The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Ren. That meanes lay on mee, 95

  Which I can strangely make. My last lands sale,

  By his great suite, stands now on price with him,

  And hee (as you know) passing covetous,

  With that blinde greedinesse that followes gaine,

  Will cast no danger where her sweete feete tread. 100

  Besides, you know, his lady, by his suite

  (Wooing as freshly as when first love shot

  His faultlesse arrowes from her rosie eyes)

  Now lives with him againe, and shee, I know,

  Will joyne with all helps in her friends revenge. 105

  Bal. No doubt, my lord, and therefore let me pray you

  To use all speede; for so on needels points

  My wifes heart stands with haste of the revenge,

  Being (as you know) full of her brothers fire,

  That shee imagines I neglect my vow; 110

  Keepes off her kinde embraces, and still askes,

  “When, when, will this revenge come? when perform’d

  Will this dull vow be?” And, I vow to heaven,

  So sternely, and so past her sexe she urges

  My vowes performance, that I almost feare 115

  To see her, when I have a while beene absent,

  Not showing her, before I speake, the bloud

  She so much thirsts for, freckling hands and face.

  Ren. Get you the challenge writ, and looke from me

  To heare your passage clear’d no long time after.

  Exit Ren[el]. 120

  Bal. All restitution to your worthiest lordship!

  Whose errand I must carrie to the King,

  As having sworne my service in the search

  Of all such malecontents and their designes,

  By seeming one affected with their faction 125

  And discontented humours gainst the state:

  Nor doth my brother Clermont scape my counsaile

  Given to the King about his Guisean greatnesse,

  Which (as I spice it) hath possest the King,

  Knowing his daring spirit, of much danger 130

  Charg’d in it to his person; though my conscience

  Dare sweare him cleare of any power to be

  Infected with the least dishonestie:

  Yet that sinceritie, wee politicians

  Must say, growes out of envie since it cannot 135

  Aspire to policies greatnesse; and the more

  We worke on all respects of kinde and vertue,

  The more our service to the King seemes great,

  In sparing no good that seemes bad to him:

  And the more bad we make the most of good, 140

  The more our policie searcheth, and our service

  Is wonder’d at for wisedome and sincerenesse.

  Tis easie to make good suspected still,

  Where good, and God, are made but cloakes for ill.

  [Sidenote: Enter Henry, Monsieur, Guise, Clerm[ont], Espernone,

  Soisson. Monsieur taking leave of the King.]

  See Monsieur taking now his leave for Brabant; 145

  The Guise & his deare minion, Clermont D’Ambois,

  Whispering together, not of state affaires,

  I durst lay wagers, (though the Guise be now

  In chiefe heate of his faction) but of some thing

  Savouring of that which all men else despise, 150

  How to be truely noble, truely wise.

  Monsieur. See how hee hangs upon the eare of Guise,

  Like to his jewell!

  Epernon. Hee’s now whisp’ring in

  Some doctrine of stabilitie and freedome,

  Contempt of outward greatnesse, and the guises 155

  That vulgar great ones make their pride and zeale,

  Being onely servile traines, and sumptuous houses,

  High places, offices.

  Mons. Contempt of these

  Does he read to the Guise? Tis passing needfull,

  And hee, I thinke, makes show t’affect his doctrine. 160

  Ep. Commends, admires it —

  Mons. And pursues another.

  Tis fine hypocrisie, and cheape, and vulgar,

  Knowne for a covert practise, yet beleev’d

  By those abus’d soules that they teach and governe

  No more then wives adulteries by their husbands, 165

  They bearing it with so unmov’d aspects,

  Hot comming from it, as twere not [at] all,

  Or made by custome nothing. This same D’Ambois

  Hath gotten such opinion of his vertues,

  Holding all learning but an art to live well, 170

  And showing hee hath learn’d it in his life,

  Being thereby strong in his perswading others,

  That this ambitious Guise, embracing him,

  Is thought t’embrace his vertues.

  Ep. Yet in some

  His vertues are held false for th’others vices: 175

  For tis more cunning held, and much more common,

  To suspect truth then falshood: and of both

  Truth still fares worse, as hardly being beleev’d,

  As tis unusuall and rarely knowne.

  Mons. Ile part engendring vertue. Men affirme, 180

  Though this same Clermont hath a D’Ambois spirit,

  And breathes his brothers valour, yet his temper

  Is so much past his that you cannot move him:

  Ile try that temper in him. — Come, you two

  Devoure each other with your vertues zeale, 185

  And leave for other friends no fragment of yee:

  I wonder, Guise, you will thus ravish him

  Out of my bosome, that first gave the life

  His manhood breathes spirit, and meanes, and luster.

  What doe men thinke of me, I pray thee, Clermont? 190

  Once give me leave (for tryall of that love

  That from thy brother Bussy thou inherit’st)

  T’unclaspe thy bosome.

  Clermont. As how, sir?

  Mons. Be a true glasse to mee, in which I may

  Behold what thoughts the many-headed beast 195

  And thou thy selfe breathes out concerning me,

  My ends and new upstarted state in Brabant,

  For which I now am bound, my higher aymes

  Imagin’d here in France: speake, man, and let

  Thy words be borne as naked as thy thoughts. 200

  O were brave Bussy living!

  Cler. Living, my lord!

  Mons. Tis true thou art his brother, but durst thou

  Have brav’d the Guise; mauger his presence, courted

  His wedded lady; emptied even the dregs

  Of his worst thoughts of mee even to my teeth; 205

  Discern’d not me, his rising soveraigne,

  From any common groome, but let me heare

  My grossest faults, as grosse-full as they were?

  Durst thou doe this?

  Cler. I cannot tell. A man

  Does never know the goodnesse of his stomacke 210

  Till hee sees meate before him. Were I dar’d,

  Perhaps, as he was, I durst doe like him.

  Mons. Dare then to poure out here thy freest soule

  Of what I am.

  Cler. Tis stale, he tolde you it.

  Mons. He onely jested, spake of splene and envie; 215

  Thy soule, more learn’d, is more ingenuous,

  Searching, judiciall; let me then from thee

  Heare what I am.

  Cler. What but the sole support,

  And most expectant hope of all our France,

  The toward victor of the whole Low Countryes? 220

  Mons. Tush, thou wilt sing encomions of my praise!

  Is this like D’Ambois? I must vexe the Guise,

  Or never looke to heare free truth. Tell me,

  For Bussy lives not; hee durst anger mee,

  Yet, for my love, would n
ot have fear’d to anger 225

  The King himselfe. Thou understand’st me, dost not?

  Cler. I shall my lord, with studie.

  Mons. Dost understand thy selfe? I pray thee tell me,

  Dost never search thy thoughts, what my designe

  Might be to entertaine thee and thy brother? 230

  What turne I meant to serve with you?

  Cler. Even what you please to thinke.

  Mons. But what thinkst thou?

  Had I no end in’t, think’st?

  Cler. I thinke you had.

  Mons. When I tooke in such two as you two were,

  A ragged couple of decaid commanders, 235

  When a French-crowne would plentifully serve

  To buy you both to any thing i’th’earth —

  Cler. So it would you.

  Mons. Nay bought you both out-right,

  You and your trunkes — I feare me, I offend thee.

  Cler. No, not a jot.

  Mons. The most renowmed souldier, 240

  Epaminondas (as good authors say)

  Had no more suites then backes, but you two shar’d

  But one suite twixt you both, when both your studies

  Were not what meate to dine with, if your partridge,

  Your snipe, your wood-cocke, larke, or your red hering, 245

  But where to begge it; whether at my house,

  Or at the Guises (for you know you were

  Ambitious beggars) or at some cookes-shop,

  T’eternize the cookes trust, and score it up.

  Dost not offend thee?

  Cler. No, sir. Pray proceede. 250

  Mons. As for thy gentry, I dare boldly take

  Thy honourable othe: and yet some say

  Thou and thy most renowmed noble brother

  Came to the Court first in a keele of sea-coale.

  Dost not offend thee?

  Cler. Never doubt it, sir. 255

  Mons. Why doe I love thee, then? Why have I rak’d thee

  Out of the dung-hill? cast my cast ward-robe on thee?

  Brought thee to Court to, as I did thy brother?

  Made yee my sawcy bon companions?

  Taught yee to call our greatest Noblemen 260

  By the corruption of their names — Jack, Tom?

  Have I blowne both for nothing to this bubble?

  Though thou art learn’d, thast no enchanting wit;

  Or, were thy wit good, am I therefore bound

  To keepe thee for my table?

  Cler. Well, sir, ‘twere 265

  A good knights place. Many a proud dubb’d gallant

  Seekes out a poore knights living from such emrods.

  [Mons.] Or what use else should I designe thee to?

  Perhaps you’ll answere me — to be my pander.

  Cler. Perhaps I shall.

  Mons. Or did the slie Guise put thee 270

  Into my bosome t’undermine my projects?

  I feare thee not; for, though I be not sure

  I have thy heart, I know thy braine-pan yet

  To be as emptie a dull piece of wainscot

  As ever arm’d the scalpe of any courtier; 275

  A fellow onely that consists of sinewes;

  Meere Swisser, apt for any execution.

  Cler. But killing of the King!

  Mons. Right: now I see

  Thou understand’st thy selfe.

  Cler. I, and you better.

  You are a Kings sonne borne.

  Mons. Right.

  Cler. And a Kings brother. 280

  Mons. True.

  Cler. And might not any foole have beene so too,

  As well as you?

  Mons. A poxe upon you!

  Cler. You did no princely deedes

  Ere you were borne (I take it) to deserve it; 285

  Nor did you any since that I have heard;

  Nor will doe ever any, as all thinke.

  Mons. The Divell take him! Ile no more of him.

  Guise. Nay: stay, my lord, and heare him answere you.

  Mons. No more, I sweare. Farewell.

  Ex[eunt] Mons[ieur], Esper[none], Soiss[on].

  Gui. No more! Ill fortune! 290

  I would have given a million to have heard

  His scoffes retorted, and the insolence

  Of his high birth and greatnesse (which were never

  Effects of his deserts, but of his fortune)

  Made show to his dull eyes beneath the worth 295

  That men aspire to by their knowing vertues,

  Without which greatnesse is a shade, a bubble.

  Cler. But what one great man dreames of that but you?

  All take their births and birth-rights left to them

  (Acquir’d by others) for their owne worths purchase, 300

  When many a foole in both is great as they:

  And who would thinke they could winne with their worths

  Wealthy possessions, when, wonne to their hands,

  They neyther can judge justly of their value,

  Nor know their use? and therefore they are puft 305

  With such proud tumours as this Monsieur is,

  Enabled onely by the goods they have

  To scorne all goodnesse: none great fill their fortunes;

  But as those men that make their houses greater,

  Their housholds being lesse, so Fortune raises 310

  Huge heapes of out-side in these mightie men,

  And gives them nothing in them.

  Gui. True as truth:

  And therefore they had rather drowne their substance

  In superfluities of brickes and stones

  (Like Sysiphus, advancing of them ever, 315

  And ever pulling downe) then lay the cost

  Of any sluttish corner on a man,

  Built with Gods finger, and enstil’d his temple.

  Bal. Tis nobly said, my lord.

  Gui. I would have these things

  Brought upon stages, to let mightie misers 320

  See all their grave and serious miseries plaid,

  As once they were in Athens and olde Rome.

