The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 10 (of 15), by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 10 (of 15) Author: Various Release Date: July 25, 2014 [EBook #46412] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, 10 *** Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS. ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY IN THE YEAR 1744. FOURTH EDITION, NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS, AND NEW NOTES BY W. CAREW HAZLITT. BENJAMIN BLOM, INC. New York First published 1874-1876 Reissued 1964 by Benjamin Blom, Inc. L.C. Catalog Card No. 64-14702 Printed in U.S.A. by NOBLE OFFSET PRINTERS, INC. New York 3, N. Y. THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. For a notice of the Edition, see the next page. INTRODUCTION. Cyril Torneur is known only as an author, none of the dramatic biographers giving any account of him. Winstanley quotes the following distich from a contemporary poet, by which it appears that he was not held in much estimation for his writings— "His fame unto that pitch was only rais'd, As not to be despis'd, nor over-prais'd." He was the author of— [(1.) The Transformed Metamorphosis, a Poem. 8o, London, 1600.[1]] (2.) The Revengers Tragœdie. As it hath beene sundry times Acted by the Kings Maiesties Seruants. At London. Printed by G. Eld, and are to be sold at his house in Fleete-lane at the signe of the Printers-Presse. 1607, 4o. Again (a new date only) 1608, 4o.[2] (3.) "The Atheists Tragedie: Or The honest Mans Reuenge. As in diuers places it hath often beene Acted. Written by Cyril Tourneur. At London Printed for John Stepneth and Richard Redmer, and are to be sold at their shop, at the West end of Paules. 1611,"[3] 4o. Again, 1612, 4o. (4.) A Traji-Comedy, called The Nobleman, never printed, and which Oldys says was destroyed by ignorance.[4] (5.) A Funerall Poeme. Vpon the Death of the most Worthie and Trve Sovldier: Sir Francis Vere, Knight, Captaine of Portsmouth, L. Gouernour of his Maiesties Cautionarie Towne of Briell in Holland, &c., 4o, 1609. (6.) A Griefe on the Death of Prince Henrie. Expressed in a broken Elegie, according to the nature of such a sorrow, 4o, 1613.[5] [A MS. note in one of the former editions says: "This is a most splendid work. The character of Vendice surpasses anything else of the kind. The power with which it is conceived and conducted is appalling. The quaint way that accompanies it adds to its fearful effect. The whole is perfectly tremendous."] FOOTNOTES: [See Hazlitt's "Handbook," 1867, art. Tourneur, in Appendix.] "The Revenger's Tragedy" was entered on the Stationers' Books, with "A Trick to Catch the Old One," on the 7th October 1607. There are some good passages in this play, but upon the whole it is considerably inferior to "The Revenger's Tragedy." The plot is unnatural, and the manner in which the catastrophe is brought about ludicrous.—Collier. It is very probable that Tourneur was concerned in other dramatic productions, which are either anonymous, or have been lost. He is mentioned in the following terms by Robert Daborne in a letter to P. Henslowe, dated 5th June 1613: "I have not only laboured my own play, which shall be ready before they (the company) come over, but given Cyrill Tourneur an act of the 'Arraignment of London' to write, yt we may have that likewise ready for them."—Collier. [This is part of a volume entitled, "Three Elegies on the most Lamented Death of Prince Henrie," 1613. The others are by John Webster and T. Heywood.] After the title comes a prose dedication, "To my noble Maister George Carie," and four lines "To the Reader." At the end of the "Griefe" are verses "On the representation of the Prince at his funeralle," and "On the succession," each in eight lines.—Gilchrist. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[6] Duke. Duchess. Vendice, disguised as Piato, } Brothers to Castiza. Hippolito, also called Carlo, } Lusurioso, the Duke's Son. Spurio, a Bastard. Ambitioso, The Duchess's eldest Son. Supervacuo, second Son to the Duchess. A third Son to the Duchess. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] Antonio. Piero. Dondolo. Judges. Castiza. Gratiana, Mother of Catiza. The Scene, Italy. FOOTNOTES: [Not in the old copy.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. [6] ACTUS I., SCÆNA 1.[7] Enter Vendice. The Duke, Duchess, Lusurioso the Duke's son, Spurio the bastard, with a train, pass over the stage with torchlight. Ven.[8] Duke! royal lecher! go, grey-hair'd adultery! And thou his son, as impious steep'd as he: And thou his bastard, true begot in evil: And thou his duchess, that will do with devil: Four exc'llent characters! O, that marrowless age Should stuff the hollow bones with damn'd desires! And, 'stead of heat, kindle infernal fires Within the spendthrift veins of a dry duke, A parch'd and juiceless luxur.