Lapas attēli
PDF
ePub

welcome you; for I am a gentlewoman born too, and will bear my head high enough, though 'twere my fortune to marry a tradesman.

Cris. No doubt of that, sweet feature; your carriage shews it in any man's eye, that is carried upon you with judgment.

Re-enter ALBIUS.

Alb. Dear wife, be not angry.
Chloe. Gods my passion!

Alb. Hear me but one thing; let not your maids set cushions in the parlour windows, nor in the dining-chamber windows; nor upon stools, in either of them, in any case; for 'tis tavernlike: but lay them one upon another, in some out-room or corner of the dining-chamber.

Chloe. Go, go; meddle with your bed-chamber only; or rather with your bed in your chamber only; or rather with your wife in your bed only; or on my faith I'll not be pleased with you only. Alb. Look here, my dear wife, entertain that gentleman kindly, I prithee-mum. [Exit.

Chloe. Go, I need your instructions indeed! anger me no more, I advise you. Citi-sin, quoth'a!" she's a wise gentlewoman, i'faith, will marry herself to the sin of the city.

Alb. [re-entering. But this time, and no more, by heav'n, wife: hang no pictures in the hall, nor in the dining-chamber, in any case, but in

6

to marry a tradesman.] The quarto reads to marry a flat-cap, a term of contempt usually applied to a citizen. See Vol. I. p. 45.

7 Citi-sin, quoth'a! &c.] This exquisite pun on citizen serves very well to keep Cri-spinas in countenance. A little false spelling, I presume, (for I am no great adept in these matters,) is allowable where the effect produced by it is so very striking.

the gallery only; for 'tis not courtly else, o' my

word, wife.

Chloe. 'Sprecious, never have done!

Alb. Wife

[Exit.

Chloe. Do I not bear a reasonable corrigible

hand over him, Crispinus?

Cris. By this hand, lady, you hold a most sweet hand over him.

Alb. [re-entering.] And then, for the great gilt andirons

Chloe. Again! Would the andirons were in

your great guts for me!

Alb. I do vanish, wife.

[Exit. Chloe. How shall I do, master Crispinus? here will be all the bravest ladies in court presently to see your cousin Cytheris: O the gods! how might I behave myself now, as to entertain them most courtly?

Cris. Marry, lady, if you will entertain them most courtly, you must do thus: as soon as ever your maid or your man brings you word they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em ! what do they here? And yet, when they come, speak them as fair, and give them the kindest welcome in words that can be.

Chloe. Is that the fashion of courtiers, Crispinus?

Cris. I assure you it is, lady; I have observed it. Chloe. For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on; but it is not so easy to speak fair after, methinks.

Alb. [re-entering.] O, wife, the coaches are come, on my word; a number of coaches and courtiers.

Chloe. A pox on them! what do they here?*

* A pox on them! what do they here?] Chloe is an apt scholar: Alb. How now, wife! would'st thou not have them come?

Chloe. Come! come, you are a fool, you.-Не knows not the trick on't. Call Cytheris, I pray you: and, good master Crispinus, you can observe, you say; let me entreat you for all the ladies' behaviours, jewels, jests, and attires, that you marking, as well as I, we may put both our marks together, when they are gone, and confer of them.

Cris. I warrant you, sweet lady; let me alone to observe till I turn myself to nothing but ob

servation.

Enter CYTHERIS.

Good morrow, cousin Cytheris.

Cyth. Welcome, kind cousin. What! are they come?

Alb. Ay, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius, with Julia, the emperor's daughter, and the lady Plautia, are 'lighted at the door; and with them Hermogenes Tigellius, the excellent musician.

Cyth. Come, let us go meet them, Chloe.
Chloe. Observe, Crispinus.

Crisp. At a hair's breadth, lady, I warrant you.

As they are going out, enter CORNELIUS GALLUS, OVID, TIBULLUS, PROPERTIUS, HERMOGENES, JULIA, and PLAUTIA.

Gal. Health to the lovely Chloe! you must pardon me, mistress, that I prefer this fair gentlewoman.

-but who would think the lesson of so old a date! It seems as if it were delivered but yesterday.

Cyth. I pardon, and praise you for it, sir; and I beseech your excellence, receive her beauties into your knowledge and favour.

Jul. Cytheris, she hath favour and behaviour, that commands as much of me: and, sweet Chloe, know I do exceedingly love you, and that I will approve in any grace my father the emperor may shew you. Is this your husband?

Alb. For fault of a better, if it please your highness.

Chloe. Gods my life, how he shames me!

Cyth. Not a whit, Chloe, they all think you politic, and witty; wise women choose not husbands for the eye, merit, or birth, but wealth and sovereignty.

Ovid. Sir, we all come to gratulate, for the good report of you.

sir.

Tib. And would be glad to deserve your love,

Alb. My wife will answer you all, gentlemen; I'll come to you again presently. [Exit. Plau. You have chosen you a most fair companion here, Cytheris, and a very fair house. Cyth. To both which, you and all my friends

are very welcome, Plautia.

Chloe. With all my heart, I assure your ladyship.

Plau. Thanks, sweet mistress Chloe. Jul. You must needs come to court, lady, i'faith, and there be sure your welcome shall be as great to us.

Ovid. She will deserve it, madam; I see, even in her looks, gentry, and general worthiness.

Tib. I have not seen a more certain character of an excellent disposition. Alb. [re-entering.] Wife!

[blocks in formation]

Chloe. O, they do so commend me here, the courtiers! what's the matter now?

Alb. For the banquet, sweet wife.

Chloe. Yes; and I must needs come to court,

and be welcome, the princess says.

[Exit with Albius.

Gal. Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to

welcome your mistress here.

Ovid. We find it so, sir.

Tib. And thank Cornelius Gallus.

Ovid. Nay, my sweet Sextus, in faith thou art not sociable.

Prop. In faith I am not, Publius; nor I cannot. Sick minds are like sick men that burn with fevers, Who when they drink, please but a present taste, And after bear a more impatient fit. Pray let me leave you; I offend you all, And myself most.

Gal. Stay, sweet Propertius.

Tib. You yield too much unto your griefs, and

fate,

Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts us.
Prop. O peace, Tibullus; your philosophy
Lends you too rough a hand to search my wounds.
Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and grieve:
The free and unconstrained spirit feels
No weight of my oppression.

Ovid. Worthy Roman!"

Methinks I taste his misery, and could
Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars.

[Exit.

Jul. Methinks I love him, that he loves so

truly.

Cyth. This is the perfect'st love, lives after death.

Worthy Roman, &c.] Ovid and his friends seem to have taken Propertius at his word, and given him credit for more

« iepriekšējāTurpināt »