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OLD    ENGLISH    PLAYS. 

VOL.  VII. 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  MUCEDORUS. 

THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN  OF  ABINGTON. 

LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 


A  SELECT  COLLECTION 


OP 


OLD   ENGLISH   PLAYS 


ORIGINALLY  PUBLISHED  BY  ROBERT  DODSLEY 
IN  THE  YEAR  1744. 


FO  UR  TH  EDITION, 

NOW  FIRST  CHRONOLOGICALLY  ARRANGED,  REVISED  AND  ENLARGED 

WITH  THE  NOTES  OF  ALL  THE  COMMENTATORS 

AND  NEW  NOTES 


BY 

W.  CAREW  HAZLITT. 


VOLUME  THE  SEVENTH. 


LONDON: 

REEVES  AND  TURNER,  196  STRAND 
AND  185  FLEET  STREET. 

1874. 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 


VOL.  VII. 


EDITION. 

The  Tragedie  of  Tancred  and  Gismund.  Compiled  by 
the  Gentlemen  of  the  Inner  Temple,  and  by  them  pre- 
sented before  her  Maiestie.  Newly  reuiued  and  polished 
according  to  the  decorum  of  these  daies.  By  R.  W. 
London,  Printed  by  Thomas  Scarlet,  and  are  to  be  solde 
by  R.  Robinson,  1591,  4to. 

[Some  copies  are  dated  1592  ;  but  there  was  only  a 
single  edition.  Of  the  original  text,  as  written  in  1568, 
there  is  no  printed  copy ;  but  MSS.  of  it  are  in  MS. 
Lansdowne  786,  and  Hargrave  MS.  205,  neither  of 
which  appears  to  present  any  evidence  of  identity  with 
the  copy  mentioned  by  Isaac  Reed  below  as  then  in 
private  hands.  Both  these  MSS.  have  now  been  col- 
lated with  the  text  of  1591,  and  the  conclusion  must 
be,  that  Wilmot,  though  he  unquestionably  revived, 
did  not  do  so  much,  as  he  might  wish  to  have  it  inferred, 
in  polishing  the  play.  The  production  was  formed  on  a 
classical  model,  and  bears  marks  of  resemblance  in  tone 
and  style  to  the  "  Jocasta  "  of  Euripides,  as  paraphrased 
by  Gascoigne  in  1566.  The  Lansdowne  MS.  of  "  Tan- 
cred and  Gismunda"  was  written  about  1568-70,  while 
the  Hargrave  is  much  more  modern.] 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  appears  from  William  Webbe's  Epistle  prefixed  to 
this  piece,  that  after  its  first  exhibition  it  was  laid  aside, 
and  at  some  distance  of  time  was  new- written  by  R. 
Wilniot.  The  reader,  therefore,  may  not  be  displeased 
with  a  specimen  of  it  in  its  original  dress.  It  is  here 
given  from  the  fragment  of  an  ancient  MS.  taken  out 
of  a  chest  of  papers  formerly  belonging  to  Mr  Powell, 
father-in-law  to  the  author  of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  at  Forest 
Hill,  about  four  miles  from  Oxford,  where  in  all  proba- 
bility some  curiosities  of  the  same  kind  may  remain, 
the  contents  of  these  chests  (for  I  think  there  are  more 
than  one)  having  never  yet  been  properly  examined. 
The  following  extract  is  from  the  conclusion  of  the 
piece. — Reed.  [Reed's  extract  has  been  collated  with 
the  two  MSS.  before-mentioned  ;  where  the  Powell  MS. 
may  now  be,  the  editor  cannot  say.  The  differences, 
on  the  whole,  are  not  material ;  but  the  Lansdowne 
MS.  786  has  supplied  a  few  superior  readings  and 
corrections.] 


INTRODUCTION. 

But  in  thy  brest  if  eny  spark  remaine 

Of  thy  dere  love.     If  ever  yet  I  coulde 

So  moche  of  thee  deserve,  or  at  the  least 

If  with  my  last  desire  I  may  obtain^ 

This  at  thy  handes,  geve  me  this  one  request 

And  let  me  not  spend  my  last  breath  in  vaine. 

My  life  desire  I  not,  which  neither  is 

In  thee  to  geve  nor  in  my  self  to  save, 

Althoughe  I  wolde.     Nor  yet  I  aske  not  this 

As  mercye  for  myne  Erie  in  ought  to  crave, 

Whom  I  to  well  do  knowe  howe  thou  hast  slayen. 

No,  no,  father,  thy  hard  and  cruell  wronge 

With  pacience  as  I  may  I  will  sustaine 

In  woefull  life  which  now  shall  not  be  longe. 

But  this  one  suite,  father,  if  unto  me 

Thou  graunt,  though  I  cannot  the  same  reacquite 

Th'  immortall  goddes  shall  render  unto  thee 

Thy  due  reward  and  largely  guerdon  it, 

That  sins  it  pleased  thee  not  thus  secretly 

I  might  enjoy  my  love,  his  corps  and  myne 

May  nathelesse  together  graved  be 

And  in  one  tombe  our  bodies  both  to  shrine 

With  which  this  small  request  eke  do  I  praie 

That  on  the  same  graven  in  brasse  thou  place 

This  woefull  epitaphe  which  I  shall  saye, 

That  all  lovers  may  rue  this  mornef  ull  case ; 

Loe  here  within  one  tombe  where  harbor  twaine 

Gismonda  Quene  and  Countie  Pallurine  ! 

She  loved  him,  he  for  her  love  was  slayen, 

For  whoes  revenge  eke  lyes  she  here  in  shrine. 

[GISMONDA  dicth 

TANCRED.  0  me  alas,  nowe  do  the  cruell  paines 
Of  cursed  death  my  dere  daughter  bereave. 
Alas  whie  bide  I  here  ?  the  sight  constraines 
Me  woefull  man  this  woefull  place  to  leaue. 


INTRODUCTION. 


SCENE  III. 

TANCKED  cometh  out  of  GISMOND'S  Chamber. 

TANCRED.  0  dolorous  happe,ruthefull  and  all  of  woe 
Alas  I  carefull  wretche  what  resteth  me? 
Shall  I  now  live  that  with  these  eyes  did  soe 
Beholde  my  daughter  die?  what,  shall  I  see 
Her  death  before  my  face  that  was  my  lyfe 
And  I  to  lyve  that  was  her  ly ves  decay  ? 
Shall  not  this  hand  reache  to  this  hart  the  knife 
That  maye  bereve  bothe  sight  and  life  away, 
And  in  the  shadowes  darke  to  seke  her  ghoste 
And  wander  there  with  her  ?  shall  not,  alas, 
This  spedy  death  be  wrought,  sithe  I  have  lost 
My  dearest  ioy  of  all  ?  what,  shall  I  passe 
My  later  dayes  in  paine,  and  spende  myne  age 
In  teres  and  plaint !  shall  I  now  leade  my  life 
All  solitarie  as  doeth  bird  in  cage, 
And  fede  my  woefull  yeres  with  waillfull  grefe  ? 
No,  no,  so  will  not  I  my  dayes  prolonge 
To  seke  to  live  one  houre  sith  she  is  gone  : 
This  brest  so  can  not  bende  to  suche  a  wronge, 
That  she  shold  dye  and  I  to  live  alone. 
No,  this  will  I :  she  shall  have  her  request 
And  in  most  royall  sorte  her  funerall 
Will  I  performe.    Within  one  tombe  shall  rest 
Her  earle  and  she,  her  epitaph  withall 
Graved  thereon  shal  be.     This  will  I  doe 
And  when  these  eyes  some  aged  teres  have  shed 
The  tomb  my  self  then  will  I  crepe  into 
And  with  my  blood  all  bayne  their  bodies  dead. 
This  heart  there  will  I  perce,  and  reve  this  brest 
The  irksome  life,  and  wreke  my  wrathful  ire 
Upon  my  self.     She  shall  have  her  request, 
And  I  by  death  will  purchace  my  desyre. 

FINIS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


EPILOGUS. 

If  now  perhappes  ye  either  loke  to  see 
Th'  unhappie  lovers,  or  the  cruell  sire 
Here  to  be  buried  as  fittes  their  degree 
Or  as  the  dyeng  ladie  did  require 
Or  as  the  ruthefull  kinge  in  deepe  despaire 
Behight  of  late  (who  nowe  himself  hath  slayen) 
Or  if  perchaunse  you  stand  in  doutfull  fere 
Sithe  mad  Megera  is  not  returnde  againe 
Least  wandring  in  the  world  she  so  bestowe 
The  snakes  that  crall  about  her  furious  face 
As  they  may  raise  new  ruthes,  new  kindes  of  woe 
Bothe  so  and  there,  and  such  as  you  percase 
Wold  be  full  lothe  so  great  so  nere  to  see 
I  am  come  forth  to  do  you  all  to  wete 
Through  grefe  wherin  the  lordes  of  Salerne  be 
The  buriall  pompe  is  not  prepared  yet : 
And  for  the  furie,  you  shall  onderstand 
That  neither  doeth  the  litle  greatest  god 
Finde  such  rebelling  here  in  Britain  land 
Against  his  royall  power  as  asketh  rod 
Of  ruth  from  hell  to  wreke  his  names  decaie 
Nor  Pluto  heareth  English  ghostes  complaine 
Our  dames  disteyned  lyves.     Therfore  ye  maye 
Be  free  from  feare,  sufficeth  to  maintaine 
The  vertues  which  we  honor  in  you  all, 
So  as  our  Britain  ghostes  when  life  is  past 
Maie  praise  in  heven,  not  plaine  in  Plutoes  hall 
Our  dames,  but  hold  them  vertuous  and  chast, 
Worthie  to  live  where  furie  never  came, 
Where  love  can  see,  and  beares  no  deadly  bo  we, 
Whoes  lyves  eternall  tromp  of  glorious  fame 
With  joyfuil  sounde  to  honest  eares  shall  blowe. 

FINIS. 
The  Tragedie  of  Gismonde  of  Salerne. 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

Such  is  a  specimen  of  the  play  as  it  was  originally 
acted  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  at  the  Inner  Temple,  in 
the  year  1568.  It  was  the  production  of  five  gentlemen, 
who  were  probably  students  of  that  society  ;  and  by 
one  of  them,  Kobert  "Wilmot,  afterwards  much  altered 
and  published  in  the  year  159 1.1  [Wilrnot  had  mean- 
while become  rector  of  North  Okenham,  in  Essex]  ;- 
and  in  his  Dedication  to  the  Societies  of  the  Inner  and 
Middle  Temples,  he  speaks  of  the  censure  which  might 
be  cast  upon  him  from  the  indecorum  of  publishing  a 
dramatic  work  arising  from  his  calling.  When  he  died, 
or  whether  he  left  any  other  works,  are  points  equally 
uncertain. 

"  Nearly  a  century  after  the  date  of  that  play,"  ob- 
serves Lamb,  in  his  "  Extracts  from  the  Garrick  Plays," 
"  Dryden  produced  his  admirable  version  of  the  same 
story  from  Boccaccio.  The  speech  here  extracted  (the 


1  He  is  mentioned  by  Webbe,  in  his  "  Discourse  of  English 
Poetrie,"  1586,  Sign.  C  4,  with  other  poets  of  that  time,  as 
Whetstone,  Munday,  Grange,  Knight,  Wilmot,  Darrell,  F.  C. 
F.  K.,  G.  B.,  and  others,  whose  names  he  could  not  re- 
member. 

2  Kobert  Wilmot,  A.M.,  was  presented  to  the  rectory  of 
North  Okenham,  in  Essex,  the  28th  of  November  1582,  by 
Gabriel  Poyntz :  and  to  the  vicarage  of  Horndon  on  the 
Hill,  in  the  same  county,  the  2d  December  1585,  by  the 
Dean  and  Chapter  of  St  Paul's. — Newcourt's  "  Repertorium." 
— Steevens. 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

gcene  between  the  messengers  and  Gisnmnda)  may  be 
compared  with  the  corresponding  passage  in  the  '  Sigis- 
munda  and  Guiscardo'  with  no  disadvantage  to  the 
older  performance.  It  is  quite  as  weighty,  as  pointed, 
and  as  passionate." 


9 

To  the  Right  "Worshipful  and  Virtuous  Ladies,  the 
Lady  MARY  PETER  and  the  Lady  ANNE  GRAY,  long 
health  of  body,  with  quiet  of  mind,  in  the  favour 
of  God  and  men  for  ever. 

It  is  most  certain  (right  virtuous  and  worshipful)  that 
of  all  human  learning,  poetry  (how  contemptible  soever 
it  is  in  these  days)  is  the  most  ancient ;  and,  in  poetry, 
there  is  no  argument  of  more  antiquity  and  elegancy 
than  is  the  matter  of  love  ;  for  it  seems  to  be  as  old  as 
the  world,  and  to  bear  date  from  the  first  time  that  man 
and  woman  was :  therefore  in  this,  as  in  the  finest  metal, 
the  freshest  wits  have  in  all  ages  shown  their  best  work- 
manship. So  amongst  others  these  gentlemen,  which 
with  what  sweetness  of  voice  and  liveliness  of  action 
they  then  expressed  it,  they  which  were  of  her  Majesty's 
right  Honourable  maidens  can  testify. 

Which  being  a  discourse  of  two  lovers,  perhaps  it 
may  seem  a  thing  neither  fit  to  be  offered  unto  your 
ladyships,  nor  worthy  me  to  busy  myself  withal  :  yet 
can  I  tell  you,  madames,  it  differeth  so  far  from  the 
ordinary  amorous  discourses  of  our  days,  as  the  man- 
ners of  our  time  do  from  the  modesty  and  innocency 
of  that  age. 

