MELIBEA

In what, Calisto? Holdest thou this, Calisto, so great a reward? I shall give thee a reward answerable to thy deserts, if thou persevere and go on in this manner. Tell me (mother) why do you speak so ill of that, which the whole world so earnestly desires to enjoy and see? But unfortunate, by that time thou hast herd thy doom. For thy payment shall be as foul, as thy presumption was foolish, and thy entertainment small, at thy intrusion was great. How durst such a one as thou hazard thy self on the virtue of such a one as I? Go wretch, be gone out of my sighed, for my patience cannot endure, that so much as a thought should enter into any men heart, to communicate his mind unto me in illicite love. I perceive, so goes the market, as it goes with you. And as you find your pennyworth, so you speak of the Fair. And though you perhaps complain, the rich will sing another song. Me thinks, mother, it should be a great grief unto you, to think upon those good days of yours, which are passed and gone. Would you not be willing to run them over again? Were it but only to live, it is good to desire that which I say. Thou hast scarred me with thy words; thy reasons put me in remembrance that I have seen thee heretofore. Tell me (mother) art not thou Celestina, that dwelled in Tanners Row, near the River? By my faith you are and old woman. Well, I see it is a true saying; That days go not away in vain. Now (never trust me) I did not know you; neither should I, had it not been for that slash over your face; then were you fair, now wonderfully all tered. What sayest thou fool? Speak, what is't thou-sayest? What laughest thou at? Friend Celestina, I am very glad both to see and know thee; and I have taken great pleasure in thy discourse. Here, take your money and farewell; for thou lookest (poor soul) as if thou hadst eaten nothing all this day. Acquaint me (mother) with all your necessities and wants, and if I can help you in them, or do you any good, I shall willingly do it, as well out of our old acquaintance, as out of neigh bour-hood, which in good and honest minds, is a sufficient bound to tie them thereunto. Ask what thou wilt, be it either for thy self, or any bo die else, whom it pleases thee. Good woman; I understand thee not, unless thou de li er thy mind unto me in plain terms. On the one side thou dost anger me, and provoke me to displeasure; on the other thou dost move and stir me to compassion. Neither know I how to return thee a convenient answer, because I have not fully comprehended thy meaning; I should think my self happy, if my words might carry that force, as to save the life of any man, though ne ver so mean. For to do good, is to be Like unto the Deity. Beside, he that does a benefit, receives it when it is done to a per son that desires it. And he that can cure one that is sick, not doing it, is guilty of his death; and therefore give not over thy petition, but proceed and fear nothing. For Gods love, without any more dilating, tell me who is this sick man, who feeling such great perplexity, hath both his sickness and his cure, flowing from one, and the selfsame Foum taine? Enough, enough; No more (good old woman;) Not a word, not a word more, I would advise you. Is this the sick pa tient, for whom thou hast made so many prefaces to come to thy purpose? For what, or whom camest thou hither? Camest thou to seek thy death? Knowest thou for whom (thou bearded Impu dent) thou hast trodden these dangerous steps? What ails this wic ked one, that thou pleadest for him with such passion? He is fool sick, is he not? Is he in his wits, I trow? What wouldst thou have thought, if thou shouldst have found me without some suspi cion and jealousy of this fool? What a wind-lace hast thou fetched, with what words hast thou come upon me? I see it is not said in vain; That the most hurtful member in a man, or woman, is the tongue. I will have thee burned, thou false Witch, thou enemy to honesty, thou Causeresse of secret errors; Fie upon thee Filth; Lu crecia, out of my sighed with her, send her packing; away with her I pray, she makes me ready to swoon: ay me, I faint, I die; she hath not left me one drop of blood in my body. But I well deserve this, and more, for giving ear to such a paltry huswife as she is. Believe me, were it not, that I regarded mine honour, and that I am unwilling to publish to the world his presumptuous audaciousness and boldness, I would so handle thee (thou accursed Hag) that thy discourse, and thy life, should have ended both toga there. Darest thou yet speak before me? and mutter words between thy teeth, for to augment my anger, & double thy punish meant? Wouldst thou have me soil mine honour, for to give life to a fool, to a mad man? Shall I make my self sad, to make him mere ry? Wouldst thou thrive by my lose? And reap profit by my per dition? And receive remuneration by my error? Wouldst thou have me overthrow, and ruin my father's house and honour, for to raise that of such and old rotten Bawd as thou art? Dost thou think, I do not perceive thy drift? That I do not track thee step by step? Or that I understand not thy damnable errand? But I assure thee, the reward that thou shalt get thereby, shall be no other, save (that I may take from thee all occasion of farther offending heaven) to give and end to thy evil days. Tell me (Traitor as thou art) how didst thou dare to proceed so far with me? Let me hear no more of this mad man, name not this fool unto me; this leaper over walls; this Hobgoblin; this nightwalker; this fantastical spirit; long-shanked, Like a Stork; in shape and proportion, Like a picture in Arras, that is ill-wrought; or and ill-favoured fellow in and old suit of hangings; Say no more of him, unless you would have me to fallen down dead where I stand. This is he who saw me the other day, and began to court me with I know not what extravagant phrases, as if he had not been well in his wits, professing himself to be a great Gallant. Tell him (good old woman) if he think that I was wholly his, and that he had won the field, because it pleased me rather to consent to his folly, then correct his fault, and yield to his errand, then chastise his error; that I was willing rather to let him go Like a fool as he came, then to publish this his presumptuous enterprise. More over, advise him, that the next way to have his sickness leave him, is to leave off his loving, and wholly to relinquish his purpose, if he purpose to impart health to himself; which if he refuse to do, tell him from me, that he never bought words all the days of his life at a dearer rate. Beside, I would have him know, that no man is oh uercome, but he that thinks himself so to be. So shall I