Florila
I told my husband I would make these signs:
If I resisted, first, hold up my finger,
As if I said, ‘i’faith, sir, you are gone’,
But it shall say, ‘i’faith, sir, we are one’.
Labervele
[Aside] Now she triumphs and points to heaven, I warrant you.
Florila
Then must I seem as if I would hear no more
And stop your vain lips.
Go, cruel lips, you have bewitched me, go.
Labervele
[Aside] Now she stops in
His scornèd words and rates him for his pains.
Florila
And when I thrust you thus against the breast,
Then are you overthrown both horse and foot.
Labervele
[Aside] Now is he overthrown both horse and foot.
Florila
[Aloud] Away, vain man, have I not answered you?
Lemot
Madam, I yield and swear I never saw
So constant nor so virtuous a lady.
Labervele
[To Lemot] Now, speak, I pray, and speak but truly,
Have you not got a wrong sow by the ear?
Lemot
My lord, my labour is not altogether lost,
For now I find that which I never thought.
Labervele
Ah, sirrah, is the edge of your steel wit
Rebated then against her adamant?
Lemot
It is, my lord. Yet one word more, fair lady.
Labervele
[Aside] Fain would he have it do, and it will not be. [To Florila] Hark you, wife, what sign will you make me now if you relent not?
Florila
Lend him my handkerchief to wipe his lips of their last disgrace.
Labervele
Excellent good. Go forward, sir, I pray.
Florila
[To Lemot] Another sign, i’faith, love, is required.
Lemot
Let him have signs enough, my heavenly love.
Then know there is a private meeting
This day at Verone’s ordinary,
Where if you will do me the grace to come,
And bring the beauteous Martia with you,
I will provide a fair and private room,
Where you shall be unseen of any man,
Only of me, and of the King himself,
Whom I will cause to honour your repair
With his high presence,
And there with music and quick revellings
You may revive your spirits so long time dulled.
Florila
I’ll send for Martia then, and meet you there,
And tell my husband I will lock myself
In my close walk till supper-time.
[Aloud] We pray, sir, wipe your lips of the disgrace
They took in their last labour.
Lemot
[Going] Marry, the Devil was never so despited.
Labervele
Nay, stay, sir.
Lemot
No, no, my Lord, you have the constantest wife that ever — well, I’ll say no more.
Exit.
Labervele
Never was minion so disminionèd.
Come, constancy, come, my girl, I’ll leave thee
Loose to twenty of them, i’faith.
Then he sighs.
Florila
Come, my good head, come.
Exeunt.
Scene 7
Enter the King and all the lords [Lemot and Catalian], with the trumpets.
King
Why sound these trumpets, in the Devil’s name?
Catalian
To show the King comes.
King
To show the King comes?
Go hang the trumpeters. They mock me boldly,
And every other thing that makes me known,
Not telling what I am, but what I seem:
A king of clouts, a scarecrow, full of cobwebs,
Spiders and earwigs, that sets jackdaw’s long tongue
In my bosom and upon my head.
And such are all the affections of love
Swarming in me, without command or reason.
Lemot
How now, my liege! What, quagmired in philosophy,
Bound with love’s whipcord, and quite robbed of reason?
And I’ll give you a receipt for this presently.
King
Peace, Lemot. They say the young Lord Dowsecer
Is rarely learned, and nothing lunatic
As men suppose,
But hateth company and worldly trash.
The judgement and the just contempt of them
Have in reason arguments that break affection,
As the most sacred poets write, and still the roughest wind.
And his rare humour come we now to hear.
Lemot
Yea, but hark you, my liege, I’ll tell you a better humour than that. Here presently will be your fair love, Martia, to see his humour, and from thence, fair countess Florila and she will go unto Verone’s ordinary, where none but you and I and Count Moren will be most merry.
King
Why, Count Moren, I hope, dares not adventure into any woman’s company but his wife’s.
Lemot
Yes, as I will work, my liege, and then let me alone to keep him there till his wife comes.
King
That will be royal sport.
Enter Labervele, Labesha, and all the rest [the Countess, Moren, Foyes, Martia and Florila].
See where all comes. Welcome, fair lords and ladies.
Labervele
My liege, you are welcome to my poor house.
Lemot
[Presenting Labesha] I pray, my liege, know this gentleman especially. He is a gentleman born, I can tell you.
King
With all my heart. What might I call your name?
Labesha
Monsieur Labesha, Seigneur de Foulasa.
King
De Foulasa? An ill-sounding baronry, of my word. But to the purpose. Lord Labervele, we are come to see the humour of your rare son, which by some means I pray let us partake.
Labervele
Your highness shall too unworthily partake the sight which I with grief and tears daily behold, seeing in him the end of my poor house.
King
You know not that, my lord. Your wife is young, and he perhaps hereafter may be moved to more society.
Labervele
Would to God he would, that we might do to your crown of France more worthy and more acceptable service.
King
Thanks, good my lord. See where he appears.
Enter Lavel with a picture, and a pair of large hose, and a codpiece, and a sword.
Say, Lavel, where is your friend, the young Lord Dowsecer?
Lavel
I look, my liege, he will be here anon, but then I must entreat your majesty and all the rest to stand unseen, for he as yet will brook no company.
King
We will stand close, Lavel, but wherefore bring you this apparel, that picture, and that sword?
Lavel
To put him, by the sight of them, in mind of their brave states that use them, or that at the least of the true use they should be put unto.
King
Indeed, the sense doth still stir up the soul, and though these objects do not work, yet it is very probable in time she may. At least, we shall discern his humour of them.
Enter Dowsecer.
Lemot
See where he comes contemplating. Stand close.
Dowsecer
Quid ei potest videri magnum in rebus humanis cui aeternitas omnis totiusque nota sit mundi magnitudo.
‘What can seem strange to him on earthly things
To whom the whole course of eternity,
And the round compass of the world is known?’
A speech divine
, but yet I marvel much
How it should spring from thee, Mark Cicero,
That sold for glory the sweet peace of life,
And made a torment of rich nature’s work,
Wearing thyself by watchful candle-light,
When all the smiths and weavers were at rest,
And yet was gallant, ere the day bird sung,
To have a troop of clients at thy gates,
Armed with religious supplications,
Such as would make stern Minos laugh to read.
Look on our lawyers’ bills: not one contains
Virtue or honest drifts, but snares, snares, snares.
For acorns now no more are in request;
But when the oak’s poor fruit did nourish men,
Men were like oaks of body, tough, and strong.
Men were like giants then, but pygmies now,
Yet full of villainies as their skin can hold.
Lemot
How like you this humour, my liege?
King
This is no humour; this is but perfect judgement.
Countess
Is this a frenzy?
Martia
Is this a frenzy? Oh were all men such,
Men were no men but gods, this earth a heaven.
Dowsecer
[Noticing the sword] See, see, the shameless world,
That dares present her mortal enemy
With these gross ensigns of her lenity,
Iron and steel, uncharitable stuff,
Good spital-founders, enemies to whole skins,
As if there were not ways enough to die
By natural and casual accidents,
Diseases, surfeits, brave carouses,
Old aqua-vitae, and too base wines,
And thousands more. Hence with this art of murder!
[Noticing the hose and codpiece]
But here is goodly gear, the soul of man,
For ’tis his better part. Take away this,
And take away their merits and their spirits.
Scarce dare they come in any public view
Without this countenance-giver,
And some dares not come, because they have it, too,
For they may sing, in written books they find it.
What is it then, the fashion or the cost?
The cost doth match, but yet the fashion more,
For let it be but mean, so in the fashion,
And ’tis most gentleman-like. Is it so?
Make a hand in the margin, and burn the book,
A large hose and a codpiece makes a man.
A codpiece, nay indeed, but hose must down.
Well for your gentle forgers of men,
And for you come to wrest me into fashion,
I’ll wear you thus, and sit upon the matter.
Labervele
And so he doth despise our purposes.
Catalian
Bear with him yet, my lord, he is not resolved.
Lavel
I would not have my friend mock worthy men,
For the vain pride of some that are not so.
Dowsecer
I do not here deride difference of states,
No, not in show, but wish that such as want show
Might not be scorned with ignorant Turkish pride,
Being pompous in apparel and in mind
Nor would I have with imitated shapes
Men make their native land the land of apes,
Living like strangers when they be at home,
And so perhaps bear strange hearts to their home;
Nor look a-snuff like a piannet’s tail,
For nothing but their curls and formal locks,
When, like to cream bowls, all their virtues swim
In their set faces, all their in-parts then
Fit to serve peasants or make curds for daws.
[Noticing the picture] But what a stock am I thus to neglect
This figure of man’s comfort, this rare piece?
Labervele
Heavens grant that make him more humane, and sociable.
King
Nay, he’s more humane than all we are.
Labervele
I fear he will be too sharp to that sweet sex.
Dowsecer
She is very fair. I think that she be painted.
An if she be, sir, she might ask of me,
‘How many is there of our sex that are not?’
’Tis a sharp question. Marry and I think
They have small skill. If they were all of painting,
‘Twere safer dealing with them. And indeed.
Were their minds strong enough to guide their bodies,
Their beauteous deeds should match with their heavenly looks,
‘Twere necessary they should wear them.