And  now  for  that  weary  winter  is  come  upon  us, 
which  bringeth  with  him  drooping  days  and  tedious 
nights,  if  it  be  true,  that  the  motions  of  our  minds  fol- 
low the  temperature  of  the  air  wherein  we  live,  then  I 
think  the  perusing  of  some  mournful  matter,  tending 
to  the  view  of  a  notable  example,  will  refresh  your  wits 
in  a  gloomy  day,  and  ease  your  weariness  of  the  louring 
night.  Which  if  it  please  you,  may  serve  ye  also  for  a 
solemn  revel  against  this  festival  time,  for  Gismund's 
bloody  shadow,  with  a  little  cost,  may  be  entreated  in 
her  self-like  person  to  speak  to  ye. 

Having  therefore  a  desire  to  be  known  to  your  W., 


10 

I  devised  this  way  with  myself  to  procure  the  same, 
persuading  myself,  there  is  nothing  more  welcome  to 
your  wisdoms  than  the  knowledge  of  wise,  grave,  and 
worthy  matters,  tending  to  the  good  instructions  of 
youths,  of  whom  you  are  mothers. 

In  this  respect,  therefore,  I  shall  humbly  desire  ye  to 
bestow  a  favourable  countenance  upon  this  little  labour, 
which  when  ye  have  graced  it  withal,  I  must  and  will 
acknowledge  myself  greatly  indebted  unto  your  lady- 
ships in  this  behalf :  neither  shall  I  amongst  the  rest, 
that  admire  your  rare  virtues  (which  are  not  a  few  in 
Essex),  cease  to  commend  this  undeserved  gentleness. 

Thus  desiring  the  king  of  heaven  to  increase  his 
graces  in  ye  both,  granting  that  your  ends  may  be  as 
honourable  as  your  lives  are  virtuous,  I  leave  with  a 
vain  babble  of  many  needless  words  to  trouble  you 
longer. 

Your  Worships'  most  dutiful 

and  humble  Orator, 

ROBERT  WILMOT. 


11 


TO  HIS  FRIEND  R.  W. 

Master  R.  W.,  look  not  now  for  the  terms  of  an  intreater : 
I  will  beg  no  longer ;  and  for  your  promises,  I  will 
refuse  Jhem  as  bad  payment :  neither  can  I  be  satisfied 
with  anything  but  a  peremptory  performance  of  an  old 
intention  of  yours,  the  publishing  I  mean  of  those  waste 
papers  (as  it  pleaseth  you  to  call  them,  but,  as  I  esteem 
them,  a  most  exquisite  invention)  of  Gismund's  tragedy. 
Think  not  to  shift  me  off  with  longer  delays,  nor  allege 
more  excuses  to  get  further  respite,  lest  I  arrest  you 
with  my  actwm  est,  and  commence  such  a  suit  of  unkind- 
ness  against  you,  as  when  the  case  shall  be  scann'd  before 
the  judges  of  courtesy,  the  court  will  cry  out  of  your 
immoderate  modesty.  And  thus  much  I  tell  you  be- 
fore :  you  shall  not  be  able  to  wage  against  me  in  the 
charges  growing  upon  this  action,  especially  if  the 
worshipful  company  of  the  Inner-Temple  gentlemen 
patronise  my  cause,  as  undoubtedly  they  will,  yea,  and 
rather  plead  partially  for  me,  than  let  my  cause  mis- 
carry, because  themselves  are  parties.  The  tragedy  was 
by  them  most  pithily  framed,  and  no  less  curiously  acted 
in  view  of  her  Majesty,  by  whom  it  was  then  as  princely 
accepted,  as  of  the  whole  honourable  audience  notably 
applauded  :  yea,  and  of  all  men  generally  desired,  as  a 
work,  either  in  stateliness  of  show,  depth  of  conceit,  or 
true  ornaments  of  poetical  art,  inferior  to  none  of  the 
best  in  that  kind  :  no,  were  the  Roman  Seneca  the 
censurer.  The  brave  youths  that  then  (to  their  high 
praises)  so  feelingly  performed  the  same  in  action,  did 
shortly  after  lay  up  the  book  unregarded,  or  perhaps  let 
it  run  abroad  (as  many  parents  do  their  children  once 
past  dandling)  not  respecting  so  much  what  hard  for- 
tune might  befall  it  being  out  of  their  fingers,  as  how 
their  heroical  wits  might  again  be  quickly  conceived 


12 

with  new  inventions  of  like  worthiness,  whereof  they 
have  been  ever  since  wonderful  fertile.  But  this  orphan 
of  theirs  (for  he  wand'reth  as  it  were  fatherless)  hath 
notwithstanding,  by  the  rare  and  beautiful  perfections 
appearing  in  him,  hitherto  never  wanted  great  favourers 
and  loving  preservers.  Among  whom  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently commend  your  charitable  zeal  and  scholarly 
compassion  towards  him,  that  have  not  only  rescued 
and  defended  him  from  the  devouring  jaws  of  oblivion, 
but  vouchsafed  also  to  apparel  him  in  a  new  suit  at 
your  own  charges,  wherein  he  may  again  more  boldly 
come  abroad,  and  by  your  permission  return  to  his  old 
parents,  clothed  perhaps  not  in. richer  or  more  costly 
furniture  than  it  went  from  them,  but  in  handsomeness 
and  fashion  more  answerable  to  these  times,  wherein 
fashions  are  so  often  altered.  Let  one  word  suffice  for 
your  encouragement  herein ;  namely,  that  your  com- 
mendable pains  in  disrobing  him  of  his  antique  curiosity, 
and  adorning  him  with  the  approved  guise  of  our  state- 
liest English  terms  (not  diminishing,  but  more  aug- 
menting his  artificial  colours  of  absolute  poesy,  derived 
from  his  first  parents)  cannot  but  be  grateful  to  most 
men's  appetites,  who  upon  our  experience  we  know 
highly  to  esteem  such  lofty  measures  of  sententiously 
composed  tragedies. 

How  much  you  shall  make  me  and  the  rest  of  your 
private  friends  beholden  to  you,  I  list  not  to  discourse  :i 
and  therefore  grounding  upon  these  alleged  reasons,; 
that  the  suppressing  of  this  tragedy,  so  worthy  for  the 
press,  were  no  other  thing  than  wilfully  to  defraud 
yourself  of  an  universal  thank,  your  friends  of  their 
expectations,  and  sweet  Gismund  of  a  famous  eternity, 
I  will  cease  to  doubt  of  any  other  pretence  to  cloak 
your  bashfulness,  hoping  to  read  it  in  print  (which 
lately  lay  neglected  amongst  your  papers)  at  our  next 
appointed  meeting. 


13 

I  bid  you  heartily  farewell.  From  Pyrgo  in  Essex, 
August  the  eighth,  1591. 

Tuus  fide  &  facultate 

GUIL.  WEBBE.1 

1  The  same  person,  who  was  the  author  of  aA  Discourse  of 
English  .Poetrie:  together  with  the  Authors  iudgment, 
touching  the  reformation  of  our  English  Verse."  B.  L. 
4to,  1586.  [This  "Discourse"  is  reprinted  in  Haslewood'3 
"Ancient  Critical  Essays,"  1811-15.]  , 


H 

To  the  Worshipful  and  Learned  Society,  the  GENTLE- 
MEN STUDENTS  of  the  Inner  Temple,  with  the  rest 
of  his  singular  good  Friends,  the  GENTLEMEN  of  the 
Middle  Temple,  and  to  all  other  courteous  Headers, 
R.  W.  wisheth  increase  of  all  health,  worship,  and 
learning,  with  the  immortal  glory  of  the  graces 
adorning  the  same. 

Ye  may  perceive  (right  Worshipful)  in  perusing  the 
former  epistle  sent  to  me,  how  sore  I  am  beset  with  the 
importunities  of  my  friends  to  publish  this  pamphlet  : 
truly  I  am  and  have  been  (if  there  be  in  me  any  sound- 
ness of  judgment)  of  this  opinion,  that  whatsoever  is 
committed  to  the  press  is  commended  to  eternity,  and 
it  shall  stand  a  lively  witness  with  our  conscience,  to 
our  comfort  or  confusion,  in  the  reckoning  of  that 
great  day. 

Advisedly,  therefore,  was  that  pro  verb  used  of  our  elder 
philosophers,  Manum  a  tabula :  withhold  thy  hand  from 
the  paper,  and  thy  papers  from  the  print  or  light  of  the 
world  :  for  a  lewd  word  escaped  is  irrevocable,  but  a 
bad  or  base  discourse  published  in  print  is  intolerable. 

Hereupon  I  have  endured  some  conflicts  between 
reason  and  judgment,  whether  it  were  convenient  for 
the  commonwealth,  with  the  indecorum  of  my  calling 
(as  some  think  it)  that  the  memory  of  Tancred's  tragedy 
should  be  again  by  my  means  revived,  which  the  oftener 
I  read  over,  and  the  more  I  considered  thereon,  the 
sooner  I  was  won  to  consent  thereunto  :  calling  to 
mind  that  neither  the  thrice  reverend  and  learned  father, 
M.  Beza,  was  ashamed  in  his  younger  years  to  send 
abroad,  in  his  own  name,  his  tragedy  of  "  Abraham," l 
nor  that  rare  Scot  (the  scholar  of  our  age)  Buchanan, 
his  most  pathetical  Jephtha. 

1  [An  English  translation  was  published  in  1577.] 


15 

Indeed  I  must  willingly  confess  this  work  simple, 
and  not  worth  comparison,  to-  any  of  theirs  :  for  the 
writers  of  them  were  grave  men  ;  of  this,  young  heads  : 
in  them  is  shown  the  perfection  of  their  studies  ;  in  this, 
the  imperfection  of  their  wits.  Nevertheless  herein 
they  all  agree,  commending  virtue,  detesting  vice,  and 
lively  deciphering  their  overthrow  that  suppress  not 
their  unruly  affections.  These  things  noted  herein,  how 
simple  soever  the  verse  be,  I  hope  the  matter  will  be 
acceptable  to  the  wise. 

Wherefore  I  am  now  bold  to  present  Gismund  to 
your  sights,  and  unto  yours  only,  for  therefore  have  I 
conjured  her,  by  the  love  that  hath  been  these  twenty- 
four  years  betwixt  us,  that  she  wax  not  so  proud  of  her 
fresh  painting,  to  straggle  in  her  plumes  abroad,  but  to 
contain  herself  within  the  walls  of  your  house  ;  so  am 
I  sure  she  shall  be  safe  from  the  tragedian  tyrants  of  our 
time,  who  are  not  ashamed  to  affirm  that  there  can  no 
amorous  poem  savour  of  any  sharpness  of  wit,  unless  it 
be  seasoned  with  scurrilous  words. 

But  leaving  them  to  their  lewdness,  I  hope  you,  and 
all  discreet  readers,  will  thankfully  receive  my  pains, 
the  fruits  of  my  first  harvest :  the  rather,  perceiving 
that  my  purpose  in  this  tragedy  tendeth  only  to  the 
exaltation  of  virtue  and  suppression  of  vice,  with  plea- 
sure to  profit  and  help  all  men,  but  to  offend  or  hurt  no 
man.  As  for  such  as  have  neither  the  grace,  nor  the 
good  gift,  to  do  well  themselves,  nor  the  common 
honesty  to  speak  well  of  others,  I  must  (as  I  may)  hear 
and  bear  their  baitings  with  patience. 

Yours  devoted  in  his  ability, 

R.  WILMOT. 


A  PREFACE  TO  THE  QUEEN'S  MAIDENS 
OF  HONOUR.1 


1.   A  SONNET  OF  THE  QUEEN'S  MAIDS. 

THEY  which  tofore  thought  that  the  heaven's  throne 
Is  placed  above  the  skies,  and  there  do  feign 
The  gods  and  all  the  heavenly  powers  to  reign, 
They  err,  and  but  deceive  themselves  alone. 
Heaven  (unless  you  think  mo  be  than  one) 
Is  here  in  earth,  and  by  the  pleasant  side 
Of  famous  Thames  at  Greenwich  court  doth  bide. 
And  as  for  other  heaven  is  there  none. 
There  are  the  goddesses  we  honour  so  : 
There  Pallas  sits  :  there  shineth  Venus'  face  : 
Bright  beauty  there  possesseth  all  the  place  : 
Virtue  and  honour  there  do  live  and  grow  : 
There  reigneth  she  such  heaven  that  doth  deserve, 
Worthy  whom  so  fair  goddesses  should  serve. 

2.   ANOTHER  TO  THE  SAME. 

Flowers  of  prime,  pearls  couched  all  in  gold, 
Light  of  our  days,  that  glads  the  fainting  hearts 

1  [These  three  sonnets  following  occur  both  in  Lansdowne 
MS.  (786)  and  Margrave  MS.  (205),  but  the  first  was  not  in- 
cluded in  the  printed  copy  of  1591.] 

VOL.  VII.  B 


18  PREFACE. 

Of  them  that  shall  your  shining  gleams  behold, 
Salve  of  each  sore,  recure  of  inward  smarts, 
In  whom  virtue  and  beauty  striveth  so 
As  neither  yields  :  behold  here,  for  your  gain, 
Gismund's  unlucky  love,  her  fault,  her  woe, 
And  death ;  at  last  her  cruel  father  slain 
Through  his  mishap ;  and  though  you  do  not  see, 
Yet  read  and  rue  their  woful  tragedy. 
So  Jove,  as  your  high  virtues  done  deserve, 
Grant  you  such  pheers 1  as  may  your  virtues  serve 
With  like  virtues ;    and  blissful  Venus  send 
Unto  your  happy  loves  an  happy  end. 

3.   ANOTHER  TO  THE   SAME. 

Gismund,  that  whilome  liv'd  her  father's  joy 
And  died  his  death,  now  dead,  doth  (as  she  may) 
By  us  pray  you  to  pity  her  annoy. 
And,  to  requite  the  same,  doth  humbly  pray, 
Heavens  to  forefend 2  your  loves  from  like  decay. 
The  faithful  earl  doth  also  make  request, 
Wishing  those  worthy  knights  whom  ye  embrace, 
The  constant  truth  that  lodged  in  his  breast. 
His  hearty  love,  not  his  unhappy  case, 
Befall  to  such  as  triumph  in  your  grace. 
The  king  prays  pardon  of  his  cruel  hest,3 

1  Pheer  signifies  a  husband,  a  friend,  or  a  companion, 
and  in  all  these  senses  it  is  used  in  our  ancient  writers.     It 
here  means  a  husband.     So  in  Lyly's  "  Euphues,"  1581, 
p.  29 :  "  If  he  be  young,  he  is  the  more  fitter  to  be  thy 
pheere.     If  he  bee  olde,  the  lyker  to  thine  aged  father." 

It  occurs  again  in  act  ii.  sc.  3,  and  act  iv.  sc.  3. 

2  Prevent,  or  forbid.     So  in  "Euphues  and  his  England," 
1 582,  p.  40  :  "  For  never  shall  it  be  said  that  Iffida  was  false 
to   Thirsus,  though  Thirsus  be  faithlesse  (which  the  gods 
forefend)  unto  Iffida." 

3  Command.    So  in  Lyly's  "Euphues  and  his  England," 
p.  78 :  "  For  this  I  sweare  by  her  whose  lightes  canne  never 
die,  Vesta,  and  by  her  whose  heasts  are  not  to  be  broken, 
Diana,"  &c. 


PREFACE.  19 

And  for  amends  desires  it  may  suffice. 
That  by  his  blood  he  warneth  all  the  rest 
Of  fond  fathers,  that  they  in  kinder  wise 
Intreat  the  jewels  where  their  comfort  lies. 
We,  as  their  messengers,  beseech  ye  all 
On  their  behalfs  to  pity  all  their  smarts. 
And  for  ourselves  (although  the  worth  be  small) 
We  pray  ye  to  accept  our  humble  hearts, 
Avow'd  to  serve  with  prayer  and  with  praise 
Your  honours,  all  unworthy  other  ways.1 

Again,  in  Shakespeare's  "  Tempest,"  act  iii.  sc.  1  — 

"  0  my  father, 
I  have  broke  your  hest  to  say  so ! " 

And  in  the  prologue  to  [Peele's]  "  Araygnement  of  Paris," 
1584— 

"  Done  by  the  pleasure  of  the  powers  above, 
Whose  heates  men  must  obey." 

The  word  occurs  again  in  act  iv.  sc.  2,  act  iv.  sc.  4,  and 
act  v.  sc.  1. 

1  [The  second  and  third  sonnets  are  now  given  (verbatim 
et  literatim)  in  a  note,  as  they  stand  in  Lansdowne  MS.  786. 
They  will  serve  to  show  how  slight  were  Wilmot's  improve- 
ments, and  will  leave  it  perhaps  open  to  doubt  whether  the 
changes  made  in  1591  were  always  changes  for  the  better. 

An  other  to  the  same. 

Flowers  of  prime,  pearles  couched  in  gold, 

sonne  of  our  day  that  gladdeneth  the  hart 

of  them  that  shall  yor  shining  beames  behold, 

salue  of  eche  sore,  recure  of  euery  smart, 

in  whome  vertue  and  beautie  striueth  soe 

that  neither  yeldes :  loe  here  for  you  againe 

Gismondes  vnlucky  loue,  her  fault,  her  woe, 

and  death  at  last,  here  fere  and  father  slayen 

through  her  missehap.  And  though  ye  could  not  see, 

yet  rede  and  rue  their  woefull  destinie. 

So  Joue,  as  your  hye  vertues  doen  deserue, 

geue  you  such  fe>es  as  may  yor  vertues  serue 

w«»  like  vertues :  and  blissf  ull  Venus  send 

Ynto  your  happy  loue  an  happy  end. 


20  PREFACE. 


A  n  other  to  the  same. 

GISMOND,  that  whilom  liued  her  fathers  ioy, 

and  dyed  his  death,  now  dead  doeth  (as  she  may) 

by  vs  pray  you  to  pitie  her  anoye ; 

and,  to  reacquite  the  same,  doeth  humbly  pray 

Joue  shield  yor  vertuous  loues  from  like  decay. 

The  faithfull  earle,  byside  the  like  request, 

doeth  wish  those  weal  full  wightes,  whom  ye  embrace. 

the  constant  truthe  that  liued  Avithin  his  brest ; 

his  hearty  loue,  not  his  unhappy  case 

to  fall  to  such  as  standen  in  your  grace. 

The  king,  prayes  pardon  of  his  cruel  hest : ' 

and  for  amendes  desireth  it  may  suffise, 

that  wth  his  blood  he  teacheth  now  the  rest 

of  fond  fathers,  that  they  in  kinder  wise 

entreat  the  iewelles  where  their  comfort  lyes. 

And  we  their  messagers  beseche  ye  all 

on  their  behalfcs,  to  pitie  all  their  smartes  : 

and  on  our  own,  although  the  worth  be  small, 

we  pray  ye  to  accept  our  simple  hartes 

auowed  to  serue,  wth  prayer  and  wth  praise 

your  honors,  as  vnable  otherwayes.] 


DRAMATIS  PERSON^.1 

CUPID. 

TANCRED,  the  King. 
GISMUNDA,  the  King's  Daughter. 
LUCRECE,  her  Aunt. 
GUISCARD,  Count  Palurin. 
EENDCHIO,  Captain  of  the  Guard. 
JULIO,  Lord  Chamberlain. 
MEG^ERA. 

CHORUSES.2 


1  [The  play,  as  written  in  1568,  and  as  altered  by  Wilmot 
in  1591,  differs  so  much  throughout,  that  it  has  been  found 
impracticable,  without  giving  the  earlier  production  entire, 
to  notice  all  the  changes.     Certain  of  the  variations,  how- 
ever, and  specialities  in  the  Lansdowne  MS.,  as  far  as  the 
first  and  second  scenes  of  the  first  act,  will  be  printed  (as  a 
specimen)  in  the  notes.] 

2  [In  the  Lansdowne  MS.  another  person  of  the  drama 
is  mentioned  :   "  Claudia,  a  woman  of   Gismunda's  privie 
chamber ;  "  and  for  Choruses  we  have  :  "  Chorus,  four  gentle- 
women of  Salerne."] 


ARGUMENT  OF   THE  TRAGEDY.1 

TANCRED,  the  Prince  of  Salerne,  overloves 
His  only  daughter  (wonder  of  that  age) 
Gismund,  who  loves  the  County 2  Palurin 
Guiscard,  who  quites  her  likings  with  his  love  : 
A  letter  in  a  cane  describes  the  means 
Of  their  two  meetings  in  a  secret  cave. 
Unconstant  fortune  leadeth  forth  the  king 
To  this  unhappy  sight,  wherewith  in  rage 
The  gentle  earl  he  doometh  to  his  death, 
And  greets  his  daughter  with  her  lover's  heart. 
Gismunda  fills  the  goblet  with  her  tears, 
And  drinks  a  poison  which  she  had  distill'd, 
Whereof  she  dies,  whose  deadly  countenance 
So  grieves  her  father,  that  he  slew  himself. 

ANOTHER  OF  THE  SAME,  MORE  AT  LARGE, 
IN  PROSE.3 

Tancred,  King  of  Naples  and  Prince  of  Salerne, 
gave  his  only  daughter  Gismund  (whom  he  most 
dearly  loved)  in  marriage  to  a  foreign  prince,  after 
whose  death  she  returned  home  to  her  father,  who 

1  [Not  in  the  MSS.] 

2  The  County  Palurin,  a  few  lines  lower,  is  called  Earl. 
Mr  Tyrwhitt  says  that  County  signified  noblemen  in  general ; 
and  the  examples  which  might  be  quoted  from  this  play 
would  sufficiently  prove  the  truth  of  the  observation.    See 
"Shakespeare,"  vol.  x.,  p.  39.     [County  for  Count  is  not 
very  unusual  ;  but  it  may  be  doubted  if,  as  Tyrwhitt  thought, 
County  signified  noblemen  in  general.] 

3  [This  is  in  the  two  MSS.,  but  varies  in  many  verbal 
particulars.] 


24  ARGUMENT  OF  THE  TRAGEDY. 

having  felt  great  grief  of  her  absence  whilst  her 
husband  lived,  immeasurably  esteeming  her,  de- 
termined never  to  suffer  any  second  marriage  to 
bereave  him  of  her.  She,  on  the  other  side, 
waxing  weary  of  that  her  father's  purpose,  bent 
her  mind  to  the  secret  love  of  the  County  Palurin  : 
to  whom  (he  being  likewise  inflamed  with  love  of 
her)  by  a  letter  subtly  enclosed  in  a  cloven  cane, 
she  gave  to  understand  a  convenient  way  for  their 
desired  meetings,  through  an  old  ruinous  vault, 
whose  mouth  opened  directly  under  her  chamber 
floor.  Into  this  vault  when  she  was  one  day 
descended  (for  the  conveyance  of  her  lover),  her 
father  in  the  mean  season  (whose  only  joy  was  in 
his  daughter)  came  to  her  chamber,  and  not  finding 
her  there,  supposing  her  to  have  been  walked 
abroad  for  her1  disport,  he  threw  him  down  on 
her  bed,  and  covered  his  head  with  a  curtain, 
minding  to  abide  and  rest  there  till  her  return. 
She,  nothing  suspecting  this  her  father's  unseason- 
able coming,  brought  up  her  lover  out  of  the  cave 
into  her  chamber,  where  her  father  espied  their 
secret  love  :  and  he  (not  espied  of  them)  was  upon 
this  sight  stricken  with  marvellous  grief;  but 
either  for  that  the  sudden  despite  had  amazed 
him,  and  taken  from  him  all  use  of  speech,  or  for 
that  he  resolved  himself  to  a  more  convenient  re- 
venge, he  then  spake  nothing,  but  noted  their 
return  into  the  vault,  and  secretly  departed. 
Afterward,  bewailing  his  mishap,  he  commanded 
the  earl  to  be  attached,  imprisoned,  strangled,  un- 
bowelled,  and  his  heart  in  a  cup  of  gold  to  be 
presented  to  his  daughter:2  she  thankfully  re- 

1  [Not  in  the  copy  of  1591.] 

2  [Presented  to  Gismond.     She  filled  up  the  cup  wherein 
the  heart  was   brought  with  her  tears  and  with  certain 
poisonous  water,  by  her  distilled  for  that  purpose,  and  drank 
out  this  deadly  drink. — Copy  0/1568.] 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  TRAGEDY.  25 

ceiveth  the  present,  filling  the  cup  (wherein  the 
heart  was)  with  her  tears,  with  a  venomous  potion 
(by  her  distilled  for  that  purpose)  she  drank  to 
her  earl.  Which  her  father  hearing  of,  came  too 
late  to  comfort  his  dying  daughter,  who  for  her 
last  request  besought  him  that  her  lover  and  her- 
self might  in  one  tomb  be  together  buried  for  a 
perpetual  memory  of  their  faithful  loves ;  which 
request  he  granted,  adding  to  the  burial  himself, 
slain  with  his  own  hands,  to  his  own  reproach,  and 
the  terror  of  all  other  hard-hearted  fathers. 


26 


INTRODUCTIO  IN  ACTUM  SECUNDUM. 

BEFORE  the  second  act  there  was  heard  a  sweet  noise  of  still 
pipes,  which  sounding,  Lucrece  entered,  attended  by  a 
maiden  of  honour  with  a  covered  goddard  of  gold,  and, 
drawing  the  curtains,  she  offereth  unto  Gismunda  to  taste 
thereof ;  which  when  she  had  done,  the  maid  returned, 
and  Lucrece  raiseth  up  Gismunda  from  her  bed,  and  then  it 
followeth  ut  in  act  ii.  sc.  1. 


INTRODUCTIO  IN  ACTUM  TERTIUM. 

Before  this  act  the  hautboys  sounded  a  lofty  almain,  and 
Cupid  ushereth  after  him  Guiscard  and  Gismunda,  hand  in 
hand ;  Julio  and  Lucrece,  Renuchio  and  another  maiden  of 
honour.  The  measures  trod,  Gismunda  gives  a  cane  into 
Guiscard's  hand,  and  they  are  all  led  forth  again  by  Cupid, 
ut  sequitur. 

INTRODUCTIO  IN  ACTUM  QUARTUM. 

Before  this  act  there  was  heard  a  consort  of  sweet  music, 
which  playing,  Tancred  cometh  forth,  and  draweth  Gis- 
munda's  curtains,  and  lies  down  upon  her  bed ;  then  from 
under  the  stage  ascendeth  Guiscard,  and  he  helpeth  up 
Gismunda  :  they  amorously  embrace  and  depart.  The  king 
ariseth  enraged.  Then  was  heard  and  seen  a  storm  of 
thunder  and  lightning,  in  which  the  furies  rise  up,  ut 
sequitur. 

INTUODUCTIO  IN  ACTUM  QUINTUM. 

Before  this  act  was  a  dead  march  played,  during  which 
entered  on  the  stage  Renuchio,  Captain  of  the  Guard, 
attended  upon  by  the  guard.  They  took  up  Guiscard  from 
under  the  stage;  then  after  Guiscard  had  kindly  taken 
leave  of  them  all,  a  strangling-cord  was  fastened  about  his 
neck,  and  he  haled  forth  by  them.  Renuchio  bewaileth  it ; 
and  then,  entering  in,  bringeth  forth  a  standing  cup  of 
gold,  with  a  bloody  heart  reeking  hot  in  it,  and  then  saith, 
ut  sequitur. 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA.3 


ACT  L,   SCENE   1. 