live secure, and he contented. But it is evermore the nature of fools, to think other Like themselves. Return thou with this very answer unto him; for other answer of me shall he none, nor never hope for any: for it is but in vain to entreat mercy of him, of whom thou canst not have mercy. And for thine own partly, thou mayest thank God, that thou scapest hence scotfree; I have herd enough of you hereto before, and of all your good qualities, though it was not my hap to know you. You mine enemy, what say you? Speak out, I pray, that I may hear you. Hast thou any thing to say in thy excuse, whereby thou mayest satisfy my anger, and clear thy self of this thy error and bold attempt? Little heat, say you? Indeed thou mayest well say little; because thy self yet lives, while I with grief endure thy great pre sumption. What words canst thou demand of me for such a one as he is, that may stand with my good? Answer to my demand, be cause thou sayest thou hast not yet concluded. And perhaps thou mayest pacify me for that which is passed. If this be that thou wouldst have, why didst thou not tell me of it sooner? Why wentest thou about the bush with me? What needed all those circumstances? Or why didst thou not de liver it in other words? I now wonder not, that your Ancients were wont to say; That one only teacher of Vice, was sufficient to mar a great City. For I have herd such and so many tales of thy false and cun ning tricks, that I know not whither I may believe, thy errand was for this charm. My former late anger will not give me leave to laugh at thy excuse. For I wot very well, that neither oath nor torment shall make thee to speak the truth. For it is not in thy power to do it. And well hast thou deserved it. Thou dost so confidently plead thy ignorance, that thou makest me almost ready to believe thee; yet will I in this thy so doubtful and excuse, hold my sentence in suspense, and will not dis pose of thy demand upon the relish of so light and interpretation. Neither for all this would I have thee to think much of it, nor make it any such wonder, that I was so exceedingly moved; For two things did concur in thy discourse, the least of which was suf ficient to make me run out of my wits. First, in naming this Gen tleman unto me, who thus presumed to talk with me: then, that thou shouldst entreat me for him, without any further cause given; which could not but engender a strong suspicion of intention of hurt to my honour. But since all is well meant, and no harm intended, I pardon a l that is passed; for my heart is now somewhat lightened, si thence it is a pious, and a holy work, to cure the sick, and help the distressed. The Age, I pray; How long hath he had it? This is not that which I ask thee; Nor do I care to know his age. I ask thee how long he hath been troubled with his toothache? Oh how I am fallen out with mine own impatience! How angry with my self, that he being ignorant, and thou inno cent of any intended Ill; thou hast endured the distemperature of my enraged tongue? But the great reason I had for it, frees me from any fault of offence, urged thereunto by thy suspicious spea ches: but in requital of thy sufferance, I will forthwith fulfil thy request, and likewise give thee my Girdle. And because I have not leisure to write the charm, till my mother comes home, if this will not serve the turn, come secretly for it to morrow morning. What sayest thou, Lucrecia? I pray (mother) say nothing to this Gentleman of what hath passed betwixt you and me, lest he should hold me either crumb ell, sudden, or dishonest. I will do more for your sick Patient then this, if needs require, in requital of your great patience. Mother, what's that thou talkest of thanks? What sayest thou to her, mother? Nay, you must tell me what you said to her; for I can not abide, that any body should speak any thing in my presence, and I not have a partly therein. And therefore, without any more a do, let me know it. Thou hast shown a great deal of temper, as well in saying little, when thou sawest me angry, as also in thy great and singular sufferance. This Gentleman is beholding unto you, whom I recom mend to your care. Hadst thou spoke for it sooner, sooner hadst thou been sped. Go thy ways, and a good luck with thee: for neither thy coming hither hath done me any good; nor thy going hence can do me any harm; Thy message being as bootless, as thy departure shall be harmless. Lucrecia, make fast the door there, and pull down the hanging over it. Oh wise and honest old Dame, you are exceeding welcome; what think you, that chance should so dispose of things, and fortune so bring about her wheel, that I should stand in need of this wisdom, and crave so suddenly of you, that you would die me in the selfsame coin, the courtesy which was by you deman dead of me for that Gentleman, whom you were to cure by the for tue of my Girdle? Truly, mother, I think there be some Serpents within my body, that are gnawing upon my heart. What's that you say? Have you perceived by my looks, any cause from whence my malady proceedeth? Good old woman; Do thou make me merry then. For I have herd much of thy wisdom. Oh how acceptable and pleasing are thy words to mine ears! it is a comfortable thing to the sick patient, to see his physi cian to look cheerfully upon him. Me thinks I see my heart broken between thy hand in pieces, which with a little labour, and by power and virtue of thy tongue, thou art able (if thou wilt) to join together, and make it whole again; even as easily, as Alexander that great King of Macedon dreamt of that wholesome root in the mouth of a Dragon, wherewith he healed his servant Ptolemy, who had been bitten by a Viper; and therefore, for the love of Jove, disroabe your self, that you may more easily, and more dili gently look into the nature of my disease, and afford me some re medy for it. Friend, Celestina, Thou wise Matron, and great Mi stress in thy Art, thou hast well opened unto me the way, by which I may manifest my malady unto thee. Believe me, you have question oned me Like a wise woman, and Like one that is well experienced in these kind of sicknesses. My pain is about my heart, it's residence, near unto my left Pap; but disperses it self over every partly of my body. Secondly, it hath been so but of late; nor did I ever think, that any pain whatsoever could have so deprived me of my understanding, as this does; it troubles my sighed, changes my con tenance, takes away my stomach, I cannot sleep for it, nor will it suffer me to enjoy any kind of pleasure: touching the thought, which was the last thing you demanded, concerning my disease, I am not able to deliver it unto you, and as little the cause thereof; For neither death of kinsfolk, nor lose of temporal goods, nor a nigh sudden passion upon any vision, nor any doting dream, nor any other thing can I conjecture to be the cause of it, save only a kind of alt ration, caused by your self upon your request, which I sus pected in the behalf of that Gentleman Calisto, when you entrea ted me for my Charm. Why, how now, Celestina, what a strange request is this that thou makest unto me? Needest thou to crave leave of me, who am to receive help from thee? What Physician did ever demand such security, for to cure his patient? Speak, speak what you please; for you shall always have leave of me to say what you will; always excepted, that you wrong not my honour with your words. By how much the longer you defer my cure, by so much the more do you increase my pain, and augment my passion. Either thy medicines are of the powder of infamy, and of the juice of corruption, confectionated with some other more cruel pain, then that which thy patient already feels; or else thy skill is no thing worth; For if either the one, or the other did not hinder thee, thou wouldst tell me of some other remedy boldly, and without fear, since I entreat thee to acquaint me therewith, my honour full preserved. Oh how thou killest me with delays! For Gods love, speak what thou wilt, do what thou wilt, exercise thy skill, put thy experience in practice. For, there is not any remedy so sharp, as can equal the bitterness of my pain and torment. No, though it touch upon mine honour, though it wrong my reputation, though it afflict my body, though it rip and break up my flesh, for to pull out my grieved heart. I give thee my faith, to do what thou wilt see curely; and if I may find ease of my pain, I shall liberally reward thee. Mother, what is't you say; what said the wench unto you? Get you out quickly, be gone. Mother, I pray you, good now hold your peace; fetch not any thing from his house, that may work my good. If you love me, do not so much as once name him unto me. Oh you kill me no more of him, for Gods sake no more. Did not I tell you, that you should not commend him unto me? and that, you should not speak a word of him neither good nor bade? So often wilt thou name this Gentleman unto me, that neither my promise, nor the faith I plighted thee, will suffice to make me any longer to endure your words. Wherein should he be well paid? What do I owe unto him? Wherein am I bound un to him? What charge have I ut him to? What hath he ever done for me? What necessity is there, that we must be driven to use him, as the instrument of my recovery? More pleasing would it be unto me, that you would tear my flesh and sinews asunder, and tear ou my , then utter such words as these. How call you this grief, that hath seized on the bet ter partly of my body? Tell me then, what thing this sweet Love may be? For only in the very hea king of it named, my heart leaps for joy. Oh wretched, that I am! for if thy relation be true, I rest doubtful of my recovery: For, according to the contrariety which these names do carry, that which shall be profitable for one, shall to another being more passion. How is it called? and spare not. Softly, speak softly I pray; I'll see if I can rise; In no case do not trouble the house. I will, and much more then I was wont. But peace, I pray a while, and do not trouble me. No; it is my honesty that is broken; it is my modesty that is broken; my too much bashfulness and shamefastness, oc casioned my swooning, which being my natural and familiar friends, and companions, could not slightly absent themselves from my face, but they would also carry away my colour with them for a while, my strength, my speech, and a great partly of my vnderstan ding. But now (my good Mistress, my faithful Secretary) since that which thou so openly knowest, it is in vain for me to seek to smother it; many, yea many days, are now overpassed, since that no ble Gentleman motioned his love unto me; whose speech and name was then as hateful, as now the reviving thereof is pleasing unto me: with thy Needles thou hast stitched up my wou ̄ worser; I am come to thy Bent; it is in thy power to do with me what thou wilt. In my girdle, thou carriedst away with thee the possession of my liberty: His anguish was my greater torment; his pain my greater punish meant. I highly praise and continued ̄ mend your singular sufferance, your dis creet boldness, your liberal pains, your solicitous & faithful steps, your pleasing speech, your good wisdom, your excessive solici tude, and your profitable importunity: the Gentleman is much bound unto you, and my self more; for my reproaches and revilings could never make thee to slack thy courage, thy strong continuance, and forcible perseverance in thy suit, relying still on thy great subtlety and strength of wit; or rather bearing thy self Like a most faithful and trusty servant, being then most diligent, when thou wast most reviled; the more I did disgrace thee, the more wast thou importunate; the harsher answer I gave thee, the better didst thou seem to take it: when I was most angry, then wast thou most mild and humble: and now, by laying aside all fear, thou hast got that out of my bosom, which I never thought to have discovered unto thee, or to any other whosoever. Oh my Calisto! my deer Lord, my sweet and pleasing joy, if thy heart feel the Like torment, as mine, I wonder how thy absence gives thee leave to live. Oh thou, both my mother, and mi stress, so handle the business, that I may presently see him, if you desire I should live. Speak with him? it is impossible. Tell me how? When? Thou shalt be glorious in mine eyes, if thou compass this. But soft, at what hour? Go, be gone, hie you, good Mistress, my faithful friend, and talk with that Gentleman, and will him that he come very softly at his appointed hour, and then we will conclude of things, as himself shall think fit to order them. Friend Lucrecia, my loyal servant, & faithful secretary, you have here seen, that I have no power over my self; and what I have done, lies not in my hands to help it. Love hath made me prisoner to that Gentleman. I entreat thee (for pity sake) that you will sign what you have seen, with the seal of secrecy, where by I may come to the enjoying of so sweet a Love: In requital whereof, thou shalt be held by me, in that high regard, as thy faith full service deserves. She would have sold me a little sublimated Mercury. Is she a blade of that making? is she such a whipster? Is she one of those, you know what? She shall never come at me more. And believe me (Madame) I much joy in your good advice, and that you have so well instructed me, of whom I ought to be beware. Speak softly (you