Act 1 — Scene I.[899]

Bu. Fortune, not Reason, rules the state of things, Reward goes backwards, Honour on his head; Who is not poor, is monstrous; only need Gives form and worth to every human seed. As cedars beaten with continual storms,5 So great men flourish; and do imitate Unskilful statuaries, who suppose, In forming a Colossus, if they make him Straddle enough, strut, and look big, and gape, Their work is goodly: so men merely great10 In their affected gravity of voice, Sourness of countenance, manners’ cruelty, Authority, wealth, and all the spawn of fortune, Think they bear all the kingdom’s worth before them; Yet differ not from those colossic statues,15 Which, with heroic forms without o’erspread, Within are nought but mortar, flint, and lead. Man is a torch borne in the wind; a dream But of a shadow, summ’d with all his substance; And as great seamen, using all their wealth20 And skills in Neptune’s deep invisible paths, In tall ships richly built and ribb’d with brass, To put a girdle round about the world, When they have done it (coming near their haven) Are glad to give a warning-piece,[900] and call25 A poor, staid fisherman, that never past His country’s sight, to waft and guide them in: So when we wander furthest through the waves Of glassy Glory, and the gulfs of State,29 Topt with all titles, spreading all our reaches, As if each private arm would sphere the earth, We must to Virtue for her guide resort, Or we shall shipwrack in our safest port. Procumbit.

[Mo.] There is no second place in numerous state[901] That holds more than a cipher; in a king35 All places are contain’d. His word and looks Are like the flashes and the bolts of Jove; His deeds inimitable, like the sea38 That shuts still as it opes, and leaves no tracts Nor prints of precedent for mean men’s facts:[902] There’s but a thread betwixt me and a crown: I would not wish it cut, unless by nature; Yet to prepare me for that possible fortune, ’Tis good to get resolved spirits about me. I follow’d D’Ambois to this green retreat;45 A man of spirit beyond the reach of fear, Who (discontent with his neglected worth) Neglects the light, and loves obscure abodes; But he is young and haughty, apt to take Fire at advancement, to bear state and flourish;50 In his rise therefore shall my bounties shine. None loathes the world so much, nor loves to scoff it, But gold and grace will make him surfeit of it. What, D’Ambois? Bu. He, sir. Mo. Turn’d to earth, alive? Up, man; the sun shines on thee. Bu. Let it shine: I am no mote to play in ’t, as great men are.56 Mo. Call’st thou men great in state, motes in the sun? They say so that would have thee freeze in shades, They (like the gross Sicilian gourmandist) Empty their noses in the cates[903] they love,60 That none may eat but they. Do thou but bring Light to the banquet Fortune sets before thee, And thou wilt loathe lean darkness like thy death. Who would believe thy mettle could let sloth Rust and consume it? If Themistocles65 Had liv’d obscur’d thus in th’ Athenian State, Xerxes had made both him and it his slaves. If brave Camillus had lurkt so in Rome, He had not five times been Dictator there, Nor four times triumpht. If Epaminondas70 (Who liv’d twice twenty years obscur’d in Thebes) Had liv’d so still, he had been still unnam’d, And paid his country nor himself their right; But putting forth his strength, he rescu’d both From imminent ruin; and, like burnisht steel,75 After long-use he shin’d; for as the light Not only serves to show, but render us Mutually profitable; so our lives In acts exemplary, not only win Ourselves good names, but do to others give80 Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live. Bu. What would you wish me? Mo. Leave the troubled streams, And live, as thrivers do, at the well-head. Bu. At the well-head? Alas, what should I do With that enchanted glass? See devils there? Or, like a strumpet, learn to set my looks86 In an eternal brake,[904] or practise juggling, To keep my face still fast, my heart still loose; Or bear (like dame’s schoolmistresses their riddles) Two tongues, and be good only for a shift;[905]90 Flatter great lords, to put them still in mind Why they were made lords; or please humorous[906] ladies With a good carriage, tell them idle tales To make their physic work; spend a man’s life In sights and visitations, that will make95 His eyes as hollow as his mistress’ heart: To do none good, but those that have no need; To gain being forward, though you break for haste All the commandments ere you break your fast; But believe backwards, make your period100 And creed’s last article, “I believe in God ”; And (hearing villanies preacht) t’unfold their art, Learn to commit them: ’tis a great man’s part. Shall I learn this there? Mo. No, thou need’st not learn, Thou hast the theory; now go there and practise.105 Bu. Ay, in a threadbare suit; when men come there, They must have high naps,[907] and go from thence bare: A man may drown the parts[908] of ten rich men In one poor suit; brave barks[909] and outward gloss Attract Court loves, be in parts ne’er so gross. Mo. Thou shalt have gloss enough, and all things fit111 T’enchase in all show thy long-smothered spirit: Be rul’d by me then. The old Scythians Painted blind Fortune’s powerful hands with wings, To show her gifts come swift and suddenly,115 Which, if her favourite be not swift to take, He loses them for ever. Then be wise: Stay but awhile here, and I’ll send to thee. Exit Monsieur with Pages. Bu. What will he send? Some crowns? It is to sow them119 Upon my spirit, and make them spring a crown Worth millions of the seed-crowns he will send. Like to disparking[910] noble husbandmen, He’ll put his plow into me, plow me up. But his unsweating thrift is policy, And learning-hating policy is ignorant125 To fit his seed-land soil; a smooth plain ground Will never nourish any politic seed. I am for honest actions, not for great: If I may bring up a new fashion, And rise in Court for virtue, speed his plow!130 The King hath known me long as well as he, Yet could my fortune never fit the length Of both their understandings till this hour. There is a deep nick in Time’s restless wheel For each man’s good, when which nick comes, it strikes;135 As rhetoric yet works not persuasion, But only is a mean to make it work, So no man riseth by his real merit, But when it cries “clink” in his raiser’s spirit, Many will say, that cannot rise at all,140 Man’s first hour’s rise is first step to his fall. I’ll venture that; men that fall low must die, As well as men cast headlong from the sky.

