Innoc.
Gods me, Ile to her and kisse her.
Quint.
O no, you must not vnmaske.
Innoc.
No, no, Ile kisse her with my maske and all.
Leo.
No Lieftenant, take her and court her first, and then kisse her.
Omnes.
To her slaue.
Aur.
There’s thy wife too, Quintiliano ▪
Quint.
True, little knowes shee I am so neere her; Ile single her out, and trie what entertainement a stranger may finde with her.
Aur.
Do [...] so, and wee’ll take vp the tother.
(Enter Angelo.)
They dance.
Ang.
I can by no meanes finde Snaile sir.
Hon.
The worse luc [...], but what remedy?
Lor.
Gramercy Angelo ▪ but Signior Lorenzo, mee thinks I misse one flower in this femal [...] garland.
Hon.
VVhose that?
Lor.
Your Neice Lucretia ▪
Hon.
By my soule ’tis true; whats the reason Angelo Lucretia is not here?
Ang.
I know no reason but her owne will sir.
Gasp.
Ther’s somewhat in it certaine. They dance againe.
Inno.
Did you see the play to day I pray?
Lio.
No, but I see the foole in it here.
Inno.
Doe you so forsooth? where is he pray?
Lio.
Not farre from you sir, but we must not point at any body here.
Inno.
Thats true indeede, cry mercy forsooth, doe you know me through my maske?
Lio.
Not I sir▪ shee must haue better skill in bak’t meats then I, that can discerne a woodcocke through the crust.
Inno.
Thats true indeede, but yet I thought I’de try you.
(Enter Lodo [...]ico.)
They dance.
Lor.
VVhat N [...]phew Lodwicke, I thought you had beene one of the mask [...]rs.
Lod.
I vse no masking sir with my friends.
Hon.
No signior Lodowick, but y’are a very truant in your schoole of frien [...]ship▪ that come so late to your friends.
Gasp.
Somewhat has crost him sure.
Leo.
Somewhat shall crosse him; Lodouico let me speake with you.
Lod.
VVith me sir?
Leo.
You are the man sir, I can scarse say the Gentleman, for you haue done a wrong the credit of a Gentleman cannot answere.
Lod.
VVould I might see his face, that durst say so much.
Lod.
Obserue him well, he shoes his face that will proue it when thou dar’st.
Aur.
How now Leonoro, you forget your selfe too much, to grow outragious in this company.
Leo.
Aurelio, doe not wrong me, and your selfe, I vndertake your quarrell, this man hath dishonord your Kinswoman Lucretia, whom (if I might) I intended to marry.
Aur.
Some error makes you mistake Leonor [...], I assure my selfe.
Hon.
VVhat interruption of our sport is this gentlemen?
Lor.
Are not my Nephew and Leonoro friends?
Lod.
He charges me with dishonoring his mistris Lu [...]retia.
Hon.
Birlady Lodouico, the charge touches you deeply, you must answere it.
Lod.
I only desire I may sir, and then will referre me to your censures.
Lor.
VVell Nephew, well; will you neuer leaue this your haunt of fornication? I schoole him, and doe all I can, but all is lost.
Lod.
Good Vnkle giue me leaue to answere my other accuser, and then Ile descend, and speake of your fornication, as the last branch of my diuision.
Lor.
Very well, be briefe.
Lod.
I will sir; The ground vpon which this man builds his false imagination, is his sight of me at Honorios backe gate, since dinner, where muffled in my cloke, kinde Madam Temperance, the attendant of Lucretia, from the Tarrasse, wa [...]ted me to her with her hand; taking me (as now I vnderstand) for this honest Gentleman, I not knowing what vse shee had to put me to, obaid the attraction of her signall, as gingerly as shee bad me. (A plague vpon her gingerly) till shee lockt me into Lucretias chamber, where Lucretia lying asleepe on her bed, I thought it rudenesse to wake her; and (imagining when shee wak’t shee had something to say to me) attended her leasure at my ease, and lay downe softly by her; when (hauing chaster and simpler thoughts then Leonoro imagines) because he measures my wast by his owne) in the very coldnesse and dulnesse of my spirit, I fell sodainly a-sleepe. In which my fancy presented me with the strangest dreame, that euer yet possest me.
