William Carew Hazlitt

Enter Philocles, and Clerimont at the window.

Cler. See, Philocles, yonder's that happy shade,
That often veils the fair LeucothoË,
And this her usual hour; she'll not be long:
Then thou shalt tell me if so rare an object
E'er bless'd thine eyes before.

Phil. Well, I would see her once,
Were't but to try thy judgment, Clerimont.

Cler. And when thou dost, remember what I told thee,
I would not be so sick;[421] but soft, look to thy heart,
Yonder she comes, and that's her waiting-woman.
[LeucothoË and Psectas in the garden.

Now gaze thy fill; speak, man, how lik'st thou her?

Leu. Psectas!

Psec. Madam.

Leu. What flower was that,
That thou wert telling such a story of
Last night to me?

Psec. 'Tis call'd Narcissus, madam:
It bears the name of that too beauteous boy
That lost himself by loving of himself;
Who, viewing in a fair and crystal stream
Those lips that only he could never kiss,
Doats on the shadow, which to reach in vain
Striving he drowns: thus, scorning all beside,
For the lov'd shadow the fair substance died.

Leu. Fie, fie! I like not these impossible tales;
A man to fall in love with his own shadow,
And die for love, 'tis most ridiculous!

Psec. Madam, I know not; I have often seen
Both men and women court the looking-glass
With so much seeming contentation,
That I could think this true; nay, wear it about 'em,
As lovers do their mistress' counterfeit.[422]

Leu. That's not for love, but to correct their beauties,
And draw from others admiration;
For all the comfort that our faces give
Unto ourselves, is but reflection
Of that fair liking that another takes.

Cler. I would we were a little nearer 'em,
We might but hear what talk these wenches have,
When they are alone; I warrant, some good stuff.

Phil. 'Tis happiness enough for me to see
The motion of her lips.

Cler. I' faith, is't thereabouts?
Why, Philocles! what, lost already, man!
Struck dead with one poor glance! Look up, for shame,
And tell me how thou lik'st my judgment now—
Now thou dost see?

Phil. Ah, Clerimont! too well;
Too well I see what I shall never taste,
Yon lady's beauty: she must needs be cruel
(Though her fair shape deny it) to the son
Of him that is her father's enemy.
That, Clerimont, that fatal difference
Checks my desire, and sinks my rising hopes;
But love's a torrent violent, if stopp'd,
And I am desperately mad: I must—
I must be hers, or else I must not be.

Cler. Contain that passion, that will else o'erwhelm
All virtue in you, all that is call'd man,
And should be yours; take my advice, my heart,
My life, to second you: let us consult;
You may find time to speak to her and woo her.

Phil. Nay, nay, I will, in spite of destiny.
Let women and faint-hearted fools complain
In languishing despair; a manly love
Dares show itself, and press to his desires
Through thickest troops of horrid[423] opposites.
Were there a thousand waking dragons set
To keep that golden fruit, I would attempt
To pluck and taste it; 'tis the danger crowns
A brave achievement! What if I should go
And boldly woo her in her father's house
In spite of enmity, what could they say?

Cler. 'Twere madness that, not wisdom: rash attempts
Betray the means, but never work the end.

Phil. She would not hate a man for loving her;
Or if she did, better be once denied
Than live for ever hapless.

Cler. But take time;
The second thoughts, our wise men say, are best.

Phil. Delay's a double death; no, I have thought
A means that straight I'll put in execution:
I'll write a letter to her presently,
Take how it will.

Cler. A letter! who shall carry it?

Phil. I'll tell thee when I have done: hast thou pen and ink in thy chamber?

Cler. Yes, there is one upon the table. I'll stay here at the window, and watch whether she stay or not. What a sudden change is this!

Leu. Did not Count Virro promise to be here
To-day at dinner?

Psec. Yes, madam, that he did; and I dare swear
He will not break.

Leu. He needs not, he is rich enough; unless he should break in knavery, as some of our merchants do nowadays.

Psec. Break promise, madam, I mean; and that he will not for your sake: you know his business.

Leu. I would I did not: he might spare his pains,
And that unusual cost that he bestows
In pranking up himself, and please me better.

Psec. He would not please his tailor and his barber;
For they got more for your sake by their lord
Than they have got this twenty years before.

Leu. Ah, Psectas, Psectas! can my father think
That I can love Count Virro? one so old—
That were enough to make a match unfit—
But one so base; a man that never lov'd
For anything call'd good, but dross and pelf.
One that would never, had my brother liv'd,
Have mov'd this suit: no, I can never love him:
But canst thou keep a secret firmly, Psectas?

Psec. Doubt me not, madam.

Leu. Well, I'll tell thee then.
I love—alas! I dare not say I love him—
But there's a young and noble gentleman,
Lord Euphues' son, my father's enemy,
A man whom Nature's prodigality
Stretch'd even to envy in the making up.
Once from a window my pleas'd eye beheld
This youthful gallant as he rode the street
On a curvetting courser who, it seem'd
Knew his fair load, and with a proud disdain
Check'd the base earth: my father being by,
I ask'd his name; he told me Philocles,
The son and heir of his great enemy.
Judge, Psectas, then, how my divided breast
Suffer'd between two meeting contraries,
Hatred and love: but Love's a deity,
And must prevail 'gainst mortals, whose command
Not Jove himself could ever yet withstand.

Cler. What, is the letter done already? I see these lovers have nimble inventions; but how will you send it?

