  [A Room at the Court in Paris.] Enter Baligny, Renel. Baligny. To what will this declining kingdome turne, Swindging in every license, as in this Stupide permission of brave D'Ambois Murther? Murther made paralell with Law! Murther us'd To serve the kingdome, given by sute to men5 For their advancement! suffered scarcrow-like To fright adulterie! what will policie At length bring under his capacitie? Renel. All things; for as, when the high births of Kings, Deliverances, and coronations,10 We celebrate with all the cities bels Jangling together in untun'd confusion, All order'd clockes are tyed up; so, when glory, Flatterie, and smooth applauses of things ill, Uphold th'inordinate swindge of downe-right power,15 Justice, and truth that tell the bounded use, Vertuous and well distinguisht formes of time, Are gag'd and tongue-tide. But wee have observ'd Rule in more regular motion: things most lawfull Were once most royall; Kings sought common good,20 Mens manly liberties, though ne'er so meane, And had their owne swindge so more free, and more. But when pride enter'd them, and rule by power, All browes that smil'd beneath them, frown'd; hearts griev'd By imitation; vertue quite was vanisht,25 And all men studi'd selfe-love, fraud, and vice. Then no man could be good but he was punisht. Tyrants, being still more fearefull of the good Then of the bad, their subjects vertues ever Manag'd with curbs and dangers, and esteem'd30 As shadowes and detractions to their owne. Bal. Now all is peace, no danger, now what followes? Idlenesse rusts us, since no vertuous labour Ends ought rewarded; ease, securitie, Now all the palme weares. Wee made warre before35 So to prevent warre; men with giving gifts, More then receiving, made our countrey strong; Our matchlesse race of souldiers then would spend In publike warres, not private brawles, their spirits; In daring enemies, arm'd with meanest armes,40 Not courting strumpets, and consuming birth-rights In apishnesse and envy of attire. No labour then was harsh, no way so deepe, No rocke so steepe, but if a bird could scale it, Up would our youth flie to. A foe in armes45 Stirr'd up a much more lust of his encounter Then of a mistresse never so be-painted. Ambition then was onely scaling walles, And over-topping turrets; fame was wealth; Best parts, best deedes, were best nobilitie;50 Honour with worth, and wealth well got or none. Countries we wonne with as few men as countries: Vertue subdu'd all. Ren. Just: and then our nobles Lov'd vertue so, they prais'd and us'd it to; Had rather doe then say; their owne deedes hearing55 By others glorified, then be so barraine That their parts onely stood in praising others. Bal. Who could not doe, yet prais'd, and envi'd not; Civile behaviour flourisht; bountie flow'd; Avarice to upland boores, slaves, hang-men banisht.60 Ren. Tis now quite otherwise. But to note the cause Of all these foule digressions and revolts From our first natures, this tis in a word: Since good arts faile, crafts and deceits are us'd: Men ignorant are idle; idle men65 Most practise what they most may doe with ease, Fashion and favour; all their studies ayming At getting money, which no wise man ever Fed his desires with. Bal. Yet now none are wise That thinke not heavens true foolish, weigh'd with that. Well, thou most worthy to be greatest Guise, Make with thy greatnesse a new world arise. Such deprest nobles (followers of his) As you, my selfe, my lord, will finde a time When to revenge your wrongs. Ren. I make no doubt: In meane time, I could wish the wrong were righted Of your slaine brother in law, brave Bussy D'Ambois. Bal. That one accident was made my charge. My brother Bussy's sister (now my wife) By no suite would consent to satisfie80 My love of her with marriage, till I vow'd To use my utmost to revenge my brother: But Clermont D'Ambois (Bussy's second brother) Had, since, his apparition, and excitement To suffer none but his hand in his wreake;85 Which hee hath vow'd, and so will needes acquite Me of my vow made to my wife, his sister, And undertake himselfe Bussy's revenge. Yet loathing any way to give it act, But in the noblest and most manly course,90 If th'Earle dares take it, he resolves to send A challenge to him, and my selfe must beare it; To which deliverie I can use no meanes, He is so barricado'd in his house, And arm'd with guard still. Ren. That meanes lay on mee, Which I can strangely make. My last lands sale, By his great suite, stands now