Act 1 — Scene I.[2260]
Reading edition
Scene I.[2260]
Enter at one door a Funeral (a coronet lying on the hearse, scutcheons and garlands hanging on the sides), attended by Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan, Castruchio, Sinezi, Pioratto, Fluello, and others. At another door enter Hippolito, in discontented appearance; and Matheo, a Gentleman, his friend, labouring to hold him back.
Duke. Behold, yon comet shows his head again! Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us Prodigious[2261] looks; twice hath he troubled The waters of our eyes. See, he ’s turn’d wild:— Go on, in God’s name. Cas., Sin. On afore there, ho!5 Duke. Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides Your weapons to keep back the desperate boy From doing violence to the innocent dead. Hip. I prithee, dear Matheo—— Mat. Come, you ’re mad! Hip. I do arrest thee, murderer! Set down, Villians, set down that sorrow, ’t is all mine.11 Duke. I do beseech you all, for my blood’s sake Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath Join in confederacy with your weapons’ points; If he proceed to vex us, let your swords15 Seek out his bowels: funeral grief loathes words. All. Set on. Hip. Set down the body! Mat. O my lord! You ’re wrong! I’th’ open street? You see she ’s dead. Hip. I know she is not dead. Duke. Frantic young man, Wilt thou believe these gentlemen?—Pray speak.—20 Thou dost abuse my child, and mock’st the tears That here are shed for her. If to behold Those roses withered, that set out her cheeks; That pair of stars that gave her body light, Dark’ned and dim for ever; all those rivers25 That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams Frozen and dried up: if these be signs of death, Then is she dead. Thou unreligious youth, Art not asham’d to empty all these eyes Of funeral tears, a debt due to the dead,30 As mirth is to the living? Sham’st thou not To have them stare on thee? Hark, thou art curst Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speak. Hip. My lord—— Duke. What would’st thou have? Is she not dead? Hip. Oh, you ha’ kill’d her by your cruelty! Duke. Admit I had, thou kill’st her now again; And art more savage than a barbarous Moor.37 Hip. Let me but kiss her pale and bloodless lip. Duke. O fie, fie, fie. Hip. Or if not touch her, let me look on her. Mat. As you regard your honour—— Hip. Honour? Smoke!41 Mat. Or if you lov’d her living, spare her now. Duke. Ay, well done, sir, you play the gentleman.— Steal hence;—’t is nobly done;—away;—I’ll join My force to yours, to stop this violent torment[2262]—45 Pass on. Exeunt with funeral, [all except the Duke, Hippolito and Matheo]. Hip. Matheo, thou dost wound me more. Mat. I give you physic, noble friend, not wounds. Duke. O, well said, well done, a true gentleman! Alack, I know the sea of lovers’ rage Comes rushing with so strong a tide, it beats50 And bears down all respects of life, of honour, Of friends, of foes! Forget her, gallant youth. Hip. Forget her? Duke. Nay, nay, be but patient; For-why[2263] death’s hand hath su’d a strict divorce ’Twixt her and thee. What’s beauty but a corse?55 What but fair sand-dust are earth’s purest forms? Queen’s bodies are but trunks to put in worms.
Mat. Speak no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you see they are but fits; I’ll rule him, I warrant ye. Ay, so, tread gingerly; your grace is here somewhat too long already. [Exit Duke.] ’Sblood, the jest were now, if, 62 having ta’en some knocks o’ th’ pate already, he should get loose again, and like a mad ox, toss my new black cloaks into the kennel.[2264] I must humour his lordship.—My Lord Hippolito, 66 is it in your stomach to go to dinner?
Hip. Where is the body?
Mat. The body, as the duke spake very wisely, is gone to be worm’d. 70
Hip. I cannot rest; I’ll meet it at next turn: I’ll see how my love looks.
Matheo holds him in ’s arms.
Mat. How your love looks? Worse than a scare-crow. Wrestle not with me: the great fellow gives the fall for a ducat. 75
Hip. I shall forget myself.
Mat. Pray, do so, leave yourself behind yourself, and go whither you will. ’Sfoot, do you long to have base rogues that maintain a Saint Anthony’s fire in their noses by nothing but 80 twopenny ale, make ballads of you? If the duke had but so much mettle in him, as is in a cobbler’s awl, he would ha’ been a vext thing: he and his train had blown you up, but that their powder has taken the wet of cowards. You’ll bleed three pottles of Alicant,[2265] by 86 this light, if you follow ’em, and then we shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have surgeons roll thee up like a baby in swaddling clouts. 90
Hip. What day is to-day, Matheo?
Mat. Yea marry, this is an easy question: why to-day is—let me see—Thursday.
Hip. Oh! Thursday. 94
Mat. Here’s a coil[2266] for a dead commodity. ’Sfoot, women when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman lie upon many men’s hands.
Hip. She died on Monday then. 99
Mat. And that’s the most villanous day of all the week to die in: and she was well, and eat a mess of water-gruel on Monday morning.
Hip. Ay? It cannot be Such a bright taper should burn out so soon.
Mat. O yes, my lord. So soon? Why, I ha’ known them that at dinner have been as 106 well, and had so much health, that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three a’clock have been found dead—drunk.
Hip. On Thursday buried! and on Monday died!110 Quick haste, by’rlady.[2267] Sure her winding sheet Was laid out ’fore[2268] her body; and the worms That now must feast with her, were even bespoke, And solemnly invited like strange guests.114
Mat. Strange feeders they are indeed, my lord, and, like your jester, or young courtier, will enter upon any man’s trencher without bidding.
Hip. Curst be that day for ever that robb’d her Of breath, and me of bliss! Henceforth let it stand Within the wizard’s hook (the calendar)120 Markt with a marginal finger, to be chosen By thieves, by villains, and black murderers, As the best day for them to labour in. If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world Be got with child with treason, sacrilege,125 Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury, Slander (the beggar’s sin), lies (sin of fools), Or any other damn’d impieties, On Monday let ’em be delivered. I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul,130 Hereafter weekly on that day I ’ll glue Mine eye-lids down, because they shall not gaze On any female cheek. And being lockt up In my close[2269] chamber, there I ’ll meditate On nothing but my Infelice’s end,135 Or on a dead man’s skull draw out mine own.
Mat. You’ll do all these good works now every Monday, because it is so bad; but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench. 140
Hip. If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run, On woman’s beams I throw affection, Save her that ’s dead; or that I loosely fly To th’ shore of any other wafting eye, Let me not prosper, Heaven! I will be true, Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb146 Stand whilst I liv’d, so long that it might rot, That should fall down, but she be ne’er forgot.
Mat. If you have this strange monster, honesty,[2270] in your belly, why so jig-makers[2271] and chroniclers shall pick something out of you;151 but an I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag-pudding. I ’ll follow your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed.
Exeunt.