THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.

_A TRAGI-COMEDY_.

_Printed for the first time from Egerton MS_. 1994.

The Distracted Emperor.

_Actus Primus_.

_Enter La Busse and Didier_.

_Bus_. Thou looke for dygnitie! yes, thou mayst looke,

But pray thee, fellowe, see thyne eies be good

Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way.

_Did_. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke

As honor lyes before me?

_Bus_. Thou sayst well;

The thought of honor is a perfect greene,

And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man,

Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days?

Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht

To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts

Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace

That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live.

And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes!

What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe,

Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,--

And thynke so poor a lord as is my father,

The most dyspysd forsaken _Ganelon_,

Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee!

Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye;

A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee

To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste,

Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke

To feede on larke by serving my poore father!

_Did_. Nothing but larke, _La Busse_? Yes, mightie surloyns.

_Bus_. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe.

Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies,

Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte.

Such followers as thou, that would repayre

A broken state by service, may be lyckned

To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke

To catche a rotten board or to be cast

Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie.

But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance,

Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme

Because thou hast abused thy former blessings;

Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer.

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

_Bus_. No, but because it taught the furyous way

To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled

A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose,

So that although thou purchase letteres patente

To begge in all the provynces of _Fraunce_,

Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer,

Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar.

_Did_. If I dye

Before my letters pattente be expyred,

Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)?

But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope

Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes,

I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe

Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte

From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs

As all th'ambityon thou art master of

Can never make thee hope or wish to be.

And for my fortunes past, which you so much

Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe,

I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like

Would not bestowe the labor of amen

To any good man's wishes. The laboringe clouds

Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe

A blessing for me, and about this tyme

(By the full revolution of my starres)

Should rayne it down uppon me.

_Bus_. Tushe.

_Did_. Observe,

First heare me, know the meanes and when y'ave doone

Fall downe and worshypp. Thys same verye day,

Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure,

The great, th'unconquered mightie _Charlimayne_,

Is marryed to the syster of my lorde

To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare _Theodora_.

[_Florish. A crye within "God save Theodora the Empresse_!"

You heare thys?

_Buss_. I wishe myne eares had to the pillorye

Payd tribute rather then let in this sounde.

Unfortunate _Orlando_! thy fayrest hopes,

Like to a blaze of artifyciall fire,

No sooner have a beinge but expyre.

_Did_. What! passyonate in rhyme? I must be taught

To give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83]

... ... ... ... ...

_Bus_. You may be dambd

For useing sorcerye upon the kynge.

That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurse

Of younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of,

And all the able facultyes of man

Are fled his frost of age to that extreame

Theres not enough to cherrish a desyer

Left in his saplesse nerves.

_Did_. In this your worshypp

Gives my hopes illustratyon. Age must doate

To a Judgments dearth that may be cheated on

Yet that cheate rest unquestyond. Doe you heare?

The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunte

Hathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and he

Will, like a ryver that so long retaynes

The oceans bounty that at last it seemes

To be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepe

The comon treasure; and in such a floode,

Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullye

Covetts the center, can you hope Ile synke?

_Bus_. Hell take thy hopes and thee!

_Did_. But I would have

You understand that I may rise agayne

Without the catchinge of a rotten boarde

To keepe bare life and mysserye together

To fyght eche other.

_Bus_. Furyes fryght thy soule!

Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment?

Noble _Orlando_, what omynous fatell starre

Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be

Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes:

This marriage is their grave.

_Did_. Sir, I may rayse

A broken state by service.

_Bus_. Yes, of the devyll

To whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thou

That hast undoone my father and increast

His evyll inclinatyons. I have seene

Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves,

Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye

Of cheating mathematicks. And is this

The issue of your closse contryvances[84]?

If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill

There may be found a way to anye good

Of brave _Orlando_ the great palladyne,

My constant industry shall tyer the day

And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym;

And yf to doe hym good--

_Enter La Fue_.

_Fue_. Where's _Didier_?

_Did_. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte

So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt;

Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate

To equall thryddbareness and never hadst

Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd

Before aught but a cloak bagge,--what to me?

_Fue_. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all

One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders?

_Did_. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes

You are more antique.

_Fue_. Antycke in thy face!

My lord shall knowe.

_Did_. But pray thee let me fyrst

Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee.

_Fue_. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee;

And yet a woulde speake with thee,--and yet I will not tell thee;

Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better--

I say no more; though my deserts be hydd

My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt;

And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte

To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne.

It shall, dost heare, it shall. [_Exit Fue_.

_Did_. Hence, chollerycke foole,

Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer,

As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer.

_Loude musique. Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin,

Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants_.

_Charl_. This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe

With the full Joy I tast. O _Ganelon_,

Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytude

I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche,

Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer,

My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements

Can challendge nothinge in my composition,

As thou and _Theodora_ now have made me:

For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable.

_Did_.--Observe.

_Bus_.--Matters to make me mourne eternallye.

_Gan_. Your bountye speaks you, sir, a god on earthe,

For you rewarde a service that's so meane

It scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)--

_Charl_. Tys thou hast made me greater then my name

... ... ... ... ...

How mysserablye so ere our nature maks

Us thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen,

But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe;

For Tyme (whose ende like hys originall

Is most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backe

The sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes,

Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys course

From these late dead now manlye facultyes.

Kysse me, _Theodora_. Gods, carouse your fyll,

I envye not your nectar; from thys lypp

Puerer Nepenthe flowes. Some tryumphes, lords!

I challendge all of you at Barryers.

_Bus_. Alas, good man!

A gawntletts wayght will presse him into cynders.

_Char_. I am so rapt with pleasure and delighte

I scarce thynke I am mortall; all the Joys,

Wherewith heavens goodnes can inryche a man,

Not onlye greete but dwell upon my sence,

And whyles I see thee cannot stray from thence,

Most excellent _Theodora_.

_The_. Tys onlye your acceptance maks me so;

For Butye's like a stone of unknowne worthe,

The estymatyon maks it pretyous;

For which the Jemes beholden to the owner.

_Char_. Did you ere heare a voyce more musycall?

The Thracian _Orpheus_, whose admyred skyll

Is sayd to have had power ore ravenous beasts

To make theym lay their naturall feircenes by

When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods

Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone)

To make them tourne or stay their violent course

When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds,

Neare had abyllitie with all his arte

To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce.

And were I on the axeltree of heaven

To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course,

The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons,

To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres,

To note Orion or the Pleiades,

Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,--

Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee,

Would be my torment and heavens crueltye.

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

_Enter Reinaldo_.

_Char_. Thou only arte happynes.

_Rei_. Not, greate Lord, for I

Bringe newes that doth include--

_Char_. Cossan, your blame,

And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde

That interrupts myne admyratyon.

_Rei_. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife

And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme

To a longe daungerd seaman in a storme,

Suche as up on _Aeneas_ straglinge fleete

At _Juno's_ will by _Aeolus_ was raysd

When in his flyght from horror he sawe more

Then _Troy_ affoarded; for the newese I brynge

Is vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges.

_Char_. Cossen _Reinaldo_, if youle sytt and prayse

The fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heare

Tyll you be tyerd with talkinge.

_Rei_. What is this?

Is this the voyce of mightie _Charlimayne_?

Sir, from your worthye nephewe I am come,

The ever feard _Orlando_, who in _Spayne_

Hath with hys owne fame mixt your happynes

By a blest vyctorye.

_Char_. We have no leasure

To heare, nor are we able to contayne

Another happynes, nor is theire other.

Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreame

From whence a drume may fryght us. Here doth rest

My happynes which cannot be exprest.

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

_Tur_. Pryncely _Reinaldo_, doe not let amaze

Strugle within you; you but yet survay

The out syde of our wonder.

_Rich_. Brother, 'tis more

Then can be wrytten in a cronyckle.

_Rei_. But must not be without my reprehensyon.

Come, I will followe hym: when _Charles_ dothe flye

From honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye?

[_Exe. all but Gan. and Rich_.

_Gan_. Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knowe

How you affect t[hys] humor in the kynge.

_Rich_. Faythe, generally as a good subject should,--

Delighted with the joy hys kynge receyves

(And which I hope and wish may styll contynewe),

But in partycular--because the cause

Of hys joy cannot chuse but worke to you

Effecte worthye your vertues. For my old love,

Tys nowe lodg'd in a desperatt memorye.

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

[Rich] ... ... ... ... ...

Though certaynlie desyer's the onlye thynge

Of strengthe about hym, and that strength is hys

With a conceyt that putts desyers in act.

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

_Rich_. I dare not taxe the actyon of a kynge

By giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts.

_Gan_. Y'are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if I

Felte not a straunger love within my selfe

In this my strength of memorye and yeares,

Abyllities of bodye and of brayne,

More doatinge on a man than he on her,

A would not scape my censure.

_Rich_. I beleive

(To which beleife a long experyence

Of youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs)

That if suche an affectyon manadge you,

Tys not the man or sexe that causes it

But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt

The object of your love.

_Gan_. Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye _Richard_,

Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of _Aimon_;

And thy still growing vertues have made thee

The object of that love. When first I sawe thee

(Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte)

My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme

Could not but be the myne of manye vertues.

Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne

And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne

Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd

In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame,

Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave

And staggerd me with wonder.

_Rich_. Good sweete lorde,

Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is

Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme

To be nowe semented.

_Gan_. True, my best freinde;

And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte

My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave

To joy in my posession of suche blysse

To which all honours in our _Fraunce_ compaird

Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared.

_Rich_. Sir, thoughe I knowe there is nothynge in me

Able to give a flattery hope to thryve

In the most abject slave to it that courts,

And therefore cannot doute it in your selfe,

Yet I beseeche you talke of somethynge elles

Or I shall growe unmannerlye & leave you:

Myne owne prayse is my torture.

_Gan_. Heaven forbydd

Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche,

Beyond expression! And synce this offends thee

Ile speake of that shall please my noblest _Rycharde_.

_Rich_. Your pleasure & your honorable ends

Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte.

_Gan_. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne,

Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none,

But like a ryver that receyves his name

Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote,

Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes

To have no bounds but what it could oreflow--

But tys impossyble.

_Rich_. Improbable;

For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate.

_Gan_. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp,

Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all

Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne

Into a second flame.

_Rich_. I graunte you that--

_Gan_. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe.

_Rich_. What meanes my _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. Faythe to be playne

And not to wrong the love, which I have founde

Ever in thee, with any further doute,

My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne

And gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe?

Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule

And has syght for her often. Now enjoy,

And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse,

Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyve

Their byrthe and grave together; for by heaven

To be made monarke of the unyverse

And lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes,

I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee:

And if the thoughts of men were scrutable

To man and mongst men might be knowne to me,

The foole that should attempt her but in thoughte

[Could]e better hand-bounde wrastell with the sea.

... ... ... ... ...

But yet my love doth offer her to thee,

And tys rejected.

_Rich_. You mistake me, sweete:

I am all yours and what you shall thynke fytt

Ile cease to questyon, yet my contyence calls

It a disloyall and a monstrous fact.

_Gan_. Tutt, a prosperous synne is nowe a vertuous acte;

Let not that starte you.

_Rich_. I am confyrm'd, but yet the Emp[e]resse--

_Gan_. Why, knowe not I howe deare she valewes you,

And but for thys hope would not live an hower.

Come, her consent shall flye to meet your wishes

And locke you in saftie. In the nexte roome

Stay me a littill.--Now my projects goe [_Exit Richard_.

Uprighte and steddye. Let me style my selfe

(And proudlye too) the mynion of the fates.

The emperoure knytts newe honors to my house,

Whylst to my bloode I seeke to bynde hys crowne

And cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the lawe

Makes all legitimate in wedlocke borne,

By whom so ere begott, the way is even

Unto my future blysse and earthlye heaven.--

And see howe luckily this fellow comes!

Happynes courtts me.

_Enter Didier_.

_Did_. My most honoured lord.

_Gan_. O _Didier_, the famous nephewe unto _Charles_,

The onlye heyre and hope of fruytfull _Fraunce_,

Famous _Orlando_, is returninge home.

_Did_. So tys given out.

_Gan_. But might there not be somethynge given the prynce

To stay hys journey? Ile be playne with thee,

For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust:

He is an envyous torrent interposd

Twixte me and many honors, _Didier_,

And since unpassable must be choakt with earthe.

Thou understandst me?

_Did_. Yes, sir, a must dye.

_Gan_. And in his journey homewarde. A smale drame

Will purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughte

Some of the rebells in these frontyre townes,

By him reducst to false obedyence,

Have, in revendge o'the servytude wherein

Hys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone't; so not so much

As bare suspytion ever will attache thee.

_Did_. I'm glad y'ave named me in't; I was afrayde

I should have beene lefte out in that brave acte,

Whereto my proper hate unto _Orlando_

And love to you entyce me equallye.

_Gan_. O by no meanes, whom should I trust but thee;

Tys thou & I must make eche other happye.

Repayre the with thys golde, & for thy paynes

Be equall sharer in my present meanes

And future blessyngs.

_Did_. No more, Sir; Ile dooe't.

I speake it with a confydence whereby

Ide have you say unto your selfe 'tys doone.'

_Gan_. Thanks, my most honest _Didier_.

Other affayres of seryous consequence

Call me; the Empresse must be solicyted

Unto an acte for which I'de loathe her but

My ends have gloryous aymes.

_Did_. Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [_Exit Ganelon_.

Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycie

To venture all in one pore shallowe boate,

The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye.

Factyons in courte are like to suyts in lawe

Where goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe;

And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure,

Who shall protect me in so many ways

Leading to severall and confused ends?

I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wander

As myne owne proper saftie shall direct me.

And though I wishe my lorde may rayse his bloode,

Yet that wishe should give way to myne owne good.

_Enter La Busse, Gabriella and Bertha_.

_Bus_. Save Mounseire _Didier_!

_Did_. Mounseir _La Busse_, my lords most loved sonne,

Your companye is fayre.

[_Exit Didier_.

_Gab_. The fellowe mocks us.

_Bus_. Had a sayd good too, then you might have douted,

But fayr's an epethyte you bothe may challenge.

_Ber_. And why not good?

_Bus_. A courtier might have spared it

And as he is a courtier beene excusd

Thoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harte

Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way

To a preferment. Nowe the courte is growne

As strange a beast as the thronged multytude,

Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys

The upper house.

_Ber_. Why will you be a lymbe

Of such a beast?

_Bus_. Faythe, onlye for sporte sake.

_Gab_. I rather thynke to make it more deformd.

_Buss_. Be not so bytter, ladye. Howe can I,

Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie,

Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me

In everye severall follye.

_Ber_. Yet littill _Richard, Aimons_ youngest sonne,

Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym.

_Gab_. Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde

Hys faire deserved reputatyon.

_Bus_. Sytts the wynde there?

_Gab_. Yes, syr, and blowes me hence

In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [_Ex. Gabriella_.

_Ber_. Stay, Ile goe with you.

_Bus_. Oh, by no meanes, madam;

Methynkes your longe attendance at the courte

Should make you not so apt to spoyle good sporte.

_Ber_. Sdeath! sporte! pray let me goe.

_Bus_. Not yet, by _Venus_.

You fyrst shall knowe my soule hath deeplye vowed

My love and servyce to your excellent selfe.

_Ber_. Verye good sir,

I knowe y'are sonne unto the Mynion.

But yet I knowe your father loves you not,

And thats good too.

_Bus_. If truthe at courte be good

For any thynge, then, madam, you say true.

For tys most true that I--

_Ber_. Pray let me goe.

_Bus_. Shunne not hys syghte that dothe adore your syghte.

How fares the Empresse? Like to a bloweinge rose

Nypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe in

Cyrckled with ice?

_Ber_. I knowe not nor I care not.

_Bus_. But you can guesse.--Or in the frosts Dyspighte

Will she blowe out?

_Ber_. Sir, y'are unmannerlie

To stay and question me: I must be gone.

_Bus_. Take my harte with you.

_Ber_. He whose harte and tonge

Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way

To a preferrment.

_Bus_. Sfoote, doe you thynke your love

Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well.

_Ber_. Vyllanous man! [_Ex. Bertha_.

_Bus_. Well, now unto my father whom I knowe

Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe

I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym

Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe

Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate,

Though muche too meane to helpe her.--See, a comes.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. The Empresse and younge _Richard_ are in league,

Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye

That no joy can exceede. Heaven blesse the mixture!

--But stay; whose thys? O my curyous sonne,

What newse with you, Sir?

_Bus_. Sir, though your emynence may guyld your vyce

And greatnes make your ills seeme gloryous

To some too farre beneathe you, that neare looke

Into the chynckes and crannyes of the state,

Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone ill

To crosse _Orlandos_ fayre successyon

By thys unequall maryadge.

_Gan_. Arte growne madd?

Thoughe I neare knew thee muche opprest with witt,

I did not thynke thee such a foe to sence

To speake with suche a daringe impudence.

_Bus_. Howe's that?

_Gan_. Thus and observe me. As you love the cubboarde

Wherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast,

Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to play

The dogge and open thus when I am present

Without my spetyall lycence and comand,

Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shame

That life shalbe thy torment. Hence, thou slave,

Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistinge

Of equall foulness! hence, I say! Ignorance

Shall not excuse thee thus agayne offendinge.

_Bus_. Preposterous! I walke for want of spyrrytt.

[_Exit La Busse_.

_Gan_. Pyttie of follye! wherefore shoulde thys boy,

Thys thynge of too nyce contyence, nay my sonne,

Troble hym selfe with any acte of myne

As if they helde proportion with hys state,

Wytt or condytion? Such thyngs are swayd by chaunce:

And naughts more arrogant than Ignorance.--

But here comes he that hathe brayne to plott

And spyrrytt to acte.

_Enter Didier_.

Howe is it _Didier_?

_Did_. As you comanded, Sir.

_Gan_. Hast doone it then?

_Did_. And without all suspytion?

_Gan_. Halfe my soule,

Let me imbrace thee. All my cares and feares

Thou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deathe

My future honors take a glorious byrthe.

_Enter La Fue_.

_Fue_. Hees never from hym; nay I must begone;

Past servyce is forgott. Doe you heare, my lorde?

Beggars must be no chusers. I am one,

The proverb proves it, an oulde serving man:

At your choyse therefore be it, whether I

Or that knave shall stay with you, for both must not;

Your house (though lardge) cannot contayne us bothe.

_Gan_. Why, whatts the matter, _Fue_?

_Fue_. Matter of wronge.

Full twoe and twentye severall liverye coatts,

Made & composed all for severall yeares,

Have I runne throughe in your most faythfull service.

Oth scullerye I was three yeares before:

So, blacke and blewe[86], I make account I've served

Your Lordshypp five and twentye.

_Gan_. What meanes thys?

_Fue_. My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude Jacke

Abuses me in words I understand not;

And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hym

I am no longer for you.

_Gan_. Patyence, man:

If thys be all Ile see it remedyed.

He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats past

And promyse thee to second it with other.

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

_Did_. I bothe repent and promyse no amends.

_Fue_. Well, that shall pacyfie, we will be frends

And live in peace together.

_Did_. On condytion

That hence you take no lycence to deprave

My good indevours.

_Fue_. In my contyence

He wrongs me now agayne.

_Did_. Nor on this growe

Sawcie and insolent.

_Fue_. Hay da! can oughte

Proceeding from my gravitie to thee

Be esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde;

Can fleshe and bloode induer thys? I doe knowe

My servyce is more pretyous then to be

Thus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe;

And though in pollycie I will not leave

Your lordshypps servyce, yet if polycie

Or brayne of man may studdye a revendge,

Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayne

Shall fashyon out a rare one.

[_Exit La Fue_.

_Gan_. Syllye foole!

Come, _Didier_; mynde not hys peeyvishe hate

Ile make thee yet obscurd an envyed state.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus 2_.

[SCENE I.]

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants_.

_Orl_. O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres

That with a more then envyous aspect

Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed?

I coulde allmost brable with destenye

For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme.

And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knott

That tyes suche a disparytie together.

But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood

A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte

Then a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I,

Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe,

Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds

And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage,

Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds,

Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store,

Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore;

Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme,

Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand,

Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder

And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes,

Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde

And loved burthen of the wanton seas)

Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties

And like to such, not cared for a jott,

... ... ... ... ... must lye by & rott:

And so must I.

_Rei_. His dottage maks hym thynke

Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche

That when the newse of your successe aryved

(Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie)

He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylled

With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her.

_Oli_. He has not dealt like _Charlimayne_ t'expose

You to the horror of a cyvill warre,

And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way

To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse

Your fayre successyon.

_Orl_. Twas a speedinge plott

To sende me into _Spayne_, whylst _Ganelon_

Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here,

The envyous destenye that dothe attende

On all my undertakings, would have made

My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it.

For not the cooninge of slye _Ganelon,

Charlimayne's_ dottage, nor her wytchinge eie

(To whom I nowe must be obedyent)

Can challendge any share in my disgrace;

But myne owne fortune that did never smyle

But when it gave me a full cause to cursse.

And were the way to my successyon free

As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence

And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge

From my meare fate to make another kynge:

So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all

My rights of byrthe and nature.

_Rei_. You have doone ill

To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence.

_Oli_. With penytence tys confest, consyderinge

Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way's

Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye.

_Orl_. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres,

Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects

With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves

Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie.

My starres, my starres!

O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares

So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares.

_Enter La Busse_.

_Rei_. Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne--

A propertie oth court, that least his owne

Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt

In pollycie to scoffe at other mens.

He will taxe all degrees and think that that

Keepes hym secure from all taxation.

_Orl_. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman

And hated of his father for hys vertues.

_Bus_. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe

May comforte man, wayte on your excellence!

_Orl_. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs

Can ere be heard to my desyred good,

I am not so voyde of humanitie

But I will thanke your love.

_Rei_. Pray, sir, what newse

Hath the court lately been deliverd of?

_Bus_. Such as the gallimaufry that is found

In her large wombe may promise: he that has

The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte

And knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists

Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings

And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without

The remedye of sugar candye for't.

Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott

Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes,

I & allmost disjested too as soone.

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

_Bus_. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes,

For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs

To mere confussyon: nothing there hath forme

But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte

Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte.

_Rei_. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte

Our fayre eied royall empresse?

_Bus_. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir,

You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope

None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke

To kyndell that ill flame.

_Orl_. No, of my trothe,

I know thee much too honest; but how fares

The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse?

_Bus_. Sir, as a woman in her case may doe;

Shee's broughte [to] bedd.

_Rei_. What, has she a chylde, then?

_Bus_. I, my Lord.

_Orl_. A Sonne!

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

_Orl_. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche

I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt.

O harte, will nothing breake the?

_Rei_. Tis most straunge.

_Orl_. Straunge? Why, if she had been spayd

And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte

My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde--

Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no man

That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve

Ere let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in't

Would tourne the hope't successe to an event

That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule

With the most pleasinge objecte.

_Bus_. Sir, be at peace;

Much may be found by observatyon.

_Orl_. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable.

Thys observation thou advysest to

Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate

That I should be distrackt. I can observe

Naughte but varyetye of mysseries

Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours.

I neare did good for any but great _Charles_,

And the meare doing that hath still brought forth

To me some plague too heavye to be borne,

But that I am reservd onlye to teach

The studyed envye of mallignant starrs.

If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde,

It is with studyinge myne afflictions;

But, for her standing on a roullinge stone,

Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands

And onlye against me.

_Rei_. Move hym no further;

But if your observatyon can fynde out

A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills

That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love,

And be your servant: pray be inquisitive.

_Orl_. Inquiseytive? for what? my miseryes

Requyer no searche, they playnlye shewe themselves,

And in theire greatnes crowne what made them greate.

The power of Fortune, which by theym beinge crownd

Doth tyrannize uppon me.

_Enter Didier_.

_Did_. Healthe attend

Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home

Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds

Whereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome.

_Orl_. What is he?

_Did_. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall

Ever attend you, and those wishes be

Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce.

_Bus_. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is

More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes

Then twixte thy words and wishes.

_Did_. Then your knowledge

Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate

To be so littill famed. I never hearde

That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge

But dynner tyme & coronatyon day,

The tylters collours & theire pages suytts,

But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up

An Ignoramus.

_Bus_. Th'art a parasytte;

Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father

And like an evyll aungell make hym doe

Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver.

Therefore the love which thou protestest here

Can be at best but fayn'd & beares more shewe

Of treacherye then zeale.

_Did_. How say you by that?

_Orl_. _Ganelon's_ servant! Will it not suffyce

The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe

With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes

But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte

O' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferings

With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you

Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke

My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame

That I am a fytt subject for your spleene,

Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage?

Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute

My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe

In full carryere uppon me?

_Did_. I disclayme

_Ganelons_ servyce other then to serve

Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end

Whertoe I ere seemd hys.

_Bus_. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!

_Orl_. Impossyble!

I cannot be so happye, & if thou

Beare but the least affectyon to my cause,

Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd

To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature.

_Did_. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst

In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased

Thys screane may be removed that keepes away

All comfortable heate from everye man

Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall

Confyrme you I am yours.

_Orl_. He shall not goe,

Nor can I hope successe in any thynge

(More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed.

_Oli_. Pray, sir, withdrawe.

_Rei_. Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good

We may dyscover & prevent hys ill:

Pray leave us, sir.

_Bus_. I will; but yet beware

That fellowe. [_Exit La Busse_.

_Did_. I fyrst desyre

To be beleived my love & utmost servyce

Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife

The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers

That ever fryghted weake mortallytie,

Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knowe

The empresse is departed.

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

_Did_. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode

After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it

She dyed last mornynge.

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

_Did_. It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one,

_Lewis_ the _gentyll_ calld, a hopefull infante.

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

_Orl_. Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe?

_Did_. Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife.

Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more

Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love

Outwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie):

He will not give her buryall, but in's armes

Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys,

Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes

To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe

Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence.

_Orl_. Why, thys is absolute madnes! Where's byshopp _Turpin_?

His reverence shoulde persuade hym.

_Did_. So he hathe,

But tys in vayne: he heares naught but his passyon.

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

_Did_. But will delyver comforte. For some prooffe

Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd

By _Ganelon_ to poyson you.

_Rei_. Whatts thys?

_Did_. To which performance I so soothd hys hopes

That he beleives tys doone.

_Orl_. And so it had,

But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be

Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove

The object of her envye past her spleene.

What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede

All the worlds mysseryes that have a name,

A new one out of pyttie must be founde

To adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse,

But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee;

And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde

Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well.

_Did_. Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus?

Wonder confounds me.

_Rei_. My most worthye cossen,

Will you not take advantage of thys plott?

_Orl_. No; what advauntage? the emperour's eares are glewed

Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons.

_Did_. Great Sir, no;

The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge,

Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes,

He heares all causes criminall as if

She did but slumber by hym.

_Oli_. Tys an offerd meanes

To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour

Revyve your hopes.

_Orl_. As cordyalls doe call backe

A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace

To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes

Of hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it,

And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe

Too noble to complayne. I neare coulde fynde

Pleasure or ease in others punishment,

Or if I were so base to take delighte

In the afflyctions of another man

My fate would guard me from't, for tys decreed

That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare

Be master of a hope shall have successe:

So all the opposytion I can make

Would onlye make my greives rydiculous

And dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I.

[_Ex. Orlando_.

_Did_. Heres a straunge humor!

_Oli_. I, but let it not

Deterre you from hys accusatyon.

_Did_. Ile justefye what I have sayd.

_Rei_. Doe so,

And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde

Shall pay thy love and faythe.

[_Ex. all but Didier_.

_Did_. I doe not like

Thys entertaynment at the second hande:

It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie.

Is thys a welcome worthye of the love

I have exprest? Had I tooke up hys hauke

Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce

Had deserved more respect then he gives me.

I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes,

For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye doone

And ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue is

The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge

That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts.

But t'has a cursse. It is impossyble

Ere to gett into _Ganelon_ agayne,

Havinge not onlye not performd hys will

But tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ere

The earle of _Angeres_ houlds thys accusatyon,

T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe--

But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it

By other testymonie then myne owne;

And that hys owne denyall will bereave me

Of the beleife due to it. Yet will I stand too't styll:

To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. Y'are well mett.

_Did_. I thanke you.

_Gan_. Th'art a vyllayne.

_Did_. It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me

If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse.

_Gan_. _Orlando_ is retournd.

_Did_. Tys well.

_Gan_. It is;

But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp

Your harte had gordgd a hauke.

_Did_. Wa, ha ho, man!

Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey,

Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all

Unable to outflye or to resist,

But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe

At once apeare. You understand me, sir?

_Gan_. Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee? Arte thou flesht?

Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne?

_Did_. Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson

The best that I have hearde. But be assurd

I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast.

_Gan_. Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge,

A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not?

_Did_. And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells

Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade,

Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then

That thou shalt curse thy beinge.

[_Exit Didier_.

_Gan_. Thys is well,

Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slave

Armed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde nowe

Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips

When I made thys roague inmate of my breast.

My seryous counsaylls and's owne servyces

He sells like goods at outcryes--"Who gives most?"

Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes

When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made

My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he

May wound me deeplye. Suer he has reveald

My purposse and reward to poyson hym:

So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne

Wants but a sparke,--and farewell, _Ganelon_!

Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym!

What a brave noble creature were a man

... ... ... ... ... see and so prevent

... ... ... ... ... nay of his slave.

_Enter Richard_.

_Ric_. Health attend you!

_Gan_. O my dearest sweete,

Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish;

For in it rests my health and happynes.

Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd,

And we have bothe full cause. My syster's deathe

Hath, like the moone in opposytion,

Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperour

Styll keep her in hys armes.

_Ric_. Yes, styll and styll;

Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe

And flourishe most in deathe. _Mesantius_ wrathe,

That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym

The joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he is

Anything now but famous _Charlymayne_.

_Gan_. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man

Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende,

Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene

Out of the emperours presence?

_Ric_. Sir, theres none;

He hath her evermore within hys armes,

And when a sleepes your syster _Gabriella_

Or the oulde Bishopp _Turpin_ doe attend her.

_Gan_. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon,

That syster is an ulcer in my bloode:

Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons?

_Ric_. Sleyght them beyond your wishes.

_Gan_. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue,

And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd

Still let her frantique love receyve repulse

And crowne thy contynence; for though I was

Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90]

I would not have to fall for chrystendome.

_Ric_. You neede not feare me: if not contynence,

Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe.

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

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Brother, God save you!--0 my noble _Richarde_,

You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares.

Shall styll your winter nypp me?

_Gan_. What doe you meane?

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

_Gan_. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye.

_Gab_. To tell before you myne affectyon

In publique I confes it would make me

A subject for taxation.

_Gan_. Anywhere.

Come, a must not love you.

_Gab_. Heavens forbydd!

And I must tell you, brother, that I darre

(And with no other then a syster's spleene)

Justifye myne affectyon.

_Gan_. So,

And what wants thys of impudence?

_Gab_. As much

As you of charytie if your tonge bee

A faithfull servant to your mynde.

_Gan_. Tys well:

You would be whored (mayd), would you not?

_Ric_. Pray, Forbeare.

_Gab_. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye,

While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe

I will not have my true love circomscrybd

Within the lymits of your pollycie,

Come, y'are wicked.

_Gan_. Repentance would doe well.

_Gab_. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares

And at that sober age I meane to wedd it.

Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild

But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray

Beyond this most loved object.

_Ric_. Say not so:

It never can retourne your recompence.

Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contrackt

And richlie to be marryed unto heaven

Shall ever keepe me from affectyon:

Beleve it, madam, I will never love.

_Gab_. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all

Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall.

_Gan_. Nay, no more fallinge. Come, my noble frende;

And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings.

[_Exe. Gan. Rich_.

_Gab_. Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames

Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode.

What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre,

And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake

Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood

In manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dare

All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie,

But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll

And so be servd both in my lust and will.

_Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes,

Turpin, La Busse_.

_Turp_ ... ... Sir, let me perswade ... ...

Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous,

Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie.

_Char_. No more;

He that perswades me from thys loved embrace

Is my most mortall enemye, and here

I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon.

O, _Gabriella_, come; thy syster sleepes

A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade;

Goodnes can never perishe, and if so

Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have

Not full so many mynuts to survyve

As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I

For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay

And close our loves both in one monument.

_Turp_. Was never seene suche an affectyon!

_Char_. Come, _Gabriella_, let us sett her downe;

And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene;

The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads,

Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym,

Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness:

[_They place the dead bodye in a chayre_.

No ayre shall blow uppon her. Happye soule!

Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see

The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks

Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe

Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte

A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon.

_Buss_.--What will a make of her?

_Turp_.--Even what his fancye pleases.

_Char_. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe,

Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable!

And howe much follye is in fearfull man [_Sitts by her_.

To flye from that which is so amyable!

Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte

My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame

And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome,

The conquests I have made of _Fraunce_, of _Spayne_,

Of _Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie_,

Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee

Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne,

And but for thys I were not _Charlymayne_.

_Turp_. Alas, tys she maks hym not _Charlymayne_!

_Char_. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe,

[_Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique_.

But _Turpin_ and my sister. Heavye sleepe

Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete,

Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest

Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee.

[_Sleepes on her bosome_.

_Turp_. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?

_Gab_. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule

Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.

_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe

And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche

And call you at hys wakynge.

_Gab_. Willinglye. [_Ex. Gabriella_.

_Turp_. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys,

It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde,

Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love,

Raynes in him above wonder, nay above

Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence.

I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes,

Spells and devysses to comand men's harts;

That charracters and imadges and scrolles

Can even bynd the soule to servytude.

It may be that's wrought on the emperoure.

I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to be

A myne of all deceytfull polycie,

And thys affectyon thus unnaturall,

Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye,

If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe,

That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye.

Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde

And emptye sylence, no companyon.

What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe;

Ile yet breake ope another cabanett.

Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say,

Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons:

You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys?

A rynge!

A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe

Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate!

Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is

I will aprove and be the treasurer.

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour?

[_Char. stirrs_.

_Turp_. I sawe him move even now: agayne he styrrs.

Good sweete, excuse me: when a dothe awake

I will retourne imedyatlye.

[_Exit Turp_.

_Gab_. I will.

_Char_. Hey ho!

Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend?

... ... pleasure ... ... ... ... ...

Ha!

Woman's attendaunce? in the name of chaunge

When did _Charles_ use such frayltie? Men at armes

Did ever guarde me: am I now forsooke?

_Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants_.

O you are wellcome. Ha! what creature's thys?

Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre?

What traytor shewd thys embleme? Why my age

Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe

The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke

Beyond the hower of deathe. Let me viewe her.

_Rich_.--Here's a chaunge; he wilbe _Charles_ agayne.

_Bus_.--Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous.

_Char_. Tys the dead Empresse! In the name of healthe

Who plact her bodye here?

_Rich_. Onlye your maiestye,

From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge

Had power to drawe her.

_Char_. Gentyll coosse,

Doe not take judgment from me: in my mynde

Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon.

But more of that hereafter: take it hence

And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be

Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy.

[_Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead_.

Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe?

_Rich_. Without, attendinge your hye pleasure.

_Char_. Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face

May blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [_Exit Rich_.

Hathe brought to _Fraunce_ her wishes in suche wreathes

Of uncompared conquests that it bends

With weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes!

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier,

Attend[ants]_.

O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe younge

With thynkinge of thy gloryes. Wellcome, coosse,

Wellcome, renowned _Oliver_, wellcome all!

But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe!

Th'ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes.

_Orl_. The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me

And I partake not of it, but within me

I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would

Unpeople your whole kyngdome.

_Char_. Whats the matter?

_Orl_. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power

Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded

(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse)

To tell you of a practyse gainst my life

By _Ganelon_.

_Char_. Call hym; you shall be hearde,

You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge.

Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe

That indyrect surmyses more abuse

And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde

An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one.

_Orl_. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde

An inocent brest: myne keepes a register

With corsives charactred on everye syde

Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say,

Were _Ganelon_ here--

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. As he is, my lorde,

To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature,

The mallyce of thys slave or of the world,

Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost.

_Orl_. I say you are a man that haveinge longe

Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence

At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman

(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie

Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.

_Gan_. My emperour,

If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way

Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor,

Justyce hathe left the earthe.

_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha!

_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie

That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true

That with a summe of goulde and further hopes

Of future honors he did wynne my promysse

To poyson the greate Palladyne.

_Char_. Thys is dyrect.

_Gan_. A dyrect vyllanye!

If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man,

Any such slave, discarded for's badd life,

May make hys former master forfayte hys;

You may in ten days hange up all your nobles

And yet have lawe for't. But if any man

(Thys slave except), although hys synns would make

The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte

And the grasse wither with his loathed ...,

Will justefye thys accusatyon,

Ile remayne destitute of all replye.

_Char_. Nephewe, what other proofe have you?

_Orl_. Your majestie sees all,

And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me

Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse)

Would be enoughe.

_Rei_. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie

Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd

But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye.

_Oli_. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade

Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at.

All _Fraunce_ dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne.

_Ric_. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tonges

Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave

Most to'th oppressed, oft to'th inocent.

_Rei_. Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love.

Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous.

_Bus_. Worthy _Reinaldo_, carrye better thoughts:

My father is your servant, and dothe love you.

_Rei_. Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe,

I then would honor hym. Uppon my life

In thys he is most guyltye.

_Char_. Come, no more.

There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe,

And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve

Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. _Ganelon_,

Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte:

Yare banysht thence. You have a cuntrye house,

Let that receyve you: when you thence departe

Your life is forfayte. Away!

_Gan_. I doe obay

Your Majestye.

[_Exe. Gan., La Busse_.

_Orl_. Is thys a punishment?

_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen.

_Did_. And noble bloode

Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.

_Orl_. Hence, slave!

By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne.

Was ever man like me unfortunate?

Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor

In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd

T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Char_. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene?

My joy of life, my ages comforter!

Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee.

_Tur_. What meanes your majestie?

_Char_. I meane to live for ever on thy necke

And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares.

O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge,

Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse

When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.

_Orl_. Ha, whats thys?

_Tur_. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man,

That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you.

_Char_. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume,

A verye myne of imortallytie.

Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye,

Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed.

Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters

In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye.

Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will.

[_Kisses Turpin_.

_Orl_.--Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge.

_Rei_.--Nay, farre above my readinge.

_Orl_.--Upon my life!

The ould men will not ravyshe one another?

_Tur_. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne

Thys toe much wanton passyon.

_Char_. They are joys

Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete;

We will in private measure our delights

And fyll our wishes bryme full. _F[r]aunce_ is thyne,

And he is but disloyall dare repyne.

[_Ex. Char., Turp_.

_Orl_. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus

The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous.

[_Ex. all but Didier_.

_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye

And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe

I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe.

Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man,

Has undoone me. What course shall I take now?

I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me.

My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt

For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre;

He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre.

[_Exit_.

_Actus Tertius_.

(SCENE I.)

_Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella_.

[_Eld_.] ... ... ... it is not possyble

... ... ... ... ...

The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye _Richard_

Should promise more true fortytude in love

Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons.

_Gab_. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs,

The smale assurance and the certayne deathe,

The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns

That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures;

And are you styll to learne or will you trust

A lovelye face with all your good beleife?

My dutye checks myne anger, or I should--

_Eld_. What should you?

_Gab_. Give your tast a bytternes.

_Eld_. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson;

See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill.

_Gab_. Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes

So muche as to account your errors follyes;

But, I proteste, were you another woman,

I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you

That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente

In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes:

And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy

Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie!

Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face

When they themselves deceyve most by the face?

Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we

Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble?

_Eld_. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the

meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie

syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the

tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a

crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne.

_Gab_. And wherefore then should I trust in the face?

Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother,

The toe much wise, toe subtyll _Ganelon_,

Onlye withdrawes _Richards_ affectyon.

Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me;

And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd

By the charme of hys voyce onlye?

_Eld_. Trust me, wenche,

Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys

Where lyethe our preventyon?

_Gab_. Onlye thus:

You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon

Twixte _Rychard_ and my brother, tourne their loves

To mortall hate and emulatyon;

Which but effected, _Richard_ suer will love

Bee't but alone to crosse hys enemye.

_Eld_. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creature

nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a

tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes

of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good

fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire

frendshypp. But to better purpose--

_Gab_. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshopp

The kyngs inamord darlinge.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunce

With your deare sonne, my good lord _Ganelon_?

_Eld_. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir.

Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there

All cares and all vexatyons: nowe he sleepes,

Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate,

Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne,

Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance;

Is not tane up with other mens affayres

But onlye looks to's owne comodytie.

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

_Gab_. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe

He onlye wayts on hys partycullar,

Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse

All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say,

Is safest, surest, and least envyed.

_Tur_. Why, prettie Ladye, you'le not leave the courte?

_Eld_. Yes, gratyous lorde; I'me sent to bringe her thence.

Our pore retyred famylie must plante

Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91]

Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces.

_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys

Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende

Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye

Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate

You will imparte unto hym.

_Eld_. Most willinglie;

Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there

Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare.

[_Ex. Eldegr. and Gab_.

_Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble!

... ... ... ... ...

O tys a foule and damned sorcerye

And maks the best of wisdome and of men,

Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre,

Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse.

Why I am even rackt with complyment

And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe

Houlde difference in thys incantatyon.

But I will trye it further, harke a comes;

Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye.

_Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard_.

_Char_. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve

My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence?

I pray thee tender my declyninge age,

Stande allways neare that I may never faynte;

For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life

Then mightie nature when she made me younge.

_Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante.

_Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye!

_Tur_. I protest, sir.

_Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me,

But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye,

For I confess, as freelye as I love,

One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome;

And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I?

A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge

That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles.

_Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent.

I doe adore you next to dietie [sic]

And will lay downe my life for you to treade on.

_Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive

Another god, or I must forfayte heaven

And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature.

Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence

From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake:

Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee

Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie.

Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all,

All my domynions and authoryties;

Thynke what may please thee, make a full request

Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors.

_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have

All that I can desyer?

_Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge:

Come, tell't in myne eare?

_Bus_. What thynke you, lorde?

Has any favrytt all he can desyer.

_Rich_. Yes, and a be contented.

_Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie

contented?

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

_Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll

wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_,

he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde

loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe

blame hys doatinge on my sister.

_Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s],

muche more with prynces.

_Bus_.--If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave

majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare;

let us prate whylst they whysper.

_Rich_.--Is that good manners?

_Bus_.--Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to

pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe

pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.

_Rich_.--Come, thou art wanton!

_Bus_.--As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle

should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to

be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does

not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat

there must be.

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

_Bus_. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of

begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the

Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of

mynuts.

_Char_. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye

companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.--But, sweete frend,

Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyon

As fyrme as destenye, and I will give

All satisfactyon to the Palladyne.

_Tur_. It wilbe royall in you.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Char_. Kysse me, sweete.--O you are wellcome; stand up.

And howe does thys retyred life agree

With _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. As _Ganelon_ with it,

Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerd

Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you;

In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd

[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd

Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente

I never slepte in quyett nor awakt

But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last.

Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle

Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares

Over and over. Fortune has opposd

My naturall blessings and my wishest ends;

Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes

Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve

Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge

Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all

My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne

A suffrynge of that impyous accounte

Which nowe afflycts me.

_Char_. O you are conynge.

_Tur_. Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte.

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver_.

But here comes the earle of _Angeres_.

_Char_. Nephewe, y'are discontented and I woulde

Give all rights to your honor, which did cause

Me latelye thus to send for you.

_Orl_. Tys true,

You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd

And came: but then, Sir, what became of me?

You sente me presentlye away for _Spayne_.

Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys

As well methynks as if it hapned nowe.

_Char_. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake.

_Orl_. O that I could mistake or never thynke

Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence.

Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake

But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.

_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good

Into a stronge disease.

_Orl_. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall,

I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir,

Littill thought I, when I departed hence

And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd.

_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer.

_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede

Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with,

But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare

My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't.

_Rei_.--A touches hym most bouldlye.

_Oli_.--Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge.

_Orl_. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease

Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame,

For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse:

But what good man can well escape a cursse

When Emperours, that should be absolute,

Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant?

_Gan_. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more.

_Orl_. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde?

_Gan_. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt.

_Char_. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one,

You, _Ganelon_, I meane: there dothe belonge

Unto your fault muche more then banishment.

I heare discharge you of all offyces,

Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds

The slender name of a pore gentyllman.

Besyds I fyne you out of your estate

At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence

To see the courte, but live thence banyshed.

Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light

Ile lay more burthens on hym.--Come, best frende.

_Orl_. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye.

[_Ex. Cha., Turp_.

_Gan_. Then welcome once agayne my libertie!

Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee

And utter my dystractyon; only nowe

Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome.

Before I was devyded in my selfe,

The emperour and the state did clayme a parte;

But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd

And onlye thou shalt have what manye had,

My best imployments and my whole desyers.

_Rich_. You are a juell fytter for the State,

And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure,

Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne

In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome.

_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me

He wants his refudge, and my glorye then

Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts

Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende,

Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me

... ... enoughe to caper ... ... ...

_Orl_. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe?

Cossen _Reinaldo_, cossen _Oliver_,

Why does he growe thus guyddie?

_Gan_. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge

That I should take a pore content in shame?

Your envye will discredite you, my lorde.

Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ dogge

That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger?

_Orl. Rei. Oli_. What then?

_Gan_. He was an arrant peevyshe curre,

Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye

I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne)

Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame.

_Orl_. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole.

_Gan_. Sir, I am just of your opynion I;

For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre

Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses?

Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I

Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks

And never curse my planettes. I can leape

With more actyvitie then yesterday.--_Capers_.

Does thys offend you, Sir?

_Orl_. Exceedinglye.

_Rei_. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy?

_Gan_. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne.

_Oli_. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute.

_Gan_. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles.

_Bus_. It is the honor of hys gravitie

Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds

Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke

His resolutyons nowe his champyons.

_Gan_. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me

And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there

A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee

And she shall pyle up all your flatterye:

The courte hath no use for it.--Sir, methought

You talkt of lightnes, did you not?

_Orl_. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles.

_Gan_. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse,

Beinge disburdend of so manye feares,

So much attendance and so manye synnes

By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde

(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp

If you or others moved the emperour

To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded

Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me,

And shall I not discover what I am.

A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [_Capers_.]

--Does thys offend you?

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Where's lorde _Richard_?

_Rich_. Here, reverend Sir.

_Tur_. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne

Of life and your aleagance that from hence

You never more conversse with _Ganelon_

Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment.

No not so much as see hym; and withall

You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes.

_Rich_. I am hys servant.

[_Ex. Tur., Rich_.

_Gan_. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke

To deathe with mans soft languadge. Come away:

Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day.

[_Ex. Can., La Busse_.

_Orl_. Wherefore did the angrye emperour

Degrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me,

Did he not, cossen?

_Rei_. Yes, to satisfye

The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe.

_Orl_. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all

As catchynge of the moone: tys past mans power

To take away my cursse of destenye.

_Oli_. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse.

_Orl_. Had any man but such a slave as I

Look't to have tryumphd in hys base dejection

And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes,

Whylst I and all the projects I can make

Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame.

_Rei_. Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen:

You have in many actyons prosperd well.

_Orl_. Good, doe not studye how to flatter me;

I am in althyngs most unfortunate.

Witnes my fyrst love to _Angellica_,

... ... ... my cursse ... ... ...

My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings,

Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells

Can breake the harte of resolutyon.

_Rei_. What say you to your conquests?

_Orl_. Tut, in thosse

Fortune did never medle: honor there

Served in her person, not by substytute.

Instead of which pore blessinge not a day

Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye.

Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all _Fraunce_?

Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome.

And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte

That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse

Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes.

By heaven I will release hym!

_Rei_. Nothinge so:

Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me;

Ile add a torment to hys mysserye.

[_Exe_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle_.

_Eud_. Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted

Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam).

I promysd to your lorde that _Bertha_ here,

My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne,

And Ile perform't; for onlye to that ende

I've brought her nowe.

_Eld_. And, Sir, tis noblye doone;

I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym

Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he

Is laboringe to recover, but's retourne

I knowe wilbe most sodayne.

_Eud_. Weele attend it.

_Gab_. Hey hoe.

_Ber_. Why syghes thou, frende?

_Gab_. Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons.

Your in a good way, _Bertha_, ryde spurrd on,

May come unto your journey: I must tyre,

Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me.

_Ber_. Yes, when younge _Rychard_ hunts your purlue ground.

Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder.

_Gab_. Not if a would fall to hys exercyse.

_Ber_. Th'art styll thy selfe (all madnes).--But no more;

Here comes your brother.

_Enter Ganelon, La Busse_.

_Eud_. Healthe to my noble lorde!

_Gan_. You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir,

Tys wellcome since you wishe it. O I am

At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace.

_Eud_. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knowe

Disgrace is ever like the greate assay

Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume

And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe

Because it styll remayns unchaungable

Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence,

Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence:

Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches

In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe,

Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe.

_Gan_. Pray thee, noble _Eudon_, save thy selfe,

And come not neare me; I am pestilent.

_Eud_. I doe not feare infection.

_Gan_. I knowe tharte noble & a man of warre,

One that hathe feard no mortall wound so muche

As to be recond fearfull; but the cause,

The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you

You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule

Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior.

Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes

And talke alone, least the proceedinge ayre

That easeth me beget in you a payne.

Leave me, pray leave me: my rude vyolence

Will halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speeche

Like such a noyse as drownds all other noyse

Will so afflyct your thoughts & cares on me

That all your care besyde must be neglected.

My tyme of patyence is expyrd; pray leave me.

_Eld_. Ithe name of wonder, sir, what dothe afflyct you.

_Eud_. You boare your banyshment most brave tyll nowe.

_Gan_. I did, & could as quyetlye endure

To be exposd uppon the publique scaffold

To all myne enemyes contempt, but nowe

I'me more then banysht, all my honors lost,

My wealthe, my places everye one the kyngs;

I hardlye am a pryvate gentyllman.

And more then thys, my onlye dearest frend,

My _Richard_, I must never see agayne.

_Gab_.--Excellent newse! hould, there Ile honor thee.

_Eud_. Why, all thys is a tryfell; suche a blast

As should not move a weake reede. Come, I love

Your selfe and not your fortunes: pray forgett em.

See, I have brought my daughter, and desyer

The matche betwixt us may be consumate.

_Gan_. O you are noble that can pyttie scorne!

And werte not for my frends losse all the rest

I should loosse like my shadowe.

_Eld_. I, and hym,

When I have toulde you myne intelligence.

Come, hees not halfe so good as you imagine.

_Gan_. Goe, y'are a woman, and that styll implyes

Can be malytious.--But are you then resolvd

To match with myne ill fortunes?

_Eud_. Sir, I am.

_Gan_. What says fayre _Bertha_?

_Ber_. That my free will dothe bynde

My love to his comandment.

_Gan_. Then take her, boy; we wilbe hencefourthe frends,

And howsoever crosses come & goe

Ile leave thee cloathes inowe for winter tyme.

_Bus_. Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress,

And will so arme my servyce with delighte

That, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoake

The onlye lyst of pleasure.

_Ber_. Thats my hope:

Bate me the pleasure, and, beleive it, Sir,

I shall crye out oth bargayne.

_Bus_. Feare me not.

_Gan_. Come, we will have thys maryage sollempnyzd,

In which I meane to feighte with agonye

And shoe the worlde I can cast honors of

More easlye then my garments. Wisdome & thought

Most precious ever when tys dearest bought.

[_Exe. all but Gab_.

_Gab_. Suer thys should be the day of _Valentyne_

When everye byrd dothe coople, onlye I

Pore forlorne turtle, haveinge lost my mate,

Must dye on a bare braunche. Wytt defend me!

Youthe & my pleasures will not suffer it.

I've here contryved a letter to my frende

In myne ill brothers name. It may worke

Somethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worst

It cannot make me more then I am accurst.

And heres my messenger.--

_Enter La Fue_.

Howe nowe Mounseir _Fue_?

Whyther gost thou in suche a sweatinge passyon?

_Fue_. O, Madam, sweatynge is goode for the itche, and the rascall

_Didier_ haveing playd the roague with my lord ist possyble but I

should itche to be about hys eares when I see the knaves countenance?

Therefore to avoyde troble I affect sweatinge.

_Gab_. Why, thou dost not see hym nor art thou licklye.

_Fue_. O by all meanes I cannot mysse the devyll. Why, I am goeing to

the courte, Madam, & the knave wilbe in everye corner, _Didier_ I meane,

by all meanes; so that if I doe not sweate I shall scratche the skynne

from myne elbowes.

_Gab_. Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tell

noble _Richard_, the sonne of _Aimon_, your master sente it, but doe not

tell your master I imployd you. Take this rewarde and deale wiselye.

_Fue_. As wisely as my blewe coate will suffer me.

[_Exe_.

_Act 4_.

[SCENE I.]

_Enter Richard readinge a letter_.

_Rich. [Read] Myne enemyes have labord much, but my worst afflyctyon is

thy lamented absence which may endanger us alyke. There is no means to

prevent all evyls but the injoyinge of my sister Gabriella: therefore

force in thy selfe an affectyon. She may otherwise growe discontent and

trooble us with her mallyce. Therefore preserve thy selfe and me

together, who am thy best on earthe: Ganelon_.

Thys letter sente me by my dearest frende

Like spells and witchcraft dothe amaze my brayne.

He urdges me to love where a dothe knowe

I can by no meanes fancye; yet tys so,

Our safties doe compell it, & to that

I must of force bowe, teachinge my harde harte

To seme most softe when tys most hard[e]ned.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Where is pryncelye _Richard_?

_Ric_. Here, reverend lorde.

_Tur_. The kynge comands your presence, O deare Sir,

I am orejoyd in your most brave advauncments.

Why, you are now the fayrest stare[94] in _Fraunce_.

_Rich_. I doe not understand your reverence.

_Tur_. The emperour will make my meanyng playne.

... ... ... day Cunstable of _Fraunce_,

Countye _Poyteirs_, marquysse of _Sallun_,

And grand le seignior of the ordnance.

_Ric_. Theise are the dignities of noble _Ganelon_!

_Tur_. But these shall all be _Richards_.

_Ric_. Heaven forbydd!

I will not weare the garments of my frende.

_Tur_. O doe not say so; they are forfayted roabs

And never did become hys policie.

_Ric_. Good Sir, be charytable.

_Tur_. Indeede I am,

But thys dothe least concerne me. Sir, I knowe

The emperoure expects you.

_Enter La Fue_.

_Ric_. I will attend hym.--O y'are happylie mett.

My urgent busynes maks my languadge shorte:

Comend me to thy master, give hym thys, [_Gives letters and money_.

Thys to the fayrest _Gabrielle_; thys

Your selfe may drynke at your best leasure. [_Ex. Richard_.

_Fue_. Why, so thys goulde has made my choller as colde as snowe watter.

I had thought to have whysteld hym a braule[95] for makinge me daunce

attendance. Waytinge on courtyers is like knocking at greate mens gatts

in dynner tyme: well may a man make a noyse but hunger & hard fare

keepes the porter deafe styll. Tys scurvie passinge scurvye in good

sadnes.

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

_Fue_. Tyerd famylie? No, we are not tyerd, yet we may be wearye, and

yet he that spurrs me for a tyerd jade I may chaunce kycke hym in the

dark.

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

_Fue_. I hate words I understand not: be that eyther tyers or retyers me

may chaunce cursse his journey.

_Tur_. Styll so angrye? di[d]st never take physsycke?

_Fue_. P[er]a[dve]nter I have, p[er]a[dve]nter I have not.

_Tur_. By all meanes doe; choller will kyll thee ells. But to my

purposse: heares gould, comend me to thy master and give him thys token

from me. [_Gives the ringe_.

You see howe thynges runne; hys frend has all hys honors.

_Fue_. And you had talkd thus before y'ad never tyerd me.

_Tur_. Stay, goe not yet, here comes the emperoure.

_Fue_. Mas, Ile have a syghte on hym.

_Enter Charlimayne, Richard, Didier_.

_Char_. Doe not perswade me; cossen, you shall weare

The honors I have given; what was _Ganelons_

Onlye belongs to _Rychard_, he shall weare theym.

_Rich_. But without ease or comforte.--Good my lorde,

You have a power in hys hyghnes love

Beyond power to interprett: pray you begge

Hys grace will ease thys burthen.

_Char_. Nor he nor any creature on the earthe

Hath power in me beyond the rule of wisdome.

_Tur_. Not nowe, I knowe; that charme is altered.

--Sweete lorde, I darre not lymytt kings affectyons.

You have no honors but you merrytt theym.

_Char_. Ha!

Wonder, howe dost thou houlde me! noble sence,

Doe not forsake my reason. Good sweete lords,

What excellent thynge is that, that, that, that thynge

That is beyond discryption? knowe you hym?

_Fue_.--Hath spyed me and comends me: I may mounte.

_Tur_. Tys a dyspysed groome, the drudge of _Ganelon_.

_Char_. Tys the best forme of man that ere I sawe.

Let me admyre hym.

_Tur_.--The ringe dothe hould hys vertue everye where,

In weomen, men & monsters.

_Rich_.--Whence growes thys?

Madnes to it is wisdome.

_Char_. Why, tys a bodye made by symetree

And knytt together with more arte & care

Then mathematycks cyrckles. _Durers_ rules

Are perfytted in hym. Why, theirs a face

Figurd with all proportyons! browe & eie,

Rounde cheeke & lypp, a nose emperyall,

And everye feature ells of excellence!

_Fue_. Alas I am but a grosse servyngman, yet vertue

will sparkell.

_Char_. Why, theres a hande that aunswers to hys foote!

_Fue_. I & a true one toe, or bourne it ells.

_Char_. A legge and necke of one cyrcompherence,

A waste that is no hygher then hys thye,

And all parts ells of stronge proportyon.

I am inchaunted with thys vyssyon.

_Did_.--In hells name what behould's hys majestie

To doate uppon thys rascall!

_Fue_. It was a scurvye thynge in nature that she did not tourne mans

eies inwarde. Why, had I seene as much as the emperoure I myghte have

been a monarke by thys time. I will growe proude.

_Char_. O thou the onlye sweetnes of my soule,

Give me but leave to touche thee, let my hand

(Chast loves most bashful messenger) presume

[To stro]ake theise flowers that in thy lovelie [chee]kes

Flouryshe like somer garlands. In soothe my soule

Loves thee beyond relatyon; for thee I doate

And dye in thyne affectyon. Come, Ile make

Thee greater then all _Fraunce_, above the peres,

The proudest he that breathes shall thynke hym blest

To do thee servyce, and esteeme it heaven

To be thyne ape in imytatyon.

_Fue_. Nowe must I be coy by all meanes.--Trulye for myne owne parte I

must love by dyscretyon, and discretyon tells me I ought not to love an

oulde man, for ould men must needs be ingratfull.

_Char_. Why, deare sweete?

_Fue_. Because they can never live to rewarde benefytts.

_Tur_.--Bytter knave.

_Char_. O doe not feare; my bountye shall exceede

The power of thyne askynge; thou shalt treade

Uppon the heads of prynces. Bowe, you lords,

And fall before thys saynte I reverence.

_Tur. Rich. Did_. Honors to hym the emperor doth honor!

_Fue_. Aryse, my good subjects; onlye for that roauge there the first

acte of my chronickle shalbe hys hanginge.

_Did_. O be not angrye with your humble servante:

I ever did adore you,

_Fue_. Yes like the meales that thou hast devourd halfe chewd for

greedynes. But revendge comes nowe gallopinge.

_Char_. Who hathe displeasd my dearest? name hys name,

The verye breathe shall blast hym; onlye, sweete,

Love me & have thy wishes.

_Fue_. Well, I am contented to love you; and why? For nothing but

because you are an oulde man.

_Char_. Why, tys the onlye tye of faythfulines:

Age is the onlye object of the harte,

And by's experyence onlye hathe aspyrd

Toth heyght of all perfectyon.

_Fue_. True, for I'll stande too't an oulde man is able to see more, doe

more, & comand more then any young man in Chrystendome.

_Char_. Prove it, my sweete; thou arte myne advocate.

_Fue_. Why, a sees more, through spectackles which make everye thynge

apeare bygger than it is; does more, for a never lights from hys horse

but hees readye to pull the sadle after hym; and for comandment he may

call twentye tymes to hys servant ere he have hys will once performed.

_Rich_.--Sfoote, the knave dothe abuse hys hyghnes groslye.

_Tur_.--Tut, not at all when't cannot be dyserned.

_Char_. Why, I doe nowe doate on thyne excellence.

Thys witts unparaleld.

_Did_.--True, except a man searche the Idyotts hospytall.

_Char_. Thou never shalt goe from me.

_Fue_. O yes, by all meanes. Shall my master say I ranne away like a

rascall? No, you shall give me leave to take my leave. That ceremonye

performd, I'm yours tyll doomes day.

_Char_. I cannot live without thee.

_Fue_. Ile not stay a day at furthest.

_Char_. I darre denye thee nothynge. Kysse & goe:

Thynke how I languyshe for thee.

_Fue_. And I will condole in recyprocall kyndnes.

_Char_. Bishopp, attend my dearest.

_Tur_. Greate Sir, I was toe impudent even nowe

To trooble you with my token; good Sir, please

To give it me agayne: a meaner man

Shall serve my humble messadge.

_Fue_. Bishopp, I doe voutsafe it; theres thy ringe.

[_Gives him the ringe_.

_Tur_.--And you agayne a basse most scurvye thynge.

[_Exe. Turp., Fue_.

_Enter La Busse_.

_Char_. Howe nowe, _La Busse_? What newse from _Ganelon_?

_Bus_. Suche as can come from sorrowe: he is all

Wretchednes and mysfortune, and in me

Speaks to your sacred goodnes to be pleasd

Voutsafe to call your fayre dove to your fyst

(Mercye I meane) that may abate the stroake

Of your sharpe eagle justyce, and you will

Be wrytt the best of prynces.

_Char_. Come, no more:

Your fathers sentence is irrevocable.

_Bus_. Yet, gratyous Sir, sende hym hys honors backe

And for those fewe pore howers he hathe to breathe

Let hym injoy those deare companyons.

_Char_. You are the good sonne of an evyll man

And I comend your vertue, but thys suyte

Is past all restytution: to thys prynce

I've given all your father governed.

_Rich_. Which, royall sir?

_Char_. Cossen, no more; I know your modesty.

... ... ... your languadge; hees my foe

That next solycytts me for _Ganelon_.

_Bus_. O doe not make me, sir, be impyous,

For shoulde your breathe crushe me to attomyes,

Yet whylst my memorye can call hym father

I must invocke you for hym.

_Char_. Which to prevent

Take my last resolutyon, & from it

Swearve not in thyne alleagance: when thou shalt

Meete me uppon a way was never usd

By horse nor man, and thou thy selfe dost ryde

On neyther horsse, mare, asse, & yet thy beast

An usuall thynge for burthen, thou thy selfe

Neyther uncloathd nor naked, & shalt brynge

Thy greatest frend & greatest enemye

Coopld for thy companyons; then I vowe

To doe thy father honor, but tyll then

My mallyce hangs about hym.--Come, coossen, attend us.

[_Exe. Char., Rich_.

_Bus_. Then dye, pore _Ganelon_. When I shall meete

The kynge on no hye way, when I shall ryde

Uppon no beast & yet a beast of burthen,

Be neyther nakt nor cloathed, in my hande

My greatest frende & greatest enemye;

And but then get his favor. There is no sphynxe

That can absolve thys ryddell: well, tys decreed

Ile breake my brayne but Ile performe the deede.

_Did_. Sir, would it were in me to helpe your fortune.

_Bus_. It was in you to bringe us to thys fortune.

But I am charmd from anger: onlye thus

My father badd me tell you that he hathe

Not many howers to live, & dothe desyer

To parte in peace with all men, even with you

Whom he hathe nowe forgiven hartylie;

And if you please to vissytt him you may

Fynde love without captitulatyon [sic].

_Did_. Sir, Ile attend hym. [_Ex. La Busse_.

Yet I've heard a tale

Of a feirce snake that wounded by a swayne

Rememberd it for twentye yeares together

And at the last revendgd it; so may he.

I, but another tale tells of an asse

Which haveinge throwne hys cruell ryder wente

In pyttie to the surgeon, who recurd

The sycklie man & reconcyld the asse.

Why may not _Ganelon_ be like the asse

And thys fayre messadge like the curynge surgeon?

Ile trye it; synce _Orlando_ is unsuer,

Tys _Ganelon_ from whence may come my cure.

[_Ex. Didier_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Ganelon, Eldegrad & Gabriella_.

_Gan_. Good mother, syster, deare spyrrytts, doe not haunte me:

I will not from eternytie beleive

That _Richard_ is unfaythfull.

_Eld_. No, runne on,

Swallowe thy shames like full bytts tyll they choake you

And make the people prophesye that you

Shalbe undoone by your false _Ganimede_.

_Gan_. A poxe uppon the people! Would you have

Me to depend uppon theire orackles?

_Gab_. Depend on your owne goodnes; doe not trust

A traytor in your bossome. _Richard_, they say

Hathe begd your honor and your offyces:

Hes counte of _Poyteers_, marquysse of _Saluca_.

_Eld_. Cunstable & master of the ordnance.

_Gan_. It cannot be nor will I credyt it.

_Eld_. Then perishe in your dullnes. Nay, sir, more;

It was hys earnest suyt to the emperoure

To be dyvorst your presence: I can prove it.

_Gab_. And I that he by secret charmes hathe sought

To make spoyle of myne honor, but in vayne

Doe I complayne where theres no profyttinge.

_Fue_. In the way of ordynarye curtesye I doe salute you, &

notwithstandinge my greatnes grace you to give you thys, &, ladye,

you thys. [_Gives letters_.

_Gan_. Why, howe nowe? what motyons thys? Is the knave falne out with

hys five sences.

_Fue_. _Ganelon_, no, but in love with my knowne vertues.--Hould, theres

your yarde [_gives hys coate_] & a halfe of somers wearynge. Frends we

mett, frends we parte: if you please me I may prayse you, if you seeke

me you may fynd me, a loves littill that loves longe; and so I leave you

to the tuytion.

_Gan_. Heyday, the knaves lunatycke! syrha sott

... ... ... ... ...

[_Fue_.] ... ... Tys daungerous for your shynns; take heede of

my[schief]. Favorytts are not without their steccados, imbrocados

& pun[to]-reversos[96]. No more but so: you have no honor, no offyce,

littill land, lesse money, least wytt. Y'are a pore man & I pyttie

you. When next you see me tys in the emperours bossome.

[_Ex. La Fue_.

_Gan_. Whats thys? scornd of my drudge, mockt & abusd?

Foote! I will throwe my dager after hym.

_Eld_. But thys is nothynge to the heape of scornes

Will flowe on you hereafter. What says your letter?

_Gan_. Ile tell you presentlye.

_Eld_. What a madd tyrant is mans stronge beleife!

Makinge hym hunte hys proper myschiefe fourthe,

Takinge delight in desperatyon.

O theres no foe to our credulytie.

_Gan_. O mother, yes; _Aimons_ youngest sonne

_Richards_ a slave above credulytie.

Why, alls confyrmd here underneathe hys hande;

A dothe not blussh to write to me a hathe

All honors that I challendge; good sweet, looke,

[_Eldegrad reads_.

Read & recorde a vyllayne. What speaks youres?

_Gab_. No lesse than I imagynd, fearfull seidge

Agaynst my name & honor.

[_Ganelon reads_.

_Eld_.--So, it taks;

Thys polytycke trycke, wenche, hathe set up the walle

Of stronge partytyon twixt theym. Hence theire loves

Shall never meete agayne.

_Gan_. O monstrous vyllayne, wouldst thou make her whore?

I tell you, shallowe braynd unfaythfull hynde,

Th'adst better have kyst _Juno_ in a cloude

And beene the dadd to Centaurs.

_Eld_. Save your wrathe:

Tys fytt that nowe your wisdome governe you.

_Gan_. Mother, it shall; I am not yet past all Recoverye.

_Enter La Busse_.

Nowe, sir, what newes at courte?

_Bus_. Strange & unwholsome; you are still in fallinge;

Alls given your frend to be your enemye.

_Gan_. I knowe the full relatyon. You did not seeke

By basse ways my repryvall?

_Bus_. God forbydd!

I spoake but what myght suyte your noblenes.

_Gan_. What aunswere made the emperoure?

_Bus_. That when I shall

Meete hym uppon a way was never usde

By horse nor man, & I myselfe to ryde

Neyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beast

An usuall thynge for burthen, & withall

Come neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringe

My greatest frend & greatest enemye,

You then shall have hys favor, not before.

_Gan_. A myght in one worde playnlye have sayd "never"

And saved much cyrcomstance. What sayd _Richard_?

_Bus_. Faythe, seemd to speake, but utterd nothynge.

_Elde_. Why that exprest hym bravelye.

_Gan_. A thynks me fallinge & avoyds my swindge

Least I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwarde

To dryve away the feare of douted ruyne.

Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken tree

And browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter.

Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the house

Tyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares,

But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger.

Where shall I fyxe my trust? My woes are nowe

Beyond my synns, yet Ile nor bend nor bowe.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver_.

_Orl_. Pray, thee, good coosse, perswade not my beleife;

I cannot stoope[97] the harte of _Ganelon_.

My crosse unhappye fortune hathe decreed

A never shalbe conquerd; any ells,

Should a but vowe to conquer 50 worlds,

I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye I

Shall never master a dejected slave.

_Rei_. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you.

_Oli_. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswade

Hathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way,

Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joye

But muche redoobled sweetnes. And behould

Here comes the newe made marquesse.

_Enter Richard_.

Good sweete lorde,

Give my free speche suer passadge.

... ... ... ... ...

_0l_. Foote! thys newe pyle of honor walks as if

A would knocke patts with heaven.

_Rich_. Tys not unlike

Your owne true pryde dothe make you speculous.

_Rei_. Tys farre shorte of youre sweete harte _Ganelons_.

_Rich_. Sir, hees a noble gentyllman.

_Oli_. A Baboone,

A verye windye caske of emptynes.

_Rich_. I wonder y'are so impudent. My frende

Hath vertues lefte: if you had eyther shame

Or charytie you would accuse your lybells.

But as the ravens which in _Arabia_ live,

Haveinge flowne all the feylde of spyces ore,

Seaze on a stynkinge carkasse, so doe you

Swiftlye leape over a most plentyous vale

Of good examples which grace _Ganelon_

And fasten on the scandall which was formd

By a lewde treacherous knave to gett rewarde.

_Oli_. I give your aplycatyon the broade lye.

_Rich_. And tys thy last foule languadge.

[_Offer to Drawe_.

_Orl_. Hould! who drawes must be myne enemye.

_Rich_. I'm easlye chydd from tumulte, but, deare Sir,

Tell me in pryvatt howe you dare maynteyne it.

[_Whisper_.

_Enter alofte[98] Ganelon_.

_Gan_.--Yonder a stands consultinge with my foes.

Perhapps thys present mynute he reveales

My systers whoredome, or to take away

All feare of my revendge he now contryves

That my sadd deathe may fynishe my disgrace.

Myne eies are dazeld, but it is no wonder,

For in that glassye fellowe I dyserne

The true reflectyon of my fate & feares.

Tys he, tys he; there wants but a good crossbowe[99]

To levell at hys harte nowe. I began

A littill synce to chide my rashe beleife

And so was readye to tourne foole agayne;

But I am nowe deliverd & hencefourthe,

If wisdome or occassyon doe me righte,

I will determine never to mystake.

Heres a full proofe of what my mother spake.

_Oli_. As I respect myne honor I will meete you.

_Rei_. Are you agreed?

_Oli_. Yes, sir.

_Orl_. Away and shape our purposse.

[_Ex. all but Richard_.

_Rich_. Tys put to tryall; but I doe suspecte

Theire whysprynge plotts. Thys equall hazard may

Shadowe the meanynge of some certayne danger,

The rather synce _Reinaldo_ seconds it.

I must see _Ganelon_ & speake theise douts:

This quarrell most concerns hym, for the wronge

And capytall abuse toucht onlye hym.

I gave a constant promyse never more

To vyssytt hym without the emperours leave,

And yet I will adventure. He may guesse

At secrett workings & confyrme my feare.

Thys nighte I will adventure, & obay

As he shall fashyion me to meete or stay.

[_Ex_.

_Actus 5_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Eldegrade & Didier_.

_Eld_. What, have you vyssyted my greived sonne?

_Did_. Madam, I have.

_Eld_. And you are reconcyld? you see hys harte

Is made of meltinge waxe & not of marble.

Faythe, twas a harde parte; you have brought us lowe,

Lowe as the earthe we treade on, but Ile ceasse

Further reitteratyon: synce hees pleasd

To burye all, I wilbe patyent;

You knowe I ever lovd you & you have

Doone me most worthye, honest offyces.

_Did_. And many more will dedycatt unto you;

My lorde & I am reconcyld at full

And have disburdend all our greivances.

I doe confes I was bewytcht with fate

But will redeeme myne error; synce I knowe

He loves me nowe more then he did before,

I will deserv't so bravely you shall call

And sweare I am a noble instrument.

_Eld_. You trust hys protestatyons then?

_Did_. Madam, or ells I were an Infidell.

[_Eld_.] ... ... ... ... ...

And I could chyde my love that pytties you.

He dothe dissemble with you; you are lost.

Of myne owne knowlege he hathe layd suche baytts

You cannot live twoe howers. Goe where you will,

He hathe a plott that haunts you. If you can

Fynde for your selfe any preventyon,

Use it with quycke indevor; for I knowe

The thunder speaks that presentlye will splytt you.

_Did_. You doe amaze me.

_Eld_. And like the chaesd Roe stand in that amaze

Tyll the hounds catche you. What I speake

Is to prevent your present tragedye

And to blott murder from my _Ganelon_.

Be wise. [_Ex. Eldegrad_.

_Did_. Am I then noosd! will styll my villanous wytts

Betray me to mysfortune, am I lymed!

What shall I doe? flight will not nowe avayle me.

I knowe hys projects like hys mallyce runns

To everye place of hoped securytie.

I have't: thys key, which I have choycelye kepte

(Longe synce by me most fynelye counterfaytt)

Enters hys chambers & hys cabanett

And everye place retyrd. I am resolvde;

Thoughe I had thousand ways to scape besyde,

Yet I will stay onlye to murther hym.

Within hys lodginge will I hyde me safe,

And when sleepe lulls hym--farwell _Ganelon_!

He shall not outlive mydnyght: here Ile lye,

And thoughe I followe nexte thys lorde shall dye.

[_Hydes hym_.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. My plotts are layd most certayne & no fatte

Can interposse betwixte theym: _Didier_ dyes

And so shall _Richarde_. O the wearye thoughts

That keepe a daylie senate in my braynes,

Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare,

A frends disloyaltye. Be wysser you

That undertake the greate & hallowed leauge

Of frendlye comforte. Scoole your ryotous bloode

And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne

With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge

As face or person when you chusse a frende;

Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall rytts

Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse

A warnynge by my horryble abuse,

And I would dye to morrowe. I lament

That such another pyttied foole as I

Should be amongst the liveinge.--Harke! who knocks?

[_Richard knocks_.

Aunswere, what are you?

_Rich_. Open to your frende.

_Gan_. O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus

Come flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I come

To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome.

[_Stabbs hym_.

_Rich_. O y'ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir,

Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule

May teache repentance to you--

[_Dies_.

_Gan_. Speake it out.

What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe?

You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so:

You have the trycke of mightie men in courte

To speake at leasure & pretend imployment.

Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall

Whether you speake the resydue behynde

Nowe or at doomes day. If thy comon sence

Be not yet parted from thee, understande

I doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because once

I loved thee dearlye; & collect by that

There is no devyll in me nor in hell

That could have flesht me to thys violent deathe,

Hadst thou beene false to all the worlde but me.--

But he is nowe past thynkinge on for that,

And were he buryed all were perfytted.

[_Didier stepps out_.

_Did_. What will you say if I become the sexton?

_Gan_. That after that thou mayst hang thy selfe ithe bellropps.

--What makst thou heare?

_Did_. I will assuer you, Sir,

No legge to your wise lordshypp for my life,

Thyngs standinge as they doe.

_Gan_. Verye good, Sir,

Y'are wondrous merry.

_Did_. Can you blame me, Sir,

When I may treade upon myne enemye?

I am your condemd creature, I am lost.

_Gan_. ... ... ... ... ...

Howe camst thou hyther?

_Did_. Why, looke you, Sir, by thys, [_Shoes the key_.

Thys that Ive kepte as a stronge cordyall

Agaynst your vyllanyes. Nay, behould it well,

For as I live tys counterfayte.

_Gan_. What a leaden-skulld slave he maks me.--

Why, art thou doutfull of me? faythe I love thee.

_Did_. Yes, as the devyll does freirs holye water.

Come, I doe knowe your practyse gaynst my life,

And ment my selfe t'have easd myne injuryes;

But nowe thys act hathe given you to the lawe

And saved me from all daunger.

_Gan_. What! that I

Have practysd gaynst thee! tys most damned false.

I doe protest I love thee trulye, fullye.

Come, let us joyne; my contyence says thou didst

But what was good & noble.

_Did_. Nay, by's lighte,

I make no suyte fort, tys at your free choyce.

If I but chaunce to toule hys passinge bell

And give the parryshe notyce who is dead,

You know what tends the rumor.

_Gan_. Come, no more;

I faythe I love thee dearelye, trust uppon't;

And to abandon feare on eyther parte,

Give the dead carcasse lodginge in the ground:

We bothe are safe & thys newe frendshypp sounde.

_Did_. Once more Ile trust you.

Come, then, my burthen, no, my wellcome taske.

Howe prosperous villanye keepes all in awe:

We are saved by that which glutts bothe deathe & lawe.

[_Exe. with the dead_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Oliver_.

_Oli_. The hower is past, the place & cyrcomstance

And all the formes of manhood(?) are expyrd,

And yet younge _Richard_ comes not. Tys most straunge:

He is as valyent as is victorye,

And dare uppon a roughe say [sea?] hye as heaven

Court all amazed daunger. Nowe to fayle

Is past all revelatyon: suer as deathe

Our whole plott is reveeld.

_Enter Reinaldo_.

_Rei_. Howe nowe, cossen? suer the hower is past?

Yet no newse of my brother: as I live

The youth is valyent, feare deters hym not.

_Oli_. Suer as deathe, our plott is all disclosd.

And that there was no meanynge in the feighte,

But onlye to withdrawe him from hys frend

On whom he doats toe dearlye.

_Rei_. Suer tys so,

And it will vexe the noble palladyne

Above the heyghte of madnes; nay, beleiv't

T'will chaunge opynion to a constant faythe

Of hys extreame mysfortunes. See a comes.

_Enter Orlando_.

_Orl_. Howe now, my lords? howe speede your noble plotts?

What, have you woone younge _Richard_ from hys frend?

Tell me whose eloquence hathe doone the deede

And I will honor hym.

_Oli_. He hathe forborne th'incounter, and in that

Hathe drownd us in amazement: we suppose

Our plotts discoverd.

_Orl_. No more, keepe backe the rest,

For I can read misfortunes in your browes.

Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse,

And bassnes ever more doth second theym;

The noble youthe smyle[s] at our follyes, nay,

Scornes the base languadge that you uttered,

Which is by thys tyme with the emperoure.

O twas a speedinge way to doe us shame!

_Rei_. Take truce with passyon: I dare bouldlye sweare

There is some other mysterye.

_Oli_. At worst

Ile make it for our purposse every way

And even kill the soule of _Ganelon_.

With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that you

Houlde patyence for a mynute.

_Orl_. Patyence!

Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrles

That have not blood enough to make a blushe

Or forme an acte might cause one. I have longe

Like to a reelinge pynetree shooke the earthe

That I was rooted in, but nowe must fall

And be no longer the fatts tennys ball.

_Rei_. Come be more temperd, you shall see from thys

Sprynge pleasure that you wishe for. _Olyver_

Shall instantlye upbrayd false _Ganelon_

With _Rychards_ muche unworthynes.

_Oli_. Thats decreed

For in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourthe

As shall even burst hys gall with agonye:

Nay, it shall make hym never darre t'apeare

Where men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare.

_Orl_. You have lardge promysses, but acts as slowe

As dyalls hands that are not seene to goe.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Didier with a letter_.

_Did_. My cares & feares are past, but _Ganelons_

Thys letter woulde revyve if t'were reveald,

Nay begett newe ones to hym of suche wayghte

That he must synke beneathe theym. Thys I founde

(Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse _Richards_ pockett

When I interrd hym, subscribd by _Ganelon_,

Whereby's owne hand would leade hym to the blocke

Should I discover it; for heres contaynd

The kyngs abuse & _Gabriellas_ whoreinge.

But I am nowe beforehand: to hym selfe

Ile give thys letter; so begett[101] in hym

A fyrme beleife of myne integrytie

Which nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweene

Preferment & disgrace; for, come what will,

I am all _Ganelons_ & wilbe styll.

_Enter Ganelon_.