Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  Some months it served: his mistress proving false,

  As most indeed do so, and grace concluded

  Between him and the priests, of the same bason

  He made his god again! — Think, think, of this,

  And then consider, if all worldly honours,

  Or pleasures that do leave sharp stings behind them,

  Have power to win such as have reasonable souls,

  To put their trust in dross.

  Cal. Oh, that I had been born

  Without a father!

  Christ. Piety to him

  Hath ruin’d us for ever.

  Dor. Think not so;

  You may repair all yet: the attribute

  That speaks his Godhead most, is merciful:

  Revenge is proper to the fiends you worship,

  Yet cannot strike without his leave. — You weep, —

  Oh, ’tis a heavenly shower! celestial balm

  To cure your wounded conscience! let it fall,

  Fall thick upon it; and, when that is spent,

  I’ll help it with another of my tears:

  And may your true repentance prove the child

  Of my true sorrow, never mother had

  A birth so happy!

  Cal. We are caught ourselves,

  That came to take you; and, assured of conquest,

  We are your captives.

  Dor. And in that you triumph:

  Your victory had been eternal loss,

  And this your loss immortal gain. Fix here,

  And you shall feel yourselves inwardly arm’d

  ‘Gainst tortures, death, and hell: — but, take heed, sisters,

  That, or through weakness, threats, or mild persuasions,

  Though of a father, you fall not into

  A second and a worse apostasy.

  Cal. Never, oh never! steel’d by your example,

  We dare the worst of tyranny.

  Christ. Here’s our warrant,

  You shall along and witness it.

  Dor. Be confirm’d then;

  And rest assured, the more you suffer here,

  The more your glory, you to heaven more dear.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE II.

  THE GOVERNOR’S PALACE.

  Enter Artemia, Sapritius, Theophilus, and Harpax.

  Artem. Sapritius, though your son deserve no pity,

  We grieve his sickness: his contempt of us

  We cast behind us, and look back upon

  His service done to Cæsar, that weighs down

  Our just displeasure. If his malady

  Have growth from his restraint, or that you think

  His liberty can cure him, let him have it:

  Say, we forgive him freely.

  Sap. Your grace binds us

  Ever your humblest vassals.

  Artem. Use all means

  For his recovery; though yet I love him,

  I will not force affection. If the Christian,

  Whose beauty hath out-rivall’d me, be won

  To be of our belief, then let him wed her;

  That all may know, when the cause wills, I can

  Command my own affections.

  Theoph. Be happy then,

  My lord Sapritius: I am confident,

  Such eloquence and sweet persuasion dwell

  Upon my daughters’ tongues, that they will work her

  To any thing they please.

  Sap. I wish they may!

  Yet ’tis no easy task to undertake,

  To alter a perverse and obstinate woman.

  [A shout within: loud music.

  Artem. What means this shout?

  Sap. It is seconded with music,

  Triumphant music. — Ha!

  Enter Sempronius.

  Semp. My lord, your daughters,

  The pillars of our faith, having converted,

  For so report gives out, the Christian lady,

  The image of great Jupiter born before them,

  Sue for access.

  Theoph. My soul divined as much.

  Blest be the time when first they saw this light!

  Their mother, when she bore them to support

  My feeble age, fill’d not my longing heart

  With so much joy, as they in this good work

  Have thrown upon me.

  Enter priest with the Image of Jupiter, incense and censers: followed by Calista and Christeta, leading Dorothea.

  Welcome, oh, thrice welcome,

  Daughters, both of my body and my mind!

  Let me embrace in you my bliss, my comfort;

  And, Dorothea, now more welcome too,

  Than if you never had fallen off! I am ravish’d

  With the excess of joy: — speak, happy daughters,

  The blest event.

  Cal. We never gain’d so much

  By any undertaking.

  Theoph. O my dear girl,

  Our gods reward thee!

  Dor. Nor was ever time,

  On my part, better spent.

  Christ. We are all now

  Of one opinion.

  Theoph. My best Christeta!

  Madam, if ever you did grace to worth,

  Vouchsafe your princely hands.

  Artem. Most willingly ——

  Do you refuse it?

  Cal. Let us first deserve it.

  Theoph. My own child still! here set our god; prepare

  The incense quickly: Come, fair Dorothea,

  I will myself support you; — now kneel down,

  And pay your vows to Jupiter.

  Dor. I shall do it

  Better by their example.

  Theoph. They shall guide you;

  They are familiar with the sacrifice.

  Forward, my twins of comfort, and, to teach her,

  Make a joint offering.

  Christ. Thus —— [they both spit at the image.

  Cal. And thus —— [throw it down, and spurn it.

  Harp. Profane,

  And impious! stand you now like a statue?

  Are you the champion of the gods? where is

  Your holy zeal, your anger?

  Theoph. I am blasted;

  And, as my feet were rooted here, I find

  I have no motion; I would I had no sight too!

  Or if my eyes can serve to any use,

  Give me, thou injured power! a sea of tears,

  To expiate this madness in my daughters;

  For, being themselves, they would have trembled at

  So blasphemous a deed in any other: ——

  For my sake, hold awhile thy dreadful thunder,

  And give me patience to demand a reason

  For this accursed act.

  Dor. ’Twas bravely done.

  Theoph. Peace, damn’d enchantress, peace! — I should look on you

  With eyes made red with fury, and my hand,

  That shakes with rage, should much outstrip my tongue,

  And seal my vengeance on your hearts; — but nature,

  To you that have fallen once, bids me again

  To be a father. Oh! how durst you tempt

  The anger of great Jove?

  Dor. Alack, poor Jove!

  He is no swaggerer; how still he stands!

  He’ll take a kick, or any thing.

  Sap. Stop her mouth.

  Dor. It is the patient’st godling! do not fear him;

  He would not hurt the thief that stole away

  Two of his golden locks; indeed he could not:

  And still ’tis the same quiet thing.

  Theoph. Blasphemer!

  Ingenious cruelty shall punish this:

  Thou art past hope: but for you yet, dear daughters,

  Again bewitch’d, the dew of mild forgiveness

  May gently fall, provided you deserve it,

  With true contrition: be yourselves again;

  Sue to the offended deity.

  Christ. Not to be

  Th
e mistress of the earth.

  Cal. I will not offer

  A grain of incense to it, much less kneel,

  Nor look on it but with contempt and scorn,

  To have a thousand years conferr’d upon me

  Of worldly blessings. We profess ourselves

  To be, like Dorothea, Christians;

  And owe her for that happiness.

  Theoph. My ears

  Receive, in hearing this, all deadly charms,

  Powerful to make man wretched.

  Artem. Are these they

  You bragg’d could convert others!

  Sap. That want strength

  To stand themselves!

  Harp. Your honour is engaged,

  The credit of your cause depends upon it;

  Something you must do suddenly.

  Theoph. And I will.

  Harp. They merit death; but, falling by your hand,

  ‘Twill be recorded for a just revenge,

  And holy fury in you.

  Theoph. Do not blow

  The furnace of a wrath thrice hot already;

  Ætna is in my breast, wildfire burns here,

  Which only blood must quench. Incensed Power!

  Which from my infancy I have adored,

  Look down with favourable beams upon

  The sacrifice, though not allow’d thy priest,

  Which I will offer to thee; and be pleased,

  My fiery zeal inciting me to act,

  To call that justice others may style murder.

  Come, you accursed, thus by the hair I drag you

  Before this holy altar; thus look on you,

  Less pitiful than tigers to their prey:

  And thus, with mine own hand, I take that life

  Which I gave to you. [Kills them.

  Dor. O most cruel butcher!

  Theoph. My anger ends not here: hell’s dreadful porter,

  Receive into thy ever-open gates

  Their damned souls, and let the Furies’ whips

  On them alone be wasted; and, when death

  Closes these eyes, ‘twill be Elysium to me

  To hear their shrieks and howlings. Make me, Pluto,

  Thy instrument to furnish thee with souls

  Of that accursed sect; nor let me fall,

  Till my fell vengeance hath consumed them all.

  [Exit, with Harpax.

  Artem. ’Tis a brave zeal.

  Enter Angelo, smiling.

  Dor. Oh, call him back again,

  Call back your hangman! here’s one prisoner left

  To be the subject of his knife.

  Artem. Not so;

  We are not so near reconciled unto thee;

  Thou shalt not perish such an easy way.

  Be she your charge, Sapritius, now; and suffer

  None to come near her, till we have found out

  Some torments worthy of her.

  Ang. Courage, mistress;

  These martyrs but prepare your glorious fate:

  You shall exceed them, and not imitate. [Exeunt.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I.

  THE GOVERNOR’S PALACE.

  Antoninus on a couch, asleep, with Doctors about him; Sapritius and Macrinus.

  Sap. O you, that are half gods, lengthen that life

  Their deities lend us; turn o’er all the volumes

  Of your mysterious Æsculapian science,

  T’ increase the number of this young man’s days:

  And, for each minute of his time prolong’d,

  Your fee shall be a piece of Roman gold

  With Cæsar’s stamp, such as he sends his captains

  When in the wars they earn well: do but save him,

  And, as he’s half myself, be you all mine.

  1 Doct. What art can do, we promise; physic’s hand

  As apt is to destroy as to preserve,

  If heaven make not the med’cine: all this while,

  Our skill hath combat held with his disease;

  But ’tis so arm’d, and a deep melancholy,

  To be such in part with death, we are in fear

  The grave must mock our labours.

  Mac. I have been

  His keeper in this sickness, with such eyes

  As I have seen my mother watch o’er me.

  Stand by his pillow, and, in his broken slumbers,

  Him shall you hear cry out on Dorothea;

  And, when his arms fly open to catch her,

  Closing together, he falls fast asleep,

  Pleased with embracings of her airy form.

  Physicians but torment him; his disease

  Laughs at their gibberish language: let him hear

  The voice of Dorothea, nay, but the name,

  He starts up with high colour in his face:

  She, or none, cures him; and how that can be,

  The princess’ strict command barring that happiness,

  To me impossible seems.

  Sap. To me it shall not;

  I’ll be no subject to the greatest Cæsar

  Was ever crown’d with laurel, rather than cease

  To be a father.[Exit.

  Mac. Silence, sir; he wakes.

  Anton. Thou kill’st me, Dorothea; oh, Dorothea!

  Mac. She’s here

  Anton. Here! Where? Why do you mock me, sir?

  Age on my head hath stuck no white hairs yet,

  Yet I’m an old man, a fond doting fool

  Upon a woman. I, to buy her beauty,

  (In truth I am bewitch’d) offer my life,

  And she, for my acquaintance, hazards hers:

  Yet, for our equal sufferings, none holds out

  A hand of pity.

  1 Doct. Let him have some music.

  Anton. Hell on your fiddling!

  [Starting from his couch.

  1 Doct. Take again your bed, sir;

  Sleep is a sovereign physic.

  Anton. Confusion on your fooleries! Where’s the rest

  Thy pills and base apothecary drugs

  Threaten’d to bring unto me? Out, you impostors!

  Quacksalving, cheating mountebanks! your skill

  Is to make sound men sick, and sick men kill.

  Mac. Oh, be yourself, dear friend.

  Anton. Myself, Macrinus!

  How can I be myself, when I am mangled

  Into a thousand pieces? here moves my head,

  But where’s my heart? wherever — that lies dead.

  Re-enter Sapritius, dragging in Dorothea by the hair, Angelo following.

  Sap. Follow me, thou damn’d sorceress! Call up thy spirits,

  And, if they can, now let them from my hand

  Untwine these witching hairs.

  Anton. I am that spirit:

  Or, if I be not, were you not my father,

  One made of iron should hew that hand in pieces,

  That so defaces this sweet monument

  Of my love’s beauty.

  Sap. Art thou sick?

  Anton. To death.

  Sap. Would’st thou recover?

  Anton. Would I live in bliss!

  Sap. And do thine eyes shoot daggers at that man

  That brings thee health?

  Anton. It is not in the world.

  Sap. It’s here.

  Anton. To treasure, by enchantment lock’d

  In caves as deep as hell, am I as near.

  1 Doct. Shall the boy stay, sir?

  Sap. No matter for the boy.

  [Exeunt Sap. Mac. and Doct.

  Dor. O, guard me, angels!

  What tragedy must begin now?

  Anton. When a tiger

  Leaps into a timorous herd, with ravenous jaws,

  Being hunger-starved, what tragedy then begins?

  Dor. Death; I am happy so: you, hitherto,

  Have still had goodness sphered within your eyes;

  Let not that orb be broken.

  Ang. Fear not, mistress;

  If he da
re offer violence, we two

  Are strong enough for such a sickly man.

  Dor. What is your horrid purpose, sir? your eye

  Bears danger in it.

  Anton. I must ——

  Dor. Oh, kill me,[Kneels.

  And heaven will take it as a sacrifice;

  But, if you play the ravisher, there is

  A hell to swallow you.

  Anton. Rise: — for the Roman empire, Dorothea,

  I would not wound thine honour. My father’s will

  Would have me seize upon you, as my prey;

  Which I abhor, as much as the blackest sin

  The villany of man did ever act.

  [Sapritius breaks in with Macrinus.

  Dor. Die happy for this language!

  Sap. Die a slave,

  A blockish idiot!

  Mac. Dear sir, vex him not.

  Sap. Yes, and vex thee too: where’s this lamia?

  Dor. I’m here; do what you please.

  Sap. Spurn her to the bar.

  Dor. Come, boy, being there, more near to heaven we are.

  Sap. Kick harder; go out, witch! [Exeunt.

  Anton. O bloody hangmen! Thine own gods give thee breath!

  Each of thy tortures is my several death. [Exit.

  SCENE II.

  THE PLACE OF Execution. A scaffold, block, &c.

  Enter Antoninus, supported by Macrinus, and Servants.

  Anton. Is this the place, where virtue is to suffer,

  And heavenly beauty, leaving this base earth,

  To make a glad return from whence it came?

  Is it, Macrinus?

  Mac. By this preparation,

  You well may rest assured that Dorothea

  This hour is to die here.

  Anton. Then with her dies

  The abstract of all sweetness that’s in woman!

  Set me down, friend, that, ere the iron hand

  Of death close up mine eyes, they may at once

  Take my last leave both of this light and her:

  For, she being gone, the glorious sun himself

  To me’s Cimmerian darkness.

  Mac. Strange affection!

  Cupid once more hath changed his shafts with Death,

  And kills, instead of giving life.

  Anton. Nay, weep not;

  Though tears of friendship be a sovereign balm,

  On me they’re cast away. It is decreed

  That I must die with her; our clue of life

  Was spun together.

  Mac. Yet, sir, ’tis my wonder,

  That you, who, hearing only what she suffers,

  Partake of all her tortures, yet will be,

  To add to your calamity, an eyewitness

  Of her last tragic scene, which must pierce deeper,

  And make the wound more desperate.

  Anton. Oh, Macrinus!

  ’Twould linger out my torments else, not kill me,