The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

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The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 209

by George Chapman


  Are the most perfect idols of the moone,

  Or still-unwean’d sweet moon-calves with white faces,

  Not only are paterns of change to men,

  But as the tender moon-shine of their beauties

  Cleares or is cloudy, make men glad or sad. 20

  So then they rule in men, not men in them.

  Monsieur. But here the moons are chang’d (as the King notes)

  And either men rule in them, or some power

  Beyond their voluntary faculty,

  For nothing can recover their lost faces. 25

  Montsurry. None can be alwayes one: our griefes and joyes

  Hold severall scepters in us, and have times

  For their divided empires: which griefe now in them

  Doth prove as proper to his diadem.

  Buss. And griefe’s a naturall sicknesse of the bloud, 30

  That time to part asks, as his comming had;

  Onely sleight fooles griev’d suddenly are glad.

  A man may say t’a dead man, “be reviv’d,”

  As well as to one sorrowfull, “be not griev’d.”

  And therefore (princely mistresse) in all warres 35

  Against these base foes that insult on weaknesse,

  And still fight hous’d behind the shield of Nature,

  Of priviledge law, treachery, or beastly need,

  Your servant cannot help; authority here

  Goes with corruption, something like some states 40

  That back woorst men; valour to them must creepe

  That to themselves left would feare him asleepe.

  Duchess. Ye all take that for granted that doth rest

  Yet to be prov’d; we all are as we were,

  As merry and as free in thought as ever. 45

  Guise. And why then can ye not disclose your thoughts?

  Tamyra. Me thinks the man hath answer’d for us well.

  Mons. The man! why, madam, d’ee not know his name?

  Tam. Man is a name of honour for a King:

  Additions take away from each chiefe thing. 50

  The schoole of modesty not to learne learnes dames:

  They sit in high formes there that know mens names.

  Mons. [to Bussy.] Heark, sweet heart, here’s a bar set to

  your valour!

  It cannot enter here, no, not to notice

  Of what your name is; your great eagles beak 55

  (Should you flie at her) had as good encounter

  An Albion cliffe as her more craggy liver.

  Buss. Ile not attempt her, sir; her sight and name

  (By which I onely know her) doth deter me.

  Henr. So doe they all men else.

  Mons. You would say so, 60

  If you knew all.

  Tam. Knew all, my lord? what meane you?

  Mons. All that I know, madam.

  Tam. That you know! Speak it.

  Mons. No, tis enough I feele it.

  Henr. But me thinks

  Her courtship is more pure then heretofore.

  True courtiers should be modest, and not nice; 65

  Bold, but not impudent; pleasure love, not vice.

  Mons. Sweet heart, come hither! what if one should make

  Horns at Mountsurry, would it not strike him jealous

  Through all the proofes of his chaste ladies vertues?

  Buss. If he be wise, not. 70

  Mons. What, not if I should name the gardener

  That I would have him think hath grafted him?

  Buss. So the large licence that your greatnesse uses

  To jest at all men may be taught indeed

  To make a difference of the grounds you play on, 75

  Both in the men you scandall and the matter.

  Mons. As how, as how?

  Buss. Perhaps led with a traine

  Where you may have your nose made lesse and slit,

  Your eyes thrust out.

  Mons. Peace, peace, I pray thee, peace!

  Who dares doe that? the brother of his King! 80

  Buss. Were your King brother in you; all your powers

  (Stretcht in the armes of great men and their bawds)

  Set close downe by you; all your stormy lawes

  Spouted with lawyers mouthes, and gushing bloud,

  Like to so many torrents; all your glories 85

  Making you terrible, like enchanted flames,

  Fed with bare cockscombs and with crooked hammes,

  All your prerogatives, your shames, and tortures,

  All daring heaven and opening hell about you —

  Were I the man ye wrong’d so and provok’d, 90

  (Though ne’re so much beneath you) like a box tree

  I would out of the roughnesse of my root

  Ramme hardnesse in my lownesse, and, like death

  Mounted on earthquakes, I would trot through all

  Honors and horrors, thorow foule and faire, 95

  And from your whole strength tosse you into the aire.

  Mons. Goe, th’art a devill! such another spirit

  Could not be still’d from all th’Armenian dragons.

  O, my loves glory! heire to all I have

  (That’s all I can say, and that all I sweare) 100

  If thou out-live me, as I know thou must,

  Or else hath Nature no proportion’d end

  To her great labours; she hath breath’d a minde

  Into thy entrails, of desert to swell

  Into another great Augustus Cæsar; 105

  Organs and faculties fitted to her greatnesse;

  And should that perish like a common spirit,

  Nature’s a courtier and regards no merit.

  Henr. Here’s nought but whispering with us; like a calme

  Before a tempest, when the silent ayre 110

  Layes her soft eare close to the earth to hearken

  For that she feares steales on to ravish her;

  Some fate doth joyne our eares to heare it comming.

  Come, my brave eagle, let’s to covert flie!

  I see almighty Æther in the smoak 115

  Of all his clowds descending, and the skie

  Hid in the dim ostents of tragedy.

  Exit Henr[y] with D’Amb[ois] & Ladies.

  Guis. Now stirre the humour, and begin the brawle.

  Mont. The King and D’Ambois now are growne all one.

  Mons. Nay, they are two, my lord.

  Mont. How’s that?

  Mons. No more. 120

  Mont. I must have more, my lord.

  Mons. What, more than two?

  Mont. How monstrous is this!

  Mons. Why?

  Mont. You make me horns.

  Mons. Not I, it is a work without my power,

  Married mens ensignes are not made with fingers;

  Of divine fabrique they are, not mens hands: 125

  Your wife, you know, is a meere Cynthia,

  And she must fashion hornes out of her nature.

  Mont. But doth she? dare you charge her? speak, false prince.

  Mons. I must not speak, my lord; but if you’l use

  The learning of a noble man, and read, 130

  Here’s something to those points. Soft, you must pawne

  Your honour, having read it, to return it.

  Enter Tamira, Pero.

  Mont. Not I: — I pawne mine honour for a paper!

  Mons. You must not buy it under. Exeunt Guise and Monsieur.

  Mont. Keepe it then,

  And keepe fire in your bosome!

  Tam. What sayes he? 135

  Mont. You must make good the rest.

  Tam. How fares my lord?

  Takes my love any thing to heart he sayes?

  Mont. Come, y’are a —

  Tam. What, my lord?

  Mont. The plague of Herod

  Feast in his rotten entrailes!

  Tam. Will you wreak

  Your angers just cause given by him on me? 14
0

  Mont. By him?

  Tam. By him, my lord. I have admir’d

  You could all this time be at concord with him,

  That still hath plaid such discords on your honour.

  Mont. Perhaps tis with some proud string of my wives.

  Tam. How’s that, my lord?

  Mont. Your tongue will still admire, 145

  Till my head be the miracle of the world.

  Tam. O woe is me! She seemes to sound.

  Pero. What does your lordship meane?

  Madam, be comforted; my lord but tries you.

  Madam! Help, good my lord, are you not mov’d?

  Doe your set looks print in your words your thoughts? 150

  Sweet lord, cleare up those eyes,

  Unbend that masking forehead. Whence is it

  You rush upon her with these Irish warres,

  More full of sound then hurt? But it is enough;

  You have shot home, your words are in her heart; 155

  She has not liv’d to beare a triall now.

  Mont. Look up, my love, and by this kisse receive

  My soule amongst thy spirits, for supply

  To thine chac’d with my fury.

  Tam. O, my lord,

  I have too long liv’d to heare this from you. 160

  Mont. ’Twas from my troubled bloud, and not from me.

  I know not how I fare; a sudden night

  Flowes through my entrailes, and a headlong chaos

  Murmurs within me, which I must digest,

  And not drowne her in my confusions, 165

  That was my lives joy, being best inform’d.

  Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love

  (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression)

  Rag’d being discouraged; my whole heart is wounded

  When any least thought in you is but touch’t, 170

  And shall be till I know your former merits,

  Your name and memory, altogether crave

  In just oblivion their eternall grave;

  And then, you must heare from me, there’s no meane

  In any passion I shall feele for you. 175

  Love is a rasor, cleansing, being well us’d,

  But fetcheth blood still, being the least abus’d.

  To tell you briefly all — the man that left me

  When you appear’d, did turne me worse than woman,

  And stab’d me to the heart, thus, with his fingers. 180

  Tam. O happy woman! comes my stain from him,

  It is my beauty, and that innocence proves

  That slew Chymæra, rescued Peleus

  From all the savage beasts in Peleon,

  And rais’d the chaste Athenian prince from hell: 185

  All suffering with me, they for womens lusts,

  I for a mans, that the Egean stable

  Of his foule sinne would empty in my lap.

  How his guilt shunn’d me! Sacred innocence

  That, where thou fear’st, are dreadfull, and his face 190

  Turn’d in flight from thee that had thee in chace!

  Come, bring me to him. I will tell the serpent

  Even to his venom’d teeth (from whose curst seed

  A pitcht field starts up ‘twixt my lord and me)

  That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers 195

  For being so govern’d by his filthy soule.

  Mont. I know not if himselfe will vaunt t’have beene

  The princely author of the slavish sinne,

  Or any other; he would have resolv’d me,

  Had you not come, not by his word, but writing, 200

  Would I have sworne to give it him againe,

  And pawn’d mine honour to him for a paper.

  Tam. See, how he flies me still! tis a foule heart

  That feares his owne hand. Good my lord, make haste

  To see the dangerous paper: papers hold 205

  Oft-times the formes and copies of our soules,

  And (though the world despise them) are the prizes

  Of all our honors; make your honour then

  A hostage for it, and with it conferre

  My neerest woman here in all she knowes; 210

  Who (if the sunne or Cerberus could have seene

  Any staine in me) might as well as they.

  And, Pero, here I charge thee, by my love,

  And all proofes of it (which I might call bounties);

  By all that thou hast seene seeme good in mee, 215

  And all the ill which thou shouldst spit from thee;

  By pity of the wound this touch hath given me,

  Not as thy mistresse now, but a poore woman

  To death given over, rid me of my paines;

  Powre on thy powder; cleare thy breast of me. 220

  My lord is only here: here speak thy worst;

  Thy best will doe me mischiefe; if thou spar’st me,

  Never shine good thought on thy memory!

  Resolve my lord, and leave me desperate.

  Per. My lord! — my lord hath plaid a prodigals part, 225

  To break his stock for nothing, and an insolent,

  To cut a Gordian when he could not loose it.

  What violence is this, to put true fire

  To a false train; to blow up long crown’d peace

  With sudden outrage; and beleeve a man, 230

  Sworne to the shame of women, ‘gainst a woman

  Borne to their honours? But I will to him.

  Tam. No, I will write (for I shall never more

  Meet with the fugitive) where I will defie him,

  Were he ten times the brother of my King. 235

  To him, my lord, — and ile to cursing him. Exeunt.

  SCENA SECUNDA.

  A Room in Montsurry’s House.]

  Enter D’Ambois and Frier.

  Bussy. I am suspitious, my most honour’d father,

  By some of Monsieurs cunning passages,

  That his still ranging and contentious nose-thrils

  To scent the haunts of mischiefe have so us’d

  The vicious vertue of his busie sence 5

  That he trails hotly of him, and will rowze him,

  Driving him all enrag’d and foming on us;

  And therefore have entreated your deepe skill

  In the command of good aeriall spirits,

  To assume these magick rites, and call up one, 10

  To know if any have reveal’d unto him

  Any thing touching my deare love and me.

  Friar. Good sonne, you have amaz’d me but to make

  The least doubt of it, it concernes so neerely

  The faith and reverence of my name and order. 15

  Yet will I justifie upon my soule

  All I have done;

  If any spirit i’th[e] earth or aire

  Can give you the resolve, doe not despaire.

  Musick: and Tamira enters with Pero, her maid, bearing

  a letter.

  Tamyra. Away, deliver it. Exit Pero.

  O may my lines, 20

  Fill’d with the poyson of a womans hate,

  When he shall open them, shrink up his curst eyes

  With torturous darknesse, such as stands in hell,

  Stuck full of inward horrors, never lighted;

  With which are all things to be fear’d, affrighted. 25

  Buss. How is it with my honour’d mistresse?

  Tam. O, servant, help, and save me from the gripes

  Of shame and infamy. Our love is knowne;

  Your Monsieur hath a paper where is writ

  Some secret tokens that decipher it. 30

  Buss. What cold dull Northern brain, what foole but he,

  Durst take into his Epimethean breast

  A box of such plagues as the danger yeelds

  Incur’d in this discovery? He had better

  Ventur’d his breast in the consuming reach 35

  Of the hot surfets cast out of t
he clouds,

  Or stood the bullets that (to wreak the skie)

  The Cyclops ramme in Joves artillerie.

  Fri. We soone will take the darknesse from his face

  That did that deed of darknesse; we will know 40

  What now the Monsieur and your husband doe;

  What is contain’d within the secret paper

  Offer’d by Monsieur, and your loves events.

  To which ends (honour’d daughter) at your motion

  I have put on these exorcising rites, 45

  And, by my power of learned holinesse

  Vouchsaft me from above, I will command

  Our resolution of a raised spirit.

  Tam. Good father, raise him in some beauteous forme,

  That with least terror I may brook his sight. 50

  Fri. Stand sure together, then, what ere you see,

  And stir not, as ye tender all our lives.

  He puts on his robes.

  Occidentalium legionum spiritualium imperator

  (magnus ille Behemoth) veni, veni, comitatus cum

  Asaroth locotenente invicto. Adjuro te, per Stygis 55

  inscrutabilia arcana, per ipsos irremeabiles anfractus

  Averni: adesto ô Behemoth, tu cui pervia sunt

  Magnatum scrinia; veni, per Noctis & tenebrarum

  abdita profundissima; per labentia sydera; per ipsos

  motus horarum furtivos, Hecatesq[ue] altum silentium! 60

  Appare in forma spiritali, lucente, splendida,

  & amabili!

  Thunder. Ascendit [Behemoth with Cartophylax and other

  spirits].

  Behemoth. What would the holy frier?

  Fri. I would see

  What now the Monsieur and Mountsurrie doe,

  And see the secret paper that the Monsieur 65

  Offer’d to Count Montsurry; longing much

  To know on what events the secret loves

  Of these two honour’d persons shall arrive.

  Beh. Why calledst thou me to this accursed light,

  To these light purposes? I am Emperor 70

  Of that inscrutable darknesse, where are hid

  All deepest truths, and secrets never seene,

  All which I know; and command legions

  Of knowing spirits that can doe more then these.

  Any of this my guard that circle me 75

  In these blew fires, and out of whose dim fumes

  Vast murmurs use to break, and from their sounds

  Articulat voyces, can doe ten parts more

  Than open such sleight truths as you require.

  Fri. From the last nights black depth I call’d up one 80

  Of the inferiour ablest ministers,

  And he could not resolve mee. Send one, then,

  Out of thine owne command to fetch the paper

  That Monsieur hath to shew to Count Montsurry.

  Beh. I will. Cartophylax! thou that properly 85

 

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