Had wont to rest itself, as loth to post From out so fair an inn: look, look, they seem to stir,

And breathe defiance to black obloquy.

Pie. Think'st thou thy son could suffer wrongfully?

Pan. A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong Can take; his breast's of such well-tempered proof,

It may be rac'd,' not pierc'd by savage tooth
Of foaming malice: showers of darts
may dark
Heaven's ample brow, but not strike out a spark,
Much less pierce the sun's cheek. Such songs
as these,

I often dittied till my boy did sleep:
But now I turn plain fool, (alas) I weep.

Pie. Fore heaven, he makes me shrug; would a' were dead!

He is a virtuous man. What has our court to do With virtue, in the devil's name? Pandulpho, hark:

My lustful daughter dies; start not, she dies.
I pursue justice; I love sanctity,
And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts.
Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio's dead :
And I do fear a fetch;2 but (umh) would I durst
speak.

I do mistrust; but (umh) death; is he all, all

man;

Hath he no part of mother in him, ha?
No lickerish, womanish inquisitiveness?
Pan. Andrugio's dead!

Pie. Ay; and I fear his own unnatural blood,
To whom he gave life, hath given death for life.
How could he come on? I see false suspect 3
Is vic'd; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart.
Well, I could give you reason for my doubts.
You are of honour'd birth, my very friend.
You know how god-like 'tis to root out sin.
Antonio is a villain. Will you join

In oath with me, against the traitor's life,
And swear you knew he sought his father's
death?

I lov'd him well, yet I loved justice more.
Our friends we should affect, justice adore.

Pan. My lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glib'd

With court oil; 'twill not strike on both sides yet. Pie. 'Tis just that subjects act commands of kings.

Pan. Command, then, just and honourable things.

Pie. Even so, myself then will traduce his guilt.

Pan. Beware! take heed, lest guiltless blood be spilt.

Pie. Where only honest deeds to kings are free, It is no empire, but a beggary.

Pan. Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,

It is no empire, but a tyranny.

Pie. Tush, juiceless greybeard, 'tis immunity, Proper to princes, that our state exacts,

Our subjects not alone to bear, but praise our

Pan. 'Tis praise to do, not what we can, but should.

Pie. Hence, doting stoic: by my hope of bliss, I'll make thee wretched.

Pan. Defiance to thy power, thon rifted jawne.1 Now, by the lov'd heaven, sooner thou shalt Rinse thy foul ribs from the black filth of sin That soots thy heart, than make me wretched. Pish!

Thou canst not coop me up. Hadst thou a jail
With treble walls, like antique Babylon,
Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee, duke,
I have old Fortunatus' wishing cap,

And can be where I list, even in a trice.
I'll skip from earth into the arms of heaven:
And from triumphal arch of blessedness,
Spit on thy frothy breast. Thou canst not slave
Or banish me; I will be free at home,
Maugre the beard of greatness. The port-holes
Of sheathed spirit are ne'er curb'd up;
But still stand open ready to discharge
Their precious shot into the shrouds of heaven.
Pie. Oh torture! Slave, I banish thee the
town,

Thy native seat of birth.

Pan. How proud thou speak'st! I tell thee, duke, the blasts

Of the swoln cheek'd winds, nor all the breath of kings

Can puff me out my native seat of birth.

The earth's my body's, and the heaven's my soul's
Most native place of birth, which they will keep,
Despite the menace of mortality.
Why, duke,

That's not my native place, where I was rockki.
A wise man's home is wheresoe'er he is wise;

Now that, from man, not from the place, doth rise.! Pie. Would I were deaf (oh, plague)! Hence, dotard wretch:

Tread not in court. All that thou hast, I seize.
His quiet's firmer than I can disease."

Pan. Go, boast unto thy flatt'ring sycophants; ¦ Pandulpho's slave, Piero hath o'erthrown. Loose fortunes rags are lost; my own's my own. [PIERO going out, looks back. Exeunt at several doors.

'Tis true, Piero, thy vex'd heart shall see, Thou hast but tript my slave, not conquered me.

ACT II.-SCENE II.

Enter ANTONIO with a book, LUCIO, ALBERTO,
ANTONIO in black.

Alb. Nay, sweet, be comforted, take counsel and

Ant. Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton sick, Whose stomach can digest and brook the diet Of stale ill-relish'd counsel. Pigmy cares Can shelter under patience' shield; but giant griels Will burst all covert.

Lu. My lord, 'tis supper time.

Ant. Drink deep, Alberto; eat, good Lucio;
But my pin'd heart shall eat on naught but woe.
Alb. My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.
Ant. You cannot leave Antonio alone,

The chamber of my breast is even throng'd
With firm attendance that forswears to flinch.
have a thing sits here; it is not grief,

'Tis not despair, nor the most plaque
That the most wretched are infected with

1 jawne, or chaune-a crack or crevice; Gr. ct so gape.

Le I cannot touch his quiet or calmness of mind.

But the most grieful, despairing, wretched,
Accursed, miserable. Oh, for Heaven's sake
Forsake me now; you see how light I am,
And yet you force me to defame my patience.
Lu. Fair gentle prince-

Ant. Away, thy voice is hateful; thou dost buzz,

And beat my ears with intimations
That Mellida, that Mellida is light,
And stained with adulterous luxury!1

I cannot brook't. I tell thee, Lucio,
Sooner will I give faith, that virtue's scant

In princes' courts, will be adorn'd with wreath
Of choice respect, and endear'd intimate,
Sooner will I believe that friendship's rein
Will curb ambition from utility,
Than Mellida is light. Alas, poor soul,

Didst e'er see her (good heart), hast heard her speak?

Kind, kind soul. Incredulity itself

Would not be so brass-hearted,as suspect so modest cheeks.

Lu. My lord

Ant. Away, a self-one 2 guilt doth only hatch distrust;

But a chaste thought's as far from doubt as lust. I entreat you, leave me.

Alb. Will you endeavour to forget your grief? Ant. Ay, faith I will, good friend, ay, faith I will.

I'll come and eat with you. Alberto, see, I am taking physic, here's philosophy. Good honest, leave me, I'll drink wine anon. Alb. Since you enforce us, fair prince, we are gone. [Exeunt ALBERTO and LUCIO. ANTONIO reads.

A. Ferte fortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Ille enim extra patientiam malorum, vos supra. Contemnite dolorem: aut solvetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunas; nullus telum, quo feriret

animum habet."

Pish, thy mother was not lately widowed, Thy dear affied love lately defam'd

4

With blemish of foul lust, when thou wrot'st thus, Thou wrapt in furs, beaking thy limbs 'fore fires, Forbidst the frozen zone to shudder. Ha, ha! 'tis naught

But foamy bubbling of a fleamy brain, Naught else but smoke. Oh what dank marrish spirit,

But would be fired with impatience,

At my- No more, no more; he that was never blest

With height of birth, fair expectation

Of mounted fortunes, knows not what it is
To be the pitied object of the world.
Oh, poor Antonio, thou may'st sigh!
Mel.' Ay me!

Ant. And curse.

Pan. Black powers.

Ant. And cry.

Mar. Oh Heaven!

Ant. And close laments with

Alb. Oh me, most miserable!
Pan. Woe for my dear, dear son!

Mar. Woe for my dear, dear husband!
Mel. Woe for my dear, dear love!

Ant. Woe for me all, close all your woes in me, In me, Antonio, ha? Where live these sounds? I can see nothing; grief's invisible,

And lurks in secret angles of the heart.
Come, sigh again, Antonio bears his part.

Mel. Oh here, here is a vent to pass my sighs.
I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.
Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent.
I, that is Phoebe, empress of the night,
That 'gins to mount: O chastest deity,
If I be false to my Antonio,

If the least soil of lust smears my pure love, Make me more wretched, make me more accurst Then infamy, torture, death, hell, and heaven. Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not, Purge my poor heart with defamation's blot.

Ant. Purge my poor heart from defamation's blot!

Poor heart, how like her virtuous self she speaks!
Mellida, dear Mellida, it is Antonio:
Slink not away, 'tis thy Antonio.

Mel. How found you out, my lord (alas!), I know

'Tis easy in this age to find out woe. I have a suit to you.

Ant. What is't, dear soul?

Mel. Kill me: i'faith I'll wink, not stir a jot. For God sake kill me; in sooth, lov'd youth, I am much injur'd; look, see how I creep. I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep. Ant. May I be cursed, but I credit thee. Mel. To-morrow I must die.

Ant. Alas, for what?

Mel. For loving thee. "Tis true, my sweetest breast,

I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart.
Nets are a knitting to entrap thy life.
Thy father's death must make a Paradise

To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me, sweet,

Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still? Ant. I do.

Mel. Then welcome Heaven's will.

Ant. Madam, I will not swell, like a tragedian, In forced passion of affected strains.

If I had present power of ought but pitying you, I would be as ready to redress your wrongs as to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughts crowd for their passage; somewhat I will do. Reach me thy hand; think this is honour's bent, To live unslav'd, to die innocent.

Mel. Let me entreat a favour, gracious love. Be patient, see me die; good, do not weep; Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep. Ant. I'faith I cannot; but I'll force my face To palliate my sickness.

1

Mel. Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell.

That's all my woe can breathe: kiss. Thus farewell.

Ant. Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts; Stay, dove:

And therefore I must speak; but what? Oh love! By this white hand: no more: read in these tears, What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears.

[ANTONIO kisseth MELLIDA's hand; then MELLIDA goes from the grate.

Mel. Good night, good heart.

1 palliate-to soften, to conceal.

Enter PIERO and STROTZo.

Pie. He grieves; laugh, Strotzo, laugh. He weeps.

Hath he tears? Oh pleasure! hath he tears?
Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whips
Of knotty vengeance. Strotzo, cause me straight
Some plaining ditty to augment despair.
Triumph, Piero; hark, he groans. Oh rare!
Ant. Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his
tomb.

His epitaph, thus: Ne plus ultra. Ho!
Let none out-woe me; mine's Herculean woe.
[STROTZO sings.
[Exit PIERO at the end of the song.
Enter MARIA.

Pie. Good evening to the fair Antonio; Most happy fortune, sweet succeeding time, Rich hope: think not thy face a bankrout 2 though.

Ant. Umh! the devil in his good time and tide forsake thee.

Pie. How now? hark ye, prince.
Ant. God be with you.

Pie. Nay, noble blood, I hope ye not suspectAnt. Suspect! I scorn't. Here's cap and leg,3 good night:

Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight. [Exit ANTONIO. Pie. Madam, oh that you could remember to forget

Mar. I had a husband and a happy son.
Pie. Most powerful beauty, that enchanting

As fresh as is her face. I'll marry her.

She's most fair, true, most chaste, most false; because

Most fair, 'tis firm I'll marry her.

Str. My lord.

Enter STROTZO.

Pie. Ha, Strotzo, my other soul, my life! Dear, hast thou steel'd the point of thy resolve? Wilt not turn edge in execution?

Str. No.

Pie. Do it with rare passion, and present thy guilt

As if 'twere wrung out with thy conscience gripe.

Swear that my daughter's innocent of lust,
And that Antonio brib'd thee too defame
Her maiden honour, on inveterate hate
Unto my blood; and that thy hand was fed
By his large bounty for his father's death.
Swear plainly that thou chok'dst Andrugio,
By his son's only egging. Rush me in
Whilst Mellida prepares herself to die;
Halter about thy neck, and with such sighs,
Laments, and applications liven it,

As if impulsive power of remorse—
Str. I'll weep.

Pie. Ay, ay, fall on thy face, and cry: Why suffer you

So lewd a slave as Strotzo is to breathe?▾

Str. I'll beg a strangling, grow importunatePie. As if thy life were loathsome to thee: then I

Catch straight the cord's end, and, as much incens'd

With thy damn'd mischiefs, offer a rude hand
As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath;
But on the sudden straight I'll stand amaz'd,
And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.

Str. Applaud my agonies and penitence.
Pie. Thy honest stomach, that could not digest
The crudities of murder, but, surcharg'd,
Vomited'st them up in Christian piety.

Str. Then clip me in your arms.

Pie. And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,

Make thee of counsel: Tut, tut, what not? what not?

Think on't, be confident, pursue the plot.

Str. Look, here's a trope: A true rogue's lips

are mute:

I do not use to speak, but execute.

[He lays his finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger.

Pie. So, so; run headlong to confusion! Thou slight-brain'd mischief, thou art made as dirt,

To plaster up the bracks2 of my defects.
I'll wring what may be squeez'd from out his use;
And good night, Strotzo. Swell, plump, bold
heart;

Oh now Tragadia Cothurnata mounts,
For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in:
Piero's thoughts are fix'd on dire exploits.
Pell mell-confusion and black murder guides
The organs of my spirit: shrink not, heart;
Capienda rebus in malis præceps via est.

1 egging-urging, instigation.. 2 bracks-breaks, cracks.

3 Tragadia Cothurnata. The Cothurnus was the boot anciently worn by tragic actors; the adj. means lofty, elevated.

4 The headlong way is to be taken in desperate circumstances."

ACT III-SCENE I.

A dumb show. The cornets sounding for the Act. Enter CASTILIO and FOROBOSCO, ALBERTO and BALURDO, with poleaxes. STROTZO talking with PIERO, who seemeth to send out STROTZO. Exit STROTZO. Enter STROTZO, MARIA, NUTRICE, and LUCIO. PIERO passeth through his guard, and talks with her with seeming amorousness; she seemeth to reject his suit, flies to the tomb [of her husband, kneels and kisseth it. PIERO bribes NUTRICE and LUCIO; they go to her, seeming to solicit his suit. She riseth, offers to go out; PIERO stayeth her, tears open his breast, embraceth and kisseth her, and so they go all out in state.

Enter two Pages, the one with tapers, the other with a chafing dish; a perfume in it. ANTONIO, in his nightgown and a nightcap, unbrac'd, following after.

Ant. The black jades of swart night trot foggy rings

'Bout heaven's brow. 'Tis now stark dead night. Is this Saint Mark's Church?

Ant. Set tapers to the tomb, and lamp the church.

Give me the fire. Now depart and sleep. [Exeunt Pages.

I purify the air with odorous fume. Graves, vault, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight;

Cold flesh, bleak trunks, wrapt in your half-rot shrouds,

I press you softly with a tender foot.

Most honour'd sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch
Leave to weep o'er thee. Tombs, I'll not be long
Ere I creep in thee, and with bloodless lips
Kiss my cold father's cheek, I pr'ythee, grave,
Provide soft mould to wrap my carcass in.
Thou royal spirit of Andrugio, where'er thou
hover'st

(Airy intellect) I heave up tapers to thee (view thy son)

In celebration of due obsequies.

Once every night I'll dew thy funeral hearse
With my religious tears.

Oh blessed father of a cursed son,

Thou died most happy, since thou livedst not
To see thy son most wretched, and thy wife
Pursu'd by him that seeks my guiltless blood!
Oh, in what orb thy mighty spirit soars,
Stoop and beat down this rising fog of shame,
That strives to blur thy blood, and gird defame
About my innocent and spotless brows.
Non est mori miserum, sed miserè mori.1

[up:

And. Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth
And lo the ghost of old Andrugio
Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge!
I was impoison'd by Piero's hand:
Revenge my blood; take spirit, gentle boy;
Revenge my blood. Thy Mellida is chaste:
Only to frustrate thy pursuit in love,

Is blaz'd unchaste. Thy mother yields consent
To be his wife, and give his blood a son,
That made her husbandless, and doth complot
To make her sonless; but before I touch
The banks of rest, my ghost shall visit her.

1 'It is not a wretched thing to die, but it is to die wretchedly.'

Thou vigour of my youth, juice of my love,
Seize on revenge, grasp the stern bended front
Of frowning vengeance with unpaized clutch.
Alarm Nemesis, rouse up thy blood!
Invent some stratagem of vengeance,
Which, but to think on, may like lightning glide
With horror through thy breast. Remember this,
Scelera non ulcisceris, nisi vincis.?
[Exit ANDRUGIO's Ghost.
Enter MARIA, her hair about her ears; NUTRICE
and LUCIO, with Pages, and torches.

Mar. Where left you him? show me, good boys, away.

Nut. God's me, your hair!

Mar. Nurse, 'tis not yet proud day: The neat gay mists of the light's not up, Her cheeks not yet slurr'd over with the paint Of borrowed crimson; the unpranked3 world Wears yet the night-clothes: let flare my loosed hair.

I scorn the presence of the night.

Where's my boy? Run: I'll range about the church,

Like frantic bacchanal or Jason's wife,
Invoking all the spirits of the graves

To tell me where! Hah? Oh my poor wretched

blood!

Thy mutinous affections.

Ant. By the astonning 5 terror of swart night, By the infectious damps of clammy graves, And by the mould that presseth down My dead father's skull, I'll be revenged!

Mar. Wherefore? on whom? for what? Go, go to bed,

Good duteous son. Ho, but thy idle

Ant. So I may sleep tomb'd in an honour'd hearse,

So may my bones rest in that sepulchre

Mar. Forget not duty, son: to bed, to bed.

Ant. May I be cursed by my father's ghost, And blasted with incensed breath of Heaven, If my heart beat on ought but vengeance. May I be numb'd with horror, and my veins Pucker with singing torture, if my brain Digest a thought but of dire vengeance; May I be fetter'd slave to coward Chance, If blood, heart, brain, plot ought save vengeance. Mar. Wilt thou to bed? I wonder when thou sleep'st!

I'faith thou look'st sunk-ey'd; go couch thy head. Now, faith, 'tis idle: sweet, sweet son, to bed.

1 unpaized-unpoised, unmeasured, unhesitating. 2. You do not avenge crimes unless you conquer.' 3 unpranked-unadorned.

40 whosoever thou art, the dread judge of the shades that dispensest new punishments to the dead, whosoever thou art that liest in terror under the hollow cave, whosoever thou art that fearest the downfall of the coming mountain, whosoever thou art that shalt endure the gaping jaws of greedy lions, and entangled shudderest at the fearful bands of the furies, hear the voice of Antonio hastening to you-I will take vengeance.'

5 astonning-stunning. • Pucker-wrinkle, shrink.

Of wish'd revenge. Oh, you departed souls, That lodge in coffin'd trunks, which my feet press

(If Pythagorean Axioms be true,

Of spirits' transmigration), fleet no more
To human bodies, rather live in swine,
Inhabit wolves' flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads,
Rather than man. The curse of Heaven rains
In plagues unlimited through all his days.
His mature age grows only mature vice,
And ripens only to corrupt and rot
The budding hopes of infant modesty.
Still striving to be more than man, he proves
More than a devil, devilish suspect, devilish
cruelty:

All hell-straid1 juice is poured to his veins,
Making him drunk with fuming surquedries,2
Contempt of Heaven, untam'd arrogance,
Lust, state, pride, murder.

And. Murder. Fel. Murder.

Pan. Murder.

}

From above and beneath.

Ant. Ay, I will murder: graves and ghosts Fright me no more, I'll suck red vengeance Out of Piero's wounds. Piero's wounds.

Enter two Boys, with PIERO in his nightgown and nightcap.

Pie. Maria, love, Maria! She took this aisle. Left you her here? On, lights, away! I think we shall not warm our beds to-day.

Enter JULIO, FOROBOSCO, and CASTILIO. Jul. Ho, father! father!

Pie. How now, Julio, my little pretty son? Why suffer you the child to walk so late?

For. He will not sleep, but calls to follow you, Crying that bugbears and spirits haunted him. [ANTONIO offers to come near and stab; PIERO presently withdraws.

Ant. No, not so. This shall be sought for; I'll force him feed on life

Till he shall loathe it. This shall be the close Of vengeance' strain.

Pie. Away there, pages, lead on fast with light;

The church is full of damps; 'tis yet dead night. Exit all, saving JULIO. Jul. Brother Antonio, are you here, i'faith? Why do you frown? Indeed my sister said That I should call you brother, that she did, When you were married to her. Buss me: good Truth, I love you better than my father, 'deed. Ant. Thy father? Gracious, O bounteous Heaven!

1 hell-straid-(?) hell-strewed.

2 surquedries-presumptions

I do adore thy justice: Venit in nostras manus
Tandem vindicta, renit et tota quidem.1

Jul. Truth, since my mother died, I lov'd you best.

Something hath anger'd you; pray you, look merrily.

Ant. I will laugh, and dimple my thin cheek With cap'ring joy; chuck, my heart doth leap To grasp thy bosom. Time, place, and blood, How fit you close together! Heaven's tones Strike not such music to immortal souls As your accordance sweets my breast withal. Methinks I pace upon the front of Jove, And kick corruption with a scornful heel, Griping this flesh, disdain mortality.

Oh that I knew which joint, which side, which limb,

Were father all, and had no mother in't,

That I might rip it vein by vein, and carve

Revenge as swift as lightning bursteth forth,
And clears his heart. Come, pretty tender child,
It is not thee I hate, not thee 1 kill.

Thy father's blood that flows within thy veins
Is it I loathe; is that, revenge must suck.
I love thy soul: and were thy heart lapt up
In any flesh but in Piero's blood,

I would thus kiss it; but being his, thus, thus,
And thus I'll punch it. Abandon fears.
Whilst thy wounds bleed, my brows shall gush

out tears.

Jul. So you will love me, do even what you will.

Ant. Now barks the wolf against the fullcheek'd moon;

Now lions half-clam'd entrails roar for food; Now croaks the toad, and night crows screech aloud,

Fluttering 'bout casements of departed souls; Now gapes the graves, and through their yawns let loose

Imprison'd spirits to revisit earth; And now swart night, to swell thy hour out, Behold I spurt warm blood in thy black eyes. [From under the stage a groan. Howl not, thou pury mould; groan not, ye graves.

Be dumb, all breath. Hero stands Andrugio's

son,

Worthy his father. So: I feel no breath.
His jaws are fall'n, his dislodg'd soul is fled:
And now there's nothing but Piero left.
He is all Piero, father all. This blood,
This breast, this heart, Piero all:
Whom thus I mangle. Spirit of Julio,
Forget this was thy trunk. I live thy friend.
May'st thou be twined with the soft'st embrace
of clear eternity: but thy father's blood
I thus make incense of, to vengeance.
Ghost of my poisoned sire, suck this fume: