Thou would'st have kiss'd the rod that made the[e] smart. To work then, happy muse, and contradict 3 That verse which gain'd him such a sum of gold, And for one only look from Annabel, Had writ of her, and her diviner cheeks. O, how my thoughts are Vas. (within) Pray forbear; in rules of civility, let me give notice on't: I shall be tax'd of my neglect of duty and service. Sor. What rude intrusion interrupts my peace? Can I be no where private? 3 Vas. (within) Troth, you wrong your modesty. Sor. What's the matter, Vasques? who is't? when Sannazar Did in his brief Encomium, &c.] This is the well known Epigram, beginning "Viderat Hadriacis Venetam Neptunus in undis Stare urbem," &c. It is given by Coryat, who thus speaks of it: "I heard in Venice that a certaine Italian poet, called Jacobus Sannazarius, had a hundred crownes bestowed upon him by the Senate of Venice for each of these verses following. I would to God my poeticall friend Master Benjamin Johnson were so well rewarded for his poems here in England, seeing he hath made many as good verses (in my opinion) as those of Sannazarius." Tom is right. The verses have nothing very extraordinary in them; but they flattered the vanity of the republic: and after all, there is no great evil in overpaying a poet once in fifteen centuries, for so long it is between the times of Virgil and Sannazarius. Enter HIPPOLITA and VASQUES. Hip. 'Tis I; Do you know me now? Look, perjur’d man, on her Thou know'st, false wanton, when my modest fame Against the honour of my chaster bosom. Thine eyes did plead in tears, thy tongue in oaths, With hatred and contempt? No; know, Soranzo, The slavery of fearing thee, as thou Dost loath the memory of what hath past. Sor. Nay, dear Hippolita― Hip. Call me not dear, Nor think with supple words to smooth the gross ness Of my abuses; 'tis not your new mistress, Hip. You are too double In your dissimulation. Seest thou this, This habit, these black mourning weeds of care? Hip. More of thy perjuries? Thy soul is drown'd too deeply in those sins; Sor. Then I'll leave you; You are past all rules of sense. Hip. And thou of grace. Vas. Fie, mistress, you are not near the limits of reason; if my lord had a resolution as noble as virtue itself, you take the course to unedge it all. Sir, I beseech you do not perplex her; griefs, alas, will have a vent: I dare undertake madam Hippolita will now freely hear you. Sor. Talk to a woman frantic!-Are these the fruits of your love? Hip. They are the fruits of thy untruth, false man! Did'st thou not swear, whilst yet my husband liv'd, His brother there was dead, and left a daughter Young and unfriended, whom, with much ado, I wish'd him to bring hither: he did so, And went; and, as thou know'st, died on the way. Unhappy man, to buy his death so dear, With my advice! yet thou, for whom I did it, Forget'st thy vows, and leav'st me to my shame. Sor. Who could help this? Hip. Who? perjur'd man! thou could'st, If thou had'st faith or love. Sor. You are deceiv'd; The vows I made, if you remember well, Who was thy husband; such a one as he, Vas. You do not well; this was not your promise. Sor. I care not; let her know her monstrous life. Ere I'll be servile to so black a sin, I'll be a curse.-Woman, come here no more; Learn to repent, and die; for, by my honour, I hate thee and thy lust: you have been too foul. [Exit. Vas. This part has been scurvily play'd. [Aside. Hip. How foolishly this beast contemns his fate, And shuns the use of that, which I more scorn Than I once lov'd, his love! but let him go, [Going. Vas. Mistress, mistress, madam Hippolita! pray, a word or two. Hip. With me, sir? Vas. With you, if you please. Hip. What is't? Vas. I know you are infinitely moved now, and you think you have cause; some I confess you have, but sure not so much as you imagine. Hip. Indeed! Vas. O you were miserably bitter, which you followed even to the last syllable; 'faith, you were somewhat too shrewd: by my life, you could not have took my lord in a worse time since I first knew him; to-morrow, you shall find him a new man. Hip. Well, I shall wait his leisure. Vas. Fie, this is not a hearty patience; it comes sourly from you; 'troth, let me persuade you for once. Hip. I have it, and it shall be so; thanks opportunity-[Aside.]-Persuade me ! to what? Vas. Visit him in some milder temper. O, if you could but master a little your female spleen, how might you win him! Hip. He will never love me. hast been a too trusty servant to Vasques, thou such a master, + To his woe.] i. e. to the woe occasioned by his falsehood. She recurs to this idea in the concluding speech of this scene. |