Mons. The devill he is, and thy lady his dam!
Why this was the happiest shot that ever flewe; 215
the just plague of hypocrisie level’d it. Oh, the
infinite regions betwixt a womans tongue and
her heart! is this our Goddesse of chastity? I
thought I could not be so sleighted, if she had
not her fraught besides, and therefore plotted this 220
with her woman, never dreaming of D’Amboys.
Deare Pero, I will advance thee for ever: but
tell me now — Gods pretious, it transformes mee
with admiration — sweet Pero, whom should she
trust with this conveyance? Or, all the dores 225
being made sure, how should his conveyance be
made?
Per. Nay, my lord, that amazes me: I cannot
by any study so much as guesse at it.
Mons. Well, let’s favour our apprehensions 230
with forbearing that a little; for, if my heart
were not hoopt with adamant, the conceipt of
this would have burst it: but heark thee. Whispers.
Mont. I pray thee, resolve mee: the Duke
will never imagine that I am busie about’s wife: 235
hath D’Ambois any privy accesse to her?
An. No, my lord, D’Ambois neglects her (as
shee takes it) and is therefore suspicious that
either your lady, or the lady Beaupre, hath
closely entertain’d him. 240
Mont. Ber lady, a likely suspition, and very
neere the life — especially of my wife.
Mons. Come, we’l disguise all with seeming
onely to have courted. — Away, dry palm! sh’as
a livor as dry as a bisket; a man may goe a 245
whole voyage with her, and get nothing but
tempests from her windpipe.
Gui. Here’s one (I think) has swallowed a
porcupine, shee casts pricks from her tongue so.
Mont. And here’s a peacock seemes to have 250
devour’d one of the Alpes, she has so swelling
a spirit, & is so cold of her kindnes.
Char. We are no windfalls, my lord; ye must
gather us with the ladder of matrimony, or we’l
hang till we be rotten. 255
Mons. Indeed, that’s the way to make ye right
openarses. But, alas, ye have no portions fit for
such husbands as we wish you.
Per. Portions, my lord! yes, and such portions
as your principality cannot purchase. 260
Mons. What, woman, what are those portions?
Per. Riddle my riddle, my lord.
Mons. I, marry, wench, I think thy portion
is a right riddle; a man shall never finde it out:
but let’s heare it. 265
Per. You shall, my lord.
What’s that, that being most rar’s most cheap?
That when you sow, you never reap?
That when it growes most, most you [th]in it,
And still you lose it, when you win it? 270
That when tis commonest, tis dearest,
And when tis farthest off, ’tis neerest?
Mons. Is this your great portion?
Per. Even this, my lord.
Mons. Beleeve me, I cannot riddle it. 275
Per. No, my lord; tis my chastity, which you
shall neither riddle nor fiddle.
Mons. Your chastity! Let me begin with the
end of it; how is a womans chastity neerest
man, when tis furthest off? 280
Per. Why, my lord, when you cannot get it,
it goes to th’heart on you; and that I think comes
most neere you: and I am sure it shall be farre
enough off. And so wee leave you to our mercies. Exeunt Women.
Mons. Farewell, riddle. 285
Gui. Farewell, medlar.
Mont. Farewell, winter plum.
Mons. Now, my lords, what fruit of our inquisition?
feele you nothing budding yet? Speak,
good my lord Montsurry. 290
Mont. Nothing but this: D’Ambois is thought
negligent in observing the Duchesse, and therefore
she is suspicious that your neece or my wife
closely entertaines him.
Mons. Your wife, my lord! Think you that 295
possible?
Mont. Alas, I know she flies him like her
last houre.
Mons. Her last houre? Why that comes upon
her the more she flies it. Does D’Ambois so, 300
think you?
Mont. That’s not worth the answering. Tis
miraculous to think with what monsters womens
imaginations engrosse them when they are once
enamour’d, and what wonders they will work 305
for their satisfaction. They will make a sheepe
valiant, a lion fearefull.
Mons. And an asse confident. Well, my lord,
more will come forth shortly; get you to the
banquet. 310
Gui. Come, my lord, I have the blind side of
one of them. Exit Guise cum Mont[surry].
Mons. O the unsounded sea of womens bloods,
That when tis calmest, is most dangerous!
Not any wrinkle creaming in their faces, 315
When in their hearts are Scylla and Caribdis,
Which still are hid in dark and standing foggs,
Where never day shines, nothing ever growes
But weeds and poysons that no states-man knowes;
Nor Cerberus ever saw the damned nookes 320
Hid with the veiles of womens vertuous lookes.
But what a cloud of sulphur have I drawne
Up to my bosome in this dangerous secret!
Which if my hast with any spark should light
Ere D’Ambois were engag’d in some sure plot, 325
I were blowne up; he would be, sure, my death.
Would I had never knowne it, for before
I shall perswade th’importance to Montsurry,
And make him with some studied stratagem
Train D’Ambois to his wreak, his maid may tell it; 330
Or I (out of my fiery thirst to play
With the fell tyger up in darknesse tyed,
And give it some light) make it quite break loose.
I feare it, afore heaven, and will not see
D’Ambois againe, till I have told Montsurry, 335
And set a snare with him to free my feares.
Whose there?
Enter Maffe.
Maffe. My lord?
Mons. Goe, call the Count Montsurry,
And make the dores fast; I will speak with none
Till he come to me.
Maf. Well, my lord. Exiturus.
Mons. Or else
Send you some other, and see all the dores 340
Made safe your selfe, I pray; hast, flie about it.
Maf. You’l speak with none but with the Count Montsurry?
Mons. With none but hee, except it be the Guise.
Maf. See, even by this there’s one exception more;
Your Grace must be more firme in the command, 345
Or else shall I as weakly execute.
The Guise shall speak with you?
Mons. He shall, I say.
Maf. And Count Montsurry?
Mons. I, and Count Montsurry.
Maf. Your Grace must pardon me, that I am bold
To urge the cleare and full sence of your pleasure; 350
Which when so ever I have knowne, I hope
Your Grace will say I hit it to a haire.
Mons. You have.
Maf. I hope so, or I would be glad —
Mons. I pray thee, get thee gone; thou art so tedious
In the strick’t forme of all thy serv
ices 355
That I had better have one negligent.
You hit my pleasure well, when D’Ambois hit you;
Did you not, think you?
Maf. D’Ambois! why, my lord —
Mons. I pray thee, talk no more, but shut the dores:
Doe what I charge thee.
Maf. I will my lord, and yet 360
I would be glad the wrong I had of D’Ambois —
Mons. Precious! then it is a fate that plagues me
In this mans foolery; I may be murthered,
While he stands on protection of his folly.
Avant, about thy charge!
Maf. I goe, my lord. — 365
I had my head broke in his faithfull service;
I had no suit the more, nor any thanks,
And yet my teeth must still be hit with D’Ambois.
D’Ambois, my lord, shall know —
Mons. The devill and D’Ambois!
Exit Maffe.
How am I tortur’d with this trusty foole! 370
Never was any curious in his place
To doe things justly, but he was an asse:
We cannot finde one trusty that is witty,
And therefore beare their disproportion.
Grant, thou great starre, and angell of my life, 375
A sure lease of it but for some few dayes,
That I may cleare my bosome of the snake
I cherisht there, and I will then defie
All check to it but Natures; and her altars
Shall crack with vessels crown’d with ev’ry liquor 380
Drawn from her highest and most bloudy humors.
I feare him strangely; his advanced valour
Is like a spirit rais’d without a circle,
Endangering him that ignorantly rais’d him,
And for whose fury he hath learnt no limit. 385
Enter Maffe hastily.
Maf. I cannot help it; what should I do more?
As I was gathering a fit guard to make
My passage to the dores, and the dores sure,
The man of bloud is enter’d.
Mons. Rage of death!
If I had told the secret, and he knew it, 390
Thus had I bin endanger’d.
Enter D’Ambois.
My sweet heart!
How now? what leap’st thou at?
Bussy. O royall object!
Mons. Thou dream’st awake: object in th’empty aire!
Buss. Worthy the browes of Titan, worth his chaire.
Mons. Pray thee, what mean’st thou?
Buss. See you not a crowne 395
Empalethe forehead of the great King Monsieur?
Mons. O, fie upon thee!
Buss. Prince, that is the subject
Of all these your retir’d and sole discourses.
Mons. Wilt thou not leave that wrongfull supposition?
Buss. Why wrongfull to suppose the doubtlesse right 400
To the succession worth the thinking on?
Mons. Well, leave these jests! how I am over-joyed
With thy wish’d presence, and how fit thou com’st,
For, of mine honour, I was sending for thee.
Buss. To what end?
Mons. Onely for thy company, 405
Which I have still in thought; but that’s no payment
On thy part made with personall appearance.
Thy absence so long suffered oftentimes
Put me in some little doubt thou do’st not love me.
Wilt thou doe one thing therefore now sincerely? 410
Buss. I, any thing — but killing of the King.
Mons. Still in that discord, and ill taken note?
How most unseasonable thou playest the cucko,
In this thy fall of friendship!
Buss. Then doe not doubt
That there is any act within my nerves, 415
But killing of the King, that is not yours.
Mons. I will not then; to prove which, by my love
Shewne to thy vertues, and by all fruits else
Already sprung from that still flourishing tree,
With whatsoever may hereafter spring, 420
I charge thee utter (even with all the freedome
Both of thy noble nature and thy friendship)
The full and plaine state of me in thy thoughts.
Buss. What, utter plainly what I think of you?
Mons. Plaine as truth. 425
Buss. Why this swims quite against the stream of greatnes:
Great men would rather heare their flatteries,
And if they be not made fooles, are not wise.
Mons. I am no such great foole, and therefore charge thee
Even from the root of thy free heart display mee. 430
Buss. Since you affect it in such serious termes,
If your selfe first will tell me what you think
As freely and as heartily of me,
I’le be as open in my thoughts of you.
Mons. A bargain, of mine honour! and make this, 435
That prove we in our full dissection
Never so foule, live still the sounder friends.
Buss. What else, sir? come, pay me home, ile bide it bravely.
Mons. I will, I sweare. I think thee, then, a man
That dares as much as a wilde horse or tyger, 440
As headstrong and as bloody; and to feed
The ravenous wolfe of thy most caniball valour
(Rather than not employ it) thou would’st turne
Hackster to any whore, slave to a Jew,
Or English usurer, to force possessions 445
(And cut mens throats) of morgaged estates;
Or thou would’st tire thee like a tinkers strumpet,
And murther market folks; quarrell with sheepe,
And runne as mad as Ajax; serve a butcher;
Doe any thing but killing of the King. 450
That in thy valour th’art like other naturalls
That have strange gifts in nature, but no soule
Diffus’d quite through, to make them of a peece,
But stop at humours, that are more absurd,
Childish and villanous than that hackster, whore, 455
Slave, cut-throat, tinkers bitch, compar’d before;
And in those humours would’st envie, betray,
Slander, blaspheme, change each houre a religion,
Doe any thing, but killing of the King:
That in thy valour (which is still the dunghill, 460
To which hath reference all filth in thy house)
Th’art more ridiculous and vaine-glorious
Than any mountibank, and impudent
Than any painted bawd; which not to sooth,
And glorifie thee like a Jupiter Hammon, 465
Thou eat’st thy heart in vinegar, and thy gall
Turns all thy blood to poyson, which is cause
Of that toad-poole that stands in thy complexion,
And makes thee with a cold and earthy moisture,
(Which is the damme of putrifaction) 470
As plague to thy damn’d pride, rot as thou liv’st:
To study calumnies and treacheries;
To thy friends slaughters like a scrich-owle sing,
And to all mischiefes — but to kill the King.
Buss. So! have you said?
Mons. How thinkest thou? Doe I flatter? 475
Speak I not like a trusty friend to thee?
Buss. That ever any man was blest withall.
So here’s for me! I think you are (at worst)
No devill, since y’are like to be no King;
Of which with any friend of yours Ile lay 480
This poore stillado here gainst all the starres,
I, and ‘gainst all your treacheries, which are more:
That you did never good, but to doe ill,
But ill of all sorts, free and for it selfe:
That (like a murt
hering peece making lanes in armies, 485
The first man of a rank, the whole rank falling)
If you have wrong’d one man, you are so farre
From making him amends that all his race,
Friends, and associates fall into your chace:
That y’are for perjuries the very prince 490
Of all intelligencers; and your voice
Is like an easterne winde, that, where it flies,
Knits nets of catterpillars, with which you catch
The prime of all the fruits the kingdome yeelds:
That your politicall head is the curst fount 495
Of all the violence, rapine, cruelty,
Tyrannie, & atheisme flowing through the realme:
That y’ave a tongue so scandalous, ‘twill cut
The purest christall, and a breath that will
Kill to that wall a spider; you will jest 500
With God, and your soule to the Devill tender
For lust; kisse horror, and with death engender:
That your foule body is a Lernean fenne
Of all the maladies breeding in all men:
That you are utterly without a soule; 505
And for your life, the thred of that was spunne
When Clotho slept, and let her breathing rock
Fall in the durt; and Lachesis still drawes it,
Dipping her twisting fingers in a boule
Defil’d, and crown’d with vertues forced soule: 510
And lastly (which I must for gratitude
Ever remember) that of all my height
And dearest life you are the onely spring,
Onely in royall hope to kill the King.
Mons. Why, now I see thou lov’st me! come to the banquet!
Exeunt. 515
Finis Actus Tertii.
ACTUS QUARTI.
SCENA PRIMA.
[The Banquetting-Hall in the Court.]
Henry, Monsieur with a letter, Guise, Montsurry, Bussy,
Elynor, Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Anable, Pyrha,
with foure Pages.
Henry. Ladies, ye have not done our banquet right,
Nor lookt upon it with those cheereful rayes
That lately turn’d your breaths to flouds of gold;
Your looks, me thinks, are not drawne out with thoughts
So cleare and free as heretofore, but foule 5
As if the thick complexions of men
Govern’d within them.
Bussy. ’Tis not like, my lord,
That men in women rule, but contrary;
For as the moone, of all things God created
Not only is the most appropriate image 10
Or glasse to shew them how they wax and wane,
But in her height and motion likewise beares
Imperiall influences that command
In all their powers, and make them wax and wane:
So women, that, of all things made of nothing, 15
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 208