on price with him, And hee (as you know) passing covetous, With that blinde greedinesse that followes gaine, Will cast no danger where her sweete feete tread.100 Besides, you know, his lady, by his suite (Wooing as freshly as when first love shot His faultlesse arrowes from her rosie eyes) Now lives with him againe, and shee, I know, Will joyne with all helps in her friends revenge.105 Bal. No doubt, my lord, and therefore let me pray you To use all speede; for so on needels points My wifes heart stands with haste of the revenge, Being (as you know) full of her brothers fire, That shee imagines I neglect my vow;110 Keepes off her kinde embraces, and still askes, "When, when, will this revenge come? when perform'd Will this dull vow be?" And, I vow to heaven, So sternely, and so past her sexe she urges My vowes performance, that I almost feare115 To see her, when I have a while beene absent, Not showing her, before I speake, the bloud She so much thirsts for, freckling hands and face. Ren. Get you the challenge writ, and looke from me To heare your passage clear'd no long time after. Exit Ren[el]. 120 Bal. All restitution to your worthiest lordship! Whose errand I must carrie to the King, As having sworne my service in the search Of all such malecontents and their designes, By seeming one affected with their faction125 And discontented humours gainst the state: Nor doth my brother Clermont scape my counsaile Given to the King about his Guisean greatnesse, Which (as I spice it) hath possest the King, Knowing his daring spirit, of much danger130 Charg'd in it to his person; though my conscience Dare sweare him cleare of any power to be Infected with the least dishonestie: Yet that sinceritie, wee politicians Must say, growes out of envie since it cannot135 Aspire to policies greatnesse; and the more We worke on all respects of kinde and vertue, The more our service to the King seemes great, In sparing no good that seemes bad to him: And the more bad we make the most of good,140 The more our policie searcheth, and our service Is wonder'd at for wisedome and sincerenesse. Tis easie to make good suspected still, Where good, and God, are made but cloakes for ill. See Monsieur taking now his leave for Brabant; The Guise & his deare minion, Clermont D'Ambois, Whispering together, not of state affaires, I durst lay wagers, (though the Guise be now In chiefe heate of his faction) but of some thing Savouring of that which all men else despise,150 How to be truely noble, truely wise. Monsieur. See how hee hangs upon the eare of Guise, Like to his jewell! Epernon. Hee's now whisp'ring in Some doctrine of stabilitie and freedome, Contempt of outward greatnesse, and the guises155 That vulgar great ones make their pride and zeale, Being onely servile traines, and sumptuous houses, High places, offices. Mons. Contempt of these Does he read to the Guise? Tis passing needfull, And hee, I thinke, makes show t'affect his doctrine.160 Ep. Commends, admires it— Mons. And pursues another. Tis fine hypocrisie, and cheape, and vulgar, Knowne for a covert practise, yet beleev'd By those abus'd soules that they teach and governe No more then wives adulteries by their husbands, They bearing it with so unmov'd aspects, Hot comming from it, as twere not [at] all, Or made by custome nothing. This same D'Ambois Hath gotten such opinion of his vertues, Holding all learning but an art to live well, And showing hee hath learn'd it in his life, Being thereby strong in his perswading others, That this ambitious Guise, embracing him, Is thought t'embrace his vertues. Ep. Yet in some His vertues are held false for th'others vices:175 For tis more cunning held, and much more common, To suspect truth then falshood: and of both Truth still fares worse, as hardly being beleev'd, As tis unusuall and rarely knowne. Mons. Ile part engendring vertue. Men affirme,180 Though this same Clermont hath a D'Ambois spirit, And breathes his brothers valour, yet his temper Is so much past his that you cannot move him: Ile try that temper in him.