A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 3 eBook

A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 3

The following sections of this BookRags Literature Study Guide is offprint from Gale's For Students Series: Presenting Analysis, Context, and Criticism on Commonly Studied Works: Introduction, Author Biography, Plot Summary, Characters, Themes, Style, Historical Context, Critical Overview, Criticism and Critical Essays, Media Adaptations, Topics for Further Study, Compare & Contrast, What Do I Read Next?, For Further Study, and Sources.

(c)1998-2002; (c)2002 by Gale. Gale is an imprint of The Gale Group, Inc., a division of Thomson Learning, Inc. Gale and Design and Thomson Learning are trademarks used herein under license.

The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Encyclopedia of Popular Fiction: "Social Concerns", "Thematic Overview", "Techniques", "Literary Precedents", "Key Questions", "Related Titles", "Adaptations", "Related Web Sites". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.

The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.

All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by BookRags, Inc.

Table of Contents

Page 1

PREFACE.

I have not been able to give in the present volume the unpublished play of Heywood’s to which I referred in the Preface to Vol.  I. When I came to transcribe the play, I found myself baffled by the villanous scrawl.  But I hope that, with the assistance of some expert in old handwriting, I may succeed in procuring an accurate transcript of the piece for the fourth volume.

One of the plays here presented to the reader is printed for the first time, and the others have not been reprinted.  I desire to thank Alfred Henry Huth, Esq., for the loan of books from his magnificent collection.  It is pleasant to acknowledge an obligation when the favour has been bestowed courteously and ungrudgingly.  To my friend F.G.  Fleay, Esq., I cannnot adequately express my gratitude for the great trouble that he has taken in reading all the proof-sheets, and for his many valuable suggestions.  Portions of the former volume were not seen by him in the proof, and to this cause must be attributed the presence of some slight but annoying misprints.  One serious fault, not a misprint, occurs in the first scene of the first Act of Barnavelt’s Tragedy (p. 213).  In the margin of the corrected proof, opposite the lines,

    “And you shall find that the desire of glory
    Was the last frailty wise men ere putt of,”

I wrote

    “That last infirmity of noble minds,”

a [mis]quotation from Lycidas.  The words were written in pencil and enclosed in brackets.  I was merely drawing Mr. Fleay’s attention to the similarity of expression between Milton’s words and the playwright’s; but by some unlucky chance my marginal pencilling was imported into the text.  I now implore the reader to expunge the line.  On p. 116, l. 12 (in the same volume), for with read witt; p. 125 l. 2, for He read Ile; p. 128, l. 18, for pardue read perdue; p. 232, for Is read In; p. 272, l. 3, for baste read haste; p. 336, l. 6, the speaker should evidently be not Do. (the reading of the Ms.) but Sis., and noble Sir Richard should be noble Sir Francis; p. 422, l. 12, del. comma between Gaston and Paris.  Some literal errors may, perhaps, still have escaped me, but such words as anottomye for anatomy, or dietie for deity must not be classed as misprints.  They are recognised though erroneous forms, and instances of their occurrence will be given in the Index to Vol.  IV.

5, WILLOW ROAD, HAMPSTEAD, N.W.  January 24, 1884.

INTRODUCTION TO SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE.

Page 2

This clever, though somewhat tedious, comedy was published anonymously in 1606.  There is no known dramatic writer of that date to whom it could be assigned with any great degree of probability.  The comic portion shows clearly the influence of Ben Jonson, and there is much to remind one of Lyly’s court-comedies.  In the serious scenes the philosophising and moralising, at one time expressed in language of inarticulate obscurity and at another attaining clear and dignified utterance, suggest a study of Chapman.  The unknown writer might have taken as his motto a passage in the dedication of Ovid’s Banquet of Sense:—­ “Obscurity in affection of words and indigested conceits is pedantical and childish; but where it shroudeth itself in the heart of his subject, uttered with fitness of figure and expressive epithets, with that darkness will I still labour to be shrouded.”  Chapman’s Gentleman Usher was published in the same year as Sir Gyles Goosecappe; and I venture to think that in a passage of Act III., Scene II., our author had in his mind the exquisite scene between the wounded Strozza and his wife Cynanche.  In Strozza’s discourse on the joys of marriage occur these lines:—­

    “If he lament she melts herselfe in teares;
    If he be glad she triumphs; if he stirre
    She moon’s his way:  in all things his sweete Ape.”

The charming fitness of the expression “sweet ape” would impress any capable reader.  I cannot think that by mere accident the anonymous writer lighted on the same words:—­

    “Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? 
    Why, friend, they either are mens soules themselves
    Or the most witty imitatrixes of them,
    Or prettiest sweet apes of humane soules.”

From a reference to Queen Elizabeth in Act I., Scene I., it is clear that Sir Gyles Goosecappe was written not later than 1603.  The lines I have quoted may have been added later; or our author may have seen the Gentleman Usher in manuscript.

Chapman’s influence is again (me judice) apparent in the eloquent but somewhat strained language of such a passage as the following:—­

    “Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich,
    Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes
    The standing lake of Impudence corrupts;
    Hath nought in all the world, nor nought wood have
    To grace him in the prostituted light. 
    But if a man wood consort with a soule
    Where all mans sea of gall and bitternes
    Is quite evaporate with her holy flames,
    And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence
    Fosters her own deserts, and life and death
    Runnes hand in hand before them, all the skies
    Cleare and transparent to her piercing eyes. 
    Then wood my friend be something, but till then
    A cipher, nothing, or the worst of men.”

Page 3

Sir Gyles Goosecappe is the work of one who had chosen the “fallentis semita vitae”; who was more at home in Academic cloisters than in the crowded highways of the world.  None of the characters bears any impression of having been drawn from actual life.  The plot is of the thinnest possible texture; but the fire of verbal quibbles is kept up with lively ingenuity, and plenty of merriment may be drawn from the humours of the affectate traveller and the foolish knight by all who are not

                                “of such vinegar aspect
    That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile,
    Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.”

The romantic friendship between the noble Lord Monford and the thoughtful Clarence is a pleasing study, planned and executed with a grave, sweet sincerity.  It is not improbable that Clarence was the prototype of Charles in Fletcher’s Elder Brother.  The finest passage in the present play, where Clarence’s modesty and Monford’s nobility are portrayed in language of touching charm, was selected by Charles Lamb (whose judgment was never at fault) for quotation in the “Extracts from the Garrick Plays.”

A second edition of Sir Gyles Goosecappe was issued, after the author’s death, in 1636; and the following dedication was appended by Hugh Perry, the publisher:—­

To the Worshipfull RICHARD YOUNG of Woolleyfarme in the County of Berks, Esquire.

WORTHY SIR,

The many favours, and courtesies, that I have Received from you, and your much Honor’d Father, have put such an obligation upon me, as I have bin long cogitateing how to expresse myselfe by the requitall of some part of them; Now this Play having diverse yeeres since beene thrust into the world to seeke its owne entertainment, without so much as an epistle, or under the Shelter of any generous spirit, is now almost become worne out of memory:  and comming to be press’d to the publique view againe, it having none to speake for it (the Author_ being dead) I am bold to recommend the same to your Worships protection, I know your studies are more propense to more serious subjects, yet vouchsafe, I beseech you, to recreate your selfe with this at some vacant time when your leasure will permit you to peruse it, and daigne mee to bee_,

Your Worships bounden Servant,

HVGH PERRY.

SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE, Knight,

A Comedy presented by the Chil. of the Chappell.

AT LONDON:  Printed by Iohn Windet, for Edward Blunt. 1606.

Eugenia, A widowe and a Noble Ladie.
Hippolyta,  |
Penelope,   |  Ladie-virgines, and Companions to Eugenia.
Wynnifred, gentlewoman to Eugenia.
Monford, A Noble Man, uncle to Eugenia.
Clarence, Gentleman, friend to Monf.
Fowlweather, A french affected Travayler, and a Captaine.
Sir Gyles Goosecap, a foolish Knight.
Page 4
Sir Cuthbert Rudsbie, a blunt Knight.
Sir Clement Kingcob, a Knight,
Lord Tales.
Lord Furnifall.
Bullaker, a french Page.
Iack,  |
Will,  |  Pages.

Sir Gyles Goosecappe, Knight.

Actvs Primvs.

SCAENA PRIMA.

    Enter Bullaker with a Torche.

Bullaker.  This is the Countesse Eugenias house, I thinke.  I can never hit of theis same English City howses, tho I were borne here:  if I were in any City in Fraunce, I could find any house there at midnight.

    Enter Iack, and Will.

Iack.  Theis two strange hungry Knights (Will) make the leanest trenchers that ever I waited on.

Will.  A plague on them Iack; they leave us no fees at all, for our attendance.  I thinke they use to set their bones in silver they pick them so cleane.—­See, see, see, Iack, whats that.

Iack.  A my word (Will) tis the great Baboone, that was to be seen in Southwarke.

Will.  Is this he?  Gods my life what beastes were we, that we wood not see him all this while, never trust me if he looke not somewhat like a man:  see how pretely he holds the torche in one of his forefeete:  wheres his keeper trowe, is he broke loose?

Iack.  Hast ever an Apple about thee (Will)?  Weele take him up; sure, we shall get a monstrous deale of mony with him.

Will.  That we shall yfath, boy! and looke thou here, heres a red cheeckt apple to take him up with.

Ia.  Excellent fit a my credit; lets lay downe our provant, and to him.

Bul.  Ile let them alone a while.

Ia.  Give me the apple to take up Iack, because my name is Iack.

Will.  Hold thee, Iack, take it.

Ia.  Come, Iack, come, Iack, come, Iack.

Bul.  I will come to you sir, Ile Iack ye a my word, Ile Iack ye.

Will.  Gods me he speakes, Iack.  O pray pardon us, Sir.

Bul.  Out, ye mopede monckies, can yee not knowe a man from a Marmasett, in theis Frenchified dayes of ours? nay, ile Iackefie you a little better yet.

Both.  Nay good Sir, good Sir, pardon us.

Bul.  Pardon us! out ye home-bred peasants, plain English, pardon us? if you had parled, & not spoken, but said Pardonne moy, I wood have pardon’d you, but since you speake and not parley, I will cudgell ye better yet.

Ambo. O pardonne moy, mounsieur.

Bul. Bien je vous remercy; thers pardonne four vous, sir, now.

Will.  Why I thanke ye for it, Sir; you seeme to bee a Squire of our order Sir.

Ia.  Whose page might you be Sir.

Page 5

Bul.  I am now the great French Travalers page.

Will.  Or rather the French Travalers great page, Sir; on, on.

Bul.  Hight Captaine Fowleweather, alias Commendations; whose valours within here at super with the Countes Eugenia, whose propper eaters I take you two to be.

Will.  You mistake us not Sir.

Ia.  This Captaine Fowleweather, alias Commendations—­

Will.  Is the Gallant that will needs be a sutor to our Countes.

Bul.[1] Faith, and if Fouleweather be a welcome suter to a faire Lady, has good lucke.

Ia.  O Sir, beware of one that can showre into the lapps of Ladies.  Captaine Fowleweather? why hees a Captinado, or Captaine of Captaines, and will lie in their joyntes that give him cause to worke uppon them so heauylie, that he will make their hartes ake I warrant him.  Captaine Fowleweather? why he will make the cold stones sweate for feare of him, a day or two before he come at them.  Captaine Fowleweather? why he does so dominere, and raigne over women.

Will.  A plague of Captaine Fowleweather, I remember him now Iack, and know him to be a dull moist-braind Asse.

Ia.  A Southerne man I thinke.

Will.  As fearefull as a Haire, and will lye like a Lapwing,[2] and I know how he came to be a Captain, and to have his Surname of Commendations.

Ia.  How I preethee Will?

Will.  Why Sir he served the great Lady Kingcob and was yeoman of her wardroppe, & because a cood brush up her silkes lustely, she thought he would curry the enemies coates as soundly, and so by her commendations, he was made Captaine in the lowe Countries.

Ia.  Then being made Captaine onely by his Ladies commendations, without any worth also of his owne, he was ever after surnamd Captaine Commendations?

Will.  Right.

Bul.  I, Sir right, but if he had not said right, my Captaine should have taken no wrong at his handes, nor yours neyther, I can tell ye.

Ia.  What are those two Knights names, that are thy Captaines Comrades, and within at Supper with our Lady?

Bul.  One of their names Sir, is, Sir Gyles Goosecappe, the others Sir Cutt Rudseby.

Will.  Sir Gyles Goosecappe? what’s he? a gentleman?

Bul.  I, that he is, at least if he be not a noble man; and his chiefe house is in Essex.

Ia.  In Essex? did not his Auncestors come out of London.

Bul.  Yes that they did Sir, the best Gosecappes in England, come out of London I assure you.

Will.  I, but, Sir, these must come into it before they come out ont I hope; but what countriman is Sir Cutt Rudesby?

Bul.  A Northern man, or a Westernman I take him, but my Captaine is the Emphaticall man; and by that pretty word Emphaticall you shall partly know him:  for tis a very forcible word in troth, and yet he forces it too much by his favour; mary no more then he does all the rest of his wordes; with whose multiplicity often times he travailes himselfe out of all good company.

Page 6

Iack.  Like enough; he travaild for nothing else.

Will.  But what qualities haunt Sir Gyles Goosecappe now Sir.

Bul.  Sir Gyles Goosecap has always a deathes head (as it were) in his mouth, for his onely one reason for everything is, because we are all mortall; and therefore he is generally cald the mortall Knight; then hath he another pretty phrase too, and that is, he will “tickle the vanity ant” still in everything; and this is your Summa totalis of both their virtues.

Ia.  Tis enough, tis enough, as long as they have land enough, but now muster your third person afore us I beseech you.

Bul.  The third person and second Knight, blunt Sir Cutt Rudesby, is indeed blunt at a sharpe wit, and sharpe at a blunt wit; a good bustling Gallant, talkes well at Rovers; he is two parts souldier; as slovenlie as a Switzer, and somewhat like one in face too; for he weares a bush beard, will dead a Cannan shot better then a wool-packe:  he will come into the presence like yor Frenchman in foule bootes, and dares eat Garlike as a preparative to his Courtship.  You shall know more of him hereafter; but, good wags, let me winne you now for the Geographicall parts of your Ladies in requitall.

Will.  That you shall Sir, and the Hydrographicall too and you will; first my Lady the widowe, and Countes Eugenia, is in earnest, a most worthy Lady, and indeede can doe more than a thousand other Ladies can doe I can tell you.

Bul.  What’s that I pray thee?

Ia.  Mary Sir, he meanes she can doe more than sleepe, and eate, and drinke; and play at noddy[3], and helpe to make hir selfe ready[4].

Bul.  Can she so?

Will.  She is the best scholler of any woman but one[5] in England; she is wise and vertuous.

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

Bul.  For Gods sake whats that?

Ia.  She can love reasonable constantly, for she loved her husband only, almost a whole yeere together.

Bul.  Thats strange indeed, but what is your faire Lady Sir?

Ia.  My Lady Sir, the Lady Hippolita—­

Will.  That is as chast as ever was Hippolitus.

Ia. (True, my prety Parenthesis) is halfe a maid, halfe a wife, and halfe a widdow.

Bul.  Strange tale to tell; how canst thou make this good, my good Assumpsit.

Page 7

Ia.  Thus Sir:  she was betroathed to a gallant young gentleman that loude hir with such passion, and admiration that he never thought he could be so blessed as to enjoy her in full marriage, till the minister was marrying them; and even then when he was saying I Charles take thee Hippolita with extreame joy, he began to looke pale, then going forwards saying, to my wedded wife, he lookt paler, and, then pronouncing, for richer for poorer as long as we both shall live, he lookt extreame pale.  Now, sir, when she comes to speake her parte, and said, I Hippolyta take thee Charles, he began to faint for joy, then saying to my wedded husband, he began to sinke, but then going forth too, for better for worse, he could stand no longer, but with very conceit, it seemd, that she whom he tendred as the best of all things, should pronounce the worst, and for his sake too, he suncke down right, and died sodenly:  And thus being halfe married, and her halfe husband wholy dead, I hope I may with discretion affirme her, halfe a maide, halfe a wife, and halfe a widdowe:  do ye conceive me Sir?

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

Will.  Ile answere for her, because I know her Ladiship to be a perfect maide indeed.

Bul.  How canst thou know that?

Will.  Passing perfectly I warrant ye.

Ia.  By measuring her necke twice, and trying if it will come about hir forehead, and slip over her nose?

Will.  No Sir no, by a rule that will not slip so I warrant you, which for her honours sake I will let slip unto you.  Gods so Iack, I thinke they have supt.

Ia.  Bir Lady we have waited well the while.

Will.  Well though they have lost their attendance, let not us lose our supper, Iack.

Ia.  I doe not meane it; come Sir you shall goe in, and drinke with us yfaith.

Bul. Pardonne moy, mounsieur.

both.  No pardoning in truth Sir.

Bul.  Ie vous remercie de bon Ceur.

[Exeunt.

SCAENA 2.

Enter Goosecappe, Rudesby, Fouleweather, Eugenia,
Hippol., Penelope, Wynne.

Rud.  A plague on you, sweet Ladies, tis not so late; what needed you to have made so short a supper?

Goos.  In truth Sir Cutt. we might have tickled the vanity ant an howre longer, if my watch be trustible.

Foul.  I but how should theis beauties know that Sir Gyles? your watch is mortall, and may erre.

Go.  Thats sooth Captaine, but doe you heare honest friend, pray take a light, and see if the moone shine, I have a Sunne Diall will resolue presently.

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

Page 8

Eu. Wynnefred.

Wyn.  Madam.

Eu.  I prethee goe to my uncle the Lord Monford, and intreat him to come quicken our Eares with some of his pleasant Spirit; This same Fowleweather has made me so melancholly, prethie make haste.

Wyn.  I will Madam. [Exit.

Hip.  We will bid our guests good night, Madam; this same Fowleweather makes me so sleepy.

Pen.  Fie uppon it; for Gods sake shut the Casements, heres such a fulsome Aire comes into this Chamber; in good faith Madame you must keepe your House in better reparations, this same Fowlweather beats in so filthily.

Eug.  Ile take order with the Porter for it, Lady:  good night, gentlemen.

Ru.  Why good night, and be hangd, and you’l needs be gon.

Goos.  God give you good night Madams, thanke you for my good cheere, weele tickle the vanity ant no longer with you at this time but ile indite your La. to supper at my lodging one of these mornings; and that ere long too, because we are all mortall you know.

Eu, Light the Lady Penelope, and the Lady Hippolyta to their Chambers; good night faire Ladies.

Hip.  Good night, Madam; I wish you may sleep well after your light supper.

Eug, I warrant you, Lady, I shall never be troubled with dreaming of my French Suter.
                      [Exeunt.

Ru.  Why how now my Frenchified captain Fowlweather? by Cods ludd thy Surname is never thought upon here, I perceive heeres nobody gives thee any commendations.

Fo.  Why this is the untravaild rudnes of our grose Englesh Ladies now; would any French Lady use a man thus thinke ye? be they any way so uncivill, and fulsome? they say they weare fowle smockes, and course smockes; I say they lie, and I will die int.

Rud.  I, doe so, pray thee, thou shalt die in a very honorable cause, thy countries generall quarrell right.

Foul.  Their smockes, quoth you? a my word you shall take them up so white, and so pure, so sweet, so Emphaticall, so mooving—­

Rud.  I marry Sir, I thinke they be continually moving.

Foul.  But if their smockes were course or foule.

Rud.  Nay I warrant thee thou carest not, so thou wert at them.

Foul.  S’death they put not all their virtues in their smockes, or in their mockes, or in their stewde cockes as our Ladies doe.

Rud.  But in their stewd pox, thers all their gentilitie.

Goos.  Nay, good Sir Cutt., doe not agravate him no more.

Foul.  Then they are so kinde, so wise, so familiar, so noble, so sweet in entertainment, that when you shall have cause to descourse or sometimes to come neerer them; if your breath be ill, your teeth ill, or any thing about you ill, why they will presently breake with ye, in kinde sort, good termes, pretty experiments, and tell you plaine this; thus it is with your breath, Sir, thus it is with your teeth, Sir, this is your disease, and this is your medicine.

Page 9

Goos.  As I am true mortall Knight, it is most superlatively good, this.

Foul.  Why this is courtly now, this is sweete, this plaine, this is familiar, but by the Court of France, our peevish dames are so proud, so precise, so coy, so disdainfull, and so subtill, as the Pomonian Serpent, mort dieu the Puncke of Babylon was never so subtill.

Rud.  Nay, doe not chafe so, Captaine.

Foul.  Your Frenchman would ever chafe, sir Cutt., being thus movde.

Rud.  What? and play with his beard so?

Foul.  I and brystle, it doth expresse that passion of anger very full, and emphaticall.

Goos:  Nay good Knight if your French wood brystle, let him alone, in troth our Ladies are a little too coy, and subtill, Captaine, indeed.

Foul.  Subtill, sir Gyles Goosecappe?  I assure your soule, they are as subtill with their suters, or loves, as the latine Dialect, where the nominative Case, and the Verbe, the Substantive, and the Adjective, the Verbe, and the [ad]Verbe, stand as far a sunder, as if they were perfect strangers one to another, and you shall hardly find them out; but then learne to Conster, and perse them, and you shall find them prepared and acquainted, and agree together in Case, gender, and number.

Goos.  I detest[6], Sir Cutt, I did not thinke he had bin halfe the quintessence of a scholler he is.

Foul.  Slydd there’s not one of them truely emphaticall.

Goos.  Yes, I’le ensure you Captaine, there are many of them truely emphaticall:  but all your French Ladies are not fatt? are they sir?

Foul.  Fatt sir? why doe ye thinke emphaticall is fatt, sir Gyles?

Rud.  Gods my life, brother Knight, didst thou thinke so? hart I know not what it is my selfe, but yet I never thought it was fatt, Ile be sworne to thee.

Foul.  Why if any true Courtly dame had had but this new fashioned sute, to entertaine anything indifferently stuffed, why you should have had her more respective by farre.

Rud.  Nay, theres some reason for that, Captaine, me thinks a true woman should perpetually doate upon a new fashion.

Foul.  Why y’are i’thright sir Cutt.  In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas[7].  Tis the mind of man, and woman to affect new fashions; but to our Mynsatives[8] for sooth, if he come like to your Besognio,[9] or your bore, so he be rich, or emphaticall, they care not; would I might never excell a dutch Skipper in Courtship, if I did not put distaste into my cariage of purpose; I knew I should not please them. Lacquay? allume le torche.

Rud.  Slydd, heres neyther Torch, nor Lacquay, me thinks.

Foul. O mon dieu.

Rud.  O doe not sweare Captaine.

Page 10

Foul.  Your Frenchman ever sweares, Sir Cutt, upon the lacke of his Lacquay, I assure you.

Goos.  See heere he comes, and my Ladies two pages, they have been tickling the vanity ont yfaith.

SCAENA TERTIA.

    Enter to them Iack, Bullaker, Will.

Ia.  Captaine Fowleweather, my Lady the Countes Eugenia commends her most kindly to you, and is determined to morrowe morning earely, if it be a frost, to take her Coach to Barnet to bee nipt; where if it please you, to meete her, and accompany her homewarde, joyning your wit with the frost, and helpe to nip her, She does not doubt but tho you had a sad supper, you will have a joyfull breakefast.

Foul.  I shall indeed, my deare youth.

Rud.  Why Captaine I abus’d thee, I see:  I said the Ladies respected thee not, and now I perceive the widow is in love with thee.

Foul.  Sblood, Knight, I knew I had strucke her to the quicke, I wondred shee departed in that extravagant fashion:  I am sure I past one Passado of Courtship upon her, that has hertofore made a lane amongst the French Ladies like a Culvering shot, Ile be sworne; and I thinke, Sir Gyles, you saw she fell under it.

Goos.  O as cleare as candlelight, by this daylight.

Rud.  O good Knight a the post[10], heele sweare anything.

Will.  The other two Ladies commend them no lesse kindly to you two Knights too; & desire your worships wood meete them at Barnet ith morning with the Captaine.

Foul.  Goos.  Rud.  O good Sir.

Goos.  Our worships shall attend their Ladiships thether.

Ia.  No Sir Gyles by no meanes, they will goe privately thether, but if you will meet them there.

Rud.  Meet them? weele die fort, but weele meet them.

Foul.  Let’s goe thether to night, Knights, and you be true Gallants.

Rud.  Content.

Ia.  How greedely they take it in, Sirra?

Goos.  No it is too farre to goe to night, weele be up betimes ith morning, and not goe to bedd at all.

Foul.  Why its but ten miles, and a fine cleere night, sir Gyles.

Goos.  But ten miles? what do ye talke, Captaine?

Rud.  Why? doost thinke its any more?

Goos.  I, Ile lay ten pounds its more than ten miles, or twelve eyther.

Rud.  What, to Barnet.

Goos.  I, to Barnet.

Rud.  Slydd, Ile lay a hundred pound with thee, if thou wilt.

Goos.  Ile lay five hundred, to a hundred.  Slight I will not be outborne with a wager, in that I know:  I am sure it was foure yeeres agon ten miles thether, and I hope tis more now.  Slydd doe not miles grow thinke you, as well as other Animals?

Page 11

Ia.  O wise Knight!

Goos.  I never innd in the Towne but once, and then they lodged me in a Chamber so full of these Ridiculous Fleas, that I was fain to lie standing all night, and yet I made my man rise, and put out the Candle too, because they should not see to bite me.

Foul.  A pretty project.

Bul.  Intruth Captaine, if I might advise you, you should tarry, and take the morning afore you.

Foul.  How? O mon Dieu! how the villaine poultroune, dishonours his travaile!  You Buffonly Mouchroun, are you so mere rude, and English to advise your Captaine?

Rud.  Nay, I prethee Fouleweather, be not tempesteous with thy poore Lacquay.

Foul.  Tempesteous, Sir Cutt? will your Frenchman, thinke you, suffer his Lacquay to advise him?

Goos.  O God you must take heed Lacquy how you advise your Captaine; your French lacquay would not have done it.

Foul.  He would have bin poxt first. Allume le torche, sweet Pages commend us to your Ladies, say we kisse their white hands, and will not faile to meete them; Knights, which of you leades?

Goos.  Not wee, sir; you are a Captaine, and a leader.

Rud.  Besides, thou art commended for the better man, for thou art very Commendations it selfe, and Captaine Commendations.

Foul.  Why? what tho I be Captain Commendations?

Rud.  Why and Captaine Commendations, is harty commendations, for Captaines are harty I am sure, or else hang them.

Foul.  Why, what if I be harty Commendations? come, come, sweete Knights, lead the way.

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

Foul.  Nay then you conquer me with precedent, by the autenticall forme of all Iustice letters.
                                        [Alloun.  Exeunt.

Ia.  Here’s a most sweet Gudgeon swallowed, is there not?

Will.  I but how will they disgest it, thinkest thou when they shall finde our Ladies not there?

Ia.  I have a vaunt-currying[11] devise shall make them digest it most healthfully.

[Exeunt.

SCENA QUARTA.

    Enter Clarence, Musicians.

Cla.  Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolved
T’exhaust this troubled spring of vanities
And Nurse of perturbations, my poore life,
And therefore since in every man that holds
This being deare, there must be some desire,
Whose power t’enjoy his object may so maske
The judging part, that in her radyant eyes
His estimation of the World may seeme
Vpright, and worthy, I have chosen love
To blind my Reason with his misty hands
And make my estimative power beleive
I have a project worthy to imploy
What worth so ever my whole man affordes: 
Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast found
The end of thy infusion; in the eyes
Of thy divine Eugenia looke for Heaven. 
Thanks gentle friends. [A song to the Violls. 
Is your good Lord, and mine, gon up to bedd yet?

Page 12

    Enter Momford.

Mom.  I do assure ye not, sir, not yet, nor yet, my deepe, and studious friend; not yet, musicall Clarence.

Cla.  My Lord?

Mom.  Nor yet, thou sole divider of my Lordshippe.

Cla.  That were a most unfit division, And farre above the pitch of my low plumes; I am your bold, and constant guest my Lord.

Mom.  Far, far from bold, for thou hast known me long
Almost these twenty yeeres, and halfe those yeeres
Hast bin my bed-fellow; long time before
This unseene thing, this thing of naught indeed,
Or Atome cald my Lordshippe shind in me,
And yet thou mak’st thy selfe as little bould
To take such kindnes, as becomes the Age
And truth of our indissolable love,
As our acquaintance sprong but yesterday;
Such is thy gentle, and too tender spirit.

Cla.  My Lord, my want of Courtship makes me feare
I should be rude, and this my meane estate
Meetes with such envie, and detraction,
Such misconstructions and resolud misdoomes
Of my poore worth, that should I be advaunce’d
Beyond my unseene lowenes, but one haire,
I should be torne in peeces with the Spirits
That fly in ill-lungd tempests through the world,
Tearing the head of vertue from her shoulders
If she but looke out of the ground of glorie. 
Twixt whom and me, and every worldly fortune
There fights such sowre, and curst Antipathy,
So waspish and so petulant a Starre,
That all things tending to my grace or good
Are ravisht from their object, as I were
A thing created for a wildernes,
And must not thinke of any place with men.

Mom.  O harke you Sir, this waiward moode of yours
Must sifted be, or rather rooted out. 
Youle no more musick Sir?

Cla.  Not now, my Lord.

Mom.  Begon my masters then to bedd, to bedd.

Cla.  I thanke you, honest friends.

[Exeunt Musicians.

Mo.  Hence with this book, and now, Mounsieur Clarence, me thinks plaine and prose friendship would do excellent well betwixt us:  come thus, Sir, or rather thus, come.  Sir, tis time I trowe that we both liv’d like one body, thus, and that both our sides were slit, and concorporat with Organs fit to effect an individuall passage even for our very thoughts; suppose we were one body now, and I charge you beleeve it; whereof I am the hart, and you the liver.

Cla.  Your Lordship might well make that division[12], if you knew the plaine song.

Mo.  O Sir, and why so I pray?

Cla.  First because the heart, is the more worthy entraile, being the first that is borne, and moves, and the last that moves, and dies; and then being the Fountaine of heate too:  for wheresoever our heate does not flow directly from the hart to the other Organs there, their action must of necessity cease, and so without you I neither would nor could live.

Page 13

Mom.  Well Sir, for these reasons I may be the heart, why may you be the liver now?

Cla.  I am more then asham’d, to tell you that my Lord.

Mom.  Nay, nay, be not too suspitious of my judgement in you I beseech you:  asham’d friend? if your love overcome not that shame, a shame take that love, I saie.  Come sir, why may you be the liver?

Cla.  The plaine, and short truth is (my Lord) because I am all liver, and turn’d lover.

Mom.  Lover?

Cla.  Lover, yfaith my Lord.

Mom.  Now I prethee let me leape out of my skin for joy:  why thou wilt not now revive the sociable mirth of thy sweet disposition? wilt thou shine in the World anew? and make those that have sleighted thy love with the Austeritie of thy knowledge, dote on thee againe with thy commanding shaft of their humours?

Cla.  Alas, my Lord, they are all farre out of my aime; and only to fit my selfe a little better to your friendshippe, have I given these wilfull raynes to my affections.

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

Cla.  Since your Lordship will shorten the length of my follies relation, the woman that I so passionately love, is no worse Lady then your owne Neece, the too worthy Countesse Eugenia.

