Ren. That meanes lay on mee, 95
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 feare 115
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 faction 125
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 danger 130
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 cannot 135
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.
[Sidenote: Enter Henry, Monsieur, Guise, Clerm[ont], Espernone,
Soisson. Monsieur taking leave of the King.]
See Monsieur taking now his leave for Brabant; 145
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 guises 155
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, 165
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, 170
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 beast 195
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. 200
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 stomacke 210
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 n
ot have fear’d to anger 225
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? 230
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. 250
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 260
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 265
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; 275
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; 285
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 worth 295
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 puft 305
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 raises 310
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 misers 320
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, 330
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: 335
“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 eye 340
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 350
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 a
t them all, were worthy the enstaging. 355
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 this 375
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 Baligny 380
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.
SCÆNA SECUNDA.
A Room in Montsurry’s house.]
Tamyra sola.
Tamyra. Revenge, that ever red sitt’st in the eyes
Of injur’d ladies, till we crowne thy browes
With bloudy lawrell, and receive from thee
Justice for all our honours injurie;
Whose wings none flye that wrath or tyrannie 5
Have ruthlesse made and bloudy, enter here,
Enter, O enter! and, though length of time
Never lets any scape thy constant justice,
Yet now prevent that length. Flye, flye, and here
Fixe thy steele foot-steps; here, O here, where still 10
Earth (mov’d with pittie) yeelded and embrac’d
My loves faire figure, drawne in his deare bloud,
And mark’d the place, to show thee where was done
The cruell’st murther that ere fled the sunne.
O Earth! why keep’st thou not as well his spirit, 15
To give his forme life? No, that was not earthly;
That (rarefying the thinne and yeelding ayre)
Flew sparkling up into the sphære of fire
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 213