Enter FRIAR and GIOVANNI.
FRIAR
Dispute no more in this; for know, young man,1
These are no school-points.2 Nice3 philosophy
May tolerate unlikely arguments,
But heaven admits4 no jest. Wits5 that presumed
On wit too much, by striving how to prove
There was no God, with foolish grounds of art6
Discovered first the nearest way to hell,
And filled the world with devilish atheism.
Such questions, youth, are fond;7 for better ’tis
10 To bless the sun than reason why it shines –
Yet He thou talk’st of is above the sun.
No more! I may not hear it.
GIOVANNI
Gentle father,
To you I have unclasped my burdened soul,
Emptied the store-house of my thoughts and heart,
Made myself poor of secrets, have not left
Another word untold which hath not spoke
All what I ever durst or think or know;
And yet is here the comfort I shall have?
Must I not do what all men else may: love?
Yes, you may love, fair son.
GIOVANNI
20 Must I not praise
That beauty which, if framed anew, the gods
Would make a god of, if they had it there,
And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?
FRIAR
Why, foolish madman!
GIOVANNI
Shall a peevish1 sound,
A customary form from man to man,2
Of brother and of sister, be a bar
’Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?
Say that we had one father, say one womb –
Curse to my joys! – gave both us life and birth;
30 Are we not therefore each to other bound
So much the more by nature, by the links
Of blood, of reason – nay, if you will have’t,
Even of religion – to be ever one?
One soul, one flesh,3 one love, one heart, one all.
FRIAR
Have done, unhappy4 youth, for thou art lost!
GIOVANNI
Shall then, for that5 I am her brother born,
My joys be ever banished from her bed?
No, father, in your eyes I see the change
Of pity and compassion. From your age,
40 As from a sacred oracle, distils
The life of counsel. Tell me, holy man,
What cure shall give me ease in these extremes?
Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin;
For thou hast moved a majesty above
With thy unrangèd1 almost blasphemy.
GIOVANNI
Oh, do not speak of that, dear confessor.
FRIAR
Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit
Who once, within these three months, wert esteemed
A wonder of thine age throughout Bologna?2
50 How did the university applaud
Thy government,3 behaviour, learning, speech,
Sweetness, and all that could make up a man!
I was proud of my tutelage, and chose
Rather to leave my books than part with thee.
I did so; but the fruits of all my hopes
Are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself.
O Giovanni, hast thou left the schools
Of knowledge to converse with Lust and Death?
For Death waits4 on thy lust. Look through the world,
60 And thou shalt see a thousand faces shine
More glorious than this idol thou ador’st.
Leave her, and take thy choice; ’tis much less sin,
Though in such games as those they lose that win.5
GIOVANNI
It were more ease to stop the ocean
From floats and ebbs6 than to dissuade my vows.
FRIAR
Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames
Already see thy ruin. Heaven is just –
Yet hear my counsel.
As a voice of life.
FRIAR
Hie1 to thy father’s house. There lock thee fast
70 Alone within thy chamber, then fall down
On both thy knees and grovel on the ground.
Cry to thy heart, wash every word thou utter’st
In tears – and if’t be possible – of blood.
Beg heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust
That rots thy soul. Acknowledge what thou art:
A wretch, a worm, a nothing. Weep, sigh, pray
Three times a day, and three times every night.
For seven days’ space do this; then, if thou find’st
No change in thy desires, return to me.
80 I’ll think on remedy. Pray for thyself
At home, whilst I pray for thee here. Away!
My blessing with thee; we have need to pray.
GIOVANNI
All this I’ll do to free me from the rod
Of vengeance; else I’ll swear my fate’s my god. Exeunt.
Enter GRIMALDI, and VASQUEZ, ready to fight.2.
VASQUEZ
GRIMALDI
Thou art no equal5 match for me.
Indeed, I never went to the wars to bring home news; nor cannot play the mountebank1 for a meal’s meat, and swear I got my wounds in the field. See you these grey hairs? They’ll not flinch for a bloody nose. Wilt thou to this gear?2
GRIMALDI
Why, slave, think’st thou I’ll balance my reputation with a cast-suit?3 Call thy master; he shall know that I dare –
VASQUEZ
GRIMALDI
Neither with thee. I am a Roman6 and a gentleman, one that have got mine honour with expense of blood.
VASQUEZ
You are a lying coward and a fool. Fight, or by these hilts I’ll kill thee –
[GRIMALDI draws his sword.]
Brave my lord, you’ll fight!
GRIMALDI
Provoke me not, for if thou dost –
VASQUEZ
20 Have at you!
They fight. GRIMALDI hath the worst.
Enter FLORIO, DONADO [and], SORANZO.
FLORIO
What mean these sudden broils7 so near my doors?
Have you not other places but my house
To vent the spleen6 of your disordered bloods?
Must I be haunted still with such unrest,
As not to eat or sleep in peace at home?
Is this your love, Grimaldi? Fie, ’tis naught.
DONADO
And, Vasquez, I may tell thee ’tis not well
To broach these quarrels. You are ever forward
In seconding contentions.
Enter above1 ANNABELLA and PUTTANA.
FLORIO
What’s the ground?2
SORANZO
30 That, with your patience, signors, I’ll resolve:3
This gentleman, whom fame reports a soldier –
For else I know not4 – rivals me in love
To Signor Florio’s daughter, to whose ears
He still prefers5 his suit to my disgrace,
Thinking the way to recommend himself
Is to disparage me in his report.
But know, Grimaldi, though may be thou art
My equal in thy blood, yet this bewrays6
A lowness in thy mind, which, wert thou noble,
40 Thou wouldst as much disdain as I do thee
For this unworthiness. [To FLORIO] And on this ground
I willed my servant to correct this tongue,
Holding a man so base no match for me.
VASQUEZ
GRIMALDI
I’ll be revenged, Soranzo.
50 On a dish of warm broth to stay your stomach?1 Do, honest Innocence, do! Spoon-meat2 is a wholesomer diet than a Spanish blade.
GRIMALDI
Remember this.
SORANZO
I fear thee not, Grimaldi. Exit GRIMALDI.
FLORIO
My lord Soranzo, this is strange to me,
Why you should storm, having my word3 engaged.
Owing4 her heart, what need you doubt her ear?
Losers may talk, by law of any game.5
VASQUEZ
FLORIO
Be you more silent!
60 I would not, for my wealth, my daughter’s love
Should cause the spilling of one drop of blood.
Vasquez, put up.7 Let’s end this fray in wine.
Exeunt [FLORIO, DONADO, SORANZO and VASQUEZ].
PUTTANA
How like you this, child? Here’s threatening, challenging, quarrelling and fighting on every side, and all is for your sake. You had need look to yourself, charge, you’ll be stolen away sleeping else, shortly.
But, tut’ress, such a life gives no content
To me. My thoughts are fixed on other ends.
Would you would leave me.
PUTTANA
70 Leave you? No marvel else!1 Leave me no leaving, charge; this is love outright. Indeed, I blame you not. You have choice fit for the best lady in Italy.
ANNABELLA
Pray, do not talk so much.
PUTTANA
Take the worst with the best. There’s Grimaldi the soldier: a very well-timbered2 fellow. They say he is a Roman, nephew to the Duke Monferrato. They say he did good service in the wars against the Milanese. But ’faith, charge, I do not like him, an’t be for nothing but for being a soldier. One amongst twenty of your skirmishing captains but have some privy
80 maim3 or other that mars their standing upright.4 I like him the worse; he crinkles so much in the hams.5 Though he might serve if there were no more men, yet he’s not the man I would choose.
ANNABELLA
Fie, how thou prat’st!
PUTTANA
As I am a very woman, I like Signor Soranzo well. He is wise; and, what is more, rich; and, what is more than that, kind; and, what is more than all this, a nobleman. Such a one, were I the fair Annabella myself, I would wish and pray for. Then he is bountiful; besides he is handsome; and, by my
90 troth, I think wholesome6 – and that’s news in a gallant of three-and-twenty! Liberal,1 that I know; loving, that you know; and a man,2 sure, else he could never ha’ purchased such a good name with Hippolita, the lusty widow, in her husband’s lifetime. An ’twere but for that report, sweetheart, would ’a were thine! Commend a man for his qualities, but take a husband as he is a plain-sufficient,3 naked man. Such a one is for your bed, and such a one is Signor Soranzo, my life for’t!
ANNABELLA
Sure, the woman took her morning’s draught4 too soon!
Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO.
PUTTANA
BERGETTO
Didst thou think, Poggio, that I would spoil my new clothes and leave my dinner to fight?7
POGGIO
No, sir, I did not take you for so arrant a baby.
BERGETTO
I am wiser than so; for I hope, Poggio, thou never heard’st of an elder brother that was a coxcomb,8 didst, Poggio?
POGGIO
Never, indeed, sir, as long as they had either land or money left them to inherit.
110 Is it possible, Poggio? Oh, monstrous! Why, I’ll undertake with a handful of silver to buy a headful of wit at any time. But, sirrah, I have another purchase in hand. I shall have the wench, mine uncle says. I will but wash my face, and shift1 socks, and then have at her, i’faith! Mark my pace, Poggio.
[He puts on an exaggerated walk.]
POGGIO
Sir, I have seen an ass and a mule trot the Spanish pavan2 with a better grace, I know not how often.
Exeunt [BERGETTO and POGGIO].
ANNABELLA
This idiot haunts me too.
PUTTANA
Ay, ay, he needs no description. The rich magnifico3 that is below with your father, charge, Signor Donado his uncle, for
120 that he means to make this his cousin a golden calf, thinks that you will be a right Israelite and fall down4 to him presently;5 but I hope I have tutored you better. They say a fool’s bauble6 is a lady’s playfellow. Yet you, having wealth enough, you need not cast upon the dearth of flesh7 at any rate. Hang him! Innocent!
Enter GIOVANNI.
ANNABELLA
But see, Puttana, see what blessèd shape
Of some celestial creature now appears!
What man is he, that with such sad aspect
Walks careless of himself?
PUTTANA
Where?
ANNABELLA
Look below.
Oh, ’tis your brother, sweet.
ANNABELLA
Ha?
PUTTANA
130 ’Tis your brother.
ANNABELLA
Sure, ’tis not he. This is some woeful thing
Wrapped up in grief, some shadow of a man.
Alas, he beats his breast, and wipes his eyes
Drowned all in tears. Methinks I hear him sigh.
Let’s down, Puttana, and partake the cause.
I know my brother, in the love he bears me,
Will not deny me partage1 in his sadness.
My soul is full of heaviness and fear.
Exeunt [ANNABELLA and PUTTANA].
GIOVANNI
Lost, I am lost! My fates have doomed my death.
140 The more I strive, I love; the more I love,
The less I hope. I see my ruin, certain.
What judgement or endeavours could apply
To my incurable and restless wounds
I throughly2 have examined, but in vain.
Oh, that it were not in religion sin
To make our love a god and worship it!
I have even wearied heaven with prayers, dried up
The spring of my continual tears, even starved
My veins with daily fasts. What wit3 or art
150 Could counsel I have practised. But, alas,
I find all these but dreams and old men’s tales
To fright unsteady youth. I’m still the same;
Or4 I must speak or burst. ’Tis not, I know,
My lust, but ’tis my fate that leads me on.
Keep fear, and low, faint-hearted shame with slaves!1
I’ll tell her that I love her, though my heart
Were rated at the price of that attempt.2
Enter ANNABELLA and PUTTANA.
O me! She comes.
ANNABELLA
Brother –
GIOVANNI [Aside]
If such a thing
As courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers,
160 Now double all that virtue in my tongue.
ANNABELLA
Why, brother, will you not speak to me?
GIOVANNI
Yes; how d’ee, sister?
ANNABELLA
Howsoever I am, methinks you are not well.
PUTTANA
Bless us, why are you so sad, sir?
GIOVANNI
Let me entreat you leave us a while, Puttana.
Sister, I would be private with you.
ANNABELLA
Withdraw, Puttana.
PUTTANA
I will. [Aside] If this were any other company for her, I should think my absence an office of some credit;3 but I will leave them together. Exit PUTTANA.
GIOVANNI
170 Come, sister, lend your hand. Let’s walk together.
I hope you need not blush to walk with me;
Here’s none but you and I.
How’s this?
GIOVANNI
’Faith, I mean no harm.
ANNABELLA
Harm?
GIOVANNI
No, good faith. How is’t with’ee?
ANNABELLA [Aside]
GIOVANNI
Trust me, but I am sick. I fear, so sick
180 ’Twill cost my life.
ANNABELLA
Mercy forbid it! ’Tis not so, I hope.
GIOVANNI
I think you love me, sister.
ANNABELLA
Yes, you know I do.
GIOVANNI
I know’t, indeed. – Y’are very fair.
ANNABELLA
Nay, then, I see you have a merry sickness.
GIOVANNI
That’s as it proves. The poets feign, I read,
That Juno2 for her forehead did exceed
All other goddesses, but I durst swear
Your forehead exceeds hers, as hers did theirs.
ANNABELLA
Troth, this is pretty.
190 Such a pair of stars
As are thine eyes would, like Promethean fire,1
If gently glanced,2 give life to senseless stones.
ANNABELLA
Fie upon’ee!
GIOVANNI
The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange,3
Upon your dimpled cheeks do strive for ’change.4
Such lips would tempt a saint; such hands as those
Would make an anchorite5 lascivious.
ANNABELLA
D’ee mock me or flatter me?
GIOVANNI
If you would see a beauty more exact
200 Than Art can counterfeit or Nature frame,
Look in your glass, and there behold your own.
ANNABELLA
Oh, you are a trim6 youth!
GIOVANNI
Here.
[He] offers his dagger to her.
ANNABELLA
What to do?
GIOVANNI
And here’s my breast. Strike home!
Rip up my bosom! There thou shalt behold
A heart in which is writ the truth I speak.
Why stand’ee?7
Are you earnest?
GIOVANNI
Yes, most earnest.
You cannot love?
ANNABELLA
Whom?
GIOVANNI
Me! My tortured soul
Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.1
O Annabella, I am quite undone!
210 The love of thee, my sister, and the view
Of thy immortal beauty hath untuned
All harmony, both of my rest and life.
Why d’ee not strike?
ANNABELLA
Forbid it, my just2 fears!
If this be true, ’twere fitter I were dead.
GIOVANNI
True, Annabella? ’Tis no time to jest.
I have too long suppressed the hidden flames
That almost have consumed me. I have spent
Many a silent night in sighs and groans,
Ran over all my thoughts, despised my fate,
220 Reasoned against the reasons of my love,
Done all that smooth-cheeked3 Virtue could advise,
But found all bootless.4 ’Tis my destiny
That you must either love, or I must die.
ANNABELLA
Comes this in sadness5 from you?
GIOVANNI
Let some mischief
Befall me soon if I dissemble aught.
You are my brother, Giovanni.
GIOVANNI
You
My sister, Annabella. I know this,
And could afford you instance why to love
So much the more for this, to which intent
230 Wise Nature first in your creation meant
To make you mine; else’t had been sin and foul
To share one beauty to a double soul.
Nearness in birth or blood doth but persuade
A nearer nearness in affection.
I have asked counsel of the holy Church,
Who tells me I may love you; and ’tis just,
That since I may, I should and will, yes, will.
Must I now live, or die?
ANNABELLA
Live. Thou hast won
The field and never fought. What thou hast urged
240 My captive heart had long ago resolved.
I blush to tell thee – but I’ll tell thee now –
For every sigh that thou hast spent for me,
I have sighed ten; for every tear, shed twenty;
And not so much for that I loved, as that
I durst not say I loved, nor scarcely think it.
GIOVANNI
Let not this music be a dream, ye gods,
For pity’s sake, I beg’ee!
ANNABELLA
On my knees,
She kneels.
Brother, even by our mother’s dust I charge you,
Do not betray me to your mirth or hate:
Love me, or kill me, brother.
GIOVANNI
250 On my knees,
He kneels.
Sister, even by my mother’s dust I charge you,
Do not betray me to your mirth or hate:
Love me, or kill me, sister.
ANNABELLA
You mean good sooth,1 then?
GIOVANNI
In good troth, I do;
And so do you, I hope. Say I’m in earnest.2
ANNABELLA
I’ll swear’t – and I.3
GIOVANNI
And I, and by this kiss –
Kisses her.
Once more. [Kisses her.] Yet once more. [Kisses her.] Now let’s rise, by this.
[He kisses her and they stand up together.]
ANNABELLA
What you will.
GIOVANNI
Come, then;
260 After so many tears as we have wept,
Let’s learn to court in smiles, to kiss and sleep. Exeunt.
Enter FLORIO and DONADO.
FLORIO
Signor Donado, you have said enough.
I understand you, but would have you know
I will not force my daughter ’gainst her will.
You see I have but two: a son and her –
And he is so devoted to his book
As, I must tell you true, I doubt1 his health.
Should he miscarry,2 all my hopes rely
Upon my girl. As for worldly fortune,
I am, I thank my stars, blessed with enough.
10 My care is how to match her to her liking.
I would not have her marry wealth but love;
And if she like your nephew, let him have her.
Here’s all that I can say.
DONADO
Sir, you say well,
Like a true father; and for my part, I,
If the young folks can like – ’twixt you and me –
Will promise to assure my nephew presently3
Three thousand florins yearly during life,4
And, after I am dead, my whole estate.
FLORIO
’Tis a fair proffer, sir. Meantime, your nephew
20 Shall have free passage to commence his suit.
If he can thrive, he shall have my consent.
So for this time I’ll leave you, signor. Exit.
DONADO
Well,
Here’s hope yet, if my nephew would have wit.
But he is such another dunce, I fear
He’ll never win the wench. When I was young
I could have done’t, i’faith, and so shall he
If he will learn of me –
Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO.
and in good time
He comes himself.
How now, Bergetto, whither away so fast?
BERGETTO
30 O uncle, I have heard the strangest news that ever came out of the mint1 – have I not, Poggio?
POGGIO
Yes, indeed, sir.
DONADO
What news, Bergetto?
BERGETTO
Why, look ye, uncle, my barber told me just now that there is a fellow come to town who undertakes to make a mill go without the mortal help of any water or wind, only with sandbags! And this fellow hath a strange horse – a most excellent beast, I’ll assure you, uncle, my barber says – whose head, to the wonder of all Christian people, stands just
40 behind where his tail is.2 Is’t not true, Poggio?
POGGIO
So the barber3 swore, forsooth.
DONADO
And you are running thither?
BERGETTO
Ay, forsooth, uncle.
DONADO
POGGIO
BERGETTO
DONADO
To see hobby-horses!2 What wise talk, I pray, had you with Annabella when you were at Signor Florio’s house?
BERGETTO
Oh, the wench! Uds sa’ me,3 uncle, I tickled her with a rare speech, that I made her almost burst her belly with laughing.
DONADO
Nay, I think so; and what speech was’t?
BERGETTO
What did I say, Poggio?
POGGIO
DONADO
Oh, gross!
BERGETTO
Nay, uncle, then she asked me whether my father had any more children than myself, and I said, ‘No, ’twere better he should have had his brains knocked out first.’
DONADO
This is intolerable.
BERGETTO
Then said she, ‘Will Signor Donado, your uncle, leave you all his wealth?’
DONADO
Ha! That was good. Did she harp upon that string?
BERGETTO
Did she harp upon that string? Ay, that she did. I answered,
70 ‘Leave me all his wealth? Why, woman, he hath no other wit.1 If he had, he should hear on’t to his everlasting glory2 and confusion. I know,’ quoth I, ‘I am his white boy,3 and will not be gulled.’4 And with that she fell into a great smile, and went away. Nay, I did fit her.5
DONADO
Ah, sirrah, then I see there is no changing of nature. Well, Bergetto, I fear thou wilt be a very ass still.
BERGETTO
I should be sorry for that, uncle.
DONADO
Come, come you home with me. Since you are no better a speaker, I’ll have you write to her after some courtly manner,
80 and enclose some rich jewel in the letter.
BERGETTO
Ay, marry, that will be excellent.
DONADO
Peace, innocent!
Once in my time I’ll set my wits to school.
If all fail, ’tis but the fortune of a fool.
BERGETTO
Poggio, ’twill do, Poggio. Exeunt.
Enter GIOVANNI and ANNABELLA, as from their chamber.
GIOVANNI
Come, Annabella; no more sister now,
But love – a name more gracious. Do not blush,
Beauty’s sweet wonder, but be proud to know
That, yielding,1 thou hast conquered and enflamed
A heart whose tribute2 is thy brother’s life.
ANNABELLA
And mine is his. Oh, how these stol’n contents3
Would print a modest crimson on my cheeks,
Had any but my heart’s delight prevailed!
GIOVANNI
I marvel why the chaster of your sex
10 Should think this pretty toy4 called maidenhead
So strange a loss, when, being lost, ’tis nothing,5
And you are still the same.
ANNABELLA
’Tis well for you;
Now you can talk.
GIOVANNI
Music as well consists
In th’ear as in the playing.6
ANNABELLA
Oh, y’are wanton!
Tell on’t, y’are best, do.
Thou wilt chide me, then.
Kiss me. [They kiss] So. Thus hung Jove on Leda’s neck,1
And sucked divine ambrosia from her lips.
I envy not the mightiest man alive,
But hold myself, in being king of thee,
20 More great than were I king of all the world.
But I shall lose you, sweetheart.
ANNABELLA
But you shall not.
GIOVANNI
You must be married, mistress.
ANNABELLA
Yes? To whom?
GIOVANNI
Someone must have you.
ANNABELLA
You must.
GIOVANNI
Nay, some other.
ANNABELLA
Now, prithee, do not speak so without jesting;
You’ll make me weep in earnest.
GIOVANNI
What? You will not.
But tell me, sweet, canst thou be dared to swear
That thou wilt live to me,2 and to no other?
ANNABELLA
By both our loves, I dare; for didst thou know,
My Giovanni, how all suitors seem
30 To my eyes hateful, thou wouldst trust me then.
GIOVANNI
Enough, I take thy word. Sweet, we must part.
Remember what thou vow’st: keep well my heart.
ANNABELLA
Will you be gone?
I must.
ANNABELLA
When to return?
GIOVANNI
Soon.
ANNABELLA
Look you do.
GIOVANNI
Farewell. Exit.
ANNABELLA
Go where thou wilt, in mind I’ll keep thee here;
And where thou art, I know I shall be there.
[Calls] Guardian!
Enter PUTTANA.
PUTTANA
Child, how is’t, child? Well, thank heaven, ha?
ANNABELLA
PUTTANA
ANNABELLA
I would not have it known for all the world.
PUTTANA
Nor I, indeed, for the speech of the people;4 else ’twere nothing.
FLORIO (Within)
Daughter Annabella!
ANNABELLA
O me, my father! – Here, sir! [To PUTTANA] Reach my work.
[PUTTANA gives her a piece of needlework.]
FLORIO (Within)
What are you doing?
ANNABELLA [To PUTTANA]
50 So, let him come now.
Enter FLORIO, RICHARDETTO [disguised] like a doctor of physic,1 and PHILOTIS with a lute in her hand.
FLORIO
So hard at work? That’s well; you lose2 no time.
Look, I have brought you company. Here’s one,
A learned doctor, lately come from Padova,3
Much skilled in physic; and for that I see
You have of late been sickly,4 I entreated
This reverend man to visit you some time.
ANNABELLA
Y’are very welcome, sir.
RICHARDETTO
I thank you, mistress.
Loud fame in large5 report hath spoke your praise,
As well for virtue as perfection;6
60 For which I have been bold to bring with me
A kinswoman of mine, a maid, for song
And music. One, perhaps, will give content.
Please you to know her?
PHILOTIS
Thank you, lady.
FLORIO
Sir, now you know my house, pray make not strange;2
And if you find my daughter need your art,3
I’ll be your pay-master.
RICHARDETTO
Sir, what I am
She shall command.
FLORIO
You shall bind me to you.
Daughter, I must have conference with you
70 About some matters that concerns us both.
Good master Doctor, please you but walk in;
We’ll crave a little of your cousin’s4 cunning.5
I think my girl hath not quite forgot
To touch an instrument;6 she could have done’t.7
We’ll hear them both.
RICHARDETTO
I’ll wait upon you, sir. Exeunt.
Enter SORANZO in his study, reading a book.
SORANZO
‘Love’s measure is extreme; the comfort, pain;
The life, unrest; and the reward, disdain.’
What’s here? Look’t o’er again. ’Tis so, so writes
This smooth, licentious poet in his rhymes.
But, Sannazar,1 thou liest; for had thy bosom
Felt such oppression as is laid on mine,
Thou wouldst have kissed the rod that made the smart.
To work then, happy Muse,2 and contradict
What Sannazar hath, in his envy, writ:
His pleasures life, and his reward all joys.’
Had Annabella lived when Sannazar
Did in his brief encomium celebrate
Venice, that queen of cities, he had left5
That verse, which gained him such a sum of gold,
And for one only look from Annabel
Had writ of her, and her diviner cheeks.
Oh, how my thoughts are –
VASQUEZ (Within)
Pray, forbear! In rules of civility, let me give notice on’t. I
20 shall be taxed of6 my neglect of duty and service.
What rude intrusion interrupts my peace?
Can I be nowhere private?
VASQUEZ (Within)
Troth, you wrong your modesty.
SORANZO
What’s the matter, Vasquez? Who is’t?
Enter HIPPOLITA [dressed in mourning] and VASQUEZ.
HIPPOLITA
’Tis I;
Do you know me now?1 Look, perjured man, on her
Whom thou and thy distracted lust have wronged.
Thy sensual rage of blood2 hath made my youth
A scorn to men and angels; and shall I
Be now a foil to thy unsated change?3
30 Thou know’st, false wanton, when my modest fame4
Stood free from stain or scandal, all the charms
Of hell or sorcery could not prevail
Against the honour of my chaster bosom.
Thine eyes did plead in tears, thy tongue in oaths,
Such and so many that a heart of steel
Would have been wrought to pity, as was mine.
And shall the conquest of my lawful bed,
My husband’s death urged on by his disgrace,5
My loss of womanhood,6 be ill rewarded
40 With hatred and contempt? No, know Soranzo,
I have a spirit doth as much distaste
The slavery of fearing thee, as thou
Dost loathe the memory of what hath passed.
Nay, dear Hippolita –
HIPPOLITA
SORANZO
You are too violent.
HIPPOLITA
50 You are too double2
In your dissimulation. See’st thou this,
This habit, these black mourning-weeds3 of care?
’Tis thou art cause of this, and hast divorced
My husband from his life and me from him,
And made me widow in my widowhood.4
SORANZO
Will you yet hear?
HIPPOLITA
More of thy perjuries?
Thy soul is drowned too deeply in those sins;
Thou need’st not add to th’number.
SORANZO
Then I’ll leave you;
You are past all rules of sense.
HIPPOLITA
And thou of grace.
VASQUEZ
60 Fie, mistress, you are not near the limits of reason. If my lord had a resolution as noble as virtue itself, you take the course to unedge5 it all. [To SORANZO] Sir, I beseech you, do not perplex1 her. Griefs, alas, will have a vent. I dare undertake Madam Hippolita will now freely hear you.
SORANZO
Talk to a woman frantic? Are these the fruits of your love?
HIPPOLITA
They are the fruits of thy untruth, false man.
Didst thou not swear whilst yet my husband lived,
That thou wouldst wish no happiness on earth
More than to call me wife? Didst thou not vow,
70 When he should die, to marry me? For which
The devil in my blood, and thy protests,2
Caused me to counsel him to undertake
A voyage to Leghorn,3 for that we heard
His brother there was dead, and left a daughter
Young and unfriended, who with much ado
I wished him to bring hither. He did so,
And went, and, as thou know’st, died on the way.
Unhappy man to buy his death so dear
With my advice! Yet thou, for whom I did it,
80 Forget’st thy vows, and leav’st me to my shame.
SORANZO
Who could help this?
HIPPOLITA
Who, perjured man? Thou could’st,
If thou hadst faith or love.
SORANZO
You are deceived:
The vows I made, if you remember well,
Were wicked and unlawful. ’Twere more sin
To keep them than to break them. As for me,
I cannot mask my penitence. Think thou
How much thou hast digressed from honest shame
In bringing of a gentleman to death
Who was thy husband; such a one as he,
90 So noble in his quality,1 condition,
Learning, behaviour, entertainment,2 love,
As Parma could not show a braver3 man.
VASQUEZ
You do not well; this was not your promise.
SORANZO
I care not; let her know her monstrous life.
Ere I’ll be servile to so black a sin,
I’ll be a corpse. [To HIPPOLITA] Woman, come here no more.
Learn to repent and die; for, by my honour,
I hate thee and thy lust. You have been too foul.
[Exit SORANZO.]
VASQUEZ
This part has been scurvily played.
HIPPOLITA
100 How foolishly this beast contemns his fate,
And shuns the use of that which I more scorn
Than I once loved: his love. But let him go.
My vengeance shall give comfort to his woe.4
She offers to go away.
VASQUEZ [following after her]
Mistress, mistress! Madam Hippolita!
Pray, a word or two.
HIPPOLITA
With me, sir?
VASQUEZ
With you, if you please.
HIPPOLITA
What is’t?
VASQUEZ
I know you are infinitely moved now, and you think you
110 have cause. Some, I confess, you have, but, sure, not so much as you imagine.
Indeed?
VASQUEZ
Oh, you were miserably bitter, which you followed even to the last syllable. ’Faith, you were somewhat too shrewd.1 By my life, you could not have took my lord in a worse time since I first knew him. Tomorrow you shall find him a new man.
HIPPOLITA
Well, I shall wait his leisure.
VASQUEZ
Fie, this is not a hearty2 patience; it comes sourly from you.
120 Troth, let me persuade you for once.
HIPPOLITA [Aside]
I have it, and it shall be so. Thanks, Opportunity.
[Aloud] Persuade me to what?
VASQUEZ
Visit him in some milder temper. Oh, if you could but master a little your female spleen,3 how might you win him!
HIPPOLITA
He will never love me. Vasquez, thou hast been a too trusty servant to such a master, and I believe thy reward in the end will fall out like mine.
VASQUEZ
So, perhaps, too.
HIPPOLITA
VASQUEZ
Oh, you are a noble gentlewoman!
Wilt thou feed always upon hopes? Well, I know thou art wise, and seest the reward of an old servant daily what it is.
VASQUEZ
Beggary and neglect.
HIPPOLITA
True, but Vasquez, wert thou mine, and wouldst be private to me and my designs, I here protest, myself, and all what I can else call mine, should be at thy dispose.1
VASQUEZ [Aside]
HIPPOLITA
What then?
VASQUEZ
I should then hope to live, in these my old years, with rest and security.
HIPPOLITA
Give me thy hand. Now promise but thy silence,
And help to bring to pass a plot I have,
And here in sight of heaven, that being done,
I make thee lord of me and mine estate.
VASQUEZ
150 Come, you are merry!4 This is such a happiness that I can neither think or believe.
HIPPOLITA
Promise thy secrecy, and ’tis confirmed.
VASQUEZ
Then here I call our good genii5 for witnesses whatsoever your designs are, or against whomsoever, I will not only be a special actor therein, but never disclose it till it be effected.
I take thy word, and with that, thee for mine.
Come, then, let’s more confer of this anon.
On this delicious bane1 my thoughts shall banquet;
Revenge shall sweeten what my griefs have tasted. Exeunt.
Enter RICHARDETTO [in disguise as the Doctor] and PHILOTIS.
RICHARDETTO
Thou seest, my lovely niece, these strange mishaps;
How all my fortunes turn to my disgrace,
Wherein I am but as a looker-on,
Whiles others act my shame, and I am silent.
PHILOTIS
But, uncle, wherein can this borrowed shape
Give you content?
RICHARDETTO
I’ll tell thee, gentle niece:
Thy wanton aunt in her lascivious riots
Lives now secure;2 thinks I am surely dead
In my late journey to Leghorn for you,
10 As I have caused it to be rumoured out.
Now would I see with what an impudence
She gives scope to her loose adultery,
And how the common voice3 allows hereof:
Thus far I have prevailed.
PHILOTIS
Alas, I fear
You mean some strange revenge.
Oh, be not troubled;
Your ignorance shall plead for you in all.
But to our business: what, you learnt for certain
How1 Signor Florio means to give his daughter
In marriage to Soranzo?
PHILOTIS
Yes, for certain.
RICHARDETTO
20 But how find you young Annabella’s love
Inclined to him?
PHILOTIS
For aught I could perceive,
She neither fancies him or any else.
RICHARDETTO
There’s mystery in that which time must show.
She used2 you kindly?
PHILOTIS
Yes.
RICHARDETTO
And craved your company?
PHILOTIS
Often.
RICHARDETTO
’Tis well; it goes as I could wish.
I am the doctor now, and, as for you,
None knows you. If all fail not, we shall thrive.
But who comes here?
Enter GRIMALDI.
I know him. ’Tis Grimaldi:
A Roman and a soldier, near allied
30 Unto the Duke of Monferrato, one
Attending on the Nuncio3 of the Pope
That now resides in Parma, by which means1
He hopes to get the love of Annabella.
GRIMALDI
Save you,2 sir.
RICHARDETTO
And you, sir.
GRIMALDI
I have heard
Of your approvèd skill, which through the city
Is freely talked of, and would crave your aid.
RICHARDETTO
For what, sir?
GRIMALDI
Marry, sir, for this –
But I would speak in private.
RICHARDETTO
Leave us, cousin.3
Exit PHILOTIS.
GRIMALDI
I love fair Annabella, and would know
To move affection.
RICHARDETTO
Sir, perhaps there may,
But these will nothing profit you.
GRIMALDI
Not me?
RICHARDETTO
Unless I be mistook, you are a man
Greatly in favour with the Cardinal.
GRIMALDI
What of that?
In duty to his grace,
I will be bold to tell you, if you seek
To marry Florio’s daughter, you must first
Remove a bar ’twixt you and her.
GRIMALDI
Who’s that?
RICHARDETTO
Soranzo is the man that hath her heart,
50 And while he lives, be sure you cannot speed.1
GRIMALDI
Soranzo? What, mine enemy, is’t he?
RICHARDETTO
Is he your enemy?
GRIMALDI
RICHARDETTO
Nay, then, take mine advice:
Even for his grace’s sake, the Cardinal,
I’ll find a time when he and she do meet,
Of which I’ll give you notice; and to be sure
He shall not ’scape you, I’ll provide a poison
To dip your rapier’s point in. If he had
60 As many heads as Hydra3 had, he dies.
GRIMALDI
But shall I trust thee, Doctor?
RICHARDETTO
As yourself;
Doubt not in aught. [Aside] Thus shall the Fates decree:
By me Soranzo falls, that ruined me. Exeunt.
Enter DONADO [with a letter], BERGETTO and POGGIO.
DONADO
Well, sir, I must be content to be both your secretary1 and your messenger myself. I cannot tell what this letter may work, but, as sure as I am alive, if thou come once to talk with her, I fear thou wilt mar whatsoever I make.
BERGETTO
You make, uncle? Why, am not I big enough to carry mine own letter, I pray?
DONADO
Ay, ay, carry a fool’s head o’thy own. Why, thou dunce, wouldst thou write a letter and carry it thyself?
BERGETTO
Yes, that I would, and read it to her with my own mouth; for
10 you must think, if she will not believe me myself when she hears me speak, she will not believe another’s handwriting. Oh, you think I am a blockhead, uncle! No, sir, Poggio knows I have indited2 a letter myself, so I have.
POGGIO
Yes, truly, sir. I have it in my pocket.
DONADO
A sweet one, no doubt. Pray, let’s see’t.
[POGGIO hands BERGETTO the letter.]
BERGETTO
I cannot read my own hand very well, Poggio. Read it, Poggio.
DONADO
Begin.
POGGIO (Reads)
‘Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress, I could call you fair, and lie as fast3 as any that loves you; but my uncle, being the
20 elder man, I leave it to him as more fit for his age and the colour of his beard.1 I am wise enough to tell you I can board2 where I see occasion; or, if you like my uncle’s wit better than mine, you shall marry me. If you like mine better than his, I will marry you in spite of your teeth.3 So, commending my best parts4 to you, I rest
Yours upwards and downwards, or you may choose,
Bergetto.’
BERGETTO
Ah ha! Here’s stuff, uncle!
DONADO
Here’s stuff, indeed, to shame us all. Pray, whose advice did
30 you take in this learnèd letter?
POGGIO
None, upon my word, but mine own.
BERGETTO
And mine, uncle. Believe it, nobody’s else. ’Twas mine own brain, I thank a good wit for’t.
DONADO
Get you home, sir, and look you keep within doors till I return.
BERGETTO
How? That were a jest, indeed. I scorn it, i’faith.
DONADO
What, you do not?
[He threatens to strike him.]
BERGETTO
Judge me, but I do now.
POGGIO
Indeed, sir, ’tis very unhealthy.
Well, sir, if I hear any of your apish1 running to motions2 and
40 fopperies till I come back, you were as good no.3 Look to’t!
Exit.
BERGETTO
Poggio, shall’s steal4 to see this horse with the head in’s tail?
POGGIO
Ay, but you must take heed of whipping.
BERGETTO
Dost take me for a child, Poggio? Come, honest Poggio.
Exeunt.
Enter FRIAR and GIOVANNI.
FRIAR
Peace! Thou hast told a tale whose every word
Threatens eternal slaughter to the soul.
I’m sorry I have heard it. Would mine ears
Had been one minute deaf before the hour
That thou cam’st to me! O young man, cast away
By the religious number5 of mine order,
I day and night have waked my agèd eyes,
Above my strength to weep on thy behalf.
But heaven is angry, and, be thou resolved,
10 Thou art a man remarked6 to taste a mischief.
Look for’t; though it come late, it will come sure.
GIOVANNI
Father, in this you are uncharitable.6
What I have done I’ll prove both fit and good.
It is a principle, which you have taught
When I was yet your scholar, that the frame
And composition of the mind doth follow
The frame and composition of the body;
So where the body’s furniture1 is beauty,
The mind’s must needs be virtue; which allowed,
20 Virtue itself is Reason but refined,
And Love the quintessence2 of that. This proves
My sister’s beauty, being rarely fair,
Is rarely virtuous; chiefly in her love,
And chiefly in that love, her love to me.
If hers to me, then so is mine to her,
Since in like causes are effects alike.
FRIAR
O ignorance in knowledge! Long ago
How often have I warned thee this before!
Indeed, if we were sure there were no deity,
30 Nor heaven nor hell, then to be led alone
By nature’s light – as were philosophers
Of elder times – might instance some defence;
But ’tis not so. Then, madman, thou wilt find
That nature is in heaven’s positions blind.3
GIOVANNI
Your age o’er-rules you; had you youth like mine,
You’d make her love your heaven, and her divine.
FRIAR
Nay, then, I see th’art too far sold to hell;
It lies not in the compass of my prayers
To call thee back. Yet let me counsel thee:
40 Persuade thy sister to some marriage.
GIOVANNI
Marriage? Why, that’s to damn her; that’s to prove
Her greedy of variety of lust.
O fearful! If thou wilt not, give me leave
To shrive her,1 lest she should die unabsolved.
GIOVANNI
At your best leisure, father; then she’ll tell you
How dearly she doth prize my matchless love.
Then you will know what pity ’twere we two
Should have been sundered from each other’s arms.
View well her face, and in that little round,
50 You may observe a world of variety:
For colour, lips; for sweet perfumes, her breath;
For jewels, eyes; for threads of purest gold,
Hair; for delicious choice of flowers, cheeks;
Wonder in every portion of that throne.
Hear her but speak, and you will swear the spheres
Make music to the citizens in heaven;2
But father, what is else for pleasure framed,3
Lest I offend your ears shall go unnamed.
FRIAR
The more I hear, I pity thee the more –
60 That one so excellent should give those parts4
All to a second death!5 What I can do
Is but to pray; and yet I could advise thee,
Wouldst thou be ruled.
GIOVANNI
In what?
FRIAR
Why, leave her yet.
The throne of mercy is above your trespass.
Yet time is left you both –
To embrace each other;
Else let all time be struck quite out of number.1
She is like me, and I like her, resolved.
FRIAR
No more; I’ll visit her. This grieves me most:
Things being thus, a pair of souls are lost. Exeunt.
Enter FLORIO, DONADO, ANNABELLA [and], PUTTANA.
FLORIO
Where’s Giovanni?
ANNABELLA
Newly walked abroad,
And, as I heard him say, gone to the Friar,
His reverend tutor.
FLORIO
That’s a blessèd man,
A man made up of holiness. I hope
He’ll teach him how to gain another world.
DONADO
Fair gentlewoman, here’s a letter sent
To you from my young cousin. I dare swear
He loves you in his soul. Would you could hear
Sometimes what I see daily: sighs and tears,
10 As if his breast were prison to his heart.
[He holds out the letter.]
FLORIO
Receive it, Annabella.
ANNABELLA
Alas, good man.
[She takes the letter.]
What’s that she said?
PUTTANA
An’t please you, sir, she said, ‘Alas, good man’. [Aside to DONADO] Truly, I do commend him to her every night before her first sleep,1 because I would have her dream of him, and she hearkens to that most religiously.2
DONADO [Aside to PUTTANA]
Say’st so? Godamercy,3 Puttana, there’s something for thee [gives her money]. And, prithee, do what thou canst on his behalf. Sha’ not be lost labour, take my word for’t.
PUTTANA [Aside to DONADO]
Thank you most heartily, sir. Now I have a feeling4 of your
20 mind, let me alone to work.
ANNABELLA
Guardian!
PUTTANA
Did you call?
ANNABELLA
Keep this letter.
DONADO
Signor Florio, in any case bid her read it instantly.
FLORIO
Keep it for what? Pray, read it me here right.5
ANNABELLA
I shall, sir.
She reads.
DONADO
How d’ee find her inclined, signor?
FLORIO
Troth, sir, I know not how; not all so well
As I could wish.
Sir, I am bound to rest your cousin’s debtor.
The jewel I’ll return; for if he love,
I’ll count that love a jewel.
DONADO [Aside to FLORIO]
30 Mark you that?
[Aloud] Nay, keep them both, sweet maid.
ANNABELLA
You must excuse me;
Indeed, I will not keep it.
FLORIO
Where’s the ring –
That which your mother in her will bequeathed,
And charged you on her blessing not to give’t
To any but your husband? Send back that.
ANNABELLA
I have it not.
FLORIO
Ha? ‘Have it not’? Where is’t?
ANNABELLA
My brother in the morning took it from me;
Said he would wear’t today.
FLORIO
DONADO
40 There’s the point, indeed.
ANNABELLA [Aside]
What shall I do? I must say something now.
FLORIO
What say? Why d’ee not speak?
ANNABELLA
Sir, with your leave;
Please you to give me freedom?
ANNABELLA
Signor Donado, if your nephew mean
To raise his better fortunes in his match,
The hope of me will hinder such a hope.
Sir, if you love him, as I know you do,
Find one more worthy of his choice than me.
In short, I’m sure I sha’ not be his wife.
DONADO
50 Why, here’s plain dealing; I commend thee for’t,
And all the worst I wish thee is heaven bless thee!
Your father yet and I will still be friends,
Shall we not, Signor Florio?
FLORIO
Yes, why not?
Enter BERGETTO [with his head bandaged] and POGGIO.
Look, here your cousin comes.
DONADO [Aside]
O coxcomb, what doth he make here?
BERGETTO
Where’s my uncle, sirs?
DONADO
What’s the news now?
BERGETTO
Save you,1 uncle, save you. You must not think I come for nothing, masters. [To ANNABELLA] And how and how is’t?
60 What, you have read my letter? Ah, there I tickled you, i’faith.
POGGIO [Aside]
But ’twere better you had tickled her in another place.
BERGETTO
Sirrah sweetheart, I’ll tell thee a good jest, and riddle2 what ’tis.
ANNABELLA
You say you’d tell me.
As I was walking just now in the street, I met a swaggering fellow would needs take the wall of me;1 and because he did thrust me, I very valiantly called him rogue. He hereupon bade me draw. I told him I had more wit than so; but when
70 he saw that I would not, he did so maul me with the hilts of his rapier, that my head sung whilst my feet capered in the kennel.
DONADO [Aside]
Was ever the like ass seen?
ANNABELLA
And what did you all this while?
BERGETTO
Laugh at him for a gull,2 till I see the blood run about mine ears, and then I could not choose but find in my heart to cry, till a fellow with a broad beard3 – they say he is a new-come doctor – called me into his house, and gave me a plaster. Look you, here ’tis. And, sir, there was a young wench washed
80 my face and hands most excellently. I’faith, I shall love her as long as I live for’t. Did she not, Poggio?
POGGIO
Yes, and kissed him too.
BERGETTO
Why, la, now, you think I tell a lie, uncle, I warrant.
DONADO
Would he that beat thy blood out of thy head had beaten some wit into it, for I fear thou never wilt have any.
BERGETTO
O uncle, but there was a wench would have done a man’s heart good to have looked on her. By this light, she had a face, methinks, worth twenty of you, Mistress Annabella.
DONADO [Aside]
Was ever such a fool born?
90 I am glad she liked1 you, sir.
BERGETTO
Are you so? By my troth, I thank you, forsooth.
FLORIO
Sure ’twas the Doctor’s niece, that was last day with us here.
BERGETTO
’Twas she, ’twas she!
DONADO
How do you know that, Simplicity?
BERGETTO
FLORIO
A very modest, well-behaved young maid
As I have seen.
DONADO
Is she indeed?
FLORIO
100 Indeed
She is, if I have any judgement.
DONADO
Well, sir, now you are free. You need not care for sending letters now; you are dismissed. Your mistress here will none of you.
BERGETTO
No? Why, what care I for that? I can have wenches enough in Parma for half-a-crown apiece, cannot I, Poggio?
POGGIO
I’ll warrant you, sir.
Signor Florio, I thank you for your free recourse1 you gave for my admittance; and to you, fair maid, that jewel I will give you ’gainst2 your marriage. [To BERGETTO] Come, will
110 you go, sir?
BERGETTO
Ay, marry, will I. Mistress, farewell, mistress. I’ll come again tomorrow. Farewell, mistress.
Exeunt DONADO, BERGETTO and POGGIO.
Enter GIOVANNI.
FLORIO
Son, where have you been? What, alone, alone, still, still?
I would not have it so. You must forsake
This over-bookish humour.3 Well, your sister
Hath shook the fool off.
GIOVANNI
’Twas no match for her.
FLORIO
’Twas not, indeed; I meant it nothing less.
Soranzo is the man I only like.4
120 Look on him, Annabella. Come, ’tis supper-time,
And it grows late. Exit FLORIO.
GIOVANNI
Whose jewel’s that?
ANNABELLA
Some sweetheart’s.
GIOVANNI
So I think.
ANNABELLA
A lusty youth, Signor Donado, gave it me
To wear against my marriage.
GIOVANNI
But you shall not wear it.
Send it him back again.
What, you are jealous?
GIOVANNI
That you shall know anon, at better leisure.
Welcome, sweet Night! The evening crowns the day.
Exeunt.
Enter BERGETTO and POGGIO.
BERGETTO
POGGIO
BERGETTO
’Sfoot,4 I will have the wench, if he were ten uncles, in despite of his nose, Poggio.
POGGIO
Hold him to the grindstone, and give not a jot of ground. She hath, in a manner, promised you already.
BERGETTO
True, Poggio, and her uncle the Doctor swore I should marry her.
POGGIO
10 He swore, I remember.
BERGETTO
Very well, and kissed you that my chops1 watered at the sight on’t. There’s no way but to clap up2 a marriage in hugger-mugger.3
BERGETTO
I will do’t; for I tell thee, Poggio, I begin to grow valiant, methinks, and my courage begins to rise.4
POGGIO
Should you be afraid of your uncle?
BERGETTO
Hang him, old doting rascal, no! I say I will have her.
POGGIO
20 Lose no time, then.
BERGETTO