  A Room in Montsurry's House.] Montsur[ry], Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Pyrha. Montsurry. He will have pardon, sure. Tamyra. Twere pittie else: For though his great spirit something overflow, All faults are still borne, that from greatnesse grow: But such a sudden courtier saw I never. Beaupre. He was too sudden, which indeed was rudenesse.5 Tam. True, for it argued his no due conceit Both of the place, and greatnesse of the persons, Nor of our sex: all which (we all being strangers To his encounter) should have made more maners Deserve more welcome. Mont. All this fault is found10 Because he lov'd the Duchesse and left you. Tam. Ahlas, love give her joy! I am so farre From envie of her honour, that I sweare, Had he encounterd me with such proud sleight, I would have put that project face of his To a more test than did her Dutchesship. Beau. Why (by your leave, my lord) Ile speake it heere, (Although she be my ante) she scarce was modest, When she perceived the Duke, her husband, take Those late exceptions to her servants courtship,20 To entertaine him. Tam. I, and stand him still, Letting her husband give her servant place: Though he did manly, she should be a woman. Enter Guise. [Guise.] D'Ambois is pardond! wher's a King? where law? See how it runnes, much like a turbulent sea;25 Heere high and glorious, as it did contend To wash the heavens, and make the stars more pure; And heere so low, it leaves the mud of hell To every common view. Come, Count Montsurry, We must consult of this. Tam. Stay not, sweet lord.30 Mont. Be pleased; Ile strait returne. Exit cum Guise. Tam. Would that would please me! Beau. Ile leave you, madam, to your passions; I see ther's change of weather in your lookes. Exit cum suis. Tam. I cannot cloake it; but, as when a fume, Hot, drie, and grosse, within the wombe of earth35 Or in her superficies begot, When extreame cold hath stroke it to her heart, The more it is comprest, the more it rageth, Exceeds his prisons strength that should containe it, And then it tosseth temples in the aire,40 All barres made engines to his insolent fury: So, of a sudden, my licentious fancy Riots within me: not my name and house, Nor my religion to this houre observ'd, Can stand above it; I must utter that That will in parting breake more strings in me, Than death when life parts; and that holy man That, from my cradle, counseld for my soule, I now must make an agent for my bloud. Enter Monsieur. Monsieur. Yet is my mistresse gratious? Tam. Yet unanswered? Mons. Pray thee regard thine owne good, if not mine, And cheere my love for that: you doe not know What you may be by me, nor what without me; I may have power t'advance and pull downe any. Tam. That's not my study. One way I am sure You shall not pull downe me; my husbands height Is crowne to all my hopes, and his retiring To any meane state, shall be my aspiring. Mine honour's in mine owne hands, spite of kings. Mons. Honour, what's that? your second maydenhead:60 And what is that? a word: the word is gone, The thing remaines; the rose is pluckt, the stalk Abides: an easie losse where no lack's found. Beleeve it, there's as small lack in the losse As there is paine ith' losing. Archers ever Have two strings to a bow, and shall great Cupid (Archer of archers both in men and women) Be worse provided than a common archer? A husband and a friend all wise wives have. Tam. Wise wives they are that on such strings depend, With a firme husband joyning a lose friend. Mons. Still you stand on your husband; so doe all The common sex of you, when y'are encounter'd With one ye cannot fancie: all men know You live in Court here by your owne election, Frequenting all our common sports and triumphs, All the most youthfull company of men. And wherefore doe you this? To please your husband? Tis grosse and fulsome: if your husbands pleasure Be all your object, and you ayme at honour80 In living close to him, get you from Court, You may have him at home; these common put-ofs For common women serve: "my honour! husband!" Dames maritorious ne're were meritorious: Speak plaine, and say "I doe not like you, sir,85 Y'are an ill-favour'd fellow in my eye," And I am answer'd. Tam. Then I pray be answer'd: For in good faith, my lord, I doe not like you In that sort you like. Mons. Then have at you here! Take (with a politique hand) this rope of pearle;90 And though you be not amorous, yet be wise: Take me for wisedom; he that you can love Is nere the further from you. Tam. Now it comes So ill prepar'd, that I may take a poyson Under a medicine as good cheap as it: I will not have it were it worth the world. Mons. Horror of death! could I but please your eye, You would give me the like, ere you would loose me. "Honour and husband!" Tam. By this light, my lord, Y'are a vile fellow; and Ile tell the King100 Your occupation of dishonouring ladies, And of his Court. A lady cannot live As she was borne, and with that sort of pleasure That fits her state, but she must be defam'd With an infamous lords detraction: Who would endure the Court if these attempts, Of open and profest lust must be borne?— Whose there? come on, dame, you are at your book When men are at your mistresse; have I taught you Any such waiting womans quality?110 Mons. Farewell, good "husband"! Exit Mons[ieur]. Tam. Farewell, wicked lord! Enter Mont[surry]. Mont. Was not the Monsieur here? Tam. Yes, to good purpose; And your cause is as good to seek him too, And haunt his company. Mont. Why, what's the matter? Tam. Matter of death, were I some husbands wife: I cannot live at quiet in my chamber For oportunities almost to rapes Offerd me by him. Mont. Pray thee beare with him: Thou know'st he is a bachelor, and a courtier, I, and a Prince: and their prerogatives Are to their lawes, as to their pardons are Their reservations, after Parliaments— One quits another; forme gives all their essence. That Prince doth high in vertues reckoning stand That will entreat a vice, and not command: So farre beare with him; should another man Trust to his priviledge, he should trust to death: Take comfort then (my comfort), nay, triumph, And crown thy selfe; thou part'st with victory: My presence is so onely deare to thee130 That other mens appeare worse than they be: For this night yet, beare with my forced absence: Thou know'st my businesse; and with how much weight My vow hath charged it. Tam. True, my lord, and never My fruitlesse love shall let your serious honour; Yet, sweet lord, do no stay; you know my soule Is so long time with out me, and I dead, As you are absent. Mont. By this kisse, receive My soule for hostage, till I see my love. Tam. The morne shall let me see you? Mont. With the sunne140 Ile visit thy more comfortable beauties. Tam. This is my comfort, that the sunne hath left The whole worlds beauty ere my sunne leaves me. Mont. Tis late night now, indeed: farewell, my light! Exit. Tam. Farewell, my light and life! but not in him, In mine owne dark love and light bent to another. Alas! that in the wane of our affections We should supply it with a full dissembling, In which each youngest maid is grown a mother. Frailty is fruitfull, one sinne gets another:150 Our loves like sparkles are that brightest shine When they goe out; most vice shewes most divine. Goe, maid, to bed; lend me your book, I pray, Not, like your selfe, for forme. Ile this night trouble None of your services: make sure the dores, And call your other fellowes to their rest. Per. I will—yet I will watch to know why you watch. Exit. Tam. Now all yee peacefull regents of the night, Silently-gliding exhalations, Languishing windes, and murmuring falls of waters,160 Sadnesse of heart, and ominous securenesse, Enchantments, dead sleepes, all the friends of rest, That ever wrought upon the life of man, Extend your utmost strengths, and this charm'd houre Fix like the Center! make the violent wheeles Of Time and Fortune stand, and great Existens, (The Makers treasurie) now not seeme to be To all but my approaching friends and me! They come, alas, they come! Feare, feare and hope Of one thing, at one instant, fight in me: I love what most I loath, and cannot live, Unlesse I compasse that which holds my death; For life's meere death, loving one that loathes me, And he I love will loath me, when he sees I flie my sex, my vertue, my renowne, To runne so madly on a man unknowne. The Vault opens. See, see, a vault is opening that was never Knowne to my lord and husband, nor to any But him that brings the man I love, and me. How shall I looke on him? how shall I live, And not consume in blushes? I will in; And cast my selfe off, as I ne're had beene. Exit. Ascendit Frier and D'Ambois. Friar. Come, worthiest sonne, I am past measure glad That you (whose worth I have approv'd so long) Should be the object of her fearefull love;185 Since both your wit and spirit can adapt Their full force to supply her utmost weaknesse. You know her worths and vertues, for report Of all that know is to a man a knowledge: You know besides that our affections storme,190 Rais'd in our blood, no reason can reforme. Though she seeke then their satisfaction (Which she must needs, or rest unsatisfied) Your judgement will esteeme her peace thus wrought Nothing lesse deare than if your selfe had sought: And (with another colour, which my art Shall teach you to lay on) your selfe must seeme The only agent, and the first orbe move In this our set and cunning world of love. Bussy. Give me the colour (my most honour'd father) And trust my cunning then to lay it on. Fri. Tis this, good sonne:—Lord Barrisor (whom you slew) Did love her dearely, and with all fit meanes Hath urg'd his acceptation, of all which Shee keepes one letter written in his blood:205 You must say thus, then: that you heard from mee How much her selfe was toucht in conscience With a report (which is in truth disperst) That your maine quarrell grew about her love, Lord Barrisor imagining your courtship210 Of the great Guises Duchesse in the Presence Was by you made to his elected mistresse: And so made me your meane now to resolve her, Chosing by my direction this nights depth, For the more cleare avoiding of all note215 Of your presumed presence. And with this (To cleare her hands of such a lovers blood) She will so kindly thank and entertaine you (Me thinks I see how), I, and ten to one, Shew you the confirmation in his blood,220 Lest you should think report and she did faine, That you shall so have circumstantiall meanes To come to the direct, which must be used: For the direct is crooked; love comes flying; The height of love is still wonne with denying.225 Buss. Thanks, honoured father. Fri. Shee must never know That you know any thing of any love Sustain'd on her part: for, learne this of me, In any thing a woman does alone, If she dissemble, she thinks tis not done; If not dissemble, nor a little chide, Give her her wish, she is not satisfi'd; To have a man think that she never seekes Does her more good than to have all she likes: This frailty sticks in them beyond their sex,235 Which to reforme, reason is too perplex: Urge reason to them, it will doe no good; Humour (that is the charriot of our food In every body) must in them be fed, To carrie their affections by it bred. Stand close! Enter Tamyra with a book. Tam. Alas, I fear my strangenesse will retire him. If he goe back, I die; I must prevent it, And cheare his onset with my sight at least, And that's the most; though every step he takes245 Goes to my heart. Ile rather die than seeme Not to be strange to that I most esteeme. Fri. Madam! Tam. Ah! Fri. You will pardon me, I hope, That so beyond your expectation, (And at a time for visitants so unfit)250 I (with my noble friend here) visit you: You know that my accesse at any time Hath ever beene admitted; and that friend, That my care will presume to bring with me, Shall have all circumstance of worth in him255 To merit as free welcome as myselfe. Tam. O father, but at this suspicious houre You know how apt best men are to suspect us In any cause that makes suspicious shadow No greater than the shadow of a haire;260 And y'are to blame. What though my lord and husband Lie forth to night, and since I cannot sleepe When he is absent I sit up to night; Though all the dores are sure, and all our servants As sure bound with their sleepes; yet there is One That wakes above, whose eye no sleepe can binde: He sees through dores, and darknesse, and our thoughts; And therefore as we should avoid with feare To think amisse our selves before his search, So should we be as curious to shunne All cause that other think not ill of us. Buss. Madam, 'tis farre from that: I only heard By this my honour'd father that your conscience Made some deepe scruple with a false report That Barrisors blood should something touch your honour, Since he imagin'd I was courting you When I was bold to change words with the Duchesse, And therefore made his quarrell, his long love And service, as I heare, beeing deepely vowed To your perfections; which my ready presence, Presum'd on with my father at this season For the more care of your so curious honour, Can well resolve your conscience is most false. Tam. And is it therefore that you come, good sir? Then crave I now your pardon and my fathers, And sweare your presence does me so much good That all I have it bindes to your requitall. Indeed sir, 'tis most true that a report Is spread, alleadging that his love to me Was reason of your quarrell; and because290 You shall not think I faine it for my glory That he importun'd me for his Court service, I'le shew you his own hand, set down in blood, To that vaine purpose: good sir, then come in. Father, I thank you now a thousand fold.295 Exit Tamyra and D'Amb[ois]. Fri. May it be worth it to you, honour'd daughter! Descendit Fryar. Finis Actus Secundi. LINENOTES:1-49 He will ... bloud. These lines and the direction, Montsur ... Pyrha, are found in A only. 147 wane. Emend., Dilke; Qq, wave. 173 For life's ... me. A, For love is hatefull without love againe. 177-181 See ... in. Instead of these lines, A has:— See, see the gulfe is opening that will swallow Me and my fame forever; I will in. 278-280 his long love ... perfections. A omits. |
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