Jonson Volpone and Seven Other Plays

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-4553-9199-8
Verlag: Seltzer Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 652 Seiten

This book-collection file includes: The Alchemist, Cynthia's Revels, Epicoene, Every Man in His Humour, Every Man Out of His Humour, The Poetaster, Sejanus, and Volpone.It also includes Felix Schelling's introduction to the Complete Plays of Ben Jonson.According to Schelling, Jonson is 'the greatest of English dramatists except Shakespeare, the first literary dictator and poet-laureate, a writer of verse, prose, satire,and criticism who most potently of all the men of his time affected the subsequent course of English letters:such was Ben Jonson, and as such his strong personality assumes an interest to us almost unparalleled, at least in his age.' According to Wikipedia: 'Benjamin Jonson (c. 11 June 1572 - 6 August 1637) was an English Renaissance dramatist, poet and actor. A contemporary of William Shakespeare, he is best known for his satirical plays, particularly Volpone, The Alchemist, and Bartholomew Fair, which are considered his best, and his lyric poems. A man of vast reading and a seemingly insatiable appetite for controversy, Jonson had an unparalleled breadth of influence on Jacobean and Caroline playwrights and poets.'

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jonson, Ben

Leseproben

  MAM. Good lady, give me leave --   DOL. In faith, I may not,   To mock me, sir.   MAM. To burn in this sweet flame;   The phoenix never knew a nobler death.   DOL. Nay, now you court the courtier, and destroy   What you would build. This art, sir, in your words,   Calls your whole faith in question.   MAM. By my soul --   DOL. Nay, oaths are made of the same air, sir.   MAM. Nature   Never bestow'd upon mortality   A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature;   She play'd the step-dame in all faces else:   Sweet Madam, let me be particular --   DOL. Particular, sir! I pray you know your distance.   MAM. In no ill sense, sweet lady; but to ask   How your fair graces pass the hours? I see   You are lodged here, in the house of a rare man,   An excellent artist; but what's that to you?   DOL. Yes, sir; I study here the mathematics,   And distillation.   MAM. O, I cry your pardon.   He's a divine instructor! can extract   The souls of all things by his art; call all   The virtues, and the miracles of the sun,   Into a temperate furnace; teach dull nature   What her own forces are. A man, the emperor   Has courted above Kelly; sent his medals   And chains, to invite him.   DOL. Ay, and for his physic, sir --   MAM. Above the art of Aesculapius,   That drew the envy of the thunderer!   I know all this, and more.   DOL. Troth, I am taken, sir,   Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature.   MAM. It is a noble humour; but this form   Was not intended to so dark a use.   Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould   A cloister had done well; but such a feature   That might stand up the glory of a kingdom,   To live recluse! is a mere soloecism,   Though in a nunnery. It must not be.   I muse, my lord your brother will permit it:   You should spend half my land first, were I he.   Does not this diamond better on my finger,   Than in the quarry?   DOL. Yes.   MAM. Why, you are like it.   You were created, lady, for the light.   Here, you shall wear it; take it, the first pledge   Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me.   DOL. In chains of adamant?   MAM. Yes, the strongest bands.   And take a secret too -- here, by your side,   Doth stand this hour, the happiest man in Europe.   DOL. You are contended, sir!   MAM. Nay, in true being,   The envy of princes and the fear of states.   DOL. Say you so, sir Epicure?   MAM. Yes, and thou shalt prove it,   Daughter of honour. I have cast mine eye   Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty   Above all styles.   DOL. You mean no treason, sir?   MAM. No, I will take away that jealousy.   I am the lord of the philosopher's stone,   And thou the lady.   DOL. How, sir! have you that?   MAM. I am the master of the mystery.   This day the good old wretch here o' the house   Has made it for us: now he's at projection.   Think therefore thy first wish now, let me hear it;   And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower,   But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge,   To get a nation on thee.   DOL. You are pleased, sir,   To work on the ambition of our sex.   MAM. I am pleased the glory of her sex should know,   This nook, here, of the Friars is no climate   For her to live obscurely in, to learn   Physic and surgery, for the constable's wife   Of some odd hundred in Essex; but come forth,   And taste the air of palaces; eat, drink   The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice;   Tincture of pearl, and coral, gold, and amber;   Be seen at feasts and triumphs; have it ask'd,   What miracle she is; set all the eyes   Of court a-fire, like a burning glass,   And work them into cinders, when the jewels   Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light   Strikes out the stars! that when thy name is mention'd,   Queens may look pale; and we but shewing our love,   Nero's Poppaea may be lost in story!   Thus will we have it.   DOL. I could well consent, sir.   But, in a monarchy, how will this be?   The prince will soon take notice, and both seize   You and your stone, it being a wealth unfit   For any private subject.   MAM. If he knew it.   DOL. Yourself do boast it, sir.   MAM. To thee, my life.   DOL. O, but beware, sir! You may come to end   The remnants of your days in a loth'd prison,   By speaking of it.   MAM. 'Tis no idle fear.   We'll therefore go withal, my girl, and live   In a free state, where we will eat our mullets,   Soused in high-country wines, sup pheasants' eggs,   And have our cockles boil'd in silver shells;   Our shrimps to swim again, as when they liv'd,   In a rare butter made of dolphins' milk,   Whose cream does look like opals; and with these   Delicate meats set ourselves high for pleasure,   And take us down again, and then renew   Our youth and strength with drinking the elixir,   And so enjoy a perpetuity   Of life and lust! And thou shalt have thy wardrobe   Richer than nature's, still to change thy self,   And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she,   Or art, her wise and almost-equal servant.   [RE-ENTER FACE.]   FACE. Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every word   Into the laboratory. Some fitter place;   The garden, or great chamber above. How like you her?   MAM. Excellent! Lungs. There's for thee.   [GIVES HIM MONEY.]   FACE. But do you hear?   Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins.   MAM. We think not on 'em.   [EXEUNT MAM. AND DOL.]   FACE. O, it is well, sir. -- Subtle!   [ENTER SUBTLE.]   Dost thou not laugh?   SUB. Yes; are they gone?   FACE. All's clear.   SUB. The widow is come.   FACE. And your quarrelling disciple?   SUB. Ay.   FACE. I must to my captainship again then.   SUB. Stay, bring them in first.   FACE. So I meant. What is she?   A bonnibel?   SUB. I know not.   FACE. We'll draw lots:   You'll stand to that?   SUB. What else?   FACE. O, for a suit,   To fall now like a curtain, flap!   SUB. To the door, man.   FACE. You'll have the first kiss, 'cause I am not ready.   [EXIT.]   SUB. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both the nostrils.   FACE [WITHIN]. Who would you speak with?   KAS [WITHIN]. Where's the captain?   FACE [WITHIN]. Gone, sir,   About some business.   KAS [WITHIN]. Gone!   FACE [WITHIN]. He'll return straight.   But master doctor, his lieutenant, is here.   [ENTER KASTRIL, FOLLOWED BY DAME PLIANT.]   SUB. Come near, my worshipful boy, my terrae fili,   That is, my boy of land; make thy approaches:   Welcome; I know thy lusts, and thy desires,   And I will serve and satisfy them. Begin,   Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this line;   Here is my centre: ground thy quarrel.   KAS. You lie.   SUB. How, child of wrath and anger! the loud lie?   For what, my sudden boy?   KAS. Nay, that look you to,   I am afore-hand.   SUB. O, this is no true...