Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  To show how little for thy scorn I care,

  See my revenge turns all to idle air. [Shoots up.

  It upward flies, and will from thence, I fear,

  Shoot darts of lightning to confound thee here.

  Farewell thou huge Leviathan, when thou’st drunk dry.

  That sea thou roll’st in, on some base shore die.

  [Exit.

  Enter GALLANTS with their Swords drawn.

  Omnes. Where is the traitor?

  Tor. Now the house is fired,

  You come to cast on waters; bar up my doors;

  But one such tattered ensign here being spread,

  Draws numbers hither; here must no rogues be fed:

  Command my carpenters invent odd engines,

  To manacle base beggars, hands and feet;

  And by my name call ’em my whipping-posts;

  If you spy any man that has a look

  Stigmatically drawn like to a fury’s,

  (Able to fright), to such I’ll give large pay,

  To watch and ward for poor snakes night and day,

  And whip ’em soundly if they approach my gates;

  The poor are but the earth’s dung, fit to lie

  Cover’d on muck heaps not to offend the eye.

  Enter FIRST GALLANT.

  Gal. Two gentlemen sent from the Florence

  Duke,

  Require speech with your lordship.

  Tor. Give ’em entrance.

  Enter MUTIO and PHILIPPO.

  What are you? and whence come you?

  Mut. From the duke.

  Tor. Your business?

  Mut. This: fame sounding forth your worth

  For hospitable princely house-keeping,

  Our duke, drawn by the wonder of report,

  Invites himself (by us) to be your guest.

  Tor. The honour of ambassadors be yours;

  Say to the duke that Cæsar never came

  More welcome to the capitol of Rome,

  Than he to us — healths to him — fill rich wines.

  Mut. You have this wonder wrought, now rare to men;

  By you they have found the golden age again.

  Tor. Which I’ll uphold, so long as there’s a sun

  To play the Alchymist.

  Phil. (Aside.) This proud fellow talks

  As if he grasped the Indies in each hand.

  Tor. Health to your duke!

  Amb. We pledge it on our knees.

  Tor. I’ll stand to what I do, but kneel to none.

  [Music plays. Torrenti drinks to the health of the duke, and then breaks his glass: — Mutio and Philippo pledge it in gold cups; which, on their offering to return them, the servitors refuse to take back.

  ‘Tor. Break not our custom, pray ye; with one beam,

  The god of metals makes both gold and wine;

  To imitate whose greatness, if on you,

  I can bestow wine, I can give gold too;

  Take them as free as Bacchus spends his blood,

  And in them drink our health.

  Mut. Your bounty far

  Exceeds that of our Cæsars.

  Tor. Cæsar ero, vel nihil

  What are gold heaps, but a rich dust for kings

  To scatter with their breath, as chaff by wind?

  Let him then that hath gold bear a king’s mind,

  And give till his arm aches; who bravely pours

  But into a wench’s lap his golden showers,

  May be Jove’s equal ; oh, but he that spends

  A world of wealth, makes a whole world his debtor,

  And such a noble spender is Jove’s better;

  That man I’ll be; I’m Alexander’s heir

  To one part of his mind; I wish there were

  Ten worlds, yet not to conquer, but to sell

  For Alpine hills of silver; and that I

  Might at one feast spend all that treasure dry;

  Who hoards up wealth, is base; who spends it,

  brave;

  Earth breeds gold, so I tread but on my slave;

  Bear back our gratulations to your duke. [Exit.

  Amb. We shall, great sir.

  Mut. Torrenti call you him; ’tis a proud rough stream.

  Phil. He’s of the Roman family indeed.

  Mut. Lord Vanni’s? rather my Lord Vanity’s.

  Phil. And heaps of money sure have struck him mad.

  Mut. He’ll soon pick up his wits, let him but bleed

  Thus many ounces at one time; all day

  Could I drink these dear healths, yet ne’er be drunk.

  Phil. And carry it away most cleanly.

  Mut. Not a pin the worse;

  What might his father leave him?

  Phil. A great estate,

  Of some three hundred thousand crowns a year.

  Mut. Strange, he’s not begg’d, for fools are now grown dear;

  An admirable coxcomb!