Phil. What a question's that! Seest thou this stone?

Cler. Ah! then I see your drift; this stone must guide
Your fleeting letter in the air, and carry it
To that fair mark you aim.

Phil. Hard by her.

Cler. I think you would not hit her with such stones as this; lady, look to yourself, now it comes to proof.

Phil. But prythee, tell me, what dost thou think this letter may do?

Cler. Well, I hope.
'Tis ten to one this lady oft hath seen you,
You never liv'd obscure in Syracuse,
Nor walk'd the streets unknown, and who can tell
What place you bear in her affections,
Lov'd or mislik'd? If bad, this letter sent
Will make her show her scorn: if otherwise,
Fear not a woman's wit: she'll find a time
To answer your kind letter, and express
What you desire she should; then send it boldly,
You have a fair mark there.

Phil. Cupid, guide my arm!
O, be as just, blind god, as thou art great!
And with that powerful hand, that golden shaft
This eye was[424] wounded, wound yon tender breast!
There is no salve but that, no cure for me.
[Throws.

Cler. See, what a wonder it strikes 'em in, how it should come.

Phil. She'll wonder more to see what man it comes from.

Cler. I like her well, she is not afraid to open it. She starts; stay, mark her action when she has read the letter.

She reads.

"Let it not wrong this letter, that it came
From one that trembled to subscribe his name,
Fearing your hate: O, let not hate descend,
Nor make you cruel to so vow'd a friend.
If you'll not promise love, grant but access,
And let me know my woes are past redress.
Be just, then, beauteous judge, and, like the laws,
Condemn me not till you have heard my cause;
Which, when you have, from those fair lips return
Either my life in love, or death in scorn.
Yours or not, Philocles."

Am I awake, or dream I? Is it true,
Or does my flattering fancy but suggest
What I most covet?

Psec. Madam, the words are there;
I'll swear it can be no illusion.

Leu. It is too good for truth.

Phil. Mock me not, fortune!
She kiss'd it; saw'st thou her? O friend, she kiss'd it!

Cler. And with a look that relish'd love, not scorn.

Leu. This letter may be forg'd, I much desire
To know the certainty; Psectas, thy help
Must further me.

Psec. I'll not be wanting.

Leu. Here comes my father; he must not see this.

Psec. No, nor your t'other sweetheart, he is with him yonder.

Enter Polymetes, Virro, Roscio.

Enter Servant.

Enter Eugenio, disguised.

Pol. Admit him. Now, friend, your business with me.

Ser. If you be the Lord Polymetes.

Pol. The same.

Ros. Think it done, my lord.

Pol. LeucothoË,[426] come hither.

Leu. Pity is show'd to men in misery.

Vir. And so am I, if not reliev'd by you.

Leu. 'Twere pride in me, my lord, to think it so.

Vir. I am your beauty's captive.

Manet Eugenio solus.

Enter Francisco, Sumner.[427]

Franc. This will make good work for you in the spiritual court; Shallow is a rich man.

Sum. Those are the men we look for; there's somewhat to be got: the court has many businesses at this time, but they are little worth; a few waiting-women got with child by servingmen or so, scarce worth citing.

Franc. Do not their masters get 'em with child sometimes?

Sum. Yes, no doubt; but they have got a trick to put 'em off upon the men, and for a little portion save their own credits; besides, these private marriages are much out of our way, we cannot know when there is a fault.

Franc. Well, these are no starters; I warrant you, Shallow shall not deny it; and for the wench, she need not confess it, she has a mark that will betray her.

Sum. I thank you, sir, for your good intelligence, I hope 'tis certain.

Franc. Fear not that. Is your citation ready?

Sum. I have it here.

Franc. Well, step aside, and come when I call; I hear 'em coming.
[Exit Sumner.

Enter Franklin, Shallow, Luce, Parson.

Frank. Set forward there. Francisco, what make you here?

Frank. Yours, saucebox?

Franc. Do your worst, I fear not; I was contracted to her.

Frank. What witness have you?

Shal. What an ass is this to talk of contracting! He that will get a wench must make her bigger, as I have done, and not contract.

Franc. Sir, you are abus'd.

Shal. Why so?

Shal. A good jest, i' faith! make me believe that!

Frank. A sumner! we are all betray'd.

Enter Sumner.

Shal. Do you mean me, sir?

Sum. Gallants, farewell; my writ shall be obey'd?

Frank. Sumner, it shall.
[Exit Sumner.

Par. I'll take my leave, there's nothing now for me to do.
[Exit Parson.

Franc. Farewell, good master parson.

Shal. You are very bold with me, sir.

Franc. Let me have news what happens, dearest Luce.

Luce. Else let me die.
[Exit Francisco.

Frank. This was your doing, Luce; it had been impossible he should e'er have known the time so truly else; but I'll take an order next time for your blabbing.

Shal. What's the matter, father?

Frank. We may thank you for it; this was your haste, that will now shame us all; you must be doing afore your time!

Shal. 'Twas but a trick of youth, father.

Frank. And therefore now you must e'en stand in a white sheet for all to gaze at.

Shal. How! I would be loth to wear a surplice now. 'Tis a disgrace the house of the Shallows never knew.

Frank. All the hope is, officers may be bribed; and so they will. 'Twere a hard world for us to live in else.

Shal. You say true, father; if 'twere not for corruption, every poor rascal might have justice as well as one of us, and that were a shame.
[Exeunt Shallow and Luce.

Enter Philocles, Psectas.