fool.) Mark him well, that you may be sure it is he. Lucrecia, go a little aside; and give me leave to call unto him. Sir, what is your name? Who willed you to come him there. The strange and excessine boldness of thy messages, hath enforced me ( Calisto ) to speak with thee: who having all ready received my answer to your reasons, I know not what you may imagine to get more out of my love, then what I then made known unto you. Banish therefore from thee, those vain and foe lish thoughts, that both my honour and my person may be secured from any hurt they may receive by and ill suspicion. For which pur pose, I am come hither to take order for your dispatch, and my quietness. Do not, I beseech you, put my good name and repu tation upon the balance of backbiting and detracting tongues. Cease (good Sir) your true and joust complaints. For neither my heart is able to endure it, nor mine eyes any longer to dissemble it; thou weepest out of grief, judging me cruel; and I weep out of joy, seeing thee so faithful. Oh my dearest Lord, and my life's whole happiness; how much more pleasing would it be unto me, to see thy face, then to hear thy voice! But since that at this present we cannot enjoy each others as we would, take thou the as signement, and seal of those words, which I sent unto thee, writ ten, and ingrossed in the tongue of that thy diligent and careful messenger. All that which I then said, I do here anew confirm. I acknowledge it as my Deed, and hold the Assurance I have made thee, to be good and perfect. Good Sir, do not you weep; dry up your tears, and dispose of me as you please, Calisto; Thy great worth, thy singular graces, and thy nobleness of birth, have (ever since I had true notice of thee) wrought so effectually with me, that my heart hath not so much as one moment been absent from thee. And although (now these many days) I have strove, and strove again to dissemble it, yet could I not so smother my thoughts, but that as soon as that Woman returned thy sweet name unto my remembrance, I discovered my desire, and appointed our meeting, at this very place and time: Where, I beseech thee to take order for the disposing of my person, according to thine own good will and pleasure. These doors de bar us of our joy, whose strong locks and bars I curse, as also mine own weak strength. For were I stronger, and they weaker, neither shouldst thou be displeased, nor I discontented. What means my Love? Will you undo me? Will you wound my reputation? Give not your will the reins: your hope is certain, and the time short: even as soon as your self shall appoint it. Beside, your pain is single, mine double; yours for your self, mine for us both: you only feel your own grief, I both your own and mine. Content your self therefore, and come you to morrow at this very hour, and let your way be by the wall of my garden; for if you should now break down these cruel doors, though haply we should not be presently herd, yet to morrow morning there would arise in my father's house a terrible suspicion of my error: and you know, beside, that by so much the greater is the error, by how much the greater is the party that erreth: And in the turning of a hand, will be noised thorough the whole City. What noise is that ( Calisto ) which I hear in the street? It seems to be the noise of some that fly and are pursued; for your own sake and mine, have a care of your self; I fear me, you stand in danger. Are they many, that you brought? Oh! of all loves, let not any such thing be attempted; yet it glads me much that you are so faithfully attended; that bred is well bestowed which such valiant servants eat. For that love (Sir) which you bear unto me, since Nature hath enriched them with so good a gift, I pray make much of them, and reward them well; to the end that in all things, they may be trusty and secret, that con cerne thy service; and when for their boldness and presumption, thou shalt either check, or correct them; intermix some favours with thy punishments, that their and courage may not be daunted, and abated, but be stirred and provoked to out dare dan gers, when thou shalt have occasion to use them. Be it so, and all happiness be with you. Sir. It is Lucrecia (Sir) who went forth to fetch some uva ter for me to drink, for I was very thirsty. There is not any so gentle a creature, who with the love or fear of it's young, is not somewhat moved. What would they have done, had they had certain, and assured knowledge of my go king down? Good spirits be his guard, and preserve his person from peril. For, his long stay does not so much grieve me: but I am afraid, lest some misfortune or other may befall him, as he is on his way unto us. For, who knows, whither he continued ̄ ming so willingly to the place appointed, and in that kind of fashion, as such Gentle men as he, on the Like occasion, and the Like hour use to go; whither, or no, I say, he may chance to light upon the nightwatch, or be met by the Alguazils, and they not knowing him, have set up on him, and he to defend himself, hath either hurt them, or they him? Or whither some roguish Cur or other with his cruel teeth (for such dogs, as they make no difference of persons,) have perhaps unfortunately bit him? Or whither, he hath fallen upon the Causey, or into some dangerous pit, whereby he may receive some harm? But (Ay me) these are but inconveniences which my conceived love brings forth, and my troubled thoughts present unto me. Goodness forbid, that any of these misfortunes should be fallen him! Rather let him stay as long as it shall please himself from coming to visit me. But hark, hark, what steps are those that I hear in the street? And to my thinking likewise, I hear some body talking on this side of the garden. Your servant, your slave, Calisto, who prizes more yours then her own life. Oh my deer Lord, take heed how you leap, leap not down so high; you kill me, if you do: I shall swoon in seeing it. Come down, come down gently, I pray. Take more leisure in coming down the ladder; as you lo e me, come not so fast. As you love me ( Calisto ) though my tongue take liberty to talk what it will; yet, I prithee, let not thy hands do all what they can. Be quiet (good Sir) since I am yours, suffice it you content your self in the enjoying of this outwardness, which is the proper fruit of Lovers, and not to rob me of the greatest ewell, which Nature hath enriched me with; Consider beside, That it is the property of a good shepherd, to fleece, but not to flay his sheep; to shear them, but not to uncase them. Lucrecia, go aside a little. So would not I, when I do amiss. And had I but thought that you would have used me thus, or been but half so violent, as I now