A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 57

INO. Hear me; Ask me no questions, nor answer me; or if you do, By Heav'n, I'll never speak more. It is revenge You'd have, and 'tis a great one, a very n.o.ble one, To kill yourself! Be confident, your greatest foes Wish nothing more.

When after-ages come to hear your story, What will they say? Just as they did of Cato: He durst not look great Caesar in the face-- So Plangus was afraid, and died.

A very pretty story, and much to a man's credit: For shame, dear Plangus (let friendship use that t.i.tle): Show your great soul the world believes you're master of-- And I dare swear you are in this action.

Nay, rally up yourself, and fight it stoutly.

Shake from your mind revenge, and having laid That pa.s.sion by, put on that virtue the world Admires in you; 'tis now the time to show it.

The sun, broke from a cloud, doubles his light; And fire, the more resisted, flames more bright.

Andromana has injur'd you; scorn her, therefore, As though[92] she had done nothing; I'd not do her the favour To have one thought of her, or could be troubled At that she did. As for your father, sir, Besides the tie of nature, he knows not He hath wrong'd you: or if he doth, 'Tis love that caus'd him; A word that once made an excuse with Plangus For what offence soever.

PLAN. Thou hast wrought upon me, And I am resolved to live a day or two more: But if I like it not--well, I'll go try To sleep a little; perhaps that may--I am Strangely melancholy: prythee, lie down by me, Inophilus, I'm safe while in thy company.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ PLANGUS, _as from sleep_.

PLAN. Lord! how this spirit of revenge still haunts me, And tempts me with such promis'd opportunity, And magnifies my injuries! Sometimes It calls me coward, and tells me conscience, In princes who are injur'd like myself, Is but an excuse they find for what is in truth Poorness of spirit or something baser.

It tells me 'tis a sin to be good, when all The world is bad.

It makes me look upon myself, whilst wearing This garb of virtue, like some old antiquary In clothes that are out of fashion in Iberia.

But I will not yield to it: I know it is a greater glory To a man's self (and he that courts opinion Is of a vulgar spirit) to disobey than satisfy An appet.i.te which I know is sinful.

Good Heaven, guard me, how am I tempted

_Enter_ ANDROMANA.

To put on my former temper! but thus I fling it from me.

[_Throws away his sword._

SCENE III.

AND. Why, how now, prince? if you part with your darling So easily, there is small hopes but you Have thrown all love behind you.

PLAN. Heaven, how she's alter'd!

I, that once swore Jove from the well-tun'd sphere Ne'er heard such harmony as I did when She spake: methinks I can now, in comparison Of her voice, count screech-owls' music, Or the croaking toad.

[_Aside._

AND. Who is't you speak of, sir?

PLAN. Tempt me not, madam, with another word; For, by Heaven, you know I'm apt, being incens'd---- Wake not those wrongs, that bellow louder in My soul than wretches in the brazen bull, or Jove Who speaks in thunder; those wrongs my goodness Had half laid aside--or if you do, I have a soul dares what you dare tempt me to.

AND. Sir, I must speak, Though Jove forbad me with a flash of lightning.

You think perhaps, sir, I have forgot my Plangus?

But, sir, I have infinitely injur'd you, And could not satisfy my conscience--if I Should say my love too, I should not lie-- Till I had ask'd your pardon.

PLAN. Madam, the fault's forgiven and forgotten, Without you move me to remember't with A worse apology. Live and enjoy your sins And the angry G.o.ds. Nay, the severest plague I wish you is, that you may die Without one cross (for afflictions commonly teach Virtues to them that know them not while prosperous) Secure, without one thought or sense of a repentance.

AND. Methinks you have a steely temper on, to that Which the other day you wore, when you were More soft than down of bees. But, sir, if you But knew the reason why I've done the action Which you perhaps call treason to our loves, You would forbear such language.

PLAN. Reason!

No doubt the man that robs a church, or profanes altars, Hath reason for what he doth: to satisfy your l.u.s.t, You have that reason, madam.

AND. That I have loved you once, I call Heaven, my own heart, and you to witness; Now, by that love, by all those vows have pa.s.s'd Betwixt us, hear me.

PLAN. O Heaven! is that a conjuration!

Things you have broke, with as much ease as politicians Do maxims of religion! But I will hear, To know you and to hate you more. Speak on.

AND. You know whilst Leon liv'd, whose due they were, I out of love resign'd my love and honour Unto your----

PLAN. l.u.s.t, madam.

AND. I know not, sir: Your eloquence gave it that t.i.tle then.

How many dangers walk'd I fearless through To satisfy your pleasures, your very will-- Nay more, your word--nay, if I thought by sympathy A thought of yours, that I imagin'd you Might blush to speak, I made it straight my own, And work'd and studied as much to put it into act, As doth a gamester upon loss to compa.s.s money.

At last we were betray'd, sir, to your father's spies, who Denied us afterwards those opportunities we stole Before, befriended by my husband's ignorance.

Now was I brought to that which is the worst of ills, A seeing, but not enjoying of that which I held dearest.

To see you daily, and to live without you, Was a death many degrees beyond my own.

I knew the love was great, so great I durst not own it. Nay more, I knew It was n.o.ble too, so n.o.ble, I knew My husband being dead, you would not stick To ask your father's leave for public marriage.

PLAN. Heaven and the G.o.ds can witness I intended it.

AND. Nay, farther yet, I knew your father's love, Which would not have denied you anything, Would also have granted that.

PLAN. Madam, you riddle strangely.

AND. When I had Forecast these easy possibilities, I yet Foresaw one thing that crossed our designs-- That was a sense of honour I had in me.

Methought in honour I could not condescend You should debase yourself so low. It pleas'd me Better to be your mistress than your queen; And stol'n embraces, without the scandal Of a public eye, were sweeter than those Which might bring upon me--for rising greatness Is still envied--the rancour of the people, And consequent distaste[93] against their prince.

Sir, now we may act safely what might have Been less secure. Your father's name gives a protection---- Or, if that startle you, we'll call him husband!

PLAN. Are you in earnest?

AND. As serious as love can be.

PLAN. Then I want words to tell you how I hate you: I would sooner meet Megaera 'tween a pair of sheets.

And can you think I should have so small pity, As to be false unto my father's bed?

That I lov'd you once, I confess with shame; And that I should have done so still, had you Preserv'd those flames, I think of now with horror.

But for those sins, and whatsoever else I must repent, I shall no doubt have great Occasion, when I shall see th' kingdom Envelop'd in those swarms of plagues your sins Call down, and feel a share of them myself.

For heaven's sake, madam! for my father's sake, Nay, for my own, if that have any interest, Learn now at last a virtue, that may make us As happy as much as. .h.i.therto unfortunate, And render your story to posterity so burnish'd With your shining goodness, that their eyes may not Perceive the error of your former years.

Perhaps I then shall have a reverence for you, As great as any son hath for a father's wife.

You wonder, lady, to see me talk thus different From what you saw me half an hour ago.

I look'd upon myself as one that had lost A blessing. But heaven hath been happier to me; For I am now so far from thinking you one, That I look upon you as a plague no sin Of good Ephorbas could deserve. But love To you----

AND. Sir!

PLAN. Answer me not in words, but deeds; I know you always talk'd unhappily,[94]

And if your heart dare do what's ill, I know it can well teach your tongue excuses.

[_Exit_ PLANGUS.