The Ben Jonson Collection

SCENE V.

Enter count Ferneze, Maximilian, Aurelia, Phœnixella, Sebastian, Balthasar.

Count. Where should he be, trow? did you look in the armory?

Seb. No, my lord.

Count. No, why there; O who would keep such drones?

[Exeunt Sebastian and Balthasar. Enter Martino.

How now, have you found him?

Mart. No, my lord.

Count. No, my lord! I shall have shortly all my family

Speak nought but, No, my lord. Where is Christophero?

Enter Christophero. Look how he stands! you sleepy knave,

[Exit Martino.

What is he not in the garden?

Chr. No, my good lord.

Count. Your good lord? O how this smells of fennel;

You have been in the garden it appears: well, well.

Enter Sebastian, Balthasar.

Balth. We cannot find him, my lord.

Seb. He is not in the armory.

Count. He is not, he is no where, is he?

Max. Count Ferneze.

Count. Signior.

Max. Preserve your patience, honourable count.

Count. Patience!

A saint would lose his patience, to be crost

As I am, with a sort of motly brains,

See, see, how like a nest of rooks they stand

Gaping at one another!

Enter Onion.

Now, Diligence, what news bring you?

Oni. An’t please your honour.

Count. Tut, tut, leave pleasing of my honour, Diligence, you double with me, come.

Oni. How! does he find fault with please his honour? ‘Swounds it has begun a serving-man’s speech ever since I belonged to the blue order1: I know not how it may shew now I am in black; but —

Count. What’s that you mutter, sir? will you proceed?

Oni. An’t like your good lordship.

Count. Yet more; god’s precious!

Oni. What, does not this like him neither?

Count. What say you, sir knave?

Oni. Marry I say your lordship were best to set me to school again, to learn how to deliver a message.

Count. What do you take exceptions at me then?

Oni. Exception! I take no exceptions; but by god’s so your humours ——

Count. Go to, you are a rascal, hold your tongue.

Oni. Your lordship’s poor servant, I.

Count. Tempt not my patience.

Oni. Why I hope I am no spirit, am I?

Max. My lord, command your steward to correct the slave.

Oni. Correct him! ‘sblood come you and correct him, and you have a mind to it. Correct him! that’s a good jest, i’ faith: the steward and you both come and correct him.

Count. Nay, see, away with him; pull his cloth over his ears.

Oni. Cloth! tell me of your cloth, here’s your cloth; nay, and I mourn a minute longer, I am the rottenest Onion that ever spake with a tongue.

[They thrust him out.

Max. What call you your hind, count Ferneze?

Count. His name is Onion, signior.

Max. I thought him some such saucy companion.

Count. Signior Maximilian.

Max. Sweet lord.

Count. Let me intreat you, you would not regard

Any contempt flowing from such a spirit,

So rude, so barbarous.

Max. Most noble count, under your favour —

Count. Why I’ll tell you, signior,

He’ll bandy with me word for word; nay more,

Put me to silence, strike me perfect dumb,

And so amaze me, that oft-time I know not

Whether to check or cherish his presumption;

Therefore, good signior —

Max. Sweet lord, satisfy yourself, I am not now to learn how to manage my affections; I have observed and know the difference between a base wretch and a true man; I can distinguish them; the property of the wretch is, he would hurt, and cannot; of the man, he can hurt, and will not.

Count. Go to my merry daughter; O these looks

Agree well with your habit, do they not?

Enter Juniper.

Junip. Tut, let me alone. By your favour, this is the gentleman, I think: sir, you appear to be an honourable gentleman, I understand, and could wish (for mine own part) that things were conden’t otherwise than they are: but (the world knows) a foolish fellow, somewhat proclive and hasty, he did it in a prejudicate humour; marry now, upon better computation, he wanes, he melts, his poor eyes are in a cold sweat. Right noble signior, you can have but compunction; I love the man, tender your compassion.

Max. Doth any man here understand this fellow?

Junip. O god, sir, I may say frustra to the comprehension of your intellection.

Max. Before the lord, he speaks all riddle, I think. I must have a comment, ere I can conceive him.

Count. Why he sues to have his fellow Onion pardon’d,

And you must grant it, signior.

Max. O with all my soul, my lord; is that his motion?

Junip. I, sir, and we shall retort these kind favours with all alacrity of spirit we can, sir, as may be most expedient, as well for the quality as the cause; till when, in spite of this compliment, I rest a poor cobler, servant to my honourable lord here, your friend and Juniper.

[Exit.

Max. How, Juniper!

Count. I, signior.

Max. He is a sweet youth, his tongue has a happy turn when he sleeps.

Enter Paulo Ferneze, Francisco Colonia, Angelo, Valentine.

Count. I, for then it rests. O, sir, you’re welcome:

Why God be thanked, you are found at last:

Signior Colonia, truly you are welcome,

I am glad to see you, sir, so well return’d.

Franc. I gladly thank your honour;

Yet indeed I’m sorry for such cause of heaviness

As has possest your lordship in my absence.

Count. O Francisco, you knew her what she was.

Franc. She was a wise and honourable lady.

Count. I, was she not? well, weep not, she is gone.

Passion’s dull’d eye can make two griefs of one.

Whom death marks out, virtue nor blood can save;

Princes, as beggars, all must feed the grave.

Max. Are your horse ready, lord Paulo?

Pau. I, signior, they stay for us at the gate.

Max. Well, ‘tis good. Ladies, I will take my leave of you, Be your fortunes, as yourselves, fair. Come, let us to horse, Count Ferneze, I bear a spirit full of thanks for all your honourable courtesies.

Count. Sir, I could wish the number and value of them more, in respect of your deservings. But, signior Maximilian, I pray you a word in private.

Aur. I faith, brother, you are fitted for a general yonder. Beshrew my heart (if I had Fortunatus’ hat here) and I would not wish myself a man, and go with you, only t’enjoy his presence.

Pau. Why do you love him so well, sister?

Aur. No, by my troth; but I have such an odd pretty apprehension of his humour, methinks, that I am e’en tickled with the conceit of it. O he is a fine man.

Ang. And methinks another may be as fine as he.

Aur. O Angelo! do you think I do urge my comparison against you? no, I am not so ill bred as to be a depraver of your worthiness: believe me, if I had not some hope of your abiding with us, I should never desire to go out of black whilst I lived; but learn to speak i’ the nose, and turn puritan presently.

Ang. I thank you, lady, I know you can flout.

Aur. Come, do you take it so? I faith you wrong me.

Franc. I, but madam,

Thus to disclaim in all the effects of pleasure,

May make your sadness seem so much affected,

And then the proper grace of it is lost.

Phœn. Indeed, sir, if I did put on this sadness

Only abroad, and in society,

And were in private merry, and quick humour’d,

Then might it seem affected, and abhorr’d;

But as my looks appear, such is my spirit,

Drown’d up with confluence of grief and melancholy,

That, like to rivers, run through all my veins,

Quenching the pride and fervour of my blood.

Max. My honourable lord, no more.

There is the honour of my blood engag’d

For your son’s safety.

Count. Signior, blame me not

For tending his security so much;

He is mine only son, and that word only

Hath, with its strong and repercussive sound,

Struck my heart cold, and given it a deep wound.

Max. Why but stay, I beseech you, had your lordship ever any more sons than this?

Count. Why have not you known it, Maximilian?

Max. Let my sword fail me then.

Count. I had one other, younger born than this,

By twice so many hours as would fill

The circle of a year, his name Camillo,

Whom in that black and fearful night I lost,

(’Tis now a nineteen years agone at least,

And yet the memory of it sits as fresh

...