Act 1
Act 1.
A curtain drawn, EARL LASSINGBERGH is discovered (like a painter) painting LUCILIA, who sits working on a piece of cushion work.
LASSINGBERGH. Welcome, bright morn, that with thy golden rays
Reveal’st the variant colours of the world,
Look here and see if thou canst find dispersed
The glorious parts of fair Lucilia:
Take them and join them in the heavenly spheres,
And fix them there as an eternal light
For Lovers to adore and wonder at:
And this (long since) the high gods would have done,
But that they could not bring it back again
When they had lost so great divinity.
LUCILIA. You paint your flattering words, Lord Lassingbergh,
Making a curious pencil of your tongue;
And that fair artificial hand of yours
Were fitter to have painted heaven’s fair story
Then here to work on antics and on me.
Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earl)
Are glad to be a mercenary painter.
LASSINGBERGH. A painter, fair Lucilia? Why, the world
With all her beauty was by painting made.
Look on the heavens coloured with golden stars,
The firmamental ground of it all blue:
Look on the air where, with a hundred changes,
The watery rainbow doth embrace the earth:
Look on the summer fields adorned with flowers —
How much is nature’s painting honoured there?
Look in the mines, and on the eastern shore,
Where all our metals and dear gems are drawn,
Though fair themselves made better by their foils:
Look on that little world, the twofold man,
Whose fairer parcel is the weaker still,
And see what azure veins in stream-like form
Divide the rosy beauty of the skin.
I speak not of the sundry shapes of beasts,
The several colours of the elements,
Whose mixture shapes the world’s variety
In making all things by their colours known.
And to conclude, Nature, herself divine,
In all things she hath made is a mere painter. [She kisses his hand.]
LUCILIA. Now by this kiss, th’admirer of thy skill,
Thou art well worthy th’ honour thou hast given
(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing art,
Of which my beauties can deserve no part.
LASSINGBERGH. From these base antics where my hand hath spersed
Thy several parts, if I uniting all
Had figured there the true Lucilia,
Then might’st thou justly wonder at mine art,
And devout people would from far repair,
Like pilgrims, with their duteous sacrifice,
Adoring thee as Regent of their loves.
Here, in the centre of this marigold,
Like a bright diamond I enchased thine eye;
Here, underneath this little rosy bush,
Thy crimson cheeks peers forth more fair than it;
Here Cupid (hanging down his wings) doth sit,
Comparing cherries to thy ruby lips:
Here is thy brow, thy hair, thy neck, thy hand,
Of purpose all in several shrouds disper’st,
Lest, ravished, I should dote on mine own work,
Or envy-burning eyes should malice it.
LUCILIA. No more, my Lord; see, here comes Hans, our man. [Enter HANS.]
HANS. We have the finest painter here at board-wages that ever made fleur-de-lys, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night triumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the fairies, but I for my part see nothing, but hear strange noise sometimes. Well, I am glad we are haunted so with fairies, for I cannot set a clean pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my Mistress Lucilia, she’s never from him: I pray God he paints no pictures with her; but I hope my fellow hireling will not be so saucy. But we have such a wench a-coming for you (Lordings) with her wooers: Ah, the finest wench.
Wink, wink, dear people, and you be wise,
And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes. [Enter CORNELIA sola, looking upon the picture of ALBERDURE in a little jewel, and singing. Enter the DOCTOR and the MERCHANT following and harkening to her.]
SONG.
What thing is love? For sure I am it is a thing,
It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a pretty, pretty thing;
It is a fire, it is a coal, whose flame creeps in at every hole;
And as my wits do best devise
Love’s dwelling is in ladies’ eyes.
HANS. O rare wench!
CORNELIA. Fair Prince, thy picture is not here impressed
With such perfection as within my breast.
MERCHANT. Soft, master Doctor.
DOCTOR. Cornelia, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bold, is too saucy by garr. Fool, hold off hand, fool; let de Doctor speak.
HANS. Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jew’s trump.
DOCTOR. Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you. Me pray you not to say no.
CORNELIA. Master Doctor, I think you do not love me; I am sure you shall not marry me, And (in good sadness) I must needs say no.
MERCHANT. What say you to this, master Doctor? Mistress, let me speak. That I do love you I dare not say, lest I should offend you; that I would marry you I had rather you should conceive than I should utter: and I do live or die upon your monosyllable, ay or no.
