A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS; VOL. III

In Four Volumes

Edited by

A. H. BULLEN

1882-1889. 

CONTENTS:

PrefaceSir Gyles GoosecappeThe Wisdome of Dr. DodypollThe Distracted EmperorThe Tryall of ChevalryFootnotes

PREFACE. 

I have not been able to give in the present volume the unpublished playof Heywood's to which I referred in the Preface to Vol. I. When I cameto 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 thefourth volume. 

One of the plays here presented to the reader is printed for the firsttime, and the others have not been reprinted. I desire to thank ALFREDHENRY HUTH, Esq. , for the loan of books from his magnificent collection. It is pleasant to acknowledge an obligation when the favour has beenbestowed courteously and ungrudgingly. To my friend F. G. FLEAY, Esq. , Icannnot adequately express my gratitude for the great trouble that hehas taken in reading all the proof-sheets, and for his many valuablesuggestions. Portions of the former volume were not seen by him in theproof, and to this cause must be attributed the presence of some slightbut annoying misprints. One serious fault, not a misprint, occurs in thefirst scene of the first Act of _Barnavelt's Tragedy_ (p. 213). In themargin 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 andenclosed in brackets. I was merely drawing Mr. FLEAY'S attention to thesimilarity of expression between Milton's words and the playwright's;but by some unlucky chance my marginal pencilling was imported into thetext. I now implore the reader to expunge the line. On p. 116, l. 12 (inthe 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 speakershould 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 arerecognised though erroneous forms, and instances of their occurrencewill 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 anonymouslyin 1606. There is no known dramatic writer of that date to whom it couldbe assigned with any great degree of probability. The comic portionshows clearly the influence of Ben Jonson, and there is much to remindone of Lyly's court-comedies. In the serious scenes the philosophisingand moralising, at one time expressed in language of inarticulateobscurity and at another attaining clear and dignified utterance, suggest a study of Chapman. The unknown writer might have taken as hismotto a passage in the dedication of Ovid's _Banquet of Sense_:--"Obscurity in affection of words and indigested conceits is pedanticaland childish; but where it shroudeth itself in the heart of his subject, uttered with fitness of figure and expressive epithets, with thatdarkness will I still labour to be shrouded. " Chapman's _GentlemanUsher_ was published in the same year as _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; and Iventure to think that in a passage of Act III. , Scene II. , our authorhad in his mind the exquisite scene between the wounded Strozza and hiswife Cynanche. In Strozza's discourse on the joys of marriage occurthese 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 anycapable reader. I cannot think that by mere accident the anonymouswriter 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 clearthat _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ was written not later than 1603. The lines Ihave 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 butsomewhat 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 "fallentissemita vitae"; who was more at home in Academic cloisters than in thecrowded highways of the world. None of the characters bears anyimpression of having been drawn from actual life. The plot is of thethinnest possible texture; but the fire of verbal quibbles is kept upwith lively ingenuity, and plenty of merriment may be drawn from thehumours of the affectate traveller and the foolish knight by all who arenot

 "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 thethoughtful Clarence is a pleasing study, planned and executed with agrave, sweet sincerity. It is not improbable that Clarence was theprototype of Charles in Fletcher's _Elder Brother_. The finest passagein the present play, where Clarence's modesty and Monford's nobility areportrayed in language of touching charm, was selected by Charles Lamb(whose judgment was never at fault) for quotation in the "Extracts fromthe Garrick Plays. "

A second edition of _Sir Gyles Goosecappe_ was issued, after theauthor's death, in 1636; and the following dedication was appended byHugh 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, andyour much Honor'd Father, have put such an obligation upon me, as I havebin long cogitateing how to expresse myselfe by the requitall of somepart of them; Now this Play having diverse yeeres since beene thrustinto the world to seeke its owne entertainment, without so much as anepistle, or under the Shelter of any generous spirit, is now almostbecome worne out of memory: and comming to be press'd to the publiqueview againe, it having none to speake for it (the _Author_ being dead) Iam bold to recommend the same to your Worships protection, I know yourstudies are more propense to more serious subjects, yet vouchsafe, Ibeseech you, to recreate your selfe with this at some vacant time whenyour 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 cannever hit of theis same English City howses, tho I were borne here: if Iwere 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 leanesttrenchers that ever I waited on. 

_Will_. A plague on them _Iack_; they leave us no fees at all, for ourattendance. I thinke they use to set their bones in silver they pickthem so cleane. --See, see, see, _Iack_, whats that. 

_Iack_. A my word (_Will_) tis the great _Baboone_, that was to be seenin _Southwarke_. 

_Will_. Is this he? Gods my life what beastes were we, that we wood notsee him all this while, never trust me if he looke not somewhat like aman: see how pretely he holds the torche in one of his forefeete: whereshis 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 redcheeckt 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 havepardon'd you, but since you speake and not parley, I will cudgell yebetter 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 ourorder 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; whosevalours within here at super with the Countes _Eugenia_, whose proppereaters 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 soheauylie, that he will make their hartes ake I warrant him. CaptaineFowleweather? 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 doesso 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 Iknow how he came to be a Captain, and to have his Surname ofCommendations. 

_Ia_. How I preethee _Will_?

_Will_. Why Sir he served the great Lady Kingcob and was yeoman of herwardroppe, & because a cood brush up her silkes lustely, she thought hewould 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 CaptaineCommendations?

_Will_. Right. 

_Bul_. I, Sir right, but if he had not said right, my Captaine shouldhave 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 othersSir _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 chiefehouse 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 outof London I assure you. 

_Will_. I, but, Sir, these must come into it before they come out ont Ihope; but what countriman is Sir _Cutt Rudesby_?

_Bul_. A Northern man, or a Westernman I take him, but my Captaine is theEmphaticall man; and by that pretty word Emphaticall you shall partlyknow him: for tis a very forcible word in troth, and yet he forces ittoo much by his favour; mary no more then he does all the rest of hiswordes; with whose multiplicity often times he travailes himselfe outof 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) inhis mouth, for his onely one reason for everything is, because we areall mortall; and therefore he is generally cald the mortall Knight; thenhath he another pretty phrase too, and that is, he will "tickle thevanity ant" still in everything; and this is your _Summa totalis_ ofboth their virtues. 

_Ia_. Tis enough, tis enough, as long as they have land enough, but nowmuster your third person afore us I beseech you. 

_Bul_. The third person and second Knight, blunt Sir _Cutt Rudesby_, isindeed blunt at a sharpe wit, and sharpe at a blunt wit; a good bustlingGallant, talkes well at Rovers; he is two parts souldier; as slovenlieas a Switzer, and somewhat like one in face too; for he weares a bushbeard, will dead a Cannan shot better then a wool-packe: he will comeinto the presence like yor _Frenchman_ in foule bootes, and dares eatGarlike as a preparative to his Courtship. You shall know more of himhereafter; but, good wags, let me winne you now for the Geographicallparts 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 mostworthy Lady, and indeede can doe more than a thousand other Ladies candoe I can tell you. 

_Bul_. What's that I pray thee?

_Ia_. Mary Sir, he meanes she can doe more than sleepe, and eate, anddrinke; 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; sheis wise and vertuous. 

_Ia_. Nay she has one strange quality for a woman besides, tho these bestrange enough that he has rekoned. 

_Bul_. For Gods sake whats that?

_Ia_. She can love reasonable constantly, for she loved her husbandonly, 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, andhalfe 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 thatloude hir with such passion, and admiration that he never thought hecould be so blessed as to enjoy her in full marriage, till the ministerwas marrying them; and even then when he was saying I _Charles_ takethee _Hippolita_ with extreame joy, he began to looke pale, then goingforwards saying, to my wedded wife, he lookt paler, and, thenpronouncing, for richer for poorer as long as we both shall live, helookt extreame pale. Now, sir, when she comes to speake her parte, andsaid, I _Hippolyta_ take thee _Charles_, he began to faint for joy, thensaying 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, shouldpronounce the worst, and for his sake too, he suncke down right, anddied sodenly: And thus being halfe married, and her halfe husband wholydead, I hope I may with discretion affirme her, halfe a maide, halfe awife, and halfe a widdowe: do ye conceive me Sir?

_Bul_. O Lord Sir, I devoure you quicke; and now Sir I beseech you openunto me your tother Lady, what is shee?

_Will_. Ile answere for her, because I know her Ladiship to be a perfectmaide 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 hirforehead, and slip over her nose?

_Will_. No Sir no, by a rule that will not slip so I warrant you, whichfor her honours sake I will let slip unto you. Gods so _Iack_, I thinkethey have supt. 

_Ia_. Bir Lady we have waited well the while. 

_Will_. Well though they have lost their attendance, let not us lose oursupper, _Iack_. 

_Ia_. I doe not meane it; come Sir you shall goe in, and drinke with usyfaith. 

_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 youto have made so short a supper?

_Goos_. In truth Sir _Cutt_. We might have tickled the vanity ant anhowre longer, if my watch be trustible. 

_Foul_. I but how should theis beauties know that Sir _Gyles_? yourwatch is mortall, and may erre. 

_Go_. Thats sooth Captaine, but doe you heare honest friend, pray take alight, and see if the moone shine, I have a Sunne Diall will resoluepresently. 

_Fo_. Howsoever beleeve it, Ladies, tis unwholesome, uncourtly, unpleasant to eate hastely, and rise sodainly; a man can shew nodiscourse, no witt, no stirring, no variety, no pretty conceits, to makethe meate goe downe emphatically. 

_Eu_. _Wynnefred_. 

_Wyn_. Madam. 

_Eu_. I prethee goe to my uncle the Lord _Monford_, and intreat him tocome 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 afulsome Aire comes into this Chamber; in good faith Madame you mustkeepe your House in better reparations, this same _Fowlweather_ beatsin 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 ileindite your La. To supper at my lodging one of these mornings; and thatere long too, because we are all mortall you know. 

_Eu_, Light the Lady _Penelope_, and the Lady _Hippolyta_ to theirChambers; good night faire Ladies. 

_Hip_. Good night, Madam; I wish you may sleep well after your lightsupper. 

_Eug_, I warrant you, Lady, I shall never be troubled with dreaming ofmy _French_ Suter. [_Exeunt_. 

_Ru_. Why how now my _Frenchified_ captain _Fowlweather_? by Cods luddthy Surname is never thought upon here, I perceive heeres nobody givesthee 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 souncivill, and fulsome? they say they weare fowle smockes, and coursesmockes; 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 sowhite, 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 intheir 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 sweetin entertainment, that when you shall have cause to descourse orsometimes to come neerer them; if your breath be ill, your teeth ill, orany thing about you ill, why they will presently breake with ye, inkinde sort, good termes, pretty experiments, and tell you plaine this;thus it is with your breath, Sir, thus it is with your teeth, Sir, thisis 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 isfamiliar, 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 thusmovde. 

_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, introth our Ladies are a little too coy, and subtill, Captaine, indeed. 

_Foul_. Subtill, sir _Gyles Goosecappe_? I assure your soule, they areas subtill with their suters, or loves, as the latine Dialect, where thenominative Case, and the Verbe, the Substantive, and the Adjective, theVerbe, and the [ad]Verbe, stand as far a sunder, as if they were perfectstrangers one to another, and you shall hardly find them out; but thenlearne to Conster, and perse them, and you shall find them prepared andacquainted, and agree together in Case, gender, and number. 

_Goos_. I detest[6], Sir _Cutt_, I did not thinke he had bin halfe thequintessence 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 truelyemphaticall: 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 knownot what it is my selfe, but yet I never thought it was fatt, Ile besworne to thee. 

_Foul_. Why if any true Courtly dame had had but this new fashionedsute, to entertaine anything indifferently stuffed, why you should havehad her more respective by farre. 

_Rud_. Nay, theres some reason for that, Captaine, me thinks a truewoman should perpetually doate upon a new fashion. 

_Foul_. Why y'are i'thright sir _Cutt. In nova fert animus mutatasdicere formas_[7]. Tis the mind of man, and woman to affect newfashions; 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 carenot; would I might never excell a dutch Skipper in Courtship, if I didnot put distaste into my cariage of purpose; I knew I should not pleasethem. _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 hisLacquay, I assure you. 

_Goos_. See heere he comes, and my Ladies two pages, they have beentickling the vanity ont yfaith. 

SCAENA TERTIA. 

 _Enter to them Iack, Bullaker, Will_. 

_Ia_. Captaine _Fowleweather_, my Lady the Countes _Eugenia_ commendsher most kindly to you, and is determined to morrowe morning earely, ifit be a frost, to take her Coach to Barnet to bee nipt; where if itplease you, to meete her, and accompany her homewarde, joyning your witwith the frost, and helpe to nip her, She does not doubt but tho you hada 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 respectedthee not, and now I perceive the widow is in love with thee. 

_Foul_. Sblood, Knight, I knew I had strucke her to the quicke, Iwondred shee departed in that extravagant fashion: I am sure I past one_Passado_ of Courtship upon her, that has hertofore made a lane amongstthe _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 twoKnights too; & desire your worships wood meete them at Barnet ithmorning 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, butif 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 ithmorning, 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 beoutborne with a wager, in that I know: I am sure it was foure yeeresagon ten miles thether, and I hope tis more now. Slydd doe not milesgrow 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 aChamber so full of these Ridiculous Fleas, that I was fain to liestanding all night, and yet I made my man rise, and put out the Candletoo, because they should not see to bite me. 

_Foul_. A pretty project. 

_Bul_. Intruth Captaine, if I might advise you, you should tarry, andtake the morning afore you. 

_Foul_. How? _O mon Dieu_! how the villaine _poultroune_, dishonours histravaile! You _Buffonly Mouchroun_, are you so mere rude, and English toadvise your Captaine?

_Rud_. Nay, I prethee _Fouleweather_, be not tempesteous with thypoore 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 Pagescommend us to your Ladies, say we kisse their white hands, and will notfaile 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 veryCommendations it selfe, and Captaine Commendations. 

_Foul_. Why? what tho I be Captain Commendations?

_Rud_. Why and Captaine Commendations, is harty commendations, forCaptaines are harty I am sure, or else hang them. 

_Foul_. Why, what if I be harty Commendations? come, come, sweeteKnights, lead the way. 

_Rud_. O Lorde Sir, alwayes after my harty Commendations. 

_Foul_. Nay then you conquer me with precedent, by the autenticall formeof 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 shallfinde our Ladies not there?

_Ia_. I have a vaunt-currying[11] devise shall make them digest it mosthealthfully. 

 [_Exeunt_. 

SCENA QUARTA. 

 _Enter Clarence, Musicians_. 

_Cla_. Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolvedT'exhaust this troubled spring of vanitiesAnd Nurse of perturbations, my poore life, And therefore since in every man that holdsThis being deare, there must be some desire, Whose power t'enjoy his object may so maskeThe judging part, that in her radyant eyesHis estimation of the World may seemeVpright, and worthy, I have chosen loveTo blind my Reason with his misty handsAnd make my estimative power beleiveI have a project worthy to imployWhat worth so ever my whole man affordes:Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast foundThe end of thy infusion; in the eyesOf 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 studiousfriend; 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 longAlmost these twenty yeeres, and halfe those yeeresHast bin my bed-fellow; long time beforeThis unseene thing, this thing of naught indeed, Or _Atome_ cald my Lordshippe shind in me, And yet thou mak'st thy selfe as little bouldTo take such kindnes, as becomes the AgeAnd 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 feareI should be rude, and this my meane estateMeetes with such envie, and detraction, Such misconstructions and resolud misdoomesOf my poore worth, that should I be advaunce'dBeyond my unseene lowenes, but one haire, I should be torne in peeces with the SpiritsThat fly in ill-lungd tempests through the world, Tearing the head of vertue from her shouldersIf she but looke out of the ground of glorie. Twixt whom and me, and every worldly fortuneThere fights such sowre, and curst _Antipathy_, So waspish and so petulant a Starre, That all things tending to my grace or goodAre ravisht from their object, as I wereA thing created for a wildernes, And must not thinke of any place with men. 

_Mom_. O harke you Sir, this waiward moode of yoursMust 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 thinksplaine and prose friendship would do excellent well betwixt us: comethus, Sir, or rather thus, come. Sir, tis time I trowe that we bothliv'd like one body, thus, and that both our sides were slit, andconcorporat with _Organs_ fit to effect an individuall passage even forour very thoughts; suppose we were one body now, and I charge youbeleeve it; whereof I am the hart, and you the liver. 

_Cla_. Your Lordship might well make that division[12], if you knew theplaine song. 

_Mo_. O Sir, and why so I pray?

_Cla_. First because the heart, is the more worthy entraile, being thefirst that is borne, and moves, and the last that moves, and dies; andthen being the Fountaine of heate too: for wheresoever our heate doesnot flow directly from the hart to the other _Organs_ there, theiraction must of necessity cease, and so without you I neither would norcould live. 

_Mom_. Well Sir, for these reasons I may be the heart, why may you bethe 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 beseechyou: asham'd friend? if your love overcome not that shame, a shame takethat love, I saie. Come sir, why may you be the liver?

_Cla_. The plaine, and short truth is (my _Lord_) because I am allliver, 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 wiltnot now revive the sociable mirth of thy sweet disposition? wilt thoushine in the World anew? and make those that have sleighted thy lovewith the Austeritie of thy knowledge, dote on thee againe with thycommanding shaft of their humours?

_Cla_. Alas, my Lord, they are all farre out of my aime; and only to fitmy selfe a little better to your friendshippe, have I given thesewilfull raynes to my affections. 

_Mom_. And yfaith is my sower friend to all worldly desires ouer takenwith the hart of the World, Love? I shall be monstrous proud now, toheare shees every way a most rare woman, that I know thy spirit, andjudgement hath chosen; is she wise? is she noble? is she capable of thyvertues? will she kisse this forehead with judiciall lipps where somuchjudgement and vertue deserves it? Come brother Twin, be short, I chargeyou, and name me the woman. 

_Cla_. Since your Lordship will shorten the length of my folliesrelation, the woman that I so passionately love, is no worse Lady thenyour owne Neece, the too worthy Countesse _Eugenia_. 

_Mom_. Why so, so, so, you are a worthy friend, are you not, to concealethis love-mine in your head, and would not open it to your hart? nowbeshrow my hart, if my hart danse not for joy, tho my heeles do not; andthey doe not, because I will not set that at my heeles that my friendsets at his heart? friend, and Nephews both? nephew is a far inferiortitle to friend I confesse, but I will preferre thee backwards (as manyfriends doe) and leave their friends woorse then they found them. 

_Cla_. But, my noble Lord, it is almost a prodegie, that I being onely apoore Gentleman, and farre short of that state and wealth that a Ladieof her greatnesse in both will expect in her husband--

_Mom_. Hold thy doubt friend, never feare any woman, unlesse thyselfe bemade of straw, or some such drie matter, and she of lightning. _Audacitie_ prospers above probability in all Worldly matters. Dost notthou know that Fortune governes them without order, and therefore reasonthe mother of order is none of her counsaile? why should a man desiringto aspire an unreasonable creature, which is a woman, seeke her fruitionby reasonable meanes? because thy selfe binds upon reason, wilt thoulooke for congruity in a woman? why? there is not one woman amongst onethousand, but will speake false _Latine_, and breake _Priscians_ head. Attempt nothing that you may with great reason doubt of and out of doubtyou shall obtaine nothing. I tell thee, friend, the eminent confidenceof strong spirits is the onely witch-craft of this World, Spiritswrastling with spirits as bodies with bodies: this were enough to makethee hope well, if she were one of these painted communities, that areravisht with Coaches, and upper hands, [13] and brave men of durt: butthou knowest friend shees a good scholler, and like enough to bite atthe rightest reason, and reason evermore _Ad optima hortatur_: to likethat 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 awedding 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 tospeake with your Lordshippe. 

_Mom_. Marrie, enter, Mistris _Wynnifred_, even here I pray thee;--fromthe 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, welllabor'd _Cupid_, the field is yours, sir. God! and upon a veryhonourable composition. I am sent for now I am sure, and must eventrusse, and to her. 

 _Enter Wynnifred_. 

Witty Mistris _Wynnifred_, nay come neere, woman. I am sure thisGentleman 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, Ican have it brought home to my Dore. 

_Mom_. O _Wynnifred_, a man may know by the market-folkes how the marketgoes. 

_Wyn_. So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne togo 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 sosoone, 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 intruth. 

_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 histurne--

_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 myPoynts againe, and have with you. 

_Wyn_. Not I by my truth my Lord, I had rather see your hose about yourheeles, then I would helpe you to trusse a poynt. 

_Mom_. O witty _Wynnifred_? for that jest, take thy passeport, and tellthy Ladie[14], thou leftst me with my hose about my heeles. 

_Wyn_. Well, well my Lord you shall sit till the mosse grow about yourheeles, ere I come at you againe. [_Exit_. 

_Mom_. She cannot abide to heare of her three Suiters, but is not thisvery fit my sweet _Clarence_? Thou seest my rare Neece cannot sleepewithout me; but for thy company sake, she shall to night; and in themorning 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, andfarre-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 thoughtsThe way of Heaven, and how trew Heaven is reachtTo know how mighty, and how many areThe strange affections of enchaunted number;How to distinguish all the motionsOf the Celestiall bodies, and what powerDoth 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 SpringsAnd 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'dTo 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 wereat her urinall?

_Mom_. Then sh'as done, it seemes, for here she comes to save me thatlabour; 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 drawaway 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 betterthought 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 withyou my deere Neece. 

_Eu_. By my faith but you shall, my Lord. Cods pittie what will becomeof you shortly, that you drive maids afore you, and offer to leavewidowes behind you, as mankindelie as if you had taken a surfet of ourSex lately, and our very sight turnd your stomacke?

_Mom_. Cods my life, she abuses her best unkle; never trust me if itwere 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 wouldmore 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, whichin no other Stone is so rich or refulgent. 

_Eug_. But say deere Vnckle how could you finde in your heart to stay solong from me?

_Mom_. Why, alas Neece, y'are so smeard with this willfull widdowsthree-yeeres blacke weede, that I never come to you, but I dreame ofCoarses, and Sepulchres, and Epitaphs, all the night after, andtherefore 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 veryidle 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 atit! my head must devise something, while my feet are pidling thus, thatmay bring her to some fit consideration of my friend, who indeed isonely a great scholler, and all his honours, and riches lie in hisminde. 

_Eu_. Come, come, pray tell me uncle, how does my cosen _Momford_?

_Mom_. Why, well, very well Neece, and so is my friend _Clarence_ welltoo, and then is there a worthy gentleman well as any is in England Ican 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 methinkes. 

_Mom_. I, and I could tell you a thing would make your Ladyship verydancitive, or else it were very dunsative yfaith. O how the skipping ofthis Christmas blocke of ours moves the block-head heart of a woman andindeed any thing that pleaseth the foolish eye which presently runneswith a lying tale of Excellence to the minde. 

_Eug_. But I pray tell me my Lord could you tell me of a thing wouldmake me dance say you?

_Mom_. Well, farewell sweet Neece, I must needs take my leave inearnest. 

_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 wordNeece. 

_Eug_. Cods pretious, two or three dayes? why this Lord is in amaruallous strange humor. Sit downe, sweet Vnkle; yfaith I have totalke 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 daunceyfaith?

_Mom_. Daunce, what daunce? hetherto your dauncers legges bow for-sooth, and Caper, and jerke, and Firke, and dandle the body above them, as itwere their great childe; though the speciall jerker be above this placeI 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 prosperousfore-head of an exceeding happy distance betwixt the eye browes; a cleerelightning 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 bespecially observed, and these outward signes being now in this cleereelevation, show your untroubled minde is in an excellent power, topreferre them to act forth then a little, deere Neece. 

_Eug_. This is excellent. 

_Mom_. The Crises here are excellent good; The proportion of the chingood; the little aptness of it to sticke out good; and the wart above itmost exceeding good. Never trust me, if all things be not answerable tothe prediction of a most Divine fortune towards her; now if she have thegrace to apprehend it in the nicke; thers all. 

_Eug_. Well my Lord, since you will not tell me your secret, ile keepeanother from you; with whose discovery, you may much pleasure me, andwhose concealement may hurt my estate. And if you be no kinder then tosee me so indangered; ile be very patient of it, I assure you. 

_Mom_. Nay then it must instantly foorth. This kinde conjuration evenfires it out of me; and (to be short) gather all your judgmenttogeather, for here it comes. Neece, _Clarence, Clarence_, rather mysoule then my friend _Clarence_, of too substantiall a worth, to haveany figures cast about him (notwithstanding, no other woman with Empirescould stirre his affections) is with your vertues most extreamely inlove; and without your requitall dead. And with it Fame shall sound thisgolden 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 nowI see how you accept my motion: I perceive (how upon true triall) youesteeme me. Have I rid all this Circuite to levie the powers of yourIudgment, that I might not proove their strength too sodainly with soviolent a charge; And do they fight it out in white bloud, and show metheir hearts in the soft Christall of teares?

_Eug_. O uncle you have wounded your selfe in charging me that I shouldshun Iudgement as a monster, if it would not weepe; I place the poorefelicity of this World in a woorthy friend, and to see him so unworthilyrevolted, I shed not the teares of my Brayne, but the teares of mysoule. 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 quitefrom her Tribunall. This is her _Sedes vacans_ when her subjects arepriviledged to libell against her, and her friends. But weeps my kindeNeece for the wounds of my friendship? And I toucht in friendship forwishing my friend doubled in her singular happinesse?

_Eug_. How am I doubl'd? when my honour, and good name, two essentiallparts 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 veritateremotius, quàm vulgaris opinio_: But my deare Neece, it is most truethat your honour, and good name tendred, as they are the species oftruth, are worthily two esentiall parts of you; But as they consist onlyin ayrie titles, and corrupteble bloud (whose bitternes _sanitas & nonnobilitas efficit_) and care not how many base, and execrable acts theycommit, they touch you no more then they touch eternity. And yet shallno 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 heis wealthily furnished with true knowledge, he is rich, and thereinadorn'd with the exactest complements belonging to everlastingnoblenesse. 

_Eug_. Which yet will not maintaine him a weeke: Such kinde ofnoblenesse gives no cotes of honour nor can scarse gette a cote fornecessity. 

_Mom_. Then is it not substantiall knowledge (as it is in him) butverball, 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 isbut a little partiall difference betwixt you, that hinders thatuniversall joynture: The bignesse of this circle held too neere our eyekeepes it from the whole Spheare of the Sun; but could we sustaine itindifferently betwixt us, and it would then without checke of one beameappeare in his fulnes. 

_Eug_. Good Vnckle be content, for now shall I never dreame ofcontentment. 

_Mom_. I have more then done Lady, and had rather have suffer'd analteration of my being, then of your Judgment; but (deere Neece) foryour 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 thuslow 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 threesuiters?

_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 warrentthem. 

_Eug_. What's the matter _Hippolyta_?

_Hip_. They have sent the Knights to _Barnet_, Madam, this frostymorning 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 tellthem you were desirous of their company. 

_Hip_. O t'was good, _Eugenia_, their livers were too hot, you know, andfor temper sake they must needs have a cooling carde[22] plaid uponthem. 

_Wil_. And besides Madam we wood have them know that your two littlePages, which are lesse by halfe then two leaves, have more learning inthem 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 uptheir 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 Worldknow 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, youknow. 

_Pe_. Indeed sir _Cutberd Kingcob_, I have heard, you are either of thefamilie 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 flowin the loves of poore over-throwne Ladies. 

_King_. You speake of that I wood doe, Madam, but in earnest, I am nowsuing for a new Mistres; looke in my hand sweet Lady, and tell me whatfortune 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 outont. 

_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 thelove 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 anyKnight in England. 

_Hip_. He shood be put up for concealement then, for he shewes none ofthem. 

_Pen_. Are you able to reckon his good parts, my Lord?

_Ta_. Ile doe the best I can, Lady; first, he danses as comely, andlightly as any man, for upon my honour, I have seene him danse uponEgges, 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 mykinsman, 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 youbring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he willtell 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 Ipray. 

_Tal_. He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will workeyou needle-worke-edgings, and _French_ purles, from an Angell to foureAngells a yarde. 

_Eug_. That's pretious ware indeed. 

_Tal_. He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if itgrew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give ityou 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, andis 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 theChamber, 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 withspouts 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 Iwarrant you. 

_Hip_. I lay my life _Cupid_ has shot my sister in love with him out ofyour lips, my Lord. 

_Eug_. Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, andwe will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord andLady _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 rideafter him. 

_Goos_. Wood I might never be mortall sir _Cutt_: if I rid not afterhim, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, andhollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingersends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet heran his way like a _Diogenes_, and would never stay for us. 

_Rud_. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now hishorse is gone?

_Goos_. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir _Moyle_, we shall sooneour'take him I warrent ye. 

_Rud_. And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thoucoodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish hasbitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still. 

_Goos_. But heres all the doubt, sir _Cutt_: if no body shoold catch himnow, 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 followedone that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth kneeshetherto; 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 myHorse 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 inpaine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hillas High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light. 

_Foul_. Cods precious, sir _Cutt_: your _Frenchman_ never lightsI tell ye. 

_Goos_. Light, sir _Cutt_! Slight, and I had my horse againe, theresnere 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 groundall the daies of your life. 

_Goos_. Why, sir _Cut_: I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, butwe 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 noneof the _French_ Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for menin _France_, were here lately, [24] I am sure, and me thinks thereshould be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then thereis betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond themyfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours forphantasticality. 

_Foul_. O Lord sir _Cut_. I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke forCourtship, 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 _GylesGoose-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 pretheewhat answer'd she. 

_Foul_. She, I scorne to note that, I hope; then did he vie[27] itagaine with an other hah. 

_Rud_. That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I hadbeene 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 theywere 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 mustconfesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with aquestion, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if alover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was farfrom believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculousjests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told himshe 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 chimneythen warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to setthatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, andrespected 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 withFrenchmen 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 thedearest friend that ever _I_ lay withall in my life be this light; neverstir if he fought not with great _Sekerson_[28] foure hours to one, foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that hesterud him presently: So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Bearecood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon theDogge, 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 binkild, 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 italmost Dinner time?

_Wil_. Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, andcood 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 weretalking in private say, they refus'de to meet you at _Barnet_ thismorning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were mostpatient. 

_Ia_. And some said you, Sir _Gyles_, another you Sir [_Cutt_] and thethird you Captaine. 

_Om_. This was excellent. 

_Wil_. Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to youby any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall seeyou say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladiesbegin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge alittle. 

_Foul_. O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might beCasheird, 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 Icare 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 butone 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 yourLords house, Captaine, the Lord _Furnifall_, and there will be yourgreat 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 hisFather had; his Father Christned him _Decem Tales_, and so his wholename 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 samedrinking humor she was wont to be?

_Foul_. Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veinetill she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my goodlittle old Lord out of all proportion. 

_Rud_. [29] And therefore, as I heare, he will earnestly invite guests tohis house, of purpose to make his wife dronke, and then dotes on herhumour most prophanely. 

_Foul_. Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and youshall 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 Icood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit Iassure 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 meso, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many timesto make you merry. 

_Rud_. As thou doest. 

_Goos_. Nay good sir _Cut_. You know fooles doe come into yourcompanies. 

_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 loveshimselfe. 

_Ia_. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have ofall manner of degrees. 

_Foul_. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that woodmake my Lord laugh well, and I carde not. 

_Wil_. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lordcostive of laughter, or laxative of laughter?

_Foul_. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimesLaxative of Laughter. 

_Wil_. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marryif he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams ofwit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to thequantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have asmuch witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costiveof Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an _Epilepsie_, and falldown dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of thatpassion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of aFoole. 

_Foul_. Thart ith right, my notable good page. 

_Ia_. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, thatif he should have all _Bacon_[30] _de sanitate tuenda_ read to him, itshood 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 havenever bin in _France_ Captaine. 

_Foul_. Tis true indeed Sir _Gyles_, well then my almost french Elixerswill 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, andhe shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits attable. 

_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 togoe 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 acouple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, Icud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tothernight. 

_Rud_. What tricke, sir _Gyles_?

_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. Cause the daies be mortall, and short now youknow, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than itneeded, and run after it into _Finsbury_-fieldes ith calme evening tosee the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone bythis light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall intothe 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, andshe have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Clouda pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while Ilive, 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 Iwarrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, heseconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life youshall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of theirChambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my witwith their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall abeating 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 joyIn accents musicall, which he that hatesWith points of discord is together tyed, And barkes at _Reason_, Consonant in sense. Divine _Eugenia_, beares the ocular formeOf musicke, and of _Reason_, and presentsThe 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 friendsWill needs have my strange lines greet her strange eiesAnd for her sake ile power my poore Soule forthIn floods of inke; but did not his kinde handBarre me with violent grace, I wood consumeIn 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 lifeI 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 inkeIs 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 loveA dame of learning, and of life exemptFrom all the idle fancies of her Sex, And this, that to an other dame wood seemePerplext 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 entertaineLadies with tales, and jests, and Lords with newes, And keepe a House to feast _Acteons_ houndsThat eate their Master, and let idle guestsDraw me from serious search of things divine?To bid them sit, and welcome, and take careTo 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 yoakeOr on the right perhaps, and see my wifeDrawe 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 beThe onely serious object of true menSeeme shadowes, with substantiall stir she keepsAbout her shadowes, which if husbands loveThey must beleeve; and thus my other selfeBrings me another body to dispose, That have already much too much of one, And must not looke for any Soule of herTo 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 chinneOccasioned by their grose and ruder heatePlainely demonstrats: Then like soules they doe, _Movere corpora_, for no power on EarthMoves 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 pompesAre the true final causes: Then they makeMen in their Seedes immortall, like their soules, That els wood perish in a spanne of time. Oh! they be soule-like creatures, and my NeeceThe 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 steeleOf 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 AireTo all true honour and iuduciall love, Wood suffer such a florishing pyne in bothTo overlooke the boxe-trees of this time?When the learn'd minde hath by impulsion wroughtHer 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 bonesRepaire 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 anexercise 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 mymother 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 youremember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you. 

_Pene_. Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that heis the best Sempster of any woman in England: pray lets see some of hisworke?

_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 hishand will become him prettelie. 

_King_. From the _Spanish_ Pike to the _Spanish_ Needle, he shall playwith 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 hastwenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath tobring 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 ofthis humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the morehe loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothingbut still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he isright like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatestfavour 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 inkindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe. 

_King_. Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that herespects, 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 uponliving. 

_King_. O good Ladie, who can live without living?

 _Enter Momford_. 

_Mom_. Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come notfor vittles. 

_Tal_. Vittles, my Lord? I hope wee have vittles at home. 

_Mom_. I, but, sweet Lord, there is a principle in the Polititiansphysicke: Eat not[37] your meat upon other mens trenchers, and beware ofsurfets of your owne coste. Manie good companions cannot abide to eatemeate at home, ye know. And how faires my noble Neece now, and her faireLadie Feeres[38]?

_Eug_. What winde blowes you hether, troe?

_Mom_. Harke you, Madam, the sweet gale of one _Clarences_ breath, withthis his paper sayle blowes me hether. 

_Eug_. Aye me still, in that humour? beshrewe my heart, if I take aniePapers 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 bodymay discover your love suits, doe; theres somebody neare, you noteit. --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 orrookes?

_Tal_. With Knights, my Lord. 

_Mom_. T'is pitty their boord is no broader, and that some men calledguls 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. --Lordsand Ladies, I invite you all to supper to night, and you shall not denyme. 

_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 prodigallOf his owne honour'd bloud, and dignity?

_Mom_. Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer theletter?

_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 ourblouds?

_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 theletter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write. 

_Eug_. If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove akinde answer, I beleeve. 

_Mom_. But you will be advis'de, I trust. Secretaries are of counsellwith their Countesses; thus it begins: _Suffer him to love, that suffersnot 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 _inalterationem labi_; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, whereinthere 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, whatanswere you?

_Eug_. Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely tothe first, and last part of his letter. 

_Mom_. Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name: whatis 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_; sayyou so? [_He writes, and she dictates_. 

_Eug_. Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord. 

_Mom_. Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise torequite 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 setmy hand too't. 

_Mom_. Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ilebe ready for it anon, I warrent ye. Now forth, --my love is withoutpassion, and therefore free from alteration: what answere you to thatMadam?

_Eug_. Even this, my Lord: _your love, being mentall, needs no bodilyRequitall_. 

_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 meetnot? simple marriage rites, now let us foorth: he is in the way tofelicity, 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, sweetNeece. 

_Eug_. _And so God prosper your journey_. 

_Mom_. Charitably concluded, though farre short of that love I wood haveshowen 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 beblam'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 ifyou doe love, and will requite your love_. 

_Eug_. Remember that requitall was of your owne putting in, but it shallbe after my fashion, I warrant ye. 

_Mom_. Interrupt me no more. --_Your love being mentall needs no bodilyrequitall, but in hart I embrace, and repay it; my hand shall alwaiessigne the way to felicity, and my selfe knit with you in the bands ofmarriage 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; yourhand is at it, Neece, and if there be any law in England, you shallperforme 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 loveShall 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 sworneI 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 starresSparkled about the heavenly Court of _Fraunce_, When I then young and radiant as the sunneGave luster to those lamps, and curling thusMy golden foretoppe stept into the presence, Where set with other princely Dames I foundThe Countesse of _Lancalier_, and her neece, Who as I told you cast so fix'd an eyeOn my behaviours, talking with the King. 

_All_. True, my good Lord. 

_Fur_. They rose when I came in, and all the lightsBurn'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 noteWhat grace they did me, but found courtly causeTo talke with an accomplisht gentlemanNew come from Italy; in quest of newesI 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 noteThe Ladies notes of me, but held my talke, With that Italionate Frenchman, and tooke time(Still as our conference serv'd) to shew my CourtshipIn 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 eyesWith such attention that their favours swarm'dAbout my bosome, in my hart, mine eares, In skarffes about my thighes, upon mine armesThicke 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 careTo your coy mistresses; As when we strikeA 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 myCosin wore at Tilt, for that was brodred with nothing but moone-shineith the water, and this has Sammons in't; by heaven a most edibleCaparison. 

_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, forEmphaticall Courtship, your Lordship puts downe all the Lords of theCourt. 

_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, whenyou use it. 

_Fur_. Nay thats too much, in sadnesse, Captaine. 

_Goos_. O good, my Lord, let him prayse you, what so ere it costs yourLordship. 

_Foul_. I assure your Lordship, your merry behaviour does so festifallyshow upon you, that every high holliday, when Ladies wood be mostbeautifull, every one wishes to God she were turnd into such a littleLord 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 hadrather be turnd into them, a mine honour. 

_Foul_. Then for your Lordships quips, and quicke jests, why _GestaRomanorum_ were nothing to them, a my vertue. 

_Fur_. Well, well, well, I will heare thee no more, I will heare theeno more, good Captaine. Tha's an excellent wit, and thou shalt haveCrownes, a mine honour, and now Knights, and Captaine, the foole youtold 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 withhim 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 areall 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, looseunder his chinne. 

_Rud_. Buttond loose, my Lord?

_Goos_. I my Lord, buttond loose still, and both the flaps cast overbefore 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 uncleanehand-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 fineAnnisseede 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, bysight, and then will he foole you so finely my Lord, that he will makeyour hart ake, till your eyes runne over. 

_Fur_. The best that ever I heard, pray mercy, good Knight, for thymerry description. Captaine, I give thee twenty companies ofcommendations, 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 littlemaestershippes?

_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 wisefor 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; weshall bring you a foole to make you laugh, and he shall make all theWorld 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 hisdish. [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 thoughtI had met him in Paules, and he had bin any body else but a piller, Iwood have runne him through by heaven: beg me?

_Foul_. He begges you to be content, sir _Gyles_; that is, he praiesyou. 

_Goos_. O does he praise me then I commend him. 

_Fur_. Let this unsutable foole goe, sir _Gyles_; we will make shiftwithout 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 fooleis dead. 

_Goos_. Dead? slight that can not be, man; I know he wood ha writ to meant 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 andcaptaine 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 tonight. 

_Fur_. Withall my hart wagges, and thers amends; my harts, now set yourcourtshippe a' the last, a the tainters, and pricke up your selves forthe 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 knockeup 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 theyshall see you sowe. 

_Goos_. Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry myworke with me. 

_Fur_. Doe so sir _Gyles_, and withall use meanesTo 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 nickeWound 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 retireAnd warme thy heart with a triumphant fire?

_Cla_. My Lord, I feele a treble happinesMix in one soule, which proves how eminentThings 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 moreCommixt 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 souleIoyn'de in direction to one end, like it;And thirdly the contentment I enjoy, As we are joynd, that I shall worke that goodIn 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 wrongThy 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 affectTo other of her modest qualities;Because she wood not with the outward blazeOf 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 DameWood change of choice a well mixt white and redFor 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 healthBy Art the Rector of confused Nature?So in a face, if Nature be made lame, Then Art can make it, is it more offenceTo helpe her want there then in other limmes?Who can give instance where Dames faces lostThe 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 conferedFor lightnes comes from harts, and not from lookes, And if inchastity possesse the hart;Not painting doth not race it, nor being cleareDoth 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 faceA lawful and a commendable grace. 

_Mom_. What paradox dost thou defend in this?And yet through thy cleare arguments I seeThy speach is farre exempt from flatterie;And how illiterate custome groslie erresAlmost 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 LadiesWithin your hearing, under fain'd pretextTo 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 offish, 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, asmy Knightly cosen does it, the eye oftentimes takes so strong a heede ofit, that it cannot containe it alone, and therefore the eare seemes totake 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 hisfoolish kinsmans answeres wise ones?

_Pene_. What shall this be, servant?

_Goos_. This shall be a great Whale, Mistris, at all his bignessespouting 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, andgould, 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, thatat 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, andhe 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 therich 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 worepantables then you knowe. 

_Tal_. Indeed the warmer a man keepes his feete the lesse he needs weareuppon 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 mygood 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 boughtglow-wormes to kindle it withall, better then all the burning glassesith World. 

_Eug_. Glowe-wormes, sir _Giles_? will they make it burne?

_Goos_. O good Madam, I feed am with nothing but fire, a purpose, Ilebesworne 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 areboth husband, and wife your selfe. 

_Goos_. Nay indeed, mistris, I wood faine marry for all that, and iletell you my reason, if you will. 

_Pene_. Let's here it good servant. 

_Goos_. Why, Madam, we have a great match at football towards, marriedmen against batchellers, and the married men be all my friends, so Iwood 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 needesstraine 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 saiesyou 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 comstin sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippardsholland, 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 turnedthe very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by theheeles 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 ifyou use this. 

_Fur_. Excellent Courtship of all hands, only my Captaines Courtship, isnot 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 withallbesides voyces. 

_Fur_. I meane with an audible sweete song Madam. 

_Eug_. With all my heart my Lord, if I shall bee so much indebtedto him. 

_Foul_. Nay I will be indebted to your eares Ladie for hearing me soundmusicke. 

_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 bestowedThen 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 lothTo trouble Ladies since he cannot quitt them. With anything he hath that they respect. 

_Hip_. Respect, my Lord! I wood hold such a manIn more respect then any Emperour:For he cood make me Empresse of my selfeAnd 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 cheekesThe 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 souleWhere all mans Sea of gall and bitternesIs quite evaporate with her holy flames, And in whose powers a Dove-like innocenceFosters her own deserts, and life and deathRunnes hand in hand before them, all the SkiesCleere, and transparent to her piercing eyes, Then wood my friend be something, but till thenA _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 talkeof 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, asnever any Knight ith world was I thinke. 

_Ta_. A man wood thinke he speakes simply now; but indeed it is in thewill 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 spendThe 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 themedicines for one cure the other?

_Do_. Yet it will not you see. _Hei mihi quod nullis amor estmedicabilis herbis_. [44]

_Cla_. Nay then, Doctor, since you cannot make any reasonable Connexionof these two contrarieties the minde, and the body, making both subiectto passion, wherein you confound the substances of both, I must tell youthere 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 arewe subject to any disease, or sorrowe, whose causes or effects simplyand natively concerne the body, that the minde by any meanes partaketh, nor are there any passions in the soule, for where there are noaffections, there are no passions: And _Affectus_ your Master _Galen_refers _parti irascenti_, For _illic est anima sentiens ubi suntaffectus_: Therefore the Rationall Soule cannot be there also. 

_Do_. But you know we use to say, my minde gives me this or that, evenin those addictions that concerne the body. 

_Cla_. We use to say so indeed, and from that use comes the abuse of allknowledge and her practice, for when the object in question onlyconcerns the state of the body; why shood the soule bee sorry or gladfor it? if she willingly mixe her selfe, then she is a foole, if ofnecessity, and against her will, a slave, and so, far from that wisdomeand freedome that the Empresse of Reason and an eternall Substance shoodcomprehend. 

_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 thoughtI 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 knowMy friend is as respective in his ChamberAnd by himselfe, of any thing he doesAs 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 floweOut of your judgment but from passion. 

_Cla_. Indeed I doe account that passionThe 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 QueeneOf 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 muchOf a good nature; not for all I haveWood I have him take knowledge of the wrongI rudely offer him: come then ile shewA 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 yourjewells pray?

_Mom_. Yes marry is it, sir _Gyles_, if you will. 

_Goos_. Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing butthe languages. 

_Pene_. The languages servant why the languages?

_Goos_. Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, andthat 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 woodhave bin ashamed on't. [_Exeunt_. 

_Do_. Well, master _Clarence_, I perceive your mindeHath so incorparate it selfe with fleshAnd therein rarified that flesh to spirit, That you have need of no Physitians helpe. But, good Sir, even for holy vertues healthAnd grace of perfect knowledge, doe not makeThose ground workes of eternity you layMeanes to your ruine, and short being here:For the too strict and rationall Course you holdWill eate your body up; and then the World, Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives, Will suffer Diminution: It is nowBrought almost to a simple unity, Which is (as you well know) _Simplicior puncto_. And if that point faile once, why, then alasThe 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 hugsClose in her hart, in her ambitious gripe, Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joyntMou'd with the worth that worldlings love so wellHad 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 bothFamiliar witnesses of the most strange partAnd full of impudence, that ere I plaide. 

_Hip_. What's that, good Madam?

_Eug_. I that have bene so more then maiden-niceTo my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeldBy his importunate suite to his friends loveIn 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 heateIn your cold bosome, wood to god my breathMight 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 LordsI 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 choyseCan cast it quite out of the christall doresOf your Iudiciall eyes: I am but young, And be it said, without all pride I takeTo be a maid, I am one, and indeedYet in my mothers wombe to all the wilesWeeud[46] in the loomes of greatnes, and of state:And yet even by that little I have learn'dOut of continuall conference with you, I have cride haruest home of thus much judgmentIn my greene sowing time, that I cood placeThe constant sweetnes of good _Clarence_ minde, Fild with his inward wealth and noblenes, (Looke, Madam) here, when others outward trashShood 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 unckleWill misse me straite, and I know his close driftIs to make me, and his friend _Clarence_ meeteBy some device or other he hath plotted. Now when he seekes us round about his houseAnd cannot find us, for we may be sureHe 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 EarthWill 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 progresseOf his friends suite, I never in my lifeWrastled so much with passion or was mov'dTo take his firme love in such jelouse part. 

_Hip_. This is most excellent, Madam, and will proveA 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 burndThat rapp men from their friends before their time, How does my uncles friend, no other nameI 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 diseaseMy 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 heldWithin the verge of this presumtuous chaire. 

_Eug_. Why, _Clarence_ is your judgement bent to showA 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 hartClest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes, And I am only now to speake and actThe rite's due to thy love: oh, I cood weepeA bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state, I cood give passion all her blackest ritesAnd 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 thenoble count her uncle the slippe thus?

_Wil_. Vnmannerlie, you villaynes? O that I were worthy to weare aDagger 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 utternothing; and besides I doe not thinke my quarrell just for my Ladiesprotection in this cause, for I protest she does most abhominabliemiscarrie her selfe. 

_Ia_. Protest, you sawsie Iacke, you! I shood doe my country, andCourt-ship good service to beare thy coalts teeth out of thy head, forsuffering such a reverend word to passe their guarde; why, the oldestCourtier in the World, man, can doe noe more then protest. 

_Bul_. Indeede, Page, if you were in _Fraunce_, you wood be broken upona wheele for it, there is not the best _Dukes_ sonne in _France_ daressay I protest, till he be one and thirty yeere old at least, for theinheritance of that word is not to be possest before. 

_Wil_. Well, I am sorry for my presumtion then, but more sory for myLadies, marie most sorry for thee good Lord _Momford_, that will make usmost 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 seekeher out or burne her. 

 _Enter Momford_. 

_Mom_. Villaines, where are your Ladies? seeke them out. Hence, home ye monsters, and still keepe you thereWhere 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 ayreAlter 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 friendSuch an uncivill part? Sblood what is learning?An artificiall cobwebbe to catch _flies_, And nourish _Spiders_? cood she cut my throateWith her departure, I had byn her calfe, And made a dish at supper for my guestsOf her kinde charge; I am beholding to her. Puffe, is there not a feather in this ayreA 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 friendIs 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 herTush 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 hartsWith a poore gentleman, he is sole heireTo all my Earledome, which to you and yoursI freely and for ever here bequeath. Call forth the Lords, sweet Ladies; let them seeThis sodaine, and most welcome Noveltie;But cry you mercy, Neece, perhaps your modestyWill not have them partake this sodaine match. 

_Eug_. O uncle, thinke you so? I hope I madeMy choyce with too much Judgment to take shameOf 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 withallA 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 RaceThat 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 pleadThis 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 partsI 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 haveAnd 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 bintoo 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 twentyshillings 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 forgotCaptaine 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 supperTo 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. Fleaysuggests that _Sir Giles Goosecap_ is the work of George Chapman. "Itwas produced by the Children of the Chapel, and must therefore datebetween 1599 and 1601. The only other plays known to have beenrepresented by the Chapel Children are Lyly's _Love's Metamorphosis_and the three _Comical Satires_ of Ben Jonson. The present play bearspalpable marks of Jonson's influence.... The author, then, must havebeen a stage writer at the end of the sixteenth century, probably afriend of Jonson's, and not surviving 1636. The only known playwrightswho fulfil the time conditions are Marston, Middleton, and Chapman. Internal evidence, to say nothing of Jonson's enmity, is conclusiveagainst Marston and Middleton. Chapman, on the other hand, fulfils theconditions required. He was Jonson's intimate friend, and died in 1634. In 1598 he was writing plays for Henslow at the Rose Theatre; on July17, 1599, his connexion with the Admiral's Company there performingceased; and his next appearance in stage history is as a writer for theChildren of Her Majesty's Revels, the very company that succeeded, andwas, indeed, founded on that of the Children of the Chapel atBlackfriars. If Chapman was not writing for the Chapel boys from 1599 to1601, we do not know what he was doing at all. The external evidence, then, clearly points to Chapman. The internal is still more decisive. Tosay nothing of metrical evidence, which seems just now out of fashion, probably on account of the manner in which it has been handled, canthere 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 Momfordmakes Eugenia dictate a letter to Clarence, should be comparedwith the _Gentleman Usher_, iii. 1, and _Monsieur d'Olive_, iv. 1. These are clearly all from one mould. " I, like Mr. Fleay, hadbeen struck by the resemblance to Chapman's style in parts of_Sir Gyles Goosecappe_; but it seems to me that the likeness isstronger in the serious than in the comic scenes. If Chapmanwas the author, it is curious that his name did not appear onthe title-page of the second edition. The reference to theMaréchal de Biron's visit, iii. 1, proves conclusively that theplay 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 fromthe Garrick Plays, " many students must have felt a desire to have theplay in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shallcause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the playthrough, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knewalready. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astoundinginequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, betweenLucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy giftof expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his goldwith a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is afreedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; anddull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion ofLassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is broughttoo quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, theserving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his brokenEnglish, 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 theplot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. Theelder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections arefixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in thedoctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has arival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had beenpreviously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained theaffections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no greatdexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The readerjumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couplecleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making EarlCassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with herfather, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's storyof Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The thirdscene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of theenchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from"Midsummer Night's Dream, " and in single lines of other scenes we catchShakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest inthe scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives topierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for aninstant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions. The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. Andwhat 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 piecewith "Dr. Dodypoll. " Steevens states that the present play was composedbefore 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song onp. 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 rayesReveal'st the variant colours of the world, Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'stThe glorious parts of faire _Lucilia_:Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares, And fix them there as an eternall lightFor Lovers to adore and wonder at:And this (long since) the high Gods would have done, But that they could not bring it back againeWhen 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 yoursWere fitter to have painted heavens faire storieThen 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 worldWith 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 formeDivide 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 varietieIn 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 spearstThy severall parts, if I uniting allHad figur'd there the true _Lucilia_, Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine ArtAnd 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 workeOr 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 madeFlowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all nighttryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, butI 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 acleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, myMistresse _Lucilia_, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints nopictures 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 imprestWith such perfection as within my brest. 

_Mar_. Soft, maister Doctor. 

_Doct_. _Cornelia_, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is toosawcie 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 notto 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 Iwould 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 paintingsOf 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: bygarr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve yourestoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieveyou tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundrayeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foureyere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Whoshall toush your fine hand? ô shall, ô sweete, by garr. 

_Mar_. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinalsin the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie everat hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship. 

_Doct_. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make deelive 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 heereOnely for gaine: I have another reacheMore high then their base spirits can aspire:Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide, That hath alreadie promist me a drugWhose vertue shall effect my whole desires. 

_Doct_. O _Monsieur Flores_, mee be your worships servant; mee lay myhand under your Lordships foote by my trot. 

_Flo_. O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, And you, _Albertus_, it doth please me muchTo 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 neckabout; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse yourlippe, 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 sweetemistresse. 

_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 toloove 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 setBoth 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, deunmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [_Exit_. 

_Mar_. Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other timeWhen 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 loveIn 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 himBut 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 canTo raise us to our auncient states againe?Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv'stTo have thy imperfections helpt by love. 

_Corn_. Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanesForbidden by the lawes of God and men?Can that love prosper which is not begunBy 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 dutieTo 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 thoughtsToo 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 earthliepurgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting andgroaning in his sleepe, with "O, _Hyanthe_! my deare _Hyanthe_! Andthen hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewellby 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 meTo visit _Flores_ the brave Jeweller?

_Hyan_. My father doth so dote on him, my Lord, That he thinkes he doth honour every manWhom he acquaints with his perfections. Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfeTo 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 himIs 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 youYou 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 eieIn the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes, That you will sorrow you have staide so long. 

_Alber_. Alas, whie would not then your lordships favorHasten me sooner? for I long to see himOn your judiciall commendation. 

_Cass_. Come, lets away then: go you in, _Hyanthe_, And if my Lord the Duke come in my absenceSee 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 AmbassadourFrom us to the renowmed Duke of _Saxon_, And know his highnesse reason and intentWhie being (of late) with such importunate suiteBetroth'd to our faire sister _Dowager_Of this our Dukedome, he doth now protractThe time he urged with such speede of lateHis honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate. 

_Kath_. But, good my Lord, temper your AmbassieWith such respective termes to my renowmeThat I be cleer'd of all immodest hasteTo 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 estateOf both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth meeTo 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 audienceAnd 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 sweetearte to be shew'd in't as in any maister peece whatsoever; better thenas 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 maisterscomfets. [_Exit_. 

 _Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Alberdure, Cornelia, and Moth. 

Flor_. Prince _Alberdure_, my great desire to aunswereThe greatnes of your birth and high desertsWith entertainment fitting to your stateMakes althings seem too humble for your presence. 

_Alber_. Courteous S. _Flores_, your kinde welcome isWorthy 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 admiringThe cunning strangenes of your antick worke:For though the generall tract of it be roughYet 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 artShould 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 heereThen any man in _Germanie_ can shewExcept Earle _Lassingbergh_; and (in my conceipt)This work was never wrought without his hand. 

_Flo_. Earle _Lassingbergh_! Aye me, my jealous thoughtsSuspect 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 sightBoth for their substance and their curious Art. 

_Alber_. Thankes, good sir _Flores_. 

_Flo_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containesThe 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 blewImbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres. 

_Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords)How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stoneAs 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 faceOf _Cassimeere_: by viewing both at once, Either I thinke that both of them do liveOr 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 greeteYour Princely hand with this unworthy gift, Yet woorthy since it represents your selfe. 

_Alber_. What? my selfe, Lady? trust me it is pittieSo 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, whatmeane 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 foolThat dayly saw so many evident signesOf 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 protestMost solemnly (in sight of heaven and you)That if Earle _Lassingbergh_ this day refuseTo make faire mends for this fowle trespasse done, I will revenge me on his treacherous heartThough I sustaine for him a thousand deaths. 

_Cass_. This action (traitour _Lassingbergh_) deservesGreat 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 unmasktAnd 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 disgraceHath altered the condition of my loveAnd filde my heart with yrksome discontent. 

_Flor_. My Lord, I must preferre mine honour stillBefore the pleasure of the greatest Monarch, Which since your Lordship seekes to gratifieWith just and friendly satisfaction, I will endeavour to redeeme the thoughtOf your affection and lost love to us. Wilt please you therefore now to associateThis woorthy Prince at this unwoorthy banquet?

_Alber_. My Lord, let me intreate your company. 

_Lassin_. Hold mee excusd, faire Prince; my grieved thoughtsAre 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 rememberYour 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 flieOut 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 feastThat 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 fitFor 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 Damaskegowne; 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'thestreete! 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 rightglad 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 goodhealth. 

_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 veryfine, brave, little, propta sweet Jack man; by garr, me loov'a you, mehonour you, me kisse'a your foote. 

_Hans_. You shall not stoope so lowe, good M. Doctor; kisse higher if itplease 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 yourgood 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, nopoint de brave man. 

_Hans_. Would I were not so brave in your mouth. --But I can tell younewes, 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. Iledeale 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 bodyAn excellent Noddy:A cockscomb[55] incony, but that he wants monyTo give _legem pone_. O what a pittifull case is this! What might I have done with this witif my friends had bestowed learning upon me? Well, when all's don, anaturall 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 greatThen to depart so slightly without answer, Urging the marriage that your grace late soughtWith _Katherine_, sister to the Saxon Duke. 

_Hosk_. Whom if your highnes should so much neglectAs to forsake his sister and delude him, Considering already your olde jarreWith the stoute _Lantsgrave_, what harmes might ensue?

_Alph_. How am I crost? _Hyanthe_ 'tis for theeThat I neglect the Duchesse and my vowes. 

_Hard_. My Lord, twere speciallie convenientYour grace would satisfie th'embassador. 

_Alph_. Well, call him in. 

_Hosk_. But will your Highnes thenForsake _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 sootheWhat I my selfe will presently deviseAnd 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 sorrieOur urgent causes have deferd you thusIn the dispatch of that we most desire. But for your answer: know I am deterr'dBy many late prodigious ostentsFrom present consumation of the nuptialsVowd twixt your beauteous Dutchesse and our selfe. O what colde feare mens jealous stomacks feeleIn that they most desire! suspecting still'Tis eyther too too sweete to take effectOr (in th'effect) must meete with some harshe chaunceTo intervent the joye of the successe. The same wisht day (my Lord) you heere arriv'dI bad Lord _Hardenbergh_ commaund two horseShould privately be brought for me and him, To meete you on the waye for honours sakeAnd 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 ruleThat 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 meIf I went forward, that with much enforcementOf what might chance he drave me to retreat. Didst thou not _Hardenbergh_. 

_Hard_. I did, my Lord. 

_Alph_. I warrant thou wilt sayThou never yet saw'st any man so loatheTo 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 knowHow sharpe my heart was set to entertaineThe 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 commaundLord _Hardenbergh_ should ope a CabanetOf my choise Jewels and to bring me thenceA ring, a riche and Violet _Hiacinthe_, Whose sacred vertue is to cheere the heartAnd 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 thinkeI should be married to the beautious Dutchesse, And coming to my Chappell to that end, Duke _Constantine_ her brother with his LordsAnd 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 portentsThat wedding her I married mine owne death. I, frighted in my sleepe, struggled and sweat, And in the violence of my thoughts cryed outSo 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 delaiesWere mightilie and with huge cause enforste. 

_Amb_. But dreames (my lord) you know growe by the humorsOf the moist night, which, store of vapours lendingUnto our stomaches when we are in sleepeAnd to the bodies supreame parts ascending, Are thence sent back by coldnesse of the braine, And these present our idle phantasiesWith nothing true but what our labouring soulesWithout 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 isDreames sent from heaven or from the wicked fiends, Which nature doth not forme of her owne powerBut 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 acceptedI 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 mooveThe 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 yourhusband has of you. 

_Doct_. Fie, too, too bad by my fait. Vat, my lord? melancholie? and hade 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 dauncingschoole. 

_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 lifeShould 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 placeFree 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 deprove a dee good reason. Reguard, Monsieur: you no point eate a de meateto daie, you be de empty; be gar you be emptie, you be no point vel; begarr you be vere sick, you no point leave a de provision; be garr youstay, 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 worldTill I have shaken off these chaines from me. 

 [_Exit La_. 

_Luc_. And I will never cease to follow theeTill 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, almostskipshack, be garr: he no point staie for one place. Madame, me be no solaxative; mee be bound for no point moove six, seaven, five hundra yearefrom you sweete sidea; be garr, me be as de fine _Curianet_ about yourvite necke; my harte be close tie to you as your fine Buske or de fineGartra 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 thistime. 

_Doct_. O _forte bien_! a good Sea-sick jeast by this faire hand: blowewind for mee! puh, he no come heere, Madame. 

_Flo_. Come, noble Earle, let your kind presence graceOur feast prepard for this obdurate Lord, And give some comfort to his sorrowfull brideWho 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; begarr, me tell a me do de grand grace, de favor for suppa, for dina, foreata with dee; be garrs blur, we have at home de restorative, dequintessence, 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 himan _Otoman_?

_Doct_. Have de whole ayre of Fowle at commaund?

_Flor_. You have the foole[58] at command, sir: you might have bestowedyour 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 israge, de doctor is furie, be gar, the doctor is horrible, terriblefurie. Vell, derre be a ting me tinke; be gars blur, me know, me berevenge me tella de Duke. Vell, me say no more: chok a de selfe, foulechurle, fowle, horrible, terrible pigge, pye Cod. 

 [_Exit_. 

[SCENE 2. ]

_Lea_. I wonder what varietie of sightsRetaines your father and the prince so longWith signior _Flores_?

_Hya_. O signior _Flores_ is a man so ampleIn 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 beholdeYour 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 itWherewith _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 wheeleIt 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 theeSo 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 armsAnd 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 ArtsAre meanes by which shee seekes to murder him. _Hardenbergh_, take her and imprison herWithin thy house: I will not loose my sonneFor 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 deknow 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 poltronepezant, 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 causeOf this suddaine frenzie?

_Doct_. O by garr, pleaze your grace heare de long tale [or] de shorttale?

_Alp_. Briefe as you can, good Doctor. 

_Doct_. Faite and trot, briefe den, very briefe, very laccingue. DePrince, your sonne, feast with de knave Jeweller, _Flores_, and he formake a Prince love a de foule croope-shouldra daughter _Cornelia_, givea 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 forinflama 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 stairesHath forst an Axe[63] from one of the Trevants (?), And with it (as he runnes) makes such cleare wayAs no man dare oppose him to his furie. 

_Alp_. Aye me, what may I do? heere are such newesAs never could have entred our free earsBut that their sharpnesse do enforce a passage. Follow us, Doctor; 'tis _Flores_ treacherieThat 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 ChristI were one of their guests. Gods ad, a fine littleDapper 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 keepeyour 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 caveTill thou recover it againe for me. You that are bodyes made of lightest ayre, To let a Peasant mounted on a JadeCoozen your curtesies and run awayWith such a Jewell, worthy are to endureEternall 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 feeteWould 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 partsThis 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 ArtT'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 withspirits. 

_Alb_. Weepe not, _Hyanthe_; I will weepe for thee, Lend me thy eyes. No, villaine, thou art heThat in the top of _Eruines_ hillDaunst 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 mybellie, I; let him seeke his _Hyanthe_ where he will. 

_Alb_. O this way by the glimmering of the SunneAnd the legieritie[69] of her sweete feeteShe scowted on, and I will follow her. I see her, like a goulden spangle, sitUpon 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 havebetter 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 ofplate. 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 greenehill 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 ringWill 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 herWho likewise hath forgot the thought of theeBy my inchantments. Come, sit down, fair Nimphe, And taste the sweetnesse of these heavenly cates, Whilst from the hollow cranies[72] of this rockeMusick 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 entertaineWith 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 windeOf 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 damesWho daunst and reveld whilste we sweetly sleptUpon 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 removeThis 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 madeno 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 perrillOf life and honour had you brought your selfeBy obstinacie of your froward minde, Had not my fortune brought me to this placeTo lo[o]se the enchantment, which enthralled you both, By hidden vertue of this precious ring. Come, therefore, friendly and imbrace at lastThe living partner of your strange mishapsJustly 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 theeIs 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 hisdrowning. 

_Mot_. I? I defie thee. Wert not thou next him when he leapt into theRiver?

_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 thisThat 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 paidefor 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 mesuch 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 theechange 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 verymoist, sir, did you sweat all this, I pray? you have not the desease, Ihope?

_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 perceiveHow 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 pledgeOf 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 degood Mershan, vor de grand worte, be garr, and de grand deserte me seain 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 youin curtesie, your selfe shall have her. 

_Doct_. No, by garr, Marshan: you bring de fine tings from de strangeland vere de Sunne do rise, de Jewell, de fine stuffe vor de bravegowne: 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 progenieStand subject to the scornes of such as these!

_Cass_. Grieve not, deare friends, these are but casuall darts. That wanton Fortune daily casts at thoseIn 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 baseTo 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 meAnd do so highly your deserts esteemeThat I will never yeeld to such a match. Choose you a beautious dame of high degreeAnd leave _Cornelia_ to my fate and mee. 

_Cass_. Ah, _Flores, Flores_, were not I assuredBoth of thy noblenesse, thy birth and merite, Yet my affection vow'd with friendships toong, In spite of all base changes of the worldThat tread on noblest head once stoopt by fortuneShould 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 presumeTo 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 loveShall 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 thefoole 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 ayreAnd 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 sitLike to a poore and forlorne Sentinell, Watching the unthankful sleepe that severs meFrom 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 liveThough this same plaintive wreathe doth show me forsaken. Come, let us foorth. 

_Const_. Stay, sister; what faire sightSits mourning in this desolate abode?

_Dut_. Faire sight indeed it is, and much to faireTo 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 wellMay be so bould to aske, pray whats the causeThat you [so] more then strangely sit alone?

_Luc_. Madam, thus must forsaken creatures sitWhose 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 manWhom 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 bindThy 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 memoney, sir, but I perceive you forget your selfe. 

_Han_. True, pride makes a man forget himselfe; and I have quite forgotthat 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 theeno 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 thankeGod I stand in neede of no such trifles. I have another jewell heerewhich 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 ofmee. 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 herHath driven her to some desperate exigent. Who would have tempted her true love so farre?The gentlest minds with injuries overcomeGrowe most impacient: ô _Lucilia_, Thy absence strikes a loving feare in me, Which from what cause so ever it proceedesWould 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 youThat 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 youAnd of your gallant, too. Guard, apprehend themAnd 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 bestowedOf 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 drowndeWere double deepe in me and turned to tearesThat it might be consumde for swallowing thee. 

 _Enter Alber, with a basket of Apricocks, disguised_. 

_Alber_. In this disguise Ile secretly enquireWhy I was so forsaken of my friendAnd 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 feareHath turned her womanish conceipt from me. Ile proove them both. Maister, wilt please [you] buyA basket of well riped Apricocks?

_Lea_. I pray thee keepe thy dainties; I am fullOf 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 streameWherein the young prince _Alberdure_ was drownd?

_Alb_. I know not he was drowned, but oft have seeneThe pittious manner of his lunacie;In depth whereof he still would eccho forthA Ladies name that I have often heard, Beautious _Hyanthe_; but in such sad sortAs if his frenzie felt some secret touchOf 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 aloneThen would he wring his hands, extreamly weeping, Exclaiming on the name of one _Leander_, Calling him Traitor and unworthie friendSo to forsake him in his miserie. 

_Lea_. Accursed I! ô thou hast mooved me moreThan if a thousand showers of venom'd dartsWith 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 bothAs 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 nowLeast 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 starsThat 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 meThe 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 meWhich for my ransome we go now to offerTo 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 JewellThat 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 asif he had been a quarter of a yeare drowned, yet prettelie come tohimselfe, saving that he was so madde to change apparrell with me; inthe 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 CourtWith this most happie newes. 

_Flo_. Come, happie friend, The most auspicious messenger to meThat 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 allposte haste possible. Maister Doctor, Maister Doctor!

_Doct_. Shesue, vat ayle de man?

_Mar_. I love you, Maister Doctor, and therefore with all the speed Icould possiblie I sought you out. 

_Doct_. Vell, vat?

_Mar_. This, sir; the marriage which we thought made even now, betweeneEarle _Cassimere_ and _Cornelia_, was but a jest only to drawe you tomarry her, for she doth exceedinglie dote upon you; and _Flores_ herfather hath invented that you are betrothed to her and is gone with asupplication 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 dreameupon 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 swingeof it, but you had best looke to it betimes, for Earl _Cassimere_ hathmade 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 beegarre. 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 causeOf his mishap and amorous lunacie, I hope your highnesse loves him over wellTo 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 nightWherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonneSit in my fathers garden with _Hyanthe_Under the shadow of the Laurell tree. With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongdeI 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 sonnePerhaps 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 eventThat 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 themIn 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 seeYour sonne recovered of his life and wits?

_Alp_. See, see, how boldly the young pollyticianCan urge his practice. Sirra, you shall knowIle not be over-reacht with your young braine. All have agreed, I see, to cozen me, But all shall faile. Come, Ladie, I will haveYou spight of all, and, sonne, learne you hereafterTo use more reverend meanes to obtaineOf me what you desire. I have no joyTo 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 safeFor 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 griefesAnd 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 theeMake thee discerne; meane time consider this, That I neglect for thee a beautious DutchesseWho 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 urgeYour 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 mindeOf her rare entertainment, and her presencePut 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 hereAre highlie welcome to the _Saxon_ Court. 

_Kath_. O you dissemble, sir, nor are we comeIn hope of welcome, but with this poore head-peeceTo 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 worldWhy you retained such mean conceipt of usTo slight so solemne and so high a contractWith vaine pretext of visions or of dreames. 

_Alp_. My Lord, I here protest by earth and heavenI holde your state right highlie and renownedAnd your faire sisters beauties and desertsTo be most worthy the greatest king alive;Onlie an ominous vision troubled meAnd 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 allEre Ile offend your grace or breed suspectOf my firme faith in my most honoured love. 

_Kath_. No, no, my lord: this is your visionThat hath not frighted but enamoured you. 

_Alp_. O Madame, thinke you so? by Heaven I sweareShe'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 fatherWith any wrong to your high woorth in her. 

_Con_. Sister, you see we utterly mistakeThe kinde and princelie dealing of the Duke:Therefore without more ceremonious doubtsLets 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 breathThe true speech of my hart and hart it selfe. Require no more if thou be princelie borneAnd not of rocks or ruthelesse tygers bred. 

_Kath_. My Lord, I kindlie cry you mercy now, Ashamed that you should injurie your estateTo kneele to me; and vowe before these lordsTo make you all amends you can desire. 

_Flo_. Madame, in admiration of your GraceAnd princelie wisedom, and to gratifieThe 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 thankesAnd for the present thou hast given to herTo strengthen her consent to my desires, I recompence thee with a free releaseOf 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 weareThis worthlesse garland? Come, sir, make amends, Or we will heere awarde you worthie penance. 

_Lass_. Madame, since her departure I have doneMore 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 asloose 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 goodargument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I nopoint marrie _Cornelia_. Vat say you now?

_Cass_. My Lord, no doubt some man hath guld the Doctor, Supposing he should be enforste to wed herThat is my wife and ever scorned him. 

_Doct_. Vat you say? de Marshan tell a me I marrie _Cornelia_ spitmy nose. 

_Alp_. The Marchant I perceive hath trimde you, Doctor. And comb'd you smoothelie. Faith, I can him thankeThat thus revives our meeting with such mirth. 

_Doct_. O be bright de heaven, est a possible! and by heaven I berevenge dat vile Marshan, me make de medecine drie up de Sea, seaventowsand, 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, degrease 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 celebrateOur happie royall nuptials and my sonnesWith this our sweete and generall amitieWhich 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 anonymousplay, 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 andcheerless, but marked with signs of unmistakable power. At the time whenI made the extracts for the Appendix, I thought that Cyril Tourneurmight possibly be the author. On further reflection, it seemed to methat the stronger passages are much in Marston's manner. The horridscene where Charlimayne is represented hugging the dead queen recallsthe anonymous "Second Maiden's Tragedy. " Marston, who shrank fromnothing, would not have hesitated to show us the Archbishop, in hissearch for the magic ring, parting the dead queen's lips, with theironical observation, "You cannot byte me, Madam. " The trenchant satirethat abounds throughout the play reminds us frequently of Marston, though there is an absence of that monstrous phraseology whichdistinguished his "Scourge of Villanie" and early plays. But, looking atthe play as a whole, I should have very great hesitation in allowing itto be Marston's. My impression is that Chapman had the chief hand in it. The author's trick of moralising at every possible opportunity, hisabundant use of similes more proper to epic than dramatic language, theabsence of all womanly grace in the female characters, --these are pointsin which the present play may be compared with Chapman's publishedtragedies. Orlando's speech at the beginning of Act ii. , "O that mycurse had power to wound the starres, " &c. , in which he compareshimself, with epic elaboration, to "an argosie sent rychlye fourthe" andnow "meanelye retourninge without mast or helm, " to my thinking closelysuggests Chapman. It is not quite impossible that the present play maybe Chapman's lost "French tragedy" (entered on the Stationers'Registers, June 29, 1660), a copy of which was among the plays destroyedby Warburton's cook. 

It is due to Mr. Fleay that I should mention his solution of thedifficulty. 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 LaBuffa, [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 ananagram, 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 thisexplanation, but when Mr. Fleay, not having seen the complete play, proceeds to say that the extracts I gave "are quite consistent with thesupposition that it is one of Field's lost works, " I must take leave todissent. 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 noslovenliness in the workmanship, and success is attained by honest, straightforward endeavour. It seems to me quite incredible that theauthor of those two admirable comedies should be responsible for thegloomy, ponderous tragi-comedy here presented to the reader. What shareField had in the "Fatal Dowry" I do not intend to discuss minutely. Thechief figure in that play, Charolois, I take to be a study inMassinger's gravest manner; but if we allow that Field should becredited with more than the comic scenes in the "Fatal Dowry, " his claimto the present play is not at all strengthened. Perhaps, after all, noauthor'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 oflikelihood. 

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 goodOr thou mayst looke and never fynde the way. 

_Did_. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a markeAs 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 wishtTo feele thyne eies bournt out into their sockettsThen thus to live and see the blacke disgraceThat 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 theeTo give attendance on the full-fedd gueste, Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynkeTo 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 repayreA broken state by service, may be lycknedTo shypwrackt marchants that will rather seekeTo catche a rotten board or to be castUppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie. But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance, Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clymeBecause 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 wayTo blasphemye and curses which have kyndledA desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose, So that although thou purchase letteres patenteTo begge in all the provynces of _Fraunce_, Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer, Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar. 

_Did_. If I dyeBefore my letters pattente be expyred, Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)?But leaveing thys and you to the pore hopeOf other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes, I tell thee, syllie creature, I am noweSpreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghteFrom whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngsAs all th'ambityon thou art master ofCan never make thee hope or wish to be. And for my fortunes past, which you so muchEsteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe, I vallewe theym at thys! and for the likeWould not bestowe the labor of amenTo any good man's wishes. The laboringe cloudsInsteade of vapours have exhald from eartheA 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 dooneFall 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 lordeTo 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 pilloryePayd 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 taughtTo give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83] ... ... ... ... ... 

_Bus_. You may be dambdFor useing sorcerye upon the kynge. That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurseOf younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of, And all the able facultyes of manAre fled his frost of age to that extreameTheres not enough to cherrish a desyerLeft in his saplesse nerves. 

_Did_. In this your worshyppGives my hopes illustratyon. Age must doateTo a Judgments dearth that may be cheated onYet that cheate rest unquestyond. Doe you heare?The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunteHathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and heWill, like a ryver that so long retaynesThe oceans bounty that at last it seemesTo be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepeThe comon treasure; and in such a floode, Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullyeCovetts the center, can you hope Ile synke?

_Bus_. Hell take thy hopes and thee!

_Did_. But I would haveYou understand that I may rise agayneWithout the catchinge of a rotten boardeTo keepe bare life and mysserye togetherTo fyght eche other. 

_Bus_. Furyes fryght thy soule!Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment?Noble _Orlando_, what omynous fatell starreRuld thy nativitie that fire must beStrooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes:This marriage is their grave. 

_Did_. Sir, I may rayseA broken state by service. 

_Bus_. Yes, of the devyllTo whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thouThat hast undoone my father and increastHis evyll inclinatyons. I have seeneYour conference with witches, night-spell knaves, Connivynge mountebanks and the damned fryeOf cheating mathematicks. And is thisThe issue of your closse contryvances[84]?If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future illThere may be found a way to anye goodOf brave _Orlando_ the great palladyne, My constant industry shall tyer the dayAnd 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 werteSo free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt;Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coateTo equall thryddbareness and never hadstVertue inough to make thee [be] preferrdBefore aught but a cloak bagge, --what to me?

_Fue_. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee allOne entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders?

_Did_. I cry your reverence mercye, I confesYou are more antique. 

_Fue_. Antycke in thy face!My lord shall knowe. 

_Did_. But pray thee let me fyrstKnowe 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 hyddMy adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt;And that shalbe ballast to my complaynteTo 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 selfeWith the full Joy I tast. O _Ganelon_, Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytudeI owe thy vertues for thys royall matche, Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer, My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elementsCan 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 meaneIt scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)--

_Charl_. Tys thou hast made me greater then my name ... ... ... ... ... How mysserablye so ere our nature maksUs thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen, But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe;For Tyme (whose ende like hys originallIs most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backeThe sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes, Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys courseFrom these late dead now manlye facultyes. Kysse me, _Theodora_. Gods, carouse your fyll, I envye not your nectar; from thys lyppPuerer 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 delighteI 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 skyllIs sayd to have had power ore ravenous beastsTo make theym lay their naturall feircenes byWhen he but toucht his harpe; that on the floodsHad power above theire regent (the pale Moone)To make them tourne or stay their violent courseWhen he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds, Neare had abyllitie with all his arteTo matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce. And were I on the axeltree of heavenTo 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 IBringe newes that doth include--

_Char_. Cossan, your blame, And tys a dylligence of too muche prydeThat interrupts myne admyratyon. 

_Rei_. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleifeAnd be as wellcome as a gentyll callmeTo a longe daungerd seaman in a storme, Suche as up on _Aeneas_ straglinge fleeteAt _Juno's_ will by _Aeolus_ was raysdWhen in his flyght from horror he sawe moreThen _Troy_ affoarded; for the newese I bryngeIs vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges. 

_Char_. Cossen _Reinaldo_, if youle sytt and prayseThe fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heareTyll 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 happynesBy a blest vyctorye. 

_Char_. We have no leasureTo heare, nor are we able to contayneAnother happynes, nor is theire other. Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreameFrom whence a drume may fryght us. Here doth restMy happynes which cannot be exprest. 

 [_Ex. Cha. , The. , Gab. , and attendants_. 

_Tur_. Pryncely _Reinaldo_, doe not let amazeStrugle within you; you but yet survayThe out syde of our wonder. 

_Rich_. Brother, 'tis moreThen can be wrytten in a cronyckle. 

_Rei_. But must not be without my reprehensyon. Come, I will followe hym: when _Charles_ dothe flyeFrom honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye?

 [_Exe. All but Gan. And Rich_. 

_Gan_. Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knoweHow 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 causeOf hys joy cannot chuse but worke to youEffecte 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 thyngeOf strengthe about hym, and that strength is hysWith 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 kyngeBy giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts. 

_Gan_. Y'are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if IFelte not a straunger love within my selfeIn 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 experyenceOf youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs)That if suche an affectyon manadge you, Tys not the man or sexe that causes itBut the styll groweinge vertues that inhabyttThe 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 theeThe 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 formeCould not but be the myne of manye vertues. Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myneAnd fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanneYour inmost frendshipp, which with joy attayndIn seekinge for a sparke I found a flame, Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slaveAnd staggerd me with wonder. 

_Rich_. Good sweete lorde, Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance isToo oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrmeTo be nowe semented. 

_Gan_. True, my best freinde;And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counteMy treasure in thee, pray thee give me leaveTo joy in my posession of suche blysseTo which all honours in our _Fraunce_ compairdWere as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared. 

_Rich_. Sir, thoughe I knowe there is nothynge in meAble to give a flattery hope to thryveIn the most abject slave to it that courts, And therefore cannot doute it in your selfe, Yet I beseeche you talke of somethynge ellesOr I shall growe unmannerlye & leave you:Myne owne prayse is my torture. 

_Gan_. Heaven forbyddYf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche, Beyond expression! And synce this offends theeIle speake of that shall please my noblest _Rycharde_. 

_Rich_. Your pleasure & your honorable endsAre 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 nameOr fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote, Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growesTo 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 allExcepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowneInto 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 playneAnd not to wrong the love, which I have foundeEver in thee, with any further doute, My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonneAnd gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe?Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy souleAnd has syght for her often. Now enjoy, And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse, Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyveTheir byrthe and grave together; for by heavenTo be made monarke of the unyverseAnd lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes, I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee:And if the thoughts of men were scrutableTo 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 fyttIle cease to questyon, yet my contyence callsIt 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 wishesAnd locke you in saftie. In the nexte roomeStay 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 crowneAnd cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the laweMakes all legitimate in wedlocke borne, By whom so ere begott, the way is evenUnto 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 prynceTo stay hys journey? Ile be playne with thee, For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust:He is an envyous torrent interposdTwixte 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 drameWill purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughteSome of the rebells in these frontyre townes, By him reducst to false obedyence, Have, in revendge o'the servytude whereinHys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone't; so not so muchAs bare suspytion ever will attache thee. 

_Did_. I'm glad y'ave named me in't; I was afraydeI 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 paynesBe equall sharer in my present meanesAnd future blessyngs. 

_Did_. No more, Sir; Ile dooe't. I speake it with a confydence wherebyIde have you say unto your selfe 'tys doone. '

_Gan_. Thanks, my most honest _Didier_. Other affayres of seryous consequenceCall me; the Empresse must be solicytedUnto an acte for which I'de loathe her butMy ends have gloryous aymes. 

_Did_. Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [_Exit Ganelon_. Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycieTo venture all in one pore shallowe boate, The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye. Factyons in courte are like to suyts in laweWhere goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe;And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure, Who shall protect me in so many waysLeading to severall and confused ends?I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wanderAs 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 itAnd as he is a courtier beene excusdThoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harteRunne one selfe course shall seldome find the wayTo a preferment. Nowe the courte is growneAs strange a beast as the thronged multytude, Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tysThe upper house. 

_Ber_. Why will you be a lymbeOf 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 meIn 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 woundeHys faire deserved reputatyon. 

_Bus_. Sytts the wynde there?

_Gab_. Yes, syr, and blowes me henceIn 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 courteShould 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 vowedMy 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 goodFor 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 roseNypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe inCyrckled with ice?

_Ber_. I knowe not nor I care not. 

_Bus_. But you can guesse. --Or in the frosts DyspighteWill she blowe out?

_Ber_. Sir, y'are unmannerlieTo stay and question me: I must be gone. 

_Bus_. Take my harte with you. 

_Ber_. He whose harte and tongeRunne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the wayTo a preferrment. 

_Bus_. Sfoote, doe you thynke your loveSuch a preferrment? nay then, fare you well. 

_Ber_. Vyllanous man! [_Ex. Bertha_. 

_Bus_. Well, now unto my father whom I knoweHates me but for my goodnes; and althougheI cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hymIle vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knoweVertue 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 fervencyeThat 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 vyceAnd greatnes make your ills seeme gloryousTo some too farre beneathe you, that neare lookeInto the chynckes and crannyes of the state, Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone illTo crosse _Orlandos_ fayre successyonBy 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 senceTo speake with suche a daringe impudence. 

_Bus_. Howe's that?

_Gan_. Thus and observe me. As you love the cubboardeWherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast, Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to playThe dogge and open thus when I am presentWithout my spetyall lycence and comand, Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shameThat life shalbe thy torment. Hence, thou slave, Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistingeOf equall foulness! hence, I say! IgnoranceShall 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 myneAs 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 plottAnd 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 fearesThou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deatheMy 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 IOr 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 servedYour Lordshypp five and twentye. 

_Gan_. What meanes thys?

_Fue_. My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude JackeAbuses me in words I understand not;And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hymI am no longer for you. 

_Gan_. Patyence, man:If thys be all Ile see it remedyed. He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats pastAnd 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 frendsAnd live in peace together. 

_Did_. On condytionThat hence you take no lycence to depraveMy good indevours. 

_Fue_. In my contyenceHe wrongs me now agayne. 

_Did_. Nor on this groweSawcie and insolent. 

_Fue_. Hay da! can oughteProceeding from my gravitie to theeBe esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde;Can fleshe and bloode induer thys? I doe knoweMy servyce is more pretyous then to beThus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe;And though in pollycie I will not leaveYour lordshypps servyce, yet if polycieOr brayne of man may studdye a revendge, Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayneShall fashyon out a rare one. [_Exit La Fue_. 

_Gan_. Syllye foole!Come, _Didier_; mynde not hys peeyvishe hateIle 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 starresThat with a more then envyous aspectThus racke me & my fortunes! marryed?I coulde allmost brable with destenyeFor giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme. And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knottThat tyes suche a disparytie together. But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye bloodA flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupteThen a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I, Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe, Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the windsAnd 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 thunderAnd naturall terror of tempestuous stormes, Must (that had beene the wonder of the worldeAnd loved burthen of the wanton seas)Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pyttiesAnd like to such, not cared for a jott, ... ... ... ... ... Must lye by & rott:And so must I. 

_Rei_. His dottage maks hym thynkeHym selfe so happye in thys cursed matcheThat when the newse of your successe aryved(Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie)He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylledWith a suppossed joy conceyvd in her. 

_Oli_. He has not dealt like _Charlimayne_ t'exposeYou to the horror of a cyvill warre, And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious wayTo hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosseYour fayre successyon. 

_Orl_. Twas a speedinge plottTo sende me into _Spayne_, whylst _Ganelon_Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here, The envyous destenye that dothe attendeOn all my undertakings, would have madeMy 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 smyleBut when it gave me a full cause to cursse. And were the way to my successyon freeAs when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all senceAnd possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde spryngeFrom my meare fate to make another kynge:So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes allMy rights of byrthe and nature. 

_Rei_. You have doone illTo soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence. 

_Oli_. With penytence tys confest, consyderingePreventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way'sLefte eyther for revendge or remedye. 

_Orl_. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres, Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssectsWith all the poysons and sharpe corrosyvesStylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie. My starres, my starres!O that my breath could plucke theym from their sphearesSo 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 owneIll manners should be noted thynks it fyttIn pollycie to scoffe at other mens. He will taxe all degrees and think that thatKeepes hym secure from all taxation. 

_Orl_. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylmanAnd hated of his father for hys vertues. 

_Bus_. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and eartheMay comforte man, wayte on your excellence!

_Orl_. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrsCan ere be heard to my desyred good, I am not so voyde of humanitieBut I will thanke your love. 

_Rei_. Pray, sir, what newseHath the court lately been deliverd of?

_Bus_. Such as the gallimaufry that is foundIn her large wombe may promise: he that hasThe fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrteAnd knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preistsInvay agaynst plurallytie of liveingsAnd they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are withoutThe remedye of sugar candye for't. Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gottHurlye 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 thyngsTo mere confussyon: nothing there hath formeBut that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorteVice only thrives and merryt starves in courte. 

_Rei_. What of the maryadge of your noble aunteOur fayre eied royall empresse?

_Bus_. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir, You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hopeNone here are jealyous that I brought one sparkeTo kyndell that ill flame. 

_Orl_. No, of my trothe, I know thee much too honest; but how faresThe 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 pyncheI will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. O harte, will nothing breake the?

_Rei_. Tis most straunge. 

_Orl_. Straunge? Why, if she had been spaydAnd all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghteMy ill fate would have gotten her with chylde--Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no manThat hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryveEre let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in'tWould tourne the hope't successe to an eventThat would fryghte nature & make patyence brauleWith 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 toWould ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fateThat I should be distrackt. I can observeNaughte but varyetye of mysseriesCrossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours. I neare did good for any but great _Charles_, And the meare doing that hath still brought forthTo me some plague too heavye to be borne, But that I am reservd onlye to teachThe 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 standsAnd onlye against me. 

_Rei_. Move hym no further;But if your observatyon can fynde outA coneinge in the carryadge of theise illsThat may be questioned, Ile thanke your love, And be your servant: pray be inquisitive. 

_Orl_. Inquiseytive? for what? my miseryesRequyer no searche, they playnlye shewe themselves, And in theire greatnes crowne what made them greate. The power of Fortune, which by theym beinge crowndDoth tyrannize uppon me. 

 _Enter Didier_. 

_Did_. Healthe attendThys honord presence! may your wellcome homeRetayne proportion with those worthye deedsWhereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome. 

_Orl_. What is he?

_Did_. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shallEver attend you, and those wishes bePutt into acte to doe you anye servyce. 

_Bus_. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there isMore sympathye betwixte mere contraryesThen twixte thy words and wishes. 

_Did_. Then your knowledgeHas no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greateTo be so littill famed. I never heardeThat you ere did or durst knowe any thyngeBut dynner tyme & coronatyon day, The tylters collours & theire pages suytts, But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave upAn Ignoramus. 

_Bus_. Th'art a parasytte;Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my fatherAnd like an evyll aungell make hym doeThose fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver. Therefore the love which thou protestest hereCan be at best but fayn'd & beares more sheweOf treacherye then zeale. 

_Did_. How say you by that?

_Orl_. _Ganelon's_ servant! Will it not suffyceThe mallyce of my starres to presse me downeWith a most pondrous wayghte of injuryesBut they must keepe me wakinge with the syghteO' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferingsWith heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare youUpbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynkeMy wrongs and fortune have made me so tameThat I am a fytt subject for your spleene, Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage?Or arte so greate an Infydell to douteMy mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on neweIn full carryere uppon me?

_Did_. I disclayme_Ganelons_ servyce other then to serveYour worthye ends, which is the onlye endWhertoe I ere seemd hys. 

_Bus_. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!

_Orl_. Impossyble!I cannot be so happye, & if thouBeare but the least affectyon to my cause, Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungdTo a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature. 

_Did_. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worstIn ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleasedThys screane may be removed that keepes awayAll comfortable heate from everye manWhich he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shallConfyrme 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 goodWe may dyscover & prevent hys ill:Pray leave us, sir. 

_Bus_. I will; but yet bewareThat fellowe. [_Exit La Busse_. 

_Did_. I fyrst desyreTo be beleived my love & utmost servyceAre vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleifeThe hazard of my life throughe all the daungersThat ever fryghted weake mortallytie, Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knoweThe empresse is departed. 

_Orl_. Whyther! to hunt worsse fortunes then I suffer?

_Did_. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloodeAfter her chyld bedd sycknes, & of itShe 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 moreThen ere he loved her liveinge (yet that loveOutwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie):He will not give her buryall, but in's armesCarryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys, Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynesTo understande her sylence; sweares that deatheCannot, 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 prooffeOf myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerdBy _Ganelon_ to poyson you. 

_Rei_. Whatts thys?

_Did_. To which performance I so soothd hys hopesThat he beleives tys doone. 

_Orl_. And so it had, But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde beToe greate a blessinge for me & removeThe object of her envye past her spleene. What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeedeAll the worlds mysseryes that have a name, A new one out of pyttie must be foundeTo adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse, But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee;And for thy disobedyence to thy lordeIle 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 glewedGaynst 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 ifShe did but slumber by hym. 

_Oli_. Tys an offerd meanesTo bringe your foe in hatred with the emperourRevyve your hopes. 

_Orl_. As cordyalls doe call backeA dyinge man from hys aproachynge peaceTo make h[im suffer] still the mysseryesOf hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it, And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfeToo noble to complayne. I neare coulde fyndePleasure or ease in others punishment, Or if I were so base to take delighteIn the afflyctions of another manMy fate would guard me from't, for tys decreedThat onlye I of all mankynde shall neareBe master of a hope shall have successe:So all the opposytion I can makeWould onlye make my greives rydiculousAnd dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I. [_Ex. Orlando_. 

_Did_. Heres a straunge humor!

_Oli_. I, but let it notDeterre you from hys accusatyon. 

_Did_. Ile justefye what I have sayd. 

_Rei_. Doe so, And bothe myne entertaynment and rewardeShall pay thy love and faythe. 

 [_Ex. All but Didier_. 

_Did_. I doe not likeThys entertaynment at the second hande:It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie. Is thys a welcome worthye of the loveI have exprest? Had I tooke up hys haukeOr matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyceHad deserved more respect then he gives me. I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes, For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye dooneAnd ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue isThe scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thyngeThat ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts. But t'has a cursse. It is impossybleEre to gett into _Ganelon_ agayne, Havinge not onlye not performd hys willBut tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ereThe earle of _Angeres_ houlds thys accusatyon, T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe--But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove itBy other testymonie then myne owne;And that hys owne denyall will bereave meOf 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 meIf 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 roaugshippYour 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 allUnable to outflye or to resist, But suche pursued her basenes and her sloatheAt 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 comparyssonThe best that I have hearde. But be assurdI 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 bellsOf greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade, Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee thenThat thou shalt curse thy beinge. [_Exit Didier_. 

_Gan_. Thys is well, Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slaveArmed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde noweWishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lipsWhen I made thys roague inmate of my breast. My seryous counsaylls and's owne servycesHe sells like goods at outcryes--"Who gives most?"Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynesWhen first I trusted hym; Harte, I have madeMy counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith heMay wound me deeplye. Suer he has revealdMy purposse and reward to poyson hym:So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyneWants 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 deatheHath, like the moone in opposytion, Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperourStyll keep her in hys armes. 

_Ric_. Yes, styll and styll;Nay with such vyolence love seemes to groweAnd flourishe most in deathe. _Mesantius_ wrathe, That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hymThe joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he isAnything now but famous _Charlymayne_. 

_Gan_. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye manCan neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende, Is there no meanes to come to the dead queeneOut 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 maydStill let her frantique love receyve repulseAnd crowne thy contynence; for though I wasContent 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 affectyonIn publique I confes it would make meA 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 muchAs you of charytie if your tonge beeA 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, knoweI will not have my true love circomscrybdWithin the lymits of your pollycie, Come, y'are wicked. 

_Gan_. Repentance would doe well. 

_Gab_. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yearesAnd at that sober age I meane to wedd it. Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wildBut they stay here. Nor will I ever strayBeyond this most loved object. 

_Ric_. Say not so:It never can retourne your recompence. Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contracktAnd richlie to be marryed unto heavenShall ever keepe me from affectyon:Beleve it, madam, I will never love. 

_Gab_. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of allOnlye 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 flamesCreate as the full desyers that warme my bloode. What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre, And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoakeOf hys strycte rules and so chayne up my bloodIn manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dareAll pangs make men thynke of mortallytie, But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styllAnd 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 embraceIs my most mortall enemye, and hereI sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. O, _Gabriella_, come; thy syster sleepesA longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade;Goodnes can never perishe, and if soYet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I haveNot full so many mynuts to survyveAs one pore breathe may reccon, and shall IFor that short space forgett her? No we'll stayAnd 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 seeThe rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeksFresher than ever. Deathes imortal sytheDare not offend thy branches: O, thou arteA 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 imprinteMy soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fameAnd 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 theeAre 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 sleepePresses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete, Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my restShall 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 souleHath charmd hys sence with slumber. 

_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdraweAnd fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watcheAnd 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 aboveTh'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 scrollesCan even bynd the soule to servytude. It may be that's wrought on the emperoure. I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to beA 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 coldeAnd 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 ringeHydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate!Somethynge depends uppon it: what it isI 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 awakeI 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 chaungeWhen did _Charles_ use such frayltie? Men at armesDid 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 ageDid neare forgett mortallytie, nor hatheThe wantonst thought in prynces made me lookeBeyond 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 healtheWho plact her bodye here?

_Rich_. Onlye your maiestye, From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tongeHad power to drawe her. 

_Char_. Gentyll coosse, Doe not take judgment from me: in my myndeWas never fyxte a frantycke passyon. But more of that hereafter: take it henceAnd let the ladyes guarde it tyll it beInterrd 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 faceMay blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [_Exit Rich_. Hathe brought to _Fraunce_ her wishes in suche wreathesOf uncompared conquests that it bendsWith weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes!

 _Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier, Attend[ants]_. 

O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe youngeWith 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 meAnd I partake not of it, but within meI bringe and beare more mysseryes then wouldUnpeople your whole kyngdome. 

_Char_. Whats the matter?

_Orl_. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your powerNowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse)To tell you of a practyse gainst my lifeBy _Ganelon_. 

_Char_. Call hym; you shall be hearde, You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge. Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knoweThat indyrect surmyses more abuseAnd in that strange abuse more deeplye woundeAn inocent brest then proves a guyltie one. 

_Orl_. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses woundeAn inocent brest: myne keepes a registerWith corsives charactred on everye sydeOf 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 longePractysd agaynst myne honor in myne absenceAt last didst deale with thys just gentyllman(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttieBe myne afflyction) to poyson me. 

_Gan_. My emperour, If thys aspertyon may fynde out a wayThorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor, Justyce hathe left the earthe. 

_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha!

_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitieThat can rewarde or punyshe, tys most trueThat with a summe of goulde and further hopesOf future honors he did wynne my promysseTo 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 noblesAnd yet have lawe for't. But if any man(Thys slave except), although hys synns would makeThe sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghteAnd 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 meOr gaynst another man (for anye ellse)Would be enoughe. 

_Rei_. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycieWorks on the lives of prynces, God forbyddBut one mans oathe should stand for testymonye. 

_Oli_. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leadeDyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. All _Fraunce_ dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne. 

_Ric_. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tongesAre sharpe and manye, and they ever cleaveMost 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 lifeIn thys he is most guyltye. 

_Char_. Come, no more. There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe, And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyveHowe 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 departeYour life is forfayte. Away!

_Gan_. I doe obayYour Majestye. [_Exe. Gan. , La Busse_. 

_Orl_. Is thys a punishment?

_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen. 

_Did_. And noble bloodeHathe 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 favorIn a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasdT'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 neckeAnd bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares. O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge, Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosseWhen 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 carractersIn 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 scorneThys toe much wanton passyon. 

_Char_. They are joysToe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete;We will in private measure our delightsAnd 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 thusThe whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous. 

 [_Ex. All but Didier_. 

_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestyeAnd contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake trutheI 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 fyttFor 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 loveThen 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 ruynsThat are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures;And are you styll to learne or will you trustA 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 goodnesSo muche as to account your errors follyes;But, I proteste, were you another woman, I should be bouldlye seryous and tell youThat all the wytts of chrystendome are spenteIn stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes:And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boyBeares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie!Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye faceWhen they themselves deceyve most by the face?Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if weCannot suspect when others doe dissemble?

_Eld_. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into themeale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eiesyghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to thetune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks acrannye 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 leddBy the charme of hys voyce onlye?

_Eld_. Trust me, wenche, Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thysWhere lyethe our preventyon?

_Gab_. Onlye thus:You must by all meanes styrre dissentyonTwixte _Rychard_ and my brother, tourne their lovesTo mortall hate and emulatyon;Which but effected, _Richard_ suer will loveBee't but alone to crosse hys enemye. 

_Eld_. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creaturenowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor atale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedesof enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or goodfellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theirefrendshypp. But to better purpose--

_Gab_. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshoppThe kyngs inamord darlinge. 

 _Enter Turpin_. 

_Tur_. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunceWith your deare sonne, my good lord _Ganelon_?

_Eld_. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir. Lost from the courte he left behynde hym thereAll 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 affayresBut onlye looks to's owne comodytie. 

_Tur_. Hys chaunge was passynge happye then, it seemes. 

_Gab_. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, noweHe onlye wayts on hys partycullar, Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayseAll 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 planteTheire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91]Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces. 

_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tysHys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall endeOnlye to hym reveald, that instantlyeYour sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreateYou will imparte unto hym. 

_Eld_. Most willinglie;Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled thereWhich to the courte is a contrarye spheare. 

 [_Ex. Eldegr. And Gab_. 

_Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! ... ... ... ... ... O tys a foule and damned sorceryeAnd 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 complymentAnd torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexeHoulde 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 starveMy 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 lifeThen 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 thyngeThat 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 beleiveAnother god, or I must forfayte heavenAnd worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my senceFrom knowinge what I feele, for I am weake:Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on theeWho 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 requestOr I shall growe a burthen to thy favors. 

_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours haveAll 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 easyliecontented?

_Rich_. --Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt. 

_Bus_. --Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styllwante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_, he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good ouldeloveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not noweblame 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 gravemajestie 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 topollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringepollycie 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 myrackleshould he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way tobe removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or doesnot somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhatthere must be. 

_Char_. How now, cossen, what says _La Busse_?

_Bus_. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye ofbegginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to theByshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople ofmynuts. 

_Char_. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlyecompanyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue. --But, sweete frend, Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyonAs fyrme as destenye, and I will giveAll 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 agreeWith _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. As _Ganelon_ with it, Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerdSubjection to my fate since last I sawe you;In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearndSynce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge menteI never slepte in quyett nor awaktBut with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyleTyll I had payd the tribute of my caresOver and over. Fortune has opposdMy naturall blessings and my wishest ends;Those verye honors which my byrthright claymesHave cost me more vexatyon to preserveThan all the numerous tyttells of a kyngePurchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in allMy days of sorrowe I was styll to learneA suffrynge of that impyous accounteWhich 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 wouldeGive all rights to your honor, which did causeMe latelye thus to send for you. 

_Orl_. Tys true, You sent unto me, sir, and I obaydAnd came: but then, Sir, what became of me?You sente me presentlye away for _Spayne_. Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thysAs well methynks as if it hapned nowe. 

_Char_. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake. 

_Orl_. O that I could mistake or never thynkeUppon thys daylie terror to my sence. Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystakeBut cannot, for my starrs will have it thus. 

_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire goodInto 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 henceAnd conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd. 

_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer. 

_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeedeTys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with, But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feareMy 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 diseaseWhich 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 cursseWhen 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 belongeUnto your fault muche more then banishment. I heare discharge you of all offyces, Honors and tyttells or whatere exceedsThe slender name of a pore gentyllman. Besyds I fyne you out of your estateAt fortye thousand crownes, and never henceTo see the courte, but live thence banyshed. Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be lightIle 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 theeAnd utter my dystractyon; only noweCan 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 undisturbdAnd 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 crowneIn loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome. 

_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge meHe wants his refudge, and my glorye thenShalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughtsOnlye 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 grudgeThat I should take a pore content in shame?Your envye will discredite you, my lorde. Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ doggeThat 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 syncerlyeI 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 curreWould envye that which he hym selfe dispyses?Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple ICan live in peace at home with hungrye leeksAnd never curse my planettes. I can leapeWith 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 gravitieNot to be shaken with rydiculous windsOf envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynkeHis resolutyons nowe his champyons. 

_Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with meAnd learne to laughe at fortune; I have thereA worthye matche and vertuous wife for theeAnd she shall pyle up all your flatterye:The courte hath no use for it. --Sir, methoughtYou 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 synnesBy losse of my late offyces? I am bounde(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshippIf you or others moved the emperourTo my displaceinge. I am nowe unloadedOf 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 payneOf life and your aleagance that from henceYou never more conversse with _Ganelon_Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment. No not so much as see hym; and withallYou must imediatlye attend his hyghnes. 

_Rich_. I am hys servant. [_Ex. Tur. , Rich_. 

_Gan_. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strookeTo 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 emperourDegrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me, Did he not, cossen?

_Rei_. Yes, to satisfyeThe wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe. 

_Orl_. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse allAs catchynge of the moone: tys past mans powerTo take away my cursse of destenye. 

_Oli_. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse. 

_Orl_. Had any man but such a slave as ILook't to have tryumphd in hys base dejectionAnd he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes, Whylst I and all the projects I can makeCannot (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 ellsCan breake the harte of resolutyon. 

_Rei_. What say you to your conquests?

_Orl_. Tut, in thosseFortune did never medle: honor thereServed in her person, not by substytute. Instead of which pore blessinge not a dayHathe 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 aflycteThat myserable lorde, he doth dispyseMe & 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 assaultedThen 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 endeI've brought her nowe. 

_Eld_. And, Sir, tis noblye doone;I knowe the matche is more desyred by hymThen the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme heIs laboringe to recover, but's retourneI 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 amAt thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace. 

_Eud_. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knoweDisgrace is ever like the greate assayWhich turnes imperfytt mettalls into fumeAnd shewes pure gould to have an absolute valeweBecause it styll remayns unchaungableDisgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence:Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratchesIn 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 mucheAs to be recond fearfull; but the cause, The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte youYou have not flynte enoughe to arme your souleAgaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woesAnd talke alone, least the proceedinge ayreThat easeth me beget in you a payne. Leave me, pray leave me: my rude vyolenceWill halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speecheLike such a noyse as drownds all other noyseWill so afflyct your thoughts & cares on meThat 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 endureTo be exposd uppon the publique scaffoldTo all myne enemyes contempt, but noweI'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 blastAs should not move a weake reede. Come, I loveYour selfe and not your fortunes: pray forgett em. See, I have brought my daughter, and desyerThe matche betwixt us may be consumate. 

_Gan_. O you are noble that can pyttie scorne!And werte not for my frends losse all the restI 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 implyesCan be malytious. --But are you then resolvdTo match with myne ill fortunes?

_Eud_. Sir, I am. 

_Gan_. What says fayre _Bertha_?

_Ber_. That my free will dothe byndeMy love to his comandment. 

_Gan_. Then take her, boy; we wilbe hencefourthe frends, And howsoever crosses come & goeIle leave thee cloathes inowe for winter tyme. 

_Bus_. Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress, And will so arme my servyce with delighteThat, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoakeThe 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 agonyeAnd shoe the worlde I can cast honors ofMore easlye then my garments. Wisdome & thoughtMost 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 IPore 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 frendeIn myne ill brothers name. It may workeSomethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worstIt 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 Ishould 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 tothe 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 skynnefrom myne elbowes. 

_Gab_. Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tellnoble _Richard_, the sonne of _Aimon_, your master sente it, but doe nottell 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 isthy lamented absence which may endanger us alyke. There is no means toprevent all evyls but the injoyinge of my sister Gabriella: thereforeforce in thy selfe an affectyon. She may otherwise growe discontent andtrooble us with her mallyce. Therefore preserve thy selfe and metogether, who am thy best on earthe: Ganelon_. 

Thys letter sente me by my dearest frendeLike spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne. He urdges me to love where a dothe knoweI can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so, Our safties doe compell it, & to thatI must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harteTo 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 roabsAnd never did become hys policie. 

_Ric_. Good Sir, be charytable. 

_Tur_. Indeede I am, But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knoweThe 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_; thysYour 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 daunceattendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gattsin dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard farekeepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in goodsadnes. 

_Tur_. Now, Mounseir _La Fue_, you are of the retyred familye. 

_Fue_. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, andyet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in thedark. 

_Tur_. Come, your anger mistaks: I said retyred. 

_Fue_. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers memay 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 mypurposse: heares gould, comend me to thy master and give him thys tokenfrom 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 weareThe 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 loveBeyond power to interprett: pray you beggeHys grace will ease thys burthen. 

_Char_. Nor he nor any creature on the eartheHath 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 thyngeThat 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 symetreeAnd knytt together with more arte & careThen mathematycks cyrckles. _Durers_ rulesAre perfytted in hym. Why, theirs a faceFigurd 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 vertuewill 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 majestieTo doate uppon thys rascall!

_Fue_. It was a scurvye thynge in nature that she did not tourne manseies inwarde. Why, had I seene as much as the emperoure I myghte havebeen 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]kesFlouryshe like somer garlands. In soothe my souleLoves thee beyond relatyon; for thee I doateAnd dye in thyne affectyon. Come, Ile makeThee greater then all _Fraunce_, above the peres, The proudest he that breathes shall thynke hym blestTo do thee servyce, and esteeme it heavenTo be thyne ape in imytatyon. 

_Fue_. Nowe must I be coy by all meanes. --Trulye for myne owne parte Imust love by dyscretyon, and discretyon tells me I ought not to love anoulde 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 exceedeThe power of thyne askynge; thou shalt treadeUppon 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 firstacte 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 forgreedynes. 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 butbecause 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 aspyrdToth heyght of all perfectyon. 

_Fue_. True, for I'll stande too't an oulde man is able to see more, doemore, & 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 thyngeapeare bygger than it is; does more, for a never lights from hys horsebut hees readye to pull the sadle after hym; and for comandment he maycall 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 arascall? No, you shall give me leave to take my leave. That ceremonyeperformd, 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 noweTo trooble you with my token; good Sir, pleaseTo give it me agayne: a meaner manShall 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 allWretchednes and mysfortune, and in meSpeaks to your sacred goodnes to be pleasdVoutsafe to call your fayre dove to your fyst(Mercye I meane) that may abate the stroakeOf your sharpe eagle justyce, and you willBe wrytt the best of prynces. 

_Char_. Come, no more:Your fathers sentence is irrevocable. 

_Bus_. Yet, gratyous Sir, sende hym hys honors backeAnd for those fewe pore howers he hathe to breatheLet hym injoy those deare companyons. 

_Char_. You are the good sonne of an evyll manAnd I comend your vertue, but thys suyteIs past all restytution: to thys prynceI've given all your father governed. 

_Rich_. Which, royall sir?

_Char_. Cossen, no more; I know your modesty. ... ... ... Your languadge; hees my foeThat 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 fatherI must invocke you for hym. 

_Char_. Which to preventTake my last resolutyon, & from itSwearve not in thyne alleagance: when thou shaltMeete me uppon a way was never usdBy horse nor man, and thou thy selfe dost rydeOn neyther horsse, mare, asse, & yet thy beastAn usuall thynge for burthen, thou thy selfeNeyther uncloathd nor naked, & shalt bryngeThy greatest frend & greatest enemyeCoopld for thy companyons; then I voweTo doe thy father honor, but tyll thenMy mallyce hangs about hym. --Come, coossen, attend us. 

 [_Exe. Char. , Rich_. 

_Bus_. Then dye, pore _Ganelon_. When I shall meeteThe kynge on no hye way, when I shall rydeUppon no beast & yet a beast of burthen, Be neyther nakt nor cloathed, in my handeMy greatest frende & greatest enemye;And but then get his favor. There is no sphynxeThat can absolve thys ryddell: well, tys decreedIle 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 thusMy father badd me tell you that he hatheNot many howers to live, & dothe desyerTo parte in peace with all men, even with youWhom he hathe nowe forgiven hartylie;And if you please to vissytt him you mayFynde love without captitulatyon [sic]. 

_Did_. Sir, Ile attend hym. [_Ex. La Busse_. Yet I've heard a taleOf a feirce snake that wounded by a swayneRememberd it for twentye yeares togetherAnd at the last revendgd it; so may he. I, but another tale tells of an asseWhich haveinge throwne hys cruell ryder wenteIn pyttie to the surgeon, who recurdThe sycklie man & reconcyld the asse. Why may not _Ganelon_ be like the asseAnd 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 beleiveThat _Richard_ is unfaythfull. 

_Eld_. No, runne on, Swallowe thy shames like full bytts tyll they choake youAnd make the people prophesye that youShalbe undoone by your false _Ganimede_. 

_Gan_. A poxe uppon the people! Would you haveMe to depend uppon theire orackles?

_Gab_. Depend on your owne goodnes; doe not trustA traytor in your bossome. _Richard_, they sayHathe 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 emperoureTo be dyvorst your presence: I can prove it. 

_Gab_. And I that he by secret charmes hathe soughtTo make spoyle of myne honor, but in vayneDoe 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 withhys five sences. 

_Fue_. _Ganelon_, no, but in love with my knowne vertues. --Hould, theresyour yarde [_gives hys coate_] & a halfe of somers wearynge. Frends wemett, frends we parte: if you please me I may prayse you, if you seekeme you may fynd me, a loves littill that loves longe; and so I leave youto the tuytion. 

_Gan_. Heyday, the knaves lunatycke! syrha sott ... ... ... ... ... 

[_Fue_. ] ... ... Tys daungerous for your shynns; take heede ofmy[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 pyttieyou. 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 scornesWill 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 hatheAll honors that I challendge; good sweet, looke, [_Eldegrad reads_. Read & recorde a vyllayne. What speaks youres?

_Gab_. No lesse than I imagynd, fearfull seidgeAgaynst my name & honor. [_Ganelon reads_. 

_Eld_. --So, it taks;Thys polytycke trycke, wenche, hathe set up the walleOf stronge partytyon twixt theym. Hence theire lovesShall 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 cloudeAnd 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 seekeBy 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 shallMeete hym uppon a way was never usdeBy horse nor man, & I myselfe to rydeNeyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beastAn usuall thynge for burthen, & withallCome neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringeMy 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 swindgeLeast I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwardeTo dryve away the feare of douted ruyne. Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken treeAnd browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter. Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the houseTyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares, But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger. Where shall I fyxe my trust? My woes are noweBeyond 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 decreedA never shalbe conquerd; any ells, Should a but vowe to conquer 50 worlds, I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye IShall never master a dejected slave. 

_Rei_. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you. 

_Oli_. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswadeHathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way, Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joyeBut muche redoobled sweetnes. And behouldHere 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 ifA would knocke patts with heaven. 

_Rich_. Tys not unlikeYour 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 frendeHath vertues lefte: if you had eyther shameOr 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 youSwiftlye leape over a most plentyous valeOf good examples which grace _Ganelon_And fasten on the scandall which was formdBy 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 revealesMy systers whoredome, or to take awayAll feare of my revendge he now contryvesThat my sadd deathe may fynishe my disgrace. Myne eies are dazeld, but it is no wonder, For in that glassye fellowe I dyserneThe true reflectyon of my fate & feares. Tys he, tys he; there wants but a good crossbowe[99]To levell at hys harte nowe. I beganA littill synce to chide my rashe beleifeAnd 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 suspecteTheire whysprynge plotts. Thys equall hazard mayShadowe 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 wrongeAnd capytall abuse toucht onlye hym. I gave a constant promyse never moreTo vyssytt hym without the emperours leave, And yet I will adventure. He may guesseAt secrett workings & confyrme my feare. Thys nighte I will adventure, & obayAs 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 harteIs 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 ceasseFurther reitteratyon: synce hees pleasdTo burye all, I wilbe patyent;You knowe I ever lovd you & you haveDoone me most worthye, honest offyces. 

_Did_. And many more will dedycatt unto you;My lorde & I am reconcyld at fullAnd have disburdend all our greivances. I doe confes I was bewytcht with fateBut will redeeme myne error; synce I knoweHe loves me nowe more then he did before, I will deserv't so bravely you shall callAnd 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 bayttsYou cannot live twoe howers. Goe where you will, He hathe a plott that haunts you. If you canFynde for your selfe any preventyon, Use it with quycke indevor; for I knoweThe thunder speaks that presentlye will splytt you. 

_Did_. You doe amaze me. 

_Eld_. And like the chaesd Roe stand in that amazeTyll the hounds catche you. What I speakeIs to prevent your present tragedyeAnd to blott murder from my _Ganelon_. Be wise. [_Ex. Eldegrad_. 

_Did_. Am I then noosd! will styll my villanous wyttsBetray me to mysfortune, am I lymed!What shall I doe? flight will not nowe avayle me. I knowe hys projects like hys mallyce runnsTo 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 cabanettAnd 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 fatteCan interposse betwixte theym: _Didier_ dyesAnd so shall _Richarde_. O the wearye thoughtsThat keepe a daylie senate in my braynes, Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare, A frends disloyaltye. Be wysser youThat undertake the greate & hallowed leaugeOf frendlye comforte. Scoole your ryotous bloodeAnd teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawneWith suche a frayle unproffytable thyngeAs face or person when you chusse a frende;Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall ryttsWere as I wishe provyded, to dispeirseA warnynge by my horryble abuse, And I would dye to morrowe. I lamentThat such another pyttied foole as IShould 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 thusCome flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I comeTo 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 souleMay 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 courteTo speake at leasure & pretend imployment. Well, take your tyme; tys not materyallWhether you speake the resydue behyndeNowe or at doomes day. If thy comon senceBe not yet parted from thee, understandeI doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because onceI loved thee dearlye; & collect by thatThere is no devyll in me nor in hellThat 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 cordyallAgaynst 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 laweAnd saved me from all daunger. 

_Gan_. What! that IHave practysd gaynst thee! tys most damned false. I doe protest I love thee trulye, fullye. Come, let us joyne; my contyence says thou didstBut 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 bellAnd 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 & cyrcomstanceAnd 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 heavenCourt all amazed daunger. Nowe to fayleIs past all revelatyon: suer as deatheOur whole plott is reveeld. 

 _Enter Reinaldo_. 

_Rei_. Howe nowe, cossen? suer the hower is past?Yet no newse of my brother: as I liveThe 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 frendOn whom he doats toe dearlye. 

_Rei_. Suer tys so, And it will vexe the noble palladyneAbove the heyghte of madnes; nay, beleiv'tT'will chaunge opynion to a constant faytheOf 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 deedeAnd I will honor hym. 

_Oli_. He hathe forborne th'incounter, and in thatHathe drownd us in amazement: we supposeOur 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 sweareThere is some other mysterye. 

_Oli_. At worstIle make it for our purposse every wayAnd even kill the soule of _Ganelon_. With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that youHoulde patyence for a mynute. 

_Orl_. Patyence!Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrlesThat have not blood enough to make a blusheOr forme an acte might cause one. I have longeLike to a reelinge pynetree shooke the eartheThat I was rooted in, but nowe must fallAnd be no longer the fatts tennys ball. 

_Rei_. Come be more temperd, you shall see from thysSprynge pleasure that you wishe for. _Olyver_Shall instantlye upbrayd false _Ganelon_With _Rychards_ muche unworthynes. 

_Oli_. Thats decreedFor in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourtheAs shall even burst hys gall with agonye:Nay, it shall make hym never darre t'apeareWhere men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare. 

_Orl_. You have lardge promysses, but acts as sloweAs 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 wayghteThat he must synke beneathe theym. Thys I founde(Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse _Richards_ pockettWhen I interrd hym, subscribd by _Ganelon_, Whereby's owne hand would leade hym to the blockeShould I discover it; for heres contayndThe kyngs abuse & _Gabriellas_ whoreinge. But I am nowe beforehand: to hym selfeIle give thys letter; so begett[101] in hymA fyrme beleife of myne integrytieWhich nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweenePreferment & 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 disposdThe 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 eartheCouldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones. If in some flowrye meade th'ast hym interrdThe 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 boreBut erringe starres. 

_Gan_. And they did erre indeedTo shewe their lights at hys curst funerall. Did not a dog bewray thee?

_Did_. Baw, waw, waw! Sir, troble not your selfeWith any doute oth' secrecye was usdIn actinge your comand. And, Sir, becauseI will not have it rest within my powerAt anye tyme to wronge or to traduceYour honour by a probable suspytion, Receyve thys letter which atts buryallI 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 faceAnd muche dystempers hym. 

_Gan_. Deathe! I am lost in treason: my fordgd handHathe whored my liveinge syster & displaysAll 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_ harteCoulde not but doubte thys charrackter, & inThe strengthe of doute he came to me last nyghteTo be resolvd; or ells why should he beareSuche daunger in hys pockett? Admyttinge thys, What followes then? Why, if that were the endeOf's vysytatyon, then it needs must followeThat 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 endeWas to enjoy _Rychard_ unlawfullye:Howe might a fallinge out twyxt hym & meAssyst the ende (for such a thynge she causd)?How?What a dull slave am I! why twas as mucheAs the untyinge of hys codpeyce poynte, Almost the _rem in re_! for whyle he stoodeConstant to my dyrectyons all was well, But, those abandond, then, --harte! I am madd:I pray thee, _Diddier_, helpe me to cursseMe & my rashnes, that so curbd my reasonI would not heare hym speake but put hym strayghtTo everlastynge sylence. 

_Did_. No, my lorde, Letts cursse the lust of woman. 

_Gan_. Well rememberd. 

_Did_. And yet there is a heavye one prepardTo meete them where they act it in the darke. 

_Gan_. True, _Didier_, there is so, and from thatMay 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 BedleNot 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 theymAnd 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 lynteFor 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 & pleasureThat ever breathd a myserable life, If I may knowe what pleasses you. BewareAnd answere wiselye: you are leaveinge noweAll that hathe tyckld your insatyatt bloode, When you resolve my questyon: I will stryppYour sweete contents of to the naked souleBefore 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 poynteAnd never make thys parley; but I'me kynde, And youle confes it when you reade that letter. You knowe the charackter & the whole scopeEre you peruse one worde, I make no questyon. But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reedeYou may make readye for another worlde. Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfeWith 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 thoughtsMake thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easdMay fly away the sooner. 

_Gab_. What you--

_Gan_. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deatheAnd 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 dooneHe & 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 soBecause it proves you honest. I am noweAgayne resolvd that _Richard_ was a vyllayne, And therefore am I gladd agayne, becauseHe hathe what he deservd & has no more. 

_Gab_. He did deserve your seryous contemptAnd 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 becomesThe gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe, To say hereafter, when I would relateA storye worth attentyon, that thys hande, Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver meIn spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye. 

_Gab_. O you are falne into the bloodyest crymeThat 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 speakeTruthe with true testymonye, for here it comes. 

 _Enter Eldegrade_. 

We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters, By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreadeThe 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 vyolentIs evermore with some straunge myscheifs spentt. [_Dies_. 

_Eld_. Foule desperatyon ceaze thee, & whats worsseDye with thy mothers last breathd heavye cursse. [_Dyes_. 

_Gan_. They have left a darknes so extreame behyndeI 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 leavestSynns of preferment unaccomplyshed, Thou that repynst agaynst thy starrs & luckeWhen heaven prevents the bassnes of thy gayne;Littill thynkst thou wherefore thy gaynes will serve, Nor wherefore thy close pollycie should fayleTyll thou forsakst it, & then, wretched clay, Thou fyndst a horsse & dogge thy betters: theyDye unperplext with sence of dyinge, thouSeest 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 bouldeTo say here stands the most afflycted souleThat ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe. Make me beleive my plaugs are infynettThat I may so desyer to leave my flesheAnd 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 darrdAs 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 syghteWill soften my conjealed bloode, for noweMe thynks I am not passyonate. But stay, Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynkeHowe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys woundsI would not heare hym when a was aboutTo teache repentance, and that onlye thoughtShall melt me into cynders. I am likeThe needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcstTo make my wants knowne where I must not hopeTo gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hopeAnd I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther, Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littillIt was my handyworke, yet nothynge neareThe 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 deatheI murderd theise: thys temporyzinge knaveBuryed him last nyght; all I can aleadgeAgaynst hym is concealment of the murther. 

_Did_. Tys come about: twas allways in my myndeNothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde. 

_Oli_. Bringe theym away. Treason so greate as thysWas 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 landsCrosses me everye way? I cannot goeBut 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 fastAs twere a comon hye way, yet no speecheCan 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 beastNymble & fytt for burthen. 

_Char_. _Eudon_, goeBydd hym dismounte & as he loves hys lifePresentlye come before us. I will knowe [_Ex. Eudon_. The ende of thys straunge purposse. Suer there mustSome secrett hange uppon it! thyngs doone thusAre 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 graceAnd satisfactyon of your vowe; which doone, Bouldlye I hope I may voutsafe to beggeMy 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 pardonedWhen 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 rydeOf horse nor mare nor asse, & yet the beastAn usuall thynge for burthen. 

_Bus_. Suche is myne, A Mule, that is the bastard breede betwyxteAn 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 nettNor leaves me nakt nor yet dothe cover me. 

_Char_. You prettylie orereache me; but you mustBringe 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 wifeIs evermore mans worst aflyctyon, And shee that outgoes myne in bytternesMay fryght the whole worlde. 

_Char_. Come, y'are ingenyous, And I confes th'ast conquerd, thoughe I knoweThy father houlds as much unworthynesAs 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 meI freelye pardon hym. 

_Bus_. And you are goodAnd like your selfe, a verye god[103] in pyttie. 

_Ber_. And from thys mercye I will new createIn me a spyrrytt full of humblenes. 

 _Enter La Fue in gallantrye_. 

_Fue_. Roame there & uncover, gentyllmen. I that am myne owne gentyllmanusher 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 sweeteharte, I will [_Offers to kisse Charli_. ] kysse thy whyte lipps in thesyght 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, sweetelove, I will love thee without more intreatye. Let us withdrawe & inpryvate 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 wasnot in love with you tyll you doated on me; to drawe me into a foolesparadysse[104] & there leave me is not an honest man's parte nor a goodchrystyans. 

_Char_. What kynde of madnes call you thys? for shame!Shall I be torturd with hym?

_Tur_. Tys but a rude grosse weaknes, which anonIle shoe at full unto your majestie. 

_Fue_. Come, sweete _Charles_, I knowe thou lovest me, & love willcreepe where it cannot goe. Come, letts condole together. 

_Char_. Yes, if I like your example. Goe presentlyeAnd give him fortye lashes: make hym bleedeSoundlye, away with hym!

_Fue_. Howe, howe, how! fortye lashes! so I shall bleede to deathe. Callyou 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 liveagayne: & they be as false to weomen as to men they have sweete eeles tohould 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 comandThat _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 hereThe worlds extreamest monster, suche a manWhose ills exceede the lawes inventyon. Fyrst looke on thys, the fayre & comelye brauncheOf _Aimons_ noble famylie; then on theise, His fayrest syster & hys dearest mother(O heaven that I should name that dreadfull nameIn such a case as murder!) all by hymAnd hys right hand, with thys ill mans advyse, Murderd unjustlye. 

_Rei_. To which I addeTreasons of daunger & of hye disgraceBothe to your crowne & person; and thoughe theyMyght glutt the lawe, yet my brothers bloodAnd theise twoe inocentts, I hope, will pleadeDyvorce of all repryvall. 

_Oli_. Lastlye IWith theys stronge proofs, cannot be argued of, Confyrme all past denyall; hys owne handHere 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 shameBe buryed both my memorye & name. [_Ex. La Busse_. 

_Gan_. What a lardge passage or cyrcompherenceTheise prynces make to come unto the wayWhich lyes before theire nosses! tys lost wyttTo seeke an engyne for the desperatt, Why, deathes in all he looks on; but to hopeSaftye 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 & heardTournes 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 itAnd hencefourthe onlye love your royall selfe. The spell is past example, & hys synneCan onlye ballance downe the wyckednes. 

_Gan_. Butt I confes it, & the sorcerrerThat made it I did murder conynglye, And at her deathe had I recompast it, I had beene kynge of _Fraunce_. Thys noble knaveWas pryvie to the passadge. 

_Did_. Tys toe lateNowe to denye it: deathe never bryngs hys smarteBut when a strycks gaynst lawe or gaynst desarte. 

_Char_. Away with them, & see theym presentlyeBroken uppon the wheele. [_Ex. Gan. Did. & guard_. Nephewe, for youI give you freelye here the realme of _Spayne_And all domynions in it; for your guardeTen thousand of our best _Frenche_ gentyllmen. And wishe your fortunes like your valure beThe best of everye lived posterytie. 

_Orl_. Sir[106], you doe bynde me to eternall servyceBothe in your love & justyce, for we fyndeTh'instructyons that on evyll men dependsIs 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 havebeen "lately acted by the right Honorable the Earle of Darby hisservants. " It has not been reprinted, and copies of the old quarto areexceedingly rare. There is an air of old-fashionedness about the dictionand the metre that would lead us to suppose the play was written severalyears before the date of publication. The wearisome practice, in whichthe characters so freely indulge, of speaking in the third person isvery characteristic of the earlier dramatists, notably of Greene. Yet itis clear, from more than one passage, that the author was acquaintedwith Shakespeare's historical plays. Dick Bowyer's puns on thesentinels' names (ii. 1) were certainly suggested by Falstaff'spleasantries with the recruits in _Henry IV_. , Part II. Winstanleyabsurdly ascribes the piece to William Wager, who flourished (?) whenShakespeare was a child. If I were obliged to make a guess at theauthorship, I would name Chettle or Munday, or both. It is notaltogether improbable that the _Tryall of Chevalry_ may be the play byChettle and Wentworth Smith, entitled _Love Parts Friendship_, acted in1602[108]. Bourbon and Rodorick are just such a pair of villains asyoung Playnsey and Sir Robert Westford in Chettle and Day's _BlindBeggar_. The low comedy in both pieces might well have come from thesame hand, though Dick Bowyer is certainly more amusing than theroystering companions in the _Blind Beggar_. 

I make no claim for high excellence on behalf of this unknownplaywright. The writing is at times thin and feeble, and theversification is somewhat monotonous. But with all its faults, thelanguage is dramatic. The writer was a contemporary of Shakespeare, andsomething of Shakespeare's spirit breathes through the pages of thisforgotten play. Take such a speech as the following, from the secondscene 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 thewhole passage is vigorous, and some single lines (e. G. "The passionatelanguage 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 Darbyhis_ servants. 

LONDON Printed by Simon Stafford for Nathaniel Butter, and are to besold 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 commaundAnd 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 recommendTo 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 EnglishmenSquadron'd with ours and ready for the charge?

_Pem_. The French and English make one warlike bodyWhereof 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 meeteThen to adde bloud to wrong. 

_Nav_. What wrong, King _Lewes_?The Kingdome of Navar we will acknowledgeTo hold of none but of the King of Kings. 

_Lew_. Three hundred yeres prescriptions on our sides;So long thy Ancestors by fealtyHave 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 timeNavar'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 RoyaltyUntruly 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-likeHath truely opened what ten thousand livesWill 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 smokeThat 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_ knowHe 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 prevayleThat 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 swordWithin 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 groundTill we obtayne, if not a peace, a truce. 

_Fer_. Nor shall our feet be guilty of new stepsTill 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 leaveWith Drum and Trumpet to surveigh the Campe, To court our daughters and to feast themselvesAs fits the sonnes of honourable foes. And if it prove a match betweene them both, There end all difference: Ile bequeath my CrowneAs a rich offering to their nuptiall Rites. 

_Lew_. Here, strike the truce upon my kingly hand, Which is as surely ratified in thisAs 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 heartBy any insinuation ne're so base, How easily might I effect my plotTo 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 CrowneA 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 friendOf _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 effectFirst 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 HighnesseMore 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 drinkeNor yet with rage. 

_Rod_. His lookes are wild with love. 

_Pet_. With love, surreverence[110]? can there be a faceIn 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 toAnd learne besides what sutors seeke her loveAnd whom she most affects. These things once knowneTwere worth a Dukedome, _Peter_. 

_Pet_. Sbloud, give meA Dukedome and Ile warrant you the knowledgeOf these things ten times o're. 

_Rod_. Theres Angels for thee, _Peter_, thinke on themAnd 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 heartIn 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 comfortme; 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 Sutorthat 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. Bythese hilts, such another swash-buckler lives not in the nyne quartersof the world. Why, he came over with the Earle of Pembrooke, and helimps and he limps & he devoures more French ground at two paces thenwill serve _Thomasin_ at nineteene. If ever he speake French, to avoydprolixity, he will murder the toung. Ile provide for him; theres butsmall choice. Either he shall renounce the wench or forsake his lamelegs, his lisping toung and his life to: for by S. _Denis_ I had ratherdye 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 StarreOn 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 lovesEnjoy 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 seedSowne in such fertile soyle his princely brest, By the rough stormy brow and winters hateOf adverse parents should be timelesse niptAnd dye e're it attayne maturity. For I have heard the Princesse whom he servesIs hotely courted by the Duke of Burbon, Who to effect his choyce hath in these warresFurnisht 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'dTo his in perfect love that _Burbon's_ hateNor all the world that knot can separate. Then sorrow not for him, but turne the streameOf gentle pity on thy wretched friendWithin whose bosome love hath kindled fireSo 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 woesLike a steeld Anvil backward on my selfe. She is all hate, yet such a lovely foeThat 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 vowesWhich in the booke of heaven are registered, By all the rightes of friendship, by that loveThou bear'st thy native Country, I conjure theeThis day to be the Trumpet of my worth;To speake the passions of thy grieved friendTo _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 warNever knew straine of fancy; on my breatheAffection 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 herWith words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire, [112]Till with thy cannon battry she relentAnd humble her proud heart to stoop to thee. Or if not this, then mount thee on a steedWhose courage never awde an yron Bit, And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beastAnd 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 taughtThis 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 mindIle 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 straightAnd 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 lifeWe 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 furnishedBy 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 shapeHath 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'dOf all unquiet harsh incumbrances?For thou must draw proportion of those partsWhose 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 markeAnd 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 wellas the Begger knowes his dish[113]: he weares a white Scarfe in his hatand an Orange tawny feather upon his arme. 

_Kath_. Foole, indirectly thou describ'st another, Thats Prince _Navar_: _Pembrooke_ his plume is AzureA little intermixt with spotlesse white, Prefiguring the temper of the SkyWith whose hye motion his great mind doth move. 

_Bow_. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but feather; there isno 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; isit that all the difference betweene you and I? there's another thing init if you marke it well. 

_Kath_. I prythee peace and with thy ignoranceDraw not the Paynter likewise into errour. Here take thy stand; thou knowst him by these markesI lately spake of. Seeme to excell thine ArteAnd I will study to requite thy paynes. 

 _Enter Lewes, Ferdinand, Pembrooke, Rodoricke, and Flaunders_. 

_Lew_. Thus did the Greeks, when they begirt the wallesOf strong-built Troy, sometimes with friendly cheeksEntertayne peace and spend their frollick houresIn courtly feasting of each other foe. Welcome, young _Ferdinand_! I promise youIt 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 inclinedThou 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 eyeWith 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 starveMy appetite with any wil-full fast;I have a banquet of sweet pleasing thoughtsThat is more precious then the costliest feast. 

_Pem_. But at your father's boord there sits a ghestTo whom the cup of _Ganimede_ will seemeBut juice of Hemlocke, and the daintiest dishAs 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 shewWherein we erre, els how can we discerneWhat 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_ eloquenceFlowed like a hony River from his lips. 

_Kath_. He wanteth then belike sufficient courage. 

_Pem_. Never liv'd Knight lesse prejudic'd in thatThen valiant _Ferdinand_, whom I have seeneCouch his stiffe[115] Launce with such dexterityAs if the god of battell had himselfeEntered the Lists, and preassing to the midstOf steele-composed troops like lightning flyTill 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 forceOf your resistlesse and controwling beauty. It is your beauty, were his power and spiritTen times more hauty-ventrous then it is, Compels it stoope in homage to your footAs trembling Lambs when they to Lions couch. 

_Kath_. 'Twas well he chose so good an OratorTo plead the imperfections of his cause. 

_Pem_. I should have that opinion of my selfeIf 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 prayseYou have attributed to his desertSeemes borrowed from your selfe; you are the manWhose eloquence compares with _Ciceroes_, You are the man whose knightly fortitudeLives in the world unprejudic'd of any, You vanquish beauty and inthrall the mindOf female weaknesse with no lesser aweThen Indian vassayles stoop unto their Lords. The name of _Ferdinand_ you have mista'ne. Say tis your selfe, and then your whole discourseObserves 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 vowesShall 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 noneBut onely _Pembrooke_. 

_Pem_. Will you be esteem'dA 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 youwill 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 kindThen is the substance whence thou art deriv'd, Which way soever I divert my selfeThou seemst to follow with a loving eye. Thee will I therefore hold within my armesAs some small comfort to increasing harmes. 

 _Enter Ferd_. 

_Ferd_. --What meanes my second selfe by this long stay?I cannot rest till I be certifiedWhat good or bad successe my suite returnes. But he is gone, and in faire _Katharines_ handI see his picture. What may this pretend?

_Kath_. Thou hast done well indeed, in every partThou 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 heartThat lurkes in secret as his master doth, Disdayning to regard or pity me. 

_Payn_. Madam, his heart must be imaginedBy 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 youOr 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 nameHath purchas'd her affection for himselfe, And therefore was he absent from the feast, And therefore shuns my sight and leaves behindThis counterfet to keep him still in mind. Tis so, tis so; base Traytor, for this wrongeMy sword shall cut out thy perfidious toung. [_Exit_. 

 _Enter Bowyer_. 

_Bow_. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to mybacke, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; andyet he will not come backe. 

_Kath_. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledgeWhich 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 meAnd suddenly is risen from the boord, The other came not at all. Daughter, saw youThe 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 smootheAnd 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 theireyes 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 thetricke 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 hoopeof a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a doublecharged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels. Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning inSulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watchto 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 ourgaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero andsets 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 fleshis grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey. Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the roguesdo not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throatsand choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir?

_Sol_. That must I, Captayne. 

_Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say yourprayers, 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: andhe do not sleepe sitting upon the poynt of a Spanish needle, _DickeBowyer's_ a very shittle-cocke. _Nod_! zounds, he is one of the ninesleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a pageant to present of the sevendeadly Sinnes[120], he should play Slouth; and he did not sleepe when heshould speake his part I am a Badger. 

_Soul_. That's true; you have halfe the nature of a Badger, for one legis shorter then another. 

_Bow_. Zounds, you Rogue, doe not you know that? Ile tell you: s'hartand I lye, call me Jebuzite. Once as I was fighting in S. Georgesfields, 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 soundas 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 theEarle of Pembrooke! [_Exeunt soldiers_. ] So I have discharg'd my selfeof these. Hot shot![121] now to my love. Some may say the tale of Venusloving Mars is a fable, but he that is a true soldier and a Gent. AsDick Bowyer is, & he do not love some varlet or other, zounds he isworse then a gaping Oyster without liquor. There's a pretty sweet fac'tmother[122] that waits on the princesse that I have some mind to; but awhorson _Architophel_, a parasite, a rogue, one whose face looks worsethen a Tailors cushen of old shreds and colours, zounds like a weaversleg in an old ditch feeding horseleaches; & this trotter is my ryval &loves _Thomasin_: his name is _Peter de Lions_, but s'hart (I will notsweare neither) if I do not turne Rich. _Cor de Lion_ with him, if I donot teare out his heart and eate it with mustard, let him say DickBowyer's a Mackarell. Yonder hee comes with my property hand in hand. Zounds! I say nothing, but ile heare what they say and determineafterward. 

 _Enter Peter and Thomasin_. 

_Pet_. Thomasin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour isthus, 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 aboutme to give answere to such a trothing question: as I live it joults mineeares worse in hearing then the princes coach on a broken cawsey. 

_Pet_. _Thomasin_, leave this pace & take me with you[124]. My Lordloves your Lady, yet I heare she is this night betrothed to the Princeof France: I love you & shall I lose you? No: I hate prolixity; in aword, the end is Ile mary you. 

_Tho_. Prety, as God save me! What will Captaine Bowyer say to that ifhe 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 histoung slit. 

_Bow_. --Zounds, what a Philistine is this! what a dictionary of propernames hath the Rogue got together! heart, his toung crawles as fast asthe cheese doth in Germany. Ile pearce you for this, you Lobster. 

_Pet_. Bowyer? _mordu! futra_[126] for him! and that sowre crab do butleere at thee I shall squeeze him to Vargis[127]. 

_Bow_. And you squeeze me I may haps grow saucy with you, you whorsonburnd Pudding pye, you drye Parsnip. Kisse me, Thomasin. So, dare youstand to your word now and squeeze me. 

_Pet_. Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gyrdmy selfe with thy guts. I am a souldiour and a Captayne. 

_Bow_. Captayne? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge any other thenPigmies I am a Gogmagog. Dost thou heare, sowgelder? and I do not withsixe Cranes (wel marshald) overrunne thee and thy hundred and fifty, sayDick 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: nowit shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whorson puttock[128], no garbageserve 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 lawThis act is death. 

_Bow_. Ile be hangd then. Dost thou heare, noble Generall? Dicke Bowyerknowes what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by thiselement of iron & steele, but to measure which of our swords werelongest. --Ile save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see youle hangscurvily: but the next time--

_Pem_. Good Captayne Bowyer, let our English troopsKeepe 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'rehe do my Lord any wrong, zounds Ile be cut smaller then pot-hearbs. Ileto the trenches: come, Thomasin. --Leere not, Lobster, lest I thump thatrusseting[129] face of yours with my sword hilt till that it looke aspyde colourd as the Rainbow. By Jesu, Ile do it, and therefore follow menot. [_Exeunt_. 

_Pem_. Why should this loade of griefe lye on my heartWith such a ponderous waight? I know no cause, Unlesse it be by thinking on the wrongMy friend receyves in the unmatched loveWhich 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 reprochAnd dimme the luster of our royall nameWith 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 swordIle prove my love unfayned, thee a false Lord. 

_Bur_. This like a Sanctuary frees thy toungAnd 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 turneOur royall Palace to this stage of death, Our state and pleasure to a bloudy Campe, And with the strength and puissance of our forceTo lift thy falling and decayed stateEven to her pristine glory. In thy quarrell, Burbon hath set himselfe against his kingAnd 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 bodiesOf 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 goneTell 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 loveAnd thereby like a fayre and lovely BrydeTo mary peace to France, we are contentTo 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 TentsAnd seale these Articles of peace proposde, This night you shall be troth-plight to our child. 

_Phil_. Were it to search the furthest Northern climeWhere frosty Hyems with an ycie MaceStrikes dead all living things, Ide find it out, And borrowing fire from those fayre sunny eyneThaw 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 sightThis 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 tentAnd 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 CourtIn her chiefe glory, for this happy nightShall 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 CaptainesPrepare a martiall welcome to the King. Ile not be idle: since Navar was crowndOur 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 goodThat 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 fayleTo 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 beholdThe 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 loveOr 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 heavenSit in a mayden slumber on the earth?What, is my Bellamira turnd a goddesse?Within the table of her glorious faceMethinks the pure extraction of all beautyFlowes in abundance to my love-sick eye. O, Rodoricke, she is admirably fayre;And sleeping if her beauty be so rareHow will her eyes inchaunt me if she wake. Here, take the poyson; Ile not stayne her faceFor 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 sufficientlyThat 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 GardSince you are garded with a faythfull frend?Behold me, Madam, humbly on my kneeCome to renew my suite: vouchsafe me loveOr with this weapon take away my life. Much better 'twere a thousand times to dyeThen live in torment of your scorching eye. You have inflam'd my hearte; oh quench that flameOr into cinders turne my haplesse truncke, Haplesse in being unbelov'd by you. 

_Bel_. My Lord of Burbon, you presume too muchOn th' extremity of passion. Have I not answerd many an idle letterWith full assurance that I cannot love?Have I not often _viva voce_ checktYour 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 moreBecause 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 payneCan 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 lifeKill th' effect, which was a world of sorrow. Farewell, foule Bellamira; I am pleasdeIn 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 InheritanceStood 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 beautifulThen 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 themAnd brought them to your Highnesse. A moneth henceThe 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] themThat 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 nameI 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 stringWhereon 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 nightAnd rubd my face with an infectuous herbeBecause 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 lookesWhen all the East is guilded with her blush. Tis I will be reveng'd, but not beforeI 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 distrestI could not merit a true Lovers name. To shew I love her I will marry herBefore the moneth expire, nay in the morne:Delayes, perchance, may make her think I scorne. 

_Bel_. Marry with me? fetch me a looking glasseThat 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 worldIde 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, soThou art not worthy of thy Philips love?Thy face to me was but a Mar[e]s[c]hallTo 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 writA worthyer Story to posterity. 

_Ferd_. --Pen never writ of a more treacherous friendThen, 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 SunneHath 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 thinkeUpon these troublous matters. Should I sufferSo brave a Gentleman as Philip isTo wed himselfe to my unworthy selfe, It would be counted vertue in the PrinceBut I were worthy of a world of blame. No, Philip, no; thou shalt not wrong thine honourNor be impeacht by Bellamiraes spots. In some disguise Ile steale away to-nightAnd 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 havebeen stumbling up and downe all this night like a Brewers horse that hasne're a good eye in his head. Tis as darke as Pitch: I can resemble ourCampe to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are alwayswaking 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 wakthim. I jogd and I jogd, I showted and I showted, and yet the mungrelsnorted, you might heare him to Dover: at last I dragd him by the heelesinto a ditch of water and there left the Lobster crawling. A the totherside, Core being appoynted to stand sentynell upon the Wallounesquarter, s'hart the Loach gets me into a Sutlers bath and there sits meedrinking for Joanes best cap: but by this hand, and as Dicke Bowyer is aSoldier and a Cavaliero, he shall sit in the boults for it to morrow. Mycomfort is in these extremities that I brought Thomasin to her LadiesTent, leaving her new-come Lover to picke strawes. But, soft: _qui voula_?[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 acard of ten[131]: but, and his beard were made of brasse, Dicke Bowyerwill 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, asthou 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 arotten Pumpian. [132]

_Pem_. There is Crownes for thee to drinke. [_Exit Pem_. 

_Bow_. I thanke your Lordship. To see the difference betweene theseFrench Curres and our English Cavaliers! There's as much bounty inthem as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might havestood heere till my teeth chatter in my head e're the totherLauncepresado[133] would have sayd, Here, Captayn Bowyer, there's aCardicue[134] to wash downe melancholy. But, had I knowne as much, Iwould 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 youstay 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 theword. 

_Clow_. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why, I have call'd thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and amI 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 anyother words at my hands. 

_Bow_. How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to theslaughter-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: Iletalke 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 encompastwith curres. 

_Bow_. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathomor two of match. 

_Clow_. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a veryinsufficient ill-spoken Gentleman. 

_Bow_. Well, sirra, whom do you serve?

_Clow_. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king'sdaughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am nowgoing backe againe. 

_Bow_. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armesto stay him. 

_Clow_. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Ladymay 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 youshould stand Sentinel?

_Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I waspassing dry. 

_Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like theburning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence hassav'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 bygood service, by following a spy that came to discover our army. 

_Bow_. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee intoa 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 egregiousRogue. 

_Nod_. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you woulduse me. 

_Bow_. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was nothalfe 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 PrinceFerdinand and the Earle of Pembrooke. This way they went, but they aregot out of sight. I were very bad to be a hound, that have no better asent. 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 streameThat 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 runand 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 sightThat I have tane a tree to bee a manAnd 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 fightAnd 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 willOr 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 personIn 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 foughtAt every weapon to approve our skill. 

_Ferd_. Goe to, you are a villayne and a coward, And by the royall bloud that gave me lifeIle 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 powersThat 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 spiritAnd beare no longer with this haire-braynd man. Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the causeThat moves thee to this unkind enterprise, And if I satisfie thee not in wordsThis double wound shall please thee with my bloud;Nay, with my sword Ile make a score of woundsRather 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 showThou art a knight and canst o'recome thy foe. 

_Pem_. And if I spare thee not, impute the causeTo 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 deathTell me, oh tell me, whence proceeds this hate?

_Ferd_. I feare not (Pembrooke) to discover now. Thou wert my Spokes-man unto KatherineAnd 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 brestThat I may tell him he is misse-inform'dAnd 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 wealthIn which my Bucks and Does are Citizens;The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sentSentence 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 remayneIle 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 helpeHe may recover to his former state. How is the other? I doe feel soft breathBreake from between his lips. Oh for some aydTo beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge, But as I am Ile try my utmost strengthTo 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 handsTo 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 eyeMe thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth, Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse. If there be any hope to save his lifeIle 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 Iread 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 mournefor them?

_Kath_. Thou angrest me with jesting at my sorrow. Hence from my sight! my heart is full of griefeAnd 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 rewardfor watching and watching? Oh, Mistris, doe not kill mee withunkindnesse[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 trunckeI 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 bewalking. Farewell, I will goe, God knows whither, to seeke and to findeboth 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 instinctTells 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 haveTill 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 flightHovers my heart; you beare away my soule. Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frameEssentiall 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 hidUnder that envious cloud, it took the placeOf a darke ground to show a lovelyer face. That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beautyAnd she did guild her imperfections o'reWith vertue, which no foule calumnious breathCould ever soyle: true vertues dye is suchThat 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 bedAnd therefore followed Burbon for revenge. 

_Phil_. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball soundIs 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 redWhich deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks:And shall he scape unpunisht?

_Lew_. Joyne your handsAnd all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke. 

_Phil_. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hateOn 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 universeShall not contayne him: through the bounded worldIle 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 ayreAnd in an instant bring me where he is. 

_Lew_. Where goes our sonne?

_Phil_. To hell, so that in that kingdomeFate 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 tearesTo dew the obsequies of your dead sonne. 

_Nav_. What? Ferdinand?

_Mess_. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes handsAnd Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand. Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodiesBy 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 tentsRevell away the time and yield your personTo the knowne malice of your enemies, Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lustGraspes 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 LadyExclaime 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 unjustHath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust. 

_Flaun_. If you remember, he & English PembrokeLast day forsooke your Campe as discontent. 

_Lew_. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set maliceHe came to view our Campe, how he might actThat deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe. 

_Nav_. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenstThis deed of death on Pembrook & our son, And now, to cover it, suggest and fayneOur 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 headOrelookes 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 selfeShall echo with the clangor. Both our childrenWeele race from our remembrance, and advanceNo other thought but how to plague proud France. Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall setIn the vast kingdome of Oceanus, In a pitcht field weele meet the king of FraunceAnd that false traytor Duke. 

_Lew_. Navar, thou dar'st not. 

_Nav_. Now by Saynt Denis and our Grandsire's tombeWeele 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 floudSwelling above her banks, shall drowne this landWhilst 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 wordsAnd 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 courtesyThen 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 healthMore 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 placeWhere causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand. Behold the grasse: a purple registerStill 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 upAs 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 ArchitectIn sorrowes building. Once more let sufficeI quite your painfull travell but with thanks. Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vowTo spend the remnant of my haples dayes. No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this wayBefore his tongue acknowledge _Ferdinand_The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friendThe world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher, As yet but naked and ungarnished, E're many dayes hang richer with the spoylesAnd vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengersThen was the Romans wealthy Capitoll. So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayersIn my assistance: that is all I crave. 

_For_. The God of power give power unto your armeThat you may prove victorious-fortunate. 

_Pem_. Farewell, kind host. [_Exit Forester_. And now let me embraceThis empty Monument of my lost friend. Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bonesHow blest should _Pembrooke_ be! but they are torneBy the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy maweIs made an unfit grave to bury him. But, if (without offence) I may desire it, I wish his soule from Paradise may seeHow 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 forceDepryv'd his life, shall with repentant serviceMake treble satisfaction to his soule. Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer meSo long uncombatted: I prythee sendSome stubborne knight, some passenger, Whose stout controuling stomack will refuseTo 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 nameAnd no disposer of my Christian hopes. But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis sheWas unjust cause of all my misery. 

_Kath_. Long have I wandred with unquiet mindTo 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 tellWithin 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 plotWhere cursed Ferdinand did kill my love. What knight is this? Ile question him: perhapsHe 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 fightWas here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe?

_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long sinceAnd 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 allyedAnd neerely knit in friendship from my youth, By me lyes buried heere: a braver knightAnd truer Lover never breathd in Fraunce. 

_Kath_. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for himYou have erected this fayre monument, Perpetuall honour I will do your state. 

_Pem_. Not only, Madam, have I built this tombeIn his memoriall, but my selfe have sworneContinuall residence within this wood;And for the love I bare him weare these armesThat whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other, Making his journey this way and refusingTo do knights homage to my breathlesse friend, By this assayling steele may be compeld. 

_Kath_. Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov'dTo dignifie my Pembrooke's high deserts. 

_Pem_. You did not heare me say 'twas Pembrook, Madam. What is become of him I do not knowNor greatly care, since he did wrong my friendAnd 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 mouthesSeem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow, And had before bin inward with his vertues;To thinke that nature should indure such wrackeAnd at one time so many precious giftsPerish 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 deathWhen 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 remorceCreeps to my heart, perswades me he was true, Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkindCoyly to scorne the proffer of his mind. 

_Pem_. O that in Justice of her former hateShe 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 thingSo 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 itAnd so was Pembrooke for effecting it. No bloudy Scythian or inhumane TurkeBut would ha trembled to ha toucht his skinOr 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 earthWhere she did set her foot; and when he suedFor 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 notThe 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'dHis hurt was mortall and no way but death, At every grone he cald upon her nameAs if that sound were present remedy;And when insulting death drew short his breathAnd now was ready to close up his eyes, Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrineMy 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 disdaineFor 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 pilgrimageTo 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 lostThe 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 counterfeytI would reward him with a mynt of gold. 

_Pem_. If such a pleasure you receyve by this, I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly haveHis 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 flowersAnd once a day come straw them at his feet, And once a day pay tribute of choyce thanksTo 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 Iperceyve your drift, I smell your policy; you think a bold face hath noneed of a black mask. Shall I tell you what you look like? A broyldherring 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 FraunceSo voyd and empty of adventurous knights?

_Clow_. Out of peradventure, Madam, the ghost of Saint George is comeout of England to see what hospitality S. Denis keeps in Fraunce. 

_Pem_. Poore Bellamira, I lament thy stateBut 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 amno Anticke. The whole parish where I was borne will sweare that sincethe raigne of Charlemain there was not a better face bred or brought upamongst 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 heereThough 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 lifeTo entertayne a Pilgrims payneful habit. But on what strange adventure stayes this KnightWithin this desolate forsaken wood?

_Kath_. For love of Ferdinand your princely brotherWhose hearse he gards in honorable Armes. 

_Bel_. Is this my brothers Hearse; is this the placeWhere I was shipwrackt of a brothers name?Oh let me spend a loving sigh for himAnd sacrifice a sisters holy rites. For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peaceUntill thy body glorified from heavenBecome 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 sendhim a joyful insurrection. 

_Kat_. Inough, sweet Bellamira. These leprous spots tis time they were remov'd. Come, goe with me: since I left AquitayneAnd came acquaynted with these private walks, It was my happy chance to meet an HermitWhose skill in Phisike warrants present cureAnd pure refining of your poysoned bloud. Ile bring you thither: afterward selectDelicious sweets to decke your brothers tombe. Come, sirra, follow us. [_Exeunt_. 

_Clow_. Doe not think, Madam, that Ile forsake you. And so, sir, youthat walk in pewter vessayle, like one of the worthyes, will you berul'd by me?

_Pem_. Wherein?

_Clow_. To set a gyn for Woodcocks & catch your selfe first. [_Exit_. 

_Pem_. Hence, beetle-head. And, Pembrook, now bethinkHow great a tyde of miseries breakes in. First, thou art taxed with the losse of himWhom equall with thy selfe thou holdest Deare;Next, Bellamira is become a Leper, Whose absence Philip carefully laments;Then trecherous Burbon joynes himselfe with FraunceAnd 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 FranceOr 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 friendBy 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 FranceAnd in subjection to no earthly powers. 

_Nav_. Thou knowst not what thou sayst to challenge usOf any such inferiour priviledge. What homage is it thou requir'st of us?

_Pem_. First to acknowledge him lyes buried hereThe faythfulst Lover and most valyant KnightThat 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, weehave 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 powderedMackrell. 

_Pet_. My bloud beginnes to boyle; I could be pleasdTo have this fellow by the eares but thatTheres many of my betters heere in place. 

_Fland_. King of Navarre, let Flanders cope with him. 

_Burb_. Imperiall France, give Burbon leave to tryThe hazzard of a combat with this Boaster. 

_Pem_. Dispatch, Navarre: one of you come forthTo enterchange a warlike blow or two. 

_Lew_. First let us know what penalty thou setstUpon 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 subduedMust 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 ithcountrey. Hang me, if thou wantst worke heeres for Navar, the earle ofPembrok and Cavaliero Bowier. [_Fight_. ] A thousand pound to a Taylorsbodkin this fellow has a familiar; but howsomever, thou mayst thank mylame 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 chaunceUpon 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 thineAnd this my weapon shall confirme my words. [_Fight_. 

_Bow_. Navar, downe too! 'S hart this fellow hath the tricke of it. Ifhe be not a witch or some Devill let me be slickt into a Carbinado. [141]

_Nav_. Thou sonne of Chivalrie, let me now intreateTo 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 priseAnd 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 sighesOr sad lamenting teares might have the powerLike Balme to quicken thy benummed joynts:Then would I drowne this marble e're I wentAnd heat it hote with vapour of my breath. 

_Lew_. Navar, this now may testify thy wrongIn 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 yetThe Tragick manner of his haples end. Thou mayst as well have murdred FerdinandAs 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 henceWhere 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 nameOf Ferdinand with any villany, Ile cut it out or stop his throate with bloudAnd 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 plaineThou 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 fieldAs 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 meeAnd 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 saidAs 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 prejudiceThe 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, intanglesNot only Pembrooke but the Court of France;Navar and his associats are all toucht. Time looke upon us and at last determineThese heart-dissevering tumults with a peace. 

 _Enter Ferdinand_. 

_Ferd_. Since, Ferdinand, by gracious providenceThou art recovered of thy mortall wounds, With the new life thy body is revivdeRevive 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 meIn 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 knowWhat sacred monument and Tombe this is. 

_Pem_. His, whilst he liv'd, that of the worlds increaseWas the most loyall friend and valiant Knight;Which thou must likewise ratifie with meAnd hang thy shield up to adorne his HearseOr venture Combate for denying it. 

_Ferd_. His name, I pray thee. 

_Pem_. Ferdinand. 

_Ferd_. --What's heAcquainted with my name? belike some oneLov'd Pembroke, and supposing (wrongfully)Me slaine by him, to satisfie for thatObserves 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 fameAs far as costly Pearle the coursest Pebble, --An English Knight cald Pembroke: were his bonesInterred heere, I would confesse of himMuch more than thou requir'st, and be contentTo hang both shield and sword upon his Hearse. 

_Pem_. How comes this stranger by my name? BelikeHe was affected unto Ferdinand, And for his sake (hearing he did me wrong)Covets to make amends, or meanes to proveIf I imbrace him with unfayned love. He shall not doubt of that. --Once more I sayTwas Ferdinand was the renowned KnightOf 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 fightHave 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 whichI 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 sawThy picture here, but by heavens providence, Or how I know not, she so doats on itAs I supposde she would a dyed for love. 

_Ferd_. Has then my shaddow and supposed deathBrought that to passe my living substance could not?

_Pem_. It hath, and never Lady more enamour'dThen 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 haveA sight of it and dayly be permittedTo 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 stoneKneele 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 bareAnd 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 longIn 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 scorneThat I was cruell to so kind a friend, Thou, the presenter of his absent person, Receive these sweets; thy temples be adorndWith this fresh garland; thy white ivory handBoast 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 spiritMounts 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 lookesWith 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 beA 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 henceTo quiet the dissension lately sprungBetweene your parents. Philip, likewise goneTo 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 heatThat 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 thisAnd 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 immediatelyBegin the Battayle. 

_Lew_. Why, the heat's [so] greatIt 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 heatWill 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 sooneAs the coole winds have fand the burning SunneAnd made it tractable for travaylers, Arme you and mount upon your barbed Steed, Lead foorth your Souldiers and in good arrayCharge 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 mouthAnd 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 PolyticiansThat have so quaintly wrought the king of FraunceUnto our faction that he threatens warreAgainst 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 GunnerAnd bid him plant his demy culveringsAgainst 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 chargeOf souldiers that are very mutinous, And long I dare not stay for feare my absenceBe 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 makeMust 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 lifeAs 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'dOf 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 besidesWhat 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 impossibleTo 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 forthAnd like a worthy Duke prepare thy selfeIn 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 indeedTo 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 toweepe for my master. 

_Rod_. First seyze the murderer and after weepe. 

_Phil_. He that first ventures to attach my lifeLet 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 themselvesIn 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 tombeWhen in the honour of Prince FerdinandYou 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 owneIn sending me two friends of such import. Durst you adventure thorow the enemies CampeAnd put your lives in danger to save mine?

_Pem_. The rumour of the Duke of Burbons deathHath so possest the Campe with admirationThat 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 TentAnd 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 payneOur 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 awayand they be put to it. Though wee have left our brave Generall, theEarle of Pembrooke, yet here's Cavaliero Bowyer, Core and Nod, by Jesu, sound cards: and Mahound and Termagant[148] come against us, weele fightwith 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 bloudThat he must joyne the Squadron of his troopsBefore 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 minuteTill 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 meeteTill 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 opposeTheir 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 himAnd 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 spightWeele save Navar and chase you hence in fight. 

_All_. Ha, ha!

_Pem_. Nay, smile not; though our number's fewOur 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 SquiresWith Trumpets in their mouthes sound lowd retreatWhere 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 retireTo know the issue. Princes, fall to worke, Tis worke of charity; 'twould doe me goodIf 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 saveyou. 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, youpick-hatch[150] Cavaliero petticote-monger, can you find time to becatching _Thomasin_? come, deliver, or by Zenacrib & the life ofking Charlimayne, Ile thrash your coxcombe as they doe hennes atShrovetyde[151]. No, will you not doe, you Tan-fat? Zounds, then haveat 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 churleFearing to spend his wealth) still keeps them backe. Tis he exasperates the Princes hate, And when our Trumpets call them to retyreHe 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 HostAnd with this sword pare off the Traytors head. 

_Pem_. Doe, and Ile scoure these ranks: if Pembroks eyeEncounters 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 doneThat 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 pawFrom 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 fightI 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 startTill 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 retreatsWith 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 serveyour turne, we must have bloudy noses. Stand on your gard; and I do notmake haggasse puddings of your guttes, Ile never dominier in the longAlleyes agayne. 

_Pet_. Cymnel, Ile crack you for this. Ile teach you to deale with Peterde 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. TheThornbackly slave! and he were made of anything but gristles, I am apumpian. 'Shart he had no mettle in him; yet how the villaynecrak't[152] and dominierd when he was living: ah, sirra, never gryn forthe matter, tis Captayne Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetst thegreat Devill, commend me to him and say I sent him thee for a new yearsgift. And there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a blood-sucker and asnotable a coward as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house, he carryes mymarke about him. If Dicke Bowyer be not writ a bountifull benefactor inhell for my good deeds in sending thither such Cannibals, I am a rabbitsucker[153]: yet I scorne to vaunt of my deeds, too. They sound aretreat. Farewell, Peter, and learne hereafter what it is to be rivallto 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 drumsFraunce 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 thusWith civill butchery wound this blessed land, Which like a mother from her melting eyesSheds crimson teares to see you enemyes?Lewes of Fraunce, wherein hath great NavarDangerd your state that you should prosecuteWar with her largest ruine? how hath FraunceSowed such inveterate hate within your brestThat to confound him you will undergoeThe orphans curse, the widdowes teares and criesWhose 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 shameCut 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 dayMade us retire. Fraunce, shall we joyne in leagueTill 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 worthIn justice doomd on Traytors merits Death, Behold these two, which thousands could not daunt, But your ingratitude, on bended kneeYeeld 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 nowWere 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 sightAnd cut so many passages of deathIn his indeared bosome, humbly thusForgets his honour and from your hye handInvokes 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 allMy 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 agayneOur joy were then stretcht to the highest strayne:But she was ravisht and then murthered. 

_Phil_. Beare not that hard opinion: Rodoricks toungSlaundred that Prince and did his vertue wrong. 

_Pem_. Lewis of Fraunce, heare what an English EarleSpeaks in the front and view of all thy Host. If ever Ferdinand staynd Katharines honourI was a party: yet in all your CampeWho dares step forth and call me ravisher?No, Fraunce: know Pembroke is an EnglishmanHighly 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 ChristendomeIn knightly tryall prov'd my vertue sound, Raisd England's fame aloft; and shall I nowIn her next continent, her neighbour Realme, Fraunce, on whose bosome I may stand and seeThat blessed soyle that bred and fostred me, Soyle all my late got honour to consentUnto 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 handTo live imbrac't with her deare Ferdinand. 

_Lew_. And heaven forbid that we should sunder them. Navar, reach me thy hand: grym war is fledAnd 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 BurbonFor 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 twoor three ounces of words in this assembly?

_Lew_. You may. 

_Clow_. Is there not a young Kings sonne amongst you, who treading thesteps 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. Heereis a poore kinswoman of mine would desire some private conference withyou, 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 LoveThus manag'd to approve thy constancy. Embrace her then: and now Navar and Fraunce, Here end our strife and let all hatred fallAnd turne this warre to Hymens festivall. 

_Nav_. This Pembrooks counsell we subscribe unto. 

_Lew_. The like doth Fraunce. Lovers, imbrace your lovesAnd, Captaines, joyne your bands; mix power with powerAnd let those swords, which late were drawne for death, Sleepe in their sheaths. You, worthy Pembrooke[155], And all your followers, shall receyve our favoursIn plenteous largesse. So, set on to Court;Sound Drums and Trumpets, deafe the ayre with cryes, And fill eche subjects heart with joyes increaseT'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 inold authors. 

[5] An obvious reference to Queen Elizabeth. 

[6] So Elbow:--"My wife, Sir, whom I _detest_ before heaven and yourhonour, " &c. (_M. For M_. , II. 1). 

[7] Ovid, Metamorph. I. 1. 

[8] People who walk with _mincing_ steps. I have not met the wordelsewhere. (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 theirliving by giving false evidence at law-courts. Nares quotes from Nash's"Pierce Pennilesse":--"A knight of the post, quoth he, for so I amtearmed: 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 simplestrain 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 weelittle finger bewraies carving'. 

[14] 4tos. Ladies. 

[15] 4tos. Eternesses. 

[16] To do anything with 'a wet finger' is to do it easily. 'It seemsnot very improbable that it alluded to the vulgar and very inelegantcustom of wetting the finger to turn over a book with moreease. '--_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 iswaiting. The 4tos. Mark "Exit. " I thought the lines "_Mens est_, " etc. , were Horace's, but cannot find them. "Menternque" destroys sense andmetre. 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; DavidGeorge, of Delph (obiit 1556), was the founder. 

[24] The reference is to the visit of the Maréchal de Biron and hissuite 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 seenSackarson loose twenty times and have taken him by the chain. "

[29] 4tos. _King_. 

[30] The reference is, I suppose, to Roger Bacon's "Libellus deretardandis 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 areodorous. "

[40] A pun is intended. "Cast of merlins" = a flight of merlins (smallhawks); and "cast-of" = cast-off. 

[41] "Foisting-hound. " A small lap-dog with an evil smell, "Catellusgraveolens. "

[42] The 'clap-dish' which beggars used to beat in order to attract theattention 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 imaginativepanegyrics. "--Swinburne's "Study of Shakespeare, " p. 141. 

[48] "Dr. Dodypoll" is a very rare play, to be found only in thelibraries of wealthy collectors. The copy in the library of the BritishMuseum is catalogued as "imperfect; wanting Sig. A 2"; but itcorresponds in all respects with Mr. Huth's. Perhaps an "Address to theReader, " 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 andCleopatra_, ii. 2:--"And made their bends adornings. "

[53] See notes of the commentators on _Hamlet_, i. 1, 165, "Then noplanets strike. "

[54] See the commentators on _As You Like It_, iii. 2. "I was never sobe-rhymed since Pythagoras's time that I was an Irish rat. " A short timeago the subject of "rhyming rats to death" was discussed anew in "Notesand 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 toshipwreck James VI. On his return with his bride from Denmark) were toohorrible 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 onevery 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. Inmy first hasty reading of the play I took the long double "s" to be adouble "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 inscriptionis, like them, in Italian. In that case the first two Greek letters givevery easily the word 'fideltà' (=_phi, delta_), which combines naturallywith the _nella_. The second part is more difficult, but perhaps nothopeless. [Greek: fnr] may, perhaps be read _phi ny_ (as Latinisedspelling of [Greek: nu]), _rô_, or finirô. Then, for the 'La B. , ' supposethat the words form, as emblems often do, a rhymed couplet; then 'B. 'would stand for Beltà, and naturally fall in with 'la. ' The whole wouldthen read--

 '_Nella fideltà_, Finiro la Beltà. 

This does not seem to me very excellent Italian, but we need not supposethe author was necessarily a good scholar; and in that case we mightextract from it the fairly good sense: 'I will make fidelity the end(the accomplishment) of beauty. '" This explanation seems to me verysatisfactory. 

["'La Bussa' suits my explanation as well as, if not better than 'LaBuffa. ' The meaning now is, 'I will end my _task_ faithfully, with anequivoque on 'I will end _La Busse_, or the play containing him as acharacter, faithfully. ' There is no shadow of reason for supposing arhyme, 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 knownnames of dramatic writers anterior to 1640, can be found in the letters. There are other works of Field than those commonly attributed to himstill 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 givesbetter sense and better metre. 

[83] The next line, as in many instances, has been cut away at the footof 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 afterwardsas a personal attendant. Blue was the livery of serving-men. 

[87] It is not always easy to distinguish between final "s" and "e" inthe 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 "EnglishHusbandman" gives the following explanation of the term_plashing_. --"This plashing is a halfe cutting or deviding of the quickegrowth, almost to the outward barke, and then laying it orderly in asloape manner, as you see a cunning hedger lay a dead hedge, and thenwith the smaller and more plyant branches to wreathe and binde in thetops, making a fence as strong as a wall, for the root which is morethen halfe cut in sunder, putting forth new branches which runne andentangle themselves amongst the old stockes, doe so thicken and fortifiethe 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" writtenabove. To make sure that the correction was understood, the author orreviser 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. "_EnterAspero, like Hortensio, Florimell, and Assistance on the upper stage_. "Later in the same scene: "_They renew Blind mans Buff on the Lowerstage_. " 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 wouldnaturally read the word before becoming thoroughly acquainted with thehandwriting. 

[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 Miltonused it. A writer in _Notes and Queries_ (Jan. 7, 1882) gives instancesof its occurrence in Udall's "Apophthegmes of Erasmus, " 1542. I have metit 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 (whichdid not appear in the Appendix to Vol. Ii. ) strongly confirms myinterpretation of La B. As _la bussa_; for the anagram is a kind ofparaphrase on the motto, and should be read doubly in this way:Natanièle Field, il fabro, Nella fideltà finiro la Bussa. I, NathanielField, 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 endof old plays. I cannot see that Mr. Fleay's interpretation is stronglyconfirmed, --or affected at all, --by the presence of the motto. ]

[108] See Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 220:--"Lent unto ThomasDownton 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 worthinquiring. "--Nares. 

[119] The author certainly had in his mind Falstaff's puns on the namesof the recruits, Mouldy, Shadow, &c. (ii. _Henry IV_. Iii. 2). 

[120] An extemporal play by the famous Richard Tarleton. The "plat" ispreserved 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 ofthese hot-shots. " The term "hot-shot" seems to have been originallyapplied to sharp-shooters. 

[122] i. E. , maid: an East-Anglian usage of the word "mother. " SeeForby's "Vocabulary of East Anglia. " "Mauther" is the commoner form(found in Ben Jonson and others), but "mother" occurs in Chettle andDay's _Blind Beggar_ and elsewhere. 

[123] I find this expression of feminine impatience in Dekker's _HonestWhore_ (Dramatic Works, ii. 26):--"_Marry muffe_, sir, are you growne sodainty!"

[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 browndress 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 intentionalblunder. 

[131] To "outface with a card of ten" was just what we mean by"browbeat. " The expression (which is very common) was no doubt drawnfrom 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 _watrysubjects_. "

[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 notesof the commentators on _2 Henry VI_. , ii. 3: "Therefore, Peter, have atthee 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 hissword" (_Maid's Tragedy_, i. 1), as one of the "special passages whichsuggest imitation, conscious or unconscious, " of Shakespeare. 

[143] 4to. Honord. The correction (which would occur to most readers) ismade by Dyce on the fly-leaf of his copy in the Dyce and ForsterLibrary. 

[144] If we retain "unscorcht" we must suppose the construction to beproleptic. 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. Theyregarded Mohammedans as heathens, and Termagant and Mahound as falsegods. 

[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 fora _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. "