Luc. You taught me so.

Lass. I see thou lovest me not.

Luc. I know I doo.

Lass. Do all I bid thee then.

Luc. Bid then as I may doo.

Lass. I bid thee leave mee.

Luc. That I cannot doo.

Lass. My hate.

Luc. My love.

Lass. My torment.

Luc. My delight.

Lass. Why do I straine to wearie thee with words? Speech makes thee live; Ile then with silence kill thee, Henceforth be deafe to thy words and dumbe to thy minde.

Ench. What rock hath bred this savage-minded man? That such true love in such rare beauty shines[65]! Long since I pittied her; pittie breeds love, And love commands th'assistance of my Art T'include them in the bounds of my command. Heere stay your wandering steps; chime[66] silver strings, Chime, hollow caves, and chime you whistling reedes, For musick is the sweetest chime for love. Spirits, bind him, and let me leave[67] my love.



[SCENE 4.]

Enter A[l]berdure at one doore, and meetes with the Pesant at the other doore.

Alb. Hyanthe, o sweet Hyanthe, have I met thee? How is thy beautie changed since our departure! A beard, Hyanthe? o tis growne with griefe, But now this love shall tear thy griefe from thee.

Pes. A pox on you! What are you? Swounds, I think I am haunted with spirits.

Alb. Weepe not, Hyanthe; I will weepe for thee, Lend me thy eyes. No, villaine, thou art he That in the top of Eruines hill Daunst with the Moone and eate up all the starres, Which made thee like Hyanthe shine so faire; But, villaine, I will rip them out of thee.

Enter Motto and others.

Pea. Slid, holde your hands.

Alb[68]. I come with thunder.

Pea. Come and you dare.

Mott. Holde, villaine; tis the young prince Alberdure.

Pea. Let the young prince hold then; slid, I have no starres in my bellie, I; let him seeke his Hyanthe where he will.

Alb. O this way by the glimmering of the Sunne And the legieritie[69] of her sweete feete She scowted on, and I will follow her. I see her, like a goulden spangle, sit Upon the curled branch of yonder tree. Sit still, Hyanthe; I will flie to thee. Exit.

Mott. Follow, follow, follow!

Exeunt all but Peas.

Enter Flores and Hance.[70]

Pea. Together and be hanged. O heere comes more; pray God I have better lucke with these two. By your leave, sir, do you know one Maist. Flores, I pray?

Flo. What wouldst thou have with him?

Pea. Faith, Sir, I am directed to you by Lady Fortune with a peece of plate. I doe hope you will use plaine dealing, being a Jeweller.

Flo. Where hadst thou this?

Pea. In a very strange place, sir.

Han. He stole it, sir, I warrant you.

Flo. I never sawe a Jemme so precious, So wonderful in substance and in Art. Fellow, confesse preciselie where thou hadst it.

Pea. Faith, sir, I had it in a cave in the bottome of a fine greene hill where I found a company of Fairies, I thinke they call them.

Flo. Sawst thou any more such furniture there?

Pea. Store, sir, store.

Flo. And canst thou bring me thither?

Pea. With a wet finger[71], sir.

Han. And ha they good cheere, too?

Pea. Excellent.

Han. O sweete thiefe!

Flo. Tis sure some place enchanted, which this ring Will soone dissolve and guard me free from feare. —Heer's for the cup; come, guide me quickly thither. Ah, could I be possest of more such Jemmes, I were the wealthiest Jeweller on earth.

Exeunt.



[SCENE 5.]

Enter Enchanter, leading Luc. and Lass. bound by spirits; who being laid down on a green banck, the spirits fetch in a banquet.

THE SONG.

O princely face and fayre, that lightens all the ayre, Would God my eyes kind fire might life and soule inspire. To thy rich beauty shining in my hearts treasure, The unperfect words refining for perfect pleasure.

Ench. Lie there and lose the memorie of her Who likewise hath forgot the thought of thee By my inchantments. Come, sit down, fair Nimphe, And taste the sweetnesse of these heavenly cates, Whilst from the hollow cranies[72] of this rocke Musick shall sound to recreate my love. But tell me had you ever lover yet?

Luc. I had a lover, I thinke, but who it was, Or when, or how, long since, aye me, I know not. Yet beat my timerous thoughts on such a thing; I feele a pasionate hearte but finde no flame, Thinke what I know not, nor know what I thinke.

Ench. Hast thou forgot me, then? I am thy love, Whom sweetly thou wert wont to entertaine With lookes, with vowes of love, with amorous kisses. Lookst thou so strange? dost thou not know me yet?

Luc. Sure I should know you.

Ench. Why, love? doubt you that? Twas I that lead you through the painted meadows, When the light Fairies daunst upon the flowers, Hanging on every leafe an orient pearle[73] Which, strooke together with the silver winde Of their loose mantels, made a silvery chime. Twas I that winding my shrill bugle horn, Made a guilt pallace breake out of the hill, Filled suddenly with troopes of knights and dames Who daunst and reveld whilste we sweetly slept Upon a bed of Roses, wrapt all in goulde. Doost thou not know me yet?

Luc. Yes, now I know you.

Ench. Come then, confirme thy knowledge with a kiss.

Luc. Nay, stay, you are not he: how strange is this!

Ench. Thou art growne passing strange, my love, To him that made thee so long since his bride.

Luc. O, was it you? come then. O stay a while: I know not what[74] I am nor where I am, Nor you, nor these I know, nor any thing.

Enter Flores with Hance and the Peasant.

Pea. This is the greene, Sir, where I had the cup, And this the bottome of a falling hill; This way I went following the sound. And see—

Han. O see, and seeing eate withall.

Flo. What? Lassenbergh laid bound, and fond Lucilia. Wantonly feasting by a strangers side! —Peasant, be gone:

[Exit Peasant[75]]

Hance, stand you there and stir not.— Now sparckle forth thy beams, thou vertuous Jemme, And lo[o]se these strong enchantments.

Ench. Stay! aye me, We are betrai'd! Haste, spirits, and remove This table and these cups,—remove, I say: Our incantations strangely are dissolv'd.

Exeunt Ench. with spirits and banquets.

Han. O spightfull churles! have they caried away all? has haste made no waste?

Luc. My Lord, Earle Lassenbergh, o pardon me.

Lass. Away from me.

Luc. O can I in these bands? Forget the dutie of my love to you? Were they of Iron, or strong Adamant, My hands should teare them from my wronged Lord.

Flo. O, Lassenbergh, to what undoubted perrill Of life and honour had you brought your selfe By obstinacie of your froward minde, Had not my fortune brought me to this place To lo[o]se the enchantment, which enthralled you both, By hidden vertue of this precious ring. Come, therefore, friendly and imbrace at last The living partner of your strange mishaps Justly pursuing you for flying her.

Lass. Leave me, I say; I can endure no more.

Lu. Ah, have I loos'd thee then to flie from mee?

Lass. Away! [Exit.

Lu. Ile follow thee,

Flo. Tarrie, Lucilia.

Lu. Deare father, pardon mee. [Exit.

Flo. Sirrah, attend her. Poore wretch, I feare this too much love in thee Is fatall to thee. Up, Sirrah, follow your mistresse.

Han. I, sir, I go; my mistresse dogs the banket and I dog her.

[Exeunt.

Finis Actus Tertii.



[Actus Quartus.]

Enter Motto, Raphe bringing in Alberdure.

Motto. So, sir, lay even downe your handie worke.

Rap. Nay, sir, your handie worke, for you were the cause of his drowning.

Mot. I? I defie thee. Wert not thou next him when he leapt into the River?

Rap. O monstrous lyar!

Mot. Lye! you peasant, go too: Ile go tell the Duke.

Rap. I, sir, Ile go with you, I warrant you.

[Exeunt.

Alb. What sodain cold is this that makes me shake, Whose veines even now were fill'd with raging fire? How am I thus all wet? What water's this That lies so ycelike, freezing in my blood? I thinke the cold of it hath cur'd my heate, For I am better temperd than before. But in what unacquainted place am I? 0 where is my Hyanthe, where's Leander? What, all alone? nothing but woods and streames? I cannot guesse whence these events should grow.

Enter Peasant.

Pea. O that I could lose my way for another cup, now. I was well paide for it yfaith.

Alb. Yonder is one; Ile enquire of him. Fellow, ho! peasant!

Pea. Aie me, the mad man againe, the mad man.

