Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  Gen. ’Tis finish’d, and the cost stands on no score;

  None can for want of payment, at my door,

  Curse my foundation; praying the roof may fall

  On the proud builder’s head, seeing the smoke go

  Out of those chimneys, for whose bricks I owe.

  Tor. To erect a frame so glorious, large, and high,

  Would draw a very sea of silver dry.

  Mon. My Lord Jacomo Gentili, pray tell us,

  How much money have you buried under this kingly building?

  Gen. Pray call it not so.

  The humble shrub, no cedar here shall grow;

  You see three hundred doric pillars stand

  About one square; three hundred noble friends

  Lay’d (in their loves) at raising of those columns,

  A piece of gold under each pedestal,

  With his name grav’d upon the bottom stone;

  Except that cost all other was mine own;

  See here, each day’s expenses are so great,

  They make a volume, for in this appears

  It was no task of weeks, or months, but years:

  I trust my steward only with the key,

  Which keeps that secret; here’s arithmetic

  For churls to cast up, there’s the root of all;

  If you have skill in numbers, number that.

  Mon. Good Mr. Steward read it.

  Stew. All the charge

  In the gross sum amounteth to —

  Gen. To what?

  Thou vain vain-glorious fool, go burn that book;

  No herald needs to blazon charity’s arms;

  Go burn it presently.

  Stew. Burn it? — [Exit.

  Gen. Away!

  I launch not forth a ship, with drums, and guns,

  And trumpets, to proclaim my gallantry;

  He that will read the wasting of my gold,

  Shall find it writ in ashes, which the wind

  Will scatter ere he spends it. Another day

  The wheel may turn, and I that built thus high,

  May by the storms of want, be driven to dwell

  In a thatch’d cottage: rancour shall not then

  Spit, poison at me, pinning on my back

  This card: He that spent thus much, now does lack.

  Man. Why to your house add you so many gates?

  Gen. My gates fill up the number of seven days,

  At which, of guests, seven several sorts I’ll welcome:

  On Monday, knights whose fortunes are sunk low;

  On Tuesday, those that all their life-long read

  The huge voluminous wonders of the deep,

  Seamen, I mean; and so on other days,

  Others shall take their turns.

  Phil. Why have you then built twelve such vast rooms?

  Gen. For the year’s twelve moons;

  In each of which, twelve tables shall be spread;

  At them, such whom the world scorns, shall be fed;

  The windows of my building, which each morn,

  Are porters, to let in man’s comfort (light)

  Are numbered just three hundred sixty-five;

  And in so many days the sun does drive

  His chariot stuck with beams of burnish’d gold;

  My alms shall such diurnal progress make,

  As does the sun in his bright zodiac.

  Tor. You differ from the guise of other lands,

  Where lords lay all their livings on the rack,

  Not spending it in bread, but on the back.

  Gen. Such lords eat men, but men shall eat up me;

  My uncle, the Lord Abbot, had a soul

  Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire;

  By magic stairs he went as deep as hell;

  And if in devils’ possession gold be kept,

  He brought some sure from thence; ’tis hid in caves

  Known (save to me) to none; and like a spring

  The more ’tis drawn, the more it still doth rise,

  The more my heap wastes, more it multiplies.

  Now whether (as most rich men do) he pawn’d

  His soul for that dear purchase none can tell;

  But by his bed-side when he saw death stand,

  Fetching a deep groan, me he Catch’d by th’ hand,

  Call’d me his heir, and charg’d me well to spend

  What he had got ill; deal (quoth he) a dole

  Which round (with good mens’ prayers) may guard my soul

  Now at her setting forth: let none feel want

  That knock but at thy gates: do wrong to none,

  And what request to thee soe’er is made,

  If honest, see it never be deny’d.

  Mon. And you’ll perform all this?

  Gen. Fair and upright;.

  As are the strict vows of an anchorite:

  A benefit given by a niggard’s hand

  Is stale and gravelly bread; the hunger-starv’d

  Takes it, but cannot eat it; I’ll give none such’.

