Act 3 — ACT III., SCENE 1.
Reading edition
Enter Hermione, Irene; Pindarus following.
Pin. Tell my Lord Lysicles I will attend him in the walks. Where's this Ungrateful child whom the just gods have curs'd So much, they will not let her take the blessings they Do offer? Her. Here, sir, on Her knees, begging your pardon or your pity. Pin. Canst thou hope either from my injur'd patience, Vex'd by thy folly into rage and madness? What colour now to cover disobedience? Is Lysicles unworthy? or your knowledge, Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all Into Eugenie's virtues? I tremble, When I think thou may'st have cause To know him to thy shame. Do not confess it! By the just gods, if I do come to know it, I'll sacrifice thee on thy mother's tomb. Her. What secret sin calls down this punishment? That I should be accused of a fault I dare not hear the sound of. Add not, sir, Suspicions of new crimes unto your rage; The faults I have committed are enough to arm Your justice. Bring me to the tomb, And kill me there; my mother's ghost will smile To see my blood shed to preserve my faith. Pin. Your faith! Her. Yes, sir. Nor is my disobedience so swoll'n As you esteem it by your passion: I now obey your general commands, Of doing virtuously in loving him You did applaud whilst my poor brother liv'd. Pin. But you are not the same; 'twas never meant He should enjoy you if your brother died. Her. I was not made acquainted with so much; But, strengthen'd by your approbation, Gave up my will to his, and vows to heaven, To know no other man for husband. Pin. Nor I no child, if you continue thus: Nor will I argue more to make you doubt, I am not resolute in my intents: Alive or dead, I'll give thee to the hands Of Lysicles. [Exit Pindarus. Her. Good gods' if you are mov'd with tears, Grant this a trial only of the weak proportion Of virtue you have lent me, not the overthrow. Ire. How is it, dearest cousin? Her. As with a martyr, almost as much pleased with Knowledge [of] what I dare to suffer for Eugenio, As griev'd with my affliction. Fortune in her Malice has given me yet a field to exercise My faith and love to him I do adore. Ire. Whilst you believe you have such cause to grieve, All comforts seem importunate; but yet Prince Lysicles—— Her. But what! Forbear; I fear thy thoughts Are poison, which thou wouldest fain infuse To wound my constancy. Ire. Sure, there is magic in that mystic name; It could not else divide us from our reason: What law, what faith, can bind us to remove Love of ourselves and reverence to our parents? You must forgive this; your Eugenio, If he were here, must speak as I do now, Granting his love be great as his profession, For that must have reflection on your peace, Not bargaining for his own happiness With the price of the entire destruction Of yours. What is't you fear? Report? It will reproach your being obstinate. Or breach of faith d'you fear? The gods for you have made it not a fault, Proposing such an object as Prince Lysicles. Her. Who ever had a misery like mine? All that are griev'd have yet the liberty And ease of their complaints, or pitying friends; I am excluded both; for my misfortune Is mask'd with happiness, and if I grieve, Such comforts as we give to those complain Of being too rich, have I—smiles of contempt. Ire. If it be thus, retire into your reason, And for a time forget your passion. D'you think that all the names of virtue shrink Into the sound of constancy? Must this Make you forget the debt that you do owe Unto your father, friends, and to yourself; Their house's honour and your happiness? Is Lysicles less worthy than his rival? Her. No more: their virtues, that exceed all other men's, In them are equal. Ire. But yet their fortune is not? Her. It is confess'd. Nor ever any man Had juster claim than he against her; Rich in all virtues, that make men desir'd, Her narrow hand excludes him, unwonted to bestow Her treasure there, where an excess of merit Would make her gifts but seem the pay of virtue, Not favours of her partial love.
Enter Acanthe the Moor.
O, you are welcome! Here behold a rock, That stands the shake of the impetuous winds And the swoll'n seas. Moor. Have there been any new storms since I went? Her. O yes; and more endangering songs of Sirens! A flourishing land propos'd, on which I might Have shipwreck'd with delight. Moor. I think I understand you. Her. You must needs: It was Prince Lysicles, presented in his lustre, 'Gainst whom I arm'd the virtues of my friend And my own faith, irresolute to whom The victory should yield. At last I left My heart, the prize to both divided. Moor. To both divided! Her. Yes, the prince hath the adoration of my heart, Eugenio the love. Moor. What fires, what seas, must your Eugenio pass, To make him worthy you? Methinks I feel His soul sigh for a trial of his faith. Her. We both have had satiety of that: But can you bring no comfort? Have the gods Shut up their oracles as well as mercy? Though they will give no ease, they might advise, That we may put off misery by death. Moor. They seldom let us know what is to come, That we may still implore their aid to help us: Yet something I can tell; if hope or force Shall make you deviate from your resolve, You are the subject of their hate: or if You measure your or their affection By merit or advantages of fortune, You are the mark of all disasters. Her. I have complained unjustly of the gods: They favour me so much, they do applaud My resolution for Eugenio. Merit in others! I will close my eyes From the bless'd sun, before they shall take in An object that may startle my firm faith. Moor. Be constant, and be happy; when you meet With opposition that may shake your judgment, Remember what affliction 'tis to weep A fault irreparable; and think not Reason can pacify your father's rage; You must oppose your passion unto his, And love will be victorious, being the noblest. To-morrow I will bring more certain counsel. [Exit. Her. Where cannot virtue dwell? What a still shade Hath she found out to live securely in, From the attempts of men? Come, my Irene, Though thou hast spoken treason 'gainst my love, Because[360] thine did produce it, I must thank thee. Let's in, and fortify ourselves with some sad tale Of those whose perjur'd loves have made them live Hated, and die most miserable. [Exit Hermione.
Enter Phillida.
Phil. If I should weep, as my lady does, for all the servants I have lost!
Ire. Thou wouldst weep in thy grave, Phillida; yet the worst is, thou wilt lose more within this seven years than thou hast got in ten; for men are changeable, sweet Phillida.
Phil. And our faces were not, 'twere no matter. They should make haste, or we should overtake them, or prevent them. A commodity of beauty, that would last forty years, would bear a good price, madam.
Ire. By Venus, would it, Phillida! as high as that of honour.
Phil. But is not my lady a strange woman to weep thus for one servant, when she has another in his place? For my part, I could never find such differences in men—to be sad when I had any.
Ire. And thy word may be taken as soon as any wench's in Greece, or there be slanderers in the world. But she affects constancy.
Phil. Some ill-favoured woman, that meant to preserve her last purchase, which her want of beauty forfeited, invented that name.
Ire. Thou'rt in the right, Phillida; this inconstancy is a monster without teeth, for it devours none, makes no son wear happy mourning, nor mother childless: and, for my part, I am of opinion that the gods give a blessing to it; for none live happier than those that have greatest abundance of it.
Phil. What is got by this whining constancy, but the loss of that beauty for one servant, which would procure us the vows, [the] sacrifice, and service of a thousand?
Ire. Enough of this; wert thou with Ergasto?
Phil. Yes, and told him that my lady sent for him: but to what intent did you make me lie?
Ire. Thou art so good-natured, that thou wilt pardon such a trifle for one reason; but I have two: the first is, I would fain speak with him; the other, knowing my cousin to be in an ill humour, if he press to see her, I hope she will give him such an answer, that he shall never dare to speak to her more.
Phil. These men have less reason than mice: they would know else how to shift places, and shelter themselves from a storm. If I were a man, and lost the happiness of seeing my mistress two days, I should lose the desire the third. [Aside.] Do you sigh, madam? You are in love too.
Ire. As far as goes to sighing, but no dying, for their breeches.
Phil. I'll be your compurgator for the handle of a fan; I know love has brought many into the world, but let out none. Has he pierced you, ha?
Ire. O no, my skin was always proof against his dart; but he once found me laughing, and so thrust it down to my heart.
Phil. Look to it, though 'tis but a little weapon, yet I have known it make greater swellings than the sting of a bee. Do you long for a man?
Ire. Yes, a husbandman, and let the gods after take care for my children.
Phil. You'll find enou' to do it: is the Moor still with my lady?
Ire. I left her with her.
Phil. 'Tis a shame such people should be suffered near the Court.
Ire. Why, prythee?
Phil. As 'tis, there be so many inquisitive rascals, that we have much ado to keep matters secret; but if in despite of our care they be divulged, we shall be defamed on the Exchanges.
Ire. Thou hast reason, but she is secret as the night she resembles.
Phil. Is she? I would fain ask her one question: but 'tis no matter: 'tis but taking physic at the worst.
Ire. If thou talk'st a little longer, I shall guess as much as she knows. But who's here?
[Ergasto, Phormio, Cleon, talking at the door.
Phor. Ne'er fright me with the lightning of her eyes; on me she may open or shut her eyes as she please, but my happiness is not at her disposing.
Cle. If thou provest a lover, my next song is begun.
Phor. I will not deny but I may love her, if she please. But if she be not pleased with my love, if it continue two hours, I'll give her leave to tie me to her monkey.
Cle. Look, Ergasto has found two of the ladies, and has set his face to begin to them.
Phor. In verse or prose?
Cle. We shall hear, if we draw nearer. A good evening, ladies!