Alb. Saie, whither fliest thou.

Pea. Pray, let me goe, sir; I am not Hyanthe, in truth I am not, sir.

Alb. Hyanthe, villaine? wherfore namest thou her?

Pea. If I have any scarres in my belly, pray God I starve, sir.

Alb. The wretch is mad, I thinke.

Pea. Not I, sir, but you be not madde, you are well amended, sir.

Alb. Why tellest thou me of madnesse?

Pea. You were little better then mad even now, sir, when you gave me such a twitch by the beard.

Alb. I can remember no such thing, my friend.

Pea. No, sir, but if you had a beard you wold.

Alb. What place is this? how far am I from court?

Pea. Some two myles and a wye byt, sir.

Alb. I wonder much my friends have left me thus. Peazant, I pray thee change apparell with mee.

Pea. Change apparell, I faith you will lose by that, sir.

Alb. I care not; come, I pray thee, letts change.

Pea. With all my heart, sir, and I thanke you, too. Sblood y'are very moist, sir, did you sweat all this, I pray? you have not the desease, I hope?

Alb. No, I warrant thee.

Pea. At a venture, sir, Ile change. Nothing venter, nothing enter.

Alb. Come, letts be gone.

Pea. Backe, sir, I pray.

[Exeunt.



[SCENE 2.]

Enter Hardenbergh with a guard, bringing in Cassimere, Flores, Doctor, Marchant, Cornelia, Motto, and Raphe.

Har. Thus, Flores, you apparantly perceive How vaine was your ambition and what dangers, All unexpected, fall upon your head, Povertie, exile, guiltinesse of heart, And endlesse miserie to you and yours. Your goods are seized alreadie for the Duke; And, if Prince Alberdure be found deceast, The least thou canst expect is banishment. Earle Cassimere, I take[76] your word of pledge Of his appearance. Pages of the Prince, Come guide me straight where his drownd bodie lies, Drownes his father in eternall teares.

[Exit cum servis; manet Al.

Mot. Drownes him and will hang us.

Mar. Good Signior Flores, I am sorry for you.

Doct. Marshan, parle vu pen. Be garr, me vor grand love me beare de good Mershan, vor de grand worte, be garr, and de grand deserte me sea in you, de bravea Mershan, me no point rivall; you have Cornelia alone, by my trot, ha, ha, ha!

Mar. M. Doctor Doddie, surnam'd the Amorous'de, I will overcome you in curtesie, your selfe shall have her.

Doct. No, by garr, Marshan: you bring de fine tings from de strange land vere de Sunne do rise, de Jewell, de fine stuffe vor de brave gowne: me no point. Come, by garr, you have Cornel.

Cass. Hands off, base Doctor! she despiseth thee, Too good for thee to touch or looke upon.

Flo. What wretched state is this, Earle Cassimere, That I and my unhappie progenie Stand subject to the scornes of such as these!

Cass. Grieve not, deare friends, these are but casuall darts. That wanton Fortune daily casts at those In whose true bosomes perfect honour growes. Now, Dodypoll, to you: you here refuse Cornelias marriage? you'le none of her!

Doct. Be garr, you be the prophet; not I by my trot.

Cass. Nor you, maste[r] merchant? shee's too poore for you!

Mar. Not so, sir; but yet I am content to let fall my suite.

Cass. Cornelia, both dissembled they would have you; Which like you best?

Cor. My Lord, my fortunes are no chusers now,— Nor yet accepters of discurtesies.

Cass. You must chuse one here needs.

Doct. By garr, no chuse mee, me clime to heaven, me sincke to hell, me goe here, me go dare, me no point deere, by garr.

Cass. If you will none, whose judgement are too base To censure true desert, your betters will.

Flo. What meanes Lord Cassimere by these strange words?

Cass. I mean to take Cornelia to my wife.

Flo. Will you, then, in my miserie, mock me too?

Cass. I mock my friend in misery? heavens, scorne such! Halfe my estate and halfe my life is thine; The rest shall be Cornelia's and mine.

Doct. O bitter shame, be garr.

Flo. My Lord, I know your noble love to me And do so highly your deserts esteeme That I will never yeeld to such a match. Choose you a beautious dame of high degree And leave Cornelia to my fate and mee.

Cass. Ah, Flores, Flores, were not I assured Both of thy noblenesse, thy birth and merite, Yet my affection vow'd with friendships toong, In spite of all base changes of the world That tread on noblest head once stoopt by fortune Should love and grace thee to my utmost power. Cornelia is my wife: what sayes my love? Cannot thy father's friend entreat so much.

Cor. My humble minde can nere presume To dreame in such high grace to my lowe seate.

Cass. My graces are not ordered in my words. Come love, come friend; for friendship now and love Shall both be joynde in one eternall league.

Flo. O me, yet happy in so true a friend.

[Exeunt.

Doct. Est possible, by garr? de foole Earle drinke my powder, I tinke. Mershan tella mee.

Mar. What, maister Doctor Doddie?

Doct. Hab you de blew and de yellow Velvet, ha?

Mar. What of that, sir?

Doct. Be gar, me buy too, three peece for make de Cockes-combe pur the foole Earle, ha, ha, ha! [Exit.

Mer. Fortune fights lowe when such triumphe on Earles.

[Exit.



(SCENE 3.)

Enter Lassenbergh singing, Lucilia following; after the song he speakes.

Lass. O wearie of the way and of my life, Where shall I rest my sorrow-tired[77] limmes!

Luc. Rest in my bosome, rest you here, my Lord; A place securer you can no where finde.

Lass. Nor more unfit for my displeased minde. A heavie slumber calles me to the earth; Heere will I sleepe, if sleep will harbour heere.

Luc. Unhealthful is the melancholic earth: O let my Lord rest on Lucilia's lappe. Ile helpe to shield you from the searching ayre And keepe the colde dampes from your gentle bloud.

Lass. Pray thee, away; for, whilst thou art so neere, No sleepe will seaze on my suspicious eyes.

Luc. Sleepe then, and I am pleazd far off to sit Like to a poore and forlorne Sentinell, Watching the unthankful sleepe that severs me From my due part of rest deere love with thee.

She sits farre off from him.

Enter Const. Dutchesse with a willowe garland, cum aliis.

Con. Now are we neere the court of Saxonie, Where the duke dreames such tragicall ostents.

Amb. I wonder we, now treading on his soile, See none of his strange apparitions.

Kath. We are not worthy of such meanes divine, Nor hath heaven care of our poore lives like his. I must endure the end and show I live Though this same plaintive wreathe doth show me forsaken. Come, let us foorth.

Const. Stay, sister; what faire sight Sits mourning in this desolate abode?

Dut. Faire sight indeed it is, and much to faire To sit so sad and solitarie there.

Con. But what is he that cur-like sleepes alone?

Dut. Look, is it not my Nephew Lassingbergh?

Amb. Madame, 'tis hee.

Dut. Ile sure learne more of this.— Lady, if strangers that [do] wish you well May be so bould to aske, pray whats the cause That you [so] more then strangely sit alone?

Luc. Madam, thus must forsaken creatures sit Whose merits cannot make their loves consort them.

Dut. What a poore fellow in my miserie! Welcome, sweet partner, and of favour tell me, Is this some friend of yours that slumbers heere?

Luc. My husband (madame) and my selfe his friend, But he of late unfriendly is to me.

Con. Sister, lets wake her friend.

Dut. No, let him sleepe; And, gentle dame, if you will be rulde by me, Ile teach you how to rule your friend in love: Nor doubt you our acquaintance, for the man Whom you so much affect is friend to us.

Shee riseth.

Luc. Pardon me, Madame; now I know your grace.

Dut. Then knowst thou one in fortune like thy selfe, And one that tenders thy state as her owne. Come, let our Nephew Lassingberg sleepe there, And, gentle Neace, come you to court with us, If you dare mixe your loves successe with mine. I warrant you I counsell for the best.

Luc. I must not leave him now (madame) alone, Whom thus long I have followed with such care.

Dut. You wearie him with too much curtesie; Leave him a little and heele follow you.

Luc. I know not what to doo.

Dut. Come, come with us.

Con. Dame, never fear; get you a Willow w[reath]; The Dutchesse (doubt not) can advise you well.

Luc. Lets wake him then, and let him go with [us].

Dut. That's not so good; I pray be rulde by me.

