By Beaumont and Fletcher

 

Dramatis Personae

 

RINARTO, King of Castile and Aragon

ALFREDO, the Prince Regent

TEOBALDO, the Prime-Minister

MAURICIO, a Cardinal

OLERO

MARCELLO

GONZAGO

MARGARITA, daughter to OLERO

AMALIA

BEATRIZ

CARLOTA Young Gentlewomen of the Court

DOROTEA

ELENA

HYPATIA, daughter to MARCELLO

HECATISSA, a noble Eastern lady

 

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court

 

Scene—MADRID

 

Act I.

Sc. I. Throne Room of the Palace

 

The King discovered in Full Armour on the Throne, Attended by Soldiery. Mauricio, Alfredo, and Teobaldo standing before throne.

 

RIN. Alfredo, since it suits our royal pleasure

To quit the Palace for the noisy camp,

Grasp shield and spear, and in the clash of war

Renew the glories of our ancient line,

Do thou with law and grace administer

The fortunes of our realm. I charge thee tend

With constant vigilance the gen’ral weal,

Nor give our people cause for just complaint.

Be firm, yet kind, nor falter in thy course;

Virtue alone thy guide. And, Teobaldo,

To thee I leave an equal care, to guide

The young prince in the mysteries of rule,

Mould the quick mind, and check the ardent heart

That beats too strongly for the soft and fair.

Mauricio, Rev’rend Father, thee I beg

T’ invoke upon our arms thy Pope’s good will;

With Holy Water sprinkle o’er our swords,

And strengthen us against the turban’d Moor.

 

(Rises. Mauricio advances with silver basin and besprinkles with Holy Water the lances of the soldiery.)

 

MAU. In name of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

Your mission I do bless, and may the Cross

Of righteousness e’er triumph on the field.

 

(Fanfare of trumpets. Soldiery form in marching order.)

 

ALF. Dear Sire, fear nothing for the Kingdom’s fate.

I am not old, but as thou know’st, have drunk

Deep of the learning of the age and clime.

Cordova’s volumes are not strange to me,

And tho’ my fiery passions rouse thy doubt,

I vow them but reflections of thine own,

Temper’d with thoughts of high infinity.

Thy deeds in me a ready glow shall wake,

As couriers tell the wonders thou shalt do:

My deepest woe is, that by Fate deny’d,

I may not march and battle by thy side!

 

(Exeunt omnes, in military order.)

 

Sc. II. An Antechamber in the Palace

 

Enter Alfredo, preceded by Margarita.

 

MARG. Stay, good my lord, why should I speak with thee,

When that thy words are alien to mine ears?

I fain would seek the maidens of the court,

Who, in the garden gather’d, pass the time

With carols innocent and bright withal.

 

ALF. Aye, gentle maid, but list unto their import.

Tells not each one of sempiternal spring,

Woods, bow’rs, and pansied pastures lightly trod

By the warm swains and yielding nymphs of old,

Whose storied pleasures need not pass our own?

 

(Song from without the window)

 

Hither come, with vernal zest,

Thou with roseate blossoms drest,

   Seek these lilied bow’rs:

Pan with gracious pow’r presides,

Cyprian musick gently glides

Thro’ the golden hours.

 

MARG. The tune is pretty, tho’ the words escape.

Delay me not, for in thy eager voice

Is that which irks me. I would to the green,

And add my carols to the virgin choir.

 

ALF. Thou know’st my heart, a royal heart, ‘tis true,

Yet which can find a place for such as thou.

Wilt thou not hear?

 

MARG.                   Of suppliance I am sick.

Thou art too grave to suit my airy will.

Get thee unto thy chamber, there to lose

Thyself in tomes of antiquated lore,

Or stroll upon the porticoes at eve

With grave Mauricio, or discourse at length

With gloomy Teobaldo, whose cold heart

Fills thee with coldness like its own, or go

Unto the throne-room where in glitt’ring pomp

Repose the symbols of thy rank and state.

Content thyself with sovereignty and art,

And leave to sprightlier swains the female heart!

 

(Exit Margarita.)

 

ALF. (Solus) How burns my soul for heavens unattain’d!

What paradise in her fair face doth dwell!

So fair and yet so cold! Claim me, kind Death,

If Margarita smile not on my suit.

But who comes here?

 

(Enter Hecatissa)

 

HEC.                         ‘Tis I, my noble Prince,

Admirer of thy learning and thy grace,

Nay, flee me not, what horror may reside

In my poor glance, that thou should’st shun me so?

Did I not come from a far Eastern shore;

Is my proud lineage not as great as thine?