Ma. Humour of princes! Is this wretch endu’d With any merit worth a thousand crowns?145 Will my lord have me be so ill a steward Of his revenue, to dispose a sum So great with so small cause as shows in him? I must examine this. Is your name D’Ambois? Bu. Sir? Ma. Is your name D’Ambois? Bu. Who have we here?150 Serve you the Monsieur? Ma. How? Bu. Serve you the Monsieur? Ma. Sir, y’are very hot. I do serve the Monsieur; But in such place as gives me the command Of all his other servants. And because His grace’s pleasure is to give your good155 His pass[911] through my command, methinks you might Use me with more respect. Bu. Cry you mercy![912] Now you have opened my dull eyes, I see you, And would be glad to see the good you speak of. What might I call your name? Ma. Monsieur Maffe. Bu. Monsieur Maffe? Then, good Monsieur Maffe,161 Pray let me know you better. Ma. Pray do so, That you may use me better. For yourself, By your no better outside, I would judge you To be some poet; have you given my lord165 Some pamphlet? Bu. Pamphlet? Ma. Pamphlet, sir, I say. Bu. Did your great master’s goodness leave the good That is to pass your charge to my poor use, To your discretion? Ma. Though he did not, sir, I hope ’tis no rude office to ask reason170 How that his grace gives me in charge, goes from me? Bu. That’s very perfect, sir. Ma. Why, very good, sir; I pray then give me leave; if for no pamphlet, May I not know what other merit in you,174 Makes his compunction willing to relieve you? Bu. No merit in the world, sir. Ma. That is strange. Y’are a poor soldier, are you? Bu. That I am, sir. Ma. And have commanded? Bu. Ay, and gone without, sir. Ma. [Aside.] I see the man; a hundred crowns will make him179 Swagger and drink healths to his grace’s bounty, And swear he could not be more bountiful; So there’s nine hundred crowns sav’d.—Here, tall soldier, His grace hath sent you a whole hundred crowns. Bu. A hundred, sir? Nay, do his highness right; I know his hand is larger, and perhaps185 I may deserve more than my outside shows. I am a scholar, as I am a soldier, And I can poetise; and (being well encourag’d) May sing his fame for giving; yours for delivering189 (Like a most faithful steward) what he gives. Ma. What shall your subject be? Bu. I care not much If to his bounteous grace I sing the praise Of fair great noses, and to you of long ones. What qualities have you, sir, beside your chain[913] And velvet jacket?[913] Can your worship dance? Ma. A pleasant fellow, faith; it seems my lord196 Will have him for his jester; and by ’r lady, Such men are now no fools; ’tis a knight’s place. If I (to save his grace some crowns) should urge him T’ abate his bounty, I should not be heard;200 I would to heaven I were an errant ass, For then I should be sure to have the ears Of these great men, where now their jesters have them. ’Tis good to please him, yet I’ll take no notice Of his preferment, but in policy205 Will still be grave and serious, lest he think I fear his wooden dagger.[914] Here, sir Ambo! Bu. How, Ambo, sir? Ma. Ay, is not your name Ambo? Bu. You call’d me lately D’Ambois; has your worship So short a head? Ma. I cry thee mercy, D’Ambois. A thousand crowns I bring you from my lord. If you be thrifty, and play the good husband, you may make212 This a good standing living: ’tis a bounty His highness might perhaps have bestow’d better. Bu. Go, y’are a rascal; hence, away, you rogue!215 Ma. What mean you, sir? Bu. Hence! prate no more! Or, by thy villain’s blood, thou prat’st thy last! A barbarous groom grudge at his master’s bounty! But since I know he would as much abhor210 His hind should argue what he gives his friend, Take that, sir, for your aptness to dispute. [Strikes him.] Exit. Ma. These crowns are set in blood; blood be their fruit. Exit.