Ben Jonson - The Case is Altered Act 1. Scene 5 lyrics

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 Enter Onion. Gaping at one another! 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 ser- ving-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, do 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 presump- tion; Therefore, good signior — Max. Sweet lord, satisfy yourself, I am not now to learn how to manage my affec- tions; I have observed and know the dif- ference between a base wretch and a true man; I can distinguish them; the property of the wretch is, he would hurt, and can- not; of the man, he can hurt, and will not. 1Ever since I belonged to the BLUE ORDER.] i.e. Ever since I have been a servant. Blue coats were the usual livery of servants, and anciently a blue hood was the customary mark of guilt. 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 com- punction; I love the man, tender your compa**ion. 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. Pa**ion's dull'd eye can make two griefs of one. Whom d**h 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 Within my brain as 'twere but yesterday) It was the night wherein the great Chamont, The general of France, surpriz'd Vicenza; Methinks the horror of that clamorous shout His soldiers gave when they attain'd the wall, Yet tingles in mine ears: methinks I see With what amazed looks, distracted thoughts, And minds confus'd, we, that were citizens, Confronted one another; every street Was fill'd with bitter self-tormenting cries, And happy was that foot that first could press The flow'ry champain, bordering on Verona. Here I (employ'd about my dear wife's safety, Whose soul is now in peace) lost my Camillo, Who sure was murder'd by the barbarous soldiers, Or else I should have heard — my heart is great, Sorrow is faint, and pa**ion makes me sweat. Max. Grieve not, sweet Count, com- fort your spirits, you have a son, a noble gentleman, he stands in the face of honour; for his safety let that be no question; I am master of my fortune, and he shall share with me. Farewell, my honourable lord: ladies, once more adieu. For yourself, madam, you are a most rare creature, I tell you so, be not proud of it, I love you. Come, lord Paulo, to horse. Pau. Adieu, good signior Francisco; farewell, sister. Sound a tucket, and as they pa** every one severally departs; Maximilian, Paulo Ferneze, and Angelo remain. Ang. How shall we rid him hence? Pau. Why well enough. Sweet signior Maximilian, I have some small occasion to stay, If it may please you but take horse afore, I'll overtake you ere your troops be rang'd. Max. Your motion doth taste well; lord Ferneze, I go. [Exit Maximilian. Pau. Now if my love, fair Rachel, were so happy As to look forth. See fortune doth me grace Enter Rachel. Before I can demand. How now, love? Where is your father? Rach. Gone abroad, my lord. Pau. That's well. Rach. I, but I fear he'll presently return. Are you now going, my most honour'd lord? Pau. I, my sweet Rachel, Ang. Before god she is a sweet wench. Pau. Rachel, I hope I shall not need to urge The sacred purity of our affects, As if it hung in trial or suspence; Since in our hearts, and by our mutual vows, It is confirm'd and seal'd in sight of heaven. Nay, do not weep; why stare you? fear not, love, Your father cannot be return'd so soon. I prithee do not look so heavily; Thou shalt want nothing. Rach. No! is your presence nothing? I shall want that, and wanting that, want all; For that is all to me. Pau. Content thee, sweet, I have made choice here of a constant friend, This gentleman; on whose zealous love I do repose more, than on all the world, Thy beauteous self excepted; and to him Have I committed my dear care of thee, As to my genius, or my other soul. Receive him, gentle love, and what defects My absence proves, his presence shall sup- ply. The time is envious of our longer stay. Farewell, dear Rachel. Rach. Most dear lord, adieu, Heaven and honour crown your deeds and you. [Exit Rachel. Paul. Faith tell me, Angelo, how dost thou like her? Ang. Troth, well, my lord; but shall I speak my mind? Pau. I prithee do. Ang. She is deriv'd too meanly to be wife To such a noble person in my judgment. Pau. Nay, then thy judgment is too mean, I fear: Didst thou ne'er read, in difference of good, 'Tis more to shine in virtue than in blood. Ang. Come, you are so sententious, my lord. Enter Jaques. Pau. Here comes her father. How dost thou, good Jaques? Ang. God save thee, Jaques. Jaq. What should this mean? Rachel, open the door. [Exit Jaques. Ang. 'Sblood how the poor slave looks, as though He had been haunted by the spirit Lar, Or seen the ghost of some great Satrapas In an unsavory sheet. Pau. I muse he spake not, belike he was amaz'd, Coming so suddenly, and unprepared. Well, let's go. [Exeunt.