The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  To see what guilty light gives this cave eyes,

  And to the world sing new impieties.

  He puts the Frier in the vault and follows. She raps her

  self in the arras.

  Exeunt [Servants].

  SCENA SECUNDA.

  A Room in Montsurry’s House.]

  Enter Monsieur and Guise.

  Monsieur. Now shall we see that Nature hath no end

  In her great works responsive to their worths;

  That she, that makes so many eyes and soules

  To see and fore-see, is stark blind her selfe;

  And as illiterate men say Latine prayers 5

  By rote of heart and dayly iteration,

  Not knowing what they say, so Nature layes

  A deale of stuffe together, and by use,

  Or by the meere necessity of matter,

  Ends such a work, fills it, or leaves it empty 10

  Of strength, or vertue, error, or cleare truth,

  Not knowing what she does; but usually

  Gives that which we call merit to a man,

  And beliefe must arrive him on huge riches,

  Honour and happinesse, that effects his ruine. 15

  Even as in ships of warre whole lasts of powder

  Are laid, me thinks, to make them last, and gard them,

  When a disorder’d spark, that powder taking,

  Blowes up, with sodaine violence and horror,

  Ships that (kept empty) had sayl’d long, with terror. 20

  Guise. He that observes but like a worldly man

  That which doth oft succeed and by th’events

  Values the worth of things, will think it true

  That Nature works at random, just with you:

  But with as much proportion she may make 25

  A thing that from the feet up to the throat

  Hath all the wondrous fabrique man should have,

  And leave it headlesse, for a perfect man,

  As give a full man valour, vertue, learning,

  Without an end more excellent then those 30

  On whom she no such worthy part bestowes.

  Mons. Yet shall you see it here; here will be one

  Young, learned, valiant, vertuous, and full mann’d;

  One on whom Nature spent so rich a hand

  That with an ominous eye she wept to see 35

  So much consum’d her vertuous treasurie.

  Yet as the winds sing through a hollow tree,

  And (since it lets them passe through) let’s it stand;

  But a tree solid (since it gives no way

  To their wild rage) they rend up by the root: 40

  So this whole man

  (That will not wind with every crooked way

  Trod by the servile world) shall reele and fall

  Before the frantick puffes of blind borne chance,

  That pipes through empty men and makes them dance. 45

  Not so the sea raves on the Libian sands,

  Tumbling her billowes in each others neck:

  Not so the surges of the Euxian Sea

  (Neere to the frosty pole, where free Bootes

  From those dark deep waves turnes his radiant teame) 50

  Swell, being enrag’d even from their inmost drop,

  As fortune swings about the restlesse state

  Of vertue now throwne into all mens hate.

  Enter Montsurry disguis’d, with the murtherers.

  Away, my lord; you are perfectly disguis’d;

  Leave us to lodge your ambush.

  Montsurry. Speed me, vengeance! 55

  Exit.

  Mons. Resolve, my masters, you shall meet with one

  Will try what proofes your privy coats are made on:

  When he is entred, and you heare us stamp,

  Approach, and make all sure.

  Murderers. We will, my lord. Exeunt.

  SCENA TERTIA.

  A Room in Bussy’s House.]

  D’Ambois, with two Pages with tapers.

  Bussy. Sit up to night, and watch: Ile speak with none

  But the old Frier, who bring to me.

  Pages. We will, sir. Exeunt.

  Buss. What violent heat is this? me thinks the fire

  Of twenty lives doth on a suddaine flash

  Through all my faculties: the ayre goes high 5

  In this close chamber and the frighted earth Thunder.

  Trembles and shrinks beneath me; the whole house

  Nods with his shaken burthen.

  Enter Umb[ra] Frier.

  Blesse me, heaven!

  Umb[ra Friar]. Note what I want, deare sonne, and be

  fore-warn’d.

  O there are bloudy deeds past and to come. 10

  I cannot stay; a fate doth ravish me;

  Ile meet thee in the chamber of thy love. Exit.

