John Dryden - The Works of John Dryden, Volume 5 (of 18)

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_Beam._ Faith, madam, I was speaking in favour of your nation: What
pleasant lives I have known Spaniards to live in England.

_Jul._ If you love me, let me hear a little.

_Beam._ We observed them to have much of the nature of our flies; they
buzzed abroad a month or two in the summer, would venture about
dog-days to take the air in the Park, but all the winter slept like
dormice; and, if they ever appeared in public after Michaelmas, their
faces shewed the difference betwixt their country and ours, for they
look in Spain as if they were roasted, and in England as if they were
sodden.

_Jul._ I'll not believe your description.

_Fisc._ Yet our observations of them in Holland are not much unlike
it. I've known a great Don at the Hague, with the gentleman of his
horse, his major domo, and two secretaries, all dine at four tables,
on the quarters of a single pullet: The victuals of the under servants
were weighed out in ounces, by the Don himself; with so much garlic in
the other scale: A thin slice of bacon went through the family a week
together; for it was daily put into the pot for pottage; was served in
the midst of the dish at dinners, and taken out and weighed by the
steward, at the end of every meal, to see how much it lost; till, at
length, looking at it against the sun, it appeared transparent, and
then he would have whipped it up, as his own fees, at a morsel; but
that his lord barred the dice, and reckoned it to him for a part of
his board wages.

_Beam._ In few words, madam, the general notion we had of them, was,
that they were very frugal of their Spanish coin, and very liberal of
their Neapolitan.

_Jul._ I see, gentlemen, you are in the way of rallying; therefore let
me be no hinderance to your sport; do as much for one another as you
have done for our nation. Pray, Mynheer Fiscal, what think you of the
English?

_Fisc._ Oh, I have an honour for the country.

_Beam._ I beseech you, leave your ceremony; we can hear of our faults
without choler; therefore speak of us with a true Amsterdam spirit,
and do not spare us.

_Fisc._ Since you command me, sir, 'tis said of you, I know not how
truly, that for your fishery at home, you're like dogs in the manger,
you will neither manage it yourselves, nor permit your neighbours; so
that for your sovereignty of the narrow seas, if the inhabitants of
them, the herrings, were capable of being judges, they would certainly
award it to the English, because they were then sure to live
undisturbed, and quiet under you.

_Beam._ Very good; proceed, sir.

_Fisc._ 'Tis true, you gave us aid in our time of need, but you paid
yourselves with our cautionary towns: And, that you have since
delivered them up, we can never give sufficient commendation, either
to your honesty, or to your wit; for both which qualities you have
purchased such an immortal fame, that all nations are instructed how
to deal with you another time.

_Beam._ A most grateful acknowledgment; sweet sir, go on.

_Fisc._ For your trade abroad, if you should obtain it, you are so
horribly expensive, that you would undo yourselves and all
Christendom; for you would sink under your very profit, and the gains
of the universal world would beggar you: You devour a voyage to the
Indies, by the multitude of mouths with which you man your vessels:
Providence has contrived it well, that the Indies are managed by us,
an industrious and frugal people, who distribute its merchandise to
the rest of Europe, and suffer it not to be consumed in England, that
the other members might be starved, while you of Great Britain, as you
call it, like a rickety head, would only swell and grow bigger by it.

_Jul._ I have heard enough of England; have you nothing to return upon
the Netherlands?

_Beam._ Faith, very little to any purpose; he has been beforehand with
us, as his countrymen are in their trade, and taken up so many vices
for the use of England, that he has left almost none for the Low
Countries.

_Jul._ Come, a word, however.

_Beam._ In the first place, you shewed your ambition when you began to
be a state: For not being gentlemen, you have stolen the arms of the
best families of Europe; and wanting a name, you made bold with the
first of the divine attributes, and called yourselves the High and
Mighty: though, let me tell you, that, besides the blasphemy, the
title is ridiculous; for High is no more proper for the Netherlands,
than Mighty is for seven little rascally provinces, no bigger in all
than a shire in England. For my main theme, your ingratitude, you have
in part acknowledged it, by your laughing at our easy delivery of your
cautionary towns: The best is, we are used by you as well as your own
princes of the house of Orange: We and they have set you up, and you
undermine their power, and circumvent our trade.

_Fisc._ And good reason, if our interest requires it.

_Beam._ That leads me to your religion, which is only made up of
interest: At home, you tolerate all worships in them who can pay for
it; and abroad, you were lately so civil to the emperor of Pegu, as to
do open sacrifice to his idols.

_Fisc._ Yes, and by the same token, you English were such precise
fools as to refuse it.

_Beam._ For frugality in trading, we confess we cannot compare with
you; for our merchants live like noblemen; your gentlemen, if you have
any, live like boors. You traffic for all the rarities of the world,
and dare use none of them yourselves; so that, in effect, you are the
mill-horses of mankind, that labour only for the wretched provender
you eat: A pot of butter and a pickled herring is all your riches;
and, in short, you have a good title to cheat all Europe, because, in
the first place, you cozen your own backs and bellies.

_Fisc._ We may enjoy more whenever we please.

_Beam._ Your liberty is a grosser cheat than any of the rest; for you
are ten times more taxed than any people in Christendom: You never
keep any league with foreign princes; you flatter our kings, and ruin
their subjects; you never denied us satisfaction at home for injuries,
nor ever gave it us abroad.

_Fisc._ You must make yourselves more feared, when you expect it.

_Beam._ And I prophecy that time will come, when some generous monarch
of our island will undertake our quarrel, reassume the fishery of our
seas, and make them as considerable to the English, as the Indies are
to you.

_Fisc._ Before that comes to pass, you may repent your over-lavish
tongue.

_Beam._ I was no more in earnest than you were.

_Jul._ Pray let this go no further; my husband has invited both to
supper.

_Beam._ If you please, I'll fall to before he comes; or, at least,
while he is conferring in private with the Fiscal. [_Aside to her._

_Jul._ Their private businesses let them agree;
The Dutch for him, the Englishman for me. [_Exeunt._

ACT III. SCENE I.

_Enter_ PEREZ.

_Per._ True, the reward proposed is great enough, I want it too;
besides, this Englishman has never paid me since, as his lieutenant, I
served him once against the Turk at sea; yet he confessed I did my
duty well, when twice I cleared our decks; he has long promised me,
but what are promises to starving men? this is his house, he may walk
out this morning.

_Enter a Page, and another Servant, walking by, not seeing him._

These belong to him; I'll hide till they are past.

_Serv._ He sleeps soundly for a man who is to be married when he
wakes.

_Page._ He does well to take his time; for he does not know, when he's
married, whether ever he shall have a sound sleep again.

_Serv._ He bid we should not wake him; but some of us, in good
manners, should have staid, and not have left him quite alone.

_Page._ In good manners, I should indeed; but I'll venture a master's
anger at any time for a mistress, and that's my case at present.

_Serv._ I'll tempt as great a danger as that comes to, for good old
English fellowship; I am invited to a morning's draught.

_Page._ Good-morrow, brother, good-morrow; by that time you have
filled your belly, and I have emptied mine, it will be time to meet at
home again. [_Exeunt severally._

_Per._ So, this makes well for my design; he's left alone, unguarded,
and asleep: Satan, thou art a bounteous friend, and liberal of
occasions to do mischief; my pardon I have ready, if I am taken, my
money half beforehand: up, Perez, rouse thy Spanish courage up; if he
should wake, I think I dare attempt him; then my revenge is nobler,
and revenge, to injured men, is full as sweet as profit. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_The_ SCENE _drawn, discovers_ TOWERSON _asleep on a Couch in his
Night-gown. A Table by him; Pen, Ink, and Paper on it._

_Re-enter_ PEREZ _with a Dagger._

_Per._ Asleep, as I imagined, and as fast as all the plummets of
eternal night were hung upon his temples. Oh that some courteous
daemon, in the other world, would let him know, 'twas Perez sent him
thither! A paper by him too! He little thinks it is his testament; the
last he e'er shall make: I'll read it first. [_Takes it up._] Oh, by
the inscription, 'tis a memorial of what he means to do this day:
What's here? My name in the first line! I'll read it. [_Reads._]
_Memorandum, That my first action this morning shall be, to find out
my true and valiant lieutenant, captain Perez; and, as a testimony of
my gratitude for his honourable services, to bestow on him five
hundred English pounds, making my just excuse, I had it not before
within my power to reward him._ [_Lays down the paper._] And was it
then for this I sought his life? Oh base, degenerate Spaniard! Hadst
thou done it, thou hadst been worse than damned: Heaven took more care
of me, than I of him, to expose this paper to my timely view. Sleep
on, thou honourable Englishman; I'll sooner now pierce my own breast
than thine: See, he smiles too in his slumber, as if his guardian
angel, in a dream, told him, he was secure: I'll give him warning
though, to prevent danger from another hand.
[_Writes on_ TOWERSON'S _paper, then sticks his dagger in it._
Stick there, that when he wakens, he may know,
To his own virtue he his life does owe. [_Exit_ PEREZ.

TOWERSON _awakens._

_Tow._ I have o'erslept my hour this morning, if to enjoy a pleasing
dream can be to sleep too long. Methought my dear Isabinda and myself
were lying in an arbour, wreathed about with myrtle and with cypress;
my rival Harman, reconciled again to his friendship, strewed us with
flowers, and put on each a crimson-coloured garment, in which we
straightway mounted to the skies; and with us, many of my English
friends, all clad in the same robes. If dreams have any meaning, sure
this portends some good.--What's that I see! A dagger stuck into the
paper of my memorials, and writ below--_Thy virtue saved thy life!_ It
seems some one has been within my chamber whilst I slept: Something of
consequence hangs upon this accident. What, ho! who waits without?
None answer me? Are ye all dead? What, ho!

_Enter_ BEAMONT.

_Beam._ How is it, friend? I thought, entering your house, I heard you
call.

_Tow._ I did, but as it seems without effect; none of my servants are
within reach of my voice.

_Beam._ You seem amazed at somewhat?

_Tow._ A little discomposed: read that, and see if I have no occasion;
that dagger was stuck there, by him who writ it.

_Beam._ I must confess you have too just a cause: I am myself
surprised at an event so strange.

_Tow._ I know not who can be my enemy within this island, except my
rival Harman; and for him, I truly did relate what passed betwixt us
yesterday.

_Beam._ You bore yourself in that as it became you, as one who was a
witness to himself of his own courage; and while, by necessary care of
others, you were forced to decline fighting, shewed how much you did
despise the man who sought the quarrel: 'Twas base in him, so backed
as he is here, to offer it, much more to press you to it.

_Tow._ I may find a foot of ground in Europe to tell the insulting
youth, he better had provoked some other man; but sure I cannot think
'twas he who left that dagger there.

_Beam._ No, for it seems too great a nobleness of spirit, for one like
him to practise: 'Twas certainly an enemy, who came to take your
sleeping life; but thus to leave unfinished the design, proclaims the
act no Dutchman's.

_Tow_ That time will best discover; I'll think no further of it.

_Beam._ I confess you have more pleasing thoughts to employ your mind
at present; I left your bride just ready for the temple, and came to
call you to her.

_Tow._ I'll straight attend you thither.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Sen._ FISCAL, _and_ VAN HERRING.

_Fisc._ Remember, sir, what I advised you; you must seemingly make up
the business. [_To_ HAR. _Sen._

_Har. Sen._ I warrant you.--What, my brave bonny bridegroom, not yet
dressed? You are a lazy lover; I must chide you. [_To_ TOWERSON.

_Tow._ I was just preparing.

_Har. Sen._ I must prevent part of the ceremony: You thought to go to
her; she is by this time at the castle, where she is invited with our
common friends; for you shall give me leave, if you so please, to
entertain you both.

_Tow._ I have some reasons, why I must refuse the honour you intend
me.

_Har. Sen._ You must have none: What! my old friend steal a wedding
from me? In troth, you wrong our friendship.

_Beam._ [_To him aside._] Sir, go not to the castle; you cannot, in
honour, accept an invitation from the father, after an affront from
the son.

_Tow._ Once more I beg your pardon, sir.

_Har. Sen._ Come, come, I know your reason of refusal, but it must not
prevail: My son has been to blame; I'll not maintain him in the least
neglect, which he should show to any Englishman, much less to you, the
best and most esteemed of all my friends.

_Tow._ I should be willing, sir, to think it was a young man's
rashness, or perhaps the rage of a successless rival; yet he might
have spared some words.

_Har. Sen._ Friend, he shall ask your pardon, or I'll no longer own
him; what, ungrateful to a man, whose valour has preserved him? He
shall do it, he shall indeed; I'll make you friends upon your own
conditions; he's at the door, pray let him be admitted; this is a day
of general jubilee.

_Tow._ You command here, you know, sir.

_Fisc._ I'll call him in; I am sure he will be proud, at any rate, to
redeem your kind opinion of him. [_Exit._

FISCAL _re-enters,_ with HARMAN _Junior._

_Har. Jun._ Sir, my father, I hope, has in part satisfied you, that
what I spoke was only an effect of sudden passion, of which I am now
ashamed; and desire it may be no longer lodged in your remembrance,
than it is now in my intention to do you any injury.

_Tow._ Your father may command me to more difficult employments, than
to receive the friendship of a man, of whom I did not willingly
embrace an ill opinion.

_Har. Jun._ Nothing henceforward shall have power to take from me that
happiness, in which you are so generously pleased to reinstate me.

_Har. Sen._ Why this is as it should be; trust me, I weep for joy.

_Beam._ Towerson is easy, and too credulous. I fear 'tis all
dissembled on their parts. [_Aside._

_Har. Sen._ Now set we forward to the castle; the bride is there
before us.

_Tow._ Sir, I wait you. [_Exeunt_ HARMAN _Sen._ TOWERSON, BEAMONT,
_and_ VAN HERRING.

_Enter Captain_ PEREZ.

_Fisc._ Now, captain, when perform you what you promised, concerning
Towerson's death?

_Per._ Never.--There, Judas, take your hire of blood again.
[_Throws him a purse._

_Har. Jun._ Your reason for this sudden change?

_Per._ I cannot own the name of man, and do it.

_Har. Jun._ Your head shall answer the neglect of what you were
commanded.

_Per._ If it must, I cannot shun my destiny.

_Fisc._ Harman, you are too rash; pray hear his reasons first.

_Per._ I have them to myself, I'll give you none.

_Fisc._ None? that's hard; well, you can be secret, captain, for your
own sake, I hope?

_Per._ That I have sworn already, my oath binds me.

_Fisc._ That's enough: we have now chang'd our minds, and do not wish
his death,--at least as you shall know. [_Aside._

_Per._ I am glad on't, for he's a brave and worthy gentleman; I would
not for the wealth of both the Indies have had his blood upon my soul
to answer.

_Fisc._ [_Aside to_ HARMAN.] I shall find a time to take back our
secret from him, at the price of his life, when he least dreams of it;
meantime 'tis fit we speak him fair. [_To_ PEREZ.] Captain, a reward
attends you, greater than you could hope; we only meant to try your
honesty. I am more than satisfied of your reasons.

_Per._ I still shall labour to deserve your kindness in any honourable
way. [_Exit_ PEREZ.

_Har. Jun._ I told you that this Spaniard had not courage enough for
such an enterprise.

_Fisc._ He rather had too much of honesty.

_Har. Jun._ Oh, you have ruined me; you promised me this day the death
of Towerson, and now, instead of that, I see him happy! I'll go and
fight him yet; I swear he never shall enjoy her.

_Fisc._ He shall not, that I swear with you; but you are too rash, the
business can never be done your way.

_Har. Jun._ I'll trust no other arm but my own with it.

_Fisc._ Yes, mine you shall, I'll help you. This evening, as he goes
from the castle, we'll find some way to meet him in the dark, and then
make sure of him for getting maidenheads to-night; to-morrow I'll
bestow a pill upon my Spanish Don, lest he discover what he knows.

_Har. Jun._ Give me your hand, you'll help me.

_Fisc._ By all my hopes I will: in the mean time, with a feigned mirth
'tis fit we gild our faces; the truth is, that we may smile in
earnest, when we look upon the Englishman, and think how we will use
him.

_Har. Jun._ Agreed; come to the castle. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_The Castle._

_Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ TOWERSON, _and_ ISABINDA, BEAMONT, COLLINS,
VAN HERRING. _They seat themselves._

EPITHALAMIUM.

_The day is come, I see it rise,
Betwixt the bride and bridegroom's eyes;
That golden day they wished so long,
Love picked it out amidst the throng;
He destined to himself this sun,
And took the reins, and drove him on;
In his own beams he drest him bright,
Yet bid him bring a better night._

_The day you wished arrived at last,
You wish as much that it were past;
One minute more, and night will hide
The bridegroom and the blushing bride.
The virgin now to bed does go--
Take care, oh youth, she rise not so--
She pants and trembles at her doom,
And fears and wishes thou wouldst come._

_The bridegroom comes, he comes apace,
With love and fury in his face;
She shrinks away, he close pursues,
And prayers and threats at once does use.
She, softly sighing, begs delay,
And with her hand puts his away;
Now out aloud for help she cries,
And now despairing shuts her eyes._

_Har. Sen._ I like this song, 'twas sprightly; it would restore me
twenty years of youth, had I but such a bride.

_A Dance._

_After the Dance, enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL.

_Beam._ Come, let me have the Sea-Fight; I like that better than a
thousand of your wanton epithalamiums.

_Har. Jun._ He means that fight, in which he freed me from the
pirates.

_Tow._ Pr'ythee, friend, oblige me, and call not for that song; 'twill
breed ill blood. [_To_ BEAMONT.

_Beam._ Pr'ythee be not scrupulous, ye fought it bravely. Young Harman
is ungrateful, if he does not acknowledge it. I say, sing me the
Sea-Fight.

THE SEA-FIGHT.

_Who ever saw a noble sight,
That never viewed a brave sea-fight!
Hang up your bloody colours in the air,
Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare;
Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright,
Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight.
St George, St George, we cry,
The shouting Turks reply:
Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot,
Ply it with culverin and with small shot;
Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the guns roar,
The neighbouring billows are turned into gore;
Now each man must resolve, to die,
For here the coward cannot fly.
Drums and trumpets toll the knell,
And culverins the passing bell.
Now, now they grapple, and now board amain;
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again:
Give them a broadside, the dice run at all,
Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall;
She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel,
She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel.
Who ever beheld so noble a sight,
As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight!_

_Har. Jun._ See the insolence of these English; they cannot do a brave
action in an age, but presently they must put it into metre, to
upbraid us with their benefits.

_Fisc._ Let them laugh, that win at last.

_Enter Captain_ MIDDLETON, _and a Woman with him, all pale and
weakly, and in tattered garments._

_Tow._ Captain Middleton, you are arrived in a good hour, to be
partaker of my happiness, which is as great this day, as love and
expectation can make it. [_Rising up to salute_ MIDDLETON.

_Mid._ And may it long continue so!

_Tow._ But how happens it, that, setting out with us from England, you
came not sooner hither.

_Mid._ It seems the winds favoured you with a quicker passage; you
know I lost you in a storm on the other side of the Cape, with which
disabled, I was forced to put into St Helen's isle; there 'twas my
fortune to preserve the life of this our countrywoman; the rest let
her relate.

_Isab._ Alas, she seems half-starved, unfit to make relations.

_Van Her._ How the devil came she off? I know her but too well, and
fear she knows me too.

_Tow._ Pray, countrywoman, speak.

_Eng Wom._ Then thus in brief; in my dear husband's company, I parted
from our sweet native isle: we to Lantore were bound, with letters
from the States of Holland, gained for reparation of great damages
sustained by us; when, by the insulting Dutch, our countrymen, against
all show of right, were dispossessed, and naked sent away from that
rich island, and from Poleroon.

_Har. Sen._ Woman, you speak with too much spleen; I must not hear my
countrymen affronted.

_Eng. Wom.._ I wish they did not merit much worse of me, than I can
say of them.--Well, we sailed forward with a merry gale, till near St
Helen's isle we were overtaken, or rather waylaid, by a Holland
vessel; the captain of which ship, whom here I see, the man who
quitted us of all we had in those rich parts before, now fearing to
restore his ill-got goods, first hailed, and then invited us on board,
keeping himself concealed; his base lieutenant plied all our English
mariners with wine, and when in dead of night they lay secure in
silent sleep, most barbarously commanded they should be thrown
overboard.

_Fisc._ Sir, do not hear it out.

_Har. Sen._ This is all false and scandalous.

_Tow._ Pray, sir, attend the story.

_Eng. Wom._ The vessel rifled, and the rich hold rummaged, they sink
it down to rights; but first I should have told you, (grief, alas, has
spoiled my memory) that my dear husband, wakened at the noise, before
they reached the cabin where we lay, took me all trembling with the
sudden fright, and leapt into the boat; we cut the cordage, and so put
out to sea, driving at mercy of the waves and wind; so scaped we in
the dark. To sum up all, we got to shore, and in the mountains hid us,
until the barbarous Hollanders were gone.

_Tow._ Where is your husband, countrywoman?

_Eng. Wom._ Dead with grief; with these two hands I scratched him out
a grave, on which I placed a cross, and every day wept o'er the ground
where all my joys lay buried. The manner of my life, who can express!
the fountain-water was my only drink; the crabbed juice and rhind of
half-ripe lemons almost my only food, except some roots; my house, the
widowed cave of some wild beast. In this sad state, I stood upon the
shore, when this brave captain with his ship approached, whence
holding up and waving both my hands, I stood, and by my actions begged
their mercy; yet, when they nearer came, I would have fled, had I been
able, lest they should have proved those murderous Dutch, I more than
hunger feared.

_Har. Sen._ What say you to this accusation, Van Herring?

_Van Her._ 'Tis as you said, sir, false and scandalous.

_Har. Sen._ I told you so; all false and scandalous.

_Isab._ On my soul it is not; her heart speaks in her tongue, and were
she silent, her habit and her face speak for her.

_Beam._ Sir, you have heard the proofs.

_Fisc._ Mere allegations, and no proofs. Seem not to believe it, sir.

_Har. Sen._ Well, well, we'll hear it another time.

_Mid._ You seem not to believe her testimony, but my whole crew can
witness it.

_Van Her._ Ay, they are all Englishmen.

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