very extensive, but he puts himself to considerable pains to make the most of them. In The Lady Mother we find the same ornaments spread out before us, many of them very tawdry at their best. Glapthorne's editor has striven to show that the weak-kneed playwright was a fellow-pupil of John Milton's at St. Paul's. One cannot think of the two names together without calling to mind the "lean and flashy songs" and "scrannel pipes of wretched straw" in Lycidas.
Yet Glapthorne was a man of some parts. He had little enough dramatic power, but he writes occasionally with tenderness and feeling. In his poetical garden rank weeds choke up the flower-beds; but still, if we have patience to pursue the quest, we may pick here and there a musk-rose or a violet that retains its fragrance. He seems to have taken Shirley as his master; but desire in the pupil's case outran performance. It is, indeed, a pitiful fall from the Grateful Servant, a honey-sweet old play, fresh as an idyl of Theocritus, to the paltry faded graces of the Lady's Privilege.
A note at the end of The Lady Mother in the hand-writing of William Blagrave, acting for the Master of the Revels, shows that the play was licensed in October, 1635. From a passage in II., 1, it would seem to have been produced at the Salisbury Court Theatre in Whitefriars. In the same year Glapthorne's comedy of the Hollander, according to the title-page, was being acted at the Cockpit, Drury Lane. His other pieces were produced rather later. I am inclined to think that The Lady Mother, in spite of the wild improbability of the plot and the poorness of much of the comic parts, is our author's best work. In such lines as the following (IV., 1) there is a little flickering of pathos:—
"Enough, good friend; no more. Had a rude Scythian, ignorant of tears, Unless the wind enforced them from his eyes, Heard this relation, sure he would have wept; And yet I cannot. I have lost all sense Of pitty with my womanhood, and now That once essentiall Mistress of my soule, Warme charity, no more inflames my brest Then does the glowewormes uneffectuall fire The ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desist The agravation of your sad report; [Weepe. Ive to much griefe already."
The "glowewormes uneffectuall fire" is of course pilfered from Hamlet, but it is happily introduced. There is some humour in the scene (I., 2) where the old buck, Sir Geoffrey, who is studying a compliment to his mistress while his hair is being trimmed by his servant before the glass, puts by the importunity of his scatter-brain'd nephew and the blustering captain, who vainly endeavour to bring him to the point and make him disburse. On the whole I am confident that The Lady Mother will be found less tedious than any other of Glapthorne's pieces.
p>
Vand. 'Tis my purpose.
Bar. In this disgrace I have one foote on his neck; Ere long Ile set the other on his head And sinck him to the Center.
Leid. Looke to the dores there.
[Exeunt.
SCAENA 3.
Enter[150] Pr. of Orange, Gra: William, Collonells & Captaines.
Or. I, now methincks I feele the happynes Of being sproong from such a noble father, That sacrifizd his honour, life and fortune For his lov'd Cuntry. Now the blood and kindred Of Horne and Egmont (Memories great Martires), That must outlive all Alva's Tirranies And when their Stories told ev'n shake his ashes, Methincks through theis vaines now, now at this instant, I feele their Cuntries losse; I feele[151] too—
Will. All feele sencibly, And every noble hart laments their miseries, And every eie, that labours not with mallice, Sees your great services and through what dangers You have raisd those noble speritts monuments.
Or. What I have don I look not back to magnifie; My Cuntry calld me to it. What I shall yet doe, With all the industrie and strength I have lent me And grace of heaven to guid, so it but satisfie The expectation of the State commaunds me And in my Cuntries eye appeere but lovely, I shall sitt downe, though old and bruizd yet happie; Nor can the bitter and bold tounge of mallice, That never yet spoke well of faire deservings, With all hir course aspersions floong upon me Make me forsake my dutie, touch or shake me Or gaine so much upon me as an anger, Whilst here I hold me loyall. Yet believe, Gentlemen, Theis wrongs are neither few nor slight, nor followed By liberall tongues provokd by want or wine, For such were to be smild at and so slighted, But by those men, and shot so neer mine honour I feare my person too; but, so the State suffer not, I am as easie to forget.
Will. Too easie; And that feeds up their mallice to a Monster. You are the arme oth' war, the Soldiers sperit; The other but dead stories, you the dooer.
Col. It stands not with the honour you have won, Sir, Still built upon and betterd.
Or. No more, good Collonell.
Col. The love the Soldier beares you to give way thus! To have your actions consturd, scornd and scoffd at By such malignant soules! you are yourself, Sir, And master of more mindes that love and honour ye.[152]
Will. Yf you would see it; but take through the mallice The evill intended now, now bent upon ye.
Or. I pray ye, no more; as you love me, no more. Stupid I never was nor so secure yet To lead my patience to mine owne betraying: I shall find time and riper cause.— [Guard at dore. Now, frends, Are my Lords the States set yet.
1 Gu. An houre agoe, Sir.
Or. Beshrew ye, Gentlemen, you have made me tardy: Open the dore,
1 Gu. I beseech your Grace to pardon me.[153]
Or. Do'st thou know who I am?
1 Gu. Yes, Sir, and honour you.
Or. Why do'st thou keep the dore fast then?
Will. Thou fellow, Thou sawcy fellow, and you that stand by gaping! Is the Prince of no more value, no more respect Then like a Page?
2 Gu. We beseech your Excellencies To pardon us; our duties are not wanting, Nor dare we entertaine a thought to crosse ye: We are placed here on Commaund.
Or. To keepe me out? Have I lost my place in Councell? are my services Growne to so poore regards, my worth so bankrupt? Or am I tainted with dishonest actions, That I am held unfitt my Cuntries busines? Who placd ye here?
1 Gu. The body of the Councell; And we beseech your Grace make it not our syn: They gave us strict commaund to stop your passage.
Or. 'Twas frendly don and like my noble masters.
Will. Deny you place? make good the dore against ye? This is unsufferable, most unsufferable.
Or. Now I begin to feele those doubts; I feare still—
Col. So far to dare provoke ye! 'tis too monstrous; And you forget your self, your birth, your honour, The name of Soldier if you suffer this, Suffer from these, these things, these—pox upon't!— These molds of men made noble by your services, Your daylie sweatts.
1 Cap. It must not be endured thus, The wrong extends to us, we feele it severally.
2 Cap. Your sweet humillitie has made 'em scorne ye And us, and all the world that serve their uses; And stick themselves up teachers, masters, princes, Allmost new gods too, founders of new faithes. —Weell force your way.
Col. Let's see then who dare stop ye.
Gu. Not we, I am sure.
Col. Let's see who dare denie ye Your place and right of councell.
Or. Stay, I commaund ye; He that puts forward first to this wild action Has lost my love and is becom mine Enemy, My mortall enemie. Put up your weapons, You draw 'em against order, duty, faith; And let me die ere render such examples. The men you make so meane, so slight account of, And in your angers prise, not in your honours, Are Princes, powerfull Princes, mightie Princes; That daylie feed more men of your great fashion And noble ranck, pay and maintaine their fortunes, Then any monarch Europe has: and for this bountie, If ye consider truly, Gentlemen, And honestly, with thankfull harts remember, You are to pay them back againe your service: They are your masters, your best masters, noblest, Those that protect your states, hold up your fortunes; And for this good you are to sacrifize Your thancks and duties, not your threats and angers. I and all Soldiers els that strike with their armes, And draw from them the meanes of life and honour, Are doble tyde in faith to observe their pleasures.
Col. A Prince of rare humanitie and temper. Sir, as you teach us armes, you man our minds, too, With civill precepts, making us true Soldiers, Then worthie to receive a trust from others When we stand masters of our owne discretions.
Enter Barnavelt, Modesbargen, Leidenberch, Grotius Bredero, Vandort & Hogerbeets.
Will. Your good and great example tyes us all, Sir.
Cap. The Councell's broken up.
Or. My noble Lords, Let it not seeme displeasing to your wisdomes, I humbly ask in what I have offended, Or how suspected stand, or with what cryme blotted, That this day from your fellowship, your councell, My Cuntries care and where I owe most service, Like a man perishd in his worth I am exilde.
Bar. Your Grace must know we cannot wait attendaunce, Which happely you looke for.
Or. Wayt, my lords!
Bar. Nor what we shall designe for the States comfort Stay your deliberate crosses. We know you are able, And every way a wise Prince fitt for counsell; But I must tell ye, Sir, and tell ye truly, The Soldier has so blowne ye up, so swelld ye And those few services you call your owne, That now our commendations are too light gales, Too slacke and emptie windes, to move your worthes; And trumpets of your owne tongue and the Soldiers Now onely fill your sailes.
Bre. Be not so bitter.
Bar. We mix with quiet speritts, staid and temperate, And those that levell at not great but good ends Dare hold us their Companions, not their Servants, And in that ranck be ready to supply us. Your Grace is growne too haughtie.
Leid. Might it please you But thinck, Sir, of our honest services (I dare not terme them equall) and but waigh well, In which I know your Grace a perfect master, Your judgment excellent, and then but tell us And truly (which I know your goodnes will doe) Why should we seeme so poore, so undertrodden, And though not trusted with the State and Councell, Why so unable vallued. Pardon, great Sir, If those complaine who feele the waight of envy, If such poore trod on wormes make show to turne againe. Nor is it we that feele, I hope, nor you, Sir, That gives the cullour of this difference: Rumour has many tongues but few speak truth: We feele not onely,—if we did 'twere happie— Our Cuntry, Sir, our Cuntrie beares the blow too; But you were ever noble.
Or. Good my Lords, Let it be free your Servant, chargd in mallice, If not fling of his crymes, at least excuse 'em To you my great correcter. Would to heaven, Sir, That syn of pride and insolence you speake of, That pufft up greatnes blowne from others follyes Were not too neere akin to your great Lordship And lay not in your bosom, your most deere one. You taint me, Sir, with syns concerne my manners,— If I have such Ile studdy to correct 'em; But, should I taint you, I should charge ye deeper: The cure of those would make ye shrinck and shake, too, —Shake of your head.
Bar. You are too weak ith' hams, Sir.
Or. Who raisd these new religious forces, Sir, And by what warrant? what assignement had ye From the States generall? who blew new fires? Even fires of fowle rebellion, I must tell ye; The bellowes to it, Religion. You were lov'd yet But for your ends,—through all the Townes, the Garrisons, To fright the union of the State, to shake it. What syns are theis? You may smile with much comfort, And they that see ye and not looke closely to ye May crye too er't be long.
Bar. Your Grace has leave, Sir, And tis right good it be soe.—Follow me home, And there Ile give ye new directions How to proceed, and sodainely.
Leid. " We are yours, Sir. Mod. " [Exeunt Bar., Leid., Mod.
Or. My lords, to what a monster this man's grown You may (if not abusd with dull securitie) See plaine as day.
Bre. We doe not like his carriage.
Van. He do's all, speakes all, all disposes.
Or. Spoiles all. He that dare live to see him work his ends out Uncrossd and unprevented, that wretched man Dare live to see his Cuntry shrinck before him. Consider my best lords, my noblest masters, How most, most fitt, how just and necessary A sodaine and a strong prevention.
Bre. We all conceave your Grace and all look through him And find him what we feare not yet but grieve at. You shall have new Commission from us all To take in all those Townes he has thrust his men in: When you have that, proceed as likes your Excellence.
Or. Your lordships true friend and most obedient Servant.
Van. Come to the present busines then.
Or. We attend you.
[Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
SCAENA PRIMA.
Enter Barnavelt, Leidenberch, Modesbargen.
Bar. I have with danger venturd thus far to you That you might know by me our plot's discoverd. But let not that discourage you: though Van Dort And Bredero, with others, have assented To force this Towne, stand you still on your Guard, And on my reputation rest assured With violence they never dare attempt you; For that would give the world to understand Th'united Provinces, that by their concord So long have held out 'gainst th'opposition Of all Spaines Governours, their plotts and armyes, Make way to their most certaine ruyn by A Civill warre.
Leid. This cannot be denide.
Bar. And so at any time we may make our peace, Returning to our first obedience Upon what termes we please.
Mod. That is not certaine; For, should we tempt them once to bring their forces Against the Towne and find we give it up For want of strength to keepe it, the Conditions To which we must subscribe are in their will And not our choice or pleasure.
Bar. You are governd More by your feare then reason.
Mod. May it prove soe: That way I would be guiltie.
Bar. How appeere The new raisd Companies?
Leid. They stand full and faithfull; And for the Burgers, they are well affected To our designes. The Arminians play their parts too, And thunder in their meetings hell and dampnation To such as hold against us.
Bar. 'Tis well orderd: But have you tride by any meanes (it skills not How much you promise) to wyn the old Soldiers (The English Companies, in chief, I ayme at) To stand firme for us?
Leid. We have to that purpose Imploid Rock-Giles, with some choice Burgers els That are most popular to the Officers That doe commaund here in the Collonells absence. We expect them every mynitt. Yf your Lordship (For 'tis not fitt, I think, you should be seene) Will please to stand aside (yet you shalbe Within the hearing of our Conference) You shall perceive we will imploy all arts To make them ours.
Mod. They are come.
Bar. Be earnest with them.
Enter Rock-Giles, 2 Burgers, Captaines, Leuitenant.
R: Giles. With much adoe I have brought 'em: the prowde Shellains[154] Are paid too well, and that makes them forget We are their Masters.
1 Burg. But when we tooke them on, Famishd allmost for want of entertainement, Then they cryde out they would do any thing We would commaund them.
