Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois Part 19

_Tam._ What sayes he? 135

_Mont._ You must make good the rest.

_Tam._ How fares my lord?

Takes my love any thing to heart he sayes?

_Mont._ Come, y'are a--

_Tam._ What, my lord?

_Mont._ The plague of Herod Feast in his rotten entrailes!

_Tam._ Will you wreak Your angers just cause given by him on me? 140

_Mont._ By him?

_Tam._ By him, my lord. I have admir'd You could all this time be at concord with him, That still hath plaid such discords on your honour.

_Mont._ Perhaps tis with some proud string of my wives.

_Tam._ How's that, my lord?

_Mont._ Your tongue will still admire, 145 Till my head be the miracle of the world.

_Tam._ O woe is me! _She seemes to sound._

_Pero._ What does your lords.h.i.+p meane?

Madam, be comforted; my lord but tries you.

Madam! Help, good my lord, are you not mov'd?

Doe your set looks print in your words your thoughts? 150 Sweet lord, cleare up those eyes, Unbend that masking forehead. Whence is it You rush upon her with these Irish warres, More full of sound then hurt? But it is enough; You have shot home, your words are in her heart; 155 She has not liv'd to beare a triall now.

_Mont._ Look up, my love, and by this kisse receive My soule amongst thy spirits, for supply To thine chac'd with my fury.

_Tam._ O, my lord, I have too long liv'd to heare this from you. 160

_Mont._ 'Twas from my troubled bloud, and not from me.

I know not how I fare; a sudden night Flowes through my entrailes, and a headlong chaos Murmurs within me, which I must digest, And not drowne her in my confusions, 165 That was my lives joy, being best inform'd.

Sweet, you must needs forgive me, that my love (Like to a fire disdaining his suppression) Rag'd being discouraged; my whole heart is wounded When any least thought in you is but touch't, 170 And shall be till I know your former merits, Your name and memory, altogether crave In just oblivion their eternall grave; And then, you must heare from me, there's no meane In any pa.s.sion I shall feele for you. 175 Love is a rasor, cleansing, being well us'd, But fetcheth blood still, being the least abus'd.

To tell you briefly all--the man that left me When you appear'd, did turne me worse than woman, And stab'd me to the heart, thus, with his fingers. 180

_Tam._ O happy woman! comes my stain from him, It is my beauty, and that innocence proves That slew Chymaera, rescued Peleus From all the savage beasts in Peleon, And rais'd the chaste Athenian prince from h.e.l.l: 185 All suffering with me, they for womens l.u.s.ts, I for a mans, that the Egean stable Of his foule sinne would empty in my lap.

How his guilt shunn'd me! Sacred innocence That, where thou fear'st, are dreadfull, and his face 190 Turn'd in flight from thee that had thee in chace!

Come, bring me to him. I will tell the serpent Even to his venom'd teeth (from whose curst seed A pitcht field starts up 'twixt my lord and me) That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers 195 For being so govern'd by his filthy soule.

_Mont._ I know not if himselfe will vaunt t'have beene The princely author of the slavish sinne, Or any other; he would have resolv'd me, Had you not come, not by his word, but writing, 200 Would I have sworne to give it him againe, And p.a.w.n'd mine honour to him for a paper.

_Tam._ See, how he flies me still! tis a foule heart That feares his owne hand. Good my lord, make haste To see the dangerous paper: papers hold 205 Oft-times the formes and copies of our soules, And (though the world despise them) are the prizes Of all our honors; make your honour then A hostage for it, and with it conferre My neerest woman here in all she knowes; 210 Who (if the sunne or Cerberus could have seene Any staine in me) might as well as they.

And, Pero, here I charge thee, by my love, And all proofes of it (which I might call bounties); By all that thou hast seene seeme good in mee, 215 And all the ill which thou shouldst spit from thee; By pity of the wound this touch hath given me, Not as thy mistresse now, but a poore woman To death given over, rid me of my paines; Powre on thy powder; cleare thy breast of me. 220 My lord is only here: here speak thy worst; Thy best will doe me mischiefe; if thou spar'st me, Never s.h.i.+ne good thought on thy memory!

Resolve my lord, and leave me desperate.

_Per._ My lord!--my lord hath plaid a prodigals part, 225 To break his stock for nothing, and an insolent, To cut a Gordian when he could not loose it.

What violence is this, to put true fire To a false train; to blow up long crown'd peace With sudden outrage; and beleeve a man, 230 Sworne to the shame of women, 'gainst a woman Borne to their honours? But I will to him.

_Tam._ No, I will write (for I shall never more Meet with the fugitive) where I will defie him, Were he ten times the brother of my King. 235 To him, my lord,--and ile to cursing him. _Exeunt._

LINENOTES:

_with a letter_. A omits.

5 _foule_. A, fare.

16 _idols_. A, images.

21 _So then . . . in them_. A omits.

24 _faculty_. A, motions.

26-29 _None . . . diadem_. A a.s.signs these lines to Bussy.

28 _divided empires_. A, predominance.

29 _prove_. A, claime.

38 _priviledge_. A, tyrannous.

65 _and_. A, but.

70-78 _If he . . . and slit_. Omitted in A, which has instead:--

_Buss._ No, I thinke not.

_Mons._ Not if I nam'd the man With whom I would make him suspicious His wife hath arm'd his forehead!

_Buss._ So you might Have your great nose made lesse indeede, and slit.

77-79 In B four lines, broken at (second) _how_, _have_, _out_, _thee peace_.

92 _roughnesse_. A, toughnesse.

96 _the_. A omits.

103 _minde_. A, spirit.

104 _desert_. A, effect.

112 _steales on to ravish_. A, is comming to afflict.

_Enter . . . Pero_, placed in A after _under_ in 134.