Lor.
Pray God you did but dreame Nephew.
Lod.
You shall know that by knowing the euent of it.
Hon.
Goe to, pray let vs heare it.
Lod.
Me thought Lucretia and I were at mawe, a game Vnkle that you can well skill of.
Lor.
Well sir I can so.
Lod.
You will the more muse at my fortune; or my ouersights. For my game stood, me thought, vpon my last two tricks, when I made sure of the set, and yet lost it, hauing the varlet and the fiue finger to make two tricks.
Lor.
How had that beene possible?
Hon.
That had beene no misfortune sure but plaine ouersight.
Gasp.
But what was the reason you thought you lost it sir?
Lod.
You shall heare; shee had in her hand the Ace of Hearts, me thought, and a Coate-carde, shee led the bord with her coate, I plaid the varlet, and tooke vp her coate, and meaning to lay my fiue finger vpon her Ace of hearts, vp start a quite contrary card; vp shee rises withall, takes me a dash a the mouth, drew a rapier he had lay by him, and out of dores we went together by the eares.
Hon.
A tapier he had lay by him?
Lor.
What a shee turned to a he? do’st thou not dreame all this while Nephew.
Lod.
No nor that time neither, though I pretended it; let him be fetcht, I warrant you he will show as good cards as the best on you, to proue him an heir Male, if he be the eldest child of his father.
Hon.
This is exceeding strange: goe Angelo, fetch her and her hand-maide.
Ang.
I will sir, if her valure be not too hot for my fingers.
Exit.
Hon.
Could such a disguise be made good all this while without my knowledge? to say truth, shee was a stranger to me, her father being a Sicilian: fled thence for a disausterous act, and comming hither grew kindly acquainted with me, and called me brother. At his death committing his supposed daughter to my care and protection, till she were restor’d to her estate in her natiue Country.
Lor.
VVas he in hope of it?
Hon.
He was, and in neere possibility of it himselfe, had he liu’d but little longer.
(Enter Angelo and Lucretia.)
Ang.
Here’s the Gentlewoman you talkt of sir, nay you must come forward too graue Mistris Temperance.
Lod.
How now sir? who wants gentility now I beseech you?
Leo.
VVho haue we here?
Lucr.
Stand not amaz’d, nor disparage him: you see sir, this habit truly doth sute my sexe, howsoeuer my hard fortunes haue made me a while reiect it.
Hon.
VVhat hard fortunes?
Lucr.
&nb
sp; Those you know of my father sir: who feard my following of him in my natiue likenesse, to the hauen, where he by stealth embarqu’t vs, and would haue discouer’d him, his offence being the slaughter of a Gentleman, that would h [...]ue slaine him.
Hono.
But did you not tell me you were betroth’d before this misfortune hapned, to a yong Gentleman of Sicily, call’d Theagines?
Lucr.
I told you I was betroth’d to one Theagine, not Theagines, who indeed was a woman,
L [...]o.
And yet whosoeuer had seene that Theagine since might haue taken him for a man.
Lucr.
Do you know her Gentlewoman?
L [...]o.
It seemes you will not know her.
Leo.
Hearke how my boy pla [...]es the knaue with her.
Quint.
A noble rogue, S’fut Lieutenant, wilt thou suffer thy nose to be wipt of this great heir [...]?
Inno.
S’ [...]ight sir you are no handkercher are you?
Lucr.
Pre thee forbeare, more happy then vnlookt for [...] this deere accident: adopted and noble father, this is the Gentlewoman to whom I told you I was betroth’d, the happy newes she had to relate to me, made her a traueller, the more search of her passage made her a Page, and her good fortune obtaind her — this honest Gentleman to her Master, who I thanke him, being (as he supposed me) [...]ou’d me, accept vs both for your children.
Hono.
Most gladly and with no lesse care, then mine owne protect you.
Quint.
S’fut, how now Leonora? new fireworkes?
Lod.