  Buss. What dismall change is here! the good old Frier

  Is murther’d, being made knowne to serve my love;

  And now his restlesse spirit would fore-warne me 15

  Of some plot dangerous, and imminent.

  Note what he wants! He wants his upper weed,

  He wants his life, and body: which of these

  Should be the want he meanes, and may supply me

  With any fit fore-warning? This strange vision, 20

  (Together with the dark prediction

  Us’d by the Prince of Darknesse that was rais’d

  By this embodied shadow) stirre my thoughts

  With reminiscion of the Spirits promise,

  Who told me that by any invocation 25

  I should have power to raise him, though it wanted

  The powerfull words and decent rites of art.

  Never had my set braine such need of spirit

  T’instruct and cheere it; now then I will claime

  Performance of his free and gentle vow 30

  T’appeare in greater light, and make more plain

  His rugged oracle. I long to know

  How my deare mistresse fares, and be inform’d

  What hand she now holds on the troubled bloud

  Of her incensed lord: me thought the Spirit 35

  (When he had utter’d his perplext presage)

  Threw his chang’d countenance headlong into clouds;

  His forehead bent, as it would hide his face,

  He knockt his chin against his darkned breast,

  And struck a churlish silence through his pow’rs. 40

  Terror of darknesse! O, thou King of flames!

  That with thy musique-footed horse dost strike

  The cleare light out of chrystall on dark earth,

  And hurlst instructive fire about the world,

  Wake, wake, the drowsie and enchanted night 45

  That sleepes with dead eyes in this heavy riddle!

  Or thou great Prince of Shades, where never sunne

  Stickes his far-darted beames, whose eyes are made

  To shine in darknesse, and see ever best

  Where men are blindest, open now the heart 50

  Of thy abashed oracle, that, for feare

  Of some ill it includes, would faine lie hid,

  And rise thou with it in thy greater light!

  Thunders. Surgit Spiritus cum suis.

  Behemoth. Thus, to observe my vow of apparition

  In greater light, and explicate thy fate, 55

  I come; and tell thee that, if thou obey

  The summons that thy mistresse next will send thee,

  Her hand shall be thy death.

  Buss. When will she send?

  Beh. Soone as I set againe, where late I rose.

  Buss. Is the old Frier slaine?

  Beh. No, and yet lives not. 60

  Buss. Died he a naturall death?

  Beh. He did.

  Buss. Who then

  Will my deare mistresse send?

  Beh. I must not tell thee.

  Buss. Who lets thee?

  Beh. Fate.


  Buss. Who are Fates ministers?

  Beh. The Guise and Monsieur.

  Buss. A fit paire of sheeres

  To cut the threds of kings and kingly spirits, 65

  And consorts fit to sound forth harmony

  Set to the fals of kingdomes. Shall the hand

  Of my kind mistresse kill me?

  Beh. If thou yeeld

  To her next summons. Y’are faire warn’d; farewell!

  Thunders. Exit.

  Buss. I must fare well, how ever, though I die, 70

  My death consenting with his augurie.

  Should not my powers obay when she commands,

  My motion must be rebell to my will,

  My will to life; if, when I have obay’d,

  Her hand should so reward me, they must arme it, 75

  Binde me, or force it; or, I lay my life,

  She rather would convert it many times

  On her owne bosome, even to many deaths.

  But were there danger of such violence,

  I know ’tis farre from her intent to send: 80

  And who she should send is as farre from thought,

  Since he is dead whose only mean she us’d. Knocks.

  Whose there? Look to the dore, and let him in,

  Though politick Monsieur, or the violent Guise.

  Enter Montsurry like the Frier, with a letter written

  in bloud.

  Mont. Haile to my worthy sonne!

  Buss. O lying Spirit, 85

  To say the Frier was dead! Ile now beleeve

  Nothing of all his forg’d predictions.

  My kinde and honour’d father, well reviv’d!

  I have beene frighted with your death and mine,

  And told my mistresse hand should be my death, 90

  If I obeyed this summons.

  Mont. I beleev’d

  Your love had bin much clearer then to give

  Any such doubt a thought, for she is cleare,

  And having freed her husbands jealousie

  (Of which her much abus’d hand here is witnesse) 95

  She prayes, for urgent cause, your instant presence.

  Buss. Why, then, your Prince of Spirits may be call’d

  The Prince of lyers.

  Mont. Holy Writ so calls him.

  Buss. What! writ in bloud!

  Mont. I, ’tis the ink of lovers.

  Buss. O, ’tis a sacred witnesse of her love. 100

  So much elixer of her bloud as this,

  Dropt in the lightest dame, would make her firme

  As heat to fire; and, like to all the signes,

  Commands the life confinde in all my veines.

  O, how it multiplies my bloud with spirit, 105

  And makes me apt t’encounter death and hell.

  But come, kinde father; you fetch me to heaven,

  And to that end your holy weed was given. Exeunt.

  SCENA QUARTA.

  A Room in Montsurry’s House.]

  Thunder. Intrat Umbra Frier and discovers Tamyra.

  [Umbra] Friar. Up with these stupid thoughts, still loved daughter,

  And strike away this heartlesse trance of anguish:

  Be like the sunne, and labour in eclipses.

  Look to the end of woes: oh, can you sit

  Mustering the horrors of your servants slaughter 5

  Before your contemplation, and not study

  How to prevent it? Watch when he shall rise,

  And, with a suddaine out-crie of his murther,

  Blow his retreat before he be revenged.

  Tamyra. O father, have my dumb woes wak’d your death? 10

  When will our humane griefes be at their height?

  Man is a tree that hath no top in cares,

  No root in comforts; all his power to live

  Is given to no end but t’have power to grieve.

  Umb. Fri. It is the misery of our creation. 15

  Your true friend,

  Led by your husband, shadowed in my weed,

  Now enters the dark vault.

  Tam. But, my dearest father,

  Why will not you appeare to him your selfe,

  And see that none of these deceits annoy him? 20

  Umb. Fri. My power is limited; alas! I cannot;

  All that I can doe — See! the cave opens. Exit.

  D’Amboys at the gulfe.

  Tam. Away (my love) away! thou wilt be murther’d.

  Enter Monsieur and Guise above.

  Bussy. Murther’d! I know not what that Hebrew means:

  That word had ne’re bin nam’d had all bin D’Ambois. 25

  Murther’d! By heaven, he is my murtherer

  That shewes me not a murtherer: what such bugge

  Abhorreth not the very sleepe of D’Amboys?

  Murther’d! Who dares give all the room I see

  To D’Ambois reach? or look with any odds 30

  His fight i’th’ face, upon whose hand sits death,

  Whose sword hath wings, and every feather pierceth?

  If I scape Monsieurs pothecarie shops,

  Foutir for Guises shambles! ’Twas ill plotted;

  They should have mall’d me here 35

  When I was rising. I am up and ready.

  Let in my politique visitants, let them in,

  Though entring like so many moving armours.

  Fate is more strong than arms and slie than treason,

  And I at all parts buckl’d in my fate. 40

  Mons. }

  Guise. } Why enter not the coward villains?

  Buss. Dare they not come?

  Enter Murtherers, with [Umbra] Frier at the other dore.

  Tam. They come.

  First Murderer. Come, all at once!

  [Umbra] Friar. Back, coward murtherers, back!

  Omnes. Defend us heaven!

  Exeunt all but the first.

  First Murd. Come ye not on?

  Buss. No, slave! nor goest thou off.

  Stand you so firme?

  [Strikes at him with his sword.]

  Will it not enter here? 45

  You have a face yet. So! in thy lifes flame

  I burne the first rites to my mistresse fame.

  Umb. Fri. Breath thee, brave sonne, against the other charge.

  Buss. O is it true, then, that my sense first told me?

  Is my kind father dead?

  Tam. He is, my love; 50

  ’Twas the Earle, my husband, in his weed that brought thee.

  Buss. That was a speeding sleight, and well resembled.

  Where is that angry Earle? My lord! come forth,

  And shew your owne face in your owne affaire;

  Take not into your noble veines the blood 55

  Of these base villaines, nor the light reports

  Of blister’d tongues for cleare and weighty truth:

  But me against the world, in pure defence

  Of your rare lady, to whose spotlesse name

  I stand here as a bulwark, and project 60

  A life to her renowne that ever yet

  Hath been untainted, even in envies eye,

  And, where it would protect, a sanctuarie.

  Brave Earle, come forth, and keep your scandall in!

  ’Tis not our fault, if you enforce the spot; 65

  Nor the wreak yours, if you performe it not.

  Enter Mont[surry] with all the murtherers.

  Montsurry. Cowards! a fiend or spirit beat ye off!

  They are your owne faint spirits that have forg’d

  The fearefull shadowes that your eyes deluded:

  The fiend was in you; cast him out, then, thus! 70

  [Montsurry fights with D’Ambois.] D’Ambois hath

  Montsurry downe.

  Tam. Favour my lord, my love, O, favour him!

  Buss. I will not touch him. Take your life, my lord,

  And be appeas’d. Pistolls shot within.

  O then the coward Fates

&nbs
p; Have maim’d themselves, and ever lost their honour!

  Umb. Fri. What have ye done, slaves! irreligious lord! 75

  Buss. Forbeare them, father; ’tis enough for me

  That Guise and Monsieur, death and destinie,

  Come behind D’Ambois. Is my body, then,

  But penetrable flesh, and must my mind

  Follow my blood? Can my divine part adde 80

  No ayd to th’earthly in extremity?

  Then these divines are but for forme, not fact;

  Man is of two sweet courtly friends compact,

  A mistresse and a servant. Let my death

  Define life nothing but a courtiers breath. 85

  Nothing is made of nought, of all things made

  Their abstract being a dreame but of a shade.

  Ile not complaine to earth yet, but to heaven,

  And (like a man) look upwards even in death.

  And if Vespasian thought in majestie 90

  An Emperour might die standing, why not I?

  She offers to help him.

  Nay, without help, in which I will exceed him;

  For he died splinted with his chamber groomes.

  Prop me, true sword, as thou hast ever done!

  The equall thought I beare of life and death 95

  Shall make me faint on no side; I am up.

  Here, like a Roman statue, I will stand

  Till death hath made me marble. O my fame

  Live in despight of murther! take thy wings

  And haste thee where the gray-ey’d morn perfumes 100

  Her rosie chariot with Sabæan spices!

  Fly where the evening from th’Iberean vales

  Takes on her swarthy shoulders Heccate

  Crown’d with a grove of oakes! flie where men feele

  The burning axeltree; and those that suffer 105

  Beneath the chariot of the snowy Beare:

  And tell them all that D’Ambois now is hasting

  To the eternall dwellers; that a thunder

  Of all their sighes together (for their frailties

  Beheld in me) may quit my worthlesse fall 110

  With a fit volley for my funerall.

  Umb. Fri. Forgive thy murtherers.

  Buss. I forgive them all;

  And you, my lord, their fautor; for true signe

  Of which unfain’d remission, take my sword;

  Take it, and onely give it motion, 115

  And it shall finde the way to victory

  By his owne brightnesse, and th’inherent valour

  My fight hath still’d into’t with charmes of spirit.

  Now let me pray you that my weighty bloud,

  Laid in one scale of your impertiall spleene, 120

  May sway the forfeit of my worthy love

  Waid in the other: and be reconcil’d

  With all forgivenesse to your matchlesse wife.