—Come, you two Devoure each other with your vertues zeale,185 And leave for other friends no fragment of yee: I wonder, Guise, you will thus ravish him Out of my bosome, that first gave the life His manhood breathes spirit, and meanes, and luster. What doe men thinke of me, I pray thee, Clermont?190 Once give me leave (for tryall of that love That from thy brother Bussy thou inherit'st) T'unclaspe thy bosome. Clermont. As how, sir? Mons. Be a true glasse to mee, in which I may Behold what thoughts the many-headed beast195 And thou thy selfe breathes out concerning me, My ends and new upstarted state in Brabant, For which I now am bound, my higher aymes Imagin'd here in France: speake, man, and let Thy words be borne as naked as thy thoughts. O were brave Bussy living! Cler. Living, my lord! Mons. Tis true thou art his brother, but durst thou Have brav'd the Guise; mauger his presence, courted His wedded lady; emptied even the dregs Of his worst thoughts of mee even to my teeth;205 Discern'd not me, his rising soveraigne, From any common groome, but let me heare My grossest faults, as grosse-full as they were? Durst thou doe this? Cler. I cannot tell. A man Does never know the goodnesse of his stomacke210 Till hee sees meate before him. Were I dar'd, Perhaps, as he was, I durst doe like him. Mons. Dare then to poure out here thy freest soule Of what I am. Cler. Tis stale, he tolde you it. Mons. He onely jested, spake of splene and envie;215 Thy soule, more learn'd, is more ingenuous, Searching, judiciall; let me then from thee Heare what I am. Cler. What but the sole support, And most expectant hope of all our France, The toward victor of the whole Low Countryes?220 Mons. Tush, thou wilt sing encomions of my praise! Is this like D'Ambois? I must vexe the Guise, Or never looke to heare free truth. Tell me, For Bussy lives not; hee durst anger mee, Yet, for my love, would not have fear'd to anger225 The King himselfe. Thou understand'st me, dost not? Cler. I shall my lord, with studie. Mons. Dost understand thy selfe? I pray thee tell me, Dost never search thy thoughts, what my designe Might be to entertaine thee and thy brother? What turne I meant to serve with you? Cler. Even what you please to thinke. Mons. But what thinkst thou? Had I no end in't, think'st? Cler. I thinke you had. Mons. When I tooke in such two as you two were, A ragged couple of decaid commanders,235 When a French-crowne would plentifully serve To buy you both to any thing i'th'earth— Cler. So it would you. Mons. Nay bought you both out-right, You and your trunkes—I feare me, I offend thee. Cler. No, not a jot. Mons. The most renowmed souldier, 240 Epaminondas (as good authors say) Had no more suites then backes, but you two shar'd But one suite twixt you both, when both your studies Were not what meate to dine with, if your partridge, Your snipe, your wood-cocke, larke, or your red hering,245 But where to begge it; whether at my house, Or at the Guises (for you know you were Ambitious beggars) or at some cookes-shop, T'eternize the cookes trust, and score it up. Dost not offend thee? Cler. No, sir. Pray proceede. Mons. As for thy gentry, I dare boldly take Thy honourable othe: and yet some say Thou and thy most renowmed noble brother Came to the Court first in a keele of sea-coale. Dost not offend thee? Cler. Never doubt it, sir. 255 Mons. Why doe I love thee, then? Why have I rak'd thee Out of the dung-hill? cast my cast ward-robe on thee? Brought thee to Court to, as I did thy brother? Made yee my sawcy bon companions? Taught yee to call our greatest Noblemen By the corruption of their names—Jack, Tom? Have I blowne both for nothing to this bubble? Though thou art learn'd, thast no enchanting wit; Or, were thy wit good, am I therefore bound To keepe thee for my table? Cler. Well, sir, 'twere A good knights place. Many a proud dubb'd gallant Seekes out a poore knights living from such emrods. [Mons.] Or what use else should I designe thee to? Perhaps you'll answere me—to be my pander. Cler. Perhaps I shall. Mons. Or did the slie Guise put thee 270 Into my bosome t'undermine my projects? I feare thee not; for, though I be not sure I have thy heart, I know thy braine-pan yet To be as emptie a dull piece of wainscot As ever arm'd the scalpe of any courtier; A fellow onely that consists of sinewes; Meere Swisser, apt for any execution. Cler. But killing of the King! Mons. Right: now I see Thou understand'st thy selfe. Cler. I, and you better. You are a Kings sonne borne. Mons. Right. Cler. And a Kings brother. 280 Mons. True. Cler. And might not any foole have beene so too, As well as you? Mons. A poxe upon you! Cler. You did no princely deedes Ere you were borne (I take it) to deserve it; Nor did you any since that I have heard; Nor will doe ever any, as all thinke. Mons. The Divell take him! Ile no more of him. Guise. Nay: stay, my lord, and heare him answere you. Mons. No more, I sweare. Farewell. Ex[eunt] Mons[ieur], Esper[none], Soiss[on]. Gui. No more! Ill fortune! 