And guides me from the footsteps of despair.
Hoffman. A heavenly motion, full of charity!
Yourself to kill yourself were such a sin
As most divines hold deadly.
Lucibella. Ay, but a knave may kill one by a trick,
Or lay a plot, or foe, or cog, or prate,
Make strife, make a man’s father hang him
Or his brother: how think you, godly prince?
60 God give you joy of your adoption!
May not tricks be used?
Hoffman. Alas, poor lady –
Lucibella. Ay, that’s true, I am poor, and yet have things,
And gold rings, and amidst the leaves green a –
Lord, how d’ye; well, I thank god, why that’s well;
And you, my lord, and you too. Never a one weep;
Must I shed all the tears? Well, he is gone,
And he dwells here, ye said; ho, I’ll dwell with him.
Death: dastard, devil, robber of my life,
70 Thou base adulterer, that part’st man and wife,
Come I defy thy darts.
Ferdinand. O sweet, forbear!
For pity’s sake awhile her rage restrain
Lest she do violence upon herself.
Lucibella. O, never fear me, there is somewhat cries
Within me ‘no’: tells me there’s knaves abroad,
Bids me be quiet, lay me down and sleep.
Good night good gentlefolks; brother, your hand,
And yours, good father – you are my father now.
80 Do but stand here: I’ll run a little course
At base, or barley-break, or some such toy,
To catch the fellow, and come back again.
Nay, look thee now: let go, or by my troth
I’ll tell my lodowick how ye use his love.
So now goodbye, now good night indeed:
Lie further, lodowick, take not all the room;
Be not a churl, thy lucibel doth come.
Exit.
Saxony. Follow her, brother; follow, son Mathias.
Be careful guardians of the troubled maid
90 While I confer with princely Ferdinand
About an embassy to Austria,
With true reports of their disastrous haps.
Mathias. Well, I will be her guardian and her guide.
By me her senses have been weakened,
But I’ll contend with charitable pain
To serve her, till they be restored again.
Exit.
Hoffman. A virtuous, noble resolution.
Ferdinand. Worthy Prince Rodorick, when tempestuous woe
Abates her violent storm, I shall have time
100 To chide you for unkindness, that have lived
In solitary life with us so long.
Believe me, Saxon prince, you did us wrong.
Rodorick. Would I might never live in no worse state:
For contemplation is the path to heaven.
My new conversing in the world is proved
Luckless and full of sorrow. Fare ye well
My heaven’s alone; all company seems hell.
Exit.
Ferdinand. My nephew, call for wine: my soul is dry.
I am sad at sight of so much misery.
Enter Jerome and Stilt, with cup, towel and wine.
110 Hoffman. Is the duke’s taster there?
Jerome. I am at hand with my office.
Hoffman. Fill for the duke, good cousin: taste it first.
Jerome. [Aside] I have no mind to it, Stilt, for all my antidote.
Stilt. I warrant you, master, let Prince Otho drink.
Jerome. Here cousin, will you begin to my father?
Hoffman. I thank you kindly. I’ll not be so bold;
It is your office. Fill unto my lord. [Jerome drinks.]
Jerome. Well, God be with it, it’s gone down, and now I’ll send the medicine after. [Drinks.] Father, pray drink to my cousin,
120 for he is so mannerly that he’ll not drink before you.
Stilt. Pray ye do, my lord; for Prince Otho is best worthy of all this company to drink of that cup. [Aside] Which and he do, I hope he shall ne’er drink more.
Ferdinand. Good fortune after all this sorrow, Saxony.
Saxony. O worthy Ferdinand, Fortune and I are parted: she has played the minion with me, turned all her favours into frowns; and in scorn robbed me of all my hopes; and in one hour o’erturned me from the top of her proud wheel.
Ferdinand. Build not on Fortune, she’s a fickle dame
130 And those that trust unto her sphere are fools.
Fill for his excellence.
Jerome. Here, cousin for your excellence: pray, drink you to the duke of Saxony.
Hoffman. Not I, kind cousin, I list not to drink.
Jerome. God’s lady! I think Stilt, we are all undone, for I feel a jumbling worse and worse.
Stilt. O, give the duke some of the medicine!
Ferdinand. What medicine talk’st thou of? what ails my son?
140 Jerome. O lord, father, and ye mean to be a live man, take some of this.
Ferdinand. Why, this is deadly poison unprepared!
Jerome. True, but it was prepared for you and me by an excellent fellow, a French doctor.
Stilt. Ay, he is one that had great care of you.
Ferdinand. Villain what was he? drink not, Saxony:
I doubt I am by treason poisoned.
Hoffman. Heaven keep that fortune from my dread lord.
Enter lorrique hastily.
Lorrique. Treason ye princes, treason to the life
Of Ferdinand the duke of Prussia!
150 My princely master Otho of luningberg!
Hoffman. Who should intend us treason?
Lorrique. This fond prince.
Jerome. Never to you, father, but to my cousin Otho; indeed I meant to poison him, but I have peppered myself.
Hoffman. I never gave thee cause.
Stilt. That’s nothing to the purpose; but my lord took occasion by the counsel of a French doctor.
Hoffman. Physicians for the duke, my uncle faints.
Stilt. Surgeons for the prince, my master falls.
160 Ferdinand. Call no physicians, for I feel’t too late.
The subtle poison mingled with my blood
Numbs all the passages, and nimble death
Fleets on his purple currents to my heart.
Jerome. Father, I am dying too: oh, now I depart;
Be good to Stilt my man; he was accessary to all this.
Stilt. Ay truly was I sir, therefore I hope you’ll be good to me. I helped to mingle the poison as the French doctor and my master charged me.
Ferdinand. What’s that French doctor?
170 Hoffman. What’s become of him?
Stilt. We left him in the court in my master’s chamber.
Jerome. Ay sir, woe worth him. Farewell Stilt; farewell father.
I ask you pardon with repentant eyes.
Fall stars, O Stilt, for thus thy master dies.
Moritur.
Ferdinand. Take hence that traitor for the fool, his man.
Stilt. I pray provide for me, sir.
Ferdinand. let him be tortured, then upon a wheel broke like a traitor and a murderer.
Stilt. O lord sir, I meant you no hurt, but to Prince Otho.
180 Hoffman. Away, disturb us not with idle talk.
Stilt. ‘Provide,’ quoth ’a, and you call this providing; pray let me provide for myself. Alas my poor father, he’ll creep upon crutches into his grave when he hears his proper’st Stilt is cut off by the stumps.
Ferdinand. Hence with that fellow.
Stilt. Pray, not so hasty: you would scarce be so forward, and you were going as I am, to the gallows.
Exeunt guard with Stilt.
Hoffman. How cheers my royal uncle?
Ferdinand. like a ship that having long contended with
190 The w
aves, is at last with one proud billow
Smit into the ruthless swallow of the sea.
For thee, alas, I perceive this plot was laid:
But heaven had greater mercy on thy youth,
And on my people, that shall find true rest
Being with a prince so wise and virtuous blest.
Farewell most noble John of Saxony,
Bear thy unmatched grief with a mind bent
Against the force of all temptations;
By my example, princely brother, see,
200 How vain our lives and all our glories be. [Dies.]
Saxony. God for thy mercy! treason upon treason,
How now young Otho; what art thou poisoned too?
Hoffman. Would God I were, but my sad stars reserve
This simple building for extremer ruin:
Oh, that French doctor!
Lorrique. Ay, that worst of hell!
No torment shall content us in his death.
Saxony. Nay soft and fair, let him be taken first.
Enter Rodorick. How now, sad brother, are you come to see
210 This tragic end of worthy Ferdinand?
Rodorick. I heard of it too soon, and come too late.
Saxony. Well brother, leave the duke and wait on me:
Mathias and the heart-grieved lucibel
Shall go with us to Wittenberg, and shun
That fatal land filled with destruction.
Rodorick. But lucibella, like a chased hind
Flies through the thickets, and neglects the briars.
After her runs your princely son Mathias,
As much disturbed, though not so much distract,
220 Vowing to follow her, and if he can,
Defend her from despairing actions.
Saxony. And we will follow them. Prince Otho, adieu:
Care goes with us, and yet we leave grief with you.
Inter your uncle, punish traitors’ crimes,
Look to your person, these are dangerous times.
Exit Saxony and Rodorick.
Hoffman. lords, take this body, bear it to the court,
And all the way sound a sad heavy march,
Which you may truly keep, then people tread
A mournful march indeed.
230 Go on afore; I’ll stay awhile, and weep
My tributary tears paid on the ground
Where my true joy, your prince my uncle fell.
I’ll follow, to drive you from all distress
And comfort you, though I be comfortless.
Exeunt with the body [except lorrique and Hoffman]. A march. Are not thou plumped with laughter, my lorrique?
Lorrique. All this, excellent but worthy lord,
There is an accident in this instance chanced
Able to overthrow in one poor hour
As well your hopes as these assurances.
240 Hoffman. What’s that lorrique? What can fortune do
That may divert my strain of policy?
Lorrique. You know all Prussia take you for the son
Of beauteous Martha.
Hoffman. Ay, they suppose me to be Otho her son,
And son to that false duke, whom I will kill
Or curse my stars.
Lorrique. His star is sunk already: death and he
Have vowed an endless league of amity.
Hoffman. Had I Briareus’ hands, I’d strive with heaven
250 For executing wrath before the hour.
But wishes are in vain, he’s gone. [Exeunt.]
[Act 4
Scene 2]
Flourish.
Enter as many as may be spared, with lights, and make a lane kneeling, while Martha the duchess like a mourner with her train passeth through.
Martha. Our son is somewhat slack, as we conceive
By this delaying, while our heart is feared,
And our eyes dimmed with expectation –
As are the lights of such as on the beach
With many a longing, yet a little proof
Stand waiting the return of those they love.
Enter lorrique, falls on’s knees.
Lord. His excellence no doubt hath great affairs,
But his familiar friend lorrique is come.
