Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
Born 1584 Died 1616
Born 1579 Died 1625
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER
THE MAID IN THE MILL
THE KNIGHT OF MALTA
LOVES CURE, OR THE MARTIAL MAID
THE NIGHT-WALKER, OR THE LITTLE THIEF
THE TEXT EDITED BY
A. R. WALLER, M.A.
at the University Press
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
|The Maid in the Mill||1|
|The Knight of Malta||78|
|Loves Cure, or the Martial Maid||164|
|The Night-Walker, or the Little Thief||311|
Maid in the Mill.
The Persons Represented in the Play.
- Don Philippo King of Spain.
- Otrante a Spanish Count, in love with Florimel.
- Julio, A Noble Man, Uncle to Antonio.
- Bellides, Father to Ismenia, Enemy to Julio.
- Lisauro, Brother to Ismenia, Bellides Son.
- Terzo, Kinsman to Lisauro, and friend to Bellides.
- Antonio, In love with Ismenia, an enemy to Bellides.
- Martino, Friend to Antonio, and his secret Rival.
- Gerasto, Friend to Otrante.
- Pedro. } Two Courtiers.
- Moncado. }
- Gostanzo, } Three Gentlemen, Friends to Julio.
- Giraldo, }
- Philippo, }
- Vertigo, A French Taylor.
- Lords, attending the King in progress.
- Franio, A Miller, supposed Father to Florimell.
- Bustopha, Franio his Son, a Clown.
- Pedro, A Songster.
- Ismenia, Daughter to Bellides, Mistriss of Antonio.
- Aminta, Cousen to Ismenia, and her private competrix in Antonio’s love.
- Florimell, Supposed Daughter to Franio, Daughter to Julio, stolen from him a child.
- Gillian, Franio the Millers Wife.
- Countrey Maids.
The Scene Spaine.
The principal Actors were
- Joseph Tailor,
- John Lowin,
- John Underwood,
- William Rowly,
- John Thomson,
- Robert Benfield,
- Tho. Polard.
Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.
Enter Lisauro, Terzo, Ismenia, and Aminta.
And meet at Port again: Come my fair Sister,
These cool shades will delight ye.
The Birds sing as they meant to entertain ye,
Every thing smiles abroad; methinks the River
(As he steals by) curles up his head, to view ye:
Every thing is in love.
You that are fair, are easie of belief, Cosen,
The theam slides from your tongue.
Mine’s but shadow when your Sun shines by me.
Where are we now?
The way so sweet and even, that the Coach
Would be a tumbling trouble to our pleasures:
Methinks I am very merry:
Over my heart methinks:
Or not slept well to night; some dream (Ismena?)
Yours are unhappy; who are these that coast us?
[Enter Antonio and Martin.
With me none sure; I do not like their faces;
They are not of our Company:
Lisauro, we are dog’d.
They are handsome both.
They are of our enemies; the house of Bellides.
Our mortal enemies:
They appear so handsomly, I will go forward;
If these be enemies, I’ll ne’r seek friends more.
That moves me like a Gin.
‘Pray ye stand off Ladies:
By this fair day our mortal foes.
And come here to affront: how they gape at us!
They shall have gaping work.
And good now leave your whistling: we are abus’d all:
Back, back I say:
To run back on command.
We are your servants: pray ye no quarrel Gentlemen.
There’s way enough for both.
Discreet, and Civil, and in open view thus?
Mercy o’me; through my petticoat; what bloody Gentlemen!
Brother, why Cosen: by this light I’ll dye too:
This Gentleman is temperate: be you merciful:
Alass, the Swords.
‘Twill be a valiant thrust.
My swords already aw’d, and shall obey ye:
I come not here to violate sweet beauty,
I bow to that.
This noble Gentleman.
And leave our Walk.
She bears an eye more dreadful than your weapon.
Put up your sword.
For shame put up, do honor to these beauties:
We will not be denyed it.
And may it never meet with rude hands more,
Nor rough uncivil Tongues. [Exeunt.
