A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II - Various
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_Enter Teniente, Henrico, Manuell, Pedro (as a fryer);
at another dore Eleonora_.
_Mac_. Give the Lady roome there!
_Clark_. Peace!
_Mac_. Your facts are both so foule your hated lives
Cannot be too soone shortned; therefore these Lords
Hold it not fitt to lend you breath till morning,
But now to cutt you off.
_Both_. The stroke is welcome.
_Pedro_. Shall I prepare you?
_Hen_. Save your paynes, good father.
_Man_. We have allready cast up our accounts
And sent, we hope, our debts up into heaven.
_Fer_. Our sorrowes & our sighes fly after them.
_Ped_. Then your confession of the murther stands
As you your selfe did sett it downe?
_Man_. It does;
But on my knees I beg this marginall note
May sticke upon the paper; that no guilt,
But feare of Tortures frighted me to take
That horrid sin upon me. I am as innocent
And free as are the starres from plotting treason
Gainst their first mover.
_Pedro_. I was then in _France_
When of your fathers murther the report
Did fill all _Paris_.
_Man_. Such a reverend habit
Should not give harbour to so blacke a falshood.
_Hen_. Tis blacke, & of my dying; for 'twas I
To cheate my brother of my fathers lands,
Layd this most hellish plott.
_Fer_. 3[55] hellish sins, Robbery, Rape & Murther.
_Hen_. I'me guilty of all Three; his soul's as white
And cleare from murther as this holy man
From killing mee.
_Pedro_. No [know], there's a thing about me
Shall strike thee into dust & make thy tongue
With trembling to proclayme thyselfe a Villaine
More then thou yet hast done:--See, tis my Eye.
_Hen_. Oh, I am confounded! [_Falls_.
_Man_. But I comforted
With the most heavenly apparition
Of my deare honourd father.
_Fer_. Take thou comfort
By two more apparitions, of a father
And a lost daughter, yet heere found for thee.
_Man_. Oh, noble sir, I pray forgive my brother.
_Ele_. See, sir, I doe; & with my hand reach to him
My heart to give him new life.
_Fer_. Rise, my _Henrico_!
_Mac_. Rise & receive a noble minded wife
Worth troupes of other weomen.
_Hen_. Shame leaves me speechles.
_Pedro_. Gett thee a tongue againe, & pray, & mend.
_Mac_. Letters shall forthwith fly into _Madrid_
To tell the King the storyes of Two Brothers,
Worthy the Courtiers reading. Lovers, take hands:
_Hymen_ & gentle faeryes strew your way:
Our Sessions turnes into a Bridall day.
_All_. Fare thee well, _Englishman_.
_Pike_. I will ring peales of prayers of you all,
My Lords & noble Dons.
_Mac_. Doe soe, if thou hast iust cause: howsoever,
When thy swift ship cutts through the curled mayne,
Dance to see _England_, yet speake well of _Spayne_.
_Pike_. I shall.--Where must I leave my pistoletts?
_Gent_. Follow mee.
[_Exeunt Omnes_.
FINIS.
INTRODUCTION TO _THE LADY MOTHER_.
The authorship of this anonymous play, now printed for the first time
(from Eg. MS. 1994), is not difficult to discover. Any one who has had
the patience to read the Plays of Henry Glapthorne cannot fail to be
amused by the bland persistence with which certain passages are
reproduced in one play after another. Glapthorne's stock of fancies was
not very extensive, but he puts himself to considerable pains to make
the most of them. In _The Lady Mother_ we find the same ornaments spread
out before us, many of them very tawdry at their best. Glapthorne's
editor has striven to show that the weak-kneed playwright was a
fellow-pupil of John Milton's at St. Paul's. One cannot think of the two
names together without calling to mind the "lean and flashy songs" and
"scrannel pipes of wretched straw" in _Lycidas_.
Yet Glapthorne was a man of some parts. He had little enough dramatic
power, but he writes occasionally with tenderness and feeling. In his
poetical garden rank weeds choke up the flower-beds; but still, if we
have patience to pursue the quest, we may pick here and there a
musk-rose or a violet that retains its fragrance. He seems to have taken
Shirley as his master; but desire in the pupil's case outran
performance. It is, indeed, a pitiful fall from the _Grateful Servant_,
a honey-sweet old play, fresh as an idyl of Theocritus, to the paltry
faded graces of the _Lady's Privilege_.
A note at the end of _The Lady Mother_ in the hand-writing of William
Blagrave, acting for the Master of the Revels, shows that the play was
licensed in October, 1635. From a passage in II., 1, it would seem to
have been produced at the Salisbury Court Theatre in Whitefriars. In the
same year Glapthorne's comedy of the _Hollander_, according to the
title-page, was being acted at the Cockpit, Drury Lane. His other pieces
were produced rather later. I am inclined to think that _The Lady
Mother_, in spite of the wild improbability of the plot and the poorness
of much of the comic parts, is our author's best work. In such lines as
the following (IV., 1) there is a little flickering of pathos:--
"Enough, good friend; no more.
Had a rude _Scythian_, ignorant of tears,
Unless the wind enforced them from his eyes,
Heard this relation, sure he would have wept;
And yet I cannot. I have lost all sense
Of pitty with my womanhood, and now
That once essentiall Mistress of my soule,
Warme charity, no more inflames my brest
Then does the glowewormes uneffectuall fire
The ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desist
The agravation of your sad report; [_Weepe_.
Ive to much griefe already."
The "glowewormes uneffectuall fire" is of course pilfered from Hamlet,
but it is happily introduced. There is some humour in the scene (I., 2)
where the old buck, Sir Geoffrey, who is studying a compliment to his
mistress while his hair is being trimmed by his servant before the glass,
puts by the importunity of his scatter-brain'd nephew and the blustering
captain, who vainly endeavour to bring him to the point and make him
disburse. On the whole I am confident that _The Lady Mother_ will be
found less tedious than any other of Glapthorne's pieces.
THE LADY MOTHER: A COMEDY.
BY HENRY GLAPTHORNE.
_Written in 1635, and now printed for the first time_.
The Play of The Lady Mother.
_Actus Primus_.
(SCENE 1.)
_Enter Thorowgood, Bonvill & Grimes_.
_Bon_. What? will it be a match man?
Shall I kneele to thee and aske thee blessing, ha?
_Tho_. Pish! I begin to feare her, she does
Dally with her affection: I admire itt.
_Bon_. Shee and her daughters
Created were for admiration only,
And did my Mistress and her sister not
Obscure their mothers luster fancy could not
Admitt a fuller bewty.
_Tho_. Tis easier to expresse
Where nimble winds lodge, ore investigate
An eagles passage through the agill ayre
Then to invent a paraphrase to expresse
How much true virtue is indebted to their
Unparaleld perfections.
_Bon_. Nay[56], but shall I not be acquainted with your designe? when we
must marry, faith to save charges of two wedding dinners, lets cast so
that one day may yeild us bridegroome,--I to the daughter and thou to
the mother.
_Tho_. She falls off
With such a soddaine ambiguitie,
From the strong heate of her profesd[57] love
That I conceive she intends a regular proofe
Of my untainted Faith.
_Grimes_. Soe I thinke, too: when I was young the plaine downe-right way
serv'd to woe and win a wench; but now woing is gotten, as all things
else are, into the fashion; gallantts now court their Mistress with
mumps & mows as apes and monke[y]s doe.
_Bon_. But cannot all your fluent witt interpret
Why she procastinatts your promisd match?
By this light, her daughter would be married tomorrow
If her mother and I had concluded on the Joynture.
_Tho_. The most evident reason she will give me of this unwellcome
protraccon is she has some new employment to put on me, which performd
she has ingaged her selfe to certainty of her designing me an answerare
[_sic_].
_Enter Lovell_.
_Grimes_. Here comes your Rivall, Mr. _Thorowgood_,--_Alexander_ the
_Great_, her Ladishipps loving Steward.
_Bon_. But does he affect the lady; what's his character?
_Grimes_. He was by trade a taylor, sir, and is the tenth part of the
bumbast that goes to the setting forth of a man: his dealing consists
not much in weight but in the weight of his pressing Iron, under whose
tyranny you shall perceave no small shrinking.
_Tho_. Well said, _Grimes_. On!
_Grimes_. He has alterd himselfe out of his owne cutt since he was
steward; yet, if you saw him in my ladyes Chamber you would take him
for some usher of a dancing schoole, as being aptest in sight for a
crosse cap.
_Tho_. Excellent _Grimes_ still!
_Grimes_. By his cloathes you might deeme him a knight; but yet if you
uncase him, you will find his sattin dublett naught but fore sleaves &
brest, the back part buckram; his cloake and cape of two sorts; his
roses and garters of my ladyes old Cypres: to conclude, sir, he is an
ambodexter or a Jack-of-all-sides & will needs mend that which Nature
made: he takes much upon him since the old Knight dyed, and does fully
intend to run to hell[58] for the lady: he hates all wines and strong
drinks--mary, tis but in publique, for in private he will be drunke, no
tinker like him.
_Bon_. Peace, sirrah; observe.
_Lov_. So, let me see the _summa totalis_ of my sweet ladies
perfections.
_Grimes_. Good, he has her in whole already.
_Tho_. Peace, _Grimes_.
_Lov_. _Imprimis, her faire haire; no silken sleave
Can be so soft the gentle worm does weave.
It[em], noe Plush or satten sleeke, I vow,
May be compard unto her velvet brow.
It[em], her eyes--two buttons made of iett;
Her lipps gumd taffety that will not frett;
Her cheeks are changeable, as I suppose,--
Carnation and white, lyllie and rose_.
_Grimes_. I, there it goes.
_Bon_. I protest I comend him; he goes through stitch with her like
the Master of his trade.
_Lov_. _It[em] her brests two bottomes[59] be of thred,
By which love to his laborinth is led.
Her belly_--
_Grimes_. I, marry, sir, now he comes to the purpose.
_Lov_. _Her Belly a soft Cushion where no sinner
But her true love must dare stick a pin in her_.
_Grimes_. That line has got the prick and prayse from all the rest.
_Lov_. _Butt to that stuff of stuffs, that without scoff
Is Camills haire or else stand further off_.
_Grimes_. How many shreads has he stoale here to patch up this lady?
_Lov_. _The totall some of my blest deity
Is the magazine of Natures treasury_.--
Soe, this made up, will I take an occasion to dropp where she may find
it. But, stay; here's company.
_Bon_. Mr. _Lovell_.
_Lov_. And see, I shall divulge myselfe.
_Grimes_. A foole, I doubt not.
_Bon_. Is your lady stirring?
_Lov_. She is risen, sir, and early occupied in her occasions spiritual,
and domesticke busines.
_Enter Lady & Magdalen_.
_Lady_. Sweet Mr. _Bonvil_.
The simple entertain[m]ent you receave here
I feare will scare you from us: you're so early
Up, you do not sleepe well.
_Tho_. I cannot looke on her
But Ime as violent as a high-wrought sea
In my desires; a fury through my eyes
At every glance of hers invades my heart.
_Lady_. What ayles you, servant? are you not well?
_Bon_. 'Tis his humour, Madam; he is accustomed, though it be in
company, to hold a dialogue with his thoughts. Please you, lady, to
give his fever libertie; the fit will soon be overpasd.
_Tho_. She bears her age well, or she is not sped
Far into th'vale of yeares: she has an eye
Piercing as is an Eglets when her damme,
Training[60] her out into the serene air,
Teaches her face the Sunbeames.
_Bon_. Madam, I fear my friend
Hath falne againe in love; he practises
To himself new speeches; you and he are not
Broke off, I hope.
_Lady_. O, sir, I value my servant at a higher rate:
We two must not easily disagree.
Sir _Alexander_, attend in Mr. _Bonvill_.
My daughter's up by this time, and I would have him give her the first
salute. You had best be wary, _Bonvill_; the young cittizen or the
souldier will rob you of her.
_Bon_. O, we feare not them: shall we goe, sir?
_Lady_. Nay, Ile detaine my servant.
_Bon_. Harke you, sir, strike home; doe you heare?
[_Exeunt Bonvill, Grimes, Lovell & Mag_.
_Lady_. Servant, have you leasure
To hear what I inioyne you?
_Tho_. Your good pleasure.
_Lady_. What shall I doe? I can no longer beare
This flame so mortall; I have wearid heaven
With my entreaties and shed teares enough
To extinguish _Aetna_, but, like water cast
On coales, they ad unto my former heate
A more outragious fervor. I have tried
All modest meanes to give him notice of
My violent love, but he, more dull then earth,
Either conceives them not or else, possessd
With full affection of my daughter, scornes me.
_Tho_. Madam, wilt please you to deliver your pleasure?
_Lady_. _Thorowgood_,
Not clouds of lightning, or the raging bolt
Heavens anger darts at the offending world,
Can with such horrid rigor peirce the earth
As these sad words I must demonstrate to you
Doe my afflicted brest.--Ime lost; my tongue
When I would speake, like to an Isicle
Disturbd by motion of unruly winds
Shakes to pronounce't, yet freezes to my roofe
Faster by th'agitation.
_Tho_. Your full Judgment
Could not have found an apter instrument
For the performance of what you designe,
Then I experience how much any man
May become passive in obedience
To the intent of woman, in my truth.
Set the abstrusest comment on my faith
Imagination can resolve, my study
Shall mak't as easie as the plainest lines
Which hearty lovers write.
_Enter Timothy_.
_Tim_. Madam, this letter and his humble vowes
From your deserving sonn.
_Lady_. He writes me here he will be here tomorrow.
Where left you him?
_Tim_. At your right worthy Cosens.
_Lady_. What manner of man is this Mr. _Thurston_
He brings with him?
_Tim_. A most accomplishd gentleman.
_Lady_. 'Tis well: Mr. _Thoroegood_,
Weele walke into the Gallery, and there
Discourse the rest.
_Tho_. I long till I receive the audience of it.
_Tim_. Your ladiship will vouchsafe to meete
The Gent[lemen] in your Coach some two miles hence?
_Lady_. Ile thinke of it.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
(SCENE 2.)
_Enter Sucket and Crackby[61].
Suc_. Come, deport your selfe with a more elated countenance: a
personage of your rare endowments so dejected! 'tis fitt for groomes,
not men magnanimous, to be so bashfull: speake boldly to them, that like
cannon shott your breath may batter; you would hardly dare to take in
townes and expugne fortresses, that cannot demolish a paltry woman.
_Crac_. Pox of this Country, it has metamorphisd me. Would I were in my
native Citty ayre agen, within the wholesome smell of seacole: the
vapor[s] rising from the lands new dunged are more infectious to me then
the common sewer ith sicknes time. Ime certaine of my selfe Ime impudent
enough and can dissemble as well as ere my Father did to gett his
wealth, but this country has tane my edge of quite; but I begin to sound
the reason of it.
_Suc_. What may it be imagind.
_Crac_. Why, here are no Taverns where for my crowne I can have food
provocative, besides the gaining of many precious phrase[s] for (from?)
divers gallants new frenchefied. Theirs nothing to excite desire but
creame and eggs, and they are so common every clowne devoures them. Were
each egge at twelve pence, or as deare as lobsters, I could afford to
eate them, but I hate all that is vulgar; 'tis most base.
_Suc_. Pish, tis dificience in your resolution:
Suppose your mistress were an enemy
You were to encounter in sterne duell.
_Crac_. 'Tis well my Enemie is a woman; I should feare else to suppose
the meeting. Resolution! how can a man have resolution that drinkes
nought but ale able to kill a Dutchman? Conduit water is nector to it,
_Suc_. Nay, but I say, suppose--
_Crac_. Suppose! Why here are no wenches halfe so amorous as Citty
tripennies[62]: those that are bewtifull the dew is not so cold. I did
but begg a curtesie of a chambermaide, and she laughd at me! Ile to the
Citty againe, that's certaine; where for my angell I can imbrace
pl[enty]. If I stay here a little longer, for want of exercise I shall
forget whether a woman be fish or flesh: I have almost don't already.
_Suc_. O, heeres your uncle, move him; you conceive me;
He must disburse.
_Crac_. And 'tis as hard to wrest a penny from him as from a bawd.
_Enter Sir Gefferie and Bunche_.
_Sir Geff_. Erect that locke a little; theres a hayre
Which, like a foreman of a shop, does strive
To be above his fellowes. Pish! this glasse
Is falsly silverd, maks me look as gray
As if I were 4 score.
_Bun_. What does he want of it?
_Sir Geff_. Combe with more circumspection, knave; these perfumes
Have a dull odor; there is meale among them,
My Mrs. will not scent them.
_Crac_. Uncle, my friend,
My martiall fellow is deficient
In this ubiquitarie mettall, silver:
You must impart.
_Sir Geff_. This garter is not well tide, fellow: where
Wert thou brought up? thou knowest not to tie
A rose yet, knave: a little straiter: so,
Now, tis indifferent. Who can say that I
Am old now?
_Bun_. Marry, that can I or any one which sees you.
_Suc_. Death to my reputation!
Sir, we are gent[lemen] and deserve regard:
Will you not be responsible?
_Sir Geff_. Alas, good Captaine, I was meditating how to salute my lady
this morning. You have bin a traviler: had I best do it in the _Italian_
garbe or with a _Spanish_ gravity? your _French_ mode is grown so common
every vintners boy has it as perfect as his _anon, anon, sir_. Hum, I
must consider on it.
_Crac_. Nay, but uncle, uncle, shall we have answeare concerning this
mony, uncle? You must disburse; that is the souldiers phrase. You see
this man; regard him.
_Suc_. Death of vallor! I can hold no longer; I shall rise in wroth
against him.
_Crac_. Dee heare, Uncle? you must furnish him; he wilbe irefull
presently, and then a whole bagg will not satisfie him; heele eate your
gold in anger and drinke silver in great sack glasses.
_Sir Geff_. Pox o'this Congee; 't shalbe thus, no thus;
That writhing of my body does become me
Infinitly. Now to begett an active
Complement that, like a matins sung
By virgins, may enchant her amorous ear.
The _Spanish Basolas[63] manos_ sounds, methinks,
As harsh as a Morisco kettledrum;
The _French boniour_ is ordinary as their
Disease: hees not a gent that cannot parlee.
I must invent some new and polite phrases.
_Crac_. Shall I have answeare yet, sir.
_Sir Geff_. Pish, you disturbe me.--Gratulate her rest,
Force an encomium on her huswifry
For being up so early.--_Bunch_, where is my nephew?
_Crac_. I have bin here this halfe hower and could not get answere.
_Sir Geff_, To what, good nephew?--I was meditating a little seriously.
_Crac_. Concerning this white earth.
_Sir Geff_. Youde know the nature of it? If it be marle 'tis good to
manure land; if clay, to make tobacco pipes.
_Crac_. I meane mony.
_Sir Geff_. O mony, Nephew: Ide thought youde learnd ith Citty
How to use mony: here we do imploy it
To purchase land and other necessaries.
_Suc_. Infamy to fame and noble reputation!
Old man, dost thou disdaine valour? I tell thee, Catterpillar,
I must have mony.
_Sir Geff_. 'Tis reason good you should; it is fitting to cherish men
of armes. There is a treasurer in the county, Captaine, pays souldiers
pensions: if any be due to you Ile write my letter, you shall receive
it.
_Bun_. Faith, there he mett with you.
_Crac_. I see a storme a coming. Uncle, I wilbe answerable upon account:
my souldier must have mettall.
_Sir Geff_. Iron and Steele is most convenient for Souldiers; but, since
you say it, Nephew, he shall have it: how much must it be?
_Suc_. A score of Angells shall satisfie for the confrontment you have
offred me in being dilatory.
_Sir Geff_. _Bunch_, deliver him ten pounds;--but, dee heare.
_Bunch_, let be in light gold; 'twill serve his turn as well as heavier:
it may be he is one of those projectors transports it beyond sea.
_Enter Magdalen_.
_Mag_. Sir, I come to give you notice my ladyes walkd into the garden.
_Sir Geff_. Life! is she upp so early?
_Mag_. An hower since, beleeve it.
_Crac_. Is my Mistress stirring?
_Mag_. In truth, I know not.
_Sir Geff_. Nephew, demeane your selfe with[64] all respect
Toward the gentlewoman you affect.
You must learne with here since the citty
Could spare you none.--Ile to the lady.
[_Exeunt Bunch, Sir Geff. and Mag_.
_Crac_. Captaine, shalls into th'Celler, Captaine?
_Suc_. I like the Motion.
_Crac_. Come away, then: there is indifferent liquor in this house,
but that ith towne is most abominable. Weele drinke our owne healths,
Captaine.
_Suc_. Well considered; 'tis for our reputation.
[_Exeunt omnes_.
(SCENE 3.)
_Enter Bonvill, Clarinna, Belizea and Grimes_.
_Bon_. Come, you are wantons both: If I were absent,
You would with as much willingness traduce
My manners to them. What Idiots are wee men
To tender our services to women
Who deride us for our paines!
_Cla_. Why can you great wise men who esteeme us women
But equall with our parrets or at best
But a degree above them, prating creatures
Devoid of reason, thinke that when we see
A man whose teeth will scarce permitt his tongue
To say,--(he is soe like December come
A woing to the Spring, with all the ensignes
Of youth and bravery as if he meant
To dare his land-lord Death to single rapier)--
We have not so much spleene as will engender
A modest laughter at him?
_Bel_. Nay, theres his Nephew, _Crackby_, your sweet servant.
_Clar_. My Servant! I do admire that man's impudence,
How he dare speake to any woman.
_Bon_. Why, is he not flesh and blood?
_Clar_. Yes, but I question whether it be mans or no.
They talk of changlings: if there be such things
I doubt not but hees one of them.
_Bel_. Fie,[65] Sister; 'tis a prettye gent, I know you love him.
_Clar_. You hitt it there, I faith,[66]--You know the man?
_Bon_. Yes, very well.
_Clar_. Have you then ever seene such another monster?
He was begott surely in the wane of the moone,
When Natures tooles were at laime Vulcans forge
A sharpning, that she was forced to shake this lumpe together.
_Bon_. What man for heavens sake could your nicenes fancy?
_Clar_. Not you of all that ever I beheld.
_Bel_. And why, good wisdome?
_Clar_. Nay, do not scratch me because he is your choyse, forsooth.
_Bel_. Well, we shall see the goodly youth your curiositie has elected,
when my brother returnes, I hope.
_Clar_. I hope soe, too; I marvill where this Cub is,
He is not roaring here yet.
_Enter Thorogood_.
_Bon_. Frend, thou hast lost
The absolu[t]st characters deliverd by this lady:
Would thou hadst come a little sooner.
_Tho_. Ladies,
I must desire your pardon for my friend:
I have some busines will a while deprive him
Your sweet companies.
_Clar_. Take him away; we are weary of him.
_Bel_. Sister, lets leave the gentlemen alone,
And to our chambers.
[_Exeunt Bel. and Clar.
_Bon_. _Grimes_, put to the doore and leave us.--
Whats the matter?
[_Exit Grimes_.
_Tho_. Freind,
Ere I begin my story I would wish you
Collect yourselfe, awake your sleeping Spiritts,
Invoake your patience, all thats man about you
To ayd your resolution; for I feare
The newes I bring will like a palsie shake
Your soules indifferenst temper.
_Bon_. Prethee, what is't which on the soddaine can
Be thus disastrous? 'tis beyond my thoughts.
_Tho_. Nay, slight it not: the dismall ravens noate
Or mandrakes screches, to a long-sick man
Is not so ominous as the heareing of it
Will be to you; 'twill like a frost congeale
Your lively heate,--yet it must out, our frendship
Forbids concealment.
_Bon_. Do not torture me;
Ime resolute to heare it.
_Tho_. Your soe admired Mistress
Who parted from you now, _Belisea_,--
_Bon_. You have don well before
Your sad relation to repeat that sound;
That holy name whose fervor does excite
A fire within mee sacred as the flame
The vestalls offer: see how it ascends
As if it meant to combat with the sunn
For heats priority! Ime arm'd gainst death,
Could thy words blow it on me.
_Tho_. Here me, then:
Your Mistress--
_Bon_. The Epitome of virtues,
Who like the pretious reliques of a Saint
Ought only to be seene, not touchd.
_Tho_. Yet heare me;
Cease your immoderate prayses: I must tell you
You doe adore an Idoll; her black Soule
Is tainted as an Apple which the Sunn
Has kist to putrifaction; she is
(Her proper appelation sounds so foule
I quake to speake it) a corrupted peice,
A most lascivious prostitute.
_Bon_. Howes this?
Speake it agen, that if the sacrilege
Thou'st made gainst vertue be but yet sufficient
To yeild thee dead, the iteration of it
May damne thee past the reach of mearcye. Speake it,
While thou hast utterance left; but I conceit
A lie soe monstrous cannot chuse but choake
The vocall powers, or like a canker rott
Thy tung in the delivery.