290 I would have given a million to have heard His scoffes retorted, and the insolence Of his high birth and greatnesse (which were never Effects of his deserts, but of his fortune) Made show to his dull eyes beneath the worth295 That men aspire to by their knowing vertues, Without which greatnesse is a shade, a bubble. Cler. But what one great man dreames of that but you? All take their births and birth-rights left to them (Acquir'd by others) for their owne worths purchase,300 When many a foole in both is great as they: And who would thinke they could winne with their worths Wealthy possessions, when, wonne to their hands, They neyther can judge justly of their value, Nor know their use? and therefore they are puft305 With such proud tumours as this Monsieur is, Enabled onely by the goods they have To scorne all goodnesse: none great fill their fortunes; But as those men that make their houses greater, Their housholds being lesse, so Fortune raises310 Huge heapes of out-side in these mightie men, And gives them nothing in them. Gui. True as truth: And therefore they had rather drowne their substance In superfluities of brickes and stones (Like Sysiphus, advancing of them ever,315 And ever pulling downe) then lay the cost Of any sluttish corner on a man, Built with Gods finger, and enstil'd his temple. Bal. Tis nobly said, my lord. Gui. I would have these things Brought upon stages, to let mightie misers320 See all their grave and serious miseries plaid, As once they were in Athens and olde Rome. Cler. Nay, we must now have nothing brought on stages, But puppetry, and pide ridiculous antickes: Men thither come to laugh, and feede fool-fat,325 Checke at all goodnesse there, as being prophan'd: When, wheresoever goodnesse comes, shee makes The place still sacred, though with other feete Never so much tis scandal'd and polluted. Let me learne anything that fits a man, In any stables showne, as well as stages. Bal. Why, is not all the world esteem'd a stage? Cler. Yes, and right worthily; and stages too Have a respect due to them, if but onely For what the good Greeke moralist sayes of them: "Is a man proud of greatnesse, or of riches? Give me an expert actor, Ile shew all, That can within his greatest glory fall. Is a man fraid with povertie and lownesse? Give me an actor, Ile shew every eye340 What hee laments so, and so much doth flye, The best and worst of both." If but for this then, To make the proudest out-side that most swels With things without him, and above his worth, See how small cause hee has to be so blowne up;345 And the most poore man, to be griev'd with poorenesse, Both being so easily borne by expert actors, The stage and actors are not so contemptfull As every innovating Puritane, And ignorant sweater out of zealous envie Would have the world imagine. And besides That all things have been likened to the mirth Us'd upon stages, and for stages fitted, The splenative philosopher, that ever Laught at them all, were worthy the enstaging. All objects, were they ne'er so full of teares, He so conceited that he could distill thence Matter that still fed his ridiculous humour. Heard he a lawyer, never so vehement pleading, Hee stood and laught. Heard hee a trades-man swearing,360 Never so thriftily selling of his wares, He stood and laught. Heard hee an holy brother, For hollow ostentation, at his prayers Ne'er so impetuously, hee stood and laught. Saw hee a great man never so insulting,365 Severely inflicting, gravely giving lawes, Not for their good, but his, hee stood and laught. Saw hee a youthfull widow Never so weeping, wringing of her hands For her lost lord, still the philosopher laught.370 Now whether hee suppos'd all these presentments Were onely maskeries, and wore false faces, Or else were simply vaine, I take no care; But still hee laught, how grave soere they were. Gui. And might right well, my Clermont; and for this375 Vertuous digression we will thanke the scoffes Of vicious Monsieur. But now for the maine point Of your late resolution for revenge Of your slaine friend. Cler. I have here my challenge, Which I will pray my brother Baligny380 To beare the murtherous Earle. Bal. I have prepar'd Meanes for accesse to him, through all his guard. Gui. About it then, my worthy Baligny, And bring us the successe. Bal. I will, my lord. Exeunt. LINENOTES: |
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