see you are; I would not have trusted my person with such a rough and cruel conversation. Oh my life and my deer Lord, how could you find in your heart, that I should loose the name and crown of a Virgin, for so momentary and so short a pleasure? Oh my poor Mother, If thou didst but know what we have done, with what willingness wouldst thou take thine own death? and with what violence and enforcement give me mine? How cruel a butcher wouldst thou become of thine own blood? And how doleful and end should I be of thy days? Oh my most honoured father, how have I wronged thy reputation? And given both opportunity and place to the utter overthrowing and undoing of thy house? Oh Traitor that I am! Why did I not first look into that great error, which would ensue by thy entrance, as also that great danger; which I could not but expect? My Lord, for Jove's love, now that all that I have, is yours; now, that I am your Mistress; now, that you cannot deny my love; deny me not your sighed. And on such nights as you shall resolve to come, let your coming be by this secret place, and at the self same hour: for then, shall I still look for you prepared with the same joy, wherewith I now comfort my self in the hope full expectation of those sweet nights that are to come. And so for this present, I will take my leave. Farewell (my Lord) my hope is, that you will not be discovered, for it is very dark; Nor I herd in the house, for it is not yet day. Lucrecia, come hither, I am now all alone. My Love is gone, who hath left his heart with me, and hath taken mine with him. Didst thou not hear us, Lucrecia? What does the fool there sneaking in the corner? For all loves sake speak softly; they will hear you by and by; let them talk on, they begin to dote; for this month they have had no other talk; their mind hath run on nothing else; it may be their heart tells them of the great love which I bear to Calisto, as also of that which for this months space hath passed between us. I know not whither they have had any inkling of our meeting? or whither they have overheard us? nor can I de ise in the world, what should be the reason, why they should be so hight upon the matter, and more eager for the marrying of me now, then ever heretofore: but they shall miss of their purpose; they shall labour it in vain: for to what use serves the clapper in the Mil, if the Miller be deaf? Who is he that can remove me from my glow ry? Who can withdraw me from my pleasure? Calisto is my Soul, my Life, my Lord; on whom I have set up my rest, and in whom I have placed all my Hope's; I know that in him I cannot be decei ved. And since that he loves me, with what other thing but love can I requite him? All the debts in the world receive their pay meant in a diverse kind; but love admits no other payment, but love. I glad my self in thinking on him; I delight my self in seeing him; and rejoice my self in hearing him. Let him do with me what he will, and dispose of me at his pleasure; if he will go to Sea, I will go with him; if he will round the world, I will along with him; if he will fell me for a slave in the enemies Country, I will not resist his desire. Let my Parents let me enjoy him, if they mean to enjoy me; let them not settle their thoughts upon these vanities, nor think no more upon those their marriages. For, it is better to be well beloved, then ill married; and a good friend is better then a bade husband. Let them suffer me to enjoy the pleasure of my youth, if they mind to iniov any quietness in their age; if not, they will but prepare destruction for me, and for themselves a See pulchre. I grieve for nothing more, then for the time that I have lost in not enjoying him any sooner, and that he did not know me, as soon as he was known unto me. I will no husband; I will not fully the knots of matrimony, nor tread against the matrimonial steps of another man; nor walk in the way of wedlock with a stranger, as I find many have done, in those ancient books which I have read, which were far more discreet, and wiser then my self; and more noble in their estate and Lineage, whereof some were held among the heathens for goddesses: as was Venus, the mother of Aeneas and of Cupid, the God of love, who being married, broke her plighted troth of wedlock: as likewise diverse others, who were inflamed with a greater fire, and did commit most nefa rious and incestuous errors: as Myrrha, with her father; Semyramis with her son; Canace with her brother; others also in a more cruel and beastly fashion, did transgress the Law of Nature: as Pasiphae, the wife of King Minos, with a Bull: and these were Queens and great Ladies, under whose faults (considering the foulness of them) mine may pass as reasonable, without note of shame, or dis honesty. My love was grounded upon a good and joust cause, and a far more lawful ground. I was wooed and sued unto, and captiva ted by Calisto's good deserts; being thereunto solicited by that subtle and cunning Mistress in her Art, Dame Celestina, who adventured her self in many a dangerous Visit, before that ever I would yield my self true prisoner to his love. And now for this month, and more (as you your self have seen) he hath not failed, no, not so much as one night, but hath still scaled our garden walls, as if he had come to the scaling of a fort; and many times hath been repulsed, and assaulted it in vain, being driven to withdraw his siege. And yet for all this, he continued more constant and resolute still, and never would give over, as one that thought his labour to be well bestowed. For my sake, his servants have been slain; for my sake, he hath wasted and consumed his substance; for my sake he hath feigned absence with all his friends in the City; and all day long he hath had the patience to remain close prisoner in his own house, and only upon hope (wherein he counted mselfe happy) to see me in the night: Far, far therefore from me e all ingratitude; far be all flattery and dissimulation towards so true and faithful a Lover; for I regard (in my regard to him) ney there husband, father, nor kindred; for in losing my Calisto, I loose my life, which life of mine does therefore please me, because it plea seth him; which I desire no longer to enjoy, then he shall joy in it. Lucrecia, Lucrecia; run, hie thee quickly, and go in by the back door in the hall, and break off their discourse with some feigned errand or other, unless thou wouldst have me cry out, and take on Like a Bedlam; so much am I out of patience with their misconceit of my ignorance. Sing on ( Lucrecia ) if thou lovest me; I prithee sing on; for it does my heart good to hear thee; sing on, I say, till my Lord come. Be not too loud, and let us go aside into this green walk, that they that pass by may not hear us. Oh how sweet is thy music to mine ears! it makes my heart even to melt and dissolve for joy. I prithee give not over. Friend Lucrecia, me thinks, I see that which thou sin gest, represented most lively unto me; me thinks, I see him as per fectly with these mine eyes, as if he stood joust before me. Go on; for thou dost exceeding well, and with and excellent Air: I will bear a partly with thee, and help thee as well as I can. Hear me now, I prithee; I will sing alone. You birds, whose warblings prove Aurora draws near, Go fly, and tell my Love, That I expect him here. The night does posting move, Yet comes he not again; God grant some other Love Do not my Love detain. Oh pleasing treason; Oh sweet-sudden passion! What? my Lord? my soul; Is it he? I cannot believe it; where hast thou been, thou bright shining Sun? In what place hast thou hid thy brightness from me? Is it not a pretty while since that thou heardest me? Why dist thou suffer me to send forth my words in to the Air, senseless and foolish as they were, and in this hoarse Swannish voice of mine? look on the Moon, and see how bright she shines upon us: look on the Clouds, and see how speedily they rack away: harken to the gurgling waters of this fountain: how sweet a murmur, and what a pretty kind of purling they make, rushing along these fresh herbs, and pleasant flowers: harken to these high Cypresses, how one bough makes peace with another by the intercession of a mild, gentle, & temperate wind, which moves them to and from. Behold these silent and quiet shades, how dark they are, and how excellently well prepared for the covering and concealing of our sports. Lucrecia? why, how now friend? what are you doing? art thou turned mad with pleasure? Let me alone with my Love; touch him not, I charge you; do not you pluck and hale him from me; do not burden his body with your heavy arms. Let me enjoy what is mine, you shall not possess any partly of my pleasure. Why (my Love) would you have me sing? or how can I sing? for my desire of thee, was that which ruled my voice, and made me to air my notes. But now that thou art come, that desire disappears, it is vanished, and the Tone of my voice dis tempered, and out of tune. And because you, Sir, are the pattern of courtesy and good behaviour, how can you in reason require my tongue to speak, when as you cannot rule your own hands, and keep them quiet? Why do not you forget these tricks, and learn to leave them? Lay your command upon them to be quiet, and will them to lay aside this offensive custom, and consider (my dearest) that as to see thee, whilst thou carriest thy self quietly and civilly, is the greatest happiness that either my heart or my eye can enjoy; so is it as displeasing unto me, to see thee handle me so roughly. Thy honest sporting pleases me, but thy dishonest hands offend me, especially when they are too far out of reason. And, though love ofttimes forget reason, yet amongst your well-educated, and noble and generous spirits, kindness keeps a decorum, and revels not but with decency; let such (Sweetheart) be our embraces, such and so modest be our dalliance (my dearest Calisto, my Love, my Lord.) And since I wholly subject my self to your pleasure; be it your plea sure, to take & make such worthy benefit of my affection, presence and service, as best beseems true Lovers, and is agreeable to both our high births and breeding. But alas silly woman, why should I direct you? No, I will not, Do, Calisto, do what you will, and say what you will, I am yours to use; please your self, and you shall please me. Sir, shall I send Lucrecia to fetch you some sweetmeats? Sir, it is I that enjoy this happiness, this fullness of content. If any body gain by it, it is I; and I must acknowledge my self most infinitely beholding unto you, that you would vouch safe to visit me in so kind and loving a manner, as no thanks are able to requite so great a favour. Oh unfortunate that I am! I pray do not go without your Curaces. If you love me, come back; I will help to arm you my self. Oh miserable me! Why dost thou go so furiously, and so fast? and all disarmed as thou art, to hazard thy life amongst thou knowest not whom? Lucrecia, come hither quickly; for Can listo is gone to thrust himself into a quarrel. Let us take his Curam ces, and throw them over the wall; for he hath left them here be hind him. Oh wretch that I am! what do I hear? Oh disconsolate woman that I am! What a thing is this? What vile mishap, that hath thus disturbed our quiet? What miss chance can possibly prove so cruel, as that which I now hear? Help me ( Lucrecia ) to get up this wall, that I may see my sorrow, unless you will have me fill my father's house with cries and skrikes. What? Is all my joy turned into smoke? Is all my pleasure lost? All my glory come to and end? Ay me, of all other the most miserable! So short a time, to possess my pleasure? so soon, to see my sorrows come upon me? Hear you what moan his poor servants make? hear you how woefully they lament his lose? wailing, and weeping, praying, and answering each to other, they carry away from me all my good, all my happiness; my dead joy, my dearest Love, they carry away from me; my time is come; I am but a dead woman; I can live no longer, since I may no more enjoy the joy of my heart. Oh that I should let thee go! that I should hold that Jewel no faster which I so lately held in my hands. Oh ungrateful mortals! Oh un thankful as we be, who never know our happiness, until we want it! Ay me! What shall I do? My cure is remediless. Let us go whither you please: and if it stand with your liking, Sir, let us go up to the top of the Leads; for from thence I may enjoy the pleasing sighed of those Ships that pass to and from, and perhaps it may give some ease to my grief. With a very good will. I pray (father) will you cause some musical instrument to be sent unto me, that by playing there on, or singing thereunto, I may see if I can driven away this grief; for though on the one side, the force and violence thereof does much torment me; yet on the other side, I doubt not but those sweet sounding Instruments and delightful harmony, will much lossen and mitigate my sorrow. Friend Lucrecia, this place (me thinks) is too high; I am very loath to leave my father's company. I prithee make a step down unto him, and entreat him to come to the foot of this Tower; for I have a word or two, which I forgotten to tell him, that he should deliver from me to my mother. They have all of them left me. I am now alone by my self, and no body with me. The manner of my death falls fit and pat to my mind; it is some ease unto me, that