Ire. We thank you, my lords; but if we were superstitious, your company were no good omen.
Phor. Why, I beseech you?
Ire. Nay, I am no expositor; you come, my lord, to see my cousin Hermione.
Erg. I do, madam, and should be proud to hear I live in her memory.
Ire. Can you doubt it? I'll assure you you do; she's never troubled with anything, but you presently are called into the comparison with it; her teeth cannot ache, but she swears it is almost as great a vexation as your love: if any die, out of her pity to save the tears of a few mourners, she wishes it were you.
Erg. If I heard her desire it, she should quickly have her wish.
Ire. She would be glad on't, o' my conscience, though the scruple, of having you do anything for her sake would trouble her a little; yet I can teach you to make advantage of all this.
Phor. What advantage, my delicate sweet lady?
Ire. A very great one; for, first, I believe he desires nothing more than to be assured she esteems him for her servant.
Phor. Right; but does this usage show it?
Ire. Most evidently; for, being thus severe to none else, 'tis manifest she confesseth a power over him, and pays his services with this coin of scorn and contempt, and having her stamp upon't, he is bound to accept it.
Cle. What think you of this, Phormio?
Phor. A most excellent girl! would she were poor.
Cle. Why poor?
Phor. She would live rarely by her——
Cle. What?
Phor. Wit! I would be a good customer.
Ire. 'Twould please you to hear with what arguments she justifies this cruelty, and swears it is not revenge enough for spoiling her good nature.
Erg. I spoil her good nature?
Phor. Nay, let her go on; I'll hearken an age.
Ire. Yes, you, by suff'ring her undeserved scorn, have bred such a delight and habit of it in her, that she can hardly forbear it when she strives to be complaisant to her best friends; and, to say truth, we are all endangered by such as you, when we see that frowns procure us knees, and kind usage scarce gets us two good-morrows.
Phor. If ever there were a Sybil at sixteen, this lady is one. By this day, you have a high place in my heart.
Ire. In your heart!
Phor. Nay, despise it not, you'll find good company there.
Ire. But I love to be alone.
Phor. And I would fain meet you when you are so. Will you give me leave to speak with your scholar? [Hermione and Acanthe above.
Ire. If you be his friend, teach him to be wise.
Phor. For your sake, I will do all I can. Ergasto, wilt thou be happy? Marry this lady! Wilt thou be revenged on thy proud mistress? Marry her! Wilt thou be sure to father wise children? Do as I bid thee.
Erg. I will deal truly with thee: she has taken my heart out of Hermione's keeping.
Phor. Be thankful, and bestow it upon her in recompense; she will accept it, doubt not; she has taken such pains to redeem it. Look how she casts her eyes upon thee! She's thine own for ever, and has been long.
Erg. I am desperately in love.
Phor. Marry, and get out of it; there may be some little straining at the first offer of the present; but if she send not for it before you get home, I'll ne'er trust my eyes more.
[Phillida steals away, Cleon follows.
Erg. I'll attempt it, let what will follow.
Phor. Be confident, and prosper.
Erg. Madam, what would you expect from him you had redeemed from captivity?
Ire. The disposing of his liberty.
Erg. 'Tis just; but this may be no great favour to the slave, if his misery be only altered, not lessened.
Phor. You are little curious! Why do you not ask who this concerns? Well, I'll tell you; you have redeemed Ergasto, and he kneels to know your commands.
[Whilst he kneels, Hermione and the Moor look down from the window.
Moor. You may believe her, madam, she loves him; now you may revenge her, persuading you to leave Eugenio, by smiling on Ergasto; 'twill advance your cousin's ends too, if you do as I'll advise you, whilst we descend.
Ire. 'Tis festival to-day, my lords, and so I admit this mirth. But to-morrow, I will tell you, I am no more inclined to love than my cousin Hermione.
Erg. But you can suffer yourself to be beloved?
Ire. I think I can.
Phor. He'll ask no more, but leave the rest to his respects and services.
Ire. But you consider not whom you may offend in this mirth.
Erg. I'll ne'er consider whom I offend in loving you: I wish her beauty centupled, that my first obligation to you might be leaving her. By this fair hand, I'll never name any but you for mistress.
Ire. I may believe you when time and your actions shall tell it me as well as your words.
Phor. You wrong your beauty to expect an assurance from time. Ordinary faces require it to perfect the impressions they make; yours strikes like lightning in an instant. If he did not adore you till now, you must attribute it to some fascination; but, his judgment cleared, he will be forced to continue the adoration he has begun.
Enter Hermione, Moor, Phillida, Cleon: they find Ergasto kneeling.
Phor. Who's that?
Erg. The Moor you heard of.
Phor. I have a strange capricio of love entered me: I must court that shade.
Her. How now, my lord! Courting another mistress! I see I must lock up my winds, or you will seek the nearest harbour.
Erg. Excluded by your rigour, madam, I was entreating your fair cousin to present my vows.
Her. Was it no more?
Erg. No more! you cannot doubt it, madam. Turn in your eyes upon your beauties and perfections, and they will tell you how impossible it is to lose the empire they have gained upon our hearts and wills. Fortune and want of merit may make me lose the hope of your fair graces, but never so much traitor as to pay homage to any other beauty, or change the resolution I have fixed to be your servant only.
Her. I thank you, sir; my sex will be my pardon if I return not equal thanks. We think, if any manumit, before we license them to part, they do usurp a power is ours by nature. The posture I found you in was more than ordinary courtship gives.
Erg. You might condemn it, had not you been the cause on't. I ne'er think of your name but with a reverence great as I pay the gods; and they allow us bending to their images when we transfer our vows. The fair Irene is worthy all have not the hope of you; but whilst you give me leave to cherish that ambition, I must not own so great an injury as to admit the proffered love of those who are so distant from your merit.
Her. 'Twas unkindly done to undermine me.
Erg. In her presence I will confirm this to you.
Her. You shall oblige me, since she has wronged me; Irene, hark you.
[They talk in private. After a long whisper, the Moor strives to go from Phormio; he holds her.
Phor. In the name of darkness, d'ye think I am not in earnest, that you coy it thus?
Moor. Forbear; uncivil lord. [She goes from him.
Cle. Dost thou not see that all the fire is out of the coal? If thou wouldst have it burn, lay thy lips to the spark that's left, and blow it into flame.
Phor. What wouldst thou have me do?
Cle. Kiss her.
Phor. Not for five hundred crowns.
Cle. Wouldst lie with her, and not kiss her?
Phor. Yes, and can give reasons for't, besides experience; and when this act is known—this resolute encounter, rich widows of threescore will not doubt my prowess.
[Hermione, Irene, Ergasto, break off their private talk.
Ire. As I live, he swore all this to me. Her. Hide thee, inconstant man, thou art so false Thy oaths do serve thee for no other use But to condemn thee, not to get belief: Be gone, and leave to love till thou hast found The way to truth, and let not vanity cozen you To believe that I am mov'd, because you change: A thousand other imperfections Have made me hate thee; yet I chose this way To let thee know't that, deprehended with the Black mark upon thee, thou may'st not dare To trouble me again. Erg. Madam! Her. There may be some that for their secret sins The gods will punish, making them love you: Choose amongst them. Irene, I will hope, though she Be credulous, will learn by this how far 'tis safe to trust you. Moor. This was well manag'd. Phor. What mountain have you pierc'd, That hath sent forth this wind, since I left you? Erg. I have undone myself for ever. Phor. As how? Erg. I told Hermione I never lov'd Irene. Cle. Did she hear it? Erg. O yes! it might have been forsworn else. Cle. The devil thou hast! Erg. Ask him; he made me do't. Cle. What course will you take to redeem your fault?
Erg. A precipice, as being ashamed to live any longer.
Phor. A halter you shall as soon! Come, come, I'll intercede, and be your surety. Look, she stays to pardon you; down on your knees.
[She goes away; Phormio pulls her back; Ergasto kneels, holds up his hands, his cloak over his face.
Phor. O my sweet lady! be merciful, like the gods you resemble. They have as often pardon in their hands as thunder; and the truth is, if they will not forgive this fault of inconstancy, they must live alone, or at least without men. This was the last gasp of his dying friendship to her; and now he is entirely yours.
Ire. He has not wronged me.
Phor. Fie! say not so; that's as great an injury as not pardoning him: he has, and shall come naked to receive his punishment. See, he dares not look for comfort; let him take it in at his ears.
Ire. Pray content yourself with the time you have made me lose, and let me go.
Phor. Never, till you pardon him.
Ire. I will do anything for my release; if he has offended me, let him learn hereafter to speak truer than he swears; and in time he may get credit.
Phor. 'Tis enough.
Erg. Is she gone?
Phor. Yes.
Erg. How did she look?
Phor. Faith, ashamed; she loved you so well, and sorry she had no reason to love you better.
Erg. 'Tis an excellent lady.
Phor. If I could make jointures, I would not take this pains for your honour. Cleon, whither slip you?
Cle. After Phillida.
Phor. And what success?
Cle. Pox on't! these waiting-women will not deal, unless they have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided.
Phor. Away, unthrift![361] [Exeunt.