ACT IV.
Reading edition
SCENE I.
Sea-shore near Venice.
Enter Antonio, in his sea-gown running.
Ant. Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio! Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio’s lost; He cannot find himself, not seize himself. Alas, this that you see is not Antonio; His spirit hovers in Piero’s court, Hurling about his agile faculties, To apprehend the sight of Mellida: But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit, Roll’d up in gloomy clouds as black as air 10 Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn. ’Tis so; I’ll give you instance that ’tis so. Conceit you me: as having clasp’d a rose[136] Within my palm, the rose being ta’en away, My hand retains a little breath of sweet: So may man’s trunk, his spirit slipp’d away, Hold[137] still a faint perfume of his sweet guest. ’Tis so; for when discursive powers fly out, And roam in progress through the bounds of heaven, The soul itself gallops along with them, 20 As chieftain of this wingèd troop of thought, Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste, Until the soul return from——. What was’t I said? O, this is naught but speckling melancholy. I have been— That Morpheus’ tender skinp[138] —Cousin german Bear with me, good— Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall. Hell is beneath, yet heaven is over all.
[Falls on the ground.
Enter[139] Andrugio, Lucio, and Page.
And. Come, Lucio, let’s go eat: what hast thou got? 30 Roots, roots? alas, they are seeded, new cut up. O, thou hast wrongèd Nature, Lucio: But boots not much; thou but pursu’st the world, That cuts off virtue, ’fore it comes to growth, Lest it should seed, and so o’errun her son, Dull purblind error.—Give me water, boy. There is no poison in’t, I hope; they say That lu[r]ks in massy plate: and yet the earth Is so infected with a general plague, That he’s most wise, that thinks there’s no man fool; 40 Right prudent, that esteems no creature just; Great policy the least things to mistrust. Give me assay[140] ——. How we mock greatness now!
Lu. A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem; If not to be, ’tis comfort yet to seem.
And. Why man, I never was a prince till now. ’Tis not the barèd pate, the bended knees, Gilt tipstaves, Tyrrian purple, chairs of state, Troops of pied butterflies that flutter still In greatness’ summer, that confirm a prince: 50 ’Tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes, Shouting and clapping, with confusèd din, That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he’s a king, A true right king, that dares do aught save wrong; Fears nothing mortal but to be unjust; Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs Of spongy sycophants; who stands unmov’d, Despite the justling of opinion; Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng That strive to press his quiet out of him; 60 Who sits upon Jove’s footstool, as I do, Adoring, not affecting, majesty; Whose brow is wreathèd with the silver crown Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king, And of this empire every man’s possest That’s worth his soul.
Lu. My Lord, the Genoways had wont to say—
And. Name not the Genoways: that very word Unkings me quite, makes me vile passion’s slave. O, you that slide[141] upon the glibbery ice 70 Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio. Was never prince with more applause confirm’d, With louder shouts of triumph launchèd out Into the surgy main of government; Was never prince with more despite cast out, Left shipwrack’d, banish’d, on more guiltless ground. O rotten props of the crazed multitude, How you still double, falter under the lightest chance That strains your veins! Alas, one battle lost, Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your houts[142] and shouts, 80 Your smooth God save’s, and all your devils lost[143] That tempts our quiet to your hell of throngs! Spit on me, Lucio, for I am turnèd slave: Observe how passion domineers o’er me.
Lu. No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son, A country, crown, and——.
And. Ay, Lucio, having lost a son, a son, A country, house, crown, son. O lares, miseri[144] lares! Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son, My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio! 90
Ant. Antonio?
And. Ay, echo, ay; I mean Antonio.
Ant. Antonio, who means Antonio?
And. Where art? what art? know’st thou Antonio?
Ant. Yes.
And. Lives he?
Ant. No.
And. Where lies he dead?
Ant. Here.
And. Where?
Ant. Here.[145]
And. Art thou Antonio?
Ant. I think I am.
And. Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself?
Ant. He is a fool that thinks he knows himself.
And. Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name. 100
Ant. I were not worthy of Andrugio’s blood, If I denied my name’s Antonio.
And. I were not worthy to be call’d thy father, If I denied my name Andrugio. And dost thou live? O, let me kiss thy cheek, And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy. Now heaven’s will be done: for I have lived To see my joy, my son Antonio. Give me thy hand; now fortune do thy worst, His blood, that lapp’d thy spirit in the womb, 110 Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb.
Ant. Bless not the body with your twining arms, Which is accurs’d of heaven. O, what black sin Hath been committed by our ancient house, Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads, That thus the world and fortune casts us out, As loathèd objects, ruin’s branded slaves!
And. Do not expostulate the heavens’ will, But, O, remember to forget thyself; Forget remembrance what thou once hast been. 120 Come, creep with me from out this open air: Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life. I am a-raising of our house, my boy, Which fortune will not envy, ’tis so mean, And like the world (all dirt): there shalt thou rip The inwards of thy fortunes in mine ears, While I sit weeping, blind with passion’s tears. Then I’ll begin, and we’ll such order keep, That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.
[Exeunt Andrugio and Lucio, leaving Antonio and the Page.
Ant. I’ll follow you. Boy, prithee stay a little. 130 Thou hast had a good voice, if this cold marsh Wherein we lurk have not corrupted it.
Enter Mellida, standing out of sight, in her Page’s suit.
I prithee sing, but, sirra, (mark you me) Let each note breathe the heart of passion, The sad extracture of extremest grief. Make me a strain speak groaning like a bell That tolls departing souls; Breathe me a point that may enforce me weep, To wring my hands, to break my cursèd breast, Rave, and exclaim, lie grovelling on the earth, 140 Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida! Sing but, Antonio hath lost Mellida, And thou shalt see me (like a man possess’d) Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh Will squeeze out tears from out his spongy cheeks: The rocks even groan, and——prithee, prithee sing, Or I shall ne’er ha’ done when I am in; ’Tis harder for me end, than to begin.
[The Boy runs a note, Antonio breaks it.
For look thee, boy, my grief that hath no end, 149 I may begin to plain, but——prithee, sing.
[A song.
Mel. Heaven keep you, sir!
Ant. Heaven keep you from me, sir!
Mel. I must be acquainted with you, sir.
Ant. Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery, Sear’d with the anguish of calamity? Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief? canst weep? I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,
[Antonio falls on the ground.
Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven: O trifling nature, why inspired’st thou breath?
Mel. Stay, sir, I think you namèd Mellida.
Ant. Know’st thou Mellida? 160
Mel. Yes.
Ant. Hast thou seen Mellida?
Mel. Yes.
Ant. Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex, The music of Nature, the unequall’d lustre Of unmatch’d excellence, the united sweet Of heaven’s graces, the most adorèd beauty, That ever strook amazement in the world!
Mel. You seem to love her.
Ant. With my very soul.
Mel. She’ll not requite it: all her love is fix’d 170 Upon a gallant, one[146] Antonio, The Duke of Genoa’s son. I was her page, And often as I waited, she would sigh, O, dear Antonio! and to strengthen thought, Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus. Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks Her beauty is not half so ravishing As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face, A low forehead, and a lumpish eye. 179
Ant. O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy! Boy, rogue, thou liest! and Spavento del mio cor dolce Mellida, Di grave morte ristoro vero, dolce Mellida, Celeste salvatrice, sovrana Mellida Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida.
Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio, Godevole bellezza cortese Antonio. Signior mio e virginal amore bell’Antonio, Gusto delli miei sensi, car’Antonio.
Ant. O svanisce[147] il cor in un soave bacio. 190
Mel. Muoiono[148] i sensi nel desiato desio:
Ant. Nel cielo può esser beltà più chiara?
Mel. Nel mondo può[149] esser beltà più chiara?
Ant. Dammi un bacio da quella bocca beata, Lasciami[150] coglier l’aura odorata Che ha[151] sua seggia in quelle dolci labbra.
Mel. Dammi per impero del tuo gradit’amore Che bea me con sempiterno honore, Così, così mi converrà morir. Good sweet, scout o’er the marsh, for my heart trembles 200 At every little breath that strikes my ear. When thou returnest, then I will discourse How I deceiv’d the court; then thou shalt tell How thou escaped’st the watch: we’ll point our speech With amorous kissing[152] commas, and even suck The liquid breath from out each other’s lips.
Ant. Dull clod, no man but such sweet favour clips. I go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay. Turn coward in her sight? away, away! 209
[Exit.
[Page.] I think confusion of Babel is fall’n upon those lovers, that they change their language; but I fear me, my master having but feigned the person of a woman, hath got their unfeigned imperfection, and is grown double tongued: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if she could not yield strange language. But howsoever, if I should sit in judgment, ’tis an error easier to be pardoned by the auditors, than excused by the authors; and yet some private respect may rebate the edge of the keener censure.
Enter Piero, Castilio, Matzagente, Forobosco, Feliche, Galeatzo, at one door; Balurdo, and his Page, at another door.
Pier. This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen. How now, Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody? 221
Bal. As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat, that he hath ne’er a dry thread on him: and I can meet with no living creature, but men and beasts. In good sadness,[153] I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even now; for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep’d, and I spied a thing, and I peer’d, and I tweer’d[154] underneath:
Pier. What, in the name of heaven? 230
Bal. A dun cow.
Feli. Sh’ad ne’er a kettle[155] on her head?
Pier. Boy, did’st thou see a young lady pass this way?
Gal. Why speak you not?
Bal. God’s neaks, proud elf, give the Duke reverence! Stand bare with a——. Whogh! heavens bless me! Mellida, Mellida!
Pier. Where man, where?
Bal. Turned man, turned man; women wear the breeches. Lo, here! 240
Pier. Light and unduteous! kneel not, peevish elf; Speak not, entreat not, shame unto my house, Curse to my honour. Where’s Antonio? Thou traitress to my hate, what, is he shipp’d For England now? well, whimpering harlot, hence!
Mel. Good father!
Pier. Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth? Ere thou canst term to-morrow morning old, Thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love.
Mel. Ay me! 250
Pier. Blirt on your “ay me’s!” guard her safely hence. Drag her away, I’ll be your guard to-night. Young prince, mount up your spirits and prepare To solemnise your nuptial’s eve with pomp.
Gal. The time is scant: now nimble wits appear: Phœbus begins to[156] gleam, the welkin’s clear.
[Exeunt all but Balurdo and his Page.
Bal. Now nimble wits appear! I’ll myself appear, Balurdo’s self, that in quick wit doth surpass, Will show the substance of a complete——.
Dil. Ass, ass.
Bal. I’ll mount my courser, and most gallantly prick——. 260
Dil. Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in the verse, sir.
Bal. I’ll speak pure rhyme, and will so bravely prank it, that I’ll toss love like a—prank, prank it!—a rhyme for prank it?
Dil. Blanket.
Bal. That I’ll toss love, like a dog in a blanket. Hah hah, indeed, law. I think, hah hah; I think, hah hah, I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not dead, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot. 270
Dil. Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
Enter Andrugio and Antonio wreathed together, Lucio.
And. Now, come, united force of chap-fall’n death; Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress. O, thus enfolded, we have breasts of proof ’Gainst all the venom’d stings of misery.
Ant. Father, now I have an antidote ’Gainst all the poison that the world can breathe: My Mellida, my Mellida doth bless This bleak waste with her presence.—How now, boy, Why dost thou weep? alas! where’s Mellida? 280
Page.[157] Ay me, my Lord.
Ant.[158] A sudden horror doth invade my blood; My sinews tremble, and my panting heart Scuds round about my bosom, to go out, Dreading the assailant, horrid passion. O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow; Speak quickly, briefly, boy.
Page. Her father found, and seized her; she is gone.
And. Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up with grief Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight 290 Of crushing mischief. O where’s thy dauntless heart, Thy father’s spirit! I renounce thy blood, If thou forsake thy valour.
Lu. See how his grief speaks in his slow-paced steps. Alas! ’Tis more than he can utter, let him go: Dumb solitary path best suiteth woe.
[Exit Antonio.
And. Give me my arms, my armour, Lucio.
Lu. Dear lord, what means this rage? when lacking use[159] Scarce safe’s your life, will you in armour rise? 300
And. Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice.
Lu. Then valour gets applause, when it hath place, And means to blaze it.
And. Nunquam potest non esse.
Lu. Patience, my lord, may bring your ills some end.
And. What patience, friend, can ruin’d hopes attend? Come, let me die like old Andrugio, Worthy my birth. O, blood-true-honour’d graves Are far more blessèd than base life of slaves.
[Exeunt.