To let her kiss or touch them. — [Exeunt.
Fu. Faith, not I: I have not such a heart. An she ask to touch them, I’ll deny it, because I’ll obey my lord; yet she shall kiss and touch them, too, because I’ll please y lady. Alas, alas! pretty fools, I love you well, but I would you had a better nurse.
[Re]-Enter GRISSIL, stealingly.
Gri. A better nurse! seek’st thou a better nurse? A better nurse than whom?
Fu. Than you; away.
Gri. I am their mother: I must not away. Look, look, good Furio; look, they smile on me: I know, poor hearts, they fear to smile on thee. I prithee, let me have them.
Fu. Touch them not.
Gri. I prithee, let me touch them.
Fu. No; hands off.
Gri. I prithee, gentle Furio, let me kiss them.
Fu. Not one kiss for a king’s crown.
Gri. Must I not kiss my babes? must I not touch them?
Alas! what sin so vile hath Grissil done,
That thus she should be vexed? not kiss my infants!
Who taught thee to be cruel, gentle churl?
What must thou do with them?
Fu. Get them a nurse.
Gri. A nurse! alack, what nurse? where must she dwell?
Fu. I must not tell you — till I know myself.
Gri. For God’s sake, who must nurse them? do but name her,
And I will swear those fiery eyes do smile,
And I will swear, that which none else will swear,
That thy grim brows do mercy’s livery wear.
Fu. Chuse you.
[Re]Enter MARQUESS, standing aside.
Gri. Oh, God! oh, God! might Grissil have her choice,
My babes should not be scar’d with thy devil’s voice!
Thou get a nurse for them? they can abide
To taste no milk but mine. Come, come, I’ll chide,
In faith, you cruel man, I’ll chide indeed,
If I grow angry.
Fu. Do, do; I care not.
Mar. [Aside.] To chide and curse thy lord thou hast more need.
Gri. Wilt thou not tell me who shall be their nurse?
Fu. No.
Gri. Wilt thou not let me kiss them?
Fu. No, I say.
Gri. I prithee, let my tears, let my bow’d knees,
Bend thy obdurate heart. See, here’s a fountain
Which heaven into this alabaster bowels
Instill’d to nourish them: man, they’ll cry,
And blame thee that this runs so lavishly.
Here’s milk for both my babes — two breasts for two.
Mar. [Aside.] Poor babes! I weep to see what wrong I do.
Gri. I pray thee let them suck. I am most meet
To play their nurse; they’ll smile, and say ’tis sweet
Which streams from hence. If thou dost bear them hence,
My angry breasts will swell, and as mine eyes
Let fall salt drops, with these white nectar tears
They will be mix’d, this sweet will then be brine.
They’ll cry; I’ll chide, and say the sin is thine.
Fu. Mine arms ache mightily, and my heart aches.
Mar. [Aside] And so doth mine. Sweet sounds this discord makes.
Fu. Here, madam, take one: I am weary of both. Touch it and kiss it too, it’s a sweet child. [Aside.] I would I were rid of my misery, for I shall drown my heart with my tears that fall inward.
Gri. Oh, this is gently done! this is my boy,
My first-born care; thy feet, that ne’er felt ground,
Have travell’d longest in this land of woe,
This world’s wilderness, and hast most need
Of my most comfort. Oh, I thank thee, Furio:
I knew I should transform thee with my tears,
And melt thy adamantine heart like wax.
What wrong shall these have to be ta’en from me!
Mildly entreat their nurse to touch them mildly,
For my soul tells me, that my honour’d lord
Does but to try poor Grissil’s constancy.
He’s full of mercy, justice, full of love.
Mar. [Aside.] My cheeks do glow with shame to hear her speak.
Should I not weep for joy, my heart would break.
And yet a little more I’ll stretch my trial.
[Coming forward.] Mario, Lepido!
Enter MARIO and LEPIDO.
Both. My gracious lord.
Mar. You shall be witness of this open wrong.
I gave strait charge she should not touch these brats,
Yet has she tempted with lascivious tears
The heart of Furio: see, she dandles them.
Take that child from her. [Aside to FURIO.] Stay, stay;
I’ll commend
That pity in thee which I’ll reprehend.
Fu. Do.
Mar. Dare you thus contradict our strait command?
But here’s a trusty groom. Out, hypocrite!
I shall do justice wrong to let thee breathe
For disobeying me.
Gri. My gracious lord.
Mar. Tempt me not, syren. Since you are so loving,
Hold you, take both your children. Get you gone. —
Disrobe her of these rich habiliments,
Take down her hat, her pitcher, and her gown,
And as she came to me in beggary,
So drive her to her father’s.
Ma. My dear lord!
Mar. Vex me not, good Mario: if you woo me
(Or if you shed one tear), to pity her,
Or if by any drift you succour her,
You lose my favour everlastingly.
Both. We must obey, since there’s no remedy.
Mar. [Aside.] You must be villains, there’s no remedy.
[To them.] Mario, Lepido, you two shall help
To bear her children home.
Gri. It shall not need;
I can bear more.
Mar. [ Aside.] Thou bear’st too much, indeed.
Gri. Come, come, sweet lambs: we’ll laugh and live content,
Though from the court we live in banishment.
These rich attires are for your mother fit,
But not your nurse; therefore, I’ll off with it.
Mar. Away with her, I say.
Gri. Away, away?
Nothing but that cold comfort? we’ll obey.
Heaven smile upon my lord with gracious eye.
Mar. Drive her hence, Lepido.
Lep. Good madam, hence.
Gri. Thus tyranny oppresseth innocence.
Thy looks seem heavy, but thy heart is light,
For villains laugh when wrong oppresseth right.
runs to the MARQUESS.
Must we be driven hence? Oh, see, my lord,
Sweet pretty fools, they both smil’d at that word;
They smile, as who should say indeed, indeed,
Your tongue cries hence, but your heart’s not agreed.
Can you thus part from them? in truth, I know,
Your true love cannot let these infants go.
Mar. [Aside.] She’ll triumph over me, do what I can,
[He turns from her.
Ma. Good madam, hence.
Gri. Oh, send one gracious smile
Before we leave this place: turn not away;
Do but look back; let us but once more see
Those eyes, whose beams shall breathe new souls in three.
It is enough: now we’ll depart in joy. —
Nay, be not you so cruel: should you two
Be thus driven hence, trust me, I’d pity you.
Mar. Disrobe her presently.
Both. It shall be done.
Gri. To work some good deed thus you would not run. — [Exeunt.
Mar. Oh, Grissil, in large characters of gold,
Thy virtuous, sacred fame shall be enroll’d.
Tell me thy judgment, Furio, of my wife.
Fu. I t
hink, my lord, she’s a true woman, for she loves her children; a rare wife, for she loves you (I believe you’ll hardly find her match); and I think she’s more than a woman, because she conquers all wrongs by patience.
Mar. Yet once more will I try her. Presently
I’ll have thee go to old Janiculo’s,
And take her children from her: breed some doubt
(By speeches) in her, that her eyes shall never
Behold them more: bear them to Pavia; Commend us to our brother; say from us,
That we desire him, with all kind respect
To nurse the infants, and withal conceal
Their parentage from any mortal ear.
I charge thee, on thy life, reveal not this:
I charge thee, on thy life, be like thy name,
When thou com’st to her, rough and furious.
Fu. Well, I will. It’s far from Saluce to Pavia: the children will cry; I have no teats, you know: ‘twere good you thought upon it.
Mar. There’s gold.
Fu. That’s good.
Mar. Provide them nurses.
Fu. That’s better: I will, an I can.
[Exit FURIO.
Mar. Away! Though I dare trust thy secrecy,
Yet will I follow thee in some disguise,
And try thy faith, and Grissils constancy.
If thou abide uublemish’d, then, I swear,
I have found two wonders that are seldom rife,
A trusty servant, and a patient wife.
[Exit.
SCENE II. — Near the Cottage of Janiculo.
ENTER JANICULO AND LAUREO, with burdens of osiers.
Lau. Father, how fare you?
Jan. Very well, my son.
This labour is a comfort to my age.
The marquess hath to me been merciful,
In sending me from courtly delicates,
To taste the quiet of this country life.
Lau. Call him not merciful; his tyranny
Exceeds the most inhuman.
Jan. Peace, my son.
I thought by learning thou hadst been made wise;
But I perceive it puffeth up thy soul:
Thou tak’st a pleasure to be counted just,
And kick against the faults of mighty men.
Oh, ’tis in vain! the earth may even as well
Challenge the potter to be partial
For forming it to sundry offices.
Alas, the error of ambitious fools!
How frail are all their thoughts, how faint, how weak!
Those that do strive to jostle with the great,
Are certain to be bruis’d, or soon to break.
Come, come; mell with our osiers: here let’s rest;
This is old homely home, and that’s still best.
Enter BABULO, with a bundle of osiers in one arm, and a child in another; GRISSIL after him with another child.
Bab. Hush, hush, hush, hush! and I dance mine own child, and I dance mine own child, &c., ha, ha! whoop, old master! so ho, ho! look here. And I dance mine own child, &c. Here’s sixpence a week, and sixpence a week, eight groats, soap, and candle. I met her in osier grove, crying hush, hush, hush, hush! I thought it had been some beggar woman, because of her pitcher, for you know they bear such household stuff to put drink and porridge together. And I dance mine, &c.
Lau. Oh, father, now forswear all patience!
Grissil comes home to you in poor array;
Grissil is made a drudge, a cast-away.
Jan. Grissil is welcome home to poverty. —
How now, my child, are these thy pretty babes?
Bab. And I dance mine own child. Art thou there? art thou there?
Jan. Why art thou thus come home? who sent thee hither?
Gri. It is the pleasure of my princely lord,
Who, taking some offence to me unknown,
Hath banish’d me from care to quietness.
Bab. A fig for care! old master, but now old grandsire, take this little Pope Innocent: we’ll give over basket-making, and turn nurses. She has uncled Laureo. It’s no matter, you shall go make a fire. Grandsire, you shall dandle them. Grissil shall go make pap, and I’ll lick the skillet; but first I’ll fetch a cradle. It’s a sign ’tis not a dear year, when they come by two at once. Here’s a couple, quoth jackdaw. Art thou there? sing grandsire. — [Exit.
Jan. What said the marquess when he banish’d thee?
Gri. He gave me gentle language, kiss’d my cheek;
For God’s sake, therefore, speak not ill of him.
Tears trickling from his eyes, and sorrow’s hand
Stopping his mouth, thus did he bid adieu,
Whilst many a deep-fetch’d sigh from his breast flew:
Therefore, for God’s sake, speak not ill of him.
Good lord! how many a kiss he gave my babes,
And with wet eyes bade me be patient;
And, by my truth (if I have any truth)
I came from court more quiet and content,
By many a thousand part, than when I went;
Therefore, for God’s love, speak not ill of him.
Lau. Oh, vile dejection of too base a soul!
Hast thou beheld the paradise of court,
Fed of rich several meats, bath’d in sweet streams,
Slept on the bed of pleasure, sat enthron’d,
Whilst troops, as saint-like, have adored thee,
And being now thrown down by violence,
Dost thou not envy those that drive thee thence?
Gri. Far be it from my heart from envying my lord
In thought, much less either in deed or word.
Lau. Then hast thou no true soul; for I would curse,
From the sun’s rising to his western fall,
The marquess and his flattering minions.
Gri. By day and night kind Heaven protect them all!
What wrong have they done me? what hate to you?
Have I not fed upon the prince’s cost,
Been cloth’d in rich attires, liv’d on his charge?
Look here: my russet gown is yet unworn,
And many a winter more may serve my turn,
By the preserving it so many months.
My pitcher is unhurt: see, it is fill’d
With crystal water of the crisped spring.
If you remember, on my wedding day,
You sent me with this pitcher to the well,
And I came empty home, because I met
The gracious marquess and his company:
Now hath he sent you this cup full of tears.
You’ll say the comfort’s cold: well, be it so,
Yet every little comfort helps in woe.
Jan. True model of true virtue! welcome, child.
Thou and these tender babes to me are welcome:
We’ll work to find them food. Come, kiss them soon,
And let’s forget these wrongs as never done.
[Re]Enter BABULO, with a cradle.
Bab. Come, where be the infidels? here’s the cradle of security, and my pillow of idleness for them, and their grandsire’s cloak (not of hypocrisy) but honesty to cover them.
Jan. Lay them both softly down. Grissil, sit down.
Laureo, fetch you my lute — Rock thou the cradle:
Cover the poor fool’s arm. I’ll charm their eyes
To take a sleep by sweet tun’d lullabies.
THE SONG.
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons; do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons; do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby:
Enter FURIO; and the MARQUESS aloof, disguis’d, with baskets.
Fu. Lea
ve singing.
Bab. We may chuse. Grandsire, sol fa once more. We’ll “alla mira” him, and “wail in woe,” and who can hinder us?
Fu. Sirrah scholar, read there: it’s a commission for me to take away these children.
Bab. Nay then, y’are welcome: there’s four groats, and here’s four more.
Gri. To take away my children! gentle Furio, Why must my babes bear this ungentle doom?
Fu. Go look.
Lau. Oh, misery! oh, most accursed time!
When to be foes to guilt is held a crime.
Sister, this fiend must bear your infants hence.
Jan. Good Grissil, bear all wrongs with patience.
[Weeps.
Gri. Good father, let true patience cure all woe.
You bid me be content; oh! be you so.
Lau. Father, why do you weep?
Jan. What can I do? —
Though her he punish, he might pity you.
Lau. Let’s fret, and curse the marquess cruelly.
Bab. Ay, by my troth, that’s a good way. We may well do it, now we are out of his hearing.
Gri. Must I then be divorc’d, and lose this treasure? I must and am content, since ’tis his pleasure. I prithee tell me whither they must go?
Fu. No.
Gri. Art thou commanded to conceal the place?
Fu. Ay.
Gri. Then will I not inquire. Thou dost but jest:
I know thou must not rob me; ’tis to try
If I love them. No, no [looking at the commission]; here I read
That which strikes blind mine eyes, makes my heart bleed.
Farewell, farewell; dear souls, adieu, adieu;
Your father sends, and I must part from you.
I must, oh, God! I must: must is for kings,
And low obedience for low underlings.
Lau. He shall not hale them thus: keep them perforce.
This slave looks on them with a murdering eye.
Bab. No; he shall not have them.
Knock out his brains, and save the little hop o’ my thumbs.
Fu. Do, if you dare.
Mar. [Coming forward.] How now, my hearts; what’s the matter?
Fu. What carest thou?
Lau. This is poor Grissil, wife unto our duke,
And these her children: thus he sends her home,
And thus he sends a serpent to devour
Their precious lives. He brings commission
To hale them hence, but whither none can tell.
Gri. Forbear, forbear!
Mar. Take them from him perforce.
Are these his children?
Bab. So she says.
Mar. Two sweet ducks. And is this his wife?
Bab. Yes, he has lain with her.
Mar. A pretty soul! — Sirrah, thou wilt be hang’d for this.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 115