Luc. Sleep, then, deare love; and let sleep that doth bind Thy sence so gently, make thee more kinde.

[Exeunt.

Enter Hance in the Prince's apparrall, and the Peasant.

Pea. Come, sirra, money for your gentlemans apparel; you promist me money, sir, but I perceive you forget your selfe.

Han. True, pride makes a man forget himselfe; and I have quite forgot that I owe thee any.

Pea. But Ile put you in minde, sir, if there be any sergeants in Saxonie; I thinke I meane not to loose so much by you.

Han. Why, I have lost a maister and a mistresse, and yet I aske thee no money for them.

Pea. I bought them not of you, sir; therefore pay me my money.

Han. I will pay thee morningly every morning as long as thou livest; looke in thy right shooe and thou shalt finde sixe pence.

Pea. What a fowle knave and fairie! Well, use thy conscience: I thanke God I stand in neede of no such trifles. I have another jewell heere which I found in the Princes pocket when I chang'd apparell with him; that will I make money of, and go to the jeweller that bought the cup of mee. Farewell: if God put in thy mind to pay me, so; if not, so. [Exit.

Han. O brave free-harted slave, he has the laske of mind upon him.

Lass. What speech is this that interrupts my rest? Who have we heere?

Han. Sometime a serving man, and so were yee, Both now jolly gentlemen you see.

Lass. What, sir, how came you thus gallant, I beseech you?

Han. I turn'd the spit in Fortune's wheele, sir.

Lass. But, stay, where is Lucilia?

Han. Marry, where say you, sir?

Lass. Villaine, looke for her, call her, seeke her out. Lucillia! where's my love, o where's Lucillia! Aye me, I feare my barbarous rudenesse to her Hath driven her to some desperate exigent. Who would have tempted her true love so farre? The gentlest minds with injuries overcome Growe most impacient: o Lucilia, Thy absence strikes a loving feare in me, Which from what cause so ever it proceedes Would God I had beene kinder to thy love.

Enter Hard, with a Guard, Motto, Raphe.

Hard. Slaves, can ye not direct us to the place?

Mot. Yes, sir, here's the place we left him in.

Ra. O see (my lord) heer's one weares his apparrell.

Hard. But where is he? stay, sirra, what are you That jet thus in the garments of the Prince.

Han. Bought and sold, sir, in the open market, sir. Aske my maister.

Hard. Earle Lassingbergh, where is the Princes body?

Lass. Why aske you me, my Lord?

Hard. Since you are in the place where he was drownd, And this your hinde here hath his garments on.

Lass. Enquire of him then.

Hard. Ile enquire of you And of your gallant, too. Guard, apprehend them And bring them presentlie to court with us.

Lass. What meanes Lord Hardenberg to entreate me thus?

Har. That you shall know anon: bring them away.

[Exeunt.



[SCENE 4]

Enter Leander and Hyanthe.

Lean. O, Madam, never were our teares bestowed Of one whose death was worthier to be mon'd. Deere Alberdure, why parted I from thee, And did not like the faithful Pilades Attend my deare Orestes in his rage?

Hya. O my sweete love, O princelie Alberdure, Would God the river where thy course lay drownde Were double deepe in me and turned to teares That it might be consumde for swallowing thee.

Enter Alber, with a basket of Apricocks, disguised.

Alber. In this disguise Ile secretly enquire Why I was so forsaken of my friend And left to danger of my lunacie. Here is the man that most I blame for this, Whose vowed friendship promisd greater care; But he, it seemes, enamour'd of my love, Was glad of that occasion, and I feare Hath turned her womanish conceipt from me. Ile proove them both. Maister, wilt please [you] buy A basket of well riped Apricocks?

Lea. I pray thee keepe thy dainties; I am full Of bitter sorrowes as my hart can holde.

Alb. It may be, Maister, your faire Lady will.

Hya. No, friend; my stomach is more full then his.

Lea. Where dwellest thou, friend?

Alb. Not farre from hence, my Lord.

Lea. Then thou knowest well which was the fatall streame Wherein the young prince Alberdure was drownd?

Alb. I know not he was drowned, but oft have seene The pittious manner of his lunacie; In depth whereof he still would eccho forth A Ladies name that I have often heard, Beautious Hyanthe; but in such sad sort As if his frenzie felt some secret touch Of her unkindnesse and inconstancie, And when his passions somewhat were appeaz'd, Affording him (it seemed) some truer sence. Of his estate, left in his fittes alone Then would he wring his hands, extreamly weeping, Exclaiming on the name of one Leander, Calling him Traitor and unworthie friend So to forsake him in his miserie.

Lea. Accursed I! o thou hast mooved me more Than if a thousand showers of venom'd darts With severall paines at once had prickt my soule.

Hya. O thou ordained to beare swords in thy toung, Dead thou hast struck me and I live no more.

Alb. It seemes your honoures loved him tenderly.

Lea. O my good friend, knewest thou how deer I loved him.

Hya. Nay, knewest thou, honest friend, how deere I loved him.

Alb. I see, then, you would rejoyce at his health.

Lea. As at my life, were it revived from death.

Hya. As at my soule, were it preserv'd from hell.

Alber. Be then from death and hell recovered both As I am now by your firme loves to me. Admire me not, I am that Alberdure Whom you thought drownde; that friend, that love am I.

Lea. Pardon, sweete friend.

Hya. Pardon, my princely love.

Alber. Dear love, no further gratulations now Least I be seene and knowne; but, sweete Leander, Do you conceale me in thy father's house. That I may now remaine with my Hyanthe And at our pleasures safely joy each others love.

Lea. I will (deare friend) and blesse my happy stars That give me meanes to so desir'de a deed.

Finis Actus Quarti.



Actus Quintus.

Enter Cassimeere, Flores with the Cup, Peasant, and the Marchant.

Mar. See, signior Flores, A Peasant that I met with neere your house, Where[78] since he found you not he asked of me The place of your abode; and heere I have brought him.

Flo. I thank you, sir. My good Lord Cassimeere, This is the man that brought this cup to me Which for my ransome we go now to offer To my good lord the Duke.

Cass. What brings he now?

Flo. That will we know. Come hither, honest friend; What wisht occasion brings thee now to me?

Pea. This occasion, sir; what will ye give me for it?

Flo. Thou art a luckie fellow; let us see. Lord Cassimeere, this is the haplesse Jewell That represents the form of Alberdure, Given by Cornelia at our fatall feast. Where hadst thou this, my good and happy friend?

Pea. Faith, sir, I met with the young prince all wet, who lookt as if he had been a quarter of a yeare drowned, yet prettelie come to himselfe, saving that he was so madde to change apparrell with me; in the pocket whereof, sir, I found this Jewell.

Flo. O tell me trulie, lives prince Alberdure?

Pea. He lives a my word, sir, but very poorely now, God help him.

Cass. Is he recovered of his lunacie?

Pea. I, by my faith, hee's tame enough now, Ile warrant him.

Flo. And where is he?

Pea. Nay, that I cannot tell.

Cass. Come, Flores, hast we quicklie to the Court With this most happie newes.

Flo. Come, happie friend, The most auspicious messenger to me That ever greeted me in Pesants weeds.

[Exeunt.

Enter Doctor.

Mar. I would I could meet M. Doctor Doddie, I have a tricke to gull the Asse withall; I christned him right Doctor Doddipole. Heere he comes passing luckely; Ile counterfeit business with him in all poste haste possible. Maister Doctor, Maister Doctor!

Doct. Shesue, vat ayle de man?

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

Doct. Vell, vat?

Mar. This, sir; the marriage which we thought made even now, betweene Earle Cassimere and Cornelia, was but a jest only to drawe you to marry her, for she doth exceedinglie dote upon you; and Flores her father hath invented that you are betrothed to her and is gone with a supplication to the Duke to enforce you to marrie her.

Doct. Be garr, me thought no lesse. O knave jeweller! O vile begger! be my trot, Marshan, me studdie, me beat my braine, me invent, me dreame upon such a ting.

Mar. I know, sir, your wit would forsee it.

Doct. O by garr, tree, fore, five monthe agoe.

Mar. Well, sir, y'ave a perilous wit, God blesse me out of the swinge of it, but you had best looke to it betimes, for Earl Cassimere hath made great friends against you.

Doct. Marshan, me love, me embrace, me kisse de, will, be my trot.

Mar. Well, sir, make haste to prevent the worste.

Doct. I flie, Marshan, spit de Earle, spit de wenche, spit all bee garre. Se dis, Marshan, de brave Braine be garre. [Exit.

Mar. De brave braine by garre, not a whit of the flower of wit in it. Ile to the Courte after him, and see how he abuses the Duke's patience.

[Exit.



[SCENE 2.]

Enter Alphonso, Hard., Lassing., Leander, Stro., Hosherman, Motto, and Raphe.

Alp. Aye me! what hard extremitie is this? Nor quick nor dead can I beholde my sonne.

Enter Hance in the Princes apparrell.

Hance. Behold your sonne; [your] Blessing, noble father.

Hard. Malipart knave, art thou the Princes sonne?

Han. I, sir, apparrell makes the man.

Alp. Unhappy man, would God I had my sonne, So he had his Hyanthe or my life.

Lea. Should he enjoy Hyanthe [then], my Lord? Would you forsake your love, so he did live?

Alp. My love and life, did my deere sonne survive.

Lea. But were he found or should he live, my Lord, Although Hyanthe's love were the chiefe cause Of his mishap and amorous lunacie, I hope your highnesse loves him over well To let him repossesse his wits with her.

Alp. My love is dead in sorrow for his death; His life and wits should ransome worlds from me.

Lea. My Lord, I had a vision this last night Wherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonne Sit in my fathers garden with Hyanthe Under the shadow of the Laurell tree. With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongde I wakt, but then contemned it as a dreame; Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie, And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe, Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof. [Exit.

Alp. Do, good Leander. Hardenbergh, your sonne Perhaps deludes me with a vision[79] To mocke my vision that deferde the Dutchesse, And with Hyanthe closlie keepes my sonne.

Hard. Your sonne was madde and drownd: this cannot bee.

Alp. But yet this circumventing speech [of his] Offered suspition of such event.

Stro. My lord, most fortunate were that event That would restore your sonne from death to life.

Har. As though a vision should do such a deed!

Alp. No, no, the boyes young brain was humorous: His servant and his Page did see him drown'd.

Enter Leander, Alberdure, Hyanthe; Alberdure seeming fearefull to come forward.

Lea. Come on, sweet friend; I warrant thee thy love; Shun not thy fathers sight that longs for thee.

Alb. Go then before, and we will follow straight.

Lea. Comfort, my Lord, my vision proov'd most true: Even in the place, under the Lawrell shade, I found them sitting just as I beheld them In my late vision; see, sir, where they come.

Alp. Am I enchanted or see I my sonne? I, I, the boy hath plaide the traytor with me. O, you young villaine, trust you with my love! How smoothe the cunning treacher lookt on it;

Hard. But, sirra, can this be?

Lea. You knew him to be mad, these thought him drownd. My Lord, take you no more delight to see Your sonne recovered of his life and wits?

Alp. See, see, how boldly the young pollytician Can urge his practice. Sirra, you shall know Ile not be over-reacht with your young braine. All have agreed, I see, to cozen me, But all shall faile. Come, Ladie, I will have You spight of all, and, sonne, learne you hereafter To use more reverend meanes to obtaine Of me what you desire. I have no joy To see thee raizd from a deluding death.

Hya. My Lord, 'tis tyrannie t'enforce my love.

Lea. I hope your Highnesse will maintaine your word.

Alp. Doost thou speake, Traitor? straight Ile have you safe For daring to delude me in my love.

Albe. O friend, thou hast betraide my love in vaine: Now am I worse then eyther mad or drown'd, Now have I onely wits to know my griefes And life to feel them.

Hya. Let me go to him.

Alp. Thou shalt not have thy will nor he his love; Neither of both know what is fit for you. I love with judgment and upon cold bloud, He with youths furie, without reasons stay; And this shall time and my kind usage of thee Make thee discerne; meane time consider this, That I neglect for thee a beautious Dutchesse Who next to thee is fairest in the world.

Enter Messenger.

Mess. My Lord, the Duke of Brunswick and his sister, The beautious Dutchesse, are arrived here.

Alp. Whats that; the Dutchesse?

Mess. Even her grace, my Lord.

Alp. Why, Hardenbergh, ha! is the Dutchesse come?

Hard. I know not, my good Lord. Where is the Dutchesse?

Mess. Hard by, my Lord.

Alp. Sounes, I am not here; go tell her so: Or let her come, my choice is free in love. Come, my Hyanthe, stand thou close to me.

Mess. My Lord, the Duke himselfe has come to urge Your promise to him, which you must not break.

Hosch. Nor will you wish to break it, good my lord, I am assur'd, when you shall see the Dutchesse, Whose matchlesse beauties will renew the minde Of her rare entertainment, and her presence Put all new thoughts of love out of your minde.

Alp. Well, I do see 'tis best, my sweete Hyanthie, That thou stand further.

Hya. Ile be gone, my Lord.

Alp. Not gone, but mix thy selfe among the rest. What a spight is this! counsell me, Hardenbergh.

Hard. The Dutchesse comes, my Lord.

Alp. Out of my life, how shall I look on her?

Enter Constan., Kather., Lassen., Lucil., Cassi., Cornelia, Ite. A Song: after the Dutchesse speakes.

Kath. How now, my Lord? you looke as one dismaid; Have any visions troubled you of late?

Alp. Your grace and your most princely brother here Are highlie welcome to the Saxon Court.

Kath. O you dissemble, sir, nor are we come In hope of welcome, but with this poore head-peece To beare the brunt of all discurtesies.

Const. My Lord, wee come not now to urge the marriage, You sought with such hot suite, of my faire Sister, But to resolve ourselves and all the world Why you retained such mean conceipt of us To slight so solemne and so high a contract With vaine pretext of visions or of dreames.

Alp. My Lord, I here protest by earth and heaven I holde your state right highlie and renowned And your faire sisters beauties and deserts To be most worthy the greatest king alive; Onlie an ominous vision troubled me And hindred the wisht speede I would have made (Not to dissolve it, though it were diferd,) By such portents as, least you thinke I faine, Lord Hardenbergh can witnesse is most true.

Hard. Most true, my lord, and most prodigious.

Alp. Yet Ile contemne them with my life and all Ere Ile offend your grace or breed suspect Of my firme faith in my most honoured love.

Kath. No, no, my lord: this is your vision That hath not frighted but enamoured you.

Alp. O Madame, thinke you so? by Heaven I sweare She's my sonnes love.—Sirra, take her to you. Have I had all this care to do her grace, To prove her vertues and her love to thee, And standst thou fearefull now? Take her, I say.

Lea. My Lord, he feares you will be angry with him.

Alp. You play the villaine: wherfore should he feare? I onely proved her vertues for his sake, And now you talke of anger. Aye me wretche, That ever I should live to be thus shamed!

Alb. Madame, I sweare the Ladie is my love; Therefore your highnesse cannot charge my father With any wrong to your high woorth in her.

Con. Sister, you see we utterly mistake The kinde and princelie dealing of the Duke: Therefore without more ceremonious doubts Lets reconfirme the contract and his love.

Kath. I warrant you, my Lord, the Duke dissembles.

Alp. Heere on my knees, at the altar of those feete, I offer up in pure and sacred breath The true speech of my hart and hart it selfe. Require no more if thou be princelie borne And not of rocks or ruthelesse tygers bred.

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

Flo. Madame, in admiration of your Grace And princelie wisedom, and to gratifie The long wisht joye done to my Lord the Duke, I here present your highnesse with this cup, Wrought admirablie by th' art of Spirits, Of substance faire, more rich then earthly Jemmes, Whose valew no mans judgement can esteeme.

Alp. Flores, Ile interrupt the Dutchesse thankes And for the present thou hast given to her To strengthen her consent to my desires, I recompence thee with a free release Of all offences twixt thy selfe and me.

Flo. I humblie thanke your excellence.

Kath. But where is now unkinde Earle Lassinbergh, That injures his faire love and makes her weare This worthlesse garland? Come, sir, make amends, Or we will heere awarde you worthie penance.

Lass. Madame, since her departure I have done More hartie penance then her hart could wish, And vowe hereafter to live ever hers.

Kat. Then let us cast aside these forlorne wreathes, And with our better fortunes change our habits.

Enter Doctor in poste, the Marchant following him.

Doct. O stay, my Lorte, me pray you on knee von staie.

Alp. What's the matter, Doctor?

Doct. O me bret be garr for haste.

Con. What ayles the hastie Doctor?

Doct. My Lort be garr he lyes falslie in his troate; Me proove by the duell dat he be the fallce knave.

Alp. Who is it, man, with whom thou art so bold?

Doct. My Lorte, if me make my contrack of marriage, if me be not as loose as de vide worlde, if me doe not alleadge—

Alp. I pray thee, man, what meanest thou?

Doct. Be garr, enforme your grace vot he dare I will proove by good argument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I no point marrie Cornelia. Vat say you now?

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

Doct. Vat you say? de Marshan tell a me I marrie Cornelia spit my nose.

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

Doct. O be bright de heaven, est a possible! and by heaven I be revenge dat vile Marshan, me make de medecine drie up de Sea, seaven towsand, towsand million d'stlloe, fife hundred, hundred dram Fuffian, Marquerite, Balestiae, Hematete, Cortemedian, Churchacholl, Pantasite, Petrofidem, Hynape, and by garr de hot Pepre; me make de vinde, de grease collicke puffe, blowe by garr, teare de Sayle, beate de maste, cracke de Ship in towsand towsand peeces! Exit.

Alp. Farewell, gentle Doctor Doddipoll. And now, deere Ladie, let us celebrate Our happie royall nuptials and my sonnes With this our sweete and generall amitie Which heaven smile on with his goulden eye.

Finis Actus Quinti & ultimi.

Imprinted at London by Thomas Creede, for Richard Olive, dwelling in Long-lane. 1600.



INTRODUCTION TO THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

In the Appendix to Vol. II. I have given some account of this anonymous play, which is here printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994. As the play bears no title in the MS., I have named it at a venture "The Distracted Emperor."

An ill-shaped and repulsive piece of work it certainly is; crude and cheerless, but marked with signs of unmistakable power. At the time when I made the extracts for the Appendix, I thought that Cyril Tourneur might possibly be the author. On further reflection, it seemed to me that the stronger passages are much in Marston's manner. The horrid scene where Charlimayne is represented hugging the dead queen recalls the anonymous "Second Maiden's Tragedy." Marston, who shrank from nothing, would not have hesitated to show us the Archbishop, in his search for the magic ring, parting the dead queen's lips, with the ironical observation, "You cannot byte me, Madam." The trenchant satire that abounds throughout the play reminds us frequently of Marston, though there is an absence of that monstrous phraseology which distinguished his "Scourge of Villanie" and early plays. But, looking at the play as a whole, I should have very great hesitation in allowing it to be Marston's. My impression is that Chapman had the chief hand in it. The author's trick of moralising at every possible opportunity, his abundant use of similes more proper to epic than dramatic language, the absence of all womanly grace in the female characters,—these are points in which the present play may be compared with Chapman's published tragedies. Orlando's speech at the beginning of Act ii., "O that my curse had power to wound the starres," &c., in which he compares himself, with epic elaboration, to "an argosie sent rychlye fourthe" and now "meanelye retourninge without mast or helm," to my thinking closely suggests Chapman. It is not quite impossible that the present play may be Chapman's lost "French tragedy" (entered on the Stationers' Registers, June 29, 1660), a copy of which was among the plays destroyed by Warburton's cook.

It is due to Mr. Fleay that I should mention his solution of the difficulty. Taking the mysterious letters on the last page, "Nella [Greek: ph d ph n r] la B," he says: "La B. is the contraction for La Buffa,[80] one of the characters in the play; and the enigmatic letters, simply substituting the names for the letters themselves, read thus,' Nella fi-delta fi-ni-ro la buffa,' which is good enough Italian for an anagram, meaning 'I will end trifling in fidelity.' But 'Nella fedelita (or fidelita) finiro la B.' transposed, gives us 'Il Fabro Natanielli (or Natanielle) Field,' i.e., 'Nathaniel Field the author'" (Athenaeum, March 3, 1883). Far be it from me to deny the ingenuity of this explanation, but when Mr. Fleay, not having seen the complete play, proceeds to say that the extracts I gave "are quite consistent with the supposition that it is one of Field's lost works," I must take leave to dissent. Field is the author of two comedies, "A Woman is a Weathercock" and "Amends for Ladies," and he assisted Massinger in the "Fatal Dowry." His comedies are well-constructed, bright, and airy. There is no slovenliness in the workmanship, and success is attained by honest, straightforward endeavour. It seems to me quite incredible that the author of those two admirable comedies should be responsible for the gloomy, ponderous tragi-comedy here presented to the reader. What share Field had in the "Fatal Dowry" I do not intend to discuss minutely. The chief figure in that play, Charolois, I take to be a study in Massinger's gravest manner; but if we allow that Field should be credited with more than the comic scenes in the "Fatal Dowry," his claim to the present play is not at all strengthened. Perhaps, after all, no author's name is concealed under the enigmatic letters.[81] In any case, Field's is the last name that could be put forward with any show of likelihood.



THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

A TRAGI-COMEDY.

Printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994.



The Distracted Emperor.



Actus Primus.

Enter La Busse and Didier.

Bus. Thou looke for dygnitie! yes, thou mayst looke, But pray thee, fellowe, see thyne eies be good Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way.

Did. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke As honor lyes before me?

Bus. Thou sayst well; The thought of honor is a perfect greene, And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man, Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days? Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live. And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes! What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe, Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,— And thynke so poor a lord as is my father, The most dyspysd forsaken Ganelon, Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee! Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye; A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste, Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke To feede on larke by serving my poore father!

Did. Nothing but larke, La Busse? Yes, mightie surloyns.

Bus. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe. Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies, Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte. Such followers as thou, that would repayre A broken state by service, may be lyckned To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke To catche a rotten board or to be cast Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie. But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance, Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme Because thou hast abused thy former blessings; Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer.

Did. Why? because my money burnte in my pursse tyll I left it?

Bus. No, but because it taught the furyous way To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose, So that although thou purchase letteres patente To begge in all the provynces of Fraunce, Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer, Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar.

Did. If I dye Before my letters pattente be expyred, Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)? But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes, I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs As all th'ambityon thou art master of Can never make thee hope or wish to be. And for my fortunes past, which you so much Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe, I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like Would not bestowe the labor of amen To any good man's wishes. The laboringe clouds Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe A blessing for me, and about this tyme (By the full revolution of my starres) Should rayne it down uppon me.

Bus. Tushe.

Did. Observe, First heare me, know the meanes and when y'ave doone Fall downe and worshypp. Thys same verye day, Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure, The great, th'unconquered mightie Charlimayne, Is marryed to the syster of my lorde To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare Theodora.

[Florish. A crye within "God save Theodora the Empresse!"

You heare thys?

Buss. I wishe myne eares had to the pillorye Payd tribute rather then let in this sounde. Unfortunate Orlando! thy fayrest hopes, Like to a blaze of artifyciall fire, No sooner have a beinge but expyre.

Did. What! passyonate in rhyme? I must be taught To give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83] ... ... ... ... ...

Bus. You may be dambd For useing sorcerye upon the kynge. That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurse Of younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of, And all the able facultyes of man Are fled his frost of age to that extreame Theres not enough to cherrish a desyer Left in his saplesse nerves.

Did. In this your worshypp Gives my hopes illustratyon. Age must doate To a Judgments dearth that may be cheated on Yet that cheate rest unquestyond. Doe you heare? The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunte Hathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and he Will, like a ryver that so long retaynes The oceans bounty that at last it seemes To be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepe The comon treasure; and in such a floode, Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullye Covetts the center, can you hope Ile synke?

Bus. Hell take thy hopes and thee!

Did. But I would have You understand that I may rise agayne Without the catchinge of a rotten boarde To keepe bare life and mysserye together To fyght eche other.

Bus. Furyes fryght thy soule! Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment? Noble Orlando, what omynous fatell starre Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes: This marriage is their grave.

Did. Sir, I may rayse A broken state by service.

Bus. Yes, of the devyll To whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thou That hast undoone my father and increast His evyll inclinatyons. I have seene Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves, Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye Of cheating mathematicks. And is this The issue of your closse contryvances[84]? If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill There may be found a way to anye good Of brave Orlando the great palladyne, My constant industry shall tyer the day And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym; And yf to doe hym good—

Enter La Fue.

Fue. Where's Didier?

Did. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt; Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate To equall thryddbareness and never hadst Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd Before aught but a cloak bagge,—what to me?

