Act 1 — ACT I. SCENE I.
Reading edition
A Room in Camillo’s House; a Banquet set out.
Enter Camillo, Hippolito, Baptista, Bentivoglio, and Virgilio (with gloves in their hats, as having lately returned from war), leading in Violetta and other Ladles: Doyt and Dandyprat attending.
Hip. Ay, marry, sir, the only rising up in arms is in the arms of a woman: peace, I say still, is your only paradise, when every Adam may have his Christmas Eve. And[551] you take me lying any more by the cold sides of a brazen-face[d] field-piece, unless I have such a down pillow under me, I’ll give you leave to knock up both my golls[552] in my father’s hall, and hang hats upon these tenpenny nails.
Viol. And yet, brother, when, with the sharpest hooks of my wit, I laboured to pull you from the wars, you broke loose, like a horse that knew his own strength, and vowed nothing but a man of war should back you——
Hip. I have been backed since, and almost unbacked too.
Viol. And swore that honour was never dyed in grain till it was dipt in the colours of the field.
228Hip. I am a new man, sister, and now cry a pox a’ that honour that must have none but barber-surgeons to wait upon’t, and a band of poor straggling rascals, that, every twinkling of an eye, forfeit their legs and arms into the Lord’s hands! Wenches, by Mars his sweaty buff-jerkin (for now all my oaths must smell a’ the soldado), I have seen more men’s heads spurned up and down like foot-balls at a breakfast, after the hungry cannons had picked them, than are maidenheads in Venice, and more legs of men served in at a dinner than ever I shall see legs of capons in one platter whilst I live.
First Lady. Perhaps all those were capons’ legs you did see.
Virg. Nay, mistress, I’ll witness against you for some of them.
Viol. I do not think, for all this, that my brother stood to it so lustily as he makes his brags for.
Third Lady. No, no, these great talkers are never great doers.
Viol. Faith, brother, how many did you kill for your share?
Hip. Not so many as thou hast done with that villanous eye by a thousand.
Viol. I thought so much; that’s just none.
Cam. ’Tis not a soldier’s glory to tell how many lives he has ended, but how many he has saved: in both which honours the noble Hippolito had most excellent possession. Believe it, my fair mistress, though many men in a battle have done more, your brother in this equalled him who did most. He went from you a worthy gentleman; he brings with him that title that makes a gentleman most worthy, the name of a soldier; which how well and how soon he hath earned, would in me seem 229glorious to rehearse, in you to hear; but, because his own ear dwells so near my voice, I will play the ill neighbour, and cease to speak well of him.
Viol. An argument that either you dare not or love not to flatter.
Cam. No more than I dare or love to do wrong; yet to make a chronicle of my friend’s nobly-acted deeds, would stand as far from flattery in me, as cowardice did from him.
Hip. ’S foot, if all the wit in this company have nothing to set itself about but to run division upon me, why then e’en burn off mine ears indeed. But, my little mermaids, Signior Camillo does this that I now might describe the Ninevitical motion[553] of the whole battle, and so tell what he has done;—and come, shall I begin?
First Lady. O, for beauty’s love, a good motion!
Hip. But I can tell you one thing, I shall make your hair stand up an end at some things.
Viol. Prithee, good brother soldier, keep the peace: our hair stand an end! pity a’ my heart, the next end would be of our wits. We hang out a white flag, most terrible Tamburlain,[554] and beg mercy. Come, come, let us neither have your Ninevitical motions, nor your swaggering battles. Why, my lord Camillo, you invited me hither to a banquet, not to the ballad of a pitched field.
230Cam. And here it stands, bright mistress, sweetly attending what doom your lips will lay upon it.
Viol. Ay, marry, sir, let our teeth describe this motion.
Second Lady. We shall never describe it well for fumbling i’ th’ mouth.
Hip. Yes, yes, I have a trick to make us understand one another, and[555] we fumble never so.
Viol. Meddle not with his tricks, sweetheart. Under pardon, my lord, though I am your guest, I’ll bestow myself. Sit, dear beauties: for the men, let them take up places themselves. I prithee, brother fighter, sit, and talk of any subject but this jangling law at arms. [They seat themselves.
Hip. The law at legs then.
Viol. Will you be so lusty? no, nor legs neither; we’ll have them tied up too. Since you are among ladies, gallants, handle those things only that are fit for ladies.
Hip. Agreed, so that we go not out of the compass of those things that are fit for lords.
Viol. Be’t so: what’s the theme then?
First Lady. Beauty; that fits us best.
Cam. And of beauty what tongue would not speak the best, since it is the jewel that hangs upon the brow of heaven, the best colour that can be laid upon the cheek of earth? Beauty makes men gods immortal, by making mortal men to live ever in love.
Second Lady. Ever? not so: I have heard that some men have died for love.
Viol. So have I, but I could never see’t. I’d ride forty miles to follow such a fellow to church; and would make more of a sprig of rosemary at his 231burial, than of a gilded bride-branch at mine own wedding.[556]
Cam. Take you such delight in men that die for love?
Viol. Not in the men, nor in the death, but in the deed. Troth, I think he is not a sound man that will die for a woman; and yet I would never love a man soundly, that would not knock at death’s door for my love.
Hip. I’d knock as long as I thought good, but have my brains knocked out when I entered, if I were he.
Cam. What Venetian gentleman was there, that having this in his burgonet[557] did not (to prove his head worthy of the honour) do more than defy death to the very face? Trust us, ladies, our signiory stands bound in greater sums of thanks to your beauties for victory, than to our valour. My dear Violetta, one kiss to this picture of your whitest hand, when I was even faint with giving and receiving the dole of war, set a new edge on my sword, insomuch that
I singl’d out a gallant spirit of France,
And charg’d him with my lance in full career;
232And after rich exchange of noble courage,
(The space of a good hour on either side),
At last crying, Now for Violetta’s honour!
I vanquish’d him, and him dismounted took,
Not to myself, but prisoner to my love.
Viol. I have heard much praise of that French gallant: good my lord, bring him acquainted with our eyes.
Cam. I will.—Go, boy, fetch noble Fontinelle.
[Exit Dandyprat.
Hip. Will your French prisoner drink well, or else cut his throat?
Cam. O, no! he cannot brook it.
Hip. The pox he can[not]! ’S light, methinks a Frenchman should have a good courage to wine, for many of them be exceeding hot fiery whoresons, and resolute as Hector, and as valiant as Troilus; then come off and on bravely, and lie by it, and sweat for’t too, upon a good and a military advantage.
Cam. Prithee, have done; here comes the prisoner.
Enter Fontinelle and Dandyprat.
Viol. My Lord Camillo, is this the gentleman
Whose valour by your valour is subdued?
Cam. It is, fair lady; and I yield him up
To be your beauty’s worthy prisoner.
Lord Fontinelle, think your captivity
Happy in this; she that hath conquer’d me
Receives my conquest as my love’s fair fee.
Viol. Fair stranger, droop not, since the chance of wars
Brings to the soldier death, restraint, or scars.
Font. Lady, I know the fortune of the field
Is death with honour, or with shame to yield,
As I have done.
233Viol. In that no scandal lies:
Who dies when he may live, he doubly dies.
Font. My reputation’s lost.
Viol. Nay, that’s not so;
You fled[558] not, but were vanquish’d by your foe:
The eye of war respects not you nor him;
It is our fate will have us lose or win:
You will disdain if I you prisoner call?
Font. No, but rejoice since I am beauty’s thrall.
Hip. Enough of this; come, wenches, shake your heels.
Cam. Music, advance thee on thy golden wing,
And dance division from sweet string to string.
Font. Camillo, I shall curb[559] thy tyranny,
In making me that lady’s prisoner:
She has an angel’s body, but within’t
Her coy heart says there lies a heart of flint.
[Music for a measure:[560] whilst Fontinelle
speaks, they dance a strain.
Such beauty be my jailor! a heavenly hell!
The darkest dungeon which spite can devise
To throw this carcass in, her glorious eyes
Can make as lightsome as the fairest chamber
In Paris Louvre. Come, captivity,
And chain me to her looks! How am I tost,
Being twice in mind, as twice in body lost!
[Here Violetta on a sudden breaks off; the
rest stand talking.
Cam. Not the measure out, fair mistress?
Viol. No, fair servant, not the measure out: I have, on the sudden, a foolish desire to be out of the measure.
Cam. What breeds that desire?
234Viol. Nay, I hope it is no breeding matter. Tush, tush, by my maidenhead, I will not: the music likes[561] me not, and I have a shoe wrings me to th’ heart; besides, I have a woman’s reason, I will not dance, because I will not dance. Prithee, dear hero, take my prisoner there into the measure: fie, I cannot abide to see a man sad nor idle. I’ll be out once, as the music is in mine ear.
Font. Lady, bid him[562] whose heart no sorrow feels
Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels:
I’ve[563] too much lead at mine.
First Lady. I’ll make it light.
Font. How?
First Lady. By a nimble dance.
Font. You hit it right.
First Lady. Your keeper bids you dance.
Font. Then I obey:
My heart I feel grows light, it melts away.
[They dance; Violetta stands by
marking Fontinelle.
Viol. In troth, a very pretty Frenchman: the carriage of his body likes[564] me well; so does his footing; so does his face; so does his eye above his face; so does himself, above all that can be above himself.
Camillo, thou hast play’d a foolish part:
Thy prisoner makes a slave of thy love’s heart.
Shall Camillo then sing Willow, willow, willow?[565] not for the world. No, no, my French prisoner; 235I will use thee Cupid knows how, and teach thee to fall into the hands of a woman. If I do not feed thee with fair looks, ne’er let me live; if thou get’st out of my fingers till I have thy very heart, ne’er let me love; nothing but thy life shall serve my turn; and how otherwise I’ll plague thee, monsieur, you and I’ll deal: only this, because I’ll be sure he shall not start, I’ll lock him in a little low room besides[566] himself, where his wanton eye shall see neither sun nor moon. So, the dance is done, and my heart has done her worst,—made me in love. Farewell, my lord; I have much haste, you have many thanks; I am angered a little, but am greatly pleased. If you wonder that I take this strange leave, excuse it thus, that women are strange fools, and will take any thing. [Exit.
Hip. Tricks, tricks; kerry merry buff! How now, lad, in a trance?
Cam. Strange farewell! After, dear Hippolito.
O, what a maze is love of joy and woe!
[Exeunt Camillo and Hippolito.
Font. Strange frenzy! After, wretched Fontinelle.
O, what a heaven is love! O, what a hell!
[Exit; and then exeunt Ladies, Baptista, &c.