Anton. But can there be
In such a noble casket, wherein lie
Beauty and chastity in their full perfections,
A rocky heart, killing with cruelty
A life that’s prostrated beneath your feet?
Dor. I am guilty of a shame I yet ne’er knew,
Thus to hold parley with you; — pray, sir, pardon.
[Going.
Anton. Good sweetness, you now have it, and shall go:
Be but so merciful, before your wounding me
With such a mortal weapon as Farewell,
To let me murmur to your virgin ear,
What I was loth to lay on any tongue
But this mine own.
Dor. If one immodest accent
Fly out, I hate you everlastingly.
Anton. My true love dares not do it.
Mac. Hermes inspire thee!
Enter, in the gallery above, Artemia, Sapritius, and Theophilus.
Anton. Come, let me tune you: — glaze not thus your eyes
With self-love of a vow’d virginity;
All men desire your sweet society,
But if you bar me from it, you do kill me,
And of my blood are guilty.
Artem. O base villain!
Sap. Bridle your rage, sweet princess.
Anton. Could not my fortunes,
Rear’d higher far than yours, be worthy of you,
Methinks my dear affection makes you mine.
Dor. Sir, for your fortunes, were they mines of gold,
He that I love is richer; and for worth,
You are to him lower than any slave
Is to a monarch.
Sap. So insolent, base Christian!
Dor. Can I, with wearing out my knees before him,
Get you but be his servant, you shall boast
You’re equal to a king.
Sap. Confusion on thee,
For playing thus the lying sorceress!
Anton. Your mocks are great ones; none beneath the sun
Will I be servant to. — On my knees I beg it,
Pity me, wondrous maid.
Sap. I curse thy baseness.
Theoph. Listen to more.
Dor. O kneel not, sir, to me.
Anton. This knee is emblem of an humbled heart:
That heart which tortured is with your disdain,
Justly for scorning others, even this heart,
To which for pity such a princess sues,
As in her hand offers me all the world,
Great Cæsar’s daughter.
Artem. Slave, thou liest.
Anton. Yet this
Is adamant to her, that melts to you
In drops of blood.
Theoph. A very dog!
Anton. Perhaps
’Tis my religion makes you knit the brow;
Yet be you mine, and ever be your own:
I ne’er will screw your conscience from that Power,
On which you Christians lean.
Sap. I can no longer
Fret out my life with weeping at thee, villain.
Sirrah![Aloud.
Would, ere thy birth, the mighty Thunderer’s hand
Had struck thee in the womb!
Mac. We are betray’d.
Artem. Is that the idol, traitor, which thou kneel’st to,
Trampling upon my beauty?
Theoph. Sirrah, bandog!
Wilt thou in pieces tear our Jupiter
For her? our Mars for her? our Sol for her?
Artem. Threaten not, but strike: quick vengeance flies
Into my bosom; caitiff! here all love dies.
[Exeunt above.
Anton. O! I am thunderstruck! We are both o’erwhelm’d ——
Mac. With one high-raging billow.
Dor. You a soldier,
And sink beneath the violence of a woman!
Anton. A woman! a wrong’d princess. From such a star
Blazing with fires of hate, what can be look’d for,
But tragical events? my life is now
The subject of her tyranny.
Dor. That fear is base,
Of death, when that death doth but life displace
Out of her house of earth; you only dread
The stroke, and not what follows when you’re dead;
There’s the great fear, indeed: come, let your eyes
Dwell where mine do, you’ll scorn their tyrannies.
Re-enter below, Artemia, Sapritius, Theophilus, a guard; Angelo comes and stands close by Dorothea.
Artem. My father’s nerves put vigour in mine arm,
And I his strength must use. Because I once
Shed beams of favour on thee, and, with the lion,
Play’d with thee gently, when thou struck’st my heart,
I’ll not insult on a base, humbled prey,
By lingering out thy terrors; but, with one frown,
Kill thee: — hence with them all to execution.
Seize him; but let even death itself be weary
In torturing her. I’ll change those smiles to shrieks;
Give the fool what she’s proud of, martyrdom:
In pieces rack that pander.[Points to Macr.
Sap. Albeit the reverence
I owe our gods and you, are, in my bosom,
Torrents so strong, that pity quite lies drown’d
From saving this young man; yet, when I see
What face death gives him, and that a thing within me
Says, ’tis my son, I am forced to be a man,
And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg.
Artem. And I deny.
Anton. Sir, you dishonour me,
To sue for that which I disclaim to have.
I shall more glory in my sufferings gain,
Than you in giving judgment, since I offer
My blood up to your anger; nor do I kneel
To keep a wretched life of mine from ruin:
Preserve this temple, builded fair as yours is,
And Cæsar never went in greater triumph,
Than I shall to the scaffold.
Artem. Are you so brave, sir?
Set forward to his triumph, and let those two
Go cursing along with him.
Dor. No, but pitying,
For my part, I, that you lose ten times more
By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures:
Through all the army of my sins, I have even
Labour’d to break, and cope with death to the face.
The visage of a hangman frights not me;
The sight of whips, racks, gibbets, axes, fires,
Are scaffoldings by which my soul climbs up
To an eternal habitation.
Theoph. Cæsar’s imperial daughter, hear me speak.
Let not this Christian thing in this her pageantry
Of proud deriding both our gods and Cæsar,
Build to herself a kingdom in her death,
Going laughing from us: no; her bitterest torment
Shall be, to feel her constancy beaten down;
The bravery of her resolution lie
Batter’d, by argument, into such pieces,
That she again in penitence shall creep
To kiss the pavements of our paynim gods.
Artem. How to be done?
Theoph. I’ll send my daughters to her,
And they shall turn her rocky faith to wax;
Else spit at me, let me be made your slave,
And meet no Roman’s but a villain’s grave.
Artem. Thy prisoner let her be, then; and, Sapritius,
Your son and that, be yours: death shall be sent
To him that suffers them, by voice or letters,
To greet each other. Rifle her estate;
Christians to beggary brought grow desperate.
Dor. Still on the bread of poverty let me feed.
Ang. O! my admired mistress, quench not out
The holy fires within you, though temptations
Shower down upon you: Clasp thine armour on,
Fight well, and thou shalt see, after these wars,
Thy head wear sunbeams, and thy feet touch stars.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
A ROOM IN Dorothea’s House.
Enter Sapritius, Theophilus, Priest, Calista, and Christeta.
Sap. Sick to the death, I fear.
Theoph. I meet your sorrow,
With my true feeling of it.
Sap. She’s a witch,
A sorceress, Theophilus; my son
Is charm’d by her enchanting eyes; and, like
An image made of wax, her beams of beauty
Melt him to nothing: all my hopes in him,
And all his gotten honours, find their grave
In his strange dotage on her. Would, when first
He saw and loved her, that the earth had open’d,
And swallow’d both alive!
Theoph. There’s hope left yet.
Sap. Not any: though the princess were appeased,
All title in her love surrender’d up;
Yet this coy Christian is so transported
With her religion, that unless my son
(But let him perish first!) drink the same potion,
And be of her belief, she’ll not vouchsafe
To be his lawful wife.
Priest. But, once removed
From her opinion, as I rest assured
The reasons of these holy maids will win her,
You’ll find her tractable to any thing,
For your content or his.
Theoph. If she refuse it,
The Stygian damps, breeding infectious airs,
The mandrake’s shrieks, the basilisk’s killing eye,
The dreadful lightning that does crush the bones,
And never singe the skin, shall not appear
Less fatal to her, than my zeal made hot
With love unto my gods. I have deferr’d it,
In hopes to draw back this apostata,
Which will be greater honour than her death,
Unto her father’s faith; and, to that end,
Have brought my daughters hither.
Cal. And we doubt not
To do what you desire.
Sap. Let her be sent for.
Prosper in your good work; and were I not
To attend the princess, I would see and hear
How you succeed.
Theoph. I am commanded too,
I’ll bear you company.
Sap. Give them your ring,
To lead her as in triumph, if they win her,
Before her highness.[Exit.
Theoph. Spare no promises,
Persuasions, or threats, I do conjure you:
If you prevail, ’tis the most glorious work
You ever undertook.
Enter Dorothea and Angelo.
Priest. She comes.
Theoph. We leave you;
Be constant, and be careful.
[Exeunt Theoph. and Priest.
Cal. We are sorry
To meet you under guard.
Dor. But I more grieved
You are at liberty. So well I love you,
That I could wish, for such a cause as mine,
You were my fellow-prisoners: Prithee, Angelo,
Reach us some chairs. Please you sit ——
Cal. We thank you:
Our visit is for love, love to your safety.
Christ. Our conference must be private; pray you, therefore,
Command your boy to leave us.
Dor. You may trust him
With any secret that concerns my life;
Falsehood and he are strangers: had you, ladies,
Been bless’d with such a servant, you had never
Forsook that way, your journey even half ended,
That leads to joys eternal. In the place
Of loose lascivious mirth, he would have stirr’d you
To holy meditations; and so far
He is from flattery, that he would have told you,
Your pride being at the height, how miserable
And wretched things you were, that, for an hour
Of pleasure here, have made a desperate sale
Of all your right in happiness hereafter.
He must not leave me; without him I fall:
In this life he’s my servant, in the other
A wish’d companion.
Ang. ’Tis not in the devil,
Nor all his wicked arts, to shake such goodness.
Dor. But you were speaking, lady.
Cal. As a friend
And lover of your safety, and I pray you
So to receive it; and, if you remember
How near in love our parents were, that we,
Even from the cradle, were brought up together,
Our amity increasing with our years,
We cannot stand suspected.
Dor. To the purpose.
Cal. We come, then, as good angels, Dorothea,
To make you happy; and the means so easy,
That, be not you an enemy to yourself,
Already you enjoy it.
Christ. Look on us,
Ruin’d as you are, once, and brought unto it,
By your persuasion.
Cal. But what follow’d, lady?
Leaving those blessings which our gods gave freely,
And shower’d upon us with a prodigal hand,
As to be noble born, youth, beauty, wealth,
And the free use of these without control,
Check, curb, or stop, such is our law’s indulgence!
All happiness forsook us; bonds and fetters,
For amorous twines; the rack and hangman’s whips,
In place of choice delights; our parents’ curses
Instead of blessings; scorn, neglect, contempt,
Fell thick upon us.
Christ. This consider’d wisely,
We made a fair retreat; and reconciled
To our forsaken gods, we live again
In all prosperity.
Cal. By our example,
Bequeathing misery to such as love it,
Learn to be happy. The Christian yoke’s too heavy
For such a dainty neck; it was framed rather
To be the shrine of Venus, or a pillar,
More precious than crystal, to support
Our Cupid’s image: our religion, lady,
Is but a varied pleasure; yours a toil
Slaves would shrink under.
Dor. Have you not cloven feet? are you not devils?
Dare any say so much, or dare I hear it
Without a virtuous and religious anger?
Now to put on a virgin modesty,
Or maiden silence, when His power is question’d
That is omnipotent, were a greater crime,
Than in a bad cause to be impudent.
Your gods! your temples! brothel-houses rather,
Or wicked actions of the worst of men,
Pursued and practised. Your religious rites!
Oh! call them rather juggling mysteries,
The baits and nets of hell: your souls the prey
For which the devil angles; your false pleasures
A steep descent, by which you headlong fall
Into eternal torments.
Cal. Do not tempt
Our powerful gods.
Dor. Which of your powerful gods?
Your gold, your silver, brass, or wooden ones,
That can nor do me hurt, nor protect you?
Most pitied women! will you sacrifice
To such, — or call them gods or goddesses,
Your parents would disdain to be the same,
Or you yourselves? O blinded ignorance!
Tell me, Calista, by thy truth, I charge you,
Or a
ny thing you hold more dear, would you,
To have him deified to posterity,
Desire your father an adulterer,
A ravisher, almost a parricide,
A vile incestuous wretch?
Cal. That, piety
And duty answer for me.
Dor. Or you, Christeta,
To be hereafter register’d a goddess,
Give your chaste body up to the embraces
Of wicked passion? have it writ on your forehead,
“This is the mistress in the art of sin.
Knows every trick, and labyrinth of desires
That are immodest?”
Christ. You judge better of me,
Or my affection is ill placed on you.
Shall I turn wanton?
Dor. No, I think you would not.
Yet, such was Venus, whom you worship; such
Flora, the foundress of the public stews,
And has, for that, her sacrifice; your Jupiter,
A loose adulterer: — read ye but those
That have canonized them, you’ll find them worse
Than, in chaste language, I can speak them to you.
Are they immortal, then, that did partake
Of human weakness, and had ample share
In men’s most base affections; subject to
Unchaste loves, anger, bondage, wounds, as men are?
Here, Jupiter, to serve his lust, turn’d bull,
The shape, indeed, in which he stole Europa;
Neptune, for gain, builds up the walls of Troy,
As a day-labourer; Apollo keeps
Admetus’ sheep for bread; the Lemnian smith
Sweats at the forge for hire; Prometheus here,
With his still-growing liver, feeds the vulture;
Saturn bound fast in hell with adamant chains;
And thousands more, on whom abused error
Bestows a deity. Will you then, dear sisters,
For I would have you such, pay your devotions
To things of less power than yourselves?
Cal. We worship
Their good deeds in their images.
Dor. By whom fashion’d?
By sinful men. I’ll tell you a short tale,
Nor can you but confess it is a true one:
A king of Egypt, being to erect
The image of Osiris, whom they honour,
Took from the matrons’ necks the richest jewels,
And purest gold, as the materials
To finish up his work; which perfected,
With all solemnity he set it up,
To be adored, and served himself his idol;
Desiring it to give him victory
Against his enemies: but, being overthrown,
Enraged against his god, (these are fine gods,
Subject to human fury!) he took down
The senseless thing, and melting it again,
He made a bason, in which eunuchs wash’d
His concubine’s feet; and for this sordid use,
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 182