The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  The fairest Stars in the bright Sphere of honour;

  Make me the parent of an hundred sons,

  All brought into the world with joy, not sorrow,

  And every one a Father to his Country,

  In being now made Mother of your concord.

  Rol. Such, and so good, loud fame for ever speak you.

  Bal. I, now they meet like Brothers.

  [The Brothers cast away their Swords and embrace.

  Gis. My hearts joy flows through my eyes.

  Aub. May never Womans tongue

  Hereafter be accus’d, for this ones Goodness.

  Otto. If we contend, from this hour, it shall be

  How to o’recome in brotherly affection.

  Rol. Otto is Rollo now, and Rollo, Otto,

  Or as they have one mind, rather one name:

  From this attonement let our lives begin,

  Be all the rest forgotten.

  Aub. Spoke like Rollo.

  Soph. And to the honour of this reconcilement,

  We all this night will at a publick Feast

  With choice Wines drown our late fears, and with Musick

  Welcome our comforts.

  Bald. Sure and certain ones. [Exeunt.

  [Manent Grandpree, Verdon, Trevile and Duprete.

  Grand. Did ever such a hopeful business end thus?

  Ver. ’Tis fatal to us all, and yet you Grandpree,

  Have the least cause to fear.

  Grand. Why, what’s my hope?

  Ver. The certainty that you have to be hang’d;

  You know the Chancellours promise.

  Grand. Plague upon you.

  Ver. What think you of a Bath, and a Lords Daughter

  To entertain you?

  Grand. Those desires are off.

  Frail thoughts, all friends, no Rollians now, nor Ottoes:

  The sev’ral court’sies of our swords and servants

  Defer to after consequence; let’s make use

  Of this nights freedom, a short Parliament to us,

  In which it will be lawful to walk freely.

  Nay, to our drink we shall have meat too, that’s

  No usual business to the men o’th’ sword.

  Drink deep with me to night, we shall to morrow,

  Or whip, or hang the merrier.

  Tre. Lead the way then. [Exeunt.

  Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

  Enter Latorch, and Rollo.

  Lato. WHY should this trouble you?

  Rol. It does, and must do till I find ease.

  Lato. Consider then, and quickly;

  And like a wise man, take the current with you,

  Which once turn’d head, will sink you; blest occasion

  Offers her self in thousand safeties to you;

  Time standing still to point you out your purpose,

  And resolution (the true child of Vertue)

  Readie to execute: what dull cold weakness

  Has crept into your bosom, whose meer thoughts

  Like tempests, plowing up the sayling Forests,

  Even with their swing were wont to shake down hazards.

  What is’t, your Mothers tears?

  Rol. Pray thee be patient.

  Lat. Her hands held up? her prayers, or her curses?

  Oh power of paper dropt through by a woman!

  Take heed the Souldiers see it not; ’tis miserable,

  In Rollo below miserable; take heed your friends,

  The sinews of your cause, the strength you stir by,

  Take heed, I say, they find it not: take heed

  Your own repentance (like a passing-bell)

  Too late, and too loud, tell the world y’are perisht:

  What noble spirit, eager of advancement,

  Whose imployment is his plough; what sword whose sharp

  Waits but the arm to wield it; or what hope ‘(ness

  After the world has blown abroad this weakness,

  Will move again, or make a wish for Rollo?

  Rol. Are we not friends again by each oath ratified,

  Our tongues the Heralds to our hearts?

  Lat. Poor hearts then.

  Rol. Our worthier friends.

  Lat. No friends Sir, to your honour;

  Friends to your fall: where is your understanding,

  The noble vessel that your full soul sail’d in,

  Rib’d round with honours; where is that? ’tis ruin’d,

  The tempest of a womans sighs has sunk it.

  Friendship, take heed Sir, is a smiling harlot

  That when she kisses, kills, a soder’d friendship

  Piec’d out with promises; O painted mine!

  Rol. Latorch, he is my Brother.

  Lat. The more doubted;

  For hatred hatcht at home is a tame Tiger,

  May fawn and sport, but never leaves his nature;

  The jars of Brothers, two such mighty ones,

  Is like a small stone thrown into a river,

  The breach scarce heard, but view the beaten current,

  And you shall see a thousand angry rings

  Rise in his face, still swelling and still growing;

  So jars circling distrusts, distrusts breed dangers,

  And dangers death, the greatest extreme shadow,

  Till nothing bound ’em but the shoar their graves;

  There is no manly wisedom, nor no safety

  In leaning to this league, this piec’d patcht friendship;

  This rear’d up reconcilement on a billow,

  Which as it tumbles, totters down your fortune;

  Is’t not your own you reach at? Law and nature

  Ushering the way before you; is not he

  Born and bequeath’d your subject?

  Rol. Ha.

  Lat. What fool would give a storm leave to disturb his

  When he may shut the casement? can that man (peace,

  Has won so much upon your pity,

  And drawn so high, that like an ominous Comet,

  He darkens all your light; can this toucht Lyon

  (Though now he licks and locks up his fell paws,

  Craftily huming, like a catt to cozen you)

  But when ambition whets him, and time fits him,

  Leap to his prey, and seiz’d once, suck your heart out?

  Do you make it conscience?

  Rol. Conscience, Latorch, what’s that?

  Lat. A fear they tye up fools in, natures coward,

  Palling the blood, and chilling the full spirit

  With apprehension of meer clouds and shadows.

  Rol. I know no conscience, nor I fear no shadows.

  Lat. Or if you did, if there were conscience,

  If the free soul could suffer such a curb

  To the fiery mind, such puddles to put it out;

  Must it needs like a rank Vine, run up rudely,

  And twine about the top of all our happiness,

  Honour and rule, and there sit shaking of us?

  Rol. It shall not, nor it must not; I am satisfied,

  And once more am my self again:

  My Mothers tears and womanish cold prayers,

  Farewel, I have forgot you; if there be conscience,

  Let it not come betwixt a crown and me,

  Which is my hope of bliss, and I believe it:

  Otto, our friendship thus I blow to air,

  A bubble for a boy to play withal;

  And all the vows my weakness made, like this,

  Like this poor heartless rush, I rend in pieces.

  Lat. Now you go right, Sir, now your eyes are open.

  Rol. My Fathers last petition’s dead as he is,

  And all the promises I clos’d his eyes with,

  In the same grave I bury.

  Lat. Now y’are a man, Sir.

  Rol. Otto, thou shewst my winding sheet before me,

  Which e’re I put it on, like Heavens blest fire

  In my descent I’le make it blush in bloo
d;

  A Crown, A Crown, Oh sacred Rule, now fire me,

  Nor shall the pity of thy youth, false Brother,

  Although a thousand Virgins kneel before me,

  And every dropping eye a court of mercy,

  The same blood with me, nor the reverence

  Due to my mothers blest womb that bred us,

  Redeem thee from my doubts: thou art a wolf here,

  Fed with my fears, and I must cut thee from me:

  A Crown, A Crown; Oh sacred Rule, now fire me:

  No safety else.

  Lat. But be not too much stir’d, Sir, nor too high

  In your execution: swallowing waters

  Run deep and silent, till they are satisfied,

  And smile in thousand Curies, to guild their craft;

  Let your sword sleep, and let my two edg’d wit work,

  This happy feast, the full joy of your friendships

  Shall be his last.

  Rol. How, my Latorch?

  Lat. Why thus, Sir;

  I’le presently go dive into the Officers

  That minister at Table: gold and goodness,

  With promise upon promise, and time necessary,

  I’le pour into them.

  Rol. Canst thou do it neatly?

  Lat. Let me alone, and such a bait it shall be,

  Shall take off all suspicion.

  Rol. Go, and prosper.

  Lat. Walk in then, and your smoothest face put on Sir.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE II.

  Enter the Master Cooky Butler, Pantler, Yeoman of the

  Cellary with a Jack of Beer and a Dish.

  Cook. A hot day, a hot day, vengeance hot day boys,

  Give me some drink, this fire’s a plaguy fretter:

  Body of me, I’m dry still; give me the Jack boy;

  This wooden Skiff holds nothing.

  Pant. And faith master, what brave new meats; for here

  Will be old eating.

  Coo. Old and young, boy, let ’em all eat, I have it;

  I have ballast for their bellies, if they eat a gods name,

  Let them have ten tire of teeth a piece, I care not;

  But. But what new rare munition?

  Coo. Pish, a thousand;

  I’le make you piggs speak French at table, and a fat swan

  Come sailing out of England with a challenge;

  I’le make you a dish of calves-feet dance the Canaries,

  And a consort of cramm’d capons fiddle to ’em;

  A calves head speak an Oracle, and a dozen of Larks

  Rise from the dish, and sing all supper time;

  ’Tis nothing boyes: I have framed a fortification

  Out of Rye paste, which is impregnable,

  And against that, for two long hours together,

  Two dozen of marrow-bones shall play continually:

  For fish, I’le make you a standing lake of white broth,

  And pikes come ploughing up the plums before them;

  Arion, like a Dolphin, playing Lachrymae,

  And brave King Herring with his oyle and onyon

  Crown’d with a Limon pill, his way prepar’d

  With his strong Guard of Pilchers.

  Pant. I marry Master.

  Coo. All these are nothing: I’le make you a stubble Goose

  Turn o’th’ toe thrice, do a cross point presently,

  And sit down again, and cry come eat me:

  These are for mirth. Now Sir, for matter of mourning,

  I’le bring you in the Lady Loyn of Veal,

  With the long love she bore the Prince of Orenge.

  All. Thou boy, thou.

  Coo. I have a trick for thee too,

  And a rare trick, and I have done it for thee.

  Yeo. What’s that good master?

  Coo. ’Tis a sacrifice.

  A full Vine bending, like an Arch, and under

  The blown god Bacchus, sitting on a Hogshead,

  His Altar Beer: before that, a plump Vintner

  Kneeling, and offring incense to his deitie,

  Which shall be only this, red Sprats and Pilchers.

  But. This when the Table’s drawn, to draw the wine on.

  Coo. Thou hast it right, and then comes thy Song, Butler.

  Pant. This will be admirable.

  Yeo. Oh Sir, most admirable.

  Coo. If you’l have the pasty speak, ’tis in my power,

  I have fire enough to work it; come, stand close,

  And now rehearse the Song, we may be perfect,

  The drinking Song, and say I were the Brothers.

  THE DRINKING SONG.

  Drink to day and drown all sorrow,

  You shall perhaps not do it to morrow.

  Best while you have it use your breathy

  There is no drinking after death.

  Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit,

  There is no cure ‘gainst age but it.

  It helps the head-ach, cough and tissick,

  And is for all diseases Physick.

  Then let us swill boyes for our health,

  Who drinks well, loves the common-wealth.

  And he that will to bed go sober,

  Falls with the leaf still in October.

  Well have you born your selves; a red Deer Pye, Boyes,

  And that no lean one, I bequeath your vertues;

  What friends hast thou to day? no citizens?

  Pant. Yes Father, the old Crew.

  Coo. By the mass true wenches:

  Sirrah, set by a chine of Beef, and a hot Pasty,

  And let the Joll of Sturgeon be corrected:

  And do you mark Sir, stalk me to a Pheasant,

  And see if you can shoot her in the Sellar.

  Pant. God a mercy Lad, send me thy roaring bottles,

  And with such Nectar I will see ’em fill’d,

  That all thou speak’st shall be pure Helicon.

  Enter Latorch.

  Monsieur Latorch? what news with him? Save you.

  Lat. Save you Master, save you Gentlemen,

  You are casting for this preparation;

  This joyfull supper for the royal Brothers:

  I’m glad I have met you fitly, for to your charge

  My bountifull brave Butler, I must deliver

  A Bevie of young Lasses, that must look on

  This nights solemnity, and see the two Dukes,

  Or I shall lose my credit; you have Stowage?

  But. For such freight I’le find room, and be your servant.

  Coo. Bring them, they shall not starve here, I’le send ’em victuals.

  Shall work you a good turn, though’t be ten days hence, Sir.

  Lat. God a mercy noble Master.

  Coo. Nay, I’le do’t.

  Yeo. And wine they shall not want, let ’em drink like Ducks.

  Lat. What misery it is that minds so royal,

  And such most honest bounties, as yours are,

  Should be confin’d thus to uncertainties?

  But. I, were the State once settled, then we had places.

  Yeo. Then we could shew our selves, and help our friends,

  Coo. I, then there were some savour in’t, where now (Sir.

  We live between two stools, every hour ready

  To tumble on our n<5ses; and for ought we know yet,

  For all this Supper, ready to fast the next day.

  Lat. I would fain speak unto you out of pitie,

  Out of the love I bear you, out of honesty,

  For your own goods; nay, for the general blessing.

  Coo. And we would as fain hear you, pray go forward.

  Lat. Dare you but think to make your selves up certainties

  Your places and your credits ten times doubled,

  The Princes favour, Rolloys?

  But. A sweet Gentleman.

  Yeo. I, and as bounteous, if he had his right too.

  Coo. By the mass, a Royal Gentleman indeed Boyes,

/>   He’d make the chimneys smoak.

  Lat. He would do’t friends,

  And you too, if he had his right, true Courtiers;

  What could you want then? dare you?

  Coo. Pray you be short Sir.

  Lat. And this my soul upon’t, I dare assure you,

  If you but dare your parts.

  Coo. Dare not me Monsieur,

  For I that fear nor fire nor water, Sir,

  Dare do enough, a man would think.

  Yeo. Believ’t, Sir;

  But make this good upon us you have promis’d,

  You shall not find us flinchers.

  Lat. Then I’le be sudden.

  Pant. What may this mean? and whither would he drive us?

  Lat. And first, for what you must do, because all danger

  Shall be apparantly ty’d up and muzl’d,

  The matter seeming mighty: there’s your pardons.

  Pant. Pardons? Is’t come to that? gods defend us.

  Lat. And here’s five hundred Crowns in bounteous earnest,

  And now behold the matter. [Latorch gives

  But. What are these, Sir?— ‘each a paper.

  Yeo. And of what nature? to what use?

  Lat. Imagine.

  Coo. Will they kill Rats? they eat my pyes abominably,

  Or work upon a woman cold as Christmas?

  I have an old Jade sticks upon my fingers,

  May I taste— ‘them?

  Lat. Is— ‘your will— ‘made?

  And have you said your prayers? for they’le pay you:

  And now to— ‘come up— ‘to you ‘for— ‘your— ‘knowledge,

  And for the— ‘good you— ‘never shall— ‘repent— ‘you

  If you be wise men now.

  Coo. Wise as you will, Sir.

  Lat. These must be put then into the several meats

  Young Otto loves, by you into his wine, Sir,

  Into his bread by you, by you into his linnen.

  Now if you desire, you have found the means

  To make you, and if you dare not, you have

  Found your mine; resolve me e’re you go.

  But. You’l keep your faith with us.

  Lat. May I no more see light else.

  Coo. Why ’tis done then!

  But. ’Tis done.

  Pant. ’Tis done which shall be undone.

  Lat. About it then, farewel, y’are all of one mind.

  Coo. All?

  All. All, All.

  Lat. Why then, all happie. [Exit.

  But. What did we promise him?

  Yeo. Do you ask that now?

  But. I would be glad to know what ’tis.

  Pan. I’le tell you,

  It is to be all villains, knaves, and traytors.

  Coo. Fine wholsome titles.

  Pan. But if you dare, go forward.

  Coo. We may be hang’d, drawn, and quarter’d.

  Pan. Very true, Sir.