 

(Exit Alfredo unobserved)

 

Alas, grim Fate, that the young Prince shou’d be

So warm to other maids, yet cold to me!

 

(Curtain)

 

Act II.

Sc. I. A Hall in the Palace

 

(Alfredo and Hypatia discovered seated at a table, a large volume betwixt them.)

 

HYP. See, prince, the poet falters in this line,

It likes me not that he should break the flow

Of his impassion’d numbers. Think not thou

He might have smoother writ his glowing thoughts?

 

ALF. ‘Tis even as thou say’st. I find my taste

Ever and ever moulded close to thine,

As tho’ some strange bewitchment seiz’d my soul

When I with thee con o’er this letter’d lore;

Yet I do know myself to be devoid

Of all that passion which beclouds the mind,

And burns not for the thoughtful and the wise.

 

HYP. Yet thou didst call me beauteous on that day

When in the garden we convers’d at eve.

But hark! Methinks I hear an heavy step

As of that ancient prattler Teobaldo,

Whose very face casts gloom on youthful bliss.

I will begone.

 

(Exit Hypatia. Enter Teobaldo)

 

TEO.              How now, my studious youth?

Art deep as ever in the mystic page

Of Aristotle or the Abderan?

Methinks I note of late upon thy brow

A darkling cloud, as of some secret sorrow.

Come, tell me all, for age can e’er advise!

 

ALF. It is the lady Margarita, Sir,

Who shuns my steps, and never will be kind,

But smiles, and seeks her fellow-nymphs without.

Her must I have, else I in flames shall die,

For sure, there is no other bath my heart.

Tell if thou canst, thyself unmov’d by love,

What refuge from despair I may attain?

 

TEO. Alfredo, tho’ my long-encrusted heart,

Cold as the virgin snows of Rhodope,

Disdains a melting flame, I yet have read

Much of thy pleasing phrensy in the lore

That the warm poets sing for future time.

I pity thee, and by our Jhesu’s blood

I swear to help thee in thy sad amour.

This much I know of nymphs, that poets say

They shun the ardent swain, but follow him

Whose fancy they have cause to think engag’d

Upon another nymph. Therefore seek out

Some kinder fair, who to thyself inclin’d,

Will bear thee company in publick spots

Where Margarita cannot fail to see.

But t’other day I mark’d a pensive maid

Attentive on thy footsteps. One whose face

Is by her rank surpass’d, yet who could serve

A little while t’ excite a jealous pang.

Court then the lady Hecatissa—

 

ALF.                                         ‘Zounds!

Old man, thou dost presume upon our friendship!

Think’st thou I could so ill a nymph endure

Ev’n for a moment’s casual discourse?

She that might move my fair to kinder thought

Would my companions rouse to galling jest.

But yesternight the young Gonzago smil’d

As Hecatissa dogg’d me like a shadow.

Nay, ancient man, back to thy learned lore;

I go to find Hypatia.

 

TEO. Stay, young Sir.

The name excites my thought. Is it not she,

The Duke Marcello’s daughter, fair of face,

Yet fairer still in godlike mind and soul?

 

ALF. The same, with whom in purest friendship link’d

I share my studious hours. A wondrous nymph

That to Minerva’s mind joins Venus’ grace.

 

TEO. Unseeing youth! 0 stripling more than blind!

Here were a maid well suited to thy life;

A wise companion and discerning friend,

Who like to thee enjoys the bookish moments

When Margarita, being thy wife, would yawn,

Or fret thee with those naggings known to wives,

Which make celibacy an heav’nly boon.

Know then, that all young nymphs are so alike,

Save as their mind gives them a varying bent,

That it were madness to permit thy rage

And amorous phrensy to direct thy choice.

Banish all thoughts of thy unyielding fair,

That cruel nymph whose poor inferior birth

Unfits her for the throne thy bride must know,

And get thee to Hypatia, she whose rank

Is like her mind, congenial to thine own.

An circumstance refuse an early love,

Dote on her friendship, till from constant sight

You both insensibly to love incline.

I go, and mayst thou soon to sense return;

The wench forget, and for Hypatia burn.

 

(Exeunt)

 

Sc. II. The Garden

 

(Margarita, Hypatia, Amalia, Beatriz, Carlota, Dorotea, Elena, and Hecatissa discovered at games)

 

AMAL. What now, dull Margarita, wilt thou quit

These our diversions ere the game’s half play’d?

Marry! for days I have observ’d thee thus,

With downcast eye and a funereal look

As tho’ thy father or thy pet cat ail’d;

Where now the smile that us’d to deck thy brows?

