_Gan_. O _Dydier_,
Resolve me where & howe thou hast disposd
The most false bodye of my falsest frende.
_Did_. The ravenous earthe, that eatts what it hathe fedd,
Hathe swallowd it.
_Gan_. But where? what peice of earthe
Couldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones.
If in some flowrye meade th'ast hym interrd
The poyson of hys synns will choake the sprynge,
And, if thou hast not layd hym deepe enoughe,
Corrupt the ayre & cause a generall plauge.
_Did_. Bothe those are, Sir, prevented by the dytche,
Whose deepe banks seeme to be halfe bottomlesse,
Where he is layd a rottinge.
_Gan_. Without all helpe! counsayle in thys were daungerous.
_Did_. Sir, I was fryer & clarke & all my selfe;
None mournd but nyghte, nor funerall tapers bore
But erringe starres.
_Gan_. And they did erre indeed
To shewe their lights at hys curst funerall.
Did not a dog bewray thee?
_Did_. Baw, waw, waw! Sir, troble not your selfe
With any doute oth' secrecye was usd
In actinge your comand. And, Sir, because
I will not have it rest within my power
At anye tyme to wronge or to traduce
Your honour by a probable suspytion,
Receyve thys letter which atts buryall
I founde in's pockett. Sir, it might concerne you,
[_Give the letter & Ganelon reads_.
And deeplye toe, if it should be reveald.
--It calls up all hys bloode into hys face
And muche dystempers hym.
_Gan_. Deathe! I am lost in treason: my fordgd hand
Hathe whored my liveinge syster & displays
All my basse plotts agaynst the emperoure.
By heaven tys false, fordgd, false as heresye!
_Did_. How! a fordgd hand?
_Gan_. Yes, _Didier_. When was it dated, trow?
Torment! synce my restraynt of libertie!
Good gentyll patyence manadge me a whyle,
Let me collect. Certaynlye _Rychards_ harte
Coulde not but doubte thys charrackter, & in
The strengthe of doute he came to me last nyghte
To be resolvd; or ells why should he beare
Suche daunger in hys pockett? Admyttinge thys,
What followes then? Why, if that were the ende
Of's vysytatyon, then it needs must followe
That thys prevayld not with hym. And what then?
Why, then my syster, as all weomen ells,
Seeinge her selfe neglected in her lust,
Thought any ill way to obtayne it just.
_Did_. A strange presumptyon.
_Gan_. Yet a lyttill further.
It is resolvd that my systers onlye ende
Was to enjoy _Rychard_ unlawfullye:
Howe might a fallinge out twyxt hym & me
Assyst the ende (for such a thynge she causd)?
How?
What a dull slave am I! why twas as muche
As the untyinge of hys codpeyce poynte,
Almost the _rem in re_! for whyle he stoode
Constant to my dyrectyons all was well,
But, those abandond, then,--harte! I am madd:
I pray thee, _Diddier_, helpe me to cursse
Me & my rashnes, that so curbd my reason
I would not heare hym speake but put hym strayght
To everlastynge sylence.
_Did_. No, my lorde,
Letts cursse the lust of woman.
_Gan_. Well rememberd.
_Did_. And yet there is a heavye one prepard
To meete them where they act it in the darke.
_Gan_. True, _Didier_, there is so, and from that
May penytence want power to rescue theym.
_Did_. Be there a dearthe of arte to helpe complexion,
And for theym many housses of correctyon.
_Gan_. And if it be possyble o let the Bedle
Not with theire money but hys owne whypp medle,
And lashe theym soundlye.
_Did_. No, thats not so good:
May all theire soundnes tourne toth poxes foode.
_Gan_. May constables to cadges[102] styll comend theym
And theire knowne foes, age & ill cloathes attend theym.
_Did_. May they want skyll to banyshe theire breathes stynke,
And onlye Barbers potyons be their drynke.
May theire sore wast theire lynnen into lynte
For medlinge with other stones then flynte.
_Gan_. And to conclude thys hartylie breathd cursse;
Theire lives beinge monstrous, let theire ends be worsse.
_Did_. Amen.
_Enter Gabriella_.
_Gab_. Amen to what?
_Did_. Faythe, madam, a was prayinge for hys syster.
_Gan_. O you are wellcome.--Worthye frend, withdrawe.--
[_Exit Didier_.
Nowe my rare pollytycke syster, what will please you?
_Gab_. My rare ingenyous brother, why doe you aske?
_Gan_. Ile tell thee, woman, & observe it well,
Thou shalt remayne the porest wretche alyve,
The most forsaken of delight & pleasure
That ever breathd a myserable life,
If I may knowe what pleasses you. Beware
And answere wiselye: you are leaveinge nowe
All that hathe tyckld your insatyatt bloode,
When you resolve my questyon: I will strypp
Your sweete contents of to the naked soule
Before you parte. Doe you laughe? by heaven I will.
_Gab_. What brave exployts youle doe uppon the sodayne!
_Gan_. If you account theym so tys well, tys well.
_Gab_. Fye, fye, what moves you to thys froward wellcome?
_Gan_. Calst it allreadye frowarde? shallowe foole,
I should salute thee with my daggers poynte
And never make thys parley; but I'me kynde,
And youle confes it when you reade that letter.
You knowe the charackter & the whole scope
Ere you peruse one worde, I make no questyon.
But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reede
You may make readye for another worlde.
Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfe
With hope of an excusse.
_Gab_. You are not madd!
_Gan_. Yes, foorsoothe,
I will confes my selfe emptye of sence,
Dealinge with suche a wyttie sparke as you.
Theres no comparysson: a sparke, sayd I?
I meant a bonefyer made of wytt & lust;
One nourryshes another. Have you doone?
Does any thynge you reade allay your coldnes.
_Gab_. You thynke thys letter myne?
_Gan_. I doe indeede,
And will with horror to thy wanton thoughts
Make thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easd
May fly away the sooner.
_Gab_. What you--
_Gan_. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deathe
And undyssembld ruyne in my words.
Make your prayrs quycklye.
_Gab_. I protest unto you,
As I have contyence & a soule to save--
_Gan_. That's a fantastycke oathe; proceede, proceede.
_Gab_. I did not wryte thys letter nor have seene
_Richard_ synce it was wrytten: what was doone
He & my mother wrought it.
_Gan_. Shall I beleive you? are you vertuous?
_Gab_. Examyne but the ende & then adjudge me.
_Gan_. Then my suspytyon proves a false conceyte,
And I am wondrous glad to have it so
Because it proves you honest. I am nowe
Agayne resolvd that _Richard_ was a vyllayne,
And therefore am I gladd agayne, because
He hathe what he deservd & has no more.
_Gab_. He did deserve your seryous contempt
And is rewarded with it.
_Gan_. And with deathe.
_Gab_. Ha! oh is he murderd then?
_Gan_. Does that amaze you?
Yes I have murderd hym & it becomes
The gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe,
To say hereafter, when I would relate
A storye worth attentyon, that thys hande,
Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver me
In spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye.
_Gab_. O you are falne into the bloodyest cryme
That ever tyrant threatned.
_Gan_. Idle feare.
_Gab_. Come, y'are a vyllayne & most bloodye slave,
One that your spotted synns make odyous,
For _Rychard_ was all good & vertuous.
Dispayre nowe maks me honest & Ile speake
Truthe with true testymonye, for here it comes.
_Enter Eldegrade_.
We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters,
By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreade
The poyson of debate & stryfe betwyxt you.
On us, base man, tourne thy most bloodye edge,
For thou hast slayne the noblest inocent.
_Gan_. Thyne owne invockt cursse ceaze thee,
[_He runns at Gab., and Elde. stepps between?, & he kills both_.
_Gab_. Thys should have ceazd me sooner; let me dye.
Thy pardon, _Richard_: love thats too vyolent
Is evermore with some straunge myscheifs spentt. [_Dies_.
_Eld_. Foule desperatyon ceaze thee, & whats worsse
Dye with thy mothers last breathd heavye cursse. [_Dyes_.
_Gan_. They have left a darknes so extreame behynde
I cannot fynde a prayre to blesse theire soules.
See here then, polytycke creature, subtyll man,
Here see thy myscheife. Irreligious foole,
That makst it contyence onlye when thou leavest
Synns of preferment unaccomplyshed,
Thou that repynst agaynst thy starrs & lucke
When heaven prevents the bassnes of thy gayne;
Littill thynkst thou wherefore thy gaynes will serve,
Nor wherefore thy close pollycie should fayle
Tyll thou forsakst it, & then, wretched clay,
Thou fyndst a horsse & dogge thy betters: they
Dye unperplext with sence of dyinge, thou
Seest what thy sence abhorrs thy falts allowe.
I feele thee comeinge, my distracted chaunge,
Like an ill-favord hangman: pray thee strike,
Aproatche & doe thyne offyce.
_Enter Oliver_.
What arte thou?
_Oli_ One that will prove you _Rychard_ is a cowarde.
_Gan_. Good darringe tonge, be not toe desperatt.
He was your deare frend, was he not?
_Oli_ Yes, had he not beene pretyous unto you,
But hys muche faythe to you did make me hate hym,
And he had felt it had he darrd th'incounter.
_Gan_. Pray, no more, & worthy Sir, be boulde
To say here stands the most afflycted soule
That ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe.
Make me beleive my plaugs are infynett
That I may so desyer to leave my fleshe
And be deliverd from theym. Wherefore, looke you:
It is my mother & my systers deade,
I was theire murtherer; goe tell the worlde:
That paper will give satisfactyon.
[_Oliver taks the letter & reads_.
_Enter Didier_.
O you are wellcome; are you an offycer?
The captayne of the guard, I thynke. Come on:
Be not affrayd, arest me, Ile submytt.
Nor doe reproatche my vallor; I have darrd
As much as he that durst affront the gods,
But greife hathe staynd me.
_Did_. What meane you, Sir? Why I am _Didier_.
_Gan_. That buryed _Richard_? Oh, _Didier_,
I was a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym.
Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe:
Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte
Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe
Me thynks I am not passyonate. But stay,
Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynke
Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds
I would not heare hym when a was about
To teache repentance, and that onlye thought
Shall melt me into cynders. I am like
The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst
To make my wants knowne where I must not hope
To gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hope
And I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther,
Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill
It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare
The synne of kyllinge _Richarde_.
_Oli_. Have you then slayne the noblest worthye _Richard_?
_Gan_. Yes, by the false illussyons of theise twoe.
_Oli_. A guarde within there!
[_Enter a guard & apprehends Ganelon & Didier_.
_Gan_. Fayth, it will not neede,
I knowe my ende of journey. For hys deathe
I murderd theise: thys temporyzinge knave
Buryed him last nyght; all I can aleadge
Agaynst hym is concealment of the murther.
_Did_. Tys come about: twas allways in my mynde
Nothynge should hange me, beinge naught by kynde.
_Oli_. Bringe theym away. Treason so greate as thys
Was never seene synce man had power to wishe.
[_Exe. with the dead Bodyes_.
[SCENE 4.]
_Enter Charlimayne, Turpin, Eudon & Attendants_.
_Char_. What pageants thys that on the fallowd lands
Crosses me everye way? I cannot goe
But styll he meets me full jumpe.
_Tur_. Beleve me, Sir.
I have not seen an antycke more disguysed.
A gallopps ore the newe plowde lands as fast
As twere a comon hye way, yet no speeche
Can make hym to forsake theym.
_Eud_. Nay, whats more,
The beast he rydds on is not usuall,
Tys neyther horsse nor asse, and yet a beast
Nymble & fytt for burthen.
_Char_. _Eudon_, goe
Bydd hym dismounte & as he loves hys life
Presentlye come before us. I will knowe [_Ex. Eudon_.
The ende of thys straunge purposse. Suer there must
Some secrett hange uppon it! thyngs doone thus
Are seldome jests, unlesse jests seryous.
_Enter Eudon & Busse, leading in twoe lymes Byrtha
& a Spaniell, hymselfe cladd all in nett_.
O tys _La Busse_; I've founde hys stratagem.--
Nowe, Sir, y'are wellcome; whence growes thys dysguyse?
_Bus_. Sir, from the fayre protectyon of your grace
And satisfactyon of your vowe; which doone,
Bouldlye I hope I may voutsafe to begge
My fathers deare deliverance.
_Char_. Noble sonne,
What wouldst thou doe hadst thou a noble father!
But come, sir, synce you putt me to the test,
Resolve the doute: your fathers pardoned
When you shall meet me uppon no hye way.
_Bus_. Which even nowe I did: the fallowe lands,
Newe plowed & tylld are free from passengers.
_Char_. Tys graunted; but your selfe, Sir, must not ryde
Of horse nor mare nor asse, & yet the beast
An usuall thynge for burthen.
_Bus_. Suche is myne,
A Mule, that is the bastard breede betwyxte
An asse & mare, & onlye fytt for labor.
_Char_. But, sir, you must be neyther cloathed nor naked.
_Bus_. Nor am I, myghtie Sir: thys pore thynne nett
Nor leaves me nakt nor yet dothe cover me.
_Char_. You prettylie orereache me; but you must
Bringe in your hand the faythfullst frend you challenge.
_Bus_. Thys is he, my faythfull trustye spanyell,
The verye typpe & truthe of true affectyon.
_Char_. But with hym must be joynd your greatest enemye.
_Bus_. They are not farre assunder: a curst wife
Is evermore mans worst aflyctyon,
And shee that outgoes myne in bytternes
May fryght the whole worlde.
_Char_. Come, y'are ingenyous,
And I confes th'ast conquerd, thoughe I knowe
Thy father houlds as much unworthynes
As may excusse tyrranye in a prynce:
Yet for thys goodnes & thys industrye,
Th'example of the sweetest disposytion,
For all th'offences yet reveald unto me
I freelye pardon hym.
_Bus_. And you are good
And like your selfe, a verye god[103] in pyttie.
_Ber_. And from thys mercye I will new create
In me a spyrrytt full of humblenes.
_Enter La Fue in gallantrye_.
_Fue_. Roame there & uncover, gentyllmen. I that am myne owne gentyllman
usher am the best gentyllman in _Fraunce_ at thys present. Give place &
avoyde these.
_Bus_. What meanes the peasant? syrha, are you madd?
_Fue_. Yes, and I were halfe nakt as you are. Roame I say!--O my sweete
harte, I will [_Offers to kisse Charli_.] kysse thy whyte lipps in the
syght of thys whole assemblye.
_Char_. Avaunte, I say! what meanes thys lunatycke.
_Tur_. Pore sott howe hees deceyvd! th'inchauntments vanyshed.--
Syrha learne better manners.
_Fue_. How! syrha to my greatnes! I am not in case to carrye your tokens.
Ould man, you had better manners when last I lefte you.--Come, sweete
love, I will love thee without more intreatye. Let us withdrawe & in
pryvate rumynat our selves together.
_Char_. Is there no whypps for knaves are impudent?
Thys sawcynes will make your skynne [to] smarte.
_Fue_. Away, away! Y'are an ould man & should be wyse. I tell you I was
not in love with you tyll you doated on me; to drawe me into a fooles
paradysse[104] & there leave me is not an honest man's parte nor a good
chrystyans.
_Char_. What kynde of madnes call you thys? for shame!
Shall I be torturd with hym?
_Tur_. Tys but a rude grosse weaknes, which anon
Ile shoe at full unto your majestie.
_Fue_. Come, sweete _Charles_, I knowe thou lovest me, & love will
creepe where it cannot goe. Come, letts condole together.
_Char_. Yes, if I like your example. Goe presentlye
And give him fortye lashes: make hym bleede
Soundlye, away with hym!
_Fue_. Howe, howe, how! fortye lashes! so I shall bleede to deathe. Call
you that soundlye? Foote! I am sicke with thought on't.
_Char_. Away with hym!
And if a prate, see that you dooble them:
Away!
_Fue_. Well I will never trust the wooeinge of a great man whylst I live
agayne: & they be as false to weomen as to men they have sweete eeles to
hould by.
_Char_. Yet has a leave to prate?
_Tur_. Away with hym,
--But on your lives give hym no punyshment.
[_Ex. Fue. & guard_.
_Char_. I have not seene a madnes of thys nature:
But let him smarte for't.--_Eudon_, give comand
That _Ganelon_ attend me presentlye.
But, stay--
What sollemp sound is thys? I am prevented.
[_Dead marche_.]--_Funeral sounde. Enter Orlando,
Reinaldo leading Ganelon, Oliver, Didier; two
herses, one with Eldegr. & Gab., the other Richard_.
The cause of thys?
_Orl_. O my most sacred lorde, I bring you here
The worlds extreamest monster, suche a man
Whose ills exceede the lawes inventyon.
Fyrst looke on thys, the fayre & comelye braunche
Of _Aimons_ noble famylie; then on theise,
His fayrest syster & hys dearest mother
(O heaven that I should name that dreadfull name
In such a case as murder!) all by hym
And hys right hand, with thys ill mans advyse,
Murderd unjustlye.
_Rei_. To which I adde
Treasons of daunger & of hye disgrace
Bothe to your crowne & person; and thoughe they
Myght glutt the lawe, yet my brothers blood
And theise twoe inocentts, I hope, will pleade
Dyvorce of all repryvall.
_Oli_. Lastlye I
With theys stronge proofs, cannot be argued of,
Confyrme all past denyall; hys owne hand
Here of thys pap[er] maks a regyster [_Gives the letter_.
Of myscheives above wonder. Who reads thys,
Thoughe flynte, must melt in pyttie.
_Bus_. Dye all my hopes, & in thys masse of shame
Be buryed both my memorye & name.
[_Ex. La Busse_.
_Gan_. What a lardge passage or cyrcompherence
Theise prynces make to come unto the way
Which lyes before theire nosses! tys lost wytt
To seeke an engyne for the desperatt,
Why, deathes in all he looks on; but to hope
Saftye were more then dyetye[105] can promysse.
Let it suffyce all's true, & thus I rest:
If I dye once, not ever, I am blest.
_Char_. I am amazd: what I have reade & heard
Tournes me like _Gorgon_ into senclessnes.
He speaks heare of a rynge, a wytchcraft rynge,
By which I was inchaunted to hys syster.
Where is that damned juell?
_Tur_. Here in my safe possessyon, thys is it,
Which at her deathe, lodgd underneathe her tonge,
I found by carefull searche. Good deare sir, keepe it
And hencefourthe onlye love your royall selfe.
The spell is past example, & hys synne
Can onlye ballance downe the wyckednes.
_Gan_. Butt I confes it, & the sorcerrer
That made it I did murder conynglye,
And at her deathe had I recompast it,
I had beene kynge of _Fraunce_. Thys noble knave
Was pryvie to the passadge.
_Did_. Tys toe late
Nowe to denye it: deathe never bryngs hys smarte
But when a strycks gaynst lawe or gaynst desarte.
_Char_. Away with them, & see theym presentlye
Broken uppon the wheele.
[_Ex. Gan. Did. & guard_.
Nephewe, for you
I give you freelye here the realme of _Spayne_
And all domynions in it; for your guarde
Ten thousand of our best _Frenche_ gentyllmen.
And wishe your fortunes like your valure be
The best of everye lived posterytie.
_Orl_. Sir[106], you doe bynde me to eternall servyce
Bothe in your love & justyce, for we fynde
Th'instructyons that on evyll men depends
Is to compare theire projects with theire ends.
[_Exe_.