An would they vouchsafe it, even I
Would joy in their society.
Martia
And who would not die with such a man?
Dowsecer
But to admire them as our gallants do,
‘Oh, what an eye she hath! Oh, dainty hand!
Rare foot and leg!’ and leave the mind respectless.
This is a plague that, in both men and women,
Make such pollution of our earthly being.
Well, I will practise yet to court this piece.
Labervele
Oh, happy man, now have I hope in her.
King
Methinks I could endure him days and nights.
Dowsecer
Well, sir, now thus must I do, sir, ere it come towomen. ‘Now, sir’ — a plague upon it, ’tis so ridiculous I can no further. What poor ass was it that set this in my way? Now if my father should be the man — [Sees Labervele] God’s precious coals, ’tis he!
Labervele
Good son, go forward in this gentle humour.
Observe this picture. It presents a maid
Of noble birth and excellent of parts,
Whom for our house and honour sake, I wish
Thou wouldst confess to marry.
Dowsecer
To marry father? Why, we shall have children.
Labervele
Why, that’s the end of marriage, and the joy of men.
Dowsecer
Oh, how you are deceived. You have but me,
And what a trouble am I to your joy!
But, father, if you long to have some fruit of me,
See, father, I will creep into this stubborn earth
And mix my flesh with it, and they shall breed grass
To fat oxen, asses and such-like,
And when they in the grass the spring converts
Into beasts’ nourishment,
Then comes the fruit of this my body forth.
Then may you well say,
Seeing my race is so profitably increased,
That good fat ox and that same large-eared ass
Are my son’s sons, that calf with a white face
Is his fair daughter, with which, when your fields
Are richly filled, then will my race content you.
But for the joys of children, tush, ’tis gone.
Children will not deserve, nor parents take it.
Wealth is the only father and the child,
And but in wealth no man hath any joy.
Labervele
Some course, dear son, take for thy honour sake.
Dowsecer
Then, father, here’s a most excellent corse.
Labervele
This is some comfort yet.
Dowsecer
If you will straight be gone and leave me here,
I’ll stand as quietly as any lamb,
And trouble none of you.
[Sees Martia]
Labervele
And trouble none of you. An hapless man.
Lemot
How like you this humour yet, my liege?
King
As of a holy fury, not a frenzy.
Moren
See, see, my liege, he hath seen us sure.
King
Nay, look how he views Martia and makes him fine.
Lemot
Yea, my liege, and she, as I hope well observed, hath uttered many kind conceits of hers.
King
Well, I’ll be gone, and when she comes to Verone’s ordinary, I’ll have her taken to my custody.
Lemot
I’ll stay, my liege, and see the event of this.
King
Do so, Lemot.
Exit the King.
Dowsecer
What have I seen? How am I burnt to dust
With a new sun, and made a novel phoenix!
Is she a woman that objects this sight,
Able to work the chaos of the world
Into gestion? O divine aspect,
The excellent disposer of the mind
Shines in thy beauty, and thou hast not changed
My soul to sense, but sense unto my soul,
And I desire thy pure society,
But even as angels do to angels fly.
Exit.
Martia
Fly soul and follow him.
Labervele
I marvel much at my son’s sudden strange behaviour.
Lemot
Bear with him yet, my lord, ’tis but his humour. Come. What, shall we go to Verone’s ordinary?
Labesha
Yea, for God’s sake, for I am passing hungry.
Moren
Yea, come, Monsieur Lemot, will you walk?
Countess
What, will you go?
Moren
Yea, sweet bird, I have promised so.
Countess
Go to, you shall not go and leave me alone.
Moren
For one meal, gentle bird. Verone invites us to buy some jewels he hath brought of late from Italy. I’ll buy the best and bring it thee, so thou wilt let me go.
Countess
Well said, flattering Fabian. But tell me, then, what ladies will be there?
Moren
Ladies? Why, none.
Lemot
No ladies use to come to ordinaries, madam.
Countess
Go to, bird, tell me now the very truth.
Moren
None of mine honour, bird. You never heard that ladies came to ordinaries.
Countess
Oh, that’s because I should not go with you.
Moren
Why, ’tis not fit you should.
Countess
Well, hark you, bird, of my word you shall not go, unless you will swear to me, you will neither court nor kiss a dame in any sort, till you come home again.
Moren
Why, I swear I will not.
Countess
Go to, by this kiss.
Moren
Yea, by this kiss.
Foyes
Martia, learn by this when you are a wife.
Labesha
I like the kissing well.
Florila
My lord, I’ll leave you. Your son Dowsecer hath made me melancholy with his humour, and I’ll go lock myself in my close walk till supper-time.
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 179