DOCTOR. By gar if you will see de Marshan hang himself, say no: a good shasse by garr.
HANS. A filthy French just as I am a Dutch gentleman.
MERCHANT. Mistress, I’ll bring you from Arabia, Turkey, and India, where the sun doth rise, miraculous gems, rare stuffs of precious work, to beautify you more than all the paintings of women with their colour-fading cheeks.
DOCTOR. You bring stuff for her? You bring pudding. Me vit one, two, tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by garr dou sella’ dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you fair; me gieve you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, four yere together: who shall kiss you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who shall toush your fine hand? Ô shall, ô sweet, by garr?
MERCHANT. Indeed, Mr. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of urinals in the morning; a plaguey fellow at midnight; a fusty pothicary ever at hand with his fustian drugs, attending your pisspot worship.
DOCTOR. By garr, scurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee live again for sav’a de law.
HANS. A plaguey marshan by gar, make the doctor angre.
DOCTOR. Now, madam, by my trot you be very fair.
CORNELIA. You mock me, Mr. Doctor, I know the contrary.
DOCTOR. Know? What you know? You no see yourself, by garr me see you; me speak vatt me see; you no point speak so.
HANS. Peace, Doctor, I ‘vise you. Do not court in my master’s hearing, you were best. [Enter FLORES.]
FLORES. Where are these wooers here? Poor silly men,
Highly deceived to gape for marriage here
Only for gain: I have another reach
More high than their base spirits can aspire:
Yet must I use this Doctor’s secret aid,
That hath already promised me a drug
Whose virtue shall effect my whole desires.
DOCTOR. O Monsieur Flores, mee be your worship’s servant; mee lay my hand under your Lordship’s foot by my trot.
FLORES. O master Doctor, you are welcome to us,
And you, Albertus, it doth please me much
To see you vowed rivals thus agree.
DOCTOR. Agree? By my trot sheele not have him.
MERCHANT. You find not that in your urines, Mr. Doctor.
DOCTOR. Monsieur Flores, come hedder, pray.
FLORES. What says master Doctor? Have you remembered me?
DOCTOR. Ay, by garr: here be de powdra, you give de half at once.
FLORES. But are you sure it will work the effect?
DOCTOR. Me be sure? By garr she no sooner drink but shee hang your neck about; she stroak your beard; she nip your sheeke; she bus your lip, by garr.
FLORES. What, wilt thou eat me, Doctor?
DOCTOR. By garr, mee must show you de vertue by plain demonstration.
FLORES. Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no?
DOCTOR. By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kiss my sweet mistress.
FLORES. Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speak; is’t best in wine or no?
DOCTOR. O, good Lort! In vyne: vat else I pray you? You give de vench to loove vatra? Be garre me be ashame of you.
FLORES. Well, thanks, gentle Doctor. And now (my friends)
I look today for strangers of great state,
And must crave liberty to provide for them.
Painter, go leave your work, and you, Lucilia,
Keep you (I charge you) in your chamber close. [Exeunt LASSINGBERGH and LUCILIA.]
Hans, see that all things be in order set
Both for our music and our large carouse,
That (after our best country fashion) I may give entertainment to the Prince.
HANS. One of your haut-boys (sir) is out of tune.
FLORES. Out of tune, villain? Which way?
HANS. Drunk (sir), an’t please you?
FLORES. Is’t night with him already? — Well, get other music.
HANS. So we had need in truth, sir. [Exit HANS.]
DOCTOR. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de unmannerly Marshan stay, by garr. [Exit.]
MERCHANT. Sir, with your leave I’ll choose some other time
When I may less offend you with my stay. [Exit.]
FLORES. Albertus, welcome. — And now, Cornelia,
Are we alone? Look first; ay, all is safe.
Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love
In which we have been partial towards thee
(Above thy sister, blessed with beauty’s gifts)
Receive this virtuous powder at my hands,
And (having mixed it in a bowl of wine)
Give it unto the Prince in his carouse.
I mean no villainy herein to him,
But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup.
We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes;
Why should we, then, shun any means we can
To raise us to our ancient states again?
Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv’st
To have thy imperfections helped by love.
CORNELIA. Then, father, shall we seek sinister means
Forbidden by the laws of God and men?
Can that love prosper which is not begun
By the direction of some heavenly fate?
FLORES. I know not; I was ne’er made Bishop yet;
I must provide for mine, and still prefer
(Above all these) the honour of my house:
Come, therefore, no words, but perform my charge.
CORNELIA. If you will have it so, I must consent. [Exeunt.]
SCENE 2.
[Enter ALBERDURE, HYANTHE, LEANDER and MOTTO.]
ALBERDURE. My dear Hyanthe, my content, my life,
Let no new fancy change thee from my love;
And for my rival (whom I must not wrong,
Because he is my father and my Prince)
Give thou him honour, but give me thy love.
O that my rival bound me not in duty
To favour him, then could I tell Hyanthe
That he already (with importuned suite)
Hath to the Brunswick Duchess vowed himself,
That his desires are careless and his thoughts
Too fickle and imperious for love:
But I am silent, duty ties my tongue.
HYANTHE. Why? Thinks my joy, my princely Alberdure,
Hyanthe’s faith stands on so weak a ground,
That it will fall or bend with every wind?
No storms or lingering miseries shall shake it,
Much less vain titles of commanding love.
MOTTO. Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthly purgatory; for I have such a coil with him a’ nights, grunting and groaning in his sleep, with ‘O, Hyanthe! My dear Hyanthe!’ And then he throbs me in his arms, as if he had gotten a great jewel by the ear.
ALBERDURE. Away, you wag. — And tell me now, my love,
What is the cause Earl Cassimere (your father)
Hath been so long importunate with me
To visit Flores the brave jeweller?
HYANTHE. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord,
That he thinks he doth honour every man
Whom he acquaints with his perfections.
Therefore (in any wise) prepare yourself
To grace and sooth his great conceit of him;
For every gesture, every word he speaks,
Seems to my father admirably good.
LEANDER. Indeed, my Lord, his high conceit of him
Is more than any man alive deserves.
He thinks the jeweller made all of jewels,
Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit,
Fair spoken and well furnished with good parts,
Yet not so peerlessly to be admired. [Enter CASSIMERE.]
CASSIMERE. Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure you
You shall behold so excellent a man,
For his behaviour, for his sweet discourse,
His sight in music and in heavenly arts,
Besides the cunning judgment of his eye
In the rare secrets of all precious gems,
That you will sorrow you have stayed so long.
ALBERDURE. Alas, why would not then your lordship’s favour
Hasten me sooner? For I long to see him
On your judicial commendation.
CASSIMERE. Come, let’s away then: go you in, Hyanthe,
And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence
See him (I pray) with honour entertained. [Exeunt.]
HYANTHE. I will, my Lord.
LEANDER. I will accompany your Ladyship,
If you vouchsafe it.
HYANTHE. Come, good Leander. [Exeunt.]
SCENE 3.
[Enter CONSTANTINE, KATHERINE, ITE, VANDERCLEEVE, with OTHERS.]
CONSTANTINE. Lord Vandercleeve, go Lord Ambassador
From us to the renowned Duke of Saxon,
And know his highness’ reason and intent
Why being (of late) with such importunate suite
Betrothed to our fair sister dowager
Of this our dukedom, he doth now protract
The time he urged with such speed of late
His honoured nuptial rites to celebrate.
KATHERINE. But, good my Lord, temper your ambassy
With such respective terms to my renown
That I be cleared of all immodest haste
To have our promised nuptials consummate;
For his affects (perhaps) follow the season,
Hot with the summer then, now cold with winter:
And dames (though ne’er so forward in desire)
Must suffer men to blow the nuptial fire.
VANDERCLEEVE. Madam, your name (in urging his intent)
Shall not be used, but your right princely brothers;
Who, knowing it may breed in vulgar brains
(That shall give note to this protraction)
Unjust suspicion of your sacred virtues,
And other reasons touching the estate
Of both their famous dukedoms, sendeth me
To be resolved of his integrity.
CONSTANTINE. To that end go, my honourable Lord,
Commend me and my sister to his love
(If you perceive not he neglects our own)
And bring his princely resolution.
KATHERINE. Commend not me by any means, my lord,
Unless your speedy-granted audience
And kind entreaty make it requisite,
For honour rules my nuptial appetite. [Exeunt.]
[Finis Actus Primi.]