  Who with free heart shakes out but crums, gives much.

  Mon. In such a ship of worldly cares, my lord,

  As you must sail now in, you’ll need more pilots

  Than your ownself to sit and steer the helm.

  You might do therefore well to take a wife.

  Gen. A wife? when I shall have one hand in heaven,

  To write my happiness in leaves of stars,

  A wife wou’d pluck me by the other down:

  This bark hath thus long sail’d about the world,

  My soul the pilot, and yet never listen’d

  To such a mermaid’s song: a wife? oh, fetters

  To man’s blest liberty! All this world’s a prison,

  Heaven the high wall about it, sin the jailer;

  But the iron shackles weighing down our heels,

  Are only women; those light angels turn us

  To fleshly devils; I that sex admire,

  But never will sit near their wanton fire.

  Mut. Who then shall reap the golden corn you sow?

  Phil. ’Tis half a curse to them that build, and spare,

  And hoard up wealth, yet cannot name an heir.

  Gen. My heirs shall be poor children fed on alms;

  Soldiers that want limbs; scholars poor and scorn’d;

  And these will be a sure inheritance,

  Not to decay; manors and towns will fall,

  Lordships and parks, pastures and woods be sold;

  But this land still continues to the lord:

  No subtle tricks of law can me beguile of this.

  But of the beggar’s dish, I shall drink healths

  To last for ever; whilst I live my roof

  Shall cover naked wretches; when I die,

  Tis dedicated to St. Charity.

  Mut. The duke inform’d, what trees of goodness grow

  Here of your planting, in true love to your virtues,

  Sent us to give you thanks, for crowning Florence,

  With fame of such a subject; and entreats you

  (Until he come himself) to accept this token

  Of his fair wishes towards you.

  Gen. Pray return

  My duty to the duke; tell him I value his love

  Beyond all jewels in the world.

  Phil. He has vow’d ere long to be your visitant.

  Gen. He shall be welcome when he comes, that’s all;

  Not to a palace, but my hospital.

  Omnes. We’ll leave your lordship.

  Gen. My best thoughts go with you.

  My steward?

  Enter STEWARD and BUZARDO.

  Stew. Here, my lord.

  Gen. Is the book fired?

  Stew. As you commanded, sir, I saw it burn’d.

  Gen. Keep safe that jewel, and leave me; tetters! from whom?

  Buz. Signior Jeronimo Guydanes.

  Gen. Oh, sir, I know the business: yes, yes, ’tis the same;

/>   Guidanes lives amongst my bosom friends:

  He writes to have me entertain you, sir.

  Buz. That’s the bough my bolt flies at, my lord.

  Gen. What qualities are you furnish’d with?

  Buz. My education has been like a gentleman.

  Gen. Have you any skill in song-or instrument?

  Buz. As a gentleman should have; I know all, but play on none: I am no barber.

  Gen. Barber! no, sir, I think it; are you a linguist?

  Buz. As a gentleman ought to be; one tongue serves one head;

  I am no pedlar, to travel countries.

  Gen. What skill ha’ you in horsemanship?

  Buz. As other gentlemen have; I ha’ rid some beasts in my time.

  Gen. Can you write and read then?

  Buz. As most of your gentlemen do; my bond has been

  Taken with my mark at it.

  Gen. I see you are a dealer, give me thy hand, I’ll entertain thee howsoever, because in thee I keep half a score gentlemen: thy name?

  Buz. Asinius Buzardo.

  Gen. I entertain thee, good Buzardo.

  Buz. Thanks, sir.

  Gen. This fellow’s a stark fool, or else too wise,

  The trial will be with what wing he flies. [Exit.

  ACT II. SCENE I.

  TIBALDO BROUGHT IN sick in his Chair, ALPHONSINA, MUTIO, PHILIPPO, TORNELLI, MONTIVELLO.

  Mut. In laws of courtesy, we are bound, sweet lady.

  (Being thus nigh) to see you and your brother,

  Our noble friend, tho’ the duke had not sent.

  Alph. Thanks, worthy sir.

  Phil. Signior Tibaldo hath desire to sleep.

  Tor. Then leave him; company offends the sick.

  Alph. Our humblest duty to my lord the duke,

  If in my brother’s name, and mine, you tender

  For this his noble love, we both shall rest

  Highly indebted to you all.

  Mut. Sweet madam,

  You shall command our lives to work your good.

  Alph. Signior, your love.

  Omnes. All at your service, madam.

  Mut. A quick and good health to your noble brother.

  Alph. And all fair fortunes doubled on yourself. — [They salute her and exeunt.

  So! methinks a lady had more need have a new pair of lips, than a new pair of gloves, for though they were both of one skin, yet one would wear out sooner than the other; I think these courtiers have all offices in the spicery, and taking my lips for sweetmeats, are as saucy with ’em as if they were fees; I wonder, Tibaldo, thou canst sit still, and not come in for a share; if old Vanni’s wife had been here, all the parts about you had mov’d. —

  Tib. Thou thinkst I lie in; here’s such a gossiping, as if ‘twere a childbed chamber.

  Alph. So ’tis; for I’ll swear, all this stir is about having a woman brought fobbed; marry, I doubt it must be a man’s lying-in.

  Tib. I would thy tongue were a man then, to lie.

  Alph. I had rather it were a woman, to tell truth.

  Tib. Good sister Alphonsina, you still play

  The bad physician; I am all on fire,

  And you to quench me, pour on scopes of oil;

  I feel ten thousand plummets at my heart,.

  Yet you cry, lay on more, and are more cruel

  Than all my tortures.

  Alph. Sadness, I pity thee;

  And will to do thee service, venture life,

  Mine honour being kept spotless.

  Tib. Gentle sister,

  The easiest thing i’th’ world to beg, I crave,

  And the poorest alms to give.

  Alph. But ask and have.

  Tib. A friendly counsel; lo, that’s all.

  Alph. Tis yours.

  Be rul’d by me then; in an ashy sheet,

  Cover these glowing embers of desire.

  Tib. Embers? I wou’d you felt ’em, ’tis a fire.

  Alph. Come, and set hand to paper, I’ll indite.

  Tib. And she’ll condemn me; no, I will not write.

  Alph. Then prithee take this physic; be not the sea, to drink strange rivers up, yet still be dry; be like a noble stream, covet to run betwixt fair banks, which thou mayst call thine own; and let those banks be some fair lady’s arms, fit for thy youth and birth.

  Tib. Against your charms,

  Witch! thus I stop mine ears.

  Alph. I’ll holla them: this deer runs in my lord’s park,

  And if you steal it, look to have bloodhounds scent you.

  Tib. Are you mad?

  Alph. Yes, you shall find venison-sauce dearer than other flesh.

  Tib. No, no; none else must, none shall, none can,

  My hunger feed but this; down will I dive,

  And fetch this pearl, or ne’er come up alive.

  Alph. Are all my warm caudles come to this? Now I see thou’rt too far gone, this lady hath overspent thee, therefore settle thine estate, pluck up a good heart, and I’ll pen thy will.

  Tib. Oh, fie! fie!

  Alph. Bequeath thy kisses to some tailor, that hunts out weddings every Sunday. Item, Thy sighs to a noise of fiddlers ill paid; thy paleness to a fencer fighting at sharp; thy want of stomach to one of the duke’s guard.

  Tib. I beg it at thy hands, that being a woman, thou’lt make a wonder.

  Enter CARGO.

  Alph. What’s that? —

  Tib. Hold thy tongue.

  Alph. It’s an instrument ever play’d on, cause well strung.

  Who’s that come into the chamber there? Oh,

  Mr. Cargo.

  Car. My lord hath sent you à jewel, lock’d up in this paper; and the moisture of a goose quill, that’s to say words, in that.

  Alph. Oh, sir, I thank your lord, and this your pains; have him into the buttery — let me see, (reads.) Lady, that I love you, I dare swear like a lord, (I shall have oaths enough then), I send you all that is mine, in hope all shall be mine that is yours; for it stands to reason that mine being yours, yours should be mine, and yours being mine, mine should be yours. Love me, or I die; die, you kill me; if you kill me, I will say nothing, but take the blow patiently. I hold my life this lord has been bastinado’d; out upon him rammish fox! he stinks hither: prithee, good brother, read.

  Tib. I will. — [Reads.

  Alph. Is’t gander month with him? How the devil is my maidenhead blasted, that among such shoals of gallants that swim up and down the court, no fish bites at the bait of my poor beauty, but this tough cod’s head?

  Tib. Oh, sister, peace for heaven’s sake! here lies health

  Even in this bitter pill (for me), so you

  Would play but my physician, and say, take it;

  You are offered here to sojourn at his house:

  Companion with his lady.

  Alph. Sir, I have you. And I going upon so weighty a business as getting of children, you would ha’me pin you to my sleeve. —

  Tib. Most true.

  Alph. You care not so I turn whore to pleasure you.

  Tib. Oh, sister, your high worth is known full well;

  ‘Gainst base assault, a fort impregnable;

  And therefore (as you love my life), i’ th’ springe

  Catch this old woodcock.

  Alph. In the flame I’ll singe

  My wings, unless I put the candle out,

  That you i’ th’ dark may bring your hopes about.

  You have won me.

  Tib. You revive me,

  Alph. Have a care you cast not yourself down too soon now.

  Tib. I warrant you.

  Alph. As for my old huckster’s artillery, I have walls of chastity strong enough, (shoot he never so hard) to keep him from making any breach.

  Tib. ‘Twill be a noble battle on each side;

  Yet now my spirits are roused, a stratagem

  Lies hatching here; pray help me, noble sister,

  To give it form and life.

  Alph. My best.
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br />   Tib. What think you,

  (The mark of man not yet set in my face)

  If as your sister, or your kinswoman,

  I go in woman’s habit, for thereby,

  Speech, free access, fair opportunity,

  Are had without suspicion.

  Alph. Mine be your will;

  Oh me! what pains we take to bring forth ill!

  Such a disguise is safe too, since you never

  But once were seen there.

  Tib. My wise sister ever.

  Alph. Send in the fellow there that brought the letter.

  Enter CARGO drunk.

  Why how now? do his legs fail him already?

  A staff for his declining age!

  Car. I have a pikestaff of mine own already, but I could not keep out your scurvy desperate hogshead from coming in upon me; I’m cut i’ th’ coxcomb.

  Alph. Nothing I see is so like an old man, as a young man drunk.

  Car. Or when he comes from a wench.

  Alph. Before he bear your answer let him sleep.

  Tib. Whilst you laugh at what I could almost

  weep. [Exeunt.

  Enter ANGELO dressed as a Physician, BAPTISTA attending him as his Servant.

  Ang. Dear friend, I should both wrong my faith and fortunes,

  To make ’em thus dance antics; I shall never play the dissembler.

  Bap. Then never play the lover;

  Death! for a woman, I’d be flay’d alive

  Could I but find one constant: is’t such a matter

  For you then to put on a doctor’s gown,

  And his flat velvet cap, and speak the gibberish

  Of an apothecary?

  Ang. If thus disguis’d

  I’m taken, all the physic in the world

  Cannot prolong my life.

  Bap. And dying for her,

  You venture bravely; all women o’er your grave

  Will pray that they so kind a man may have,

  As to die for ’em; say your banishment

  Had borne you hence; what hells of discontent

  Had rack’d your soul for her, as hers for you?

  Should you but faint, well might you seem untrue:

  Where this attempt your loyalty shall approve,

  Who ventures farthest wins a lady’s love.

  Ang. How are my beard and hair?

  Bap. Friend, I protest,

  So rarely counterfeit, as if a painter

  Should draw a doctor: were I sick myself

  And met you with an urinal in my hand,

  I’d cast it at your head, unless you cast

  The water for me; come, all’s passing well;

  Love which makes pale the cheeks, gives you complexion,

  Fit for a sallow Frenchman.

  Ang. I will on then: