No More Learning

_Gom. _ No, you are not acquainted with him, the more's the pity; you
do not know him, under this disguise, for the greatest cuckold-maker
in all Spain.

_Dom. _ O impudence! O rogue! O villain! Nay, if he be such a man, my
righteous spirit rises at him! Does he put on holy garments, for a
cover-shame of lewdness?

_Gom. _ Yes, and he's in the right on't, father: when a swinging sin is
to be committed, nothing will cover it so close as a friar's hood; for
there the devil plays at bo-peep,--puts out his horns to do a
mischief, and then shrinks them back for safety, like a snail into her
shell.

_Lor. _ It's best marching off, while I can retreat with honour.
There's no trusting this friar's conscience; he has renounced me
already more heartily than e'er he did the devil, and is in a fair way
to prosecute me for putting on these holy robes. This is the old
church-trick; the clergy is ever at the bottom of the plot, but they
are wise enough to slip their own necks out of the collar, and leave
the laity to be fairly hanged for it. [_Aside and exit. _

_Gom. _ Follow your leader, friar; your colonel is trooped off, but he
had not gone so easily, if I durst have trusted you in the house
behind me. Gather up your gouty legs, I say, and rid my house of that
huge body of divinity.

_Dom. _ I expect some judgment should fall upon you, for your want of
reverence to your spiritual director: Slander, covetousness, and
jealousy, will weigh thee down.

_Gom. _ Put pride, hypocrisy, and gluttony into your scale, father, and
you shall weigh against me: Nay, an sins come to be divided once, the
clergy puts in for nine parts, and scarce leaves the laity a tithe.

_Dom. _ How dar'st thou reproach the tribe of Levi?

_Gom. _ Marry, because you make us laymen of the tribe of Issachar. You
make asses of us, to bear your burthens. When we are young, you put
panniers upon us with your church-discipline; and when we are grown
up, you load us with a wife: after that, you procure for other men,
and then you load our wives too. A fine phrase you have amongst you to
draw us into marriage, you call it--_settling of a man;_ just as when
a fellow has got a sound knock upon the head, they say--_he's
settled:_ Marriage is a settling-blow indeed. They say every thing in
the world is good for something; as a toad, to suck up the venom of
the earth; but I never knew what a friar was good for, till your
pimping shewed me.

_Dom. _ Thou shalt answer for this, thou slanderer; thy offences be
upon thy head.

_Gom. _ I believe there are some offences there of your planting.
[_Exit_ DOM. ] Lord, Lord, that men should have sense enough to set
snares in their warrens to catch polecats and foxes, and yet--
Want wit a priest-trap at their door to lay,
For holy vermin that in houses prey. [_Exit_ GOM.


SCENE III. --_A Bed Chamber. _

LEONORA, _and_ TERESA.

_Ter. _ You are not what you were, since yesterday;
Your food forsakes you, and your needful rest;
You pine, you languish, love to be alone;
Think much, speak little, and, in speaking, sigh:
When you see Torrismond, you are unquiet;
But, when you see him not, you are in pain.

_Leo. _ O let them never love, who never tried!
They brought a paper to me to be signed;
Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name,
And writ, for Leonora, Torrismond.
I went to bed, and to myself I thought
That I would think on Torrismond no more;
Then shut my eyes, but could not shut out him.
I turned, and tried each corner of my bed,
To find if sleep were there, but sleep was lost.
Fev'rish, for want of rest, I rose, and walked,
And, by the moon-shine, to the windows went;
There, thinking to exclude him from my thoughts,
I cast my eyes upon the neighbouring fields,
And, ere I was aware, sighed to myself,--
There fought my Torrismond.

_Ter. _ What hinders you to take the man you love?
The people will be glad, the soldiers shout,
And Bertran, though repining, will be awed.

_Leo. _ I fear to try new love,
As boys to venture on the unknown ice,
That crackles underneath them while they slide.
Oh, how shall I describe this growing ill!
Betwixt my doubt and love, methinks I stand
Altering, like one that waits an ague fit;
And yet, would this were all!

_Ter. _ What fear you more?

_Leo. _ I am ashamed to say, 'tis but a fancy.
At break of day, when dreams, they say, are true,
A drowzy slumber, rather than a sleep,
Seized on my senses, with long watching worn:
Methought I stood on a wide river's bank,
Which I must needs o'erpass, but knew not how;
When, on a sudden, Torrismond appeared,
Gave me his hand, and led me lightly o'er,
Leaping and bounding on the billows' heads,
'Till safely we had reached the farther shore.

_Ter. _ This dream portends some ill which you shall 'scape.
Would you see fairer visions, take this night
Your Torrismond within your arms to sleep;
And, to that end, invent some apt pretence
To break with Bertran: 'twould be better yet,
Could you provoke him to give you the occasion,
And then, to throw him off.

_Enter_ BERTRAN _at a distance. _

_Leo. _ My stars have sent him;
For, see, he comes. How gloomily he looks!
If he, as I suspect, have found my love,
His jealousy will furnish him with fury,
And me with means, to part.

_Bert. _ [_Aside. _]
Shall I upbraid her? Shall I call her false?
If she be false, 'tis what she most desires.
My genius whispers me,--Be cautious, Bertran!
Thou walkest as on a narrow mountain's neck,
A dreadful height, with scanty room to tread.

_Leo. _ What business have you at the court, my lord?

_Bert. _ What business, madam?

_Leo. _ Yes, my lord, what business?
'Tis somewhat, sure, of weighty consequence,
That brings you here so often, and unsent for.

_Bert. _ 'Tis what I feared; her words are cold enough,
To freeze a man to death. [_Aside. _]--May I presume
To speak, and to complain?

_Leo. _ They, who complain to princes, think them tame:
What bull dares bellow, or what sheep dares bleat,
Within the lion's den?

_Bert. _ Yet men are suffered to put heaven in mind
Of promised blessings; for they then are debts.

_Leo. _ My lord, heaven knows its own time when to give;
But you, it seems, charge me with breach of faith!

_Bert. _ I hope I need not, madam;
But as, when men in sickness lingering lie,
They count the tedious hours by months and years,--
So, every day deferred, to dying lovers,
Is a whole age of pain!

_Leo. _ What if I ne'er consent to make you mine?
My father's promise ties me not to time;
And bonds, without a date, they say, are void.

_Bert. _ Far be it from me to believe you bound;
Love is the freest motion of our minds:
O could you see into my secret soul,
There might you read your own dominion doubled,
Both as a queen and mistress. If you leave me,
Know I can die, but dare not be displeased.

_Leo. _ Sure you affect stupidity, my lord;
Or give me cause to think, that, when you lost
Three battles to the Moors, you coldly stood
As unconcerned as now.

_Bert. _ I did my best;
Fate was not in my power.

_Leo. _ And, with the like tame gravity, you saw
A raw young warrior take your baffled work,
And end it at a blow.

_Bert. _ I humbly take my leave; but they, who blast
Your good opinion of me, may have cause
To know, I am no coward. [_He is going. _

_Leo. _ Bertran, stay.
[_Aside. _] This may produce some dismal consequence
To him, whom dearer than my life I love.
[_To him. _] Have I not managed my contrivance well,
To try your love, and make you doubt of mine?

_Bert. _ Then, was it but a trial?
Methinks I start as from some dreadful dream,
And often ask myself if yet I wake. --
This turn's too quick to be without design;
I'll sound the bottom of't, ere I believe. [_Aside. _

_Leo. _ I find your love, and would reward it too,
But anxious fears solicit my weak breast.
I fear my people's faith;
That hot-mouthed beast, that bears against the curb,
Hard to be broken even by lawful kings,
But harder by usurpers.
Judge then, my lord, with all these cares opprest,
If I can think of love.

_Bert. _ Believe me, madam,
These jealousies, however large they spread,
Have but one root, the old imprisoned king;
Whose lenity first pleased the gaping crowd;
But when long tried, and found supinely good,
Like Æsop's Log, they leapt upon his back.
Your father knew them well; and, when he mounted,
He reined them strongly, and he spurred them hard:
And, but he durst not do it all at once,
He had not left alive this patient saint,
This anvil of affronts, but sent him hence
To hold a peaceful branch of palm above,
And hymn it in the quire.

_Leo. _ You've hit upon the very string, which, touched.
Echoes the sound, and jars within my soul;--
There lies my grief.

_Bert. _ So long as there's a head,
Thither will all the mounting spirits fly;
Lop that but off, and then--

_Leo. _ My virtue shrinks from such an horrid act.

_Bert. _ This 'tis to have a virtue out of season.
Mercy is good, a very good dull virtue;
But kings mistake its timing, and are mild,
When manly courage bids them be severe:
Better be cruel once, than anxious ever.
Remove this threatening danger from your crown,
And then securely take the man you love.

_Leo. _ [_Walking aside. _]
Ha! let me think of that:--The man I love?
'Tis true, this murder is the only means,
That can secure my throne to Torrismond:
Nay, more, this execution, done by Bertran,
Makes him the object of the people's hate.

_Bert. _ The more she thinks, 'twill work the stronger in her.
[_Aside. _

_Leo. _ How eloquent is mischief to persuade!
Few are so wicked, as to take delight
In crimes unprofitable, nor do I:
If then I break divine and human laws,
No bribe but love could gain so bad a cause. [_Aside. _

_Bert. _ You answer nothing.

_Leo. _ 'Tis of deep concernment,
And I a woman, ignorant and weak:
I leave it all to you; think, what you do,
You do for him I love.

_Bert. _ For him she loves?
She named not me; that may be Torrismond,
Whom she has thrice in private seen this day;
Then I am fairly caught in my own snare.
I'll think again. [_Aside. _]--Madam, it shall be done;
And mine be all the blame. [_Exit. _

_Leo. _ O, that it were! I would not do this crime,
And yet, like heaven, permit it to be done.
The priesthood grossly cheat us with free-will:
Will to do what--but what heaven first decreed?
Our actions then are neither good nor ill,
Since from eternal causes they proceed;
Our passions,--fear and anger, love and hate,--
Mere senseless engines that are moved by fate;
Like ships on stormy seas, without a guide,
Tost by the winds, and driven by the tide.

_Enter_ TORRISMOND.

_Tor. _ Am I not rudely bold, and press too often
Into your presence, madam? If I am--

_Leo. _ No more, lest I should chide you for your stay:
Where have you been? and how could you suppose,
That I could live these two long hours without you?

_Tor. _ O words, to charm an angel from his orb!
Welcome, as kindly showers to long-parched earth!
But I have been in such a dismal place,
Where joy ne'er enters, which the sun ne'er cheers,
Bound in with darkness, overspread with damps;
Where I have seen (if I could say I saw)
The good old king, majestic in his bonds,
And, 'midst his griefs, most venerably great:
By a dim winking lamp, which feebly broke
The gloomy vapours, he lay stretched along
Upon the unwholesome earth, his eyes fixed upward;
And ever and anon a silent tear
Stole down, and trickled from his hoary beard.

_Leo. _ O heaven, what have I done! --my gentle love,
Here end thy sad discourse, and, for my sake,
Cast off these fearful melancholy thoughts.

_Tor. _ My heart is withered at that piteous sight,
As early blossoms are with eastern blasts:
He sent for me, and, while I raised his head,
He threw his aged arms about my neck;
And, seeing that I wept, he pressed me close:
So, leaning cheek to cheek, and eyes to eyes,
We mingled tears in a dumb scene of sorrow.

_Leo. _ Forbear; you know not how you wound my soul.

_Tor. _ Can you have grief, and not have pity too?
He told me,--when my father did return,
He had a wond'rous secret to disclose:
He kissed me, blessed me, nay--he called me son;
He praised my courage; prayed for my success:
He was so true a father of his country,
To thank me, for defending even his foes,
Because they were his subjects.

_Leo. _ If they be,--then what am I?

_Tor. _ The sovereign of my soul, my earthly heaven.

_Leo. _ And not your queen?

_Tor. _ You are so beautiful,
So wond'rous fair, you justify rebellion;
As if that faultless face could make no sin,
But heaven, with looking on it, must forgive.

_Leo. _ The king must die,--he must, my Torrismond,
Though pity softly plead within my soul;
Yet he must die, that I may make you great,
And give a crown in dowry with my love.

_Tor. _ Perish that crown--on any head but yours!
O, recollect your thoughts!
Shake not his hour-glass, when his hasty sand
Is ebbing to the last:
A little longer, yet a little longer,
And nature drops him down, without your sin;
Like mellow fruit, without a winter storm.

_Leo.
_ Let me but do this one injustice more.
His doom is past, and, for your sake, he dies.

_Tor. _ Would you, for me, have done so ill an act,
And will not do a good one!
Now, by your joys on earth, your hopes in heaven,
O spare this great, this good, this aged king;
And spare your soul the crime!

_Leo. _ The crime's not mine;
'Twas first proposed, and must be done, by Bertran,
Fed with false hopes to gain my crown and me;
I, to enhance his ruin, gave no leave,
But barely bade him think, and then resolve.

_Tor. _ In not forbidding, you command the crime:
Think, timely think, on the last dreadful day;
How will you tremble, there to stand exposed,
And foremost, in the rank of guilty ghosts,
That must be doomed for murder! think on murder:
That troop is placed apart from common crimes;
The damned themselves start wide, and shun that band,
As far more black, and more forlorn than they.

_Leo. _ 'Tis terrible! it shakes, it staggers me;
I knew this truth, but I repelled that thought.
Sure there is none, but fears a future state;
And, when the most obdurate swear they do not,
Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues.

_Enter_ TERESA.

Send speedily to Bertran; charge him strictly
Not to proceed, but wait my farther pleasure.

_Ter. _ Madam, he sends to tell you, 'tis performed. [_Exit. _

_Tor. _ Ten thousand plagues consume him! furies drag him,
Fiends tear him! blasted be the arm that struck,
The tongue that ordered! --only she be spared,
That hindered not the deed! O, where was then
The power, that guards the sacred lives of kings?
Why slept the lightning and the thunder-bolts,
Or bent their idle rage on fields and trees,
When vengeance called them here?

_Leo. _ Sleep that thought too;
'Tis done, and, since 'tis done, 'tis past recal;
And, since 'tis past recal, must be forgotten.

_Tor. _ O, never, never, shall it be forgotten!
High heaven will not forget it; after-ages
Shall with a fearful curse remember ours;
And blood shall never leave the nation more!

_Leo. _ His body shall be royally interred,
And the last funeral-pomps adorn his hearse;
I will myself (as I have cause too just,)
Be the chief mourner at his obsequies;
And yearly fix on the revolving day
The solemn marks of mourning, to atone,
And expiate my offence.

_Tor. _ Nothing can,
But bloody vengeance on that traitor's head,--
Which, dear departed spirit, here I vow.

_Leo. _ Here end our sorrows, and begin our joys:
Love calls, my Torrismond; though hate has raged,
And ruled the day, yet love will rule the night.
The spiteful stars have shed their venom down,
And now the peaceful planets take their turn.
This deed of Bertran's has removed all fears,
And given me just occasion to refuse him.
What hinders now, but that the holy priest
In secret join our mutual vows? and then
This night, this happy night, is yours and mine.

_Tor. _ Be still my sorrows, and be loud my joys.
Fly to the utmost circles of the sea,
Thou furious tempest, that hast tossed my mind,
And leave no thought, but Leonora there. --
What's this I feel, a boding in my soul,
As if this day were fatal? be it so;
Fate shall but have the leavings of my love:
My joys are gloomy, but withal are great.
The lion, though he sees the toils are set,
Yet, pinched with raging hunger, scowers away,
Hunts in the face of danger all the day;
At night, with sullen pleasure, grumbles o'er his prey. [_Exeunt. _


ACT IV.

SCENE I. --_Before Gomez's Door. _

_Enter_ LORENZO, DOMINICK, _and two Soldiers at a distance. _

_Dom. _ I'll not wag an ace farther: the whole world shall not bribe me
to it; for my conscience will digest these gross enormities no longer.

_Lor. _ How, thy conscience not digest them! There is ne'er a friar in
Spain can shew a conscience, that comes near it for digestion. It
digested pimping, when I sent thee with my letter; and it digested
perjury, when thou swor'st thou didst not know me: I am sure it has
digested me fifty pounds, of as hard gold as is in all Barbary.
Pr'ythee, why shouldest thou discourage fornication, when thou knowest
thou lovest a sweet young girl?

_Dom. _ Away, away; I do not love them;--pah; no,--[_spits. _] I do not
love a pretty girl--you are so waggish! -- [_Spits again. _

_Lor. _ Why thy mouth waters at the very mention of them.

_Dom. _ You take a mighty pleasure in defamation, colonel; but I wonder
what you find in running restless up and down, breaking your brains,
emptying your purse, and wearing out your body, with hunting after
unlawful game.

_Lor. _ Why there's the satisfaction on't.

_Dom. _ This incontinency may proceed to adultery, and adultery to
murder, and murder to hanging; and there's the satisfaction on't.

_Lor. _ I'll not hang alone, friar; I'm resolved to peach thee before
thy superiors, for what thou hast done already.

_Dom. _ I'm resolved to forswear it, if you do. Let me advise you
better, colonel, than to accuse a church-man to a church-man; in the
common cause we are all of a piece; we hang together.

_Lor. _ If you don't, it were no matter if you did. [_Aside. _

_Dom. _ Nay, if you talk of peaching, I'll peach first, and see whose
oath will be believed; I'll trounce you for offering to corrupt my
honesty, and bribe my conscience: you shall be summoned by an host of
parators; you shall be sentenced in the spiritual court; you shall be
excommunicated; you shall be outlawed;--and--
[_Here_ LORENZO _takes a purse, and plays with it,
and at last lets the purse fall chinking on the
ground, which the Friar eyes. _
[_In another tone. _] I say, a man might do this now, if he were
maliciously disposed, and had a mind to bring matters to extremity:
but, considering that you are my friend, a person of honour, and a
worthy good charitable man, I would rather die a thousand deaths than
disoblige you. [LORENZO _takes up the purse, and pours it into
the Friar's sleeve. _
Nay, good sir;--nay, dear colonel;--O lord, sir, what are you doing
now! I profess this must not be: without this I would have served you
to the utter-most; pray command me. --A jealous, foul-mouthed rogue
this Gomez is; I saw how he used you, and you marked how he used me
too. O he's a bitter man; but we'll join our forces; ah, shall we,
colonel? we'll be revenged on him with a witness.

_Lor. _ But how shall I send her word to be ready at the door? for I
must reveal it in confession to you, that I mean to carry her away
this evening, by the help of these two soldiers. I know Gomez suspects
you, and you will hardly gain admittance.

_Dom. _ Let me alone; I fear him not. I am armed with the authority of
my clothing: yonder I see him keeping sentry at his door:--have you
never seen a citizen, in a cold morning, clapping his sides, and
walking forward and backward, a mighty pace before his shop? but I'll
gain the pass, in spite of his suspicion; stand you aside, and do but
mark how I accost him.

_Lor. _ If he meet with a repulse, we must throw off the fox's skin,
and put on the lion's. --Come, gentlemen, you'll stand by me?

_Sol. _ Do not doubt us, colonel.
[_They retire all three to a corner of the stage;_
DOMINICK _goes to the door where_ GOMEZ _stands. _

_Dom. _ Good even, Gomez; how does your wife?

_Gom. _ Just as you'd have her; thinking on nothing but her dear
colonel, and conspiring cuckoldom against me.

_Dom. _ I dare say, you wrong her; she is employing her thoughts how to
cure you of your jealousy.

_Gom. _ Yes, by certainty.

_Dom. _ By your leave, Gomez; I have some spiritual advice to impart to
her on that subject.

_Gom. _ You may spare your instructions, if you please, father; she has
no farther need of them.

_Dom. _ How, no need of them! do you speak in riddles?

_Gom. _ Since you will have me speak plainer,--she has profited so well
already by your counsel, that she can say her lesson without your
teaching: Do you understand me now?

_Dom. _ I must not neglect my duty, for all that; once again, Gomez, by
your leave.

_Gom. _ She's a little indisposed at present, and it will not be
convenient to disturb her. [DOMINICK _offers to go by him, but
t'other stands before him. _

_Dom. _ Indisposed, say you? O, it is upon those occasions that a
confessor is most necessary; I think, it was my good angel that sent
me hither so opportunely.

_Gom. _ Ay, whose good angels sent you hither, that you best know,
father.

_Dom. _ A word or two of devotion will do her no harm, I'm sure.

_Gom. _ A little sleep will do her more good, I'm sure: You know, she
disburthened her conscience but this morning to you.

_Dom. _ But, if she be ill this afternoon, she may have new occasion to
confess.

_Gom. _ Indeed, as you order matters with the colonel, she may have
occasion of confessing herself every hour.

_Dom. _ Pray, how long has she been sick?

_Gom. _ Lord, you will force a man to speak;--why, ever since your last
defeat.

_Dom. _ This can be but some slight indisposition; it will not last,
and I may see her.

_Gom. _ How, not last! I say, it will last, and it shall last; she
shall be sick these seven or eight days, and perhaps longer, as I see
occasion. What? I know the mind of her sickness a little better than
you do.

_Dom. _ I find, then, I must bring a doctor.

_Gom. _ And he'll bring an apothecary, with a chargeable long bill of
_ana's_: those of my family have the grace to die cheaper. In a word,
Sir Dominick, we understand one another's business here: I am resolved
to stand like the Swiss of my own family, to defend the entrance; you
may mumble over your _pater nosters_, if you please, and try if you
can make my doors fly open, and batter down my walls with bell, book,
and candle; but I am not of opinion, that you are holy enough to
commit miracles.

_Dom. _ Men of my order are not to be treated after this manner.

_Gom. _ I would treat the pope and all his cardinals in the same
manner, if they offered to see my wife, without my leave.

_Dom. _ I excommunicate thee from the church, if thou dost not open;
there's promulgation coming out.

_Gom. _ And I excommunicate you from my wife, if you go to that:
there's promulgation for promulgation, and bull for bull; and so I
leave you to recreate yourself with the end of an old song--
_And sorrow came to the old friar. _ [_Exit. _

LORENZO _comes to him. _

_Lor. _ I will not ask you your success; for I overheard part of it,
and saw the conclusion. I find we are now put upon our last trump; the
fox is earthed, but I shall send my two terriers in after him.

_Sold. _ I warrant you, colonel, we'll unkennel him.

_Lor. _ And make what haste you can, to bring out the lady. --What say
you, father? Burglary is but a venial sin among soldiers.

_Dom. _ I shall absolve them, because he is an enemy of the
church. --There is a proverb, I confess, which says, that dead men tell
no tales; but let your soldiers apply it at their own perils.

_Lor. _ What, take away a man's wife, and kill him too! The wickedness
of this old villain startles me, and gives me a twinge for my own sin,
though it comes far short of his. --Hark you, soldiers, be sure you use
as little violence to him as is possible.

_Dom. _ Hold a little; I have thought better how to secure him, with
less danger to us.

_Lor. _ O miracle, the friar is grown conscientious!

_Dom. _ The old king, you know, is just murdered, and the persons that
did it are unknown; let the soldiers seize him for one of the
assassinates, and let me alone to accuse him afterwards.

_Lor. _ I cry thee mercy with all my heart, for suspecting a friar of
the least good nature; what, would you accuse him wrongfully?

_Dom. _ I must confess, 'tis wrongful, _quoad hoc_, as to the fact
itself; but 'tis rightful, _quoad hunc_, as to this heretical rogue,
whom we must dispatch. He has railed against the church, which is a
fouler crime than the murder of a thousand kings. _Omne majus continet
in se minus:_ He, that is an enemy to the church, is an enemy unto
heaven; and he, that is an enemy to heaven, would have killed the king
if he had been in the circumstances of doing it; so it is not wrongful
to accuse him.

_Lor. _ I never knew a churchman, if he were personally offended, but
he would bring in heaven by hook or crook into his quarrel. --Soldiers,
do as you were first ordered. [_Exeunt Soldiers. _

_Dom. _ What was't you ordered them? Are you sure it's safe, and not
scandalous?

_Lor. _ Somewhat near your own design, but not altogether so
mischievous.