 

MARG. Plague on thee! get thou gone! must I endure

The prattling of thy light unthinking train?

My thoughts are mine. Say that I mourn the absence

Of our good King, or grieve upon the fate

Of the young maiden in yon French romance.

 

BEAT. A song! fie on the maid who could today

In melancholy waste the sweets of morn.

See how the sun shines! Come, Carlota, sing

That chanson taught thee by the troubadour,

Whilst Dorotea makes the sportive lute!

 

(Carlota sings, accompanied by Dorotea)

 

The lilies lay white on the mead,

   When Colin his Lyce address’d;

In vain did the young shepherd plead,

   For coyness had frozen her breast.

 

But Phoebus shone hot from above,

   And Cupid fill’d all the warm air,

So Colin, exchanging his love,

   Found Doris more pleasing and fair!

 

MARG. Cease your rude noise! The lute is out of tune.

 

DOR. No more than are thy thoughts, ungrateful nymph!

 

CAR. I swear, the music well did fit my song!

 

MARG. Because thy croaking, likewise, was awry!

 

HYP. Ladies, for shame! what discord can be yours?

 

MARG. Behold the poetess—who’d bore us worse

With wretched pilfer’d sonnets of her own!

Say, learned maid, how many frigid reams

Of dulness hast thou plagiaris’d today?

 

HEC. I saw her lately at a mighty book;

Were we to look well we should find therein

Much of her late-sung songs, I doubt me not!

 

HYP. (in tears) Wherefore these taunts, ungentle and untrue?

Have I by some mischance conferr’d offence

On any damsel here? If so my heart

Grants that repentance that my tongue would tell

Did it but know wherein th’ offence might lie.

 

ELE. Nay, sweet Hypatia, if offence there be,

Thine is the last tongue that could bear the blame.

But stay, the Prince Alfredo comes!

 

(Enter Alfredo with book; the maidens flock about him)

 

ALF.                                                Fair nymphs,

I greet you all! No lovelier train e’er danc’d

O’er velvet turf, and ‘mid the vernal flow’rs,

Since Cytheraea, fresh from Paphos, led

Her melting followers o’er Arcadian meads!

 

MARG. Good morrow, Prince, how does my lord today?

 

AMAL. (aside) Our Margarita learns a brighter tone!

 

ALF. (to Marg.) Well, well, good nymph. (To Hyp.) And art thou yet prepar’d

To scan our daily lesson o’er, and read

The lines thou said’st were nearly writ? Methinks

Yon verdurous bow’r well suits the student mind;

Let’s to its shade, by no bleak walls confin’d!

 

(Exeunt Alfredo and Hypatia, attended by all save Margarita and Hecatissa.)

 

HEC. Sister, our Prince seems humoursome today.

Hypatia likes him well, or else his books

Have much subdu’d the raging of his heart.

 

MARG. Have none of this! Some evil influence works

In all my veins, and dark imaginings

Fill my long sleepless nights.

 

HEC.                                    ‘Tis so with me,

For young Aifredo’s scorn I illy bear.

There is a custom in the fervid East,

From whence I come, whereby an injur’d maid

Sometimes doth ease her pride with odd revenge.

I’d speak with thee alone, good Margarita,

Sister in suff’ring, join’d to me in hate.

Haply the swain my own Hypatia’s pow’r,

But many a day precedes the nuptial hour!

 

Act III.

Sc. I. An Antechamber

 

(Enter Alfredo, Hypatia, Teobaldo, Marcello, Olero, Mauricio, Margarita, and Hecatissa.)

 

MAU. Are now the rites prepar’d? This day I own

The greatest joy of an eventful life;

To join in holiest wedlock of the Church

My prince Alfredo and the fair Hypatia!

Is ‘t true your royal parent quits the fray

For a brief space to witness these rejoicings?

 

ALF. He hath advis’d me so, your Eminence,

In letters sent by Duke Marcello, here,

Who being father to the maid I wed,

Was chosen to precede him, and to plan

The masque we do enact to glad the day.

 

MAU. What of the masque? I know that Teobaldo,

Delving in antique lore, hath writ a play

Of heathen gods and naiads, but no more

He told me, since he gave the acting o’er

To younger hands, his own share being done.

 

TEO. Dost not remember, reverend Mauricio,

It was a pastoral fancy, a light thing

About young Glaucus and the nymphs, wherein

Alfredo hath a leading part to play,

Whilst round him several fair maids do act,

Chief among these Hypatia, drest as Scylla.

The purport of the myth I have improv’d

Just far enough to make a happy end,

So that the pair, given a proper potion,

Take mortal form again and dwell on earth.

