by John Dryden
I never am beforehand with my hours,
But every one has work before it comes.
Mar. “There’s something for my service to be done;” —
Those were your words.
King. And you desire their meaning?
Mar. I dare not ask, and yet, perhaps, may guess.
King. ’Tis searching there where heaven can only pry,
Not man, who knows not man but by surmise;
Nor devils, nor angels of a purer mould,
Can trace the winding labyrinths of thought.
I tell thee, Marmoutiere, I never speak,
Not when alone, for fear some fiend should hear,
And blab my secrets out.
Mar. You hate the Guise.
King. True, I did hate him.
Mar. And you hate him still.
King. I am reconciled.
Mar. Your spirit is too high,
Great souls forgive not injuries, till time
Has put their enemies into their power,
That they may shew, forgiveness is their own;
For else, ’tis fear to punish, that forgives;
The coward, not the king.
King. He has submitted.
Mar. In show; for in effect he still insults.
King. Well, kings must bear sometimes.
Mar. They must, till they can shake their burden off;
And that’s, I think, your aim.
King. Mistaken still:
All favours, all preferments, pass through them;
I’m pliant, and they mould me as they please.
Mar. These are your arts, to make them more secure;
Just so your brother used the admiral.
Brothers may think, and act like brothers too.
King. What said you, ha! what mean you, Marmoutiere?
Mar. Nay, what mean you? that start betrayed you, sir.
King. This is no vigil of St Bartholomew,
Nor is Blois Paris.
Mar. ’Tis an open town.
King. What then?
Mar. Where you are strongest.
King. Well, what then?
Mar. No more; but you have power, and are provoked.
King. O, thou hast set thy foot upon a snake!
Get quickly off, or it will sting thee dead.
Mar. Can I unknow it?
King. No, but keep it secret.
Mar. Think, sir, your thoughts are still as much your own,
As when you kept the key of your own breast;
But since you let me in, I find it filled
With death and horror: you would murder Guise.
King. Murder! what, murder! use a softer word,
And call it sovereign justice.
Mar. Would I could!
But justice bears the godlike shape of law,
And law requires defence, and equal plea
Betwixt the offender, and the righteous judge.
King. Yes, when the offender can be judged by laws:
But when his greatness overturns the scales,
Then kings are justice in the last appeal,
And, forced by strong necessity, may strike;
In which, indeed, they assert the public good,
And, like sworn surgeons, lop the gangrened limb:
Unpleasant, wholesome, work.
Mar. If this be needful.
King. Ha! didst not thou thyself, in fathoming
The depth of my designs, drop there the plummet?
Didst thou not say — Affronts so great, so public,
I never could forgive?
Mar. I did; but yet —
King. What means, but yet? ’tis evidence so full,
If the last trumpet sounded in my ears,
Undaunted I should meet the saints half way,
And in the face of heaven maintain the fact.
Mar. Maintain it then to heaven, but not to me.
Do you love me?
King. Can you doubt it?
Mar. Yes, I can doubt it, if you can deny;
Love begs once more this great offender’s life.
Can you forgive the man you justly hate,
That hazards both your life and crown to spare him?
One, whom you may suspect I more than pity, —
For I would have you see, that what I ask,
I know, is wondrous difficult to grant, —
Can you be thus extravagantly good?
King. What then? for I begin to fear my firmness,
And doubt the soft destruction of your tongue.
Mar. Then, in return, I swear to heaven and you,
To give you all the preference of my soul;
No rebel rival to disturb you there;
Let him but live, that he may be my convert! [King walks awhile, then wipes his eyes, and speaks.
King. You’ve conquered; all that’s past shall be forgiven.
My lavish love has made a lavish grant;
But know, this act of grace shall be my last.
Let him repent, yes, let him well repent;
Let him desist, and tempt revenge no further:
For, by yon heaven, that’s conscious of his crimes,
I will no more by mercy be betrayed.
Deputies appearing at the Door.
The deputies are entering; you must leave me.
Thus, tyrant business all my hours usurps,
And makes me live for others.
Mar. Now heaven reward you with a prosperous reign,
And grant, you never may be good in vain![Exit.
Enter Deputies of the Three States: Cardinal of Guise, and Archbishop of Lyons, at the head of them.
King. Well, my good lords, what matters of importance
Employed the States this morning?
Arch. One high point
Was warmly canvassed in the Commons House,
And will be soon resolved.
King. What was’t?
Card. Succession.
King. That’s one high point indeed, but not to be
So warmly canvassed, or so soon resolved.
Card. Things necessary must sometimes be sudden.
King. No sudden danger threatens you, my lord.
Arch. What may be sudden, must be counted so.
We hope and wish your life; but yours and ours
Are in the hand of heaven.
King. My lord, they are;
Yet, in a natural way, I may live long,
If heaven, and you my loyal subjects, please.
Arch. But since good princes, like your majesty,
Take care of dangers merely possible,
Which may concern their subjects, whose they are,
And for whom kings are made —
King. Yes; we for them,
And they for us; the benefits are mutual,
And so the ties are too.
Card. To cut things short,
The Commons will decree, to exclude Navarre
From the succession of the realm of France.
King. Decree, my lord! What! one estate decree?
Where then are the other two, and what am I?
The government is cast up somewhat short,
The clergy and nobility cashiered,
Five hundred popular figures on a row,
And I myself, that am, or should be, king,
An o’ergrown cypher set before the sum:
What reasons urge our sovereigns for the exclusion?
Arch. He stands suspected, sir, of heresy.
King. Has he been called to make his just defence?
Card. That needs not, for ’tis known.
King. To whom?
Card. The Commons.
King. What is’t those gods, the Commons, do not know?
But heresy, you churchmen teach us vulgar,
Supposes obstinate, and stiff persisting
In errors proved, long admonitions made,
And all rejected: Has this course been used?
/> Arch. We grant it has not; but —
King. Nay, give me leave, —
I urge, from your own grant, it has not been.
If then, in process of a petty sum,
Both parties having not been fully heard,
No sentence can be given;
Much less in the succession of a crown,
Which, after my decease, by right inherent,
Devolves upon my brother of Navarre.
Card. The right of souls is still to be preferred;
Religion must not suffer for a claim.
King. If kings may be excluded, or deposed,
Whene’er you cry religion to the crowd;
That doctrine makes rebellion orthodox,
And subjects must be traitors, to be saved.
Arch. Then heresy’s entailed upon the throne.
King. You would entail confusion, wars, and slaughters:
Those ills are certain; what you name, contingent.
I know my brother’s nature; ’tis sincere,
Above deceit, no crookedness of thought;
Says what he means, and what he says performs;
Brave, but not rash; successful, but not proud;
So much acknowledging, that he’s uneasy,
Till every petty service be o’erpaid.
Arch. Some say, revengeful.
King. Some then libel him;
But that’s what both of us have learned to bear.
He can forgive, but you disdain forgiveness.
Your chiefs are they no libel must profane;
Honour’s a sacred thing in all but kings;
But when your rhymes assassinate our fame,
You hug your nauseous, blundering ballad-wits,
And pay them, as if nonsense were a merit,
If it can mean but treason.
Arch. Sir, we have many arguments to urge —
King. And I have more to answer: Let them know,
My royal brother of Navarre shall stand
Secure by right, by merit, and my love.
God, and good men, will never fail his cause,
And all the bad shall be constrained by laws.
Arch. Since gentle means to exclude Navarre are vain,
To-morrow, in the States, ‘twill be proposed,
To make the duke of Guise lieutenant-general;
Which power, most graciously confirmed by you,
Will stop this headlong torrent of succession,
That bears religion, laws, and all before it.
In hope you’ll not oppose what must be done,
We wish you, sir, a long and prosperous reign. [Exeunt all but the King.
King. To-morrow Guise is made lieutenant-general; —
Why, then, to-morrow I no more am king.
’Tis time to push my slackened vengeance home,
To be a king, or not to be at all.
The vow that manacled my rage is loosed;
Even heaven is wearied with repeated crimes,
Till lightning flashes round, to guard the throne,
And the curbed thunder grumbles to be gone.
Enter Grillon to him.
Gril. ’Tis just the appointed hour you bid me wait.
King. So just, as if thou wert inspired to come;
As if the guardian-angel of my throne,
Who had o’erslept himself so many years,
Just now was roused, and brought thee to my rescue.
Gril. I hear the Guise will be lieutenant-general.
King. And canst thou suffer it?
Gril. Nay, if you will suffer it, then well may I. If kings will be so civil to their subjects, to give up all things tamely, they first turn rebels to themselves, and that’s a fair example for their friends. ‘Slife, sir, ’tis a dangerous matter to be loyal on the wrong side, to serve my prince in spite of him; if you’ll be a royalist yourself, there are millions of honest men will fight for you; but if you will not, there are few will hang for you.
King. No more: I am resolved.
The course of things can be with-held no longer
From breaking forth to their appointed end:
My vengeance, ripened in the womb of time,
Presses for birth, and longs to be disclosed.
Grillon, the Guise is doomed to sudden death:
The sword must end him: — has not thine an edge?
Gril. Yes, and a point too; I’ll challenge him.
King. I bid thee kill him.[Walking.
Gril. So I mean to do.
King. Without thy hazard.
Gril. Now I understand you; I should murder him:
I am your soldier, sir, but not your hangman.
King. Dost thou not hate him?
Gril. Yes.
King. Hast thou not said,
That he deserves it?
Gril. Yes; but how have I
Deserved to do a murder?
King. ’Tis no murder;
’Tis sovereign justice, urged from self-defence.
Gril. ’Tis all confest, and yet I dare not do’t.
King. Go; thou art a coward.
Gril. You are my king.
King. Thou say’st, thou dar’st not kill him.
Gril. Were I a coward, I had been a villain,
And then I durst have done’t.
King. Thou hast done worse, in thy long course of arms.
Hast thou ne’er killed a man?
Gril. Yes, when a man would have killed me.
King. Hast thou not plundered from the helpless poor?
Snatched from the sweating labourer his food?
Gril. Sir, I have eaten and drank in my own defence, when I was hungry and thirsty; I have plundered, when you have not paid me; I have been content with a farmer’s daughter, when a better whore was not to be had. As for cutting off a traitor, I’ll execute him lawfully in my own function, when I meet him in the field; but for your chamber-practice, that’s not my talent.
King. Is my revenge unjust, or tyrannous?
Heaven knows I love not blood.
Gril. No, for your mercy is your only vice. You may dispatch a rebel lawfully, but the mischief is, that rebel has given me my life at the barricadoes, 104 and, till I have returned his bribe, I am not upon even terms with him.
King. Give me thy hand; I love thee not the worse:
Make much of honour, ’tis a soldier’s conscience.
Thou shalt not do this act; thou art even too good;
But keep my secret, for that’s conscience too.
Gril. When I disclose it, think I am a coward.
King. No more of that, I know thou art not one.
Call Lognac hither straight, and St Malin;
Bid Larchant find some unsuspected means,
To keep guards doubled at the council-door,
That none pass in or out, but those I call:
The rest I’ll think on further; so farewell.
Gril. Heaven bless your majesty! Though I’ll not kill him for you, I’ll defend you when he’s killed: For the honest part of the job let me alone.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II. — Scene opens, and discovers Men and Women at a Banquet, Malicorn standing by.
Mal. This is the solemn annual feast I keep,
As this day twelve year, on this very hour,
I signed the contract for my soul with hell.
I bartered it for honours, wealth, and pleasure,
Three things which mortal men do covet most;
And ‘faith, I over-sold it to the fiend:
What, one-and-twenty years, nine yet to come!
How can a soul be worth so much to devils?
O how I hug myself, to out-wit these fools of hell!
And yet a sudden damp, I know not why,
Has seized my spirits, and, like a heavy weight,
Hangs on their active springs. I want a song
To rouse me; my blood freezes. — Music there.
A SONG BETWIXT A SHEPHERD AND SHEPH
ERDESS.
Shepherdess.
Tell me, Thyrsis, tell your anguish,
Why you sigh, and why you languish;
When the nymph whom you adore,
Grants the blessing
Of possessing,
What can love and I do more?
Shepherd.
Think it’s love beyond all measure,
Makes me faint away with pleasure;
Strength of cordial may destroy.
And the blessing
Of possessing,
Kills me with excess of joy.
Shepherdess.
Thyrsis, how can I believe you!
But confess, and I’ll forgive you;
Men are false, and so are you,
Never nature
Framed a creature
To enjoy, and yet be true.
Shepherd.
Mine’s a flame beyond expiring,
Still possessing, still desiring,
Fit for love’s imperial crown;
Ever shining,
And refining,
Still the more ’tis melted down.
Chorus together.
Mine’s a flame beyond expiring.
Still possessing, still desiring,
Fit for love’s imperial crown;
Ever shining,
And refining,
Still the more ’tis melted down.
After a Song and Dance, loud knocking at the Door,
Enter a Servant.
Mal. What noise is that?
Serv. An ill-looked surly man,
With a hoarse voice, says he must speak with you.
Mal. Tell him I dedicate this day to pleasure.
I neither have, nor will have, business with him.[Exit Serv.
What, louder yet? what saucy slave is this?[Knock louder.
Re-enter Servant.
Serv. He says you have, and must have, business with him.
Come out, or he’ll come in, and spoil your mirth.
Mal. I will not.
Serv. Sir, I dare not tell him so;
[Knocking again more fiercely.
My hair stands up in bristles when I see him;
The dogs run into corners; the spay’d bitch
Bays at his back, and howls.
Mal. Bid him enter, and go off thyself.[Exit Serv.
Scene closes upon the company.
Enter Melanax, an hour-glass in his hand, almost empty.
How dar’st thou interrupt my softer hours?
By heaven, I’ll ram thee in some knotted oak,
Where thou shalt sigh, and groan to whistling winds,
Upon the lonely plain.
Or I’ll confine thee deep in the red sea, groveling on the sands,
Ten thousand billows rolling o’er thy head.
Mel. Hoh, hoh, hoh!
Mal. Laughest thou, malicious fiend?
I’ll ope my book of bloody characters,
Shall rumple up thy tender airy limbs,