Mom.  Why so, so, so, you are a worthy friend, are you not, to conceale this love-mine in your head, and would not open it to your hart? now beshrow my hart, if my hart danse not for joy, tho my heeles do not; and they doe not, because I will not set that at my heeles that my friend sets at his heart? friend, and Nephews both? nephew is a far inferior title to friend I confesse, but I will preferre thee backwards (as many friends doe) and leave their friends woorse then they found them.

Cla.  But, my noble Lord, it is almost a prodegie, that I being onely a poore Gentleman, and farre short of that state and wealth that a Ladie of her greatnesse in both will expect in her husband—­

Mom.  Hold thy doubt friend, never feare any woman, unlesse thyselfe be made of straw, or some such drie matter, and she of lightning. Audacitie prospers above probability in all Worldly matters.  Dost not thou know that Fortune governes them without order, and therefore reason the mother of order is none of her counsaile? why should a man desiring to aspire an unreasonable creature, which is a woman, seeke her fruition by reasonable meanes? because thy

Page 14

Cla.  Would to God we might, my Lord.

Mom.  He warrant thee, friend.

    Enter Messenger.

Mes.  Here is Mistris Wynnifred from my Lady Eugenia desires to speake with your Lordshippe.

Mom.  Marrie, enter, Mistris Wynnifred, even here I pray thee;—­from the Lady Eugenia, doe you heare, friend?

Cla.  Very easily on that side, my Lord.

Mom.  Let me feele.  Does not thy heart pant apace? by my hart, well labor’d Cupid, the field is yours, sir.  God! and upon a very honourable composition.  I am sent for now I am sure, and must even trusse, and to her.

    Enter Wynnifred.

Witty Mistris Wynnifred, nay come neere, woman.  I am sure this Gentleman thinkes his Chamber the sweeter for your deare presence.

Wyn.  My absence shall thanke him, my Lord.

Mom.  What, rude?  Mistris Wynnifred? nay faith you shall come to him, and kisse him, for his kindenesse.

Wyn.  Nay good, my Lord, I’le never goe to the market for that ware, I can have it brought home to my Dore.

Mom.  O Wynnifred, a man may know by the market-folkes how the market goes.

Wyn.  So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne to go to that market themselves.

Mom.  To goe to it Wynnifred? nay to ride to it yfaith.

Wyn.  Thats more then I know my Lord.

Mom.  Youle not beleeve it till you are then a horsebacke, will ye?

Wyn.  Come, come, I am sent of a message to you, will you heare it?

Mom.  Stoppe, stoppe, faire Wynnifred, would you have audience so soone, there were no state in that yfaith.  This faire gentlewoman sir—­

Wyn.  Now we shall have a fiction I beleive.

Page 15

Mom.  Had three Suiters at once.

Wyn.  Youle leave out none my Lord.

Mom.  No more did you, Wynnifred:  you enterferde with them all in truth.

Wyn.  O Monstrous Lord by this light!

Mom.  Now sir to make my tale short I will doe that which she did not; vz. leave out the two first.  The third comming, the third night for his turne—­

Wyn.  My Lord, my Lord, my Lady does that that no body else does, desires your company; and so fare you well.

Mom.  O stay a little sweet Wynnifred, helpe me but to trusse my Poynts againe, and have with you.

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

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

Wyn.  Well, well my Lord you shall sit till the mosse grow about your heeles, ere I come at you againe. [Exit.

Mom.  She cannot abide to heare of her three Suiters, but is not this very fit my sweet Clarence?  Thou seest my rare Neece cannot sleepe without me; but for thy company sake, she shall to night; and in the morning I will visit her earely; when doe thou but stand in that place, and thou maiest chance heare (but art sure to see) in what subtill, and farre-fetcht manner Ile solicite her about thee.

Cla.  Thank’s, worthy Lord.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Primi.

Actvs Secvndi.

SCENA PRIMA.

    Clarence Solus.

Cla.  I that have studied with world-skorning thoughts
The way of Heaven, and how trew Heaven is reacht
To know how mighty, and how many are
The strange affections of enchaunted number;
How to distinguish all the motions
Of the Celestiall bodies, and what power
Doth separate in such forme this massive Rownd;
What is his Essence, Efficacies, Beames,
Foot-steps, and Shadowes; what Eternesse[15] is,
The World, and Time, and Generation;
What Soule, the worlds Soule is, what the blacke Springs
And unreveald Originall of Things,
What their perseverance; what’s life, and death,
And what our certaine Restauration;
Am with the staid-heads of this Time imploy’d
To watch with all my Nerves a Female shade.

Enter Wynnifred, Anabell, with their sowing workes
and sing:  After their song Enter Lord Momford.

Mom.  Witty Mistrisse Wynnifred, where is your Countesse, I pray?

Wyn.  Faith your Lordship is bould enough to seeke her out, if she were at her urinall?

Mom.  Then sh’as done, it seemes, for here she comes to save me that labour; away, wenches, get you hence wenches.
          
                                       [Exeunt.

Page 16

Eu.  What, can you not abide my maides, unkle?

Mom.  I never cood abide a maide in my life Neece, but either I draw away the maide, or the maidenhead with a wet finger[16].

Eug.  You love to make your selfe worse then you are still.

Mom.  I know few mend in this World, Madam.  For the worse the better thought on, the better the worse spoken on ever amongst women.

Eu.  I wonder where you have binne all this while with your sentences.

Mom.  Faith where I must be againe presently.  I cannot stay long with you my deere Neece.

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

Mom.  Cods my life, she abuses her best unkle; never trust me if it were not a good revenge to helpe her to the losse of her widow-head.

Eu.  That were a revenge, and a halfe, indeed.

Mom.  Nay twere but a whole revenge Neece, but such a revenge as would more then observe the true rule of a revenger.

Eu.  I know your rule before you utter it, Vlciscere inimico [sic] sed sine tuo incommodo.

Mom.  O rare Neece, you may see, what tis to be a scholler now; learning in a woman is like waight in gold, or luster in Diamants, which in no other Stone is so rich or refulgent.

Eug.  But say deere Vnckle how could you finde in your heart to stay so long from me?

Mom.  Why, alas Neece, y’are so smeard with this willfull widdows three-yeeres blacke weede, that I never come to you, but I dreame of Coarses, and Sepulchres, and Epitaphs, all the night after, and therefore adew deere Neece.

Eug.  Beshrew my heart my Lord, if you goe theis three houres.

Mom.  Three houres? nay Neece, if I daunce attendance three hours (alone in her Chamber) with any Lady so neere alide to me, I am very idle yfaith—­Mary with such an other I would daunce, one, two, three, foure, and five, tho it cost me ten shillings.  And now I am in, have at it! my head must devise something, while my feet are pidling thus, that may bring her to some fit consideration of my friend, who indeed is onely a great scholler, and all his honours, and riches lie in his minde.

Eu.  Come, come, pray tell me uncle, how does my cosen Momford?

Mom.  Why, well, very well Neece, and so is my friend Clarence well too, and then is there a worthy gentleman well as any is in England I can tell ye. [He daunceth speaking.

Eug.  But when did you see my Cosen?

Mom.  And tis pitty but he should do well, and he shall be well too, if all my wealth will make him well.

Page 17

Eug.  What meanes he by this, tro? your Lord is very dancitive me thinkes.

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

Eug.  But I pray tell me my Lord could you tell me of a thing would make me dance say you?

Mom.  Well, farewell sweet Neece, I must needs take my leave in earnest.

Eu.  Lord blesse us, heres such a stir with your farewels.

Mom.  I will see you againe within these two or three dayes a my word Neece.

Eug.  Cods pretious, two or three dayes? why this Lord is in a maruallous strange humor.  Sit downe, sweet Vnkle; yfaith I have to talke with you about greate matters.

Mom.  Say then deere Neece, be short utter your minde quickly now.

Eug.  But I pray tell me first, what’s that would make me daunce yfaith?

Mom.  Daunce, what daunce? hetherto your dauncers legges bow for-sooth, and Caper, and jerke, and Firke, and dandle the body above them, as it were their great childe; though the speciall jerker be above this place I hope here lies that shud fetch a perfect woman over the Coles yfaith.

Eug.  Nay good Vnkle say what’s the thing you could tell me of?

Mom.  No matter, no matter:  But let me see a passing prosperous fore-head of an exceeding happy distance betwixt the eye browes; a cleere lightning eye; a temperate, and fresh bloud in both the cheekes:  excellent markes, most excellent markes of good fortune.

Eug.  Why, how now Vnkle did you never see me before?

Mom.  Yes Neece; but the state of these things at this instant must be specially observed, and these outward signes being now in this cleere elevation, show your untroubled minde is in an excellent power, to preferre them to act forth then a little, deere Neece.

Eug.  This is excellent.

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

Eug.  Well my Lord, since you will not tell me your secret, ile keepe another from you; with whose discovery, you may much pleasure me, and whose concealement may hurt my estate.  And if you be no kinder then to see me so indangered; ile be very patient of it, I assure you.

Page 18

Mom.  Nay then it must instantly foorth.  This kinde conjuration even fires it out of me; and (to be short) gather all your judgment togeather, for here it comes.  Neece, Clarence, Clarence, rather my soule then my friend Clarence, of too substantiall a worth, to have any figures cast about him (notwithstanding, no other woman with Empires could stirre his affections) is with your vertues most extreamely in love; and without your requitall dead.  And with it Fame shall sound this golden disticke through the World of you both.

    Non illo melior quisquam, nec amantior aequi
    Vir fuit, aut illa reverentior ulla Deorum[17].

Eug.  Ay me poore Dame, O you amase me Vncle, Is this the wondrous fortune you presage?  What man may miserable women trust?

Mom.  O peace good Lady, I come not to ravish you to any thing.  But now I see how you accept my motion:  I perceive (how upon true triall) you esteeme me.  Have I rid all this Circuite to levie the powers of your Iudgment, that I might not proove their strength too sodainly with so violent a charge; And do they fight it out in white bloud, and show me their hearts in the soft Christall of teares?

Eug.  O uncle you have wounded your selfe in charging me that I should shun Iudgement as a monster, if it would not weepe; I place the poore felicity of this World in a woorthy friend, and to see him so unworthily revolted, I shed not the teares of my Brayne, but the teares of my soule.  And if ever nature made teares th’effects of any worthy cause, I am sure I now shed them worthily.

Mom.  Her sensuall powers are up yfaith, I have thrust her soule quite from her Tribunall.  This is her Sedes vacans when her subjects are priviledged to libell against her, and her friends.  But weeps my kinde Neece for the wounds of my friendship?  And I toucht in friendship for wishing my friend doubled in her singular happinesse?

Eug.  How am I doubl’d? when my honour, and good name, two essentiall parts of me; would bee lesse, and loste?

Mom.  In whose Iudgment?

Eug.  In the judgment of the World.

Mom.  Which is a fooles boult. Nihil a virtute nec a veritate remotius, quam vulgaris opinio:  But my deare Neece, it is most true that your honour, and good name tendred, as they are the species of truth, are worthily two esentiall parts of you; But as they consist only in ayrie titles, and corrupteble bloud (whose bitternes sanitas & non nobilitas efficit) and care not how many base, and execrable acts they commit, they touch you no more then they touch eternity.  And yet shall no nobility you have in eyther, be impaired neither.

Eug.  Not to marry a poore Gentleman?

Mom.  Respect him not so; for as he is a Gentleman he is noble; as he is wealthily furnished with true knowledge, he is rich, and therein adorn’d with the exactest complements belonging to everlasting noblenesse.

Page 19

Eug.  Which yet will not maintaine him a weeke:  Such kinde of noblenesse gives no cotes of honour nor can scarse gette a cote for necessity.

Mom.  Then is it not substantiall knowledge (as it is in him) but verball, and fantasticall for Omnia in illa ille complexu tenet.

Eug.  Why seekes he me then?

Mom.  To make you joynt partners with him in all things, and there is but a little partiall difference betwixt you, that hinders that universall joynture:  The bignesse of this circle held too neere our eye keepes it from the whole Spheare of the Sun; but could we sustaine it indifferently betwixt us, and it would then without checke of one beame appeare in his fulnes.

Eug.  Good Vnckle be content, for now shall I never dreame of contentment.

Mom.  I have more then done Lady, and had rather have suffer’d an alteration of my being, then of your Judgment; but (deere Neece) for your own honours sake repaire it instantly.

    Enter Hippolyta.  Penelope.  Iacke.  Will.

See heere comes the Ladies; make an Aprill day on’t[18], deare love, and bee sodainly cheerefull.  God save you, more then faire Ladies, I am glad your come, for my busines will have me gone presently.

Hip.  Why my Lord Momford I say? will you goe before Dinner?

Mom.  No remedy, sweet Beauties, for which rudnesse I lay my hands thus low for your pardons.

Pen.  O Courteous Lo. Momford![19]

Mom.  Neece?——­Mens est quae sola quietos,
    Sola facit claros, mentemque honoribus ornat.[20]

Eug. Verus honos juvat, at mendax infamia terret.[21]

Mom.  Mine owne deare nephew?

Cla.  What successe my Lord?

Mom.  Excellent; excellent; come Ile tell thee all.—­Exeunt.

Hip.  Doe you heare Madam, how our youthes here have guld our three suiters?

Eug.  Not I, Lady; I hope our suiters are no fit meat for our Pages.

Pe.  No Madam, but they are fit sawce for any mans meat, Ile warrent them.

Eug.  What’s the matter Hippolyta?

Hip.  They have sent the Knights to Barnet, Madam, this frosty morning to meet us there.

Eug.  I’st true, youths? are Knights fit subjects for your knaveries?

Will.  Pray pardon us, Madam, we would be glad to please anie body.

Ia.  I indeed, Madam, and we were sure we pleased them highly, to tell them you were desirous of their company.

Hip.  O t’was good, Eugenia, their livers were too hot, you know, and for temper sake they must needs have a cooling carde[22] plaid upon them.

Wil.  And besides Madam we wood have them know that your two little Pages, which are lesse by halfe then two leaves, have more learning in them then is in all their three volumnes.

Page 20

Ia.  I yfaith Will, and put their great pagicall index to them, too.

Hip.  But how will ye excuse your abuses, wags?

Wil.  We doubt not, Madam, but if it please your Ladiship to put up their abuses.

Ia.  Trusting they are not so deere to you, but you may.

Wil.  We shall make them gladly furnishe their pockets with them.

Hip.  Well, children and foules, agree as you will, and let the World know now, women have nothing to doe with you.

Pe.  Come, Madam, I thinke your Dinner bee almost ready.

    Enter Tales, Kingcob.

Hip.  And see, here are two honourable guests for you, the Lord Tales, and sir Cutberd Kingcob.

Ta.  Lacke you any guests, Madam?

Eu.  I, my Lord, such guests as you.

Hip.  Theres as common an answere, as yours was a question, my Lord.

King.  Why? all things shood be common betwixt Lords, and Ladies, you know.

Pe.  Indeed sir Cutberd Kingcob, I have heard, you are either of the familie of Love[23], or of no religion at all.

Eug.  He may well be said to be of the family of love, he does so flow in the loves of poore over-throwne Ladies.

King.  You speake of that I wood doe, Madam, but in earnest, I am now suing for a new Mistres; looke in my hand sweet Lady, and tell me what fortune I shall have with her.

Eug.  Doe you thinke me a witch, Sir Cutberd?

King.  Pardon me Madam, but I know you to bee learned in all things.

Eug.  Come on, lets see.

Hip.  He does you a speciall favour Lady, to give you his open hand, for tis commonly shut they say.

King.  What find you in it, Madam?

Eug.  Shut it now, and ile tell yee.

King.  What now Lady?

Eug.  Y’ave the worst hand that ever I saw Knight have; when tis open, one can find nothing in it, and when tis shut one can get nothing out ont.

King.  The age of letting goe is past, Madam; we must not now let goe, but strike up mens heeles, and take am as they fall.

Eug.  A good Cornish principle beleeve it sir Cutberd.

Tales.  But I pray tell me, Lady Penelope, how entertaine you the love of my Cosen sir Gyles Goosecappe.

Pene.  Are the Goosecaps a kin to you, my Lord?

Ta.  Even in the first degree, Madam.  And, Sir Gyles, I can tell ye, tho he seeme something simple, is compos’d of as many good parts as any Knight in England.

Hip.  He shood be put up for concealement then, for he shewes none of them.

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

Ta.  Ile doe the best I can, Lady; first, he danses as comely, and lightly as any man, for upon my honour, I have seene him danse upon Egges, and a has not broken them.

Page 21

Pene.  Nor crackt them neyther.

Ta.  That I know not; indeed I wood be loath to lie though he be my kinsman, to speake more then I know by him.

Eug.  Well, forth my Lord.

Ta.  He has an excellent skill in all manner of perfumes, & if you bring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he will tell you the price of them to two pence.

Hip.  A pretty sweet quality beleeve me.

Tales.  Nay Lady he will perfume you gloves himselfe most delicately, and give them the right Spanish Titillation.

Pene.  Titillation what’s that my Lord?

Tal.  Why, Lady, tis a pretty kinde of terme new come up in perfuming, which they call a Titillation.

Hip.  Very well expounded, my Lord; forth with your kinsmans parts I pray.

Tal.  He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will worke you needle-worke-edgings, and French purles, from an Angell to foure Angells a yarde.

Eug.  That’s pretious ware indeed.

Tal.  He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if it grew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give it you his perfect, and naturall savour.

Hip.  This is wonderfull; forth, sweet Lord Tales.

Tal.  He will make you flyes, and wormes, of all sorts most lively, and is now working a whole bed embrodred, with nothing but glowe wormes; whose lights a has so perfectly done, that you may goe to bed in the Chamber, doe any thing in the Chamber, without a Candle.

Pene.  Never trust me, if it be not incredible; forth my good Lord.

Tal.  He is a most excellent Turner, and will turne you wassel-bowles, and posset Cuppes caru’d with libberds faces, and Lyons heads with spouts in their mouths, to let out the posset Ale, most artificially.

Eug.  Forth, good Lord Tales.

Pene.  Nay, good my Lord no more; you have spoken for him thoroughly I warrant you.

Hip.  I lay my life Cupid has shot my sister in love with him out of your lips, my Lord.

Eug.  Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, and we will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord and Lady Furnifall.

King. Tale.  We attend you, honorable Ladies.

Exeunt.

Actvs Tertii.

SCAENA PRIMA.

    Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe.

Rud. Bullaker.

Bul.  I, Sir.

Rud.  Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse.

Bul.  So I doe Sir.

Rud.  I wonder, Sir Gyles, you wood let him goe so, and not ride after him.

Goos.  Wood I might never be mortall sir Cutt:  if I rid not after him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he ran his way like a Diogenes, and would never stay for us.

Page 22

Rud.  How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his horse is gone?

Goos.  Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir Moyle, we shall soone our’take him I warrent ye.

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

Goos.  But heres all the doubt, sir Cutt:  if no body shoold catch him now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my Horse when he was hot yfaith.

    Enter Fowleweathter.

How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet?

Rud.  Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light.

Foul.  Cods precious, sir Cutt:  your Frenchman never lights I tell ye.

Goos.  Light, sir Cutt!  Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light.

Rud.  Goe too, you French Zanies you, you will follow the French steps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground all the daies of your life.

Goos.  Why, sir Cut:  I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but we were justly plagu’d by this Hill, for following women thus.

Foul.  I, and English women too, sir Gyles.

Rud.  Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none of the French Dames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men in France, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for phantasticality.

Foul.  O Lord sir Cut.  I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for Courtship, and yet the French Lords put them downe; you noted it, sir Gyles.

Goos.  O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence.

Rud.  How did they put them downe, I pray thee?

Foul.  Why for wit, and for Court-ship Sir Moile.

Rud.[25] As how, good left-handed Francois.

Foul.  Why Sir when Monsieur Lambois came to your mistris the Lady Hippolyta as she sate in the presence,—­sit downe here good Sir Gyles Goose-cappe,—­he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queint French start in his speech of ah bellissime, I desire to die now, saies he, for your love that I might be buried here.

Page 23

Rud.  A good pickt-hatch[26] complement, by my faith; but I prethee what answer’d she.

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

Rud.  That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I had beene as my Mistris, and hah, hah, haht him out of the presence yfaith.

Foul.  Hah, saies he, theis faire eyes, I wood not for a million they were in France, they wood renew all our civill-wars againe.

Goos.  That was not so good, me thinkes, Captaine.

Rud.  Well iudgd, yfaith; there was a little wit in that, I must confesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with a question, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if a lover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was far from believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculous jests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told him she had as lieve be courted with a brush faggot as with a Frenchman, that spent it selfe all in sparkes, and would sooner fire ones chimney then warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to set thatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, and respected them as sleightly.

Goos.  Why so Captaine, and yet you talke of your great Frenchmen; [would] to God little England had never knowne them I may say.

Foul.  What’s the matter sir Gyles? are you out of love with Frenchmen now of a sodaine?

Goos.  Slydd Captaine, wood not make one, Ile be sworne?  Ile be sworne, they tooke away a mastie Dogge of mine by commission:  now I thinke on’t, makes my teares stand in my eyes with griefe, I had rather lost the dearest friend that ever I lay withall in my life be this light; never stir if he fought not with great Sekerson[28] foure hours to one, foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that he sterud him presently:  So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Beare cood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon the Dogge, broke his backe, and the Dogge never stird more.

Rud.  Why thou saist the Frenchmen tooke him away.

Goos.  Frenchmen, I, so they did too, but yet, and he had not bin kild, twood nere a greevd me.

Foul.  O excellent unity of speech.

    Enter Will, and Iacke at seuerall Doores.

Will.  Save ye, Knights.

Ia.  Save you, Captaine.

Foul.  Pages, welcome my fine Pages.

Rud.  Welcome, boyes.

Goos.  Welcome, sweet Will, good Iacke.

Foul.  But how chaunce you are so farre from London now pages? is it almost Dinner time?

Wil.  Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, and cood not chuse in pure love to your worships, but we must needs come, and meet you, before you mett our Ladies, to tell you a secret.

Page 24

Omnes.  A secret, what secret I pray thee?

Ia.  If ever your worships say any thing, we are undone for ever.

Omnes.  Not for a World beleeve it.

Will.  Why then this it is; we over-heard our Ladies as they were talking in private say, they refus’de to meet you at Barnet this morning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were most patient.

Ia.  And some said you, Sir Gyles, another you Sir [Cutt] and the third you Captaine.

Om.  This was excellent.

Wil.  Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to you by any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall see you say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladies begin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge a little.

Foul.  O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might be Casheird, if I say any thing.

Rud.  Faith, and I can forbeare my Tongue as well as another, I hope.

Goos.  Wood I might be degraded, if I speake a word, Ile tell them I care not for loosing my labour.

Foul.  Come Knights shall wee not reward the Pages?

Rud.  Yes I prethee doe, sir Gyles give the boyes something.

Goos.  Never stirre, sir Cutt, if I have ever a groat about me but one three pence.

Foul.  Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages.

Wil.  No in deed, ant please your worship.

Foul.  O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty?

Ia.  Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine.

Foul.  And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos.

Wil.  Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your Lords house, Captaine, the Lord Furnifall, and there will be your great cosen Sir Gyles Goosecappe, the Lorde Tales, and your Vnckle, Sir Cutt.  Rudesby, Sir Cutbert Kingcob.

Foul.  The Lord Tales, what countriman is he?

Ia.  A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury.

Foul.  Out of Canterbury.

Wil.  Indeed, Sir, the best Tales in England are your Canterbury Tales, I assure ye.

Rud.  The boy tels thee true Captaine.

Ia.  He writes his name Sir, Tales, and he being the tenth sonne his Father had; his Father Christned him Decem Tales, and so his whole name is the Lord Decem Tales.

Goos.  A my mortality the boy knowes more then I doe of our house.

Rud.  But is the Ladie Furnifall (Captaine) still of the same drinking humor she was wont to be?

Foul.  Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veine till she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my good little old Lord out of all proportion.

Page 25

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

Foul.  Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and you shall see her; and now I thinke ont, ile tell you a thing Knights, wherein perhaps you may exceedingly pleasure me.

Goos.  What’s that, good Captaine?

Foul.  I am desirous to helpe my Lord to a good merry Foole, and if I cood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit I assure ye.

Rud.  Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne.

Foul.  O Fraunce, Sir Cutt. your Frenchman wood not have taken me so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times to make you merry.

Rud.  As thou doest.

Goos.  Nay good sir Cut. you know fooles doe come into your companies.

Rud.  I and thou knowst it too, no man better.

Foul.  Beare off with Choller Sir Gyles.

Wil.  But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir?

Foul.  I, my good page exceeding faine.

Ia.  You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench?

Foul.  Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page.

Wil.  Does his Lord:  love a foole, so well I pray?

Foul.  Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves himselfe.

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

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

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

Foul.  Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes Laxative of Laughter.

Wil.  Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the quantity of his Lord[ship’s] humor, you know, and if he shood have as much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into an Epilepsie, and fall down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a Foole.

Foul.  Thart ith right, my notable good page.

Ia.  Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that if he should have all Bacon[30] de sanitate tuenda read to him, it shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall.

Foul.  Remercy, my more then English pages.

Page 26

Goos.  A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have never bin in France Captaine.

Foul.  Tis true indeed Sir Gyles, well then my almost french Elixers will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say.

Wil.  As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord:  sits at table.

Foul.  Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages.

Ia.  Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently.

Foul.  Doe so my good wagges.

Wil.  Save you Knights.

Ia.  Save you Captaine.
                            Exeunt.

Foul.  Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to goe to this Supper?

Rud.  What else?

Goos.  And let’s provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, Captaine.

Foul.  That we will, I warrent you, sir Giles.

Rud.  Torches? why the Moone will shine, man.

Goos.  The Moone, sir Cut:  I scorne the Moone yfaith.  Slydd, sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too.  God forgive me, I cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru’d me such a tricke tother night.

Rud.  What tricke, sir Gyles?

Goos.  Why sir Cut. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it needed, and run after it into Finsbury-fieldes ith calme evening to see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into the Ditch by Heaven.

Rud.  That was ill done in her, indeed sir Gyles.

Goos.  Ill done sir Cut?  Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I live, Ile be sworne to ye.

Foul.  Come, Knights, to London:  Horse, Horse, Horse.

Rud.  In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because the French Moones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I warrent you the Captaine will remember it too:  tho he say nothing, he seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night.  I discredit my wit with their company, now I thinke on’t, plague a god on them; Ile fall a beating on them presently.

[Exit.

[SCENE 2.]

    Enter Lord Momford, and Clarence.  Clarence, Horatio.

Page 27

Cla.  Sing good Horatio, while I sigh, and write. 
According to my master Platos minde,
The soule is musicke, and doth therefore joy
In accents musicall, which he that hates
With points of discord is together tyed,
And barkes at Reason, Consonant in sense. 
Divine Eugenia, beares the ocular forme
Of musicke, and of Reason, and presents
The soule exempt from flesh in flesh inflam’d[31];
Who must not love her then, that loves his soule? 
To her I write; my friend, the starre[32] of friends
Will needs have my strange lines greet her strange eies
And for her sake ile power my poore Soule forth
In floods of inke; but did not his kinde hand
Barre me with violent grace, I wood consume
In the white flames of her impassionate love,
Ere my harsh lipps shood vent the odorous blaze. 
For I am desperate of all worldly joyes,
And there was never man so harsh to men. 
When I am fullest of digested life
I seeme a livelesse Embrion to all,
Each day rackt up in night-like Funerall. 
Sing, good Horatio, whilst I sigh, and write.

Canto.

      The Letter.

  Suffer him to love that suffers not loving; my love
  is without passion, and therefore free from alteration._

Prose is too harsh, and Verse is Poetry. 
Why shood I write; then? merrit[33] clad in inke
Is but a mourner, and as good as naked. 
I will not write, my friend shall speake for me. 
Sing one stave more, my good Horatio.

Canto.

I must remember I know whom I love
A dame of learning, and of life exempt
From all the idle fancies of her Sex,
And this, that to an other dame wood seeme
Perplext and foulded in a rudelesse[34] vaile,
Will be more cleere then ballads to her eye. 
Ile write, if but to satisfie my friend. 
Your third staunce sweet Horatio, and no more.

Canto.

How vainele doe I offer my strange love? 
I marry, and bid states, and entertaine
Ladies with tales, and jests, and Lords with newes,
And keepe a House to feast Acteons hounds
That eate their Master, and let idle guests
Draw me from serious search of things divine? 
To bid them sit, and welcome, and take care
To sooth their pallats with choyce kitchin-stuff,
As all must doe that marry, and keepe House,
And then looke on the left side of my yoake
Or on the right perhaps, and see my wife
Drawe in a quite repugnant course from me,
Busied to starch her French purles, and her puffs,
When I am in my Anima reflexa. 
Quid est faelicitas? quae origo rerum? 
And make these beings that are knowne to be
The onely serious object of true men
Seeme shadowes, with substantiall stir she keeps
About her shadowes, which if husbands love
They must beleeve; and thus my other selfe
Brings me another body to dispose,
That have already much too much of one,
And must not looke for any Soule of her
To helpe to rule two bodies?

Page 28

Mom.  Fie for shame;
I never heard of such an antedame[35]. 
Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? 
Why, friend, they eyther are mens soules themselves,
Or the most witty Imitatrixes of them;
Or prettiest sweet apes of humaine Soules,
That ever Nature fram’d; as I will prove. 
For first they be Substantiae lucidae,
And purer then mens bodies, like their soules,
Which mens harsh haires both of their brest and chinne
Occasioned by their grose and ruder heate
Plainely demonstrats:  Then like soules they doe,
Movere corpora, for no power on Earth
Moves a mans body, as a woman does. 
Then doe they Dare formas corpori,
Or adde faire formes to men, as their soules doe: 
For but for women, who wood care for formes? 
I vow I never wood wash face, nor hands,
Nor care how ragg’d, or slovenly I went,
Wer’t not for women, who of all mens pompes
Are the true final causes:  Then they make
Men in their Seedes immortall, like their soules,
That els wood perish in a spanne of time. 
Oh! they be soule-like creatures, and my Neece
The soule of twenty rare soules stil’d in one.

Cla.  That, that it is, my Lord, that makes me love.

Mom.  Oh are ye come Sir, welcome to my Neece, As I may say, at midnight; gentle friend, What have you wrot I pray?

Cla.  Strange stuffe my Lord.

Mom.  Indeed the way to believe is to love
                      [Hee reads and comments. 
And the right way to love is to believe. 
This I will carry now with pen, and incke,
For her to use in answere; see, sweet friend,
She shall not stay to call, but while the steele
Of her affection is made softe and hott,
Ile strike, and take occasion by the brow. 
Blest is the wooing thats not long a dooing.
          
                                [Exit.

Cla.  Had ever man so true, and noble friend? 
Or wood men thinke this sharpe worlds freezing Aire
To all true honour and iuduciall love,
Wood suffer such a florishing pyne in both
To overlooke the boxe-trees of this time? 
When the learn’d minde hath by impulsion wrought
Her eyes cleere fire into a knowing flame;
No elementall smoke can darken it,
Nor Northren coldnesse nyppe her Daphnean Flower. 
O sacred friendship, thanks to thy kinde power,
That being retir’d from all the faithlesse World,
Appear’st to me in my unworldly friend,
And for thine own sake let his noble minde,
By moving presedent to all his kinde,
(Like just Deucalion) of Earths stony bones
Repaire the World with humaine bloud and flesh,
And dying vertue with new life refresh.

[Exit.

Actvs Qvartvs.

Enter Tales, Kingcob, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred.

King.  Tis time to leave your Chests, Ladies; tis too studious an exercise after Dinner.

Page 29

Tal.  Why is it cal’d Chests?

Hip.  Because they leane upon their Chests that play at it.

Tal.  I wood have it cald the strife of wits, for tis a game so witty, that with strife for maisterie, we hunt it eagerly.

Eug.  Specially where the wit of the Goosecaps are in chase my Lord.

Tal.  I am a Goosecappe by the mothers side, Madam; at least my mother was a Goosecappe.

Pene.  And you were her white[36] sonne, I warrant my Lord.

Tal.  I was the youngest, Lady, and therefore must bee her white sonne, yee know; the youngest of ten I was.

Hip.  And the wisest of Fifteene.

Tal.  And sweet Lady will yee cast a kinde eye now upon my Cosin, Sir Gyles Goosecappe.

Pene.  Pardon my Lord, I have never a spare eye to cast away, I assure ye.

Tal.  I wonder you shood count it cast away, Ladie, uppon him; doe you remember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you.

Pene.  Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that he is the best Sempster of any woman in England:  pray lets see some of his worke?

Hip.  Sweet Lord, lets see him sowe a little.

Tal.  You shall, a mine honour, Lady.

Eug.  Hees a goodly greate Knight indeed; and a little needle in his hand will become him prettelie.

King.  From the Spanish Pike to the Spanish Needle, he shall play with any Knight in England, Ladie.

Eug.  But not e converso, from the Spanish needle to the Spanish Pike.

King.  I thinke he be too wise for that indeed, Madam, for he has twenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath to bring it all to the length of a Pike.

Hip.  But no man commends my blount Servant sir Cut.  Rudesby, methinks.

King.  Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it.

Eug.  He saies well to you Hippolita.

Hip.  I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe.

King.  Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he respects, I assure ye.

Hip.  And what’s his living sir Cutbeard?

King.  Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie.

Hip.  I pray doe not tell him that I ask’t, for I stand not upon living.

Page 30

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

    Enter Momford.

Mom.  Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come not for vittles.

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

Mom.  I, but, sweet Lord, there is a principle in the Polititians physicke:  Eat not[37] your meat upon other mens trenchers, and beware of surfets of your owne coste.  Manie good companions cannot abide to eate meate at home, ye know.  And how faires my noble Neece now, and her faire Ladie Feeres[38]?

Eug.  What winde blowes you hether, troe?

Mom.  Harke you, Madam, the sweet gale of one Clarences breath, with this his paper sayle blowes me hether.

Eug.  Aye me still, in that humour? beshrewe my heart, if I take anie Papers from him.

Mom.  Kinde bosome doe thou take it then.

Eug.  Nay then never trust me.

Mom.  Let it fall then or cast it away, you were best, that every body may discover your love suits, doe; theres somebody neare, you note it.—­And how have you spent the time since Dinner, nobles?

King.  At chests, my Lord.

Mom.  Read it, Neece.

Eug.  Heere, beare it backe, I pray.

Mom.  I beare you on my backe to heare you.  And how play the Ladies, sir Cuthberd? what men doe they play best withall, with Knights or rookes?

Tal.  With Knights, my Lord.

Mom.  T’is pitty their boord is no broader, and that some men called guls are not added to their game.

King.  Why, my Lo? it needs not, they make the Knights guls.

Mom.  That’s pretty, sir Cuthbert.—­You have begon I know, Neece; forth I command you.

Eug.  O yare a sweet uncle.

Mom.  I have brought here a little Greeke, to helpe mee out withall, and shees so coy of her learning forsooth, she makes it strange.—­Lords and Ladies, I invite you all to supper to night, and you shall not deny me.

All.  We will attend your Lordshippe.

Tal.  Come Ladies let’s into the gallery a little.

[Exeunt.

Mom.  And now what saies mine owne deare Neece yfaith?

Eug.  What shood she say to the backside of a paper?

Mom.  Come, come, I know you have byn a’ the belly side.

Eug.  Now was there ever Lord so prodigall Of his owne honour’d bloud, and dignity?

Mom.  Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer the letter?

Eug.  Gods my life, you goe like a cunning spokesman, answer uncle; what, doe you thinke me desperate of a husband?

Mom.  Not so, Neece; but carelesse of your poore Vncle.

Eug.  I will not write, that’s certaine.

Page 31

Mom.  What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our blouds?

Eug.  O yare in a mighty danger, noe doubt on’t.

Mom.  If you have our blouds, beware our ghosts, I can tell ye; come, will ye write?

Eug.  I will not write yfaith.

Mom.  Yfaith dame, then I must be your secretary, I see; heres the letter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write.

Eug.  If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove a kinde answer, I beleeve.

Mom.  But you will be advis’de, I trust.  Secretaries are of counsell with their Countesses; thus it begins:  Suffer him to love, that suffers not loving.  What answere you to that?

Eug.  He loves extreamely that suffers not in love.

Mom.  He answers you for that presently, his love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration, for Pati you know is in alterationem labi; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, wherein there is no passion.  Saie dame what answer you?

Eug.  Nay if I answere anie thing—­

Mom.  Why? very well, ile answer for you.

Eug.  You answere? shall I set my hand to your answere?

Mom.  I, by my faith shall ye.

Eug.  By my faith, but you shall answere as I wood have you then.

Mom.  Alwaies put in with advice of your secretary, Neece, come, what answere you?

Eug.  Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely to the first, and last part of his letter.

Mom.  Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name:  what is your answeare?

Eug. I cannot but suffer you to love, if you doe love.

Mom.  Why very good, there it is,—­and will requite your love; say you so? [He writes, and she dictates.

Eug.  Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord.

Mom.  Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise to requite his love, and yet not promise him marriage, I hope; well,—­ and will requite your love.

Eug.  Nay good my Lord, hold your hand, for ile be sworne, ile not set my hand too’t.

Mom.  Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ile be ready for it anon, I warrent ye.  Now forth,—­my love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration:  what answere you to that Madam?

Eug.  Even this, my Lord:  your love, being mentall, needs no bodily Requitall.

Mom.  I am content with that, and here it is;—­but in hart.

Eug.  What but in hart?

Mom.  Hold off your hand yet I say;—­I doe embrace, and repay it.

Eug.  You may write, uncle, but if you get my hand to it—­

Page 32

Mom.  Alas Neece, this is nothing, ist anything to a bodily marriage, to say you love a man in soule, if your harts agree, and your bodies meet not? simple marriage rites, now let us foorth:  he is in the way to felicity, and desires your hand.

Eug. My hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity.

Mom.  Very good; may not any woman say this now.  Conclude now, sweet Neece.

Eug. And so God prosper your journey.

Mom.  Charitably concluded, though farre short of that love I wood have showen to any friend of yours, Neece, I sweare to you.  Your hand now, and let this little stay his appetite.

Eug.  Read what you have writ my Lord.

Mom.  What needs that, Madam? you remember it, I am sure.

Eug.  Well if it want sense in the Composition, let my secretary be blam’d for’t; thers my hand.

Mom.  Thanks, gentle Neece; now ile reade it.

Eug.  Why now, more then before I pray?

Mom.  That you shall see straite.—­I cannot but suffer you to love if you doe love, and will requite your love.

Eug.  Remember that requitall was of your owne putting in, but it shall be after my fashion, I warrant ye.

Mom.  Interrupt me no more.—­Your love being mentall needs no bodily requitall, but in hart I embrace, and repay it; my hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity, and my selfe knit with you in the bands of marriage ever walke with you, in it, and so God prosper our journey: 
          
                                             Eugenia.

Eug.  Gods me life, tis not thus I hope.

Mom.  By my life but it is, Neece.

Eug.  By my life but tis none of my deed then.

Mom.  Doe you use to set your hand to that which is not your deed; your hand is at it, Neece, and if there be any law in England, you shall performe it too.

Eug.  Why? this is plaine dishonoured deceit.  Does all your truest kindnes end in law?

Mom.  Have patience Neece, for what so ere I say, Onely the lawes of faith, and thy free love Shall joyne my friend and thee, or naught at all.  By my friends love, and by this kisse it shall.

Eug.  Why, thus did false Acontius snare Cydippe.

Mom.  Indeed, deere love, his wile was something like,
And then tis no unheard of treachery,
That was enacted in a goddes Eye: 
Acontius worthy love feard not Diana
Before whom he contriv’d this sweet deceite.

Eug.  Well there you have my hand, but ile be sworne I never did thing so against my will.

Mom.  T’will prove the better, Madam, doubt it not. 
And to allay the billows of your bloud,
Rais’d with my motion bold and opposite,
Deere Neece, suppe with me, and refresh your spirites: 
I have invited your companions,
With the two guests that din’d with you to daie,
And will send for the old Lord Furnifall,
The Captaine, and his mates, and (tho at night)
We will be merry as the morning Larke.

Page 33

Eug.  No, no my Lord, you will have Clarence there.

Mom.  Alas poore Gentleman, I must tell you now,
He’s extreame sicke, and was so when he writt,
Tho he did charge me not to tell you so;
And for the World he cannot come abroade.

Eug.  Is this the man that without passion loves?

Mom.  I doe not tell you he is sicke with love;
Or if he be, tis wilfull passion. 
Which he doth choose to suffer for your sake,
And cood restraine his sufferance with a thought,
Vppon my life, he will not trouble you;
And therefore, worthy Neece, faile not to come.

Eug.  I will on that condition.

Mom.  Tis perform’d. 
For were my friend well, and cood comfort me,
I wood not now intreate your company,
But one of you I must have, or I die: 
Oh such a friend is worth a monarchy.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 2.)

Enter Lord Furnifall, Rudsbie, Goosecappe, Foulweather, Bullaker.

Fur.  Nay, my gallants, I will tell you more.

All.  Forth, good my Lord.

Fur.  The evening came, and then our waxen starres
Sparkled about the heavenly Court of Fraunce,
When I then young and radiant as the sunne
Gave luster to those lamps, and curling thus
My golden foretoppe stept into the presence,
Where set with other princely Dames I found
The Countesse of Lancalier, and her neece,
Who as I told you cast so fix’d an eye
On my behaviours, talking with the King.

All.  True, my good Lord.

Fur.  They rose when I came in, and all the lights Burn’d dim for shame, when I stood up, and shin’d.

Foul.  O most passionate description, sir Cutt.

Rud.  True, of a candles end.

Goos.  The passingst description of a candle that ever lived, sir Cutt.

Fur.  Yet aym’d I not at them, nor seemed to note
What grace they did me, but found courtly cause
To talke with an accomplisht gentleman
New come from Italy; in quest of newes
I spake Italian with him.

Rud.  What so young?

Fur. O rarissime volte cadono nel parlar nostro familiare.

Foul.  Slid, a cood speake it, Knight, at three yeeres old.

Fur.  Nay, gentle Captaine, doe not set me forth; I love it not, in truth I love it not.

Foul.  Slight, my Lord, but truth is truth, you know.

Goos.  I dare ensure your Lordship, Truth is truth, and I have heard in France, they speake French as well as their mother tongue, my Lord.

Page 34

Fur.  Why tis their mother tongue, my noble Knight. 
But (as I tell you) I seem’d not to note
The Ladies notes of me, but held my talke,
With that Italionate Frenchman, and tooke time
(Still as our conference serv’d) to shew my Courtship
In the three quarter legge, and setled looke,
The quicke kisse of the top of the forefinger,
And other such exploytes of good Accost;
All which the Ladies tooke into their eyes
With such attention that their favours swarm’d
About my bosome, in my hart, mine eares,
In skarffes about my thighes, upon mine armes
Thicke on my wristes, and thicker on my hands,
And still the lesse I sought, the more I found. 
All this I tell to this notorious end,
That you may use your Courtship with lesse care
To your coy mistresses; As when we strike
A goodly Sammon, with a little line,
We doe not tugge to hale her up by force,
For then our line wood breake, and our hooke lost;
But let her carelesse play alongst the streame,
As you had left her, and sheele drowne her selfe.

Foul.  A my life a most rich comparison.

Goos.  Never stirre if it be not a richer Caparison then my Lorde my Cosin wore at Tilt, for that was brodred with nothing but moone-shine ith the water, and this has Sammons in’t; by heaven a most edible Caparison.

Ru.  Odious thou woodst say, for Comparisons are odious.

Foul.  So they are indeed, sir Cut., all but my Lords.

Goos.  Be Caparisons odious, sir Cut; what, like flowers?

Rud.  O asse they be odorous.[39]

Goos.  A botts a that stincking word odorous, I can never hitt on’t.

Fur.  And how like you my Court-counsell, gallants, ha?

Foul.  Out of all proportion excellent, my Lord; and beleeve it, for Emphaticall Courtship, your Lordship puts downe all the Lords of the Court.

Fur.  No, good Captaine, no.

Foul.  By France you doe, my Lord, for Emphaticall Courtship.

Fur.  For Emphaticall Courtship indeed I can doe somewhat.

Foul.  Then does your merry entertainment become you so festifally, that you have all the bravery of a Saint Georges Day about ye, when you use it.

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

Goos.  O good, my Lord, let him prayse you, what so ere it costs your Lordship.

Foul.  I assure your Lordship, your merry behaviour does so festifally show upon you, that every high holliday, when Ladies wood be most beautifull, every one wishes to God she were turnd into such a little Lord as you, when y’are merry.

Goos.  By this fire they doe my Lord, I have heard am.

Fur.  Marry God forbid, Knight, they shood be turnd into me; I had rather be turnd into them, a mine honour.

Page 35

Foul.  Then for your Lordships quips, and quicke jests, why Gesta Romanorum were nothing to them, a my vertue.

Fur.  Well, well, well, I will heare thee no more, I will heare thee no more, good Captaine.  Tha’s an excellent wit, and thou shalt have Crownes, a mine honour, and now Knights, and Captaine, the foole you told me off, do you all know him?

Goos.  I know him best my Lord.

Fur.  Doe you sir Gyles? to him then, good Knight, and be here with him and here, and here, and here againe; I meane paint him unto us sir Gyles, paint him lively, lively now, my good Knightly boy.

Goos.  Why my good Lord? he will nere be long from us, because we are all mortall you know.

Fur.  Very true.

Goos.  And as soone as ever we goe to Dinner, and Supper together—­

Rud.  Dinner and supper together, whens that troe?

Goos.  A will come you in amongst us, with his Cloake buttond, loose under his chinne.

Rud.  Buttond loose, my Lord?

Goos.  I my Lord, buttond loose still, and both the flaps cast over before both his shoulders afore him.

Rud.  Both shoulders afore him?

Fur.  From before him he meanes; forth good sir Gyles.

Goos.  Like a potentate, my Lord?

Rud.  Much like a Potentate indeed.

Goos.  For all the world like a Potentate, sir Cut. ye know.

Rud.  So Sir.

Goos.  All his beard nothing but haire.

Rud.  Or something else.

Goos.  Or something else as you say.

Foul.  Excellent good.

Goos.  His Mellons, or his Apricocks, Orrenges alwaies in an uncleane hand-kerchiffe, very cleanely, I warrant you, my Lord.

Fur.  A good neate foole, sir Gyles, of mine honour.

Goose.  Then his fine words that he sets them in, concaticall, a fine Annisseede wench foole, upon ticket, and so forth.

Fur.  Passing strange words beleeve me.

Goos.  Knoth every man at the table, though he never saw him before, by sight, and then will he foole you so finely my Lord, that he will make your hart ake, till your eyes runne over.

Fur.  The best that ever I heard, pray mercy, good Knight, for thy merry description.  Captaine, I give thee twenty companies of commendations, never to be cashierd.

    Enter Iacke, and Will on the other side.

Am.  Save your Lordship.

Fur.  My pretty cast-of Merlins,[40] what prophecies with your little maestershippes?

Ia.  Things that cannot come to passe my Lord, the worse our fortunes.

Foul.  Why, whats the matter Pages?

Rud.  How now, my Ladies foysting[41] hounds.

Page 36

Goos.  M. Iacke, M. Ia. how do ye M. William? frolicke?

Wil.  Not so frolicke, as you left us, sir Gyles.

Fur.  Why wags, what news bring you a Gods name?

Ia.  Heavy newes indeed, my Lord, pray pardon us.

Fur.  Heavy newes? not possible your little bodies cood bring am then, unload those your heavy newes, I beseech ye.

Wil.  Why my Lord the foole we tooke for your Lord:  is thought too wise for you, and we dare not present him.

Goos.  Slydd Pages, youle not cheates of our foole, wil ye?

Ia.  Why, sir Gyles, hees too dogged, and bitter for you in truth; we shall bring you a foole to make you laugh, and he shall make all the World laugh at us.

Wil.  I indeed, sir Gyles, and he knowes you so wel too.

Gyles.  Know me? slight he knowes me no more then the begger knowes his dish.[42]

Ia.  Faith he begs you to be content, sir Gyles, for he wil not come.

Goos.  Beg me? slight, I wood I had knowne that, tother Day, I thought I had met him in Paules, and he had bin any body else but a piller, I wood have runne him through by heaven:  beg me?

Foul.  He begges you to be content, sir Gyles; that is, he praies you.

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

Fur.  Let this unsutable foole goe, sir Gyles; we will make shift without him.

Goos.  That we wil, a my word, my Lord, and have him too for all this.

Wil.  Doe not you say so, sir Gyles, for to tell you true that foole is dead.

Goos.  Dead? slight that can not be, man; I know he wood ha writ to me ant had byn so.

Fur.  Quick or dead, let him goe, sir Giles.

Ia.  I, my Lord, for we have better newes for you to harken after.

Fur.  What are they, my good Novations?

Ia.  My Lord Momford intreates your Lordship, and these knights and captaine to accompany the Countesse Eugenia, and the other two Ladies, at his house at supper to night.

Wil.  All desiring your Lo:  to pardon them, for not eating your meat to night.

Fur.  Withall my hart wagges, and thers amends; my harts, now set your courtshippe a’ the last, a the tainters, and pricke up your selves for the Ladies.

Goos.  O brave sir Cut:  come lets pricke up the Ladies.

Fur.  And will not the Knights two noble kinsemen be there?

Ia.  Both will be there, my Lord.

Fur.  Why theres the whole knot of us then, and there shall we knocke up the whole triplicitie of your nuptials.

Goos.  Ile make my Lord my Cosin speake for me.

Foul.  And your Lordship will be for me I hope.

Page 37

Fur.  With tooth and naile Captaine, a my Lord[ship].

Rud.  Hang am Tytts! ile pommell my selfe into am.

Ia.  Your Lo:  your Cosin, sir Gyles, has promist the Ladies they shall see you sowe.

Goos.  Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry my worke with me.

Fur.  Doe so sir Gyles, and withall use meanes
To taint their high blouds with the shafte of Love. 
Sometimes a fingers motion wounds their mindes: 
A jest, a jesture, or a prettie laugh: 
A voyce, a present; ah, things done ith nicke
Wound deepe, and sure; and let flie your gold,
And we shall nuptialls have, hold, belly, hold.

Goos.  O rare sir Cut. we shall eate nut-shells:  hold, belly, hold!

[Exeunt.

Ia.—­O pittifull Knight, that knowes not nuptialls from nut-shells!

Wil.  And now Comme porte vous, monsieur!

Bul. Porte bien, vous remercy.

Ia.  We may see it indeed, Sir, and you shall goe afore with us.

Bul.  No good monsieurs.

Wil.  Another Crashe in my Ladies Celler yfaith, monsieur.

Bul. Remercy de bon ceur, monsieurs.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 3.)

Enter Clarence, Momford.

Mom.  How now, my friend? does not the knowing beames, That through thy common sence glaunce through thy eyes, To read that letter, through thine eyes retire And warme thy heart with a triumphant fire?

Cla.  My Lord, I feele a treble happines
Mix in one soule, which proves how eminent
Things endlesse are above things temporall,
That are in bodies needefully confin’de: 
I cannot suffer their dimensions pierst,
Where my immortall part admits expansure,
Even to the comprehension of two more
Commixt substantially with her meere selfe.

Mom.  As how my strange, and riddle-speaking friend?

Cla.  As thus, my Lord; I feele my owne minds joy,
As it is separate from all other powers,
And then the mixture of an other soule
Ioyn’de in direction to one end, like it;
And thirdly the contentment I enjoy,
As we are joynd, that I shall worke that good
In such a noble spirit as your Neece,
Which in my selfe I feele for absolute;
Each good minde dowbles his owne free content,
When in an others use they give it vent.

Mom.  Said like my friend, and that I may not wrong
Thy full perfections with an emptier grace,
Then that which show presents to thy conceits,
In working thee a wife worse then she seemes;
Ile tell thee plaine a secret which I know. 
My Neece doth use to paint herselfe with white,
Whose cheekes are naturally mixt with redd,

Page 38

Cla.  A jealous part of friendship you unfold;
For was it ever seene that any Dame
Wood change of choice a well mixt white and red
For bloodles palenes, if she striv’d to move? 
Her painting then is to shun motion,
But if she mended some defects with it,
Breedes it more hate then other ornaments;
(Which to suplie bare nature) Ladies weare? 
What an absurd thing is it to suppose;
(If nature made us either lame or sick,)
We wood not seeke for sound limmes, or for health
By Art the Rector of confused Nature? 
So in a face, if Nature be made lame,
Then Art can make it, is it more offence
To helpe her want there then in other limmes? 
Who can give instance where Dames faces lost
The priviledge their other parts may boast.

Mom.  But our most Court received Poets saies, That painting is pure chastities abator.

Cla.  That was to make up a poore rime to Nature. 
And farre from any judgment it confered
For lightnes comes from harts, and not from lookes,
And if inchastity possesse the hart;
Not painting doth not race it, nor being cleare
Doth painting spot it: 
Omne bonum naturaliter pulchrum. 
For outward fairenes beares the divine forme,
And moves beholders to the Act of love;
And that which moves to love is to be wisht,
And each thing simply to be wisht is good. 
So I conclude mere painting of the face
A lawful and a commendable grace.

Mom.  What paradox dost thou defend in this? 
And yet through thy cleare arguments I see
Thy speach is farre exempt from flatterie;
And how illiterate custome groslie erres
Almost in all traditions she preferres. 
Since then the doubt I put thee of my Neece,
Checks not thy doubtlesse love, forth my deare friend,
And to add[43] force to those impressions,
That now have caru’d her phantasie with love,
I have invited her to supper heere. 
And told her thou art most extreamly sick,
Which thou shalt counterfeit with all thy skill.

Cla.  Which is exceeding smale to conterfeit.

Mom.  Practise a little, love will teach it thee;
And then shall Doctor Versey the physitian,
Come to thee while her selfe is in my house,
Whith whom as thou confer’st of thy disease,
He bring my Neece with all the Lords, and Ladies
Within your hearing, under fain’d pretext
To shew the Pictures that hang neere thy Chamber;
Where when thou hearst my voyce, know she is there,
And therefore speake that which may stir her thoughts,
And make her flie into thy opened armes. 
Ladies, whom true worth cannot move to ruth,
Trew lovers must deceive to shew their truth.

Page 39

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Quarti.

Actvs Qvinti.

SCENA PRIMA.

    Enter Momford, Furnifall, Tales, Kingcob, Rudesbie, Goosecap,
    Foulweather, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred.

Mom.  Where is sir Gyles Goose-cappe here?

Goos.  Here my Lord.

Mom.  Come forward, Knight; t’is you that the Ladies admire at working, a mine honour.

Goos.  A little at once my Lorde for idlenes sake.

Fur.  Sir Cut, I say, to her Captaine.

Penel.  Come good servant let’s see what you worke.

Goos.  Why looke you, Mistris, I am makeing a fine dry sea, full of fish, playing in the bottome, and here ile let in the water so lively, that you shall heare it rore.

Eug.  Not heare it, sir Gyles?

Goos.  Yes in sooth, Madam, with your eyes.

Tal.  I, Lady; for when a thing is done so exceedingly to the life, as my Knightly cosen does it, the eye oftentimes takes so strong a heede of it, that it cannot containe it alone, and therefore the eare seemes to take part with it.

Hip.  That’s a verie good reason, my Lord.

Mom.  What a jest it is, to heare how seriouslie he strives to make his foolish kinsmans answeres wise ones?

Pene.  What shall this be, servant?

Goos.  This shall be a great Whale, Mistris, at all his bignesse spouting huge Hils of salt-water afore him, like a little water squirt, but you shall not neede to feare him Mistris, for he shal be silke, and gould, he shall doe you noe harme, and he be nere so lively.

Pene.  Thanke you, good servant.

Tal.  Doe not thinke, Lady, but he had neede tell you this a forehand:  for, a mine honour, he wrought me the monster Caucasus so lively, that at the first sight I started at it.

Mom.  The monster Caucasus? my Lord, Caucasus is a Mountaine; Cacus you meane.

Tal. Cacus indeede, my Lord, crie you mercie.

Goos.  Heere ile take out your eye, and you wil Mistris.

Pene.  No by my faith, Servant, t’is better in.

Goos.  Why, Ladie, Ile but take it out in jest, in earnest.

Pene.  No, something else there, good servant.

Goos.  Why then here shall be a Camell, and he shall have hornes, and he shall looke for all the World like a maide without a husband.

Hip.  O bitter sir Giles.

Ta.  Nay he has a drie wit, Ladie, I can tell ye.

Pene.  He bobd me there indeed, my Lord.

Fur.  Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter bob.

King.  So she maie answere him with hornes indeed.

Page 40

Eug.  See what a pretty worke he weares in his boote-hose.

Hip.  Did you worke them your selfe, sir Gyles, or buy them?

Goos.  I bought am for nothing, Madam, in th’exchange.

Eug.  Bought am for nothing?

Tal.  Indeed, Madam, in th’exchange they so honour him for his worke, that they will take nothing for any thing he buies on am; but wheres the rich night-cap you wroght, cosen? if it had not bin too little for you, it was the best peece of worke, that ever I sawe.

Goos.  Why, my Lord, t’was bigge enough; when I wrought it, for I wore pantables then you knowe.

Tal.  Indeed the warmer a man keepes his feete the lesse he needs weare uppon his head.

Eug.  You speake for your kinsman the best that ever I heard, my Lord.

Goos.  But I beleeve, Madam, my Lord my cosen has not told you all my good parts.

Ta.  I told him so I warrant you, cosen.

Hip.  What doe you thinke hee left out sir Gyles?

Goos.  Marry, Madam, I can take Tobacco now, and I have bought glow-wormes to kindle it withall, better then all the burning glasses ith World.

Eug.  Glowe-wormes, sir Giles? will they make it burne?

Goos.  O good Madam, I feed am with nothing but fire, a purpose, Ile besworne they eat me five Faggots a-weeke in Charcoale.

Tal.  Nay he has the strangest devices, Ladies, that ever you heard, I warrent ye.

Fur.  That’s a strange device indeed, my Lord.

Hip.  But your sowing, sir Gyles, is a most gentlewoman-like quality, I assure you.

Pene.  O farr away, for now, servant, you neede never marry, you are both husband, and wife your selfe.

Goos.  Nay indeed, mistris, I wood faine marry for all that, and ile tell you my reason, if you will.

Pene.  Let’s here it good servant.

Goos.  Why, Madam, we have a great match at football towards, married men against batchellers, and the married men be all my friends, so I wood faine marry to take the married mens parts in truth.

Hip.  The best reason for marriage that ever I heard sir Gyles.

Goos.  I pray will you keepe my worke a little, Mistris; I must needes straine a little courtesie in truth. [Exit Sir Gyles.

Hip.  Gods my life, I thought he was a little to blame.

Rud.  Come, come, you he[a]re not me, dame.

Pur.  Well said, sir Cut:  to her now; we shall heare fresh courting.

Hip.  Alas, sir Cut, you are not worth the hearing, every body saies you cannot love, howsoever you talke on’t.

Rud.  Not love, dame? slidd what argument woodst have of my love, tro? lett me looke as redde as Scarlet a fore I see thee, and when thou comst in sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippards holland, I am a Iewe to my Creator.

Page 41

Hip.  O excellent!

Rud.  Let me burst like a Tode, if a frowne of thy browe has not turned the very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by the heeles for a fortnight to bring it to the right againe.

Hip.  You shood have hangd longer sir Cut:  tis not right yet.

Rud.  Zonnes, bid me cut off the best lymme of my body for thy love, and ile lai’t in thy hand to prove it.  Doost thinke I am no Christian, have I not a soule to save?

Hip.  Yes tis to save yet I warrant it, and wilbe while tis a soule if you use this.

Fur.  Excellent Courtship of all hands, only my Captaines Courtship, is not heard yet.  Good Madam give him favour to court you with his voyce.

Eug.  What shood he Court me withall else, my Lord?

Mom.  Why, I hope Madam there be other things to Court Ladies withall besides voyces.

Fur.  I meane with an audible sweete song Madam.

Eug.  With all my heart my Lord, if I shall bee so much indebted to him.

Foul.  Nay I will be indebted to your eares Ladie for hearing me sound musicke.

Fur.  Well done Captaine, prove as it wil now.

    Enter Messenger.

Me.  My Lord, Doctor Versey the Physitian is come to see master Clarence.

Mom.  Light, and attend him to him presently.

Fur.  To Master Clarence? what is your friend sicke?

Mom.  Exceeding sicke.

Tal.  I am exceeding sorrie.

King.  Never was sorrow worthier bestowed Then for the ill state of so good a man.

Pene.  Alas poore Gentleman; good my Lord lets see him.

Mom.  Thankes gentle Ladie, but my friend is loth To trouble Ladies since he cannot quitt them.  With anything he hath that they respect.

Hip.  Respect, my Lord!  I wood hold such a man
In more respect then any Emperour: 
For he cood make me Empresse of my selfe
And in mine owne rule comprehend the World.

Mom.  How now young Dame? what sodainly inspird? 
This speech hath silver haires, and reverence askes,
And sooner shall have duty done of me,
Then any pompe in temperall Emperie.

Hip.  Good Madam get my Lord to let us greet him.

Eug.  Alas we shall but wrong and trouble him.  His Contemplations greet him with most welcome.

Fur.  I never knew a man of so sweet a temper, So soft and humble, of so high a Spirit.

Mom.  Alas, my noble Lord, he is not rich,
Nor titles hath, nor in his tender cheekes
The standing lake of Impudence corrupts;
Hath nought in all the World, nor nought wood have,
To grace him in the prostituted light. 
But if a man wood consort with a soule
Where all mans Sea of gall and bitternes
Is quite evaporate with her holy flames,
And in whose powers a Dove-like innocence
Fosters her own deserts, and life and death
Runnes hand in hand before them, all the Skies
Cleere, and transparent to her piercing eyes,
Then wood my friend be something, but till then
A Cipher, nothing, or the worst of men.

Page 42

Foul.  Sweet Lord, lets goe visit him.

    Enter Goose-cappe.

Goos.  Pray, good my Lord, what’s that you talke on?

Mom.  Are you come from your necessarie busines, Sir Gyles? we talke of the visiting of my sicke friend Clarence.

Goos.  O good my Lord lets visite him, cause I knowe his brother.

Hip.  Know his brother, nay then Count doe not denie him.

Goos.  Pray my Lord whether was eldest, he or his elder brother?