  Phil. Let wonder pass,

  He’s both a brave lord and a golden ass. [Exit.

  Scene draws and discovers FIAMETTA reposing upon a Bed; the DUKE, PRINCE OF PISA, and PIERO enter with Ladies, NURSE, and Attendants; ANGELO and BAPTISTA as before.

  Ang. I pray you hush all, a little hush, le fair lady by her own volenter disposition, has take a ting dat is of such a grand operation, it shall makea de stone for sleep.

  Flor. What, noble doctor, is the name of it?

  Ang. Tis not your scurvy English poppy, nor mandragora, nor a ting so danger as oppium, but ’tis de brave ting a de vorld, for knock a de braine asleep. —

  Pisa. I am glad she takes this rest.

  Ang. Peace! begor it is snore and snore, two mile long; now if your grace vill please for procure music, be restore as brave as de fish.

  Flor. Call for the music.

  Ang. Makea no noise, but bring in de fiddlers, and play sweet. —

  Nic. Oh, out upon this doctor! hang him! does he think to cure dejected ladies with fiddlers?

  Ang. De grand French poo stopa de troat! pray void le shambera.

  Flor. All, all part softly; peace, Nurse, let her sleep.

  Nurse. Ay, ay, go out of her prospect, for she’s not to be cur’d with a song.

  [All leave the room except Ang. Bap and Fia.

  Ang. Baptista, see the door fast, watch that narrowly.

  Bap. For one friend to keep door for another, is the office now amongst gallants, common as the law; I’ll be your porter, sir.

  Ang. She does but slumber; Fiametta! love!

  Fia. The Pisan prince comes: daggers at my heart!

  Ang. Look up; I am not he, but Angelo.

  Fia. Ha! who names Angelo?

  Ang. Angelo himself;

  Who with one foot treads on the throat of death,

  Whilst t’other steps to embrace thee, thus i’ th’ shape

  Of a French doctor.

  Fia. Oh, my life! my soul!

  Ang. Hear me.

  Fia. I’m now not sick, I’ll have no physic,

  But what thyself shall give me.

  Ang. Let not joy confound our happiness; I am but dead

  If it be known I am here.

  Fia. Thou shalt not hence.

  Ang. Be wise, dear heart; see here the best of men,

  Faithful Baptista.

  Fia. Oh, I love Baptista,

  ‘Cause he loves thee; but my Angelo I love ‘bove kings.

  Bap. Madam, you’ll spoil all,

  Unless you join with us in the safe plot

  Of our escape.

  Ang. Sweet Fiametta, hear me!

  For you shall hence with us.

  Fia. Over ten worlds,

  But I’ll not hence; my Angelo shall not hence;

  True love, like gold, is best being tried in fire;

  I’ll defy father, and a thousand deaths for thee.

  [knocking within.

  Ang. Undone! undone!

  Bap. At the court gate,

  I see a gibbet already, to
hang’s both;

  Death! the duke beats at the door.

  Fia. He shall come in.

  Enter Omnes.

  One frown at thee, my tragedy shall begin;

  See father —

  Flor. I told you that I heard her tongue.

  Fia. See, Father

  Flor. What, sweet girl?

  Fia. That’s Angelo, and you shall pardon him.

  Flor. With all my heart. —

  Fia. He says he pardons thee with all his heart.

  Ang. Me lor, be all mad, le brain crow, and rum whirabout like de windmill sail, pardon a. moy? por quoy my sweet madam, pardon your povera doctor?

  Fia. Because thou art my banish’d Angelo.

  Flor. Stark mad. —

  Pisa. This her recovery?

  Fia. He is no doctor; —

  Nor that his man, but his dear friend Baptista;

  ‘Has black’d his beard like a comedian,

  To play the mountebank; away, I’ll marry

  None but that doctor, and leave Angelo.

  Ang. Ay, do pray artely, madam. —

  Fia. Leave off thy gibberish, and I prithee speak

  Thy native language.

  Ang. Par-ma-foy all French; begar she be mad as dè moon.

  Flor. Sweet girl! with gentle hands, sir, take her hence.

  Fia. Stand from me, I must follow Angelo.

  Pisa. Thine eyes drink sleep from the sweet god of rest.

