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Title: A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 3

Editor: A. H. Bullen

Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #10734]

Most recently updated: December 20, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG Distributed Proofreaders

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOLUME 3 ***

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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I have not been able to give in the present volume the unpublished play of Heywood's to which I referred in the Preface to Vol.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."

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Table of Contents

A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS; VOL. III

CONTENTS:

PREFACE.

INTRODUCTION TO SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE.

SCAENA 2.

SCAENA TERTIA.

SCENA QUARTA.

[SCENE 2.]

(SCENE 2.)

(SCENE 3.)

[SCENE 2.]

FINIS.

INTRODUCTION TO DOCTOR DODYPOLL.

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 4.]

[SCENE 5.]

[SCENE 2.]

(SCENE 3.)

[SCENE 4]

[SCENE 2.]

INTRODUCTION TO THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 4.]

INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF THE TRYALL OF CHEVALRY.

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 2.]

[SCENE 3.]

[SCENE 2.]

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE