The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Hast in thy power all papers so inscrib’d,

  Glide through all barres to it, and fetch that paper.

  Cartophylax. I will. A torch removes.

  Fri. Till he returnes (great prince of darknesse)

  Tell me if Monsieur and the Count Montsurry 90

  Are yet encounter’d.

  Beh. Both them and the Guise

  Are now together.

  Fri. Show us all their persons,

  And represent the place, with all their actions.

  Beh. The spirit will strait return, and then Ile shew thee.

  See, he is come. Why brought’st thou not the paper? 95

  Car. He hath prevented me, and got a spirit

  Rais’d by another, great in our command,

  To take the guard of it before I came.

  Beh. This is your slacknesse, not t’invoke our powers

  When first your acts set forth to their effects. 100

  Yet shall you see it and themselves. Behold

  They come here, & the Earle now holds the paper.

  Ent[er] Mons[ieur], Gui[se], Mont[surry], with a

  paper.

  Buss. May we not heare them?

  [Fri.] No, be still and see.

  Buss. I will goe fetch the paper.

  Fri. Doe not stirre.

  There’s too much distance, and too many locks 105

  Twixt you and them (how neere so e’re they seeme)

  For any man to interrupt their secrets.

  Tam. O honour’d spirit, flie into the fancie

  Of my offended lord; and doe not let him

  Beleeve what there the wicked man hath written. 110

  Beh. Perswasion hath already enter’d him

  Beyond reflection; peace, till their departure!

  * * * * *

  Monsieur. There is a glasse of ink where you may see

  How to make ready black fac’d tragedy:

  You now discerne, I hope, through all her paintings, 115

  Her gasping wrinkles and fames sepulchres.

  Guise. Think you he faines, my lord? what hold you now?

  Doe we maligne your wife, or honour you?

  Mons. What, stricken dumb! Nay fie, lord, be not danted:

  Your case is common; were it ne’re so rare, 120

  Beare it as rarely! Now to laugh were manly.

  A worthy man should imitate the weather,

  That sings in tempests, and being cleare, is silent.

  Gui. Goe home, my lord, and force your wife to write

  Such loving lines to D’Ambois as she us’d 125

  When she desir’d his presence.

  Mons. Doe, my lord,

  And make her name her conceal’d messenger,

  That close and most inennerable pander,

  That passeth all our studies to exquire:

  By whom convay the letter to her love; 130

  And so you shall be sure to have him come

  Within the thirsty reach of your revenge.

  Before which, lodge an ambush in her chamber,

  Behind the arras, of your stoutest men

  All close and soundly arm’d; and let them share 135

  A spirit amongst them that would serve a thousand.

  Enter Pero with a letter.

  Gui. Yet, stay a little: see, she sends for you.

  Mons. Poore, loving lady, she’le make all good yet;

  Think you not so, my lord? Mont[surry] stabs Pero, and exit.

  Gui. Alas, poore soule!

  Mons. This was cruelly done, y’faith.

  Pero. T’was nobly done; 140

  And I forgive his lordship from my soule.

  Mons. Then much good doo’t thee, Pero! hast a letter?

  Per. I hope it rather be a bitter volume

  Of worthy curses for your perjury.

  Gui. To you, my lord.

  Mons. To me? Now out upon her! 145

  Gui. Let me see, my lord.

  Mons. You shall presently: how fares my Pero? Enter Servant.

  Who’s there? Take in this maid, sh’as caught a clap,

  And fetch my surgeon to her. Come, my lord,

  We’l now peruse our letter.

  Exeunt Mons[ieur], Guise. Lead her out.

  Per. Furies rise 150

  Out of the black lines, and torment his soule!

  * * * * *

  Tam. Hath my lord slaine my woman?

  Beh. No, she lives.

  Fri. What shall become of us?

  Beh. All I can say,

  Being call’d thus late, is briefe, and darkly this: —

  If D’Ambois mistresse die not her white hand 155

  In her forc’d bloud, he shall remaine untoucht:

  So, father, shall your selfe, but by your selfe.

  To make this augurie plainer, when the voyce

  Of D’Amboys shall invoke me, I will rise

  Shining in greater light, and shew him all 160

  That will betide ye all. Meane time be wise,

  And curb his valour with your policies. Descendit cum suis.

  Buss. Will he appeare to me when I invoke him?

  Fri. He will, be sure.

  Buss. It must be shortly, then,

  For his dark words have tyed my thoughts on knots 165

  Till he dissolve and free them.

  Tam. In meane time,

  Deare servant, till your powerfull voice revoke him,

  Be sure to use the policy he advis’d;

  Lest fury in your too quick knowledge taken

  Of our abuse, and your defence of me, 170

  Accuse me more than any enemy.

  And, father, you must on my lord impose

  Your holiest charges, and the Churches power,

  To temper his hot spirit, and disperse

  The cruelty and the bloud I know his hand 175

  Will showre upon our heads, if you put not

  Your finger to the storme, and hold it up,

  As my deare servant here must doe with Monsieur.

  Buss. Ile sooth his plots, and strow my hate with smiles,

  Till all at once the close mines of my heart 180

  Rise at full date, and rush into his bloud:

  Ile bind his arme in silk, and rub his flesh

  To make the veine swell, that his soule may gush

  Into some kennell where it longs to lie;

  And policy shall be flanckt with policy. 185

  Yet shall the feeling Center where we meet

  Groane with the wait of my approaching feet:

  Ile make th’inspired threshals of his Court

  Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps,

  Before I enter: yet will I appeare 190

  Like calme security before a ruine.

  A politician must, like lightning, melt

  The very marrow, and not taint the skin:

  His wayes must not be seene; the superficies

  Of the greene Center must not taste his feet, 195

  When hell is plow’d up with his wounding tracts,

  And all his harvest reap’t by hellish facts. Exeunt.

  Finis Actus Quarti.

  ACTUS QUINTI.

  SCENA PRIMA.

  [A Room in Montsurry’s House.]

  Montsurry bare, unbrac’t, pulling Tamyra in by the haire;

  Frier; One bearing light, a standish, and paper, which sets

  a table.

  Tamyra. O, help me, father!

  Friar. Impious earle, forbeare;

  Take violent hand from her, or, by mine order,

  The King shall force thee.

  Montsurry. Tis not violent;

  Come you not willingly?

  Tam. Yes, good my lord.

  Fri. My lord, remember that your soule must seek 5

  Her peace as well as your revengefull bloud.

  You ever to this houre have prov’d your selfe

  A noble, zealous, and obedient sonne

  T’our holy mother: be not an apost
ate.

  Your wives offence serves not (were it the worst 10

  You can imagine) without greater proofes

  To sever your eternall bonds and hearts;

  Much lesse to touch her with a bloudy hand.

  Nor is it manly (much lesse husbandly)

  To expiate any frailty in your wife 15

  With churlish strokes, or beastly ods of strength.

  The stony birth of clowds will touch no lawrell,

  Nor any sleeper: your wife is your lawrell,

  And sweetest sleeper; doe not touch her, then;

  Be not more rude than the wild seed of vapour 20

  To her that is more gentle than that rude;

  In whom kind nature suffer’d one offence

  But to set off her other excellence.

  Mont. Good father, leave us: interrupt no more

  The course I must runne for mine honour sake. 25

  Rely on my love to her, which her fault

  Cannot extinguish. Will she but disclose

  Who was the secret minister of her love,

  And through what maze he serv’d it, we are friends.

  Fri. It is a damn’d work to pursue those secrets 30

  That would ope more sinne, and prove springs of slaughter;

  Nor is’t a path for Christian feet to tread,

  But out of all way to the health of soules;

  A sinne impossible to be forgiven,

  Which he that dares commit —

  Mont. Good father, cease your terrors. 35

  Tempt not a man distracted; I am apt

  To outrages that I shall ever rue:

  I will not passe the verge that bounds a Christian,

  Nor break the limits of a man nor husband.

  Fri. Then Heaven inspire you both with thoughts and deeds 40

  Worthy his high respect, and your owne soules!

  Tam. Father!

  Fri. I warrant thee, my dearest daughter,

  He will not touch thee; think’st thou him a pagan?

  His honor and his soule lies for thy safety. Exit.

  Mont. Who shall remove the mountaine from my brest, 45

  Stand [in] the opening furnace of my thoughts,

  And set fit out-cries for a soule in hell?

  Mont[surry] turnes a key.

  For now it nothing fits my woes to speak,

  But thunder, or to take into my throat

  The trump of Heaven, with whose determinate blasts 50

  The windes shall burst and the devouring seas

  Be drunk up in his sounds, that my hot woes

  (Vented enough) I might convert to vapour

  Ascending from my infamie unseene;

  Shorten the world, preventing the last breath 55

  That kils the living, and regenerates death.

  Tam. My lord, my fault (as you may censure it

  With too strong arguments) is past your pardon.

  But how the circumstances may excuse mee,

  Heaven knowes, and your more temperate minde hereafter 60

  May let my penitent miseries make you know.

  Mont. Hereafter! tis a suppos’d infinite

  That from this point will rise eternally.

  Fame growes in going; in the scapes of vertue

  Excuses damne her: they be fires in cities 65

  Enrag’d with those winds that lesse lights extinguish.

  Come syren, sing, and dash against my rocks

  Thy ruffin gally rig’d with quench for lust:

  Sing, and put all the nets into thy voice

  With which thou drew’st into thy strumpets lap 70

  The spawne of Venus, and in which ye danc’d;

  That, in thy laps steed, I may digge his tombe,

  And quit his manhood with a womans sleight,

  Who never is deceiv’d in her deceit.

  Sing (that is, write); and then take from mine eyes 75

  The mists that hide the most inscrutable pander

  That ever lapt up an adulterous vomit,

  That I may see the devill, and survive

  To be a devill, and then learne to wive!

  That I may hang him, and then cut him downe, 80

  Then cut him up, and with my soules beams search

  The cranks and cavernes of his braine, and study

  The errant wildernesse of a womans face,

  Where men cannot get out, for all the comets

  That have beene lighted at it. Though they know 85

  That adders lie a sunning in their smiles,

  That basilisks drink their poyson from their eyes,

  And no way there to coast out to their hearts,

  Yet still they wander there, and are not stay’d

  Till they be fetter’d, nor secure before 90

  All cares devoure them, nor in humane consort

  Till they embrace within their wives two breasts

  All Pelion and Cythæron with their beasts. —

  Why write you not?

  Tam. O, good my lord, forbeare

  In wreak of great faults to engender greater, 95

  And make my loves corruption generate murther.

  Mont. It followes needfully as childe and parent;

  The chaine-shot of thy lust is yet aloft,

  And it must murther; tis thine owne deare twinne.

  No man can adde height to a womans sinne. 100

  Vice never doth her just hate so provoke,

  As when she rageth under vertues cloake.

  Write! for it must be — by this ruthlesse steele,

  By this impartiall torture, and the death

  Thy tyrannies have invented in my entrails, 105

  To quicken life in dying, and hold up

  The spirits in fainting, teaching to preserve

  Torments in ashes that will ever last.

  Speak: will you write?

  Tam. Sweet lord, enjoyne my sinne

  Some other penance than what makes it worse: 110

  Hide in some gloomie dungeon my loth’d face,

  And let condemned murtherers let me downe

  (Stopping their noses) my abhorred food:

  Hang me in chaines, and let me eat these armes

  That have offended: binde me face to face 115

  To some dead woman, taken from the cart

  Of execution? — till death and time

  In graines of dust dissolve me, Ile endure;

  Or any torture that your wraths invention

  Can fright all pitie from the world withall. 120

  But to betray a friend with shew of friendship,

  That is too common for the rare revenge

  Your rage affecteth; here then are my breasts,

  Last night your pillowes; here my wretched armes,

  As late the wished confines of your life: 125

  Now break them, as you please, and all the bounds

  Of manhood, noblesse, and religion.

  Mont. Where all these have bin broken, they are kept

  In doing their justice there with any shew

  Of the like cruell cruelty: thine armes have lost 130

  Their priviledge in lust, and in their torture

  Thus they must pay it. Stabs her.

  Tam. O lord —

  Mont. Till thou writ’st,

  Ile write in wounds (my wrongs fit characters)

  Thy right of sufferance. Write!

  Tam. O kill me, kill me!

  Deare husband, be not crueller than death! 135

  You have beheld some Gorgon: feele, O feele

  How you are turn’d to stone. With my heart blood

  Dissolve your selfe againe, or you will grow

  Into the image of all tyrannie.

  Mont. As thou art of adultry; I will ever 140

  Prove thee my parallel, being most a monster.

  Thus I expresse thee yet. Stabs her againe.

  Tam. And yet I live.

  Mont. I, for thy monstrous idoll is not done yet.

/>   This toole hath wrought enough. Now, Torture, use

  Ent[er] Servants.

  This other engine on th’habituate powers 145

  Of her thrice damn’d and whorish fortitude:

  Use the most madding paines in her that ever

  Thy venoms sok’d through, making most of death,

  That she may weigh her wrongs with them — and then

  Stand, vengeance, on thy steepest rock, a victor! 150

  Tam. O who is turn’d into my lord and husband?

  Husband! my lord! None but my lord and husband!

  Heaven, I ask thee remission of my sinnes,

  Not of my paines: husband, O help me, husband!

  Ascendit Frier with a sword drawne.

  Fri. What rape of honour and religion! 155

  O wrack of nature! Falls and dies.

  Tam. Poore man! O, my father!

  Father, look up! O, let me downe, my lord,

  And I will write.

  Mont. Author of prodigies!

  What new flame breakes out of the firmament

  That turnes up counsels never knowne before? 160

  Now is it true, earth moves, and heaven stands still;

  Even heaven it selfe must see and suffer ill.

  The too huge bias of the world hath sway’d

  Her back-part upwards, and with that she braves

  This hemisphere that long her mouth hath mockt: 165

  The gravity of her religious face

  (Now growne too waighty with her sacriledge,

  And here discern’d sophisticate enough)

  Turnes to th’Antipodes; and all the formes

  That her illusions have imprest in her 170

  Have eaten through her back; and now all see

  How she is riveted with hypocrisie.

  Was this the way? was he the mean betwixt you?

  Tam. He was, he was, kind worthy man, he was.

  Mont. Write, write a word or two.

  Tam. I will, I will. 175

  Ile write, but with my bloud, that he may see

  These lines come from my wounds & not from me. Writes.

  Mont. Well might he die for thought: methinks the frame

  And shaken joynts of the whole world should crack

  To see her parts so disproportionate; 180

  And that his generall beauty cannot stand

  Without these staines in the particular man.

  Why wander I so farre? here, here was she

  That was a whole world without spot to me,

  Though now a world of spots. Oh what a lightning 185

  Is mans delight in women! What a bubble

  He builds his state, fame, life on, when he marries!

  Since all earths pleasures are so short and small,

  The way t’enjoy it is t’abjure it all.

  Enough! I must be messenger my selfe, 190

  Disguis’d like this strange creature. In, Ile after,