CUPID  cometh  out  of  the  heavens  in  a  cradle  of  flowers, 
drawing  forth  upon  the  stage,  in  a  Hue  twist  of 
silk,  from  his  left  hand,  Vain  Hope,  Brittle 
Joy :  and  with  a  carnation  twist  of  silk  from 
his  right  hand,  Fair  Resemblance,  Late  Re- 
pentance. 

CUPID.  There  rest  my  chariot  on  the  mountain- 
tops.2 

1  The  story  of  this  tragedy  is  taken   from   Boccaccio's 
"Decameron,"  day  4th,  novel  first.      [It  was  turned  into 
verse]  by  William  Walter,  a  retainer  to  Sir  Henry  Marney, 
Chancellor  of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster,  [and  printed   by 
Wynkyn  de  Worde  in  1532.     A  different  version  appeared 
in]   1597,  under    the    title    of    "The    Statly  Tragedy   of 
Guistard    and    Sismond,    in    two    Bookes,"  in  a  volume 
entitled,  "Certaine  Worthy  e  Manuscript  Poems  of  great 
Antiquitie,  reserved  long  in  the  Studie  of  a  Northfolke 
Gent.,  and  now  first  published  by  J.  S."    Mr  Dryden  also 
versified  it  a  second  time.     See  his  works,  vol.    iii.,   8vo 
edition,  p.  245.     Oldys,  in  his  MSS.  Notes  on  Langbaine, 
says  the  same   story  is  in  Painter's  Palace   of   Pleasure, 
vol.   i.,   and   a   French  novel    called   "Guiscard    et   Sigis- 
monde  fille  de  Tancredus  Prince  de  Salerne  mis  en  Latin . 
Par  Leon  Arretin,   et  traduit  in  vers  Franyois,  par  Jean 
Fleury."   [See  Brunet,  dern.  edit.  v.  Aretinus,  Hazlitt's  edit, 
of  Warton,  1871,  and  "Popular  Poetry,"  ii.  66.] 

2  [This  line  is  not  in  the  MSS.] 


28  TANCRED   AND  GISMUNDA. 

I,  that  in  shape  appear  unto  your  sight l 
A  naked  boy,  not  cloth'd  but  with  my  wings, 
And  that  great  God  of  Love,  who  with  his  might 
Ruleth  the  vast  wide  world  and  living  things.2 
This  left  hand  bears  Vain  Hope,  short  joyful  state, 
With  Fair  Eesemblance,  lovers  to  allure  : 
This  right  hand  holds  Repentance  all  too  late, 
War,  fire,3  blood,  and  pains  without  recure. 
On  sweet  ambrosia  is  not  my  food, 
Nectar  is  not  my  drink  :  as  to  the  rest 
Of  all  the  gods  :  I  drink  the  lover's  blood, 
And  feed  upon  the  heart  4  within  his  breast. 
Well  hath  my  power  in  heaven  and  earth  been 

try'd, 

And  deepest  hell  my  piercing  force  hath  known. 
The  marble  seas  5  my  wonders  hath  descry'd, 
Which    elder    age    throughout    the   world    hath 

blown.6 

To  me  the  king  of  gods  and  men  doth  yield, 
As  witness  can  the  Greekish  maid,7  whom  1 
Made  like  a  cow  go  glowing  through  8  the  field, 
Lest  jealous  Juno  should  the  'scape  espy. 

1  [Lo  I  in  shape  that  seem  unto  your  sight. — Lansdowne 
MS.] 

2  [Do  rule  the  world,  and  every  living  thing. — Ibid.] 

3  This  word  seems  anciently  to  have  been  pronounced  as 
two  syllables.     See  "  Cornelia,"  act  iv.,  Chorus. 

4  [And  eat  the  living  heart. — Lansdowne  MS.] 

5  An  epithet  adopted  from  Virgil's  "J3neid,"  lib.  vi.  line 
729— 

"  Et  quse  marmoreo  fert  monstra  sub  aequore  pontus." 

Ibid.  lib.  vii.  v.  28 — 

"Lento  luctantur  marmore  tonsae." 
Again,  "Georg.  I.,"  v.  254— 

"Infidum  remis  impellere  marmor."—Steevens. 

6  [What  secret  hollow  doth  the  huge  seas  hide, 

When  blasting  fame  mine  acts  hath  not  forth  blown. — 
Lansdowne  MS.] 

7  Io.  8  [Grazing  in. — Lansdowne  MS.] 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  29 

The  doubled  night,  the  sun's  restrained  course, 

His  secret  stealths,  the  slander  to  eschew, 

In  shape  transform'd,1  we  2  list  not  to  discourse. 

All  that  and  more  we  forced  him  to  do. 

The  warlike  Mars  hath  not  subdu'd  our  3  might, 

We  fear'd  him  not,  his  fury  nor  disdain, 

That  can  the  gods  record,  before  whose  sight 

He  lay  fast  wrapp'd  in  Vulcan's  subtle  chain. 

He  that  on  earth  yet  hath  not  felt  our  power, 

Let  him  behold  the  fall  and  cruel  spoil 

Of  thee,  fair  Troy,  of  Asia  the  flower, 

So  foul  defac'd,  and  levell'd  4  with  the  soil. 

Who  forc'd  Leander  with  his  naked  breast 

So  many  nights  to  cut  the  frothy  waves, 

But  Hero's  love,  that  lay  inclos'd  in  Sest  1 

The  stoutest  hearts  to  me  shall  yield  them  slaves.- 

Who    could    have    match'd  the    huge   Alcides' 5 

strength  ? 

Great  Macedon  6  what  force  might  have  subdu'd  1 
Wise  Scipio  who  overcame  at  length, 
But  we,  that  are  with  greater  force  endu'd  ? 
Who  could  have  conquered  the  golden  fleece 7 
But  Jason,  aided  by  Medea's  art  1 
Who  durst  have  stol'n  fair  Helen  out  of  Greece 
But  I,  with  love  that  bold'ned  Paris'  heart  1 
What  bond  of  nature,  what  restraint  avails  8 
Against  our  power  1     I  vouch  to  witness  truth. 
The  myrrh  tree,9  that  with  shamefast  tears  bewails 

1  Like  to   Amphitrio    [when    he  presented    himself]   to 
Alcmena. 

2  [Me.— Lansdowne  MS.] 

3  [The  bloody  Mars  hath  felt  my.-Z>o.] 

4  [Evened.— Do.] 

5  Hercules. 

6  Alexander. 

7  [Won  the  famous  golden  fleece. — MS.] 

[What  nature's  bond  or  law's  restraint  avails, 
To  conquer  and  deface  me  every  hour. — MS.l 
9  Myrrha. 


30  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

Her  father's  love,  still  weepeth  yet  for  ruth,1 
But  now,  this  world  not  seeing  in  these  days 
Such  present  proofs  of  our  all-daring  2  power, 
Disdains  our  name,  and  seeketh  sundry  ways 
To  scorn  and  scoff,  and  shame  us  every  hour. 
A  brat,  a  bastard,  and  an  idle  boy  : 
A  3  rod,  a  staff,  a  whip  to  beat  him  out ! 
And  to  be  sick  of  love,  a  childish  toy  : 
These  are  mine  honours  now  the  world  about, 
My  name  disgrac'd  to  raise  again  therefore, 
And  in  this  age  mine  ancient  renown 
By  mighty  acts  intending  to  restore, 
Down  to  the  earth  in  wrath  now  am  I  come  ; 
And  in  this  place  such  wonders  shall  ye  hear, 
As  these  your  stubborn  and  disdainful  hearts 
In  melting  tears  and  humble  yielding  fear 
Shall  soon  relent  by  sight  of  others'  smarts. 
This  princely  palace  will  I  enter  in, 
And  there  inflame  the  fair  Gismunda  so, 
Enraging  all  her  secret  veins  within, 
Through  fiery  love  that  she  shall  feel  much  woe.4 
Too-late-Repentance,  thou  shalt  bend  my  bow  : 
Vain  Hope,  take  out  my  pale,  dead,  heavy  shaft, 
Thou,  Fair  Resemblance,  foremost  forth  shalt  go, 


1  i.e.,  For  pity.     So,  act  ii.  sc.  2— 

"  As  easily  befalls  that  age  which  asketh  ruth." 
Act  V.  SC.  1 — 

"  That  hath  the  tyrant  king 
Withouten  ruth  commanded  us  to  do." 

Again,  in  Milton's  "  Lycidas,"  i.  163— 

"  Look  homeward,  angel,  now  and  melt  with  ruth, 
And,  0  ye  Dolphins,  waft  the  helpless  youth." 

And  in  Churchyard's  "  Worthiness  of  Wales,"  1587— 

"  Great  ruth,  to  let  so  trim  a  seate  goe  downe, 
The  countries  strength,  and  beautie  of  the  towne." 

2  [Mine  almighty.— MS.] 

3  [This,  and  the  three  following  lines,  are  not  in  the  MSS.] 

4  [In  creeping  thorough  all  her  veins  within, 

That  she  thereby  shall  raise  much  ruth  and  woe. — MS.] 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  31 

With  Brittle  Joy  :  myself  will  not  be  least, 
But  after  me  comes  Death  and  deadly  Pain. 
Thus  shall  ye  march,  till  we  return  again.1 
Meanwhile,  sit  still,  and  here  I  shall  you  show 
Such  wonders,  that  at  last  with  one  accord 
Ye  shall  relent,  and  say  that  now  you  know 
Love  rules  the  world,  Love  it  a  mighty  lord.2 
[CUPID  with  his  train  enter eth  into 
TANCKED'S  palace. 


ACT  L,  SCENE  2. 

GlSMUNDA  in  purple  cometh  out  of  her  chamber, 
attended  by  four  maids  that  are  the  Chorus. 

"  GriSMUNDA.  O  vain,  unsteadfast  state  of  mor- 
tal things ! 

Who  trust  this  world,  leans  to  a  brittle  stay  : 
Such  fickle  fruit  his  flattering  bloom  forth  brings, 
Ere  it  be  ripe,  it  falleth  to  decay." 
The  joy  and  bliss  that  late  I  did  possess, 
In  weal  at  will,  with  one  I  loved  best, 
Is  turned  now  into  so  deep  distress, 
As  teacheth  me  to  know  the  world's  unrest.3 
For  neither  wit  nor  princely  stomachs  serve 
Against  his  force,  that  slays  without  respect 
The  noble  and  the  wretch  :  ne  doth  reserve 
So  much  as  one  for  worthiness  elect. 
Ah  me,  dear  lord !  what  well  of  tears  may  serve 


1  [This,  and  the  five  preceding  lines,  are  not  in  the  MSS.J 

2  [Lo,  this  before  your  eyes  so  will  I  show, 

That  ye  shall  justly  say  with  one  accord 
We  must  relent  and  yield  ;  for  now  we  know- 
Love  rules  the  world,  love  only  is  the  lord. — MS.] 

3  [Hath  taught  me  plain  to  know  our  state's  unrest. — MS.] 


32  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

To  feed  the  streams  of  my  foredulled  eyes, 

To  weep  thy  death,  as  thy  death  doth  deserve, 

And  wail  thy  want  in  full  sufficing  wise  1 

Ye  lamps  of  heaven,  and  all  ye  heavenly  powers,1 

Wherein  did  he  procure  your  high  disdain  ? 

He  never  sought  with  vast  huge  mountain  towers 

To  reach  aloft,  and  over-view  your  reign : 

Or  what  offence  of  mine  was  it  unwares, 

That  thus  your  fury  should  on  me  be  thrown, 

To  plague  a  woman  with  such  endless  cares  1 

I  fear  that  envy  hath  the  heavens  this  shown  : 

The  sun  his  glorious  virtues  did  disdain ; 

Mars  at  his  manhood  mightily  repin'd  ; 

Yea,  all  the  gods  no  longer  could  sustain, 

Each  one  to  be  excelled  in  his  kind. 

For  he  my  lord  surpassed  them  every  one  ; 2 

Such  was  his  honour  all  the  world  throughout. 

But  now,  my  love,  oh  !  whither  art  thou  gone  1 

I  know  thy  ghost  doth  hover  hereabout, 

Expecting  me,  thy  heart,  to  follow  thee  : 

And  I,  dear  love,  would  fain  dissolve  this  strife. 

But  stay  awhile,  I  may  perhaps  foresee 

Some  means  to  be  disburden'd  of  this  life, 

"  And  to  discharge  the  duty  of  a  wife,3 

Which  is,  not  only  in  this  life  to  love, 

But  after  death  her  fancy  not  remove." 

Meanwhile  accept  of  these  our  daily  rites. 

Which  with  my  maidens  I  shall  do  to  thee, 


[0 
[T 


"0  mighty  Jove,  0  heavens  and  heavenly  powers. — MS.] 
[This,  and  the  next  line,  do  not  occur  in  the  MSS.] 
3  [Thy  sprite,  I  know,  doth  linger  hereabout 
And  looks  that  I,  poor  wretch,  should  after  come  ; 
I  would,  God  wot,  my  lord,  if  so  I  mought : 
But  yet  abide,  I  may  perhaps  devise 
Some  way  to  be  unburdened  of  my  life, 
And  with  my  ghost  approach  thee  in  some  wise 
To  do  therein  the  duty  of  a  wife.— MS.] 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  33 

Which  is  in  songs  to  cheer  our  dying  sprites 
AVith  hymns  of  praises  of  thy  memory. 

Cantant. 
Quce  mihi  cantio  nondum  occur rit.1 

ACT  I,  SCENE  3. 

The  sony  ended,  TANCRED  the  King  cometh  out  of 
his  palace  with  his  guard. 

TANCRED.  Fair  daughter,  I  have  sought  thee 

out  with  grief, 

To  ease  the  sorrows  of  thy  vexed  heart. 
How  long  wilt  thou  torment  thy  father  thus, 
Who  daily  dies  to  see  thy  needless  tears  ? 
Such  bootless  plaints,  that  know  nor  mean  nor 

end, 

Do  but  increase  the  floods  of  thy  lament ; 
And  since  the  world  knows  well  there  was  no  want 
In  thee  of  ought,  that  did  to  him  belong, 
Yet  all,  thou  seest,  could  not  his  life  prolong. 
Why  then   dost  thou    provoke   the    heavens   to 

wrath  ? 

His  doom  of  death  was  dated  by  his  stars, 
"  And  who  is  he  that  may  withstand  his  fate  ?  " 
By  these  complaints  small  good  to  him  thou  dost, 
Much  grief  to  me,  more  hurt  unto  thyself, 
And  unto  nature  greatest  wrong  of  all. 

GISMUNDA.  Tell  me  not  of  the  date  of  nature's 

days, 

Then  in  the  April  of  her  springing  age  : 
No,  no,  it  was  my  cruel  destiny, 
That  spited  at  the  pleasance  of  my  life. 


1  These  omissions  are  frequent  in  our  old  plays.  See 
note  on  "Love's  Labour  Lost,"  edit,  of  Shakspeare,  1778, 
vol.  ii.  p.  410. — Steevens. 

VOL.  VII.  C 


3>i  TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.- 

TANCRED.    My  daughter  knows  the  proof  of 

nature's  course. 

"  For  as  the  heavens  do  guide  the  lamp  of  life, 
So  can  they  reach  no  farther  forth  the  flame, 
Than  whilst  with  oil  they  do  maintain  the  same." 

GISMUNDA.  Curst  be  the  stars,  and  vanish  may 

they  curst, 

Or  fall  from  heaven,  that  in  their  dire  aspect 1 
Abridg'd  the  health  and  welfare  of  my  love. 

TANCRED.  Gismund,  my  joy,  set  all  these  griefs 

apart ; 

"  The  more  thou  art  with  hard  mishap  beset, 
The   more    thy   patience    should    procure    thine 
ease." 

GISMUNDA.  What  hope  of  hap  may  cheer  my 

hapless  chance  ] 
What   sighs,    what    tears    may    countervail    my 

cares  ? 

What  should  I  do,  but  still  his  death  bewail, 
That  was  the  solace  of  my  life  and  soul  ] 
Now,  now,  I  want  the  wonted  guide  and  stay 
Of  my  desires  and  of  my  wreakless  thoughts. 
My  lord,  my  love,  my  life,  my  liking  gone, 
In  whom  was  all  the  fulness  of  my  joy, 
To  whom  I  gave  the  first-fruits  of  my  love, 
Who  with  the  comfort  of  his  only  sight 
All  care  and  sorrows  could  from  me  remove. 
But,  father,  now  my  joys  forepast  to  tell, 
Do  but  revive  the  horrors  of  my  hell. 
As  she  that  seems  in  darkness  to  behold 
The  gladsome  pleasures  of  the  cheerful  light. 

TANCRED.  What  then  avails  thee  fruitless  thus 

to  rue 

His  absence,  whom  the  heavens  cannot  return  1 
Impartial  death  thy  husband  did  subdue, 

1  In  this  manner  the  word  was  formerly  accented.    See 
Dr  Farmer's  "Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shakspeare." 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  35 

Yet  hath  he  spar'd  thy  kingly  father's  life  : 
Who  during  life  to  thee  a  double  stay, 
As  father  and  as  husband,  will  remain, 
With  double  love  to  ease  thy  widow's  want, 
Of  him  whose  want  is  cause  of  thy  complaint. 
Forbear  thou  therefore  all  these  needless  tears, 
That  nip  the  blossoms  of  thy  beauty's  pride. 
GISMUNDA.  Father,  these  tears  love  challengeth 

of  due. 
TANCRED.  But  reason  saith  thou  shouldst   the 

same  subdue. 
GISMUNDA.    His   funerals   are   yet   before   my 

sight. 
TANCRED.  In  endless  moans  princes  should  not 

delight. 
GISMUNDA.  The  turtle  pines  in  loss  of  her  true 

mate. 

TANCRED.  And  so  continues  poor  and  desolate. 
GISMUNDA.   Who  can  forget  a  jewel  of    such 

price  1 
TANCRED.  She  that  hath  learn'd  to  master  her 

desires. 

"  Let  reason  work,  what  time  doth  easily  frame 
In  meanest  wits,  to  bear  the  greatest  ills." 
GISMUNDA.  So  plenteous  are  the  springs 
Of  sorrows  that  increase  my  passions, 
As  neither  reason  can  recure  my  smart, 
Nor  can  your  care  nor  fatherly  comfort 
Appease  the  stormy  combats  of  my  thoughts ; 
Such  is  the  sweet  remembrance  of  his  life. 
Then  give  me  leave  :  of  pity,  pity  me, 
And  as  I  can,  I  shall  allay  these  griefs. 

TANCRED.  These  solitary  walks  thou  dost  fre- 
quent, 

Yield  fresh  occasions  to  thy  secret  moans  : 
We  will  therefore  thou  keep  us  company, 
Leaving  thy  maidens  with  their  harmony. 


36  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

Wend l  thou  with  us.     Virgins,  withdraw  your- 
selves. 

[TANCRED   and   GiSMUNDA,   with   the  guard, 
depart  into  the  palace;  the  four  maidens 
stay  behind,  as  Chorus  to  the  Tragedy. 
CHORUS  1.  The  diverse  haps  which  always  work 

our  care, 

Our  joys  so  far,  our  woes  so  near  at  hand, 
Have  long  ere  this,  and  daily  do  declare 
The  fickle  foot  on  which  our  state  doth  stand. 
"  Who  plants  his  pleasures  here  to  gather  root, 
And  hopes  his  happy  life  will  still  endure, 
Let  him  behold  how  death  with  stealing  foot 
Steps  in  when  he  shall  think  his  joys  most  sure." 
No  ransom  serveth  to  redeem  our  days 
If  prowess  could  preserve,  or  worthy  deeds, 
He  had  yet  liv'd,  whose  twelve  labours  displays 
His  endless  fame,  and  yet  his  honour  spreads. 
And  that  great  king,2  that  with  so  small  a  power 
Bereft  the  mighty  Persian  of  his  crown, 
Doth  witness  well  our  life  is  but  a  flower, 
Though  it  be  deck'd  with  honour  and  renown. 
CHORUS  2.  "What  grows  to-day  in  favour  of 
the  heaven, 

1  Go.     So  in  Epilogue — 

"  With  violent  hands  he  that  his  life  doth  end,  :  . 
His  damned  soul  to  endless  night  doth  ivend."    ^ 

Again,  in  the  "Return  from  Parnassus, ",1606.  act  v.  sc.  4 — 
"  These  my  companions  still  with  me  must  wend." 

In    "George    a    Green    Pinner    of  Wakefield,"   [Dyce's 
"  Greene  and  Peele,"  1861,  p.  259,  &c.]— 

"  Wilt  thou  leave  Wakefield  and  wend  with  me  .... 
So  will  I  wend  with  Robin  all  along  .... 
For  you  are  wrong,  and  may  not  wend  this  way." 

And  in  Chaucer's  "Canterbury  Tales,"  Prologue,  line  19— 
"  Byfel,  that,  on  that  sesoun  on  a  day, 
In  Southwe/k  at  the  Tabbard  as  I  lay, 
Redy  to  ivenden  on  my  pilgrimage, 
To  Canturbury  with  fuj  devout  corage." 

2  Alexander. 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  37 

Nurs'd  with  the  sun  and  with  the  showers  sweet, 

Pluck'd  with  the  hand,  it  withereth  ere  even. 

So  pass  our  days,  even  as  the  rivers  fleet." 

The  valiant  Greeks,  that  unto  Troia  gave 

The  ten  years'  siege,  left  but  their  names  behind. 

And  he  that  did  so  long  and  only  save 

His  father's  walls,1  found  there  at  last  his  end. 

Proud  Eome  herself,  that  whilome  laid  her  yoke 

On  the  wide  world,  and  vanquish'd  all  with  war, 

Yet  could  she  not  remove  the  fatal  stroke 

Of  death  from  them  that  stretch'd  her  pow'r  so 

far. 
CHORUS  3.  Look,  what  the  cruel  sisters  once 

decree'd, 

The  Thunderer  himself  cannot  remove  : 
They  are  the  ladies  of  our  destiny, 
To  work  beneath  what  is  conspir'd  above. 
But  happy  he  that  ends  this  mortal  life 
By  speedy  death  :  who  is  not  forc'd  to  see 
The  many  cares,  nor  feel  the  sundry  griefs, 
Which  we  sustain  in  woe  and  misery. 
Here  fortune  rules  who,  when  she  list  to  play, 
Whirleth  her  wheel,  and  brings  the  high  full  low  : 
To-morrow  takes,  what  she  hath  given  to-day, 
To  show  she  can  advance  and  overthrow. 
Not  Euripus' 2  (unquiet  flood)  so  oft 
Ebbs  in  a  day,  and  floweth  to  and  fro, 
As  fortune's  change  plucks  down  that  was  aloft, 
And  mingleth  joy  with  interchange  of  woe. 

1  Hector. 

2  Euripus  Euboicus,  or  Chalcidicus,  is  a  narrow  passage  of 
sea  dividing  Attica  and  the  Island  of  Eubcea,  now  called 
the  Gulf  of  Negropont.     It  ebbs  and  flows  seven  times  every 
day  :  the  reason  of  which,  it  is  said,  when  Aristotle  could 
not  find,  he  threw  himself  into  the  sea  with  these  words : 
Quia  ego  non  capio  te,  tu  capias  me.     Sir  Thomas  Brown,  in 
his  "  Enquiries  into  Vulgar  Errors,"  b.  vii.  c.  14,  appears  to 
have  been  not  satisfied  with  this  account  of  Aristotle's  death, 
which  he  has  taken  some  pains  to  render  doubtful. 


38  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

CHORUS  4.  "  Who  lives  below,  and  feeleth  not 

the  strokes, 

Which  often-times  on  highest  towers  do  fall, 
Nor  blustering  winds,  wherewith  the  strongest  oaks 
Are  rent  and  torn,  his  life  is  sur'st  of  all :" 
For  he  may  fortune  scorn,  that  hath  no  power 
On  him,  that  is  well  pleas'd  with  his  estate  : 
He  seeketh  not  her  sweets,  nor  fears  her  sour, 
But  lives  contented  in  his  quiet  rate, 
And  marking  how  these  worldly  things  do  vade,1 
Rejoiceth  to  himself,  and  laughs  to  see 
The  folly  of  men,  that  in  their  wits  have  made 
Fortune  a  goddess,  placed  in  the  sky. 

[Exegit  ROD.  STAF. 

FINIS  ACTUS  I. 


ACT  II,  SCENE  1. 
GISMUNDA  AND  LUCRECE. 

GISMUNDA.  Dear  aunt,  my  sole  companion  in 

distress, 

And  true  copartner  of  my  thoughtful  cares  : 
When  with  myself  I  weigh  my  present  state, 
Comparing  it  with  my  forepassed  days, 
New  heaps  of  cares  afresh  begin  t'  assay 
My  pensive  heart,  as  when  the  glittering  rays 
Of  bright  Phoebus  are  suddenly  o'erspread 
With  dusky  clouds,  that  dim  his  golden  light : 

1  [Go].     So  act  ii.  sc.  3— 

"  Therefore  my  counsel  is  you  shall  not  stir, 
Nor  farther  wade  in  such  a  case  as  this." 

And  in  Turbervile's  "  Tragical  Tales,"  1587— 

"  Eare  thou  doe  wade  so  farre,  revoke 

to  minde  the  bedlam  hoy. 
That  in  his  forged  wings  of  waxe 
reposed  too  great  a  joy." 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  39 

Namely,  when  I,  laid  in  my  widow's  bed, 
Amid  the  silence  of  the  quiet  night, 
With  curious  thought  the  fleeting  course  observe 
Of  gladsome  youth,  how  soon  his  flower  decays, 
"  How  time  once  past  may  never  have  recourse, 
No  more  than  may  the  running  streams  revert 
To  climb  the  hills,  when  they  been  rolled  down 
The  hollow  vales.     There  is  no  curious  art, 
Nor  worldly  power :  no,  not  the  gods  can  hold 
The  sway  of  flying  time,  nor  him  return, 
When  he  is  past :  all  things  unto  his  might 
Must  bend,  and  yield  unto  the  iron  teeth 
Of  eating  time."     This  in  the  shady  night 
When  I  record  :  how  soon  my  youth  withdraws 
Itself  away,  how  swift  my  pleasant  spring 
Euns  out  his  race, — this,  this,  aunt,  is  the  cause, 
When  I  advise  me  sadly1  on  this  thing, 
That  makes  my  heart  in  pensive  dumps  dismay M. 
For  if  I  should  my  springing  years  neglect, 
And  suffer  youth  fruitless  to  fade  away ; 
Whereto  live  1 1  or  whereto  was  I  born  1 
Wherefore  hath  nature  deck'd  me  with  her  grace  1 
Why  have  I  tasted  these  delights  of  love, 


1  Sadly,  in  most  of  our  ancient  writers,  is  used  as  here 
for  seriously.  So  in  Nash's  "Lenten  Stuff,"  1599  :  "Nay, 
I  will  lay  no  wagers,  for,  now  I  perponder  more  sadly  upon 
it,  I  think  I  am  out  indeed." 

Again,  in  Hall's  "  Chronicle,"  1550,  fo.  2  :  "  His  cosyn 
germaine  was  nowe  brought  to  that  trade  of  livynge,  that 
he  litle  or  nothynge  regarded  the  counsaill  of  his  uncles, 
nor  of  other  grave  and  sadde  persones,  but  did  all  thynge 
at  his  pleasure." 

In  Ascham's  "  Toxophilus,"  1571  :  "And  when  Isawenot 
you  amonges  them,  but  at  the  last  espyed  you  lookinge  on 
your  booke  here  so  sadlye,  I  thought  to  come  and  hold  you 
with  some  communication." 

And  in  Warton's  "Life  of  Sir  Thomas  Pope,"  p.  30  : 
"  Wherein  is  an  abbes  namyd  Dame  Alice  Fitzherbert,  of  the 
age  LX  yeares,  a  very  sadde,  discreate,  and  relegyous  woman.'' 


40  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

And  felt  the  sweets  of  Hymeneus'  bed  ? 

But  to  say  sooth,  dear  aunt,  it  is  not  I, 

Sole  and  alone,  can  thus  content  to  spend 

My  cheerful  years :  my  father  will  not  still 

Prolong  my  mournings,  which  have  griev'd  him, 

And  pleased  me  too  long.     Then  this  I  crave, 

To  be  resolved  of  his  princely  mind. 

For,  stood  it  with  the  pleasure  of  his  will 

To  marry  me,  my  fortune  is  not  such, 

So  hard,  that  I  so  long  should  still  persist 

Makeless  alone  in  woful  widowhood. 

And  shall  I  tell  mine  aunt  ]     Come  hither  then, 

Give  me  that  hand  :  By  thine  own  right  hand, 

I  charge  thy  heart  my  counsels  to  conceal. 

Late  have  I  seen,  and  seeing  took  delight, 

And  with  delight,  I  will  not  say,  I  love 

A  prince,  an  earl,  a  county  in  the  court. 

But  love  and  duty  force  me  to  refrain, 

And  drive  away  these  fond  affections, 

Submitting  them  unto  my  father's  hest. 

But  this,  good  aunt,  this  is  my  chiefest  pain, 

Because  I  stand  at  such  uncertain  stay. 

For,  if  my  kingly  father  would  decree 

His  final  doom,  that  I  must  lead  my  life 

Such  as  I  do,  I  would  content  me  then 

To  frame  my  fancies  to  his  princely  hest, 

And  as  I  might,  endure  the  grief  thereof. 

But  now  his  silence  doubleth  all  my  doubts, 

Whilst  my  suspicious  thoughts  'twixt  hope  and 

fear 

Distract  me  into  sundry  passions  : 
Therefore,  good  aunt,  this  labour  must  be  yours, 
To  understand  my  father's  will  herein, 
For  well  I  know  your  wisdom  knows  the  means, 
So  shall  you  both  allay  my  stormy  thoughts, 
And  bring  to  quiet  my  unquiet  mind. 
LUCRECE.   Sufficeth  this,  good  niece,  that  you 

have  said ; 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  41 

For  I  perceive  what  sundry  passions 
Strive  in  your  breast,  which  oftentimes  ere  this 
Your  countenance  confused  did  bewray. 
The  ground  whereof  since  I  perceive  to  grow 
On  just  respect  of  this  your  sole  estate,     , 
And  skilful  care  of  fleeting  youth's  decay, 
Your  wise  foresight  such  sorrowing  to  eschew 
I  much  commend,  and  promise  as  I  may 
To  break  this  matter,  and  impart  your  mind 
Unto  your  father,  and  to  work  it  so, 
As  both  your  honour  shall  not  be  impeach'd, 
Nor  he  unsatisfied  of  your  desire. 
Be  you  no  farther  grieved,  but  return 
Into  your  chamber.     I  shall  take  this  charge, 
And  you  shall  shortly  truly  understand 
What  I  have  •wrought,  and  what  the  king  affirms. 
GISMUNDA.  I  leave  you  to  the  fortune  of  my 
stars. 

[GlSMUNDA  departelh  into  her  chamber., 
LUCRECE  abiding  on  the  stage. 

LUCRECE.  The  heavens,  I  hope,  will  favour  your 

request. 

My  niece  shall  not  impute  the  cause  to  be 
In  my  default,  her  will  should  want  effect : 
But  in  the  king  is  all  my  doubt,  lest  he 
My  suit  for  her  new  marriage  should  reject. 
Yet  shall  I  prove  him  :  and  I  heard  it  said, 
He  means  this  evening  in  the  park  to  hunt.1 
Here  will  I  wait  attending  his  approach. 


1  Formerly  this  diversion  was  as  much  followed  in  the 
evening,  as  it  was  at  an  earlier  hour  in  the  day.  In  "  Lane- 
ham's  Account  of  the  Entertainment  at  Kenelworth  Castle," 
we  find  that  Queen  Elizabeth  always,  while  there,  hunted  in 
the  afternoon.  "  Monday  was  hot,  and  therefore  her  high- 
ness kept  in  till  fire  a  dole  in  the  eeveing ;  what  time  it 
pleaz'd  to  ryde  forth  into  the  chase  too  hunt  the  hart  of 
fors:  which  found  anon,  and  after  sore  chased,"  &c.  Again, 


42  TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA. 


ACT  II.,  SCENE  2. 

TANCRED  comelh  out  of  his  palace  with  GuiSCARD, 
the  COUNTY  PALURIN,  JULIO,  the  Lord  Cham- 
berlain, B.ENUCHIO,  captain  of  his  guard,  all 
ready  to  hunt. 

TANCRED.  Uncouple  all  our  hounds ;  lords,  to 

the  chase — 

Fair  sister  Lucre [ce],  what's  the  news  with  you  ? 
LUCRECE.  Sir,  as  I  always  have  employ'd  my 

power 

And  faithful  service,  such  as  lay  in  me, 
In  my  best  wise  to  honour  you  and  yours  : 
So  now  my  bounden  duty  moveth  me 
Your  majesty  most  humbly  to  entreat 
With  patient  ears  to  understand  the  state 
Of  my  poor  niece,  your  daughter. 

TANCRED.  What  of  her  ? 

Is  she  not  well  ?     Enjoys  she  not  her  health  ? 
Say,  sister  :  ease  me  of  this  jealous  fear  1 

LUCRECE.  She  lives,  my  lord,  and  hath  her  out- 
ward health ; 

But  all  the  danger  of  her  sickness  lies 
In  the  disquiet  of  her  princely  mind. 

TANCRED.  Resolve  me  ;  what  afflicts  my  daugh- 
ter so  1 
LUCRECE.  Since  when  the  princess  hath  entomb'cl 

her  lord, 

Her  late  deceased  husband  of  renown  ; 
Brother,  I  see,  and  very  well  perceive, 


"  Munday  the  18  of  this  July,  the  weather  being  hot,  her 
highness  kept  the  castle  for  coolness,  till  about  Jive  a  clok, 
her  majesty  in  the  chase,  hunted  the  hart  (as  before)  of 
forz,"  &c. 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  43' 

She  hath  not  clos'd  together  in  his  grave 

All  sparks  of  nature,  kindness,  nor  of  love  : 

But  as  she  lives,  so  living  may  she  feel 

Such  passions  as  our  tender  hearts  oppress, 

Subject  unto  th'  impressions  of  desire  : 

For  well  I  wot  my  niece  was  never  wrought 

Of  steel,  nor  carved  from  the  stony  rock  : 

Such  stern  hardness  we  ought  not  to  expect 

In  her,  whose  princely  heart  and  springing  years 

Yet  flow 'ring  in  the  chiefest  heat  of  youth, 

Is  led  of  force  to  feed  on  such  conceits, 

As  easily  befalls  that  age,  which  asketh  ruth 

Of  them,  whom  nature  bindeth  by  foresight 

Of  their  grave  years  and  careful  love  to  reach 

The  things  that  are  above  their  feeble  force  : 

And  for  that  cause,  dread  lord,  although 

TANCRED.  Sister,  I  say, 
If  you  esteem  or  ought  respect  my  life, 
Her  honour  and  the  welfare  of  our  house, 
Forbear,  and  wade1  no  farther  in  this  speech. 
Your  words  are  wounds.     I  very  well  perceive 
The  purpose  of  this  smooth  oration  : 
This  I  suspected,  when  you  first  began 
This  fair  discourse  with  us.     Is  this  the  end 
Of  all  our  hopes,  that  we  have  promised 
Unto  ourself  by  this  her  widowhood  1. 
Would  our  dear  daughter,  would  our  only  joy, 
Would  she  forsake  us  ?  would  she  leave  us  now, 
Before  she  hath  clos'd  up  our  dying  eyes, 
And  with  her  tears  bewail'd  our  funeral  I 
No  other  solace  doth  her  father  crave  ; 
But,  whilst  the  fates  maintain  his  dying  life, 
Her  healthful  presence  gladsome  to  his  soul, 
Which  rather  than  he  willing  would  forego, 
His  heart  desires  the  bitter  taste  of  death. 
Her  late  marriage  hath  taught  us  to  our  grief, 

1  That  is,  proceed  no  further. 


44  TANCRED   AND  GISMUNDA. 

That  in  the  fruits  of  her  perpetual  sight 
Consists  the  only  comfort  and  relief 
Of  our  unwieldy  age  :  for  what  delight, 
What  joy,  what  comfort,  have  we  in  this  world  ; 
Now  grown  in  years,  and  overworn  with  cares, 
Subject  unto  the  sudden  stroke  of  death, 
Already  falling,  like  the  mellowed  fruit, 
And  dropping  by  degrees  into  our  grave  ? 
But  what  revives  us,  what  maintains  our  soul 
Within  the  prison  of  our  withered  breast, 
But  our  Gismunda  and  her  cheerful  sight  1 
0  daughter,  daughter  !  what  desert  of  mine, 
Wherein  have  I  been  so  unkind  to  thee, 
Thou  shouldst  desire  to  make  my  naked  house 
Yet  once  again  stand  desolate  by  thee  1 
O,  let  such  fancies  vanish  with  their  thoughts  : 
Tell  her  I  am  her  father,  whose  estate, 
Wealth,  honour,  life,  and  all  that  we  possess, 
Wholly  relies  upon  her  presence  here. 
Tell  her,  I  must  account  her  all  my  joy. 
Work  as  she  will :  but  yet  she  were  unjust 
To  haste  his  death,  that  liveth  by  her  sight. 

LUCRECE.  Her  gentle  heart  abhors  such  ruth- 
less thoughts. 
TANCRED.  Then  let  her  not  give  place  to  these 

desires. 
LUCRECE.    She   craves   the   right   that   nature 

challerigeth. 
TANCRED.    Tell    her,    the    king    commandeth 

otherwise. 
LUCRECE.    The   king's    comniiindment    always 

should  be  just. 
TANCRED.  Whate'er  it  be,  the  king's  command 

is  just. 
LUCRECE.  Just  to  command :  but  justly  must 

he  charge. 

TANCRED.  He  chargeth  justly  that  commands 
as  king. 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  45 

LUCRECE.    The  king's  command   concerns  the 

body  best. 
TANCRED.  The  king  commands  obedience  of  the 

mind. 

LUCRECE.  That  is  exempted  by  the  law  of  kind. 
TANCRED.  That  law  of  kind1  to  children  doth 

belong. 

LUCRECE.  In  due  obedience  to  their  open  wrong  ? 
TANCRED.  I  then,  as  king  and  father,  will  com- 
mand. 
LUCRECE.  No   more  than  may  with  right  of 

reason  stand. 
TANCRED.    Thou  knowest  our  mind,   resolve2 

her,  depart — 
Return  the  chase,  we  have  been  chas'd  enough. 

[TANCRED  returneth  into  his  palace,  and 

leaveth  the  hunt. 
LUCRECE.  He  cannot  hear,  anger  hath  stopp'd 

his  ears, 

And  over-love  his  judgment  hath  decay'd. 
Ah,  my  poor  niece  M  shrewdly  fear  thy  cause, 
Thy  just  complaint,  shall  never  be  reliev'd. 


ACT  II.,  SCENE  3. 

GlSMUNDA  cometh  alone  out  of  her  chamber. 

GISMUNDA.  By  this  I  hope  my  aunt  hath  mov'cl 
the  king, 


1  i.e.,  Of  nature. 

2  Acquaint  her  with  my  resolution.     To  resolve,  however, 
was  sometimes  used  for  convince,  or  satisfy.     It  may  there- 
fore mean,  convince  her  of  the  propriety  of  my  command.    So 
in  Middleton's  "  More  Dissemblers  besides  Women,"  act  i. 
sc.  3— 

"  The  blessing  of  perfection  to  your  thoughts,  lady, 
For  I'm  resolv'd  they  are  good  cues." 


46  TANCRED   AND   GISMUXDA. 

And  knows  his  mind,  and  makes  return  to  me 
To  end  at  once  all  this  perplexity. 
Lo,  where  she  stands.    O,  how  my  trembling  heart 
In  doubtful  thoughts  panteth  within  my  breast. 
For  in  her  message  doth  rely  my  smart, 
Or  the  sweet  quiet  of  my  troubled  mind. 
LUCRECE.  Niece,  on  the  point  you  lately  willed 

me 

To  treat  of  with  the  king  on  your  behalf, 
I  brake  even  now  with  him  so  far,  till  he 
In  sudden  rage  of  grief,  ere  I  scarce  had 
My  tale  out-told,  pray'd  me  to  stint  my  suit, 
As  that  from  which  his  mind  abhorred  most. 
And  well  I  see  his  fancy  to  refute, 
Is  but  displeasure  gain'd  and  labour  lost. 
So  firmly  fixed  stands  his  kingly  will 
That,  till  his  body  shall  be  laid  in  grave, 
He  will  not  part  from  the  desired  sight 
Of  your  presence,  which  silder  he  should  have, 
If  he  had  once  allied  you  again 
In  marriage  to  any  prince  or  peer — 
This  is  his  final  resolution. 

GISMUNDA.    A    resolution    that    resolves     my 

blood 
Into  the  icy  drops  of  Lethe's  flood. 


Reed  is  right  in  his  first  explanation;  it  is  so  used  in 
Chapman's  "  May  Day,"  act  i.  sc.  1. 

"  Tell  her  such  a  man  will  resolve  her  naming  me."- 
"  Anc.  Dram.,"  vol.  vi.  p.  6. — Gilchrist. 

[A  few  lines  further  on  in  the  text,  however,]  resolve  has 
the  same  meaning  as  dissolve  ;  and  so  in  Lyly's  "  Euphues 
and  his  England,"  p.  38  :  "I  could  be  content  to  resolve 
myselfe  into  teares  to  rid  thee  of  trouble." 

Marlowe,  as  quoted  in  "England's  Parnassus,"  1600,  p. 
430  [see  Dyce's  "  Marlowe,"  iii.,  301],  uses  it  in  the  same 
way — 

"  No  molten  Christall  but  a  Richer  mine, 
Euen  natures  rarest  alchumie  ran  there, 
Diamonds  resolu'd,  and  substance  more  diuine, 
Through  whose  bright  gliding  current  might  appeare 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  47 

LUCRECE.  Therefore  my  counsel  is,  you  shall 

not  stir, 

Nor  farther  wade  in  such  a  case  as  this  : 
But  since  his  will  is  grounded  on  your  love, 
And  that  it  lies  in  you  to  save  or  spill 
His  old  forewasted  age,  you  ought  t'  eschew 
The  thing  that  grieves  so  much  his  crazed  heart, 
And  in  the  state  you  stand  content  yourself : 
And  let  this  thought  appease  your  troubled  mind, 
That  in  your  hands  relies  your  father's  death 
Or  blissful  life ;  and  since  without  your  sight 
He  cannot  live,  nor  can  his  thoughts  endure 
Your  hope  of  marriage,  you  must  then  relent, 
And  overrule  these  fond  affections  ; 
Lest  it  be  said  you  wrought  your  father's  end. 

GISMUNDA.  Dear  aunt,  I  have  with  patient  ears 

endur'd 

The  hearing  of  my  father's  hard  behest ; 
And  since  I  see  that  neither  I  myself, 
Nor  your  request,  can  so  prevail  with  him, 
Nor  any  sage  advice  persuade  his  mind 
To  grant  me  my  desire,  in  willing  wise 
I  must  submit  me  unto  his  command, 
And  frame  my  heart  to  serve  his  majesty. 
And  (as  I  may)  to  drive  away  the  thoughts 
That  diversely  distract  my  passions, 
Which  as  I  can,  I'll  labour  to  subdue, 
But  sore  I  fear  I  shall  but  toil  in  vain, 
Wherein,  good  aunt,  I  must  desire  your  pain. 

LUCRECE.  What  lies  in  me  by  comfort  or  advice, 
I  shall  discharge  with  all  humility. 

[GISMUNDA  and  LUCRECE  depart  into 
GlSMUNDA'S  chamber. 

A  thousand  naked  Nymphes,  whose  yuorie  shine, 
Enameling  the  bankes,  made  them  more  deare 
Then  euer  was  that  glorious  Pallas  gate. 
Where  the  day-shining  sunne  in  triumph  sate.' 

See  also  Shakespeare's  "Hamlet,"  act  i.  sc,  2,  and  Mr 
Steevens's  note  on  it. 


48  TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA. 

CHORUS  1.  Who  marks  our  former  times  and 

present  years, 

What  we  are  now,  and  looks  what  we  have  been, 
He  cannot  but  lament  with  bitter  tears 
The  great  decay  and  change  of  all  women. 
For  as  the  world  wore  on,  and  waxed  old, 
So  virtue  quail'd,1  and  vice  began  to  grow. 
So  that  that  age,  that  whilome  was  of  gold, 
Is  worse  than  brass,  more  vile  than  iron  now. 
The  times  were  such  (that  if  we  aught  believe 
Of  elder  days),  women  examples  were 
Of  rare  virtues  :  Lucrece  disdain'd  to  live 
Longer  than  chaste ;  and  boldly  without  fear 
Took  sharp  revenge  on  her  enforced  heart 
With  her  own  hands  :  for  that  it  not  withstood 
The  wanton  will,  but  yielded  to  the  force 
Of  proud  Tarquin,  who  bought  her  fame  with  blood. 

CHORUS  2.  Queen  Artemisia  thought  an  heap  of 

stones 

(Although  they  were  the  wonder  of  that  age) 2 
A  worthless  grave,  wherein  to  rest  the  bones 
Of  her  dear  lord,  but  with  bold  courage 
She  drank  his  heart,  and  made  her  lovely  breast 
His  tomb,  and  failed  not  of  wifely  faith, 
Of  promis'd  love  and  of  her  bound  behest, 
Until  she  ended  had  her  days  by  death. 
Ulysses'  wife  (such  was  her  steadfastness) 
Abode  his  slow  return  whole  twenty  years  : 


1  To  quail,  is  to  languish,  to  sink  into  dejection.  So  in 
Churchyard's  "  Challenge,"  24— 

"  Where  malice  sowes,  the  seedes  of  wicked  waies, 
Both  honor  quailes,  and  credit  crackes  with  all : 
Of  noblest  men,  and  such  as  fears  no  fall." 

See  also  Mr  Steevens's  notes  on  the  "  First  Part  of  Henry 
IV.,"  act  iv.  sc.  2,  and  "  Cymbeline,"  act  v.  sc.  5. 

a  [Had  the  writer  this  passage  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote 
the  well-known  lines  on  Shakespeare,  "  What  need  my 
Shakespeare/'  £c.,  which  occur  in  the  folio  of  1632  ?] 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA.  4£ 

And  spent  her  youthful  days  in  pensiveness, 
Bathing  her  widow's  bed  with  brinish  tears.1 
CHORUS  3.  The  stout  daughter  of  Cato,  Brutus' 

wife,  Portia, 

When  she  had  heard  his  death,  did  not  desire 
Longer  to  live  :  and  lacking  use  of  knife 
(A  most  strange  thing)  ended  her  life  by  fire, 
And  ate  whot-burning  coals.     O  worthy  dame  ! 

0  virtues  worthy  of  eternal  praise  ! 

The  flood  of  Lethe  cannot  wash  out  thy  fame, 
To  others'  great  reproach,  shame,  and  dispraise. 
CHORUS   4.    Rare   are   those   virtues   now   in 

women's  mind ! 

Where  shall  we  seek  such  jewels  passing  strange  ? 
Scarce  can  you  now  among  a  thousand  find 
One  woman  stedfast :  all  delight  in  change. 
Mark  but  this  princess,  that  lamented  here 
Of  late  so  sore  her  noble  husband's  death, 
And  thought  to  live  alone  without  a  pheer ; 
Behold  how  soon  she  changed  hath  that  breath  ! 

1  think  those  ladies  that  have  lived  'tofore, 
A  mirror  and  a  glass  to  womenkind  ; 

By  those  their  virtues  they  did  set  such  store, 
That  unto  us  they  none  bequeath'd  behind ; 
Else  in  so  many  years  we  might  have  seen 
As  virtuous  as  ever  they  have  been. 

CHORUS  1.  Yet  let  not  us  maidens  condemn  our 

kind, 

Because  our  virtues  are  not  all  so  rare  : 
For  we  may  freshly  yet  record  in  mind, 
There  lives  a  virgin,2  one  without  compare, 
Who  of  all  graces  hath  her  heavenly  share  ; 


1  [The  second  Chorus  to  leave  off  abruptly  with  this  word, 
the  third  Chorus  taking  up  the  narrative.] 

2  A  compliment  to  Queen  Elizabeth. — S.  P. 

It  was,  as  Mr  Steevens  observes,  no  uncommon  thing  to 
introduce  a  compliment  to  Queen  Elizabeth  in  the  body  of 
VOL.  VII.  D 


5Q  TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA. 

In  whose  renown,  and  for  whose  happy  days. 
Let  us  record  this  psean  of  her  praise. 

Cantant. 
FINIS  ACTUS  II.    Per  HEN.  No.1 


a  play.     See  "  Midsummer's  Night' s'Dream,"  act  ii.  sc.  2. 
See  also  "  Locrine,"  act  v.  tsc.  last. 

1  Probably  Henry  Noel,  younger  brother  to  Sir  Andrew 
Noel,  and  one  of  the  gentlemen  pensioners  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth ;  a  man,  says  Wood,  of  excellent  parts,  and  well  skilled 
in  music.  See  "  Fasti,"  p.  145.  A  poem,  entitled,  "  Of  dis- 
dainful Daphne,"  by  M  [aster]  H.  No  well,  is  printed  in  "  Eng- 
land's Helicon,"  1600,  4to.  The  name  of  Mr  Henry  Nowell 
also  appears  in  the  list  of  those  lords  and  gentlemen  that 
ran  at  a  tilting  before  Queen  Elizabeth.  See  Peele's 
"  Polyhymnia,"  1590. 

"  I  cannot  here  let  pass  unremembered  a  worthy  gentle- 
man, Master  Henry  Noel,  brother  to  the  said  Sir  Andrew 
Noel,  one  of  the  gentlemen  pensioners1  to  Queen  Elizabeth; 
a  man  for  personage,  parentage,  grace,  gesture,  valour,  and 
many  excellent  parts,  inferior  to  none  of  his  rank  in  the 
court ;  who,  though  his  lands  and  livelihoods  were  but 
small,  having  nothing  known  certain  but  his  annuity  and 
his  pension,  yet  in  state,  pomp,  magnificence  and  expenses, 
did  equalise  barons  of  great  worth.  If  any  shall  demand 
whence  this  proceeded,  I  must  make  answer  with  that 
Spanish  proverb — 

'  Aquello  qual  vienne  de  arriba  ninguno  lo  pregunta,  * 
'  That  which  cometh  from  above  let  no  one  question.' 

"  This  is  the  man  of  whom  Queen  Elizabeth  made  this 
enigmatical  distich — 

*  The  word  of  denial,  and  letter  of  fifty, 
Is  that  gentleman's  name  that  will  never  be  thrifty. 

He,  being  challenged  (as  I  have  heard)  by  an  Italian 
gentleman  at  the  baloune  (a  kind  of  play  with  a  great  ball 
tossed  with  wooden  braces  upon  the  arm),  used  therein  such 
violent  motion,  and  did  so  overheat  his  blood,  that  he  fell 
into  a  calenture,  or  burning  fever,  and  thereof  died,  Feb. 
26,  1596,  and  was  by  her  majesty's  appointment  buried  in 
the  abbey  church  of  Westminster,  in  the  chapel  of  St 
Andrew." — Benton  in  Nichols's  "Leicestershire"  vol.  iii. 
p.  249. 
'  *  See  Peck's  "  Life  of  Milton,"  p.  225,  for  the  Gentlemen  Pensioners. 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  51 


ACT  III.,  SCENE  1. 

CUPID.  So  now  they  feel  what  lordly  Love  can  do, 

That  proudly  practise  to  deface  his  name  j 
In  vain  they  wrastle  with  so  fierce  a  foe ; 

Of  little  sparks  arise  a  blazing  flame. 
"  By  small  occasions  love  can  kindle  heat, 

And  waste  the  oaken  breast  to  cinder  dust." 
Gismund  .1  have  enticed  to  forget 

Her  widow's  weeds,  and  burn  in  raging  lust : 
'Twas  I  enforc'd  her  father  to  deny 
Her  second  marriage  to  any  peer ; 
'Twas  I  allur'd  her  once  again  to  try 
The  sour  sweets  that  lovers  buy  too  dear. 
The  County  Palurin,  a  man  right  wise, 
A  man  of  exquisite  perfections, 
I  have  like  wounded  with  her  piercing  eyes, 
And  burnt  her  heart  with  his  reflections. 
These  two  shall  joy  in  tasting  of  my  sweet, 
To  make  them  prove  more  feelingly  the  grief 
That  bitter  brings  :  for  when  their  joys  shall  fleet, 
Their  dole  shall  be  increas'd  without  relief. 
Thus   Love   shall   make  worldlings  to  know  his 

might  • 

Thus  Love  shall  force  great  princes  to  obey  ; 
Thus  Love  shall  daunt  each  proud,  rebelling  spirit ; 
Thus  Love  shall  wreak  his  wrath  on  their  decay. 
Their  ghosts  shall  give  black  hell  to  understand, 
How  great  and  wonderful  a  god  is  Love  : 
And  this  shall  learn  the  ladies  of  this  land 
With  patient  minds  his  mighty  power  to  prove. 

Henry  Noel  was  the  second  son  of  Sjr  Edward  JS"oel,  of 
Dalby,  by  his  second  wife,  Elizabeth,  daughter  and  heir  of 

William  Hopton,  of  ,  Shropshire,  relict  of   Sir  John 

Peryent,  Knt.— Ibid..  ^i. 


52  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA, 

From  whence  I  did  descend,  now  will  I  mount 
To  Jove  and  all  the  gods  in  their  delights : 
In  throne  of  triumph  there  will  I  recount, 
How  I  by  sharp  revenge  on  mortal  wights 
Have  taught  the  earth,  and  learned  hellish  sprites 
To  yield  with  fear  their  stubborn  hearts  to  Love, 
Lest  their  disdain    his   plagues    and  vengeance 
prove.          [CUPID  remountcth  into  the  heavens. 

ACT  III.,  SCENE  2. 

LUCRECE  cometh  out  of  GlSMUNDA's  chamber 
solitary. 

