Act 1 — [Scene II.][915]
Reading edition
[Scene II.][915]
[Enter] Henry, Guise, Montsurry, Elenor, Tamyra, Beaupre, Pero, Charlotte, Pyra, Annabelle.
He. Duchess of Guise, your grace is much enricht In the attendance of that English virgin, That will initiate her prime of youth (Dispos’d to Court conditions) under the hand Of your preferr’d instructions and command,5 Rather than any in the English Court, Whose ladies are not matcht in Christendom For graceful and confirm’d behaviours; More than the Court, where they are bred, is equall’d. Gu. I like not their Court fashion; it is too crestfall’n10 In all observance, making demigods Of their great nobles; and of their old queen, An ever-young and most immortal goddess. Mo. No question she’s the rarest queen in Europe. Gu. But what’s that to her immortality?15 He. Assure you, cousin Guise, so great a courtier, So full of majesty and royal parts, No queen in Christendom may vaunt herself. Her Court approves it, that’s a Court indeed, Not mixt with clowneries us’d in common houses,20 But, as Courts should be, th’ abstracts of their kingdoms, In all the beauty, state, and worth they hold; So is hers, amply, and by her inform’d. The world is not contracted in a man With more proportion and expression,25 Than in her Court, her kingdom. Our French Court Is a mere mirror of confusion to it: The king and subject, lord and every slave, Dance a continual hay;[916] our rooms of state Kept like our stables; no place more observ’d Than a rude market-place: and though our custom31 Keep this assur’d confusion from our eyes, ’Tis ne’er the less essentially unsightly, Which they would soon see, would they change their form34 To this of ours, and then compare them both; Which we must not affect,[917] because in kingdoms Where the king’s change doth breed the subject’s terror, Pure innovation is more gross than error. Mo. No question we shall see them imitate (Though afar off) the fashions of our Courts,40 As they have ever ap’d us in attire. Never were men so weary of their skins, And apt to leap out of themselves as they; Who, when they travel[918] to bring forth rare men, Come home, delivered of a fine French suit.45 Their brains lie with their tailors, and get babies For their most complete issue; he’s sole heir To all the moral virtues that first greets The light with a new fashion, which becomes them Like apes, disfigur’d with the attires of men.50 He. No question they much wrong their real worth In affectation of outlandish scum; But they have faults, and we more; they foolish-proud To jet[919] in others’ plumes so haughtily; We proud, that they are proud of foolery,55 Holding our worths more complete for their vaunts.
Enter Monsieur, D’Ambois.
Mo. Come, mine own sweetheart, I will enter thee.— Sir, I have brought a gentleman to Court, And pray you would vouchsafe to do him grace. He. D’Ambois, I think? Bu. That’s still my name, my lord,60 Though I be something altered in attire. He. We like your alteration, and must tell you We have expected th’ offer of your service; For we (in fear to make mild virtue proud) Use not to seek her out in any man.65 Bu. Nor doth she use to seek out any man: He that will win must woo her; [she’s not shameless.][920] Mo. I urg’d her modesty in him, my lord, And gave her those rites that he says she merits. He. If you have woo’d and won, then, brother, wear him.70 Mo. Th’ art mine, sweetheart. See, here’s the Guise’s Duchess, The Countess of Montsurreau, Beaupre. Come, I’ll enseam[921] thee. Ladies, y’are too many To be in council; I have here a friend That I would gladly enter in your graces.75 Bu. Save you, ladies.
Du. If you enter him in our graces, my lord, methinks by his blunt behaviour he should come out of himself.
Ta. Has he never been courtier, my lord? 80
Mo. Never, my lady.
Be. And why did the toy take him in th’ head now?
Bu. ’Tis leap-year, lady, and therefore very good to enter a courtier. 85
He. Mark, Duchess of Guise, there is one is not bashful.
Du. No, my lord, he is much guilty of the bold extremity.
Ta. The man’s a courtier at first sight.
Bu. I can sing pricksong,[922] lady, at first sight; and why not be a courtier as suddenly? 90
Be. Here’s a courtier rotten before he be ripe.
Bu. Think me not impudent, lady; I am yet no courtier; I desire to be one, and would gladly take entrance, madam, under your princely colours. 95
Enter Barrisor, L’Anou, Pyrrhot.
Du. Soft, sir, you must rise by degrees, first being the servant[923] of some common lady, or knight’s wife; then a little higher to a lord’s wife; next a little higher to a countess; yet a little higher to a duchess, and then turn the ladder. 101
Bu. Do you allow a man, then, four mistresses when the greatest mistress is allowed but three servants?
Du. Where find you that statute, sir? 105
Bu. Why, be judged by the groom-porters.[924]
Du. The groom-porters?
Bu. Ay, madam; must not they judge of all gamings i’ th’ Court?
Du. You talk like a gamester. 110
Gu. Sir, know you me?
Bu. My lord?
Gu. I know not you. Whom do you serve?
Bu. Serve, my lord?
Gu. Go to, companion,[925] your courtship’s too saucy. 116
Bu. [Aside.] Saucy! Companion! ’Tis the Guise, but yet those terms might have been spared of the guiserd.[926] Companion! He’s jealous, by this light. Are you blind of that side, duke? I’ll to her again for that.—Forth, 121 princely mistress, for the honour of courtship. Another riddle!
Gu. Cease your courtship, or by heaven I’ll cut your throat. 125
Bu. Cut my throat? Cut a whetstone, young Accius Naevius.[927] Do as much with your tongue, as he did with a razor. Cut my throat!
Ba. What new-come gallant have we here, that dares mate[928] the Guise thus? 130
L’A. ’Sfoot, ’tis D’Ambois. The duke mistakes him, on my life, for some knight of the new edition.[929]
Bu. Cut my throat! I would the king fear’d thy cutting of his throat no more than I fear thy cutting of mine. 136
Gu. I’ll do’t, by this hand.
Bu. That hand dares not do’t. Y’ave cut too many throats already, Guise; and robb’d the realm of many thousand souls, more precious than thine own.—Come madam, talk on. 141 ’Sfoot, can you not talk? Talk on, I say; another riddle.
Py. Here’s some strange distemper.
Ba. Here’s a sudden transmigration with D’Ambois,—out of the knight’s ward[930] into the duchess’ bed.
L’A. See what a metamorphosis a brave suit can work. 149
Py. ’Slight, step to the Guise and discover him.
Ba. By no means; let the new suit work, we’ll see the issue.
Gu. Leave your courting. 154
Bu. I will not.—I say, mistress, and I will stand unto it, that if a woman may have three servants, a man may have three-score mistresses.
Gu. Sirrah, I’ll have you whipt out of the Court for this insolence. 160
Bu. Whipt? Such another syllable out a th’ presence, if thou dar’st, for thy dukedom.
Gu. Remember, poltroon.
Mo. Pray thee, forbear. 164
Bu. Passion of death! Were not the king here, he should strow the chamber like a rush.
Mo. But leave courting his wife, then.
Bu. I will not. I’ll court her in despite of him. Not court her! Come, madam, talk on, fear me nothing. [To Guise.] Well may’st thou drive thy master from the Court, but never 171 D’Ambois.
Mo. His great heart will not down; ’tis like the sea, That partly by his own internal heat, Partly the stars’ daily and nightly motion, 175 Their heat and light, and partly of the place, The divers frames, but chiefly by the moon, Bristled with surges, never will be won (No, not when th’ hearts of all those powers are burst) To make retreat into his settled home, 180 Till he be crown’d with his own quiet foam.
He. You have the mate.[931] Another?
Gu. No more.
Flourish short.
Exit Guise, after him the King, Monsieur whispering.
Ba. Why, here’s the lion, scar’d with the throat of a dunghill cock, a fellow that has 185 newly shak’d off his shackles; now does he crow for that victory.
L’A. ’Tis one of the best jigs that ever was acted. 189
Py. Whom does the Guise suppose him to be, trow?
L’A. Out of doubt, some new denizen’d lord, and thinks that suit newly drawn out a’ th’ mercer’s books. 194
Ba. I have heard of a fellow, that by a fixt imagination looking upon a bull-baiting, had a visible pair of horns grew out of his forehead; and I believe this gallant, overjoyed with the conceit of Monsieur’s cast[932] suit, imagines himself to be the Monsieur. 200
L’A. And why not; as well as the ass, stalking in the lion’s case,[933] bare himself like a lion, braying all the huger beasts out of the forest?
Py. Peace, he looks this way. 204
Ba. Marry, let him look, sir. What will you say now if the Guise be gone to fetch a blanket[934] for him?
L’A. Faith, I believe it for his honour sake.
Py. But, if D’Ambois carry it clean?[935]
Exeunt Ladies.
Ba. True, when he curvets in the blanket.
Py. Ay, marry, sir. 211
L’A. ’Sfoot, see how he stares on ’s.
Ba. Lord bless us, let’s away.
Bu. Now, sir, take your full view; how does the object please ye? 215
Ba. If you ask my opinion, sir, I think your suit sits as well as if ’t had been made for you.
Bu. So, sir, and was that the subject of your ridiculous jollity?
L’A. What’s that to you, sir? 220
Bu. Sir, I have observ’d all your fleerings;[936] and resolve yourselves ye shall give a strict account for’t.
Enter Brisac, Melynell.
Ba. Oh, miraculous jealousy![937] Do you think yourself such a singular subject for laughter 225 that none can fall into the matter of our merriment but you?
L’A. This jealousy of yours, sir, confesses some close defect in yourself, that we never dream’d of. 230
Py. We held discourse of a perfum’d ass, that being disguis’d in a lion’s case, imagin’d himself a lion. I hope that toucht not you.
Bu. So, sir; your descants[938] do marvellous well fit this ground. We shall meet where 235 your buffoonly laughters will cost ye the best blood in your bodies.
Ba. For life’s sake let’s be gone; he’ll kill ’s outright else.
Bu. Go, at your pleasures, I’ll be your ghost to haunt you; an ye sleep an ’t, hang me. 241
L’A. Go, go, sir; court your mistress.
Py. And be advis’d; we shall have odds against you.
Bu. Tush! valour stands not in number; I’ll maintain it, that one man may beat three 246 boys.
Br. Nay, you shall have no odds of him in number, sir; he’s a gentleman as good as the proudest of you, and ye shall not wrong him.
Ba. Not, sir? 251
Me. Not, sir: though he be not so rich, he’s a better man than the best of you; and I will not endure it.
L’A. Not you, sir? 255
Br. No, sir, not I.
Bu. I should thank you for this kindness, if I thought these perfum’d musk-cats (being out of this privilege) durst but once mew at us.
Ba. Does your confident spirit doubt that, sir? Follow us and try. 261
L’A. Come, sir, we’ll lead you a dance.
Exeunt.