I and my beloved Calisto shall so soon meet again. I will shut and make fast the door, that no body may come up to hinder my death, nor disturb my de parture, nor to stop me in my journey, wherein I purpose to post un to him; not doubting, but to visit him as well this very day, as he did me this last night. All things fadge aright, and have fallen out as luckily, as I could wish it; I shall now have time and leisure e nough, to recount to my father Pleberio, the cause of this my short and sudden end. I confess, I shall much wrong his silver hairs, and offer much injury to his elder years; I shall work great woe unto him by this my error; I shall leave him in great heaviness and desolation all the days of his life: But admit my death will be the death of my dearest parents, and put case, that the shortening of my days, will be the shortening of theirs; who does not know, but that others have been more cruel to their parents then I am? Prusias, King of Bythinia, without any cause, not enduring that pain, which I do, slew his own father Ptolemy, King of Egypt, slew both father and mother, and brother and wife, and all for the love of his Mistress. Orestes killed his mother, Clytemnestar, and that cruel Emperor Nero, only for the fulfilling of his pleasure, murdered his own mother. These, and such as they, are worthy of blame. These are true Par ricides; not I; who with mine own punishment, and with mine own death, purge away the gilded, which otherwise, they might more justly lay upon me for their death's. There have been others, far more cruel, who have slain their own children, and their own brother's, in comparison of whose errors, mine is as nothing; at least nothing so great. Philip, King of Macedon; Herod, King of Ju ryne; Constantine, Emperor of Room; Laodice, Queen of Cappado cea; and Medea the Sorceress; all these slew their own sons and dearest children, and that without any reason or joust cause, preser ving their own persons still in safety. To conclude, that great cruelty of Phr ates, King of the Parthians, occurs to my remem brance, who, because he would have no successor behind him, murdered Orodes, his aged father, as also his only son, beside some thirty more of his brothers. These were delicts worthy blame indeed; because they keeping their own persons free from peril, butchered their Ancestors, their successors, and their brothers. True it is, that though all this be so, yet are we not to imitate them in those things wherein they did amiss; but it is not in my power to do otherwise. And thou great Governor of the heavens, who art witness to my words, thou seest the small power that I have oh ver my passion; thou seest how my liberty is captivated, and how my senses are taken with that powerful love of that late deceased Gentleman, who hath deprived me of that love, which I bear to my living parents. No (good father) content you where you are, trouble not your self nor strive to come to me; you shall but disturb and interrupt that short speech which I am now to make unto you. Now, by and by shalt thou be suddenly wounded; thy heart shall presently be pricked with grief, and shall bleed abundantly, to see the death of thy only daughter. My end draws near; at hand is my, rest, and thy passion my ease, and thy pain; my hour of keep king company and thy time of solitariness. You shall not needs (my most honoured father) to seek out any instruments of music to as suage my sorrow; nor use any other found, save the found of bells, for to ring my knell, and bring my body to the graven. And, if thou canst harken unto me for tears, if thine eyes will give thine cares leave to hear, thou shalt hear the desperate cause of this my forced, yet joyful departure; see thou neither speak nor weep; interrupt me ot, either with tears or words, unless thou meanest more hereafter to be tormented, in not knowing why I do kill my self, then thou art now sorrowful to see my death. Neither ask, nor answer me any thing; nor question me any further, then what of mine own accord I shall willingly tell thee; for when the heart is surcharged with sorrow, the ear is deaf to good counsel; and at such a time, good and wholesome words rather incense, then allay rage. Hear (my aged father) the last words that ever I shall speak unto you. And if you entertain them, as I hope you will, you will rather excuse, then condemn my error. I am sure, you both well perceive and hear that most sad and doleful lamentation, which is made throughout all this City; I am sure you hear this great noise and ringing of Bells', the skriking and cryings out of all sorts of peo ple, this howling, and barking of dogs, this noise and clatte ring of Armour. Of all this, have I been the cause; I, even this very day, have clothed the greater partly of the Knights, and Gentle men of this City in mourning. I, even this very day, have left ma nigh servants orphaned, and quite destitute of a Master. I have been the cause, that many a poor soul hath now lost it's alms and re lief. I have been the occasion, that the dead should have the come pany of the most complete Gentleman, for his good graces and quam lities that ever was born. I have been the occasion, that the living have lost the only Pattern and Paragon of courtesy, of gallant in uentions, of witty devices, of neatness and decency in his clothes, of speech, of gate, of kindness, and of virtue. I have been the oc casion, that the earth does now enjoy the most noble body, and the freshest flower of youth, that ever was created in this age of ours. And because you may stand amazed and astonished at the found of these my unusual and unaccustomed crimes; I will open the business, and make this matter appear more clear unto you. It is now (deer father) many days since that a Gentleman called Calisto, whom you well knew, as likewise his Ancestors, and noble Lineage, did languish and pine away for my love. As for his virtues and goodness, they were generally known to the whole world. So great was his love-torment, and so little both place and oppor tunity to speak with me, that he was driven to discover his passion to a crafty and subtle woman, nam Celestina, which Celestina, come ming as a suitor unto me in his behalf, drew my secret love from forth my bosom, and made me to manifest that unto her, which I concealed from mine own mother; she found the means to win me to her will; she made the match between us; she plotted how his desire and mine should take effect. And if he dearly loved me, I was not therein deceived; she made up that sad conclusion of that sweet and unfortunate execution of his will; and thus being overcome with the love of Calisto, I gave him entrance into your house; he scaled your