Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

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Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 51

by Thomas Dekker


  Is filled up to the chin with choice of meats,

  Yet seeks new ways to whet dull appetite,

  As there with hold spells mens’ souls they cherish;

  So with delicious fare, they themselves nourish.

  Nor want they argument for sweet belly-cheer

  To prove it lawful.

  SUBPRIOR

  Most profane and fearful.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  But since your order, pious and reverend

  Tied to religious fasts, spends the sad day

  Wholly in meagre contemplation,

  I absolution beg on both my knees

  For what my tongue offended in.‘Las, poor Rush!

  See’t by his cheeks, eats little.I can feed

  On roots, and drink the water of the spring

  Out of mine own cup.Make an anatomy

  Of my most sinful carcass.Then pardon me.

  PRIOR

  Thy ignorance is thy pardon; we believe thee.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Gratias reverende domine, Prior.

  PRIOR

  But do our brethren in parts more remote

  Feed so delicious, sayest thou?

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Rush cannot lie.

  SUBPRIOR

  Thou falsely doth accuse these holy men.

  To prove it lawful gluttonously to feed.

  OMNES

  Rush, answer the Subprior.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Audite fratres, they do not only prove it lawful, but make it palpable, that he who eats not good meat is damn’d.

  SUBPRIOR

  Benedicite.

  SCUMBROTH

  What shall become of all us then?

  PRIOR

  Thou art distracted.Whence canst thou force argument?

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  From silly reason.Would you hear me speak?

  PRIOR

  Speak freely and be bold.Listen.

  OMNES

  Hum, hum, hum.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  He that eats not good meat is damn’d.Sic Disputo.

  If he that feeds well hath a good soul, then è contra.

  No, he that feeds ill hath a bad and a poor soul.

  SCUMBROTH

  That’s we.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  And so, consequently, is damn’d, for who regards poor souls?And if they be not regarded they are cast forth, and if cast forth, then they are damn’d.

  SUBPRIOR

  I deny your minor, he that feeds well hath a good soul.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Sic probo.The soul follows the temperature of the body; he that feeds well hath a good temperature of body, ergo, he that feeds well hath a good soul.

  PRIOR

  A full and edifying argument.

  OMNES

  Hum, hum, hum.

  SUBPRIOR

  I deny that the soul follows the temperature of the body.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Anima sequitur temperaturam corporis.It is a principle, et contra principia non est disputandum.

  SCUMBROTH

  All we.

  PRIOR

  It’s most apparent.

  SCUMBROTH

  O, most learned Rush!

  SUBPRIOR

  A shallow sophister, hear me farder.

  PRIOR

  Subprior,

  We’ll hear the rest disputed at our leisure.

  You take too much upon you.

  SCUMBROTH

  Shall I take this upon me, my lord?

  PRIOR

  Hence with this trash, we have too long forborne

  To taste heavens blessings fully, which to our duty

  Had more enabled us.Rush, th’art some angel.

  SUBPRIOR

  Rather some devil send to bewitch our souls.

  PRIOR

  Subprior, no more.

  SUBPRIOR

  I must speak, hear me, brethren.

  Shall we, bound by solemn oaths, t’abjure the world

  And all her sorceries? to whom night and day

  Are as one hour of prayer? whose temperance makes us

  Endure what fulfill’d belly gods admire?

  Shall we, by zealous patrons, tied to observe

  Dirges and requiems for their peaceful souls

  In gluttonous riot bury sacred alms?

  Turn sanctimonious zeal and charity

  To loathsome surfeit? and those well-got goods

  Our benefactors sav’d, by their own fasts

  And moderate living, shall we feed upon

  Full-gorging us till we vomit?Forfend it, Heaven!

  By all the saints by him first taught our order

  What temperance was, here shall poor clement feed

  Till his o’er-wearied life takes her last leave

  Of this all tempting world where all sins breed.

  PRIOR

  Hows this?Are you become our confessor?

  Best thrust us out at gates, lock up the cloister

  And call in whom you like.Be you the prior.

  Speak, are you agreed Rush be our master-cook?

  SCUMBROTH

  You have my voice.

  ALPHEGE

  And mine.

  PRIOR

  Do you all consent?

  OMNES

  Yes, all.

  SUBPRIOR

  First, send this fiend to banishment.

  PRIOR

  We have most voices on our side.

  SUBPRIOR

  You may.

  ‘Las!Most men covet still the broadest way.

  PRIOR

  Give Rush his charge then, Scumbroth, you must resign.

  SCUMBROTH

  With a good maw, I shall have a fatter office to be his scullion.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Worthy Lord Prior, hear me yet.

  I must not my profession let

  To Scumbroth, what I know I’ll teach,

  To make caudles, jellies, leach,

  Syrup of violets, and of roses,

  Cowslip salads, and kick-choses,

  Preserve the apricot, and cherry,

  Damson-pear-plum, respis berry,

  Potates eke, if you should lack,

  To corroborate the back;

  A hundred more shall Rush devise,

  And yet to early mattins rise,

  Our ladies’ office, sing at prime,

  At even-song, and at compline time.

  Chant anthems, anniversaries, dirges,

  And the doleful de profundis.

  PRIOR

  Thou shalt not change thy order.Sirrah, cook,

  From Rush take lessons against night, for fare

  Abundant and delicious.

  SCUMBROTH

  [Aside.] I shall be greedy to learn of him, sir, since your lordship is turn’d, our very Jack and his spits shall turn too.[Exit.

  Enter two Pilgrims.

  PRIOR

  What men are these?

  SUBPRIOR

  Welcome, good holy fathers.

  BOTH

  Thanks, reverend master.

  FIRST PILGRIM

  Bless’d sir, according to the church’s rite,

  We, pilgrims, to Jerusalem bound, this night

  Desire repose, and pious charity

  In your most holy covent.

  PRIOR

  You are most welcome.

  Aphage, go lead ’em in.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  By no means.

  PRIOR

  Why?

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  ’Tis mortal sin.

  SUBPRIOR

  Oh, black impiety!

  PRIOR

  How?Sin to feed religious votaries?

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Rather to nourish idle vagabonds.

  The clergy of other lands have with much piety

  And thrift destroy’d those drones that lazily

  Live eating up the labours of the bee.

  A churc
hman there cares but to feed the soul;

  He makes that change his office.Almsdeeds! alas!

  They through the lawyers hands are fit’st to pass.

  SUBPRIOR

  Can you hear this devil?

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Besides, my reverend lord,

  These manderers here are spies, and soon bear word

  To princes ears of what they hear and see.

  PRIOR

  Ha!Rush, thou speakst right.

  SUBPRIOR

  Damn’d iniquity!

  PRIOR

  Hence with these runagates!

  OMNES

  Come, hence.

  PRIOR

  Spurn ’em away.

  SUBPRIOR

  Oh, had mine eyes dropp’d out ere seen this day.

  Stay, comfortless poor souls, my pitying tears

  Shall speak what my tongue dares not.Here, holy men

  You ne’er shall say when next we meet again.

  Friar Clement to the hungry grutch’d his meat,

  Or to the weary pilgrim lodging, this make you eat.

  And when you have reliev’d your fainting limbs,

  Commend me in your prayers, and midst your hymns

  This wish, that he who did your journey furder

  May never live to break his holy order.

  PRIOR

  Old superstitious dotard, beat hence these beggars.

  FIRST PILGRIM

  Many old men’s curses will on his soul be spent

  Who thus defaces charity’s monument.[Exeunt Pilgrims.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  I told you they were curs that cease to bark

  No longer than you feed them.

  PRIOR

  Friar, thou speak’st right.

  Make haste with fare delicious.We’ll crown the night.

  [Exeunt.ManetSHACKLE-SOUL.

  SHACKLE-SOUL

  Ha, ha, laugh Lucifer, dance grim fiends of hell

  Of souls thou judge just, but most terrible.

  I must exact a double pay from thee.

  Ne’er hadst thou journeyman deserv’d such fee.

  Let me cast up my reckonings, what I ha’ won

  In this first voyage.Charity!She’s undone.

  Fat gluttony broke her back.Next her step’d in

  Contention, who shakes churches, now the sweet sin,

  Sallow lechery, should march after.Avarice,

  Murder, and all sins else, hell can device,

  I’ll broach.The head’s in, draw the body after;

  Begin thy feast in full cups, end in slaughter.

  Th’at damnedst fury.Oh, but Friar Clement’s free!

  True, hast no snare t’entrap him?Let me see.

  He’s old, choke him with gold.Hold on thy revels,

  Pluto makes Shackle-Soul president of devils.[Exit.

  Act Two, Scene One

  Enter KING, OCTAVIO, NARCISSO, JOVINELLI, and

  SPENDOLA.

  KING

  What picture’s that, Uncle Octavio?

  OCTAVIO

  The picture of thy state, drawn by thy self.

  This is the book of statutes were enacted

  In the high parliament of thy royal thoughts

  Where wisdom was the speaker; and because

  Thy suspects shall not be abus’d by laws

  Wrap’d up in characters, crabbed and unknown,

  These thine own language speak.

  KING

  Hang ’em up, uncle.

  OCTAVIO

  What says the king?

  JOVINELLI

  You must hang up the laws.

  OCTAVIO

  Like cobweb in foul rooms, through which great flies

  Break through, the less being caught bith wing, there dies.

  No, no, thy laws I’ll fix full in thy sight,[Hangs a table up.

  Like sea marks, that if this great ship of sway

  And kingly ventures, loose her constant way

  I’th’ bottomless gulf of state, beaten by the storms

  Of youthful folly, raging in monstrous forms,

  She may be sav’d from sinking and from wrack,

  Steer’d by this compass, for the points of it

  Shall guide her so, on rocks she cannot split.

  KING

  You are our careful pilot.In this voyage

  Of government, be you our admiral.

  Wisdom and age being props, realms seldom fall.

  Enter BRISCO.

  OCTAVIO

  Oraculous is thy voice.

  KING

  How now, Count Brisco?

  Methinks I read a comedy in thy looks.

  NARCISSO

  H’as met some merry painter, he’s drawn so lively.

  OMNES

  Come, count, your news.

  BRISCO

  I shall bestow them freely,

  The physic of your proclamation works,

  Your gilded pills, roll’d up in promises

  Of princely favours to his wit, who highest

  Can raise your pleasures, slip so smoothly down

  Your subject’s throats, that all, upon a sudden,

  Are loosely given.

  KING

  How?Loosely given?Why, count?

  BRISCO

  Name but what sport, your highness would have acted,

  I’m prologue to’t.Your court must have more gates

  To let in ruffling Saturday; without, now, waits

  Music in some ten languages; each one swears,

  By Orpheus fiddle-case, they will tickle your ears

  If they can do’t with scraping.

  NARCISSO

  There’s seven score noise at least of English fiddlers.

  JOVINELLI

  Seven score!They are able to eat up a city in very scraps.

  BRISCO

  Very base-viol men most of ’em.Besides whole swarms of Welsh harps, Irish bag-pipes, Jew’s trompes, and French kits.

  All these made I together play,

  But their damn’d caterwauling

  Frighted me away.

  OCTAVIO

  These sports to please

  A prince’s eye?

  BRISCO

  How like you then of these?

  The city water bearers, trimly dight,

  With yellow oaken tankards, pin’d upright

  Like brooches in their hats.In their fresh loves

  A may-game bring, all, wearing dog-skin gloves

  Made not to shrink i’th’ wetting.

  KING

  Bid these poor men

  Drink well, and so be gone.

  BRISCO

  What will you have then?

  Will you see the turners show, bravely prepar’d

  With colours, drums, and guns, with rust half marr’d,

  Bearing that, of which they long have been depriv’d?

  KING

  What is’t?

  BRISCO

  Their daring giant, newly reviv’d.

  OMNES

  For Jove’s sake, let’s see that.

  OCTAVIO

  Oh, fie, prince, fie!

  In thy court painted monsters, they come not here.

  Ride forth, thou shalt meet giants every where.

  Methinks, young lords, your souls being new refin’d

  With beams of honour, should not be declin’d

  To sports low and vulgar; but since the king

  Of birds, the eagle, lets you spread a wing

  So near his own, you should put up such game

  As fits and eagle, and pursue the same.

  And not like ravens, kites, or painted jays,

  Soar high, yet light on dunghills, for stinking preys.

  JOVINELLI

  Old lord, you rave.

  NARCISSO

  What sports would you devise?

  OCTAVIO

  Most fit for kings.Were I, before his eyes,

  To present objects, they should all be
rare

  Of Roman triumphs, laden with the spoils of war;

  Or lions, and wild-boars, kill’d by active force;

  Or sea fights; or land battles on foot, or horse;

  Such sights as these, kindle in king’s brave fire,

  And meeting spirits that dare mount, mount ’em higher

  Where apish pastimes lay our souls down flat

  Grovelling on earth, base and effeminate.

  BRISCO

  I have bowls of this bias too, for your lordship’s alley.

  KING

  Trondle ’em out before him.

  BRISCO

  The wooden-leg soldier

  Waits to present you with his show of war.

  OCTAVIO

  Ay, marry my liege.

  BRISCO

  The scholar has his device, the mariner his.

  OCTAVIO

  These are king’s sports indeed.

  BRISCO

  Will you see these?

  KING

  Faith, be it so, because we’ll now rather please

  Our uncle than ourself.Pray fetch in these,

  The rest cashier.

  SPENDOLA

  Send the fiddlers merrily home.

  BRISCO

  And yet pay ’em scurvily!’Tis impossible.

  JOVINELLI

  And bid the water-bearers cleanse the circle.

  There’s many a foul thing in it.

  KING

  Marshall ’em in.

  OCTAVIO

  I’ll fetch these worthy spirits in myself.

  BRISCO

  No, no, we’ll aid you, sir.

  JOVINELLI

  March, and give us room.

  [Exeunt OCTAVIO, BRISCO, RUFFMAN, andJOVINELLI.

  KING

  ‘Sdeath!If these doting grey-beards might have their wills,

  We never shall have ours.Let us cross them

  As they cross us.

  OMNES

  How, how?

  KING

  Every device

  Their ningles bring in, abuse with scurvy jest,

  Be’t ne’er so good.

  OMNES

  Agreed.

  NARCISSO

  If ninnies, bring away the nest.

  KING

  Teach Jovinelli and Brisco when to give fire.

  Drums and trumpets sounding.Enter OCTAVIO, JOVINELLI,

  BRISCO, RUFFMAN, the Soldier, Scholar, and Mariner.

  SOLDIER

  I am a soldier.

  JOVINELLI

  We know that by your legs.

  SOLDIER

  Does my stump grieve you?

  BRISCO

  Not if you bestir your stumps nimbly, sir.

  NARCISSO

  What hot shot’s this?

  SOLDIER

  A soldier, sir, that’s all;

  That’s more than, sir, I think you dare be.Zounds!Baffl’d

  For my limbs lost in service!Your noble father

  Has clap’d this buff-jerkin, when this stump of wood

  Has up to th’ knee stuck three hours in French blood;

  When such as you, with your spangled roses, that day

  Bravely bestir’d their heels, and ran away.

 

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