1 Cap. And so we say still, Provided it be honest.
Giles. Is it fitt That mercenary Soldiers, that for pay Give up their liberties and are sworne t'expose Their lyves and fortunes to all dangers, should Capitulate with their Lords?
1 Burg. Prescribing when They are pleasd to be commaunded and for what.
Giles. Answeare to this.
Leuit. You know our resolutions, And therefore, Captaine, speak for all.
1 Cap. I will, And doe it boldly: We were entertaind To serve the generall States and not one Province; To fight as often as the Prince of Orange Shall lead us forth, and not to stand against him; To guard this Cuntrie, not to ruyn it; To beat of foreigne Enemies, not to cherish Domestique factions. And where you upbraid us With the poore means we have to feed, not cloath us, Forgetting at how deere a rate we buy The triffles we have from you, thus I answeare:— Noe Cuntrie ere made a defensive war And gaind by it but you. What privat Gentleman That onely trailes a pike, that comes from England Or Fraunce, but brings gold with him which he leaves here And so enriches you? Where such as serve The Polander, Bohemian, Dane, or Turck, Though they come almost naked to their Collours, Besides their pay (which they contempne) the spoiles Of armyes overthrowne, of Citties sackd, Depopulations of wealthie Cuntries, If he survive the uncertaine chaunce of war, Returne him home to end his age in plenty Of wealth and honours.
Bar. This is shrewdly urgd.
1 Cap. Where we, poore wretches, covetous of fame onely, Come hether but as to a Schoole of war To learne to struggle against cold and hunger, And with unwearied steps to overcome A tedious march when the hot Lyons breath Burnes up the feilds; the glory that we ayme at Being our obedience to such as doe Commaund in cheif; to keepe our rancks, to fly More then the death all mutenies and rebellions. And would you then, whose wisdomes should correct Such follies in us, rob us of that litle, That litle honour that rewards our service, To bring our necks to the Hangmans Sword or Halter, Or (should we scape) to brand our foreheads with The name of Rebells?
Giles. I am put to a non plus:— Speake mine Here Secretarie.
Leid. I have heard So much deliverd by you and so well, Your actions, too, at all parts answearing What you have spoken, that I must acknowledge We all stand far indebted to your service: And therefore, as unto the worthiest, The faithfullest and strongest that protect Us and our Cuntries, we now seek to you, And would not but such men should be remembred As principall assistants in the Care Of a disease which now the State lyes sick of. I know you love the valiant Prince, and yet You must graunt him a Servant to the States As you are, Gentlemen, and therefore will not Defend that in him which you would not cherish In cold blood in your selves; for should he be Disloyall—
Leuit. He disloyall! 'tis a language I will not heare.
2 Cap. Such a suspition of him Is one that wore a Sword deserv'd the lye.
1 Cap. We know your oild tongue; and your rethorique Will hardly work on us that are acquainted With what faire language your ill purposes Are ever cloathd, nor ever wilbe won To undervalue him whose least fam'd service Scornes to be put in ballance with the best Of all your Counsailes; and for his faith, O heaven! It do's as far transcend yours in your praires As light do's darkness.
Leid. I perceive 'tis true That such as flatter Servants make them prowd. Wee'll use a rougher way, and here commaund you To leave the Towne, and sodainely, if you wish not To be forced hence.
1 Cap. Your new raisd Companies Of such as never saw the Enemie Can hardly make that good: we were placed here By the allowaunce of the generall States And of the Prince to keep it to their use.
Leuit. And we will doe it.
1 Cap. And while there is Lead Upon a house, or any Soldier master But of a doyt: when that is gon, expect That we will make you sport, or leave our lives To witness we were faithfull.—Come, Lieutenant, Let us draw up the Companies; and then Charge on us when you please. [Exeunt.
Mod. This I foresaw.
Bar. Oh, I am lost with anger! are we falne So lowe from what we were, that we dare heare This from our Servants and not punish it? Where is the terrour of our names, our powre That Spaine with feare hath felt in both his Indies? We are lost for ever, and from freemen growne Slaves so contemptible as no worthie Prince, That would have men, not sluggish Beasts, his Servants, Would ere vouchsafe the owning. Now, my frends, I call not on your furtherance to preserve The lustre of my actions; let me with them Be nere remembred, so this government Your wives, your lives and liberties be safe: And therefore, as you would be what you are, Freemen and masters of what yet is yours, Rise up against this Tirant, and defend With rigour what too gentle lenitie Hath almost lost.
Leid. Ile to the new raisd Soldiers And make them firme.
Giles. Ile muster up the Burgers And make them stand upon their guard.
Mod. For me Ile not be wanting.