Indeed I thank ye nobly: a brave Enemy,
Here’s a sweet temper now: This is a man (Brother)
This Gentleman’s anger is so nobly seated,
That it becomes him: Yours proclaim ye Monsters.
What if he be our House-Foe? we may brag on’t:
We have ne’er a friend in all our House so honorable:
I had rather from an Enemy, my Brother,
Learn worthy distances and modest difference,
Than from a race of empty friends, loud nothings:
I am hurt between ye.
[I am sure their swords were between my leggs]: Dear Cosen
Why look ye pale? where are ye hurt?
But here methinks.
The hurt not to be cur’d I fear.
And yet a cruel.
A wondrous handsome Gentleman.
Prethee be silent, (wench) it may be thy case.
And of so sweet a nature.
Make it not sorer.
And our old hate shall testifie.
Enter Antonio and Martine.
The indiscretion of the Owners blunts ’em;
The fury of the House affrights not me,
It spends it self in words: (Oh me Martine)
There was a two edg’d eye, a Lady carried
A weapon that no valor can avoyd,
Nor Art (the hand of Spirit) put aside.
O Friend, it broke out on me like a bullet
Wrapt in a cloud of fire: that point (Martine)
Dazled my sence, and was too subtle for me,
Shot like a Comet in my face, and wounded
(To my eternal ruine,) my hearts valor.
She is so far beyond weak commendation,
That impudence will blush to think ill of her.
And I could judge, I know there is no beauty
Till our eyes give it ’em, and make ’em handsome;
What’s red and white, unless we do allow ’em?
A green face else; and me-thinks such an other.
Thou hast an excellent sense for a sign-post (Friend)
Dost thou not see? I’ll swear thou art soon blind else,
As blind as ignorance; when she appeared first
Aurora breaking in the east, and through her face,
As if the hours and graces had strew’d Roses,
A blush of wonder flying; when she was frighted
At our uncivil swords, didst thou not mark
How far beyond the purity of snow
The soft wind drives, whiteness of innocence,
Or any thing that bears Celestial paleness,
She appear’d o’th’sodain? Didst thou not see her tears
When she intreated? O thou Reprobate!
Didst thou not see those orient tears flow’d from her,
The little Worlds of Love? A set (Martine)
Of such sanctified Beads, and a holy heart to love
I could live ever a Religious Hermite.
She was of the lowest stature.
Set neat and deep, Natures chief Art (Martine)
Is to reserve her Models curious,
Not cumbersome and great; and such an one
For fear she should exceed, upon her matter
Has she fram’d this; Oh ’tis a spark of beauty,
And where they appear so excellent in little,
They will but flame in great; Extention spoils ’em:
Martine learn this, the narrower that our eyes
Keep way unto our object, still the sweeter
That comes unto us: Great bodies are like Countries,
Discovering still, toyl and no pleasure finds ’em.
Now I believe she is handsome.
Let thy belief, though long a coming, save thee.
Do not believe your self too far before me,
For then you may wrong me, Sir.
Do you show me meat, and stitch my lips (Antonio?)
Is that fair play?
And yet I know thee for an errant wencher,
A most immoderate thing, thou canst not love long.
But I believe.
She is our enemy.
As far as I conceive she hates our whole House.
You shall enjoy her in your dream (Antonio)
And I’ll not hinder: though now I perswade my self.
Enter Aminta with a Letter.
I will look better on her.
She brings [no] challenge sure: if she do (Antonio)
I hope she’ll be a Second too; I am for her.
‘Tis like our late rude passage has powr’d on us
Though some deserv’d it.
But for my part (in all humility
And with no little shame) I ask your pardons,
Indeed I wear no sword to fright sweet beauties.
And my Commission’s done.
You may chance meet with one ill written.
So it be a womans, I can pick the meaning,
For likely they have but one end.
Loaden with brave return: most happy, happy:
I am a blessed man: where’s the Gentlewoman?
From her we saw: from that same miracle,
I know her name now: read but these three lines;
Read with devotion, friend, the lines are holy.
‘Twill be too gentle: If you please to look me
In the West-street, and find a fair Stone window,
Carved with white Cupids; there I’ll entertain ye:
Night and discretion guide ye.
