Elizabeth Cary - The Tragedy of Mariam, Act 2, Scene 4 lyrics

scene 4 [SILLEUS and CONSTABARUS.] SILLEUS Well met, Judean lord, the only wight Silleus wished to see. I am to call Thy tongue to strict account. CONSTABARUS For what despite I ready am to hear, and answer all. But if directly at the cause I guess That breeds this challenge, you must pardon me: And now some other ground of fight profess, For I have vowed, vows must unbroken be. SILLEUS What may be your exception? Let me know. CONSTABARUS Why, aught concerning Salome; my sword Shall not be wielded for a cause so low, A blow for her my arm will scorn t'afford. SILLEUS It is for slandering her unspotted name, And I will make thee in thy vow's despite, s** up the breath that did my mistress blame, And swallow it again to do her right. CONSTABARUS I prithee give some other quarrel ground To find beginning; rail against my name, Or strike me first, or let some scarlet wound Inflame my courage, give me words of shame; Do thou our Moses' sacred laws disgrace, Deprave our nation, do me some despite: I'm apt enough to fight in any case, But yet for Salome I will not fight. SILLEUS Not I for aught but Salome: my sword, That owes his service to her sacred name, Will not an edge for other cause afford, In other fight I am not sure of fame. CONSTABARUS For her, I pity thee enough already, For her, I therefore will not mangle thee: A woman with a heart so most unsteady Will of herself sufficient torture be. I cannot envy for so light a gain; Her mind with such unconstancy doth run: As with a word thou didst her love obtain, So with a word she will from thee be won. So light as her possessions for most day Is her affections lost, to me 'tis known: As good go hold the wind as make her stay, She never loves but till she call her own. She merely is a painted sepulchre, That is both fair, and vilely foul at once: Though on her outside graces garnish her, Her mind is filled with worse than rotten bones. And ever ready lifted is her hand, To aim destruction at a husband's throat: For proofs, Josephus and myself do stand: Though once on both of us she seemed to dote. Her mouth, though serpent-like it never hisses, Yet like a serpent, poisons where it kisses. SILLEUS Well, Hebrew, well, thou bark'st, but wilt not bite. CONSTABARUS I tell thee still for her I will not fight. SILLEUS Why then, I call thee coward. CONSTABARUS From my heart I give thee thanks. A coward's hateful name Cannot to valiant minds a blot impart, And therefore I with joy receive the same. Thou know'st I am no coward: thou wert by At the Arabian battle th'other day, And saw'st my sword with daring valiancy, Amongst the faint Arabians cut my way. The blood of foes no more could let it shine, And 'twas enamelèd with some of thine. But now have at thee; not for Salome I fight, but to discharge a coward's style: Here 'gins the fight that shall not parted be, Before a soul or two endure exile. [They fight.] SILLEUS Thy sword hath made some windows for my blood, To show a horrid crimson phys'nomy: To breathe for both of us methinks 'twere good, The day will give us time enough to die. CONSTABARUS With all my heart take breath, thou shalt have time, And if thou list, a twelvemonth; let us end: Into thy cheeks there doth a paleness climb, Thou canst not from my sword thyself defend. What needest thou for Salome to fight? Thou hast her, and may'st keep her, none strives for her: I willingly to thee resign my right, For in my very soul I do abhor her. Thou seest that I am fresh, unwounded yet, Then not for fear I do this offer make: Thou art with loss of blood to fight unfit, For here is one, and there another take. SILLEUS I will not leave, as long as breath remains Within my wounded body: spare your words, My heart in blood's stead courage entertains, Salome's love no place for fear affords. CONSTABARUS Oh, could thy soul but prophesy like mine, I would not wonder thou should'st long to die: For Salome, if I aright divine, Will be than d**h a greater misery. SILLEUS Then list, I'll breathe no longer. CONSTABARUS Do thy will; I hateless fight, and charitably k**. Ay, ay, [They fight.] Pity thyself, Silleus, let not d**h Intrude before his time into thy heart: Alas, it is too late to fear, his breath Is from his body now about to part. How far'st thou, brave Arabian? SILLEUS Very well, My leg is hurt, I can no longer fight: It only grieves me, that so soon I fell, Before fair Salom's wrongs I came to right. CONSTABARUS Thy wounds are less than mortal. Never fear, Thou shalt a safe and quick recovery find: Come, I will thee unto my lodging bear, I hate thy body, but I love thy mind. SILLEUS Thanks, noble Jew, I see a courteous foe, Stern enmity to friendship can no art: Had not my heart and tongue engaged me so, I would from thee no foe, but friend depart. My heart to Salome is tied too fast To leave her love for friendship, yet my sk** Shall be employed to make your favor last, And I will honor Constabarus still. CONSTABARUS I ope my bosom to thee, and will take Thee in as friend, and grieve for thy complaint: But if we do not expedition° make, haste Thy loss of blood I fear will make thee faint. [Exeunt.] CHORUS To hear a tale with ears prejudicate, It spoils the judgment, and corrupts the sense: That human error, given to every state, Is greater enemy to innocence. It makes us foolish, heady, rash, unjust, It makes us never try before we trust. It will confound the meaning, change the words, For it our sense of hearing much deceives: Besides, no time to judgment it affords, To weigh the circumstance our ear receives. The ground of accidents it never tries, But makes us take for truth ten thousand lies. Our ears and hearts are apt to hold for good That we ourselves do most desire to be: And then we drown objections in the flood Of partiality, 'tis that we see That makes false rumors long with credit pa**ed, Though they like rumors must conclude at last. The greatest part of us, prejudicate, With wishing Herod's d**h do hold it true: The being once deluded doth not bate The credit to a better likelihood due. Those few that wish it not, the multitude Do carry headlong, so they doubts conclude. They not object the weak uncertain ground, Whereon they built this tale of Herod's end: Whereof the author scarcely can be found, And all because their wishes that way bend. They think not of the peril that ensu'th, If this should prove the contrary to truth. On this same doubt, on this so light a breath, They pawn their lives and fortunes. For they all Behave them as the news of Herod's d**h They did of most undoubted credit call: But if their actions now do rightly hit, Let them commend their fortune, not their wit.