Beaumont & Fletchers Works (2 of 10) – the Humourous Lieutenant. Beaumont Francis
Spur bravely Your firie Courser, beat the troops before ye, And cramb the mouth of death with executions.
Dem. I would do more than these: But prethee tell me, Tell me my fair, where got'st thou this male Spirit? I wonder at thy mind.
Cel. Were I a man then, You would wonder more.
Dem. Sure thou wouldst prove a Souldier, And some great Leader.
Cel. Sure I should do somewhat; And the first thing I did, I should grow envious, Extreamly envious of your youth, and honour.
Dem. And fight against me?
Cel. Ten to one, I should do it.
Dem. Thou wouldst not hurt me?
Cel. In this mind I am in I think I should be hardly brought to strike ye, Unless 'twere thus; but in my mans mind—
Dem. What?
Cel. I should be friends with you too, Now I think better.
Dem. Ye are a tall Souldier:
Here, take these, and these;
This gold to furnish ye, and keep this bracelet;
Why do you weep now?
You a masculine Spirit?
Cel. No, I confess, I am a fool, a woman: And ever when I part with you—
Dem. You shall not, These tears are like prodigious signs, my sweet one, I shall come back, loaden with fame, to honour thee.
Cel. I hope you shall:
But then my dear Demetrius,
When you stand Conquerour, and at your mercy
All people bow, and all things wait your sentence;
Say then your eye (surveying all your conquest)
Finds out a beautie, even in sorrow excellent,
A constant face, that in the midst of ruine
With a forc'd smile, both scorns at fate, and fortune:
Say you find such a one, so nobly fortified,
And in her figure all the sweets of nature?
Dem. Prethee, No more of this, I cannot find her.
Cel. That shews as far beyond my wither'd beauty; And will run mad to love ye too.
Dem. Do you fear me, And do you think, besides this face, this beauty, This heart, where all my hopes are lock'd—
Cel. I dare not: No sure, I think ye honest; wondrous honest. Pray do not frown, I'le swear ye are.
Dem. Ye may choose.
Cel. But how long will ye be away?
Dem. I know not.
Cel. I know you are angry now: pray look upon me: I'le ask no more such questions.
Dem. The Drums beat, I can no longer stay.
Cel. They do but call yet: How fain you would leave my Company?
Dem. I wou'd not, Unless a greater power than love commanded, Commands my life, mine honour.
Cel. But a little.
Dem. Prethee farewel, and be not doubtfull of me.
Cel. I would not have ye hurt: and ye are so ventrous—
But good sweet Prince preserve your self, fight nobly,
But do not thrust this body, 'tis not yours now,
'Tis mine, 'tis only mine: do not seek wounds, Sir,
For every drop of blood you bleed—
Dem. I will Celia, I will be carefull.
Cel. My heart, that loves ye dearly.
Dem. Prethee no more, we must part: [Drums a March. Hark, they march now.
Cel. Pox on these bawling Drums: I am sure you'l kiss me, But one kiss? what a parting's this?
Dem. Here take me,
And do what thou wilt with me, smother me;
But still remember, if your fooling with me,
Make me forget the trust—
Cel. I have done: farewel Sir, Never look back, you shall not stay, not a minute.
Dem. I must have one farewel more.
Cel. No, the Drums beat; I dare not slack your honour; not a hand more, Only this look; the gods preserve, and save ye.
ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCENA PRIMA
Enter Antigonus, Carinthus, Timon.
Ant. What, have ye found her out?
Char. We have hearkned after her.
Ant. What's that to my desire?
Char. Your grace must give us time, And a little means.
Tim. She is sure a stranger, If she were bred or known here—
Ant. Your dull endeavours Enter Menippus. Should never be employ'd. Welcom Menippus.
Men. I have found her Sir, I mean the place she is lodg'd in; her name is Celia, And much adoe I had to purchase that too.
Ant. Dost think Demetrius loves her?
Men. Much I fear it, But nothing that way yet can win for certain. I'le tell your grace within this hour.
Ant. A stranger?
Men. Without all doubt.
Ant. But how should he come to her?
Men. There lies the marrow of the matter hid yet.
Ant. Hast thou been with thy wife?
Men. No Sir, I am going to her.
Ant. Go and dispatch, and meet me in the garden, And get all out ye can. [Exit.
Men. I'le doe my best Sir. [Exit.
Tim. Blest be thy wife, thou wert an arrant ass else.
Char. I, she is a stirring woman indeed: There's a brain Brother.
Tim. There's not a handsom wench of any mettle
Within an hundred miles, but her intelligence
Reaches her, and out-reaches her, and brings her
As confidently to Court, as to a sanctuary:
What had his mouldy brains ever arriv'd at,
Had not she beaten it out o'th' Flint to fasten him?
They say she keeps an office of Concealments:
There is no young wench, let her be a Saint,
Unless she live i'th' Center, but she finds her,
And every way prepares addresses to her:
If my wife would have followed her course Charinthus,
Her lucky course, I had the day before him:
O what might I have been by this time, Brother?
But she (forsooth) when I put these things to her,
These things of honest thrift, groans, O my conscience,
The load upon my conscience, when to make us cuckolds,
They have no more burthen than a brood-[goose], Brother;
But let's doe what we can, though this wench fail us,
Another of a new way will be lookt at:
Come, let's