Bar. Ile back to the Hage And something there Ile doe that shall divert The torrent that swells towards us, or sinck in it; And let this Prince of Orange seat him sure, Or he shall fall when he is most secure.
[Exeunt.
SCAENA 2.
Enter Holderus, Dutch-woemen and an English Gentlew.
1 D. W. Here come the Sisters: that's an English Gentlewoman, Let's pray for hir Conversion.
2 D. W. You are wellcom, Lady, And your comming over hether is most happy; For here you may behold the generall freedom We live and traffique in, the ioy of woemen. No emperious Spanish eye governes our actions, Nor Italian jealouzie locks up our meetings: We are ourselves our owne disposers, masters; And those that you call husbands are our Servants.
3 D. W. Your owne Cuntry breedes ye hansom, maintaines ye brave, But with a stubborne hand the husbands awe ye: You speake but what they please, looke where they point ye, And though ye have some libertie 'tis lymitted.
4 D. W. Which cursse you must shake of. To live is nothing; To live admird and lookd at,—poore deservings But to live soe, so free you may commaund, Lady, Compell, and there raigne Soveraigne.
1 D. W. Do you thinck there's any thing Our husbands labour for, and not for our ends? Are we shut out of Counsailes, privacies, And onely lymitted our household busines? No, certaine, Lady; we pertake with all, Or our good men pertake no rest. Why this man Works theis or theis waies, with or against the State, We know and give allowaunces.
2 D. W. Why such a Gentleman, Thus hansom and thus yong, commaunds such a quarter; Where theis faire Ladies lye; why the Grave's angry And Mounseiur Barnavelt now discontent,— Do you thinck it's fitt we should be ignorant?
2 D. W. Or why there's sprung up now a new devotion? Good Gentlewoman, no. Do you see this fellow? He is a Scholler and a parlous Scholler, Or whether he be a Scholler or no 'tis not a doy't matter: He's a fine talker and a zealous talker; We can make him thinck what we list, say what we list, Print what we list and whom we list abuse in't.
Eng.-gentw. And a Teacher do you say?
2 D. W. A singuler teacher, For so we hold such here.
Eng.-gentw. Doe they use no modestie Upon my life, some of theis new Arminians, Theis hissing tosts!
Hold. An ignorant strange woman, Whose faith is onely tride by a Coach and foure horses.
3 D. W. Come, you must be as we are and the rest of your Countrywomen; You doe not know the sweet on't.
Eng.-gentw. Indeed, nor will not; Our Cuntry brings us up to faire Obedience To know our husbands for our Governours, So to obey and serve 'em: two heads make monsters; Nor Dare we thinck of what is don above us, Nor talk of Graves.
Hold. The Grave shall smart for 't shortly; Goe you and tell him soe, gooddy English woman: You have long tayles and long tongues, but we shall clip 'em.
Enter Vandermitten.[155]
I D. W. How now? what haste?
Vand. The Prince is drawing up to us And has disarmd all the strong Townes about us Of our new Soldiers; the English now stand only And the old Companies.
Eng.-gentw. Now your wisdomes, Ladies, Your learning also, Sir, your learned prating— You that dare prick your eares up at great Princes And doble charge your tongue with new opinions,— What can you doe? or can theis holly woemen That you have arm'd against obedience And made contempners of the fooles their husbands, Examiners of State,—can they doe any thing? Can they defy the Prince?
Hold. They shall defie him, And to his face: why doe not ye raise the Burgers And draw up the new Companies?
Enter Leidenberge?[156]
Leid. Away, good women! This is no sport for you: goe, cheere your husbands And bid 'em stand now bravely for their liberties. Arnam and Roterdam and all about us Have yeilded him obedience; all the new Companies Purgd and disarmd. Goe you; talke to the Arminians, And raise their harts. Good Ladies, no more Councells: This is no time to puppet in.
1 D. W. We are gon, Sir,
2 D. W. And will so coniure up our lazie husbands.
Eng.-gentw. And coniure wisely, too; the devill will faile else. [Exeunt Women.
Leid. What's she?
Vand. An English woman.
Leid. Would they were all shipt well To th' other part oth' world. Theis stubborne English We onely feare.
Vand. We are strong enough to curb 'em.
Leid. But we have turnop hearts.
Enter a Messenger.
Now what's the next newes?
Mess.[157] The Prince is at the Barriers, and desires his entraunce
Leid. He must not enter:—what Company is with him?
Mess. But few, and those unarmd too: about some twentie.
Leid. And what behind?
Mess. We can discover none.
Leid. Let's goe and view: Brothers, be strong and valiant; We have lost the Towne els and our freedoms with it. [Exeunt.