  Fia. Oh, you shoot poison’d arrows through my breast.

  [Exeunt all but Flor. Ang. and Bap.

  Flo. What strange new fury now possessèth her? —

  Ang. Begar her imaginashon be out a de vits; and so dazell de two nyes, and come down so into de belly, and possibla for make her tink me or you to be le shentlëman she lova, and so she takea my man for a jackanape, me know not who.

  Bap. For one Baptista.

  Ang. Povera garshon a my trat.

  Flor. I do believe you both; but, honest doctor,

  Strain all thy art, and so thou leave her well,

  I care not if you Call up fiends from hell.

  Ang. Dar be too much devil in de body already; be my trat, my lor, me no stay here for ten hundred hundred coronaes; she cry upon me, ’tis Mastef Angelo; you tink so not one and two time, but a tyrd time, yon smella me out, and so cuta my troat; adieu, my lor.

  Flor. Still your opinion holds to kill that villain,

  And give her his heart dried.

  Ang. In de pot a vine, wee, very fine.

  Flor. This gold take for thy pains to make her sound,

  There needs a desperate cure to a desperate wound. — [Exit.

  Ang. How blows it now?

  Bap. Fair, with a prosperous gale.

  Ang. Poor love, thou still art struck with thine own fate;

  My life hangs at a thread; friend, I must fly.

  Bap. How, to be safe?

  Ang. I will take sanctuary;

  I know a reverend friar, in whose cell

  I’ll lurk till storms blow o’er: if women knew

  What men feel for them, none their scorns should rue.

  Enter TIBALDO in Woman’s attire, and ALPHONSINA.

  Alph. Is’t come to this? have the walls of the castle been beseiged thus long, lying open for a breach? and dare you not give fire to one piece? Oh, you’re a proper soldier! good sister-brother follow your game more close, or I’ll leave you.

  Tib. What would you have me do?

  Alph. Why, I would ha’ you (tho’ you be in women’s apparel) to be yourself a man, and do what you come for.

  Tib. I have been giving her a thousand onsets,

  And still a blushing cheek makes me retire;

  I speak not three words, but my tongue is ready

  To ask forgiveness of her.

  Alph. Must thou needs at thy first encounter tell her thou art a man? why when you walk together, cannot you begin a tale to her, with once upon a time there was a loving couple that hav — ing tired themselves with walking, sat down upon a bank, and kist, and embraced, and played; and so by degrees bring the tale about to your own purpose, can you not? fie, you are the worst at these things, sir.

  Tib. I am, sister, indeed.

  Alph. And the more fool you indeed: you see how the old stinking fox, her husband, is still rubbing me as if I had the palsy; I’ll not have his wither’d hands (which are as moist as the side of stock-fish) lie piddling in my bosom; therefore determine some thing, or farewell.

  Tib. I have, dear sister, if you will but bear me.

  Alph. Come on, out with’t then.

  Tib. Give you the old man promise of your love,

  And the next night appoint him for your bed;

  Rap’d with joy, he’ll feign business of state,

  To leave his lady, and to lie alone.

  Alph. Very good.

  Tib. Then my request shall be, that for that night

  She would accept me for her bed-fellow;

  And there’s no question, sister, of the grant;

  Which being enjoy’d, I doubt not but to manage

  And carry all so even on level ground,

  That my offence shall in my love seem drown’d.

  Alph. The clock for your business thus far goes true; but now for me, what shall I do with the old cock in my roost?

  Tib. Sister, you have some trick (no doubt) to keep

  Him within compass.

  Alph. No not I, believe me; I know not what to do with him, unless I should give him a little nux vomica, to make him sleep away the night; but, brother, to pleasure you, I’ll venture a joint; and yet it troubles me too, that I should prove a traitor to my sex; I do betray an innocent lady, to what ill I know not.

  But love, the author of it, will I hope

  Turn it quite otherwise, and perhaps it may be

  So welcome to her as a courtesy.

  Tib. I doubt not but it shall.

  Alph. We nothing can,

  Unless man woman help, and woman man.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT IV. SCENE I.

  (TRUMPETS SOUND.) ENTER TORRENTI in a very costly Dress, between the two Dukes, who are attended by LORD VANNI and the other tiers; the latter seem to wonder at TORRENTI’S dress. Then a masque enters of Women in strange Habits, who dance and exeunt. TORRENTI gives Jewels and Chains of Pearls to the Dukes, and a Chain of Gold to every Courtier. The Dukes and Courtiers then depart, leaving VANNI and TORRENTI on the Stage.

  Nic. Thou art my noble kinsman, and but thy mother,

  (Upon my soul) was chaste, I should believe

  Some emperor begot thee.

  Tor. Why, pray, uncle? —

  Nic. Suppose all kingdoms on the earth were balls,

  And that thou held’st a racket in thy hand,

  To toss ’em as thou wou’dst, how wou’dst thou play?

  Tor. Why, as with balls, bandy ’em quite away.

  Nic. A tennis-court of kings could do no more;

  But faith what dost thou think, that I now think,

  Of thy this day’s expense?

  Tor. That it was brave.

  Nic. I think thee a proud vain-glorious bragging knave;

  That golden womb thy father left so full, thou

  Vulture-like eat’st through: oh, here’s trim stuff!

  A good man’s state, in garters, strings, and ruff;

  Hast not a saffron shirt on too? I fear thou’rt

  Troubled with the green sickness, thou look’st wan.

  Tor. With anger at thy snarling: must my hose

  Match your old greasy codpiece?

  Nic. No; but I’d have thee live in compass.

  Tor. Fool, I’ll be

  As the sun in the zodiac; I am he

  That wou’d take Phaeton’s fall, tho’ I set fire

  On the whole world, to be heaven’s charioteer

  (As he was) but one day.

  Nic. Vain riotous coxcomb,

  Thou’st fir’d too much already; parks, fore
sts, chases,

  Have no part left of them, but names and places;

  ’Tis voic’d abroad thy lands are all at pawn.

  Tor. They are, what then?

  Nic. And that the money went

  To entertain the pope’s great nuncio,

  On whom you spent the ransom of a king.

  Tor. You lie.

  Nic. I thank you, sir.

  Tor. Say all this true

  That I spent millions, what’s that to you?

  Were there for every day i’ th’ year a pope,

  For every hour i’ th’ year a cardinal,

  I’d melt both Indies but I’d feast ’em all.

  Nic. And leave your courtesans bare; that leaving bare,

  Will one day leave thee naked; one night’s waking,

  With a fresh whore, cost thee four thousand ducats,

  Else the bawd lies. —

  Tor. Wert thou not mine uncle,

  I’d send thee with thy frozen beard where furies

  Should singe it off with fire-brands; touching

  Wenching! thou art thyself an old rotten whoremaster?

  Nic. I a whore-master?

  To show how much I hate it, hark, when next thy tumblers

  Come to dance upon the ropes,

  Play this jig to ’em.

  Tor. Go, go, idle drone;

  Thou enviest bees with stings, ‘cause thine is gone;

  Plate, jewels, revenues, all shall fly.

  Nic. They shall?

  Tor. And then, sir, I’ll turn pickled thief, a pirate; —

  For as I to feed riot, a world did crave,

  So nothing but the sea shall be my grave;

  Meantime that circle few begin I’ll run,

  Tho’ the devil stand i’ th’ centre.

  Nic. What’s that circle?

  Tor. The vanity of all mankind be mine,

  In me all prodigal’s looseness fresh shall flow;

  Wine, harlots, surfeits, rich embroidered clothes,

  Fashions, all sensual sins, all new-coin’d oaths,

  Shall feed me, fill me; I’ll feast every sense,

  Nought shall become me ill, but innocence.

  [Exit.

  Nic. I hope a wallet hanging at thy back;

  Who spends all young, ere age comes, all will lack. — [Exit.

  The Scene changes to GENTILI’S. Enter an APOTHECARY followed by a Servant, to whom he gives Gold: then enter GENTILI attended by a Number of Servants in blue Coats, and followed by his STEWARD, and a BROKER. A Trumpet sounds.

  Gen. What sounds this trumpet for?

  Omnes. Dinner, my lord.

  Gen. To feast whom this day are my tables spread?

  Stew. For seamen, wreck’d, aged, or sick, or lame,

  And the late ransom’d captives from the Turk.