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diff --git a/old/10734-8.txt b/old/10734-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..184db29 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10734-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14782 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 17, 2004 [EBook #10734] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS; VOL. III + +In Four Volumes + + +Edited by + +A.H. BULLEN + + +1882-1889. + + + + +CONTENTS: + +Preface +Sir Gyles Goosecappe +The Wisdome of Dr. Dodypoll +The Distracted Emperor +The Tryall of Chevalry +Footnotes + + + + +PREFACE. + + +I have not been able to give in the present volume the unpublished play +of Heywood's to which I referred in the Preface to Vol. I. When I came +to transcribe the play, I found myself baffled by the villanous scrawl. +But I hope that, with the assistance of some expert in old handwriting, +I may succeed in procuring an accurate transcript of the piece for the +fourth volume. + +One of the plays here presented to the reader is printed for the first +time, and the others have not been reprinted. I desire to thank ALFRED +HENRY HUTH, Esq., for the loan of books from his magnificent collection. +It is pleasant to acknowledge an obligation when the favour has been +bestowed courteously and ungrudgingly. To my friend F.G. FLEAY, Esq., I +cannnot adequately express my gratitude for the great trouble that he +has taken in reading all the proof-sheets, and for his many valuable +suggestions. Portions of the former volume were not seen by him in the +proof, and to this cause must be attributed the presence of some slight +but annoying misprints. One serious fault, not a misprint, occurs in the +first scene of the first Act of _Barnavelt's Tragedy_ (p. 213). In the +margin of the corrected proof, opposite the lines, + + "And you shall find that the desire of glory + Was the last frailty wise men ere putt of," + +I wrote + + "That last infirmity of noble minds," + +a [mis]quotation from _Lycidas_. The words were written in pencil and +enclosed in brackets. I was merely drawing Mr. FLEAY'S attention to the +similarity of expression between Milton's words and the playwright's; +but by some unlucky chance my marginal pencilling was imported into the +text. I now implore the reader to expunge the line. On p. 116, l. 12 (in +the same volume), for _with_ read _witt_; p. 125 l. 2, for _He_ read +_Ile_; p. 128, l. 18, for _pardue_ read _perdue_; p. 232, for _Is_ read +_In_; p. 272, l. 3, for _baste_ read _haste_; p. 336, l. 6, the speaker +should evidently be not _Do_. (the reading of the MS.) but _Sis_., and +_noble Sir Richard_ should be _noble Sir Francis_; p. 422, l. 12, del. +comma between _Gaston_ and _Paris_. Some literal errors may, perhaps, +still have escaped me, but such words as _anottomye_ for _anatomy_, or +_dietie_ for _deity_ must not be classed as misprints. They are +recognised though erroneous forms, and instances of their occurrence +will be given in the Index to Vol. IV. + +5, WILLOW ROAD, HAMPSTEAD, N.W. +January 24, 1884. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE. + + +This clever, though somewhat tedious, comedy was published anonymously +in 1606. There is no known dramatic writer of that date to whom it could +be assigned with any great degree of probability. The comic portion +shows clearly the influence of Ben Jonson, and there is much to remind +one of Lyly's court-comedies. In the serious scenes the philosophising +and moralising, at one time expressed in language of inarticulate +obscurity and at another attaining clear and dignified utterance, +suggest a study of Chapman. The unknown writer might have taken as his +motto a passage in the dedication of Ovid's _Banquet of Sense_:-- +"Obscurity in affection of words and indigested conceits is pedantical +and childish; but where it shroudeth itself in the heart of his subject, +uttered with fitness of figure and expressive epithets, with that +darkness will I still labour to be shrouded." Chapman's _Gentleman +Usher_ was published in the same year as _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; and I +venture to think that in a passage of Act III., Scene II., our author +had in his mind the exquisite scene between the wounded Strozza and his +wife Cynanche. In Strozza's discourse on the joys of marriage occur +these lines:-- + + "If he lament she melts herselfe in teares; + If he be glad she triumphs; if he stirre + She moon's his way: in all things his _sweete Ape_." + +The charming fitness of the expression "sweet ape" would impress any +capable reader. I cannot think that by mere accident the anonymous +writer lighted on the same words:-- + + "Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? + Why, friend, they either are mens soules themselves + Or the most witty imitatrixes of them, + Or prettiest _sweet apes_ of humane soules." + +From a reference to Queen Elizabeth in Act I., Scene I., it is clear +that _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ was written not later than 1603. The lines I +have quoted may have been added later; or our author may have seen the +_Gentleman Usher_ in manuscript. + +Chapman's influence is again (_me judice_) apparent in the eloquent but +somewhat strained language of such a passage as the following:-- + + "Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich, + Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes + The standing lake of _Impudence_ corrupts; + Hath nought in all the world, nor nought wood have + To grace him in the prostituted light. + But if a man wood consort with a soule + Where all mans sea of gall and bitternes + Is quite evaporate with her holy flames, + And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence + Fosters her own deserts, and life and death + Runnes hand in hand before them, all the skies + Cleare and transparent to her piercing eyes. + Then wood my friend be something, but till then + A _cipher_, nothing, or the worst of men." + +_Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ is the work of one who had chosen the "fallentis +semita vitae"; who was more at home in Academic cloisters than in the +crowded highways of the world. None of the characters bears any +impression of having been drawn from actual life. The plot is of the +thinnest possible texture; but the fire of verbal quibbles is kept up +with lively ingenuity, and plenty of merriment may be drawn from the +humours of the affectate traveller and the foolish knight by all who are +not + + "of such vinegar aspect + That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, + Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable." + +The romantic friendship between the noble Lord Monford and the +thoughtful Clarence is a pleasing study, planned and executed with a +grave, sweet sincerity. It is not improbable that Clarence was the +prototype of Charles in Fletcher's _Elder Brother_. The finest passage +in the present play, where Clarence's modesty and Monford's nobility are +portrayed in language of touching charm, was selected by Charles Lamb +(whose judgment was never at fault) for quotation in the "Extracts from +the Garrick Plays." + +A second edition of _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ was issued, after the +author's death, in 1636; and the following dedication was appended by +Hugh Perry, the publisher:-- + +To the Worshipfull RICHARD YOUNG of Woolleyfarme in the County of Berks, +Esquire. + +WORTHY SIR, + +_The many favours, and courtesies, that I have Received from you, and +your much Honor'd Father, have put such an obligation upon me, as I have +bin long cogitateing how to expresse myselfe by the requitall of some +part of them; Now this Play having diverse yeeres since beene thrust +into the world to seeke its owne entertainment, without so much as an +epistle, or under the Shelter of any generous spirit, is now almost +become worne out of memory: and comming to be press'd to the publique +view againe, it having none to speake for it (the _Author_ being dead) I +am bold to recommend the same to your Worships protection, I know your +studies are more propense to more serious subjects, yet vouchsafe, I +beseech you, to recreate your selfe with this at some vacant time when +your leasure will permit you to peruse it, and daigne mee to bee_, + +Your Worships bounden Servant, + +HVGH PERRY. + + + + +SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE, _Knight_, + +A Comedy presented by the Chil. of the Chappell. + + +AT LONDON: Printed by _Iohn Windet_, for _Edward Blunt_. 1606. + + + +_Eugenia_, A widowe and a Noble Ladie. +_Hippolyta_, | +_Penelope_, | Ladie-virgines, and Companions to Eugenia. +_Wynnifred_, gentlewoman to Eugenia. +_Monford_, A Noble Man, uncle to Eugenia. +_Clarence_, Gentleman, friend to _Monf_. +_Fowlweather_, A french affected Travayler, and a Captaine. +_Sir Gyles Goosecap_, a foolish Knight. +_Sir Cuthbert Rudsbie_, a blunt Knight. +_Sir Clement Kingcob_, a Knight, +_Lord Tales_. +_Lord Furnifall_. +_Bullaker_, a french Page. +_Iack_, | +_Will_, | Pages. + + + +Sir Gyles Goosecappe, _Knight_. + + +_Actvs Primvs_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Bullaker with a Torche_. + +_Bullaker_. This is the Countesse _Eugenias_ house, I thinke. I can +never hit of theis same English City howses, tho I were borne here: if I +were in any City in _Fraunce_, I could find any house there at midnight. + + _Enter Iack, and Will_. + +_Iack_. Theis two strange hungry Knights (_Will_) make the leanest +trenchers that ever I waited on. + +_Will_. A plague on them _Iack_; they leave us no fees at all, for our +attendance. I thinke they use to set their bones in silver they pick +them so cleane.--See, see, see, _Iack_, whats that. + +_Iack_. A my word (_Will_) tis the great _Baboone_, that was to be seen +in _Southwarke_. + +_Will_. Is this he? Gods my life what beastes were we, that we wood not +see him all this while, never trust me if he looke not somewhat like a +man: see how pretely he holds the torche in one of his forefeete: wheres +his keeper trowe, is he broke loose? + +_Iack_. Hast ever an Apple about thee (_Will_)? Weele take him up; sure, +we shall get a monstrous deale of mony with him. + +_Will_. That we shall yfath, boy! and looke thou here, heres a red +cheeckt apple to take him up with. + +_Ia_. Excellent fit a my credit; lets lay downe our provant, and to him. + +_Bul_. Ile let them alone a while. + +_Ia_. Give me the apple to take up _Iack_, because my name is _Iack_. + +_Will_. Hold thee, _Iack_, take it. + +_Ia_. Come, _Iack_, come, _Iack_, come, _Iack_. + +_Bul_. I will come to you sir, Ile _Iack_ ye a my word, Ile _Iack_ ye. + +_Will_. Gods me he speakes, _Iack_. O pray pardon us, Sir. + +_Bul_. Out, ye _mopede monckies_, can yee not knowe a man from a +_Marmasett_, in theis Frenchified dayes of ours? nay, ile _Iackefie_ +you a little better yet. + +_Both_. Nay good Sir, good Sir, pardon us. + +_Bul_. Pardon us! out ye home-bred peasants, plain English, pardon us? +if you had parled, & not spoken, but said _Pardonne moy_, I wood have +pardon'd you, but since you speake and not parley, I will cudgell ye +better yet. + +_Ambo_. _O pardonne moy, mounsieur_. + +_Bul_. _Bien je vous remercy_; thers _pardonne four vous_, sir, now. + +_Will_. Why I thanke ye for it, Sir; you seeme to bee a Squire of our +order Sir. + +_Ia_. Whose page might you be Sir. + +_Bul_. I am now the great French Travalers page. + +_Will_. Or rather the _French_ Travalers great page, Sir; on, on. + +_Bul_. Hight Captaine _Fowleweather_, alias Commendations; whose +valours within here at super with the Countes _Eugenia_, whose propper +eaters I take you two to be. + +_Will_. You mistake us not Sir. + +_Ia_. This Captaine _Fowleweather_, alias Commendations-- + +_Will_. Is the Gallant that will needs be a sutor to our Countes. + +_Bul_.[1] Faith, and if Fouleweather be a welcome suter to a faire Lady, +has good lucke. + +_Ia_. O Sir, beware of one that can showre into the lapps of Ladies. +Captaine Fowleweather? why hees a Captinado, or Captaine of Captaines, +and will lie in their joyntes that give him cause to worke uppon them so +heauylie, that he will make their hartes ake I warrant him. Captaine +Fowleweather? why he will make the cold stones sweate for feare of him, +a day or two before he come at them. Captaine Fowleweather? why he does +so dominere, and raigne over women. + +_Will_. A plague of Captaine Fowleweather, I remember him now _Iack_, +and know him to be a dull moist-braind Asse. + +_Ia_. A Southerne man I thinke. + +_Will_. As fearefull as a Haire, and will lye like a Lapwing,[2] and I +know how he came to be a Captain, and to have his Surname of +Commendations. + +_Ia_. How I preethee _Will_? + +_Will_. Why Sir he served the great Lady Kingcob and was yeoman of her +wardroppe, & because a cood brush up her silkes lustely, she thought he +would curry the enemies coates as soundly, and so by her commendations, +he was made Captaine in the lowe Countries. + +_Ia_. Then being made Captaine onely by his Ladies commendations, +without any worth also of his owne, he was ever after surnamd Captaine +Commendations? + +_Will_. Right. + +_Bul_. I, Sir right, but if he had not said right, my Captaine should +have taken no wrong at his handes, nor yours neyther, I can tell ye. + +_Ia_. What are those two Knights names, that are thy Captaines +_Comrades_, and within at Supper with our Lady? + +_Bul_. One of their names Sir, is, Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_, the others +Sir _Cutt Rudseby_. + +_Will_. Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_? what's he? a gentleman? + +_Bul_. I, that he is, at least if he be not a noble man; and his chiefe +house is in Essex. + +_Ia_. In Essex? did not his Auncestors come out of London. + +_Bul_. Yes that they did Sir, the best _Gosecappes_ in England, come out +of London I assure you. + +_Will_. I, but, Sir, these must come into it before they come out ont I +hope; but what countriman is Sir _Cutt Rudesby_? + +_Bul_. A Northern man, or a Westernman I take him, but my Captaine is the +Emphaticall man; and by that pretty word Emphaticall you shall partly +know him: for tis a very forcible word in troth, and yet he forces it +too much by his favour; mary no more then he does all the rest of his +wordes; with whose multiplicity often times he travailes himselfe out +of all good company. + +_Iack_. Like enough; he travaild for nothing else. + +_Will_. But what qualities haunt Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_ now Sir. + +_Bul_. Sir _Gyles Goosecap_ has always a deathes head (as it were) in +his mouth, for his onely one reason for everything is, because we are +all mortall; and therefore he is generally cald the mortall Knight; then +hath he another pretty phrase too, and that is, he will "tickle the +vanity ant" still in everything; and this is your _Summa totalis_ of +both their virtues. + +_Ia_. Tis enough, tis enough, as long as they have land enough, but now +muster your third person afore us I beseech you. + +_Bul_. The third person and second Knight, blunt Sir _Cutt Rudesby_, is +indeed blunt at a sharpe wit, and sharpe at a blunt wit; a good bustling +Gallant, talkes well at Rovers; he is two parts souldier; as slovenlie +as a Switzer, and somewhat like one in face too; for he weares a bush +beard, will dead a Cannan shot better then a wool-packe: he will come +into the presence like yor _Frenchman_ in foule bootes, and dares eat +Garlike as a preparative to his Courtship. You shall know more of him +hereafter; but, good wags, let me winne you now for the Geographicall +parts of your Ladies in requitall. + +_Will_. That you shall Sir, and the Hydrographicall too and you will; +first my Lady the widowe, and Countes _Eugenia_, is in earnest, a most +worthy Lady, and indeede can doe more than a thousand other Ladies can +doe I can tell you. + +_Bul_. What's that I pray thee? + +_Ia_. Mary Sir, he meanes she can doe more than sleepe, and eate, and +drinke; and play at noddy[3], and helpe to make hir selfe ready[4]. + +_Bul_. Can she so? + +_Will_. She is the best scholler of any woman but one[5] in England; she +is wise and vertuous. + +_Ia_. Nay she has one strange quality for a woman besides, tho these be +strange enough that he has rekoned. + +_Bul_. For Gods sake whats that? + +_Ia_. She can love reasonable constantly, for she loved her husband +only, almost a whole yeere together. + +_Bul_. Thats strange indeed, but what is your faire Lady Sir? + +_Ia_. My Lady Sir, the Lady _Hippolita_-- + +_Will_. That is as chast as ever was _Hippolitus_. + +_Ia_. (True, my prety _Parenthesis_) is halfe a maid, halfe a wife, and +halfe a widdow. + +_Bul_. Strange tale to tell; how canst thou make this good, my good +_Assumpsit_. + +_Ia_. Thus Sir: she was betroathed to a gallant young gentleman that +loude hir with such passion, and admiration that he never thought he +could be so blessed as to enjoy her in full marriage, till the minister +was marrying them; and even then when he was saying I _Charles_ take +thee _Hippolita_ with extreame joy, he began to looke pale, then going +forwards saying, to my wedded wife, he lookt paler, and, then +pronouncing, for richer for poorer as long as we both shall live, he +lookt extreame pale. Now, sir, when she comes to speake her parte, and +said, I _Hippolyta_ take thee _Charles_, he began to faint for joy, then +saying to my wedded husband, he began to sinke, but then going forth too, +for better for worse, he could stand no longer, but with very conceit, +it seemd, that she whom he tendred as the best of all things, should +pronounce the worst, and for his sake too, he suncke down right, and +died sodenly: And thus being halfe married, and her halfe husband wholy +dead, I hope I may with discretion affirme her, halfe a maide, halfe a +wife, and halfe a widdowe: do ye conceive me Sir? + +_Bul_. O Lord Sir, I devoure you quicke; and now Sir I beseech you open +unto me your tother Lady, what is shee? + +_Will_. Ile answere for her, because I know her Ladiship to be a perfect +maide indeed. + +_Bul_. How canst thou know that? + +_Will_. Passing perfectly I warrant ye. + +_Ia_. By measuring her necke twice, and trying if it will come about hir +forehead, and slip over her nose? + +_Will_. No Sir no, by a rule that will not slip so I warrant you, which +for her honours sake I will let slip unto you. Gods so _Iack_, I thinke +they have supt. + +_Ia_. Bir Lady we have waited well the while. + +_Will_. Well though they have lost their attendance, let not us lose our +supper, _Iack_. + +_Ia_. I doe not meane it; come Sir you shall goe in, and drinke with us +yfaith. + +_Bul_. _Pardonne moy, mounsieur_. + +_both_. No pardoning in truth Sir. + +_Bul. Ie vous remercie de bon Ceur_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCAENA 2. + + + _Enter Goosecappe, Rudesby, Fouleweather, Eugenia, + Hippol., Penelope, Wynne_. + +_Rud_. A plague on you, sweet Ladies, tis not so late; what needed you +to have made so short a supper? + +_Goos_. In truth Sir _Cutt_. we might have tickled the vanity ant an +howre longer, if my watch be trustible. + +_Foul_. I but how should theis beauties know that Sir _Gyles_? your +watch is mortall, and may erre. + +_Go_. Thats sooth Captaine, but doe you heare honest friend, pray take a +light, and see if the moone shine, I have a Sunne Diall will resolue +presently. + +_Fo_. Howsoever beleeve it, Ladies, tis unwholesome, uncourtly, +unpleasant to eate hastely, and rise sodainly; a man can shew no +discourse, no witt, no stirring, no variety, no pretty conceits, to make +the meate goe downe emphatically. + +_Eu_. _Wynnefred_. + +_Wyn_. Madam. + +_Eu_. I prethee goe to my uncle the Lord _Monford_, and intreat him to +come quicken our Eares with some of his pleasant Spirit; This same +_Fowleweather_ has made me so melancholly, prethie make haste. + +_Wyn_. I will Madam. [_Exit_. + +_Hip_. We will bid our guests good night, Madam; this same +_Fowleweather_ makes me so sleepy. + +_Pen_. Fie uppon it; for Gods sake shut the Casements, heres such a +fulsome Aire comes into this Chamber; in good faith Madame you must +keepe your House in better reparations, this same _Fowlweather_ beats +in so filthily. + +_Eug_. Ile take order with the Porter for it, Lady: good night, +gentlemen. + +_Ru_. Why good night, and be hangd, and you'l needs be gon. + +_Goos_. God give you good night Madams, thanke you for my good cheere, +weele tickle the vanity ant no longer with you at this time but ile +indite your La. to supper at my lodging one of these mornings; and that +ere long too, because we are all mortall you know. + +_Eu_, Light the Lady _Penelope_, and the Lady _Hippolyta_ to their +Chambers; good night faire Ladies. + +_Hip_. Good night, Madam; I wish you may sleep well after your light +supper. + +_Eug_, I warrant you, Lady, I shall never be troubled with dreaming of +my _French_ Suter. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Ru_. Why how now my _Frenchified_ captain _Fowlweather_? by Cods ludd +thy Surname is never thought upon here, I perceive heeres nobody gives +thee any commendations. + +_Fo_. Why this is the untravaild rudnes of our grose Englesh Ladies now; +would any _French_ Lady use a man thus thinke ye? be they any way so +uncivill, and fulsome? they say they weare fowle smockes, and course +smockes; I say they lie, and I will die int. + +_Rud_. I, doe so, pray thee, thou shalt die in a very honorable cause, +thy countries generall quarrell right. + +_Foul_. Their smockes, quoth you? a my word you shall take them up so +white, and so pure, so sweet, so Emphaticall, so mooving-- + +_Rud_. I marry Sir, I thinke they be continually moving. + +_Foul_. But if their smockes were course or foule. + +_Rud_. Nay I warrant thee thou carest not, so thou wert at them. + +_Foul_. S'death they put not all their virtues in their smockes, or in +their mockes, or in their stewde cockes as our Ladies doe. + +_Rud_. But in their stewd pox, thers all their gentilitie. + +_Goos_. Nay, good Sir _Cutt_., doe not agravate him no more. + +_Foul_. Then they are so kinde, so wise, so familiar, so noble, so sweet +in entertainment, that when you shall have cause to descourse or +sometimes to come neerer them; if your breath be ill, your teeth ill, or +any thing about you ill, why they will presently breake with ye, in +kinde sort, good termes, pretty experiments, and tell you plaine this; +thus it is with your breath, Sir, thus it is with your teeth, Sir, this +is your disease, and this is your medicine. + +_Goos_. As I am true mortall Knight, it is most superlatively good, this. + +_Foul_. Why this is courtly now, this is sweete, this plaine, this is +familiar, but by the Court of _France_, our peevish dames are so proud, +so precise, so coy, so disdainfull, and so subtill, as the _Pomonian_ +Serpent, _mort dieu_ the Puncke of _Babylon_ was never so subtill. + +_Rud_. Nay, doe not chafe so, Captaine. + +_Foul_. Your _Frenchman_ would ever chafe, sir _Cutt_., being thus +movde. + +_Rud_. What? and play with his beard so? + +_Foul_. I and brystle, it doth expresse that passion of anger very full, +and emphaticall. + +_Goos_: Nay good Knight if your _French_ wood brystle, let him alone, in +troth our Ladies are a little too coy, and subtill, Captaine, indeed. + +_Foul_. Subtill, sir _Gyles Goosecappe_? I assure your soule, they are +as subtill with their suters, or loves, as the latine Dialect, where the +nominative Case, and the Verbe, the Substantive, and the Adjective, the +Verbe, and the [ad]Verbe, stand as far a sunder, as if they were perfect +strangers one to another, and you shall hardly find them out; but then +learne to Conster, and perse them, and you shall find them prepared and +acquainted, and agree together in Case, gender, and number. + +_Goos_. I detest[6], Sir _Cutt_, I did not thinke he had bin halfe the +quintessence of a scholler he is. + +_Foul_. Slydd there's not one of them truely emphaticall. + +_Goos_. Yes, I'le ensure you Captaine, there are many of them truely +emphaticall: but all your _French_ Ladies are not fatt? are they sir? + +_Foul_. Fatt sir? why doe ye thinke emphaticall is fatt, sir _Gyles_? + +_Rud_. Gods my life, brother Knight, didst thou thinke so? hart I know +not what it is my selfe, but yet I never thought it was fatt, Ile be +sworne to thee. + +_Foul_. Why if any true Courtly dame had had but this new fashioned +sute, to entertaine anything indifferently stuffed, why you should have +had her more respective by farre. + +_Rud_. Nay, theres some reason for that, Captaine, me thinks a true +woman should perpetually doate upon a new fashion. + +_Foul_. Why y'are i'thright sir _Cutt. In nova fert animus mutatas +dicere formas_[7]. Tis the mind of man, and woman to affect new +fashions; but to our Mynsatives[8] for sooth, if he come like to your +_Besognio_,[9] or your bore, so he be rich, or emphaticall, they care +not; would I might never excell a dutch Skipper in Courtship, if I did +not put distaste into my cariage of purpose; I knew I should not please +them. _Lacquay? allume le torche_. + +_Rud_. Slydd, heres neyther Torch, nor Lacquay, me thinks. + +_Foul_. _O mon dieu_. + +_Rud_. O doe not sweare Captaine. + +_Foul_. Your Frenchman ever sweares, Sir _Cutt_, upon the lacke of his +Lacquay, I assure you. + +_Goos_. See heere he comes, and my Ladies two pages, they have been +tickling the vanity ont yfaith. + + + +SCAENA TERTIA. + + + _Enter to them Iack, Bullaker, Will_. + +_Ia_. Captaine _Fowleweather_, my Lady the Countes _Eugenia_ commends +her most kindly to you, and is determined to morrowe morning earely, if +it be a frost, to take her Coach to Barnet to bee nipt; where if it +please you, to meete her, and accompany her homewarde, joyning your wit +with the frost, and helpe to nip her, She does not doubt but tho you had +a sad supper, you will have a joyfull breakefast. + +_Foul_. I shall indeed, my deare youth. + +_Rud_. Why Captaine I abus'd thee, I see: I said the Ladies respected +thee not, and now I perceive the widow is in love with thee. + +_Foul_. Sblood, Knight, I knew I had strucke her to the quicke, I +wondred shee departed in that extravagant fashion: I am sure I past one +_Passado_ of Courtship upon her, that has hertofore made a lane amongst +the _French_ Ladies like a Culvering shot, Ile be sworne; and I thinke, +Sir _Gyles_, you saw she fell under it. + +_Goos_. O as cleare as candlelight, by this daylight. + +_Rud_. O good Knight a the post[10], heele sweare anything. + +_Will_. The other two Ladies commend them no lesse kindly to you two +Knights too; & desire your worships wood meete them at Barnet ith +morning with the Captaine. + +_Foul. Goos. Rud_. O good Sir. + +_Goos_. Our worships shall attend their Ladiships thether. + +_Ia_. No Sir _Gyles_ by no meanes, they will goe privately thether, but +if you will meet them there. + +_Rud_. Meet them? weele die fort, but weele meet them. + +_Foul_. Let's goe thether to night, Knights, and you be true Gallants. + +_Rud_. Content. + +_Ia_. How greedely they take it in, Sirra? + +_Goos_. No it is too farre to goe to night, weele be up betimes ith +morning, and not goe to bedd at all. + +_Foul_. Why its but ten miles, and a fine cleere night, sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. But ten miles? what do ye talke, Captaine? + +_Rud_. Why? doost thinke its any more? + +_Goos_. I, Ile lay ten pounds its more than ten miles, or twelve eyther. + +_Rud_. What, to _Barnet_. + +_Goos_. I, to _Barnet_. + +_Rud_. Slydd, Ile lay a hundred pound with thee, if thou wilt. + +_Goos_. Ile lay five hundred, to a hundred. Slight I will not be +outborne with a wager, in that I know: I am sure it was foure yeeres +agon ten miles thether, and I hope tis more now. Slydd doe not miles +grow thinke you, as well as other _Animals_? + +_Ia_. O wise Knight! + +_Goos_. I never innd in the Towne but once, and then they lodged me in a +Chamber so full of these Ridiculous Fleas, that I was fain to lie +standing all night, and yet I made my man rise, and put out the Candle +too, because they should not see to bite me. + +_Foul_. A pretty project. + +_Bul_. Intruth Captaine, if I might advise you, you should tarry, and +take the morning afore you. + +_Foul_. How? _O mon Dieu_! how the villaine _poultroune_, dishonours his +travaile! You _Buffonly Mouchroun_, are you so mere rude, and English to +advise your Captaine? + +_Rud_. Nay, I prethee _Fouleweather_, be not tempesteous with thy +poore Lacquay. + +_Foul_. Tempesteous, Sir _Cutt_? will your _Frenchman_, thinke you, +suffer his Lacquay to advise him? + +_Goos_. O God you must take heed Lacquy how you advise your Captaine; +your French lacquay would not have done it. + +_Foul_. He would have bin poxt first. _Allume le torche_, sweet Pages +commend us to your Ladies, say we kisse their white hands, and will not +faile to meete them; Knights, which of you leades? + +_Goos_. Not wee, sir; you are a Captaine, and a leader. + +_Rud_. Besides, thou art commended for the better man, for thou art very +Commendations it selfe, and Captaine Commendations. + +_Foul_. Why? what tho I be Captain Commendations? + +_Rud_. Why and Captaine Commendations, is harty commendations, for +Captaines are harty I am sure, or else hang them. + +_Foul_. Why, what if I be harty Commendations? come, come, sweete +Knights, lead the way. + +_Rud_. O Lorde Sir, alwayes after my harty Commendations. + +_Foul_. Nay then you conquer me with precedent, by the autenticall forme +of all Iustice letters. + [_Alloun. Exeunt_. + +_Ia_. Here's a most sweet Gudgeon swallowed, is there not? + +_Will_. I but how will they disgest it, thinkest thou when they shall +finde our Ladies not there? + +_Ia_. I have a vaunt-currying[11] devise shall make them digest it most +healthfully. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENA QUARTA. + + + _Enter Clarence, Musicians_. + +_Cla_. Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolved +T'exhaust this troubled spring of vanities +And Nurse of perturbations, my poore life, +And therefore since in every man that holds +This being deare, there must be some desire, +Whose power t'enjoy his object may so maske +The judging part, that in her radyant eyes +His estimation of the World may seeme +Vpright, and worthy, I have chosen love +To blind my Reason with his misty hands +And make my estimative power beleive +I have a project worthy to imploy +What worth so ever my whole man affordes: +Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast found +The end of thy infusion; in the eyes +Of thy divine _Eugenia_ looke for Heaven. +Thanks gentle friends. [_A song to the Violls_. +Is your good Lord, and mine, gon up to bedd yet? + + _Enter Momford_. + +_Mom_. I do assure ye not, sir, not yet, nor yet, my deepe, and studious +friend; not yet, musicall _Clarence_. + +_Cla_. My Lord? + +_Mom_. Nor yet, thou sole divider of my Lordshippe. + +_Cla_. That were a most unfit division, +And farre above the pitch of my low plumes; +I am your bold, and constant guest my Lord. + +_Mom_. Far, far from bold, for thou hast known me long +Almost these twenty yeeres, and halfe those yeeres +Hast bin my bed-fellow; long time before +This unseene thing, this thing of naught indeed, +Or _Atome_ cald my Lordshippe shind in me, +And yet thou mak'st thy selfe as little bould +To take such kindnes, as becomes the Age +And truth of our indissolable love, +As our acquaintance sprong but yesterday; +Such is thy gentle, and too tender spirit. + +_Cla_. My _Lord_, my want of Courtship makes me feare +I should be rude, and this my meane estate +Meetes with such envie, and detraction, +Such misconstructions and resolud misdoomes +Of my poore worth, that should I be advaunce'd +Beyond my unseene lowenes, but one haire, +I should be torne in peeces with the Spirits +That fly in ill-lungd tempests through the world, +Tearing the head of vertue from her shoulders +If she but looke out of the ground of glorie. +Twixt whom and me, and every worldly fortune +There fights such sowre, and curst _Antipathy_, +So waspish and so petulant a Starre, +That all things tending to my grace or good +Are ravisht from their object, as I were +A thing created for a wildernes, +And must not thinke of any place with men. + +_Mom_. O harke you Sir, this waiward moode of yours +Must sifted be, or rather rooted out. +Youle no more musick Sir? + +_Cla_. Not now, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Begon my masters then to bedd, to bedd. + +_Cla_. I thanke you, honest friends. + + [_Exeunt Musicians_. + +_Mo_. Hence with this book, and now, _Mounsieur Clarence_, me thinks +plaine and prose friendship would do excellent well betwixt us: come +thus, Sir, or rather thus, come. Sir, tis time I trowe that we both +liv'd like one body, thus, and that both our sides were slit, and +concorporat with _Organs_ fit to effect an individuall passage even for +our very thoughts; suppose we were one body now, and I charge you +beleeve it; whereof I am the hart, and you the liver. + +_Cla_. Your Lordship might well make that division[12], if you knew the +plaine song. + +_Mo_. O Sir, and why so I pray? + +_Cla_. First because the heart, is the more worthy entraile, being the +first that is borne, and moves, and the last that moves, and dies; and +then being the Fountaine of heate too: for wheresoever our heate does +not flow directly from the hart to the other _Organs_ there, their +action must of necessity cease, and so without you I neither would nor +could live. + +_Mom_. Well Sir, for these reasons I may be the heart, why may you be +the liver now? + +_Cla_. I am more then asham'd, to tell you that my _Lord_. + +_Mom_. Nay, nay, be not too suspitious of my judgement in you I beseech +you: asham'd friend? if your love overcome not that shame, a shame take +that love, I saie. Come sir, why may you be the liver? + +_Cla_. The plaine, and short truth is (my _Lord_) because I am all +liver, and turn'd lover. + +_Mom_. Lover? + +_Cla_. Lover, yfaith my _Lord_. + +_Mom_. Now I prethee let me leape out of my skin for joy: why thou wilt +not now revive the sociable mirth of thy sweet disposition? wilt thou +shine in the World anew? and make those that have sleighted thy love +with the Austeritie of thy knowledge, dote on thee againe with thy +commanding shaft of their humours? + +_Cla_. Alas, my Lord, they are all farre out of my aime; and only to fit +my selfe a little better to your friendshippe, have I given these +wilfull raynes to my affections. + +_Mom_. And yfaith is my sower friend to all worldly desires ouer taken +with the hart of the World, Love? I shall be monstrous proud now, to +heare shees every way a most rare woman, that I know thy spirit, and +judgement hath chosen; is she wise? is she noble? is she capable of thy +vertues? will she kisse this forehead with judiciall lipps where somuch +judgement and vertue deserves it? Come brother Twin, be short, I charge +you, and name me the woman. + +_Cla_. Since your Lordship will shorten the length of my follies +relation, the woman that I so passionately love, is no worse Lady then +your owne Neece, the too worthy Countesse _Eugenia_. + +_Mom_. Why so, so, so, you are a worthy friend, are you not, to conceale +this love-mine in your head, and would not open it to your hart? now +beshrow my hart, if my hart danse not for joy, tho my heeles do not; and +they doe not, because I will not set that at my heeles that my friend +sets at his heart? friend, and Nephews both? nephew is a far inferior +title to friend I confesse, but I will preferre thee backwards (as many +friends doe) and leave their friends woorse then they found them. + +_Cla_. But, my noble Lord, it is almost a prodegie, that I being onely a +poore Gentleman, and farre short of that state and wealth that a Ladie +of her greatnesse in both will expect in her husband-- + +_Mom_. Hold thy doubt friend, never feare any woman, unlesse thyselfe be +made of straw, or some such drie matter, and she of lightning. +_Audacitie_ prospers above probability in all Worldly matters. Dost not +thou know that Fortune governes them without order, and therefore reason +the mother of order is none of her counsaile? why should a man desiring +to aspire an unreasonable creature, which is a woman, seeke her fruition +by reasonable meanes? because thy selfe binds upon reason, wilt thou +looke for congruity in a woman? why? there is not one woman amongst one +thousand, but will speake false _Latine_, and breake _Priscians_ head. +Attempt nothing that you may with great reason doubt of and out of doubt +you shall obtaine nothing. I tell thee, friend, the eminent confidence +of strong spirits is the onely witch-craft of this World, Spirits +wrastling with spirits as bodies with bodies: this were enough to make +thee hope well, if she were one of these painted communities, that are +ravisht with Coaches, and upper hands,[13] and brave men of durt: but +thou knowest friend shees a good scholler, and like enough to bite at +the rightest reason, and reason evermore _Ad optima hortatur_: to like +that which is best, not that which is bravest, or rightest, or greatest, +and so consequently worst. But prove what shee can, wee will turne her, +and winde her, and make her so plyant, that we will drawe her thorugh a +wedding ring yfaith. + +_Cla_. Would to God we might, my Lord. + +_Mom_. He warrant thee, friend. + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Mes_. Here is Mistris _Wynnifred_ from my Lady _Eugenia_ desires to +speake with your Lordshippe. + +_Mom_. Marrie, enter, Mistris _Wynnifred_, even here I pray thee;--from +the Lady _Eugenia_, doe you heare, friend? + +_Cla_. Very easily on that side, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Let me feele. Does not thy heart pant apace? by my hart, well +labor'd _Cupid_, the field is yours, sir. God! and upon a very +honourable composition. I am sent for now I am sure, and must even +trusse, and to her. + + _Enter Wynnifred_. + +Witty Mistris _Wynnifred_, nay come neere, woman. I am sure this +Gentleman thinkes his Chamber the sweeter for your deare presence. + +_Wyn_. My absence shall thanke him, my Lord. + +_Mom_. What, rude? Mistris _Wynnifred_? nay faith you shall come to him, +and kisse him, for his kindenesse. + +_Wyn_. Nay good, my Lord, I'le never goe to the market for that ware, I +can have it brought home to my Dore. + +_Mom_. O _Wynnifred_, a man may know by the market-folkes how the market +goes. + +_Wyn_. So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne to +go to that market themselves. + +_Mom_. To goe to it _Wynnifred_? nay to ride to it yfaith. + +_Wyn_. Thats more then I know my Lord. + +_Mom_. Youle not beleeve it till you are then a horsebacke, will ye? + +_Wyn_. Come, come, I am sent of a message to you, will you heare it? + +_Mom_. Stoppe, stoppe, faire _Wynnifred_, would you have audience so +soone, there were no state in that yfaith. This faire gentlewoman sir-- + +_Wyn_. Now we shall have a fiction I beleive. + +_Mom_. Had three Suiters at once. + +_Wyn_. Youle leave out none my Lord. + +_Mom_. No more did you, _Wynnifred_: you enterferde with them all in +truth. + +_Wyn_. O Monstrous Lord by this light! + +_Mom_. Now sir to make my tale short I will doe that which she did not; +vz. leave out the two first. The third comming, the third night for his +turne-- + +_Wyn_. My Lord, my Lord, my Lady does that that no body else does, +desires your company; and so fare you well. + +_Mom_. O stay a little sweet _Wynnifred_, helpe me but to trusse my +Poynts againe, and have with you. + +_Wyn_. Not I by my truth my Lord, I had rather see your hose about your +heeles, then I would helpe you to trusse a poynt. + +_Mom_. O witty _Wynnifred_? for that jest, take thy passeport, and tell +thy Ladie[14], thou leftst me with my hose about my heeles. + +_Wyn_. Well, well my Lord you shall sit till the mosse grow about your +heeles, ere I come at you againe. [_Exit_. + +_Mom_. She cannot abide to heare of her three Suiters, but is not this +very fit my sweet _Clarence_? Thou seest my rare Neece cannot sleepe +without me; but for thy company sake, she shall to night; and in the +morning I will visit her earely; when doe thou but stand in that place, +and thou maiest chance heare (but art sure to see) in what subtill, and +farre-fetcht manner Ile solicite her about thee. + +_Cla_. Thank's, worthy Lord. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actvs Secvndi_. + +SCENA PRIMA. + + + _Clarence Solus_. + +_Cla_. I that have studied with world-skorning thoughts +The way of Heaven, and how trew Heaven is reacht +To know how mighty, and how many are +The strange affections of enchaunted number; +How to distinguish all the motions +Of the Celestiall bodies, and what power +Doth separate in such forme this massive Rownd; +What is his Essence, Efficacies, Beames, +Foot-steps, and Shadowes; what Eternesse[15] is, +The World, and Time, and Generation; +What Soule, the worlds Soule is, what the blacke Springs +And unreveald Originall of Things, +What their perseverance; what's life, and death, +And what our certaine Restauration; +Am with the staid-heads of this Time imploy'd +To watch with all my Nerves a Female shade. + + _Enter Wynnifred, Anabell, with their sowing workes + and sing: After their song Enter Lord Momford_. + +_Mom_. Witty Mistrisse _Wynnifred_, where is your Countesse, I pray? + +_Wyn_. Faith your Lordship is bould enough to seeke her out, if she were +at her urinall? + +_Mom_. Then sh'as done, it seemes, for here she comes to save me that +labour; away, wenches, get you hence wenches. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Eu_. What, can you not abide my maides, unkle? + +_Mom_. I never cood abide a maide in my life Neece, but either I draw +away the maide, or the maidenhead with a wet finger[16]. + +_Eug_. You love to make your selfe worse then you are still. + +_Mom_. I know few mend in this World, Madam. For the worse the better +thought on, the better the worse spoken on ever amongst women. + +_Eu_. I wonder where you have binne all this while with your sentences. + +_Mom_. Faith where I must be againe presently. I cannot stay long with +you my deere Neece. + +_Eu_. By my faith but you shall, my Lord. Cods pittie what will become +of you shortly, that you drive maids afore you, and offer to leave +widowes behind you, as mankindelie as if you had taken a surfet of our +Sex lately, and our very sight turnd your stomacke? + +_Mom_. Cods my life, she abuses her best unkle; never trust me if it +were not a good revenge to helpe her to the losse of her widow-head. + +_Eu_. That were a revenge, and a halfe, indeed. + +_Mom_. Nay twere but a whole revenge Neece, but such a revenge as would +more then observe the true rule of a revenger. + +_Eu_. I know your rule before you utter it, _Vlciscere inimico_ [sic] +_sed sine tuo incommodo_. + +_Mom_. O rare Neece, you may see, what tis to be a scholler now; +learning in a woman is like waight in gold, or luster in Diamants, which +in no other Stone is so rich or refulgent. + +_Eug_. But say deere Vnckle how could you finde in your heart to stay so +long from me? + +_Mom_. Why, alas Neece, y'are so smeard with this willfull widdows +three-yeeres blacke weede, that I never come to you, but I dreame of +Coarses, and Sepulchres, and Epitaphs, all the night after, and +therefore adew deere Neece. + +_Eug_. Beshrew my heart my Lord, if you goe theis three houres. + +_Mom_. Three houres? nay Neece, if I daunce attendance three hours +(alone in her Chamber) with any Lady so neere alide to me, I am very +idle yfaith--Mary with such an other I would daunce, one, two, three, +foure, and five, tho it cost me ten shillings. And now I am in, have at +it! my head must devise something, while my feet are pidling thus, that +may bring her to some fit consideration of my friend, who indeed is +onely a great scholler, and all his honours, and riches lie in his +minde. + +_Eu_. Come, come, pray tell me uncle, how does my cosen _Momford_? + +_Mom_. Why, well, very well Neece, and so is my friend _Clarence_ well +too, and then is there a worthy gentleman well as any is in England I +can tell ye. [_He daunceth speaking_. + +_Eug_. But when did you see my Cosen? + +_Mom_. And tis pitty but he should do well, and he shall be well too, +if all my wealth will make him well. + +_Eug_. What meanes he by this, tro? your Lord is very dancitive me +thinkes. + +_Mom_. I, and I could tell you a thing would make your Ladyship very +dancitive, or else it were very dunsative yfaith. O how the skipping of +this Christmas blocke of ours moves the block-head heart of a woman and +indeed any thing that pleaseth the foolish eye which presently runnes +with a lying tale of Excellence to the minde. + +_Eug_. But I pray tell me my Lord could you tell me of a thing would +make me dance say you? + +_Mom_. Well, farewell sweet Neece, I must needs take my leave in +earnest. + +_Eu_. Lord blesse us, heres such a stir with your farewels. + +_Mom_. I will see you againe within these two or three dayes a my word +Neece. + +_Eug_. Cods pretious, two or three dayes? why this Lord is in a +maruallous strange humor. Sit downe, sweet Vnkle; yfaith I have to +talke with you about greate matters. + +_Mom_. Say then deere Neece, be short utter your minde quickly now. + +_Eug_. But I pray tell me first, what's that would make me daunce +yfaith? + +_Mom_. Daunce, what daunce? hetherto your dauncers legges bow for-sooth, +and Caper, and jerke, and Firke, and dandle the body above them, as it +were their great childe; though the speciall jerker be above this place +I hope here lies that shud fetch a perfect woman over the Coles yfaith. + +_Eug_. Nay good Vnkle say what's the thing you could tell me of? + +_Mom_. No matter, no matter: But let me see a passing prosperous +fore-head of an exceeding happy distance betwixt the eye browes; a cleere +lightning eye; a temperate, and fresh bloud in both the cheekes: +excellent markes, most excellent markes of good fortune. + +_Eug_. Why, how now Vnkle did you never see me before? + +_Mom_. Yes Neece; but the state of these things at this instant must be +specially observed, and these outward signes being now in this cleere +elevation, show your untroubled minde is in an excellent power, to +preferre them to act forth then a little, deere Neece. + +_Eug_. This is excellent. + +_Mom_. The Crises here are excellent good; The proportion of the chin +good; the little aptness of it to sticke out good; and the wart above it +most exceeding good. Never trust me, if all things be not answerable to +the prediction of a most Divine fortune towards her; now if she have the +grace to apprehend it in the nicke; thers all. + +_Eug_. Well my Lord, since you will not tell me your secret, ile keepe +another from you; with whose discovery, you may much pleasure me, and +whose concealement may hurt my estate. And if you be no kinder then to +see me so indangered; ile be very patient of it, I assure you. + +_Mom_. Nay then it must instantly foorth. This kinde conjuration even +fires it out of me; and (to be short) gather all your judgment +togeather, for here it comes. Neece, _Clarence, Clarence_, rather my +soule then my friend _Clarence_, of too substantiall a worth, to have +any figures cast about him (notwithstanding, no other woman with Empires +could stirre his affections) is with your vertues most extreamely in +love; and without your requitall dead. And with it Fame shall sound this +golden disticke through the World of you both. + + _Non illo melior quisquam, nec amantior aequi + Vir fuit, aut illa reverentior ulla Deorum_[17]. + +_Eug_. Ay me poore Dame, O you amase me Vncle, +Is this the wondrous fortune you presage? +What man may miserable women trust? + +_Mom_. O peace good Lady, I come not to ravish you to any thing. But now +I see how you accept my motion: I perceive (how upon true triall) you +esteeme me. Have I rid all this Circuite to levie the powers of your +Iudgment, that I might not proove their strength too sodainly with so +violent a charge; And do they fight it out in white bloud, and show me +their hearts in the soft Christall of teares? + +_Eug_. O uncle you have wounded your selfe in charging me that I should +shun Iudgement as a monster, if it would not weepe; I place the poore +felicity of this World in a woorthy friend, and to see him so unworthily +revolted, I shed not the teares of my Brayne, but the teares of my +soule. And if ever nature made teares th'effects of any worthy cause, +I am sure I now shed them worthily. + +_Mom_. Her sensuall powers are up yfaith, I have thrust her soule quite +from her Tribunall. This is her _Sedes vacans_ when her subjects are +priviledged to libell against her, and her friends. But weeps my kinde +Neece for the wounds of my friendship? And I toucht in friendship for +wishing my friend doubled in her singular happinesse? + +_Eug_. How am I doubl'd? when my honour, and good name, two essentiall +parts of me; would bee lesse, and loste? + +_Mom_. In whose Iudgment? + +_Eug_. In the judgment of the World. + +_Mom_. Which is a fooles boult. _Nihil a virtute nec a veritate +remotius, quàm vulgaris opinio_: But my deare Neece, it is most true +that your honour, and good name tendred, as they are the species of +truth, are worthily two esentiall parts of you; But as they consist only +in ayrie titles, and corrupteble bloud (whose bitternes _sanitas & non +nobilitas efficit_) and care not how many base, and execrable acts they +commit, they touch you no more then they touch eternity. And yet shall +no nobility you have in eyther, be impaired neither. + +_Eug_. Not to marry a poore Gentleman? + +_Mom_. Respect him not so; for as he is a Gentleman he is noble; as he +is wealthily furnished with true knowledge, he is rich, and therein +adorn'd with the exactest complements belonging to everlasting +noblenesse. + +_Eug_. Which yet will not maintaine him a weeke: Such kinde of +noblenesse gives no cotes of honour nor can scarse gette a cote for +necessity. + +_Mom_. Then is it not substantiall knowledge (as it is in him) but +verball, and fantasticall for _Omnia in illa ille complexu tenet_. + +_Eug_. Why seekes he me then? + +_Mom_. To make you joynt partners with him in all things, and there is +but a little partiall difference betwixt you, that hinders that +universall joynture: The bignesse of this circle held too neere our eye +keepes it from the whole Spheare of the Sun; but could we sustaine it +indifferently betwixt us, and it would then without checke of one beame +appeare in his fulnes. + +_Eug_. Good Vnckle be content, for now shall I never dreame of +contentment. + +_Mom_. I have more then done Lady, and had rather have suffer'd an +alteration of my being, then of your Judgment; but (deere Neece) for +your own honours sake repaire it instantly. + + _Enter Hippolyta. Penelope. Iacke. Will_. + +See heere comes the Ladies; make an Aprill day on't[18], deare love, +and bee sodainly cheerefull. God save you, more then faire Ladies, +I am glad your come, for my busines will have me gone presently. + +_Hip_. Why my Lord _Momford_ I say? will you goe before Dinner? + +_Mom_. No remedy, sweet Beauties, for which rudnesse I lay my hands thus +low for your pardons. + +_Pen_. O Courteous Lo. _Momford_![19] + +_Mom_. Neece?----_Mens est quae sola quietos, + Sola facit claros, mentemque honoribus ornat_.[20] + +_Eug_. _Verus honos juvat, at mendax infamia terret_.[21] + +_Mom_. Mine owne deare nephew? + +_Cla_. What successe my Lord? + +_Mom_. Excellent; excellent; come Ile tell thee all.--_Exeunt_. + +_Hip_. Doe you heare Madam, how our youthes here have guld our three +suiters? + +_Eug_. Not I, Lady; I hope our suiters are no fit meat for our Pages. + +_Pe_. No Madam, but they are fit sawce for any mans meat, Ile warrent +them. + +_Eug_. What's the matter _Hippolyta_? + +_Hip_. They have sent the Knights to _Barnet_, Madam, this frosty +morning to meet us there. + +_Eug_. I'st true, youths? are Knights fit subjects for your knaveries? + +_Will_. Pray pardon us, Madam, we would be glad to please anie body. + +_Ia_. I indeed, Madam, and we were sure we pleased them highly, to tell +them you were desirous of their company. + +_Hip_. O t'was good, _Eugenia_, their livers were too hot, you know, and +for temper sake they must needs have a cooling carde[22] plaid upon +them. + +_Wil_. And besides Madam we wood have them know that your two little +Pages, which are lesse by halfe then two leaves, have more learning in +them then is in all their three volumnes. + +_Ia_. I yfaith _Will_, and put their great pagicall index to them, too. + +_Hip_. But how will ye excuse your abuses, wags? + +_Wil_. We doubt not, Madam, but if it please your Ladiship to put up +their abuses. + +_Ia_. Trusting they are not so deere to you, but you may. + +_Wil_. We shall make them gladly furnishe their pockets with them. + +_Hip_. Well, children and foules, agree as you will, and let the World +know now, women have nothing to doe with you. + +_Pe_. Come, Madam, I thinke your Dinner bee almost ready. + + _Enter Tales, Kingcob_. + +_Hip_. And see, here are two honourable guests for you, the Lord +_Tales_, and sir _Cutberd Kingcob_. + +_Ta_. Lacke you any guests, Madam? + +_Eu_. I, my Lord, such guests as you. + +_Hip_. Theres as common an answere, as yours was a question, my Lord. + +_King_. Why? all things shood be common betwixt Lords, and Ladies, you +know. + +_Pe_. Indeed sir _Cutberd Kingcob_, I have heard, you are either of the +familie of Love[23], or of no religion at all. + +_Eug_. He may well be said to be of the family of love, he does so flow +in the loves of poore over-throwne Ladies. + +_King_. You speake of that I wood doe, Madam, but in earnest, I am now +suing for a new Mistres; looke in my hand sweet Lady, and tell me what +fortune I shall have with her. + +_Eug_. Doe you thinke me a witch, Sir _Cutberd_? + +_King_. Pardon me Madam, but I know you to bee learned in all things. + +_Eug_. Come on, lets see. + +_Hip_. He does you a speciall favour Lady, to give you his open hand, +for tis commonly shut they say. + +_King_. What find you in it, Madam? + +_Eug_. Shut it now, and ile tell yee. + +_King_. What now Lady? + +_Eug_. Y'ave the worst hand that ever I saw Knight have; when tis open, +one can find nothing in it, and when tis shut one can get nothing out +ont. + +_King_. The age of letting goe is past, Madam; we must not now let goe, +but strike up mens heeles, and take am as they fall. + +_Eug_. A good Cornish principle beleeve it sir _Cutberd_. + +_Tales_. But I pray tell me, Lady _Penelope_, how entertaine you the +love of my Cosen sir _Gyles Goosecappe_. + +_Pene_. Are the _Goosecaps_ a kin to you, my Lord? + +_Ta_. Even in the first degree, Madam. And, Sir _Gyles_, I can tell ye, +tho he seeme something simple, is compos'd of as many good parts as any +Knight in England. + +_Hip_. He shood be put up for concealement then, for he shewes none of +them. + +_Pen_. Are you able to reckon his good parts, my Lord? + +_Ta_. Ile doe the best I can, Lady; first, he danses as comely, and +lightly as any man, for upon my honour, I have seene him danse upon +Egges, and a has not broken them. + +_Pene_. Nor crackt them neyther. + +_Ta_. That I know not; indeed I wood be loath to lie though he be my +kinsman, to speake more then I know by him. + +_Eug_. Well, forth my Lord. + +_Ta_. He has an excellent skill in all manner of perfumes, & if you +bring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he will +tell you the price of them to two pence. + +_Hip_. A pretty sweet quality beleeve me. + +_Tales_. Nay Lady he will perfume you gloves himselfe most delicately, +and give them the right Spanish Titillation. + +_Pene_. Titillation what's that my Lord? + +_Tal_. Why, Lady, tis a pretty kinde of terme new come up in perfuming, +which they call a Titillation. + +_Hip_. Very well expounded, my Lord; forth with your kinsmans parts I +pray. + +_Tal_. He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will worke +you needle-worke-edgings, and _French_ purles, from an Angell to foure +Angells a yarde. + +_Eug_. That's pretious ware indeed. + +_Tal_. He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if it +grew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give it +you his perfect, and naturall savour. + +_Hip_. This is wonderfull; forth, sweet Lord _Tales_. + +_Tal_. He will make you flyes, and wormes, of all sorts most lively, and +is now working a whole bed embrodred, with nothing but glowe wormes; +whose lights a has so perfectly done, that you may goe to bed in the +Chamber, doe any thing in the Chamber, without a Candle. + +_Pene_. Never trust me, if it be not incredible; forth my good Lord. + +_Tal_. He is a most excellent Turner, and will turne you wassel-bowles, +and posset Cuppes caru'd with libberds faces, and Lyons heads with +spouts in their mouths, to let out the posset Ale, most artificially. + +_Eug_. Forth, good Lord _Tales_. + +_Pene_. Nay, good my Lord no more; you have spoken for him thoroughly I +warrant you. + +_Hip_. I lay my life _Cupid_ has shot my sister in love with him out of +your lips, my Lord. + +_Eug_. Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, and +we will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord and +Lady _Furnifall_. + +_King_. _Tale_. We attend you, honorable Ladies. + + _Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actvs Tertii_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe_. + +_Rud_. _Bullaker_. + +_Bul_. I, Sir. + +_Rud_. Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse. + +_Bul_. So I doe Sir. + +_Rud_. I wonder, Sir _Gyles_, you wood let him goe so, and not ride +after him. + +_Goos_. Wood I might never be mortall sir _Cutt_: if I rid not after +him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and +hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers +ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he +ran his way like a _Diogenes_, and would never stay for us. + +_Rud_. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his +horse is gone? + +_Goos_. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir _Moyle_, we shall soone +our'take him I warrent ye. + +_Rud_. And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thou +coodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish has +bitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still. + +_Goos_. But heres all the doubt, sir _Cutt_: if no body shoold catch him +now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, +and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed +one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees +hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, +because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my +Horse when he was hot yfaith. + + _Enter Fowleweathter_. + +How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet? + +_Rud_. Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in +paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill +as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light. + +_Foul_. Cods precious, sir _Cutt_: your _Frenchman_ never lights +I tell ye. + +_Goos_. Light, sir _Cutt_! Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres +nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light. + +_Rud_. Goe too, you _French_ Zanies you, you will follow the _French_ +steps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground +all the daies of your life. + +_Goos_. Why, sir _Cut_: I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but +we were justly plagu'd by this Hill, for following women thus. + +_Foul_. I, and English women too, sir _Gyles_. + +_Rud_. Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none +of the _French_ Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men +in _France_, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there +should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there +is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them +yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for +phantasticality. + +_Foul_. O Lord sir _Cut_. I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for +Courtship, and yet the _French_ Lords put them downe; you noted it, sir +_Gyles_. + +_Goos_. O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence. + +_Rud_. How did they put them downe, I pray thee? + +_Foul_. Why for wit, and for Court-ship Sir _Moile_. + +_Rud_.[25] As how, good left-handed _Francois_. + +_Foul_. Why Sir when _Monsieur Lambois_ came to your mistris the Lady +_Hippolyta_ as she sate in the presence,--sit downe here good Sir _Gyles +Goose-cappe_,--he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queint +_French start_ in his speech of ah _bellissime_, I desire to die now, +saies he, for your love that I might be buried here. + +_Rud_. A good pickt-hatch[26] complement, by my faith; but I prethee +what answer'd she. + +_Foul_. She, I scorne to note that, I hope; then did he vie[27] it +againe with an other hah. + +_Rud_. That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I had +beene as my Mistris, and hah, hah, haht him out of the presence yfaith. + +_Foul_. Hah, saies he, theis faire eyes, I wood not for a million they +were in _France_, they wood renew all our civill-wars againe. + +_Goos_. That was not so good, me thinkes, Captaine. + +_Rud_. Well iudgd, yfaith; there was a little wit in that, I must +confesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with a +question, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if a +lover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was far +from believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculous +jests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told him +she had as lieve be courted with a brush faggot as with a Frenchman, +that spent it selfe all in sparkes, and would sooner fire ones chimney +then warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to set +thatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, and +respected them as sleightly. + +_Goos_. Why so Captaine, and yet you talke of your great Frenchmen; +[would] to God little England had never knowne them _I_ may say. + +_Foul_. What's the matter sir _Gyles_? are you out of love with +Frenchmen now of a sodaine? + +_Goos_. Slydd Captaine, wood not make one, Ile be sworne? Ile be sworne, +they tooke away a mastie Dogge of mine by commission: now I thinke on't, +makes my teares stand in my eyes with griefe, I had rather lost the +dearest friend that ever _I_ lay withall in my life be this light; never +stir if he fought not with great _Sekerson_[28] foure hours to one, +foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that he +sterud him presently: So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Beare +cood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon the +Dogge, broke his backe, and the Dogge never stird more. + +_Rud_. Why thou saist the Frenchmen tooke him away. + +_Goos_. Frenchmen, _I_, so they did too, but yet, and he had not bin +kild, twood nere a greevd me. + +_Foul_. O excellent unity of speech. + + _Enter Will, and Iacke at seuerall Doores_. + +_Will_. Save ye, Knights. + +_Ia_. Save you, Captaine. + +_Foul_. Pages, welcome my fine Pages. + +_Rud_. Welcome, boyes. + +_Goos_. Welcome, sweet _Will_, good _Iacke_. + +_Foul_. But how chaunce you are so farre from London now pages? is it +almost Dinner time? + +_Wil_. Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, and +cood not chuse in pure love to your worships, but we must needs come, +and meet you, before you mett our Ladies, to tell you a secret. + +_Omnes_. A secret, what secret I pray thee? + +_Ia_. If ever your worships say any thing, we are undone for ever. + +_Omnes_. Not for a World beleeve it. + +_Will_. Why then this it is; we over-heard our Ladies as they were +talking in private say, they refus'de to meet you at _Barnet_ this +morning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were most +patient. + +_Ia_. And some said you, Sir _Gyles_, another you Sir [_Cutt_] and the +third you Captaine. + +_Om_. This was excellent. + +_Wil_. Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to you +by any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall see +you say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladies +begin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge a +little. + +_Foul_. O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might be +Casheird, if I say any thing. + +_Rud_. Faith, and I can forbeare my Tongue as well as another, I hope. + +_Goos_. Wood I might be degraded, if I speake a word, Ile tell them I +care not for loosing my labour. + +_Foul_. Come Knights shall wee not reward the Pages? + +_Rud_. Yes I prethee doe, sir _Gyles_ give the boyes something. + +_Goos_. Never stirre, sir _Cutt_, if I have ever a groat about me but +one three pence. + +_Foul_. Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages. + +_Wil_. No in deed, ant please your worship. + +_Foul_. O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty? + +_Ia_. Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine. + +_Foul_. And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos. + +_Wil_. Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your +Lords house, Captaine, the Lord _Furnifall_, and there will be your +great cosen Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_, the Lorde _Tales_, and your Vnckle, +Sir _Cutt. Rudesby_, Sir _Cutbert Kingcob_. + +_Foul_. The Lord _Tales_, what countriman is he? + +_Ia_. A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury. + +_Foul_. Out of Canterbury. + +_Wil_. Indeed, Sir, the best _Tales_ in England are your Canterbury +_Tales_, I assure ye. + +_Rud_. The boy tels thee true Captaine. + +_Ia_. He writes his name Sir, _Tales_, and he being the tenth sonne his +Father had; his Father Christned him _Decem Tales_, and so his whole +name is the Lord _Decem Tales_. + +_Goos_. A my mortality the boy knowes more then I doe of our house. + +_Rud_. But is the Ladie _Furnifall_ (Captaine) still of the same +drinking humor she was wont to be? + +_Foul_. Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veine +till she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my good +little old Lord out of all proportion. + +_Rud_.[29] And therefore, as I heare, he will earnestly invite guests to +his house, of purpose to make his wife dronke, and then dotes on her +humour most prophanely. + +_Foul_. Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and you +shall see her; and now I thinke ont, ile tell you a thing Knights, +wherein perhaps you may exceedingly pleasure me. + +_Goos_. What's that, good Captaine? + +_Foul_. I am desirous to helpe my Lord to a good merry Foole, and if I +cood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit I +assure ye. + +_Rud_. Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne. + +_Foul_. O _Fraunce_, Sir _Cutt_. your Frenchman wood not have taken me +so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times +to make you merry. + +_Rud_. As thou doest. + +_Goos_. Nay good sir _Cut_. you know fooles doe come into your +companies. + +_Rud_. I and thou knowst it too, no man better. + +_Foul_. Beare off with Choller Sir _Gyles_. + +_Wil_. But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir? + +_Foul_. I, my good page exceeding faine. + +_Ia_. You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench? + +_Foul_. Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page. + +_Wil_. Does his Lord: love a foole, so well I pray? + +_Foul_. Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves +himselfe. + +_Ia_. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have of +all manner of degrees. + +_Foul_. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that wood +make my Lord laugh well, and I carde not. + +_Wil_. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lord +costive of laughter, or laxative of laughter? + +_Foul_. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes +Laxative of Laughter. + +_Wil_. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry +if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of +wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the +quantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have as +much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive +of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an _Epilepsie_, and fall +down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that +passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a +Foole. + +_Foul_. Thart ith right, my notable good page. + +_Ia_. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that +if he should have all _Bacon_[30] _de sanitate tuenda_ read to him, it +shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall. + +_Foul_. Remercy, my more then English pages. + +_Goos_. A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have +never bin in _France_ Captaine. + +_Foul_. Tis true indeed Sir _Gyles_, well then my almost french Elixers +will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say. + +_Wil_. As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and +he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at +table. + +_Foul_. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages. + +_Ia_. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently. + +_Foul_. Doe so my good wagges. + +_Wil_. Save you Knights. + +_Ia_. Save you Captaine. + _Exeunt_. + +_Foul_. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to +goe to this Supper? + +_Rud_. What else? + +_Goos_. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, +Captaine. + +_Foul_. That we will, I warrent you, sir _Giles_. + +_Rud_. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man. + +_Goos_. The Moone, sir _Cut_: I scorne the Moone yfaith. Slydd, +sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a +couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, I +cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tother +night. + +_Rud_. What tricke, sir _Gyles_? + +_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you +know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it +needed, and run after it into _Finsbury_-fieldes ith calme evening to +see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by +this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into +the Ditch by Heaven. + +_Rud_. That was ill done in her, indeed sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. Ill done sir _Cut_? Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and +she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud +a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I +live, Ile be sworne to ye. + +_Foul_. Come, Knights, to London: Horse, Horse, Horse. + +_Rud_. In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because the +_French_ Moones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I +warrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, he +seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you +shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their +Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my wit +with their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall a +beating on them presently. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Lord Momford, and Clarence. Clarence, Horatio_. + +_Cla_. Sing good _Horatio_, while I sigh, and write. +According to my master _Platos_ minde, +The soule is musicke, and doth therefore joy +In accents musicall, which he that hates +With points of discord is together tyed, +And barkes at _Reason_, Consonant in sense. +Divine _Eugenia_, beares the ocular forme +Of musicke, and of _Reason_, and presents +The soule exempt from flesh in flesh inflam'd[31]; +Who must not love her then, that loves his soule? +To her I write; my friend, the starre[32] of friends +Will needs have my strange lines greet her strange eies +And for her sake ile power my poore Soule forth +In floods of inke; but did not his kinde hand +Barre me with violent grace, I wood consume +In the white flames of her impassionate love, +Ere my harsh lipps shood vent the odorous blaze. +For I am desperate of all worldly joyes, +And there was never man so harsh to men. +When I am fullest of digested life +I seeme a livelesse _Embrion_ to all, +Each day rackt up in night-like Funerall. +Sing, good _Horatio_, whilst I sigh, and write. + + _Canto. + + The Letter. + + Suffer him to love that suffers not loving; my love + is without passion, and therefore free from alteration._ + +Prose is too harsh, and Verse is Poetry. +Why shood I write; then? merrit[33] clad in inke +Is but a mourner, and as good as naked. +I will not write, my friend shall speake for me. +Sing one stave more, my good _Horatio_. + + _Canto_. + +I must remember I know whom I love +A dame of learning, and of life exempt +From all the idle fancies of her Sex, +And this, that to an other dame wood seeme +Perplext and foulded in a rudelesse[34] vaile, +Will be more cleere then ballads to her eye. +Ile write, if but to satisfie my friend. +Your third staunce sweet _Horatio_, and no more. + + _Canto_. + +How vainele doe I offer my strange love? +I marry, and bid states, and entertaine +Ladies with tales, and jests, and Lords with newes, +And keepe a House to feast _Acteons_ hounds +That eate their Master, and let idle guests +Draw me from serious search of things divine? +To bid them sit, and welcome, and take care +To sooth their pallats with choyce kitchin-stuff, +As all must doe that marry, and keepe House, +And then looke on the left side of my yoake +Or on the right perhaps, and see my wife +Drawe in a quite repugnant course from me, +Busied to starch her French purles, and her puffs, +When I am in my _Anima reflexa. +Quid est faelicitas? quae origo rerum_? +And make these beings that are knowne to be +The onely serious object of true men +Seeme shadowes, with substantiall stir she keeps +About her shadowes, which if husbands love +They must beleeve; and thus my other selfe +Brings me another body to dispose, +That have already much too much of one, +And must not looke for any Soule of her +To helpe to rule two bodies? + +_Mom_. Fie for shame; +I never heard of such an antedame[35]. +Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? +Why, friend, they eyther are mens soules themselves, +Or the most witty Imitatrixes of them; +Or prettiest sweet apes of humaine Soules, +That ever Nature fram'd; as I will prove. +For first they be _Substantiae lucidae_, +And purer then mens bodies, like their soules, +Which mens harsh haires both of their brest and chinne +Occasioned by their grose and ruder heate +Plainely demonstrats: Then like soules they doe, +_Movere corpora_, for no power on Earth +Moves a mans body, as a woman does. +Then doe they _Dare formas corpori_, +Or adde faire formes to men, as their soules doe: +For but for women, who wood care for formes? +I vow I never wood wash face, nor hands, +Nor care how ragg'd, or slovenly I went, +Wer't not for women, who of all mens pompes +Are the true final causes: Then they make +Men in their Seedes immortall, like their soules, +That els wood perish in a spanne of time. +Oh! they be soule-like creatures, and my Neece +The soule of twenty rare soules stil'd in one. + +_Cla_. That, that it is, my Lord, that makes me love. + +_Mom_. Oh are ye come Sir, welcome to my Neece, +As I may say, at midnight; gentle friend, +What have you wrot I pray? + +_Cla_. Strange stuffe my Lord. + +_Mom_. Indeed the way to believe is to love + [_Hee reads and comments_. +And the right way to love is to believe. +This I will carry now with pen, and incke, +For her to use in answere; see, sweet friend, +She shall not stay to call, but while the steele +Of her affection is made softe and hott, +Ile strike, and take occasion by the brow. +Blest is the wooing thats not long a dooing. + [_Exit_. + +_Cla_. Had ever man so true, and noble friend? +Or wood men thinke this sharpe worlds freezing Aire +To all true honour and iuduciall love, +Wood suffer such a florishing pyne in both +To overlooke the boxe-trees of this time? +When the learn'd minde hath by impulsion wrought +Her eyes cleere fire into a knowing flame; +No elementall smoke can darken it, +Nor Northren coldnesse nyppe her _Daphnean_ Flower. +O sacred friendship, thanks to thy kinde power, +That being retir'd from all the faithlesse World, +Appear'st to me in my unworldly friend, +And for thine own sake let his noble minde, +By moving presedent to all his kinde, +(Like just _Deucalion_) of Earths stony bones +Repaire the World with humaine bloud and flesh, +And dying vertue with new life refresh. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actvs Qvartvs_. + + + _Enter Tales, Kingcob, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred_. + +_King_. Tis time to leave your Chests, Ladies; tis too studious an +exercise after Dinner. + +_Tal_. Why is it cal'd Chests? + +_Hip_. Because they leane upon their Chests that play at it. + +_Tal_. I wood have it cald the strife of wits, for tis a game so witty, +that with strife for maisterie, we hunt it eagerly. + +_Eug_. Specially where the wit of the _Goosecaps_ are in chase my Lord. + +_Tal_. I am a _Goosecappe_ by the mothers side, Madam; at least my +mother was a _Goosecappe_. + +_Pene_. And you were her white[36] sonne, I warrant my Lord. + +_Tal_. I was the youngest, Lady, and therefore must bee her white sonne, +yee know; the youngest of ten I was. + +_Hip_. And the wisest of Fifteene. + +_Tal_. And sweet Lady will yee cast a kinde eye now upon my Cosin, Sir +_Gyles Goosecappe_. + +_Pene_. Pardon my Lord, I have never a spare eye to cast away, +I assure ye. + +_Tal_. I wonder you shood count it cast away, Ladie, uppon him; doe you +remember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you. + +_Pene_. Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that he +is the best Sempster of any woman in England: pray lets see some of his +worke? + +_Hip_. Sweet Lord, lets see him sowe a little. + +_Tal_. You shall, a mine honour, Lady. + +_Eug_. Hees a goodly greate Knight indeed; and a little needle in his +hand will become him prettelie. + +_King_. From the _Spanish_ Pike to the _Spanish_ Needle, he shall play +with any Knight in England, Ladie. + +_Eug_. But not _è converso_, from the _Spanish_ needle to the _Spanish_ +Pike. + +_King_. I thinke he be too wise for that indeed, Madam, for he has +twenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath to +bring it all to the length of a Pike. + +_Hip_. But no man commends my blount Servant sir _Cut. Rudesby_, +methinks. + +_King_. Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of +this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more +he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing +but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is +right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest +favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it. + +_Eug_. He saies well to you _Hippolita_. + +_Hip_. I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in +kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe. + +_King_. Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he +respects, I assure ye. + +_Hip_. And what's his living sir _Cutbeard_? + +_King_. Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie. + +_Hip_. I pray doe not tell him that I ask't, for I stand not upon +living. + +_King_. O good Ladie, who can live without living? + + _Enter Momford_. + +_Mom_. Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come not +for vittles. + +_Tal_. Vittles, my Lord? I hope wee have vittles at home. + +_Mom_. I, but, sweet Lord, there is a principle in the Polititians +physicke: Eat not[37] your meat upon other mens trenchers, and beware of +surfets of your owne coste. Manie good companions cannot abide to eate +meate at home, ye know. And how faires my noble Neece now, and her faire +Ladie Feeres[38]? + +_Eug_. What winde blowes you hether, troe? + +_Mom_. Harke you, Madam, the sweet gale of one _Clarences_ breath, with +this his paper sayle blowes me hether. + +_Eug_. Aye me still, in that humour? beshrewe my heart, if I take anie +Papers from him. + +_Mom_. Kinde bosome doe thou take it then. + +_Eug_. Nay then never trust me. + +_Mom_. Let it fall then or cast it away, you were best, that every body +may discover your love suits, doe; theres somebody neare, you note +it.--And how have you spent the time since Dinner, nobles? + +_King_. At chests, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Read it, Neece. + +_Eug_. Heere, beare it backe, I pray. + +_Mom_. I beare you on my backe to heare you. And how play the Ladies, +sir _Cuthberd_? what men doe they play best withall, with Knights or +rookes? + +_Tal_. With Knights, my Lord. + +_Mom_. T'is pitty their boord is no broader, and that some men called +guls are not added to their game. + +_King_. Why, my Lo? it needs not, they make the Knights guls. + +_Mom_. That's pretty, sir _Cuthbert_.--You have begon I know, Neece; +forth I command you. + +_Eug_. O yare a sweet uncle. + +_Mom_. I have brought here a little _Greeke_, to helpe mee out withall, +and shees so coy of her learning forsooth, she makes it strange.--Lords +and Ladies, I invite you all to supper to night, and you shall not deny +me. + +_All_. We will attend your Lordshippe. + +_Tal_. Come Ladies let's into the gallery a little. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Mom_. And now what saies mine owne deare Neece yfaith? + +_Eug_. What shood she say to the backside of a paper? + +_Mom_. Come, come, I know you have byn a' the belly side. + +_Eug_. Now was there ever Lord so prodigall +Of his owne honour'd bloud, and dignity? + +_Mom_. Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer the +letter? + +_Eug_. Gods my life, you goe like a cunning spokesman, answer uncle; +what, doe you thinke me desperate of a husband? + +_Mom_. Not so, Neece; but carelesse of your poore Vncle. + +_Eug_. I will not write, that's certaine. + +_Mom_. What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our +blouds? + +_Eug_. O yare in a mighty danger, noe doubt on't. + +_Mom_. If you have our blouds, beware our ghosts, I can tell ye; come, +will ye write? + +_Eug_. I will not write yfaith. + +_Mom_. Yfaith dame, then I must be your secretary, I see; heres the +letter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write. + +_Eug_. If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove a +kinde answer, I beleeve. + +_Mom_. But you will be advis'de, I trust. Secretaries are of counsell +with their Countesses; thus it begins: _Suffer him to love, that suffers +not loving_. What answere you to that? + +_Eug_. He loves extreamely that suffers not in love. + +_Mom_. He answers you for that presently, his love is without passion, +and therefore free from alteration, for _Pati_ you know is _in +alterationem labi_; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, wherein +there is no passion. Saie dame what answer you? + +_Eug_. Nay if I answere anie thing-- + +_Mom_. Why? very well, ile answer for you. + +_Eug_. You answere? shall I set my hand to your answere? + +_Mom_. I, by my faith shall ye. + +_Eug_. By my faith, but you shall answere as I wood have you then. + +_Mom_. Alwaies put in with advice of your secretary, Neece, come, what +answere you? + +_Eug_. Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely to +the first, and last part of his letter. + +_Mom_. Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name: what +is your answeare? + +_Eug_. _I cannot but suffer you to love, if you doe love_. + +_Mom_. Why very good, there it is,--_and will requite your love_; say +you so? [_He writes, and she dictates_. + +_Eug_. Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise to +requite his love, and yet not promise him marriage, I hope; well,-- +_and will requite your love_. + +_Eug_. Nay good my Lord, hold your hand, for ile be sworne, ile not set +my hand too't. + +_Mom_. Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ile +be ready for it anon, I warrent ye. Now forth,--my love is without +passion, and therefore free from alteration: what answere you to that +Madam? + +_Eug_. Even this, my Lord: _your love, being mentall, needs no bodily +Requitall_. + +_Mom_. I am content with that, and here it is;--_but in hart_. + +_Eug_. What but in hart? + +_Mom_. Hold off your hand yet I say;--_I doe embrace, and repay it_. + +_Eug_. You may write, uncle, but if you get my hand to it-- + +_Mom_. Alas Neece, this is nothing, ist anything to a bodily marriage, +to say you love a man in soule, if your harts agree, and your bodies meet +not? simple marriage rites, now let us foorth: he is in the way to +felicity, and desires your hand. + +_Eug_. _My hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity_. + +_Mom_. Very good; may not any woman say this now. Conclude now, sweet +Neece. + +_Eug_. _And so God prosper your journey_. + +_Mom_. Charitably concluded, though farre short of that love I wood have +showen to any friend of yours, Neece, I sweare to you. Your hand now, +and let this little stay his appetite. + +_Eug_. Read what you have writ my Lord. + +_Mom_. What needs that, Madam? you remember it, I am sure. + +_Eug_. Well if it want sense in the Composition, let my secretary be +blam'd for't; thers my hand. + +_Mom_. Thanks, gentle Neece; now ile reade it. + +_Eug_. Why now, more then before I pray? + +_Mom_. That you shall see straite.--_I cannot but suffer you to love if +you doe love, and will requite your love_. + +_Eug_. Remember that requitall was of your owne putting in, but it shall +be after my fashion, I warrant ye. + +_Mom_. Interrupt me no more.--_Your love being mentall needs no bodily +requitall, but in hart I embrace, and repay it; my hand shall alwaies +signe the way to felicity, and my selfe knit with you in the bands of +marriage ever walke with you, in it, and so God prosper our journey: + Eugenia_. + +_Eug_. Gods me life, tis not thus I hope. + +_Mom_. By my life but it is, Neece. + +_Eug_. By my life but tis none of my deed then. + +_Mom_. Doe you use to set your hand to that which is not your deed; your +hand is at it, Neece, and if there be any law in England, you shall +performe it too. + +_Eug_. Why? this is plaine dishonoured deceit. +Does all your truest kindnes end in law? + +_Mom_. Have patience Neece, for what so ere I say, +Onely the lawes of faith, and thy free love +Shall joyne my friend and thee, or naught at all. +By my friends love, and by this kisse it shall. + +_Eug_. Why, thus did false _Acontius_ snare _Cydippe_. + +_Mom_. Indeed, deere love, his wile was something like, +And then tis no unheard of treachery, +That was enacted in a goddes Eye: +_Acontius_ worthy love feard not _Diana_ +Before whom he contriv'd this sweet deceite. + +_Eug_. Well there you have my hand, but ile be sworne +I never did thing so against my will. + +_Mom_. T'will prove the better, Madam, doubt it not. +And to allay the billows of your bloud, +Rais'd with my motion bold and opposite, +Deere Neece, suppe with me, and refresh your spirites: +I have invited your companions, +With the two guests that din'd with you to daie, +And will send for the old Lord _Furnifall_, +The Captaine, and his mates, and (tho at night) +We will be merry as the morning _Larke_. + +_Eug_. No, no my Lord, you will have _Clarence_ there. + +_Mom_. Alas poore Gentleman, I must tell you now, +He's extreame sicke, and was so when he writt, +Tho he did charge me not to tell you so; +And for the World he cannot come abroade. + +_Eug_. Is this the man that without passion loves? + +_Mom_. I doe not tell you he is sicke with love; +Or if he be, tis wilfull passion. +Which he doth choose to suffer for your sake, +And cood restraine his sufferance with a thought, +Vppon my life, he will not trouble you; +And therefore, worthy Neece, faile not to come. + +_Eug_. I will on that condition. + +_Mom_. Tis perform'd. +For were my friend well, and cood comfort me, +I wood not now intreate your company, +But one of you I must have, or I die: +Oh such a friend is worth a monarchy. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Lord Furnifall, Rudsbie, Goosecappe, Foulweather, Bullaker_. + +_Fur_. Nay, my gallants, I will tell you more. + +_All_. Forth, good my Lord. + +_Fur_. The evening came, and then our waxen starres +Sparkled about the heavenly Court of _Fraunce_, +When I then young and radiant as the sunne +Gave luster to those lamps, and curling thus +My golden foretoppe stept into the presence, +Where set with other princely Dames I found +The Countesse of _Lancalier_, and her neece, +Who as I told you cast so fix'd an eye +On my behaviours, talking with the King. + +_All_. True, my good Lord. + +_Fur_. They rose when I came in, and all the lights +Burn'd dim for shame, when I stood up, and shin'd. + +_Foul_. O most passionate description, sir _Cutt_. + +_Rud_. True, of a candles end. + +_Goos_. The passingst description of a candle that ever lived, +sir _Cutt_. + +_Fur_. Yet aym'd I not at them, nor seemed to note +What grace they did me, but found courtly cause +To talke with an accomplisht gentleman +New come from Italy; in quest of newes +I spake _Italian_ with him. + +_Rud_. What so young? + +_Fur_. _O rarissime volte cadono nel parlar nostro familiare_. + +_Foul_. Slid, a cood speake it, Knight, at three yeeres old. + +_Fur_. Nay, gentle Captaine, doe not set me forth; +I love it not, in truth I love it not. + +_Foul_. Slight, my Lord, but truth is truth, you know. + +_Goos_. I dare ensure your Lordship, Truth is truth, and I have heard in +_France_, they speake _French_ as well as their mother tongue, my Lord. + +_Fur_. Why tis their mother tongue, my noble Knight. +But (as I tell you) I seem'd not to note +The Ladies notes of me, but held my talke, +With that Italionate Frenchman, and tooke time +(Still as our conference serv'd) to shew my Courtship +In the three quarter legge, and setled looke, +The quicke kisse of the top of the forefinger, +And other such exploytes of good Accost; +All which the Ladies tooke into their eyes +With such attention that their favours swarm'd +About my bosome, in my hart, mine eares, +In skarffes about my thighes, upon mine armes +Thicke on my wristes, and thicker on my hands, +And still the lesse I sought, the more I found. +All this I tell to this notorious end, +That you may use your Courtship with lesse care +To your coy mistresses; As when we strike +A goodly Sammon, with a little line, +We doe not tugge to hale her up by force, +For then our line wood breake, and our hooke lost; +But let her carelesse play alongst the streame, +As you had left her, and sheele drowne her selfe. + +_Foul_. A my life a most rich comparison. + +_Goos_. Never stirre if it be not a richer Caparison then my Lorde my +Cosin wore at Tilt, for that was brodred with nothing but moone-shine +ith the water, and this has Sammons in't; by heaven a most edible +Caparison. + +_Ru_. Odious thou woodst say, for Comparisons are odious. + +_Foul_. So they are indeed, sir _Cut_., all but my Lords. + +_Goos_. Be Caparisons odious, sir _Cut_; what, like flowers? + +_Rud_. O asse they be odorous.[39] + +_Goos_. A botts a that stincking word odorous, I can never hitt on't. + +_Fur_. And how like you my Court-counsell, gallants, ha? + +_Foul_. Out of all proportion excellent, my Lord; and beleeve it, for +Emphaticall Courtship, your Lordship puts downe all the Lords of the +Court. + +_Fur_. No, good Captaine, no. + +_Foul_. By _France_ you doe, my Lord, for Emphaticall Courtship. + +_Fur_. For Emphaticall Courtship indeed I can doe somewhat. + +_Foul_. Then does your merry entertainment become you so festifally, +that you have all the bravery of a Saint _Georges_ Day about ye, when +you use it. + +_Fur_. Nay thats too much, in sadnesse, Captaine. + +_Goos_. O good, my Lord, let him prayse you, what so ere it costs your +Lordship. + +_Foul_. I assure your Lordship, your merry behaviour does so festifally +show upon you, that every high holliday, when Ladies wood be most +beautifull, every one wishes to God she were turnd into such a little +Lord as you, when y'are merry. + +_Goos_. By this fire they doe my Lord, I have heard am. + +_Fur_. Marry God forbid, Knight, they shood be turnd into me; I had +rather be turnd into them, a mine honour. + +_Foul_. Then for your Lordships quips, and quicke jests, why _Gesta +Romanorum_ were nothing to them, a my vertue. + +_Fur_. Well, well, well, I will heare thee no more, I will heare thee +no more, good Captaine. Tha's an excellent wit, and thou shalt have +Crownes, a mine honour, and now Knights, and Captaine, the foole you +told me off, do you all know him? + +_Goos_. I know him best my Lord. + +_Fur_. Doe you sir _Gyles_? to him then, good Knight, and be here with +him and here, and here, and here againe; I meane paint him unto us sir +_Gyles_, paint him lively, lively now, my good Knightly boy. + +_Goos_. Why my good Lord? he will nere be long from us, because we are +all mortall you know. + +_Fur_. Very true. + +_Goos_. And as soone as ever we goe to Dinner, and Supper together-- + +_Rud_. Dinner and supper together, whens that troe? + +_Goos_. A will come you in amongst us, with his Cloake buttond, loose +under his chinne. + +_Rud_. Buttond loose, my Lord? + +_Goos_. I my Lord, buttond loose still, and both the flaps cast over +before both his shoulders afore him. + +_Rud_. Both shoulders afore him? + +_Fur_. From before him he meanes; forth good sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. Like a potentate, my Lord? + +_Rud_. Much like a Potentate indeed. + +_Goos_. For all the world like a Potentate, sir _Cut_. ye know. + +_Rud_. So Sir. + +_Goos_. All his beard nothing but haire. + +_Rud_. Or something else. + +_Goos_. Or something else as you say. + +_Foul_. Excellent good. + +_Goos_. His Mellons, or his Apricocks, Orrenges alwaies in an uncleane +hand-kerchiffe, very cleanely, I warrant you, my Lord. + +_Fur_. A good neate foole, sir _Gyles_, of mine honour. + +_Goose_. Then his fine words that he sets them in, concaticall, a fine +Annisseede wench foole, upon ticket, and so forth. + +_Fur_. Passing strange words beleeve me. + +_Goos_. Knoth every man at the table, though he never saw him before, by +sight, and then will he foole you so finely my Lord, that he will make +your hart ake, till your eyes runne over. + +_Fur_. The best that ever I heard, pray mercy, good Knight, for thy +merry description. Captaine, I give thee twenty companies of +commendations, never to be cashierd. + + _Enter Iacke, and Will on the other side_. + +_Am_. Save your Lordship. + +_Fur_. My pretty cast-of _Merlins_,[40] what prophecies with your little +maestershippes? + +_Ia_. Things that cannot come to passe my Lord, the worse our fortunes. + +_Foul_. Why, whats the matter Pages? + +_Rud_. How now, my Ladies foysting[41] hounds. + +_Goos_. M. _Iacke_, M. _Ia_. how do ye M. _William_? frolicke? + +_Wil_. Not so frolicke, as you left us, sir _Gyles_. + +_Fur_. Why wags, what news bring you a Gods name? + +_Ia_. Heavy newes indeed, my Lord, pray pardon us. + +_Fur_. Heavy newes? not possible your little bodies cood bring am then, +unload those your heavy newes, I beseech ye. + +_Wil_. Why my Lord the foole we tooke for your Lord: is thought too wise +for you, and we dare not present him. + +_Goos_. Slydd Pages, youle not cheates of our foole, wil ye? + +_Ia_. Why, sir _Gyles_, hees too dogged, and bitter for you in truth; we +shall bring you a foole to make you laugh, and he shall make all the +World laugh at us. + +_Wil_. I indeed, sir _Gyles_, and he knowes you so wel too. + +_Gyles_. Know me? slight he knowes me no more then the begger knowes his +dish.[42] + +_Ia_. Faith he begs you to be content, sir _Gyles_, for he wil not come. + +_Goos_. Beg me? slight, I wood I had knowne that, tother Day, I thought +I had met him in Paules, and he had bin any body else but a piller, I +wood have runne him through by heaven: beg me? + +_Foul_. He begges you to be content, sir _Gyles_; that is, he praies +you. + +_Goos_. O does he praise me then I commend him. + +_Fur_. Let this unsutable foole goe, sir _Gyles_; we will make shift +without him. + +_Goos_. That we wil, a my word, my Lord, and have him too for all this. + +_Wil_. Doe not you say so, sir _Gyles_, for to tell you true that foole +is dead. + +_Goos_. Dead? slight that can not be, man; I know he wood ha writ to me +ant had byn so. + +_Fur_. Quick or dead, let him goe, sir _Giles_. + +_Ia_. I, my Lord, for we have better newes for you to harken after. + +_Fur_. What are they, my good Novations? + +_Ia_. My Lord _Momford_ intreates your Lordship, and these knights and +captaine to accompany the Countesse _Eugenia_, and the other two Ladies, +at his house at supper to night. + +_Wil_. All desiring your Lo: to pardon them, for not eating your meat to +night. + +_Fur_. Withall my hart wagges, and thers amends; my harts, now set your +courtshippe a' the last, a the tainters, and pricke up your selves for +the Ladies. + +_Goos_. O brave sir _Cut_: come lets pricke up the Ladies. + +_Fur_. And will not the Knights two noble kinsemen be there? + +_Ia_. Both will be there, my Lord. + +_Fur_. Why theres the whole knot of us then, and there shall we knocke +up the whole triplicitie of your nuptials. + +_Goos_. Ile make my Lord my Cosin speake for me. + +_Foul_. And your Lordship will be for me I hope. + +_Fur_. With tooth and naile Captaine, a my Lord[ship]. + +_Rud_. Hang am Tytts! ile pommell my selfe into am. + +_Ia_. Your Lo: your Cosin, sir _Gyles_, has promist the Ladies they +shall see you sowe. + +_Goos_. Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry my +worke with me. + +_Fur_. Doe so sir _Gyles_, and withall use meanes +To taint their high blouds with the shafte of Love. +Sometimes a fingers motion wounds their mindes: +A jest, a jesture, or a prettie laugh: +A voyce, a present; ah, things done ith nicke +Wound deepe, and sure; and let flie your gold, +And we shall nuptialls have, hold, belly, hold. + +_Goos_. O rare sir _Cut_. we shall eate nut-shells: hold, belly, hold! + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Ia_.--O pittifull Knight, that knowes not nuptialls from nut-shells! + +_Wil_. And now _Comme porte vous, monsieur_! + +_Bul_. _Porte bien, vous remercy_. + +_Ia_. We may see it indeed, Sir, and you shall goe afore with us. + +_Bul_. No good _monsieurs_. + +_Wil_. Another Crashe in my Ladies Celler yfaith, _monsieur_. + +_Bul_. _Remercy de bon ceur, monsieurs_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Clarence, Momford_. + +_Mom_. How now, my friend? does not the knowing beames, +That through thy common sence glaunce through thy eyes, +To read that letter, through thine eyes retire +And warme thy heart with a triumphant fire? + +_Cla_. My Lord, I feele a treble happines +Mix in one soule, which proves how eminent +Things endlesse are above things temporall, +That are in bodies needefully confin'de: +I cannot suffer their dimensions pierst, +Where my immortall part admits expansure, +Even to the comprehension of two more +Commixt substantially with her meere selfe. + +_Mom_. As how my strange, and riddle-speaking friend? + +_Cla_. As thus, my Lord; I feele my owne minds joy, +As it is separate from all other powers, +And then the mixture of an other soule +Ioyn'de in direction to one end, like it; +And thirdly the contentment I enjoy, +As we are joynd, that I shall worke that good +In such a noble spirit as your Neece, +Which in my selfe I feele for absolute; +Each good minde dowbles his owne free content, +When in an others use they give it vent. + +_Mom_. Said like my friend, and that I may not wrong +Thy full perfections with an emptier grace, +Then that which show presents to thy conceits, +In working thee a wife worse then she seemes; +Ile tell thee plaine a secret which I know. +My Neece doth use to paint herselfe with white, +Whose cheekes are naturally mixt with redd, +Either because she thinks pale-lookes moves most: +Or of an answereable nice affect +To other of her modest qualities; +Because she wood not with the outward blaze +Of tempting beauty tangle wanton eies; +And so be troubled with their tromperies: +Which construe as thou wilt, I make it knowne, +That thy free comment may examine it, +As willinger to tell truth of my Neece, +Then in the least degree to wrong my friend. + +_Cla_. A jealous part of friendship you unfold; +For was it ever seene that any Dame +Wood change of choice a well mixt white and red +For bloodles palenes, if she striv'd to move? +Her painting then is to shun motion, +But if she mended some defects with it, +Breedes it more hate then other ornaments; +(Which to suplie bare nature) Ladies weare? +What an absurd thing is it to suppose; +(If nature made us either lame or sick,) +We wood not seeke for sound limmes, or for health +By Art the Rector of confused Nature? +So in a face, if Nature be made lame, +Then Art can make it, is it more offence +To helpe her want there then in other limmes? +Who can give instance where Dames faces lost +The priviledge their other parts may boast. + +_Mom_. But our most Court received Poets saies, +That painting is pure chastities abator. + +_Cla_. That was to make up a poore rime to Nature. +And farre from any judgment it confered +For lightnes comes from harts, and not from lookes, +And if inchastity possesse the hart; +Not painting doth not race it, nor being cleare +Doth painting spot it: +_Omne bonum naturaliter pulchrum_. +For outward fairenes beares the divine forme, +And moves beholders to the Act of love; +And that which moves to love is to be wisht, +And each thing simply to be wisht is good. +So I conclude mere painting of the face +A lawful and a commendable grace. + +_Mom_. What paradox dost thou defend in this? +And yet through thy cleare arguments I see +Thy speach is farre exempt from flatterie; +And how illiterate custome groslie erres +Almost in all traditions she preferres. +Since then the doubt I put thee of my Neece, +Checks not thy doubtlesse love, forth my deare friend, +And to add[43] force to those impressions, +That now have caru'd her phantasie with love, +I have invited her to supper heere. +And told her thou art most extreamly sick, +Which thou shalt counterfeit with all thy skill. + +_Cla_. Which is exceeding smale to conterfeit. + +_Mom_. Practise a little, love will teach it thee; +And then shall _Doctor Versey_ the physitian, +Come to thee while her selfe is in my house, +Whith whom as thou confer'st of thy disease, +He bring my Neece with all the Lords, and Ladies +Within your hearing, under fain'd pretext +To shew the Pictures that hang neere thy Chamber; +Where when thou hearst my voyce, know she is there, +And therefore speake that which may stir her thoughts, +And make her flie into thy opened armes. +Ladies, whom true worth cannot move to ruth, +Trew lovers must deceive to shew their truth. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actvs Qvinti_. + +SCENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Momford, Furnifall, Tales, Kingcob, Rudesbie, Goosecap, + Foulweather, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred_. + +_Mom_. Where is sir _Gyles Goose-cappe_ here? + +_Goos_. Here my Lord. + +_Mom_. Come forward, Knight; t'is you that the Ladies admire at working, +a mine honour. + +_Goos_. A little at once my Lorde for idlenes sake. + +_Fur_. Sir _Cut_, I say, to her Captaine. + +_Penel_. Come good servant let's see what you worke. + +_Goos_. Why looke you, Mistris, I am makeing a fine dry sea, full of +fish, playing in the bottome, and here ile let in the water so lively, +that you shall heare it rore. + +_Eug_. Not heare it, sir _Gyles_? + +_Goos_. Yes in sooth, Madam, with your eyes. + +_Tal_. I, Lady; for when a thing is done so exceedingly to the life, as +my Knightly cosen does it, the eye oftentimes takes so strong a heede of +it, that it cannot containe it alone, and therefore the eare seemes to +take part with it. + +_Hip_. That's a verie good reason, my Lord. + +_Mom_. What a jest it is, to heare how seriouslie he strives to make his +foolish kinsmans answeres wise ones? + +_Pene_. What shall this be, servant? + +_Goos_. This shall be a great Whale, Mistris, at all his bignesse +spouting huge Hils of salt-water afore him, like a little water squirt, +but you shall not neede to feare him Mistris, for he shal be silke, and +gould, he shall doe you noe harme, and he be nere so lively. + +_Pene_. Thanke you, good servant. + +_Tal_. Doe not thinke, Lady, but he had neede tell you this a forehand: +for, a mine honour, he wrought me the monster _Caucasus_ so lively, that +at the first sight I started at it. + +_Mom_. The monster _Caucasus_? my Lord, _Caucasus_ is a Mountaine; +_Cacus_ you meane. + +_Tal_. _Cacus_ indeede, my Lord, crie you mercie. + +_Goos_. Heere ile take out your eye, and you wil Mistris. + +_Pene_. No by my faith, Servant, t'is better in. + +_Goos_. Why, Ladie, Ile but take it out in jest, in earnest. + +_Pene_. No, something else there, good servant. + +_Goos_. Why then here shall be a Camell, and he shall have hornes, and +he shall looke for all the World like a maide without a husband. + +_Hip_. O bitter sir _Giles_. + +_Ta_. Nay he has a drie wit, Ladie, I can tell ye. + +_Pene_. He bobd me there indeed, my Lord. + +_Fur_. Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter bob. + +_King_. So she maie answere him with hornes indeed. + +_Eug_. See what a pretty worke he weares in his boote-hose. + +_Hip_. Did you worke them your selfe, sir _Gyles_, or buy them? + +_Goos_. I bought am for nothing, Madam, in th'exchange. + +_Eug_. Bought am for nothing? + +_Tal_. Indeed, Madam, in th'exchange they so honour him for his worke, +that they will take nothing for any thing he buies on am; but wheres the +rich night-cap you wroght, cosen? if it had not bin too little for you, +it was the best peece of worke, that ever I sawe. + +_Goos_. Why, my Lord, t'was bigge enough; when I wrought it, for I wore +pantables then you knowe. + +_Tal_. Indeed the warmer a man keepes his feete the lesse he needs weare +uppon his head. + +_Eug_. You speake for your kinsman the best that ever I heard, my Lord. + +_Goos_. But I beleeve, Madam, my Lord my cosen has not told you all my +good parts. + +_Ta_. I told him so I warrant you, cosen. + +_Hip_. What doe you thinke hee left out sir _Gyles_? + +_Goos_. Marry, Madam, I can take _Tobacco_ now, and I have bought +glow-wormes to kindle it withall, better then all the burning glasses +ith World. + +_Eug_. Glowe-wormes, sir _Giles_? will they make it burne? + +_Goos_. O good Madam, I feed am with nothing but fire, a purpose, Ile +besworne they eat me five Faggots a-weeke in Charcoale. + +_Tal_. Nay he has the strangest devices, Ladies, that ever you heard, +I warrent ye. + +_Fur_. That's a strange device indeed, my Lord. + +_Hip_. But your sowing, sir _Gyles_, is a most gentlewoman-like quality, +I assure you. + +_Pene_. O farr away, for now, servant, you neede never marry, you are +both husband, and wife your selfe. + +_Goos_. Nay indeed, mistris, I wood faine marry for all that, and ile +tell you my reason, if you will. + +_Pene_. Let's here it good servant. + +_Goos_. Why, Madam, we have a great match at football towards, married +men against batchellers, and the married men be all my friends, so I +wood faine marry to take the married mens parts in truth. + +_Hip_. The best reason for marriage that ever I heard sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. I pray will you keepe my worke a little, Mistris; I must needes +straine a little courtesie in truth. [_Exit Sir Gyles_. + +_Hip_. Gods my life, I thought he was a little to blame. + +_Rud_. Come, come, you he[a]re not me, dame. + +_Pur_. Well said, sir _Cut_: to her now; we shall heare fresh courting. + +_Hip_. Alas, sir _Cut_, you are not worth the hearing, every body saies +you cannot love, howsoever you talke on't. + +_Rud_. Not love, dame? slidd what argument woodst have of my love, tro? +lett me looke as redde as Scarlet a fore I see thee, and when thou comst +in sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippards +holland, I am a _Iewe_ to my Creator. + +_Hip_. O excellent! + +_Rud_. Let me burst like a Tode, if a frowne of thy browe has not turned +the very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by the +heeles for a fortnight to bring it to the right againe. + +_Hip_. You shood have hangd longer sir _Cut_: tis not right yet. + +_Rud_. Zonnes, bid me cut off the best lymme of my body for thy love, +and ile lai't in thy hand to prove it. Doost thinke I am no Christian, +have I not a soule to save? + +_Hip_. Yes tis to save yet I warrant it, and wilbe while tis a soule if +you use this. + +_Fur_. Excellent Courtship of all hands, only my Captaines Courtship, is +not heard yet. Good Madam give him favour to court you with his voyce. + +_Eug_. What shood he Court me withall else, my Lord? + +_Mom_. Why, I hope Madam there be other things to Court Ladies withall +besides voyces. + +_Fur_. I meane with an audible sweete song Madam. + +_Eug_. With all my heart my Lord, if I shall bee so much indebted +to him. + +_Foul_. Nay I will be indebted to your eares Ladie for hearing me sound +musicke. + +_Fur_. Well done Captaine, prove as it wil now. + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Me_. My Lord, Doctor _Versey_ the Physitian is come to see master +_Clarence_. + +_Mom_. Light, and attend him to him presently. + +_Fur_. To Master _Clarence_? what is your friend sicke? + +_Mom_. Exceeding sicke. + +_Tal_. I am exceeding sorrie. + +_King_. Never was sorrow worthier bestowed +Then for the ill state of so good a man. + +_Pene_. Alas poore Gentleman; good my Lord lets see him. + +_Mom_. Thankes gentle Ladie, but my friend is loth +To trouble Ladies since he cannot quitt them. +With anything he hath that they respect. + +_Hip_. Respect, my Lord! I wood hold such a man +In more respect then any Emperour: +For he cood make me Empresse of my selfe +And in mine owne rule comprehend the World. + +_Mom_. How now young Dame? what sodainly inspird? +This speech hath silver haires, and reverence askes, +And sooner shall have duty done of me, +Then any pompe in temperall Emperie. + +_Hip_. Good Madam get my Lord to let us greet him. + +_Eug_. Alas we shall but wrong and trouble him. +His Contemplations greet him with most welcome. + +_Fur_. I never knew a man of so sweet a temper, +So soft and humble, of so high a Spirit. + +_Mom_. Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich, +Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes +The standing lake of Impudence corrupts; +Hath nought in all the World, nor nought wood have, +To grace him in the prostituted light. +But if a man wood consort with a soule +Where all mans Sea of gall and bitternes +Is quite evaporate with her holy flames, +And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence +Fosters her own deserts, and life and death +Runnes hand in hand before them, all the Skies +Cleere, and transparent to her piercing eyes, +Then wood my friend be something, but till then +A _Cipher_, nothing, or the worst of men. + +_Foul_. Sweet Lord, lets goe visit him. + + _Enter Goose-cappe_. + +_Goos_. Pray, good my Lord, what's that you talke on? + +_Mom_. Are you come from your necessarie busines, Sir _Gyles_? we talke +of the visiting of my sicke friend _Clarence_. + +_Goos_. O good my Lord lets visite him, cause I knowe his brother. + +_Hip_. Know his brother, nay then Count doe not denie him. + +_Goos_. Pray my Lord whether was eldest, he or his elder brother? + +_Mom_. O! the younger brother eldest while you live, sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. I say so still my Lord, but I am so borne downe with truth, as +never any Knight ith world was I thinke. + +_Ta_. A man wood thinke he speakes simply now; but indeed it is in the +will of the parents, to make which child they will youngest, or eldest: +For often we see the youngest inherite, wherein he is eldest. + +_Eug_. Your logicall wit my Lord is able to make any thing good. + +_Mom_. Well come sweet Lords, and Ladies, let us spend +The time till supper-time with some such sights, +As my poore house is furnished withall, +Pictures, and jewels; of which implements, +It may be I have some will please you much. + +_Goos_, Sweet Lord, lets see them. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Clarence, and Doctor_. + +_Do_. I thinke your disease sir, be rather of the minde then the body. + +_Cla_. Be there diseases of the minde _Doctor_? + +_Do_. No question sir, even as there be of the body. + +_Cla_. And cures for them too? + +_Do_. And cures for them too, but not by Physick. + +_Cla_. You will have their diseases, greifes? will you not? + +_Do_. Yes, oftentimes. + +_Cla_. And doe not greifes ever rise out of passions? + +_Do_. Evermore. + +_Cla_. And doe not passions proceed from corporall distempers? + +_Do_. Not the passions of the minde, for the minde many times is sicke, +when the bodie is healthfull. + +_Cla_. But is not the mindes-sicknes of power to make the body sicke? + +_Do_. In time, certaine. + +_Cla_. And the bodies ill affections able to infect the mind? + +_Do_. No question. + +_Cla_. Then if there be such a naturall commerce of Powers betwixt them, +that the ill estate of the one offends the other, why shood not the +medicines for one cure the other? + +_Do_. Yet it will not you see. _Hei mihi quod nullis amor est +medicabilis herbis_.[44] + +_Cla_. Nay then, Doctor, since you cannot make any reasonable Connexion +of these two contrarieties the minde, and the body, making both subiect +to passion, wherein you confound the substances of both, I must tell you +there is no disease of the minde but one, and that is _Ignorance_. + +_Do_. Why what is love? is not that a disease of the mind? + +_Cla_. Nothing so: for it springs naturally out of the bloode, nor are +we subject to any disease, or sorrowe, whose causes or effects simply +and natively concerne the body, that the minde by any meanes partaketh, +nor are there any passions in the soule, for where there are no +affections, there are no passions: And _Affectus_ your Master _Galen_ +refers _parti irascenti_, For _illic est anima sentiens ubi sunt +affectus_: Therefore the Rationall Soule cannot be there also. + +_Do_. But you know we use to say, my minde gives me this or that, even +in those addictions that concerne the body. + +_Cla_. We use to say so indeed, and from that use comes the abuse of all +knowledge and her practice, for when the object in question only +concerns the state of the body; why shood the soule bee sorry or glad +for it? if she willingly mixe her selfe, then she is a foole, if of +necessity, and against her will, a slave, and so, far from that wisdome +and freedome that the Empresse of Reason and an eternall Substance shood +comprehend. + +_Do_. Divinely spoken, Sir, but verie Paradoxicallie. + + _Enter Momford, Tales, Kingcob, Furnif; Rudes, Goos: Foul: + Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolyta, Winnifred_. + +_Mom_. Who's there? + +[_Fur_.?] I, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Bring hether the Key of the gallery, me thought +I heard the Doctor, and my friend. + +_Fur_. I did so sure. + +_Mom_. Peace then a while, my Lord, +We will be bold to evesdroppe; For I know +My friend is as respective in his Chamber +And by himselfe, of any thing he does +As in a _Criticke Synods_ curious eyes, +Following therein _Pythagoras_ golden rule-- +_Maximè omnium teipsum reverere_. + +_Cla_. Know you the Countesse _Eugenia_, Sir? + +_Do_. Exceeding wel, Sir; she's a good learned scholler. + +_Cla_. Then I perceive you know her well indeed. + +_Do_. Me thinks you two shood use much conference. + +_Cla_. Alas sir, we doe verie seldome meet, +For her estate and mine are so unequall, +And then her knowledge passeth mine so farre, +That I hold much too sacred a respect, +Of her high vertues to let mine attend them. + +_Do_. Pardon me, Sir, this humblenes cannot flowe +Out of your judgment but from passion. + +_Cla_. Indeed I doe account that passion +The very high perfection of my minde, +That is excited by her excellence, +And therefore willingly, and gladly feele it. +For what was spoken of the most chast Queene +Of rich _Pasiaca_ [?] may be said of her. +_Moribus Antevenit sortem[45], virtutibus Annos, +Sexum animo, morum Nobilitate Genus_. + +_Do_. A most excellent _Distick_. + +_Mom_. Come, Lords, away, lets not presume too much +Of a good nature; not for all I have +Wood I have him take knowledge of the wrong +I rudely offer him: come then ile shew +A few rare jewels to your honour'd eyes; +And then present you with a common supper. + +_Goos_. Iewells, my Lord? why is not this candlesticke one of your +jewells pray? + +_Mom_. Yes marry is it, sir _Gyles_, if you will. + +_Goos_. Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing but +the languages. + +_Pene_. The languages servant why the languages? + +_Goos_. Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, and +that had the languages I am sure. + +_Tal_. I thought he had a reason for it Lady. + +_Pene_. I, and a reason of the Sunne too, my Lord, for his father wood +have bin ashamed on't. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Do_. Well, master _Clarence_, I perceive your minde +Hath so incorparate it selfe with flesh +And therein rarified that flesh to spirit, +That you have need of no Physitians helpe. +But, good Sir, even for holy vertues health +And grace of perfect knowledge, doe not make +Those ground workes of eternity you lay +Meanes to your ruine, and short being here: +For the too strict and rationall Course you hold +Will eate your body up; and then the World, +Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives, +Will suffer Diminution: It is now +Brought almost to a simple unity, +Which is (as you well know) _Simplicior puncto_. +And if that point faile once, why, then alas +The unity must onely be suppos'd. +Let it not faile then, most men else have sold it; +Tho you neglect your selfe, uphould it. +So with my reverend love I leave you sir. [_Exit_. + +_Cla_. Thanks, worthy Doctour, I do amply quite you; +I proppe poore vertue, that am propt my selfe, +And only by one friend in all the World! +For vertues onely sake I use this wile, +Which otherwise I wood despise, and scorne. +The World should sinke, and all the pompe she hugs +Close in her hart, in her ambitious gripe, +Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joynt +Mou'd with the worth that worldlings love so well +Had power to save it from the throate of hell. + [_He drawes the curtains, and sits within them_. + + _Enter Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolita_. + +_Eug_. Come on, faire Ladies, I must make you both +Familiar witnesses of the most strange part +And full of impudence, that ere I plaide. + +_Hip_. What's that, good Madam? + +_Eug_. I that have bene so more then maiden-nice +To my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeld +By his importunate suite to his friends love +In looke, or almost thought; will of my selfe, +Farre past his expectation or his hope, +In action and in person greete his friend, +And comfort the poore gentlemans sicke state. + +_Pene_. Is this a part of so much Impudence? + +_Eug_. No but I feare me it will stretch to more. + +_Hip_. Marry, Madam, the more the merrier. + +_Eug_. Marrie Madam? what shood I marrie him? + +_Hip_. You take the word me thinkes as tho you would, +And if there be a thought of such kind heate +In your cold bosome, wood to god my breath +Might blowe it to the flame of your kind hart. + +_Eug_. Gods pretious, Ladie, know ye what you say, +Respect you what I am, and what he is, +What the whole world wood say, & what great Lords +I have refused, and might as yet embrace, +And speake you like a friend to wish me him? + +_Hip_. Madam I cast all this, and know your choyse +Can cast it quite out of the christall dores +Of your Iudiciall eyes: I am but young, +And be it said, without all pride I take +To be a maid, I am one, and indeed +Yet in my mothers wombe to all the wiles +Weeud[46] in the loomes of greatnes, and of state: +And yet even by that little I have learn'd +Out of continuall conference with you, +I have cride haruest home of thus much judgment +In my greene sowing time, that I cood place +The constant sweetnes of good _Clarence_ minde, +Fild with his inward wealth and noblenes, +(Looke, Madam) here, when others outward trash +Shood be contented to come under here. + +_Pene_. And so say I uppon my maidenhead. + +_Eug_. Tis well said, Ladies, thus we differ then, +I to the truth-wife, you to worldly men. +And now sweet dames obserue an excellent jest +(At least in my poore jesting.) Th'Erle my unckle +Will misse me straite, and I know his close drift +Is to make me, and his friend _Clarence_ meete +By some device or other he hath plotted. +Now when he seekes us round about his house +And cannot find us, for we may be sure +He will not seeke me in his sicke friends Chamber, +(I have at all times made his love so strange,) +He straight will thinke, I went away displeas'd, +Or hartely careles of his hardest suite. +And then I know there is no griefe on Earth +Will touch his hart so much; which I will suffer, +To quite his late good pleasure wrought on me, +For ile be sworne in motion, and progresse +Of his friends suite, I never in my life +Wrastled so much with passion or was mov'd +To take his firme love in such jelouse part. + +_Hip_. This is most excellent, Madam, and will prove +A neecelike, and a noble friends Revenge. + +_Eug_. Bould in a good cause; then lets greet his friend.-- +Where is this sickely gentleman? at his booke? +Now in good truth I wood theis bookes were burnd +That rapp men from their friends before their time, +How does my uncles friend, no other name +I need give him, to whom I give my selfe. + +_Cla_. O Madam let me rise that I may kneele, +And pay some duty to your soveraigne grace. + +_Hip_. Good _Clarence_, doe not worke your selfe disease +My Lady comes to ease and comfort you. + +_Pene_. And we are handmaides to her to that end. + +_Cla_. Ladies, my hart will breake if it be held +Within the verge of this presumtuous chaire. + +_Eug_. Why, _Clarence_ is your judgement bent to show +A common lovers passion? let the World, +That lives without a hart, and is but showe, +Stand on her empty, and impoisoned forme, +I knowe thy kindenesse and have seene thy hart +Clest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes, +And I am only now to speake and act +The rite's due to thy love: oh, I cood weepe +A bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state, +I cood give passion all her blackest rites +And make a thousand vowes to thy deserts. +But these are common, knowledge is the bond, +The seale, and crowne of our united mindes; +And that is rare and constant, and for that, +To my late written hand I give thee this. +See, heaven, the soule thou gau'st is in this hand. +This is the Knot of our eternitie, +Which fortune, death, nor hell, shall ever loose. + + _Enter Bullaker, Iack, Wil_. + +_Ia_. What an unmannerly tricke is this of thy Countesse to give the +noble count her uncle the slippe thus? + +_Wil_. Vnmannerlie, you villaynes? O that I were worthy to weare a +Dagger to any purpose for thy sake? + +_Bul_. Why young Gentlemen, utter your anger with your fists. + +_Wil_. That cannot be, man, for all fists are shut you know and utter +nothing; and besides I doe not thinke my quarrell just for my Ladies +protection in this cause, for I protest she does most abhominablie +miscarrie her selfe. + +_Ia_. Protest, you sawsie Iacke, you! I shood doe my country, and +Court-ship good service to beare thy coalts teeth out of thy head, for +suffering such a reverend word to passe their guarde; why, the oldest +Courtier in the World, man, can doe noe more then protest. + +_Bul_. Indeede, Page, if you were in _Fraunce_, you wood be broken upon +a wheele for it, there is not the best _Dukes_ sonne in _France_ dares +say I protest, till he be one and thirty yeere old at least, for the +inheritance of that word is not to be possest before. + +_Wil_. Well, I am sorry for my presumtion then, but more sory for my +Ladies, marie most sorry for thee good Lord _Momford_, that will make us +most of all sory for our selves, if wee doe not fynde her out. + +_Ia_. Why, alas, what shood wee doe? all the starres of our heaven see, +we seeke her as fast as we can if she be crept into a rush we will seeke +her out or burne her. + + _Enter Momford_. + +_Mom_. Villaines, where are your Ladies? seeke them out. +Hence, home ye monsters, and still keepe you there +Where levity keepes, in her inconstant Spheare. [_Exeunt Pages_. +Away, you pretious villaines! what a plague, +Of varried tortures is a womans hart? +How like a peacockes taile with different lightes, +They differ from themselves; the very ayre +Alter the aspen humors of their bloods. +Now excellent good, now superexcellent badd: +Some excellent good, some? but one of all: +Wood any ignorant babie serue her friend +Such an uncivill part? Sblood what is learning? +An artificiall cobwebbe to catch _flies_, +And nourish _Spiders_? cood she cut my throate +With her departure, I had byn her calfe, +And made a dish at supper for my guests +Of her kinde charge; I am beholding to her. +Puffe, is there not a feather in this ayre +A man may challenge for her? what? a feather? +So easie to be seene, so apt to trace, +In the weake flight of her unconstant wings? +A mote, man, at the most, that with the Sunne, +Is onely seene, yet with his radiant eye, +We cannot single so from other motes, +To say this mote is she. Passion of death, +She wrongs me past a death; come, come, my friend +Is mine, she not her owne, and theres an end. + +_Eug_. Come uncle shall we goe to supper now? + +_Mom_. Zounes to supper? what a dorr is this? + +_Eug_. Alas what ailes my uncle? Ladies, see. + +_Hip_. Is not your Lordshippe well? + +_Pene_. Good, speake my Lord. + +_Mom_. A sweete plague on you all, ye witty rogues; +Have you no pitty in your villanous jests, +But runne a man quite from his fifteene witts? + +_Hip_. Will not your Lordship see your friend, and Neece. + +_Mom_. Wood I might sinke if I shame not to see her +Tush t'was a passion of pure jealousie, +Ile make her now amends with Adoration. +Goddesse of learning, and of constancy, +Of friendshippe, and of everie other vertue. + +_Eug_. Come, come you have abus'de me now, I know, +And now you plaister me with flatteries. + +_Pene_. My Lord, the contract is knit fast betwixt them. + +_Mom_. Now all heavens quire of Angels sing Amen, +And blesse theis true borne nuptials with their blisse; +And Neece tho you have cosind me in this, +Ile uncle you yet in an other thing, +And quite deceive your expectation. +For where you thinke you have contracted harts +With a poore gentleman, he is sole heire +To all my Earledome, which to you and yours +I freely and for ever here bequeath. +Call forth the Lords, sweet Ladies; let them see +This sodaine, and most welcome Noveltie; +But cry you mercy, Neece, perhaps your modesty +Will not have them partake this sodaine match. + +_Eug_. O uncle, thinke you so? I hope I made +My choyce with too much Judgment to take shame +Of any forme I shall performe it with. + +_Mom_. Said like my Neece, and worthy of my friend. + + _Enter Furnifall, Tal: King: Goos: Rud: Foul: Ia: Will, Bullaker_. + +_Mom_. My Lords, take witnes of an absolute wonder, +A marriage made for vertue, onely vertue: +My friend, and my deere Neece are man and wife. + +_Fur_. A wonder of mine honour, and withall +A worthy presedent for all the World; +Heaven blesse you for it, Lady, and your choyce. + +_Ambo_. Thankes, my good Lord. + +_Ta_. An Accident that will make pollicie blush, +And all the Complements of wealth and state, +In the succesfull and unnumbred Race +That shall flow from it, fild with fame and grace. + +_Ki_. So may it speed deere Countesse, worthy _Clarence_. + +_Ambo_. Thankes, good sir _Cuthberd_. + +_Fur_. Captaine be not dismaid, Ile marrie thee, +For while we live, thou shalt my consort be. + +_Foul_. By _France_ my Lord, I am not griev'd a whit, +Since _Clarence_ hath her; he hath bin in _Fraunce_, +And therefore merits her if she were better. + +_Mom_. Then, Knights, ile knit your happie nuptial knots. +I know the Ladies minds better then you; +Tho my rare Neece hath chose for vertue only, +Yet some more wise then some, they chuse for both, +Vertue and wealth. + +_Eug_. Nay, uncle, then I plead +This goes with my choise, _Some more wise then some_, +For onely vertues choise is truest wisedome. + +_Mom_. Take wealth, and vertue both amongst you then, +They love ye, Knights, extreamely; and Sir _Cut_: +I give the chast _Hippolita_ to you; +Sir _Gyles_, this Ladie-- + +_Pen_. Nay, stay there, my Lord. +I have not yet prov'd all his Knightly parts +I heare he is an excellent Poet too. + +_Tal_. That I forgot sweet Lady; good sir _Gyles_, +Have you no sonnet of your penne about ye? + +_Goos_. Yes, that I have I hope, my Lord, my Cosen. + +_Fur_. Why, this is passing fit. + +_Goos_. I'de be loth to goe without paper about me against my Mistris, +hold my worke againe; a man knows not what neede he shall have perhaps. + +_Mom_. Well remembred a mine honour sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. Pray read my Lord, I made this sonnet of my Mistris. + +_Rud_. Nay reade thy selfe, man. + +_Goos_. No intruth, sir _Cut_: I cannot reade mine owne hand. + +_Mom_. Well I will reade it. +_Three things there be which thou shouldst only crave, +Thou Pomroy or thou apple of mine eye; +Three things there be which thou shouldst long to have +And for which three each modest dame wood crie; +Three things there be that shood thine anger swage, +An English mastife and a fine French page_. + +_Rud_. Sblood, Asse, theres but two things, thou shamst thy selfe. + +_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. thats _Poetica licentia_, the verse wood have bin +too long, and I had put in the third. Slight, you are no Poet I perceive. + +_Pene_. Tis excellent, servant. + +_Mom_. Keepe it Lady then, +And take the onely Knight of mortall men. + +_Goos_. Thanke you, good my Lord, as much as tho you had given me twenty +shillings in truth; now I may take the married mens parts at football. + +_Mom_. All comforts crowne you all; and you, Captaine, +For merry forme sake let the willowe crowne: +A wreath of willow bring us hither straite. + +_Fur_. Not for a world shood that have bin forgot +Captaine it is the fashion, take this Crowne. + +_Foul_. With all my hart, my Lord, and thanke you too; +I will thanke any man that gives me crownes. + +_Mom_. Now will we consecrate our ready supper +To honourd _Hymen_ as his nuptiall rite; +In forme whereof first daunce, faire Lords and Ladies, +And after sing, so we will sing, and daunce, +And to the skies our vertuous joyes advance. + + _The Measure_. + +Now to the song and doe this garland grace. + + _Canto. + + Willowe, willowe, willowe, + our Captaine goes downe: + Willowe, willowe, willowe, + his vallor doth crowne. + The rest with Rosemary we grace; + O Hymen let thy light + With richest rayes guild every face, + and feast harts with delight. + Willowe, willowe, willowe, + we chaunt to the skies; + And with blacke, and yellowe, + give courtship the prize_. + + +FINIS. + + + +NOTE.--In a letter to the _Athenaeum_ of June 9, 1883, Mr. Fleay +suggests that _Sir Giles Goosecap_ is the work of George Chapman. "It +was produced by the Children of the Chapel, and must therefore date +between 1599 and 1601. The only other plays known to have been +represented by the Chapel Children are Lyly's _Love's Metamorphosis_ +and the three _Comical Satires_ of Ben Jonson. The present play bears +palpable marks of Jonson's influence.... The author, then, must have +been a stage writer at the end of the sixteenth century, probably a +friend of Jonson's, and not surviving 1636. The only known playwrights +who fulfil the time conditions are Marston, Middleton, and Chapman. +Internal evidence, to say nothing of Jonson's enmity, is conclusive +against Marston and Middleton. Chapman, on the other hand, fulfils the +conditions required. He was Jonson's intimate friend, and died in 1634. +In 1598 he was writing plays for Henslow at the Rose Theatre; on July +17, 1599, his connexion with the Admiral's Company there performing +ceased; and his next appearance in stage history is as a writer for the +Children of Her Majesty's Revels, the very company that succeeded, and +was, indeed, founded on that of the Children of the Chapel at +Blackfriars. If Chapman was not writing for the Chapel boys from 1599 to +1601, we do not know what he was doing at all. The external evidence, +then, clearly points to Chapman. The internal is still more decisive. To +say nothing of metrical evidence, which seems just now out of fashion, +probably on account of the manner in which it has been handled, can +there be any doubt of the authorship of such lines as these:-- + + 'According to my master Plato's mind,' &c.--iii. II. + +And for the lower comedy, act iv., sc. 1, in which Momford +makes Eugenia dictate a letter to Clarence, should be compared +with the _Gentleman Usher_, iii. 1, and _Monsieur d'Olive_, iv. 1. +These are clearly all from one mould." I, like Mr. Fleay, had +been struck by the resemblance to Chapman's style in parts of +_Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; but it seems to me that the likeness is +stronger in the serious than in the comic scenes. If Chapman +was the author, it is curious that his name did not appear on +the title-page of the second edition. The reference to the +Maréchal de Biron's visit, iii. 1, proves conclusively that the +play cannot have been written earlier than the autumn of 1601. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO _DOCTOR DODYPOLL_. + + +After reading the passages from "Dr. Dodypoll" in Lamb's "Extracts from +the Garrick Plays," many students must have felt a desire to have the +play in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall +cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play +through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew +already. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astounding +inequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, between +Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift +of expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold +with a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a +freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and +dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of +Lassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is brought +too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, the +serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken +English, is a desperate bore. Soon the stage is crowded with figures, +and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the +plot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. The +elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are +fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the +doctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a +rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been +previously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, +who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained the +affections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no great +dexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The reader +jumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couple +cleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making Earl +Cassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with her +father, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's story +of Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The third +scene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of the +enchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from +"Midsummer Night's Dream," and in single lines of other scenes we catch +Shakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest in +the scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives to +pierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for an +instant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions. +The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. And +what shall be said of that exquisite description of the cameo in ii. 1? + + "_Flores_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes + The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, + Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; + See, naturally wrought out of the stone + (Besides the perfect shape of every limme, + Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) + A waving mantle of celestiall blew + Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres. + + _Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) + How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone + As if they needed not the helpe of Art." + +Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless? + +As to the authorship of "Dr. Dodypoll" I am unable to form a conjecture. +We learn from Henslowe's Diary that a play called the "French Doctor" +was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece +with "Dr. Dodypoll." Steevens states that the present play was composed +before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song on +p. 102, "What thing is love"? is found in William Drummond's MS. +extracts from Peele's "Hunting of Cupid" (apud Dyce's Peele).[48] + + + + +The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll. + +_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_. + + +LONDON Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, +dwelling in Long Lane. 1600. + + + + +The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll. + + + +_Actus Prima_. + + + _A Curtaine drawne, Earle_ Lassingbergh _is discovered + (like a Painter) painting_ Lucilia, _who sits working + on a piece of Cushion worke_. + +_Lassinberge_.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayes +Reveal'st the variant colours of the world, +Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'st +The glorious parts of faire _Lucilia_: +Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares, +And fix them there as an eternall light +For Lovers to adore and wonder at: +And this (long since) the high Gods would have done, +But that they could not bring it back againe +When they had lost so great divinitie. + +_Lu_. You paint your flattering words, [Lord] _Lassinbergh_, +Making a curious pensill of your tongue; +And that faire artificiall hand of yours +Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie +Then here to worke on Antickes and on me. +Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle) +Are glad to be a mercinary Painter. + +_Lass_. A Painter, faire _Luci[li]a_? Why, the world +With all her beautie was by painting made. +Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres, +The firmamentall ground of it all blew: +Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes, +The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth: +Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,-- +How much is natures painting honour'd there? +Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore, +Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne, +Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles: +Looke on that little world, the twofold man, +Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still, +And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme +Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin. +I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts, +The severall colours of the Elements, +Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie +In making all things by their colours knowne. +And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine, +In all things she hath made is a meere Painter. + + [_She kisses her hand_. + +[_Lu_.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill, +Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given +(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art, +Of which my beauties can deserve no part. + +_Lass_. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst +Thy severall parts, if I uniting all +Had figur'd there the true _Lucilia_, +Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine Art +And devout people would from farre repaire, +Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice, +Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves. +Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold, +Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye; +Here, underneath this little Rosie bush, +Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it; +Here _Cupid_ (hanging downe his wings) doth sit, +Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes: +Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand, +Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper'st, +Least ravisht I should dote on mine own worke +Or Envy-burning eyes should malice it. + +_Lu_. No more, my Lord; see, here comes _Haunce_ +our man. + + _Enter Haunce_. + +_Haunce_. We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made +Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night +tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but +I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes. +Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a +cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my +Mistresse _Lucilia_, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints no +pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie. +But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers: +A, the finest wench. + + Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise, + And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes. + + _Enter_ Cornelia _sola, looking upon the picture of_ + Alberdure _in a little Jewell, and singing. Enter the + Doctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her_. + + THE SONG. + + _What thing is love? for sure I am it is a thing, + It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a prettie, prettie thing; + It is a fire, it is a cole, whose flame creeps in at every hoale; + And as my wits do best devise + Loves dwelling is in Ladies eies_. + +_Haunce_. O rare wench! + +_Cor_. Faire Prince, thy picture is not here imprest +With such perfection as within my brest. + +_Mar_. Soft, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. _Cornelia_, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is too +sawcie by garr. Foole, holde off hand, foole; let de Doctor speake. + +_Han_. Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jewes Trump. + +_Doct_. Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you. Me pray you not +to say no. + +_Cor_. Maister Doctor, I think you do not love me; +I am sure you shall not marry me, +And (in good sadnes) I must needs say no. + +_Mar_. What say you to this, maister Doctor. Mistresse, let me speake. +That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I +would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter: +and I do live or die upon your _Monasi[la]ble_, I or no. + +_Doct_. By gar if you will see de _Marshan_ hang himselfe, say no: +a good shasse by garr. + +_Han_. A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman. + +_Mar_. Mistresse, Ile bring you from _Arabia_, +_Turckie_, and _India_, where the Sunne doth rise, +Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, +To beautifie you more then all the paintings +Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes. + +_Doct_. You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding. Me vit one, two, +tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by +garr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you +restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve +you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra +yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foure +yere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who +shall toush your fine hand? ô shall, ô sweete, by garr. + +_Mar_. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinals +in the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie ever +at hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship. + +_Doct_. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee +live againe for sav'a de law. + +_Han_. A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre. + +_Doct_. Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire. + +_Cor_. You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary. + +_Doct_. Know? what you know? You no see your selfe, by garr me see you; +me speake vatt me see; you no point speake so: + +_Han_. Peace, Doctor, I vise you. Do not court in my maisters hearing, +you were best. + + _Enter Flores_. + +_Flo_. Where are these wooers heere? poore sillie men, +Highly deceiv'd to gape for marriage heere +Onely for gaine: I have another reache +More high then their base spirits can aspire: +Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide, +That hath alreadie promist me a drug +Whose vertue shall effect my whole desires. + +_Doct_. O _Monsieur Flores_, mee be your worships servant; mee lay my +hand under your Lordships foote by my trot. + +_Flo_. O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, +And you, _Albertus_, it doth please me much +To see you vowed rivalls thus agree. + +_Doct_. Agree? by my trot sheele not have him. + +_Ma_. You finde not that in your urins, M. Doctor. + +_Doct_. _Mounsieur Flores_, come hedder, pray. + +_Flo_. What sayes maister Doctor? have you remembred me? + +_Doct_. I, by garr: heere be de powdra, you give de halfe at once. + +_Flo_. But are you sure it will worke the effect? + +_Doct_. Me be sure? by garr she no sooner drinke but shee hang your neck +about; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse your +lippe, by garr. + +_Flo_. What, wilt thou eate me, Doctor? + +_Doct_. By garr, mee must shew you de vertue by plaine demonstration. + +_Flo_. Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no? + +_Doct_. By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kisse my sweete +mistresse. + +_Flo_. Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speake; is't best in wine or no? + +_Doct_. O, good Lort! in vyne: vat else I pray you? you give de vench to +loove vatra? be garre me be ashame of you. + +_Flo_. Well, thankes, gentle Doctor. And now (my friends) +I looke to day for strangers of great state, +And must crave libertie to provide for them. +Painter, goe leave your worke, and you, _Lucilia_, +Keepe you (I charge you) in your chamber close. + [_Exeunt Cass. and Lucilia_. +_Haunce_, see that all things be in order set +Both for our Musicke and our large Carowse, +That (after our best countrie fashion) +I may give entertainment to the Prince. + +_Han_. One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune. + +_Flo_. Out of tune, villaine? which way? + +_Han_. Drunke (sir), ant please you? + +_Flo_. Ist night with him alreadie?--Well, get other Musicke. + +_Han_. So we had need in truth, sir. + [_Exit Hans_. + +_Doct_. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de +unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [_Exit_. + +_Mar_. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time +When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [_Exit_. + +_Flo_. _Albertus_, welcome.--And now, _Cornelia_, +Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe. +Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love +In which we have been partiall towards thee +(Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts) +Receive this vertuous powder at my hands, +And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine) +Give it unto the Prince in his carowse. +I meane no villanie heerein to him +But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup. +We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes; +Why should we, then, shun any meanes we can +To raise us to our auncient states againe? +Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'st +To have thy imperfections helpt by love. + +_Corn_. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanes +Forbidden by the lawes of God and men? +Can that love prosper which is not begun +By the direction of some heavenly fate? + +_Flo_. I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet; +I must provide for mine, and still preferre +(Above all these) the honour of my house: +Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge. + +_Cor_. If you will have it so I must consent. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Alberdure, Hyanthe, Leander and Moth_. + +_Alber_. My deere _Hyanthe_, my content, my life, +Let no new fancie change thee from my love; +And for my rivall (whom I must not wrong, +Because he is my father and my Prince) +Give thou him honour but give me thy love. +O that my rivall bound me not in dutie +To favour him, then could I tell _Hyanthe_ +That he alreadie (with importun'd suite) +Hath to the _Brunswick_ Dutchesse vow'd himselfe, +That his desires are carelesse and his thoughts +Too fickle and imperious for love: +But I am silent, dutie ties my tongue. + +_Hya_. Why? thinks my joy, my princely _Alderbure_, +_Hyanthes_ faith stands on so weake a ground, +That it will fall or bend with everie winde? +No stormes or lingring miseries shall shake it, +Much lesse vaine titles of commaunding love. + +_Moth_. Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthlie +purgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting and +groaning in his sleepe, with "O, _Hyanthe_! my deare _Hyanthe_! And +then hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewell +by the eare. + +_Alber_. Away, you wag.--And tell me now, my love, +What is the cause Earle _Cassimere_ (your father) +Hath been so long importunate with me +To visit _Flores_ the brave Jeweller? + +_Hyan_. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord, +That he thinkes he doth honour every man +Whom he acquaints with his perfections. +Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfe +To grace and sooth his great conceit of him; +For everie jesture, everie word he speakes, +Seemes to my father admirablie good. + +_Lean_. Indeed, my Lord, his high conceipt of him +Is more then any man alive deserves. +He thinkes the Jeweller made all of Jewels, +Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit, +Faire spoken and well furnisht with good parts, +Yet not so peerleslie to be admir'd. + + _Enter Cassimere_. + +_Cass_. Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure you +You shall beholde so excellent a man, +For his behaviour, for his sweete discourse, +His sight in Musick and in heavenlie Arts, +Besides the cunning judgement of his eie +In the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes, +That you will sorrow you have staide so long. + +_Alber_. Alas, whie would not then your lordships favor +Hasten me sooner? for I long to see him +On your judiciall commendation. + +_Cass_. Come, lets away then: go you in, _Hyanthe_, +And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence +See him (I pray) with honour entertain'd. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Hya_. I will, my Lord. + +_Leand_. I will accompanie your Ladiship, +If you vouchsafe it. + +_Hya_. Come, good _Leander_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Constantine, Katherine, Ite, + Vandercleeve, with others_. + +_Const_. Lord _Vandercleeve_, go Lord Ambassadour +From us to the renowmed Duke of _Saxon_, +And know his highnesse reason and intent +Whie being (of late) with such importunate suite +Betroth'd to our faire sister _Dowager_ +Of this our Dukedome, he doth now protract +The time he urged with such speede of late +His honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate. + +_Kath_. But, good my Lord, temper your Ambassie +With such respective termes to my renowme +That I be cleer'd of all immodest haste +To have our promist nuptials consummate; +For his affects (perhaps) follow the season, +Hot with the summer then, now colde with winter: +And Dames (though nere so forward in desire) +Must suffer men to blowe the nuptiall fire. + +_Vander_. Madam, your name (in urging his intent) +Shall not be usd, but your right princely brothers; +Who, knowing it may breede in vulgar braines +(That shall give note to this protraction) +Unjust suspition of your sacred vertues, +And other reasons touching the estate +Of both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth mee +To be resolv'd of his integritie. + +_Const_. To that end go, my honourable Lord, +Commend me and my sister to his love +(If you perceive not he neglects our owne) +And bring his princelie resolution. + +_Kat_. Commend not me by any meanes, my lord, +Unlesse your speedie graunted audience +And kind entreatie make it requisite, +For honour rules my nuptiall appetite. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Haunce, Lassingbergh and others following, + serving in a Bancket_. + +_Han_. Come, sir, it is not your painting alone makes your absolute man; +ther's as fine a hand to be requir'd in carrying a dish, and as sweete +arte to be shew'd in't as in any maister peece whatsoever; better then +as you painted the Doctor eene now with his nose in an Urinall. + +_Lass_. Be quiet, sir, or ile paint you by and by eating my maisters +comfets. [_Exit_. + + _Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Alberdure, Cornelia, and Moth. + +Flor_. Prince _Alberdure_, my great desire to aunswere +The greatnes of your birth and high deserts +With entertainment fitting to your state +Makes althings seem too humble for your presence. + +_Alber_. Courteous S. _Flores_, your kinde welcome is +Worthy the presence of the greatest Prince, +And I am bound to good Earle _Cassimeere_ +For honouring me with your desierd acquaintance. + +_Cass_. Wilt please you therefore to draw neere, my lord? + +_Flo_. Wilt please your grace to sit? + +_Alber_. No, good S. _Flores_; I am heere admiring +The cunning strangenes of your antick worke: +For though the generall tract of it be rough +Yet is it sprinckled with rare flowers of Art. +See what a livelie piercing eye is here; +Marke the conveiance of this lovelie hand; +Where are the other parts of this rare cheeke? +Is it not pittie that they should be hid? + +_Flo_. More pittie 'tis (my lord) that such rare art +Should be obscur'd by needie povertie; +Hee's but a simple man kept in my house. + +_Alber_. Come, sirra, you are a practitioner, +Lets have your judgement here. + +_Han_. Will you have a stoole, sir? + +_Moth_. I, and I thanke you too, sir. + +_Flo_. Hath this young Gentleman such skill in drawing? + +_Alber_. Many great maisters thinke him (for his yeares) +Exceeding cunning. + +_Cass_. Now, sir, what thinke you? + +_Moth_. My Lord, I thinke more Art is shaddowed heere +Then any man in _Germanie_ can shew +Except Earle _Lassingbergh_; and (in my conceipt) +This work was never wrought without his hand. + +_Flo_. Earle _Lassingbergh_! Aye me, my jealous thoughts +Suspect a mischiefe which I must prevent. +_Haunce_, call _Lucilia_ and the Painter strait, +Bid them come both t'attend us at our feast.-- +Is not your Grace yet wearie of this object? +Ile shew your Lordship things more woorth the sight +Both for their substance and their curious Art. + +_Alber_. Thankes, good sir _Flores_. + +_Flo_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes +The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, +Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; +See naturally wrought out of the stone +(Besides the perfect shape of every limme, +Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) +A waving mantle of celestiall blew +Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres. + +_Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) +How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone +As if they needed not the helpe of Art. + +_Flo_. My Lord, you see all sorts of Jewells heere, +I will not tire your grace with view of them; +Ile onely shew you one faire Aggat more, +Commended chiefely for the workmanship. + +_Alber_. O excellent! this is the very face +Of _Cassimeere_: by viewing both at once, +Either I thinke that both of them do live +Or both of them are Images and dead. + +_Flo_. My Lord, I feare I trouble you too long: +Wilt please your Lordships taste th[e]is homely cates? + +_Corn_. First (if it please you) give me leave to greete +Your Princely hand with this unworthy gift, +Yet woorthy since it represents your selfe. + +_Alber_. What? my selfe, Lady? trust me it is pittie +So faire a Jemme should hold so rude a picture. + +_Cor_. My Lord, 'tis made a Jewell in your picture, +Which otherwise had not deserv'd the name. + +_Alber_. Kinde mistresse, kindly I accept your favor. + + _Enter Lassingbergh, Haunce and Lucilia_. + +_Flo_. Heere, you young gentleman; do you know this man? + + [_Exit Han_. + +_Mot_. Yes, signior _Flores_, 'tis Earle _Lassingbergh_.--My lord, what +meane you to come this disguisd? + +_Lu_. Aye me! + +_Lass_. The foolish boye is mad; I am _Cornelius_. Earle _Lassingbergh_? +I never heard of him. + +_Flo_. O _Lassingbergh_, we know your villainie, +And thy dishonour (fond _Lucilia_). +Asse that I was, dull, sencelesse, grosse braynd fool +That dayly saw so many evident signes +Of their close dealings, winckings, becks and touches, +And what not? To enforce me to discerne, +Had I not been effatuate even by Fate. +Your presence, noble Lords (in my disgrace) +Doth deepely moove mee, and I heere protest +Most solemnly (in sight of heaven and you) +That if Earle _Lassingbergh_ this day refuse +To make faire mends for this fowle trespasse done, +I will revenge me on his treacherous heart +Though I sustaine for him a thousand deaths. + +_Cass_. This action (traitour _Lassingbergh_) deserves +Great satisfaction or else great revenge. + +_Alber_. Beleeve me, gallant Earle, your choice is faire. +And worthy your most honourable love. + +_Lassin_. My Lord, it greeves me to be thus unmaskt +And made ridiculous in the stealth of love; +But (for _Lucilias_ honour) I protest +(Not for the desperate vowe that _Flores_ made) +She was my wife before she knew my love, +By secret promise made in sight of heaven. +The marriage which he urgeth I accept, +But this compulsion and unkinde disgrace +Hath altered the condition of my love +And filde my heart with yrksome discontent. + +_Flor_. My Lord, I must preferre mine honour still +Before the pleasure of the greatest Monarch, +Which since your Lordship seekes to gratifie +With just and friendly satisfaction, +I will endeavour to redeeme the thought +Of your affection and lost love to us. +Wilt please you therefore now to associate +This woorthy Prince at this unwoorthy banquet? + +_Alber_. My Lord, let me intreate your company. + +_Lassin_. Hold mee excusd, faire Prince; my grieved thoughts +Are farre unmeete for festivall delights: +Heere will I sit and feede on melancholie, +A humour (now) most pleasing to my taste. + +_Flor_. _Lucilia_, waite the pleasure of your love. +My Lord, now to the banquet: +Daughter, commaund us a carowse of wine. + + [_Musick sounds awhile; and they sing + Boire a le Fountaine_. + +My Lord, I greete you with this first carowse, +And as this wine (the Elements sweete soule) +Shall grow in me to bloud and vitall spirit, +So shall your love and honor grow in me. + +_Alber_. I pledge you, sir. + +_Cass_. How like you him, my Lord? + +_Alber_. Exceeding well. [_Sing boyre a le fountaine_. + +_Flor_. _Cornelia_, do you serve the Prince with wine? + + [_Shee puts the powder into the Cup and gives it the Prince_. + +_Alber_. I thanke you, Lady; +Earle _Cassimeere_, I greete you, and remember +Your faire _Hyanthe_. + +_Cass_. I thanke your honour. + [_Sing boyre a &c_. + +_Flor_. Fill my Lord _Cassimere_ his right of wine. + +_Cass_. _Cornelia_, I give you this dead carowse. + +_Corn_. I thanke your Lordship. + [_Sing boyre a &c_. + +_Alber_. What smoake? smoake and fire. + +_Cass_. What meanes your honour? + +_Alber_. Powder, powder, _Etna_, sulphure, fier: quench it, quench it. + +_Flor_. I feare the medcine hath distemper'd him.--O villaine Doctor! + +_Alber_. Downe with the battlements, powre water on! +I burne, I burne; O give me leave to flie +Out of these flames, these fiers that compasse me. + [_Exit_. + +_Cass_. What an unheard off accident is this? +Would God, friend _Flores_, t'had not happen'd here. + +_Flor_. My Lord, 'tis sure some Planet[53] striketh him; +No doubt the furie will away againe. + +_Cass_. Ile follow him. [_Exit_. + +_Lass_. What hellish spright ordain'd this hatefull feast +That ends with horror thus and discontent? + +_Flor_. I hope no daunger will succeede therein; +However, I resolve me to conceale it.-- +My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit, +And deck your selfe with ornaments more fit +For celebration of your marriage? + +_Lass_. I, I, put on me what attire you will; +My discontent, that dwels within me still. + + [_Exeunt_ + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Haunce solus_. + +_Hans_. Whom shall a man trust? a Painter? No: a servant? No: +a bed fellowe? No: +For, seeming for to see, it falls out right: +All day a Painter, and an Earle at night. + + _Enter Doctor_. + +_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, bid _Ursula_ brushe my two, tree fine Damaske +gowne; spread de rishe coverlet on de faire bed; vashe de fine plate; +smoake all de shambra vit de sweete perfume. + +_Hans_. Heer's the Doctor: what a gaping his wisedom keepes i'the +streete! As if he could not have spoken all this within. + +_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, if de grand patient come, you finde me signior +_Flores_. + +_Hans_. By your leave, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. _Hans_, my very speciall friend; fait and trot, me be right +glad for see you veale. + +_Hans_. What, do you make a Calfe of me, M. Doctor? + +_Doct_. O no, pardona moy; I say vell, be glad for see you vell, in good +health. + +_Hans_. O, but I am sick, M. Doctor; very exceeding sick, sir. + +_Doct_. Sick? tella me, by garr; me cure you presently. + +_Hans_. A dead palsey, M. Doctor, a dead palsey. + +_Doct_. Veare? veare? + +_Hans_. Heere, M. Doctor; I cannot feele, I cannot feele. + +_Doct_. By garr, you be de brave, merry man; de fine proper man; de very +fine, brave, little, propta sweet Jack man; by garr, me loov'a you, me +honour you, me kisse'a your foote. + +_Hans_. You shall not stoope so lowe, good M. Doctor; kisse higher if it +please you. + +_Doct_. In my trot me honour you. + +_Hans_. I, but you give me nothing, sir. + +_Doct_. No? by garr, me giv'a de high commendation passe all de gold, +precious pearle in de vorld. + +_Hans_. I, sir, passe by it, you meane so, sir. Well, I shall have your +good word, I see, M. Doctor. + +_Doct_. I sayt. + +_Hans_. But not a rag of money. + +_Doct_. No, by my trot, no point money; me give de beggra de money, no +point de brave man. + +_Hans_. Would I were not so brave in your mouth.--But I can tell you +newes, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. Vat be dat? + +_Hans_. The young Prince hath drunke himselfe mad at my maisters to day. + +_Doct_. By garr, drunke, I tinck. + +_Hans_. No, sir, starke mad; he cryes out as if the towne were a fier. + +_Doct_. By garr, me suspect a ting. + +_Hans_. Nay, I can tell you more newes yet. + +_Doct_. Vat newes? + +_Hans_. If your cap be of capacitie to conceive it now, so it is. Ile +deale with you by way of Interrogation:-- + + _Who is it must marry with_ Lucilia _bright? + All day a Painter, and an Earle at night_. + +_Doct_. By garr, me no conceive vatt you say. + +_Hans_. Let wisdome answer: _I aske what is man? +A Pancake tost in Fortune's frying pan_. + +_Doct_. Vat frying pan? by garr, I tinck de foolish petit Jack is madd. + +_Hans_. _For, as an Asse may weare a Lyons skinne, +So noble Earles have sometimes Painters binne_. + +_Doct_. Garrs blurr, he ryme de grand Rats[54] from my house: me no stay, +me go seek 'a my faire _Cornelia_. [_Exit_. + +_Hans_. Farewell Doctor Doddy, in minde and in body +An excellent Noddy: +A cockscomb[55] incony, but that he wants mony +To give _legem pone_. +O what a pittifull case is this! What might I have done with this wit +if my friends had bestowed learning upon me? Well, when all's don, a +naturall guift is woorth all. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Alphonso, Hardenbergh, Hoscherman, with others, &c_. + +_Hard_. The Ambassador of _Brunswick_ (good my lord) +Begins to murmure at his long delayes? + +_Hosc_. Twere requisit your highnes wold dismisse him. + +_Alph_. Who holds him? let him go. + +_Hard_. My Lord, you know his message is more great +Then to depart so slightly without answer, +Urging the marriage that your grace late sought +With _Katherine_, sister to the Saxon Duke. + +_Hosk_. Whom if your highnes should so much neglect +As to forsake his sister and delude him, +Considering already your olde jarre +With the stoute _Lantsgrave_, what harmes might ensue? + +_Alph_. How am I crost? _Hyanthe_ 'tis for thee +That I neglect the Duchesse and my vowes. + +_Hard_. My Lord, twere speciallie convenient +Your grace would satisfie th'embassador. + +_Alph_. Well, call him in. + +_Hosk_. But will your Highnes then +Forsake _Hyanthe_? + +_Alph_. Nothing lesse, _Hosk[erman_]. + +_Hosk_. How will you then content th'embassadour? + +_Alph_. I will delaie him with some kinde excuse. + +_Hard_. What kinde excuse, my Lord? + +_Alph_. For that let me alone; do thou but soothe +What I my selfe will presently devise +And I will send him satisfied away. + +_Hard_. Be sure (my Lord) Ile soothe what ere you say. + +_Alph_. Then let them come, we are provided for them. + + _Enter Vandercleeve the Ambassador attended_. + +My lord Ambassador, we are right sorrie +Our urgent causes have deferd you thus +In the dispatch of that we most desire. +But for your answer: know I am deterr'd +By many late prodigious ostents +From present consumation of the nuptials +Vowd twixt your beauteous Dutchesse and our selfe. +O what colde feare mens jealous stomacks feele +In that they most desire! suspecting still +'Tis eyther too too sweete to take effect +Or (in th'effect) must meete with some harshe chaunce +To intervent the joye of the successe. +The same wisht day (my Lord) you heere arriv'd +I bad Lord _Hardenbergh_ commaund two horse +Should privately be brought for me and him, +To meete you on the waye for honours sake +And to expresse my joye of your repaire: +When (loe!) the horse I us'd to ride upon +(That would be gently backt at other times) +Now, offring but to mount him, stood aloft, +Flinging and bound. You know, Lord _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. Yes, my good Lord. + +_Alph_. And was so strangely out of wonted rule +That I could hardlie back him. + +_Hard_. True, my liege; +I stood amaz'd at it. + +_Hard_. Well, yet I did, +And riding (not a furlong) downe he fell. + +_Hard_. That never heeretofore would trip with him. + +_Alph_. Yet would I forward needs, but _Hardenbergh_. +More timorous then wise, as I supposed, +(For love so hardned me feare was my slave) +Did ominate such likelie ill to me +If I went forward, that with much enforcement +Of what might chance he drave me to retreat. +Didst thou not _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. I did, my Lord. + +_Alph_. I warrant thou wilt say +Thou never yet saw'st any man so loathe +To be perswaded ill of so ill signes. + +_Hard_. Never in all my life. + +_Alph_. Thou wonderst at it? + +_Hard_. I did indeed, my liege, not without cause. + +_Alph_. O blame not, _Hardenbergh_, for thou dost know +How sharpe my heart was set to entertaine +The Lord of this Ambassage lovingly. + +_Hard_. True, my good Lord. + +_Alph_. But (coming back) how gently the Jade went,-- +Did he not, _Hardenbergh_? + +_Hard_. As any horse on earth could do, my Lord. + +_Alph_. Well, sir, this drew me into deepe conceit, +And to recomfort me I did commaund +Lord _Hardenbergh_ should ope a Cabanet +Of my choise Jewels and to bring me thence +A ring, a riche and Violet _Hiacinthe_, +Whose sacred vertue is to cheere the heart +And to excite our heavie spirits to mirthe; +Which[56], putting on my finger, swift did breake. +Now this, indeed, did much discomfort me, +And heavie to the death I went to bed; +Where in a slumber I did strongly thinke +I should be married to the beautious Dutchesse, +And coming to my Chappell to that end, +Duke _Constantine_ her brother with his Lords +And all our peeres (me thought) attending us, +Forth comes my princelie _Katherine_ led by death, +Who threatening me stood close unto her side, +Urging by those most horrible portents +That wedding her I married mine owne death. +I, frighted in my sleepe, struggled and sweat, +And in the violence of my thoughts cryed out +So lowde that _Hardenberghe_ awakt and rose. +Didst thou not _Hardenberghe_? + +_Hard_. I felt I did, for never yet (my Lord) +Was I in heart and soule so much dismaide. + +_Alph_. Why thus you see (my Lord) how your delaies +Were mightilie and with huge cause enforste. + +_Amb_. But dreames (my lord) you know growe by the humors +Of the moist night, which, store of vapours lending +Unto our stomaches when we are in sleepe +And to the bodies supreame parts ascending, +Are thence sent back by coldnesse of the braine, +And these present our idle phantasies +With nothing true but what our labouring soules +Without their active organs safelie worke. + +_Alph_. My lord, know you there are two sorts of dreams, +One sort whereof are onely phisicall, +And such are they whereof your Lordship speakes; +The other Hiper-phisicall, that is +Dreames sent from heaven or from the wicked fiends, +Which nature doth not forme of her owne power +But are extrinsecate, by marvaile wrought; +And such was mine. Yet, notwithstanding this, +I hope fresh starres will governe in the spring; +And then, assure your princelie friend your maister, +Our promise in all honour shall be kept. +Returne this answere, Lord Ambassador, +And recommend me to my sacred love. + +_Amb_. I will, my lord; but how it will be accepted +I know not yet; your selfe shall shortly heare. + +_Alph_. Lords, some of you associate him.--Ha, ha! + + [_Exeunt all but Alph_. [_and Hard_. + +_Hard_. Exceeding well and gravelie good, my lord. + +_Alph_. Come, lets go and visit my _Hianthe_, +She whose perfections are of power to moove +The thoughts of _Caesar_ (did he live) to love. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Secundus_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Lassing., Lucil., Cor., Han., and Doct_. + +_Ha_. Well, mistr., God give you more joy of your husband then your +husband has of you. + +_Doct_. Fie, too, too bad by my fait. Vat, my lord? melancholie? and ha +de sweete Bride, de faire Bride, de verie fine Bride? ô monsieur, one, +two, tree, voure, vive, with de brave capra, heigh! + +_Han_. O the Doctor would make a fine frisking usher in a dauncing +schoole. + +_Doct_. O by garr, you must daunce de brave galliarr. +A pox of dis melancholie! + +_Cass_. My Lord, your humors are most strange to us, +The humble fortune of a servants life +Should in your carelesse state so much displease. + +_Lass_. _Quod licet ingratum est, quod non licet acrius urit_. + +_Flor_. Could my childes beautie moove you so, my lord, +When Lawe and dutie held it in restraint, +And now (they both allowe it) be neglected? + +_Lass_. I cannot rellish joyes that are enforst; +For, were I shut in Paradice it selfe, +I should as from a prison strive t'escape. + +_Luc_. Haplesse _Luci[li]a_, worst in her best estate! + +_Lass_. He seeke me out some unfrequented place +Free from these importunities of love, +And onelie love what mine owne fancie likes. + +_Luc_. O staie, my Lord. + +_Flor_. What meanes Earle _Lassenbergh_? + +_Cass_. Sweete Earle, be kinder. + +_Lass_. Let me go, I pray. + +_Doct_. Vat? you go leave a de Bride? tis no point good fashion; +you must stay, be garr. + +_Lass_. Must I stay, sir? + +_Doct_. I spit your nose, and yet it is no violence. I will give a de +prove a dee good reason. Reguard, Monsieur: you no point eate a de meate +to daie, you be de empty; be gar you be emptie, you be no point vel; be +garr you be vere sick, you no point leave a de provision; be garr you +stay, spit your nose. + +_Lass_. All staies have strength like to thy arguments. + +_Cass_. Staie, _Lassenbergh_. + +_Luc_. Deare Lord. + +_Flo_. Most honord Earle. + +_Lass_. Nothing shall hinder my resolved intent, +But I will restlesse wander from the world +Till I have shaken off these chaines from me. + + [_Exit La_. + +_Luc_. And I will never cease to follow thee +Till I have wonne thee from these unkinde thoughts. + +_Cass_. Haplesse _Lucilia_! [_Exit Luc_. + +_Flor_. Unkinde _Lassenbergh_! + +_Doct_. Be garr, dis Earle be de chollericke complection, almost +skipshack, be garr: he no point staie for one place. Madame, me be no so +laxative; mee be bound for no point moove six, seaven, five hundra yeare +from you sweete sidea; be garr, me be as de fine _Curianet_ about your +vite necke; my harte be close tie to you as your fine Buske or de fine +Gartra boute your fine legge. + +_Hans_. A good sencible Doctor; how feelinglie he talkes. + +_Doct_. A plage a de Marshan! blowe wind! + +_Han_. You need not curse him, sir; he has the stormes at Sea by this +time. + +_Doct_. O _forte bien_! a good Sea-sick jeast by this faire hand: blowe +wind for mee! puh, he no come heere, Madame. + +_Flo_. Come, noble Earle, let your kind presence grace +Our feast prepard for this obdurate Lord, +And give some comfort to his sorrowfull bride +Who in her pitteous teares swims after him. + +_Doct_. Me beare you company, signior _Flores_. + +_Flor_. It shall not need, sir. + +_Doct_. Be garr, dis be de sweet haven for me for anchor. + +_Flor_. You are a sweet smell-feast,[57] Doctor; that I see. +Ile [have] no such tub-hunters use my house. +Therefore be gone, our marriage feast is dasht. + +_Doct_. Vat speake a me de feast? me spurne a, me kick a de feast; be +garr, me tell a me do de grand grace, de favor for suppa, for dina, for +eata with dee; be garrs blur, we have at home de restorative, de +quintessence, de pure destill goulde, de Nector, de Ambrosia. +_Zacharee_, make ready de fine partricke, depaste de grand _Otamon_. + +_Han_. _Zacharee_ is not heere, sir, but Ile do it for you. What is that +_Otomon_, sir? + +_Doct_. O de grand Bayaret de Mahomet, de grand Turgur, be garr. + +_Ha_. O a Turkie, sir, you would have rosted, would you? Call you him +an _Otoman_? + +_Doct_. Have de whole ayre of Fowle at commaund? + +_Flor_. You have the foole[58] at command, sir: you might have bestowed +your selfe better. Wil't[59] please you walke, M. Doct. Dodypoll. + + [_Exeunt all but the Doctor_. + +_Doct_. How? Doddie poole? garrs blurr, Doctor Doddie, no point poole. +You be paltrie Jacke knave, by garr: de doctor is nicast, de doctor is +rage, de doctor is furie, be gar, the doctor is horrible, terrible +furie. Vell, derre be a ting me tinke; be gars blur, me know, me be +revenge me tella de Duke. Vell, me say no more: chok a de selfe, foule +churle, fowle, horrible, terrible pigge, pye Cod. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + +_Lea_. I wonder what varietie of sights +Retaines your father and the prince so long +With signior _Flores_? + +_Hya_. O signior _Flores_ is a man so ample +In every complement of entertainement, +That guests with him are, as in Bowers enchanted, +Reft of all power and thoughts of their returne. + + _Enter the Duke and Hardenbergh_. + +_Lean_. Be silent, heere's the Duke. + +_Alp_. Aye me beholde +Your sonne, Lord _Hardenbergh_, courting _Hyanthe_. + +_Har_. If he be courting tis for you, my liege. + +_Alph_. No, _Hardenbergh_; he loves my sonne too well +--My faire _Hyanthie_, what discourse is it +Wherewith _Leander_ holdes you this [thus?] attentive? +Would I could thinke upon the like for you. + +_Hya_. You should but speake and passe the time, my lord. + +_Alp_. Passe-time that pleaseth you is the use of time: +Had I the ordering of his winged wheele +It onely should serve your desires and mine. +What should it do if you did governe it. + +_Hya_. It should go backe againe and make you yong. + +_Alph_. Swounds, _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. To her againe, my Lord. + +_Alp_. _Hyanthe_, wouldst thou love me, I would use thee +So kindlie that nothing should take thee from me. + +_Hya_. But time would soone take you from me, my lord. + +_Alp_. Spight on my soule: why talke I more of time? +Shee's too good for me at time, by heaven. + +_Har_. I, and place to (my Lord) I warrant her. + +_Omnes_. Stop, stop, stop! + + _Enter Alberdure mad; Motto and others following him_. + +_Mott_. O stay, my Lord. + +_Albe_. _Hyanthe, Hyanthe_, ô me, my love! + +_Lea_. Heer's the Duke his father, heele marr all. + +_Albe_. O villaine, he that lockt her in his arms +And through the river swims along with her. +Staie, traiterous _Nessus_, give me bowes and shafts. +Whirre! I have strooke him under the shorte ribs: +I come, _Hyanthe_! O peace, weepe no more. [_Exit_. + +_Alp_. Meanes he not me by _Nessus, Hardenbergh_? + +_Hard_.[60] My lord, he is surelie mad. + +_Alph_. _Hyanthe_ loves him: +See how she trembles and how pale she lookes! +She hath enchanted my deere _Alderbure_ +With crafts and treasons and most villanous Arts +Are meanes by which shee seekes to murder him. +_Hardenbergh_, take her and imprison her +Within thy house: I will not loose my sonne +For all the wealth the Loves of heaven embrace. + +_Hya_. What meanes your grace by this? + +_Alp_. Away with her! + +_Hya_. You offer me intolerable wrong. + +_Alp_. Away with her, I say. + +_Har_. Come Ladie, feare not, Ile entreate you well. + +_Hya_. What injurie is this! + + [_Exit Hard. with Hyan_. + +_Alph_. So now I have obtainde what I desir'd, +And I shall easilie worke her to my will; +For she is in the hands of _Hardenbergh_ +Who will continually be pleading for me. + + _Enter Doctor_. + +_Doct_. Roome! a halle, a hall! be garr, vere is de Duke? + +_Alp_. Heere, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. O we have grand important matter for tella your grace how de +know de cause for de wish cause your sonne is da madman. + + _Enter Alberdure running_. + +_Alb_. What? art thou heere? sweete _Clio_, come, be bright; +Take me thy Timbrell and Tobaccho pipe, +And give _Hyanthe_ musicke at her windowe. + +_Doct_. Garrs blurr, my cap, my cap, cost me de deale a French crowne. + +_Alb_. But I will crown thee with a cod of Muske, +Instead of Lawrell, and a Pomander[61]: +But thou must write _Acrostignues_ first, my girle. + +_Doct_. Garzowne, what a pox do you stand heere for, de grand poltrone +pezant, and see de Doctor be dus? + +_Alb_. Aye me, what _Demon_ was it guide me thus? +This is _Melpomene_, that Scottish witch[62], +Whom I will scratche like to some villanous gibb, +And-- + +_Doct_. O Garzowne, la diabole, la pestilence, gars blur! + +_Alp_. Lay holde upon him, helpe the Doctor there! + +_Alb_. Then reason's fled to animals, I see, +And I will vanish like Tobaccho smoake. _Exit_. + +_Doct_. A grand pestilence a dis furie + +_Alp_. Follow him, sirs, _Leander_, good _Leander_! +But, Doctor, canst thou tell us the true cause +Of this suddaine frenzie? + +_Doct_. O by garr, pleaze your grace heare de long tale [or] de short +tale? + +_Alp_. Briefe as you can, good Doctor. + +_Doct_. Faite and trot, briefe den, very briefe, very laccingue. De +Prince, your sonne, feast with de knave Jeweller, _Flores_, and he for +make a Prince love a de foule croope-shouldra daughter _Cornelia_, give +a de prince a de love poudra which my selfe give for the wenche a before, +and make him starke madde be garr because he drinke a too much a. + +_Alp_. How know you this? + +_Doct_. Experience teach her, by garr; de poudra have grand force for +inflama de bloud, too much make a de rage and de present furie: be garr, +I feare de mad man as de devilla, garr blesse a. + + _Enter Hardenbergh_. + +_Alp_. How now, sweete _Hardenbergh_? + +_Har_. The Prince, my Lord, in going downe the staires +Hath forst an Axe[63] from one of the Trevants (?), +And with it (as he runnes) makes such cleare way +As no man dare oppose him to his furie. + +_Alp_. Aye me, what may I do? heere are such newes +As never could have entred our free ears +But that their sharpnesse do enforce a passage. +Follow us, Doctor; 'tis _Flores_ treacherie +That thus hath wrought my sonnes distemperature. + + _Exit [Alph_. + +_Hard_. _Flores_, the Jeweller? + +_Doct_. I, he, dat fine precious stone knave: by garr, +I tinke I shall hit upon hir skirt till be thred bare new. + + _Exit [Doct with Hard_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Musicke playing within. Enter a Peasant_. + +_Pes_. 'Tis night, and good faith I am out of my way. +O harke; What brave musick is this under the green hill? + + _Enter Fairies bringing in a banquet_. + +O daintie, O rare, a banquet! would to Christ +I were one of their guests. Gods ad, a fine little +Dapper fellow has spyed me: What will he doo? +He comes to make me drinke: I thanke you, Sir. +Some of your victuals, I pray; Sir; nay now keepe +your meate, I have enough I; the cup, I faith. + _Exit_. + + _Enter the spirit with banquetting stuffe, and missing + the pesant, lookes up and downe for him; the rest + wondering at him; to them enters the Enchanter_. + +_Ench_. Where is my precious cup, you Antique flames? +Tis thou that hast convaide it from my bowre, +And I will binde thee in some hellish cave +Till thou recover it againe for me. +You that are bodyes made of lightest ayre, +To let a Peasant mounted on a Jade +Coozen your curtesies and run away +With such a Jewell, worthy are to endure +Eternall pennance in the lake of fier. + + _Enter Lass. and Lucilia_. + +_Lass_. Wilt thou not cease then to pursue me still? +Should I entreate thee to attend me thus, +Then thou wouldst pant and rest, then thy soft feete +Would be repining at these niggard stones: +Now I forbid thee, thou pursuest like winde, +Ne tedious space of time nor storme can tire thee. +But I will seeke out some high slipperie close[64] +Where every step shall reache the gate of death, +That feare may make thee cease to follow me. + +_Luc_. There will I bodilesse be when you are there, +For love despiseth death and scorneth feare. + +_Lass_. Ile wander, where some boysterous river parts +This solid continent, and swim from thee. + +_Luc_. And there Ile follow though I drown for thee. + +_Lass_. But I forbid thee. + +_Luc_. I desire thee more. + +_Lass_. Art thou so obstinate? + +_Luc_. You taught me so. + +_Lass_. I see thou lovest me not. + +_Luc_. I know I doo. + +_Lass_. Do all I bid thee then. + +_Luc_. Bid then as I may doo. + +_Lass_. I bid thee leave mee. + +_Luc_. That I cannot doo. + +_Lass_. My hate. + +_Luc_. My love. + +_Lass_. My torment. + +_Luc_. My delight. + +_Lass_. Why do I straine to wearie thee with words? +Speech makes thee live; Ile then with silence kill thee, +Henceforth be deafe to thy words and dumbe to thy minde. + +_Ench_. What rock hath bred this savage-minded man? +That such true love in such rare beauty shines[65]! +Long since I pittied her; pittie breeds love, +And love commands th'assistance of my Art +T'include them in the bounds of my command. +Heere stay your wandering steps; chime[66] silver strings, +Chime, hollow caves, and chime you whistling reedes, +For musick is the sweetest chime for love. +Spirits, bind him, and let me leave[67] my love. + + + +[SCENE 4.] + + _Enter A[l]berdure at one doore, and meetes with + the Pesant at the other doore_. + +_Alb_. _Hyanthe_, ô sweet _Hyanthe_, have I met thee? +How is thy beautie changed since our departure! +A beard, _Hyanthe_? ô tis growne with griefe, +But now this love shall tear thy griefe from thee. + +_Pes_. A pox on you! What are you? Swounds, I think I am haunted with +spirits. + +_Alb_. Weepe not, _Hyanthe_; I will weepe for thee, +Lend me thy eyes. No, villaine, thou art he +That in the top of _Eruines_ hill +Daunst with the Moone and eate up all the starres, +Which made thee like _Hyanthe_ shine so faire; +But, villaine, I will rip them out of thee. + + _Enter Motto and others_. + +_Pea_. Slid, holde your hands. + +_Alb_[68]. I come with thunder. + +_Pea_. Come and you dare. + +_Mott_. Holde, villaine; tis the young prince _Alberdure_. + +_Pea_. Let the young prince hold then; slid, I have no starres in my +bellie, I; let him seeke his _Hyanthe_ where he will. + +_Alb_. O this way by the glimmering of the Sunne +And the legieritie[69] of her sweete feete +She scowted on, and I will follow her. +I see her, like a goulden spangle, sit +Upon the curled branch of yonder tree. +Sit still, _Hyanthe_; I will flie to thee. + _Exit_. + +_Mott_. Follow, follow, follow! + + _Exeunt all but Peas_. + + _Enter Flores and Hance_.[70] + +_Pea_. Together and be hanged. O heere comes more; pray God I have +better lucke with these two. By your leave, sir, do you know one Maist. +_Flores_, I pray? + +_Flo_. What wouldst thou have with him? + +_Pea_. Faith, Sir, I am directed to you by Lady Fortune with a peece of +plate. I doe hope you will use plaine dealing, being a Jeweller. + +_Flo_. Where hadst thou this? + +_Pea_. In a very strange place, sir. + +_Han_. He stole it, sir, I warrant you. + +_Flo_. I never sawe a Jemme so precious, +So wonderful in substance and in Art. +Fellow, confesse preciselie where thou hadst it. + +_Pea_. Faith, sir, I had it in a cave in the bottome of a fine greene +hill where I found a company of Fairies, I thinke they call them. + +_Flo_. Sawst thou any more such furniture there? + +_Pea_. Store, sir, store. + +_Flo_. And canst thou bring me thither? + +_Pea_. With a wet finger[71], sir. + +_Han_. And ha they good cheere, too? + +_Pea_. Excellent. + +_Han_. O sweete thiefe! + +_Flo_. Tis sure some place enchanted, which this ring +Will soone dissolve and guard me free from feare. +--Heer's for the cup; come, guide me quickly thither. +Ah, could I be possest of more such Jemmes, +I were the wealthiest Jeweller on earth. + + _Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 5.] + + + _Enter Enchanter, leading Luc. and Lass. bound by + spirits; who being laid down on a green banck, + the spirits fetch in a bânquet_. + + THE SONG. + + _O princely face and fayre, that lightens all the ayre, + Would God my eyes kind fire might life and soule inspire. + To thy rich beauty shining in my hearts treasure, + The unperfect words refining for perfect pleasure_. + +_Ench_. Lie there and lose the memorie of her +Who likewise hath forgot the thought of thee +By my inchantments. Come, sit down, fair Nimphe, +And taste the sweetnesse of these heavenly cates, +Whilst from the hollow cranies[72] of this rocke +Musick shall sound to recreate my love. +But tell me had you ever lover yet? + +_Luc_. I had a lover, I thinke, but who it was, +Or when, or how, long since, aye me, I know not. +Yet beat my timerous thoughts on such a thing; +I feele a pasionate hearte but finde no flame, +Thinke what I know not, nor know what I thinke. + +_Ench_. Hast thou forgot me, then? I am thy love, +Whom sweetly thou wert wont to entertaine +With lookes, with vowes of love, with amorous kisses. +Lookst thou so strange? dost thou not know me yet? + +_Luc_. Sure I should know you. + +_Ench_. Why, love? doubt you that? +Twas I that lead you through the painted meadows, +When the light Fairies daunst upon the flowers, +Hanging on every leafe an orient pearle[73] +Which, strooke together with the silver winde +Of their loose mantels, made a silvery chime. +Twas I that winding my shrill bugle horn, +Made a guilt pallace breake out of the hill, +Filled suddenly with troopes of knights and dames +Who daunst and reveld whilste we sweetly slept +Upon a bed of Roses, wrapt all in goulde. +Doost thou not know me yet? + +_Luc_. Yes, now I know you. + +_Ench_. Come then, confirme thy knowledge with a kiss. + +_Luc_. Nay, stay, you are not he: how strange is this! + +_Ench_. Thou art growne passing strange, my love, +To him that made thee so long since his bride. + +_Luc_. O, was it you? come then. O stay a while: +I know not what[74] I am nor where I am, +Nor you, nor these I know, nor any thing. + + _Enter Flores with Hance and the Peasant_. + +_Pea_. This is the greene, Sir, where I had the cup, +And this the bottome of a falling hill; +This way I went following the sound. And see-- + +_Han_. O see, and seeing eate withall. + +_Flo_. What? _Lassenbergh_ laid bound, and fond _Lucilia_. +Wantonly feasting by a strangers side! +--Peasant, be gone: + + [_Exit Peasant_[75]] + +_Hance_, stand you there and stir not.-- +Now sparckle forth thy beams, thou vertuous Jemme, +And lo[o]se these strong enchantments. + +_Ench_. Stay! aye me, +We are betrai'd! Haste, spirits, and remove +This table and these cups,--remove, I say: +Our incantations strangely are dissolv'd. + + _Exeunt Ench. with spirits and banquets_. + +_Han_. O spightfull churles! have they caried away all? has haste made +no waste? + +_Luc_. My Lord, Earle _Lassenbergh_, ô pardon me. + +_Lass_. Away from me. + +_Luc_. O can I in these bands? +Forget the dutie of my love to you? +Were they of Iron, or strong Adamant, +My hands should teare them from my wronged Lord. + +_Flo_. O, _Lassenbergh_, to what undoubted perrill +Of life and honour had you brought your selfe +By obstinacie of your froward minde, +Had not my fortune brought me to this place +To lo[o]se the enchantment, which enthralled you both, +By hidden vertue of this precious ring. +Come, therefore, friendly and imbrace at last +The living partner of your strange mishaps +Justly pursuing you for flying her. + +_Lass_. Leave me, I say; I can endure no more. + +_Lu_. Ah, have I loos'd thee then to flie from mee? + +_Lass_. Away! [_Exit_. + +_Lu_. Ile follow thee, + +_Flo_. Tarrie, _Lucilia_. + +_Lu_. Deare father, pardon mee. [_Exit_. + +_Flo_. Sirrah, attend her. +Poore wretch, I feare this too much love in thee +Is fatall to thee. Up, Sirrah, follow your mistresse. + +_Han_. I, sir, I go; my mistresse dogs the banket and I dog her. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Tertii_. + + + + +[_Actus Quartus_.] + + + _Enter Motto, Raphe bringing in Alberdure_. + +_Motto_. So, sir, lay even downe your handie worke. + +_Rap_. Nay, sir, your handie worke, for you were the cause of his +drowning. + +_Mot_. I? I defie thee. Wert not thou next him when he leapt into the +River? + +_Rap_. O monstrous lyar! + +_Mot_. Lye! you peasant, go too: Ile go tell the Duke. + +_Rap_. I, sir, Ile go with you, I warrant you. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Alb_. What sodain cold is this that makes me shake, +Whose veines even now were fill'd with raging fire? +How am I thus all wet? What water's this +That lies so ycelike, freezing in my blood? +I thinke the cold of it hath cur'd my heate, +For I am better temperd than before. +But in what unacquainted place am I? +0 where is my _Hyanthe_, where's _Leander_? +What, all alone? nothing but woods and streames? +I cannot guesse whence these events should grow. + + _Enter Peasant_. + +_Pea_. O that I could lose my way for another cup, now. I was well paide +for it yfaith. + +_Alb_. Yonder is one; Ile enquire of him. Fellow, ho! peasant! + +_Pea_. Aie me, the mad man againe, the mad man. + +_Alb_. Saie, whither fliest thou. + +_Pea_. Pray, let me goe, sir; I am not _Hyanthe_, in truth I am not, +sir. + +_Alb_. _Hyanthe_, villaine? wherfore namest thou her? + +_Pea_. If I have any scarres in my belly, pray God I starve, sir. + +_Alb_. The wretch is mad, I thinke. + +_Pea_. Not I, sir, but you be not madde, you are well amended, sir. + +_Alb_. Why tellest thou me of madnesse? + +_Pea_. You were little better then mad even now, sir, when you gave me +such a twitch by the beard. + +_Alb_. I can remember no such thing, my friend. + +_Pea_. No, sir, but if you had a beard you wold. + +_Alb_. What place is this? how far am I from court? + +_Pea_. Some two myles and a wye byt, sir. + +_Alb_. I wonder much my friends have left me thus. Peazant, I pray thee +change apparell with mee. + +_Pea_. Change apparell, I faith you will lose by that, sir. + +_Alb_. I care not; come, I pray thee, letts change. + +_Pea_. With all my heart, sir, and I thanke you, too. Sblood y'are very +moist, sir, did you sweat all this, I pray? you have not the desease, I +hope? + +_Alb_. No, I warrant thee. + +_Pea_. At a venture, sir, Ile change. Nothing venter, nothing enter. + +_Alb_. Come, letts be gone. + +_Pea_. Backe, sir, I pray. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Hardenbergh with a guard, bringing in + Cassimere, Flores, Doctor, Marchant, Cornelia, + Motto, and Raphe_. + +_Har_. Thus, _Flores_, you apparantly perceive +How vaine was your ambition and what dangers, +All unexpected, fall upon your head, +Povertie, exile, guiltinesse of heart, +And endlesse miserie to you and yours. +Your goods are seized alreadie for the Duke; +And, if Prince _Alberdure_ be found deceast, +The least thou canst expect is banishment. +Earle _Cassimere_, I take[76] your word of pledge +Of his appearance. Pages of the Prince, +Come guide me straight where his drownd bodie lies, +Drownes his father in eternall teares. + + [_Exit cum servis; manet Al_. + +_Mot_. Drownes him and will hang us. + +_Mar_. Good Signior _Flores_, I am sorry for you. + +_Doct_. _Marshan_, parle vu pen. Be garr, me vor grand love me beare de +good Mershan, vor de grand worte, be garr, and de grand deserte me sea +in you, de bravea Mershan, me no point rivall; you have _Cornelia_ +alone, by my trot, ha, ha, ha! + +_Mar_. M. Doctor _Doddie_, surnam'd the Amorous'de, I will overcome you +in curtesie, your selfe shall have her. + +_Doct_. No, by garr, Marshan: you bring de fine tings from de strange +land vere de Sunne do rise, de Jewell, de fine stuffe vor de brave +gowne: me no point. Come, by garr, you have _Cornel_. + +_Cass_. Hands off, base Doctor! she despiseth thee, +Too good for thee to touch or looke upon. + +_Flo_. What wretched state is this, Earle _Cassimere_, +That I and my unhappie progenie +Stand subject to the scornes of such as these! + +_Cass_. Grieve not, deare friends, these are but casuall darts. +That wanton Fortune daily casts at those +In whose true bosomes perfect honour growes. +Now, _Dodypoll_, to you: you here refuse +_Cornelias_ marriage? you'le none of her! + +_Doct_. Be garr, you be the prophet; not I by my trot. + +_Cass_. Nor you, maste[r] merchant? shee's too poore for you! + +_Mar_. Not so, sir; but yet I am content to let fall my suite. + +_Cass_. _Cornelia_, both dissembled they would have you; +Which like you best? + +_Cor_. My Lord, my fortunes are no chusers now,-- +Nor yet accepters of discurtesies. + +_Cass_. You must chuse one here needs. + +_Doct_. By garr, no chuse mee, me clime to heaven, me sincke to hell, +me goe here, me go dare, me no point deere, by garr. + +_Cass_. If you will none, whose judgement are too base +To censure true desert, your betters will. + +_Flo_. What meanes Lord _Cassimere_ by these strange words? + +_Cass_. I mean to take _Cornelia_ to my wife. + +_Flo_. Will you, then, in my miserie, mock me too? + +_Cass_. I mock my friend in misery? heavens, scorne such! +Halfe my estate and halfe my life is thine; +The rest shall be _Cornelia's_ and mine. + +_Doct_. O bitter shame, be garr. + +_Flo_. My Lord, I know your noble love to me +And do so highly your deserts esteeme +That I will never yeeld to such a match. +Choose you a beautious dame of high degree +And leave _Cornelia_ to my fate and mee. + +_Cass_. Ah, _Flores, Flores_, were not I assured +Both of thy noblenesse, thy birth and merite, +Yet my affection vow'd with friendships toong, +In spite of all base changes of the world +That tread on noblest head once stoopt by fortune +Should love and grace thee to my utmost power. +_Cornelia_ is my wife: what sayes my love? +Cannot thy father's friend entreat so much. + +_Cor_. My humble minde can nere presume +To dreame in such high grace to my lowe seate. + +_Cass_. My graces are not ordered in my words. +Come love, come friend; for friendship now and love +Shall both be joynde in one eternall league. + +_Flo_. O me, yet happy in so true a friend. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Doct_. Est possible, by garr? de foole Earle drinke my powder, +I tinke. Mershan tella mee. + +_Mar_. What, maister Doctor Doddie? + +_Doct_. Hab you de blew and de yellow Velvet, ha? + +_Mar_. What of that, sir? + +_Doct_. Be gar, me buy too, three peece for make de Cockes-combe pur the +foole Earle, ha, ha, ha! [_Exit_. + +_Mer_. Fortune fights lowe when such triumphe on Earles. + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Lassenbergh singing, Lucilia following; + after the song he speakes_. + +_Lass_. O wearie of the way and of my life, +Where shall I rest my sorrow-tired[77] limmes! + +_Luc_. Rest in my bosome, rest you here, my Lord; +A place securer you can no where finde. + +_Lass_. Nor more unfit for my displeased minde. +A heavie slumber calles me to the earth; +Heere will I sleepe, if sleep will harbour heere. + +_Luc_. Unhealthful is the melancholic earth: +O let my Lord rest on _Lucilia's_ lappe. +Ile helpe to shield you from the searching ayre +And keepe the colde dampes from your gentle bloud. + +_Lass_. Pray thee, away; for, whilst thou art so neere, +No sleepe will seaze on my suspicious eyes. + +_Luc_. Sleepe then, and I am pleazd far off to sit +Like to a poore and forlorne Sentinell, +Watching the unthankful sleepe that severs me +From my due part of rest deere love with thee. + + _She sits farre off from him_. + + _Enter Const. Dutchesse with a willowe garland, cum aliis_. + +_Con_. Now are we neere the court of _Saxonie_, +Where the duke dreames such tragicall ostents. + +_Amb_. I wonder we, now treading on his soile, +See none of his strange apparitions. + +_Kath_. We are not worthy of such meanes divine, +Nor hath heaven care of our poore lives like his. +I must endure the end and show I live +Though this same plaintive wreathe doth show me forsaken. +Come, let us foorth. + +_Const_. Stay, sister; what faire sight +Sits mourning in this desolate abode? + +_Dut_. Faire sight indeed it is, and much to faire +To sit so sad and solitarie there. + +_Con_. But what is he that cur-like sleepes alone? + +_Dut_. Look, is it not my Nephew _Lassingbergh_? + +_Amb_. Madame, 'tis hee. + +_Dut_. Ile sure learne more of this.-- +Lady, if strangers that [do] wish you well +May be so bould to aske, pray whats the cause +That you [so] more then strangely sit alone? + +_Luc_. Madam, thus must forsaken creatures sit +Whose merits cannot make their loves consort them. + +_Dut_. What a poore fellow in my miserie! +Welcome, sweet partner, and of favour tell me, +Is this some friend of yours that slumbers heere? + +_Luc_. My husband (madame) and my selfe his friend, +But he of late unfriendly is to me. + +_Con_. Sister, lets wake her friend. + +_Dut_. No, let him sleepe; +And, gentle dame, if you will be rulde by me, +Ile teach you how to rule your friend in love: +Nor doubt you our acquaintance, for the man +Whom you so much affect is friend to us. + + _Shee riseth_. + +_Luc_. Pardon me, Madame; now I know your grace. + +_Dut_. Then knowst thou one in fortune like thy selfe, +And one that tenders thy state as her owne. +Come, let our Nephew Lassingberg sleepe there, +And, gentle Neace, come you to court with us, +If you dare mixe your loves successe with mine. +I warrant you I counsell for the best. + +_Luc_. I must not leave him now (madame) alone, +Whom thus long I have followed with such care. + +_Dut_. You wearie him with too much curtesie; +Leave him a little and heele follow you. + +_Luc_. I know not what to doo. + +_Dut_. Come, come with us. + +_Con_. Dame, never fear; get you a Willow w[reath]; +The Dutchesse (doubt not) can advise you well. + +_Luc_. Lets wake him then, and let him go with [us]. + +_Dut_. That's not so good; I pray be rulde by me. + +_Luc_. Sleep, then, deare love; and let sleep that doth bind +Thy sence so gently, make thee more kinde. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Hance in the Prince's apparrall, and the Peasant_. + +_Pea_. Come, sirra, money for your gentlemans apparel; you promist me +money, sir, but I perceive you forget your selfe. + +_Han_. True, pride makes a man forget himselfe; and I have quite forgot +that I owe thee any. + +_Pea_. But Ile put you in minde, sir, if there be any sergeants in +_Saxonie_; I thinke I meane not to loose so much by you. + +_Han_. Why, I have lost a maister and a mistresse, and yet I aske thee +no money for them. + +_Pea_. I bought them not of you, sir; therefore pay me my money. + +_Han_. I will pay thee morningly every morning as long as thou livest; +looke in thy right shooe and thou shalt finde sixe pence. + +_Pea_. What a fowle knave and fairie! Well, use thy conscience: I thanke +God I stand in neede of no such trifles. I have another jewell heere +which I found in the Princes pocket when I chang'd apparell with him; +that will I make money of, and go to the jeweller that bought the cup of +mee. Farewell: if God put in thy mind to pay me, so; if not, so. + [_Exit_. + +_Han_. O brave free-harted slave, he has the laske of mind upon him. + +_Lass_. What speech is this that interrupts my rest? Who have we heere? + +_Han_. Sometime a serving man, and so were yee, +Both now jolly gentlemen you see. + +_Lass_. What, sir, how came you thus gallant, I beseech you? + +_Han_. I turn'd the spit in Fortune's wheele, sir. + +_Lass_. But, stay, where is _Lucilia_? + +_Han_. Marry, where say you, sir? + +_Lass_. Villaine, looke for her, call her, seeke her out. +_Lucillia_! where's my love, ô where's _Lucillia_! +Aye me, I feare my barbarous rudenesse to her +Hath driven her to some desperate exigent. +Who would have tempted her true love so farre? +The gentlest minds with injuries overcome +Growe most impacient: ô _Lucilia_, +Thy absence strikes a loving feare in me, +Which from what cause so ever it proceedes +Would God I had beene kinder to thy love. + + _Enter Hard, with a Guard, Motto, Raphe_. + +_Hard_. Slaves, can ye not direct us to the place? + +_Mot_. Yes, sir, here's the place we left him in. + +_Ra_. O see (my lord) heer's one weares his apparrell. + +_Hard_. But where is he? stay, sirra, what are you +That jet thus in the garments of the Prince. + +_Han_. Bought and sold, sir, in the open market, sir. +Aske my maister. + +_Hard_. Earle _Lassingbergh_, where is the Princes body? + +_Lass_. Why aske you me, my Lord? + +_Hard_. Since you are in the place where he was drownd, +And this your hinde here hath his garments on. + +_Lass_. Enquire of him then. + +_Hard_. Ile enquire of you +And of your gallant, too. Guard, apprehend them +And bring them presentlie to court with us. + +_Lass_. What meanes Lord _Hardenberg_ to entreate me thus? + +_Har_. That you shall know anon: bring them away. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 4] + + + _Enter Leander and Hyanthe_. + +_Lean_. O, Madam, never were our teares bestowed +Of one whose death was worthier to be mon'd. +Deere _Alberdure_, why parted I from thee, +And did not like the faithful _Pilades_ +Attend my deare Orestes in his rage? + +_Hya_. O my sweete love, O princelie _Alberdure_, +Would God the river where thy course lay drownde +Were double deepe in me and turned to teares +That it might be consumde for swallowing thee. + + _Enter Alber, with a basket of Apricocks, disguised_. + +_Alber_. In this disguise Ile secretly enquire +Why I was so forsaken of my friend +And left to danger of my lunacie. +Here is the man that most I blame for this, +Whose vowed friendship promisd greater care; +But he, it seemes, enamour'd of my love, +Was glad of that occasion, and I feare +Hath turned her womanish conceipt from me. +Ile proove them both. Maister, wilt please [you] buy +A basket of well riped Apricocks? + +_Lea_. I pray thee keepe thy dainties; I am full +Of bitter sorrowes as my hart can holde. + +_Alb_. It may be, Maister, your faire Lady will. + +_Hya_. No, friend; my stomach is more full then his. + +_Lea_. Where dwellest thou, friend? + +_Alb_. Not farre from hence, my Lord. + +_Lea_. Then thou knowest well which was the fatall streame +Wherein the young prince _Alberdure_ was drownd? + +_Alb_. I know not he was drowned, but oft have seene +The pittious manner of his lunacie; +In depth whereof he still would eccho forth +A Ladies name that I have often heard, +Beautious _Hyanthe_; but in such sad sort +As if his frenzie felt some secret touch +Of her unkindnesse and inconstancie, +And when his passions somewhat were appeaz'd, +Affording him (it seemed) some truer sence. +Of his estate, left in his fittes alone +Then would he wring his hands, extreamly weeping, +Exclaiming on the name of one _Leander_, +Calling him Traitor and unworthie friend +So to forsake him in his miserie. + +_Lea_. Accursed I! ô thou hast mooved me more +Than if a thousand showers of venom'd darts +With severall paines at once had prickt my soule. + +_Hya_. O thou ordained to beare swords in thy toung, +Dead thou hast struck me and I live no more. + +_Alb_. It seemes your honoures loved him tenderly. + +_Lea_. O my good friend, knewest thou how deer I loved him. + +_Hya_. Nay, knewest thou, honest friend, how deere I loved him. + +_Alb_. I see, then, you would rejoyce at his health. + +_Lea_. As at my life, were it revived from death. + +_Hya_. As at my soule, were it preserv'd from hell. + +_Alber_. Be then from death and hell recovered both +As I am now by your firme loves to me. +Admire me not, I am that _Alberdure_ +Whom you thought drownde; that friend, that love am I. + +_Lea_. Pardon, sweete friend. + +_Hya_. Pardon, my princely love. + +_Alber_. Dear love, no further gratulations now +Least I be seene and knowne; but, sweete _Leander_, +Do you conceale me in thy father's house. +That I may now remaine with my _Hyanthe_ +And at our pleasures safely joy each others love. + +_Lea_. I will (deare friend) and blesse my happy stars +That give me meanes to so desir'de a deed. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Cassimeere, Flores with the Cup, + Peasant, and the Marchant_. + +_Mar_. See, signior _Flores_, +A Peasant that I met with neere your house, +Where[78] since he found you not he asked of me +The place of your abode; and heere I have brought him. + +_Flo_. I thank you, sir. My good Lord _Cassimeere_, +This is the man that brought this cup to me +Which for my ransome we go now to offer +To my good lord the Duke. + +_Cass_. What brings he now? + +_Flo_. That will we know. Come hither, honest friend; +What wisht occasion brings thee now to me? + +_Pea_. This occasion, sir; what will ye give me for it? + +_Flo_. Thou art a luckie fellow; let us see. +Lord _Cassimeere_, this is the haplesse Jewell +That represents the form of _Alberdure_, +Given by _Cornelia_ at our fatall feast. +Where hadst thou this, my good and happy friend? + +_Pea_. Faith, sir, I met with the young prince all wet, who lookt as +if he had been a quarter of a yeare drowned, yet prettelie come to +himselfe, saving that he was so madde to change apparrell with me; in +the pocket whereof, sir, I found this Jewell. + +_Flo_. O tell me trulie, lives prince _Alberdure_? + +_Pea_. He lives a my word, sir, but very poorely now, God help him. + +_Cass_. Is he recovered of his lunacie? + +_Pea_. I, by my faith, hee's tame enough now, Ile warrant him. + +_Flo_. And where is he? + +_Pea_. Nay, that I cannot tell. + +_Cass_. Come, _Flores_, hast we quicklie to the Court +With this most happie newes. + +_Flo_. Come, happie friend, +The most auspicious messenger to me +That ever greeted me in Pesants weeds. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Doctor_. + +_Mar_. I would I could meet M. Doctor Doddie, +I have a tricke to gull the Asse withall; +I christned him right Doctor Doddipole. +Heere he comes passing luckely; Ile counterfeit business with him in all +poste haste possible. Maister Doctor, Maister Doctor! + +_Doct_. Shesue, vat ayle de man? + +_Mar_. I love you, Maister Doctor, and therefore with all the speed I +could possiblie I sought you out. + +_Doct_. Vell, vat? + +_Mar_. This, sir; the marriage which we thought made even now, betweene +Earle _Cassimere_ and _Cornelia_, was but a jest only to drawe you to +marry her, for she doth exceedinglie dote upon you; and _Flores_ her +father hath invented that you are betrothed to her and is gone with a +supplication to the Duke to enforce you to marrie her. + +_Doct_. Be garr, me thought no lesse. O knave jeweller! O vile begger! +be my trot, Marshan, me studdie, me beat my braine, me invent, me dreame +upon such a ting. + +_Mar_. I know, sir, your wit would forsee it. + +_Doct_. O by garr, tree, fore, five monthe agoe. + +_Mar_. Well, sir, y'ave a perilous wit, God blesse me out of the swinge +of it, but you had best looke to it betimes, for Earl _Cassimere_ hath +made great friends against you. + +_Doct_. Marshan, me love, me embrace, me kisse de, will, be my trot. + +_Mar_. Well, sir, make haste to prevent the worste. + +_Doct_. I flie, Marshan, spit de Earle, spit de wenche, spit all bee +garre. Se dis, Marshan, de brave Braine be garre. [_Exit_. + +_Mar_. De brave braine by garre, not a whit of the flower of wit in it. +Ile to the Courte after him, and see how he abuses the Duke's patience. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Alphonso, Hard., Lassing., Leander, Stro., + Hosherman, Motto, and Raphe_. + +_Alp_. Aye me! what hard extremitie is this? +Nor quick nor dead can I beholde my sonne. + + _Enter Hance in the Princes apparrell_. + +_Hance_. Behold your sonne; [your] Blessing, noble father. + +_Hard_. Malipart knave, art thou the Princes sonne? + +_Han_. I, sir, apparrell makes the man. + +_Alp_. Unhappy man, would God I had my sonne, +So he had his _Hyanthe_ or my life. + +_Lea_. Should he enjoy _Hyanthe_ [then], my Lord? +Would you forsake your love, so he did live? + +_Alp_. My love and life, did my deere sonne survive. + +_Lea_. But were he found or should he live, my Lord, +Although _Hyanthe's_ love were the chiefe cause +Of his mishap and amorous lunacie, +I hope your highnesse loves him over well +To let him repossesse his wits with her. + +_Alp_. My love is dead in sorrow for his death; +His life and wits should ransome worlds from me. + +_Lea_. My Lord, I had a vision this last night +Wherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonne +Sit in my fathers garden with _Hyanthe_ +Under the shadow of the Laurell tree. +With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongde +I wakt, but then contemned it as a dreame; +Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie, +And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe, +Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof. [_Exit_. + +_Alp_. Do, good _Leander. Hardenbergh_, your sonne +Perhaps deludes me with a vision[79] +To mocke my vision that deferde the Dutchesse, +And with _Hyanthe_ closlie keepes my sonne. + +_Hard_. Your sonne was madde and drownd: this cannot bee. + +_Alp_. But yet this circumventing speech [of his] +Offered suspition of such event. + +_Stro_. My lord, most fortunate were that event +That would restore your sonne from death to life. + +_Har_. As though a vision should do such a deed! + +_Alp_. No, no, the boyes young brain was humorous: +His servant and his Page did see him drown'd. + + _Enter Leander, Alberdure, Hyanthe; Alberdure + seeming fearefull to come forward_. + +_Lea_. Come on, sweet friend; I warrant thee thy love; +Shun not thy fathers sight that longs for thee. + +_Alb_. Go then before, and we will follow straight. + +_Lea_. Comfort, my Lord, my vision proov'd most true: +Even in the place, under the Lawrell shade, +I found them sitting just as I beheld them +In my late vision; see, sir, where they come. + +_Alp_. Am I enchanted or see I my sonne? +I, I, the boy hath plaide the traytor with me. +O, you young villaine, trust you with my love! +How smoothe the cunning treacher lookt on it; + +_Hard_. But, sirra, can this be? + +_Lea_. You knew him to be mad, these thought him drownd. +My Lord, take you no more delight to see +Your sonne recovered of his life and wits? + +_Alp_. See, see, how boldly the young pollytician +Can urge his practice. Sirra, you shall know +Ile not be over-reacht with your young braine. +All have agreed, I see, to cozen me, +But all shall faile. Come, Ladie, I will have +You spight of all, and, sonne, learne you hereafter +To use more reverend meanes to obtaine +Of me what you desire. I have no joy +To see thee raizd from a deluding death. + +_Hya_. My Lord, 'tis tyrannie t'enforce my love. + +_Lea_. I hope your Highnesse will maintaine your word. + +_Alp_. Doost thou speake, Traitor? straight Ile have you safe +For daring to delude me in my love. + +_Albe_. O friend, thou hast betraide my love in vaine: +Now am I worse then eyther mad or drown'd, +Now have I onely wits to know my griefes +And life to feel them. + +_Hya_. Let me go to him. + +_Alp_. Thou shalt not have thy will nor he his love; +Neither of both know what is fit for you. +I love with judgment and upon cold bloud, +He with youths furie, without reasons stay; +And this shall time and my kind usage of thee +Make thee discerne; meane time consider this, +That I neglect for thee a beautious Dutchesse +Who next to thee is fairest in the world. + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. My Lord, the Duke of _Brunswick_ and his sister, +The beautious Dutchesse, are arrived here. + +_Alp_. Whats that; the Dutchesse? + +_Mess_. Even her grace, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Why, _Hardenbergh_, ha! is the Dutchesse come? + +_Hard_. I know not, my good Lord. Where is the Dutchesse? + +_Mess_. Hard by, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Sounes, I am not here; go tell her so: +Or let her come, my choice is free in love. +Come, my _Hyanthe_, stand thou close to me. + +_Mess_. My Lord, the Duke himselfe has come to urge +Your promise to him, which you must not break. + +_Hosch_. Nor will you wish to break it, good my lord, +I am assur'd, when you shall see the Dutchesse, +Whose matchlesse beauties will renew the minde +Of her rare entertainment, and her presence +Put all new thoughts of love out of your minde. + +_Alp_. Well, I do see 'tis best, my sweete _Hyanthie_, +That thou stand further. + +_Hya_. Ile be gone, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Not gone, but mix thy selfe among the rest. +What a spight is this! counsell me, _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. The Dutchesse comes, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Out of my life, how shall I look on her? + + _Enter Constan., Kather., Lassen., Lucil., Cassi., + Cornelia, Ite. A Song: after the Dutchesse speakes_. + +_Kath_. How now, my Lord? you looke as one dismaid; +Have any visions troubled you of late? + +_Alp_. Your grace and your most princely brother here +Are highlie welcome to the _Saxon_ Court. + +_Kath_. O you dissemble, sir, nor are we come +In hope of welcome, but with this poore head-peece +To beare the brunt of all discurtesies. + +_Const_. My Lord, wee come not now to urge the marriage, +You sought with such hot suite, of my faire Sister, +But to resolve ourselves and all the world +Why you retained such mean conceipt of us +To slight so solemne and so high a contract +With vaine pretext of visions or of dreames. + +_Alp_. My Lord, I here protest by earth and heaven +I holde your state right highlie and renowned +And your faire sisters beauties and deserts +To be most worthy the greatest king alive; +Onlie an ominous vision troubled me +And hindred the wisht speede I would have made +(Not to dissolve it, though it were diferd,) +By such portents as, least you thinke I faine, +Lord _Hardenbergh_ can witnesse is most true. + +_Hard_. Most true, my lord, and most prodigious. + +_Alp_. Yet Ile contemne them with my life and all +Ere Ile offend your grace or breed suspect +Of my firme faith in my most honoured love. + +_Kath_. No, no, my lord: this is your vision +That hath not frighted but enamoured you. + +_Alp_. O Madame, thinke you so? by Heaven I sweare +She's my sonnes love.--Sirra, take her to you. +Have I had all this care to do her grace, +To prove her vertues and her love to thee, +And standst thou fearefull now? Take her, I say. + +_Lea_. My Lord, he feares you will be angry with him. + +_Alp_. You play the villaine: wherfore should he feare? +I onely proved her vertues for his sake, +And now you talke of anger. Aye me wretche, +That ever I should live to be thus shamed! + +_Alb_. Madame, I sweare the Ladie is my love; +Therefore your highnesse cannot charge my father +With any wrong to your high woorth in her. + +_Con_. Sister, you see we utterly mistake +The kinde and princelie dealing of the Duke: +Therefore without more ceremonious doubts +Lets reconfirme the contract and his love. + +_Kath_. I warrant you, my Lord, the Duke dissembles. + +_Alp_. Heere on my knees, at the altar of those feete, +I offer up in pure and sacred breath +The true speech of my hart and hart it selfe. +Require no more if thou be princelie borne +And not of rocks or ruthelesse tygers bred. + +_Kath_. My Lord, I kindlie cry you mercy now, +Ashamed that you should injurie your estate +To kneele to me; and vowe before these lords +To make you all amends you can desire. + +_Flo_. Madame, in admiration of your Grace +And princelie wisedom, and to gratifie +The long wisht joye done to my Lord the Duke, +I here present your highnesse with this cup, +Wrought admirablie by th' art of Spirits, +Of substance faire, more rich then earthly Jemmes, +Whose valew no mans judgement can esteeme. + +_Alp_. _Flores_, Ile interrupt the Dutchesse thankes +And for the present thou hast given to her +To strengthen her consent to my desires, +I recompence thee with a free release +Of all offences twixt thy selfe and me. + +_Flo_. I humblie thanke your excellence. + +_Kath_. But where is now unkinde Earle _Lassinbergh_, +That injures his faire love and makes her weare +This worthlesse garland? Come, sir, make amends, +Or we will heere awarde you worthie penance. + +_Lass_. Madame, since her departure I have done +More hartie penance then her hart could wish, +And vowe hereafter to live ever hers. + +_Kat_. Then let us cast aside these forlorne wreathes, +And with our better fortunes change our habits. + + _Enter Doctor in poste, the Marchant following him_. + +_Doct_. O stay, my Lorte, me pray you on knee von staie. + +_Alp_. What's the matter, Doctor? + +_Doct_. O me bret be garr for haste. + +_Con_. What ayles the hastie Doctor? + +_Doct_. My Lort be garr he lyes falslie in his troate; +Me proove by the duell dat he be the fallce knave. + +_Alp_. Who is it, man, with whom thou art so bold? + +_Doct_. My Lorte, if me make my contrack of marriage, if me be not as +loose as de vide worlde, if me doe not alleadge-- + +_Alp_. I pray thee, man, what meanest thou? + +_Doct_. Be garr, enforme your grace vot he dare I will proove by good +argument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I no +point marrie _Cornelia_. Vat say you now? + +_Cass_. My Lord, no doubt some man hath guld the Doctor, +Supposing he should be enforste to wed her +That is my wife and ever scorned him. + +_Doct_. Vat you say? de Marshan tell a me I marrie _Cornelia_ spit +my nose. + +_Alp_. The Marchant I perceive hath trimde you, Doctor. +And comb'd you smoothelie. Faith, I can him thanke +That thus revives our meeting with such mirth. + +_Doct_. O be bright de heaven, est a possible! and by heaven I be +revenge dat vile Marshan, me make de medecine drie up de Sea, seaven +towsand, towsand million d'stlloe, fife hundred, hundred dram _Fuffian, +Marquerite, Balestiae, Hematete, Cortemedian, Churchacholl, Pantasite, +Petrofidem, Hynape_, and by garr de hot Pepre; me make de vinde, de +grease collicke puffe, blowe by garr, teare de Sayle, beate de maste, +cracke de Ship in towsand towsand peeces! + _Exit_. + +_Alp_. Farewell, gentle Doctor Doddipoll. +And now, deere Ladie, let us celebrate +Our happie royall nuptials and my sonnes +With this our sweete and generall amitie +Which heaven smile on with his goulden eye. + + +_Finis Actus Quinti & ultimi_. + + +_Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede, for Richard Olive_, +dwelling in Long-lane. 1600. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO _THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR_. + + +In the Appendix to Vol. II. I have given some account of this anonymous +play, which is here printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994. +As the play bears no title in the MS., I have named it at a venture +"The Distracted Emperor." + +An ill-shaped and repulsive piece of work it certainly is; crude and +cheerless, but marked with signs of unmistakable power. At the time when +I made the extracts for the Appendix, I thought that Cyril Tourneur +might possibly be the author. On further reflection, it seemed to me +that the stronger passages are much in Marston's manner. The horrid +scene where Charlimayne is represented hugging the dead queen recalls +the anonymous "Second Maiden's Tragedy." Marston, who shrank from +nothing, would not have hesitated to show us the Archbishop, in his +search for the magic ring, parting the dead queen's lips, with the +ironical observation, "You cannot byte me, Madam." The trenchant satire +that abounds throughout the play reminds us frequently of Marston, +though there is an absence of that monstrous phraseology which +distinguished his "Scourge of Villanie" and early plays. But, looking at +the play as a whole, I should have very great hesitation in allowing it +to be Marston's. My impression is that Chapman had the chief hand in it. +The author's trick of moralising at every possible opportunity, his +abundant use of similes more proper to epic than dramatic language, the +absence of all womanly grace in the female characters,--these are points +in which the present play may be compared with Chapman's published +tragedies. Orlando's speech at the beginning of Act ii., "O that my +curse had power to wound the starres," &c., in which he compares +himself, with epic elaboration, to "an argosie sent rychlye fourthe" and +now "meanelye retourninge without mast or helm," to my thinking closely +suggests Chapman. It is not quite impossible that the present play may +be Chapman's lost "French tragedy" (entered on the Stationers' +Registers, June 29, 1660), a copy of which was among the plays destroyed +by Warburton's cook. + +It is due to Mr. Fleay that I should mention his solution of the +difficulty. Taking the mysterious letters on the last page, "Nella +[Greek: ph d ph n r] la B," he says: "La B. is the contraction for La +Buffa,[80] one of the characters in the play; and the enigmatic letters, +simply substituting the names for the letters themselves, read thus,' +Nella fi-deltà fi-ni-ro la buffa,' which is good enough Italian for an +anagram, meaning 'I will end trifling in fidelity.' But 'Nella fedelità +(or fidelità) finiro la B.' transposed, gives us 'Il Fabro Natanielli +(or Natanielle) Field,' i.e., 'Nathaniel Field the author'" (_Athenaeum_, +March 3, 1883). Far be it from me to deny the ingenuity of this +explanation, but when Mr. Fleay, not having seen the complete play, +proceeds to say that the extracts I gave "are quite consistent with the +supposition that it is one of Field's lost works," I must take leave to +dissent. Field is the author of two comedies, "A Woman is a Weathercock" +and "Amends for Ladies," and he assisted Massinger in the "Fatal Dowry." +His comedies are well-constructed, bright, and airy. There is no +slovenliness in the workmanship, and success is attained by honest, +straightforward endeavour. It seems to me quite incredible that the +author of those two admirable comedies should be responsible for the +gloomy, ponderous tragi-comedy here presented to the reader. What share +Field had in the "Fatal Dowry" I do not intend to discuss minutely. The +chief figure in that play, Charolois, I take to be a study in +Massinger's gravest manner; but if we allow that Field should be +credited with more than the comic scenes in the "Fatal Dowry," his claim +to the present play is not at all strengthened. Perhaps, after all, no +author's name is concealed under the enigmatic letters.[81] In any case, +Field's is the last name that could be put forward with any show of +likelihood. + + + + +THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR. + +_A TRAGI-COMEDY_. + + +_Printed for the first time from Egerton MS_. 1994. + + + + +The Distracted Emperor. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + _Enter La Busse and Didier_. + +_Bus_. Thou looke for dygnitie! yes, thou mayst looke, +But pray thee, fellowe, see thyne eies be good +Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way. + +_Did_. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke +As honor lyes before me? + +_Bus_. Thou sayst well; +The thought of honor is a perfect greene, +And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man, +Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days? +Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht +To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts +Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace +That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live. +And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes! +What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe, +Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,-- +And thynke so poor a lord as is my father, +The most dyspysd forsaken _Ganelon_, +Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee! +Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye; +A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee +To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste, +Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke +To feede on larke by serving my poore father! + +_Did_. Nothing but larke, _La Busse_? Yes, mightie surloyns. + +_Bus_. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe. +Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies, +Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte. +Such followers as thou, that would repayre +A broken state by service, may be lyckned +To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke +To catche a rotten board or to be cast +Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie. +But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance, +Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme +Because thou hast abused thy former blessings; +Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer. + +_Did_. Why? because my money burnte in my pursse tyll I left it? + +_Bus_. No, but because it taught the furyous way +To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled +A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose, +So that although thou purchase letteres patente +To begge in all the provynces of _Fraunce_, +Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer, +Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar. + +_Did_. If I dye +Before my letters pattente be expyred, +Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)? +But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope +Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes, +I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe +Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte +From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs +As all th'ambityon thou art master of +Can never make thee hope or wish to be. +And for my fortunes past, which you so much +Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe, +I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like +Would not bestowe the labor of amen +To any good man's wishes. The laboringe clouds +Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe +A blessing for me, and about this tyme +(By the full revolution of my starres) +Should rayne it down uppon me. + +_Bus_. Tushe. + +_Did_. Observe, +First heare me, know the meanes and when y'ave doone +Fall downe and worshypp. Thys same verye day, +Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure, +The great, th'unconquered mightie _Charlimayne_, +Is marryed to the syster of my lorde +To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare _Theodora_. + + [_Florish. A crye within "God save Theodora the Empresse_!" + +You heare thys? + +_Buss_. I wishe myne eares had to the pillorye +Payd tribute rather then let in this sounde. +Unfortunate _Orlando_! thy fayrest hopes, +Like to a blaze of artifyciall fire, +No sooner have a beinge but expyre. + +_Did_. What! passyonate in rhyme? I must be taught +To give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83] + ... ... ... ... ... + +_Bus_. You may be dambd +For useing sorcerye upon the kynge. +That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurse +Of younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of, +And all the able facultyes of man +Are fled his frost of age to that extreame +Theres not enough to cherrish a desyer +Left in his saplesse nerves. + +_Did_. In this your worshypp +Gives my hopes illustratyon. Age must doate +To a Judgments dearth that may be cheated on +Yet that cheate rest unquestyond. Doe you heare? +The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunte +Hathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and he +Will, like a ryver that so long retaynes +The oceans bounty that at last it seemes +To be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepe +The comon treasure; and in such a floode, +Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullye +Covetts the center, can you hope Ile synke? + +_Bus_. Hell take thy hopes and thee! + +_Did_. But I would have +You understand that I may rise agayne +Without the catchinge of a rotten boarde +To keepe bare life and mysserye together +To fyght eche other. + +_Bus_. Furyes fryght thy soule! +Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment? +Noble _Orlando_, what omynous fatell starre +Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be +Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes: +This marriage is their grave. + +_Did_. Sir, I may rayse +A broken state by service. + +_Bus_. Yes, of the devyll +To whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thou +That hast undoone my father and increast +His evyll inclinatyons. I have seene +Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves, +Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye +Of cheating mathematicks. And is this +The issue of your closse contryvances[84]? +If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill +There may be found a way to anye good +Of brave _Orlando_ the great palladyne, +My constant industry shall tyer the day +And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym; +And yf to doe hym good-- + + _Enter La Fue_. + +_Fue_. Where's _Didier_? + +_Did_. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte +So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt; +Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate +To equall thryddbareness and never hadst +Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd +Before aught but a cloak bagge,--what to me? + +_Fue_. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all +One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders? + +_Did_. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes +You are more antique. + +_Fue_. Antycke in thy face! +My lord shall knowe. + +_Did_. But pray thee let me fyrst +Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee. + +_Fue_. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee; +And yet a woulde speake with thee,--and yet I will not tell thee; +Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better-- +I say no more; though my deserts be hydd +My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt; +And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte +To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne. +It shall, dost heare, it shall. [_Exit Fue_. + +_Did_. Hence, chollerycke foole, +Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer, +As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer. + + _Loude musique. Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin, + Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants_. + +_Charl_. This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe +With the full Joy I tast. O _Ganelon_, +Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytude +I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche, +Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer, +My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements +Can challendge nothinge in my composition, +As thou and _Theodora_ now have made me: +For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable. + +_Did_.--Observe. + +_Bus_.--Matters to make me mourne eternallye. + +_Gan_. Your bountye speaks you, sir, a god on earthe, +For you rewarde a service that's so meane +It scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)-- + +_Charl_. Tys thou hast made me greater then my name + ... ... ... ... ... +How mysserablye so ere our nature maks +Us thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen, +But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe; +For Tyme (whose ende like hys originall +Is most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backe +The sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes, +Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys course +From these late dead now manlye facultyes. +Kysse me, _Theodora_. Gods, carouse your fyll, +I envye not your nectar; from thys lypp +Puerer Nepenthe flowes. Some tryumphes, lords! +I challendge all of you at Barryers. + +_Bus_. Alas, good man! +A gawntletts wayght will presse him into cynders. + +_Char_. I am so rapt with pleasure and delighte +I scarce thynke I am mortall; all the Joys, +Wherewith heavens goodnes can inryche a man, +Not onlye greete but dwell upon my sence, +And whyles I see thee cannot stray from thence, +Most excellent _Theodora_. + +_The_. Tys onlye your acceptance maks me so; +For Butye's like a stone of unknowne worthe, +The estymatyon maks it pretyous; +For which the Jemes beholden to the owner. + +_Char_. Did you ere heare a voyce more musycall? +The Thracian _Orpheus_, whose admyred skyll +Is sayd to have had power ore ravenous beasts +To make theym lay their naturall feircenes by +When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods +Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone) +To make them tourne or stay their violent course +When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds, +Neare had abyllitie with all his arte +To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce. +And were I on the axeltree of heaven +To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course, +The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons, +To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres, +To note Orion or the Pleiades, +Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,-- +Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee, +Would be my torment and heavens crueltye. + +_Bus_. Was ere man thus orejoyd with mans own curse! + + _Enter Reinaldo_. + +_Char_. Thou only arte happynes. + +_Rei_. Not, greate Lord, for I +Bringe newes that doth include-- + +_Char_. Cossan, your blame, +And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde +That interrupts myne admyratyon. + +_Rei_. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife +And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme +To a longe daungerd seaman in a storme, +Suche as up on _Aeneas_ straglinge fleete +At _Juno's_ will by _Aeolus_ was raysd +When in his flyght from horror he sawe more +Then _Troy_ affoarded; for the newese I brynge +Is vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges. + +_Char_. Cossen _Reinaldo_, if youle sytt and prayse +The fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heare +Tyll you be tyerd with talkinge. + +_Rei_. What is this? +Is this the voyce of mightie _Charlimayne_? +Sir, from your worthye nephewe I am come, +The ever feard _Orlando_, who in _Spayne_ +Hath with hys owne fame mixt your happynes +By a blest vyctorye. + +_Char_. We have no leasure +To heare, nor are we able to contayne +Another happynes, nor is theire other. +Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreame +From whence a drume may fryght us. Here doth rest +My happynes which cannot be exprest. + + [_Ex. Cha., The., Gab., and attendants_. + +_Tur_. Pryncely _Reinaldo_, doe not let amaze +Strugle within you; you but yet survay +The out syde of our wonder. + +_Rich_. Brother, 'tis more +Then can be wrytten in a cronyckle. + +_Rei_. But must not be without my reprehensyon. +Come, I will followe hym: when _Charles_ dothe flye +From honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye? + + [_Exe. all but Gan. and Rich_. + +_Gan_. Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knowe +How you affect t[hys] humor in the kynge. + +_Rich_. Faythe, generally as a good subject should,-- +Delighted with the joy hys kynge receyves +(And which I hope and wish may styll contynewe), +But in partycular--because the cause +Of hys joy cannot chuse but worke to you +Effecte worthye your vertues. For my old love, +Tys nowe lodg'd in a desperatt memorye. + +_Gan_. But dost not seeme a most grosse dott[age]? + +[Rich] ... ... ... ... ... +Though certaynlie desyer's the onlye thynge +Of strengthe about hym, and that strength is hys +With a conceyt that putts desyers in act. + +_Gan_. And is not that a dottage at the least? + +_Rich_. I dare not taxe the actyon of a kynge +By giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts. + +_Gan_. Y'are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if I +Felte not a straunger love within my selfe +In this my strength of memorye and yeares, +Abyllities of bodye and of brayne, +More doatinge on a man than he on her, +A would not scape my censure. + +_Rich_. I beleive +(To which beleife a long experyence +Of youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs) +That if suche an affectyon manadge you, +Tys not the man or sexe that causes it +But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt +The object of your love. + +_Gan_. Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye _Richard_, +Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of _Aimon_; +And thy still growing vertues have made thee +The object of that love. When first I sawe thee +(Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte) +My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme +Could not but be the myne of manye vertues. +Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne +And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne +Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd +In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame, +Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave +And staggerd me with wonder. + +_Rich_. Good sweete lorde, +Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is +Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme +To be nowe semented. + +_Gan_. True, my best freinde; +And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte +My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave +To joy in my posession of suche blysse +To which all honours in our _Fraunce_ compaird +Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared. + +_Rich_. Sir, thoughe I knowe there is nothynge in me +Able to give a flattery hope to thryve +In the most abject slave to it that courts, +And therefore cannot doute it in your selfe, +Yet I beseeche you talke of somethynge elles +Or I shall growe unmannerlye & leave you: +Myne owne prayse is my torture. + +_Gan_. Heaven forbydd +Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche, +Beyond expression! And synce this offends thee +Ile speake of that shall please my noblest _Rycharde_. + +_Rich_. Your pleasure & your honorable ends +Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte. + +_Gan_. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne, +Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none, +But like a ryver that receyves his name +Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote, +Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes +To have no bounds but what it could oreflow-- +But tys impossyble. + +_Rich_. Improbable; +For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate. + +_Gan_. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp, +Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all +Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne +Into a second flame. + +_Rich_. I graunte you that-- + +_Gan_. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe. + +_Rich_. What meanes my _Ganelon_? + +_Gan_. Faythe to be playne +And not to wrong the love, which I have founde +Ever in thee, with any further doute, +My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne +And gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe? +Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule +And has syght for her often. Now enjoy, +And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse, +Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyve +Their byrthe and grave together; for by heaven +To be made monarke of the unyverse +And lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes, +I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee: +And if the thoughts of men were scrutable +To man and mongst men might be knowne to me, +The foole that should attempt her but in thoughte +[Could]e better hand-bounde wrastell with the sea. + ... ... ... ... ... +But yet my love doth offer her to thee, +And tys rejected. + +_Rich_. You mistake me, sweete: +I am all yours and what you shall thynke fytt +Ile cease to questyon, yet my contyence calls +It a disloyall and a monstrous fact. + +_Gan_. Tutt, a prosperous synne is nowe a vertuous acte; +Let not that starte you. + +_Rich_. I am confyrm'd, but yet the Emp[e]resse-- + +_Gan_. Why, knowe not I howe deare she valewes you, +And but for thys hope would not live an hower. +Come, her consent shall flye to meet your wishes +And locke you in saftie. In the nexte roome +Stay me a littill.--Now my projects goe [_Exit Richard_. +Uprighte and steddye. Let me style my selfe +(And proudlye too) the mynion of the fates. +The emperoure knytts newe honors to my house, +Whylst to my bloode I seeke to bynde hys crowne +And cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the lawe +Makes all legitimate in wedlocke borne, +By whom so ere begott, the way is even +Unto my future blysse and earthlye heaven.-- +And see howe luckily this fellow comes! +Happynes courtts me. + + _Enter Didier_. + +_Did_. My most honoured lord. + +_Gan_. O _Didier_, the famous nephewe unto _Charles_, +The onlye heyre and hope of fruytfull _Fraunce_, +Famous _Orlando_, is returninge home. + +_Did_. So tys given out. + +_Gan_. But might there not be somethynge given the prynce +To stay hys journey? Ile be playne with thee, +For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust: +He is an envyous torrent interposd +Twixte me and many honors, _Didier_, +And since unpassable must be choakt with earthe. +Thou understandst me? + +_Did_. Yes, sir, a must dye. + +_Gan_. And in his journey homewarde. A smale drame +Will purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughte +Some of the rebells in these frontyre townes, +By him reducst to false obedyence, +Have, in revendge o'the servytude wherein +Hys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone't; so not so much +As bare suspytion ever will attache thee. + +_Did_. I'm glad y'ave named me in't; I was afrayde +I should have beene lefte out in that brave acte, +Whereto my proper hate unto _Orlando_ +And love to you entyce me equallye. + +_Gan_. O by no meanes, whom should I trust but thee; +Tys thou & I must make eche other happye. +Repayre the with thys golde, & for thy paynes +Be equall sharer in my present meanes +And future blessyngs. + +_Did_. No more, Sir; Ile dooe't. +I speake it with a confydence whereby +Ide have you say unto your selfe 'tys doone.' + +_Gan_. Thanks, my most honest _Didier_. +Other affayres of seryous consequence +Call me; the Empresse must be solicyted +Unto an acte for which I'de loathe her but +My ends have gloryous aymes. + +_Did_. Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [_Exit Ganelon_. +Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycie +To venture all in one pore shallowe boate, +The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye. +Factyons in courte are like to suyts in lawe +Where goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe; +And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure, +Who shall protect me in so many ways +Leading to severall and confused ends? +I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wander +As myne owne proper saftie shall direct me. +And though I wishe my lorde may rayse his bloode, +Yet that wishe should give way to myne owne good. + + _Enter La Busse, Gabriella and Bertha_. + +_Bus_. Save Mounseire _Didier_! + +_Did_. Mounseir _La Busse_, my lords most loved sonne, +Your companye is fayre. + [_Exit Didier_. + +_Gab_. The fellowe mocks us. + +_Bus_. Had a sayd good too, then you might have douted, +But fayr's an epethyte you bothe may challenge. + +_Ber_. And why not good? + +_Bus_. A courtier might have spared it +And as he is a courtier beene excusd +Thoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harte +Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way +To a preferment. Nowe the courte is growne +As strange a beast as the thronged multytude, +Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys +The upper house. + +_Ber_. Why will you be a lymbe +Of such a beast? + +_Bus_. Faythe, onlye for sporte sake. + +_Gab_. I rather thynke to make it more deformd. + +_Buss_. Be not so bytter, ladye. Howe can I, +Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie, +Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me +In everye severall follye. + +_Ber_. Yet littill _Richard, Aimons_ youngest sonne, +Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym. + +_Gab_. Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde +Hys faire deserved reputatyon. + +_Bus_. Sytts the wynde there? + +_Gab_. Yes, syr, and blowes me hence +In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [_Ex. Gabriella_. + +_Ber_. Stay, Ile goe with you. + +_Bus_. Oh, by no meanes, madam; +Methynkes your longe attendance at the courte +Should make you not so apt to spoyle good sporte. + +_Ber_. Sdeath! sporte! pray let me goe. + +_Bus_. Not yet, by _Venus_. +You fyrst shall knowe my soule hath deeplye vowed +My love and servyce to your excellent selfe. + +_Ber_. Verye good sir, +I knowe y'are sonne unto the Mynion. +But yet I knowe your father loves you not, +And thats good too. + +_Bus_. If truthe at courte be good +For any thynge, then, madam, you say true. +For tys most true that I-- + +_Ber_. Pray let me goe. + +_Bus_. Shunne not hys syghte that dothe adore your syghte. +How fares the Empresse? Like to a bloweinge rose +Nypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe in +Cyrckled with ice? + +_Ber_. I knowe not nor I care not. + +_Bus_. But you can guesse.--Or in the frosts Dyspighte +Will she blowe out? + +_Ber_. Sir, y'are unmannerlie +To stay and question me: I must be gone. + +_Bus_. Take my harte with you. + +_Ber_. He whose harte and tonge +Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way +To a preferrment. + +_Bus_. Sfoote, doe you thynke your love +Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well. + +_Ber_. Vyllanous man! [_Ex. Bertha_. + +_Bus_. Well, now unto my father whom I knowe +Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe +I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym +Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe +Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate, +Though muche too meane to helpe her.--See, a comes. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. The Empresse and younge _Richard_ are in league, +Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye +That no joy can exceede. Heaven blesse the mixture! +--But stay; whose thys? O my curyous sonne, +What newse with you, Sir? + +_Bus_. Sir, though your emynence may guyld your vyce +And greatnes make your ills seeme gloryous +To some too farre beneathe you, that neare looke +Into the chynckes and crannyes of the state, +Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone ill +To crosse _Orlandos_ fayre successyon +By thys unequall maryadge. + +_Gan_. Arte growne madd? +Thoughe I neare knew thee muche opprest with witt, +I did not thynke thee such a foe to sence +To speake with suche a daringe impudence. + +_Bus_. Howe's that? + +_Gan_. Thus and observe me. As you love the cubboarde +Wherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast, +Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to play +The dogge and open thus when I am present +Without my spetyall lycence and comand, +Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shame +That life shalbe thy torment. Hence, thou slave, +Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistinge +Of equall foulness! hence, I say! Ignorance +Shall not excuse thee thus agayne offendinge. + +_Bus_. Preposterous! I walke for want of spyrrytt. + [_Exit La Busse_. + +_Gan_. Pyttie of follye! wherefore shoulde thys boy, +Thys thynge of too nyce contyence, nay my sonne, +Troble hym selfe with any acte of myne +As if they helde proportion with hys state, +Wytt or condytion? Such thyngs are swayd by chaunce: +And naughts more arrogant than Ignorance.-- +But here comes he that hathe brayne to plott +And spyrrytt to acte. + + _Enter Didier_. + +Howe is it _Didier_? + +_Did_. As you comanded, Sir. + +_Gan_. Hast doone it then? + +_Did_. And without all suspytion? + +_Gan_. Halfe my soule, +Let me imbrace thee. All my cares and feares +Thou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deathe +My future honors take a glorious byrthe. + + _Enter La Fue_. + +_Fue_. Hees never from hym; nay I must begone; +Past servyce is forgott. Doe you heare, my lorde? +Beggars must be no chusers. I am one, +The proverb proves it, an oulde serving man: +At your choyse therefore be it, whether I +Or that knave shall stay with you, for both must not; +Your house (though lardge) cannot contayne us bothe. + +_Gan_. Why, whatts the matter, _Fue_? + +_Fue_. Matter of wronge. +Full twoe and twentye severall liverye coatts, +Made & composed all for severall yeares, +Have I runne throughe in your most faythfull service. +Oth scullerye I was three yeares before: +So, blacke and blewe[86], I make account I've served +Your Lordshypp five and twentye. + +_Gan_. What meanes thys? + +_Fue_. My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude Jacke +Abuses me in words I understand not; +And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hym +I am no longer for you. + +_Gan_. Patyence, man: +If thys be all Ile see it remedyed. +He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats past +And promyse thee to second it with other. + +_Fue_. Shall he? why, let him then, and I wilbe content to dye in peace. + +_Did_. I bothe repent and promyse no amends. + +_Fue_. Well, that shall pacyfie, we will be frends +And live in peace together. + +_Did_. On condytion +That hence you take no lycence to deprave +My good indevours. + +_Fue_. In my contyence +He wrongs me now agayne. + +_Did_. Nor on this growe +Sawcie and insolent. + +_Fue_. Hay da! can oughte +Proceeding from my gravitie to thee +Be esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde; +Can fleshe and bloode induer thys? I doe knowe +My servyce is more pretyous then to be +Thus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe; +And though in pollycie I will not leave +Your lordshypps servyce, yet if polycie +Or brayne of man may studdye a revendge, +Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayne +Shall fashyon out a rare one. + [_Exit La Fue_. + +_Gan_. Syllye foole! +Come, _Didier_; mynde not hys peeyvishe hate +Ile make thee yet obscurd an envyed state. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus 2_. + +[SCENE I.] + + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants_. + +_Orl_. O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres +That with a more then envyous aspect +Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed? +I coulde allmost brable with destenye +For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme. +And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knott +That tyes suche a disparytie together. +But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood +A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte +Then a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I, +Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe, +Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds +And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage, +Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds, +Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store, +Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore; +Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme, +Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand, +Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder +And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes, +Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde +And loved burthen of the wanton seas) +Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties +And like to such, not cared for a jott, + ... ... ... ... ... must lye by & rott: +And so must I. + +_Rei_. His dottage maks hym thynke +Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche +That when the newse of your successe aryved +(Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie) +He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylled +With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her. + +_Oli_. He has not dealt like _Charlimayne_ t'expose +You to the horror of a cyvill warre, +And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way +To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse +Your fayre successyon. + +_Orl_. Twas a speedinge plott +To sende me into _Spayne_, whylst _Ganelon_ +Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here, +The envyous destenye that dothe attende +On all my undertakings, would have made +My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it. +For not the cooninge of slye _Ganelon, +Charlimayne's_ dottage, nor her wytchinge eie +(To whom I nowe must be obedyent) +Can challendge any share in my disgrace; +But myne owne fortune that did never smyle +But when it gave me a full cause to cursse. +And were the way to my successyon free +As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence +And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge +From my meare fate to make another kynge: +So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all +My rights of byrthe and nature. + +_Rei_. You have doone ill +To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence. + +_Oli_. With penytence tys confest, consyderinge +Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way's +Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye. + +_Orl_. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres, +Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects +With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves +Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie. +My starres, my starres! +O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares +So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares. + + _Enter La Busse_. + +_Rei_. Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne-- +A propertie oth court, that least his owne +Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt +In pollycie to scoffe at other mens. +He will taxe all degrees and think that that +Keepes hym secure from all taxation. + +_Orl_. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman +And hated of his father for hys vertues. + +_Bus_. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe +May comforte man, wayte on your excellence! + +_Orl_. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs +Can ere be heard to my desyred good, +I am not so voyde of humanitie +But I will thanke your love. + +_Rei_. Pray, sir, what newse +Hath the court lately been deliverd of? + +_Bus_. Such as the gallimaufry that is found +In her large wombe may promise: he that has +The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte +And knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists +Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings +And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without +The remedye of sugar candye for't. +Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott +Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes, +I & allmost disjested too as soone. + +_Oli_. I, but in sober sadness whatts done there? + +_Bus_. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes, +For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs +To mere confussyon: nothing there hath forme +But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte +Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte. + +_Rei_. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte +Our fayre eied royall empresse? + +_Bus_. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir, +You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope +None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke +To kyndell that ill flame. + +_Orl_. No, of my trothe, +I know thee much too honest; but how fares +The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse? + +_Bus_. Sir, as a woman in her case may doe; +Shee's broughte [to] bedd. + +_Rei_. What, has she a chylde, then? + +_Bus_. I, my Lord. + +_Orl_. A Sonne! + +_Bus_. Mys-fortune hath inspyrd you, Sir; tys true. + +_Orl_. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche +I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. +O harte, will nothing breake the? + +_Rei_. Tis most straunge. + +_Orl_. Straunge? Why, if she had been spayd +And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte +My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde-- +Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no man +That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve +Ere let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in't +Would tourne the hope't successe to an event +That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule +With the most pleasinge objecte. + +_Bus_. Sir, be at peace; +Much may be found by observatyon. + +_Orl_. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable. +Thys observation thou advysest to +Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate +That I should be distrackt. I can observe +Naughte but varyetye of mysseries +Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours. +I neare did good for any but great _Charles_, +And the meare doing that hath still brought forth +To me some plague too heavye to be borne, +But that I am reservd onlye to teach +The studyed envye of mallignant starrs. +If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde, +It is with studyinge myne afflictions; +But, for her standing on a roullinge stone, +Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands +And onlye against me. + +_Rei_. Move hym no further; +But if your observatyon can fynde out +A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills +That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love, +And be your servant: pray be inquisitive. + +_Orl_. Inquiseytive? for what? my miseryes +Requyer no searche, they playnlye shewe themselves, +And in theire greatnes crowne what made them greate. +The power of Fortune, which by theym beinge crownd +Doth tyrannize uppon me. + + _Enter Didier_. + +_Did_. Healthe attend +Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home +Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds +Whereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome. + +_Orl_. What is he? + +_Did_. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall +Ever attend you, and those wishes be +Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce. + +_Bus_. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is +More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes +Then twixte thy words and wishes. + +_Did_. Then your knowledge +Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate +To be so littill famed. I never hearde +That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge +But dynner tyme & coronatyon day, +The tylters collours & theire pages suytts, +But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up +An Ignoramus. + +_Bus_. Th'art a parasytte; +Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father +And like an evyll aungell make hym doe +Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver. +Therefore the love which thou protestest here +Can be at best but fayn'd & beares more shewe +Of treacherye then zeale. + +_Did_. How say you by that? + +_Orl_. _Ganelon's_ servant! Will it not suffyce +The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe +With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes +But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte +O' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferings +With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you +Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke +My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame +That I am a fytt subject for your spleene, +Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage? +Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute +My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe +In full carryere uppon me? + +_Did_. I disclayme +_Ganelons_ servyce other then to serve +Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end +Whertoe I ere seemd hys. + +_Bus_. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne! + +_Orl_. Impossyble! +I cannot be so happye, & if thou +Beare but the least affectyon to my cause, +Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd +To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature. + +_Did_. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst +In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased +Thys screane may be removed that keepes away +All comfortable heate from everye man +Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall +Confyrme you I am yours. + +_Orl_. He shall not goe, +Nor can I hope successe in any thynge +(More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed. + +_Oli_. Pray, sir, withdrawe. + +_Rei_. Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good +We may dyscover & prevent hys ill: +Pray leave us, sir. + +_Bus_. I will; but yet beware +That fellowe. [_Exit La Busse_. + +_Did_. I fyrst desyre +To be beleived my love & utmost servyce +Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife +The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers +That ever fryghted weake mortallytie, +Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knowe +The empresse is departed. + +_Orl_. Whyther! to hunt worsse fortunes then I suffer? + +_Did_. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode +After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it +She dyed last mornynge. + +_Rei_. Wonderful!! what newse of her younge sonne? + +_Did_. It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one, +_Lewis_ the _gentyll_ calld, a hopefull infante. + +_Oli_. But smale hope of the emperours righte to it. + +_Orl_. Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe? + +_Did_. Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife. +Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more +Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love +Outwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie): +He will not give her buryall, but in's armes +Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys, +Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes +To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe +Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence. + +_Orl_. Why, thys is absolute madnes! Where's byshopp _Turpin_? +His reverence shoulde persuade hym. + +_Did_. So he hathe, +But tys in vayne: he heares naught but his passyon. + +_Orl_. Why, styll thou heapest uppon me newe misfortunes. + +_Did_. But will delyver comforte. For some prooffe +Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd +By _Ganelon_ to poyson you. + +_Rei_. Whatts thys? + +_Did_. To which performance I so soothd hys hopes +That he beleives tys doone. + +_Orl_. And so it had, +But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be +Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove +The object of her envye past her spleene. +What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede +All the worlds mysseryes that have a name, +A new one out of pyttie must be founde +To adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse, +But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee; +And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde +Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well. + +_Did_. Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus? +Wonder confounds me. + +_Rei_. My most worthye cossen, +Will you not take advantage of thys plott? + +_Orl_. No; what advauntage? the emperour's eares are glewed +Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons. + +_Did_. Great Sir, no; +The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge, +Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes, +He heares all causes criminall as if +She did but slumber by hym. + +_Oli_. Tys an offerd meanes +To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour +Revyve your hopes. + +_Orl_. As cordyalls doe call backe +A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace +To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes +Of hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it, +And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe +Too noble to complayne. I neare coulde fynde +Pleasure or ease in others punishment, +Or if I were so base to take delighte +In the afflyctions of another man +My fate would guard me from't, for tys decreed +That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare +Be master of a hope shall have successe: +So all the opposytion I can make +Would onlye make my greives rydiculous +And dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I. + [_Ex. Orlando_. + +_Did_. Heres a straunge humor! + +_Oli_. I, but let it not +Deterre you from hys accusatyon. + +_Did_. Ile justefye what I have sayd. + +_Rei_. Doe so, +And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde +Shall pay thy love and faythe. + + [_Ex. all but Didier_. + +_Did_. I doe not like +Thys entertaynment at the second hande: +It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie. +Is thys a welcome worthye of the love +I have exprest? Had I tooke up hys hauke +Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce +Had deserved more respect then he gives me. +I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes, +For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye doone +And ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue is +The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge +That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts. +But t'has a cursse. It is impossyble +Ere to gett into _Ganelon_ agayne, +Havinge not onlye not performd hys will +But tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ere +The earle of _Angeres_ houlds thys accusatyon, +T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe-- +But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it +By other testymonie then myne owne; +And that hys owne denyall will bereave me +Of the beleife due to it. Yet will I stand too't styll: +To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. Y'are well mett. + +_Did_. I thanke you. + +_Gan_. Th'art a vyllayne. + +_Did_. It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me +If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse. + +_Gan_. _Orlando_ is retournd. + +_Did_. Tys well. + +_Gan_. It is; +But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp +Your harte had gordgd a hauke. + +_Did_. Wa, ha ho, man! +Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey, +Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all +Unable to outflye or to resist, +But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe +At once apeare. You understand me, sir? + +_Gan_. Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee? Arte thou flesht? +Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne? + +_Did_. Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson +The best that I have hearde. But be assurd +I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast. + +_Gan_. Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge, +A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not? + +_Did_. And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells +Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade, +Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then +That thou shalt curse thy beinge. + [_Exit Didier_. + +_Gan_. Thys is well, +Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slave +Armed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde nowe +Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips +When I made thys roague inmate of my breast. +My seryous counsaylls and's owne servyces +He sells like goods at outcryes--"Who gives most?" +Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes +When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made +My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he +May wound me deeplye. Suer he has reveald +My purposse and reward to poyson hym: +So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne +Wants but a sparke,--and farewell, _Ganelon_! +Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym! +What a brave noble creature were a man + ... ... ... ... ... see and so prevent + ... ... ... ... ... nay of his slave. + + _Enter Richard_. + +_Ric_. Health attend you! + +_Gan_. O my dearest sweete, +Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish; +For in it rests my health and happynes. +Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd, +And we have bothe full cause. My syster's deathe +Hath, like the moone in opposytion, +Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperour +Styll keep her in hys armes. + +_Ric_. Yes, styll and styll; +Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe +And flourishe most in deathe. _Mesantius_ wrathe, +That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym +The joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he is +Anything now but famous _Charlymayne_. + +_Gan_. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man +Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende, +Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene +Out of the emperours presence? + +_Ric_. Sir, theres none; +He hath her evermore within hys armes, +And when a sleepes your syster _Gabriella_ +Or the oulde Bishopp _Turpin_ doe attend her. + +_Gan_. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon, +That syster is an ulcer in my bloode: +Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons? + +_Ric_. Sleyght them beyond your wishes. + +_Gan_. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue, +And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd +Still let her frantique love receyve repulse +And crowne thy contynence; for though I was +Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90] +I would not have to fall for chrystendome. + +_Ric_. You neede not feare me: if not contynence, +Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe. + +_Gan_. I know't; and here she comes. + + _Enter Gabriella_. + +_Gab_. Brother, God save you!--0 my noble _Richarde_, +You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares. +Shall styll your winter nypp me? + +_Gan_. What doe you meane? + +_Gab_. T'express a love thats good and vertuous. + +_Gan_. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye. + +_Gab_. To tell before you myne affectyon +In publique I confes it would make me +A subject for taxation. + +_Gan_. Anywhere. +Come, a must not love you. + +_Gab_. Heavens forbydd! +And I must tell you, brother, that I darre +(And with no other then a syster's spleene) +Justifye myne affectyon. + +_Gan_. So, +And what wants thys of impudence? + +_Gab_. As much +As you of charytie if your tonge bee +A faithfull servant to your mynde. + +_Gan_. Tys well: +You would be whored (mayd), would you not? + +_Ric_. Pray, Forbeare. + +_Gab_. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye, +While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe +I will not have my true love circomscrybd +Within the lymits of your pollycie, +Come, y'are wicked. + +_Gan_. Repentance would doe well. + +_Gab_. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares +And at that sober age I meane to wedd it. +Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild +But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray +Beyond this most loved object. + +_Ric_. Say not so: +It never can retourne your recompence. +Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contrackt +And richlie to be marryed unto heaven +Shall ever keepe me from affectyon: +Beleve it, madam, I will never love. + +_Gab_. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all +Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall. + +_Gan_. Nay, no more fallinge. Come, my noble frende; +And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings. + + [_Exe. Gan. Rich_. + +_Gab_. Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames +Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode. +What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre, +And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake +Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood +In manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dare +All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie, +But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll +And so be servd both in my lust and will. + + _Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes, + Turpin, La Busse_. + +_Turp_ ... ... Sir, let me perswade ... ... +Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, +Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie. + +_Char_. No more; +He that perswades me from thys loved embrace +Is my most mortall enemye, and here +I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. +O, _Gabriella_, come; thy syster sleepes +A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade; +Goodnes can never perishe, and if so +Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have +Not full so many mynuts to survyve +As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I +For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay +And close our loves both in one monument. + +_Turp_. Was never seene suche an affectyon! + +_Char_. Come, _Gabriella_, let us sett her downe; +And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene; +The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads, +Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym, +Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness: + [_They place the dead bodye in a chayre_. +No ayre shall blow uppon her. Happye soule! +Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see +The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks +Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe +Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte +A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon. + +_Buss_.--What will a make of her? + +_Turp_.--Even what his fancye pleases. + +_Char_. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe, +Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable! +And howe much follye is in fearfull man [_Sitts by her_. +To flye from that which is so amyable! +Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte +My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame +And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome, +The conquests I have made of _Fraunce_, of _Spayne_, +Of _Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie_, +Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee +Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne, +And but for thys I were not _Charlymayne_. + +_Turp_. Alas, tys she maks hym not _Charlymayne_! + +_Char_. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe, + + [_Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique_. + +But _Turpin_ and my sister. Heavye sleepe +Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete, +Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest +Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee. + [_Sleepes on her bosome_. + +_Turp_. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe? + +_Gab_. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule +Hath charmd hys sence with slumber. + +_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe +And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche +And call you at hys wakynge. + +_Gab_. Willinglye. [_Ex. Gabriella_. + +_Turp_. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys, +It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde, +Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love, +Raynes in him above wonder, nay above +Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence. +I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes, +Spells and devysses to comand men's harts; +That charracters and imadges and scrolles +Can even bynd the soule to servytude. +It may be that's wrought on the emperoure. +I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to be +A myne of all deceytfull polycie, +And thys affectyon thus unnaturall, +Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye, +If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe, +That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye. +Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde +And emptye sylence, no companyon. +What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe; +Ile yet breake ope another cabanett. +Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say, +Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons: +You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys? +A rynge! +A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe +Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate! +Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is +I will aprove and be the treasurer. + + _Enter Gabriella_. + +_Gab_. Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour? + + [_Char. stirrs_. + +_Turp_. I sawe him move even now: agayne he styrrs. +Good sweete, excuse me: when a dothe awake +I will retourne imedyatlye. + [_Exit Turp_. + +_Gab_. I will. + +_Char_. Hey ho! +Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend? + ... ... pleasure ... ... ... ... ... +Ha! +Woman's attendaunce? in the name of chaunge +When did _Charles_ use such frayltie? Men at armes +Did ever guarde me: am I now forsooke? + + _Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants_. + +O you are wellcome. Ha! what creature's thys? +Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre? +What traytor shewd thys embleme? Why my age +Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe +The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke +Beyond the hower of deathe. Let me viewe her. + +_Rich_.--Here's a chaunge; he wilbe _Charles_ agayne. + +_Bus_.--Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous. + +_Char_. Tys the dead Empresse! In the name of healthe +Who plact her bodye here? + +_Rich_. Onlye your maiestye, +From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge +Had power to drawe her. + +_Char_. Gentyll coosse, +Doe not take judgment from me: in my mynde +Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon. +But more of that hereafter: take it hence +And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be +Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy. + + [_Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead_. + +Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe? + +_Rich_. Without, attendinge your hye pleasure. + +_Char_. Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face +May blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [_Exit Rich_. +Hathe brought to _Fraunce_ her wishes in suche wreathes +Of uncompared conquests that it bends +With weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes! + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier, + Attend[ants]_. + +O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe younge +With thynkinge of thy gloryes. Wellcome, coosse, +Wellcome, renowned _Oliver_, wellcome all! +But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe! +Th'ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes. + +_Orl_. The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me +And I partake not of it, but within me +I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would +Unpeople your whole kyngdome. + +_Char_. Whats the matter? + +_Orl_. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power +Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded +(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse) +To tell you of a practyse gainst my life +By _Ganelon_. + +_Char_. Call hym; you shall be hearde, +You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge. +Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe +That indyrect surmyses more abuse +And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde +An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one. + +_Orl_. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde +An inocent brest: myne keepes a register +With corsives charactred on everye syde +Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say, +Were _Ganelon_ here-- + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. As he is, my lorde, +To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature, +The mallyce of thys slave or of the world, +Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost. + +_Orl_. I say you are a man that haveinge longe +Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence +At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman +(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie +Be myne afflyction) to poyson me. + +_Gan_. My emperour, +If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way +Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor, +Justyce hathe left the earthe. + +_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha! + +_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie +That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true +That with a summe of goulde and further hopes +Of future honors he did wynne my promysse +To poyson the greate Palladyne. + +_Char_. Thys is dyrect. + +_Gan_. A dyrect vyllanye! +If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man, +Any such slave, discarded for's badd life, +May make hys former master forfayte hys; +You may in ten days hange up all your nobles +And yet have lawe for't. But if any man +(Thys slave except), although hys synns would make +The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte +And the grasse wither with his loathed ..., +Will justefye thys accusatyon, +Ile remayne destitute of all replye. + +_Char_. Nephewe, what other proofe have you? + +_Orl_. Your majestie sees all, +And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me +Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse) +Would be enoughe. + +_Rei_. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie +Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd +But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye. + +_Oli_. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade +Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. +All _Fraunce_ dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne. + +_Ric_. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tonges +Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave +Most to'th oppressed, oft to'th inocent. + +_Rei_. Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love. +Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous. + +_Bus_. Worthy _Reinaldo_, carrye better thoughts: +My father is your servant, and dothe love you. + +_Rei_. Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe, +I then would honor hym. Uppon my life +In thys he is most guyltye. + +_Char_. Come, no more. +There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe, +And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve +Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. _Ganelon_, +Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte: +Yare banysht thence. You have a cuntrye house, +Let that receyve you: when you thence departe +Your life is forfayte. Away! + +_Gan_. I doe obay +Your Majestye. + [_Exe. Gan., La Busse_. + +_Orl_. Is thys a punishment? + +_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen. + +_Did_. And noble bloode +Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds. + +_Orl_. Hence, slave! +By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne. +Was ever man like me unfortunate? +Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor +In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd +T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd. + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Char_. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? +My joy of life, my ages comforter! +Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee. + +_Tur_. What meanes your majestie? + +_Char_. I meane to live for ever on thy necke +And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares. +O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge, +Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse +When the bright sonne dothe kysse it. + +_Orl_. Ha, whats thys? + +_Tur_. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man, +That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you. + +_Char_. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume, +A verye myne of imortallytie. +Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye, +Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed. +Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters +In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye. +Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will. + [_Kisses Turpin_. + +_Orl_.--Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge. + +_Rei_.--Nay, farre above my readinge. + +_Orl_.--Upon my life! +The ould men will not ravyshe one another? + +_Tur_. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne +Thys toe much wanton passyon. + +_Char_. They are joys +Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete; +We will in private measure our delights +And fyll our wishes bryme full. _F[r]aunce_ is thyne, +And he is but disloyall dare repyne. + + [_Ex. Char., Turp_. + +_Orl_. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus +The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous. + + [_Ex. all but Didier_. + +_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye +And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe +I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe. +Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man, +Has undoone me. What course shall I take now? +I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me. +My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt +For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre; +He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella_. + +[_Eld_.] ... ... ... it is not possyble + ... ... ... ... ... +The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye _Richard_ +Should promise more true fortytude in love +Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons. + +_Gab_. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs, +The smale assurance and the certayne deathe, +The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns +That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures; +And are you styll to learne or will you trust +A lovelye face with all your good beleife? +My dutye checks myne anger, or I should-- + +_Eld_. What should you? + +_Gab_. Give your tast a bytternes. + +_Eld_. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; +See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill. + +_Gab_. Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes +So muche as to account your errors follyes; +But, I proteste, were you another woman, +I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you +That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente +In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes: +And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy +Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie! +Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face +When they themselves deceyve most by the face? +Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we +Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble? + +_Eld_. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the +meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie +syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the +tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a +crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne. + +_Gab_. And wherefore then should I trust in the face? +Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother, +The toe much wise, toe subtyll _Ganelon_, +Onlye withdrawes _Richards_ affectyon. +Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me; +And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd +By the charme of hys voyce onlye? + +_Eld_. Trust me, wenche, +Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys +Where lyethe our preventyon? + +_Gab_. Onlye thus: +You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon +Twixte _Rychard_ and my brother, tourne their loves +To mortall hate and emulatyon; +Which but effected, _Richard_ suer will love +Bee't but alone to crosse hys enemye. + +_Eld_. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creature +nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a +tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes +of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good +fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire +frendshypp. But to better purpose-- + +_Gab_. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshopp +The kyngs inamord darlinge. + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Tur_. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunce +With your deare sonne, my good lord _Ganelon_? + +_Eld_. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir. +Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there +All cares and all vexatyons: nowe he sleepes, +Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate, +Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne, +Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance; +Is not tane up with other mens affayres +But onlye looks to's owne comodytie. + +_Tur_. Hys chaunge was passynge happye then, it seemes. + +_Gab_. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe +He onlye wayts on hys partycullar, +Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse +All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say, +Is safest, surest, and least envyed. + +_Tur_. Why, prettie Ladye, you'le not leave the courte? + +_Eld_. Yes, gratyous lorde; I'me sent to bringe her thence. +Our pore retyred famylie must plante +Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91] +Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces. + +_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys +Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende +Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye +Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate +You will imparte unto hym. + +_Eld_. Most willinglie; +Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there +Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare. + + [_Ex. Eldegr. and Gab_. + +_Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! + ... ... ... ... ... +O tys a foule and damned sorcerye +And maks the best of wisdome and of men, +Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre, +Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse. +Why I am even rackt with complyment +And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe +Houlde difference in thys incantatyon. +But I will trye it further, harke a comes; +Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye. + + _Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard_. + +_Char_. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve +My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence? +I pray thee tender my declyninge age, +Stande allways neare that I may never faynte; +For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life +Then mightie nature when she made me younge. + +_Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante. + +_Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye! + +_Tur_. I protest, sir. + +_Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me, +But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye, +For I confess, as freelye as I love, +One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome; +And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I? +A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge +That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles. + +_Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. +I doe adore you next to dietie [sic] +And will lay downe my life for you to treade on. + +_Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive +Another god, or I must forfayte heaven +And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. +Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence +From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake: +Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee +Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie. +Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all, +All my domynions and authoryties; +Thynke what may please thee, make a full request +Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors. + +_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have +All that I can desyer? + +_Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge: +Come, tell't in myne eare? + +_Bus_. What thynke you, lorde? +Has any favrytt all he can desyer. + +_Rich_. Yes, and a be contented. + +_Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie +contented? + +_Rich_.--Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt. + +_Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll +wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_, +he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde +loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe +blame hys doatinge on my sister. + +_Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], +muche more with prynces. + +_Bus_.--If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave +majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare; +let us prate whylst they whysper. + +_Rich_.--Is that good manners? + +_Bus_.--Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to +pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe +pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe. + +_Rich_.--Come, thou art wanton! + +_Bus_.--As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle +should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to +be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does +not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat +there must be. + +_Char_. How now, cossen, what says _La Busse_? + +_Bus_. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of +begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the +Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of +mynuts. + +_Char_. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye +companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.--But, sweete frend, +Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyon +As fyrme as destenye, and I will give +All satisfactyon to the Palladyne. + +_Tur_. It wilbe royall in you. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Char_. Kysse me, sweete.--O you are wellcome; stand up. +And howe does thys retyred life agree +With _Ganelon_? + +_Gan_. As _Ganelon_ with it, +Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerd +Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you; +In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd +[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd +Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente +I never slepte in quyett nor awakt +But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. +Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle +Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares +Over and over. Fortune has opposd +My naturall blessings and my wishest ends; +Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes +Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve +Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge +Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all +My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne +A suffrynge of that impyous accounte +Which nowe afflycts me. + +_Char_. O you are conynge. + +_Tur_. Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte. + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver_. + +But here comes the earle of _Angeres_. + +_Char_. Nephewe, y'are discontented and I woulde +Give all rights to your honor, which did cause +Me latelye thus to send for you. + +_Orl_. Tys true, +You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd +And came: but then, Sir, what became of me? +You sente me presentlye away for _Spayne_. +Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys +As well methynks as if it hapned nowe. + +_Char_. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake. + +_Orl_. O that I could mistake or never thynke +Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence. +Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake +But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus. + +_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good +Into a stronge disease. + +_Orl_. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall, +I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir, +Littill thought I, when I departed hence +And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd. + +_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer. + +_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede +Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with, +But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare +My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't. + +_Rei_.--A touches hym most bouldlye. + +_Oli_.--Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge. + +_Orl_. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease +Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame, +For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse: +But what good man can well escape a cursse +When Emperours, that should be absolute, +Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant? + +_Gan_. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more. + +_Orl_. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde? + +_Gan_. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt. + +_Char_. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one, +You, _Ganelon_, I meane: there dothe belonge +Unto your fault muche more then banishment. +I heare discharge you of all offyces, +Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds +The slender name of a pore gentyllman. +Besyds I fyne you out of your estate +At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence +To see the courte, but live thence banyshed. +Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light +Ile lay more burthens on hym.--Come, best frende. + +_Orl_. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye. + + [_Ex. Cha., Turp_. + +_Gan_. Then welcome once agayne my libertie! +Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee +And utter my dystractyon; only nowe +Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome. +Before I was devyded in my selfe, +The emperour and the state did clayme a parte; +But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd +And onlye thou shalt have what manye had, +My best imployments and my whole desyers. + +_Rich_. You are a juell fytter for the State, +And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure, +Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne +In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome. + +_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me +He wants his refudge, and my glorye then +Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts +Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende, +Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me + ... ... enoughe to caper ... ... ... + +_Orl_. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe? +Cossen _Reinaldo_, cossen _Oliver_, +Why does he growe thus guyddie? + +_Gan_. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge +That I should take a pore content in shame? +Your envye will discredite you, my lorde. +Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ dogge +That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger? + +_Orl. Rei. Oli_. What then? + +_Gan_. He was an arrant peevyshe curre, +Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye +I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne) +Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame. + +_Orl_. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole. + +_Gan_. Sir, I am just of your opynion I; +For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre +Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses? +Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I +Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks +And never curse my planettes. I can leape +With more actyvitie then yesterday.--_Capers_. +Does thys offend you, Sir? + +_Orl_. Exceedinglye. + +_Rei_. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy? + +_Gan_. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne. + +_Oli_. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute. + +_Gan_. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles. + +_Bus_. It is the honor of hys gravitie +Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds +Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke +His resolutyons nowe his champyons. + +_Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me +And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there +A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee +And she shall pyle up all your flatterye: +The courte hath no use for it.--Sir, methought +You talkt of lightnes, did you not? + +_Orl_. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles. + +_Gan_. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse, +Beinge disburdend of so manye feares, +So much attendance and so manye synnes +By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde +(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp +If you or others moved the emperour +To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded +Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me, +And shall I not discover what I am. +A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [_Capers_.] +--Does thys offend you? + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Tur_. Where's lorde _Richard_? + +_Rich_. Here, reverend Sir. + +_Tur_. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne +Of life and your aleagance that from hence +You never more conversse with _Ganelon_ +Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment. +No not so much as see hym; and withall +You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes. + +_Rich_. I am hys servant. + [_Ex. Tur., Rich_. + +_Gan_. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke +To deathe with mans soft languadge. Come away: +Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day. + + [_Ex. Can., La Busse_. + +_Orl_. Wherefore did the angrye emperour +Degrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me, +Did he not, cossen? + +_Rei_. Yes, to satisfye +The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe. + +_Orl_. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all +As catchynge of the moone: tys past mans power +To take away my cursse of destenye. + +_Oli_. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse. + +_Orl_. Had any man but such a slave as I +Look't to have tryumphd in hys base dejection +And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes, +Whylst I and all the projects I can make +Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame. + +_Rei_. Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen: +You have in many actyons prosperd well. + +_Orl_. Good, doe not studye how to flatter me; +I am in althyngs most unfortunate. +Witnes my fyrst love to _Angellica_, + ... ... ... my cursse ... ... ... +My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings, +Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells +Can breake the harte of resolutyon. + +_Rei_. What say you to your conquests? + +_Orl_. Tut, in thosse +Fortune did never medle: honor there +Served in her person, not by substytute. +Instead of which pore blessinge not a day +Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye. +Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all _Fraunce_? +Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome. +And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte +That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse +Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes. +By heaven I will release hym! + +_Rei_. Nothinge so: +Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me; +Ile add a torment to hys mysserye. + + [_Exe_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle_. + + +_Eud_. Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted +Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam). +I promysd to your lorde that _Bertha_ here, +My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne, +And Ile perform't; for onlye to that ende +I've brought her nowe. + +_Eld_. And, Sir, tis noblye doone; +I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym +Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he +Is laboringe to recover, but's retourne +I knowe wilbe most sodayne. + +_Eud_. Weele attend it. + +_Gab_. Hey hoe. + +_Ber_. Why syghes thou, frende? + +_Gab_. Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons. +Your in a good way, _Bertha_, ryde spurrd on, +May come unto your journey: I must tyre, +Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me. + +_Ber_. Yes, when younge _Rychard_ hunts your purlue ground. +Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder. + +_Gab_. Not if a would fall to hys exercyse. + +_Ber_. Th'art styll thy selfe (all madnes).--But no more; +Here comes your brother. + + _Enter Ganelon, La Busse_. + +_Eud_. Healthe to my noble lorde! + +_Gan_. You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir, +Tys wellcome since you wishe it. O I am +At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace. + +_Eud_. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knowe +Disgrace is ever like the greate assay +Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume +And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe +Because it styll remayns unchaungable +Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, +Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: +Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches +In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe, +Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe. + +_Gan_. Pray thee, noble _Eudon_, save thy selfe, +And come not neare me; I am pestilent. + +_Eud_. I doe not feare infection. + +_Gan_. I knowe tharte noble & a man of warre, +One that hathe feard no mortall wound so muche +As to be recond fearfull; but the cause, +The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you +You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule +Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. +Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes +And talke alone, least the proceedinge ayre +That easeth me beget in you a payne. +Leave me, pray leave me: my rude vyolence +Will halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speeche +Like such a noyse as drownds all other noyse +Will so afflyct your thoughts & cares on me +That all your care besyde must be neglected. +My tyme of patyence is expyrd; pray leave me. + +_Eld_. Ithe name of wonder, sir, what dothe afflyct you. + +_Eud_. You boare your banyshment most brave tyll nowe. + +_Gan_. I did, & could as quyetlye endure +To be exposd uppon the publique scaffold +To all myne enemyes contempt, but nowe +I'me more then banysht, all my honors lost, +My wealthe, my places everye one the kyngs; +I hardlye am a pryvate gentyllman. +And more then thys, my onlye dearest frend, +My _Richard_, I must never see agayne. + +_Gab_.--Excellent newse! hould, there Ile honor thee. + +_Eud_. Why, all thys is a tryfell; suche a blast +As should not move a weake reede. Come, I love +Your selfe and not your fortunes: pray forgett em. +See, I have brought my daughter, and desyer +The matche betwixt us may be consumate. + +_Gan_. O you are noble that can pyttie scorne! +And werte not for my frends losse all the rest +I should loosse like my shadowe. + +_Eld_. I, and hym, +When I have toulde you myne intelligence. +Come, hees not halfe so good as you imagine. + +_Gan_. Goe, y'are a woman, and that styll implyes +Can be malytious.--But are you then resolvd +To match with myne ill fortunes? + +_Eud_. Sir, I am. + +_Gan_. What says fayre _Bertha_? + +_Ber_. That my free will dothe bynde +My love to his comandment. + +_Gan_. Then take her, boy; we wilbe hencefourthe frends, +And howsoever crosses come & goe +Ile leave thee cloathes inowe for winter tyme. + +_Bus_. Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress, +And will so arme my servyce with delighte +That, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoake +The onlye lyst of pleasure. + +_Ber_. Thats my hope: +Bate me the pleasure, and, beleive it, Sir, +I shall crye out oth bargayne. + +_Bus_. Feare me not. + +_Gan_. Come, we will have thys maryage sollempnyzd, +In which I meane to feighte with agonye +And shoe the worlde I can cast honors of +More easlye then my garments. Wisdome & thought +Most precious ever when tys dearest bought. + + [_Exe. all but Gab_. + +_Gab_. Suer thys should be the day of _Valentyne_ +When everye byrd dothe coople, onlye I +Pore forlorne turtle, haveinge lost my mate, +Must dye on a bare braunche. Wytt defend me! +Youthe & my pleasures will not suffer it. +I've here contryved a letter to my frende +In myne ill brothers name. It may worke +Somethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worst +It cannot make me more then I am accurst. +And heres my messenger.-- + + _Enter La Fue_. + +Howe nowe Mounseir _Fue_? +Whyther gost thou in suche a sweatinge passyon? + +_Fue_. O, Madam, sweatynge is goode for the itche, and the rascall +_Didier_ haveing playd the roague with my lord ist possyble but I +should itche to be about hys eares when I see the knaves countenance? +Therefore to avoyde troble I affect sweatinge. + +_Gab_. Why, thou dost not see hym nor art thou licklye. + +_Fue_. O by all meanes I cannot mysse the devyll. Why, I am goeing to +the courte, Madam, & the knave wilbe in everye corner, _Didier_ I meane, +by all meanes; so that if I doe not sweate I shall scratche the skynne +from myne elbowes. + +_Gab_. Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tell +noble _Richard_, the sonne of _Aimon_, your master sente it, but doe not +tell your master I imployd you. Take this rewarde and deale wiselye. + +_Fue_. As wisely as my blewe coate will suffer me. + + [_Exe_. + + + + +_Act 4_. + +[SCENE I.] + + + _Enter Richard readinge a letter_. + +_Rich. [Read] Myne enemyes have labord much, but my worst afflyctyon is +thy lamented absence which may endanger us alyke. There is no means to +prevent all evyls but the injoyinge of my sister Gabriella: therefore +force in thy selfe an affectyon. She may otherwise growe discontent and +trooble us with her mallyce. Therefore preserve thy selfe and me +together, who am thy best on earthe: Ganelon_. + +Thys letter sente me by my dearest frende +Like spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne. +He urdges me to love where a dothe knowe +I can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so, +Our safties doe compell it, & to that +I must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harte +To seme most softe when tys most hard[e]ned. + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Tur_. Where is pryncelye _Richard_? + +_Ric_. Here, reverend lorde. + +_Tur_. The kynge comands your presence, O deare Sir, +I am orejoyd in your most brave advauncments. +Why, you are now the fayrest stare[94] in _Fraunce_. + +_Rich_. I doe not understand your reverence. + +_Tur_. The emperour will make my meanyng playne. + ... ... ... day Cunstable of _Fraunce_, +Countye _Poyteirs_, marquysse of _Sallun_, +And grand le seignior of the ordnance. + +_Ric_. Theise are the dignities of noble _Ganelon_! + +_Tur_. But these shall all be _Richards_. + +_Ric_. Heaven forbydd! +I will not weare the garments of my frende. + +_Tur_. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs +And never did become hys policie. + +_Ric_. Good Sir, be charytable. + +_Tur_. Indeede I am, +But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe +The emperoure expects you. + + _Enter La Fue_. + +_Ric_. I will attend hym.--O y'are happylie mett. +My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte: +Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [_Gives letters and money_. +Thys to the fayrest _Gabrielle_; thys +Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [_Ex. Richard_. + +_Fue_. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter. +I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce +attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts +in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare +keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good +sadnes. + +_Tur_. Now, Mounseir _La Fue_, you are of the retyred familye. + +_Fue_. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and +yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the +dark. + +_Tur_. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred. + +_Fue_. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers me +may chaunce cursse his journey. + +_Tur_. Styll so angrye? di[d]st never take physsycke? + +_Fue_. P[er]a[dve]nter I have, p[er]a[dve]nter I have not. + +_Tur_. By all meanes doe; choller will kyll thee ells. But to my +purposse: heares gould, comend me to thy master and give him thys token +from me. [_Gives the ringe_. +You see howe thynges runne; hys frend has all hys honors. + +_Fue_. And you had talkd thus before y'ad never tyerd me. + +_Tur_. Stay, goe not yet, here comes the emperoure. + +_Fue_. Mas, Ile have a syghte on hym. + + _Enter Charlimayne, Richard, Didier_. + +_Char_. Doe not perswade me; cossen, you shall weare +The honors I have given; what was _Ganelons_ +Onlye belongs to _Rychard_, he shall weare theym. + +_Rich_. But without ease or comforte.--Good my lorde, +You have a power in hys hyghnes love +Beyond power to interprett: pray you begge +Hys grace will ease thys burthen. + +_Char_. Nor he nor any creature on the earthe +Hath power in me beyond the rule of wisdome. + +_Tur_. Not nowe, I knowe; that charme is altered. +--Sweete lorde, I darre not lymytt kings affectyons. +You have no honors but you merrytt theym. + +_Char_. Ha! +Wonder, howe dost thou houlde me! noble sence, +Doe not forsake my reason. Good sweete lords, +What excellent thynge is that, that, that, that thynge +That is beyond discryption? knowe you hym? + +_Fue_.--Hath spyed me and comends me: I may mounte. + +_Tur_. Tys a dyspysed groome, the drudge of _Ganelon_. + +_Char_. Tys the best forme of man that ere I sawe. +Let me admyre hym. + +_Tur_.--The ringe dothe hould hys vertue everye where, +In weomen, men & monsters. + +_Rich_.--Whence growes thys? +Madnes to it is wisdome. + +_Char_. Why, tys a bodye made by symetree +And knytt together with more arte & care +Then mathematycks cyrckles. _Durers_ rules +Are perfytted in hym. Why, theirs a face +Figurd with all proportyons! browe & eie, +Rounde cheeke & lypp, a nose emperyall, +And everye feature ells of excellence! + +_Fue_. Alas I am but a grosse servyngman, yet vertue +will sparkell. + +_Char_. Why, theres a hande that aunswers to hys foote! + +_Fue_. I & a true one toe, or bourne it ells. + +_Char_. A legge and necke of one cyrcompherence, +A waste that is no hygher then hys thye, +And all parts ells of stronge proportyon. +I am inchaunted with thys vyssyon. + +_Did_.--In hells name what behould's hys majestie +To doate uppon thys rascall! + +_Fue_. It was a scurvye thynge in nature that she did not tourne mans +eies inwarde. Why, had I seene as much as the emperoure I myghte have +been a monarke by thys time. I will growe proude. + +_Char_. O thou the onlye sweetnes of my soule, +Give me but leave to touche thee, let my hand +(Chast loves most bashful messenger) presume +[To stro]ake theise flowers that in thy lovelie [chee]kes +Flouryshe like somer garlands. In soothe my soule +Loves thee beyond relatyon; for thee I doate +And dye in thyne affectyon. Come, Ile make +Thee greater then all _Fraunce_, above the peres, +The proudest he that breathes shall thynke hym blest +To do thee servyce, and esteeme it heaven +To be thyne ape in imytatyon. + +_Fue_. Nowe must I be coy by all meanes.--Trulye for myne owne parte I +must love by dyscretyon, and discretyon tells me I ought not to love an +oulde man, for ould men must needs be ingratfull. + +_Char_. Why, deare sweete? + +_Fue_. Because they can never live to rewarde benefytts. + +_Tur_.--Bytter knave. + +_Char_. O doe not feare; my bountye shall exceede +The power of thyne askynge; thou shalt treade +Uppon the heads of prynces. Bowe, you lords, +And fall before thys saynte I reverence. + +_Tur. Rich. Did_. Honors to hym the emperor doth honor! + +_Fue_. Aryse, my good subjects; onlye for that roauge there the first +acte of my chronickle shalbe hys hanginge. + +_Did_. O be not angrye with your humble servante: +I ever did adore you, + +_Fue_. Yes like the meales that thou hast devourd halfe chewd for +greedynes. But revendge comes nowe gallopinge. + +_Char_. Who hathe displeasd my dearest? name hys name, +The verye breathe shall blast hym; onlye, sweete, +Love me & have thy wishes. + +_Fue_. Well, I am contented to love you; and why? For nothing but +because you are an oulde man. + +_Char_. Why, tys the onlye tye of faythfulines: +Age is the onlye object of the harte, +And by's experyence onlye hathe aspyrd +Toth heyght of all perfectyon. + +_Fue_. True, for I'll stande too't an oulde man is able to see more, doe +more, & comand more then any young man in Chrystendome. + +_Char_. Prove it, my sweete; thou arte myne advocate. + +_Fue_. Why, a sees more, through spectackles which make everye thynge +apeare bygger than it is; does more, for a never lights from hys horse +but hees readye to pull the sadle after hym; and for comandment he may +call twentye tymes to hys servant ere he have hys will once performed. + +_Rich_.--Sfoote, the knave dothe abuse hys hyghnes groslye. + +_Tur_.--Tut, not at all when't cannot be dyserned. + +_Char_. Why, I doe nowe doate on thyne excellence. +Thys witts unparaleld. + +_Did_.--True, except a man searche the Idyotts hospytall. + +_Char_. Thou never shalt goe from me. + +_Fue_. O yes, by all meanes. Shall my master say I ranne away like a +rascall? No, you shall give me leave to take my leave. That ceremonye +performd, I'm yours tyll doomes day. + +_Char_. I cannot live without thee. + +_Fue_. Ile not stay a day at furthest. + +_Char_. I darre denye thee nothynge. Kysse & goe: +Thynke how I languyshe for thee. + +_Fue_. And I will condole in recyprocall kyndnes. + +_Char_. Bishopp, attend my dearest. + +_Tur_. Greate Sir, I was toe impudent even nowe +To trooble you with my token; good Sir, please +To give it me agayne: a meaner man +Shall serve my humble messadge. + +_Fue_. Bishopp, I doe voutsafe it; theres thy ringe. + [_Gives him the ringe_. + +_Tur_.--And you agayne a basse most scurvye thynge. + + [_Exe. Turp., Fue_. + + _Enter La Busse_. + +_Char_. Howe nowe, _La Busse_? What newse from _Ganelon_? + +_Bus_. Suche as can come from sorrowe: he is all +Wretchednes and mysfortune, and in me +Speaks to your sacred goodnes to be pleasd +Voutsafe to call your fayre dove to your fyst +(Mercye I meane) that may abate the stroake +Of your sharpe eagle justyce, and you will +Be wrytt the best of prynces. + +_Char_. Come, no more: +Your fathers sentence is irrevocable. + +_Bus_. Yet, gratyous Sir, sende hym hys honors backe +And for those fewe pore howers he hathe to breathe +Let hym injoy those deare companyons. + +_Char_. You are the good sonne of an evyll man +And I comend your vertue, but thys suyte +Is past all restytution: to thys prynce +I've given all your father governed. + +_Rich_. Which, royall sir? + +_Char_. Cossen, no more; I know your modesty. + ... ... ... your languadge; hees my foe +That next solycytts me for _Ganelon_. + +_Bus_. O doe not make me, sir, be impyous, +For shoulde your breathe crushe me to attomyes, +Yet whylst my memorye can call hym father +I must invocke you for hym. + +_Char_. Which to prevent +Take my last resolutyon, & from it +Swearve not in thyne alleagance: when thou shalt +Meete me uppon a way was never usd +By horse nor man, and thou thy selfe dost ryde +On neyther horsse, mare, asse, & yet thy beast +An usuall thynge for burthen, thou thy selfe +Neyther uncloathd nor naked, & shalt brynge +Thy greatest frend & greatest enemye +Coopld for thy companyons; then I vowe +To doe thy father honor, but tyll then +My mallyce hangs about hym.--Come, coossen, attend us. + + [_Exe. Char., Rich_. + +_Bus_. Then dye, pore _Ganelon_. When I shall meete +The kynge on no hye way, when I shall ryde +Uppon no beast & yet a beast of burthen, +Be neyther nakt nor cloathed, in my hande +My greatest frende & greatest enemye; +And but then get his favor. There is no sphynxe +That can absolve thys ryddell: well, tys decreed +Ile breake my brayne but Ile performe the deede. + +_Did_. Sir, would it were in me to helpe your fortune. + +_Bus_. It was in you to bringe us to thys fortune. +But I am charmd from anger: onlye thus +My father badd me tell you that he hathe +Not many howers to live, & dothe desyer +To parte in peace with all men, even with you +Whom he hathe nowe forgiven hartylie; +And if you please to vissytt him you may +Fynde love without captitulatyon [sic]. + +_Did_. Sir, Ile attend hym. [_Ex. La Busse_. + Yet I've heard a tale +Of a feirce snake that wounded by a swayne +Rememberd it for twentye yeares together +And at the last revendgd it; so may he. +I, but another tale tells of an asse +Which haveinge throwne hys cruell ryder wente +In pyttie to the surgeon, who recurd +The sycklie man & reconcyld the asse. +Why may not _Ganelon_ be like the asse +And thys fayre messadge like the curynge surgeon? +Ile trye it; synce _Orlando_ is unsuer, +Tys _Ganelon_ from whence may come my cure. + + [_Ex. Didier_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Ganelon, Eldegrad & Gabriella_. + + +_Gan_. Good mother, syster, deare spyrrytts, doe not haunte me: +I will not from eternytie beleive +That _Richard_ is unfaythfull. + +_Eld_. No, runne on, +Swallowe thy shames like full bytts tyll they choake you +And make the people prophesye that you +Shalbe undoone by your false _Ganimede_. + +_Gan_. A poxe uppon the people! Would you have +Me to depend uppon theire orackles? + +_Gab_. Depend on your owne goodnes; doe not trust +A traytor in your bossome. _Richard_, they say +Hathe begd your honor and your offyces: +Hes counte of _Poyteers_, marquysse of _Saluca_. + +_Eld_. Cunstable & master of the ordnance. + +_Gan_. It cannot be nor will I credyt it. + +_Eld_. Then perishe in your dullnes. Nay, sir, more; +It was hys earnest suyt to the emperoure +To be dyvorst your presence: I can prove it. + +_Gab_. And I that he by secret charmes hathe sought +To make spoyle of myne honor, but in vayne +Doe I complayne where theres no profyttinge. + +_Fue_. In the way of ordynarye curtesye I doe salute you, & +notwithstandinge my greatnes grace you to give you thys, &, ladye, +you thys. [_Gives letters_. + +_Gan_. Why, howe nowe? what motyons thys? Is the knave falne out with +hys five sences. + +_Fue_. _Ganelon_, no, but in love with my knowne vertues.--Hould, theres +your yarde [_gives hys coate_] & a halfe of somers wearynge. Frends we +mett, frends we parte: if you please me I may prayse you, if you seeke +me you may fynd me, a loves littill that loves longe; and so I leave you +to the tuytion. + +_Gan_. Heyday, the knaves lunatycke! syrha sott + ... ... ... ... ... + +[_Fue_.] ... ... Tys daungerous for your shynns; take heede of +my[schief]. Favorytts are not without their steccados, imbrocados +& pun[to]-reversos[96]. No more but so: you have no honor, no offyce, +littill land, lesse money, least wytt. Y'are a pore man & I pyttie +you. When next you see me tys in the emperours bossome. + + [_Ex. La Fue_. + +_Gan_. Whats thys? scornd of my drudge, mockt & abusd? +Foote! I will throwe my dager after hym. + +_Eld_. But thys is nothynge to the heape of scornes +Will flowe on you hereafter. What says your letter? + +_Gan_. Ile tell you presentlye. + +_Eld_. What a madd tyrant is mans stronge beleife! +Makinge hym hunte hys proper myschiefe fourthe, +Takinge delight in desperatyon. +O theres no foe to our credulytie. + +_Gan_. O mother, yes; _Aimons_ youngest sonne +_Richards_ a slave above credulytie. +Why, alls confyrmd here underneathe hys hande; +A dothe not blussh to write to me a hathe +All honors that I challendge; good sweet, looke, + [_Eldegrad reads_. +Read & recorde a vyllayne. What speaks youres? + +_Gab_. No lesse than I imagynd, fearfull seidge +Agaynst my name & honor. + [_Ganelon reads_. + +_Eld_.--So, it taks; +Thys polytycke trycke, wenche, hathe set up the walle +Of stronge partytyon twixt theym. Hence theire loves +Shall never meete agayne. + +_Gan_. O monstrous vyllayne, wouldst thou make her whore? +I tell you, shallowe braynd unfaythfull hynde, +Th'adst better have kyst _Juno_ in a cloude +And beene the dadd to Centaurs. + +_Eld_. Save your wrathe: +Tys fytt that nowe your wisdome governe you. + +_Gan_. Mother, it shall; I am not yet past all Recoverye. + + _Enter La Busse_. + +Nowe, sir, what newes at courte? + +_Bus_. Strange & unwholsome; you are still in fallinge; +Alls given your frend to be your enemye. + +_Gan_. I knowe the full relatyon. You did not seeke +By basse ways my repryvall? + +_Bus_. God forbydd! +I spoake but what myght suyte your noblenes. + +_Gan_. What aunswere made the emperoure? + +_Bus_. That when I shall +Meete hym uppon a way was never usde +By horse nor man, & I myselfe to ryde +Neyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beast +An usuall thynge for burthen, & withall +Come neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringe +My greatest frend & greatest enemye, +You then shall have hys favor, not before. + +_Gan_. A myght in one worde playnlye have sayd "never" +And saved much cyrcomstance. What sayd _Richard_? + +_Bus_. Faythe, seemd to speake, but utterd nothynge. + +_Elde_. Why that exprest hym bravelye. + +_Gan_. A thynks me fallinge & avoyds my swindge +Least I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwarde +To dryve away the feare of douted ruyne. +Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken tree +And browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter. +Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the house +Tyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares, +But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger. +Where shall I fyxe my trust? My woes are nowe +Beyond my synns, yet Ile nor bend nor bowe. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver_. + + +_Orl_. Pray, thee, good coosse, perswade not my beleife; +I cannot stoope[97] the harte of _Ganelon_. +My crosse unhappye fortune hathe decreed +A never shalbe conquerd; any ells, +Should a but vowe to conquer 50 worlds, +I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye I +Shall never master a dejected slave. + +_Rei_. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you. + +_Oli_. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswade +Hathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way, +Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joye +But muche redoobled sweetnes. And behould +Here comes the newe made marquesse. + + _Enter Richard_. + + Good sweete lorde, +Give my free speche suer passadge. + ... ... ... ... ... + +_0l_. Foote! thys newe pyle of honor walks as if +A would knocke patts with heaven. + +_Rich_. Tys not unlike +Your owne true pryde dothe make you speculous. + +_Rei_. Tys farre shorte of youre sweete harte _Ganelons_. + +_Rich_. Sir, hees a noble gentyllman. + +_Oli_. A Baboone, +A verye windye caske of emptynes. + +_Rich_. I wonder y'are so impudent. My frende +Hath vertues lefte: if you had eyther shame +Or charytie you would accuse your lybells. +But as the ravens which in _Arabia_ live, +Haveinge flowne all the feylde of spyces ore, +Seaze on a stynkinge carkasse, so doe you +Swiftlye leape over a most plentyous vale +Of good examples which grace _Ganelon_ +And fasten on the scandall which was formd +By a lewde treacherous knave to gett rewarde. + +_Oli_. I give your aplycatyon the broade lye. + +_Rich_. And tys thy last foule languadge. + [_Offer to Drawe_. + +_Orl_. Hould! who drawes must be myne enemye. + +_Rich_. I'm easlye chydd from tumulte, but, deare Sir, +Tell me in pryvatt howe you dare maynteyne it. + [_Whisper_. + + _Enter alofte[98] Ganelon_. + +_Gan_.--Yonder a stands consultinge with my foes. +Perhapps thys present mynute he reveales +My systers whoredome, or to take away +All feare of my revendge he now contryves +That my sadd deathe may fynishe my disgrace. +Myne eies are dazeld, but it is no wonder, +For in that glassye fellowe I dyserne +The true reflectyon of my fate & feares. +Tys he, tys he; there wants but a good crossbowe[99] +To levell at hys harte nowe. I began +A littill synce to chide my rashe beleife +And so was readye to tourne foole agayne; +But I am nowe deliverd & hencefourthe, +If wisdome or occassyon doe me righte, +I will determine never to mystake. +Heres a full proofe of what my mother spake. + +_Oli_. As I respect myne honor I will meete you. + +_Rei_. Are you agreed? + +_Oli_. Yes, sir. + +_Orl_. Away and shape our purposse. + + [_Ex. all but Richard_. + +_Rich_. Tys put to tryall; but I doe suspecte +Theire whysprynge plotts. Thys equall hazard may +Shadowe the meanynge of some certayne danger, +The rather synce _Reinaldo_ seconds it. +I must see _Ganelon_ & speake theise douts: +This quarrell most concerns hym, for the wronge +And capytall abuse toucht onlye hym. +I gave a constant promyse never more +To vyssytt hym without the emperours leave, +And yet I will adventure. He may guesse +At secrett workings & confyrme my feare. +Thys nighte I will adventure, & obay +As he shall fashyion me to meete or stay. + + [_Ex_. + + + + +_Actus 5_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Eldegrade & Didier_. + + +_Eld_. What, have you vyssyted my greived sonne? + +_Did_. Madam, I have. + +_Eld_. And you are reconcyld? you see hys harte +Is made of meltinge waxe & not of marble. +Faythe, twas a harde parte; you have brought us lowe, +Lowe as the earthe we treade on, but Ile ceasse +Further reitteratyon: synce hees pleasd +To burye all, I wilbe patyent; +You knowe I ever lovd you & you have +Doone me most worthye, honest offyces. + +_Did_. And many more will dedycatt unto you; +My lorde & I am reconcyld at full +And have disburdend all our greivances. +I doe confes I was bewytcht with fate +But will redeeme myne error; synce I knowe +He loves me nowe more then he did before, +I will deserv't so bravely you shall call +And sweare I am a noble instrument. + +_Eld_. You trust hys protestatyons then? + +_Did_. Madam, or ells I were an Infidell. + +[_Eld_.] ... ... ... ... ... +And I could chyde my love that pytties you. +He dothe dissemble with you; you are lost. +Of myne owne knowlege he hathe layd suche baytts +You cannot live twoe howers. Goe where you will, +He hathe a plott that haunts you. If you can +Fynde for your selfe any preventyon, +Use it with quycke indevor; for I knowe +The thunder speaks that presentlye will splytt you. + +_Did_. You doe amaze me. + +_Eld_. And like the chaesd Roe stand in that amaze +Tyll the hounds catche you. What I speake +Is to prevent your present tragedye +And to blott murder from my _Ganelon_. +Be wise. [_Ex. Eldegrad_. + +_Did_. Am I then noosd! will styll my villanous wytts +Betray me to mysfortune, am I lymed! +What shall I doe? flight will not nowe avayle me. +I knowe hys projects like hys mallyce runns +To everye place of hoped securytie. +I have't: thys key, which I have choycelye kepte +(Longe synce by me most fynelye counterfaytt) +Enters hys chambers & hys cabanett +And everye place retyrd. I am resolvde; +Thoughe I had thousand ways to scape besyde, +Yet I will stay onlye to murther hym. +Within hys lodginge will I hyde me safe, +And when sleepe lulls hym--farwell _Ganelon_! +He shall not outlive mydnyght: here Ile lye, +And thoughe I followe nexte thys lorde shall dye. + [_Hydes hym_. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. My plotts are layd most certayne & no fatte +Can interposse betwixte theym: _Didier_ dyes +And so shall _Richarde_. O the wearye thoughts +That keepe a daylie senate in my braynes, +Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare, +A frends disloyaltye. Be wysser you +That undertake the greate & hallowed leauge +Of frendlye comforte. Scoole your ryotous bloode +And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne +With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge +As face or person when you chusse a frende; +Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall rytts +Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse +A warnynge by my horryble abuse, +And I would dye to morrowe. I lament +That such another pyttied foole as I +Should be amongst the liveinge.--Harke! who knocks? + [_Richard knocks_. +Aunswere, what are you? + +_Rich_. Open to your frende. + +_Gan_. O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus +Come flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I come +To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome. + [_Stabbs hym_. + +_Rich_. O y'ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir, +Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule +May teache repentance to you-- + [_Dies_. + +_Gan_. Speake it out. +What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe? +You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so: +You have the trycke of mightie men in courte +To speake at leasure & pretend imployment. +Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall +Whether you speake the resydue behynde +Nowe or at doomes day. If thy comon sence +Be not yet parted from thee, understande +I doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because once +I loved thee dearlye; & collect by that +There is no devyll in me nor in hell +That could have flesht me to thys violent deathe, +Hadst thou beene false to all the worlde but me.-- +But he is nowe past thynkinge on for that, +And were he buryed all were perfytted. + + [_Didier stepps out_. + +_Did_. What will you say if I become the sexton? + +_Gan_. That after that thou mayst hang thy selfe ithe bellropps. +--What makst thou heare? + +_Did_. I will assuer you, Sir, +No legge to your wise lordshypp for my life, +Thyngs standinge as they doe. + +_Gan_. Verye good, Sir, +Y'are wondrous merry. + +_Did_. Can you blame me, Sir, +When I may treade upon myne enemye? +I am your condemd creature, I am lost. + +_Gan_. ... ... ... ... ... +Howe camst thou hyther? + +_Did_. Why, looke you, Sir, by thys, [_Shoes the key_. +Thys that Ive kepte as a stronge cordyall +Agaynst your vyllanyes. Nay, behould it well, +For as I live tys counterfayte. + +_Gan_. What a leaden-skulld slave he maks me.-- +Why, art thou doutfull of me? faythe I love thee. + +_Did_. Yes, as the devyll does freirs holye water. +Come, I doe knowe your practyse gaynst my life, +And ment my selfe t'have easd myne injuryes; +But nowe thys act hathe given you to the lawe +And saved me from all daunger. + +_Gan_. What! that I +Have practysd gaynst thee! tys most damned false. +I doe protest I love thee trulye, fullye. +Come, let us joyne; my contyence says thou didst +But what was good & noble. + +_Did_. Nay, by's lighte, +I make no suyte fort, tys at your free choyce. +If I but chaunce to toule hys passinge bell +And give the parryshe notyce who is dead, +You know what tends the rumor. + +_Gan_. Come, no more; +I faythe I love thee dearelye, trust uppon't; +And to abandon feare on eyther parte, +Give the dead carcasse lodginge in the ground: +We bothe are safe & thys newe frendshypp sounde. + +_Did_. Once more Ile trust you. +Come, then, my burthen, no, my wellcome taske. +Howe prosperous villanye keepes all in awe: +We are saved by that which glutts bothe deathe & lawe. + + [_Exe. with the dead_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Oliver_. + +_Oli_. The hower is past, the place & cyrcomstance +And all the formes of manhood(?) are expyrd, +And yet younge _Richard_ comes not. Tys most straunge: +He is as valyent as is victorye, +And dare uppon a roughe say [sea?] hye as heaven +Court all amazed daunger. Nowe to fayle +Is past all revelatyon: suer as deathe +Our whole plott is reveeld. + + _Enter Reinaldo_. + +_Rei_. Howe nowe, cossen? suer the hower is past? +Yet no newse of my brother: as I live +The youth is valyent, feare deters hym not. + +_Oli_. Suer as deathe, our plott is all disclosd. +And that there was no meanynge in the feighte, +But onlye to withdrawe him from hys frend +On whom he doats toe dearlye. + +_Rei_. Suer tys so, +And it will vexe the noble palladyne +Above the heyghte of madnes; nay, beleiv't +T'will chaunge opynion to a constant faythe +Of hys extreame mysfortunes. See a comes. + + _Enter Orlando_. + +_Orl_. Howe now, my lords? howe speede your noble plotts? +What, have you woone younge _Richard_ from hys frend? +Tell me whose eloquence hathe doone the deede +And I will honor hym. + +_Oli_. He hathe forborne th'incounter, and in that +Hathe drownd us in amazement: we suppose +Our plotts discoverd. + +_Orl_. No more, keepe backe the rest, +For I can read misfortunes in your browes. +Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse, +And bassnes ever more doth second theym; +The noble youthe smyle[s] at our follyes, nay, +Scornes the base languadge that you uttered, +Which is by thys tyme with the emperoure. +O twas a speedinge way to doe us shame! + +_Rei_. Take truce with passyon: I dare bouldlye sweare +There is some other mysterye. + +_Oli_. At worst +Ile make it for our purposse every way +And even kill the soule of _Ganelon_. +With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that you +Houlde patyence for a mynute. + +_Orl_. Patyence! +Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrles +That have not blood enough to make a blushe +Or forme an acte might cause one. I have longe +Like to a reelinge pynetree shooke the earthe +That I was rooted in, but nowe must fall +And be no longer the fatts tennys ball. + +_Rei_. Come be more temperd, you shall see from thys +Sprynge pleasure that you wishe for. _Olyver_ +Shall instantlye upbrayd false _Ganelon_ +With _Rychards_ muche unworthynes. + +_Oli_. Thats decreed +For in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourthe +As shall even burst hys gall with agonye: +Nay, it shall make hym never darre t'apeare +Where men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare. + +_Orl_. You have lardge promysses, but acts as slowe +As dyalls hands that are not seene to goe. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Didier with a letter_. + +_Did_. My cares & feares are past, but _Ganelons_ +Thys letter woulde revyve if t'were reveald, +Nay begett newe ones to hym of suche wayghte +That he must synke beneathe theym. Thys I founde +(Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse _Richards_ pockett +When I interrd hym, subscribd by _Ganelon_, +Whereby's owne hand would leade hym to the blocke +Should I discover it; for heres contaynd +The kyngs abuse & _Gabriellas_ whoreinge. +But I am nowe beforehand: to hym selfe +Ile give thys letter; so begett[101] in hym +A fyrme beleife of myne integrytie +Which nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweene +Preferment & disgrace; for, come what will, +I am all _Ganelons_ & wilbe styll. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +And see, he comes. My Lord-- + +_Gan_. O _Dydier_, +Resolve me where & howe thou hast disposd +The most false bodye of my falsest frende. + +_Did_. The ravenous earthe, that eatts what it hathe fedd, +Hathe swallowd it. + +_Gan_. But where? what peice of earthe +Couldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones. +If in some flowrye meade th'ast hym interrd +The poyson of hys synns will choake the sprynge, +And, if thou hast not layd hym deepe enoughe, +Corrupt the ayre & cause a generall plauge. + +_Did_. Bothe those are, Sir, prevented by the dytche, +Whose deepe banks seeme to be halfe bottomlesse, +Where he is layd a rottinge. + +_Gan_. Without all helpe! counsayle in thys were daungerous. + +_Did_. Sir, I was fryer & clarke & all my selfe; +None mournd but nyghte, nor funerall tapers bore +But erringe starres. + +_Gan_. And they did erre indeed +To shewe their lights at hys curst funerall. +Did not a dog bewray thee? + +_Did_. Baw, waw, waw! Sir, troble not your selfe +With any doute oth' secrecye was usd +In actinge your comand. And, Sir, because +I will not have it rest within my power +At anye tyme to wronge or to traduce +Your honour by a probable suspytion, +Receyve thys letter which atts buryall +I founde in's pockett. Sir, it might concerne you, + [_Give the letter & Ganelon reads_. +And deeplye toe, if it should be reveald. +--It calls up all hys bloode into hys face +And muche dystempers hym. + +_Gan_. Deathe! I am lost in treason: my fordgd hand +Hathe whored my liveinge syster & displays +All my basse plotts agaynst the emperoure. +By heaven tys false, fordgd, false as heresye! + +_Did_. How! a fordgd hand? + +_Gan_. Yes, _Didier_. When was it dated, trow? +Torment! synce my restraynt of libertie! +Good gentyll patyence manadge me a whyle, +Let me collect. Certaynlye _Rychards_ harte +Coulde not but doubte thys charrackter, & in +The strengthe of doute he came to me last nyghte +To be resolvd; or ells why should he beare +Suche daunger in hys pockett? Admyttinge thys, +What followes then? Why, if that were the ende +Of's vysytatyon, then it needs must followe +That thys prevayld not with hym. And what then? +Why, then my syster, as all weomen ells, +Seeinge her selfe neglected in her lust, +Thought any ill way to obtayne it just. + +_Did_. A strange presumptyon. + +_Gan_. Yet a lyttill further. +It is resolvd that my systers onlye ende +Was to enjoy _Rychard_ unlawfullye: +Howe might a fallinge out twyxt hym & me +Assyst the ende (for such a thynge she causd)? +How? +What a dull slave am I! why twas as muche +As the untyinge of hys codpeyce poynte, +Almost the _rem in re_! for whyle he stoode +Constant to my dyrectyons all was well, +But, those abandond, then,--harte! I am madd: +I pray thee, _Diddier_, helpe me to cursse +Me & my rashnes, that so curbd my reason +I would not heare hym speake but put hym strayght +To everlastynge sylence. + +_Did_. No, my lorde, +Letts cursse the lust of woman. + +_Gan_. Well rememberd. + +_Did_. And yet there is a heavye one prepard +To meete them where they act it in the darke. + +_Gan_. True, _Didier_, there is so, and from that +May penytence want power to rescue theym. + +_Did_. Be there a dearthe of arte to helpe complexion, +And for theym many housses of correctyon. + +_Gan_. And if it be possyble o let the Bedle +Not with theire money but hys owne whypp medle, +And lashe theym soundlye. + +_Did_. No, thats not so good: +May all theire soundnes tourne toth poxes foode. + +_Gan_. May constables to cadges[102] styll comend theym +And theire knowne foes, age & ill cloathes attend theym. + +_Did_. May they want skyll to banyshe theire breathes stynke, +And onlye Barbers potyons be their drynke. +May theire sore wast theire lynnen into lynte +For medlinge with other stones then flynte. + +_Gan_. And to conclude thys hartylie breathd cursse; +Theire lives beinge monstrous, let theire ends be worsse. + +_Did_. Amen. + + _Enter Gabriella_. + +_Gab_. Amen to what? + +_Did_. Faythe, madam, a was prayinge for hys syster. + +_Gan_. O you are wellcome.--Worthye frend, withdrawe.-- + [_Exit Didier_. +Nowe my rare pollytycke syster, what will please you? + +_Gab_. My rare ingenyous brother, why doe you aske? + +_Gan_. Ile tell thee, woman, & observe it well, +Thou shalt remayne the porest wretche alyve, +The most forsaken of delight & pleasure +That ever breathd a myserable life, +If I may knowe what pleasses you. Beware +And answere wiselye: you are leaveinge nowe +All that hathe tyckld your insatyatt bloode, +When you resolve my questyon: I will strypp +Your sweete contents of to the naked soule +Before you parte. Doe you laughe? by heaven I will. + +_Gab_. What brave exployts youle doe uppon the sodayne! + +_Gan_. If you account theym so tys well, tys well. + +_Gab_. Fye, fye, what moves you to thys froward wellcome? + +_Gan_. Calst it allreadye frowarde? shallowe foole, +I should salute thee with my daggers poynte +And never make thys parley; but I'me kynde, +And youle confes it when you reade that letter. +You knowe the charackter & the whole scope +Ere you peruse one worde, I make no questyon. +But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reede +You may make readye for another worlde. +Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfe +With hope of an excusse. + +_Gab_. You are not madd! + +_Gan_. Yes, foorsoothe, +I will confes my selfe emptye of sence, +Dealinge with suche a wyttie sparke as you. +Theres no comparysson: a sparke, sayd I? +I meant a bonefyer made of wytt & lust; +One nourryshes another. Have you doone? +Does any thynge you reade allay your coldnes. + +_Gab_. You thynke thys letter myne? + +_Gan_. I doe indeede, +And will with horror to thy wanton thoughts +Make thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easd +May fly away the sooner. + +_Gab_. What you-- + +_Gan_. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deathe +And undyssembld ruyne in my words. +Make your prayrs quycklye. + +_Gab_. I protest unto you, +As I have contyence & a soule to save-- + +_Gan_. That's a fantastycke oathe; proceede, proceede. + +_Gab_. I did not wryte thys letter nor have seene +_Richard_ synce it was wrytten: what was doone +He & my mother wrought it. + +_Gan_. Shall I beleive you? are you vertuous? + +_Gab_. Examyne but the ende & then adjudge me. + +_Gan_. Then my suspytyon proves a false conceyte, +And I am wondrous glad to have it so +Because it proves you honest. I am nowe +Agayne resolvd that _Richard_ was a vyllayne, +And therefore am I gladd agayne, because +He hathe what he deservd & has no more. + +_Gab_. He did deserve your seryous contempt +And is rewarded with it. + +_Gan_. And with deathe. + +_Gab_. Ha! oh is he murderd then? + +_Gan_. Does that amaze you? +Yes I have murderd hym & it becomes +The gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe, +To say hereafter, when I would relate +A storye worth attentyon, that thys hande, +Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver me +In spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye. + +_Gab_. O you are falne into the bloodyest cryme +That ever tyrant threatned. + +_Gan_. Idle feare. + +_Gab_. Come, y'are a vyllayne & most bloodye slave, +One that your spotted synns make odyous, +For _Rychard_ was all good & vertuous. +Dispayre nowe maks me honest & Ile speake +Truthe with true testymonye, for here it comes. + + _Enter Eldegrade_. + +We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters, +By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreade +The poyson of debate & stryfe betwyxt you. +On us, base man, tourne thy most bloodye edge, +For thou hast slayne the noblest inocent. + +_Gan_. Thyne owne invockt cursse ceaze thee, + + [_He runns at Gab., and Elde. stepps between?, & he kills both_. + +_Gab_. Thys should have ceazd me sooner; let me dye. +Thy pardon, _Richard_: love thats too vyolent +Is evermore with some straunge myscheifs spentt. [_Dies_. + +_Eld_. Foule desperatyon ceaze thee, & whats worsse +Dye with thy mothers last breathd heavye cursse. [_Dyes_. + +_Gan_. They have left a darknes so extreame behynde +I cannot fynde a prayre to blesse theire soules. +See here then, polytycke creature, subtyll man, +Here see thy myscheife. Irreligious foole, +That makst it contyence onlye when thou leavest +Synns of preferment unaccomplyshed, +Thou that repynst agaynst thy starrs & lucke +When heaven prevents the bassnes of thy gayne; +Littill thynkst thou wherefore thy gaynes will serve, +Nor wherefore thy close pollycie should fayle +Tyll thou forsakst it, & then, wretched clay, +Thou fyndst a horsse & dogge thy betters: they +Dye unperplext with sence of dyinge, thou +Seest what thy sence abhorrs thy falts allowe. +I feele thee comeinge, my distracted chaunge, +Like an ill-favord hangman: pray thee strike, +Aproatche & doe thyne offyce. + + _Enter Oliver_. + What arte thou? + +_Oli_ One that will prove you _Rychard_ is a cowarde. + +_Gan_. Good darringe tonge, be not toe desperatt. +He was your deare frend, was he not? + +_Oli_ Yes, had he not beene pretyous unto you, +But hys muche faythe to you did make me hate hym, +And he had felt it had he darrd th'incounter. + +_Gan_. Pray, no more, & worthy Sir, be boulde +To say here stands the most afflycted soule +That ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe. +Make me beleive my plaugs are infynett +That I may so desyer to leave my fleshe +And be deliverd from theym. Wherefore, looke you: +It is my mother & my systers deade, +I was theire murtherer; goe tell the worlde: +That paper will give satisfactyon. + + [_Oliver taks the letter & reads_. + + _Enter Didier_. + +O you are wellcome; are you an offycer? +The captayne of the guard, I thynke. Come on: +Be not affrayd, arest me, Ile submytt. +Nor doe reproatche my vallor; I have darrd +As much as he that durst affront the gods, +But greife hathe staynd me. + +_Did_. What meane you, Sir? Why I am _Didier_. + +_Gan_. That buryed _Richard_? Oh, _Didier_, +I was a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym. +Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe: +Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte +Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe +Me thynks I am not passyonate. But stay, +Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynke +Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds +I would not heare hym when a was about +To teache repentance, and that onlye thought +Shall melt me into cynders. I am like +The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst +To make my wants knowne where I must not hope +To gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hope +And I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther, +Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill +It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare +The synne of kyllinge _Richarde_. + +_Oli_. Have you then slayne the noblest worthye _Richard_? + +_Gan_. Yes, by the false illussyons of theise twoe. + +_Oli_. A guarde within there! + + [_Enter a guard & apprehends Ganelon & Didier_. + +_Gan_. Fayth, it will not neede, +I knowe my ende of journey. For hys deathe +I murderd theise: thys temporyzinge knave +Buryed him last nyght; all I can aleadge +Agaynst hym is concealment of the murther. + +_Did_. Tys come about: twas allways in my mynde +Nothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde. + +_Oli_. Bringe theym away. Treason so greate as thys +Was never seene synce man had power to wishe. + + [_Exe. with the dead Bodyes_. + + + +[SCENE 4.] + + + _Enter Charlimayne, Turpin, Eudon & Attendants_. + +_Char_. What pageants thys that on the fallowd lands +Crosses me everye way? I cannot goe +But styll he meets me full jumpe. + +_Tur_. Beleve me, Sir. +I have not seen an antycke more disguysed. +A gallopps ore the newe plowde lands as fast +As twere a comon hye way, yet no speeche +Can make hym to forsake theym. + +_Eud_. Nay, whats more, +The beast he rydds on is not usuall, +Tys neyther horsse nor asse, and yet a beast +Nymble & fytt for burthen. + +_Char_. _Eudon_, goe +Bydd hym dismounte & as he loves hys life +Presentlye come before us. I will knowe [_Ex. Eudon_. +The ende of thys straunge purposse. Suer there must +Some secrett hange uppon it! thyngs doone thus +Are seldome jests, unlesse jests seryous. + + _Enter Eudon & Busse, leading in twoe lymes Byrtha + & a Spaniell, hymselfe cladd all in nett_. + +O tys _La Busse_; I've founde hys stratagem.-- +Nowe, Sir, y'are wellcome; whence growes thys dysguyse? + +_Bus_. Sir, from the fayre protectyon of your grace +And satisfactyon of your vowe; which doone, +Bouldlye I hope I may voutsafe to begge +My fathers deare deliverance. + +_Char_. Noble sonne, +What wouldst thou doe hadst thou a noble father! +But come, sir, synce you putt me to the test, +Resolve the doute: your fathers pardoned +When you shall meet me uppon no hye way. + +_Bus_. Which even nowe I did: the fallowe lands, +Newe plowed & tylld are free from passengers. + +_Char_. Tys graunted; but your selfe, Sir, must not ryde +Of horse nor mare nor asse, & yet the beast +An usuall thynge for burthen. + +_Bus_. Suche is myne, +A Mule, that is the bastard breede betwyxte +An asse & mare, & onlye fytt for labor. + +_Char_. But, sir, you must be neyther cloathed nor naked. + +_Bus_. Nor am I, myghtie Sir: thys pore thynne nett +Nor leaves me nakt nor yet dothe cover me. + +_Char_. You prettylie orereache me; but you must +Bringe in your hand the faythfullst frend you challenge. + +_Bus_. Thys is he, my faythfull trustye spanyell, +The verye typpe & truthe of true affectyon. + +_Char_. But with hym must be joynd your greatest enemye. + +_Bus_. They are not farre assunder: a curst wife +Is evermore mans worst aflyctyon, +And shee that outgoes myne in bytternes +May fryght the whole worlde. + +_Char_. Come, y'are ingenyous, +And I confes th'ast conquerd, thoughe I knowe +Thy father houlds as much unworthynes +As may excusse tyrranye in a prynce: +Yet for thys goodnes & thys industrye, +Th'example of the sweetest disposytion, +For all th'offences yet reveald unto me +I freelye pardon hym. + +_Bus_. And you are good +And like your selfe, a verye god[103] in pyttie. + +_Ber_. And from thys mercye I will new create +In me a spyrrytt full of humblenes. + + _Enter La Fue in gallantrye_. + +_Fue_. Roame there & uncover, gentyllmen. I that am myne owne gentyllman +usher am the best gentyllman in _Fraunce_ at thys present. Give place & +avoyde these. + +_Bus_. What meanes the peasant? syrha, are you madd? + +_Fue_. Yes, and I were halfe nakt as you are. Roame I say!--O my sweete +harte, I will [_Offers to kisse Charli_.] kysse thy whyte lipps in the +syght of thys whole assemblye. + +_Char_. Avaunte, I say! what meanes thys lunatycke. + +_Tur_. Pore sott howe hees deceyvd! th'inchauntments vanyshed.-- +Syrha learne better manners. + +_Fue_. How! syrha to my greatnes! I am not in case to carrye your tokens. +Ould man, you had better manners when last I lefte you.--Come, sweete +love, I will love thee without more intreatye. Let us withdrawe & in +pryvate rumynat our selves together. + +_Char_. Is there no whypps for knaves are impudent? +Thys sawcynes will make your skynne [to] smarte. + +_Fue_. Away, away! Y'are an ould man & should be wyse. I tell you I was +not in love with you tyll you doated on me; to drawe me into a fooles +paradysse[104] & there leave me is not an honest man's parte nor a good +chrystyans. + +_Char_. What kynde of madnes call you thys? for shame! +Shall I be torturd with hym? + +_Tur_. Tys but a rude grosse weaknes, which anon +Ile shoe at full unto your majestie. + +_Fue_. Come, sweete _Charles_, I knowe thou lovest me, & love will +creepe where it cannot goe. Come, letts condole together. + +_Char_. Yes, if I like your example. Goe presentlye +And give him fortye lashes: make hym bleede +Soundlye, away with hym! + +_Fue_. Howe, howe, how! fortye lashes! so I shall bleede to deathe. Call +you that soundlye? Foote! I am sicke with thought on't. + +_Char_. Away with hym! +And if a prate, see that you dooble them: +Away! + +_Fue_. Well I will never trust the wooeinge of a great man whylst I live +agayne: & they be as false to weomen as to men they have sweete eeles to +hould by. + +_Char_. Yet has a leave to prate? + +_Tur_. Away with hym, +--But on your lives give hym no punyshment. + + [_Ex. Fue. & guard_. + +_Char_. I have not seene a madnes of thys nature: +But let him smarte for't.--_Eudon_, give comand +That _Ganelon_ attend me presentlye. +But, stay-- +What sollemp sound is thys? I am prevented. + + [_Dead marche_.]--_Funeral sounde. Enter Orlando, + Reinaldo leading Ganelon, Oliver, Didier; two + herses, one with Eldegr. & Gab., the other Richard_. + +The cause of thys? + +_Orl_. O my most sacred lorde, I bring you here +The worlds extreamest monster, suche a man +Whose ills exceede the lawes inventyon. +Fyrst looke on thys, the fayre & comelye braunche +Of _Aimons_ noble famylie; then on theise, +His fayrest syster & hys dearest mother +(O heaven that I should name that dreadfull name +In such a case as murder!) all by hym +And hys right hand, with thys ill mans advyse, +Murderd unjustlye. + +_Rei_. To which I adde +Treasons of daunger & of hye disgrace +Bothe to your crowne & person; and thoughe they +Myght glutt the lawe, yet my brothers blood +And theise twoe inocentts, I hope, will pleade +Dyvorce of all repryvall. + +_Oli_. Lastlye I +With theys stronge proofs, cannot be argued of, +Confyrme all past denyall; hys owne hand +Here of thys pap[er] maks a regyster [_Gives the letter_. +Of myscheives above wonder. Who reads thys, +Thoughe flynte, must melt in pyttie. + +_Bus_. Dye all my hopes, & in thys masse of shame +Be buryed both my memorye & name. + [_Ex. La Busse_. + +_Gan_. What a lardge passage or cyrcompherence +Theise prynces make to come unto the way +Which lyes before theire nosses! tys lost wytt +To seeke an engyne for the desperatt, +Why, deathes in all he looks on; but to hope +Saftye were more then dyetye[105] can promysse. +Let it suffyce all's true, & thus I rest: +If I dye once, not ever, I am blest. + +_Char_. I am amazd: what I have reade & heard +Tournes me like _Gorgon_ into senclessnes. +He speaks heare of a rynge, a wytchcraft rynge, +By which I was inchaunted to hys syster. +Where is that damned juell? + +_Tur_. Here in my safe possessyon, thys is it, +Which at her deathe, lodgd underneathe her tonge, +I found by carefull searche. Good deare sir, keepe it +And hencefourthe onlye love your royall selfe. +The spell is past example, & hys synne +Can onlye ballance downe the wyckednes. + +_Gan_. Butt I confes it, & the sorcerrer +That made it I did murder conynglye, +And at her deathe had I recompast it, +I had beene kynge of _Fraunce_. Thys noble knave +Was pryvie to the passadge. + +_Did_. Tys toe late +Nowe to denye it: deathe never bryngs hys smarte +But when a strycks gaynst lawe or gaynst desarte. + +_Char_. Away with them, & see theym presentlye +Broken uppon the wheele. + [_Ex. Gan. Did. & guard_. + Nephewe, for you +I give you freelye here the realme of _Spayne_ +And all domynions in it; for your guarde +Ten thousand of our best _Frenche_ gentyllmen. +And wishe your fortunes like your valure be +The best of everye lived posterytie. + +_Orl_. Sir[106], you doe bynde me to eternall servyce +Bothe in your love & justyce, for we fynde +Th'instructyons that on evyll men depends +Is to compare theire projects with theire ends. + + [_Exe_. + + +FINIS. [Greek: Telos] + + +Terminat hora diem, terminat Author opus. + +Nella [Greek: ph d ph n r] la B.[107] + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF _THE TRYALL OF CHEVALRY_. + + +This play was printed in 1605, and is stated on the title-page to have +been "lately acted by the right Honorable the Earle of Darby his +servants." It has not been reprinted, and copies of the old quarto are +exceedingly rare. There is an air of old-fashionedness about the diction +and the metre that would lead us to suppose the play was written several +years before the date of publication. The wearisome practice, in which +the characters so freely indulge, of speaking in the third person is +very characteristic of the earlier dramatists, notably of Greene. Yet it +is clear, from more than one passage, that the author was acquainted +with Shakespeare's historical plays. Dick Bowyer's puns on the +sentinels' names (ii. 1) were certainly suggested by Falstaff's +pleasantries with the recruits in _Henry IV_., Part II. Winstanley +absurdly ascribes the piece to William Wager, who flourished (?) when +Shakespeare was a child. If I were obliged to make a guess at the +authorship, I would name Chettle or Munday, or both. It is not +altogether improbable that the _Tryall of Chevalry_ may be the play by +Chettle and Wentworth Smith, entitled _Love Parts Friendship_, acted in +1602[108]. Bourbon and Rodorick are just such a pair of villains as +young Playnsey and Sir Robert Westford in Chettle and Day's _Blind +Beggar_. The low comedy in both pieces might well have come from the +same hand, though Dick Bowyer is certainly more amusing than the +roystering companions in the _Blind Beggar_. + +I make no claim for high excellence on behalf of this unknown +playwright. The writing is at times thin and feeble, and the +versification is somewhat monotonous. But with all its faults, the +language is dramatic. The writer was a contemporary of Shakespeare, and +something of Shakespeare's spirit breathes through the pages of this +forgotten play. Take such a speech as the following, from the second +scene of the opening act:-- + + Must I be spokesman? _Pembrooke_ plead for love? + Whose tounge tuned to the Instruments of war + Never knew straine of fancy; on my breath + Affection never dwelt, but war and death! + But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight, + Or hearten the spent courages of men, + _Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible. + Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her + With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[109] + Till with thy cannon battry she relent + And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. + Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed + Whose courage never awde an yron Bit, + And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast + And with commanding accents master him. + This courtship Pembrooke knows, but idle love, + The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne, + Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught + This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems, + The passionate language of a troubled heart: + I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. + Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske, + Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee, + And when I want fit words to move her mind, + Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind. + +One may smile at the notion of holloaing "to the beast," but the +whole passage is vigorous, and some single lines (e.g. "The passionate +language of a troubled heart") are excellent. + + + + +THE HISTORY of the tryall of CHEUALRY, + +With the life and death of Caualiero _Dicke Bowyer_. + + +As it hath bin lately acted by the right _Honourable the Earle of Darby +his_ servants. + + +LONDON Printed by Simon Stafford for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be +sold at his shop in Paules Church-Yard, neere S. Austens Gate. 1605. + + + + +The Historie of the triall of Chevalry. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter_ Lewes, _King of France_, Philip _his sonne_, + Katharina _his daughter_, Roderick _and_ Flaunders, + _with drum and colours, and soldiers at one dore: + at the other enter_ Navar, Ferdinand, Bellamira, _and, + the Earle of_ Pembroke, _and_ Burbon. + +[_Lew_.] Duke _Roderick_ and my noble cozen _Flaunders_, +Are your Battalions ready for the charge? + +_Rod_. Ten thousand men of Orleance I commaund +And those are bravely marshald on the playn, +Ready to be commaunded by your Highnesse. + +_Flaund_. As many of the warlike brood of _Mars_ +Doe call me Generall: those, my gracious Lord, +Together with my selfe I recommend +To be commaunded by your Majesty. + +_Lew_. Thanks, Earle of Flaunders, Duke of Orleance, thanks. +What lets us that we charge not on the foe? + +_Nav_. My Lord of Pembrooke, are your Englishmen +Squadron'd with ours and ready for the charge? + +_Pem_. The French and English make one warlike body +Whereof your Highnesse is the moving head: +Or peace or warre, as pleaseth you, direct. + +_Nav_. Then war and give the signal through the host. + +_Lew_. Navar, Navar, submission were more meete +Then to adde bloud to wrong. + +_Nav_. What wrong, King _Lewes_? +The Kingdome of Navar we will acknowledge +To hold of none but of the King of Kings. + +_Lew_. Three hundred yeres prescriptions on our sides; +So long thy Ancestors by fealty +Have helde thy Kingdome of the Crowne of France. + +_Pem_. Talke not of yeres, yeres limit not a Crowne; +There's no prescription to inthrall a King. +He finds it written in the Rowles of time +Navar's a Kingdome solely absolute, +And by collusion of the Kings of France, +The people speaking all one mother toung, +It hath bin wrested for a Royalty +Untruly due unto the Crowne of France. +That _Pembrook_ speaks the truth, behold my sword, +Which shall approve my words substantiall. + +_Rod_. _Pembrooke_, you are too plaine in your discourse. + +_Bur_. I tell thee, _Rodoricke, Pembrooke_ soldier-like +Hath truely opened what ten thousand lives +Will hardly doe if warre be made the Judge. + +_Rod_. If war be Judge? Why, shallow-witted _Burbon_, +Who shall decide this difference but war? +Hath not the Judge put on his Scarlet Robe? +Is not the field prepar'd? our men in armour? +The trumpets ready for the sound of death, +And nothing hinders us but our owne words? +Leave idle parley, my dread soveraigne Lord, +And soone resolve the Duke in fire and smoke +That he maintaines a title false and forg'd, +And that _Navar_ is a usurping Lord. + +_Na_. On that Ile hazzard all these valiant lives. +Sound Drums and Trumpets! make King _Lewes_ know +He makes his best friend prove his greatest foe. + +_Lew_. Why pause our drums? our trumpets beat as loud! +Till the bright ayre be made a purple cloud. + +_Phil_. Pause, gracious father. + +_Ferd_. Noble father, pause. +Let _Ferdinand_ thy sonne so far prevayle +That peace, not war, may end this difference. + +_Bel_. For _Bellamiraes_ sake abstayne from war. + +_Phil_. _Philip_ thy sonne humbly desires a peace: +Let not my father sheathe his warlike sword +Within the bowels of his Countrymen. + +_Kath_. Thy daughter _Katharina_ prayes the like. + +_Nav_. From whence proceeds this sudden sound of peace? +Comes it from me? what? from my _Ferdinand_, +From _Bellamira_ my sweet second selfe? + +_Lew_. Or rather comes it, _Lewes_, from thy soule, +Thy _Philip_ the true image of thy selfe, +Thy _Katharina_ thy heart's chiefest joy? + +_Rod_. Princes, you aske you know not what your selves. + +_Pem_. _Rodorick_, they aske a sweet and pleasing boone. + +_Rod_. Why, they aske peace and we are set for war. + +_Fer_. Tis a bad peace exceeds not a just war. + +_Phil_. We will not rise from this submissive ground +Till we obtayne, if not a peace, a truce. + +_Fer_. Nor shall our feet be guilty of new steps +Till I obtayne a truce from murdering war. + +_Lew_. Shew me some reason (sonne) for this demand. + +_Nav_. Shew me some reason (children) for this prayer. + +_Fer_. I love the daughter of thine enemy: +Fayre _Katherina_ hath inthrald my heart. + +_Phil_. I love the daughter of thine enemy: +Fayre _Bellamira_ hath inthrald my heart. + +_Pem_. Is love the cause? then wherefore wage we war? +What matter ist who weares both Diadems, +When the succession lives in eythers heyre? +If _Ferdinand_ be crown'd king of Navar, +Fayre _Katherina_ shalbe crownd his Queene: +If _Philip_ weare the Diadem of France, +Fayre _Bellamira_, made his lovely Queene, +Swayes half the Scepter. See what heaven can doe,-- +Provide for peace even in the jawes of war! + +_Kath_. How sweetly doth the Earle of Pembrooke speake! +Now, trust me, I am ravisht with his voyce. + +_Lew_. What says _Navar_? What, is [i]t war or peace? + +_Na_. A truce for three moneths, so it please your Highnes, +During which time our children shall have leave +With Drum and Trumpet to surveigh the Campe, +To court our daughters and to feast themselves +As fits the sonnes of honourable foes. +And if it prove a match betweene them both, +There end all difference: Ile bequeath my Crowne +As a rich offering to their nuptiall Rites. + +_Lew_. Here, strike the truce upon my kingly hand, +Which is as surely ratified in this +As by the testimonial of a world. +So now for three moneths space all warres surcease: +Our thoughts are wholy fixt on love and peace. + [_Exe_. + + _Manent_ Rodorick _and_ Burbon. + +_Rod_. Zounds, here's a truce made up by miracle! + +_Burb_. Ile crosse it by a wily stratageme. + +_Rod_. What stratageme? + +_Bur_. By love to _Bellamira_. +O could I dive into the Prince's heart +By any insinuation ne're so base, +How easily might I effect my plot +To make the kingdome of Navarre mine owne. +'Twere but a dram or so unto the sonne, +And a small thing would send the old man hence. +What, noble _Rodorick_? to gayne a Crowne +A Duke would doe much. + +_Rod_. More then poyson two. +But you, my Lord, forget your selfe too farre. +Know you to whom you have disclosde your heart? + +_Bur_. Why, to the Duke of Orleance. + +_Rod_. The deare friend +Of _Lewes_ the French King. + +_Burb_. King me no Kings. +Although we seeme to be of severall sides, +_Rodorick_, we love together like true friends. +This Truce gives ayme to our intention: +Assist me (worthy _Orleance_) to effect +First my desired love and next the Crowne. + +_Rod_. _Peter de Lions_ is your Lordships servant, +A boone companion and a lusty knave. +He is in love with _Bellamiraes_ mayd, +And by that love he may bestead your Highnesse +More then your best friends in your best designes. +Call him forth. + +_Burb_. What! _Peter_! + + _Enter_ Peter. + +_Pet_. Here, my Lord. + +_Burb_. Why dost thou looke so wildly? + +_Pet_. Not with drinke +Nor yet with rage. + +_Rod_. His lookes are wild with love. + +_Pet_. With love, surreverence[110]? can there be a face +In all the world patcht up with eyes and lips, +A forhead and a payre of crimson cheeks, +To make me doat on, to make me looke wild? + +_Rod_. Come, come, tis knowne that you love _Thomasin_. + +_Pet_. Zounds they that know that know my heart & all: +I have not the power to deny it, tis most true. + +_Burb_. And tis most true that I love _Bellamira_. +Now, if thou art in favor of thy wench, +Many a meeting thou mayst helpe me to +And learne besides what sutors seeke her love +And whom she most affects. These things once knowne +Twere worth a Dukedome, _Peter_. + +_Pet_. Sbloud, give me +A Dukedome and Ile warrant you the knowledge +Of these things ten times o're. + +_Rod_. Theres Angels for thee, _Peter_, thinke on them +And doe thy best to helpe thy master's love.-- +Well howsoever I smooth it to the Duke, +My thoughts are bent on his destruction. + +_Pet_. You have my heart +In your purse; Ile doe anything for you. + +_Bur_. And thou shalt want no gold; and so farwel. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Pet_. I cannot chuse to farewell, and have the good Angels to comfort +me; yet I am melancholy. Heeres gold to make me merry: O but (hey ho) +heres love to make me sad. To avoyd prolixity I am crost with a Sutor +that wants a piece of his toung, and that makes him come lisping home. +They call him _Cavaliero Bowyer_; he will have no nay but the wench. By +these hilts, such another swash-buckler lives not in the nyne quarters +of the world. Why, he came over with the Earle of Pembrooke, and he +limps and he limps & he devoures more French ground at two paces then +will serve _Thomasin_ at nineteene. If ever he speake French, to avoyd +prolixity, he will murder the toung. Ile provide for him; theres but +small choice. Either he shall renounce the wench or forsake his lame +legs, his lisping toung and his life to: for by S. _Denis_ I had rather +dye in a ditch then be bobd[111] of my fayre _Thomasin_. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter at one dore_ Philip _and_ Roderick, _a drummer + before them with his Drum at his back: at the other + dore_ Ferdinand _and_ Pembrooke _with their Drummes_. + +_Ferd_. Whither goes royall _Philip_ thus prepard? + +_Phil_. On what adventure goes Prince _Ferdinand_? + +_Ferd_. To conquer all the world, fayre _Katharine_, +Whose beauty in mine eye surmounts it far. +Vertue and love conducts me to your sister. + +_Phil_. On the like voyage are my fortunes bound, +I goe to winne thy sister. + +_Ferd_. Some fayre Starre +On our great hopes shine fayre and debonaire. + +_Pem_. Amen, sayth _Pembroke_. + +_Rod_. Amen, sayth _Rodoricke_, + +_Ferd_. This way my Love dwels. + +_Phil_. In this ayre breathes mine. + +_Both_. Farewell. + +_Phil_. Prince _Ferdinand_ if these cross loves +Enjoy a wisht success, peace here shall dwell. + +_Ferd_. And we be friendly Brothers. + +_Phil_. True. + +_Ferd_. Farewell. + + [_Exeunt Philip and Rodoricke_. + +_Pem_. Pity such true love, which like blessed seed +Sowne in such fertile soyle his princely brest, +By the rough stormy brow and winters hate +Of adverse parents should be timelesse nipt +And dye e're it attayne maturity. +For I have heard the Princesse whom he serves +Is hotely courted by the Duke of Burbon, +Who to effect his choyce hath in these warres +Furnisht your father with a gallant power; +His love may haply then disable _Philip_. + +_Fer_. O no; my father doth affect the Prince: +Besides, my sister's heart is so combin'd +To his in perfect love that _Burbon's_ hate +Nor all the world that knot can separate. +Then sorrow not for him, but turne the streame +Of gentle pity on thy wretched friend +Within whose bosome love hath kindled fire +So ardent that the flames will bury me. +_Philip_ is throned in my sister's eyes, +But in my love disdayne and hatred lyes. + +_Pem_. Doth she not pay true kindnesse with the like? + +_Fer_. As stepdames orphanes, night the cleer-fac't day, +So doth she hate me and returne my woes +Like a steeld Anvil backward on my selfe. +She is all hate, yet such a lovely foe +That I must kisse the sword that wounds me so. + +_Pem_. Interre these thoughts, this is her fathers tent: +Drum, give a friendly summons to the king. + +_Fer_. Forbeare a while (deare _Pembroke_): by our vowes +Which in the booke of heaven are registered, +By all the rightes of friendship, by that love +Thou bear'st thy native Country, I conjure thee +This day to be the Trumpet of my worth; +To speake the passions of thy grieved friend +To _Katharine's_ ears, till those pure ivory gates, +Pearst with the volley of thy battring words, +Give way to my laments to touch her heart. +For this have I extracted thee from many, +Made thee my fellow Pilgrim to her shrine, +Knowing thy thoughts from loves Religion free: +When thy prayers fayle thy tongue may plead for me. + +_Pem_. Must I be spokesman? _Pembrooke_ plead for love? +Whose tounge tuned to the Instruments of war +Never knew straine of fancy; on my breathe +Affection never dwelt, but war and death! +But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight, +Or hearten the spent courages of men, +_Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible. +Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her +With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[112] +Till with thy cannon battry she relent +And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. +Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed +Whose courage never awde an yron Bit, +And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast +And with commanding accents master him. +This courtship _Pembrooke_ knowes, but idle love, +The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne, +Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught +This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems, +The passionate language of a troubled heart: +I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. +Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske, +Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee, +And when I want fit words to move her mind +Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind. +Drummer, report our presence to the king. + + _A parley and answered. Enter France, Flaunders + and attendants_. + +_Lew_. Prince _Ferdinand_ and honourd English _Pembrooke_, +Now by S. _Denis_ welcome! One runne straight +And give our daughter notice of these ghests. +What, man? we know you come prepar'd to woo, +To woo, to winne: now by our sacred life +We wish in soule our daughter were your wife. +Our sonne is with your sister: faire hap wayt, +For peace or war lives in your love or hate. +Welcome once more: first weele go see your love, +After to banquet and from thence to woo. +Be merry then; weele share a friendly part, +But you shall tryumph in our daughter's heart. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter_ Katharine, _her man_ Bowyer, _and a Paynter_. + +_Kath_. See that the tent be ready furnished +By this my father and those Lords are met, +Mongst whom the noble _Pembrooke_, like the Sunne, +Out-shines the borrowed glory of the rest. +And well I may compare him to the Sunne, +That but once lookt upon with his fayre shape +Hath dazled my poore sences and left me blind. +But, sirra, where's the man I bade you bring? + +_Bow_. If you can judge of colours (madam) this is he. Paynter, +stand forth. + +_Kath_. An earnest cause (my friend) importunes me, +Wherein I am to crave thy cunningst Arte. + +_Payn_. Such as it is you may commaund, faire Princesse. + +_Kath_. But are thy colours fresh, thy pensill smoothe? +Thy hand unwavering, and thy head dislodg'd +Of all unquiet harsh incumbrances? +For thou must draw proportion of those parts +Whose worth to tell my toung wants utterance. + +_Payn_. Feare you not, Madam; I am well prepar'd. + +_Kat_. Then hither strait with youthfull _Ferdinand_, +_Navar's_ stout sonne, there comes an English Knight, +_Pembrooke_ they call him, honourably borne. +Him (when we are in conference) thou shalt marke +And to the life set doune his counterfet. +Nor is it needful I should shew him thee! +The goodliest person in the traine, that's he. + +_Bow_. Let me alone to give the Paynter destruction. I know him as well +as the Begger knowes his dish[113]: he weares a white Scarfe in his hat +and an Orange tawny feather upon his arme. + +_Kath_. Foole, indirectly thou describ'st another, +Thats Prince _Navar_: _Pembrooke_ his plume is Azure +A little intermixt with spotlesse white, +Prefiguring the temper of the Sky +With whose hye motion his great mind doth move. + +_Bow_. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but feather; there is +no difference I am sure but in colour. + +_Kath_. Why, thats as much as may be, is it not? + +_Bow_. Not so, Ile prove the contrary: You are fayre and I am foule; is +it that all the difference betweene you and I? there's another thing in +it if you marke it well. + +_Kath_. I prythee peace and with thy ignorance +Draw not the Paynter likewise into errour. +Here take thy stand; thou knowst him by these markes +I lately spake of. Seeme to excell thine Arte +And I will study to requite thy paynes. + + _Enter Lewes, Ferdinand, Pembrooke, Rodoricke, and Flaunders_. + +_Lew_. Thus did the Greeks, when they begirt the walles +Of strong-built Troy, sometimes with friendly cheeks +Entertayne peace and spend their frollick houres +In courtly feasting of each other foe. +Welcome, young _Ferdinand_! I promise you +It cheeres my spirit we doe embrace you here: +And welcome too, brave Lord. We cannot say, +As if we were in Paris we might say, +Your viands shall be costly: but presume, +Such as the Camp affords, weele have the best. +Daughter, I prythee bid them welcome. + +_Kath_. My Lord, I doe, +That with the Congy of a bended knee, +But this with my true hearts[114] loyalty. +Lords, you are welcome by my father's leave. + +_Lew_. Why, now thou dost content thy father _Kate_, +When wholy unto merryment inclined +Thou answerst with like simpathy of mind. + +_Ferd_. But yet her looks are haggard and obscure, +Which makes me doubtfull sheele not stoop to lure. + +_Lew_. Princes, let's enter: come, Ile lead the way! +The feast is mine, you are my ghests this day. + +_Ferd_. Now, _Pembrooke_, shew thy friendships true effect; +Obtayne her love, my life thou shalt protect. + + [_Exeunt Lew. Ferd. Rod. & Flaund_. + +_Kath_.--He stayes behind the rest. O happy houre! +Worke on (sweet Paynter) to inrich mine eye +With that which els procures my tragedy. + +_Pem_. Fayre Madam, in this confluence of sweet joy, +When every one resorts unto the feast, +Me thinkes you should not thus retyre alone, +As seeming your best fare were heavy mone. + +_Kath_. I am not (Sir) alone, nor do I starve +My appetite with any wil-full fast; +I have a banquet of sweet pleasing thoughts +That is more precious then the costliest feast. + +_Pem_. But at your father's boord there sits a ghest +To whom the cup of _Ganimede_ will seeme +But juice of Hemlocke, and the daintiest dish +As much unsavory as the Pomice stone, +Unlesse your presence season his delight. + +_Kath_. I am sorry I want skill to serve his dyet; +I have not bin instructed to such end. + +_Pem_. But I will teach you (Madam) if you please. + +_Kath_. Rather the party grieved first should shew +Wherein we erre, els how can we discerne +What is our fault or how we may amend? + +_Pem_. That office he commits unto my toung. + +_Kath_. Is he not able then to speake himselfe? + +_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard when _Ferdinand_, +With whom in _Padua_ I was conversant, +So spake in the assembly of the learn'd, +With such a grace and well composed phrase, +As many thought grave _Tullies_ eloquence +Flowed like a hony River from his lips. + +_Kath_. He wanteth then belike sufficient courage. + +_Pem_. Never liv'd Knight lesse prejudic'd in that +Then valiant _Ferdinand_, whom I have seene +Couch his stiffe[115] Launce with such dexterity +As if the god of battell had himselfe +Entered the Lists, and preassing to the midst +Of steele-composed troops like lightning fly +Till he had made a passage with his sword. + +_Kath_. So puissant in his fortitude with men, +And daunted with a silly womans looks! +How can that be? + +_Pem_. Yes, when you weygh the force +Of your resistlesse and controwling beauty. +It is your beauty, were his power and spirit +Ten times more hauty-ventrous then it is, +Compels it stoope in homage to your foot +As trembling Lambs when they to Lions couch. + +_Kath_. 'Twas well he chose so good an Orator +To plead the imperfections of his cause. + +_Pem_. I should have that opinion of my selfe +If for my sake your Grace would favour him. + +_Kath_. Yes, for your sake we have endur'd his name, +And for your sake we tolerate his suite; +But, when you cease to speake, then all that prayse +You have attributed to his desert +Seemes borrowed from your selfe; you are the man +Whose eloquence compares with _Ciceroes_, +You are the man whose knightly fortitude +Lives in the world unprejudic'd of any, +You vanquish beauty and inthrall the mind +Of female weaknesse with no lesser awe +Then Indian vassayles stoop unto their Lords. +The name of _Ferdinand_ you have mista'ne. +Say tis your selfe, and then your whole discourse +Observes the perfect method that it should. + +_Pem_. Should I be false and trecherous to my friend? +I am intreated but to speake for him. + +_Kath_. But for your selfe would be more acceptable. +Oh pardon me, nor let immodest stayne[116] +Cleave to my brow: my love is chastely bred. +Other then _Pembrooke Katharine_ never vowes +Shall be authoriz'd in her mayden thoughts. + +_Pem_. Mistake me not, I say tis _Ferdinand_ +Dyes in affection to your Deity. + +_Kath_. But in affection I survive to none +But onely _Pembrooke_. + +_Pem_. Will you be esteem'd +A cruel murdresse of a loyall friend? + +_Kath_. Will _Pembrooke_ triumph in a womans fall? + +_Pem_. You anger me. Respect young _Ferdinand_. + +_Kath_. You please me not to speake of _Ferdinand_. + +_Pem_. Nay, then, tis time to go or wrong my friend. +Since, Madam, what I would I cannot doe, +Mine honour here bids me leave off to woo. [_Exit_. + +_Kath_. Stay, _Pembrooke_, Katharine will sue to thee; +So shalt thou keepe thy fayth and loyalty. + +_Bow_. Tary, sir, tary, we want the length of your nose: nay, if you +will not heare, Ile be so bold as to follow your nose. Sir, tary, tary. + [_Exit_. + +_Kath_. He will not heare nor (too unkind) looke backe. + +_Payn_. But, Madam, spight his heart you shall see this. + +_Kath_. Give me his picture. Image far more kind +Then is the substance whence thou art deriv'd, +Which way soever I divert my selfe +Thou seemst to follow with a loving eye. +Thee will I therefore hold within my armes +As some small comfort to increasing harmes. + + _Enter Ferd_. + +_Ferd_.--What meanes my second selfe by this long stay? +I cannot rest till I be certified +What good or bad successe my suite returnes. +But he is gone, and in faire _Katharines_ hand +I see his picture. What may this pretend? + +_Kath_. Thou hast done well indeed, in every part +Thou shewst complete and cunning workmanship; +His eye, his lip, his cheeke are rightly fram'd, +But one thing thou hast grossly over-slipt: +Where is his stubborne unrelenting heart +That lurkes in secret as his master doth, +Disdayning to regard or pity me. + +_Payn_. Madam, his heart must be imagined +By the description of the outward parts. + +_Kath_. O no, for then it would be tractable, +Mild and applausive as the others be. + +_Ferd_. No Prince but _Pembrooke_ dwels in _Katharines_ eye. + +[_Kath_] Whose that disturbs our pleasing solitude? + +_Ferd_. Know you not me? my name is _Ferdinand_, +Whose faithfull love Lord _Pembrooke_ late commenct. + +_Kath_. Speake then for _Pembrooke_ as he did for you +Or els your bootlesse suite will soon be cold. + +_Ferd_. Why he was Orator in my behalfe. +If I should speake for him, as he for me, +Then should I breathe forth passions[117] not mine owne.-- +I, I, tis so; the villaine in my name +Hath purchas'd her affection for himselfe, +And therefore was he absent from the feast, +And therefore shuns my sight and leaves behind +This counterfet to keep him still in mind. +Tis so, tis so; base Traytor, for this wronge +My sword shall cut out thy perfidious toung. [_Exit_. + + _Enter Bowyer_. + +_Bow_. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my +backe, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; and +yet he will not come backe. + +_Kath_. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledge +Which I will zealously devote me to.-- +There's thy reward: withdraw, my father comes. + + [_Exit Painter_. + + _Enter Lewes_. + +_Lew_. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me +And suddenly is risen from the boord, +The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you +The Prince or _Pembrooke_ which way they are gone? + +_Kath_. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose. + +_Lew_. Back to their tents and take no leave of us? +Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe +And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles. +Which we will seeke immediately to prevent. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Dicke Bowyer and soldiers, with Drum and colours_. + +_Bow_. Stand, give the word along, stand. + +_Lieu_. Stand there! + +_Bow_. Lieutenant. + +_Lieu_. Captayne. + +_Bow_. Is the watch set in the King's quarter yet. + +_Lieu_. An houre agoe. + +_Bow_. 'Zounds what foolish Canaanits were they to run in debt to their +eyes for an houres sleepe sooner then they needed! Sergeant. + +_Ser_. Anon, Sir. + +_Bow_. Anon, Sir! s'hart the Rogue answers like a Drawer, but tis the +tricke of most of these Sergeants, all clincum clancum. Gods dynes[118], +I am an _Onyon_ if I had not rather serve formost in the forlorne hoope +of a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a double +charged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels. +Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning in +Sulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watch +to night? + +_Serg_. In the furthest Trenches that confront the enemies campe. + +_Bow_. Thats the next way to have all our throats cut. + +_Lieu_. That cannot be; you know, Captain, there's a peace toward. + +_Bow_. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole, but s'hart our +gaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_ +came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero and +sets feare at's heeles. And I could scape (a pox on it) th'other thing, +I might haps return safe and sound to England. But what remedy? al flesh +is grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey. +Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the rogues +do not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throats +and choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir? + +_Sol_. That must I, Captayne. + +_Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say your +prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and ashes, all wormes meat. + +_Lieu_. How so, Captayne? + +_Bow_. Doe you make him Sentronell? s'hart heele nod[119] presently: and +he do not sleepe sitting upon the poynt of a Spanish needle, _Dicke +Bowyer's_ a very shittle-cocke. _Nod_! zounds, he is one of the nine +sleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a pageant to present of the seven +deadly Sinnes[120], he should play Slouth; and he did not sleepe when he +should speake his part I am a Badger. + +_Soul_. That's true; you have halfe the nature of a Badger, for one leg +is shorter then another. + +_Bow_. Zounds, you Rogue, doe not you know that? Ile tell you: s'hart +and I lye, call me Jebuzite. Once as I was fighting in S. Georges +fields, and blind Cupid seeing me and taking me for some valiant +_Achilles_, he tooke his shaft and shot me right into the left heele; +and ever since _Dick Bowyer_ hath beene lame. But my heart is as sound +as a bell: heart of Oake, spirit, spirit! Lieutenant, discharge _Nod_ +and let _Cricket_ stand Sentronell till I come. + +_Lieu_. He shall, Captayne. + +_Bow_. On afore! strike Drum, march soldiers, keep your place, Nod. +Lusty, my harts, for the honour of England and our brave General the +Earle of Pembrooke! [_Exeunt soldiers_.] So I have discharg'd my selfe +of these. Hot shot![121] now to my love. Some may say the tale of Venus +loving Mars is a fable, but he that is a true soldier and a Gent. as +Dick Bowyer is, & he do not love some varlet or other, zounds he is +worse then a gaping Oyster without liquor. There's a pretty sweet fac't +mother[122] that waits on the princesse that I have some mind to; but a +whorson _Architophel_, a parasite, a rogue, one whose face looks worse +then a Tailors cushen of old shreds and colours, zounds like a weavers +leg in an old ditch feeding horseleaches; & this trotter is my ryval & +loves _Thomasin_: his name is _Peter de Lions_, but s'hart (I will not +sweare neither) if I do not turne Rich. _Cor de Lion_ with him, if I do +not teare out his heart and eate it with mustard, let him say Dick +Bowyer's a Mackarell. Yonder hee comes with my property hand in hand. +Zounds! I say nothing, but ile heare what they say and determine +afterward. + + _Enter Peter and Thomasin_. + +_Pet_. Thomasin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour is +thus, I love. + +_Bow_.--And I do not spoyle that humor, so-- + +_Pet_. Your answere compendiously & avoyd prolixity. + +_Tom_. Mary muffe[123]! by Jesu I scorne to humble the least part about +me to give answere to such a trothing question: as I live it joults mine +eares worse in hearing then the princes coach on a broken cawsey. + +_Pet_. _Thomasin_, leave this pace & take me with you[124]. My Lord +loves your Lady, yet I heare she is this night betrothed to the Prince +of France: I love you & shall I lose you? No: I hate prolixity; in a +word, the end is Ile mary you. + +_Tho_. Prety, as God save me! What will Captaine Bowyer say to that if +he should know it? + +_Bow_.--A good Rogue, by Jesu! + +_Pet_. Bowyer a Captayne? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine[125], +a red beard Sprat, a Yellowhammer, a bow case, a very Jackdaw with his +toung slit. + +_Bow_.--Zounds, what a Philistine is this! what a dictionary of proper +names hath the Rogue got together! heart, his toung crawles as fast as +the cheese doth in Germany. Ile pearce you for this, you Lobster. + +_Pet_. Bowyer? _mordu! futra_[126] for him! and that sowre crab do but +leere at thee I shall squeeze him to Vargis[127]. + +_Bow_. And you squeeze me I may haps grow saucy with you, you whorson +burnd Pudding pye, you drye Parsnip. Kisse me, Thomasin. So, dare you +stand to your word now and squeeze me. + +_Pet_. Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gyrd +my selfe with thy guts. I am a souldiour and a Captayne. + +_Bow_. Captayne? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge any other then +Pigmies I am a Gogmagog. Dost thou heare, sowgelder? and I do not with +sixe Cranes (wel marshald) overrunne thee and thy hundred and fifty, say +Dick Bowyer's a coward. + +_Pet_. For that word draw. + +_Tho_. Hold, Gentlemen. + +_Bow_. Peace, good Thomasin, silence, sweet socket [sucket?]. Peter, +dost see this sword? this sword kild Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now +it shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whorson puttock[128], no garbage +serve you but this? have at you! + + _As they fight enters Pembrooke_. + +_Pem_. Who's this at enmity within our Camps? +What! Bowyer and the servant to great Burbon? +Both sheathe your weapons: by our martiall law +This act is death. + +_Bow_. Ile be hangd then. Dost thou heare, noble Generall? Dicke Bowyer +knowes what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by this +element of iron & steele, but to measure which of our swords were +longest.--Ile save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see youle hang +scurvily: but the next time-- + +_Pem_. Good Captayne Bowyer, let our English troops +Keepe a strong watch to night: my throbbing heart, +Like to a Scritchowle in the midnight houre, +Bodes some black scene of mischiefe imminent. + +_Bow_. Never feare, Generall: if Julius Caesar rise up against us, e're +he do my Lord any wrong, zounds Ile be cut smaller then pot-hearbs. Ile +to the trenches: come, Thomasin.--Leere not, Lobster, lest I thump that +russeting[129] face of yours with my sword hilt till that it looke as +pyde colourd as the Rainbow. By Jesu, Ile do it, and therefore follow me +not. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Pem_. Why should this loade of griefe lye on my heart +With such a ponderous waight? I know no cause, +Unlesse it be by thinking on the wrong +My friend receyves in the unmatched love +Which Katherine beares me: yet my fayth is sound, +And like a solid Rock shall check her teares. +Katharine loves me; yet, for my friends delight, +Pembrooke will hate her love and flye her sight. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Burbon, Navar, Philip, Bellamira, Rodoricke, and attendants_. + +_Bur_. Navar, you sprinckle me with foule reproch +And dimme the luster of our royall name +With colours of dishonour. + +_Nav_. Heare me, Burbon. + +_Bur_. What words can satisfy so great a wrong? +Have you not, with consent of all your Lords, +Promis'd your daughter to this generous prince? + +_Nav_. Their true love forst us to it. + +_Bur_. True love? 'tis faynd. + +_Phil_. Ha, Burbon! + +_Bel_. Gentle Philip-- + +_Phil_. With my sword +Ile prove my love unfayned, thee a false Lord. + +_Bur_. This like a Sanctuary frees thy toung +And gives thee childish liberty of speech, +Which els would fawne and crouch at Burbons frowne. + +_Phil_. Now by St. Denis-- + +_Bur_. Ile not chat with boyes: +Navar, to thee I speak. Thy daughters looks, +Like the North Star to the Sea-tost Mariners, +Hath brought me through all dangers, made me turne +Our royall Palace to this stage of death, +Our state and pleasure to a bloudy Campe, +And with the strength and puissance of our force +To lift thy falling and decayed state +Even to her pristine glory. In thy quarrell, +Burbon hath set himselfe against his king +And soyl'd his greatnesse with a Traytors name, +Now when our worth expected rich reward, +Fayre Bellamira, wonder of her time, +Must Philip have her? + +_Phil_. Burbon, she is mine. + +_Bur_. _Mortdew_! Ile be reveng'd, by heaven I will, +Or I will pave these plaines with the dead bodies +Of our deare subjects. We have sworne thy fall: +That oathes thy death, our rage thy funerall. + +_Nav_. Heare our excuse. + +_Bur_. We will not credit ayre. +--Peter, watch Rodorick: when the prince is gone +Tell him Ide speake with him. + +_Pet_.--Enough, tis done. + +_Bur_. Navar, this setting Sun, which sees our wrong, +Shall e're his morrowes beames gui[l]de the proud East, +View _Himens_ rites turnd to a tragick feast. + [_Exit Burbon_. + +_Nav_. His anger beares him hence. Young prince of France, +Since, to reduce our enmity to love +And thereby like a fayre and lovely Bryde +To mary peace to France, we are content +To bring the sea-tost barke of your affects, +Halfe shipwrackt with the tempest of these wars, +To their desired port, as we agreed, +Go to your father and informe him thus: +If personally heele view our friendly Tents +And seale these Articles of peace proposde, +This night you shall be troth-plight to our child. + +_Phil_. Were it to search the furthest Northern clime +Where frosty Hyems with an ycie Mace +Strikes dead all living things, Ide find it out, +And borrowing fire from those fayre sunny eyne +Thaw Winters frost and warme that dead cold clime: +But this impose is nothing, honour'd King. +Ile to my father and conduct him hither; +For whilst my soule is parted from her sight +This earth is hell, this day a tedious night. +Come, Rodorick, you shall beare me company. + + [_Exeunt Phil. Pet. & Rod_. + +_Pet_. He shall not, for Ile stay him instantly. + +_Nav_. 'Twere pity to keepe two such loves asunder. +Daughter, you & your Ladies to your tent +And deck you richly to receive the prince. + + [_Exit Bella_. + + _Enter Pemb., after him Ferd_. + +My Lord of Pembrooke, happily returnd! +How doth our sonne? See where he comes himselfe. +Speake, boy: how spedst thou with fayre Katherine? + +_Ferd_. I know not how.--Is trothlesse Pembrooke there? + +_Nav_. Be not dismayd; at length sheele pity thee. +Sonne, bid our Officers adorne our Court +In her chiefe glory, for this happy night +Shall set a period to this smarting war. +Your sister shalbe troth-plight to Prince Philip, +And France and we made friends about it then. +Pembrooke, have you the charge to see our Captaines +Prepare a martiall welcome to the King. +Ile not be idle: since Navar was crownd +Our heart with so much joy did ne're abound. + [_Exit Navar_. + +_Fer_. Nor mine with so much hate. Pembrooke, a word. + +_Pem_. What wills your Grace? + +_Fer_. That Pembrooke is a villayne. +Looke not so strange: I speake it; not your friend; +But hee that in his soule hath sworne thine end. + +_Pem_. A villayne? and my death? I am amaz'd: +Art thou awake, or is all this a dreame. + +_Fer_. A dreame of death. Meet me to morrow morning, +As thou art Pembrooke and a Gentleman, +By yon fayre River side which parts our Camps. +You know the place: come armde, and so farewell. + +_Pem_. Deare friend. + +_Fer_. Push! meet me. + +_Pem_. Ferdinand, I will. + +_Fer_. Revenge, smile on, thou shalt drink bloud thy fill. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Peter standing sentronell_. + +_Pet_. This is my wayting night: tis for no good +That I stand sentronell. Well, good or ill, +I care not greatly, so I get the gold: +Therefore, to avoyd prolixity, here walke I. +Here comes the men that must reward my paine. + + _Enter Burbon and Rodoricke_. + +_Bur_. Have you the poyson? + +_Rod_. And a strong one too. +Heere's a preservative to save your hand: +When Rodoricke fayles your Lordship, heaven shall fayle +To illuminate the world with cheereful light. + +_Bur_. Then here about should Peter wayt for me, +For this is the Pavilion of the Princesse. + +_Pet_. My Lord. + +_Bur_. Peter. + +_Pet_. Here is the key that opens to the Tent: +I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin. +Enter without prolixity, woo and winne the Lady; +But give me gold (my Lord) and Ile to Dice. + +_Bur_. Hold, take thy fill. + +_Pet_. And it shall goe as fast. + +_Bur_. Now, gentle Peter, get thee unto rest. +My businesse craves the absence of the world: +None but my selfe and Rodoricke shall behold +The secret complot that I doe intend. + +_Pet_. I goe, my Lord. [_Exit_. + +_Bur_. Now, blessed key, open unto my love, +Doe more then loving lynes or words can doe. +My letters have bin answerd with disdayne: +Her father I have mov'd to gayne my love, +But he is frosty in my fervent suite; +And now perforce I will obtayne her love +Or ease her puling hatred by revenge. + +_Rod_. You stay too long: Ile help to turne the key. + + _Discover her sitting in a chayre asleepe_. + +_Bur_. What do I see? the majesty of heaven +Sit in a mayden slumber on the earth? +What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddesse? +Within the table of her glorious face +Methinks the pure extraction of all beauty +Flowes in abundance to my love-sick eye. +O, Rodoricke, she is admirably fayre; +And sleeping if her beauty be so rare +How will her eyes inchaunt me if she wake. +Here, take the poyson; Ile not stayne her face +For all the treasure of the Westerne Island. + +_Rod_. I see no such admired perfection. +Waken her, Burbon, and this loving charme, +Which now hath led your sences prisoner, +Will vanish, and her speach, full of reproofe, +Beget a new phantasma all of hate. +Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee. + +_Bur_. Waken her Roderick, for I want the power. + +_Rod_. I hope I am disguisde sufficiently +That Bellamira cannot know my face.-- +Madam, fayre Bellamira! + +_Bel_. Here I am: +Who calls on Bellamira? + +_Bur_. I, fayre love; +The Duke of Burbon that doth honor thee. + +_Bel_. The Duke of Burbon in my Tent so late! +Where is my Gard? what, Peter, Thomasin! + +_Rod_. Step to her and restrayne her lest she call: +Ile be a looker on and be unknowne. + +_Bur_. What needs your Highnesse call for any Gard +Since you are garded with a faythfull frend? +Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee +Come to renew my suite: vouchsafe me love +Or with this weapon take away my life. +Much better 'twere a thousand times to dye +Then live in torment of your scorching eye. +You have inflam'd my hearte; oh quench that flame +Or into cinders turne my haplesse truncke, +Haplesse in being unbelov'd by you. + +_Bel_. My Lord of Burbon, you presume too much +On th' extremity of passion. +Have I not answerd many an idle letter +With full assurance that I cannot love? +Have I not often _viva voce_ checkt +Your courtly kindnes, frownd upon your smiles, +Usde you unkindly, all to weane your love? +And doe you still persever in your suite? +I tell thee, Burbon, this bold part of thine, +To breake into my Tent at dead of night, +Deserves severe correction, and the more +Because it brings mine honour into question. +I charge thee, as thou art a Gentleman, +Betake thee to thine own Pavilion, +And let this answere satisfie for all: +Burbon, I cannot nor I will not love thee. + +_Bur_. Cannot nor will not? Zounds, Madam, but you must. + +_Bel_. Must I? + +_Bur_. And shall. + +_Bel_ You will not force me to it? + +_Bur_. Or force that sparkling beauty from your face. +Looke not so fiercely nor cry out for helpe, +For if you doe this makes you cry your last. +Seing neyther words, kind letters, hearty sighes. +Humble intreaty nor a world of payne +Can move you to take pitty of my love, +But Tyrant-like your beauty seeks my life; +I will blot out that beauty with this juice. +Thus, thus I wipe away my passions, +Thus doe I heale the torments of my love, +Thus doe I ransome my inthralled eye, +And by depriving of the cause of life +Kill th' effect, which was a world of sorrow. +Farewell, foule Bellamira; I am pleasde +In this revenge that no way could be easde. [_Exit_. + +_Rod_.--Zounds, he has don't: now, Roderick, joy thy fill. +Burbon is thine, the Dukedome is thine owne, +For only he in the Inheritance +Stood as an obstacle to let my clayme. +This deed of his will take away his life: +And then let me alone to enjoy his land. +Ile steale away unseene, cause unsuspected; +I would not for the world be once detected. [_Exit_. + +_Bel_. Poyson my face! oh most inhuman wretche! +Revenge more vile then to abbridge my life. +What, Thomasin! What, brother Ferdinand! +My kingly father! is there none that heares? +Then Treason, treason! let that waken you, +For capitall is this offence to me. + + _Enter Navar, Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Thomasin_. + +_Tho_. O Jesu! mistris, what ayles your face? + +_Nav_. Her face! + +_Ferd_. Tis spotted like a Panthers skin. + +_Pem_. O were those spots as kindly beautiful +Then were fayre Bellamira undeform'd. + +_Nav_. O what divine power hath sent this Leprosy? + +_Ferd_. Say, beautious Sister. + +_Pem_. Speake, fayre Bellamira. + +_Nav_. My sweet daughter, speake. + +_Pem_. Her silence argues a tormented spirit. + +_Ferd_.--Thy countenance argues a deceitfull soule. + + _Enter Lewes, Philip, Rodoricke and Flaunders_. + +_Lew_. Where is Navar? + +_Phil_. Where is fayre Bellamira? + +_Bel_. My Philip! oh give leave to fly his sight. + +_Nav_. Stay, gentle daughter; heele not injure thee. + +_Lew_. Heere are the Articles concluded on. +I could not rest till I had signed them +And brought them to your Highnesse. A moneth hence +The mariage shall be fully solemnized, +So please your Majesty and your fayre daughter. +Are you content? + +_Nav_. To live in discontent. + +_Phil_. Methinks this royall presence hath dim lookes. +Is it because they are in the armes of night, +Which sets a leaden lustre in the eye? +Or hath some accident occoasted [sic] them +That troubles their aspect with melancholy? +Is Navar well? is Ferdinando well? +Is Pembrooke well? is Bellamira well? +0 where is Bellamira? tell me, Princes, +For now my tongue hath strooke upon her name +I feele a kind of killing extasie. +Where is she? in her Tent? + +_Bel_.--Deny me father. +I would not see Prince Philip with this face. + +_Phil_. Why speak you not? what, have I toucht the string +Whereon the burden of your sorrow lyes? +Father, look round about: see you my love? +Rodoricke, look round about: see you my love? + +_Lew_. I see her not. + +_Rod_. Nor I. + +_Phil_. I say not so: +The garments that she weares mine eye should know. +What Lady's this that hides her heavenly face? +Here are no Basilisks with killing eyes: +You need not hide your beauty: sweet, look up, +Me thinks I have an interest in these lookes. +What's here? a Leper amongst Noble men? +What creatures thys? why stayes she in this place? +Oh, tis no marvell though she hide her face, +For tis infectious: let her leave the presence, +Or Leprosie will cleave unto us all. + +_Bel_. O let me leave the presence, gentle father, +When Philip bids his Bellamira goe. + +_Phil_. My Bellamira! + +_Lew_. How? my sonnes belov'd! + +_Phil_. Is this my love? was this your beauteous child? + +_Nav_. My child. + +_Ferd_. My sister. + +_Pem_. Beauteous Bellamira. + +_Nav_. Spotted. + +_Ferd_. Disfigured. + +_Pem_. Made a loathsome Leper. + +_Rod_. How came this sudden alteration? +For she was comely, lovely, beautiful, +When the day left his Charriot to the night. + +_Nav_. That heaven doth know, and onely Bellamira. +Daughter, I charge thee, tell me how it came. + +_Bell_. Burbon, oh Burbon,-- + +_Lew_. Did he doe the deed? + +_Bell_. He came into my Tent at dead of night +And rubd my face with an infectuous herbe +Because I would not graunt unto his love. +I cry'd for helpe, but none did succour me. + +_Rod_.--I know he did and laugh to thinke on [i]t. + +_Lew_. And he shall rue his treason. + +_Phil_. Threaten not; +Leave the revenge to me whom it concernes. +Tis I am robd of a delicious looke, +A heavenly sparkling brow, a starry eye, +A countenance fayrer than Auroraes lookes +When all the East is guilded with her blush. +Tis I will be reveng'd, but not before +I have espoused my lovely Bellamira. + +_Lew_. Espoused her! + +_Nav_. How? marry a face deform'd! + +_Ferd_. A leprous creature! + +_Pem_. An infectuous mayd! + +_Rod_. One whose sores are perchance incureable! + +_Phil_. Be they incureable, it is my Love, +And for my sake she hath indur'd this wrong; +And should I now forsake her thus distrest +I could not merit a true Lovers name. +To shew I love her I will marry her +Before the moneth expire, nay in the morne: +Delayes, perchance, may make her think I scorne. + +_Bel_. Marry with me? fetch me a looking glasse +That I may see how sweet a bride I am. +Oh I detest my selfe. Deare, hate me, too: +I am not to be maryed but to death. +Though I were Empresse of the spacious world +Ide lay my selfe and kingdome at thy feet. +Live, noble Philip, joy some happy match; +Tis my unworthinesse makes me deny thee. + +_Phil_. Thinkst thou, because thy face is spotted, so +Thou art not worthy of thy Philips love? +Thy face to me was but a Mar[e]s[c]hall +To lodge thy sacred person in my mind, +Which long agoe is surely chambred there. +And now what needs an outward Harbinger? +I doe affect, not superficially: +My love extendeth further than the skin. +The inward Bellamira tis I seeke, +And unto her will Philip be espousde. + +_Nav_. Oh admirable love! + +_Lew_. O my deare sonne, +Thou makest me famous by thy loyalty. + +_Rod_. I never heard the like. + +_Pem_. Pen never writ +A worthyer Story to posterity. + +_Ferd_.--Pen never writ of a more treacherous friend +Then, Pembrooke, thou hast prov'd to Ferdinand. + +_Phil_. Sweet Love, prepare thee to be Philips Bryde; +For heere I sweare, as I am royall borne, +Ile marry thee before the mornings Sunne +Hath runne the third part of his glorious course. +Father, good night; deare friends, deare Love, good night: +Mariage, I hope, will make my spirits more light. + [_Exit_. + +_Nav_. Good night, sweet son. King Lewes, stay with me; +Be thou my comforter, Ile comfort thee. + + [_Exeunt kings_. + +_Ferd_. Pembrook, remember that thou faile me not. [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. O God, what may these moody lookes intend? +Me thinks, I should have better from my friend. [_Exit_. + +_Bel_. Now, Bellamira, thou hast time to thinke +Upon these troublous matters. Should I suffer +So brave a Gentleman as Philip is +To wed himselfe to my unworthy selfe, +It would be counted vertue in the Prince +But I were worthy of a world of blame. +No, Philip, no; thou shalt not wrong thine honour +Nor be impeacht by Bellamiraes spots. +In some disguise Ile steale away to-night +And ne're appeare more in my Philips sight. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Dicke Bowyer_. + +_Bow_. There is no toyle to this walkinge of the Round. S'hart, I have +been stumbling up and downe all this night like a Brewers horse that has +ne're a good eye in his head. Tis as darke as Pitch: I can resemble our +Campe to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are always +waking and heere the villaynes are as drowsie as swyne. Lieutenant Nod! +why you might have shot a double Cannon in his eare and never have wakt +him. I jogd and I jogd, I showted and I showted, and yet the mungrel +snorted, you might heare him to Dover: at last I dragd him by the heeles +into a ditch of water and there left the Lobster crawling. A the tother +side, Core being appoynted to stand sentynell upon the Wallounes +quarter, s'hart the Loach gets me into a Sutlers bath and there sits mee +drinking for Joanes best cap: but by this hand, and as Dicke Bowyer is a +Soldier and a Cavaliero, he shall sit in the boults for it to morrow. My +comfort is in these extremities that I brought Thomasin to her Ladies +Tent, leaving her new-come Lover to picke strawes. But, soft: _qui vou +la_?[130] + + _Enter Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. My name is Ferdinand. + +_Bow_. Stand! + +_Ferd_. Why, Captayne, thou dost knowe me well inough. + +_Bow_. Know or not know, without the word you passe not. + +_Ferd_. Soliman. + +_Bow_. So, _allie, allie, Monseur_. + +_Ferd_. First, tell me, sawest thou Pembrooke come this way? + +_Bow_. I saw him not. + +_Ferd_. Farewell. [_Exit_. + +_Bow_. As much to you. Zounds, these French think to outface us with a +card of ten[131]: but, and his beard were made of brasse, Dicke Bowyer +will make him know the discipline of war. Here comes another. + + _Enter Pembrooke_. + +_Pem_. Who's there? Dick Bowyer? + +_Bow_. Some call me so: what then? + +_Pem_. Pembrooke salutes thee. + +_Bow_. O good morrow, my Lord, good morrow. + +_Pem_. I prythee, Captayne, sawst thou Ferdinand, Sonne to Navar, as +thou didst walke the round. + +_Bow_. Even now, my Lord, he past along this way. + +_Pem_. Himselfe alone? or had he company? + +_Bow_. Nay, questionlesse, he was alone, my Lord. + +_Pem_. Couldst thou discerne his face? how did he looke? + +_Bow_. Faith, scurvily, my Lord, like a greene cheese or the inside of a +rotten Pumpian.[132] + +_Pem_. There is Crownes for thee to drinke. [_Exit Pem_. + +_Bow_. I thanke your Lordship. To see the difference betweene these +French Curres and our English Cavaliers! There's as much bounty in +them as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might have +stood heere till my teeth chatter in my head e're the tother +Launcepresado[133] would have sayd, Here, Captayn Bowyer, there's a +Cardicue[134] to wash downe melancholy. But, had I knowne as much, I +would have basted him till his bones had rattled in his skin. + + _Enter Core and other Souldiers bringing in the Clowne_. + +_All_. Come, sir, you shall answere your walking before our Captayne. + +_Clow_. Well, sirs, take heed what you doe: I am a Princes man; if you +stay me upon the kings hye way I can lay fellowship to your charge. + +_Core_. But, sirra, we can lay Treason to thine for being without the +word. + +_Clow_. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, +I have call'd thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and am +I still without the word. + +_Core_. I, sir, the word that must serve your turne, the Watch-word. + +_Clow_. Fayth, y'are like to watch this twelve moneth ere you have any +other words at my hands. + +_Bow_. How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to the +slaughter-house there, ha? + +_Core_. A stragler and a spy, Captayne, I pray examine him. + +_Bow_. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last: Ile +talke with you anon. But, sirra, to you: From whence come you? + +_Clow_. I came, Sir, from the king of Fraunces campe. + +_Bow_. So, what's your name? + +_Clow_. My name, sir, is Bow wow. + +_Bow_. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks us. Bow wow, +quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges? + +_Clow_. No dog, sir: would you should know it, though I be encompast +with curres. + +_Bow_. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom +or two of match. + +_Clow_. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a very +insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman. + +_Bow_. Well, sirra, whom do you serve? + +_Clow_. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king's +daughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now +going backe againe. + +_Bow_. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes +to stay him. + +_Clow_. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady +may give you thanks. + +_Bow_. My name's Dick Bowyer. + +_Clow_. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue! +but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [_Exit_. + +_Bow_. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you +should stand Sentinel? + +_Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was +passing dry. + +_Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the +burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has +sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere? + + _Enter Nod_. + +_Core_. Tis Lieutenant Nod. + +_Nod_. Captayne, deride me not. I protest I came by this mischaunce by +good service, by following a spy that came to discover our army. + +_Bow_. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee into +a ditch? + +_Nod_. Was't you? by this light, I took you for a spy. + +_Bow_. Yet saw me not no more then a Molewarp. This is an egregious +Rogue. + +_Nod_. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you would +use me. + +_Bow_. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was not +halfe so sencelesse. But the Watch breakes up: every one to his quarter, +away! + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Clowne_. + +_Clow_. Tis true, they are gone together, and I am sent to watch Prince +Ferdinand and the Earle of Pembrooke. This way they went, but they are +got out of sight. I were very bad to be a hound, that have no better a +sent. If they were hares as they are men, I should think them squatted. +But, husht! here comes one of them. + + _Enter Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. The morne lookes red, red mornes doe threat a storme; +That storme shall light on Pembrooke or my selfe. +This is our meeting place; here runnes the streame +That parts our camps; the time consorts the place; +And (Pembrooke) if thy reputation hold, +It is thy q. to enter. + + _Enter Pembrooke_. + +_Clow_. Heere comes the tother; this is lucke upon lucke. Now will I run +and fetch my mistris the Lady Katharine to part their fray. [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. Good end succeed my early heavynesse! +Three times my feet, as loth to guide me hither, +Have stumbled in a playne and even way. +My sword forsooke his scabbard once or twice; +Bloud from my nostrills thrice hath spowted forth, +And such a dymnesse overrunnes my sight +That I have tane a tree to bee a man +And question'd with it about serious things. +This is the place where I must meet my friend: +Yonder he stands.--Good morrow, Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. Good morrow to thy death. Draw, Pembrooke, draw, +The ground thou treadst upon must be thy grave. + +_Pem_. Draw upon Ferdinand? + +_Ferd_. I, upon me. +Dally not, Pembrooke; I am bent to fight +And that with thee for the best blood thou bearst. + +_Pem_. You have some reason for this resolution. + +_Ferd_. My will. + +_Pem_. A sorry argument to kill your friend. +I must have better reason then your will +Or Ile not draw upon my Ferdinand. +Our love is older then of one dayes growth; +A yeres continuance hath united us. +Have we not made an enterchange of othes, +Sworne love to one another twenty times, +Confirmd that friendship by society, +Encreasde it with the simpathy of mind, +Making one pleasure pleasure unto both? +And shall this bond be broken upon will? + +_Ferd_. Then youle not draw? + +_Pem_. Yes, neerer to thy person +In friendly sort to embrace thee, Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. Thou art a coward and thou dar'st not fight. + +_Pem_. Thou knowst the contrary, for we have fought +At every weapon to approve our skill. + +_Ferd_. Goe to, you are a villayne and a coward, +And by the royall bloud that gave me life +Ile kill thee, Pembrooke, though thou do not draw. + +_Pem_. Kill me? thou wilt not wrong thine honour so? + +_Ferd_. Zounds but I will; &, traitor, take thou that. + [_Wounds him_. + +_Pem_. Wound me so desperately? nay, then, Ile draw, +Not to offend but to defend my selfe. +Now I perceyve it is my blood thou seekst. +Witnesse, you heavens and all you gracious powers +That stand auspicious to this enterprise, +That Pembrooke drawes forth an unwilling sword. + +_Ferd_. Why, so; now manfully defend thy selfe. + +_Pem_. Another wound? then Pembrook, rowse thy spirit +And beare no longer with this haire-braynd man. +Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the cause +That moves thee to this unkind enterprise, +And if I satisfie thee not in words +This double wound shall please thee with my bloud; +Nay, with my sword Ile make a score of wounds +Rather then want of bloud divorce thy love. + +_Ferd_. I hate thee deadly and I seeke thy life: +What other reason, Pembrook, wouldst thou have? +Prepare, prepare, in this conflict to show +Thou art a knight and canst o'recome thy foe. + +_Pem_. And if I spare thee not, impute the cause +To thine owne rashnes and mine aking wounds. + + _Fight, and hurt eche other; both fall downe as dead_. + +_Ferd_. I hope I have slayne thee. + +_Pem_. Oh I feare thy life. +How fares my Ferdinand? + +_Ferd_. What? liv'st thou yet? +Then my fare is ill. + +_Pem_. I am markt for death, +I feele a generall fayntnesse through my lymmes; +Expence of bloud will soone expend my life. + +_Ferd_. The like debility my joynts doe feele. + +_Pem_. Then we must both dye. In the latest of death +Tell me, oh tell me, whence proceeds this hate? + +_Ferd_. I feare not (Pembrooke) to discover now. +Thou wert my Spokes-man unto Katherine +And treacherously thou stol'st away her heart. +Oh I can say no more, my spirits doe faynt: +Pembrooke, farewell; I have reveng'd my wrong. + +_Pem_. O yet a little longer, gracious time, +Detayne his princely spirit in his brest +That I may tell him he is misse-inform'd +And purge my selfe unto my dying friend. +But death hath layd his num-cold hand upon me: +I am arrested to depart this life. +Deare Ferdinand, although thou be my death, +On thee Ile friendly breathe my latest breath. + + _Enter Forrester_. + +_For_. How full of pleasure is this Forrest life! +My Parke I liken to a Common wealth +In which my Bucks and Does are Citizens; +The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sent +Sentence of life or death as please the King; +Onely our government's a tyranny[135] +In that wee kill our subjects upon sport. +But stay; what Gentlemen do heere lye slayne? +If any sparke of life doe yet remayne +Ile helpe to fanne it with a nymble hand. +The organ of his hand doth play apace; +He is not so far spent but that with helpe +He may recover to his former state. +How is the other? I doe feel soft breath +Breake from between his lips. Oh for some ayd +To beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge, +But as I am Ile try my utmost strength +To save their lives. First seene shall be the first: +Patience and Ile returne and fetch the other. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Fisherman_. + +_Fisher_. My angle-rod is broke, my sport is done, +But I will fetch my net to catch some fish; +To lose both fish and pleasure is too much. +Oh what contentment lives there in the brooke! +What pretty traines are made by cunning hands +To intrap the wily watry Citizens[136]! +But what art thou that lyest on the ground? +Sleepst thou or art thou slaine? hath breath his last? +No sparke of life appeares, yet from his eye +Me thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth, +Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse. +If there be any hope to save his life +Ile try my utmost cunning. To my house, +Poore Gentleman, Ile beare thee as a ghest, +And eyther cure thy wounds or make thy grave. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Forrester, missing the other taken away, + speaks anything, and exit_. + + _Enter Clowne and Katharine_. + +_Clow_. Just in this circle I left the two Princes ready to draw; for I +read the whole discourse of the Combate in their red eyes. + +_Kath_. Heere lye their weapons and heere flowes their bloud. + +_Clow_. Have they not slayne one another and buryed themselves? + +_Kath_. Peace, foole; [i]t is too sure that they are slayne. + +_Clow_. O Lord, then let mee turne my selfe into a Ballad and mourne +for them? + +_Kath_. Thou angrest me with jesting at my sorrow. +Hence from my sight! my heart is full of griefe +And it will breake, the burthen is so great. + +_Clow_. Goe from your sight? then let me goe out of your company, +for I had as leeve leave your sight as your company. Is this my reward +for watching and watching? Oh, Mistris, doe not kill mee with +unkindnesse[137]: I shall, I shall-- + +_Kath_. What shall you? + +_Clow_. Weepe out mine eyes and fill the holes with salt water. + +_Kath_. I prythee leave me; I am not displeasd, +But fayne would vent my sorrowe from my heart. +Hold, take my purse, spend that and leave my presence. +Goe everywhere; enquire my Pembrooke out, +And if thou bringst me to his breathlesse truncke +I will reward thee with a treble gift. + +_Clow_. Well, I were best bee going, now I am so fayrely offred. +Mistris, your reward hath stopt my eares and entic'de my legs to be +walking. Farewell, I will goe, God knows whither, to seeke and to finde +both and neyther. Farewell, sweet Mistris. [_Exit_. + +_Kath_. O Pembrooke, let me kneele unto thy bloud: +And yet I know not whether't be thy bloud, +Save that my soule by a divine instinct +Tells me it is the treasure of thy veynes. +If thou beest dead, thou mirrour of all men, +I vow to dye with thee: this field, this grove, +Shall be my receptacle till my last; +My pillow shall be made a banke of mosse, +And what I drinke the silver brooke shall yeeld. +No other campe nor Court will Katharine have +Till fates do limit her a common grave. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Fraunce, Navar, Philip, Flaunders, Thomasin, and attendants_. + +_Nav_. Our daughter fled? when? whither? which way? how? + +_Tho_. I know not. + +_Phil_. Bellamira, my lives joy! +Upon those pinnyons that support her flight +Hovers my heart; you beare away my soule. +Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frame +Essentiall power, which for thine absence dyes. +Thou art the sweet of sweets, the joy of joyes; +For thee was Philip borne. O turne agayne, +And Philip is the blessedest of men. + +_Lew_. We are glad she's gone though we dissemble it. +--Sonne, bridle this affection, cease these laments: +She did not value them. + +_Nav_. Lewis, she did, +Till savage hate that shape disfigured. + +_Phil_. O she was worthy to be Queene of heaven; +Her beauty, e're it suffred violence, +Was like the Sunne in his Meridian Throne, +Too splendent for weake eyes to gaze upon. +She was too bright before, till being hid +Under that envious cloud, it took the place +Of a darke ground to show a lovelyer face. +That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beauty +And she did guild her imperfections o're +With vertue, which no foule calumnious breath +Could ever soyle: true vertues dye is such +That malice cannot stayne nor envy tuch. +Then say not but her worth surmounts these woes. + +_Nav_. She griev'd to tye you to a hated bed +And therefore followed Burbon for revenge. + +_Phil_. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball sound +Is like a thunderclap to Philips eares, +Frighting my very soule. Sure you said Burbon, +And to that prodegie you joynd revenge, +Revenge that like a shaddow followes him. +'Twas he that made me bankrout of all blisse, +Sude the divorce of that pure white and red +Which deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks: +And shall he scape unpunisht? + +_Lew_. Joyne your hands +And all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke. + +_Phil_. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hate +On Burbon injures me; I am his foe, +And none but I will work his overthrow. + +_Lew_. What meanes our sonne? + +_Phil_. To hunt him for revenge. +The darkest angle of this universe +Shall not contayne him: through the bounded world +Ile prosecute his flight with ceaslesse steps, +And when long travell makes them dull or faynt, +Bayting[138] them fresh with Bellamiraes wrongs, +Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen ayre +And in an instant bring me where he is. + +_Lew_. Where goes our sonne? + +_Phil_. To hell, so that in that kingdome +Fate would assertayne me to meet with Burbon. +Where ever I confront him, this shall kill him. + +_Nav_. Thou shalt have ayd to compasse thy revenge. + +_Phil_. No ayd but this strong arme. Farewell, farewell! +Since Bellamira hath forsooke her friend, +I seeke destruction (Burbon) and mine ende. [_Exit_. + +_Lew_. Stay him: this fury will betray thy life. + +_Nav_. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters losse! + +_Lew_. Poore king made wretched by thy desperat sonne! + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some teares +To dew the obsequies of your dead sonne. + +_Nav_. What? Ferdinand? + +_Mess_. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes hands +And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. +Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodies +By some uncivill hands convayed away, +And no inquiry can discover them. + +_Nav_. Our sonne slaine? Bellamira poysoned? +Navarre, teare off these hayres and raging die. + + _Enter Rodoricke_. + +_Lew_. More Tragedies at hand? what newes brings Rodoricke? + +_Rod_. Such as will make the hearers sencelesse truncks. +Why doth your highnes in your foe-mens tents +Revell away the time and yield your person +To the knowne malice of your enemies, +Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lust +Graspes your fayre daughter to dishonour her? + +_Lew_. Our daughter? + +_Rod_. She is slily stolen from thence, +Yet none knows whither save one Sentinell, +Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady +Exclaime false Ferdinand would ravish her. + +_Lew_. That was my child, dishonor'd by thy sonne. + +_Nav_. You wrong him, France. + +_Lew_. Thou hast betrayed us, king, +And traynd us to a loathed festivall, +The mariage of thy staynd and leprous child, +Whilst in our absence Ferdinand unjust +Hath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust. + +_Flaun_. If you remember, he & English Pembroke +Last day forsooke your Campe as discontent. + +_Lew_. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set malice +He came to view our Campe, how he might act +That deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe. + +_Nav_. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenst +This deed of death on Pembrook & our son, +And now, to cover it, suggest and fayne +Our guiltlesse sonne a guilty ravisher. +But render me their bodies. + +_Lew_. Where's our Child? + +_Nav_. Seeke her. + +_Lew_. Seeke Ferdinand. + +_Nav_. Fraunce! + +_Lew_. Petty king, +For this our wrong looke to be underling. + +_Nav_. What Drum is this? + +_Lew_. Are we intrapt, Navar? + +_Rod_. Feare not. On yonder hill, whose lofty head +Orelookes the under-valleyes, Royall Burbon, +Attended by ten thousand Souldiers, +Craves peace and faire accord with mighty Fraunce. + +_Nav_. Burbon that was the ruyne of my Child! +Summon our forces straight and charge the slave. + +_Lew_. What meanes the king of Fraunce? + +_Rod_. To joyne with him. + +_Nav_. What? with a Traytor and a murtherer? + +_Lew_. He did a deed of merit and of fame, +Poysoned the Sister of a ravisher, +A Tarquin, an incestuous Tereus, +And our poore Child the wronged Philomell. +Arayne our Battailes straight and joyne with Burbon. + +_Nav_. Heare what wee'le urge. + +_Lew_. Speake then in warre and death: +In other termes our rage will spend no breath. + +_Nav_. And we will speake so lowd that heaven it selfe +Shall echo with the clangor. Both our children +Weele race from our remembrance, and advance +No other thought but how to plague proud France. +Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall set +In the vast kingdome of Oceanus, +In a pitcht field weele meet the king of Fraunce +And that false traytor Duke. + +_Lew_. Navar, thou dar'st not. + +_Nav_. Now by Saynt Denis and our Grandsire's tombe +Weele meet thee. + +_Lew_. Welcome. O bring valiant men, +Weel think on nought but graves & tombs till then. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Rod_. Ha, ha! I laugh to see these kings at jarr. +How civill discord, like a raging floud +Swelling above her banks, shall drowne this land +Whilst Rodoricke on her ruines builds his hopes. +The king of Fraunce, through my suggestion, +Thinks Katherine his daughter ravished, +Who onely, winged with love, is fled the Campe. +Pembrooke and Ferdinand, in mutual strife, +Slayne by eche other doth confirme my words +And for revenge whets keene the two Kings swords. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Pembrooke armde and the Forrester_. + +_Pem_. I thank thee, Forrester, whose rough grown walks, +Wild in aspect, afford more courtesy +Then places smoother for civility. +My life, redeemd by thy industrious hand, +Remaynes in love and duty bound to thee. + +_For_. Fayre Knight, prevention of sad death by health +More joyes my soule then thanks or rich reward. +But is your armour easy? sits it well? + +_Pem_. I never in my life was better fitted. +This should be that unlucky fatall place +Where causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand. +Behold the grasse: a purple register +Still blusheth in remembrance of our fight. +Why wither not these trees, those herbs and plants? +And every neighbour branch droup out their grief? +Poore soules, they do, and have wept out their sap. +Yet I have paid no duety to my friend. +Where is the Tombe I wild you to erect? + +_For_. See, valiant knight, proportiond and set up +As well as my poore skill would suffer mee: +And heere his picture hangs. + +_Pem_. You have done well: +Yon hand I see's a perfect Architect +In sorrowes building. Once more let suffice +I quite your painfull travell but with thanks. +Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vow +To spend the remnant of my haples dayes. +No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this way +Before his tongue acknowledge _Ferdinand_ +The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friend +The world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher, +As yet but naked and ungarnished, +E're many dayes hang richer with the spoyles +And vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengers +Then was the Romans wealthy Capitoll. +So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayers +In my assistance: that is all I crave. + +_For_. The God of power give power unto your arme +That you may prove victorious-fortunate. + +_Pem_. Farewell, kind host. + [_Exit Forester_. + And now let me embrace +This empty Monument of my lost friend. +Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bones +How blest should _Pembrooke_ be! but they are torne +By the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy mawe +Is made an unfit grave to bury him. +But, if (without offence) I may desire it, +I wish his soule from Paradise may see +How well his name is kept in memorie. +These eyes that saw him bleed have wept for him, +This heart devisde his harme hath sigh'd for him, +And now this hand, that with ungentle force +Depryv'd his life, shall with repentant service +Make treble satisfaction to his soule. +Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer me +So long uncombatted: I prythee send +Some stubborne knight, some passenger, +Whose stout controuling stomack will refuse +To yield to my prescription but by force. +I hate this idle rest of precious time. + + _Enter Kathar_. + +How now? derid'st thou my devotion, goddesse, +Thou sendst a woman to incounter me? +Henceforth Ile hold thee for a fayned name +And no disposer of my Christian hopes. +But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis she +Was unjust cause of all my misery. + +_Kath_. Long have I wandred with unquiet mind +To find my Pembrook. That they fought, I heare; +That they were wounded both to death, I heare; +But whether cu'rde or dead I cannot heare, +Nor lives there any (if deceasde) can tell +Within what place their bodies are interr'd. +Since therefore all my travell is in vayne, +Here will I take a truce with former care. +This cursed nook was that unlucky plot +Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my love. +What knight is this? Ile question him: perhaps +He can resolve me where my Pembrooke is. +--Joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state. + +_Pem_. Your wishes come too late. What seeke you, +Madam? + +_Kath_. Tell me, sir knight, for so you seeme to be, +Know you this dismall place you do frequent? +Or have you heard of that unhappy fight +Was here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe? + +_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since +And to my grief knew both the gentlemen. + +_Kath_. But can you tell me if they live or no, +Or, dead, what hand hath given them buryall? + +_Pem_. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead: +The one of them, to whom I was allyed +And neerely knit in friendship from my youth, +By me lyes buried heere: a braver knight +And truer Lover never breathd in Fraunce. + +_Kath_. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for him +You have erected this fayre monument, +Perpetuall honour I will do your state. + +_Pem_. Not only, Madam, have I built this tombe +In his memoriall, but my selfe have sworne +Continuall residence within this wood; +And for the love I bare him weare these armes +That whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other, +Making his journey this way and refusing +To do knights homage to my breathlesse friend, +By this assayling steele may be compeld. + +_Kath_. Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov'd +To dignifie my Pembrooke's high deserts. + +_Pem_. You did not heare me say 'twas Pembrook, Madam. +What is become of him I do not know +Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend +And first inkindled this dissensious brawle. +This buryed here is noble Ferdinand, +His fathers comfort and his Countryes hope. +Oh, Madam, had you seene him as I did, +Begirt with wounds that like so many mouthes +Seem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow, +And had before bin inward with his vertues; +To thinke that nature should indure such wracke +And at one time so many precious gifts +Perish by death, would have dissolv'd your heart. +He was the very pride of fortitude, +The house of vertue, and true friendship's mirrour. +Looke on his picture: in the armes of death +When he was ready to give up the ghost, +I causde it to be drawne. If at that time, +In that extremity of bitter pangs, +He lookt so lovely, had so fresh a colour, +So quick a moving eye, so red a lip, +What was his beauty when he was in health? +See with what courage he indur'd the combat, +Smiling at death for all his tyranny. +Had death bin ought but what he was, sterne death, +He would have bin enamour'd with his looks. + +_Kath_.--A certayne soft remorce +Creeps to my heart, perswades me he was true, +Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkind +Coyly to scorne the proffer of his mind. + +_Pem_. O that in Justice of her former hate +She now would hopelesse doat on Ferdinand. +Ile do the best I can to bring her on: +Despaire and madnesse fetch her off againe.-- +Madam, how say you? wast not a grevious thing +So rich a Jem should lye rak't up in dust, +So sweet a flower be withred in his prime? + +_Kath_. Death was a villayne for attempting it +And so was Pembrooke for effecting it. +No bloudy Scythian or inhumane Turke +But would ha trembled to ha toucht his skin +Or spilt one drop of his Heroick bloud. + +_Pem_. Had not that Lady then an yron heart, +A rude ingratefull mind, a savadge spirit, +That knew this vertuous honourable Knight, +This gracious shape and unmatchd excellence, +To be intangled with her fervent love, +To serve her in all loyalty of heart, +To reverence and adore her very name, +To be content to kisse the lowly earth +Where she did set her foot; and when he sued +For grace, to scorne him, to deride his sighes, +And hold his teares and torment in contempt? +Of all that ever liv'd deserv'd she not +The worlds reproch and times perpetuall blot? + +_Kath_. Heard you him ever speak of such a one? + +_Pem_. Oft times, but chiefly then when he perceyv'd +His hurt was mortall and no way but death, +At every grone he cald upon her name +As if that sound were present remedy; +And when insulting death drew short his breath +And now was ready to close up his eyes, +Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrine +My soule fly thou to beautious Katharine. + +_Kath_. That ruthlesse mind, that iron savage heart, +So greatly loved and so little loving, +Breathes in this brest; 'twas I returnd disdaine +For deepe affection, scorne for loyalty, +And now compassionlesse shall pine my selfe. +Oh, Ferdinand, forgive me, Ferdinand: +Injoyne me any penance for that wrong, +Say I shall tread a tedious pilgrimage +To furtherest Palestine, and I will do it. +But peace, fond woman! these exclaimes are vaine: +Thy Ferdinand is dead and cannot heare, +As thou wast sometimes deafe and wouldst not heare. + +_Pem_. A just reward.--Come, Madam, have you done? +Give me the picture I may hang it up. + +_Kath_. Oh take it not away: since I have lost +The substance, suffer me to keep the shaddow. +Me thinks, so long as this is in my hand, +I claspe my Ferdinand between mine armes; +So long as I behold this lively forme, +So long am I refreshed by his smiles, +So long, me thinks, I heare him speak to me. +Knew I the Paynter drew this counterfeyt +I would reward him with a mynt of gold. + +_Pem_. If such a pleasure you receyve by this, +I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly have +His whole proportion cut in Alabaster, +Armd as he was when he encountred here, +Which kneeling shall be set upon his tombe. + +_Kath_. On that condition I will gather flowers +And once a day come straw them at his feet, +And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanks +To you the furtherer of my happinesse: +Till then I place the picture where it was. + + _Enter Clowne and Bellamira_. + +_Clow_. Come on, Madam; me thinks now a maske would do well. But I +perceyve your drift, I smell your policy; you think a bold face hath no +need of a black mask. Shall I tell you what you look like? A broyld +herring or a tortur'de Image made of playster worke. + +_Bel_. So, sirra, you may scoffe my misery. + +_Pem_. Still haunted with these women! are men vanisht? +Or what occasion leaves the Realme of Fraunce +So voyd and empty of adventurous knights? + +_Clow_. Out of peradventure, Madam, the ghost of Saint George is come +out of England to see what hospitality S. Denis keeps in Fraunce. + +_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, I lament thy state +But I must still suppresse my discontent. +--What are you, so deformed with lothsome spots? +And what that Anticke keeps you company? + +_Clow_. Anticke; thou lyest: and thou wert a knight of ginger-bread I am +no Anticke. The whole parish where I was borne will sweare that since +the raigne of Charlemain there was not a better face bred or brought up +amongst them. + +_Pem_. Away, ye russeting-- + +_Kath_. Have patience, Knight: how ever thus deform'd, +This Lady is the daughter of Navar. +Madam, it joyes me I have met you heere +Though much laments me of your heavy plight. +There needs no repetition of your wrong: +I know the villayne Burbon did the deed, +Whom my incensed brother will revenge. + +_Bel_. For Philips sake I have been martyrd thus, +And for his sake left King and Courtly life +To entertayne a Pilgrims payneful habit. +But on what strange adventure stayes this Knight +Within this desolate forsaken wood? + +_Kath_. For love of Ferdinand your princely brother +Whose hearse he gards in honorable Armes. + +_Bel_. Is this my brothers Hearse; is this the place +Where I was shipwrackt of a brothers name? +Oh let me spend a loving sigh for him +And sacrifice a sisters holy rites. +For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace +Untill thy body glorified from heaven +Become immortal by thy soules returne. + +_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, how I pity thee, +Yet must forbeare to comfort thy distresse. + +_Clow_. Is my yong Lord buried here? I say no more, but I pray God send +him a joyful insurrection. + +_Kat_. Inough, sweet Bellamira. +These leprous spots tis time they were remov'd. +Come, goe with me: since I left Aquitayne +And came acquaynted with these private walks, +It was my happy chance to meet an Hermit +Whose skill in Phisike warrants present cure +And pure refining of your poysoned bloud. +Ile bring you thither: afterward select +Delicious sweets to decke your brothers tombe. +Come, sirra, follow us. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Clow_. Doe not think, Madam, that Ile forsake you. And so, sir, you +that walk in pewter vessayle, like one of the worthyes, will you be +rul'd by me? + +_Pem_. Wherein? + +_Clow_. To set a gyn for Woodcocks & catch your selfe first. + [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. Hence, beetle-head. And, Pembrook, now bethink +How great a tyde of miseries breakes in. +First, thou art taxed with the losse of him +Whom equall with thy selfe thou holdest Deare; +Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, +Whose absence Philip carefully laments; +Then trecherous Burbon joynes himselfe with Fraunce +And both the Kings are angerly incenst; +But last, which is some comfort to the rest, +Disdaynfull Katharine wastes with fruiteless love: +Would all so minded like mishap might prove. +But by this signall there are knights at hand: +I must provide their valours to withstand. + + _Enter Fraunce, Burbon, Rodoricke, Peter de Lions, at + one dore; at the other Navar, Flaunders, Dicke + Bowyer and Souldiers: Pembrooke betweene them_. + +_Pem_. Stay your intended march. + +_Lew_. What Peere of France +Or in the world, so haughty-resolute, +Dare breathe the word of "stay" to mighty Fraunce? + +_Nav_. Or what art thou presum'st to stay my course? + +_Pem_. A knight I am and to adventures bound: +This monument erected for my friend +By me is garded. If you meane to passe, +You must do homage or else fight with me. + +_Lew_. Homage of me! Know I am King of France +And in subjection to no earthly powers. + +_Nav_. Thou knowst not what thou sayst to challenge us +Of any such inferiour priviledge. +What homage is it thou requir'st of us? + +_Pem_. First to acknowledge him lyes buried here +The faythfulst Lover and most valyant Knight +That in this time drew sword or manag'd horse. + +_Bow_. And what was he? Ascapart[139] or your countreyman Gargantua, +that stuft every button of his coate with a load of hay? 'S hart, wee +have met a fellow here's all mouth, hee speakes nothing but Monarch. +Doest thou heare, King? give me leave to incounter this puckfist,[140] +and if I doe not make him cry _Peccavi_ say Dicke Bowyer's a powdered +Mackrell. + +_Pet_. My bloud beginnes to boyle; I could be pleasd +To have this fellow by the eares but that +Theres many of my betters heere in place. + +_Fland_. King of Navarre, let Flanders cope with him. + +_Burb_. Imperiall France, give Burbon leave to try +The hazzard of a combat with this Boaster. + +_Pem_. Dispatch, Navarre: one of you come forth +To enterchange a warlike blow or two. + +_Lew_. First let us know what penalty thou setst +Upon thy selfe if thou be vanquished. + +_Pem_. A recantation of my former wordes, +A servitude to him that conquers me; +But who soever is by me subdued +Must leave his Shield to beautifie this shrine. + +_Bur_. Let not, Navar, my Lord, rob us of honor. +Say Burbon first shall breake a Launce with him. + +_Rod_. Ascribe that priviledge, my Lord, to mee; +And Roderick will have death or victory. + +_Lew_. No, noble Roderick; Burbon shall begin, +And as he speedes we will imploy your power. + +_Pem_. Provide thee, Burbon, Ile not favour thee. + +_Bur_. Be sure Ile shew thee like hostility. + +_Lew_. Hold, the advantage is [up]on thy side; +The Duke of Burbon shal hang up his shield. + +_Pem_. Ide rather have his life then al your shelds. +Who is next? + +_Bow_. Zounds, I think he has a patten to take up all the shields ith +countrey. Hang me, if thou wantst worke heeres for Navar, the earle of +Pembrok and Cavaliero Bowier. [_Fight_.] A thousand pound to a Taylors +bodkin this fellow has a familiar; but howsomever, thou mayst thank my +lame legge. Theres my shield. + +_Lew_. Now, Roderick, betake you to your taske. [_Fight_. + +_Rodor_. My fortune's answerable to the rest. + +_Lew_. Since all miscarrie, Fraunce will put his chaunce +Upon the hazzard of the Dice for once. + +_Pem_. You are an Honorable foe, my Lord: [_Fight_. +By law of Armes you must hang up your shield. + +_Lew_. I yeld to law and thy approved valour. +King of Navar, will onely you sit out? + +_Nav_. No, king of Fraunce: my bloud's as hot as thine +And this my weapon shall confirme my words. [_Fight_. + +_Bow_. Navar, downe too! 'S hart this fellow hath the tricke of it. If +he be not a witch or some Devill let me be slickt into a Carbinado.[141] + +_Nav_. Thou sonne of Chivalrie, let me now intreate +To know his name for whome thou reapst this honor, +Or what he was whose bodie's heere interde? + +_Pem_. A valiant Knight, his name yong Ferdinand, +Slayne by misfortune of a friendly hand. + +_Nav_. Is it my sonne thou makst thy valours prise +And striv[e]st to eternize with thy sword? +Let me embrace thee. Not alone my shield, +But I will leave my heart upon his shrine. +My dearest Ferdinand, I would my sighes +Or sad lamenting teares might have the power +Like Balme to quicken thy benummed joynts: +Then would I drowne this marble e're I went +And heat it hote with vapour of my breath. + +_Lew_. Navar, this now may testify thy wrong +In false accusing me for his remove. + +_Nav_. Thou maist be guilty still for ought I know; +For though I find him dead I find not yet +The Tragick manner of his haples end. +Thou mayst as well have murdred Ferdinand +As favour him hath poysond Bellamira. + +_Lew_. Injurious king, it was base Ferdinand, +On whom just heavens have shown just vengeance heere, +Ravisht my Katharine and convayed her hence +Where I shall never more behold her face. + +_Nav_. Tis false, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords. + +_Lew_. Tis true, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords. + +_Pem_. By heaven, the toung prophanes the sacred name +Of Ferdinand with any villany, +Ile cut it out or stop his throate with bloud +And so dam in his blasphemous upbraydes. + +_Nav_. Content thee, knight; Ile ease thee of that labor. +To morrow is expir'd the time of truce: +Fraunce, on with thy Battalions to the plaine +Thou wast prepar'd before to pitch upon. +Ile meet thee there. + +_Lew_. And I will meet with thee. +Sound Drums and Trumpets: honord knight, farewell: +Who shall survive next morn strange newes shall tel. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Pem_. Thus heady rage, blind in her rash resolve, +Drew Ferdinand and mee into the field +As now it doth these hot incensed kings. +Wer't not my vowes prohibit my desire, +To stay the inconvenience of this fight, +I would discover where their Daughters are, +To shew the error they are shrouded in: +But Time hath run a desperate course with mee +And desperate let them runne to misery. +Here comes a Straggler of their Army. Stand! + + _Enter Philip_. + +_Phil_. What voice is that presumes to byd me stand? + +_Pem_. His that can force thee if thou wilt not stand. + +_Phil_. By this bright ayre reflected on my sword, +If the whole army of Navar had said +As much to Philip, yet he would not stand. +And thou but one, how dar'st thou prefer it, +Knowing how sharp a Spurre doth pricke me on, +The death of Burbon for my Bellamire? + +_Pem_. Hang up thy shield, as other knights have done, +Upon the Hearse of noble Ferdinand, +And thou mayest freely passe without controule. + +_Phil_. The Hearse of Ferdinand! I honor him: +He was the brother of my dearest Love. +What's this I see? my fathers batterd shield. +The shield of Fraunce! of Flaunders! Burbons too? +It can not then impeach or prejudice +The name of Philip to consort with such, +Especially being done for Ferdinand. +There is my shield, and, Knight, but for my haste, +I would expostulate of other things: +But, after traytrous Burbon I have slayne, +Knight, looke for me, Ile visit thee agayne. +Now, Rodorick, keepe thy word, and I am blest, +But if thou fayle Ile forward with the rest. [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. Successful action sit upon thy sword![142] +This net of sorrowes, I perceyve, intangles +Not only Pembrooke but the Court of France; +Navar and his associats are all toucht. +Time looke upon us and at last determine +These heart-dissevering tumults with a peace. + + _Enter Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. Since, Ferdinand, by gracious providence +Thou art recovered of thy mortall wounds, +With the new life thy body is revivde +Revive the ancient passions of thy mind. +Think on thy friend, on Pembrook take remorse, +Whose honord life thy hasty hand cut off. +This is the place, as I remember mee. +Whats heere? a Tombe? who hath prevented me +In my religious duty to my friend? +Yon Knight, I doubt not, can resolve me. + +_Pem_. What art thou? stand! + +_Ferd_. A Knight, and fayne would know +What sacred monument and Tombe this is. + +_Pem_. His, whilst he liv'd, that of the worlds increase +Was the most loyall friend and valiant Knight; +Which thou must likewise ratifie with me +And hang thy shield up to adorne his Hearse +Or venture Combate for denying it. + +_Ferd_. His name, I pray thee. + +_Pem_. Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_.--What's he +Acquainted with my name? belike some one +Lov'd Pembroke, and supposing (wrongfully) +Me slaine by him, to satisfie for that +Observes this honor in my memory. +Be not thou, Ferdinand, ingratefull then, +But stand for Pembroke as this Knight for thee. + +_Pem_. What answer givest thou? shal I homage have? + +_Ferd_. Not for his sake thou nam'st, not for Ferdinand. +There liv'd a Knight exceld his petty fame +As far as costly Pearle the coursest Pebble,-- +An English Knight cald Pembroke: were his bones +Interred heere, I would confesse of him +Much more than thou requir'st, and be content +To hang both shield and sword upon his Hearse. + +_Pem_. How comes this stranger by my name? Belike +He was affected unto Ferdinand, +And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong) +Covets to make amends, or meanes to prove +If I imbrace him with unfayned love. +He shall not doubt of that.--Once more I say +Twas Ferdinand was the renowned Knight +Of all the world. + +_Ferd_. But I deny that saying, +Giving to Pembroke that preeminence. + +_Pem_. For Ferdinand my valour will I try. + +_Ferd_. In Pembrooks valour I will fight and die. + + [_Discover eche other in fighting_. + +_Pem_. Eyther I dreame or this is Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. My sight deludes me or stout Pembroke lyves. + +_Pem_. Thrice happy hour[143]! I do embrace my friend. + +_Ferd_. Welcome, oh welcome, Pembrok, to myne armes, +Whom I imagined death had tane from me. + +_Pem_. The like did I by Princely Ferdinand, +But that he lives my soule confounds with joy. + +_Ferd_. Tell me, deare friend, since our unlucky fight +Have you heard ought of my disdainfull Love? + +_Pem_. Of her and all the rest. Her Father lives: +This is his shield and this is great Navars, +This Rodoricks, [this] the Duke of Orleance, +And this malicious Burbons: all the which +I forc't from them to beautifie thy shrine. +But tis of Katharine thou desir'st to heare: +She likewise hath bin here; her flinty heart, +So much before inclined to cruelty, +Now waxeth tender: she no sooner saw +Thy picture here, but by heavens providence, +Or how I know not, she so doats on it +As I supposde she would a dyed for love. + +_Ferd_. Has then my shaddow and supposed death +Brought that to passe my living substance could not? + +_Pem_. It hath, and never Lady more enamour'd +Then now is Katharine of her Ferdinand. +I told her, and no more then truth I told, +A cunning Carver had cut out thy shape. +And whole proportion in white alablaster, +Which I intended here should be set up. +She earnestly entreated she might have +A sight of it and dayly be permitted +To deck thy tombe and statue with sweet flowers: +Shee's but even now departed to that end, +And will (I know) be quickly here agayne. +Now, for assurance I dissemble not, +Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone +Kneele here, thyself, and heare her pitious mone. + +_Ferd_. Content! I hold your counsell for the best; +Weele once conclude our sorrowes with a jest. + +_Pem_. Soft there's a cushen: nay, and you must be bare +And hold your hands up, as the maner is. + +_Ferd_. What if I held a book as if I pray'd? + +_Pem_. Twere best of all; and, now I think upon' +Here is a booke: so, keepe your countenance; +You must imagine now you are transformed. +Yonder she comes; in any case stir not. + + _Enter Katharine_. + +_Kath_. I feare I have detracted time too long +In my determinde service to my Love; +But Ile redeeme my fault with double care. +See where his statue is set up: kind knight, +For ever Katharine will record thy truth. + +_Pem_. How say you, Madam; ist not very like him! + +_Kath_. As like as if it were himselfe indeed. +And would to God my prayers might be heard, +That, as the image of Pigmalion once, +Life might descend into this sencelesse stone: +But that was faynd, as my desire is fond; +Relentlesse Death withholds my Ferdinand, +And no intreaty may recover him. +In token, then, I do repent my scorne +That I was cruell to so kind a friend, +Thou, the presenter of his absent person, +Receive these sweets; thy temples be adornd +With this fresh garland; thy white ivory hand +Boast of this ring, which, if thou wert alive, +Should bind our faythes up in a nuptiall knot: +But, for thou canst not be reviv'd agayne, +He dwell with thee in death, and, as my spirit +Mounts to the happy mansion of thy spirit, +So, to accompany thy shaddow here, +Ile turne my body to a shaddow, too, +And, kneeling thus, confront thy silent lookes +With my sad looks. This is the Instrument: +Now, Ferdinand, behold thy Katharine comes. + +_Ferd_. And she is welcome unto Ferdinand. + +_Pem_. Ile play the dark for both and say Amen. +Nay, muse not, madam: tis no sencelesse Image, +But the true essence of your wished Love. + +_Kath_. I am asham'd to looke him in the face. + +_Ferd_. Hide not those splendant lights: hereafter be +A constant wife; it shall suffice for me. + +_Kath_. Heaven cast her off if Katharine prove not so. + +_Pem_. Of that no more: now let us haste from hence +To quiet the dissension lately sprung +Betweene your parents. Philip, likewise gone +To be reveng'd on Burbons trechery, +Perhaps may stand in need of friendly ayd. +To him and them our vowes must next be payd. + +_Ferd_. What Pembrook counsels we consent unto. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Rodoricke and Philip_. + +_Rod_. Now whilest our Armies wearied with the heat +That the bright sunne casts from his midday throne, +Abstayne from bloudy intercourse of war, +He lead thee, Philip, unto Burbons Tent. + +_Phil_. Rodoricke, thou highly favourest me in this +And doubt not, if my complot take effect, +Ile make thee Duke of Burbon. + + _Enter Lewes, Flaunders, and Burbon_. + +_Rod_. Stay your speach; +Heere comes King Lewis. + +_Phil_. They can not know me, I am so disguisde. + +_Bur_. Follow my counsayle and immediately +Begin the Battayle. + +_Lew_. Why, the heat's [so] great +It burnes [us] in our Armour as we march. + +_Flaun_. It burnes the enemy as well as wee. + +_Bur_. It warmes our Souldiers spirits and makes them fire, +I had rather dye then, when my bloud is hot, +Be awde by counsell till it freeze like Ice: +He is no Souldier that for feare of heat +Will suffer victory to fly the field. + +_Rod_. My Lord of Burbon, ye are more hot then wise. + +_Bur_. Rodorick, me thinkes you are very peremptory. + +_Rod_. It is in zeale of the generall good. +Go to your Tent, refresh your unscorcht[144] lymmes; +There draw your battels modell, and as soone +As the coole winds have fand the burning Sunne +And made it tractable for travaylers, +Arme you and mount upon your barbed Steed, +Lead foorth your Souldiers and in good array +Charge bravely on the Army of our foe. + +_Lew_. The Duke of Orleance hath counseld well. +Ile in and recreate me in my tent. +Farewell, my Lord: when you resolve to fight, +Proclayme your meaning by a Canons mouth +And with a volley I will answere you. + + [_Exeunt Lewes and Flauuders_. + +_Bur_. If you will needs retyre, farewell, my Lord. +Ha, Rodoricke, are not we fine Polyticians +That have so quaintly wrought the king of Fraunce +Unto our faction that he threatens warre +Against the almost reconcilde Navar? + +_Rod_. But this is nothing to the actes weele do. +Come, come, my Lord, you trifle time with words: +Sit downe, sit downe, and make your warlike plot.-- +But wherefore stand these murderous Glaves so nye? + +_Phil_.--Touch them not, Roderick; prythee let them stand. + +_Bur_. Some paper, pen, and incke. + + _Enter Peter_. + +_Pet_. My Lord. + +_Bur_. Post to the Master Gunner +And bid him plant his demy culverings +Against the kings pavilion. + +_Peter_. Presently. + +_Bur_. But first bring pen and incke and paper straight. + + [_Peter sets pen, ink, &c., before Burbon, and exit_[145] + +Rodoricke, thou shalt assist mee in this plot. + +_Rod_. Do it your selfe, my Lord; I have a charge +Of souldiers that are very mutinous, +And long I dare not stay for feare my absence +Be cause of their revolt unto Navar. + +_Bur_. Then to your Souldiers: I will to my plot. + +_Phil_.--Away, my Lord, leave me unto the Duke. + +_Rod_.--Kill you the Duke (and after Ile kill thee). + [_Exit Rod_. + +_Bur_. This pen is stabbed and it will not write: +The incke that's in the standage[146] doth looke blacke, +This in my pen is turnd as red as bloud. + +_Phil_. The reason that the platforme[147] you would make +Must by this hand be written with thy bloud. + +_Bur_. Zounds, what art thou that threatens Burbon so? + +_Phil_. One that's as desperat-carelesse of his life +As thou art timorous and fearst to dye. + +_Bur_. Comest thou to kill me? + +_Phil_. If I should say no, +This weapon would condemne me, which I seyz'd +Of purpose, Burbon, to bereave thy life. + +_Bur_. Why, fond man, mad man, know'st thou what thou doest? + +_Phil_. I know it, Burbon, and I know besides +What thou wouldst say to daunt my resolution. + +_Bur_. What would I say? + +_Phil_. Why, that this place is death, +As being thy Tent, environ'd with thy slaves, +Where if I kill thee tis impossible +To scape with life: this, Burbon, thou wouldst say. +But Philip is not be mov'd with words. + +_Bur_. Philip! + +_Phil_. I, Philip, Bellamiraes Love, +Whose beauty, villayne, thou hast poysoned; +For which I have vow'd thy death, and thou shall dye. +Therefore betake you to what fence you will; +Amongst this bundle chuse one weapon forth +And like a worthy Duke prepare thy selfe +In knightly manner to defend thy life; +For I will fight with thee and kill thee, too, +Or thou shalt give an end unto my life. +But if thou call unto thy slaves for helpe, +Burbon, my sword shall nayle thee to the wall. +And thinke Prince Philip is a Prince indeed +To give thee this advantage for thy life. + +_Bur_. Boy, I will scourge your insolence with death. + +_Phil_. Come on. _Fight, and kill Burbon_. + +_Bur_. Oh, I am slayne. + + [_Enter Rodorick_.] + +_Rod_. Murder! murder! Burbon the Duke is slayne! + +_Phil_. Peace, Roderick, I am Philip thy deare friend. + +_Rod_. Thou art a counterfet, I know thee not. + +_Phil_. Didst not thou guide me unto Burbons Tent? + +_Rod_. I guide thee to the Tent? I know thee not. +What! murder! ho! will no man heare my voyce? + + _Enter Peter and 2 or 3 souldiers_. + +_Pet_. Yes, here are those [that] can heare well ynough. +Where is the murdered and the murderer? + +_Rod_. Peter, behold thy masters breathlesse truncke, +And there's Prince Philip that hath murdered him. + +_Pet_. To avoyd prolixity Ile kill him; yet first give me leave to +weepe for my master. + +_Rod_. First seyze the murderer and after weepe. + +_Phil_. He that first ventures to attach my life +Let him be sure he hath a life to spare, +For I will send one breathlesse to the grave. + +_Pet_. You that have nyne lives assault the gentleman. + +_Rod_. What, peasants! dare you not attach the slave? +Ile rayse the whole Campe but Ile apprehend him. +Alarum, drummes! Souldiers, incircle him, +And eyther apprehend or slay the wretch. + + _Enter Pembrooke and Ferdinand_. + +_Pem_. Tis princely Philip. Helpe to rescue him. + +_Rod_. What slaves are these that dare oppose themselves +In rescue of a murderer 'gainst an Host? + +_Ferd_. Such as will make thee, Roderick, fly for life. + +_Pet_. Zounds, men are mortall; to avoyd prolixity, +My lord of Orleance, your best course is flying, +And therein I will be your follower. + +_Rod_. Fly before three, and be thus strong? 'Twere madnesse. + +_Pem_. We trifle time; let's drive them from the Tent. + + _Alarum and drive away Peter and Rodoricke_. + +_Pem_. Live, worthy Philip; Pembrooke bids thee live, +That did suspect this complot at the tombe +When in the honour of Prince Ferdinand +You did resigne your shield. + +_Phil_. Th[e] Earle of Pembrooke! + +_Ferd_. And Ferdinand that loves thee as his soule. + +_Phil_. Two lives I owe my starres beside mine owne +In sending me two friends of such import. +Durst you adventure thorow the enemies Campe +And put your lives in danger to save mine? + +_Pem_. The rumour of the Duke of Burbons death +Hath so possest the Campe with admiration +That they regardlesse suffer all to passe. +Only this Roderick wakens them a little, +But cannot weane them from their wondring minds. + +_Phil_. That Roderick is a perfect villayne turn'd; +For though he guided me unto his Tent +And gave his liking that the Duke should dye, +Yet how the villayne cryed to murder me! +But come: in this confusion let's be gone, +Tis dangerous to abide in Burbons Tent. +Rodoricke, thou art the next must taste of death; +That taske once done, we shall with little payne +Our angry fathers reconcile agayne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Alarum. Enter Navar, Bowyer, Nod, Core, Souldiers, + [with] drum and colours_. + +_Nav_. The Alarum sounded in the enemies Campe; +Now for Navar and Fame stand to it, sirs. + +_Bow_. Hart, stand to it? heere's some of us knowes how to runne away +and they be put to it. Though wee have left our brave Generall, the +Earle of Pembrooke, yet here's Cavaliero Bowyer, Core and Nod, by Jesu, +sound cards: and Mahound and Termagant[148] come against us, weele fight +with them. Couragio, my hearts! S. George for the honour of England! + +_Nav_. The adverse part comes on; fight gallantly. + + _Enter Fraunce, Flaunders and Souldiers, with Drum and Colours_. + +_Lew_. Is false Navar so thirsty to drinke bloud +That he must joyne the Squadron of his troops +Before the signall of the battel's given? +Belike you thought to take us unpreparde. +No, king: our wrong hangs like a watch before us, +And makes us nomber every short-lyvd minute +Till your lives answere for our Daughters death. +Charge, brave spirits! Saint Denis now for Fraunce! + +_Nav_. Saint Denis for Navar! Alarum, Drums! + + _Alarum: they fight, Fraunce put to the worst; enter Rodorike + and Peter; the fight continued, and Navar driven in_. + +_Lew_. Navar and his weake forces make retire; +Pursue them, Sirs, the victorie is ours. + +_Rod_. Be like starv'd Lions 'mongst a heard of Beasts, +Ruthelesse and bloudy; slaughter[149] all you meete +Till proud Navar be slayn or kisse your feet. +Saint Denis! and cry murder through the host! + + _Alarum. Enter Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip_. + +_Pem_. He that steps forward with a murdring thought, +Marries him selfe to death. Fraunce, cease the fight: +They are Frenchmen you pursue, Frenchmen you should save: +Dig not for Traytors love your subjects graves. + +_Lew_. What franticke knights are those that dare oppose +Their single force against our multitudes? + +_Phil_. Those that wish you and Fraunce bright fames encrease, +So you would chase hence war and welcome peace. + +_Rod_. That was the Traytor that slew royall Burbon. + +_Pet_. Downe with the villaynes. + +_Rod_. Souldiers, seyze on him +And then pursue Navar with sudden death. + +_Ferd_. Ere the least hayre fall from his kingly head, +Rodorick, thy base trunck shall be butchered. + +_Pem_. Will you accept of peace? + +_Lew_. Follow Navar! + +_Pet_. Downe with that murderer! + +_Fer_. Zounds, then, in spight +Weele save Navar and chase you hence in fight. + +_All_. Ha, ha! + +_Pem_. Nay, smile not; though our number's few +Our great hearts tell us we shall conquere you. +Alarum and S. George! + + _Alarum: they fight. Enter Navar and his forces, + Fraunce chaste away_. + +_Nav_. Fraunce and his daunted forces gives us ground. +Charge, charge agayne, and we are Conquerours. + +_Phil_. Stand or ne're stirre agayne. + +_Nav_. What meane these knights? + +_Pem_. To stop your passage this way, great Navar. +I charge thee by the duty of a king, +Thy love to Justice and thy subjects lives, +You sound retreat and make a peace with Fraunce. + +_Nav_. A peace! and have the vantage of the day! + +_Bow_. That's a tricke by Jesu to mocke an Ape: wee'le none of that. + +_Nav_. Wee'le have no peace but what our swords can make. +Follow the chase. + +_Phil_. Are you growne insolent? +For one light puffe of fortune proves it so? +Nay, then our swords turn to your overthrow. + + _Alarum: they fight and drive in Navar_. + +_Fer_. That was my father that you fought against. + +_Phil_. You did as much to mine. + +_Pem_. Princes, agree: +Force cannot end this war, but policy. +Therefore disperse your selves, and let our Squires +With Trumpets in their mouthes sound lowd retreat +Where you perceive the fight most violent. +The strangenesse of which act will straight amaze; +When they shall heare both peace and war denounc'd, +And one selfe instant, they will soone retire +To know the issue. Princes, fall to worke, +Tis worke of charity; 'twould doe me good +If we could end this battell without bloud. + +_Fer_. I hope we shall: farewell, Ile to my charge. + +_Pem_. The like will Pembrooke. + +_Phil_. Philip is not last: +Yet, though I seeke the safety of my friends, +Rodorick shall lose his bloud e're this fight ends. + + _Alarum; excursions. Enter Peter leading Thomasin_. + +_Pet_. Struggle not, strive not; your sweete heart Bowyer cannot save +you. Without prolixity you must goe with mee. + +_Tho_. Helpe, helpe. + +_Pet_. And the God of warre come in thy defence my humour is to kill him. +Come away. + + _Enter Bowyer_. + +_Bow_. By Jesu, and you go this way you must pay custom. Zounds, you +pick-hatch[150] Cavaliero petticote-monger, can you find time to be +catching _Thomasin_? come, deliver, or by Zenacrib & the life of +king Charlimayne, Ile thrash your coxcombe as they doe hennes at +Shrovetyde[151]. No, will you not doe, you Tan-fat? Zounds, then have +at you. + + _They fight, Bowyer hath the wench, rescued by Fraunce, + recovered by Navar. Philip meetes Rodorick, rescued by + Peter. Retreat is sounded, the enemies begin to retire, + Rodorick chased by Philip. Enter at severall doores, + after retreate sounded, Pembrooke and Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. Are the Kings severd? will they bow to peace? + +_Pemb_. Peace is a welcome ghest unto their hearts, +But Rodoricke (like a greedy envious churle +Fearing to spend his wealth) still keeps them backe. +Tis he exasperates the Princes hate, +And when our Trumpets call them to retyre +He with warres clangor sets them on agayne. +Unless he be remoov'd our labour's lost. + +_Ferd_. It shall not, for Ile seek him through the Host +And with this sword pare off the Traytors head. + +_Pem_. Doe, and Ile scoure these ranks: if Pembroks eye +Encounters his, he meets his Tragedy. + + _Alarum. Enter Philip pursuing Rodoricke_. + +_Phil_. Stay, warlike friends, and ayd me in revenge. + +_Ferd_. That is Rodoricke. + +_Pem_. Heere's the Traytor, strike him downe. + +_Phil_. Who lifts his arme at him strikes at my brest. + +_Rod_. Why have you thus ring'd me about with swords? + +_Phil_. To shew thee thou must dye. + +_Rod_. What have I done +That thus you labour my destruction? + +_Pem_. Thou wer't a party in all Burbons wrongs. + +_Ferd_. Falsely term'd Ferdinand a Ravisher. + +_Pem_. Set discord 'twixt these kings. + +_Phil_. Practised my death. + +_Pem_. Villayne for this our swords shall stop thy breath. + +_Ferd_. Stand not to argue, let's all runne at him. + +_Phil_. Now as you love my love or prize mine honour, +Touch not the Traytor; he is Philips foe, +And none but I must work his overthrow. +Thrice in the battell he was rescued from me, +But now hee's fallen into the Lyons paw +From whence the whole world cannot ransome him. +Preservers of my life, heroick friends, +Be you my safety; keepe the souldyers off, +Whilst in the midst by fayre and equall fight +I send this Traytor to eternal night. + +_Ferd_. By heaven agreed. + +_Pem_. Heere Pembrooke takes his stand: +Come Fraunce and all the world, I will not start +Till Philips knightly sword pierce Rodoricks hart. + +_Rod_. Accurst, I am betrayd, incompast round; +Now lyfe and hope and state must kisse the ground. + +_Phil_. Rodorick, thou seest, all wayes are stopt to flie; +Be desperat then, fight bravely, and so die. + + _Alarum: they fight. Enter to Pembrooke Navar, + Bowyer, and Souldiers: to Ferdinand Fraunce, + Flaunders, and Souldiers: they fight and keepe + them backe. Rodoricke would scape; still kept in + the midst, and kild by Philip_. + +_Phil_. Now are his trecheries repaid with death. +Philip and Pembrooke, sound your retreats +With better hope; in him all hatred ends: +The kings will now love peace and soone be friends. + + _Exeunt. Enter Peter wounded, Bowyer following_. + +_Bow_. Zounds, never runne for the matter; a scratcht face can not serve +your turne, we must have bloudy noses. Stand on your gard; and I do not +make haggasse puddings of your guttes, Ile never dominier in the long +Alleyes agayne. + +_Pet_. Cymnel, Ile crack you for this. Ile teach you to deale with Peter +de Lions, and that without prolixitie. + +_Bow_. Do; have at you in earnest. S. George, you rogue! + + _Alarum; fight. Bowyer kills him_. + +_Bow_. So, there's for your prolixities, there's for Thomasin. The +Thornbackly slave! and he were made of anything but gristles, I am a +pumpian. 'Shart he had no mettle in him; yet how the villayne +crak't[152] and dominierd when he was living: ah, sirra, never gryn for +the matter, tis Captayne Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetst the +great Devill, commend me to him and say I sent him thee for a new years +gift. And there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a blood-sucker and as +notable a coward as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house, he carryes my +marke about him. If Dicke Bowyer be not writ a bountifull benefactor in +hell for my good deeds in sending thither such Cannibals, I am a rabbit +sucker[153]: yet I scorne to vaunt of my deeds, too. They sound a +retreat. Farewell, Peter, and learne hereafter what it is to be rivall +to an English gentleman, Cavaliero Bowyer, one of the nine worthyes. + + _A retreyt. Enter at one dore Fraunce, Flaunders, and + Souldiers: at the other dore Navar, Bowyer and Souldiers_. + +_Lew_. Navar, why have you sounded a retreyt? +Will your proud heart decline and call us lord? + +_Nav_. We thought by the faynt language of your drums +Fraunce would have knowne his errour and beg'd peace. + +_Lew_. Fraunce beg a peace! + +_Nav_. Navar call you his Lord! + +_Flan_. Why did you cease the fight and sound retreat. + +_Bow_. Not we by this beard, not we by the life of Pharo[154]. + +_Nav_. Your Trumpets, guided by your faynting breath, +Dehorted us from war and sounded peace. + +_Lew_. Navar derides us. + +_Nav_. Fraunce, tis you that doo't. + +_Lew_. Sound war and bravely let us once more too't. + + _Enter in the Middest Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip_. + +_Pem_. Kings of Navar and Fraunce, why doe you thus +With civill butchery wound this blessed land, +Which like a mother from her melting eyes +Sheds crimson teares to see you enemyes? +Lewes of Fraunce, wherein hath great Navar +Dangerd your state that you should prosecute +War with her largest ruine? how hath Fraunce +Sowed such inveterate hate within your brest +That to confound him you will undergoe +The orphans curse, the widdowes teares and cries +Whose husbands in these warres have lost their lives? +Ere you contend discourse your grievances. + +_Lew_. False Ferdinand, his sonne, ravisht our child. + +_Ferd_. Now by my knighthood, honor, and this gage, +Fraunce, Ile approve you wrong that Ferdinand. + +_Phil_. Who can accuse him? + +_Lew_. That did Rodorick. + +_Pem_. That Traytor for a deed so false, so foule, +Hath answerd it by this even with his soule. + +_Nav_. Our sonne and valours bloome, th[e] English Pembrooke, +By Lewes treachery were butchered. + +_Phil_. Were the whole world joynd in so false a thing, +Alone Ide combat all and cleere the King. + +_Pem_. Fraunce never had designe in their two deaths. + +_Nav_. He leagu'd with Burbon that destroyd my child. + +_Lew_. He poysoned her deservedly. + +_Phil_. That deed of shame +Cut off his life and raced out Burbons name. + +_Lew_. His death shalbe thy death, for thy hand slue him. + +_Nav_. This other in the battell twice to day +Made us retire. Fraunce, shall we joyne in league +Till we have veng'd our malice on these knights? + +_Lew_. Navar, agreed. Souldiers, this kyld your Lords. + +_Nav_. And this our fame. Let's mangle them with swords. + +_Pem_. Take truce a while with rage: heare what we'le urge. +This knight slew Burbon, this inforst you fly; +Therefore you hate them and for hate they die. +Since then true vertue is disfigured, +Desert trod downe, and their heroick worth +In justice doomd on Traytors merits Death, +Behold these two, which thousands could not daunt, +But your ingratitude, on bended knee +Yeeld up their swoords to bide your tyranny. +'Twas he kild Burbon; if you love him dead, +Shew it by paring off this valiant head: +Do you the like. To this revenge apace: +They feare not threats, and scorne to beg for grace. + +_Lew_. And they shall find none. + +_Nav_. Knights, tryumph in death: +We are your headesmen, kings shall stop your breath. + + _They take off their helmets_. + +_Lew_. Philip, my sonne! + +_Nav_. Young Ferdinand my joy! + +_Pem_. Call them not sonnes, whom you would fayne destroy. + +_Nav_. Hold not our age too long in deepe suspect. +Art thou [my] Ferdinand? + +_Lew_. And thou [my] Philip? + +_Ferd_. We are the friendly sonnes of adverse parents, +Your long lost children: though supposed slayne, +We live and come to joy your age agayne. + +_Nav_. Welcome all earthly blisse. + +_Lew_. Welcome, deare child; +Thy presence halfe our sorrow hath exil'd. + +_Pem_. How soon this Scene is changd! those that even now +Were sworne warres servants now to peace do bow: +Then, Pembrooke, strive to make their joys more full. +See, kingly father to that princely sonne, +Pembrooke, the hated murderer of his friend, +Pembrooke, that did devide thee from his sight +And cut so many passages of death +In his indeared bosome, humbly thus +Forgets his honour and from your hye hand +Invokes revenge for wounding Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. Still he surmounts me in an honour'd love. +Rise, friend, or if thou striv'st to have the world, +In me as in a glasse see a false friend. +Behold, I kneele and here proclayme to all +My friendship's broke but thine substantiall. + +_Nav_. Model of vertue, honord Pembroks Earle, +Rise in as deare regard as Ferdinand. +Oh had I Bellamira once in hold, +Age would turne youth & I should ne're be old. + +_Lew_. Had I my Katharina once agayne +Our joy were then stretcht to the highest strayne: +But she was ravisht and then murthered. + +_Phil_. Beare not that hard opinion: Rodoricks toung +Slaundred that Prince and did his vertue wrong. + +_Pem_. Lewis of Fraunce, heare what an English Earle +Speaks in the front and view of all thy Host. +If ever Ferdinand staynd Katharines honour +I was a party: yet in all your Campe +Who dares step forth and call me ravisher? +No, Fraunce: know Pembroke is an Englishman +Highly deriv'd, yet higher in my thoughts; +And for to register mine acts in brasse, +Which all-devouring time shall ne're race out, +Have I through all the Courts of Christendome +In knightly tryall prov'd my vertue sound, +Raisd England's fame aloft; and shall I now +In her next continent, her neighbour Realme, +Fraunce, on whose bosome I may stand and see +That blessed soyle that bred and fostred me, +Soyle all my late got honour to consent +Unto a royall Princes ravishment? +Ide sooner from a mountayne cast my selfe, +Or from a hungry Lyon teare his prey, +Then dare to act a deed so infamous. + + _Enter Katharina_. + +But words are ayre. Lewis, behold this face: +This prooves our honour cleere from all disgrace. + +_Lew_. My Katharine! + +_Phil_. My deare Sister! + +_Fer_. My fayre Love! + +_Pem_. See, Princes, loves effect: she flies your hand +To live imbrac't with her deare Ferdinand. + +_Lew_. And heaven forbid that we should sunder them. +Navar, reach me thy hand: grym war is fled +And peace shall end the same in a nuptiall bed. +Sonne Philip, ratify your sisters choyce. + +_Phil_. Even with my soule; for ever live you blest. +Oh, Bellamira, had not cursed Burbon +For beauty robd thy cheeks with leprosie, +Hadst then but stayd with me, as is their state, +So had bin mine, happy and fortunate. + + _Enter Clowne attyred like a Gentleman, Bellamira + following with a Scarfe on her face_. + +_Clow_. By your leave, sweet blouds: may a Gentleman or so deceyve two +or three ounces of words in this assembly? + +_Lew_. You may. + +_Clow_. Is there not a young Kings sonne amongst you, who treading the +steps of his father is called Philip. + +_Phil_. I am the man thou seekst. + +_Clow_. Then the old saying is verified, He that seeks shall find. Heere +is a poore kinswoman of mine would desire some private conference with +you, or so. + +_Phil_. With me?--whom see I? Bellamira! + +_Nav_. Daughter! + +_Phil_. Do not deride my woes; speake, speake, I pray. + +_Pem_. Looke not so strange; it is thy lovely Love +Thus manag'd to approve thy constancy. +Embrace her then: and now Navar and Fraunce, +Here end our strife and let all hatred fall +And turne this warre to Hymens festivall. + +_Nav_. This Pembrooks counsell we subscribe unto. + +_Lew_. The like doth Fraunce. Lovers, imbrace your loves +And, Captaines, joyne your bands; mix power with power +And let those swords, which late were drawne for death, +Sleepe in their sheaths. You, worthy Pembrooke[155], +And all your followers, shall receyve our favours +In plenteous largesse. So, set on to Court; +Sound Drums and Trumpets, deafe the ayre with cryes, +And fill eche subjects heart with joyes increase +T'applaud our childrens love and this dayes peace. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] 4tos. _Will_. + +[2] References to the lapwing's subtlety are very common. Cf. Shakesp., +_Measure for Measure_, i. 4, 32, &c. + +[3] An old game at cards; it is supposed to have resembled cribbage. + +[4] "To make ready," meaning "to dress," is a very common expression in +old authors. + +[5] An obvious reference to Queen Elizabeth. + +[6] So Elbow:--"My wife, Sir, whom I _detest_ before heaven and your +honour," &c. (_M. for M_., II. 1). + +[7] Ovid, Metamorph. I. 1. + +[8] People who walk with _mincing_ steps. I have not met the word +elsewhere. (Cf. dancitive, p. 31.) + +[9] A beggar (Ital. besogno) Vid. Dyce's Glossary under "Besonian". + +[10] "Knight of the post" was the name given to those who gained their +living by giving false evidence at law-courts. Nares quotes from Nash's +"Pierce Pennilesse":--"A knight of the post, quoth he, for so I am +tearmed: a fellow that will swear any thing for twelve pence." + +[11] Cf. Lear, iii. 2. _Vaunt-curriors_ to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts. +(First folio.) + +[12] "Division" was a technical term in music for "the running a simple +strain into a great variety of shorter notes to the same modulation" +(Nares). The "plain song" was the simple air without variations. + +[13] Sir Thomas Overbury says, in his character of 'A very woman,' that +'her lightnesse gets her to swim at top of the table, where her wee +little finger bewraies carving'. + +[14] 4tos. Ladies. + +[15] 4tos. Eternesses. + +[16] To do anything with 'a wet finger' is to do it easily. 'It seems +not very improbable that it alluded to the vulgar and very inelegant +custom of wetting the finger to turn over a book with more +ease.'--_Nares_. + +[17] Ov. Metam. I., ll. 322-23. + +[18] Ed. 1606, one; ed. 1636, on. + +[19] The 1606 ed. marks "Exit" Penelope. + +[20] Here Momford retires to the back of the stage, where Clarence is +waiting. The 4tos. mark "Exit." I thought the lines "_Mens est_," etc., +were Horace's, but cannot find them. "Menternque" destroys sense and +metre. An obvious correction would be "et nomen." + +[21] "_Falsus_ honos juvat, _et_ mendax infamia terret + Quem, nisi mendosum et medicandum." + Hor. Ep. l. 16, ll. 39, 40. + +[22] A card that cools a player's courage (I. Hy. VI., v. 3, 1. 83, &c.). + +[23] The "Family of Love" was the name given to a fanatical sect; David +George, of Delph (obiit 1556), was the founder. + +[24] The reference is to the visit of the Maréchal de Biron and his +suite in the autumn of 1601. + +[25] 4tos. _Foul_. + +[26] Pick-thatcht, ed. 1606. + +[27] A term in card-playing; to "vie" was to cover a stake. + +[28] The name of a famous bear. Cf. Epigrams by J. D.-- + + "Leaving old Plowden, Dyer and Brooke alone, + To see old Harry Hankes and Sacarson." + +Master Slender ("Merry Wives," I. 1) told Anne Page: "I have seen +Sackarson loose twenty times and have taken him by the chain." + +[29] 4tos. _King_. + +[30] The reference is, I suppose, to Roger Bacon's "Libellus de +retardandis Senectutis accidentibus et de sensibus conservandis. +Oxoniae, 1590." + +[31] Quy. inframed (F.G. Fleay). + +[32] Ed. 1636, "state." + +[33] Ed. 1636 makes sad work of the text here:-- + + "_Merry_ clad in inke, + Is but a _manner_" &c. + +[34] Quy. thridlesse (sc. that cannot be pierced). Mr. Fleay suggests +"rimelesse." + +[35] Ed. 1636 reads "antheame." + +[36] "White-boy" was a common term of endearment for a favourite son. + +[37] Quy., hot. + +[38] i.e., companions. + +[39] Doubtless the writer was thinking of Dogberry's "Comparisons are +odorous." + +[40] A pun is intended. "Cast of merlins" = a flight of merlins (small +hawks); and "cast-of" = cast-off. + +[41] "Foisting-hound." A small lap-dog with an evil smell, "Catellus +graveolens." + +[42] The 'clap-dish' which beggars used to beat in order to attract the +attention of the charitable. + +[43] Both quartos give "all." + +[44] Ovid, Metam., I., 523. + +[45] Ed. 1606: _Antevenit sortem moribus_. + +[46] 4tos. weend. + +[47] "That most lovely and fervid of all imaginative +panegyrics."--Swinburne's "Study of Shakespeare," p. 141. + +[48] "Dr. Dodypoll" is a very rare play, to be found only in the +libraries of wealthy collectors. The copy in the library of the British +Museum is catalogued as "imperfect; wanting Sig. A 2"; but it +corresponds in all respects with Mr. Huth's. Perhaps an "Address to the +Reader," or a "Dedication" was cancelled. + +[49] Before the reader goes further, let him turn to Sonnet xvii. in Mr. +Swinburne's series of "Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets." + +[50] The author was doubtless thinking of _Romeo and Juliet_, iii. 2:-- + + "And when he shall die, + Take him and cut him out in little stars, + And he will make the face of heaven so fine, + That all the world will be in love with night, + And pay no worship to the garish sun." + +[51] 4to. Form. + +[52] 4to. adorning. Possibly there is the same confusion in _Antony and +Cleopatra_, ii. 2:--"And made their bends adornings." + +[53] See notes of the commentators on _Hamlet_, i. 1, 165, "Then no +planets strike." + +[54] See the commentators on _As You Like It_, iii. 2. "I was never so +be-rhymed since Pythagoras's time that I was an Irish rat." A short time +ago the subject of "rhyming rats to death" was discussed anew in "Notes +and Queries." + +[55] Qto. cockfromb in cony. The word "incony" (meaning sweet, delicate) +occurs twice in _Love's Labour Lost_. Its derivation is uncertain. + +[56] 4to. With. + +[57] This word is found in Holland's "Ammianus" and Harrington's +"Epigrams" (see Nares' "Glossary," ed. Halliwell). A similar compound +(of more common occurrence) is "smell-smock." + +[58] The reader will remember the punning lines in 3 _Henry VI_., +v. 1:-- + + "Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, + That taught his son the office of a fowl! + And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd." + +[59] 4to. Wilt it. + +[60] 4to. _Flor_. + +[61] A perfume-ball worn round the neck or carried in the pocket. + +[62] The trials of the Scotch witches in 1590 (for practising to +shipwreck James VI. on his return with his bride from Denmark) were too +horrible to be soon forgotten. + +[63] 4to Ape. + +[64] Quy. cliffe. + +[65] I suspect that we should read-- + + "What rock hath bred this savage-minded man + That such true love in such rare beautie _shuns_?" + +[66] 4to. clime. + +[67] Quy. lead. + +[68] 4to. _Alp_. + +[69] Vide note on vol. I, p. 117. + +[70] The direction in the 4to is "_Enter Flores and Homer_!" + +[71] Vide note [16]. + +[72] 4to. craines. + +[73] Compare _Midsummer Nights Dream_, ii. 1, 15: "And hang a pearl on +every cowslip's ear." + +[74] 4to. where. + +[75] Not marked in the 4to. + +[76] 4to. rake. + +[77] 4to. Sorrowed tired. + +[78] The 4to prints the lines thus:-- + + "Where since he found you not, + He asked of me the place of your abode,-- + And heere I have brought him?" + +In other passages I have restored the metre silently. + +[79] Qto. visition. + +[80] I regret to say that Mr. Fleay was misled by a mistake of mine. In +my first hasty reading of the play I took the long double "s" to be a +double "f": the character is "La Busse." + +[81] Mr. C.H. Herford, to whom I showed the MS., writes as follows:-- +"The first two words make it highly probable that the whole inscription +is, like them, in Italian. In that case the first two Greek letters give +very easily the word 'fideltà' (=_phi, delta_), which combines naturally +with the _nella_. The second part is more difficult, but perhaps not +hopeless. [Greek: fnr] may, perhaps be read _phi ny_ (as Latinised +spelling of [Greek: nu]), _rô_, or finirô. Then, for the 'La B.,' suppose +that the words form, as emblems often do, a rhymed couplet; then 'B.' +would stand for Beltà, and naturally fall in with 'la.' The whole would +then read-- + + '_Nella fideltà_, + Finiro la Beltà. + +This does not seem to me very excellent Italian, but we need not suppose +the author was necessarily a good scholar; and in that case we might +extract from it the fairly good sense: 'I will make fidelity the end +(the accomplishment) of beauty.'" This explanation seems to me very +satisfactory. + +["'La Bussa' suits my explanation as well as, if not better than 'La +Buffa.' The meaning now is, 'I will end my _task_ faithfully, with an +equivoque on 'I will end _La Busse_, or the play containing him as a +character, faithfully.' There is no shadow of reason for supposing a +rhyme, or for Field's thinking that any reader would interpret La B. by +_la beltà_. Moreover no other name but Field's out of the 200 known +names of dramatic writers anterior to 1640, can be found in the letters. +There are other works of Field than those commonly attributed to him +still extant, as will be seen in a forthcoming paper of mine." +--F.G. FLEAY.] + +[82] So the MS., but I suspect that we should read "ruyne," which gives +better sense and better metre. + +[83] The next line, as in many instances, has been cut away at the foot +of the page. + +[84] "The _close contriver_ of all harms."--Macbeth, iii. 5. + +[85] "The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, + And 'gins to pale his _uneffectual fire_."--Hamlet, i. 5. + +[86] "Blacke and blewe," i.e., first as a kitchen-drudge and afterwards +as a personal attendant. Blue was the livery of serving-men. + +[87] It is not always easy to distinguish between final "s" and "e" in +the MS. I printed "blesseing_e_" in the Appendix to vol. II. + +[88] Devices on shields. + +[89] A baser sort of hawk (kestrel). + +[90] A word before or after "thys" seems wanted to complete the line: +"yet, _Richard_, thys;" or, "yet thys disgrace." + +[91] Gervase Markham in the Second Part (cap. vi.) of the "English +Husbandman" gives the following explanation of the term +_plashing_.--"This plashing is a halfe cutting or deviding of the quicke +growth, almost to the outward barke, and then laying it orderly in a +sloape manner, as you see a cunning hedger lay a dead hedge, and then +with the smaller and more plyant branches to wreathe and binde in the +tops, making a fence as strong as a wall, for the root which is more +then halfe cut in sunder, putting forth new branches which runne and +entangle themselves amongst the old stockes, doe so thicken and fortifie +the Hedge that it is against the force of beasts impregnable" (ed. 1635, +pp. 68-9). + +[92] The first five lines of this speech are crossed through in the MS. + +[93] In the MS. "reverend prelats" is crossed out and "preists" written +above. To make sure that the correction was understood, the author or +reviser has written in the left-hand margin, "read preists." + +[94] i.e., star. + +[95] "Brawl" was the name of a dance. + +[96] Old terms in the art of fencing. + +[97] In Halliwell's "Nares" two instances of the transitive use of stoop +("to lower, humiliate") are given, and _both are from Chapman_. + +[98] On the upper stage, a balcony raised a few feet from the ground. +Cf. stage-direction in Day's _Humour out of Breath_, iv. 3. "_Enter +Aspero, like Hortensio, Florimell, and Assistance on the upper stage_." +Later in the same scene: "_They renew Blind mans Buff on the Lower +stage_." See also Dyce's note on Middleton's _Family of Love_, i. 3. + +[99] A correction in the MS. for _Musquett_. + +[100] In the Appendix to Vol. II. I printed "misse"; and so one would +naturally read the word before becoming thoroughly acquainted with the +handwriting. + +[101] The words "so begett" are repeated in the MS. + +[102] i.e. prisons. + +[103] MS. good. + +[104] The expression "Fool's paradise" was common long before Milton +used it. A writer in _Notes and Queries_ (Jan. 7, 1882) gives instances +of its occurrence in Udall's "Apophthegmes of Erasmus," 1542. I have met +it in Bullein's "Dialogue against the Fever Pestilence," 1564. + +[105] For the spelling cf., Vol. ii. pp. 139 (l. 14), 179 (l. 12). +"Diety" for "deity" is not uncommon in print as well as MS.; cf., +Saltonstall's translation of Ovid's "Ars Amoris," 1639, p. 14:-- + + "Oft pray'd she to the gods, but all in vaine, + To appease their _Dieties_ with blood of beasts thus slaine." + +[106] In the MS. these lines are scored through. + +[107] The juxtaposition of this anagram with the preceding motto (which +did not appear in the Appendix to Vol. ii.) strongly confirms my +interpretation of La B. as _la bussa_; for the anagram is a kind of +paraphrase on the motto, and should be read doubly in this way: +Natanièle Field, il fabro, Nella fideltà finiro la Bussa. I, Nathaniel +Field, the author will finish the work (_terminat auctor opus_) +faithfully (i.e., at the time appointed, _terminat hora diem_). +--F.G. Fleay. + +["Terminat hora" &c. or some similar tag, is frequently found at the end +of old plays. I cannot see that Mr. Fleay's interpretation is strongly +confirmed,--or affected at all,--by the presence of the motto.] + +[108] See Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 220:--"Lent unto Thomas +Downton the 4 of maye 1602 to bye a boocke of harye Cheattell and Mr. +Smyth called the Love partes frenship the some of" ... ... + +[109] _King John_, i. 2.--"And now instead of bullets _wrapt in fire_." + +[110] Another form of the apologetical expression "save-reverence." + +[111] i.e. cheated, cozened. + +[112] An echo from "King John," I. 2:-- + + "And now instead of _bullets wrapt in fire_ + To make a shaking fever of your walls," &c. + +[113] A common proverbial expression. The dish is the wooden "clap-dish" +on which beggars clattered to attract attention. + +[114] I should prefer "true heart his loyalty"--for the metre's sake. + +[115] 4to. staffe. + +[116] 4to. strayne. + +[117] 4to. his passions. + +[118] "A corrupt oath, the origin of which is obscure and not worth +inquiring."--Nares. + +[119] The author certainly had in his mind Falstaff's puns on the names +of the recruits, Mouldy, Shadow, &c. (ii. _Henry IV_. iii. 2). + +[120] An extemporal play by the famous Richard Tarleton. The "plat" is +preserved at Dulwich College. See Collier's "Hist. of Dramatic Poetry," +iii. 394 (first edition). + +[121] So the 4to, but I should prefer "So I have discharg'd myselfe of +these hot-shots." The term "hot-shot" seems to have been originally +applied to sharp-shooters. + +[122] i.e., maid: an East-Anglian usage of the word "mother." See +Forby's "Vocabulary of East Anglia." "Mauther" is the commoner form +(found in Ben Jonson and others), but "mother" occurs in Chettle and +Day's _Blind Beggar_ and elsewhere. + +[123] I find this expression of feminine impatience in Dekker's _Honest +Whore_ (Dramatic Works, ii. 26):--"_Marry muffe_, sir, are you growne so +dainty!" + +[124] Let me understand you. The expression is of constant occurrence. + +[125] A term of contempt like "pilchard" and "poor John." "Haberdine" +was the name for an inferior kind of cod used for salting. + +[126] So Pistol, "A foutre for the world, and worldlings base!" +"A foutre for thine office!" ii. _Henry IV_. v. 3. + +[127] Verjuice was made by pounding crab-apples. + +[128] Kite. + +[129] Dingy. "Russet" or "russeting" was the name of the coarse brown +dress worn by shepherds. + +[130] In _Henry V_., iv. 1, Pistol accosts the king with "Che vous la?" +according to the first folio. Modern editors correct the intentional +blunder. + +[131] To "outface with a card of ten" was just what we mean by +"browbeat." The expression (which is very common) was no doubt drawn +from the game of primero. + +[132] Old spelling of "pumpkin." + +[133] The officer of lowest rank (now called "lance corporal"). + +[134] _Quart d'écu_. + +[135] Cf. Day's _Ile of Guls_, ii. 2:-- + + "But forresters, like images, set forth + The tyrannie of greatness without pittie." + +Everybody remembers Jaques' moralising in _As You Like It_, ii. 1. + +[136] Cf. Day's _Humour out of Breath_, I. 2:--"Deceive the _watry +subjects_." + +[137] To "kill with kindness" was a proverbial saying. + +[138] A falconer's term: to flap the wings when preparing for flight. + +[139] A giant who was conquered by Sir Bevis of Southampton. See notes +of the commentators on _2 Henry VI_., ii. 3: "Therefore, Peter, have at +thee with a downright blow, as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart." + +[140] i.e., a vain boaster. "Puckfist" is the fungus commonly known as +"puff-ball." + +[141] "Carbonade. A carbonado, a _rasher on the coals_."--COTGRAVE. + +[142] Cf. _Antony and Cleopatra_, i. 3:-- + + "Upon your sword sit laurel victory." + +The form of expression is common. Cf. _Knight of Malta_, iv. 2 +(Fletcher's portion):-- + + "Art thou a knight? did ever on that sword + The Christian cause sit nobly?" + +I make this note because I find Mr. G.C. Macaulay, in his interesting +"Study of Francis Beaumont," choosing the words, "Victory sits on his +sword" (_Maid's Tragedy_, i. 1), as one of the "special passages which +suggest imitation, conscious or unconscious," of Shakespeare. + +[143] 4to. honord. The correction (which would occur to most readers) is +made by Dyce on the fly-leaf of his copy in the Dyce and Forster +Library. + +[144] If we retain "unscorcht" we must suppose the construction to be +proleptic. But quy. "sun-scorcht." + +[145] The stage-direction is my own. + +[146] Ink-stand (more commonly "standish"). + +[147] Plan, design. Cf. _Arden of Feversham_, ii. 1. "And I will lay the +_platform_ of his death." + +[148] "Termagant" or "Trivigant" is often coupled with "Mahound." Cf. +"Faery Queene," vi. 7. (47):-- + + "And oftentimes by Termagant and Mahound swore." + +Our ancestors were not accustomed to draw fine distinctions. They +regarded Mohammedans as heathens, and Termagant and Mahound as false +gods. + +[149] 4to. Ruthelesse and bloudy slaughters. + +[150] "Pickt-hatch" was a notorious brothel in or near Turnbull Street. + +[151] See Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes," p. 212 (ed. 1801). + +[152] Swaggered, crowed. + +[153] i.e. sucking rabbit. So Falstaff,--"Hang me up by the heels for +a _rabbit sucker_" (I _Henry IV_., ii. 4). + +[154] A variation of Bobadil's oath "By the foot of Pharaoh." + +[155] For the sake of the metre I should like to read "You, Pembrooke, +worthy knight." + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Old English Plays, +Vol. III, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 10734-8.txt or 10734-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/7/3/10734/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10734-8.zip b/old/10734-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..87d0752 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10734-8.zip diff --git a/old/10734.txt b/old/10734.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..00bc8aa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10734.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14782 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III + +Author: Various + +Release Date: January 17, 2004 [EBook #10734] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS; VOL. III + +In Four Volumes + + +Edited by + +A.H. BULLEN + + +1882-1889. + + + + +CONTENTS: + +Preface +Sir Gyles Goosecappe +The Wisdome of Dr. Dodypoll +The Distracted Emperor +The Tryall of Chevalry +Footnotes + + + + +PREFACE. + + +I have not been able to give in the present volume the unpublished play +of Heywood's to which I referred in the Preface to Vol. I. When I came +to transcribe the play, I found myself baffled by the villanous scrawl. +But I hope that, with the assistance of some expert in old handwriting, +I may succeed in procuring an accurate transcript of the piece for the +fourth volume. + +One of the plays here presented to the reader is printed for the first +time, and the others have not been reprinted. I desire to thank ALFRED +HENRY HUTH, Esq., for the loan of books from his magnificent collection. +It is pleasant to acknowledge an obligation when the favour has been +bestowed courteously and ungrudgingly. To my friend F.G. FLEAY, Esq., I +cannnot adequately express my gratitude for the great trouble that he +has taken in reading all the proof-sheets, and for his many valuable +suggestions. Portions of the former volume were not seen by him in the +proof, and to this cause must be attributed the presence of some slight +but annoying misprints. One serious fault, not a misprint, occurs in the +first scene of the first Act of _Barnavelt's Tragedy_ (p. 213). In the +margin of the corrected proof, opposite the lines, + + "And you shall find that the desire of glory + Was the last frailty wise men ere putt of," + +I wrote + + "That last infirmity of noble minds," + +a [mis]quotation from _Lycidas_. The words were written in pencil and +enclosed in brackets. I was merely drawing Mr. FLEAY'S attention to the +similarity of expression between Milton's words and the playwright's; +but by some unlucky chance my marginal pencilling was imported into the +text. I now implore the reader to expunge the line. On p. 116, l. 12 (in +the same volume), for _with_ read _witt_; p. 125 l. 2, for _He_ read +_Ile_; p. 128, l. 18, for _pardue_ read _perdue_; p. 232, for _Is_ read +_In_; p. 272, l. 3, for _baste_ read _haste_; p. 336, l. 6, the speaker +should evidently be not _Do_. (the reading of the MS.) but _Sis_., and +_noble Sir Richard_ should be _noble Sir Francis_; p. 422, l. 12, del. +comma between _Gaston_ and _Paris_. Some literal errors may, perhaps, +still have escaped me, but such words as _anottomye_ for _anatomy_, or +_dietie_ for _deity_ must not be classed as misprints. They are +recognised though erroneous forms, and instances of their occurrence +will be given in the Index to Vol. IV. + +5, WILLOW ROAD, HAMPSTEAD, N.W. +January 24, 1884. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE. + + +This clever, though somewhat tedious, comedy was published anonymously +in 1606. There is no known dramatic writer of that date to whom it could +be assigned with any great degree of probability. The comic portion +shows clearly the influence of Ben Jonson, and there is much to remind +one of Lyly's court-comedies. In the serious scenes the philosophising +and moralising, at one time expressed in language of inarticulate +obscurity and at another attaining clear and dignified utterance, +suggest a study of Chapman. The unknown writer might have taken as his +motto a passage in the dedication of Ovid's _Banquet of Sense_:-- +"Obscurity in affection of words and indigested conceits is pedantical +and childish; but where it shroudeth itself in the heart of his subject, +uttered with fitness of figure and expressive epithets, with that +darkness will I still labour to be shrouded." Chapman's _Gentleman +Usher_ was published in the same year as _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; and I +venture to think that in a passage of Act III., Scene II., our author +had in his mind the exquisite scene between the wounded Strozza and his +wife Cynanche. In Strozza's discourse on the joys of marriage occur +these lines:-- + + "If he lament she melts herselfe in teares; + If he be glad she triumphs; if he stirre + She moon's his way: in all things his _sweete Ape_." + +The charming fitness of the expression "sweet ape" would impress any +capable reader. I cannot think that by mere accident the anonymous +writer lighted on the same words:-- + + "Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? + Why, friend, they either are mens soules themselves + Or the most witty imitatrixes of them, + Or prettiest _sweet apes_ of humane soules." + +From a reference to Queen Elizabeth in Act I., Scene I., it is clear +that _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ was written not later than 1603. The lines I +have quoted may have been added later; or our author may have seen the +_Gentleman Usher_ in manuscript. + +Chapman's influence is again (_me judice_) apparent in the eloquent but +somewhat strained language of such a passage as the following:-- + + "Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich, + Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes + The standing lake of _Impudence_ corrupts; + Hath nought in all the world, nor nought wood have + To grace him in the prostituted light. + But if a man wood consort with a soule + Where all mans sea of gall and bitternes + Is quite evaporate with her holy flames, + And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence + Fosters her own deserts, and life and death + Runnes hand in hand before them, all the skies + Cleare and transparent to her piercing eyes. + Then wood my friend be something, but till then + A _cipher_, nothing, or the worst of men." + +_Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ is the work of one who had chosen the "fallentis +semita vitae"; who was more at home in Academic cloisters than in the +crowded highways of the world. None of the characters bears any +impression of having been drawn from actual life. The plot is of the +thinnest possible texture; but the fire of verbal quibbles is kept up +with lively ingenuity, and plenty of merriment may be drawn from the +humours of the affectate traveller and the foolish knight by all who are +not + + "of such vinegar aspect + That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, + Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable." + +The romantic friendship between the noble Lord Monford and the +thoughtful Clarence is a pleasing study, planned and executed with a +grave, sweet sincerity. It is not improbable that Clarence was the +prototype of Charles in Fletcher's _Elder Brother_. The finest passage +in the present play, where Clarence's modesty and Monford's nobility are +portrayed in language of touching charm, was selected by Charles Lamb +(whose judgment was never at fault) for quotation in the "Extracts from +the Garrick Plays." + +A second edition of _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ was issued, after the +author's death, in 1636; and the following dedication was appended by +Hugh Perry, the publisher:-- + +To the Worshipfull RICHARD YOUNG of Woolleyfarme in the County of Berks, +Esquire. + +WORTHY SIR, + +_The many favours, and courtesies, that I have Received from you, and +your much Honor'd Father, have put such an obligation upon me, as I have +bin long cogitateing how to expresse myselfe by the requitall of some +part of them; Now this Play having diverse yeeres since beene thrust +into the world to seeke its owne entertainment, without so much as an +epistle, or under the Shelter of any generous spirit, is now almost +become worne out of memory: and comming to be press'd to the publique +view againe, it having none to speake for it (the _Author_ being dead) I +am bold to recommend the same to your Worships protection, I know your +studies are more propense to more serious subjects, yet vouchsafe, I +beseech you, to recreate your selfe with this at some vacant time when +your leasure will permit you to peruse it, and daigne mee to bee_, + +Your Worships bounden Servant, + +HVGH PERRY. + + + + +SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE, _Knight_, + +A Comedy presented by the Chil. of the Chappell. + + +AT LONDON: Printed by _Iohn Windet_, for _Edward Blunt_. 1606. + + + +_Eugenia_, A widowe and a Noble Ladie. +_Hippolyta_, | +_Penelope_, | Ladie-virgines, and Companions to Eugenia. +_Wynnifred_, gentlewoman to Eugenia. +_Monford_, A Noble Man, uncle to Eugenia. +_Clarence_, Gentleman, friend to _Monf_. +_Fowlweather_, A french affected Travayler, and a Captaine. +_Sir Gyles Goosecap_, a foolish Knight. +_Sir Cuthbert Rudsbie_, a blunt Knight. +_Sir Clement Kingcob_, a Knight, +_Lord Tales_. +_Lord Furnifall_. +_Bullaker_, a french Page. +_Iack_, | +_Will_, | Pages. + + + +Sir Gyles Goosecappe, _Knight_. + + +_Actvs Primvs_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Bullaker with a Torche_. + +_Bullaker_. This is the Countesse _Eugenias_ house, I thinke. I can +never hit of theis same English City howses, tho I were borne here: if I +were in any City in _Fraunce_, I could find any house there at midnight. + + _Enter Iack, and Will_. + +_Iack_. Theis two strange hungry Knights (_Will_) make the leanest +trenchers that ever I waited on. + +_Will_. A plague on them _Iack_; they leave us no fees at all, for our +attendance. I thinke they use to set their bones in silver they pick +them so cleane.--See, see, see, _Iack_, whats that. + +_Iack_. A my word (_Will_) tis the great _Baboone_, that was to be seen +in _Southwarke_. + +_Will_. Is this he? Gods my life what beastes were we, that we wood not +see him all this while, never trust me if he looke not somewhat like a +man: see how pretely he holds the torche in one of his forefeete: wheres +his keeper trowe, is he broke loose? + +_Iack_. Hast ever an Apple about thee (_Will_)? Weele take him up; sure, +we shall get a monstrous deale of mony with him. + +_Will_. That we shall yfath, boy! and looke thou here, heres a red +cheeckt apple to take him up with. + +_Ia_. Excellent fit a my credit; lets lay downe our provant, and to him. + +_Bul_. Ile let them alone a while. + +_Ia_. Give me the apple to take up _Iack_, because my name is _Iack_. + +_Will_. Hold thee, _Iack_, take it. + +_Ia_. Come, _Iack_, come, _Iack_, come, _Iack_. + +_Bul_. I will come to you sir, Ile _Iack_ ye a my word, Ile _Iack_ ye. + +_Will_. Gods me he speakes, _Iack_. O pray pardon us, Sir. + +_Bul_. Out, ye _mopede monckies_, can yee not knowe a man from a +_Marmasett_, in theis Frenchified dayes of ours? nay, ile _Iackefie_ +you a little better yet. + +_Both_. Nay good Sir, good Sir, pardon us. + +_Bul_. Pardon us! out ye home-bred peasants, plain English, pardon us? +if you had parled, & not spoken, but said _Pardonne moy_, I wood have +pardon'd you, but since you speake and not parley, I will cudgell ye +better yet. + +_Ambo_. _O pardonne moy, mounsieur_. + +_Bul_. _Bien je vous remercy_; thers _pardonne four vous_, sir, now. + +_Will_. Why I thanke ye for it, Sir; you seeme to bee a Squire of our +order Sir. + +_Ia_. Whose page might you be Sir. + +_Bul_. I am now the great French Travalers page. + +_Will_. Or rather the _French_ Travalers great page, Sir; on, on. + +_Bul_. Hight Captaine _Fowleweather_, alias Commendations; whose +valours within here at super with the Countes _Eugenia_, whose propper +eaters I take you two to be. + +_Will_. You mistake us not Sir. + +_Ia_. This Captaine _Fowleweather_, alias Commendations-- + +_Will_. Is the Gallant that will needs be a sutor to our Countes. + +_Bul_.[1] Faith, and if Fouleweather be a welcome suter to a faire Lady, +has good lucke. + +_Ia_. O Sir, beware of one that can showre into the lapps of Ladies. +Captaine Fowleweather? why hees a Captinado, or Captaine of Captaines, +and will lie in their joyntes that give him cause to worke uppon them so +heauylie, that he will make their hartes ake I warrant him. Captaine +Fowleweather? why he will make the cold stones sweate for feare of him, +a day or two before he come at them. Captaine Fowleweather? why he does +so dominere, and raigne over women. + +_Will_. A plague of Captaine Fowleweather, I remember him now _Iack_, +and know him to be a dull moist-braind Asse. + +_Ia_. A Southerne man I thinke. + +_Will_. As fearefull as a Haire, and will lye like a Lapwing,[2] and I +know how he came to be a Captain, and to have his Surname of +Commendations. + +_Ia_. How I preethee _Will_? + +_Will_. Why Sir he served the great Lady Kingcob and was yeoman of her +wardroppe, & because a cood brush up her silkes lustely, she thought he +would curry the enemies coates as soundly, and so by her commendations, +he was made Captaine in the lowe Countries. + +_Ia_. Then being made Captaine onely by his Ladies commendations, +without any worth also of his owne, he was ever after surnamd Captaine +Commendations? + +_Will_. Right. + +_Bul_. I, Sir right, but if he had not said right, my Captaine should +have taken no wrong at his handes, nor yours neyther, I can tell ye. + +_Ia_. What are those two Knights names, that are thy Captaines +_Comrades_, and within at Supper with our Lady? + +_Bul_. One of their names Sir, is, Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_, the others +Sir _Cutt Rudseby_. + +_Will_. Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_? what's he? a gentleman? + +_Bul_. I, that he is, at least if he be not a noble man; and his chiefe +house is in Essex. + +_Ia_. In Essex? did not his Auncestors come out of London. + +_Bul_. Yes that they did Sir, the best _Gosecappes_ in England, come out +of London I assure you. + +_Will_. I, but, Sir, these must come into it before they come out ont I +hope; but what countriman is Sir _Cutt Rudesby_? + +_Bul_. A Northern man, or a Westernman I take him, but my Captaine is the +Emphaticall man; and by that pretty word Emphaticall you shall partly +know him: for tis a very forcible word in troth, and yet he forces it +too much by his favour; mary no more then he does all the rest of his +wordes; with whose multiplicity often times he travailes himselfe out +of all good company. + +_Iack_. Like enough; he travaild for nothing else. + +_Will_. But what qualities haunt Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_ now Sir. + +_Bul_. Sir _Gyles Goosecap_ has always a deathes head (as it were) in +his mouth, for his onely one reason for everything is, because we are +all mortall; and therefore he is generally cald the mortall Knight; then +hath he another pretty phrase too, and that is, he will "tickle the +vanity ant" still in everything; and this is your _Summa totalis_ of +both their virtues. + +_Ia_. Tis enough, tis enough, as long as they have land enough, but now +muster your third person afore us I beseech you. + +_Bul_. The third person and second Knight, blunt Sir _Cutt Rudesby_, is +indeed blunt at a sharpe wit, and sharpe at a blunt wit; a good bustling +Gallant, talkes well at Rovers; he is two parts souldier; as slovenlie +as a Switzer, and somewhat like one in face too; for he weares a bush +beard, will dead a Cannan shot better then a wool-packe: he will come +into the presence like yor _Frenchman_ in foule bootes, and dares eat +Garlike as a preparative to his Courtship. You shall know more of him +hereafter; but, good wags, let me winne you now for the Geographicall +parts of your Ladies in requitall. + +_Will_. That you shall Sir, and the Hydrographicall too and you will; +first my Lady the widowe, and Countes _Eugenia_, is in earnest, a most +worthy Lady, and indeede can doe more than a thousand other Ladies can +doe I can tell you. + +_Bul_. What's that I pray thee? + +_Ia_. Mary Sir, he meanes she can doe more than sleepe, and eate, and +drinke; and play at noddy[3], and helpe to make hir selfe ready[4]. + +_Bul_. Can she so? + +_Will_. She is the best scholler of any woman but one[5] in England; she +is wise and vertuous. + +_Ia_. Nay she has one strange quality for a woman besides, tho these be +strange enough that he has rekoned. + +_Bul_. For Gods sake whats that? + +_Ia_. She can love reasonable constantly, for she loved her husband +only, almost a whole yeere together. + +_Bul_. Thats strange indeed, but what is your faire Lady Sir? + +_Ia_. My Lady Sir, the Lady _Hippolita_-- + +_Will_. That is as chast as ever was _Hippolitus_. + +_Ia_. (True, my prety _Parenthesis_) is halfe a maid, halfe a wife, and +halfe a widdow. + +_Bul_. Strange tale to tell; how canst thou make this good, my good +_Assumpsit_. + +_Ia_. Thus Sir: she was betroathed to a gallant young gentleman that +loude hir with such passion, and admiration that he never thought he +could be so blessed as to enjoy her in full marriage, till the minister +was marrying them; and even then when he was saying I _Charles_ take +thee _Hippolita_ with extreame joy, he began to looke pale, then going +forwards saying, to my wedded wife, he lookt paler, and, then +pronouncing, for richer for poorer as long as we both shall live, he +lookt extreame pale. Now, sir, when she comes to speake her parte, and +said, I _Hippolyta_ take thee _Charles_, he began to faint for joy, then +saying to my wedded husband, he began to sinke, but then going forth too, +for better for worse, he could stand no longer, but with very conceit, +it seemd, that she whom he tendred as the best of all things, should +pronounce the worst, and for his sake too, he suncke down right, and +died sodenly: And thus being halfe married, and her halfe husband wholy +dead, I hope I may with discretion affirme her, halfe a maide, halfe a +wife, and halfe a widdowe: do ye conceive me Sir? + +_Bul_. O Lord Sir, I devoure you quicke; and now Sir I beseech you open +unto me your tother Lady, what is shee? + +_Will_. Ile answere for her, because I know her Ladiship to be a perfect +maide indeed. + +_Bul_. How canst thou know that? + +_Will_. Passing perfectly I warrant ye. + +_Ia_. By measuring her necke twice, and trying if it will come about hir +forehead, and slip over her nose? + +_Will_. No Sir no, by a rule that will not slip so I warrant you, which +for her honours sake I will let slip unto you. Gods so _Iack_, I thinke +they have supt. + +_Ia_. Bir Lady we have waited well the while. + +_Will_. Well though they have lost their attendance, let not us lose our +supper, _Iack_. + +_Ia_. I doe not meane it; come Sir you shall goe in, and drinke with us +yfaith. + +_Bul_. _Pardonne moy, mounsieur_. + +_both_. No pardoning in truth Sir. + +_Bul. Ie vous remercie de bon Ceur_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCAENA 2. + + + _Enter Goosecappe, Rudesby, Fouleweather, Eugenia, + Hippol., Penelope, Wynne_. + +_Rud_. A plague on you, sweet Ladies, tis not so late; what needed you +to have made so short a supper? + +_Goos_. In truth Sir _Cutt_. we might have tickled the vanity ant an +howre longer, if my watch be trustible. + +_Foul_. I but how should theis beauties know that Sir _Gyles_? your +watch is mortall, and may erre. + +_Go_. Thats sooth Captaine, but doe you heare honest friend, pray take a +light, and see if the moone shine, I have a Sunne Diall will resolue +presently. + +_Fo_. Howsoever beleeve it, Ladies, tis unwholesome, uncourtly, +unpleasant to eate hastely, and rise sodainly; a man can shew no +discourse, no witt, no stirring, no variety, no pretty conceits, to make +the meate goe downe emphatically. + +_Eu_. _Wynnefred_. + +_Wyn_. Madam. + +_Eu_. I prethee goe to my uncle the Lord _Monford_, and intreat him to +come quicken our Eares with some of his pleasant Spirit; This same +_Fowleweather_ has made me so melancholly, prethie make haste. + +_Wyn_. I will Madam. [_Exit_. + +_Hip_. We will bid our guests good night, Madam; this same +_Fowleweather_ makes me so sleepy. + +_Pen_. Fie uppon it; for Gods sake shut the Casements, heres such a +fulsome Aire comes into this Chamber; in good faith Madame you must +keepe your House in better reparations, this same _Fowlweather_ beats +in so filthily. + +_Eug_. Ile take order with the Porter for it, Lady: good night, +gentlemen. + +_Ru_. Why good night, and be hangd, and you'l needs be gon. + +_Goos_. God give you good night Madams, thanke you for my good cheere, +weele tickle the vanity ant no longer with you at this time but ile +indite your La. to supper at my lodging one of these mornings; and that +ere long too, because we are all mortall you know. + +_Eu_, Light the Lady _Penelope_, and the Lady _Hippolyta_ to their +Chambers; good night faire Ladies. + +_Hip_. Good night, Madam; I wish you may sleep well after your light +supper. + +_Eug_, I warrant you, Lady, I shall never be troubled with dreaming of +my _French_ Suter. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Ru_. Why how now my _Frenchified_ captain _Fowlweather_? by Cods ludd +thy Surname is never thought upon here, I perceive heeres nobody gives +thee any commendations. + +_Fo_. Why this is the untravaild rudnes of our grose Englesh Ladies now; +would any _French_ Lady use a man thus thinke ye? be they any way so +uncivill, and fulsome? they say they weare fowle smockes, and course +smockes; I say they lie, and I will die int. + +_Rud_. I, doe so, pray thee, thou shalt die in a very honorable cause, +thy countries generall quarrell right. + +_Foul_. Their smockes, quoth you? a my word you shall take them up so +white, and so pure, so sweet, so Emphaticall, so mooving-- + +_Rud_. I marry Sir, I thinke they be continually moving. + +_Foul_. But if their smockes were course or foule. + +_Rud_. Nay I warrant thee thou carest not, so thou wert at them. + +_Foul_. S'death they put not all their virtues in their smockes, or in +their mockes, or in their stewde cockes as our Ladies doe. + +_Rud_. But in their stewd pox, thers all their gentilitie. + +_Goos_. Nay, good Sir _Cutt_., doe not agravate him no more. + +_Foul_. Then they are so kinde, so wise, so familiar, so noble, so sweet +in entertainment, that when you shall have cause to descourse or +sometimes to come neerer them; if your breath be ill, your teeth ill, or +any thing about you ill, why they will presently breake with ye, in +kinde sort, good termes, pretty experiments, and tell you plaine this; +thus it is with your breath, Sir, thus it is with your teeth, Sir, this +is your disease, and this is your medicine. + +_Goos_. As I am true mortall Knight, it is most superlatively good, this. + +_Foul_. Why this is courtly now, this is sweete, this plaine, this is +familiar, but by the Court of _France_, our peevish dames are so proud, +so precise, so coy, so disdainfull, and so subtill, as the _Pomonian_ +Serpent, _mort dieu_ the Puncke of _Babylon_ was never so subtill. + +_Rud_. Nay, doe not chafe so, Captaine. + +_Foul_. Your _Frenchman_ would ever chafe, sir _Cutt_., being thus +movde. + +_Rud_. What? and play with his beard so? + +_Foul_. I and brystle, it doth expresse that passion of anger very full, +and emphaticall. + +_Goos_: Nay good Knight if your _French_ wood brystle, let him alone, in +troth our Ladies are a little too coy, and subtill, Captaine, indeed. + +_Foul_. Subtill, sir _Gyles Goosecappe_? I assure your soule, they are +as subtill with their suters, or loves, as the latine Dialect, where the +nominative Case, and the Verbe, the Substantive, and the Adjective, the +Verbe, and the [ad]Verbe, stand as far a sunder, as if they were perfect +strangers one to another, and you shall hardly find them out; but then +learne to Conster, and perse them, and you shall find them prepared and +acquainted, and agree together in Case, gender, and number. + +_Goos_. I detest[6], Sir _Cutt_, I did not thinke he had bin halfe the +quintessence of a scholler he is. + +_Foul_. Slydd there's not one of them truely emphaticall. + +_Goos_. Yes, I'le ensure you Captaine, there are many of them truely +emphaticall: but all your _French_ Ladies are not fatt? are they sir? + +_Foul_. Fatt sir? why doe ye thinke emphaticall is fatt, sir _Gyles_? + +_Rud_. Gods my life, brother Knight, didst thou thinke so? hart I know +not what it is my selfe, but yet I never thought it was fatt, Ile be +sworne to thee. + +_Foul_. Why if any true Courtly dame had had but this new fashioned +sute, to entertaine anything indifferently stuffed, why you should have +had her more respective by farre. + +_Rud_. Nay, theres some reason for that, Captaine, me thinks a true +woman should perpetually doate upon a new fashion. + +_Foul_. Why y'are i'thright sir _Cutt. In nova fert animus mutatas +dicere formas_[7]. Tis the mind of man, and woman to affect new +fashions; but to our Mynsatives[8] for sooth, if he come like to your +_Besognio_,[9] or your bore, so he be rich, or emphaticall, they care +not; would I might never excell a dutch Skipper in Courtship, if I did +not put distaste into my cariage of purpose; I knew I should not please +them. _Lacquay? allume le torche_. + +_Rud_. Slydd, heres neyther Torch, nor Lacquay, me thinks. + +_Foul_. _O mon dieu_. + +_Rud_. O doe not sweare Captaine. + +_Foul_. Your Frenchman ever sweares, Sir _Cutt_, upon the lacke of his +Lacquay, I assure you. + +_Goos_. See heere he comes, and my Ladies two pages, they have been +tickling the vanity ont yfaith. + + + +SCAENA TERTIA. + + + _Enter to them Iack, Bullaker, Will_. + +_Ia_. Captaine _Fowleweather_, my Lady the Countes _Eugenia_ commends +her most kindly to you, and is determined to morrowe morning earely, if +it be a frost, to take her Coach to Barnet to bee nipt; where if it +please you, to meete her, and accompany her homewarde, joyning your wit +with the frost, and helpe to nip her, She does not doubt but tho you had +a sad supper, you will have a joyfull breakefast. + +_Foul_. I shall indeed, my deare youth. + +_Rud_. Why Captaine I abus'd thee, I see: I said the Ladies respected +thee not, and now I perceive the widow is in love with thee. + +_Foul_. Sblood, Knight, I knew I had strucke her to the quicke, I +wondred shee departed in that extravagant fashion: I am sure I past one +_Passado_ of Courtship upon her, that has hertofore made a lane amongst +the _French_ Ladies like a Culvering shot, Ile be sworne; and I thinke, +Sir _Gyles_, you saw she fell under it. + +_Goos_. O as cleare as candlelight, by this daylight. + +_Rud_. O good Knight a the post[10], heele sweare anything. + +_Will_. The other two Ladies commend them no lesse kindly to you two +Knights too; & desire your worships wood meete them at Barnet ith +morning with the Captaine. + +_Foul. Goos. Rud_. O good Sir. + +_Goos_. Our worships shall attend their Ladiships thether. + +_Ia_. No Sir _Gyles_ by no meanes, they will goe privately thether, but +if you will meet them there. + +_Rud_. Meet them? weele die fort, but weele meet them. + +_Foul_. Let's goe thether to night, Knights, and you be true Gallants. + +_Rud_. Content. + +_Ia_. How greedely they take it in, Sirra? + +_Goos_. No it is too farre to goe to night, weele be up betimes ith +morning, and not goe to bedd at all. + +_Foul_. Why its but ten miles, and a fine cleere night, sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. But ten miles? what do ye talke, Captaine? + +_Rud_. Why? doost thinke its any more? + +_Goos_. I, Ile lay ten pounds its more than ten miles, or twelve eyther. + +_Rud_. What, to _Barnet_. + +_Goos_. I, to _Barnet_. + +_Rud_. Slydd, Ile lay a hundred pound with thee, if thou wilt. + +_Goos_. Ile lay five hundred, to a hundred. Slight I will not be +outborne with a wager, in that I know: I am sure it was foure yeeres +agon ten miles thether, and I hope tis more now. Slydd doe not miles +grow thinke you, as well as other _Animals_? + +_Ia_. O wise Knight! + +_Goos_. I never innd in the Towne but once, and then they lodged me in a +Chamber so full of these Ridiculous Fleas, that I was fain to lie +standing all night, and yet I made my man rise, and put out the Candle +too, because they should not see to bite me. + +_Foul_. A pretty project. + +_Bul_. Intruth Captaine, if I might advise you, you should tarry, and +take the morning afore you. + +_Foul_. How? _O mon Dieu_! how the villaine _poultroune_, dishonours his +travaile! You _Buffonly Mouchroun_, are you so mere rude, and English to +advise your Captaine? + +_Rud_. Nay, I prethee _Fouleweather_, be not tempesteous with thy +poore Lacquay. + +_Foul_. Tempesteous, Sir _Cutt_? will your _Frenchman_, thinke you, +suffer his Lacquay to advise him? + +_Goos_. O God you must take heed Lacquy how you advise your Captaine; +your French lacquay would not have done it. + +_Foul_. He would have bin poxt first. _Allume le torche_, sweet Pages +commend us to your Ladies, say we kisse their white hands, and will not +faile to meete them; Knights, which of you leades? + +_Goos_. Not wee, sir; you are a Captaine, and a leader. + +_Rud_. Besides, thou art commended for the better man, for thou art very +Commendations it selfe, and Captaine Commendations. + +_Foul_. Why? what tho I be Captain Commendations? + +_Rud_. Why and Captaine Commendations, is harty commendations, for +Captaines are harty I am sure, or else hang them. + +_Foul_. Why, what if I be harty Commendations? come, come, sweete +Knights, lead the way. + +_Rud_. O Lorde Sir, alwayes after my harty Commendations. + +_Foul_. Nay then you conquer me with precedent, by the autenticall forme +of all Iustice letters. + [_Alloun. Exeunt_. + +_Ia_. Here's a most sweet Gudgeon swallowed, is there not? + +_Will_. I but how will they disgest it, thinkest thou when they shall +finde our Ladies not there? + +_Ia_. I have a vaunt-currying[11] devise shall make them digest it most +healthfully. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +SCENA QUARTA. + + + _Enter Clarence, Musicians_. + +_Cla_. Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolved +T'exhaust this troubled spring of vanities +And Nurse of perturbations, my poore life, +And therefore since in every man that holds +This being deare, there must be some desire, +Whose power t'enjoy his object may so maske +The judging part, that in her radyant eyes +His estimation of the World may seeme +Vpright, and worthy, I have chosen love +To blind my Reason with his misty hands +And make my estimative power beleive +I have a project worthy to imploy +What worth so ever my whole man affordes: +Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast found +The end of thy infusion; in the eyes +Of thy divine _Eugenia_ looke for Heaven. +Thanks gentle friends. [_A song to the Violls_. +Is your good Lord, and mine, gon up to bedd yet? + + _Enter Momford_. + +_Mom_. I do assure ye not, sir, not yet, nor yet, my deepe, and studious +friend; not yet, musicall _Clarence_. + +_Cla_. My Lord? + +_Mom_. Nor yet, thou sole divider of my Lordshippe. + +_Cla_. That were a most unfit division, +And farre above the pitch of my low plumes; +I am your bold, and constant guest my Lord. + +_Mom_. Far, far from bold, for thou hast known me long +Almost these twenty yeeres, and halfe those yeeres +Hast bin my bed-fellow; long time before +This unseene thing, this thing of naught indeed, +Or _Atome_ cald my Lordshippe shind in me, +And yet thou mak'st thy selfe as little bould +To take such kindnes, as becomes the Age +And truth of our indissolable love, +As our acquaintance sprong but yesterday; +Such is thy gentle, and too tender spirit. + +_Cla_. My _Lord_, my want of Courtship makes me feare +I should be rude, and this my meane estate +Meetes with such envie, and detraction, +Such misconstructions and resolud misdoomes +Of my poore worth, that should I be advaunce'd +Beyond my unseene lowenes, but one haire, +I should be torne in peeces with the Spirits +That fly in ill-lungd tempests through the world, +Tearing the head of vertue from her shoulders +If she but looke out of the ground of glorie. +Twixt whom and me, and every worldly fortune +There fights such sowre, and curst _Antipathy_, +So waspish and so petulant a Starre, +That all things tending to my grace or good +Are ravisht from their object, as I were +A thing created for a wildernes, +And must not thinke of any place with men. + +_Mom_. O harke you Sir, this waiward moode of yours +Must sifted be, or rather rooted out. +Youle no more musick Sir? + +_Cla_. Not now, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Begon my masters then to bedd, to bedd. + +_Cla_. I thanke you, honest friends. + + [_Exeunt Musicians_. + +_Mo_. Hence with this book, and now, _Mounsieur Clarence_, me thinks +plaine and prose friendship would do excellent well betwixt us: come +thus, Sir, or rather thus, come. Sir, tis time I trowe that we both +liv'd like one body, thus, and that both our sides were slit, and +concorporat with _Organs_ fit to effect an individuall passage even for +our very thoughts; suppose we were one body now, and I charge you +beleeve it; whereof I am the hart, and you the liver. + +_Cla_. Your Lordship might well make that division[12], if you knew the +plaine song. + +_Mo_. O Sir, and why so I pray? + +_Cla_. First because the heart, is the more worthy entraile, being the +first that is borne, and moves, and the last that moves, and dies; and +then being the Fountaine of heate too: for wheresoever our heate does +not flow directly from the hart to the other _Organs_ there, their +action must of necessity cease, and so without you I neither would nor +could live. + +_Mom_. Well Sir, for these reasons I may be the heart, why may you be +the liver now? + +_Cla_. I am more then asham'd, to tell you that my _Lord_. + +_Mom_. Nay, nay, be not too suspitious of my judgement in you I beseech +you: asham'd friend? if your love overcome not that shame, a shame take +that love, I saie. Come sir, why may you be the liver? + +_Cla_. The plaine, and short truth is (my _Lord_) because I am all +liver, and turn'd lover. + +_Mom_. Lover? + +_Cla_. Lover, yfaith my _Lord_. + +_Mom_. Now I prethee let me leape out of my skin for joy: why thou wilt +not now revive the sociable mirth of thy sweet disposition? wilt thou +shine in the World anew? and make those that have sleighted thy love +with the Austeritie of thy knowledge, dote on thee againe with thy +commanding shaft of their humours? + +_Cla_. Alas, my Lord, they are all farre out of my aime; and only to fit +my selfe a little better to your friendshippe, have I given these +wilfull raynes to my affections. + +_Mom_. And yfaith is my sower friend to all worldly desires ouer taken +with the hart of the World, Love? I shall be monstrous proud now, to +heare shees every way a most rare woman, that I know thy spirit, and +judgement hath chosen; is she wise? is she noble? is she capable of thy +vertues? will she kisse this forehead with judiciall lipps where somuch +judgement and vertue deserves it? Come brother Twin, be short, I charge +you, and name me the woman. + +_Cla_. Since your Lordship will shorten the length of my follies +relation, the woman that I so passionately love, is no worse Lady then +your owne Neece, the too worthy Countesse _Eugenia_. + +_Mom_. Why so, so, so, you are a worthy friend, are you not, to conceale +this love-mine in your head, and would not open it to your hart? now +beshrow my hart, if my hart danse not for joy, tho my heeles do not; and +they doe not, because I will not set that at my heeles that my friend +sets at his heart? friend, and Nephews both? nephew is a far inferior +title to friend I confesse, but I will preferre thee backwards (as many +friends doe) and leave their friends woorse then they found them. + +_Cla_. But, my noble Lord, it is almost a prodegie, that I being onely a +poore Gentleman, and farre short of that state and wealth that a Ladie +of her greatnesse in both will expect in her husband-- + +_Mom_. Hold thy doubt friend, never feare any woman, unlesse thyselfe be +made of straw, or some such drie matter, and she of lightning. +_Audacitie_ prospers above probability in all Worldly matters. Dost not +thou know that Fortune governes them without order, and therefore reason +the mother of order is none of her counsaile? why should a man desiring +to aspire an unreasonable creature, which is a woman, seeke her fruition +by reasonable meanes? because thy selfe binds upon reason, wilt thou +looke for congruity in a woman? why? there is not one woman amongst one +thousand, but will speake false _Latine_, and breake _Priscians_ head. +Attempt nothing that you may with great reason doubt of and out of doubt +you shall obtaine nothing. I tell thee, friend, the eminent confidence +of strong spirits is the onely witch-craft of this World, Spirits +wrastling with spirits as bodies with bodies: this were enough to make +thee hope well, if she were one of these painted communities, that are +ravisht with Coaches, and upper hands,[13] and brave men of durt: but +thou knowest friend shees a good scholler, and like enough to bite at +the rightest reason, and reason evermore _Ad optima hortatur_: to like +that which is best, not that which is bravest, or rightest, or greatest, +and so consequently worst. But prove what shee can, wee will turne her, +and winde her, and make her so plyant, that we will drawe her thorugh a +wedding ring yfaith. + +_Cla_. Would to God we might, my Lord. + +_Mom_. He warrant thee, friend. + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Mes_. Here is Mistris _Wynnifred_ from my Lady _Eugenia_ desires to +speake with your Lordshippe. + +_Mom_. Marrie, enter, Mistris _Wynnifred_, even here I pray thee;--from +the Lady _Eugenia_, doe you heare, friend? + +_Cla_. Very easily on that side, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Let me feele. Does not thy heart pant apace? by my hart, well +labor'd _Cupid_, the field is yours, sir. God! and upon a very +honourable composition. I am sent for now I am sure, and must even +trusse, and to her. + + _Enter Wynnifred_. + +Witty Mistris _Wynnifred_, nay come neere, woman. I am sure this +Gentleman thinkes his Chamber the sweeter for your deare presence. + +_Wyn_. My absence shall thanke him, my Lord. + +_Mom_. What, rude? Mistris _Wynnifred_? nay faith you shall come to him, +and kisse him, for his kindenesse. + +_Wyn_. Nay good, my Lord, I'le never goe to the market for that ware, I +can have it brought home to my Dore. + +_Mom_. O _Wynnifred_, a man may know by the market-folkes how the market +goes. + +_Wyn_. So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne to +go to that market themselves. + +_Mom_. To goe to it _Wynnifred_? nay to ride to it yfaith. + +_Wyn_. Thats more then I know my Lord. + +_Mom_. Youle not beleeve it till you are then a horsebacke, will ye? + +_Wyn_. Come, come, I am sent of a message to you, will you heare it? + +_Mom_. Stoppe, stoppe, faire _Wynnifred_, would you have audience so +soone, there were no state in that yfaith. This faire gentlewoman sir-- + +_Wyn_. Now we shall have a fiction I beleive. + +_Mom_. Had three Suiters at once. + +_Wyn_. Youle leave out none my Lord. + +_Mom_. No more did you, _Wynnifred_: you enterferde with them all in +truth. + +_Wyn_. O Monstrous Lord by this light! + +_Mom_. Now sir to make my tale short I will doe that which she did not; +vz. leave out the two first. The third comming, the third night for his +turne-- + +_Wyn_. My Lord, my Lord, my Lady does that that no body else does, +desires your company; and so fare you well. + +_Mom_. O stay a little sweet _Wynnifred_, helpe me but to trusse my +Poynts againe, and have with you. + +_Wyn_. Not I by my truth my Lord, I had rather see your hose about your +heeles, then I would helpe you to trusse a poynt. + +_Mom_. O witty _Wynnifred_? for that jest, take thy passeport, and tell +thy Ladie[14], thou leftst me with my hose about my heeles. + +_Wyn_. Well, well my Lord you shall sit till the mosse grow about your +heeles, ere I come at you againe. [_Exit_. + +_Mom_. She cannot abide to heare of her three Suiters, but is not this +very fit my sweet _Clarence_? Thou seest my rare Neece cannot sleepe +without me; but for thy company sake, she shall to night; and in the +morning I will visit her earely; when doe thou but stand in that place, +and thou maiest chance heare (but art sure to see) in what subtill, and +farre-fetcht manner Ile solicite her about thee. + +_Cla_. Thank's, worthy Lord. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actvs Secvndi_. + +SCENA PRIMA. + + + _Clarence Solus_. + +_Cla_. I that have studied with world-skorning thoughts +The way of Heaven, and how trew Heaven is reacht +To know how mighty, and how many are +The strange affections of enchaunted number; +How to distinguish all the motions +Of the Celestiall bodies, and what power +Doth separate in such forme this massive Rownd; +What is his Essence, Efficacies, Beames, +Foot-steps, and Shadowes; what Eternesse[15] is, +The World, and Time, and Generation; +What Soule, the worlds Soule is, what the blacke Springs +And unreveald Originall of Things, +What their perseverance; what's life, and death, +And what our certaine Restauration; +Am with the staid-heads of this Time imploy'd +To watch with all my Nerves a Female shade. + + _Enter Wynnifred, Anabell, with their sowing workes + and sing: After their song Enter Lord Momford_. + +_Mom_. Witty Mistrisse _Wynnifred_, where is your Countesse, I pray? + +_Wyn_. Faith your Lordship is bould enough to seeke her out, if she were +at her urinall? + +_Mom_. Then sh'as done, it seemes, for here she comes to save me that +labour; away, wenches, get you hence wenches. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Eu_. What, can you not abide my maides, unkle? + +_Mom_. I never cood abide a maide in my life Neece, but either I draw +away the maide, or the maidenhead with a wet finger[16]. + +_Eug_. You love to make your selfe worse then you are still. + +_Mom_. I know few mend in this World, Madam. For the worse the better +thought on, the better the worse spoken on ever amongst women. + +_Eu_. I wonder where you have binne all this while with your sentences. + +_Mom_. Faith where I must be againe presently. I cannot stay long with +you my deere Neece. + +_Eu_. By my faith but you shall, my Lord. Cods pittie what will become +of you shortly, that you drive maids afore you, and offer to leave +widowes behind you, as mankindelie as if you had taken a surfet of our +Sex lately, and our very sight turnd your stomacke? + +_Mom_. Cods my life, she abuses her best unkle; never trust me if it +were not a good revenge to helpe her to the losse of her widow-head. + +_Eu_. That were a revenge, and a halfe, indeed. + +_Mom_. Nay twere but a whole revenge Neece, but such a revenge as would +more then observe the true rule of a revenger. + +_Eu_. I know your rule before you utter it, _Vlciscere inimico_ [sic] +_sed sine tuo incommodo_. + +_Mom_. O rare Neece, you may see, what tis to be a scholler now; +learning in a woman is like waight in gold, or luster in Diamants, which +in no other Stone is so rich or refulgent. + +_Eug_. But say deere Vnckle how could you finde in your heart to stay so +long from me? + +_Mom_. Why, alas Neece, y'are so smeard with this willfull widdows +three-yeeres blacke weede, that I never come to you, but I dreame of +Coarses, and Sepulchres, and Epitaphs, all the night after, and +therefore adew deere Neece. + +_Eug_. Beshrew my heart my Lord, if you goe theis three houres. + +_Mom_. Three houres? nay Neece, if I daunce attendance three hours +(alone in her Chamber) with any Lady so neere alide to me, I am very +idle yfaith--Mary with such an other I would daunce, one, two, three, +foure, and five, tho it cost me ten shillings. And now I am in, have at +it! my head must devise something, while my feet are pidling thus, that +may bring her to some fit consideration of my friend, who indeed is +onely a great scholler, and all his honours, and riches lie in his +minde. + +_Eu_. Come, come, pray tell me uncle, how does my cosen _Momford_? + +_Mom_. Why, well, very well Neece, and so is my friend _Clarence_ well +too, and then is there a worthy gentleman well as any is in England I +can tell ye. [_He daunceth speaking_. + +_Eug_. But when did you see my Cosen? + +_Mom_. And tis pitty but he should do well, and he shall be well too, +if all my wealth will make him well. + +_Eug_. What meanes he by this, tro? your Lord is very dancitive me +thinkes. + +_Mom_. I, and I could tell you a thing would make your Ladyship very +dancitive, or else it were very dunsative yfaith. O how the skipping of +this Christmas blocke of ours moves the block-head heart of a woman and +indeed any thing that pleaseth the foolish eye which presently runnes +with a lying tale of Excellence to the minde. + +_Eug_. But I pray tell me my Lord could you tell me of a thing would +make me dance say you? + +_Mom_. Well, farewell sweet Neece, I must needs take my leave in +earnest. + +_Eu_. Lord blesse us, heres such a stir with your farewels. + +_Mom_. I will see you againe within these two or three dayes a my word +Neece. + +_Eug_. Cods pretious, two or three dayes? why this Lord is in a +maruallous strange humor. Sit downe, sweet Vnkle; yfaith I have to +talke with you about greate matters. + +_Mom_. Say then deere Neece, be short utter your minde quickly now. + +_Eug_. But I pray tell me first, what's that would make me daunce +yfaith? + +_Mom_. Daunce, what daunce? hetherto your dauncers legges bow for-sooth, +and Caper, and jerke, and Firke, and dandle the body above them, as it +were their great childe; though the speciall jerker be above this place +I hope here lies that shud fetch a perfect woman over the Coles yfaith. + +_Eug_. Nay good Vnkle say what's the thing you could tell me of? + +_Mom_. No matter, no matter: But let me see a passing prosperous +fore-head of an exceeding happy distance betwixt the eye browes; a cleere +lightning eye; a temperate, and fresh bloud in both the cheekes: +excellent markes, most excellent markes of good fortune. + +_Eug_. Why, how now Vnkle did you never see me before? + +_Mom_. Yes Neece; but the state of these things at this instant must be +specially observed, and these outward signes being now in this cleere +elevation, show your untroubled minde is in an excellent power, to +preferre them to act forth then a little, deere Neece. + +_Eug_. This is excellent. + +_Mom_. The Crises here are excellent good; The proportion of the chin +good; the little aptness of it to sticke out good; and the wart above it +most exceeding good. Never trust me, if all things be not answerable to +the prediction of a most Divine fortune towards her; now if she have the +grace to apprehend it in the nicke; thers all. + +_Eug_. Well my Lord, since you will not tell me your secret, ile keepe +another from you; with whose discovery, you may much pleasure me, and +whose concealement may hurt my estate. And if you be no kinder then to +see me so indangered; ile be very patient of it, I assure you. + +_Mom_. Nay then it must instantly foorth. This kinde conjuration even +fires it out of me; and (to be short) gather all your judgment +togeather, for here it comes. Neece, _Clarence, Clarence_, rather my +soule then my friend _Clarence_, of too substantiall a worth, to have +any figures cast about him (notwithstanding, no other woman with Empires +could stirre his affections) is with your vertues most extreamely in +love; and without your requitall dead. And with it Fame shall sound this +golden disticke through the World of you both. + + _Non illo melior quisquam, nec amantior aequi + Vir fuit, aut illa reverentior ulla Deorum_[17]. + +_Eug_. Ay me poore Dame, O you amase me Vncle, +Is this the wondrous fortune you presage? +What man may miserable women trust? + +_Mom_. O peace good Lady, I come not to ravish you to any thing. But now +I see how you accept my motion: I perceive (how upon true triall) you +esteeme me. Have I rid all this Circuite to levie the powers of your +Iudgment, that I might not proove their strength too sodainly with so +violent a charge; And do they fight it out in white bloud, and show me +their hearts in the soft Christall of teares? + +_Eug_. O uncle you have wounded your selfe in charging me that I should +shun Iudgement as a monster, if it would not weepe; I place the poore +felicity of this World in a woorthy friend, and to see him so unworthily +revolted, I shed not the teares of my Brayne, but the teares of my +soule. And if ever nature made teares th'effects of any worthy cause, +I am sure I now shed them worthily. + +_Mom_. Her sensuall powers are up yfaith, I have thrust her soule quite +from her Tribunall. This is her _Sedes vacans_ when her subjects are +priviledged to libell against her, and her friends. But weeps my kinde +Neece for the wounds of my friendship? And I toucht in friendship for +wishing my friend doubled in her singular happinesse? + +_Eug_. How am I doubl'd? when my honour, and good name, two essentiall +parts of me; would bee lesse, and loste? + +_Mom_. In whose Iudgment? + +_Eug_. In the judgment of the World. + +_Mom_. Which is a fooles boult. _Nihil a virtute nec a veritate +remotius, quam vulgaris opinio_: But my deare Neece, it is most true +that your honour, and good name tendred, as they are the species of +truth, are worthily two esentiall parts of you; But as they consist only +in ayrie titles, and corrupteble bloud (whose bitternes _sanitas & non +nobilitas efficit_) and care not how many base, and execrable acts they +commit, they touch you no more then they touch eternity. And yet shall +no nobility you have in eyther, be impaired neither. + +_Eug_. Not to marry a poore Gentleman? + +_Mom_. Respect him not so; for as he is a Gentleman he is noble; as he +is wealthily furnished with true knowledge, he is rich, and therein +adorn'd with the exactest complements belonging to everlasting +noblenesse. + +_Eug_. Which yet will not maintaine him a weeke: Such kinde of +noblenesse gives no cotes of honour nor can scarse gette a cote for +necessity. + +_Mom_. Then is it not substantiall knowledge (as it is in him) but +verball, and fantasticall for _Omnia in illa ille complexu tenet_. + +_Eug_. Why seekes he me then? + +_Mom_. To make you joynt partners with him in all things, and there is +but a little partiall difference betwixt you, that hinders that +universall joynture: The bignesse of this circle held too neere our eye +keepes it from the whole Spheare of the Sun; but could we sustaine it +indifferently betwixt us, and it would then without checke of one beame +appeare in his fulnes. + +_Eug_. Good Vnckle be content, for now shall I never dreame of +contentment. + +_Mom_. I have more then done Lady, and had rather have suffer'd an +alteration of my being, then of your Judgment; but (deere Neece) for +your own honours sake repaire it instantly. + + _Enter Hippolyta. Penelope. Iacke. Will_. + +See heere comes the Ladies; make an Aprill day on't[18], deare love, +and bee sodainly cheerefull. God save you, more then faire Ladies, +I am glad your come, for my busines will have me gone presently. + +_Hip_. Why my Lord _Momford_ I say? will you goe before Dinner? + +_Mom_. No remedy, sweet Beauties, for which rudnesse I lay my hands thus +low for your pardons. + +_Pen_. O Courteous Lo. _Momford_![19] + +_Mom_. Neece?----_Mens est quae sola quietos, + Sola facit claros, mentemque honoribus ornat_.[20] + +_Eug_. _Verus honos juvat, at mendax infamia terret_.[21] + +_Mom_. Mine owne deare nephew? + +_Cla_. What successe my Lord? + +_Mom_. Excellent; excellent; come Ile tell thee all.--_Exeunt_. + +_Hip_. Doe you heare Madam, how our youthes here have guld our three +suiters? + +_Eug_. Not I, Lady; I hope our suiters are no fit meat for our Pages. + +_Pe_. No Madam, but they are fit sawce for any mans meat, Ile warrent +them. + +_Eug_. What's the matter _Hippolyta_? + +_Hip_. They have sent the Knights to _Barnet_, Madam, this frosty +morning to meet us there. + +_Eug_. I'st true, youths? are Knights fit subjects for your knaveries? + +_Will_. Pray pardon us, Madam, we would be glad to please anie body. + +_Ia_. I indeed, Madam, and we were sure we pleased them highly, to tell +them you were desirous of their company. + +_Hip_. O t'was good, _Eugenia_, their livers were too hot, you know, and +for temper sake they must needs have a cooling carde[22] plaid upon +them. + +_Wil_. And besides Madam we wood have them know that your two little +Pages, which are lesse by halfe then two leaves, have more learning in +them then is in all their three volumnes. + +_Ia_. I yfaith _Will_, and put their great pagicall index to them, too. + +_Hip_. But how will ye excuse your abuses, wags? + +_Wil_. We doubt not, Madam, but if it please your Ladiship to put up +their abuses. + +_Ia_. Trusting they are not so deere to you, but you may. + +_Wil_. We shall make them gladly furnishe their pockets with them. + +_Hip_. Well, children and foules, agree as you will, and let the World +know now, women have nothing to doe with you. + +_Pe_. Come, Madam, I thinke your Dinner bee almost ready. + + _Enter Tales, Kingcob_. + +_Hip_. And see, here are two honourable guests for you, the Lord +_Tales_, and sir _Cutberd Kingcob_. + +_Ta_. Lacke you any guests, Madam? + +_Eu_. I, my Lord, such guests as you. + +_Hip_. Theres as common an answere, as yours was a question, my Lord. + +_King_. Why? all things shood be common betwixt Lords, and Ladies, you +know. + +_Pe_. Indeed sir _Cutberd Kingcob_, I have heard, you are either of the +familie of Love[23], or of no religion at all. + +_Eug_. He may well be said to be of the family of love, he does so flow +in the loves of poore over-throwne Ladies. + +_King_. You speake of that I wood doe, Madam, but in earnest, I am now +suing for a new Mistres; looke in my hand sweet Lady, and tell me what +fortune I shall have with her. + +_Eug_. Doe you thinke me a witch, Sir _Cutberd_? + +_King_. Pardon me Madam, but I know you to bee learned in all things. + +_Eug_. Come on, lets see. + +_Hip_. He does you a speciall favour Lady, to give you his open hand, +for tis commonly shut they say. + +_King_. What find you in it, Madam? + +_Eug_. Shut it now, and ile tell yee. + +_King_. What now Lady? + +_Eug_. Y'ave the worst hand that ever I saw Knight have; when tis open, +one can find nothing in it, and when tis shut one can get nothing out +ont. + +_King_. The age of letting goe is past, Madam; we must not now let goe, +but strike up mens heeles, and take am as they fall. + +_Eug_. A good Cornish principle beleeve it sir _Cutberd_. + +_Tales_. But I pray tell me, Lady _Penelope_, how entertaine you the +love of my Cosen sir _Gyles Goosecappe_. + +_Pene_. Are the _Goosecaps_ a kin to you, my Lord? + +_Ta_. Even in the first degree, Madam. And, Sir _Gyles_, I can tell ye, +tho he seeme something simple, is compos'd of as many good parts as any +Knight in England. + +_Hip_. He shood be put up for concealement then, for he shewes none of +them. + +_Pen_. Are you able to reckon his good parts, my Lord? + +_Ta_. Ile doe the best I can, Lady; first, he danses as comely, and +lightly as any man, for upon my honour, I have seene him danse upon +Egges, and a has not broken them. + +_Pene_. Nor crackt them neyther. + +_Ta_. That I know not; indeed I wood be loath to lie though he be my +kinsman, to speake more then I know by him. + +_Eug_. Well, forth my Lord. + +_Ta_. He has an excellent skill in all manner of perfumes, & if you +bring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he will +tell you the price of them to two pence. + +_Hip_. A pretty sweet quality beleeve me. + +_Tales_. Nay Lady he will perfume you gloves himselfe most delicately, +and give them the right Spanish Titillation. + +_Pene_. Titillation what's that my Lord? + +_Tal_. Why, Lady, tis a pretty kinde of terme new come up in perfuming, +which they call a Titillation. + +_Hip_. Very well expounded, my Lord; forth with your kinsmans parts I +pray. + +_Tal_. He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will worke +you needle-worke-edgings, and _French_ purles, from an Angell to foure +Angells a yarde. + +_Eug_. That's pretious ware indeed. + +_Tal_. He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if it +grew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give it +you his perfect, and naturall savour. + +_Hip_. This is wonderfull; forth, sweet Lord _Tales_. + +_Tal_. He will make you flyes, and wormes, of all sorts most lively, and +is now working a whole bed embrodred, with nothing but glowe wormes; +whose lights a has so perfectly done, that you may goe to bed in the +Chamber, doe any thing in the Chamber, without a Candle. + +_Pene_. Never trust me, if it be not incredible; forth my good Lord. + +_Tal_. He is a most excellent Turner, and will turne you wassel-bowles, +and posset Cuppes caru'd with libberds faces, and Lyons heads with +spouts in their mouths, to let out the posset Ale, most artificially. + +_Eug_. Forth, good Lord _Tales_. + +_Pene_. Nay, good my Lord no more; you have spoken for him thoroughly I +warrant you. + +_Hip_. I lay my life _Cupid_ has shot my sister in love with him out of +your lips, my Lord. + +_Eug_. Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, and +we will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord and +Lady _Furnifall_. + +_King_. _Tale_. We attend you, honorable Ladies. + + _Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actvs Tertii_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe_. + +_Rud_. _Bullaker_. + +_Bul_. I, Sir. + +_Rud_. Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse. + +_Bul_. So I doe Sir. + +_Rud_. I wonder, Sir _Gyles_, you wood let him goe so, and not ride +after him. + +_Goos_. Wood I might never be mortall sir _Cutt_: if I rid not after +him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and +hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers +ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he +ran his way like a _Diogenes_, and would never stay for us. + +_Rud_. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his +horse is gone? + +_Goos_. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir _Moyle_, we shall soone +our'take him I warrent ye. + +_Rud_. And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thou +coodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish has +bitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still. + +_Goos_. But heres all the doubt, sir _Cutt_: if no body shoold catch him +now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, +and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed +one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees +hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, +because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my +Horse when he was hot yfaith. + + _Enter Fowleweathter_. + +How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet? + +_Rud_. Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in +paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill +as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light. + +_Foul_. Cods precious, sir _Cutt_: your _Frenchman_ never lights +I tell ye. + +_Goos_. Light, sir _Cutt_! Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres +nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light. + +_Rud_. Goe too, you _French_ Zanies you, you will follow the _French_ +steps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground +all the daies of your life. + +_Goos_. Why, sir _Cut_: I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but +we were justly plagu'd by this Hill, for following women thus. + +_Foul_. I, and English women too, sir _Gyles_. + +_Rud_. Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none +of the _French_ Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men +in _France_, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there +should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there +is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them +yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for +phantasticality. + +_Foul_. O Lord sir _Cut_. I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for +Courtship, and yet the _French_ Lords put them downe; you noted it, sir +_Gyles_. + +_Goos_. O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence. + +_Rud_. How did they put them downe, I pray thee? + +_Foul_. Why for wit, and for Court-ship Sir _Moile_. + +_Rud_.[25] As how, good left-handed _Francois_. + +_Foul_. Why Sir when _Monsieur Lambois_ came to your mistris the Lady +_Hippolyta_ as she sate in the presence,--sit downe here good Sir _Gyles +Goose-cappe_,--he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queint +_French start_ in his speech of ah _bellissime_, I desire to die now, +saies he, for your love that I might be buried here. + +_Rud_. A good pickt-hatch[26] complement, by my faith; but I prethee +what answer'd she. + +_Foul_. She, I scorne to note that, I hope; then did he vie[27] it +againe with an other hah. + +_Rud_. That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I had +beene as my Mistris, and hah, hah, haht him out of the presence yfaith. + +_Foul_. Hah, saies he, theis faire eyes, I wood not for a million they +were in _France_, they wood renew all our civill-wars againe. + +_Goos_. That was not so good, me thinkes, Captaine. + +_Rud_. Well iudgd, yfaith; there was a little wit in that, I must +confesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with a +question, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if a +lover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was far +from believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculous +jests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told him +she had as lieve be courted with a brush faggot as with a Frenchman, +that spent it selfe all in sparkes, and would sooner fire ones chimney +then warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to set +thatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, and +respected them as sleightly. + +_Goos_. Why so Captaine, and yet you talke of your great Frenchmen; +[would] to God little England had never knowne them _I_ may say. + +_Foul_. What's the matter sir _Gyles_? are you out of love with +Frenchmen now of a sodaine? + +_Goos_. Slydd Captaine, wood not make one, Ile be sworne? Ile be sworne, +they tooke away a mastie Dogge of mine by commission: now I thinke on't, +makes my teares stand in my eyes with griefe, I had rather lost the +dearest friend that ever _I_ lay withall in my life be this light; never +stir if he fought not with great _Sekerson_[28] foure hours to one, +foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that he +sterud him presently: So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Beare +cood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon the +Dogge, broke his backe, and the Dogge never stird more. + +_Rud_. Why thou saist the Frenchmen tooke him away. + +_Goos_. Frenchmen, _I_, so they did too, but yet, and he had not bin +kild, twood nere a greevd me. + +_Foul_. O excellent unity of speech. + + _Enter Will, and Iacke at seuerall Doores_. + +_Will_. Save ye, Knights. + +_Ia_. Save you, Captaine. + +_Foul_. Pages, welcome my fine Pages. + +_Rud_. Welcome, boyes. + +_Goos_. Welcome, sweet _Will_, good _Iacke_. + +_Foul_. But how chaunce you are so farre from London now pages? is it +almost Dinner time? + +_Wil_. Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, and +cood not chuse in pure love to your worships, but we must needs come, +and meet you, before you mett our Ladies, to tell you a secret. + +_Omnes_. A secret, what secret I pray thee? + +_Ia_. If ever your worships say any thing, we are undone for ever. + +_Omnes_. Not for a World beleeve it. + +_Will_. Why then this it is; we over-heard our Ladies as they were +talking in private say, they refus'de to meet you at _Barnet_ this +morning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were most +patient. + +_Ia_. And some said you, Sir _Gyles_, another you Sir [_Cutt_] and the +third you Captaine. + +_Om_. This was excellent. + +_Wil_. Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to you +by any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall see +you say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladies +begin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge a +little. + +_Foul_. O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might be +Casheird, if I say any thing. + +_Rud_. Faith, and I can forbeare my Tongue as well as another, I hope. + +_Goos_. Wood I might be degraded, if I speake a word, Ile tell them I +care not for loosing my labour. + +_Foul_. Come Knights shall wee not reward the Pages? + +_Rud_. Yes I prethee doe, sir _Gyles_ give the boyes something. + +_Goos_. Never stirre, sir _Cutt_, if I have ever a groat about me but +one three pence. + +_Foul_. Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages. + +_Wil_. No in deed, ant please your worship. + +_Foul_. O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty? + +_Ia_. Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine. + +_Foul_. And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos. + +_Wil_. Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your +Lords house, Captaine, the Lord _Furnifall_, and there will be your +great cosen Sir _Gyles Goosecappe_, the Lorde _Tales_, and your Vnckle, +Sir _Cutt. Rudesby_, Sir _Cutbert Kingcob_. + +_Foul_. The Lord _Tales_, what countriman is he? + +_Ia_. A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury. + +_Foul_. Out of Canterbury. + +_Wil_. Indeed, Sir, the best _Tales_ in England are your Canterbury +_Tales_, I assure ye. + +_Rud_. The boy tels thee true Captaine. + +_Ia_. He writes his name Sir, _Tales_, and he being the tenth sonne his +Father had; his Father Christned him _Decem Tales_, and so his whole +name is the Lord _Decem Tales_. + +_Goos_. A my mortality the boy knowes more then I doe of our house. + +_Rud_. But is the Ladie _Furnifall_ (Captaine) still of the same +drinking humor she was wont to be? + +_Foul_. Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veine +till she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my good +little old Lord out of all proportion. + +_Rud_.[29] And therefore, as I heare, he will earnestly invite guests to +his house, of purpose to make his wife dronke, and then dotes on her +humour most prophanely. + +_Foul_. Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and you +shall see her; and now I thinke ont, ile tell you a thing Knights, +wherein perhaps you may exceedingly pleasure me. + +_Goos_. What's that, good Captaine? + +_Foul_. I am desirous to helpe my Lord to a good merry Foole, and if I +cood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit I +assure ye. + +_Rud_. Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne. + +_Foul_. O _Fraunce_, Sir _Cutt_. your Frenchman wood not have taken me +so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times +to make you merry. + +_Rud_. As thou doest. + +_Goos_. Nay good sir _Cut_. you know fooles doe come into your +companies. + +_Rud_. I and thou knowst it too, no man better. + +_Foul_. Beare off with Choller Sir _Gyles_. + +_Wil_. But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir? + +_Foul_. I, my good page exceeding faine. + +_Ia_. You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench? + +_Foul_. Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page. + +_Wil_. Does his Lord: love a foole, so well I pray? + +_Foul_. Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves +himselfe. + +_Ia_. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have of +all manner of degrees. + +_Foul_. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that wood +make my Lord laugh well, and I carde not. + +_Wil_. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lord +costive of laughter, or laxative of laughter? + +_Foul_. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes +Laxative of Laughter. + +_Wil_. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry +if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of +wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the +quantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have as +much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive +of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an _Epilepsie_, and fall +down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that +passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a +Foole. + +_Foul_. Thart ith right, my notable good page. + +_Ia_. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that +if he should have all _Bacon_[30] _de sanitate tuenda_ read to him, it +shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall. + +_Foul_. Remercy, my more then English pages. + +_Goos_. A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have +never bin in _France_ Captaine. + +_Foul_. Tis true indeed Sir _Gyles_, well then my almost french Elixers +will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say. + +_Wil_. As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and +he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at +table. + +_Foul_. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages. + +_Ia_. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently. + +_Foul_. Doe so my good wagges. + +_Wil_. Save you Knights. + +_Ia_. Save you Captaine. + _Exeunt_. + +_Foul_. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to +goe to this Supper? + +_Rud_. What else? + +_Goos_. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, +Captaine. + +_Foul_. That we will, I warrent you, sir _Giles_. + +_Rud_. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man. + +_Goos_. The Moone, sir _Cut_: I scorne the Moone yfaith. Slydd, +sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a +couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, I +cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tother +night. + +_Rud_. What tricke, sir _Gyles_? + +_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you +know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it +needed, and run after it into _Finsbury_-fieldes ith calme evening to +see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by +this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into +the Ditch by Heaven. + +_Rud_. That was ill done in her, indeed sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. Ill done sir _Cut_? Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and +she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud +a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I +live, Ile be sworne to ye. + +_Foul_. Come, Knights, to London: Horse, Horse, Horse. + +_Rud_. In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because the +_French_ Moones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I +warrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, he +seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you +shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their +Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my wit +with their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall a +beating on them presently. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Lord Momford, and Clarence. Clarence, Horatio_. + +_Cla_. Sing good _Horatio_, while I sigh, and write. +According to my master _Platos_ minde, +The soule is musicke, and doth therefore joy +In accents musicall, which he that hates +With points of discord is together tyed, +And barkes at _Reason_, Consonant in sense. +Divine _Eugenia_, beares the ocular forme +Of musicke, and of _Reason_, and presents +The soule exempt from flesh in flesh inflam'd[31]; +Who must not love her then, that loves his soule? +To her I write; my friend, the starre[32] of friends +Will needs have my strange lines greet her strange eies +And for her sake ile power my poore Soule forth +In floods of inke; but did not his kinde hand +Barre me with violent grace, I wood consume +In the white flames of her impassionate love, +Ere my harsh lipps shood vent the odorous blaze. +For I am desperate of all worldly joyes, +And there was never man so harsh to men. +When I am fullest of digested life +I seeme a livelesse _Embrion_ to all, +Each day rackt up in night-like Funerall. +Sing, good _Horatio_, whilst I sigh, and write. + + _Canto. + + The Letter. + + Suffer him to love that suffers not loving; my love + is without passion, and therefore free from alteration._ + +Prose is too harsh, and Verse is Poetry. +Why shood I write; then? merrit[33] clad in inke +Is but a mourner, and as good as naked. +I will not write, my friend shall speake for me. +Sing one stave more, my good _Horatio_. + + _Canto_. + +I must remember I know whom I love +A dame of learning, and of life exempt +From all the idle fancies of her Sex, +And this, that to an other dame wood seeme +Perplext and foulded in a rudelesse[34] vaile, +Will be more cleere then ballads to her eye. +Ile write, if but to satisfie my friend. +Your third staunce sweet _Horatio_, and no more. + + _Canto_. + +How vainele doe I offer my strange love? +I marry, and bid states, and entertaine +Ladies with tales, and jests, and Lords with newes, +And keepe a House to feast _Acteons_ hounds +That eate their Master, and let idle guests +Draw me from serious search of things divine? +To bid them sit, and welcome, and take care +To sooth their pallats with choyce kitchin-stuff, +As all must doe that marry, and keepe House, +And then looke on the left side of my yoake +Or on the right perhaps, and see my wife +Drawe in a quite repugnant course from me, +Busied to starch her French purles, and her puffs, +When I am in my _Anima reflexa. +Quid est faelicitas? quae origo rerum_? +And make these beings that are knowne to be +The onely serious object of true men +Seeme shadowes, with substantiall stir she keeps +About her shadowes, which if husbands love +They must beleeve; and thus my other selfe +Brings me another body to dispose, +That have already much too much of one, +And must not looke for any Soule of her +To helpe to rule two bodies? + +_Mom_. Fie for shame; +I never heard of such an antedame[35]. +Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? +Why, friend, they eyther are mens soules themselves, +Or the most witty Imitatrixes of them; +Or prettiest sweet apes of humaine Soules, +That ever Nature fram'd; as I will prove. +For first they be _Substantiae lucidae_, +And purer then mens bodies, like their soules, +Which mens harsh haires both of their brest and chinne +Occasioned by their grose and ruder heate +Plainely demonstrats: Then like soules they doe, +_Movere corpora_, for no power on Earth +Moves a mans body, as a woman does. +Then doe they _Dare formas corpori_, +Or adde faire formes to men, as their soules doe: +For but for women, who wood care for formes? +I vow I never wood wash face, nor hands, +Nor care how ragg'd, or slovenly I went, +Wer't not for women, who of all mens pompes +Are the true final causes: Then they make +Men in their Seedes immortall, like their soules, +That els wood perish in a spanne of time. +Oh! they be soule-like creatures, and my Neece +The soule of twenty rare soules stil'd in one. + +_Cla_. That, that it is, my Lord, that makes me love. + +_Mom_. Oh are ye come Sir, welcome to my Neece, +As I may say, at midnight; gentle friend, +What have you wrot I pray? + +_Cla_. Strange stuffe my Lord. + +_Mom_. Indeed the way to believe is to love + [_Hee reads and comments_. +And the right way to love is to believe. +This I will carry now with pen, and incke, +For her to use in answere; see, sweet friend, +She shall not stay to call, but while the steele +Of her affection is made softe and hott, +Ile strike, and take occasion by the brow. +Blest is the wooing thats not long a dooing. + [_Exit_. + +_Cla_. Had ever man so true, and noble friend? +Or wood men thinke this sharpe worlds freezing Aire +To all true honour and iuduciall love, +Wood suffer such a florishing pyne in both +To overlooke the boxe-trees of this time? +When the learn'd minde hath by impulsion wrought +Her eyes cleere fire into a knowing flame; +No elementall smoke can darken it, +Nor Northren coldnesse nyppe her _Daphnean_ Flower. +O sacred friendship, thanks to thy kinde power, +That being retir'd from all the faithlesse World, +Appear'st to me in my unworldly friend, +And for thine own sake let his noble minde, +By moving presedent to all his kinde, +(Like just _Deucalion_) of Earths stony bones +Repaire the World with humaine bloud and flesh, +And dying vertue with new life refresh. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actvs Qvartvs_. + + + _Enter Tales, Kingcob, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred_. + +_King_. Tis time to leave your Chests, Ladies; tis too studious an +exercise after Dinner. + +_Tal_. Why is it cal'd Chests? + +_Hip_. Because they leane upon their Chests that play at it. + +_Tal_. I wood have it cald the strife of wits, for tis a game so witty, +that with strife for maisterie, we hunt it eagerly. + +_Eug_. Specially where the wit of the _Goosecaps_ are in chase my Lord. + +_Tal_. I am a _Goosecappe_ by the mothers side, Madam; at least my +mother was a _Goosecappe_. + +_Pene_. And you were her white[36] sonne, I warrant my Lord. + +_Tal_. I was the youngest, Lady, and therefore must bee her white sonne, +yee know; the youngest of ten I was. + +_Hip_. And the wisest of Fifteene. + +_Tal_. And sweet Lady will yee cast a kinde eye now upon my Cosin, Sir +_Gyles Goosecappe_. + +_Pene_. Pardon my Lord, I have never a spare eye to cast away, +I assure ye. + +_Tal_. I wonder you shood count it cast away, Ladie, uppon him; doe you +remember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you. + +_Pene_. Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that he +is the best Sempster of any woman in England: pray lets see some of his +worke? + +_Hip_. Sweet Lord, lets see him sowe a little. + +_Tal_. You shall, a mine honour, Lady. + +_Eug_. Hees a goodly greate Knight indeed; and a little needle in his +hand will become him prettelie. + +_King_. From the _Spanish_ Pike to the _Spanish_ Needle, he shall play +with any Knight in England, Ladie. + +_Eug_. But not _e converso_, from the _Spanish_ needle to the _Spanish_ +Pike. + +_King_. I thinke he be too wise for that indeed, Madam, for he has +twenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath to +bring it all to the length of a Pike. + +_Hip_. But no man commends my blount Servant sir _Cut. Rudesby_, +methinks. + +_King_. Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of +this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more +he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing +but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is +right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest +favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it. + +_Eug_. He saies well to you _Hippolita_. + +_Hip_. I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in +kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe. + +_King_. Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he +respects, I assure ye. + +_Hip_. And what's his living sir _Cutbeard_? + +_King_. Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie. + +_Hip_. I pray doe not tell him that I ask't, for I stand not upon +living. + +_King_. O good Ladie, who can live without living? + + _Enter Momford_. + +_Mom_. Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come not +for vittles. + +_Tal_. Vittles, my Lord? I hope wee have vittles at home. + +_Mom_. I, but, sweet Lord, there is a principle in the Polititians +physicke: Eat not[37] your meat upon other mens trenchers, and beware of +surfets of your owne coste. Manie good companions cannot abide to eate +meate at home, ye know. And how faires my noble Neece now, and her faire +Ladie Feeres[38]? + +_Eug_. What winde blowes you hether, troe? + +_Mom_. Harke you, Madam, the sweet gale of one _Clarences_ breath, with +this his paper sayle blowes me hether. + +_Eug_. Aye me still, in that humour? beshrewe my heart, if I take anie +Papers from him. + +_Mom_. Kinde bosome doe thou take it then. + +_Eug_. Nay then never trust me. + +_Mom_. Let it fall then or cast it away, you were best, that every body +may discover your love suits, doe; theres somebody neare, you note +it.--And how have you spent the time since Dinner, nobles? + +_King_. At chests, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Read it, Neece. + +_Eug_. Heere, beare it backe, I pray. + +_Mom_. I beare you on my backe to heare you. And how play the Ladies, +sir _Cuthberd_? what men doe they play best withall, with Knights or +rookes? + +_Tal_. With Knights, my Lord. + +_Mom_. T'is pitty their boord is no broader, and that some men called +guls are not added to their game. + +_King_. Why, my Lo? it needs not, they make the Knights guls. + +_Mom_. That's pretty, sir _Cuthbert_.--You have begon I know, Neece; +forth I command you. + +_Eug_. O yare a sweet uncle. + +_Mom_. I have brought here a little _Greeke_, to helpe mee out withall, +and shees so coy of her learning forsooth, she makes it strange.--Lords +and Ladies, I invite you all to supper to night, and you shall not deny +me. + +_All_. We will attend your Lordshippe. + +_Tal_. Come Ladies let's into the gallery a little. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Mom_. And now what saies mine owne deare Neece yfaith? + +_Eug_. What shood she say to the backside of a paper? + +_Mom_. Come, come, I know you have byn a' the belly side. + +_Eug_. Now was there ever Lord so prodigall +Of his owne honour'd bloud, and dignity? + +_Mom_. Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer the +letter? + +_Eug_. Gods my life, you goe like a cunning spokesman, answer uncle; +what, doe you thinke me desperate of a husband? + +_Mom_. Not so, Neece; but carelesse of your poore Vncle. + +_Eug_. I will not write, that's certaine. + +_Mom_. What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our +blouds? + +_Eug_. O yare in a mighty danger, noe doubt on't. + +_Mom_. If you have our blouds, beware our ghosts, I can tell ye; come, +will ye write? + +_Eug_. I will not write yfaith. + +_Mom_. Yfaith dame, then I must be your secretary, I see; heres the +letter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write. + +_Eug_. If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove a +kinde answer, I beleeve. + +_Mom_. But you will be advis'de, I trust. Secretaries are of counsell +with their Countesses; thus it begins: _Suffer him to love, that suffers +not loving_. What answere you to that? + +_Eug_. He loves extreamely that suffers not in love. + +_Mom_. He answers you for that presently, his love is without passion, +and therefore free from alteration, for _Pati_ you know is _in +alterationem labi_; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, wherein +there is no passion. Saie dame what answer you? + +_Eug_. Nay if I answere anie thing-- + +_Mom_. Why? very well, ile answer for you. + +_Eug_. You answere? shall I set my hand to your answere? + +_Mom_. I, by my faith shall ye. + +_Eug_. By my faith, but you shall answere as I wood have you then. + +_Mom_. Alwaies put in with advice of your secretary, Neece, come, what +answere you? + +_Eug_. Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely to +the first, and last part of his letter. + +_Mom_. Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name: what +is your answeare? + +_Eug_. _I cannot but suffer you to love, if you doe love_. + +_Mom_. Why very good, there it is,--_and will requite your love_; say +you so? [_He writes, and she dictates_. + +_Eug_. Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise to +requite his love, and yet not promise him marriage, I hope; well,-- +_and will requite your love_. + +_Eug_. Nay good my Lord, hold your hand, for ile be sworne, ile not set +my hand too't. + +_Mom_. Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ile +be ready for it anon, I warrent ye. Now forth,--my love is without +passion, and therefore free from alteration: what answere you to that +Madam? + +_Eug_. Even this, my Lord: _your love, being mentall, needs no bodily +Requitall_. + +_Mom_. I am content with that, and here it is;--_but in hart_. + +_Eug_. What but in hart? + +_Mom_. Hold off your hand yet I say;--_I doe embrace, and repay it_. + +_Eug_. You may write, uncle, but if you get my hand to it-- + +_Mom_. Alas Neece, this is nothing, ist anything to a bodily marriage, +to say you love a man in soule, if your harts agree, and your bodies meet +not? simple marriage rites, now let us foorth: he is in the way to +felicity, and desires your hand. + +_Eug_. _My hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity_. + +_Mom_. Very good; may not any woman say this now. Conclude now, sweet +Neece. + +_Eug_. _And so God prosper your journey_. + +_Mom_. Charitably concluded, though farre short of that love I wood have +showen to any friend of yours, Neece, I sweare to you. Your hand now, +and let this little stay his appetite. + +_Eug_. Read what you have writ my Lord. + +_Mom_. What needs that, Madam? you remember it, I am sure. + +_Eug_. Well if it want sense in the Composition, let my secretary be +blam'd for't; thers my hand. + +_Mom_. Thanks, gentle Neece; now ile reade it. + +_Eug_. Why now, more then before I pray? + +_Mom_. That you shall see straite.--_I cannot but suffer you to love if +you doe love, and will requite your love_. + +_Eug_. Remember that requitall was of your owne putting in, but it shall +be after my fashion, I warrant ye. + +_Mom_. Interrupt me no more.--_Your love being mentall needs no bodily +requitall, but in hart I embrace, and repay it; my hand shall alwaies +signe the way to felicity, and my selfe knit with you in the bands of +marriage ever walke with you, in it, and so God prosper our journey: + Eugenia_. + +_Eug_. Gods me life, tis not thus I hope. + +_Mom_. By my life but it is, Neece. + +_Eug_. By my life but tis none of my deed then. + +_Mom_. Doe you use to set your hand to that which is not your deed; your +hand is at it, Neece, and if there be any law in England, you shall +performe it too. + +_Eug_. Why? this is plaine dishonoured deceit. +Does all your truest kindnes end in law? + +_Mom_. Have patience Neece, for what so ere I say, +Onely the lawes of faith, and thy free love +Shall joyne my friend and thee, or naught at all. +By my friends love, and by this kisse it shall. + +_Eug_. Why, thus did false _Acontius_ snare _Cydippe_. + +_Mom_. Indeed, deere love, his wile was something like, +And then tis no unheard of treachery, +That was enacted in a goddes Eye: +_Acontius_ worthy love feard not _Diana_ +Before whom he contriv'd this sweet deceite. + +_Eug_. Well there you have my hand, but ile be sworne +I never did thing so against my will. + +_Mom_. T'will prove the better, Madam, doubt it not. +And to allay the billows of your bloud, +Rais'd with my motion bold and opposite, +Deere Neece, suppe with me, and refresh your spirites: +I have invited your companions, +With the two guests that din'd with you to daie, +And will send for the old Lord _Furnifall_, +The Captaine, and his mates, and (tho at night) +We will be merry as the morning _Larke_. + +_Eug_. No, no my Lord, you will have _Clarence_ there. + +_Mom_. Alas poore Gentleman, I must tell you now, +He's extreame sicke, and was so when he writt, +Tho he did charge me not to tell you so; +And for the World he cannot come abroade. + +_Eug_. Is this the man that without passion loves? + +_Mom_. I doe not tell you he is sicke with love; +Or if he be, tis wilfull passion. +Which he doth choose to suffer for your sake, +And cood restraine his sufferance with a thought, +Vppon my life, he will not trouble you; +And therefore, worthy Neece, faile not to come. + +_Eug_. I will on that condition. + +_Mom_. Tis perform'd. +For were my friend well, and cood comfort me, +I wood not now intreate your company, +But one of you I must have, or I die: +Oh such a friend is worth a monarchy. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Lord Furnifall, Rudsbie, Goosecappe, Foulweather, Bullaker_. + +_Fur_. Nay, my gallants, I will tell you more. + +_All_. Forth, good my Lord. + +_Fur_. The evening came, and then our waxen starres +Sparkled about the heavenly Court of _Fraunce_, +When I then young and radiant as the sunne +Gave luster to those lamps, and curling thus +My golden foretoppe stept into the presence, +Where set with other princely Dames I found +The Countesse of _Lancalier_, and her neece, +Who as I told you cast so fix'd an eye +On my behaviours, talking with the King. + +_All_. True, my good Lord. + +_Fur_. They rose when I came in, and all the lights +Burn'd dim for shame, when I stood up, and shin'd. + +_Foul_. O most passionate description, sir _Cutt_. + +_Rud_. True, of a candles end. + +_Goos_. The passingst description of a candle that ever lived, +sir _Cutt_. + +_Fur_. Yet aym'd I not at them, nor seemed to note +What grace they did me, but found courtly cause +To talke with an accomplisht gentleman +New come from Italy; in quest of newes +I spake _Italian_ with him. + +_Rud_. What so young? + +_Fur_. _O rarissime volte cadono nel parlar nostro familiare_. + +_Foul_. Slid, a cood speake it, Knight, at three yeeres old. + +_Fur_. Nay, gentle Captaine, doe not set me forth; +I love it not, in truth I love it not. + +_Foul_. Slight, my Lord, but truth is truth, you know. + +_Goos_. I dare ensure your Lordship, Truth is truth, and I have heard in +_France_, they speake _French_ as well as their mother tongue, my Lord. + +_Fur_. Why tis their mother tongue, my noble Knight. +But (as I tell you) I seem'd not to note +The Ladies notes of me, but held my talke, +With that Italionate Frenchman, and tooke time +(Still as our conference serv'd) to shew my Courtship +In the three quarter legge, and setled looke, +The quicke kisse of the top of the forefinger, +And other such exploytes of good Accost; +All which the Ladies tooke into their eyes +With such attention that their favours swarm'd +About my bosome, in my hart, mine eares, +In skarffes about my thighes, upon mine armes +Thicke on my wristes, and thicker on my hands, +And still the lesse I sought, the more I found. +All this I tell to this notorious end, +That you may use your Courtship with lesse care +To your coy mistresses; As when we strike +A goodly Sammon, with a little line, +We doe not tugge to hale her up by force, +For then our line wood breake, and our hooke lost; +But let her carelesse play alongst the streame, +As you had left her, and sheele drowne her selfe. + +_Foul_. A my life a most rich comparison. + +_Goos_. Never stirre if it be not a richer Caparison then my Lorde my +Cosin wore at Tilt, for that was brodred with nothing but moone-shine +ith the water, and this has Sammons in't; by heaven a most edible +Caparison. + +_Ru_. Odious thou woodst say, for Comparisons are odious. + +_Foul_. So they are indeed, sir _Cut_., all but my Lords. + +_Goos_. Be Caparisons odious, sir _Cut_; what, like flowers? + +_Rud_. O asse they be odorous.[39] + +_Goos_. A botts a that stincking word odorous, I can never hitt on't. + +_Fur_. And how like you my Court-counsell, gallants, ha? + +_Foul_. Out of all proportion excellent, my Lord; and beleeve it, for +Emphaticall Courtship, your Lordship puts downe all the Lords of the +Court. + +_Fur_. No, good Captaine, no. + +_Foul_. By _France_ you doe, my Lord, for Emphaticall Courtship. + +_Fur_. For Emphaticall Courtship indeed I can doe somewhat. + +_Foul_. Then does your merry entertainment become you so festifally, +that you have all the bravery of a Saint _Georges_ Day about ye, when +you use it. + +_Fur_. Nay thats too much, in sadnesse, Captaine. + +_Goos_. O good, my Lord, let him prayse you, what so ere it costs your +Lordship. + +_Foul_. I assure your Lordship, your merry behaviour does so festifally +show upon you, that every high holliday, when Ladies wood be most +beautifull, every one wishes to God she were turnd into such a little +Lord as you, when y'are merry. + +_Goos_. By this fire they doe my Lord, I have heard am. + +_Fur_. Marry God forbid, Knight, they shood be turnd into me; I had +rather be turnd into them, a mine honour. + +_Foul_. Then for your Lordships quips, and quicke jests, why _Gesta +Romanorum_ were nothing to them, a my vertue. + +_Fur_. Well, well, well, I will heare thee no more, I will heare thee +no more, good Captaine. Tha's an excellent wit, and thou shalt have +Crownes, a mine honour, and now Knights, and Captaine, the foole you +told me off, do you all know him? + +_Goos_. I know him best my Lord. + +_Fur_. Doe you sir _Gyles_? to him then, good Knight, and be here with +him and here, and here, and here againe; I meane paint him unto us sir +_Gyles_, paint him lively, lively now, my good Knightly boy. + +_Goos_. Why my good Lord? he will nere be long from us, because we are +all mortall you know. + +_Fur_. Very true. + +_Goos_. And as soone as ever we goe to Dinner, and Supper together-- + +_Rud_. Dinner and supper together, whens that troe? + +_Goos_. A will come you in amongst us, with his Cloake buttond, loose +under his chinne. + +_Rud_. Buttond loose, my Lord? + +_Goos_. I my Lord, buttond loose still, and both the flaps cast over +before both his shoulders afore him. + +_Rud_. Both shoulders afore him? + +_Fur_. From before him he meanes; forth good sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. Like a potentate, my Lord? + +_Rud_. Much like a Potentate indeed. + +_Goos_. For all the world like a Potentate, sir _Cut_. ye know. + +_Rud_. So Sir. + +_Goos_. All his beard nothing but haire. + +_Rud_. Or something else. + +_Goos_. Or something else as you say. + +_Foul_. Excellent good. + +_Goos_. His Mellons, or his Apricocks, Orrenges alwaies in an uncleane +hand-kerchiffe, very cleanely, I warrant you, my Lord. + +_Fur_. A good neate foole, sir _Gyles_, of mine honour. + +_Goose_. Then his fine words that he sets them in, concaticall, a fine +Annisseede wench foole, upon ticket, and so forth. + +_Fur_. Passing strange words beleeve me. + +_Goos_. Knoth every man at the table, though he never saw him before, by +sight, and then will he foole you so finely my Lord, that he will make +your hart ake, till your eyes runne over. + +_Fur_. The best that ever I heard, pray mercy, good Knight, for thy +merry description. Captaine, I give thee twenty companies of +commendations, never to be cashierd. + + _Enter Iacke, and Will on the other side_. + +_Am_. Save your Lordship. + +_Fur_. My pretty cast-of _Merlins_,[40] what prophecies with your little +maestershippes? + +_Ia_. Things that cannot come to passe my Lord, the worse our fortunes. + +_Foul_. Why, whats the matter Pages? + +_Rud_. How now, my Ladies foysting[41] hounds. + +_Goos_. M. _Iacke_, M. _Ia_. how do ye M. _William_? frolicke? + +_Wil_. Not so frolicke, as you left us, sir _Gyles_. + +_Fur_. Why wags, what news bring you a Gods name? + +_Ia_. Heavy newes indeed, my Lord, pray pardon us. + +_Fur_. Heavy newes? not possible your little bodies cood bring am then, +unload those your heavy newes, I beseech ye. + +_Wil_. Why my Lord the foole we tooke for your Lord: is thought too wise +for you, and we dare not present him. + +_Goos_. Slydd Pages, youle not cheates of our foole, wil ye? + +_Ia_. Why, sir _Gyles_, hees too dogged, and bitter for you in truth; we +shall bring you a foole to make you laugh, and he shall make all the +World laugh at us. + +_Wil_. I indeed, sir _Gyles_, and he knowes you so wel too. + +_Gyles_. Know me? slight he knowes me no more then the begger knowes his +dish.[42] + +_Ia_. Faith he begs you to be content, sir _Gyles_, for he wil not come. + +_Goos_. Beg me? slight, I wood I had knowne that, tother Day, I thought +I had met him in Paules, and he had bin any body else but a piller, I +wood have runne him through by heaven: beg me? + +_Foul_. He begges you to be content, sir _Gyles_; that is, he praies +you. + +_Goos_. O does he praise me then I commend him. + +_Fur_. Let this unsutable foole goe, sir _Gyles_; we will make shift +without him. + +_Goos_. That we wil, a my word, my Lord, and have him too for all this. + +_Wil_. Doe not you say so, sir _Gyles_, for to tell you true that foole +is dead. + +_Goos_. Dead? slight that can not be, man; I know he wood ha writ to me +ant had byn so. + +_Fur_. Quick or dead, let him goe, sir _Giles_. + +_Ia_. I, my Lord, for we have better newes for you to harken after. + +_Fur_. What are they, my good Novations? + +_Ia_. My Lord _Momford_ intreates your Lordship, and these knights and +captaine to accompany the Countesse _Eugenia_, and the other two Ladies, +at his house at supper to night. + +_Wil_. All desiring your Lo: to pardon them, for not eating your meat to +night. + +_Fur_. Withall my hart wagges, and thers amends; my harts, now set your +courtshippe a' the last, a the tainters, and pricke up your selves for +the Ladies. + +_Goos_. O brave sir _Cut_: come lets pricke up the Ladies. + +_Fur_. And will not the Knights two noble kinsemen be there? + +_Ia_. Both will be there, my Lord. + +_Fur_. Why theres the whole knot of us then, and there shall we knocke +up the whole triplicitie of your nuptials. + +_Goos_. Ile make my Lord my Cosin speake for me. + +_Foul_. And your Lordship will be for me I hope. + +_Fur_. With tooth and naile Captaine, a my Lord[ship]. + +_Rud_. Hang am Tytts! ile pommell my selfe into am. + +_Ia_. Your Lo: your Cosin, sir _Gyles_, has promist the Ladies they +shall see you sowe. + +_Goos_. Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry my +worke with me. + +_Fur_. Doe so sir _Gyles_, and withall use meanes +To taint their high blouds with the shafte of Love. +Sometimes a fingers motion wounds their mindes: +A jest, a jesture, or a prettie laugh: +A voyce, a present; ah, things done ith nicke +Wound deepe, and sure; and let flie your gold, +And we shall nuptialls have, hold, belly, hold. + +_Goos_. O rare sir _Cut_. we shall eate nut-shells: hold, belly, hold! + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Ia_.--O pittifull Knight, that knowes not nuptialls from nut-shells! + +_Wil_. And now _Comme porte vous, monsieur_! + +_Bul_. _Porte bien, vous remercy_. + +_Ia_. We may see it indeed, Sir, and you shall goe afore with us. + +_Bul_. No good _monsieurs_. + +_Wil_. Another Crashe in my Ladies Celler yfaith, _monsieur_. + +_Bul_. _Remercy de bon ceur, monsieurs_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Clarence, Momford_. + +_Mom_. How now, my friend? does not the knowing beames, +That through thy common sence glaunce through thy eyes, +To read that letter, through thine eyes retire +And warme thy heart with a triumphant fire? + +_Cla_. My Lord, I feele a treble happines +Mix in one soule, which proves how eminent +Things endlesse are above things temporall, +That are in bodies needefully confin'de: +I cannot suffer their dimensions pierst, +Where my immortall part admits expansure, +Even to the comprehension of two more +Commixt substantially with her meere selfe. + +_Mom_. As how my strange, and riddle-speaking friend? + +_Cla_. As thus, my Lord; I feele my owne minds joy, +As it is separate from all other powers, +And then the mixture of an other soule +Ioyn'de in direction to one end, like it; +And thirdly the contentment I enjoy, +As we are joynd, that I shall worke that good +In such a noble spirit as your Neece, +Which in my selfe I feele for absolute; +Each good minde dowbles his owne free content, +When in an others use they give it vent. + +_Mom_. Said like my friend, and that I may not wrong +Thy full perfections with an emptier grace, +Then that which show presents to thy conceits, +In working thee a wife worse then she seemes; +Ile tell thee plaine a secret which I know. +My Neece doth use to paint herselfe with white, +Whose cheekes are naturally mixt with redd, +Either because she thinks pale-lookes moves most: +Or of an answereable nice affect +To other of her modest qualities; +Because she wood not with the outward blaze +Of tempting beauty tangle wanton eies; +And so be troubled with their tromperies: +Which construe as thou wilt, I make it knowne, +That thy free comment may examine it, +As willinger to tell truth of my Neece, +Then in the least degree to wrong my friend. + +_Cla_. A jealous part of friendship you unfold; +For was it ever seene that any Dame +Wood change of choice a well mixt white and red +For bloodles palenes, if she striv'd to move? +Her painting then is to shun motion, +But if she mended some defects with it, +Breedes it more hate then other ornaments; +(Which to suplie bare nature) Ladies weare? +What an absurd thing is it to suppose; +(If nature made us either lame or sick,) +We wood not seeke for sound limmes, or for health +By Art the Rector of confused Nature? +So in a face, if Nature be made lame, +Then Art can make it, is it more offence +To helpe her want there then in other limmes? +Who can give instance where Dames faces lost +The priviledge their other parts may boast. + +_Mom_. But our most Court received Poets saies, +That painting is pure chastities abator. + +_Cla_. That was to make up a poore rime to Nature. +And farre from any judgment it confered +For lightnes comes from harts, and not from lookes, +And if inchastity possesse the hart; +Not painting doth not race it, nor being cleare +Doth painting spot it: +_Omne bonum naturaliter pulchrum_. +For outward fairenes beares the divine forme, +And moves beholders to the Act of love; +And that which moves to love is to be wisht, +And each thing simply to be wisht is good. +So I conclude mere painting of the face +A lawful and a commendable grace. + +_Mom_. What paradox dost thou defend in this? +And yet through thy cleare arguments I see +Thy speach is farre exempt from flatterie; +And how illiterate custome groslie erres +Almost in all traditions she preferres. +Since then the doubt I put thee of my Neece, +Checks not thy doubtlesse love, forth my deare friend, +And to add[43] force to those impressions, +That now have caru'd her phantasie with love, +I have invited her to supper heere. +And told her thou art most extreamly sick, +Which thou shalt counterfeit with all thy skill. + +_Cla_. Which is exceeding smale to conterfeit. + +_Mom_. Practise a little, love will teach it thee; +And then shall _Doctor Versey_ the physitian, +Come to thee while her selfe is in my house, +Whith whom as thou confer'st of thy disease, +He bring my Neece with all the Lords, and Ladies +Within your hearing, under fain'd pretext +To shew the Pictures that hang neere thy Chamber; +Where when thou hearst my voyce, know she is there, +And therefore speake that which may stir her thoughts, +And make her flie into thy opened armes. +Ladies, whom true worth cannot move to ruth, +Trew lovers must deceive to shew their truth. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actvs Qvinti_. + +SCENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Momford, Furnifall, Tales, Kingcob, Rudesbie, Goosecap, + Foulweather, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred_. + +_Mom_. Where is sir _Gyles Goose-cappe_ here? + +_Goos_. Here my Lord. + +_Mom_. Come forward, Knight; t'is you that the Ladies admire at working, +a mine honour. + +_Goos_. A little at once my Lorde for idlenes sake. + +_Fur_. Sir _Cut_, I say, to her Captaine. + +_Penel_. Come good servant let's see what you worke. + +_Goos_. Why looke you, Mistris, I am makeing a fine dry sea, full of +fish, playing in the bottome, and here ile let in the water so lively, +that you shall heare it rore. + +_Eug_. Not heare it, sir _Gyles_? + +_Goos_. Yes in sooth, Madam, with your eyes. + +_Tal_. I, Lady; for when a thing is done so exceedingly to the life, as +my Knightly cosen does it, the eye oftentimes takes so strong a heede of +it, that it cannot containe it alone, and therefore the eare seemes to +take part with it. + +_Hip_. That's a verie good reason, my Lord. + +_Mom_. What a jest it is, to heare how seriouslie he strives to make his +foolish kinsmans answeres wise ones? + +_Pene_. What shall this be, servant? + +_Goos_. This shall be a great Whale, Mistris, at all his bignesse +spouting huge Hils of salt-water afore him, like a little water squirt, +but you shall not neede to feare him Mistris, for he shal be silke, and +gould, he shall doe you noe harme, and he be nere so lively. + +_Pene_. Thanke you, good servant. + +_Tal_. Doe not thinke, Lady, but he had neede tell you this a forehand: +for, a mine honour, he wrought me the monster _Caucasus_ so lively, that +at the first sight I started at it. + +_Mom_. The monster _Caucasus_? my Lord, _Caucasus_ is a Mountaine; +_Cacus_ you meane. + +_Tal_. _Cacus_ indeede, my Lord, crie you mercie. + +_Goos_. Heere ile take out your eye, and you wil Mistris. + +_Pene_. No by my faith, Servant, t'is better in. + +_Goos_. Why, Ladie, Ile but take it out in jest, in earnest. + +_Pene_. No, something else there, good servant. + +_Goos_. Why then here shall be a Camell, and he shall have hornes, and +he shall looke for all the World like a maide without a husband. + +_Hip_. O bitter sir _Giles_. + +_Ta_. Nay he has a drie wit, Ladie, I can tell ye. + +_Pene_. He bobd me there indeed, my Lord. + +_Fur_. Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter bob. + +_King_. So she maie answere him with hornes indeed. + +_Eug_. See what a pretty worke he weares in his boote-hose. + +_Hip_. Did you worke them your selfe, sir _Gyles_, or buy them? + +_Goos_. I bought am for nothing, Madam, in th'exchange. + +_Eug_. Bought am for nothing? + +_Tal_. Indeed, Madam, in th'exchange they so honour him for his worke, +that they will take nothing for any thing he buies on am; but wheres the +rich night-cap you wroght, cosen? if it had not bin too little for you, +it was the best peece of worke, that ever I sawe. + +_Goos_. Why, my Lord, t'was bigge enough; when I wrought it, for I wore +pantables then you knowe. + +_Tal_. Indeed the warmer a man keepes his feete the lesse he needs weare +uppon his head. + +_Eug_. You speake for your kinsman the best that ever I heard, my Lord. + +_Goos_. But I beleeve, Madam, my Lord my cosen has not told you all my +good parts. + +_Ta_. I told him so I warrant you, cosen. + +_Hip_. What doe you thinke hee left out sir _Gyles_? + +_Goos_. Marry, Madam, I can take _Tobacco_ now, and I have bought +glow-wormes to kindle it withall, better then all the burning glasses +ith World. + +_Eug_. Glowe-wormes, sir _Giles_? will they make it burne? + +_Goos_. O good Madam, I feed am with nothing but fire, a purpose, Ile +besworne they eat me five Faggots a-weeke in Charcoale. + +_Tal_. Nay he has the strangest devices, Ladies, that ever you heard, +I warrent ye. + +_Fur_. That's a strange device indeed, my Lord. + +_Hip_. But your sowing, sir _Gyles_, is a most gentlewoman-like quality, +I assure you. + +_Pene_. O farr away, for now, servant, you neede never marry, you are +both husband, and wife your selfe. + +_Goos_. Nay indeed, mistris, I wood faine marry for all that, and ile +tell you my reason, if you will. + +_Pene_. Let's here it good servant. + +_Goos_. Why, Madam, we have a great match at football towards, married +men against batchellers, and the married men be all my friends, so I +wood faine marry to take the married mens parts in truth. + +_Hip_. The best reason for marriage that ever I heard sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. I pray will you keepe my worke a little, Mistris; I must needes +straine a little courtesie in truth. [_Exit Sir Gyles_. + +_Hip_. Gods my life, I thought he was a little to blame. + +_Rud_. Come, come, you he[a]re not me, dame. + +_Pur_. Well said, sir _Cut_: to her now; we shall heare fresh courting. + +_Hip_. Alas, sir _Cut_, you are not worth the hearing, every body saies +you cannot love, howsoever you talke on't. + +_Rud_. Not love, dame? slidd what argument woodst have of my love, tro? +lett me looke as redde as Scarlet a fore I see thee, and when thou comst +in sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippards +holland, I am a _Iewe_ to my Creator. + +_Hip_. O excellent! + +_Rud_. Let me burst like a Tode, if a frowne of thy browe has not turned +the very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by the +heeles for a fortnight to bring it to the right againe. + +_Hip_. You shood have hangd longer sir _Cut_: tis not right yet. + +_Rud_. Zonnes, bid me cut off the best lymme of my body for thy love, +and ile lai't in thy hand to prove it. Doost thinke I am no Christian, +have I not a soule to save? + +_Hip_. Yes tis to save yet I warrant it, and wilbe while tis a soule if +you use this. + +_Fur_. Excellent Courtship of all hands, only my Captaines Courtship, is +not heard yet. Good Madam give him favour to court you with his voyce. + +_Eug_. What shood he Court me withall else, my Lord? + +_Mom_. Why, I hope Madam there be other things to Court Ladies withall +besides voyces. + +_Fur_. I meane with an audible sweete song Madam. + +_Eug_. With all my heart my Lord, if I shall bee so much indebted +to him. + +_Foul_. Nay I will be indebted to your eares Ladie for hearing me sound +musicke. + +_Fur_. Well done Captaine, prove as it wil now. + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Me_. My Lord, Doctor _Versey_ the Physitian is come to see master +_Clarence_. + +_Mom_. Light, and attend him to him presently. + +_Fur_. To Master _Clarence_? what is your friend sicke? + +_Mom_. Exceeding sicke. + +_Tal_. I am exceeding sorrie. + +_King_. Never was sorrow worthier bestowed +Then for the ill state of so good a man. + +_Pene_. Alas poore Gentleman; good my Lord lets see him. + +_Mom_. Thankes gentle Ladie, but my friend is loth +To trouble Ladies since he cannot quitt them. +With anything he hath that they respect. + +_Hip_. Respect, my Lord! I wood hold such a man +In more respect then any Emperour: +For he cood make me Empresse of my selfe +And in mine owne rule comprehend the World. + +_Mom_. How now young Dame? what sodainly inspird? +This speech hath silver haires, and reverence askes, +And sooner shall have duty done of me, +Then any pompe in temperall Emperie. + +_Hip_. Good Madam get my Lord to let us greet him. + +_Eug_. Alas we shall but wrong and trouble him. +His Contemplations greet him with most welcome. + +_Fur_. I never knew a man of so sweet a temper, +So soft and humble, of so high a Spirit. + +_Mom_. Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich, +Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes +The standing lake of Impudence corrupts; +Hath nought in all the World, nor nought wood have, +To grace him in the prostituted light. +But if a man wood consort with a soule +Where all mans Sea of gall and bitternes +Is quite evaporate with her holy flames, +And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence +Fosters her own deserts, and life and death +Runnes hand in hand before them, all the Skies +Cleere, and transparent to her piercing eyes, +Then wood my friend be something, but till then +A _Cipher_, nothing, or the worst of men. + +_Foul_. Sweet Lord, lets goe visit him. + + _Enter Goose-cappe_. + +_Goos_. Pray, good my Lord, what's that you talke on? + +_Mom_. Are you come from your necessarie busines, Sir _Gyles_? we talke +of the visiting of my sicke friend _Clarence_. + +_Goos_. O good my Lord lets visite him, cause I knowe his brother. + +_Hip_. Know his brother, nay then Count doe not denie him. + +_Goos_. Pray my Lord whether was eldest, he or his elder brother? + +_Mom_. O! the younger brother eldest while you live, sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. I say so still my Lord, but I am so borne downe with truth, as +never any Knight ith world was I thinke. + +_Ta_. A man wood thinke he speakes simply now; but indeed it is in the +will of the parents, to make which child they will youngest, or eldest: +For often we see the youngest inherite, wherein he is eldest. + +_Eug_. Your logicall wit my Lord is able to make any thing good. + +_Mom_. Well come sweet Lords, and Ladies, let us spend +The time till supper-time with some such sights, +As my poore house is furnished withall, +Pictures, and jewels; of which implements, +It may be I have some will please you much. + +_Goos_, Sweet Lord, lets see them. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Clarence, and Doctor_. + +_Do_. I thinke your disease sir, be rather of the minde then the body. + +_Cla_. Be there diseases of the minde _Doctor_? + +_Do_. No question sir, even as there be of the body. + +_Cla_. And cures for them too? + +_Do_. And cures for them too, but not by Physick. + +_Cla_. You will have their diseases, greifes? will you not? + +_Do_. Yes, oftentimes. + +_Cla_. And doe not greifes ever rise out of passions? + +_Do_. Evermore. + +_Cla_. And doe not passions proceed from corporall distempers? + +_Do_. Not the passions of the minde, for the minde many times is sicke, +when the bodie is healthfull. + +_Cla_. But is not the mindes-sicknes of power to make the body sicke? + +_Do_. In time, certaine. + +_Cla_. And the bodies ill affections able to infect the mind? + +_Do_. No question. + +_Cla_. Then if there be such a naturall commerce of Powers betwixt them, +that the ill estate of the one offends the other, why shood not the +medicines for one cure the other? + +_Do_. Yet it will not you see. _Hei mihi quod nullis amor est +medicabilis herbis_.[44] + +_Cla_. Nay then, Doctor, since you cannot make any reasonable Connexion +of these two contrarieties the minde, and the body, making both subiect +to passion, wherein you confound the substances of both, I must tell you +there is no disease of the minde but one, and that is _Ignorance_. + +_Do_. Why what is love? is not that a disease of the mind? + +_Cla_. Nothing so: for it springs naturally out of the bloode, nor are +we subject to any disease, or sorrowe, whose causes or effects simply +and natively concerne the body, that the minde by any meanes partaketh, +nor are there any passions in the soule, for where there are no +affections, there are no passions: And _Affectus_ your Master _Galen_ +refers _parti irascenti_, For _illic est anima sentiens ubi sunt +affectus_: Therefore the Rationall Soule cannot be there also. + +_Do_. But you know we use to say, my minde gives me this or that, even +in those addictions that concerne the body. + +_Cla_. We use to say so indeed, and from that use comes the abuse of all +knowledge and her practice, for when the object in question only +concerns the state of the body; why shood the soule bee sorry or glad +for it? if she willingly mixe her selfe, then she is a foole, if of +necessity, and against her will, a slave, and so, far from that wisdome +and freedome that the Empresse of Reason and an eternall Substance shood +comprehend. + +_Do_. Divinely spoken, Sir, but verie Paradoxicallie. + + _Enter Momford, Tales, Kingcob, Furnif; Rudes, Goos: Foul: + Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolyta, Winnifred_. + +_Mom_. Who's there? + +[_Fur_.?] I, my Lord. + +_Mom_. Bring hether the Key of the gallery, me thought +I heard the Doctor, and my friend. + +_Fur_. I did so sure. + +_Mom_. Peace then a while, my Lord, +We will be bold to evesdroppe; For I know +My friend is as respective in his Chamber +And by himselfe, of any thing he does +As in a _Criticke Synods_ curious eyes, +Following therein _Pythagoras_ golden rule-- +_Maxime omnium teipsum reverere_. + +_Cla_. Know you the Countesse _Eugenia_, Sir? + +_Do_. Exceeding wel, Sir; she's a good learned scholler. + +_Cla_. Then I perceive you know her well indeed. + +_Do_. Me thinks you two shood use much conference. + +_Cla_. Alas sir, we doe verie seldome meet, +For her estate and mine are so unequall, +And then her knowledge passeth mine so farre, +That I hold much too sacred a respect, +Of her high vertues to let mine attend them. + +_Do_. Pardon me, Sir, this humblenes cannot flowe +Out of your judgment but from passion. + +_Cla_. Indeed I doe account that passion +The very high perfection of my minde, +That is excited by her excellence, +And therefore willingly, and gladly feele it. +For what was spoken of the most chast Queene +Of rich _Pasiaca_ [?] may be said of her. +_Moribus Antevenit sortem[45], virtutibus Annos, +Sexum animo, morum Nobilitate Genus_. + +_Do_. A most excellent _Distick_. + +_Mom_. Come, Lords, away, lets not presume too much +Of a good nature; not for all I have +Wood I have him take knowledge of the wrong +I rudely offer him: come then ile shew +A few rare jewels to your honour'd eyes; +And then present you with a common supper. + +_Goos_. Iewells, my Lord? why is not this candlesticke one of your +jewells pray? + +_Mom_. Yes marry is it, sir _Gyles_, if you will. + +_Goos_. Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing but +the languages. + +_Pene_. The languages servant why the languages? + +_Goos_. Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, and +that had the languages I am sure. + +_Tal_. I thought he had a reason for it Lady. + +_Pene_. I, and a reason of the Sunne too, my Lord, for his father wood +have bin ashamed on't. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Do_. Well, master _Clarence_, I perceive your minde +Hath so incorparate it selfe with flesh +And therein rarified that flesh to spirit, +That you have need of no Physitians helpe. +But, good Sir, even for holy vertues health +And grace of perfect knowledge, doe not make +Those ground workes of eternity you lay +Meanes to your ruine, and short being here: +For the too strict and rationall Course you hold +Will eate your body up; and then the World, +Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives, +Will suffer Diminution: It is now +Brought almost to a simple unity, +Which is (as you well know) _Simplicior puncto_. +And if that point faile once, why, then alas +The unity must onely be suppos'd. +Let it not faile then, most men else have sold it; +Tho you neglect your selfe, uphould it. +So with my reverend love I leave you sir. [_Exit_. + +_Cla_. Thanks, worthy Doctour, I do amply quite you; +I proppe poore vertue, that am propt my selfe, +And only by one friend in all the World! +For vertues onely sake I use this wile, +Which otherwise I wood despise, and scorne. +The World should sinke, and all the pompe she hugs +Close in her hart, in her ambitious gripe, +Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joynt +Mou'd with the worth that worldlings love so well +Had power to save it from the throate of hell. + [_He drawes the curtains, and sits within them_. + + _Enter Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolita_. + +_Eug_. Come on, faire Ladies, I must make you both +Familiar witnesses of the most strange part +And full of impudence, that ere I plaide. + +_Hip_. What's that, good Madam? + +_Eug_. I that have bene so more then maiden-nice +To my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeld +By his importunate suite to his friends love +In looke, or almost thought; will of my selfe, +Farre past his expectation or his hope, +In action and in person greete his friend, +And comfort the poore gentlemans sicke state. + +_Pene_. Is this a part of so much Impudence? + +_Eug_. No but I feare me it will stretch to more. + +_Hip_. Marry, Madam, the more the merrier. + +_Eug_. Marrie Madam? what shood I marrie him? + +_Hip_. You take the word me thinkes as tho you would, +And if there be a thought of such kind heate +In your cold bosome, wood to god my breath +Might blowe it to the flame of your kind hart. + +_Eug_. Gods pretious, Ladie, know ye what you say, +Respect you what I am, and what he is, +What the whole world wood say, & what great Lords +I have refused, and might as yet embrace, +And speake you like a friend to wish me him? + +_Hip_. Madam I cast all this, and know your choyse +Can cast it quite out of the christall dores +Of your Iudiciall eyes: I am but young, +And be it said, without all pride I take +To be a maid, I am one, and indeed +Yet in my mothers wombe to all the wiles +Weeud[46] in the loomes of greatnes, and of state: +And yet even by that little I have learn'd +Out of continuall conference with you, +I have cride haruest home of thus much judgment +In my greene sowing time, that I cood place +The constant sweetnes of good _Clarence_ minde, +Fild with his inward wealth and noblenes, +(Looke, Madam) here, when others outward trash +Shood be contented to come under here. + +_Pene_. And so say I uppon my maidenhead. + +_Eug_. Tis well said, Ladies, thus we differ then, +I to the truth-wife, you to worldly men. +And now sweet dames obserue an excellent jest +(At least in my poore jesting.) Th'Erle my unckle +Will misse me straite, and I know his close drift +Is to make me, and his friend _Clarence_ meete +By some device or other he hath plotted. +Now when he seekes us round about his house +And cannot find us, for we may be sure +He will not seeke me in his sicke friends Chamber, +(I have at all times made his love so strange,) +He straight will thinke, I went away displeas'd, +Or hartely careles of his hardest suite. +And then I know there is no griefe on Earth +Will touch his hart so much; which I will suffer, +To quite his late good pleasure wrought on me, +For ile be sworne in motion, and progresse +Of his friends suite, I never in my life +Wrastled so much with passion or was mov'd +To take his firme love in such jelouse part. + +_Hip_. This is most excellent, Madam, and will prove +A neecelike, and a noble friends Revenge. + +_Eug_. Bould in a good cause; then lets greet his friend.-- +Where is this sickely gentleman? at his booke? +Now in good truth I wood theis bookes were burnd +That rapp men from their friends before their time, +How does my uncles friend, no other name +I need give him, to whom I give my selfe. + +_Cla_. O Madam let me rise that I may kneele, +And pay some duty to your soveraigne grace. + +_Hip_. Good _Clarence_, doe not worke your selfe disease +My Lady comes to ease and comfort you. + +_Pene_. And we are handmaides to her to that end. + +_Cla_. Ladies, my hart will breake if it be held +Within the verge of this presumtuous chaire. + +_Eug_. Why, _Clarence_ is your judgement bent to show +A common lovers passion? let the World, +That lives without a hart, and is but showe, +Stand on her empty, and impoisoned forme, +I knowe thy kindenesse and have seene thy hart +Clest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes, +And I am only now to speake and act +The rite's due to thy love: oh, I cood weepe +A bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state, +I cood give passion all her blackest rites +And make a thousand vowes to thy deserts. +But these are common, knowledge is the bond, +The seale, and crowne of our united mindes; +And that is rare and constant, and for that, +To my late written hand I give thee this. +See, heaven, the soule thou gau'st is in this hand. +This is the Knot of our eternitie, +Which fortune, death, nor hell, shall ever loose. + + _Enter Bullaker, Iack, Wil_. + +_Ia_. What an unmannerly tricke is this of thy Countesse to give the +noble count her uncle the slippe thus? + +_Wil_. Vnmannerlie, you villaynes? O that I were worthy to weare a +Dagger to any purpose for thy sake? + +_Bul_. Why young Gentlemen, utter your anger with your fists. + +_Wil_. That cannot be, man, for all fists are shut you know and utter +nothing; and besides I doe not thinke my quarrell just for my Ladies +protection in this cause, for I protest she does most abhominablie +miscarrie her selfe. + +_Ia_. Protest, you sawsie Iacke, you! I shood doe my country, and +Court-ship good service to beare thy coalts teeth out of thy head, for +suffering such a reverend word to passe their guarde; why, the oldest +Courtier in the World, man, can doe noe more then protest. + +_Bul_. Indeede, Page, if you were in _Fraunce_, you wood be broken upon +a wheele for it, there is not the best _Dukes_ sonne in _France_ dares +say I protest, till he be one and thirty yeere old at least, for the +inheritance of that word is not to be possest before. + +_Wil_. Well, I am sorry for my presumtion then, but more sory for my +Ladies, marie most sorry for thee good Lord _Momford_, that will make us +most of all sory for our selves, if wee doe not fynde her out. + +_Ia_. Why, alas, what shood wee doe? all the starres of our heaven see, +we seeke her as fast as we can if she be crept into a rush we will seeke +her out or burne her. + + _Enter Momford_. + +_Mom_. Villaines, where are your Ladies? seeke them out. +Hence, home ye monsters, and still keepe you there +Where levity keepes, in her inconstant Spheare. [_Exeunt Pages_. +Away, you pretious villaines! what a plague, +Of varried tortures is a womans hart? +How like a peacockes taile with different lightes, +They differ from themselves; the very ayre +Alter the aspen humors of their bloods. +Now excellent good, now superexcellent badd: +Some excellent good, some? but one of all: +Wood any ignorant babie serue her friend +Such an uncivill part? Sblood what is learning? +An artificiall cobwebbe to catch _flies_, +And nourish _Spiders_? cood she cut my throate +With her departure, I had byn her calfe, +And made a dish at supper for my guests +Of her kinde charge; I am beholding to her. +Puffe, is there not a feather in this ayre +A man may challenge for her? what? a feather? +So easie to be seene, so apt to trace, +In the weake flight of her unconstant wings? +A mote, man, at the most, that with the Sunne, +Is onely seene, yet with his radiant eye, +We cannot single so from other motes, +To say this mote is she. Passion of death, +She wrongs me past a death; come, come, my friend +Is mine, she not her owne, and theres an end. + +_Eug_. Come uncle shall we goe to supper now? + +_Mom_. Zounes to supper? what a dorr is this? + +_Eug_. Alas what ailes my uncle? Ladies, see. + +_Hip_. Is not your Lordshippe well? + +_Pene_. Good, speake my Lord. + +_Mom_. A sweete plague on you all, ye witty rogues; +Have you no pitty in your villanous jests, +But runne a man quite from his fifteene witts? + +_Hip_. Will not your Lordship see your friend, and Neece. + +_Mom_. Wood I might sinke if I shame not to see her +Tush t'was a passion of pure jealousie, +Ile make her now amends with Adoration. +Goddesse of learning, and of constancy, +Of friendshippe, and of everie other vertue. + +_Eug_. Come, come you have abus'de me now, I know, +And now you plaister me with flatteries. + +_Pene_. My Lord, the contract is knit fast betwixt them. + +_Mom_. Now all heavens quire of Angels sing Amen, +And blesse theis true borne nuptials with their blisse; +And Neece tho you have cosind me in this, +Ile uncle you yet in an other thing, +And quite deceive your expectation. +For where you thinke you have contracted harts +With a poore gentleman, he is sole heire +To all my Earledome, which to you and yours +I freely and for ever here bequeath. +Call forth the Lords, sweet Ladies; let them see +This sodaine, and most welcome Noveltie; +But cry you mercy, Neece, perhaps your modesty +Will not have them partake this sodaine match. + +_Eug_. O uncle, thinke you so? I hope I made +My choyce with too much Judgment to take shame +Of any forme I shall performe it with. + +_Mom_. Said like my Neece, and worthy of my friend. + + _Enter Furnifall, Tal: King: Goos: Rud: Foul: Ia: Will, Bullaker_. + +_Mom_. My Lords, take witnes of an absolute wonder, +A marriage made for vertue, onely vertue: +My friend, and my deere Neece are man and wife. + +_Fur_. A wonder of mine honour, and withall +A worthy presedent for all the World; +Heaven blesse you for it, Lady, and your choyce. + +_Ambo_. Thankes, my good Lord. + +_Ta_. An Accident that will make pollicie blush, +And all the Complements of wealth and state, +In the succesfull and unnumbred Race +That shall flow from it, fild with fame and grace. + +_Ki_. So may it speed deere Countesse, worthy _Clarence_. + +_Ambo_. Thankes, good sir _Cuthberd_. + +_Fur_. Captaine be not dismaid, Ile marrie thee, +For while we live, thou shalt my consort be. + +_Foul_. By _France_ my Lord, I am not griev'd a whit, +Since _Clarence_ hath her; he hath bin in _Fraunce_, +And therefore merits her if she were better. + +_Mom_. Then, Knights, ile knit your happie nuptial knots. +I know the Ladies minds better then you; +Tho my rare Neece hath chose for vertue only, +Yet some more wise then some, they chuse for both, +Vertue and wealth. + +_Eug_. Nay, uncle, then I plead +This goes with my choise, _Some more wise then some_, +For onely vertues choise is truest wisedome. + +_Mom_. Take wealth, and vertue both amongst you then, +They love ye, Knights, extreamely; and Sir _Cut_: +I give the chast _Hippolita_ to you; +Sir _Gyles_, this Ladie-- + +_Pen_. Nay, stay there, my Lord. +I have not yet prov'd all his Knightly parts +I heare he is an excellent Poet too. + +_Tal_. That I forgot sweet Lady; good sir _Gyles_, +Have you no sonnet of your penne about ye? + +_Goos_. Yes, that I have I hope, my Lord, my Cosen. + +_Fur_. Why, this is passing fit. + +_Goos_. I'de be loth to goe without paper about me against my Mistris, +hold my worke againe; a man knows not what neede he shall have perhaps. + +_Mom_. Well remembred a mine honour sir _Gyles_. + +_Goos_. Pray read my Lord, I made this sonnet of my Mistris. + +_Rud_. Nay reade thy selfe, man. + +_Goos_. No intruth, sir _Cut_: I cannot reade mine owne hand. + +_Mom_. Well I will reade it. +_Three things there be which thou shouldst only crave, +Thou Pomroy or thou apple of mine eye; +Three things there be which thou shouldst long to have +And for which three each modest dame wood crie; +Three things there be that shood thine anger swage, +An English mastife and a fine French page_. + +_Rud_. Sblood, Asse, theres but two things, thou shamst thy selfe. + +_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. thats _Poetica licentia_, the verse wood have bin +too long, and I had put in the third. Slight, you are no Poet I perceive. + +_Pene_. Tis excellent, servant. + +_Mom_. Keepe it Lady then, +And take the onely Knight of mortall men. + +_Goos_. Thanke you, good my Lord, as much as tho you had given me twenty +shillings in truth; now I may take the married mens parts at football. + +_Mom_. All comforts crowne you all; and you, Captaine, +For merry forme sake let the willowe crowne: +A wreath of willow bring us hither straite. + +_Fur_. Not for a world shood that have bin forgot +Captaine it is the fashion, take this Crowne. + +_Foul_. With all my hart, my Lord, and thanke you too; +I will thanke any man that gives me crownes. + +_Mom_. Now will we consecrate our ready supper +To honourd _Hymen_ as his nuptiall rite; +In forme whereof first daunce, faire Lords and Ladies, +And after sing, so we will sing, and daunce, +And to the skies our vertuous joyes advance. + + _The Measure_. + +Now to the song and doe this garland grace. + + _Canto. + + Willowe, willowe, willowe, + our Captaine goes downe: + Willowe, willowe, willowe, + his vallor doth crowne. + The rest with Rosemary we grace; + O Hymen let thy light + With richest rayes guild every face, + and feast harts with delight. + Willowe, willowe, willowe, + we chaunt to the skies; + And with blacke, and yellowe, + give courtship the prize_. + + +FINIS. + + + +NOTE.--In a letter to the _Athenaeum_ of June 9, 1883, Mr. Fleay +suggests that _Sir Giles Goosecap_ is the work of George Chapman. "It +was produced by the Children of the Chapel, and must therefore date +between 1599 and 1601. The only other plays known to have been +represented by the Chapel Children are Lyly's _Love's Metamorphosis_ +and the three _Comical Satires_ of Ben Jonson. The present play bears +palpable marks of Jonson's influence.... The author, then, must have +been a stage writer at the end of the sixteenth century, probably a +friend of Jonson's, and not surviving 1636. The only known playwrights +who fulfil the time conditions are Marston, Middleton, and Chapman. +Internal evidence, to say nothing of Jonson's enmity, is conclusive +against Marston and Middleton. Chapman, on the other hand, fulfils the +conditions required. He was Jonson's intimate friend, and died in 1634. +In 1598 he was writing plays for Henslow at the Rose Theatre; on July +17, 1599, his connexion with the Admiral's Company there performing +ceased; and his next appearance in stage history is as a writer for the +Children of Her Majesty's Revels, the very company that succeeded, and +was, indeed, founded on that of the Children of the Chapel at +Blackfriars. If Chapman was not writing for the Chapel boys from 1599 to +1601, we do not know what he was doing at all. The external evidence, +then, clearly points to Chapman. The internal is still more decisive. To +say nothing of metrical evidence, which seems just now out of fashion, +probably on account of the manner in which it has been handled, can +there be any doubt of the authorship of such lines as these:-- + + 'According to my master Plato's mind,' &c.--iii. II. + +And for the lower comedy, act iv., sc. 1, in which Momford +makes Eugenia dictate a letter to Clarence, should be compared +with the _Gentleman Usher_, iii. 1, and _Monsieur d'Olive_, iv. 1. +These are clearly all from one mould." I, like Mr. Fleay, had +been struck by the resemblance to Chapman's style in parts of +_Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; but it seems to me that the likeness is +stronger in the serious than in the comic scenes. If Chapman +was the author, it is curious that his name did not appear on +the title-page of the second edition. The reference to the +Marechal de Biron's visit, iii. 1, proves conclusively that the +play cannot have been written earlier than the autumn of 1601. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO _DOCTOR DODYPOLL_. + + +After reading the passages from "Dr. Dodypoll" in Lamb's "Extracts from +the Garrick Plays," many students must have felt a desire to have the +play in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall +cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play +through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew +already. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astounding +inequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, between +Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift +of expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold +with a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a +freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and +dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of +Lassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is brought +too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, the +serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken +English, is a desperate bore. Soon the stage is crowded with figures, +and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the +plot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. The +elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are +fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the +doctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a +rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been +previously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, +who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained the +affections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no great +dexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The reader +jumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couple +cleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making Earl +Cassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with her +father, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's story +of Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The third +scene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of the +enchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from +"Midsummer Night's Dream," and in single lines of other scenes we catch +Shakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest in +the scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives to +pierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for an +instant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions. +The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. And +what shall be said of that exquisite description of the cameo in ii. 1? + + "_Flores_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes + The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, + Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; + See, naturally wrought out of the stone + (Besides the perfect shape of every limme, + Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) + A waving mantle of celestiall blew + Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres. + + _Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) + How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone + As if they needed not the helpe of Art." + +Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless? + +As to the authorship of "Dr. Dodypoll" I am unable to form a conjecture. +We learn from Henslowe's Diary that a play called the "French Doctor" +was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece +with "Dr. Dodypoll." Steevens states that the present play was composed +before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song on +p. 102, "What thing is love"? is found in William Drummond's MS. +extracts from Peele's "Hunting of Cupid" (apud Dyce's Peele).[48] + + + + +The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll. + +_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_. + + +LONDON Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, +dwelling in Long Lane. 1600. + + + + +The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll. + + + +_Actus Prima_. + + + _A Curtaine drawne, Earle_ Lassingbergh _is discovered + (like a Painter) painting_ Lucilia, _who sits working + on a piece of Cushion worke_. + +_Lassinberge_.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayes +Reveal'st the variant colours of the world, +Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'st +The glorious parts of faire _Lucilia_: +Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares, +And fix them there as an eternall light +For Lovers to adore and wonder at: +And this (long since) the high Gods would have done, +But that they could not bring it back againe +When they had lost so great divinitie. + +_Lu_. You paint your flattering words, [Lord] _Lassinbergh_, +Making a curious pensill of your tongue; +And that faire artificiall hand of yours +Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie +Then here to worke on Antickes and on me. +Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle) +Are glad to be a mercinary Painter. + +_Lass_. A Painter, faire _Luci[li]a_? Why, the world +With all her beautie was by painting made. +Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres, +The firmamentall ground of it all blew: +Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes, +The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth: +Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,-- +How much is natures painting honour'd there? +Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore, +Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne, +Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles: +Looke on that little world, the twofold man, +Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still, +And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme +Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin. +I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts, +The severall colours of the Elements, +Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie +In making all things by their colours knowne. +And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine, +In all things she hath made is a meere Painter. + + [_She kisses her hand_. + +[_Lu_.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill, +Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given +(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art, +Of which my beauties can deserve no part. + +_Lass_. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst +Thy severall parts, if I uniting all +Had figur'd there the true _Lucilia_, +Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine Art +And devout people would from farre repaire, +Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice, +Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves. +Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold, +Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye; +Here, underneath this little Rosie bush, +Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it; +Here _Cupid_ (hanging downe his wings) doth sit, +Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes: +Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand, +Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper'st, +Least ravisht I should dote on mine own worke +Or Envy-burning eyes should malice it. + +_Lu_. No more, my Lord; see, here comes _Haunce_ +our man. + + _Enter Haunce_. + +_Haunce_. We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made +Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night +tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but +I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes. +Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a +cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my +Mistresse _Lucilia_, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints no +pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie. +But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers: +A, the finest wench. + + Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise, + And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes. + + _Enter_ Cornelia _sola, looking upon the picture of_ + Alberdure _in a little Jewell, and singing. Enter the + Doctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her_. + + THE SONG. + + _What thing is love? for sure I am it is a thing, + It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a prettie, prettie thing; + It is a fire, it is a cole, whose flame creeps in at every hoale; + And as my wits do best devise + Loves dwelling is in Ladies eies_. + +_Haunce_. O rare wench! + +_Cor_. Faire Prince, thy picture is not here imprest +With such perfection as within my brest. + +_Mar_. Soft, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. _Cornelia_, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is too +sawcie by garr. Foole, holde off hand, foole; let de Doctor speake. + +_Han_. Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jewes Trump. + +_Doct_. Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you. Me pray you not +to say no. + +_Cor_. Maister Doctor, I think you do not love me; +I am sure you shall not marry me, +And (in good sadnes) I must needs say no. + +_Mar_. What say you to this, maister Doctor. Mistresse, let me speake. +That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I +would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter: +and I do live or die upon your _Monasi[la]ble_, I or no. + +_Doct_. By gar if you will see de _Marshan_ hang himselfe, say no: +a good shasse by garr. + +_Han_. A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman. + +_Mar_. Mistresse, Ile bring you from _Arabia_, +_Turckie_, and _India_, where the Sunne doth rise, +Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, +To beautifie you more then all the paintings +Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes. + +_Doct_. You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding. Me vit one, two, +tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by +garr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you +restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve +you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra +yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foure +yere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who +shall toush your fine hand? o shall, o sweete, by garr. + +_Mar_. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinals +in the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie ever +at hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship. + +_Doct_. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee +live againe for sav'a de law. + +_Han_. A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre. + +_Doct_. Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire. + +_Cor_. You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary. + +_Doct_. Know? what you know? You no see your selfe, by garr me see you; +me speake vatt me see; you no point speake so: + +_Han_. Peace, Doctor, I vise you. Do not court in my maisters hearing, +you were best. + + _Enter Flores_. + +_Flo_. Where are these wooers heere? poore sillie men, +Highly deceiv'd to gape for marriage heere +Onely for gaine: I have another reache +More high then their base spirits can aspire: +Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide, +That hath alreadie promist me a drug +Whose vertue shall effect my whole desires. + +_Doct_. O _Monsieur Flores_, mee be your worships servant; mee lay my +hand under your Lordships foote by my trot. + +_Flo_. O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, +And you, _Albertus_, it doth please me much +To see you vowed rivalls thus agree. + +_Doct_. Agree? by my trot sheele not have him. + +_Ma_. You finde not that in your urins, M. Doctor. + +_Doct_. _Mounsieur Flores_, come hedder, pray. + +_Flo_. What sayes maister Doctor? have you remembred me? + +_Doct_. I, by garr: heere be de powdra, you give de halfe at once. + +_Flo_. But are you sure it will worke the effect? + +_Doct_. Me be sure? by garr she no sooner drinke but shee hang your neck +about; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse your +lippe, by garr. + +_Flo_. What, wilt thou eate me, Doctor? + +_Doct_. By garr, mee must shew you de vertue by plaine demonstration. + +_Flo_. Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no? + +_Doct_. By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kisse my sweete +mistresse. + +_Flo_. Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speake; is't best in wine or no? + +_Doct_. O, good Lort! in vyne: vat else I pray you? you give de vench to +loove vatra? be garre me be ashame of you. + +_Flo_. Well, thankes, gentle Doctor. And now (my friends) +I looke to day for strangers of great state, +And must crave libertie to provide for them. +Painter, goe leave your worke, and you, _Lucilia_, +Keepe you (I charge you) in your chamber close. + [_Exeunt Cass. and Lucilia_. +_Haunce_, see that all things be in order set +Both for our Musicke and our large Carowse, +That (after our best countrie fashion) +I may give entertainment to the Prince. + +_Han_. One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune. + +_Flo_. Out of tune, villaine? which way? + +_Han_. Drunke (sir), ant please you? + +_Flo_. Ist night with him alreadie?--Well, get other Musicke. + +_Han_. So we had need in truth, sir. + [_Exit Hans_. + +_Doct_. Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave: see, de +unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [_Exit_. + +_Mar_. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time +When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [_Exit_. + +_Flo_. _Albertus_, welcome.--And now, _Cornelia_, +Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe. +Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love +In which we have been partiall towards thee +(Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts) +Receive this vertuous powder at my hands, +And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine) +Give it unto the Prince in his carowse. +I meane no villanie heerein to him +But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup. +We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes; +Why should we, then, shun any meanes we can +To raise us to our auncient states againe? +Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'st +To have thy imperfections helpt by love. + +_Corn_. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanes +Forbidden by the lawes of God and men? +Can that love prosper which is not begun +By the direction of some heavenly fate? + +_Flo_. I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet; +I must provide for mine, and still preferre +(Above all these) the honour of my house: +Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge. + +_Cor_. If you will have it so I must consent. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Alberdure, Hyanthe, Leander and Moth_. + +_Alber_. My deere _Hyanthe_, my content, my life, +Let no new fancie change thee from my love; +And for my rivall (whom I must not wrong, +Because he is my father and my Prince) +Give thou him honour but give me thy love. +O that my rivall bound me not in dutie +To favour him, then could I tell _Hyanthe_ +That he alreadie (with importun'd suite) +Hath to the _Brunswick_ Dutchesse vow'd himselfe, +That his desires are carelesse and his thoughts +Too fickle and imperious for love: +But I am silent, dutie ties my tongue. + +_Hya_. Why? thinks my joy, my princely _Alderbure_, +_Hyanthes_ faith stands on so weake a ground, +That it will fall or bend with everie winde? +No stormes or lingring miseries shall shake it, +Much lesse vaine titles of commaunding love. + +_Moth_. Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthlie +purgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting and +groaning in his sleepe, with "O, _Hyanthe_! my deare _Hyanthe_! And +then hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewell +by the eare. + +_Alber_. Away, you wag.--And tell me now, my love, +What is the cause Earle _Cassimere_ (your father) +Hath been so long importunate with me +To visit _Flores_ the brave Jeweller? + +_Hyan_. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord, +That he thinkes he doth honour every man +Whom he acquaints with his perfections. +Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfe +To grace and sooth his great conceit of him; +For everie jesture, everie word he speakes, +Seemes to my father admirablie good. + +_Lean_. Indeed, my Lord, his high conceipt of him +Is more then any man alive deserves. +He thinkes the Jeweller made all of Jewels, +Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit, +Faire spoken and well furnisht with good parts, +Yet not so peerleslie to be admir'd. + + _Enter Cassimere_. + +_Cass_. Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure you +You shall beholde so excellent a man, +For his behaviour, for his sweete discourse, +His sight in Musick and in heavenlie Arts, +Besides the cunning judgement of his eie +In the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes, +That you will sorrow you have staide so long. + +_Alber_. Alas, whie would not then your lordships favor +Hasten me sooner? for I long to see him +On your judiciall commendation. + +_Cass_. Come, lets away then: go you in, _Hyanthe_, +And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence +See him (I pray) with honour entertain'd. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Hya_. I will, my Lord. + +_Leand_. I will accompanie your Ladiship, +If you vouchsafe it. + +_Hya_. Come, good _Leander_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Constantine, Katherine, Ite, + Vandercleeve, with others_. + +_Const_. Lord _Vandercleeve_, go Lord Ambassadour +From us to the renowmed Duke of _Saxon_, +And know his highnesse reason and intent +Whie being (of late) with such importunate suite +Betroth'd to our faire sister _Dowager_ +Of this our Dukedome, he doth now protract +The time he urged with such speede of late +His honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate. + +_Kath_. But, good my Lord, temper your Ambassie +With such respective termes to my renowme +That I be cleer'd of all immodest haste +To have our promist nuptials consummate; +For his affects (perhaps) follow the season, +Hot with the summer then, now colde with winter: +And Dames (though nere so forward in desire) +Must suffer men to blowe the nuptiall fire. + +_Vander_. Madam, your name (in urging his intent) +Shall not be usd, but your right princely brothers; +Who, knowing it may breede in vulgar braines +(That shall give note to this protraction) +Unjust suspition of your sacred vertues, +And other reasons touching the estate +Of both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth mee +To be resolv'd of his integritie. + +_Const_. To that end go, my honourable Lord, +Commend me and my sister to his love +(If you perceive not he neglects our owne) +And bring his princelie resolution. + +_Kat_. Commend not me by any meanes, my lord, +Unlesse your speedie graunted audience +And kind entreatie make it requisite, +For honour rules my nuptiall appetite. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Haunce, Lassingbergh and others following, + serving in a Bancket_. + +_Han_. Come, sir, it is not your painting alone makes your absolute man; +ther's as fine a hand to be requir'd in carrying a dish, and as sweete +arte to be shew'd in't as in any maister peece whatsoever; better then +as you painted the Doctor eene now with his nose in an Urinall. + +_Lass_. Be quiet, sir, or ile paint you by and by eating my maisters +comfets. [_Exit_. + + _Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Alberdure, Cornelia, and Moth. + +Flor_. Prince _Alberdure_, my great desire to aunswere +The greatnes of your birth and high deserts +With entertainment fitting to your state +Makes althings seem too humble for your presence. + +_Alber_. Courteous S. _Flores_, your kinde welcome is +Worthy the presence of the greatest Prince, +And I am bound to good Earle _Cassimeere_ +For honouring me with your desierd acquaintance. + +_Cass_. Wilt please you therefore to draw neere, my lord? + +_Flo_. Wilt please your grace to sit? + +_Alber_. No, good S. _Flores_; I am heere admiring +The cunning strangenes of your antick worke: +For though the generall tract of it be rough +Yet is it sprinckled with rare flowers of Art. +See what a livelie piercing eye is here; +Marke the conveiance of this lovelie hand; +Where are the other parts of this rare cheeke? +Is it not pittie that they should be hid? + +_Flo_. More pittie 'tis (my lord) that such rare art +Should be obscur'd by needie povertie; +Hee's but a simple man kept in my house. + +_Alber_. Come, sirra, you are a practitioner, +Lets have your judgement here. + +_Han_. Will you have a stoole, sir? + +_Moth_. I, and I thanke you too, sir. + +_Flo_. Hath this young Gentleman such skill in drawing? + +_Alber_. Many great maisters thinke him (for his yeares) +Exceeding cunning. + +_Cass_. Now, sir, what thinke you? + +_Moth_. My Lord, I thinke more Art is shaddowed heere +Then any man in _Germanie_ can shew +Except Earle _Lassingbergh_; and (in my conceipt) +This work was never wrought without his hand. + +_Flo_. Earle _Lassingbergh_! Aye me, my jealous thoughts +Suspect a mischiefe which I must prevent. +_Haunce_, call _Lucilia_ and the Painter strait, +Bid them come both t'attend us at our feast.-- +Is not your Grace yet wearie of this object? +Ile shew your Lordship things more woorth the sight +Both for their substance and their curious Art. + +_Alber_. Thankes, good sir _Flores_. + +_Flo_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes +The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, +Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; +See naturally wrought out of the stone +(Besides the perfect shape of every limme, +Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) +A waving mantle of celestiall blew +Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres. + +_Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords) +How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone +As if they needed not the helpe of Art. + +_Flo_. My Lord, you see all sorts of Jewells heere, +I will not tire your grace with view of them; +Ile onely shew you one faire Aggat more, +Commended chiefely for the workmanship. + +_Alber_. O excellent! this is the very face +Of _Cassimeere_: by viewing both at once, +Either I thinke that both of them do live +Or both of them are Images and dead. + +_Flo_. My Lord, I feare I trouble you too long: +Wilt please your Lordships taste th[e]is homely cates? + +_Corn_. First (if it please you) give me leave to greete +Your Princely hand with this unworthy gift, +Yet woorthy since it represents your selfe. + +_Alber_. What? my selfe, Lady? trust me it is pittie +So faire a Jemme should hold so rude a picture. + +_Cor_. My Lord, 'tis made a Jewell in your picture, +Which otherwise had not deserv'd the name. + +_Alber_. Kinde mistresse, kindly I accept your favor. + + _Enter Lassingbergh, Haunce and Lucilia_. + +_Flo_. Heere, you young gentleman; do you know this man? + + [_Exit Han_. + +_Mot_. Yes, signior _Flores_, 'tis Earle _Lassingbergh_.--My lord, what +meane you to come this disguisd? + +_Lu_. Aye me! + +_Lass_. The foolish boye is mad; I am _Cornelius_. Earle _Lassingbergh_? +I never heard of him. + +_Flo_. O _Lassingbergh_, we know your villainie, +And thy dishonour (fond _Lucilia_). +Asse that I was, dull, sencelesse, grosse braynd fool +That dayly saw so many evident signes +Of their close dealings, winckings, becks and touches, +And what not? To enforce me to discerne, +Had I not been effatuate even by Fate. +Your presence, noble Lords (in my disgrace) +Doth deepely moove mee, and I heere protest +Most solemnly (in sight of heaven and you) +That if Earle _Lassingbergh_ this day refuse +To make faire mends for this fowle trespasse done, +I will revenge me on his treacherous heart +Though I sustaine for him a thousand deaths. + +_Cass_. This action (traitour _Lassingbergh_) deserves +Great satisfaction or else great revenge. + +_Alber_. Beleeve me, gallant Earle, your choice is faire. +And worthy your most honourable love. + +_Lassin_. My Lord, it greeves me to be thus unmaskt +And made ridiculous in the stealth of love; +But (for _Lucilias_ honour) I protest +(Not for the desperate vowe that _Flores_ made) +She was my wife before she knew my love, +By secret promise made in sight of heaven. +The marriage which he urgeth I accept, +But this compulsion and unkinde disgrace +Hath altered the condition of my love +And filde my heart with yrksome discontent. + +_Flor_. My Lord, I must preferre mine honour still +Before the pleasure of the greatest Monarch, +Which since your Lordship seekes to gratifie +With just and friendly satisfaction, +I will endeavour to redeeme the thought +Of your affection and lost love to us. +Wilt please you therefore now to associate +This woorthy Prince at this unwoorthy banquet? + +_Alber_. My Lord, let me intreate your company. + +_Lassin_. Hold mee excusd, faire Prince; my grieved thoughts +Are farre unmeete for festivall delights: +Heere will I sit and feede on melancholie, +A humour (now) most pleasing to my taste. + +_Flor_. _Lucilia_, waite the pleasure of your love. +My Lord, now to the banquet: +Daughter, commaund us a carowse of wine. + + [_Musick sounds awhile; and they sing + Boire a le Fountaine_. + +My Lord, I greete you with this first carowse, +And as this wine (the Elements sweete soule) +Shall grow in me to bloud and vitall spirit, +So shall your love and honor grow in me. + +_Alber_. I pledge you, sir. + +_Cass_. How like you him, my Lord? + +_Alber_. Exceeding well. [_Sing boyre a le fountaine_. + +_Flor_. _Cornelia_, do you serve the Prince with wine? + + [_Shee puts the powder into the Cup and gives it the Prince_. + +_Alber_. I thanke you, Lady; +Earle _Cassimeere_, I greete you, and remember +Your faire _Hyanthe_. + +_Cass_. I thanke your honour. + [_Sing boyre a &c_. + +_Flor_. Fill my Lord _Cassimere_ his right of wine. + +_Cass_. _Cornelia_, I give you this dead carowse. + +_Corn_. I thanke your Lordship. + [_Sing boyre a &c_. + +_Alber_. What smoake? smoake and fire. + +_Cass_. What meanes your honour? + +_Alber_. Powder, powder, _Etna_, sulphure, fier: quench it, quench it. + +_Flor_. I feare the medcine hath distemper'd him.--O villaine Doctor! + +_Alber_. Downe with the battlements, powre water on! +I burne, I burne; O give me leave to flie +Out of these flames, these fiers that compasse me. + [_Exit_. + +_Cass_. What an unheard off accident is this? +Would God, friend _Flores_, t'had not happen'd here. + +_Flor_. My Lord, 'tis sure some Planet[53] striketh him; +No doubt the furie will away againe. + +_Cass_. Ile follow him. [_Exit_. + +_Lass_. What hellish spright ordain'd this hatefull feast +That ends with horror thus and discontent? + +_Flor_. I hope no daunger will succeede therein; +However, I resolve me to conceale it.-- +My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit, +And deck your selfe with ornaments more fit +For celebration of your marriage? + +_Lass_. I, I, put on me what attire you will; +My discontent, that dwels within me still. + + [_Exeunt_ + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Haunce solus_. + +_Hans_. Whom shall a man trust? a Painter? No: a servant? No: +a bed fellowe? No: +For, seeming for to see, it falls out right: +All day a Painter, and an Earle at night. + + _Enter Doctor_. + +_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, bid _Ursula_ brushe my two, tree fine Damaske +gowne; spread de rishe coverlet on de faire bed; vashe de fine plate; +smoake all de shambra vit de sweete perfume. + +_Hans_. Heer's the Doctor: what a gaping his wisedom keepes i'the +streete! As if he could not have spoken all this within. + +_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, if de grand patient come, you finde me signior +_Flores_. + +_Hans_. By your leave, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. _Hans_, my very speciall friend; fait and trot, me be right +glad for see you veale. + +_Hans_. What, do you make a Calfe of me, M. Doctor? + +_Doct_. O no, pardona moy; I say vell, be glad for see you vell, in good +health. + +_Hans_. O, but I am sick, M. Doctor; very exceeding sick, sir. + +_Doct_. Sick? tella me, by garr; me cure you presently. + +_Hans_. A dead palsey, M. Doctor, a dead palsey. + +_Doct_. Veare? veare? + +_Hans_. Heere, M. Doctor; I cannot feele, I cannot feele. + +_Doct_. By garr, you be de brave, merry man; de fine proper man; de very +fine, brave, little, propta sweet Jack man; by garr, me loov'a you, me +honour you, me kisse'a your foote. + +_Hans_. You shall not stoope so lowe, good M. Doctor; kisse higher if it +please you. + +_Doct_. In my trot me honour you. + +_Hans_. I, but you give me nothing, sir. + +_Doct_. No? by garr, me giv'a de high commendation passe all de gold, +precious pearle in de vorld. + +_Hans_. I, sir, passe by it, you meane so, sir. Well, I shall have your +good word, I see, M. Doctor. + +_Doct_. I sayt. + +_Hans_. But not a rag of money. + +_Doct_. No, by my trot, no point money; me give de beggra de money, no +point de brave man. + +_Hans_. Would I were not so brave in your mouth.--But I can tell you +newes, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. Vat be dat? + +_Hans_. The young Prince hath drunke himselfe mad at my maisters to day. + +_Doct_. By garr, drunke, I tinck. + +_Hans_. No, sir, starke mad; he cryes out as if the towne were a fier. + +_Doct_. By garr, me suspect a ting. + +_Hans_. Nay, I can tell you more newes yet. + +_Doct_. Vat newes? + +_Hans_. If your cap be of capacitie to conceive it now, so it is. Ile +deale with you by way of Interrogation:-- + + _Who is it must marry with_ Lucilia _bright? + All day a Painter, and an Earle at night_. + +_Doct_. By garr, me no conceive vatt you say. + +_Hans_. Let wisdome answer: _I aske what is man? +A Pancake tost in Fortune's frying pan_. + +_Doct_. Vat frying pan? by garr, I tinck de foolish petit Jack is madd. + +_Hans_. _For, as an Asse may weare a Lyons skinne, +So noble Earles have sometimes Painters binne_. + +_Doct_. Garrs blurr, he ryme de grand Rats[54] from my house: me no stay, +me go seek 'a my faire _Cornelia_. [_Exit_. + +_Hans_. Farewell Doctor Doddy, in minde and in body +An excellent Noddy: +A cockscomb[55] incony, but that he wants mony +To give _legem pone_. +O what a pittifull case is this! What might I have done with this wit +if my friends had bestowed learning upon me? Well, when all's don, a +naturall guift is woorth all. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Alphonso, Hardenbergh, Hoscherman, with others, &c_. + +_Hard_. The Ambassador of _Brunswick_ (good my lord) +Begins to murmure at his long delayes? + +_Hosc_. Twere requisit your highnes wold dismisse him. + +_Alph_. Who holds him? let him go. + +_Hard_. My Lord, you know his message is more great +Then to depart so slightly without answer, +Urging the marriage that your grace late sought +With _Katherine_, sister to the Saxon Duke. + +_Hosk_. Whom if your highnes should so much neglect +As to forsake his sister and delude him, +Considering already your olde jarre +With the stoute _Lantsgrave_, what harmes might ensue? + +_Alph_. How am I crost? _Hyanthe_ 'tis for thee +That I neglect the Duchesse and my vowes. + +_Hard_. My Lord, twere speciallie convenient +Your grace would satisfie th'embassador. + +_Alph_. Well, call him in. + +_Hosk_. But will your Highnes then +Forsake _Hyanthe_? + +_Alph_. Nothing lesse, _Hosk[erman_]. + +_Hosk_. How will you then content th'embassadour? + +_Alph_. I will delaie him with some kinde excuse. + +_Hard_. What kinde excuse, my Lord? + +_Alph_. For that let me alone; do thou but soothe +What I my selfe will presently devise +And I will send him satisfied away. + +_Hard_. Be sure (my Lord) Ile soothe what ere you say. + +_Alph_. Then let them come, we are provided for them. + + _Enter Vandercleeve the Ambassador attended_. + +My lord Ambassador, we are right sorrie +Our urgent causes have deferd you thus +In the dispatch of that we most desire. +But for your answer: know I am deterr'd +By many late prodigious ostents +From present consumation of the nuptials +Vowd twixt your beauteous Dutchesse and our selfe. +O what colde feare mens jealous stomacks feele +In that they most desire! suspecting still +'Tis eyther too too sweete to take effect +Or (in th'effect) must meete with some harshe chaunce +To intervent the joye of the successe. +The same wisht day (my Lord) you heere arriv'd +I bad Lord _Hardenbergh_ commaund two horse +Should privately be brought for me and him, +To meete you on the waye for honours sake +And to expresse my joye of your repaire: +When (loe!) the horse I us'd to ride upon +(That would be gently backt at other times) +Now, offring but to mount him, stood aloft, +Flinging and bound. You know, Lord _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. Yes, my good Lord. + +_Alph_. And was so strangely out of wonted rule +That I could hardlie back him. + +_Hard_. True, my liege; +I stood amaz'd at it. + +_Hard_. Well, yet I did, +And riding (not a furlong) downe he fell. + +_Hard_. That never heeretofore would trip with him. + +_Alph_. Yet would I forward needs, but _Hardenbergh_. +More timorous then wise, as I supposed, +(For love so hardned me feare was my slave) +Did ominate such likelie ill to me +If I went forward, that with much enforcement +Of what might chance he drave me to retreat. +Didst thou not _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. I did, my Lord. + +_Alph_. I warrant thou wilt say +Thou never yet saw'st any man so loathe +To be perswaded ill of so ill signes. + +_Hard_. Never in all my life. + +_Alph_. Thou wonderst at it? + +_Hard_. I did indeed, my liege, not without cause. + +_Alph_. O blame not, _Hardenbergh_, for thou dost know +How sharpe my heart was set to entertaine +The Lord of this Ambassage lovingly. + +_Hard_. True, my good Lord. + +_Alph_. But (coming back) how gently the Jade went,-- +Did he not, _Hardenbergh_? + +_Hard_. As any horse on earth could do, my Lord. + +_Alph_. Well, sir, this drew me into deepe conceit, +And to recomfort me I did commaund +Lord _Hardenbergh_ should ope a Cabanet +Of my choise Jewels and to bring me thence +A ring, a riche and Violet _Hiacinthe_, +Whose sacred vertue is to cheere the heart +And to excite our heavie spirits to mirthe; +Which[56], putting on my finger, swift did breake. +Now this, indeed, did much discomfort me, +And heavie to the death I went to bed; +Where in a slumber I did strongly thinke +I should be married to the beautious Dutchesse, +And coming to my Chappell to that end, +Duke _Constantine_ her brother with his Lords +And all our peeres (me thought) attending us, +Forth comes my princelie _Katherine_ led by death, +Who threatening me stood close unto her side, +Urging by those most horrible portents +That wedding her I married mine owne death. +I, frighted in my sleepe, struggled and sweat, +And in the violence of my thoughts cryed out +So lowde that _Hardenberghe_ awakt and rose. +Didst thou not _Hardenberghe_? + +_Hard_. I felt I did, for never yet (my Lord) +Was I in heart and soule so much dismaide. + +_Alph_. Why thus you see (my Lord) how your delaies +Were mightilie and with huge cause enforste. + +_Amb_. But dreames (my lord) you know growe by the humors +Of the moist night, which, store of vapours lending +Unto our stomaches when we are in sleepe +And to the bodies supreame parts ascending, +Are thence sent back by coldnesse of the braine, +And these present our idle phantasies +With nothing true but what our labouring soules +Without their active organs safelie worke. + +_Alph_. My lord, know you there are two sorts of dreams, +One sort whereof are onely phisicall, +And such are they whereof your Lordship speakes; +The other Hiper-phisicall, that is +Dreames sent from heaven or from the wicked fiends, +Which nature doth not forme of her owne power +But are extrinsecate, by marvaile wrought; +And such was mine. Yet, notwithstanding this, +I hope fresh starres will governe in the spring; +And then, assure your princelie friend your maister, +Our promise in all honour shall be kept. +Returne this answere, Lord Ambassador, +And recommend me to my sacred love. + +_Amb_. I will, my lord; but how it will be accepted +I know not yet; your selfe shall shortly heare. + +_Alph_. Lords, some of you associate him.--Ha, ha! + + [_Exeunt all but Alph_. [_and Hard_. + +_Hard_. Exceeding well and gravelie good, my lord. + +_Alph_. Come, lets go and visit my _Hianthe_, +She whose perfections are of power to moove +The thoughts of _Caesar_ (did he live) to love. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Secundus_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Lassing., Lucil., Cor., Han., and Doct_. + +_Ha_. Well, mistr., God give you more joy of your husband then your +husband has of you. + +_Doct_. Fie, too, too bad by my fait. Vat, my lord? melancholie? and ha +de sweete Bride, de faire Bride, de verie fine Bride? o monsieur, one, +two, tree, voure, vive, with de brave capra, heigh! + +_Han_. O the Doctor would make a fine frisking usher in a dauncing +schoole. + +_Doct_. O by garr, you must daunce de brave galliarr. +A pox of dis melancholie! + +_Cass_. My Lord, your humors are most strange to us, +The humble fortune of a servants life +Should in your carelesse state so much displease. + +_Lass_. _Quod licet ingratum est, quod non licet acrius urit_. + +_Flor_. Could my childes beautie moove you so, my lord, +When Lawe and dutie held it in restraint, +And now (they both allowe it) be neglected? + +_Lass_. I cannot rellish joyes that are enforst; +For, were I shut in Paradice it selfe, +I should as from a prison strive t'escape. + +_Luc_. Haplesse _Luci[li]a_, worst in her best estate! + +_Lass_. He seeke me out some unfrequented place +Free from these importunities of love, +And onelie love what mine owne fancie likes. + +_Luc_. O staie, my Lord. + +_Flor_. What meanes Earle _Lassenbergh_? + +_Cass_. Sweete Earle, be kinder. + +_Lass_. Let me go, I pray. + +_Doct_. Vat? you go leave a de Bride? tis no point good fashion; +you must stay, be garr. + +_Lass_. Must I stay, sir? + +_Doct_. I spit your nose, and yet it is no violence. I will give a de +prove a dee good reason. Reguard, Monsieur: you no point eate a de meate +to daie, you be de empty; be gar you be emptie, you be no point vel; be +garr you be vere sick, you no point leave a de provision; be garr you +stay, spit your nose. + +_Lass_. All staies have strength like to thy arguments. + +_Cass_. Staie, _Lassenbergh_. + +_Luc_. Deare Lord. + +_Flo_. Most honord Earle. + +_Lass_. Nothing shall hinder my resolved intent, +But I will restlesse wander from the world +Till I have shaken off these chaines from me. + + [_Exit La_. + +_Luc_. And I will never cease to follow thee +Till I have wonne thee from these unkinde thoughts. + +_Cass_. Haplesse _Lucilia_! [_Exit Luc_. + +_Flor_. Unkinde _Lassenbergh_! + +_Doct_. Be garr, dis Earle be de chollericke complection, almost +skipshack, be garr: he no point staie for one place. Madame, me be no so +laxative; mee be bound for no point moove six, seaven, five hundra yeare +from you sweete sidea; be garr, me be as de fine _Curianet_ about your +vite necke; my harte be close tie to you as your fine Buske or de fine +Gartra boute your fine legge. + +_Hans_. A good sencible Doctor; how feelinglie he talkes. + +_Doct_. A plage a de Marshan! blowe wind! + +_Han_. You need not curse him, sir; he has the stormes at Sea by this +time. + +_Doct_. O _forte bien_! a good Sea-sick jeast by this faire hand: blowe +wind for mee! puh, he no come heere, Madame. + +_Flo_. Come, noble Earle, let your kind presence grace +Our feast prepard for this obdurate Lord, +And give some comfort to his sorrowfull bride +Who in her pitteous teares swims after him. + +_Doct_. Me beare you company, signior _Flores_. + +_Flor_. It shall not need, sir. + +_Doct_. Be garr, dis be de sweet haven for me for anchor. + +_Flor_. You are a sweet smell-feast,[57] Doctor; that I see. +Ile [have] no such tub-hunters use my house. +Therefore be gone, our marriage feast is dasht. + +_Doct_. Vat speake a me de feast? me spurne a, me kick a de feast; be +garr, me tell a me do de grand grace, de favor for suppa, for dina, for +eata with dee; be garrs blur, we have at home de restorative, de +quintessence, de pure destill goulde, de Nector, de Ambrosia. +_Zacharee_, make ready de fine partricke, depaste de grand _Otamon_. + +_Han_. _Zacharee_ is not heere, sir, but Ile do it for you. What is that +_Otomon_, sir? + +_Doct_. O de grand Bayaret de Mahomet, de grand Turgur, be garr. + +_Ha_. O a Turkie, sir, you would have rosted, would you? Call you him +an _Otoman_? + +_Doct_. Have de whole ayre of Fowle at commaund? + +_Flor_. You have the foole[58] at command, sir: you might have bestowed +your selfe better. Wil't[59] please you walke, M. Doct. Dodypoll. + + [_Exeunt all but the Doctor_. + +_Doct_. How? Doddie poole? garrs blurr, Doctor Doddie, no point poole. +You be paltrie Jacke knave, by garr: de doctor is nicast, de doctor is +rage, de doctor is furie, be gar, the doctor is horrible, terrible +furie. Vell, derre be a ting me tinke; be gars blur, me know, me be +revenge me tella de Duke. Vell, me say no more: chok a de selfe, foule +churle, fowle, horrible, terrible pigge, pye Cod. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + +_Lea_. I wonder what varietie of sights +Retaines your father and the prince so long +With signior _Flores_? + +_Hya_. O signior _Flores_ is a man so ample +In every complement of entertainement, +That guests with him are, as in Bowers enchanted, +Reft of all power and thoughts of their returne. + + _Enter the Duke and Hardenbergh_. + +_Lean_. Be silent, heere's the Duke. + +_Alp_. Aye me beholde +Your sonne, Lord _Hardenbergh_, courting _Hyanthe_. + +_Har_. If he be courting tis for you, my liege. + +_Alph_. No, _Hardenbergh_; he loves my sonne too well +--My faire _Hyanthie_, what discourse is it +Wherewith _Leander_ holdes you this [thus?] attentive? +Would I could thinke upon the like for you. + +_Hya_. You should but speake and passe the time, my lord. + +_Alp_. Passe-time that pleaseth you is the use of time: +Had I the ordering of his winged wheele +It onely should serve your desires and mine. +What should it do if you did governe it. + +_Hya_. It should go backe againe and make you yong. + +_Alph_. Swounds, _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. To her againe, my Lord. + +_Alp_. _Hyanthe_, wouldst thou love me, I would use thee +So kindlie that nothing should take thee from me. + +_Hya_. But time would soone take you from me, my lord. + +_Alp_. Spight on my soule: why talke I more of time? +Shee's too good for me at time, by heaven. + +_Har_. I, and place to (my Lord) I warrant her. + +_Omnes_. Stop, stop, stop! + + _Enter Alberdure mad; Motto and others following him_. + +_Mott_. O stay, my Lord. + +_Albe_. _Hyanthe, Hyanthe_, o me, my love! + +_Lea_. Heer's the Duke his father, heele marr all. + +_Albe_. O villaine, he that lockt her in his arms +And through the river swims along with her. +Staie, traiterous _Nessus_, give me bowes and shafts. +Whirre! I have strooke him under the shorte ribs: +I come, _Hyanthe_! O peace, weepe no more. [_Exit_. + +_Alp_. Meanes he not me by _Nessus, Hardenbergh_? + +_Hard_.[60] My lord, he is surelie mad. + +_Alph_. _Hyanthe_ loves him: +See how she trembles and how pale she lookes! +She hath enchanted my deere _Alderbure_ +With crafts and treasons and most villanous Arts +Are meanes by which shee seekes to murder him. +_Hardenbergh_, take her and imprison her +Within thy house: I will not loose my sonne +For all the wealth the Loves of heaven embrace. + +_Hya_. What meanes your grace by this? + +_Alp_. Away with her! + +_Hya_. You offer me intolerable wrong. + +_Alp_. Away with her, I say. + +_Har_. Come Ladie, feare not, Ile entreate you well. + +_Hya_. What injurie is this! + + [_Exit Hard. with Hyan_. + +_Alph_. So now I have obtainde what I desir'd, +And I shall easilie worke her to my will; +For she is in the hands of _Hardenbergh_ +Who will continually be pleading for me. + + _Enter Doctor_. + +_Doct_. Roome! a halle, a hall! be garr, vere is de Duke? + +_Alp_. Heere, maister Doctor. + +_Doct_. O we have grand important matter for tella your grace how de +know de cause for de wish cause your sonne is da madman. + + _Enter Alberdure running_. + +_Alb_. What? art thou heere? sweete _Clio_, come, be bright; +Take me thy Timbrell and Tobaccho pipe, +And give _Hyanthe_ musicke at her windowe. + +_Doct_. Garrs blurr, my cap, my cap, cost me de deale a French crowne. + +_Alb_. But I will crown thee with a cod of Muske, +Instead of Lawrell, and a Pomander[61]: +But thou must write _Acrostignues_ first, my girle. + +_Doct_. Garzowne, what a pox do you stand heere for, de grand poltrone +pezant, and see de Doctor be dus? + +_Alb_. Aye me, what _Demon_ was it guide me thus? +This is _Melpomene_, that Scottish witch[62], +Whom I will scratche like to some villanous gibb, +And-- + +_Doct_. O Garzowne, la diabole, la pestilence, gars blur! + +_Alp_. Lay holde upon him, helpe the Doctor there! + +_Alb_. Then reason's fled to animals, I see, +And I will vanish like Tobaccho smoake. _Exit_. + +_Doct_. A grand pestilence a dis furie + +_Alp_. Follow him, sirs, _Leander_, good _Leander_! +But, Doctor, canst thou tell us the true cause +Of this suddaine frenzie? + +_Doct_. O by garr, pleaze your grace heare de long tale [or] de short +tale? + +_Alp_. Briefe as you can, good Doctor. + +_Doct_. Faite and trot, briefe den, very briefe, very laccingue. De +Prince, your sonne, feast with de knave Jeweller, _Flores_, and he for +make a Prince love a de foule croope-shouldra daughter _Cornelia_, give +a de prince a de love poudra which my selfe give for the wenche a before, +and make him starke madde be garr because he drinke a too much a. + +_Alp_. How know you this? + +_Doct_. Experience teach her, by garr; de poudra have grand force for +inflama de bloud, too much make a de rage and de present furie: be garr, +I feare de mad man as de devilla, garr blesse a. + + _Enter Hardenbergh_. + +_Alp_. How now, sweete _Hardenbergh_? + +_Har_. The Prince, my Lord, in going downe the staires +Hath forst an Axe[63] from one of the Trevants (?), +And with it (as he runnes) makes such cleare way +As no man dare oppose him to his furie. + +_Alp_. Aye me, what may I do? heere are such newes +As never could have entred our free ears +But that their sharpnesse do enforce a passage. +Follow us, Doctor; 'tis _Flores_ treacherie +That thus hath wrought my sonnes distemperature. + + _Exit [Alph_. + +_Hard_. _Flores_, the Jeweller? + +_Doct_. I, he, dat fine precious stone knave: by garr, +I tinke I shall hit upon hir skirt till be thred bare new. + + _Exit [Doct with Hard_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Musicke playing within. Enter a Peasant_. + +_Pes_. 'Tis night, and good faith I am out of my way. +O harke; What brave musick is this under the green hill? + + _Enter Fairies bringing in a banquet_. + +O daintie, O rare, a banquet! would to Christ +I were one of their guests. Gods ad, a fine little +Dapper fellow has spyed me: What will he doo? +He comes to make me drinke: I thanke you, Sir. +Some of your victuals, I pray; Sir; nay now keepe +your meate, I have enough I; the cup, I faith. + _Exit_. + + _Enter the spirit with banquetting stuffe, and missing + the pesant, lookes up and downe for him; the rest + wondering at him; to them enters the Enchanter_. + +_Ench_. Where is my precious cup, you Antique flames? +Tis thou that hast convaide it from my bowre, +And I will binde thee in some hellish cave +Till thou recover it againe for me. +You that are bodyes made of lightest ayre, +To let a Peasant mounted on a Jade +Coozen your curtesies and run away +With such a Jewell, worthy are to endure +Eternall pennance in the lake of fier. + + _Enter Lass. and Lucilia_. + +_Lass_. Wilt thou not cease then to pursue me still? +Should I entreate thee to attend me thus, +Then thou wouldst pant and rest, then thy soft feete +Would be repining at these niggard stones: +Now I forbid thee, thou pursuest like winde, +Ne tedious space of time nor storme can tire thee. +But I will seeke out some high slipperie close[64] +Where every step shall reache the gate of death, +That feare may make thee cease to follow me. + +_Luc_. There will I bodilesse be when you are there, +For love despiseth death and scorneth feare. + +_Lass_. Ile wander, where some boysterous river parts +This solid continent, and swim from thee. + +_Luc_. And there Ile follow though I drown for thee. + +_Lass_. But I forbid thee. + +_Luc_. I desire thee more. + +_Lass_. Art thou so obstinate? + +_Luc_. You taught me so. + +_Lass_. I see thou lovest me not. + +_Luc_. I know I doo. + +_Lass_. Do all I bid thee then. + +_Luc_. Bid then as I may doo. + +_Lass_. I bid thee leave mee. + +_Luc_. That I cannot doo. + +_Lass_. My hate. + +_Luc_. My love. + +_Lass_. My torment. + +_Luc_. My delight. + +_Lass_. Why do I straine to wearie thee with words? +Speech makes thee live; Ile then with silence kill thee, +Henceforth be deafe to thy words and dumbe to thy minde. + +_Ench_. What rock hath bred this savage-minded man? +That such true love in such rare beauty shines[65]! +Long since I pittied her; pittie breeds love, +And love commands th'assistance of my Art +T'include them in the bounds of my command. +Heere stay your wandering steps; chime[66] silver strings, +Chime, hollow caves, and chime you whistling reedes, +For musick is the sweetest chime for love. +Spirits, bind him, and let me leave[67] my love. + + + +[SCENE 4.] + + _Enter A[l]berdure at one doore, and meetes with + the Pesant at the other doore_. + +_Alb_. _Hyanthe_, o sweet _Hyanthe_, have I met thee? +How is thy beautie changed since our departure! +A beard, _Hyanthe_? o tis growne with griefe, +But now this love shall tear thy griefe from thee. + +_Pes_. A pox on you! What are you? Swounds, I think I am haunted with +spirits. + +_Alb_. Weepe not, _Hyanthe_; I will weepe for thee, +Lend me thy eyes. No, villaine, thou art he +That in the top of _Eruines_ hill +Daunst with the Moone and eate up all the starres, +Which made thee like _Hyanthe_ shine so faire; +But, villaine, I will rip them out of thee. + + _Enter Motto and others_. + +_Pea_. Slid, holde your hands. + +_Alb_[68]. I come with thunder. + +_Pea_. Come and you dare. + +_Mott_. Holde, villaine; tis the young prince _Alberdure_. + +_Pea_. Let the young prince hold then; slid, I have no starres in my +bellie, I; let him seeke his _Hyanthe_ where he will. + +_Alb_. O this way by the glimmering of the Sunne +And the legieritie[69] of her sweete feete +She scowted on, and I will follow her. +I see her, like a goulden spangle, sit +Upon the curled branch of yonder tree. +Sit still, _Hyanthe_; I will flie to thee. + _Exit_. + +_Mott_. Follow, follow, follow! + + _Exeunt all but Peas_. + + _Enter Flores and Hance_.[70] + +_Pea_. Together and be hanged. O heere comes more; pray God I have +better lucke with these two. By your leave, sir, do you know one Maist. +_Flores_, I pray? + +_Flo_. What wouldst thou have with him? + +_Pea_. Faith, Sir, I am directed to you by Lady Fortune with a peece of +plate. I doe hope you will use plaine dealing, being a Jeweller. + +_Flo_. Where hadst thou this? + +_Pea_. In a very strange place, sir. + +_Han_. He stole it, sir, I warrant you. + +_Flo_. I never sawe a Jemme so precious, +So wonderful in substance and in Art. +Fellow, confesse preciselie where thou hadst it. + +_Pea_. Faith, sir, I had it in a cave in the bottome of a fine greene +hill where I found a company of Fairies, I thinke they call them. + +_Flo_. Sawst thou any more such furniture there? + +_Pea_. Store, sir, store. + +_Flo_. And canst thou bring me thither? + +_Pea_. With a wet finger[71], sir. + +_Han_. And ha they good cheere, too? + +_Pea_. Excellent. + +_Han_. O sweete thiefe! + +_Flo_. Tis sure some place enchanted, which this ring +Will soone dissolve and guard me free from feare. +--Heer's for the cup; come, guide me quickly thither. +Ah, could I be possest of more such Jemmes, +I were the wealthiest Jeweller on earth. + + _Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 5.] + + + _Enter Enchanter, leading Luc. and Lass. bound by + spirits; who being laid down on a green banck, + the spirits fetch in a banquet_. + + THE SONG. + + _O princely face and fayre, that lightens all the ayre, + Would God my eyes kind fire might life and soule inspire. + To thy rich beauty shining in my hearts treasure, + The unperfect words refining for perfect pleasure_. + +_Ench_. Lie there and lose the memorie of her +Who likewise hath forgot the thought of thee +By my inchantments. Come, sit down, fair Nimphe, +And taste the sweetnesse of these heavenly cates, +Whilst from the hollow cranies[72] of this rocke +Musick shall sound to recreate my love. +But tell me had you ever lover yet? + +_Luc_. I had a lover, I thinke, but who it was, +Or when, or how, long since, aye me, I know not. +Yet beat my timerous thoughts on such a thing; +I feele a pasionate hearte but finde no flame, +Thinke what I know not, nor know what I thinke. + +_Ench_. Hast thou forgot me, then? I am thy love, +Whom sweetly thou wert wont to entertaine +With lookes, with vowes of love, with amorous kisses. +Lookst thou so strange? dost thou not know me yet? + +_Luc_. Sure I should know you. + +_Ench_. Why, love? doubt you that? +Twas I that lead you through the painted meadows, +When the light Fairies daunst upon the flowers, +Hanging on every leafe an orient pearle[73] +Which, strooke together with the silver winde +Of their loose mantels, made a silvery chime. +Twas I that winding my shrill bugle horn, +Made a guilt pallace breake out of the hill, +Filled suddenly with troopes of knights and dames +Who daunst and reveld whilste we sweetly slept +Upon a bed of Roses, wrapt all in goulde. +Doost thou not know me yet? + +_Luc_. Yes, now I know you. + +_Ench_. Come then, confirme thy knowledge with a kiss. + +_Luc_. Nay, stay, you are not he: how strange is this! + +_Ench_. Thou art growne passing strange, my love, +To him that made thee so long since his bride. + +_Luc_. O, was it you? come then. O stay a while: +I know not what[74] I am nor where I am, +Nor you, nor these I know, nor any thing. + + _Enter Flores with Hance and the Peasant_. + +_Pea_. This is the greene, Sir, where I had the cup, +And this the bottome of a falling hill; +This way I went following the sound. And see-- + +_Han_. O see, and seeing eate withall. + +_Flo_. What? _Lassenbergh_ laid bound, and fond _Lucilia_. +Wantonly feasting by a strangers side! +--Peasant, be gone: + + [_Exit Peasant_[75]] + +_Hance_, stand you there and stir not.-- +Now sparckle forth thy beams, thou vertuous Jemme, +And lo[o]se these strong enchantments. + +_Ench_. Stay! aye me, +We are betrai'd! Haste, spirits, and remove +This table and these cups,--remove, I say: +Our incantations strangely are dissolv'd. + + _Exeunt Ench. with spirits and banquets_. + +_Han_. O spightfull churles! have they caried away all? has haste made +no waste? + +_Luc_. My Lord, Earle _Lassenbergh_, o pardon me. + +_Lass_. Away from me. + +_Luc_. O can I in these bands? +Forget the dutie of my love to you? +Were they of Iron, or strong Adamant, +My hands should teare them from my wronged Lord. + +_Flo_. O, _Lassenbergh_, to what undoubted perrill +Of life and honour had you brought your selfe +By obstinacie of your froward minde, +Had not my fortune brought me to this place +To lo[o]se the enchantment, which enthralled you both, +By hidden vertue of this precious ring. +Come, therefore, friendly and imbrace at last +The living partner of your strange mishaps +Justly pursuing you for flying her. + +_Lass_. Leave me, I say; I can endure no more. + +_Lu_. Ah, have I loos'd thee then to flie from mee? + +_Lass_. Away! [_Exit_. + +_Lu_. Ile follow thee, + +_Flo_. Tarrie, _Lucilia_. + +_Lu_. Deare father, pardon mee. [_Exit_. + +_Flo_. Sirrah, attend her. +Poore wretch, I feare this too much love in thee +Is fatall to thee. Up, Sirrah, follow your mistresse. + +_Han_. I, sir, I go; my mistresse dogs the banket and I dog her. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Tertii_. + + + + +[_Actus Quartus_.] + + + _Enter Motto, Raphe bringing in Alberdure_. + +_Motto_. So, sir, lay even downe your handie worke. + +_Rap_. Nay, sir, your handie worke, for you were the cause of his +drowning. + +_Mot_. I? I defie thee. Wert not thou next him when he leapt into the +River? + +_Rap_. O monstrous lyar! + +_Mot_. Lye! you peasant, go too: Ile go tell the Duke. + +_Rap_. I, sir, Ile go with you, I warrant you. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Alb_. What sodain cold is this that makes me shake, +Whose veines even now were fill'd with raging fire? +How am I thus all wet? What water's this +That lies so ycelike, freezing in my blood? +I thinke the cold of it hath cur'd my heate, +For I am better temperd than before. +But in what unacquainted place am I? +0 where is my _Hyanthe_, where's _Leander_? +What, all alone? nothing but woods and streames? +I cannot guesse whence these events should grow. + + _Enter Peasant_. + +_Pea_. O that I could lose my way for another cup, now. I was well paide +for it yfaith. + +_Alb_. Yonder is one; Ile enquire of him. Fellow, ho! peasant! + +_Pea_. Aie me, the mad man againe, the mad man. + +_Alb_. Saie, whither fliest thou. + +_Pea_. Pray, let me goe, sir; I am not _Hyanthe_, in truth I am not, +sir. + +_Alb_. _Hyanthe_, villaine? wherfore namest thou her? + +_Pea_. If I have any scarres in my belly, pray God I starve, sir. + +_Alb_. The wretch is mad, I thinke. + +_Pea_. Not I, sir, but you be not madde, you are well amended, sir. + +_Alb_. Why tellest thou me of madnesse? + +_Pea_. You were little better then mad even now, sir, when you gave me +such a twitch by the beard. + +_Alb_. I can remember no such thing, my friend. + +_Pea_. No, sir, but if you had a beard you wold. + +_Alb_. What place is this? how far am I from court? + +_Pea_. Some two myles and a wye byt, sir. + +_Alb_. I wonder much my friends have left me thus. Peazant, I pray thee +change apparell with mee. + +_Pea_. Change apparell, I faith you will lose by that, sir. + +_Alb_. I care not; come, I pray thee, letts change. + +_Pea_. With all my heart, sir, and I thanke you, too. Sblood y'are very +moist, sir, did you sweat all this, I pray? you have not the desease, I +hope? + +_Alb_. No, I warrant thee. + +_Pea_. At a venture, sir, Ile change. Nothing venter, nothing enter. + +_Alb_. Come, letts be gone. + +_Pea_. Backe, sir, I pray. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Hardenbergh with a guard, bringing in + Cassimere, Flores, Doctor, Marchant, Cornelia, + Motto, and Raphe_. + +_Har_. Thus, _Flores_, you apparantly perceive +How vaine was your ambition and what dangers, +All unexpected, fall upon your head, +Povertie, exile, guiltinesse of heart, +And endlesse miserie to you and yours. +Your goods are seized alreadie for the Duke; +And, if Prince _Alberdure_ be found deceast, +The least thou canst expect is banishment. +Earle _Cassimere_, I take[76] your word of pledge +Of his appearance. Pages of the Prince, +Come guide me straight where his drownd bodie lies, +Drownes his father in eternall teares. + + [_Exit cum servis; manet Al_. + +_Mot_. Drownes him and will hang us. + +_Mar_. Good Signior _Flores_, I am sorry for you. + +_Doct_. _Marshan_, parle vu pen. Be garr, me vor grand love me beare de +good Mershan, vor de grand worte, be garr, and de grand deserte me sea +in you, de bravea Mershan, me no point rivall; you have _Cornelia_ +alone, by my trot, ha, ha, ha! + +_Mar_. M. Doctor _Doddie_, surnam'd the Amorous'de, I will overcome you +in curtesie, your selfe shall have her. + +_Doct_. No, by garr, Marshan: you bring de fine tings from de strange +land vere de Sunne do rise, de Jewell, de fine stuffe vor de brave +gowne: me no point. Come, by garr, you have _Cornel_. + +_Cass_. Hands off, base Doctor! she despiseth thee, +Too good for thee to touch or looke upon. + +_Flo_. What wretched state is this, Earle _Cassimere_, +That I and my unhappie progenie +Stand subject to the scornes of such as these! + +_Cass_. Grieve not, deare friends, these are but casuall darts. +That wanton Fortune daily casts at those +In whose true bosomes perfect honour growes. +Now, _Dodypoll_, to you: you here refuse +_Cornelias_ marriage? you'le none of her! + +_Doct_. Be garr, you be the prophet; not I by my trot. + +_Cass_. Nor you, maste[r] merchant? shee's too poore for you! + +_Mar_. Not so, sir; but yet I am content to let fall my suite. + +_Cass_. _Cornelia_, both dissembled they would have you; +Which like you best? + +_Cor_. My Lord, my fortunes are no chusers now,-- +Nor yet accepters of discurtesies. + +_Cass_. You must chuse one here needs. + +_Doct_. By garr, no chuse mee, me clime to heaven, me sincke to hell, +me goe here, me go dare, me no point deere, by garr. + +_Cass_. If you will none, whose judgement are too base +To censure true desert, your betters will. + +_Flo_. What meanes Lord _Cassimere_ by these strange words? + +_Cass_. I mean to take _Cornelia_ to my wife. + +_Flo_. Will you, then, in my miserie, mock me too? + +_Cass_. I mock my friend in misery? heavens, scorne such! +Halfe my estate and halfe my life is thine; +The rest shall be _Cornelia's_ and mine. + +_Doct_. O bitter shame, be garr. + +_Flo_. My Lord, I know your noble love to me +And do so highly your deserts esteeme +That I will never yeeld to such a match. +Choose you a beautious dame of high degree +And leave _Cornelia_ to my fate and mee. + +_Cass_. Ah, _Flores, Flores_, were not I assured +Both of thy noblenesse, thy birth and merite, +Yet my affection vow'd with friendships toong, +In spite of all base changes of the world +That tread on noblest head once stoopt by fortune +Should love and grace thee to my utmost power. +_Cornelia_ is my wife: what sayes my love? +Cannot thy father's friend entreat so much. + +_Cor_. My humble minde can nere presume +To dreame in such high grace to my lowe seate. + +_Cass_. My graces are not ordered in my words. +Come love, come friend; for friendship now and love +Shall both be joynde in one eternall league. + +_Flo_. O me, yet happy in so true a friend. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Doct_. Est possible, by garr? de foole Earle drinke my powder, +I tinke. Mershan tella mee. + +_Mar_. What, maister Doctor Doddie? + +_Doct_. Hab you de blew and de yellow Velvet, ha? + +_Mar_. What of that, sir? + +_Doct_. Be gar, me buy too, three peece for make de Cockes-combe pur the +foole Earle, ha, ha, ha! [_Exit_. + +_Mer_. Fortune fights lowe when such triumphe on Earles. + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Lassenbergh singing, Lucilia following; + after the song he speakes_. + +_Lass_. O wearie of the way and of my life, +Where shall I rest my sorrow-tired[77] limmes! + +_Luc_. Rest in my bosome, rest you here, my Lord; +A place securer you can no where finde. + +_Lass_. Nor more unfit for my displeased minde. +A heavie slumber calles me to the earth; +Heere will I sleepe, if sleep will harbour heere. + +_Luc_. Unhealthful is the melancholic earth: +O let my Lord rest on _Lucilia's_ lappe. +Ile helpe to shield you from the searching ayre +And keepe the colde dampes from your gentle bloud. + +_Lass_. Pray thee, away; for, whilst thou art so neere, +No sleepe will seaze on my suspicious eyes. + +_Luc_. Sleepe then, and I am pleazd far off to sit +Like to a poore and forlorne Sentinell, +Watching the unthankful sleepe that severs me +From my due part of rest deere love with thee. + + _She sits farre off from him_. + + _Enter Const. Dutchesse with a willowe garland, cum aliis_. + +_Con_. Now are we neere the court of _Saxonie_, +Where the duke dreames such tragicall ostents. + +_Amb_. I wonder we, now treading on his soile, +See none of his strange apparitions. + +_Kath_. We are not worthy of such meanes divine, +Nor hath heaven care of our poore lives like his. +I must endure the end and show I live +Though this same plaintive wreathe doth show me forsaken. +Come, let us foorth. + +_Const_. Stay, sister; what faire sight +Sits mourning in this desolate abode? + +_Dut_. Faire sight indeed it is, and much to faire +To sit so sad and solitarie there. + +_Con_. But what is he that cur-like sleepes alone? + +_Dut_. Look, is it not my Nephew _Lassingbergh_? + +_Amb_. Madame, 'tis hee. + +_Dut_. Ile sure learne more of this.-- +Lady, if strangers that [do] wish you well +May be so bould to aske, pray whats the cause +That you [so] more then strangely sit alone? + +_Luc_. Madam, thus must forsaken creatures sit +Whose merits cannot make their loves consort them. + +_Dut_. What a poore fellow in my miserie! +Welcome, sweet partner, and of favour tell me, +Is this some friend of yours that slumbers heere? + +_Luc_. My husband (madame) and my selfe his friend, +But he of late unfriendly is to me. + +_Con_. Sister, lets wake her friend. + +_Dut_. No, let him sleepe; +And, gentle dame, if you will be rulde by me, +Ile teach you how to rule your friend in love: +Nor doubt you our acquaintance, for the man +Whom you so much affect is friend to us. + + _Shee riseth_. + +_Luc_. Pardon me, Madame; now I know your grace. + +_Dut_. Then knowst thou one in fortune like thy selfe, +And one that tenders thy state as her owne. +Come, let our Nephew Lassingberg sleepe there, +And, gentle Neace, come you to court with us, +If you dare mixe your loves successe with mine. +I warrant you I counsell for the best. + +_Luc_. I must not leave him now (madame) alone, +Whom thus long I have followed with such care. + +_Dut_. You wearie him with too much curtesie; +Leave him a little and heele follow you. + +_Luc_. I know not what to doo. + +_Dut_. Come, come with us. + +_Con_. Dame, never fear; get you a Willow w[reath]; +The Dutchesse (doubt not) can advise you well. + +_Luc_. Lets wake him then, and let him go with [us]. + +_Dut_. That's not so good; I pray be rulde by me. + +_Luc_. Sleep, then, deare love; and let sleep that doth bind +Thy sence so gently, make thee more kinde. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Hance in the Prince's apparrall, and the Peasant_. + +_Pea_. Come, sirra, money for your gentlemans apparel; you promist me +money, sir, but I perceive you forget your selfe. + +_Han_. True, pride makes a man forget himselfe; and I have quite forgot +that I owe thee any. + +_Pea_. But Ile put you in minde, sir, if there be any sergeants in +_Saxonie_; I thinke I meane not to loose so much by you. + +_Han_. Why, I have lost a maister and a mistresse, and yet I aske thee +no money for them. + +_Pea_. I bought them not of you, sir; therefore pay me my money. + +_Han_. I will pay thee morningly every morning as long as thou livest; +looke in thy right shooe and thou shalt finde sixe pence. + +_Pea_. What a fowle knave and fairie! Well, use thy conscience: I thanke +God I stand in neede of no such trifles. I have another jewell heere +which I found in the Princes pocket when I chang'd apparell with him; +that will I make money of, and go to the jeweller that bought the cup of +mee. Farewell: if God put in thy mind to pay me, so; if not, so. + [_Exit_. + +_Han_. O brave free-harted slave, he has the laske of mind upon him. + +_Lass_. What speech is this that interrupts my rest? Who have we heere? + +_Han_. Sometime a serving man, and so were yee, +Both now jolly gentlemen you see. + +_Lass_. What, sir, how came you thus gallant, I beseech you? + +_Han_. I turn'd the spit in Fortune's wheele, sir. + +_Lass_. But, stay, where is _Lucilia_? + +_Han_. Marry, where say you, sir? + +_Lass_. Villaine, looke for her, call her, seeke her out. +_Lucillia_! where's my love, o where's _Lucillia_! +Aye me, I feare my barbarous rudenesse to her +Hath driven her to some desperate exigent. +Who would have tempted her true love so farre? +The gentlest minds with injuries overcome +Growe most impacient: o _Lucilia_, +Thy absence strikes a loving feare in me, +Which from what cause so ever it proceedes +Would God I had beene kinder to thy love. + + _Enter Hard, with a Guard, Motto, Raphe_. + +_Hard_. Slaves, can ye not direct us to the place? + +_Mot_. Yes, sir, here's the place we left him in. + +_Ra_. O see (my lord) heer's one weares his apparrell. + +_Hard_. But where is he? stay, sirra, what are you +That jet thus in the garments of the Prince. + +_Han_. Bought and sold, sir, in the open market, sir. +Aske my maister. + +_Hard_. Earle _Lassingbergh_, where is the Princes body? + +_Lass_. Why aske you me, my Lord? + +_Hard_. Since you are in the place where he was drownd, +And this your hinde here hath his garments on. + +_Lass_. Enquire of him then. + +_Hard_. Ile enquire of you +And of your gallant, too. Guard, apprehend them +And bring them presentlie to court with us. + +_Lass_. What meanes Lord _Hardenberg_ to entreate me thus? + +_Har_. That you shall know anon: bring them away. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 4] + + + _Enter Leander and Hyanthe_. + +_Lean_. O, Madam, never were our teares bestowed +Of one whose death was worthier to be mon'd. +Deere _Alberdure_, why parted I from thee, +And did not like the faithful _Pilades_ +Attend my deare Orestes in his rage? + +_Hya_. O my sweete love, O princelie _Alberdure_, +Would God the river where thy course lay drownde +Were double deepe in me and turned to teares +That it might be consumde for swallowing thee. + + _Enter Alber, with a basket of Apricocks, disguised_. + +_Alber_. In this disguise Ile secretly enquire +Why I was so forsaken of my friend +And left to danger of my lunacie. +Here is the man that most I blame for this, +Whose vowed friendship promisd greater care; +But he, it seemes, enamour'd of my love, +Was glad of that occasion, and I feare +Hath turned her womanish conceipt from me. +Ile proove them both. Maister, wilt please [you] buy +A basket of well riped Apricocks? + +_Lea_. I pray thee keepe thy dainties; I am full +Of bitter sorrowes as my hart can holde. + +_Alb_. It may be, Maister, your faire Lady will. + +_Hya_. No, friend; my stomach is more full then his. + +_Lea_. Where dwellest thou, friend? + +_Alb_. Not farre from hence, my Lord. + +_Lea_. Then thou knowest well which was the fatall streame +Wherein the young prince _Alberdure_ was drownd? + +_Alb_. I know not he was drowned, but oft have seene +The pittious manner of his lunacie; +In depth whereof he still would eccho forth +A Ladies name that I have often heard, +Beautious _Hyanthe_; but in such sad sort +As if his frenzie felt some secret touch +Of her unkindnesse and inconstancie, +And when his passions somewhat were appeaz'd, +Affording him (it seemed) some truer sence. +Of his estate, left in his fittes alone +Then would he wring his hands, extreamly weeping, +Exclaiming on the name of one _Leander_, +Calling him Traitor and unworthie friend +So to forsake him in his miserie. + +_Lea_. Accursed I! o thou hast mooved me more +Than if a thousand showers of venom'd darts +With severall paines at once had prickt my soule. + +_Hya_. O thou ordained to beare swords in thy toung, +Dead thou hast struck me and I live no more. + +_Alb_. It seemes your honoures loved him tenderly. + +_Lea_. O my good friend, knewest thou how deer I loved him. + +_Hya_. Nay, knewest thou, honest friend, how deere I loved him. + +_Alb_. I see, then, you would rejoyce at his health. + +_Lea_. As at my life, were it revived from death. + +_Hya_. As at my soule, were it preserv'd from hell. + +_Alber_. Be then from death and hell recovered both +As I am now by your firme loves to me. +Admire me not, I am that _Alberdure_ +Whom you thought drownde; that friend, that love am I. + +_Lea_. Pardon, sweete friend. + +_Hya_. Pardon, my princely love. + +_Alber_. Dear love, no further gratulations now +Least I be seene and knowne; but, sweete _Leander_, +Do you conceale me in thy father's house. +That I may now remaine with my _Hyanthe_ +And at our pleasures safely joy each others love. + +_Lea_. I will (deare friend) and blesse my happy stars +That give me meanes to so desir'de a deed. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Cassimeere, Flores with the Cup, + Peasant, and the Marchant_. + +_Mar_. See, signior _Flores_, +A Peasant that I met with neere your house, +Where[78] since he found you not he asked of me +The place of your abode; and heere I have brought him. + +_Flo_. I thank you, sir. My good Lord _Cassimeere_, +This is the man that brought this cup to me +Which for my ransome we go now to offer +To my good lord the Duke. + +_Cass_. What brings he now? + +_Flo_. That will we know. Come hither, honest friend; +What wisht occasion brings thee now to me? + +_Pea_. This occasion, sir; what will ye give me for it? + +_Flo_. Thou art a luckie fellow; let us see. +Lord _Cassimeere_, this is the haplesse Jewell +That represents the form of _Alberdure_, +Given by _Cornelia_ at our fatall feast. +Where hadst thou this, my good and happy friend? + +_Pea_. Faith, sir, I met with the young prince all wet, who lookt as +if he had been a quarter of a yeare drowned, yet prettelie come to +himselfe, saving that he was so madde to change apparrell with me; in +the pocket whereof, sir, I found this Jewell. + +_Flo_. O tell me trulie, lives prince _Alberdure_? + +_Pea_. He lives a my word, sir, but very poorely now, God help him. + +_Cass_. Is he recovered of his lunacie? + +_Pea_. I, by my faith, hee's tame enough now, Ile warrant him. + +_Flo_. And where is he? + +_Pea_. Nay, that I cannot tell. + +_Cass_. Come, _Flores_, hast we quicklie to the Court +With this most happie newes. + +_Flo_. Come, happie friend, +The most auspicious messenger to me +That ever greeted me in Pesants weeds. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Doctor_. + +_Mar_. I would I could meet M. Doctor Doddie, +I have a tricke to gull the Asse withall; +I christned him right Doctor Doddipole. +Heere he comes passing luckely; Ile counterfeit business with him in all +poste haste possible. Maister Doctor, Maister Doctor! + +_Doct_. Shesue, vat ayle de man? + +_Mar_. I love you, Maister Doctor, and therefore with all the speed I +could possiblie I sought you out. + +_Doct_. Vell, vat? + +_Mar_. This, sir; the marriage which we thought made even now, betweene +Earle _Cassimere_ and _Cornelia_, was but a jest only to drawe you to +marry her, for she doth exceedinglie dote upon you; and _Flores_ her +father hath invented that you are betrothed to her and is gone with a +supplication to the Duke to enforce you to marrie her. + +_Doct_. Be garr, me thought no lesse. O knave jeweller! O vile begger! +be my trot, Marshan, me studdie, me beat my braine, me invent, me dreame +upon such a ting. + +_Mar_. I know, sir, your wit would forsee it. + +_Doct_. O by garr, tree, fore, five monthe agoe. + +_Mar_. Well, sir, y'ave a perilous wit, God blesse me out of the swinge +of it, but you had best looke to it betimes, for Earl _Cassimere_ hath +made great friends against you. + +_Doct_. Marshan, me love, me embrace, me kisse de, will, be my trot. + +_Mar_. Well, sir, make haste to prevent the worste. + +_Doct_. I flie, Marshan, spit de Earle, spit de wenche, spit all bee +garre. Se dis, Marshan, de brave Braine be garre. [_Exit_. + +_Mar_. De brave braine by garre, not a whit of the flower of wit in it. +Ile to the Courte after him, and see how he abuses the Duke's patience. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Alphonso, Hard., Lassing., Leander, Stro., + Hosherman, Motto, and Raphe_. + +_Alp_. Aye me! what hard extremitie is this? +Nor quick nor dead can I beholde my sonne. + + _Enter Hance in the Princes apparrell_. + +_Hance_. Behold your sonne; [your] Blessing, noble father. + +_Hard_. Malipart knave, art thou the Princes sonne? + +_Han_. I, sir, apparrell makes the man. + +_Alp_. Unhappy man, would God I had my sonne, +So he had his _Hyanthe_ or my life. + +_Lea_. Should he enjoy _Hyanthe_ [then], my Lord? +Would you forsake your love, so he did live? + +_Alp_. My love and life, did my deere sonne survive. + +_Lea_. But were he found or should he live, my Lord, +Although _Hyanthe's_ love were the chiefe cause +Of his mishap and amorous lunacie, +I hope your highnesse loves him over well +To let him repossesse his wits with her. + +_Alp_. My love is dead in sorrow for his death; +His life and wits should ransome worlds from me. + +_Lea_. My Lord, I had a vision this last night +Wherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonne +Sit in my fathers garden with _Hyanthe_ +Under the shadow of the Laurell tree. +With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongde +I wakt, but then contemned it as a dreame; +Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie, +And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe, +Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof. [_Exit_. + +_Alp_. Do, good _Leander. Hardenbergh_, your sonne +Perhaps deludes me with a vision[79] +To mocke my vision that deferde the Dutchesse, +And with _Hyanthe_ closlie keepes my sonne. + +_Hard_. Your sonne was madde and drownd: this cannot bee. + +_Alp_. But yet this circumventing speech [of his] +Offered suspition of such event. + +_Stro_. My lord, most fortunate were that event +That would restore your sonne from death to life. + +_Har_. As though a vision should do such a deed! + +_Alp_. No, no, the boyes young brain was humorous: +His servant and his Page did see him drown'd. + + _Enter Leander, Alberdure, Hyanthe; Alberdure + seeming fearefull to come forward_. + +_Lea_. Come on, sweet friend; I warrant thee thy love; +Shun not thy fathers sight that longs for thee. + +_Alb_. Go then before, and we will follow straight. + +_Lea_. Comfort, my Lord, my vision proov'd most true: +Even in the place, under the Lawrell shade, +I found them sitting just as I beheld them +In my late vision; see, sir, where they come. + +_Alp_. Am I enchanted or see I my sonne? +I, I, the boy hath plaide the traytor with me. +O, you young villaine, trust you with my love! +How smoothe the cunning treacher lookt on it; + +_Hard_. But, sirra, can this be? + +_Lea_. You knew him to be mad, these thought him drownd. +My Lord, take you no more delight to see +Your sonne recovered of his life and wits? + +_Alp_. See, see, how boldly the young pollytician +Can urge his practice. Sirra, you shall know +Ile not be over-reacht with your young braine. +All have agreed, I see, to cozen me, +But all shall faile. Come, Ladie, I will have +You spight of all, and, sonne, learne you hereafter +To use more reverend meanes to obtaine +Of me what you desire. I have no joy +To see thee raizd from a deluding death. + +_Hya_. My Lord, 'tis tyrannie t'enforce my love. + +_Lea_. I hope your Highnesse will maintaine your word. + +_Alp_. Doost thou speake, Traitor? straight Ile have you safe +For daring to delude me in my love. + +_Albe_. O friend, thou hast betraide my love in vaine: +Now am I worse then eyther mad or drown'd, +Now have I onely wits to know my griefes +And life to feel them. + +_Hya_. Let me go to him. + +_Alp_. Thou shalt not have thy will nor he his love; +Neither of both know what is fit for you. +I love with judgment and upon cold bloud, +He with youths furie, without reasons stay; +And this shall time and my kind usage of thee +Make thee discerne; meane time consider this, +That I neglect for thee a beautious Dutchesse +Who next to thee is fairest in the world. + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. My Lord, the Duke of _Brunswick_ and his sister, +The beautious Dutchesse, are arrived here. + +_Alp_. Whats that; the Dutchesse? + +_Mess_. Even her grace, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Why, _Hardenbergh_, ha! is the Dutchesse come? + +_Hard_. I know not, my good Lord. Where is the Dutchesse? + +_Mess_. Hard by, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Sounes, I am not here; go tell her so: +Or let her come, my choice is free in love. +Come, my _Hyanthe_, stand thou close to me. + +_Mess_. My Lord, the Duke himselfe has come to urge +Your promise to him, which you must not break. + +_Hosch_. Nor will you wish to break it, good my lord, +I am assur'd, when you shall see the Dutchesse, +Whose matchlesse beauties will renew the minde +Of her rare entertainment, and her presence +Put all new thoughts of love out of your minde. + +_Alp_. Well, I do see 'tis best, my sweete _Hyanthie_, +That thou stand further. + +_Hya_. Ile be gone, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Not gone, but mix thy selfe among the rest. +What a spight is this! counsell me, _Hardenbergh_. + +_Hard_. The Dutchesse comes, my Lord. + +_Alp_. Out of my life, how shall I look on her? + + _Enter Constan., Kather., Lassen., Lucil., Cassi., + Cornelia, Ite. A Song: after the Dutchesse speakes_. + +_Kath_. How now, my Lord? you looke as one dismaid; +Have any visions troubled you of late? + +_Alp_. Your grace and your most princely brother here +Are highlie welcome to the _Saxon_ Court. + +_Kath_. O you dissemble, sir, nor are we come +In hope of welcome, but with this poore head-peece +To beare the brunt of all discurtesies. + +_Const_. My Lord, wee come not now to urge the marriage, +You sought with such hot suite, of my faire Sister, +But to resolve ourselves and all the world +Why you retained such mean conceipt of us +To slight so solemne and so high a contract +With vaine pretext of visions or of dreames. + +_Alp_. My Lord, I here protest by earth and heaven +I holde your state right highlie and renowned +And your faire sisters beauties and deserts +To be most worthy the greatest king alive; +Onlie an ominous vision troubled me +And hindred the wisht speede I would have made +(Not to dissolve it, though it were diferd,) +By such portents as, least you thinke I faine, +Lord _Hardenbergh_ can witnesse is most true. + +_Hard_. Most true, my lord, and most prodigious. + +_Alp_. Yet Ile contemne them with my life and all +Ere Ile offend your grace or breed suspect +Of my firme faith in my most honoured love. + +_Kath_. No, no, my lord: this is your vision +That hath not frighted but enamoured you. + +_Alp_. O Madame, thinke you so? by Heaven I sweare +She's my sonnes love.--Sirra, take her to you. +Have I had all this care to do her grace, +To prove her vertues and her love to thee, +And standst thou fearefull now? Take her, I say. + +_Lea_. My Lord, he feares you will be angry with him. + +_Alp_. You play the villaine: wherfore should he feare? +I onely proved her vertues for his sake, +And now you talke of anger. Aye me wretche, +That ever I should live to be thus shamed! + +_Alb_. Madame, I sweare the Ladie is my love; +Therefore your highnesse cannot charge my father +With any wrong to your high woorth in her. + +_Con_. Sister, you see we utterly mistake +The kinde and princelie dealing of the Duke: +Therefore without more ceremonious doubts +Lets reconfirme the contract and his love. + +_Kath_. I warrant you, my Lord, the Duke dissembles. + +_Alp_. Heere on my knees, at the altar of those feete, +I offer up in pure and sacred breath +The true speech of my hart and hart it selfe. +Require no more if thou be princelie borne +And not of rocks or ruthelesse tygers bred. + +_Kath_. My Lord, I kindlie cry you mercy now, +Ashamed that you should injurie your estate +To kneele to me; and vowe before these lords +To make you all amends you can desire. + +_Flo_. Madame, in admiration of your Grace +And princelie wisedom, and to gratifie +The long wisht joye done to my Lord the Duke, +I here present your highnesse with this cup, +Wrought admirablie by th' art of Spirits, +Of substance faire, more rich then earthly Jemmes, +Whose valew no mans judgement can esteeme. + +_Alp_. _Flores_, Ile interrupt the Dutchesse thankes +And for the present thou hast given to her +To strengthen her consent to my desires, +I recompence thee with a free release +Of all offences twixt thy selfe and me. + +_Flo_. I humblie thanke your excellence. + +_Kath_. But where is now unkinde Earle _Lassinbergh_, +That injures his faire love and makes her weare +This worthlesse garland? Come, sir, make amends, +Or we will heere awarde you worthie penance. + +_Lass_. Madame, since her departure I have done +More hartie penance then her hart could wish, +And vowe hereafter to live ever hers. + +_Kat_. Then let us cast aside these forlorne wreathes, +And with our better fortunes change our habits. + + _Enter Doctor in poste, the Marchant following him_. + +_Doct_. O stay, my Lorte, me pray you on knee von staie. + +_Alp_. What's the matter, Doctor? + +_Doct_. O me bret be garr for haste. + +_Con_. What ayles the hastie Doctor? + +_Doct_. My Lort be garr he lyes falslie in his troate; +Me proove by the duell dat he be the fallce knave. + +_Alp_. Who is it, man, with whom thou art so bold? + +_Doct_. My Lorte, if me make my contrack of marriage, if me be not as +loose as de vide worlde, if me doe not alleadge-- + +_Alp_. I pray thee, man, what meanest thou? + +_Doct_. Be garr, enforme your grace vot he dare I will proove by good +argument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I no +point marrie _Cornelia_. Vat say you now? + +_Cass_. My Lord, no doubt some man hath guld the Doctor, +Supposing he should be enforste to wed her +That is my wife and ever scorned him. + +_Doct_. Vat you say? de Marshan tell a me I marrie _Cornelia_ spit +my nose. + +_Alp_. The Marchant I perceive hath trimde you, Doctor. +And comb'd you smoothelie. Faith, I can him thanke +That thus revives our meeting with such mirth. + +_Doct_. O be bright de heaven, est a possible! and by heaven I be +revenge dat vile Marshan, me make de medecine drie up de Sea, seaven +towsand, towsand million d'stlloe, fife hundred, hundred dram _Fuffian, +Marquerite, Balestiae, Hematete, Cortemedian, Churchacholl, Pantasite, +Petrofidem, Hynape_, and by garr de hot Pepre; me make de vinde, de +grease collicke puffe, blowe by garr, teare de Sayle, beate de maste, +cracke de Ship in towsand towsand peeces! + _Exit_. + +_Alp_. Farewell, gentle Doctor Doddipoll. +And now, deere Ladie, let us celebrate +Our happie royall nuptials and my sonnes +With this our sweete and generall amitie +Which heaven smile on with his goulden eye. + + +_Finis Actus Quinti & ultimi_. + + +_Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede, for Richard Olive_, +dwelling in Long-lane. 1600. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO _THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR_. + + +In the Appendix to Vol. II. I have given some account of this anonymous +play, which is here printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994. +As the play bears no title in the MS., I have named it at a venture +"The Distracted Emperor." + +An ill-shaped and repulsive piece of work it certainly is; crude and +cheerless, but marked with signs of unmistakable power. At the time when +I made the extracts for the Appendix, I thought that Cyril Tourneur +might possibly be the author. On further reflection, it seemed to me +that the stronger passages are much in Marston's manner. The horrid +scene where Charlimayne is represented hugging the dead queen recalls +the anonymous "Second Maiden's Tragedy." Marston, who shrank from +nothing, would not have hesitated to show us the Archbishop, in his +search for the magic ring, parting the dead queen's lips, with the +ironical observation, "You cannot byte me, Madam." The trenchant satire +that abounds throughout the play reminds us frequently of Marston, +though there is an absence of that monstrous phraseology which +distinguished his "Scourge of Villanie" and early plays. But, looking at +the play as a whole, I should have very great hesitation in allowing it +to be Marston's. My impression is that Chapman had the chief hand in it. +The author's trick of moralising at every possible opportunity, his +abundant use of similes more proper to epic than dramatic language, the +absence of all womanly grace in the female characters,--these are points +in which the present play may be compared with Chapman's published +tragedies. Orlando's speech at the beginning of Act ii., "O that my +curse had power to wound the starres," &c., in which he compares +himself, with epic elaboration, to "an argosie sent rychlye fourthe" and +now "meanelye retourninge without mast or helm," to my thinking closely +suggests Chapman. It is not quite impossible that the present play may +be Chapman's lost "French tragedy" (entered on the Stationers' +Registers, June 29, 1660), a copy of which was among the plays destroyed +by Warburton's cook. + +It is due to Mr. Fleay that I should mention his solution of the +difficulty. Taking the mysterious letters on the last page, "Nella +[Greek: ph d ph n r] la B," he says: "La B. is the contraction for La +Buffa,[80] one of the characters in the play; and the enigmatic letters, +simply substituting the names for the letters themselves, read thus,' +Nella fi-delta fi-ni-ro la buffa,' which is good enough Italian for an +anagram, meaning 'I will end trifling in fidelity.' But 'Nella fedelita +(or fidelita) finiro la B.' transposed, gives us 'Il Fabro Natanielli +(or Natanielle) Field,' i.e., 'Nathaniel Field the author'" (_Athenaeum_, +March 3, 1883). Far be it from me to deny the ingenuity of this +explanation, but when Mr. Fleay, not having seen the complete play, +proceeds to say that the extracts I gave "are quite consistent with the +supposition that it is one of Field's lost works," I must take leave to +dissent. Field is the author of two comedies, "A Woman is a Weathercock" +and "Amends for Ladies," and he assisted Massinger in the "Fatal Dowry." +His comedies are well-constructed, bright, and airy. There is no +slovenliness in the workmanship, and success is attained by honest, +straightforward endeavour. It seems to me quite incredible that the +author of those two admirable comedies should be responsible for the +gloomy, ponderous tragi-comedy here presented to the reader. What share +Field had in the "Fatal Dowry" I do not intend to discuss minutely. The +chief figure in that play, Charolois, I take to be a study in +Massinger's gravest manner; but if we allow that Field should be +credited with more than the comic scenes in the "Fatal Dowry," his claim +to the present play is not at all strengthened. Perhaps, after all, no +author's name is concealed under the enigmatic letters.[81] In any case, +Field's is the last name that could be put forward with any show of +likelihood. + + + + +THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR. + +_A TRAGI-COMEDY_. + + +_Printed for the first time from Egerton MS_. 1994. + + + + +The Distracted Emperor. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + _Enter La Busse and Didier_. + +_Bus_. Thou looke for dygnitie! yes, thou mayst looke, +But pray thee, fellowe, see thyne eies be good +Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way. + +_Did_. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke +As honor lyes before me? + +_Bus_. Thou sayst well; +The thought of honor is a perfect greene, +And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man, +Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days? +Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht +To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts +Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace +That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live. +And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes! +What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe, +Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,-- +And thynke so poor a lord as is my father, +The most dyspysd forsaken _Ganelon_, +Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee! +Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye; +A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee +To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste, +Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke +To feede on larke by serving my poore father! + +_Did_. Nothing but larke, _La Busse_? Yes, mightie surloyns. + +_Bus_. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe. +Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies, +Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte. +Such followers as thou, that would repayre +A broken state by service, may be lyckned +To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke +To catche a rotten board or to be cast +Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie. +But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance, +Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme +Because thou hast abused thy former blessings; +Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer. + +_Did_. Why? because my money burnte in my pursse tyll I left it? + +_Bus_. No, but because it taught the furyous way +To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled +A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose, +So that although thou purchase letteres patente +To begge in all the provynces of _Fraunce_, +Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer, +Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar. + +_Did_. If I dye +Before my letters pattente be expyred, +Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)? +But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope +Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes, +I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe +Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte +From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs +As all th'ambityon thou art master of +Can never make thee hope or wish to be. +And for my fortunes past, which you so much +Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe, +I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like +Would not bestowe the labor of amen +To any good man's wishes. The laboringe clouds +Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe +A blessing for me, and about this tyme +(By the full revolution of my starres) +Should rayne it down uppon me. + +_Bus_. Tushe. + +_Did_. Observe, +First heare me, know the meanes and when y'ave doone +Fall downe and worshypp. Thys same verye day, +Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure, +The great, th'unconquered mightie _Charlimayne_, +Is marryed to the syster of my lorde +To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare _Theodora_. + + [_Florish. A crye within "God save Theodora the Empresse_!" + +You heare thys? + +_Buss_. I wishe myne eares had to the pillorye +Payd tribute rather then let in this sounde. +Unfortunate _Orlando_! thy fayrest hopes, +Like to a blaze of artifyciall fire, +No sooner have a beinge but expyre. + +_Did_. What! passyonate in rhyme? I must be taught +To give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83] + ... ... ... ... ... + +_Bus_. You may be dambd +For useing sorcerye upon the kynge. +That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurse +Of younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of, +And all the able facultyes of man +Are fled his frost of age to that extreame +Theres not enough to cherrish a desyer +Left in his saplesse nerves. + +_Did_. In this your worshypp +Gives my hopes illustratyon. Age must doate +To a Judgments dearth that may be cheated on +Yet that cheate rest unquestyond. Doe you heare? +The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunte +Hathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and he +Will, like a ryver that so long retaynes +The oceans bounty that at last it seemes +To be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepe +The comon treasure; and in such a floode, +Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullye +Covetts the center, can you hope Ile synke? + +_Bus_. Hell take thy hopes and thee! + +_Did_. But I would have +You understand that I may rise agayne +Without the catchinge of a rotten boarde +To keepe bare life and mysserye together +To fyght eche other. + +_Bus_. Furyes fryght thy soule! +Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment? +Noble _Orlando_, what omynous fatell starre +Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be +Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes: +This marriage is their grave. + +_Did_. Sir, I may rayse +A broken state by service. + +_Bus_. Yes, of the devyll +To whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thou +That hast undoone my father and increast +His evyll inclinatyons. I have seene +Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves, +Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye +Of cheating mathematicks. And is this +The issue of your closse contryvances[84]? +If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill +There may be found a way to anye good +Of brave _Orlando_ the great palladyne, +My constant industry shall tyer the day +And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym; +And yf to doe hym good-- + + _Enter La Fue_. + +_Fue_. Where's _Didier_? + +_Did_. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte +So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt; +Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate +To equall thryddbareness and never hadst +Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd +Before aught but a cloak bagge,--what to me? + +_Fue_. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all +One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders? + +_Did_. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes +You are more antique. + +_Fue_. Antycke in thy face! +My lord shall knowe. + +_Did_. But pray thee let me fyrst +Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee. + +_Fue_. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee; +And yet a woulde speake with thee,--and yet I will not tell thee; +Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better-- +I say no more; though my deserts be hydd +My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt; +And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte +To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne. +It shall, dost heare, it shall. [_Exit Fue_. + +_Did_. Hence, chollerycke foole, +Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer, +As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer. + + _Loude musique. Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin, + Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants_. + +_Charl_. This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe +With the full Joy I tast. O _Ganelon_, +Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytude +I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche, +Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer, +My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements +Can challendge nothinge in my composition, +As thou and _Theodora_ now have made me: +For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable. + +_Did_.--Observe. + +_Bus_.--Matters to make me mourne eternallye. + +_Gan_. Your bountye speaks you, sir, a god on earthe, +For you rewarde a service that's so meane +It scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)-- + +_Charl_. Tys thou hast made me greater then my name + ... ... ... ... ... +How mysserablye so ere our nature maks +Us thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen, +But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe; +For Tyme (whose ende like hys originall +Is most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backe +The sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes, +Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys course +From these late dead now manlye facultyes. +Kysse me, _Theodora_. Gods, carouse your fyll, +I envye not your nectar; from thys lypp +Puerer Nepenthe flowes. Some tryumphes, lords! +I challendge all of you at Barryers. + +_Bus_. Alas, good man! +A gawntletts wayght will presse him into cynders. + +_Char_. I am so rapt with pleasure and delighte +I scarce thynke I am mortall; all the Joys, +Wherewith heavens goodnes can inryche a man, +Not onlye greete but dwell upon my sence, +And whyles I see thee cannot stray from thence, +Most excellent _Theodora_. + +_The_. Tys onlye your acceptance maks me so; +For Butye's like a stone of unknowne worthe, +The estymatyon maks it pretyous; +For which the Jemes beholden to the owner. + +_Char_. Did you ere heare a voyce more musycall? +The Thracian _Orpheus_, whose admyred skyll +Is sayd to have had power ore ravenous beasts +To make theym lay their naturall feircenes by +When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods +Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone) +To make them tourne or stay their violent course +When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds, +Neare had abyllitie with all his arte +To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce. +And were I on the axeltree of heaven +To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course, +The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons, +To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres, +To note Orion or the Pleiades, +Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,-- +Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee, +Would be my torment and heavens crueltye. + +_Bus_. Was ere man thus orejoyd with mans own curse! + + _Enter Reinaldo_. + +_Char_. Thou only arte happynes. + +_Rei_. Not, greate Lord, for I +Bringe newes that doth include-- + +_Char_. Cossan, your blame, +And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde +That interrupts myne admyratyon. + +_Rei_. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife +And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme +To a longe daungerd seaman in a storme, +Suche as up on _Aeneas_ straglinge fleete +At _Juno's_ will by _Aeolus_ was raysd +When in his flyght from horror he sawe more +Then _Troy_ affoarded; for the newese I brynge +Is vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges. + +_Char_. Cossen _Reinaldo_, if youle sytt and prayse +The fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heare +Tyll you be tyerd with talkinge. + +_Rei_. What is this? +Is this the voyce of mightie _Charlimayne_? +Sir, from your worthye nephewe I am come, +The ever feard _Orlando_, who in _Spayne_ +Hath with hys owne fame mixt your happynes +By a blest vyctorye. + +_Char_. We have no leasure +To heare, nor are we able to contayne +Another happynes, nor is theire other. +Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreame +From whence a drume may fryght us. Here doth rest +My happynes which cannot be exprest. + + [_Ex. Cha., The., Gab., and attendants_. + +_Tur_. Pryncely _Reinaldo_, doe not let amaze +Strugle within you; you but yet survay +The out syde of our wonder. + +_Rich_. Brother, 'tis more +Then can be wrytten in a cronyckle. + +_Rei_. But must not be without my reprehensyon. +Come, I will followe hym: when _Charles_ dothe flye +From honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye? + + [_Exe. all but Gan. and Rich_. + +_Gan_. Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knowe +How you affect t[hys] humor in the kynge. + +_Rich_. Faythe, generally as a good subject should,-- +Delighted with the joy hys kynge receyves +(And which I hope and wish may styll contynewe), +But in partycular--because the cause +Of hys joy cannot chuse but worke to you +Effecte worthye your vertues. For my old love, +Tys nowe lodg'd in a desperatt memorye. + +_Gan_. But dost not seeme a most grosse dott[age]? + +[Rich] ... ... ... ... ... +Though certaynlie desyer's the onlye thynge +Of strengthe about hym, and that strength is hys +With a conceyt that putts desyers in act. + +_Gan_. And is not that a dottage at the least? + +_Rich_. I dare not taxe the actyon of a kynge +By giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts. + +_Gan_. Y'are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if I +Felte not a straunger love within my selfe +In this my strength of memorye and yeares, +Abyllities of bodye and of brayne, +More doatinge on a man than he on her, +A would not scape my censure. + +_Rich_. I beleive +(To which beleife a long experyence +Of youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs) +That if suche an affectyon manadge you, +Tys not the man or sexe that causes it +But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt +The object of your love. + +_Gan_. Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye _Richard_, +Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of _Aimon_; +And thy still growing vertues have made thee +The object of that love. When first I sawe thee +(Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte) +My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme +Could not but be the myne of manye vertues. +Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne +And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne +Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd +In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame, +Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave +And staggerd me with wonder. + +_Rich_. Good sweete lorde, +Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is +Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme +To be nowe semented. + +_Gan_. True, my best freinde; +And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte +My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave +To joy in my posession of suche blysse +To which all honours in our _Fraunce_ compaird +Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared. + +_Rich_. Sir, thoughe I knowe there is nothynge in me +Able to give a flattery hope to thryve +In the most abject slave to it that courts, +And therefore cannot doute it in your selfe, +Yet I beseeche you talke of somethynge elles +Or I shall growe unmannerlye & leave you: +Myne owne prayse is my torture. + +_Gan_. Heaven forbydd +Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche, +Beyond expression! And synce this offends thee +Ile speake of that shall please my noblest _Rycharde_. + +_Rich_. Your pleasure & your honorable ends +Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte. + +_Gan_. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne, +Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none, +But like a ryver that receyves his name +Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote, +Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes +To have no bounds but what it could oreflow-- +But tys impossyble. + +_Rich_. Improbable; +For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate. + +_Gan_. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp, +Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all +Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne +Into a second flame. + +_Rich_. I graunte you that-- + +_Gan_. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe. + +_Rich_. What meanes my _Ganelon_? + +_Gan_. Faythe to be playne +And not to wrong the love, which I have founde +Ever in thee, with any further doute, +My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne +And gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe? +Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule +And has syght for her often. Now enjoy, +And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse, +Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyve +Their byrthe and grave together; for by heaven +To be made monarke of the unyverse +And lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes, +I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee: +And if the thoughts of men were scrutable +To man and mongst men might be knowne to me, +The foole that should attempt her but in thoughte +[Could]e better hand-bounde wrastell with the sea. + ... ... ... ... ... +But yet my love doth offer her to thee, +And tys rejected. + +_Rich_. You mistake me, sweete: +I am all yours and what you shall thynke fytt +Ile cease to questyon, yet my contyence calls +It a disloyall and a monstrous fact. + +_Gan_. Tutt, a prosperous synne is nowe a vertuous acte; +Let not that starte you. + +_Rich_. I am confyrm'd, but yet the Emp[e]resse-- + +_Gan_. Why, knowe not I howe deare she valewes you, +And but for thys hope would not live an hower. +Come, her consent shall flye to meet your wishes +And locke you in saftie. In the nexte roome +Stay me a littill.--Now my projects goe [_Exit Richard_. +Uprighte and steddye. Let me style my selfe +(And proudlye too) the mynion of the fates. +The emperoure knytts newe honors to my house, +Whylst to my bloode I seeke to bynde hys crowne +And cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the lawe +Makes all legitimate in wedlocke borne, +By whom so ere begott, the way is even +Unto my future blysse and earthlye heaven.-- +And see howe luckily this fellow comes! +Happynes courtts me. + + _Enter Didier_. + +_Did_. My most honoured lord. + +_Gan_. O _Didier_, the famous nephewe unto _Charles_, +The onlye heyre and hope of fruytfull _Fraunce_, +Famous _Orlando_, is returninge home. + +_Did_. So tys given out. + +_Gan_. But might there not be somethynge given the prynce +To stay hys journey? Ile be playne with thee, +For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust: +He is an envyous torrent interposd +Twixte me and many honors, _Didier_, +And since unpassable must be choakt with earthe. +Thou understandst me? + +_Did_. Yes, sir, a must dye. + +_Gan_. And in his journey homewarde. A smale drame +Will purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughte +Some of the rebells in these frontyre townes, +By him reducst to false obedyence, +Have, in revendge o'the servytude wherein +Hys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone't; so not so much +As bare suspytion ever will attache thee. + +_Did_. I'm glad y'ave named me in't; I was afrayde +I should have beene lefte out in that brave acte, +Whereto my proper hate unto _Orlando_ +And love to you entyce me equallye. + +_Gan_. O by no meanes, whom should I trust but thee; +Tys thou & I must make eche other happye. +Repayre the with thys golde, & for thy paynes +Be equall sharer in my present meanes +And future blessyngs. + +_Did_. No more, Sir; Ile dooe't. +I speake it with a confydence whereby +Ide have you say unto your selfe 'tys doone.' + +_Gan_. Thanks, my most honest _Didier_. +Other affayres of seryous consequence +Call me; the Empresse must be solicyted +Unto an acte for which I'de loathe her but +My ends have gloryous aymes. + +_Did_. Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [_Exit Ganelon_. +Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycie +To venture all in one pore shallowe boate, +The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye. +Factyons in courte are like to suyts in lawe +Where goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe; +And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure, +Who shall protect me in so many ways +Leading to severall and confused ends? +I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wander +As myne owne proper saftie shall direct me. +And though I wishe my lorde may rayse his bloode, +Yet that wishe should give way to myne owne good. + + _Enter La Busse, Gabriella and Bertha_. + +_Bus_. Save Mounseire _Didier_! + +_Did_. Mounseir _La Busse_, my lords most loved sonne, +Your companye is fayre. + [_Exit Didier_. + +_Gab_. The fellowe mocks us. + +_Bus_. Had a sayd good too, then you might have douted, +But fayr's an epethyte you bothe may challenge. + +_Ber_. And why not good? + +_Bus_. A courtier might have spared it +And as he is a courtier beene excusd +Thoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harte +Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way +To a preferment. Nowe the courte is growne +As strange a beast as the thronged multytude, +Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys +The upper house. + +_Ber_. Why will you be a lymbe +Of such a beast? + +_Bus_. Faythe, onlye for sporte sake. + +_Gab_. I rather thynke to make it more deformd. + +_Buss_. Be not so bytter, ladye. Howe can I, +Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie, +Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me +In everye severall follye. + +_Ber_. Yet littill _Richard, Aimons_ youngest sonne, +Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym. + +_Gab_. Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde +Hys faire deserved reputatyon. + +_Bus_. Sytts the wynde there? + +_Gab_. Yes, syr, and blowes me hence +In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [_Ex. Gabriella_. + +_Ber_. Stay, Ile goe with you. + +_Bus_. Oh, by no meanes, madam; +Methynkes your longe attendance at the courte +Should make you not so apt to spoyle good sporte. + +_Ber_. Sdeath! sporte! pray let me goe. + +_Bus_. Not yet, by _Venus_. +You fyrst shall knowe my soule hath deeplye vowed +My love and servyce to your excellent selfe. + +_Ber_. Verye good sir, +I knowe y'are sonne unto the Mynion. +But yet I knowe your father loves you not, +And thats good too. + +_Bus_. If truthe at courte be good +For any thynge, then, madam, you say true. +For tys most true that I-- + +_Ber_. Pray let me goe. + +_Bus_. Shunne not hys syghte that dothe adore your syghte. +How fares the Empresse? Like to a bloweinge rose +Nypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe in +Cyrckled with ice? + +_Ber_. I knowe not nor I care not. + +_Bus_. But you can guesse.--Or in the frosts Dyspighte +Will she blowe out? + +_Ber_. Sir, y'are unmannerlie +To stay and question me: I must be gone. + +_Bus_. Take my harte with you. + +_Ber_. He whose harte and tonge +Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way +To a preferrment. + +_Bus_. Sfoote, doe you thynke your love +Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well. + +_Ber_. Vyllanous man! [_Ex. Bertha_. + +_Bus_. Well, now unto my father whom I knowe +Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe +I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym +Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe +Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate, +Though muche too meane to helpe her.--See, a comes. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. The Empresse and younge _Richard_ are in league, +Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye +That no joy can exceede. Heaven blesse the mixture! +--But stay; whose thys? O my curyous sonne, +What newse with you, Sir? + +_Bus_. Sir, though your emynence may guyld your vyce +And greatnes make your ills seeme gloryous +To some too farre beneathe you, that neare looke +Into the chynckes and crannyes of the state, +Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone ill +To crosse _Orlandos_ fayre successyon +By thys unequall maryadge. + +_Gan_. Arte growne madd? +Thoughe I neare knew thee muche opprest with witt, +I did not thynke thee such a foe to sence +To speake with suche a daringe impudence. + +_Bus_. Howe's that? + +_Gan_. Thus and observe me. As you love the cubboarde +Wherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast, +Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to play +The dogge and open thus when I am present +Without my spetyall lycence and comand, +Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shame +That life shalbe thy torment. Hence, thou slave, +Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistinge +Of equall foulness! hence, I say! Ignorance +Shall not excuse thee thus agayne offendinge. + +_Bus_. Preposterous! I walke for want of spyrrytt. + [_Exit La Busse_. + +_Gan_. Pyttie of follye! wherefore shoulde thys boy, +Thys thynge of too nyce contyence, nay my sonne, +Troble hym selfe with any acte of myne +As if they helde proportion with hys state, +Wytt or condytion? Such thyngs are swayd by chaunce: +And naughts more arrogant than Ignorance.-- +But here comes he that hathe brayne to plott +And spyrrytt to acte. + + _Enter Didier_. + +Howe is it _Didier_? + +_Did_. As you comanded, Sir. + +_Gan_. Hast doone it then? + +_Did_. And without all suspytion? + +_Gan_. Halfe my soule, +Let me imbrace thee. All my cares and feares +Thou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deathe +My future honors take a glorious byrthe. + + _Enter La Fue_. + +_Fue_. Hees never from hym; nay I must begone; +Past servyce is forgott. Doe you heare, my lorde? +Beggars must be no chusers. I am one, +The proverb proves it, an oulde serving man: +At your choyse therefore be it, whether I +Or that knave shall stay with you, for both must not; +Your house (though lardge) cannot contayne us bothe. + +_Gan_. Why, whatts the matter, _Fue_? + +_Fue_. Matter of wronge. +Full twoe and twentye severall liverye coatts, +Made & composed all for severall yeares, +Have I runne throughe in your most faythfull service. +Oth scullerye I was three yeares before: +So, blacke and blewe[86], I make account I've served +Your Lordshypp five and twentye. + +_Gan_. What meanes thys? + +_Fue_. My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude Jacke +Abuses me in words I understand not; +And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hym +I am no longer for you. + +_Gan_. Patyence, man: +If thys be all Ile see it remedyed. +He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats past +And promyse thee to second it with other. + +_Fue_. Shall he? why, let him then, and I wilbe content to dye in peace. + +_Did_. I bothe repent and promyse no amends. + +_Fue_. Well, that shall pacyfie, we will be frends +And live in peace together. + +_Did_. On condytion +That hence you take no lycence to deprave +My good indevours. + +_Fue_. In my contyence +He wrongs me now agayne. + +_Did_. Nor on this growe +Sawcie and insolent. + +_Fue_. Hay da! can oughte +Proceeding from my gravitie to thee +Be esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde; +Can fleshe and bloode induer thys? I doe knowe +My servyce is more pretyous then to be +Thus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe; +And though in pollycie I will not leave +Your lordshypps servyce, yet if polycie +Or brayne of man may studdye a revendge, +Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayne +Shall fashyon out a rare one. + [_Exit La Fue_. + +_Gan_. Syllye foole! +Come, _Didier_; mynde not hys peeyvishe hate +Ile make thee yet obscurd an envyed state. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus 2_. + +[SCENE I.] + + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants_. + +_Orl_. O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres +That with a more then envyous aspect +Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed? +I coulde allmost brable with destenye +For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme. +And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knott +That tyes suche a disparytie together. +But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood +A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte +Then a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I, +Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe, +Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds +And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage, +Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds, +Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store, +Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore; +Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme, +Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand, +Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder +And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes, +Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde +And loved burthen of the wanton seas) +Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties +And like to such, not cared for a jott, + ... ... ... ... ... must lye by & rott: +And so must I. + +_Rei_. His dottage maks hym thynke +Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche +That when the newse of your successe aryved +(Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie) +He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylled +With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her. + +_Oli_. He has not dealt like _Charlimayne_ t'expose +You to the horror of a cyvill warre, +And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way +To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse +Your fayre successyon. + +_Orl_. Twas a speedinge plott +To sende me into _Spayne_, whylst _Ganelon_ +Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here, +The envyous destenye that dothe attende +On all my undertakings, would have made +My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it. +For not the cooninge of slye _Ganelon, +Charlimayne's_ dottage, nor her wytchinge eie +(To whom I nowe must be obedyent) +Can challendge any share in my disgrace; +But myne owne fortune that did never smyle +But when it gave me a full cause to cursse. +And were the way to my successyon free +As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence +And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge +From my meare fate to make another kynge: +So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all +My rights of byrthe and nature. + +_Rei_. You have doone ill +To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence. + +_Oli_. With penytence tys confest, consyderinge +Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way's +Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye. + +_Orl_. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres, +Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects +With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves +Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie. +My starres, my starres! +O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares +So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares. + + _Enter La Busse_. + +_Rei_. Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne-- +A propertie oth court, that least his owne +Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt +In pollycie to scoffe at other mens. +He will taxe all degrees and think that that +Keepes hym secure from all taxation. + +_Orl_. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman +And hated of his father for hys vertues. + +_Bus_. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe +May comforte man, wayte on your excellence! + +_Orl_. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs +Can ere be heard to my desyred good, +I am not so voyde of humanitie +But I will thanke your love. + +_Rei_. Pray, sir, what newse +Hath the court lately been deliverd of? + +_Bus_. Such as the gallimaufry that is found +In her large wombe may promise: he that has +The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte +And knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists +Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings +And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without +The remedye of sugar candye for't. +Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott +Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes, +I & allmost disjested too as soone. + +_Oli_. I, but in sober sadness whatts done there? + +_Bus_. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes, +For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs +To mere confussyon: nothing there hath forme +But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte +Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte. + +_Rei_. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte +Our fayre eied royall empresse? + +_Bus_. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir, +You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope +None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke +To kyndell that ill flame. + +_Orl_. No, of my trothe, +I know thee much too honest; but how fares +The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse? + +_Bus_. Sir, as a woman in her case may doe; +Shee's broughte [to] bedd. + +_Rei_. What, has she a chylde, then? + +_Bus_. I, my Lord. + +_Orl_. A Sonne! + +_Bus_. Mys-fortune hath inspyrd you, Sir; tys true. + +_Orl_. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche +I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. +O harte, will nothing breake the? + +_Rei_. Tis most straunge. + +_Orl_. Straunge? Why, if she had been spayd +And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte +My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde-- +Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no man +That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve +Ere let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in't +Would tourne the hope't successe to an event +That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule +With the most pleasinge objecte. + +_Bus_. Sir, be at peace; +Much may be found by observatyon. + +_Orl_. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable. +Thys observation thou advysest to +Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate +That I should be distrackt. I can observe +Naughte but varyetye of mysseries +Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours. +I neare did good for any but great _Charles_, +And the meare doing that hath still brought forth +To me some plague too heavye to be borne, +But that I am reservd onlye to teach +The studyed envye of mallignant starrs. +If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde, +It is with studyinge myne afflictions; +But, for her standing on a roullinge stone, +Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands +And onlye against me. + +_Rei_. Move hym no further; +But if your observatyon can fynde out +A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills +That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love, +And be your servant: pray be inquisitive. + +_Orl_. Inquiseytive? for what? my miseryes +Requyer no searche, they playnlye shewe themselves, +And in theire greatnes crowne what made them greate. +The power of Fortune, which by theym beinge crownd +Doth tyrannize uppon me. + + _Enter Didier_. + +_Did_. Healthe attend +Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home +Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds +Whereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome. + +_Orl_. What is he? + +_Did_. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall +Ever attend you, and those wishes be +Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce. + +_Bus_. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is +More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes +Then twixte thy words and wishes. + +_Did_. Then your knowledge +Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate +To be so littill famed. I never hearde +That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge +But dynner tyme & coronatyon day, +The tylters collours & theire pages suytts, +But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up +An Ignoramus. + +_Bus_. Th'art a parasytte; +Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father +And like an evyll aungell make hym doe +Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver. +Therefore the love which thou protestest here +Can be at best but fayn'd & beares more shewe +Of treacherye then zeale. + +_Did_. How say you by that? + +_Orl_. _Ganelon's_ servant! Will it not suffyce +The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe +With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes +But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte +O' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferings +With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you +Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke +My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame +That I am a fytt subject for your spleene, +Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage? +Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute +My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe +In full carryere uppon me? + +_Did_. I disclayme +_Ganelons_ servyce other then to serve +Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end +Whertoe I ere seemd hys. + +_Bus_. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne! + +_Orl_. Impossyble! +I cannot be so happye, & if thou +Beare but the least affectyon to my cause, +Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd +To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature. + +_Did_. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst +In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased +Thys screane may be removed that keepes away +All comfortable heate from everye man +Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall +Confyrme you I am yours. + +_Orl_. He shall not goe, +Nor can I hope successe in any thynge +(More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed. + +_Oli_. Pray, sir, withdrawe. + +_Rei_. Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good +We may dyscover & prevent hys ill: +Pray leave us, sir. + +_Bus_. I will; but yet beware +That fellowe. [_Exit La Busse_. + +_Did_. I fyrst desyre +To be beleived my love & utmost servyce +Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife +The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers +That ever fryghted weake mortallytie, +Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knowe +The empresse is departed. + +_Orl_. Whyther! to hunt worsse fortunes then I suffer? + +_Did_. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode +After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it +She dyed last mornynge. + +_Rei_. Wonderful!! what newse of her younge sonne? + +_Did_. It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one, +_Lewis_ the _gentyll_ calld, a hopefull infante. + +_Oli_. But smale hope of the emperours righte to it. + +_Orl_. Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe? + +_Did_. Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife. +Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more +Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love +Outwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie): +He will not give her buryall, but in's armes +Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys, +Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes +To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe +Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence. + +_Orl_. Why, thys is absolute madnes! Where's byshopp _Turpin_? +His reverence shoulde persuade hym. + +_Did_. So he hathe, +But tys in vayne: he heares naught but his passyon. + +_Orl_. Why, styll thou heapest uppon me newe misfortunes. + +_Did_. But will delyver comforte. For some prooffe +Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd +By _Ganelon_ to poyson you. + +_Rei_. Whatts thys? + +_Did_. To which performance I so soothd hys hopes +That he beleives tys doone. + +_Orl_. And so it had, +But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be +Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove +The object of her envye past her spleene. +What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede +All the worlds mysseryes that have a name, +A new one out of pyttie must be founde +To adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse, +But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee; +And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde +Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well. + +_Did_. Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus? +Wonder confounds me. + +_Rei_. My most worthye cossen, +Will you not take advantage of thys plott? + +_Orl_. No; what advauntage? the emperour's eares are glewed +Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons. + +_Did_. Great Sir, no; +The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge, +Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes, +He heares all causes criminall as if +She did but slumber by hym. + +_Oli_. Tys an offerd meanes +To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour +Revyve your hopes. + +_Orl_. As cordyalls doe call backe +A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace +To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes +Of hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it, +And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe +Too noble to complayne. I neare coulde fynde +Pleasure or ease in others punishment, +Or if I were so base to take delighte +In the afflyctions of another man +My fate would guard me from't, for tys decreed +That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare +Be master of a hope shall have successe: +So all the opposytion I can make +Would onlye make my greives rydiculous +And dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I. + [_Ex. Orlando_. + +_Did_. Heres a straunge humor! + +_Oli_. I, but let it not +Deterre you from hys accusatyon. + +_Did_. Ile justefye what I have sayd. + +_Rei_. Doe so, +And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde +Shall pay thy love and faythe. + + [_Ex. all but Didier_. + +_Did_. I doe not like +Thys entertaynment at the second hande: +It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie. +Is thys a welcome worthye of the love +I have exprest? Had I tooke up hys hauke +Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce +Had deserved more respect then he gives me. +I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes, +For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye doone +And ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue is +The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge +That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts. +But t'has a cursse. It is impossyble +Ere to gett into _Ganelon_ agayne, +Havinge not onlye not performd hys will +But tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ere +The earle of _Angeres_ houlds thys accusatyon, +T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe-- +But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it +By other testymonie then myne owne; +And that hys owne denyall will bereave me +Of the beleife due to it. Yet will I stand too't styll: +To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. Y'are well mett. + +_Did_. I thanke you. + +_Gan_. Th'art a vyllayne. + +_Did_. It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me +If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse. + +_Gan_. _Orlando_ is retournd. + +_Did_. Tys well. + +_Gan_. It is; +But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp +Your harte had gordgd a hauke. + +_Did_. Wa, ha ho, man! +Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey, +Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all +Unable to outflye or to resist, +But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe +At once apeare. You understand me, sir? + +_Gan_. Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee? Arte thou flesht? +Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne? + +_Did_. Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson +The best that I have hearde. But be assurd +I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast. + +_Gan_. Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge, +A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not? + +_Did_. And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells +Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade, +Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then +That thou shalt curse thy beinge. + [_Exit Didier_. + +_Gan_. Thys is well, +Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slave +Armed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde nowe +Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips +When I made thys roague inmate of my breast. +My seryous counsaylls and's owne servyces +He sells like goods at outcryes--"Who gives most?" +Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes +When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made +My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he +May wound me deeplye. Suer he has reveald +My purposse and reward to poyson hym: +So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne +Wants but a sparke,--and farewell, _Ganelon_! +Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym! +What a brave noble creature were a man + ... ... ... ... ... see and so prevent + ... ... ... ... ... nay of his slave. + + _Enter Richard_. + +_Ric_. Health attend you! + +_Gan_. O my dearest sweete, +Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish; +For in it rests my health and happynes. +Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd, +And we have bothe full cause. My syster's deathe +Hath, like the moone in opposytion, +Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperour +Styll keep her in hys armes. + +_Ric_. Yes, styll and styll; +Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe +And flourishe most in deathe. _Mesantius_ wrathe, +That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym +The joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he is +Anything now but famous _Charlymayne_. + +_Gan_. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man +Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende, +Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene +Out of the emperours presence? + +_Ric_. Sir, theres none; +He hath her evermore within hys armes, +And when a sleepes your syster _Gabriella_ +Or the oulde Bishopp _Turpin_ doe attend her. + +_Gan_. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon, +That syster is an ulcer in my bloode: +Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons? + +_Ric_. Sleyght them beyond your wishes. + +_Gan_. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue, +And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd +Still let her frantique love receyve repulse +And crowne thy contynence; for though I was +Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90] +I would not have to fall for chrystendome. + +_Ric_. You neede not feare me: if not contynence, +Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe. + +_Gan_. I know't; and here she comes. + + _Enter Gabriella_. + +_Gab_. Brother, God save you!--0 my noble _Richarde_, +You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares. +Shall styll your winter nypp me? + +_Gan_. What doe you meane? + +_Gab_. T'express a love thats good and vertuous. + +_Gan_. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye. + +_Gab_. To tell before you myne affectyon +In publique I confes it would make me +A subject for taxation. + +_Gan_. Anywhere. +Come, a must not love you. + +_Gab_. Heavens forbydd! +And I must tell you, brother, that I darre +(And with no other then a syster's spleene) +Justifye myne affectyon. + +_Gan_. So, +And what wants thys of impudence? + +_Gab_. As much +As you of charytie if your tonge bee +A faithfull servant to your mynde. + +_Gan_. Tys well: +You would be whored (mayd), would you not? + +_Ric_. Pray, Forbeare. + +_Gab_. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye, +While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe +I will not have my true love circomscrybd +Within the lymits of your pollycie, +Come, y'are wicked. + +_Gan_. Repentance would doe well. + +_Gab_. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares +And at that sober age I meane to wedd it. +Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild +But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray +Beyond this most loved object. + +_Ric_. Say not so: +It never can retourne your recompence. +Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contrackt +And richlie to be marryed unto heaven +Shall ever keepe me from affectyon: +Beleve it, madam, I will never love. + +_Gab_. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all +Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall. + +_Gan_. Nay, no more fallinge. Come, my noble frende; +And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings. + + [_Exe. Gan. Rich_. + +_Gab_. Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames +Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode. +What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre, +And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake +Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood +In manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dare +All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie, +But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll +And so be servd both in my lust and will. + + _Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes, + Turpin, La Busse_. + +_Turp_ ... ... Sir, let me perswade ... ... +Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, +Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie. + +_Char_. No more; +He that perswades me from thys loved embrace +Is my most mortall enemye, and here +I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. +O, _Gabriella_, come; thy syster sleepes +A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade; +Goodnes can never perishe, and if so +Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have +Not full so many mynuts to survyve +As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I +For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay +And close our loves both in one monument. + +_Turp_. Was never seene suche an affectyon! + +_Char_. Come, _Gabriella_, let us sett her downe; +And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene; +The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads, +Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym, +Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness: + [_They place the dead bodye in a chayre_. +No ayre shall blow uppon her. Happye soule! +Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see +The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks +Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe +Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte +A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon. + +_Buss_.--What will a make of her? + +_Turp_.--Even what his fancye pleases. + +_Char_. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe, +Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable! +And howe much follye is in fearfull man [_Sitts by her_. +To flye from that which is so amyable! +Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte +My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame +And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome, +The conquests I have made of _Fraunce_, of _Spayne_, +Of _Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie_, +Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee +Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne, +And but for thys I were not _Charlymayne_. + +_Turp_. Alas, tys she maks hym not _Charlymayne_! + +_Char_. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe, + + [_Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique_. + +But _Turpin_ and my sister. Heavye sleepe +Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete, +Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest +Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee. + [_Sleepes on her bosome_. + +_Turp_. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe? + +_Gab_. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule +Hath charmd hys sence with slumber. + +_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe +And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche +And call you at hys wakynge. + +_Gab_. Willinglye. [_Ex. Gabriella_. + +_Turp_. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys, +It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde, +Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love, +Raynes in him above wonder, nay above +Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence. +I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes, +Spells and devysses to comand men's harts; +That charracters and imadges and scrolles +Can even bynd the soule to servytude. +It may be that's wrought on the emperoure. +I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to be +A myne of all deceytfull polycie, +And thys affectyon thus unnaturall, +Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye, +If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe, +That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye. +Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde +And emptye sylence, no companyon. +What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe; +Ile yet breake ope another cabanett. +Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say, +Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons: +You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys? +A rynge! +A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe +Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate! +Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is +I will aprove and be the treasurer. + + _Enter Gabriella_. + +_Gab_. Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour? + + [_Char. stirrs_. + +_Turp_. I sawe him move even now: agayne he styrrs. +Good sweete, excuse me: when a dothe awake +I will retourne imedyatlye. + [_Exit Turp_. + +_Gab_. I will. + +_Char_. Hey ho! +Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend? + ... ... pleasure ... ... ... ... ... +Ha! +Woman's attendaunce? in the name of chaunge +When did _Charles_ use such frayltie? Men at armes +Did ever guarde me: am I now forsooke? + + _Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants_. + +O you are wellcome. Ha! what creature's thys? +Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre? +What traytor shewd thys embleme? Why my age +Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe +The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke +Beyond the hower of deathe. Let me viewe her. + +_Rich_.--Here's a chaunge; he wilbe _Charles_ agayne. + +_Bus_.--Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous. + +_Char_. Tys the dead Empresse! In the name of healthe +Who plact her bodye here? + +_Rich_. Onlye your maiestye, +From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge +Had power to drawe her. + +_Char_. Gentyll coosse, +Doe not take judgment from me: in my mynde +Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon. +But more of that hereafter: take it hence +And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be +Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy. + + [_Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead_. + +Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe? + +_Rich_. Without, attendinge your hye pleasure. + +_Char_. Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face +May blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [_Exit Rich_. +Hathe brought to _Fraunce_ her wishes in suche wreathes +Of uncompared conquests that it bends +With weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes! + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier, + Attend[ants]_. + +O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe younge +With thynkinge of thy gloryes. Wellcome, coosse, +Wellcome, renowned _Oliver_, wellcome all! +But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe! +Th'ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes. + +_Orl_. The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me +And I partake not of it, but within me +I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would +Unpeople your whole kyngdome. + +_Char_. Whats the matter? + +_Orl_. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power +Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded +(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse) +To tell you of a practyse gainst my life +By _Ganelon_. + +_Char_. Call hym; you shall be hearde, +You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge. +Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe +That indyrect surmyses more abuse +And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde +An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one. + +_Orl_. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde +An inocent brest: myne keepes a register +With corsives charactred on everye syde +Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say, +Were _Ganelon_ here-- + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. As he is, my lorde, +To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature, +The mallyce of thys slave or of the world, +Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost. + +_Orl_. I say you are a man that haveinge longe +Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence +At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman +(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie +Be myne afflyction) to poyson me. + +_Gan_. My emperour, +If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way +Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor, +Justyce hathe left the earthe. + +_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha! + +_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie +That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true +That with a summe of goulde and further hopes +Of future honors he did wynne my promysse +To poyson the greate Palladyne. + +_Char_. Thys is dyrect. + +_Gan_. A dyrect vyllanye! +If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man, +Any such slave, discarded for's badd life, +May make hys former master forfayte hys; +You may in ten days hange up all your nobles +And yet have lawe for't. But if any man +(Thys slave except), although hys synns would make +The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte +And the grasse wither with his loathed ..., +Will justefye thys accusatyon, +Ile remayne destitute of all replye. + +_Char_. Nephewe, what other proofe have you? + +_Orl_. Your majestie sees all, +And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me +Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse) +Would be enoughe. + +_Rei_. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie +Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd +But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye. + +_Oli_. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade +Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. +All _Fraunce_ dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne. + +_Ric_. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tonges +Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave +Most to'th oppressed, oft to'th inocent. + +_Rei_. Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love. +Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous. + +_Bus_. Worthy _Reinaldo_, carrye better thoughts: +My father is your servant, and dothe love you. + +_Rei_. Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe, +I then would honor hym. Uppon my life +In thys he is most guyltye. + +_Char_. Come, no more. +There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe, +And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve +Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. _Ganelon_, +Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte: +Yare banysht thence. You have a cuntrye house, +Let that receyve you: when you thence departe +Your life is forfayte. Away! + +_Gan_. I doe obay +Your Majestye. + [_Exe. Gan., La Busse_. + +_Orl_. Is thys a punishment? + +_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen. + +_Did_. And noble bloode +Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds. + +_Orl_. Hence, slave! +By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne. +Was ever man like me unfortunate? +Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor +In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd +T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd. + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Char_. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? +My joy of life, my ages comforter! +Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee. + +_Tur_. What meanes your majestie? + +_Char_. I meane to live for ever on thy necke +And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares. +O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge, +Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse +When the bright sonne dothe kysse it. + +_Orl_. Ha, whats thys? + +_Tur_. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man, +That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you. + +_Char_. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume, +A verye myne of imortallytie. +Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye, +Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed. +Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters +In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye. +Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will. + [_Kisses Turpin_. + +_Orl_.--Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge. + +_Rei_.--Nay, farre above my readinge. + +_Orl_.--Upon my life! +The ould men will not ravyshe one another? + +_Tur_. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne +Thys toe much wanton passyon. + +_Char_. They are joys +Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete; +We will in private measure our delights +And fyll our wishes bryme full. _F[r]aunce_ is thyne, +And he is but disloyall dare repyne. + + [_Ex. Char., Turp_. + +_Orl_. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus +The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous. + + [_Ex. all but Didier_. + +_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye +And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe +I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe. +Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man, +Has undoone me. What course shall I take now? +I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me. +My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt +For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre; +He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella_. + +[_Eld_.] ... ... ... it is not possyble + ... ... ... ... ... +The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye _Richard_ +Should promise more true fortytude in love +Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons. + +_Gab_. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs, +The smale assurance and the certayne deathe, +The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns +That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures; +And are you styll to learne or will you trust +A lovelye face with all your good beleife? +My dutye checks myne anger, or I should-- + +_Eld_. What should you? + +_Gab_. Give your tast a bytternes. + +_Eld_. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; +See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill. + +_Gab_. Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes +So muche as to account your errors follyes; +But, I proteste, were you another woman, +I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you +That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente +In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes: +And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy +Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie! +Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face +When they themselves deceyve most by the face? +Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we +Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble? + +_Eld_. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the +meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie +syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the +tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a +crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne. + +_Gab_. And wherefore then should I trust in the face? +Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother, +The toe much wise, toe subtyll _Ganelon_, +Onlye withdrawes _Richards_ affectyon. +Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me; +And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd +By the charme of hys voyce onlye? + +_Eld_. Trust me, wenche, +Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys +Where lyethe our preventyon? + +_Gab_. Onlye thus: +You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon +Twixte _Rychard_ and my brother, tourne their loves +To mortall hate and emulatyon; +Which but effected, _Richard_ suer will love +Bee't but alone to crosse hys enemye. + +_Eld_. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creature +nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a +tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes +of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good +fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire +frendshypp. But to better purpose-- + +_Gab_. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshopp +The kyngs inamord darlinge. + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Tur_. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunce +With your deare sonne, my good lord _Ganelon_? + +_Eld_. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir. +Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there +All cares and all vexatyons: nowe he sleepes, +Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate, +Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne, +Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance; +Is not tane up with other mens affayres +But onlye looks to's owne comodytie. + +_Tur_. Hys chaunge was passynge happye then, it seemes. + +_Gab_. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe +He onlye wayts on hys partycullar, +Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse +All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say, +Is safest, surest, and least envyed. + +_Tur_. Why, prettie Ladye, you'le not leave the courte? + +_Eld_. Yes, gratyous lorde; I'me sent to bringe her thence. +Our pore retyred famylie must plante +Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91] +Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces. + +_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys +Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende +Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye +Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate +You will imparte unto hym. + +_Eld_. Most willinglie; +Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there +Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare. + + [_Ex. Eldegr. and Gab_. + +_Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! + ... ... ... ... ... +O tys a foule and damned sorcerye +And maks the best of wisdome and of men, +Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre, +Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse. +Why I am even rackt with complyment +And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe +Houlde difference in thys incantatyon. +But I will trye it further, harke a comes; +Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye. + + _Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard_. + +_Char_. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve +My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence? +I pray thee tender my declyninge age, +Stande allways neare that I may never faynte; +For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life +Then mightie nature when she made me younge. + +_Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante. + +_Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye! + +_Tur_. I protest, sir. + +_Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me, +But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye, +For I confess, as freelye as I love, +One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome; +And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I? +A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge +That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles. + +_Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. +I doe adore you next to dietie [sic] +And will lay downe my life for you to treade on. + +_Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive +Another god, or I must forfayte heaven +And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. +Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence +From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake: +Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee +Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie. +Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all, +All my domynions and authoryties; +Thynke what may please thee, make a full request +Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors. + +_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have +All that I can desyer? + +_Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge: +Come, tell't in myne eare? + +_Bus_. What thynke you, lorde? +Has any favrytt all he can desyer. + +_Rich_. Yes, and a be contented. + +_Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie +contented? + +_Rich_.--Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt. + +_Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll +wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_, +he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde +loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe +blame hys doatinge on my sister. + +_Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], +muche more with prynces. + +_Bus_.--If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave +majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare; +let us prate whylst they whysper. + +_Rich_.--Is that good manners? + +_Bus_.--Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to +pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe +pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe. + +_Rich_.--Come, thou art wanton! + +_Bus_.--As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle +should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to +be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does +not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat +there must be. + +_Char_. How now, cossen, what says _La Busse_? + +_Bus_. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of +begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the +Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of +mynuts. + +_Char_. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye +companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.--But, sweete frend, +Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyon +As fyrme as destenye, and I will give +All satisfactyon to the Palladyne. + +_Tur_. It wilbe royall in you. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Char_. Kysse me, sweete.--O you are wellcome; stand up. +And howe does thys retyred life agree +With _Ganelon_? + +_Gan_. As _Ganelon_ with it, +Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerd +Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you; +In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd +[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd +Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente +I never slepte in quyett nor awakt +But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. +Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle +Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares +Over and over. Fortune has opposd +My naturall blessings and my wishest ends; +Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes +Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve +Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge +Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all +My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne +A suffrynge of that impyous accounte +Which nowe afflycts me. + +_Char_. O you are conynge. + +_Tur_. Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte. + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver_. + +But here comes the earle of _Angeres_. + +_Char_. Nephewe, y'are discontented and I woulde +Give all rights to your honor, which did cause +Me latelye thus to send for you. + +_Orl_. Tys true, +You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd +And came: but then, Sir, what became of me? +You sente me presentlye away for _Spayne_. +Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys +As well methynks as if it hapned nowe. + +_Char_. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake. + +_Orl_. O that I could mistake or never thynke +Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence. +Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake +But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus. + +_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good +Into a stronge disease. + +_Orl_. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall, +I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir, +Littill thought I, when I departed hence +And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd. + +_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer. + +_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede +Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with, +But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare +My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't. + +_Rei_.--A touches hym most bouldlye. + +_Oli_.--Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge. + +_Orl_. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease +Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame, +For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse: +But what good man can well escape a cursse +When Emperours, that should be absolute, +Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant? + +_Gan_. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more. + +_Orl_. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde? + +_Gan_. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt. + +_Char_. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one, +You, _Ganelon_, I meane: there dothe belonge +Unto your fault muche more then banishment. +I heare discharge you of all offyces, +Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds +The slender name of a pore gentyllman. +Besyds I fyne you out of your estate +At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence +To see the courte, but live thence banyshed. +Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light +Ile lay more burthens on hym.--Come, best frende. + +_Orl_. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye. + + [_Ex. Cha., Turp_. + +_Gan_. Then welcome once agayne my libertie! +Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee +And utter my dystractyon; only nowe +Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome. +Before I was devyded in my selfe, +The emperour and the state did clayme a parte; +But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd +And onlye thou shalt have what manye had, +My best imployments and my whole desyers. + +_Rich_. You are a juell fytter for the State, +And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure, +Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne +In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome. + +_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me +He wants his refudge, and my glorye then +Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts +Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende, +Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me + ... ... enoughe to caper ... ... ... + +_Orl_. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe? +Cossen _Reinaldo_, cossen _Oliver_, +Why does he growe thus guyddie? + +_Gan_. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge +That I should take a pore content in shame? +Your envye will discredite you, my lorde. +Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ dogge +That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger? + +_Orl. Rei. Oli_. What then? + +_Gan_. He was an arrant peevyshe curre, +Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye +I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne) +Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame. + +_Orl_. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole. + +_Gan_. Sir, I am just of your opynion I; +For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre +Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses? +Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I +Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks +And never curse my planettes. I can leape +With more actyvitie then yesterday.--_Capers_. +Does thys offend you, Sir? + +_Orl_. Exceedinglye. + +_Rei_. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy? + +_Gan_. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne. + +_Oli_. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute. + +_Gan_. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles. + +_Bus_. It is the honor of hys gravitie +Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds +Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke +His resolutyons nowe his champyons. + +_Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me +And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there +A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee +And she shall pyle up all your flatterye: +The courte hath no use for it.--Sir, methought +You talkt of lightnes, did you not? + +_Orl_. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles. + +_Gan_. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse, +Beinge disburdend of so manye feares, +So much attendance and so manye synnes +By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde +(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp +If you or others moved the emperour +To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded +Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me, +And shall I not discover what I am. +A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [_Capers_.] +--Does thys offend you? + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Tur_. Where's lorde _Richard_? + +_Rich_. Here, reverend Sir. + +_Tur_. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne +Of life and your aleagance that from hence +You never more conversse with _Ganelon_ +Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment. +No not so much as see hym; and withall +You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes. + +_Rich_. I am hys servant. + [_Ex. Tur., Rich_. + +_Gan_. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke +To deathe with mans soft languadge. Come away: +Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day. + + [_Ex. Can., La Busse_. + +_Orl_. Wherefore did the angrye emperour +Degrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me, +Did he not, cossen? + +_Rei_. Yes, to satisfye +The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe. + +_Orl_. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all +As catchynge of the moone: tys past mans power +To take away my cursse of destenye. + +_Oli_. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse. + +_Orl_. Had any man but such a slave as I +Look't to have tryumphd in hys base dejection +And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes, +Whylst I and all the projects I can make +Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame. + +_Rei_. Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen: +You have in many actyons prosperd well. + +_Orl_. Good, doe not studye how to flatter me; +I am in althyngs most unfortunate. +Witnes my fyrst love to _Angellica_, + ... ... ... my cursse ... ... ... +My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings, +Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells +Can breake the harte of resolutyon. + +_Rei_. What say you to your conquests? + +_Orl_. Tut, in thosse +Fortune did never medle: honor there +Served in her person, not by substytute. +Instead of which pore blessinge not a day +Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye. +Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all _Fraunce_? +Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome. +And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte +That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse +Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes. +By heaven I will release hym! + +_Rei_. Nothinge so: +Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me; +Ile add a torment to hys mysserye. + + [_Exe_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle_. + + +_Eud_. Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted +Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam). +I promysd to your lorde that _Bertha_ here, +My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne, +And Ile perform't; for onlye to that ende +I've brought her nowe. + +_Eld_. And, Sir, tis noblye doone; +I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym +Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he +Is laboringe to recover, but's retourne +I knowe wilbe most sodayne. + +_Eud_. Weele attend it. + +_Gab_. Hey hoe. + +_Ber_. Why syghes thou, frende? + +_Gab_. Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons. +Your in a good way, _Bertha_, ryde spurrd on, +May come unto your journey: I must tyre, +Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me. + +_Ber_. Yes, when younge _Rychard_ hunts your purlue ground. +Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder. + +_Gab_. Not if a would fall to hys exercyse. + +_Ber_. Th'art styll thy selfe (all madnes).--But no more; +Here comes your brother. + + _Enter Ganelon, La Busse_. + +_Eud_. Healthe to my noble lorde! + +_Gan_. You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir, +Tys wellcome since you wishe it. O I am +At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace. + +_Eud_. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knowe +Disgrace is ever like the greate assay +Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume +And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe +Because it styll remayns unchaungable +Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, +Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: +Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches +In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe, +Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe. + +_Gan_. Pray thee, noble _Eudon_, save thy selfe, +And come not neare me; I am pestilent. + +_Eud_. I doe not feare infection. + +_Gan_. I knowe tharte noble & a man of warre, +One that hathe feard no mortall wound so muche +As to be recond fearfull; but the cause, +The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you +You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule +Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. +Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes +And talke alone, least the proceedinge ayre +That easeth me beget in you a payne. +Leave me, pray leave me: my rude vyolence +Will halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speeche +Like such a noyse as drownds all other noyse +Will so afflyct your thoughts & cares on me +That all your care besyde must be neglected. +My tyme of patyence is expyrd; pray leave me. + +_Eld_. Ithe name of wonder, sir, what dothe afflyct you. + +_Eud_. You boare your banyshment most brave tyll nowe. + +_Gan_. I did, & could as quyetlye endure +To be exposd uppon the publique scaffold +To all myne enemyes contempt, but nowe +I'me more then banysht, all my honors lost, +My wealthe, my places everye one the kyngs; +I hardlye am a pryvate gentyllman. +And more then thys, my onlye dearest frend, +My _Richard_, I must never see agayne. + +_Gab_.--Excellent newse! hould, there Ile honor thee. + +_Eud_. Why, all thys is a tryfell; suche a blast +As should not move a weake reede. Come, I love +Your selfe and not your fortunes: pray forgett em. +See, I have brought my daughter, and desyer +The matche betwixt us may be consumate. + +_Gan_. O you are noble that can pyttie scorne! +And werte not for my frends losse all the rest +I should loosse like my shadowe. + +_Eld_. I, and hym, +When I have toulde you myne intelligence. +Come, hees not halfe so good as you imagine. + +_Gan_. Goe, y'are a woman, and that styll implyes +Can be malytious.--But are you then resolvd +To match with myne ill fortunes? + +_Eud_. Sir, I am. + +_Gan_. What says fayre _Bertha_? + +_Ber_. That my free will dothe bynde +My love to his comandment. + +_Gan_. Then take her, boy; we wilbe hencefourthe frends, +And howsoever crosses come & goe +Ile leave thee cloathes inowe for winter tyme. + +_Bus_. Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress, +And will so arme my servyce with delighte +That, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoake +The onlye lyst of pleasure. + +_Ber_. Thats my hope: +Bate me the pleasure, and, beleive it, Sir, +I shall crye out oth bargayne. + +_Bus_. Feare me not. + +_Gan_. Come, we will have thys maryage sollempnyzd, +In which I meane to feighte with agonye +And shoe the worlde I can cast honors of +More easlye then my garments. Wisdome & thought +Most precious ever when tys dearest bought. + + [_Exe. all but Gab_. + +_Gab_. Suer thys should be the day of _Valentyne_ +When everye byrd dothe coople, onlye I +Pore forlorne turtle, haveinge lost my mate, +Must dye on a bare braunche. Wytt defend me! +Youthe & my pleasures will not suffer it. +I've here contryved a letter to my frende +In myne ill brothers name. It may worke +Somethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worst +It cannot make me more then I am accurst. +And heres my messenger.-- + + _Enter La Fue_. + +Howe nowe Mounseir _Fue_? +Whyther gost thou in suche a sweatinge passyon? + +_Fue_. O, Madam, sweatynge is goode for the itche, and the rascall +_Didier_ haveing playd the roague with my lord ist possyble but I +should itche to be about hys eares when I see the knaves countenance? +Therefore to avoyde troble I affect sweatinge. + +_Gab_. Why, thou dost not see hym nor art thou licklye. + +_Fue_. O by all meanes I cannot mysse the devyll. Why, I am goeing to +the courte, Madam, & the knave wilbe in everye corner, _Didier_ I meane, +by all meanes; so that if I doe not sweate I shall scratche the skynne +from myne elbowes. + +_Gab_. Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tell +noble _Richard_, the sonne of _Aimon_, your master sente it, but doe not +tell your master I imployd you. Take this rewarde and deale wiselye. + +_Fue_. As wisely as my blewe coate will suffer me. + + [_Exe_. + + + + +_Act 4_. + +[SCENE I.] + + + _Enter Richard readinge a letter_. + +_Rich. [Read] Myne enemyes have labord much, but my worst afflyctyon is +thy lamented absence which may endanger us alyke. There is no means to +prevent all evyls but the injoyinge of my sister Gabriella: therefore +force in thy selfe an affectyon. She may otherwise growe discontent and +trooble us with her mallyce. Therefore preserve thy selfe and me +together, who am thy best on earthe: Ganelon_. + +Thys letter sente me by my dearest frende +Like spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne. +He urdges me to love where a dothe knowe +I can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so, +Our safties doe compell it, & to that +I must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harte +To seme most softe when tys most hard[e]ned. + + _Enter Turpin_. + +_Tur_. Where is pryncelye _Richard_? + +_Ric_. Here, reverend lorde. + +_Tur_. The kynge comands your presence, O deare Sir, +I am orejoyd in your most brave advauncments. +Why, you are now the fayrest stare[94] in _Fraunce_. + +_Rich_. I doe not understand your reverence. + +_Tur_. The emperour will make my meanyng playne. + ... ... ... day Cunstable of _Fraunce_, +Countye _Poyteirs_, marquysse of _Sallun_, +And grand le seignior of the ordnance. + +_Ric_. Theise are the dignities of noble _Ganelon_! + +_Tur_. But these shall all be _Richards_. + +_Ric_. Heaven forbydd! +I will not weare the garments of my frende. + +_Tur_. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs +And never did become hys policie. + +_Ric_. Good Sir, be charytable. + +_Tur_. Indeede I am, +But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe +The emperoure expects you. + + _Enter La Fue_. + +_Ric_. I will attend hym.--O y'are happylie mett. +My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte: +Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [_Gives letters and money_. +Thys to the fayrest _Gabrielle_; thys +Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [_Ex. Richard_. + +_Fue_. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter. +I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce +attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts +in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare +keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good +sadnes. + +_Tur_. Now, Mounseir _La Fue_, you are of the retyred familye. + +_Fue_. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and +yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the +dark. + +_Tur_. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred. + +_Fue_. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers me +may chaunce cursse his journey. + +_Tur_. Styll so angrye? di[d]st never take physsycke? + +_Fue_. P[er]a[dve]nter I have, p[er]a[dve]nter I have not. + +_Tur_. By all meanes doe; choller will kyll thee ells. But to my +purposse: heares gould, comend me to thy master and give him thys token +from me. [_Gives the ringe_. +You see howe thynges runne; hys frend has all hys honors. + +_Fue_. And you had talkd thus before y'ad never tyerd me. + +_Tur_. Stay, goe not yet, here comes the emperoure. + +_Fue_. Mas, Ile have a syghte on hym. + + _Enter Charlimayne, Richard, Didier_. + +_Char_. Doe not perswade me; cossen, you shall weare +The honors I have given; what was _Ganelons_ +Onlye belongs to _Rychard_, he shall weare theym. + +_Rich_. But without ease or comforte.--Good my lorde, +You have a power in hys hyghnes love +Beyond power to interprett: pray you begge +Hys grace will ease thys burthen. + +_Char_. Nor he nor any creature on the earthe +Hath power in me beyond the rule of wisdome. + +_Tur_. Not nowe, I knowe; that charme is altered. +--Sweete lorde, I darre not lymytt kings affectyons. +You have no honors but you merrytt theym. + +_Char_. Ha! +Wonder, howe dost thou houlde me! noble sence, +Doe not forsake my reason. Good sweete lords, +What excellent thynge is that, that, that, that thynge +That is beyond discryption? knowe you hym? + +_Fue_.--Hath spyed me and comends me: I may mounte. + +_Tur_. Tys a dyspysed groome, the drudge of _Ganelon_. + +_Char_. Tys the best forme of man that ere I sawe. +Let me admyre hym. + +_Tur_.--The ringe dothe hould hys vertue everye where, +In weomen, men & monsters. + +_Rich_.--Whence growes thys? +Madnes to it is wisdome. + +_Char_. Why, tys a bodye made by symetree +And knytt together with more arte & care +Then mathematycks cyrckles. _Durers_ rules +Are perfytted in hym. Why, theirs a face +Figurd with all proportyons! browe & eie, +Rounde cheeke & lypp, a nose emperyall, +And everye feature ells of excellence! + +_Fue_. Alas I am but a grosse servyngman, yet vertue +will sparkell. + +_Char_. Why, theres a hande that aunswers to hys foote! + +_Fue_. I & a true one toe, or bourne it ells. + +_Char_. A legge and necke of one cyrcompherence, +A waste that is no hygher then hys thye, +And all parts ells of stronge proportyon. +I am inchaunted with thys vyssyon. + +_Did_.--In hells name what behould's hys majestie +To doate uppon thys rascall! + +_Fue_. It was a scurvye thynge in nature that she did not tourne mans +eies inwarde. Why, had I seene as much as the emperoure I myghte have +been a monarke by thys time. I will growe proude. + +_Char_. O thou the onlye sweetnes of my soule, +Give me but leave to touche thee, let my hand +(Chast loves most bashful messenger) presume +[To stro]ake theise flowers that in thy lovelie [chee]kes +Flouryshe like somer garlands. In soothe my soule +Loves thee beyond relatyon; for thee I doate +And dye in thyne affectyon. Come, Ile make +Thee greater then all _Fraunce_, above the peres, +The proudest he that breathes shall thynke hym blest +To do thee servyce, and esteeme it heaven +To be thyne ape in imytatyon. + +_Fue_. Nowe must I be coy by all meanes.--Trulye for myne owne parte I +must love by dyscretyon, and discretyon tells me I ought not to love an +oulde man, for ould men must needs be ingratfull. + +_Char_. Why, deare sweete? + +_Fue_. Because they can never live to rewarde benefytts. + +_Tur_.--Bytter knave. + +_Char_. O doe not feare; my bountye shall exceede +The power of thyne askynge; thou shalt treade +Uppon the heads of prynces. Bowe, you lords, +And fall before thys saynte I reverence. + +_Tur. Rich. Did_. Honors to hym the emperor doth honor! + +_Fue_. Aryse, my good subjects; onlye for that roauge there the first +acte of my chronickle shalbe hys hanginge. + +_Did_. O be not angrye with your humble servante: +I ever did adore you, + +_Fue_. Yes like the meales that thou hast devourd halfe chewd for +greedynes. But revendge comes nowe gallopinge. + +_Char_. Who hathe displeasd my dearest? name hys name, +The verye breathe shall blast hym; onlye, sweete, +Love me & have thy wishes. + +_Fue_. Well, I am contented to love you; and why? For nothing but +because you are an oulde man. + +_Char_. Why, tys the onlye tye of faythfulines: +Age is the onlye object of the harte, +And by's experyence onlye hathe aspyrd +Toth heyght of all perfectyon. + +_Fue_. True, for I'll stande too't an oulde man is able to see more, doe +more, & comand more then any young man in Chrystendome. + +_Char_. Prove it, my sweete; thou arte myne advocate. + +_Fue_. Why, a sees more, through spectackles which make everye thynge +apeare bygger than it is; does more, for a never lights from hys horse +but hees readye to pull the sadle after hym; and for comandment he may +call twentye tymes to hys servant ere he have hys will once performed. + +_Rich_.--Sfoote, the knave dothe abuse hys hyghnes groslye. + +_Tur_.--Tut, not at all when't cannot be dyserned. + +_Char_. Why, I doe nowe doate on thyne excellence. +Thys witts unparaleld. + +_Did_.--True, except a man searche the Idyotts hospytall. + +_Char_. Thou never shalt goe from me. + +_Fue_. O yes, by all meanes. Shall my master say I ranne away like a +rascall? No, you shall give me leave to take my leave. That ceremonye +performd, I'm yours tyll doomes day. + +_Char_. I cannot live without thee. + +_Fue_. Ile not stay a day at furthest. + +_Char_. I darre denye thee nothynge. Kysse & goe: +Thynke how I languyshe for thee. + +_Fue_. And I will condole in recyprocall kyndnes. + +_Char_. Bishopp, attend my dearest. + +_Tur_. Greate Sir, I was toe impudent even nowe +To trooble you with my token; good Sir, please +To give it me agayne: a meaner man +Shall serve my humble messadge. + +_Fue_. Bishopp, I doe voutsafe it; theres thy ringe. + [_Gives him the ringe_. + +_Tur_.--And you agayne a basse most scurvye thynge. + + [_Exe. Turp., Fue_. + + _Enter La Busse_. + +_Char_. Howe nowe, _La Busse_? What newse from _Ganelon_? + +_Bus_. Suche as can come from sorrowe: he is all +Wretchednes and mysfortune, and in me +Speaks to your sacred goodnes to be pleasd +Voutsafe to call your fayre dove to your fyst +(Mercye I meane) that may abate the stroake +Of your sharpe eagle justyce, and you will +Be wrytt the best of prynces. + +_Char_. Come, no more: +Your fathers sentence is irrevocable. + +_Bus_. Yet, gratyous Sir, sende hym hys honors backe +And for those fewe pore howers he hathe to breathe +Let hym injoy those deare companyons. + +_Char_. You are the good sonne of an evyll man +And I comend your vertue, but thys suyte +Is past all restytution: to thys prynce +I've given all your father governed. + +_Rich_. Which, royall sir? + +_Char_. Cossen, no more; I know your modesty. + ... ... ... your languadge; hees my foe +That next solycytts me for _Ganelon_. + +_Bus_. O doe not make me, sir, be impyous, +For shoulde your breathe crushe me to attomyes, +Yet whylst my memorye can call hym father +I must invocke you for hym. + +_Char_. Which to prevent +Take my last resolutyon, & from it +Swearve not in thyne alleagance: when thou shalt +Meete me uppon a way was never usd +By horse nor man, and thou thy selfe dost ryde +On neyther horsse, mare, asse, & yet thy beast +An usuall thynge for burthen, thou thy selfe +Neyther uncloathd nor naked, & shalt brynge +Thy greatest frend & greatest enemye +Coopld for thy companyons; then I vowe +To doe thy father honor, but tyll then +My mallyce hangs about hym.--Come, coossen, attend us. + + [_Exe. Char., Rich_. + +_Bus_. Then dye, pore _Ganelon_. When I shall meete +The kynge on no hye way, when I shall ryde +Uppon no beast & yet a beast of burthen, +Be neyther nakt nor cloathed, in my hande +My greatest frende & greatest enemye; +And but then get his favor. There is no sphynxe +That can absolve thys ryddell: well, tys decreed +Ile breake my brayne but Ile performe the deede. + +_Did_. Sir, would it were in me to helpe your fortune. + +_Bus_. It was in you to bringe us to thys fortune. +But I am charmd from anger: onlye thus +My father badd me tell you that he hathe +Not many howers to live, & dothe desyer +To parte in peace with all men, even with you +Whom he hathe nowe forgiven hartylie; +And if you please to vissytt him you may +Fynde love without captitulatyon [sic]. + +_Did_. Sir, Ile attend hym. [_Ex. La Busse_. + Yet I've heard a tale +Of a feirce snake that wounded by a swayne +Rememberd it for twentye yeares together +And at the last revendgd it; so may he. +I, but another tale tells of an asse +Which haveinge throwne hys cruell ryder wente +In pyttie to the surgeon, who recurd +The sycklie man & reconcyld the asse. +Why may not _Ganelon_ be like the asse +And thys fayre messadge like the curynge surgeon? +Ile trye it; synce _Orlando_ is unsuer, +Tys _Ganelon_ from whence may come my cure. + + [_Ex. Didier_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Ganelon, Eldegrad & Gabriella_. + + +_Gan_. Good mother, syster, deare spyrrytts, doe not haunte me: +I will not from eternytie beleive +That _Richard_ is unfaythfull. + +_Eld_. No, runne on, +Swallowe thy shames like full bytts tyll they choake you +And make the people prophesye that you +Shalbe undoone by your false _Ganimede_. + +_Gan_. A poxe uppon the people! Would you have +Me to depend uppon theire orackles? + +_Gab_. Depend on your owne goodnes; doe not trust +A traytor in your bossome. _Richard_, they say +Hathe begd your honor and your offyces: +Hes counte of _Poyteers_, marquysse of _Saluca_. + +_Eld_. Cunstable & master of the ordnance. + +_Gan_. It cannot be nor will I credyt it. + +_Eld_. Then perishe in your dullnes. Nay, sir, more; +It was hys earnest suyt to the emperoure +To be dyvorst your presence: I can prove it. + +_Gab_. And I that he by secret charmes hathe sought +To make spoyle of myne honor, but in vayne +Doe I complayne where theres no profyttinge. + +_Fue_. In the way of ordynarye curtesye I doe salute you, & +notwithstandinge my greatnes grace you to give you thys, &, ladye, +you thys. [_Gives letters_. + +_Gan_. Why, howe nowe? what motyons thys? Is the knave falne out with +hys five sences. + +_Fue_. _Ganelon_, no, but in love with my knowne vertues.--Hould, theres +your yarde [_gives hys coate_] & a halfe of somers wearynge. Frends we +mett, frends we parte: if you please me I may prayse you, if you seeke +me you may fynd me, a loves littill that loves longe; and so I leave you +to the tuytion. + +_Gan_. Heyday, the knaves lunatycke! syrha sott + ... ... ... ... ... + +[_Fue_.] ... ... Tys daungerous for your shynns; take heede of +my[schief]. Favorytts are not without their steccados, imbrocados +& pun[to]-reversos[96]. No more but so: you have no honor, no offyce, +littill land, lesse money, least wytt. Y'are a pore man & I pyttie +you. When next you see me tys in the emperours bossome. + + [_Ex. La Fue_. + +_Gan_. Whats thys? scornd of my drudge, mockt & abusd? +Foote! I will throwe my dager after hym. + +_Eld_. But thys is nothynge to the heape of scornes +Will flowe on you hereafter. What says your letter? + +_Gan_. Ile tell you presentlye. + +_Eld_. What a madd tyrant is mans stronge beleife! +Makinge hym hunte hys proper myschiefe fourthe, +Takinge delight in desperatyon. +O theres no foe to our credulytie. + +_Gan_. O mother, yes; _Aimons_ youngest sonne +_Richards_ a slave above credulytie. +Why, alls confyrmd here underneathe hys hande; +A dothe not blussh to write to me a hathe +All honors that I challendge; good sweet, looke, + [_Eldegrad reads_. +Read & recorde a vyllayne. What speaks youres? + +_Gab_. No lesse than I imagynd, fearfull seidge +Agaynst my name & honor. + [_Ganelon reads_. + +_Eld_.--So, it taks; +Thys polytycke trycke, wenche, hathe set up the walle +Of stronge partytyon twixt theym. Hence theire loves +Shall never meete agayne. + +_Gan_. O monstrous vyllayne, wouldst thou make her whore? +I tell you, shallowe braynd unfaythfull hynde, +Th'adst better have kyst _Juno_ in a cloude +And beene the dadd to Centaurs. + +_Eld_. Save your wrathe: +Tys fytt that nowe your wisdome governe you. + +_Gan_. Mother, it shall; I am not yet past all Recoverye. + + _Enter La Busse_. + +Nowe, sir, what newes at courte? + +_Bus_. Strange & unwholsome; you are still in fallinge; +Alls given your frend to be your enemye. + +_Gan_. I knowe the full relatyon. You did not seeke +By basse ways my repryvall? + +_Bus_. God forbydd! +I spoake but what myght suyte your noblenes. + +_Gan_. What aunswere made the emperoure? + +_Bus_. That when I shall +Meete hym uppon a way was never usde +By horse nor man, & I myselfe to ryde +Neyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beast +An usuall thynge for burthen, & withall +Come neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringe +My greatest frend & greatest enemye, +You then shall have hys favor, not before. + +_Gan_. A myght in one worde playnlye have sayd "never" +And saved much cyrcomstance. What sayd _Richard_? + +_Bus_. Faythe, seemd to speake, but utterd nothynge. + +_Elde_. Why that exprest hym bravelye. + +_Gan_. A thynks me fallinge & avoyds my swindge +Least I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwarde +To dryve away the feare of douted ruyne. +Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken tree +And browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter. +Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the house +Tyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares, +But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger. +Where shall I fyxe my trust? My woes are nowe +Beyond my synns, yet Ile nor bend nor bowe. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver_. + + +_Orl_. Pray, thee, good coosse, perswade not my beleife; +I cannot stoope[97] the harte of _Ganelon_. +My crosse unhappye fortune hathe decreed +A never shalbe conquerd; any ells, +Should a but vowe to conquer 50 worlds, +I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye I +Shall never master a dejected slave. + +_Rei_. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you. + +_Oli_. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswade +Hathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way, +Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joye +But muche redoobled sweetnes. And behould +Here comes the newe made marquesse. + + _Enter Richard_. + + Good sweete lorde, +Give my free speche suer passadge. + ... ... ... ... ... + +_0l_. Foote! thys newe pyle of honor walks as if +A would knocke patts with heaven. + +_Rich_. Tys not unlike +Your owne true pryde dothe make you speculous. + +_Rei_. Tys farre shorte of youre sweete harte _Ganelons_. + +_Rich_. Sir, hees a noble gentyllman. + +_Oli_. A Baboone, +A verye windye caske of emptynes. + +_Rich_. I wonder y'are so impudent. My frende +Hath vertues lefte: if you had eyther shame +Or charytie you would accuse your lybells. +But as the ravens which in _Arabia_ live, +Haveinge flowne all the feylde of spyces ore, +Seaze on a stynkinge carkasse, so doe you +Swiftlye leape over a most plentyous vale +Of good examples which grace _Ganelon_ +And fasten on the scandall which was formd +By a lewde treacherous knave to gett rewarde. + +_Oli_. I give your aplycatyon the broade lye. + +_Rich_. And tys thy last foule languadge. + [_Offer to Drawe_. + +_Orl_. Hould! who drawes must be myne enemye. + +_Rich_. I'm easlye chydd from tumulte, but, deare Sir, +Tell me in pryvatt howe you dare maynteyne it. + [_Whisper_. + + _Enter alofte[98] Ganelon_. + +_Gan_.--Yonder a stands consultinge with my foes. +Perhapps thys present mynute he reveales +My systers whoredome, or to take away +All feare of my revendge he now contryves +That my sadd deathe may fynishe my disgrace. +Myne eies are dazeld, but it is no wonder, +For in that glassye fellowe I dyserne +The true reflectyon of my fate & feares. +Tys he, tys he; there wants but a good crossbowe[99] +To levell at hys harte nowe. I began +A littill synce to chide my rashe beleife +And so was readye to tourne foole agayne; +But I am nowe deliverd & hencefourthe, +If wisdome or occassyon doe me righte, +I will determine never to mystake. +Heres a full proofe of what my mother spake. + +_Oli_. As I respect myne honor I will meete you. + +_Rei_. Are you agreed? + +_Oli_. Yes, sir. + +_Orl_. Away and shape our purposse. + + [_Ex. all but Richard_. + +_Rich_. Tys put to tryall; but I doe suspecte +Theire whysprynge plotts. Thys equall hazard may +Shadowe the meanynge of some certayne danger, +The rather synce _Reinaldo_ seconds it. +I must see _Ganelon_ & speake theise douts: +This quarrell most concerns hym, for the wronge +And capytall abuse toucht onlye hym. +I gave a constant promyse never more +To vyssytt hym without the emperours leave, +And yet I will adventure. He may guesse +At secrett workings & confyrme my feare. +Thys nighte I will adventure, & obay +As he shall fashyion me to meete or stay. + + [_Ex_. + + + + +_Actus 5_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Eldegrade & Didier_. + + +_Eld_. What, have you vyssyted my greived sonne? + +_Did_. Madam, I have. + +_Eld_. And you are reconcyld? you see hys harte +Is made of meltinge waxe & not of marble. +Faythe, twas a harde parte; you have brought us lowe, +Lowe as the earthe we treade on, but Ile ceasse +Further reitteratyon: synce hees pleasd +To burye all, I wilbe patyent; +You knowe I ever lovd you & you have +Doone me most worthye, honest offyces. + +_Did_. And many more will dedycatt unto you; +My lorde & I am reconcyld at full +And have disburdend all our greivances. +I doe confes I was bewytcht with fate +But will redeeme myne error; synce I knowe +He loves me nowe more then he did before, +I will deserv't so bravely you shall call +And sweare I am a noble instrument. + +_Eld_. You trust hys protestatyons then? + +_Did_. Madam, or ells I were an Infidell. + +[_Eld_.] ... ... ... ... ... +And I could chyde my love that pytties you. +He dothe dissemble with you; you are lost. +Of myne owne knowlege he hathe layd suche baytts +You cannot live twoe howers. Goe where you will, +He hathe a plott that haunts you. If you can +Fynde for your selfe any preventyon, +Use it with quycke indevor; for I knowe +The thunder speaks that presentlye will splytt you. + +_Did_. You doe amaze me. + +_Eld_. And like the chaesd Roe stand in that amaze +Tyll the hounds catche you. What I speake +Is to prevent your present tragedye +And to blott murder from my _Ganelon_. +Be wise. [_Ex. Eldegrad_. + +_Did_. Am I then noosd! will styll my villanous wytts +Betray me to mysfortune, am I lymed! +What shall I doe? flight will not nowe avayle me. +I knowe hys projects like hys mallyce runns +To everye place of hoped securytie. +I have't: thys key, which I have choycelye kepte +(Longe synce by me most fynelye counterfaytt) +Enters hys chambers & hys cabanett +And everye place retyrd. I am resolvde; +Thoughe I had thousand ways to scape besyde, +Yet I will stay onlye to murther hym. +Within hys lodginge will I hyde me safe, +And when sleepe lulls hym--farwell _Ganelon_! +He shall not outlive mydnyght: here Ile lye, +And thoughe I followe nexte thys lorde shall dye. + [_Hydes hym_. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +_Gan_. My plotts are layd most certayne & no fatte +Can interposse betwixte theym: _Didier_ dyes +And so shall _Richarde_. O the wearye thoughts +That keepe a daylie senate in my braynes, +Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare, +A frends disloyaltye. Be wysser you +That undertake the greate & hallowed leauge +Of frendlye comforte. Scoole your ryotous bloode +And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne +With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge +As face or person when you chusse a frende; +Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall rytts +Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse +A warnynge by my horryble abuse, +And I would dye to morrowe. I lament +That such another pyttied foole as I +Should be amongst the liveinge.--Harke! who knocks? + [_Richard knocks_. +Aunswere, what are you? + +_Rich_. Open to your frende. + +_Gan_. O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus +Come flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I come +To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome. + [_Stabbs hym_. + +_Rich_. O y'ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir, +Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule +May teache repentance to you-- + [_Dies_. + +_Gan_. Speake it out. +What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe? +You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so: +You have the trycke of mightie men in courte +To speake at leasure & pretend imployment. +Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall +Whether you speake the resydue behynde +Nowe or at doomes day. If thy comon sence +Be not yet parted from thee, understande +I doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because once +I loved thee dearlye; & collect by that +There is no devyll in me nor in hell +That could have flesht me to thys violent deathe, +Hadst thou beene false to all the worlde but me.-- +But he is nowe past thynkinge on for that, +And were he buryed all were perfytted. + + [_Didier stepps out_. + +_Did_. What will you say if I become the sexton? + +_Gan_. That after that thou mayst hang thy selfe ithe bellropps. +--What makst thou heare? + +_Did_. I will assuer you, Sir, +No legge to your wise lordshypp for my life, +Thyngs standinge as they doe. + +_Gan_. Verye good, Sir, +Y'are wondrous merry. + +_Did_. Can you blame me, Sir, +When I may treade upon myne enemye? +I am your condemd creature, I am lost. + +_Gan_. ... ... ... ... ... +Howe camst thou hyther? + +_Did_. Why, looke you, Sir, by thys, [_Shoes the key_. +Thys that Ive kepte as a stronge cordyall +Agaynst your vyllanyes. Nay, behould it well, +For as I live tys counterfayte. + +_Gan_. What a leaden-skulld slave he maks me.-- +Why, art thou doutfull of me? faythe I love thee. + +_Did_. Yes, as the devyll does freirs holye water. +Come, I doe knowe your practyse gaynst my life, +And ment my selfe t'have easd myne injuryes; +But nowe thys act hathe given you to the lawe +And saved me from all daunger. + +_Gan_. What! that I +Have practysd gaynst thee! tys most damned false. +I doe protest I love thee trulye, fullye. +Come, let us joyne; my contyence says thou didst +But what was good & noble. + +_Did_. Nay, by's lighte, +I make no suyte fort, tys at your free choyce. +If I but chaunce to toule hys passinge bell +And give the parryshe notyce who is dead, +You know what tends the rumor. + +_Gan_. Come, no more; +I faythe I love thee dearelye, trust uppon't; +And to abandon feare on eyther parte, +Give the dead carcasse lodginge in the ground: +We bothe are safe & thys newe frendshypp sounde. + +_Did_. Once more Ile trust you. +Come, then, my burthen, no, my wellcome taske. +Howe prosperous villanye keepes all in awe: +We are saved by that which glutts bothe deathe & lawe. + + [_Exe. with the dead_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Oliver_. + +_Oli_. The hower is past, the place & cyrcomstance +And all the formes of manhood(?) are expyrd, +And yet younge _Richard_ comes not. Tys most straunge: +He is as valyent as is victorye, +And dare uppon a roughe say [sea?] hye as heaven +Court all amazed daunger. Nowe to fayle +Is past all revelatyon: suer as deathe +Our whole plott is reveeld. + + _Enter Reinaldo_. + +_Rei_. Howe nowe, cossen? suer the hower is past? +Yet no newse of my brother: as I live +The youth is valyent, feare deters hym not. + +_Oli_. Suer as deathe, our plott is all disclosd. +And that there was no meanynge in the feighte, +But onlye to withdrawe him from hys frend +On whom he doats toe dearlye. + +_Rei_. Suer tys so, +And it will vexe the noble palladyne +Above the heyghte of madnes; nay, beleiv't +T'will chaunge opynion to a constant faythe +Of hys extreame mysfortunes. See a comes. + + _Enter Orlando_. + +_Orl_. Howe now, my lords? howe speede your noble plotts? +What, have you woone younge _Richard_ from hys frend? +Tell me whose eloquence hathe doone the deede +And I will honor hym. + +_Oli_. He hathe forborne th'incounter, and in that +Hathe drownd us in amazement: we suppose +Our plotts discoverd. + +_Orl_. No more, keepe backe the rest, +For I can read misfortunes in your browes. +Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse, +And bassnes ever more doth second theym; +The noble youthe smyle[s] at our follyes, nay, +Scornes the base languadge that you uttered, +Which is by thys tyme with the emperoure. +O twas a speedinge way to doe us shame! + +_Rei_. Take truce with passyon: I dare bouldlye sweare +There is some other mysterye. + +_Oli_. At worst +Ile make it for our purposse every way +And even kill the soule of _Ganelon_. +With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that you +Houlde patyence for a mynute. + +_Orl_. Patyence! +Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrles +That have not blood enough to make a blushe +Or forme an acte might cause one. I have longe +Like to a reelinge pynetree shooke the earthe +That I was rooted in, but nowe must fall +And be no longer the fatts tennys ball. + +_Rei_. Come be more temperd, you shall see from thys +Sprynge pleasure that you wishe for. _Olyver_ +Shall instantlye upbrayd false _Ganelon_ +With _Rychards_ muche unworthynes. + +_Oli_. Thats decreed +For in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourthe +As shall even burst hys gall with agonye: +Nay, it shall make hym never darre t'apeare +Where men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare. + +_Orl_. You have lardge promysses, but acts as slowe +As dyalls hands that are not seene to goe. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Didier with a letter_. + +_Did_. My cares & feares are past, but _Ganelons_ +Thys letter woulde revyve if t'were reveald, +Nay begett newe ones to hym of suche wayghte +That he must synke beneathe theym. Thys I founde +(Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse _Richards_ pockett +When I interrd hym, subscribd by _Ganelon_, +Whereby's owne hand would leade hym to the blocke +Should I discover it; for heres contaynd +The kyngs abuse & _Gabriellas_ whoreinge. +But I am nowe beforehand: to hym selfe +Ile give thys letter; so begett[101] in hym +A fyrme beleife of myne integrytie +Which nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweene +Preferment & disgrace; for, come what will, +I am all _Ganelons_ & wilbe styll. + + _Enter Ganelon_. + +And see, he comes. My Lord-- + +_Gan_. O _Dydier_, +Resolve me where & howe thou hast disposd +The most false bodye of my falsest frende. + +_Did_. The ravenous earthe, that eatts what it hathe fedd, +Hathe swallowd it. + +_Gan_. But where? what peice of earthe +Couldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones. +If in some flowrye meade th'ast hym interrd +The poyson of hys synns will choake the sprynge, +And, if thou hast not layd hym deepe enoughe, +Corrupt the ayre & cause a generall plauge. + +_Did_. Bothe those are, Sir, prevented by the dytche, +Whose deepe banks seeme to be halfe bottomlesse, +Where he is layd a rottinge. + +_Gan_. Without all helpe! counsayle in thys were daungerous. + +_Did_. Sir, I was fryer & clarke & all my selfe; +None mournd but nyghte, nor funerall tapers bore +But erringe starres. + +_Gan_. And they did erre indeed +To shewe their lights at hys curst funerall. +Did not a dog bewray thee? + +_Did_. Baw, waw, waw! Sir, troble not your selfe +With any doute oth' secrecye was usd +In actinge your comand. And, Sir, because +I will not have it rest within my power +At anye tyme to wronge or to traduce +Your honour by a probable suspytion, +Receyve thys letter which atts buryall +I founde in's pockett. Sir, it might concerne you, + [_Give the letter & Ganelon reads_. +And deeplye toe, if it should be reveald. +--It calls up all hys bloode into hys face +And muche dystempers hym. + +_Gan_. Deathe! I am lost in treason: my fordgd hand +Hathe whored my liveinge syster & displays +All my basse plotts agaynst the emperoure. +By heaven tys false, fordgd, false as heresye! + +_Did_. How! a fordgd hand? + +_Gan_. Yes, _Didier_. When was it dated, trow? +Torment! synce my restraynt of libertie! +Good gentyll patyence manadge me a whyle, +Let me collect. Certaynlye _Rychards_ harte +Coulde not but doubte thys charrackter, & in +The strengthe of doute he came to me last nyghte +To be resolvd; or ells why should he beare +Suche daunger in hys pockett? Admyttinge thys, +What followes then? Why, if that were the ende +Of's vysytatyon, then it needs must followe +That thys prevayld not with hym. And what then? +Why, then my syster, as all weomen ells, +Seeinge her selfe neglected in her lust, +Thought any ill way to obtayne it just. + +_Did_. A strange presumptyon. + +_Gan_. Yet a lyttill further. +It is resolvd that my systers onlye ende +Was to enjoy _Rychard_ unlawfullye: +Howe might a fallinge out twyxt hym & me +Assyst the ende (for such a thynge she causd)? +How? +What a dull slave am I! why twas as muche +As the untyinge of hys codpeyce poynte, +Almost the _rem in re_! for whyle he stoode +Constant to my dyrectyons all was well, +But, those abandond, then,--harte! I am madd: +I pray thee, _Diddier_, helpe me to cursse +Me & my rashnes, that so curbd my reason +I would not heare hym speake but put hym strayght +To everlastynge sylence. + +_Did_. No, my lorde, +Letts cursse the lust of woman. + +_Gan_. Well rememberd. + +_Did_. And yet there is a heavye one prepard +To meete them where they act it in the darke. + +_Gan_. True, _Didier_, there is so, and from that +May penytence want power to rescue theym. + +_Did_. Be there a dearthe of arte to helpe complexion, +And for theym many housses of correctyon. + +_Gan_. And if it be possyble o let the Bedle +Not with theire money but hys owne whypp medle, +And lashe theym soundlye. + +_Did_. No, thats not so good: +May all theire soundnes tourne toth poxes foode. + +_Gan_. May constables to cadges[102] styll comend theym +And theire knowne foes, age & ill cloathes attend theym. + +_Did_. May they want skyll to banyshe theire breathes stynke, +And onlye Barbers potyons be their drynke. +May theire sore wast theire lynnen into lynte +For medlinge with other stones then flynte. + +_Gan_. And to conclude thys hartylie breathd cursse; +Theire lives beinge monstrous, let theire ends be worsse. + +_Did_. Amen. + + _Enter Gabriella_. + +_Gab_. Amen to what? + +_Did_. Faythe, madam, a was prayinge for hys syster. + +_Gan_. O you are wellcome.--Worthye frend, withdrawe.-- + [_Exit Didier_. +Nowe my rare pollytycke syster, what will please you? + +_Gab_. My rare ingenyous brother, why doe you aske? + +_Gan_. Ile tell thee, woman, & observe it well, +Thou shalt remayne the porest wretche alyve, +The most forsaken of delight & pleasure +That ever breathd a myserable life, +If I may knowe what pleasses you. Beware +And answere wiselye: you are leaveinge nowe +All that hathe tyckld your insatyatt bloode, +When you resolve my questyon: I will strypp +Your sweete contents of to the naked soule +Before you parte. Doe you laughe? by heaven I will. + +_Gab_. What brave exployts youle doe uppon the sodayne! + +_Gan_. If you account theym so tys well, tys well. + +_Gab_. Fye, fye, what moves you to thys froward wellcome? + +_Gan_. Calst it allreadye frowarde? shallowe foole, +I should salute thee with my daggers poynte +And never make thys parley; but I'me kynde, +And youle confes it when you reade that letter. +You knowe the charackter & the whole scope +Ere you peruse one worde, I make no questyon. +But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reede +You may make readye for another worlde. +Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfe +With hope of an excusse. + +_Gab_. You are not madd! + +_Gan_. Yes, foorsoothe, +I will confes my selfe emptye of sence, +Dealinge with suche a wyttie sparke as you. +Theres no comparysson: a sparke, sayd I? +I meant a bonefyer made of wytt & lust; +One nourryshes another. Have you doone? +Does any thynge you reade allay your coldnes. + +_Gab_. You thynke thys letter myne? + +_Gan_. I doe indeede, +And will with horror to thy wanton thoughts +Make thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easd +May fly away the sooner. + +_Gab_. What you-- + +_Gan_. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deathe +And undyssembld ruyne in my words. +Make your prayrs quycklye. + +_Gab_. I protest unto you, +As I have contyence & a soule to save-- + +_Gan_. That's a fantastycke oathe; proceede, proceede. + +_Gab_. I did not wryte thys letter nor have seene +_Richard_ synce it was wrytten: what was doone +He & my mother wrought it. + +_Gan_. Shall I beleive you? are you vertuous? + +_Gab_. Examyne but the ende & then adjudge me. + +_Gan_. Then my suspytyon proves a false conceyte, +And I am wondrous glad to have it so +Because it proves you honest. I am nowe +Agayne resolvd that _Richard_ was a vyllayne, +And therefore am I gladd agayne, because +He hathe what he deservd & has no more. + +_Gab_. He did deserve your seryous contempt +And is rewarded with it. + +_Gan_. And with deathe. + +_Gab_. Ha! oh is he murderd then? + +_Gan_. Does that amaze you? +Yes I have murderd hym & it becomes +The gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe, +To say hereafter, when I would relate +A storye worth attentyon, that thys hande, +Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver me +In spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye. + +_Gab_. O you are falne into the bloodyest cryme +That ever tyrant threatned. + +_Gan_. Idle feare. + +_Gab_. Come, y'are a vyllayne & most bloodye slave, +One that your spotted synns make odyous, +For _Rychard_ was all good & vertuous. +Dispayre nowe maks me honest & Ile speake +Truthe with true testymonye, for here it comes. + + _Enter Eldegrade_. + +We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters, +By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreade +The poyson of debate & stryfe betwyxt you. +On us, base man, tourne thy most bloodye edge, +For thou hast slayne the noblest inocent. + +_Gan_. Thyne owne invockt cursse ceaze thee, + + [_He runns at Gab., and Elde. stepps between?, & he kills both_. + +_Gab_. Thys should have ceazd me sooner; let me dye. +Thy pardon, _Richard_: love thats too vyolent +Is evermore with some straunge myscheifs spentt. [_Dies_. + +_Eld_. Foule desperatyon ceaze thee, & whats worsse +Dye with thy mothers last breathd heavye cursse. [_Dyes_. + +_Gan_. They have left a darknes so extreame behynde +I cannot fynde a prayre to blesse theire soules. +See here then, polytycke creature, subtyll man, +Here see thy myscheife. Irreligious foole, +That makst it contyence onlye when thou leavest +Synns of preferment unaccomplyshed, +Thou that repynst agaynst thy starrs & lucke +When heaven prevents the bassnes of thy gayne; +Littill thynkst thou wherefore thy gaynes will serve, +Nor wherefore thy close pollycie should fayle +Tyll thou forsakst it, & then, wretched clay, +Thou fyndst a horsse & dogge thy betters: they +Dye unperplext with sence of dyinge, thou +Seest what thy sence abhorrs thy falts allowe. +I feele thee comeinge, my distracted chaunge, +Like an ill-favord hangman: pray thee strike, +Aproatche & doe thyne offyce. + + _Enter Oliver_. + What arte thou? + +_Oli_ One that will prove you _Rychard_ is a cowarde. + +_Gan_. Good darringe tonge, be not toe desperatt. +He was your deare frend, was he not? + +_Oli_ Yes, had he not beene pretyous unto you, +But hys muche faythe to you did make me hate hym, +And he had felt it had he darrd th'incounter. + +_Gan_. Pray, no more, & worthy Sir, be boulde +To say here stands the most afflycted soule +That ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe. +Make me beleive my plaugs are infynett +That I may so desyer to leave my fleshe +And be deliverd from theym. Wherefore, looke you: +It is my mother & my systers deade, +I was theire murtherer; goe tell the worlde: +That paper will give satisfactyon. + + [_Oliver taks the letter & reads_. + + _Enter Didier_. + +O you are wellcome; are you an offycer? +The captayne of the guard, I thynke. Come on: +Be not affrayd, arest me, Ile submytt. +Nor doe reproatche my vallor; I have darrd +As much as he that durst affront the gods, +But greife hathe staynd me. + +_Did_. What meane you, Sir? Why I am _Didier_. + +_Gan_. That buryed _Richard_? Oh, _Didier_, +I was a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym. +Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe: +Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte +Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe +Me thynks I am not passyonate. But stay, +Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynke +Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds +I would not heare hym when a was about +To teache repentance, and that onlye thought +Shall melt me into cynders. I am like +The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst +To make my wants knowne where I must not hope +To gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hope +And I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther, +Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill +It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare +The synne of kyllinge _Richarde_. + +_Oli_. Have you then slayne the noblest worthye _Richard_? + +_Gan_. Yes, by the false illussyons of theise twoe. + +_Oli_. A guarde within there! + + [_Enter a guard & apprehends Ganelon & Didier_. + +_Gan_. Fayth, it will not neede, +I knowe my ende of journey. For hys deathe +I murderd theise: thys temporyzinge knave +Buryed him last nyght; all I can aleadge +Agaynst hym is concealment of the murther. + +_Did_. Tys come about: twas allways in my mynde +Nothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde. + +_Oli_. Bringe theym away. Treason so greate as thys +Was never seene synce man had power to wishe. + + [_Exe. with the dead Bodyes_. + + + +[SCENE 4.] + + + _Enter Charlimayne, Turpin, Eudon & Attendants_. + +_Char_. What pageants thys that on the fallowd lands +Crosses me everye way? I cannot goe +But styll he meets me full jumpe. + +_Tur_. Beleve me, Sir. +I have not seen an antycke more disguysed. +A gallopps ore the newe plowde lands as fast +As twere a comon hye way, yet no speeche +Can make hym to forsake theym. + +_Eud_. Nay, whats more, +The beast he rydds on is not usuall, +Tys neyther horsse nor asse, and yet a beast +Nymble & fytt for burthen. + +_Char_. _Eudon_, goe +Bydd hym dismounte & as he loves hys life +Presentlye come before us. I will knowe [_Ex. Eudon_. +The ende of thys straunge purposse. Suer there must +Some secrett hange uppon it! thyngs doone thus +Are seldome jests, unlesse jests seryous. + + _Enter Eudon & Busse, leading in twoe lymes Byrtha + & a Spaniell, hymselfe cladd all in nett_. + +O tys _La Busse_; I've founde hys stratagem.-- +Nowe, Sir, y'are wellcome; whence growes thys dysguyse? + +_Bus_. Sir, from the fayre protectyon of your grace +And satisfactyon of your vowe; which doone, +Bouldlye I hope I may voutsafe to begge +My fathers deare deliverance. + +_Char_. Noble sonne, +What wouldst thou doe hadst thou a noble father! +But come, sir, synce you putt me to the test, +Resolve the doute: your fathers pardoned +When you shall meet me uppon no hye way. + +_Bus_. Which even nowe I did: the fallowe lands, +Newe plowed & tylld are free from passengers. + +_Char_. Tys graunted; but your selfe, Sir, must not ryde +Of horse nor mare nor asse, & yet the beast +An usuall thynge for burthen. + +_Bus_. Suche is myne, +A Mule, that is the bastard breede betwyxte +An asse & mare, & onlye fytt for labor. + +_Char_. But, sir, you must be neyther cloathed nor naked. + +_Bus_. Nor am I, myghtie Sir: thys pore thynne nett +Nor leaves me nakt nor yet dothe cover me. + +_Char_. You prettylie orereache me; but you must +Bringe in your hand the faythfullst frend you challenge. + +_Bus_. Thys is he, my faythfull trustye spanyell, +The verye typpe & truthe of true affectyon. + +_Char_. But with hym must be joynd your greatest enemye. + +_Bus_. They are not farre assunder: a curst wife +Is evermore mans worst aflyctyon, +And shee that outgoes myne in bytternes +May fryght the whole worlde. + +_Char_. Come, y'are ingenyous, +And I confes th'ast conquerd, thoughe I knowe +Thy father houlds as much unworthynes +As may excusse tyrranye in a prynce: +Yet for thys goodnes & thys industrye, +Th'example of the sweetest disposytion, +For all th'offences yet reveald unto me +I freelye pardon hym. + +_Bus_. And you are good +And like your selfe, a verye god[103] in pyttie. + +_Ber_. And from thys mercye I will new create +In me a spyrrytt full of humblenes. + + _Enter La Fue in gallantrye_. + +_Fue_. Roame there & uncover, gentyllmen. I that am myne owne gentyllman +usher am the best gentyllman in _Fraunce_ at thys present. Give place & +avoyde these. + +_Bus_. What meanes the peasant? syrha, are you madd? + +_Fue_. Yes, and I were halfe nakt as you are. Roame I say!--O my sweete +harte, I will [_Offers to kisse Charli_.] kysse thy whyte lipps in the +syght of thys whole assemblye. + +_Char_. Avaunte, I say! what meanes thys lunatycke. + +_Tur_. Pore sott howe hees deceyvd! th'inchauntments vanyshed.-- +Syrha learne better manners. + +_Fue_. How! syrha to my greatnes! I am not in case to carrye your tokens. +Ould man, you had better manners when last I lefte you.--Come, sweete +love, I will love thee without more intreatye. Let us withdrawe & in +pryvate rumynat our selves together. + +_Char_. Is there no whypps for knaves are impudent? +Thys sawcynes will make your skynne [to] smarte. + +_Fue_. Away, away! Y'are an ould man & should be wyse. I tell you I was +not in love with you tyll you doated on me; to drawe me into a fooles +paradysse[104] & there leave me is not an honest man's parte nor a good +chrystyans. + +_Char_. What kynde of madnes call you thys? for shame! +Shall I be torturd with hym? + +_Tur_. Tys but a rude grosse weaknes, which anon +Ile shoe at full unto your majestie. + +_Fue_. Come, sweete _Charles_, I knowe thou lovest me, & love will +creepe where it cannot goe. Come, letts condole together. + +_Char_. Yes, if I like your example. Goe presentlye +And give him fortye lashes: make hym bleede +Soundlye, away with hym! + +_Fue_. Howe, howe, how! fortye lashes! so I shall bleede to deathe. Call +you that soundlye? Foote! I am sicke with thought on't. + +_Char_. Away with hym! +And if a prate, see that you dooble them: +Away! + +_Fue_. Well I will never trust the wooeinge of a great man whylst I live +agayne: & they be as false to weomen as to men they have sweete eeles to +hould by. + +_Char_. Yet has a leave to prate? + +_Tur_. Away with hym, +--But on your lives give hym no punyshment. + + [_Ex. Fue. & guard_. + +_Char_. I have not seene a madnes of thys nature: +But let him smarte for't.--_Eudon_, give comand +That _Ganelon_ attend me presentlye. +But, stay-- +What sollemp sound is thys? I am prevented. + + [_Dead marche_.]--_Funeral sounde. Enter Orlando, + Reinaldo leading Ganelon, Oliver, Didier; two + herses, one with Eldegr. & Gab., the other Richard_. + +The cause of thys? + +_Orl_. O my most sacred lorde, I bring you here +The worlds extreamest monster, suche a man +Whose ills exceede the lawes inventyon. +Fyrst looke on thys, the fayre & comelye braunche +Of _Aimons_ noble famylie; then on theise, +His fayrest syster & hys dearest mother +(O heaven that I should name that dreadfull name +In such a case as murder!) all by hym +And hys right hand, with thys ill mans advyse, +Murderd unjustlye. + +_Rei_. To which I adde +Treasons of daunger & of hye disgrace +Bothe to your crowne & person; and thoughe they +Myght glutt the lawe, yet my brothers blood +And theise twoe inocentts, I hope, will pleade +Dyvorce of all repryvall. + +_Oli_. Lastlye I +With theys stronge proofs, cannot be argued of, +Confyrme all past denyall; hys owne hand +Here of thys pap[er] maks a regyster [_Gives the letter_. +Of myscheives above wonder. Who reads thys, +Thoughe flynte, must melt in pyttie. + +_Bus_. Dye all my hopes, & in thys masse of shame +Be buryed both my memorye & name. + [_Ex. La Busse_. + +_Gan_. What a lardge passage or cyrcompherence +Theise prynces make to come unto the way +Which lyes before theire nosses! tys lost wytt +To seeke an engyne for the desperatt, +Why, deathes in all he looks on; but to hope +Saftye were more then dyetye[105] can promysse. +Let it suffyce all's true, & thus I rest: +If I dye once, not ever, I am blest. + +_Char_. I am amazd: what I have reade & heard +Tournes me like _Gorgon_ into senclessnes. +He speaks heare of a rynge, a wytchcraft rynge, +By which I was inchaunted to hys syster. +Where is that damned juell? + +_Tur_. Here in my safe possessyon, thys is it, +Which at her deathe, lodgd underneathe her tonge, +I found by carefull searche. Good deare sir, keepe it +And hencefourthe onlye love your royall selfe. +The spell is past example, & hys synne +Can onlye ballance downe the wyckednes. + +_Gan_. Butt I confes it, & the sorcerrer +That made it I did murder conynglye, +And at her deathe had I recompast it, +I had beene kynge of _Fraunce_. Thys noble knave +Was pryvie to the passadge. + +_Did_. Tys toe late +Nowe to denye it: deathe never bryngs hys smarte +But when a strycks gaynst lawe or gaynst desarte. + +_Char_. Away with them, & see theym presentlye +Broken uppon the wheele. + [_Ex. Gan. Did. & guard_. + Nephewe, for you +I give you freelye here the realme of _Spayne_ +And all domynions in it; for your guarde +Ten thousand of our best _Frenche_ gentyllmen. +And wishe your fortunes like your valure be +The best of everye lived posterytie. + +_Orl_. Sir[106], you doe bynde me to eternall servyce +Bothe in your love & justyce, for we fynde +Th'instructyons that on evyll men depends +Is to compare theire projects with theire ends. + + [_Exe_. + + +FINIS. [Greek: Telos] + + +Terminat hora diem, terminat Author opus. + +Nella [Greek: ph d ph n r] la B.[107] + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF _THE TRYALL OF CHEVALRY_. + + +This play was printed in 1605, and is stated on the title-page to have +been "lately acted by the right Honorable the Earle of Darby his +servants." It has not been reprinted, and copies of the old quarto are +exceedingly rare. There is an air of old-fashionedness about the diction +and the metre that would lead us to suppose the play was written several +years before the date of publication. The wearisome practice, in which +the characters so freely indulge, of speaking in the third person is +very characteristic of the earlier dramatists, notably of Greene. Yet it +is clear, from more than one passage, that the author was acquainted +with Shakespeare's historical plays. Dick Bowyer's puns on the +sentinels' names (ii. 1) were certainly suggested by Falstaff's +pleasantries with the recruits in _Henry IV_., Part II. Winstanley +absurdly ascribes the piece to William Wager, who flourished (?) when +Shakespeare was a child. If I were obliged to make a guess at the +authorship, I would name Chettle or Munday, or both. It is not +altogether improbable that the _Tryall of Chevalry_ may be the play by +Chettle and Wentworth Smith, entitled _Love Parts Friendship_, acted in +1602[108]. Bourbon and Rodorick are just such a pair of villains as +young Playnsey and Sir Robert Westford in Chettle and Day's _Blind +Beggar_. The low comedy in both pieces might well have come from the +same hand, though Dick Bowyer is certainly more amusing than the +roystering companions in the _Blind Beggar_. + +I make no claim for high excellence on behalf of this unknown +playwright. The writing is at times thin and feeble, and the +versification is somewhat monotonous. But with all its faults, the +language is dramatic. The writer was a contemporary of Shakespeare, and +something of Shakespeare's spirit breathes through the pages of this +forgotten play. Take such a speech as the following, from the second +scene of the opening act:-- + + Must I be spokesman? _Pembrooke_ plead for love? + Whose tounge tuned to the Instruments of war + Never knew straine of fancy; on my breath + Affection never dwelt, but war and death! + But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight, + Or hearten the spent courages of men, + _Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible. + Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her + With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[109] + Till with thy cannon battry she relent + And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. + Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed + Whose courage never awde an yron Bit, + And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast + And with commanding accents master him. + This courtship Pembrooke knows, but idle love, + The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne, + Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught + This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems, + The passionate language of a troubled heart: + I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. + Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske, + Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee, + And when I want fit words to move her mind, + Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind. + +One may smile at the notion of holloaing "to the beast," but the +whole passage is vigorous, and some single lines (e.g. "The passionate +language of a troubled heart") are excellent. + + + + +THE HISTORY of the tryall of CHEUALRY, + +With the life and death of Caualiero _Dicke Bowyer_. + + +As it hath bin lately acted by the right _Honourable the Earle of Darby +his_ servants. + + +LONDON Printed by Simon Stafford for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be +sold at his shop in Paules Church-Yard, neere S. Austens Gate. 1605. + + + + +The Historie of the triall of Chevalry. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter_ Lewes, _King of France_, Philip _his sonne_, + Katharina _his daughter_, Roderick _and_ Flaunders, + _with drum and colours, and soldiers at one dore: + at the other enter_ Navar, Ferdinand, Bellamira, _and, + the Earle of_ Pembroke, _and_ Burbon. + +[_Lew_.] Duke _Roderick_ and my noble cozen _Flaunders_, +Are your Battalions ready for the charge? + +_Rod_. Ten thousand men of Orleance I commaund +And those are bravely marshald on the playn, +Ready to be commaunded by your Highnesse. + +_Flaund_. As many of the warlike brood of _Mars_ +Doe call me Generall: those, my gracious Lord, +Together with my selfe I recommend +To be commaunded by your Majesty. + +_Lew_. Thanks, Earle of Flaunders, Duke of Orleance, thanks. +What lets us that we charge not on the foe? + +_Nav_. My Lord of Pembrooke, are your Englishmen +Squadron'd with ours and ready for the charge? + +_Pem_. The French and English make one warlike body +Whereof your Highnesse is the moving head: +Or peace or warre, as pleaseth you, direct. + +_Nav_. Then war and give the signal through the host. + +_Lew_. Navar, Navar, submission were more meete +Then to adde bloud to wrong. + +_Nav_. What wrong, King _Lewes_? +The Kingdome of Navar we will acknowledge +To hold of none but of the King of Kings. + +_Lew_. Three hundred yeres prescriptions on our sides; +So long thy Ancestors by fealty +Have helde thy Kingdome of the Crowne of France. + +_Pem_. Talke not of yeres, yeres limit not a Crowne; +There's no prescription to inthrall a King. +He finds it written in the Rowles of time +Navar's a Kingdome solely absolute, +And by collusion of the Kings of France, +The people speaking all one mother toung, +It hath bin wrested for a Royalty +Untruly due unto the Crowne of France. +That _Pembrook_ speaks the truth, behold my sword, +Which shall approve my words substantiall. + +_Rod_. _Pembrooke_, you are too plaine in your discourse. + +_Bur_. I tell thee, _Rodoricke, Pembrooke_ soldier-like +Hath truely opened what ten thousand lives +Will hardly doe if warre be made the Judge. + +_Rod_. If war be Judge? Why, shallow-witted _Burbon_, +Who shall decide this difference but war? +Hath not the Judge put on his Scarlet Robe? +Is not the field prepar'd? our men in armour? +The trumpets ready for the sound of death, +And nothing hinders us but our owne words? +Leave idle parley, my dread soveraigne Lord, +And soone resolve the Duke in fire and smoke +That he maintaines a title false and forg'd, +And that _Navar_ is a usurping Lord. + +_Na_. On that Ile hazzard all these valiant lives. +Sound Drums and Trumpets! make King _Lewes_ know +He makes his best friend prove his greatest foe. + +_Lew_. Why pause our drums? our trumpets beat as loud! +Till the bright ayre be made a purple cloud. + +_Phil_. Pause, gracious father. + +_Ferd_. Noble father, pause. +Let _Ferdinand_ thy sonne so far prevayle +That peace, not war, may end this difference. + +_Bel_. For _Bellamiraes_ sake abstayne from war. + +_Phil_. _Philip_ thy sonne humbly desires a peace: +Let not my father sheathe his warlike sword +Within the bowels of his Countrymen. + +_Kath_. Thy daughter _Katharina_ prayes the like. + +_Nav_. From whence proceeds this sudden sound of peace? +Comes it from me? what? from my _Ferdinand_, +From _Bellamira_ my sweet second selfe? + +_Lew_. Or rather comes it, _Lewes_, from thy soule, +Thy _Philip_ the true image of thy selfe, +Thy _Katharina_ thy heart's chiefest joy? + +_Rod_. Princes, you aske you know not what your selves. + +_Pem_. _Rodorick_, they aske a sweet and pleasing boone. + +_Rod_. Why, they aske peace and we are set for war. + +_Fer_. Tis a bad peace exceeds not a just war. + +_Phil_. We will not rise from this submissive ground +Till we obtayne, if not a peace, a truce. + +_Fer_. Nor shall our feet be guilty of new steps +Till I obtayne a truce from murdering war. + +_Lew_. Shew me some reason (sonne) for this demand. + +_Nav_. Shew me some reason (children) for this prayer. + +_Fer_. I love the daughter of thine enemy: +Fayre _Katherina_ hath inthrald my heart. + +_Phil_. I love the daughter of thine enemy: +Fayre _Bellamira_ hath inthrald my heart. + +_Pem_. Is love the cause? then wherefore wage we war? +What matter ist who weares both Diadems, +When the succession lives in eythers heyre? +If _Ferdinand_ be crown'd king of Navar, +Fayre _Katherina_ shalbe crownd his Queene: +If _Philip_ weare the Diadem of France, +Fayre _Bellamira_, made his lovely Queene, +Swayes half the Scepter. See what heaven can doe,-- +Provide for peace even in the jawes of war! + +_Kath_. How sweetly doth the Earle of Pembrooke speake! +Now, trust me, I am ravisht with his voyce. + +_Lew_. What says _Navar_? What, is [i]t war or peace? + +_Na_. A truce for three moneths, so it please your Highnes, +During which time our children shall have leave +With Drum and Trumpet to surveigh the Campe, +To court our daughters and to feast themselves +As fits the sonnes of honourable foes. +And if it prove a match betweene them both, +There end all difference: Ile bequeath my Crowne +As a rich offering to their nuptiall Rites. + +_Lew_. Here, strike the truce upon my kingly hand, +Which is as surely ratified in this +As by the testimonial of a world. +So now for three moneths space all warres surcease: +Our thoughts are wholy fixt on love and peace. + [_Exe_. + + _Manent_ Rodorick _and_ Burbon. + +_Rod_. Zounds, here's a truce made up by miracle! + +_Burb_. Ile crosse it by a wily stratageme. + +_Rod_. What stratageme? + +_Bur_. By love to _Bellamira_. +O could I dive into the Prince's heart +By any insinuation ne're so base, +How easily might I effect my plot +To make the kingdome of Navarre mine owne. +'Twere but a dram or so unto the sonne, +And a small thing would send the old man hence. +What, noble _Rodorick_? to gayne a Crowne +A Duke would doe much. + +_Rod_. More then poyson two. +But you, my Lord, forget your selfe too farre. +Know you to whom you have disclosde your heart? + +_Bur_. Why, to the Duke of Orleance. + +_Rod_. The deare friend +Of _Lewes_ the French King. + +_Burb_. King me no Kings. +Although we seeme to be of severall sides, +_Rodorick_, we love together like true friends. +This Truce gives ayme to our intention: +Assist me (worthy _Orleance_) to effect +First my desired love and next the Crowne. + +_Rod_. _Peter de Lions_ is your Lordships servant, +A boone companion and a lusty knave. +He is in love with _Bellamiraes_ mayd, +And by that love he may bestead your Highnesse +More then your best friends in your best designes. +Call him forth. + +_Burb_. What! _Peter_! + + _Enter_ Peter. + +_Pet_. Here, my Lord. + +_Burb_. Why dost thou looke so wildly? + +_Pet_. Not with drinke +Nor yet with rage. + +_Rod_. His lookes are wild with love. + +_Pet_. With love, surreverence[110]? can there be a face +In all the world patcht up with eyes and lips, +A forhead and a payre of crimson cheeks, +To make me doat on, to make me looke wild? + +_Rod_. Come, come, tis knowne that you love _Thomasin_. + +_Pet_. Zounds they that know that know my heart & all: +I have not the power to deny it, tis most true. + +_Burb_. And tis most true that I love _Bellamira_. +Now, if thou art in favor of thy wench, +Many a meeting thou mayst helpe me to +And learne besides what sutors seeke her love +And whom she most affects. These things once knowne +Twere worth a Dukedome, _Peter_. + +_Pet_. Sbloud, give me +A Dukedome and Ile warrant you the knowledge +Of these things ten times o're. + +_Rod_. Theres Angels for thee, _Peter_, thinke on them +And doe thy best to helpe thy master's love.-- +Well howsoever I smooth it to the Duke, +My thoughts are bent on his destruction. + +_Pet_. You have my heart +In your purse; Ile doe anything for you. + +_Bur_. And thou shalt want no gold; and so farwel. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Pet_. I cannot chuse to farewell, and have the good Angels to comfort +me; yet I am melancholy. Heeres gold to make me merry: O but (hey ho) +heres love to make me sad. To avoyd prolixity I am crost with a Sutor +that wants a piece of his toung, and that makes him come lisping home. +They call him _Cavaliero Bowyer_; he will have no nay but the wench. By +these hilts, such another swash-buckler lives not in the nyne quarters +of the world. Why, he came over with the Earle of Pembrooke, and he +limps and he limps & he devoures more French ground at two paces then +will serve _Thomasin_ at nineteene. If ever he speake French, to avoyd +prolixity, he will murder the toung. Ile provide for him; theres but +small choice. Either he shall renounce the wench or forsake his lame +legs, his lisping toung and his life to: for by S. _Denis_ I had rather +dye in a ditch then be bobd[111] of my fayre _Thomasin_. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter at one dore_ Philip _and_ Roderick, _a drummer + before them with his Drum at his back: at the other + dore_ Ferdinand _and_ Pembrooke _with their Drummes_. + +_Ferd_. Whither goes royall _Philip_ thus prepard? + +_Phil_. On what adventure goes Prince _Ferdinand_? + +_Ferd_. To conquer all the world, fayre _Katharine_, +Whose beauty in mine eye surmounts it far. +Vertue and love conducts me to your sister. + +_Phil_. On the like voyage are my fortunes bound, +I goe to winne thy sister. + +_Ferd_. Some fayre Starre +On our great hopes shine fayre and debonaire. + +_Pem_. Amen, sayth _Pembroke_. + +_Rod_. Amen, sayth _Rodoricke_, + +_Ferd_. This way my Love dwels. + +_Phil_. In this ayre breathes mine. + +_Both_. Farewell. + +_Phil_. Prince _Ferdinand_ if these cross loves +Enjoy a wisht success, peace here shall dwell. + +_Ferd_. And we be friendly Brothers. + +_Phil_. True. + +_Ferd_. Farewell. + + [_Exeunt Philip and Rodoricke_. + +_Pem_. Pity such true love, which like blessed seed +Sowne in such fertile soyle his princely brest, +By the rough stormy brow and winters hate +Of adverse parents should be timelesse nipt +And dye e're it attayne maturity. +For I have heard the Princesse whom he serves +Is hotely courted by the Duke of Burbon, +Who to effect his choyce hath in these warres +Furnisht your father with a gallant power; +His love may haply then disable _Philip_. + +_Fer_. O no; my father doth affect the Prince: +Besides, my sister's heart is so combin'd +To his in perfect love that _Burbon's_ hate +Nor all the world that knot can separate. +Then sorrow not for him, but turne the streame +Of gentle pity on thy wretched friend +Within whose bosome love hath kindled fire +So ardent that the flames will bury me. +_Philip_ is throned in my sister's eyes, +But in my love disdayne and hatred lyes. + +_Pem_. Doth she not pay true kindnesse with the like? + +_Fer_. As stepdames orphanes, night the cleer-fac't day, +So doth she hate me and returne my woes +Like a steeld Anvil backward on my selfe. +She is all hate, yet such a lovely foe +That I must kisse the sword that wounds me so. + +_Pem_. Interre these thoughts, this is her fathers tent: +Drum, give a friendly summons to the king. + +_Fer_. Forbeare a while (deare _Pembroke_): by our vowes +Which in the booke of heaven are registered, +By all the rightes of friendship, by that love +Thou bear'st thy native Country, I conjure thee +This day to be the Trumpet of my worth; +To speake the passions of thy grieved friend +To _Katharine's_ ears, till those pure ivory gates, +Pearst with the volley of thy battring words, +Give way to my laments to touch her heart. +For this have I extracted thee from many, +Made thee my fellow Pilgrim to her shrine, +Knowing thy thoughts from loves Religion free: +When thy prayers fayle thy tongue may plead for me. + +_Pem_. Must I be spokesman? _Pembrooke_ plead for love? +Whose tounge tuned to the Instruments of war +Never knew straine of fancy; on my breathe +Affection never dwelt, but war and death! +But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight, +Or hearten the spent courages of men, +_Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible. +Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her +With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[112] +Till with thy cannon battry she relent +And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. +Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed +Whose courage never awde an yron Bit, +And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast +And with commanding accents master him. +This courtship _Pembrooke_ knowes, but idle love, +The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne, +Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught +This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems, +The passionate language of a troubled heart: +I am too blunt and rude for such nice service. +Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske, +Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee, +And when I want fit words to move her mind +Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind. +Drummer, report our presence to the king. + + _A parley and answered. Enter France, Flaunders + and attendants_. + +_Lew_. Prince _Ferdinand_ and honourd English _Pembrooke_, +Now by S. _Denis_ welcome! One runne straight +And give our daughter notice of these ghests. +What, man? we know you come prepar'd to woo, +To woo, to winne: now by our sacred life +We wish in soule our daughter were your wife. +Our sonne is with your sister: faire hap wayt, +For peace or war lives in your love or hate. +Welcome once more: first weele go see your love, +After to banquet and from thence to woo. +Be merry then; weele share a friendly part, +But you shall tryumph in our daughter's heart. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter_ Katharine, _her man_ Bowyer, _and a Paynter_. + +_Kath_. See that the tent be ready furnished +By this my father and those Lords are met, +Mongst whom the noble _Pembrooke_, like the Sunne, +Out-shines the borrowed glory of the rest. +And well I may compare him to the Sunne, +That but once lookt upon with his fayre shape +Hath dazled my poore sences and left me blind. +But, sirra, where's the man I bade you bring? + +_Bow_. If you can judge of colours (madam) this is he. Paynter, +stand forth. + +_Kath_. An earnest cause (my friend) importunes me, +Wherein I am to crave thy cunningst Arte. + +_Payn_. Such as it is you may commaund, faire Princesse. + +_Kath_. But are thy colours fresh, thy pensill smoothe? +Thy hand unwavering, and thy head dislodg'd +Of all unquiet harsh incumbrances? +For thou must draw proportion of those parts +Whose worth to tell my toung wants utterance. + +_Payn_. Feare you not, Madam; I am well prepar'd. + +_Kat_. Then hither strait with youthfull _Ferdinand_, +_Navar's_ stout sonne, there comes an English Knight, +_Pembrooke_ they call him, honourably borne. +Him (when we are in conference) thou shalt marke +And to the life set doune his counterfet. +Nor is it needful I should shew him thee! +The goodliest person in the traine, that's he. + +_Bow_. Let me alone to give the Paynter destruction. I know him as well +as the Begger knowes his dish[113]: he weares a white Scarfe in his hat +and an Orange tawny feather upon his arme. + +_Kath_. Foole, indirectly thou describ'st another, +Thats Prince _Navar_: _Pembrooke_ his plume is Azure +A little intermixt with spotlesse white, +Prefiguring the temper of the Sky +With whose hye motion his great mind doth move. + +_Bow_. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but feather; there is +no difference I am sure but in colour. + +_Kath_. Why, thats as much as may be, is it not? + +_Bow_. Not so, Ile prove the contrary: You are fayre and I am foule; is +it that all the difference betweene you and I? there's another thing in +it if you marke it well. + +_Kath_. I prythee peace and with thy ignorance +Draw not the Paynter likewise into errour. +Here take thy stand; thou knowst him by these markes +I lately spake of. Seeme to excell thine Arte +And I will study to requite thy paynes. + + _Enter Lewes, Ferdinand, Pembrooke, Rodoricke, and Flaunders_. + +_Lew_. Thus did the Greeks, when they begirt the walles +Of strong-built Troy, sometimes with friendly cheeks +Entertayne peace and spend their frollick houres +In courtly feasting of each other foe. +Welcome, young _Ferdinand_! I promise you +It cheeres my spirit we doe embrace you here: +And welcome too, brave Lord. We cannot say, +As if we were in Paris we might say, +Your viands shall be costly: but presume, +Such as the Camp affords, weele have the best. +Daughter, I prythee bid them welcome. + +_Kath_. My Lord, I doe, +That with the Congy of a bended knee, +But this with my true hearts[114] loyalty. +Lords, you are welcome by my father's leave. + +_Lew_. Why, now thou dost content thy father _Kate_, +When wholy unto merryment inclined +Thou answerst with like simpathy of mind. + +_Ferd_. But yet her looks are haggard and obscure, +Which makes me doubtfull sheele not stoop to lure. + +_Lew_. Princes, let's enter: come, Ile lead the way! +The feast is mine, you are my ghests this day. + +_Ferd_. Now, _Pembrooke_, shew thy friendships true effect; +Obtayne her love, my life thou shalt protect. + + [_Exeunt Lew. Ferd. Rod. & Flaund_. + +_Kath_.--He stayes behind the rest. O happy houre! +Worke on (sweet Paynter) to inrich mine eye +With that which els procures my tragedy. + +_Pem_. Fayre Madam, in this confluence of sweet joy, +When every one resorts unto the feast, +Me thinkes you should not thus retyre alone, +As seeming your best fare were heavy mone. + +_Kath_. I am not (Sir) alone, nor do I starve +My appetite with any wil-full fast; +I have a banquet of sweet pleasing thoughts +That is more precious then the costliest feast. + +_Pem_. But at your father's boord there sits a ghest +To whom the cup of _Ganimede_ will seeme +But juice of Hemlocke, and the daintiest dish +As much unsavory as the Pomice stone, +Unlesse your presence season his delight. + +_Kath_. I am sorry I want skill to serve his dyet; +I have not bin instructed to such end. + +_Pem_. But I will teach you (Madam) if you please. + +_Kath_. Rather the party grieved first should shew +Wherein we erre, els how can we discerne +What is our fault or how we may amend? + +_Pem_. That office he commits unto my toung. + +_Kath_. Is he not able then to speake himselfe? + +_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard when _Ferdinand_, +With whom in _Padua_ I was conversant, +So spake in the assembly of the learn'd, +With such a grace and well composed phrase, +As many thought grave _Tullies_ eloquence +Flowed like a hony River from his lips. + +_Kath_. He wanteth then belike sufficient courage. + +_Pem_. Never liv'd Knight lesse prejudic'd in that +Then valiant _Ferdinand_, whom I have seene +Couch his stiffe[115] Launce with such dexterity +As if the god of battell had himselfe +Entered the Lists, and preassing to the midst +Of steele-composed troops like lightning fly +Till he had made a passage with his sword. + +_Kath_. So puissant in his fortitude with men, +And daunted with a silly womans looks! +How can that be? + +_Pem_. Yes, when you weygh the force +Of your resistlesse and controwling beauty. +It is your beauty, were his power and spirit +Ten times more hauty-ventrous then it is, +Compels it stoope in homage to your foot +As trembling Lambs when they to Lions couch. + +_Kath_. 'Twas well he chose so good an Orator +To plead the imperfections of his cause. + +_Pem_. I should have that opinion of my selfe +If for my sake your Grace would favour him. + +_Kath_. Yes, for your sake we have endur'd his name, +And for your sake we tolerate his suite; +But, when you cease to speake, then all that prayse +You have attributed to his desert +Seemes borrowed from your selfe; you are the man +Whose eloquence compares with _Ciceroes_, +You are the man whose knightly fortitude +Lives in the world unprejudic'd of any, +You vanquish beauty and inthrall the mind +Of female weaknesse with no lesser awe +Then Indian vassayles stoop unto their Lords. +The name of _Ferdinand_ you have mista'ne. +Say tis your selfe, and then your whole discourse +Observes the perfect method that it should. + +_Pem_. Should I be false and trecherous to my friend? +I am intreated but to speake for him. + +_Kath_. But for your selfe would be more acceptable. +Oh pardon me, nor let immodest stayne[116] +Cleave to my brow: my love is chastely bred. +Other then _Pembrooke Katharine_ never vowes +Shall be authoriz'd in her mayden thoughts. + +_Pem_. Mistake me not, I say tis _Ferdinand_ +Dyes in affection to your Deity. + +_Kath_. But in affection I survive to none +But onely _Pembrooke_. + +_Pem_. Will you be esteem'd +A cruel murdresse of a loyall friend? + +_Kath_. Will _Pembrooke_ triumph in a womans fall? + +_Pem_. You anger me. Respect young _Ferdinand_. + +_Kath_. You please me not to speake of _Ferdinand_. + +_Pem_. Nay, then, tis time to go or wrong my friend. +Since, Madam, what I would I cannot doe, +Mine honour here bids me leave off to woo. [_Exit_. + +_Kath_. Stay, _Pembrooke_, Katharine will sue to thee; +So shalt thou keepe thy fayth and loyalty. + +_Bow_. Tary, sir, tary, we want the length of your nose: nay, if you +will not heare, Ile be so bold as to follow your nose. Sir, tary, tary. + [_Exit_. + +_Kath_. He will not heare nor (too unkind) looke backe. + +_Payn_. But, Madam, spight his heart you shall see this. + +_Kath_. Give me his picture. Image far more kind +Then is the substance whence thou art deriv'd, +Which way soever I divert my selfe +Thou seemst to follow with a loving eye. +Thee will I therefore hold within my armes +As some small comfort to increasing harmes. + + _Enter Ferd_. + +_Ferd_.--What meanes my second selfe by this long stay? +I cannot rest till I be certified +What good or bad successe my suite returnes. +But he is gone, and in faire _Katharines_ hand +I see his picture. What may this pretend? + +_Kath_. Thou hast done well indeed, in every part +Thou shewst complete and cunning workmanship; +His eye, his lip, his cheeke are rightly fram'd, +But one thing thou hast grossly over-slipt: +Where is his stubborne unrelenting heart +That lurkes in secret as his master doth, +Disdayning to regard or pity me. + +_Payn_. Madam, his heart must be imagined +By the description of the outward parts. + +_Kath_. O no, for then it would be tractable, +Mild and applausive as the others be. + +_Ferd_. No Prince but _Pembrooke_ dwels in _Katharines_ eye. + +[_Kath_] Whose that disturbs our pleasing solitude? + +_Ferd_. Know you not me? my name is _Ferdinand_, +Whose faithfull love Lord _Pembrooke_ late commenct. + +_Kath_. Speake then for _Pembrooke_ as he did for you +Or els your bootlesse suite will soon be cold. + +_Ferd_. Why he was Orator in my behalfe. +If I should speake for him, as he for me, +Then should I breathe forth passions[117] not mine owne.-- +I, I, tis so; the villaine in my name +Hath purchas'd her affection for himselfe, +And therefore was he absent from the feast, +And therefore shuns my sight and leaves behind +This counterfet to keep him still in mind. +Tis so, tis so; base Traytor, for this wronge +My sword shall cut out thy perfidious toung. [_Exit_. + + _Enter Bowyer_. + +_Bow_. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my +backe, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; and +yet he will not come backe. + +_Kath_. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledge +Which I will zealously devote me to.-- +There's thy reward: withdraw, my father comes. + + [_Exit Painter_. + + _Enter Lewes_. + +_Lew_. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me +And suddenly is risen from the boord, +The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you +The Prince or _Pembrooke_ which way they are gone? + +_Kath_. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose. + +_Lew_. Back to their tents and take no leave of us? +Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe +And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles. +Which we will seeke immediately to prevent. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Dicke Bowyer and soldiers, with Drum and colours_. + +_Bow_. Stand, give the word along, stand. + +_Lieu_. Stand there! + +_Bow_. Lieutenant. + +_Lieu_. Captayne. + +_Bow_. Is the watch set in the King's quarter yet. + +_Lieu_. An houre agoe. + +_Bow_. 'Zounds what foolish Canaanits were they to run in debt to their +eyes for an houres sleepe sooner then they needed! Sergeant. + +_Ser_. Anon, Sir. + +_Bow_. Anon, Sir! s'hart the Rogue answers like a Drawer, but tis the +tricke of most of these Sergeants, all clincum clancum. Gods dynes[118], +I am an _Onyon_ if I had not rather serve formost in the forlorne hoope +of a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a double +charged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels. +Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning in +Sulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watch +to night? + +_Serg_. In the furthest Trenches that confront the enemies campe. + +_Bow_. Thats the next way to have all our throats cut. + +_Lieu_. That cannot be; you know, Captain, there's a peace toward. + +_Bow_. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole, but s'hart our +gaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_ +came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero and +sets feare at's heeles. And I could scape (a pox on it) th'other thing, +I might haps return safe and sound to England. But what remedy? al flesh +is grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey. +Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the rogues +do not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throats +and choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir? + +_Sol_. That must I, Captayne. + +_Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say your +prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and ashes, all wormes meat. + +_Lieu_. How so, Captayne? + +_Bow_. Doe you make him Sentronell? s'hart heele nod[119] presently: and +he do not sleepe sitting upon the poynt of a Spanish needle, _Dicke +Bowyer's_ a very shittle-cocke. _Nod_! zounds, he is one of the nine +sleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a pageant to present of the seven +deadly Sinnes[120], he should play Slouth; and he did not sleepe when he +should speake his part I am a Badger. + +_Soul_. That's true; you have halfe the nature of a Badger, for one leg +is shorter then another. + +_Bow_. Zounds, you Rogue, doe not you know that? Ile tell you: s'hart +and I lye, call me Jebuzite. Once as I was fighting in S. Georges +fields, and blind Cupid seeing me and taking me for some valiant +_Achilles_, he tooke his shaft and shot me right into the left heele; +and ever since _Dick Bowyer_ hath beene lame. But my heart is as sound +as a bell: heart of Oake, spirit, spirit! Lieutenant, discharge _Nod_ +and let _Cricket_ stand Sentronell till I come. + +_Lieu_. He shall, Captayne. + +_Bow_. On afore! strike Drum, march soldiers, keep your place, Nod. +Lusty, my harts, for the honour of England and our brave General the +Earle of Pembrooke! [_Exeunt soldiers_.] So I have discharg'd my selfe +of these. Hot shot![121] now to my love. Some may say the tale of Venus +loving Mars is a fable, but he that is a true soldier and a Gent. as +Dick Bowyer is, & he do not love some varlet or other, zounds he is +worse then a gaping Oyster without liquor. There's a pretty sweet fac't +mother[122] that waits on the princesse that I have some mind to; but a +whorson _Architophel_, a parasite, a rogue, one whose face looks worse +then a Tailors cushen of old shreds and colours, zounds like a weavers +leg in an old ditch feeding horseleaches; & this trotter is my ryval & +loves _Thomasin_: his name is _Peter de Lions_, but s'hart (I will not +sweare neither) if I do not turne Rich. _Cor de Lion_ with him, if I do +not teare out his heart and eate it with mustard, let him say Dick +Bowyer's a Mackarell. Yonder hee comes with my property hand in hand. +Zounds! I say nothing, but ile heare what they say and determine +afterward. + + _Enter Peter and Thomasin_. + +_Pet_. Thomasin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour is +thus, I love. + +_Bow_.--And I do not spoyle that humor, so-- + +_Pet_. Your answere compendiously & avoyd prolixity. + +_Tom_. Mary muffe[123]! by Jesu I scorne to humble the least part about +me to give answere to such a trothing question: as I live it joults mine +eares worse in hearing then the princes coach on a broken cawsey. + +_Pet_. _Thomasin_, leave this pace & take me with you[124]. My Lord +loves your Lady, yet I heare she is this night betrothed to the Prince +of France: I love you & shall I lose you? No: I hate prolixity; in a +word, the end is Ile mary you. + +_Tho_. Prety, as God save me! What will Captaine Bowyer say to that if +he should know it? + +_Bow_.--A good Rogue, by Jesu! + +_Pet_. Bowyer a Captayne? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine[125], +a red beard Sprat, a Yellowhammer, a bow case, a very Jackdaw with his +toung slit. + +_Bow_.--Zounds, what a Philistine is this! what a dictionary of proper +names hath the Rogue got together! heart, his toung crawles as fast as +the cheese doth in Germany. Ile pearce you for this, you Lobster. + +_Pet_. Bowyer? _mordu! futra_[126] for him! and that sowre crab do but +leere at thee I shall squeeze him to Vargis[127]. + +_Bow_. And you squeeze me I may haps grow saucy with you, you whorson +burnd Pudding pye, you drye Parsnip. Kisse me, Thomasin. So, dare you +stand to your word now and squeeze me. + +_Pet_. Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gyrd +my selfe with thy guts. I am a souldiour and a Captayne. + +_Bow_. Captayne? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge any other then +Pigmies I am a Gogmagog. Dost thou heare, sowgelder? and I do not with +sixe Cranes (wel marshald) overrunne thee and thy hundred and fifty, say +Dick Bowyer's a coward. + +_Pet_. For that word draw. + +_Tho_. Hold, Gentlemen. + +_Bow_. Peace, good Thomasin, silence, sweet socket [sucket?]. Peter, +dost see this sword? this sword kild Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now +it shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whorson puttock[128], no garbage +serve you but this? have at you! + + _As they fight enters Pembrooke_. + +_Pem_. Who's this at enmity within our Camps? +What! Bowyer and the servant to great Burbon? +Both sheathe your weapons: by our martiall law +This act is death. + +_Bow_. Ile be hangd then. Dost thou heare, noble Generall? Dicke Bowyer +knowes what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by this +element of iron & steele, but to measure which of our swords were +longest.--Ile save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see youle hang +scurvily: but the next time-- + +_Pem_. Good Captayne Bowyer, let our English troops +Keepe a strong watch to night: my throbbing heart, +Like to a Scritchowle in the midnight houre, +Bodes some black scene of mischiefe imminent. + +_Bow_. Never feare, Generall: if Julius Caesar rise up against us, e're +he do my Lord any wrong, zounds Ile be cut smaller then pot-hearbs. Ile +to the trenches: come, Thomasin.--Leere not, Lobster, lest I thump that +russeting[129] face of yours with my sword hilt till that it looke as +pyde colourd as the Rainbow. By Jesu, Ile do it, and therefore follow me +not. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Pem_. Why should this loade of griefe lye on my heart +With such a ponderous waight? I know no cause, +Unlesse it be by thinking on the wrong +My friend receyves in the unmatched love +Which Katherine beares me: yet my fayth is sound, +And like a solid Rock shall check her teares. +Katharine loves me; yet, for my friends delight, +Pembrooke will hate her love and flye her sight. + + [_Exit_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Burbon, Navar, Philip, Bellamira, Rodoricke, and attendants_. + +_Bur_. Navar, you sprinckle me with foule reproch +And dimme the luster of our royall name +With colours of dishonour. + +_Nav_. Heare me, Burbon. + +_Bur_. What words can satisfy so great a wrong? +Have you not, with consent of all your Lords, +Promis'd your daughter to this generous prince? + +_Nav_. Their true love forst us to it. + +_Bur_. True love? 'tis faynd. + +_Phil_. Ha, Burbon! + +_Bel_. Gentle Philip-- + +_Phil_. With my sword +Ile prove my love unfayned, thee a false Lord. + +_Bur_. This like a Sanctuary frees thy toung +And gives thee childish liberty of speech, +Which els would fawne and crouch at Burbons frowne. + +_Phil_. Now by St. Denis-- + +_Bur_. Ile not chat with boyes: +Navar, to thee I speak. Thy daughters looks, +Like the North Star to the Sea-tost Mariners, +Hath brought me through all dangers, made me turne +Our royall Palace to this stage of death, +Our state and pleasure to a bloudy Campe, +And with the strength and puissance of our force +To lift thy falling and decayed state +Even to her pristine glory. In thy quarrell, +Burbon hath set himselfe against his king +And soyl'd his greatnesse with a Traytors name, +Now when our worth expected rich reward, +Fayre Bellamira, wonder of her time, +Must Philip have her? + +_Phil_. Burbon, she is mine. + +_Bur_. _Mortdew_! Ile be reveng'd, by heaven I will, +Or I will pave these plaines with the dead bodies +Of our deare subjects. We have sworne thy fall: +That oathes thy death, our rage thy funerall. + +_Nav_. Heare our excuse. + +_Bur_. We will not credit ayre. +--Peter, watch Rodorick: when the prince is gone +Tell him Ide speake with him. + +_Pet_.--Enough, tis done. + +_Bur_. Navar, this setting Sun, which sees our wrong, +Shall e're his morrowes beames gui[l]de the proud East, +View _Himens_ rites turnd to a tragick feast. + [_Exit Burbon_. + +_Nav_. His anger beares him hence. Young prince of France, +Since, to reduce our enmity to love +And thereby like a fayre and lovely Bryde +To mary peace to France, we are content +To bring the sea-tost barke of your affects, +Halfe shipwrackt with the tempest of these wars, +To their desired port, as we agreed, +Go to your father and informe him thus: +If personally heele view our friendly Tents +And seale these Articles of peace proposde, +This night you shall be troth-plight to our child. + +_Phil_. Were it to search the furthest Northern clime +Where frosty Hyems with an ycie Mace +Strikes dead all living things, Ide find it out, +And borrowing fire from those fayre sunny eyne +Thaw Winters frost and warme that dead cold clime: +But this impose is nothing, honour'd King. +Ile to my father and conduct him hither; +For whilst my soule is parted from her sight +This earth is hell, this day a tedious night. +Come, Rodorick, you shall beare me company. + + [_Exeunt Phil. Pet. & Rod_. + +_Pet_. He shall not, for Ile stay him instantly. + +_Nav_. 'Twere pity to keepe two such loves asunder. +Daughter, you & your Ladies to your tent +And deck you richly to receive the prince. + + [_Exit Bella_. + + _Enter Pemb., after him Ferd_. + +My Lord of Pembrooke, happily returnd! +How doth our sonne? See where he comes himselfe. +Speake, boy: how spedst thou with fayre Katherine? + +_Ferd_. I know not how.--Is trothlesse Pembrooke there? + +_Nav_. Be not dismayd; at length sheele pity thee. +Sonne, bid our Officers adorne our Court +In her chiefe glory, for this happy night +Shall set a period to this smarting war. +Your sister shalbe troth-plight to Prince Philip, +And France and we made friends about it then. +Pembrooke, have you the charge to see our Captaines +Prepare a martiall welcome to the King. +Ile not be idle: since Navar was crownd +Our heart with so much joy did ne're abound. + [_Exit Navar_. + +_Fer_. Nor mine with so much hate. Pembrooke, a word. + +_Pem_. What wills your Grace? + +_Fer_. That Pembrooke is a villayne. +Looke not so strange: I speake it; not your friend; +But hee that in his soule hath sworne thine end. + +_Pem_. A villayne? and my death? I am amaz'd: +Art thou awake, or is all this a dreame. + +_Fer_. A dreame of death. Meet me to morrow morning, +As thou art Pembrooke and a Gentleman, +By yon fayre River side which parts our Camps. +You know the place: come armde, and so farewell. + +_Pem_. Deare friend. + +_Fer_. Push! meet me. + +_Pem_. Ferdinand, I will. + +_Fer_. Revenge, smile on, thou shalt drink bloud thy fill. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Peter standing sentronell_. + +_Pet_. This is my wayting night: tis for no good +That I stand sentronell. Well, good or ill, +I care not greatly, so I get the gold: +Therefore, to avoyd prolixity, here walke I. +Here comes the men that must reward my paine. + + _Enter Burbon and Rodoricke_. + +_Bur_. Have you the poyson? + +_Rod_. And a strong one too. +Heere's a preservative to save your hand: +When Rodoricke fayles your Lordship, heaven shall fayle +To illuminate the world with cheereful light. + +_Bur_. Then here about should Peter wayt for me, +For this is the Pavilion of the Princesse. + +_Pet_. My Lord. + +_Bur_. Peter. + +_Pet_. Here is the key that opens to the Tent: +I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin. +Enter without prolixity, woo and winne the Lady; +But give me gold (my Lord) and Ile to Dice. + +_Bur_. Hold, take thy fill. + +_Pet_. And it shall goe as fast. + +_Bur_. Now, gentle Peter, get thee unto rest. +My businesse craves the absence of the world: +None but my selfe and Rodoricke shall behold +The secret complot that I doe intend. + +_Pet_. I goe, my Lord. [_Exit_. + +_Bur_. Now, blessed key, open unto my love, +Doe more then loving lynes or words can doe. +My letters have bin answerd with disdayne: +Her father I have mov'd to gayne my love, +But he is frosty in my fervent suite; +And now perforce I will obtayne her love +Or ease her puling hatred by revenge. + +_Rod_. You stay too long: Ile help to turne the key. + + _Discover her sitting in a chayre asleepe_. + +_Bur_. What do I see? the majesty of heaven +Sit in a mayden slumber on the earth? +What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddesse? +Within the table of her glorious face +Methinks the pure extraction of all beauty +Flowes in abundance to my love-sick eye. +O, Rodoricke, she is admirably fayre; +And sleeping if her beauty be so rare +How will her eyes inchaunt me if she wake. +Here, take the poyson; Ile not stayne her face +For all the treasure of the Westerne Island. + +_Rod_. I see no such admired perfection. +Waken her, Burbon, and this loving charme, +Which now hath led your sences prisoner, +Will vanish, and her speach, full of reproofe, +Beget a new phantasma all of hate. +Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee. + +_Bur_. Waken her Roderick, for I want the power. + +_Rod_. I hope I am disguisde sufficiently +That Bellamira cannot know my face.-- +Madam, fayre Bellamira! + +_Bel_. Here I am: +Who calls on Bellamira? + +_Bur_. I, fayre love; +The Duke of Burbon that doth honor thee. + +_Bel_. The Duke of Burbon in my Tent so late! +Where is my Gard? what, Peter, Thomasin! + +_Rod_. Step to her and restrayne her lest she call: +Ile be a looker on and be unknowne. + +_Bur_. What needs your Highnesse call for any Gard +Since you are garded with a faythfull frend? +Behold me, Madam, humbly on my knee +Come to renew my suite: vouchsafe me love +Or with this weapon take away my life. +Much better 'twere a thousand times to dye +Then live in torment of your scorching eye. +You have inflam'd my hearte; oh quench that flame +Or into cinders turne my haplesse truncke, +Haplesse in being unbelov'd by you. + +_Bel_. My Lord of Burbon, you presume too much +On th' extremity of passion. +Have I not answerd many an idle letter +With full assurance that I cannot love? +Have I not often _viva voce_ checkt +Your courtly kindnes, frownd upon your smiles, +Usde you unkindly, all to weane your love? +And doe you still persever in your suite? +I tell thee, Burbon, this bold part of thine, +To breake into my Tent at dead of night, +Deserves severe correction, and the more +Because it brings mine honour into question. +I charge thee, as thou art a Gentleman, +Betake thee to thine own Pavilion, +And let this answere satisfie for all: +Burbon, I cannot nor I will not love thee. + +_Bur_. Cannot nor will not? Zounds, Madam, but you must. + +_Bel_. Must I? + +_Bur_. And shall. + +_Bel_ You will not force me to it? + +_Bur_. Or force that sparkling beauty from your face. +Looke not so fiercely nor cry out for helpe, +For if you doe this makes you cry your last. +Seing neyther words, kind letters, hearty sighes. +Humble intreaty nor a world of payne +Can move you to take pitty of my love, +But Tyrant-like your beauty seeks my life; +I will blot out that beauty with this juice. +Thus, thus I wipe away my passions, +Thus doe I heale the torments of my love, +Thus doe I ransome my inthralled eye, +And by depriving of the cause of life +Kill th' effect, which was a world of sorrow. +Farewell, foule Bellamira; I am pleasde +In this revenge that no way could be easde. [_Exit_. + +_Rod_.--Zounds, he has don't: now, Roderick, joy thy fill. +Burbon is thine, the Dukedome is thine owne, +For only he in the Inheritance +Stood as an obstacle to let my clayme. +This deed of his will take away his life: +And then let me alone to enjoy his land. +Ile steale away unseene, cause unsuspected; +I would not for the world be once detected. [_Exit_. + +_Bel_. Poyson my face! oh most inhuman wretche! +Revenge more vile then to abbridge my life. +What, Thomasin! What, brother Ferdinand! +My kingly father! is there none that heares? +Then Treason, treason! let that waken you, +For capitall is this offence to me. + + _Enter Navar, Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Thomasin_. + +_Tho_. O Jesu! mistris, what ayles your face? + +_Nav_. Her face! + +_Ferd_. Tis spotted like a Panthers skin. + +_Pem_. O were those spots as kindly beautiful +Then were fayre Bellamira undeform'd. + +_Nav_. O what divine power hath sent this Leprosy? + +_Ferd_. Say, beautious Sister. + +_Pem_. Speake, fayre Bellamira. + +_Nav_. My sweet daughter, speake. + +_Pem_. Her silence argues a tormented spirit. + +_Ferd_.--Thy countenance argues a deceitfull soule. + + _Enter Lewes, Philip, Rodoricke and Flaunders_. + +_Lew_. Where is Navar? + +_Phil_. Where is fayre Bellamira? + +_Bel_. My Philip! oh give leave to fly his sight. + +_Nav_. Stay, gentle daughter; heele not injure thee. + +_Lew_. Heere are the Articles concluded on. +I could not rest till I had signed them +And brought them to your Highnesse. A moneth hence +The mariage shall be fully solemnized, +So please your Majesty and your fayre daughter. +Are you content? + +_Nav_. To live in discontent. + +_Phil_. Methinks this royall presence hath dim lookes. +Is it because they are in the armes of night, +Which sets a leaden lustre in the eye? +Or hath some accident occoasted [sic] them +That troubles their aspect with melancholy? +Is Navar well? is Ferdinando well? +Is Pembrooke well? is Bellamira well? +0 where is Bellamira? tell me, Princes, +For now my tongue hath strooke upon her name +I feele a kind of killing extasie. +Where is she? in her Tent? + +_Bel_.--Deny me father. +I would not see Prince Philip with this face. + +_Phil_. Why speak you not? what, have I toucht the string +Whereon the burden of your sorrow lyes? +Father, look round about: see you my love? +Rodoricke, look round about: see you my love? + +_Lew_. I see her not. + +_Rod_. Nor I. + +_Phil_. I say not so: +The garments that she weares mine eye should know. +What Lady's this that hides her heavenly face? +Here are no Basilisks with killing eyes: +You need not hide your beauty: sweet, look up, +Me thinks I have an interest in these lookes. +What's here? a Leper amongst Noble men? +What creatures thys? why stayes she in this place? +Oh, tis no marvell though she hide her face, +For tis infectious: let her leave the presence, +Or Leprosie will cleave unto us all. + +_Bel_. O let me leave the presence, gentle father, +When Philip bids his Bellamira goe. + +_Phil_. My Bellamira! + +_Lew_. How? my sonnes belov'd! + +_Phil_. Is this my love? was this your beauteous child? + +_Nav_. My child. + +_Ferd_. My sister. + +_Pem_. Beauteous Bellamira. + +_Nav_. Spotted. + +_Ferd_. Disfigured. + +_Pem_. Made a loathsome Leper. + +_Rod_. How came this sudden alteration? +For she was comely, lovely, beautiful, +When the day left his Charriot to the night. + +_Nav_. That heaven doth know, and onely Bellamira. +Daughter, I charge thee, tell me how it came. + +_Bell_. Burbon, oh Burbon,-- + +_Lew_. Did he doe the deed? + +_Bell_. He came into my Tent at dead of night +And rubd my face with an infectuous herbe +Because I would not graunt unto his love. +I cry'd for helpe, but none did succour me. + +_Rod_.--I know he did and laugh to thinke on [i]t. + +_Lew_. And he shall rue his treason. + +_Phil_. Threaten not; +Leave the revenge to me whom it concernes. +Tis I am robd of a delicious looke, +A heavenly sparkling brow, a starry eye, +A countenance fayrer than Auroraes lookes +When all the East is guilded with her blush. +Tis I will be reveng'd, but not before +I have espoused my lovely Bellamira. + +_Lew_. Espoused her! + +_Nav_. How? marry a face deform'd! + +_Ferd_. A leprous creature! + +_Pem_. An infectuous mayd! + +_Rod_. One whose sores are perchance incureable! + +_Phil_. Be they incureable, it is my Love, +And for my sake she hath indur'd this wrong; +And should I now forsake her thus distrest +I could not merit a true Lovers name. +To shew I love her I will marry her +Before the moneth expire, nay in the morne: +Delayes, perchance, may make her think I scorne. + +_Bel_. Marry with me? fetch me a looking glasse +That I may see how sweet a bride I am. +Oh I detest my selfe. Deare, hate me, too: +I am not to be maryed but to death. +Though I were Empresse of the spacious world +Ide lay my selfe and kingdome at thy feet. +Live, noble Philip, joy some happy match; +Tis my unworthinesse makes me deny thee. + +_Phil_. Thinkst thou, because thy face is spotted, so +Thou art not worthy of thy Philips love? +Thy face to me was but a Mar[e]s[c]hall +To lodge thy sacred person in my mind, +Which long agoe is surely chambred there. +And now what needs an outward Harbinger? +I doe affect, not superficially: +My love extendeth further than the skin. +The inward Bellamira tis I seeke, +And unto her will Philip be espousde. + +_Nav_. Oh admirable love! + +_Lew_. O my deare sonne, +Thou makest me famous by thy loyalty. + +_Rod_. I never heard the like. + +_Pem_. Pen never writ +A worthyer Story to posterity. + +_Ferd_.--Pen never writ of a more treacherous friend +Then, Pembrooke, thou hast prov'd to Ferdinand. + +_Phil_. Sweet Love, prepare thee to be Philips Bryde; +For heere I sweare, as I am royall borne, +Ile marry thee before the mornings Sunne +Hath runne the third part of his glorious course. +Father, good night; deare friends, deare Love, good night: +Mariage, I hope, will make my spirits more light. + [_Exit_. + +_Nav_. Good night, sweet son. King Lewes, stay with me; +Be thou my comforter, Ile comfort thee. + + [_Exeunt kings_. + +_Ferd_. Pembrook, remember that thou faile me not. [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. O God, what may these moody lookes intend? +Me thinks, I should have better from my friend. [_Exit_. + +_Bel_. Now, Bellamira, thou hast time to thinke +Upon these troublous matters. Should I suffer +So brave a Gentleman as Philip is +To wed himselfe to my unworthy selfe, +It would be counted vertue in the Prince +But I were worthy of a world of blame. +No, Philip, no; thou shalt not wrong thine honour +Nor be impeacht by Bellamiraes spots. +In some disguise Ile steale away to-night +And ne're appeare more in my Philips sight. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Dicke Bowyer_. + +_Bow_. There is no toyle to this walkinge of the Round. S'hart, I have +been stumbling up and downe all this night like a Brewers horse that has +ne're a good eye in his head. Tis as darke as Pitch: I can resemble our +Campe to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are always +waking and heere the villaynes are as drowsie as swyne. Lieutenant Nod! +why you might have shot a double Cannon in his eare and never have wakt +him. I jogd and I jogd, I showted and I showted, and yet the mungrel +snorted, you might heare him to Dover: at last I dragd him by the heeles +into a ditch of water and there left the Lobster crawling. A the tother +side, Core being appoynted to stand sentynell upon the Wallounes +quarter, s'hart the Loach gets me into a Sutlers bath and there sits mee +drinking for Joanes best cap: but by this hand, and as Dicke Bowyer is a +Soldier and a Cavaliero, he shall sit in the boults for it to morrow. My +comfort is in these extremities that I brought Thomasin to her Ladies +Tent, leaving her new-come Lover to picke strawes. But, soft: _qui vou +la_?[130] + + _Enter Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. My name is Ferdinand. + +_Bow_. Stand! + +_Ferd_. Why, Captayne, thou dost knowe me well inough. + +_Bow_. Know or not know, without the word you passe not. + +_Ferd_. Soliman. + +_Bow_. So, _allie, allie, Monseur_. + +_Ferd_. First, tell me, sawest thou Pembrooke come this way? + +_Bow_. I saw him not. + +_Ferd_. Farewell. [_Exit_. + +_Bow_. As much to you. Zounds, these French think to outface us with a +card of ten[131]: but, and his beard were made of brasse, Dicke Bowyer +will make him know the discipline of war. Here comes another. + + _Enter Pembrooke_. + +_Pem_. Who's there? Dick Bowyer? + +_Bow_. Some call me so: what then? + +_Pem_. Pembrooke salutes thee. + +_Bow_. O good morrow, my Lord, good morrow. + +_Pem_. I prythee, Captayne, sawst thou Ferdinand, Sonne to Navar, as +thou didst walke the round. + +_Bow_. Even now, my Lord, he past along this way. + +_Pem_. Himselfe alone? or had he company? + +_Bow_. Nay, questionlesse, he was alone, my Lord. + +_Pem_. Couldst thou discerne his face? how did he looke? + +_Bow_. Faith, scurvily, my Lord, like a greene cheese or the inside of a +rotten Pumpian.[132] + +_Pem_. There is Crownes for thee to drinke. [_Exit Pem_. + +_Bow_. I thanke your Lordship. To see the difference betweene these +French Curres and our English Cavaliers! There's as much bounty in +them as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might have +stood heere till my teeth chatter in my head e're the tother +Launcepresado[133] would have sayd, Here, Captayn Bowyer, there's a +Cardicue[134] to wash downe melancholy. But, had I knowne as much, I +would have basted him till his bones had rattled in his skin. + + _Enter Core and other Souldiers bringing in the Clowne_. + +_All_. Come, sir, you shall answere your walking before our Captayne. + +_Clow_. Well, sirs, take heed what you doe: I am a Princes man; if you +stay me upon the kings hye way I can lay fellowship to your charge. + +_Core_. But, sirra, we can lay Treason to thine for being without the +word. + +_Clow_. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, +I have call'd thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and am +I still without the word. + +_Core_. I, sir, the word that must serve your turne, the Watch-word. + +_Clow_. Fayth, y'are like to watch this twelve moneth ere you have any +other words at my hands. + +_Bow_. How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to the +slaughter-house there, ha? + +_Core_. A stragler and a spy, Captayne, I pray examine him. + +_Bow_. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last: Ile +talke with you anon. But, sirra, to you: From whence come you? + +_Clow_. I came, Sir, from the king of Fraunces campe. + +_Bow_. So, what's your name? + +_Clow_. My name, sir, is Bow wow. + +_Bow_. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks us. Bow wow, +quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges? + +_Clow_. No dog, sir: would you should know it, though I be encompast +with curres. + +_Bow_. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom +or two of match. + +_Clow_. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a very +insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman. + +_Bow_. Well, sirra, whom do you serve? + +_Clow_. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king's +daughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now +going backe againe. + +_Bow_. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes +to stay him. + +_Clow_. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady +may give you thanks. + +_Bow_. My name's Dick Bowyer. + +_Clow_. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue! +but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [_Exit_. + +_Bow_. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you +should stand Sentinel? + +_Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was +passing dry. + +_Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the +burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has +sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere? + + _Enter Nod_. + +_Core_. Tis Lieutenant Nod. + +_Nod_. Captayne, deride me not. I protest I came by this mischaunce by +good service, by following a spy that came to discover our army. + +_Bow_. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee into +a ditch? + +_Nod_. Was't you? by this light, I took you for a spy. + +_Bow_. Yet saw me not no more then a Molewarp. This is an egregious +Rogue. + +_Nod_. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you would +use me. + +_Bow_. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was not +halfe so sencelesse. But the Watch breakes up: every one to his quarter, +away! + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Enter Clowne_. + +_Clow_. Tis true, they are gone together, and I am sent to watch Prince +Ferdinand and the Earle of Pembrooke. This way they went, but they are +got out of sight. I were very bad to be a hound, that have no better a +sent. If they were hares as they are men, I should think them squatted. +But, husht! here comes one of them. + + _Enter Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. The morne lookes red, red mornes doe threat a storme; +That storme shall light on Pembrooke or my selfe. +This is our meeting place; here runnes the streame +That parts our camps; the time consorts the place; +And (Pembrooke) if thy reputation hold, +It is thy q. to enter. + + _Enter Pembrooke_. + +_Clow_. Heere comes the tother; this is lucke upon lucke. Now will I run +and fetch my mistris the Lady Katharine to part their fray. [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. Good end succeed my early heavynesse! +Three times my feet, as loth to guide me hither, +Have stumbled in a playne and even way. +My sword forsooke his scabbard once or twice; +Bloud from my nostrills thrice hath spowted forth, +And such a dymnesse overrunnes my sight +That I have tane a tree to bee a man +And question'd with it about serious things. +This is the place where I must meet my friend: +Yonder he stands.--Good morrow, Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. Good morrow to thy death. Draw, Pembrooke, draw, +The ground thou treadst upon must be thy grave. + +_Pem_. Draw upon Ferdinand? + +_Ferd_. I, upon me. +Dally not, Pembrooke; I am bent to fight +And that with thee for the best blood thou bearst. + +_Pem_. You have some reason for this resolution. + +_Ferd_. My will. + +_Pem_. A sorry argument to kill your friend. +I must have better reason then your will +Or Ile not draw upon my Ferdinand. +Our love is older then of one dayes growth; +A yeres continuance hath united us. +Have we not made an enterchange of othes, +Sworne love to one another twenty times, +Confirmd that friendship by society, +Encreasde it with the simpathy of mind, +Making one pleasure pleasure unto both? +And shall this bond be broken upon will? + +_Ferd_. Then youle not draw? + +_Pem_. Yes, neerer to thy person +In friendly sort to embrace thee, Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. Thou art a coward and thou dar'st not fight. + +_Pem_. Thou knowst the contrary, for we have fought +At every weapon to approve our skill. + +_Ferd_. Goe to, you are a villayne and a coward, +And by the royall bloud that gave me life +Ile kill thee, Pembrooke, though thou do not draw. + +_Pem_. Kill me? thou wilt not wrong thine honour so? + +_Ferd_. Zounds but I will; &, traitor, take thou that. + [_Wounds him_. + +_Pem_. Wound me so desperately? nay, then, Ile draw, +Not to offend but to defend my selfe. +Now I perceyve it is my blood thou seekst. +Witnesse, you heavens and all you gracious powers +That stand auspicious to this enterprise, +That Pembrooke drawes forth an unwilling sword. + +_Ferd_. Why, so; now manfully defend thy selfe. + +_Pem_. Another wound? then Pembrook, rowse thy spirit +And beare no longer with this haire-braynd man. +Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the cause +That moves thee to this unkind enterprise, +And if I satisfie thee not in words +This double wound shall please thee with my bloud; +Nay, with my sword Ile make a score of wounds +Rather then want of bloud divorce thy love. + +_Ferd_. I hate thee deadly and I seeke thy life: +What other reason, Pembrook, wouldst thou have? +Prepare, prepare, in this conflict to show +Thou art a knight and canst o'recome thy foe. + +_Pem_. And if I spare thee not, impute the cause +To thine owne rashnes and mine aking wounds. + + _Fight, and hurt eche other; both fall downe as dead_. + +_Ferd_. I hope I have slayne thee. + +_Pem_. Oh I feare thy life. +How fares my Ferdinand? + +_Ferd_. What? liv'st thou yet? +Then my fare is ill. + +_Pem_. I am markt for death, +I feele a generall fayntnesse through my lymmes; +Expence of bloud will soone expend my life. + +_Ferd_. The like debility my joynts doe feele. + +_Pem_. Then we must both dye. In the latest of death +Tell me, oh tell me, whence proceeds this hate? + +_Ferd_. I feare not (Pembrooke) to discover now. +Thou wert my Spokes-man unto Katherine +And treacherously thou stol'st away her heart. +Oh I can say no more, my spirits doe faynt: +Pembrooke, farewell; I have reveng'd my wrong. + +_Pem_. O yet a little longer, gracious time, +Detayne his princely spirit in his brest +That I may tell him he is misse-inform'd +And purge my selfe unto my dying friend. +But death hath layd his num-cold hand upon me: +I am arrested to depart this life. +Deare Ferdinand, although thou be my death, +On thee Ile friendly breathe my latest breath. + + _Enter Forrester_. + +_For_. How full of pleasure is this Forrest life! +My Parke I liken to a Common wealth +In which my Bucks and Does are Citizens; +The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sent +Sentence of life or death as please the King; +Onely our government's a tyranny[135] +In that wee kill our subjects upon sport. +But stay; what Gentlemen do heere lye slayne? +If any sparke of life doe yet remayne +Ile helpe to fanne it with a nymble hand. +The organ of his hand doth play apace; +He is not so far spent but that with helpe +He may recover to his former state. +How is the other? I doe feel soft breath +Breake from between his lips. Oh for some ayd +To beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge, +But as I am Ile try my utmost strength +To save their lives. First seene shall be the first: +Patience and Ile returne and fetch the other. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Fisherman_. + +_Fisher_. My angle-rod is broke, my sport is done, +But I will fetch my net to catch some fish; +To lose both fish and pleasure is too much. +Oh what contentment lives there in the brooke! +What pretty traines are made by cunning hands +To intrap the wily watry Citizens[136]! +But what art thou that lyest on the ground? +Sleepst thou or art thou slaine? hath breath his last? +No sparke of life appeares, yet from his eye +Me thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth, +Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse. +If there be any hope to save his life +Ile try my utmost cunning. To my house, +Poore Gentleman, Ile beare thee as a ghest, +And eyther cure thy wounds or make thy grave. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Forrester, missing the other taken away, + speaks anything, and exit_. + + _Enter Clowne and Katharine_. + +_Clow_. Just in this circle I left the two Princes ready to draw; for I +read the whole discourse of the Combate in their red eyes. + +_Kath_. Heere lye their weapons and heere flowes their bloud. + +_Clow_. Have they not slayne one another and buryed themselves? + +_Kath_. Peace, foole; [i]t is too sure that they are slayne. + +_Clow_. O Lord, then let mee turne my selfe into a Ballad and mourne +for them? + +_Kath_. Thou angrest me with jesting at my sorrow. +Hence from my sight! my heart is full of griefe +And it will breake, the burthen is so great. + +_Clow_. Goe from your sight? then let me goe out of your company, +for I had as leeve leave your sight as your company. Is this my reward +for watching and watching? Oh, Mistris, doe not kill mee with +unkindnesse[137]: I shall, I shall-- + +_Kath_. What shall you? + +_Clow_. Weepe out mine eyes and fill the holes with salt water. + +_Kath_. I prythee leave me; I am not displeasd, +But fayne would vent my sorrowe from my heart. +Hold, take my purse, spend that and leave my presence. +Goe everywhere; enquire my Pembrooke out, +And if thou bringst me to his breathlesse truncke +I will reward thee with a treble gift. + +_Clow_. Well, I were best bee going, now I am so fayrely offred. +Mistris, your reward hath stopt my eares and entic'de my legs to be +walking. Farewell, I will goe, God knows whither, to seeke and to finde +both and neyther. Farewell, sweet Mistris. [_Exit_. + +_Kath_. O Pembrooke, let me kneele unto thy bloud: +And yet I know not whether't be thy bloud, +Save that my soule by a divine instinct +Tells me it is the treasure of thy veynes. +If thou beest dead, thou mirrour of all men, +I vow to dye with thee: this field, this grove, +Shall be my receptacle till my last; +My pillow shall be made a banke of mosse, +And what I drinke the silver brooke shall yeeld. +No other campe nor Court will Katharine have +Till fates do limit her a common grave. + + + +[SCENE 3.] + + + _Enter Fraunce, Navar, Philip, Flaunders, Thomasin, and attendants_. + +_Nav_. Our daughter fled? when? whither? which way? how? + +_Tho_. I know not. + +_Phil_. Bellamira, my lives joy! +Upon those pinnyons that support her flight +Hovers my heart; you beare away my soule. +Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frame +Essentiall power, which for thine absence dyes. +Thou art the sweet of sweets, the joy of joyes; +For thee was Philip borne. O turne agayne, +And Philip is the blessedest of men. + +_Lew_. We are glad she's gone though we dissemble it. +--Sonne, bridle this affection, cease these laments: +She did not value them. + +_Nav_. Lewis, she did, +Till savage hate that shape disfigured. + +_Phil_. O she was worthy to be Queene of heaven; +Her beauty, e're it suffred violence, +Was like the Sunne in his Meridian Throne, +Too splendent for weake eyes to gaze upon. +She was too bright before, till being hid +Under that envious cloud, it took the place +Of a darke ground to show a lovelyer face. +That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beauty +And she did guild her imperfections o're +With vertue, which no foule calumnious breath +Could ever soyle: true vertues dye is such +That malice cannot stayne nor envy tuch. +Then say not but her worth surmounts these woes. + +_Nav_. She griev'd to tye you to a hated bed +And therefore followed Burbon for revenge. + +_Phil_. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball sound +Is like a thunderclap to Philips eares, +Frighting my very soule. Sure you said Burbon, +And to that prodegie you joynd revenge, +Revenge that like a shaddow followes him. +'Twas he that made me bankrout of all blisse, +Sude the divorce of that pure white and red +Which deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks: +And shall he scape unpunisht? + +_Lew_. Joyne your hands +And all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke. + +_Phil_. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hate +On Burbon injures me; I am his foe, +And none but I will work his overthrow. + +_Lew_. What meanes our sonne? + +_Phil_. To hunt him for revenge. +The darkest angle of this universe +Shall not contayne him: through the bounded world +Ile prosecute his flight with ceaslesse steps, +And when long travell makes them dull or faynt, +Bayting[138] them fresh with Bellamiraes wrongs, +Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen ayre +And in an instant bring me where he is. + +_Lew_. Where goes our sonne? + +_Phil_. To hell, so that in that kingdome +Fate would assertayne me to meet with Burbon. +Where ever I confront him, this shall kill him. + +_Nav_. Thou shalt have ayd to compasse thy revenge. + +_Phil_. No ayd but this strong arme. Farewell, farewell! +Since Bellamira hath forsooke her friend, +I seeke destruction (Burbon) and mine ende. [_Exit_. + +_Lew_. Stay him: this fury will betray thy life. + +_Nav_. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters losse! + +_Lew_. Poore king made wretched by thy desperat sonne! + + _Enter Messenger_. + +_Mess_. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some teares +To dew the obsequies of your dead sonne. + +_Nav_. What? Ferdinand? + +_Mess_. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes hands +And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. +Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodies +By some uncivill hands convayed away, +And no inquiry can discover them. + +_Nav_. Our sonne slaine? Bellamira poysoned? +Navarre, teare off these hayres and raging die. + + _Enter Rodoricke_. + +_Lew_. More Tragedies at hand? what newes brings Rodoricke? + +_Rod_. Such as will make the hearers sencelesse truncks. +Why doth your highnes in your foe-mens tents +Revell away the time and yield your person +To the knowne malice of your enemies, +Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lust +Graspes your fayre daughter to dishonour her? + +_Lew_. Our daughter? + +_Rod_. She is slily stolen from thence, +Yet none knows whither save one Sentinell, +Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady +Exclaime false Ferdinand would ravish her. + +_Lew_. That was my child, dishonor'd by thy sonne. + +_Nav_. You wrong him, France. + +_Lew_. Thou hast betrayed us, king, +And traynd us to a loathed festivall, +The mariage of thy staynd and leprous child, +Whilst in our absence Ferdinand unjust +Hath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust. + +_Flaun_. If you remember, he & English Pembroke +Last day forsooke your Campe as discontent. + +_Lew_. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set malice +He came to view our Campe, how he might act +That deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe. + +_Nav_. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenst +This deed of death on Pembrook & our son, +And now, to cover it, suggest and fayne +Our guiltlesse sonne a guilty ravisher. +But render me their bodies. + +_Lew_. Where's our Child? + +_Nav_. Seeke her. + +_Lew_. Seeke Ferdinand. + +_Nav_. Fraunce! + +_Lew_. Petty king, +For this our wrong looke to be underling. + +_Nav_. What Drum is this? + +_Lew_. Are we intrapt, Navar? + +_Rod_. Feare not. On yonder hill, whose lofty head +Orelookes the under-valleyes, Royall Burbon, +Attended by ten thousand Souldiers, +Craves peace and faire accord with mighty Fraunce. + +_Nav_. Burbon that was the ruyne of my Child! +Summon our forces straight and charge the slave. + +_Lew_. What meanes the king of Fraunce? + +_Rod_. To joyne with him. + +_Nav_. What? with a Traytor and a murtherer? + +_Lew_. He did a deed of merit and of fame, +Poysoned the Sister of a ravisher, +A Tarquin, an incestuous Tereus, +And our poore Child the wronged Philomell. +Arayne our Battailes straight and joyne with Burbon. + +_Nav_. Heare what wee'le urge. + +_Lew_. Speake then in warre and death: +In other termes our rage will spend no breath. + +_Nav_. And we will speake so lowd that heaven it selfe +Shall echo with the clangor. Both our children +Weele race from our remembrance, and advance +No other thought but how to plague proud France. +Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall set +In the vast kingdome of Oceanus, +In a pitcht field weele meet the king of Fraunce +And that false traytor Duke. + +_Lew_. Navar, thou dar'st not. + +_Nav_. Now by Saynt Denis and our Grandsire's tombe +Weele meet thee. + +_Lew_. Welcome. O bring valiant men, +Weel think on nought but graves & tombs till then. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Rod_. Ha, ha! I laugh to see these kings at jarr. +How civill discord, like a raging floud +Swelling above her banks, shall drowne this land +Whilst Rodoricke on her ruines builds his hopes. +The king of Fraunce, through my suggestion, +Thinks Katherine his daughter ravished, +Who onely, winged with love, is fled the Campe. +Pembrooke and Ferdinand, in mutual strife, +Slayne by eche other doth confirme my words +And for revenge whets keene the two Kings swords. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Pembrooke armde and the Forrester_. + +_Pem_. I thank thee, Forrester, whose rough grown walks, +Wild in aspect, afford more courtesy +Then places smoother for civility. +My life, redeemd by thy industrious hand, +Remaynes in love and duty bound to thee. + +_For_. Fayre Knight, prevention of sad death by health +More joyes my soule then thanks or rich reward. +But is your armour easy? sits it well? + +_Pem_. I never in my life was better fitted. +This should be that unlucky fatall place +Where causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand. +Behold the grasse: a purple register +Still blusheth in remembrance of our fight. +Why wither not these trees, those herbs and plants? +And every neighbour branch droup out their grief? +Poore soules, they do, and have wept out their sap. +Yet I have paid no duety to my friend. +Where is the Tombe I wild you to erect? + +_For_. See, valiant knight, proportiond and set up +As well as my poore skill would suffer mee: +And heere his picture hangs. + +_Pem_. You have done well: +Yon hand I see's a perfect Architect +In sorrowes building. Once more let suffice +I quite your painfull travell but with thanks. +Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vow +To spend the remnant of my haples dayes. +No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this way +Before his tongue acknowledge _Ferdinand_ +The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friend +The world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher, +As yet but naked and ungarnished, +E're many dayes hang richer with the spoyles +And vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengers +Then was the Romans wealthy Capitoll. +So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayers +In my assistance: that is all I crave. + +_For_. The God of power give power unto your arme +That you may prove victorious-fortunate. + +_Pem_. Farewell, kind host. + [_Exit Forester_. + And now let me embrace +This empty Monument of my lost friend. +Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bones +How blest should _Pembrooke_ be! but they are torne +By the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy mawe +Is made an unfit grave to bury him. +But, if (without offence) I may desire it, +I wish his soule from Paradise may see +How well his name is kept in memorie. +These eyes that saw him bleed have wept for him, +This heart devisde his harme hath sigh'd for him, +And now this hand, that with ungentle force +Depryv'd his life, shall with repentant service +Make treble satisfaction to his soule. +Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer me +So long uncombatted: I prythee send +Some stubborne knight, some passenger, +Whose stout controuling stomack will refuse +To yield to my prescription but by force. +I hate this idle rest of precious time. + + _Enter Kathar_. + +How now? derid'st thou my devotion, goddesse, +Thou sendst a woman to incounter me? +Henceforth Ile hold thee for a fayned name +And no disposer of my Christian hopes. +But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis she +Was unjust cause of all my misery. + +_Kath_. Long have I wandred with unquiet mind +To find my Pembrook. That they fought, I heare; +That they were wounded both to death, I heare; +But whether cu'rde or dead I cannot heare, +Nor lives there any (if deceasde) can tell +Within what place their bodies are interr'd. +Since therefore all my travell is in vayne, +Here will I take a truce with former care. +This cursed nook was that unlucky plot +Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my love. +What knight is this? Ile question him: perhaps +He can resolve me where my Pembrooke is. +--Joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state. + +_Pem_. Your wishes come too late. What seeke you, +Madam? + +_Kath_. Tell me, sir knight, for so you seeme to be, +Know you this dismall place you do frequent? +Or have you heard of that unhappy fight +Was here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe? + +_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since +And to my grief knew both the gentlemen. + +_Kath_. But can you tell me if they live or no, +Or, dead, what hand hath given them buryall? + +_Pem_. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead: +The one of them, to whom I was allyed +And neerely knit in friendship from my youth, +By me lyes buried heere: a braver knight +And truer Lover never breathd in Fraunce. + +_Kath_. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for him +You have erected this fayre monument, +Perpetuall honour I will do your state. + +_Pem_. Not only, Madam, have I built this tombe +In his memoriall, but my selfe have sworne +Continuall residence within this wood; +And for the love I bare him weare these armes +That whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other, +Making his journey this way and refusing +To do knights homage to my breathlesse friend, +By this assayling steele may be compeld. + +_Kath_. Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov'd +To dignifie my Pembrooke's high deserts. + +_Pem_. You did not heare me say 'twas Pembrook, Madam. +What is become of him I do not know +Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend +And first inkindled this dissensious brawle. +This buryed here is noble Ferdinand, +His fathers comfort and his Countryes hope. +Oh, Madam, had you seene him as I did, +Begirt with wounds that like so many mouthes +Seem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow, +And had before bin inward with his vertues; +To thinke that nature should indure such wracke +And at one time so many precious gifts +Perish by death, would have dissolv'd your heart. +He was the very pride of fortitude, +The house of vertue, and true friendship's mirrour. +Looke on his picture: in the armes of death +When he was ready to give up the ghost, +I causde it to be drawne. If at that time, +In that extremity of bitter pangs, +He lookt so lovely, had so fresh a colour, +So quick a moving eye, so red a lip, +What was his beauty when he was in health? +See with what courage he indur'd the combat, +Smiling at death for all his tyranny. +Had death bin ought but what he was, sterne death, +He would have bin enamour'd with his looks. + +_Kath_.--A certayne soft remorce +Creeps to my heart, perswades me he was true, +Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkind +Coyly to scorne the proffer of his mind. + +_Pem_. O that in Justice of her former hate +She now would hopelesse doat on Ferdinand. +Ile do the best I can to bring her on: +Despaire and madnesse fetch her off againe.-- +Madam, how say you? wast not a grevious thing +So rich a Jem should lye rak't up in dust, +So sweet a flower be withred in his prime? + +_Kath_. Death was a villayne for attempting it +And so was Pembrooke for effecting it. +No bloudy Scythian or inhumane Turke +But would ha trembled to ha toucht his skin +Or spilt one drop of his Heroick bloud. + +_Pem_. Had not that Lady then an yron heart, +A rude ingratefull mind, a savadge spirit, +That knew this vertuous honourable Knight, +This gracious shape and unmatchd excellence, +To be intangled with her fervent love, +To serve her in all loyalty of heart, +To reverence and adore her very name, +To be content to kisse the lowly earth +Where she did set her foot; and when he sued +For grace, to scorne him, to deride his sighes, +And hold his teares and torment in contempt? +Of all that ever liv'd deserv'd she not +The worlds reproch and times perpetuall blot? + +_Kath_. Heard you him ever speak of such a one? + +_Pem_. Oft times, but chiefly then when he perceyv'd +His hurt was mortall and no way but death, +At every grone he cald upon her name +As if that sound were present remedy; +And when insulting death drew short his breath +And now was ready to close up his eyes, +Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrine +My soule fly thou to beautious Katharine. + +_Kath_. That ruthlesse mind, that iron savage heart, +So greatly loved and so little loving, +Breathes in this brest; 'twas I returnd disdaine +For deepe affection, scorne for loyalty, +And now compassionlesse shall pine my selfe. +Oh, Ferdinand, forgive me, Ferdinand: +Injoyne me any penance for that wrong, +Say I shall tread a tedious pilgrimage +To furtherest Palestine, and I will do it. +But peace, fond woman! these exclaimes are vaine: +Thy Ferdinand is dead and cannot heare, +As thou wast sometimes deafe and wouldst not heare. + +_Pem_. A just reward.--Come, Madam, have you done? +Give me the picture I may hang it up. + +_Kath_. Oh take it not away: since I have lost +The substance, suffer me to keep the shaddow. +Me thinks, so long as this is in my hand, +I claspe my Ferdinand between mine armes; +So long as I behold this lively forme, +So long am I refreshed by his smiles, +So long, me thinks, I heare him speak to me. +Knew I the Paynter drew this counterfeyt +I would reward him with a mynt of gold. + +_Pem_. If such a pleasure you receyve by this, +I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly have +His whole proportion cut in Alabaster, +Armd as he was when he encountred here, +Which kneeling shall be set upon his tombe. + +_Kath_. On that condition I will gather flowers +And once a day come straw them at his feet, +And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanks +To you the furtherer of my happinesse: +Till then I place the picture where it was. + + _Enter Clowne and Bellamira_. + +_Clow_. Come on, Madam; me thinks now a maske would do well. But I +perceyve your drift, I smell your policy; you think a bold face hath no +need of a black mask. Shall I tell you what you look like? A broyld +herring or a tortur'de Image made of playster worke. + +_Bel_. So, sirra, you may scoffe my misery. + +_Pem_. Still haunted with these women! are men vanisht? +Or what occasion leaves the Realme of Fraunce +So voyd and empty of adventurous knights? + +_Clow_. Out of peradventure, Madam, the ghost of Saint George is come +out of England to see what hospitality S. Denis keeps in Fraunce. + +_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, I lament thy state +But I must still suppresse my discontent. +--What are you, so deformed with lothsome spots? +And what that Anticke keeps you company? + +_Clow_. Anticke; thou lyest: and thou wert a knight of ginger-bread I am +no Anticke. The whole parish where I was borne will sweare that since +the raigne of Charlemain there was not a better face bred or brought up +amongst them. + +_Pem_. Away, ye russeting-- + +_Kath_. Have patience, Knight: how ever thus deform'd, +This Lady is the daughter of Navar. +Madam, it joyes me I have met you heere +Though much laments me of your heavy plight. +There needs no repetition of your wrong: +I know the villayne Burbon did the deed, +Whom my incensed brother will revenge. + +_Bel_. For Philips sake I have been martyrd thus, +And for his sake left King and Courtly life +To entertayne a Pilgrims payneful habit. +But on what strange adventure stayes this Knight +Within this desolate forsaken wood? + +_Kath_. For love of Ferdinand your princely brother +Whose hearse he gards in honorable Armes. + +_Bel_. Is this my brothers Hearse; is this the place +Where I was shipwrackt of a brothers name? +Oh let me spend a loving sigh for him +And sacrifice a sisters holy rites. +For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace +Untill thy body glorified from heaven +Become immortal by thy soules returne. + +_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, how I pity thee, +Yet must forbeare to comfort thy distresse. + +_Clow_. Is my yong Lord buried here? I say no more, but I pray God send +him a joyful insurrection. + +_Kat_. Inough, sweet Bellamira. +These leprous spots tis time they were remov'd. +Come, goe with me: since I left Aquitayne +And came acquaynted with these private walks, +It was my happy chance to meet an Hermit +Whose skill in Phisike warrants present cure +And pure refining of your poysoned bloud. +Ile bring you thither: afterward select +Delicious sweets to decke your brothers tombe. +Come, sirra, follow us. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Clow_. Doe not think, Madam, that Ile forsake you. And so, sir, you +that walk in pewter vessayle, like one of the worthyes, will you be +rul'd by me? + +_Pem_. Wherein? + +_Clow_. To set a gyn for Woodcocks & catch your selfe first. + [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. Hence, beetle-head. And, Pembrook, now bethink +How great a tyde of miseries breakes in. +First, thou art taxed with the losse of him +Whom equall with thy selfe thou holdest Deare; +Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, +Whose absence Philip carefully laments; +Then trecherous Burbon joynes himselfe with Fraunce +And both the Kings are angerly incenst; +But last, which is some comfort to the rest, +Disdaynfull Katharine wastes with fruiteless love: +Would all so minded like mishap might prove. +But by this signall there are knights at hand: +I must provide their valours to withstand. + + _Enter Fraunce, Burbon, Rodoricke, Peter de Lions, at + one dore; at the other Navar, Flaunders, Dicke + Bowyer and Souldiers: Pembrooke betweene them_. + +_Pem_. Stay your intended march. + +_Lew_. What Peere of France +Or in the world, so haughty-resolute, +Dare breathe the word of "stay" to mighty Fraunce? + +_Nav_. Or what art thou presum'st to stay my course? + +_Pem_. A knight I am and to adventures bound: +This monument erected for my friend +By me is garded. If you meane to passe, +You must do homage or else fight with me. + +_Lew_. Homage of me! Know I am King of France +And in subjection to no earthly powers. + +_Nav_. Thou knowst not what thou sayst to challenge us +Of any such inferiour priviledge. +What homage is it thou requir'st of us? + +_Pem_. First to acknowledge him lyes buried here +The faythfulst Lover and most valyant Knight +That in this time drew sword or manag'd horse. + +_Bow_. And what was he? Ascapart[139] or your countreyman Gargantua, +that stuft every button of his coate with a load of hay? 'S hart, wee +have met a fellow here's all mouth, hee speakes nothing but Monarch. +Doest thou heare, King? give me leave to incounter this puckfist,[140] +and if I doe not make him cry _Peccavi_ say Dicke Bowyer's a powdered +Mackrell. + +_Pet_. My bloud beginnes to boyle; I could be pleasd +To have this fellow by the eares but that +Theres many of my betters heere in place. + +_Fland_. King of Navarre, let Flanders cope with him. + +_Burb_. Imperiall France, give Burbon leave to try +The hazzard of a combat with this Boaster. + +_Pem_. Dispatch, Navarre: one of you come forth +To enterchange a warlike blow or two. + +_Lew_. First let us know what penalty thou setst +Upon thy selfe if thou be vanquished. + +_Pem_. A recantation of my former wordes, +A servitude to him that conquers me; +But who soever is by me subdued +Must leave his Shield to beautifie this shrine. + +_Bur_. Let not, Navar, my Lord, rob us of honor. +Say Burbon first shall breake a Launce with him. + +_Rod_. Ascribe that priviledge, my Lord, to mee; +And Roderick will have death or victory. + +_Lew_. No, noble Roderick; Burbon shall begin, +And as he speedes we will imploy your power. + +_Pem_. Provide thee, Burbon, Ile not favour thee. + +_Bur_. Be sure Ile shew thee like hostility. + +_Lew_. Hold, the advantage is [up]on thy side; +The Duke of Burbon shal hang up his shield. + +_Pem_. Ide rather have his life then al your shelds. +Who is next? + +_Bow_. Zounds, I think he has a patten to take up all the shields ith +countrey. Hang me, if thou wantst worke heeres for Navar, the earle of +Pembrok and Cavaliero Bowier. [_Fight_.] A thousand pound to a Taylors +bodkin this fellow has a familiar; but howsomever, thou mayst thank my +lame legge. Theres my shield. + +_Lew_. Now, Roderick, betake you to your taske. [_Fight_. + +_Rodor_. My fortune's answerable to the rest. + +_Lew_. Since all miscarrie, Fraunce will put his chaunce +Upon the hazzard of the Dice for once. + +_Pem_. You are an Honorable foe, my Lord: [_Fight_. +By law of Armes you must hang up your shield. + +_Lew_. I yeld to law and thy approved valour. +King of Navar, will onely you sit out? + +_Nav_. No, king of Fraunce: my bloud's as hot as thine +And this my weapon shall confirme my words. [_Fight_. + +_Bow_. Navar, downe too! 'S hart this fellow hath the tricke of it. If +he be not a witch or some Devill let me be slickt into a Carbinado.[141] + +_Nav_. Thou sonne of Chivalrie, let me now intreate +To know his name for whome thou reapst this honor, +Or what he was whose bodie's heere interde? + +_Pem_. A valiant Knight, his name yong Ferdinand, +Slayne by misfortune of a friendly hand. + +_Nav_. Is it my sonne thou makst thy valours prise +And striv[e]st to eternize with thy sword? +Let me embrace thee. Not alone my shield, +But I will leave my heart upon his shrine. +My dearest Ferdinand, I would my sighes +Or sad lamenting teares might have the power +Like Balme to quicken thy benummed joynts: +Then would I drowne this marble e're I went +And heat it hote with vapour of my breath. + +_Lew_. Navar, this now may testify thy wrong +In false accusing me for his remove. + +_Nav_. Thou maist be guilty still for ought I know; +For though I find him dead I find not yet +The Tragick manner of his haples end. +Thou mayst as well have murdred Ferdinand +As favour him hath poysond Bellamira. + +_Lew_. Injurious king, it was base Ferdinand, +On whom just heavens have shown just vengeance heere, +Ravisht my Katharine and convayed her hence +Where I shall never more behold her face. + +_Nav_. Tis false, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords. + +_Lew_. Tis true, and wee'le mayntain it with our swords. + +_Pem_. By heaven, the toung prophanes the sacred name +Of Ferdinand with any villany, +Ile cut it out or stop his throate with bloud +And so dam in his blasphemous upbraydes. + +_Nav_. Content thee, knight; Ile ease thee of that labor. +To morrow is expir'd the time of truce: +Fraunce, on with thy Battalions to the plaine +Thou wast prepar'd before to pitch upon. +Ile meet thee there. + +_Lew_. And I will meet with thee. +Sound Drums and Trumpets: honord knight, farewell: +Who shall survive next morn strange newes shall tel. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Pem_. Thus heady rage, blind in her rash resolve, +Drew Ferdinand and mee into the field +As now it doth these hot incensed kings. +Wer't not my vowes prohibit my desire, +To stay the inconvenience of this fight, +I would discover where their Daughters are, +To shew the error they are shrouded in: +But Time hath run a desperate course with mee +And desperate let them runne to misery. +Here comes a Straggler of their Army. Stand! + + _Enter Philip_. + +_Phil_. What voice is that presumes to byd me stand? + +_Pem_. His that can force thee if thou wilt not stand. + +_Phil_. By this bright ayre reflected on my sword, +If the whole army of Navar had said +As much to Philip, yet he would not stand. +And thou but one, how dar'st thou prefer it, +Knowing how sharp a Spurre doth pricke me on, +The death of Burbon for my Bellamire? + +_Pem_. Hang up thy shield, as other knights have done, +Upon the Hearse of noble Ferdinand, +And thou mayest freely passe without controule. + +_Phil_. The Hearse of Ferdinand! I honor him: +He was the brother of my dearest Love. +What's this I see? my fathers batterd shield. +The shield of Fraunce! of Flaunders! Burbons too? +It can not then impeach or prejudice +The name of Philip to consort with such, +Especially being done for Ferdinand. +There is my shield, and, Knight, but for my haste, +I would expostulate of other things: +But, after traytrous Burbon I have slayne, +Knight, looke for me, Ile visit thee agayne. +Now, Rodorick, keepe thy word, and I am blest, +But if thou fayle Ile forward with the rest. [_Exit_. + +_Pem_. Successful action sit upon thy sword![142] +This net of sorrowes, I perceyve, intangles +Not only Pembrooke but the Court of France; +Navar and his associats are all toucht. +Time looke upon us and at last determine +These heart-dissevering tumults with a peace. + + _Enter Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. Since, Ferdinand, by gracious providence +Thou art recovered of thy mortall wounds, +With the new life thy body is revivde +Revive the ancient passions of thy mind. +Think on thy friend, on Pembrook take remorse, +Whose honord life thy hasty hand cut off. +This is the place, as I remember mee. +Whats heere? a Tombe? who hath prevented me +In my religious duty to my friend? +Yon Knight, I doubt not, can resolve me. + +_Pem_. What art thou? stand! + +_Ferd_. A Knight, and fayne would know +What sacred monument and Tombe this is. + +_Pem_. His, whilst he liv'd, that of the worlds increase +Was the most loyall friend and valiant Knight; +Which thou must likewise ratifie with me +And hang thy shield up to adorne his Hearse +Or venture Combate for denying it. + +_Ferd_. His name, I pray thee. + +_Pem_. Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_.--What's he +Acquainted with my name? belike some one +Lov'd Pembroke, and supposing (wrongfully) +Me slaine by him, to satisfie for that +Observes this honor in my memory. +Be not thou, Ferdinand, ingratefull then, +But stand for Pembroke as this Knight for thee. + +_Pem_. What answer givest thou? shal I homage have? + +_Ferd_. Not for his sake thou nam'st, not for Ferdinand. +There liv'd a Knight exceld his petty fame +As far as costly Pearle the coursest Pebble,-- +An English Knight cald Pembroke: were his bones +Interred heere, I would confesse of him +Much more than thou requir'st, and be content +To hang both shield and sword upon his Hearse. + +_Pem_. How comes this stranger by my name? Belike +He was affected unto Ferdinand, +And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong) +Covets to make amends, or meanes to prove +If I imbrace him with unfayned love. +He shall not doubt of that.--Once more I say +Twas Ferdinand was the renowned Knight +Of all the world. + +_Ferd_. But I deny that saying, +Giving to Pembroke that preeminence. + +_Pem_. For Ferdinand my valour will I try. + +_Ferd_. In Pembrooks valour I will fight and die. + + [_Discover eche other in fighting_. + +_Pem_. Eyther I dreame or this is Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. My sight deludes me or stout Pembroke lyves. + +_Pem_. Thrice happy hour[143]! I do embrace my friend. + +_Ferd_. Welcome, oh welcome, Pembrok, to myne armes, +Whom I imagined death had tane from me. + +_Pem_. The like did I by Princely Ferdinand, +But that he lives my soule confounds with joy. + +_Ferd_. Tell me, deare friend, since our unlucky fight +Have you heard ought of my disdainfull Love? + +_Pem_. Of her and all the rest. Her Father lives: +This is his shield and this is great Navars, +This Rodoricks, [this] the Duke of Orleance, +And this malicious Burbons: all the which +I forc't from them to beautifie thy shrine. +But tis of Katharine thou desir'st to heare: +She likewise hath bin here; her flinty heart, +So much before inclined to cruelty, +Now waxeth tender: she no sooner saw +Thy picture here, but by heavens providence, +Or how I know not, she so doats on it +As I supposde she would a dyed for love. + +_Ferd_. Has then my shaddow and supposed death +Brought that to passe my living substance could not? + +_Pem_. It hath, and never Lady more enamour'd +Then now is Katharine of her Ferdinand. +I told her, and no more then truth I told, +A cunning Carver had cut out thy shape. +And whole proportion in white alablaster, +Which I intended here should be set up. +She earnestly entreated she might have +A sight of it and dayly be permitted +To deck thy tombe and statue with sweet flowers: +Shee's but even now departed to that end, +And will (I know) be quickly here agayne. +Now, for assurance I dissemble not, +Instead of thy resemblance cut in stone +Kneele here, thyself, and heare her pitious mone. + +_Ferd_. Content! I hold your counsell for the best; +Weele once conclude our sorrowes with a jest. + +_Pem_. Soft there's a cushen: nay, and you must be bare +And hold your hands up, as the maner is. + +_Ferd_. What if I held a book as if I pray'd? + +_Pem_. Twere best of all; and, now I think upon' +Here is a booke: so, keepe your countenance; +You must imagine now you are transformed. +Yonder she comes; in any case stir not. + + _Enter Katharine_. + +_Kath_. I feare I have detracted time too long +In my determinde service to my Love; +But Ile redeeme my fault with double care. +See where his statue is set up: kind knight, +For ever Katharine will record thy truth. + +_Pem_. How say you, Madam; ist not very like him! + +_Kath_. As like as if it were himselfe indeed. +And would to God my prayers might be heard, +That, as the image of Pigmalion once, +Life might descend into this sencelesse stone: +But that was faynd, as my desire is fond; +Relentlesse Death withholds my Ferdinand, +And no intreaty may recover him. +In token, then, I do repent my scorne +That I was cruell to so kind a friend, +Thou, the presenter of his absent person, +Receive these sweets; thy temples be adornd +With this fresh garland; thy white ivory hand +Boast of this ring, which, if thou wert alive, +Should bind our faythes up in a nuptiall knot: +But, for thou canst not be reviv'd agayne, +He dwell with thee in death, and, as my spirit +Mounts to the happy mansion of thy spirit, +So, to accompany thy shaddow here, +Ile turne my body to a shaddow, too, +And, kneeling thus, confront thy silent lookes +With my sad looks. This is the Instrument: +Now, Ferdinand, behold thy Katharine comes. + +_Ferd_. And she is welcome unto Ferdinand. + +_Pem_. Ile play the dark for both and say Amen. +Nay, muse not, madam: tis no sencelesse Image, +But the true essence of your wished Love. + +_Kath_. I am asham'd to looke him in the face. + +_Ferd_. Hide not those splendant lights: hereafter be +A constant wife; it shall suffice for me. + +_Kath_. Heaven cast her off if Katharine prove not so. + +_Pem_. Of that no more: now let us haste from hence +To quiet the dissension lately sprung +Betweene your parents. Philip, likewise gone +To be reveng'd on Burbons trechery, +Perhaps may stand in need of friendly ayd. +To him and them our vowes must next be payd. + +_Ferd_. What Pembrook counsels we consent unto. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + +[SCENE 1.] + + + _Enter Rodoricke and Philip_. + +_Rod_. Now whilest our Armies wearied with the heat +That the bright sunne casts from his midday throne, +Abstayne from bloudy intercourse of war, +He lead thee, Philip, unto Burbons Tent. + +_Phil_. Rodoricke, thou highly favourest me in this +And doubt not, if my complot take effect, +Ile make thee Duke of Burbon. + + _Enter Lewes, Flaunders, and Burbon_. + +_Rod_. Stay your speach; +Heere comes King Lewis. + +_Phil_. They can not know me, I am so disguisde. + +_Bur_. Follow my counsayle and immediately +Begin the Battayle. + +_Lew_. Why, the heat's [so] great +It burnes [us] in our Armour as we march. + +_Flaun_. It burnes the enemy as well as wee. + +_Bur_. It warmes our Souldiers spirits and makes them fire, +I had rather dye then, when my bloud is hot, +Be awde by counsell till it freeze like Ice: +He is no Souldier that for feare of heat +Will suffer victory to fly the field. + +_Rod_. My Lord of Burbon, ye are more hot then wise. + +_Bur_. Rodorick, me thinkes you are very peremptory. + +_Rod_. It is in zeale of the generall good. +Go to your Tent, refresh your unscorcht[144] lymmes; +There draw your battels modell, and as soone +As the coole winds have fand the burning Sunne +And made it tractable for travaylers, +Arme you and mount upon your barbed Steed, +Lead foorth your Souldiers and in good array +Charge bravely on the Army of our foe. + +_Lew_. The Duke of Orleance hath counseld well. +Ile in and recreate me in my tent. +Farewell, my Lord: when you resolve to fight, +Proclayme your meaning by a Canons mouth +And with a volley I will answere you. + + [_Exeunt Lewes and Flauuders_. + +_Bur_. If you will needs retyre, farewell, my Lord. +Ha, Rodoricke, are not we fine Polyticians +That have so quaintly wrought the king of Fraunce +Unto our faction that he threatens warre +Against the almost reconcilde Navar? + +_Rod_. But this is nothing to the actes weele do. +Come, come, my Lord, you trifle time with words: +Sit downe, sit downe, and make your warlike plot.-- +But wherefore stand these murderous Glaves so nye? + +_Phil_.--Touch them not, Roderick; prythee let them stand. + +_Bur_. Some paper, pen, and incke. + + _Enter Peter_. + +_Pet_. My Lord. + +_Bur_. Post to the Master Gunner +And bid him plant his demy culverings +Against the kings pavilion. + +_Peter_. Presently. + +_Bur_. But first bring pen and incke and paper straight. + + [_Peter sets pen, ink, &c., before Burbon, and exit_[145] + +Rodoricke, thou shalt assist mee in this plot. + +_Rod_. Do it your selfe, my Lord; I have a charge +Of souldiers that are very mutinous, +And long I dare not stay for feare my absence +Be cause of their revolt unto Navar. + +_Bur_. Then to your Souldiers: I will to my plot. + +_Phil_.--Away, my Lord, leave me unto the Duke. + +_Rod_.--Kill you the Duke (and after Ile kill thee). + [_Exit Rod_. + +_Bur_. This pen is stabbed and it will not write: +The incke that's in the standage[146] doth looke blacke, +This in my pen is turnd as red as bloud. + +_Phil_. The reason that the platforme[147] you would make +Must by this hand be written with thy bloud. + +_Bur_. Zounds, what art thou that threatens Burbon so? + +_Phil_. One that's as desperat-carelesse of his life +As thou art timorous and fearst to dye. + +_Bur_. Comest thou to kill me? + +_Phil_. If I should say no, +This weapon would condemne me, which I seyz'd +Of purpose, Burbon, to bereave thy life. + +_Bur_. Why, fond man, mad man, know'st thou what thou doest? + +_Phil_. I know it, Burbon, and I know besides +What thou wouldst say to daunt my resolution. + +_Bur_. What would I say? + +_Phil_. Why, that this place is death, +As being thy Tent, environ'd with thy slaves, +Where if I kill thee tis impossible +To scape with life: this, Burbon, thou wouldst say. +But Philip is not be mov'd with words. + +_Bur_. Philip! + +_Phil_. I, Philip, Bellamiraes Love, +Whose beauty, villayne, thou hast poysoned; +For which I have vow'd thy death, and thou shall dye. +Therefore betake you to what fence you will; +Amongst this bundle chuse one weapon forth +And like a worthy Duke prepare thy selfe +In knightly manner to defend thy life; +For I will fight with thee and kill thee, too, +Or thou shalt give an end unto my life. +But if thou call unto thy slaves for helpe, +Burbon, my sword shall nayle thee to the wall. +And thinke Prince Philip is a Prince indeed +To give thee this advantage for thy life. + +_Bur_. Boy, I will scourge your insolence with death. + +_Phil_. Come on. _Fight, and kill Burbon_. + +_Bur_. Oh, I am slayne. + + [_Enter Rodorick_.] + +_Rod_. Murder! murder! Burbon the Duke is slayne! + +_Phil_. Peace, Roderick, I am Philip thy deare friend. + +_Rod_. Thou art a counterfet, I know thee not. + +_Phil_. Didst not thou guide me unto Burbons Tent? + +_Rod_. I guide thee to the Tent? I know thee not. +What! murder! ho! will no man heare my voyce? + + _Enter Peter and 2 or 3 souldiers_. + +_Pet_. Yes, here are those [that] can heare well ynough. +Where is the murdered and the murderer? + +_Rod_. Peter, behold thy masters breathlesse truncke, +And there's Prince Philip that hath murdered him. + +_Pet_. To avoyd prolixity Ile kill him; yet first give me leave to +weepe for my master. + +_Rod_. First seyze the murderer and after weepe. + +_Phil_. He that first ventures to attach my life +Let him be sure he hath a life to spare, +For I will send one breathlesse to the grave. + +_Pet_. You that have nyne lives assault the gentleman. + +_Rod_. What, peasants! dare you not attach the slave? +Ile rayse the whole Campe but Ile apprehend him. +Alarum, drummes! Souldiers, incircle him, +And eyther apprehend or slay the wretch. + + _Enter Pembrooke and Ferdinand_. + +_Pem_. Tis princely Philip. Helpe to rescue him. + +_Rod_. What slaves are these that dare oppose themselves +In rescue of a murderer 'gainst an Host? + +_Ferd_. Such as will make thee, Roderick, fly for life. + +_Pet_. Zounds, men are mortall; to avoyd prolixity, +My lord of Orleance, your best course is flying, +And therein I will be your follower. + +_Rod_. Fly before three, and be thus strong? 'Twere madnesse. + +_Pem_. We trifle time; let's drive them from the Tent. + + _Alarum and drive away Peter and Rodoricke_. + +_Pem_. Live, worthy Philip; Pembrooke bids thee live, +That did suspect this complot at the tombe +When in the honour of Prince Ferdinand +You did resigne your shield. + +_Phil_. Th[e] Earle of Pembrooke! + +_Ferd_. And Ferdinand that loves thee as his soule. + +_Phil_. Two lives I owe my starres beside mine owne +In sending me two friends of such import. +Durst you adventure thorow the enemies Campe +And put your lives in danger to save mine? + +_Pem_. The rumour of the Duke of Burbons death +Hath so possest the Campe with admiration +That they regardlesse suffer all to passe. +Only this Roderick wakens them a little, +But cannot weane them from their wondring minds. + +_Phil_. That Roderick is a perfect villayne turn'd; +For though he guided me unto his Tent +And gave his liking that the Duke should dye, +Yet how the villayne cryed to murder me! +But come: in this confusion let's be gone, +Tis dangerous to abide in Burbons Tent. +Rodoricke, thou art the next must taste of death; +That taske once done, we shall with little payne +Our angry fathers reconcile agayne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +[SCENE 2.] + + + _Alarum. Enter Navar, Bowyer, Nod, Core, Souldiers, + [with] drum and colours_. + +_Nav_. The Alarum sounded in the enemies Campe; +Now for Navar and Fame stand to it, sirs. + +_Bow_. Hart, stand to it? heere's some of us knowes how to runne away +and they be put to it. Though wee have left our brave Generall, the +Earle of Pembrooke, yet here's Cavaliero Bowyer, Core and Nod, by Jesu, +sound cards: and Mahound and Termagant[148] come against us, weele fight +with them. Couragio, my hearts! S. George for the honour of England! + +_Nav_. The adverse part comes on; fight gallantly. + + _Enter Fraunce, Flaunders and Souldiers, with Drum and Colours_. + +_Lew_. Is false Navar so thirsty to drinke bloud +That he must joyne the Squadron of his troops +Before the signall of the battel's given? +Belike you thought to take us unpreparde. +No, king: our wrong hangs like a watch before us, +And makes us nomber every short-lyvd minute +Till your lives answere for our Daughters death. +Charge, brave spirits! Saint Denis now for Fraunce! + +_Nav_. Saint Denis for Navar! Alarum, Drums! + + _Alarum: they fight, Fraunce put to the worst; enter Rodorike + and Peter; the fight continued, and Navar driven in_. + +_Lew_. Navar and his weake forces make retire; +Pursue them, Sirs, the victorie is ours. + +_Rod_. Be like starv'd Lions 'mongst a heard of Beasts, +Ruthelesse and bloudy; slaughter[149] all you meete +Till proud Navar be slayn or kisse your feet. +Saint Denis! and cry murder through the host! + + _Alarum. Enter Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip_. + +_Pem_. He that steps forward with a murdring thought, +Marries him selfe to death. Fraunce, cease the fight: +They are Frenchmen you pursue, Frenchmen you should save: +Dig not for Traytors love your subjects graves. + +_Lew_. What franticke knights are those that dare oppose +Their single force against our multitudes? + +_Phil_. Those that wish you and Fraunce bright fames encrease, +So you would chase hence war and welcome peace. + +_Rod_. That was the Traytor that slew royall Burbon. + +_Pet_. Downe with the villaynes. + +_Rod_. Souldiers, seyze on him +And then pursue Navar with sudden death. + +_Ferd_. Ere the least hayre fall from his kingly head, +Rodorick, thy base trunck shall be butchered. + +_Pem_. Will you accept of peace? + +_Lew_. Follow Navar! + +_Pet_. Downe with that murderer! + +_Fer_. Zounds, then, in spight +Weele save Navar and chase you hence in fight. + +_All_. Ha, ha! + +_Pem_. Nay, smile not; though our number's few +Our great hearts tell us we shall conquere you. +Alarum and S. George! + + _Alarum: they fight. Enter Navar and his forces, + Fraunce chaste away_. + +_Nav_. Fraunce and his daunted forces gives us ground. +Charge, charge agayne, and we are Conquerours. + +_Phil_. Stand or ne're stirre agayne. + +_Nav_. What meane these knights? + +_Pem_. To stop your passage this way, great Navar. +I charge thee by the duty of a king, +Thy love to Justice and thy subjects lives, +You sound retreat and make a peace with Fraunce. + +_Nav_. A peace! and have the vantage of the day! + +_Bow_. That's a tricke by Jesu to mocke an Ape: wee'le none of that. + +_Nav_. Wee'le have no peace but what our swords can make. +Follow the chase. + +_Phil_. Are you growne insolent? +For one light puffe of fortune proves it so? +Nay, then our swords turn to your overthrow. + + _Alarum: they fight and drive in Navar_. + +_Fer_. That was my father that you fought against. + +_Phil_. You did as much to mine. + +_Pem_. Princes, agree: +Force cannot end this war, but policy. +Therefore disperse your selves, and let our Squires +With Trumpets in their mouthes sound lowd retreat +Where you perceive the fight most violent. +The strangenesse of which act will straight amaze; +When they shall heare both peace and war denounc'd, +And one selfe instant, they will soone retire +To know the issue. Princes, fall to worke, +Tis worke of charity; 'twould doe me good +If we could end this battell without bloud. + +_Fer_. I hope we shall: farewell, Ile to my charge. + +_Pem_. The like will Pembrooke. + +_Phil_. Philip is not last: +Yet, though I seeke the safety of my friends, +Rodorick shall lose his bloud e're this fight ends. + + _Alarum; excursions. Enter Peter leading Thomasin_. + +_Pet_. Struggle not, strive not; your sweete heart Bowyer cannot save +you. Without prolixity you must goe with mee. + +_Tho_. Helpe, helpe. + +_Pet_. And the God of warre come in thy defence my humour is to kill him. +Come away. + + _Enter Bowyer_. + +_Bow_. By Jesu, and you go this way you must pay custom. Zounds, you +pick-hatch[150] Cavaliero petticote-monger, can you find time to be +catching _Thomasin_? come, deliver, or by Zenacrib & the life of +king Charlimayne, Ile thrash your coxcombe as they doe hennes at +Shrovetyde[151]. No, will you not doe, you Tan-fat? Zounds, then have +at you. + + _They fight, Bowyer hath the wench, rescued by Fraunce, + recovered by Navar. Philip meetes Rodorick, rescued by + Peter. Retreat is sounded, the enemies begin to retire, + Rodorick chased by Philip. Enter at severall doores, + after retreate sounded, Pembrooke and Ferdinand_. + +_Ferd_. Are the Kings severd? will they bow to peace? + +_Pemb_. Peace is a welcome ghest unto their hearts, +But Rodoricke (like a greedy envious churle +Fearing to spend his wealth) still keeps them backe. +Tis he exasperates the Princes hate, +And when our Trumpets call them to retyre +He with warres clangor sets them on agayne. +Unless he be remoov'd our labour's lost. + +_Ferd_. It shall not, for Ile seek him through the Host +And with this sword pare off the Traytors head. + +_Pem_. Doe, and Ile scoure these ranks: if Pembroks eye +Encounters his, he meets his Tragedy. + + _Alarum. Enter Philip pursuing Rodoricke_. + +_Phil_. Stay, warlike friends, and ayd me in revenge. + +_Ferd_. That is Rodoricke. + +_Pem_. Heere's the Traytor, strike him downe. + +_Phil_. Who lifts his arme at him strikes at my brest. + +_Rod_. Why have you thus ring'd me about with swords? + +_Phil_. To shew thee thou must dye. + +_Rod_. What have I done +That thus you labour my destruction? + +_Pem_. Thou wer't a party in all Burbons wrongs. + +_Ferd_. Falsely term'd Ferdinand a Ravisher. + +_Pem_. Set discord 'twixt these kings. + +_Phil_. Practised my death. + +_Pem_. Villayne for this our swords shall stop thy breath. + +_Ferd_. Stand not to argue, let's all runne at him. + +_Phil_. Now as you love my love or prize mine honour, +Touch not the Traytor; he is Philips foe, +And none but I must work his overthrow. +Thrice in the battell he was rescued from me, +But now hee's fallen into the Lyons paw +From whence the whole world cannot ransome him. +Preservers of my life, heroick friends, +Be you my safety; keepe the souldyers off, +Whilst in the midst by fayre and equall fight +I send this Traytor to eternal night. + +_Ferd_. By heaven agreed. + +_Pem_. Heere Pembrooke takes his stand: +Come Fraunce and all the world, I will not start +Till Philips knightly sword pierce Rodoricks hart. + +_Rod_. Accurst, I am betrayd, incompast round; +Now lyfe and hope and state must kisse the ground. + +_Phil_. Rodorick, thou seest, all wayes are stopt to flie; +Be desperat then, fight bravely, and so die. + + _Alarum: they fight. Enter to Pembrooke Navar, + Bowyer, and Souldiers: to Ferdinand Fraunce, + Flaunders, and Souldiers: they fight and keepe + them backe. Rodoricke would scape; still kept in + the midst, and kild by Philip_. + +_Phil_. Now are his trecheries repaid with death. +Philip and Pembrooke, sound your retreats +With better hope; in him all hatred ends: +The kings will now love peace and soone be friends. + + _Exeunt. Enter Peter wounded, Bowyer following_. + +_Bow_. Zounds, never runne for the matter; a scratcht face can not serve +your turne, we must have bloudy noses. Stand on your gard; and I do not +make haggasse puddings of your guttes, Ile never dominier in the long +Alleyes agayne. + +_Pet_. Cymnel, Ile crack you for this. Ile teach you to deale with Peter +de Lions, and that without prolixitie. + +_Bow_. Do; have at you in earnest. S. George, you rogue! + + _Alarum; fight. Bowyer kills him_. + +_Bow_. So, there's for your prolixities, there's for Thomasin. The +Thornbackly slave! and he were made of anything but gristles, I am a +pumpian. 'Shart he had no mettle in him; yet how the villayne +crak't[152] and dominierd when he was living: ah, sirra, never gryn for +the matter, tis Captayne Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetst the +great Devill, commend me to him and say I sent him thee for a new years +gift. And there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a blood-sucker and as +notable a coward as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house, he carryes my +marke about him. If Dicke Bowyer be not writ a bountifull benefactor in +hell for my good deeds in sending thither such Cannibals, I am a rabbit +sucker[153]: yet I scorne to vaunt of my deeds, too. They sound a +retreat. Farewell, Peter, and learne hereafter what it is to be rivall +to an English gentleman, Cavaliero Bowyer, one of the nine worthyes. + + _A retreyt. Enter at one dore Fraunce, Flaunders, and + Souldiers: at the other dore Navar, Bowyer and Souldiers_. + +_Lew_. Navar, why have you sounded a retreyt? +Will your proud heart decline and call us lord? + +_Nav_. We thought by the faynt language of your drums +Fraunce would have knowne his errour and beg'd peace. + +_Lew_. Fraunce beg a peace! + +_Nav_. Navar call you his Lord! + +_Flan_. Why did you cease the fight and sound retreat. + +_Bow_. Not we by this beard, not we by the life of Pharo[154]. + +_Nav_. Your Trumpets, guided by your faynting breath, +Dehorted us from war and sounded peace. + +_Lew_. Navar derides us. + +_Nav_. Fraunce, tis you that doo't. + +_Lew_. Sound war and bravely let us once more too't. + + _Enter in the Middest Pembrooke, Ferdinand and Philip_. + +_Pem_. Kings of Navar and Fraunce, why doe you thus +With civill butchery wound this blessed land, +Which like a mother from her melting eyes +Sheds crimson teares to see you enemyes? +Lewes of Fraunce, wherein hath great Navar +Dangerd your state that you should prosecute +War with her largest ruine? how hath Fraunce +Sowed such inveterate hate within your brest +That to confound him you will undergoe +The orphans curse, the widdowes teares and cries +Whose husbands in these warres have lost their lives? +Ere you contend discourse your grievances. + +_Lew_. False Ferdinand, his sonne, ravisht our child. + +_Ferd_. Now by my knighthood, honor, and this gage, +Fraunce, Ile approve you wrong that Ferdinand. + +_Phil_. Who can accuse him? + +_Lew_. That did Rodorick. + +_Pem_. That Traytor for a deed so false, so foule, +Hath answerd it by this even with his soule. + +_Nav_. Our sonne and valours bloome, th[e] English Pembrooke, +By Lewes treachery were butchered. + +_Phil_. Were the whole world joynd in so false a thing, +Alone Ide combat all and cleere the King. + +_Pem_. Fraunce never had designe in their two deaths. + +_Nav_. He leagu'd with Burbon that destroyd my child. + +_Lew_. He poysoned her deservedly. + +_Phil_. That deed of shame +Cut off his life and raced out Burbons name. + +_Lew_. His death shalbe thy death, for thy hand slue him. + +_Nav_. This other in the battell twice to day +Made us retire. Fraunce, shall we joyne in league +Till we have veng'd our malice on these knights? + +_Lew_. Navar, agreed. Souldiers, this kyld your Lords. + +_Nav_. And this our fame. Let's mangle them with swords. + +_Pem_. Take truce a while with rage: heare what we'le urge. +This knight slew Burbon, this inforst you fly; +Therefore you hate them and for hate they die. +Since then true vertue is disfigured, +Desert trod downe, and their heroick worth +In justice doomd on Traytors merits Death, +Behold these two, which thousands could not daunt, +But your ingratitude, on bended knee +Yeeld up their swoords to bide your tyranny. +'Twas he kild Burbon; if you love him dead, +Shew it by paring off this valiant head: +Do you the like. To this revenge apace: +They feare not threats, and scorne to beg for grace. + +_Lew_. And they shall find none. + +_Nav_. Knights, tryumph in death: +We are your headesmen, kings shall stop your breath. + + _They take off their helmets_. + +_Lew_. Philip, my sonne! + +_Nav_. Young Ferdinand my joy! + +_Pem_. Call them not sonnes, whom you would fayne destroy. + +_Nav_. Hold not our age too long in deepe suspect. +Art thou [my] Ferdinand? + +_Lew_. And thou [my] Philip? + +_Ferd_. We are the friendly sonnes of adverse parents, +Your long lost children: though supposed slayne, +We live and come to joy your age agayne. + +_Nav_. Welcome all earthly blisse. + +_Lew_. Welcome, deare child; +Thy presence halfe our sorrow hath exil'd. + +_Pem_. How soon this Scene is changd! those that even now +Were sworne warres servants now to peace do bow: +Then, Pembrooke, strive to make their joys more full. +See, kingly father to that princely sonne, +Pembrooke, the hated murderer of his friend, +Pembrooke, that did devide thee from his sight +And cut so many passages of death +In his indeared bosome, humbly thus +Forgets his honour and from your hye hand +Invokes revenge for wounding Ferdinand. + +_Ferd_. Still he surmounts me in an honour'd love. +Rise, friend, or if thou striv'st to have the world, +In me as in a glasse see a false friend. +Behold, I kneele and here proclayme to all +My friendship's broke but thine substantiall. + +_Nav_. Model of vertue, honord Pembroks Earle, +Rise in as deare regard as Ferdinand. +Oh had I Bellamira once in hold, +Age would turne youth & I should ne're be old. + +_Lew_. Had I my Katharina once agayne +Our joy were then stretcht to the highest strayne: +But she was ravisht and then murthered. + +_Phil_. Beare not that hard opinion: Rodoricks toung +Slaundred that Prince and did his vertue wrong. + +_Pem_. Lewis of Fraunce, heare what an English Earle +Speaks in the front and view of all thy Host. +If ever Ferdinand staynd Katharines honour +I was a party: yet in all your Campe +Who dares step forth and call me ravisher? +No, Fraunce: know Pembroke is an Englishman +Highly deriv'd, yet higher in my thoughts; +And for to register mine acts in brasse, +Which all-devouring time shall ne're race out, +Have I through all the Courts of Christendome +In knightly tryall prov'd my vertue sound, +Raisd England's fame aloft; and shall I now +In her next continent, her neighbour Realme, +Fraunce, on whose bosome I may stand and see +That blessed soyle that bred and fostred me, +Soyle all my late got honour to consent +Unto a royall Princes ravishment? +Ide sooner from a mountayne cast my selfe, +Or from a hungry Lyon teare his prey, +Then dare to act a deed so infamous. + + _Enter Katharina_. + +But words are ayre. Lewis, behold this face: +This prooves our honour cleere from all disgrace. + +_Lew_. My Katharine! + +_Phil_. My deare Sister! + +_Fer_. My fayre Love! + +_Pem_. See, Princes, loves effect: she flies your hand +To live imbrac't with her deare Ferdinand. + +_Lew_. And heaven forbid that we should sunder them. +Navar, reach me thy hand: grym war is fled +And peace shall end the same in a nuptiall bed. +Sonne Philip, ratify your sisters choyce. + +_Phil_. Even with my soule; for ever live you blest. +Oh, Bellamira, had not cursed Burbon +For beauty robd thy cheeks with leprosie, +Hadst then but stayd with me, as is their state, +So had bin mine, happy and fortunate. + + _Enter Clowne attyred like a Gentleman, Bellamira + following with a Scarfe on her face_. + +_Clow_. By your leave, sweet blouds: may a Gentleman or so deceyve two +or three ounces of words in this assembly? + +_Lew_. You may. + +_Clow_. Is there not a young Kings sonne amongst you, who treading the +steps of his father is called Philip. + +_Phil_. I am the man thou seekst. + +_Clow_. Then the old saying is verified, He that seeks shall find. Heere +is a poore kinswoman of mine would desire some private conference with +you, or so. + +_Phil_. With me?--whom see I? Bellamira! + +_Nav_. Daughter! + +_Phil_. Do not deride my woes; speake, speake, I pray. + +_Pem_. Looke not so strange; it is thy lovely Love +Thus manag'd to approve thy constancy. +Embrace her then: and now Navar and Fraunce, +Here end our strife and let all hatred fall +And turne this warre to Hymens festivall. + +_Nav_. This Pembrooks counsell we subscribe unto. + +_Lew_. The like doth Fraunce. Lovers, imbrace your loves +And, Captaines, joyne your bands; mix power with power +And let those swords, which late were drawne for death, +Sleepe in their sheaths. You, worthy Pembrooke[155], +And all your followers, shall receyve our favours +In plenteous largesse. So, set on to Court; +Sound Drums and Trumpets, deafe the ayre with cryes, +And fill eche subjects heart with joyes increase +T'applaud our childrens love and this dayes peace. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] 4tos. _Will_. + +[2] References to the lapwing's subtlety are very common. Cf. Shakesp., +_Measure for Measure_, i. 4, 32, &c. + +[3] An old game at cards; it is supposed to have resembled cribbage. + +[4] "To make ready," meaning "to dress," is a very common expression in +old authors. + +[5] An obvious reference to Queen Elizabeth. + +[6] So Elbow:--"My wife, Sir, whom I _detest_ before heaven and your +honour," &c. (_M. for M_., II. 1). + +[7] Ovid, Metamorph. I. 1. + +[8] People who walk with _mincing_ steps. I have not met the word +elsewhere. (Cf. dancitive, p. 31.) + +[9] A beggar (Ital. besogno) Vid. Dyce's Glossary under "Besonian". + +[10] "Knight of the post" was the name given to those who gained their +living by giving false evidence at law-courts. Nares quotes from Nash's +"Pierce Pennilesse":--"A knight of the post, quoth he, for so I am +tearmed: a fellow that will swear any thing for twelve pence." + +[11] Cf. Lear, iii. 2. _Vaunt-curriors_ to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts. +(First folio.) + +[12] "Division" was a technical term in music for "the running a simple +strain into a great variety of shorter notes to the same modulation" +(Nares). The "plain song" was the simple air without variations. + +[13] Sir Thomas Overbury says, in his character of 'A very woman,' that +'her lightnesse gets her to swim at top of the table, where her wee +little finger bewraies carving'. + +[14] 4tos. Ladies. + +[15] 4tos. Eternesses. + +[16] To do anything with 'a wet finger' is to do it easily. 'It seems +not very improbable that it alluded to the vulgar and very inelegant +custom of wetting the finger to turn over a book with more +ease.'--_Nares_. + +[17] Ov. Metam. I., ll. 322-23. + +[18] Ed. 1606, one; ed. 1636, on. + +[19] The 1606 ed. marks "Exit" Penelope. + +[20] Here Momford retires to the back of the stage, where Clarence is +waiting. The 4tos. mark "Exit." I thought the lines "_Mens est_," etc., +were Horace's, but cannot find them. "Menternque" destroys sense and +metre. An obvious correction would be "et nomen." + +[21] "_Falsus_ honos juvat, _et_ mendax infamia terret + Quem, nisi mendosum et medicandum." + Hor. Ep. l. 16, ll. 39, 40. + +[22] A card that cools a player's courage (I. Hy. VI., v. 3, 1. 83, &c.). + +[23] The "Family of Love" was the name given to a fanatical sect; David +George, of Delph (obiit 1556), was the founder. + +[24] The reference is to the visit of the Marechal de Biron and his +suite in the autumn of 1601. + +[25] 4tos. _Foul_. + +[26] Pick-thatcht, ed. 1606. + +[27] A term in card-playing; to "vie" was to cover a stake. + +[28] The name of a famous bear. Cf. Epigrams by J. D.-- + + "Leaving old Plowden, Dyer and Brooke alone, + To see old Harry Hankes and Sacarson." + +Master Slender ("Merry Wives," I. 1) told Anne Page: "I have seen +Sackarson loose twenty times and have taken him by the chain." + +[29] 4tos. _King_. + +[30] The reference is, I suppose, to Roger Bacon's "Libellus de +retardandis Senectutis accidentibus et de sensibus conservandis. +Oxoniae, 1590." + +[31] Quy. inframed (F.G. Fleay). + +[32] Ed. 1636, "state." + +[33] Ed. 1636 makes sad work of the text here:-- + + "_Merry_ clad in inke, + Is but a _manner_" &c. + +[34] Quy. thridlesse (sc. that cannot be pierced). Mr. Fleay suggests +"rimelesse." + +[35] Ed. 1636 reads "antheame." + +[36] "White-boy" was a common term of endearment for a favourite son. + +[37] Quy., hot. + +[38] i.e., companions. + +[39] Doubtless the writer was thinking of Dogberry's "Comparisons are +odorous." + +[40] A pun is intended. "Cast of merlins" = a flight of merlins (small +hawks); and "cast-of" = cast-off. + +[41] "Foisting-hound." A small lap-dog with an evil smell, "Catellus +graveolens." + +[42] The 'clap-dish' which beggars used to beat in order to attract the +attention of the charitable. + +[43] Both quartos give "all." + +[44] Ovid, Metam., I., 523. + +[45] Ed. 1606: _Antevenit sortem moribus_. + +[46] 4tos. weend. + +[47] "That most lovely and fervid of all imaginative +panegyrics."--Swinburne's "Study of Shakespeare," p. 141. + +[48] "Dr. Dodypoll" is a very rare play, to be found only in the +libraries of wealthy collectors. The copy in the library of the British +Museum is catalogued as "imperfect; wanting Sig. A 2"; but it +corresponds in all respects with Mr. Huth's. Perhaps an "Address to the +Reader," or a "Dedication" was cancelled. + +[49] Before the reader goes further, let him turn to Sonnet xvii. in Mr. +Swinburne's series of "Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets." + +[50] The author was doubtless thinking of _Romeo and Juliet_, iii. 2:-- + + "And when he shall die, + Take him and cut him out in little stars, + And he will make the face of heaven so fine, + That all the world will be in love with night, + And pay no worship to the garish sun." + +[51] 4to. Form. + +[52] 4to. adorning. Possibly there is the same confusion in _Antony and +Cleopatra_, ii. 2:--"And made their bends adornings." + +[53] See notes of the commentators on _Hamlet_, i. 1, 165, "Then no +planets strike." + +[54] See the commentators on _As You Like It_, iii. 2. "I was never so +be-rhymed since Pythagoras's time that I was an Irish rat." A short time +ago the subject of "rhyming rats to death" was discussed anew in "Notes +and Queries." + +[55] Qto. cockfromb in cony. The word "incony" (meaning sweet, delicate) +occurs twice in _Love's Labour Lost_. Its derivation is uncertain. + +[56] 4to. With. + +[57] This word is found in Holland's "Ammianus" and Harrington's +"Epigrams" (see Nares' "Glossary," ed. Halliwell). A similar compound +(of more common occurrence) is "smell-smock." + +[58] The reader will remember the punning lines in 3 _Henry VI_., +v. 1:-- + + "Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, + That taught his son the office of a fowl! + And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd." + +[59] 4to. Wilt it. + +[60] 4to. _Flor_. + +[61] A perfume-ball worn round the neck or carried in the pocket. + +[62] The trials of the Scotch witches in 1590 (for practising to +shipwreck James VI. on his return with his bride from Denmark) were too +horrible to be soon forgotten. + +[63] 4to Ape. + +[64] Quy. cliffe. + +[65] I suspect that we should read-- + + "What rock hath bred this savage-minded man + That such true love in such rare beautie _shuns_?" + +[66] 4to. clime. + +[67] Quy. lead. + +[68] 4to. _Alp_. + +[69] Vide note on vol. I, p. 117. + +[70] The direction in the 4to is "_Enter Flores and Homer_!" + +[71] Vide note [16]. + +[72] 4to. craines. + +[73] Compare _Midsummer Nights Dream_, ii. 1, 15: "And hang a pearl on +every cowslip's ear." + +[74] 4to. where. + +[75] Not marked in the 4to. + +[76] 4to. rake. + +[77] 4to. Sorrowed tired. + +[78] The 4to prints the lines thus:-- + + "Where since he found you not, + He asked of me the place of your abode,-- + And heere I have brought him?" + +In other passages I have restored the metre silently. + +[79] Qto. visition. + +[80] I regret to say that Mr. Fleay was misled by a mistake of mine. In +my first hasty reading of the play I took the long double "s" to be a +double "f": the character is "La Busse." + +[81] Mr. C.H. Herford, to whom I showed the MS., writes as follows:-- +"The first two words make it highly probable that the whole inscription +is, like them, in Italian. In that case the first two Greek letters give +very easily the word 'fidelta' (=_phi, delta_), which combines naturally +with the _nella_. The second part is more difficult, but perhaps not +hopeless. [Greek: fnr] may, perhaps be read _phi ny_ (as Latinised +spelling of [Greek: nu]), _ro_, or finiro. Then, for the 'La B.,' suppose +that the words form, as emblems often do, a rhymed couplet; then 'B.' +would stand for Belta, and naturally fall in with 'la.' The whole would +then read-- + + '_Nella fidelta_, + Finiro la Belta. + +This does not seem to me very excellent Italian, but we need not suppose +the author was necessarily a good scholar; and in that case we might +extract from it the fairly good sense: 'I will make fidelity the end +(the accomplishment) of beauty.'" This explanation seems to me very +satisfactory. + +["'La Bussa' suits my explanation as well as, if not better than 'La +Buffa.' The meaning now is, 'I will end my _task_ faithfully, with an +equivoque on 'I will end _La Busse_, or the play containing him as a +character, faithfully.' There is no shadow of reason for supposing a +rhyme, or for Field's thinking that any reader would interpret La B. by +_la belta_. Moreover no other name but Field's out of the 200 known +names of dramatic writers anterior to 1640, can be found in the letters. +There are other works of Field than those commonly attributed to him +still extant, as will be seen in a forthcoming paper of mine." +--F.G. FLEAY.] + +[82] So the MS., but I suspect that we should read "ruyne," which gives +better sense and better metre. + +[83] The next line, as in many instances, has been cut away at the foot +of the page. + +[84] "The _close contriver_ of all harms."--Macbeth, iii. 5. + +[85] "The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, + And 'gins to pale his _uneffectual fire_."--Hamlet, i. 5. + +[86] "Blacke and blewe," i.e., first as a kitchen-drudge and afterwards +as a personal attendant. Blue was the livery of serving-men. + +[87] It is not always easy to distinguish between final "s" and "e" in +the MS. I printed "blesseing_e_" in the Appendix to vol. II. + +[88] Devices on shields. + +[89] A baser sort of hawk (kestrel). + +[90] A word before or after "thys" seems wanted to complete the line: +"yet, _Richard_, thys;" or, "yet thys disgrace." + +[91] Gervase Markham in the Second Part (cap. vi.) of the "English +Husbandman" gives the following explanation of the term +_plashing_.--"This plashing is a halfe cutting or deviding of the quicke +growth, almost to the outward barke, and then laying it orderly in a +sloape manner, as you see a cunning hedger lay a dead hedge, and then +with the smaller and more plyant branches to wreathe and binde in the +tops, making a fence as strong as a wall, for the root which is more +then halfe cut in sunder, putting forth new branches which runne and +entangle themselves amongst the old stockes, doe so thicken and fortifie +the Hedge that it is against the force of beasts impregnable" (ed. 1635, +pp. 68-9). + +[92] The first five lines of this speech are crossed through in the MS. + +[93] In the MS. "reverend prelats" is crossed out and "preists" written +above. To make sure that the correction was understood, the author or +reviser has written in the left-hand margin, "read preists." + +[94] i.e., star. + +[95] "Brawl" was the name of a dance. + +[96] Old terms in the art of fencing. + +[97] In Halliwell's "Nares" two instances of the transitive use of stoop +("to lower, humiliate") are given, and _both are from Chapman_. + +[98] On the upper stage, a balcony raised a few feet from the ground. +Cf. stage-direction in Day's _Humour out of Breath_, iv. 3. "_Enter +Aspero, like Hortensio, Florimell, and Assistance on the upper stage_." +Later in the same scene: "_They renew Blind mans Buff on the Lower +stage_." See also Dyce's note on Middleton's _Family of Love_, i. 3. + +[99] A correction in the MS. for _Musquett_. + +[100] In the Appendix to Vol. II. I printed "misse"; and so one would +naturally read the word before becoming thoroughly acquainted with the +handwriting. + +[101] The words "so begett" are repeated in the MS. + +[102] i.e. prisons. + +[103] MS. good. + +[104] The expression "Fool's paradise" was common long before Milton +used it. A writer in _Notes and Queries_ (Jan. 7, 1882) gives instances +of its occurrence in Udall's "Apophthegmes of Erasmus," 1542. I have met +it in Bullein's "Dialogue against the Fever Pestilence," 1564. + +[105] For the spelling cf., Vol. ii. pp. 139 (l. 14), 179 (l. 12). +"Diety" for "deity" is not uncommon in print as well as MS.; cf., +Saltonstall's translation of Ovid's "Ars Amoris," 1639, p. 14:-- + + "Oft pray'd she to the gods, but all in vaine, + To appease their _Dieties_ with blood of beasts thus slaine." + +[106] In the MS. these lines are scored through. + +[107] The juxtaposition of this anagram with the preceding motto (which +did not appear in the Appendix to Vol. ii.) strongly confirms my +interpretation of La B. as _la bussa_; for the anagram is a kind of +paraphrase on the motto, and should be read doubly in this way: +Nataniele Field, il fabro, Nella fidelta finiro la Bussa. I, Nathaniel +Field, the author will finish the work (_terminat auctor opus_) +faithfully (i.e., at the time appointed, _terminat hora diem_). +--F.G. Fleay. + +["Terminat hora" &c. or some similar tag, is frequently found at the end +of old plays. I cannot see that Mr. Fleay's interpretation is strongly +confirmed,--or affected at all,--by the presence of the motto.] + +[108] See Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 220:--"Lent unto Thomas +Downton the 4 of maye 1602 to bye a boocke of harye Cheattell and Mr. +Smyth called the Love partes frenship the some of" ... ... + +[109] _King John_, i. 2.--"And now instead of bullets _wrapt in fire_." + +[110] Another form of the apologetical expression "save-reverence." + +[111] i.e. cheated, cozened. + +[112] An echo from "King John," I. 2:-- + + "And now instead of _bullets wrapt in fire_ + To make a shaking fever of your walls," &c. + +[113] A common proverbial expression. The dish is the wooden "clap-dish" +on which beggars clattered to attract attention. + +[114] I should prefer "true heart his loyalty"--for the metre's sake. + +[115] 4to. staffe. + +[116] 4to. strayne. + +[117] 4to. his passions. + +[118] "A corrupt oath, the origin of which is obscure and not worth +inquiring."--Nares. + +[119] The author certainly had in his mind Falstaff's puns on the names +of the recruits, Mouldy, Shadow, &c. (ii. _Henry IV_. iii. 2). + +[120] An extemporal play by the famous Richard Tarleton. The "plat" is +preserved at Dulwich College. See Collier's "Hist. of Dramatic Poetry," +iii. 394 (first edition). + +[121] So the 4to, but I should prefer "So I have discharg'd myselfe of +these hot-shots." The term "hot-shot" seems to have been originally +applied to sharp-shooters. + +[122] i.e., maid: an East-Anglian usage of the word "mother." See +Forby's "Vocabulary of East Anglia." "Mauther" is the commoner form +(found in Ben Jonson and others), but "mother" occurs in Chettle and +Day's _Blind Beggar_ and elsewhere. + +[123] I find this expression of feminine impatience in Dekker's _Honest +Whore_ (Dramatic Works, ii. 26):--"_Marry muffe_, sir, are you growne so +dainty!" + +[124] Let me understand you. The expression is of constant occurrence. + +[125] A term of contempt like "pilchard" and "poor John." "Haberdine" +was the name for an inferior kind of cod used for salting. + +[126] So Pistol, "A foutre for the world, and worldlings base!" +"A foutre for thine office!" ii. _Henry IV_. v. 3. + +[127] Verjuice was made by pounding crab-apples. + +[128] Kite. + +[129] Dingy. "Russet" or "russeting" was the name of the coarse brown +dress worn by shepherds. + +[130] In _Henry V_., iv. 1, Pistol accosts the king with "Che vous la?" +according to the first folio. Modern editors correct the intentional +blunder. + +[131] To "outface with a card of ten" was just what we mean by +"browbeat." The expression (which is very common) was no doubt drawn +from the game of primero. + +[132] Old spelling of "pumpkin." + +[133] The officer of lowest rank (now called "lance corporal"). + +[134] _Quart d'ecu_. + +[135] Cf. Day's _Ile of Guls_, ii. 2:-- + + "But forresters, like images, set forth + The tyrannie of greatness without pittie." + +Everybody remembers Jaques' moralising in _As You Like It_, ii. 1. + +[136] Cf. Day's _Humour out of Breath_, I. 2:--"Deceive the _watry +subjects_." + +[137] To "kill with kindness" was a proverbial saying. + +[138] A falconer's term: to flap the wings when preparing for flight. + +[139] A giant who was conquered by Sir Bevis of Southampton. See notes +of the commentators on _2 Henry VI_., ii. 3: "Therefore, Peter, have at +thee with a downright blow, as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart." + +[140] i.e., a vain boaster. "Puckfist" is the fungus commonly known as +"puff-ball." + +[141] "Carbonade. A carbonado, a _rasher on the coals_."--COTGRAVE. + +[142] Cf. _Antony and Cleopatra_, i. 3:-- + + "Upon your sword sit laurel victory." + +The form of expression is common. Cf. _Knight of Malta_, iv. 2 +(Fletcher's portion):-- + + "Art thou a knight? did ever on that sword + The Christian cause sit nobly?" + +I make this note because I find Mr. G.C. Macaulay, in his interesting +"Study of Francis Beaumont," choosing the words, "Victory sits on his +sword" (_Maid's Tragedy_, i. 1), as one of the "special passages which +suggest imitation, conscious or unconscious," of Shakespeare. + +[143] 4to. honord. The correction (which would occur to most readers) is +made by Dyce on the fly-leaf of his copy in the Dyce and Forster +Library. + +[144] If we retain "unscorcht" we must suppose the construction to be +proleptic. But quy. "sun-scorcht." + +[145] The stage-direction is my own. + +[146] Ink-stand (more commonly "standish"). + +[147] Plan, design. Cf. _Arden of Feversham_, ii. 1. "And I will lay the +_platform_ of his death." + +[148] "Termagant" or "Trivigant" is often coupled with "Mahound." Cf. +"Faery Queene," vi. 7. (47):-- + + "And oftentimes by Termagant and Mahound swore." + +Our ancestors were not accustomed to draw fine distinctions. They +regarded Mohammedans as heathens, and Termagant and Mahound as false +gods. + +[149] 4to. Ruthelesse and bloudy slaughters. + +[150] "Pickt-hatch" was a notorious brothel in or near Turnbull Street. + +[151] See Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes," p. 212 (ed. 1801). + +[152] Swaggered, crowed. + +[153] i.e. sucking rabbit. So Falstaff,--"Hang me up by the heels for +a _rabbit sucker_" (I _Henry IV_., ii. 4). + +[154] A variation of Bobadil's oath "By the foot of Pharaoh." + +[155] For the sake of the metre I should like to read "You, Pembrooke, +worthy knight." + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Old English Plays, +Vol. III, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 10734.txt or 10734.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/7/3/10734/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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