Swetnam, the Woman-hater, arraigned by women A new comedie, acted at the Red Bull, by the late Queenes seruants.
Title: Swetnam, the Woman-hater, arraigned by women A new comedie, acted at the Red Bull, by the late Queenes seruants.
Release Date: 2018-11-18
Type book: Text
Copyright Status: Public domain in the USA.
Date added: 27 March 2019
Count views: 42
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
A new Comedie,
Acted at the Red Bull, by the late Queenes Seruants.
Printed for Richard Meighen, and are to be sold at his Shops at Saint Clements Church, ouer-against Essex House, and at Westminster Hall. 1620.
The Women are all welcome; for the men,
They will be welcome: our care’s not for them.
’Tis we poore women, that must stand the brunt
Of this dayes try all: we are all accused.
How wee shall cleere our selues, there lyes the doubt.
The men, I know, will laugh, when they shall heare
Vs rayl’d at, and abused; and say, ’Tis well,
Lend but your kind assistance: you shall see
We will not be ore-come with Infamie,
And slanders that we neuer merited.
Be but you patient, I dare boldly say,
(If euer women pleased) weele please to day.
Vouchsafe to reade, I dare presume to say,
Yee shall be pleased; and thinke ’tis a good play.
|Atticus, King of Sicilie.|
|Lorenzo, his Sonne.|
|Lisandro, Prince of Naples.|
|Iago,||}|| three Noblemen |
|Scanfardo, Servant to Nicanor.|
|Swetnam, alias, Misogynos, The Woman-hater.|
|Swash, his Man.|
|Leonida, the Princesse.|
|Loretta, her Maid.|
|Three or foure other Women.|
Act. I. Scen. I.
Enter Iago and Nicanor, two Noblemen of Sicilia, in private conference.
Hee was a vertuous and a hopefull Prince,
And we haue iust cause to lament his death,
For had he liu’d, and Spaine made war agen,
He would ha’ prou’d a Terror to his Foe.
Iag. A greater cause of griefe was neuer knowne,
Not onely in his death, but for the losse
Of Prince Lorenzo too, his yonger brother,
Who hath beene missing almost eighteene moneths,
And none can tell whether aliue or dead.
Nic. How do’s the King beare these afflictions?
Enter another Lord.
Iag. Now you shall heare how fares his Maiestie.
Lord. Oh my good Lords, our sorrowes still increase,
A greater tide of woe is to be fear’d,
The Kings decay, with griefe for his two sonnes.
Iag. The gods forbid, let’s in and comfort him.
3. Lord. Alas, his sorrow’s such
He will not suffer vs to speake to him;
But turnes away in rage, and seemes to tread
The pace of one (if liuing) liuing dead.
Iag. See where he comes,
Lords, let vs all attend, |Enter King in black, reading.|
Vntill his grace be pleas’d to speake to vs.
Attic. Death is the ease of paine, and end of sorrow,
How can that be? Death gaue my sorrowes life,
For by his death my paine and griefe begun,
And in beginning, neuer will haue end: for though I die,
My losse will liue in future memorie,
I and (perhaps) will be lamented too,
And registred by some, when all shall heare
Sicilia had two sonnes, yet had no heire.
Ha! What are you?
Who dares presume to interrupt vs thus?
What meanes this sorrow? Wherefore are these signes?
Or vnto whom are these obseruances?
Nic. Vnto our King.
3. Lords. To you my Soueraigne.
Iag. Your Subiects all lament to see you sad.
Attic. You all are Traytors then, and by my life
I will account you so:
Can you not be content with State and rule,
But you must come to take away my Crowne?
For solitude is sorrowes chiefest Crowne.
Griefe hath resign’d ouer his right to mee,
And I am King of all woes Monarchie.
You powers that grant Regeneration,
What meant you first to giue him vitall breath?
And make large Kingdomes proud of such a Prince
As my Lusyppus was, so good, so vertuous:
Then, in his prime of yeares,
To take him from mee by vntimely death?
Oh! had my spirit wings, I would ascend
And fetch his soule againe from——
Oh my sad sorrowes! Whither am I driuen?
Into what maze of errors will you lead mee?
This Monster (Griefe) hath so distracted mee,
I had almost forgot mortalitie.
Iag. Deare Lord haue patience, though the heauens are pleas’d
To punish Princes for their Subiects faults,
In taking from vs such a hopefull Prince,
No doubt they will restore your yonger sonne,
Who cannot be but stay’d, and will, I hope
Be quickly heard of, to recall your ioyes.
Attic. No, I shall neuer see Lorenzo more,
This eighteene moneths I haue not heard of him,
I feare some Traytors hand had seyz’d his life:
If hee were liuing, as that cannot bee;
I sooner looke to see the dead then hee:
For I am almost spent; This heape of age,
Mixt with my sorrow, soone will end my dayes.
Nic. My Liege, take comfort, I (your Subiect) vow
To goe my selfe to seeke Lorenzo forth,
And ne’r returne vntill I find him out,
Or bring some newes what is become of him.
3. Lord. The like will I, or ne’r come backe agen.
Iag. Old as I am, I’le not be last behind,
And if my Soueraigne please to let mee goe.
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