CHAROLAIS

Prithee Romont, what caused this uproar? In my behalf? wherein hath Charalois Unfitly so deem Ned himself, to give The least occasion to the loosest tongue, To throw aspersions on him, or so weakly Protected his own honour, as it should Needs a defence from any but himself? They are fools that judge me by my outward seeming, Why should my gentleness beget abuse? The Lion is not angry that does sleep, Nor every man a Coward that can weep. For Gods sake speak the cause. Thou dost strike A deathful coldness to my hearts high heat, And shrinkest my liver Like the Call nture. Declare this foe of mine, and life's, that Like A man I may encounter and subdue it, It shall not have one such effect in me, As thou denouncest: with a Soldiers arm If it be strength I'll meet it: if a fault Belonging to my mind, I'll cut it off With mine own reason, as a Scholar hold Speak, though it make me monstrous. Why? do you know a likelihood or possibility Unto the contrary? You did ot see they on my Couch within, Like George a horseback, on her, nor a bed? Would, would. They were wise. Wouldst would me be a fool? There is no dram of manhood to suspect, On such Thy airy circumstance as this Mere compliment and courtship. Was this tale The hideous monster which you so concealed? Away, thou curious impertinent And idle searcher of such lean nice toys. Go, thou seditious Sour of debate: Fly to such matches, where the bridegroom doubts: He holds not worth enough to countervail The virtue and the beauty of his with e. Thou buzzing drone that about my ears dost hum, To strike thy rankling sting into my heart, Whose venom, time, nor medicine could assuage. Thus do I put thee off, and confident In mine own innocency, and desert, Dare not conceive her so unreasonable, To put Nouall in balance against me, And upstarted craned up to the height he has. Hence busiebody, thou be no friend to me That must be kept to a wives injury, Didst thou n ver see me Angry, Romont? I love a friend, So ong as he continues in the bounds Pr scribed by friendship, but when he usurps Too are on what is proper to my self, And puts that habit of a Governor on, I must and will pres rue my liberty. But sp ache of something, else this is a theme I take no pleasure in: what's this Aim ire, Whose voice for Song, and exc ll nt knowledge in The chiefest parts of Musiqu , you bestow Such praises on? I never was and enemy to't, Baumont, Nor yet do I subscribe to the opinion Of those old Captains, that thought nothing musical, But cries of yielding enemies, neighing of horses, Clashing of armour, loud shouts, drums, and trumpets: Nor on the other side in favour of it, Affirm the world was made by musical discord, Or that the happiness of our life consists In a well varied note upon the Lute: I love it to the worth of it, and no further. But le us see this wonder. To have means, To know you better, sir, has brought me him her A willing vilitant, and you'll crown my welcome In making me a witness to your skill, Which crediting from others I admire. Shall we not see them? I'll not consent. How's this? It is my Ladies laugh most certain When I first pleased her, in this merry language, She gave me thanks. It's rare, Yet I may be deceived, and should be sorry Upon uncertain suppositions, rashly To write my self in the black list of those I have declaimed against, and to Romont. Pray sing it. O, my heart! Hold yet a little—do not hope to escape By flight, it is impossible: though I might On all advantage take thy life, and justly; This sword, my father's sword, that never was drawn, But to a noble purpose, shall not now Do the office of a hangman, I reserve it To right mine honour, not for a revenge So poor, that though with thee, it should cut off Thy family, with all that are allied To thee in lust, or baseness, 'twere still short of All terms of satisfaction. Draw. Why, darest thou neither Be honest, coward, nor yet valiant, knave? In such a cause come do not shame thy self Such whose bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themselves Could never heat, are yet in the defence Of their whores, daring look on her again. You thought her worth the hazard of your soul, And yet stand doubtful in her quarrel, to Venture your body. Keep from me guard thy life, Or as thou hast lived Like a goat, thou shalt Die Like a sheep. How soon weak wrong's or that own lend me your hand, Bear this to the Caroach—come, you have taught me To say you must and shall: I wrong you not, You're but to keep him company you love. Is't done ? it's well. Raise officers, and take care, All you can apprehend within the house May be forth coming. Do I appear much moved? My griefs are now, Thus to be born Hereafter I e find time and place to mourn. Pray bear this to my fath r, at his leisure He may pe use it: but with your best language Entreat his instant presence: you have sworn Not to reveal what I have done. Doubt me not, by Heaven, I will do nothing But what may stand with honour: Pray you leave me To my own thoughts. If this be to me, rise; I am not worthy the looking on, but only To feed contempt and scorn, and that from you Who with the lose of your fair name have caused it, Were too much cruelty. Can you Beaumelle, Having deceived so great a trust as mine, Though I were all credulity, hope again To get belief? no, no, if you look on me With pity or dare practice any means To make my sufferings less, or give joust cause To all the world, to think what I must do, Was called upon by you, use other ways, Deny what I have seen, or justify What you have done, and as you desperately Made shipwreck of your faith to be a whore, Use the arms of such a one, and such defence, And multiply the sin, with impudence, Stand boldly up, and tell me to my teeth, You have done but what's warranted, By great examples, in all places, where Women inhabit, urge your own deserts, Or want of me in merit; tell me how, Your dowry from the low gulf of poverty, Weighed up my Fortune's, to what now they are That I was purchased by your choice, and practice To shelter you from shame: that you might sin As boldly as securely, that poor men Are married to those wives that bring them wealth, One day their husbands, but observers ever: That when by this proved usage you have blown The fire of my joust vengeance to the height. I then may kill you: and yet say 'twas done In heat of blood, and after die my self, To witness my repentance. Oh Beaumelle, That the can speak so well, and do so ill! But you had been too great a blessing, if You had continued chased: see how you force me To this, because mine honour will not yield That I again should love you. So, set it down before The udgement seat, and stand you at the bar: For me? I am the accuser. Roch. Nouall slain, And Beaumelle my daughter in the place Oh one to be arraig'd. Oh, are you touched? find that I must take and other course, ear nothing. I will only blind your eyes, or Justice should do so, when it's to meet n object that may sway her equal doom From what it should be aimed at.— Good my Lord, A day of hearing. I then here accuse, Most equal Judge, the prisoner your fair Daughter. For whom I owed so much to you: your daughter, So worthy in her own parts: and that worth S to forth by yours, to whose so rare perfections, Truth witness with me, in the place of service I most paid Idolatrous sacrifice To be a also adultress. With this Nouall here dead. I took them in the act. I know no proof beyond it. A Judge should feel no passion. Stay, joust Judge, may not what's lost By her own fault, (for I am charitable, And charge her not with many) be forgotten In her fair life hereafter? I may not then forgive her. Let her die then. Better prepared I am. Sure I could not take her, Nor she accuse her father, as a Judge Partial against her. Yes, sir, this is her heart blood, is it not? I think it be. True, and did it by your doom This is madness. Nature does prevail above your virtue. Though all conspire Against that life which I am weary of, A little longer yet isle strive to keep it, To show in spit of malice, and their laws, His pl a must speed that hath and honest cause. Exeunt. Why, yet as I came hither, The people apt to mock calamity, And tread on the oppressed, made no hormes at me, Though they are too familiar: I deserve them. And knowing what blood my sword hath drunk In wreak of that disgrace, they yet forbore To shake their heads, or to revile me for A murderer, they rather all put on (As for great losses the old Roman used) A general face of sorrow, weighted on By a sad murmur breaking through their silence, And no eye but was readier with a tear To witness 'twas shed for me, then I could Discern a f ce made up with scorn against me. Why should I then, though for unusual wrongs I chosen unusual means to right those wrongs, Condemn my self, as over-partial In my own cause Romont ? You have reason To give you warrant for't; my falling off From such a friendship with the scorn that answered Your too prophetic counsel, may well move you To think, your meeting me going to my death, A fit encounter for that hate which justly I have desert ed from you. You are not. I am conscious, I have wronged you, and allow me Only a moral man to look on you, Whom foolishly I have abused and injured, Must of necessity be more terrible to me, hen any death the Judges can pronounce From the tribunal which I am to plead at. For what I have done To my false Lady, or Nouall, I can Give some apparent cause: but touching you, In my defence, childlike, I can say nothing, But I am sorry for't, a poor satisfaction: And yet mistake me not: for it is more Then I will speak, to have my pardon signed For all I stand accused of. Think you so? You have confirmed me. Who would love a woman That might enjoy in such a man, a friend? You have made me know the justice of my cause, And marked me out the way, how to defend it. I am ready. It shall be needless, I my self, my Lords, Will be my own accuser, and confess All they can charge me with, or will I spare To aggravate that gilded with circumstance They seek to load me with: only I pray, That as for them you will vouchsafe me hearing: I may not be denied it for my self, When I shall urge by what unanswerable reasons I was compelled to what I did, which yet Till you have taught me better, I repent not. Then I confess my Lords, that I stood bound, When with my friends, even hope it self had left me To this men charity for my liberty, Nor did his bounty end there, but began: For after my enlargement, cherishing The good he did, he made me master of His only daughter, and his whole estate: Great ties of thankfulness I must acknowledge, Could any one freed by you, press this forth ? But yet consider, my most honoured Lords, If to receive a favour, make a servant, And benefits are bonds to tie the taker To the imperious will of him that gives, Ther's none but slaves will receive courtesy. Since they must fetter us to our dishonours. Can it be called magnificence in a Prince, To pour down riches, with a liberal hand, Upon a poor men wants, if that must bind him To play the soothing parasite to his vices? Or any man, because he saved my hand, Pr fume my head and heart are at his service? Or did stand engaged to buy my freedom (When my captivity was honourable) By making my self here and fame hereafter, to men's scorn and calumnious tongues? H him fair Dam ghters mind been Like her feature, Or for some little blem sh I had sought For my content elsewhe , wasting on others My bod and her dowry; my forh and then Deserved the brand of base ingratitude: But if obsequ ou usage, and fair warning To keep her worth my love, could preserve her From being a whore, and yet no cunning one, So to offend, and yet the fault kept from me? What shou worser I do? let any freeborn spirit Determine truly, if that thankfulness, Choice form with the whole world given for a dowry Could streng hen so and honest man with patience, As with a willing neck to undergo The insupportable yoke of slave or wit toll. Her own confession to her father. I ask him for a witness. And then oh clear my self, That his great wealth was not the mark I shot at, But that I h ld it, when fair Beaumelle Fell from her virtue, Like the fatal gold Which Brennu took from Delphos, whose possession B oh ght with it ruin to himself and Army. H er's one in Cou r, Baumont, by whom I sent All grants and writings back, which made it mine, Before his daughter died by his own sentence, As freely a unasked he gave I to me. I but attended Your Lordship's pleasure. For the fact, as of The former, I confess it, but with what Base wrongs I was unwillingly drawn to it, To my few words there are some other proofs To witness this for truth, when I was married: For there I must begin. The slain Nouall Was to my wife, in way of our French courtship, A most devoted servant, but yet aimed at Nothing but means to quench his wanton heat, His heart being n ver warmed by lawful fires As mine was (Lords:) and though on these presumptions, Joined to the hate between his house and mine, I might with opportunity and ease Would e found a way for my revenge, I did not; But still he had the freedom as before Wh n all was mine, and told that he abused it With some unseemly licence, by my friend My approved friend Romont. I gave no credit To the reporter, but reproved him for it, As one uncourtly and malicious to him. What could I more, my Lords? yet after this He did continue in his first pursu e Hotter then ever, and at length obt ind it; But how it came to my most certain knowledge, For the dignity of the court and my own honour I dare not say. All your attempts Shall fallen on me, Like brittle sha ts on armour, That break themselves; or Like waves against a rock , That leave no sign of their ridiculous fury But foam and splinters, my innocence Like these Shall stand triumphant, and your malice serve But for a trumpet to proclaim my conquest; Nor shall you, though you do the worst fate can, How ere condemn, affright and honest man. I am slain. For shame R mont, Mourn not for him that die as he hath lived, Still constant and unmoved: what's fallen upon me, Is by Heavens will, because I made my self A judge in my own cause without their warrant: But he that lets me know thus much in death, With all good men forgive me. If they will not, They are too old to learn, and I too young To give them counsel, since if they partake The understanding, and the hearts of men, They will prevent my words and tears: if n to, What can persuasion, though made eloquent With grief, work upon such as have changed nature's With the most savage beast? Blessed, blessed be ever The memory of that happy age, when justice Had no guards to keep off wronged innocence, From flying to her succours, and in that Assurance of redress: where now ( Roment ) The damned, with more ease may as end from Hell, That n we arrive at her. One Cerberus there Forbids the passage, in our Courts a thousand, As loud, and fertile headed, and the Client That wants the sops, to fill their ravenous throats, Must hope for no access: why should I then Attempt impossibilities: you friend, being Too well acquainted with my dearth of means To make my entrance that way? And to these can I become a suytor? You shall overcome. No look on me! And be again contemned? A Gentleman. Sum ficent? My Lord, you fit at home, And though your fees are boundless at the bar: Are thrifty I the charges of the war, But your wills be obeyed. To these I turn, To that see softhearted men, that wisely know They are only good men, that pay what they owe Be constant in it, And since you are as merciless in your nature's, As base, and mercenary in your means By which you get your wealth, I will not urge The Court to take away one scruple from The right of their laws, or one good thought In you to mend your disposition with. I know there is no music to your ears So pleasing as the groans of men in prison, A worser that the tears of widows, and the cries Of famished Orphans, are the feasts that take you. That to be in your danger, with more care Should be voided, then infectious air, The loathed embraces of diseased women, A flatterers poison, or the lose of honour. Yet rather then my father's reverent dust Shall want a place in that fair monument, In which our noble Ancestors lie entombed, Before the Court I offer up my self A prison er for it; load me with those irons That have worn out his life, in my best strength e run to the encounter of cold hunger, And choose my dwelling where no Sun dares enter, So e may be released. I hope they are not So ignorant in any way of profit, As to neglect possibility To get their own, by seeking it from that Which can return them nothing, but ill fame, And curses for their barbarous cruelties. I thank your Lordship's, They would e in it confirmed on me such glory, As no time can take from me: I am ready, Come led me where you please: captivity That comes with honour, is true liberty. How Like a silent stream shaded with night, And gliding softly with our windy sigh ; Moves the whole frame of this solemnity! Tears, sighs and blacks, filling the fimily, While I the only murmur in this grove Of death, thus hollowly break forth Vouchfafe To stay a while, rest, rest in peace, deer earth, Thou that broughtest rest to their unthankful lives Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death: Here stands thy poor Executor thy son, That makes his life prisoner, to bale thy death; Who gladlier puts on this captivity, Then Virgins long in love, their wedding weeds: Of all that ever thou hast done good to, These only have good memories, for they Remember best, forget not gratitude. I thank you for this last and friendly love. And though this Country, Like a viperous mother, Not only hath eat up ungrate ully All means of thee her son, but last thy self, Leaving thy heir so bore and indigent, He c nnot raise thee a poor Monument, Such as a flatterer, or a usurer hath. Thy worth, in every honest br st builder one, Making their friendly hearts high funeral stone. Peace, Oh peace, this scene is wholly mine. What weep you, soldiers? Blanch not, Romont weeps. Would. let me see, my miracle is eased, The jailors and the creditors do weep; Even they that make us weep, do weep themselves. Be these thy bodies balm: these and thy virtue Keep thy fame ever odoriferous, While the great, proud, rich, undeserving man, Alive stinks in his vices, and bein vanished, The golden calf that was and Idol dect With Marble pillars Jet, and Porphyry, Shall quickly both in bone and name consume, Though wrapped in led, spice, Searecloth and perfume What! Away for shame: you profane rogues Must not be mingled with these holy relics: This is a Sacrifice, our shower shall crown His sepulcher with Olive, Myrrh and Baize The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory, Your tears would spring but weeds. One moment more, But to bestow a few poor legacies, All I have left in my dead father's rights, And I have done. Captain, wear thou these spurs That yet never made his horse run from a foe. Lieutenant, thou, this Scarf, and may it tie Thy valour, and thy honesty together: For so it did in him. Ensign, this Curace Your Generals necklace once. You gentle Bearer, Divide this purse of gold, this other, strow Among the poor: 'tis all I have. Romont, (Wear thou this medal of himself) that Like A hearty Oak, grewest close to this tall Pine, Even in the wildest wilderness of war, Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired themselves; Wounded and hacked ye were, but never felled. For me, my portion provide in Heaven: My root is carth'd, and I a desolate branch Left scattered in the high way of the world, Trod under foot, that might have been a Column, Mainly supporting our demolished house, This would I wear as my inheritance. And what hope can arise to me from it, When I and it are both here prisoners? Only may this, if ever we be free, Keep, or redeem me from all infamy. Song. Mus cke. They grudge our sorrow: your ill wills perforce Turns now to Charity: they would not have us Walk too far mourning, usurers relief Grieves, if the Debtors have too much of grief. Exeunt. Grave Sir, I buried sorrow, for his death, In the graven with him. I did never think He was immorrall, though I vow I grieve, And see no reason why the vicious, Virtuous, valiant and unworthy men Should die alike. In the manner Of dying, Sir, they do not, but all die, And therein worser ffer not: but I have done. I spied that lively picture of my father, Passing your gallery, and that cast this water I to mi e eyes: see, foolish that I am, To let it do so. Nothing, my Lord. Nay surely, I that can Give nothing, will but sue for that again. No man will grant me any thing I we for. But begging nothing, every man will giue't. How ill, Sir, it becomes those hairs to mock? You do amaze me: But you shall wonder too, I will not take One single piece of this great heap: why should I Borrow, that have not means to pay, nay am A very bankrupt, even in flattering hope Of ever raising any. All my begging, Is Romonts liberty. Enter Romont, Creditors loaded with money. Baumont. How? Honoured Rochfort. Lie still my tongue and bushes, called my cheeks, That offter thanks in words, for such great deeds. Is this the payment, Sir, that you expect? Why, you participate me more in debt That nothing but my life can ever pay, This beauty being your daughter, in which yours I must conceive necessity of her virtue Without ll dowry is a Princes aim, Then, as she is, for poor and worthless I, How much too worthy! Waken me, Romont, That I may know I dreamt, and find this vanished Fair Beaumeile, can you love me? You needs not question me, if I can you. Malotine, Lilad, Aymer. All salute. You are the fairest virgin in Dig m And Rochfort is your father. Then to us, Fair B aumell , I write my says Thus seal it in the sighed of Heaven and men. Your fingers tie my heartstrings with this touch In truelove knots, which nought but death shall lose. And yet these ears (and Emblem of our loves) Like Crystal rivers individu lly Flow into one another, make one source, Which never man distinguish, less divide: Breath, marry, breath, and kisses, mingle souls Two hearts, and bodies, here incorporate: And though with little wooing I have won, My future life shall be a wooing time. And very day, new as the bridal one, O Sir, I groan under your courtesies, More then my father's bones under his wrongs, You Curtius -Like, have thrown into the gulf, Of this his Countries foul ingratitude, Your life and Fortune's, to redeem their shames. Come, 'tis thy Jealous nature: but I wonder That you which are and honest man and worthy, Should foster this suspicion: no man laughs; No one can whisper, but thou apprehendest His conference and his scorn reflects on thee: For my partly they should scoff their thin wits out, So I not herd they, beat me, not being there. Leave, leave these fits, to conscious men, to such As are obnoxious, to those foolish things As they can gibe at. Thou art known Valiant without detect, right defined, Which is (as fearing to do injury, As tender to endure it) not a brabbler, A swearer. Hump, stay and take this wolf Out of my bre to, that thou hast lodged there, or For ever loose me. Devil on't, What should it be? Romont, I hear you wish My wives continuance of Chastity. Prithee see me so no more. I can be so again. Put up thy sword, And take thy self away, lest I draw mine Thou art not my friend, Or being so, thou art mad, I must not buy Thy friendship at this rate; had I joust cause, Thou knowest I durst pursue such injury Through fire, air, water, earth, nay, were they all Shuffled again to Chaos, but ther's none. Thy skill, Romont, consists in camps, not courts. Farewell, uncivil man, let's meet no more. Here our long web of friendship I untwist. Shall I go whine, walk pale, and lock my wife For nothing, from her births free liberty, That opened mine to me? yes; if I do The name of cuckold then, dog me with scorn. I am a Frenchman, no Italian born. Exit. Thus low my duty Answers your Lordship's counsel. I will use In the f w words (with which I am to trouble Your Lordship's ears) the temper that you wish me, Not that I fear to speak my thoughts as loud, And with a liberty beyond Romont: But that I know, for me that am made up Of all that's wretched, so to ste my end, Would seem to most, rather a willing esse To Q it the burden of a hopeless life, Then scorn of death, or duty to the dead. I therefore bring the tribute of my praise To your severity, and commend the Justice, That will not for the many services That any man hath done the Common wealth, Wink at his least of ills: what though my father Writ man before he was so, and confirmed it, By n mbring that day, no partly of his life, In which he did not service to his Country; Was he to be free therefore from the Laws, And ceremonious form in your decrees? Or else because he did as much as man In those three memorable overthrows A Granson, Morat, Nancy, where his Master, The warlike Charloyes (with whose misfortunes I bear his name) lost treasure, men and life, To be excused, from paym nt of those sums Which (his own patrimony spent) his zeal, To serve his Country, forced him to take up? And yet, my Lord, this much I know youll grant; After those great defeatures, Which in their dreadfu l ruin S buried quick, Enter officers. Courage and hope, in all men but himself, He forced the proud foe, in his height of conquest, To yield unto and honourable peace. And in it saved and hundred thousand lives, To end his own, that was sure proof against The scalding Summer's heat, and Winter's frost, Ill airs, the Cannon, and the enemies sword, In a most loathsome prison. How pity steals upon me! should I hear her en words more, I were lost—one knocks, go in. Knock within. Exit Beau elle. to be merciful sh uld be a sin. , sir, most welcome. L to me take your cloak, Exit Beau melle. Enter Roc fort. not be denied —here are your robes, you love justice once more put them on: ere is a cause to be determined of That doe's requi e such and integrity, As you have ever used—isle put you to The rial of your constancy, and goodness: And look that you that have been Eagle-eyd In other men's affairs, prove not a Mole In what concerns your self. TO ke you your seat I with l be for you presently. Exit. (Only friend) To what vain purpose do I make my sorrow, Wait on the triumph of their cruelty? Or teach their pride from my humility, To think it has recome? They are determined What they will do: and it may well become me, To rob them of the glory they expect From my submiss entreaties. Faith, my Lord, That nothing granted, is eum n all I have, For (all know) I have nothing left to grant. Do I hear this, and yet stand doubtful? Exit Chara Take it, 'tis granted.