Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'AmboisChapman, George
General
Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois
Chapman, George
Bussy d'Amboise, 1549?-1579 -- Drama; English drama -- 17th century; Revenge -- Drama; Tragedies (Drama)
_Mons._ Doe, my lord,
And make her name her conceal'd messenger,
That close and most inennerable pander,
That passeth all our studies to exquire:
By whom convay the letter to her love; 130
And so you shall be sure to have him come
Within the thirsty reach of your revenge.
Before which, lodge an ambush in her chamber,
Behind the arras, of your stoutest men
All close and soundly arm'd; and let them share 135
A spirit amongst them that would serve a thousand.
_Enter Pero with a letter._
_Gui._ Yet, stay a little: see, she sends for you.
_Mons._ Poore, loving lady, she'le make all good yet;
Think you not so, my lord? _Mont[surry] stabs Pero, and exit._
_Gui._ Alas, poore soule!
_Mons._ This was cruelly done, y'faith.
_Pero._ T'was nobly done; 140
And I forgive his lordship from my soule.
_Mons._ Then much good doo't thee, Pero! hast a letter?
_Per._ I hope it rather be a bitter volume
Of worthy curses for your perjury.
_Gui._ To you, my lord.
_Mons._ To me? Now out upon her! 145
_Gui._ Let me see, my lord.
_Mons._ You shall presently: how fares my Pero? _Enter Servant._
Who's there? Take in this maid, sh'as caught a clap,
And fetch my surgeon to her. Come, my lord,
We'l now peruse our letter.
_Exeunt Mons[ieur], Guise. Lead her out._
_Per._ Furies rise 150
Out of the black lines, and torment his soule!
* * * * *
_Tam._ Hath my lord slaine my woman?
_Beh._ No, she lives.
_Fri._ What shall become of us?
_Beh._ All I can say,
Being call'd thus late, is briefe, and darkly this:--
If D'Ambois mistresse die not her white hand 155
In her forc'd bloud, he shall remaine untoucht:
So, father, shall your selfe, but by your selfe.
To make this augurie plainer, when the voyce
Of D'Amboys shall invoke me, I will rise
Shining in greater light, and shew him all 160
That will betide ye all. Meane time be wise,
And curb his valour with your policies. _Descendit cum suis._
_Buss._ Will he appeare to me when I invoke him?
_Fri._ He will, be sure.
_Buss._ It must be shortly, then,
For his dark words have tyed my thoughts on knots 165
Till he dissolve and free them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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