Classic Poem

ACT II. SCENE I.

A Room in sir John Belfare's House .

Enter CARDONA and ISAAC .

Car. To the tailor's man, run!
Isaac. To the tailor's man? why not to his master?
Car. The wedding-clothes not brought home yet! fie, fie!
Isaac. Who would trust a woman's tailor? take measure so long before of a gentlewoman, and not bring home his commodity? there's no conscience in't!
Car. The arrant shoemaker, too.
Isaac. Master Hide, is not he come yet? I call'd upon him yesterday, to make haste of my mistress's shoes, and he told me, he was about the upper-leather, he would be at her heels presently: I left his foot in the stirrup; I thought he would have rid post after me.
Car. Prithee, Isaac, make haste; how tedious thou art; hast not thou been there yet?
Isaac. Oh yes, and here again; d'ye not see me? you are so light yourself.
Car. As thou goest, call upon Cod the perfumer, tell him he uses us sweetly, has not brought home the gloves yet! — and, dost hear? when thou art at the Peacock, remember to call for the sprig; by the same token, I left my fan to be mended: — and, dost hear? when thou'rt there, 'tis but a little out of the way, to run to the Devil, and bid the vintner make haste with the runlets of claret; we shall have no time to burn it.
Isaac. You need not, if it come from the Devil; methinks that wine should burn itself.
Car. Run, I prithee.
Isaac. Tailors, shoemakers, perfumers, feather-makers, and the devil and all; what a many occupations does a woman run through, before she is married!
Car. Fie upon't! what a perplexity is [here] about a wedding! I might have been thus troubled for a child of my own, if good luck had serv'd.
Gra. [ within .] — Cardona!
Car. I come, lady-bird.

SCENE II.

The Park.

Enter BEAUFORD with his sword drawn, and MARWOOD .

Mar. Was this your purpose?
Beau. This place, of all the park, affords most privacy.
Nature hath placed the trees to imitate
A Roman amphitheatre,
Mar. We must be
The sword-players.
Beau . Draw; imagine all
These trees were cypress, the companions of
Our funeral; for one or both must go
To a dark habitation: methinks
We two are like to some unguided men,
That having wander'd all the day in a
Wild unknown path, at night walk down into
A hollow grot, a cave which never star
Durst look into, made in contempt of light,
By nature; which the moon did never yet
Befriend with any melancholy beam:
Oh, cousin! thou hast led me where I never
Shall see day more.
Mar. This is the way to make it
A night indeed; but if you recollect
Yourself, I brought you beams to let you see
The horror of that darkness you are going to,
By marrying with Gratiana.
Beau. That name
Awakes my resolution; consume not
Thy breath too idly, thou hast but a small time
For the use on't: either employ it in the unsaying
Thy wrong to Gratiana, or thou hasten'st
Thy last minute.
Mar. I must tell Beauford, then,
He is ungrateful, to return so ill
My friendship: have I undervalued
My shame, in the relation of a truth,
To make the man I would preserve, my enemy?
Why dost thou tempt thy destiny with so
Much sin? dost think I wear a sword I dare
Not manage? or that I can be enforced
To a revolt? I am no rebel, Beauford.
Again I must confirm Gratiana's honour
Stain'd, [all] the treasures of her chastity
Rifled, and lost; 'twas my unhappiness
To have added that unto my other sins
I' the wildness of my blood, which thou mayst punish.
Bra. Thou hast repeated but the same in substance,
Touching Gratiana.
Mar. Truth is ever constant,
Remains upon her square, firm and unshaken.
Beau. If what thou hast affirm'd be true,
Why should we fight, be cruel to ourselves,
Endanger our eternity, for the error
Of one frail woman? let our swords expect
A nobler cause. What man hath such assurance
In any woman's faith, that he should run
A desperate hazard of his soul? I know
Women are not born angels, but created
With passion and temper like to us,
And men are apt to err and lose themselves,
Caught with the smile of wanton beauty, fetter'd
Even with their mistress' hair.
Mar. I like this well.
Beau. He has a handsome presence and discourse,
Two subtle charms to tempt a woman's frailty,
Who must be govern'd by their eye or ear,
To love; beside, my kinsman hath been tax'd
For being too prompt in wantonness; this confirms it:
Then farewell, woman-kind!
Mar. This does become you.
Beau. Why should we fight? our letting blood will not
Cure her, and make her honour white again:
We are friends; repent thy sin, and marry her.
Mar. Whom?
Beau. Gratiana.
Mar. How, sir, marry her?
Beau. Why, canst thou add to it another crime,
By a refusing to repair the ruins
Of that chaste temple thou hadst violated?
Her virgin tapers are by thee extinct,
No odour of her chastity, which once
Gave a perfume to heaven, and did refresh
Her innocent soul: they that have spoil'd virginity,
Do half restore the treasures they took thence,
By sacred marriage.
Mar. Marriage! with whom?
Beau. Gratiana.
Mar. Should I marry a whore?
Beau. Thou liest; and with a guilt upon thy soul,
Able to sink thee to damnation,
I'll send thee hence! — whore! what woman
Was ever bad enough to deserve that name?
Salute some native fury, or a wretch
Condemn'd already to hell's tortures by it,
Not Gratiana; thou'st awaken'd justice,
And given it eyes to see thy treachery,
The depth of thy malicious heart; that word
Hath disenchanted me.
Mar. Are you serious?
Beau. How have I sinn'd in my credulity
'Gainst virtue all this while! what charm bound up
My understanding part, I should admit
A possibility for her to carry
So black a soul; though all her sex beside
Had fallen from their creation? Thou hast
Not life enough to forfeit, — what an advantage
To fame and goodness had been lost!
Mar. Will you fight?
Beau. Wert thou defenced with circular fire, more subtle
Than the [fierce] lightning, that I knew would ravish
My heart and marrow from me, yet I should
Neglect the danger, and, but singly arm'd,
Fly to revenge thy calumny: — a whore! —
Come on, sir.
Thou'rt wounded: ha!
Mar. Mortally;
Fly, Beauford, save thyself, I hasten to the dead.
Beau. Oh, stay awhile, or thou wilt lose us both:
Thy wound I cannot call back, now there is
No dallying with heaven, but thou pullest on thee
Double confusion; leave a truth behind thee,
As thou wouldst hope rest to thy parting soul;
Hast thou not wrong'd Gratiana?
Mar. Yes, in my lust, but not in my report.
Take my last breath, I sinfully enjoy'd her.
Gratiana is a blotted piece of alabaster: —
Farewell, lest some betray thee; heaven forgive
My offence, as I do freely pardon thine.
Beau. I cannot long survive. — —
Is there no hope thou mayst recover?
Mar. Oh!
Beau. Farewell for ever, then, with thy short breath
May all thy ills conclude! mine but begin
To muster; life and I shall quickly part;
I feel a sorrow will break Beauford's heart.

Enter Park Keeper and Servant.

Serv. There are coney-stealers abroad, sir.
Keep. These whoreson rabbit suckers will ne'er leave the ground.
Serv. In my walk last night, I frighted some on 'em.
'Pox o' these vermin, would they were all destroy'd!
Keep. So we may chance to keep no deer.
Serv. Why so?
Keep. An old coney stops a knave's mouth sometimes, that else would be gaping for venison.
Mar. Oh!
Keep. Who's that?
Serv. Here's a gentleman wounded.
Keep. Ha!
Serv. He has bled much.
Keep. How came you hurt, sir? — no? not speak? if he be not past hope, let us carry him to my lodge; my wife is a piece of a surgeon, and has been fortunate in some cures: tear a piece of my shirt, Ralph, to bind his wound: — quickly — so, so: alas! poor gentleman! he may live to be dress'd, and tell who has done this misfortune: — gently, honest Ralph; he has some breath yet. Would I had my blood-hound here!

SCENE III.

A Room in sir John Belfare's House .

Enter BELFARE , justice LANDBY , and Jane ; ISAAC waiting .

Bel. You're welcome, master Landby, and mistress Jane;
Where's the young captain, sir, your nephew?
Just. L. He went betimes to wait upon the bridegroom.
Bel. They are inseparable friends, as they had divided hearts; they both are glad when either meets a good fortune.
Jane . I'll be bold to see your daughter.
Bel. Do, mistress Jane, she has her maid's blush yet; she'll make you amends for this, and, ere it be long, I hope, dance at your wedding.
Just. L. I wish you many joys, sir, by this marriage:
Your daughter has made discreet election,
She'll have a hopeful gentleman.
Bel. Master Landby, it would refresh my age to see her fruitful to him: I should find a blessing for a young Beauford, and be glad to dandle him. The first news of a boy born by my daughter would set me back seven years; O, master Landby, old men do never truly doat, until their children bring them babies.

Enter RAWBONE , and HAVER as his servant .

Isaac . Master Rawbone, I'll be bold to present you with a piece of rosemary, we have such cheer!
Raw . Honest Isaac!
Isaac. Pray do you belong to master Rawbone?
Hav. Yes, sir.
Isaac. You have eat something in your days?
Hav. Why, prithee?
Isaac. Nothing, nothing;
Do you understand nothing? you shall eat nothing,
Unless some benefactors, like my master,
In pity of your bellies, once a year
Do warm it with a dinner, you must never
Hope to see roast or sod; he has, within
This twelvemonth, to my knowledge,
Made seven men immortal.
Hav. How!
Isaac. Yes, he has made spirits on 'em,
And they haunt such men's houses as my master's,
Spirits o' the buttery; let me counsel you
To cram your corpse, to day, for by his almanac,
There's a long Lent a coming.
Bel. Never see me
But when you are invited!
Raw. 'Las! I had rather eat a piece of cold capon at home, than be troublesome abroad. I hope, forsooth, mistress Jane is as she should be.
Just L. She is in health.
Bel. You have a fresh servant, master Rawbone; a proper fellow, and maintains himself handsomely.
Raw. An he would not ha' maintain'd himself,
I had never entertain'd him.
Isaac. Where's Camelion?
Raw. I have preferr'd him, Isaac.
Isaac. How!
Raw. Turn'd him away last night,
And took this stripling.

Enter captain LANDBY .

Capt. L. 'Morrow, sir John, where is the early bridegroom?
Just. L. Came you not from him?
Bel. We expect him, sir, every minute.
Capt. L. Not yet come? his servants told me
He went abroad before the morning blush'd.
Bel. We have not seen him; pray heaven he be in health!
Capt. L. I wonder at his absence.
Raw. Captain Landby, young man of war, I do salute thee with a broadside.
Capt. L. Do you hear?
They say you come a wooing to my cousin;
That day you marry her, I'll cut your throat;
Keep it to yourself.
Hav. Thou art a noble fellow; things may prosper.
Capt. L. You come hither to wish, God give 'em joy , now.
Raw. Yes, marry do I.
Capt. L. You do lie; you come
To scour your dirty maw with the good cheer,
Which will be damn'd in your lean barathrum,
That kitchen-stuff devourer.
Raw. Why should you say so, captain? my belly did ne'er think you any harm.
Capt. L. When it does vomit up thy heart
I'll praise it; in the mean time,
Would every bit thou eat'st to-day were steep'd
In aquafortis.
Raw. What is that, Jasper?
Hav. It is strong water.
Raw. Noble captain! thanks i' faith heartily: I was afraid you had been angry.
Capt. L. I'll have thee sow'd up in a money-bag,
And boil'd to jelly.
Raw. You shall have me at your service, and my bags too, upon good security. Is not this better than quarrelling, Jasper?

Enter CARDONA .

Car. Is not the bridegroom come yet? sure he has overslept himself; there is nothing but wondering within; all the maids are in uproar, one says he is a slow thing, another says, she knows not what to say, but they all conclude, if ever they marry, they'll make it in their bargain to be sure of all things before matrimony. Fie upon him! if I were to be his wife, I'd shew him a trick for't ere a year came about, or it should cost me a fall, I warrant him.
Just. L. Sir John, you're troubled.
Bel. Can you blame me, sir?
I would not have our morning's expectation
Frustrate. — I know not what to think.
Just. L. Sir, fear not.
Bel. The morn grows old.
Just. L. Hymen has long tapers.
Bel. What should procure his absence? he departed
But oddly yesterday.
Capt L. Marwood had engag'd him;
They promis'd to return.
Bel. But we see neither,
Just. L. They'll come together; make it not your fear;
Beauford's a gentleman, and cannot be
Guilty of doing such affront, unless
Some misfortune —
Bel. That's another jealousy.

Enter LODAM , followed by CAMELION .

Lod. Where is sir John Belfare?
Bel. Ha! master Lodam,
Welcome.
Lod. I congratulate —
Bel. Saw you master Beauford, sir?
Lod. Yes, I saw him, but —
Just. L. But what?
Lod. I know not how he does:
Where is the lady that must be undone to-night,
Your daughter?
Bel. My daughter undone? name what unhappiness.
My heart already doth begin to prophesy
Her unkind fate; name what disaster: give it
Expression, pray; what is the news?
Lod. The news?
Why, would you know the news? 'tis none o' the best.
Just. L. Be temperate, then, in your relation.
Bel. What is't?
Lod. They say for certain,
There were four-and-twenty colliers cast away,
Coming from Newcastle; 'tis cold news i' the city;
But there is worse news abroad.
Bel. Doth it concern my knowledge? trifle not.
Lod. They say that canary sack must dance again to the apothecaries, and be sold for physic in hum-glasses and thimbles; that the Spa-water must be transported hither, and be drunk instead of French wines: for my part, I am but one.
Hav. Big enough for two.
Lod. This citadel may endure as long a siege as another; if the pride of my flesh must be pull'd down, farewell it! 't has done me service this forty year: let it go.
Bel. Saw you master Beauford?
Lod. Yes, sir John, I saw him — but 'twas three days ago.
Capt. L. He is ridiculous.
Just. L. Do not afflict yourself.
He will give a fair account at his return.
Bel. Pray heaven he may. — My daughter.

Enter GRATIANA , Jane , and CARDONA .

Raw. Sir, I desire to be acquainted with you.
Lod. I have no stomach to your acquaintance,
You are a thought too lean.
Raw. And you a bit too fat.
Bel. Dost not wonder, girl, at Beauford's absence?
Gra. Not at all, sir; I am not now to learn
Opinion of his nobleness; and I hope
Your judgment will not permit you sin so much
To censure him for this stay. — Fair morning to master Landby, noble captain, master Lodam, and the rest.
Raw. I am so little
She cannot see me; give you joy, forsooth;
I hope it is your destiny to be married.
Capt. L. And your's to be hang'd.
Raw. How, sir!
Hav. No harm;
He wishes you long life.
Raw. A long halter, he does;
What, to be hang'd?
Hav. 'Las, sir, he knows you have no flesh to burden you;
Light as a feather, hanging will ne'er kill you,
If he had wish'd, sir, master Lodam hang'd —
Raw. Then, I'll to him, and thank him; —
But here's mistress Jane.
Capt. L. You shall command me as your servant. — Sirrah!
Raw. I did but ask her how she did; I said
Never a word to her: [ Exit capt .] — 'pox upon his bouncing!
I am as fearful of him as of a gun,
He does so powder me.
Gra. We have not seen
You, sir, this great while, you fall away methinks.
Lod. Losing Lodam, I.
Gra. You are not the least welcome, sir.
Lod. I do give you great thanks, and do mean to dance at your wedding for't: I do marvel master Beauford is not earlier, I should have been here with music, lady, and have fiddled you too, before you were up; these lean lovers have nothing in them, slow men of London.
Bel. Gratiana.
Lod. [ spying Jane .] — Who's this? she has a mortal eye.
Isaac . Camelion! how now! turn'd away your master?
Cam. No, I sold my place; as I was thinking to run away, comes this fellow, and offered me a breakfast for my good will, to speak to my master for him; I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and turn'd over my hunger to him immediately; now I serve a man, Isaac.
Bel. Isaac. — [ Whispers Isaac, and sends him off.
Lod. I do foresee a fall of this tower already; love begins to undermine it. — Mistress, a word in private.
Raw. Jasper, hast a sword?
Hav. Yes, sir.
Raw. That's well, let it alone:
Didst see this paunch affront me?
Hav. He did it in love to the gentlewoman.
Raw. In love? let me see the sword again.
Would 'twere in his belly! — put it up;
Thou deserv'st a good blade, 'tis so well kept.

Re-enter ISAAC .

Isaac . Master Beauford! master Beauford!
Bel. Where?
Isaac . Hard by, within a stone's cast o' my mistress; here, sir, here!

Enter BEAUFORD .

Gra. My dearest Beauford, where hast been so long?
Beau. Oh, Gratiana!
Gra. Are you not in health?
Bel. Not well?
'Tis then no time to chide. — How fare you, sir?
Beau. I have a trouble at my heart: pardon
The trespass on your patience, gentlemen;
I'll publish the occasion of my absence,
So first you give me leave to uniade it here:
But, with your favour, I desire I may
Exempt all ears, but Gratiana's, till
A short time ripen it for your knowledge.
Bel. Ha!
Just. L. Let's leave them then awhile.
Bel. Into the garden, gentlemen.
Raw. With all my heart: in my conscience they'll be honest together.
Bel. This begets my wonder. — Master Lodam.
Lod. Good, sir John, I'll wait upon you; it is dinner time.
Beau. I have no time to dwell on circumstance;
I come to take my last leave; you and I
Must never meet again.
Gra. What language do I hear?
If Beauford's, it should strike me dead.
Beau. This day
I had design'd for marriage, but I must
Pronounce we are eternally divorced:
Oh, Gratiana! thou hast made a wound
Beyond the cure of surgery; why did nature
Empty her treasure in thy face, and leave thee
A black, prodigious soul?
Gra. Defend me, goodness!
Beau. Call upon darkness to obscure thee rather,
That never more thou mayst be seen by mortal:
Get thee some dwelling in a mist, or in
A wild forsaken earth, a wilderness,
Where thou mayst hide thyself, and die forgotten.
Gra. Where was I lost? name what offence provok'd
This heavy doom: dear Beauford, be not so
Unjust to sentence me, before I know
What is my crime; or, if thou wilt not tell
What sin it is I have committed great,
And horrid, as your anger, let me study,
I'll count them all before you; never did
Penitent, in confession, strip the soul
More naked; I'll unclasp my book of conscience;
You shall read o'er my heart, and if you find
In that great volume but one single thought
Which concern'd you, and did not end with some
Good prayer [for] you, oh, be just and kill me.
Beau. Be just, and tell thy conscience, thou'st abus'd it.
False woman! why dost thou increase my horror,
By the obscuring a misdeed which would,
Were all thy other sins forgiven, undo thee:
Oh, Gratiana! thou art —
Gra. What am I?
Beau. A thing I would not name, it sounds so fearfully;
'Twould make a devil blush to be saluted
By that which thou must answer to.
Gra. I fear. —
Beau. That fear betrays thy guilt: tell me, Gratiana,
What didst thou see in me to make thee think
I was not worthy of thee at thy best,
And richest value, when thou wert as white
In soul, as beauty? for, sure, once thou wert so:
Hadst thou so cheap opinion of my birth,
My breeding, or my fortunes, that none else
Could serve for property of your lust, but I?
Gra. Dear Beauford, here me.
Beau. A common father to thy sin-got issue,
A patron of thy rifled, unchaste womb?
Oh, thou wert cruel, to reward so ill
The heart that truly honour'd thee! thy name,
Which sweeten'd once the breath of him that spake it,
And musically charm'd the gentle ear,
Shall sound hereafter like a screech-owl's note,
And fright the hearer: virgins shall lament
That thou hast shamed their chaste society;
And oft as Hymen lights his tapers up,
At the remembrance of thy name, shed tears,
And blush for thy dishonour: from this minute,
Thy friends shall count thee desperately sick,
And whensoe'er thou goest abroad, that day
The maids and matrons, thinking thou art dead,
And going to the grave, shall all come forth,
And wait like mourners on thee.
Gra. Have you done?
Then hear me a few syllables: — you have
Suspicion that I am dishonour'd.
Beau. No,
By heaven I have not; I have too much knowledge
To suspect thee sinful; but in the assurance
Of it, I must disclaim thy heart for ever.
Gratiana, my opinion of thy whiteness
Hath made my soul as black as thine already:
Weep till thou wash away thy stain, and then,
I' the other world, we two may meet again.
Gra. Weep inward, eyes, thither your streams impart,
For sure, I've tears enough to drown my heart.