Had he encounterd me with such proud sleight,
I would have put that project face of his 15
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 earth 35
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 45
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? 50
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 55
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 65
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, 70
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, 75
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 honour 80
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: 95
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 King 100
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: 105
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: 115
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 120
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: 125
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 thee 130
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; 135
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 sunne 140
Ile visit thy more comfortable beauties.
Tam. This is my comfort, that the sunne hath le
ft
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, 145
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, 155
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 165
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: 170
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, 175
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, 180
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: 195
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) 200
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 courtship 210
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 note 215
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; 230
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. 240
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 takes 245
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 him 255
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 265
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 270
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, 275
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 ser
vice, as I heare, beeing deepely vowed
To your perfections; which my ready presence, 280
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, 285
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 because 290
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.
ACTUS TERTII.
SCENA PRIMA.
[A Room in Montsurry’s House.]
Enter D’Ambois, Tamyra, with a chaine of pearle.
Bussy. Sweet mistresse, cease! your conscience is too nice,
And bites too hotly of the Puritane spice.
Tamyra. O, my deare servant, in thy close embraces
I have set open all the dores of danger
To my encompast honour, and my life: 5
Before I was secure against death and hell;
But now am subject to the heartlesse feare
Of every shadow, and of every breath,
And would change firmnesse with an aspen leafe:
So confident a spotlesse conscience is, 10
So weake a guilty. O, the dangerous siege
Sinne layes about us, and the tyrannie
He exercises when he hath expugn’d!
Like to the horror of a winter’s thunder,
Mixt with a gushing storme, that suffer nothing 15
To stirre abroad on earth but their own rages,
Is sinne, when it hath gathered head above us;
No roofe, no shelter can secure us so,
But he will drowne our cheeks in feare or woe.
Buss. Sin is a coward, madam, and insults 20
But on our weaknesse, in his truest valour:
And so our ignorance tames us, that we let
His shadowes fright us: and like empty clouds
In which our faulty apprehensions forge
The formes of dragons, lions, elephants, 25
When they hold no proportion, the slie charmes
Of the witch policy makes him like a monster
Kept onely to shew men for servile money:
That false hagge often paints him in her cloth
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 206