walls with ladders, and brake into your gar den; brake my chaste purpose, by taking from me the flower of my Virginity. And thus almost this month have we lived in this delightful error of love. And as he came this lastnight unto me, as he was wont to do, even joust about the time that he should have returned home (as ill fortune would have it, who in the mutability of her nature, ordereth and disposeth all things, according to her disordered custom) the walls being high, the night dark, the lad der light and weak, his servants that brought it, unacquainted with that kind of service, he going down somewhat hastily to see a fray, which he herd in the street between his servants and some others that then passed by, being in choler, making more haste then good speed, thinking he should never come soon enough, not eyeing well his steps, he sets his foot quite beside the rounds, and so fell down, and with that woeful and unfortunate fallen, he pitched upon his head, and had his brains beaten out, and dashed in pieces a gainst the stones and pavement of the street. Thus did the desti nies cut off his thread; thus cut off his life without confession; cut off my hope; cut off my glory; cut off my company. Things therefore being thus; tell me (father) What cruelty were it in me, he dying disbrained, that I should live pained all the days of my life? His death inviteth mine; inviteth? nay, enforceth me, that it be speedily effected, and without delay; it teaches me, that I should also fallen headlong down, that I may imitate him in all things. It shall not be said of me, that those that are dead and gone, are soon forgotten. And therefore I will seek to content him in my death, since I had not time to give him content in my life. Oh my Love, and deer Lord, Calisto, expect me, for now I come. But stay a little, though thou dost expect me; and be not angry, I prithee, that I delay thee, being that I am now paying my last debt, and giving it my final account to my aged father, to whom I owe much more. Oh my best beloved father, I beseech you, if ever you did love me in this painful forepassed life, that we may both be interred in one Tomb, and both our Obsequies be solemnized together. I would feign speak some words of comfort unto you, before this my gladsome and wellpleasing end, gathered and col lected out of those ancient books, which for the bettering of my wit and understanding, you willed me to read, were it not that my memory fails me, being troubled and disquieted with the lose and death of my Love: as also because I see your ill endured tears trickle so fast down your wrinkled cheeks. Recommend me to my most deer and best-beloved mother; and do you inform her at large of the doleful occasion of my death. I am glad with all my heart, that she is not here present with you; for her sighed would but increase my sorrow. Take (aged father) the gifts of old age; for in large days, large griefs are to be endured. Receive the pledge and earnest of thy reverend age; receive it at the hands of thy beloved daughter. I sorrow much for my self, more for you, but most for my aged mother: and so I recommend me to you both, and both of you unto your more happiness, to whom I of fer up my soul; leaving the care to you, to cover this body that is now coming down unto you. Oh wretch that I am! Oh unfortunate Dam fell! Had I not been better yesterday, to have yielded to Celestina's petition and request, when in the behalf of that Gentleman, whose sighed hath made me his prisoner, I was so earnestly sued un to: and so have contented him, and cured my self, then to be thus forcibly driven to discover my heart, when hap lie he will not accept of it; when as already disaffianced in his hope, for want of a good and fair answer, he hath set both his eyes and his heart upon the love and person of another? how much more and vantageous unto me, would and entreated promise have been, then a forced offerture? to grant being requested, then to yield being constrained? Oh my faithful servant, Lucrecia, what wilt thou say of me, what wilt thou think of my judgement and understanding, when thou shalt see me to publish that, which I would never disco ver unto thee? how wilt thou stand astonished of my honesty and modesty, which (Like a Recluse, shut up from all company) I have ever hitherto kept inviolable? I know not whither thou hast suspe cted, or no, whence this my sorrow proceedeth, or whither thou art now coming with that Solicitress of my safety? Oh thou high and supreme Power! thou, unto whom, all that are in misery and affliction, call, and cry for help; the appassionated beg remedy, the wounded crave healing; thou, whom the heavens, seas, earth, and the Centre of hell it self does obey; thou who submittedst all things unto men, I humbly beseech thee, that thou wilt give suff rance and patience to my wounded heart, whereby I may be able to dissemble my terrible passion. Let not this Leaf of my chastity loose it's guylding, which I have laid upon this amorous desire, publi shing my pain to be otherwise then that, which indeed torments me. But how shall I be able to do it; That poisoned morsel so crumb elly tormenting me, which the sighed of that Gentleman's presence gave me? Oh Sex of woman kind! feeble and frail in thy being; why was it not granted as well unto women, to discover their torment full and fervent flames, as unto men? For then neither should Calisto have cause to complain, nor I to live in pain. Me thinks, the Gentleman, whom we look for, stays very long. Tell me ( Lucrecia ) what thinkest thou? will he come, or no? My Lord, sithence I have entrusted my self in your hands, since I have been willing to comply with your will, let me not be worse thought of for being pitiful, then if I had be coy and merciless. Nor do not work my undoing, for a delight so momentary and performed in so short a space. For, Actions that are ill, after they are committed, may easier be reprehended then amended. Rejoice thou in that, wherein I rejoice; which is, to see and draw near unto thy person, to view and touch thee. But do not offer either to ask or take that, which being taken away, is not in thy power to restore. Take heed (Sir) that you go not about to overthrow that, which with all the wealth in the world, you are not able to repair. I feel a mortal wound, even in the very amid of my heart, the anguish whereof is so grievous unto me, that it will scarce suf fer me to fetch my breath, much less to speak: there is no ma lady Like unto mine; it is of a different nature from all other diseases. And before you can come to cure it in my heart, you must first take out my heart; for it lies even in the hidden and most secret place thereof.