Mom.  O! the younger brother eldest while you live, sir Gyles.

Goos.  I say so still my Lord, but I am so borne downe with truth, as never any Knight ith world was I thinke.

Ta.  A man wood thinke he speakes simply now; but indeed it is in the will of the parents, to make which child they will youngest, or eldest:  For often we see the youngest inherite, wherein he is eldest.

Eug.  Your logicall wit my Lord is able to make any thing good.

Mom.  Well come sweet Lords, and Ladies, let us spend
The time till supper-time with some such sights,
As my poore house is furnished withall,
Pictures, and jewels; of which implements,
It may be I have some will please you much.

Goos, Sweet Lord, lets see them.

[Exeunt.

[SCENE 2.]

Enter Clarence, and Doctor.

Do.  I thinke your disease sir, be rather of the minde then the body.

Cla.  Be there diseases of the minde Doctor?

Do.  No question sir, even as there be of the body.

Cla.  And cures for them too?

Do.  And cures for them too, but not by Physick.

Cla.  You will have their diseases, greifes? will you not?

Do.  Yes, oftentimes.

Cla.  And doe not greifes ever rise out of passions?

Do.  Evermore.

Cla.  And doe not passions proceed from corporall distempers?

Do.  Not the passions of the minde, for the minde many times is sicke, when the bodie is healthfull.

Cla.  But is not the mindes-sicknes of power to make the body sicke?

Do.  In time, certaine.

Cla.  And the bodies ill affections able to infect the mind?

Do.  No question.

Cla.  Then if there be such a naturall commerce of Powers betwixt them, that the ill estate of the one offends the other, why shood not the medicines for one cure the other?

Do.  Yet it will not you see. Hei mihi quod nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.[44]

Cla.  Nay then, Doctor, since you cannot make any reasonable Connexion of these two contrarieties the minde, and the body, making both subiect to passion, wherein you confound the substances of both, I must tell you there is no disease of the minde but one, and that is Ignorance.

Page 43

Do.  Why what is love? is not that a disease of the mind?

Cla.  Nothing so:  for it springs naturally out of the bloode, nor are we subject to any disease, or sorrowe, whose causes or effects simply and natively concerne the body, that the minde by any meanes partaketh, nor are there any passions in the soule, for where there are no affections, there are no passions:  And Affectus your Master Galen refers parti irascenti, For illic est anima sentiens ubi sunt affectus:  Therefore the Rationall Soule cannot be there also.

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

Cla.  We use to say so indeed, and from that use comes the abuse of all knowledge and her practice, for when the object in question only concerns the state of the body; why shood the soule bee sorry or glad for it? if she willingly mixe her selfe, then she is a foole, if of necessity, and against her will, a slave, and so, far from that wisdome and freedome that the Empresse of Reason and an eternall Substance shood comprehend.

Do.  Divinely spoken, Sir, but verie Paradoxicallie.

    Enter Momford, Tales, Kingcob, Furnif; Rudes, Goos:  Foul: 
    Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolyta, Winnifred.

Mom.  Who’s there?

[Fur.?] I, my Lord.

Mom.  Bring hether the Key of the gallery, me thought I heard the Doctor, and my friend.

Fur.  I did so sure.

Mom.  Peace then a while, my Lord,
We will be bold to evesdroppe; For I know
My friend is as respective in his Chamber
And by himselfe, of any thing he does
As in a Criticke Synods curious eyes,
Following therein Pythagoras golden rule—­
Maxime omnium teipsum reverere.

Cla.  Know you the Countesse Eugenia, Sir?

Do.  Exceeding wel, Sir; she’s a good learned scholler.

Cla.  Then I perceive you know her well indeed.

Do.  Me thinks you two shood use much conference.

Cla.  Alas sir, we doe verie seldome meet,
For her estate and mine are so unequall,
And then her knowledge passeth mine so farre,
That I hold much too sacred a respect,
Of her high vertues to let mine attend them.

Do.  Pardon me, Sir, this humblenes cannot flowe Out of your judgment but from passion.

Cla.  Indeed I doe account that passion
The very high perfection of my minde,
That is excited by her excellence,
And therefore willingly, and gladly feele it. 
For what was spoken of the most chast Queene
Of rich Pasiaca [?] may be said of her.
Moribus Antevenit sortem[45], virtutibus Annos,
Sexum animo, morum Nobilitate Genus.

Do.  A most excellent Distick.

Page 44

Mom.  Come, Lords, away, lets not presume too much
Of a good nature; not for all I have
Wood I have him take knowledge of the wrong
I rudely offer him:  come then ile shew
A few rare jewels to your honour’d eyes;
And then present you with a common supper.

Goos.  Iewells, my Lord? why is not this candlesticke one of your jewells pray?

Mom.  Yes marry is it, sir Gyles, if you will.

Goos.  Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing but the languages.

Pene.  The languages servant why the languages?

Goos.  Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, and that had the languages I am sure.

Tal.  I thought he had a reason for it Lady.

Pene.  I, and a reason of the Sunne too, my Lord, for his father wood have bin ashamed on’t.
                          [Exeunt.

Do.  Well, master Clarence, I perceive your minde
Hath so incorparate it selfe with flesh
And therein rarified that flesh to spirit,
That you have need of no Physitians helpe. 
But, good Sir, even for holy vertues health
And grace of perfect knowledge, doe not make
Those ground workes of eternity you lay
Meanes to your ruine, and short being here: 
For the too strict and rationall Course you hold
Will eate your body up; and then the World,
Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives,
Will suffer Diminution:  It is now
Brought almost to a simple unity,
Which is (as you well know) Simplicior puncto. 
And if that point faile once, why, then alas
The unity must onely be suppos’d. 
Let it not faile then, most men else have sold it;
Tho you neglect your selfe, uphould it. 
So with my reverend love I leave you sir. [Exit.

Cla.  Thanks, worthy Doctour, I do amply quite you;
I proppe poore vertue, that am propt my selfe,
And only by one friend in all the World! 
For vertues onely sake I use this wile,
Which otherwise I wood despise, and scorne. 
The World should sinke, and all the pompe she hugs
Close in her hart, in her ambitious gripe,
Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joynt
Mou’d with the worth that worldlings love so well
Had power to save it from the throate of hell.
        [He drawes the curtains, and sits within them.

    Enter Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolita.

Eug.  Come on, faire Ladies, I must make you both Familiar witnesses of the most strange part And full of impudence, that ere I plaide.

Hip.  What’s that, good Madam?

Eug.  I that have bene so more then maiden-nice
To my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeld
By his importunate suite to his friends love
In looke, or almost thought; will of my selfe,
Farre past his expectation or his hope,
In action and in person greete his friend,
And comfort the poore gentlemans sicke state.

Page 45

Pene.  Is this a part of so much Impudence?

Eug.  No but I feare me it will stretch to more.

Hip.  Marry, Madam, the more the merrier.

Eug.  Marrie Madam? what shood I marrie him?

Hip.  You take the word me thinkes as tho you would,
And if there be a thought of such kind heate
In your cold bosome, wood to god my breath
Might blowe it to the flame of your kind hart.

Eug.  Gods pretious, Ladie, know ye what you say,
Respect you what I am, and what he is,
What the whole world wood say, & what great Lords
I have refused, and might as yet embrace,
And speake you like a friend to wish me him?

Hip.  Madam I cast all this, and know your choyse
Can cast it quite out of the christall dores
Of your Iudiciall eyes:  I am but young,
And be it said, without all pride I take
To be a maid, I am one, and indeed
Yet in my mothers wombe to all the wiles
Weeud[46] in the loomes of greatnes, and of state: 
And yet even by that little I have learn’d
Out of continuall conference with you,
I have cride haruest home of thus much judgment
In my greene sowing time, that I cood place
The constant sweetnes of good Clarence minde,
Fild with his inward wealth and noblenes,
(Looke, Madam) here, when others outward trash
Shood be contented to come under here.

Pene.  And so say I uppon my maidenhead.

Eug.  Tis well said, Ladies, thus we differ then,
I to the truth-wife, you to worldly men. 
And now sweet dames obserue an excellent jest
(At least in my poore jesting.) Th’Erle my unckle
Will misse me straite, and I know his close drift
Is to make me, and his friend Clarence meete
By some device or other he hath plotted. 
Now when he seekes us round about his house
And cannot find us, for we may be sure
He will not seeke me in his sicke friends Chamber,
(I have at all times made his love so strange,)
He straight will thinke, I went away displeas’d,
Or hartely careles of his hardest suite. 
And then I know there is no griefe on Earth
Will touch his hart so much; which I will suffer,
To quite his late good pleasure wrought on me,
For ile be sworne in motion, and progresse
Of his friends suite, I never in my life
Wrastled so much with passion or was mov’d
To take his firme love in such jelouse part.

Hip.  This is most excellent, Madam, and will prove A neecelike, and a noble friends Revenge.

Eug.  Bould in a good cause; then lets greet his friend.—­
Where is this sickely gentleman? at his booke? 
Now in good truth I wood theis bookes were burnd
That rapp men from their friends before their time,
How does my uncles friend, no other name
I need give him, to whom I give my selfe.

Cla.  O Madam let me rise that I may kneele, And pay some duty to your soveraigne grace.

Page 46

Hip.  Good Clarence, doe not worke your selfe disease My Lady comes to ease and comfort you.

Pene.  And we are handmaides to her to that end.

Cla.  Ladies, my hart will breake if it be held Within the verge of this presumtuous chaire.

Eug.  Why, Clarence is your judgement bent to show
A common lovers passion? let the World,
That lives without a hart, and is but showe,
Stand on her empty, and impoisoned forme,
I knowe thy kindenesse and have seene thy hart
Clest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes,
And I am only now to speake and act
The rite’s due to thy love:  oh, I cood weepe
A bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state,
I cood give passion all her blackest rites
And make a thousand vowes to thy deserts. 
But these are common, knowledge is the bond,
The seale, and crowne of our united mindes;
And that is rare and constant, and for that,
To my late written hand I give thee this. 
See, heaven, the soule thou gau’st is in this hand. 
This is the Knot of our eternitie,
Which fortune, death, nor hell, shall ever loose.

    Enter Bullaker, Iack, Wil.

Ia.  What an unmannerly tricke is this of thy Countesse to give the noble count her uncle the slippe thus?

Wil.  Vnmannerlie, you villaynes?  O that I were worthy to weare a Dagger to any purpose for thy sake?

Bul.  Why young Gentlemen, utter your anger with your fists.

Wil.  That cannot be, man, for all fists are shut you know and utter nothing; and besides I doe not thinke my quarrell just for my Ladies protection in this cause, for I protest she does most abhominablie miscarrie her selfe.

Ia.  Protest, you sawsie Iacke, you!  I shood doe my country, and Court-ship good service to beare thy coalts teeth out of thy head, for suffering such a reverend word to passe their guarde; why, the oldest Courtier in the World, man, can doe noe more then protest.

Bul.  Indeede, Page, if you were in Fraunce, you wood be broken upon a wheele for it, there is not the best Dukes sonne in France dares say I protest, till he be one and thirty yeere old at least, for the inheritance of that word is not to be possest before.

Wil.  Well, I am sorry for my presumtion then, but more sory for my Ladies, marie most sorry for thee good Lord Momford, that will make us most of all sory for our selves, if wee doe not fynde her out.

Ia.  Why, alas, what shood wee doe? all the starres of our heaven see, we seeke her as fast as we can if she be crept into a rush we will seeke her out or burne her.

    Enter Momford.

Page 47

Mom.  Villaines, where are your Ladies? seeke them out. 
Hence, home ye monsters, and still keepe you there
Where levity keepes, in her inconstant Spheare. [Exeunt Pages. 
Away, you pretious villaines! what a plague,
Of varried tortures is a womans hart? 
How like a peacockes taile with different lightes,
They differ from themselves; the very ayre
Alter the aspen humors of their bloods. 
Now excellent good, now superexcellent badd: 
Some excellent good, some? but one of all: 
Wood any ignorant babie serue her friend
Such an uncivill part?  Sblood what is learning? 
An artificiall cobwebbe to catch flies,
And nourish Spiders? cood she cut my throate
With her departure, I had byn her calfe,
And made a dish at supper for my guests
Of her kinde charge; I am beholding to her. 
Puffe, is there not a feather in this ayre
A man may challenge for her? what? a feather? 
So easie to be seene, so apt to trace,
In the weake flight of her unconstant wings? 
A mote, man, at the most, that with the Sunne,
Is onely seene, yet with his radiant eye,
We cannot single so from other motes,
To say this mote is she.  Passion of death,
She wrongs me past a death; come, come, my friend
Is mine, she not her owne, and theres an end.

Eug.  Come uncle shall we goe to supper now?

Mom.  Zounes to supper? what a dorr is this?

Eug.  Alas what ailes my uncle?  Ladies, see.

Hip.  Is not your Lordshippe well?

Pene.  Good, speake my Lord.

Mom.  A sweete plague on you all, ye witty rogues; Have you no pitty in your villanous jests, But runne a man quite from his fifteene witts?

Hip.  Will not your Lordship see your friend, and Neece.

Mom.  Wood I might sinke if I shame not to see her
Tush t’was a passion of pure jealousie,
Ile make her now amends with Adoration. 
Goddesse of learning, and of constancy,
Of friendshippe, and of everie other vertue.

Eug.  Come, come you have abus’de me now, I know, And now you plaister me with flatteries.

Pene.  My Lord, the contract is knit fast betwixt them.

Mom.  Now all heavens quire of Angels sing Amen,
And blesse theis true borne nuptials with their blisse;
And Neece tho you have cosind me in this,
Ile uncle you yet in an other thing,
And quite deceive your expectation. 
For where you thinke you have contracted harts
With a poore gentleman, he is sole heire
To all my Earledome, which to you and yours
I freely and for ever here bequeath. 
Call forth the Lords, sweet Ladies; let them see
This sodaine, and most welcome Noveltie;
But cry you mercy, Neece, perhaps your modesty
Will not have them partake this sodaine match.

Eug.  O uncle, thinke you so?  I hope I made My choyce with too much Judgment to take shame Of any forme I shall performe it with.

Page 48

Mom.  Said like my Neece, and worthy of my friend.

    Enter Furnifall, Tal:  King:  Goos:  Rud:  Foul:  Ia:  Will, Bullaker.

Mom.  My Lords, take witnes of an absolute wonder, A marriage made for vertue, onely vertue:  My friend, and my deere Neece are man and wife.

Fur.  A wonder of mine honour, and withall A worthy presedent for all the World; Heaven blesse you for it, Lady, and your choyce.

Ambo.  Thankes, my good Lord.

Ta.  An Accident that will make pollicie blush,
And all the Complements of wealth and state,
In the succesfull and unnumbred Race
That shall flow from it, fild with fame and grace.

Ki.  So may it speed deere Countesse, worthy Clarence.

Ambo.  Thankes, good sir Cuthberd.

Fur.  Captaine be not dismaid, Ile marrie thee, For while we live, thou shalt my consort be.

Foul.  By France my Lord, I am not griev’d a whit, Since Clarence hath her; he hath bin in Fraunce, And therefore merits her if she were better.

Mom.  Then, Knights, ile knit your happie nuptial knots. 
I know the Ladies minds better then you;
Tho my rare Neece hath chose for vertue only,
Yet some more wise then some, they chuse for both,
Vertue and wealth.

Eug.  Nay, uncle, then I plead This goes with my choise, Some more wise then some, For onely vertues choise is truest wisedome.

Mom.  Take wealth, and vertue both amongst you then,
They love ye, Knights, extreamely; and Sir Cut: 
I give the chast Hippolita to you;
Sir Gyles, this Ladie—­

Pen.  Nay, stay there, my Lord.  I have not yet prov’d all his Knightly parts I heare he is an excellent Poet too.

Tal.  That I forgot sweet Lady; good sir Gyles, Have you no sonnet of your penne about ye?

Goos.  Yes, that I have I hope, my Lord, my Cosen.

Fur.  Why, this is passing fit.

Goos.  I’de be loth to goe without paper about me against my Mistris, hold my worke againe; a man knows not what neede he shall have perhaps.

Mom.  Well remembred a mine honour sir Gyles.

Goos.  Pray read my Lord, I made this sonnet of my Mistris.

Rud.  Nay reade thy selfe, man.

Goos.  No intruth, sir Cut:  I cannot reade mine owne hand.

Mom.  Well I will reade it.
Three things there be which thou shouldst only crave,
Thou Pomroy or thou apple of mine eye;
Three things there be which thou shouldst long to have
And for which three each modest dame wood crie;
Three things there be that shood thine anger swage,
An English mastife and a fine French page.

Rud.  Sblood, Asse, theres but two things, thou shamst thy selfe.

Page 49

Goos.  Why sir Cut. thats Poetica licentia, the verse wood have bin too long, and I had put in the third.  Slight, you are no Poet I perceive.

Pene.  Tis excellent, servant.

Mom.  Keepe it Lady then, And take the onely Knight of mortall men.

Goos.  Thanke you, good my Lord, as much as tho you had given me twenty shillings in truth; now I may take the married mens parts at football.

Mom.  All comforts crowne you all; and you, Captaine, For merry forme sake let the willowe crowne:  A wreath of willow bring us hither straite.

Fur.  Not for a world shood that have bin forgot Captaine it is the fashion, take this Crowne.

Foul.  With all my hart, my Lord, and thanke you too; I will thanke any man that gives me crownes.

Mom.  Now will we consecrate our ready supper
To honourd Hymen as his nuptiall rite;
In forme whereof first daunce, faire Lords and Ladies,
And after sing, so we will sing, and daunce,
And to the skies our vertuous joyes advance.

The Measure.

Now to the song and doe this garland grace.

    Canto.

    Willowe, willowe, willowe,
      our Captaine goes downe: 
    Willowe, willowe, willowe,
      his vallor doth crowne. 
    The rest with Rosemary we grace;
      O Hymen let thy light
    With richest rayes guild every face,
      and feast harts with delight. 
    Willowe, willowe, willowe,
      we chaunt to the skies;
    And with blacke, and yellowe,
      give courtship the prize_.

FINIS.

NOTE.—­In a letter to the Athenaeum of June 9, 1883, Mr. Fleay suggests that Sir Giles Goosecap is the work of George Chapman.  “It was produced by the Children of the Chapel, and must therefore date between 1599 and 1601.  The only other plays known to have been represented by the Chapel Children are Lyly’s Love’s Metamorphosis and the three Comical Satires of Ben Jonson.  The present play bears palpable marks of Jonson’s influence....  The author, then, must have been a stage writer at the end of the sixteenth century, probably a friend of Jonson’s, and not surviving 1636.  The only known playwrights who fulfil the time conditions are Marston, Middleton, and Chapman.  Internal evidence, to say nothing of Jonson’s enmity, is conclusive against Marston and Middleton.  Chapman, on the other hand, fulfils the conditions required.  He was Jonson’s intimate friend, and died in 1634.  In 1598 he was writing plays for Henslow at the Rose Theatre; on July 17, 1599, his connexion with the Admiral’s Company there performing ceased; and his next appearance in stage history is as a writer for the Children of Her Majesty’s Revels, the very company that succeeded, and was, indeed, founded on that of the Children of the Chapel

Page 50

    ‘According to my master Plato’s mind,’ &c.—­iii.  II.

And for the lower comedy, act iv., sc. 1, in which Momford makes Eugenia dictate a letter to Clarence, should be compared with the Gentleman Usher, iii. 1, and Monsieur d’Olive, iv. 1.  These are clearly all from one mould.”  I, like Mr. Fleay, had been struck by the resemblance to Chapman’s style in parts of Sir Gyles Goosecappe; but it seems to me that the likeness is stronger in the serious than in the comic scenes.  If Chapman was the author, it is curious that his name did not appear on the title-page of the second edition.  The reference to the Marechal de Biron’s visit, iii. 1, proves conclusively that the play cannot have been written earlier than the autumn of 1601.

INTRODUCTION TO DOCTOR DODYPOLL.

After reading the passages from “Dr. Dodypoll” in Lamb’s “Extracts from the Garrick Plays,” many students must have felt a desire to have the play in its entirety.  I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew already.  “Dr. Dodypoll” affords a curious illustration of the astounding inequality in the work of the old dramatists.  The opening scene, between Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift of expression.  The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold with a lavish hand.  In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of Lassenbergh’s enthusiasm.  But this strain of charming poetry is brought too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business.  Haunce, the serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken English, is a desperate bore.  Soon the stage is crowded with figures, and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the plot.  Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia.  The elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the doctor and the merchant.  Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been previously contracted to the Lady Catherine.  Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh, who is living disguised as a painter under Flores’ roof, has gained the affections

Page 51

“Flores.  See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes The image of that Goddesse and her sonne, Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love; See, naturally wrought out of the stone (Besides the perfect shape of every limme, Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire) A waving mantle of celestiall blew Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.

    Alber.  Most excellent:  and see besides (my Lords)
    How Cupids wings do spring out of the stone
    As if they needed not the helpe of Art.”

Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless?

As to the authorship of “Dr. Dodypoll” I am unable to form a conjecture.  We learn from Henslowe’s Diary that a play called the “French Doctor” was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece with “Dr. Dodypoll.”  Steevens states that the present play was composed before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement.  The song on p. 102, “What thing is love”? is found in William Drummond’s MS. extracts from Peele’s “Hunting of Cupid” (apud Dyce’s Peele).[48]

The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.

As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles.

LONDON Printed by Thomas Creede, for Richard Oliue, dwelling in Long Lane. 1600.

The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.

Actus Prima.

    A Curtaine drawne, Earle Lassingbergh is discovered
    (like a Painter) painting Lucilia, who sits working
    on a piece of Cushion worke.

Lassinberge.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayes
Reveal’st the variant colours of the world,
Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper’st
The glorious parts of faire Lucilia: 
Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares,
And fix them there as an eternall light
For Lovers to adore and wonder at: 
And this (long since) the high Gods would have done,
But that they could not bring it back againe
When they had lost so great divinitie.

Page 52

Lu.  You paint your flattering words, [Lord] Lassinbergh,
Making a curious pensill of your tongue;
And that faire artificiall hand of yours
Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie
Then here to worke on Antickes and on me. 
Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle)
Are glad to be a mercinary Painter.

Lass.  A Painter, faire Luci[li]a?  Why, the world
With all her beautie was by painting made. 
Looke on the heavens colour’d with golden starres,
The firmamentall ground of it all blew: 
Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes,
The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth: 
Looke on the sommer fields adorn’d with flowers,—­
How much is natures painting honour’d there? 
Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore,
Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne,
Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles: 
Looke on that little world, the twofold man,
Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still,
And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme
Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin. 
I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts,
The severall colours of the Elements,
Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie
In making all things by their colours knowne. 
And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine,
In all things she hath made is a meere Painter.

[She kisses her hand.

[Lu.] Now by this kisse, th’admirer of thy skill,
Thou art well worthie th’onor thou hast given
(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art,
Of which my beauties can deserve no part.

Lass.  From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst
Thy severall parts, if I uniting all
Had figur’d there the true Lucilia,
Then might’st thou justly wonder at mine Art
And devout people would from farre repaire,
Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice,
Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves. 
Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold,
Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye;
Here, underneath this little Rosie bush,
Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it;
Here Cupid (hanging downe his wings) doth sit,
Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes: 
Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand,
Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper’st,
Least ravisht I should dote on mine own worke
Or Envy-burning eyes should malice it.

Lu.  No more, my Lord; see, here comes Haunce our man.

    Enter Haunce.

Haunce.  We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes.  Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning.  See, my Mistresse Lucilia, shee’s never from him:  I pray God he paints no pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie.  But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers:  A, the finest wench.

Page 53

  Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise,
  And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes.

      Enter Cornelia sola, looking upon the picture of
      Alberdure in a little Jewell, and singing.  Enter the
      Doctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her.

  THE SONG.

What thing is love? for sure I am it is a thing, It is a prick, it is a thing, it is a prettie, prettie thing; It is a fire, it is a cole, whose flame creeps in at every hoale; And as my wits do best devise Loves dwelling is in Ladies eies.

Haunce.  O rare wench!

Cor.  Faire Prince, thy picture is not here imprest With such perfection as within my brest.

Mar.  Soft, maister Doctor.

Doct. Cornelia, by garr dis paltry marshan be too bolde, is too sawcie by garr.  Foole, holde off hand, foole; let de Doctor speake.

Han.  Now my brave wooers, how they strive for a Jewes Trump.

Doct.  Madam, me love you; me desire to marry you.  Me pray you not to say no.

Cor.  Maister Doctor, I think you do not love me; I am sure you shall not marry me, And (in good sadnes) I must needs say no.

Mar.  What say you to this, maister Doctor.  Mistresse, let me speake.  That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter:  and I do live or die upon your Monasi[la]ble, I or no.

Doct.  By gar if you will see de Marshan hang himselfe, say no:  a good shasse by garr.

Han.  A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman.

Mar.  Mistresse, Ile bring you from Arabia, Turckie, and India, where the Sunne doth rise, Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, To beautifie you more then all the paintings Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes.

Doct.  You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding.  Me vit one, two, tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr:  by garr dow sella’ dy fader for two pence more.  Madam, me gieve you restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra yeere:  you no point so, Marshan.  Marshan run from you two, tree, foure yere together:  who shall kisse you dan?  Who shall embrace you dan?  Who shall toush your fine hand? o shall, o sweete, by garr.

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

Doct.  By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee live againe for sav’a de law.

Han.  A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre.

Page 54

Doct.  Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire.

Cor.  You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary.

Doct.  Know? what you know?  You no see your selfe, by garr me see you; me speake vatt me see; you no point speake so: 

Han.  Peace, Doctor, I vise you.  Do not court in my maisters hearing, you were best.

    Enter Flores.

Flo.  Where are these wooers heere? poore sillie men,
Highly deceiv’d to gape for marriage heere
Onely for gaine:  I have another reache
More high then their base spirits can aspire: 
Yet must I use this Doctors secret aide,
That hath alreadie promist me a drug
Whose vertue shall effect my whole desires.

Doct.  O Monsieur Flores, mee be your worships servant; mee lay my hand under your Lordships foote by my trot.

Flo.  O maister Doctor, you are welcome to us, And you, Albertus, it doth please me much To see you vowed rivalls thus agree.

Doct.  Agree? by my trot sheele not have him.

Ma.  You finde not that in your urins, M. Doctor.

Doct. Mounsieur Flores, come hedder, pray.

Flo.  What sayes maister Doctor? have you remembred me?

Doct.  I, by garr:  heere be de powdra, you give de halfe at once.

Flo.  But are you sure it will worke the effect?

Doct.  Me be sure? by garr she no sooner drinke but shee hang your neck about; she stroake your beard; she nippe your sheeke; she busse your lippe, by garr.

Flo.  What, wilt thou eate me, Doctor?

Doct.  By garr, mee must shew you de vertue by plaine demonstration.

Flo.  Well, tell me, is it best in wine or no?

Doct.  By garr de Marshan, de Marshan, I tinck he kisse my sweete mistresse.

Flo.  Nay, pray thee, Doctor, speake; is’t best in wine or no?

Doct.  O, good Lort! in vyne:  vat else I pray you? you give de vench to loove vatra? be garre me be ashame of you.

Flo.  Well, thankes, gentle Doctor.  And now (my friends)
I looke to day for strangers of great state,
And must crave libertie to provide for them. 
Painter, goe leave your worke, and you, Lucilia,
Keepe you (I charge you) in your chamber close.
                      [Exeunt Cass. and Lucilia.
Haunce, see that all things be in order set
Both for our Musicke and our large Carowse,
That (after our best countrie fashion)
I may give entertainment to the Prince.

Han.  One of your Hault-boyes (sir) is out of tune.

Flo.  Out of tune, villaine? which way?

Han.  Drunke (sir), ant please you?

Flo.  Ist night with him alreadie?—­Well, get other Musicke.

Han.  So we had need in truth, sir.
                                       [Exit Hans.

Page 55

Doct.  Me no trouble you by my fait, me take my leave:  see, de unmannerlie Marshan staie, by garr. [Exit.

Mar.  Sir, with your leave Ile choose some other time When I may lesse offend you with my staie. [Exit.

Flo. Albertus, welcome.—­And now, Cornelia,
Are we alone? looke first; I, all is safe. 
Daughter, I charge thee now even by that love
In which we have been partiall towards thee
(Above thy sister, blest with bewties guifts)
Receive this vertuous powder at my hands,
And (having mixt it in a bowle of Wine)
Give it unto the Prince in his carowse. 
I meane no villanie heerein to him
But love to thee wrought by that charmed cup. 
We are (by birth) more noble then our fortunes;
Why should we, then, shun any meanes we can
To raise us to our auncient states againe? 
Thou art my eldest care, thou best deserv’st
To have thy imperfections helpt by love.

Corn.  Then, father, shall we seeke sinister meanes
Forbidden by the lawes of God and men? 
Can that love prosper which is not begun
By the direction of some heavenly fate?

Flo.  I know not; I was nere made Bishop yet;
I must provide for mine, and still preferre
(Above all these) the honour of my house: 
Come, therefore, no words, but performe my charge.

Cor.  If you will have it so I must consent.

[Exeunt.

[SCENE 2.]

    Enter Alberdure, Hyanthe, Leander and Moth.

Alber.  My deere Hyanthe, my content, my life,
Let no new fancie change thee from my love;
And for my rivall (whom I must not wrong,
Because he is my father and my Prince)
Give thou him honour but give me thy love. 
O that my rivall bound me not in dutie
To favour him, then could I tell Hyanthe
That he alreadie (with importun’d suite)
Hath to the Brunswick Dutchesse vow’d himselfe,
That his desires are carelesse and his thoughts
Too fickle and imperious for love: 
But I am silent, dutie ties my tongue.

Hya.  Why? thinks my joy, my princely Alderbure, Hyanthes faith stands on so weake a ground, That it will fall or bend with everie winde?  No stormes or lingring miseries shall shake it, Much lesse vaine titles of commaunding love.

Moth.  Madam, dispatch him then, rid him out of this earthlie purgatorie; for I have such a coile with him a nights, grunting and groaning in his sleepe, with “O, Hyanthe! my deare Hyanthe!  And then hee throbs me in his armes, as if he had gotten a great Jewell by the eare.

Alber.  Away, you wag.—­And tell me now, my love,
What is the cause Earle Cassimere (your father)
Hath been so long importunate with me
To visit Flores the brave Jeweller?

Hyan.  My father doth so dote on him, my Lord,
That he thinkes he doth honour every man
Whom he acquaints with his perfections. 
Therefore (in any wise) prepare your selfe
To grace and sooth his great conceit of him;
For everie jesture, everie word he speakes,
Seemes to my father admirablie good.

Page 56

Lean.  Indeed, my Lord, his high conceipt of him
Is more then any man alive deserves. 
He thinkes the Jeweller made all of Jewels,
Who, though he be a man of gallant spirit,
Faire spoken and well furnisht with good parts,
Yet not so peerleslie to be admir’d.

    Enter Cassimere.

Cass.  Come, shall we go (my Lord); I dare assure you
You shall beholde so excellent a man,
For his behaviour, for his sweete discourse,
His sight in Musick and in heavenlie Arts,
Besides the cunning judgement of his eie
In the rare secrets of all precious Jemmes,
That you will sorrow you have staide so long.

Alber.  Alas, whie would not then your lordships favor
Hasten me sooner? for I long to see him
On your judiciall commendation.

Cass.  Come, lets away then:  go you in, Hyanthe, And if my Lord the Duke come in my absence See him (I pray) with honour entertain’d.

[Exeunt.

Hya.  I will, my Lord.

Leand.  I will accompanie your Ladiship, If you vouchsafe it.

Hya.  Come, good Leander.

[Exeunt.

[SCENE 3.]

Enter Constantine, Katherine, Ite,
Vandercleeve, with others.

Const.  Lord Vandercleeve, go Lord Ambassadour
From us to the renowmed Duke of Saxon,
And know his highnesse reason and intent
Whie being (of late) with such importunate suite
Betroth’d to our faire sister Dowager
Of this our Dukedome, he doth now protract
The time he urged with such speede of late
His honourd nuptiall rites to celebrate.

Kath.  But, good my Lord, temper your Ambassie
With such respective termes to my renowme
That I be cleer’d of all immodest haste
To have our promist nuptials consummate;
For his affects (perhaps) follow the season,
Hot with the summer then, now colde with winter: 
And Dames (though nere so forward in desire)
Must suffer men to blowe the nuptiall fire.

Vander.  Madam, your name (in urging his intent)
Shall not be usd, but your right princely brothers;
Who, knowing it may breede in vulgar braines
(That shall give note to this protraction)
Unjust suspition of your sacred vertues,
And other reasons touching the estate
Of both their famous Dukedomes, sendeth mee
To be resolv’d of his integritie.

Const.  To that end go, my honourable Lord,
Commend me and my sister to his love
(If you perceive not he neglects our owne)
And bring his princelie resolution.

Kat.  Commend not me by any meanes, my lord,
Unlesse your speedie graunted audience
And kind entreatie make it requisite,
For honour rules my nuptiall appetite.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Primi.

Actus Secundus.

Page 57

    Enter Haunce, Lassingbergh and others following,
    serving in a Bancket.

Han.  Come, sir, it is not your painting alone makes your absolute man; ther’s as fine a hand to be requir’d in carrying a dish, and as sweete arte to be shew’d in’t as in any maister peece whatsoever; better then as you painted the Doctor eene now with his nose in an Urinall.

Lass.  Be quiet, sir, or ile paint you by and by eating my maisters comfets. [Exit.

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

Flor_.  Prince Alberdure, my great desire to aunswere
The greatnes of your birth and high deserts
With entertainment fitting to your state
Makes althings seem too humble for your presence.

Alber.  Courteous S. Flores, your kinde welcome is
Worthy the presence of the greatest Prince,
And I am bound to good Earle Cassimeere
For honouring me with your desierd acquaintance.

Cass.  Wilt please you therefore to draw neere, my lord?

Flo.  Wilt please your grace to sit?

Alber.  No, good S. Flores; I am heere admiring
The cunning strangenes of your antick worke: 
For though the generall tract of it be rough
Yet is it sprinckled with rare flowers of Art. 
See what a livelie piercing eye is here;
Marke the conveiance of this lovelie hand;
Where are the other parts of this rare cheeke? 
Is it not pittie that they should be hid?

Flo.  More pittie ’tis (my lord) that such rare art
Should be obscur’d by needie povertie;
Hee’s but a simple man kept in my house.

Alber.  Come, sirra, you are a practitioner, Lets have your judgement here.

Han.  Will you have a stoole, sir?

Moth.  I, and I thanke you too, sir.

Flo.  Hath this young Gentleman such skill in drawing?

Alber.  Many great maisters thinke him (for his yeares) Exceeding cunning.

Cass.  Now, sir, what thinke you?

Moth.  My Lord, I thinke more Art is shaddowed heere
Then any man in Germanie can shew
Except Earle Lassingbergh; and (in my conceipt)
This work was never wrought without his hand.

Flo.  Earle Lassingbergh!  Aye me, my jealous thoughts
Suspect a mischiefe which I must prevent.
Haunce, call Lucilia and the Painter strait,
Bid them come both t’attend us at our feast.—­
Is not your Grace yet wearie of this object? 
Ile shew your Lordship things more woorth the sight
Both for their substance and their curious Art.

Alber.  Thankes, good sir Flores.

Flo.  See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes
The image of that Goddesse and her sonne,
Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love;
See naturally wrought out of the stone
(Besides the perfect shape of every limme,
Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire)
A waving mantle of celestiall blew
Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.

Page 58

Alber.  Most excellent:  and see besides (my Lords) How Cupids wings do spring out of the stone As if they needed not the helpe of Art.

Flo.  My Lord, you see all sorts of Jewells heere,
I will not tire your grace with view of them;
Ile onely shew you one faire Aggat more,
Commended chiefely for the workmanship.

Alber.  O excellent! this is the very face
Of Cassimeere:  by viewing both at once,
Either I thinke that both of them do live
Or both of them are Images and dead.

Flo.  My Lord, I feare I trouble you too long:  Wilt please your Lordships taste th[e]is homely cates?

Corn.  First (if it please you) give me leave to greete Your Princely hand with this unworthy gift, Yet woorthy since it represents your selfe.

Alber.  What? my selfe, Lady? trust me it is pittie So faire a Jemme should hold so rude a picture.

Cor.  My Lord, ’tis made a Jewell in your picture, Which otherwise had not deserv’d the name.

Alber.  Kinde mistresse, kindly I accept your favor.

Enter Lassingbergh, Haunce and Lucilia.

Flo.  Heere, you young gentleman; do you know this man?

[Exit Han.

Mot.  Yes, signior Flores, ’tis Earle Lassingbergh.—­My lord, what meane you to come this disguisd?

Lu.  Aye me!

Lass.  The foolish boye is mad; I am Cornelius.  Earle Lassingbergh?  I never heard of him.

Flo.  O Lassingbergh, we know your villainie,
And thy dishonour (fond Lucilia). 
Asse that I was, dull, sencelesse, grosse braynd fool
That dayly saw so many evident signes
Of their close dealings, winckings, becks and touches,
And what not?  To enforce me to discerne,
Had I not been effatuate even by Fate. 
Your presence, noble Lords (in my disgrace)
Doth deepely moove mee, and I heere protest
Most solemnly (in sight of heaven and you)
That if Earle Lassingbergh this day refuse
To make faire mends for this fowle trespasse done,
I will revenge me on his treacherous heart
Though I sustaine for him a thousand deaths.

Cass.  This action (traitour Lassingbergh) deserves Great satisfaction or else great revenge.

Alber.  Beleeve me, gallant Earle, your choice is faire.  And worthy your most honourable love.

Lassin.  My Lord, it greeves me to be thus unmaskt
And made ridiculous in the stealth of love;
But (for Lucilias honour) I protest
(Not for the desperate vowe that Flores made)
She was my wife before she knew my love,
By secret promise made in sight of heaven. 
The marriage which he urgeth I accept,
But this compulsion and unkinde disgrace
Hath altered the condition of my love
And filde my heart with yrksome discontent.

Page 59

Flor.  My Lord, I must preferre mine honour still
Before the pleasure of the greatest Monarch,
Which since your Lordship seekes to gratifie
With just and friendly satisfaction,
I will endeavour to redeeme the thought
Of your affection and lost love to us. 
Wilt please you therefore now to associate
This woorthy Prince at this unwoorthy banquet?

Alber.  My Lord, let me intreate your company.

Lassin.  Hold mee excusd, faire Prince; my grieved thoughts
Are farre unmeete for festivall delights: 
Heere will I sit and feede on melancholie,
A humour (now) most pleasing to my taste.

Flor. Lucilia, waite the pleasure of your love. 
My Lord, now to the banquet: 
Daughter, commaund us a carowse of wine.

        [Musick sounds awhile; and they sing
        Boire a le Fountaine.

My Lord, I greete you with this first carowse,
And as this wine (the Elements sweete soule)
Shall grow in me to bloud and vitall spirit,
So shall your love and honor grow in me.

Alber.  I pledge you, sir.

Cass.  How like you him, my Lord?

Alber.  Exceeding well. [Sing boyre a le fountaine.

Flor. Cornelia, do you serve the Prince with wine?

    [Shee puts the powder into the Cup and gives it the Prince.

Alber.  I thanke you, Lady; Earle Cassimeere, I greete you, and remember Your faire Hyanthe.

Cass.  I thanke your honour.
                                [Sing boyre a &c.

Flor.  Fill my Lord Cassimere his right of wine.

Cass. Cornelia, I give you this dead carowse.

Corn.  I thanke your Lordship.
                                [Sing boyre a &c.

Alber.  What smoake? smoake and fire.

Cass.  What meanes your honour?

Alber.  Powder, powder, Etna, sulphure, fier:  quench it, quench it.

Flor.  I feare the medcine hath distemper’d him.—­O villaine Doctor!

Alber.  Downe with the battlements, powre water on! 
I burne, I burne; O give me leave to flie
Out of these flames, these fiers that compasse me.
          
                                  [Exit.

Cass.  What an unheard off accident is this?  Would God, friend Flores, t’had not happen’d here.

Flor.  My Lord, ’tis sure some Planet[53] striketh him; No doubt the furie will away againe.

Cass.  Ile follow him. [Exit.

Lass.  What hellish spright ordain’d this hatefull feast That ends with horror thus and discontent?

Flor.  I hope no daunger will succeede therein;
However, I resolve me to conceale it.—­
My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit,
And deck your selfe with ornaments more fit
For celebration of your marriage?

Page 60

Lass.  I, I, put on me what attire you will; My discontent, that dwels within me still.

[Exeunt

[SCENE 2.]

Enter Haunce solus.

Hans.  Whom shall a man trust? a Painter?  No:  a servant?  No:  a bed fellowe?  No:  For, seeming for to see, it falls out right:  All day a Painter, and an Earle at night.

    Enter Doctor.

Doct.  Ho, Zaccharee, bid Ursula brushe my two, tree fine Damaske gowne; spread de rishe coverlet on de faire bed; vashe de fine plate; smoake all de shambra vit de sweete perfume.

Hans.  Heer’s the Doctor:  what a gaping his wisedom keepes i’the streete!  As if he could not have spoken all this within.

Doct.  Ho, Zaccharee, if de grand patient come, you finde me signior Flores.

Hans.  By your leave, maister Doctor.

Doct. Hans, my very speciall friend; fait and trot, me be right glad for see you veale.

Hans.  What, do you make a Calfe of me, M. Doctor?

Doct.  O no, pardona moy; I say vell, be glad for see you vell, in good health.

Hans.  O, but I am sick, M. Doctor; very exceeding sick, sir.

Doct.  Sick? tella me, by garr; me cure you presently.

Hans.  A dead palsey, M. Doctor, a dead palsey.

Doct.  Veare? veare?

Hans.  Heere, M. Doctor; I cannot feele, I cannot feele.

Doct.  By garr, you be de brave, merry man; de fine proper man; de very fine, brave, little, propta sweet Jack man; by garr, me loov’a you, me honour you, me kisse’a your foote.

Hans.  You shall not stoope so lowe, good M. Doctor; kisse higher if it please you.

Doct.  In my trot me honour you.

Hans.  I, but you give me nothing, sir.

Doct.  No? by garr, me giv’a de high commendation passe all de gold, precious pearle in de vorld.

Hans.  I, sir, passe by it, you meane so, sir.  Well, I shall have your good word, I see, M. Doctor.

Doct.  I sayt.

Hans.  But not a rag of money.

Doct.  No, by my trot, no point money; me give de beggra de money, no point de brave man.

Hans.  Would I were not so brave in your mouth.—­But I can tell you newes, maister Doctor.

Doct.  Vat be dat?

Hans.  The young Prince hath drunke himselfe mad at my maisters to day.

Doct.  By garr, drunke, I tinck.

Hans.  No, sir, starke mad; he cryes out as if the towne were a fier.

Doct.  By garr, me suspect a ting.

Hans.  Nay, I can tell you more newes yet.

Doct.  Vat newes?

Hans.  If your cap be of capacitie to conceive it now, so it is.  Ile deale with you by way of Interrogation:—­

Page 61

  Who is it must marry with Lucilia bright? 
  All day a Painter, and an Earle at night.

Doct.  By garr, me no conceive vatt you say.

Hans.  Let wisdome answer:  I aske what is man?  A Pancake tost in Fortune’s frying pan.

Doct.  Vat frying pan? by garr, I tinck de foolish petit Jack is madd.

Hans. For, as an Asse may weare a Lyons skinne, So noble Earles have sometimes Painters binne.

Doct.  Garrs blurr, he ryme de grand Rats[54] from my house:  me no stay, me go seek ’a my faire Cornelia. [Exit.

Hans.  Farewell Doctor Doddy, in minde and in body An excellent Noddy:  A cockscomb[55] incony, but that he wants mony To give legem pone.  O what a pittifull case is this!  What might I have done with this wit if my friends had bestowed learning upon me?  Well, when all’s don, a naturall guift is woorth all.

[Exit.

[SCENE 3.]

Enter Alphonso, Hardenbergh, Hoscherman, with others, &c.

Hard.  The Ambassador of Brunswick (good my lord) Begins to murmure at his long delayes?

Hosc.  Twere requisit your highnes wold dismisse him.

Alph.  Who holds him? let him go.

Hard.  My Lord, you know his message is more great
Then to depart so slightly without answer,
Urging the marriage that your grace late sought
With Katherine, sister to the Saxon Duke.

Hosk.  Whom if your highnes should so much neglect
As to forsake his sister and delude him,
Considering already your olde jarre
With the stoute Lantsgrave, what harmes might ensue?

Alph.  How am I crost? Hyanthe ’tis for thee That I neglect the Duchesse and my vowes.

Hard.  My Lord, twere speciallie convenient Your grace would satisfie th’embassador.

Alph.  Well, call him in.

Hosk.  But will your Highnes then Forsake Hyanthe?

Alph.  Nothing lesse, Hosk[erman].

Hosk.  How will you then content th’embassadour?

Alph.  I will delaie him with some kinde excuse.

Hard.  What kinde excuse, my Lord?

Alph.  For that let me alone; do thou but soothe
What I my selfe will presently devise
And I will send him satisfied away.

Hard.  Be sure (my Lord) Ile soothe what ere you say.

Alph.  Then let them come, we are provided for them.

    Enter Vandercleeve the Ambassador attended.

Page 62

My lord Ambassador, we are right sorrie
Our urgent causes have deferd you thus
In the dispatch of that we most desire. 
But for your answer:  know I am deterr’d
By many late prodigious ostents
From present consumation of the nuptials
Vowd twixt your beauteous Dutchesse and our selfe. 
O what colde feare mens jealous stomacks feele
In that they most desire! suspecting still
’Tis eyther too too sweete to take effect
Or (in th’effect) must meete with some harshe chaunce
To intervent the joye of the successe. 
The same wisht day (my Lord) you heere arriv’d
I bad Lord Hardenbergh commaund two horse
Should privately be brought for me and him,
To meete you on the waye for honours sake
And to expresse my joye of your repaire: 
When (loe!) the horse I us’d to ride upon
(That would be gently backt at other times)
Now, offring but to mount him, stood aloft,
Flinging and bound.  You know, Lord Hardenbergh.

Hard.  Yes, my good Lord.

Alph.  And was so strangely out of wonted rule That I could hardlie back him.

Hard.  True, my liege; I stood amaz’d at it.

Hard.  Well, yet I did, And riding (not a furlong) downe he fell.

Hard.  That never heeretofore would trip with him.

Alph.  Yet would I forward needs, but Hardenbergh. 
More timorous then wise, as I supposed,
(For love so hardned me feare was my slave)
Did ominate such likelie ill to me
If I went forward, that with much enforcement
Of what might chance he drave me to retreat. 
Didst thou not Hardenbergh.

Hard.  I did, my Lord.

Alph.  I warrant thou wilt say
Thou never yet saw’st any man so loathe
To be perswaded ill of so ill signes.

Hard.  Never in all my life.

Alph.  Thou wonderst at it?

Hard.  I did indeed, my liege, not without cause.

Alph.  O blame not, Hardenbergh, for thou dost know How sharpe my heart was set to entertaine The Lord of this Ambassage lovingly.

Hard.  True, my good Lord.

Alph.  But (coming back) how gently the Jade went,—­ Did he not, Hardenbergh?

Hard.  As any horse on earth could do, my Lord.

Alph.  Well, sir, this drew me into deepe conceit,
And to recomfort me I did commaund
Lord Hardenbergh should ope a Cabanet
Of my choise Jewels and to bring me thence
A ring, a riche and Violet Hiacinthe,
Whose sacred vertue is to cheere the heart
And to excite our heavie spirits to mirthe;
Which[56], putting on my finger, swift did breake. 
Now this, indeed, did much discomfort me,
And heavie to the death I went to bed;
Where in a slumber I did strongly thinke
I should be married to the beautious Dutchesse,

Page 63

Hard.  I felt I did, for never yet (my Lord) Was I in heart and soule so much dismaide.

Alph.  Why thus you see (my Lord) how your delaies Were mightilie and with huge cause enforste.

Amb.  But dreames (my lord) you know growe by the humors
Of the moist night, which, store of vapours lending
Unto our stomaches when we are in sleepe
And to the bodies supreame parts ascending,
Are thence sent back by coldnesse of the braine,
And these present our idle phantasies
With nothing true but what our labouring soules
Without their active organs safelie worke.

Alph.  My lord, know you there are two sorts of dreams,
One sort whereof are onely phisicall,
And such are they whereof your Lordship speakes;
The other Hiper-phisicall, that is
Dreames sent from heaven or from the wicked fiends,
Which nature doth not forme of her owne power
But are extrinsecate, by marvaile wrought;
And such was mine.  Yet, notwithstanding this,
I hope fresh starres will governe in the spring;
And then, assure your princelie friend your maister,
Our promise in all honour shall be kept. 
Returne this answere, Lord Ambassador,
And recommend me to my sacred love.

Amb.  I will, my lord; but how it will be accepted I know not yet; your selfe shall shortly heare.

Alph.  Lords, some of you associate him.—­Ha, ha!

[Exeunt all but Alph. [and Hard.

Hard.  Exceeding well and gravelie good, my lord.

Alph.  Come, lets go and visit my Hianthe, She whose perfections are of power to moove The thoughts of Caesar (did he live) to love.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Secundus.

Actus Tertius.

Enter Flores, Cassimeere, Lassing., Lucil., Cor., Han., and Doct.

Ha.  Well, mistr., God give you more joy of your husband then your husband has of you.

Doct.  Fie, too, too bad by my fait.  Vat, my lord? melancholie? and ha de sweete Bride, de faire Bride, de verie fine Bride? o monsieur, one, two, tree, voure, vive, with de brave capra, heigh!

Han.  O the Doctor would make a fine frisking usher in a dauncing schoole.

Doct.  O by garr, you must daunce de brave galliarr.  A pox of dis melancholie!

Page 64

Cass.  My Lord, your humors are most strange to us, The humble fortune of a servants life Should in your carelesse state so much displease.

Lass. Quod licet ingratum est, quod non licet acrius urit.

Flor.  Could my childes beautie moove you so, my lord, When Lawe and dutie held it in restraint, And now (they both allowe it) be neglected?

Lass.  I cannot rellish joyes that are enforst; For, were I shut in Paradice it selfe, I should as from a prison strive t’escape.

Luc.  Haplesse Luci[li]a, worst in her best estate!

Lass.  He seeke me out some unfrequented place
Free from these importunities of love,
And onelie love what mine owne fancie likes.

Luc.  O staie, my Lord.

Flor.  What meanes Earle Lassenbergh?

Cass.  Sweete Earle, be kinder.

Lass.  Let me go, I pray.

Doct.  Vat? you go leave a de Bride? tis no point good fashion; you must stay, be garr.

Lass.  Must I stay, sir?

Doct.  I spit your nose, and yet it is no violence.  I will give a de prove a dee good reason.  Reguard, Monsieur:  you no point eate a de meate to daie, you be de empty; be gar you be emptie, you be no point vel; be garr you be vere sick, you no point leave a de provision; be garr you stay, spit your nose.

Lass.  All staies have strength like to thy arguments.

Cass.  Staie, Lassenbergh.

Luc.  Deare Lord.

Flo.  Most honord Earle.

Lass.  Nothing shall hinder my resolved intent, But I will restlesse wander from the world Till I have shaken off these chaines from me.

[Exit La.

Luc.  And I will never cease to follow thee Till I have wonne thee from these unkinde thoughts.

Cass.  Haplesse Lucilia! [Exit Luc.

Flor.  Unkinde Lassenbergh!

Doct.  Be garr, dis Earle be de chollericke complection, almost skipshack, be garr:  he no point staie for one place.  Madame, me be no so laxative; mee be bound for no point moove six, seaven, five hundra yeare from you sweete sidea; be garr, me be as de fine Curianet about your vite necke; my harte be close tie to you as your fine Buske or de fine Gartra boute your fine legge.

Hans.  A good sencible Doctor; how feelinglie he talkes.

Doct.  A plage a de Marshan! blowe wind!

Han.  You need not curse him, sir; he has the stormes at Sea by this time.

Doct.  O forte bien! a good Sea-sick jeast by this faire hand:  blowe wind for mee! puh, he no come heere, Madame.

Flo.  Come, noble Earle, let your kind presence grace Our feast prepard for this obdurate Lord, And give some comfort to his sorrowfull bride Who in her pitteous teares swims after him.

Page 65

Doct.  Me beare you company, signior Flores.

Flor.  It shall not need, sir.

Doct.  Be garr, dis be de sweet haven for me for anchor.

Flor.  You are a sweet smell-feast,[57] Doctor; that I see.  Ile [have] no such tub-hunters use my house.  Therefore be gone, our marriage feast is dasht.

Doct.  Vat speake a me de feast? me spurne a, me kick a de feast; be garr, me tell a me do de grand grace, de favor for suppa, for dina, for eata with dee; be garrs blur, we have at home de restorative, de quintessence, de pure destill goulde, de Nector, de Ambrosia. Zacharee, make ready de fine partricke, depaste de grand Otamon.

Han. Zacharee is not heere, sir, but Ile do it for you.  What is that Otomon, sir?

Doct.  O de grand Bayaret de Mahomet, de grand Turgur, be garr.

Ha.  O a Turkie, sir, you would have rosted, would you?  Call you him an Otoman?

Doct.  Have de whole ayre of Fowle at commaund?

Flor.  You have the foole[58] at command, sir:  you might have bestowed your selfe better.  Wil’t[59] please you walke, M. Doct.  Dodypoll.

[Exeunt all but the Doctor.

Doct.  How?  Doddie poole? garrs blurr, Doctor Doddie, no point poole.  You be paltrie Jacke knave, by garr:  de doctor is nicast, de doctor is rage, de doctor is furie, be gar, the doctor is horrible, terrible furie.  Vell, derre be a ting me tinke; be gars blur, me know, me be revenge me tella de Duke.  Vell, me say no more:  chok a de selfe, foule churle, fowle, horrible, terrible pigge, pye Cod.

[Exit.

[SCENE 2.]

Lea.  I wonder what varietie of sights Retaines your father and the prince so long With signior Flores?

Hya.  O signior Flores is a man so ample
In every complement of entertainement,
That guests with him are, as in Bowers enchanted,
Reft of all power and thoughts of their returne.

    Enter the Duke and Hardenbergh.

Lean.  Be silent, heere’s the Duke.

Alp.  Aye me beholde Your sonne, Lord Hardenbergh, courting Hyanthe.

Har.  If he be courting tis for you, my liege.

Alph.  No, Hardenbergh; he loves my sonne too well
—­My faire Hyanthie, what discourse is it
Wherewith Leander holdes you this [thus?] attentive? 
Would I could thinke upon the like for you.

Hya.  You should but speake and passe the time, my lord.

Alp.  Passe-time that pleaseth you is the use of time: 
Had I the ordering of his winged wheele
It onely should serve your desires and mine. 
What should it do if you did governe it.

Hya.  It should go backe againe and make you yong.

Page 66

Alph.  Swounds, Hardenbergh.

Hard.  To her againe, my Lord.

Alp. Hyanthe, wouldst thou love me, I would use thee So kindlie that nothing should take thee from me.

Hya.  But time would soone take you from me, my lord.

Alp.  Spight on my soule:  why talke I more of time?  Shee’s too good for me at time, by heaven.

Har.  I, and place to (my Lord) I warrant her.

Omnes.  Stop, stop, stop!

    Enter Alberdure mad; Motto and others following him.

Mott.  O stay, my Lord.

Albe. Hyanthe, Hyanthe, o me, my love!

Lea.  Heer’s the Duke his father, heele marr all.

Albe.  O villaine, he that lockt her in his arms
And through the river swims along with her. 
Staie, traiterous Nessus, give me bowes and shafts. 
Whirre!  I have strooke him under the shorte ribs: 
I come, Hyanthe!  O peace, weepe no more. [Exit.

Alp.  Meanes he not me by Nessus, Hardenbergh?

Hard.[60] My lord, he is surelie mad.

Alph. Hyanthe loves him: 
See how she trembles and how pale she lookes! 
She hath enchanted my deere Alderbure
With crafts and treasons and most villanous Arts
Are meanes by which shee seekes to murder him.
Hardenbergh, take her and imprison her
Within thy house:  I will not loose my sonne
For all the wealth the Loves of heaven embrace.

Hya.  What meanes your grace by this?

Alp.  Away with her!

Hya.  You offer me intolerable wrong.

Alp.  Away with her, I say.

Har.  Come Ladie, feare not, Ile entreate you well.

Hya.  What injurie is this!

[Exit Hard. with Hyan.

Alph.  So now I have obtainde what I desir’d,
And I shall easilie worke her to my will;
For she is in the hands of Hardenbergh
Who will continually be pleading for me.

Enter Doctor.

Doct.  Roome! a halle, a hall! be garr, vere is de Duke?

Alp.  Heere, maister Doctor.

Doct.  O we have grand important matter for tella your grace how de know de cause for de wish cause your sonne is da madman.

    Enter Alberdure running.

Alb.  What? art thou heere? sweete Clio, come, be bright; Take me thy Timbrell and Tobaccho pipe, And give Hyanthe musicke at her windowe.

Doct.  Garrs blurr, my cap, my cap, cost me de deale a French crowne.

Alb.  But I will crown thee with a cod of Muske, Instead of Lawrell, and a Pomander[61]:  But thou must write Acrostignues first, my girle.

Doct.  Garzowne, what a pox do you stand heere for, de grand poltrone pezant, and see de Doctor be dus?

Page 67

Alb.  Aye me, what Demon was it guide me thus?  This is Melpomene, that Scottish witch[62], Whom I will scratche like to some villanous gibb, And—­

Doct.  O Garzowne, la diabole, la pestilence, gars blur!

Alp.  Lay holde upon him, helpe the Doctor there!

Alb.  Then reason’s fled to animals, I see, And I will vanish like Tobaccho smoake. Exit.

Doct.  A grand pestilence a dis furie

Alp.  Follow him, sirs, Leander, good Leander!  But, Doctor, canst thou tell us the true cause Of this suddaine frenzie?

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

Alp.  Briefe as you can, good Doctor.

Doct.  Faite and trot, briefe den, very briefe, very laccingue.  De Prince, your sonne, feast with de knave Jeweller, Flores, and he for make a Prince love a de foule croope-shouldra daughter Cornelia, give a de prince a de love poudra which my selfe give for the wenche a before, and make him starke madde be garr because he drinke a too much a.

Alp.  How know you this?

Doct.  Experience teach her, by garr; de poudra have grand force for inflama de bloud, too much make a de rage and de present furie:  be garr, I feare de mad man as de devilla, garr blesse a.

    Enter Hardenbergh.

Alp.  How now, sweete Hardenbergh?

Har.  The Prince, my Lord, in going downe the staires
Hath forst an Axe[63] from one of the Trevants (?),
And with it (as he runnes) makes such cleare way
As no man dare oppose him to his furie.

Alp.  Aye me, what may I do? heere are such newes
As never could have entred our free ears
But that their sharpnesse do enforce a passage. 
Follow us, Doctor; ’tis Flores treacherie
That thus hath wrought my sonnes distemperature.

Exit [Alph.

Hard. Flores, the Jeweller?

Doct.  I, he, dat fine precious stone knave:  by garr, I tinke I shall hit upon hir skirt till be thred bare new.

Exit [Doct with Hard.

[SCENE 3.]

    Musicke playing within.  Enter a Peasant.

Pes.  ’Tis night, and good faith I am out of my way.  O harke; What brave musick is this under the green hill?

    Enter Fairies bringing in a banquet.

O daintie, O rare, a banquet! would to Christ
I were one of their guests.  Gods ad, a fine little
Dapper fellow has spyed me:  What will he doo? 
He comes to make me drinke:  I thanke you, Sir. 
Some of your victuals, I pray; Sir; nay now keepe
your meate, I have enough I; the cup, I faith.
          
                                        Exit.

    Enter the spirit with banquetting stuffe, and missing
    the pesant, lookes up and downe for him; the rest
    wondering at him; to them enters the Enchanter.

Page 68

Ench.  Where is my precious cup, you Antique flames? 
Tis thou that hast convaide it from my bowre,
And I will binde thee in some hellish cave
Till thou recover it againe for me. 
You that are bodyes made of lightest ayre,
To let a Peasant mounted on a Jade
Coozen your curtesies and run away
With such a Jewell, worthy are to endure
Eternall pennance in the lake of fier.

    Enter Lass. and Lucilia.

Lass.  Wilt thou not cease then to pursue me still? 
Should I entreate thee to attend me thus,
Then thou wouldst pant and rest, then thy soft feete
Would be repining at these niggard stones: 
Now I forbid thee, thou pursuest like winde,
Ne tedious space of time nor storme can tire thee. 
But I will seeke out some high slipperie close[64]
Where every step shall reache the gate of death,
That feare may make thee cease to follow me.

Luc.  There will I bodilesse be when you are there, For love despiseth death and scorneth feare.

Lass.  Ile wander, where some boysterous river parts This solid continent, and swim from thee.

Luc.  And there Ile follow though I drown for thee.

Lass.  But I forbid thee.

Luc.  I desire thee more.

Lass.  Art thou so obstinate?

Luc.  You taught me so.

Lass.  I see thou lovest me not.

Luc.  I know I doo.

Lass.  Do all I bid thee then.

Luc.  Bid then as I may doo.

Lass.  I bid thee leave mee.

Luc.  That I cannot doo.

Lass.  My hate.

Luc.  My love.

Lass.  My torment.

Luc.  My delight.

Lass.  Why do I straine to wearie thee with words?  Speech makes thee live; Ile then with silence kill thee, Henceforth be deafe to thy words and dumbe to thy minde.

Ench.  What rock hath bred this savage-minded man? 
That such true love in such rare beauty shines[65]! 
Long since I pittied her; pittie breeds love,
And love commands th’assistance of my Art
T’include them in the bounds of my command. 
Heere stay your wandering steps; chime[66] silver strings,
Chime, hollow caves, and chime you whistling reedes,
For musick is the sweetest chime for love. 
Spirits, bind him, and let me leave[67] my love.

[SCENE 4.]

    Enter A[l]berdure at one doore, and meetes with
    the Pesant at the other doore.

Alb. Hyanthe, o sweet Hyanthe, have I met thee? 
How is thy beautie changed since our departure! 
A beard, Hyanthe? o tis growne with griefe,
But now this love shall tear thy griefe from thee.

Page 69

Pes.  A pox on you!  What are you?  Swounds, I think I am haunted with spirits.

Alb.  Weepe not, Hyanthe; I will weepe for thee,
Lend me thy eyes.  No, villaine, thou art he
That in the top of Eruines hill
Daunst with the Moone and eate up all the starres,
Which made thee like Hyanthe shine so faire;
But, villaine, I will rip them out of thee.

    Enter Motto and others.

Pea.  Slid, holde your hands.

Alb[68].  I come with thunder.

Pea.  Come and you dare.

Mott.  Holde, villaine; tis the young prince Alberdure.

Pea.  Let the young prince hold then; slid, I have no starres in my bellie, I; let him seeke his Hyanthe where he will.

Alb.  O this way by the glimmering of the Sunne
And the legieritie[69] of her sweete feete
She scowted on, and I will follow her. 
I see her, like a goulden spangle, sit
Upon the curled branch of yonder tree. 
Sit still, Hyanthe; I will flie to thee.
                                    Exit.

Mott.  Follow, follow, follow!

Exeunt all but Peas.

Enter Flores and Hance.[70]

Pea.  Together and be hanged.  O heere comes more; pray God I have better lucke with these two.  By your leave, sir, do you know one Maist. Flores, I pray?

Flo.  What wouldst thou have with him?

Pea.  Faith, Sir, I am directed to you by Lady Fortune with a peece of plate.  I doe hope you will use plaine dealing, being a Jeweller.

Flo.  Where hadst thou this?

Pea.  In a very strange place, sir.

Han.  He stole it, sir, I warrant you.

Flo.  I never sawe a Jemme so precious,
So wonderful in substance and in Art. 
Fellow, confesse preciselie where thou hadst it.

Pea.  Faith, sir, I had it in a cave in the bottome of a fine greene hill where I found a company of Fairies, I thinke they call them.

Flo.  Sawst thou any more such furniture there?

Pea.  Store, sir, store.

Flo.  And canst thou bring me thither?

Pea.  With a wet finger[71], sir.

Han.  And ha they good cheere, too?

Pea.  Excellent.

Han.  O sweete thiefe!

Flo.  Tis sure some place enchanted, which this ring
Will soone dissolve and guard me free from feare. 
—­Heer’s for the cup; come, guide me quickly thither. 
Ah, could I be possest of more such Jemmes,
I were the wealthiest Jeweller on earth.

Exeunt.

[SCENE 5.]

Enter Enchanter, leading Luc. and Lass. bound by
spirits; who being laid down on a green banck,
the spirits fetch in a banquet.

Page 70

  THE SONG.

O princely face and fayre, that lightens all the ayre, Would God my eyes kind fire might life and soule inspire.  To thy rich beauty shining in my hearts treasure, The unperfect words refining for perfect pleasure.

Ench.  Lie there and lose the memorie of her
Who likewise hath forgot the thought of thee
By my inchantments.  Come, sit down, fair Nimphe,
And taste the sweetnesse of these heavenly cates,
Whilst from the hollow cranies[72] of this rocke
Musick shall sound to recreate my love. 
But tell me had you ever lover yet?

Luc.  I had a lover, I thinke, but who it was,
Or when, or how, long since, aye me, I know not. 
Yet beat my timerous thoughts on such a thing;
I feele a pasionate hearte but finde no flame,
Thinke what I know not, nor know what I thinke.

Ench.  Hast thou forgot me, then?  I am thy love,
Whom sweetly thou wert wont to entertaine
With lookes, with vowes of love, with amorous kisses. 
Lookst thou so strange? dost thou not know me yet?

Luc.  Sure I should know you.

Ench.  Why, love? doubt you that? 
Twas I that lead you through the painted meadows,
When the light Fairies daunst upon the flowers,
Hanging on every leafe an orient pearle[73]
Which, strooke together with the silver winde
Of their loose mantels, made a silvery chime. 
Twas I that winding my shrill bugle horn,
Made a guilt pallace breake out of the hill,
Filled suddenly with troopes of knights and dames
Who daunst and reveld whilste we sweetly slept
Upon a bed of Roses, wrapt all in goulde. 
Doost thou not know me yet?

Luc.  Yes, now I know you.

Ench.  Come then, confirme thy knowledge with a kiss.

Luc.  Nay, stay, you are not he:  how strange is this!

Ench.  Thou art growne passing strange, my love, To him that made thee so long since his bride.

Luc.  O, was it you? come then.  O stay a while: 
I know not what[74] I am nor where I am,
Nor you, nor these I know, nor any thing.

    Enter Flores with Hance and the Peasant.

Pea.  This is the greene, Sir, where I had the cup,
And this the bottome of a falling hill;
This way I went following the sound.  And see—­

Han.  O see, and seeing eate withall.

Flo.  What? Lassenbergh laid bound, and fond Lucilia. 
Wantonly feasting by a strangers side! 
—­Peasant, be gone: 

[Exit Peasant[75]]

Hance, stand you there and stir not.—­ Now sparckle forth thy beams, thou vertuous Jemme, And lo[o]se these strong enchantments.

Ench.  Stay! aye me,
We are betrai’d!  Haste, spirits, and remove
This table and these cups,—­remove, I say: 
Our incantations strangely are dissolv’d.

Page 71

    Exeunt Ench. with spirits and banquets.

Han.  O spightfull churles! have they caried away all? has haste made no waste?

Luc.  My Lord, Earle Lassenbergh, o pardon me.

Lass.  Away from me.

Luc.  O can I in these bands? 
Forget the dutie of my love to you? 
Were they of Iron, or strong Adamant,
My hands should teare them from my wronged Lord.

Flo.  O, Lassenbergh, to what undoubted perrill
Of life and honour had you brought your selfe
By obstinacie of your froward minde,
Had not my fortune brought me to this place
To lo[o]se the enchantment, which enthralled you both,
By hidden vertue of this precious ring. 
Come, therefore, friendly and imbrace at last
The living partner of your strange mishaps
Justly pursuing you for flying her.

Lass.  Leave me, I say; I can endure no more.

Lu.  Ah, have I loos’d thee then to flie from mee?

Lass.  Away! [Exit.

Lu.  Ile follow thee,

Flo.  Tarrie, Lucilia.

Lu.  Deare father, pardon mee. [Exit.

Flo.  Sirrah, attend her.  Poore wretch, I feare this too much love in thee Is fatall to thee.  Up, Sirrah, follow your mistresse.

Han.  I, sir, I go; my mistresse dogs the banket and I dog her.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Tertii.

[Actus Quartus.]

Enter Motto, Raphe bringing in Alberdure.

Motto.  So, sir, lay even downe your handie worke.

Rap.  Nay, sir, your handie worke, for you were the cause of his drowning.

Mot.  I?  I defie thee.  Wert not thou next him when he leapt into the River?

Rap.  O monstrous lyar!

Mot.  Lye! you peasant, go too:  Ile go tell the Duke.

Rap.  I, sir, Ile go with you, I warrant you.

[Exeunt.

Alb.  What sodain cold is this that makes me shake,
Whose veines even now were fill’d with raging fire? 
How am I thus all wet?  What water’s this
That lies so ycelike, freezing in my blood? 
I thinke the cold of it hath cur’d my heate,
For I am better temperd than before. 
But in what unacquainted place am I?
0 where is my Hyanthe, where’s Leander? 
What, all alone? nothing but woods and streames? 
I cannot guesse whence these events should grow.

    Enter Peasant.

Pea.  O that I could lose my way for another cup, now.  I was well paide for it yfaith.

Alb.  Yonder is one; Ile enquire of him.  Fellow, ho! peasant!

Pea.  Aie me, the mad man againe, the mad man.

Alb.  Saie, whither fliest thou.

Pea.  Pray, let me goe, sir; I am not Hyanthe, in truth I am not, sir.

Page 72

Alb. Hyanthe, villaine? wherfore namest thou her?

Pea.  If I have any scarres in my belly, pray God I starve, sir.

Alb.  The wretch is mad, I thinke.

Pea.  Not I, sir, but you be not madde, you are well amended, sir.

Alb.  Why tellest thou me of madnesse?

Pea.  You were little better then mad even now, sir, when you gave me such a twitch by the beard.

Alb.  I can remember no such thing, my friend.

Pea.  No, sir, but if you had a beard you wold.

Alb.  What place is this? how far am I from court?

Pea.  Some two myles and a wye byt, sir.

Alb.  I wonder much my friends have left me thus.  Peazant, I pray thee change apparell with mee.

Pea.  Change apparell, I faith you will lose by that, sir.

Alb.  I care not; come, I pray thee, letts change.

Pea.  With all my heart, sir, and I thanke you, too.  Sblood y’are very moist, sir, did you sweat all this, I pray? you have not the desease, I hope?

Alb.  No, I warrant thee.

Pea.  At a venture, sir, Ile change.  Nothing venter, nothing enter.

Alb.  Come, letts be gone.

Pea.  Backe, sir, I pray.

[Exeunt.

[SCENE 2.]

Enter Hardenbergh with a guard, bringing in
Cassimere, Flores, Doctor, Marchant, Cornelia,
Motto, and Raphe.

Har.  Thus, Flores, you apparantly perceive
How vaine was your ambition and what dangers,
All unexpected, fall upon your head,
Povertie, exile, guiltinesse of heart,
And endlesse miserie to you and yours. 
Your goods are seized alreadie for the Duke;
And, if Prince Alberdure be found deceast,
The least thou canst expect is banishment. 
Earle Cassimere, I take[76] your word of pledge
Of his appearance.  Pages of the Prince,
Come guide me straight where his drownd bodie lies,
Drownes his father in eternall teares.

[Exit cum servis; manet Al.

Mot.  Drownes him and will hang us.

Mar.  Good Signior Flores, I am sorry for you.

Doct. Marshan, parle vu pen.  Be garr, me vor grand love me beare de good Mershan, vor de grand worte, be garr, and de grand deserte me sea in you, de bravea Mershan, me no point rivall; you have Cornelia alone, by my trot, ha, ha, ha!

Mar.  M. Doctor Doddie, surnam’d the Amorous’de, I will overcome you in curtesie, your selfe shall have her.

Doct.  No, by garr, Marshan:  you bring de fine tings from de strange land vere de Sunne do rise, de Jewell, de fine stuffe vor de brave gowne:  me no point.  Come, by garr, you have Cornel.

Cass.  Hands off, base Doctor! she despiseth thee, Too good for thee to touch or looke upon.

Page 73

Flo.  What wretched state is this, Earle Cassimere, That I and my unhappie progenie Stand subject to the scornes of such as these!

Cass.  Grieve not, deare friends, these are but casuall darts. 
That wanton Fortune daily casts at those
In whose true bosomes perfect honour growes. 
Now, Dodypoll, to you:  you here refuse
Cornelias marriage? you’le none of her!

Doct.  Be garr, you be the prophet; not I by my trot.

Cass.  Nor you, maste[r] merchant? shee’s too poore for you!

Mar.  Not so, sir; but yet I am content to let fall my suite.

Cass. Cornelia, both dissembled they would have you; Which like you best?

Cor.  My Lord, my fortunes are no chusers now,—­ Nor yet accepters of discurtesies.

Cass.  You must chuse one here needs.

Doct.  By garr, no chuse mee, me clime to heaven, me sincke to hell, me goe here, me go dare, me no point deere, by garr.

Cass.  If you will none, whose judgement are too base To censure true desert, your betters will.

Flo.  What meanes Lord Cassimere by these strange words?

Cass.  I mean to take Cornelia to my wife.

Flo.  Will you, then, in my miserie, mock me too?

Cass.  I mock my friend in misery? heavens, scorne such!  Halfe my estate and halfe my life is thine; The rest shall be Cornelia’s and mine.

Doct.  O bitter shame, be garr.

Flo.  My Lord, I know your noble love to me
And do so highly your deserts esteeme
That I will never yeeld to such a match. 
Choose you a beautious dame of high degree
And leave Cornelia to my fate and mee.

Cass.  Ah, Flores, Flores, were not I assured
Both of thy noblenesse, thy birth and merite,
Yet my affection vow’d with friendships toong,
In spite of all base changes of the world
That tread on noblest head once stoopt by fortune
Should love and grace thee to my utmost power.
Cornelia is my wife:  what sayes my love? 
Cannot thy father’s friend entreat so much.

Cor.  My humble minde can nere presume To dreame in such high grace to my lowe seate.

Cass.  My graces are not ordered in my words.  Come love, come friend; for friendship now and love Shall both be joynde in one eternall league.

Flo.  O me, yet happy in so true a friend.

[Exeunt.

Doct.  Est possible, by garr? de foole Earle drinke my powder, I tinke.  Mershan tella mee.

Mar.  What, maister Doctor Doddie?

Doct.  Hab you de blew and de yellow Velvet, ha?

Mar.  What of that, sir?

Doct.  Be gar, me buy too, three peece for make de Cockes-combe pur the foole Earle, ha, ha, ha! [Exit.

Page 74

Mer.  Fortune fights lowe when such triumphe on Earles.

[Exit.

(SCENE 3.)

    Enter Lassenbergh singing, Lucilia following;
    after the song he speakes.

Lass.  O wearie of the way and of my life, Where shall I rest my sorrow-tired[77] limmes!

Luc.  Rest in my bosome, rest you here, my Lord; A place securer you can no where finde.

Lass.  Nor more unfit for my displeased minde.  A heavie slumber calles me to the earth; Heere will I sleepe, if sleep will harbour heere.

Luc.  Unhealthful is the melancholic earth: 
O let my Lord rest on Lucilia’s lappe. 
Ile helpe to shield you from the searching ayre
And keepe the colde dampes from your gentle bloud.

Lass.  Pray thee, away; for, whilst thou art so neere, No sleepe will seaze on my suspicious eyes.

Luc.  Sleepe then, and I am pleazd far off to sit
Like to a poore and forlorne Sentinell,
Watching the unthankful sleepe that severs me
From my due part of rest deere love with thee.

She sits farre off from him.

    Enter Const.  Dutchesse with a willowe garland, cum aliis.

Con.  Now are we neere the court of Saxonie, Where the duke dreames such tragicall ostents.

Amb.  I wonder we, now treading on his soile, See none of his strange apparitions.

Kath.  We are not worthy of such meanes divine,
Nor hath heaven care of our poore lives like his. 
I must endure the end and show I live
Though this same plaintive wreathe doth show me forsaken. 
Come, let us foorth.

Const.  Stay, sister; what faire sight Sits mourning in this desolate abode?

Dut.  Faire sight indeed it is, and much to faire To sit so sad and solitarie there.

Con.  But what is he that cur-like sleepes alone?

Dut.  Look, is it not my Nephew Lassingbergh?

Amb.  Madame, ’tis hee.

Dut.  Ile sure learne more of this.—­
Lady, if strangers that [do] wish you well
May be so bould to aske, pray whats the cause
That you [so] more then strangely sit alone?

Luc.  Madam, thus must forsaken creatures sit Whose merits cannot make their loves consort them.

Dut.  What a poore fellow in my miserie!  Welcome, sweet partner, and of favour tell me, Is this some friend of yours that slumbers heere?

Luc.  My husband (madame) and my selfe his friend, But he of late unfriendly is to me.

Con.  Sister, lets wake her friend.

Dut.  No, let him sleepe;
And, gentle dame, if you will be rulde by me,
Ile teach you how to rule your friend in love: 
Nor doubt you our acquaintance, for the man
Whom you so much affect is friend to us.

Page 75

Shee riseth.

Luc.  Pardon me, Madame; now I know your grace.

Dut.  Then knowst thou one in fortune like thy selfe,
And one that tenders thy state as her owne. 
Come, let our Nephew Lassingberg sleepe there,
And, gentle Neace, come you to court with us,
If you dare mixe your loves successe with mine. 
I warrant you I counsell for the best.

Luc.  I must not leave him now (madame) alone, Whom thus long I have followed with such care.

Dut.  You wearie him with too much curtesie; Leave him a little and heele follow you.

Luc.  I know not what to doo.

Dut.  Come, come with us.

Con.  Dame, never fear; get you a Willow w[reath]; The Dutchesse (doubt not) can advise you well.

Luc.  Lets wake him then, and let him go with [us].

Dut.  That’s not so good; I pray be rulde by me.

Luc.  Sleep, then, deare love; and let sleep that doth bind Thy sence so gently, make thee more kinde.

[Exeunt.

Enter Hance in the Prince’s apparrall, and the Peasant.

Pea.  Come, sirra, money for your gentlemans apparel; you promist me money, sir, but I perceive you forget your selfe.

Han.  True, pride makes a man forget himselfe; and I have quite forgot that I owe thee any.

Pea.  But Ile put you in minde, sir, if there be any sergeants in Saxonie; I thinke I meane not to loose so much by you.

Han.  Why, I have lost a maister and a mistresse, and yet I aske thee no money for them.

Pea.  I bought them not of you, sir; therefore pay me my money.

Han.  I will pay thee morningly every morning as long as thou livest; looke in thy right shooe and thou shalt finde sixe pence.

Pea.  What a fowle knave and fairie!  Well, use thy conscience:  I thanke God I stand in neede of no such trifles.  I have another jewell heere which I found in the Princes pocket when I chang’d apparell with him; that will I make money of, and go to the jeweller that bought the cup of mee.  Farewell:  if God put in thy mind to pay me, so; if not, so.
          
                                                  [Exit.

Han.  O brave free-harted slave, he has the laske of mind upon him.

Lass.  What speech is this that interrupts my rest?  Who have we heere?

Han.  Sometime a serving man, and so were yee, Both now jolly gentlemen you see.

Lass.  What, sir, how came you thus gallant, I beseech you?

Han.  I turn’d the spit in Fortune’s wheele, sir.

Lass.  But, stay, where is Lucilia?

Han.  Marry, where say you, sir?

Page 76

Lass.  Villaine, looke for her, call her, seeke her out.
Lucillia! where’s my love, o where’s Lucillia! 
Aye me, I feare my barbarous rudenesse to her
Hath driven her to some desperate exigent. 
Who would have tempted her true love so farre? 
The gentlest minds with injuries overcome
Growe most impacient:  o Lucilia,
Thy absence strikes a loving feare in me,
Which from what cause so ever it proceedes
Would God I had beene kinder to thy love.

    Enter Hard, with a Guard, Motto, Raphe.

Hard.  Slaves, can ye not direct us to the place?

Mot.  Yes, sir, here’s the place we left him in.

Ra.  O see (my lord) heer’s one weares his apparrell.

Hard.  But where is he? stay, sirra, what are you That jet thus in the garments of the Prince.

Han.  Bought and sold, sir, in the open market, sir.  Aske my maister.

Hard.  Earle Lassingbergh, where is the Princes body?

Lass.  Why aske you me, my Lord?

Hard.  Since you are in the place where he was drownd, And this your hinde here hath his garments on.

Lass.  Enquire of him then.

Hard.  Ile enquire of you And of your gallant, too.  Guard, apprehend them And bring them presentlie to court with us.

Lass.  What meanes Lord Hardenberg to entreate me thus?

Har.  That you shall know anon:  bring them away.

[Exeunt.

[SCENE 4]

    Enter Leander and Hyanthe.

Lean.  O, Madam, never were our teares bestowed
Of one whose death was worthier to be mon’d. 
Deere Alberdure, why parted I from thee,
And did not like the faithful Pilades
Attend my deare Orestes in his rage?

Hya.  O my sweete love, O princelie Alberdure,
Would God the river where thy course lay drownde
Were double deepe in me and turned to teares
That it might be consumde for swallowing thee.

    Enter Alber, with a basket of Apricocks, disguised.

Alber.  In this disguise Ile secretly enquire
Why I was so forsaken of my friend
And left to danger of my lunacie. 
Here is the man that most I blame for this,
Whose vowed friendship promisd greater care;
But he, it seemes, enamour’d of my love,
Was glad of that occasion, and I feare
Hath turned her womanish conceipt from me. 
Ile proove them both.  Maister, wilt please [you] buy
A basket of well riped Apricocks?

Lea.  I pray thee keepe thy dainties; I am full Of bitter sorrowes as my hart can holde.

Alb.  It may be, Maister, your faire Lady will.

Hya.  No, friend; my stomach is more full then his.

Lea.  Where dwellest thou, friend?

Page 77

Alb.  Not farre from hence, my Lord.

Lea.  Then thou knowest well which was the fatall streame Wherein the young prince Alberdure was drownd?

Alb.  I know not he was drowned, but oft have seene
The pittious manner of his lunacie;
In depth whereof he still would eccho forth
A Ladies name that I have often heard,
Beautious Hyanthe; but in such sad sort
As if his frenzie felt some secret touch
Of her unkindnesse and inconstancie,
And when his passions somewhat were appeaz’d,
Affording him (it seemed) some truer sence. 
Of his estate, left in his fittes alone
Then would he wring his hands, extreamly weeping,
Exclaiming on the name of one Leander,
Calling him Traitor and unworthie friend
So to forsake him in his miserie.

Lea.  Accursed I! o thou hast mooved me more Than if a thousand showers of venom’d darts With severall paines at once had prickt my soule.

Hya.  O thou ordained to beare swords in thy toung, Dead thou hast struck me and I live no more.

Alb.  It seemes your honoures loved him tenderly.

Lea.  O my good friend, knewest thou how deer I loved him.

Hya.  Nay, knewest thou, honest friend, how deere I loved him.

Alb.  I see, then, you would rejoyce at his health.

Lea.  As at my life, were it revived from death.

Hya.  As at my soule, were it preserv’d from hell.

Alber.  Be then from death and hell recovered both
As I am now by your firme loves to me. 
Admire me not, I am that Alberdure
Whom you thought drownde; that friend, that love am I.

Lea.  Pardon, sweete friend.

Hya.  Pardon, my princely love.

Alber.  Dear love, no further gratulations now
Least I be seene and knowne; but, sweete Leander,
Do you conceale me in thy father’s house. 
That I may now remaine with my Hyanthe
And at our pleasures safely joy each others love.

Lea.  I will (deare friend) and blesse my happy stars That give me meanes to so desir’de a deed.

Finis Actus Quarti.

Actus Quintus.

    Enter Cassimeere, Flores with the Cup,
    Peasant, and the Marchant.

Mar.  See, signior Flores,
A Peasant that I met with neere your house,
Where[78] since he found you not he asked of me
The place of your abode; and heere I have brought him.

Flo.  I thank you, sir.  My good Lord Cassimeere,
This is the man that brought this cup to me
Which for my ransome we go now to offer
To my good lord the Duke.

Cass.  What brings he now?

Flo.  That will we know.  Come hither, honest friend; What wisht occasion brings thee now to me?

Page 78

Pea.  This occasion, sir; what will ye give me for it?

Flo.  Thou art a luckie fellow; let us see. 
Lord Cassimeere, this is the haplesse Jewell
That represents the form of Alberdure,
Given by Cornelia at our fatall feast. 
Where hadst thou this, my good and happy friend?

Pea.  Faith, sir, I met with the young prince all wet, who lookt as if he had been a quarter of a yeare drowned, yet prettelie come to himselfe, saving that he was so madde to change apparrell with me; in the pocket whereof, sir, I found this Jewell.

Flo.  O tell me trulie, lives prince Alberdure?

Pea.  He lives a my word, sir, but very poorely now, God help him.

Cass.  Is he recovered of his lunacie?

Pea.  I, by my faith, hee’s tame enough now, Ile warrant him.

Flo.  And where is he?

Pea.  Nay, that I cannot tell.

Cass.  Come, Flores, hast we quicklie to the Court With this most happie newes.

Flo.  Come, happie friend,
The most auspicious messenger to me
That ever greeted me in Pesants weeds.

[Exeunt.

Enter Doctor.

Mar.  I would I could meet M. Doctor Doddie, I have a tricke to gull the Asse withall; I christned him right Doctor Doddipole.  Heere he comes passing luckely; Ile counterfeit business with him in all poste haste possible.  Maister Doctor, Maister Doctor!

Doct.  Shesue, vat ayle de man?

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

Doct.  Vell, vat?

Mar.  This, sir; the marriage which we thought made even now, betweene Earle Cassimere and Cornelia, was but a jest only to drawe you to marry her, for she doth exceedinglie dote upon you; and Flores her father hath invented that you are betrothed to her and is gone with a supplication to the Duke to enforce you to marrie her.

Doct.  Be garr, me thought no lesse.  O knave jeweller!  O vile begger! be my trot, Marshan, me studdie, me beat my braine, me invent, me dreame upon such a ting.

Mar.  I know, sir, your wit would forsee it.

Doct.  O by garr, tree, fore, five monthe agoe.

Mar.  Well, sir, y’ave a perilous wit, God blesse me out of the swinge of it, but you had best looke to it betimes, for Earl Cassimere hath made great friends against you.

Doct.  Marshan, me love, me embrace, me kisse de, will, be my trot.

Mar.  Well, sir, make haste to prevent the worste.

Doct.  I flie, Marshan, spit de Earle, spit de wenche, spit all bee garre.  Se dis, Marshan, de brave Braine be garre. [Exit.

Mar.  De brave braine by garre, not a whit of the flower of wit in it.  Ile to the Courte after him, and see how he abuses the Duke’s patience.

Page 79

[Exit.

[SCENE 2.]

Enter Alphonso, Hard., Lassing., Leander, Stro.,
Hosherman, Motto, and Raphe.

Alp.  Aye me! what hard extremitie is this?  Nor quick nor dead can I beholde my sonne.

    Enter Hance in the Princes apparrell.

Hance.  Behold your sonne; [your] Blessing, noble father.

Hard.  Malipart knave, art thou the Princes sonne?

Han.  I, sir, apparrell makes the man.

Alp.  Unhappy man, would God I had my sonne, So he had his Hyanthe or my life.

Lea.  Should he enjoy Hyanthe [then], my Lord?  Would you forsake your love, so he did live?

Alp.  My love and life, did my deere sonne survive.

Lea.  But were he found or should he live, my Lord,
Although Hyanthe’s love were the chiefe cause
Of his mishap and amorous lunacie,
I hope your highnesse loves him over well
To let him repossesse his wits with her.

Alp.  My love is dead in sorrow for his death; His life and wits should ransome worlds from me.

Lea.  My Lord, I had a vision this last night
Wherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonne
Sit in my fathers garden with Hyanthe
Under the shadow of the Laurell tree. 
With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongde
I wakt, but then contemned it as a dreame;
Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie,
And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe,
Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof. [Exit.

Alp.  Do, good Leander.  Hardenbergh, your sonne
Perhaps deludes me with a vision[79]
To mocke my vision that deferde the Dutchesse,
And with Hyanthe closlie keepes my sonne.

Hard.  Your sonne was madde and drownd:  this cannot bee.

Alp.  But yet this circumventing speech [of his] Offered suspition of such event.

Stro.  My lord, most fortunate were that event That would restore your sonne from death to life.

Har.  As though a vision should do such a deed!

Alp.  No, no, the boyes young brain was humorous:  His servant and his Page did see him drown’d.

    Enter Leander, Alberdure, Hyanthe; Alberdure
    seeming fearefull to come forward.

Lea.  Come on, sweet friend; I warrant thee thy love; Shun not thy fathers sight that longs for thee.

Alb.  Go then before, and we will follow straight.

Lea.  Comfort, my Lord, my vision proov’d most true: 
Even in the place, under the Lawrell shade,
I found them sitting just as I beheld them
In my late vision; see, sir, where they come.

Alp.  Am I enchanted or see I my sonne? 
I, I, the boy hath plaide the traytor with me. 
O, you young villaine, trust you with my love! 
How smoothe the cunning treacher lookt on it;

Page 80

Hard.  But, sirra, can this be?

Lea.  You knew him to be mad, these thought him drownd. 
My Lord, take you no more delight to see
Your sonne recovered of his life and wits?

Alp.  See, see, how boldly the young pollytician
Can urge his practice.  Sirra, you shall know
Ile not be over-reacht with your young braine. 
All have agreed, I see, to cozen me,
But all shall faile.  Come, Ladie, I will have
You spight of all, and, sonne, learne you hereafter
To use more reverend meanes to obtaine
Of me what you desire.  I have no joy
To see thee raizd from a deluding death.

Hya.  My Lord, ’tis tyrannie t’enforce my love.

Lea.  I hope your Highnesse will maintaine your word.

Alp.  Doost thou speake, Traitor? straight Ile have you safe For daring to delude me in my love.

Albe.  O friend, thou hast betraide my love in vaine: 
Now am I worse then eyther mad or drown’d,
Now have I onely wits to know my griefes
And life to feel them.

Hya.  Let me go to him.

Alp.  Thou shalt not have thy will nor he his love;
Neither of both know what is fit for you. 
I love with judgment and upon cold bloud,
He with youths furie, without reasons stay;
And this shall time and my kind usage of thee
Make thee discerne; meane time consider this,
That I neglect for thee a beautious Dutchesse
Who next to thee is fairest in the world.

    Enter Messenger.

Mess.  My Lord, the Duke of Brunswick and his sister, The beautious Dutchesse, are arrived here.

Alp.  Whats that; the Dutchesse?

Mess.  Even her grace, my Lord.

Alp.  Why, Hardenbergh, ha! is the Dutchesse come?

Hard.  I know not, my good Lord.  Where is the Dutchesse?

Mess.  Hard by, my Lord.

Alp.  Sounes, I am not here; go tell her so:  Or let her come, my choice is free in love.  Come, my Hyanthe, stand thou close to me.

Mess.  My Lord, the Duke himselfe has come to urge Your promise to him, which you must not break.

Hosch.  Nor will you wish to break it, good my lord,
I am assur’d, when you shall see the Dutchesse,
Whose matchlesse beauties will renew the minde
Of her rare entertainment, and her presence
Put all new thoughts of love out of your minde.

Alp.  Well, I do see ’tis best, my sweete Hyanthie, That thou stand further.

Hya.  Ile be gone, my Lord.

Alp.  Not gone, but mix thy selfe among the rest.  What a spight is this! counsell me, Hardenbergh.

Hard.  The Dutchesse comes, my Lord.

Alp.  Out of my life, how shall I look on her?

    Enter Constan., Kather., Lassen., Lucil., Cassi.,
    Cornelia, Ite.  A Song:  after the Dutchesse speakes.

Page 81

Kath.  How now, my Lord? you looke as one dismaid; Have any visions troubled you of late?

Alp.  Your grace and your most princely brother here Are highlie welcome to the Saxon Court.

Kath.  O you dissemble, sir, nor are we come In hope of welcome, but with this poore head-peece To beare the brunt of all discurtesies.

Const.  My Lord, wee come not now to urge the marriage,
You sought with such hot suite, of my faire Sister,
But to resolve ourselves and all the world
Why you retained such mean conceipt of us
To slight so solemne and so high a contract
With vaine pretext of visions or of dreames.

Alp.  My Lord, I here protest by earth and heaven
I holde your state right highlie and renowned
And your faire sisters beauties and deserts
To be most worthy the greatest king alive;
Onlie an ominous vision troubled me
And hindred the wisht speede I would have made
(Not to dissolve it, though it were diferd,)
By such portents as, least you thinke I faine,
Lord Hardenbergh can witnesse is most true.

Hard.  Most true, my lord, and most prodigious.

Alp.  Yet Ile contemne them with my life and all Ere Ile offend your grace or breed suspect Of my firme faith in my most honoured love.

Kath.  No, no, my lord:  this is your vision That hath not frighted but enamoured you.

Alp.  O Madame, thinke you so? by Heaven I sweare
She’s my sonnes love.—­Sirra, take her to you. 
Have I had all this care to do her grace,
To prove her vertues and her love to thee,
And standst thou fearefull now?  Take her, I say.

Lea.  My Lord, he feares you will be angry with him.

Alp.  You play the villaine:  wherfore should he feare? 
I onely proved her vertues for his sake,
And now you talke of anger.  Aye me wretche,
That ever I should live to be thus shamed!

Alb.  Madame, I sweare the Ladie is my love; Therefore your highnesse cannot charge my father With any wrong to your high woorth in her.

Con.  Sister, you see we utterly mistake
The kinde and princelie dealing of the Duke: 
Therefore without more ceremonious doubts
Lets reconfirme the contract and his love.

Kath.  I warrant you, my Lord, the Duke dissembles.

Alp.  Heere on my knees, at the altar of those feete,
I offer up in pure and sacred breath
The true speech of my hart and hart it selfe. 
Require no more if thou be princelie borne
And not of rocks or ruthelesse tygers bred.

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

Flo.  Madame, in admiration of your Grace
And princelie wisedom, and to gratifie
The long wisht joye done to my Lord the Duke,
I here present your highnesse with this cup,
Wrought admirablie by th’ art of Spirits,
Of substance faire, more rich then earthly Jemmes,
Whose valew no mans judgement can esteeme.

Page 82

Alp. Flores, Ile interrupt the Dutchesse thankes
And for the present thou hast given to her
To strengthen her consent to my desires,
I recompence thee with a free release
Of all offences twixt thy selfe and me.

Flo.  I humblie thanke your excellence.

Kath.  But where is now unkinde Earle Lassinbergh,
That injures his faire love and makes her weare
This worthlesse garland?  Come, sir, make amends,
Or we will heere awarde you worthie penance.

Lass.  Madame, since her departure I have done More hartie penance then her hart could wish, And vowe hereafter to live ever hers.

Kat.  Then let us cast aside these forlorne wreathes, And with our better fortunes change our habits.

    Enter Doctor in poste, the Marchant following him.

Doct.  O stay, my Lorte, me pray you on knee von staie.

Alp.  What’s the matter, Doctor?

Doct.  O me bret be garr for haste.

Con.  What ayles the hastie Doctor?

Doct.  My Lort be garr he lyes falslie in his troate; Me proove by the duell dat he be the fallce knave.

Alp.  Who is it, man, with whom thou art so bold?

Doct.  My Lorte, if me make my contrack of marriage, if me be not as loose as de vide worlde, if me doe not alleadge—­

Alp.  I pray thee, man, what meanest thou?

Doct.  Be garr, enforme your grace vot he dare I will proove by good argument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I no point marrie Cornelia.  Vat say you now?

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

Doct.  Vat you say? de Marshan tell a me I marrie Cornelia spit my nose.

Alp.  The Marchant I perceive hath trimde you, Doctor.  And comb’d you smoothelie.  Faith, I can him thanke That thus revives our meeting with such mirth.

Doct.  O be bright de heaven, est a possible! and by heaven I be revenge dat vile Marshan, me make de medecine drie up de Sea, seaven towsand, towsand million d’stlloe, fife hundred, hundred dram Fuffian, Marquerite, Balestiae, Hematete, Cortemedian, Churchacholl, Pantasite, Petrofidem, Hynape, and by garr de hot Pepre; me make de vinde, de grease collicke puffe, blowe by garr, teare de Sayle, beate de maste, cracke de Ship in towsand towsand peeces!
          
                                   Exit.

Alp.  Farewell, gentle Doctor Doddipoll. 
And now, deere Ladie, let us celebrate
Our happie royall nuptials and my sonnes
With this our sweete and generall amitie
Which heaven smile on with his goulden eye.

Finis Actus Quinti & ultimi.

Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede, for Richard Olive, dwelling in Long-lane. 1600.

Page 83

INTRODUCTION TO THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

In the Appendix to Vol.  II.  I have given some account of this anonymous play, which is here printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994.  As the play bears no title in the MS., I have named it at a venture “The Distracted Emperor.”

An ill-shaped and repulsive piece of work it certainly is; crude and cheerless, but marked with signs of unmistakable power.  At the time when I made the extracts for the Appendix, I thought that Cyril Tourneur might possibly be the author.  On further reflection, it seemed to me that the stronger passages are much in Marston’s manner.  The horrid scene where Charlimayne is represented hugging the dead queen recalls the anonymous “Second Maiden’s Tragedy.”  Marston, who shrank from nothing, would not have hesitated to show us the Archbishop, in his search for the magic ring, parting the dead queen’s lips, with the ironical observation, “You cannot byte me, Madam.”  The trenchant satire that abounds throughout the play reminds us frequently of Marston, though there is an absence of that monstrous phraseology which distinguished his “Scourge of Villanie” and early plays.  But, looking at the play as a whole, I should have very great hesitation in allowing it to be Marston’s.  My impression is that Chapman had the chief hand in it.  The author’s trick of moralising at every possible opportunity, his abundant use of similes more proper to epic than dramatic language, the absence of all womanly grace in the female characters,—­these are points in which the present play may be compared with Chapman’s published tragedies.  Orlando’s speech at the beginning of Act ii., “O that my curse had power to wound the starres,” &c., in which he compares himself, with epic elaboration, to “an argosie sent rychlye fourthe” and now “meanelye retourninge without mast or helm,” to my thinking closely suggests Chapman.  It is not quite impossible that the present play may be Chapman’s lost “French tragedy” (entered on the Stationers’ Registers, June 29, 1660), a copy of which was among the plays destroyed by Warburton’s cook.

It is due to Mr. Fleay that I should mention his solution of the difficulty.  Taking the mysterious letters on the last page, “Nella [Greek:  ph d ph n r] la B,” he says:  “La B. is the contraction for La Buffa,[80] one of the characters in the play; and the enigmatic letters, simply substituting the names for the letters themselves, read thus,’ Nella fi-delta fi-ni-ro la buffa,’ which is good enough Italian for an anagram, meaning ‘I will end trifling in fidelity.’  But ’Nella fedelita (or fidelita) finiro la B.’ transposed, gives us ’Il Fabro Natanielli (or Natanielle) Field,’ i.e., ‘Nathaniel Field the author’” (Athenaeum, March 3, 1883).  Far be it from me to deny the ingenuity of this explanation, but when Mr. Fleay, not having seen the complete play, proceeds to say that the extracts I gave “are

Page 84

THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

A TRAGI-COMEDY.

Printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994.

The Distracted Emperor.

Actus Primus.

    Enter La Busse and Didier.

Bus.  Thou looke for dygnitie! yes, thou mayst looke, But pray thee, fellowe, see thyne eies be good Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way.

Did.  Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke As honor lyes before me?

Bus.  Thou sayst well;
The thought of honor is a perfect greene,
And greene is good for th’eie syghte.  Syllie man,
Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days? 
Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht
To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts
Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace
That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live. 
And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes! 
What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe,
Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,—­
And thynke so poor a lord as is my father,
The most dyspysd forsaken Ganelon,
Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune’s shame upon thee! 
Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye;
A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee
To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste,
Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke
To feede on larke by serving my poore father!

Did.  Nothing but larke, La Busse?  Yes, mightie surloyns.

Bus.  Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe. 
Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies,
Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte. 
Such followers as thou, that would repayre
A broken state by service, may be lyckned
To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke
To catche a rotten board or to be cast
Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie. 
But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance,
Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme
Because thou hast abused thy former blessings;
Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer.

Page 85

Did.  Why? because my money burnte in my pursse tyll I left it?

Bus.  No, but because it taught the furyous way
To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled
A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose,
So that although thou purchase letteres patente
To begge in all the provynces of Fraunce,
Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer,
Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar.

Did.  If I dye
Before my letters pattente be expyred,
Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)? 
But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope
Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes,
I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe
Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte
From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs
As all th’ambityon thou art master of
Can never make thee hope or wish to be. 
And for my fortunes past, which you so much
Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe,
I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like
Would not bestowe the labor of amen
To any good man’s wishes.  The laboringe clouds
Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe
A blessing for me, and about this tyme
(By the full revolution of my starres)
Should rayne it down uppon me.

Bus.  Tushe.

Did.  Observe,
First heare me, know the meanes and when y’ave doone
Fall downe and worshypp.  Thys same verye day,
Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure,
The great, th’unconquered mightie Charlimayne,
Is marryed to the syster of my lorde
To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare Theodora.

    [Florish.  A crye within “God save Theodora the Empresse!”

You heare thys?

Buss.  I wishe myne eares had to the pillorye
Payd tribute rather then let in this sounde. 
Unfortunate Orlando! thy fayrest hopes,
Like to a blaze of artifyciall fire,
No sooner have a beinge but expyre.

Did.  What! passyonate in rhyme?  I must be taught
To give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83] ... ... ... ... ...

Bus.  You may be dambd
For useing sorcerye upon the kynge. 
That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurse
Of younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of,
And all the able facultyes of man
Are fled his frost of age to that extreame
Theres not enough to cherrish a desyer
Left in his saplesse nerves.

Did.  In this your worshypp
Gives my hopes illustratyon.  Age must doate
To a Judgments dearth that may be cheated on
Yet that cheate rest unquestyond.  Doe you heare? 
The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunte
Hathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and he
Will, like a ryver that so long retaynes
The oceans bounty that at last it seemes
To be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepe
The comon treasure; and in such a floode,
Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullye
Covetts the center, can you hope Ile synke?

Page 86

Bus.  Hell take thy hopes and thee!

Did.  But I would have
You understand that I may rise agayne
Without the catchinge of a rotten boarde
To keepe bare life and mysserye together
To fyght eche other.

Bus.  Furyes fryght thy soule! 
Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment? 
Noble Orlando, what omynous fatell starre
Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be
Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes: 
This marriage is their grave.

Did.  Sir, I may rayse A broken state by service.

Bus.  Yes, of the devyll
To whom thou art a factor.  Slave, ’tis thou
That hast undoone my father and increast
His evyll inclinatyons.  I have seene
Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves,
Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye
Of cheating mathematicks.  And is this
The issue of your closse contryvances[84]? 
If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill
There may be found a way to anye good
Of brave Orlando the great palladyne,
My constant industry shall tyer the day
And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym;
And yf to doe hym good—­

    Enter La Fue.

Fue.  Where’s Didier?

Did.  Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte
So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt;
Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate
To equall thryddbareness and never hadst
Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd
Before aught but a cloak bagge,—­what to me?

Fue.  The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all One entire scabb.  Dost thou abuse thy elders?

Did.  I cry your reverence mercye, I confes You are more antique.

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

Did.  But pray thee let me fyrst Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee.

Fue.  I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee;
And yet a woulde speake with thee,—­and yet I will not tell thee;
Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better—­
I say no more; though my deserts be hydd
My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt;
And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte
To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne. 
It shall, dost heare, it shall. [Exit Fue.

Did.  Hence, chollerycke foole, Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer, As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer.

    Loude musique.  Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin,
    Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants.

Charl.  This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe
With the full Joy I tast.  O Ganelon,
Teache me a meanes t’expresse the gratytude
I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche,
Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer,
My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements
Can challendge nothinge in my composition,
As thou and Theodora now have made me: 
For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable.

Page 87

Did.—­Observe.

Bus.—­Matters to make me mourne eternallye.

Gan.  Your bountye speaks you, sir, a god on earthe, For you rewarde a service that’s so meane It scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)—­

Charl.  Tys thou hast made me greater then my name ... ... ... ... ... 
How mysserablye so ere our nature maks
Us thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen,
But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe;
For Tyme (whose ende like hys originall
Is most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backe
The sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes,
Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys course
From these late dead now manlye facultyes. 
Kysse me, Theodora.  Gods, carouse your fyll,
I envye not your nectar; from thys lypp
Puerer Nepenthe flowes.  Some tryumphes, lords! 
I challendge all of you at Barryers.

Bus.  Alas, good man!  A gawntletts wayght will presse him into cynders.

Char.  I am so rapt with pleasure and delighte
I scarce thynke I am mortall; all the Joys,
Wherewith heavens goodnes can inryche a man,
Not onlye greete but dwell upon my sence,
And whyles I see thee cannot stray from thence,
Most excellent Theodora.

The.  Tys onlye your acceptance maks me so;
For Butye’s like a stone of unknowne worthe,
The estymatyon maks it pretyous;
For which the Jemes beholden to the owner.

Char.  Did you ere heare a voyce more musycall? 
The Thracian Orpheus, whose admyred skyll
Is sayd to have had power ore ravenous beasts
To make theym lay their naturall feircenes by
When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods
Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone)
To make them tourne or stay their violent course
When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds,
Neare had abyllitie with all his arte
To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce. 
And were I on the axeltree of heaven
To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course,
The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons,
To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres,
To note Orion or the Pleiades,
Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,—­
Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee,
Would be my torment and heavens crueltye.

Bus.  Was ere man thus orejoyd with mans own curse!

    Enter Reinaldo.

Char.  Thou only arte happynes.

Rei.  Not, greate Lord, for I Bringe newes that doth include—­

Char.  Cossan, your blame,
And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde
That interrupts myne admyratyon.

Rei.  My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife
And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme
To a longe daungerd seaman in a storme,
Suche as up on Aeneas straglinge fleete
At Juno’s will by Aeolus was raysd
When in his flyght from horror he sawe more
Then Troy affoarded; for the newese I brynge
Is vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges.

Page 88

Char.  Cossen Reinaldo, if youle sytt and prayse The fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heare Tyll you be tyerd with talkinge.

Rei.  What is this? 
Is this the voyce of mightie Charlimayne? 
Sir, from your worthye nephewe I am come,
The ever feard Orlando, who in Spayne
Hath with hys owne fame mixt your happynes
By a blest vyctorye.

Char.  We have no leasure
To heare, nor are we able to contayne
Another happynes, nor is theire other. 
Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreame
From whence a drume may fryght us.  Here doth rest
My happynes which cannot be exprest.

          [Ex.  Cha., The., Gab., and attendants.

Tur.  Pryncely Reinaldo, doe not let amaze
Strugle within you; you but yet survay
The out syde of our wonder.

Rich.  Brother, ’tis more Then can be wrytten in a cronyckle.

Rei.  But must not be without my reprehensyon.  Come, I will followe hym:  when Charles dothe flye From honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye?

[Exe. all but Gan. and Rich.

Gan.  Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knowe How you affect t[hys] humor in the kynge.

Rich.  Faythe, generally as a good subject should,—­
Delighted with the joy hys kynge receyves
(And which I hope and wish may styll contynewe),
But in partycular—­because the cause
Of hys joy cannot chuse but worke to you
Effecte worthye your vertues.  For my old love,
Tys nowe lodg’d in a desperatt memorye.

Gan.  But dost not seeme a most grosse dott[age]?

[Rich] ... ... ... ... ... 
Though certaynlie desyer’s the onlye thynge
Of strengthe about hym, and that strength is hys
With a conceyt that putts desyers in act.

Gan.  And is not that a dottage at the least?

Rich.  I dare not taxe the actyon of a kynge By giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts.

Gan.  Y’are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if I
Felte not a straunger love within my selfe
In this my strength of memorye and yeares,
Abyllities of bodye and of brayne,
More doatinge on a man than he on her,
A would not scape my censure.

Rich.  I beleive
(To which beleife a long experyence
Of youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs)
That if suche an affectyon manadge you,
Tys not the man or sexe that causes it
But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt
The object of your love.

Gan.  Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye Richard,
Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of Aimon;
And thy still growing vertues have made thee
The object of that love.  When first I sawe thee
(Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte)
My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme
Could not but be the myne of manye vertues. 
Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne
And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne
Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd
In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame,
Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave
And staggerd me with wonder.

Page 89

Rich.  Good sweete lorde,
Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is
Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme
To be nowe semented.

Gan.  True, my best freinde;
And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte
My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave
To joy in my posession of suche blysse
To which all honours in our Fraunce compaird
Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared.

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

Gan.  Heaven forbydd
Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche,
Beyond expression!  And synce this offends thee
Ile speake of that shall please my noblest Rycharde.

Rich.  Your pleasure & your honorable ends Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte.

Gan.  If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne,
Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none,
But like a ryver that receyves his name
Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote,
Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes
To have no bounds but what it could oreflow—­
But tys impossyble.

Rich.  Improbable; For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate.

Gan.  But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp,
Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all
Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne
Into a second flame.

Rich.  I graunte you that—­

Gan.  Posytion and request; or elles I perishe.

Rich.  What meanes my Ganelon?

Gan.  Faythe to be playne
And not to wrong the love, which I have founde
Ever in thee, with any further doute,
My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne
And gett him of my sister.  Startst thou backe? 
Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule
And has syght for her often.  Now enjoy,
And doe not stande amazd:  if thou refuse,
Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyve
Their byrthe and grave together; for by heaven
To be made monarke of the unyverse
And lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes,
I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee: 
And if the thoughts of men were scrutable
To man and mongst men might be knowne to me,
The foole that should attempt her but in thoughte
[Could]e better hand-bounde wrastell with the sea. ... ... ... ... ... 
But yet my love doth offer her to thee,
And tys rejected.

Rich.  You mistake me, sweete: 
I am all yours and what you shall thynke fytt
Ile cease to questyon, yet my contyence calls
It a disloyall and a monstrous fact.

Page 90

Gan.  Tutt, a prosperous synne is nowe a vertuous acte; Let not that starte you.

Rich.  I am confyrm’d, but yet the Emp[e]resse—­

Gan.  Why, knowe not I howe deare she valewes you,
And but for thys hope would not live an hower. 
Come, her consent shall flye to meet your wishes
And locke you in saftie.  In the nexte roome
Stay me a littill.—­Now my projects goe [Exit Richard. 
Uprighte and steddye.  Let me style my selfe
(And proudlye too) the mynion of the fates. 
The emperoure knytts newe honors to my house,
Whylst to my bloode I seeke to bynde hys crowne
And cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the lawe
Makes all legitimate in wedlocke borne,
By whom so ere begott, the way is even
Unto my future blysse and earthlye heaven.—­
And see howe luckily this fellow comes! 
Happynes courtts me.

    Enter Didier.

Did.  My most honoured lord.

Gan.  O Didier, the famous nephewe unto Charles, The onlye heyre and hope of fruytfull Fraunce, Famous Orlando, is returninge home.

Did.  So tys given out.

Gan.  But might there not be somethynge given the prynce
To stay hys journey?  Ile be playne with thee,
For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust: 
He is an envyous torrent interposd
Twixte me and many honors, Didier,
And since unpassable must be choakt with earthe. 
Thou understandst me?

Did.  Yes, sir, a must dye.

Gan.  And in his journey homewarde.  A smale drame
Will purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughte
Some of the rebells in these frontyre townes,
By him reducst to false obedyence,
Have, in revendge o’the servytude wherein
Hys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone’t; so not so much
As bare suspytion ever will attache thee.

Did.  I’m glad y’ave named me in’t; I was afrayde
I should have beene lefte out in that brave acte,
Whereto my proper hate unto Orlando
And love to you entyce me equallye.

Gan.  O by no meanes, whom should I trust but thee;
Tys thou & I must make eche other happye. 
Repayre the with thys golde, & for thy paynes
Be equall sharer in my present meanes
And future blessyngs.

Did.  No more, Sir; Ile dooe’t. 
I speake it with a confydence whereby
Ide have you say unto your selfe ‘tys doone.’

Gan.  Thanks, my most honest Didier. 
Other affayres of seryous consequence
Call me; the Empresse must be solicyted
Unto an acte for which I’de loathe her but
My ends have gloryous aymes.

Page 91

Did.  Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [Exit Ganelon. 
Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycie
To venture all in one pore shallowe boate,
The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye. 
Factyons in courte are like to suyts in lawe
Where goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe;
And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure,
Who shall protect me in so many ways
Leading to severall and confused ends? 
I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wander
As myne owne proper saftie shall direct me. 
And though I wishe my lorde may rayse his bloode,
Yet that wishe should give way to myne owne good.

Enter La Busse, Gabriella and Bertha.

Bus.  Save Mounseire Didier!

Did.  Mounseir La Busse, my lords most loved sonne,
Your companye is fayre.
                                       [Exit Didier.

Gab.  The fellowe mocks us.

Bus.  Had a sayd good too, then you might have douted, But fayr’s an epethyte you bothe may challenge.

Ber.  And why not good?

Bus.  A courtier might have spared it
And as he is a courtier beene excusd
Thoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harte
Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way
To a preferment.  Nowe the courte is growne
As strange a beast as the thronged multytude,
Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys
The upper house.

Ber.  Why will you be a lymbe Of such a beast?

Bus.  Faythe, onlye for sporte sake.

Gab.  I rather thynke to make it more deformd.

Buss.  Be not so bytter, ladye.  Howe can I,
Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie,
Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me
In everye severall follye.

Ber.  Yet littill Richard, Aimons youngest sonne, Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym.

Gab.  Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde Hys faire deserved reputatyon.

Bus.  Sytts the wynde there?

Gab.  Yes, syr, and blowes me hence In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [Ex.  Gabriella.

Ber.  Stay, Ile goe with you.

Bus.  Oh, by no meanes, madam; Methynkes your longe attendance at the courte Should make you not so apt to spoyle good sporte.

Ber.  Sdeath! sporte! pray let me goe.

Bus.  Not yet, by Venus.  You fyrst shall knowe my soule hath deeplye vowed My love and servyce to your excellent selfe.

Ber.  Verye good sir,
I knowe y’are sonne unto the Mynion. 
But yet I knowe your father loves you not,
And thats good too.

Bus.  If truthe at courte be good For any thynge, then, madam, you say true.  For tys most true that I—­

Ber.  Pray let me goe.

Page 92

Bus.  Shunne not hys syghte that dothe adore your syghte. 
How fares the Empresse?  Like to a bloweinge rose
Nypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe in
Cyrckled with ice?

Ber.  I knowe not nor I care not.

Bus.  But you can guesse.—­Or in the frosts Dyspighte Will she blowe out?

Ber.  Sir, y’are unmannerlie To stay and question me:  I must be gone.

Bus.  Take my harte with you.

Ber.  He whose harte and tonge Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way To a preferrment.

Bus.  Sfoote, doe you thynke your love Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well.

Ber.  Vyllanous man! [Ex.  Bertha.

Bus.  Well, now unto my father whom I knowe
Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe
I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym
Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe
Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate,
Though muche too meane to helpe her.—­See, a comes.

    Enter Ganelon.

Gan.  The Empresse and younge Richard are in league,
Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye
That no joy can exceede.  Heaven blesse the mixture! 
—­But stay; whose thys?  O my curyous sonne,
What newse with you, Sir?

Bus.  Sir, though your emynence may guyld your vyce
And greatnes make your ills seeme gloryous
To some too farre beneathe you, that neare looke
Into the chynckes and crannyes of the state,
Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone ill
To crosse Orlandos fayre successyon
By thys unequall maryadge.

Gan.  Arte growne madd? 
Thoughe I neare knew thee muche opprest with witt,
I did not thynke thee such a foe to sence
To speake with suche a daringe impudence.

Bus.  Howe’s that?

Gan.  Thus and observe me.  As you love the cubboarde
Wherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast,
Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to play
The dogge and open thus when I am present
Without my spetyall lycence and comand,
Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shame
That life shalbe thy torment.  Hence, thou slave,
Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistinge
Of equall foulness! hence, I say!  Ignorance
Shall not excuse thee thus agayne offendinge.

Bus.  Preposterous!  I walke for want of spyrrytt.
                                  [Exit La Busse.

Gan.  Pyttie of follye! wherefore shoulde thys boy,
Thys thynge of too nyce contyence, nay my sonne,
Troble hym selfe with any acte of myne
As if they helde proportion with hys state,
Wytt or condytion?  Such thyngs are swayd by chaunce: 
And naughts more arrogant than Ignorance.—­
But here comes he that hathe brayne to plott
And spyrrytt to acte.

Page 93

    Enter Didier.

Howe is it Didier?

Did.  As you comanded, Sir.

Gan.  Hast doone it then?

Did.  And without all suspytion?

Gan.  Halfe my soule,
Let me imbrace thee.  All my cares and feares
Thou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deathe
My future honors take a glorious byrthe.

    Enter La Fue.

Fue.  Hees never from hym; nay I must begone;
Past servyce is forgott.  Doe you heare, my lorde? 
Beggars must be no chusers.  I am one,
The proverb proves it, an oulde serving man: 
At your choyse therefore be it, whether I
Or that knave shall stay with you, for both must not;
Your house (though lardge) cannot contayne us bothe.

Gan.  Why, whatts the matter, Fue?

Fue.  Matter of wronge. 
Full twoe and twentye severall liverye coatts,
Made & composed all for severall yeares,
Have I runne throughe in your most faythfull service. 
Oth scullerye I was three yeares before: 
So, blacke and blewe[86], I make account I’ve served
Your Lordshypp five and twentye.

Gan.  What meanes thys?

Fue.  My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude Jacke
Abuses me in words I understand not;
And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hym
I am no longer for you.

Gan.  Patyence, man: 
If thys be all Ile see it remedyed. 
He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats past
And promyse thee to second it with other.

Fue.  Shall he? why, let him then, and I wilbe content to dye in peace.

Did.  I bothe repent and promyse no amends.

Fue.  Well, that shall pacyfie, we will be frends And live in peace together.

Did.  On condytion That hence you take no lycence to deprave My good indevours.

Fue.  In my contyence He wrongs me now agayne.

Did.  Nor on this growe Sawcie and insolent.

Fue.  Hay da! can oughte
Proceeding from my gravitie to thee
Be esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde;
Can fleshe and bloode induer thys?  I doe knowe
My servyce is more pretyous then to be
Thus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe;
And though in pollycie I will not leave
Your lordshypps servyce, yet if polycie
Or brayne of man may studdye a revendge,
Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayne
Shall fashyon out a rare one.
                                  [Exit La Fue.

Gan.  Syllye foole!  Come, Didier; mynde not hys peeyvishe hate Ile make thee yet obscurd an envyed state.

[Exeunt.

Actus 2.

[SCENE I.]

Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants.

Page 94

Orl.  O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres
That with a more then envyous aspect
Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed? 
I coulde allmost brable with destenye
For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme. 
And suer it errd in’t:  tys no gordyon knott
That tyes suche a disparytie together. 
But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood
A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte
Then a disease thats kyllinge.  Nowe must I,
Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe,
Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds
And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage,
Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds,
Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store,
Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore;
Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme,
Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand,
Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder
And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes,
Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde
And loved burthen of the wanton seas)
Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties
And like to such, not cared for a jott, ... ... ... ... ... must lye by & rott: 
And so must I.

Rei.  His dottage maks hym thynke
Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche
That when the newse of your successe aryved
(Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie)
He had no eare for’t, all his powers beinge fylled
With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her.

Oli.  He has not dealt like Charlimayne t’expose
You to the horror of a cyvill warre,
And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way
To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse
Your fayre successyon.

Orl.  Twas a speedinge plott
To sende me into Spayne, whylst Ganelon
Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here,
The envyous destenye that dothe attende
On all my undertakings, would have made
My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it. 
For not the cooninge of slye Ganelon,
Charlimayne’s dottage, nor her wytchinge eie
(To whom I nowe must be obedyent)
Can challendge any share in my disgrace;
But myne owne fortune that did never smyle
But when it gave me a full cause to cursse. 
And were the way to my successyon free
As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence
And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge
From my meare fate to make another kynge: 
So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all
My rights of byrthe and nature.

Rei.  You have doone ill To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence.

Oli.  With penytence tys confest, consyderinge Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way’s Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye.

Orl.  I am the verye foote-ball of the starres,
Th’anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects
With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves
Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie. 
My starres, my starres! 
O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares
So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares.

Page 95

    Enter La Busse.

Rei.  Smoother your passions, Sir:  here comes his sonne—­
A propertie oth court, that least his owne
Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt
In pollycie to scoffe at other mens. 
He will taxe all degrees and think that that
Keepes hym secure from all taxation.

Orl.  Y’are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman And hated of his father for hys vertues.

Bus.  Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe May comforte man, wayte on your excellence!

Orl.  Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs
Can ere be heard to my desyred good,
I am not so voyde of humanitie
But I will thanke your love.

Rei.  Pray, sir, what newse Hath the court lately been deliverd of?

Bus.  Such as the gallimaufry that is found
In her large wombe may promise:  he that has
The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte
And knows no shyfte for’t:  none but journeymen preists
Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings
And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without
The remedye of sugar candye for’t. 
Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott
Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes,
I & allmost disjested too as soone.

Oli.  I, but in sober sadness whatts done there?

Bus.  Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes,
For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs
To mere confussyon:  nothing there hath forme
But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte
Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte.

Rei.  What of the maryadge of your noble aunte Our fayre eied royall empresse?

Bus.  Trothe, I wonderd, Sir,
You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope
None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke
To kyndell that ill flame.

Orl.  No, of my trothe, I know thee much too honest; but how fares The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse?

Bus.  Sir, as a woman in her case may doe; Shee’s broughte [to] bedd.

Rei.  What, has she a chylde, then?

Bus.  I, my Lord.

Orl.  A Sonne!

Bus.  Mys-fortune hath inspyrd you, Sir; tys true.

Orl.  Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt.  O harte, will nothing breake the?

Rei.  Tis most straunge.

Orl.  Straunge?  Why, if she had been spayd
And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte
My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde—­
Of a son, too.  Hencefourthe let no man
That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve
Ere let me knowe it.  My mere knowledge in’t
Would tourne the hope’t successe to an event
That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule
With the most pleasinge objecte.

Bus.  Sir, be at peace; Much may be found by observatyon.

Page 96

Orl.  Th’arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable. 
Thys observation thou advysest to
Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate
That I should be distrackt.  I can observe
Naughte but varyetye of mysseries
Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours. 
I neare did good for any but great Charles,
And the meare doing that hath still brought forth
To me some plague too heavye to be borne,
But that I am reservd onlye to teach
The studyed envye of mallignant starrs. 
If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde,
It is with studyinge myne afflictions;
But, for her standing on a roullinge stone,
Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands
And onlye against me.

Rei.  Move hym no further;
But if your observatyon can fynde out
A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills
That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love,
And be your servant:  pray be inquisitive.

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

    Enter Didier.

Did.  Healthe attend
Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home
Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds
Whereby y’ave yearn’d all wellcome.

Orl.  What is he?

Did.  Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall
Ever attend you, and those wishes be
Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce.

Bus.  Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is
More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes
Then twixte thy words and wishes.

Did.  Then your knowledge
Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate
To be so littill famed.  I never hearde
That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge
But dynner tyme & coronatyon day,
The tylters collours & theire pages suytts,
But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up
An Ignoramus.

Bus.  Th’art a parasytte;
Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father
And like an evyll aungell make hym doe
Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver. 
Therefore the love which thou protestest here
Can be at best but fayn’d & beares more shewe
Of treacherye then zeale.

Did.  How say you by that?

Orl. Ganelon’s servant!  Will it not suffyce
The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe
With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes
But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte
O’ th’authors on’t, to myxe my sufferings
With heate and anger?  Syrha, howe dare you
Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke
My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame
That I am a fytt subject for your spleene,
Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage? 
Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute
My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe
In full carryere uppon me?

Page 97

Did.  I disclayme Ganelons servyce other then to serve Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end Whertoe I ere seemd hys.

Bus.  Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!

Orl.  Impossyble! 
I cannot be so happye, & if thou
Beare but the least affectyon to my cause,
Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd
To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature.

Did.  For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst
In ryghte of vertue; & if you’le be pleased
Thys screane may be removed that keepes away
All comfortable heate from everye man
Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall
Confyrme you I am yours.

Orl.  He shall not goe,
Nor can I hope successe in any thynge
(More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed.

Oli.  Pray, sir, withdrawe.

Rei.  Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good
We may dyscover & prevent hys ill: 
Pray leave us, sir.

Bus.  I will; but yet beware That fellowe. [Exit La Busse.

Did.  I fyrst desyre
To be beleived my love & utmost servyce
Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife
The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers
That ever fryghted weake mortallytie,
Shalbe an instygation.  Fyrst, Sir, knowe
The empresse is departed.

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

Did.  Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode
After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it
She dyed last mornynge.

Rei.  Wonderful!! what newse of her younge sonne?

Did.  It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one, Lewis the gentyll calld, a hopefull infante.

Oli.  But smale hope of the emperours righte to it.

Orl.  Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe?

Did.  Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife. 
Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more
Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love
Outwentt all dottage in th’extreamytie): 
He will not give her buryall, but in’s armes
Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys,
Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes
To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe
Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence.

Orl.  Why, thys is absolute madnes!  Where’s byshopp Turpin?  His reverence shoulde persuade hym.

Did.  So he hathe, But tys in vayne:  he heares naught but his passyon.

Orl.  Why, styll thou heapest uppon me newe misfortunes.

Did.  But will delyver comforte.  For some prooffe Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd By Ganelon to poyson you.

Rei.  Whatts thys?

Did.  To which performance I so soothd hys hopes That he beleives tys doone.

Page 98

Orl.  And so it had,
But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be
Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove
The object of her envye past her spleene. 
What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede
All the worlds mysseryes that have a name,
A new one out of pyttie must be founde
To adde to infynitts.  My heavy cursse,
But that’t would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee;
And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde
Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well.

Did.  Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus?  Wonder confounds me.

Rei.  My most worthye cossen, Will you not take advantage of thys plott?

Orl.  No; what advauntage? the emperour’s eares are glewed Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons.

Did.  Great Sir, no;
The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge,
Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes,
He heares all causes criminall as if
She did but slumber by hym.

Oli.  Tys an offerd meanes To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour Revyve your hopes.

Orl.  As cordyalls doe call backe
A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace
To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes
Of hys allmost past sycknes.  I reffuse it,
And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe
Too noble to complayne.  I neare coulde fynde
Pleasure or ease in others punishment,
Or if I were so base to take delighte
In the afflyctions of another man
My fate would guard me from’t, for tys decreed
That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare
Be master of a hope shall have successe: 
So all the opposytion I can make
Would onlye make my greives rydiculous
And dyvorce pyttye from theym.  Neare will I.
                              [Ex.  Orlando.

Did.  Heres a straunge humor!

Oli.  I, but let it not Deterre you from hys accusatyon.

Did.  Ile justefye what I have sayd.

Rei.  Doe so,
And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde
Shall pay thy love and faythe.

[Ex. all but Didier.

Did.  I doe not like
Thys entertaynment at the second hande: 
It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie. 
Is thys a welcome worthye of the love
I have exprest?  Had I tooke up hys hauke
Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce
Had deserved more respect then he gives me. 
I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes,
For hop’t preferments:  ’twas dyscreetlye doone
And ledd by vertue too.  Thys vertue is
The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge
That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts. 
But t’has a cursse.  It is impossyble
Ere to gett into Ganelon agayne,
Havinge not onlye not performd hys will
But tould hys purpose.  And howe slyghte so ere
The earle of Angeres houlds thys accusatyon,
T’will be examynd:  therefore I must throughe—­
But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it
By other testymonie then myne owne;
And that hys owne denyall will bereave me
Of the beleife due to it.  Yet will I stand too’t styll: 
To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will.

Page 99

    Enter Ganelon.

Gan.  Y’are well mett.

Did.  I thanke you.

Gan.  Th’art a vyllayne.

Did.  It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse.

Gan. Orlando is retournd.

Did.  Tys well.

Gan.  It is; But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp Your harte had gordgd a hauke.

Did.  Wa, ha ho, man! 
Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey,
Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all
Unable to outflye or to resist,
But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe
At once apeare.  You understand me, sir?

Gan.  Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee?  Arte thou flesht?  Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne?

Did.  Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson The best that I have hearde.  But be assurd I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast.

Gan.  Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge, A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not?

Did.  And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells
Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade,
Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then
That thou shalt curse thy beinge.
                                    [Exit Didier.

Gan.  Thys is well,
Exceedinge well:  upbrayded by my slave
Armed by my trust agaynst me!  I coulde nowe
Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips
When I made thys roague inmate of my breast. 
My seryous counsaylls and’s owne servyces
He sells like goods at outcryes—­“Who gives most?”
Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes
When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made
My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he
May wound me deeplye.  Suer he has reveald
My purposse and reward to poyson hym: 
So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne
Wants but a sparke,—­and farewell, Ganelon! 
Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym! 
What a brave noble creature were a man ... ... ... ... ... see and so prevent ... ... ... ... ... nay of his slave.

    Enter Richard.

Ric.  Health attend you!

Gan.  O my dearest sweete,
Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish;
For in it rests my health and happynes. 
Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd,
And we have bothe full cause.  My syster’s deathe
Hath, like the moone in opposytion,
Put out the eie of heaven.  But doth the emperour
Styll keep her in hys armes.

Ric.  Yes, styll and styll;
Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe
And flourishe most in deathe. Mesantius wrathe,
That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym
The joy of all man’s wishes.  Soothe he is
Anything now but famous Charlymayne.

Page 100

Gan.  I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man
Can neither tame nor conquer.  But, dear frende,
Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene
Out of the emperours presence?

Ric.  Sir, theres none;
He hath her evermore within hys armes,
And when a sleepes your syster Gabriella
Or the oulde Bishopp Turpin doe attend her.

Gan.  I, there you name a newe afflyctyon,
That syster is an ulcer in my bloode: 
Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons?

Ric.  Sleyght them beyond your wishes.

Gan.  Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue,
And thence I honor thee.  As for that mayd
Still let her frantique love receyve repulse
And crowne thy contynence; for though I was
Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90]
I would not have to fall for chrystendome.

Ric.  You neede not feare me:  if not contynence, Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe.

Gan.  I know’t; and here she comes.

    Enter Gabriella.

Gab.  Brother, God save you!—­0 my noble Richarde, You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares.  Shall styll your winter nypp me?

Gan.  What doe you meane?

Gab.  T’express a love thats good and vertuous.

Gan.  Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye.

Gab.  To tell before you myne affectyon
In publique I confes it would make me
A subject for taxation.

Gan.  Anywhere.  Come, a must not love you.

Gab.  Heavens forbydd! 
And I must tell you, brother, that I darre
(And with no other then a syster’s spleene)
Justifye myne affectyon.

Gan.  So, And what wants thys of impudence?

Gab.  As much
As you of charytie if your tonge bee
A faithfull servant to your mynde.

Gan.  Tys well:  You would be whored (mayd), would you not?

Ric.  Pray, Forbeare.

Gab.  Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye,
While Ile enduer no longer.  Fayre Sir, knowe
I will not have my true love circomscrybd
Within the lymits of your pollycie,
Come, y’are wicked.

Gan.  Repentance would doe well.

Gab.  Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares
And at that sober age I meane to wedd it. 
Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild
But they stay here.  Nor will I ever stray
Beyond this most loved object.

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

Gab.  Then have false hopes raysd me to th’topp of all Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall.

Gan.  Nay, no more fallinge.  Come, my noble frende; And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings.

Page 101

[Exe.  Gan.  Rich.

Gab.  Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames
Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode. 
What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre,
And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake
Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood
In manackles of ice?  Fyrst Ile dare
All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie,
But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll
And so be servd both in my lust and will.

    Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes,
    Turpin, La Busse.

Turp ... ...  Sir, let me perswade ... ...  Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie.

Char.  No more;
He that perswades me from thys loved embrace
Is my most mortall enemye, and here
I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. 
O, Gabriella, come; thy syster sleepes
A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade;
Goodnes can never perishe, and if so
Yet deathe shall not devyde us.  Why, I have
Not full so many mynuts to survyve
As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I
For that short space forgett her?  No we’ll stay
And close our loves both in one monument.

Turp.  Was never seene suche an affectyon!

Char.  Come, Gabriella, let us sett her downe;
And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene;
The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads,
Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym,
Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness: 
         [They place the dead bodye in a chayre. 
No ayre shall blow uppon her.  Happye soule! 
Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see
The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks
Fresher than ever.  Deathes imortal sythe
Dare not offend thy branches:  O, thou arte
A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon.

Buss.—­What will a make of her?

Turp.—­Even what his fancye pleases.

Char.  If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe,
Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable! 
And howe much follye is in fearfull man [Sitts by her. 
To flye from that which is so amyable! 
Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte
My soule uppon theise rubyes.  All the fame
And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome,
The conquests I have made of Fraunce, of Spayne,
Of Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie,
Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee
Are toys of worthlesse valewe.  Here’s my crowne,
And but for thys I were not Charlymayne.

Turp.  Alas, tys she maks hym not Charlymayne!

Char.  Comaund some musique.  Everye man departe,

      [Exe.  Bus. and attend[ants].  Soft musique.

But Turpin and my sister.  Heavye sleepe
Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete,
Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest
Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee.
                         [Sleepes on her bosome.

Page 102

Turp.  What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?

Gab.  Most soundlye, Sir:  sadnes from hys soule Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.

Turp.  Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche And call you at hys wakynge.

Gab.  Willinglye. [Ex.  Gabriella.

Turp.  I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys,
It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde,
Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love,
Raynes in him above wonder, nay above
Th’accounte of learnynge or experyence. 
I’ve reade in younger studyes there are charmes,
Spells and devysses to comand men’s harts;
That charracters and imadges and scrolles
Can even bynd the soule to servytude. 
It may be that’s wrought on the emperoure. 
I know the hate of Ganelon to be
A myne of all deceytfull polycie,
And thys affectyon thus unnaturall,
Can but have such a father.  Suer Ile trye,
If I can fynde the carryage.  Pardon me, deathe,
That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye. 
Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde
And emptye sylence, no companyon. 
What, shall I then leave of?  My harte says noe;
Ile yet breake ope another cabanett. 
Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say,
Harbors most oft weomen’s corruptyons: 
You cannot byte me, madam.  Ha, whats thys? 
A rynge! 
A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe
Hydd underneathe her tonge.  Blesse me, fate! 
Somethynge depends uppon it:  what it is
I will aprove and be the treasurer.

Enter Gabriella.

Gab.  Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour?

[Char. stirrs.

Turp.  I sawe him move even now:  agayne he styrrs. 
Good sweete, excuse me:  when a dothe awake
I will retourne imedyatlye.
                                     [Exit Turp.

Gab.  I will.

Char.  Hey ho! 
Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend? ... ... pleasure ... ... ... ... ... 
Ha! 
Woman’s attendaunce? in the name of chaunge
When did Charles use such frayltie?  Men at armes
Did ever guarde me:  am I now forsooke?

    Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants.

O you are wellcome.  Ha! what creature’s thys? 
Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre? 
What traytor shewd thys embleme?  Why my age
Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe
The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke
Beyond the hower of deathe.  Let me viewe her.

Rich.—­Here’s a chaunge; he wilbe Charles agayne.

Bus.—­Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous.

Char.  Tys the dead Empresse!  In the name of healthe Who plact her bodye here?

Rich.  Onlye your maiestye, From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge Had power to drawe her.

Page 103

Char.  Gentyll coosse,
Doe not take judgment from me:  in my mynde
Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon. 
But more of that hereafter:  take it hence
And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be
Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy.

    [Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead.

Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe?

Rich.  Without, attendinge your hye pleasure.

Char.  Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face
May blesse an ould man’s eie sight.  O tys he [Exit Rich. 
Hathe brought to Fraunce her wishes in suche wreathes
Of uncompared conquests that it bends
With weaknes of requyttall.  Here he comes!

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

O my best souldier, wellcome!  I growe younge
With thynkinge of thy gloryes.  Wellcome, coosse,
Wellcome, renowned Oliver, wellcome all! 
But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe! 
Th’ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes.

Orl.  The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me
And I partake not of it, but within me
I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would
Unpeople your whole kyngdome.

Char.  Whats the matter?

Orl.  Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power
Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded
(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse)
To tell you of a practyse gainst my life
By Ganelon.

Char.  Call hym; you shall be hearde,
You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge. 
Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe
That indyrect surmyses more abuse
And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde
An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one.

Orl.  Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde
An inocent brest:  myne keepes a register
With corsives charactred on everye syde
Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er].  But I say,
Were Ganelon here—­

    Enter Ganelon.

Gan.  As he is, my lorde,
To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature,
The mallyce of thys slave or of the world,
Can charge me with.  Speak then the uttermost.

Orl.  I say you are a man that haveinge longe
Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence
At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman
(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie
Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.

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

Char.  What say you, Syr? ha!

Did.  I say and sweare by all dyvinitie
That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true
That with a summe of goulde and further hopes
Of future honors he did wynne my promysse
To poyson the greate Palladyne.

Page 104

Char.  Thys is dyrect.

Gan.  A dyrect vyllanye! 
If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man,
Any such slave, discarded for’s badd life,
May make hys former master forfayte hys;
You may in ten days hange up all your nobles
And yet have lawe for’t.  But if any man
(Thys slave except), although hys synns would make
The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte
And the grasse wither with his loathed ...,
Will justefye thys accusatyon,
Ile remayne destitute of all replye.

Char.  Nephewe, what other proofe have you?

Orl.  Your majestie sees all,
And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me
Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse)
Would be enoughe.

Rei.  Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye.

Oli.  Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade
Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. 
All Fraunce dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne.

Ric.  In soothe I doe not thynke so.  Envyes tonges Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave Most to’th oppressed, oft to’th inocent.

Rei.  Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love.  Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous.

Bus.  Worthy Reinaldo, carrye better thoughts:  My father is your servant, and dothe love you.

Rei.  Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe, I then would honor hym.  Uppon my life In thys he is most guyltye.

Char.  Come, no more. 
There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe,
And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve
Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. Ganelon,
Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte: 
Yare banysht thence.  You have a cuntrye house,
Let that receyve you:  when you thence departe
Your life is forfayte.  Away!

Gan.  I doe obay
Your Majestye.
                       [Exe.  Gan., La Busse.

Orl.  Is thys a punishment?

Rei.  Tys a disgrace, best cossen.

Did.  And noble bloode Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.

Orl.  Hence, slave! 
By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne. 
Was ever man like me unfortunate? 
Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor
In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd
T’have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.

    Enter Turpin.

Char.  O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? 
My joy of life, my ages comforter! 
Indeede I’ve had a tedyous mysse of thee.

Tur.  What meanes your majestie?

Char.  I meane to live for ever on thy necke
And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares. 
O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge,
Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse
When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.

Page 105

Orl.  Ha, whats thys?

Tur.  I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man, That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you.

Char.  Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume,
A verye myne of imortallytie. 
Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye,
Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed. 
Thou hast no wrinckles:  theise are carracters
In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye. 
Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will.
                                        [Kisses Turpin.

Orl.—­Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge.

Rei.—­Nay, farre above my readinge.

Orl.—­Upon my life!  The ould men will not ravyshe one another?

Tur.  Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne Thys toe much wanton passyon.

Char.  They are joys
Toe good for theym to wyttness.  Come, my sweete;
We will in private measure our delights
And fyll our wishes bryme full. F[r]aunce is thyne,
And he is but disloyall dare repyne.

[Ex.  Char., Turp.

Orl.  This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus The whole worlde shaks:  thys comett’s omynous.

[Ex. all but Didier.

Did.  I am a polyticke coxcombe:  honestye
And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe
I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe. 
Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man,
Has undoone me.  What course shall I take now? 
I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me. 
My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt
For anye ill.  Successe may make all fayre;
He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre.

[Exit.

Actus Tertius.

(SCENE I.)

Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella.

[Eld.] ... ... ... it is not possyble ... ... ... ... ... 
The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye Richard
Should promise more true fortytude in love
Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons.

Gab.  Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs,
The smale assurance and the certayne deathe,
The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns
That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures;
And are you styll to learne or will you trust
A lovelye face with all your good beleife? 
My dutye checks myne anger, or I should—­

Eld.  What should you?

Gab.  Give your tast a bytternes.

Eld.  I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill.

Gab.  Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes
So muche as to account your errors follyes;
But, I proteste, were you another woman,
I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you
That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente
In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes: 
And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy
Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie! 
Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face
When they themselves deceyve most by the face? 
Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we
Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble?

Page 106

Eld.  True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne.

Gab.  And wherefore then should I trust in the face? 
Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother,
The toe much wise, toe subtyll Ganelon,
Onlye withdrawes Richards affectyon. 
Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me;
And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd
By the charme of hys voyce onlye?

Eld.  Trust me, wenche,
Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys
Where lyethe our preventyon?

Gab.  Onlye thus: 
You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon
Twixte Rychard and my brother, tourne their loves
To mortall hate and emulatyon;
Which but effected, Richard suer will love
Bee’t but alone to crosse hys enemye.

Eld.  Content thy selfe, gyrle.  There is not the malytious creature nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire frendshypp.  But to better purpose—­

Gab.  Peace, no more:  here comes the aged byshopp The kyngs inamord darlinge.

    Enter Turpin.

Tur.  Best ladye, well encounterd:  howe runns chaunce With your deare sonne, my good lord Ganelon?

Eld.  Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir. 
Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there
All cares and all vexatyons:  nowe he sleepes,
Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate,
Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne,
Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance;
Is not tane up with other mens affayres
But onlye looks to’s owne comodytie.

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

Gab.  Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe
He onlye wayts on hys partycullar,
Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse
All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say,
Is safest, surest, and least envyed.

Tur.  Why, prettie Ladye, you’le not leave the courte?

Eld.  Yes, gratyous lorde; I’me sent to bringe her thence. 
Our pore retyred famylie must plante
Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91]
Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces.

Tur.  I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys
Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende
Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye
Your sonne repayre to’th courte, which I intreate
You will imparte unto hym.

Page 107

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

[Ex.  Eldegr. and Gab.

Tur.  Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! ... ... ... ... ... 
O tys a foule and damned sorcerye
And maks the best of wisdome and of men,
Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre,
Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse. 
Why I am even rackt with complyment
And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe
Houlde difference in thys incantatyon. 
But I will trye it further, harke a comes;
Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye.

    Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard.

Char.  Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve
My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence? 
I pray thee tender my declyninge age,
Stande allways neare that I may never faynte;
For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life
Then mightie nature when she made me younge.

Tur.  Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante.

Char.  O you dyssemble fynelye!

Tur.  I protest, sir.

Char.  Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me,
But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye,
For I confess, as freelye as I love,
One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome;
And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I? 
A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge
That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles.

Tur.  Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. 
I doe adore you next to dietie [sic]
And will lay downe my life for you to treade on.

Char.  Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive
Another god, or I must forfayte heaven
And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. 
Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence
From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake: 
Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee
Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie. 
Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all,
All my domynions and authoryties;
Thynke what may please thee, make a full request
Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors.

Tur.  What shall I aske, that in your favours have All that I can desyer?

Char.  Nay, aske me somethynge:  Come, tell’t in myne eare?

Bus.  What thynke you, lorde?  Has any favrytt all he can desyer.

Rich.  Yes, and a be contented.

Bus.—­Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie contented?

Rich.—­Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt.

Bus.—­Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll wante somethynge.  Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, Richard, he asks somewhat.  See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen.  I doe not nowe blame hys doatinge on my sister.

Page 108

Rich.—­No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], muche more with prynces.

Bus.—­If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall?  Come, come, be not seveare; let us prate whylst they whysper.

Rich.—­Is that good manners?

Bus.—­Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.

Rich.—­Come, thou art wanton!

Bus.—­As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging.  Twere a myrackle should he aske nothynge.  Let me see:  does no bodye stande in his way to be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer.  Somewhat there must be.

Char.  How now, cossen, what says La Busse?

Bus.  Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of mynuts.

Char.  Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.—­But, sweete frend, Assure thy selfe th’ast fyxte my resolutyon As fyrme as destenye, and I will give All satisfactyon to the Palladyne.

Tur.  It wilbe royall in you.

    Enter Ganelon.

Char.  Kysse me, sweete.—­O you are wellcome; stand up.  And howe does thys retyred life agree With Ganelon?

Gan.  As Ganelon with it,
Most desolatlye, sir.  I have induerd
Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you;
In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd
[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd
Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente
I never slepte in quyett nor awakt
But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. 
Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle
Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares
Over and over.  Fortune has opposd
My naturall blessings and my wishest ends;
Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes
Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve
Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge
Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all
My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne
A suffrynge of that impyous accounte
Which nowe afflycts me.

Char.  O you are conynge.

Tur.  Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte.

    Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver.

But here comes the earle of Angeres.

Char.  Nephewe, y’are discontented and I woulde Give all rights to your honor, which did cause Me latelye thus to send for you.

Orl.  Tys true,
You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd
And came:  but then, Sir, what became of me? 
You sente me presentlye away for Spayne. 
Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys
As well methynks as if it hapned nowe.

Page 109

Char.  Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake.

Orl.  O that I could mistake or never thynke
Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence. 
Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake
But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.

Char.  You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good Into a stronge disease.

Orl.  So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall,
I have a straunge disease.  But, gratyous Sir,
Littill thought I, when I departed hence
And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd.

Char.  Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer.

Orl.  Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede
Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with,
But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare
My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with’t.

Rei.—­A touches hym most bouldlye.

Oli.—­Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge.

Orl.  Beleive’t, my sycknes is like the disease
Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame,
For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse: 
But what good man can well escape a cursse
When Emperours, that should be absolute,
Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant?

Gan.  Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more.

Orl.  Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde?

Gan.  Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt.

Char.  I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one,
You, Ganelon, I meane:  there dothe belonge
Unto your fault muche more then banishment. 
I heare discharge you of all offyces,
Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds
The slender name of a pore gentyllman. 
Besyds I fyne you out of your estate
At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence
To see the courte, but live thence banyshed. 
Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if’t be light
Ile lay more burthens on hym.—­Come, best frende.

Orl.  Sir, I desyer no mans miserye.

[Ex.  Cha., Turp.

Gan.  Then welcome once agayne my libertie! 
Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee
And utter my dystractyon; only nowe
Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome. 
Before I was devyded in my selfe,
The emperour and the state did clayme a parte;
But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd
And onlye thou shalt have what manye had,
My best imployments and my whole desyers.

Rich.  You are a juell fytter for the State,
And I feare what will followe.  Sure th’emperoure,
Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne
In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome.

Gan.  No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me
He wants his refudge, and my glorye then
Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts
Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende,
Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me ... ... enoughe to caper ... ... ...

Page 110

Orl.  What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe? 
Cossen Reinaldo, cossen Oliver,
Why does he growe thus guyddie?

Gan.  What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge
That I should take a pore content in shame? 
Your envye will discredite you, my lorde. 
Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of Aesopps dogge
That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger?

Orl.  Rei.  Oli.  What then?

Gan.  He was an arrant peevyshe curre,
Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye
I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne)
Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame.

Orl.  Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole.

Gan.  Sir, I am just of your opynion I;
For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre
Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses? 
Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I
Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks
And never curse my planettes.  I can leape
With more actyvitie then yesterday.—­Capers. 
Does thys offend you, Sir?

Orl.  Exceedinglye.

Rei.  Were you thus nymble ever from a boy?

Gan.  No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne.

Oli.  Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute.

Gan.  Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles.

Bus.  It is the honor of hys gravitie
Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds
Of envye or of scandall.  Good Sir, thynke
His resolutyons nowe his champyons.

Gan.  Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me
And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there
A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee
And she shall pyle up all your flatterye: 
The courte hath no use for it.—­Sir, methought
You talkt of lightnes, did you not?

Orl.  Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles.

Gan.  It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse,
Beinge disburdend of so manye feares,
So much attendance and so manye synnes
By losse of my late offyces?  I am bounde
(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp
If you or others moved the emperour
To my displaceinge.  I am nowe unloaded
Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me,
And shall I not discover what I am. 
A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [Capers.]
—­Does thys offend you?

    Enter Turpin.

Tur.  Where’s lorde Richard?

Rich.  Here, reverend Sir.

Tur.  Hys majestie comands you uppon payne
Of life and your aleagance that from hence
You never more conversse with Ganelon
Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment. 
No not so much as see hym; and withall
You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes.

Rich.  I am hys servant.
                                [Ex.  Tur., Rich.

Page 111

Gan.  Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke To deathe with mans soft languadge.  Come away:  Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day.

[Ex.  Can., La Busse.

Orl.  Wherefore did the angrye emperour Degrade thys merrye lorde?  To pleasure me, Did he not, cossen?

Rei.  Yes, to satisfye The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe.

Orl.  He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all As catchynge of the moone:  tys past mans power To take away my cursse of destenye.

Oli.  Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse.

Orl.  Had any man but such a slave as I
Look’t to have tryumphd in hys base dejection
And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes,
Whylst I and all the projects I can make
Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame.

Rei.  Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen:  You have in many actyons prosperd well.

Orl.  Good, doe not studye how to flatter me;
I am in althyngs most unfortunate. 
Witnes my fyrst love to Angellica, ... ... ... my cursse ... ... ... 
My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings,
Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells
Can breake the harte of resolutyon.

Rei.  What say you to your conquests?

Orl.  Tut, in thosse
Fortune did never medle:  honor there
Served in her person, not by substytute. 
Instead of which pore blessinge not a day
Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye. 
Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all Fraunce? 
Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome. 
And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte
That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse
Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes. 
By heaven I will release hym!

Rei.  Nothinge so:  Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me; Ile add a torment to hys mysserye.

[Exe.

[SCENE 2.]

Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle.

Eud.  Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted
Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam). 
I promysd to your lorde that Bertha here,
My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne,
And Ile perform’t; for onlye to that ende
I’ve brought her nowe.

Eld.  And, Sir, tis noblye doone;
I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym
Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he
Is laboringe to recover, but’s retourne
I knowe wilbe most sodayne.

Eud.  Weele attend it.

Gab.  Hey hoe.

Ber.  Why syghes thou, frende?

Gab.  Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons. 
Your in a good way, Bertha, ryde spurrd on,
May come unto your journey:  I must tyre,
Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me.

Ber.  Yes, when younge Rychard hunts your purlue ground.  Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder.

Page 112

Gab.  Not if a would fall to hys exercyse.

Ber.  Th’art styll thy selfe (all madnes).—­But no more; Here comes your brother.

    Enter Ganelon, La Busse.

Eud.  Healthe to my noble lorde!

Gan.  You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir,
Tys wellcome since you wishe it.  O I am
At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace.

Eud.  Shake you for that?  Why, noble lorde, you knowe
Disgrace is ever like the greate assay
Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume
And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe
Because it styll remayns unchaungable
Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence,
Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: 
Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches
In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe,
Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe.

Gan.  Pray thee, noble Eudon, save thy selfe, And come not neare me; I am pestilent.

Eud.  I doe not feare infection.

Gan.  I knowe tharte noble & a man of warre,
One that hathe feard no mortall wound so muche
As to be recond fearfull; but the cause,
The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you
You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule
Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. 
Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes
And talke alone, least the proceedinge ayre
That easeth me beget in you a payne. 
Leave me, pray leave me:  my rude vyolence
Will halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speeche
Like such a noyse as drownds all other noyse
Will so afflyct your thoughts & cares on me
That all your care besyde must be neglected. 
My tyme of patyence is expyrd; pray leave me.

Eld.  Ithe name of wonder, sir, what dothe afflyct you.

Eud.  You boare your banyshment most brave tyll nowe.

Gan.  I did, & could as quyetlye endure
To be exposd uppon the publique scaffold
To all myne enemyes contempt, but nowe
I’me more then banysht, all my honors lost,
My wealthe, my places everye one the kyngs;
I hardlye am a pryvate gentyllman. 
And more then thys, my onlye dearest frend,
My Richard, I must never see agayne.

Gab.—­Excellent newse! hould, there Ile honor thee.

Eud.  Why, all thys is a tryfell; suche a blast
As should not move a weake reede.  Come, I love
Your selfe and not your fortunes:  pray forgett em. 
See, I have brought my daughter, and desyer
The matche betwixt us may be consumate.

Gan.  O you are noble that can pyttie scorne!  And werte not for my frends losse all the rest I should loosse like my shadowe.

Eld.  I, and hym, When I have toulde you myne intelligence.  Come, hees not halfe so good as you imagine.

Gan.  Goe, y’are a woman, and that styll implyes Can be malytious.—­But are you then resolvd To match with myne ill fortunes?

Page 113

Eud.  Sir, I am.

Gan.  What says fayre Bertha?

Ber.  That my free will dothe bynde My love to his comandment.

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

Bus.  Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress,
And will so arme my servyce with delighte
That, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoake
The onlye lyst of pleasure.

Ber.  Thats my hope:  Bate me the pleasure, and, beleive it, Sir, I shall crye out oth bargayne.

Bus.  Feare me not.

Gan.  Come, we will have thys maryage sollempnyzd,
In which I meane to feighte with agonye
And shoe the worlde I can cast honors of
More easlye then my garments.  Wisdome & thought
Most precious ever when tys dearest bought.

[Exe. all but Gab.

Gab.  Suer thys should be the day of Valentyne
When everye byrd dothe coople, onlye I
Pore forlorne turtle, haveinge lost my mate,
Must dye on a bare braunche.  Wytt defend me! 
Youthe & my pleasures will not suffer it. 
I’ve here contryved a letter to my frende
In myne ill brothers name.  It may worke
Somethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worst
It cannot make me more then I am accurst. 
And heres my messenger.—­

    Enter La Fue.

Howe nowe Mounseir Fue? 
Whyther gost thou in suche a sweatinge passyon?

Fue.  O, Madam, sweatynge is goode for the itche, and the rascall Didier haveing playd the roague with my lord ist possyble but I should itche to be about hys eares when I see the knaves countenance?  Therefore to avoyde troble I affect sweatinge.

Gab.  Why, thou dost not see hym nor art thou licklye.

Fue.  O by all meanes I cannot mysse the devyll.  Why, I am goeing to the courte, Madam, & the knave wilbe in everye corner, Didier I meane, by all meanes; so that if I doe not sweate I shall scratche the skynne from myne elbowes.

Gab.  Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tell noble Richard, the sonne of Aimon, your master sente it, but doe not tell your master I imployd you.  Take this rewarde and deale wiselye.

Fue.  As wisely as my blewe coate will suffer me.

[Exe.

Act 4.

[SCENE I.]

Enter Richard readinge a letter.

Rich. [Read] Myne enemyes have labord much, but my worst afflyctyon is thy lamented absence which may endanger us alyke.  There is no means to prevent all evyls but the injoyinge of my sister Gabriella:  therefore force in thy selfe an affectyon.  She may otherwise growe discontent and trooble us with her mallyce.  Therefore preserve thy selfe and me together, who am thy best on earthe:  Ganelon.

Page 114

Thys letter sente me by my dearest frende
Like spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne. 
He urdges me to love where a dothe knowe
I can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so,
Our safties doe compell it, & to that
I must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harte
To seme most softe when tys most hard[e]ned.