Anton. If you love valour,
As ’tis a kingly virtue, seek it out,
And cherish it in a king; there it shines brightest,
And yields the bravest lustre. Look on Epire,
A prince, in whom it is incorporate;
And let it not disgrace him that he was
O’ercome by Cæsar; it was victory,
To stand so long against him: had you seen him,
How in one bloody scene he did discharge
The parts of a commander and a soldier,
Wise in direction, bold in execution;
You would have said, Great Cæsar’s self excepted,
The world yields not his equal.
Artem. Yet I have heard,
Encountering him alone in the head of his troop,
You took him prisoner.
K. of Epire. ’Tis a truth, great princess:
I’ll not detract from valour.
Anton. ’Twas mere fortune;
Courage had no hand in it.
Theoph. Did ever man
Strive so against his own good?
Sap. Spiritless villain!
How I am tortured! By the immortal gods,
I now could kill him.
Diocle. Hold, Sapritius, hold,
On our displeasure, hold!
Harp. Why, this would make
A father mad; ’tis not to be endured;
Your honour’s tainted in ‘t.
Sap. By heaven, it is:
I shall think of it.
Harp. ’Tis not to be forgotten.
Artem. Nay, kneel not, sir; I am no ravisher,
Nor so far gone in fond affection to you,
But that I can retire, my honour safe: —
Yet say, hereafter, that thou hast neglected
What, but seen in possession of another,
Will make thee mad with envy.
Anton. In her looks
Revenge is written.
Mac. As you love your life,
Study to appease her.
Anton. Gracious madam, hear me.
Artem. And be again refused?
Anton. The tender of
My life, my service, or, since you vouchsafe it,
My love, my heart, my all: and pardon me,
Pardon, dread princess, that I made some scruple
To leave a valley of security,
To mount up to the hill of majesty,
On which, the nearer Jove, the nearer lightning.
What knew I, but your grace made trial of me;
Durst I presume to embrace, where but to touch
With an unmanner’d hand was death? The fox,
When he saw first the forest’s king, the lion,
Was almost dead with fear; the second view
Only a little daunted him; the third,
He durst salute him boldly: pray you, apply this;
And you shall find a little time will teach me
To look with more familiar eyes upon you,
Than duty yet allows me.
Sap. Well excused.
Artem. You may redeem all yet.
Diocle. And, that he may
Have means and opportunity to do so,
Artemia, I leave you my substitute
In fair Cæsarea.
Sap. And here, as yourself,
We will obey and serve her.
Diocle. Antoninus,
So you prove hers, I wish no other heir;
Think on ‘t: — be careful of your charge, Theophilus;
Sapritius, be you my daughter’s guardian.
Your company I wish, confederate princes,
In our Dalmatian wars: which finished
With victory I hope, and Maximinus,
Our brother and copartner in the empire,
At my request won to confirm as much,
The kingdoms I took from you we’ll restore,
And make you greater than you were before.
[Exeunt all but Antoninus and Macrinus.
Anton. Oh, I am lost for ever! lost, Macrinus!
The anchor of the wretched, hope, forsakes me,
And with one blast of Fortune all my light
Of happiness is put out.
Mac. You are like to those
That are ill only, ‘cause they are too well;
That, surfeiting in the excess of blessings,
Call their abundance want. What could you wish,
That is not fall’n upon you? honour, greatness,
Respect, wealth, favour, the whole world for a dower;
And with a princess, whose excelling form
Exceeds her fortune.
Anton. Yet poison still is poison,
Though drunk in gold; and all these flattering glories
To me, ready to starve, a painted banquet,
And no essential food. When I am scorch’d
With fire, can flames in any other quench me?
What is her love to me, greatness, or empire,
That am slave to another, who alone
Can give me ease or freedom?
Mac. Sir, you point at
Your dotage on the scornful Dorothea:
Is she, though fair, the same day to be named
With best Artemia? In all their courses,
Wise men purpose their ends: with sweet Artemia,
There comes along pleasure, security,
Usher’d by all that in this life is precious:
With Dorothea (though her birth be noble,
The daughter to a senator of Rome,
By him left rich, yet with a private wealth,
And far inferior to yours) arrives
The emperor’s frown, which, like a mortal plague,
Speaks death is near; the princess’ heavy scorn,
Under which you will shrink; your father’s fury,
Which to resist even piety forbids: —
And but remember that she stands suspected
A favourer of the Christian sect; she brings
Not danger, but assured destruction with her.
This truly weigh’d one smile of great Artemia
Is to be cherish’d, and preferr’d before
All joys in Dorothea: therefore leave her.
Anton. In what thou think’st thou art most wise, thou art
Grossly abused, Macrinus, and most foolish.
For any man to match above his rank,
Is but to sell his liberty. With Artemia
I still must live a servant; but enjoying
Divinest Dorothea, I shall rule,
Rule as becomes a husband: for the danger,
Or call it, if you will, assured destruction,
I slight it thus. — If, then, thou art my friend,
As I dare swear thou art, and wilt not take
A governor’s place upon thee, be my helper.
Mac. You know I dare, and will do any thing;
Put me unto the test.
Anton. Go, then, Macrinus,
To Dorothea; tell her I have worn,
In all the battles I have fought, her figure,
Her figure in my heart, which, like a deity,
Hath still protected me. Thou canst speak well;
And of thy choicest language spare a little,
To make her understand how much I love her,
And how I languish for her. Bear these jewels,
Sent in the way of sacrifice, not service,
As to my goddess: all lets thrown behind me,
Or fears that may deter me, say, this morning
I mean to visit her by the name of friendship: —
No words to contradict this.
Mac. I am yours:
And, if my travail this way be ill spent,
Judge not my readier will by the event. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A ROOM IN Dorothea’s House.
Enter Dorothea, followed by Angelo with a book and taper.
Dor. My b
ook and taper.
Ang. Here, most holy mistress.
Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never
Was ravish’d with a more celestial sound.
Were every servant in the world like thee,
So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us: thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art; get thee to rest,
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.
Ang. No, my dear lady, I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I’m singing with some quire in heaven,
So blest I hold me in your company:
Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence;
For then you break his heart.
Dor. Be nigh me still, then:
In golden letters down I’ll set that day,
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body; when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand! —
And, when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom,
Methought, was fill’d with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
On wings of cherubins, than it did before.
Ang. Proud am I, that my lady’s modest eye
So likes so poor a servant.
Dor. I have offer’d
Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents.
I would leave kingdoms, were I queen of some,
To dwell with thy good father; for, the son
Bewitching me so deeply with his presence,
He that begot him must do ‘t ten times more.
I pray thee, my sweet boy, show me thy parents;
Be not ashamed.
Ang. I am not: I did never
Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace,
Fill’d with bright heavenly courtiers, I dare assure you,
And pawn these eyes upon it, and this hand,
My father is in heaven: and, pretty mistress,
If your illustrious hour-glass spend his sand,
No worse than yet it does; upon my life,
You and I both shall meet my father there,
And he shall bid you welcome.
Dor. A blessed day!
We all long to be there, but lose the way. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A STREET, NEAR Dorothea’s House.
Enter Macrinus, met by Theophilus and Harpax.
Theoph. The Sun, god of the day, guide thee, Macrinus!
Mac. And thee, Theophilus!
Theoph. Glad’st thou in such scorn?
I call my wish back.
Mac. I’m in haste.
Theoph. One word,
Take the least hand of time up: — stay.
Mac. Be brief.
Theoph. As thought: I prithee tell me, good Macrinus,
How health and our fair princess lay together
This night, for you can tell; courtiers have flies,
That buzz all news unto them.
Mac. She slept but ill.
Theoph. Double thy courtesy; how does Antoninus?
Mac. Ill, well, straight, crooked, — I know not how.
Theoph. Once more;
— Thy head is full of windmills: — when doth the princess
Bestow herself on noble Antoninus?
Mac. I know not.
Theoph. No! thou art the manuscript,
Where Antoninus writes down all his secrets:
Honest Macrinus, tell me.
Mac. Fare you well, sir.[Exit.
Harp. Honesty is some fiend, and frights him hence;
A many courtiers love it not.
Theoph. What piece
Of this state-wheel, which winds up Antoninus,
Is broke, it runs so jarringly? the man
Is from himself divided: O thou, the eye,
By which I wonders see, tell me, my Harpax,
What gad-fly tickles this Macrinus so,
That, flinging up the tail, he breaks thus from me.
Harp. Oh, sir, his brain-pan is a bed of snakes,
Whose stings shoot through his eye-balls, whose poisonous spawn
Ingenders such a fry of speckled villanies,
That, unless charms more strong than adamant
Be used, the Roman angel’s wings shall melt,
And Cæsar’s diadem be from his head
Spurn’d by base feet; the laurel which he wears,
Returning victor, be enforced to kiss
That which it hates, the fire. And can this ram,
This Antoninus-Engine, being made ready
To so much mischief, keep a steady motion? —
His eyes and feet, you see, give strange assaults.
Theoph. I’m turn’d a marble statue at thy language,
Which printed is in such crabb’d characters,
It puzzles all my reading: what, in the name
Of Pluto, now is hatching?
Harp. This Macrinus,
The line is, upon which love-errands run
‘Twixt Antoninus and that ghost of women,
The bloodless Dorothea; who in prayer
And meditation, mocking all your gods,
Drinks up her ruby colour: yet Antoninus
Plays the Endymion to this pale-faced Moon,
Courts, seeks to catch her eyes —
Theoph. And what of this?
Harp. These are but creeping billows,
Not got to shore yet: but if Dorothea
Fall on his bosom, and be fired with love,
(Your coldest women do so), — had you ink
Brew’d from the infernal Styx, not all that blackness
Can make a thing so foul, as the dishonours,
Disgraces, buffetings, and most base affronts
Upon the bright Artemia, star o’ the court,
Great Cæsar’s daughter.
Theoph. I now conster thee.
Harp. Nay, more; a firmament of clouds, being fill’d
With Jove’s artillery, shot down at once,
To pash your gods in pieces, cannot give,
With all those thunderbolts, so deep a blow
To the religion there, and pagan lore,
As this; for Dorothea hates your gods,
And, if she once blast Antoninus’ soul,
Making it foul like hers, Oh! the example —
Theoph. Eats through Cæsarea’s heart like liquid poison.
Have I invented tortures to tear Christians,
To see but which, could all that feel hell’s torments
Have leave to stand aloof here on earth’s stage,
They would be mad till they again descended,
Holding the pains most horrid of such souls,
May-games to those of mine; has this my hand
Set down a Christian’s execution
In such dire postures, that the very hangman
Fell at my foot dead, hearing but their figures;
And shall Macrinus and his fellow-masquer
Strangle me in a dance?
Harp. No: — on; I hug thee,
For drilling thy quick brains in this rich plot
Of tortures ‘gainst these Christians: on; I hug thee!
Theoph. Both hug and holy me: to this Dorothea,
Fly thou and I in thunder.
Harp. Not for kingdoms
Piled upon kingdoms: there’s a villain page
Waits on her, whom I would not for the world
Hold traffic with; I do so hate his sight,
That, should I look on him, I mu
st sink down.
Theoph. I will not lose thee then, her to confound:
None but this head with glories shall be crown’d.
Harp. Oh! mine own as I would wish thee!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A HALL IN Dorothea’s House, with a gallery above.
Enter Dorothea, Macrinus, and Angelo.
Dor. My trusty Angelo, with that curious eye
Of thine, which ever waits upon my business,
I prithee watch those my still-negligent servants,
That they perform my will, in what’s enjoined them
To the good of others. Be careful, my dear boy.
Ang. Yes, my sweetest mistress.[Exit.
Dor. Now, sir, you may go on.
Mac. I then must study
A new arithmetic, to sum up the virtues
Which Antoninus gracefully become.
There is in him so much man, so much goodness,
So much of honour, and of all things else,
Which make our being excellent, that from his store
He can enough lend others; yet, much ta’en from him,
The want shall be as little, as when seas
Lend from their bounty, to fill up the poorness
Of needy rivers.
Dor. Sir, he is more indebted
To you for praise, than you to him that owes it.
Mac. If queens, viewing his presents paid to the whiteness
Of your chaste hand alone, should be ambitious
But to be parted in their numerous shares;
This he counts nothing: could you see main armies
Make battles in the quarrel of his valour,
That ’tis the best, the truest; this were nothing:
The greatness of his state, his father’s voice,
And arm, awing Cæsarea, he ne’er boasts of;
The sunbeams which the emperor throws upon him
Shine there but as in water, and gild him
Not with one spot of pride: no, dearest beauty,
All these, heap’d up together in one scale,
Cannot weigh down the love he bears to you,
Being put into the other.
Dor. Could gold buy you
To speak thus for a friend, you, sir, are worthy
Of more than I will number; and this your language
Hath power to win upon another woman,
‘Top of whose heart the feathers of this world
Are gaily stuck: but all which first you named,
And now this last, his love, to me are nothing.
Mac. You make me a sad messenger; — but himself
Enter Antoninus.
Being come in person, shall, I hope, hear from you
Music more pleasing.
Anton. Has your ear, Macrinus,
Heard none, then?
Mac. None I like.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 181