Beaumont Fletchers Works 10 of 10 by Francis Beaumont John Fletcher

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Title: Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (10 of 10)
Thierry and Theodoret; The Woman-Hater; Nice Valour; The
Honest Man's Fortune; The Masque of the Gentlemen; Four
Plays in One

Author: Francis Beaumont
John Fletcher

Release Date: September 30, 2015 [EBook #50096]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUMONT & FLETCHER'S WORKS, VOL 10 ***

Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Pg i]

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

Born 1584
Died 1616

JOHN FLETCHER

Born 1579
Died 1625

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

THIERRY AND THEODORET

THE WOMAN-HATER

NICE VALOUR

THE HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE

THE MASQUE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF GRAYS-INNE AND

THE INNER-TEMPLE

FOUR PLAYS OR MORAL REPRESENTATIONS IN ONE

THE TEXT EDITED BY

A.R. WALLER, M.A.

Cambridge:

at the University Press

1912

[Pg ii]

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

London: FETTER LANE, E.C.

C. F. CLAY, Manager

Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET

Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS

New York: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd.

All rights reserved

[Pg iii]

[Pg iv]

I

PREFACE

n 1905, the Syndics of the University Press asked me to complete, upon the lines laid down in the preface to volume
I, the editing of the reprint of the Second Folio of the works of Beaumont and Fletcher which had been begun by

Arnold Glover. The present volume sees the end of the task. In 1906, it was announced that a volume or, possibly, two
volumes of notes would follow the text. These, together with a critical text of the scattered poems, must be left to other
hands. I hoped, at one time, to undertake this additional burden myself, but that seems now to have become impossible.

A. R. WALLER

21 May 1912

[Pg v]
[Pg vi]

CONTENTS

PAGE

Thierry and Theodoret
1

The Woman-Hater
71

Nice Valour, or The Passionate Mad-man
143

Mr. Francis Beaumonts Letter to Ben. Johnson
199

The Honest Man's Fortune
202

The Masque of the Gentlemen of Grays-Inne and the Inner-Temple
281

Four Plays or Moral Representations in One
287

Appendix
365

[Pg vii]
[Pg 1]

THE TRAGEDY

OF

Thierry and Theodoret.

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Theodoret, Brunhalt, Bawd[b]er.

BRUNHALT.

Taxe me with these hot tainters?

Theodoret. You are too sudain;
I doe but gently tell you what becomes you
And what may bend your honor! how these courses
Of loose and lazie pleasures; not suspected
But done and known, your mind that grants no limit
And all your Actions follows, which loose people
That see but through a mist of circumstance
Dare term ambitious; all your wayes hide sores
Opening in the end to nothing but ulcers.
Your instruments like these may call the world
And with a fearfull clamor, to examine
Why, and to what we govern. From example
If not for vertues sake ye may be honest:
There have been great ones, good ones, and 'tis necessary
Because you are your self, and by your self
A self-peece from the touch of power and Justice,
You should command your self, you may imagine
Which cozens all the world, but chiefly women
The name of greatness glorifies your actions
And strong power like a pent-house, promise[s]
To shade you from opinion; Take heed mother,
And let us all take heed these most abuse us
The sins we doe, people behold through opticks,
Which shews them ten times more than common vices,
And often multiplys them: Then what justice
Dare we inflict upon the weak offenders
When we are theeves our selves?

Brun. This is, Martell,
Studied and pen'd unto you, whose base person
I charge you by the love you owe a mother
And as you hope for blessings from her prayers,
Neither to give belief to, nor allowance,
Next I tell you Sir, you from whom obedience
Is so far fled, that you dare taxe a mother;
Nay further, brand her honor with your slanders,
And break into the treasures of her credit,
Your easiness is abused, your faith fraited
With lyes, malitious lyes, your merchant mischief,
He that never knew more trade then Tales, and tumbling
Suspitious into honest hearts; What you or he,
Or all the world dare lay upon my worth,
This for your poor opinions: I am shee,
And so will bear my self, whose truth and whiteness
Shall ever stand as far from these detections
As you from dutie, get you better servants
People of honest actions without ends,
And whip these knaves away, they eat your favours,
And turn 'em unto poysons: my known credit
Whom all the Courts o' this side Nile have envied,
And happy she could site me, brought in question
Now in my hours of age and reverence,
When rather superstition should be rendred
And by a Rush that one days warmth
Hath shot up to this swelling; Give me justice,
Which is his life.

Theod. This is an impudence, and he must tell you, that till now mother brought ye a sons
obedience, and now breaks it Above the sufferance of a Son.

[Pg 2]

Bawd. Bless us!

For I doe now begin to feel my self
Turning into a halter, and the ladder
Turning from me, one pulling at my legs too.

Theod. These truths are no mans tales, but all mens troubles,
They are, though your strange greatness would out-stare u'm:
Witness the daily Libels, almost Ballads
In every place, almost in every Province,
Are made upon your lust, Tavern discourses,
Crowds cram'd with whispers; Nay, the holy Temples,
Are not without your curses: Now you would blush,
But your black tainted blood dare not appear
For fear I should fright that too.

Brun. O ye gods!

Theod. Do not abuse their names: They see your actions
And your conceal'd sins, though you work like Moles,
Lies level to their justice.

Brun. Art thou a Son?

Theod. The more my shame is of so bad a mother,
And more your wretchedness you let me be so;
But woma[n], for a mothers name hath left me
Since you have left your honor; Mend these ruins,
And build again that broken fame, and fairly;
Your most intemperate fires have burnt, and quickly
Within these ten days take a Monasterie,
A most strickt house; a house where none may whisper,
Where no more light is known but what may make ye
Believe there is a day where no hope dwells,
Nor comfort but in tears.

Brun. O miserie!

Theod. And there to cold repentance, and starv'd penance
Tye your succeeding days; Or curse me heaven
If all your guilded knaves, brokers, and bedders,
Even he you built from nothing, strong Protal[dy]e,
Be not made ambling Geldings; All your maids,
If that name doe not shame 'em, fed with spunges
To suck away their ranckness; And your self
Onely to empty Pictures and dead Arras
Offer your old desires.

Brun. I will not curse you,
Nor lay a prophesie upon your pride,
Though heaven might grant me both: unthankfull, no,
I nourish'd ye, 'twas I, poor I groan'd for you,
'Twas I felt what you suffer'd, I lamented
When sickness or sad hours held back your swe[e]tness;
'Twas I pay'd for your sleeps, I watchd your wakings:
My daily cares and fears, that rid, plaid, walk'd,
Discours'd, discover'd, fed and fashion'd you
To what you are, and I am thus rewarded.

Theod. But that I know these tears I could dote on 'em,
And kneell to catch 'em as they fall, then knit 'em
Into an Armlet, ever to be honor'd;
But woman they are dangerous drops, deceitfull,
Full of the weeper, anger and ill nature.

Brun. In my last hours despis'd.

Theod. That Text should tell

[Pg 3]

[Pg 4]

Theod. That Text should tell
How ugly it becomes you to err thus;
Your flames are spent, nothing but smoke maintains ye;
And those your favour and your bounty suffers
Lye not with you, they do but lay lust on you
And then imbrace you as they caught a palsie;
Your power they may love, and like spanish Jennetts
Commit with such a gust.

Bawd. I would take whipping,
And pay a fine now.

Theod. But were ye once disgraced,
Or fallen in wealth, like leaves they would flie from you,
And become browse for every beast; You will'd me
To stock my self with better friends, and servants,
With what face dare you see me, or any mankind,
That keep a race of such unheard of relicks,
Bawds, Leachers, Letches, female fornications,
And children in their rudiments to vices,
Old men to shew examples: and lest Art
Should loose her self in act, to call back custome,
Leave these, and live like Niobe. I told you how
And when your eyes have dropt away remembrance
Of what you were. I 'm your Son! performe it.

Brun. Am I a woman, and no more power in me,
To tye this Tyger up, a soul to no end,
Have I got shame and lost my will? Brunhalt
From this accursed hour, forget thou bor'st him,
Or any part of thy blood gave him living,
Let him be to thee an Antipathy,
A thing thy nature sweats at, and turns backward:
Throw all the mischiefs on him that thy self,
Or woman worse than thou art, have invented,
And kill him drunk, or doubtfull.

Enter Bawd[b]er, Protaldie, Lecure.

Bawd. Such a sweat,
I never was in yet, clipt of my minstrels,
My toyes to prick up wenches withall; Uphold me,
It runs like snow-balls through me.

Brun. Now my varlets,
My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions.

Baw. Lord how she looks!

Brun. Hell take ye all.

Baw. We shall be gelt.

Brun. Your Mistress,
Your old and honor'd Mistress, you tyr'd curtals
Suffers for your base sins; I must be cloyster'd,
Mew'd up to make me virtuous who can help this?
Now you stand still like Statues; Come Protaldye,
One kiss before I perish, kiss me strongly,
Another, and a third.

Lecure. I fear not gelding
As long [as] she holds this way.

Brun. The young courser
That unli[c]kt lumpe of mine, will win thy Mistriss;
Must I be chast Protaldye?

[Exit Bawdber.

[Pg 5]

Pro. Thus and thus Lady.

Brun. It shall be so, let him seek fools for Vestalls,
Here is my Cloyster.

Lecure. But what safety Madam
Find you in staying here?

Brun. Thou hast hit my meaning,
I will to Thierry Son of my blessings,
And there complain me, tell my tale so subtilly,
That the cold stones shall sweat; And Statues mourn,
And thou shall weep Protaldye in my witness,
And there forswear.

Bawd. Yes, any thing but gelding,
I'm not yet in quiet Noble Lady,
Let it be done to night, for without doubt
To morrow we are capons.

Brun. Sleep shall not seize me,
Nor any food befriend me but thy kisses,
E're I forsake this desart, I live honest;
He may as well bid dead men walk, I humbled,
Or bent below my power; let night-dogs tear me,
And goblins ride me in my sleep to jelly,
Ere I forsake my sphear.

Lecure. This place you will.

Brun. What's that to you, or any,
Ye doss, you powder'd pigsbones, rubarbe glister:
Must you know my designs? a colledge on you,
The proverbe makes but fools.

Prota. But Noble Lady.

Brun. You a sawcie ass too, off I will not,
If you but anger me, till a sow-gelder
Have cut you all like colts, hold me and kiss me,
For I'm too much troubled; Make up my treasure,
And get me horses private, come about it.

[Act. I. Scæ. 2.]

Enter Theodoret, Martell, &c.

Theod. Though I assure my self (Martell) your counsell
Had no end but allegeance and my honor:
Yet [I am] jealous, I have pass'd the bounds
Of a sons duty; For suppose her worse
Than you report, not by bare circumstance,
But evident proof confirm'd has given her out:
Yet since all weakness[es] in a kingdome, are
No more to be severely punished than
The faults of Kings are by the Thunderer
As oft as they offend, to be reveng'd:
If not for piety, yet for policie,
Since some are of necessitie to be spar'd,
I might, and now I wish I had not look'd
With such strict eyes into her follies.

Mart. Sir, a duty well discharg'd is never follow'd
By sad repentance, nor did your Highness ever
Make payment of the debt you ow'd her, better
Than in your late reproofs not of her, but

[Pg 6]

[Exeunt.

[Pg 7]

Those crimes that made her worthy of reproof.
The most remarkeable point in which Kings differ
From private men, is that they not alone
Stand bound to be in themselves innocent,
But that all such as are allyed to them
In nearness, [or] dependance, by their care
Should be free from suspition of all crime;
And you have reap'd a double benefit
From this last great act: first in the restraint
Of her lost pleasures, you remove th' example
From others of the like licentiousness,
Then when 'tis known that your severitie
Extended to your mother, who dares hope for
The least indulgence or connivence in
The easiest slips that may prove dangerous
To you, or to the Kingdome?

Theod. I must grant
Your reason[s] good (Martell) if as she is
My mother, she had been my subject, or
That only here she could make challenge to
A place of Being; But I know her temper
And fear (if such a word become a King,)
That in discovering her, I have let lo[o]se
A Tygress, whose rage being shut up in darkness,
Was grievous only to her self; Which brought
Into the view of light, her cruelty,
Provok'd by her own shame, will turn on him
That foolishly presum'd to let her see
The loath'd shape of her own deformitie.