When men are thirsty, to eat hastily
When we are hungry: so there is in sleep, Friend,
Obstructions then may rise and smother us,
We may dye laughing, choak’d even at devotions:
An Apoplexie, or a sodain Palsey
May strike us down.
‘Tis not my folly, but his infamy,
And if he be ador’d, and dare do vild things.—
A Maid, I think, and where that holy spell
Is flung about me, I ne’re fear a villany,
‘Tis almost night: away friend.
I think I know the house too.
Enter Ismena, and Aminta.
Was it that Gentleman?
I went to seek no Carrier, nor no Midwife.
And hands: for sure he took it.
Do you think me a Babe? am I not able (Cosin)
At my years and discretion, to deliver
A Letter handsomely? Is that such a hard thing?
Why every Wafer-woman will undertake it:
A Sempsters girl, or a Tailors wife will not miss it:
A Puritan Hostess (Cosin) would scorn these questions.
My legs are weary.
Nor desire no company: look out, ’tis darkish.
If he be a man, he will not miss.
And that may pull him back from seeing me;
Or has made some wild construction of my easiness:
I blush to think what I writ.
Blush when you act your thoughts, not when you write ’em;
Blush soft between a pair of sheets, sweet Cosin,
Though he be a curious carried Gentleman, I cannot think
He’s so unnatural to leave a woman,
A young, a noble, and a beauteous woman,
Leave her in her desires: Men of this age
Are rather prone to come before they are sent for.
Hark, I hear something: up to th’ Chamber, Cosin,
You may spoil all else.
Enter Antonio and Martine.
It may be they.
And like a Land-star draw him.
Close, close, pray ye close here.
I know the man well:
For a looseness in my hilts.
There is no house of mark that we have scaped yet.
If any, this, a goodly window too,
Carv’d far above, that I perceive: ’tis dark,
But she has such a lustre.
Enter Ismena and Aminta above with a Taper.
So radiant she appears.
The night grows vengeance black, pray heaven she shine clear:
Hark, hark, a window, and a candle too.
And now the beauteous Planet.
Now by the soul of love a Divine Creature.
Infinite strangely taken.
Methinks he has a dainty nimble body:
I love him heartily.
But what to say to him, Sir.
And will do till I grow another Pillar,
To prop this house, so it please you.
And ‘pray ye speak truly too.
I know ye are an enemy, speak low,
But I would make ye a friend.
There’s no handsomness, I dare be foe to.
Most beauteous Virgin, I am free as you are.
For I am bound.
Or do you put them on your self for pleasure?
Sure they be sweeter far than liberty:
There is no blessedness but in such bondage:
Give me that freedom (Madam) I beseech ye,
(Since you have question’d me so cunningly)
To ask you whom you are bound to, he must be certain
More than humane, that bounds in such a beauty:
Happy that happy chain, such links are heavenly.
And not scorn what I speak?
As Oracle what you say, I dare swear to.
Fie, how it doubles in my mouth! it must out,
‘Tis you I am bound to.
I understand ye not.
You have learn’d my name.
Done in the cleerest light, and noblest testimony:
No vow, dear Sir, tie not my fair belief
To such strict terms: those men have broken credits,
Loose and dismembred faiths (my dear Antonio)
That splinter ’em with vows: am I not too bold?
Correct me when you please.
For so sweet Musick never stru[c]k mine ears yet:
Will you believe now?
If ye answer the Priest so low, you will lose your wedding.
And if it be not firm and honest to you,
Keep you your word: [when] will you come again (Friend?)
For this time we have woo’d indifferently.
I would fain see ye, when I dare be bolder.
Pardon three daies: my Uncle Julio
Has bound me to attend him upon promise,
Upon expectation too: we have rare sports there,
Rare Countrey sports, I would you could but see ’em.
Dare ye so honor me?
You know I dare not, no, I must not (Friend)
Where I may come with honourable freedom:
Alas, I am ill too; we in love.
And am in love: but you must be Physician.
Take my best wishes: give me no cause (Antonio)
To curse this happy night.
And give me handsome dreams, Love, I beseech thee.
Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima.