A Collection Of The Plays And Romances Novels Poems And Histories Employed By Shakespeare (Vol Iv)

SHAKESPEARE'S LIBRARY.
PART I.— VOL. IV.

THE TEMPEST. THE WINTER'S TALE.
KING HENRY VIIL
TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

TIMON OF ATHENS.
THE TAMING OF A SHREW.

VOL. iv.(')

rRWTED BY BALLANTVNE AND COMPANY
EDINBURGH AND LONDON

A COLLECTION OF THE

PL.4YS R02^A?*'C2S XOYSLS POE^liS
AND HISTORiES

EMPLOYED FY

SHAKESPEARE

IN THE COMPOSITION OF HIS WORKS

SECOND EDITION

from a j^ths CnUatton oLtJe ©rtgmal Copies
VOLl/J^ THE FOVm^'Jfi

1875

THE TEMPEST.

VOL. IV.(')

After the most persevering researches of all the writers on
Shakespeare, during more than a century, it is strange that no
story has come to light which can have supplied the great poet
with his raw material, even to the extent that Green's "Pan-
dosto " served his purpose in the Winter's Tale," or Lodge's
Rosalind" in "As You Like it." It seems likely that he
drew his facts and the thread of his story from several publica-
tions and occurrences of or about the time, and was not con-
siderably indebted to any single origmal. Thus Florio's Mon-
taigne, published in 1603 — a book, of which Shakespeare's own
copy is in the British Museum ^ — has been followed pretty im-
plicitly as regards the speech of Gonzalo in act ii., scene i ; and
the passage is for that reason reprinted below ; and again it
appears to me worth suggesting that another volume which
Shakespeare in all probability read — or at any rate which was
very well known to the author (or authors) of " Pericles," the
*' Pattern of Painful Adventures," may have supplied a hint,
where the description is so vividly given, in the fourth chapter,
of the shipwreck of ApoUonius, Prince of Tyre, on the coast of
Pentapolis. Douce's remark (" lUustr. of Shakespeare," i. 5),
seems to me much to the purpose here : — " Several contempo-
rary narratives of the above event [voyage of Sir George Som-
ners] were published, which Shakespeare might have consulted,
and the conversation of ike ti?ne might have furnished, or at
least suggested, some particulars, that are not to be found in any
of the printed accounts:'

In " Green's Tu Quoque," 1614 (Hazlitt's Dodsley, xi. 187),
Bubble says, when his master speaks of going to sea : —

" To sea ? Lord bless us ! meihinks I Jiear 0/ a tempest already.*'

It seems to have been a tempestuous period. The play here cited
was written and acted some time before 1614.

An account of this precious volume* was given in a p-xmphlet publibhed
by Sir Frederic Madden, 8*, 1S3S.

THE TEMPEST.

3

The case seems very different with respect to Jacob Ayrer's
" Die Sclione Sidea," which there is not the most distant pre-
tence for treating as a foundation-play, or even an analogue,
since any resemblances which are to be obsei-ved between it and
the " Tempest " are readily to be explained, as Mr Dyce pointed
out, *'by supposing that, so far as the incidents in question aie
concerned, both dramas had a common source." But it has
occurred to me as possible that the resemblances between the
English and Gennau plays may have arisen from Ayier having
had access to some MS. copy of Shakespeare's drama trans-
mitted abroad, or taken there by an English company for repre-
sentation.

Mr Dyce, in his revised edition, speaks of the "Tempest " as
written in the author's " latest style ; " and it is not quite easy
therefore to understand why it was allowed to occupy the
earliest place m the series.

Of course, Mr Hunter's admirable and charming " Disquisi-
tion on the Tempest," as incorporated with his "New Illustra-
tions of Shakespeare," 1845, ought to be always read by all
students of the play. But it is proper to point out that
one of tlie arguments bi ought to bear by Mr Hunter upon
the subject, when he is trying to establish the "Tempest"
as an early play — namely, that Shakespeare would not have
alluded to Raleigh's tract on Guiana, printed in 1596, if it had
not been then a quite recent publication — seems to be contro-
verted somewhat by the circumstance that in the complete text
of the " Merry Wives of Windsor," as first printed in 1623, the
poet inserts a reference to this very Guiana, which does not
occur in the first sketch of 1602.

I. Search for the Island of Lain-
pedusa.

{From Harington^s "Ariosfo" 1591, Canto xli ]

AFRENDLY gale at first their iourney fitted,
And bare them from the shore full farre away :
But afterward within a little season,
The wind discouerd his deceipt and treason.

First from the poop, it changed to the side,
Then to the prore, at last it wherled round,
In one place long it neuer would abide,
Which doth the Pilots wit and skill confound :
The surging wanes swell still in higher pride,
While Proteus fiocke did more and more abound,
And seeme to them as many deaths to threaten.
As that ships sides with diuers waues are beaten.

Now in their face the wind, straight in their backe,
And forward this, and backward that it blowes,
Then on the side it makes the ship to cracke,
Among the Mariners confusion growes ;
The Master ruine doubts, and present wracke,
For none his will, nor none his meaning knowes,
To whistle, becken, crie, it nought auailes,
Somtime to strike, somtime to turne their sailes.

THE ISLAND OF LAMPEDUSA,

5

But none there was could heare, nor see, nor marke,
Their eares so stopt, so dazeld were their eyes,
With weather so tempestuous and so darke,
And black thick clouds, that with the storme did rise
Fro whence somtime great gastly flames did sparke,
And thunderclaps, that seemd to rend the skies :
Which made them in a manner deafe and blind,
That no man vnderstood the Masters mind.

Nor lesse, nor much lesse fearfull is the sound,

The cruell tempest in the tackle makes.

Yet each one for himselfe some busnesse found,

And to some speciall office him betakes :

One this vntide, another that hath bound.

He the Main bowling, now restraines, now slakes :

Some take an oare, some at the pumpe take paine,

And powre the sea into the sea again e.

Behold a horrible and hideous blast,
That Boreas from his frozen lips doth send,
Doth backward force the sayle against the mast,
And makes the waues vnto the skies ascend :
Then brake their oares and rudder eke at last,
Now nothing left from tempest to defend.
So that the ship was swaid now quite aside,
And to the waues laid ope her naked side.

Then all aside the staggring ship did reele.

For one side quite beneath the water lay.

And on the tother side the verie keele,

Aboue the water plaine discerne you may.

Then thought they al hope past, & down they kneele

And vnto God to take their soules they pray,

Worse danger grew then this, when this was past.

By meanes the ship gan after leake so fast.

The wind, the waues, to them no respite gaue.
But readie euVie houre to ouerthrow them,

6

THE ISLAND OF LAMPED USA.

Oft they wer hoist so high vpon the wane,

They thought the middle region was below them ;

Oft times so low the same their vessel draue,

As though that Caron there his boat would show the

Scant had they time and powre to fetch their breath,

All things did threaten them so present death.

Thus all that night they could haue no release,
But when the morning somewhat nearer drew,
And that by course, the furious wind should cease,
(A strange mishap) the wind then fiercer grew,
And w^hile their troubles more and moi'e increase,
Behold a rocke stood plainly in their vew,
And right vpon the same the spitefull blast,
Bare them perforce, which made them all agast.

Yet did the master by all meanes assay,
To steare out roomer, or to keepe aloofe.
Or at the least to strike sailes if they may,
As in such danger was for their behoofe.
But now the wund did beare so great a sway,
His enterprises had but little proofe :
At last with striuing yard and all was torne,
And part thereof into the sea was borne.

Then each man saw all hope of safe tie past,
No meanes there was the vessell to direct.
No helpe there was, but all away are cast,
Wherefore their common safetie they neglect,
But out they get the ship-boat, and in hast.
Each man therein his life striues to protect,
Of King, nor Prince no man taks beed or note,
But well was he could get him in the bote.

2. The supposed original of the Speech
of Go7izalo, Act iu, Scene i.

[From Fiorio's Montaigne, 1603,/. 102.]

" nTHEY [Lycurgus and Plato] could not ima-
J- gine a genuitie so pure and simple, as we
see it by experience, nor ever beleeve our societie
might be maintained with so little arte and humane
combination. It is a nation, would I answere Plato,
that hath no kinde of traffike, no knowledge of
letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magis-
trate, nor of politike superioritie ; no vse of service,
of riches, or of poverty j no contracts, no successions,
no dividences, no occupation but idle; no respect
of kinred, but common; no apparrell iDut naturall,
no manuring of lands, no vse of wine, come, or
mettle. The very words that import lying, false-
hood, treason, dissimulation, covetousnes, envie,
detraction, and pardon, were never heard of amongst
them. How dissonant would hee finde his imaginary
commonwealth from this perfection ?

Hos naiura modos prinmui dedit

Nature at first vprise
These manners did devise.

8

SPEECH OF GONZALO,

Furthermore, they live in a country of so exceed-
ing pleasant and temperate situation, that as my
testimonies have tolde me it is very rare to see a
sicke body amongst them; and they have further
assured me, they never saw any man there, shaking
with the palsie, toothlesse, with eyes dropping, or
crooked and stooping through age."

THE WINTER'S TALE.

*'The History of Pandosto," by that gieatly over-estimated
writer, Robert Greene, formed the skeleton groundwork out of
which Shakespeare constructed his own very different produc-
tion. Pandosto first appeared in 1588.

But there is little doubt that, in writing the " Winter's Tale,"
the author had also an eye to Gascoigne's paraphrase of the
**Phoenissas" of Euripides, presented at Gray's Inn in 1566, and
printed among the works of that interesting old Maker, 1573,
1575, 1587, and as edited in 1869-70.

As regards the character of Autolycus, it is a matter for specu-
lation whether Shakespeare had not in his recollection that
extraordinarily curious production by Thomas Newbery, "The
Book of Dives Pragmaticus," 1563, reprinted in Mr Huth's
"Fugitive Tracts," 1875.

MR COLLIERS JNTRODUCTIOISI.

The more we become acquainted with the sources
from which Shakespeare derived the plots of his
dramas, the more room we find to wonder at the
extent, power, and variety of his genius. We cannot
justly estimate his excellence without the knowledge
which this publication is intended to furnish.

Those who are best mformed regarding the produc-
tions of his contemporaries and rivals are most ready
to admit his immeasurable superiority to all of them.
He seems greater by comparison than when judged of
by his own positive and separate merits \ and this posi-
tion will be completely established by the instance
before us.

Robert Greene was a man who possessed all the
advantages of education : he was a graduate of both
universities, he was skill e.d in ancient learning and in
modern languages, he had, besides, a prolific imagina-
tion, a lively and elegant fancy, and a grace of expres-
sion rarely exceeded; yet let any person well acquamted
with " The Winter's Tale " read the novel of " Pando-
sto," upon which it was founded, and he will be struck
at once with the vast pre-eminence of Shakespeare, and
with the admirable manner in which he has converted
materials supplied by another to his own use. The
bare outline of the story (with the exception of Shake-
speare's miraculous conclusion) is nearly the same in

12 MR collier's INTRODUCTION.

both ; but this is all they have in common, and Shake-
speare may be said to have scarcely adopted a single
hint for his descriptions, or a line for his dialogue ; ^
while in point of passion and sentiment Greene is cold,
formal, and artificial : the very opposite of everything
in Shakespeare.

It is fair to observe, however, that Greene ceased
to write not long after Shakespeare had commenced
his career, Greene died in September 1592, and the
plausible conjecture seems to be, that by this date
Shakespeare had not composed any of his great works,
and had probably not written anything original for
the stage prior to the year 1588 or 1589. All the
known facts regarding the life of Greene may be found
in the preliminary matter to the Rev. Mr Dyce's
excellent edition of Greene's Poetical Works. He
was certainly an author in 1584, and perhaps before
that date. It is a point not hitherto touched, that
there was, perhaps, an earlier impression of " Pan-
dosto" than any yet discovered; but it depends not
upon obvious facts or inferences, but upon minute
circumstances not worth detailing, and upon a close

1 Some verbal resemblances and trifling obligations have been
incidentally pointed out by the commentators m their notes to
" The Winter's Tale." One of the principal instances occurs in
Act iv. sc. 3, where Florizel says —

** The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull and bellow'd ; the green Neptune
A ram and bleated ; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now. Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rare.
Nor in a way so chaste."
«* This (says Malone) is taken almost literally from the novel,"
when, in fact, the resemblance merely consists in the adoption by
Shakespeare of part of the mythological knowledge supplied by
Greene. "The Gods above disdame not to love women be-
neath. Phoebus liked Sibilla ; Jupiter, lo ; and why not I then
Fawnia? " The resemblance is anything but hteral.

MR collier's introduction, 13

observation of the errors of the press which, in the
edition of 1588, appear to be those which would be
made by a compositor engaged rather upon a reprint
than upon a manuscript. It is a well ascertained
fact, that there must have been an earlier edition of
one of the same author's pieces (a " Quip for an Up-
start Courtier'^) than any that has come down to us.

As the means of comparison, page by page, and
scene by scene, are now afforded to the reader, it is
not necessary to point out tlie particular instances in
which Shakespeare follows or differs from his original.
The variation in the conclusion has already been
mentioned : nothing can well be more lame, unsatis-
factory, and even offensive than the winding up of
Greene's novel, where he makes Pandosto first fall
desperately and grossly in love with his own daughter,
and then, without any adequate motive, commit sui-
cide. Here the genius of Shakespeare triumphed
over all competition : he saw at once how the preced-
ing incidents might be converted to a great dramatic
and moral purpose, the most pathetic and the most
beautiful. In other places the skill and judgment of
our great dramatist are scarcely less conspicuous : as,
for instance, in the very outset of his play, where he
represents Polixenes (the Egistus of the novel) as
previously prepared to take his departure in his ships,
which had only, therefore, to weigh anchor ; while, in
Greene's novel the determination of the visitor to quit
the kingdom of his royal friend is sudden, and all his
vessels have to be got ready on the instant. The
variation in the time of the disclosure of the decision

^ Mr Dyce (Greene's Woiks, ii. 242) prints from an edition
of " Pandosto," as late as 1694 a "love-passion," addressed \rj
Dorastus to Fawnia, obsei-ying that he had met with it in no
earher impression. The poem is unquestionably old, and it may
possibly have been taken from the earliest, and now lost, edition
of" Pandosto."

14

MR collier! S INTRODUCTION.

of the Oracle may also be noticed as a proof of the
knowledge Shakespeare possessed of dramatic effect.
It is, nevertheless, to be admitted, that a mere prose
narrative and an acting drama would require different
treatment.

Steevens correctly stated (" Prel. Rem. to the Win-
ter's Tale ") that " the parts of Antigonus, PauHna, and
Autolicus, are of Shakespeare's own invention ; " but
he ought to have added the Shepherd's son to the
list, and he committed a strange blunder (which
shews that he had read Greene's work with very little
attention), when he asserted that the Leontes of
Shakespeare is the Egistus of the novel. Pandosto is
Leontes, and Egistus is PoHxene§. None of the
other commentators corrected the error, or, perhaps,
were able to do so, from not having taken the trouble
to go through the incidents in the original story, and
to compare them with those of the play.

There is one circumstance that ought not to be
passed over without observation ; and it will serve to
strengthen the position, that " The Tempest" was pro-
duced anterior to the "Winter's Tale." The Rev. Mr
Hunter, if he has not established that The Tempest "
was written in 1596 (" Disquisition on the Scene,
Origin, Date, &c. of The Tempest," p. 87), has at all
events shewn that it was written earHer than i6n, to
which year Malone assigns both it and " The Winter's
Tale." ("Shakespeare," by Boswell,ii. 296.) Now, the
reason for the opinion, that " The Winter's Tale " was
posterior in composition to " The Tempest " is this —
that, in his novel of " Pandosto," Greene describes the
turning adrift of Fawnia (the Perdito of Shakespeare)
at sea in a boat, very much in the same manner as
Prospero describes what had happened to himself and
Miranda under similar circumstances. Shakespeare
having already employed this species of incident in
"The Tempest," was obliged to vary it in " The Winter's

MR collier's introduction. 15

Tale," or he would probably have followed Greene's
description, which is certainly one of the prettiest
and most natural portions of his narrative. Shake-
speare, also, without any very apparent reason, reverses
the scene : his play opens in Sicily, and Perdita is
exposed on the coast of Bohemia; while Greene's
novel begins in Bohemia, and Fawnia is found by the
old Shepherd on the coast of Sicily. Bohemia is,
however, over and over again spoken of by Greene as
a maritime country, and Shakespeare, supposing he
knew better, did not think it worth while to disturb
the popular notion. We have the evidence of Taylor,
the water-poet, in his ''Travels to Prague," that in
1620 it was not considered a piece of very unusual
ignorance in an Alderman of London not to be aware
that " a fleet of ships " could not arrive at a port of
Bohemia. <

" Pandosto " appears to have been extraordinarily
popular, and Mr Dyce enumerates twelve editions :
to these at least two others are to be added, with
which he was not acquainted, viz. in 1609 and 1632.
No doubt several more have been lost, as we do not
find it to have been reprinted between 1588 and 1607,
a period during which it would probably have been
most attractive. The only known copy of the edition
of 1588 is in the British Museum ; but it is defective
in one place, and we have necessarily been compelled
to complete our impression from a later copy. Whether
the story were the invention of Greene, or whether, as
was not unusual with him, he adopted it from a foreign
language, cannot now be ascertained ; but it is not
known abroad m any other form than that in which it
has been received from this country.

It will not be out of place to take some notice here
of a production, which is asserted by the bookseller
to have come from the pen of this prolific author ;
but at all events he could have had nothing to do

1 6 MR collier's introduction.

with the title-pagC;, which runs thus : — Greenes
Vision : Written at the instant of his death. Conteyn-
ing a penitent passion for the folly of his Pen. sero
sed serio. Imprinted at London for Thomas New-
man, and are to be sould at his shop in Fleetestreete,
in Saint Dunstons Churchyard.'' It is in 4°, and in
black letter, but without date, though we need not
hesitate in assignmg it to the close of 1592. It is
autobiographical, which renders the tract more in-
teresting, and in the address to the readers, Greene
expresses deep regret that his lighter pieces had ever
been published, adding, " Many things I have wrote
to get money, which I could otherwise wish supprest :
povertie is the father of innumerable infirmities."
The first poem^ is called "Greenes Ode on the
Vanitie of Wanton Writings," which after six intro-
ductory Hnes, thus speaks of himself under the name
of Tytirus : —

** Telling in his song how faire
Phillis eie-browes and hir haire •
How hir face past all supposes
For white Lillies : for red Roses.
Though he sounded on the hils
Such fond passions as loue wils,
That all the Swames that foulded by
Flockt to heare his haimonie,
And vowed by Pan that Tytiius
Did Poet-hke his loues discusse ;
That men might leame mickle good
By the verdict of his mood,
Yet olde Menalcas ouer-ag'd,
That many winters there had wag'd,
Sitting by and heai*ing this,
Said, their wordes were all amisse," &c.

The ode is followed by a prayer full of self-re-
proach, and afterwards the author represents himself
• as lying down upon his bed, and in a vision seeing

^ [The poems in *' Greene's Vision" not printed by Dyce are
given in Mr Huth's volume of Prefaces, 1874, pp. 128-37.]

MR collier's introduction.

17

Chaucer and Gower, both of whom he describes in
verse. The portrait of Chaucer runs thus : —

** His stature was not very tall;
Leane he was, his legs were small,
Hosd within a stock of red ;
A buttond bonnet on his head,
From under which did hang, I weene,
Silver haires both bright and sheene.
His beard was white, trimmed round.
His countenance blithe and merry found,
A sleevelesse jacket, large and wide,
With many pleights and skirts side,
Of water chamlet did he weare,
A whittell by his belt he beare.
His shoes were corned, broad before j
His inckhorne at his side he wore,
And in his hand he bore a booke :
Thus did this auntient poet looke."

The " Description of John Cower'' may be found
• extracted in " Farther Particulars regarding Shake-
speare and his Works," p. 35. Both are curious, as
they were probably derived from some then existing
painting or illumination, not now known. In the
course of the tract Greene acknowledges various
works, but he especially repudiates "The Cobbler of
Canterbury," which had been falsely attributed to
him. He speaks of his " Never too Late," printed
in 1590, and of his Mourning Garment," as if it
were then in the press ; but according to Mr Dyce
it had been printed two years before. Greene's
" Repentance," the title of which is also introduced,
bears date in 1592. Chaucer and Gower discuss the
merits and vices of Greene's productions, and King
Solomon is called in as an umpire, who exhorts
Greene to abandon folly and to seek wisdom.

yoL. iv.{')

B

PANDOSTO.

T THE TRIUMPH

OF TIME.

WHEREIN IS DISCOVERED

by a pleasant Historie, that although by the meanes
of sinister fortune, Truth may be concealed
yet by Time z'n spight of foriune it
is most manifestly reuealed.

Pleasant for age to auoyde drowsie thoughtes,
profitable for youth to eschue other wanton
pastimes, and bringing to both a de-
sired content,

Temporis filia Veritas.

IT By Robert Greene, Maister of Artes
in Cainbridgc.

Omiie tulit punctum qui miscuit vtile dulci.

Imprinted at London by Tho7?ias Onmn for Thomas
Cadma?i, dwelling at the Signe of the JBible,
neere vnto the North doore of Paules,
1588.

TO THE GENTLEMEN READERS
HEALTH.

The paultring Poet Aphranius, being blamed for
troublinge the Emperor Trajan with so many doting
Poenis, adventured notwithstanding, stil to present
him with rude and homely verses, excusing himselfe
with the courtesie of the Emperour, which did as
friendly accept, as he fondly olferd. So Gentlemen,
if any condemne my rashnesse for troubling your eares
with to many unlearned Pamphlets : I will straight
shroud my selfe under the shadowe of your courtesies,
and with Apkranitts lay the blame on you as well for
frendly reading them, as on my selfe for fondly pen-
ning them : Hoping though fond curious, or rather
currish backbiters breathe out slaunderous speeches •
yet the courteous Readers (whom I feare to- offend)
wil requite my travell, at the least with silence : and
in this hope I rest wishing you health and happines.

Robert Greene.

TO THE

RIGHT HONORABLE GEORGE CLIFFORD,

EARLE OF CUMBERLAND,

ROBERT GREENE
Wisheth increase of Honour afid Veriue.
a

The Rascians (right honorable) when by long gazing
against the Sunne, they become halfe blinde, recover
their sightes by looking on the blacke Loade-stone.
Unicomes being glutted with brousing on roots of
Licquoris, sharpen their stomacks with crushing bitter
grasse.

Alexander vouchsafed as well to smile at the croked
picture of Vulcan, as to wonder at the curious coun-
terfeite of Venus. The minde is sometimes delighted
as much with small trifles as with sumptuous triumphs j
and as wel pleased with hearing of Pans homely fan-
cies, as of Hercules renowmed laboures.

Syllie Baucis coulde not serve Jupiter in a silver
plate, but in a woodden dish. Al that honour Escu-
lapius, decke not his shrine with Jewels. Apollo gives
Oracles as wel to the poor man for his mite, as to the
rich man for his treasure. The stone Echites is not
so much Hked for the colour, as for vertue, and giftes
are not to be measured by the worth, but by the will.
Mtson that unskilfull Pamter of Greece, adventured

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORIE,

21

to give unto Darius the shielde of Pallas, so roughlie
shadowed, as he smiled more at the follie of the man,
then at the imperfection of his arte. So I present
unto your honour the triumph of time, so rudelie
finished, as I feare your honour wil rather frowne at
my impudencie, then laugh at my ignorancie : But I
hope my willing minde shal excuse my slender skill,
and your honours curtesie shadowe my rashnes.

They which feare the biting of vipers do carie in
their hands the plumes of a Phoenix. Phydias drewe
Vulcan sitting in a chair of Ivory. Caesars crow durst
never cry, Ave^ but when she was pearked on the
CapitoU. And I seeke to shroude this imperfect
Pamphlet under your honours patronage, doubting
the dint of such invenomed vipers, as seeke with their
slaunderous reproches to carpe at al, being oftentimes,
most unlearned of all ; and assure myselfe, that your
honours renowmed valure, and vertuous disposition
shall be a sufficient defence to protect me from the
Poysoned tongues of such scorning Sycophants, hoping
that as Jupiter vouchsafed to lodge in Philemons
thatched Cotage : and Phillip of Macedon, to take a
bunche of grapes of a country pesant, so I hope your
honour, measuring my worke by my will, and wayghing
more the mind than the matter, will when you have
cast a glaunce at this toy, with Minerva, under your
golden Target couer a deformed Owle. And in this
liope I rest, wishing unto you, and the vertuous Coun-
tesse your wife, such happy successe as your honours
can desire, or I imagine.

Your Lordships most duetifully to commaunde :

Robert Greene.

The Historic of Dorasttis and
Fawjiia.

AMONG al the passions wherewith humane mindes
are perplexed, there is none that so galleth with
restlesse despight, as the infectious soare of lealousie :
for all other griefes are eyther to bee appeased with
sensible perswasions, to be cured with w^holesome
counsel, to be relieved in want, or by tract of time
to be worne out, (lealousie only excepted) which is so
sawsed with suspitious doubtes, and pinching mistrust,
that whoso seekes by friendly counsaile to rase out this
hellish passion, it foorthwith suspected that he geveth
this advise to cover his owne guiltinesse. Yea, who
so is payned with this restlesse torment doubteth all,
dystnisteth him-selfe, is alwayes frosen with feare, and
fired with suspition, having that wherein consisteth all
his joy to be the breeder of his miserie. Yea, it is
such a heavy enemy to that holy estate of matrimony,
sowing betweene the married couples such deadly
seedes of secret hatred, as Love being once rased out
by spightful distrust, there oft en sueth bloudy revenge,
as this ensuing Hystorie manifestly prooveth : wherein
Pandosto (furiously incensed by causelesse lealousie)

THE HI^TORIE OF DORAS T US AND FAIVNIA. 23

piocured the death of his most loving and loyall wife,
and his owne endlesse sorrow and misery.

In the Countrey of Bohemia there raygned a King
called Pandosto, whose fortunate successe in warres
against his foes, and bountifull curtesie towardes his
friendes in peace, made him to be greatly feared and
loved of all men. This Pandosto had to Wife a Ladie
called Bellaria, by birth royal], learned by education,
faire by nature, by vertues famous, so that it was hard
to judge whether her beautie, fortune, or vertue, wanne
the greatest commendations. These two lincked
together in perfect love, led their lives with such
fortunate content, that their Subjects greatly rejoyced
to see their quiet disposition. They had not beene
married long, but Fortune (willing to increase their
happines) lent them a sonne, so adorned with the gifts
of nature, as the perfection of the Childe greatly aug-
mented the love of the parentes, and the joys of their
commons ; in so much that the Bohemians, to shewe
their inward joyes by outwarde actions, made Bone-
fires and triumphs throughout all the Kingdom e,
appointing Justes and Turneyes for the honour of
their young Prince: whether resorted not onely his
Nobles, but also divers Kings and Princes which were
his neighbours, willing to shewe their friendship they
ought to Pandosto, and to win fame and glory by
their prowesse and valour. Pandosto, whose minde
was fraught with princely liberality, entertayned the
Kings, Princes, and noble men with such submisse
curtesie and magnifical bounty, that they all sawe how
willing he was to gratifie their good wils, making a
feast for Subjects, which continued by the space of
twentie dayes ; all which time the Justes and Turneys
were kept to the great content both of the Lordes and
Ladies there present. This solemne tryumph being
once ended, the assembly, taking their leave of
Pandosto and Bellaria : the young sonne (who was

24

THE HISTORIE OF

called Garinter) was nursed up in the house to the
great joy and content of the parents.

Fortune envious of such happy successe, willing to
shewe some signe of her inconstancie, turned her
wheele, and darkned their bright sunne of prosperitie,
with the mistie cloudes of mishap and misery. For
it so happened that Egistus, King of Sycilia, who in
his youth had bene brought up with Pandosto, desirous
to shewe that neither tracte of time, nor distance of
place could diminish their former friendship, pro-
vided a navie of ships, and sayled into Bohemia to
visite his old friend and companion, who hearing of
his arrival!, went himselfe in person, and his wife
Bellaria, accompanied with a great traine of Lords
and Ladies, to meete Egistus ; and espying him,
alighted from his horse, embraced him very lovingly,
protesting that nothing in the world could have
happened more acceptable to him then his comming,
wishing his wife to welcome his olde friend and
acquaintance: who (to shewe how she liked him
whom her husband loved) intertayned him with such
familiar curtesie, as Egistus perceived himselfe to bee
verie well welcome. After they had thus saluted and
embraced eche other, they mounted againe on horsbacke
and rode towards the Citie, devising and recounting,
howe being children they had passed their youth in
frkndely pastimes : where, by the meanes of the
Citizens,^ Egistus was receyved with triumphs and
showes in such sort, that he marvelled how on so
small a warning they coulde make such preparation.

Passing the streetes thus with such rare sightes,
they rode on to the Pallace, where Pandosto enter-
tained Egistus and his Syciiians with such banqueting
and sumptuous cheare, so royally, as they all had
cause to commend his princely liberality; yea, the
verie basest slave that was knowne to come from
Sycilia was used with such curtesie, that Egistus might

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

25

easily perceive how both hee and his were honored
for his friendes sake. Bellaria (who in her time was
the flower of curtesie), willing to show how unfaynedly
shee looved her husband by his friends intertaine-
ment, used him likewise so familiarly that her counte-
nance bewraied how her minde was affected towardes
him : oftentimes comming her selfe into his bed
chamber, to see that nothing should be amis to mis-
like him. This honest familiarity increased dayly
more and more betwixt them ; for Bellaria, noting in
Egistus a princely and bountifull minde, adorned
with sundrie and excellent qualities, and Egistus,
finding in her a vertuous and curteous disposition,
there grew such a secret uniting of their affections,
that the one could not well be without the company
of the other: in so much that when Pandosto was
busied with such urgent affaires, that hee could not
bee present with his friend Egistus, Bellaria would
walke with him into the Garden, where they two in
privat and pleasant devises would passe away the
time to both their contents. This custome still con-
tinuing betwixt them, a certaine melancholy passion
entring the minde of Pandosto drave him into sundry
and doubtfull thoughts. First, he called to minde
the beauty of his wife Bellaria, the comelines and
braverie of his friend Egistus, thinking that Love was
above all Lawes and therefore to be staled with no
Law ; that it was hard to put fire and flaxe together
without burning j that their open pleasures might
breede his secrete displeasures. He considered with
himselfe that Egistus was a man, and must needes
love : that his wife was a woman, and therefore sub-
ject unto love, and that where fancy forced, friend-
ship was of no force.

These and such like doubtfull thoughtes a long
time smoothering in his stomacke, beganne at last to
kindle in his minde a secret mistrust, which increased

26

THE HIS TOR IE OF

by suspitioiij grewe at last to be a flaming lealousie,
that so tormented him as he could take no rest. He
then began to measure all their actions, and to mis-
construe of their too private familiarite, judging that
it was not for honest affection, but for disordmate
fancy, so that hee began to watch them more nar-
rowely to see if hee coulde gette any true or certaine
proofe to confirme his doubtful! suspition. While
thus he noted their lookes and gestures, and sus-
pected their thoughtes and meaninges, they two
seely soules who doubted nothing of this his treacher-
ous intent, frequented daily cache others companie,
which drave him into such a franticke passion, that
he beganne to beare a secret hate to Egistus, and a
lowring countenance to Bellaria, who marveiling at
such unaccustomed frowns, began to cast beeyond
the Moone, and to enter into a thousand sundrie
thoughtes, which way she should offend her husband :
but finding in her selfe a cleare conscience, ceassed
to muse, until such time as she might find fit oppor-
tunitie to demaund the cause of his dumps. In the
meane time Pandostoes minde was so farre charged
with Jealously, that he did no longer doubt, but was
assured (as he thought) that his Friend Egistus had
entered a wrong pointe in his tables, and so had
played him false play : wherupon desirous to revenge
so great an injury, he thought best to dissemble the
grudge with a faire and friendly countenance : and so
under the shape of a friend, to shew him the tricke of
a foe. Devising with himself a long time how he
might best put away Egistus without suspition of
treacherous murder, hee concluded at last to poyson
him : which opinion pleasing his humour, he became
resolute in his determination, and the better to bring
the matter to passe he called unto him his cupbearer,
with whom in secret he brake the matter : promising
to him for the performance thereof to geve him a

nORASTUS AND FAIVNIA,

27

thousande crown es of yearely revenues : his cup-
bearer, eyther being of a good conscience, or willing
for fashion sake, to deny such a bloudy request,
began with great reasons to perswade Pandosto from
his determinate mischief: shewing him what an
offence murther was to the Gods : how such im-
naturall actions did more displease the heavens, than
men, and that causelesse cruelty did seldome or
never escape without revenge : he layd before his
face, that Egistus was his friend, a King, and one that
was come into his Kingdome, to confirme a league of
perpetuall amitie betwixt them ; that he had, and did
shew him a most friendly countenance : how Egistus
was not onely honoured of his owne people by
obedience, but also loved of the Bohemians for his
curtesie. And that if he now should, without any
just .or manifest cause, poyson him, it would not
onely be a great dishonour to his Majestie^ and a
meanes to sow perpetuall enmity between the Sycilians
and the Bohemians, but also his owne subjects would
repine at such treacherous cruelty. These and such
like perswasions of Franion (for so was his Cup-bearer
called) could no whit prevaile to disswade him from
his divellish enterprize : but remaining resolute in
his determination (his fury so fired with rage, as it
could not be appeased with reason) he began with
bitter taunts to take up his man, and to lay before him
two baites ; preferment and death : saying that if he
would poyson Egistus, he would advance him to high
dignities : if he refused to doe it of an obstinate
minde^ no torture should be too great to requite his
disobedience. Franion, seeing that to perswade
Pandosto any more, was but to strive against the
streame, consented, as soone as an opportunity would
give him leave, to dispatch Egistus : wherewith
Pandosto remained somewhat satisfied, hoping now
he should be fully revenged of such mistrusted in-

28

THE HISTORIE OF

juries, intending also as soon as Egistus was dead, to
give his wife a -sop of the same sawce, and so be rid
of those which were the cause of his restles sorrow.
While thus he lived in this hope, Franion being secret
in his chamber, began to meditate with himselfe in
these terms.

Ah Franion, treason is loved of many, but the
Traitor hated of all : unjust offences n"»ay for a time
escape without danger, but never without revenge.
Thou art servant to a King, and must obey at com-
mand \ yet Franion, against law and conscience, it is
not good to resist a tyrant with armes, nor to please
an unjust King with obedience. What shalt thou
doe? Folly refused gold, and frenzie preferment:
wisdome seeketh after dignity, and counsell keepeth
for gaine. Egistus is a stranger to thee, and Pandosto
thy Soveraigne : thou has little cause to respect the
one, and oughtest to have great care to obey the
other. Thinke this Franion, that a pound of gold
is worth a tunne of Lead, great gifts are little Gods :
and preferment to a meane man is a whetstone to
courage ; there is nothing sweeter than promotion,
nor lighter then report : care not then though most
count thee a traitor, so all call thee rich. Dignity
(Franion) advaunceth thy posteritie, and evil report
can but hurt thy selfe. Know this, where Eagles
builde. Falcons may prey; where Lyons haunt, Foxes
may steale. Kings are known e to commaund,
servants are blamelesse to consent: feare not thou
then to lift at Egistus, Pandosto shall beare the
burthen. Yea but Franion, conscience is a worme
that ever biteth, but never ceaseth : that which is
rubbed with the stone Galactites will never bee hot.
Flesh dipped in the Sea ^geum will never bee
sweete : the hearbe Trigion beeing once bit with an
Aspis, never groweth, and conscience once stayned
with innocent blood, is alwaies tyed to a guiltie

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

29

remorse. Prefer thy content before riches, and a
cleare minde before dignity \ so beeing poore, thou
shalt have rich peace, or else rich, thou shalt enjoy
disquiet.

Franion having muttered out these or such like
words, seeing either he must die with a cleare minde,
or live with a spotted conscience, he was so cumbred
with divers cogitations that hee could take no rest :
untill at last he determined to breake the matter to
Egistus; but fearing that the King should eyther
suspect or heare of such matters, he concealed the
device till opportunitie would permit him to reveale
it. Lingring thus in doubtfuU feare, in an evening
he went to Egistus lodging, and desirous to breake
with him of certaine affaires that touched the King,
after all were commaunded out of the Chamber,
Franion made manifest the whole conspiracie which
Pandosto had devised against him, desiring Egistus
not to account him a Traytor for bewraying his
Maisters counsaile, but to think e that he did it for
conscience: hoping that although his Maister in-
flamed with rage, or incensed by some sinister re-
portes, or slanderous speeches, had imagined such
causelesse niischiefe : yet when time should pacifie
his anger, and try those talebearers but flattering
Parasites, then he would count him as a faithfnll
Seruant that with such care had kept his Maisters
credite. Egistus had not fully heard Franion tell
forth his tale, but a quaking feare possessed all his
limmes, thinking that there was some treason wrought,
and that Franion did but shaddow his craft with these
false colours : wherefore he began to waxe in ch oiler,
and saide that he doubted not Pandosto, sith he was
his friend, and there had never as yet beene any
breach of amity : he had not sought to invade his
lands, to conspire with his enemies, to diss wade his
Subjects from their allegeance; but in word and

30

THE HISTORIE OF

thought he rested his at all times : he knew not there-
fore any cause that should moove Pandosto to seeke
his death, but suspected it to be a compacted knavery
of the Bohemians to bring the King and him to
oddes.

Franion staying him the niiddst of his talke, told
him, that to dally with Princes was with the swannes
to sing against their death, and that if the Bohemians
had intended any such mischiefe, it might have beene
better brought to passe then by revealing the con-
spiracie : therefore his Majesty did ill to misconstrue
of his good meaning, sith his intent was to hinder
treason, not to become a traytor; and to confirme
his promises, if it pleased his Majestie to fly into
Sicilia for the safegarde of his life, hee would goe
with him, and if then he found not such a practise to
be pretended, let his imagined treacherie be repayed
with most monstrous torments, Egistus hearing the
solemn e protestation of Franion, beganne to con-
sider, that in Love and Kingdomes, neither faith, nor
lawe is to bee respected : doubting that Pandosto
thought by his death to destroy his men, and with
speedy warre to invade Sycilia. These and such
doubtes throughly weyghed, he gave great thankes to
Franion, promising if hee might with hfe return e to
Syracusa, that hee would create him a Duke in
Sycilia : craving his Counsell how hee might escape
out of the Countrie. Franion, who having some small
skill in Navigation, was well acquainted with the
Ports and havens, and knew every daunger in the
Sea, joyning in counsell with the Maister of Egistus
Navie, rigged all their ships, and setting them a flote,
let them lie at anchor, to be in the more readines,
when time and winde should serve.

Fortune although blind, yet by chaunce favouring
this just cause, sent them within six dayes a good gale
of winde; which Franion seeing fit for their purpose,

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

31

to put Pandosto out of suspition, the night before
they should sayle, he went to him, and promised,
that the next day he would put the device in prac-
tise, for he had got such a forcible poyson, as the
very smell thereof wold procure suddain death. Pan-
dosto was joyfull to heare this good newes, and
thought every houre a day, till he might be glutted
with bloudy revenge ] but his suit had but ill suc-
cesse. For Egistus fearing that delay might breede
danger, and willing that the grass should not be cut
from under his feete, taking bagge and baggage, by
the helpe of Franion, conveied himselfe and his men
out of a posterne gate of the Cittie, so secretly and
speedily that without any suspition they got to the
Sea shoare ; where, with many a bitter curse taking
their leave of Bohemia, they went aboord. Weighing
their Anchors and hoisting sayle, they passed as fast
as wind and sea would permit towards SyciHa :
Egistus being a joyfull man that he had safely past
such treacherous perils. But as they were quietly
floating on the sea, so Pandosto and his Cittizens were
in an oproare ; for seeing that the Sycilians without
taking their leave, were fled away by night, the
Bohemians feared some treason, and the King
thought that without question his suspition was true,
seeing the Cup-bearer had bewrayed the sum of his
secret pretence. Whereupon he began to imagine
that Franion and his wife Bellaria had conspired with
Egistus, and that the fervent affection shee bare him,
was the onely meanes of his secret departure ; in so
much that incensed with rage, he commaunded that
his wife should be carried straight to prison, untill
they heard further of his pleasure. The Guarde un-
willing to lay their hands one such a vertuous Prin-
cesse, and yet fearing the Kings fury, went very
sorrowfull to fulfill their charge: comming to the
Queenes lodging, they found her playing with her

32

THE HIS TOR IE OF

yong Sonne Garinter : unto whom with teares doing
the message, Bellaria astonished at such a hard cen-
sure, and finding her cleere conscience a sure advocate
to pleade in her cause, went to the prison most
willingly : where with sighes and teares shee past
away the time, till she might come to her triall.

But Pandosto whose reason was suppressed with
rage, and whose unbridled follie was incensed with
fury : seeing Franion had bewrayed his secrets, and
that Egistus might well be rayled on, but not re-
venged : determined to wreake all his wrath on poore
Bellaria. He therefore caused a generall proclama-
tion to be made through all his Realme, that the
Queene and Egistus had by the helpe of Franion, not
onely committed most incestuous adultery, but also
had conspired the Kings death; whereupon the
Traitor Franion was fled away with Egistus, and Bel-
laria was most justly imprisoned. This proclamation
being once blazed through the country, although the
vertuous disposition of the Queene did lialfe discredit
the contents, yet the suddaine and speedy passage of
Egistus, and the secret departure of Franion, induced
them (the circumstances throughly considered) to
thinke that both the proclamation was true, and the
King greatly injured : yet they pityed her case, as
sorrowful that so good a Lady should be crossed with
such adverse fortune. But the King, whose restlesse
rage would remit no pitty, thought that although he
might sufficiently requite his wives falshood with the
bitter plague of pinching penury, yet his minde
should never be glutted with revenge, till he might
have fit time and opportunity to repay the treachery
of Egistus with a totall injury. But a curst Cow
hath oftentimes short homes, and a willing minde
but a weake arme. For Pandosto although he felt
that revenge was a spurre to warre, and that envy
alwaies proffereth Steele, yet he saw, that Egistus was

DORASTUS AlTD FAWNJA,

33

not onely of great puissance and prowesse to with-
stand him, but had also many Kings of his alUance
to ayde him, if neede should serve : for he married
the Emperours daughter of Russia. These and the
like considerations something daunted Pandosto his
courage, so that hee was content rather to put up a
manifest injurie with peace, then hunt after revenge,
dishonor and losse ; determining since Egistus had
escaped scot-free, that Bellaria should pay for all at
an unreasonable price.

Remayning thus resolute in his determination, Bel-
laria continuing still in prison and hearing the con-
tents of the Proclamation, knowing that her minde
was never touched with such affection, nor that
Egistus had ever offered her such discurtesie, would
gladly have come to her answere, that both shee
might have knowne her just accusers, and cleared her
selfe of that guiltlesse crime.

But Pandosto was so inflamed with rage, and in-
fected with Jelousie, as he would not vouchsafe to
heare her, nor admit any just excuse ; so that shee
was faine to make a vertue of her neede and with
patience to beare those heavie injuries. As thus shee
lay crossed with calamities (a great cause to increase
her griefe) she found her selfe quicke with childe :
which as soone as she felt stirre in her body, she
burst forth into bitter teares, exclayming against
fortune in these termes.

Alas, Bellaria, how infortunate art thou, because
fortunate : Better thou hadst beene borne a beggar,
then a Prince, so shouldest thou have bridled Fortune
with want, where now shee sporteth her selfe with thy
plentie. Ah happy life, where poore thoughts, and
meane desires live in secure content, not fearing For-
tune because too low for Fortune.^ Thou seest

1 [Edit. 1588 reads, *'too low. For Fortune, thou seest
now," &c. ; but the passage is wrongly pointed.]

VOL. IV.(') C

34

THE HIS TO RIB OF

now, Bellaria that care is a companion to honor, not
to poverties that high Cedars are crushed with
tempests, when low shrubs are not touched with the
winde ; pretious Diamonds are cut with the file, when
despised pibbles lye safe in the sand. Delphos is
sought to by Princes, not beggers : and Fortunes
Altars smoke with kings presents, not with poore
mens gifts. Happie are such Bellaria, that curse For-
tune for contempt, not feare : and may wish they
were, not sorrow they have beene. Thou art a Prin-
cesse Bellaria, and yet a prisoner ; borne to the one
by descent, assigned to the other by dispite : accused
without cause, and therefore oughtest to dye without
care : for patience is a shield against Fortune, and a
guiltlesse minde yeeldeth not to sorrow. Ah but
infamy galleth unto death, and liveth after death:
Report is plumed with times feathers, and Envie
oftentimes soundeth Fames trumpet: the suspected
adultery shall fly in the ayre, and thy knowne vertues
shall lye hid in the Earth ; one Moale staineth a
whole Face : and what is once spotted with infamy
can hardly be worne out with time. Die then Bel-
laria, Bellaria die: for if the Gods should say thou art
guiltlesse, yet envie would heare the Gods, but never
beleeve the Gods. Ah liaplesse wretch, cease these
tearmes : desperate thoughtes are fit for them that
feare shame, not for such as hope for credite. Pan-
dosto hath darkened thy fame, but shall never dis-
credite thy vertues. Suspition may enter a false
action, but proofe shall never put in his plea : care
not then for envie, sith report hath a blister on her
tongue : and let sorrow baite them which offend, not
touch thee that art faultlesse. But alas poore soule,
how canst thou but sorrow ? Thou art with childe,
and by him, that in steed of kind pittie, pincheth thee
in cold prison.
And with that, such gasping sighes so stopping her

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

35

breath, that shee could not utter more words, but
wringing her hands, and gushing forth streames of
teares, shee passed away the tu-ne with bitter com-
plaints. The Jaylor pitying those her heavie passions,
thinking that if the King knew she were with childe,
he would somewhat appease his fury and release her
from prison, went in al hast, and certified Pandosto,
what the effect of Bellarias complaint was ; who no
sooner heard the Jailor say she was with childe, but
as one possessed with a phranzie, he rose up in a
rage, swearing that shee and the basterd brat she was
[big] withall should die, if the Gods themselves said
no ; thinking that surely by computation of time,
that Egistus and not he was father to the childe.
This suspitious thought galled a fresh this halfe healed
sore, in so much as he could take no rest, untill he
might mittigate his choller a just revenge,

which happened presently after. For Bellaria was
brought to bed of a faire and beautifull daughter:
which no sooner Pandosto hearde, but he deter-
mined that both Bellaria and the young infant
should be burnt with fire. His Nobles, hearing of
the kings cruell sentence, sought by perswasions
to divert him from his bloodie determination : lay-
ing before his face the innocencie of the childe,
and vertuous disposition of his wife, how she had
continually loved and honoured him so tenderly,
that without due proofe he could not, nor ought not
to appeach her of that crime. And if she had faulted,
yet it were more honourable to pardon with mercy,
then to punish with extremity, and more kingly, to be
commended of pitty, than accused of rigour : and as
for the childe, if he should punish it for the mothers
offence, it were to strive against nature and justice ; and
that unnatural actions doe more offend the Gods then
men : how causelesse cruelty, nor innocent blood never
scapes without revenge. These and such like reasons

36

THE HISTORIE OF

could not appease his rage, but he rested resolute in this,
that Bellaria beeing an Adultresse, the childe was a
Bastard, and he would not suffer that such an infamous
brat should call him Father. Yet at last (seeing his
Noble men were importunate upon him) he was con-
tent to spare the childes life, and yet to put it to a
worse death. For he found out this devise, that see-
ing (as he thought) it came by fortune, so he would
commit it to the charge of Fortune, and therefore
caused a little cock-boat to be provided, wherein he
meant to put the babe, and then send it to the
mercies of the Seas and the destenies. From this
his Peeres in no wise could perswade him, but that
he sent presently two of his guard to fetch the childe :
who being come to the prison, and with weeping
teares recounting their Maisters message : Bellaria no
sooner heard the rigorious resolution of her merci-
lesse husband, but she fell downe in a swound, so that
all thought she had bin dead : yet at last being come
to her selfe, shee cryed and screeched out in this wise.

Alas sweete infortunate babe, scarce borne, before
envied by fortune, would the day of thy birth had
beene the terme of thy life : then shouldest thou
have made an ende to care and prevented thy Fathers
rigour. Thy faults cannot yet deserve such hatefull
revenge, thy dayes are too short for so sharpe a
doome, but thy untimely death must pay thy Mothers
Debts, and her guildesse crime must bee thy gastly
curse. And shalt thou, sweete babe be committed to
Fortune, when thou art already spited by Fortune ?
Shall the Seas be thy harbour, and the hard boate thy
cradle ? Shall thy tender Mouth, in steede of sweete
kisses, be nipped with bitter stormes? Shalt thou
have the whistling windes for thy Lullabie, and the
salt Sea fome in steede of sweete milke ? Alas, what
destinies would assigne such hard hap? AVhat
Father would be so cruell? or what Gods will not

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

37

revenge such rigor? Let me kisse thy lippes
(sweete Infant) and wet thy tender cheekes with my
teares, and put this chayne about thy necke, that if
fortune save thee, it may helpe to succour thee. This,^
since thou must goe to surge in the gastfull Seas, with
a sorrowfull kisse I bid thee farewell, and I pray the
Gods thou maist fare well.

Such, and so great was her griefe, that her vitall
spirits being suppressed with sorrow, she fell againe
downe into a trance, having her sences so sotted with
care, that after she was revived yet shee lost her me-
morie, and lay for a great time without moving, as
one in a trance. The guard left her in this perplexitie,
and carried the child to the King, who quite devoide
of pity commanded that without delay it should bee
put in the boat, having neither saile nor rudder to
guid it, and so to bee carried into the midst of the
sea, and there left to the wind and wave as the des-
tinies please to appoint. The very shipmen, seeing the
sweete countenance of the yongbabe, began to accuse
the King of rigor, and to pity the childs hard fortune :
but feare constrayned them to that which their nature
did abhorre j so that they placed it in one of the ends
of the boat, and with a few green bows made a homely
cabben to shrowd it as they could from wind and
weather : having thus trimmed the boat they tied it
to a ship, and so haled it into the mayne Sea, and
then cut in sunder the coarde, which they had no
sooner done, but there arose a mighty tempest, which
tossed the little Boate so vehemently in the waves,
that the shipmen thought it could not long continue
without sincking, yea the storme grewe so great,
that with much labour and perill they got to the
shoare.

But leaving the Childe to her fortunes. Againe to

1 [Thus.]

38

THE HISTORIE OF

Pandosto, who not yet glutted with sufficient revenge,
devised which way he should best increase his Wives
calamitie. But first assembhng his Nobles and
Counsellors, hee called her for the more reproch into
open Court, where it w^as objected against her, that
she had committed adulterie with Egistus, and con-
spired with Franion to poyson Pandosto her husband,
but their pretence being partely spyed, she counselled
them to flie away by night for their better safety.
Bellaria, who standing like a prisoner at the Barre,
feehng in her selfe a cleare Conscience to withstand
her false accusers : seeing that no lesse then death
could pacific her husbands wrath, waxed bolde, and
desired that she might have Lawe and Justice, for
mercy shee neyther craved nor hoped for ; and that
those perjured wretches, which had falsely accused her
to the King, might be brought before her face, to give
in evidence. But Pandosto, whose rage and Jealousie
was such, no reason, nor equitie could appease : tolde
her, that for her accusers they were of such credite,
as their wordes were sufficient witnesse, and that the
sodaine and secret flight of Egistus and Franion con-
firmed that which they had confessed : and as for her, it
was her parte to deny such a monstrus crime, and to
be impudent in forswearing the fact, since shee had
past all shame in committing the fault : but her
stale countenance should stand for no coyne, for as
the Bastard which she bare was served, so she should
with some cruell death be requited. Bellaria no
whit dismayed with this rough reply, tolde her Hus-
band Pandosto, that he spake upon choller, and not
conscience : for her vertuous life had beene ever such,
as no spot of suspition could ever staine. And if she
had borne a friendly countenaunce to Egistus, it was
in respect he was his friende, and not for any lusting
affection : therefore if she were condemned without
any further proofe, it was rigour, and not Law.

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

39

The noble men which sate in judgement, said that
Bellaria spake reason, and intreated the king that the
accusers might be openly examined, and sworne, and
if then the evidence were such, as the Jury might
finde her guilty (for seeing she was a Prince she ought
to be tryed by her peeres) then let her have such
punishment as the extremitie of the Law will assigne
to such malefactors. The king presently made an-
swere, that in this case he might, and would dispence
with the Law, and that the Jury being once panneld,
they should take his word for sufficient evidence,
otherwise he would make the proudest of them repent
it. The noble men seeing the king in choler were all
whist, but Bellaria, whose life then hung in the bal-
launce, fearing more perpetuall infamie then moment-
arie death, tolde the king, if his furie might stand for
a Law that it were vaine to have the Jury yeeld their
verdit ; and therefore she fell downe upon her knees,
and desired the king that for the love he bare to his
young Sonne Garinter, whome she brought into the
world, thathee woulde graunt her a request, which was
this, that it would please his majestie to send sixe of
his noble men whome he best trusted, to the Isle of
Delphos, there to enquire of the Oracle of Apollo,
whether she had committed adultery with Egistus, or
conspired to poyson with Franion : and if the God
Apollo, who by his devine essence knew al secrets,
gave answere that she was guiltie, she were content to
suffer any torment, were it never so terrible. The
request was so reasonable, that Pandosto could not
for shame deny it, unlesse he would bee counted of
all his subjects more wilfull then wise, he therefore
agreed, that with as much speede as might be there
should be certaine Embassadores dispatched to the
He of Delphos ; and in the meane season he com-
manded that his wife should be kept in close prison.
Bellaria having obtained this graunt was now more

40

THE HISTORIE OF

carefull for her little babe that floated on the Seas,
then sorrowful for her owne mishap. For of that
she doubted : of her selfe shee was assured, knowing
if Apollo should give Oracle according to the thoughts
of the hart, yet the sentence should goe one her side,
such was the clearenes of her minde in this case.
But Pandosto (whose suspitious heade still remained
in one song) chose out six of his Nobility, whom hee
knew were scarse indifferent men in the Queenes be-
halfe, and providing all things fit for their journey,
sent them to Delphos: they willing to fulfill the
Kinges commaund, and desirous to see the situation
and custome of the Hand, dispatched thjsir affaires
with as much speede as might be, and embarked
themselves to this voyage, which (the wind and
weather serving fit for their purpose) was soone
ended. For within three weekes they arrived at
Delphos, where they were no sooner set on lande,
but with great devotion they went to the Temple of
Apollo, and there offring sacrifice to the god, and
giftes to the Priest, as the custome was, they humbly
craved an aunswere of their demaund : they had not
long kneeled at the Altar, but Apollo with a loude
voice saide : Bohemians, what you finde behinde the
Alter take and depart. They forthwith obeying the
Oracle founde a scroule of parchment, wherein was
written these words in letters of Golde, —

The Oracle.

SUSPITION IS NO PROOFE : JEALOUSIE IS AN UNEQUALL
JUDGE : BELLARIA IS CHAST ; EGISTUS BLAMELESSE :
FRANION A TRUE SUBJECT ; PANDOSTO TREACHEROUS :
HIS BABE AN INNOCENT, AND THE KING SHAL LIVE
WITHOUT AN HEIRE : IF THAT WHICH IS LOST BE NOT
FOUNDE.

As soone as they had taken out this scroule, the
Priest of the God commaunded them that they should

DOEASTUS AND FAJVNIA,

41

not presume to read it, before they came in tlie pre-
sence of Pandosto : unlesse they would incurre the
displeasure of Apollo. The Bohemian Lords care-
fully obeying his commaund, taking their leave of the
Priest, with great reverence departed out of the Temple,
and went to their ships, and assoone as wind would
permit them, sailed toward Bohemia, whither in short
time they safely arrived, and with great tryumph issuing
out of their Ships went to the Kinges pallace, whom
they found in his chamber accompanied with other
Noble men : Pandosto no sooner saw them, but with
a merrie countenaunce he welcomed them home, ask-
ing what newes : they told his Majestic that they had
received an aunswere of the God written in a scroule,
but with this charge, that they should not read the
contents before they came in the presence of the
King, and with that they delivered him the parch-
ment: but his Noble men entreated him that sith
therein was contayned either the safetie of his Wives
life, and honesty, or her death, and perpetuall infamy,
that he would have his Nobles and Commons assem-
bled in the judgement Hall, where the Queene brought
in as prysoner, should heare the contents : if shee were
found guilty by the Oracle of the God, then all should
have cause to thinke his rigour proceeded of due
desert : if her Grace were found faultlesse, then shee
should bee cleared before all, sith she had bene ac-
cused openly. This pleased the King so, that he
appointed the day, and assembled al his Lords and
Commons, and caused the Queene to be brought in
before the judgement seat, commaunding that the
inditement shoulde bee read, wherein she was accused
of adultery with Egistus, and of conspiracy with
Fran ion : Bellaria hearing the contentes, was no whit
astonished, but made this chearefull aunswer :

If the devine powers bee privy to humane actions
(as no doubt they are) I hope my patience shall make
fortune blushe, and my unspotted life shall staine

42

THE HIS TOR IE OF

spightful discredit. For although lying Report hath
sought to appeach mine honor, and Suspition hath
intended to soyle my credit with infamie : yet where
Vertue keepeth the Forte, Report and suspition may
assayle, but never sack : how I have led my life be-
fore Egistus comming, I appeale Pandosto to the
Gods and to thy conscience. What hath past betwixt
him and me, the Gods only know, and I hope will
presently reveale : that I loved Egistus I can not
denie : that I honored him I shame not to confesse :
to the one I was forced by his vertues, to the other
for his dignities. But as touching lascivious lust, I
say Egistus is honest, and hope my selfe to be found
without spot : for Franion, I can neither accuse him
nor excuse him, for I was not privie to his departure,
and that this is true which I have heere rehearsed, I
referre myself to the devine Oracle.

Bellaria had no sooner sayd, but the King com-
maunded that one of his Dukes should read the con-
tentes of the scroule ; which after the commons had
heard, they gave a great showt, rejoysing and clapping
their hands that the Queene was cleare of that false
accusation : but the king whose conscience was a
witnesse against him of his witlesse furie, and false
suspected lealousie, was so ashamed of his rashe
folly, that he entreated his nobles to perswade Bellaria
to forgive, and forget these injuries : promising not
onely to shew himselfe a loyall and loving husband,
but also to reconcile himselfe to Egistus, and Franion :
revealing then before them all the cause of their
secrete flighte, and how treacherously hee thought to
have practised his death, if the good minde of his
Cupbearer had not prevented his purpose. As thus
he was relating the whole matter, there was worde
brought him that his young sonne Garinter was
sodainly dead, which newes so soone as Bellaria heard,
surcharged before with extreame joy, and now sup-

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

43

pressed with heavie sorrowe, her vital spirites were so
stopped, that she fell downe presently dead, and
could never be revived. This sodaine sight so ap-
palled the Kings Sences, that he sancke from his seat
in a sound, so as he was fayne to be carried by his
nobles to his Pallace, where hee lay by the space of
three dayes without speech : his commons were as
men in dispaire, so diversely distressed : there was
nothing but mourning and lamentation to be heard
throughout al Bohemia : their young Prince dead,
their vertuous Queene bereaved of her life, and
their King and Soveraigne in great hazard : this
tragicall discourse of fortune so daunted them, as
they went like shadowes, not men; yet somewhat
to comfort their heavie hearts, they heard that
Pandosto was come to himselfe, and had recovered
his speache, who as in a fury brayed out these bitter
speaches :

O miserable Pandosto, what surer witnesse then
conscience? what thoughts more sower then suspition ?
What plague more bad then lealousie ? Unnaturall
actions offend the Gods more than men, and cause-
lesse crueltie never scapes without revenge : I have
committed such a bloudy fact, as repent I may, but
recall I cannot. Ah lealousie, a hell to the minde,
and a horror to the conscience, suppressing reason,
and inciting rage ; a worse passion then phrensie, a
greater plague than madnesse. Are the Gods just?
Then let them revenge such brutish e crueltie : my
innocent Babe I have drowned in the Seas ; my loving
wife I have slaine with slaunderous suspition ; my
trusty friend I have sought to betray, and yet the
Gods are slacke to plague such offences. Ah unjust
Apollo, Pandosto is the man that hath committed the
faulte : why should Garinter, seely childe, abide the
paine? Well sith the Gods meane to prolong my
dayes, to increase my dolour, I will offer my guiltie

44

THE HISTORIE OF

bloud a sacrifice to those sackles^ soules, whose lives
are lost by my rigorous folly.

And with that he reached at a Rapier, to have
murdered himselfe, but his Peeres being present,
stayed him from such a bloudy acte : perswading him
to think, that the Commonwealth consisted on his
safetie, and that those sheep could not but perish,
that wanted a sheepheard ; wishing that if hee wouM
not live for himselfe, yet he should have care of his
subjects, and to put such fancies out of his minde,
sith in sores past help, salves do not heale, but hurt :
and in things past cure, care is a corrosive with
these and such hke perswasions the Kinge was over-
come, and began somewhat to quiet his minde : so
that assoone as he could goe abroad, hee caused his
wife to be embalmed, and wrapt in lead with her
young Sonne Garinter ; • erecting a rich and famous
Sepulchre, wherein hee intombed them both, making
such solemn obsequies at her funeral, as al Bohemia
might perceive he did greatly repent him of his fore-
passed folly : causing this Epitaph to be ingraven on
her Tombe in letters of Gold :

% The Epitaph.

HERE LYES ENTOMBDE BELLARIA FAIRE,
FALSLY ACCUSED TO BE UNCHASTE :

CLEARED BY APPOLLOS SACRED DOOME,
YET SLAINE BY JEALOUSIE AT LAST.

WHAT ERE THOU BE THAT PASSEST BY,

CURSSE HIM, THAT CAUSDE THIS QUEENE TO DIE.

This epitaph being ingraven, Pandosto would once
a day repaire to the Tombe, and there with watry
plaintes bewaile his misfortune; coveting no other
companion but sorrowe, nor no other harmonie, but
repentance. But leaving him to his dolorous passions,

1 [Guiltless.]

^ \Corrasive in text.]

DOR AST us AND FAWNIA,

45

at last let us come to shewe the tragicall discourse of
the young infant.

Who beeing tossed with Winde, and Wave, floated
two whole dales without succour, readie at every pufFe
to bee drowned in the Sea, till at last the Tempest
ceassed and the little boate was driven with the tyde
into the Coast of Sycilia, where sticking uppon the
sandes it rested. Fortune minding to be wanton,
willing to shewe that as she hath wrinckles on her
browes : so shee hath dimples in her cheekes ; thought
after so many sower lookes, to lend a fayned smile, and
after a puffing storme, to bring a pretty calme : shee
began thus to dally. It fortuned a poore mercenary
Sheepheardj that dwelled in Sycilia, who got his living
by other mens flockes, missed one of his sheepe, and
thinking it had strayed into the covert, that was hard
by, sought very diligently to find that which he could
not see, fearing either that the Wolves or Eagles had
undone him (for hee was so poore, as a sheepe was
halfe his substaunce), wandered downe toward the Sea
cliffes, to see if perchaunce the sheepe was browsing
on the sea Ivy, whereon they greatly doe feede, but
not finding her there, as he was ready to returne to
his fiocke, hee heard a child crie : but knowing there
was no house nere, he thought he had mistaken the
sound, and that it was the bleatyng of his Sheepe.
Wherefore looking more narrowely, as he cast his eye
to the Sea, he spyed a little boate, from whence as he
attentively listened, he might heare the cry to come :
standing a good while in a maze, at last he went to
the shoare, and wading to the boate, as he looked in,
he saw the little babe lying al alone, ready to die for
hunger and colde, wrapped in a Mantle of Scarlet,
richely imbrodered with Golde, and having a chayne
about the necke.

The Sheepeheard, who before had never seene so
faire a Babe, nor .so riche Jewels, thought assuredly,

46

THE HISTORIE OF

that it was some little God, and began with great
devocion to knock on his breast. The Babe, who
wrythed with the head, to seeke for the pap, began
again e to cry a fresh, whereby the poore man knew
that it was a Childe, which by some sinister meanes
was driven thither by distresse of weather; marvailing
how such a seely infant, which by the Mantle, and the
Chayne, could not be but borne of Noble Parentage,
should be so hardly crossed with deadly mishap. The
poore sheepheard perplexed thus with divers thoughts,
tooke pitty of the childe, and determined with him-
selfe to carry it to the King, that there it might be
brought up, according to the worthinesse of birth; for
his ability coulde not afforde to foster it, though his
good minde was willing to further it Taking there-
fore the Chylde in his armes, as he foulded the mantle
together, the better to defend it from colde, there fell
downe at his foote a very faire and riche purse, wherein
he founde a great summe of golde : which sight so
revived the shepheards spirits, as he was greatly
ravished with joy, and daunted with feare ; loyfull to
see such a summe in his power, and feareful if it
should be knowne, that it might breede his further
daunger. Necessitie wisht him at the least, to retaine
the Golde, though he would not keepe the childe : the
simplicity of his conscience scared him from such
deceiptfull briberie. Thus was the poore manne per-
plexed with a doubtfull Dilemma, until at last the
covetousnesse of the coyne overcame him : for what
will not the greedy desire of Golde cause a man to
doe ? ^ So that he was resolved in himselfe to foster
the child, and with the summe to relieve his want :
resting thus resolute in this point he left seeking of
his sheepe, and as covertly, and secretly as he coulde,
went by a by way to his house, least any of his neigh-
bours should perceave his carriage: as soone as he
was got home, entring in at the doore, the childe be-

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

47

gan to crie, which his wife hearing, and seeing her
husband with a yong babe in his armes, began to bee
somewhat jelousse, yet marveihng that her husband
should be so wanton abroad, sith he was so quiet at
home : but as women are naturally given to beleeve
the worste, so his wife thinking it was some bastard :
beganne to crowe against her goodman, and taking
up a cudgel (for the most maister went breechles)
sware solemnly that shee would make clubs tnmips,
if hee brought any bastard brat within her dores.
The goodman, seeing his wife in her majestie with her
mace in her hand, thought it was time to bowe for
feare of blowes, and desired her to be quiet, for there
was non such matter; but if she could holde her
peace, they were made for ever: and with that he
told her the whole matter, how he had found the
childe in a little boat, without any succour, wrapped
in that costly mantle, and having that rich chaine
about the neck ; but at last when he shewed her the
purse full of gold, she began to simper something
sweetely, and taking her husband about the neck,
kissed him after her homely fashion : saying that she
hoped God had scene their w^ant, and now ment to
relieeve their poverty, and seeing they could get no
children, had sent them this little babe to be their
heire. Take heede in any case (quoth the shepherd)
that you be secret, and blabbe it not out when you
meete with your gossippes, for if you doe, we are like
not only to loose the Golde and lewels, but our other
goodes and lives. Tush (quoth his wife), profit is a
good hatch before the doore : feare not, I have other
things to talke of then of this ; but I pray you let us
lay up the money surely, and the lewels, least by any
mishap it be spied.

After that they had set all things in order, the shep-
heard went to his sheepe with a merry note, and the
good wife learned to sing lullaby at home with her

48

THE HISTORIE OF

yong babe, wrapping it in a homely blanket in sted of
a rich mantle ; nourishing it so clenly and carefully as
it began to bee a jolly girle, in so much that they
began both of them to be very fond of it, seeing, as it
waxed in age, so it increased in beauty. The shep-
heard every night at his comming home, would sing
and daunce it on his knee, and prattle, that in a short
time it began to speake, and call him Dad, and her
Mam : at last when it grew to ripe yeeres, that it was
about seven yeares olde, the shepheard left keeping of
other mens sheepe, and with the money he found in
the purse, he bought him the lease of a pretty farme,
and got a smal flocke of sheepe, which when Fawnia
(for so they named the child) .came to the age of ten
yeres, hee set her to keepe, and shee with such dili-
gence performed her charge as the sheepe prospered
marvellously under her hand. Fawnia thought Porrus
had been her father, and Mopsa her mother, (for so
was the shepheard and his wife called) honoured and
obeyed them with such reverence, that all the neigh-
bours praised the duetifuU obedience of the child.
Porrus grewe in a short time to bee a man of some
wealth, and credite ; for fortune so favoured him in
having no charge but Fawnia, that he began to pur-
chase land, intending after his death to give it to his
daughter ; so that diverse rich farmers sonnes came as
woers to his house : for Fawnia was something clenly
attired, beeing of such singular beautie and excellent
witte, that whoso sawe her, would have thought shee
had bene some heavenly nymph, and not a mortal
creature : in so much, that when she came to the age
of sixteene yeeres, shee so increased with exquisite
perfection both of body and minde, as her natural dis-
position did bewray that she was borne of some high
parentage ; but the people thinking she was daughter
to the shephard Porrus, rested only amazed at hir
beauty and wit j yea she won such favour and com-

DORAS TUS AXD FAWNIA,

49

mendations in every mans eye, as her beautie was not
only praysed in the countrey, but also spoken of in
the Court : yet such was her submisse modestie, that
although her praise daily increased, her mind was no
whit puffed up with pride, but humbled her selfe as
became a country mayde and the daughter of a poore
sheepheard. Every day she went forth with her sheepe
to the field, keeping them wnth such care and dili-
gence, as al men thought she was verie painfull, de-
fending her face from the heat of the sunne with no
other vale, but wnth a garland made of bowes and
flowers ; which attire became her so gallantly, as shee
seemed to bee the Goddesse Flora her selfe for
beauty.

Fortune, who al this while had shewed a frendly
face, began now to turne her back, and to shewe a
lowring countenance, intending as she had given
Fawnia a slender checke, so she would give her a
harder mate : to bring which to passe, she layd her
traine on this wise. Egistus had but one only son
called Dorastus, about the age of twenty yeeres : a
prince so decked and adorned with the gifts of nature :
so fraught with beauty and vertuous qualities, as not
onely his father joyed to have so good a sonne, and
al his commons rejoyced that God had lent them such
a noble Prince to succeede in the Kingdom. Egistus
placing al his joy in the perfection of his sonne ; see-
ing that he was now mariage-able, sent Embassadors
to the king of Denmarke, to intreate a mariage be-
tweene him and his daughter, who willingly consent-
ing, made answer, that the next spring, if it please
Egistus with his sonne to come into Denmarke, hee
doubted not but they should agree upon reasonable
conditions. Egistus resting satisfied with this friendly
answer, thought convenient in the meane time to
breake with his sonne : finding therefore on a day fi
opportunity, he spake to him in these fatherly tearmes :

VOL. iv.(*) D

THE HISTORIE OF

Dorastus, thy youth warneth me to prevent the
worst, and mine age to provide the best Oportuni-
ties neglected, are signes of folly : actions measured
by time, are seldome bitten with repentance : thou art
young, and I olde : age hath taught me that, which
thy youth cannot yet conceive. I therefore will coun-
sell thee as a father, hoping thou wilt obey as a childe.
Thou seest my white hayres are blossomes for the
grave,^ and thy freshe colour fruite for time and for-
tune, so that it behooveth me to thinke how to dye,
and for thee to care how to live. My crowne I must
leave by death, and thou enjoy my Kingdome by suc-
cession, wherein I hope thy vertue and prowesse shall
bee such, as though my subjectes want my person, yet
they shall see in thee my perfection. That nothing
either may faile to satisfie thy minde, or increase thy
dignities : the onely care I have is to see thee well
marryed before I die, and thou become olde.

Dorastus, who from his infancy, delighted rather to
die with Mars in the Fielde then to dally with Venus
in the Chamber, fearing to displease his father, and
yet not willing to be wed, made him this reuerent
answere.

Sir, there is no greater bond then duetie, nor no
straiter law then nature : disobedience in youth is often
galled with despight in age. The commaund of the
father ought to be a constraint to the childe : so
parentes willes are laws, so they passe not all laws :
may it please your Grace therefore to appoint whome
I shall love, rather then by deniall I should be ap-
peached of disobedience: I rest content to love,
though it bee the only thing I hate.

^ Percy, in his "Reliques," ii. 177, ed. 1812, quotes the fol
lowing as part of an old song on the story of the Beggar's
Daughter of Bethnal Gieen : —

" His reverend lockes in comelye curies did wave.
And on his aged temples gre^ e the hlossomes of the grave "

DOR AST us AND FAWNTA,

Egistus hearing his sonne to fiie so farre from the
marke, began to be somewhat choUericke, and there-
fore made him this hastie aunswere.

What Dorastus canst thou not love? Commeth
this cynicall passion of prone desires or peevish fro-
wardnesse ? What durst thou thinke thy selfe to good
for all, or none good inough for thee ? I tell thee,
Dorastus, there is nothing sweeter then youth, nor
swifter decreasing while it is increasing. Time past
with folly may bee repented, but not recalled. If thou
marrie in age, thy wives freshe couloures will breede
in thee dead thoughtes and suspition, and thy white
hayres her lothesorrmesse and sorrowe. For Venus
affections are not fed with Kingdomes, or treasures,
but with youthfuU conceits and sweet amours. Vulcan
was allotted to shake the tree, but Mars allowed to
reape the fruite. Yeelde Dorastus to thy Fathers per-
swasions, which may prevent thy perils. I have chosen
thee a Wife, faire by nature, royall by birth, by ver-
tues famous, learned by education and rich by posses-
sions, so that it is hard to judge whether her bounty,
or fortune, her beauty, or vertue bee of greater force :
I mean, Dorastus, Euphrania daughter and heire to
the King of Denmarke.

Egistus pausing here a while, looking when his son
should make him answere, and seeing that he stoode
still as one in a trance, he shooke him up thus
sharply.

Well Dorastus take heede, the tree Alpya wasteth
not with fire, but withereth with the dewe : that which
love nourisheth not, perisheth with hate : if thou like
Euphrania, thou breedest my content, and in loving
her thou shalt have my love, otherwise ; and with
that hee flung from his sonne in a rage, leaving him
a sorrowful! man, in that he had by deniall displeased
his Father, and halfe angrie with him selfe that hee
could not yeelde to that passion, whereto both reason

52

THE HISTORIE OF

and his Father perswaded him : but see how fortune
is plumed "w-ith times feathers, and how shea can
minister strange causes to breede straunge effects.

It happened not long after this that there was a
meeting of all the Farmers Daughters in Sy cilia,
wiiither Fawnia was also bidden as the mistres of the
feast, who having attired her selfe in her best garments,
went among the rest of her companions to the merry
meeting : there spending the day in such homely
pastimes as shepheards use. As the evening grew on,
and their sportes ceased, ech taking their leave at
other, Fawnia desiring one of her companions to
beare her companie, w&nt home by the fiocke, to see
if they were well folded, and as they returned, it
fortuned that Dorastus (who all that daye had bene
hawking, and kilde store of game) incountred by the
way these two mayds, and casting his eye sodenly
on Fawnia, he was halfe afraid, fearing that with
Acteon he had seene Diana : for bee thought such
exquisite perfection could not be founde in any mortall
creature. As thus he stoode in a maze, one of his
Pages told him, that the maide with the garland on
her heade was Fawnia, the faire shepheard, whose
jeauty was so much talked of in the Court. Dorastus
desirous to see if nature had adorned her minde with
any inward qualities, as she had decked her body
with outward shape, began to question with her whose
daughter she was, of what age and how she had bin
trained up, who answered him with such modest
reverence and sharpnesse of witte, that Dorastus
thought her outward beautie was but a counterfait to
darken her inward qualities, wondring how so courtly
behaviour could be found in so simple a cottage, and
cursing fortune that had shadowed wit and beauty
with such hard fortune. As thus he held her a long
while with chat, Beauty seeing him at discovert,
thought not to lose the vantage, but strooke him so

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

53

deeply with an invenomed shafte, as he wholy lost his
libertie, and became a slave to Love, which before
contemned love, glad now to gaze on a poore shep-
heard, who before refused the offer of a riche
Princesse j for the perfection of Fawnia had so fired
his fancie as he felt his ramde greatly chaunged, and
his affections altered, cursing Love that had wrought
such a chaunge, and blaming the basenesse of his
mind, that would make such a choice : but thinking
these were but passionat toies that might be thrust
out at pleasure, to avoid the Syi'en that inchaunted
him, he put spurs to his horse, and bad this faire
shepheard farewell.

Fawnia (who all this while had marked the princely
gesture of Dorastus) seeing his face so wel featured,
and each lim so perfectly framed, began greatly to
praise his perfection, commending him so long, till
she found her selfe faultie, and perceived that if she
waded but a little further, she might slippe over her
shooes: shee therefore seeking to quench that fire
which never was put out, went home, and faining her
selfe not well at ease, got her to bed: where casting
a thousand thoughts in her head, she could take no
rest : for if she waked, she began to call to minde his
beautie, and thinking to beguile such thoughts \vdth
sleepe, she then dreamed of his perfection : pestered
thus with these unacquainted passions, she passed the
night as she could in short slumbers.

Dorastus (who all this while rode with a ilea in his
eare) could not by any meanes forget the sweete favour
of Fawnia, but rested so bewitched with her wit and
beauty, as hee could take no rest. He felt fancy to
give the assault, and his wounded mind readie to
yeeld as vanquished : yet he began with divers con-
siderations to suppresse this frantick affection, calling
to minde, that Fawnia was a shepheard, one not
worthy to bee looked at of a Prince, much less to bee

54

THE HISTORJE OF

loved of such a potentate, thinking what a discredite
it were to himself, and what a griefe it would be to
his father, blaming fortune and accusing his owne
follie, that should bee so fond as but once to cast a
glaunce at such a country slut. As thus he was
raging against him selfe, Love fearing if shee dallied
long, to loose her champion, stept more nigh, and
gave him such a fresh wounde as it pearst him at the
heart, that he was faine to yeeld, maugre his face, and
to forsake the companie and gette him to his chamber:
where being solemnly set, hee burst into these pas-
sionate tearmes.

Ah, Dorastus, art thou alone? No not alone,
while thou art tired with these unacquainted passions.
Yeld to fancy, thou canst not by thy fathers counsaile,
but in a frenzie thou art by just destinies. Thy father
were content, if thou couldest love, and thou there-
fore discontent, because thou doest love. O devine
Love, feared of men because honoured of the Gods,
not to be suppressed by wisdome, because not to be
comprehended by reason : without Lawe, and there-
fore above all Law. How now Dorastus, why doest
thou blaze that with praises, which thou hast cause to
blaspheme with curses? yet why should they curse
Love that are in Love? Blush Dorastus at thy
fortune, thy choice, thy love : thy thoughts cannot be
uttered without shame, nor thy affections without dis-
credit. Ah Fawnia, sweete Fawnia, thy beautie
Fawnia. Shamest not thou Dorastus to name one
unfitte for thy birth, thy dignities, thy Kingdomes ?
Dye Dorastus, Dorastus die. Better hadst thou
perish with high desires, then live in base thoughts.
Yea but, beautie must be obeyed, because it is
beauty, yet framed of the Gods to feede the eye, not
to fetter the heart. Ah but he that striveth against
Love, shooteth with them of Scyrum against the
wind, and with the Cockeatrice pecketh against the

DORASTUS AND FAW^IA,

55

Steele. I will therefore obey, because I must obey.
Fawnia, yea Fawnia shall be my fortune, in spight of
fortune. The Gods above disdain not to love women
beneath. Phoebus liked Sibilla, Jupiter lo, and why
not I then Fawnia ? one something inferiour to these
in birth, but farre superiour to them in beautie, borne
to be a Shepheard, but worthy to be a Goddesse.
Ah Dorastus, wilt thou so forget thy selfe as to suffer
affection to suppresse wisedome, and Love to violate
thine honour? How sower will thy choice be to thy
Father, sorrowfull to thy Subjects, to thy fnends a
griefe, most gladsome to thy foes I Subdue then thy
affections, and cease to love her whome thou couldst
not love, unlesse blinded with too much love. Tushe
I talke to the wind, and in seeking to prevent the
causes, I further the effectes. I will yet praise
Fawnia ; honour, yea and love Fawnia, and at this
day followe content, not counsaile. Doo Dorastus,
thou canst but repent : and with that his Page came
into the chamber, whereupon hee ceased from his
complaints, hoping that time would weare out that
which fortune had wrought As thus he was pained,
so poore Fawnia was diversly perplexed : for the next
morning getting up very earely, she went to her
sheepe, thinking with hard labours to passe away her
new conceived amours, beginning very busily to drive
them to the field, and then to shifte the foldes, at last
(wearied with toile) she sate her down, where (poore
soule) she was more tryed with fond affections : for
love beganne to assault her, in so much that as she
sate upon the side of a hill, she began to accuse her
owne folly in these tearmes.

Infortunate Fawnia, and therefore infortunate
because Fawnia, thy shepherds hooke sheweth thy
poore state, thy proud desires an aspiring mind : the
one declareth thy want, the other thy pride. No
bastard hauke must soare so high as the Hobbie, no

56

THE HISTORIE OF

Fowle gaze against the Sunne but the Eagle, actions
wrought against nature reape despight, and thoughts
above Fortune disdaine. Fawnia, thou art a shep-
heard, daughter to poore Porrus : if thou rest content
with this, thou art like to stande, if thou climbe thou
art sure to fal. The Herb Anita growing higher then
sixe ynches becommeth a weede. Nylus flowing
more then twelve cubits procureth a dearth. Daring
affections that passe measure, are cut shorte by time
or fortune : suppres.se then Fawnia those thoughts
which thou mayest shame to expresse. But ah
Fawnia, love is a Lord, who will comrhaund by
power, and constrain e by force. Dorastus, ah
Dorastus is the man I love, the woorse is thy hap.
and the lesse cause hast thou to hope. Will Eagles
catch at flyes, will Cedars stoupe to brambles, oi
mighty Princes looke at such homely trulles ? No.
no, thinke this, Dorastus disdaine is greater then th]
desire, hee is a Prince respecting his honour, thou s
beggars brat forgetting thy calling. Cease then no
onely to say, but to thinke to love Dorastus, and dis
semble thy love Fawnia, for better it were to dye will
griefe, then to live with shame : yet in despight o
love I will sigh, to see if I can sigh out love.

Fawnia somewhat appeasing her griefes with thes
pithie perswasions, began after her wonted maner t'
walke about her sheepe, and to keepe them fror
straying into the corne, suppressing her affection wit
the due consideration of her base estate, and with th
impossibilities of her love, thinking it were frenzy, nc
fancy, to covet that which the very destinies did den
her to obteine.

But Dorastus was more impatient in his passions
for love so fiercely assayled him, that neither con
panic, nor musicke could mittigate his martirdom^
but did rather far the more increase his maladie
shame would not let him crave counsaile in this cas

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

57

nor feare of his Fathers displeasure reveyle it to any
secrete friend ; but hee was faine to make a Secretarie
of himselfe, and to participate his thoughtes with his
owne troubled mind. Lingring thus awhile in doubt-
full suspence, at last stealing secretely from the court
without either men or Page, hee went to see if hee
could espie Fawnia walking abroade in the field^; but
as one having a great deale more skill to retrive the
partridge with his spaniels, then to hunt after such
a straunge pray, he sought, but was little the better :
which crosse lucke drave him into a great choler, that
he began to accuse love and fortune. But as he was
readie to retire, he sawe Fawnia sitting all alone under
the side of a hill, making a garland of such homely
flowres as the fields did afoord. This sight so revived
his spirites that he drewe nigh, with more judgement
to take a view of her singular perfection, which hee
found to bee such as in that countrey attyre she
stained al the courtlie Dames of Sicilia. While thus
he stoode gazing with pearcing lookes on her surpass-
ing beautie, Fawnia cast her eye aside, and spyed
Dorastus, with sudden sight made the poore girle to
blush, and to die her christal cheeks with a vermilion
red j which gave her such a grace, as she seemed farre
more beautiful. And with that she rose up, saluting the
Prince with such modest curtesies, as he wondred how
a country maid could afoord such courtly behaviour.
Dorastus, repaying her curtesie with a smiling coun-
tenance, began to parlie with her on this manner.

Faire maide (quoth he) either your want is great, or
a shepheards Hfe very sweete, that your delight is in
such country labors. I can not conceive what pleasure
you should take, unless you meane to imitate the
nymphes, being yourself so like a Nymph. To put me
out of this doubt, shew me what is to be commended
in a shepherdes life, and what pleasures you have to
countervaile these drudging laboures.

THE HISTORIE OF

Fawilia with blushing face made him this ready
aunswere. Sir, what richer state then content, or what
sweeter life then quiet ? we shepheards are not borne
to honor, nor beholding unto beautie, the less care we
have to feare fame or fortune : we count our attire
brave inough if warme inough, and our foode dainty,
if to suffice nature : our greatest enemie is the wolfe ;
our onely care in safe keeping our flock : in stead of
courtlie ditties we spend the dales with cuntry songs :
our amorous conceites are homely thoughtes ; delight-
ing as much to talke of Pan and his cuntrey prankes,
as Ladies to tell of Venus and her wanton toyes.
Our toyle is in shifting the fouldes, and looking to the
Lambes, easie labours : oft singing and telling tales,
homely pleasures ; our greatest welth not to covet,
our honor not to climbe, our quiet not to care.
Envie looketh not so lowe as shepheards : Shep-
heards gaze not so high as ambition : we are rich in
that we are poore with content,^ and proud onely in
this, that we have no cause to be proud.

This wittie aunswer of Fawniaso inflamed Dorastus
fancy, as he commended him selfe for making so good
a choyce, thinking, if her birth were aunswerable to
her wit and beauty, that she were a fitte mate for the
most famous Prince in the worlde. He therefore
beganne to sifte her more narrowely on this manner.

Fawnia, I see thou art content with Country labours,
because thou knowest not Courtly pleasures : I com-
mend thy wit, and pitty thy want : but wilt thou leave
thy Fathers Cottage and serve a Courtlie Mistresse?

Sir (quoth she) baggers ought not to strive against
fortune, nor to gaze after honour, least either their fall
be greater, or they become blinde. I am borne to
toile for the Court, not in the Court, my nature unfit

^ "Poor and content is rich, and rich enough."

Othello," iii. 3.

D0RAS7US AND FAWNIA.

59

for their nurture : better live then in meane degree,
than in high disdaine.

Well saide, Fawnia (quoth Dorastus) I gesse at thy
thoughtes \ thou art in love with some Countrey
Shephearde,

No sir (quoth she) shepheards cannot love, that
are so simple, and maides may not love that are so
young.

Nay therefore (quoth Dorastus) maides must love,
because they are- young, for Cupid is a child, and
Venus, though olde, is painted with fresh coloures.

I graunt (quoth she) age may be painted with new
shadowes, and youth may have imperfect affections ;
but what arte concealeth in one, ignorance revealeth
in the other. Dorastus seeing Pawnia held him so
harde, thought it was vaine so long to beate about the
bush : therefore he thought to have given her a fresh
charge ; but he was prevented by certain e of his men,
who missing their maister, came posting to seeke him 3
seeing that he was gone foorth all alone, yet before
they drewe so nie that they might heare their talke, he
used these speeches.

Why Fawnia, perhappes I love thee, and then thou
must needes yeelde, for thou knowest I can com-
maunde and constraine. Trueth sir (quoth she) but
not to love ; for constrained love is force, not love :
and know this sir, mine honesty is such, as I hadde
rather dye then be a concubine even to a King, and
my birth is so base as I am unfitte to bee a wife to a
poore farmer. Why then (quoth he) thou canst not
love Dorastus. Yes saide Fawnia, when Dorastus
becomes a shepheard, and with that the presence of
his men broke off their parle, so that he went with
them to the palace and left Fawnia sitting still on the
hill side, who seeing that the night drewe on, shifted
her fouldes, and busied her selfe about other worke to
drive away such fond fancies as began to trouble her

6o

7HE HISTORIE OF

braine. But all this could not prevaile, for the beautie
of Dorastus had made such a deepe impression in her
heart, as it could not be vvorne out without cracking,
so that she was forced to blame her owne folly in this
wise.

Ah Fawnia, why doest thou gaze against the
Sunne, or catch at the AVinde? starres are to be
looked at with the eye, not reacht at with the
hande -} thoughts are to be measured by Fortunes,
not by desires: falles come not by sitting low, but
by climing too hie : what then shal al feare to fal,
because some happe to fall? No luck commeth by
lot, and fortune windeth those threedes which the
destinies spin. Thou art favored Fawnia of a prince,
and yet thou art so fond to reject desired favours :
thou hast deniall at thy tonges end, and desire
at thy hearts bottome ; a womans fault, to spume
at that with her foote, which she greedily catcheth at
with her hand. Thou lovest Dorastus, Fawnia, and
yet seemest to lower. Take heede, if hee retire thou
wilt repent ; for unles hee love, thou canst but dye.
Dye then Fawnia ; for Dorastus doth but jest : the
Lyon never prayeth on the mouse, nor Faulcons
stoupe not to dead stales. Sit downe then in sorrow,
ceasse to love, and content thy selfe, that Dorastus
will vouchsafe to flatter Fawnia, though not to fancy
Fawnia. Heigh ho ! Ah foole, it were seemelier for
thee to whistle as a Shepheard, then to sigh as a lover.
And with that she ceassed from these perplexed
passions, folding her sheepe, and hying home to her
poore Cottage.

But such was the incessant sorrow of Dorastus to
thinke on the witte and beautie of Fawnia, and to see
how fond hee was being a Prince ; and how froward

^ " Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ?"

— " Two Gentlemen of Verona," lii. i.

DORASTUS AND FAIVNIA,

6i

she was being a beggar, then he began to loose his
wonted appetite, to looke pale and wan ; instead of
mirth, to feede on melancholy ; for courtly daunces
to use cold dumpes j in so much that not onely his
owne men, but his father and all the court began to
marvaile at his sudden change, thinking that some
lingring sickenes had brought him into this state:
wherefore he caused Phisitions to come, but Dorastus
neither would let them minister, nor so much as suffer
them to see his urine ; but remained stil so oppressed
with these passions, as he feared in him selfe a farther
inconvenience. His honor wished him to ceasse
from such folly, but Love forced him to follow fancy :
yea and in despight of honour, love wonne the conquest,
so that his hot desires caused him to find new devises,
for hee presently made himselfe a shepheards coate,
that he might goe unknown e, and with the lesse sus-
pition to prattle with Fawnia, and conveied it secretly
into a thick gi'ove hard joyning to the Pallace, whether
finding fit time, and opportunity, he went all alone,
and putting oft* his princely apparel got on those shep-
heards roabes, and taking a great hooke in his hand
(which he had also gotten) he went very anciently
\sic\ to find out the mistres of his affection : but as
he went by the way, seeing himselfe clad in such un-
seemely ragges, he began to smile at his owne folly,
and to reprove his fondnesse, in these tearmes.

Well said Dorastus, thou keepest a right decorum,
base desires and homely attires : thy thoughtes are
fit for none but a shepheard, and thy apparell such as
only become a shepheard. A strange change from a
Prince to a pesant ! What is it ? thy wretched for-
tune or thy wilful folly ? Is it thy cursed destinies ?
Or thy crooked desires, that appointeth thee this pen-
ance ? Ah Dorastus thou canst but love, and unlesse
thou love, thou art like to perish for love. Yet fond
foole, choose flowers, not weedes; Diamondes, not

62

THE HISTORIE OF

peables ; Ladies which may honour thee, not shep-
heards which may disgrace thee. Venus is painted
in silkes, not in ragges j and Cupid treadeth on dis-
daine, when he reacheth at dignitie. And yet
Dorastus shame not at thy shepheards weede : the
heavenly Godes have sometime earthly thoughtes :
Neptune became a ram, Jupiter a Bui, Apollo a
shepheard : they Gods, and yet in love \ and thou a
man appointed to love.

Devising thus with himselfe, hee drew nigh to the
place where Fawnia was keeping her shepe, who
casting her eye aside, and seeing such a manerly
shepheard, perfectly limmed, and comming with so
good a pace, she began halfe to forget Dorastus, and
to favor this prety shepheard, whom she thought shee
might both love and obtaine : but as shee was in
these thoughts, she perceived then, that it was the
yong prince Dorastus, wherfore she rose up and
reverently saluted him. Dorastus taking her by the
hand, repaied her curtesie with a sweet kisse, and
praying her to sit downe by him, he began thus to
lay the batterie.

If thou marvell Fawnia at my strange attyre, thou
wouldest more muse at my unaccustomed thoughtes :
the one disgraceth but my outward shape, the other
disturbeth my inward sences. I love Fawnia, and
therefore what love liketh I cannot mishke. Fawnia
thou hast promised to love, and I hope thou wilt
performe no lesse : I have fulfilled thy request, and
now thou canst but graunt my desire. Thou wert
content to love Dorastus when he ceast to be a
Prince and to become a shepheard, and see I have
made the change, and therefore not to misse of my
choice.

Tnieth, quoth Fawnia, but all that weare Cooles
are not Monkes : painted Eagles are pictures,
not Eagles. Zeusis Grapes were like Grapes, yet

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

63

shadowes; rich clothing make not princes: nor
homely attyre beggers : shepheards are n,ot called
shepheardes, because they were hookes and bagges,
but that they are borne poore, and live to keepe
sheepe ; so this attire hath not made Dorastus a shep-
herd, but to seeme like a shepherd.

Well Fawnia, answered Dorastus, were I a shep-
herd, I could not but like thee, and being a prince I
am forst to love thee. Take heed Fawnia be not
proud of beauties painting, for it is a flower that
fadeth in the blossome. Those which disdayne in
youth are despised in age: Beauties shadowes are
trickt up with times colours, which being set to drie
in the sunne are stained with the sunne, scarce
pleasing the sight ere they beginne not to be worth
the sight, not much unlike the herbe Ephemeron,
which flourisheth in the morning and is withered
before the sunne setting : if my desire were against
lawe, thou mightest justly deny me by reason ; but I
love thee Fawnia, not to misuse thee as a Concul)ine,
but to use -thee as my wife : I can promise no more,
and meane to performe no lesse.

Fa^vnia hearing this solemne protestation of Do-
rastus, could no longer withstand the assault, but
yeelded up the forte in these friendly tearmes.

Ah Dorastus, I shame to expresse that thou forcest
me with thy sugred speeche to confesse : my base
birth causeth the one, and thy high dignities the
other. Beggars thoughts ought not to reach so far as
Kings, and yet my desires reach as high as Princes.
I dare not say, Dorastus, I love thee, because I am a
shepherd \ but the Gods know I have honored Do-
rastus (pardon if I say amisse) yea and loved Dorastus
with such dutiful affection as Fawnia can performe,
or Dorastus desire: I yeeld, not overcome with
prayers, but with love, resting Dorastus handmaid

64

THE HISTORIE OF

ready to obey his wil, if no prejudice at all to his
honour, nor to my credit.

Dorastus hearing this freendly conclusion of Fawnia
embraced her in his armes, swearing that neither dis-
tance, time, nor adverse fortune should diminish his
affection: but that in despight of the destinies he
would reniaine loyall unto death. Having thus plight
their troath each to other, seeing they could not have
the full fruition of their love in Sycilia, for that Egistus
consent woulde never bee graunted to so meane a
match, Dorastus determined, assone as time and
oportunitie would give them leave, to provide a great
masse of money, and many rich and costly jewels, for
the easier cariage, and then to transporte themselves
and their treasure into Italy, where they should leade
a contented life, until such time as either he could be
reconciled to his Father, or els by sucession come to
the Kingdome. This devise was greatly praysed of
Fawnia, for she feared if the King his father should
but heare of the contract, that his furie v^rould be such
as no lesse than death would stand for payment : she
therefore tould him, that delay bred daunger: that
many mishaps did fall out betweene the cup and the
lip, and that to avoid danger, it were best with as
much speed as might be to pass out of Sycilia, least
fortune might prevent their pretence with some newe
despight : Dorastus, whom love pricked forward with
desire, promised to dispatch his affaires with as great
hast, as either time or oportunitie would geve him
leave: and so resting upon this point, after many
imbracings and sweete kisses they departed.

Dorastus having taken his leave of his best beloved
Fawnia, went to the Grove where hee had his rich
apparel, and there uncasing himself as secretly as
might be, hiding up his shepheards attire, till occasion
should serve againe to use it : he went to the pallace,
shewing by his merrie countenaunce, that either the

DORASTUS AND FA WNIA,

65

State of his body was amended, or the case of his
minde greately redressed : Fawnia poore soule was
no less joyful, that being a shepheard, fortune had
favoured her so, as to reward her with the love of a
Prince, hoping in time to be advaunced from the
daughter of a poore farmer to be the wife of a riche
King : so that she thought every houre a yeere, till
by their departure they might prevent danger, not
ceasing still to goe every daye to her sheepe, not so
much for the care of her flock, as for the desire she
had to see her love and Lord Dorastus : who often-
times, when oportunitie would ser\fe, repaired thither
to feede his fancy with the sweet content of Fawnias
presence: and although he never went to visit her,
but in his shepheards ragges, yet his ofte repaire made
him not onely suspected, but knowne to divers of
their neighbours : who for the good will they bare to
old Porrus, tould him secretly of the matter, wishing
him to keepe his daughter at home^ least she went sa
ofte to the field that she brought him home a yong
Sonne : for they feared that Fawnia being sa beaiitifuK,
the yong prince would allure her to folly. Porrus
was stricken into a dump at these newes, so that
thanking his neighboures for their good will : he hyed
him home to his wife, and calling her aside, wringing
his handes and shedding foorth teares, he brake the
matter to her in these tearmes.

I am afraid wife, that my daughter Fawnia hath
made her selfe so fine, that she will buy repentance
too deare. I heare newes, which if they be true,
some will wish they had not proved true. It is tould
me hy my neighbours, that Dorastus the Kinges sonne
begins to looke at our daughter Fawnia : which if it
-Tdc so, I will not geve her a halfepeny for her honestie
at the yeeres end. I tell thee wife, nowadaies beautie
is a great stale to trap yong men, and faire wordes
and sweete promises are two great enemies to a

VOL. iv.(^) E

66

THE HISTORIE OF

raaydens honestie : and thou knowest where poore
men intreate, and cannot obtaine, there Princes may
commaund^ and wil obtaine. Though Kings sonnes
daunce in nettes, they may not be seene but poore
mens faultes are spied at a little hole : Well, it is a
hard case where Kinges lustes are lawes, and that they
should binde poore men to that, which they them-
selves wilfully breake.

Peace husband (quoth his wife) take heede what
you say : speake no more than you should, least you
heare what you would not : great streames are to be
stopped by sleight, not by force: and princes to be
perswaded by submission, not by rigor : doe what you
can, but no more than you may, least in saving Faw-
nias mayden-head; you loose your owne head. Take
heede I say, it is ill jesting with edged tooles, and
bad sporting with Kinges. The Wolfe had his skinne
puld over his eares for but looking into the Lions
den. Tush wife (quoth he) thou speakest like a foole,
if the King should knowe that Dorastus had begotten
our daughter with childe (as I feare it will fall out
little better) the Kings furie would be such as no
doubt we should both loose our goodes and lives :
necessitie therefore hath no lawe, and I will prevent
this mischiefe with a newe devise that is come into my
head, which shall neither offend the King, nor dis-
please Dorastus. I meane to take the chaine and
the jewels that I found with Fawnia, and carrie them
to the King, letting him then to understand how she
is none of my daughter, but that I found her beaten
up with the water alone in a little boate wrapped in a
riche Mantle, wherein was inclosed thi-s treasure. By

^ Alluding to the old story of the fisherman's daughter, who
was ordered to dance before a great lord, so that she might be
seen, yet not seen, to effect which she covered herself wnth one
of her father's nets. The Italian fool and jester Gonella for the
same purpose is said to have put himself behind a sieve.

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

67

this meanes I hope tlie King will take Fawnia into
his service, and we whatsoever chaunceth shal be
blamelesse. This device pleased the good wife very-
well, so that they determined, assoone as they might
know the King at leisure, to make him privie to this
case.

In the meane time Dorastus was not slacke in his
affaires, but applyed his matters with such diligence,
that he provided all thinges fitte for their journey.
Treasure and Jewels he had gotten great store, thincic-
ing there was no better friend then money in a strange
countrey: rich attire he had provided for Fawnia,
and, because he could not bring the matter to passe
without the helpe and advice of some one, he made
an old servant of his called Capnio, who had served
him from his childhood, privie to his affaires : who
seeing no perswasions could prevaile to divert him
from his setled determination, gave his consent and
dealt so secretly in the cause, that within short space
hee had gotten a ship ready for their passage : the
Mariners seeing a fit gale of winde for their purpose,
wished Capnio to make no delayes, least if they pre-
termitted this good weather, they might stay long ere
they had "such a fayre winde. Capnio fearing that his
negligence should hinder the journey, in the night
time conveyed the trunckes full of treasure into the
shippe, and by secrette meanes let Fawnia under-
stand, that the next morning they meant to depart :
she upon this newes slept verie little that night, but
gotte up very early, and wente to her sheepe, looking
every minute when she should see Dorastus, who
taried not long, for feare delay might breede daunger,
but came as fast as he could gallop, and without any
great circumstance took Fawnia up behinde him and
rode to the haven, where the shippe lay, which was
not three quarters of a mile distant from that place.
He no sooner came there, but the Marriners were

68

THE HISTORIE OF

readie with their Cockboate to set them aboard, where
being coucht together in a Cabben they past away the
time in recounting their old loves, til their man Cap-
nio should come. Porrus who had heard that this
morning the King would go abroad to take the ayre,
called in haste to his wife to bring him his holyday
hose and his best lacket, that he might goe like an
honest substantiall man to tell his tale. His wife a
good cleanly wenche, brought him all things fitte,
and spungd him up very handsomlie, giving him the
chaines and lewels in a little boxe, which Porrus for
the more safety put in his bosom. Having thus all
his trinkets in readines, taking his stafle in his hand
he bad his wife kisse him for good lucke, and so hee
went towards the Pallace. But as he was going, for-
tune (who meant to showe him a little false play) pre-
vented his purpose in this wise.

He met by chaunce in his way Capnio, who trudg-
ing as fast as he could with a little coffer under his
arme to the ship, and spying Porrus whome he knewe
to be Fawnias Father, going towardes the Pallace,
being a wyhe fellow, began to doubt the worst, and
therefore crost him the way, and askt him whither he
was going so earely this morning. Porrus (who knew
by his face that he was one of the Court) meaning
simply, told him that the Kings son Dorastus dealt
hardly with him ; for he had but one daughter who
was a little Beautifull, and that his neighboures told
him the young Prince had allured her to folly, he
went therefore now to complaine to the King how
greatly he was abused.

Capnio (who straight way smelt the whole matter)
began to soth him in his talke, and said that Dorastus
dealt not like a Prince to spoyle any poore manes
daughter in that sort : he therefore would doe the
best for him he could, because he knew he was an
honest man. But (quoth Capnio) you lose your

DOR AS TVS AyD FAWNIA.

69

labour in going to the Pallace, for the King meanes
this day to take the aire of the Sea, and to goe aboord
of a shippe that lies in the haven. I am going before,
you see, to provide all things in redinesse, and if you
will follow my counsaile, turne back with me to the
haven, where I will set you in such a fitte place as
you may speake to the King at your pleasure. Por-
rus giving credit to Capnios smooth tale, gave him a
thousand thanks for his frendly advise, and went with
him to the haven, making all the way his complaintes
of Dorastus, yet concealing secrethe the chaine and
the Jewels. Assone as they were come to the Sea
side, the marriners seeing Capnio, came a land with
their cock-boate, who still dissembling the matter,
demaunded of Forms if he would go see the ship ?
who unwilling and fearing the worst, because he was
not well acquainted with Capnio, made his excuse
that he could not brooke the Sea, therefore would not
trouble him.

Capnio seeing that by faire meanes hee could not
get him aboord, commaunded the mariners that by
violence they should carrie him into the shippe, who
like sturdy knaves hoisted the poore shepheard on
their backes, and bearing him to the boate, lanched
from the land.

Porrus seeing himselfe so cunningly betraied durst
not crie out, for hee sawe it would not prevaile^ but
began to intreate Capnio and the mariners to be good
to him, and to pittie his estate, hee was but a poore
man that lived by his labour : they laughing to see
the shepheard so afraide, made as much haste as they
could, and set him aboorde. Porrus was no sooner
in the shippe, but he saw Dorastus walking with
Fawnia, yet he scarse knew her : for she had attired
her selfe in riche apparell, which so increased her
beauty, that shee resembled rather an Angell then a
mortall creature.

70

THE HISTORIE OF

Dorastus and Fawia, were halfe astonished to see
the olde shepherd, marvailing greatly what wind had
brought him thither, til Capnio told them al the whole
discourse ; how Porrus was going to make his com-
plaint to the King, if by pollicie he had not prevented
him, and therefore now sith he was aboord, for the
avoiding of further danger, it were best to carrie him
into Italy.

Dorastus praised greatly his mans devise, and al-
lowed of his counsaile ; but Fawnia (who stil feared
Porrus, as her father) began to blush for shame, that
by her meanes he should either incure daunger or
displeasure.

The old shephard hearing this hard sentence, that
he should on such a sodaine be caried from his Wife,
his country, and kinsfolke, into a forraine Lande
amongst straungers, began with bitter teares to make
his complaint, and on his knees to intreate Dorastus,
that pardoning his unadvised folly he would give him
leave to goe home \ swearing that hee would keepe
all thinges as secret as they could wish. But these
protestations could not prevaile, although Fawnia
intreated Dorastus very earnestly, but the mariners
hoisting their maine sailes waied ankers, and hailed
into the deepe, where we leave them to the favour of
the wind and seas, and returne to Egistus.

Who having appointed this day to hunt in one of
his Forrests, called for his sonne Dorastus to go
sport himselfe, because hee saw that of late hee began
to loure; but his men made answer that hee was
gone abroade none knew whither, except he were
gone to the grove to walke all alone, as his custome
was to doe every day.

The King willing to waken him out of his dumpes
sent one of his men to goe seeke him, but in vaine, for
at last he returned, but finde him he could not, so that
the King went himselfe to goe see the sport j where

DORASTUS AND FAIVNIA.

71

passing away the day, returning at night from hunt-
ing, hee asked for his sonne, but he could not be
heard of, which drave the King into a great choler :
where upon most of his Noblemen and other Cour-
tiers, poasted abroad to seek him, but they could not
heare of him through all Sicilia, onely they missed
Capnio his man, which againe made the King suspect
that hee w^as not gone farre.

Two or three daies being passed, and no newes
heard of Dorastus, Egistus began to feare that he was
devoured with some wilde beastes, and upon that
made out a great troupe of men to go seeke him ;
who coasted through all the Country, and searched
in everie daungerous and secrete place, untill at last
they mette with a Fisherman that was sitting in a
little covert hard by the sea side mending his nettes,
when Dorastus and Fawnia tooke shipping; who
being examined if he either knewe or heard where
the Kings Sonne was, without any secrecie at all
revealed the whole matter, how he was sayled two
dayes past, and had in his company his man Capnio,
Porrus and his faire Daughter Fawnia. This heavie
newes was presently caryed to the King, who halfe
dead for sorrow commaunded Porrus wife to bee sent
for : she being come to the Pallace, after due exami-
nation, confessed that her neighbours had oft told her
that the Kings Sonne was too familier with Fawnia,
her Daughter: whereuppon, her husband fearing the
worst, about two dayes past (hearing the King should
goe an hunting) rose earely in the morning and went
to make his complaint, but since she neither hearde
of him, nor saw him. Egistus perceiving the womans
unfeyned simplicity, let her depart without incurring
further displeasure, conceiving such secret greefe for
his Sonnes recklesse foUie, that he had so forgotten
his honour and parentage, by so base a choise to dis-
honor his Father, and discredit himselfe, that with

72

THE HISTORIE OF

very care and thought be fel into a quartan fever,
which was so unfit for his aged yeeres and com-
plexion, that he became so weake, as the Phisitions
would graunt him no life.

But his Sonne Dorastus little regarded either father,
countrie, or Kingdom e in respect of his Lady Fawnia,
for fortune smyling on this young novice, lent him so
lucky a gale of winde, for the space of a day and a
night, that the maryners lay and slept upon the
hatches ; but on the next morning about the breake
of the day, the aire began to be overcast, the winds
to rise, the seas to swel, yea presently there arose
such a fearfuU tempest, as the ship was in danger to
be swallowed up with every sea, the maine mast with
the violence of the wind was thrown over boord, the
sayles were tome, the tacklings went in sunder, the
storme raging still so furiously that poore Fawnia was
almost dead for feare, but that she was greatly com-
forted with the presence of Dorastus. The tempest
continued three dayes, at which time the Mariners
everie minute looked for death, and the aire was so
darkned with cloudes that the Maister could not tell
by his compasse in what Coast they were. But upon
the fourth day about ten of the clocke, the wind began
to cease, the sea to wax calme, and the sky to be
cleare, and the Mariners desciyed the coast of Bo-
hemia, shooting of their ordnance for joy that they
had escaped such a fearefuU tempest.

Dorastus hearing that they were arrived at some
harbour, sweetly kissed Fawnia, and bad her be of
good cheare : when they tolde him that the port be-
longed unto the cheife Cittie of Bohemia where Pan-
dosto kept his Court, Dorastus began to be sad,
knowing that his Father hated no man so much as
Pandosto, and that the King himself had sought
secretly to betray Egistus : this considered, he was
halfe afraide to goe on land, but that Capnio coun-

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA,

73

selled him to chaunge his name and his countrey,
until such time as they could get some other barke to
transport them into Italy. Dorastus liking this devise
made his case privy to the Marriners, rewarding them
bountifully for their paines, and charging them to
saye that he was a Gentleman of Trapalonia called
Meleagrus. The shipmen willing to shew what friend-
ship they could to Dorastus, promised to be as secret
as they could, or hee might wish, and uppon this they
landed in a little village a mile distant from the Citie,
where after they had rested a day, thinking to make
provision for their mariage; the fame of Fawnias
beauty was spread throughout all the Citie, so that it
came to the eares of Pandosto ; who then being about
the age of fifty, had notwithstanding yong and freshe
affections : so that he desired greatly to see Fawnia,
and to bring this matter the better to passe, hearing
they had but one man, and how they rested at a very
homely house ; he caused them to be apprehended
as spies, and sent a dozen of his garde to take them :
who being come to their lodging, tolde them the Kings
message. Dorastus no whit dismayed, accompanied
with Fawnia and Capnio, went to the court (for they
left Porrus to keepe the stuffe) who being admitted
to the Kings presence, Dorastus and Fawnia with
humble obedience saluted his majestic.

Pandosto amased at the singular perfection of
Fawnia, stood halfe astonished, viewing her beauty, so
that he had almost forgot himselfe what hee had to
doe : at last with steame countenance he demaunded
their names, and of what countrey they were, and
what caused them to land in Bohemia, Sir (quoth
Dorastus) know that my name Meleagrus is a Knight
borne and brought up in Trapalonia, and this gentie-
woman, whom I meane to take to my wife is an Italian
borne in Padua, from whence I have now brought
her. The Cause I have so small a trayne with me is

74

THE HISTORIE OF

for that her friends unwilling to consent, I intended
secretly to convey her into Trapalonia ; whither as I
was sailing, by distresse of weather I was driven into
these coasts : thus have you heard my name, my
country, and the cause of my voiage. Pandosto
starting from his seat as one in choUer, made this
rough reply.

Meleagrus, I feare this smooth tale hath but small
trueth, and tliat thou coverest a foule skin with faire
paintings. No doubt this Ladie by her grace and
beauty is of her degree more meete for a mighty
Prince, then for a simple knight, and thou like a per-
jured traitour hath bereft her of her parents, to their
present griefe, and her insuing sorrow. Till therefore
I heare more of her parentage and of thy calling, I
wil stay you both here in Bohemia,

Dorastus, in whome rested nothing but Kingly
valor, was not able to suffer the reproches of Pan-
dosto, but that he made him this answer.

It is not meete for a King, without due proofe to
appeach any man of ill behaviour, nor upon suspition
to inferre beleefe : straungers ought to bee entertained
with courtesie, not to bee in treated with crueltie, least
being forced by want to put up injuries : the Gods
revenge their cause with rigor.

Pandosto hearing Dorastus utter these wordes,
commaunded that he should straight be committed
to prison, untill such time as they heard further of
his pleasure, but as for Fawnia, he charged that she
should be entertained in the Court, with such curtesie
as belonged to a straunger and her calling. The rest
of the shipmen he put into the dungeon.

Having thus hardly handled the supposed Trapa-
lonians, Pandosto contrarie to his aged yeares began
to be somwhat tickled with the beauty of Fawnia, in
so much that hee could take no rest, but cast in his

DORASTUS AND FAWNIA.

75

old head a thousand new devises : at last he fell into
these thoughtes.

How art thou pestred Pandosto with fresh affec-
tions, and unfitte fancies, wishing to possesse with an
unwilling mynd, and a hot desire troubled with a
could disdaine? Shall thy mynde yeeld in age to
that thou hast resisted in youth ? Peace Pandosto,
blabbe not out that which thou maiest be ashamed
to reveale to thy self. Ah Fawnia is beautifuU, and
it is not for -thine honour (fond foole) to name her
that is thy Captive, and another mans Concubine.
Alas, I reach at that with my hand which my hart
would fain refuse; plapng like the bird Ibys in Egipt,
which hateth Serpents, yet feedeth on their egges.
Tush, hot desires tume oftentimes to colde disdaine :
Love is brittle, where appetite, not reason, beares the
sway: Kinges thoughtes ought not^to climbe so high
as the heavens, but to looke no lower then honour :
better it is to pecke at the starres with the young
Eagles, then to pray on dead carkasses with the Vul-
ture: tis more honourable for Pandosto to dye by
concealing Love, than to enjoy such unfitte Love.
Dooth Pandosto then love? Yea: whome? A
maide unknowne, yea, and perhapps immodest,
stragled out of her owne countrie ; beautifull, but
not therefore chast ; comely in bodie, but perhappes
crooked in minde. Cease then Pandosto to looke at
Fawnia, much lesse to love her : be not overtaken
with a womans beauty, whose eyes are framed by
arte to inamour, whose hearte is framed by nature to
inchaunt, whose false teares knowe their true times,
and whose sweete wordes pearce deeper then sharpe
swordes.

Here Pandosto ceased from his talke, but not from
his love : although he sought by reason and wisedome
to suppresse this franticke affection : yet he could
take no rest, the beautie of Fawnia had made such a

76

THE HISTORIE OF

deepe impression in his heart. But on a day walking
abroad into a Parke which was hard adjoyning to his
house, he sent by one of his servants for Fawnia, unto
whome he uttered these wordes.

^ Fawnia, I commend thy beauty and wit, and now
pittie thy distresse and want; but if thou wilt forsake
Sir Meleagrus, whose poverty, though a Knight, is
not able to maintaine an estate aunswerable to thy
beauty, and yeld thy consent to Pandosto, I will both
increase thee with dignities and riches. No sir, an-
swered Fawnia; Meleagrus is a knight that hath
wonne me by love, and none but he shal weare me :
his sinister mischance shall not diminishe my affec-
tion, but rather increase my good will : thinke not
though your Grace had imprisoned him without cause,
that feare shall make mee yeeld my consent : I had
rather be Meleagrus wife, and a begger, then live in
plenty, and be Pandostos Concubine. Pandosto
hearing the assured aunswere of Fawnia, would, not-
withstanding, prosecute his suite to the uttermost;
seekmg with faire wordes and great promises to scale
the fort of her chastitie, swearing that if she would
graunt to his desire Meleagrus should not only be
set at libertie, but honored in his courte amongst his
Nobles : but these alluring baytes could not entise
her mmde from the love of her newe betrothed mate
Meleagrus \ which Pandosto seeing, he left her alone
for that time to consider more of the demaund.
Fawnia being alone by her selfe, began to enter into
these solitarie meditations.

Ah infortunate Fawnia thou seest to desire above
fortune, is to strive against the Gods, and Fortune,
n ho gazeth at the sunne weakeneth his sight : they
which stare at the skie, fall ofte into deepe pits •
haddest thou rested content to have bene a shep-
heard, thou needest not to have feared mischaunce •
better had it bene for thee, by sitting lowe, to have

DORASTUS AND FAJVNIA.

77

had quiet, then by climing high to have fallen into
miserie. But alas I feare not mine owne daunger,
but Dorastus displeasure. Ah sweete Dorastus, thou
art a Prince, but now a prisoner, by too much love
procuring thine owne losse : haddest thou not loved
Fawnia thou haddest bene fortunate : shall I then
bee false to him that hath forsaken Kingdomes for
my cause ? no, would my death might deliver him, so
mine honor might be preserved. With that fetch-
ing a deepe sigh, she ceased from her complaints,
and went againe to the Pallace, injoying a libertie
without content, and profered pleasure with smal joy.
But poore Dorastus lay all this while in close prison,
being pinched with a hard restraint, and pained with
the burden of colde, and heavie Irons, sorrowing
sometmies that his fond affection had procured him
this mishappe, that by the disobedience of his pa-
rentes, he had wrought his owne despright : an other
while cursing the Gods and fortune, that they should
crosse him with such sinister chaunce : uttering at
last his passions in these words.

Ah unfortunate wretch borne to mishappe, now
thy folly hath his desert : art thou not worthie for thy
base minde to have bad fortune ? could the destinies
favour thee, which hast forgot thine honor and dig-
nities ? wil not the Gods plague him with despight
that payneth his father with disobedience ? Oh Gods,
if any favour or justice be left, plague me, but favour
poore Fawnia, and shrowd her from the tirannies of
wretched Pandosto, but let my death free her from
mishap, and then welcome death. Dorastus payned
with these heavie passions, sorrowed and sighed, but
in vaine, for which he used the more patience. But
againe lo Pandosto, who broyling at the heat of un-
lawfuU lust, coulde take no rest but still felt his minde
disquieted with his new love, so that his nobles and
subjectes marveyled greatly at this sudaine alteration,

78

THE HIS TORI E OF

not being able to conjecture the cause of this his con-
tinued care. Pandosto thinking every hower a yeare
til he had talked once againe with Fawnia, sent for
her secretly into his chamber, whither though Fawnia
unwillingly comming, Pandosto entertained her very
courteously using these familiar speaches, which Fawnia
answered as shortly in this wise.

Pandosto.

Fawnia are you become lesse wilfull and more wise,
to preferre the love of a King before the liking of a
poore Knight? I thinke ere this you thinke it is
better to be favoured of a King then of a subject.

Faw?iia.

Pandosto, the body is subject to victories, but the
minde not to be subdued by conquest, honesty is to
be preferred before honour, and a drarame of faith
weigheth downe a tunne of gold. I have promised
Meleagrus to love, and will performe no lesse.

Pandosto,

Fawnia, I know thou art not so unwise in thy
choice, as to refuse the offer of a King, nor so in-
grateful as to dispise a good tume : thou art now in
that place where I may commaunde, and yet thou
seest I intreate : my power is such as I may compell
by force, and yet I sue by prayers : Yeelde Fawnia
thy love to him which bumeth in thy love : Melea-
grus shall be set free, thy countrymen discharged, and
thou both loved and honoured,

Fawnia.

I see Pandosto, where lust ruleth it is a miserable
thing to be a virgin, but know this, that I will alwaies
preferre fame before life, and rather choose death
then dishonour.

DORASTUS AND FAIVNIA,

79

Pandosto seeing that there was in Fawnia a deter-
minate courage to love Meleagrus, and a resolution
without feare to hate him, flong away from her in a
rage : swearing if in shorte time she would not be
wonne with reason; he would forget all courtesie,
and compel her to graunt by rigour: but these
threatning wordes no whit dismayed Fawnia; but
that she still both dispited and dispised Pandosto.
While thus these two lovers strove, the one to winne
love the other to live in hate : Egistus heard certaine
newes by the Merchauntes of Bohemia, that his sonne
Dorastus was imprisoned by Pandosto, which made
him feare greatly that his sonne should be but hardly
entreated : yet considering that Bellaria and hee was
cleared by the Oracle of Apollo from that crime
wherewith Pandosto had unjustly charged him, hee
thought best to send with all speed to Pandosto, that
he should set free his sonne Dorastus, and put to
death Fawnia and her father Porrus : finding this by
the advise of Counsaile the speediest remedy to
release his sonne, he caused presently too of his
shippes to be rigged, and thoroughly furnished with
provision of men and victuals, and sent divers of his
men and nobles Embassadoures into Bohemia ; who
willing to obey their King, and relieve^ their yong
Prince : made no delayes, for feare of danger, but
w^th as much speed as might be, sailed towards
Bohemia: the winde and seas favored them greatly,
which made them hope of some good happe, for
within three daies they were landed : which Pandosto
no soner heard of their arrivall, but hee in person
went to meete them, intreating them with such
sumptuous and familiar courtesie, that they might
well perceive how sory he was for the former injuries

^ [Old copies, receive. The correction was suggested by Mr
Collier.]

So

THE HISTORIE OF

hee had offered to their King, and how willing (if it
might be) to make amendes.

As Pandosto made report to them, how one Malea-
grus, a Knight of Trapolonia, was lately arived with
a Lady called Fawnia in his land, comming very sus-
pitiously, accompanied onely with one servant, and
an olde shepheard. The Embassadours perceived by
the halfe, what the whole tale ment, and began to
conjecture, that it was Dorastus, who for feare to bee
knowTie, had chaunged his name: but dissembling
the matter, they shortly arived at the Court, where
after they had bin verie solemnly and sumptuously
feasted, the noble men of Sicilia being gathered
togither, they made reporte of their Embassage :
where they certified Pandosto that Meleagrus was
Sonne and heire to the King Egistus, and that his
name was Dorastus: how contrarie to the Kings
minde he had privily convaied away that Fawnia, in-
tending to marrie her, being but daughter to that
poore shepheard Forms: whereupon the Kings re-
quest was that Capnio, Fawnia, and Porrus, might bee
murthered and put to death, and that his sonne
Dorastus might be sent home in safetie. Pandosto
having attentively and with great mervaile heard their
Embassage, willing to reconcile himselfe to Egistus,
and to shew him how greatly he esteemed his favour:"^
although love and fancy forbad him to hurt Fawnia,
yet in despight of love hee determined to execute
Egistus will without mercy; and therefore he pre-
sently sent for Dorastus out of prison, who mervailing
at this unlooked for curtesie, found at his comming
to the Kings presence, that which he least doubted
of, his fathers Embassadours : who no sooner sawe
him, but with great reverence they honored him : and

^ [Ed. 1588 has labour^ which is altered, as pointed out by Mr
Collier, in the later copies to the word in the text.]

DORASTUS AND FAWNIAi

8l

Pandosto embracing Dorastus, set him by him very
lovingly in a chaire of estate. Dorastus ashamed
that his follie was bewraied, sate a long time as one
in a muse, til Pandosto told him the summe of his
Fathers embassage : which he had no sooner heard,
but he was toucht at the quicke, for the cruell sen-
tence that was pronounced against Fawnia : but
neither could his sorrow nor perswasions prevaile, for
Pandosto commaunded that Fawnia, Porrus, and
Capnio, should bee brought to his presence; who
were no sooner come, but Pandosto having his
former love turned to a disdainfull hate, began to
rage against Fawnia in these tearmes.

Thou disdainfull vassal, thou currish kite, assigned
by the destinies to base fortune, and yet Avith an
aspiring minde gazing after honour : how durst thou
presume, being a beggar, to match with a Prince? By
thy alluring lookes to inchant the sonne of a King to
leave his owne countrie to fulfill thy disordinate lusts ?
O despightfull minde, a proud heart in a beggar is not
unlike to a great fire in a smal cottage, which warmeth
not the house, but burneth it : assure thy selfe that
thou shalt die, and thou old doating foole, whose
follie hath bene such, as to suffer thy daughter to
reach above thy fortune ; looke for no other meede,
but the like punishment. But Capnio, thou which
hast betrayed the King, and hast consented to the
unlawfull lust of thy Lord and maister, I know not
how justly I may plague thee : death is too easie a
punishment for thy falsehood, and to live (if not in
extreme miserie) were not to shew thee equitie. I
therefore award that thou shall have thine eyes put
out, and continually while thou diest, grinde in a mil
like a brute beast. The feare of death brought a
sorrowful! silence upon Fawnia and Capnio, but
Porrus seeing no hope of life, burst forth into these
speeches.

VOL. iv.(') F

82

THE HISTORIE OF

Pandosto, and ye noble 'Embassadours of Sicilia,
seeing without cause I am condemned to die \ I am
yet glad I have opportunitie to disburden my con-
science before my death : I will tel you as much as I
know, and yet no more than is true : whereas I am
accused that I have bene a supporter of Fawnias
pride, and shee disdained as a vilde begger, so it is
that I am neither Father unto her, nor she daughter
unto me. For so it happened tliat I being a poore
shepheard in Sicilia, living by keeping others mens
flockes j one of my sheepe straying downe to the sea
side, as I went to seeke her, I saw a little boat driven
upon the shoare, wherein I found a babe of sixe daies
olde, wrapped in a mantle of skarlet, having about
the necke this chaine: I pittying the child, and
desirous of the treasure, carried it home to my wife,
who with great care nursed it up, and set it to keepe
sheepe. Here is the chaine and the Jewels, and this
Fawnia is the childe whome I found in the boate,
what shee is, or of what parentage I knowe not, but
this I am assured that shee is none of mine."

Pandosto would scarce suffer him to tell out his
tale, but that he enquired the time of the yeere, the
manner of the boate, and other circumstaunces, which
when he found agreeing to his count, he sodainelie
leapt from his seate, and kissed Fawmia, wetting her
tender cheeks with his teares, and crying my daughter
Fawnia, ah sweete Fawnia, I am thy Father, Fawnia.
This sodaine passion of the King drave them all into
a maze, especially Fawnia and Dorastus. But when
the King had breathed himselfe a while in this newe
joy, he rehearsed before the Embassadours the whole
matter, how hee hadde entreated his wife Bellaria for
jealousie, and that this was the childe whome hee
sent to floate in the seas.

FawTiia was not more joy full that she had found
such a Father, then Dorastus was glad he should get

DORASTUS AND FAJVNIA,

83

such a wife. The Embassadors rejoyced that their
yong prince had made such a choice, that those
Kingdomes, which through enmitie had longtime bin
dissevered, should now through perpetual amitie be
united and reconciled. The Citizens and subjects of
Bohemia (hearing that the King had found againe his
Daughter, which was supposed dead, joyful! that
there was an heire apparent to his Kingdome) made
Bonfires and showes throughout the Cittie. The
Courtiers and Knights appointed Justs and Turneis
to signifie their wiUmg mindes in gratifying the Kings
hap.

Eighteene dales being past in these princely sports,
Pandosto willing to recompence old Porrus, of a
shepheard made him a Knight : which done, provid-
ing a sufficient Navie to receive him and his retinue,
accompanied with Dorastus, Fawnia, and the Sicilian
Embassadours, he sailed towards Sicilia, where he
was most princelie entertained by Egistus ; who hear-
ing this comicall event, rejoyced greatly at his sonnes
good happCj and without delay (to the perpetuall joy
of the two yong Lovers) celebrated the marriage:
which was no sooner ended, but Pandosto (calling to
mind how first he betraied his friend Egistus, how
his jealousie was the cause of Bellarias death, that
contrarie to the law of nature hee had lusted after his
owne Daughter) moved with these desperate thoughts,
he fell into a melancholic fit, and to close up the
Comedie with a Tragicall stratageme, he slewe him-
selfe, whose death being many dales bewailed of
Fawnia, Dorastus, and his deere friend Egistus,
Dorastus taking his leave of his father, went with his
wife and the dead corps into Bohemia, where after
they were sumptuouslie intoombed, Dorastus ended
his daies in contented quiet.

FINIS.

KING HENRY VIII.

In the composition of this play Shakespeare probably derived
help, at least in the shape of suggestions, from an earlier drama,
now no longer known, on the subject of Cardinal Wolsey. This
Avas written by Chettle and others in 1601-2, or before, and
appears to have been in two parts. To Samuel Rowley's " When
you see me, you know me," 1605, he was probably under no
obligations whatever.

The old Shakespeare Society contemplated a reprint of Row-
ley's performance from the editio princeps of 1605, it is to be
]-)resumed on account of its collateral and contemporary interest ;
but, after all, it does not come legitimately within the category
of Shakespeariana.

But as Mr Dyce (edition of Shakespeare, 1868, v. 481), re-
marks, the poet frequently employs the veiy words of Holinshed,
to whom he almost unquestionably went for his histor>'. That
he also consulted Foxe's ^'Martyrs," the extract hereafter printed
will show with tolerable clearness.

We have no precise evidence as to the state in which the
drama left the poet's hands ; but there can be little doubt that
it received interpolations, especially in the concluding portion,
from another and very inferior pen.

At the suggestion of Mr Fumivall, select passages from Holin-
shed, running more or less parallel with the course of the drama,
have been given; but there are portions of the latter which
appear to have no counterpart in the historical narrative.

I. Selected Passages from Holinsked's His-
tory of the Reign of Henry VHL

CARDINALL WOOLSIE being still most highlie ^.Fo^^mia^^^^
in the kings fauour, obteined licence to erect a^^s°two°
college at Oxford, and another at Ipswich, the towne ^J^^ f S
where he was borne, the which foundations he began

eth two new

rather of a vaine desire of glorie and worldlie praise,
than vpon the instinction of true religion and aduance-
ment of doctrine, and therfore sith he was not mooued
thereto in respect of true godlinesse and bountiful!
liberalitie, he went about to cloth Peter and rob Paule:
for he first got licence of the king to suppresse cer-
teine small monasteries, and after got a confirmation
of the pope, that he might imploie the goods, lands,
and reuenues belonging to those houses, to the main-
tenance of those his two colleges, whereby not onelie
he, but also the pope were euill spoken of through the
whole realm e.^ .....

1 " The point in which Shakespeare's wording of the cha-
racter of Wolsey differs most from Campion's own, is perhaps
where Wolsey's colleges at Ipswich and Oxford are declared to
'witness.' This fine expression is, it appears, to be fotind in
Campion, in immediate connection with the subject of these two
Q,oVi^g^%:' Appendix to Mr O'CarrolPs Inaugural Address,
1874.

Public
manitcsta-
tion of feel-

Wolsey.

gg HENRY THE EIGHTH.

This time a bill was set vp in London much con-
trarie 0 the honour of the cardinal!, >n the ^vhld. the
cardinall was warned that he ^l-uld not counseU tl^
"""■"^ kin2 tomarrie his daughter into I ranee . lor it nee
'h.'it ddfhe should shewhimselfe emmie to the king an
ci#V"- ^, °'-.ealme with manie threatnmg words. 1 his bill
Fif r waVde iSer o the cardinall by Sir Tlionias Seimor
"f^X^t ^f;^, of the citie which thanked him for the same,
Hade Such earch for the author of that bill, but
he could not be found, which sore displeased the car-
Snail And vpon this occasion the last daie of Apn 1
a ShtTcaused a great watch to be kept at West-
minster and had there cart guns readie charged, &
Sused 'dS se watches to be kept about London m
Newin-ton, S. lohns street, Westminster, sanit Gile ,
IsSn, and other places neere London : which
trhes were kept by gentlemen & their seruants,
,^Jt..:i^^l^,:,Z£i.JAio. feareof the Londoners
Kf..» K Su e of this bi 1. When the citizens knew of this
SS'Kuo ^ST^SZ^^^-^l ^--^^^^l^d why the carduiall hated
Si!m so for they said that if he mistrusted tliem, he
foued them not :^and where loue is not, there is hatred :
and th y affirmed that they neuer intended anie harnie
toward him, and mused of this chance, For if fiue
orTpersons had made alarm in the c.tie, then had
entred all these watchmen with their trame which
might haue spoiled the citie without cause \\ hei;e-
fore they much niurmured against the cardinall and

his vndiscreet dooings

The Dlace where the cardinals should sit to heare
^ the cause of niatrimonie betwixt the king and the
«S- queene was ordeined to be at the Blacke. friers m
/I- iLonS, where in the great hall was preparation made
'■ of seats tables, and other furniture, '-^cco-rding to sud

. a solemne session and roiall apparance. Ihe court
'was platted in tables and benches in manner of a
consistorie, one seat raised higher for the ludges to sit

mailer of the
session
euerie per
sonag-e of
account
his place.

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

89

in. Then as it were in the midst of the said iudges
aloft aboue them three degrees high, was a cloth of
estate hanged, with a chaire roiall vnder the^ same,
wherein sat the king \ and besides him, some distance
from him sat the queene, and vnder the iudges feet
sat the scribes and other officers : the chdefe scribe
was doctor Ste'euens, and the caller of the court was
one Cooke of Winchester.

Then before the king and the iudges within the
court sat the archbishop of Canturburie Warham, and
all the other bishops. Then stood at both ends within,
the counsellors learned in the spirituall laws, as well
the kings as the qu^enes. The doctors of law for the
king (whose names yee haue heard before) had their
conuenient roomes. Thus was the court furnished.
The iudges commanded silence whilest their commis-
sion was read, both to the court and to the people
assembled. That doone the scribes commanded the
crier to call the king by the name of king Henrie of The kin^
England, come into the court, &c. With that the king Sge^TiSS
answered and said, H^ere. Then called he the queene
by the name of Katharine queene of England, come
into the court, &c. Who made no answer, but rose
out of hir chaire.

And bicause shee could not come to the king direct-
lie, for the distance seuered betweene them, shee went
about by the court, and came to the king, kneeling
downe at his f^et, to whome she said in effect as fol-
loweth : Sir (quoth she) I desire you to doo me iustice
and right, and take some pitie vpon me, for I am a
poore woman, and a stranger, borne out of your q^^^^
dominion, hauing h^ere no indifferent counsell,
lesse assurance of freendship. Alas sir, what haue Ij^fec|P*^%
offended you, or what occasion of displeasure haue IgJ^j;^
shewed you, intending thus to put me from you after
this sort? I take God to my iudge, I haue beene
you a true &: humble wife, euer conformable to your
will and pleasure, that neuer contraried or gainesaid

90

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

any thing thereof, and being alwaies contented with
all things wherein you had any delight, whether little
or much, without grudge or displeasure, I loued for
your sake all them whome you loued, whether they
were my freends or enimies.

I haue be'ene your wife these twentie yeares and
more, & you haue had by me diuerse children. If
there be anie iust cause that you can alleage against
me, either of dishonestie, or matter lawfuU to put me
from you ; I am content to depart to my shame and
rebuke : and if there be none, then I praie you to let
The queene Hie haue iustice at your hand. The king your father
InS£gt ^^'^ was in his time of excellent wit, and the king of Spaine
my father Ferdinando was reckoned one of the wisest
princes that reigned in Spaine manie yeares before.
It is not to be doubted, but that they had gathered
as wise counsellors vnto tliem of euerie real me, as to
their wisedoms they thought meet, who de'emed the
marriage betweene you and me good and lawfull, "&c.
Wherefore, I humblie desire you to spare me, vntill I
may know what counsell my freends in Spaine will
aduertise me to take, and if you will not, then your
pleasure be fulfilled. With that she arose vp, making
a lowe curtesie to the king, and departed from therce.
The queene The king being aduertised that shee was readie to
depa^ng^^ go out of the house, commanded the crier to call hir
cS' againe, who called hir by these words ; Katharine
agame. qug'ene of England, come into the court With that
(quoth maister Griffith) madame, you be called againe.
On on (quosh she) it maketh no matter, I will not
tarrie, go on your waies. And thus she departed,
without anie further answer at that time, or anie other,
and neuer would appeare after in anie court. The
king perceiuing she was departed, said these words
in effect : For as much (quoth he) as the queene is
gone, I will in hir absence declare to you all, that
sh6e hath beene to me as true, as obedient, and as
conformable a wife, as I would wish or desire. She

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

91

liath all the vertuous qualities that ought to be in a
woman of hir dignitie, or in anie other of a baser
estate, she is also surelie a noble woman borne, hir
conditions will well declare the same.

With that quoth Wolseie the cardinall : Sir, I most The car-
humblie require your highnesse, to declare before all ?Sred £
this audience, whether I haue beene the cheefe and SSJ^Sd
first moouer of this matter vnto your maiestie or no, JKnoSIJ
for I am greatlie suspected heerein. My lord car-^°°^
dinall (quoth the king) I can well excuse you in this
matter, marrie (quoth he) you haue beene rather
against me in the tempting he'ereof, than a setter for-
ward or moouer of the same. The speciall cause that
mooued me vnto this matter, was a certeine scrupu-
lositie that pricked my conscience, vpon certeine
words spoken at a time when it was, by the bishop of
Baion the French ambassador, who had beene hither
sent, vpon the debating of a marriage to be concluded
betweene our daughter the ladie Marie, and the duke
of Orleance, second son to the king of Prance.

Vpon the resolution and determination whereof, he
desired respit to aduertise the king his maister thereof,
whether our daughter Marie should be legitimate in
respect of this my marriage with this woman, being
sometimes my brothers wife. Which words once con-
ceiued within the secret bottome of my conscience, Thekin?
ingendered such a scrupulous doubt, that my con-fSf^*^
science was incontinentlie accombred, vexed, and dis-
quieted ; whereby I thought my selfe to be greatlie in
danger of Gods indignation. Which appeared to be
(as me seemed) the rather, for that he sent vs no issue
male : and all such issues male as my said wife had by
me, died incontinent after they came into the world,
so that I doubted the great displeasure of God in that
behalfe.

Thus my conscience being tossed in the waues of a
scrupulous mind, and partlie in despaire to haue anie

92

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

Other issue than 1 had alredie by this ladie now my
wife, It behooued me further to consider the state of
this reaime, and the danger it stood in for lacke of a
prince to succeed me, I thought it good in release of
the weightie burthen of my weake conscience, & also
the quiet estate of this worthie relme, to attempt the
law therm, whether I may lawfuUie take another wife
ofthequeSpore lawfulhe, by whom God may send me more
issue, m case this my first copulation was not good,
without anie carnall concupiscence, and not for anie
displeasure or misHking of the queenes person and age,
with whome I would be as well contented to continue,
if our mariage may stand with the laws of God, as
with anie woman aliue.

In this point consisteth all this doubt that we go
about now to trie, by the learning, wisedome, and
mdgement of you our prelats and pastors of all this
our reaime and dominions now heere assembled for
that purpose ; to whose conscience & learning I haue
sub:n^teti?^^,^^^^^^^e<i the chargc and iudgement : according to
ttTeSurS^^'^ ^^^^^^^ I ^^'ili (God willing) be right well content to
aedtn'?§L:f!^,J^^it ^^^7 selfc, and for my part obeie the same,
case^ of di- Wherein, after that I perceiued my conscience so doubt-
full, I mooued it in confession to you my lord of Lin-
colne then ghostlie father. And for so much as then
you your selfe were in some doubt, you mooued me
to aske the counsell of all these my lords : wherevpon
I mooued you my lord of Canturburie, first to haue
your licence, in as much as you were metropolitane,
to put this matter in question, and so I did of all you
my lords : to which you granted vnder your seales,
heere to be shewed. That is truth, quoth the arch-
bishop of Canturburie. After that the king rose vp,
and the court was adiorned vntill another daie.
aT?S^"' Heere is to be noted, that the queene in presence
caxdinai of the whole court most greeuouslie accused the car-
dinall of \mtruth, deceit, wickednesse, & malice, which

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

93

had sowne dissention betwixt hir and the king hit
husband; and therefore openlie protested, that she
did utterlie abhorre, refuse, and forsake such a iudge,
as was not onelie a most malicious enimie to hir, but
also a manifest aduersarie to all right and iustice, and
therewith did she appeale vnto the pope, committing sheap.
hir whole cause to be iudged of him. But notwith- &1*^p2.
standing this appeale, the legats sat weekelie, and
euerie daie were arguments brought in on both parts,
and proofes alleaged for the vnderstanding of the case,
and still they assaied if they could by anie meanes
procure the qudene to call backe hir appeale, which
she vtterlie refused to doo. The king would gladlie The king
haue had an end in the matter, but when the legats SlS^S of
draue time, and determined vpon no certeine point, deiS^
he conceiued a suspicion, that this was doone on pur-
pose, that their dooings might draw to none effect or
conclusion.

The next court daie, the cardinals set againe, at
which time the councell on both sides were there
readie to answer. The kings councell alleaged the
matrimonie not to be lawfuU at the beginning, bicause

The pre-

of the camall copulation had betw^ene prince Arthur ^hie'"^"'
and the queene. This matter was verie vehementlie la^St* ^'
touched on that side, and to prooue it, they alleaged
manie reasons and similitudes of truth : and being
answered negatiuelie againe on the other side, it
seemed that all their former allegations were doubtful!
to be tried, and that no man knew the truth. And
thus this court passed from sessions to sessions, and
daie to daie, till at certeine of their sessions theJang
sent the two cardinals to the queene (who was then in
Bridewell) to persuade with hir by their wisdoms, and
to aduise hir to surrender the whole matter into the
kings hands by her owne consent & will, which should
be much better to hir honour, than to stand to the

94

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

triall of law, and thereby to be condemned,- which
should seeme much to hir dishonour.
Queene The cardinalls being in the queenes chamber of pre-
and the car- SenCC, the gentleman vsher aduertised the queene that
communica- the cardinals were come to speake with hir. With
priuie that she rose vp, & with a skeine of white thred about
chamber, j^-^. Came into hir chamber of presence, where

the cardinals were attending. At whose comming,
quoth she, What is your plesure with me ? If it please
your grace (quoth cardinall Wolseie) to go into your
priuie chamber, we will shew you the cause of our
comming. My lord (quoth she) if yee haue anie thing
to saie, speake it openlie before all these folke, for I
feare nothing that yee can saie against me, but that I
would all the world should heare and see it, and there-
fore speake your mind. Then began the cardinall to
speake to hir in Latine. Naie good my lord (quoth
she) speake to me in Enghsh.

Forsooth (quoth the cardinall) good madame, if it
rlfuseth""" please you, we come both to know your mind how you
denlS'wer are disposed to doo in this matter betweene the king
rie^mSSr and you, and also to declare secretlie our opinions
S?>r?e/'' and counsell vnto you : which we doo only for verie
zeale and obedience we beare vnto your grace. My
lord (quoth she) I thanke you for your good will, but
to make you answer in your request I cannot so sud-
denly, for I was set among my maids at worke, think-
ing full little of anie such matter, wherein there
n^edeth a longer deliberation, and a better head than
mine to make answer, for I n^ed counsell in this case
which toucheth me so neere, & for anie counsell or
freendship that I can find in England, they are not
for my profit. What think you my lords, will anie
Englishman counsell me, or be freend to me against
the K. pleasure that is his subiect? Naie forsooth.
And as for my counsell in whom I will put my trust, they
be not here, they be in Spaine in my owne countrie.

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

95

And my lords, I am a poore woman, lacking wit, to
answer to anie such noble persons of wisedome as you
be, in so weigh tie a matter, therefore I praie yon be
good to me poore woman, destitute of freends here in
a forren region, and your counsell also I will be glad
to heare. And therewith she tooke the cardinal! by
the hand, and led him into hir priuie chamber with the
other cardinall, where they tarried a season talking
with the qudene. Which communication ended, they
departed to the king, making to him relation of hir
talke. Thus this case went for^^ard from court tOanP|u^Si«
court, till it came to iudgement, so that euerie man
expected that iudgment would be giuen the next day. i«dff«nent-
At which daie the king came thither, and set him
downe in a chaire within a doore, in the end of the
gallerie (which opened directlie against the iudgement
seat) to heare the iudgement giuen, at which time all
their proceedings were red in Latine.

That doone, the kings councell at the barre called ^SjfiSs"
for iudgement. With that (quoth cardinall Campeius)
I will not giue iudgment till I haue made relation to ment.
the pope of all our proceedings, whose counsell and
command ement in this case I will obserue : the case
is verie doubtful!, and also the partie defendant will
make no answer liere, but dooth rather appeale from
vs, supposing that we be not indifferent. Wherefore
I will adioume this court at this time, according to
the order of the court of Rome. And with that the
court was dissolued, and no more doone. This pro-
tracting of the conclusion of the matter, King Henrie
tooke verie displeasantlie. Then cardinall Campeius
tooke his leaue of the king and the nobilitie, and re-
turned towards Ronie.

While these things were thus in hand, the cardinall The idnK

„ affection and

of Yorke was aduised that the kmg had set his afiec- ^^>g^'^
tion-vpon a young gentlewoman named Anne, theAjnesai-
daughter of Sir Thomas BuUen, viscount Rochford,

96

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

which did waite vpon the queene. This was a great
griefe vnto the cardinall, as he that perceiued afore-
hand, that the king would marie the said gentlewoman,
if the diuorse tooke place. Wherefore he began
with all dihgence to disappoint that match, which by
^The^secre^ reason of the misliking that he had to the woman, he
diskmS^" iudged ought to be auoided more than present death.
dSSu? 1.VW. While the matter stood in this state, and that the cause
of the queene was to be heard and iudged at Rome,
by reason of the appeale which by hir was put in : the
cardinal required the pope by letters and secret mes-
sengers, that in anie wise he should defer the iudge-
ment of the diuorse, till he might frame the kings
mind to his purpose.
The king Howbeit he went about nothing so secrethe, but
dfs'ifki^re that the same came to the kings knowledge, who
?f?S?^ tooke so high displeasure with such his cloked dis-
simulation, that he determined to abase his degree,
sith as an vnthankefull person he forgot himselfe and
his dutie towards him that had so highly aduanced
i^.dto. Hall, him to all honor and dignitie. When the nobles of
the realme perceiued the cardinall to be in displeasure,
they began to accuse him of such offenses as they
knew might be proued against him, and thereof they
Articles made a booke conteining certeine articles, to which
ajjainst the diuerse of the kings councell set their hands. The
cardinaiL ^.^^ vuderstandlng more plainlie by those articles,
the great pride, presumption, and couetousne;sse of.
the cardinall, was sore mooued against him ; but yet
kept his purpose secret for a while. Shortlie after, a
parlement was called to begin at Westminster the
third of Nouember next insuing.
ThecAr- In the meane time the king, being informed that
Sa^pr'eml all. thosc thlugs that the cardinall had doone by his

Fi. power legantine within this realme, were in the case '
'^'iif"^' of the^^remunire and prouision, caused his atturneie
Christopher Hales to sue out a writ of premunire

HENRY THE EIGHTH

97

against him, in the which he licenced him to make
his atturneie. And further the seventeenth of
Nouember the king sent the two dukes of Norffolke
and Suffolke to the cardinals place at Westminster,
who (went as they were commanded) and finding the
cardmall there, they declared that the kings pleasure
was that he should surrender vp the great seale ii^to ^iSif
their hands, and to depart simplie vnto Asher, which to v^^^^ ^o'"
was a house situat nigh vnto Hampton court, belong- seaie.
ing to the bishoprike of Winchester. The cardinall

. demanded of them their commission that gaue them
such authoritie, who answered againe, that they were
sufficient commissioners, and had authoritie to doo
no lesse by the kings mouth. Notwithstanding, he
would in no wise agree in that behalfe, without further
knowledge of their authoritie, saieng ; that the great
seale was deliuered him by the kings person, to inioy
the ministration thereof, with the roome of the chan-
cellor for the terme of his life, whereof for his suertie
he had the kings letters patents.

This matter was greatlie debated betweene them
with manie great words, in so much that the dukes
were faine to depart againe without their purpose,
and rode to Windsore to the king, and made report
accordinglie ; but the next daie they returned againe,
bringing with them the kings letters. Then the Thecardi-
cardinall deliuered vnto them the great seale, and ged of the
was content to depart simplie, taking with him no-
thing but onelie certeine prouision for his house : and
after long talke betweene him and the dukes, they
departed with the great seale of England, and brought
the same to the king. Then the cardinall called all Thecardi-

' his officers before him, and tooke accompt of them all his officers
for all such stuffe, whereof they had charge. And in ^°
his gallerie were set diuerse tables, wherevpon laie a
great number of goodhe rich stuffe, as whole peeces
of silke of all colours, veluet, sattin, damaske, taffata,
VOL. iv.(^) G

98

HENRY THE EIGHTH

grograiiie, and other things. Also, there laie a thou-
sand peeces of fine Holland cloth.

There was laid on euerie table, bookes reporting
the contents of the same, and so was there inuentaries
of all things in order against the kings comming. He
caused to be hanged the walles of the gallerie on the
one side with cloth of gold, cloth of tissue, cloth of
siluer, and rich cloth of bodken of diuerse colours.
On the other side were hanged the richest sute of
coapes of his owne prouision made for his colleges of
Oxford and Ipswich, that euer were seene in England.
Then had he two chambers adioining to the gallerie,
the one most commonlie called the gilt chamber, and
the other the councell chamber, wherein were set vp
two broad and long tables vpon trestles, whervpon
was set such a number of plates of all sorts, as was
almost incredible.

In the gilt chamber were set out vpon the table
nothing but gilt plate, and vpon a cupbord and in a
window was set no plate but gold, verie rich : and in
the councell chamber was all white and parcell gilt
plate, and vnder the table in baskets was all old
broken siluer plate, and bookes set by them purport-
ing euerie kind of plate, and euerie parcell, with the
contents of the ounces thereof. Thus were all things
prepared, giving charge of all the said stuffe, with all
other remaining in euerie office, to be deliuered to the
king, to make answer to their charge : for the order
was such, that euerie officer was charged with the
receipt of the stuffe belonging to his office by inden-
The cardi- ture. To Sir William Gascoigiie, being his treasuror,
^oeth to he gaue the charge of the deliuerie of the said goods,
haAhis''"'*and therwithall, with his traine of gentlemen and
tMwd into yeomen, he tooke his barge at the priuie staires, and
pcnune ^^^^ Water vnto Putneie, where when he was
arriued, he tooke his mule, & euerie man tooke their
horsses, and rode streight to Asher, where he and his

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

99

faniilie continued the space of three or four weekes
without either beds, sheets/table cloths, or dishes to
eat their meat m, or wherewith to buie anie • the
cardmall was forced to borrow of the bishop of
Carleill, plate and dishes, &c.

After this, in the kings bench his matter for the lohnscu-e
premunire, being called vpon, two atturneis, which ??n„!c'"""'
he had authorised by his warrant signed with his owne
hand, confessed the action, and so had iud^ement to
forfeit all his lands, tenements, goods, and cattels, The cr-
and to be out of the kings protection : but the kin^rd^rSLuSa
of his clemencie sent to him a sufficient protection''''''"""""
and left to him the bishoprikes of Yorke and Win-
chester, with plate and stuffe conuenient for his
degree

The king, which all this while, since the doubt was >c5gement
mooued touching his marriage,' absteined from the

versities on

queenes bed, was now aduertised by his ambassa- ^4"'"
dours, whom he had sent to diuerse vniuersities for
the absolumg of his doubt, that the said vniuersities
were agreed, and cleereHe concluded, that the one
brother might not by Gods law marrie the other
brothers wife, carnallie knowen by the first marriage,
& that neither the pope nor the court of Rome could
m anie wise dispense with the same. For ye must
vnderstand, that amongst other things alleged for
disproofe of the mariage to be lawful!, euidence was
gmen of certeine wordes, which prince Arthur spake

A speciall

the morrow after he was first married to the queene £ difprSofe
whereby it was gathered, that he knew her carnallie ^ia^e'""'
the night then passed. The words were these, as
we find them in the chronicle of master Edward
Hall.

In the morning after he was risen from the bed, in
which he had laine with hir all night, he called for
drmke, which he before time was not accustomed to
doo. At which thing, one of his chamberleines

lOO

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

maruelling, required the cause of his drought. To
whome he answered merilie, saeing ; I haue this night
beene in the middest of Spaine, which is a hot region,
and that iournie maketh me so drie : and if thou
haddest beene vnder that hot climat, thou wouldest
haue be'ene drier than I. Againe, it was alleged, that
after the death of prince Arthur, the king was de-
ferred from the title and creation of prince of Wales
almost halfe a yeare, which thing could^ not haue
be'ene doubted, if she had not be'ene carnallie knowen.
Also she hir selfe caused a bull to be purchased, in
the which were these words Velforsan cognitam, that
is, and "peraduenture carnallie knowen : which words
were not in the first bull granted by pope lulie at her
second manage to the king, which second bull with
that clause was onelie purchased to dispense with the
second matrimonie, although there were carnall copu-
lation before, which bull needed not to haue beene
purchased, if there had be'ene no carnall copulation,
for then the first bull had beene sufficient. To con-
clude, when these & other matters were laid foorth
to prooue that which she denied, the carnall copula-
tion betwLxt her and prince Arthur, hir counsellors
left that matter, and fell to persuasions of naturall
reason. And lastlie, when nothing else would serue,
they stood stitfe in the appeale to the pope, and in
the dispensation purchased from the court of Rome,
so that the matter was thus shifted off, and no end
likelie to be had therein.
Disgrace You hauc heard before how the cardinall was
fiise°}r^' attainted in the premunire, and how he was put out
^Ab^^'flm. of the office of the chancellor, & laie at Asher. In
HaffZi H this Lent season the king by the aduise of his coun-
cxaf cell licenced him to go into his diocesse of Yorke, &
- ^;^3o org^^g Yiim commandement to keepe him in his

The caroi- o. ,

n^aiiiicenwd diocessc, and not to returne southward without the
Yorke- livings speciall licence in writing. So he made great

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

lOI

prouision to go northward, and apparelled his seruants
newlie, and bought manie costlie things for his hous-
hold : and so he might well inough, for he had of
the kings gentlenesse the bishoprikes of Yorke and
Winchester, which were no small thmgs. But at this
time diuerse of his seruants departed from him to the
kings seruice, and in especiall Thomas Crumwell one
of his chiefe counsell, and chiefe dooer for him in the
suppression of abbeies

When night came, the cardinall waxed verie sicke Death or
with the laske, the which caused him continuallie to
go to the stoole all that night, in so.much that he had
that night fiftie stooles : therefore in consideration of
his infirmities, they caused him to tarrie all that day :
and the next daie he tooke his iournie with master
Kingston, and them of the gard, till he came to an
house of the earle of Shrewesburies called Hardwike
hall, where he laie all night verie euill at ease. The
next daie he rode to Notingham, and there lodged
that night more sicke : and the next daie he rode to
Leicester abbeie, and by the waie waxed so sicke that
he was almost fallen from his mule \ so that it was
night before he came to the abbeie of Leicester, where
at his comming in .at the gates, the abbat with all his
conuent met him with diuerse torches light, whom
they honorablie receiued and welcomed.

To whome the cardinall said : father abbat, I am
come hither to lay my bones among you, riding so
still vntill he came to the staires of the chamber,
where he allighted from his mule, and master Kingston
led him vp the staires, and as soone as he was in his
chamber he went to bed. This was on the Saturday
at night, and then increased he sicker and sicker, vntill
mondaie, that all men thought he would haue died :
so on tuesdaie saint Andrewes euen, master Kingston
came to him and bad him good morrow, for it was
about six of the clocke, and asked him now he did?

HENKV THE EIGHTH.

Sir (quotn he) I tairie but the pleasure of God to
render vp my poore soule into his hands. Not so sir
(quoth master Kmgston) ^vith the grace of God, yee
shall hue and doo verie well, if yee will be of good
cheere. JSay m good sooth master Kingston, my dis-
ease IS such, that I can not Hue : for I haue had some
experience in physicke.
rJ^'- ^^^^ it is. I haue a flux with a continuall feuer
Vi^J^.. mature whereof is, that if there be no alteration of
i& same within eight daies, either must insue excoria-
..t h= c.„tion of the intrailes, or fransie, or else present death,
and the best of them is death, and (as I suppose) this
IS the eight daie, & if yee see no alteration in me
tnere is no remedie, saue (though I may Hue a daie
or twaine after) but death must insue. Sir (quoth
maister Kingston) you be in much pensiuenes, doubt-
ing that thing, that in good faith yee need not. Well
^^•ell, master Kingston (quoth the cardinall) I s^e the
J^"^^''-^^^^^ " f framed : but if I had serued God as
f '^'genthe as I haue doone the king, he would not
iudjem.,,, haue giuen me ouer in my greie haires : but it is the
lust reward that I must receiue for the diligent paines
and studie that I haue had to doo him sendee, not
regarding my seruice to God, but onelv to satisfie his
pleasure.

^ I prai you haue me most humblie commended vnto
his roiaH maiestie, & beseech him in my behalfe to "
pall to his pnncehe remembrance all matters proceed-
ing betweene him & me from the beginning of the
world, and the progresse of the same, &c. Master
Kmgston farewell, I can no more saie, but I wish all
things to haue good successe, my time draweth on fast.
inlSTof.'^nd euen with that he began to draw his speech at
length & his toong to faile, his eies being set, whose

brf.'/"r r J"-"-, ■ ''^^y ^emem-
rlTT f 5 ^'f P^'"^"' ^ "'■''^^'^ yeomen of
the gard to stand by to s^e him die, and to witnesse

HENRY THE EIGHTH, I03

of his words at his departure : & incontinent the clocke
stroke eight, and then he gaue vp the ghost, and de-
parted this present life : which caused some to call to
remembrance how he said the daie before, that at
eight of the clocke they should loose their master.

Here is the end and fall of pride and arrogancie of ^^^^pJj^
men exalted by fortune to dignitie : for in his time he arrogancie.
was the hautiest man in all his proceedings aliue,
hauing more respect to the honor of his person, than
he had to his spirituall profession, wherein should be
shewed all meekenes, humilitie, and charitie. [An
example (saith Guicciardin, who handleth this storie
effectuallie, and sheweth the cause of this cardinals*'^''
ruine) in our daies Avoorthie of memorie, touching the
power which fortune and enuie hath in the courts of
princes.] He died in Leicester abbie, & in the church
of the same abbie was buried. Such is the suertie of
mans brittle state, doubtfuU in birth, & no lesse feeble
in life, which is as vncerteine, as death most certeine,
and the meanes thereof manifold, which as in number
they exceed ; so in strangenesse they passe : all
degrees of ages and diuersities of sexes being subiect
to the same. In consideration whereof, it was
notablie said by one that wrote a whole volume of
infirmities, diseases, and passions incident to chil-
dren :

A prima vita diuersos stamina morbos

Ferpetimur^ dirts a^cifniirque 7?ialis: ^'"''"^
Donac in occasum 7'edeat qui vixit ab ortu^

Antea quam discat viuere, vita cadit.

This cardinall (as Edmund Campian in his historie ^^The^des-
of Ireland describeth him) was a man vndoubtedly
born to honor: I thinke (saith he) some Ponces l^j}/*"'
bastard, no butchers sonne, exceeding wise, fzhcamplan
spoken, high-minded, full of reuenge, vitious of his
bodie, loftie to his enimies, were they neuer so big.

104 HENRY THE EIGHTH.

to those that accepted and sought his friendship
woonderfull courteous, a ripe schooleman, thrall to
affections, brought a bed with flatterie, insatiable to
get, and more princelie in bestowing, as appeareth
by his two colleges at Ipswich and Oxenford, the one
ouerthrowne with his fall, the other vnfinished, and
yet as it iieth for an house of students, considering
all the appurtenances incomparable thorough Christen-
dome, whereof Henrie the eight is now called founder,
bicause he let it stand. He held and inioied at
once the bishopriks of Yorke, Duresme, & Win-
chester, the dignities of lord cardinall, legat, & chan-
cellor, the abbie of saint Albons, diuerse priories,
sundrie fat benefices In commendam, a great pre-
ferrer of his seruants, an aduancer of learning, stout
in euerie quarell, neuer happie till this his ouerthrow.
Wherein he shewed such moderation, and ended so
perfectlie, that the houre of his death did him more
honor, than all the pompe of his life passed. Thus

far Campian.^

Birth and The scueuth of September, being Sundaie, betwe'ene
of& three and foure of the clocke in the afternoone, the

^ The following slip is attached to an Ifiaiigural Address
delivered before the Clongowes Wood College Historical
Debating vSociety, by the Rev. J. J. O'CarroU, 8^ Dublin,
1874, and gives in parallel columns the passages from Shakes-
peare, act V, sc. 2, and Campion :

Campion.
The Cardizial, a man undoubtedly-
born to honour. I think some
prince's— no butcher's son. A ripe
schoohnan. Exceedingly wise, fair
spoken, high-minded. Lofty to his
enemies were they never so big ; to
those who accepted and sought his
fnendships wonderful courteous.

Insatiable to get, and more prince-
like m bestowing

Shakespeare.

This Cardinal, though from an
humble stock, undoubtedly was
fashioned to much honour from the
cradle. He was a scholar and a
ripe and good one. Exceeding wise,
fair spoken, and persuading Lofty
and sour to those men that loved
him not; but to those men that
sought him sweet as summer.

And though he were unsatisfied in
getting (which was a sm), yet in
bestowing, madam, he was most
princely.

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

queene was deliuered of a fine yong ladie,mj,\vhich
daie the Duke of Norffolke came home to tftc^-ahy^*
tening, which was appointed on the wednesdaie'text
following, and was accordinglie accomplished on the
same daie, mth all such solemne ceremonies as were
thought conuenient. The godfather at the font, was
the lord archbishop of Canturburie, the godmothers,
the old dutches of Norffoike, & the old marchionesse
Dorset widow: and at the confirmation the ladie
marchionesse of Excester was godmother : the child
was named Elizabeth.

Campion.
As appeareth by his two Colleges
at Ipswich and at Oxenford. The
one suppressed with his fall; the
other unfinished, and yet, as it lieth,
an house of students incomparable
through Christendom.

Never happy till his overthrow ;
therein he showed such moderation
and ended so patiently, that the
hour of his death did him more
honour than ^11 the pomp of life

Shakespeare.

Ever witness to hun those twins of
learning that he raised m you. Ips-
wich and Oxford. One of which fell
with him, unwilling to survive the
good that did it ; the other, though
unfinished, yet so famous, so excel-
lent in art, and still so rising* that
Christendom shall ever speak his
virtue.

His overthrow heaped happiness
upon him ; and then, and not till
then, he felt himself and found the
blessedness of being little ; and to add
more honour to his age than man
could give him, he died fearing Gcd.

2. Extract from Fox's Book of Ma7^tyrsr
directly Illustrative of a Passage in
Henry VIII., v,, \}

" \ IT" HEN night came, the King sent Sir Anthonie
VV Denie about midnight to the archbishop
[Cranmer], willing him forthwith to resort unto him
at the court. The message done, the archbishop
speedily addressed himself to the court, and comming
into the galerie where the King walked and taried for
him, his highnesse said, Ah, my lorde of Canter-
bury, I can tell you newes. For divers weighty con-
siderations it is determined by me and the counsaile
that you to-morrowe at nine of the clocke shall be

^ Enter SiR Anthony Denny.

K. Heti. Well, sir, what follows ?

Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, as you
commanded me." .... &c.

Shakespeare (or at least the writer of the fifth act of Henry
VIII.) has made great use of Fox here, but has distributed
the speeches differently, and (for instance) what Henry is made
to say in the prose work about the heresy of Munster in Ger-
many is in the drama put into the mouth of Gardiner :

as of late days, our neighbours,

Tjie Upper Germany, can dearly witness."

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

107

committed to the Tower, for that you and your chap-
laines (as information is given us) have taught and
preached, and thereby sown within the reahne such a
number of execrable heresies, that it is feared the
whole realme being infected with them, no small con-
tention and commotion will rise thereby amongst my
subjects, as of late dales the like was in divers parts
of Germanie ; and therefore the counsell have re-
quested me for the triall of the matter to suffer them
to commit you to the Tower, or else no man dare
come forthe, as witnesse in those matters, you being
a counsellor. When the King had said his mind,
the archbishop kneeled down, and said, I am con-
tent, if it please your grace, with al my liart, to go
thither at your highness commandment ; and I most
humbly thank your majesty that I may come to my
triall, for there be that have many waies slandered
me, and now this way I hope to trie myselfe not
worthy of such reporte. The King perceiving the
mans uprightnesse, joyned with such simplicitie, said,
Oh Lorde, what maner of man be you ? What sim-
plicitie is in you? I thought that you would rather
have sued to us to have heard you and your accusers
together for your triall, without any such indurance."^
Do you not know what state you be in with the
whole world, and how many great enemies you have ?
Do you not consider what an easie thing it is to pro-
cure three or four false knaves to witnesse against
you ? Thinke you to have better lucke that waie
than your master Christ had? I see by it you will
run headlong to your ending, if I would suffer you.

1 So in the play :

" Hen What manner of man are you ? Ary lord, I look'd

You would have given me your petition, that
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you
Wtikatit ind7i7-attce further."

io8

HENRY THE EIGHTH.

Your enemies shall not so prevaile against you ; ^ for
I have otherwise devised with my selfe to keep you
out of their handes. Yet notwithstanding to-morrow
when the counsaile shall sit, and send for you, resort
unto them, and if in charging you with this matter,
they do commit you to the Tower, require of them,
because you are one of them, a counsailer, that you
may have your accusers brought before them without
any further indurance, and use for your selfe as good
persuations that way as you may devise \ and if no
intreatie or reasonable request will serve, then deliver
unto them this my ring (which then the King de-
livered unto the archbishop) and saie unto them, Mf
there be no remedie, my lords, but that I must needs
go to the Tower, then I revoke my cause from you,
and appeale to the Kinges own person by this token
unto you all, for (saide the King then unto the arch-
bishop) so soone as they shall see this ring, they
knowe it so well, that they shall understand that I
have reserved the whole cause into mine owne handes
and determination, and that I have discharged them
thereof.' The archbishop perceiving the Kinges be-
nignity to him wards, had much ado to forbeare teares.
' Well,', said the King, ' go your waies, my lord, and
do as I have bidden you/ My lord, humbling him-
selfe with thankes, tooke his leave of the Kinges high-
nesse for that night,

" On the morrow, about nine of the clocke before
noone, the counsaile sent a gentleman usher for the
archbishop who, when he came to the counsail

^ Here, in the play, we have an interrupting remark by Cran
mer, which might with advantage have been omitted :—
" Cran.^ God and your majesty
Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
The trap is laid for me

This hardly reads like Shakespeare. The prose narrative
superior and more poetical.

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

chamber doore, could not be let in, but of purpose
(as it seemed) was compelled to waite among the
pages, lackies, and serving-men all alone. D. Buts
the Kings physician resorting that way, and espying'
how my lord of Canterbury was handled, went to the
King's highnesse, and said : ' My lord of Canterbury,
if it please your grace, is well promoted \ for now he
is become a lackey or a serving man, for yonder hee
standeth this halfe hower at the counsaile chamber
doore amongste them.' ' It is not so (quoth the King),
I trowe, nor the counsail hath not so little discre-
tion as to use the metropolitane of the realme in that
sorte, specially being one of their own number. But
let them alone (said the King), and we shall heare
more soone.' Anone the archbishop was called into
the counsaile chamber, to whom was alleadged as
before is rehearsed. The archbishop answered in
like sort, as the King had advised him ; and in the
end when he perceived that no maner of persuasion
or intreatie could serve, he delivered them the Kings
ring, revoking his cause into the Kings hand. The
whole counsaile being thereat somewhat amazed, the
Erie of Bedford with a loud voice confirming his
words with a solemne othe said, ^ When you first
began the matter, my lordes, I told you what would
come of it. Do you thinke that the King would
suffer this mans finger to ake ? Much more will he
defend his life (I warrant you) against brabling
varlets. You doe but cumber yourselves to hear
tales and fables against him,' And incontinently
upon the receipt of the Kings token, they all rose,
and carried to the King his ring, surrendring the
matter, as the order and use was, into his own
hands.

" When they were all come to the Kings presence,
his highnesse with a severe countenance said unto
them : * Ah, my lordes, I thought I had wiser men of

no

HENRY THE EIGHTH,

niy counsaile than now I find you. WTiat discretion
was this in you thus to make the primate of the realme,
and one of you in office, to waite at the counsaille
chamber doore amongst serving men? You might
have considered! that he was a counsailer as wel as
you, and you had no such commission of me so to
handle him. I was content that you should trie him
as a counsellor, and not as a raeane subject. But now
I well perceive that things be done against him mali-
ciouslie, and if some of you might have had your
minds, you would have tried him to the uttermost.
But I do you all to wit, and protest, that if a prince
may bee beholding unto his subject (and so solemnlie
laying his hand upon his brest, said) by the faith I
owe to God I take this man here, my lord of Canter-
burie, to be of all other a most faithful subject unto
us, and one to whom we are much beholding,' giving
him much commendations otherwise. And with that
one or two of the chiefest of the counsaile, making
their excuse, declared that in requesting his indur-
ance, it was rather ment for his triall and his purga-
tion against the common fame and slander of the
worlde, than for any malice conceived against him.
' Well, well, my lords ' (quoth the King), take him,
and well use him, as hee is worthy to bee, and make
no more ado.' And with that every man caught him
by the hand, and made faire weather of altogethers,
which might easilie be done with that man."

TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.

This drama was founded on the "Knight's Tale" of Chaucer,
which (again) is built on Boccaccio's "Teseide.'* The modem
editors are unanimous, or nearly so, in assigning a portion of
this interesting drama to our great poet, and scarcely any two
agree as to the share which he had in its composition, or in the
parts which we ought to treat as from his pen. The opening act,
and first scene of the concluding one, it seems to be thought, are
Shakespeare's, the rest, Fletcher's.

It is to be regretted, that the play on the same tale (" Palamon
and Arcite"), written by Richard Edwards, and performed at
Christ Church, Oxford, in 1 566, should have perished, as well as
that (unless they were substantially identical), which Henslowe
quotes as exhibited at the Newington Theatre in 1594. His
extant play proves Edwards to have been a writer of some ability;
and such a production by him was at any rate surely capable of
yielding -hints and other occasional help to a follower in his
track.

Assummg the first, and portions of the last, act to be Shakes-
peare's, we are perhai>s authorised to assume that the poet died,
leaving this much written, and that for the rest we are debtors
to the pen of Fletcher. This position might be curious and even
important, if it could be established, since we should have then
some material for forming a notion of the way in which the great
dramatist worked.

Sir Thomas Wyat, in his Epistle to John Poines, says : —

" I am not he, such eloquence to host :
To make the crow in smg^g as the swanne . . .
Praise Syr Topas for a noble tale,
And scorne the story that the Knight tolde "

We have given Tyrrhitt's abstract of Boccaccio's **Teseide,"
as his edition of Chaucer is not readily accessible. He furnishes
some account of the earlier version (it is supposed, in the heroic
stanza) made by the English poet, but no longer known, except
that there are occasional traces of it in the existing " Knight's
Tale," as if portions of it had been worked into the latter, and the
remainder cancelled. It is not known whence Boccaccio derived
the incidents ; but he speaks of it in his time (the fourtednth
century) as " una antichissima storia."

I. Abstract of the Teseide of
Boccaccio.

[Fj'om Tynvhiti" s " Chaucer^]* 1822, i. 1 14-20.]

THE " Theseida " is distributed into twelve Books
or Cantoes.

Book L Contains the war of Theseus with the
Amazons j their submission to him ; and his mar-
riage with Hippolyta.

Book IL Theseus, having spent two years in
Scythia, is reproached by Perithons in a vision, and
immediately returns to Athens with Hippolyta and
her sister Emilia. He enters the city in triumph ;
finds the Grecian ladies in the temple of Clemenzia \
marches to Thebes ; kills Creon, &c. \ and brings
home Palemone and Arcita, who are

Damnati — ad eterna presone.
Book III, Emilia, walking in a garden and singing,
is heard and seen first by Arcita, who calls Palemone.
They are both equally enamoured of her, but without
any jealousy or rivalship. Emilia is supposed to see
them at the window, and to be not displeased at their
admiration. Arcita is released at the request of
VOL. iv.(i) H

114

ABSTRACT OF THE

Perithons; takes Ms leave of Palemone, with em-
braces, &c.

Book IK Arcita, having changed his name to
Pmtheo, goes into the service of Menelaus at My-
cenae, and afterwards of Peleus at ^gina. From
thence he returns to Athens, and becomes a favourite
servant of Theseus, being known to Emilia, though
to nobody else ; till after some time he is overheard
making his complaint in a wood, to which he usually
resorted for that purpose, by Pamphilo, a servant of
Palemone.

Book V. Upon the report of Pamphilo, Palemone
b^ns to be jealous of Arcita, and is desirous to get
out of prison in order to fight with him. This he
accomplishes with the assistance of Pamphilo, by
changing clothes with Alimeto, a Physician. He goes
armed to the wood in quest of Arcita, whom he finds
sleeping. At first they are very civil and friendly to
each other. Then Palemone calls upon Arcita to
renounce his pretensions to Emilia, or to fight with
him. After many long expostulations on the part of
Arcita, they fight, and are discovered first by Emilia,
who sends for Theseus. When he finds who
they are, and the cause of their difiference, he forgives
them, and proposes the method of deciding their
claim to Emilia, by a combat of an hundred on each
side, to which they gladly agree.

Book VL Palemone and Arcita live splendidly at
Athens, and send out messengers to summon their
fiiends \ who arrive j and the principal of them are
severally described, viz. Lycurgus, Peleus, Phocus,
Telamon, &c. Agamemnon, Menelaus, Castor and
Pollux, &c. Nestor, Evander, Perithons, Ulysses,
Diomedes, Pygnaalion, Minos, &c. with a great dis-
play of ancient history and mythology.

Book VIL Theseus deqjares the laws of combat,
and the two parties of an hundred on each side are

TESEIDE OF BOCCACCIO,

formed. The day before the combat, Arcita, after
having visited the temples of all the Gods, makes a
formal prayer to Mars. The prayer, being fersoni-
fed, is said to go and find Mars in his temple in
Thrace, which is described i and Mars, upon under-
standing the message, causes favourable signs to be
given to Arcita. In the same manner Palemone
closes his religious observances with a prayer to
Venus. His Prayer, being also personified^ sets out for
the temple of Venus on Mount Citherone, which is
also described ; and the petition is granted. Then
the sacrifice of Emilia to Diana is described; her
prayer ; the appearance of the Goddess ; and the
signs of the two fires. In morning they proceed to
the Theatre with their respective troops, and prepare
for the action. Arcita puts up a private prayer to
Emilia, and harangues his troop publickly ; and Pale-
mone does the same.

Book VIIL Contains a description of the battle, in
which Palemone is taken prisoner.

Book IX. The horse of Arcita, being frighted
by a Fury, sent firom hell at the desire of Venus,
throws him. However he is carried to Athens in a
triumphal chariot with Emilia by his side ; is put to
bed dangerously ill; and there by his own desire
espouses Emilia.

Book X The funeral of the persons killed in the
combat. Arcita, being given over by his Physicians,
makes his will, in discourse with Theseus, and desires
that Palemone may inherit all his possessions and
also Emilia. He then takes leave of Palemone and
Emilia, to whom he repeats the same request. Then
lamentations. Arcita orders a sacrifice to Mercury,
(which Palemone performs for him,) and dies.

Book XL Opens with the passage of Arcita's soul
to heaven, imitated from the beginning of the 9th
Book of Lucan. The fiineral of Arcita. Description

1 16 ABSTRACT OF THE TESEJDE OF BOCCACCIO,

of the wood felled takes up six stanzas. Palemone
builds a temple in honour of him, in which his whole
history is painted. The description of this painting
is an abridgement of the preceding part of the Poem.

Book XIL Theseus proposes to carry into execu-
tion Arcita's will by the marriage of Palemone and
Emilia. This they both decline for some time in for-
mal speeches, but at last are persuaded and married.
Tne Kings, &:c. take their leave, and Palemone re-
mains " in gioia e in diporto con la sua dona nobile
e carteuse.''

2. The Knight es Tale.

WHILOM, as olde stories tellen us,
Ther was a duk that highte Theseus ;
Of Athenes he was lord and govemour,
And in his tyme swich a conquerour,
That gretter was ther non under th«e sonne.
Ful many a riche centre hadde he wonoe ;
That with his wisdam and his chivalrie
He conquerede al the regne of Femenye,
That whilom was i-cleped Cithea ;
And weddede he the queen Ipolita,
And broughte hire hoom with him in his contre
With mochel glorie and gret solempnite,
And eek hire jonge suster Emelye.
And thus with victorie and with melodye
Lete I this noble duk to Athenes ryde,
And al his host, in armes him biside.
And certes, if it nere to long to heere,
I wolde han told ^'ow fully the manere,
How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
By Thesus, and by his chivalrye ;
And of the grete bataille for the nones
Bytwixen Athenes and the Amazones ;
And how aseged was Ypolita,
The faire hardy quen of Cithea ;

Il8 THE KNIGHTES TALE.

And of the feste that was at hire weddynge,
And of the tempest at hire hoom comynge ;
But al that thing I mot as now forbere.
I have, God wot, a large feeld to ere,
And wayke ben the oxen in my plough,
The remenaunt of the tale is long inough ;
I wol not lette eek non of al this rowte,
Lat every felawe telle his tale aboute,
And lat see now who schal the soper wynne,
And ther I lafte, I wol agayn begynne.

This duk, of whom I make mencioun,
Whan he was come almost unto the toun.
In all his wele and in his moste pryde,
He was war, as he caste his ey^-^e aside,
Where that ther knelede in the hye weye
A companye of ladies, tweye and tweye,
Ech after other, clad in clothes blake ;
But such a cry and such a woo they make,
That in this world nys creature lyvynge,
That herde such another weymentynge,
And of this cry they nolde nevere stenten,
Til they the reynes of his bridel henten.
' What folk ben j/e that at myn hom comynge
Pertourben so my feste with cryinge ? '
Quod Theseus, * have ye so gret envye
Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crie?
Or who hath jj/ow misboden, or offended ?
And telleth me if it may ben amended ;
And why that je ben clothed thus in blak?'

The eldeste lady of hem alle spak,
When sche hadde swowned with a dedly chere,
That it was routhe for to seen or heere ;
And seyde, 'Lord, to whom Fortue hath j/even
Victorie, and as a conquerour to lyven,
Nought greveth us j^oure glorie and honour ;
But we beseken mercy and socour.
Have mercy on our wooe and oure distresse.

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

Som drope of pitee, thnigh thy gentilnesse,
Uppon us wrecchede wommen lat thou falle.
For Certes, lord, ther nys noon of us alle,
That sche nath ben a duchesse or a queene j
Now be we caytifs, as it is wel seene :
Thanked be Fortune, and hire false wheel,
That noon estat assureth to ben weel.
And certes, lord, to abiden j/oure presence
Here in the temple of the goddesse Clemence
We han ben waytjmge al this fourtenight ;
Now help us, Lord, syth it is in thy might
I wrecche, which that wepe and waylle thus,
Was whilom wyf to kyng Capaneus,
That starf at Thebes, cursed be that day,
And alle we that ben in this array,
And maken al this lamentacioun !
We losten alle our housbondes at that toun,
Whil that the sege ther aboute lay.
And ytt the olde Creon, welaway !
That lord is now of Thebes the citee,
Fulfild of ire and of iniquity,
He for despyt, and for his tyrannye.
To do the deede bodyes vileinye,
Of alle oure lordes, whiche that ben i-slawe,
Hath all the bodies on an heep y-drawe,
And wol not suffren hem by noon assent
Nother to ben y-buried nor y-brent,
But maketh houndes ete hem in despite.'
And with that word, withoute more respite,
They fillen gruflf, and criden pitously,
* Have on us wrecchede wommen som mercy,
And lat our sorwe synken in thyn herte.'
This gentil duk doxm from his courser sterte
With herte pitous, when he herde hem speke
Him thoughte that his herte wolde breke.
Whan he seyh hem so pitous and so maat,
That whilom weren of so gret estat

120

THM KNIGHTES TALE,

And in his annes he hem alle up hente,
And hem comforteth in ful good entente ;
And swor his oth, as he was trewe knight,
He woide don so ferforthly his might
Upon the tyraunt Creon hem to wreke,
That al the people of Grece scholde speke
How Creon was of Theseus y-served,
As he that hadde his deth ful wel deserved.
And right anoon, withoute more abood
His baner he desplayeth, and forth rood
To Thebes-ward, and al his hoost bysyde \
No neere Athenes wolde he go ne ryde,
Ne take his eese fully half a day,
But onward on his way that nyght he lay ;
And sente anoon Ypolita the queene,
And Emelye hire ^onge suster schene,
Unto the toun of Athenes to dwelle ;
And forth he ryt ; ther is no more to telle.

The reede statue of Mars with spere and targe
So schyneth in his white baner large,
That alle the feeldes ghteren up and doun ;
And by his baner born in his pynoun
Of gold ful riche, in which ther was i-bete
The Minatour which that he slough in Crete.
Thus ryt this Aik, thus ryt this conquerour,
And in his hoost of chevalrie the flour,
Til that he cam to Thebes, and alighte
Faire in a feeld ther as he thoughte fighte.
But schortly for to speken of this thing,
,'With Creon, which that was of Thebes kyng,
He faught, and slough him manly as a knight
In pleyn bataille, and putte the folk to flight ;
And by assaut he wan the citi^ after,
And rente adoun bothe wal, and sparre, and rafter ;
And to the ladies he restorede agayn
The bones of here housbondes that were slayn,
To don obsequies, as was the the gyse.

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

121

But it were al to long for to devyse
The grete clamour and the waymentynge
Which that the ladies made at the brennynge
Of the bodies, and the grete honour
That Theseus the noble conquerour
Doth to the ladyes, when they from him wente.
But schortly for to telle is myn entente.
Wlien that this worthy duk, this Theseus,
Hath Creon slayn, and wonne Thebes thus,
Stille in that feelde he tooke al night his reste,
And dide with al the contre as him leste.
» To ransake in the tas of bodyes dede
Hem for to streepe of herneys and of wede,
The pilours diden businesse and cure,
After the bataille and disconfiture.
And so byfil, that in the tas thei founde,
Thurgh-girt with many a grevous blody wounde,
Two_>'onge knightes liggyng by and by,
Bothe in oon armes, wroght ful richely ;
Of whiche two, Arcite highte that oon,
And that other knight highte Palamon.
Nat fully quyke, ne fully deede they were,
But by here coote-armures, and by here gere.
The heraudes knewe hem best in special,
As they that weren of the blood real
Of Thebes, and of sistren tuo i-born.
Out of the taas the pilours han hem torn.
And han hem caried softe unto the tente
Of Theseus, and he ful sone hem sente
Tathenes, for to dwellen in prisoun
Perpetuelly, he nolde no raunsoun.
And whan this worthy duk hath thus i-doon,
He took his host, and horn he ryt anoon
With laurer crowned as a conquerour ;
And there he lyveth in joye and in honour
Terme of his lyf ; what nedeth wordes moo ?
And in a tour, in angwisch and in woo.

122

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

This Palamon, and his felawe Arcite,

For evermore, ther may no gold hem quyte.

This passeth j^eer by j^eer, and day by day,
Til it fel oones in a morwe of May
That Emelie, that fairer was to scene
Than is the lilie on hire stalke grene,
And fresscher than the May with floures newe —
For with the rose colour strof hire hewe,
I not which was the fajrrere of hem two —
Er it were day, as was hire wone to do,
Sche was arisen, and al redy dight ;
For May wole han no sloggardye anight
The sesoun priketh every gentil herte.
And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte,
And seith, * Aiys, and do thin observaunce.'
This makede Emelye han remembraunce
To don honour to May. and for to lyse.
I-clothed was sche fresshe for to devyse.
Hire j^elwe heer was browded in a tresse,
Byhynde hire bak, aj^erde long I gesse.
And in the gardyn at the sonne upriste
Sche walketh up and doun, and as hire liste
Sche gadereth floures, party whyte and reede.
To make a sotil gerland for hire heede.
And as an aungel hevenlyche sche song.
The grete tour, that was so thikke and strong,
Whidi of the castel was the cheef dongeoun,
(Ther as the knightes weren in prisoun,
Of which I tolde j/ow, and telle schal)
Was evene joynant to the gardyn wal,
Ther as this Emelye hadde hire pleyynge.
Bright was the sonne, and cleer that morwenynge.
And Palomon, this woful prisoner,
As was his wone, by leve of his gayler
Was risen, and romede in a chambre on heigh,
In which he al the noble cit^ seigh,
And eek the gardyn, fill of braunches grene,

THE KNJGHTES. TALE,

123

Ther as this fresshe Emely the scheene

Was in hire walk, and romede up and doun.

This sorweful prisoner, this Palamon,

Gooth in the chambre, romjTig to and fro.

And to himself compleynyng of his woo ;

That he was bom, ful ofte he seyde, alas !

And so byfel, by aventure or cas,

That thurgh a wyndow thikke, of many a barre

Of iren greet, and squar as eny spaire.

He caste his eyen upon Emelya,

And therwithal he blejmte and cryede, a !

As though he stongen were unto the herte.

And with that crye Arcite anon up-sterte.

And seyde, * Cosyn myn, what eyleth the,

Thou art so pale and deedly on to see ?

Why crydestow ? who hath the doon ofifence ?

For Goddes love, tak al in pacience

Oure prisoun, for it may non other be 5

Fortune hath ^'even us this adversitd

Som wikke aspect or disposicioun

Of Satume, by sum constellacioun,

Hath ^even us this, although we hadde it sworn ;

So stood the heven whan that we were bom ;

We moste endure it: this is the schort and pleyn.'

This Palamon answerde, and seyde ageyn^
* Cosyn, for sothe of this opjmyoun
Thou hast a ve)ni yms^nacioun.
This prisoun causede me not for to crye.
But I was hurt right now thurghout myn eye
Into myn herte, that wol my bane be.
The faimesse of that lady that I see
Pond in the gard)ni rome to and fro,
Is cause of all my crying and my wo,
I not whether sche be womman or goddesse ;
But Venus is it, sothly as I gesse.'
And therewithal on knees adoun he fil,
And seyde : ' Venus, if it be thy wii

124

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

Fow in this gardyn thus to transfigure,
Biforn me sorweful wrecche creature,
Out of this prisoun help that we may scape.
And if so be my destine be schape
By eteme word to deyen in prisoun.
Of oure lynage have sum compassioun,
That is so lowe y-brought by tyrannye.'
And with that word Arcite gan espye
Wher as this lady romede too and fro.
And with that sighte hire beaute hurte him so,
That if that Palamon was wounded sore,
Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or more.
And with a sigh he seyde pitously :

* The fressche beaute sieeth me sodeynly
Of hire that rometh in the yonder place ;
And but I have hire mercy and hire grace,
That I may seen hire atte leste weye,

I nam but deed ; ther nys no more to seye/
This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,
Despitously he lokede, and answerde :

* Whether seistow this in emest or in pley ? '

* Nay,' quod Arcite, * in emest by my fey.
God help me so, me lust ful evele pleye.'
This Palamon gan knytte his browes tweye :
' It nere,' quod he, ' to the no gret honour,
For to be fals, ne for to be traytour

To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother
I-swom ful deepe, and ech of us to other,
That nevere for to deyen in the payne,
Til that the deeth departe schal us twayne,
Neyther of us in love to hyndren other,
Ne in non other cas, my leeve brother ;
But that thou schuldest trewely forthren me
In every caas, and I schal forthren the.
This was thyn oth, and myn also certeyn ;
I wot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn.
Thus art thou of my counseil out of doute.

THE KNJGHTES TALE,

And now thou woldest fasly ben aboute

To love my lady, whom I love and serve,

And evere schal, til that myn herte sterve.

Now cartes, false Arcite, thou schalt not so.

I lovede hire first, and tolde the my woo

As to my counseil, and my brother sworn

To forthre me, as I have told biforn.

For which thou art i-bounden as a knight

To helpe me, if it lay in thi might.

Or elles art thou fals, I dar wel sayn.'

This Arcite ful proudly spak agayn.

' Thou schalt,' quod he, * be rather fals than I.

But thou art fals, I telle the utterly.

"Forfar amour I lovede hire first er thow.

What wolt thou sayn ? thou wistest not j;it now

Whether sche be a womman or goddesse.

Tbyn is afifeccioun of holynesse,

And myn is love, as to a creature ;

For which I tolde the myn aventure

As to my cosyn, and my brother sworn.

I pose, that thou lovedest hire biforn

Wost thou nat wel the olde clerkes sawe,

That who schal j/eve a lover eny lawe.

Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,

Then may be j/eve to eny er'thly man ?

Therefor posityf lawe, and such decr^.

Is broke alday for love in ech degree.

A man moot needes love maugre his heed.

He may nought flen it, though he shoulde be deed,

Al be sche mayde, or widewe, or elles wyf.

And eek it is nat hkly al thy lyf

To stonden in hire grace, no more schal I ;

For wel thou wost thyselven verraily,

That thou and I been dampned to prisoun'

Perpetuelly, us gayneth no raunsoun,

We str3rsre, as dide the houndes for the boon,

They foughte al day, and jj/it here part was noon j

126

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

Ther come a kyte, whil that they were so wrothe,

And bar awey the boon bitwixe hem bothe.

And therfore at the kynges court, my brother,

Ech man for himself there is non other.

Love if the list ; for I love and ay schal ^

And sothly, leeve brother, this is al.

Here in this prisoun moote we endure,

And everych of us take his aventure.'

Gret was the stryf and long bytwixe hem tweye,

If that I hadde leyser for to seye ;

But to theffect, — It happede on a day,

(To telle it yovr as schortly as I may)

A worthy duk that highte Perotheus,

That felawe was unto duk Theseus

Syn thilke day that they were children lyte,

Was come to Athenes, his felawe to visite,

And for to pleye, as he was wont to do,

For in this world he lovede no man so :

And he lovede him as tendrely agayn.

So wel they lovede, as olde bookes sayn,

That when that oon was deed, sothly to telle,

His felawe wente and soughte him doun in helle ;

But of that story lyst me nought to write.

Duk Perotheus lovede wel Arcite,

And hadde him knowe at Thebes j^eer by ^eer j

And finally at requeste and prayer

Of Perotheus, withouten any ransoun

Duk Theseus him leet out of prisoun,

Frely to gon, wher that him luste overal,

In such a gyse, as I you telle schal.

This was the forward, playnly for tendite,

Betwixe Theseus and him Arcite :

That if so were, that Arcite were yfounde

Evete in his l)rf, by daye or night, o stound

In eny centre of this Theseus,

And he were caught, it was acorded thus,

That with a swerd he scholde lese his heed ;

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

I

Ther nas noon other remedy ne reed,

But took his leeve, and homward he him spedde

Let him be war, his nekke lith to wedde.

How gret a serwe suflfreth now Arcite !
The deth he feleth thurgh his herte smyte ;
He weepeth, weyleth, cryeth pitously ;
To slen himself he wayteth pryvely.
He seyde, ^ Alias the day that I was born !
Now is my prisoiin werse than bifom \
Now is me schape eternally to dwelle
Nought in purgatorie, but in helle.
Alias ! that evere knew I Perotheus I
For elles hadde I dweld with Theseus
I-fetered in his prisoun evere moo.
Than hadde I ben in blisse, and nat in woo.
Oonly the sighte of hire, whom that I serve,
Though that I nevere hire grace may deserve,
Wolde han sufficed right ynough for me.
O dere cosyn Palamon,' quod he,
*■ Thyn is the vicorie of this aventure,
Ful blisfully in prisoun maistow dure ;
In prisoun ? certes nay, but in paradys !
Wei hath fortune y-tomed the the dys.
That hast the sighte of hire, and I thabsence.
For possible is, sjm thou hast hire presence,
And art a knight, a worthi and an able.
That by som cas, S3m fortune is chaungeable,
Thou maist to thy desir somtyme atte3me.
But I that am exiled, and bareyne
Of alle grace, and in so gret despeir.
That ther nys erthe, water, fyr, ne eyr,
Ne creature, that of hem maked is,
That may me helpe or doon confort in this.
Wei oughte I sterve in wanhope and distresse;
Farwel my lyf, my lust, and my gladnesse.
Alias, why pleynen folk so in commune
Of purveiaunce of God, or of fortune,

128

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

That j;eveth him ful ofte in many a gyse

Wei bettre than thei can hemself devyse ?

Som man desireth for to han richesse,

That cause is of his morthre or gret seeknesse,

And som man wolde out of his prisoun fayn,

That in his hous is of his meyn^ slayn.

Infinite harmes ben in this mateere \

We witen nat what thing we prayen heere.

We faren as he that dronke is as a mous.

A dronke man wot wel he hath an hous,

But he not which the righte wey is thider,

And to a dronke man the wey is slider,

And certes in this world so faren we ;

We seeken faste after felicite,

But we gon wrong ful ofte trewely.

Thus may we seyen alle, and namelyche I,

That wende and hadde a gret opinioun,

That j/if I mighte skape fro prisoun,

Than hadde I ben in joye and perfyt hele,

Ther now I am exiled fro my wele.

Syn that I may not sen ^ow, Emelye,

I nam but deed \ ther nys no remedye.'

Uppon that other syde Palamon,
Whan that he wiste Arcite was agoon,
Such sorwe he maketh, that the grete tour
Resowneth of his jollyng and clamour.
The pure fettres on his schynes grete
Weren of his bittre salte teres wete.
'Alias 1' quod he, * Arcita, cosyn myn,
Of al cure strif, God woot, the fruyt is thin.
Thow walkest now in Thebes at thi large,
And of my woo thou j/evest litel charge.
Thou maist, syn thou hast wysdom and manhede,
Assemblen al the folk of oure kynrede,
And make a werre so scharpe on this cite,
That by som aventure, or some tretd,
Thou mayst have hire to lady and to wyf,

THE KNJGHTES TALE.

I

For whom that I mot needes leese my lyf.

For as by wey of possibiht^, *

Syth thou art at thi large of prisoun free,

And art a lord, gret is thin avauntage,

More than is myn, that sterve here in a kage.

For I moot weepe and weyle, whil I l3^e.

With al she woo that prisoun may me yyvQ,

And eek with peyne that love me j^eveth also,

That doubleth al my torment and my wo.'

Therwith the fyr of jelousye upsterte

Withinne his breste, and hente him by the herte

So wodly, that he lik was to byholde

The box-tre, or the asschen deede and colde.

Tho seyde he ; « O cruel goddes, that goveme

This world with byndyng of^oure word eterne,

And writee in the table of athamaunte

ybure parlement, and jj/oure eterne graunte,

What is mankynde more unto yov7 holde.

Than is the scheep, that rouketh in the folde ?

For slayn is man right as another beest,

And dwelleth eek in prisoun and arreest,

And hath seknesse, and greet adversity.

And ofte tymes gilteles, pardd

What gouvernaunce is in this prescience,

That gilteles tormenteth innocence ?

And j/et encresceth al this my penaunce.

That man is bounden to his observaunce

For Goddes sake to letten of his wille,

There as a beeste may al his lust fulfille.

And whan a beeste is deed, he hath no peyne ;

But man after his deth moot wepe and pleyne,

Though in this world he have care and woo :

Withouten doute it may stonde so.

The answere of this I lete to divinis,

But wel I woot, that in this world gret pyne is.

Alias ! I se a serpent or a theef,

That many a trewe man hath done mescheef,

VOL. iv.O) I

130

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

Gon at his large, and wher him lust may turne.
But I moot ben in prisoun thurgh Satume,
And eek thurgh Juno, jalous and eek wood,
That hath destruyed wel nygh al the blood
Of Thebes, w^th his waste walles wyde.
And Venus sleeth me on that other syde
For jelousye, and fere of him Arcyte.'

Now wol I stynte of Palamon a lite,
And lete him in his prisoun stille dwelle,
And of Arcita forth I wol _>'0u telle.
The somer passeth, and the nightes longe
Encrescen double wise the peynes stronge
Bothe of the lovere and the prisoner.
I noot which hath the wofullere myster.
Tor schortly for to seyn, this Palamoun
Perpetuelly is dampned to prisoun,
In cheynes and in fettres to be deed \
And Arcite is exiled upon his heed
For evere mo as out of that contre,
Ne nevere mo he schal his lady see.
Fow loveres axe I now this questioun.
Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun ?
That on may se his lady day by day,
But in prisoun he moste dwelle alway.
That other wher him lust may ryde or go,
But seen his lady schal he nevere mo.
Now deemeth as >'ou luste, yt that can,
For I wol telle forth as I began.

Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,
Ful ofte a day he swelte and seye alas,
For seen his lady schal he never n\o.
And schortly to concluden al his wo,
So moche sorwe hadde nevere creature,
That is or schal whil that the world may dure»
His sleep, his mete, his diynk is him byraft,
That lene he wex, and drye as is a schaft.
His eyen holwe, and grisly to biholde ;

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

His hewe falwe, and pale as asschen colde,
And solitarye he was, and evere allone,
And waillyng al the night, making his moone.
And if he herde song or instrument.
Then wolde he wepe, he mighte nought be stent ;
So feble eek were his spiritz, and so lowe.
And chaunged so, that no man couthe knowe
His speche nother his vois, though men it herde.
And in his geere, for al the world he ferde
Nought oonly lyke the loveres maladye.
Of Hereos, but rather lik manye
Engendred of humour malencolyk,
Byforen in his selle fanatastyk.
And schortly turned was al up-so-doun
Bothe habyt and eek disposicioun
Of him, this woful lovere daun Arcite.
What schulde I alday of his wo endite ?
Whan he endured hadde a jeer or tuo
This cruel torment, and this peyne and woo.
At Thebes, in his contre, as I seyde,
Upon a night in sleep as he him leyde,
Him thoughte how that the wenged god Mercurie
Byforn him stood, and bad him to be murye,
His slepy jerde in hond he bar uprighte j
An hat he werede upon his heres brighte.
Arrayed was this god (as he took keepe)
As he was whan that Argus took his sleepe ;
And seyde him thus: 'To Athenes schalt thou
wende ;

There is the schapen of thy wo an ende.'
And with that word Arcite wook and sterte.
* Now trewely how sore that me smerte.'
Quod he, ' to Athenes right now wol I fare ;
Ne for the drede of deth schal I not spare
To see my lady, that I love and serve ;
In hire presence I recche nat to sterve.'
And with that word he caughte a gret rayrour,

132

THE KNJGHTES TALE,

And saugh that chaunged was al his colour,

And saugh his visage al in another kynde.

And right anoon it ran him in his mynde.

That sith his face was so disfigured

Of maladie the which he hadde endured,

He mighte wel, if that he bar him lowe,

Ly\'e in Athenes evere more unknowe,

And seen his lady wel neih day by day.

And right anon he chaungede his aray,

And cladde him as a poure laborer.

And al allone, save oonly a squyer,

That knew his pryvet^ and al his cas,

"VVTiich was disgysed povrely as he was,

To Athenes is he gon the nexte way.

And to the court he wente upon a day,

And at the j'ate he profreth his servyse,

To drugge and drawe, what so men wol devyse.

And schortly of this matere for to seyn,

He fel in office with a chamberleyn,

The which that dwellyng was with Emelye.

For he was wys, and couthe sone aspye

Of every ser^^ant, which that serveth here.

Wel couthe he hewen woode, and water here,

For he was jvong and mighty for the nones,

And thereto he was strong and bygge of bones

To doon that eny wight can him devyse.

A yttr or two he was in this servise,

Page of the chambre of Emelye the brighte ;

And Philostrate he seide that he highte.

And half so wel byloved a man as he

Ne was ther nevere in court of his degree.

He was so gentil of condicioun.

That thurghout al the court was his renoun.

They seyde that it were a charit^

That Theseus wolde enhaunse his degree,

And putten him in worschipful servyse,

Ther as he .mighte his vertu excercise.

THE KNJGHTES TALE,

And thus withinne a while his name is spronge
Bothe of his dedes, and his goode tonge,
That Theseus hath taken him so neer
That of his chambre he hath made him squyer,
And j/af him gold to mayntene his degree ;
And eek men broughte him out of his countre
Fro jeer to jeer ful pryvely his rente ;
But honestly and sleighly he it spente,
That no man wondrede how that he it hadde.
And thre j/eer in this wise his lyfe he ladde,
And bar him so in pees and eek in warre,
Ther nas no man that Theseus hath deere.
And in this blisse let I now Arcite,
And speke I wole of Palamon a lyte.

In derknesse and horrible and strong prisoun
This seven j/eer hath seten Palamoun,
Forpyned, what for woo and for distresse;
Who feleth double sorwe and hevynesse
But Palamon ? that love destreyneth so,
That wood out of his wit he goth for wo ;
And eke therto he is a prisoner
Perpetuelly, nat oonly for a j/eer.
Who couthe ryme in Englissch proprely
His raartirdam ? for sothe it am nat I ;
Therfore I passe as lightly as I may.
Hit fel that in the seventhe jeer in May
The thridde night, (as olde bookes seyn,
That al this storie tellen more pleyn)
Were it by aventure or destin^,
(As, whan a thing is schapen, it schal be,)
That soone after the mydnyght, Palamoun
By helpyng of a freend brak his prisoun,
And fleeth the cite faste as he may goo,
For he hadde j/ive his gayler drinke soo
Of a clarrd, maad of a certeyn wyn.
With nercotykes and opye of Thebes fyn,
That al that night though that men wolde him schake,

134

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

The gayler sleep, he mighte nought awake.

And thus he fleeth as faste as evere he may.

The night was schort, and faste by the day,

That needes-cost he moste himselven hyde,

And til a grove faste ther besyde

With dredful foot than stalketh Palaraoun.

For schortly this was his opynyoun,

That in that grove he wolde him hyde al day,

And in the night then wolde he take his way

To Thebes-ward, his frendes for to preye

On Theseus to helpe him to werreye ;

And schorteliche, or he wolde lese his lyf,

Or w}^nnen Emelye unto his wyf.

This is theffect and his entente playn.

Now wol I tome unto Arcite agayn,

That litel wiste how nyh that was his care,

Til that fortune hadde brought him in the snare.

The busy larke, messager of daye,
Salueth in hire song the morwe graye •
And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,
That al the orient laugheth of the lighte,
And with his stremes dryeth in the greves
The silver dropes, hong}mg on the leeves.
And Arcite, that is in the court ryal
With Theseus, his squyer principal,
Is risen, and loketh on the merye day.
And for to doon his observaunce to May,
Remembryng on the poynt of his desir.
He on his courser, stertyng as the fir,
Is riden into the feeldes him to pleye.
Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye.
And to the grove, of which that I j;ow tolde,
By aventure his weyJhe gan to holde,
To maken him a garland of the greves,
Were it of woodebyne or hawethom leves,
And lowde he song ajj;ens the sonne scheene :
' May, with alle thy floures and thy greene,

THE KNICHTES TALE,

I

Welcome be thou, wel faire fressche May,

I hope that I som grene gete may.'

And fro his courser, with a lusty herte,

Into the grove ful hastily he sterte,

And in a path he rometh up and doun,

Ther as by aventure this Palamoun

Was in a busche, that no man mighte him see,

For sore afered of his deth was he.

Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite :

God wot he wolde han trowed it ful lite.

But soth is seyd, goon sithen manyj^eres,

That feld hath eyen, and the woode hath eeres.

It is ful fair a man to bere him evene,

For al day meteth men at unset stevene,

Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe.

That was so neih to herknen al his sawe,

For in the busche he sytteth now ful stille.

Whan that Arcite hadde romed al his fille,

And songen al the roundel lustily,

Into a studie he fel al sodeynly,

As don thes loveres in here queynte geeres.

Now in the croppe, novp' doun in the breres.

Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle.

Right as the Friday, sothly for to telle,

Now it sch)meth, now it reyneth faste,

Right so gan gery Venus overcaste

The hertes of hire folk, right as hire day

Is gerful, right so chaungeth sche array.

Selde is the Fryday al the wyke i-like.

Whan that Arcite hadde songe, he gan to sike,

And sette him doun withouten eny more :

* Alas ! ' quod he, * that day that I was bore, !

How longe Juno, thurgh thy cruelty,

Wilton werreyen Thebes the citee ?

Alias ! i-broug/^t is to confusioun

The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun ;

Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man

136

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

That Thebes bulde, or first the toun bgban,

And of that citd first was crowned kyng,

Of his lynage am I, and his ofspring

By verray lyne, as of the stok ryal :

And now I am so caytyf and so thral,

That he that is my mortal enemy,

I serve him as my squyer povrely.

And yti doth Juno me wel more schame,

For I dar nought byknowe myn owne name,

But ther as I was wont to hote Arcite,

Now highte I Philostrate, nou^//t worth a myte.

Alias ! thou felle Mars, alias I Juno,

Thus hath j'oure ire owre kynrede al fordo,

Save oonly me, and wrecched Palamoun,

That Theseus martyreth in prisoun.

And over al this, to sleen me utterly,

Love hath his fyry dart so brennyngly

I-styked thurgh my trewe careful herte,

That schapen was my deth erst than my scherte.

ye slen me withjFOure eyen, Emelye ;

Pe ben the cause wherfore that I dye.

Of al the remenant of myn other care

Ne sette I nou^/^t the raountaunce of a tare.

So that I couthe don aught to^oure plesaunce/

And with that word he fel doun in a traunce

A long tyme ; and afterward he upsterte

This Palamon, that thou^y^te that thurgh his herte

He felte a cold swerd sodeynliche glyde ;

For ire he quook, no lenger nolde he byde.

And whan that he had herd Arcites tale,

As he were wood, with face deed and pale,

He sterte him up out of the bussches thikke,

And seyde : * Arcyte, false traitour wikke,

Now art thou hent, that lovest my lady so.

For whom that I have al this peyne and wo,

And art my blood, and to my counseil sworn,

As I ful ofte have told the heere byforn,

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

And hast byjaped here duk Theseus,
And falsly chaunged hast thy name thus \
I wol be deed, or elles thou schalt dye.
Thou schalt not love my lady Emelye,
But I wil love hire oonly and no mo j
For I am Palamon thy mortal fo.
And though that I no wepne have in this place,
But out of prisoun am astert by grace,
I drede not that outher thou schalt dye,
Or thou ne schalt not loven Emelye.
Ches which thou wilt, for thou schalt not asterte.'
This Arcite, with ful despitous herte,
Whan he him knew, and hadde his tale herd,
As fers as a lyoun puilede out a swerd,
And seide thus : * By God that sit above,
Nere it that thou art sik and wood for love,
And eek that thou no wepne hast in this
place.

Thou schuldest nevere out of this grove pace.
That thou ne schuldest deyen of myn bond.
For I defye the seurte and the bond
Which that thou seyst that I have maad to the.
What, verray fool, think wel that love is fre !
And I wol love hire niawgre al thy might.
But, for as muche thou art a worthy knight,
And wihiest to derreyne hire by batayle,
Have heer my trouthe, to-morwe I nyl not fayle,
Withouten wityng of eny other wight,
That heer I wol be founden as a knight,
And bryngen barneys right inough for the ;
And ches the beste, and lef the worse for me.
And mete and drynke this night wil I brynge
Inough for the, and clothes for thy beddynge.
And if so be that thou my lady wynne,
J And sle me in this woode ther I am inne,
Thou maist wel han thy lady as for me.'
This Palamon ansAverde : * I graunte it the.'

THE K17IGHTES TALE,

And thus they ben departed til a-morwe,
When ech of hem hadde leyd his feith to borwe.

O Cupide, out of alle charitd !
0 regne, that wolt no felawe han with the 1
Ful soth is seyd, that love no lordschipe
Wol not, his thonkes, han no felaweschipe.
Wei fynden that Arcite and Palamoun.
Arcite is riden anon unto the toun,
And on the morwe, or it were dayes light,
Ful prively two harneys hath he dight,
Bothe sufifisaunt and mete to darreyne
The bataylle in the feeld betwix hem tweyne.
And on his hors, allone as he was born,
He caryeth al this harnes him byforn ;
And in the grove, at tyme and place i-set,
This Arcite and this Palamon ben met.
Tho chaungen gan the colour in here face.
Right as the honter in the regne of Trace
That stondeth at the gappe with a spere,
Whan honted is the lyoun or the bere,
And hereth him come ruschyng in the greves,
And breketh bothe bowes and the leves,
And thinketh, ' Here cometh my mortel eneni}'-,
Withoute faile, he mot be deed or I ;
For eyther I mot sleen him at the gappe,
Or he moot sleen me, if that me myshappe
So ferden they, in chaungyng of here hewe,
As fer as everich of hem other knewe.
Ther nas no good day, ne no saluyng ;
But streyt withouten word or rehersyng,
Everych of hem help for to armen other,
As frendly as he were his owne brother \
And after that with scharpe speres stronge
They foynen ech at other wonder longe.
Thou myghtest wene that this Palamon
In his fightynge were as a wood lyoun,
And as a cruel tygre was Arcite :
As wilde boores gonne they to smyte,

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

That frothen white as foom for ire wood.
Up to the ancle fonghte they in here blood
And in this wise I lete hem fightyng dwelle j
And forth I wol of Theseus j'ow telle.

The destyne, mynistre general,
That executeth in the -world over-al
The purveiauns, that God hath seyn byforn ;
So strong it is, that though the world hadde sworn
The contrary e of a thing byj^e or nay,
Fet somtyme it schal falle upon a day -
That falleth nought eft withinne a thousend j^eere.
For certeynly our appetites heere,
Be it of werre, or pees, or hate, or love,
Al is it reuled by the sighte above.
This mene I now by mighty Theseus,
That for to honten is so desirous,
And namely at the grete hert in !May,
That in his bed ther daweth him no day,
That he nys clad, and redy for to ryde
With honte and horn, and houndes him byside.
For in his bontyng hath he such delyt,
That it is al his joye and appetyt
To been himself the grete hertes bane.
For after Mars he serve th now Diane.

Cleer was the day, as I have told or this.
And Theseus, with alle joye and blys,
AVith his Ypolita, the fayre queene,
And Emelye, clothed al in greene,
On honting be thay riden ryally.
And to the grove, that stood ful faste by,
In which ther was an hert as men him tolde,
Duk Theseus the streyte wey hath holde.
And to the launde he rydeth him ful righte,
For thider was the hert wont have his flighte, ,
And over a brook, and so forth in his weye.
This duk wol han a cours at him or tweye
With houndes, swiche as that him lust comaunde.

140

THE K.VrCHTZS TALE,

And whan this duk was come unto the launde.
Under the sonne he loketh, and anon
He was war of Arcite and Palamon,
That foughten breeme, as it were boores tuo ;
The brighte swerdes went to and fro
So hidously, that with the leste strook
It seemede as it wolde felle an ook ;
But what they were, nothing he ne woot.
This duk his courser with his spores smoot,
^And at a stert he was betwix hem tuoo,
And puUede out a swerd and cride, * Hoo !
Nomore, up peyne of lees3^ng ofj^oure heed.
By mighty Mars, he schal anon be deed,
That smyteth eny strook, that I may seen !
But telleth me what mester men yt been^
That ben so hardy for to fighten heere
Withoute jugge or other officere,
As it were in a lystes really?'
This Palamon answerde hastily,
And seyde : * Sire, what nedetli wordes mo ?
We han the deth deserved bothe tuo.
Tuo woful wrecches been we, tuo kaytyves,
That ben encombred of cure owne lyves ;
And as thou art a rightful lord and juge,
Ne j'eve us neyther mercy ne refuge.
And sle me first, for seynte chariti;
But sle my felawe eek as wel as me.
Or sle him first ; for, though thou knowe it l}'te,
This is thy mortal foe, this is Arcite,
That fro thy lond is banyscht on his heed,
For which he hath deserved to be deed.
For this is he that com unto thi gate
And seyd-e, that he highte Philostrate.
Thus hath he japed the ful many a ;;er,
And thou hast maked him thy cheef squyer.
And this is he that loreth Emelye.
For sith the day is come that I schal dye,

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

141

I make pleynly my confessioun,
That I am thilke woful Palamoun,
That hath thy prisoun broke wikkedly.
I am thy mortal foo. and it am I
That loveth so hoote Emelye the brighte,
That I wol dye present in hire sighte.
Therfore I aske deeth and my juwyse ;
But slee my felawe in the same wyse,
Porbotli han we deserved to be slayn.'

This worthy duk answerde anon agayn,
And seide, * This is a schort conclusioun :
Foure owne mouthe, by j/oure confessioun,
Hath dampned j^ou, and I wil it recorde.
It nedeth nou^i^t to pyne j/ow with the corde.
Fe schul be deed by mighty Mars the reede !*
The queen anon for verray wommanhede
Gan for to wepe, and so dede Emelye,
And alle the ladies in the compainye.
Gret pitd was it, as it thoughte hem alle,
That evere suche a chaunce schulde falle \
For gentil men thei were, of gret estate,
And nothing but for lov^ was this debate.
And sawe here bloody woundes wyde and sore ;
And alle cryden, bothe lasse and more,
* Have mercy. Lord, upon us woramen alle T
And on here bare knees adoun they falle,
And w^olde han kist his feet ther as he stood,
Til atte laste aslaked was his mood ;
For pite renneth sone in gentil herte.
And though he first for ire quok and sterte,
He hath considerd shortly in a clause.
The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause :
And although that his ire here gylt accusede,
Fet in his resoun he hem bothe excusede ;
And thus he thoughte wel that every man
Wol helpe himself in love if that he can,
And eek delyvere himself out of prisoun;

142

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

And eek his herte hadde compassioun

Of wommen, for they wepen evere in oon ;

And in his gentil herte he thoughte anoon,

And softe unto himself he seyde : ' Fy

Upon a lord that wol han no mercy,

But ben a lyoun bothe in word and dede,

To hem that ben in repentaunce and drede,

As wel as to a proud despitous man,

That wol maynteyne that he first bigan !

That lord hath litel of discrecioun,

That in such caas can no divisioun ;

Bat weyeth pride and humblesse after oon/

And schortly, when his ire is thus agon, .

He gan to loken up with eyen lighte,

And spak these same wordes al on highte.

' The god of love, a I benedicite,

How mighty and how gret a lord is he !

Agayns his might ther gayneth no obstacles,

He may be cleped a god for his miracles ;

For he can maken at his owne gyse

Of everych herte, as that him lust devyse.

Lo her this Arcite and this Palamoun,

That quytly weren out of my prisoun.

And mighte han lyved in Thebes ryally.

And witen I am here mortal enemy,

And that here deth lith in my might also.

And yet hath love, raaugre here ey^^en tuo,

I-brought hem hider bothe for to dye.

Now loketh, is nat that an heih folye ?

Who may not ben a fool, if that he love ?

Byhold for Goddes sake that sit above,

Se how they blede ! be they nought wel arrayed ?

Thus hath here lord, the god of loue, y-payed

Here wages and here fees for here servise.

And yet they wenen for to ben ful wise

That serven love, for ought that may bifalle.

But this i^ytt the beste game of alle,

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

That sche, for whom they han this jolitee,
Can hem therfore as moche thanke as me.
Sche woot no more of al this hoote fare,
By God, than wot a cockow or an hare.
But al moot ben assayed, hoot and cold ;
A man moot ben a fool or yong or old ;
I woot it by myself ful^'ore agon :
For in my tyme a servant was I on.
And therefore, syn I knowe of loves peyne,
And wot how sore it can a man distreyne,
As he that hath ben caught ofte in his laas,
I you for>'eve al holly this trespaas,
At requeste of the queen that kneleth heere,
And eek of Emelye, my suster deere.
And ye schul bothe anon unto me swere,
That neveremo ye schul my corowne dere,
Ne make werre upon me night ne day,
But ben my freendes in al thaft may.
I yo'N forj'eve this trespas every del.'
And they him swore his ax3mg fayre and wel,
And him of lordschipe and of mercy prayde,
And he hem graunteth grace, and thus he
sayde :

' To speke of real lynage and richesse.

Though that sche were a queen or a pryncesse,

Ech of 70W bothe is worthy douteles

To wedden when tyme is, but natheles

I speke as for my suster Emelye,

For whom ye han this stryf and jelousye,

Ye wite j^oureself sche may not wedde two

At oonehs, though ye fighten evere mo ;

That oon of j/ow, al be him loth or leef,

He mot go pypen in an ivy leef ;

This is to sayn, sche may nought now han bothe,

Al be ye nevere so jelous, ne so wrothe.

And for-thy lyou putte in this degre,

That ech ofyow schal have his destyn^,

144

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

As him is schape, and herknetli in what wyse ;
Lo here j-oure ende of that I schal devyse.

My wil is this, for plat conclusioun,
Withouten eny repplicacioun,
If that j/ou liketh, tak it for the beste,
That everych of^'ou shal gon wher him leste
Frely withouten raunsoun or daunger j
And this day fyfty wykes, fer ne neer,
Everich of j'ou schal brynge an hundred knightes.
Armed for lystes up at alle rightes,
Al redy to derrayne hire by bataylle.
And this byhote I j-ou withouten faylle
Upon my trouthe, and as I am a knight,
That whether of j^ow bothe that hath might,
This is to seyn, that whether he or thou
May with his hundred, as I spak of now,
Slen his contrarye, or out of lystes dryve,
Thanne schal I ^even' Emelye to wyve,
To whom that fortune j^eveth so faire a grace.
The lystes schal I maken in this place,
And God so wisly on my soule rewe.
As I schal evene juge ben and trewe,
Fe schul non other ende with me make,
That oon of yor^ ne schal be deed or take.
And \iyoM. thinketh this is wel i-sayd,
Sayeth youre avys, and holdeth yo^ apayd.
This is yoMxt ende and j'oure conclusioun.'
Who loketh lightly now but Palamoun ?
Who spryngeth up for joye but Arcite?
Who couthe telle, or who couthe it endite.
The joye that is maked in the place
Whan Theseus hath don so fair a grace ?
But down on knees wente every maner wight,
And thanken him with al here herte and miht,
And namely the Thebans ofte sithe.
And thus with good hope and with herte blithe
They take here leve, and hom-ward gonne they ride
To Thebes with his olde walles wyde.

THE KNJGHTES TALE,

I trowe men wolde deme it necligence,
If I forj;ete to telle the dispence
Of Theseus, that goth so busily
To maken up the lystes rially ;
That such a noble theatre as it was,
I dar wel sayn that in this world ther nas.
The circuit a myle was aboute,
Walled of stoon, and dyched al withoute.
Round was the schap, in manere of compaas,
Ful of degrees, the heighte of sixty paas
That whan a man was set on o degrd
He lette nought his felawe for to se.

Est-ward ther stood a gate of marbel whit,
West-ward right such another in the oppo&it.
And schortly to conclude, such a place
Was non in erthe as in so litel space ;
For in the lond ther nas no crafty man,
That geometrye or arsmetrike can,
Ne portreyour, ne kervere of ymages,
That Theseus ne ^af hem mete and wages
The theatre for to maken and devyse.
And for to don his ryte and sacrifise,
He est-ward hath upon the gate above,
In worschipe of Venus, goddesse of love,
Don make an auter and an oratorye ;
And west-ward, in the mynde and in m€mor}'e
Of Mars, he hath i-maked such another,
That coste largely of gold a fother.
And north-ward, in a toret on the walle,
Of alabaster whit and reed coralle
An oratorye riche for to see,
In worschipe of Dyane, of chastite.
Hath Theseus doon wrought in noble wise.
But^it hadde I foryeten to devyse
The noble kervyng, and the purtreitures.
The schap, the contenaunce and the figures.
The weren in these oratories thre.
VOL. iv.(') K

146

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

First in the temple of Venus maystow se
Wrought on the wal, ful pitous to byholde,
The broken slepes, and the sykes colde \
The sacred teeres, and the waymentyng \
The fyry strokes of the desiryng,
That loves servauntz in this lyf enduren j
The othes, that here covenantz assuren.
Plesaunce and hope, des)^-, fool-hardynesse,
Beaute and ^'outhe, bauderye and richesse,
Charmes and force, lesynges and flaterye,
Dispense, busynesse, and jelousye,
That werede of yelwe guides a gerland,
And a cokkow sittyng on hire hand ;
Festes, instrumentz, caroles, daunces,
Lust and array, and alle the circumstaunces
Of love, whiche that I rekned have and schal,
By ordre weren peynted on the wal.
And mo than I can make of mencioun.
For sothly al the mount of Citheroun,
Ther Venus hath hire principal dwellyng,
Was schewed on the wal in portreying,
With al the gardyn, and the lustynesse.
Nought was for^ete the porter Ydelnesse,
Ne Narcisus the fayre of yore agon,
Ne j^et the folye of kjmg Salamon,
Ne eek the grete strengthe of Hercules,
Thenchauntementz of Medea and Circes,
Ne of Tumus with the hardy fiers corage,
The riche Cresus caytif in servage..
Thus may j;e seen that wisdom ne richesse,
Beautd ne sleighte, strengthe, ne hardynesse,
Ne may with Venus holde champartye,
For as hire lust the world than may sche gye,
Lo, alle thise folk i-caught were in hire las,
Til they for wo ful often sayde alias.
Sufficeth heere ensamples oon or tuo,
And though I couthe rekne a thousend mo.

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

I

The statue of Venus, glorious for to see,

Was naked fietyng in the large see,

And fro the navele doun al covered was

With wawes grene, and brighte as eny glas.

ANQitole in hire right hond hadde sche,

And on hire heed, ful semely for to see,

A rose garland fresch and wel smellyng,

Above hire heed hire dowves flikeryng.

Biforn hire stood hire sone Cupido,

Upon his schuldres wynges hadde he two ;

And blynd he was, as it is ofte seene \

A bowe he bar and arwes brighte and kene.

AVhy schulde I nought as wel eek telle j/ou al

The portreiture, that was upon the wal

Withinne the temple of mighty Mars the reede ?

Al peynted was the wal in lengthe and breede

Lik to the estres of the grisly place,

That highte the grete temple of Mars in Trace,.

In thilke colde frosty regioun,

Ther as Mars hath his sovereyn mancioun.

First on the wal was peynted a forest,

In which ther dwelleth neyther man ne best,

With knotty nany bareyne trees olde

Of stubbes scharpe and hidous to bybolde ;

In which ther ran a swymbel in a swough,

As though a storm schulde bersten every bough

And downward on an hil under a bente,

Ther stood the temple of Marz armypotente.

Wrought al of burned steel, of which thentre

Was long and streyt, and gastly for to see.

And therout cam a rage and such a vese,

That it made al the gates for to rese.

The northen light in at the dores schon,

For wyndowe on the wal ne was ther noon,

Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.

The dores were alle of ademauntz eterne,

I-clenched overthwart and endelong

148

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

With iren tough ; and, for to make it strong,
Every piler the temple to susteene
Was tonne greet, of iren bright and schene.
Ther saugh I first the derke-ymaginyng
Of felonye, and al the compassyng j
The cruel ire, as reed as eny gleede \
The pikepurs, and eek the pale drede ;
The smylere with .the knyf under the cloke ;
The schepne brennyng with the blake smoke ;
The tresoun of the murtheryng in the bed ;
The open werre, with woundes al bi-bled ;
Contek with bloody knyf, and scharp manace.
Al ful of chirkyng was that sory place.
The sleere of himself j/et saugh I there.
His herte-blood hath bathed al his here ;
The nayl y-dryven in the schode a-nyght.;
The colde deth, with mouth gapyng upright.
Amyddes of the temple sat meschaunce,
With disconfort and sory contenaunce.^

Fet saugh I woodnesse laughying in his rage \
Armed complaint, outhees, and fiers outrage.
The caroigne in the bussh, with throte y-corve :
A thousand slain, and not of qualme y-storve \ .
The tiraunt, with the prey by force y-raft ;
The toun destroied, ther was no thyng laft.

Pet sawgh I brent the schippes hoppesteres ;
The hunte strangled with the wilde beres :
The so we freten the child right in the cradel ;
The cook i-skalded, for al his longe ladel.
Nought was forj^'eten by the infortune of Marte ;
The cartere over-ryden with his carte,
Under the whel ful lowe he lay adoun.
Ther were also of Martes divisioun.
The harbour, and the bocher ; and the smyth
That forgeth scharp e swerdes on his stith.
And al above depeynted in a tour
Saw I conquest sittyng in gret honour,

THE KmGHTES TALE,

I

With the scharpe swerd over his heed
Hangynge by a sotil twynes threed.
Depeynted was the slaughtre of Julius,
Of grete Nero, and of Anthonius;
Al be that thilke tyme they were unborn,
Fet was here deth depeynted ther byforn,
By manasyng of Mars, right by figure,
So was it schewed in that purtreiture
As is depeynted in the sterres above.
Who schal be slayn or elles deed for love.
Sufficeth oon ensample in stories olde,
I may not rekne hem alle, though I wolde.

The statue of Mars upo» a carte stood.
Armed, and lokede grym as he were wood ;
And over his heed ther schynen two figures
Of sterres, that had been cleped in scriptures,
That oon Puella, that other Rubeus.
This god of armes was arrayed thus : —
A wolf ther stood byforn him' at his feet
With eyen reede, and of a man he eet ;
With sotyl pencel depeynted was this stone,
In redoutyng of Mars and of his glorie.

Now to the temple of Dyane the chaste
As schortly as I can I wol me haste^
To telle j'ou al the descripcioun.
Depe3mted ben the walles up and down.
Of huntyng and of schamefast chastitd
Ther saugh I how woful Calystop^,
Whan that Dyane agreved was with here,
Was turned from a womman to a bere,
And after was sche maad the loode-sterre ;
Thus was it peynted, I can say you no ferre ;
Hire sone is eek a sterre, as men may see.
Ther sawgh I Dane yturned til a tree,
I mene nou^>^t the goddesse Dyane,
But Penneus dou^/^ter, which that highte Dane.
Ther saugh I Atheon an hert i-maked,

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

For vengeaunce that he saugh Dyane al naked ;

I saugh how that his houndes han him caught.

And freten him, for that they knewe him naught.

yit pe}mted was a litel forthermoor,

How Atthalaunte huntede the wilde boor,

And Meleagre, and many another mo,

For which Dyane wroughte hem care and woo.

Ther saugh I many another wonder storye.

The whiche me list not drawe to memorye.

This goddesse on an hert ful hyhe seet,

With smale houndes al aboute hire feet,

And undemethe hire feet sche hadde a moone,

Wexyng it was, and schulde wane soone.

In gaude greene hire statue clothed was,

With bowe in honde, and arwes in a cas.

Hir tyghtn caste sche ful lowe adoun,

Ther Pluto hath his derke regioun.

A womman travailyng was hire bifom,

But, for hire child so longe was unborn,

Ful pitously Lucyna gan sche calle,

And seyde, ' Help, for thou mayst best of alle/

Wei couthe he peynte lyfly that it wrou^/^te,

With many a floryn he the hewes boughte.

Now been thise listes maad, and Theseus
That at his grete cost arrayede thus
The temples and the theatre every del,
Whan it was don, hym likede wonder wel.
But stynte I wil of Theseus a lite,
And speke of Palamon and of Arcite.

The day approcheth of here retournynge,
That everych schulde an hundred kni^/^tes brynge,
The bataille to derreyne, as I yoM tolde ;
And til Athenes, here covenant to holde,
Hath everych of hem brought an hundred knightes
Wel armed for the werre at alle rightes.
And sikerly ther trowede many a man
That nevere, siththen that the world bigan,

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

As for to speke of knighthod of here hond,

As fer as God hath maked see or lond,

Nas, of so fewe, so noble a compainye.

For every wight that lovede chyvalrye,

And wolde, his thankes, han a passant name,

Hath preyed that he mighte ben of that game ;

And wel was him, that therto chosen was.

For if ther felle to morwe such a caas,

Yt knowen wel, that every lusty knight.

That loveth paramours, and hath his might,

Were it in Engelond, or elleswhere,

They wolde, here thankes, wilne to be there.

To fighte for a lady ; hemdicite!

It were a lusty sighte for to see.

And right so ferden they with Palamon.

With him ther wente knyghtes many oon \

Som wol ben armed in an habergoun,

In a brest-plat and in a light gypoun \

And somme woln have a peyre plates large ;

And somme woln have a Pruce scheld, or a targe ;

Somme wohi been armed on here legges weel,

And have an ax, and somme a mace of steel.

Ther nys no newe gyse, that it nas old.

Armed were they, as I have you told,

Everich after his opinioun.

Ther maistow sen comyng with Palamoun
Ligurge himselfe, the grete kyng of Trace ;
Blak was his herd, and manly was his face.
The cercles of his eyen in his heed
They gloweden bytwixe jelwe and reed j
And lik a griffoun lokede he aboute,
With kempe heres on his browes stowte ;
His lymes greete, his brawnes harde and stronge,
His schuldres broode, his armes rounde and longe.
And as the gyse was in his contre,
Ful heye upon a char of gold stood he,
With foure white boles in the trays.

rHE RNIGHTES TALE*

Instede of cote armiire over his harnay^,
With nayles j;elwe, and brighte as eny gold,
He hadde a beres skyn, col-blak, for-old.
His longe heer was kembd byhynde his bak,
As eny ravenes fether it schon for-blak.
A wrethe of gold arm-gret, of huge wighte,
Upon his heed, set ful of stoones brighte,
Of fyne rabies and of dyamauntz.
Aboute his char ther wenten white alauntz,
Twenty and mo, as grete as eny steer,
To hunten at the lyoun or the deer,
And folwede him, with mosel faste i-bounde,
Colers of golde, and torettz fyled rounde.
An hundred lordes hadde he in his route
Armed ful wel, with hertes steme and stoute.

With Arcita, in stories as men fynde,
The grete Emetreus, the kyng of Ynde,
Uppon a steede bay, trapped in steel,
Covered in cloth of gold dyapred wel,
Cam tyd)mg lyk the god of armes, Mars.
His coote-armure was of cloth of Tars,
Cowched with perles whyte and rounde and grete.
His sadel was of brend gold newe ybete ;
A mantelet upon his schuldre hangynge
Bret-ful of rubies reede, as fir sparklynge.
His crispe heer lik lynges was i-ronne,
And that was j/elwe, and gliterede als the sonne.
His nose was heigh, his eyen bright cytryn,
His lippes rounde, his colour was sangw3m,
A fewe fraknes in his face y-spreynd,
Betwixen^elwe and somdel blak y-meynd,
And as a lyoun he is lokyng caste.
Of fyve and twenty j;eer his age I caste.
His berd was wel bygonne for to sprynge ;
His voys was as a trampe thunderynge.
Upon his heed he werede of laurer grene
A garlond fresch and lusty for to sene.

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

Upon his hond he bar for his deduyt

An egle tame, as eny lylie whyt.

An hundred lordes hadde he with him ther,

Al armed sauf here hedes in here ger,

Ful richely in alle maner thinges.

For tnisteth wel, that dukes, erles, kynges,

Were gadred in this noble compainye, "

For love, and for encrees of chivalrye.

Aboute this kjmg ther ran on every part

Ful many a tame lyoun and lepart

And in this wise thise lordes alle and some

Been on the Sonday to the cit^ come

Aboute prime, and in the toun alight.

This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight.

When he hadde brought hem into his cit^.

And ynned hem, everich at his degre

He festeth him, and doth so gret labour

To esen hem, and don hem al honour,

That_>it men wene that no mannes wyt

Of non estat ne cowde amenden it

The mynstralcye, the servyce at the feste.

The grete j^iftes to the moste and leste,

The riche array of Theseus paleys,

Ne who sat first ne last upon the deys.

What ladies fayrest ben or best daunsynge,

Or which of hem can daunce best and singe,

Ne who most felyngly speketh of love;

What haukes sitten on the perche above.

What houndes liggen on the floor adoun :

Of al this make I now no mencioun.

But of theflfect ; that thinketh me the beste ;

Now comth the poynt, and herkneth if j;ou leste.

The Sonday night, or day bigan to springe,
When Palamon the larke herde synge,
Although it nere nought day by houres tuo,
yit sang the larke, and Palamon also.
With holy herte, and with an heih corage

154

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

lie roos, to wenden on his pilgrymage

Unto the blisful Citherea benigne,

I mene Venus, honurable and digne.

And in hire hour he walketh forth a paas

Unto the lystes, ther hire temple was,

And doun he kneleth, and, with humble cheere

And herte sore, he seide as j/e schul heere.

* Paireste of faire, o lady niyn Venus,
Doughter of Jove, and spouse to Vulcanus,
Thou gladere of the mount of Citheroun,
For thilke love thou haddest to Adoun
Have pite of my bittre teeres smerte,
And tak myn humble prayere to thin herte.
Alias ! I ne have no langage to telle
Theffectes ne the tormentz of myn helle ;
Myn herte may myne harmes nat bewreye ;
I am so confus, that I can not seye.
But mercy, lady brighte, that knowest wele
My thought, and seest what harmes that I fele,
Considre al this, and rewe upon my sore,
As wisly as I schal for evermore,
Emforth my might, thi trewe servaunt be.
And holden werre alway with chastity ;
That make I myn avow, so me helpe.
I kepe nat of armes for to ^elpe.
Ne I ne aske nat to-morwe to have victorie,
Ne renoun in this caas, ne veyne glorie
Of pris of armes, blowen up and doun,
But I wolde have fully possessioun
Of Emelye, and' dye in thi servise ;
Fynd thou the manere how, and in what wyse
I recche nat, but it may better be,
To have victorie of hem, or they of me,
So that I have my lady in myne armes.
For though so be that Mars is god of armes,
Foure vertu is so gret in hevene above.
That if you list I schal wel han my love.

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

155

Thy temple wol I worschipe everemo,

And on thin auter, wher I ryde or go,

I wol don sacrifice, and fyres beete.

And \iy^ wol nat so, my lady sweete,

Than praye I the, to-morwe with a spere

That Arcita me thurgh the herte bere.

Thanne rekke I nat, whan I have lost my lyf,

Though that Arcite wynne hire to his wyf.

This is theffect and ende of my prayere,

yif me my love, thou blisful lady deere/

Whan thorisoun was doon of Palamon,

His sacrifice he dede, and that anoon

Ful pitously, with alle circumstaunces,

Al telle I nat as now his observaunces.

But atte laste the statue of Venus schook.

And made a signe, wherby that he took

That his prayere accepted was that day.

For though the signe schewede a delay,

Fet wiste he wel that graunted was his boone ;

And with glad herte he wente him hom ful soone.

The thridde hour inequal that Palamon
Bigan to Venus temple for to goon.
Up roos the sonne, and up roos Emelye,
And to the temple of Diane gan sche hye.
Hire maydens, that sche thider with hire ladde,
Ful redily with hem the fyr they hadde,
Thencens, the clothes, and the reraenant al
That to the sacrifice longen schal \
The homes fuUe of meth, as was the gyse \
Ther lakkede nou^/^t to don hire sacrifise.
Smokyng the temple, ful of clothes faire,
This Emelye with herte debonaire
Hire body wessch with water of a welle ;
But how sche dide hire rite I dar nat telle.
But it be eny thing in general ;
. And^et it were a game to heren al;
To him that meneth wel it were no charge :

THE KNIGRTES TALE.

But it is good a man ben at his large.
Hire brighte heer was kempt, untressed al j
A coroune of a grene ok cerial
Upon hire heed was set ful faire and meete.
Tuo fyres on the auter gan sche beete,
And dide hire thinges, as men may biholde
In Stace of Thebes, and thise bokes olde.
Whan kyndled was the fyr, with pitous cheere
Unto Dyane sche spak, as yt may heere.

' O chaste goddesse of the woodes green e,
To whom bothe hevene and erthe and see is seene,
Queen of the regne of Pluto derk and lowe,
Goddesse of maydens, that myn herte hast knowe
Ful many a yeer, and woost what I desire,
As keep me fro thi vengeaunce and thin yre,
That Atheon aboughte trewely :
Chaste goddesse, wel wost thou that I
Deshre to ben a mayden al my lyf,
Ne nevere wol I be no love ne wyf.
I am, thou wost, y\t of thi compainye,
A mayde, and love huntyng and vfenerye,
And for to walken in the woodes wylde,
And nou^y^t to ben a wyf, and ben with chylde.
Nought wol I knowe the compainye of man.
Now help me, lady, syth j;e may and kan.
For tho thre formes that thou hast in the,
And Palaraon, that hath such love to me,
And eek Arcite, that loveth me so sore.
This grace I praye the withouten more.
As sende love and pees betwixe hem two ;
And fro me torne awey here hertes so,
That al here hoote love, and here desir,
And al here bisy torment, and here fyr
Be queynt, or turned in another place;
And if so be thou wolt do me no grace,
Or if my destyn^ be schapen so,
That I schal needes have on of hem two,

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

As sende me him that most desireth me.
Bihold, goddesse of clene chastite,
The bittre teeres that on my cheekes falle.
S3m thou art mayde, and kepere of us alle,
My maydenhode thou kepe and wel conserve,
And whil I lyve a mayde I wil the serve.'

The fjrres brenne upon the auter cleere,
Whil Emelye was thus in hire preyere ;
But sodeinly sche saugh a sighte queynte.
For right anon on of the fyres queynte,
And quykede agayn, and after that anon
That other fyr was queynt, and al agon ;
And as it queynte, it made a whistelynge.
As doth a wete brond in his brennynge.
And at the brondes ende out-ran anoon
As it were bloody dropes many oon ;
For which so sore agast was Emelye,
That sche was wel neih mad, and gan to crie,
For sche ne wiste what it signifyede ;
But oonly for the feere thus sche cryede
And wep, that it was pit^ for to heere.
And therwithal Dyane gan appeere,
With bowe in hond, right as an hunteresse.
And seyde : * Doughter, stynt thyn hev3messe.
Among the goddes hye it is afFermed,
And by eterne word write and confermed,
Thou schalt ben wedded unto oon of tho
That han for the so moche care and wo ;
But unto which of hem I may nat telle.
Farwel, for I ne may no lenger dwelle.
The fjnres which that on myn auter brenne
Schuln the declaren, or that thou go henne,
Thyn aventure of love, as in this caas.'
And with that word, the arwes in the caas
Of the goddesse clatren faste and rynge,
And forth sche wente, and made a vanysschynge,
For which this Emelye astoned was,

158

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

And seide, * What amounteth this, alias !

I putte me in tliy proteccioun,

Dyane, and in thi disposicioun.'

And hoom sche goth anon the nexte waye.

This is theffect, ther nys no more to saye.

The nexte houre of Mars folwynge this,
Arcite unto the temple walked is
Of fierse Mars, to doon his sacrifise,
With alle the rites of his payen wise.
With pitous herte and heih devocioun,
Right thus to Mars he sayde his orisoun :
* O stronge god, that in the regnes colde
Of Trace honoured art and lord y-holde,
And hast in every regne and every londe
Of armes al the bridel m thyn honde,
And hem fortunest as the lust devyse,
Accept of me my pitous sacrifise.
If so be that my j/outhe may deserve,
And that my might be worthi for to serve
Thy godhede that I may ben on of thine,
Then praye I the to rewe upon my pyne.
For thilke peyne, and thilke hoote fyre,
In which thou whilom brentest for desyre,
Whan that thou usedest the gret bewte
Of faire freissche Venus, that is so free
And haddest hir in armes at thy wille ;
And though the cries on a tyme mystille.
When Vulcanus had caught the in his laas,
And fan d the liggyng by his wyf, allaas !
For thilke sorwe that was in thin herte,
Have reuthe as wel upon my peynes smerte.
I am j;ong and unkonnyng, as thou wost,
And, as I trowe, with love offended most,
That evere was eny lyves creature ;
For sche, that doth me al this wo endure,
Ne reccheth nevere wher I synke or fleete.
And wel I woot, or sche me mercy heete,

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

I

I moot with strengthe wynne hire in the place ;
And wel I wot, without en help or grace
Of the, ne may my strengthe nought avaylle.
Then help me, lord, to-morwe in my bataylle,
For thilke fyr that whilom brente the.
As wel as thilke fir now brenneth me ;
And do that I to-morwe have victorie.
Myn be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Thy soverein temple wol I most honouren
Of any place, and alway most labouren
In thy plesaunce and in thy craftes stronge.
And in thy temple I wol my baner honge.
And alle the armes of my compainye ;
And everemore, unto that day I dye,
Eteme iyx I wol bifom the fynde.
And eek to this avow I wol me bynde :
My herd, myn heer that hangeth longe adoun,
That nevere ^it ne felte ofFensioun
Of rasour ne of schere, I wol the yivt,
And be thy trewe servaunt whil I lyve.
Now lord, have rowthe uppon my sorwes sore,
yif me the victorie, I aske the no more.'

The preyere stynte of Arcita the stronge,
The rynges on the temple dore that honge,
And eek the dores, clatereden ful faste,
Of which Arcita somwhat hym agaste.
The fyres brende upon the auter brighte,
That it gan al the temple for to lighte ;
And swote smel the ground anon upj;af,
And Arcita anon his hand up-haf,
And more encens into the fyr he caste,
With othre rites mo j and atte laste
The statue of Mars bigan his hauberk rynge.
And with that soun he herde a murmurynge
Ful lowe and dym, that sayde thus, ' Victorie.'
For which he j^af to Mars honour and glorie.
And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare.

l6o THE KNIGHTES TALE.

Arcite anoon unto his inne is fare,

As fiayn as fowel is of the brighte sonne.

And right anon such stryf ther is bygonne

For thilke grauntyng, in the hevene above,

Bitwixe Venus the goddess of love,

And Mars the steme god armypotente,

That Jupiter was busy it to stente ;

Til that the pale Saturnus the colde,

That knew so many of aventures olde,

Fond in his olde experience an art,

That he ful sone hath plesed every part.

As soth is sayd, eelde hath gret avantage,

In eelde is bothe wisdom and usage ;

Men may the olde at-renne, but nat at-rede.

Saturne anon, to stynte stryf and drede,

Al be it that it is agayn his kynde,

Of al this stryf he gan remedye fynde.

' My deere dou^//ter Venus,' quod Saturne,

' My cours, that hath so wyde for to turne,

Hath more power than woot eny man.

M)m is the drenchyug in the see so wan ;

Myn is the prisoun in the derke cote \

Myn is the stranglyng and hangyng by the throte ;

The murmure, and the cherles rebellynge.

The groyning, and the pryve empoysonyuge :

I do vengeance and pleyn correctioun,

Whiles I dwelle in the sign of the lyoun.

Myn is the ruyne of the hike halles,

The falljnig of the toures and of the walles

Upon the mynour or the carpenter.

I slowh Sampsoun in schakyng the piler

And mjme ben the maladies colde.

The derke tresoun, and the castes olde ;

Myn lokyng is the fader of pestilence.

Now wep nomore, I schal don diligence

That Palamon, that is thyn owne knight,

Schal have his lady, as thou hast him hight

THE KmGHTES TALE.

i6i

Though Mars schal helpe his knight, yet natheles

Bitwixe jou ther moot som tyme be pees,

Al be j'e nought of oo complexioun,

That causeth al day such divisioun.

I am thin ayel, redy at thy wille ;

Wep thou nomore, I wol thi lust fulfilled

Now "wol I stynten of the goddes above,

Of Mars, and of Venus goddesse of love,

And telle ^ou, as pleinly as I can,

The grete effect for which that I bigan.

Grete was the feste in Athenes that day,
And eek the lusty sesoun of that May
Made every wight to ben in such plesaunce,
That al that Monday jousten they and daunce,
And spend en hit in Venus heigh servise.
But by the cause that they schulde arise
Erly for to seen the grete fight,
Unto their reste wente they at nyght. •
And on the morwe when that da«y g^n sprynge,
Of hors and herneys noyse and claterynge
«Ther was in the hostelryes al aboute ;
And to the paleys rood ther many a route
Of lordes, upon steedes and palffeys.
Ther mayst thou seen devysyng qf hemeys
So uncowth and so riche, and wrought so wel
Of goldsmithrye, of browdyng, and of steel \
The scheldes brighte, testers, and trappuresj
Gold-beten helmes, hauberkes, cote-armures ;
Lordes in paramentz on here courseres,
Knightes of retenue, and eek squyeres
Naylyng the speres, and helmes bokelynge,
G-iggyng of scheeldes, with layners lasynge \
Ther as need is, they were nothing ydel ;
The fomy steedes on the golden bridel
Giiawyng, and faste the armurers also
With fyle and hamer prikyng to and fro ;
Yemen on foote, and communes many oon
VOL. iv.c; L

l62

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

With schorte staves, thikke as they may goon \
Pypes, trompes, nakeres, clariounes,
That in the bataille blowe bloody sownes ;
The paleys ful of peples up and doun,
Heer thre, ther ten, holdyng here questioun,
D)7vynyng of thise Thebane knightes two.
Somme seyden thus, somme seyde it schal be so ;
Somme heelde with him with the blake berd,
Somme with the balled, somme with the thikke
herd;

Somme sayde he lokede grym and he wolde fighte ;

He hath a sparth of twenti pound of wighte.

Thus was the halle ful of div}Ti)nnge,

Longe after that the sonne gan to springe.

The grete Theseus that of his sleep awaked

With menstralcye and noyse that was maked,

Held ^'it the chambre of his paleys riche,

Til that the Thebane knyghtes bothe i-liche

Honoured weren into the paleys fet,

Duk Theseus was at a wyndow set,

Arrayed right as he were a god in trone.

The peple presseth thider-ward ful sone

Him for to seen, and doon heigh reverence,

And eek to herkne his hest and his sentence.

An heraud on a skaffold made an hoo,

Til al the noyse of the peple was i-do \

The whan he sawh the peple of noyse all stille,

Tho schewede he the mighty dukes wille.

* The lord hath of his heih discrecioun
Considered, that it were destruccioun
To gentil blood, to fighten in the gyse
Of mortal bataille now in this emprise ;
Wherfore to schapen that they schuln not dye,
He wol his firste purpos modifye.
No man therfore, up peyne of los of lyf,
No maner schot, ne pollax, ne schort knyf
Into the lystes sende^ or thider brynge ;

THE KNIGHTES TALE. 163

Ne schort swerd for to stoke, with point bytynge

No man ne drawe, ne here by his side.

Ne no man schal unto his felawe lyde

But oon cours, with a scharpe ygrounde spere •

Foyne if him lust on foote, himself to were.

And he that is at miscliief, schal be take,

And nat slayn, but be brought unto the stake,

That Schal ben ordeyned on eyther syde ;

But thider he schall by force, and ther abyde.

And if so falle, the cheventein be take

On eyther side, or ell^s sle his make,

No lenger schal the tumeyinge laste.

God spede j^'ou ; go forth and ley on faste.

With long swerd and with mace fig?it youre fille.

Goth now jvoure way j this is the lordes willed
The voice of peple touchede the hevene,

So lowde cride thei with mery stevene :

' God save such a lord that is so good,*

He wilneth no destruccioun of blood ! '

Up gon the trompes and the melodye.

And to the lystes lyt the compainye

By ordynaunce, thurghout the citd large.

Hanged with cloth of gold, and not with sarge.

Ful like a lord this noble duk gan lyde,

These tuo Thebanes upon eyther side ;

And after rood the queen, and Emelye,

And after that anotiier compainye,

Of oon and other after here degrd

And thus they passen thurghout the cit^

And to the lystes come thei by tyme.

It nas not of the day j;et fully pryme.

Whan set was Theseus ful riche and hye

Ypolita the queen and Emelye, '

And other ladyes in degrees aboute

Unto the seetes preseth al the route ;

And west-ward, thurgh the j;ates under Marte,

Arcite, and eek the hundred of his parte,

i64

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

With banner red ys entred right anoon ;
And in that selve moment Palamon
Is under Venus, est- ward in the place,
With baner whyt, and hardy cheere and face.

In al the world, to seeken up and doun,
So evene withouten variacioun,
Ther nere suche compainyes tweye.
For ther nas noon so wys that cowthe sye,
That any hadde of other avauntage
Of worthinesse, ne of estaat, ne age,
So evene were they chosen for to gesse.
And in two renges faire they hem dresse.
Whan that here names rad were everychon.
That in here nombre gile were ther noon,
Tho were the j^ates schet, and cried was loude :

* Doth now j'our devoir, jonge knightes proude !'

The heraudes lafte here prikyng up and doun ;

Now ryiigen trompes loude and clarioun ;

Ther is nomore to sayn, but west and est

In gon the speres ful sadly in arest ;

In goth the scharpe spore into the side.

Ther seen men who can juste, and who can ryde ;

Ther sch)rveren schaftes upon scheeldes thykke ;

He feeleth thrugh the herte-spon the prikke.

Up springen speres twenty foot on highte ;

Out goon the swerdes as the silver brighte.

The helmes thei to-hewen and to-schrede ;

Out brest the blood, with steme stremes reede.

With mighty maces the bones thay to breste.

He thurgh the thikkeste of the throng gan threste.

Ther stomblen steedes stronge, and doun goon alle.

He roUeth under foot as doth a balle.

He foyneth on his feet with his tronchoun,

And him hurtleth with his hors adoun.

He thurgh the body is hurt, and siththen take

Maugre his heed, and brou^^^t unto the stake,

As forward was, right ther he moste abyde.

THE KmCHTES TALE.

Another lad is on that other syde.

And som tyme doth hem Theseus to reste,

Hem to refreissche, and drinken if hem leste,

Ful ofte a-day han thise Thebanes two

Togidre y-raet, and wrought his felawe woo ^

Unhorsed hath ech other of hem tweye.

Ther nas no tygre in the vale of Galgopheye,

Whan that hire whelpe is stole, whan it is lite.

So cruel on the hunte, as is Arcite

For jelous herte upon this Palamoun :

Ne in Belmarye ther nis so fel lyoun,

That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,

Ne of his preye desireth so the blood.

As Palamon to slen his foo Arcite.

The jelous strokes on here helmes byte ;

Out renneth blood on bothe here sides reede.

Som tyme an ende ther is of every dede ;

For er the sonne unto the reste wente,

The stronge kyng Emetreus gan hente

This Palamon, as he faught with Arcite,

And made his swerd depe in his flessch to byte ^

And by the force of twenti is he take

Unyolden, and i-drawe unto the stake.

And in the rescous of this Palamon

The stronge kyng Ligurge is born adoun ;

And kyng Emetreus for al his strengthe

Is bom out of his sadel a swerdes lengthe,

So hitte him Palamon er he were take \

But al for nought, he w^as brought to the stake.

His hardy herte mighte him helpe nought ;

He moste abyde whan that he was caught.

By force, and eek by composicioun.

Who sorweth now but woful Palamoun,

That moot no more gon agayn to fighte ?

And whan that Theseus hadde seen this sighte,

Unto the folk that foughten thus echon

He Clyde, * Hoo ! no more, for it is ddon !

i66

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

I wol be trewe juge, and nou^-^t partye.
Arcyte of Thebes schal have Emelye,
That by his fortune hath hire faire i-wonne.'
Anoon ther is a noyse of peple bygonne
For joye of this, so lowde and heye withalle,
It semede that the listes scholde falle.

What can now fayre Venus doon above ?
What seith sche no ? what doth this queen of love ?
But wepeth so, for wantyng of hire wille.
Til that hire teeres in the lystes fille ;
Sche seyde : ' I am aschamed douteles.'
Satumus seyde : * Dou^>^ter hold thy pees.
Mars hath his wille, his knight hath al his boone,
And by myn heed thou schalt ben esed soone.'

The trompes with the lowde mynstralcye,
The herawdes, that ful lowde jKolle and crye,
Been in here wele for joye of daun Arcyte.
But herkneth me, and stynteth now a lite,
Which a miracle ther bifel anoon.
This fierse Arcyte hath of his helm ydoon.
And on a courser for to schewe his face,
He priketh endelonge the large place,
Lokyng upward upon his Emelye ;
And sche agajm him caste a frendlych tyght^
(For wommen, as to speken in comune,
Thay folwen al the favour of fortune)
And was al his cheere, as in his herte.
Out of the ground a fyr infernal sterte,
From Phito sent, at requeste of Saturne,
For which his hors for feere gan to tume.
And leep asyde, and foundrede as he leep ;
And or that Arcyte may taken keep,
He pighte him on the pomel of his heed.
That in the place he lay as he were deed.
His brest to-brosten with his sadel-bowe.
As blak he lay as eny col or crowe,
So was the blood y-ronnen in his face.

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

Anon he was y-born out of the place
With herte soor, to Theseus paleys.
Tho was he corven out of his haraeys,
And in a bed y-brought ful faire and blyve,
For he was jit in memorye and on lyve,
And ahvay crying after Emelye.

Duk Theseus, with al his compainye.
Is comen hom to Athenes his cite,
With alle blysse and gret solempnite.
Al be it that this aventure was falle,
He nolde nought disconforten hem alle.
Men seyde eek, that Arcita schal nought dye)
He schal ben heled of his maladye.
And of another thing they were as fayn,
That of hem alle was ther noon y-slayn,
Al were they sore hurt, and namely oon,
That with a spere was thirled his brest booi:
To othre woundes, and to broken armes,
Some hadde salves, and some hadde charmes,
Fermacyes of herbes, and eek save
They dronken, for they wolde here lymes have.
For which this noble duk, as he wel can,
Conforteth and honoureth every man.
And made revel al the longe night,
Unto the straunge lordes, as was right.
Ne ther was holden no disconfytynge ;
But as- a justes or a tourneyinge,
For sothly ther was no disconfiture,
For fallynge nis not but an aventure ;
Ne to be lad with fors unto the stake
Unyolden, and with twenty knightes take,
O persone allone, withouten moo,
And haried forth by arme, foot, and too,
And eek his steede dryven forth with staves,
With footmen, bothe j/emen and eek knaves,
It nas aretted him no vyleinye, ^
Ther may no man clepe it no cowardye.

i68

THE JCNIGHTES TALE.

For which anon Duk Theseus leet crie,
To st)mten alle rancour and envye,
The gree as wel of o syde as of other,
And either side ylik as otheres brother ;
AndjFaf hem j/iftes after here degre,
And fully heeld a feste dayes thre ;
And conveyede the kynges worthily
Out of his toun a journee largely.
And horn wente every man the righte way.
There was no more, but ' Farwel, have good day ! '
Of this battaylle I wol no more endite,
But speke of Palamon and of Arcyte.

Swelleth the brest of Arcyte, and the sore
Encresceth at his herte more and more.
The clothred blood, for eny leche-craft,
Corrumpeth, and is in his bouk i-laft,
That nother veyne blood, ne ventusynge,
Ne drinke of herbes may ben his helpynge.
The vertu expulsif, or animal,
Fro thilke vertu cleped natural,
Ne may the venym voyde, ne expelle.
The pypes of his longes gonne to swelle,
And every lacerte in his brest adoun
Is schent with venym and comipcioun.
Him gayneth nother, for to gete his lyf,
Vomyt upward, ne dounward laxatif \
Al is to-brosten thilke regioun,
Nature hath now no dominacioun.
And certeynly ther nature wil not wirche,
Farwel phisik ; go ber the man to chirche.
This al and som, that Arcyta moot dye.
For which he sendeth after Emelye,
And Palamon, that was his cosyn deere.
Than seyde he thus, as yt schul after heere.

* Naught may the woful spirit in myn herte
Declare o poynt of alle my sorwes smerte
To j'ou, my lady, that I love most ;

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

169

But I byquethe the service of my gost

To you aboven every creature,

Syn that ifiylyf ne may no lenger dure.

Alias, the woo 1 alias, the peynes stronge,

That I for jou have suiFred, and so longe !

AUas, the deth 1 alias, myn Emelye 1

Alias, departyng of our compamye I

Alias, myn hertes queen 1 alias, my wyf !
Mynherteslady, endereof my lyf 1

What is this world? what asken men to have?

Now with his love, now in his qplde grave
AUone withouten eny compamye 1
Farwel, my swete foo ! myn Emelye !
And softe tak me inj^oure armes tweye,
For love of God, and herkneth what I seye.

I have heer with my cosyn Palamon
Had stryf and rancour many a day a-gon,
For love of jj'ow, and for my jelousie.
And Jupiter so wis my sowle gye.
To speken of a servaunt proprely,
With alle circumstaunces trewely, ^ , . _ , ,
That is to seyn, trouthe, honour, and knightliede,
Wysdom, humblesse, estaat, and hey kynrede,
Fredam, and al that longeth to that art,
So Jupiter have of my soule part,
As in this world right now ne knowe I non
So worthy to be loved as Palamon, ^
That serveth j'ou, and wol don al his lyf.
And if that evere >'e schul ben a wyf,
Forget not Palamon, the gentil man.'
-And with that word his speche faille gan ;
For fro his feete up to his brest was come
The cold of deth, that hadde him overcome.
And yet, moreover, for in his armes two
The vital strengthe is lost, and al ago.
Only the intellect, withouten more,
That dwellede in his herte sik and sore.

I/O THE KmGHTES TALE,

Gan fayllen, when the herte felte deth,

Dusken his eyghen two, and faylleth breth.

But on his lady jit caste he his eye ;

His laste word was, ' Mercy, Emelye ! '

His spiryt chaungede hous, and wente ther,

As I cam nevere, I can nat tellen wher,

Therfore I stynte, I nam no d3rvyTiistre ;

Of soules fynde I not in this registre,

Ne me ne list thilke opynyons to telle.

Of hem, though that thei WTiten wher they dwelle.

Arcyte is cold, ther Mars his soule gye ;

Now wol I speke forth of Emelye.

Shrighte Emelye, and howleth Palamon,
And Theseus his suster took anon
Swownyng, and bar hire fro the corps away.
What helpeth it to taryen forth the day,
To tellen how sche weep bothe eve and morwe ?
For in swich caas wommen can han such

sorwe,

Whan that here housbonds ben from hem ago,
That for the more part they sorwen so,
Or elles fallen in such maladye,
That atte laste certeynly they dye.

Infynyte been the sorwes and the teeres
Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeeres.
In al the toun, for deth of this Theban,
For him ther weepeth bothe child and man ;
So gret a wepyng was ther noon certayn.
Whan Ector w^as i-brought, al fressh i-slayn,
To Troye \ alias 1 the pite that was ther,
Cracchyng of cheekes, rending eek of heer.

* Why woldestow be deed,' thise wommen crye,

* And haddest gold ynowgh, and Emelye ?'
No man ne might e gladen Theseus,

• Savyng his olde fader Egeus,
That knew this worldes transmutacioun,
As he hadde seen it tomen up and doun,

THE KmCHTES TALE.

Joye after woo, and woo after gladnesse :
And schewede hem ensamples and liknesse.

* Right as ther deyde nevere man/ quod he,
' That he ne lyvede in earth in som degree,
Right so ther lyvede nevere man/ he seyde,
' In al this world, that som t3ane he ne deyde.
This world nys but a thurghfare ful of woo,
And we ben pilgr3niis, passyng to and fro ;
Deth is an ende of every worldly sore/
And over al this yit seide he mochel more
To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte
The peple, that they shulde hem reconforte.

Duk Theseus, with al his busy cure,
Cast now wher that the sepulture
Of good Arcyte may best y-maked be,
And eek most honorable in his degrd
And atte laste he took conclusioun.
That ther as first Arcite and Palamon
Hadden for love the bataille hem betwene,
That in that selve grove, swoote and greene,
Ther as he hadde his amorouse desires,
His compleynte, and for love his hoote fyres,
He wolde make a fyr, in which thofiice
Of funeral he mighte al accomplice ;
And leet comaunde anon to hakke and hewe
The okes olde, and leye hem on a rewe
In culpons wel arrayed for to brenne,
His officers with swifte feet they renne,
And ryde anon at his comaundement
And after this, Theseus hath i-sent
After a beer, and it al overspradde
With cloth of gold, the richeste that he hadde.
And of the same suyte he cladde Arcyte j
Upon his hondes hadde he gloves white ;
Eek on his heed a-coroune of laurer grene,
And in his hond a swerd ful bright and kene.
He leyde him bare the visage on the beere,

172

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

Therwith he weep that pite was to heere.
And for the peple schulde seen him alle,
Whan it was day he broughte him to the halle,
That roreth of the crying and the soun.

Tho cam this woful Theban Palamoun,
With fiotery herd, and ruggy asshy heeres,
In clothes blake, y-dropped al with teeres ;
And, passyng othere of wepyng, Emelye,
The rewfulleste of al the compainye,
In as moche as the service schulde be
The more noble and riche in his degr^,
Duk Theseus leet forth thre steedes brynge,
That trapped were in Steele al gliterynge,
And covered with the armes of daun Arcyte.^
Upon thise steedes, that weren grete and white,
Ther seeten folk, of which oon bar his scheeld,
Another his spere up in his hondes heeld ;
The thridde bar with him his bowe Turkeys,
Of brend gold was the caas and eek the hemeys ;
And riden forth a paas ^"ith sorweful cheere
Toward the grove, as yt schul after heere.
The nobleste of the Grekes that ther were
Upon here schuldres carieden the beere.
With slake paas, and eyghen reede and wete,
Thurghout the cite, by the maister streete,
That sprad was al with blak, and wonder hye
Right of the same is al the strete i-wrye.
Upon the right hond wente old Egeus,
And on that other syde duk Theseus,
With vessels in here hand of gold wel fyn,
Al ful of hony, mylk, and blood, and wyn }
Eek Palamon, with ful gret compainye \
And after that com woful Emelye,
With fyr in hond, as was that time the gyse,
To do thoffice of funeral seivise.

Hey^i^ labour, and ful gret apparaillynge
Was at the service and the fyr makynge,

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

That with his grene top the hevene raughte,
And twenty fadme of brede tharmes straughte ;
This is to seyn, the boowes were so brod.e.
Of stree first ther was leyd ful many a loode.
But how the fyr was maked up on highte,
And eek the names how the trees highte,
As 00k, fyrre, birch, asp, alder, holm, popler,
Wilwe, elm, plane, assch, box, chesteyn, lynde,
laurer,

Maple, thorn, beech, hasel, ew, whyppyltre,
How they weren feld, schal noi:^>^t be told for me ;
Ne how the goddes ronnen up and doun,
Disheryt of here habitacioun,
In which they woneden in reste and' pees,
Nymphes, Faunes, and Amadrydes ;
Ne how the beestes and the briddes alle
Fledden for feere, whan the woode was falle ;
Ne how the ground agast was of the lighte, ^
That was nought wont to seen the sonne brighte ;
Ne how the fyr was couched first with stree,
And thanne with drye stykkes cloven a three,
And thanne with grene woode and spicerie.
And thanne with cloth of gold and with perrye,
And gerlandes hangyng with ful many a flour,
The myrre, thencens with al so greet odour \
Ne how Arcyte lay among al this,
Ne what richesse aboute his body is ;
Ne how that Emelye, as was the gyse,
Putte in the iyr of funeral servise ;
Ne how she swownede when men made the fyr,
Ne what sche spak, ne what was hire desir \
Ne what jewels men in the fyr tho caste,
Whan that the fyr was gret and brente faste ;
Ne how summe caste here scheeld, and summe
here spere,

And of here vestimentz, whiche that they were.
And cuppes ful of wyn, and mylk, and blood.

174

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

Into the fyr, that brente as it were wood;
Ne how the Grekes with an huge route
Thre tymes ryden al the fyr aboute
Upon the lefte hond, with an heigh schoutyng,
And thries with here speres clateryng;
And thries how the ladyes gonne crye ;
Ne how that lad was hom-ward Emelye \
Ne how Arcyte is brent to aschen colde ;
Ne how that liche-wake was y-holde
Al thilke night, ne how the Grekes pleye
The wake-pleyes, ne kepe I nat to seye ;
Who Avrastleth best naked, with oylle enoynt,
Ne who that bar him best in no disjoynt.
I wol not tellen eek how that they goon
Horn til Athenes whan the pley is doon.
But schortly to the poynt than wol I wende,
And maken of my longe tale an ende.

By processe and by lengthe of certeyn yeres
Al stynted is the moomyng and the teeres
Of Grekes, by oon general assent
Than semede me ther was a parlement
At Athenes, upon certeyn poyntz and cas ;
Among the whiche p03nites yspoken was
To han with certeyn contrees alliaunce,
And han fully of Thebans obeissaunce.
For which this noble Theseus anon
Let senden after gentil Palamon,
Unwist of him what was the cause and why ;
But in his blake clothes sorwefully
He cam at his comaundement in hye.
Tho sente Theseus for Emelye.
Whan they were set, and bust was al the place,
And Theseus abyden hadde a space
Or eny word cam fro his wyse brest.
His eyen sette he ther as was his lest.
And with a sad visage he sykede stille.
And after that right thus he seide his wille.

THE KNJGHTES TALE,

* The firste moevere of the cause above,
Whan he first made the fayre cheyne of love,
Gret was thefFect, and heigh was his entente ;
Wei wiste he why, and what therof he mente j
For with that faire cheyne of love he bond
The fyr, the eyr, the water, and the loud
In certeyn boundes, that they may not flee ;
That same prynce and moevere eek,' quod he,
' Hath stabled, in this wrecched world adoun,
Certeyne days and duracioun
To all that ben engenred in this place, .
Over the whiche day they may nat pace,
Al mowe they j'it tho dayes wel abregge ;
Ther needeth non auctorit^ tallegge ;
For it is preved by experience,
But that me lust declare my sentence.
Than many men by this ordre wel disceme,
That thilke moevere stable is and eterne.
Wel may men knowe, but it be a fool,
That every part deryveth from his hool.
For nature hath nat take his bygynnyng
Of no partye ne cantel of a thing,
But of a thing that parfyt is and stable,
Descendyng so, til it be corumpable.
And therfore of his wyse purveiaunce
He hath so wel biset his ordinaunce,
That spices of thinges and progressiouns
SchuUen endure by successiouns,
And nat eterne be withoute lye :
This maistow understande and sen at eye.

* Lo the 00k, that hath so long a norisschynge
Fro tyme that it gynneth first to springe.
And hath so long a lyf, as we may see.
Yet atte laste wasted is the tree.

' Considereth eek, how that the harde stoon '
Under oure feet, on which we trede and goon,
Fit wasteth it, as it lith by the weye.

176

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

The brode ryver somtyme wexeth dreye.
The grete townes seen we wane and wende.
Then may je see that al this thing hath ende.

* Of man and womnian sen we wel also,
That nedeth in oon of thise termes two,
This is to seyn, in youthe or elles age,
He moot ben deed, the kyng as schal a page :
Som in his bed, som in the deepe see,
Som in the large feeld, as men may se,
Ther helpeth naught, al goth that ilke weye.
Thanne may I seyn that al this thing moot deye.
What maketh this but Jupiter the kyng ?
The which is prynce and cause of alle thing,
Convertyng al unto his propre welle,
From which it is der3rved, soth to telle.
And here agayns no creature on lyve
Of no degre avaylleth for to stryve.

' Than is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,
To maken vertu of necessity.
And take it wel, that we may nat eschue.
And namelyche that to us aUe is due.
And who so gruccheth aught, he doth folye.
And rebel is to him that al may gye.
And certeynly a man hath most honour
To deyen in his excellence and flour.
Whan he is siker of his goode name.
Than hath he doon his freend, ne him, no schame,
And gladder oughte his freend ben of his deth,-
Whan with honour up-j'olden is his breth,
Thanne whan is name appalled is for age ;
For al forgeten is his vasselage.
Thanne is it best, as for a worthi fame.
To dyen whan a man is best of name.
The contrarye of al this wilfulnesse.
Why grucchen we ? why have we hevynesse,
That good Arcyte, of chy valrye the flour,
Departed is, with duete and honour

THE KNIGHTES TALE,

1-77

Out of this foule prisoun of this lyf ?

Why grucchen heer his cosyn and his wyf

Of his welfare that lovede hem so wel ?

Can he hera thank ? nay, God woot, never a del,

That bothe his soule and eek hemself offende,

And yti they mowe here lustes nat amende.

* What may I conclude of this long serye,
But after wo I rede us to be merye,

And thanke Jupiter of all his grace ?

And or that we departe fro this place,

I rede that we make, of sorwes two,

O parfyt joye lastjrng evere mo :

And loketh now wher most sorowe is her-inne,

Ther wol we first amenden and bygynne.

* Suster,' quod he, * this is my fulle assent,
With al thavys heer of my parlement,

That gentil Palamon, j^oure owne knight.

That serveth yo^ with herte, wille, and might.

And evere hath doon, syn that ye fyrst him knewe.

That schul of jj'oure grace upon him rewe,

And take him for j/oure housbond and for lord :

Leen me j/oure hand, for this is oure acord.

Let see now of j'oure wommanly pitd

He is a kynges brother sone, pardee ;

And though he were a poure bacheler,

Syn he hath served j/ou so many a yeer,

And had for j;ou so gret adversity,

It moste be considered, leeveth me.

For gentil mercy aughte to passe right.'

Than seyde he thus to Palamon the knight ;

* I trowe ther needeth litle sermonyng

To maken ^'ou assente to this thing.

Com neer, and tak j/oure lady by the hond.'

Bitwixen hem was i-maad anon the bond,

That highte matrimo3Tie or mariage,

By al the counseil and the baronage.

And thus with alle blysse and melodye

VOL. iv.(^) M

178

THE KNJGHTES TALE,

Hath Palamon i-wedded Emelye.

And God, that al this wyde world hath wrought,

Sende him his love, that hath it deere a-bought.

For now is Palamon in alle wele,

Lyvynge in blisse, in richesse, and in hele,

And Emelye him loveth so tendrely.

And he hire serveth al so gentilly,

That nevere was ther no word hem bitweene

Of jelousye, or any other teene.

Thus endeth Palamon and Emelye ;

And God save al this fayre compainye '

PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

It appears to be an accredited opinion, that in " Pericles " we
have, out of five acts, three, viz., the third, fourth, and fifth, written
by Shakespeare, and the remaining two from another pen. But
I confess that I agree rather with Dyce, who observes : " The
greater part of * Pericles ' is undoubtedly by some very inferior
dramatist ; but here and there, more particularly towards the
close, the hand of Shakespeare is plainly seen, and the scenes
and shorter passages, in which we trace him, belong to his latest
style of composition."

It deserves to be pointed out that the Dutch play of "Alexan-
der and Lodwick," published at Amsterdam in 1618, is conjec-
tured to be a sort of adaptation of a lost drama on the subject
by Martin Slaughter, performed at Henslowe's theatre in 1597-8,
and of which Shakespeare, or whoever wrote " Pericles," may
have made a certain use. In "Green's Tu Quoque," by John
Cooke, 1614 (Hazlitt's " Dodsley," xi. 239), occurs the follow-
ing allusion (presumably to Slaughter's piece) : ** O you pretty
sweet-faced rogues ! that for your countenances might be Alex-
ander and Lodwick."

Douce sensibly oberves ( **' lUustr." ii. 144) : " However un-
worthy of Shakespeare's pen this drama, as an entire composition,
may be considered, many will be of opinion that it contains more
that he anight have written than either "Love's Labour's Lost,"
or " All's well that ends well."

"Pericles" is quoted by Randolph in his "Oratio Prevarica-
toria," 1632, and again in his " Hey for Honesty," 1651 (written
before 1635) ; and in the latter piece of humorous writing there
is a playful allusion to Shakespeare's eye for the practical side
of authorship.

Randolph mentions the character of the hero himself, in such
a way as if he had seen the drama on the stage, and witnessed
the performance of the part of the Prince of Tyre by some
Roscius of the day " in spangled hose."

I . The Story of ApoUonius of
Tyre,

[From Gmxjer^s " Confessio Amartiist^^ lib, 8, ediL
1857.] .

Omnibus est communis amor, sed et immoderatos
Quifacit excessus, nou reputatur amans.

Sors ta?nen U7ide Venus aitractat corda vide?
Que rationis erufii, non raiione finit

OF a cronique in daies gon,
The which is cleped Panteon,
In loves cause I rede thus.
How that the great Antiochus,
Of whom that Antioche toke
His firste name, as saith the boke,
Was coupled to a noble queue,
And had a doughter hem betwene.
But such fortune cam to honde,
That deth, which no kind may withstonde,
But every life it mote obey.
This worthy quene toke awey.
The king, which made mochel mone,
Tho stood as who saith all him one
Withoute wife, but netheles
His doughter, which was pereles

Hie loquitur
adhuc contra
incestuosos
amantum coit-
us, et narrat
mirabile exem-
plum demaeno
rege Antio<3io,
qui uxore mor-
tua propriam
iiliam violavlt.
et qmafilie ma-
tzimomum pen-
es alios impe-
dire voluit, tale
ab eo exut
edictum, quod
51 quis earn in-
uxorem t>ete-
ret, nisi quod-
dam problema
questionis;
quam ipse rex
proposuerat,
veraciter sol-
veret, capitali
sentenoa puni-
retur, super
quo vemeos
tandem discre-
tus juTcnb

l82

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TVRE.

princeps Tyri Qf beautc, dwclt about him stille.

Appoilmus _ , '

sS° Nec "^^^ whan a man hath welth at wille,

SbMe^it '^^^ flesshe is frele and falleth ofte,

sedrexindig- And that this maide tendre and softe,

n Situs ipsuni « « *

propter hoc m Whichc in hci fadcTS chambrc dwelte,

mortis oaium xtt* i • • • t r ^

•ap°o5&*^^'' Withm a time wist and felte,
qHf"" liking of concupiscence
?i?iSSSt!iV''* Without insight of conscience
lantur. propter Thc fader SO With lustes blente,

amorempen- rr^^ ^ i i • i i

cuiapassusest That he cast al his hole entente
His owne doughter for to spille.
The king hath leiser at his wille,
With strengthe and whan he time sigh,
The younge maiden he forleie.
And she was tendre and full of drede,
She couthe nought her maidenhede
Defende, and thus she hath forlore
The floure, which she hath longe bore.
It helpeth not all though she wepe>
For they that shulde her body kepe
Of women were absent as than.
And thus this maiden goth to man.
The wilde fader thus devoureth
His owne flessh, which none socoureth,
And that was cause of mochel care.
But after his unkind e fare
Out of the chambre goth the king.
And she lay still and of this thing
Within her self such sorwe made,
There was no wight, that might her glade,,
For fere of thilke horrible vice.
With that came inne the norice,
Which fro childhode her hadde kepte
And axeth, if she hadde slepte,
And why her chere was unglad.
But she, which hath ben overlad
Of that she mighte nought be wreke,

STORy OF APOLLONJUS OF TYRE.

For shame couth unethes speke.
And netheles mercy she praide
With weping eye and thus she saide :
Helas, my suster, wailoway.
That ever I sigh this ilke day.
Thing, which my body first begate
Into this worlde, only' that
My worldes worship hath berefte.
With that she swouneth now and efte
And ever wisheth after death,
So that welnigh her lacketh breth.

That other, which her wordes herde,
In comforting of her answerde,
To let her faders foul desire,
She wiste no recoverire,
Whan thing is do, there is no bote.
So sufFren they that sufFren mote.
There was none other, which it wist.
Thus hath this king all that him list
Of his liking and his plesaunce.
And last in such a continuaunce.
And such delite he toke there in.
Him thoughte that it was no sin.
And she durst him no thing withsay.
But fame, which goth every way,
To sondry regnes all aboute
The great beaute telleth oute
Of such a maide of high parage.
So that for love of mariage
The worthy princes come and sende,
As they, the which all honour wende
And knew no thing, how that it stode.
The fader whan he understode.
That they his doughter thus besought.
With all his wit he cast and sought,
How that he mighte finde a lette,
And such a statue than he sette

srony OF APOLLomus of tyre.

And in this wise his lawe taxeth,
That what man that his doughter axeth,
But if he couthe his question
Assoile upon suggestion
Of certein thinges, that befelle,
The which he wolde unto him telle,
He shulde in certein lese his hede.
And thiis there were many dede,
Her hedes stonding on the gate,
Till ate laste long and late
For lacke of answere in this wise
The remenaunt, that weren wise,
Escheueden to make assay.
Dc adventu Till it befell upon a day
AnSSSS AppoUinus the prince of Tire,
Sja'^tiodS Which hath to love a great desire,
^uxgcmpos- ^ YiQ^ which in his highe mode,
Was liking of his hote blode,
A yonge, a fresh, a lusty knight,
As he lay musing on a night
Of the tidinges, which he herde,
He thought assay how that it ferde.
He was with worthy compaignie
Arraied and with good navie.
To ship he goth, the winde him driveth,
And saileth, till that he arriveth
Sauf in the porte of Antioche.
He londeth and goth to approche
The kinges court and his presence.

Of every natural science,
Whiche any clerke couth him teche,
He couth inough and in his speche
Of wordes he was eloquent
And whan he sigh the king present,
He praieth, he mote his doughter have.
The king ayein began to crave
And tolde him the condicion.

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

How first unto his question
He mote answere and faile nought,
Or with his heved it shall be bought.
And he him axeth, what it was.

The king delareth him the cas
With Sterne loke and stordy chare,
To him and said in this manere :
With felony I am upbore,
I ete and have it nought forlore
My moders flesh, whose husbonde
My fader for to seche I fonde,
Which is the sone eke of my wife,
Herof I am inquisitife.
And who that can my tale save
Al quite he shall my doughter have.
Of his answere and if he faile,
He shall be dede withoute faUe.
Forthy my sone, quod the king.
Be wel avised of this thing,
Which hath thy life in jeopartie.
AppoUinus for his partie
Whan he that question had herde,
Unto the king he hath answerde
And hath reherced one and one
The points and saide therupon :

The question, which thou hast spoke,
If thou wolt, that it be unloke,
It toucheth all the privete
Betwene thin owne child and the
And stant all hole upon you two.
The king was wonder sory tho
And thought, if that he said it out,
Than were he shamed all about.
With slighe wordes and with felle
He saith : My sone, I shall the telle,
Though that thou be of litel wit,
It is no great merveile as yit,

Questio regis
Antiochi: see-
lere vehor, ma-
terna came
vescor, quero
patrem meuni,
matns mee var-
um, uxonsmee
filiunx.

Responsio
pollinL

Indicfnacio re-
Ris Antiochi
super respon-
sione Appoi<

x86

STOJ^y OF APOLLONWS OF TYRE.

Thin age may it nought suffise.
But loke wel thou nought despise
Thin owne life, for of my grace
Of thritty daies full a space
I graunte the, to ben avised.
Dexecessu Ap- And thus with leve and time assised
tiSiSu*^ This yonge prince forth he wente
And understode wel what it mente.
Within his herte as he was lered.
That for to make him afered,
The kinge his time hath so delaied,
IVherof he drad and was amaied
Of treson that he deie sholde,
For he the king his sothe tolde.
And sodeinly the nightes tide,
That more wolde he nought abide,
Al prively his barge he hente
And home ayein to Tire he wente.
And in his owne wit he saide,
For drede if he the king bewraide,
He knew so wel the kinges herte,
That deth ne shulde he nought asterte,
The king him wolde so pursue.
But he that wolde his death escheue
And knewe all this to-fore the honde,
Forsake he thought his owne londe,
That there wolde he nought abide.
For wel he knew that on some side
This tiraunt of his felonie
By some manere of trecherie
To greve his body woU nought leve.
Dc ft^ga Ap- Forthy withouten taking leve
mare a^egno As privelich as ever he might

He goth him to the see by night,
Her shippes that ben with whete laden,
Her takil redy tho they maden
And haleth sail and forth they fare.

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

187

But for to telle of the care,
That they of Tire began the,
Whan that they wist he was ago,
It is a pite for to here.
They losten lust, they losten chare,
They toke upon hem such penaunce,
There was no song, there was no daunce,
But every merthe and melody
To hem was than a malady,
For unlust of that aventure
There was no man which toke tonsure.
. In dolfuU clothes they hem clothe.
The bathes and the stewes bothe
They shetten in by every wey.
There was no life which liste pley
Ne take of any joie kepe,
But for her lege lord to wepe,
And every wight said as he couth :
Helas, the lusty floure of youth,
Our prince, our heved, our governour,
Through whom we stonden in honour,
Withoute the comune assent,
That sodeinly is fro us went.
Such was the clamour of hem alle.

But se we now what is befalle
Upon the firste tale pleine
And tome we therto ayeine.

Antiochus the grete sire,
"Which full of rancour and of ire
His herte bereth so as ye herde,
Of that this prince of Tire answerde,
He hath a felow bacheler, -
Which was his prive counseiler
And Taliart by name he hight.
The king a strong poison- him dight
Within a buist and gold thereto,
In alle haste and bad him go

Nota, qualitcr
Thaliartus
miles, ut Ap-
poUinum ve-
neno intoxica-
ret, ab Anti-
ocho m Tyrum
missus ipso
ibidem non in-
vento Anti-
ochiam rediit.

i88

STORY OF APOLLO NIUS OF TYRE.

Straught unto Tire and for no cost
Ne spare, till he hadde lost
The prince, which he wolde spill.
And whan the king hath said his will,
This Taliart in a galey
With all the haste he toke his wey.
The wind was good, they saileth blive.
Till he toke lend upon the rive
Of Tire and forth with all anone
Into the burgh he gan to gone
And toke his inne and bode a throwe.
But for he wolde nought be knowe,
Desguised than he goth him out.
He sigh the weping all about
And axeth, what the cause was.
And they him tolde all the cas,
How sodeinly the prince is go.
And whan he sigh, that it was so
And that his labour was in veine,
Anone he torneth home ayeine,
And to the king whan he cam nigh,
He tolde of that he herde and sigh,
How that the prince of Tire is fled.
So was he come ayein unsped.
The king was sory for a while,
But whan he sigh, that with no wile
He might acheve his cruelte,
He stint his wrath, and let him be.
Quaiiter Ap- ^vcr this HOW for to telle

^SrVharfis Of adventures that befelle
S*EScio Unto this prince, of which I tolde,
SSjSX ^2.th his righte cours forth holde

SShoms S- By stone and nedel, till he cam
tatusest To Tharse, and ther his londe he nam.
A bourgeis riche of golde and fee
Was thilke time in that citee.
Which cleped was Strangulio,

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

189

His wife was Dionise also.

This yonge prince, as saith the boke,

With him his herbergage toke.

And it befel that citee so

Before time and than also.

Through stronge famin, whiche hem lad,

Was none, that any whete had.

Appollinus, whan that he herde

The mischefe, how the citee ferde,

All frelich of his owne pfte

His whete among hem for to shifte.

The which by ship he hadde brought,

He yave and toke of hem right nought.

But sithen first this world began,

Was never yet to such a man

More joie made, than they him made.

For they were all of him so glade,

That they for ever in remembraunce

Made a figure in resemblaunce

Of him and in a comun place

They set it up, .so that his face

Might every maner man beholde.

So as the citee was beholde,

It was of laton over ^It

Thus hath he nought his yifte spilt.

Upon a time with a route ouauter Hei

This lord to pleie goth him oute t?S"*tLsS
And in his way of Tire he mette ve^ensAppoT-

... .. linum de insi-

Which praide his lord to have insight
Upon him self and said him thus.
How that the great Antiochus
Awaiteth, if he might him spille.
That other thought and helde him stille
And thonked him of his warning
And bad him telle no tiding,

A man, which on his knees him grette,
. And Hellican by name he hight,

linum de insi-
diis Antiochi
premanivit

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

Whan he to Tire cam home ayeine,
That he to Tharse him hadde seine.
Qualiter Ap- Fortune hath ever be muable
ttSThar£*J^. And may no while stonde stable.

"^^^ higheth, now it loweth,

orem quesivit. Now stant upright, now overthroweth,
ES"£m'om hYiss and now of bale,

mb;^S«e?i> As in the telling of my tale

sum solum m — - j i

gdem^conten- Here afterward a man may lere,
goto?ericuS- Which is a great routhe for to here.

This lord, which wolde done his best,
Within himself hath litel rest
And thought he wolde his place chaunge
And seke a centre more straunge.
Of Tharsiens his leve anone
He toke and is to shippe gone.
His cours he nam with saile updrawe,
^Vhere as fortune doth the lawe
And sheweth, as I shall reherce,
How she was to this lord diverse,
The which upon the see she ferketh.
The winde aros, the wether derketh,
It blew and made such tempest,
None anker may the ship arest,
Which hath to-broken all his gere.
The shipmen stood in such a fere,
Was none that might him self bestere,
But ever awaite upon the lere,
Whan that they sholden drenche at ones.
There was inough within the wones
Of weping and of sorwe tho.
The yonge king maketh mochel wo
So for to se the ship travaile.
But all that might him nought availe.
The mast to-brake, the sail to-rofe,
The ship upon the waves drofe,
Till that they se the londes coste.

STORV OF APOLLONIUS OF TYR£, 19 1

Tho made a vow the leste and moste,
But so they mighten come a londe.
But he, which hath the se on honde,
Neptunus wolde nought accorde,
But all to-brake cable and corde,
Er they to londe mighte approche.
The ship to-clef upon a roche
And all goth down into the depe.
But he, that alle thing may kepe,
Unto this lord was merciable
And brought him sauf upon a table,
Which to the londe him hath upbore.
The remenaunt was all forlore.
Herof he made mochel mone.

Thus was this yonge lorde alone
All naked in a pouer plite.
His colour, which was whilom white,
Was than of water fade and pale,
And eke he was so sore a cale,
That he wist of him self no bote,
It helpe him no thing for to mote
To gete ayein that he hath lore.
But she, which hath his deth forbore,
Fortune, thot^h she woU nought yelpe.
All sodeinly hath sent him helpe.
Whan him thought alle grace awey.
There came a fissher in the wey
And sigh a man there naked stonde.
And whan that he hath understonde
The cause, he hath of him great routh
And onlich of his pouer trouth
Of suche clothes as he hadde
With great pite this lord he cladde.
And he him thonketh as he sholde
And saith him, that it shall be yolde,
If ever he gete his state ayein,
And praie^, that he wolde him sain,

Qualiter Ap-
pollinus nudus
super Utus iac-
tabatur, obi
quidam pLsca-
tor ipsum suo
collobio ves-
tiens ad urbem
Pentapolun di-
re»t.

X92 STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

If nigh were any town for him.
He saide : Ye, Pentopolim,
Where bothe king and quene dwellen.
Whan he this tale herde tell en,
He gladdeth liim that gan beseche,
That he the wey him wolde teche.
And he him taught. And forth he went
And praide god with good entent
To sende him joy after his sorwe.
It was naught passed yet midmorwe,
Qualiter Ap- Than thiderward his wey he nam,
pSiiiS° ad525l "Where sone upon the none he cam.
SSperurSm Hc ctc such as hc might gete,
Siata?l&'°'^^*' And forth anone whan he had ete.
He goth to se the town about,
And cam there as he found a rout
Of yonge lusty men withaL
And as it shulde tho befall,
That day was set of such assise.
That they should in the londes gise
As he herde of the people say
Her comun game thanne pley.
And cried was, that they shuld come
Unto the game all and some
Of hem that ben deliver and wight
To do such maistry as they might.
They made hem naked as they sholde,
For so that ilke game wolde.
And it was tho custume and use,
Amonges hem was no refuse.
The fioure of all the town was there
And of the court also there were,
And that was in a large place
Right even before the kinges face,
Whiche Artestrates thanne hight.
The pley was pleied right in his sight.
And who most worthy was of dede

STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE,

Receive he shude a certain mede
And in the citee here a price. ^
Appollinus, which ware and wise
Of every game couth an ende,
He thought assay, how so it wende.

And fell among them into game,
And there he wanne him such a name,
So as the king him self accompteth,
That he all other men surmounteth
And bare the prise above hem'alle.
The king bad, that into his halle
At souper time he shall be brought
And he cam than and lefte it nought
Withoute compaigny alone.
Was none so semelich of persone,
Of visage and of limmes bothe,
If that he hadde what to clothe.
At souper time netheles
The king amiddes all the pres
Let clepe him up amonge hem alle
And bad his mareshall of his halle
To setten him in such degre,
That he upon him raighte se.
The king was sone sette and served,
And he, which had his prise deserved
After the kinges owne worde,
Was made begm a middel borde,
That bothe king and queue him sigh.
He sette and cast about his eye,
And sigh the lordes in estate
And with him self wax in debate
Thenkend what he hadde lore,
And such a sorwe he toke therfore,
That he sat ever still and thought,
As he, which of no mete rought

The king behelde his hevinesse
And of his grete gentHesse

VOL. iv.(')

Qualiter Ap- "
pollini:^ ludum

regis ad cenam
honoxifice cep<
tusest.

Quarter Ap-
poumusincena
recumbens

s N

194

STORY OF APOLLO N J US OF TYRE.

Sd^ dSS?2so -^^^ doughter, which was faire and good

-A.nd ate bord before him stood,
m^eme«:ebat. As it was thilke timc usagc,

qui tandem a _ ^ '

teJSPdtha^ He bad to go on his message
JSfctis^SilSJ founde for to make him glad.
S^J!^S« she did as her fader bad

zanao mtra * j i •» • i

piSSS S^^^ soitt pas

And axeth whenne and what he was,
And praith he shulde his thoughtes leve.

He saith : ^ladame, by your leve.
!My name is hote Appollinus,
And of my richesse it is thus,
Upon the see I have it lore.
The contre, where as I was bore,
Where that my lond is and my rente,
I lefte at Tire, whan that I wente,
The worship there, of which I ought,
Unto the god I there bethought
And thus to-gider as they two speke,
The teres ran down by his cheke.
The king, which therof toke good kepe,
Had great pite to se him wepe
And for his doughter send ayein
And praid her faire and gan to sain,
That she no lenger wolde drecche,
But that she wolde anone forth fecche
Her harpe and done all that she can
To gladde with that sory man.
And she to done her faders hest
Her harpe fet and in the feste
Upon a chare, which they fette.
Her self next to this man she sette.
With harpe both and eke with mouthe
To him she did, all that she couthe
To make him chere, and ever he siketh,
And she him axeth, how him liketh.
Madame, certes well, he saide,

STORY OF APOLLONJUS OF TYRE, 195

But if ye the mesure plaide,
Which, if you list, I shall you lere,
It were a glad thing for to here.
Ha, leve sire, tho quod she.
Now take the harpe and let me se,
Of what mesure that ye mene.

Tho praith the king, tho praith the quene,
Forth with the lordes all arewe,
That he some nierthe wolde shewe.
He taketh the harpe and in his wise
He tempreth and of suche assise
Singend he harpeth forth with all,
That as a vois celestiall
Hem thought it souned in her ere,
As though that he an aungel were.
They gladen of his melody,
But most of all the company
The kinges doughter, which it herde,
And thought eke of that he answerde,
Whan that it was of her apposed,
Within her hert hath well supposed,
That he is of great gentilesse.
His dedes ben therof witnesse
Forth with the wisdome of his lore.
It nedeth nought to seche more.
He might nought have such manere.
Of gentil blood but if he were.
When he had harped all his fill
The kinges heste to fulfill,
Away goth dish, away goth cup,
Down goth the bord, the cloth was up,
They risen and gone out of halle.

The king his chamberlein let calle ^^^^^^^^
And bad, that he by alle wey

A chambre for this man purvey, rSfcSfS"^*
Which nigh his owne chambre be.
It shall be do, my lord, quod he.

196

STORY OF APOLLONWS OF TYRE,

Appollinus, of whom I mene,
Tho toke his leve of king and quene
And of the worthy maide also,
Which praid unto her fader tho,
That she might of the yonge man
Of tho sciences, which he can,
His lore have. And in this wise
The king her graunteth his apprise,
So that him self therto assent.
Thus was accorded er they went,
That he with all that ever he may
This yonge faire freshe may
Of that he couthe shulde enfornie.
And ful assented in this forme
They token leve as for that night
QuaKterfiiia Aiid whan it was on morwe right,
5^ oSSo Unto this yonge man of Tire
gfS^T' Of clothes, and of good attire
SSriSrrfif With gold and silver to despende

This worthy yonge lady sende.
^SfpudSf And thus she made him well at ese,
poK'Sr^^ And he with all that he can plese
SSSSfr!"^* Her serveth well and faire ayeine.

He taught her, till she was certeine

Of harpe, citole and of note

With many a tune and many a note.

Upon musique, upon mesure,

And of her harpe the temprure

He taught her eke, as he well couth.

But as men sain, that frele is youth

With leiser and continuaunce,

This maide fell upon a chaunce.

That love hath made him a quarele

Ayeine her youthe fresh and frele.

That malgre where she wold or nought,

She mot with all her hertes thought

To love and to his lawe obey.

STORV OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

197

And that she shall full sore obey,

For she wot never what it is.

But ever among she feleth this,

Thenkend upon this man of Tire,

Her herte is hote as any fire,

And otherwise it is a cale.

Now is she red, now is she pale

Right after the condition

Of her ymagination.

But ever among her thoughtes alle,

She thoughte, what so many befalle,

Or that she laugh, or that she wepe,

She wolde her gode name kepe

For fere of womanisshe shame.

But what in emest, what in game

She stant for love in such a plite,

That she hath lost all appetite

Of mete and drinke, of nightes rest,

As she that not what is the best.

But for to thenken all her fiUe

She helde her ofte times stille

Within her chambre, and goth nought out-

The king was of her life in doubt,

Which wiste nothing what it ment

But fell a time, as he out went ouaKter tres

To walke, of princes sones thre iLf^^^sii"
There came and feUe to his knee, SS?^?sSp:
And eche of them in sondry wise fS^iS^^
Besought and profreth his service,
So that he might his doughter have.
The king, which wold her honour save,
Saith, she is sike, and of that speche
Tho was no time to beseche,
But eche of hem to. make' a bille
He bad and write his owne "wille.
His name, his fader and his good.
And whan she wist, how that it stood,

198

STORY OF APOLLOITIUS OF TYRE,

And had her billes oversein.
They shulden have answere ayein.
Of this counseil they weren glad
And writen, as the king hem bad,
And every man his owne boke
Into the kinges hond betoke.
And he it to his doughter sende
And praide her for to make an ende
And write ayein her owne honde,
Right as she in her herte fonde.
Quaiiter filta The biUes weren well received,
EeSsAp- But she hath all her loves weived
FuaSSpre- And thoughte tho was time and space
To put her in her faders grace
And wrote ayein and thus she saide :

The shame, which is in a maide,
With speche dare nought be unloke,
But in writing it may be spoke.
So write I to you, fader, thus,
But if I have Appollinus,
Of all this world what so betide,
I woU non other man abide.
And certes if I of him faile, ^
I wot right well withoute faile,
Ye shull for me be doughterles.
This letter came, and there was pres
To-fore the king, there as he stode.
And whan that he it understode.
He yave hem answere by and by.
But that was done so prively,
That none of others counseil wiste.
They toke her leve, and where hem liste,
They wente forth upon her wey.
Quaiiter rex The king ne wolde nought bewrey.
manta^fum The couuseil for no maner high,
AppoiimS'Jon But suffreth till he time sigh,
senaerunt. ^^-^^^ ^^^^^ cliainbre is come,

STORV OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

He hath unto his counseil nome
This man of Tire and lete him se
The letter, and all the privete,
The which his doughter to him sente.
And he his kne to grounde bente
And thonketh him and her also.
And er they wenten than a two
With good herte and with good corage
Of full love and full mariage
The kinge and he ben hole accorded.
And after, whan it was recorded
Unto the doughter, how it stood.
The yifte of all this worldes good
Ne shuld have made her half so blithe.
And forth with all the kinge als swithe,
For he woU have her good assent,
Hath for the queue her moder sent.
The queue is come, and whan she herde
Of this matere how that it ferde,
She sigh debate, she sigh disese,
But if she wolde her doughter plese,
And is therto assented ful.
Which is a dede wonderful.
For no man knew the sothe cas.
But he him self, what m^n he was.
And netheles so es hem thought
His dedes to the sothe wrought.
That he was come of gentil blood,
Him lacketh nought but worldes good.
And as therof is no despeire.
For she shall be her faders heire,
And he was able to goveme,
Thus woU they nought the love werne
Of him and her in no wise,
But all accorded they devise
The day and time of mariage.
Where love is lorde of the corage.

200

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

Him thenketh longe, er that he spede,
But ate laste unto the dede.
' Quaiiter Ap- The time is come, and in her wise
?fep«S With great offrend and sacrifice
?u£'S*cSSS! They wedde and make a riche fest,
.mp^eS^L And every thing was right honest
Withinne hous, and eke without.
It was so done, that all about
Of great worship and great noblesse
There cried many a man largesse
Unto the lordes high and loude.
The knightes, that ben yonge and proude,
They jeste first and after daunce.
The day is go, the nightes chaunce
Hath derked all the brighte sonne.
This lord, which hath his love wonne,
Is go to bedde with his wife,
Where as they lede a lusty life.
And that was after somdele sene,
For as they pleiden hem betwene,
They gete a child betwene hem two,
To whom fell after mochel wo.
Quaiiter am- ^ow have I tolde of the spousailes.
T^m°'^at But for to speke of the merveiles,
4^hm1cm."* Which afterward to hem befelle,
rS^AnS It is a wonder for to telle.
^uSSJunt. It fell a day they riden out

The kinge and quene and all the rout

To pleien hem upon the stronde.

Where as they seen toward the londe

A ship sailend of great array.

To knowe what it mene may.

Till it be come they abide.

Then see they stonde on every side

Endlong the shippes bord to shewe

Of penouncels'a rich re we.

They axen, whenne the ship is come.

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

20I

Fro Tire, anone answerde some.
And over this they saideii more,
The cause why they comen fore
Was for to seche and for to finde
Appollinus, which is of kinde
Her lege lord. And he appereth
And of the tale whiche he hereth
He was right glad, for they him tolde,
That for vengeaunce, as god it wolde,
Antiochus as men may wite
With thunder and lightning is forsmite.
His dochter hath the same chaunce.
So be they both in o balaunce.
Forthy, our lege lord, we say
In name of all the lond and pray,
That lefte all other thing to done,
It like you to come sone
And se your owne lege men
With other, that ben of your ken,
That live in longing and desire,
Till ye be come ayein to Tire.
This tale after the king it had
Pentapolim all oversprad.
There was no joie for to seche,
For every man it had in speche
And saiden all of one accorde :
A worthy king shall ben our lorde.
That thought us first an hevinesse,
Is shape us now to great gladnesse.
Thus goth the tiding over all.

But nede he mot, that nede shall.
Appollinus his leve toke.
To god and all the lond betoke
With all the people longe and brode,
That he no lenger there abode.

The king and quene sorwe made,
But yet somdele they weren glade

Qualiter Ap-
poUmo cum
uxore sua im-
pregnataa
Pentapoli ver-
sus Tynan na-
■vigjantibus con-
tigit uxo^exn,
xnordsarticulo
ds^ustiatsiiit
in navifiltam.

b»tar,parere.

202 STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE,

Of such thing, as they herden tho.
And thus betwene the wele and wo
To ship he goth his wife with childe,
The which was ever meke and milde
And wolde nought departe him fro,
Such love w^as betwene hem two.
Lichorida for her office
Was take, which was a norice,
To wende with this yonge wife,
To whom was shape a w^ofuil life.
Within a time, as it betid,
Whan they were in the see amid,
Out of the north they sigh a cioude,
The storme aros, the wnndes loude
They blewen many a dredefull blast.
The welken w^as all overcast.
The derke night the sonne hath under,
There was a great tempest of thunder.
The raone and eek the sterres bothe
In blacke cloudes they hem clothe,
Wherof her brighte loke they hide.
This yonge lady wept and cride.
To whom no comfort might availe,
Of childe she began travaile,
Where she lay in a caban close.
Her w^ofuU lord fro her arose.
And that was long er any morwe,
So that in anguish and sorwe
She was delivered all by nighty
And deiede in every mannes sight.
Quaiiter Ap- But nethelcs for all this wo
1S??S»S^^ A maide child was bore tho.
pianxit AppoUinus whan he this knewe,

For sorwe a swoune he overthrewe,
That no man wist in him no life.
And whan he woke, he saide : Ha, wife,
My joy, my lust and my desire.

STORY OF APOLLO^IUS OF TYRE.

203

My welth and my recoverire,

Why shall I live, and thou shalt deie ?

Ha, thou fortune, I the defie,

Now hast thou do to me thy werst.

Ha, herte, why ne wolt thou berst,

That forth with her I mighte passe ?

My paines were well the lasse.

In such weping and suche crie

His dede wife, which lay him by,

A thousand sithes he her kiste.

Was never man, that sigh ne wiste

A sorwe to his sorwe liche,

Was ever among upon the liche.

He fell swounende as he, that thought

His owne deth, which he besought

Unto the goddes all above

With many a pitous word of love.

But suche words as tho were.

Yet herde never mannes ere,

But only thilke, which he saide.

The maister shipman came and praide

With other such, as ben therinne,

And sain, that he may nothing winne

Ayein the deth, but they him rede,

He be well ware and take hede,

The see by wey of his nature

Receive may no creature

Within him self as for to holde,

The which is dede. Forthy they wolde,

As they counseilen all about,

The dede body casten out

Eor better it is, they saiden all,

That it of here so befall,

Than if they shulden alle spille.

The king, which understode her will ^^^^^
And knew her counseil that was trewe, tsS^^s"""'
Began ayein his sorwe newe uxonssS

204

STORY OF APOLLONJUS OF TYRE.

mortueinqua- With pitous hcFt and thus to say :
DhSiS^ It is all reson that ye pray.
^u?S?Srii. I am, quod he, but one alone,
SS^Tm'ag. So wolde I nought for my persone,
SSa*^^°^ua. There felle such adversite.
SS^IIte But whan it may no better be,
efifSiSf^"'" Doth thanne thus upon my worde,
proia fecit Le^ j^^i^g 2. coffre stronge of borde,
Tliat it be firm with led and piche.
Anone was made a cofire suche
All redy brought unto his honde.
And whan he sighe and redy fonde
This coflfre made and well englued,
The dede body was besewed
In cloth of gold and laid therinne.
And for he wolde unto her winne
Upon some coste a sepulture,
Under her heved in adventure
Of gold he laide sommes great
And of juels a strong beyete
Forth with a letter, and said thus :
copia httere I king of Tire, Appollinus

AppoUmi _ % ' r-

capinuxoris Doth alle mancr men for to wite,
uesuppoate. ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^.^ letter Write,

That helpeles withoute rede
Here lith a kinges doughter dede,
And who that hapneth her to finde
For charite take in his minde
And do so, that she be begrave
With this tresor, which he shal have.

Thus whan the letter was full spoke,
They have anone the coffre stoke
And bounden it with iron faste,
That it may with the wawes laste.
And stoppen it by such a wey.
That it shall be withinne drey.
So that no water might it greve.

STORY OF APOLLONIVS OF TYRE..

205

And thus in hope and good beleve,
Of that the corps shall well arrive.
They cast it over borde as blive.

The ship forth on the wawes went.
The prince hath chaunged his entent
And saith, he woll nought come at Tire
As thanne, but all his desire
Is first to sailen unto Tharse.
The windy storm began to scarse,
. The Sonne arist, the weder clereth,
The shipman, which behinde stereth,
Whan that he sigh the windes saught,
Towardes Tharse his cours he straught.

But now to my matere ayein,
To telle as olde bokes sain.
This dede corps, of whiche ye knowe,
With winde and water was forth throwe,
Now here, now there, till ate last
At Ephesim the see upcast
The cofFre and all that was therinne.
Of great merveile now beginne
May here, who that sitteth still.
That god woll save may nought spill.
Right as the corps was throwe a londe,
There cam walkend upon the stronde
A worthy clerke and surgien
And eke a great phisicien,
Of all that lond the wisest one,
Which highte maister Cerimon.
There were of his disciples some.
This maister is to the cofiire come.
He peiseth there was somwhat in
And bad hem bere it to his inne,
And goth him selve forth with all.
All that shall faUe, falle shall.

They comen home and tarie nought.
This coffire into his chambre is brought,

Qualiter Ap-
pollinus, uxori^
sue corpore m.
mare project©,
Tyrum relm.
quens cursum
suum versus
Tharszm navi-

dolens
arnpuit.

Qualiter corpus

gredicte de-
mcte super
litus apua
Ephesunqui-
dam znedicus
notmne Gen-
mon cufh ali*
quibus suis -
discipulis in-
venit, quod in
hosptcium
suum portans
et extra cistaiu
ponens, spira-
culo vite in ea
adhuc invento,
ipsam plene
sanitati resti-
tuit

206 STORY OF APOLLONJUS OF TYRE.

"VVliich that they finde fast stoke,
But they with craft it have unloke.
They loken in, where as they founde,
A body dede, which was iwounde
In cloth of gold, as I said ere.
The tresor eke they founden there
Forth with the letter, which they rede.
And tho they token better hede.
Unsowed was the body sone.
As he that knewe, what was to done,
This noble clerk with alle haste
Began the veines for to taste.
And sigh her age was of youthe.
And with the craftes, which he couthe,
He sought and found a signe of life.
With that this worthy kinges wife
Honestely they token out
And maden fires all about
They laid her on a couche softe,
And with a shete warmed ofte
Her colde brest began to hete,
Her herte also to flacke and bete,
This maister hath her every jointe
With certain e oil and balme anointe,
And put a liquour in her mouthe.
Which is to few clerkes couthe,
So that she covereth ate laste.
And first her eyen up she caste.
And whan she more of strengthe caught,
Her armes bothe forth she straught,
Held up her bond and pitously
She spake and saide : Where am I ?
Where is my lord, what world is this ?
. As she, that wot nought how it is.
But Cerimon that worthy leche
Answerde anone upon her speche
And said : Madame, ye ben here.

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

207

Where ye be sauf, as ye shall here
Here afterward, forthy as now
;My counseil is, comforteth you.
For tristeth wel withoute faile,
There is no thing, which shall you faile,
That ought of reson to be do.
Thus passen they a day or two.
They speke of nought as for an ende,
Till she began somdele amende,
And wist her selven, what she mente.

Tho for to knowe her hole entente ^ualiter uxor

This maister axeth all the cas, ta^iSnSi^-'
How she cam there, and what she was. Sw Mcro"?ia-
How I came here, wote I nought, castam omni

Quod she, but wel I am bethought tempore sevo.

Of other thinges all about
Fro point to point, and tolde him out
Als ferforthly as she it wiste.
And he her tolde, how in a kiste
The see her threwe upon the londe.
And what tresor with her he fonde,
Which was all redy at her will,
As he, that shope him to fulfill
With al his might, what thing he shuld.
She thonketh him, that he so wolde,
And all her herte she discloseth
And saith him well that she supposeth,
Her lord be dreint, her childe also.
So sigh she nought but alle wo.
Wherof as to the world no more
Ne woll she torne and praieth therfore,
That in some temple of the citee
To kepe and holde her chastete
She might among the women dwelle.
Whan he this tale herde telle.
He was right glad and made her knowen,
That he a doughter of his owen

2o8 STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE.

Hath, which he woll unto her yive
To serve, while they bothe Hve
In stede of that, which he hath loste,
All only at his owne coste,
She shall be rendred forth with her.
She saith : Graunt mercy, leve sir,
God quite it you, there I ne may.
And thus they drive forth the day,
Till time cam, that she was hole.
And tho they take her couseil hole
To shape upon good ordenaunce
And made a worthy purveaunce
Ayein the day, whan they be veiled.
And thus whan that they were counselled,
In blacke clothes they hem cloth -
This lady and the doughter both
And yolde hem to rehgion.
The feste and the profession
After the reule of that degre
Was made with great solempnite,
Where as Diane is sanctified.
Thus stant this lady justified,
In ordre where she thenketh to dwelle.
Quallter Ap- But now ayeinward for to telle,
simnaviS'nt lu wbat pUte that her lord stood inne.
ThTsim sTran- He sallcth, till that he may winne
SfoSSI'uxon The haven of Tharse, as I saide ere.
dim^'comm^n. And whau he was arrived there,
Tj^^m al£;f' Tho it was through the cite knowe,
SabTgaudio Men mighte se within a throwe

.n^sms receptus ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^1^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^

They come ayein him for the nones

To yiven hnn the reverence,

So glad they were of his presence.

And though he were in his corage

Disesed, yet with glad visage

He made hem chere and to his inne,

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE, 2og

Where he whilom sojourned in,
He goth him straught and was received.
And when the press of people is weived,
He taketh his host unto him tho
And saith : My friend Strangulio,
Lo thus, and thus it is befalle.
And thou thy self art one of alle
Forth with thy wife, which I most
trist, ^
Forthy if it you bothe list.
My doughter Thaise by your leve
I thenke shall with you beleve
As for a time, and thus I pray,
That she be kept by alle way.
And whan she hath of age more,
That she be set to bokes lore.
And this avow to god I make,
That I shall neuer for her sake
My berde for no liking shave,
Till it befalle, that I have
In covenable time of age
Besette her unto manage.

Thus they accorde, and all is well.
And for to resten him somdele,
As for a while he ther sojometh,
And than he taketh his leve and torneth
To ship and goth him home to Tire,
Where every man T^dth great desire
Awaiteth upon his coming.
But when the ship cam in sailing
And they perceiven it is he,
Was never yet in no citee
Such joie made, as they tho made.
His herte also began to glade
Of that he seeth his people glad.
Lo, thus fortune his hap hath lad,
In sondiy wise he was travailed.
VOL. iv.(*) o

2IO

STORY OF APOLLONIVS OF TYRE.

But how so ever he be assailed,

His latter ende shall be good.
Qualiter And fot to speke how that it stood
^SdiS^nna Of Thaisc his doughter, wher she dwelleth,
IfDiSSiT In Tharse as -the cronique telleth,
f^en°JKho- She was well kept, she was well loked,
SS?SbSS She was wel taught, she was wel boked,
^tii^Phiio- So well she sped her in her youth,

■ That she of every wisdom couth,
SSSa^DioS: That for to seche in every londe

^jecoUecta ^^j^gj. j^^n fondc

Ne so well taught at mannes eye.

But wo worth ever false envy.

For it befell that time so,

A doughter hath Strangulio,

The which was cleped Philotenne.
But fame, which woU ever renne,
Came all day to her moders ere
And saith, wher ever her doughter were
With Thaise set in any place,
The commun vols, the commun grace -
Was all upon that other maide,
And of her doughter no man saide.
Who was wroth but Dionise than ?
Her thought a thousand yere till whan
She might be of Thaise wreke,
Of that she herde folk so speke.
And fell that ilke same tide.
That dede was trewe Lichoride,^
Whiche had be servaunt to Thaise,
So that she was the wors at ese.
For she hath thanne no servise
But onely through this Dionise,
Which was her dedlich enemy.
Through pure treson and envy
She, that of alle sorwe can,
Tho spake unto her bondeman,

STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF 7YRB,

211

Which cleped was Theophilus,
And made him swere in counseil thus,
That he such time as she him set
Shall come Thaise for to fet
And lede her out of alle sight,
Where that no man her helpe might,
Upon the stronde nigh the see,
And there he shall this maiden slee.
This cherles hert is in a traunce,
As he, which drad him of vengeaunce,
Whan time comth an other day.
But yet durst he nought saie nay,
But swore and said he shall fulfill
Her hestes at her owne will.

The treson and the time is shape.
So fell it that this cherles knape
Hath lad this maiden where he wold
Upon the stronde, and what she sholde,
She was adrad, and he out braide
A rusty swerde and to her saide :
Thou shalt be dede. Alas, quod she.
Why shall I so ? Lo thus, quod he.
My lady Dionise hath bede.
Thou shalt be murdred in this stede.
This maiden tho for fere shrighte
And for the love of god allmighte
She praith, that for a litel stounde
She mighte knele upon the grounde
Toward the heven for to crave.
Her wofull soule if she may save.
And with this noise and with this cry.
Out of a barge faste by,
Which hid was there on scomer-fare,
Men sterten out and weren ware
Of this felon, and he to go.
And she began to crie tho :
Ha, mercy, help for goddes sake.

Qualiter Dion-
isia Thaisim
vt ocaderet
Theophllo
servo suo tra-
didit, qui cum
noctanter lon-

gus ab urbe
^ sain prope
litus maris in-
terficere pro-
posuerat,

{>irate ibidem
atitantes Tha-
isim de manu
camiiicis en-
pueruntipsam-
que usque ci-
vitatemMitele-
nam ducentes,
cuidam Leoiu*
no scortorum
ibidem maei-
stro vendide-
runt.

212 STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

Into the barge they her take,
As theves shulde, and forth they went.
Upon the see the wind hem hent
And naalgre where they wolde or none
To-fore the weder forth they gone,
There halp no sail, there halp none ore,
Forstormed and forblowen sore
In great peril so forth they drive,
Till ate laste they arrive
At Mitelene the citee.
In haven sauf and whan they be,
The maister shipman made him boune
And goth him out into the towne
And profreth Thaise for to selle.
One Leonin it herde telle.
Which maister of the bordel was,
And bad him gon a redy pas
To fecchen her, and forth he went
And Thaise out of his barge he hent
And to "the bordeler her solde.
And he, that by her body wolde
Take avauntage, let do cry,
That what man wolde his lechery
Attempt upon her maidenhede
Lay down the gold, and he shuld spede.
And thus whan he hath cried it out.
In sight of all the people about
9uaiiterLeon. Hc ladde her to the bordel tho,
S?npJ.$?dS No wonder is though she be wo
SSpr"^enS dos iu a chambrc by her self.
SSf^SSS n?: Eche after other ten or twelf
larepotuit. Qf yongc mcH iu to her went.

But such a grace god her sent,
That for the sorwe, which she made,
Was none of hem, which power had
To done her any vilainy.
This Leonin let ever aspy

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE. 213

And waiteth after great beyete,
But all for nought, she was forlete,
That no man wolde there come.
Whan he therof hath hede nome
And knew, that she was yet a maide,
Unto his owne man he saide,
That he with strength ayein her leve
Tho shulde her maidenhede bereve.
This man goth in, but so it ferde,
\Vhan he her wofull pleintes herde
And he therof hath take kepe,
Him liste better for to wepe
Than don ought elles to the game.
And thus she kepte her self fro shame
And kneled down to therthe and praide
Unto this man and thus she saide :
If so be, that thy maister wolde,
That I his gold encrese sholde.
It may nought falle by this wey,
But sufFre me to go my wey
Out of this hous, where I am in,
And I shall make him for to win
In some place elles of the town,
Be so it be of religion,
Where that honeste women dwelle.
And thus thou might thy maister telle,
That whan I have a chambre there,
Let him do cry ay wide where,
What lord, that hath his doughter dere
And is in will, that she shall lere
Of such a scole that is trewe,
I shall her teche of things newe,
Whiche as none other woman can
In all this londe. And tho this man
Her tale hath herde, he goth ayein
And tolde unto his maister plein, •
That she hath saide. And therupon,

214

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE,

Whan that he sigh beyete none
At the bordel because of hire,
He bad his man to gon and spire
A place, where she might abide,
That he may winne upon some side,
By that she can. But ate lest
Thus was she sauf of this tempest
Qualiter Thai- He hath her fro the bordel take,

But that was nought for goddes sake,
mS"J2h?spi. But for the lucre, as she him tolde.
SfSciS^qmi Now comen tho, that comen wolde,
SSnS'^l^' Of women in her lusty youth
edSbJ?'"^"^ To here and se, what thing she couth.
She can the wisdome of a clerke,
She can of any lusty werke,
Which to a gentil woman longeth.
And some of hem she underfongeth
To the citole and to the harpe,
And whom it liketh for to carpe
Proverbes and demaundes sligh,
An other such they never sigh.
Which that science so well taught.
Whereof she grete yiftes caught.
That she to Leonin hath wonne.
And thus her name is so begonne
Of sondry thinges, that she techeth,
That all the londe to her secheth
Of yonge women for to lere.
ouaiher Theo- Now Ictte we this maiden here
ito)^ And speke of Dionise ayeine
AndofTheophilethe vilaine,
SS^^?' Of which I spake of now to-fore,

Whan Thaise shulde have be forlore.
iSSfSr This false cherle to his lady,
|S&c?n. Whan he cam home all prively,
SfSet He saith : Madame, slain I have
^KrffiS" This maide Thaise, and is begrave

STOXy OF APOLLOmU^ OF TYRE.

In prive place, as ye me bede. quantum ad

Forthy, madame, taketh hede conjectaqone

And kepe counseil, how so it stonde. tuerunt

This fend, which hath this understonde,

Was glad and weneth it be soth.

Now herke, hereafter how she doth. ^

She wepeth, she sorweth, she compleigneth

And of sickenesse, which she feigneth,

She saith, that Thaise sodeinly

By night is dede, as she and I

To-gider lien nigh my lorde.

She was a women of recorde,

And all is levee, that she saith. ,

And sor to yive a more feith,

Her husbonde and eke she both

In blacke clothes tliey hem cloth,

And make a great enterrement.

And for the people shall be blent

Of Thaise as for the remembraunce,

After the real olde usaunce

A tumbe of laton noble and riche

With an ymage unto her liche

Liggend above therupon

They made and set it up anon.

Her epitaphe of good assise

Was write about, and in this wise

It spake : 0 ye, that this beholde,

Lo, here lieth she, the which was holde

The fairest and the fioure of alle,

Whose name Thaisis men calle.

The king of Tire Appollinus

Her fader was, now lieth she thus.

Fourtene yere she was of age,

Whan deth her toke to his viage. QuauterAjv

Thus was this false treson hid,
Which afterward was wide kid, SSSsS^
As by the tale a man shall here. fiS'Stuit

2l6

STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE,

But to declare my matere
To Tire I thenke tome ayein
And telle, as the croniques sain.
Whan that the king was comen home
And hath lefte in the salte fome
His wife, which he may nought foryete.
For he some comfort wolde gate,
He let sommone a parlement,
To which the lordes were assent,
And of the time he hath ben out,
He seeth the thinges all about.
And told hem eke, how he hath fare,
While he was out of londe fare,
And praide him alle to abide,
For he wolde at the same tide
Do shape for his wives minde.
As he, that woU nought ben unkinde.
Solempne was that like office,
And riche was the sacrifice,
The feste really was holde.
And thereto was he well beholde.
For suche a wife as he had one,
In thilke daies was there none.
Qualiter Ap- Whan this was done, than he him thought
I^^Ki Upon his doughter, and besought
Thf^?fii^$ua Such of his lordes, as he wolde,
SdJt'fqS . That they with him to Tharse sholde
*^Sib£de" To fet his doughter Thaise there,

navlgiorcces. ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^

To ship they gone, and forth they went.
Till they the haven of Tharse hent.
They londe and saile of that they seche
By coverture and sleight of speche.
This false man Strangulio
And Dionise his wife also,
That he the better trowe might.
They ladden him to have a sight,

STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE,

217

'Where that her tombe was arraied,
The lasse yet he was mispaied.
And netheles so as he durst,
He curseth and saith all the worst
Unto fortune, as to the blinde,
Which can no siker weie finde.
For she him neweth ever amonge
And medleth sorwe with his songe.
But sithe it may no better be,
He thonketh god and forth goth he
Sailende toward Tire ayeine.
But sodeinly the winde and reine
Began upon the see debate,
So that he sufFre mote algate

The lawe, which Neptune ordeineth, ouauternavis

_ - . ^ ,1 Appomm ven-

Wherof full oft time he pleigneth _

And held him wel the more esmaied Miteiene^m^

Of that he hath to-fore assaied. brSe^Jo^uS:
So that for pure sorwe and care, sed?^?e
Of that he seeth this world so fare, fiSe

The reste he leveth of his caban, sucquammor-

... tuam reputa-

That for the counseil of no man ^to^^to
Ayein therin he nolde come, - jj^^lJ^Sr

But hath beneth his place nome.
Where he wepend allone lay,
There as he sigh no light of day.

And thus to-fore the wind they drive
Till longe and late they arrive
With great distresse, as it was sene,
Upon this towne of Mitelene,
Which was a noble cite tho.
And happneth thilke time so,
The lordes both and the commune
The highe festes of Neptune
Upon the strond at the rivage,
As it was custume and usage,
Solempneliche they besigh.

2l8

STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE,

QuahterAtii- Wliaii they this straunge vessel sigh
MSpnn? Come in and hath his avaled,
Ap^uiS ki- The town therof hath spoke and taled.
sSJTonSis- The lord, which of that cite was,
^u'er'^Sn&n. Whosc name is Athenagoras,
SS^S"^ Was there and said, he wolde se,
What ship it is, and who they be,
That ben therin. And after sone,
Whan that he sigh it was to done,
His barge was for him arraied,
And he goth forth and hath assaied.
He found the ship of great array.
But what thing it amounte may,
He sigh they maden hevy chere.
But well him thenketh by the manere,
That they be worthy men of blood,
And axeth of hem, how it stood.
And they him tellen all the cas,
How that he lord fordrive was,
And what a sorwe that he made,
Of which there may no man him glade.
He praieth that he her lord may se.
But they him tald it may nought be.
For he lith in so derke a place,
That there may no wight sen his face.
But for all that though hem be loth.
He found the ladder and down he goth
And to him spake, but none answer
Ayein of him ne might he here,
For ought that he can do or sain.
And thus he goth him up ayein.
Quaiiter pre- Tho was there spoke in many wise
api^JtTp. Amonges hem, that weren wise,
L°Rur.'°" Now this, now. that, but ate last
cuhSSSirad The wisdom of the town thus cast,
&nSv?^ That yonge Thaise were assent
5ri£rt?St. For if there be amendement

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE. 21 g

To glade with this wofull king,
She can so moch of ev^ry thing,
That she shall gladen him anone.

A messager for her is gone.
And she came with her harp on honde
And saide hem, that she wolde fonde
By alle weies, that she can,
To gladde with this sory man.
But what he was, she wiste nought.
But all the ship her hath besought,
That she her wit on him despende,
In aunter if he might amende.
And sain : It shall be well aquite.
When she hath understonden it,
She goth her down, there as he lay,
Where that she harpeth many a lay
And lich an aungel sang with alle.
But he no more than the walle
Toke hede of any thing he herde.
And whan she sigh, that he so ferde,
She falleth with him unto wordes
And telletb him of sondry bordes
And axeth him demaundes straunge,
Whereof she made his herte chaunge,
And to her speche his ere he laide
And hath merveile, of that she saide.
For in proverbe and in probleme
She spake and bad, he shulde deme
In many a subtil question.
But he for no suggestion,
Which toward him she couthe stere,
He wolde nought o word answere,
But as a mad man ate laste.
His heved weping awey he caste
And half in wrath he bad her go.
But yet she wolde nought do so,
And in the derke forth she goth,

220

STOEV OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

Till she him toucheth and he wroth
And after here with his honde
He smote. And thus whan she him fonde
Disesed, courteisly she saide :
Avoy my lorde, I am a maide.
And if ye wiste what I am,
And out of what lignage I cam,
Ye wolde nought be so salvage.
With that he sobreth his corage
And put awey his hevy chere.
aSfpaS^fi- But of hem two a man may lere,
rSS^o5?t^ What is to be so sibbe of blood.

None wist of other how it stood,

And yet the fader ate last

His herte upon this maide cast,

That he her loveth kindely.

And yet he wiste never why,

But all was knowe er that they went

For god, which wote her hole entent,

Her hertes both anone descloseth.

This king unto this maide opposeth

And axeth jSrst, what is her hame,

And where she lemed all this game,

And of what ken that she was come.

And she, that hath his wordes nome,

Answereth and saith : My name is Thaise,

That was sometime well at ese.

In Tharse I was forthdrawe and fedde,

There lemed I, till I was spedde

Of that I can. My fader eke j

I not, where that I shulde him seke,

He was a king, men tolde me.

My moder dreint was in the see.

Fro point to point all she him tolde,

That she hath longe in herte holde,

And never durste make her mone,

Eut only to this lord allone,

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

221

To whom her herte can nought hele,
Torne it to wo, tome it to wele,
Tome it to good, tome it to harme.
And he tho toke her in his arme.
But such a joy as he tho made
Was never sene, thus be they glade,
That sory hadden be to-fome.
Fro this day forth fortune hath sworne
To set him upward on the whele.
So goth the world, now wo, now wele.

This king hath founde new grace,
So that out of his derke place
He goth him up into the light.
And with him cam that swete wight
His doughter Thaise, and forth anone
They bothe into the caban gone,
Which was ordeined for the kinge.
And there he did of all his thinge
And was arraied really,
And out he cam all openly,
Where Athenagoras he fonde,
The which was lorde of all the londe.
He praieth the king to come and se
His castell bothe and his citee.
And thus they gone forth all in fere,
This king, this lord, this maiden dere.
This lord tho made hem riche feste
With every thing, wMch was honeste,
To plese with this worthy kinge.
There lacketh hem no maner thinge.
But yet for al his noble array
Wifeles he was unto that day,
As he, that yet was of yonge age.
So fell there into his corage
The lusty wo, the gladde peine
Of love, which no man restreigne
Yet never might as now to-fore.

Qualiter Athe-
naeoras Ap-
pomnumde
navi in liospi-
ciumhononnce
recollegit et
Thaisim, patre
consencieiite.
m uxoreni
duxit

. 222 STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

This lord thenketh all his world forlore,
But if the king woll done him grace.
He waiteth time, he waiteth place, .
Him thought his herte woll to-breke,
Till he may to this maide speke
And to her fader eke also
For mariage. And it fell so,
That all was do, right as he thought,
His purpose to an ende he brought,
She wedded him as for her lorde.
Thus be they alle of one accorde.
QuaHter Ap- "Whau al was do right as they wolde,
?Sfaetdus The kinge unto his sone tolde
l^idiSt'^a Of Tharse thHke treterie.

And said, how in his compaignie
fS.^SS°Ap: His doughter and him selven eke
Shall go vengeaunce for to seke.
EpSySfut The shippes were redy sone.
SJS'sJSS?'' And whan they sigh it was to done
SSrti?^ Withoute let of any went,.

With saile up drawe forth they went
Towardes Tharse upon the tide.
But he, that wot, what shall betide.
The highe god, which wolde him kepe,
Whan that this king was faste a slepe.
By nightes time he hath him bede
To saile unto another stede.
To Ephesim he bad him drawe.
And as it was that time lawe.
He shall do there his sacrifice.
And eke he bad in alle wise,
That in the temple amonges alle
His fortune, as it is befalle,
Touchend his doughter and his wife
He shall beknowe upon his life.
The king of this avision
Hath great ymaginacion,

STORY OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE, 223

What thinge it signifie may.
And netheles whan it was day,
He bad cast anker and abode.
And while that he on anker rode.
The wind, which was to-fore straunge,
Upon the point began to chaunge
And tometh thider, as it shulde.
Tho knewe he well, that god it wolde,
And bad the maister make him yare,
To-fore the wind for he wold fare
To Ephesim, and so he dede.
And whan he came into the stede,
Where as he shulde londe, he londeth,
With all the haste he may and fondeth
To sharpen him in suche a wise,
That he may by the morwe arise
And done after the maundement
Of him, which hath him thider sent
And in the wise, that he thought,
Upon the morwe so he wrought.
His doughter and his sone he nonie
And forth unto the temple he come
With a great route in compaigny
His yiftes for to sacrify.
The citezeins tho herden say
Of such a king, that came to pray
Unto Diane the goddesse
And lefte all other besinesse,
They comen thider for to se
The king and the solempnite.

With worthy knightes environed
The king him self hath abandoned
Into the temple in good entente.
The dore is up, and in he wente.
Where as with great devocion
Of holy contemplacion
Within his herte he made his shrifte.

QualiterAppoI-
Imiis Ephesun
intempIoDiane
sacnficans,
uxorem suam
ibidem velatam
invemt, qua
secum assump-
tainnavimver-
STxs Tyrum re-
gressus est ^

2 24 STOEV OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE.

And after that a riche yifte
He ofiFreth with great reverence,
And there in open audience
Of hem, that stoden all about,
He tolde hem and declareth out
His hap, such as him is befalle.
There was no thing foryete of alle.
His wife, as it was goddes grace,
Which was professed in the place,
As she, that was abbesse there,
Unto his tale hath laid her ere,
She knew the vois and the visage,
For pure joy as in a rage
She straught unto him all at ones .
And fell a swoune upon the stones,
Wherof the temple flore was paved.
She was anone with water laved,
Till she came to her self ayein.
And thanne she began to sain :
Ha, blessed be the highe sonde,
That I may se min husbonde,
Which whilom he and I were one.
The king with that knewe her anone
And toke her in his arme and kist,
And all the town thus sone it wist
Tho was there joie manyfold,
For euery man this tale hath told
As for miracle, and were glade.
But never man such joie made
As doth the king, which hath his wife.
And whan men herde, how that her life
Was saved and by whom it was.
They wondren all of suche a cas.
Through all the tonde arose the speche
Of maister Cerimon the leche
And of the cure, which he dede.
The king him self tho hath him bede

STORY OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE. 22

cam uxore et

filiasuaTynim

apphcnt

And eke this quene forth with him.
That he the the town of Ephesim
Woll leve and go where as they be,
For never man of his degre
Hath do to hem so mochel good.
And he his profite understood
And graunteth with hem for to wende.
And thus they maden there an ende,
And token leave and gone to ship
With al the hole felaship.

This king, which now hath his desire, Quality Ap.
Saith, he woll holde his cours to Tire.
They hadden wind at wille tho
With topsail-cole, and forth they go.
And striken never, till they come
To Tire, wher as they haven nome.
And londen hem with mochel blisse.
There was many a mouth to kisse,
Eche one welcometh other home.
But when the quene to londe come
And Thaise her doughter by her side,
The joy which was thilke tide
There may no mannes tunge telle.
They saiden all : Here cometh the welle
Of all the womanishe grace.
The king hath take his real place.
The quene is into chambre go.
There was great feste arraied tho.
Whan time was they gone to mete,
All olde sorwes ben foryete,
And glad en hem with joies newe.
The descoloured pale hewe
Is now become a ruddy cheke.

There was no raerthe for to seke. ouaiiter ap-

But every man hath what he wolde, SoSm

The king as he well couthe and sholde

Maketh to his people right good chere.
VOL. iv.(') p

wore
sua super
Tyrnm coro-
nari fecit

226

STOSV OF APOLLOmUS OF TYRE,

And after sone, as thou shalt here,
A parlement he hath sommoned,
Where he his doughter hath coroned
Forth with the lorde of Mitelene,
That one is king, that other quene.
And thus the faders ordenaunce
This londe hath set in governaunce,
And saide, that he wolde wende
To Tharse for to make an ende
Of that his doughter was betraied,
"Wherof were alle men well paied.
And said, how it was for to done.
Quaiiter Ap- The shippes weren redy sone.
SSTarr"^" A strong power with him. he toke,
SrSer'^in- Up to the sky he cast his loke
SS'lonS'^'" And sigh the wind was covenable.
fr°^oSS They hale up anker with the cable,
IzVS^unt^ They sail on high the stere on honde,
ISSiu: sue They sailen, till they come a londe
t^^cA At Tharse nigh to the citee.
assecutusest. ^j^^^ ^j^^^ ysisitu it was he,

The town hath done him reverence.
He telleth hem the violence,
Which the tretour Strangulio
And Dionise him hadde do
Touchende his doughter, as ye herde.
And whan they wiste, how it ferde.
As he, which pees and love sought,
Unto the town this he besought
To done him right in jugement.
Anone they were both assent
With strengthe of men, and comen sone,
And as hem thought it was to done,
Atteint they were by the lawe
And demed for to honge and drawe
And brent and with the wind to-blowe,
That all the world it mighte knowe.

STOJ^y OF APOLLONIUS OF TYRE^

And upon this condicion
The dome in execucion
Was put an one withoute faile.
And every man hath great merveile,
Whiche herde tellen of this chaunce,
And thonketh goddes purveaunce,
Which doth mercy forth with justice.
Slain is the mordrer and mordrice
Through verray trouth of rightwisnesse,
And through mercy sauf is simplesse
Of here, whom mercy preserveth.
Thus hath he wel, that wel deserveth.

Whan all this thing is done and ended,
This king, which loved was and frended,
A letter hath, which came to him
By shippe fro Pentapolim,
In which the lond hath to him write,
That he wolde understonde and wite,
How in good minde and in good pees
Dede is the kinge Artestrates,
Wherof they all of one accorde,
Him praiden, as her lege lorde,
That he the letter wol conceive
And come, his regne to receive,
Which god hath yove him and fortune.
And thus besoughte the commune
Forth with the grete lordes alle.
This king sigh how it was befalle.
Fro Tharse and in prosperite
He toke his leve of that citee
And goth him into ship ayein.
The wind was good, the se was plein,
Hem nedeth nought to a riff to flake,
Till they Pentapolim have take.
The lond, which herde of that tiding,
Was wonder glad of his coming.
He rested him a day or two

gualiter Arte-
strate Penta-
polim re^'e
mortuo, ipsi de
regno episto-
las super hoc
Appollino dir-
exerunt, unde
AppoUmus,
una cum uxore
sua ibidem ad-
vementes ad
decus imperii
cum mag^no
^audio coro
nati sunt

2 28 STORY OF APOLLONJUS OF TYRE,

And toke his counseil to him tho
And set a time of parlement,
Where all the londe of one assent
Forth with his wife have him coroned,
Where alle good him was foisoned.

Lo, what it is to be well grounded.
For he hath first his love founded
Honestelich as for to wedde,
Honestelich his love he spedde
And hadde children with his wife,
And as him list he lad his life,
And in ensaumple his life was write,
That alle lovers mighten wite,
How ate last it shal be sene
Of love what they wolden mene.
For se now on that other side
Antiochus with all his pride,
Which set his love unkindely,
His ende he hadde sodeinly
Set ayein kinde upon vengeaunce,
And for his lust hath his penaunce.

2. The P at t erne of Painefull
Aduentures.

MR COLLIEI^S INTRODUCTION.

It is not our intention to enter at large into the anti-
quity of the story upon which " Pericles " is founded.
Most of the learning on the subject may be seen in
Douce's " Illustrations," vol. ii. 135. Our principal
object is to speak of it as a narrative of which Shake-
speare made use in the composition of the play which
has been printed in most of the editions of his works,
and in the composition of which few have entertained
a doubt that he was importantly concerned.

We have not only internal, but external, evidence
that there was an older play upon the same incidents.
As to external evidence, the " Memoirs of Edward
Alleyn," printed by the Shakespere Society, contain
(p. 21) an inventory of apparel belonging to the actor-
founder of Dulwich College, including " spangled hose
in Pericles j" and though the document is without
date, we can have no hesitation in deciding that it
was anterior to the beginning of the year i6o8, when,
we apprehend, " Pericles," as it has come down to us,

230

THE PATTERNS

was first produced on the stage. The internal evi-
dence is derived from a perusal of the play itself,
which bears strong marks of two hands in the author-
ship of it : an older and an inferior style of composi-
tion is observable in the commencement of the play ;
and it is upon the three last acts that we suppose
Shakespeare to have been principally engaged. How
much of the play, as written by some anterior author,
was allowed by our great dramatist to remain, it is
impossible with any accuracy to determine. Shakes-
peare was not the first to give it the title of Pericles,"
for it seems to have borne that name when Alleyn
acted in it, perhaps some years before the commence-
ment of the seventeenth century.

The hero, at the oldest date at which we hear of
him in English, was called "Kynge Appolyn of Thyre f
in 1 5 10, under this title, Wynkyn de Worde printed
the romance, as it had been translated from the
French by Robert Copland. This was its first appear-
ance in our printed literature. Who was the author
of the French version used by Copland we are without
information; but it is more than probable that the
foundation of it was the narrative in the " Gesta
Romanorum" (printed late in the 15th century), to
which Belleforest was also to a certain extent indebted
in his Histories," "Tragiques,'' the publication of
which was commenced in 1564. Belleforest, however,
claims to have gone to a distinct source, a manuscript
having fallen in his way, which purported to be tirk du
Grec: in fact, it seems to have had its origin in that
language, from which it was translated into Latin,
and subsequently into French, Spanish, Italian and
English. These different versions are enumerated by
Mr Douce in the work we have already referred to,
but the Anglo-Saxon translation (printed under the
learned care of Mr Thorpe) does not seem to have
fallen in his way. Latin MSS. of it, as early as the
tenth century, appear to be in existence.

OF PAJNEFULL ADVENTURES, 23 1

The prose romance, which occupies the suc-
ceeding pages, was first published [it is supposed]
in 1576, [although no copy of so early a date is at
present known,] and how soon afterwards it was
adapted to the stage in London cannot be decided.
It professed originally to be " gathered into English "
by Lawrence Twine, and it is singular that Malone,
Steevens, and even Douce, fell into the error of at-
tributing the translation to Thomas Twine, " the con-
tinuator of Phaer's Virgil." Lawrence Twine was
brother to Thomas Twine, and both were sons of
John Twine, Lawrence being the eldest, and as
Anthony Wood says, " a fellow of All Souls College,
Bachelor of Civil Law, and an ingenious poet of his
time " (Ath. Oxon. vol. i. 464, Edit. Bliss). He left
nothing behind him in verse, as far as we now know,
but certain commendatory lines to books by his
friends, and the songs and riddles of Tharsia hereafter
inserted. How frequently, and at what intervals, Law-
rence Twine's "Patterne of PainefuU Adventures,
containing the most excellent, pleasant, and variable
Historie, &c. of Prince ApoUonius of Tyre," was re-
printed after 1576, we have no exact information; but
a new edition of it came out in 1607, the very year
before the play of " Pericles," as adapted to the stage
by Shakespeare, would seem to have been acted.
Our re-publication of the romance is from an edition
hitherto unknown, without date, but, as we may judge
from the type and other circumstances, published
before the opening of the seventeenth century.

The grounds for our opinion, that Shakespeare's
" Pericles " (as far as he may lay claini to its author-
ship) was first acted early in the year 1608, are stated
ia. detail in "Farther Particulars regarding Shake-
speare and his Works," 8°, 1839. As only fifty copies
of that tract were printed, it may be necessary to add
here, that a narrative entitled " The Painfull Adven-

232

THE PATTERNE

tures of Pericles, Prince of Tyre/' was published in
1608, purporting to be *'the true History of the Play
of Pericles, as it was lately presented by the worthy
and ancient Poet John Gower." This " History " is
derived directly from the play, as the play had been
derived mainly from Twine's translation of Prince
ApoUonius, of Tyre ; " and it was printed in conse-
quence of the great success that attended the per-
formance of " Pericles,'' when it wsCs brought out with
Shakespeare's additions and improvements. At the
time the " Farther Particulars regarding Shakespeare
and his Works" were collected and composed, the
author was not aware of the evidence preserved in
Dulwich College, and recently inserted in the " Me-
moirs of Edward Alleyn," of the existence of an earlier
drama upon the same story, and under the same title
as what we have been accustomed to call Shake-
speare's " Pericles." Those who are in possession of
the " Farther Particulars," &c., will see that the author
traces and compares, in curious detail, the parallel
passages in the play and in the "History" founded
upon it ; and he may be said to have gone the length
of establishing that certain expressions, and even
lines, originally recited by the players, have been
omitted in the impression of " Pericles," as it has
reached us.

The reason why Shakespeare, or his predecessor,
introduced " ancient Gower " to open the drama, and
to deliver certain interlocutions in the course of it,
will be sufficiently obvious to those who are aware
that Gower makes the whole story part of his " Con-
fessio Amantis a work full of variety and beauty, to
which due justice has, perhaps, never been done, in
consequence of the comparison which must be drawn
between Gower, as a poet, and his greater contem-
porary Chaucer. Lidgate has laboured, in a degree,
under the same disadvantage ; but the publication of

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES,

some of his " Minor Poems," by the Percy Society,
will tend to elevate him in the scale of our early poets.
The " Confessio Amantis " was three times printed
prior to the reign of Elizabeth, viz. by Caxton in
1483, and by Berthelet in 1532 and 1554. We have
appended Gower's versified history of "Appollinus,
the Prince of Tyr " to our reprint of Twine's prose
version of the romance, because it is pretty evident,
from particular expressions, that Shakespeare, or his
dramatic precursor (always supposing two separate
writers to have been engaged on the subject) had re-
ference to it when composing the play of " Pericles."
Malone inferred this fact also from the circumstance
that Pericles is called " Pri7ice of Tyre " in the play,
and in Gower's version, whereas, in Copland's trans-
lation, he is called King of Tyre;" but the com-
.mentator omitted to remark that Fi-ince de Thyr are
the words of a French translation by Corozet in 1530 ;
and the hero is spoken of as Fri7ice Apollonius in
Twine's " Patterne of Painefull Adventures," which
the play more immediately follows. Our readers will
be enabled to judge from what succeeds of the precise
degree of obligation to the one or to the other.

For our text of Gower's poetical narrative we have
not resorted to either of the three printed copies of
the " Confessio Amantis we were anxious to give the
story, with as much fidelity as possible, in the words
of the old poet, and for this reason we have gone to
a fine and nearly contemporary MS. upon vellum
preserved in the British Museum (Harl. 3940),^ cor-

^ For the following description of this MS. we are indebted
to the kindness of J. Holmes, Esq. : — " At the foot of some of
the pages are emblazoned various Coats of Arms, being those
of Reade, James, Handlo, Borstal!, St Amand, De la Pole,
Cottesmore, &c. In all probability, therefore, the MS. be-
longed to (if indeed it were not wiitten for him) Sir William
Reade of Borstal!, Co. Bucks, living tenip. Heniy VII. All the
above were quartered by him." [The text of the story has now
been given from Pauli's edition, 1857.]

234

THE PATTERNS

rected by another MS. in the same library (Harl.
3869).

It will be found, that the variations between this
MS. and the printed copies are chiefly verbal, except-
ing in one or two instances, where a line has been
omitted in the one or in the other : the divisions of
the poem, with the Latin headings, are differently
arranged. Generally speaking, the MS. has the ad-
vantage of the printed copies ; but such is not always
the case, as where, in the MS., Theophilus is desig-
nated " a fals clerke,*' insteade of " a fals cherle," as
it properly stands in the first edition by Berth elet.

We are not aware that it is necessary to say more
by way of introduction to what follows, than to add
that Gower avowedly adopted his incidents from a
metrical version- in the " Pantheon" or " Universal
Chronicle" of Godfrey of Viterbo, which was com-
piled at the latter end of the twelfth century, though
not printed until 1569.

" Of a cronique in daies done,
The wich is cleped Panteon,
In loves cause I rede thus,"

are Gower's introductory lines ; and he subsequently
more than once refers to " the booke " to which he
was indebted, much in the same way that Ariosto
professes his obligations to the narrative by Bishop
Turpin, respecting the conquests of Charlemaine and
the atchievements of Orlando. On one occasion,
when Gower breaks oflf from one part of his story in
order to return to another, he opens a chapter as
follows : —

" Bot nowe to my matere ayen,
To telle as olde "bokes sieyne ; "

as if he had consulted more than one authority ; but
it is very evident that he had looked no farther than

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 235

the work, the title of which we have ahready given,
the " Pantheon " of Godfrey of Viterbo.

When"^ I [formerly] wrote upon the subject of the
intimate connexion [of the novel by Wilkins] with
Shakespeare's " Pericles," I was entirely ignorant^ of
the important fact, that the production was the
authorship of George Wilkins, a dramatist of con-
siderable distinction, whose play, called " The Miseries
of enforced Marriage was so popular, that it went
through four editions between 1607, when it was first
pubhshed, and 1637, when the last old impression
made its appearance. I did not become acquainted
with the circumstance that Wilkins was the writer of
the ensuing novel, until I had sent the following
communication to the AthencBU7n, which I here beg
leave to subjoin, as part of my Introduction.

" The readers of the Athen(zuin may like to hear
something more regarding a tract, with which my
name was connected, in a paragraph in the
4theticBum of February 7. It was correctly stated
that I formerly printed fifty copies of a small publi-
cation devoted principally to an account of that tract,
which is certainly, on every ground, the most curious
that has fallen under my observation in the course of
my life: it is unique in its character, and until re-
cently I never heard of more than one other perfect
copy of it, independently of a considerable fragment
in my own hands. It now turns out that there is a
third perfect copy in a Swiss library, which had once
belonged to a foreigner who visited London about

^ [What follows, to the end, was prefixed by Mr Collier to
Professor Mommsen's edition of the Novel by G. Wilkins, 8%
Oldenburg, 185 7.]

^ [Owing to both the copies examined by Mr Collier being
imperfect.]

236

THE PATTER NE

the time of Shakespeare's death. I may add, that it
is now being reprinted in Germany, and that it well
deserves the distinction.

It is a narrative founded upon Shakespeare's
* Pericles/ which was first acted in 1607 or 1608.
Various novels are known of which Shakespeare
availed himself in other plays, such as * The Winter's
Tale/ * As You Like It/ &c. ; but the production I
am now speaking of differs from all others in this
respect — that, instead of having had a drama founded
upon it, it was itself founded upon a drama, and that
drama * Pericles.'

" It is now, I believe, generally admitted that,
when a play was unusually popular, it was the habit
of certain booksellers, in the time of Shakespeare, to
employ shorthand writers to take down, in the theatre,
as much of the dialogue as they could, and to pub-
lish the transcribed notes as the play itself. Such,
we may be sure, was the case with ' Hamlet ' and
' Romeo and Juliet,' to which the excellent letter of
Prof. Mommsen, in the Athmezujn of February 7,
separately applies. Why the same course was not
pursued in the case of ' Pericles ' does not appear.
Perhaps in 1607 or 1608 the trick was becoming
somewhat stale, and the bookseller thought that he
could make a better thing of a publication in a nar-
rative form, but distinctly stated on the title-page to
be derived from a play then daily represented with
great applause. Hence the tract I am now directing
attention to, which is called, and I quote the terms
literally, ' The Painfull Adventures of Pericles Prince
of Tyre. Being the true History of the Play of
Pericles, at it was lately presented by the worthy and
ancient Poet lohn Gower. At London Printed by
T. P. for Nat. Butter, 1608.' It is in quarto, and
consists of forty leaves, including the title-page, in
the centre of which there is a woodcut of John Gower,

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 237

with a staflf in one hand and a bunch of bays in
the other; while before him, upon a table, lies a
book, which we may suppose to be a copy of his
' Confessio Amantis,' containing, as is well known,
a version of the story of * Pericles,' under the name
of ApoUonius of Tyre. His dress, as represented in
the woodcut, merits notice, inasmuch as it is, in all
probability, such as the actor wore who played the
part of Gower, and who spoke the Prologue and in-
terlocutions in Shakespeare's 'Pericles.' It is merely
a sort of gown, very plain, opening in front, and
reaching just below the knee. In my fifty copies of
the small publication relating to this subject, I gave a
fac-simile of this interesting dramatic relic.

" Now, to speak a little more particularly of the
contents of this literary rarity. It professes, as we
have seen by the title-page, to give the ' history of
the Play of Pericles ' as it had been recently acted
on the stage \ and, at the end of ' the Argument '
prefixed, the reader is entreated to receive the novel
* in the same manner ' as the play had been received
when ' by the King's Majesties Players it was excel-
lently presented.' The King's Majesty's Players of
course consisted of the company to which Shakespeare
had been always attached, which performed in the
summer at the Globe on the Bankside, and in the
winter at the Blackfriars.

" It has always been lamented that in so few old
dramas lists of characters are supplied ; but here they
are furnished as the accompaniment to a mere nar-
ration ; and, since the names almost entirely accord
with those found in Shakespeare's ' Pericles,' though
not prefixed to it, it is needless to insert them here.
The divisions of the story do not follow the five acts
of the play, for the tract is composed of eleven
chapters, which include all tlie incidents, nearly in
the course in which they are employed by Shakspeare.

238

THE PATTER NE

" I am anxious in what follows, and with as much
brevity as possible, to establish two points : — i, That
the novel before us very much adopts the language of
the play ; 2, That it not unfrequently supplies por-
tions of the play, as it was acted in 1607 or 1608,
which have not come down to us in any of the
printed copies of * Pericles.' The last is infinitely
the more important, because we may thereby recover,
pro tanto, a lost portion of the language of Shake-
speare. I proceed to prove, in the first place, that
the novel and the play are, in some sort, identical.

" In the novel, when Pericles, undeterred by the
warning of Antiochus, insists upon attempting the
solution of the enigma, it is said, —

' But Pericles, armed with these noble armours, Faithfulness
and Courage, and making himself fit for death, if death proved
fit for him, replied, that he was come now to meet death
willingly.'

In the play, Pericles tells Antiochus, —

* Like a bold champion I assume the lists,
Nor ask advice of any other thought,
But faithfulness and courage.' — (Act I, sc. i.)

"The following is the account Pericles gives of
himself — in the third person — in the novel :

' A gentleman of Tyre, his name Pericles, his education been
in arts and arms, lookmg for adventures in the world, was,
by the rough and unconstant seas, most unfortunately bereft
Both of ships and men, and, after shipwreck, thrown upon that
shore.'

How does this passage appear in the play ? It runs
thus in Shakespeare's verse : —

' A gentleman of Tyre (my name Pericles,
My education been in arts and amis),
"Who, looking for adventures in the world.
Was, by the rough seas, reft of ships and men,
And, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. '

(Act 2, sc. 3.)

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES, 239

" I shall pursue this point no farther (though it
would be easy to multiply proofs), but proceed to the
second point, in order to show, as I think, beyond
contradiction, that the novel under consideration
contains passages which must have been written by
Shakespeare, but which have not come down to us in
the play of 'Pericles,' as printed in quarto in 1609,
1 61 9, and 1630, or in folio, in 1664 or 1685. This
part of my undertaking is not so easy, because the
evidence must necessarily be of a negative character :
I have to adduce passages that are like Shakespeare,
but that have never yet been imputed to him. In
Act 2, sc. 5, of the play, we meet with these lines,
put into the mouth of Pericles : —

' I came unto your court for honour's cause,
And not to be a rebel to her state ;
And he that otherwise accounts of me,
This sword shall prove he's honour's enemy.'

How does this passage, addressed to Antiochus, ap-
pear in the novel founded upon the play ? Thus :

* That were it any in his court, except himself, durst call him
traitor, even in his bosom he could write the lie, affirming that
he came into his court in search of honour, and not to be a rebel
to his state. His blood was yet untainted, but with the heat
got by the wrong the king had offered him, and that he boldly
durst and did defy himself, his subjects, and the proudest dan-
ger, that either tyranny or treason could inflict upon hmi.*

" Therefore, for the passage from ' His blood was
yet untainted ' to the end of the paragraph, there is
no parallel in the play; and, omitting only a few
unimportant particles, it will be seen in an instant
how easily it may be put into blank-verse. Read it
thus : —

* His blood was yet untainted, but with heat
Got by the wrong the king had offer'd him ;
And that he boldly durst and did defy him,
His subjects, and the proudest danger, that
Or tyranny or treason could inflict."

THE PATTERNS

Would the above have run so readily into blank-verse
if it had not, in fact, been so originally written, and
recited by the actor when ' Pericles ' was first per-
formed ?

" Act 3, sc. I, of the play, as printed, relates mainly
to the birth of Marina at sea during a storni, — and in
the prose novel Pericles thus addresses the infant : —

' Poor inch of nature! thou art as rudely welcome to

the world, as ever princess' babe was, and hast as chiding a nati-
vity as fire, air, earth, and water can afford thee.'

" In the play, as printed, we find no corresponding
commencement of the apostrophe, * Poor inch of
nature ! ' which must have come from Shakespeare's
pen — no mere hackney scribe could have invented it,
— ^but we meet with the following lines, in other re-
spects nearly identical with what we have above
quoted : —

* For thou'rt the rudeliest welcome to this world
That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows !
Thou hast as chiding a nativity.
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make.'

" Here, * Poor inch of nature ! ' is all that is want-
ing, but, that away, how much of the characteristic
beauty of the passage is lost ! In Act 4 we have the
famous scene in the brothel, where Marina reforms
Lysimachus and thus addresses him : —

* Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and
will you come into it? I hear say, you are of honourable parts,
and are the Governor of this place.'

This is all she is made to utter in the play at this
time, with the exception of the subsequent lines,
which come after a short speech of persevering im-
portunity by Lysimachus :

* If you were bom to honour, show it now :
If put upon you, make the judgment good,
Ti^it thought you worthy of it.

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 24I

" Instead of these two passages we read as follows
in the prose narrative : —

' If as you say, my lord, you are the governor, let not your
authority, which should teach you to rule others, be the means
to make you misgovern yourself. If the eminence of your place
came unto you by descent, and the royalty of your blood, let
not your life prove your birth a bastard : if it were thrown upon
you by opinion, make good that opinion was the cause to make
you great. What reason is there in your justice, who hath
power over all, to undo any? If you take from me mine honour,
you are like him that makes a gap into forbidden ground, after
whom too many enter, and you are guilty of all their evils. My
life is yet unspotted, my chastity unstained in thought : then, if
your violence deface this building, the workmanship of heaven,
made up for good, and not to be the exercise of sin*s intem-
perance, you do kill your own honour, abuse your own justice,
and impoverish me.'

" If these thoughts and this language be not the
thoughts and the language of Shakespeare, I am much
mistaken, and have read him to little purpose. I
might add much more, and furnish many other quo-
tations to the same effect, but I hope scton to receive
a few copies of the whole of the tract from Germany,
in a reprinted shape, and then such as think with me,
as regards the preceding extracts, will be able to
gratify themselves to the full. I have here neces-
sarily adverted to some points that I have touched
elsewhere; but I dare say that few of the readers of
the Athenceum have seen my remarks."

In the tract we have distinct evidence that

Wilkins attended the public performance of Shake-
. speare's " Pericles " for the purpose of taking notes of
the drama as it was delivered from the mouths of the
Actors ; and being himself a poet of reputation and
genius, he afterwards put his memoranda into a
narrative which was published by one of the most
celebrated booksellers of the day. It is my firm con-
viction that it supplies many passages, written by

VOL. IV. {^) ^ Q .

242 THE PATTERNE OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

Shakespeare and recited by the performers, which were
garbled, mangled, or omitted in the printed Play of
" Pericles," as it has come down to us in the quartos
of 1609, 1619, and 1630, and in the folios of 1664 and
1685. May not the same course have been pursued
with some of the greater works of Shakespeare, with
his ''Hamlet," "Macbeth," "Lear," » Tempest," or
*' Othello"?

THE ARGUMENT^ OF THE WHOLE
HISTORIE.

Antiochus the Great, who was the first founder
of Antioch, the most famous Citty in all S)n:ia,
hauing one onelie daughter, in the prime and glory of
her youth, fell in most vnnaturall loue with her; and
what by the power of his perswasions, and feare of
his t}Tanny, he so preuailed with her yeelding heart,
that he became maister of his desires ; which to con-
tinue to himself, his daughter, being for her beauty
desired in marriage of many great princes, he made
this law, That whoso presumed to desire her in
marriage, and could, not vnfold the meaning of his
questions, for that attempt should loose his life.
Fearelesse of this Lawe, many Princes aduentured,
and in their rashnesse perished : amongst the number
Pericles the Prince of Tyre, and neighbour to this
tyrant King Antiochus, was the last who vndertooke
to resolue this Riddle, which he accordingly, through
his great wisedome, performed : and findmg both the
subtiltie and sinne of the Tyrant, for his owne safetie

1 [This Argument, not in Twine, and the list of characters, a
most unusual feature in a novel, are given from the tract by
Wilkins, and placed between brackets. They are peculiar to
his work.]

244

THE PATTERNS

fled secretly from Antioch backe to Tyre, and there
acquainted Helycanus a graue Counsellour of his with
the proceedings, as also with his present feare what
might succeed, from whose counsell he took aduise,
for a space to leaue his kingdome, and betake him-
selfe to trauell; to which yeelding, Pericles puts to
sea, ariues at Tharsus, which he finds (thorow the
dearth of come) in much distresse ; he there relieues
Cleon aud Dyonysa with their distressed City, with
the prouision which he brought of purpose ; but by
his good Counsellour Helycanus hearing newes of
Antiochus death, he intends for Tyre, puts againe to
Sea, suffers shipwracke, his shippes and men all lost,
till (as it were) Fortune tyred with his mis-happes, he
is thxowne vpon the shoare, releeued by certaine
poore Fishermen, and by an Armour of his which
they by chaunce dragged vp in their nettes, his mis-
fortunes being a little repaired, Pericles arriues at the
Court of good Symonides King of Pentapolis, where
through his noblenesse both in Armes and Arts, he
winnes the loue of faire Thaysa the kings daughter,
and by her fathers consent marries her.

In this absence of his, and, for which absence the
Tyrians his subiects muteny, would elect Helycanus
(whome Pericles ordained his substitute in his absence)
their King, which passion of theirs Helycanus by his
graue perswasions subdewed, and wonne them to go
in quest of their lost Prince Pericles : In this search he
is found, and with his wife Thaysa, who is now with
childe, and Lycorida her Nurse ; hauing taken leaue
of his kingly Father, puts againe for T3rre, but with
the terrour of a tempest at Sea, his Queene falles in

!

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 245

trauell, is deliuered of a daughter, whorae he names
Marina, in which childe-birth his Queene dies, she is
throwne ouer boorde, at departure of whome Pericles
altereth his course from Tyre, being a shorter cut, to
his hoste Cleon in Tharsus ; hee there leaueshis yoong
daughter to be fostered vp, vowing to himselfe a soli-
tary & pensiue life for the loose of his Queene. '

Thaysa thus supposed dead, and in the seas buried,
is the next morning on the shore taken vp at Ephesus
by Cerimon a most skilfull Physition, who by his Arte
practised vpon this Queene, so preuailed, that after
fine houres intraunced, she is by his skill brought to
able health againe, and by her owne request, by him
placed to liue a Votary in Dianaes Temple at Ephesus.
Marina Pericles sea-borne daughter, is by this growen
to discreete yeares, she is enuied of Dyonysa Cleons
wife, her foster mother, for that Marinaes perfection
exceedeth a daughter of hers, Marina by this enuy of
hers should haue beene murthered, but being rescued
by certaine Pyrates, is as it were reserued to a greater
mishap, for by them she is caried to Metelyne, sold
to the deuils broker a bawd, to have bin trained vp in
that infection, shee is courted of many, and how
wonderfully she preserues her chastitie.

Pericles retumes from Tyre toward Tharsus, to
visite the hospitable Cleon, Dyonysa, and his yoong
daughter Marina, where by Dyonysaes dissembling
teares, and a Toorabe that was erected for her,
Pericles is brought to beleeue, that his Marina lies
there buryed, and that she died of her naturall death,
for whose losse hee teares his haire, throwes off his
garments, forsweares the societie of men, or any other

246 THE PATTERNE OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

comfort. In which passion for many moneths con-
tinuing, hee at last arriues at Metelyne, when being
seene and pittied by Lysimachus the Gouernour, his
daughter (though of him vnknowen so) is by the
Gouernour sent for, who by her excellent skill in Song,
and pleasantnesse in discourse, with relating the story
of her owne mishap, shee so winnes againe her fathers
lost sences, that he knowes her for his childe, shee
him for her father ; in which ouer-ioy, as if his sences
were now all confounded, Pericles falles asleepe,
where in a dreame he is by Diana warned to goe to
Ephesus, and there to make his sacrifice. Pericles
obayes, and there comes to the knowledge of Thaysa
his wife, with their seuerall loyes that they three so
strangely diuided, are as strangely mette. Lysimachus
the Gouernour marrieth Marina, and Pericles leaning
his mourning, causeth the bawde to be burned. Of
his reuenge to Cleon and Dyonysa, his rewarding of
the Fishermen that releeued him, his iustice toward
the Pyrats that made sale of his daughter, his retume
backe to his kingdome, and of him and his wifes
deaths. Onely intreating the Reader to receiue this
Historie in the same maner as it was vnder the habite
of ancient Gower the famous English Poet, by the
Kings Maiesties Players excellently presented.

THE NAMES OF THE PERSONAGES
MENTIONED IN THIS HISTORIE,

John Gower the Presmter, \
Antiochus that built A7itioch
His da7ighte7'.
Pericles Frmce of Tyre.
Thalyart a villaine,
Helycanus ) Twoo graue
ESCHINES J Counsellors.
Cleon Gouemor of Tharsus.
DyonYSA his wife.
Two or three Fishermen.
S'^uomm.skingofPefitapolis.
Thaysa his daughter.

^ Fine Princes.
Lycorida a Nurse.
Cerimon a Fhisition.
Marina Pericles daughter,
A Murtherer.
Pirates.
A Baivde.
A Leno.
A Pander.

Lysimachus Gouernour of

Meteline.
Diana Goddesse of chasiitie.

The Patterne of

painefull Ad-

uentures :

Containing the most excel-

lent, pleasant mid variable Hi-
storie of the strange accidents that be
fell vnto Prince Apollonius, the
Lady Lucma his wife, and
Tharsia his daughter.

Wherem the vncertaintie of
this world, and the fickle state
of mans life are liue-

ly described.

Gathered into English by

Lavrence Twine
Gentleman.

Imprinted at London by Va-
lentine Simmes for the
Widow Newman.

To the worshipful!

Master lohn Donning, Custo-

mer a7id Jtirate of the fow7ie
of Rie in Sussex.

Being dhiersely mooued in mind, to signifie my good
will and hartie loue towardes you^ gentle M. Donning^
I coidd 7iot deuise any meancs more effectual, then by
presenting the same to you^ which cost 7ne some small
labor and trauel. Not seeming iherby to acquite your
manifold cwtesieSy towards me diuersly exteiided, but
rather to discharge me of the note of Ingratitude, which
otherwise I might seeme to i?icurre. Wherefore in stccde
of a 'greater present to counteruaile your friefidiines , I
afn bold in the settiiig foorth of this sifnple Paniflet Vfider
your name, to make a proffer of my thaiikeful heart to
you againe. Wherifi though wa?it of farther abilitie ap-
pear e, yet is there no let, but that a w el- willing heart 7nay
be expresi, yea in the smallest gift Now if haply the
argument hereof appeare vnto you other than you could
much wish, or I well afford, yet haue 1 7io feare of any
great misliking, considering your ?tatural disposition,

250 THE P ATT ERNE OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

which is to he delighted with honest pleasure^ and com-
mendable recreation, and not to lie euermore weltering^
as it were, i?i dolefull dumpishnesse. Which thi?ig
did put 7ne in the greater hope, that this worke would he
the welcommer vnto you, especially considei-ing the de-
lectable varieiie, and the often changes and chances con-
tained in this present historic, which cannot but much
stirre vp the 7nind and sences vnto sundry affections.
What euer it he take it I beseech you, in good part, in
stead of so77ie better thing which I might well affoord,
promising the same when occasion shall serue, not being
at this present so well furnished as I could wish of God :
to whose good grace I reco77imend you ajid yoias, both
nowe and evermore.

Your worships to vse,

Laurence Twine.,

THE TABLE.

0

How AniiocJius committed incest with his owne daughter, and

beheaded such as sued vnto her for marriage, if they coulde

not resolue his questions. Chap. I.
How Apollonhts arriuing at Antiochia, resohied the King's

question ; and howe Taliarchus was sent to slay him.

Chap. II.

How Taliarchus, not finding Apollomtis at Tyrus, departeth
joyfully ; and Apollonins arriving at Tharsus, relieueth the
citie with victuall. Chap. III.

How Apollonius departing fro Tharsus hy the perswasion of
Siranguilio and Diomsiades his wife, committed shipwraclce,
and was relieued by Altistrates King of Pentapolis. Chap. IV.

How Lucina king Altistrates daughter desirous to heare Apollo-
nius aduentures, fell in love with him. Chap. V.

How Apollomus is made schoolemaster to Luci?ta ; and how
shee preferreth the love of him aboue all the Nobilitie of Pen-
tapolis. Chap. VI.

How Apollonius was married to the Lady Lucina, and hearing
of king Antiochus death, departeth with his wife towards his
own country of Tyrus. Chap. VII.

How faire Lucina died in trauell of childe vpon the sea, and
being throwen into the water, was cast on land at Ephesus,
and taken home by Cerimon a Physicion. Chap. VIII.

How Lucina was restored to life by one of Cerimon the
Physicions schoUers ; and how Cerimon adopted hir to
his daughter, and placed her in the Temple of Diana,
Chap. IX. , . ^ ^

How Apollonius arriuing at Tharsus, deliuereih his yong daugh-
ter Tharsia vnto St7'anguilio and Diomsiades to be brought
vp ; and how the Nurce, lying in her death bed declareth vnto
Tharsia who were hir parents. Chap. X.

How after the death of Ligozides the Nurce, Dionisiades, envy-
ing at the beautie of Tharsia, conspired her death, which
should have been accomplished by a villaine of the countrey.
Chap. XI.

252 7 HE PATTERNE OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

How certain Pirats rescued Tkarisa when she shuld haue been
slaine, and earned hir vnto the citie MacMIenta, to be sold
among other bondslaues. Chap. XII.

How the Pirats which stole away Tharsia, brought her to the
citie Machilenta, and sold her to a common bawd ; and how
she preserucd her virginitie. Chap. XIII.

How Tharsia withstood a second assault of her virginitie, and
by what meanes shee was preserued. Chap. XIV.

How Apollo7iius comming to Tharsus, and not finding his
daughter, lamented her supposed death, and taking ship againe,
was driuen to Machilenta where Tharsia was. Chap. XV.

How Athanagoras prince of Machilenta seemg the beautie of
Apollonius ship, went aboord of it, and did the best to com-
fort him. Chap. XVI.

How Athanagoras sent for Tharsia^ to make her father Apollo-
nius merrie, and how, after long circumstance they came into
knowledge one of another. Chap. XVII.

How Apollonius leaning off mourning, came into the citie Ma-
chilenta, where he commanded the bawd to be burned, and
how Tharsia was married vnto Prince Athanagoras. Chap.
XVIII.

How Apollonius^ meaning to saile into his owne Counti-ey by
Tharsus, was commanded by an Angell in the night to goe to
Ephesus, and there to declare all his aduentures in the Church,
with a loud voice. Chap. XIX.

How Apollonius came to the knowledge of his wife the Ladie
Lucma ; and how they reioyced at the meeting of ech other.
Chap. XX.

How Apollonius departed for Ephesus and sailed himselfe, his
wife, his sonne and daughter vnto Autiochia, and then to
Tyrus, and from thence to Tharsus, where he reuenged him-
selfe vpon St7'anguiho and Dionisiades, Chap. XXI.

How Apollonius sayled from Tharsus to visite his father in law
AltistrateSf king of Pentapolis, who died not long after Apol-
lonius comming thither. Chap. XXII.

How Apollonius rewarded the fishermen that relieued him after .
he had suffered shipwracke : how he dealt also with old
Calamitus, and likewise with the Pirates that stole away
Tharsia. Chap. XXIII.

How Apollonius had a yong sonne and heire by his wife Lticina,
likewise of Apollonus age, and how hee died : with some
other accidents thereunto incident. Chap. XXIV.

The First Chapter.

Howe Antiochus €o?nmitfed incest with his owne
daughter^ and beheaded such as sued vnto her
for marriage^ if they coulde not resolue his ques-
tions,

THE most famous and mightie king Antiochus,
which builded the goodly citie of Antiochia in
Syria, and called it after his own name, as the chiefest
seat of all his dominions, and most principal place
of his abode, begat vpon his wife one daughter, a
most excellent and beautifull yoong Ladie. Who in
processe of yeeres growing vp as well in ripenesse
of age, as perfection of beautie : many Princes and
noble men resorted vnto her for intreaty of marriage,
offering inestimable riches in iointure. Howbeit the
king her father, euermore requiring deliberation, vpon
whom rather than other to bestow his daughter, per-
ceiued eftsoones an vnlawfull concupiscence to boyle
within his breast, which he augmented with an out-
ragious flame of crueltie sparkling in his heart, so
that he began to burne with the loue of his owne
childe more than it was beseeming for a father.
Thus being wrapped in the toyle of blind desire, hee
sustained within himselfe a fierce conflict, wherein
Madnesse put Modestie to flight, & he wholly yeelded
himselfe vnto loue. Wherefore, not long after, on a
certaine day hee came into his daughters chamber.

254

THE PATTERNS

and bidding all that were there for to depart, as though
he had had some secret matter to conferre with her :
the furious rage of lust pricking him forward there-
unto, he violently forced her, though seely maiden
she withstood him long to her power, and threwe
away all regard of his owne honestie, and vnlosed
the knot of her virginitie. Now, when he was de-
parted, and she, being alone, deuised within her seli
what it were best for her to doe, sodainelie her nurse
entred in, and perceiuing her face al be blubbred
with teares. What is the matter, deare childe and
Madam (quoth she) that you sit thus sorrowfully?
O, my beloued nurse, answered the Ladie, euen nowe
two noble names were lost within this chamber.
Howe so said the nurse? Because (quoth shee'
before marriage, through wicked villanie I am most
shamefully defiled. And when the nurse had heard
these wordes, and looking about more diligently, per-
ceiued indeede what was done, being inraged with
sorrowe and anger, and almost distract of her wittes.
Alas what wretch or rather infernal feend (quoth she)
durst thus presumptuously defile thebed of a Princesser
Ungodlinesse hath done this doede (quoth the Ladie/
Why then doe you not tell it the king your father,
saide the nurse? Ah nurse, answered the Ladie
where is my father? For if you well understoode
the matter, the name of Father is lost in me, so thai
I can haue no remedie now but death onely. Bu'
the nurse nowe by a few wordes perceiuing the whok
tale, and weying that the yong Lady gaue inkling o
remedie by death, which she much feared, beganne
to assuage her griefe with comfortable wordes, and tc
withdrawe her minde from that mischievous purpose
Wherein she preuailed so effectually in short time
that she appeased the fresh bleeding of the greens
wound, howbeit the scarre continued long time, aj
deepely stroken within her tender heart, before il
could be throughlie cured.

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

In the meane season, while this wicked father
sheweth the countenance of a louing sire abroad in
the eies of al his people, notwithstanding, within
doores, and in his minde, he reioyceth that he hath
played the part of an husband with his daughter :
which false resemblance of hateful marriage, to the
intent he might alwaies enioy, he inuented a strange
deuise of wickednesse, to driue away all suters that
should resort vnto her, by propounding certaine ques-
tions, the effect and law whereof was thus published
in writing : Who so findeih out the sohctmi of my ques-
tio7iy shall haue my daughter io wife, hut who so faileth,
shal lose his head.

Now, when Fame had blowen abroade the possi-
bilitie to obtaine this Ladie, such was the singular
report of her surpassing beautie, that many kings and
men of great nobility repaired thither. And if haply
any through skill or learning had found out the solu-
tion of the kings question, notwithstanding hee was
beheaded as though hee had answered nothing to the
purpose : and his head was set vp at the gate to
terrifie others that should come, who beholding there
the present image of death, might aduise them from
assaying anie such danger. These outrages practised
Antiochus, to the ende he might continue in filthie
incest with his daughter.

The Second Chapter.

How Apollonius arriving at Afitiochia resolued the
kings questio?i, and how Taliarchus was sent to
slay him,

Whilest Antiochus thus continued in exercising
tyrannic at Antiochia, a certaine yong Gentleman
of Tyrus, Prince of the country, abounding in wealthy

THE PATTERNE

and very well learned, called Apollonius, arriued in
the coast, and comming vnto the citie of Antiochia,
was brought into the kings presence. And when he
had saluted him, the king demanded of him the
cause of his coming thither. Then saide the yoong
prince, Sir, I require to haue your daughter in mar-
riage. The king hearing that which he was vnwilling
to heare, looking fiercely vpon him, saide vnto him :
Doest thou know the conditions of the marriage.
Yea sir king, said Apollonius, and I see it standing
vpon the gate. Then the king being sharply moued,
and disdaining at him, said, Heare then the question
which thou must resolue, or else die: I a?n carried
with mischief I eate my 7nothers fleshe : I seeke 7ny
brother my mothers husband and 1 can not finde him,
Apollonius hauing receiued the question, withdrew
himselfe a while out of the kinges presence, and
being desirous to vnderstand what it meant, he found
out the solution thereof in short space through the
help of God, and returned againe to the king, saying ;
Your grace proposed a question vnto me, I pray you
heare the solution thereof. And whereas you said in
your probleme, I am carried with 7?iischiefe: you haue
not lied, for looke vnto your owne selfe. But where-
as you say further, I eate 7ny fnothers fleshy looke vpon
your daughter.

Now the king, as soone as he perceiued that
Apollonius had resolued his problems, fearing lest his
wickednesse should be discovered, he looked vpon
him with a wrathful countenance, saying; Thou art
farre wide from the solution of my demand, and hast
hit no part of the meaning thereof : wherefore thou
hast deserued to be beheaded. Howbeit, I will shew
thee this courtesie, as to giue thee thirtie dales
respite to bethinke thy selfe of this matter. Where-
fore returne home into thine owne countrey, and if
thou canst find out the solution of my probleme,

OF PAINEFULL ADUBNTURES, 257

thou shalt haue my daughter to wife : If not thou shalt
be beheaded. Then Apollonius being much troubled
and molested in mind, accompanying himself with a
sufficient train, tooke shipping, and returned into his
owne countrey. But so scone as he was departed,
Antiochus called vnto him his steward, named Thali-
archus, to whom he spake in maner following.

ThaHarchus, the only faithfull and trustie minister of
ray secrets : vnderstand that Apollonius, prince of Tirus,
hath found out the solution of my question. Where-
fore, take shipping and followe him immediatly, and
if thou canst not ouertake him vpon the sea, seeke
him out when thou commest to Tirus, and slay him
either with sword or poyson ; and when thou returnest
I will bountifully reward thee. Taliarchus promised
to accomplish his comman dement with all diligence,
and taking to him his shield, with monie sufficient for
the iourney, departed on his way, and shortly after
arriued at the coast of Tirus. But Apollonius was
come home vnto his owne Pallace long time before,
and withdrawing himselfe into his studie, perused all
his bookes concerning the kings probleame, finding
none other solution than that which he had alreadie
told the king. And thus he said within himselfe :
Surely, vnlesse I be much deceiued, Antiochus burneth
with disordinate loue of his daughter : and discours-
ing further with himselfe vpon that point : What
sayest thou now, or what intendest thou to doe,
Apollonius, said he to himselfe ? Thou hast resolued
his probleme, and yet not receiued his daughter, and
God hath therefore brought thee away that thou
shouldest not die. Then brake hee off m the midst
of these cogitations, and immediatly commanded his
ships to be prepared, and to be laden with an hundred
thousand bushels of wheat, and with great plenty of
gold, siluer and rich apparell : and taking vnto him
a few of his most trustiest servants, about midnight
VOL. iv.(') R

THE PATTERNE

imbarked himself, and hoysing vp his sails, committed
himselfe to the wide sea. The day following his
subiects the citizens came vnto the Pallace to haue
seene their Prince, but when they found him not there,
the whole citie was forthwith surprised with wonder-
full -sorrowe, euerie man lamenting that so worthy
a Prince [was] so sodainly gone out of sight and
knowledge, no man knew whether. Great was the
grief, and wofull was the wayling which they made,
lamenting his owne priuate estate and the common-
wealths in generall, as it alwaies hapneth at the death
or losse of a good Prince, which the inhabitants of
Tirus tooke then so heauily, in respect of their great
affection, that a long time after no barbers shops
were opened, the common shews and plaies surceased,
baines and hoat houses were shut vp, tauerns were
not frequented, and no man repaired vnto the
Churches, al thing was full of sorrowe and heauinesse,
what shall I say? there was nothing but heauienesse.

The Third Chapter.

How Taliarchus not finding ApoUonius at Tirus, de-
parteth ioy fully, a7id ApoUomus arriuingat Thasus,
relieueth the citie with vittelL

In the middes of this sorrowful season Taliarchus
commeth to Tirus to execute the cruell commande-
ment of Antiochus ; where, finding al-thing shut vp,
and a generall shew of mourning, meeting with a boy
in the streete Tell me, said he, or I will slay thee, for
what cause is al this citie thus drowned in heauines ?
To whom the child answered : My friend, doest thou
not know the cause, that thou askest it of me ? This
citie mourneth because the Prince thereof ApoUonius,

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 259

returning back from king Antiochus, can no where be
found or heard of. Now, so soone as Taliarchus
heard these tidings, he returned ioyfully vnto his
ships, and tooke his iourney backe to Antiochia, and
being landed, he hastened vnto the king, and fell
downe on his knees before him, saying : All haile
most mightie Prince, reioyce and be glad ; for Apol-
lonius being in feare of your grace is departeth no
man knoweth whether. Then answered the king :
He may well flie away from mee, but he shall neuer
escape my handes. And immediatly he made pro-
clamation, that wliosoeuer could take that contemner
of the king Apollonius prince of Tirus, and bring
him aliue unto the kinges presence, should haue an
hundred talents of golde for his labour ; and whoso-
euer coulde bring his head, should haue fiftie talentes.
Which proclamation beeing published, not onely Apol-
lonius ennemies, but also his friendes, made all haste
possible to seeke him out, allured thereto with
couetouseness of the money. Thus was this poore
Prince sought for about by sea and by land, through
woodes and wilde deserts, but could not be found.
Then the king commanded a great Nauie of ships to
be prepared to scoure the seas abroad, if haply they
might meet with him ; but for that euery thing re-
quireth a time ere it can be done, in the mean season
Apollonius arriueth at Tharsus, where walking along
by the sea side, he was espied by one of his owne
seruauntes, named Elinatus, who landed there not
long before, and ouertooke him as he was going ; and
comming neere vnto him with dutifuU obeisance, said
unto him : God saue you prince Apollonius. But he
being saluted, did euen so as noble men and princes
vse to doe, set light by him. But Elinatus taking
that behauiour vnkindly, saluted him againe saying :
God saue you Prince Apollonius salute me againe, and
despise not pouertie beautified with honestie. And

26o

THE PATTERNS

if you knewe that which I know, you would take good
heed to your self. Then answered Apollonius : If
you thinke good, I pray you tell me. Elinatus an-
swered, you are by proclamation commanded to be
slaine. And who said Apollonius, dares commaund
by proclamation, the prince of a countrey to be slame ?
Antiochns, said Elinatus. Antiochus ! ^ For what
cause, demanded Apollonius. For that, said Elinatus,
thou wouldst be vnto his daughter which he himselfe
is. Then demanded Apollonius, For what summe of
mony is my life sold by that proclamation ? Elinatus
answered, whosoeuer can bring you aliue vnto the
king shall haue an hundred talents of gold in recom-
pence : but whoso bringeth your head shall haue
fiftie talents of gold for his labour, and therefore I
aduise you my lord, to flie vnto some place for your
defence : and when he had so said he tooke his leaue
and departed. But Apollonius called him againe, and
said that hee would glue him an hundred talents of
gold ; for, said he, receiue thus much now of my
pouertie, where nothing is now left vnto me but
flight, and pming misery. Thou hast deserued the
reward, wherefore draw out thy sword, and cut off
my head, & present it to the king, as the most ioyfuU
sight in the world. Thus mayst thou win an hundred
talents of gold, and remaine without all blame or note
of ingratitude, since I my selfe haue hyred thee in
the kinges behalfe to gratefie him with so acceptable
a present. Then answered Elinatus : God forbid my
lord that by anie such sinister means I should de-
serue a reward. In all my life I neuer consented to
any such matter in my heart. And, my lord, if the
deed were good, the loue of vertue were a sufficient
force to allure any man thereunto. But since it re-
specteth your life, to whome in consideration of the
cause no man may doe violence without villanie : I
commit both you and your matter vnto God, who no

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

261

doubt will be your defender : And when he had thus
said, he departed. But Apollonius walked forth along
vpon the shoare, where he had gone not farre, but he
descried a man afarre off comming toward es him with
heauie cheere and a sorrowfull countenance ; and this
was Stranguilio a Tharsian borne, and of good repu-
tation in the citie. To whom saide Apollonius, God
saue you Stranguilio : and he likewise resaluted him
saying, And you likewise my good lord Apollonius :
I pray you tel me what is the cause that you walk in
this place thus troubled within your minde ? Apol-
lonius answered : because, being promised to haue
king Antiochus daughter to my wife, if I told him the
true meaning of his question, nowe that I haue so done,
I am notwithstandmg restrained from her. Wherefore
I request you it may so be, that I may liue secretly in
your citie ; for why, I stand moreouer in some doubt
of the kinges farther displeasure. Stranguilio an-
swered : My lord Apollonius, our citie at this present
is verie poore, and not 'able to sustaine the great-
nesse of your dignitie : and euen now we suffer great
penurie and want of vittell, insomuch that there re-
maineth small hope of comfort vnto our citizens, but
that we shall perish by extreme famine : and now certes
there resteth nothing but the fearefull image of gastly
death before our eies. When Apollonius heard these
wordes, he said vnto him : Then giue thankes vnto
God, who in my flight hath brought me a land into
your costes. For I have brought great store of pro-
uision with me, and will presently giue vnto your
citie an hundreth thousand bushels of wheate, if you
will only conceale my comming hither. At these
wordes Stranguilio being strooken, as it were, into a
sodaine amazednesse, as it happeneth when a man is
ouerioyed with some glad tidinges, fell downe pro-
strate before prince Apollonius feete, and saide : My
lord Apollonius, if you coulde, and also if it might

262

THE PATTERNS

please of your great goodnesse, in such sort as you
say, to succour this afflicted and famished citie, we
wil not onely receiue you gladly, and conceale your
abode : but also, if neede so require, willingly spend
our liues in your quarrell. Which promise of mine,
to the intent you may heare to be confirmed by the
full consent of the citizens, might please your Grace
to enter into the citie, aud I most willingly will attend
vpon you. Apollonius agreed thereto, and when
they came into the citie,' he mounted Vp into the place
of iudgment, to the intent he might the better be
heard, and, gathering al the people together : thus
hee spake vnto the whole multitude. Ye citizens of
Tharsus, whom penurie of vittell pincheth at this
present vnderstand ye, that I Apollonius prince of
Tirus, am determined presently to relieue you : In
respect of which benefite I trust ye will be so thank-
full as to conceale mine arriuing hither. And know
ye moreouer, that not as being driuen away through
the malice of king Antiochus, but sayling along by
the Seas I am happily fallen into your hauen. Where-
fore I meane to vtter vnto you an hundred thousand
bushels of wheate, paying no more than I bought it
for in mine own countrey, that is to say, eight peeces
of brasse for euery bushell. When the citizens heard
this, they gaue a shout for ioy, crying, God saue my
Lord Apollonius, promising to Hue and die in his
quarrell, and they gaue him wonderfuU thankes, and
the whole citie was replenished with ioy, and they
went forthwith vnto the ships, and bought the come.
But Apollonius, doubting lest by this deede, he should
seeme to put off the dignitie of a prince, and put on
the countenance of a merchant rather than a giuer,
when he had receiued the price of the wheate, he
restored it backe againe to the vse and commoditie
of the same citie. And when the citizens perceiued
the great benefites which he had bestowed vpon their

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 263

citie, they erected in the marked place a monument
in the memoriall of him, his stature ^ made of brasse
standing in a charret, holding come in his right hand,
and spurning it with his left foot : and on the baser
foot of the pillar whereon it stoode, was mgrauen in
great letters this superscription : Apollonius prince
of Tirus gaue a gift vnto the citie of Tharsus whereby
hee deliuered it from a cruel death.

The Fourth Chapter.

How Apollonius departing fi'om Tharsus by the per-
swasion of Stranguilio a?id Dionisiades his wife,
committed shipwracke, a?id was rclieited by Alii-
strates king of Pe^itapohs.

Thus had not Apollonius aboden many daies in the
citie of Tharsus but Stranguilio & JDionisiades his
wife, earnestly exhorted him, as seeming very carefuU
and tender of his welfare, rather to addresse himselfe
vnto Pentapolis or among the Tirenians, as a place
most fit for his securitie, where he might lie and hide
himselfe in greatest assurance & tranquilitie. Where-
fore hereunto, he resolved himselfe, and with con-
uenient expedition prepared al things necessarie for
the iourney. And when the day of his departure was
come, he was brought with great honour by the citi-
zens vnto his ships, where with a courteous farewell on
ech side giuen, the marriners weighed anker, hoysed
sailes, and away they goe, committing themselues to

^ [Shakespeare wrote siaiue for slahitCj probably as a joke at
the expense of the ignorant folks temp. Elizabeth ; but in the
"Gesta Romanorum," ed. Madden, p. 25, we have statute for
slattie, and it is to be suspected that the word in the text should
pi operly be statute. ]

264

THE PATTERNE

the wind and water. Thus sailed they forth along in
their course, three days and three nights with pros-
perous winde and weather, vntill sodainly the whole
face of heauen and sea began to change ; for the skie
looked blacke and the North erne wind arose, and the
tempest increased more and more, insomuch that
prince Apollonius and the T)n:ians that were with him
were much apalled, and began to doubt of their Hues.
But, loe, immediatly, the wide blew fiercely from the
South-west, and the North came singing on the other
side, the rain powred down over their heads, and the
sea yeelded forth waues as it had beene mountanes
of water, that the ships could no longer -wrestle with
the tempest, and especially the admirall, wherein the
good prince himselfe fared, but needs must they yeeld
vnto the present calamitie. There ^ might you haue
heard the winds whistling, the raine dashing, the sea
roaring, the cables cracking, y'' tacklings breaking, the
shippe tearing, the men miserable shouting out for
their Hues. There might you haue seene the sea
searching the shippe, the hordes fleeting, the goods
swimming, the treasure sincking, the men shifting to
saue themselues, where, partly through violence of the
tempest, and partly through darcknes of the night
which then was come vpon them, they were all
drowned, onely ApoUonius excepted, who by the
grace of God, and the helpe of a simple boord, was
driuen vpon the shoare of the Pentapolitanes. And
when he had recouered to land, wearie as he was, he
stoode vpon. the shoare, and looked vpon the calme
sea, saying : O most false and vntrustie sea ! I will
choose rather to fall into the handes of the most cruell
kingAntiochus, than venture to return e againe by thee

^ [It is mentioned in the forewords attached to the "Tem-
pest," that this passage was not improbably seen and used by
Shakespeare.]

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 265

into mine owne Countrey : thou hast shewed thy
spite vpon me, and deuoured my trustie friendes and
companions, by meanes whereof I am no we left alone,
and it is the prouidence of almightie God that I haue
escaped thy greedie iawes. Where shall I now finde
comfort ? or who will succour him in a strange place
that is not knowen? And whilest he spake these
wordes, hee sawe a man coming towardes him, and
he was a rough fisherman, with an hoode upon his
head, and a filthie leatherne pelt vpon his backe, vn-
seemely clad, and homely to beholde. When hee drewe
neare, Apollonius, the present necessitie constraining
him thereto, fell down prostrate at his feet, and powr-
ing forth a floud of teares he said unto hrni : whoso-
euer thou art, take pitie vpon a poore sea-wracked
man, cast up nowe naked, and in simple state, yet
borne of no base degree, but sprung foorth of noble
parentage. And that thou maiest in helping me
knowe whome thou succourest : I am that Apollonius
prince of Tyrus, whome most part of the worlde
knoweth, and I beseech thee to preserue my life by
shewing mee thy friendly 'reliefe. When the fisher-
man beheld the comlinesse and beautie of the yoong
Gentleman, hee was moued with compassion towardes
him, and lifted him vp from the ground, and lead
him into his house and feasted him with such fare as
he presently had, and the more amplie to expresse
his great affection towardes him, he disrobed him-
selfe of his poore and simple cloke, and diuiding it
into two parts, gaue the one halfe thereof vnto Apol-
lonius, saying : Take here at my handes such poore
entertainment and furniture as I haue, and goe into
the citie, where perhappes thou shalt finde some of
better abilitie, that will rue thine estate : and if thou
doe not, returne then againe hither vnto mee, and
thou shalt not want what may be perfoormed by the
pouertie of a poore fisherman. And in the meane

266

THE PATTERNE

time of this one thing onelie I put thee in mind, that
when thou shalt be restored to thy former dignitie,
thou doe not despise to thinke on the basenesse^of the
poor peece of garment. Ta which Apollonius an-
swered : If I remember not thee and it, I wish nothing
else but that I may sustaine the like shipwracke.
And when hee had saide so, he departed on the way
which was taught him, and came vnto the citie gates,
whereinto he entred. And while he was thinking with
himselfe which waie to seeke succor to sustame his
life, he saw a boy running naked through the streete,
girded only with a tuell about his middle, and his
head annointed with oyle, crying aloude, and saying :
Hearken all, as well citizens as strangers and seruants,
hearken : Whosoeuer will be washed, let him come to
the place of exercise. When Apollonius heard this,
he followed the boy, and comming vnto the place cast
off his cloak e, and stripped himselfe, and entred into
the Baine, and bathed himselfe with the liquor. And
looking about for some companion with whome he
might exercise himself, according vnto the manner of
the place and countrey, and finding none : sodainelie
vnlooked for entred m Altistrates king of the whole
land, accompanied with a great troupe of seruitours.
Anone he beganne to exercise himselfe at tennis with
his men, which when Apollonius espied, he intruded
himselfe amongst them into the kings presence, and
stroke back the ball to the kmg, and serued him in
play with great swiftnes. But whe the king perceiued
the great nimblenesse and cunning which was in him,
surpassing the residue : stand aside (quoth he) vnto.
his men, for me thinkes this yong man is more cun-
ning than I. When Apollonius heard himselfe com-
mended, hee stept foorth boldly into the middes of the
tennis court, and, taking vp a racket in his hand, he
tossed the ball skilfully, and with wonderful agihtie.
After play, he also washed the king very reuerently in

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 267

the Baine : and when all was done, hee tooke his leaue
duetifully, & so departed. When Apollonius was gone,
the king said vnto them that were about him : I sweare
unto you of truth as I am a Prince, I was neuer exer-
cised nor washed better then this day, and that by the
diligence of a yong man I know not what he is. And
turning back, Go, said he vnto one of his seruants,
and know what that yong man is that hath with
such duty & diligence taken pains with me. The
seruant going after Apollonius, and seeing him clad
in a filthy fishers cloke, returned againe to the king,
saying : If it like your grace, the yong man is a sea-
wracked man. How knowest thou that said the king ?
The seruat answered : Though he told me not so
himselfe, yet his apparel bewraieth his state. Then
said the king to his seruant : Go apace after him, &
say vnto him, that the king desireth him to sup with
him this night Then the seruat made haste after
Apollonius, & did the kmgs message to him, which so
soone as he heard, he granted thereto, much thanking,
the kinges maiestie, & came back with the seruant.
When they were come to the gate, the seruant went
in first vnto the king, saying : The sea-wracked man,
for whom your grace sent me, is come, but is ashamed
to come mto your presence, by reason of his base
aray : whome the king commaunded immediatly to
be clothed in seemely apparell, and to be brought in
to supper, and placed him at the table with him, right
oueragainst himselfe. Immediately the boord was
furnished with all kinde of princelie fare, the guests
fed apace, euery man on that which he liked, onelie
Apollonius sate still and eate nothing, but earnestlie
beholding the golde, siluer, and other kingly furniture,
whereof there was great plentie, hee could not refraine
from teares. Then said one of the guests that sate at
the table, vnto the king : This yoong man, I suppose,
enuieth at your graces prosperitie. No, not so, an-

268

THE PATTERNE

swered the king, you suppose aniisse ; but he is sorie
to remember that he hath lost more wealth then this
is : and looking vpon Apollonius with a smiling coun-
tenance, Be mery yong man, quoth he, and eate thy
meate with vs, and trust in God, who doubtlesse will
send thee better fortune.

The Fifth Chapter.

How Licczna King Altisirates daughter desirous to heare
Apollonius aduentures^ fel i?i loue with him.

Now while they sate at meate, discoursing of this and
such Hke matters at the boord, suddenlie came in the
kings daughter and onelie child named Lucina, a sin-
gular beautiful! ladie, and a maiden now of ripe yeeres
for marriage : and she approched nigh, and kissed
the king her father, and al the guests that sate with
him at the table. And when she had so done, she
returned vnto her father, and saide, Good father, I
pray you, what yong man is this which sitteth in so
honourable a place ouer against you, so sorrowfull and
heauie ? O sweete daughter, answered the king, this
yong man is a sea- wracked man, and hath done me
great honour to day at the baines and place of exer-
cise, for which cause I sent for him to sup with me ;
but I knowe not neither what, neither whence he is.
If you be desirous to know these things, demaund of
him, for you may vnderstand all things \ and per-
aduenture when you shall knowe, you will be mooued
with compassion towardes him. Nowe when the lady
perceiued hir fathers mind, she turned about vnto
Apollonius, and saide : Gentleman, whose grace and
comlinesse sufficiently bewraieth the nobilitie of your
birth, if it be not grieuous unto you, shew me your

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 269

name I beseech you, and your aduentures. Then
answered Apollonius : Madam, if you aske my name,
I have lost it in the sea : if you enquire of my nobiHte,
I haue left that at Tyrus. Sir, I beseech you then
said the Lady Lucina, tel me this more plainly, that
I may vnderstand. Then Apollonius, craumg silence
to speake, declared his name, his birth and nobilitie,
and vnripped the whole tragedie of his aduentures, in
order as is before rehearsed; and when he had made
an end of speaking, he burst foorth into most plenti-
ful! teares. Which when the king beheld, he saide
vnto Lucina : deere daughter, you haue done euill in
requiring to know the yong mans name, and his ad-
uentures, wherein you haue renued his forepassed
griefes. But since nowe you haue vnderstoode all the
trueth of him, it is meete, as it becommeth the daugh-
ter of a king, you likewise extend your liberahtie
towards him, and whatsoever you giue him I will see
it be perfourmed. Then Lucma hauing already in
hir heart professed to doe him good, and nowe per-
ceiuing very luckily her fathers mmd to be inclined to
the desired purpose, she cast a friendly looke vpon
him, saying : Apollonius, nowe lay sorrowe aside, for
my father is determined to inrich you : and Apollo-
nius, according to the curtesie that was in him, with
sighes and sobbes at remembrance of that whereof he
had so lately spoken, yeelded great thankes vnto the
faire ladie Lucina.

Then saide the king unto his daughter: Madame I
pray you take your harpe into your handes, and play
vs some musike to refresh our guests withall, for we
haue all too long hearkened vnto soiTOwfull matters :
and when she had called for her harpe, she beganne to
play so sweetely, that all that were in companie highly
commended her, saying that in all their Hues they
neuer heard pleasanter harmonie. Thus, whilest the
guests, euery man for his part much commended the

270

THE PATTERNE

ladies cunning, onely ApoUonius spake nothing. Then
saide the king vnto him : You are too blame ApoUo-
nius, since all praise my daughter for her excellencie
in musike, and you commend not her, or rather dis-
praise her by holding your peace. Apollonius an-
swered : My soueraine and good lord, might it please
you to pardon me, & I will say what I think : The
lady Lucina your daughter is pretily entred, but she
is not yet come to perfection in musike. For proofe
whereof, if it please your Grace to command the harp
to be deliuered vnto me, she shal well perceiue, that
she shal heare that which she doth not yet know.
The king answered : I see well Apollonius you haue
skill in all things, and is nothing to be wished in a
gentleman, but you haue perfectly learned it, wher-
fore, hold, I pray you take the harpe, and let vs heare
some part of your cunning. When Apollonius had
receiued the harp, he went forth, and put a garland
of flowers vpon his head, and fastned his raiment in
comly maner about him, and entred into the parlour
againe, playing before the king, and the residue with
such cunning and sweetnes, that he seemed rather to
be Apollo then Apollonius, and the kings guests con-
fessed that in al their Hues they neuer heard the like
before. But whe Lucina had heard and seene what
was done, she felt hir selfe sodainely mooued within,
and was sharpelie surprised with the loue of Apollo-
nius, and, turning to her father : Nowe suffer me good
father, saide she, to giue vnto this yoong gentleman
some reward, according as I shall think conuenient.
I giue you leaue to do so faire daughter, saide the
king. Then she, looking towards Apollonius, My
lord Apollonius, said she, receiue heere of my fathers
liberalitie two hundred talents of gold, foure hundred
poundes of siluer, store of raiment, twentie men ser-
uants, and tenne handmaidens. Nowe therefore, said
she vnto the officers that stood by, bring hither all

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 2'Jl

these things which I haue here promised, and lay
them downe in the parlour, in the presence of our
friends. And immediatly they were all brought into
their sight as she had commaunded. When this was
done, the guests arose from the table, and giuing
thankes vnto the king and ladie Lucina, tooke their
leaue and departed. And Apollonius, thinking it like-
wise time for him to be gone. Most gratious king
Altistrates (quoth he) thou which art a comforter of
such as are m miserie ; and thou also renowmed prin-
cesse, a fauourer of philosophie, and louer of all good
studies, I bid you now most heartily farewell, as for
your great deserts toward me, I leaue them to God to
requite you with deserued recompence : and looking
vnto his seruants which the ladie Lucina had given
him. Sirs, take up this geere, quoth hee, which is
giuen me, and bring it away, and let vs go seeke some
lodgings.

When Lucina heard those words she was sodainlie
stroken into a dump, fearing that she shoulde haue
lost her newe louer, before she had euer reaped anie
fruit of his companie, and therefor^ turning to her
father, said : I beseech you good father and gratious
king, forasmuch as it has pleased you this day -to
inrich Apolonius with many great gifts, you would
not suffer him now to depart so late, lest he be by
some naughtie persons spoiled of the things which
you-haue giuen him. The king willingly granted the
ladies request, and commanded forthwith that there
should be a faire lodging prepared for him and his,
where he might lie honourably, and when he sawe
conuenient time he went to bed, and tooke his
rest.

272

THE PATTERNS

The Sixth Chapter.

How ApolloJiius is made Schoolemaster to Lucina^ and
how she p7'eferreth the hue of him, aboue all the
7ioUhtie of Fentqpolis,

When night was come, and euery one was at rest,
Lucinia laie unquietly tumbling in her bed, alwaies
thinking upon Apollonius, and could not sleep.
Wherefore, in the morning she rose very early, &
came in to the king her fathers chamber. Whom
when her father saw, what is y matter, daughter
Lucina, (quoth he) that contrary to custome you be
stirring so earleie this morning ? Deere father quoth
Lucina, I could take no rest al this night, for the
desu'e I haue to learn musicke of Apollonius j and
therefore I pray you good father, to put me unto him
to be instnicted in the Art of Musicke, and other
good qualities, wherein hee is skilfull. When Altis-
trates heard his daughters talke, he smiled within
hiraselfe, when hee perceiued the warmed affection
kindled within her breast, which with so seemely a
pretence she had couered, as the desire to learne,
and determined in part presently to satisfie her re-
quest : and when time serued, he sent a messenger for
Apollonius. And when he was come, he said unto
him: Apollonius my daughter much desireth to be
your sch oiler, and therefore I pray you take her to your
gouernement, and instruct her the best you can, and
I will reward you to your contentation. Apollonius
answered, gracious prince, I am moste willing to obey
your commaundement. So hee tooke the ladie, and
instructed her in the best maner he coulde, euen as
himselfe had learned : wherein she profited so well,
that in short time she matched, or rather surpassed
her maister. Thus increased shee not onely in learn-

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

ing, but grew also daily in more feruent loue of Apol-
lonius, as, whether stading in doubt of her fathers re-
solute good wil if he were moued concerning marriage,
or fearing the time woulde be deferred in respect
whereof she was presently ready, in so much that she
fell sicke and became weaker euerie day than other.
When the king perceiued his daughters infirmitie to
increase, hee sent immediatlie throughout all the
dominions for the learnedst phisitions to search out
her griefe and to cure it, who examining her vrine,
and feeling her pulse, coulde finde out no manifest
cause or substance of her disease. After a few dayes
that this happened, three noble yong men of the
same countrey, which had been suters a long time
vnto Lucina for marriage, came vnto the Court, and
being brought into the kinges presence saluted him
dutifully. To whom the kmg said, Gentlemen, what
is the cause of your comming? They answered, your
Grace had oftentimes promised to bestow your
daughter in marriage, vpon one of vs, and this is the
cause of our comming at this time. Wee are your
subiectes, wealthie, and descended of noble families,
might it therefore please your Grace to choose one
among vs three, to be your sonne in law. Then
answered the king you are come vnto me at an un-
seasonable time, for my daughter now applieth her
studie, and lieth sicke for the desire of learning, and
the time is much vnmeet for marriage. But to the
intent you shall not altogether loose your labour, nor
that I will not seeme to deferre you too long, write
your names euery one seuerally in a pecce of paper,
and what ioynter you will make, and I will send the
writinges to my daughter, that she may choose him
whom she best liketh of. They did forthwith as the
king had counselled them, and deliuered the writings
vnto the king, which hee read, and signed them, and
deliuered them vnto ApoUonius, saying: Take here
VOL. iv.(') " s

274

THE PATTERNE

these billes, and deliuer them to your scholler, which
Apollonius receiued, and tooke them immediatly
vnto the ladie Lucina. Now when she sawe her
schoolemaister whom she loued so entirely, she said
vnto him : Maister, what is the cause that you come
alone into my chamber? Apollonius answered:
Madame, I haue brought writings from the king your
father, which he willeth you to reade. Lucina then
receiued the writinges, and brake them vp, and when
she had reade the names of the three noblemen her
suters, shee threw away the billes, and looking vpon
Apollonius, she said vnto him: My welbeloued
Schoolemaister Apollonius, doth it not greeue you
that I shall be married vnto another? Apollonius
answered, No madame it greeueth not me, for what-
soeuer shall be for your honour, shall be vnto me
profitable. ^ Then said Lucina, Maister, if you loued
me you woulde be sorie, and therewithall she called
for inke and paper, and wrote an answere vnto her
father in forme following. Gracious king and deare
father, forasmuch as of your goodnesse you have
giuen me free choice, and libertie to write my minde :
these are to let you vnderstand, that I would marry
with the Sea-wrecked man, and with none other:
your humble daughter, Lucina. And when she had
sealed it, she deliuered it vnto Apollonius to be
carried vnto the king. When the king had receiued
the letters, he perused them, wherein he perceiued
his daughters minde, not knowing whom she meant
by the sea-wrecked man : and therefore turning him-
selfe towardes the three Noblemen, hee demaunded
of them which of them had suffered shipwracke?
Then one of them named Ardonius, answered, If it
like your Grace, I haue suJffred shipwrack? The
other twaine named Munditius, and Camillus, when
they heard him say so, waxed wroth, and fel into
termes of outrage against him, saying : sicknesse, and

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

the fiends of hell consume thee, for thy foule & im-
pudent lie : doe not we, who are thy equals both of
birth and age, know right well that thou neuer wentest
almost out of this citie gates? And how couldest
thou then suffer shipwracke ? No we when the king
Altistrates could not finde out which of them had
suffered shipwrack, he looked towards ApoUonius,
saying : Take these letters and read them, for it may
be that I doe not knowe him whom thou knowest,
who was present. Apollonius receiuing the letters,
perused them quickly, and perceiuing himselfe to be
loued, blushed wonderfully. Then said the king to
Apollonius, hast thou found the sea-wrecked man?
But Apollonius answered litle or nothing, wherein
his wisedome the rather appeared according to the
saying of the wise man : i7i ina?iy words there wanteth
discretion; where as cotrariwise, many an vndiscreet
person might be accounted wise if hee had but this
one point of wisdom, to hold his tongue. Wherin
indeed consisteth the whole triall or rather insight of
a man, as signified the most wise Philosopher Socrates.

The Seventh Chapter.

How ApoIlo7iius was mar?'ied to the ladle Lucina^ and
hearing of king Antlochus death ^ departeth with
his wife towards his ow7ie countrey of Tyrus,

But to returne again e to my storie from which I haue
digressed : when king Altistrates perceiued that Apol-
lonius was the man whom his daughter Lucina dis-
posed in her heart to preferre in loue before anie of
the other three noble men, hee ^ found meanes to
put them off for that present, saying that he would
talke with them farther concerning that matter

276

THE PATTERNE

another time : who taking their leaue, immediatly
departed, but the king withdrew himself into the
chamber where his daughter lay sicke, and sayd vnto
her : whom haue you chosen to be your husband ?
To whom Lucina humbling her selfe, and with trick-
ling teares, answered : Gratious Prince and deare
father, I haue chosen in niy heart the Sea-wrecked
man, my schoolemaister Apollonius, for whom I most
duetifully desire your fatherly goodwil : when the king
saw her teares, his heart bled inwardly with compas-
sion toward his childe whom hee loued tenderly, and
he kissed her, and saide unto her : My sweete Lucina
be of good cheere, and take not thought for anie
thing, and assure thy selfe thou hast chosen the man
that I liked of assoone as I first sawe him : whom I
loue no lesse then thee : that is to say, than if hee
were my naturall childe. And therefore since the
matter is nowe thus fallen out, I meane forthwith to
appoint a day for your marriage, after that I haue
broken the matter vnto Apollonius. And when he
had said that, Lucina with blushing cheekes thanked
her Father much, and he departed, Nowe would I
demand of louers, whether Lucina reioyced or not ?
or whether there were anie better tidings in the
worlde coulde chance to a man or woman? I am
sure they would answer no. For such is the nature
of this affection, that it preferreth the beloued person
aboue all earthly thinges, yea and heauenly too, vnlesse
it be brideled with reason : as the same likewise
though moderately, and within the boundes of modest
womanhoode, working the woonted effect in the ladie
Lucina, reuiued her so presently, that shee forsooke
her bed, and cast away her mourning apparrell, and
appeared as it had been a newe woman restored from
death to life, and that almost in a moment. The
king being alone in the parlour called for Apollonius,
and when he was come, he said thus unto him : Apol-

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES. 277

lonius, the vertue which I haue seene in thee, I haue
testified by my liberahtie towards thee, and thy trusti-
nesse is prooued by committing mine oneUe childe
and daughter to thine instruction. As these haue
caused mee to preferre thee, so haue they made my
daughter to loue thee, so that I am as well contented
with the one as I am well pleased with the other.
And for thy part, likewise I hope ApoUonius, that as
thou hast been glad to be my client, thou wilt reioyce
as much to be my sonne in law. Tell me thy minde
out of hand, for 1 attend thine ansvvere. Then Apol-
lonius much abashed at the kinges talke, falling downe
vpon his knees, answered : Most gratious soueraigne,
your wordes sound so strangely in mine eares, that I
scarcely know how to giue answer, & your goodnesse
liath been so great towardes me, that I can wish for
no more. But since it is your Graces pleasure that 1
should not be indebted to many, but owe all thing
vnto you, as life, and wife, honour, and goods, and
all : you shall not find me vnthankful, howsoeuer God
or fickle fortune deale with me, to remaine both
loyall and constant to you, and your daughter, whom
aboue all creatures, both for birth and beauty and
good qualities, 1 loue and honour most intirely.
Altistrates reioiced much to heare so wise and con-
formable an answere, and embracing Apollonius,
called him by the name of deare beloued sonne.
The next day morning the king addressed his mes-
sengers & purseuants, to assemble the nobliest of
his subiects and frends out of the confederat cities,
and countries, and to shew them that he had certain e
affaires to communicat vnto them : and when they
were come altogither vnto Pentapolis, after due greet-
ing, and accustomable intertainments shewed as in the
maner of great estates, he said thus vnto them. My
loving friends, and faithfull subiects, my meaning was
to let you vnderstand, that my daughter is desirous to

278

THE PATTERN'S

marrie with her schoolemaster Apollonius, and I am
wel pleased therwith. Wherfore, I beseech you all
to reioyce thereat, and be glad for my daughter
shalbe matched to a wise man. And know you
moreouer, that I appoint this day six weekes for the
solemnization day of the marriage, at what time I desire
you all to be here present, that like friends we may
reioyce, and make merry togither : and when he had
all said, he dismissed the assembly. Now as the time
wore away, so the wedding day dnie neere, and there
was great preparation made aswell for the feast, as
for iewels, and rich clothes to furnish the bridegroome,
and bride withall, as althing els that appertaine[d] to
the beautifying of so great a wedding. And when
the day was come, the king apparrelled in his princely
robes with a diadem of great price vpon his head,
jaccompanied Jiis daughter Lucina and Apollonius
vnto the Church, whom thousands of lordes and
ladies followed after, all cloathed in rich attire, and
marshalled in comely order. The bride woare on a
gowne of cloth of gold cut, & drawen out with cloth
of siluer, and a kirtle of crimsin veluet imbrodered
with pure golde, and thickly beset with orientall
pearles. Her haire hung downe in tresses fairely
broided with a lace of gold, and a Coronet vpon her
head set with pretious stones of inestimable value.
Her necke was bare, whereby her naked skinne
appeared whiter than the driuen snowe, curiously
bedecked with chaines of golde, and euery other
lincke enameled with blacke amell. Great baud-
rickes of perfect goldsmithes worke vppon eche arme
to fasten the sleeues of her garment from sHding
vp at the wreast. Lastly, a massie collar of fine
golde, made esse wise vppon her shoulders, hanging
downe behinde and before, with a Diamond reaching
downe vnto her middle, esteemed in value at three-
score thousand pound, which the king her father had

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 279

sent vnto her for a present, that morning while she
was apparrelUng. The bridegrome wore on a dublet
and hosen of costly cloth of siluer, garded with Gold-
smithes worke of the same colour, and a gowne of
purple Satten, embroidred with golde, and beset with
rich stones. His cap was of fine blacke Veluet, all
ouer bespangled with Rubies, set in gold and fastned
on by loopes : the hand of massie golde, beset with
courses of stones in order, first a Rubie, then a
Turkeis, then a Diamond, and so beginning againe
with a Rubie. This was their raiment, and thus
went they forth togither, hand in hand, after whom,
as is already declared, the lordes and ladies fol-
lowed by three and three in a ranke. When the
solemnities were done at the Church, and the wordes
spoken, and the Princes ioyned in marriage, they re-
turned home and went to dinner. What shall I nowe
speake of the noble cheare and Princely prouision
for this feast? And after dinner of the exquisite
Musicke, fine dauncing, heauenly singing, sweete de-
uising, and pleasant communication among the
estates? I may not discourse at large of the liberall
challenges made and proclaimed at the tilt, barriers,
running at the ring, ioco di can, managing fierce
horses, running a footeand daunsing in armour: And
at night of the gorgeous plaies, shewes, disguised
speeches, masks and mummeries, with continuall har-
mony of all kindes of musicke, and banqueting in
all delicacie : All these things I leaue to the considera-
tion of them which haue seene the like in the Courts,
and at the weddinges of Princes, where they haue
seene more than my simple pen is able to describe,
or may be comprehended within the recital of so short
an historic. When night was come, and reuels were
ended, the bride was brought to bed, and Apollonius
tarried not long from her, where hee accomplished the
duties of marriage, and faire Lucina conceiued childe

THE PATTERNS

the same night. The next daie, every man arose to
feasting and iollitie, for the wedding tnumphes con-
tinued an whole moneth. This while Lucmas bellie
began to grow, and as it fortuned that the lord Apol-
lonius and his ladie on a day walked along the sea
side for their disporte, hee sawe a faire shippe fleet-
ing vnder saile, which hee knew well to be of his
countrey, and he hallowed vnto the maister, whose
name was Calamitus and asked of him of whence
his ship was ? The maister answered of I'yrus.
Thou hast named my coutry said Apollonius : Art
thou then of Tyrus, said the maister ? Yea, answered
Apollonius. Then said the maister, knowest thou
one Apollonius prince of that countrey? If thou
doe, or shalt heare of him hereafter, bid him now be
glad and reioyce, for king Antiochus and his daughter
are strooken dead with lightning from heauen. And
the Citie of Antiochia with all the riches, and the
whole kingdome are reserued for Apollonius.

With these words the ship being vnder saile, de-
parted, &: Apollonius being filled with gladnes, im-
mediatly began to breake with his ladie to giue him
leaue to go and receiue his kingdom. But when faire
Lucina heard him beginne to mooue words of de-
parting, she burst out into teares, saying : My Lorde,
if you were nowe in some farre countrie, and heard
say that I were neere my time to be deliuered, you
ought to make haste home vnto me. But since you
be nowe with me, and know in what case I am me
thinks you should not now desire to depart from me.
Howbeit, if your pleasure be so, and tarriance breede
danger, and kingdomes want not heirs long, as I
would not perswade you to tarry, so doe I request
you to take me with you. This discreete answere
pleased Apollonius well ; wherefore he kissed his lady,
and they agreed it should be so. And when they
were returned from walking, Lucina reioycing, came

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

281

vnto the king her father, saying, deare father, reioice
I beseech you, and be glad with my lord ApoUonius
and me, for the most c[r]uell tyrant Antiochus
and his daughter are by the mst iudgement of God
destroied with lightning from heauen \ and the king-
dome and riches are reserued for us to inherite :
moreouer, I pray you good father, let me haue your
goodwil to trauel thither with my husband. The
king reioyced much at this tidings, and graunted her
reasonable request, and also commaunded all things
to be prouided immediatly that were necessary for the
iourney. The shippes were strongly appointed and
brought vnto the shoare, and fraught with al things
conuenient, as golde, siluer, apparell, bedding, vittells
and armour. Moreouer, whatsoeuer fortune might
befal, the king prepared to sail with them Ligozides
the nurse, and a midwife, and all things meet for the
childe whensoeuer Lucina shoulde neede them : and
with great honour hmiselfe accompanieth them vnto
the sea side, when the time appointed for their de-
parture was come \ where with many teares, and
great fatherly affection hee kissed his daughter, and
embraced his sonne in law, and recommended them
vnto God, in whome hee did wish unto them a most
prosperous iourney, and so returned vnto his pallace.

The Eighth Chapter.

IIo7V fairc Lucina died in traucU of cJiild vpon the sea;
and being throiven into the wate?', 7vas cast on
land at Ephesus^ aiid taken home by Cerimon a
Phisiiion,

The marriners immediatly merrily hoissed saile and
departed ; & when they had sailed two dayes, the

282

THE PATTERNS

master of the sliippe warned ApoUonius of a tempest
approching, which nowe came on, and increased so
fast, that all the companie was amazed, and Lucina,
what with sea-sicknes & feare of dager, fel in labor
of child, wherewith she was weakened, that there was
no hope of recouerie, but she must now die : yet
being first deliuered of a faire daughter, insomuch
that now all tokens of life were gone, and she ap-
peared none other but to be dead. When Apollonins
beheld this heauie spectacle, no heart was able to
conceiue his bitter grief, for like a mad man distracted
he tore his cloths, and rent his haire, and la3ang him-
self upon the carkas, he vttered these wordes with
great affection : 0 my deare lady and wife, the
daughter of king Altistrates, what shall I now answer
to thy father for thee : would God thou haddest re-
mained with him at home ; & if it had pleased God
to haue wrought this his pleasure in thee, it had rather
chanced with thy loving father in his quiet land, than
with me thy woful husband vpon the wild seas. The
whole company also made great lamentation for her,
bewailing the death of so noble and beautifuU a ladie,
and so curteous a gentlewoman. Howbeit in the
hotest of the sorrowe the gouernour of the ship came
vnto ApoUonius, saying, My lord, plucke vp your
heart, and be of goode cheere, and consider I pray
you that the ship may not abide to carie the dead
carkas, and therefore command it to be cast into
the sea, that we may the better escape. Then answered
ApoUonius : What saiest thou varlet ! wouldest thou
haue me cast this bodie into the sea, which receiued
me into house and fauour, when I was in miserie, and
drenched in the water, wherein I lost ship, goods &
all ? But taking further consultation, and aduising
himselfe what were best to do, he called certaine of
his men vnto him, & thus he deuised with them.
My trusty seruants, whome this common mischance

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 283

grieueth as wel as me, since sorrowing wil not help
that which is chanced, assist me, good sirs, to prouide
for the present necessity. Let vs make forthwith a
large chest, and bore the lid full of small holes, and
we will seare it all ouer within with pitch and rosen
molten together, whereinto we will put cunningly a
sheete of lead, and in the same we will inclose the
tender corps of the wife of me, of all other a most
vnfortunate husband. This was no sooner said, but
it was almost likewise done with sembable celeritie.
Then tooke they the body of the fair lady Lucina,
and arraied her in princely apparel, and layd her into
the chest, and Apollonius placed a great summe of
golde at her head, and a great treasure of siluer at
her feet, & he kissed her, letting fall a flood of salt
teares on hir face, and he wrote a bill, and put in it
also, the tenor whereof was in forme as foloweth :
Whoseuer shal find this chest, I pray him to take
ten pieces of gold for his paines, and to bestowe
tenne pieces more vpon the buriall of the corpes;
for it hath left many teares to the parents and
friends, with doleful! heaps of sorow and heauines.
But whosoeuer shall doe otherwise than the present
griefe requireth, let him die a shamefuU death, and
let there be none to bury his body. And then
closing all vp verie safe, commaunded the chest to be
lifted ouerboorde into the sea : and willed the child
to be nursed with all diligence, that if euer fortune
should so fall, he might present vnto good king
Altistrates a neece in steede of a daughter.

Now fleeted away the ship fast with the wind, and
the coffin tumbled backeward with the tide, and Apol-
lonius could not keep his eie from the bodie whereon
his heart rested, vntil kenmng failed, and the sea rose
vp with a banke between. There were two days
passed, and the night was now at hand, when the
next day morning the waues rolled foorth this chest to

284

THE PATTERNE

the land, and cast it ashore on the coast of Ephesus.
Not farre from that place there dwelt a physition
whose name was Cerimon, who by chaunce walking
abroad vpon the shore that day with his schollers,
found the chest which the sea had cast up, & willed
his seruants to take it vp, & diligently to cary it to
the next towne, where hee dwelt, and they did so.
When Cerimon came home he opened the chest,
marueling what shuld be therein, and found a lady
arrayed in princely apparell and ornaments, very faire
and beautifull to beholde. Whose excellencie in that
respect as many as beheld, were strangely affectioned
thereat, perceiuing such an incomparable gleame of
beautie to be resident in her face, wherein nature had
not committed the least errour that might be deuised,
sauing that shee made her not immortall. The haire
of her head was naturally as while as snowe, vnder
which appeared her goodly forehead, faire and large,
wherein was neither blemish nor wrinkle. Her eies
were like two starres turning about in their naturall
course, not wantonly roving here and there, but
modestly moouing as gouerned by reason, repre-
senting the stabilitie of a setled mind. Her eie brows
decently commending the residue of her countenance.
Her nose straight, as in were drawen with a line,
comely diuiding her cherry cheeks asunder, not reach-
ing foorth too long, nor cut off too short, but of a
commendable proportion. Hir necke was like the
white alabaster shining like the bright sunne beames,
woonderfully delighting the mindes of the beholders.
Her bodie of comely stature, neither too high nor too
lowe, not scregged with leanenesse, nor vndecently
corpulent, but in such equality consisting that no man
woulde wish it otherwise. From her shoulders sprang
foorth her annes, representing two branches growing
out of a tree, beautified with a white hand, and fingers
long and slender, surpassing to behold. To be short,

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 285

such was the excellencie of her beutie in each respect,
that it could suffer no deformitie to accompany it,
whereby also may be discerned a singular perfection
of her minde, created by God and infused into her
bodie, whereby it was raooued, and those good quali-
ties of hers expressed in operation : so that all out-
ward beautie of the bodie proceedeth from the inward
beuty of the minde, from whence sprang up the olde
and true saying of the wisest Philosophers, that the
sundry nature of the forme or soule, diuersely dis-
poseth the matter according vnto it[s] owne quaHtie :
as it expresly appeared in the beutiful countenaunce
and stature of this Ladies bodie, whereof Cerimon
stoode amazedly taking the view.

The Ninth Chapter.

How Lucina was restored to life by o?ie of Cerimon the
Phisitio7is scliollers ; a7id howe Cerimon adopted
her to his daughter^ ajid placed her t7i the temple of
Diaiia,

The surpassing beauty of faire Lucina, being such as
is before recited, no woonder it was though Cerimon
were maruellously rauished at y^ sight, whereby his
affection inforced him to breake out into these words :
Alas good beautiful gentlewoman, what vnhappy and
cruell chance hath thus made thee away, and caused
thee to be so wofully forsaken? And as he spake
those wordes, hee peiceiued the golde that lay at her
head, and the siluer that lay at her feet, with a scroll
of paper written, the which hee tooke vp and read,
the tenor whereof was this : Whosoeuer shal finde
this chest, I pray him for to take ten pieces of golde for
his paines, and to bestowe ten peeces more on the

286

THE PATTERNE

buriall of the corps j for it hath left many teares to the
parents and friends, with dolefull heapes of sorrowe
and heauinesse. But whosoeuer shall doe otherwise
than the present griefe requireth, let him die a shame-
full death, and let there be none to burie his bodie.
And as soone as he had read ouer the writing, he said
vnto his servants : now let vs perfourme unto the
bodie that which the sorrowe requireth ; and I sweare
to you, by the hope which I haue to line, that I will
bestow more money vpon the accomplishing of the
same, than the sorrowful scedul requireth. Wherfore,
according to the maner of the buriall which was at
that time to burn the bodies of the dead, and to burie
the ashes, gathered vp and put into pottes, he com-
maunded a pile of wood to be erected, and vpon the
top thereof he caused the body to be layed.

Nowe Cerimon had a scholler in Physicke, whose
name was Machaon very towardly in his profession,
of yeres but yong, but antient in wit and experience,
who comming in whiJe these things were doing, and
beholding so beautifull a corps layd vpon the pile,
hee stoode still and wondered at it. Which thing
Cerimon perceiuing. Thou art come in good time said
he to Machaon, and I looked for thee about this time.
Take this flagon of precious ointment, and powre it
vppon the corps, being the last ceremonie of the
sepulture. Then came Machaon vnto the corps, and
pulled the clothes from the ladies bosome, and poured
foorth the ointment, and bestowing it abroad with his
had, perceiued some warmth in her breast, and that
there was hfe in the body. Machaon stoode aston-
ished, and hee felt her pulses, and layde his cheeke
to her mouth, and examined all other tokens that he
conlde deuise, and he perceiued how death striued
with life within her, and that the conflict was daunger-
ous and doubtfull, who should preuaile. Then saide
he vnto the seruants : set fire vnto the wood at the

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

287

foure corners of the pile, and cause it to burne moder-
atly, and bring me hither a bed that I may take the
body out of the chest, and lay it thereon.

This being done, he chafed the body against the
fire, vntill the blood, which was congealed with colde,
was wholly resolued. Then went Machaon vnto his
master Cerimon and saide : The woman whome thou
thinkest to be dead, is aliue, and that you may the
better beleeue my saying, I will plain ely prooue it to
be so. And when he had so saide, he tooke the body
reuerently in his armes, and bare it into his owne
chamber, and layed it vpon his bed groueling vpon
the breast. Then tooke he certaine hote and com-
fortable oyles, and warming them vpon the coales, he
dipped faire wooll therein, and fomented all the bodie
ouer therewith, vntil such time as the congealed blood
and humours were throughly resolued, and the spirits
eftsoones recouered their wonted course, the veines
waxed warme, the arteries beganne to beate, and the
lungs drew in the fresh ayre againe, and she opened
her eies and looked about, and being perfectly come
to herselfe, what art thou, said shee vnto Machaon ?
see thou touch me not otherwise than thou oughtest
to do, for I am a Kings daughter, and the wife of a
King. When Machaon heard her speak these words,
he was exceeding glad, and he ran vnto his master
and saide : Sir, the woman liueth, and speaketh per-
fectly. Then answered Cerimon : My welbeloued
'^chollar Machaon, I am glad of this fortunate chaunce,
and I much commende thy wisedome, and praise thy
learning, and cannot but extoll thy diligence. Where-
fore be not vnthankfuU to thy knowledge, but receiue
here the reward which is due vnto thee, namely, that
which by the writing was appointed to be bestowed
vpon her buriall for thou hast restored her vnto life,
and shee hath brought with her great summes of
mony. When he had so saide, they came vnto her

288

THE PATTERJNE

and saluted her, and caused her to be apparelled with
wholsome and comfortable clothes, & to be refreshed
with good meats. A few dales after, when she had
fully recouered stregth, and Cerimon by communi-
cation knew that she came of the stocke of a king,
he sent for many of his friends to come vnto him,
and he adopted her for his owne daughter : and she
with many tears requiring that she might not be
touched by any man, for that intent her placed in the
Temple of Diana, which was there at Ephesus, to be
preserued there inuiolably among the religious women.

The Tenth Chapter.

Ho7V Apollonius arriuing at Tharsus, deliiiereth his
yong daughier Tharsia vnio Strmguilio and Dio-
nisiades to be brought vp ; a7id how the 7iurce lying
in her death-bed declareth v?ito Tharsia who were
her paretits.

Let vs leaue now a while the lady Lucina among
the holy nunnes in the Temple of Diana at Ephesus,
and let vs looke backe vnto sorrowful Apollonius,
whose ship with fortunate winde, and the good pro-
uidence of God directing the same, arriued at the
shoare of Tharsus, where hee immediatly came forth
of the ship, and entred into the house of Stranguilio
and Dionisiades, whom he saluted, and told the the
heauy chances that had befallen him, both of the great
stormes and tempests on the sea, which hee had en-
dured, as also of the death of the good lady Lucina
his wife ; howbeit said he, God be thanked, my
daughter remaineth aliue, for the which I am very
glad : wherfore, deare friends Stranguilio and Dion-
isiades, according to the trust which I haue in you, I

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

289

mean in some things to vse your friendship, while I
go about to recouer the kingdome which is reserued
for me. For I will not returne backe againe vnto
king Altistrates my father-in-law, whose daughter, alas
I haue lost in the sea ; but meaning rather to exercise
the trade of merchandize, I commit my daughter vnto
you, to bee nourished and brought vp with your
yoong daughter Philomacia, and I will that my
daughter be called Tharsia. Moreouer I wil leaue my
deare wife Lucinas nurce here also, called Ligozides,
to tend the child, that she may be lesse troublesome
vnto you. And when hee had made an end of talking,
he dehuered the infant and the nurce vnto Stran-
guilio, and therewithal great store of gold, siluer, and
raiment; and hee sware a solemne othe, that he
would not poule his head, clip his beard, nor pare
his nailes, vntill hee had married his daughter at ripe
yeares. They wondred much at so strange an othe,
promising faithfully to bring up his daughter with all
diligence. When these things were ended according
to his mind, Apollonius tooke his leaue, departed
vnto his ship, and sailed into far countries, and vnto
the uppermost parts of Egypt. Therewhile the yoong
maiden, Tharsia sprang vp in yeeres, and when she
was about fiue yeares olde, being free borne she was
' set to schoole with other free children, alwaies jointly
accompanied with Philomacia, being of the same age
that she was of. The time passed forth a pace, &
Tharsia grew vp so wel in learning as in yeers vntil
comming to the age of fourteene yeeres, one day when
she returned from schoole, she found Ligozides her
nurce sodainly falne sicke, and sitting beside her
vpon the bed, demanded of her the cause, and maner
of her sickenesse. Then said the nurce vnto her,
hearken vnto my wordes deare daughter Tharsia, and
lay them vp in thine heart. Whom thinkest thou to
be thy father, and thy mother, and in what countrey

VOL. IV. ('^ T

I

290 THE PATTERN E

supposest thou wast thou borne? Tharsia answered,
why, nurce, why aske you me this question ? Stran-
guilio is my father, Dionisiades my mother, and I
was borne in Tharsus. Then sighed the nurce, and
saide : No, sweete Tharsia, no, thou art deceiued.
But hearken vnto me, and I will declare vnto thee
the beginning of thy birth, to the intent thou mayst
know how to guide thy selfe after my death. . Apol-
lonius y* prince of Tyrus is thy father, and Lucina
king Altistrates daughter was thy mother, who being
in trauell with thee, died after thou wast borne, and
thy father, Appollonius, inclosed her bodie in a chest
with princely ornaments, laying twenty talents of gold
at her head, and as much at her feete in siluer, with a
scedule written, that whether soeuer it were driuen,
it might suffice to burie her, according to her estate.
Thus wast thou born vpon the Sea ; and thy fathers
ship with much wrestling of contrarie windes, and
with his vnspeakeable griefe of minde arriued at this
shoare, and brought thee in thy swading clothes vnto
this citie, where hee with great care deliuered thee
vnto this thine hoste Stranguilio and Dionisiades his
wife to be fostered vp diligently, and left me heere
also to attend vpon thee. Moreouer he sware an othe,
that he would not poule his head, clip his beard, nor
pare his nayles, vntill he had married thee vnto some
man at ripe yeares. Wherefore now I admonish e
thee, that if after my death thine hoste or thine
hostesse, whom thou callest thy parents, shall haply
offer thee any iniurie, then runne thou into the market
place, where thou shalt find the stature of thy father
standing ; and take hold of it, and cry aloud saying :
O Citizens of Tharsus, I am his daughter, whose
image this is : and the citizens being mindfull of thy
fathers benefites, will doubtlesse reuenge thine iniurie.
Then answered Tharsia: Deare nurce Ligozides, I
take God to witnesse, if you had not told me thus

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 29 1

much, I should utterly have been ignorant from
whence I had come. And therefore now, good
nurce, I thank thee with all my heart, and if euer
need so require, thy counsel shal be followed : and
while they were debating these matters betweene
them, Ligozides being verie sicke and weake, gaue
up the ghost, and by the death of this present iDodie,
passe(J into the state of live euerlasting.

The Eleventh Chapter.

How after the death of Ligozides the nuj'ce Dio7iisiades
enuying at the beautie of Tharsia, conspired her
death, which should haue been acc072ij>lished by a
villaiiie of the coimtrey.

Tharsia much lamented the death of Ligozides her
nurce, and caused her bodie to be solemnly buried
not farre of, in a field without the walles of the citie,
and mourned for her an whole yeere following. But
when the yeare was expired, she put off her mourning
attire, and put on her other apparel, and frequented
the schooles, and the studie of liberall Sciences as
before. And whensoeuer she returned from schoole,
she would receiue no meate before she had visited
her nurces sepulchre, which she did daily, entring
thereinto, and carrying a flagon of wine with her,
where she used to abide a space, and to call vppon
her father and mother. Now on a day it fortuned,
that as she passed through the street with Dionisiades,
and her companion Philomacia, the people beholding
the beautie and comlinesse of Tharsia, said : Happy
is that father that hath Tharsia to his daughter, but
her companion that goeth with her, is foule and euill
fauoured. When Dionisiades heard Tharsia com-
mended, and her owne daughter Philomacia so dis-

292

THE PATTERNE

praised, shee returned home wonderfull wroth, and
withdrawing her self into a solitary place, began thus
secretly to discourse of y^ matter. It is now fourteen
yeares since Apollonius this foolish girles father
departed from hence, and he neuer sendeth letters
for her, nor any remembrance vnto her, whereby
I coniecture that he is dead. Ligozides her nurce
is departed, and there is no bodie now of whom
I should stande in feare, and therefore I will
now slay her, and dress vp mine owne daughter
in her apparell and iewels. When shee had thus
resolved her selfe uppon this wicked purpose,
in the mean while ihere came home one of
their countrey villaines called Theophilus, whom shee
called, and said thus vnto him: Theophilus, my
trustie friend, if euer thou looke for libertie, or that I
shoulde doe thee pleasure, doe so much for me as to
slay Tharsia. Then said Theophilus : Alas mistresse,
wherein hath that innocent maiden offended, that
she should be slaine? Dionisiades answered, Shee
innocent ! nay she is a wicked wretch, and therefore
thou shalt not denie to fulfill my request, but doe as
I commaund thee, or els I sweare by God thou shalt
dearely repent it. But how shall I best doe it, Mis-
tres, said the villaine ? Shee answered : shee hath
a custome, as soone as shee returneth home from
Schoole, not to eate meat before that she haue gone
into her Nurces sepulchre, where I would haue thee
stand readie, with a dagger drawn in thine hand;
and when she is come in, gripe her by the haire of
the head, and so slay her : then take her bodie and
cast it into the Sea, and when thou hast so done, I
will make thee free, and besides reward thee liberally.
Then tooke the villaine a dagger, and girded himselfe
therewith, and with an heauy heart and weeping eies
went forth towards the graue, saying within himselfe,
Alas poore wretch that I am, alas poore Theophilus
that canst not deserue thy libertie but by shedding of

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES, 293

innocent bloud : and with that hee went into the
graue and drue his dagger, and made him readie for
the deede. Tharsia was now come from schoole, and
made haste vnto the grave with a flagon of wine as
shee was wont to doe, and entred within the vault.
Then the villaine rushed violently vpon her, and
caught her by the haire of the head, and threw her to
the ground. And while he was now readie to stab
her with the dagger, poore silly Tharsia all amazed
casting her eies vpon him, knew the villain, and hold-
ing vp her handes, said thus vnto him : O, Theophi-
lus against whom haue I so greeuously offended, that
I must die therefore ? The villaine answered, Thou
hast not offended, but thy father hath, which left thee
behind him in Stranguilios house with so great a trea-
sure in mony, and princely ornaments. O, said the
mayden, would to God he had not done so : but I
XJray thee Theophilus, since there is no hope for me
to escape with life, giue mee licence to say my praiers
before I die. I gme thee licence said the villaine,
and I take God to record that I am constrained to
murther thee against my will.

The Twelfth Chapter.

How certai?ie Fyrats rescued Tharsia when she should
haue bee?i slaine, and ca?'ricd her vnio the citie
Machilenta io be sold among other hondslanes.

As fortune, or rather the prouidence of God serued,
while Tharsia was deuoutly making her praiers, cer-
taine pyrats which were come aland, and stood vnder
the side of an hill watching for some prey, beholding
an armed man offering violence vnto a mayden, cried
vnto him, and said : Thou cruel tyrant 1 that maiden

294

THE PATTERNE

is our prey and not thy victorie ; and therfore hold
thine hands from her, as thou louest thy life. When
the villain heard that, he ran away as fast as he could,
and hid himselfe behind the sepulchre. Then came
the pyrats and rescued Tharsia, and caried her away
to their ships, and hoysed saile, and departed. And
the villaine returned home to his mistres, and saide
vnto her : that which you commaunded me to doe is
dispatched, and therefore now I thinke it good that
you put on a mourning garment, and I also, and let
vs counterfeit great sorrowe and heauinesse in the
sight of all the people, and say that shee died of some
greeuous disease. But Stranguilio himselfe consented
not to this treason, but so soone as hee heard of the
foule mischaunce, beeing as it were a mopte, and
mated with heauinesse and griefe, he clad himselfe in
mourning aray, and lamented that wofull case, saying :
Alas in what a mischiefe am I wrapped ? what might
I 'doe, or say herein ? The father of this may den
deliuered this citie from the peril of death ; for this
cities sake he suffered shipwracke, lost his goodes
and endured penury, and now he is requited with
euil for good. His daughter which he committed
vnto me to be brought vp, is now deuoured by a most
cruell Lionesse : thus I am depriued as it were of
mine owne eies, & forced to bewaile the death of an
innocent, and am vtterly spoiled through the fierce
■biting of a moste venemous serpent.^ Then casting his
eies vp towards heauen, O God said hee, thou know-
est that I am innocent from the bloud of silly Tharsia,
which thou hast to require at Dionisiades handes :
and therewithall he looked towards his wife, saying ;
Thou wicked woman, tell me, how hast thou made

1 [" The serpent that did sting thy father's life,

Now wears his crown "

— Hamlet, i. 5.]

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

away prince ApoUonius daughter? thou that liuest
both to the slaunder of God, and man ? Dionisiades
answered in manie wordes euermore excusing her-
selfe, and, moderating the wrath of Stranguiho, shee
counterfeited a fained sorrowe by attiring her selfe
and her daughter in mourning apparell, and in dis-
sembHng teares before the people of the citie, to
whom shee saide : Dearly beloued friendes and Citi-
zens of Tharsus, for this cause we doe w^eepe and
mourne in your sight, because the ioy of our eyes
and staffe of our olde age, the Mayden Tharsia is
dead, leauing vnto vs bitter teares, and sorrowful!
heartes. Yet haue we alreadie taken order for her
funerals, and buried her according to her degree.
These wordes were right greeuous vnto the people,
and there was almost none that let not fall some
teares for sorrowe. And they went with one accord
vnto the market place, whereas her fathers image
stood, made of brasse, and erected also another vnto
her there with this inscription : V7ito the virgin Thar-
sia i?i Hew of her fathers bencfites^ the Citizens of Thar-
sus haue erected this 77ionu?nent.

The Thirteenth Chapter.

How the Pirats which stole away Thai'sia brought her
to the citie Machilenta^ and sold her to a common
bawdy a?id how she ^reserued her virgi^iitie.

The meane time while these troubles were at Thar-
sus, the Pirats being in their course vpon the Sea, by
benefite of happie winde arriued at Machilenta, and
came into the citie. Nowe had they taken manie mo
men and women besides Tharsia, whom all they
brought a shoare, and set them to sell as slaues for

296

THE P ATT ERNE

money. Then came there sundrie to buy such as
they lacked for their purposes, amongst whom amoste
vile man-bawd, beholding the beautie and tender
yeeres of Tharsia, offered money largely for her. How-
beit Athanagoras, who was Prince of the same Citie,
beholding likewise the noble countenance, and regard-
ing the great discretion of the mayden in communi-
cation, out-bid the bawd, and offered for her ten
sestercies of gold. But y** bawd, being loth to loose
so commodious a prey, offered twenty. And I wil giue
thirty said Athanagoras. Nay I wil giue forty said
the bawd : and I fiftie quoth Athanagoras, and so
they continued in outbidding one an other vntill the
bawd offered an hundred sestercies of gold to be
payed ready downe, and whosoeuer wil giue more,
saide he, T will yet giue ten sestercies more than he.
Then prince Athanagoras thus bethought him secretly
in his minde : if I should contend with the bawd to
buy her at So hie a price, I must needes sell other
slaues to pay for her, which were both losse and
shame vnto me. Wherefore I will suffer him to -buy
her ; and when he setteth her to hire, I will be the
first man that shall come vnto her, and I will gather
the floure of her virginitie, which shall stand mee in
as great steade as if I had bought her. Then the
bawd payed the money, and tooke the maiden and
departed home \ and when he came into his house,
hee brought her into a certaine chappel where stoode
the idoll of Pfiapus made of gold, and garnished with
pearls and pretious stones. This idoll was made
after the shape of a man, with a mighty member vn-
proportionable to the body, alwayes erected, whome
bawds and leachers doe adore, making him their god,
and worshipping him. Before this filthy idoll he
commaunded Tharsia to fall downe. Biit she an-
swered, God forbid master, that I should worship
such an idoll. But (sir) said she, are you a Lapsa-

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 297

tenian ? Why askest thou said the bawd ? I aske,
quoth she, because the Lapsatenians doe worship
Priapus : this spake she of simplicitie, not knowing
what she was. Ah wretch answered he, knowest
thou not that thou arte come into the house of a
couetous bawd? When Tharsia heard that, she
fell downe at his feet and wept, saying: 0 master,
take compassion vpon my virginity, and do not hire
out my body for so vile a gaine. The bawd an-
swered, knowest thou not, that neither bawd nor
hangman do regard teares or prayers ? Then called
he vnto him a certaine villaine which was gouemour
ouer his maids, and said vnto him : Let this maiden
be; decked in virgins apparell, pretious and costly, and
write vpon her : whoseeuer defloureth Tharsia shal
pay ten peeces of golde, and afterward she shall be
common vnto the people for one peece at a time.
The villaine fulfilled his masters commaundement,
and the third day after that she was bought, shee was
with great solemnitie conducted through the streete
with musicke, the bawd himselfe with a great multi-
tude going before, and so conueyed vnto the brothell
house. When shee was come thither, Athanagoras
the Prince disguising his head and face because hee
woulde not be knowen, came first in vnto her ; whome
when Tharsia sawe, she threw her selfe downe at his
feete, and saide vnto him : For the loue of God,
Gentleman, take pitty on me, and by the name of
God I adiure and charge you, that you do no violence
vnto me, but bridle your lust, and hearken vnto my
unhappy estate, and consider diligently from whence
I am sprung. My father was poore Apollonius prince
of Tyrus, whome force constrained to forsake his
owne countrey. My mother was daughter to Altis-
trates king of Pentapolis, who died in the birth of
me, poore wretch, vpon the sea. My father also is
dead as was supposed, which caused Dionisiades wife

298

THE PATTERN E

of Strangiiilio of Tharsus, to whom my father com-
mitted me of special trust to be brought vp being
but an infant, enuying mine estate, and thirsting after
my wealth, to seeke my death by the handes of a
villaine ; which had beene accomplished, and I would
to God it had before I had seen this day, but that I
was suddenly taken away by the pyrates which solde
me vnto this filthie bawd. With these or such like
wordes declared shee her heauie fortune, eftsoones
sobbing and bursting out into streames of tears, that
for extreme griefe she could scarsly speake. When she
had in this manner vttered her sorow, the good prince
being astonied and mooued with compassion, said vnto
her : Be of good cheere Tharsia, for surely I rue thy
case j and I my selfe haue also a daughter at home,
to whome I doubt that the like chances may befall.

And when he had so said, he gaue her twenty
peeces of gold, saying : Holde heere a greater price
or reward for thy virginitie than thy master appointed :
and say as much vnto others that come vnto thee as
thou hast done to me, and thou shalt withstand them.
Then Tharsia fell on her knees, and weeping saide
unto him: Sir, I giue you most hartie thankes for
your great compassion and curtesie, and most hartily
I beseech you vpon my knees, not to descry vnto
any that which I haue said vnto you. No surely,
answered Athanagoras, vnlesse I tell it vnto my
daughter, that she may take heede when she commetli
vnto the like yeares, that she fall not into the like
mishappe : and when he had so saide, he let fall a
few teares, and departed. Now as he was going he
met with an other pilgrime that with like deuotion
came for to seeke the same saint, who demaunded of
him howe hee liked of the maidens company. Truly,
answered Athanagoras neuer of any better. Then the
yong man whose name was Aportatus entred into the
chamber ; and the maiden, after the manner, shut the

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 299

doore to, and Athaiiagoras listned at the window e.
Then saide Aportatus vnto Tharsia, How much did
the prince giue vnto thee? She answered fortie
peeces of golde. Then said he, receiue here of me
an whole pound weight of golde. The Prince which
heard this talke thought then in his minde, the more
that you do giue her, the more she will weepe, as
thinking that you would looke for recompence, the
which shee meaneth not to perfourme.

The maiden receiued the money, and fell down on
her knees at his feete, and declared vnto him all her
estate with teares, as is before shewed. When Apor-
tatus heard that, he was mooued with compassion,
and he tooke her vp from the ground, saying : Arise
Ladie Tharsia : we are al men, and subiect to the
like chances, & therewithall he departed. And when
he came foorth he found prince Athanagoras before
the doore laughing at him, to whom he said : Is it
wel done, my liege, thus to delude a poore gentle-
man? Was there none to whom you might beginne
in teares but vnto me only? Then communed they
further of the matter, and sware an othe betweene
themselues, that they would not bewray those words
vnto any \ & they withdrew themselues aside into a
secret place, to see the going in and comming foorth
of other, and they sawe many which went in and gaue
their mony, and came foorth again e weeping. Thus
Tharsia through the grace of God, and faire perswa-
tion, preserued her body vndefiled.

The Fourteenth Chapter.

How Tharsia imthstoode a second assault of her vir-
ginities and by what means she was preserued.

When night was come the master bawd vsed always
to receiue the money which his women had gotten by

300

THE PATTERNS

the vse of their bodies the day before. And when it
was demaunded of Tharsia, she brought him the
mony, as the price and hire of her virginitie. Then
said the bawd vnto hir : It is wel doone Tharsia : vse
diligence hencefoorth, and see that you bring mee
thus much mony euery day. When, the next day
was past also, and the bawd vnderstoode that she
remamed a virgin stil, he was offended, and called
vnto him the viilaine that had charge ouer the maides,
and said vnto him : Sirra, how chanceth it that Tharsia
remaineth a virgin still? Take her vnto thee, and
spoile her of her maidenhead, or be sure thou shalt
be whipped. Then said the viilaine vnto Tharsia, tel
me, art thou yet a virgin ? She answered, I am, and
shalbe as long as God will suffer me. How then,
said he, hast thou gotten all this mony? She
answered, wath teares falling downe vpon her knees,
I haue declared mine estate, humbly requesting all
men to take compassion on my virginitie. And nowe
likewise, falling then downe at his feete also, take
pitty on me, good friend, which am a poore captiue,
and the daughter of a king, and doe not defile me.
The viilaine answered : Our master the bawd is very
couetous and greedie of money, and therefore I see
no meanes for thee to continue a virgin. Whereunto
Tharsia replied : I am skilful in the liberal sciences,
and well exercised in all studies, and no man singeth
or playeth on instruments better than I, wherefore
bring mee into the market place of the citie that men
may heare my cunning. Or let the people propound
any maner of questions, and I will resolue them : and
I doubt not but by this practise I shall get store of
money daily. When the viilaine heard this deuise,
and bewailed the maidens mishappe, he willingly gaue
consent thereto, and brake with the bawd his master
touching that matter, who hearing of hej skill, and
hoping for the gaine, was easily perswaded.

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES, 3OI

Now when she was brought into the market place,
all the people came thronging to see and heare so
learned a virgin, before whom shee vtteredjier cunning
in musicke, and her eloquence in speaking, and
answered manifestly vnto' all such questions as were
propounded vnto her with such perspicuitie, that all
confessed themselues fully satisfied, and she wonne
great fame thereb)^ and gained great summes of
money. But as for Prince Athanagoras, he had ever-
more a speciall regard in the preseruation of her
virginitie, none otherwise than if she had been his
owne daughter, and rewarded the villaine very liberally
for his diligent care over her.

The Fifteenth Chapter.

How Apollonhis camming to Tharsiis^ and not finding
his daughter^ lamented her supposed death; and
takifig shippe againe, was dfiuen by a te7npest
to Machilenta where Tharsia was.

Returne we now again e vnto Prince Apollonius, who
whiles these things were doing at Machilenta when
the foureteenth yeere was expired, arriued at Tharsus,
and came into the citie vnto the house of Stranguilio
and Dionisiades, with whome he had left his yong
daughter Tharsia. Whome when Stranguilio beheld
and knew, he ranne hastily vnto his wife Dionisiades
and saide: Thou reportedst that Prince Apollonius was
dead, and loe now where he is come to require Ws
daughter. What shall wee now doe, or say vnto
him ? Then cried she out alas wretched husband and
wife that we are ! let vs quickely put on our mourning
attire, and shead foorth teares, and he wil beleeue us
that his daughter died a naturall death. And when

302

THE PATTERNE

they had apparelled themselues, they came foorth
vnto ApoUonius, who seeing them in mourning attire,
said vnto them : My trusty friends, Stranguilio and
Dionisiades, why weep ye thus at my comming? &
tell me, I pray you (which I rather beleeue) whether
these teares be not rather mine than yours. Not so
(my lord ApoUonius) answered the wicked woman.
And I woulde to God some other body, and not mine
husband or I, were inforced to tel you these heauie
tidings, that your deare daughter Tharsia is dead.
When ApoUonius heard that word, hee was suddenly
cut to the heart, and his flesh trembled, and he coulde
scarce s'tand on his legges, and long time hee stoode
amazed with his eies intentiuely fixed on the ground,
but at length recouering himselfe and taking fresh
breath, he cast vp his eyes vpon her, and saide : O
woman, if my daughter be dead, as thou sayest she is,
is the money also and apparell perished with her?
She answered, some is, and some yet remaineth.
And as for your daughter, my Lorde, we were alwaies
in good hope, that when you came, you should haue
found her aliue and merry. But to the intent that
you may the better beleeue vs concerning her death,
we haue a sufficient witnes. For our citizens being
mindfull of your benefites bestowed vpon them, haue
erected vnto her a monument of brasse by yours,
which you may go see if you please. And when she
had so saide, she brought foorth such money, iewels
and apparell which it pleased her to say were re-
maining of Tharsias store. And ApoUonius belieeu-
ing indeede that she was dead, said vnto his servants :
take vp this stufFe and beare it away vnto the ships,
and I will goe walke vnto my daughters monument :
and when he came there, hee read the superscription
in manner as is aboue written, and he fell suddenly,
as it were into an outragious affection and cursed his
owne eies, saying : O most cruell eies, why can you

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES.

not yeelde foorth sufficient teares, and woorthily be-
waile the death of my deare daughter ? and with that
word, with griefe and extreme sorrowe he fell into a
sowne, from which so soone as euer he was once re-
uiued, immediatelie hee went vnto the shippes vnto
his seruauntes, vnto whome hee saide, cast mee, I
beseech you, vnto the very bottom e of the sea, for I
haue no ioy of my life, and my desire is to yeelde vp
my Ghost in the water. But his seruants vsed great
perswasions with him to assuage his sorrowe, wherein
presently they some deale preauiled, as they might in
so wofuU a case; and partly the time, which is a
curer of all cares, continually mittigated some part of
the griefe, and hee espying the winde to serue well
for their departure, hoised vp saile, and bid the land
adue. They had not thus sailed long in their course, '
but the winde came about to a contrary quarter, and
blew so stifly that it troubled both sea and shippes.
The raine fell fiercely ouer head, the sea wrought
wonderously vnder the ships, and to be short, the
tempest was terrible for the time. It was then thought
best in that extremitie to strike saile, and let the
helme go, and to suffer the shippe to driue with the
tide, whither it shoulde please God to direct it. But
as ioy euermore followeth heauinesse, so was this
sharpe storme occasion of a sweet meeting of the
father with the daughter, as in processe heereafter it
shall appeare. For while Apollonius shippe runneth
thus at random, it striketh vpon the shoare of the
Citie Machilenta, where at that present his daughter
Tharsia remained.

Nowe it fortuned that this verie day of their arriuall
was the birth day of Prince Apollonius, and when as
^ the Marriners sawe themselues so happily come to
' the land, both for the gladnesse of the one, and ioy
of the other, the master of the shippe, and all the
whole company gaue a great shout.

304

THE PATTERN E

When Apollonius, who lay solitarily vnder the
hatches, heard such a sodaine voice of mirth, hee
called vnto the master, and demaunded what it meant.
The master aunswered, we reioyce, and be you glad
also with us my lorde, for this day we doe solemnize
the feast of your birth. Then ApoUonius sighed,
and said himselfe : All keepe hollyday saue I onely,
and let it suffice vnto my servants that I onely re-
maine in sorrowe and heauinesse ; Howbeit, I giue
vnto them ten peeces of go old, to buy what they will
to keepe holyday withall. But whosoeuer shall call
me vnto the feast, or goe about to prouoke me vnto
mirth, I commaund that his thighes shall be broken.
So the cater tooke the money, and went aland, and
prouided necessaries, and returned againe vnto the
ship.

The Sixteenth Chapter.

How Atha7ia%oras prince of Machilenta seeifig the beau-
tie of ApoUonius ship, went ahoord of it^ and did
the best he could to comfort M7?i,

As fortune thereto serued, and delight to take the
fresh aire moued Athanagoras prince of y® Citie, to
walk toward the sea side, he sawe ApoUonius ships
riding at anker : at the view wherof he tooke great
pleasure, especially at y* Admirall which was a great
ship and a beautiful, wherin ApoUonius himself was
carried, the like wherof haply he had not seene often
before. This was that Anthagoras that loued Tliarsia
so tenderly, and he haled vnto the Marriners, and
asked of whence that faire ship was ? The Marriners
answered, that she came now from Tharsus. Truly,
said Athanagoras, it is a faire shippe, and well ap-

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 305

pointed, and of all that I haue seene, I like
her. Now when the Marriners heard their shippejsin-
highly commended, they desired him to come aboord,
whereunto he willingly graunted. And when he
was come abord, he sate downe with them at meat,
and he drue his purse, and laid downe ten peeces of
gold vpon the table, saying you shall not say that you
haue bidden an vnthankfull person, take this small
summe of money at my handes for a reward, and they
thanked him. But when he was set downe, and be- •
held al that sate at the boord, he demaunded who was
o^Tier ot the ship, and where he was ? The maister
, answered, our owner is sicke, and weake with sorrowe
and taking thought, and needes will die. He lost his
wife vppon the Sea, and his daughter in a strange
land. Athanagoras said vnto one of the servants
called Ardalius : I will giue thee two peeces of gold,
to go down and tell thy master that the prince of this
Citie desireth him to come vp out of darknesse into
light. The seruaunt answered, I cannot buy new
thighes for thy golde, and therefore get some man els
to go on the errand, for he hath said that whosoeuer
troubleth him, his thighes shall be broken. That law
hath he made ouer you, said Athanagoras, and not
ouer mee, and therefore I will go downe vnto him :
but first tell me, I pray you, what you call his name ?
They answered, ApoUonius. And when he heard that
name, hee remembred in his minde that hee heard
Tharsia call her father so, and he went downe vnto
him where he lay, whom when hee beheld, hauing a
, long beard, and rough fligged haire, and long nailes
on his fingers, he was somewhat astonied, and called
vpon him with a soft voice, saying : Apollonius !
When Apollonius heard himselfe named, thinking
it had been some of his men that had called him,
arose vp sodainly with a fierce countenance, and see-
ing a stranger looking verie comely and honourably
VOL. iv.(') u

THE PATTERNE

attired, he held his peace. Then spake Athanagoras:
Sir, I thinke you doe maruell, that I being a stranger,
am so bold as to come to trouble you. You shall
vnderstand that I am prince of this citie, and my
name is Athanagoras. I walked by chance vnto the
Sea side, where beholding thy ships, especially com-
mending this wherin thou art, for beautie and strength :
I was by thy men desired to come aboord which I
did, and haue eaten with them. Then inquired I for
the owner, and they told me thy name, and that thou
remainest in great sorrow, and for that cause I am
come downe vnto thee to bring thee, if I may, out of
darknesse into light, hoping that after this heauinesse
^God shal restore thee vnto gladnesse. Apollonius
lifted vp his eies, saying: I thanke thee, my Lord,
whosoeuer thou art, and I beseech thee not to trouble
me longer, for I am not worthy to eate meat or make
good cheare, & I will Hue no longer. Athanagoras
much mused at this answere, and wondred at the
yilfulnesse of the man, and came vp vppon the decke
md saide vnto the seniauntes: I cannot perswade
your lord to come vp out of that darke place into the
light : what way therefore, were I best to deuise to
bring him from his purpose, and to preserue him from
an obstinate death ? For it were great pitie that a
notable gentleman should so consume away in hucker
mucker, and die by a dishonourable death.

The Seventeenth Chapter.

How Athanagoras sent for Tharsia to make her father
Apollonius merry ; and how after long circum-
stance they came into knowledge one of another.

And as he was deuising with himselfe, it came into
his mind to send for the maide Tharsia, for which

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURBS, 307

purpose he called vnto him one of his men, and saide
vnto him. Go vnto the baud, desire him to send
Tharsia hither vnto me, for she hath wisdom, & can
moue pleasant talke, and perhaps she may perswade
him not to die thus wilfully. The messenger went
speedily, & returned immediatly, bringing the maiden
Tharsia with him vnto the ship. Whom when Atha-
nagoras beheld, come hither vnto me Tharsia, quoth
he, and shew now the vttermost of thy cunning and
knowledge, in comforting the owner of the ship,
which lieth in darknes and will receiue no comfort,
nor come abroad into the light, for the great sorrow
that he taketh for his wife and his daughter. Goe
vnto him, good Tharsia, and proue if thou canst
perswade him to come into the light : for it may be
that God hath appointed by thy meanes, to bring him
from sorrowe into gladnesse. Which thing if thou
canst bring to passe, as I am a gentleman, I will giue
thee thirtie sestercies of gold, and as many of siluer,
and I will redeem e thee from the bawd for thirtie
dayes. When Tharsia heard this, she went boldly
downe into the cabin vnto him, and with a milde
voice saluted him, saying : God saue you sir whoso-
euer you be, and be of good comfort, for an innocent
virgin, whose life has been distressed by shipwracke,
and her chastitie by dishonestie, and yet hath both
preserued, saluteth thee. Then began she to record
in verses, and therewithal! to sing so sweetly, that
Apollonius, notwithstanding his great sorrow, wondred
at her. And these were the verses which she soong
so pleasantly vnto the instrument :

Amongst the harlots foide I walke^

yet harlot no7ie am J :
The Rose a?nongst the Thorns grows^

and is ?iot hurt thei-ehy.
The thief e that stole 7ne^ sure J thinke^

is slaine before this time,

3o8

THE PATTER NE

A bawd 7ne bought^ yet am I not

defilde by fleshly crime.
We?'e nothifig pleasanter to me^

than parents mine to know :
I a7ti the issue of a king^

my bloud fro7n ki7igs doth flow,
I hope that God will mend 7ny state,

and send a better day,
Leaue off your teares, plucke tp your heai't,

and banish care away.
Shew gladnesse in your counte?iance,

cast vp your cheerfull eyes :
That God remaines that once of nought

created earth and skies.
He will mt let in care a?id thought

you still to Hue, and all for nought.

When Apollonius heard her sing' these verses,
lifting vp his eyes, and sighing he said : Alas poore
wretch as I am, how long shall I striue with life, and
abide this greeuous conflict? Good maiden, I giue
hearty thanks both to your wised ome and nobilitie :
requiting you with this one thing, that whensoeuer, if
euer such occasion doe chance, I shall haue desire to
be merrie I will then thinke on you, or if euer I be
restored vnto my kmgdome. And perhaps, as you
say, you are descended of the race of kings, and
indeed you doe well represent the nobilitie of your
parentage. But nowe I pray you receiue this reward
at my handes, an hundred peeces of golde, and de-
part from me and trouble me no longer, for my present
griefe is renued by your lamentable recitall, and I
consume with continuall sorrowe. When the maid
had receiued the reward, shee was about to depart.,
Then spake Athanagoras, whither goest thou Tharsia,'
quoth hee ? hast thou taken paine without profite, and
canst thou not worke a deed of charitie, and relieue

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 309

the man that wil consume his life with mourning?
Tharsia answered : I haue done all that I may, and
he hath giuen me an hundred peeces of gold, and
desired me to depart. I wil giue thee two hundred,
said Athanagoras, and goe downe vnto him againe,
and giue him his money, and say vnto him, I seeke
,thy health and not thy money. Then went Tharsia
downe againe, and set her selfe downe by him, and
saide vnto him : Sir, if you bee determined to con-
tinue alwaies in this heauinesse, giue mee leaue, I
pray you, to reason a little with you. And I meane
to propose certaine parables vnto you, which if you
can resolue, I will then depart, and restore your
money. But ApoUonius, not willing to receiue the
money againe, but thankefully to accept whatsoeuer
shee should vtter, without discouraging of her : albeit
in my troubles quoth he, I haue none other fehcitie
but to weepe and lament, yet because I will not want the
omamentes of your wisedome, demaund of me what-
soeuer shall be your pleasure, and while I am aunswer-
ing you, pardon me I pray you, if sometime I giue
libertie vnto my teares, and shall not be able to
speake for sobbing. Sir, I will beare with you some-
what in that respect said Tharsia, and nowe if it
please you I will begin :

A certaine house on earth there is,
that roomths hath large and wide <

The house makes noise, the guests make none,
that therein doth abide;

But house and guest continually,
togither forth doe slide.

Now if indeed you be a Prince, as your men say
you are, it behooueth you to be wiser than a simple
maiden, and t6 resolue my probleme. Apollonius
answered : Maiden, to the intent you may not thinke

THE PATTERNS

you were tolde a lie, hearken now to the resolu-
tion.

The house on the earth is the Sea or euery great
water, the fish is the dumbe guest, which foUoweth
the water whither soeuer it runne. Sir, you haue
answered truely said Tharsia ; and now I assaile you
the second time :

I?i length forth long 1 7'un7ie,
/aire daughter of the wood,
Accomjfanied with many a one^

offoote and force as good,
Through many waies Iwalke,

but steps appeare none where I stood,

Apollonius answered : If I might be so bold, and
opportunitie serued thereto, I could declare vnto you
many things that you doe not knowe, faire maiden,
but not interrupting your questions whereunto I haue
to answere, wherein I much wonder at your yoong
yeares, so plentifully fraught with excellent knowledge.
But to come to the purpose: The daughter of the
wood, is the tree whereof is made the long ship,
which is accompanied with many companions, and
walketh vppon the seas many wayes leauing no print,
or footsteppes behinde. You have guessed right
said Tharsia, and therefore nowe I propose my third
parable :

There is an house through which the fire

doth passe, and doth no harme :
Therein is heat, which none may mooue;

from thence, it is so warme,
A naked house, and in that house

guests naked doe desire
To dwell, from whence if boords you draw,

then fall you in the fire.

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 31 1

Apollonius answered : Maiden, this that you
meane, were a meet place for men that liue in delight
and pleasure. And the time hath been, when I haue
also delighted in the bath and hoat-house, where the
heate entreth through the creuises of the boordes and
chink es of the stones, and where by reason of sweat-
ing, it behooueth a man to be naked. When he had
done speaking, Tharsia wondering at his wisedome,
and the rather lamenting his discomfortablenesse,
threw her selfe vppon him, and with clasped armes
embraced him, saying, O good gentleman, hearken
vnto the voice of her that beseecheth thee, and haue
respect to the suite of a virgin, that thinking it a far
vnworthy thing that so wise a man should languish in
griefe, and die with sorrow. But if God of his good-
ness would restore vnto thee thy wife safe, whom
thou so much lamentest : Or if thou shouldst find thy
daughter in good case, whom thou supposest to be
dead, then wouldest thou desire to liue for ioy. Then
Apollonius fell in a rage, and forgetting all courtesie,
his unbridled affection stirring him thereunto, rose vp
sodainly, and stroke the maiden on the face with his
foote, so that shee fell to the ground, and the bloud
gushed plentifully out of her cheekes. And like it is
that shee was in a swoone, for so soone as shee came
to her selfe, shee beganne to weepe, saying, O im-
mortall God, which madest heauen and earth, looke
vppon my afflictions, and take compassion vppon mee.
I was borne among the waues and troublesome tem-
pests of the sea. My mother died in pangues and
paines of childbed, and buriall was denied her vpon
the earth, whom my father adorned with iewels, and
laid twentie sestercies of gold at her head, and as
much in siluer at her feete, and inclosed her in a
chest, and committed her to the Sea. As for mee
vnfortunate wretch, I was at Tharsus committed to
Stranguilio and wicked Dio^iisiades his wife, whom

312

THE PA7TERNE

my father put in trust with me, with mony & princely
furniture, and their seruants were commaded to slay
rae. And when I desired time to pray, which was
grated me, there came pyrates in the meane while,
and carried mee away, and brought me vnto this
wofull city, wher^ I was solde to a most cm ell bawd,
and with much adoe have preserued my virginitie,
and I see nothing ensuing but continuall sorrowe,
whereof I feele both now and euery day some part,
and shall doe euer more and more, vntil it please
Gad to restore me unto my father ApoUonius. Apol-
lonius gaue good eare vnto her words, and was
strangely moued within himselfe, knowing that all
these signes and tokens were most certaine that she
was his daughter, and hee cried out with a mighty
voice and saide : 0 merciful! God, which behold est,
heauen, earth and hell, and discouerest all the secretes
thefein, blessed bee thy most holy name for euer :
and when he had said those words, he fell vpon his
daughter Tharsias necke, and kissed her, and for ex-
treame ioy wept bitterly, saying : O most sweete and
onely daughter, the halfe part of my life, for the loue
of thee I lust not nowe to die, for I haue found thee
for whome I had desire to die onely. And therewithal!
he cryed out aloude, saying: Come hither my servants
and frends, come ye a! hither, and see now the end
of all my sorrow, for I have found my deare daughter
and onelie childe which I had lost. When the ser-
uants heard the noise, they came hastily togither, and
with them prince Athanagoras ; & when they came
downe vnder the hatches, they found ApoUonius
weeping for ioy, and leaning vpon his daughters
shoulders, and he said unto them : Behold here my
daughter, for whome I have mourned, beholde the
one halfe of my life, and for whose sake I nowe desire
to liue. And they al reioyced and wept with him for
company, and thanked God for that happy day.

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 313

The Eighteenth Chapter.

Howe Apollonius leaning off mournijig^ came into the
citie Machilenta^ 7vhere he commaunded the bawd
to be burned^ and how Tharsia was mai'ried vnto
pri7ice Athanagoras,

Tharsia hearing her fathers words, fell down at his
feet and kissed him, saying: 0 father, blessed be
God that hath giuen me the grace to see you, & that
I may die with you. But Apollonius lifted vp his
heart, and cast away his mourning apparell, and put
on other sweete and cleane raiment. And when
Athanagoras and the seruants looked earnestly vpon
him, and vpon his daughter, they wondred, saying, O
my lord Apollonius, how like in countenance is your
daughter Tharsia vnto you? that if you had no other
argument, this were sufficient proofe to shewe that
she is your childe. Apollonius thanked them, say-
ing, that now he stoode not in any doubt thereof.
Then Tharsia beganne to discourse vnto her father,
howe she was sold vnto the bawd, and howe hee
thrust her into the common brothell, and by what
meanes she alwayes preserved her chastitie, and
howe much she was bounden vnto good prince
Athanagoras there present. Now Athanagoras was a
widower, and a lusty yoong gentleman, and prince
of the citie, as it is declared, who fearing lest
Tharsia should be bestowed in marriage vpon some
other man, and using the benefite of the time, cast
him selfe downe at Apollonius feete, and besought
him for her, saying, Most noble Prince, I beseech
you for the lining Gods sake, which hath thus myta-
culously restored the father vnto his daughter, bestowe
not your daughter vpon any other in marriage then
me onely. I am prince of this citie, and through my

314

THE PATTERNE

meanes she hath continued a virgin, and by my pro-
curement she is nowe come vnto the knowledge of
thee her father. Apollonius courteously embracing
him answered : I thanke you most heartily, good
Prince Athanagoras, for your friendly offer, which I
may in no wise gainsay both in respect of your owne
woorthinesse, and for the pleasure which you have
shewed my daughter, and, therfore you haue my good-
will to be her husband. Then, turning his face to-
wards Tharsia, how say you my deare daughter, said
he, are you contented to bee wife vnto Athanagoras ?
Tharsia with blushing cheeks answered : Yea for-
sooth father; for since I came from Stranguilioes
houSe, I neuer found rest nor pleasure sauing through
his alonely curtesie. Nowe whether Athanagoras
reioyced at this answere or not, I referre me to the
iudgement of those, who, being passionate with the
same affection, would be well pleased with a ioyntly
grant of the like goodwil. When these matters were
thus concluded, Apollonius mooued Athanagoras
concerning reuenge to be executed vppon the bawd.
Then Athanagoras took his leaue for a while of Apol-
lonius and departeth vnto the citie, and, calling al
the citizens togither to the market place, he spake
thus vnto them : My friends and welbeloued citizens,
vnderstarid ye that Apollonius, prince of Tyrus and
father vnto Tharsia, is arriued in our coast with a
great fleete of ships, wherein hee hath brought a
mighty army of men to destroy our city for y' bawds
sake, who placed his daughter in a common brothell,
to hire out the vse of her body for monie. Wherefore
looke vnto your selue?, and aduise your selues what
you were best to doe, for it were pittie that the whole
citie should perish for one wicked mans sake.

When as hee made an ende of this speech, the
whole multitude trembled and was sore afraide, and
foorthwith determined that they would all, as well

OF PAmEFULL ADVENTURES, 315

men, women and children, goe foorth to see prince
Apollonius, and to craue pardon of him. Not so,
said Athanagoras, but we will desire him to come
peaceablie into our citie, and what he list to com- --
raaund shall be fulfilled. The people liked well of
that counsel, and committed the matter vnto his dis-
cretion wholly to prouide for their safetie. Then
went he foorth vnto Apollonius, and desired him in
the peoples name to come into the citie, where he
should be most heartily welcome. Apollonius refused
not that friendly offer, but immediately prepared him-
selfe to goe with him, and caused his head to be
polled, and his beard to be trimmed, and his nailes
to be pared, and put on a princely robe vpon his
backe, and a crowne of golde vpon his head, and so
passed foorth togither vpon the way. And when they
were come into the citie, the citizens saluted Apollo-
nius, and hee was placed in the highest seate whence
the prince was woont to giue iudgement, and his
daughter Tharsia by his side, and he spake vnto the
people in this manner following : Good people of the
city of Machilenta, you see the virgine Tharsia, whome
I her father haue found out this present day : hir hath
the most filthie bawd, as much as in him lay, con-
strained to dishonest her body, to her vtter destruc-
tion. From which his deuillish purpose no intreatie
could persuade him, no price could allure him. Wher-
fore my request vnto you (good people) is, that I may
haue due revenge on him for the iniury done vnto my
daughter. When the people heard his reasonable
demaund, they cried out with one accord, saying :
My lorde Apollonius, we iudge that he be burned
aliue, and his goods be given vnto the maiden Thar-
sia. The reuenge pleased Apollonius well, and foorth-
with they apprehended the bawd, and bound him
hand and foot ; and they made a great fire, and at
Apollonius commaundement cast him aliue into it,

3i6

THE PATTERNS

and burnt him to ashes. Then called Tharsia for the
villaine, and saide vnto him : Because by thy meanes,
and all the citizens, I haue hitherto remained a vir-
gine euen vntill my fathers comming, my will is that
thou be free ; and raoreouer, 1 heere giue vnto thee
two hundred peeces of gold for a reward. Secondly,
she called for all the women that were in the bawdes
brothell, and saide vnto them : good women, whose
chances, perhaps, hath beene as greeuous vnto you
as mine was vnto me, I set you al at liberty, and
whereas heretofore you haue gained money by hiring
foorth the vse of your bodies, receiue of mee here
this rewarde, that you may Hue hereafter more in the
feare of God, and practise some more commendable
way to sustaine necessitie, and therewithall she gaue
to euerie one of them a rewarde, and so dismissed
them. And when all these things were ended, Apol-
lonius minding to depart, spake vnto the people say-
ing : Noble Prince Athanagoras, and beloued citizens
of Machilenta, I acknowledge my selfe much bounden
to you, and I yeeld you hearty thanks for all your
benefites bestowed vppon me and my daughter. And
now in recompence thereof I giue vnto you fifty
poundes weight of golde to be diuided amongest you,
that when I am gone from you, you maybe mindefull
of me. The citizens thanked him, and bowed their
heads in token of reuerence ; and they agreed toge-
ther, and they erected two statues of brasse one unto
him, another to his daughter in the market place of
the citie with these superscriptions written in their
bases : Vnto Apollonius prince of Tyrus, the presenter
of our houses ; and vnto his vej'tuous daughter Tharsia^
a virgin, the mindefull citizens of Machilenta haue
erected those monuments. But Apollonius remembring
the great curtesie o/ Athanagoras, and his promise
niade vnto him concerning Tharsia, appointed a short
time for their manage, against which there was great

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES, 317

prouision as might be at so smal warning, the solem-
nities, riches, brauerie, cost, feasts, reuelles, intertaine-
ment, and all things else appertaining thereunto, and
requisite for so great personages, I shall not here
neede particularly to set downe, since euery man may
iudge what belongeth to such a matter, and none can
precisely describe, this vnlesse he had beene there
present. Of this thing sure I am, that this manage
brought great pleasure to the father, contentment to
the parties, and ioy to all the people.

The Nineteenth Chapter.

How ApoHonius mca7iingio saile i?ito his owne countrey
by Tharsus^ was co77immmded by an Afigel in the
night to go to Ephesm^ and thej-e to declare all his
aduentures in the Church, with a lovde voice.

The solemnities of the wedding being finished, Apol-
lonius made haste to depart; and all things being in
a readinesse, he tooke shipping with his sonne in
lawe and his daughter, and weyghed anchor, and
committed the sailes vnto the winde, and went their
way, directing their course euermore towarde Tharsus,
by which Apollonius purposed to passe unto his owne
countrie Tyrus. And when they had sailed one whole
day, and night was come, that Apollonius laide him
downe to rest there appeared an Angell in his sleepe,
commaunding him to leaue his course toward Tharsus,
and to saile vnto Ephesus, and to go into the Temple
of Diana, accompanied with his sonne in lawe and
his daughter, and there with a loude voyce to declare
all his aduentures, whatsoeuer had befallen him from
his youth vnto that present day.

When Apollonius awoke in the morning, he won-

3i3

THE PATTERNS

dered at the vision, and called for Athanagoras
his Sonne in lawe and his daughter Tharsia, and
declared it to them in order as is before recited.
Thus saide he unto them, what counsell do you giue
me in this matter? They answered, whatsoever it
pleaseth to you to doe that we shall like well of.
Then Apollonius called vnto him the Master of the
shippe, and commaunded him to winde saile and
coast towards Ephesus, which he did ; and imme-
diately the winde semed them so prosperously, that
in fewe days they safely arriued there. Apollonius
and his companie foorthwith forsooke their shippes,
and came aland, and according to the commaunde-
ment of the Angell, tooke his iourney to the Temple
of Diana, whereas it is before mentioned, his long
lamented wife lady Lucina, remained in vertuous life
and holy contemplation among the religious Nunnes.
And when he wa^ come thither, he besought one of
the Nunnes that had the keeping of the Temple that
he might haue licence to go in, and she wilUngly
granted his request, and opened the doore vnto him.
By this time report was blowen abroad, that a cer-
taine strange Prince was lately landed with his sonne
in lawe and his daughter in very costly and rich orna-
ments, and gone into the Temple : and the ladie
Lucina as desirous as the rest to see the strangers,
decked her head with rich attire, and put on a purple
robe, and, with conuenient retinue attending vpon her,
came into the Temple.

Now Lucina was passing beautifull, and for the
great love which she bare vnto chastitie all men reue-
renced her, and there was no virgin in al the number
in like estimation vnto her. Whom when Apollonius
beheld, although he knew not what she was, yet such
was the exceeding brightnes and maiestie of her
countenance, that he fel down at her feet, with his
Sonne in law likewise and his daughter, for hee

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

3'9

thought shee glittered like a diademe, and exceeded
the brightest starres in beautie. But Lucina cur-
teously lifted them vp from the ground, and bid them
welcome, and afterward went to bestow the plate and
ornaments of the temple in decent order, which
thing was part of the Nunnes duety. Then Apol-
lonius setled himselfe to doe as the Angell had com-
maunded him in the vision, and thus he beganne to
say : I being borne Prince of Tyrus, was called Apol-
lonius, and when in youth I had attained vnto all
kinde of knowledge, I resolued the cruel king Antio-
chus parable, to the intent to have married with his
daughter, whome he most shamefully defiled, and
kept her from all men to serue his owne filthie lust,
and sought meanes to slay me. Then I fled away,
and lost all my goodes in the sea, hardly escaping my
selfe with life, and in my greatest extremitie I was
courteously intertained by Altistrates king of Pen-
tapolis \ and so highly receiued into fauor, that he
left no kindes of fauor on me vntried, insomuch that
hee bestowed vpon mee his faire daughter and only
childe Lucina to be my wife. But when Antiochus
and his daughter by the iust iudgement of God, were
stroked dead by lightning from heauen, I carried my
wife with me to receiue my kingdome, and she was
deliuered of this my daughter and hers vpon the sea,
and died in the trauell, whome I enclosed in a chest,
and threwe into the sea, laying twenty sest^rcies of
gdlde at her head, and as much in siluer at her feete,
to the intent that they that should find her might
haue wherewithall to bury her honorably, leaving also
a superscription that they might perceiue with what
griefe of her friends she died, and of what princelie
parentage shee descended. Afterwardes I arriued at
the citie of Tharsus, where I put in trust my yoong
daughter to be brought vp vnto certain wicked per-
sons, and from thence I departed vnto the higher

320

THE PATTER NE

partes of Egypt. But when from that time fourteene
yeeres were expired, and I returned thither to fetch
my daughter, they told me that shee was dead, which
I beleeving to be true, put on mourning attire, and
desired. nothing so much as to die, and while I was
in that extremitie of sorrowe, and determined to haue
sayled vnto Tyrus, while I was on my way vpon
the sea the winde turned, and there arose a tempest,
and draue me vnto the citie Machilenta, where my
daughter was restored vnto me. Then went I with
my Sonne in law, and my daughter once againe, to
haue sailed vnto Tyrus by Tharsus ; and as I was
now in the iourney, I was admonished in my sleepe
by an Angell to turne my course vnto Ephesus, and
there in the temple to declare aloud al my aduentures
that had befallen me since my youth vnto this present
day, which hath hither to guided me in all my
troubles, will nowe send an happy end vnto all mine
afflictions.

The Twentieth Chapter.

How Apollonius cavie to the knowledge of his wife the
ladie Lucina^ and how they reioyced at the meeting
of ech othei\

The ladie Lucina was not so busie in executing her
office in the Church, but that she gaue also attentiue
eare vnto her lord Apollonius talke, whom at first she
knew not. But when shee heard the long discourse,
whereby she knewe by all signes that hee was her
husband, and shee was his wife, her heart burned
within her, and she could scarce temper her affections
vntil hee had done talking. Yet measuring her loue
with modestie, as nowe of long time hauing learned
the true trade of pacience, shee gaue him libertie to

OF PAINEFUJLL ADUENTVRES,

make an end : which done, shee ran hastily vnto him
and embraced him hard in her armes, and woulde
haue kissed him. Which thing, when Apollonius
sawe, hee was mooued with disdain e, and thrust her
from him, as misliking such lightnesse in her whose
modestie and good grace hee had so lately before
commended in his heart, and nothing at all suspect-
ing that she had been his wife. Then shee pouring
foorth teares aboundantly, O my lord Apollonius,
said she, the one halfe of my life, why deal you thus
vngently with me ? I am your wife, daughter vnto
Altistrates, king of Pentapolis, and my name is Lucina.
And you are Apollonius, prince of Tyrus, my lord
and deare husband, and you are my schoolemaister,
which taught mee musicke : and moreouer you are
the sea-wrecked man whom I especially loued aboue
many, not for concupiscence sake, but for desire of
wisedome. When Apollonius heard those words, he
was sodainly astonied ; and as the strangenes of the
chance appalled him much: so the great ioy reuiued
his spirites againe, and he cast his eies earnestly vppon
her, and immediatly called her to remembrance, and
knew perfitly that it was shee indeede, and he went
vnto her, and fell vppon her necke, and for exceed-
ing ioy brast out into teares, and then lifting vp his
handes and eyes to heauen, hee saide : BIbssed be
the moste mightie God of heauen, which sitteth aboue
and beholdeth the state of men on earth, and dealeth
with them according to his great mercie : who nowe
also of his vnspeakeable goodnesse, hath restored
vnto mee my wife and my daughter. Then did hee
most louingly embrace and kisse his ladie, whom he
supposed long before to be dead : and shee likewise
requited" him with the like fruites of good will and
courtesie, whom she surely thought she should neuer
haue seene againe. And when they had continued a
good space in intertaining the one another : O my
VOL. iv.(») X

322

THE PATTERNE

moste deare lord Apollonius, saide the lady Lucina,
where is my childe, whereof I was deliuered ? Apol-
lonius aunswered : My best beloved ladie, it was a
daughter, and she was named Tharsia, and this is
she, and therewithal he shewed her Tharsia. _ Then
kissed and embraced she her daughter, and likewise
her Sonne in law Athanagoras, and they greatly re-
ioyced one in another.

And when report heereof was spread abroad, there
was great ioy throughout all the Citie of Ephesus,
and the report has blowen about in euerie place how
prince Apollonius had found out his ladie and wife
among the Nunnes in the Temple. Then Lucina
discoursed vnto her lord and husband Apollonius, of
all the strange accidents that happened vnto her after
his casting her forth into the Sea. Namely, howe her
chest was cast on land at the coast of Ephesus, and
taken vp by a Phisition j and how she was reuiued
and by him adopted, and for preseruation of her
honestie, placed among the Nunnes in the Temple
of Diana, where hee there found her, accordingly as
it appeareth before in the historic, wherefore they
blessed the name of God, and yeelded most heartie
thankes vnto him, that hee had preserved them
hitherto, and graunted them so ioyfuU a meeting.

The Twenty-First Chapter.

Ucw Apollonius departed from Ephesus^ and sailed
himselfe, his wife^ his sonne, and daughter vnto
Antiochia, and then to lyrus, and from thence to
Tharsus^ where he revenged himselfe vpon Stran-
guilio^ and Dipnisiades.

Apollonius and Lucina his wife, and the residue of
their traine, hauing rested themselues and made merrie

OF PAINEFVLL ADVENTURES, 323

sufficient time at Ephesus, when the winde senied,
tooke leaue of their friendes and went aboord of their
ships, and lanched from the shore and departed vnto
Antiochia \ where according as Calamitus the maister
of the ship of Tyrus had tolde him before, the king-
dome was reserued for him since the death of Anti-
ochus. But when the citizens heard that he was
arriued, they were all exceeding glad, and put on their
brauest apparell, and garlandes of bayes vpon their
heads, and went forth in procession to meet him, and
brought him in triumph into the Citie, and crowned
him king with all ioy and gladnesse. And when all
the solemnities of the coronation, ,the feastes, tri-
umphes, largesses, and pardons were finished, hee
abode with them certaine daies to dispose some mat-
ters in order that required redresse, and to establish
certaine lawes for the due administration of iustice.
Which being all accomplished according to his desire,
he tooke his leaue of the Citizens, and with his wife,
Sonne, and daughter, departed to the sea, and sayled
vnto Tyrus his owne natiue country, where he was
ioyfuUy received of his subiects, and found his king-
dome gouerned in good order. There placed he for
his lieuetenant his sonne in lawe Athanagoras, which
had married his daughter Tharsia, to rule the countrey
in his absence, and when he had aboden a conuenient
time amongst them to make merrie, and to prouide
necessaries for his farther affaires, he leuied in shorter
space a mightie armie of the best approoued soul-
diours, with sufficient store of money and munition,
and taking with him moreouer his lady, and his daugh-
ter Tharsia, tooke shipping in the hauen, and had so
prosperous winde, that in few dayes they landed in
the coast of Tharsus. And when they were come all
ashoare, they marched forward in battell aray, and
came into the Citie to the great terrour of al the in-
habitants. When he was come into the market place,

324

THE PATTERNE

he commaunded that Stranguilio and Dionisiades
should be brought before him, which being done, he
thus spake vnto the people. Ye Citizens of Tharsus,
I am come hither in armes as you see, not moued by
my will, but constrained by iniurie. Wherfore teU
me, was I euer vnthankfull vnto your Citie in generall,
or vnto any of you al in pg.rticular? They all an-
swered with one voice no my lord, and therfore wee
are ready all to spend our Hues in thy quarrell : and
as thou knowest well wee haue erected heere, in per-
petuall memorie of thee, a statue of brasse, because
thou preseruedst vs from death, and our citie from
vtter destruction. Then said Apollonius, vnderstand
then this much my friends, that when I departed last
from this citie. I committed my daughter in trust vnto
Stranguilio and his wife Dionisiades; and when I
came to require her they would not deliuer her vnto me,
nor tell me the trueth what is become of her. Imme-
diatly they were both called forth to answere vnto these
matters before Apollonius, where falling downe on
their knees before him, Dionisiades answered in this
manner: My lord, I beseech you stand favourable vnto
my poore husband and mee^and not to beleeue any
other thing concerning your daughter, then that shee is
departed this life. And as for hir grave, you haue scene
it, and also the monument of brasse erected by the
whole citie in the memoriall of her, and moreouer you
haue read the superscription. Then Apollonius com-
maunded his daughter to stand foorth in the presence
of them all, and shee saide vnto Dionisiades : beholde
thou wicked woman, dead Tharsia is come to greete
thee, who as thou diddest well hope, shoulde neuer
haue been forth comming to haue bewrayed thy
wickednesse. But when the miserable woman beheld
Tharsia, her heart quaked for feare, and shee fell to
the ground in a swoond : and when shee recouered
againe, shee cried out vpon the just iudgment of God,

OF PAINEFULL ADUENTURES, 325

and cursed the time that shee was borne. And all
the people ranne thronging about Tharsia, and
wondered at her, thinking howe greatly they had been
of long time abused by Stranguilio, and Dionisiades ;
and they reioyced much in her safetie, and all knewe
by her countenance that it was shee, and none other.
O now, who were able to declare the bitter griefe and
intolerable care which eftsoones assaied the wearisome
consciences of these twaine, the husband and the
wife when they sawe her liuing and in good liking
before their faces, whose death they had so traiterously
conspired. Euen hell it selfe is not comparable vnto
so heauie a burden, the vnspeakable weight whereof
all men ought to feare, and none can sufficiently
describe unlesse hee haue been semblably plunged
in the like gulfe of horrible desperation. Then
Tharsia called for Theophilus Stranguilios villain e,
and when he was come into her presence, shee saide
unto him : Theophilus, aunswere mee aloud that all
the people may heare, who sent thee forth to slay me?
Hee aunswered, Dionisiades my Mistresse. What
mooued her thereunto saide Tharsia? None other
thing, I suppose, saide the villaine, but to enioy the
money and ornamentes, and also because thy beautie
and comelinesse were commended aboue Philomacias
her daughters. Nowe \vhen the people heard this,
they ranne vppon Stranguilio, and Dionisiades, and
tooke them violently, and bound them, and drew
them out of the citie, and stoned them to death j and
would likewise have slaine Theophilus the villaine,
for that at his mistress commandement he would haue
murdered the innocent maiden. But Tharsia intreated
for him, saying. Not so my deare friends. I pray you
let me obtaine pardone for him at your handes \ for
vnlesse he had giuen me respite to say my praiers, I
had not been heere now to haue sppken for him :
and when she had said so, the furious multitude was

326

THE PATTERNS

appeased. And ApoUonius gaue many exceeding
rich giftes vnto the citie, and repared it strongly in
many places where it was decaied, and abode there
with them the space of three monthes in feasting and
making merry before he departed.

The Twenty-Second Chapter.

How ApoUonius sailed from Tharsus to visite his
father-in-law Altistrates king of Pentapolis^ who
died not long after ApoUonius comming thither.

The terrae of three monethes, that ApoUonius pur-
posed for his delight to remaine at Tharsus, was
almost expired, and he comanded all things to be
prepared for the iourney; and when the day was
come, hee made generall proclamation vppon paine
of death euery man to ship. And when the whole
army was imbarked, he took ship himselfe with his
wife and his daughter, being honourably accom-
panied by the citizens vnto the water side; and
after due courtesie on both sides done and receiued,
he hoysed sayle and departed towardes Pentapolis
king Altistrates Citie. And when they had sailed
with prosperous winde ten dayes vppon the Sea, they
discouered a farre off the Steeples and Towres of Pen-
tapolis, and the Souldiers reioyced and gaue a shout
for gladnesse that they were so neere to their wished
land. Then they cast about and cut towards the
hauen, and cast anker, and landed all safe, and
ApoUonius with his wife and daughter after hee had
taken order for the companie, rode vnto the court
vnto king Altistrates, whom they found in good
health, and merry. And when Altistrates saw his
sonne-in-lawe, his daughter and his neece Tharsia,

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

hee bid them welcome, and reioyced exceedingly, and
sent for the Nobles of his land to keepe them com-
panie, and gaue them the best entertainement that hee
could deuise, and they soiourned with him an whole
yeare in pleasure and pastime, whereof the king tooke
as great comfort as was possible for a man to doe in
any worldly felicitie. But as there was neuer yet any
thing certaine or permanent in this mortall life, but
alwaies we be requited with sowre sauce to our sweete
raeate, and when wee thinke ourselues surest in the
top of ioy, then tilt wee downe soonest into the bot-
tome of sorrow, so fared it now vnto those personages
in the midst of their joUitie. For the good old king
Altistrates fell sodainly sick which much appalled
them all, and grew euerie day weaker than other.
Then were the Phisitions sent for in haste, who left
nothing vntried that appertained vnto Art and experi-
ence to doe \ and aboue all Apollonius and Lucina
his wife plaied the parts of duetifull children, in tend-
ing their aged and weake father with all care and
diligence possible. But alas olde age which of it
selfe is an vncurable sickenesse, and had beene grow-
ing nowe well nigh an hundred yeares lacking seuen
vpon him, accompanied with the intoUerable paine of
the gowt, and the stone of the bladder, had consumed
naturall moisture, so that his force gaue ouer to the
disease, and shortely after changed this transitorie life
for a better. When report was spread abroad of the
kings death, there was great sorrowe and lamentation
made in all places, neither was there any that tooke
not grieuously the losse of so good a Prince. But to
describe the inward affliction of Apollonius, and the
teares of Lucina and Tharsia her daughter, woulde
make any heart of flint to bleede, considering the
tender affections of women aboue men, and howe
prone they bee that way, yea, sometime (God knowes)
in smaller cases than at the death of husband, father,

328

THE PATTERN E

or mother. But as al things haue their time, so haue
sorrowe and teares also, which are best dried vp with
the towell of continuaunce j which gaue nowe iust
occasion vnto Apollonius to cast off drowsie sorrowe,
and to prouide for the funeralles of his father in lawe,
which he accompHshed with so seasonable expedition,
and in so honourable a sort, as was seemely for so
mighty a king, and so vertuous a prince, whome hee
buried among the auntient race of kings his aunces-
tours in the Temple within the citie of Pentapolis.
Which beeing all finished, as it is also a worke of
charitie to fufeU the will of the dead, he applied him-
selfe to execute his fathers testament, wherin he had
giuen halfe his kingdpme vnto Apollonius, and the
other halfe to Tharsia his neece, to haue and to holde
to them and to their heires for euer.

The Twenty-Third Chapter.

How Apollonius rewarded the fisherman that releeued
hhn after he had siiffered shipwracke: howe hee
dealt also with olde Calamitus^ and likewise with
the Pyrates thai stole away Tharsia,

By this time, when all cares were banished, and Apol-
lonius inioyed his kingdome in quiet possession, he
gaue himselfe sometimes to delight as other Princes
are wont to do. And it fortuned that on a day when
he had dined, he walked foorth for recreation vnto the
sea side, with his wife and a fewe seruants. And when
hee came there, he sawe a small fisher boat fleeting
vnder saile, which hee thought by all signes he should
knowe well, for hee supposed it to be the fishermans
boat which succoured him, when he had suffered ship-
wracke in sailing from Tharsus towardes Pentapolis.

OF PAWEFULL ADVENTURES, 3^29

Wherefore hee commaunded some of his seruantes,
to take another shippe which rode at anchor there on
the shore, to go after and take him, and to bring the
fisherman vnto him vnto the Coort. When the poore
man saw himselfe boorded of so many and so gay a
multitude, hee feared they had beene pyrates, and
that they woulde haue slaine him ; and he fell -downe
on his knees, and besought them to haue compassion
vpon him : he was but a poore fisherman, and had
not that which they sought for : it were others that
were more fit for their purpose to meete withall, such
as ventured further in greater vesselles, carrying foorth
great summes of money, and bringing home plenty of
costly merchandize : As for him, they should not only-
find miserable pouertie in ransacking his boat, but if
they were also determined to take away his life from
him, they should likewise with the same stroke be-
reaue the liues of his poore wife, and many small
-Children, which were maintained by his hand onely.
These or the like words vttered then the poore fisher-
man. But they smiling in their conceits, and minde-
full of their Princes commaundement, bade him not
feare that they would robbe him, but saide that he
must goe with them, and brought him away vnto the
court. And when he was come into the kings pre-
sence, Apollonius knewe him well, and saide vnto the
Queene and the Nobles that were about him : Be-
holde, this is the man that receiued me into his house,
and succoured mee when I suffered shipwracke, and
shewed me the way into the Citie, by which meanes
I came acquainted with good king Altistrates. And
he rose out of his seate, and embraced him and said :
I am Apollonius Prince of Tyrus whome thou diddest
succour, and therefore bee of good cheere, for thou
Shalt be rewarded. And the poore fisherman wept
exceedingly for ioy. And Apollonius commaunded
two hundred sestercies of gold to be giuen vnto him,

330

THE PATTERNE

and thirty seniants, and twenty handmaides, and fortie
horses, and fiftie sutes of apparell, and a faire pallace
to dwel in, and made him an earle, and vsed no man
so familiarly as he did him all the dayes of his life.
Nowe it was not long after that these things were
done, but one called Calamitus the master of the ship
of Tyrus, an olde man, .who, as we haue before de-
clared, shewed vnto Apollonius as hee was walking
by the sea side with Lucina, that Antiochus and his
daughter were dead, and the kingdome was reserued
for him, came before Apollonius, and, falling downe
on his knees : Remember me, my most gratious Lorde
Apollonius saide hee, since the time I tolde your
grace the good tidings of king Antiochus death.

Then king Apollonius tooke him vp by the hand,
and caused him to sit downe by him, and talked
familiarly with him, and gaue him great thankes, and
made him a great lord in his countrey. Thus Apol-
lonius busied himselfe, not onely in bestowing him-
selfe curteously at home, but he also prouided as well
for the quiet gouernement of the state abroad, as it
appeared by the diligence of his officers, who hauing
lately taken certaine pyrates vpon the sea, brought
them to Pentapolis, where Apollonius then remained,
to haue iustice executed vpon them. When they
were arriued, they were found guilty of the facte of
which they were accused, and the next day being
appointed for them to suffer, when they came vnto
the gallowes, they confessed many robberies, and
among store, how once at Tharsus they rescued a
maide named Tharsia from a villaine that woulde
haue slaine her, and brought her to Machilenta,
where they solde her to him that offered most money,
and hee which bought her (as they thought) was a
bawd. When the citizens, who were none of them
ignorant of the Ladie Tharsias aduentures, heard this,
they stayed execution, and sent word vnto king Apol-

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES. 33 T

lanius, saying : May it please your grace to vnderstand
that we haue certaine pyrates at the gallowes ready
to be executed, and it appeareth that they be those
that stole away the lady Tharsia your daughter from
Tharsus, and sold her to the bawd at Machilenta.
Which when we perceiued, we thought it good to
know your graces pleasure what shall be doone with
them. ApoUonius thanked them-, and willed the pirats
to be brought before him, & examined them diligently,
and found that they were the sanae men indeede that
had preserued Tharsias life. And he gaue great
thankes vnto God and them, and imbraced them, &
willingly pardoned them their lives.

And for that he knew that the sinister means which
they hitherto had insued was caused most by con-
straint, for want of other trade or abilitie to Hue by,
he therefore made them all knights, and gaue them
plenty of gold and siluer, and indowed them also with
great possessions.

The Twenty-Fourth Chapter.

How ApoUonius had a yoong some and heite by his wife
Lucina, likewise of ApoUonius age^ and how he
died: with some other accidents thereunto incident

While king Apollonius thus passed foorth his time
in rewarding his friends which had doone him plea-
sure in his aduersitie, the part of a thankeful and
good natured man, and also vnto his enemies in min-
istring iustice with mercie, which is the duetie of a
vertuous prince, the queene Lucina in the meane
season conceiued childe, and grewe euery daie bigger
bellied then other. And when the time came that
she attended for a good houre, she was deliuered of a

33?

THE PATTBRNE

faire sonne, whom some of the Ladies that were pre-
sent saide hee was like Apollonius the father, other
some, like king Altistrates the grandfather, and others
iudged otherwise, according as is the custome of
women to doe, when as (God knoweth) there is no
more likenesse betweene them sauing that the childe
hath the generall shape and proportion of a man,
than is betweene Jacke fletcher and his bolt. How-
beit the boy was called Altistrates, after the grand-
fathers name, for whome there was much ioy and
triumphing, that it had pleased God to send an heire
male to gouerne the land, for whose life and preserua-
tion the people daily prayed, that as he was Hke to
succeede his grandfather in place and name, so hee
might also be successour to his father and grandfather
in honour and vertue, which as they are the true
goods, so are they the -chiefest inheritance of a king,
and to be preferred before the greedie seeking for
large dominion and riches, which are the foolish
scales whereby Fortune intrappeth us.

But to returne againe to our story, great was the
care and prouision for the diligent bringing vp of this
yoong gentleman : who as he grew vp more and more
euery day to the strength of lusty youth, so his father
Apollonius decayed continually through the infirmity
of weake old age : Who hauing passed his life with
one Ladie the faire Lucina, by whome hee had two
beautifull children, the ladie Tharsia and yoong Altis-
trates, he lined to the age of fourescore and foure
yeers, and obtained the empire of three kingdomes, to
wit, Tyrus, Antiochia and Pentapolis, whome with the
helpe of his sonne in lawe Athanagoras he gouerned
peaceably and prosperously. Moreouer, when hee
had disposed the affaires of his realmes vnto such of
his nobilitie as were in credite about him, although at
all times he had recourse vnto his accustomed studies
of humanitie, yet then especially he applied his vacant

OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES.

333

time to his booke, and hee wrote the whole storie and
discourse of his owne life and aduentures at large, the
which he caused to be written foorth in two large
volumes, whereof he sent one to the Temple of Diana
at Ephesus, and placed the other in his owne library.
Of which historic this is but a small abstract, promising
if ever the whole phance to come into my hands, to
set it forth with all fidelitie, diligence, and expedition.
But when the fatall time was come that Apollonius
olde age could no longer be sustained by the benefite
of nature, he fell into certaine cold and drie diseases,
in which case the knowledge of his physitions could
stand him in little steed, either by their cunning or
experience. For there is no remedie against olde
age, which if the noble skill of phisicke could euer
have found out, doubtlesse it would haue obtained
the means to haue made the state of man immortall.
Howbeit, God hath determined otherwise ; and as he
appointed all worldly things to haue an end, so Apol-
lonius had his dying day, wherein in perfect sense,
and readie memorie, hee departed this transitorie life
in the sweete armes of his louing ladie Lucina, and in
the midst of his friendes. Nobles, Allies, kinsfolke,
and children, in great honour, and loue of all men.
His kingdome of Tyrus he gaue by will vnto Athana-
goras and his daughter Tharsia, and to their heires
after them for euer : who lined long time togither, and
had much issue, both boyes and girles. Unto the
queene Ladie Lucina, he gaue the two kingdomes of
Antiochia and Pentapolis, for terme of her life, to
deale or dispose at her pleasure; and after her de-
cease vnto his sonne lusty yoong Altistrates, and to
his heires for euer But Lucina, as she could not then
be yoong, since Apollonius died so old, enioyed not
long her widows estate, but pining away with sorrow,
and wearing with age, forsooke this present world
also, and followed her deare lord into the euerlasting

334 7"^^ PATTERNE OF PAINEFULL ADVENTURES,

kingdome that neuer shall have end, which so farre
exceed eth the kingdome, which forthwith she left vnto
her yoong sonne Altistrates to inherite, as heauenly
ioyes surmount the earthly, and the bright sunne
surpasseth the smallest starre.

FINIS.

3- The Life of Pericles.

[From North's " Phttarch."'^

C^SAR seeing in Rome one day certain e rich and
wealthy strangers, hauing litle dogs and monkies
in their armes, and that they made marvellous much
of them, he asked the if the women in their country-
had no children : wisely reprouing by this question,
for that they bestowed their naturall loue and affec-
tion vpon brute beasts, which they should with all
kindnesse and loue bestow vpon men. Nature in
like case also, hauing planted in our minds a natural!
desire to learne & vnderstand, we are in reason to
reproue those that vainly abuse this good desire,
fondly disposing it to learne things vaine and vn-
profitable: and to cast behind them in the meane
season things honest and necessarie to be learned.
For as touching our outward sense, which with passion
receiueth impression of the thing it seelh, peraduen-
ture it will be necessarie to consider indifferently
the thing seene, whether it will fall out beneficial or
hurtful! vnto him : but so fareth it not with our vn-
derstanding, for euery man may at his pleasure turne
and dispose that to the thing he taketh delight in, the

33^

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

reason whereof we must alwaies employ to the best
part, and that not only to consider and looke vpon
the thing, but also to reape the benefite & commodity
of the thing we see. For like as the eye is most
delighted with the lightest and freshest colors : euen
so we must giue our minds vnto those sights, which
by looking vpon them do draw profit and pleasure
vnto vs. For ^'such effects doth vertue bring : that
either to heare or read them, they do print in our
harts an earnest loue and desire to follow them. But
this followeth not in all other things we esteeme,
neither are we alwaiers disposed to desire to do the
things we see well done: but contrarily oftentimes,
when we like the work, we mislike the workman, as
commonly in making these perfumes and purple
colours. For both the one and the other do please
vs well : but yet we take perfumers and dyers to be
men of a meane occupation. Therefore Antisthenes
aunswered one very wisely, that told him Ismenias
was an excellent player of the flute. But yet he is a
naughty man, said he : otherwise he could not be so
cuning at the flute as he is. Euen so did Philip king
of Macedon say to his sonne Alexander the great on
a time : that at a certaine feast had sung passing
sweetly, and like a maister of musicke : Art thou not
ashamed son to sing so well? It is enough for a
King to bestow his leisure sometime to heare musi-
tians sing, and he doth much honor to the Muses to
heare the masters of the science otherwhile, when
one of them singeth to excell another. But he that
personally shall bestow his time, exercising any meane
science : bringeth his paines he hath taken in matters
vnprofitable, a witnesse against himselfe, to prooue
that he hath bene negligent to leame things honest and
profitable. And there w;as neuer any yong gentleman
nobly borne, that seeing the image of lupiter (which
is in the city of Pisa) desired to become Phidias : nor

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

337

Polycletus, for seeing of luno in the citie of Argos :
nor that desired to be Anacreon, or Philemon, or
Archilocus, for that they tooke pleasure somtime to
reade their works. For it foUoweth not of necessity,
that though the worke delight, the workman must
needes be praised. So in like case, such things do
not profite those which behold them, because they do
not moue affection in the harts of the beholders to
follow them, neither do stir vp affection to resemble
them, and much lesse to conform our selues vnto
them. But vertue hath this singular propertie in all
her actions : that she maketh the man that knoweth
her to affect her so, that straight he liketh all her
doings, and desireth to follow those that are vertuous.
For, as for riches, we only desire to haue them in
possession : but of vertue, we chiefly loue the deeds.
Wherfore we are contented to haue goods from other
men : but good deeds we wold other should haue
from vs. For vertue is of this jower, that she
allureth a mans mind presently to vse her, that wisely
considereth of her, and maketh him very desirous in
his heart to follow her : and doth not frame his man-
ners that beholdeth her by any imitation, but by the
only vnderstanding and knowledge of vertuous deedes,
which suddenly bringeth vnto him a resolute desire to
do the like. "And tfiis is the reason, why me thought
I should continue still to write on the lines of noble
men, and why I made also this tenth booke r in the
which are contained the Hues of Pericles and Fabius
Maximus, who maintained wars against Hannibal.
For they were both men very like together in many
sundry vertues, and specially in curtesie and iustice :
and for that they could patiently beare the follies of
their people, and companions that were in charge of
gouernement with them, they were maruellous pro-
fitable members for their country. But if we haue
sorted them well together, comparing the one with
VOL. iv.(') Y

338

THE LTFE OF PERICLES,

the other : you shall easily iudge that reade our writ-
ings of their liues. Pericles was of the tribe of the
Acamantides, of the town of Cholargvs, and one of
the best and most ancient families of the city of
Athens, both by his father and mother. For Xantip-
pus his father (who ouercame in battell the lieutenants
of the king of Persia in the iourny of Mygala) maried
Agariste that came of Clisthenes, he who draue out
of Athens Pysistratus ofspring, and valiantly ouer-
threw their tyranny. • Afterwardes he established
lawes, and ordained a very graue forme of gouem-
ment, to maintaine his citizens in peace and concord
together. This Agarist dreamed one night that she
was brought to bed of a Lion : and very shortly after
she was deliuered of Pericles, who was so well propor-
tioned in all the parts of his body, that nothing could
be mended, sauing that his head was somewhat too
long and out of proportion to the rest of his body.
And this is the onely cause why all the statues and
images of him almost are made with a helmet on his
head : because the workmen as it should seeme (and
so it is most likely) were willing to hide the blemish
of his deformitie. But the Attican Poets did call
him Schinocephalos, as much as to say as, headed
like an onion. Tor those of Attica do somtime name
that which is called in the vulgar toung- Scilla, that is
to say, an onion of Barbarie, Schinos. And Cratinus
the Comicall Poet in his comedy he intituled Chirones,
said :

Old Saiurne he, and dreadfull dire Debate^
begotten hatie, beiweene them car?iaily,
this tyrant here^ this heauy iolfing pate,
in cou7'i of gods so tearmed worthely.
And againe also in that which he nameth Nemesis,
speaking of him, he saith :

Come Jupiter, come Jupiter,

Come iolt heady and come inkeeper.

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

339

And Teleclides mocking him also, saith in a place :

SomeH?nes he stands amaz'd when he perceiues^

thai hard it wej'e sufficiently to know^

in what estate his gouernmerit he leaues.
And the7t will he be seldome seene below ^

such heauie heapes within his braines do grow.
But yet sometimes out of that monstrous pate,

he thundreth fc^t, a7id threatneth euery state.

And Eupolis in a comedy which he intituled Demi :
being very inquisitiue, & asking particularly of euery
one of the Oratours (whom he fained were returned
out of hell) when they named Pericles the last man
vnto him, he said :

Truly thou hast now brought vnto us here that dwells
the chief e of all the captaines that come from darksome
hell.

And as for musicke, the most authors write, that
Damon did teach him musicke, of whose name (as
men say) they should pronounce the first sillable
short. Howbeit Aristotle saith, that he was taught
musicke by Pythoclides. Howsoeuer it was, it is
certaine that this Damon was a man of deepe vnder-
standing, and subtill in matters of gouemment : for,
to hide from the people his sufficiencie therein, he
gaue it out he was a musitian, and did resort vnto
Pericles as a maister wrestler or fencer : but he taught
him how he should deale in matters of state. Not-
withstanding, in the end he could not so cunningly
conuey this matter, but the people saw his harping
and musicke, was only a vizer to his other practise :
wherefore they did banish him Athens for fiue yeares,
as a man that busily tooke vpon him to change the
state of things, and that favoured tyrannie. And
this gaue the Comicall Poets matter to play vpon him

340

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

finely, among which Plato in a comedy of his, bringeth
in a man that asketh him :

0 Chiron, tell me first : art thou indeed the man,
which did instruct Pericles thus? make answer if
thou can.

He was sometime also scholer to the Philosopher
Zenon, who was borne in the citie of Elea, and taught
naturall Philosophie, as Parmenides did : but his pro-
fession was to thwart and contrarie all men, and to
alledge a world of obiections in his disputation, which
were so intricate, that his aduersary replying against
him, knew not how to answer him, nor to conclude
his argument. The which Timon Phliasius witnesseth
in these words :

Ze7ion was subtill sure, a?id very eloque?if,

and craftily cotdd wind a man by way of argufnent,

if so he were disposed^ his cunning to descrie,

or shew the sharpnesse of his wit to practise pollicie.

But Anaxagoras Clazomenian was he that was most
famihar and conuersant with him, and did put in
him the maiesty and grauity he shewed in all his say-
ings, and doings, who did farre excell the common
course of ordinarie Orators that pleaded before the
people : and to be short, he it was that did fashion
his manners, altogether to carie that graue counten-
ance which he did. For they called Anaxagoras in
his time, Nus, as much to say ; as vnderstanding.
Either because they had his singular wit and capa-
citie in such great admiration, being growne to search
out the cause of naturall things : or that he was the
first man, who did ascribe the disposition and go-
uernement of this world, not vnto fortune or fatall
necessitie, but vnto a pure, simple, and vnderstanding
mind, which doth separate at the first mouing cause,
the substance of such like parts as are medled and

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

compounded of diuerse substances, in all other bodies
through the world. Pericles made maruellous much
of Anaxagoras, who had fully instructed him in the
knowledge of naturall things, and of those specially
that worke aboue in the ayre and firmament. For he
grew not only to haue a great niinde and an eloquent
tongue, without any affectation, or grosse countrey
termes : but to a certaine modest countenance that
scantly smiled, very sober in his gate, hauing a kind
of sound in his voice that he neuer lost nor altered,
and was of very honest behaviour, neuer troubled in
his talke for any thing that crossed him, and many
other such- like things, as all that saw them in him,
and considered them, could but wonder at him. But
for proofe hereof, the report goeth, there was a
naughtie busie fellow on a time, that a whole day to-
gether did nothing but raile vpon Pericles in the
market place, and reuile him to his face, with all the
villanous words he could vse. But Pericles put all
yp quietly, and gaue him not a word againe, dispatch-
ing in the meane time matters of importance he had
in hand, vntill night came, that he went softly home
to his house, shewing no alteration nor semblance of
trouble at all, though this lewd varlet followed him at
the heeles, with words of open defamation. And as
he was ready to enter in at his owne dores, being
darke night, he commanded one of his men to take
a torch, and to bring this man home to his house.
Yet the Poet Ion saith, that Pericles was a very proud
man, and stately, and that with his grauitie and noble
mind, there was mingled a certaine scorne and con-
tempt of other: and contrarily, he greatly praiseth
the ciuilitie, humanitie and courtesie of Cimon, be-
cause he could fashion himselfe to all companies.
But letting passe that which the Poet Ion said:
who would that vertue should be full of tragicall dis-
cipline, bringing in with it, a certaine satyricall dis-

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course to moue laughter. Now Zen on contrariwise
did counsell all those that said Pericles grauitie was a
presumption, and arrogancie : that they should also
follow him in his presumption. For to counterfeit in
that sort things honest and vertuous, doth secretly
with time breed an affection and desire to loue them,
and afterwards with custome euen effectually to vse
and follow them. So Pericles by keeping Anaxagoras
companie, did not onely profite himselfe in these
things, but he learned besides to put away all super-
stitious feare, of celestiall signes and impressions
seene in the ayre. For to those that are ignorant of
the causes thereof, such sights are terrible, and to the
godly also fearefull, as if they were vtterly vndone :
and all is, because they haue no certaine knowledge
of the reason that naturall Philosophic yeeldeth,
which in stead of a fearefull superstition, would
bring a true religion accompanied with assured hope
of goodnesse. Some say a man brought Pericles one
day from his farme out of the countrey, a Rammes
head that had but one home, and that the Prognos-
ticator Lampon considering this head, that had but
one strong home in the middest of his forehead, inter-
preted, that this was the signification thereof. That
being two tribes and seuerall factions in the city of
Athens touching gouernment, the one of Pericles, and
the other of Thucydides : the power of both should
be brought into one, and specially into his part, in
whose house this signe did happen. Further, it is
said that Anaxagoras being present, did cause the
Rammes head to be clouen in two peeces, and shewed
vnto them that stood by, that the braine of this
Ramme did not fill the pan of his natural place, but
inclosed it selfe in all parts, being naixow like the
point of an egge, in that part where the horne tooke
his first roote of budding out. So Anaxagoras was
raaruellously esteemed at that present by all those

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343

that stood by : but so was Lampon, soone after that
Thucydides was driuen away, and that the gouern-
ment of the whole common weale fell into the hands
of Pericles alone. And it is not to be wondred at
(in my opinion) that the naturall Philosopher and the
Prognosticator did rightly meete together m troth :
the one directly telling the cause, and the other the
end of the euent as it fell out. For the profession
of the one, is to know how it commeth : and of the
other, wherefore it commeth, and to foretell what it
betokeneth. For where some say, that to shew the
cause, is to take away the signification of the signe :
they do not consider that in seeking to abolish by
this reason the wonderfull tokens and signes m the
ayre, they do take away those also which are done by
art. As the noise of basons, the lights of fire by the
sea side, and the shadowes of needles or points of
dyals in the sunne : all which things are done by some
cause and handiworke, to be a signe and token of some
thing. But this argument peraduenture may seme
better in another booke. And now againe to Pericles.
Whilest he was yet but a young man the people stood
in awe of him, because he somewhat resembled
Pysistratus in his countenance: and the ancientest
men of the city also were much afeard of his soft
voice, his eloquent tongue, and readie vtterance, be-
cause in those he was Pysistratus vp and downe.
Moreouer he was very rich and wealthie, and of one
of the noblest families of the citie, and those were
his friends also that caried the only sway and autho-
ritie in the state : whereupon, fearing that lest they
would banish him with the banishment of Ostracismon,
he would not meddle with gouernment in any case,
although otherwise he shewed himselfe in warresvery
valiant and forward, and feared not to venter his
person. But after that Aristides was dead, that
Themistocles was driuen away, and that Cimon being

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euer in seruice in the wanes as Generall in forraine
countries, was a long time out of Grece: then he
came to leaiie to the tribe of the poore people, pre-
ferring the multitude of the poore communaltie,
aboue the small number of Nobilitie and rich men, the
which was directly against his nature. For of him-
selfe he was not popular, nor meanely giuen : but he
did it (as it should seeme) to auoid suspition, that he
should pretend to make himselfe King. And because
he saw Cimon was inclined also to take part with the
Nobilitie, and that he was singularly beloued and
liked of all the honester sort : he to the contrarie en-
clined to the common people, purchasing by this
meanes safetie to himselfe, and authoritie against
Cimon. So he presently beganne a new course of
life, since he had taken vpon him to deale in matters
of state : for they neuer saw him afterwards at any
time go into the citie, but to the market place, or to
the Senate house. He gaue vp going to all feastes
where he was bidden, and left the entertainement of
his friends, their companie and familiaritie. So that
in all his time wherein he gouerned the common-
weale, which was a long time, he neuer went out to
supper to any of his friendes, vnlesse it were that he
was once at a feast at his nephew Euryptolem us mariage :
and then he taried there no longer, but while the cere-
monie was a doing, when they offer wine to the gods,
and so he rose from the table. For these friendly meet-
ings at such feastes, do much abase any counterfeit ma-
iestie or set countenance : and he shall haue much ado
to keepe grauity and reputation, shewing familiaritie
to euery knowne friend in such open places. For in
perfect vertue, those things truely are euer most ex-
cellent, which be most common: and in good and
vertuous men there is nothing more admirable vnto
straungers, then their daily conuersation is to their
friends. Pericles now to preuent that the people

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345

should not be glutted with seeing him too oft, nor
that they should come much to him : they did see him
but at some times, and then he would not talke in
eueiy matter, neither came much abroad among them,
but reserued himselfe (as Critolaus said they kept the
Salaminian galley at Athens) for matters of great im-
portance. And in the meane season, in other matters
of smaH moment, he dealt by meanes of certaine
Orators his familiar friends, amongst whom Ephialtes
(as they say) was one : he who tooke away the autho-
rise and power from the court of Areopagus, and did
giue too much liberty to the people, as Plato said.
Vpon which occasion, as the Comicall Poets say, he
became so stout and head-strong, that they could no
more holde him backe, then a young vnbridled colt :
and tooke such a courage vpon him, that he would
obey no more, but inuaded the Isle of Evboea, and
set vpon the other Hands. Pericles also because he
would fashion a phrase of speech, with a kind of stile
altogether agreable to the manner of life and grauitie
he had taken upon him : he gaue himselfe to all
matters which he had learned of Anaxagoras, shadow-
ing his reasons of natural Philosophie, with artificiall
Rhetoricke. For hauing obtained a deepe under-
standing by studying of Philosophie, and a readie way
effectually to end any matter he vndertooke to prooue,
(besides that nature had endued him with an excellent
wit and capacitie, as the deuine Plato doth write, to
bring any thing to serue his purpose), he did so arti-
ficially compasse it with eloquence, that he farre
passed all the Orators in his time. And for this cause
was he (as they say) sumamed Olympius, as much to
say, as heauenly or diuine. But some are of opinion
he had that surname, by reason of the common build-
ings and stately workes he raised vp in the city of
Athens, that did much set forth the same. Other
thinke it was giuen him for his great authority and

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power he had in gouernment, as well in wars as in
peace. But it is no maruell that this glory was giuen
him, considering the many other qualities and vertues
that were in him. Howbeit the Comedies the Poets
caused to be played in those times (in which there
were many words spoken of him, some in earnest,
some in sport and ieast) do witnesse that he had that
surname giuen him, chiefly for his eloquence. For it
is reported, that he thundred and lightned in his ora-
tions to the people, and that his tongue was a terrible
lightning. And touching this matter, they tell of an
answer Thucycides, Milesius son, should pleasantly
make concerning the force of Pericles eloquence.
Thucydides was a noble man, and had long time con-
tended against Pericles in matters of the common-
weale. Archidamus, king of Lacedaemon, asked
Thucydides on a time: whether he or Pericles wrestled
best Thucydides made him aunswer: When I haue
given him an open fall before the face of the world,
he can so excellently denie it, that he maketh the
people beleeue he had no fall at all, and perswadeth
them the contrarie of that they sawe.^ Notwithstand-
ing he was euer very graue and wise in speaking.
For euer when he went up into the pulpit for orations
to speake to the people, he made his prayers vnto
the gods, that nothing might escape his mouth, but
tliat he might consider before, whether it would serue
the purpose of his matter he treated on : yet are there
none of his workes extant in writing, vnlesse it be
some few lawes he made, and but very few of his
notable sayings are brought to light, saue onely these.
He said on a time, that they must take away the citie
of ^gina, because it was a strawe lying in the eye of the
hauen Pirsa. And another time, he said that he sawe
the warres a farre off, comming from Peloponnesvs.
Another time, as he tooke shippe with Sophocles (his
companion in commission with him as Generall of the

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347

armie) who commended a faire young boy they met
as they came to the hauen : Sophocles, said he, a
gouernour must not onely haue his hands, but also
his eyes cleane. And Stesimbrotus writeth, that in a
funerall oration he made in the praise of those that
were slaine in the warre of Samos : he said they were
immortall as the gods. For we do not see the goddes
(said he) as they be, but for the honour that is done
to them, and the great happinesse they enioy, we do
coniecture they are immortall : and the same things
are in those that dye in seruice, and defence of their
countrey. Now where Thucydides doth write the
gouernement of the Commonweal e vnder Pericles
to be as a gouemment of Nobilitie, and yet had
apparance of a popular state : it is true that in
effect it was a Kingdome, because one alone did
rule and goueme the whole state. And many other
say also, he was the first that brought in the custome
to deuide the enemies landes wonne by conquest
among the people, and of the common money to make
the people see playes and pastimes, and that appointed
them reward for all things. But this custome was ill
brought vp. For the common people that before
were contented wnth litle, and got their lining paine-
fuUy with sweat of their browes, became now to be
very vaine, sumptuous, and riotous, by reason of these
things brought up then. The cause of the alteration
doth easily appeare by those things. For Pericles at
his first comming, sought to winne the fauour of the
people, as we haue said before, onely to get like repu-
tation that Cimon had wonne. But comming farre
short of his wealth and abilitie, to carie out the port
and charge that Cimon did, entertaining the poore,
keeping open house to all commers, clothing poore
old people, breaking open besides all inclosures and
pales through all his landes, that euery one might with
more libertie come in, and take the fruites thereof at

348

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their pleasure: and seeing himselfe by these great
meanes out-gone farre in goodwill with the common
people, by Demonides counsell and procurement
(who was borne in the Isle of los) he brought in this
distribution of the common money, as Aristotle writeth.
And hauing wonne in a short time the fauour and
goodwill of the common people, by distribution of
the common treasure, which he caused to be deuided
among them, aswell to haue place to see these playes,
as for that they had reward to be present at the iudge-
ments, and by other such like corruptions : he with
the peoples helpe, did inueigh against the court of the
Areopagites, whereof he neuer was any member. For
it neuer came to be his happe to be yearely gouernour,
nor keeper of the lawes, nor King of the sacrifices,
nor maister of the warres : all which were offices
chosen in auncient times by lot And further, those
on whom the lot fell, if they had behaued themselues
well in their office, they were called forwards, and
raised to be of the body of this court of the Areopa-
gites. Pericles now by these meanes hauing obtained
great credite and authoritie amongst the people, he
troubled the Senate of the Areopagites in such sort,
that he pluckt many matters from their hearing, by
Ephialtes helpe : and in time made Cimon to be
banished Athens, as one that fauoured the Lacedae-
monians, and contraried the commonwealth and
authoritie of the people. Notwithstanding he was
the noblest and richest person of all the citie, and one
that had wonne so many glorious victories, and had
so replenished Athens with the conquered spoiles of
their enemies, as we haue declared in his life: so
great was the authoritie of Pericles amongst the
people. Now the banishment wherwith he was
punished (which they called Ostracismon) was limited
by the law for ten yeres. In which space the Lace-
daemonians being come downe with a great army into

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349

the country of Tanagra, the Athenians sent out their
power presently against them. There Cimon willing
to shew the Athenians by his deeds, that they had
falsly accused him for fauouring the Lacedaemonians :
did arme himselfe, and went on his country mens
side, to fight in the company of his tribe. But Pericles
friends gathered together, and forced Cimon to depart
thence as a banished man. And this was the cause
that Pericles fought that day more valiantly than euer
he did, and he wanne the honour and name to haue
done more in the person of himselfe that day, then
any other of all the armie. At that battell also, all
Cimons friends, whom Pericles had burdened likewise
to fauour the Lacedaemonians doings, died every man
of them that day. Then the Athenians repented them
much that they had driuen Cimon away, and wished
he were restored, after they had lost this battell vpon
the confines of the countrey of Attica : because they
feared sharpe wars would come vpon them againe at
the next spring. Which thing when Pericles per-
ceiued, he sought also to further that the common
people desired : wherefore he straight caused a decree
to be made, that Cimon should be called home againe,
which was done accordingly. Now when Cimon was
returned, he aduised that peace should be made be-
tweene both cities : for the Lacedaemonians did loue
Cimon very wel, and contrarily they hated Pericles,
and all other gouemours. Some notwithstanding do
write, that Pericles did neuer passe his consent to call
him home againe, before such time as they had made
a secret agreement amongst themselues (by meanes of
Elpinice, Cimons sister) that Cimon should be sent
out with an army of two hundred galleys, to make
warres in the king of Persia his dominions, and that
Pericles should remain at home with the authoritie of
gouernment within the citie. This Elpinice, (Cimons
sister) had once before intreated Pericles for her

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brother, at such time as he was accused before the
ludcre of treason. For Pericles was one of the
committies, to whom this accusation was referred by
the people. Elpinice went vnto him, and besought
him not to do his worst vnto her brother. Pericles
answered her merily : Thou art too old Elpinice,
thou art too old to go through with these matters.
Yet when this matter came to mdgement, and that
his cause was pleaded : he rose but once to speake
a^^ainst him (for his owne discharge as it were) and
w'ent his way when he had said, domg lesse hurt to
Cimon then any other of his accusers. How is Ido-
meneus to be credited now, who accuseth Pericles
that he had caused the orator Ephialtes to be slame by.
treason (that was his friend, and did alwayes counsell
him and did take his part in all kind of gouernment
of the common weale) only for the lelousie and enuy
he did beare to his glory : I can but muse why Ido-
meneus should speake so slanderously against Pericles
vnlesse it were that his melancholy humour procured
such violent speech : who though peraduenture he
was not altogether blamelesse, yet he was euer nobly
minded, and had a natural! desire of honor, m which
kind of men such furious cruel passions are seldom
seene to breed. But this orator Ephialtes being
cruell to those that took part wnth the Nobilitie, be-
cause he would spare or pardon no man for any
offence whatsoeuer committed against the peoples
authoritie, but did follow and persecute them with all
ricrour to the vttermost : his enemies laid waite for
him by meanes of one Aristodicus Tanagnan, and
they killed him by treason, as Aristotle writeth. In
the meanetime Cimon died in the He of Cyprvs, being
generall of the army of the Athenians by sea. Where-
fore those that took part with the Nobihty, seeing
Pericles was now growne very great, and that he went
before all other citizens of Athens, thinking it good

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to haue some one to sticke on their side against him,
and to lessen thereby somewhat his authoritie, that
he might not come to rule all as he would : they
raised vp against him, one Thucydides, of the towne
of Alopecia, a graue wise man, and father in law to
Cimon. This Thucydides had lesse skille of warres
then Cimon, but vnderstood more in ciuill goume-
nient then he, for that he remained most part of his
time within the city: where continually inueighing
against Pericles in his pulpit for oratios to the people,
in short time he had stirred vpa like companie against
the faction of Pericles. For he kept the gentlemen
and richer sort (which they call Nobilitie) from min-
gling with the common people, as they were before,
when through the multitude of the commons their
estate and dignitie was obscured, and troden vnder
foot. Moreouer he did separate them from the people,
and did assemble them all as it were into one body,
\yho came to be of equall power with the other fac-
tion, and did put (as a man will say) a counterpoise
into the ballance. For at the beginning there was
but a litle secret grudge onely betweene these two
factions, as an artificiall flower set in the blade of a
sword, which made those shew a litle, that did leane
vnto the people : and the other also somewhat that
fauoured the Nobilitie. But the contention betweene
these two persons, was as a deep cut, which deuided
the citie into two factions ; of which the one was
called the Nobilitie, and the other the communaltie.
Therefore Pericles giuing yet more libertie vnto the
people, did all things that might be to please them,
ordaining continuall plaies and games in the citie,
many feastes, bankets, and open pastimes to enter-
taine the commons with such honest pleasures and
deuises : and besides all this, he sent yerely an armie
of threescore gallies vnto the warres, into the which
he put a great number of poore citizens that tooke

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pay of the state for nine moneths of the yere, and
thereby they did learne together, and practise to be
good sea men. Furthermore he sent into the countrie
of Cherronesvs, a thousand free men of the citie to
dwell there, and to deuide the lands amongst them ;
fine hundred also into the He of Naxos : into the He
of Andros, two hundred and fiftie : into Thracia, a
thousand to dwell with the Bisaltes : and other also
into Italy, when the citie of Sybaris was built againe,
which afterwards was surnamed the city of the Thv-
rians All this he did to rid the citie of a nuber of
idle people, who through idlenesse began to be curi-
ous, and to desire chaunge of thmgs, as also to pro-
uide for the necessitie of the poore townes-men that
had nothing. For, placing the naturall citizens of
Athens neere vnto their subiects and friends, they
serued as a garrison to keepe them vnder, and did
suppresse them also from attempting any alteration or
chaunge. But that which delighteth most, and is the
greatest ornament vnto the citie of Athens, which
maketh strangers most to wonder, and which alone
doth bring sufficient testimonie, to confirme that
which is reported of the auncient power, riches, and
great wealth of Grece, to be true and not false :^ are
the stately and sumptuous buildings, which Pericles
made to be built in the citie of Athens. For it is the
onely act of all other Pericles did, and which made
his enemies most to spite him, and which they most
accused him for, crying out vpon him m all counsels
and assemblies: that the people of Athens were
openly defamed, for carying away the ready mony of
all Grece, which was left in the He of Delos to be
safely kept there. And although they could with
good honestie haue excused this fact, saying, that
Pericles had taken it from them, for feare of the bar-
barous people, to the end to lay it vp m a more
stronger place, where it should be m better satetie :

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353

yet was this too ouergreat an iniury offerd vnto all the
rest of Grece, and too manifest a token of tyrannie
also, to behold before their eyes, how we do employ
the money, which they were inforced to gather for the
maintenance of the warres against the barbarous
people, in gilding, building, and setting forth our city,
like a glorious woman, all to be gauded with gold and
precious stones, and how we do make images, and
build vp temples of wonderfull and infinite charge.
Pericles replied to the contrary, and declared vnto
the Athenians, that they were not bound to make any
account of this money vnto their friends and allies,
considering that they fought for their safety, and that
they kept the barbarous people far from Grece with-
out troubling them to set out any one man, horse or
ship of theirs, the mony onely excepted, which is no
more theirs that paid it, the theirs that receiued it, so
they bestow it to that vse they receiued it for. And
their city being already well furnished, and prouided
of all things necessary for the warres, it was good rea-
son they should employ and bestow the surplus of the
treasure in things which in time to come (and being
throughly finished) would make their fame etemall.
Moreouer he said that whilest they continue building,
they should be presently rich, by reason of the diuer-
sitie of works of all sorts, and other things which they
should haue need of : and to compasse these things
the better, and to set them in hand, all maner of arti-
ficers and workmen (that would labor) should be set
a worke. So should all the townes-men, and inhabi-
tants of the city, receiue pay and wages of the common
treasure : and the citie by this meanes should be
greatly beautified, and much more able to maintaine
it selfe. For such as were strong, and able men of
body, and of yeares to cary weapon, had pay and
entertainement of the common-wealth, which were
sent abroade vnto the warres : and other that were
VOL. iv.(') z

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not meete for wanes, as craftes-men, and labourers :
he would also they should haue part of the common
treasure, but not without they earned it, and by doing
somewhat. And this was his reason, and the cause
that made him occupie the common people with great
buildings, and deuises of workes of diuerse occupa-
tions, which could not be finished of long time : to
the end that the citizens remaining at home, might
haue a meane and way to take part of the common
treasure, and enrich themselves, as well as those that
went to the wars, and serued on the sea, or els that
lay in garrison to keepe any place or fort. For some
gained by bringing stuffe : as stones, brasse, iuory,
gold, ebany, and cypres. Other got, to work and
fashion it: as carpenters, grauers, founders, casters
of images, masons, hewers of stone, diers, goldsmiths,
ioyners working in iuory, painters, men that set in
sundry colours of peeces of stone or wood, and tur-
ners. Other gained to bring stuffe, and to furnish
them, as merchants, mariners, and shipmaisters, for
things they brought them by sea. And by land other
got also : as cart-makers, cariers, carters, cord-makers,
sadlers, coller-makers, and py oners to make wayes
plaine, and miners, and such like. Furthermore euer}^
science & craft, as a captain hauing souldiers, had
also their army of the workmen that serued them,
labouring truly for their liuing, who serued as apren-
tises and ioumeymen vnder their workemaisters : so
the worke by this meanes did disperse abroad a com-
mon gaine to all sorts of people and ages, what occu-
pation or trade soeuer they had. And thus came the
buildings to rise in greatnesse and sumptuousnesse,
being of excellent workmanship, and for grace and
beautie not comparable ; because euery workeman in
his science did striue what he could to excell others,
to make his worke appeare greatest in sight, and to
be most workmanly done in she^^. But the greatest

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355

thing to be wondred at, was their speed and diligence.
For where euery man thought those workes were not
likely to be finished in many mens liues and ages, and
from man to man : they were all done and finished,
whilest one onely gouernour continued still in credite
and authoritie. And yet they say, that in the same
time, as one Agatarchus boasted him selfe, that he
had quickly painted certaine beasts : Zeuxis another
painter hearing him, answered : And I contrarily
do reioyce, that I am a long time in drawing of
them. For commonly slight and sodaine drawing
of any thing, cannot take deepe colours, nor giue
perfect beauty to the worke: but length of time,
adding to the painters diligence and labour in
making of the worke, maketh the colours to con-
tinue for euer. For this cause therefore the workes
Pericles made, are more wonderfull: because they
were perfectly made in so short a time, and haue
continued so long a season. For euery one of
those which were finished vp at that time, seemed
then to be very auncient touching the beauty thereof :
and yet for the grace and continuance of the same,
it looketh at this day as if it were but newly done
and finished, there is such a certain kind of flourish-
ing fireshnesse in it, which letteth that the iniury of
time cannot impaire the sight therof. As if euery
of those foresaid workes, had some lining spirit in it,
to make it seeme yong and fresh : and a soul that lined
euer, which kept them in their good continuing state.
Now the chiefe surueyour general of al these works
was Phidias, albeit that there were many other excel-
lent workmasters in euery science and occupation.
For the temple of Pallas, which is called Parthenon
(as a man would say, the temple of the virgine, and
is surnamed Hecatompedon, for that it is a hundred
foote euery way) was built by Ictinus, and Callicrates :
and the chappell of Eleusin (where the secret cere-

356

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

monies of the mysteries were made) was first founded
by Corsebus, who raised vp the first pillars in order,
standing beneath on the ground, and did set them vp
vnto the maister chaptrels. But after he was dead,
Metagenes, borne in the towne of Xypeta, turned the
arches ouer, and then did set the pillars in order also
which are aboue: and Xenocles of the towne of
Cholargea. was he that made the lanterne or top of
the steeple which couereth the sanctuary : but the
long wall which Socrates heard Pericles himselfe
giue order for the building of it, was done by Calli-
crates, who vndertooke . the worke. Cratinus the
Poet, in a comedie he made, laugheth at this worke,
to see how slowly it went forward, and how long it
was a doing, saying :

Fertdes lo7ig a go, did end this worke begiinne;

and huild it high^ with glorious words, if so it had
bene done.

But as for deedes {in deede) he built nothing at all,
but let it stand ; as yet it sta7ids^ ?nuch liker for to
fall

And as for the Theater or place appointed for
niusicke, where they heare all musitions play, and is
called Odeon : it is Ytxy well made within with diuers
seates and degrees, and many ranges of pillars, but
the top of the roofe is altogether round, which is
somewhat hanging downeward round about of it selfe,
comraing together into one point. And it is said that
this was made after the patterne and fashion of King
Xerxes royall pauilion, and that Pericles was the first
deuiser and maker of it. Wherefore Cratinus in another
place of his comedie he maketh of the Thracians,
doth play very pretily vpon him, saying :

Pericles here doth co7ne, Dan lupiier stirjiamed,

{and 07iio?is head) which hath in his great noddle
finely fra7?ied

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357

T7ie plot of Odeon^ whm he ddiuered was
from banishment^ arid dangers deepe, wherein he lor^
did passe.

Pericles was the first that made maruellous earnest
labour to the people that they would make an order,
that on the day of the feast called Panathense, they
would set vp games for musicke. And he himselfe
being chosen ruler of these games, as iudge to reward
the best deseruer : ordained the manner the musitions
should euer after keepe in their singing, playing on
their flutes, or vpon the citherne, or other instruments
of musicke. So the first games that euer were for
musick, were kept within the Odeon : and so were
the other after them also, euer celebrated there. The
gate and entring into the castle was made and finished
within the space of fiue yeares, vnder the charge of
Menesicles, that was maister of the workes. And
whilst these gates were a building, there happened a
wonderfull chance, which declared that the goddess
Minerua did not mislike the building, but that it
pleased her maruellously. For one of the most
painefuUest worekmen that wrought there, fell by
mischance from the height of the castle to the ground,
which fal did so sore bruse him, and he was so sick
withal, that the phisitions and surgeons had no hope
of his life. Pericles being very soiy for his mis-
chance, the goddesse appeared to him in his sleepe
in the night, & taught him a medicine, with the which
he did easily heale the poore brused man, and that
in short time. And this was the occasion why he
caused the image of the goddesse Minerva .(otherwise
called of health) to be cast in brasse, and set vp
within the temple of the castle, neare vnto the altar
which was there before, as they say. But the golden
image of Minerua was made by Phidias, and grauen
round about the base : who had the charge in man-

3S8

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

Tier of all other workes, and by reason of the good
will Pericles bare him, he commanded all the other
workmen. And this made the one to be greatly
enuied, and the other to be very ill spoken of. For
their enemies gaue it outabroade, that Phidias receiued
the gentlewomen of the citie into his house^ vnder
colour to go see his workes, and did conuey them to
Pericles. Vpon this brute, the Comicall poets taking
occasion, did cast out many slaunderous speeches
against Pericles, accusing him that he kept one
Menippus wife, who was his friend and lieutenant in
the warres-: and burdened him further, that Pyri-
lampes, one of his familiar friends also, brought vp
foule, and specially peacockes, which he secretly sent
vnto the women that Pericles kept But we^ must
not wonder at those Satyres, that make profession to
speake slaunderously against all the world, as it were
to sacrifice the iniuries and wrongs they cast vpon
honorable & good men, to the spite and enuy of the
people, as vnto wicked spirits : considering that
Stesimbrotus Thasian durst falsly accuse Pericles of
detestable incest, and of abusing his owne sons wife.
And this is the reason, in my opinion, why it is so
hard a matter to come to the perfect knowledge of
the truth of auncient things, by the monuments of
historiographers : considering long processe of time,
doth vtterly obscure the truth of matters, done in
former rimes. For euery written historie speaking of
men that are aliue, and of the time of things, whereof
it maketh mention : sometime for hate and enuy,
sometime for fauor or flatterie, doth disguise and cor-
rupt the truth. But Pericles perceiuing that the
orators of Thucydides faction, in their common ora-
tions did stil crie out vpon him, that he did vainely
waste and consume the common treasure, and that he
bestowed vpon the workes, all the whole reuenue of
the citie : one day when the people were assembled

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359

together, before them all he asked theni, if they
thought that the cost bestowed were too much. The
people answered him: a greate deale too much.
Well, said he then, the charges shall be mine (if you
thinke good) and none of yours : prouided that no
mans name be written vpon the workes, but mine
onely. When Pericles had said so, the people
cried out aloud, they would none of that (either
because that they wondred at the greatnesse of his
minde, or else for that they would not giue him
the only honour and praise to haue done so sumptu-
ous and stately works) but willed him that he should
see them ended at the common charges, without
sparing for any cost. But in the end, falling out
openly with Thucydides, and putting it to an aduen-
ture which of them should banish other, with the
banishment of Ostracismon : Pericles got the vpper
hand, and banished Thucydides out of the citie, and
therewithal also ouerthrew the contrarie faction against
him. Now when he had rooted out all factions, and
brought the citie againe to vnitie and concord, he
found then the whole power of Athens in his hands,
and all the Athenians matters at his disposing. And
hauing all the treasure, armour, galleys, the lies, and
the sea, and a maruellous seigniorie and kingdome
(that did enlarge it selfe partly ouer the Grecians, and
partly ouer the barbarous people) so well fortified
and strengthened with the obedience of nations sub-
iect vnto them, with the friendship of Kings, and
with the alliance of diners other Princes and mightie
Lords : then from that time forward he beganne to
change his manners towards the people, and not so
easily to giue place and frame himselfe to the peoples
wils and desires, no more then as it were to contrary
winds. Furthermore he altered his ouer gentle and
popular manner of gouemement which he vsed vntill
that time, as too delicate and too effeminate an har-

360

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

mony of musicke, and did conuert it vnto an impe-
rious gouernment, or rather to a kingly authoritie :
but yet held still a diiect course, and kept himselfe
euer vpright without fault, as one that did, said, and
counselled that, which was most expedient for the
common-weale. He many times brought on the
people by perswasions and reasons, to be willing to
graunt that he preferred vnto them ; but many times
also, he draue them to it by force, and made them
against their wils do that, which was best for them.
Folowing therein the deuise of a wise phisition : who
in a long and changeable disease, doth graunt his
pacient sometime to take his pleasure of a thing he
liketh, but yet after a moderate sort : and another
time also, he doth giue him a sharpe or bitter medi-
cine that doth vexe him, though it heale him. For
(as it falleth out commonly vnto people that enioy so
great an empire) many times misfortunes did chance,
that filled the full of sundry passios, the which Pericles
alone could finely steere and goueme with two prin-
cipal! rudders, feare, and hope : brideling with the
one, the fierce and insolent rashnesse of the common
people in prosperitie, and with the other comforting
their griefe and discouragement in aduersitie. Where-
in he manifestly proued, that Rhetoricke and Elo-
quence (as Plato saith) is an art which quickneth
mens spirits at her pleasure, & her chiefest skill is, to
know how to moue passions and affections throughly,
which are as stops and sounds of the soule, that
would be plaid vpon with a fine fingred hand of a
cunning maister. All which, not the force of elo-
quence only brought to passe, as Thucydides wit-
nesseth : but the reputation of his hfe, and the opinion
& confidence they had of his great worthinesse,
because he would not any way be corrupted with gifts,
neither had he any couetousnes in him. For when
he had brought his citie not onely to be great, but

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361

exceeding great and wealthy, and had in power and
authoritie exceeded noany Kings and tyrants, yea
euen those which by their willes and testaments might
haue left great possessions to their children : he neuer
for all that increased his fathers goods and patrimony
left him, the value of a grote in siluer. And yet the
historiographer Thucydides doth set forth plainely
inough, the greatnesse of his power. And the Comicall
poets also of that time do report it maliciously vnder
couert words, calling his familiar friends, the new
Pysistratides, saying, -how they must make him sweare
and protest he would neuer be King: giuing vs thereby
to vnderstand that his authority was too exceeding
great for a popular gouemement And Teleclides
(amongst other) saith, that the Athenians had put into
his hands the reuenue of the townes and cities vnder
their obedience, and the towns themselues, to bind
the one, and loose the other, and to pull downe their
wals, or to build them againe at his pleasure. They
gaue him power, to make peace and alliance : they
gaue all their force, treasure, and authority, and all
their goods wholy into his hands. But this was not
for a litle while, nor in a geere of fauour, that should
continue for a time : but this held out forty yeares
together, he being alwayes the chiefe of his city
amongst the Ephialtes, the Leocrates, the Mironides,
the Cimons, the Tolmides, and the Thucydides. For
after he had preuailed against Thucydides, and had
banished him, he yet remained chiefe aboue all other,
the space of fifteene yeares. Thus hauing attained a
regall dignity to commaund all, which continued as
aforesaid, where no other captaines authority endured
but one yeare: he euer kept himselfe vpright from
bribes and mony, though otherwise he was no ill hus-
band, and could warily looke to his owne. As for his
lands and goods left him by his parents, that they mis-
caried not by negligence, nor that they should trouble

362

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

him much, in busying himselfe to reduce them to a
value : he did so husband them, as he thought was his
best and easiest way. For he sold in grosse euer the
whole yeares profit and comodity of his lands, and
afterwards sent to the market daily to buy the cates,
and other ordinarie prouision of houshold. This did
not like his sonnes that were men growne, neither
were his women contented with it, who w-ould haue
had him more liberall in his house : for they com-
plained of his ouerhard and straight ordinary, because
in so noble and great a house as his, there was neuer
any great remaine left of meate, but all things receiued
into the house, ranne into accompt, and were deliuered
out by proportion. All this good husbandry of his,
was kept vpright in this good order, by one Euangelus,
steward of his house, a man very honest and skilful in
all his houshold prouision : and whether Pericles had
brought him vp to it, or that he had it by nature, it
was not knowne. But these things were farre con-
trary to Anaxagoras wisedome. For he despising the
world, and casting his affection on heauenly things :
did willingly forsake his house, and suffered all his
land to run to layes and to pasture. But (in my opi-
nion) great is the diuersitie betweene a contemplatiue
life, and a ciuill life. For the one employeth all his
time vpon the speculation of good and honest things :
and to attaine to that, he thinketh he hath no need of
any exteriour help or instrument. The other applying
all his time vpon vertue, to the common profit and
benefit of men: he thinketh that he needeth riches,
as an instrument not onely necessary but also honest.
As, looke vpon the example of Pericles: who did
relieue many poore people. And Anaxagoras specially
among other : of whom it is reported, that Pericles
being occupied about matters of state at that time,
hauing no leisure to thinke vpon Anaxagoras, he see-
ing himselfe old and forsaken of the world, laid him

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

3^3

downe, and couered his head close, determining to
starue himself to death with hunger. Pericles vnder-
standing this, ran presently to him as a man halfe cast
away, and prayed him as earnestly as he could, that
he would dispose him selfe to line, being not onely
sory for him, but for himselfe also, that he should
loose so faithfull and wise a counseller, in matters of
state and gouemement. Then Anaxagoras shewed his
face, and told him : O Pericles, those that will see by
the light of a lampe, must put oyle to it, to make the
light burne. Now began the Lacedsemonians to grow
iealous of the greatnesse of the Athenians, wherefore
Pericles to make the Athenians hearts greater, and so
draw their minds to great enterprises : set downe an
order they should send ambassadours to perswade al
the Grecians (in what part soeuer they dwelt in Evrope,
or Asia, as well the litle as the great cities) to send
their deputies vnto Athens, to the generall assembly
that should be holden there to take order for the
temples of ^he gods which the barbarous people had
burnt, and touching the sacrifices they had vowed for
the preseniation of Grece, when they gaue battel vpon
them : and touching sea matters also, that euery man
might saile in safety where he would, and that all might
Hue together in good peace and loue one with another.
To performe this commission, twenty persons were
sent of this ambasiate, euery one of them being fifty
yeares of age and vpward. Whereof fine of them
went to the Dorians, dwelling in Asia, and to the in-
habitants of the lies, eue vnto the Isles of Lesbos, &
of the Rhodes. Flue other went through al the
country of Hellespont, & of Thracia, vnto the city of
Bizantivm. Other fine were commanded to go into
Boeotia, into Phocides, and through al Peloponnesvs,
& firom thence by the country of the Locrians, into
the vpland country ioyning to it, vntil they came into
the country of Acamania, and of Ambracia. And the

364 3^^^ ^^^^ PERICLES.

Other fiue went first into the Isle of Evboea, and from
thence vnto the Oetaeians, and through all the gulfe
of Malea, vnto the Phtiotes, vnto the Achaians, and
the Thessalians : declaring to all the people where
they came, the Athenians commission, perswadmg
them to send vnto Athens, and to be present at the
counsell which should be holden there, for the paci-
fication and vnion of all Grece. But when all came
to all, nothing was done, and the said cities of Grece
did not assemble, by practice of the Lacedemonians
(as it is reported) who were altogether the let : for the
first refusall that was made of their summons, was at
Peloponnesvs. This haue I written to make Pericles
noble courage to be knowne, and how profound a wise
man he shew^ed himselfe vnto the world. Further-
more, when he was chosen General in the warres, he
was much esteemed, because he euer tooke great
rec^ard to the safety of his souldiers. For by his good
willhe would neuer hazard battell, which he saw might
faU out doubtfuU, or in any thing daungerous : and
moreouer, he neuer praised them for good generals,
neither would he follow them that had obtained great
victories by hazard, howsoeuer other did esteeme or
commend them. For he was wont to say, that if none
but himselfe did leade them to the shambles, as much
as lay in him, they should be immortall. And when
he saw Tolmides, the sonne of Tolmeus (trusting to
his former victories, and the praise and commendation
of his good semice) did prepare vpon no occasion,
and to no purpose, to enter into the countrey of
Boeotia, and had procured also a thousand of the
lustiest and most valiant men of the citie, to be con-
tented to go with him in that iourney, ouer and aboue
the rest of the army he had leauied : he went about to
turne him from his purpose, and to keepe him at
home, by many perswasions he vsed to him before the
peoples face, and spake certaine words at that time,

THE LIFE OF PERICLES. 365"

that were remerabred long after, and these they were:
That if he would not beleeue Pericles counsell, yet
that he would tary time at the least, which is the
wisest counseller of men. These words were pretily
liked at that present time. But within few dayes
after, when news was brought that Tolmides self was
slaine in a battel he had lost, neare vnto the citie of
Coronea, wherein perished also, many other honest
and valiant men of Athens : his wordes spoken before,
did then greatly increase Pericles reputation and good
wil with the common people, because he was taken
for a wise man, and one that loued his citizens. But
of all his ioumeys he made, being Generall ouer the
army of the Athenians, the iourney of Cherronesvs
was best thought of and esteemed, because it fell out
to the great benefite and preseruation of all the Gre-
cians inhabiting in that countrey. For besides that
he brought thither a thousand citizens of Athens to
dwell there (in which doing he strengthened the cities
with so many good men) he did fortifie the barre also,
which did let it from being of an He, with a fortifica-
tion he drew from one sea to another: so that he
defended the country against all the inuasions and
piracies of the Thracians inhabiting thereabouts, and
deliuered it of extreame warre, with the which it was
plagued before, by the barbarous people their neigh-
bours, or dwelling amongst them, who only liued vpon
piracie & robbing on the seas. So was he Hkewise
much honored and esteemed of strangers, when he
did enuirone all Peloponnesvs, departing out of the
hauen of Peges, on the coast of Megara, with a fleet
of a hundred gallies. For he did not only spoile
the townes all alongst the sea side, as Tolmides had
done before him : but going vp further into the maine
land, farre from the sea, with his souldiers he had in
the gallies, he draue some of them to retire within
their walles, he made them so afraid of him : and in

366

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

the country of Nemea, he ouercame the Sicyonians m
battell, that taxied him in the field, & did erect a
pillar for a notable mark of his victorie. And imbarkmg
m his ships a new supply of souldiers which he took vp
in Achaia, being friends with the Athenians at that
time he passed ouer to the firme land that lay directly
agaiAst it. And pointing beyond the mouth of the riuer
of Achelous, he inuaded the countrey of Acharnania,
where he shut vp the Oeneades withm their walles.
And after he had laid waste and destroyed all the cham-
pion countrey, he returned home agame to Athens :
hauing shewed himselfe in this iourney a dreadfull cap-
taine to his enemies, and very carefuU for the safetie of
his souldiers. For there fell out no manner of misfortune
all this iourney (by chaunce or otherwise) vnto the soul-
diers vnder his charge. And afterwardes, going with a
great nauy maruellous well appointed vnto the
Realme of Pontvs, he did there gently vse and m-
treat the cities of Grece, and granted them all that
they required of him : making the barbarous people
inhabiting thereabouts, and the Kings and Princes of
the same also, to know the great force and power of
the Athenians, who sailed without feare all about
where they thought good, keeping all the coasts of
the sea vnder their obedience. Furthermore, he left
with the Sinopians thirteene galleys, with certain
number of soldiers vnder Captain Lamachus, to
defend them against the tyrant Timesileus : who be-
ino- expulsed and driuen away with those of his fac-
tion, Pericles caused proclamation to be made at
Athens, that sixe hundred free men of the citie, that
had any desire to go, without compulsion, might go
dwell at Sinopa, where they should haue deuided
among them the goods and lands of the tyrant and
his followers. But he did not follow the foohsh vaine
humors of his citizens, nor would not yeeld to^ their
vnsatiable couetousnesse, who being set on a iohtie

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

to see themselves so strong, and of such a power,
and besides, to haue good lucke, would needs once
againe attempt to conquer ^g}'pt, and to reuolt all
the countries vpon the sea coasts, from the empire of
the king of Persia : for there were many of them
whose minds were maruellously bent to attempt the
vnfortunate enterprise of entering Sicilia, which Alci-
biades afterwards did much pricke forward. And
some of them dreamed besides, of the conquest of
Thvscan, and the empire of Carthage. But this was
not altogether without some likelihood, nor without
occasion of hope, considering the large bounds of
theire Kingdome, and the fortunat estate of their
affaires, which fell out according to their own desire.
But Pericles did hinder this going out, and cut of
altogether their curious desire, employing the most
part of their power and force, to keepe that they had
already gotten : iudging it no small matter to keepe
downe the Lacedaemonians from growing greater.
For he was alwaies an enemie to the Lacedaemonians,
as he shewed himselfe in many things, but specially
in the war he made, called the holy warre. For the
Lacedaemonians hauing put the Phocians from the
charge of the temple of Apollo, in the city of Del-
phes, which they had vsurped, and hauing restored
the Delphians again vnto the same : so soone as they
were gone thence, Pericles went also with another
army, and restored the Phocians in againe. And
whereas the Lacedaemonians had caused to be grauen
in the forehead of a Wolfe of brasse, the priuiledge the
Delphians had granted them, to be the first that
should make their demands of the oracle : he hauing
attained the like priuiledge of the Phocians, made his
image also to be grauen on the right side of the same
image, of the brasen Wolfe. Now how wisely Peri-
cles did gouerne Grece by the power of the Athenians,
his deeds do plainly shew. For first of all, the coun-

368

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trey of Evboea did rebell, against whom he brought
the army of the Athenians, And suddenly in the
necke of that, came newes from another coast, that
the Megarians also were in armes against them : and
how they were already entered into the country of
Attica with a great army, led by Plistonax King of
Lacedsemon. This occasion drew him homeward
againe, and so he marched backe with speed into his
country, to make preparation to encounter his ene-
mies, that were already entred into the territories of
Attica. He durst not offer them battel, being so
great a number of valiant soldiers : but hearing that
king Plistonax was yet but a yong man, and was ruled
altogether by Cleandrides counsell and direction
(whom the Ephores had placed about him to counsell
and direct him) he sought priuily to corrupt Clean-
drides. When he had won him soone with his money,
he perswaded him to draw backe the Peloponnesians
out of their countrey of Attica : and so he did. But
when the Lacedaemonians saw their army cassed, and
that the people were gone their way, euery man to
his owne city or towne, they were so mad at it, that
the king was condemned in a great sum. The king
being unable to answer his fine, which was so extreme
great, he was driuen to absent himselfe from Lace-
dsemon. Cleandrides on the other side, if he had not
fled in time, euen for spite had bene condemned to
death. This Cleandrides was Gylippus^ father, that
afterwards ouercarae the Athenians in Sicilia, in whom
it seemed nature bred couetousnes, as a disease inherit-
able by succession from the father to the son. For he
being shamefully conuicted also, for certaine vile
parts he had plaid, was likewise banished from Sparta :
as we haue more amply declared in the life of Ly-
sander. And Pericles deliuering vp the account of
his charge, and setting downe an article of the ex-
pence of tenne talents he had employed; or should

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

employ in needfull causes : the people allowed them
him, ueuer asking question how, nor which way, nor
whether it was true that they were bestowed. Now
there are certaine writers (amongst whom the Philo-
sopher Theophrastus is one) who write that Pericles
sent yearely vnto Sparta ten talents, with the which
he entertained those that were in authoritie there,
because they should make no wars with them : not to
buy peace of them, but time, that he might in the
meane season, with better commodity, and that ley-
sure, prouide to maintaine the wars. After that, as
the army of the Peloponnesians were out of the
country of Attica, he returned against the rebels, and
passed into the He of Evbcea with fifty saile, and fine
thousand footmen well armed : and there he ouer-
came all the cities that had taken armes against him,
and draue away the Hyppobotes, who were the most
famous men of all the Chalcidians, as well for their
riches, as for their valiantnes. He draue away also
all the Hestiaeians, whom he chased cleane out of all
the country, and placed in their city, onely the citizens
of Athens. And the cause why he dealt so rigor-
ously with them was, because they hauing taken a
galley of the Athenians prisoner, had put all the men
to death that were in her. And peace being con-
cluded afterwards betweene the Athenians and Lace-
daemonians for thirty yeares: he proclaimed open
wars against those of the Isle of Samos, burdening
them, that they being commaunded by the Athenians,
to pacific the quarrels which they had against the
Milesians, they would not obey. But because some
hold opinion, that he tooke vpon him this warre
against Samos, for the loue of Aspasia : it shall be no
great digression of our story, to tell you by the way,
what manner of woman she was, and what a maruel-
lous gift and power she had, that she could entangle
with her loue the chiefest rulers and gouemors at that
VOL. IV (') 2 A

370 THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

time of the commonweale, and that the Philosophers
themselues did so largely speake and write of her.
First of all, it is certaine that she was borne m the
city of Miletvm, and was the daughter of one Axio-
chus : she following the steps and example of an old
cnrtisan of Ionia, called Thargelia, gane l^er selfe
only to entertaine the greatest persons and chiefest
nilers in her time. For this Thargelia being passing
faire, and carying a comely grace with her, haumg a
sharpe wit and pleasant tong, she had the acquamt-
ance and friendship of the greatest persons of all .
Grece, and wanne all those that did haunt her com-
pany, to be at the king of Persiaes commaundement.
So that she sowed through all the cities of Grece,
great beginnings of the faction of the Medes : for
they were the greatest men of power and authentic
of every city that were acquainted with her. But as
for Aspasia, some say that Pericles resorted vnto her,
because she was a wise woman, and had great vnder-
standing in matters of state and gouernement For
Socrates himseife went to -see her sometimes with
his friends : and those that vsed her company also,
brou<rht their wiues many times with them to heare
her talke : though her traine were, to entertaine such
as would warme them by her fire, ^schmes writeth,
that Lysicles a grasier, being before but a meane man,
and of a clubbish nature, came to be the chiefe man
of Athens, by frequenting the company of Aspasia,
after the death of Pericles. And to Platoes booke
■ intituled Menexenus, although the beginning of it be
but pleasantly written, yet in that, this story is written
truely : that' this Aspasia was repahed vnto by diuers
of the Athenians, to learn the art of rhetonck of her.
Yet notwithstanding it seemeth most likely that the
affection Pericles did beare her, grew rather of loue,
then of any other cause. For he was maned vnto a
kinsewoman of his owne, and that before was Hip-

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

ponicus wife, by whom she had Callias, sumaraed the
rich : and had afterwards by Pericles, Xantippus and
Paralus. But not liking her company, he gaue her
with her owne goodwill and consent vnto another,
and maried Aspasia whom he dearely loued. For
euer when he went abroad, and came home againe,
he saluted her with a kisse. Whereupon in the
auncient Comedies, she is called in many places, the
new Omphale, and sometimes Deianira, and some-
times luno. But Cratinus plainly calleth her whore
in these verses :

His luno she Mm brought^ Aspasia by name^

which was indeed an open whore, and past all
kind of shame.

And it seemeth that he had a bastard : for Eupolis
^ in a comedie of his called Demosij, bringeth him in,
asking Pironides thus :

J pray thee is my bastard sonne yet aline?
And then Pironides answered him :

A perfect man long since, he surely had bene fou?id,
if that this lewd and naughty whore, his vertue
had not drownd.

To conclude, this Aspasia was so famous, that
Cyrus (he that fought against king Artaxerxes his
brother, for the empire of Persia) called Aspasia
his best beloued of all his concubines, which be-
fore was called Milito, and was borne in Phocides,
being Hermotimus daughter. And Cyrus being
siaine in the field, Aspasia was caried to the King
"his brother, with whom afterwards she was in great
fauor. As I was writing this life, this story came
to my mind: and me thought I should have dealt
hardly, if I should haue left it vnwritten. But
to our matter againe. Pericles was charged that he

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

xuade warres against the Saimans on bgalfe Of the
the ri<^ht misht be decided: but they reiusea u

heides those many other offered him the like, such
L wold not haue^^^ soueraigne authority put into
the hands of the people. Moreouer Pissuthnes the
San lieutentant to the king of Persia for the good-
S he bare those of Samos did send Pericles ten
Zusand crownes to release the hostages. But Pen-
Iks neuertooke penny : and hauing done that he de-
£LS at Samos, and established a popular gouern-
ment he returned againe to Athens. Nothwithstand-
Sr ^he Samians rebelled immediatly after, haumg
recouered their hostages againe by mean es of this
pTssuthnes that stale them away, and did furnish them
2o whh all their munition of warre. Wherupon
Pericres returning against them once more, he found
S not idle, nor amazed at his commmg bu
SsSutely deteAnined to receiue him, and to fight for
he seig/orie by sea. So there was a great baUeUough
betweene them, neare the He of Tracia And Pericles
• wan the battel: hauing with 44 saile onely nobly
TuLome his enemies, which were threescore and ten
fn number, wherof twenty of them were ships of war.
AndTo fbllowing his victory forthwith, he wan also
tte port of Samos, and kept the Samians besieged
within their own citie : where they were yet so bold.

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

373

as they wold make sallies out many times, and fight
before the wals of the citie. But when there arriued
a new supply of ships bringing a greater aide vnto
Pericles : then w^ere they shut vp of all sides.
Pericles then taking threescore galleys with him,
launched out into the sea, with intent (as some say)
to go meete certaine ships of the Phoenicians (that
came to aide the Samians) as far from Samos as he
could; or as Stesimbrotus saith, to go into Cyprvs,
which me thinketh is not true. But whatsoeuer was
his intent, he committed a foule faulte. For Melissus
(the son of Ithagenes, a great Philosopher) being at
that time general of the Samians, perceiuing that few
ships were left behind at the siege of the city, and that
the captaines also that had the charge of them were
no very expert men of war, perswaded his citizens to
make a sallie vpon them. Wherupon they fought a
battel, and the Samians ouercame: the Athenians
were taken prisoners, and they sunke many of their
ships. Now they being lords againe of the sea, did
furnish their city with all maner of munition for wars,
whereof before they had great want Yet Aristotle
writeth, that Pericles selfe was once ouercomeinabattell
at sea by Melissus. Furthermore the Samians, to be
euen with the Athenians for the iniury they had re-
ceiued of them before : did brand them in the fore-
head with the stampe of an owle, the owle being then
the stampe of their coine at Athens, euen as the
Athenians had branded the Samian prisoners before
with the stampe of Samsena. This Samaena is a kind
of ship amongst the Samians, low afore, and well laid
out in the mid-ship, so that it is excellent good to rise
with the waues of the sea, and is very swift vnder
saile : and it was so called, because the first that was
made of this fashion, was made in the Isle of Samos,
by the tyrant Polycrates. It is said that the Poet
Aristophanes, couertly conveying the stampe of the

LIFE OF PERICLES.

Samians, speaking merily in a place of his Comedies,
saith :

The Samians are great learned men.
Pericles being aduertised of the ouerthrow of his
armie returned presently to the rescue Mehssus
S to meet him, and gaue him battell: but he j.as
ouerthro^vne, and driuen back into his city where
Pericles walled them in round about the citie, desinng
S ie rather by time and charge then by danger
Ind osse of his souldiers. But when he saw that
they were wearie with tract of time and that they
Sd bring it to hazard of battell, and that he couM
by no meanes withhold them : he then deuided his
aLte into eight companies, whom he made to draw
S aLdthat company that lighted vpon the white
beake, they should be quiet and make good cheare,
Se the other seven fought. And they say that from
Tence it came, that when any haue made good
cheare and taken pleasure abroad, they do yet
cal it a white day, because of the white beane.
Ephoms the historiographer wnteth, that it was there,
where first of all they began to ^^^^l^l'^^^l^^^^
toplucke downe great wals, and '^f/^^!^'^^
first this wonderful inuention : and that i^temon
an enginer was the first deuiser of them He was
Sried VP and downe in a chaire, to set forward .
Sese workes, because he had a lame legge : and for
tWs ca^e he was called Periphoretos But Heraclides
Ponticus confiiteth Ephorus therein, by the verses of
Anacreon, in the which Artemon is called Peri-
phoretos, many yeares before this warre of Samos
Wan- and saith this Periphoretos was a maruellous
tender man, and so foolishly afeard of his owne
shadow, that the most part of his time he stirred not
out of his house, and did sit alwaies haumg two of
his men by him, that held a copper target ouer his

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

375

head, for feare lest anything should fall ypon him.
And if vpon any occasion he were driuen to go
abroad out of his house : he would be carried in a
litle bed hanging neare the ground, and for this cause
he was surnamed Periphoretos. At the last, at niae
moneths end, the Samians were compelled to yeeld.
So Pericles tooke the city & rased their wals to the
ground: he brought their ships away, and made
them pay a marvellous great tribute, whereof part
he receiued in hand, and the rest payable at a
certaine time, taking hostages with him for the assur-
ance of payment. But Duris the Samian dilateth
these matters maruellous pitifully, burdening the
Athenians, and Pericles selfe with vnnaturall cruelty :
whereof neither Thucydides, nor Ephorus, nor Aristotle
himselfe maketh mention. And sure I cannot be-
leeue it is true that is written : That he brought the
captaines of the gallies, and the soldiers themselues
of Samia, into the market place of the city of
Miletvm, where he made them to be bound fast
vnto boords for the space of tenne dayes, and at the
end of the same, the poore men halfe dead, were
beaten downe with clubbes, and their heads pashed
in pieces : and afterwards they threw out their bodies
to the Crowes, and would not burie them. So Duris
being accustomed to ouerreach, and to lye many
times in things nothing touching him, seemeth in this
place out of all reason to aggrauate the calamities of
his countrey, onely to accuse the Athenians, and to
make them odious to the world. Pericles hauing won
the citie of Samos, he returned againe to Athens,
where he did honorably burie the bones of his slaine
citizens in this warre : and himselfe (according to
their manner and custome) made the funerall oration,
for the which he was marvellously esteemed. In
such sort, that after he came downe from the pulpit
where he made his oration, the ladies and gentle-

376

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

women of the citie came to salute him, and brought
him garlands to put vpon his head, as they do to noble
conquerers when they retume from games, where
they haue wonne the prize. But Elpinicd comming
to him, said : Surely Pericles, thy good seruice done,
deserueth garlands of triumph : for thou hast lost vs
many a good and valiant citizen, not fighting with the
Medes, the Phoenicians, and with the barbarous
people as my brother Cimon did, but for destroy-
ing a citie of our owne nation and kindred. Pericles
to these words, softly answered Elpinicd, with Archi-
lochus verse, smiling :

When thou art oldf faint not thy selfe.

But Ion writeth, that he greatly gloried, and stood
much in his own conceipt, after he had subdued the
Samians, saying : Agamemnon was ten yeares taking
of a citie of the barbarous people : and he in nine
moneths only had won the strongest citie of the whole
nation of Ionia, Indeed he had good cause to glory
in his victorie : for truely (if Thucydides report be
true) his conquest was no lesse doubtefull, then he
found it daungerous. For the Samians had almost
bene lords of the sea, and taken the seignorie there-
of from the Athenians. After this, the wars of Pelo-
ponnesvs being hote againe, the Corinthians inuading
the Ilanders of Corphv; Pericles did perswade the
Athenians to send aide vnto the Corphians and to
ioyne in league with that Hand, which was of great
power by sea, saying : that the Peloponnesians (before
it were long) would haue war with them. The
Athenians consented to his motion, to aide those of
Corphv. Whereupon they sent thither Lacedaemonius
(Cimons son) with ten gallies onely for a mockerie :
for all Cimons family and friends, were wholly at the
Lacedaemonians deuotion. Therefore did Pericles
cause Lacedsemonius to have so few ships deliuered

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

377

him, and further, sent him thither against his will, to
the end that if he did no notable exploit in this
seruice, that they might then the more iustly suspect
his goodwill to the Lacedaemonians. Moreouer whilest
he liued, he did euer what he could to keepe Cimons
children backe from rising: because that by their
names they were no naturall borne Athenians, but
straungers. For the one was called Lacedsemonius,
the other Thessalus, and the third Elius : and the
mother to all them three, was an Arcadian woman
borne. But Pericles being blamed for that he
sent but ten galleys only, which was but a slender
aide for those that had requested them, and a great
matter to them that spake ill of him : he sent thither
afterwards a great number of other galleys, which
came when the battell was fought. But the Corin-
thians were maruellous angr}% and went and com-
plained to the counsell of the Lacedaemonians, where
they laid open many grieuous complaints and accusa-
tions against the Athenians, and so did the Megarians
also : alleadging that the Athenians had forbidden
them their hauens, their staples and all trafficke of
merchandise in the territories vnder their obedience,
which was directly against the common lawes and
articles of peace, agreed vpon by oath among all the
Grecians. Moreouer, the ^Eginetes finding them-
selues very ill and cruelly handled, did send secretly
to make their mone and complaints to the Lacedae-
monians, being afraid openly to complain e of the
Athenians. While these things were a doing, the
city of Potidaea, subiect at that time vnto the Athe-
nians (and was built in old time by the Corinthians)
did rebell, and was besieged by the Athenians, which
did hasten on the warres. Notwithstanding this, am-
bassadors were first sent vnto Athens vpon these com-
plaints : and Archidamus, king of the Lacedaemonians
did all that he could to pacifie the most part of these

37S

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

quarrels and complaints, intreating their friends and
allies. So as the Athenians had no wars at all, for
anie other matters wherewith they were burdened, if
they would have graunted to haue reuoked the decree
they had made against the' Megarians. Whereupon,
Pericles, that aboue all other stood most against the
reuocation of that decree, and that did sth: vp the
people, and made them stand to that they had once
decreed, and ordered against the Megarians : was
thought the originall cause and author of the Pelopon-
nesian warres. For it is said that the Lacedaemonians
sent ambassadors vnto Athens for that matter only.
And when Pericles alledged a law that did forbid
them to take away the table whereupon before time
had bene written any common law or edict : Poliar-
ces, one of the Lacedsemon ambassadors said vnto
him : Well, said he, take it not away then, but turne
the table onely : your law I am sure forbiddeth not
that This was pleasantly spoken of the ambassa-
dour, but Pericles could neuer be brought to it for all
that And therefore it seemeth he had had some
secret occasion of grudge against the Megarians : yet
as one that would finely conuey it vnder the common
cause and cloke, he tooke from them the holy lands
they were breaking vp. And to bring this to passe, he
made an order, that they should send an herauld to
summon the Megarians to let the land alone, and
that the same herauld should go also vnto the Lace-
daemonians to accuse the Megarians vnto them. It
is true that this ordinance was made by Pericles
meanes, as also it was most iust and reasonable : but
it fortuned so, that the messenger they sent thither
died, and not without suspition that the Megarians
made him away. Wherfore Charinus made a law
presently against the Megarians : that they should be
proclaimed mortall enemies to the Athenians for
euer, without any hope of after reconciliation. And

THE LIFE Ofi PERICLES.

379

also if any Megarian should once put his foote within
the territories of Attica, that he should suffer the
paines of death. And moreouer, that their captains
taking yearely their ordinary oath, should sweare
among other articles, that twise in the yeare they
should go with their power, and destroy some part of
the Megarians land. And lastly, that the herauld
Anthemocritus should be buried by the place called
then the gates Thriasienes, and now called Dipylon.
But the Megarians stoutly denying, that they were
any cause of the death of this Anthemocritus : did
altogether burthen Aspasia and Pericles with the
same, alleadging for proofe thereof, Aristophanes
verses the Poet, in his Comedie he intituled the
Achames, which are so common, as euery boy hath
them at his toungs end.

The young men of our land {to drunken bibbing bent)
ran out one day vnrulily^ afid towards Megara
went :

From whence in their outrage^ by force they ioohe
away,

Simcetha noble cut^isan, as she did sport and play.
Wherewith enraged cdl {;with pepper in the nose)
the proud Megarians came to vs^ as to their mortdll

foes.

And tooke by stealth away of harlots eke a paire,
attending on Aspasia, which ubere both young and
faire.

But in very deed, to tell the originall cause of this
wane, and to deliuer the troth thereof, it is very
hard. But all the historiographers together agree,
that Pericles was the chiefest authour of the warre :
because the decree made against the Megarians, was
not reuoked backe againe. Yet some hold opinion,
that Pericles did it of a noble mind and iudgement, to
be constant in that he thought most expedient. For

38o

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

he iudged that this commandement of the Lacedse-
monians was but a triall, to proue if the Athenians
would grant them : and if they yeelded to them in
that, then they manifestly shewed that they were the
weaker. Other contrarily say, that it was done of a
selfe-will and arrogancie, to shew his authoritie and
power, and how he did despise the Lacedaemonians.
But the shrewdest proofe of all, that bringeth best
authoritie with it, is reported after this sort. Phidias
the image-maker (as we haue told you before) had
undertaken to make the image of Pallas : and being
Pericles friend, was in great estimation about him :
but that procured him many ill willers. Then they
being desirous to heare by him what the people would
iudge of Pericles, they intised Menon, one of the
workemen that wrought vnder Phidias, and made him
come into the market place to pray assurance of the
people that he might openly accuse Phidias, for a
fault he had committed about Pallas image. The
people receiued his obedience, and his accusation
was heard openly in the market place, but no men-
tion was made of any theft at all : because that
Phidias (through Pericles counsell and deuise) had
from the beginning so laid on the gold vpon the
image, that it might be taken off and weyed euery
whit. Whereupon Pericles openly said vnto his
accusers, take off the gold and wey it. The glory of
his works did purchase him this enuy. For he hauing
grauen vpon the scutchion of the goddesse, the
battell of the Amazons, had cut out the protraiture of
himselfe maruellous liuely, vnder the person of an
old bald ma, lifting vp a great stone with both his
hands. Further, he had cut out Pericles image, excel-
lently wrought and artificially, seeming in manner to
be Pericles selfe, fighting with an Amazon in this
sort : the Amazons hand being lift vp high, holdeth
a dart before Pericles face, so passing cunningly

THE LIFE OF PERICLES. 38 1

wrought, as it seemed to shadow the likenesse and
resemblance of Pericles: and yet notwithstanding
appeareth plainely to be Pericles selfe on either side
of the portraiture. So Phidias was clapt vp in prison,
and there died of a sicknes, or else of poison (as
some say) which his enemies had prepared for him :
and all to bring Pericles into further suspition, and
to giue them the more cause to accuse him. But
howsoeuer it was, the people gaue Menon his free-
dome, and set him free for paiment of all subsidies,
following the order Glycon made, and gaue the cap-
tains charge they should see him safely kept, and
that he^ took no hurt. And about the same time
also Aspasia was accused, that she did not beleeue in
the gods : and her accuser was Hermippus, maker of
the Comedies. He burdened her further, that she
was a bawd to Pericles, and receiued citizens wiues
into her house, which Pericles kept. And Diopithes
at the same time made a decree, that they should
make search and enquirie for heretikes that did not
beleeue in the gods, and that taught certaine new
doctrine and opinion touching the operations of
things aboue in the element, turning the suspition
vpon Pericles, because of Anaxagoras. The people
did receiue and confirm this inquisition : and it was
moued also then by Dracontides, that Pericles should
deliuer an account of the mony he had spent, vnto
the hands of the Prytanes, who were treasurers of the
common fines and reuenues, and that the ludges de-
puted to giue iudgement, should giue sentence within
the citie vpon the altar. But Agnon put that word
out of the decree, and placed in stead thereof, that
the cause should be iudged by the 15. hundred ludges,
as they thought good, if any man brought this action
for theft, for battery, or for iniustice. As for Aspasia,
he sa^ued her, even for the very pity & copassion
the ludges took of him, for the teares he shed in

382 ^^^^ PERICLES.

for hm. , he sent him 0«t of f »* ^.d

and did but smoke a litle, no^ ^

he ^vould iiot (as it is sai^^^s^f ^^

yeeld vnto the Lacedemonians m ^ly ttog

Le truth cannot cert^nely ^eed

Lacedaemonians knowing well, tha^ it tney

out Pericles, °ue^i^X Sen£: t^^^^
deale as they would ^^'^^^ the Athenia ^
manded them they should purge their^^^ y.^^^^

rebellion, because th^^^^^JJ^^^'be touched withall,
kin by the mothers side ^l^^,. Ml out

ronii7t«^^^^
t]i^s^rhrt«^

Peloponnesians into the county ^^^^^^

7HE LIFE OF PERICLES.

his enemies occasion falsly to accuse him : that from
thenceforth, he gaue all the lands and tenements he
had in the country, vnto the common wealth. So it
fortuned that the Lacedaemonians with all their
friends and confederates, brought a maruellous army
into the countrey of Attica, vnder the leading of
King Archidamus : who burning and spoiling all the
country he came alongst, they came vnto the towne
of Achames, where they encamped, supposing the
Athenians would neuer sufifer them to approach so
neare, but that they would giue them battell for the
honour and defence of their countrey, and to shew that
tliey were no cowards. But Pericles wisely considered
how the daunger was too great to hazard battell, where
the losse of the citie of Athens stood in perill, seeing
they were threescore thousand footmen of the Pelo-
ponnesians, and of the Boeotians together: for so
many was their number in the first voyage they made
against the Athenians. And as for those that were
very desirous to fight, and to put themselues to any
hazard, being mad to see their country thus wasted
and destroyed before their eyes, Pericles did comfort
& pacific them with these words : That trees being
cut and hewne downe, did spring againe in short
time : but men being once dead, by no possibilitie
could be brought againe. Therefore he neuer durst
assemble the people in counsell, fearing lest he should
be inforced by the multitude, to do something still
against his will. But as a wise Pilote, when he seeth
a storme comming on the sea, doth straight giue
order to make all things safe in the shippe, preparing
euery thing ready to defend the storme, according to
his art and skill, not hearkening to the passengers
fearefiill cries and pitiful! teares, who thinke them-
selues cast away : euen so did Pericles rule all things
according to his wisedome, hauing walled the city
substantially about, and set good watch in euery

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

corner : and passed not for those that were angry and
offended with him, neither would be perswaded by
his friends earnest requests and entreaties, neither
cared for his enemies threats nor accusations against
him, nor yet reckoned of all their foolish scoffing songs
they sung of him in the citie, to the shame and re-
proch of his gouernment, saying that he was a
cowardly captaine, and that for das tar dlin esse he let
the enemies take al, and spoile what they would. Of
which number Cleon was one that "most defamed him,
and began to enter into some pretie credite and fauour
with the common people, for that they were angry,
and misliked with Pericles: as appeareth by these
slaunderous verses of Hermippus, which were then
abroade :

0 King of satyres thou, who with such manly speach^
ofUoudy warres and doughty deeds, dost dayly to vs
preach :

Why art thou now afraid to take thy launce in hand,
or with thy pike against thy foes, couragiously to
stand ?

Since Cleon stout a?id fierce, doth dayly thee prouoke,
with biting words, with trenchant blades, and deadly
daunting stroke.

All this nothwithstanding, Pericles was neuer mooued
any thing, but with silence did patiently beare all
iniuries and scoffings of his enemies, and did send
for all that a nauie of a hundred saile vnto Pelopon-
nesvs, whither he would not go in person, but kept
himselfe at home, to keepe the people in quiet, vntiU
such time as the enemies had raised their campe, and
were gone away. And to entertaine the common
people that were offended and angry at this war : he
comforted the poore people againe, with causing a
certaine distribution to be made amongst them of the
common treasure, and diuision also of the lands that

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

were got by conquest. For after he had driuen all
the iEginetes out of their countrey, he caused the
whole He of ^gina to be deuided by lot amongst
the citizens of Athens. And then it was a great com-
fort to them in this aduersitie, to heare of their ene-
mies hurt and losse in such manner as it did fall out.
For their army that w^as sent by sea vnto Pelopon-
nesvs, had wasted and destroyed a great part of the
champion country there, and had sacked besides
many small cities and townes. Pericles selfe also
entring into the Megarians countrey by land, did
waste the whole country all afore him. So the Pelo-
ponnesians receiuing by sea as much hurt and losse
at the Athenians hands, as they before had done by
land vnto the Athenians : they had not holden out
warres so long with the Athenians, but would soone
haue giuen ouer (as Pericles had told them before)
had not gods aboue secretly hindred mans reason and
poUicie. For first of all there came such a sore
plague among the Athenians, that it tooke away the
flower of Athens youth, and weakened the force of
the whole citie besides. Furthermore the bodies of
them that were left aliue being infected with this dis-
ease, their hearts also were so sharply bent against
Pericles, that the sicknesse hauing troubled their
braines, they fell to flat rebellion against him, as the
patient against his phisition, or children against their
father, euen to the hurting of him, at the prouocation
of his enemies : who bruted abroade, that the plague
came of no cause else, but of the great multitude of
the country men that came into the city on heaps, one
vpon anothers necke in the heart of the sommer, where
they were compelled to lie many together, smothered
vp in litle tents and cabines, remaining there all day
long, CO wring do wne wards, and doing nothing, where
before they lined in the countrey in a fresh open ayre,
and at libertie. And of all this (say they) Pericles is
VOL. iv.(') 2 B

3S6

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

the only cause, who procuring this war, hath pent and
shrouded the country men together within the walles
of a citie, employing them to no manner of vse nor
seruice, but keeping them like sheep in a pinfold,
maketh one to poison another with the infection of
their plague sores running vpon them, and giuing
them no leaue to change aire, that they might so
much as take breath abroad. Pericles to remedy
this, and to do their enemies a litle mischief, armed
a hundred and fifty ships, and shipped into them a
great number of armed footmen and horsemen also.
Hereby he put the citizens in good hope, and the
enemies in great feare, seeing so great a power. But
when he had shipped all his men, and was himselfe
in the admirall ready to hoise sayle : sodainely there
was a great eclypse of the Sunne, and the day was
very daike, that all the army was striken with a mar-
uellous feare, as of some dangerous and very ill token
towards them. Pericles seeing the maister of his
gaily in a maze withall, not knowing what to do, cast
his cloake ouer the maisters face, and hid his eyes,
asking him whether he thought that any harrae or no.
The maister answered him, he thought it none. Then
said Pericles againe to him : There is no difference
betweene this )iand that, sauing that the body which
maketh the darknesse is greater, then my cloake
which hideth thy eyes. These things are thus dis-
puted of in the schooles of the phSosophers. But
Pericles hoising saile notwithstanding, did no notable
nor speciall- service, answerable to so great an army
and preparation. For he laying siege vnto the holy
citie of Epidavrvm, whe euery man looked they should
haue taken it, was compelled to raise his siege for
the plague that was so vehement : that it did not
only kill the Athenians themselues, but all other
also (were they neuer so few) that came to them
or neare their campe. Wherefore perceiuing the

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

Athenians were raaruellously offended with him, he
did what he could to comfort them, and put them in
heart againe : but all was in vaine, he could not
pacific them : for by the most part of voices, they
depriued him of his carge of General, and condemned
him in a maruellous great fine and summe of money,
the which those that tell the least, do wite, that it
was the summe of fifteene talents : and those that say
more, speake of fiftie talents. The accuser sub-
scribed in this condemnation, was Cleon, as Idome-
neus, or Simmias say, or as Theophrastus w^iteth :
yet Heraclides Poticus saith, one Lacratidas. Now
his common griefes were soone blowen ouer : for the
people did easily let fall their displeasure towards
him, as the waspe leaueth her sting behind her with
them she hath stung. But his owne priuate affaires
and household causes were in very ill case ; both for
that the plague had taken away many of his friends
and kinsemen from him, as also for that he and his
house had continued a long time in disgrace. For
Xantippus (Pericles sonne and heire) being a man of
a very ill disposidon and nature, and hauing married
a young woman very prodigall and lauish of expence,
the daughter of Isander, sonne of Epilychus, he
grudged mucli at his fathers hardnesse, who scantly
gaue him mony and but a litle at a time. Whereupon
he sent on a time to one of his fathers friends in
Pericles name, to pray him to lend him some money,
who sent it vnto him. But afterwardes when he came
to demaund it againe, Pericles did not onely refuse to
pay it him, but further also he put him in sute. But
th]5 made the young man Xantippus so angrie with
his father, that he spake very ill of him in euery place
where he came: and reported in way of mockery,
how his father spent his time when he was at home,
and what talke he had with the Sophisters, and the
maister Rhetoritians. For a mischaunce fortuning on

388

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

a time, at the game of the throwing of the dart, who
should throw best, that he that threw, did vnfortu-
nately kill one Epitimius a Thessalian: Xantipous
went pratling vp and downe the towne, that his
father Pericles was a whole day disputing with Prota-
goras the Rhetoritian, to knowe which of the three by
law and reason should be condemned for this murther.
The dart : he that threw the dart : or the deuiser of
the game. Moreouer Stesimbrotus writeth, that the
brute that ranne thorough the citie, how Pericles did
keepe his wife, was sowne abroade by Xantippus him-
selfe. But so it is, this quarrell and hate betwixt the
father and the sonne continued without reconciliation
vnto the death. For Xantippus died in the great
plague, and Pericles owne sister also : moreover he
lost at that time by the plague, the more part of his
friendes and kinsfolkes, and those specially that did
him greatest pleasure in gouerning of the state. But
al this did never pull downe his countenance, nor
any thing abate the greatnesse of his mind, what mis-
fortunes soeuer he had sustained. Neither saw they
him weep at any time, nor mourne at the funerals of any
of his kinsmen or friends, but at the death of Paralus,
his yongest and lawful begotten sonne : for, the losse
of him alone did onely melt his heart. Yet he did
striue to shew his naturall constancie, and to keepe
his accustomed modestie. But as he would haue put
a garland of flowers vpon his head, sorrow did so
pierce his heart when he saw his face, that then he
burst out in teares and cried amaine : which they neuer
saw him do before all the dayes of his life. Further-
more the people hauing proued other captaines and
gouernours, and finding by experience that there was
no one of them of iudgement & authority sufficient,
for so great a charge ; in the end, of themselues they
called him againe to the pulpit for orations to heare
their counsels, and to the state of a captaine also to

THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

take charge of the state. But at that time he kept
himselfe close in his house, as one bewailing his late
grieuous losse and sorrow. Howbeit Alcibiades, and
other his familiar friends, perswaded him to shew
himself vnto the people : who cjid excuse themselues
vnto him, for their ingratitude towards him. Pericles
then taking the gouernement againe vpon him, the first
matter he entred into was : that he prayed them to
reuoke the statute he had made for base borne chil-
dren, fearing least his lawful heires would faile, and
so his house and name should fal to the ground. But
as for that law, thus it stood : Pericles when he was
in his best authoritie, caused a law to be made, that
they onely should be counted citizens of Athens,
which were naturall Athenians borne by father and
mother. Not long time after, it fortuned that the
king of ^gypt hauing sent a gift vnto the people of
Athens, of 40. thousand bushels of come, to be dis-
tributed among the citizens there : many by occasion
of this law were accused to be base borne, & specially
men of the baser sort of people, which were not
knowne before, or at the least had no reckoning made
of them, and so some of them were falsly and wrong-
fully condemned. Whereupon so it fell out, that
there were no lesse than fiue thousand of them con-
uicted and sold for slaues : and those that remained
as free men, and were iudged to be naturall citizens,
amounted to the number of fourteene thousand and
fortie persons. Now this was much misliked of the
people, that a law enacted, and that had bene of such
force, should by the selfe same maker and deuiser of
the same be againe reuoked.and called in. Howbeit
Pericles late calamitie that fortuned to his house, did
breake the peoples hardened hearts against him : who
thinking these sorrowes smart, to be punishment enough
vnto him for his former pride, and iudging that by Gods
diuine iustice and permission, this -plague and losse

390 THE LIFE OF PERICLES,

fell vpon him, and that his request also was tollerable :
they suffered him to enrole his base borne sonne in
the register of the lawfull citizens of his family, giuing
him his owne name, Pericles. It is the selfesame
Pericles, who after he had ouercome the Pelopon-
nesians in a great battell by sea, neare vnto the lies
of Arginvses, was put to death by sentence of the
people, with other captaines his companions. Now
was Pericles at that time infected with the plague,'
but not so vehemently as other were, but more tem-
peratly : which by long space of time, with many
alterations and chaunges, did by litle and litle decay
and consume the strength of his body, and ouercame
his senses and noble mind. Therefore Theophrastus
in his morals declareth, in a place where he disputeth,
whether mens manners do chaunge with their misfor-
tunes, and whether corporall troubles and afflictions
do so alter men, that they forget vertue, and abandon
reason : that Pericles in his sicknesse shewed a friend
of his that came to see him, I cannot tell what a pre-
seruing charme, that the women had tied (as a car-
kanet) about his necke, to let him vnderstand he was
very ill, since he suffered them to apply such a foolish
bable to him. In the end, Pericles drawing fast vnto
his death, the Nobilitie of the citie, and such his
friends as were left aliue, standing about his bed,
beganne to speake of his vertue, and of the great
authoritie he had borne, considering the greatnesse
of his noble acts, and counting the number of his vic-
tories he had wonne (for he had wonne nine foughten
'battels being Generall of the Athenians, and had set
vp so many tokens and triumphs in honour of his
country) they reckened up among themselues all these
matters, as if he had not vnderstood them, imagining
his senses had bene gone. But he contrarily being
yet of perfect memorie, heard all what they had said,
and thus he began to speake vnto them : That he

THE LIFE OF PERICLES. 39 1

maruelled why they had so highly praised that in him,
which was common to many other captaines, and
wherein fortune dealt with them in equalitie alike, &
all this while they had forgotten to speake of the best
and most notable thing that was in him, which was,
that no Athenian had euer worne blacke gowne
through his occasion. And sure so was he a noble
and worthy person. For he did not onely shew him-
selfe merciful and courteous, euen in most weightie
matters of gouemment among so enuious people and
hatefull enemies : but he had this judgement also to
thinke, that the most noble acts he did were these,
that he neuer gaue himselfe to hatred, enuy, nor
choler, to be reuenged of his most mortal enemy,
without mercy shewed towards him, though he had
committed vnto him such absolute power & sole
gouemment among them. And this made his surname
be Olympius (as to say, diuine or celestiall) which
otherwise for him had bene too proud and arrogant
a name, because he was of so good and gentle a
nature, and for that in so great libertie he had kept
clean e hands and vn defiled : euen as we esteeme the
gods^ authors of all good, and causers of no euill, and
so worthy to gouerne and rule the whole monarchy of
the world. And not as Poets say, which do confound
our wits by their follies, and fond fainings, and are
also contrary to themselues, considering that they call
heauen (which containeth the gods) the everlasting
seate, which trembleth not, and is not driuen nor
moued with winds, neither is darkned with cloudes,
but is alwayes bright and cleare, and at all times
shining equally with a pure bright light, as being the
onely habitation and mansion place of the etemall
God, onely happy and immortall : and afterwards they
describe it themselues, full of dissentions, of enmities,
of anger, and passions, which do nothing become wise
and learned men. But this discourse peraduenture

392

THE LIFE OF PERICLES.

would be better spoken of in some other booke.
Now the troubles the Athenians felt immediatly after
Pericles death, made them then lament the losse of
so noble a member. For those who unpatiently did
brooke his great authoritie while -he liued, because it
drowned their owne : when they came after his death
to proue other speakers and gouernours, they were
compelled then to confesse, that no mans nature liuing
could be more moderate nor graue, with lenitie and
mercy, then was his. And that most hated power,
which in his life time they called monarchic, did then
most plainely appeare vnto them, to haue bene the
manifest raraper and bulwarke of the safety of their
whole state and common-weale : such corruption and
vice in gouemement of the State did then spring vp
immediately after his death, which when he was aliue,
he did euer suppresse and keepe vnder, in such sort,
that either it did not appeare at all, or at the least it
came not to that head and libertie, that such faults
were committed, as were vnpossible to be remedied.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

The novel heie given from Painter's "Palace of Pleasure," wa*
not included in the former edition ; yet it was evidently seen by
our poet, and probably was of service to him. With the "Life
of Timon " from North, may be read the short passing notice of
him, which occurs in Plutarch's ** Life of Mark Antony," already
(iii. 399-400) printed as an illustration of " Antony and Cleo-
patra," and the Life of Alcibiades " in North.

The old play of" Timon '* will form part of the second series,
or Foundation-Dramas.

Mr Hunter ("New Illustrations," ii. 142) remarks, "He
(Shakespeare) has contrived to introduce everything that Plu-
tarch says of Timon in the two lives in which he occurs, Alci-
biades and Mark Antony. He seems also to have been ac-
quainted with Lucian's Dialogue." But I concur with Douce
here as to Lucian : " We are at liberty to doubt how far Ape-
mantus [the character in the play so-called] is a copy from
Lucian, or rather to believe that he is a highly-finished portrait
after a very slight sketch by Plutarch (" lUustr." ii. 69).

I. The Life of Timon.

[From Painter's Palace of Pleasure,'^ 1566, vol. i.]

The Twenty-Eighth Nouell.

Of the strau7ige a7id heastlie nature of Timon of Athens,
ene?nie to mankifidey with his deaths htriall, and
Epitaphe.

AL the beastes of the worlde do applye theimselues
to other beastes of theyre kind, Timon of Athens
onely excepted : of whose straunge nature Plutarche
is astonied, in the life of Marcus Antonius. Plato
and Aristophanes do report his marueylous nature,
because hee was a man but by shape onely, in quali-
ties hee was the capitall enemie of mankinde, which
he confessed franckely vtterly to abhorre and hate.
He dwelt alone in a litle cabane in the fieldes not
farre from Athenes, separated from all neighbours and
company : he neuer wente to the citie, or to any
other habitable place, except he were constrayned :
he could not abide any mans company and conver-
sation : he was neuer seen to goe, to any mannes
house, ne yet would suffer them to come to him. At
the same time there was in Athenes another of like

39^

THE LIFE OF TIMON.

qualide, called Apemantus, of the very same nature,
diflferente from the naturall kinde of man, and lodged
likewise in the middes of the fields. On a day^they
two being alone together at dinner, Apemantus said
vnto him : " O Timon what a pleasant feast is this,
and what a merie companie are wee, being no more
but thou and I.'' " Naie (quoth Timon) it would be a
merie banquet in deede, if there were none here but
ray selfe/'

"WTierein he shewed how like a beast (in deede) he
was : for he could not abide any other man, beinge
not able to suffer the company of him, which was of
like nature. And if by chaunce hee happened to goe
to Athenes, it was onelye to speak with Alcibiades,
who then was an excellente captaine there, wherat
many did marueile: and therefore Apemantus de-
maunded of him, why he spake to no man, but to
Alcibiades. " 1 speake to him sometimes, said
Timon, because I know that by his occasion, the
Atheniens shall receiue great hurt and trouble."
"Which wordes many times he told to Alcibiades him-
selfe. He had a garden adioyning to his house in
the fields^ wherin was a figge tree, whereuppon many
desperate men ordinarily did hange themselues : in
place whereof, he purposed to set vp a house, and
therefore was forced to cutte it downe, for which
cause hee went to Athenes, and in the markette place,
hee called the people about him, saying that hee had
newes to telle them : when the people vnderstoode
that he was about to make a discourse vnto them,
which was wont to speake to no man, they marueiled,
and the citizens on euery parte of the citie, ranne to
heare hiin : to whom he saide, that he purposed to cutte
downe his figge tree, to builde a house vpon the place
where it stoode. " Wherefore (quoth he) if there be
any man amonges you all in this company, that is dis-
posed to hang himselfe, let him come betimes, before

THE LIFE OF TIMON,

397

it be cutte dowiie/' Hauing thus bestowed his
charitie amonges the people, hee retourned to his
lodging, wher he lined a certaine time after, without
alteration of nature; and because that nature
chaunged not in his life time, he would not suffer
that death should alter, or varie the same : for like
as he liued a beastly and chorlish life, euen so he
required to haue his funerall done after that maner.
By his last will, he ordeined himselfe to be interred
vpon the sea shore, that the waues and surges might
beate and vexe his dead carcas. Yea, and that if it
were possible, his desire was to be buried in the
depth of the sea : causing an epitaphe to be made,
wherin was described the qualities of his brutishe
life. Plutarche also reported an other to be made by
Calimachus, much like to that which Timon made
himselfe, whose owne soundeth to this effect in Eng-
lishe verse.

My wretched catife dayes,

Exfi7'ed now and past :
My carre?i corps i?itered here^

Is faste in grounde :
In waif ring waues of swel-

ling sea, by surges cast,
My na??ie if thou desire.

The gods thee doe confotmde.

2. Account of Thnon of Athens.

[From Discourse of the Felicity of Man,'' by Sir Richard
Barckley^ 40., 1598.]

A NOTHER company there were of a most strange
disposition, that would not only murmur and
grudge at the nature and condition of men, but were
as hateful enemies to their own kind, supposing that
Nature had set up man as a butt or mark, against
which she would discharge all the bullets of her wrath
and indignation 3 amongst which sort of men was one
called Tymon, a philosopher of Athens, who professed
himself openly an enemy of mankind, and performed
it in effect. But he would never dwell or keep among
men, but withdrew himself into the deserts, and led
his hfe among beasts, that he might not be seen of
men; and, passing his life in this solitary sort, he
would speak to no man, saving only with Alcibiades,
a vahant gentleman of Athens, neither Tirith him for
any love he had to the man, but for that he did fore-
see that he would be one day a plague and scourge

Accouyr of timon of at hens.

399

to men, and especially to the Athenians ; and it was
not sufficient for him to abhor and detest the com-
pany of men as furious wild beasts, but he sought all
the means he could, if it could have been possible, to
destroy mankind, and for that purpose he set up a
great many gibbets in his garden, that desperate folks
and such as were weary of their lives might hang
themselves ; and after certain years, meaning to en-
large his little cottage where he dwelt, he determined
to cut down those gibbets for his building; and being
loath the lack of them should be any hindrance to his
citizens' death, he went to Athens, and openly in the
market place he caused the people to be assembled
that he might deliver some news to them, who, know-
ing his humour that used to speak to no man, ran to
the place out of all parts, expecting attentively some
strange matter. When they were come together, he
cried out with his hoarse voice, "My citizens of
Athens, if any of you be disposed to hang yourselves
do it quickly, for I mean shortly to cut down the gib-
bets for my necessary building." And when he had
ended his charitable motion, he departed home to his
house without speaking any word more, where he
lived many years, continuing in the same opinion,
detesting the miserable state and condition of men.
And when Tymon perceived that death approached,
he took order for his burial to be at the low-water
mark in the very brink of the sea, that the waves
might not suffer any man to come near him to see his
bones or ashes, and caused this epitaph to be written
upon his tomb, made Latin thus : —

Hie sum post vitam miseramque inopemque sepultus ;
Nomen non quseras ; Dii, lector, te male perdant.

And as another of his condition that lived solitarily
in the woods, eschewing likewise the' company of
men, came to him to supper,- in the midst of

4O0 ACCOUNT OF TIMON OF ATHENS,

the banquet, 0 Tymon (quoth he) what a pleasant
supper is this that hath no more guests than thou and
I. So were it (said Tymon) if thou were away. He
was so hateful to the condition of men that he could
not endure the company of him that was of his own
disposition.

THE TAMING OF A SHREW.

VOL. IV.(*)

2 C

The old comedy with this title, and on this subject, which
preceded Shakespeare's, and which he had undoubtedly before
him, is inserted in Part the Second, Its interest for us is en-
hanced by the more than possibility that in its original shape it
received certain touches from Shakespeare's hand at the time
when he was bestowing a considerable share of his attention on
the alteration of existing dramas, before he entered on the com-
position of pieces, in which he depended chiefly on the inspira-
tion of his own genius.

The ballad of the ** Curst Wife lapt in Morel's Skin" seemed
scarcely worth its room, as it is printed in Hazlitt's " Popular
Poetry but although it has nothing in common with Shake-
speare's play, and is a lamentable piece of doggrel, there was
such a desire to collect together all the probable Aids and Lights
to the works of the great poet, that it has been admitted.

As regards Shakespeare's indebtedness to another source —
the " Suppositi" of Ariosto, as translated by George Gascoigne,
and performed at Gray's Inn in 1566, the reader should consult
Mr Hunter's work (i. 352) ; and it may be sufficient to add, that
the English version of the " Suppositi " has been rendered
accessible in Hazlitt's edition of Gascoigne.

The Waking Man's Fortune " is reprinted from the "Shake-
peare Society's Papers," vol. ii., where it is described as a small
fragment of an otherwise unrecovered publication ; and whether
it be identical or no vdth the lost story-book of Richard Edwards,
cited by Warton, it gives us the tale of the Tinker, which
makes the Induction to the drama, and which we trace back to
the " Arabian Nights." It is common to many collections, and
Mr Hunter relates the curious anecdote, relevant and apposite tc
it, of the Marquis of Worcester.

I. story of the Indue fiojt.

(i.) Vanity of the World as Represented in
State. 1

\Frofn Goularfs Admirable and Memorable Hisfories^^^
1607, p. 587-9-]

PHILIP called the good Duke of Bourgondy, in
the memory of our ancestors, being at Bruxells
with his Court and walking one night after supper
through the streets, accompanied with some of his
fauorits: he found lying vpon the stones a certaine
Artisan that was very dronke, and that slept soundly.
It pleased the Prince in this Artisan to make triall of
the vanity of our life, whereof he had before dis-
coursed with his familiar friends. Hee therfore
caused this sleeper to be taken vp and carried into
his Pallace : hee commands him to bee layed in one of
the richest beds, a riche Night-cap to bee giuen him,
his foule shirt to bee taken off, and to have an other
put on him of fine Holland : when as this Dronkard
had disgested his Wine, and began to awake : behold
there comes about his bed, Pages and Groomes of

^ [This is the same story as The Waking Man's Dream "
differently told. It also related by Burton in his " Anatomy
of Melancholy," 1624. See Hazlitt*s Warton, iv. 218-19.]

404 STORY OF THE INDUCTION.

the Dukes Chamber, who drawe the Curteines, make
many courtesies, and being bare-headed, aske him if
it please him to rise, and what apparell it would please
him to put on that day. They bring him rich ap-
parrell. This new Monsieur amazed at such curtesie,
and doubting whether hee dreampt or waked, suffered
himselfe to be drest, and led out of the Chamber.
There came Noblemen which saluted him with all
honour, and conduct him to the Masse, where with
great ceremonie they giue him the Booke of the Gos-
pell, and the Pixe to kisse, as they did vsually vnto
the Duke : from the Masse they bring him backe
vnto the Pallace : hee washes his hands, and sittes
downe at the Table well furnished. After dinner, the
great Chamberlain e commandes Cardes, to be brought
with a great summe of money. This Duke in Ima-
gination playes with the chiefe of the Court. Then
they Carrie him to walke in the Gardein, and to hunt
the Hare and to Hawke. They bring him back vnto
the Pallace, where hee sups in state. Candles beeing
light, the Musitions begin to play, and the Tables
taken away, the Gentlemen and Gentle-women fell
to dancing, then they played a pleasant Comedie,
after which followed a Banket, whereas they had pre-
sently store of Ipocras and precious Wine, with all
sorts of confitures, to this Prince of the new Impres-
sion, so as he was drunke, & fell soundlie a sleepe.
Here-upon the Duke commanded that hee should
bee disrobed of all his riche attire. Hee was put
into his olde ragges and carried into the same place,
where he had been found, the night before, where hee
spent that night. Being awake in the morning, hee
beganne to remember what had happened before, hee
knewe not whether it were true in deede, or a dreame
that had troubled his braine. But in the end, after
many discourses, hee concluds that all was but a
dreame that had happened vnto him, and so enter-

STOJiV OF THE INDUCTION, 405

tained his wife, his Children and his neighbors, with-
out any other apprehension. This Historic puttaee^
in rninde of that which Seneca sayth in the ende of
his 59. letter to Lvcilivs. No man saies he, can re-
ioyce and content himselfe, if he be not nobly minded,
iust and temperate. What then ? Are the wicked
depriued of all ioye ? they are glad as the Lions that
haue found their prey. Being full of wine and luxury,
hauing spent the night in gourmandise, when as plea-
sures poored into this vessell of the bodie (beeing to
little to conteine so much) beganne to foame out.
these miserable wretches crie with him of whome
Virgin speakes,

T/iou knowesi^ how in the midest of pastimes false 6-
vai7ie^

We cast a7id past our latest night of paine.

The dissolute spend the night, yea the last night in
false ioyes. 0 man, this stately vsage of the aboue
named Artisan, is like vnto a dreame that passeth.
And his goodly day, and the years of a wicked life
differ nothing, but in more and lesse. He slept foure
and twenty houres, other wicked men some- times
foure and twenty thousands of houres. It is a little
or a great dreame : and nothing more.

(ii.) The 1Vaki7ig Mans Dream.

It strikes me that I have found the original of the Induction
to " The Taming of the Shrew and my object in forwarding
the present paper is that some member of the Shakespeare
Society should throw farther light upon the subject.

Warton, in his *' History of English Poetry," iv. 117, edit.
1824, informs us that a collection of comic stories by Richard
Edwards, dated 1570, and printed in black letter, contained the
incidents of the Induction in question. Tliis fact does not de-
pend upon the statement of Collins that he had the book, but
upon the assertion of Warton that he himself had seen it. He
adds, that the library was dispersed, and nobody seems to have
heard since of the volume. It would be singular if the amusing
collection made by Edwards, and published in 1570, were never
reprinted ; and I apprehend that I have now in my hands a
portion of a reprint of it, containing the very tale on which the
Induction to Shakespeare's *' Taming of the Shrew," and to the
older " Taming of a Shrew," was founded. It is a mere frag-
ment of a book, and contains no more than this story, so that
we can only judge of its date by its type and orthography : the
type and orthography appear to me to be as old as about the
year 1620 or 1030, and it begins upon p. 59, and ends upon
p. 67. Of the orthography the reader will be able to form an
opinion from what follows ; and, having been a student of old
books for the last twenty or thirty years, I thiiik I can speak
positively to the date of the type, which is rather large Roman
letter, much worn and battered. The words, " the fifth event,"
at the commencement, show that four stories preceded it, but
by how many it was followed it is impossible to decide. I
should not be surprised if the old language of 1570 had been in

THE WAKING MAN^S DREAM,

407

some degree modernized in 1620 or 1630, but upon that point
it is not necessary for me to offer an opinion.

If my conjecture be correct, iat Edwards's story-book of 1570
was reprinted fifty or sixty years afterwards, and that my five
leaves are a portion of that reprint, we have arrived at the source
of the Induction to " The Taming of a Shrew ; " for I take it
for granted that Shakespeare's comedy was constructed upon
the older play, in which the Induction stands, in substance, as
it is given by our immortal dramatist. I subjom a verbatim et
literatim copy of my fragment, and I shall be happy to receive
any farther information regarding it, either through " The
Shakespeare Society's Papers,'* or otherwise.

H. G, Norton.

Liverpool, March 4, 1845. -

THE WAKING MAN'S DREAME.

The Fifth Event

nPHE Greek proverbe saith, that a man is but the
-L dreame of a shaddow, or the shaddow of a
dreame: is there then anything more vaine then a
shadow, which is nothing in it selfe, being but a pri-
vation of light framed by the opposition of a thicke
body unto a luminous ? is there any thing more frivo-
lous then a dreame, which hath no subsistence but in
the hollownesse of a sleeping braine, and which, to
speake properly, is nothing but a meere gathering
together of Chimericall Images, and this is it which
makes an ancient say, that we are but dust and sha-
dow : our life is compared unto those, who sleeping
dreame that they eate, and wakmg find themselves
empty and hungry j and who is he that doth not find
this experimented in himselfe, as often as he revolves
in his jnemory the time which is past ? who can in
these passages of this world distinguish the things
which have been done from those that have beene
dreamed? vanities, delights, riches, pleasures, and

40 8 THE WAKING MAN^S DREAM,

all are past and gone ; are they not dreames ? What
hath our pride and pompe availed us ? say those
poore miserable soules shut up in the infernall prisons :
where is our bravery become, and the glorious show
of our magnificence ? all these things are passed like
a flying shadow, or as a post who hastens to his jour-
neyes end. This is it which caused the ancient
Comicke Poet to say that the world was nothing but
an universall Comedy, because all the passages there-
of serve but to make the wisest laugh : and, accord-
ing to the opinion of Democritus, all that is acted on
this great Theater of the whole world, when it is ended,
differs in nothing from what hath bin acted on a
Players stage : the mirrour which I will heere set
before your eyes will so lively expresse all these
verities, and so truly shew the vanities of all the great-
nesse and opulencies of the earth, that although in
these Events, I gather not either examples not farre
distant from our times, or that have beene published
by any other writer, yet I beleeve that the serious
pleasantnesse of this one will supply its want of
novelty, and that its repetition will neither bee un-
fruitfull nor unpleasing.

In the time that Phillip Duke of Burgundy (who
by the gentlenesse and curteousnesse of his carriage
purchaste the name of good) guided the reines of the
country of Flanders, this prince, who was of an humour
pleasing, and full of judicious goodnesse, rather then
silly simplicity, used pastimes which for their singu-
larity are commonly called the pleasures of Princes :
after this manner he no lesse shewed the quaintnesse
of his wit then his prudence.

Being in Bruxelles with all his court, and having
at his table discoursed amply enough of the vani-
ties and greatnesse of this world, he let each one
say his pleasure on this subject, whereon was al-
leadged grave sentences and rare examples : walking

THE WAKING MAN^S DREAM. 409

towards the evening in the towne, his head full of
divers thoughts, he found a Tradesman lying in a
corner sleeping very soundly, the fumes of Bacchus
having surcharged his braine. I describe this mans
drunkenesse in as good manner as I can to the credit
of the party. This vice is so common in both the
superior and inferiour Germany, that divers, making
glory and vaunting of their dexterity in this art,
encrease their praise thereby, and hold it for a brave
act. The good Duke, to give his followers an ex-
ample of the vanity of all the magnificence with which
he was invironed, devised a meanes farre lesse danger-
ous than that which Dionysius the Tyrant used to-
wards Democles, and which in pleasantnesse beares a
marvellous utility. He caused his men to carry away
this sleeper, with whom, as with a blocke, they might
doe what they would, without awaking him ; he caused
them to carry him into one of the suniptuosest parts
ofhis Pallace, into a chamber most state-like furnished,
and makes them lay him on a rich bed. They pre-
sently strip him of his bad cloathes, and put him on
a very fine and cleane shirt, instead of his own, which
was foule and filthy. They let him sleepe in that
place at his ease, and whilest hee settles his drinke
the Duke prepares the pieasantest pastime that can
be imagined.

In the morning, this drunkard being awake drawes
the curtaines of this brave rich bed, sees himselfe in
a chamber adorned like a Paradice, he considers the
rich furniture with an amazement such as you may
imagine : he beleeves not his eyes, but layes his fingers
on them, and feeling them open, yet perswades him-
selfe they are shut by sleep, and that all he sees is
but a pure dreame.

As soone as he was knowne to be awake, in comes
the officers of the Dukes house, who were instructed
by the Duke what they should do. There were pages

4IO THE WAKING MAN^S DREAM.

bravely apparelled, Gentlemen of the chamber, Gentle-
man waiters, and the High Chamberlaine, who, all
in faire order and without laughing, bring cloathing for
this new guest : they honour him with the same great
reverences as if hee were a Soveraigne Prince ; they
serve him bare headed, and aske him what suite hee
will please to weare that day.

This fellow, affrighted at the first, beleeving these
things to be inchantment or dreames, reclaimed by
these submissions, tooke heart, and grew bold, and
setting a good face on the matter, chused amongst all
the apparell that they presented unto him that which
he liked best, and which hee thought to be fittest for
him : he is accommodated like a King, and served
with such ceremonies, as he had never seene before,
and yet beheld them without saying any thing, and
with an assured countenance. This done, the greatest
Nobleman in the Dukes Court enters the chamber
with the same reverence and honour to him as if he
had been their Soveraigne Prince (Phillip with Princely
delight beholds this play from a private place) ; divers
of purpose petitioning him for pardons, which hee
grants with such a continuance and gravity, as if he
had had a Crowne on his head all his life time.

Being risen late, and dinner time approaching,
they asked him if he were pleased to have his tables
covered. He likes that very well. The table is fur-
nished, where he is set alone, and under a rich
Canopie j he eates with the same ceremony which was
observed at the Dukes meales ; he made good cheere,
and chawed with all his teeth, but only drank \sath
more moderation then he could have wisht, but the
Majesty which he represented made him refraine.
All taken away, he was entertained with new and
pleasant things : they led him to walk about the great
Chambers, Galleries, and Gardens of the Pallace (for
all this merriment was played within the gates, they

THE WAKING MAN's DREAM. 41I

being shut only for recreation to the Duke and the
principall of his Court) : they shewed him all the
richest and most pleasantest things therin, and talked
to him thereof as if they had all beene his, which he
heard with an attention and contentment beyond
measure, not saying one word of his base condition,
or delaring that they tooke him for another. They
made him passe the afternoone in all kinds of sports \
musicke, dancing, and a Comedy, spent some part of
the time. They talked to him of some State matters,
whereunto he answered according to his skill, and
like a right Twelfetide King.

Super time approaching, they aske this new
created Prince if he would please to have the Lords
and Ladies of his Court to sup and feast with him j
whereat he seemed something unwilling, as if hee would
not abase his dignity unto such familiarity : neverthe-
lesse, counterfeiting humanity and affability, he made
signes that he condiscended thereunto : he then,
towards night, was led with sound of Trumpets and
Hoboyes into a faire hall, where long tables were set,
which were presently covered with divers' sorts of
dainty meates, the Torches shined in every corner,
and made a day in the midst of a night : the Gentle-
men and Gentlewomen were set m fine order, and. the
Prince at the upper end in a higher seat The ser-
vice was magnificent ; the musicke of voyces and in-
struments fed the eare, whilest mouthes found their
food in the dishes. Never was the imaginary Duke
at such a feast : carousses begin after the manner of
the Country j the Prince is assaulted on all sides, as
the Owle is assaulted by all the Birds, when he begins
to scare. Not to seeme uncivill, he would doe the
like to his good and faithfuU subjects. They serve
him with very strong wine, good Hipocras, wlaich hee
swallowed downe in great draughts, and frequently
redoubled j so that, charged with so many extraordi-

412 THE WAKING MAN^S DREAM,

iiaryes, he yeelded to deaths cousin gerraan, sleep,
which closed his eyes, stopt his eares, and made him
loose the use of his reason and all his other sences.

Then the right Duke, who had put himselfe among
the throng of his Officers to have the pleasure of this
mummer}% commanded that this sleeping man should
be stript out of his brave cloathes, and cloathed againe
in his old ragges, and so sleeping carried and layd in
the same place where he was taken up the night
before. This was presently done, and there did he
snort all the night long, not taking any hurt either
from the hardnesse of the stones or the night ayre, so
well was his stomacke filled with good preservatives.
Being awakened in the morning by some passenger,
or it maye bee by some that the good Duke Philip
had thereto appointed, ha ! said he, my friends, what
have you done ? you have rob'd mee of a Kingdome,
and have taken mee out of the sweetest and happiest
dreame that ever man could have fallen into. Then,
very well remembring all the particulars of what had
passed the day before, he related unto them, from
point to point, all that had happened unto him, still
thinking it assuredly to bee a dreame. Being re-
turned home to his house, bee entertaines his wife,
neighbours, and friends, with this his dreame, as hee
thought : the truth whereof being at last published
by the mouthes of those Courtiers who had been pre-
sent at this pleasant recreation, the good man could
not beleeve it, thinking that for sport they had framed
this history upon his dreame j but when Duke Philip,
who would have the full contentment of this pleasant
tricke, had shewed him the bed wherein he lay, the
cloathes which he had worne, the persons who had
served him, the Hall wherein he had eaten, the gardens
and galleries wherein he had walked, hardly could hee
be induced to beleeve what hee saw, imagining that
all this was meere inchantment and illusion.

THE WAKING MAN's DREAM, 413

The Duke used some liberality towards him for
to helpe him in the poverty of his family ; and, taking
an occasion thereon to make an Oration unto his
Courtiers concerning the vanity of this, worlds honours,
hee told them that all that ambitious persons seeke
with so much industry is but smoake, and a meere
dreame, and that they are strucken with that pleasant
folly of the Athenian, who imagined that all the riches
that arrived by shipping in the haven of Athens to be
his, and that all the Marchants were but his factors :
his friends getting him cured by a skilfull Physitian
of the debility of his brain, in lieu of giving them
thanks for this good office, he reviled them, saying
that, whereas he was rich in conceit, they had by this
cure made him poore and miserable in effect

Harpaste, a foole that Senecaes wife kept, and
whose pleasant imagination this grave Phylosopher
doth largely relate, being growne blind, could not per-
swade herselfe that she was so, but continually com-
plained that the house wherein she dwelt was dark,
that they would not open the windowes, and that they
hindred her from setting light, to make her beleeve
she could see nothing: hereupon this great Stoick
makes this fine consideration, that every vitious man
is like unto this foole, who, although he be blind^ in
his passion, yet thinks not himselfe to be so, casting
all his defect on false surmises, whereby he seeks not
only to have his sinne worthy of excuse and pardon,
but even of praise : the same say the covetous, ambi-
tious, and voluptuous persons, in defence of their im-
perfections; but in fine (as the Psalmist saith), all
that must passe awaye, and the images thereof come
to nothing, as the dreame of him that awaketh from
sleepe.

If a bucket of water be as truly water, as all the
sea, the difference only remaining in the quantity, not
in the quality, why shall we not say, that our poore

4T4 THE WAKWG MAX's DUE AM.

Brabander was a Soveraigne Prince for the space of
fowre and twenty houres, being that he received all the
honours and commodities thereof : how many Kings
and Popes have not lasted longer, but have dyed on
the "very day of their Elections or Coronations? As
for those other pompes, which have lasted longer,
what are they else but longer dreames? This vanity
of worldly things is a great sting to a well composed
soule, to helpe it forward towards the heavenly king-
dome."

2. A Merry Jest of a Shrewd and Curst
Wife Lapped iA MoreVs Skin, for her
Good Behaviour,

'0-

[The following humorous tale in verse has no especial relation
in its incidents to Shakespeare's "Taming of the Shrew," and
consequently none to the older comedy reprinted in the pre-
sent work; but it is of a similar character, and has always
been mentioned in connection with both : it is therefore ap-
pended, in order that the ancient materials existing in the time
of our great dramatist, and most likely well known to him, may
be at one view before the reader. Regarding the merit of " The
Wife lapped in Morels Skin," as a piece of popular poetry,
there can be no dispute. The author of it is unknown : at the
end, we read " Finis, quoth Mayster Charme her," but that is
evidently an assumed name.

The poem was included by Mr Utterson, in 1817, in his two
excellent and amusing volumes ; but our edition has been made
from a fresh collation (for which we are indebted to Mr H^li-
well) with the original copy (wanting one leaf) in the Bodleian
Library, so that it differs in no other respect than that we have
not adopted the black-letter type. When Mr Utterson repub-
lished it, he apprehended that the entry in the Stationers' Re-
gisters, in 1594, referred to it; for, in 181 7, the copies of the
old "Taming of a Shrew," of 1594 and 1596, had not been
discovered. It is to the first of these, unquestionably, that the
memorandum in the Stationers' Registers relates.

It was long supposed that only two copies of " The Wife
lapped in Morels Skin " were known ; but this now appears to
be a mistake, although it is certainly a production of great

4i6

THE WIFE LAPPED

rarity. It came from the press of Hugh Jackson, without date,
but about 1550 or 1560, under the following title : —

" Here begjTinetha merry leste of a shrewde and curste Wyfe,
lapped in Morrelles Skin, for her good behauyour. — Imprinted
at London in Fleetestrete, beneath the Conduite, at the signe
of Saint lohn Euangelist, by H. Jackson.'*

The only differences in the colophon are, that the word
"Saint" IS represented by the capital initial, and that the
printer's Christian name is given at length. The popularity of
the poem is not to be doubted ; and m Laneham's celebrated
''Letter from Kenilworth," 1575, "the wife lapt in MoreU
skin " is enumerated as one of the stories which Captain Cox
had *' at hiz fingers endz.*' — See Collier's ** Bridgewater Cata-
logue, "p. 1 63. — Collier^

1YSTEN, friendes, and holde you still,
-rf Abide a while and dwell :
A mery lest tell you I will,
And how that it befell.
As I went walking vpon a day,
Among my friendes to sporte :
To an house I tooke the way,
To rest me for my comforte.

A greate feaste was kept there than,

And many one was thereat :

With wyues and maydens, and many a good man,

That made good game and chat.

It befell then at that tyde

An honest man was there :

A cursed Dame sate by his syde.

That often did him dere.

His wife she was, I tell you playne,

This dame, ye may me trowe :

To play the maister she would not layne

And make her husband bowe.

At euery word that she did speake,

To be at peace he was full fayne,

Or else she would take him on the cheeke,

Or put him to other payne.

AV MORELS SKIN,

When she did winke, he durste not stere,

Nor play where euer he wente,

With friend or neighbour to make good chere,

Whan she her browes bente.

These folke had two maydens fayre and free,

Which were their daughters dere :

This is true, beleeue you me,

Of condicions was none their pere.

The yongest was meeke, and gentle ywys.
Her Fathers condicion she had :
The eldest her mothers withouten misse,
Sometime franticke, and sometime mad.
The father had his pleasure in the one alway,
And glad he was her to behold :
The mother in the other, this is no nay.
For in all her curstnesse she made her bolde.
And at last she was in fay,
As curst as her mother in worde and deede,
Her mischieuous pageauntes sometime to play,
Which caused her fathers heart to bleede :
For he was woe and nothing glad,
And of her would fayne be rid :
He wished to God that some man her had.
But yet to maryage he durst her not bid.
Full many there come the yongest to haue,
But her father was loth her to forgoe :
None there came the eldest to craue,
For feare it should turne them to woe.
The Father was loth any man to beguile,
For he was true and iust withall,
Yet there came one within a while,
That her demaunded in the Hall.
Another there came right soone also.
The yongest to haue he would be fa3nie,
Which made the fathers heart full woe,
That he and the yongest should part in twayne.
VOL. iv.(') 2 D

4i8

THE WIFE LAPPED

But the mother was fell, and might her not see,
Wherefore of her she would haue bene rid :
The yong man full soone she graunted pardy.
Create Golde and syluer with her she bid.

Saying, full soone he would her haue,

And wedded they were, shorte tale to make :

The Father sayd, so God me sau^,

For heauinesse and sorrowe I tremble and quake.

Also his hearte was in greate care.

How he should bestowe the eldest y wys,

Which should make his purse full bare :

Of her he would be rid by heauens blisse.

As hap was that this yong man should
Desyre the eldest withouten fayle :
To maryage, he sayd, full fayne he would,
That he might her haue for his auayle.
The father sayd with wordes anon,
Golde and syluer I wpuld thee giue :
If thou her marry, by sweete Saynt John,
But thou shouldest repent it all thy liue.

She is conditioned, I tell thee playne,

Moste like a Fiend, this is no nay :

Her Mother doth teach her, withouten layne,

To be mayster of her husband another day.

If thou shouldest her marry, and with her not gree,

Her mother thou shouldest haue alway in thy top ;

By night and day that shouldest vex thee.

Which sore would sticke then in thy crop.

And I could not amend it, by God of might,
For I dare not speake my selfe for my life :
Something among, be it wrong or right,
I let her haue all for feare of strife.
If I ought say she doth me treate.
Except I let her haue her will,
As a childe that should be beate
She will me charme : the Deuill her kill.

/.V MORELS SKIN-.

419

Another thing thou must vnderstande.
Her mother's good will thou must haue also :
If she be thy friend, by sea or by lande
Amisse with thee then can it not go.
For she doth her loue with all her minde,
And would not see her fare amisse :
If thou to her dareling could be kinde,
Thou couldest not want, by heauens blisse.

If thou so the mother now wilt seeke,

Behaue thy selfe then like a man :

And shew thy selfe both humble and meeke,

But when thou haste her, doe what thou can.

Thou wotest what I sayd to thee before,

I counsayle thee marke my wordes well :

It weare great pitty, thou werte forelore,

With such a deuillishe Fende of hell.

I care not for that, the yong man sayd :

If I can get the mothers good will,

I would be glad to haue that mayde,

Me thinketh she is withouten euell.

Alas I good man, I am sorry for thee,

That thou wilt cast thy selfe away,

Thou art so gentle and so free :

Thou shalt neuer tanae her, I dare well say.

But I haue done, I will say no more,
Therfore farewell, and goe thy way : »
Remember what I sayd to thee before.
And beware of repentaunce another day.

How theyofig man departed from the Father^ and sought
to the Mother for to haue the mayde to 7nariage,

Now is the yong man come to the dame.
With countenaunce glad, and manners demure :
Saying to her, God keepe you from blame,
With your dere daughter so fa3n:e and pure.

420

THE WIFE LAPPED

She welcommeth agayne the fayre yong man,

And bid him come neare, gentle fnende :

Full curteously he thanked the good dame than,

And thought her wordes full good and kinde.

Then he began, I shall you tell,

Unto the mother thus to say,

With wordes fa}Te that become him well,

For her deare daughter thus to pray :

Saying, good dame, now by your leaue,

Take it for none euell though I come here,

If you to me good leaue would giue,

With you right fayne would I make good chere.

The dame sayd : syt downe, a while abyde,

Good chere anon than will we make :

My daughter shall sit downe by thy syde,

I know well thou commest onely for her sake.

You say full true forsooth, sayd he,

My minde is stedfastly on her set :

To haue that mayde fayre and free,

I would be fayne, if I coulde her get.

The mother thanked him for his good will,

That he her daughter so did desyre :

Saying, I hope you come for none euell,

But in good honesty her to requyre.

For if ye did, I will be playne,

Right soone it shoulde tume you vnto griefe,

And also your comming I would disdayne.

And bid you walke with a wylde mischiefe.

But surely I take you for none of those.

Your condiscions shew it in no wise :

Wherefore me thinke you doe not glose, ^

Nor I will not counsell you by mine aduise.

For I loue my Daughter as my harte,

And loth I were, I wiU be playne.

To see her suffer payne and smarte,

For if I did my harte were slayne.

/AT MORELS SKIN.

421

If that thou shouldest another day

My daughter haue, and her good will,

Order her then vnto her pay

As reason requireth, it is good skill.

In women sometime great wisdome is,

And in men full little it is often seene,

But she is wise withouten mis,

From a yong child vp she hath so beene.

Therefore to her thou must audience giue

For thine owne profite, when she doth speake.

And than shalt thou in quiet liue,

And much strife thus shalte thou breake.

Howe sayest thou, yong man, what is thy minde ?

Wouldest thou her haue, my doughter dere ?

Than to her thou must be kinde.

And alway ready to make her good chere.

For an C. 11 of money haue thou shalte,

Of Syiuer and eke of Golde so round,

With an C. quarters of Corne and malte,

And xl. acres of good ground ;

If thou wilt liue with her like a man.

Thou shalt her haue, and this will I giue,

And euer after while I can,

Be thy good Mother as long as I liue.

And I will speake to my daughter for thee,

To know if it be her wUl also :

If she be content, my daughter free,

Then together may ye go.

The mother demaunded her daughter than.

If that she could fynde in her minde,

With all her harte to loue that yong man,

So that he to her would be kinde ?

She sayd, yea, mother, as you wyll,
So will I doe in worde and deede :
I trust he commeth for none yll,
Therefore the better may we speede.

422

THE WIFE LAPPED

But I would haue one that hath some good,

As well as I, good reason is :

Me thinke he is a lusty blood,

But gooddes there must be withouten misse.

The yong man was glad these wordes to heare,
And thanked the mother of her good will,
Beholding the Mayden with right mild cheare,
And prayed her hartely to be still :
Saying to her then in this wise,
Mine heart, my loue, my dearling deare,
Take no displeasure of my enterprise,
That I desyre to be your peare.

I am not riche of Gold nor fee,

Nor of great marchandise, ye shall vnderstand,

But a good Crafte I haue, pardee,

To get our lining in any land :

And in my heart I can well fynde.

You for to loue aboue all other,

For euermore to you to be kynde,

And neuer forsake you for none other.

Lyke a woman I Tvnll you vse,

And doe you honour, as ye should doe me :

And for your sake all other refuse.

As good reason is it should so be.

By my trouth, but well you say,

And me thinke by your countenaunce ywis,

That ye should not another day.

For no cause deale with me amis.

And in you I hope pleasure to take,
If ye woulde be gentle as ye should,
And neuer none other for your sake,
To marry for a M. pound of gold.
But sometime ye must me a little forbeare.
For I am hasty, but it is soone done :
In my fume I doe nothing feare,
Whatsoeuer thereof to me become.

IN MORELS SKIN.

And I cannot refirayne me in no wise,
For I haue it by nature a parte y wis.
It was wont to be my mothers guise,
Sometime to be mayster withouten misse :
And so must I, by God, now and than,
Or else I would thinke it should not be well,
For though ye were neuer so good a man,
Sometime among I will beare the bell.

And therefore tell me with wordes plajnae,
If ye can be pacient what time it is,
To suffer me with a little payne,
Though that you thinke I doe amisse ?
Or else say nay, and make a shorte ende,
And soone we shall asonder departe :
Then at your liberty you may hence wend,
Yet I doe loue you with all my harte.

The yong man was glad of her loue, in fay,
But loth he was master her for to make,
And bethought him what her father before did
saye,

When he on wooing his iomey did take ;
And so consented to all her will.
When he aduised him what he should doe.
He sayd, ye may me saue or spill,
For ye haue my loue, sweete heart, and no
moe.

The mother, hearing this, for the father
sente,

Shewing to him what was befall :
Wherewith he was right well content,
Of all their promises in generalL
Upon this greement they departed then,
To prepare all thinges for the feast :
Glad was the bride and her spouse then.
That they were come to this beheast.

424

THE WIFE LAPPED

Hew the Bryde was maryed with her Father and
Mothers good wylL

The day approched, the time drue neare,
That they should be wedded withouten misse :
The Bryde was glad and made good cheare,
For she thought to make greate ioye and blisse,
As that day to tryumphe with games and sporte.
Among her friendes a rule to beare :
And eakewithhis friendes that thether should resorte.
Thinking that no body might be her peare.

The bridegrome was glad also, in fay,

As man might be vpon the molde,

And to himselfe thus gan he say,

Now shall I rece3rue an heape of golde,

Of poundes many one, and much goods besyde,

To reioyce my sorrowes, and also my smarte :

I know not her peare in this country so wyde.

But yet I feare alway her proude harte.

She is so syb to the mother, withouten fayle,

Which hath no peare that I know :

In all mischiefe she dare assayle,

The boldest Archer that shooteth in a bow.

But no force, I care not, I wote what I thinke,

When we be wed and keepe house alone

For a small storme I may not shrinke,

To run to my neighbour to make my mone.

Soone to the church now were they brought,

With all their friends them about.

There to be maryed as they ought.

And after them followed a full great rout,

With them to offer, as custome is.

Among good neighboures it is alway seene :

Full richly deckte, withouten mis,

And she thought herselfe most Kkest a Queene.

IN MORELS SKm.

Incontinent when the Masse was done,
Homeward forsooth they tooke the way :
There foUoweth after ihem right soone,
Many a tall man and woman full gay.
The fathers and mothers next of all,
Unto the Bridgrome and Bryde also :
As to them then it did befall.
With them that tyde so for to go.

How the Bryde and her friendes came from the Church,
and were of the Brydegroome at their feast honestly
serued.

When they came home the hordes were spread,

The Bride was set at the hye dysse :

Euery one sayd, she had well sped

Of such a fayre husband as serued her mysse.

The friendes sate about her on euery syde,

Each in their order, a good syght to see,

The Bryde in the middest, with much pryde,

Full richely beseene she was pardye.

The mother was right glad of this sight,

And fast she did her daughter behold,

Thinking it was a pleasaunt wight,

But alway her Fathers lieart was cold :

When he remembred what might befall

Of this yong Daughter, that was so bold,

He could nothing be merry at all,

But moned the yong man full many a fold.

Beholde, how often with countenaunce sad

Saying to himselfe, alas, this day !

This yong man proueth much worse then mad,

That he hath marryed this cursed may.

Where I haue counsayled him by heavens blisse

That he should not meddle in no wise,

Least he repented, withouten misse.

That euer he made this enterprise.

426

THE WIFE LAPPED

But seeing it is thus, selfe doe selfe haue,

He is worse then mad that will him mone ;

For I will no more, so God me saue,

But God send him ioy, with my daughter Jone.

She is as curste, I dare well swere,

And as angry y wis as euer was waspe :

If he her anger she wdll him tere,

And with her nayles also him claspe.

What auayleth it to say ought now ?

The deede is done, no remedy there is :

Good cheare to make, I make God auowe,

Is now the best, withouten misse ;

For now is the time it should so be,

To make good game and sporte in fay,

In comforting all this company,

That be assembled here this day.

The father and mother were dilligent still
To welcome the friendes both more and lesse :
The yong man did also his good will
To serue them well at euery messe.
Wherein the mother great pleasure tooke,
And so did the father eake truely,
The Bride gaue a friendly looke,
Casting on him a wanton eye.

Then was the Brydegrome reioysed sore,
Alway our Lord thanking of his great grace,
Hauing in minde times many a score,
That his Bryde shewed him such a fayre place.
The mynstrelles played at euery bord,
The people therewith reioysed right well,
Geuing the Bridegrome their good word,
And the biyde also, that in bewty did excell.

The time past forth, the dinner was done,

The tables were taken vp all :

The Brydegroome welcommed them euery ech one,

That were there in the hall.

m MORELS SKIN',

They thanked him then, and the bryde also,
Of their greate cheare they had,
And sware great othes, so mote I go,
They were neuer at feast so glad.

Now we will remember you or we depart,

As vse and custome doth requyre :

He thanked them with all his harte,

So did both dame and syre.

The Bryde to the table agayne was set.

To keepe countenaunce than in deede :

The friendes that were together met

Be gyfted them richely with right good speede.

The father and the mother fyrst began.

To order them in this wise.

The Brydegrome was set by the Brydes syde than.

After the countrey guise :

Then the father the fyrst present brought,

And presented them there richly in fay,

"With deedes of his land in a boxe well wrought,

And made them his heyres for aye.

He gaue them also of malte and come

An hundred quarters and more,

With sheepe and oxen, that bare large home,

To keepe for household store.

And then came the mother, as quick as a bee,

To the Brydegrome witli wordes smart,

Saying sonne, so mote I thee,

I must open to thee my harte.

She gave them also both carte and plow.
And bade them alway to doe well,
And God should send them good ynow,
If they did marke what she did tell.
Before the people in this Hall
I will say and to thee rehearse :
An hundred pound now geue thee I shall,
But harken fyrst vnto my vearse.

428

THE WIFE LAPPED

Thou hast here my daughter deare,

A pleasaunt thing it is :

In all the countrey I know not her peare,

So haue I parte of blisse ;

For she is wyse and fayre with all,

And will nothing cast away :

I trow there be now none in this hall,

That better can saue all thing in fay.

Nor better doth know what doth behoue

Unto an house or huswiuery,

Then she doth, which causeth me to moue

This matter to thee so busily.

*She can carde, she can spin,

She can thresh, and she can fan :

She can helpe thee good to win,

For to keepe thee like a man.

And here is an hundred pound in Golde
To set thee vp, thy crafte to vse :
Wherefore I am playne, I would thou should
In no maner of wise thy selfe abuse.
To striue with my daughter or her to intreate,
For any thing that she shall doe
Here after, my child therefore to beate.
It should turne playnely to thy greate woe.

0 1 my deare mother, take no displeasure,
Till you haue cause what so befall,

But vse your selfe alwaye by measure.
For other cause none haue you shall.
My wyfe and I full well shall gree,

1 trust to God in throne :

She is my loue, and ener shall be,
And none but she alone.

O ! my deare sonne, thou makest me glad,
Which before was full of sorrowe :
For my deare daughter I was full sad,
But now I say, our Lord to borrow,

m MORELS SKIN.

429

Thou geuest me good comfort : now fare wel care,

Here is thy hundred pound :

I pray God geue thee well to fare,

And kepe thee whole and sound.

I thanke you dere mother, the yong man sayd,

Of your good gifte and daughter deare :

Me thinkes she is the worthiest mayde,

In all this Lande, withouten peare.

I hoape to Hue with her alway

So gentelly, that she shall fynde.

And you her mother, I dare well say,

In euery season gentle and kynde.

The people, standing them to behold,

Regarded the wordes of the Brydegrorae than,

And sayd, he aunswered with wordes cold.

Which became full well the good yong man.

And then they prest forth ech after other,

With golde and syluer, and riche giftes eake ;

And many a scome they gaue the mother,

But euer they praysed the yong man meeke.

To whome he gaue thankes with all his mighte,

As honesty requjnreth him to doe :

He ordred himselfe alway aright.

Yet they thought all he should haue woe ;

For he was matched so ywys.

That he could not wante for sorrow in fay,

But alway hampred, withouten misse,

Of mother and daughter, for euer and aye.

When all was done they gan depart,

And tooke their leaue full friendly thoe.

Thanking ech other with all their harte,

And on their way home they gan go.

The father and mother thanked them all.

The Bryde and Brydegrome also, without mis,

Did thank the company in generall.

Departing from them with ioy and blisse.

THE WIFE LAPPED

Then they went home while it was day,
And lefte the Btyde and Brydegrome there,
And they that did abide there, in good fay,
They made at euen agayne good cheare.
And after supper they did make good sporte,
With dauncing and springing as was the vse :
Yong people by other there did resorte,
To no mans hynder nor confuse.

After that all sportes were ended and done,

And that the bryde should goe to bed,

About the hall they daunced soone,

And suddajrnly away the bryde was led,

To take her rest with her dere spouse.

As reason would it should so be :

Euen as the cat was wonte with the mouse

To play, forsoth euen so did he.

The next morning, if that ye will heare,

The mother did come to their bedsyde,

Demaunding them what was their cheare,

And the Bryde began her head to hyde \

Saying to her, as one ashamed,

I wys, deare mother, I would ye were gone :

Or ye came heare I was not blamed

For being in his armes heare all alone.

Myne own deare daughter, be not displeased,

Though I doe let you of your disport :

I would be loath ye were diseased,

But you shall haue a cawdell for your comforte.

A while I will goe and let you alone,

Till ye be ready for to ryse.

And sodaynely the mother was from them gone-

To make the cawdell after the best wise.

When that the mother departed was,
They dallyed togither and had good game :
He hit her awiy ; she ciyed, alas !
What doe ye man ? hold vp for shame.

AV MORELS SKm,

I will sweete wife, then gan he say,
Fulfill your mynde both loud and still ;
But ye be able, I sweare in fay,
In all sportes to abide my will.

And they wrestled so long beforne,

That this they had for their greate meade :

Both shyrt and smock was all to tome,

That their vprysyng had no speede.

But yet the mother came agayne,

And sayd to her daughter, how doest thou nowe ?

Mary, mother, betweene us twayne,

Our shyrtes be tome, I make God auowe.

By Gods dere mother, she sware than,

This order with vs may not continue :

I will no more lye by this man.

For he doth me brast both vajme and sinew.

Nay, nay, deare mother, this world goeth on wheeles :

By sweete Saynt George ye may me trowe,

He lyeth kicking with his heeles.

That he is like to beare me a blow.

My owne deare daughter, if thy smock be asonder,

Another thou shalte haue -then, by this light :

I pray thee hartely doo thou not wonder,

For so was I dealt with the fyrst night

That I by thy father lay, by the roode.

And I doe thee with wordes playne :

Me thought neuer night to me so good,

As that same w^as when I tooke such payne.

Why, mother, were ye then glad

To be thus delt with as I am now ?

Me thinke my husband worse then mad.

For he doth exceede, I make God auow.

I could not lye still, nor no rest take,

Of all this night, beleue ye me :

Sometime on my syde, and sometime on my backe,

He rode and layd me, so mote I thee.

432

THE WIFE LAPPED

And from the beds head vnto the beds feete,
A cloth we had not vs for to decke,
Neyther our couerlet, nor yet our sheete.
That I pray God the deuell him checke \
For I am ashamed, my mother deare,
Of this nightes rest, by God in throne :
Before our friendes I dare not appeare,
Would to Gods passion I had layne alone !

Nay, nay, deare daughter, be not ashamed,
For here is nothing done amis :
They be more worthy to be blamed,
That hereof thinketh shame y wys ;
For this is honesty for thee and vs all,
And a new smock I will thee fet ;
And eke for thee, my sonne, I shall
For thy true laboure a new shyrte get

And soone of these they were both sped,

The daughter, and eake the sonne also : ,

Full quickly they rose out of their bed,

And with their mother they gan go

Abroade among their friendes all,

Which bid them good lucke, and eake good grace :

The cawdell was ready there in the Hall,

With myrth and glee for their solace.

Thus ended the feast with sporte and play,

And all their friendes, each with other.

Did take their leave and went their way,

From Bryde, and Bry degrome, with father and mother ;

Which right hartely did thanke them tho,

So did the Bryde, and Brydegrome eke ;

Yet when the friendes were all ago.

This yong folke abode with the mother all the weeke.

The father was glad to see them agree,
So was the mother, by heauen queene ;
And sayd eche to other, so mote I thee,
I thought not so well it should haue beene

m MORELS SKIN.

433

Betweene them twajme as it is now j
And therefore alone here shall they bide :
We will leaue them all, I make God auowe,
And go to dwell in our house harde beside.

At shorte conclusyon they weijt their way,

Leuing their children all that was there,

And come not aga3me of many a day,

For their deare daughter to inquere.

Thus they bode together than :

He set vp his shop with haberdash ware,

As one that would be a thriuing man,

To get great goods for his welfare.

And after that he tooke greate pajnie

To order his plowes and cattell also :

He kepte both boye, and also swayne,

That to the carte and plow did goe.

And some kept neate, and some kept sheepe,

Some did one thing, some did another,

But when they came home to haue their meate,

The wife played the deuell then, like her mother.

With countenaunce grim, and wordes smart,

She gave them meate, and bad them brast

The pore folke that come from plow and carte,

Of her lewde wordes they were agast ;

Saying eche to other, what dame is this?

The deuill I trow hath brought vs here :

Our mayster shall know it, by heauens blisse,

That we will not seme him another yeare.

The good man was fourth in the towne abroade.

About other thinges, I you say :

When he came homewarde he met with a goade,

One of his carters was going away :

To whome he sayde, Lob, whether goest thou ?

The carter spyde his master than,

And sayd to him, I make God auow,

No longer with thy wife abide I- can.

VOL. IV.(') 2 E

434

THE WIFE LAPPED

Mayster, he sayd, by Gods blist,

Our dame is the deuell, thou mayst me beleeue :

If thou haue sought her, thou haste not miste

Of one that full often thee shall greeue.

By God, a man thou canst not haue

To go to carte, ne yet to plow,

Neyther boy, nor yet knaue,

By Gods deare mother I make God auow,

That will bide with thee day or night.

Our Dame is not for vs, for she doth curse :

When we shall eate or drinke with right,

She bannes and frownes, that we be all the worse.

We be not vsed, where euer we wende,

To be sorely looked on for eating of our meat.

The deuell, I trow, vs to thee send : .

God helpe vs a better maystres to get.

Come on thy way. Lob, and tume agayne ;
Go home with me, and all shall be well :
An Oxe for my meyny shall be slayne,
And the hyde at the market I will sell.
Upon this together home they went :
The good man was angry in his minde,
But yet to his wife, with good intent.
He sayd, sweete heart, you be vnkinde.

Entreate our meyny well alway.
And geue them meate and drinke ynough ;
For they get our liuing euery day.
And theirs also, at carte and plough.
Therefore I would that they should haue
Meate and drinke to their behoue ;
For, ray sweete wife, so God me saue,
Ye will doe so, if ye me loue.

Gyue them what thou wilt, I doe not care,
By day nor night, man, beleeue you me :
What euer they haue, or how they fare,
I pray God euell mote they thee.

JN MORELS SKIN.

435

And specially that horeson that doth complayne,
I will quite him once if euer I Hue ;
I will dash the knaue vpon the brayne,
That euer after it shall him greeue.

What ! my deare wife, for shame, be still ;

This is a payne such wordes to heare :

We can not alwayes haue our will,

Though that we were a kinges pere.

For to shame a knaue what can they get ? —

Thou art as lewde, for God, as they.

And therefore shalt thou serue them of meate,

And drinke also, from hence alway.

What ! wife, ye be to blame,

To speake to me thus in this wise :

If we should striue, folke woud speake shame,

Therefore be still in mine aduise.

I am loth with you to striue,

For ought that you shall doe or say.

I sweare to Christ, wife, by my line,

I had rather take Morell, and ryde my way,

To seeke mine aduenture, till your moode is past
I say to you these manners be not good,
Therefore I pray you that this be the last,
Of your furious anger that semeth so wood.
What can it auayle you me for to greeue,
That loueth you so well as I doe mine harte?
By my trouth, wife, you may me beleeue.
Such toyes as these be would make vs both smarte.
Smarte in the twenty fayning Deuelles name 1
That liste me once well for to see :
I pray God geue the[e] euell shame !
What shouldest thou be, werte not for me?
A ragge on thine arse thou shouldest not have,
Excepte my friendes had geuen it thee :
Therefore I tell thee well, thou drunken knaue,
Thou arte not he that shall rule me.

43^

THE WIFE LAPPED

0 ! good wife, cease, and let this ouerpasse :
For all your great anger and hye wordes eake,

1 am mine owne selfe, euen as I was,

And to you will be louing, and also meeke •
But if ye should doe thus, as ye doe begin,
It may not continue no time ywys :
I would not let for kyth nor kin,
To make you mend ail thinges that is amys.
Make me 1 mary, out vpon the dreuill,
Sayest thou that ? wilte thou beginne ?
I pray God and our Lady, that a foule euill
Lyghten vpon thee and all thy kinne.
By Gods deare blest, vex me no more,
For if thou doe thou shalte repente ;
I haue yet somewhat for thee in store.
And with that a stafFe in her hand she hent.

x\t him full soone then she let flee,

And whorled about her as it had bene a man :

Her husband then was fayne perdy

To voyde her stroake, and goe his way than.

By Gods deare mother, then gan she sweare,

From henceforth I will make thee bow j

For I will trim thee in thy geare,

Or else I would I were cald a sow.

Fye on all wretches that be like thee.

In worde or worke both lowde and still 1

I sware by him that made man free,

Of me thou shalte not haue thy will,

Now nor neuer, I tell thee playne,

For I will haue Golde and riches ynow,

When thou shalte goe iagged as a simple swain,

With whip in hand at carte and plough.

Of that, my deare wife, I take no scome,
For many a goodman with minde and harte
Hath gone to plough and carte befome
My time y wys, with payne and smarte.

/.V MORELS SKm,

437

Which now be rich, and haue good at will,
Being at home, and make good cheare ;
And there they intend to leade their life still,
Till our Lord doe sende for them heare.

But now I must ryde a little way :

Deare wife, I will come right soone agayne.

Appoynt our dinner, I you pray,

For I doe take on me great pajme :

I doe my best, I sweare by my life.

To order you like a woman y wys ;

And yet it cannot be withouten strife,

Through your lewde tongue, by heauens blisse.

Ryde to the Deuell, and to his dame,

I would I should thee neuer see !

I pray to God send thee mickle shame,

In any place w^here euer thou be.

Thou wouldest fayne the mayster play,

But thou shalte not, by God I make thee sure :

I sweare I will thy Peticote pay,

That long with me thou shalt not endure.

How the good man rode his way^ till he thoughte her
a?iger was jf>asf; and then he retourned hojjie agayne.

The good man was sorry, and wente his way
About his busynes, as he was vsed,
And to himselfe thus gan he say :
Lord God, how was I thus abused !
When I tooke this wife I was worse then mad.
And yet can I blame my selfe and none other,
Which maketh me sigh and often be sad.
Repenting full sore, by Gods deare Mother.

Fye vpon goods withouten pleasure !
Betweene man and wife that cannot agree,
It is a payne far passing measure,
Such stryfe to see where as loue should be :

438

THE WIFE LAPPED

For there was neuer man y wys
So hampred with one wife as I am now,
Wherefore I thinke, withouten misse.
She shall repent it, I make God auow.

Except she turne and change her minde.
And eake her conditions euerichone,
She shall fynde me to her so vnkinde,
That I shall her coyle both backe and bone,
And make her blew and also blacke,
That she shall grone agayne for woe ;
I will make her bones all to cracke,
Without that she her condicions forgoe.

I was neuer so vexte this time beforne,

As I am now of this wife alone ;

A vengeaunce on her that euer she was borne.

For she maketh me often full woe begon 1

And I cannot tell where me to tourne

Nor me to wende, by God in faye,

Which cause me often for to mourne,

Or yet to know what for to say.

I am worse then mad or wood,
And yet I am loth with her to begin ;
I feare me I shall neuer make her good,
Except I do wrap her in black Morels skin,
That can no more drawe at plough ne carte.
It shall be to late to call for her kinne,
When she beginneth once for to smarte,
For little ease thereby she shall winne.

Morell is olde, he can labour no more,
Nor doe no good but alway eate ;
I trowe, I haue kept him thus long in store,
To worke a charme that shall be feate.
The horeson is blynde and lame also,
Behynde and before, he cannot stere \
When he from the stable to the streete should
He falleth downe ryght than in the myre.

IN MORELS SKIir,

439

Yet I am loth him for to kyll,

For he hath done me good seruice or nowe ;

But if my wife fulfyll not my wyll,

I must him flea, by God I trowe.

But at thys poynt nowe will I be :

I wyll be mayster, as it is reason,

And make her subiect vnto me,

For she must leame a newe lesson.

Her father did wame me of this befome,
How I should it finde in euery degree,
But I did take it for halfe a scorne,
And would not beleeue him then, perdee.
But now I perceaue it very well
He did it for good will y wis ;
Wherefore I thinke that Morels fell
Must mend all thing that is amis.

Thus he that will not beleeue his friend,
As her deare father was vnto me,
He is worthy for to fynde
Alway greate payne and misery.
But I may not choose him to beleeue,
For the deede doth proue himselfe in fay j
Euer she is redy me for to greeue.
And thinkes to continue so alway.

But now I will home to proue her minde.

And see what welcome I shall haue ;

She may be to me so vnkinde

That she shall repent it, so God me saue :

For if I should of her complayne,

Folke would me mock, and giue me scorne,

And say, I were worthy of this payne.

Because it was shewed me so well befome.

440

THE WIFE LAPPED

How the goodman 7vas 'welcotn7ned when he rejourned
/io?ne agayne.

The good man came ryding to the gate,

And knocked as he had bene wode ;

His seruaunt right soone did meete him thereat,

And bid him welcome with right milde moode.

The mayster sayd, what doth my dame now?

Is she as frantick yet as she was ?

Than will I tame her, I make God auow,

And make her sing full loude alas.

"Where arte thou, wife ? shall I haue any meate,

Or am I not so welcome vnto thee.

That at my commaundement I shall ought get,

I pray thee hartely soone tell thou me ?

If thou doe not serue me, and that anon,

I shall thee shew mine anger y wis :

I sweare by God, and by saynt John,

Thy bones will I swaddle, so haue I blisse.

Forth she came, as brym a bore,

And like a dog she rated him than.

Saying thus, I set no store

By thee, thou wretch, thou arte no man :

Get thee hence out of my sight.

For meate nor drink thou gettest none heare \

I sweare to thee by Mary bright.

Of me thou gettest here no good cheare.

Well, wyfe, he sayd, thou doste me compell

To doe that thing that I were loath :

If I bereaue Morell of his old fell.

Thou shalte repente it by the fayth now goath :

For I see well that it will no better be,

But in it thou must, after the new guyse.

It had bene better, so mote I thee.

That thou haddest not begon this enterpryse.

IN- MORELS SKIN.

441

How the good man caused Morell io be flayn^ and the
hide salted^ io lay his wife therein to sleepe.

Now will I begin my wife to tame,
That all the world shall it know ;
I would be loth her for to shame,
Though she do not care, ye may me trow.
Yet will I her honesty regard,
And it preserue, where euer ye may,
But IMorell, that is in yonder yarde,
His hyde therefore he must lease in fay.

And so he commaunded anon
To slea old Morell, his great horse ;
And flea him then the skin from the bone,
To wrap it about his wiues white coarse.
Also he commaunded of a byrchen tree
Roddes to be made a good great heape ;
And sweare by deare God in Trinity,
His wife in his seller shold skip and leape.

The hyde must be salted, then he sayd eake,
Bycause I would not haue it stinke ;
I hope herewith she will be meeke,
For this I trow will make her shrinke,
And bow at my pleasure, when I her bed,
And obay my commaundementes both lowde and
still ;

Or else I will make her body bleede,
And with sharp roddes beate her my fill.

Anon with that to her he gan to call ;

She bid abide in the diuelles name ;

I will not come what so befall :

Sit still with sorrow and mickle shame.

Thou shalte not rule me as pleseth thee,

I will well thou know by Gods deare Mother,

But thou shalt be ruled alway by me.

And I will be mayster, and none other.

442

THE WIFE LAPPED

Wilte thou be mayster, deare wife ? in fay,
Then must we wrestle for the best game ;
If thou it win, then may I say,
That I haue done my selfe greate shame.
But fyrst I will make thee sweate, good Jone,
Redde blood euen to the heels adowne,
And lappe thee in Morels skin alone,
That the blood shall be scene euen from the
crowne.

Sayest thou me that, thou wretched knaue ?
It were better thou haddest me neuer seene \
I sweare to thee, so God me saue,
With my nayles I will scratch out both thine
eyen,

And therefore thinke not to touch me once,
For, by the masse, if thou begin that,
Thou shake be handled for the nonce.
That all thy braynes on the ground shall squat.

Why then there is no remedy, I see.

But needes I must doe euen as I thought,

Seing it will none other wise be,

I will thee not spare, by God that me bought ;

For now I am set thee for to charme,

And make thee meeke, by Gods might,

Or else with roddes, while thou arte warme,

I shall thee scourge with reason and right.

Now^ good Morels skin,
Receiiie my curst wife in.

How the curst wife in Morels skin lay^
Because she would not her husland obay.

Now will I my sweete wife trim,
According as she deserueth to me :
I sweare by God, and by saynt Sim,
With byrchen roddes well beate shall she be,

JN MORELS SKIN.

443

And after that in Morels salte skin
I will her lay, and full faste binde,
That all her friendes, and eake her kyn,
Shall her long seeke or they her fynde.

Then he her met, and to her gan say,

How sayest thou, wife, wilte thou be mayster yet ?

She sware by Gods body, and by that day,

And sodaynly with her fyst she did him hit.

And defyed him, dreuill, at euery worde,

Saying, precious horesone, what doest thou thinke

I set not by thee a stinking torde,

Thou shalt get of me neyther meate nor drinke.

Sayest thou me that wyfe ? quoth he than.
With that in his armes he gan her catche,
Streyght to the seller with her he ran,
And fastened the dore with locke and latche,
And threwe the key downe him besyde,
Askyng her than if she would obay ?
Than she sayde nay, for all thy pr^^de,
But she was mayster, and would abyde alway.

Then, quotli he, we must make a fraye :
And with that her cloths he gan to teare,
Out vpon thee, horesone ! than she did saye,
Wilte thou robbe me of all my geare ?
It cost thee naught, thou arrant theefe :
And quickly she gat hym by the heade ;
With that she sayde, God giue thee a mischiefe,
And them that fed thee fyrst with breade.

They wrestled togyther thus they two,

So long that the clothes asunder went,

And to the grounde he threwe her tho.

That cleane from the backe her smock he rent.

In euery hand a rod he gate,

And layd vpon her a right good pace j

Asking of her what game was that ?

And she cryed out, horeson, alas ! alas 1

444

THE WIFE LAPPED

What wilte thou doe ? wilte thou kill me ?
I haue made thee a man of nought :
Thou shalte repente it, by Gods pitty,
That euer this deede thou haste y wrought.
I care not for that, dame, he did say,
Thou shalt giue ouer or we departe
The maystership all, or all this day
I will not cease to make thee smarte.

Euer he layde on, and euer she did crye,
Alas ! alas ! that euer I was borne !
Out vpon thee, murderer, I thee defye,
Thou hast my white skin, and my body all to
torne :

Leaue of betyme, I counsayle thee.
Nay, by God, dame, J saye not so yet,
I sweare to thee, by Mary so free.
We begyn but nowe : this is the first fyt.

Once agayne we must daunce about,
And then thou shalt reast in Morels skyn.
He gaue her than so many a great cloute,
That on the grounde the bloud was seene.
Within a whyle, he cryed, newe roddes, newe !
With that she cryed full lowde alas !
Daunce yet about, dame, thou came not where it
grewe.

And sodainely with that in a sowne she was.

He spyed that, and vp he her hente,
And wrang her harde then by the nose :
With her to Morels skin straight he wente.
And therein -full fast he did her close.
Within a while she did reuiue,
Through the grose salt that did her smarte :
She thought she should neuer haue gone on
Hue

Out of Morels skin, so sore is her harte.

IN MORELS SKIN".

445

^Vhen she did spy that therein she lay,

Out of her wit she was full n^e,

And to her husband then did she say,

How canst thou doe this vilany ?

Nay, how sayest thou ? thou cursed wife,

In this foule skin I will thee keepe

During the time of all thy life,

Tiierein for euer to wayle and weepe.

With that her moode began to sinke,

And sayd, deare husband, for grace I call ;

For I shall neuer sleepe nor winke

Till I get your loue, whatso befall :

And I will neuer to you offend,

In no maner of wise, of all my lyue ;

Nor to doe nothing that may pretend

To displease you with my wittes fyue.

For Father, nor Mother, whatsoeuer they say,

I will not anger you, by God in throne,

But glad will your coniraaundementes obay,

In presence of people, and eake alone. —

Well, on that condicion thou shalt haue

Grace, and fayre bed to reste thy body in ;

But if thou rage more, so God me saue,

I will wrap thee agayne in Morels skin.

Then he tooke her out in his armes twayne,

And beheld her so pitteously with blood arayed :

How thinkest thou, wife, shall we agayne

Haue such businesse more ? to her he sayd.

She aunswered nay, my husband deare,

Whyle I you know, and you know me.

Your commaundementes I will, both far and neare,

Fulfil alway in euery degree.

Well then, I promise thee, by God, euen now,

Betweene thee and mee shall neuer be strife j

If thou to my commaundementes quickly bow,

I will the[e] cherish all the dayes of my life.

446

THE WIFE LAPPED

In bed she was layde, and healed full soone, •
As fayre and cleare as she was befome \
What he her bid was quickly done,
To be diligent y wys she tooke no scome.
Then was he glad, and thought in his minde,
Now haue I done my selfe great good,
And her also, we shall it finde,
Though I haue shed parte of her blood
For as me thinke she will be meeke,
Therefore I will her father and mother
Byd to guest now the next weeke,
And of our neighboures many other.

How the good man did byd her Father and Mother to
guest, and many of his neyghbours, that they might
see his wiues pacyence.

Great payne he made his wife to take,

Agaynst the day that they should come ;

Of them was none that there did lack,

I dare well say vnto my doome.

Ye, father and mother, and neighbours all,

Dyd thether eome to make good cheare :

Soone they were set in generall,

The wyfe was dilligent as did appeare.

Father and mother was welcome then,

And so were they all, in good fay :

The husband sate there like a man,

The wyfe did serue them all that day;

The good man commaunded what he would haue.

The wyfe was quick at hand.

What now 1 thought the mother, this arrant knaue

Is mayster as I vnderstand.

What may this meane, then she gan thinke,

That my daughter so dilligent is ?,

Now can I nother eate nor drinke,

Till I it know, by heauen blisse.

IN MORELS SKIN,

447

When her daughter came agayne
To serue at the borde, as her husband bad,
The mother stared with her eyen twayne,
Euen as one that had ben mad.

All the folke that at the boord sate,
Did her behold then euerichone j
The mother from the boord her gate,
Following her daughter, and that anone,
And in the kitching she her fand,
Saying ynto her in this wise :
Daughter, thou shalte well vnderstand,
I did not teach thee after this guyse.

A, good mother ! ye say full well,
All thinges with me is not a;s ye weene :
If ye had bene in Morels fell
As well as I, it should be seene.
In Morels fell ! what deuill is that ?
Mary, mother, I will it you show ;
But beware that you come not thereat,
Lest you your selfe then doe beshrew.

Come downe now in this seller so deepe,
And Morels skin there shall you see,
With many a rod that hath made me to weepe.
When the blood ranne downe fast by my knee.
The mother this beheld, and cryed out alas !
And ran out of the seller as she had bene wood j
She came to the table where the company was,
And sayd, out, horeson 1 I will see thy harte blood.

Peace, good mother ! or so haue blisse.
Ye must daunce else as did my wyfe,
And in Morels skin lye, that well salted is,
Which you should repent all the dayes of youre lyfe.
All they that were there held with the yong man.
And sayd, he dyd well in euery maner degree :
Whan dynner was done, they departed all than,
The mother no lenger durst there be.

44^ THE WIFE LAPPED IN MORELS SKIN.

The Father abode last, and was full glad,
And gaue his children his blessyng ywys,
Saying, the yong man full well done had,
And merely departed wythouten mys.
This yong man was glad ye may be sure,
That he had brought hys wyfe to this.
God gyue vs all grace in rest to indure,
And hereafter to come vnto his blisse.

Thus was Morell flfraie out of his skin,
To charme a shre\^^ so haue I blisse.
Forgeue the yongman, if he did sin.
But I thinke he did nothing amisse :
He did all thing euen for the best,
As was well prooued then.
God saue our wiues from Morels nest,
I pray you say all, amen.

Thus endeth'the iest of Morels skin.
Where the curst wife was lapped in j
Because she was of a shrewde leere,
Thus was she serued in this maner.

FINIS, QUOTH MAYSTER CHARME HER.

Imprinted at London in Fleetest^eete,' beneath the
Conduite, at the sigrieof S. lohn Euangelist, by Hugh,
lackson.

He that can charme ci s/^ewde wyfe

Better then
Let him come to me. andfeii^ t^lLMH^^d^

END OF VOL. rv.