Mart. Beasts of that nature, when rebellious threats
Begin to appear only in their eyes,
Or any motion that may give suspition
Of the least violence should be chain'd up;
Their fangs and teeth, and all their means of hurt,
Par'd off, and knockt out, and so made unable
To do ill; They would soon begin to loath it.
I'll apply nothing: but had your Grace done,
Or would doe yet, what your less forward zeal
In words did only threaten, far less danger
Would grow from acting it on her, than may
Perhaps have Being from her apprehension
Of what may once be practis'd: For believe it,
Who confident of his own power, presumes
To spend threats on an enemy, that hath means
To shun the worst they can effect, gives armor
To keep off his own strength; Nay more, disarms
Himself, and lyes unguarded 'gainst all harms,
Or doubt, or malice may produce.

Theod. 'Tis true.
And such a desperate cure I would have us'd,
If the intemperate patient had not been
So near me as a mother; but to her,
And from me gentle unguents only were
To be appli'd: and as physitians
When they are sick of fevers, eat themselves
Such viands as by their directions are
Forbid to others though alike diseas'd;
So she considering what she is, may challenge
Those cordialls to restore her, by her birth,
And priviledge, which at no suit must be
Granted to others.

Mart. May your pious care
Effect but what it aim'd at, I am silent.

[Pg 8]

Effect but what it aim'd at, I am silent.

Enter Devitry.

Theod. What laught you at Sir?

Vitry. I have some occasion,
I should not else; And the same cause perhaps
That makes me do so, may beget in you
A contrary effect.

Theod. Why, what's the matter?

Vitry. I see and joy to see that sometimes poor men,
(And most of [such] are good) stand more indebted
For [meanes] to breathe to such as are held vitious,
Than those that wear, like Hypocrites on their foreheads,
Th'ambitious titles of just men and vertuous.

Mart. Speak to the purpose.

Vitry. Who would e'er have thought
The good old Queen, your Highness reverend mother,
Into whose house (which was an Academ,)
In which all principles of lust were practis'd:
No soldier might presume to set his foot;
At whose most blessed intercession
All offices in the state, were charitably
Confer'd on Panders, o'erworn chamber wrestlers,
And such physitians as knew how to kill
With safety under the pretence of saving,
And such like children of a monstrous peace,
That she I say should at the length provide
That men of war, and honest younger brothers,
That would not owe their feeding to their cod-peece,
Should be esteem'd of more than mothers, or drones,
Or idle vagabonds.

Theod. I am glad to hear it,
Prethee what course takes she to doe this?

Vitry. One that cannot fail, she and her virtuous train,
With her jewels, and all that was worthy the carrying,
The last night left the court, and, as 'tis more
Than said, for 'tis confirm'd by such as met her,
She's fled unto your brother.

Theod. How?

Vitry. Nay storm not,
For if that wicked tongue of hers hath not
Forgot [its] pace, and Thierry be a Prince
Of such a fiery temper, as report
Has given him out for; You shall have cause to use
Such poor men as my self; And thank us too
For comming to you, and without petitions;
Pray heaven reward the good old woman for't.

Mart. I foresaw this.

Theod. I hear a tempest comming,
That sings mine & my kingdomes ruin: haste,
And cause a troop of horse to fetch her back:
Yet stay, why should I use means to bring in
A plague that of her self hath left me? Muster
Our Soldiers up, we'll stand upon our guard,
For we shall be attempted; Yet forbear
The inequality of our powers will yield me

[Pg 9]

[Pg 10]

The inequality of our powers will yield me
Nothing but loss in their defeature: something
Must be done, and done suddainly, save your labor,
In this I'll use no counsell but mine own,
That course though dangerous is best. Command
Our daughter be in readiness, to attend us:
Martell, your company, and honest Vitry,
Thou wilt along with me.

Vitry. Yes any where,
To be worse than I 'm here, is past my fear.
[Exeunt.