Chapter 1
Act 1 of TIS PITIS SHISAHO This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. TIS PITIS SHISAHO by John Ford. Act 1. Scene 1.
Friar Bonaventura's cell. Enter Friar and Giovanni. Dispute no more in this! For no, young man, these are no school points. Nice philosophy may tolerate unlikely arguments, but heaven admits no jest.
Whits that presumed on wit too much, by striving how to prove there was no God, with foolish grounds of art, discovered first the nearest way to hell, and filled the world with devilish atheism. Such questions, youth, are fond. Far better it is to bless the sun than reason why it shines. Yet he thou talkest of is above the sun.
No more, I may not hear it. O gentle father, to you I have unclasped my burdened soul, emptied the store-house of my thoughts and heart, made myself poor of secrets, have not left another word untold which hath not spoke all what I ever durst, or think, or know. And yet is here the comfort I shall have.
Must I not do what all men else may? Love? Yes, you may love, fair son. Must I not praise that beauty which, if framed anew, the gods would make a god of it if they had it there, and kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?
Why, foolish madman, Shall a peevish sound, a customary form from man to man, of brother and of sister, be a bar twixt my perpetual happiness and me, who say that we have one father, say one womb cursed my joys, gave both of us life and birth? Are we not therefore each to other bound, so much more by nature, by the links of blood, of reason?
If you will have it, even of religion, to be ever one, one soul, one flesh, one love, one heart, one whole. Have done, unhappy youth, for thou art lost. Shall then, for that I am her brother born, my joys be ever banished from her bed? No, father, in your eyes I see the change of pity and compassion. From your age, as from a sacred oracle, distills the life of counsel.
Tell me, holy man, what cure shall give me ease in these extremes? Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin, for thou hast moved a majesty above with thy unranged almost blasphemy. Do not speak of that, dear confessor. Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit, who once within these three months were to steam the wonder of thine age throughout Bannonia? How did the university applaud thy government, behaviour, learning, speech, sweetness, and all that could make up a man?
I was proud of my tutelage, and chose rather to leave my books than part with thee. I did so, but the fruits of all my hopes are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself. O Giovanni, hast thou left the schools of knowledge to converse with lust and death? For death waits on thy lust. Look through the world, and thou shall see a thousand faces shine more glorious than this idol thou adorest.
Leave her, and take thy choice, tis much less sin. Tho in such games as those they lose that win. It were more ease to stop the ocean from floats and ebbs than to dissuade my vows. Then I have done, and in thy willful flames already see thy ruin. Heaven is just, yet hear my counsel.
As a voice of life. Hie to thy father's house. There lock thee fast alone within thy chamber. Then fall down on both thy knees, and grovel on the ground. Cry to thy heart.
Wash every word thou utterest in tears, and if be possible of blood. Beg heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust that rots thy soul. Acknowledge what thou art. A wretch, a worm, a nothing. Weep, sigh, pray three times a day, and three times every night.
For seven days' space do this. Then, if thou find'st no change in thy desires, return to me. I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself at home, whilst I pray for thee here. Away.
My blessing with thee, we have need to pray. All this I'll do, to free me from the rod of vengeance. Else I'll swear my fates, my God. Exaunt. Scene 2.
The street before Florio's house. Enter Grimaldi and Vasquez, with their swords drawn. Come, sir, stand your tackling. If you prove craven, I'll make you run quickly. Thou art no equal match for me.
Indeed, I never went to the wars to bring home news, nor I cannot play the mountebank for a meal's meat, and swear I got my wounds in the field. See you these grey hairs? They'll not flinch for a bloody nose. Wilt thou into this gear? Why, slave, thinkest thou I'll balance my reputation with a cast suit?
Call thy master. He shall know that I dare. Skulled like a cot, queen, that's your profession. Thou poor shadow of a soldier. I will make thee know my master keeps servants thy bettering quality and performance.
Comes thou to fight or pray? Neither, with thee. I am a Roman and a gentleman, one that have got mine honor with expense of blood. You are a lying coward and a fool. Fight or by these hilts I'll kill thee.
Brave my lord, you'll fight? Provoke me not, for if thou dost. Have at you. They fight. Grimaldi is worsted.
Enter Florio, Donado, and Soranso from opposite sides. What mean these sudden broils so near my doors? Have you not other places but my house to vent the spleen of your disordered bloods? Must I be haunted still with such unrest as not to eat or sleep in peace at home? Is this your love, Grimaldi?
Fie, tis not. And Vasquez, I may tell thee, tis not well to broach these quarrels. You are ever forward in seconding contentions. Enter above Annabella and Putana. What's the ground?
That with your patience, seniors, I'll resolve. This gentleman, whom fame reports a soldier, for else I know not, rivals me in love to senior Florio's daughter, to whose ears he still prefers his suit to my disgrace, thinking the way to recommend himself is to disparage me in his report.
But no, Grimaldi, though maybe thou art my equal in thy blood, yet this berays aloneness in thy mind, which, were thou noble, thou wouldst as much disdain as I do thee for this unworthiness. And on this ground I willed my servant to correct his tongue, holding a man so base no match for me.
And had not your sudden coming prevented us, I had let my gentleman bled under the gills, I should have wormed you, sir, for running mad. I'll be revenged, Seronzo. On a dish of warm broth to stay your stomach. Do, honest innocents, do. Spoon meat is a wholesome diet than a Spanish blade.
Remember this. Exit. I fear thee not, Grimaldi. My lord Seronzo, this is strange to me. Why, you should storm, having my word engaged,
owning her heart, what need you doubt her ear? Losers may talk by law of any game. Yet the villainy of words, Signor Florio, may be such as would make any unspleen dove choleric. Blame not my lord in this. Be you more silent.
I would not, for my wealth, my daughter's love should cause the spilling of one drop of blood. Vasquez, put up. Let's end this fray in wine. Exaunt. How like you this child. It's threatening, challenging, quarreling, and fighting on every side, and all is for your sake.
You had need look to yourself, charge. You'll be stolen away sleeping else shortly. But, tuterus, such a life gives no content to me. My thoughts are fixed on other ends. Would you would leave me? Leave you? No marvel else.
Leave me no leaving, charge. This is love outright. Indeed, I blame you not. You have choice fit for the best lady in Italy. Pray, do not talk so much. Take the worst with the best. There's Grimaldi the soldier, a very well timbered fellow. They say he's a Roman, nephew to the Duke Montferrato.
They say he did good service in the wars against the Milanese. But, faith, charge, I do not like him, and be for nothing but for being a soldier. Not one amongst twenty of your skirmishing captains, but have some privy maim or other. That marr's there standing upright. I like him the worse. He crinkles so much in the hams. Though he might serve if there were no more men.
Yet he's not the man I would choose. By, how thou prettiest. As I am a very woman, I like Signor Sorenso well. He is wise, and what is more? Rich. And what is more than that? Kind. And what is more than all this? A nobleman.
Such a one were I the fair Annabella myself, I would wish and pray for. Then he is bountiful. Besides, he is handsome. And by my truth I think wholesome. And that's news in a gallant of three and twenty. Liberal that I know. Loving that you know.
And a man, sure. Else he could never have purchased such a good name with Hippolyta, the lusty widow, in her husband's lifetime. And were but for that report, sweetheart, would he were thine. Command a man for his qualities, but take a husband as he is a plain, sufficient naked man. Such a one is for your bed, and such a one is Signor Sorenso, my life-fort.
Sure, the woman took her morning's draught too soon. Enter Burghetto and Poggio. But look, sweetheart, look what thing comes now. Here's another of your ciphers to fill up the number. Oh, brave old ape in a silken coat, observe.
Didst thou think, Poggio, that I would spoil my new clothes and leave my dinner to fight? No, sir. I did not take you for so errant a baby. I am wiser than so. For I hope, Poggio, thou never hurtst an elder brother that was a coxcomb. Didst, Poggio? Never indeed, sir. As long as I had either land or money left them to inherit.
Is it possible, Poggio? Oh, monstrous. Why, I'll undertake with a handful of silver to buy a headful of wit at any time. But, sirrah, I have another purchase in hand. I shall have the wench, mine uncle says. I will but wash my face and shift socks and then have attery faith.
Mark my pace, Poggio. Pass this over the stage. Sirrah, aside, I have seen an ass and a mule trot the Spanish pavin with a better grace. I know not how often. Following him.
This idiot haunts me too. Aye, aye, he needs no description. The rich magnifico that is below with your father, charge, Signor Donato, his uncle, for that he means to make this, his cousin, a golden calf, thinks that you will be a right Israelite and fall down to him presently. But I hope I have tutored you better. They say a fool's barbel is a lady's playfellow.
Yet you, having wealth enough, you need not cast upon the dearth of flesh at any rate. Hang him innocent. Giovanni passes over the stage. But see, Putana, see what blessed shape of some celestial creature now appears. What man is he that with such sad aspect walks careless of himself?
Where? Look below. Oh, tis your brother, sweet. Ha! Tis your brother.
Sure, tis not he. This is some woeful thing, wrapped up in grief, some shadow of a man. Alas, he beats his breast and wipes his eyes, drowned all in tears, and he thinks I hear him sigh. Let's down, Putana, and partake the cause. I know my brother and the love he bears me will not deny me partage in his sadness.
Aside. My soul is full of heaviness and fear. Exit with Putana. Scene Three. A Hall in Florio's House.
Lost! I am lost! My fates have doomed my death. The more I strive, I love. The more I love, the less I hope.
I see my ruins certain. What judgment or endeavours could apply to my incurable and restless wounds? I thoroughly have examined, but in vain. Oh, that it were not in religion's sin to make our love a god and worship it. I have wearied heaven with prayers, dried up the spring of my continual tears,
even starved my veins with daily fasts. What wit or art could counsel I have practised? But alas! I find all these but dreams and old men's tales to fright unsteady youth. I am still the same, or I must speak or burst.
Tis not I know my lust, but tis my fate that leads me on. Keep fear and low, faint-hearted shame with slaves. I'll tell her that I love her, though my heart were rated at the price of that attempt. O me, she comes. Brother, aside.
If such a thing as courage dwell in men, ye heavenly powers, now double all that virtue in my tongue. Why, brother, will you not speak to me? Yes, how do you, sister? Howe'er I am, methinks you are not well. Bless us! Why are you so sad, sir?
Let me entreat you. Leave us a while, Putana. Sister, I would be private with you. Withdraw, Putana. I will. Aside. If this were any other company for her, I should think my absence an office of some credit. But I will leave them together.
Exit. Come, sister, lend me your hand. Let's walk together. I hope you need not blush to walk with me. Here's none but you and I. How's this? In faith. I mean no harm. Harm?
No, good faith. How is it with thee? Aside. I trust ye be not frantic. I am very well, brother. Trust me. But I am sick. I fear so sick it will cost me my life. Mercy forbid it. Tis not so, I hope.
I think you love me, sister. Yes, you know I do. I know it indeed. You are very fair. Nay, then I see you have a merry sickness. That's as it proves.
The poet's fane, I read, that Juno for her forehead did exceed all other goddesses. But I durst swear your forehead exceeds hers, as hers did theirs. Oh, this is pretty. Oh, such a pair of stars as our thine eyes. Wood, like promethean fire, if gently glanced, give life to senseless stones. Why, upon you! The lily and the rose, most sweetly strange, upon your dimpled cheeks do strive for change.
Such lips would tempt a saint. Such hands as those would make an anchorite lascivious. Do you mock me or flatter me? Oh, if you would see a beauty more exact than art can counterfeit, or nature frame, look in your glass, and there behold your own. Oh, you are tremulous. Here!
Offers his dagger to her. What to do? And here's my breast. Strike home. Rip up my bosom. There thou shalt behold a heart in which is writ the truth I speak. Why stand you? Are you earnest?
Yes, most earnest. You cannot love. Whom? Me. My tortured soul hath felt affliction in the heat of death. Oh, Annabella, I am quite undone. The love of thee, my sister, and the view of thy immortal beauty have untuned all harmony both of my rest and life.
Why do you not strike? Forbid it my just fears. If this be true, twerphitter, I were dead. True. Annabella, it is no time to jest. I have too long suppressed my hidden flames that almost have consumed me. I have spent many a silent night in sighs and groans, ran over all my thoughts, despised my fate, reasoned against the reasons of my love, done all that smooth-cheeked virtue could advise, but found all bootless.
Tis my destiny that you must either love, or I must die. Comes this in sadness from you? Let some mischief befall me soon if I disembowel aught. You are my brother, Giovanni. You, my sister Annabella.
I know this, and could afford you instance why to love so much the more for this. To which intent wise nature first in your creation meant to make you mine, else it had been sin and foul to share one beauty to a double soul. Nearness in birth and blood doth but persuade, a near nearness in affection. I have asked counsel of the holy church, who tells me I may love you, and tis just that since I may I should, and will, yes will, must I now live or die? Live, thou hast won the field and never fought.
What thou hast urged my captive heart had long ago resolved. I blush to tell thee, but I'll tell thee now. For every sigh that thou hast spent for me, I have sighed ten, for every tear shed twenty, and not so much for that I loved, as that I durst not say I loved, nor scarcely think it. O, let not this music be dreamy, gods. For pity's sake, I beg you. On my knees she kneels.
Brother, even by our mother's dust I charge you. Do not betray me to your mirth or hate. Love me or kill me, brother. On my knees he kneels. Sister, even by my mother's dust I charge you. Do not betray me to your mirth or hate. Love me or kill me, sister. You mean good sooth, then? In good troth I do, and so do you, I hope. Say, I'm in earnest.
I'll swear it, I. And I. And by this kiss. Kisses her. Once more, yet once more. Now let's rise. They rise.
By this I would not change this minute for Elysium. What must we now do? What you will. Come, then, after so many tears as we have wept, let's learn to court in smiles, to kiss and sleep. Exaunt. Scene Four. A Street. Enter Florio and Donato. Signor Donato, you have said enough. I understand you. But would have you know, I will not force my daughter against her will.
You see, I have but two, her son and her, and he is so devoted to his book, as I must tell you true, I doubt his health. Should he miscarry, all my hopes rely upon my girl. As for worldly fortune, I am, I think, my stars blessed with enough. My care is how to match her to her liking. I would not have her merry wealth, but love. And if she like your nephew, let him have her. Here's all that I can say. Sir, you say well, like a true father. And, for my part, I, if the young folks can like, twixt you and me, will promise to assure my nephew presently three thousand Florians yearly during life, and, after I am dead, my whole estate. Tis a fair proffer, sir. Meantime, your nephew shall have free passage to commence his suit. If he can thrive, he shall have my consent. So, for this time, I'll leave you, Signor.
Exit Well, here's hope yet. If my nephew would have wit, but he is such another dunce, I fear. He'll never win the wench. When I was young, I could have done. If faith, and so shall he, if he will learn of me, and, in good time, he comes himself. Enter Burghetto and Poggio. How now, Burghetto? Wither away so fast? Oh, uncle, I have heard the strangest news that ever came out of the mint. Have I not, Poggio?
Yes, indeed, sir. What news, Burghetto? Why, looky, uncle. My barber told me just now that there is a fellow come to town who undertakes to make a mill go without the mortal help of any water or wind, only with sandbags. And this fellow hath a strange horse, a most excellent beast, I'll assure you, uncle, my barber says, whose head, to the wonder of all Christian people, stands just behind where his tail is. It's not true, Poggio? So the barber swore forsooth.
And you are running thither? I forsooth, uncle. Wilt thou be a fool still? Come, sir, you shall not go. You have more mind of a puppet play than on the business I told you. Why, thou great baby, wilt never have wit? Wilt make thyself a may game to all the world? Answer for yourself, master. Why, uncle, should I sit at home still, and not go abroad and see fashions like other galants?
To see hobby horses? What wise talk, I pray, had you with Annabella when you were at Signor Florio's house. Oh, the winch! I'd say me, uncle. I tickled her with a rare speech that I made her almost burst her belly with laughing. Nay, I think so. And what speech was it?
What did I say, Poggio? Forsooth, my master said that he loved her almost as well as he loved Parmasent, and swore, I'll be sworn for him, that she wanted but such a nose as he was to be as pretty a young woman as any was in Parma. Oh, gross. Nay, uncle. Then she asked me whether my father had more children than myself, and I said no. To her better he should have had his brains knocked out first. This is intolerable.
Then said she, will Signor Donado, your uncle, leave you all his wealth? Ha! That was good. Did she harp upon that string? Did she harp upon that string? Aye, that she did. I answered, leave me all his wealth, why, woman, he hath no other wit. If he had, he should hear on it to his everlasting glory and confusion. I know, quote I, I am his white boy, and will not be gulled. And with that she fell into a great smile, and went away. Nay, I did fit her.
Ah, Syrah, then I see there's no changing of nature. Well, Borghetto, I fear thou wilt be a very ass still. I should be sorry for that, uncle. Come, come you home with me, since you are no better a speaker. I'll have you write to her after some courtly manner, and enclose some rich jewel in the letter. Ay, Mary, that will be excellent. Peace, innocent. Once in my time I'll set my wits to school. If all fail, tis but the fortune of a fool.
Podgeo, to do, podgeo. Exaunt. One.