  Cler. Nay, we must now have nothing brought on stages,

  But puppetry, and pide ridiculous antickes:

  Men thither come to laugh, and feede fool-fat, 325

  Checke at all goodnesse there, as being prophan’d:

  When, wheresoever goodnesse comes, shee makes

  The place still sacred, though with other feete

  Never so much tis scandal’d and polluted.

  Let me learne anything that fits a man, 330

  In any stables showne, as well as stages.

  Bal. Why, is not all the world esteem’d a stage?

  Cler. Yes, and right worthily; and stages too

  Have a respect due to them, if but onely

  For what the good Greeke moralist sayes of them: 335

  “Is a man proud of greatnesse, or of riches?

  Give me an expert actor, Ile shew all,

  That can within his greatest glory fall.

  Is a man fraid with povertie and lownesse?

  Give me an actor, Ile shew every eye 340

  What hee laments so, and so much doth flye,

  The best and worst of both.” If but for this then,

  To make the proudest out-side that most swels

  With things without him, and above his worth,

  See how small cause hee has to be so blowne up; 345

  And the most poore man, to be griev’d with poorenesse,

  Both being so easily borne by expert actors,

  The stage and actors are not so contemptfull

  As every innovating Puritane,

  And ignorant sweater out of zealous envie 350

  Would have the world imagine. And besides

  That all things have been likened to the mirth

  Us’d upon stages, and for stages fitted,

  The splenative philosopher, that ever

  Laught a
t them all, were worthy the enstaging. 355

  All objects, were they ne’er so full of teares,

  He so conceited that he could distill thence

  Matter that still fed his ridiculous humour.

  Heard he a lawyer, never so vehement pleading,

  Hee stood and laught. Heard hee a trades-man swearing, 360

  Never so thriftily selling of his wares,

  He stood and laught. Heard hee an holy brother,

  For hollow ostentation, at his prayers

  Ne’er so impetuously, hee stood and laught.

  Saw hee a great man never so insulting, 365

  Severely inflicting, gravely giving lawes,

  Not for their good, but his, hee stood and laught.

  Saw hee a youthfull widow

  Never so weeping, wringing of her hands

  For her lost lord, still the philosopher laught. 370

  Now whether hee suppos’d all these presentments

  Were onely maskeries, and wore false faces,

  Or else were simply vaine, I take no care;

  But still hee laught, how grave soere they were.

  Gui. And might right well, my Clermont; and for this 375

  Vertuous digression we will thanke the scoffes

  Of vicious Monsieur. But now for the maine point

  Of your late resolution for revenge

  Of your slaine friend.

  Cler. I have here my challenge,

  Which I will pray my brother Baligny 380

  To beare the murtherous Earle.

  Bal. I have prepar’d

  Meanes for accesse to him, through all his guard.

  Gui. About it then, my worthy Baligny,

  And bring us the successe.

  Bal. I will, my lord. Exeunt.

  SCÆNA SECUNDA.

  A Room in Montsurry’s house.]

  Tamyra sola.

  Tamyra. Revenge, that ever red sitt’st in the eyes

  Of injur’d ladies, till we crowne thy browes

  With bloudy lawrell, and receive from thee

  Justice for all our honours injurie;

  Whose wings none flye that wrath or tyrannie 5

  Have ruthlesse made and bloudy, enter here,

  Enter, O enter! and, though length of time

  Never lets any scape thy constant justice,

  Yet now prevent that length. Flye, flye, and here

  Fixe thy steele foot-steps; here, O here, where still 10

  Earth (mov’d with pittie) yeelded and embrac’d

  My loves faire figure, drawne in his deare bloud,

  And mark’d the place, to show thee where was done

  The cruell’st murther that ere fled the sunne.

  O Earth! why keep’st thou not as well his spirit, 15

  To give his forme life? No, that was not earthly;

  That (rarefying the thinne and yeelding ayre)

  Flew sparkling up into the sphære of fire