I leave you goods, but they are quickly lost;
I leave advice, to school you how to live;
I leave you wit, but won with little cost;
But keep it well, for counsel still is one,
When father, friends, and worldly goods are gone.
In choice of thrift let honor be thy gain,
Win it by virtue and by manly might;
In doing good esteem thy toil no pain;
Protect the fatherless and widow's right:
Fight for thy faith, thy country, and thy king,
For why? this thrift will prove a blessèd thing.
In choice of wife, prefer the modest-chaste;
Lilies are fair in show, but foul in smell:
The sweetest looks by age are soon defaced;
Then choose thy wife by wit and living well.
Who brings thee wealth and many faults withal,
Presents thee honey mixed with bitter gall.
In choice of friends, beware of light belief;
A painted tongue may shroud a subtle heart;
The Siren's tears do threaten mickle grief;
Foresee, my son, for fear of sudden smart:
Choose in thy wants, and he that friends thee then,
When richer grown, befriend thou him agen.
Learn with the ant in summer to provide;
Drive with the bee the drone from out thy hive:
Build like the swallow in the summer tide;
Spare not too much, my son, but sparing thrive:
Be poor in folly, rich in all but sin:
So by thy death thy glory shall begin.
Saladyne having thus set up the schedule, and hanged about his
father's hearse many passionate poems, that France might suppose him
to be passing sorrowful, he clad himself and his brothers all in
black, and in such sable suits discoursed his grief: but as the hyena
when she mourns is then most guileful, so Saladyne under this show of
grief shadowed a heart full of contented thoughts: the tiger, though
he hide his claws, will at last discover his rapine: the lion's looks
are not the maps of his meaning, nor a man's physnomy is not the
display of his secrets. Fire cannot be hid in the straw, nor the
nature of man so concealed, but at last it will have his course:
nurture and art may do much, but that _natura naturans_, which by
propagation is ingrafted in the heart, will be at last perforce
predominant according to the old verse:
Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret.
So fared it with Saladyne, for after a month's mourning was passed, he
fell to consideration of his father's testament; how he had
bequeathed more to his younger brothers than himself, that Rosader was
his father's darling, but now under his tuition, that as yet they were
not come to years, and he being their guardian, might, if not defraud
them of their due, yet make such havoc of their legacies and lands, as
they should be a great deal the lighter: whereupon he began thus to
meditate with himself:
SALADYNE'S MEDITATION WITH HIMSELF
"Saladyne, how art thou disquieted in thy thoughts, and perplexed with
a world of restless passions, having thy mind troubled with the tenor
of thy father's testament, and thy heart fired with the hope of
present preferment! By the one thou art counselled to content thee
with thy fortunes, by the other persuaded to aspire to higher wealth.
Riches, Saladyne, is a great royalty, and there is no sweeter physic
than store. Avicen, like a fool, forgot in his Aphorisms to say that
gold was the most precious restorative, and that treasure was the most
excellent medicine of the mind. O Saladyne, what, were thy father's
precepts breathed into the wind? hast thou so soon forgotten his
principles? did he not warn thee from coveting without honor, and
climbing without virtue? did he not forbid thee to aim at any action
that should not be honorable? and what will be more prejudicial to thy
credit, than the careless ruin of thy brothers' welfare? why, shouldst
not thou be the pillar of thy brothers' prosperity? and wilt thou
become the subversion of their fortunes? is there any sweeter thing
than concord, or a more precious jewel than amity? are you not sons of
one father, scions of one tree, birds of one nest, and wilt thou
become so unnatural as to rob them, whom thou shouldst relieve? No,
Saladyne, entreat them with favors, and entertain them with love, so
shalt thou have thy conscience clear and thy renown excellent. Tush,
what words are these, base fool, far unfit (if thou be wise) for thy
humor? What though thy father at his death talked of many frivolous
matters, as one that doated for age and raved in his sickness; shall
his words be axioms, and his talk be so authentical, that thou wilt,
to observe them, prejudice thyself? No no, Saladyne, sick men's wills
that are parole[1] and have neither hand nor seal, are like the laws
of a city written in dust, which are broken with the blast of every
wind. What, man, thy father is dead, and he can neither help thy
fortunes, nor measure thy actions; therefore bury his words with his
carcase, and be wise for thyself. What, 'tis not so old as true,
Non sapit, qui sibi non sapit.
[Footnote 1: oral.]
Thy brother is young, keep him now in awe; make him not checkmate[1]
with thyself, for
Nimia familiaritas contemptum parit.
[Footnote 1: equal.]
Let him know little, so shall he not be able to execute much: suppress
his wits with a base estate, and though he be a gentleman by nature,
yet form him anew, and make him a peasant by nurture: so shalt thou
keep him as a slave, and reign thyself sole lord over all thy father's
possessions. As for Fernandyne, thy middle brother, he is a scholar
and hath no mind but on Aristotle: let him read on Galen while thou
riflest[1] with gold, and pore on his book till thou dost purchase
lands: wit is great wealth; if he have learning it is enough: and so
let all rest."
[Footnote 1: gamble, cf. modern "raffle."]
In this humor was Saladyne, making his brother Rosader his foot-boy,
for the space of two or three years, keeping him in such servile
subjection, as if he had been the son of any country vassal. The young
gentleman bore all with patience, till on a day, walking in the garden
by himself, he began to consider how he was the son of John of
Bordeaux, a knight renowned for many victories, and a gentleman
famosed for his virtues; how, contrary to the testament of his father,
he was not only kept from his land and entreated as a servant, but
smothered in such secret slavery, as he might not attain to any
honorable actions.
"Ah," quoth he to himself, nature working these effectual passions,
"why should I, that am a gentleman born, pass my time in such
unnatural drudgery? were it not better either in Paris to become a
scholar, or in the court a courtier, or in the field a soldier, than
to live a foot-boy to my own brother? Nature hath lent me wit to
conceive, but my brother denied me art to contemplate: I have strength
to perform any honorable exploit, but no liberty to accomplish my
virtuous endeavors: those good parts that God hath bestowed upon me,
the envy of my brother doth smother in obscurity; the harder is my
fortune, and the more his frowardness."
With that casting up his hand he felt hair on his face, and perceiving
his beard to bud, for choler he began to blush, and swore to himself
he would be no more subject to such slavery. As thus he was ruminating
of his melancholy passions, in came Saladyne with his men, and seeing
his brother in a brown study, and to forget his wonted reverence,
thought to shake him out of his dumps[1] thus:
[Footnote 1: revery.]
"Sirrah," quoth he, "what is your heart on your halfpenny,[1] or are
you saying a dirge for your father's soul? What, is my dinner ready?"
[Footnote 1: "You have a particular object in view."--_Greg._]
At this question Rosader, turning his head askance, and bending his
brows as if anger there had ploughed the furrows of her wrath, with
his eyes full of fire, he made this reply:
"Dost thou ask me, Saladyne, for thy cates?[1] ask some of thy churls
who are fit for such an office: I am thine equal by nature, though not
by birth, and though thou hast more cards in the bunch,[2] I have as
many trumps in my hands as thyself. Let me question with thee, why
thou hast felled my woods, spoiled my manor houses, and made havoc of
such utensils as my father bequeathed unto me? I tell thee, Saladyne,
either answer me as a brother, or I will trouble thee as an enemy."
[Footnote 1: food.]
[Footnote 2: pack.]
At this reply of Rosader's Saladyne smiled as laughing at his
presumption, and frowned as checking his folly: he therefore took him
up thus shortly:
"What, sirrah! well I see early pricks the tree that will prove a
thorn: hath my familiar conversing with you made you coy,[1] or my
good looks drawn you to be thus contemptuous? I can quickly remedy
such a fault, and I will bend the tree while it is a wand. In faith,
sir boy, I have a snaffle for such a headstrong colt. You, sirs, lay
hold on him and bind him, and then I will give him a cooling card for
his choler."
[Footnote 1: conceited.]
