A MOST PLEASANT COMEDY OF
MUCEDORUS
THE KING’S SON OF VALENCIA, AND
AMADINE, THE KING’S DAUGHTER OF ARAGON
Contents
THE PROLOGUE
INDUCTION
ACT I
Scene I. Valencia. The Court
Scene II. A Forest in Aragon
Scene III. The same
Scene IV. Outskirts of the Forest
ACT II
Scene I. The Camp of the King of Aragon
Scene II. The same
Scene III. The Forest
Scene IV. Aragon. a Room of State in the Court
ACT III
Scene I. Grove near the Court
Scene II. The Court
Scene III. The Forest
Scene IV. The same
Scene V. The same
ACT IV
Scene I. Valencia. The Court
Scene II. The Forest
Scene III. The same
Scene IV. The Court
ACT V
Scene I. The Forest
Scene II. Open Place near the Court of the King of Aragon
EPILOGUE
Dramatis Personæ
Adrostus, the KING OF ARAGON
AMADINE, the King’s daughter of Aragon
ARIENA, Amadine’s maid,
SEGASTO, a Nobleman of Aragon
RUMBELO, a Nobleman of Aragon
COLLEN, a Councillor
TREMELIO, a Captain
MOUSE, the Clown
KING OF VALENCIA
MUCEDORUS, the Prince of Valencia
ANSELMO, his friend
RODERIGO, Nobleman of Valencia
BORACHIUS, Nobleman of Valencia
BREMO, a wild man
COMEDY
ENVY
An OLD WOMAN
Noblemen, Councillors, a Messenger, a Boy
THE PROLOGUE
Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts
Thy subject England, nay, the world, admires:
Which heaven grant still increase! O, may your praise
Multiplying with your hours, your fame still raise!
Embrace your council: love with faith them guide,
That both, as one, bench by each other’s side.
So may your life pass on, and run so even,
That your firm zeal plant you a throne in heaven,
Where smiling angels shall your guardians be
From blemish’d traitors, stain’d with perjury.
And as the night’s inferior to the day,
So be all earthly regions to your sway!
Be as the sun to day, the day to night,
For from your beams Europe shall borrow light.
Mirth drown your bosom, fair delight your mind,
And may our pastime your contentment find.
[_Exit Prologue._]
INDUCTION
Enter Comedy, joyfully, with a Garland of Bays on her head.
COMEDY.
Why so; thus do I hope to please:
Music revives, and mirth is tolerable;
Comedy, play thy part and please;
Make merry them that comes to joy with thee.
Joy then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh.
Sound forth Bellona’s silver-tuned strings;
Time fits us well, the day and place is ours.
Enter Envy, his arms naked, besmeared with blood.
ENVY.
Nay, stay, you minion, stay; there lies a block!
What, all on mirth? I’ll interrupt your tale,
And mix your music with a tragic end.
COMEDY.
What monstrous ugly hag is this,
That dares control the pleasures of our will?
Vaunt, churlish cur, besmear’d with gory blood,
That seemst to check the blossoms of delight,
And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona’s breath;
Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame,
That seekest disturbance of a goddess’ deeds.
ENVY.
Post hence thyself, thou counterchecking trull;
I will possess this habit, spite of thee,
And gain the glory of thy wished sport.
I’ll thunder music shall appal the nymphs,
And make them shiver their clattering strings,
Flying for succour to their dankish caves.
[_Sound drums within, and cry, ‘Stab! Stab!’_]
Hark, hearken, thou shalt hear a noise
Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,
And thunder music to the gods above:
Mars shall himself reach down
A peerless crown upon brave Envy’s head,
And raise his rival with a lasting fame.
In this brave music Envy takes delight,
Where I may see them wallow in their blood,
And spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,
And hear the cries of many thousands slain.
How lik’st thou this, my trull? ’tis sport alone for me!
COMEDY.
Vaunt, bloody cur, nurs’d up with tiger’s sap,
That so dost seek to quail a woman’s mind!
Comedy’s mild, gentle, willing for to please,
And seeks to gain the love of all estates,
Delights in mirth, mix’d all with lovely tales,
And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.
Thou bloody, envious ’sdainer of men’s joys,
Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,
Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,
Where thou may’st trample in their lukewarm blood,
And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws.
Yet veil thy mind; revenge thou not on me;
A silly woman begs it at thy hands.
Give me the leave to utter out my play;
Forbear this place; I humbly crave thee, hence!
And mix not death ’mongst pleasing comedies,
That treat nought else but pleasure and delight.
If any spark of human rests in thee,
Forbear; begone; tender the suit of me.
ENVY.
Why, so I will; forbearance shall be such,
As treble death shall cross thee with despite,
And make thee mourn, where most thou joy’st,
Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole,
Whirling thy measures with a peal of death,
And drench thy metres in a sea of blood.
This will I do; thus shall I bear with thee;
And more, to vex thee with a deeper spite,
I will with threats of blood begin thy play,
Favoring thee with envy and with hate.
COMEDY.
Then, ugly monster, do thy worst,
I will defend them in despite of thee:
And though thou think’st with tragic fumes
To brave my play unto my deep disgrace,
I force it not, I scorn what thou canst do;
I’ll grace it so, thyself shall it confess,
From tragic stuff to be a pleasant comedy.
ENVY.
Why then, Comedy, send thy actors forth,
And I will cross the first steps of their tread,
Making them fear the very dart of death.
COMEDY.
And I’ll defend them maugre all thy spite.
So, ugly fiend, farewell, till time shall serve,
That we may meet to parley for the best.
ENVY.
Content, Comedy, I’ll go spread my branch,
And scattered blossoms from mine envious tree
Shall prove to monsters, spoiling of their joys.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT I
SCENE I. Valencia. The Court
Sound. Enter Mucedorus and Anselmo his friend.
MUCEDORUS.
Anselmo!
ANSELMO.
My lord and friend.
MUCEDORUS.
True, my Anselmo, both thy lord and friend—
ANSELMO.
Whose dear affections bosom with my heart,
And keep their domination in one orb,
Whence ne’er disloyalty shall root it forth,
But faith plant firmer in your choice respect.
MUCEDORUS.
Much blame were mine, if I should other deem,
Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow.
But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say,
I must estrange that friendship;
Misconstrue not, ’tis from the realm, not thee:
Though lands part bodies, hearts keep company.
Thou knowst that I imparted often have
Private relations with my royal sire,
Had as concerning beautious Amadine,
Rich Aragon’s bright jewel, whose face (some say)
That blooming lilies never shone so gay,
Excelling, not excell’d; yet least report
Does mangle verity, boasting of what is not,
Wing’d with desire, thither I’ll straight repair,
And be my fortunes, as my thoughts are, fair!
ANSELMO.
Will you forsake Valencia, leave the court,
Absent you from the eye of sovereignty?
Do not, sweet prince, adventure on that task,
Since danger lurks each where; be won from it!
MUCEDORUS.
Desist dissuasion,
My resolution brooks no battery.
Therefore, if thou retain thy wonted form,
Assist what I intend.
ANSELMO.
Your miss will breed a blemish in the court,
And throw a frosty dew upon that beard,
Whose front Valencia stoops to.
MUCEDORUS.
If thou my welfare tender, then no more;
Let love’s strong magic charm thy trivial phrase,
Wasted as vainly as to gripe the sun.
Augment not then more answers; lock thy lips,
Unless thy wisdom suit me with disguise,
According to my purpose.
ANSELMO.
That action craves no counsel,
Since what you rightly are will more command,
Than best usurped shape.
MUCEDORUS.
Thou still art opposite in disposition;
A more obscure servile habiliment
Beseems this enterprise.
ANSELMO.
Then like a Florentine or mountebank!
MUCEDORUS.
’Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy judgement,
My mind is grafted on an humbler stock.
ANSELMO.
Within my closet there does hang a cassock,
Though base the weed is, ’twas a shepherd’s once,
Which I presented in Lord Julio’s masque.
MUCEDORUS.
That, my Anselmo, and none else but that,
Mask Mucedorus from the vulgar view.
That habit suits my mind; fetch me that weed.
[_Exit Anselmo._]
Better than kings have not disdain’d that state,
And much inferiour, to obtain their mate.
Enter Anselmo with a Shepherd’s coat, which he gives to Mucedorus.
MUCEDORUS.
So!
Let our respect command thy secrecy,
And let us take at once a brief farewell;
Delay to lovers is a second hell.
[_Exit Mucedorus._]
ANSELMO.
Prosperity forerun thee; awkward chance
Never be neighbour to thy wishes’ venture;
Content and Fame advance thee; ever thrive,
And glory thy mortality survive!
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. A Forest in Aragon
Enter Mouse with a bottle of hay.
MOUSE.
O horrible, terrible! Was ever poor gentleman so scar’d out of his
seven senses? A bear? Nay, sure it cannot be a bear, but some devil in
a bear’s doublet; for a bear could never have had that agility to have
frighted me. Well, I’ll see my father hanged before I’ll serve his
horse any more. Well, I’ll carry home my bottle of hay, and for once
make my father’s horse turn Puritan, and observe fasting-days, for he
gets not a bit. But soft! this way she followed me; therefore I’ll take
the other path, and because I’ll be sure to have an eye on her, I will
shake hands with some foolish creditor, and make every step backward.
[_As he goes backwards, the Bear comes in, and he tumbles over her, and
runs away, and leaves his bottle of hay behind him_.]
SCENE III. The same
Enter Segasto running, and Amadine after him, being pursued with a
bear.
SEGASTO.
Oh fly, madam, fly or else we are but dead!
AMADINE.
Help, sweet Segasto, help, or else I die!
SEGASTO.
Alas, madam! there is no way but flight;
Then haste and save yourself.
[_Segasto runs away._]
AMADINE.
Why then I die; ah! help me in distress!
Enter Mucedorus, like a Shepherd, with a sword drawn, and a Bear’s head
in his hand.
MUCEDORUS.
Stay, lady, stay; and be no more dismay’d.
That cruel beast, most merciless and fell,
Which hath bereaved thousands of their lives,
Affrighted many with his hard pursuits,
Prying from place to place to find his prey,
Prolonging thus his life by others’ death,
His carcass now lies headless, void of breath.
AMADINE.
That foul, deformed monster, is he dead?
MUCEDORUS.
Assure yourself thereof—behold his head;
Which, if it please you, lady, to accept,
With willing heart I yield it to your majesty.
AMADINE.
Thanks, worthy shepherd, thanks a thousand times;
This gift, assure thyself, contents me more
Than greatest bounty of a mighty prince,
Although he were the monarch of the world.
MUCEDORUS.
Most gracious goddess, more than mortal wight—
Your heavenly hue of right imports no less—
Most glad am I, in that it was my chance
To undertake this enterprise in hand,
Which doth so greatly glad your princely mind.
AMADINE.
No goddess, shepherd, but a mortal wight,
A mortal wight distressed as thou seest:
My father here is King of Aragon,
I, Amadine, his only daughter am,
And after him sole heir unto the crown.
And now, whereas it is my father’s will,
To marry me unto Segasto, one,
Whose wealth through’s father’s former usury
Is known to be no less than wonderful,
We both of custom oftentimes did use,
Leaving the court, to walk within the fields
For recreation, specially in spring,
In that it yields great store of rare delights;
And passing farther than our wonted walks,
Scarce ent’red were within these luckless woods,
But right before us down a steep-fall hill
A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast
To meet us both—I faint to tell the rest,
Good shepherd, but suppose the ghastly looks,
The hideous fears, the hundred thousand woes,
Which at this instant Amadine sustained.
MUCEDORUS.
Yet, worthy princess, let thy sorrow cease,
And let this sight your former joys revive.
AMADINE.
Believe me, shepherd, so it doth, no less.
MUCEDORUS.
Long may they last unto your heart’s content.
But tell me, lady, what is become of him,
Segasto call’d, what’s become of him?
AMADINE.
I know not, I; that know the powers divine;
But God grant this, that sweet Segasto live!
MUCEDORUS.
Yet was hard-hearted he, in such a case,
So cowardly to save himself by flight,
And leave so brave a princess to the spoil.
AMADINE.
Well, shepherd, for thy worthy valour tried,
Endangering thyself to set me free,
Unrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be.
In court thy courage shall be plainly known;
Throughout the kingdom will I spread thy name,
To thy renown and never-dying fame;
And that thy courage may be better known,
Bear thou the head of this most monstrous beast
In open sight to every courtier’s view.
So will the king, my father, thee reward.
Come, let’s away and guard me to the court.
MUCEDORUS.
With all my heart.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. Outskirts of the Forest
Enter Segasto solus.
SEGASTO.
When heaps of harms do hover over head,
’Tis time as then, some say, to look about,
And of ensuing harms to choose the least.
But hard, yea hapless, is that wretch’s chance,
Luckless his lot, and caytiff-like accurst.
At whose proceedings fortune ever frowns.
Myself, I mean, most subject unto thrall;
For I, the more I seek to shun the worst,
The more by proof I find myself accurs’d.
Erewhiles assaulted with an ugly bear,
With Amadine in company all alone,
Forthwith by flight I thought to save myself,
Leaving my Amadine unto her shifts;
For death it was for to resist the bear,
And death no less of Amadine’s harms to hear.
Accursed I, in ling’ring life thus long!
In living thus, each minute of an hour
Doth pierce my heart with darts of thousand deaths.
If she by flight her fury do escape,
What will she think?
Will she not say, yea, flatly to my face,
Accusing me of mere disloyalty:
A trusty friend is tried in time of need.
But I, when she in danger was of death,
And needed me, and cried, Segasto, help!
I turn’d my back, and quickly ran away,
Unworthy I to bear this vital breath!
But what, what needs these plaints?
If Amadine do live, then happy I:
She will in time forgive and so forget.
Amadine is merciful, not Juno-like,
In harmful heart to harbour hatred long.
Enter Mouse the Clown, running, crying, Clubs!
MOUSE.
Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, bills! O help! A bear, a bear, a bear, a
bear!
SEGASTO.
Still bears, and nothing else but bears? Tell me, sirrah, where she is.
MOUSE.
O sir, she is run down the woods, I see her white head and her white
belly.
SEGASTO.
Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of white bears; but, sirrah, didst
thou ever see any such?
MOUSE.
No, faith, I never saw any such; but I remember my father’s words, he
bade me take heed I was not caught with a white bear.
SEGASTO.
A lamentable tale, no doubt.
MOUSE.
I tell you what, sir; as I was going a-field to serve my father’s great
horse, and carried a bottle of hay upon my head—now, do you see, sir,
I, fast hoodwinked, that I could see nothing, perceiving the bear
coming, I threw my hay into the hedge and ran away.
SEGASTO.
What, from nothing?
MOUSE.
I warrant you, yes, I saw something; for there was two load of thorns
besides my bottle of hay, and that made three.
SEGASTO.
But tell me, sirrah, the bear that thou didst see,
Did she not bear a bucket on her arm?
MOUSE.
Ha, ha, ha! I never saw bear go a-milking in my life. But hark you,
sir, I did not look so high as her arm, I saw nothing but her white
head and her white belly.
SEGASTO.
But tell me, sirrah, where dost thou dwell?
MOUSE.
Why, do you not know me?
SEGASTO.
Why, no; how should I know thee?
MOUSE.
Why, then you know nobody, an you know not me. I tell you, sir, I am
goodman Rat’s son, of the next parish over the hill.
SEGASTO.
Goodman Rat’s son; why, what’s thy name?
MOUSE.
Why, I am very near kin unto him.
SEGASTO.
I think so; but what’s thy name?
MOUSE.
My name? I have a very pretty name; I’ll tell you what my name is, my
name is Mouse.
SEGASTO.
What, plain Mouse?
MOUSE.
Ay, plain Mouse without either welt or guard. But do you hear, sir, I
am but a very young Mouse, for my tail is scarce grown out yet; look
you here else.
SEGASTO.
But, I pray thee, who gave thee that name?
MOUSE.
Faith, sir, I know not that, but if you would fain know, ask my
father’s great horse, for he hath been half a year longer with my
father than I have.
SEGASTO.
[_Aside_.] This seems to be a merry fellow;
I care not if I take him home with me.
Mirth is a comfort to a troubled mind,
A merry man a merry master makes.
[_To Mouse_.] How say’st thou, sirrah, wilt thou dwell with me?
MOUSE.
Nay, soft, sir; two words to a bargain; pray you, what occupation are
you?
SEGASTO.
No occupation, I live upon my lands.
MOUSE.
Your lands? Away, you are no master for me. Why, do you think that I am
so mad to go seek my living in the lands amongst the stones, briars,
and bushes, and tear my holiday-apparel? Not I, by your leave.
SEGASTO.
Why, I do not mean thou shalt.
MOUSE.
How then?
SEGASTO.
Why, thou shalt be my man, and wait upon me at the court.
MOUSE.
What’s that?
SEGASTO.
Where the king lies.
MOUSE.
What’s that same king, a man or woman?
SEGASTO.
A man as thou art.
MOUSE.
As I am? Hark you, sir, pray you, what kin is he to goodman King of our
parish, the churchwarden?
SEGASTO.
No kin to him; he is the king of the whole land.
MOUSE.
King of the land? I never saw him.
SEGASTO.
If thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt see him every day.
MOUSE.
Shall I go home again to be torn in pieces with bears? No, not I, I
will go home and put on a clean shirt, and then go drown myself.
SEGASTO.
Thou shalt not need, if thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt want
nothing.
MOUSE.
Shall I not? Then here’s my hand, I’ll dwell with you. And hark you,
sir! now you have entertained me, I will tell you what I can do. I can
keep my tongue from picking and stealing, and my hands from lying and
slandering, I warrant you, as well as ever you had man in all your
life.
SEGASTO.
Now will I to court with sorrowful heart, rounded with doubts.
If Amadine do live, then happy I:
Yea happy I, if Amadine do live.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT II
SCENE I. The Camp of the King of Aragon
Enter the King with a young Prince prisoner, Amadine, Tremelio, with
Collen and Councillors.
KING OF ARAGON.
Now, brave Lords, our wars are brought to end,
Our foes to foil, and we in safety rest,
It us behoves to use such clemency
In peace, as valour in the wars. It is
As great an honour to be bountiful
At home, as to be conquerors in the field.
Therefore, my lords, the more to my content,
Your liking, and your country’s safeguard,
We are dispos’d in marriage for to give
Our daughter to Lord Segasto here,
Who shall succeed the diadem after me,
And reign hereafter as tofore I’ve done,
Your sole and lawful King of Aragon.
What say you, lordings, like you of my advice?
COLLEN.
An’t please your majesty, we do not only allow of your highness’
pleasure, but also vow faithfully in what we may to further it.
KING OF ARAGON.
Thanks, good my lords, if long Adrostus live
He will at full requite your courtesies.
Tremelio,
In recompense of thy late valour done,
Take unto thee the Catalonian prince,
Our prisoner, lately taken in the wars.
Be thou his keeper, his ransom shall be thine;
We’ll think of it, when leisure shall afford.
Meanwhile, do use him well; his father is a king.
TREMELIO.
Thanks to your majesty, his usage shall be such,
As he thereat shall think no cause to grutch.
[_Exeunt Tremelio and Prince._]
KING OF ARAGON.
Then march we on to court, and rest our wearied limbs!
But, Collen, I’ve a tale in secret kept for thee:
When thou shalt hear a watchword from thy king,
Think then some weighty matter is at hand,
That highly shall concern our state,
Then, Collen, look thou be not far from me,
And for thy service thou tofore hast done,
Thy truth and valour prov’d in every point,
I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore.
So guard us to the court.
COLLEN.
What so my sovereign doth command me do,
With willing mind I gladly yield consent.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The same
Enter Segasto and the Clown, with weapons about him.
SEGASTO.
Tell me, sirrah, how do you like your weapons?
MOUSE.
O, very well, very well, they keep my sides warm.
SEGASTO.
They keep the dogs from your shins very well, do they not?
MOUSE.
How, keep the dogs from my shins? I would scorn but my shins could keep
the dogs from them.
SEGASTO.
Well, sirrah, leaving idle talk, tell me, dost thou know Captain
Tremelio’s chamber?
MOUSE.
Ay, very well, it hath a door.
SEGASTO.
I think so; for so hath every chamber. But dost thou know the man?
MOUSE.
Ay, forsooth, he hath a nose on his face.
SEGASTO.
Why, so hath every one.
MOUSE.
That’s more than I know.
SEGASTO.
But dost thou remember the captain that was here with the king even
now, that brought the young prince prisoner?
MOUSE.
O, very well.
SEGASTO.
Go unto him, and bid him come to me. Tell him I have a matter in secret
to impart to him.
MOUSE.
I will, master; master, what’s his name?
SEGASTO.
Why, Captain Tremelio, man
MOUSE.
O, the meal-man; I know him very well; he brings meal every Saturday;
but hark you, master, must I bid him come to you, or must you come to
him?
SEGASTO.
No, sirrah, he must come to me.
MOUSE.
Hark you, master; how, if he be not at home? What shall I do then?
SEGASTO.
Why, then leave word with some of his folks.
MOUSE.
O, master, if there be nobody within, I will leave word with his dog.
SEGASTO.
Why, can his dog speak?
MOUSE.
I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep his chamber else?
SEGASTO.
To keep out such knaves as thou art.
MOUSE.
Nay, by’r Lady, then go yourself.
SEGASTO.
You will go, sir; will ye not?
MOUSE.
Yes, marry, will I. O, ’tis come to my head, an a be not within, I’ll
bring his chamber to you.
SEGASTO.
What, wilt thou pluck down the king’s house?
MOUSE.
Nay, by’r Lady, I’ll know the price of it first. Master, it is such a
hard name, I have forgotten it again. I pray you, tell me his name.
SEGASTO.
I tell thee, Captain Tremelio, knave.
MOUSE.
Oh, Captain Treble-knave, Captain Treble-knave.
[_Calling._]
Enter Tremelio.
TREMELIO.
How now, sirrah, dost thou call me?
MOUSE.
You must come to my master, Captain Treble-knave.
TREMELIO.
My lord Segasto, did you send for me?
SEGASTO.
I did, Tremelio. Sirrah, about your business!
MOUSE.
Ay, marry, what’s that, can you tell?
SEGASTO.
No, not well.
MOUSE.
Marry, then, I can; straight to the kitchen-dresser, to John the cook,
and get me a good piece of beef and brewis; and then to the
buttery-hatch, to Thomas the butler for a jack of beer, and there for
an hour I’ll so belabour myself; and therefore, I pray you call me not
till you think I have done, I pray you, good master.
SEGASTO.
Well, sir, away. Tremelio, this it is!
[_Exit Mouse._]
Thou know’st the valour of Segasto spread
Through all the kingdom of great Aragon,
Such as hath triumph found and favours, never
Daunted at any time, but now a shepherd
Admired is at in court for worthiness,
And lord Segasto’s honour laid aside;
My will therefore is this, that thou dost find
Some means to work the shepherd’s death: I know
Thy strength sufficient to perform my wish,
Thy love no other than to ’venge my injuries.
TREMELIO.
’Tis not the shepherd’s frowns Tremelio fears,
Therefore, ’count it accomplish’d what I take in hand.
SEGASTO.
Thanks, good Tremelio, and assure thyself,
What I promise, that will I perform.
TREMELIO.
Thanks, my good lord, and in good time see where
He cometh. Stand by awhile, and you shall see
Me put in practice your intended drifts.
Enter Mucedorus.
Have at thee, swain, if that I hit thee right!
MUCEDORUS.
Vile coward, so without cause to strike a man—
Turn, coward, turn; now strike, and do thy worst!
[_Mucedorus kills him._]
SEGASTO.
Hold, shepherd, hold! O spare him, kill him not!
Accursed villain, tell me, what thou’st done?
Tremelio, ah, trusty Tremelio!
I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou
Living didst faithful prove unto Segasto,
So now Segasto living with revenge
Will honour th’ dead corpse of Tremelio.
Bloodthirsty villain, born and bred to merciless murther,
Tell me, how durst thou be so bold, as once
To lay thy hands upon the least of mine?
Assure thee, thou’lt be used according to the law!
MUCEDORUS.
Segasto, cease! these threats are needless.
Accuse not me of murther, that have done
Nothing but in mine own defence.
SEGASTO.
Nay, shepherd, reason not with me;
I’ll manifest thy fact unto the King,
Whose doom will be thy death, as thou deserv’st.
What ho, Mouse, come away!
Enter Mouse.
MOUSE.
Why, how now, what’s the matter? I thought you would be calling before
I had done.
SEGASTO.
Come, help, away with my friend.
MOUSE.
Why, is he drunk? Cannot he stand on his feet?
SEGASTO.
No, he is not drunk, he is slain.
MOUSE.
Flain? No, by’r Lady, he is not flain.
SEGASTO.
He’s killed, I tell thee.
MOUSE.
What do you use to kill your friends? I will serve you no longer.
SEGASTO.
I tell thee, the shepherd killed him.
MOUSE.
O, did a so? But, master, I will have all his apparel, if I carry him
away.
SEGASTO.
Why, so thou shalt.
MOUSE.
Come, then, I will help; mass, master, I think his mother song looby to
him, he is so heavy.
[_Exeunt Segasto and Mouse._]
MUCEDORUS.
Behold the fickle state of man,
That’s always mutable, never at one!
Sometimes we feed on fancies with the sweet
Of our desires, sometimes again
We feel the heat of extreme miseries.
Now I’m in favour ’bout the court and country;
Tomorrow will those favours turn to frowns.
Today I live, revenged on my foe,
Tomorrow I die, my foe reveng’d on me.
[_Exit._]
SCENE III. The Forest
Enter Bremo, a wild man.
BREMO.
No passenger this morning? What, not one?
A chance that seldom doth befall.
What, not one? Then lie thou there,
And rest thyself till I have further need.
[_Lays down his club._]
Now, Bremo, sit, thy leisure so affords,
An needless thing. [_Sits down_.] Who knows not Bremo’s strength,
That like a king commands within these woods?
The bear, the boar dare not abide my sight,
But haste away to save themselves by flight.
The crystal waters in the bubbling brooks,
When I come by, doth swiftly slide away,
And clap themselves in closets under banks,
Afraid to look bold Bremo in the face.
The aged oaks at Bremo’s breath do bow,
And all things else are still at my command.
Else what would I?
Rend them in pieces, pluck them from the earth,
And each way else I would revenge myself.
Why, who comes here with whom I dare not fight?
Who fights with me and doth not die the death? Not one!
What favour shows this sturdy stick to those,
That here within these woods are combatants with me?
Why, death, and nothing else but present death.
With restless rage I wander through these woods,
No creature here, but feareth Bremo’s force:
Man, woman, child, and beast, and bird,
And everything that doth approach my sight,
Are forc’d to fall if Bremo once do frown.
Come, cudgel, come, my partner in my spoils,
For here I see this day it will not be;
But when it falls that I encounter any,
One pat sufficeth for to work my will.
What, comes not one? Then let’s be gone;
A time will serve, when we shall better speed.
[_Exit._]
SCENE IV. Aragon. a Room of State in the Court
Enter the King, Segasto, the Shepherd, and the Clown with others.
KING OF ARAGON.
Shepherd, thou hast heard thine accusers; murther
Is laid unto thy charge; what canst thou say?
Thou hast deserved death.
MUCEDORUS.
Dread sovereign, I must needs confess,
I slew this captain in mine own defence,
Not of any malice, but by chance;
But mine accuser hath a further meaning.
SEGASTO.
Words will not here prevail:
I seek for justice, and justice craves his death.
KING OF ARAGON.
Shepherd, thine own confession hath condemned thee.
Sirrah, take him away,
And do him straight to execution.
MOUSE.
So he shall, I warrant him. But do you hear, master king, he is kin to
a monkey; his neck is bigger than his head.
SEGASTO.
Sirrah, away with him, and hang him ’bout the middle.
MOUSE.
Yes, forsooth, I warrant you. Come on, sir; ah, so like a sheepbiter a
looks.
Enter Amadine and a boy with a Bear’s Head.
AMADINE.
Dread sovereign and well beloved sire,
On benden knees I crave the life of this
Condemned shepherd, which tofore preserved
The life of thy sometime distressed daughter.
KING OF ARAGON.
Preserved the life of my sometime distressed daughter?
How can that be? I never knew the time
Wherein thou wast distress’d: I never knew the day
But that I have maintained thy estate,
As best beseem’d the daughter of a king;
I never saw the shepherd until now.
How comes it then, that he preserv’d thy life?
AMADINE.
Once walking with Segasto in the woods,
Further than our accustom’d manner was,
Aright before us down a steep-fall hill,
A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast,
To meet us both: now whether this be true,
I refer it to the credit of Segasto.
SEGASTO.
Most true, an’t like your majesty.
KING OF ARAGON.
How then?
AMADINE.
The bear being eager to obtain his prey,
Made forward to us with an open mouth,
As if he meant to swallow us both at once;
The sight whereof did make us both to dread,
But specially your daughter Amadine,
Who—for I saw no succour incident
But in Segasto’s valour—desperate grew,
And he most coward-like began to flie,
Left me distress’d to be devour’d of him—
Segasto, how say you? Is it not true?
KING OF ARAGON.
His silence verifies it to be true. What then?
AMADINE.
Then I amaz’d, distressed, all alone,
Did hie me fast to ’scape that ugly bear,
But all in vain; for why, he reached after me,
And oft I hardly did escape his paws,
Till at the length this shepherd came and brought
To me his head. Come hither, boy; lo, here it is,
Which I present unto your majesty.
[_The bear’s head presented to the king._]
KING OF ARAGON.
The slaughter of this bear deserves great fame.
SEGASTO.
The slaughter of a man deserves great blame.
KING OF ARAGON.
Indeed, occasion ofttimes so falls out.
SEGASTO.
Tremelio in the wars, O King, preserved thee.
AMADINE.
The shepherd in the woods, O King, preserved me.
SEGASTO.
Tremelio fought, when many men did yield.
AMADINE.
So would the shepherd, had he been in field.
MOUSE.
[_Aside_.] So would my master, had he not run away.
SEGASTO.
Tremelio’s force sav’d thousands from the foe.
AMADINE.
The shepherd’s force hath saved thousands more.
MOUSE.
[_Aside_.] Ay, shipsticks, nothing else.
KING OF ARAGON.
Segasto, cease the shepherd to accuse,
His worthiness deserves a recompense,
All we are bound to do the shepherd good.
Shepherd,
Whereas it was my sentence thou shouldst die,
So shall my sentence stand, for thou shalt die.
SEGASTO.
Thanks to your majesty.
KING OF ARAGON.
[_To Segasto_.] But soft, Segasto, not for this offence.
[_To Mucedorus_.] Long may’st thou live; [_to Segasto_.] and when the
Sisters shall decree
To cut in twain the twisted thread of life,
Then let him die: for this I set thee free;
[_To Mucedorus_.] And for thy valour I will honour thee.
AMADINE.
Thanks to your majesty.
KING OF ARAGON.
Come, daughter, let us now depart to honour
The worthy valour of the shepherd with rewards.
[_Exeunt._]
MOUSE.
O master, hear you, you have made a fresh hand now, I thought you
would, beshrew you! Why, what will you do now? You have lost me a good
occupation by the means. Faith, master, now I cannot hang the shepherd,
I pray you, let me take the pains to hang you, it is but half an hour’s
exercise.
SEGASTO.
You are still in your knavery, but sith
I cannot have his life, I will procure
His banishment for ever. Come one, sirrah.
MOUSE.
Yes, forsooth, I come. [_Aside_.] Laugh at him, I pray you.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT III
SCENE I. Grove near the Court
Enter Mucedorus solus.
MUCEDORUS.
From Amadine, and from her father’s court,
With gold and silver, and with rich rewards,
Flowing from the banks of golden treasuries.
More may I boast, and say, but I,
Was never shepherd in such dignity.
Enter the Messenger and Mouse, the Clown.
MESSENGER.
All hail, worthy shepherd!
MOUSE.
All rain, lousy shepherd!
MUCEDORUS.
Welcome, my friends, from whence come you?
MESSENGER.
The King and Amadine do greet thee well.
And after greeting done, bid thee depart the court.
Shepherd, begone!
MOUSE.
Shepherd, take law-legs; fly away, shepherd.
MUCEDORUS.
Whose words are these? Come these from Amadine?
MESSENGER.
Ay, from Amadine.
MOUSE.
Ay, from Amadine.
MUCEDORUS.
Ah! luckless fortune, worse than Phaeton’s tale,
My former bliss is now become my bale.
MOUSE.
What, wilt thou poison thyself?
MUCEDORUS.
My former heaven is now become my hell.
MOUSE.
The worst alehouse that I ever came in, in all my life.
MUCEDORUS.
What shall I do?
MOUSE.
Even go hang thyself half an hour.
MUCEDORUS.
Can Amadine so churlishly command,
To banish th’ shepherd from her father’s court?
MESSENGER.
What should shepherds do in the court?
MOUSE.
What should shepherds do amongst us? Have we not lords enough o’er us
in the court?
MUCEDORUS.
Why, shepherds are men, and kings are no more.
MESSENGER.
Shepherds are men, and masters o’er their flock.
MOUSE.
That’s a lie; who pays them their wages, then?
MESSENGER.
Well, you are always interrupting of me, but you are best look to him,
lest you hang for him, when he is gone.
[_Exit._]
MOUSE.
[_Sings._] _And you shall hang for company,
For leaving me alone._
Shepherd, stand forth, and hear thy sentence! Shepherd, begone within
three days, on pain of my displeasure; shepherd, begone; shepherd,
begone, begone, begone, begone; shepherd, shepherd, shepherd.
[_Exit._]
MUCEDORUS.
And must I go? and must I needs depart?
Ye goodly groves, partakers of my songs,
In time tofore, when fortune did not frown,
Pour forth your plaints, and wail a while with me.
And thou bright sun, my comfort in the cold,
Hide, hide thy face, and leave me comfortless;
Ye wholesome herbs, and sweet-smelling savours,
Yea, each thing else prolonging life of man,
Change, change your wonted course that I,
Wanting your aid, in woful sort may die.
Enter Amadine and Ariena, her maid.
AMADINE.
Ariena,
If any body ask for me, make some excuse,
Till I return.
ARIENA.
What, an Segasto call?
AMADINE.
Do thou the like to him, I mean not to stay long.
[_Exit Ariena._]
MUCEDORUS.
This voice so sweet my pining spirits revives.
AMADINE.
Shepherd, well met, pray, tell me how thou dost?
MUCEDORUS.
I linger life, yet wish for speedy death.
AMADINE.
Shepherd!
Although thy banishment already be decreed,
And all against my will, yet Amadine—
MUCEDORUS.
Ah, Amadine, to hear of banishment is death,
Ay, double death to me, but since I must depart,
One thing I crave—
AMADINE.
Say on, with all my heart.
MUCEDORUS.
That in my absence, either far or near,
You honour me as servant to your name.
AMADINE.
Not so.
MUCEDORUS.
And why?
AMADINE.
I honour thee as sovereign of my heart.
MUCEDORUS.
A shepherd and a sovereign nothing like.
AMADINE.
Yet like enough, where there is no dislike.
MUCEDORUS.
Yet great dislike, or else no banishment.
AMADINE.
Shepherd, it only is
Segasto that procures thy banishment.
MUCEDORUS.
Unworthy wights are most in jealousy.
AMADINE.
Would God, they would free thee from banishment,
Or likewise banish me.
MUCEDORUS.
Amen, I say, to have your company.
AMADINE.
Well, shepherd, sith thou sufferest this for my sake,
With thee in exile also let me live,
On this condition, shepherd, thou canst love.
MUCEDORUS.
No longer love, no longer let me live.
AMADINE.
Of late I loved one indeed, now love I none but only thee.
MUCEDORUS.
Thanks, worthy princess,
I burn likewise, yet smother up the blast,
I dare not promise what I mayn’t perform.
AMADINE.
Well, shepherd, hark what I shall say,
I will return unto my father’s court,
For to provide me of such necessaries
As for my journey I shall think most fit.
This being done, I will return to thee;
Do thou therefore appoint the place, where we may meet.
MUCEDORUS.
Down in the valley, where I slew the bear,
And there doth grow a fair broad-branched beech,
That overshades a well: so who comes first,
Let them abide the happy meeting of us both.
How like you this?
AMADINE.
I like it very well.
MUCEDORUS.
Now, if you please, you may appoint the time.
AMADINE.
Full three hours hence, God willing, I’ll return.
MUCEDORUS.
The thanks that Paris gave the Grecian queen,
The like doth Mucedorus yield.
AMADINE.
Then, Mucedorus, for three hours farewell.
[_Exit._]
MUCEDORUS.
Your ’parture, lady, breeds a privy pain.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. The Court
Enter Segasto solus.
SEGASTO.
’Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy will:
Should such a shepherd, such a simple swain,
Eclipse thy credit famous through the court?
No, ply, Segasto, ply!
And let it not be said in Aragon,
A shepherd hath Segasto’s honour won.
Enter Mouse, the Clown, calling his master.
MOUSE.
What ho! master, will you come away?
SEGASTO.
Will you come hither, I pray you, what is the matter?
MOUSE.
Why, is it not past eleven o’clock?
SEGASTO.
How then, sir?
MOUSE.
I pray you, come away to dinner.
SEGASTO.
I pray you, come hither.
MOUSE.
Here’s such a-do with you, will you never come?
SEGASTO.
I pray you, sir, what news of the message I sent you about?
MOUSE.
I tell you, all the messes be on the table already. There wants not so
much as a mess of mustard half an hour ago.
SEGASTO.
Come, sir, your mind is all upon your belly,
You have forgotten what I did bid you do.
MOUSE.
Faith, I know nothing, but you bade me go to breakfast.
SEGASTO.
Was that all?
MOUSE.
Faith, I have forgotten it, the very scent of the meat hath made me
forget it quite.
SEGASTO.
You have forgotten the errand I bid you do?
MOUSE.
What arrant? an arrant knave, or an arrant whore?
SEGASTO.
Why, thou knave, did I not bid thee banish the shepherd, buzzard?
MOUSE.
O, the shepherd’s bastard.
SEGASTO.
I tell thee, the shepherd’s banishment.
MOUSE.
I tell you, the shepherd’s bastard shall be well kept; I’ll look to it
myself. But I pray you, come away to dinner.
SEGASTO.
Then you will not tell me whether you have banished him, or no?
MOUSE.
Why, I cannot say _banishment_, an you would give me a thousand pounds
to say so.
SEGASTO.
Why, you whoreson slave, have you forgotten that I sent you and another
to drive away the shepherd?
MOUSE.
What an ass are you; here’s a stir indeed, here’s message, arrant,
banishment, and I cannot tell what.
SEGASTO.
I pray you, sir, shall I know whether you have drove him away?
MOUSE.
Faith, I think I have; an you will not believe me, ask my staff.
SEGASTO.
Why, can thy staff tell?
MOUSE.
Why, he was with me too.
SEGASTO.
Then happy I, that have obtain’d my will.
MOUSE.
And happier I, if you would go to dinner.
SEGASTO.
Come, sirrah, follow me.
MOUSE.
I warrant you, I will not loose an inch of you, now you are going to
dinner. [_Aside_.] I promise you, I thought it seven year, before I
could get him away.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. The Forest
Enter Amadine sola.
AMADINE.
God grant my long delay procures no harm,
Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence.
My Mucedorus surely stays for me,
And thinks me over-long. At length I come,
My present promise to perform.
Ah, what a thing is firm, unfeigned love!
What is it which true love dares not attempt?
My father, he may make, but I must match;
Segasto loves, but Amadine must like,
Where likes her best: compulsion is a thrall:
No, no, the hearty choice is all in all,
The shepherd’s virtue Amadine esteems.
But what, methinks my shepherd is not come;
I muse at that, the hour is sure at hand.
Well, here I’ll rest, till Mucedorus come.
[_She sits down._]
Enter Bremo, looking about; hastily taketh hold of her.
BREMO.
A happy prey! now, Bremo, feed on flesh:
Dainties, Bremo, dainties, thy hungry paunch to fill:
Now glut thy greedy guts with lukewarm blood.
Come, fight with me, I long to see thee dead.
AMADINE.
How can she fight, that weapons cannot wield?
BREMO.
What, canst not fight? Then lie thou down and die.
AMADINE.
What, must I die?
BREMO.
What needs these words? I thirst to suck thy blood.
AMADINE.
Yet pity me, and let me live a while!
BREMO.
No pity, I will feed upon thy flesh,
And tear thy body piecemeal joint from joint.
AMADINE.
Ah, how I want my shepherd’s company!
BREMO.
I’ll crush thy bones betwixt two oaken trees.
AMADINE.
Haste, shepherd, haste, or else thou com’st too late.
BREMO.
I’ll suck the sweetness from thy marrow-bones.
AMADINE.
Ah spare, ah spare to shed my guiltless blood!
BREMO.
With this my bat will I beat out thy brains;
Down, down, I say, prostrate thyself upon the ground.
AMADINE.
Then, Mucedorus, farewell, my hoped joys, farewell!
Yea, farewell life, and welcome present death!
[_She kneels._]
To thee, O God, I yield my dying ghost.
BREMO.
Now, Bremo, play thy part.
How now, what sudden change is this?
My limbs do tremble, and my sinews shake,
My weak’ned arms have lost their former force.
Ah, Bremo, Bremo, what a foil hast thou,
That yet at no time ever wast afraid
To dare the greatest gods to fight with thee,
[_He strikes._]
And now wants strength for one down-driving blow?
Ah, how my courage fails, when I should strike!
Some new-come spirit abiding in my breast,
Saith, _Spare her, Bremo, spare her, do not kill._
Shall I spare her, which never spared any?
To it, Bremo, to it; essay again.
I cannot wield my weapon in my hand,
Methinks I should not strike so fair a one,
I think her beauty hath bewitch’d my force,
Or else within me alter’d nature’s course.
Ay, woman, wilt thou live i’ th’ woods with me?
AMADINE.
Fain would I live, yet loth to live in woods.
BREMO.
Thou shalt not choose, it shall be as I say,
And therefore, follow me!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. The same
Enter Mucedorus solus.
MUCEDORUS.
It was my will an hour ago and more,
As was my promise for to make return;
But other business hind’red my pretence:
It is a world to see, when man appoints,
And purposely one certain thing decrees,
How many things may hinder his intent.
What one would wish, the same is farthest off.
But yet th’ appointed time cannot be past,
Nor hath her presence yet prevented me.
Well, here I will stay, and expect her coming.
[_They cry within, ‘Hold him, stay him, hold!’_]
Some one or other is pursued, no doubt,
Perhaps some search for me; ’tis good
To doubt the worst, therefore I’ll be gone.
[_Exit._]
SCENE V. The same
Cry within ‘Hold him, hold him!’ Enter Mouse, the Clown, with a pot.
MOUSE.
Hold him, hold him, hold him! Here’s a stir indeed; here came hue after
the crier, and I was set close at mother Nip’s house, and there I
called for three pots of ale, as ’tis the manner of us courtiers. Now,
sirrah, I had taken the maidenhead of two of them—now as I was lifting
up the third to my mouth, there came: Hold him, hold him! Now I could
not tell whom to catch hold on, but I am sure I caught one, perchance a
may be in this pot. Well, I’ll see. Mass, I cannot see him yet; well,
I’ll look a little further. Mass, he is a little slave, if a be here;
why, here’s nobody. All this goes well yet; but if the old trot should
come for her pot?—ay, marry, there’s the matter, but I care not, I’ll
face her out, and call her old rusty, dusty, musty, fusty, crusty
firebrand, and worse than all that, and so face her out of her pot. But
soft! here she comes.
Enter the Old Woman.
OLD WOMAN.
Come on, you knave; where’s my pot, you knave?
MOUSE.
Go look for your pot; come not to me for your pot, ’twere good for you.
OLD WOMAN.
Thou liest, thou knave, thou hast my pot.
MOUSE.
You lie, an you say it. I—your pot? I know what I’ll say.
OLD WOMAN.
Why, what wilt thou say?
MOUSE.
But say I have him, an thou dar’st.
OLD WOMAN.
Why, thou knave, thou hast not only my pot, but my drink unpaid for.
MOUSE.
You lie like an old—I will not say whore.
OLD WOMAN.
Dost thou call me whore? I’ll cap thee for my pot.
MOUSE.
Cap me, an thou dar’st; search me, whether I have it or no.
[_She searcheth him, and he drinketh over her head, and casts down the
pot; she stumbleth at it, then they fall together by the ears; she
takes her pot and goes out._]
Enter Segasto.
SEGASTO.
How now, sirrah, what’s the matter?
MOUSE.
Oh, flies, master, flies.
SEGASTO.
Flies? Where are they?
MOUSE.
Oh here, master, all about your face.
SEGASTO.
Why, thou liest; I think thou art mad.
MOUSE.
Why, master, I have kill’d a dungcartful at the least.
SEGASTO.
Go to, sirrah; leaving this idle talk, give ear to me.
MOUSE.
How, give you one of my ears? not, an you were ten masters.
SEGASTO.
Why, sir, I bade you give ear to my words.
MOUSE.
I tell you, I will not be made a curtal for no man’s pleasure.
SEGASTO.
I tell thee, attend what I say. Go thy ways straight, and rear the
whole town.
MOUSE.
How, rear the town? Even go yourself; it is more than I can do. Why, do
you think I can rear a town that can scarce rear a pot of ale to my
head? I should rear a town, should I not?
SEGASTO.
Go to the constable, and make a privy search; for the shepherd is run
away with the King’s daughter.
MOUSE.
How? is the shepherd run away with the King’s daughter, or is the
King’s daughter run away with the shepherd?
SEGASTO.
I cannot tell, but they are both gone together.
MOUSE.
What a fool is she to run away with the shepherd! Why, I think I am a
little handsomer man than the shepherd, myself; but tell me, master,
must I make a privy search, or search in the privy?
SEGASTO.
Why, dost thou think they will be there?
MOUSE.
I cannot tell.
SEGASTO.
Well, then search everywhere; leave no place unsearched for them.
[_Exit._]
MOUSE.
Oh, now am I in office, now will I to that old firebrand’s house, and
will not leave one place unsearched. Nay, I’ll to her ale-stand and
drink as long as I can stand; and when I have done, I’ll let out all
the rest, to see if he be not hid in the barrel; an I find him not
there, I’ll to the cupboard; I’ll not leave one corner of her house
unsearched. I’ faith, ye old crust, I will be with you now.
[_Exit._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Valencia. The Court
Sound Music. Enter the King of Valencia, Anselmo, Roderigo, Lord
Borachius, with others.
KING OF VALENCIA.
Enough of music, it but adds to torment,
Delights to vexed spirits are as dates
Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy than comfort;
Let me entreat you to repeat no more.
RODERIGO.
Let your strings sleep, have done there.
[_Music ceases._]
KING OF VALENCIA.
Mirth to a soul disturb’d are embers turn’d
Which sudden gleam with molestation,
But sooner lose their light for it.
’Tis gold bestow’d upon a rioter,
Which not relieves but murders him; a drug
Given to the healthful, which infects, not cures.
How can a father that hath lost his son,
A prince both virtuous, wise, and valiant,
Take pleasure in the idle acts of time?
No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see again,
All joy is comfortless, all pleasure pain.
ANSELMO.
Your son, my lord, is well.
KING OF VALENCIA.
I prythee, speak that twice.
ANSELMO.
The prince, your son, is safe.
KING OF VALENCIA.
O where, Anselmo? Surfeit me with that!
ANSELMO.
In Aragon, my liege;
And at his ’parture bound my secrecy,
By his affection’s loss, not to disclose it.
But care of him, and pity of your age,
Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow’d—concealment.
KING OF VALENCIA.
Thou not deceivest me.
I ever thought thee what I find thee now,
An upright, loyal man.
But what desire, or young-fed humour, nurs’d
Within the brain, drew him so privately
To Aragon?
ANSELMO.
A forcing adamant:
Love, mix’d with fear and doubtful jealousy,
Whether report gilded a worthless trunk,
Or Amadine deserved her high extolment.
KING OF VALENCIA.
See, our provision be in readiness,
Collect us followers of the comeliest hue
For our chief guardians; we will thither wend.
The crystal eye of heaven shall not thrice wink,
Nor the green flood six times his shoulders turn,
Till we salute the Aragonian king.
Music, speak loudly now, the season’s apt,
For former dolours are in pleasure wrapt.
[_Music. Exeunt omnes._]