[9] O God! one, That has scarce blood enough to live upon; And he to riot it, like a son and heir! O, the thought of that Turns my abused heart-strings into fret. Thou sallow picture of my poison'd love, [Views the skull in his hand. My study's ornament, thou shell of death, Once the bright face of my betrothed lady, When life and beauty naturally fill'd out These ragged imperfections; When two heaven-pointed diamonds were set In those unsightly rings—then 'twas a face So far beyond the artificial shine Of any woman's bought complexion, That the uprightest man (if such there be, That sin but seven times a day) broke custom, And made up eight with looking after her. O, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son Melt all his patrimony in a kiss; And what his father [in] fifty years told, To have consum'd, and yet his suit been cold. But, O accursed palace! Thee, when thou wert apparell'd in thy flesh, The old duke poison'd, Because thy purer part would not consent Unto his palsied[10] lust; for old men lustful Do show like young men angry: eager, violent, Outbid, [be]like, their limited performances. O, 'ware an old man hot and vicious! "Age, as in gold, in lust is covetous." Vengeance, thou murder's quit-rent, and whereby Thou show'st thyself tenant to tragedy; O, keep thy day, hour, minute, I beseech, For those thou hast determin'd. Hum! whoe'er knew Murder unpaid? faith, give revenge her due, Sh' has kept touch hitherto: be merry, merry, Advance thee, O thou terror to fat folks! To have their costly three-pil'd flesh worn off As bare as this; for banquets, ease, and laughter Can make great men, as greatness goes by clay; But wise men little are more great than they. Enter Hippolito. Hip. Still sighing o'er death's vizard? Ven. Brother, welcome! What comfort bring'st thou? how go things at court? Hip. In silk and silver, brother: never braver. Ven. Puh! Thou play'st upon my meaning. Prythee, say, Has that bald madman, opportunity, Yet thought upon's? speak, are we happy yet? Thy wrongs and mine are for one scabbard fit. Hip. It may prove happiness. Ven. What is't may prove? Give me to taste. Hip. Give me your hearing, then. You know my place at court? Ven. Ay, the duke's chamber! But 'tis a marvel thou'rt not turn'd out yet! Hip. Faith, I've been shov'd at; but 'twas still my hap To hold by th' duchess' skirt: you guess at that: Whom such a coat keeps up, can ne'er fall flat. But to the purpose— Last evening, predecessor unto this, The duke's son warily inquir'd for me, Whose pleasure I attended: he began By policy to open and unhusk me About the fame[11] and common rumour: But I had so much wit to keep my thoughts Up in their built houses; yet afforded him An idle satisfaction without danger. But the whole aim and scope of his intent Ended in this: conjuring me in private To seek some strange-digested fellow forth, Of ill-contented nature; either disgrac'd In former times, or by new grooms displac'd, Since his step-mother's nuptials; such a blood, A man that were for evil only good— To give you the true word, some base-coin'd pander. Ven. I reach you; for I know his heat is such, Were there as many concubines as ladies, He would not be contain'd; he must fly out. I wonder how ill-featur'd, vile-proportion'd, That one should be, if she were made for woman Whom, at the insurrection of his lust, He would refuse for once. Heart! I think none. Next to a skull, though more unsound than one, Each face he meets he strongly doats upon. Hip. Brother, y' have truly spoke him. He knows not you, but I will swear you know him. Ven. And therefore I'll put on that knave for once, And be a right man then, a man o' th' time; For to be honest is not to be i' th' world. Brother, I'll be that strange-composed fellow. Hip. And I'll prefer you, brother. Ven. Go to, then: The smallest advantage fattens wronged men: It may point out occasion, if I meet her, I'll hold her by the foretop fast enough; Or, like the French Mole,[12] heave up hair and all. I have a habit that will fit it quaintly. Here comes our mother. [Aside. Exeunt. Hip. And sister. Ven. We must coin: Women are apt, you know, to take false money; But I dare stake my soul for these two creatures, Only excuse excepted, that they'll swallow, Because their sex is easy in belief. Enter Gratiana and Castiza. Gra. What news from court, son Carlo? Hip. Faith, mother, Tis whisper'd there the duchess' youngest son Has play'd a rape on Lord Antonio's wife. Gra. On that religious lady! Cas. Royal blood! monster, he deserves to die, If Italy had no more hopes but he. Ven. Sister, y'have sentenc'd most direct and true, The law's a woman, and would she were you. Mother, I must take leave of you. Gra. Leave! for what? Ven. I intend speedy travel. Hip. That he does, madam. Gra. Speedy indeed! Ven. For since my worthy father's funeral, My life's unnatural[13] to me, even compell'd; As if I liv'd now, when I should be dead. Gra. Indeed, he was a worthy gentleman, Had his estate been fellow to his mind. Ven. The duke did much deject him. Gra. Much? Ven. Too much: And though disgrace oft smother'd in his spirit, When it would mount, surely I think he died Of discontent, the noble man's consumption. Gra. Most sure he did. Ven. Did he? 'lack! you know all: You were his midnight secretary. Gra. No, He was too wise to trust me with his thoughts. Ven. I' faith, then, father, thou wast wise indeed; "Wives are but made to go to bed and feed." Come, mother, sister: you'll bring me onward,[14] brother? Hip. I will. Ven. I'll quickly turn into another. Enter the old Duke, Lusurioso his son, the Duchess: the Bastard, the Duchess's two sons Ambitioso and Supervacuo; the third, her youngest, brought out with Officers for the rape. Two Judges. [Aside. Duke. Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry, His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour, And stain'd our honours; Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state; Which envious spirits will dip their pens into After our death; and blot us in our tombs: For that which would seem treason in our lives Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whisper, That dares not then speak out, and e'en proclaim With loud words and broad pens our closest shame? Judge. Your grace hath spoke like to your silver years, Full of confirmed gravity; for what is it to have A flattering false insculption[15] on a tomb, And in men's hearts reproach? the bowell'd corpse May be sear'd in, but (with free tongue I speak) The faults of great men through their sear-cloths break. Duke. They do; we're sorry for't: it is our fate To live in fear, and die to live in hate. I leave him to your sentence; doom him, lords— The fact is great—whilst I sit by and sigh. Duch. My gracious lord, I pray be merciful: Although his trespass far exceed his years, Think him to be your own, as I am yours; Call him not son-in-law: the law, I fear, Will fall too soon upon his name and him: Temper his fault with pity. Lus. Good my lord, Then 'twill not taste so bitter and unpleasant Upon the judges' palate; for offences, Gilt o'er with mercy, show like fairest women, Good only for their beauties, which wash'd off, No sin is uglier.[16] Amb. I beseech your grace, Be soft and mild; let not relentless law Look with an iron forehead on our brother. Spu. He yields small comfort yet [or] hope he shall die; And if a bastard's wish might stand in force, Would all the court were turn'd into a corse! Duch. No pity yet? must I rise fruitless then? A wonder in a woman! are my knees Of such low metal, that without respect—— 1st Judge. Let the offender stand forth: 'Tis the duke's pleasure, that impartial doom Shall take fast hold of his unclean attempt. A rape! why 'tis the very core of lust— Double adultery. Jun. So, sir. 2d Judge. And which was worse, Committed on the Lord Antonio's wife, That general honest lady. Confess, my lord, What mov'd you to't? Jun. Why, flesh and blood, my lord; What should move men unto a woman else? Lus. O, do not jest thy doom! trust not an axe Or sword too far: the law is a wise serpent, [Aside. [Aside. [Aside. [Aside. And quickly can beguile thee of thy life. Though marriage only has made thee my brother, I love thee so far, play not with thy death. Jun, I thank you, troth; good admonitions, faith, If I'd the grace now to make use of them. 1st Judge. That lady's name has spread such a fair wing Over all Italy, that if our tongues Were sparing toward the fact, judgment itself Would be condemn'd, and suffer in men's thoughts. Jun. Well then, 'tis done; and it would please me well, Were it to do again: sure, she's a goddess, For I'd no power to see her, and to live. It falls out true in this, for I must die; Her beauty was ordain'd to be my scaffold. And yet, methinks, I might be easier 'sess'd: My fault being sport, let me but die in jest. 1st Judge. This be the sentence—— Duch. O, keep't upon your tongue; let it not slip; Death too soon steals out of a lawyer's lip. Be not so cruel-wise! 1st Judge. Your grace must pardon us; 'Tis but the justice of the law. Duch. The law Is grown more subtle than a woman should be. Spu. Now, now he dies! rid 'em away. Duch. O, what it is to have an old cool duke, To be as slack in tongue as in performance! 1st Judge. Confirm'd, this be the doom irrevocable. Duch. O! 1st Judge. To-morrow early—— Duch. Pray be abed, my lord. 1st Judge. Your grace much wrongs yourself. Amb. No, 'tis that tongue: Your too much right does do us too much wrong. 1st Judge. Let that offender—— Duch. Live, and be in health. 1st Judge. Be on a scaffold——- Duke. Hold, hold, my lord! Spu. Pox on't, What makes my dad speak now? Duke. We will defer the judgment till next sitting: In the meantime, let him be kept close prisoner. Guard, bear him hence. Amb. Brother, this makes for thee; Fear not, we'll have a trick to set thee free. Jun. Brother, I will expect it from you both; And in that hope I rest. [Exit with a guard. [Kisses her. Sup. Farewell, be merry. Spu. Delay'd! deferr'd! nay then, if judgment have cold blood, Flattery and bribes will kill it. Duke. About it, then, my lords, with your best powers: More serious business calls upon our hours. [Exeunt, manet Duchess. Duch. Was't ever known step-duchess was so mild And calm as I? some now would plot his death With easy doctors, those loose-living men, And make his wither'd grace fall to his grave, And keep church better. Some second wife would do this, and despatch Her double-loathed lord at meat or sleep. Indeed, 'tis true, an old man's twice a child; Mine cannot speak; one of his single words Would quite have freed my youngest dearest son From death or durance, and have made him walk With a bold foot upon the thorny law, Whose prickles should bow under him; but 'tis not, And therefore wedlock-faith shall be forgot: I'll kill him in his forehead; hate, there feed; That wound is deepest, though it never bleed. And here comes he whom my heart points unto, His bastard son, but my love's true-begot; Many a wealthy letter have I sent him, Swell'd up with jewels, and the timorous man Is yet but coldly kind. That jewel's mine that quivers in his ear, Mocking his master's dullness and vain fear. H' has spied me now! Enter Spurio.[17] Spu. Madam, your grace so private? My duty on your hand. Duch. Upon my hand, sir! troth, I think you'd fear To kiss my hand too, if my lip stood there. Spu. Witness I would not, madam. Duch. 'Tis a wonder, For ceremony has made many fools![18] It is as easy way unto a duchess, As to a hatted dame,[19] if her love answer: But that by timorous humours,[20] pale respects, Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways Hard of themselves. What, have you thought of me? Spu. Madam, I ever think of you in duty, Regard, and—— Duch. Puh! upon my love, I mean. Spu. I would 'twere love; but 'tis a fouler name Than lust: you are my father's wife—your grace may guess now What I could call it. Duch. Why, th' art his son but falsely; 'Tis a hard question whether he begot thee. Spu. I' faith, 'tis true: I'm an uncertain man Of more uncertain woman. Maybe, his groom [Exit. O' th' stable begot me; you know I know not; He could ride a horse well, a shrewd suspicion, marry!— He was wondrous tall: he had his length, i' faith; For peeping over half-shut holyday windows, Men would desire him light, when he was afoot. He made a goodly show under a pent-house; And when he rid, his hat would check the signs, And clatter barbers' basons. Duch. Nay, set you a-horseback once, You'll ne'er light off.[21] Spu. Indeed, I am a beggar. Duch. That's the more sign thou'rt great.— But to our love: Let it stand firm both in thy thought and mind, That the duke was thy father, as no doubt He bid fair for't—-thy injury is the more; For had he cut thee a right diamond, Thou had'st been next set in the dukedom's ring, When his worn self, like age's easy slave, Had dropp'd out of the collet[22] into th' grave. What wrong can equal this? canst thou be tame, And think upon't? Spu. No, mad, and think upon't. Duch. Who would not be reveng'd of such a father, E'en in the worst way? I would thank that sin, That could most injure him, and be in league with it. O, what a grief 'tis that a man should live But once i' th' world, and then to live a bastard! The curse o' the womb, the thief of nature, Begot against the seventh commandment, Half-damn'd in the conception by the justice Of that unbribed, everlasting law. Spu. O, I'd a hot-back'd devil to my father. Duch. Would not this mad e'en patience, make blood rough? Who but an eunuch would not sin? his bed, By one false minute disinherited. Spu. Ay, there's the vengeance that my birth was wrapp'd in! I'll be reveng'd for all: now, hate, begin; I'll call foul incest but a venial sin. Duch. Cold still! in vain then must a duchess woo? Spu. Madam, I blush to say what I will do. Duch. Thence flew sweet comfort. Earnest, and farewell. [Kisses him. Spu. O, one incestuous kiss picks open hell. Duch. Faith now, old duke, my vengeance shall reach high, I'll arm thy brow with woman's heraldry. Spu. Duke, thou didst do me wrong; and, by thy act Adultery is my nature. Faith, if the truth were known, I was begot After some gluttonous dinner; some stirring dish Was my first father, when deep healths went round, And ladies' cheeks were painted red with wine, Their tongues, as short and nimble as their heels, [Exit. Uttering words sweet and thick; and when they rose, Were merrily dispos'd to fall again. In such a whisp'ring and withdrawing hour, When base male-bawds kept sentinel at stair-head, Was I stol'n softly. O damnation meet![23] The sin of feasts, drunken adultery! I feel it swell me; my revenge is just! I was begot in impudent wine and lust. Step-mother, I consent to thy desires; I love thy mischief well; but I hate thee And those three cubs thy sons, wishing confusion, Death and disgrace may be their epitaphs. As for my brother, the duke's only son, Whose birth is more beholding to report Than mine, and yet perhaps as falsely sown (Women must not be trusted with their own), I'll loose my days upon him, hate-all-I; Duke, on thy brow I'll draw my bastardy: For indeed a bastard by nature should make cuckolds, Because he is the son of a cuckold-maker. Enter Vendice and Hippolito. Vendice in disguise, to attend L. Lusurioso, the duke's son. Ven. What, brother, am I far enough from myself? Hip. As if another man had been sent whole Into the world, and none wist how he came. Ven. It will confirm me bold—the child o' th' court; Let blushes dwell i' th' country. Impudence! Thou goddess of the palace, mistress of mistresses, To whom the costly perfum'd people pray, Strike thou my forehead into dauntless marble, Mine eyes to steady sapphires. Turn my visage; And, if I must needs glow, let me blush inward, That this immodest season may not spy That scholar in my cheeks, fool bashfulness; That maid in the old time, whose flush of grace Would never suffer her to get good clothes. Our maids are wiser, and are less asham'd; Save Grace the bawd, I seldom hear grace nam'd! Hip. Nay, brother, you reach out o' th' verge now—— 'Sfoot, the duke's son! settle your looks. Ven. Pray, let me not be doubted. Hip. My lord—— Enter Lusurioso. Lus. Hippolito—be absent, leave us! Hip. My lord, after long search, wary inquiries, And politic siftings, I made choice of yon fellow, Whom I guess rare for many deep employments: This our age swims within him; and if Time Had so much hair, I should take him for Time, He is so near kin to this present minute. Lus. 'Tis enough; We thank thee: yet words are but great men's blanks; Gold, though it be dumb, does utter the best thanks. [Gives him money. Hip. Your plenteous honour! an excellent fellow, my lord. Lus. So, give us leave—[Exit Hippolito.] welcome, be not far off; we must be better acquainted: pish, be bold with us—thy hand. Ven. With all my heart, i' faith: how dost, sweet musk-cat? When shall we lie together? Lus. Wondrous knave, Gather him into boldness! 'sfoot, the slave's Already as familiar as an ague, And shakes me at his pleasure. Friend, I can Forget myself in private; but elsewhere I pray do you remember me. Ven. O, very well, sir—I conster myself saucy. Lus. What hast been? Of what profession? Ven. A bone-setter. Lus. A bone-setter! Ven. A bawd, my lord— One that sets bones together. Lus. Notable bluntness! Fit, fit for me; e'en train'd up to my hand: Thou hast been scrivener to much knavery, then? Ven. Fool to abundance, sir: I have been witness To the surrenders of a thousand virgins; And not so little I have seen patrimonies wash'd a-pieces, Fruit-fields turn'd into bastards, And in a world of acres Not so much dust due to the heir 'twas left to As would well gravel[24] a petition. Lus. Fine villain! troth, I like him wondrously: He's e'en shap'd for my purpose. [Aside.] Then thou know'st I' th' world strange lust? Ven. O Dutch lust! fulsome lust! Drunken procreation! which begets so many drunkards: Some fathers dread not (gone to bed in wine) to slide from the mother, And cling the daughter-in-law;[25] Some uncles are adulterous with their nieces: Brothers with brothers' wives. O hour of incest! Any kin now, next to the rim o' th' sister,[26] Is man's meat in these days; and in the morning, When they are up and dress'd, and their mask on, Who can perceive this, save that eternal eye, That sees through flesh and all? Well, if anything be damn'd, It will be twelve o'clock at night; that twelve Will never 'scape; It is the Judas of the hours, wherein Honest salvation is betray'd to sin. Lus. In troth, it is true; but let this talk glide. It is our blood to err, though hell gape wide.[27] Ladies know Lucifer fell, yet still are proud. Now, sir, wert thou as secret as thou'rt subtle, And deeply fathom'd into all estates, I would embrace thee for a near employment; And thou shouldst swell in money, and be able To make lame beggars crouch to thee.