The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Florila

  Oh husband, this is perfect trial indeed.

  Labervele

  And you will try all this now, will you not?

  Florila

  Yea, my good head, for it is written, we must pass to perfection through all temptation, Habbakuk the fourth.

  Labervele

  Habbakuk? Cuck me no cucks! In a’ doors, I say. Thieves, Puritans, murderers! In a’ doors, I say.

  Exit [with Florila].

  Lemot

  So now is he stark mad, i’faith. But, sirrah, as this is an old lord jealous of his young wife, so is ancient Countess Moren jealous of her young husband. We’ll thither to have some sport, i’faith.

  Exeunt.

  Scene 5

  Enter Labesha hanging upon Martia’s sleeve, and the Lord Moren comes to them.

  Moren

  I prithee, Besha, keep a little off.

  Hang not upon her shoulders thus for shame.

  Labesha

  My Lord, pardonnez-moi, I must not let her talk alone with anyone, for her father gave me charge.

  Moren

  Oh, you are a goodly charger for a goose.

  Labesha

  A goose! You are a gander to call me goose. I am a Christian gentleman as well as you.

  Moren

  Well, sirrah, get you hence, or by my troth I’ll have thee taken out in a blanket, tossed from forth our hearing.

  Labesha

  In a blanket? What, do you make a puppy of me? By skies and stones, I will go and tell your lady.

  Exit.

  Moren

  Nay, but Besha —

  Martia

  Nay, he will tell, my lord.

  Enter the Countess Moren and Labesha.

  Countess

  Why, how now, my lord. What, thought you I was dead, that you are wooing of another thus, or are you laying plots to work my death?

  Moren

  Why neither, sweet bird. What need you move these questions unto me, whom you know loves you above all the women in the world?

  Countess

  How he can flatter now he hath made a fault.

  Labesha

  He can do little, an he cannot cog.

  Moren

  Out, you ass.

  Countess

  Well, come tell me what you did entreat.

  Moren

  Nothing, by heaven, sweet bird, I swear, but to entreat her love —

  Countess

  But to entreat her love!

  Moren

  Nay, hear me out.

  Countess

  Nay here you are out. You are out too much, methinks, and put me in —

  Moren

  And put you in?

  Countess

  In a fair taking, sir, I mean.

  Moren

  Oh, you may see what hasty taking is. You women evermore scramble for our words, and never take them mannerly from our mouths.

  Countess

  Come, tell me what you did entreat.

  Moren

  I did entreat her love to Colinet.

  Countess

  To Colinet? Oh, he is your dear cousin, and your kind heart, i’faith, is never well but when you are doing good for every man. Speak, do you love me?

  Moren

  I’faith, sweet bird.

  Countess

  Best of all others?

  Moren

  Best of all others.

  Countess

  That’s my good bird, i’faith.

  Labesha

  Oh, mistress, will you love me so?

  Martia

  No, by my troth, will I not.

  Labesha

  ‘No, by my troth, will I not’? Why, that’s well said. I could never get her to flatter me yet.

  Enter Lemot, Blanvel, and Catalian, and Colinet.

  Lemot

  Good morrow, my good lord, and these passing lovely ladies.

  Countess

  So now we shall have all manner of flattering with Monsieur Lemot.

  Lemot

  You are all manner of ways deceived, madam, for I am so far from flattering you, that I do not a whit praise you.

  Countess

  Why do you call us passing lovely then?

  Lemot

  Because you are passing from your loveliness.

  Martia

  Madam, we shall not have one mot of Monsieur Lemot, but it shall be as it were a moat to drown all our conceit in admiration.

  Lemot

  See what a mote her quick eye can spy in mine, before she looks in it.

  Martia

  So mote I thee, thine answer is as good as mought be.

  Lemot

  Here’s a poor name run out of breath quickly.

  Countess

  Why, Monsieur Lemot, your name is run out of breath at every word you speak.

  Lemot

  That’s because my name signifies ‘word’.

  Martia

  Well hit, Monsieur Verbum.

  Lemot

  What, are you good at Latin, lady?

  Martia

  No, sir, but I know what verbum is.

  Lemot

  Why, ’tis green bum: vert is green, and you know what bum is, I am sure of that.

  Martia

  No, sir, ’tis a verb, and I can decline you.

  Lemot

  That you can, I’ll be sworn.

  Martia

  What can I do?

  Lemot

  Decline me, or take me a hole lower, as the proverb is.

  Martia

  Nay, sir, I mean plain grammatical declination.

  Lemot

  Well, let’s hear your scholarship, and decline me.

  Martia

  I will, sir, moto, motas.

  Labesha

  Oh excellent! She hath called him ass in Latin.

  Lemot

  Well, sir, forward.

  Martia

  Nay, there’s enough to try both our scholarships

  Lemot

  Moto, motas. Nay, faith, forward to motavi, or motandi.

  Martia

  Nay, sir, I’ll leave when I am well.

  Countess

  Why, Monsieur Lemot, your name being in word general, is in ninny, or in hammer, or in cock, or in buzzard.

  Lemot

  Or in wagtail, or in woodcock, or in dotterel, or in dizzard.

