Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois Part 23

_Ascendit Frier with a sword drawne._

_Fri._ What rape of honour and religion! 155 O wrack of nature! _Falls and dies._

_Tam._ Poore man! O, my father!

Father, look up! O, let me downe, my lord, And I will write.

_Mont._ Author of prodigies!

What new flame breakes out of the firmament That turnes up counsels never knowne before? 160 Now is it true, earth moves, and heaven stands still; Even heaven it selfe must see and suffer ill.

The too huge bias of the world hath sway'd Her back-part upwards, and with that she braves This hemisphere that long her mouth hath mockt: 165 The gravity of her religious face (Now growne too waighty with her sacriledge, And here discern'd sophisticate enough) Turnes to th'Antipodes; and all the formes That her illusions have imprest in her 170 Have eaten through her back; and now all see How she is riveted with hypocrisie.

Was this the way? was he the mean betwixt you?

_Tam._ He was, he was, kind worthy man, he was.

_Mont._ Write, write a word or two.

_Tam._ I will, I will. 175 Ile write, but with my bloud, that he may see These lines come from my wounds & not from me. _Writes._

_Mont._ Well might he die for thought: methinks the frame And shaken joynts of the whole world should crack To see her parts so disproportionate; 180 And that his generall beauty cannot stand Without these staines in the particular man.

Why wander I so farre? here, here was she That was a whole world without spot to me, Though now a world of spots. Oh what a lightning 185 Is mans delight in women! What a bubble He builds his state, fame, life on, when he marries!

Since all earths pleasures are so short and small, The way t'enjoy it is t'abjure it all.

Enough! I must be messenger my selfe, 190 Disguis'd like this strange creature. In, Ile after, To see what guilty light gives this cave eyes, And to the world sing new impieties.

_He puts the Frier in the vault and follows. She raps her self in the arras._

_Exeunt [Servants]._

LINENOTES:

_by the haire_. A omits.

1-4 _O, help . . . my lord_. A omits.

21 _than that_. A, than it.

28 _secret_. A, hateful.

32 _tread_. A, touch.

35 _your terrors_. A omits.

35-6 _Good . . . distracted_. B punctuates:--

Good father cease: your terrors Tempt not a man distracted.

40 _Heaven_. A, G.o.d. _you_. A, ye.

42-4 _Father . . . safety_. A omits.

45 _brest_. A, heart.

46 _Stand [in] the opening_. Emend, ed.; A, Ope the seven-times heat; B, Stand the opening.

48 _woes_. A, cares.

51 _devouring_. A, enraged.

60 _Heaven_. A, G.o.d.

68 _rig'd with quench for_. A, laden for thy.

91 _devoure_. A, distract. _consort_. A, state.

95 _faults_. A, sins.

129 _with any shew . . . cruelty_. A omits.

140 _ever_. A, still.

141 _parallel_. A, like in ill.

_Enter Servants._ A omits.

_with a sword drawne_. A omits.

_Falls and dies._ A omits.

174 _worthy_. A, innocent.

_He . . . arras._ _Exeunt._ A omits; B places _He . . . arras_ after _Exeunt_.

[SCENA SECUNDA.

_A Room in Montsurry's House._]

_Enter Monsieur and Guise._

_Monsieur._ Now shall we see that Nature hath no end In her great works responsive to their worths; That she, that makes so many eyes and soules To see and fore-see, is stark blind her selfe; And as illiterate men say Latine prayers 5 By rote of heart and dayly iteration, Not knowing what they say, so Nature layes A deale of stuffe together, and by use, Or by the meere necessity of matter, Ends such a work, fills it, or leaves it empty 10 Of strength, or vertue, error, or cleare truth, Not knowing what she does; but usually Gives that which we call merit to a man, And beliefe must arrive him on huge riches, Honour and happinesse, that effects his ruine. 15 Even as in ships of warre whole lasts of powder Are laid, me thinks, to make them last, and gard them, When a disorder'd spark, that powder taking, Blowes up, with sodaine violence and horror, Ships that (kept empty) had sayl'd long, with terror. 20

_Guise._ He that observes but like a worldly man That which doth oft succeed and by th'events Values the worth of things, will think it true That Nature works at random, just with you: But with as much proportion she may make 25 A thing that from the feet up to the throat Hath all the wondrous fabrique man should have, And leave it headlesse, for a perfect man, As give a full man valour, vertue, learning, Without an end more excellent then those 30 On whom she no such worthy part bestowes.

_Mons._ Yet shall you see it here; here will be one Young, learned, valiant, vertuous, and full mann'd; One on whom Nature spent so rich a hand That with an ominous eye she wept to see 35 So much consum'd her vertuous treasurie.

Yet as the winds sing through a hollow tree, And (since it lets them pa.s.se through) let's it stand; But a tree solid (since it gives no way To their wild rage) they rend up by the root: 40 So this whole man (That will not wind with every crooked way Trod by the servile world) shall reele and fall Before the frantick puffes of blind borne chance, That pipes through empty men and makes them dance. 45 Not so the sea raves on the Libian sands, Tumbling her billowes in each others neck: Not so the surges of the Euxian Sea (Neere to the frosty pole, where free Bootes From those dark deep waves turnes his radiant teame) 50 Swell, being enrag'd even from their inmost drop, As fortune swings about the restlesse state Of vertue now throwne into all mens hate.

_Enter Montsurry disguis'd, with the murtherers._