This made Rosader half mad, that stepping to a great rake that stood
in the garden, he laid such load upon[1] his brother's men that he
hurt some of them, and made the rest of them run away. Saladyne,
seeing Rosader so resolute and with his resolution so valiant, thought
his heels his best safety, and took him to a loft adjoining to the
garden, whither Rosader pursued him hotly. Saladyne, afraid of his
brother's fury, cried out to him thus:
[Footnote 1: beat.]
"Rosader, be not so rash: I am thy brother and thine elder, and if I
have done thee wrong I'll make thee amends: revenge not anger in
blood, for so shalt thou stain the virtue of old Sir John of Bordeaux:
say wherein thou art discontent and thou shalt be satisfied. Brothers'
frowns ought not to be periods of wrath: what, man, look not so
sourly; I know we shall be friends, and better friends than we have
been, for, _Amantium ira amoris redintegratio est_."
These words appeased the choler of Rosader, for he was of a mild and
courteous nature, so that he laid down his weapons, and upon the faith
of a gentleman assured his brother he would offer him no prejudice:
whereupon Saladyne came down, and after a little parley they embraced
each other and became friends; and Saladyne promising Rosader the
restitution of all his lands, "and what favor else," quoth he, "any
ways my ability or the nature of a brother may perform." Upon these
sugared reconciliations they went into the house arm in arm together,
to the great content of all the old servants of Sir John of Bordeaux.
Thus continued the pad[1] hidden in the straw, till it chanced that
Torismond, king of France, had appointed for his pleasure a day of
wrastling and of tournament to busy his commons' heads, lest, being
idle, their thoughts should run upon more serious matters, and call to
remembrance their old banished king; a champion there was to stand
against all comers, a Norman, a man of tall stature and of great
strength; so valiant, that in many such conflicts he always bare away
the victory, not only overthrowing them which he encountered, but
often with the weight of his body killing them outright. Saladyne
hearing of this, thinking now not to let the ball fall to the ground,
but to take opportunity by the forehead, first by secret means
convented[2] with the Norman, and procured him with rich rewards to
swear that if Rosader came within his claws he should never more
return to quarrel with Saladyne for his possessions. The Norman
desirous of pelf--as _Quis nisi mentis inops oblatum respuit
aurum?_--taking great gifts for little gods, took the crowns of
Saladyne to perform the stratagem.
[Footnote 1: toad.]
[Footnote 2: met.]
Having thus the champion tied to his villainous determination by oath,
he prosecuted the intent of his purpose thus. He went to young
Rosader, who in all his thoughts reached at honor, and gazed no lower
than virtue commanded him, and began to tell him of this tournament
and wrastling, how the king should be there, and all the chief peers
of France, with all the beautiful damosels of the country.
"Now, brother," quoth he, "for the honor of Sir John of Bordeaux, our
renowmed father, to famous that house that never hath been found
without men approved in chivalry, show thy resolution to be
peremptory.[1] For myself thou knowest, though I am eldest by birth,
yet never having attempted any deeds of arms, I am youngest to perform
any martial exploits, knowing better how to survey my lands than to
charge my lance: my brother Fernandyne he is at Paris poring on a few
papers, having more insight into sophistry and principles of
philosophy, than any warlike endeavors; but thou, Rosader, the
youngest in years but the eldest in valor, art a man of strength, and
darest do what honor allows thee. Take thou my father's lance, his
sword, and his horse, and hie thee to the tournament, and either there
valiantly crack a spear, or try with the Norman for the palm of
activity."
[Footnote 1: stedfast.]
The words of Saladyne were but spurs to a free horse, for he had
scarce uttered them, ere Rosader took him in his arms, taking his
proffer so kindly, that he promised in what he might to requite his
courtesy. The next morrow was the day of the tournament, and Rosader
was so desirous to show his heroical thoughts that he passed the night
with little sleep; but as soon as Phoebus had vailed the curtain of
the night, and made Aurora blush with giving her the _bezo les
labres_[1] in her silver couch, he gat him up, and taking his leave of
his brother, mounted himself towards the place appointed, thinking
every mile ten leagues till he came there.
[Footnote 1: kiss.]
