Vio. He laughs in your faces.
Geo. A rescue, prentices! my master’s catchpolled.
1st Off. I charge you, keep the peace, or have your legs
Gartered with irons! we have from the duke
A warrant strong enough for what we do.
Cand. I pray, rest quiet, I desire no rescue.
Vio. La, he desires no rescue, ‘las poor heart,
He talks against himself.
Cand. Well, what’s the matter?
1st Off. Look to that arm, [Officers bind Candido.
Pray, make sure work, double the cord.
Cand. Why, why?
Vio. Look how his head goes, should he get but loose,
Oh ‘twere as much as all our lives were worth!
1st Off. Fear not, we’ll make all sure for our own safety.
Cand. Are you at leisure now? well, what’s the matter?
Why do I enter into bonds thus, ha?
1st Off. Because you’re mad, put fear upon your wife.
Vio. Oh ay, I went in danger of my life every minute.
Cand. What, am I mad, say you, and I not know it?
1st Off. That proves you mad, because you know it not.
Vio. Pray talk to him as little as you can,
You see he’s too far spent.
Cand. Bound, with strong cord!
A sister’s thread, i’faith, had been enough,
To lead me anywhere. — Wife, do you long?
You are mad too, or else you do me wrong.
Geo. But are you mad indeed, master?
Cand. My wife says so,
And what she says, George, is all truth, you know. —
And whither now, to Bethlem Monastery?
Ha! whither?
1st Off. Faith, e’en to the madmen’s pound.
Cand. A’ God’s name! still I feel my patience sound. [Exeunt Officers with Candido.
Geo. Come, we’ll see whither he goes; if the master be mad, we are his servants, and must follow his steps; we’ll be mad-caps too. Farewell, mistress, you shall have us all in Bedlam. [Exeunt George and Prentices.
Vio. I think I ha’ fitted you now, you and your clothes,
If this move not his patience, nothing can;
I’ll swear then I’ve a saint, and not a man. [Exit.
SCENE IV. — Grounds near the Duke’s Palace.
ENTER DUKE, DOCTOR Benedict, Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Duke. Give us a little leave.
[Exeunt Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Doctor, your news.
Doct. I sent for him my lord, at last he came,
And did receive all speech that went from me,
As gilded pills made to prolong his health.
My credit with him wrought it; for some men
Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear
No drowning where ’tis deepest, ‘cause ’tis clear:
In th’end we sat and eat: a health I drank
To Infelice’s sweet departed soul.
This train I knew would take.
Duke. ’Twas excellent.
Doct. He fell with such devotion on his knees,
To pledge the fame —
Duke. Fond, superstitious fool!
Doct. That had he been inflamed with zeal of prayer,
He could not pour’t out with more reverence:
About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek,
Kissed it, and swore he would adore my lips,
Because they brought forth Infelice’s name.
Duke. Ha, ha! alack, alack.
Doct. The cup he lifts up high, and thus he said;
Here noble maid! — drinks, and was poisonèd.
Duke. And died?
Doct. And died, my lord.
Duke. Thou in that word
Hast pieced mine aged hours out with more years,
Than thou hast taken from Hippolito.
A noble youth he was, but lesser branches
Hindering the greater’s growth, must be lopt off,
And feed the fire. Doctor, we’re now all thine,
And use us so: be bold.
Doct. Thanks, gracious lord —
My honoured lord: —
Duke. Hum.
Doct. I do beseech your grace to bury deep,
This bloody act of mine.
Duke. Nay, nay, for that,
Doctor, look you to it, me it shall not move;
They’re cursed that ill do, not that ill do love.
Doct. You throw an angry forehead on my face:
But be you pleased backward thus far to look,
That for your good, this evil I undertook —
Duke. Ay, ay, we conster so.
Doct. And only for your love.
Duke. Confessed: ’tis true.
Doct. Nor let it stand against me as a bar,
To thrust me from your presence; nor believe
As princes have quick thoughts, that now my finger
Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand,
But that for gold, — as what can gold not do? —
I may be hired to work the like on you.
Duke. Which to prevent —
Doct. ’Tis from my heart as far.
Duke. No matter, doctor; ‘cause I’ll fearless sleep,
And that you shall stand clear of that suspicion,
I banish thee for ever from my court.
This principle is old, but true as fate,
Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. [Exit.
Doct. Is’t so? nay then, duke, your stale principle,
With one as stale, the doctor thus shall quit —
He falls himself that digs another’s pit.
Enter the Doctor’s Servant.
How now! where is he? will he meet me?
Ser. Meet you, sir? he might have met with three fencers in this time, and have received less hurt than by meeting one doctor of physic: Why, sir, he has walked under the old abbey-wall yonder this hour, till he’s more cold than a citizen’s country house in Janivery. You may smell him behind, sir: la, you, yonder he comes.
Doct. Leave me.
Ser. I’th’ lurch, if you will. [Exit.
Enter Hippolito.
Doct. O my most noble friend!
Hip. Few but yourself,
Could have enticed me thus, to trust the air
With my close sighs. You sent for me; what news?
Doct. Come, you must doff this black, dye that pale cheek
Into his own colour, go, attire yourself
Fresh as a bridegroom when he meets his bride.
The duke has done much treason to thy love;
’Tis now revealed, ’tis now to be revenged:
Be merry, honoured friend, thy lady lives.
Hip. What lady?
Doct. Infelice, she’s revived;
Revived? Alack! death never had the heart,
To take breath from her.
Hip. Umh: I thank you, sir,
Physic prolongs life, when it cannot save;
This helps not my hopes, mine are in their grave,
You do some wrong to mock me.
Doct. By that love
Which I have ever borne you, what I speak
Is truth: the maiden lives; that funeral,
Duke’s tears, the mourning, was all counterfeit;
A sleepy draught cozened the world and you:
I was his minister, and then chambered up,
To stop discovery.
Hip. O treacherous duke!
Doct. He cannot hope so certainly for bliss,
As he believes that I have poisoned you:
He wooed me to’t; I yielded, and confirmed him
In his most bloody thoughts.
Hip. A very devil!
Doct. Her did he closely coach to Bergamo,
And thither —
Hip. Will I ride: stood Bergamo
In the low countries of black hell, I�
�ll to her.
Doct. You shall to her, but not to Bergamo:
How passion makes you fly beyond yourself.
Much of that weary journey I ha’ cut off;
For she by letters hath intelligence
Of your supposed death, her own interment,
And all those plots, which that false duke, her father,
Has wrought against you; and she’ll meet you —
Hip. Oh, when?
Doct. Nay, see; how covetous are your desires!
Early to-morrow morn.
Hip. Oh where, good father?
Doct. At Bethlem Monastery: are you pleased now?
Hip. At Bethlem Monastery! the place well fits,
It is the school where those that lose their wits,
Practise again to get them: I am sick
Of that disease; all love is lunatic.
Doct. We’ll steal away this night in some disguise:
Father Anselmo, a most reverend friar,
Expects our coming; before whom we lay
Reasons so strong, that he shall yield in bands
Of holy wedlock to tie both your hands.
Hip. This is such happiness,
That to believe it, ’tis impossible.
Doct. Let all your joys then die in misbelief;
I will reveal no more.
Hip. O yes, good father,
I am so well acquainted with despair,
I know not how to hope: I believe all.
Doct. We’ll hence this night, much must be done, much said:
But if the doctor fail not in his charms,
Your lady shall ere morning fill these arms.
Hip. Heavenly physician! for thy fame shall spread,
That mak’st two lovers speak when they be dead. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I. — A Hall in the Duke’s Palace.
ENTER VIOLA, WITH a petition and George.
Vio. Oh watch, good George, watch which way the duke comes.
Geo. Here comes one of the butterflies; ask him.
Enter Pioratto.
Vio. Pray, sir, comes the duke this way?
Pio. He’s upon coming, mistress.
Vio. I thank you, sir. [Exit Pioratto.] George, are there many mad folks where thy master lies?
Geo. Oh yes, of all countries some; but especially mad Greeks, they swarm. Troth mistress, the world is altered with you; you had not wont to stand thus with a paper humbly complaining: but you’re well enough served: provender pricked you, as it does many of our city wives besides.
Vio. Dost think, George, we shall get him forth?
Geo. Truly, mistress, I cannot tell; I think you’ll hardly get him forth. Why, ’tis strange! ‘Sfoot, I have known many women that have had mad rascals to their husbands, whom they would belabour by all means possible to keep ’em in their right wits, but of a woman to long to turn a tame man into a madman, why the devil himself was never used so by his dam.
Vio. How does he talk, George! ha! good George, tell me.
Geo. Why you’re best go see.
Vio. Alas, I am afraid!
Geo. Afraid! you had more need be ashamed, he may rather be afraid of you.
Vio. But, George, he’s not stark mad, is he? he does not rave, he is not horn-mad, George, is he?
Geo. Nay I know not that, but he talks like a justice of peace, of a thousand matters, and to no purpose.
Vio. I’ll to the monastery: I shall be mad till I enjoy him, I shall be sick until I see him; yet when I do see him, I shall weep out mine eyes.
Geo. I’d fain see a woman weep out her eyes, that’s as true as to say, a man’s cloak burns, when it hangs in the water: I know you’ll weep, mistress, but what says the painted cloth?
Trust not a woman when she cries,
For she’ll pump water from her eyes
With a wet finger, and in faster showers,
Than April when he rains down flowers.
Vio. Ay, but George, that painted cloth is worthy to be hanged up for lying; all women have not tears at will, unless they have good cause.
Geo. Ay, but mistress, how easily will they find a cause, and as one of our cheese-trenchers says very learnedly,
As out of wormwood bees suck honey,
As from poor clients lawyers firk money,
As parsley from a roasted cony:
So, though the day be ne’er so funny,
If wives will have it rain, down then it drives,
The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives —
Vio. — Tame, George. But I ha’ done storming now.
Geo. Why that’s well done: good mistress, throw aside this fashion of your humour, be not so fantastical in wearing it: storm no more, long no more. This longing has made you come short of many a good thing that you might have had from my master: Here comes the duke.
Enter Duke, Fluello, Pioratto, and Sinezi.
Vio. O, I beseech you, pardon my offence,
In that I durst abuse your grace’s warrant;
Deliver forth my husband, good my lord.
Duke. Who is her husband?
Flu. Candido, my lord.
Duke. Where is he?
Vio. He’s among the lunatics;
He was a man made up without a gall;
Nothing could move him, nothing could convert
His meek blood into fury; yet like a monster,
I often beat at the most constant rock
Of his unshaken patience, and did long
To vex him.
Duke. Did you so?
Vio. And for that purpose,
Had warrant from your grace, to carry him
To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him,
Without your grace’s hand that sent him in.
Duke. You have longed fair; ’tis you are mad, I fear;
It’s fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there:
If he be mad, why would you have him forth?
Geo. An please your grace, he’s not stark mad, but only talks like a young gentleman, somewhat fantastically, that’s all: there’s a thousand about your court, city, and country madder than he.
Duke. Provide a warrant, you shall have our hand.
Geo. Here’s a warrant ready drawn, my lord.
Duke. Get pen and ink, get pen and ink. [Exit Geo.
Enter Castruchio.
Cas. Where is my lord the duke?
Duke. How now! more madmen?
Cas. I have strange news, my lord.
Duke. Of what? of whom?
Cas. Of Infelice, and a marriage.
Duke. Ha! where? with whom?
Cas. Hippolito.
Re-enter George, with pen and ink.
Geo. Here, my lord.
Duke. Hence, with that woman! void the room!
Flu. Away! the duke’s vexed.
Geo. Whoop, come, mistress, the duke’s mad too. [Exeunt Viola and George.
Duke. Who told me that Hippolito was dead?
Cas. He that can make any man dead, the doctor: but, my lord, he’s as full of life as wild-fire, and as quick. Hippolito, the doctor, and one more rid hence this evening; the inn at which they light is Bethlem Monastery; Infelice comes from Bergamo and meets them there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to be married; the afternoon is the hour, and Friar Anselmo is the knitter.
Duke. From Bergamo? is’t possible? it cannot be.
It cannot be.
Cas. I will not swear, my lord;
But this intelligence I took from one
Whose brains work in the plot.
Duke. What’s he?
Cas. Matheo.
Flu. Matheo knows all.
Pior. He’s Hippolito’s bosom.
Duke. How far stands Bethlem hence?
Cas., Flu., &c. Six or seven miles.
Duke. Is’t so? not married till the afternoon:
Stay, stay, let’s work out some prevention. How!
This is most strange; can none bu
t mad men serve
To dress their wedding dinner? All of you
Get presently to horse, disguise yourselves
Like country-gentlemen,
Or riding citizens, or so: and take
Each man a several path, but let us meet
At Bethlem Monastery, some space of time
Being spent between the arrival each of other,
As if we came to see the lunatics.
To horse, away! be secret on your lives.
Love must be punished that unjustly thrives. [Exeunt all but Fluello.
Flu. Be secret on your lives! Castruchio,
You’re but a scurvy spaniel; honest lord,
Good lady: zounds, their love is just, ’tis good,
And I’ll prevent you, though I swim in blood. [Exit.
SCENE II. An Apartment in Bethlem Monastery.
ENTER FRIAR ANSELMO, Hippolito, Matheo, and Infelice.
Hip. Nay, nay, resolve, good father, or deny.
Ans. You press me to an act, both full of danger,
And full of happiness; for I behold
Your father’s frowns, his threats, nay, perhaps death
To him that dare do this: yet, noble lord,
Such comfortable beams break through these clouds
By this blest marriage, that your honoured word
Being pawned in my defence, I will tie fast
The holy wedding-knot.
Hip. Tush, fear not the duke.
Ans. O son! wisely to fear, is to be free from fear.
Hip. You have our words, and you shall have our lives,
To guard you safe from all ensuing danger.
Mat. Ay, ay, chop ’em up, and away.
Ans. Stay, when is’t fit for me, and safest for you,
To entertain this business?
Hip. Not till the evening.
Ans. Be’t so, there is a chapel stands hard by,
Upon the west end of the abbey wall;
Thither convey yourselves, and when the sun
Hath turned his back upon this upper world,
I’ll marry you; that done, no thundering voice
Can break the sacred bond: yet, lady, here
You are most safe.
Inf. Father, your love’s most dear.
Mat. Ay, well said, lock us into some little room by ourselves, that we may be mad for an hour or two.
Hip. O, good Matheo, no, let’s make no noise.
Mat. How! no noise! do you know where you are? ‘sfoot, amongst all the mad-caps in Milan: so that to throw the house out at window will be the better, and no man will suspect that we lurk here to steal mutton: the more sober we are, the more scurvy ’tis. And though the friar tell us, that here we are safest, I am not of his mind, for if those lay here that had lost their money, none would ever look after them, but here are none but those that have lost their wits, so that if hue and cry be made, hither they’ll come; and my reason is, because none goes to be married till he be stark mad.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 125