Boy, rogue, thou liest! and

Spavento dell mio core dolce Mellida,
Di grava morte restoro vero dolce Mellida,
Celesta salvatrice sovrana Mellida
Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida.

Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio,
Godevole belezza cortese Antonio.
Signior mio e virginal amore bell' Antonio
Gusto delli mei sensi, car' Antonio.1

Ant. O suamisce il cor in un soave baccio,
Mel. Murono i sensi nel desiato dessio:
Ant. Nel Cielo puo lesser belta pia chiara?
Mel. Nel mondo pol esser belta pia chiara?
Ant. Dammi un baccio da quella bocca beata,
Bassiammi, coglier l'aura odorata

Che in sua neggia in quello dolce labra.

Mel. Dammi pimpero del tuo gradit' amore Che bea me, cosempiterno honore,

Cosi, cosi mi converra morir.

Good sweet, scout o'er the marsh: for my heart trembles

At every little breath that strikes my ear.
When thou returnest, then I'll discourse

How I deceived the court: then thou shalt tell How thou escap'st the watch: we'll point our speech

With amorous kissing, kissing commas, and even suck

The liquid breath from out each other's lips.

Ant. Dull clod, no man but such sweet favour
clips.

I
Turn coward in her sight? away, away!

go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay.

[Exit. Lu. I think confusion of Babel is fallen 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-tongu'd: 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, FELICE, GALEATZO, BALURDO, and his Page, at another door.

Pie. This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen. How now, Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody?

Bal. As I am a true gentleman, I made my horse sweat, that he hatli ne'er a dry thread on him and I can meet with no living creature, but men and beasts. In good sadness, I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even now: for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep't, and I spied a thing: and I peer'd, and I tweer'd3 underneath: and truly a wise man might have been deceived; for it was

Pie. What, in the name of Heaven?

Bal. A dun cow.

Feli. Sh'ad ne'er a kettle on her head?4

Gal. Why speak you not?

Bal. God's neakes, proud elf, give the duke reverence, stand bare with a

Whogh! heavens bless me: Mellida, Mollida!
Pie. Where, man, where?

Bal. Turn'd man, turn'd man: women wear the breeches, lo here!

Pie. 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!

Dil. Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.

[Exeunt. Enter ANDRUGIO and ANTONIO wreathed together LUCIO.

And. Now come, united force of chap-fallen death:

Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress. Oh, thus infolded, 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 ?
Lu. Ay me, my lord.

And. A sudden horror doth invade my blood,

1 Mellida here discovers herself to Antonio.

2 rebate-blunt.

3 twcer'd-peeped.

4 The Dun Cow is intimately connected with the history of the celebrated Guy Earl of Warwick, and I believe his kettle is one of the pretended relics still shown there. From the text I conjecture that the aun cow with the kettle on her head was in the time of Marston a well-known sign.-DILKE.

Scuds round about my bosom to go out,
Dreading the assailant, horrid passion.
Oh, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow.
Speak quickly, briefly, boy.

Pa. Her father found and seiz'd her; she is gone. And. Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up wila grief.

1 Birt or blurt was used as an exclamation of co tempt.

2.e. folded in each other's arms-DILKE.

Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight Of crushing mischief. Oh, 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-pac'd steps!

Alas, 'tis more than he can utter, let him go.
Dumb solitary path best suiteth woe.

And. Give me my arms, my armour, Lucio.
Lu. Dear lord, what means this rage; when
lacking use

Scarce saves your life, will you in armour rise? And. Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice. Lu. Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,

ring, with your own poesie graven in it, that must sing a small treble, word for word, thus: And if you will my true lover be, Come follow me to the green wood.

Pa. O Lord, sir, I cannot make a picture sing. Bal. Why? z'lid, I have seen painted things sing as sweet;

But I hav't will tickle it, for a conceit i'faith.

Enter FELICE and ALBERTO.

