Y. ART. I think my wife's ghost haunts me to my death; Wretch that I was, to shorten her life's breath!
O. ART. Whom do I see, my son's wife?
O. LUS. What, my daughter?
JUS. Is it not Mistress Arthur that we see, That long since buried we suppos'd to be?
MRS ART. This man's condemn'd for pois'ning of his wife; His poison'd wife yet lives, and I am she; And therefore justly I release his bands: This man, for suff'ring him these drugs to take, Is likewise bound, release him for my sake: This gentleman that first the poison gave, And this his friend, to be releas'd I crave: Murther there cannot be where none is kill'd; Her blood is sav'd, whom you suppos'd was spill'd.
Father-in-law, I give you here your son, The act's to do which you suppos'd was done.
And, father, now joy in your daughter's life, Whom heaven hath still kept to be Arthur's wife.
O. ART. O, welcome, welcome, daughter! now I see God by his power hath preserved thee.
O. LUS. And 'tis my wench, whom I suppos'd was dead; My joy revives, and my sad woe is fled.
Y. ART. I know not what I am, nor where I am; My soul's transported to an ecstasy, For hope and joy confound my memory.
MRS MA. What do I see? lives Arthur's wife again?
Nay then I labour for his death in vain. [_Aside_.
BRA. What secret force did in her nature lurk, That in her soul the poison would not work? [_Aside_.
MRS SPLAY. How can it be the poison took no force?
She lives with that which would have kill'd a horse! [_Aside_.
MRS ART. Nay, shun me not; be not asham'd at all; To heaven, not me, for grace and pardon fall.
Look on me, Arthur; blush not at my wrongs.
Y. ART. Still fear and hope my grief and woe prolongs.
But tell me, by what power thou didst survive?
With my own hands I temper'd that vile draught, That sent thee breathless to thy grandsire's grave, If that were poison I receiv'd of him.
AMIN. That _ego nescio_, but this dram Receiv'd I of this gentleman; The colour was to kill my rats, But 'twas my own life to despatch.
FUL. Is it even so? then this ambiguous doubt No man can better than myself decide; That compound powder was of poppy made and mandrakes, Of purpose to cast one into a sleep, To ease the deadly pain of him whose leg Should be saw'd off; That powder gave I to the schoolmaster.
AMIN. And that same powder, even that _idem_, You took from me, the same, _per fidem_!
Y. ART. And that same powder I commix'd with wine, Our godly knot of wedlock to untwine.
O. ART. But, daughter, who did take thee from thy grave?
O. LUS. Discourse it, daughter.
ANS. Nay, that labour save; Pardon me, Master Arthur, I will now Confess the former frailty of my love.
Your modest wife with words I tempted oft; But neither ill I could report of you, Nor any good I could forge for myself, Would win her to attend to my request; Nay, after death I lov'd her, insomuch That to the vault where she was buried My constant love did lead me through the dark, There ready to have ta'en my last farewell.
The parting kiss I gave her I felt warm; Briefly, I bare her to my mother's house, Where she hath since liv'd the most chaste and true, That since the world's creation eye did view.
Y. ART. My first wife, stand you here: my second, there, And in the midst, myself; he that will choose A good wife from a bad, come learn of me, That have tried both, in wealth and misery.
A good wife will be careful of her fame, Her husband's credit, and her own good name; And such art thou. A bad wife will respect Her pride, her lust, and her good name neglect; And such art thou. A good wife will be still Industrious, apt to do her husband's will; But a bad wife, cross, spiteful and madding, Never keep home, but always be a-gadding; And such art thou. A good wife will conceal Her husband's dangers, and nothing reveal That may procure him harm; and such art thou.
But a bad wife corrupts chaste wedlock's vow.
On this hand virtue, and on this hand sin; This who would strive to lose, or this to win?
Here lives perpetual joy, here burning woe; Now, husbands, choose on which hand you will go.
Seek virtuous wives, all husbands will be blest; Fair wives are good, but virtuous wives are best.
They that my fortunes will peruse, shall find No beauty's like the beauty of the mind.
[_Exeunt_.
THE END.
THE RETURN FROM PARNASSUS.
_EDITION.
The Retvrne from Pernassvs: Or, The Scourge of Simony. Publiquely acted by the Students in Saint Iohns Colledge in Cambridge. At London Printed by G. Eld, for Iohn Wright, and are to bee sold at his shop at Christchurch Gate_. 1606. 4to.
[See Hazlitt's "Handbook," p. 470. Almost all the extant copies of this drama--and no fewer than ten have been examined--appear to vary in certain literal particulars. Of two copies in the Malone collection, one presents additions which might bespeak it a later impression than the other; and yet, on the other hand, has errors (some of a serious kind) peculiar to itself. The text has now been considerably improved by the collection of the quartos at Oxford.
It was the intention of my kind acquaintance, the Rev. J.W. Ebsworth, Vicar of Moldash, by Ashford, Kent, to have reprinted the "Return from Parnassus" separately; but on learning that I intended to include it in my series, Mr Ebsworth not only gave way, but obligingly placed the annotated copy which he had prepared, at my free disposal.
I have also to thank Dr Ingleby, of Valentines, near Ilford, Essex, for lending me a copy of the play corresponding with one of those in the Bodleian, as regards its occasionally various readings.
A long account, and very favourable estimate, of this drama will be found in Hazlitt's "Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth," 1820.]
[HAWKINS'S PREFACE.]
We can learn no more of the history of this play than what the title-page gives us, viz., that it was "publickly acted by the students in Saint John's College, Cambridge."[25] The merits and characters of our old poets and actors are censured by the author with great freedom; and the shameful prostitution of Church preferment, by the selling of livings to the ignorant and unworthy, laid the foundation of Dr Wild's "Benefice, a Comedy," 4to, 1689.
[Hawkins himself elsewhere (in his "General Introduction") remarks:--]
As the piece which follows, called "The Return from Parnassus," is, perhaps, the most singular composition in our language, it may be proper to give a succinct analysis of it. This satirical drama seems to have been composed by the wits and scholars of Cambridge, where it was acted at the opening of the last century. The design of it was to expose the vices and follies of the rich in those days, and to show that little attention was paid by that class of men to the learned and ingenious.
Several students of various capacities and dispositions leave the university in hopes of advancing their fortunes in the metropolis. One of them attempts to recommend himself by his publications; another, to procure a benefice by paying his court to a young spark named Amoretto, with whom he had been intimate at college; two others endeavour to gain a subsistence by successively appearing as physicians, actors, and musicians: but the Man of Genius is disregarded, and at last prosecuted for his productions; the benefice is sold to an illiterate clown; and in the end three of the scholars are compelled to submit to a voluntary exile; another returns to Cambridge as poor as when he left it; and the other two, finding that neither their medicines nor their music would support them, resolve to turn shepherds, and to spend the rest of their days on the Kentish downs. There is a great variety of characters in this play, which are excellently distinguished and supported; and some of the scenes have as much wit as can be desired in a perfect comedy.
The simplicity of its plan must naturally bring to our mind the old species of comedy described by Horace, in which, before it was restrained by a public edict, living characters were exposed by name upon the stage, and the audience made merry at their expense without any intricacy of plot or diversity of action: thus in the piece before us Burbage and Kempe, two famous actors, appear in their proper persons; and a number of acute observations are made on the poets of that age, of whom the editor has given an account in the notes, and has added some chosen specimens of their poetry.