Fue. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders?

Did. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes You are more antique.

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

Did. But pray thee let me fyrst Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee.

Fue. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee; And yet a woulde speake with thee,—and yet I will not tell thee; Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better— I say no more; though my deserts be hydd My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt; And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne. It shall, dost heare, it shall. [Exit Fue.

Did. Hence, chollerycke foole, Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer, As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer.

Loude musique. Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin, Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants.

Charl. This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe With the full Joy I tast. O Ganelon, Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytude I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche, Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer, My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements Can challendge nothinge in my composition, As thou and Theodora now have made me: For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable.

Did.—Observe.

Bus.—Matters to make me mourne eternallye.

Gan. Your bountye speaks you, sir, a god on earthe, For you rewarde a service that's so meane It scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)—

Charl. Tys thou hast made me greater then my name ... ... ... ... ... How mysserablye so ere our nature maks Us thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen, But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe; For Tyme (whose ende like hys originall Is most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backe The sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes, Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys course From these late dead now manlye facultyes. Kysse me, Theodora. Gods, carouse your fyll, I envye not your nectar; from thys lypp Puerer Nepenthe flowes. Some tryumphes, lords! I challendge all of you at Barryers.

Bus. Alas, good man! A gawntletts wayght will presse him into cynders.

Char. I am so rapt with pleasure and delighte I scarce thynke I am mortall; all the Joys, Wherewith heavens goodnes can inryche a man, Not onlye greete but dwell upon my sence, And whyles I see thee cannot stray from thence, Most excellent Theodora.

The. Tys onlye your acceptance maks me so; For Butye's like a stone of unknowne worthe, The estymatyon maks it pretyous; For which the Jemes beholden to the owner.

Char. Did you ere heare a voyce more musycall? The Thracian Orpheus, whose admyred skyll Is sayd to have had power ore ravenous beasts To make theym lay their naturall feircenes by When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone) To make them tourne or stay their violent course When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds, Neare had abyllitie with all his arte To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce. And were I on the axeltree of heaven To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course, The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons, To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres, To note Orion or the Pleiades, Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,— Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee, Would be my torment and heavens crueltye.

Bus. Was ere man thus orejoyd with mans own curse!

Enter Reinaldo.

Char. Thou only arte happynes.

Rei. Not, greate Lord, for I Bringe newes that doth include—

Char. Cossan, your blame, And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde That interrupts myne admyratyon.

Rei. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme To a longe daungerd seaman in a storme, Suche as up on Aeneas straglinge fleete At Juno's will by Aeolus was raysd When in his flyght from horror he sawe more Then Troy affoarded; for the newese I brynge Is vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges.

Char. Cossen Reinaldo, if youle sytt and prayse The fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heare Tyll you be tyerd with talkinge.

Rei. What is this? Is this the voyce of mightie Charlimayne? Sir, from your worthye nephewe I am come, The ever feard Orlando, who in Spayne Hath with hys owne fame mixt your happynes By a blest vyctorye.

Char. We have no leasure To heare, nor are we able to contayne Another happynes, nor is theire other. Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreame From whence a drume may fryght us. Here doth rest My happynes which cannot be exprest.

[Ex. Cha., The., Gab., and attendants.

Tur. Pryncely Reinaldo, doe not let amaze Strugle within you; you but yet survay The out syde of our wonder.

Rich. Brother, 'tis more Then can be wrytten in a cronyckle.

Rei. But must not be without my reprehensyon. Come, I will followe hym: when Charles dothe flye From honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye?

[Exe. all but Gan. and Rich.

Gan. Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knowe How you affect t[hys] humor in the kynge.

Rich. Faythe, generally as a good subject should,— Delighted with the joy hys kynge receyves (And which I hope and wish may styll contynewe), But in partycular—because the cause Of hys joy cannot chuse but worke to you Effecte worthye your vertues. For my old love, Tys nowe lodg'd in a desperatt memorye.

Gan. But dost not seeme a most grosse dott[age]?

[Rich] ... ... ... ... ... Though certaynlie desyer's the onlye thynge Of strengthe about hym, and that strength is hys With a conceyt that putts desyers in act.

Gan. And is not that a dottage at the least?

Rich. I dare not taxe the actyon of a kynge By giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts.

Gan. Y'are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if I Felte not a straunger love within my selfe In this my strength of memorye and yeares, Abyllities of bodye and of brayne, More doatinge on a man than he on her, A would not scape my censure.

Rich. I beleive (To which beleife a long experyence Of youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs) That if suche an affectyon manadge you, Tys not the man or sexe that causes it But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt The object of your love.

Gan. Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye Richard, Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of Aimon; And thy still growing vertues have made thee The object of that love. When first I sawe thee (Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte) My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme Could not but be the myne of manye vertues. Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame, Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave And staggerd me with wonder.

Rich. Good sweete lorde, Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme To be nowe semented.

Gan. True, my best freinde; And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave To joy in my posession of suche blysse To which all honours in our Fraunce compaird Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared.

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

Gan. Heaven forbydd Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche, Beyond expression! And synce this offends thee Ile speake of that shall please my noblest Rycharde.

Rich. Your pleasure & your honorable ends Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte.

Gan. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne, Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none, But like a ryver that receyves his name Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote, Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes To have no bounds but what it could oreflow— But tys impossyble.

Rich. Improbable; For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate.

Gan. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp, Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne Into a second flame.

Rich. I graunte you that—

Gan. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe.

Rich. What meanes my Ganelon?

Gan. Faythe to be playne And not to wrong the love, which I have founde Ever in thee, with any further doute, My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne And gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe? Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule And has syght for her often. Now enjoy, And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse, Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyve Their byrthe and grave together; for by heaven To be made monarke of the unyverse And lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes, I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee: And if the thoughts of men were scrutable To man and mongst men might be knowne to me, The foole that should attempt her but in thoughte [Could]e better hand-bounde wrastell with the sea. ... ... ... ... ... But yet my love doth offer her to thee, And tys rejected.

Rich. You mistake me, sweete: I am all yours and what you shall thynke fytt Ile cease to questyon, yet my contyence calls It a disloyall and a monstrous fact.

Gan. Tutt, a prosperous synne is nowe a vertuous acte; Let not that starte you.

Rich. I am confyrm'd, but yet the Emp[e]resse—

Gan. Why, knowe not I howe deare she valewes you, And but for thys hope would not live an hower. Come, her consent shall flye to meet your wishes And locke you in saftie. In the nexte roome Stay me a littill.—Now my projects goe [Exit Richard. Uprighte and steddye. Let me style my selfe (And proudlye too) the mynion of the fates. The emperoure knytts newe honors to my house, Whylst to my bloode I seeke to bynde hys crowne And cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the lawe Makes all legitimate in wedlocke borne, By whom so ere begott, the way is even Unto my future blysse and earthlye heaven.— And see howe luckily this fellow comes! Happynes courtts me.

Enter Didier.

Did. My most honoured lord.

Gan. O Didier, the famous nephewe unto Charles, The onlye heyre and hope of fruytfull Fraunce, Famous Orlando, is returninge home.

Did. So tys given out.

Gan. But might there not be somethynge given the prynce To stay hys journey? Ile be playne with thee, For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust: He is an envyous torrent interposd Twixte me and many honors, Didier, And since unpassable must be choakt with earthe. Thou understandst me?

Did. Yes, sir, a must dye.

Gan. And in his journey homewarde. A smale drame Will purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughte Some of the rebells in these frontyre townes, By him reducst to false obedyence, Have, in revendge o'the servytude wherein Hys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone't; so not so much As bare suspytion ever will attache thee.

Did. I'm glad y'ave named me in't; I was afrayde I should have beene lefte out in that brave acte, Whereto my proper hate unto Orlando And love to you entyce me equallye.

Gan. O by no meanes, whom should I trust but thee; Tys thou & I must make eche other happye. Repayre the with thys golde, & for thy paynes Be equall sharer in my present meanes And future blessyngs.

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

Gan. Thanks, my most honest Didier. Other affayres of seryous consequence Call me; the Empresse must be solicyted Unto an acte for which I'de loathe her but My ends have gloryous aymes.

Did. Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [Exit Ganelon. Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycie To venture all in one pore shallowe boate, The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye. Factyons in courte are like to suyts in lawe Where goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe; And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure, Who shall protect me in so many ways Leading to severall and confused ends? I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wander As myne owne proper saftie shall direct me. And though I wishe my lorde may rayse his bloode, Yet that wishe should give way to myne owne good.

Enter La Busse, Gabriella and Bertha.

Bus. Save Mounseire Didier!

Did. Mounseir La Busse, my lords most loved sonne, Your companye is fayre. [Exit Didier.

Gab. The fellowe mocks us.

Bus. Had a sayd good too, then you might have douted, But fayr's an epethyte you bothe may challenge.

Ber. And why not good?

Bus. A courtier might have spared it And as he is a courtier beene excusd Thoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harte Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way To a preferment. Nowe the courte is growne As strange a beast as the thronged multytude, Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys The upper house.

Ber. Why will you be a lymbe Of such a beast?

Bus. Faythe, onlye for sporte sake.

Gab. I rather thynke to make it more deformd.

Buss. Be not so bytter, ladye. Howe can I, Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie, Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me In everye severall follye.

Ber. Yet littill Richard, Aimons youngest sonne, Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym.

Gab. Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde Hys faire deserved reputatyon.

Bus. Sytts the wynde there?

Gab. Yes, syr, and blowes me hence In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [Ex. Gabriella.

Ber. Stay, Ile goe with you.

Bus. Oh, by no meanes, madam; Methynkes your longe attendance at the courte Should make you not so apt to spoyle good sporte.

Ber. Sdeath! sporte! pray let me goe.

Bus. Not yet, by Venus. You fyrst shall knowe my soule hath deeplye vowed My love and servyce to your excellent selfe.

Ber. Verye good sir, I knowe y'are sonne unto the Mynion. But yet I knowe your father loves you not, And thats good too.

Bus. If truthe at courte be good For any thynge, then, madam, you say true. For tys most true that I—

Ber. Pray let me goe.

Bus. Shunne not hys syghte that dothe adore your syghte. How fares the Empresse? Like to a bloweinge rose Nypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe in Cyrckled with ice?

Ber. I knowe not nor I care not.

Bus. But you can guesse.—Or in the frosts Dyspighte Will she blowe out?

Ber. Sir, y'are unmannerlie To stay and question me: I must be gone.

Bus. Take my harte with you.

Ber. He whose harte and tonge Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way To a preferrment.

Bus. Sfoote, doe you thynke your love Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well.

Ber. Vyllanous man! [Ex. Bertha.

Bus. Well, now unto my father whom I knowe Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate, Though muche too meane to helpe her.—See, a comes.

Enter Ganelon.

Gan. The Empresse and younge Richard are in league, Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye That no joy can exceede. Heaven blesse the mixture! —But stay; whose thys? O my curyous sonne, What newse with you, Sir?

Bus. Sir, though your emynence may guyld your vyce And greatnes make your ills seeme gloryous To some too farre beneathe you, that neare looke Into the chynckes and crannyes of the state, Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone ill To crosse Orlandos fayre successyon By thys unequall maryadge.

Gan. Arte growne madd? Thoughe I neare knew thee muche opprest with witt, I did not thynke thee such a foe to sence To speake with suche a daringe impudence.

Bus. Howe's that?

Gan. Thus and observe me. As you love the cubboarde Wherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast, Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to play The dogge and open thus when I am present Without my spetyall lycence and comand, Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shame That life shalbe thy torment. Hence, thou slave, Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistinge Of equall foulness! hence, I say! Ignorance Shall not excuse thee thus agayne offendinge.

Bus. Preposterous! I walke for want of spyrrytt. [Exit La Busse.

Gan. Pyttie of follye! wherefore shoulde thys boy, Thys thynge of too nyce contyence, nay my sonne, Troble hym selfe with any acte of myne As if they helde proportion with hys state, Wytt or condytion? Such thyngs are swayd by chaunce: And naughts more arrogant than Ignorance.— But here comes he that hathe brayne to plott And spyrrytt to acte.

Enter Didier.

Howe is it Didier?

Did. As you comanded, Sir.

Gan. Hast doone it then?

Did. And without all suspytion?

Gan. Halfe my soule, Let me imbrace thee. All my cares and feares Thou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deathe My future honors take a glorious byrthe.

Enter La Fue.

Fue. Hees never from hym; nay I must begone; Past servyce is forgott. Doe you heare, my lorde? Beggars must be no chusers. I am one, The proverb proves it, an oulde serving man: At your choyse therefore be it, whether I Or that knave shall stay with you, for both must not; Your house (though lardge) cannot contayne us bothe.

Gan. Why, whatts the matter, Fue?

Fue. Matter of wronge. Full twoe and twentye severall liverye coatts, Made & composed all for severall yeares, Have I runne throughe in your most faythfull service. Oth scullerye I was three yeares before: So, blacke and blewe[86], I make account I've served Your Lordshypp five and twentye.

Gan. What meanes thys?

Fue. My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude Jacke Abuses me in words I understand not; And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hym I am no longer for you.

Gan. Patyence, man: If thys be all Ile see it remedyed. He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats past And promyse thee to second it with other.

Fue. Shall he? why, let him then, and I wilbe content to dye in peace.

Did. I bothe repent and promyse no amends.

Fue. Well, that shall pacyfie, we will be frends And live in peace together.

Did. On condytion That hence you take no lycence to deprave My good indevours.

Fue. In my contyence He wrongs me now agayne.

Did. Nor on this growe Sawcie and insolent.

Fue. Hay da! can oughte Proceeding from my gravitie to thee Be esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde; Can fleshe and bloode induer thys? I doe knowe My servyce is more pretyous then to be Thus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe; And though in pollycie I will not leave Your lordshypps servyce, yet if polycie Or brayne of man may studdye a revendge, Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayne Shall fashyon out a rare one. [Exit La Fue.

Gan. Syllye foole! Come, Didier; mynde not hys peeyvishe hate Ile make thee yet obscurd an envyed state.

[Exeunt.



Actus 2.

[SCENE I.]

Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants.

Orl. O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres That with a more then envyous aspect Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed? I coulde allmost brable with destenye For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme. And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knott That tyes suche a disparytie together. But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte Then a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I, Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe, Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage, Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds, Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store, Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore; Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme, Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand, Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes, Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde And loved burthen of the wanton seas) Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties And like to such, not cared for a jott, ... ... ... ... ... must lye by & rott: And so must I.

Rei. His dottage maks hym thynke Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche That when the newse of your successe aryved (Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie) He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylled With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her.

Oli. He has not dealt like Charlimayne t'expose You to the horror of a cyvill warre, And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse Your fayre successyon.

Orl. Twas a speedinge plott To sende me into Spayne, whylst Ganelon Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here, The envyous destenye that dothe attende On all my undertakings, would have made My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it. For not the cooninge of slye Ganelon, Charlimayne's dottage, nor her wytchinge eie (To whom I nowe must be obedyent) Can challendge any share in my disgrace; But myne owne fortune that did never smyle But when it gave me a full cause to cursse. And were the way to my successyon free As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge From my meare fate to make another kynge: So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all My rights of byrthe and nature.

Rei. You have doone ill To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence.

Oli. With penytence tys confest, consyderinge Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way's Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye.

Orl. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres, Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie. My starres, my starres! O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares.

Enter La Busse.

Rei. Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne— A propertie oth court, that least his owne Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt In pollycie to scoffe at other mens. He will taxe all degrees and think that that Keepes hym secure from all taxation.

Orl. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman And hated of his father for hys vertues.

Bus. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe May comforte man, wayte on your excellence!

Orl. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs Can ere be heard to my desyred good, I am not so voyde of humanitie But I will thanke your love.

Rei. Pray, sir, what newse Hath the court lately been deliverd of?

Bus. Such as the gallimaufry that is found In her large wombe may promise: he that has The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte And knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without The remedye of sugar candye for't. Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes, I & allmost disjested too as soone.

Oli. I, but in sober sadness whatts done there?

Bus. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes, For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs To mere confussyon: nothing there hath forme But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte.

Rei. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte Our fayre eied royall empresse?

Bus. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir, You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke To kyndell that ill flame.

Orl. No, of my trothe, I know thee much too honest; but how fares The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse?

Bus. Sir, as a woman in her case may doe; Shee's broughte [to] bedd.

Rei. What, has she a chylde, then?

Bus. I, my Lord.

Orl. A Sonne!

Bus. Mys-fortune hath inspyrd you, Sir; tys true.

Orl. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. O harte, will nothing breake the?

Rei. Tis most straunge.

Orl. Straunge? Why, if she had been spayd And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde— Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no man That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve Ere let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in't Would tourne the hope't successe to an event That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule With the most pleasinge objecte.

Bus. Sir, be at peace; Much may be found by observatyon.

Orl. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable. Thys observation thou advysest to Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate That I should be distrackt. I can observe Naughte but varyetye of mysseries Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours. I neare did good for any but great Charles, And the meare doing that hath still brought forth To me some plague too heavye to be borne, But that I am reservd onlye to teach The studyed envye of mallignant starrs. If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde, It is with studyinge myne afflictions; But, for her standing on a roullinge stone, Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands And onlye against me.

Rei. Move hym no further; But if your observatyon can fynde out A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love, And be your servant: pray be inquisitive.

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

Enter Didier.

Did. Healthe attend Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds Whereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome.

Orl. What is he?

Did. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall Ever attend you, and those wishes be Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce.

Bus. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes Then twixte thy words and wishes.

Did. Then your knowledge Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate To be so littill famed. I never hearde That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge But dynner tyme & coronatyon day, The tylters collours & theire pages suytts, But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up An Ignoramus.

Bus. Th'art a parasytte; Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father And like an evyll aungell make hym doe Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver. Therefore the love which thou protestest here Can be at best but fayn'd & beares more shewe Of treacherye then zeale.

Did. How say you by that?

Orl. Ganelon's servant! Will it not suffyce The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte O' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferings With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame That I am a fytt subject for your spleene, Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage? Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe In full carryere uppon me?

Did. I disclayme Ganelons servyce other then to serve Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end Whertoe I ere seemd hys.

Bus. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!

Orl. Impossyble! I cannot be so happye, & if thou Beare but the least affectyon to my cause, Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature.

Did. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased Thys screane may be removed that keepes away All comfortable heate from everye man Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall Confyrme you I am yours.

Orl. He shall not goe, Nor can I hope successe in any thynge (More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed.

Oli. Pray, sir, withdrawe.

Rei. Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good We may dyscover & prevent hys ill: Pray leave us, sir.

Bus. I will; but yet beware That fellowe. [Exit La Busse.

Did. I fyrst desyre To be beleived my love & utmost servyce Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers That ever fryghted weake mortallytie, Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knowe The empresse is departed.

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

Did. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it She dyed last mornynge.

Rei. Wonderful!! what newse of her younge sonne?

Did. It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one, Lewis the gentyll calld, a hopefull infante.

Oli. But smale hope of the emperours righte to it.

Orl. Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe?

Did. Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife. Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love Outwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie): He will not give her buryall, but in's armes Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys, Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence.

Orl. Why, thys is absolute madnes! Where's byshopp Turpin? His reverence shoulde persuade hym.

Did. So he hathe, But tys in vayne: he heares naught but his passyon.

Orl. Why, styll thou heapest uppon me newe misfortunes.

Did. But will delyver comforte. For some prooffe Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd By Ganelon to poyson you.

Rei. Whatts thys?

Did. To which performance I so soothd hys hopes That he beleives tys doone.

Orl. And so it had, But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove The object of her envye past her spleene. What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede All the worlds mysseryes that have a name, A new one out of pyttie must be founde To adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse, But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee; And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well.

Did. Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus? Wonder confounds me.

Rei. My most worthye cossen, Will you not take advantage of thys plott?

Orl. No; what advauntage? the emperour's eares are glewed Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons.

Did. Great Sir, no; The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge, Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes, He heares all causes criminall as if She did but slumber by hym.

Oli. Tys an offerd meanes To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour Revyve your hopes.

Orl. As cordyalls doe call backe A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes Of hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it, And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe Too noble to complayne. I neare coulde fynde Pleasure or ease in others punishment, Or if I were so base to take delighte In the afflyctions of another man My fate would guard me from't, for tys decreed That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare Be master of a hope shall have successe: So all the opposytion I can make Would onlye make my greives rydiculous And dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I. [Ex. Orlando.

Did. Heres a straunge humor!

Oli. I, but let it not Deterre you from hys accusatyon.

Did. Ile justefye what I have sayd.

Rei. Doe so, And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde Shall pay thy love and faythe.

[Ex. all but Didier.

Did. I doe not like Thys entertaynment at the second hande: It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie. Is thys a welcome worthye of the love I have exprest? Had I tooke up hys hauke Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce Had deserved more respect then he gives me. I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes, For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye doone And ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue is The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts. But t'has a cursse. It is impossyble Ere to gett into Ganelon agayne, Havinge not onlye not performd hys will But tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ere The earle of Angeres houlds thys accusatyon, T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe— But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it By other testymonie then myne owne; And that hys owne denyall will bereave me Of the beleife due to it. Yet will I stand too't styll: To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will.

Enter Ganelon.

Gan. Y'are well mett.

Did. I thanke you.

Gan. Th'art a vyllayne.

Did. It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse.

Gan. Orlando is retournd.

Did. Tys well.

Gan. It is; But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp Your harte had gordgd a hauke.

Did. Wa, ha ho, man! Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey, Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all Unable to outflye or to resist, But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe At once apeare. You understand me, sir?

Gan. Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee? Arte thou flesht? Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne?

Did. Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson The best that I have hearde. But be assurd I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast.

Gan. Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge, A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not?

Did. And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade, Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then That thou shalt curse thy beinge. [Exit Didier.

Gan. Thys is well, Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slave Armed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde nowe Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips When I made thys roague inmate of my breast. My seryous counsaylls and's owne servyces He sells like goods at outcryes—"Who gives most?" Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he May wound me deeplye. Suer he has reveald My purposse and reward to poyson hym: So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne Wants but a sparke,—and farewell, Ganelon! Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym! What a brave noble creature were a man ... ... ... ... ... see and so prevent ... ... ... ... ... nay of his slave.

Enter Richard.

Ric. Health attend you!

Gan. O my dearest sweete, Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish; For in it rests my health and happynes. Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd, And we have bothe full cause. My syster's deathe Hath, like the moone in opposytion, Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperour Styll keep her in hys armes.

Ric. Yes, styll and styll; Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe And flourishe most in deathe. Mesantius wrathe, That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym The joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he is Anything now but famous Charlymayne.

Gan. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende, Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene Out of the emperours presence?

Ric. Sir, theres none; He hath her evermore within hys armes, And when a sleepes your syster Gabriella Or the oulde Bishopp Turpin doe attend her.

Gan. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon, That syster is an ulcer in my bloode: Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons?

Ric. Sleyght them beyond your wishes.

Gan. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue, And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd Still let her frantique love receyve repulse And crowne thy contynence; for though I was Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90] I would not have to fall for chrystendome.

Ric. You neede not feare me: if not contynence, Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe.

Gan. I know't; and here she comes.

Enter Gabriella.

Gab. Brother, God save you!—0 my noble Richarde, You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares. Shall styll your winter nypp me?

Gan. What doe you meane?

Gab. T'express a love thats good and vertuous.

Gan. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye.

Gab. To tell before you myne affectyon In publique I confes it would make me A subject for taxation.

Gan. Anywhere. Come, a must not love you.

Gab. Heavens forbydd! And I must tell you, brother, that I darre (And with no other then a syster's spleene) Justifye myne affectyon.

Gan. So, And what wants thys of impudence?

Gab. As much As you of charytie if your tonge bee A faithfull servant to your mynde.

Gan. Tys well: You would be whored (mayd), would you not?

Ric. Pray, Forbeare.

Gab. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye, While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe I will not have my true love circomscrybd Within the lymits of your pollycie, Come, y'are wicked.

Gan. Repentance would doe well.

Gab. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares And at that sober age I meane to wedd it. Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray Beyond this most loved object.

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

Gab. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall.

Gan. Nay, no more fallinge. Come, my noble frende; And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings.

[Exe. Gan. Rich.

Gab. Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode. What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre, And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood In manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dare All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie, But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll And so be servd both in my lust and will.

Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes, Turpin, La Busse.

Turp ... ... Sir, let me perswade ... ... Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie.

Char. No more; He that perswades me from thys loved embrace Is my most mortall enemye, and here I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. O, Gabriella, come; thy syster sleepes A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade; Goodnes can never perishe, and if so Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have Not full so many mynuts to survyve As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay And close our loves both in one monument.