Alb. Oh, dear Felice, give me thy device. How shall I purchase love of Rossaline? Feli. S'will, flatter her soundly.

Alb. Her love is such, I cannot flatter her; But with my utmost vehemence of speech,

I have ador'd her beauties.

Feli. Hast writ good, moving, unaffected rhymes to her?

Alb. O yes, Felice; but she scorns my writ. Feli. Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts?

Alb. Alas! my fortunes are too weak to offer them.

Feli. Oh, then I have it, I'll tell thee what to

Bal. Limn them? a good word, limn them. Whose picture is this? Anno Domini 1599. Believe me, Master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when you limn'd him. 1599 years old? Let's see the other. Etatis suæ 24. By'r Lady, he is somewhat younger. Belike Master Etatis suæ was Anno Domini's son.

Pa. Is not your master a—

Dil. He hath a little proclivity to him. Pa. Proclivity, good youth? I thank you for your courtly proclivity.

Bal. Approach, good sir. I did send for you to draw me a device, an Imprezza, by Sinecdoche a Mott. By Phoebus' crimson taffeta mantle, I think I speak as melodiously,-look you, sir, how think you on't? I would have you paint me, for my device, a good fat leg of ewe mutton, swimming in stewed broth of plum (boy, keel 2 your mouth, it runs over), and the word shall be, Hold my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in my conscience, 'twould be the most sweet device, now.

Pa. "Twould scent of kitchen stuff too much. Bal. God's neakes, now I remember me, I ha' the rarest device in my head that ever breathed. Can you paint me a drivelling, reeling song, and let the word be, Uh?

Pa. A belch.

Bal. Oh, no, no. Uh, paint me uh, or nothing. Pa. It cannot be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of drunkenness.

Bal. No? Well, let me have a good massy

1 'It is never possible not to be.' 2 keel-cool skim.

Alb. What, good Felice?

Feli. Go and hang thyself; I say, go hang thyself;

If that thou canst not give, go hang thyself.
I'll time thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.
How think'st thou of a poet that sung thus:
Munera sola pacant, sola addunt munera formam:
Munere solicites Pallada, Cypris erit.
Munera, munera.1

Alb. I'll go and breathe my woes unto the rocks,

And spend my grief upon the deafest seas.
I'll weep my passion to the senseless trees,
And load most solitary air with plaints.
For woods, trees, sea, or rocky Appenine,
Is not so ruthless as my Rossaline.
Farewell, dear friend, expect no more of me;
Here ends my part in this love's comedy.2

[Exit ALBERTO. Exit Painter. Feli. Now, Master Balurdo, whither are you going, ha?

Bal. Signior Felice, how do you, faith, and by my troth, how do you?

Feli. Whither art thou going, bully?

Bal. And as Heaven help me, how do you? How, do you i'faith he?

Feli. Whither art going, man?

Bal. O God, to the court! I'll be willing to give you grace and good countenance, if I may but see you in the presence.

Feli. Oh, to court? farewell.

Bal. If you see one in a yellow taffeta doublet, cut upon carnation velure, a green hat, a blue pair of velvet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orange tawny pair of worsted silk stockings, that's I, that's I.

Feli. Very good; farewell.

Bal. Ho, you shall know me as easily. I ha' bought me a new green feather with a red sprig; you shall see my wrought shirt hang out at my breeches; you shall know me.

Feli. Very good, very good; farewell.

Bal. Marry, in the mask 'twill be somewhat hard. But if you hear anybody speak so wittily

3 word-motto.

3 velure-velvet.

that he makes all the room laugh, that's I, that's L Farewell, good Signior. [Exeunt.

Enter FOROBOSCO, CASTILIO, a Boy carrying a gilt harp; PIERO, MELLIDA in night apparel, ROSSALINE, FLAVIA, two Pages.

Pie. Advance the music's prize;' now, cap'ring wits,

Rise to your highest mount; let choice delight Garland the brow of this triumphant night. 'Sfoot, a sits like Lucifer himself.

Ros. Good, sweet duke, first let their voices strain for music's price. Give me the golden harp. Faith, with your favour, I'll be ump'ress. Pie. Sweet niece, content. Boys, clear your voice and sing. [First Boy sings. Ros. By this gold, I had rather have a servant with a short nose and a thin hair, than have such a high stretch'd minikin2 voice.

Pie. Fair niece, your reason?

Ros. By the sweet of love, I should fear extremely that he were an eunuch.

Cas. Spark spirit, how like you his voice? Ros. Spark spirit, how like you his voice? So help me, youth, thy voice squeaks like a dry cork shoe. Come, come; let's hear the next. [Second Boy sings. Pie. Trust me, a strong mean. Well sung, my boy.

I appeal to your mouths that heard my song.
Do mo right, and dub me knight, Balurdo.

Ros. Kueel down, and I'll dub thee knight of the golden harp.

Bal. Indeed, la, do, and I'll make you lady of the silver fiddlestick."

Ros. Come, kneel, kneel.

Enter a Page to BALURDO.

Bal. My troth, I thank you, it hath never a whistle in't.

Ros. Nay, good sweet cuz, raise up your drooping eyes; and I were at the point of To have and to hold, from this day forward, I would be asham'd to look thus lumpish. Shall's dance? thou art so sad, hark in mine ear. I was about to say, but I'll forbear.

Bal. I come, I come; more then, most honeysuckle sweet ladies, pine not for my presence; I'll return in pomp. Well spoke, Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. As I am a true knight, I feel honourable eloquence begin to grope me already.

[Exit. Pie. Faith, mad niece, I wonder when thou wilt marry?

Ros. Faith, kind uncle, when men abandon jealousy, forsake taking of tobacco, and cease to wear their beards so rudely long. Oh, to have a husband with a mouth continually smoking, with a bush of furs on the ridge of his chin, ready still to flop into his foaming chaps; ah! 'tis more than most intolerable.

Pie. Nay, faith, sweet niece, I was mighty strong in thought we should have shut up night with an old comedy. The Prince of Milan shall have Mellida, and thou shouldst have

Ros. Nobody, good sweet uncle. I tell yon, sir, I have thirty-nine servants, and my monkey. that makes the fortieth. Now, I love all of them lightly for something, but affect none of them seriously for anything. One's a passionate fool, and he flatters me above belief; the second's a testy ape, and he rails at me beyond reason; the third's as grave as some censor, and he strokes up his mustachoes three times, and makes six plots of set faces, before he speaks oue wise word; the fourth's as dry as the burr of an artichoke; the fifth paints, and bath always a good colour for what he speaks; the sixth

Pie. Stay, stay, sweet niece; what makes you thus suspect young gallants' worth?

Ros. Oh, when I see one wear a periwig. 1 dread his hair; another wallow in a great skop. I mistrust the proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot, I fear the fashion of his leg. Thus, something in each thing, one trick in everything makes me mistrust imperfection in all parts; and there's the full point of my addiction."

The cornets sound a cynet.

Enter GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, and BALURDO in maskery.

Pie. The room's too scant: boys, stand in there, close.

Mel. In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance.
Pie. How's that, how's that? Too sad? By
Heaven, dance,

And grace him to, or go to,-I say no more.
Mel. A burning glass, the word splendente

Phobo?

"Tis too curious, I conceit it not.

Gal. Faith, I'll tell thee. I'll no longer burn, For than you'll shine and smile upon my love. look ye, fairest, by your pure sweets,

I do not dote upon your excellence. And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams Of sunny favour, and acceptive grace Upon my tender love, I do not burn: Marry but shine, and I'll reflect your beams, With fervent ardour. Faith, I would be loath to flatter thee, fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy husband, which thy father swears, to-morrow morn, I must be. This is all; and now from henceforth, trust me, Mollida, I'll not speak one wise word to thee more.

