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    ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore
    ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore
    ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore

    By John Ford

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    About this ebook

    "’Tis Pity She’s a Whore" is perhaps the most popular and frequently performed play by John Ford, whom many scholars consider the last major dramatist of the English renaissance. The play was first published in 1633 and is a family drama with a plot line of incest. The play's title has often been changed in new productions, sometimes being referred to as simply "Giovanni and Annabella".

    "'Tis Pity She's a Whore" tells the tale of an incestuous love between Giovanni and his sister Annabella that ends in disaster and death. Set in Parma, Italy, the story takes place against a background of lust, vengeance, and greed that serves as a critique of contemporary culture and morality. The play exhibits an eloquent and glowing sympathy for the lovers, despite the unlawful nature of their union.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherE-BOOKARAMA
    Release dateSep 5, 2023
    ISBN9788835335801
    ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore

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      Book preview

      ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore - John Ford

      V.

      ´TIS PITY SHE´S A WHORE

      John Ford

      Preface.

      This tragedy, in the dedication to the Earl of Peterborough, is styled, the first fruits of the author’s leisure. How long it had been written, or what was the date of its first appearance, is nowhere mentioned; but it was given to the press in 1633, with the following title: ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore; acted by the Queenes Majesties seruants, at the Phoenix, in Drury–Lane. London: Printed by Nicholas Okes, for Richard Collins, and are to be sold at his shop, in St. Paul’s Church-yard, at the signe of the Three Kings, 1633. It was one of the plays appropriated, by the Lord Chamberlain, to the Cockpit or Phoenix Theatre, in 1639. ¹

      ¹ This tragedy was selected for publication by Mr. Dodsley. The choice was not very judicious, for, though the language of it is eminently beautiful, the plot is repulsive: and the Lover’s Melancholy, or the Broken Heart, would have been fully as characteristic of the author’s manner. It owes little to the taste, and nothing to the judgment of the former editors. Dodsley merely copied the 4to. and Reed re-published the transcript with a few childish Illustrations, worth a sponge.

      TO

      THE TRULY NOBLE

      JOHN,

      EARL OF PETERBOROUGH, LORD MORDAUNT, BARON OF TURVEY. ²

      MY LORD,

      Where a truth of merit hath a general warrant, there love is but a debt, acknowledgment a justice. Greatness cannot often claim virtue by inheritance; yet, in this, Your’s appears most eminent, for that you are not more rightly heir to your fortunes than glory shall be to your memory. Sweetness of disposition ennobles a freedom of birth; in both, your lawful interest adds honour to your own name, and mercy to my presumption. Your noble allowance of these first fruits of my leisure, in the action, emboldens my confidence of your as noble construction in this presentment; especially since my service must ever owe particular duty to your favours, by a particular engagement. ³ The gravity of the subject may easily excuse the lightness of the title, otherwise I had been a severe judge against mine own guilt. Princes have vouchsafed grace to trifles offered from a purity of devotion; your Lordship may likewise please to admit into your good opinion, with these weak endeavours, the constancy of affection from the sincere lover of your deserts in honour,

      JOHN FORD.

      ² John, first Earl of Peterborough, Collins informs us, obtained that dignity in the year 1627–8. He was brought up in the Romish religion, but was converted by a disputation at his own house, between the learned Bishop Usher (then only Dr. Usher) and a Papist, who confessed himself silenced by the just hand of God, for presuming to dispute without leave from his superiors. vol. iii. p. 317. No miraculous event appears to have confirmed his loyalty, (whatever may be said of his Jaith,) for he joined the Parliamentary Army in 1642, and was made General of the Ordnance and Colonel of a regiment of foot, under Essex. His military career was of short duration; as he departed this life June 18th the same year.

      ³ So little of Ford’s personal history is known, that no allusion to any circumstance peculiar to himself can be explained. He seems here (and all is but seeming) to speak of some legal business in which he was engaged under this nobleman; but of what nature, it would be useless to inquire.

      Dramatis Personæ.

      Bonaventura, a Friar.

      A Cardinal, Nuncio to the Pope.

      Soranzo, a Nobleman.

      Florio, Donado, Citizens of Parma.

      Grimaldi, a Roman Gentleman.

      Giovanni, Son to Florio.

      Bergetto, Nephew to Donado.

      Richardetto, a supposed Physician.

      Vasques, Servant to Soranzo.

      Poggio, Servant to Bergetto.

      Banditti.

      Annabella, Daughter to Florio.

      Hippolita, Wife to Richardetto.

      Philotis, his Niece.

      Putana, Tutoress to Annabella.

      Officers, Attendants, Servants, &c.

      The Scene — Parma.

      ACT I.

      SCENE I.

      Friar Bonaventura’s Cell.

      Enter Friar and Giovanni.

      Friar. Dispute no more in this; for know, young man,

      These are no school points; nice philosophy

      May tolerate unlikely arguments,

      But Heaven admits no jest: wits that presumed

      On wit too much, by striving how to prove

      There was no God, with foolish grounds of art,

      Discover’d first the nearest way to hell;

      And fill’d the world with devilish atheism.

      Such questions, youth, are fond: ⁴ far better ’tis ⁵

      To bless the sun, than reason why it shines;

      Yet He thou talk’st of, is above the sun. —

      No more! I may not hear it.

      Giovanni. Gentle father,

      To you I have unclasp’d my burden’d soul,

      Emptied the storehouse of my thoughts and heart,

      Made myself poor of secrets; have not left

      Another word untold, which hath not spoke

      All what I ever durst, or think, or know;

      And yet is here the comfort I shall have?

      Must I not do what all men else may — love?

      Friar. Yes, you may love, fair son.

      Giovanni. Must I not praise

      That beauty, which, if fram’d anew, the gods

      Would make a god of, if they had it there;

      And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?

      Friar. Why, foolish madman! —

      Giovanni. Shall a peevish ⁶ sound,

      A customary form, from man to man,

      Of brother and of sister, be a bar

      ’Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?

      Say that we had one father, say one womb

      (Curse to my joys!) gave both us-life and birth;

      Are we not, therefore, each to other bound

      So much the more by nature? by the links

      Of blood, of reason? nay, if you will have it,

      Even of religion, to be ever one,

      One soul, one flesh, one love, one heart, one all?

      Friar. Have done, unhappy youth! for thou art lost.

      Giovanni. Shall, then, for that I am her brother born,

      My joys be ever banished from her bed?

      No, father; in your eyes I see the change

      Of pity and compassion; from your age,

      As from a sacred oracle, distils

      The life of counsel: tell me, holy man,

      What cure shall give me ease in these extremes?

      Friar. Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin:

      For thou hast mov’d a Majesty above,

      With thy unranged (almost) blasphemy.

      Giovanni. O do not speak of that, dear confessor.

      Friar. Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit,

      Who once, within these three months, wert esteem’d

      A wonder of thine age, throughout Bononia?

      How did the University applaud

      Thy government, behaviour, learning, speech,

      Sweetness, and all that could make up a man!

      I was proud of my tutelage, and chose

      Rather to leave my books, than part with thee;

      I did so:— but the fruits of all my hopes

      Are lost in thee, as thou art in thy self.

      O Giovanni! ⁷ hast thou left the schools

      Of knowledge, to converse with lust and death?

      For death waits on thy lust. Look through the world,

      And thou shall see a thousand faces shine

      More glorious than this idol thou ador’st:

      Leave her, and take thy choice, ’tis much less sin;

      Though in such games as those, they lose that win.

      Giovanni. It were more ease to stop the ocean

      From floats and ebbs, than to dissuade my vows.

      Friar. Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames

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