MONTSOREAU

No Question we shall see them imitate (Though a far off) the fashions of our Courts, As they have ever Ap't us in attire; Never were men so weary of their Skins, And apt to leap out of themselves as they; Who when they travel to bring forth rare men, Come home delivered of a fine French suit: Their Brains lie with their Tailors, and get babies For their most complete issue; He's first born To all the moral virtues, that first greets The light with a new fashion, which becomes them Like Apes, disfigured with the attires of men. He will have pardon sure. All this fault is found Because he loved the Duchess and left you. Be pleased, I'll strait return. Exit cum Guise. Farewell wicked Lord. Was not the Monsieur here? Why what's the matter? Pray thee bear with him: Thou knowest he is a Bachelor, and a Courtier, I, and a Prince: and their prerogatives Are, to their laws, as to their pardons are Their reservations, after Parliaments One quits another: form gives all their essence: That Prince does high in virtues reckoning stand That will entreat a vice, and not command: So far bear with him: should another man Trust to his privilege, he should trust to death: Take comfort then (my comfort) nay triumph, And crown thy self, thou partest with victory: My presence is so only deer to thee, That other men's appear worse than they be. For this night yet, bear with my forced absence: Thou knowest my business; and with how much weight, My vow hath charged it. By this kiss, receive My soul for hostage, till I see my love. With the sun I'll visit thy more comfortable beauty's. 'Tis late night now indeed: farewell my light. Exit. Ahlasse, what troubled my true love? my peace, From being at peace within her better self? Or how could sleep forbear to seize thy beauty's When he might challenge them as his joust prize? Then will I never more sleep night from thee: All mine own Business, all the Kings affairs Shall take the day to serve them: Every night I'll ever dedicate to thy delight. Then come my love, Now pay those Rites to sleep Thy fair eyes owe him: shall we now to bed? He's a most learned and Religious man; Come to the Presence then, and see great D'Ambois (Fortune's proud mushroom shot up in a night) Stand Like and Atlas underneath the King; Which greatness with him Monsieur now envies As bitterly and deadly as the Guise. Even the same. Each natural agent works but to this end, To render that it works on, Like it self; Which since the Monsieur in his act on D'Ambois, Cannot to his ambitious end effect, But that (quite opposite) the King hath power (In his love born to D'Ambois) to convert The point of Monsieurs aim on his own breast, He turns his outward love to inward hate: A Princes love is Like the lightnings fume, Which no man can embrace, but must consume. Exeunt. Take say of her my Lord, she comes most fitly And we will to the other. What skittish, servant? I pray thee resolve me: the Duke will never imagine that I am busy about's wife: hath D'Ambois any privy access to her? Ber lady a likely suspicion, and very near the life, if she marks it; especially of my wife. And here's a peacock seems to have devoured one of the Alps, she has so swelling a spirit, and is so cold of her kind ness. Farewell winter plum. Nothing but this: D'Ambois is negligent in obser ving the Duchess, and therefore she is suspicious that your Niece or my wife closely entertains him. Alas, I know she flies him Like her last hour. Thats not worth the answering: 'Tis horrible to think with what monsters women's imaginations engross them when they are once enamoured, and what wonders they will work for their satisfaction. They will make a sheep valiant, a Lion fearful. The King and D'Ambois now are grown all one. How's that? I must have more my Lord. How monstrous is this? You make me Horns. But does she? dare you charge her? speak false Prince. Not I, I pawn mine Honour, for a paper? Keep it then! And keep fire in your bosom. You must make good the rest. Come you're a. The plague of Herod Feast in his rotten entrails. By him? Perhaps 'tis with some proud string of my wives. Your tongue will still admire, Till my head be the miracle of the world. Look up my love, and by this kiss receive My soul amongst thy spirits for supply To thine, chaced with my fury. It from my troubled blood, and not from me: I know not how I fare; a sudden night Flows through my entrails, and a headlong Chaos Murmurs within me, which I must digest; And not drown her in my confusions, That was my lives joy, being best informed: Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression) Raged being discouraged; my whole heart is wounded When any least thought in you is but touched, And shall be till I know your former merits: Your name and memory altogether crave In loathed oblivion their eternal graven; And then you must hear from me, ther's no mean In any passion I shall feel for you: Love is a razor cleansing being well used, But fetches blood still being the least abused: To tell you briefly all; The man that left me When you appeared, did turn me worse than woman, And stabbed me to the heart thus, with his hand. I know not, if himself will vaunt to-have been The princely author of the slavish sin, Or any other; he would have resolved me, Had you not come; not by his word, but writing, Would I have sworn to give it him again, And pawned mine honour to him for a paper. Good father leave us: interrupt no more The course I must run for mine honour sake. Rely on my love to her, which her fault Cannot extinguish; will she but disclose Who was the hateful minister of her love, And through what maze he served it, we are friends. Good father cease: Tempt not a man distracted; I am apt To outrages that I shall ever rue: I will not pass the verge that bounds a Christian, Nor break the limits of a man nor husband. Who shall remove the mountain from my heart, Open the seuentimes-heat furnace of my thoughts, And set fit outcries for a soul in hell? Mont. turns a key. Oh now it nothing fits my cares to speak, But thunder, or to take into my throat The trump of Heaven; with whose determinate blasts The winds shall burst, and the enraged seas Be drunk up in his sounds; that my hight woes (Vented enough) I might convert to vapour, Ascending from my infamy unseen; Shorten the world, preventing the last breath That kills the living, and regenerates death. Hereafter? 'Tis a supposed infinite, That from this point will rise eternally: Fame grows in going; in the escapes of virtue Excuses damn her: They be fires in Cities Enraged with those winds that less lights extinguish. Come Syren, sing, and dash against my rocks Thy ruffian Galley, laden for thy lust: Sing, and put all the nets into thy voice, With which thou drewest into thy strumpets lap The spawn of Venus; and in which you danced; That, in thy laps steed, I may dig his tomb, And quit his manhood with a woman's sleight, Who never is deceived in her deceit. Sing, (that is, write) and then take from mine eyes The mists that hide the most inscrutable Pandar That ever leapt up and adulterous vomit: That I may see the devil, and survive To be a devil, and then learn to wive: That I may hang him, and then cut him down, Then cut him up, and with my souls beams search The cranks and caverns of his brain, and study The errant wilderness of a woman's face; Where men cannot get out, for all the Comets That have been lighted at it; though they know That Adders lie a sunning in their smiles, That Basilisks drink their poison from their eyes, And no way there to coast out to their hearts; Yet still they wander there, and are not stayed Till they be fettered, nor secure before All cares distract them; nor in humane state Till they embrace within their wives two breasts All Pelion and Cythaeron with their beasts. Why write you not? It follows needfully as child and parent; The chain-shot of thy lust is yet aloft, And it must murder; 'tis thine own deer twin: No man can add height to a woman's sin. Vice never does her joust hate so provoke, As when she rages under virtues cloak. Write: For it must be; by this ruthless steel, By this impartial torture, and the death Thy tyrannies have invented in my entrails, To quicken life in dying, and hold up The spirits in fainting, teaching to preserve Torments in ashes, that will ever last. Speak: Will you write? Where all these have been broken, they are kept, In doing their justice there: Thine arms have lost Their privilege in lust, and in their torture Thus they must pay it. Till thou writest I'll write in wounds (my wrongs fit characters) Thy right of sufferance. Write. As thou art of adultery, I will still Prove thee my Like in ill, being most a monster: Thus I express thee yet. I, for thy monstrous idol is not done yet: This tool hath wrought enough: now Torture use This other engine on habituate powers Of her thrice damned and whorish fortitude. Use the most madding pains in her that ever Thy venoms soaked through, making most of death; That she may weigh her wrongs with them, and then Stand vengeance on thy steepest rock, a victor. Author of prodigies! What new flame breaks out of the firmament, That turns up counsels never known before? Now is it true, earth moves, and heaven stands still; Even Heaven it self must see and suffer ill: The too huge bias of the world hath swayed Her back-part upwards, and with that she braves This Hemisphere, that long her mouth hath mocked: The gravity of her religious face: (Now grown too weighty with her sacrilege And here discerned sophisticate enough) Turns to antipodes: and all the forms That her illusions have impressed in her, Have eaten through her back: and now all see, How she is riveted with hypocrisy: Was this the way? was he the mean betwixt you? Write, write a word or two. Well might he die for thought: me thinks the frame And shaken joints of the whole world should crack To see her parts so disproportionate; And that his general beauty cannot stand Without these stains in the particular man. Why wander I so far? here here was she That was a whole world without spot to me: Though now a world of spots; o what a lightning Is men delight in women? what a bubble, He builds his state, fame, life on, when he marries? Since all earth's pleasures are so short and small, The way t'nioy it, is t'abiure it all: Enough: I must be messenger my self, Disguised Like this strange creature: in, I'll after, To see what guilty light gives this cave eyes, And to the world sing new impieties. Hail to my worthy son. Well, as ever Being well as ever thought on by her Lord: Whereof she sends this witness in her hand And prays, for urgent cause, your speediest presence. I, 'tis the ink of lovers. Cowards, a fiend or spirit Beatrice you off? They are your own faint spirits that have forged The fearful shadows that your eyes deluded: The fiend was in you; cast him out then thus. See how she merits this: still sitting by And mourning his fallen, more than her own fault. I must not yield to pity nor to love So servile and so traitorous: cease my blood To wrestle with my honour, fame and judgement: Away, forsake my house, forbear complaints Where thou hast bred them: here all things full, Of their own shame and sorrow, leave my house. I do forgive thee, and upon my knees With hands (held up to heaven) wish that mine honour Would suffer reconcilement to my love: But since it will not, honour, never serve My Love with flourishing object till it starve: And as this Taper, though it upwards look, Downwards must needs consume, so let our love; As having lost his honey, the sweet taste Runs into savour, and will needs retain A spice of his first parents, till (Like life) It sees and die; so let our love: and lastly, As when the flame is suffered to look up It keeps his luster: but, being thus turned down (His natural course of useful light inverted) His own stuff puts it out: so let our love, Now turn from me, as here I turn from thee, And may both points of heavens strait axletree Conjoin in one, before thy self and me.