Martha. Kneel not lorrique, I prithee. Glad my heart
10 With thy tongue’s true report of my son Otho
Whom since his princely father is deceased
I am come from [luningberg], oppressed with grief,
In person to salute him for our duke.
Lorrique. Your mother-like affection and high care,
His highness doth return with courteous thanks
Desiring pardon of your excellence,
In that he did not first salute your grace;
But dismal accidents and bloody deeds,
Poisonings, treasons so disturb this state,
20 Chiefly this gentle mind, since the late death
Of your right princely brother Ferdinand,
That like the careful captain of a band
He is compelled to be the last in field.
Yet he protests by me, and I for him,
That no soft rest shall enter his grieved eyes
Till he behold your presence, more desired
Than the large empire of the wide earth;
Only he prays that you would take your rest
For in your soft content his heart is blest.
30 Martha. Spread me a carpet on the humble earth:
My hand shall be the pillow to my head
This step my bolster, and this place my bed.
Lorrique. Your highness will take harm.
Martha. Nay, never fear.
A heart with sorrow filled sleeps anywhere.
Will our son come tonight?
Lorrique. Madam, he will.
Martha. See our train lodged, and then, lorrique, attend.
For captain of the guard that wait on us,
40 Go all away, nobody stay with me
Except our son come. If we chance to call,
Trouble us not: good night unto you all.
All with doing duty depart, and she sits down having a candle by her, and reads.
Quo fugiat mortale genus? Nil denique tutum est;
Crudelis nam mors omnia falce secat.
Nil durum, nil non mortis penetrabile telis;
Omnia vi demit mors violenta sua.
’Tis true: the wise, the fool, the rich, the poor,
The fair, and the deformed fall; their life turns
Air. The king and captain are in this alike
50 None hath freehold of life, but they are still,
When death, heaven’s steward comes, tenants at will.
I lay me down, and rest in thee my trust:
If I wake never more, till all flesh rise,
I sleep a happy sleep, sin in me dies.
Enter Hoffman and lorrique.
Hoffman. Art sure she is asleep?
Lorrique. I cannot tell, be not too hasty.
Hoffman. She stirs not, she is fast.
Sleep sweet fair duchess, for thou sleep’st thy last.
Endymion’s love, muffle in clouds thy face,
60 And all ye yellow tapers of the heaven
Veil your clear brightness in Cimmerian mists.
Let not one light my black deed beautify;
For with one stroke, virtue and honour dies.
And yet we must not kill her in this kind.
Weapons draw blood, bloodshed will plainly prove
The worthy duchess, worthless of this death
Was murdered, and the guard are witnesses
None entered but ourselves.
Lorrique. Then strangle her: here is a towel fit.
70 Hoffman. Good! Kneel and help, compass her neck about.
Alas, poor lady! Thou sleep’st here secure,
And never dream’st of what thou shalt endure.
Lorrique. Nay good my lord, dispatch.
Shall I wrong nature that did ne’er compose
One of her sex so perfect? Prithee stay:
Suppose we kill her thus about her neck,
Circles of purple blood will change the hue
Of this white porphyry; and the red lines
80 Mixed with a deadly black will tell the world
She died by violence. Then ’twill be inquired,
And we held ever hateful for the act.
Lorrique. Then place beneath her nostrils this small box,
Containing such a powder that hath power,
Being set on fire, to suffocate each sense
Without the sight of wound, or show of wrong.
Hoffman. That’s excellent! Fetch fire; or do not, stay:
The candle shall suffice. Yet that burns dim,
And drops his waxen tears as if it mourned
90 To be an agent in a deed so dark.
Lorrique. Will you confound yourself by dotage? Speak.
’Swounds, I’ll confound her, and she linger thus.
Hoffman. Thou wert as good, and better – note my words:
Run unto the top of dreadful scar,
And thence fall headlong on the under-rocks;
Or set thy breast against a cannon fired,
When iron death flies thence on flaming wings;
Or with thy shoulders, Atlas-like attempt
To bear the ruins of a falling tower;
100 Or swim the ocean; or run quick to hell –
As dead assure thyself no better place –
Then once look frowning on this angel’s face.
Confound her? Black confusion be my grave!
Whisper one such word more, thou diest, base slave.
Lorrique. I have done: I’ll honour her if you command.
Hoffman. She stirs, and when she wakes, observe me well,
Soothe up whate’er I say touching Prince Otho.
Martha. Prince Otho, is our son come? Who’s there, lorrique?
Lorrique. What shall I answer her?
110 Martha. Who’s that thou talk’st with?
Hoffman. The most indebted servant to your grace
Of any creature underneath the moon.
Martha. I prithee, friend, be brief: what is thy name?
I know thee not; what business hast thou here?
Art thou a messenger come from our son?
If so acquaint us with the news thou bring’st.
Hoffman. I saw your highness’ son, lorrique here knows, the last of any living.
Martha. living? Heaven help!
I trust my son has no commerce with death.
120 Hoffman. Your son no doubt is well, in blessed state.
Martha. My heart is smitten through thy answer,
Lorrique, where is thy gracious lord?
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 29