  Martia

  Or in clot, or in head, or in cow, or in baby.

  Lemot

  Or in malkin, or in trash, or in pap, or in lady.

  Countess

  Or, indeed, in everything.

  Lemot

  Why, then ’tis in thing.

  Martia

  Then, good Monsieur Thing, there let it rest.

  Lemot

  Then, above all things, I must have a word with you.

  Labesha

  Hands off, sir, she is not for your mowing.

  Lemot

  She is for your mocking.

  Labesha

  An she mock me, I’ll tell her father.

  Lemot

  That’s a good child, thou smellest of the mother, and she was a fool, I warrant you.

  Labesha

  Meddle with me, but do not meddle with my mother.

  Lemot

  That’s a good child. [To Martia] Come, I must needs have a word with you.

  [They withdraw.]

  Labesha

  You shall do none of your needs with her, sir.

  Catalian

  Why, what will you do?

  Labesha

  What will I do? You shall see what I’ll do.

  Then he offereth to draw [his sword].

  Blanvel

  Go to, you ass! Offer to draw here, and we’ll draw thee out of the house by the heels.

  Labesha

  What, three against one? Now was ever proper hard-favoured gentleman so abused?

  Go to, Mistress Martia, I see you well enough. Are you no
t ashamed to stand talking alone with such a one as he?

  Lemot

  How, sir? With such a one as I, sir?

  Labesha

  Yea, sir, with such a one as you, sir.

  Lemot

  Why, what am I?

  Labesha

  What are you, sir? Why, I know you well enough.

  Lemot

  Sirrah, tell me what you know me for, or else by heaven I’ll make thee better thou hadst never known how to speak.

  Labesha

  Why, sir, if you will needs know, I know you for an honourable gentleman and the King’s minion, and were it not to you, there’s ne’er a gentleman in Paris should have had her out of my hands.

  Martia

  Nay, he’s as tall a gentleman of his hands as any is in Paris.

  Colinet

  There’s a favour for you, sir.

  Lemot

  But I can get no favour for you, sir.

  Blanvel

  I pray, my lord, entreat for your cousin Colinet.

  Moren

  Alas, man, I dare not for my wife.

  Catalian

  Why, my lord, she thinks it is for nothing, but to speak for your cousin.

  Moren

  I pray you, bird, give me leave to speak for my cousin.

  Countess

  I am content for him.

  Moren

  Then one word with you more, courteous Lady Martia.

  Labesha

  Not an you were my father!

  Moren

  Gentlemen, for God’s sake thrust this ass out of the doors.

  [Moren moves to Martia.]

  Lemot

  Nay, by’rlady, he’ll run home and tell her father.

  Catalian

  Well, go to her. I warrant he shall not trouble you. [To Labesha] Kind gentleman, how we dote on thee. Embrace him, gentlemen.

  Blanvel

  Oh, sweet Besha, how we honour thee.

  Colinet

  Nay gentlemen, look what a piercing eye he hath.

  Labesha

  An eye? I have an eye an it were a pole-cat.

  Catalian

  Nay, look what a nose he hath.

  Labesha

  My nose is neat crimson.

  Blanvel

  Nay, look what a handsome man he is. O Nature, Nature,

  Thou never madest man of so pure a feature.

  Labesha

  Truly, truly, gentlemen, I do not deserve this kindness.

  Catalian

  Oh lord, sir, you are too modest. Come shall we walk?

  Labesha

  Whither? To the alehouse?

  Lemot

  Hark you, madam, have you no more care of the right of your husband, than to let him talk thus affectionately with another?

  Countess

  Why, he speaks not for himself, but for his cousin Colinet.

  Lemot

  God’s my life! He tells you so. Nay, an these excuses may serve I have done.

  Countess

  By the mass, now I observe him, he looks very suspiciously indeed. Ne’er trust me if his lookes and his gesture do not plainly show himself to swear, ‘By this light, I do love thee’.

  Lemot

  By’rlady, madam, you guess shrewdly indeed. But hark you, madam, I pray let not me be the author of discord between my good lord and you.

  Countess

  No, no, Monsieur Lemot, I were blind if I could not see this. I’ll slit her nose, by Jesus.

  [Starting for Martia.]

  Moren

  How now, what’s the matter?

  Countess

  What’s the matter? If I could come at your mistress, she should know what’s the matter.

  Moren

  My mistress?

  Countess

  Yea, your mistress. Oh, here’s fair dissimulation! [To Martia] Oh, ye impudent gossip, do I send for you to my house to make you my companion, and do you use me thus? Little dost thou know what ’tis to love a man truly, for if thou didst, thou wouldst be ashamed to wrong me so.

  Martia

  You wrong me, madam, to say I wrong you.

  Countess

  Go to, get you out of my house.

  Martia

  I am gone, madam.

  [Makes as if to leave.]

  Moren

  Well, come in, sweet bird and I’ll persuade thee there’s no harm done.

  Countess

  Well, we shall hear your persuasions.

  [Exeunt Countess and Moren.]

  Lemot

  Well, God knows and I can partly guess what he must do to persuade her. Well, take your fair charge, fair and manly Lord Monsieur Labesha.

  Colinet

  One word with you more, fair lady.

  Lemot

  Not a word. No man on pain of death, not a word. He comes upon my rapier’s point, that comes within forty foot on her.

  Labesha

  Thanks, good Lemot, and thanks gentlemen all, and her father shall thank you.

  [Exeunt Labesha and Martia.]

  Colinet

  Much good do it you, sir. Come, gentlemen, let’s go wait upon the King, and see the humour of the young Lord Dowsecer.

  Lemot

  Excuse me to the King, and tell him I will meet him there.

  [Exeunt Colinet, Catalian and Blanvel.]

  So, this is but the beginning of sport between this fine lord and his old lady. But this wench Martia hath happy stars reigned at the disposition of her beauty, for the King himself doth mightily dote on her. Now to my Puritan, and see if I can make up my full proof of her.

  [Exit.]

  Scene 6

  Enter [Florila] the Puritan in her best attire.

  Florila

  Now am I up and ready. Ready? Why?

  Because my clothes once on, that call we ready.

  But readiness I hope hath reference

  To some fit action for our several state.

  For when I am attired thus, countess-like,

  ’Tis not to work, for that befits me not.

  ’Tis on some pleasure, whose chief object is

  One man’s content, and he my husband is.

  But what need I thus be attired,

  For that he would be pleased with meaner weed?

  Besides, I take no pleasure thus to please him

  I am content, because it is my duty

  To keep to him, and not to seek no further.

  But if that pleasure be a thing that makes

  The time seem short, if it do laughter cause,

  If it procure the tongue but heartily

  To say, ‘I thank you’, I have no such thing,

  Nor can the godliest woman in the world

  against her nature please her sense or soul.

  She may say, ‘this I will’, or ‘this I will not’.

  But what shall she reap hereby?

  Comfort in another world, if she will stay till then.

  Enter [Labervele] her husband behind her.

  Labervele [Aside] Yea, marry, sir, now I must look about.

  Now if her desolate prover come again,

  Shall I admit him to make farther trial?

  I’ll have a dialogue between myself

  And manly reason to that special end:

  ‘Reason, shall I endure a desolate man to come

  And court my wife, and prove her constancy?’

  Reason: ‘To court and prove her you may bear, my lord,

  For perfect things are not the worse for trial.

  Gold will not turn to dross for deepest trial’.

  Before God a comfortable saying.

  Thanks, gentle Reason, I’ll trouble you no more.

  [Aloud] God save, sweet wife. Look up, thy tempter comes.

  Florila

  Let him, my lord. I hope I am more blessed

  Than to relent in thought of lewd suggestion.

  Labervele

  But if by frailty you should yield in thought,


  What will you do?

  Florila

  What will you do? Then shall you keep me close,

  And never let me see man but your self.

  If not, then boldly may I go abroad.

  Labervele

  But how shall I know whether you yield or no?

  Florila

  Hear us yourself, my lord.

  Labervele

  Hear us yourself, my lord. Tut, that were gross,

  For no woman will yield in her husband’s hearing.

  Florila

  Then to assure you if I yield or no,

  Mark but these signs: as he is proving me,

  If I do yield, you shall perceive my face

  Blush and look pale, and put on heavy looks.

  If I resist, I will triumph, and smile,

  And when I hold but up my finger,

  Stop his vain lips, or thrust him on the breast,

  Then is he overthrown both horse and foot.

  Labervele

  Why, this doth satisfy me mightily.

  [Enter Lemot.]

  See, he is come.

  Lemot

  Honour to my good lord and his fair young lady.

  Labervele

  Now, Monsieur Satan, you are come to tempt

  And prove at full the spirit of my wife.

  Lemot

  I am, my lord, but vainly, I suppose.

  Labervele

  You see she dares put on this brave attire,

  Fit with the fashion, which you think serves much

  To lead a woman into light desires.

  Lemot

  My lord, I see it, and the sight thereof

  Doth half dismay me to make further proof.

  Labervele

  Nay, prove her, prove her, sir, and spare not.

  What, doth the witty minion of our King

  Think any dame in France will say him nay?

  But prove her, prove her, sir, and spare not.

  Lemot

  Well, sir, though half discouraged in my coming,

  Yet I’ll go forward. Lady, by your leave.

  [He crosses to Florila.]

  Florila

  Now, sir, your cunning in a lady’s proof.

  Lemot

  Madam, in proving you I find no proof

  Against your piercing glancings,

  But swear I am shot thorough with your love.

  Florila

  I do believe you. Who will swear he loves

  To get the thing he loves not? If he love,

  What needs more perfect trial?

  Lemot

  What needs more perfect trial? Most true rare lady.

  Florila

  Then are we fitly met. I love you too.

  Lemot

  Exceeding excellent.

  Florila

  Nay, I know you will applaud me in this course.

  But to let common circumstances pass,

  Let us be familiar.

  Lemot

  Dear life, you ravish my conceit with joy.

  Labervele

  [Aside] I long to see the signs that she will make.