Act 1 — ACT I.[124]

ACT I.[124]

SCENE I.

Neighbourhood of Urbin.

Enter Hercules[125] and Renaldo.

Herc. See, yonder’s Urbin! Those far-appearing spires rise from the city. You shall conduct me no further: return to Ferrara: my dukedom, by your care in my absence, shall rest constantly united, and most religiously loyal.

Ren. My prince and brother, let my blood and love Challenge the freedom of one question.

Herc. You have’t.

Ren. Why, in your steadier age, in strength of life And firmest wit of time, will you break forth 10 Those stricter limits of regardful state (Which with severe distinction you still kept), And now to unknown dangers you’ll give up Yourself, Ferrara’s duke, and in yourself The state and us? O, my loved brother! Honour avoids not only just defame, But flies all means that may ill voice his name. 17

Herc. Busy yourself with no fears, for I shall rest most wary of our safety; only some glimpses I will give you for your satisfaction why I leave Ferrara. I have vowed to visit the court of Urbin in some disguise, as thus: my son, as you can well witness with me, could I never persuade to marriage, although myself was then an ever-resolved widower, and tho’ I proposed to him this very lady, to whom he is gone in my right to negotiate; now, how[126] cooler blood will behave itself in this business, would I have an only testimony; other contents shall I give myself, as not to take love by attorney, or make my election out of tongues; other sufficings there are which my regard would fain make sound to me: something of much you know; that, and what else you must not know, bids you excuse this kind of my departure. 33

Ren. I commend all to your wisdom, and yours to the Wisest.

Herc. Think not but I shall approve that more than folly which even now appears in a most ridiculous expectation: be in this assured,—The bottom of gravity is nothing like the top. Once more, fare you well.

[Exit Renaldo.

And now, thou ceremonious sovereignty— 40 Ye proud, severer, stateful compliments, The secret arts of rule—I put you off; Nor ever shall those manacles of form Once more lock up the appetite of blood. ’Tis now an age of man whilst we, all strict, Have lived in awe of carriage regular, Apted unto my place; nor hath my life Once tasted of exorbitant affects, Wild longings, or the least of disrank’d shapes. But we must once be wild; ’tis ancient truth,— 50 O fortunate, whose madness falls in youth! Well, this is text, who ever keeps his place In servile station, is all low and base. Shall I, because some few may cry, “Light! vain!” Beat down affection from desirèd rule? He that doth strive to please the world’s a fool. To have that fellow cry, “O mark him, grave, See how austerely he doth give example Of repressed heat and steady life!” Whilst my forced life against the stream of blood 60 Is tugg’d[127] along, and all to keep the god Of fools and women, nice Opinion, Whose strict preserving makes oft great men fools, And fools oft[128] great men. No, thou world, know thus, There’s nothing free but it is generous.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Palace of the Duke of Urbin.

Enter Nymphadoro, Herod, and Page.

Herod. How now, my little more than nothing, what news is stirring?

Page. All the city’s a-fire!

Nym. On fire?

Page. With joy of the Princess Dulcimel’s birthday: there’s show upon show; sport upon sport.

Herod. What sport? what sport?

Page. Marry, sir, to solemnise the princess’ birthday. There’s first, crackers, which run into the air, and when they are at the top, like some ambitious strange heretic, keep a cracking and a cracking, and then break, and down they come. 12

Herod. A pretty crab; he would yield tart juice and he were squeez’d.

Nym. What sport else?

Page. Other fireworks.

Herod. Spirit of wine, I cannot tell how these fireworks should be good at the solemnising the birth of men or women. I am sure they are dangerous at their begetting. What, more fireworks, sir? 20

Page. There be squibs, sir; which squibs, running upon lines,[129] like some of our gaudy gallants, sir, keep a smother, sir, with flishing and flashing, and, in the end, sir, they do, sir——

Nym. What, sir?

Page. Stink, sir.

Herod. ’Fore Heaven, a most sweet youth!

Enter Dondolo.

Don. News! news! news! news!

Herod. What, in the name of prophecy?

Nym. Art thou grown wise? 30

Herod. Doth the duke want no money?

Nym. Is there a maid found at twenty-four?

Herod. Speak, thou three-legg’d tripos, is thy ship of fools,[130] afloat yet?

Don. I ha’ many things in my head to tell you.

Herod. Ay, thy head is always working; it rolls, and it roils, Dondolo, but it gathers no moss, Dondolo.

Don. Tiberio, the Duke of Ferrara’s son, excellently horsed, all upon Flanders mares, is arrived at the court this very day, somewhat late in the night-time. 40

Herod. An excellent nuntius.

Don. Why, my gallants, I have had a good wit.

Herod. Yes, troth, but now ’tis grown like an almanac for the last year—past date; the mark’s out of thy mouth, Dondolo.

Nym. And what’s the prince’s ambassage? Thou art private with the duke; thou belongest to his close-stool.

Don. Why, every fool knows that; I know it myself, man, as well as the best man: he is come to solicit a marriage betwixt his father, the Duke of Ferrara, and our Duke of Urbin’s daughter, Dulcimel. 51

Nym. Pity of my passions! Nymphadoro shall lose one of his mistresses.

Herod. Nay, if thou hast more than one, the loss can ne’er be grievous, since ’tis certain he that loves many formally, never loves any violently.

Nym. Most trusted Frappatore, is my hand the weaker because it is divided into many fingers? No, ’tis the more strongly nimble. I do now love threescore and nine ladies, all of them most extremely well, but I do love the princess most extremely best; but, in very sighing sadness, I ha’ lost all hope, and with that hope a lady that is most rare, most fair, most wise, most sweet, most—— 64

Herod. Anything; true, but remember, still this fair, this wise, this sweet, this all-of-excellency, has in the tail of all—a woman.

Nym. Peace! the presence fills against the prince approacheth. Mark who enters.

Herc. My brother, Sir Amoroso Debile-Dosso. 70

Nym. Not he.

Herc. No, not he?

Nym. How, is he changed?

Herc. Why, grown the very dregs of the drabs’ cup.

Nym. O Babylon, thy walls are fallen! Is he married?

Herc. Yes; yet still the ladies’ common—or the common ladies’—servant.

Nym. How does his own lady bear with him?

Herc. Faith, like the Roman Milo, bore with him when he was a calf, and now carries him when he’s grown an ox. 81

Nym. Peace! the duke’s at hand.

Cornets. Enter Gonzago, Granuffo, Dulcimel, Philocalia, Zoya.

Gon. Daughter, for that our last speech leaves the firmest print, be thus advised. When young Tiberio negotiates his father’s love, hold heedy guard over thy passions, and still keep this full thought firm in thy reason: ’tis his old father’s love the young man moves (is’t not well thought, my lord, we must bear brain[131]), and when thou shalt behold Tiberio’s lifeful eyes and well-fill’d veins, complexion firm, and hairs that curls with strength of lusty moisture (I think we yet can speak, we ha’ been eloquent), thou must shape thy thoughts to apprehend his father well in years— 93 A grave wise prince, whose beauty is his honour, And well-pass’d life; and do not give thy thoughts Least liberty to shape a diverse scope (My Lord Granuffo, pray ye note my phrase): So shalt thou not abuse thy younger hope, Nor afflict us, who only joy in life, To see thee his.

Dul. Gracious my father, fear not; 100 I rest most duteous to your dispose.

[Consort of music.

Gon. Set on then; for the music gives us notice The prince is hard at hand.

Tiberio with his train, with Hercules disguised.

Dul. You are most welcome to our long-desiring father. To us you are come——

Tib. From our long-desiring father.

Dul. Is this your father’s true proportion?

[Shows a picture.

Tib. No, lady; but the perfect counterfeit.

Dul. And the best graced——

Tib. The painter’s art could yield.

Dul. I wonder he would send a counterfeit To move our love! 110

Gon. Hear, that’s my wit, when I was eighteen old—such a pretty toying wit had I; but age hath made us wise. Hast not, my lord?

Tib. Why, fairest princess, if your eye dislike That deader piece, behold me his true form And livelier image. Such my father hath been.

Dul. My lord, please you to scent this flower.

Tib. ’Tis withered, lady—the flower’s scent is gone.

Dul. This hath been such as you are—hath been, sir. They say, in England, that a far-famed[132] friar 120 Had girt the island round with a brass wall, If[133] they could ha’ catched Time is: but Time is past Left it still[134] clipt with agèd Neptune’s arm.

Tib. Aurora yet keeps chaste old Tithon’s bed.

Dul. Yet blushes at it when she rises.

Gon. Pretty, pretty—just like my younger wit—you know it, my lord.

Dul. But is your father’s age thus fresh—hath yet his head so many hairs?

Tib. More, more, by many a one. 130

Dul. More, say you?

Tib. More.

Dul. Right, sir, for this hath none. Is his eye so quick as this same piece makes him show?

Tib. The courtesy of art hath given more life to that part than the sad cares of state would grant my father.

Dul. This model speaks about forty.

Tib. Then doth it somewhat flatter, for our father hath seen more years, and is a little shrunk from the full strength of time. 140

Gon. Somewhat coldly praised.

Dul. Your father hath a fair solicitor, And be it spoke with virgin modesty, I would he were no elder; not that I do fly His side for years, or other hopes of youth, But in regard the malice of lewd tongues, Quick to deprave[135] on possibilities (Almost impossibilities), will spread Rumours to honour dangerous.

[Dulcimel and Tiberio confer privately.

Gon. What? whisper? Ay, my Lord Granuffo, ’twere fit 150 To part their lips. Men of discerning wit That have read Pliny can discourse or so; But give me practice: well experienced age Is the true Delphos. I am no oracle, But yet I’ll prophesy. Well, my Lord Granuffo, ’Tis fit to interrupt their privacy, Is’t not, my lord? Now, sure, thou art a man Of a most learned silence, and one whose words Have been most precious to me. Right, I know thy heart; ’Tis true, thy legs discourse with right and grace, 160 And thy tongue is constant.—Fair my lord, Forbear all[136] private closer conference; What from your father comes, comes openly, And so must speak: for you must know my age Hath seen the beings and the quid of things: I know the dimensions and the termini Of all existence. Sir, I know what shapes Appetite forms; but policy and states Have more elected ends: your father’s suit Is with all public grace received, and private love 170 Embraced. As for our daughter’s bent of mind, She must seem somewhat nice; ’tis virgins’ kind To hold long out; if yet she chance deny, Ascribe it to her decent modesty. We have been a philosopher and spoke With much applause; but now age makes us wise, And draws our eyes to search the heart of things And leave vain seemings; therefore you must know I would be loath the gaudy shape of youth Should once[137] provoke a[138] not-allow’d-of heat, 180 Or hinder, or——for, sir, I know; and so, Therefore, before us time and place affords Free speech, else not. Wise heads use but few words: In short breath, know the Court of Urbin holds Your presence and your embassage so dear, That we want means once to express[139] our heart But with our heart. Plain meaning shunneth art; You are most welcome (Lord Granuffo, a trick, A figure, note); we use no rhetoric.

[Exeunt all but Hercules, Nymphadoro, and Herod.

Herod. Did not Tiberio call his father fool? 190

Nym. No; he said years had weakened his youthful quickness.

Herod. He swore he was bald?

Nym. No; but not thick-hair’d.

Herod. By this light, I’ll swear he said his father had the hipgout, the strangury, the fistula in ano, and a most unabideable breath, no teeth, less eyes, great fingers, little legs, an eternal flux, and an everlasting cough of the lungs.

Nym. Fie, fie! by this light he did not. 200

Herod. By this light he should ha’ done then. Horn on him, threescore and five, to have and to hold a lady of fifteen. O Mezentius! a tyranny equal if not above thy torturing; thou didst bind the living and the dead bodies together, and forced them so to pine and rot; but this cruelty binds breast to breast not only different bodies, but, if it were possible, most unequal minds together, with an enforcement even scandalous to Nature. Now the jail deliver me an intelligencer! be good to me, ye cloisters of bondage! Of whence art thou? 210

Herc. Of Ferrara.

Herod. A Ferrarese! what to me? Camest thou in with the Prince Tiberio?

Herc. With the Prince Tiberio. What o’[140] that? You will not rail at me, will you?

Herod. Who, I? I rail at one of Ferrara—a Ferrarese?[141] No. Didst thou ride?

Herc. No.

Herod. Hast thou worn socks?

Herc. No. 220

Herod. Then blessed be the most happy gravel betwixt thy toes! I do prophesy thy tyrannising itch shall be honourable, and thy right worshipful louse shall appear in full presence. Art thou an officer to the prince?[142]

Herc. I am; what o’ that?

Herod. My cap! what officer?

Herc. Yeoman of his bottles. What to that?

Herod. My lip! thy name, good yeoman of the bottles? 230

Herc. Faunus.

Nym. Faunus? an old courtier? I wonder thou art in no better clothes and place, Faunus!

Herc. I may be in better place, sir, and with them[143] of more regard, if this match of our duke’s intermarriage with the heir of Urbin proceed, the Duke of Urbin dying, and our lord coming in his lady’s right of title to your dukedom. 238

Herod. Why then shalt thou, O yeoman of the bottles, become a maker of magnificoes. Thou shalt beg some odd suit, and change thy old shirt,[144] pare thy beard, cleanse thy teeth, and eat apricocks,[145] marry a rich widow, or a crack’d lady, whose case thou shalt make good. Then, my Pythagoras, shall thou and I make a transmigration of souls: thou shalt marry my daughter, or my wife shall be thy gracious mistress. Seventeen punks shall be thy proportion. Thou shalt beg to thy comfort of clean linen, eat no more fresh beef at supper, or save[146] the broth for next day’s porridge; but the fleshpots of Egypt shall fatten thee, and the grasshopper shall flourish in thy summer. 251

Nym. And what dost thou think of the duke’s overture of marriage?

Herod. What do you think?

Herc. May I speak boldly as at Aleppo?

Nym. Speak till thy lungs ache, talk out thy teeth; here are none of those cankers, these mischiefs of society, intelligencers, or informers, that will cast rumour into the teeth of some Lælius Balbus,[147] a man cruelly eloquent and bloodily learned. No; what sayest thou, Faunus? 261

Herc. With an undoubted breast thus:—I may speak boldly?

Herod. By this night,[148] I’ll speak broadly first, and thou wilt, man. Our Duke of Urbin is a man very happily mad, for he thinks himself right perfectly wise, and most demonstratively learned—nay, more——

Herc. No more—I’ll on. Methinks the young lord our Prince of Ferrara so bounteously adorned with all of grace, feature, and best shaped proportion, fair use of speech, full opportunity, and that which makes the sympathy of all, equality of heat, of years, of blood; methinks these loadstones should attract the metal of the young princess rather to the son than to the noisome, cold, and most weak side of his half-rotten father. 276

Herod. Tha’rt ours—tha’rt ours. Now dare we speak as boldly as if Adam had not fallen, and made us all slaves. Hark ye, the duke is an arrant doting ass—an ass—and in the knowledge of my very sense, will turn a foolish animal; for his son will prove like one of Baal’s priests, have all the flesh presented to the idol his father, but he in the night will feed on’t—will devour it.[149] He will, yeoman of the bottles, he will. 285

Herc. Now, gentlemen, I am sure the lust of speech hath equally drenched us all; know I am no servant to this Prince Tiberio.

Herod. Not?

Herc. Not, but one to him out of some private urging most vowed—one that pursues him but for opportunity of safe[150] satisfaction. Now, if ye can prefer my service to him, I shall rest yours wholly. 293

Herod. Just in the devil’s mouth! thou shalt have place! Fawn, thou shalt! Behold this generous Nymphadoro, a gallant of clean boot, straight back, and beard[151] of a most hopeful expectation. He is a servant of fair Dulcimel’s, her very creature, born to the princess’ sole adoration; a man so spent in time to her, that pity (if no more of grace) must follow[152] him when we have gained the room. Second his suit, Faunus;[153] I’ll be your intelligencer. 302

Herc. Our very heart, and, if need be, work[154] to most desperate ends.

Herod. Well urged.

Herc. Words fit acquaintance, but full actions friends.

Nym. Thou shalt not want, Faunus.

Herc. You promise well.

Herod. Be thou but firm, that old doting iniquity of age—that horny-eyed[155] lecherous duke, thy lord—shall be baffled to extremest derision; his son prove his fool father’s own issue. 312

Nym. And we, and thou with us, blessed and enriched past all misery of possible contempt, and above the hopes of greatest conjectures.

Herc. Nay, as for wealth, vilia miretur vulgus.[156] I know by his physiognomy, for wealth he is of my addiction, and bids a fico[157] for’t.

Nym. Why, thou art but a younger brother: but poor Baldazozo. 320

Herod. Faith, to speak truth, my means are written in the book of fate, as yet unknown: and yet[158] I am at my fool, and my hunting gelding. Come, Via,[159] to this feastful entertainment.

[Exeunt. Remanet Hercules.

Herc. I never knew till now how old I was. By Him by whom we are, I think a prince, Whose tender sufferance never felt a gust Of bolder breathings, but still lived gently fann’d With the soft gales of his own flatterers’ lips, Shall never know his own complexion. 330 Dear sleep and lust, I thank you; but for you, Mortal till now I scarce had known myself. Thou grateful poison, sleek mischief, flattery, Thou dreamful slumber (that doth fall on kings As soft and soon[160] as their first holy oil), Be thou for ever damn’d; I now repent Severe indictions to some sharp styles; Freeness, so’t grow not to licentiousness, Is grateful to just states. Most spotless kingdom, And men, O happy born under good stars, 340 Where what is honest you may freely think, Speak what you think, and write what you do speak, Not bound to servile soothings! But since our rank Hath ever been afflicted with these flies (That blow corruption on the sweetest virtues), I will revenge us all upon you all With the same stratagem we still are caught, Flattery itself; and sure all know the sharpness Of reprehensive language is even blunted To full contempt. Since vice is now term’d fashion, 350 And most are grown to ill, even with defence I vow to waste this most prodigious heat, That falls into my age like scorching flames In depth of numb’d December, in flattering all In all of their extremest viciousness, Till in their own lov’d race they fall most lame, And meet full butt the close of Vice’s shame.

[Exit.