Mel. I trust ye.

Gal. By my troth, I'll speak pure fool to thes

now.

Mel. You will speak the liker yourself.

Gal. Good faith, I'll accept of the cockscomb, so you will not refuse the bauble.

Mel. Nay, good sweet, keep them both; I am enamour'd of neither.

Gal. Go to, I must take you down for this Lend me your ear.

Ros. A glowworm? the word,-Splendeacit tantùm tenebris."

Mat. Oh, lady, the glowworm figurates my

valour, which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal, and horrid achieveinents.

Ros. Or, rather, your glowworm represents your wit, which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed 'tis but an ignis fatuus, and shines only in the dark dead night of fools' admiration. Mat. Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were disposed to ride you.

Ros. Faith, sir, your wit's spurs have but walking rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the gentlemen ushers may admit them the presence, for any wrong they can do to ladies.

Bal. Truly, I have strained a note above Ela for a device; look you, 'tis a fair rul'd singing book; the word, Perfect, if it were prickt.2

Fla. Though you are mask'd, I can guess who you are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most rarely shap'd Balurdo.

Bal. Who, I? No, I am not Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. I am not as well known by my wit as an alehouse by a red lattice. I am not worthy to love and be beloved of Flavia.

Fla. I will not scorn to favour such good parts as are applauded in your rarest self.

Bal. Truly you speak wisely, and like a gentlewoman of fourteen years of age. You know the stone called lapis; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is: and the bird, which the geometricians call avis, the farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the heaven; and love, the nigher it is to the flame, the more remote (there's a word, remote), the more remote it is from the frost. Your wit is quick; a little thing pleaseth a young lady, and a small favour contenteth an old courtier.

Enter FELICE.

Pie. What might import this flourish? Bring us word.

Feli. Stand away: here's such a company of fly-boats, hulling about this galeass of greatness, that there's no boarding him.

Do you hear yon thing call'd duke?

Pie. How now, blunt Felice; what's the news?

Feli. Yonder's a knight hath brought Andrugio's head, and craves admittance to your chair of state.

Cornets sound a cynet. Enter ANDRUGIO, in

armour.

Pie. Conduct him with attendance sumptuous; Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy; Make triumph stand on tiptoe whilst we meet : O sight most gracious, O revenge most sweet!

And. [reads]. We vow, by the honour of our birth, to recompense any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest love.

Pie. We still with most unmov'd resolv'd confirm

Our large munificence: and here breathe
A sad and solemn protestation:
When I recall this vow, oh, let our house

Be even commanded, stain'd, and trampled on,
As worthless rubbish of nobility.

And. Then here, Piero, is Andrugio's head, Royally casked in a helm of steel:

Give me thy love, and take it. My dauntless soul

Hath that unbounded vigour in his spirits
That it can bear more rank indignity,
With less impatience than thy cancred hate

1 Ela-the highest note in the scale of music i.e. if the music were pricked or written on it.

Can sting and venom his untainted worth
With the most viperous sound of malice. Strike;
Oh, let no glimpse of honour light thy thoughts;
If there be any heat of royal breath
Creeping in thy veins, oh, stifle it.
Be still thyself, bloody and treacherous.
Fame not thy house with an admired act
Of princely pity. Piero, I am come
To soil thy house with an eternal blot
Of savage cruelty; strike, or bid me strike.
I pray my death; that thy ne'er-dying shame
Might live immortal to posterity.
Come, be a princely hangman, stop my breath.
Oh dread thou shame no more than I dread death.
Pie. We are amaz'd, our royal spirits numb'd,
In stiff astonish'd wonder at thy prowess.
Most mighty, valiant, and high tow'ring heart.
We blush, and turn our hate upon ourselves,
For hating such an unpeer'd excellence.
I joy my state: him whom I loath'd before,
That now I honour, love, nay more, adore.

[The still flutes sound a mournful
cynet. Enter a coffin.

But stay; what tragic spectacle appears!
Whose body bear you in that mournful hearse?
Lu. The breathless trunk of young Antonio.
Mel. Antonio (ay me), my lord! my love!

And. I hope he died yet like my son, i'faith. Lu. Alas, my lord!

And. He died unfore'd,' I trust, and valiantly. Lu. Poor gentleman, being

And. Did his hand shake, or his eye look dull,

His thoughts reel, fearful when he struck the stroke?

And if they did, I'll rend them out the hearse,
Rip up his cerecloth, mangle his bleak face,
That when he comes to heaven, the powers
divine

Shall ne'er take notice that he was my son.
I'll quite disclaim his birth. Nay, pr'ythee,
speak:

And 'twere not hoop'd with steel, my breast would break.

Mel. Oh that my spirit in a sigh could mount Into the sphere, where thy sweet soul doth rest! Pie. Oh that my tears, bedewing thy wan cheek,

Could make new spirit sprout in thy cold blood! Bal. Verily, he looks as pitifully as a poor John; as I am true knight, I could weep like a ston'd horse.

Piero, keep thy vow, and I enjoy

More unexpressed height of happiness

Than power of thought can reach; if not, lo here

There stands my tomb, and here a pleasing stage:

Most wish'd spectators of my tragedy,

To this end have I feign'd, that her fair eye,
For whom I liv'd, might bless me ere I die.
Mel. Can breath depaint my unconceived
thoughts?

Can words describe my infinite delight
Of seeing thee, my lord Antonio?

Oh no; conceit, breath, passion, words, be dumb,
Whilst I instil the dew of my sweet bliss,
In the soft pressure of a melting kiss!
Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras.2

Pie. Fair son (now I'll be proud to call thee son),

Enjoy me thus: my very breast is thine;
Possess me freely, I am wholly thine.

Ant. Dear father.

And. Sweet son, sweet son, I can speak no

more:

My joy's passion flows above the shore,
And chokes the current of my speech.

Pie. Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg

For a remittance of your interest.

Gal. In your fair daughter, with all my thought,

So help me faith, the naked truth I'll unfold;
He that was ne'er hot will soon be cold.

Pie. No man else makes claim unto her?
Mat. The valiant speak truth in brief: no-
Bal. Truly, for Sir Jeffrey Balurdo, he dis-
claims to have had anything in her.

Pie. Then here I give her to Antonio. Royal, valiant, most respected prince, Let's clips our hands; I'll thus observe my

I promised twenty thousand double pistolets,
With the indearing to my dearest love,

To him that brought thy head; thine be the gold,

To solemnize our houses' unity;

My love be thine, the all I have be thine.
Fill us fresh wine, the form we'll take by this;
We'll drink a health, while they two sip a kiss.
Now there remains no discord that can sound
Harsh accents to the ear of our accord:
So please you niece to match.

Ros. Troth, uncle, when my sweet-fac'd cuz hath told me how she likes the thing called wedlock, may be I'll take a survey of the checkroll of my servants; and he that hath the best parts of, I'll prick him down for my husband.

Bal. For passion of love now, remember me to my mistress, lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the good parts of her servants. As I am true knight, I grow stiff; I shall carry it. Pie. I will.

Sound Lydian wires, once make a pleasing note,

On Nectar streams of your sweet airs, to float.

Ant. Here ends the comic crosses of true love; Oh! may the passage most successful prove!

EPILOGUE.

Gentlemen, though I remain an armed Epilogue, I stand not as a peremptory challenger of desert, either for him that composed the comedy, or for us that acted it; but a most submissive suppliant for both. What imperfection you have seen in us, leave with us, and we'll amend it; what hath pleased you, take with you, and cherish it. You shall not be more ready to embrace anything commendable, than we will endeavour to amend all things reprovable. What we are, is by your favour. What we shall be, rests all in your applausive encouragements. [Ezit.