New sir, who wants gentility? this is a gentlemanly part of you to keepe a wench in a Pages furniture?
Leo.
It was more then I knew Sir, but this shall be a warning to me while I liue, how I iudge of the instrument by the case againe.
Lucr.
Nay it is you friend Lodouico that are most to blame, that holding the whole feminine sexe in such contempt, wou [...]d yet play the pickpurse, and steale a poore maids maidenhead out of her pocket sleeping.
Leo.
’Twas but to cous [...]n mee.
Aur.
And to be before me in loue.
Lor.
And to laugh at me.
Lod.
Nay, ieast not at me sweete Gentles, I v’sd plaine and mannerly dealing, I neither v’sd the brokage of any▪ as you know who did Le [...]noro, nor the help of a ladder to creep in at a wenches chamber window (as you know who did Aurelio.) Nor did I case my selfe in buckrame, and crie chimney sweepe (where are you vncle?) but I was train’d to it by this honest matron here.
Temp.
Meddle not with me sir.
Lucr.
I am beholding to her, she was loth to haue me leade apes in hell.
Quint.
Looke that you keepe promise with me Ladie, when will thy husband be from home?
Fran.
Not so soone as I would wish him, but whensoeuer you shall be welcome.
Quint.
I very kindly thanke you Lady.
Fr [...]n.
Gods me, I tooke you for Sigmor Placenti [...].
Quint.
S’fut, thou liest in thy throte, thou knewst me as well as my selfe.
Hono.
What, Signior Quintilian, and friend Innocentio? I look’t not for you here▪ & y’are much the better welcome.
Quin.
Thanks dad Honorio, and liues my little squire? when shall I see thee at my house lad?
Lor.
A plague a your house, I was there too lately.
Lod.
See Lordings, her’s two will not let go till they haue your consents to be made surer.
Lor.
By my soule, and because old Gasparo heere has bene so cold in his loue sute, if she be better pleas’d with Aurelio, and his father with her, heauen giue abundance of good with him.
Hono.
So you stand not too much vpon goods, I say, Amen.
Lor.
Faith vse him as your sonne and heire, and I desire no more.
Hono.
So will I of mine honour, are you agreed youths▪
Ambo.
And most humbly gratulate your high fa [...]rs.
Gasp.
Faith & Ioue giue ’em ioy together for my part.
Lod.
Yet is heere another nayle to be driuen, heer’s a vertuous Matron, Madam Temperance, that is able to doe much good in a commonwealth, a woman of good parts, sels complexionn helpes maids to seruices, restores maidenheads, brings women to bed, and men to their bedsides.
Temp.
By my faith, but saue votre grace sir.
Lod.
Hath drinks for loue, and giues the diet.
Temp.
Birladie, and thats not amisse for you sir.
Lod.
For me, with a plague tee?
Temp.
No nor for any man thats not sound I meane sir.
Lod.
S’fut ma [...]ters these be good parts in the old wench, wilt thou haue her Lieutenant? sheele be a good stay to the rest of thy liuing, the gallants will all honour thee at thy house I warrant thee.
Inno.
Fore God Captaine I care not if I haue.
Temp.
Well yong Gentleman, perhaps it should not be the worst for you.
Quint.
Why law, thy vertues haue own her at first sight, shee shall not come to thee emptie, for Ile promise thee that Ile make her able to bid any Gentleman welcome to a peece of mutton and rabbet at all times.
Lor.
Birladie, a good Ordinarie.
Quint.
Thow’t visit sometimes Dad.
Lor
That I will yfaith boy in authority wise.
Quint.
Why then strike hands, and if the rest be pleas’d,
Let all hands strike as these haue strucke afore,
And with round Ecchoes make the welken rore.
Exeunt.
Finis Actus Quinti & vltimi.
The Tragedies
The Palace of Whitehall by Hendrick Danckerts, c. 1675 — Chapman wrote one of the most successful masques of the Jacobean era, ‘The Memorable Masque of the Middle Temple and Lincoln’s Inn’, performed on 15 February 1613 at Whitehall.
THE TRAGEDY OF BUSSY D’AMBOIS
EDITED BY FREDERICK S. BOAS; 1905 EDITION
Widely considered to be Chapman’s greatest dramatic work, The Tragedy of Bussy D’Ambois is the earliest in a series of plays that he wrote concerning the contemporary French political scene, detailing events from the life of Louis de Bussy d’Amboise, who was murdered in 1579. The tragedy was probably composed in 1603 and performed soon after by the Children of Paul’s. It was entered into the Stationers’ Register on 3 June 1607, and published in quarto the same year by the bookseller William Aspley, who issued a second quarto the next year. A revised version of the text was printed in 1641 by the stationer Robert Lunne, with the claim that the text was “much corrected and amended by the author before his death.” Scholars have disputed the truth of this claim, though the weight of argument seems to fall in its favour. A sequel, The Revenge of Bussy D’Ambois, appeared in c. 1610.
Along with historical sources on the life of Louis de Bussy d’Amboise, Chapman, like Ben Jonson, makes rich use of classical allusions. The tragedy features translated passages from Seneca’s Agamemnon and Hercules Oetaeus, as well as the Moralia of Plutarch, the Aeneid and Georgics of Virgil, and the Adagia of Erasmus. The characters in the play also refer to the Iliad and to works by Empedocles, Themistocles and Camillus.
As the play opens, the aristocratic but impoverished Bussy, an unemployed soldier and an accomplished swordsman, is reflecting on the corrupt, avaricious, and violent society in which he lives. “Who is not poor, is monstrous,” he muses. Yet by the end of the sc
ene Bussy has pocketed a thousand pounds to enter the service of Monsieur, the brother of the reigning King Henri III, who wishes to assemble a troupe of loyal henchmen to further his own political ends. From the start, Bussy demonstrates that he is no mere follower: Monsieur’s steward, who brings Bussy the payment, is rewarded for an impertinent attitude with a sharp blow.
As Chapman’s arguable masterpiece, the tragedy has attracted a large amount of critical commentary. Scholars have debated Chapman’s philosophical and dramaturgical intentions in the play, and whether and to what degree those intentions are successfully realised. Though no true consensus has been reached, many commentators regard Bussy as Chapman’s idea of a moral hero at war with his own lower tendencies, wrapped in a conflict between his idealistic urges and the sheer power of his personality — a Marlovian hero with more conscience than Marlowe ever gave his own protagonists.
Portrait of Louis de Bussy d'Amboise by Édouard Pingret, 1835
CONTENTS
PREFATORY NOTE
BIOGRAPHY
INTRODUCTION
THE TEXT
SOURCES
PROLOGUE
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
ACTUS PRIMI.
SCENA PRIMA.
SCENA SECUNDA.
ACTUS SECUND.
SCENA PRIMA.
SCENA SECUNDA.
ACTUS TERTII.
SCENA PRIMA.
SCENA SECUNDA.
ACTUS QUARTI.
SCENA PRIMA.
SCENA SECUNDA.
ACTUS QUINTI.
SCENA PRIMA.
SCENA SECUNDA.
SCENA TERTIA.
SCENA QUARTA.
EPILOGUE
PREFATORY NOTE
In this volume an attempt is made for the first time to edit Bussy D’Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D’Ambois in a manner suitable to the requirements of modern scholarship. Of the relations of this edition to its predecessors some details are given in the Notes on the Text of the two plays. But in these few prefatory words I should like to call attention to one or two points, and make some acknowledgments.
The immediate source of Bussy D’Ambois still remains undiscovered. But the episodes in the career of Chapman’s hero, vouched for by contemporaries like Brantôme and Marguerite of Valois, and related in some detail in my Introduction, are typical of the material which the dramatist worked upon. And an important clue to the spirit in which he handled it is the identification, here first made, of part of Bussy’s dying speech with lines put by Seneca into the mouth of Hercules in his last agony on Mount Œta. The exploits of D’Ambois were in Chapman’s imaginative vision those of a semi-mythical hero rather than of a Frenchman whose life overlapped with his own.
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 199