But leaving him so desirous of the journey, to Torismond, the king of
France, who having by force banished Gerismond, their lawful king,
that lived as an outlaw in the forest of Arden, sought now by all
means to keep the French busied with all sports that might breed their
content. Amongst the rest he had appointed this solemn tournament,
whereunto he in most solemn manner resorted, accompanied with the
twelve peers of France, who, rather for fear than love, graced him
with the show of their dutiful favors. To feed their eyes, and to make
the beholders pleased with the sight of most rare and glistering
objects, he had appointed his own daughter Alinda to be there, and the
fair Rosalynde, daughter unto Gerismond, with all the beautiful
damosels that were famous for their features in all France. Thus in
that place did love and war triumph in a sympathy; for such as were
martial might use their lance to be renowmed for the excellence of
their chivalry, and such as were amorous might glut themselves with
gazing on the beauties of most heavenly creatures. As every man's eye
had his several survey, and fancy was partial in their looks, yet all
in general applauded the admirable riches that nature bestowed on the
face of Rosalynde; for upon her cheeks there seemed a battle between
the Graces, who should bestow most favors to make her excellent. The
blush that gloried Luna, when she kissed the shepherd on the hills of
Latmos, was not tainted with such a pleasant dye as the vermilion
flourished on the silver hue of Rosalynde's countenance: her eyes were
like those lamps that make the wealthy covert of the heavens more
gorgeous, sparkling favor and disdain, courteous and yet coy, as if in
them Venus had placed all her amorets, and Diana all her chastity. The
trammels of her hair, folded in a caul[1] of gold, so far surpassed
the burnished glister of the metal, as the sun doth the meanest star
in brightness: the tresses that folds in the brows of Apollo were not
half so rich to the sight, for in her hairs it seemed love had laid
herself in ambush, to entrap the proudest eye that durst gaze upon
their excellence: what should I need to decipher her particular
beauties, when by the censure of all she was the paragon of all
earthly perfection? This Rosalynde sat, I say, with Alinda as a
beholder of these sports, and made the cavaliers crack their lances
with more courage: many deeds of knighthood that day were performed,
and many prizes were given according to their several deserts.
[Footnote 1: cap of open work.]
At last, when the tournament ceased, the wrastling began, and the
Norman presented himself as a challenger against all comers, but he
looked like Hercules when he advanced himself against Achelous, so
that the fury of his countenance amazed all that durst attempt to
encounter with him in any deed of activity: till at last a lusty
franklin of the country came with two tall men that were his sons, of
good lineaments and comely personage. The eldest of these doing his
obeisance to the king entered the list, and presented himself to the
Norman, who straight coped with him, and as a man that would triumph
in the glory of his strength, roused himself with such fury, that not
only he gave him the fall, but killed him with the weight of his
corpulent personage: which the younger brother seeing, leaped
presently into the place, and thirsty after the revenge, assailed the
Norman with such valor, that at the first encounter he brought him to
his knees; which repulsed so the Norman, that, recovering himself,
fear of disgrace doubling his strength, he stepped so sternly to the
young franklin, that taking him up in his arms he threw him against
the ground so violently, that he broke his neck, and so ended his days
with his brother. At this unlooked for massacre the people murmured,
and were all in a deep passion of pity; but the franklin, father unto
these, never changed his countenance, but as a man of a courageous
resolution took up the bodies of his sons without show of outward
discontent.
All this while stood Rosader and saw this tragedy; who, noting the
undoubted virtue[1] of the franklin's mind, alighted off from his
horse, and presently sate down on the grass, and commanded his boy to
pull off his boots, making him ready to try the strength of this
champion. Being furnished as he would, he clapped the franklin on the
shoulder and said thus:
"Bold yeoman, whose sons have ended the term of their years with
honor, for that I see thou scornest fortune with patience, and
thwartest the injury of fate with content in brooking the death of thy
sons, stand awhile, and either see me make a third in their tragedy,
or else revenge their fall with an honorable triumph."
[Footnote 1: courage.]
The franklin, seeing so goodly a gentleman to give him such courteous
comfort, gave him hearty thanks, with promise to pray for his happy
success. With that Rosader vailed bonnet to the king, and lightly
leaped within the lists, where noting more the company than the
combatant, he cast his eye upon the troop of ladies that glistered
there like the stars of heaven; but at last, Love, willing to make him
as amorous as he was valiant, presented him with the sight of
Rosalynde, whose admirable beauty so inveigled the eye of Rosader,
that forgetting himself, he stood and fed his looks on the favor of
Rosalynde's face; which she perceiving blushed, which was such a
doubling of her beauteous excellence, that the bashful red of Aurora
at the sight of unacquainted Phaeton, was not half so glorious.
The Norman seeing this young gentleman fettered in the looks of the
ladies drave him out of his _memento_[1] with a shake by the shoulder.
Rosader looking back with an angry frown, as if he had been wakened
from some pleasant dream, discovered to all by the fury of his
countenance that he was a man of some high thoughts: but when they all
noted his youth and the sweetness of his visage, with a general
applause of favors, they grieved that so goodly a young man should
venture in so base an action; but seeing it were to his dishonor to
hinder him from his enterprise, they wished him to be graced with the
palm of victory. After Rosader was thus called out of his _memento_ by
the Norman, he roughly clapped to him with so fierce an encounter,
that they both fell to the ground, and with the violence of the fall
were forced to breathe; in which space the Norman called to mind by
all tokens, that this was he whom Saladyne had appointed him to kill;
which conjecture made him stretch every limb, and try every sinew,
that working his death he might recover the gold which so bountifully
was promised him. On the contrary part, Rosader while he breathed was
not idle, but still cast his eye upon Rosalynde, who to encourage him
with a favor, lent him such an amorous look, as might have made the
most coward desperate: which glance of Rosalynde so fired the
passionate desires of Rosader, that turning to the Norman he ran upon
him and braved him with a strong encounter. The Norman received him as
valiantly, that there was a sore combat, hard to judge on whose side
fortune would be prodigal. At last Rosader, calling to mind the beauty
of his new mistress, the fame of his father's honors, and the disgrace
that should fall to his house by his misfortune, roused himself and
threw the Norman against the ground, falling upon his chest with so
willing a weight, that the Norman yielded nature her due, and Rosader
the victory.
[Footnote 1: musing.]
The death of this champion, as it highly contented the franklin, as a
man satisfied with revenge, so it drew the king and all the peers into
a great admiration,[1] that so young years and so beautiful a
personage should contain such martial excellence; but when they knew
him to be the youngest son of Sir John of Bordeaux, the king rose from
his seat and embraced him, and the peers entreated him with all
favorable courtesy, commending both his valor and his virtues, wishing
him to go forward in such haughty deeds, that he might attain to the
glory of his father's honorable fortunes.
[Footnote 1: wonder.]
As the king and lords graced him with embracing, so the ladies favored
him with their looks, especially Rosalynde, whom the beauty and valor
of Rosader had already touched: but she accounted love a toy, and
fancy a momentary passion, that as it was taken in with a gaze, might
be shaken off with a wink, and therefore feared not to dally in the
flame; and to make Rosader know she affected him, took from her neck a
jewel, and sent it by a page to the young gentleman. The prize that
Venus gave to Paris was not half so pleasing to the Troyan as this gem
was to Rosader; for if fortune had sworn to make him sole monarch of
the world, he would rather have refused such dignity, than have lost
the jewel sent him by Rosalynde. To return her with the like he was
unfurnished, and yet that he might more than in his looks discover his
affection, he stepped into a tent, and taking pen and paper writ this
fancy:
Two suns at once from one fair heaven there shined,
Ten branches from two boughs, tipped all with roses,
Pure locks more golden than is gold refined,
Two pearled rows that nature's pride encloses;
Two mounts fair marble-white, down-soft and dainty,
A snow-dyed orb, where love increased by pleasure
Full woeful makes my heart, and body fainty:
Her fair (my woe) exceeds all thought and measure.
In lines confused my luckless harm appeareth,
Whom sorrow clouds, whom pleasant smiling cleareth.
This sonnet he sent to Rosalynde, which when she read she blushed, but
with a sweet content in that she perceived love had allotted her so
amorous a servant.