At this part of the pageant must your Eminence,

Ready with book and ring, the masque conclude

By joining the young twain in genuine bonds.

 

MAU. A pretty notion, one that likes me well,

And fear not but that I shall play my part.

 

OLERO. Look you upon my daughter, mark how fair

She is bedight as Circe. I shall act

The green Oceanus.

 

MARCEL.                  Look on my child,

The image of my sainted Ynes, when

Upon mine arm to similar rites she went.

Would that she might have liv’d to see this hour!

 

OLERO. The hour, my Duke, is not yet o’er.

 

MAU.                                                      How now,

Dost fear some trifle like to go amiss?

 

OLERO. Nay, Eminence, I think all will go well—

Most well.

 

MARCEL.         Come, now, the time is growing short.

Hast thou prepar’d the goblet, Hecatissa,

Ready to use when that the play demands?

 

HEC. My lord, I have, even as I agreed.

My face, unequal to the masque, hath not

Withheld me from a lesser, useful part.

The wine is of old vintage, old and rare;

No man or woman here hath drunk such wine.

‘Tis from the East, whence, as you know, I come.

 

(Hautboys play without the door.)

 

ALE It is the King, my noble sire, Rinarto,

Let’s to the hall and greet him as he comes!

 

MARG. (aside) Welcome, great King! Watch close the moving play,

For great events are like to hap this day!

 

(Exeunt)

 

Sc. II. The Great Hall

 

(Curtains drawn before a stage. Rinarto, Teobaldo, Ladies, Gentlemen, and Soldiers seated as spectators.)

 

RIN. How goes it now, most learned Teobaldo;

Will the last act suffice to break the spell?

 

TEO. So have I written it, my lord. As now

Thotest seen the ill of Circe’s wrath, thou shalt

Hereafter view the sweet Endymion—play’d

By young Gonzago, noble Castro’s son—

Bring from the moon a draught of magic nectar,

Which drunk, restores th’ enchanted pair to earth.

 

RIN. It likes me well, I thank thee for the pains

Thou hast extended on the revelry.

Alfredo bears him well—

 

TEO.                              But lo, my lord,

The curtains part again—attend the scene!

 

(Curtains reveal a scene representing rocks and seashore. Enter Gonzago drest as Endymion, bearing a goblet. He blows on a conch shell.)

 

GONZ. Spirits from your oozy deeps

Where the sea-god lightly sleeps,

Wat’ry nymphs that ride the waves,

Naiads from your ocean caves,

Rise above your native foam,

Where the docile dolphins roam.

Rise, ye lovely mermaid throngs,

Pensive with fair Scylla’s wrongs,

Kind Leucothea, friend of man,

Come, the joyful rites to scan.

 

(Enter many young maids drest as sea-goddesses, together with Margarita, drest as Circe.)

 

MARG. Begone, intruder from the skies

   And from fair Latmos’ flow’ring meads;

For you no potent sea-gods rise,

   Not yours to meddle with my deeds.

 

GONZ. Circe, thy foul debasing pow’r hath fled,

As Dian, shining o’er thy sinful head,

   Exerts superior sway.

Within my hand a magic draught I bear,

Thy noxious ills forever to repair,

   And wash thy charms away.

Glaucus and Scylla, from your depths appear,

Endymion calls—deliverance is here—

   By Cynthia’s mercy wrought.

 

(Enter Alfredo and Hypatia as Glaucus and Scylla. Gonzago as Endymion extends them goblet.)

 

Drink deep of this the golden moon hath sent,

And know at last an unalloy’d content,

   To human likeness brought.

 

(Gives cup to Alfredo, who permits Hypatia to drink, then drinks himself.)

 

ALF. As light as the billows that bound on the foam

Beats my heart as I turn to my own native home.

Fair Scylla my bride ere the nightfall shall be,

And we’ll linger no more by the rocks and the sea.

 

(Reels a trifle, but steadies himself)

 

HYP. (tremulously) Cynthia, unspotted maid,

That send’st thy blessed aid, Thy altars, rich . . .

 

(Falls in Alfredo’s arms)

 

I faint, Alfredo! What is this strange fire

That courses madly thro’ each aching vein?

 

ALF. Hypatia! Love! what have the Furies wrought?

A venom’d anguish burns my very soul—

Father, my Royal Sire, thou, Teobaldo,

Attend us in this sudden new distress!

 

(Alfredo and Hypatia sink to floor; Rinarto and Teobaldo approach them. Rinarto takes Alfredo in his arms. Enter Hecatissa and Olero from behind the scenes.)

 

RIN. My son, Alfredo! speak to me, my child!

 

HEC. How now, is Eastern wine a shade too strong

For obdurate princes and designing maids?

 

(Gonzago draws his sword)

 

GONZ. Exotick fiend! Thine was the guilty hand,

But ‘twill no second act of mischief do!

 

(Kills her)

 

(Olero draws sword from beneath his masque costume and gives battle to Gonzago)

 

OLERO. This for my daughter, slighted by the Prince Thou serv’st with such unreasoning devotion!

 

(Inflicts a mortal wound)

 

GONZ. I die, most noble King! (Dies)

 

(Teobaldo draws and engageth Olero)

 

TEO.                                Thou damn’d churl,

Accept the fate that is too good for thee,

Being worthy only of the hangman’s noose!

 

(Mortally wounds Olero. Margarita steals up behind Teobaldo)

 

OLERO. Daughter, avenge me! (Dies)

 

(Margarita stabs Teobaldo in the back)

 

MARG.                                      Ancient wretch, take this

For my poor father and for me, whose woes

Came from thy knavish counsel to Alfredo!

 

(Alfredo, dying, crawls from out his father’s arms, grasps sword of the dead Gonzago, and approaches Margarita from behind.)

 

TEO. Pox on the wench! Rinarto, my time’s here,

Yet would I have thee know I die right gladly

In service of my King.

 

(Alfredo stabs Margarita)

 

ALF.                             This, cursed nymph,

For Teobaldo, and for all the grief

That thy caprice and vanity have wrought!

Foul Murderess—

 

MARG.                 I perish by thy hand,

Belov’d Alfredo, loving thee the more.

‘Tis a sweet death—I should have kill’d myself

Hereafter, being loath to live without thee,

But I could not permit thee wed Hypatia!

 

(Dies)

 

TEO. (to Alf.) Kind youth, I am aveng’d! We go together

To regions of infinity and light.

 

(Alfredo and Teobaldo die. Enter Marcello from behind the scenes of masque.)

 

MARCEL. What means this sight of horror! Child! Hypatia!

They say that thou art poison’d—tell me, child!

 

(Goes to his daughter)

 

HYP. Father, I die, but die not unaveng’d,

For those that plotted this fell thing are slain.

It is as well, for I have ever thought

That death itself is but a kind of marriage,

And that I shall in realms of ether rove

With my Alfredo, tasting loftier joys

Than we on earth might ever have possess’d.

See yon gold goblet, wherefrom we did drink

The fatal draught which us in death does link!

 

(Dies)

 

RIN. Our belov’d children both are slain, Marcello.

I have my Kingdom, but of what avail

Were twenty Kingdoms to a soul bereav’d!

 

(Marcello picks up the goblet and drinks therefrom)

 

MARCEL. My liege, I go! I am too old to live

An empty frame whereof the heart is dead.

 

RIN. Marcello! who shall say a father’s grief

Is greater in a Duke than in a King?

Give me the goblet!

 

MARCEL. (weakly)                 Nay, my lord Rinarto!

The State requires the guidance of thy hand.

‘Tis thine to live—

 

RIN.                      No more! Give me the vessel—

It is thy King that bids! Mauricio here,

An honour’d Cardinal of the Holy Church,

Will rule by the Pope’s edict till my brother

Comes back from Sicily to take the throne.

 

(Takes goblet and drinks)

 

‘Tis done! I took an heavier draught than thine

That I might die the sooner, and with thee.

We have been friends, Marcello, in the midst

Of roaring battle and unmeasur’d pow’r.

Here, take my hand—

 

MARCEL.                     I think it is the end.

 

RIN. It is indeed the end. (To Mau.) Godly Mauricio,

Say o’er our sev’ral bodies those grave rites,

Couch’d in Latin, which thy Church prescribes

For them that die. And to succeeding times

Impart a knowledge of these dire events,

Drawing such morals as thy cloth deviseth.

I come, Alfredo, nearest to my heart,

Whom death from me could but a moment part.

 

(Rinarto and Marcello die)

 

MAU. See to what ills doth female malice tend!

Our King Rinarto, his proud son, the fair

Hypatia, and the learned Teobaldo,

Marcello, noble Duke, the young Gonzago,

All slain, tho’ to avenge them lifeless lie

The damn’d Margarita, and her sire

Treacherous Olero, and the Eastern dame

Whose crimes in hideousness outrank her aspect.

Ye grave assembled guests, I pray you all

For a brief time depart, till fun’ral rites

Be substituted for yon nuptial settings.

My heart cries out ‘gainst these o’erwhelming deeds—

I’ll to the chapel and count o’er my beads!

 

END OF THE TRAGEDY.