Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  In the serious portion of the drama, that in which the chief characters are concerned, many passages of a higher order of poetry occur, and, generally speaking, the blank verse (intermixed with rhyme) flows with easeand harmony. The text has of course come down to us with certain blemishes and corruptions, which, with due notice, we have endeavoured to remedy. The original copy is not separated into acts and scenes, but we have supplied these artificial divisions. We are not entirely satisfied with our own arrangement in this particular, but it is of comparatively little consequence in the mere reading of the play. The case would be different were we adapting it to the stage instead of the closet. The character of the Marquess of Saluzzo is well sustained throughout, and that of Grissil drawn with so much grace, delicacy, and truth, as powerfully to excite our sympathies in her favour.

  It may be necessary to add, that we have not thought any thing was gained, in a case of this kind, by the preservation of the old orthography: on the contrary, it looks uncouth to the modern eye, and interferes in some degree with that smoothness of perusal which is required for the full enjoyment of the language of the old poets. In what manner they distributed the work between them, and what particular portions belong to each, it is impossible now to determine. We have made no more notes than seemed necessary, and those, with proper references, are placed at the conclusion of the comedy.

  J. P. C.

  It will not he out of place to subjoin here some stanzas from one of the early ballads upon the story of the following drama. We observe with satisfaction that the Percy Society propose to reprint the versified narratives, as well as the prose history, entire, and we will not, therefore, trench farther upon the ground they have pre-occupied. The poem quoted below bears the title of “An excellent Ballad of a noble Marquess and Patient Grissel. To the tune of the Bride’s Good-morrow.” In Deloney’s “Garland of Good-will,” printed before 1596, is a ballad to the same tune.

  A noble marquess,

  As he did ride a-hunting,

  Hard by a forest side,

  A fair and comely maiden,

  As sbe did sit a-spinning,

  His gentle eye espied.

  Most fair and lovely, and of comely grace was she,

  Although in simple attire:

  She sung full sweetly, with pleasant voice melodiously,

  Which set the Lord’s heart on fire.

  The more he look’d, the more he might;

  Beauty bred his heart’s delight;

  And to this damsel then, with speed he went: —

  God speed, quoth he, thou famous flower,

  Fair mistress of this homely bower,

  Where love and virtue dwell with sweet content.

  * * * * * *

  At length she consented,

  And being both contented,

  They married were with speed.

  Her country russet

  Was chang’d to silk and velvet,

  As to her state agreed:

  And when that she was trimly ‘tired in the same.

  Her beauty shin’d most bright,

  Far staining every other fair and princely dame

  That did appear in sight.

  Many envied her, therefore,

  Because she was of parents poor,

  And twixt her lord and her great strife did raise:

  Some said this, and some said that,

  And some did call her beggar’s brat,

  And to her Lord they did her oft dispraise.

  * * * * * *

  When that the marquess

  Did see that they were bent thus

  Against his faithful wife,

  Whom he most dearly,

  Tenderly, and entirely

  Beloved as his life,

  Minding in secret for to try her patient heart,

  Thereby her foes to disgrace,

  Thinking to show her a hard, discourteous part,

  That men might pity her case:

  Great with child the lady was,

  And at the last it came to pass

  Two goodly children at one birth she had;

  A son and a daughter God had sent,

  Which did their mother well content,

  And which did make their father’s heart full glad.

  Great royal feasting

  Was at these children’s christ’ning,

  And princely triumph made:

  Six weeks together

  All the nobles that came thither

  Were entertain’d and stay’d.

  And when that all the pleasant sporting quite was done

  The marquess a messenger sent

  For his young daughter and his pretty smiling son.

  Declaring his full intent

  How that the babes must murdered be,

  For so the marquess did decree.

  Come, let me have the children then he said.

  With that fair Grissel wept full sore:

  She wrung her hands and said no more,

  My gracious lord must have his will obey’d.

  * * * * * *

  My nobles murmur,

  Fair Grissel, at thy honour,

  And I no joy can have

  Till thou be banished

  Both from my court and presence,

  As they unjustly crave.

  Thou must be stripp’d out of thy stately garments all.

  And as thou cam’st to me,

  In homely grey, instead of his and purest pall,

  Now all thy clothing must be.

  My lady thou must be no more.

  Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore: —

  The poorest life must now content thy mind.

  A groat to thee I dare not give,

  Thee to maintain while I do live;

  Against my Grissel such great foes I find.

  * * * * * *

  And in the morning,

  When as they should be wedded,

  Her patience then was tried:

  Grissel was charged

  Herself in friendly manner

  For to attire the bride.

  Most willingly she gave consent to do the same:

  The bride in bravery was drest;

  And presently the noble marquess thither came,

  With all his lords, at his request.

  O, Grissel, I will ask of thee,

  If to this match thou wilt agree?

  Methinks thy looks are waxed wondrous coy.

  With that they all began to smile,

  And Grissel, she replied the while,

  God send lord marquess many years of joy!

  The marquess was moved

  To see his best beloved

  Thus patient in distress:

  He stepp’d unto her,

  And by the hand he took her;

  These words he did express.

  Thou art my bride, and all the brides I mean to have:

  These two thine own children be!

  The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave,

  Her brother as well as she.

  And you that envy her estate,

  Whom I have made my chosen mate,

  Now blush for shame, and honour virtuous life.

  The chronicles of lasting fame

  Shall evermore extol the name

  Of Patient Grissel, my most constant wife.

  FINIS

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  GWALTER: Marquess of Saluzzo.

  MARQUESS OF PAVIA: his brother.

  ONOPHRIO, FARNEZE, URCENZE: Suitors to Julia.

  MARIO, LEPIDO: Courtiers.

  EMULO: a fantastic gallant.

  FURIO: attendant on Gwalter.

  SIR OWEN AP MEREDITH: a Welsh knight.

  RICE: servant to Sir Owen.

  JANICULO: a basket-maker, father to Grissil.

  LAUREO: a poor scholar, his son.

  BABULO: the Clown, servant to Janiculo.

  GRISSIL: daughter to Janiculo.

  JULIA: sister to Gwalter.


  GWENTHYAN: a Welsh widow.

  Two Ladies.

  Huntsmen, attendants, &c.

  The scene lies in and near Saluzzo.

  This list of characters is not in the old copy.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I. — The country near Saluzzo.

  ENTER THE MARQUESS, PAVIA, MARIO, LEPIDO, and. huntsmen; all like hunters. A noise of horns within.

  Mar. Look you so strange, my hearts, to see our limbs

  Thus suited in a hunter’s livery?

  Oh! ’tis a lovely habit, when green youth,

  Like to the flowery blossom of the spring,

  Conforms his outward habit to his mind.

  Look how yon one-ey’d waggoner of heaven

  Hath, by his horses’ fiery-winged hoofs,

  Burst ope the melancholy jail of night;

  And with his gilt beams’ cunning alchymy

  Turn’d all these clouds to gold, who, with the winds

  Upon their misty shoulders, bring in day.

  Then sully not this morning with foul looks,

  But teach your jocund spirits to ply the chase,

  For hunting is a sport for emperors.

  Pa. We know it is; and, therefore, do not throw

  On these, your pastimes, a contracted brow.

  How swift youth’s bias runs to catch delights,

  To me is not unknown: no, brother Gwalter,

  When you were woo’d by us to choose a wife,

  This day you vow’d to wed; but now I see

  Your promises turn all to mockery.

  Lep. This day yourself appointed to give answer

  To all those neighbour princes, who in love

  Offer their daughters, sisters, and allies,

  In marriage to your hand. Yet, for all this,

  The hour being come that calls you to your choice,

  You stand prepar’d for sport, and start aside

  To hunt poor deer, when you should seek a bride;

  Mar. Nay, come Mario, your opinion too;

  He had need of ten men’s wit that goes to woo.

  Ma. First satisfy these princes, who expect

  Your gracious answer to their embassies;

  Then may you freely revel: now you fly

  Both from your own vows, and their amity.

  Mar. How much your judgments err! Who gets a wife

  Must, like a huntsman, beat untrodden paths,

  To gain the flying presence of his love.

  Look how the yelping beagles spend their mouths,

  So lovers do their sighs; and as the deer

  Outstrips the active hound, and oft turns back

  To note the angry visage of her foe,

  Who, greedy to possess so sweet a prey,

  Never gives over till he seize on her,

  So fares it with coy dames, who, great with scorn,

  Fly the care-pined hearts that sue to them;

  Yet on that feigned flight, love conquering them,

  They cast an eye of longing back again,

  As who would say, be not dismay’d with frowns,

  For though our tongues speak no, our hearts sound yea;

  Or, if not so, before they’ll miss their lovers,

  Their sweet breaths shall perfume the amorous air,

  And brave them still to run in beauty’s chase.

  Then can you blame me to be hunter like,

  When I must get a wife? but be content;

  So you’ll engage your faith by oath to us,

  Your wills shall answer mine, my liking yours,

  And, that no wrinkle on your cheeks shall ride,

  This day the marquess vows to choose a bride.

  Pa. Even by my honour —

  Mar. Brother, be advis’d.

  The importunity of you and these

  Thrusts my free thoughts into the yoke of love,

  To groan under the load of marriage. —

  Since, then, you throw this burthen on my youth,

  Swear to me, whomsoever my fancy choose,

  Of what descent, beauty, or birth she be,

  Her you shall like and love, as you love me.

  Pa. Now, by my birth I swear, wed whom you please.

  And I’ll embrace her with a brother’s arm.

  Lep. Mario and myself to your fair choice

  Shall yield all duties and true reverence.

  Mar. Your protestations please me jollily.

  Let’s ring a hunter’s peal, and in the ears

  Of our swift forest citizens proclaim

  Defiance to their lightness. Our sports done,

  The venison that we kill shall feast our bride.

  If she prove bad, I’ll cast all blame on you;

  But if sweet peace succeed this amorous strife,

  I’ll say my wit was best to choose a wife. — [Exeunt.

  As they go in, horns sound, and hallooing within: that done, enter JANICULO, GEISSIL, and BABULO, with two baskets begun to be wrought.

  Bab. Old master, here’s a morning able to make us work tooth and nail (marry, then, we must have victuals): the sun hath play’d bo-peep in the element any time these two hours, as I do some mornings when you call. “What, Babulo! “say you. “ Here, master,” say I; and then this eye opens, yet don is the mouse — lie still. “What, Babulo!” says Grissil. “ Anon,” say I; and then this eye looks up, yet down I snug again. “What, Babulo!” say you again; and then I start up, and see the sun, and then sneeze, and then shake mine ears, and then rise, and then get my breakfast, and then fall to work, and then wash my hands, and by this time I am ready. Here’s your basket; and, Grissil, here’s yours.

  Jan. Fetch thine own, Babulo: let’s ply our business.

  Bab. God send me good luck, master.

  Gri. Why, Babulo, what’s the matter?

  Bab. God forgive me t I think I shall not eat a peck of salt: I shall not live long, sure. I should be a rich man by right, for they never do good deeds but when they see they must die; and I have now a monstrous stomach to work, because I think I shall not live long.

  Jan. Go, fool: cease this vain talk, and fall to work.

  Bab. I’ll hamper somebody if I die, because I am a basket-maker. — [Exit.

  Jan. Come, Grissil, work, sweet girl. Here the warm sun

  Will shine on us; and, when his fires begin,

  We’ll cool our sweating brows in yonder shade.

  Gri. Father, methinks it doth not fit a maid,

  By sitting thus in view, to draw men’s eyes

  To stare upon her: might it please your age,

  I could be more content to work within.

  Jan. Indeed, my child, men’s eyes do now-a-days

  Quickly take fire at the least spark of beauty;

  And if those flames be quench’d by chaste disdain,

  Then their envenom’d tongues, alack! do strike,

  To wound her fame whose beauty they did like.

  Gri. I will avoid their darts, and work within.

  Jan. Thou need’st not: in a painted coat goes sin,

  And loves those that love pride. None looks on thee;

  Then, keep me company. How much unlike

  Are thy desires to many of thy sex!

  How many wantons in Salucia

  Frown like the sullen night, when their fair faces

  Are hid within doors; but, got once abroad,

  Like the proud sun they spread their staring beams:

  They shine out to be seen; their loose eyes tell

  That in their bosoms wantonness doth dwell.

  Thou canst not do so, Grissil; for thy sun

  Is but a star, thy star a spark of fire,

  Which hath no power t’inflame doting desire.

  Thy silks are threadbare russets; all thy portion

  Is but an honest name; that gone, thou art dead

  Though dead thou liv’st, that being unblemished.

  Gri. If to die free from shame be ne’er to die,

  Then I’l
l be crown’d with immortality.

  Jan. Pray God thou mayest: yet, child, my jealous soul

  Trembles through fears, so often as mine eyes

  See our duke court thee, and when to thine ears

  He tunes sweet love-songs. Oh, beware, my Grissil;

  He can prepare his way with gifts of gold;

  Upon his breath winged promotion flies.

  Oh, my dear girl, trust not his sorceries.

  Did he not seek the shipwreck of thy fame,

  Why should he send his tailors to take measure

  Of Grissil’s body, but as one should say,

  If thou wilt be the marquess’ concubine,

  Thou shalt wear rich attires: but they that think

  With costly garments sin’s black face to hide,

  Wear naked bravery and ragged pride.

  Gri. Good father, do not shake your age with fears.

  Although the marquess sometimes visit us,

  Yet all his words and deeds are like his birth,

  Steep’d in true honour; but admit they were not,

  Before my soul look black with speckled sin

  My hands shall make me pale death’s underling.

  Jan. The music of those words sweetens mine ears.

  Come, girl, let’s faster work; time apace wears.

  [Re ]Enter BABULO with his work.

  Gri. Come, Babulo; why hast thou staid so long?

  Bab. Nay, why are you so short? Master, here’s money I took, since I went, for a cradle. This year I think be leap year, for women do nothing but buy cradles. By my troth, I think the world is at an end, for as soon as we be born we marry; as soon as we marry we get children (by hook or by crook gotten they are); children must have cradles, and as soon as they are in them they hop out of them; for I have seen little girls, that yesterday had scarce a hand to make them ready, the next day had worn wedding-rings on their fingers, so that, if the world do not end, we shall not live one by another. Basket-making, as all other trades, runs to decay, and shortly we shall not be worth a button; for none in this cutting age sew true stitches but tailors and shoemakers, and yet now and then they tread their shoes awry too.