LUCRECE.  Pity,  that  moveth  every  gentle  heart 
To  rue  their  griefs,  that  be  distress'd  in  pain, 
Enforceth  me  to  wail  my  niece's  smart, 
Whose  tender  breast  no  long  time  may  sustain 
The  restless  toil,  that  her  unquiet  mind 
Hath  caus'd  her  feeble  body  to  endure ; 
But  why  it  is  (alack  !)  I  must  not  find, 
Nor  know  the  man,  by  whom  I  might  procure 
Her  remedy,  as  I  of  duty  ought, 
As  to  the  law  of  kinship  doth  belong. 
With  careful  heart  the  secret  means  I  sought, 
Though  small  effect  is  of  my  travail  sprung  : 
Full  often  as  I  durst  I  have  assay'd 
With  humble  words  the  princess  to  require 
To  name  the  man  which  she  hath  so  denay'd,1 

1  In  the  former  edition,  the  word  denay'd  was  altered  to 
the  more  modern  one  of  deny'd.  Denay'd)  however,  was  the 
ancient  manner  of  spelling  it.  So  in  the  "  Second  Part  of 
Henry  YL,"  act  i.  sc.  3— 

«  Then  let  him  be  denay'd  the  regentship." 
Again,  in  the  "First  Part  of  Jeronimo,"  1605 — 

*'  And  let  not  wonted  fealty  be  denayed." 
And  in  "  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle  " — 

"Loke,  as  I  have  promised,  I  will  not  denay  it.' 
—Collier. 


TANCRED  AND  GISMTJNDA:  53 

That  it  abash'd  me  further  to  desire, 
Or  ask  from  whence  those  cloudy  thoughts  pro- 
ceed, 

Whose  stony  force,  that  smoky  sighs  forth  send, 
Is  lively  witness  how  that  careful  dread 
And  hot  desire  within  her  do  contend  : 
Yet  she  denies  what  she  confess'd  of  yore, 
And  then  conjoin'd  me  to  conceal  the  same ; 
She  loved  once,  she  saith,  but  never  more, 
Nor  ever  will  her  fancy  thereto  frame. 
Though  daily  I  observed  in  my  breast 
What  sharp  conflicts  disquiet  her  so  sore, 
That  heavy  sleep  cannot  procure  her  rest, 
But  fearful  dreams  present  her  evermore 
Most  hideous  sights  her  quiet  to  molest ; 
That  starting  oft  therewith,  she  doth  awake, 
To  muse  upon  those  fancies  which  torment 
Her  thoughtful  heart  with  horror,  that  doth  make 
Her  cold  chill  sweat  break  forth  incontinent 
From  her  weak  limbs.    And  while  the  quiet  night 
Gives  others  rest,  she,  turning  to  and  fro, 
Doth  wish  for  day:    but  when  the   day  brings 

light, 

She  keeps  her  bed,  there  to  record  her  woe. 
As  soon  as  when  she  riseth,  flowing  tears 
Stream  down  her  cheeks,  immixed  with  deadly 

groans, 

Whereby  her  inward  sorrow  so  appears, 
That  as  salt  tears  the  cruel  cause  bemoans. 
In  case  she  be  constrained  to  abide 
In  prease1  of  company,  she  scarcely  may 

1  Prease  signifies  a  croicd  or  multitude,  or  any  assemblage 
of  a  number  of  persons.  So  in  "  Damon  and  Pithias," 
vol.  iv.,  pp.  49,  53 — 

«« The  King  is  at  hand,  stand  close  in  the  prease,  beware,"  &c. 
And  ibid, — 

"Away  from  the  prisoner,  what  a  prease  have  we  here  I " 


54  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

Her  trembling  voice  restrain  it  be  not  spy'd, 
From  careful  plaints  her  sorrows  to  bewray. 
By  which  restraint  the  force  doth  so  increase, 
When  time  and  place  give  liberty  to  plain, 
That  as  small  streams  from  running  never  cease, 
Till  they  return  into  the  seas  again ; 
So  her  laments,  we  fear,  will  not  amend, 
Before  they  bring  her  princely  life  to  end. 
To  others'  talk  when  as  she  should  attend, 
Her  heaped  cares  her  senses  so  oppress, 
That  what  they  speak,  or  whereto  their  words 

tend, 

She  knows  not,  as  her  answers  do  express. 
Her  chief  delight  is  still  to  be  alone, 
Her  pensive  thoughts  within  themselves  debate  : 
But  whereupon  this  restless  life  is  grown, 
Since  I  know  not,  nor  how  the  same  t'abate  • 
I  can  no  more  but  wish  it  as  I  may, 
That  he  which  knows  it,  would  the  same  allay, 
For  which  the  Muses  with  my  song  shall  pray. 


ACT  III.,  SCENE  3. 

After  the  song,  which  was  ~by  report  very  sweetly  re- 
peated by  the  Chorus,  LUCRECE  departeth  into 
GlSMUNDA's  chamber,  and  GuiSCARD  cometh 
out  of  the  palace  with  JULIO  and  KENUCHIO, 
gentlemen^  to  whom  he  turneih,  and  saith  : 

GUISCARD.  Leave  me,  my  friends ;  this  solitary 
walk 


Again,  in  the  "  History  of  Euordanus  Prince  of  Denmark," 
1605,  sig.  H  :  "The  Prince  passing  forwards  sorely  shaken, 
having  lost  both  his  stirrups  :  at  length  recovering  himself e, 
entred  the  prease,  where  on  all  sides  he  beate  downe  knights, 
and  unbarred  helms." 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA.  55 

Enticeth  me  to  break  your  company. 
Leave  me,  my  friends,  I  can  endure  no  talk. 
Let  me  entreat  this  common  courtesy. 

\_Tke  gentlemen  depart. 

What  grievous  pain  they  'dure,  which  neither  may 
Forget  their  loves,  ne  yet  enjoy  their  love, 
I  know  by  proof,  and  daily  make  assay. 
Though  Love  hath  brought  my  lady's  heart  to  love, 
My  faithful  love  with  like  love  to  requite ; 
This  doth  not  quench,  but  rather  cause  to  flame 
The  creeping  fire  which,  spreading  in  my  breast 
With  raging  heat,  grants  me  no  time  of  rest. 
If  they  bewail  their  cruel  destiny, 
Which  spend  their  love,  where  they  no  love  can 

find, 

Well  may  I  plain,  since  fortune  haleth x  me 
To  this  torment  of  far  more  grievous  kind ; 
Wherein  I  feel  as  much  extremity, 
As  may  be  felt  in  body  or  in  mind. 
For  by  that  sight,  which  should  recure  my  pain, 
My  sorrows  are  redoubled  all  in  vain. 
Now  I  perceive  that  only  I  alone 
Am  her  belov'd,  her  looks  assure  me  so  : 
The  thought  thereof  provokes  me  to  bemoan 
Her  heavy  plight  that  grieveth  at  my  woe. 
This  intercourse  of  our  affections — 
I  her  to  serve,  she  thus  to  honour  me — 
Bewrays  the  truth  of  our  elections, 
Delighting  in  this  mutual  sympathy. 
Thus  love  for  love  entreats  the  queen  of  love, 
That  with  her  help  Love's  solace  we  may  prove. 
I  see  my  mistress  seeks  as  well  as  I 


[It  must  be  repeated,  once  for  all,  that  such  totally  un- 
necessary notes  as  this  have  been  retained  only  from  a 
reluctance  to  impart  to  these  volumes  the  character  of  an 
abridged  or  mutilated  republication.l 

1  [Draweth.] 


56  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

To  stay  the  strife  of  her  perplexed  mind  : 

Full  fain  she  would  our  secret  company, 

If  she  the  wished  way  thereof  might  find. 

Heavens,  have  ye  seen,  or  hath  the  age  of  man 

Recorded  such  a  miracle  as  this — 

In  equal  love  two  noble  hearts  to  frame, 

That  never  spake  one  with  another's  bliss  1 

I  am  assured  that  she  doth  assent 

To  my  relief,  that  I  should  reap  the  same, 

If  she  could  frame  the  means  of  my  content, 

Keeping  herself  from  danger  of  defame. 

In  happy  hour  right  now  I  did  receive 

This  cane  from  her ;  which  gift  though  it  be  small, 

Receiving  it,  what  joys  I  did  conceive 

Within  my  fainting  spirits  therewithal ! 

Who  knoweth  love  aright,  may  well  conceive 

By  like  adventures  that  to  them  befall. 

"  For  needs  the  lover  must  esteem  that  well, 

Which  comes  from  her,  with  whom  his  heart  doth 

dwell." 

Assuredly  it  is  not  without  cause 
She  gave  me  this  ;  something  she  meant  thereby : 
For  therewithal  I  might  perceive  her  pause 
Awhile,  as  though  some  weighty  thing  did  lie 
Upon  her  heart,  which  she  concealed,  because 
The  standers-by  should  not  our  loves  descry  : 
This  clift  bewrays  that  it  hath  been  disclos'd  ; 
Perhaps  herein  she  hath  something  inclos'd  : 

[He  breaks  it. 

0  thou  great  thunderer  !  who  would  not  serve, 
Where  wit  with  beauty  chosen  have  their  place  1 
Who  could  devise  more  wisely  to  conserve 
Things  from  suspect  ?     O  Venus,  for  this  grace 
That  deigns  me,  all  unworthy,  to  deserve 

So  rare  a  love,  in  heaven  I  should  thee  place. 
This  sweet  letter  some  joyful  news  contains, 

1  hope  it  brings  recure  to  both  our  pains. 

[He  reads  it. 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  57 

Mine  own,  as  I  am  yours,  whose  heart,  I  know, 
No  less  than  mine,  for  lingering  help  of  woe 
Doth  long  too  long :  love,  tendering  your  case 
And  mine,  hath  taught  recur e  of  both  our  pain. 
My  chamber-floor  doth  hide  a  cave,  where  was 
An  old  vault's  mouth :  the  other  in  the  plain 
Doth  rise  southward,  a  furlong  from  the  ivall. 
Descend  you  there.     This  shall  suffice.     And  so 
I  yield  myself,  mine  honour,  life,  and  all, 
To  you.      Use  you  the  same,  as  there  may  grow 
Your  bliss  and  mine,  mine  earl,  and  that  the  same 
Free  may  abide  from  danger  of  defame. 
Farewell ;  and  fare  so  well,  as  that  your  joy, 
Which  only  can,  may  comfort  mine  annoy. 

Yours  more  than  her  own, 

GlSMUND. 

0  blissful  chance  my  sorrows  to  assuage  ! 

Wonder  of  nature,  marvel  of  our  age  ! 

Comes  this  from  Gismund  1  did  she  thus  enfold 

This  letter  in  the  cane  1  may  it  be  so  ? 

It  were  too  sweet  a  joy ;  I  am  deceived. 

Why  shall  I  doubt,  did  she  not  give  it  me  ? 

Therewith  she  smiPd,  she  joy'd,  she  raught 1  the 

cane, 

And  with  her  own  sweet  hand  she  gave  it  me  : 
And  as  we  danc'd,  she  dallied  with  the  cane, 
And  sweetly  whispered  I  should  be  her  king, 
And  with  this  cane,  the  sceptre  of  our  rule, 
Command  the  sweets  of  her  surprised  heart. 
Therewith  she  raught  from  her  alluring  locks 
This  golden  tress,  the  favour  of  her  grace, 
And  with  her  own  sweet  hand  she  gave  it  me  : 
O  peerless  queen,  my  joy,  my  heart's  decree  ! 


1  Raught  is  the  ancient  preterite  of  the  word  reach.  It  is 
frequently  ustd  by  Spenser,  Shakespeare,  and  other  ancient 
writers. 


58  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

And,  thou  fair  letter,  how  shall  I  welcome  thee  ? 
Both  hand  and  pen,  wherewith  thou  written  wert, 
Blest  may  ye  be,  such  solace  thast  impart  ! 
And  blessed  be  this  cane,  and  he  that  taught 
Thee  to  descry  the  hidden  entry  thus  : 
Not  only  through  a  dark  and  dreadful  vault, 
But  fire  and  sword,  and  through  whatever  be, 
Mistress  of  my  desires,  I  come  to  thee. 

[GuiSCARD  departeth  in  haste  unto  the  palace. 
CHORUS  1.  Right  mighty  is  thy  power,  0  cruel 

Love, 

High  Jove  himself  cannot  resist  thy  bow ; 
Thou  sent'st  him  down,  e'en  from  the  heavens  above, 
In  sundry  shapes  here  to  the  earth  below : 
Then  how  shall  mortal  men  escape  thy  dart, 
The  fervent  flame  and  burning  of  thy  fire  ; 
Since  that  thy  might  is  such,  and  since  thou  art 
Both  of  the  seas  and  land  the  lord  and  sire  ? 
CHORUS  2.  But  why  doth  she  that  sprang  from 

Jove's  high  head, 

And  Phoebus's  sister  sheen,  despise  thy  power, 
Ne  fear  thy  bow  1     Why  have  they  always  led 
A  maiden  life,  and  kept  untouch'd  the  flower  1 
Why  doth  JEgistus  love,  and  to  obtain 
His  wicked  will,  conspire  his  uncle's  death  ? 
Or  whyMoth  Phaedra  burn,  from  whom  is  slain 
Theseus'  chaste  son,  or  Helen,  false  of  faith  ? 
"  For  love  assaults  not  but  the  idle  heart, 
And  such  as  live  in  pleasure  and  delight ; 
He  turneth  oft  their  gladsome  joys  to  smart, 
Their  play  to  plaint,  their  sport  into  despite." 
CHORUS  3.    'Tis  true,  that  Dian  chaseth  with 

her  bow 

The  flying  hart,  the  goat,  and  foamy  boar : 
By  hill,  by  dale  :  in  heat,  in  frost,  in  snow : 
She  recketh  not,  but  laboureth  evermore ; 
Love  seeks  not  her,  ne  knoweth  where  J  to  find. 

1  [Old  copy,  where  her.~\ 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  59 

Whilst  Paris  kept  his  herd  on  Ida  down, 
Cupid  ne'er  sought  him  out,  for  he  is  blind ; 
But  when  he  left  the  field  to  live  in  town, 
He  fell  into  his  snare,  and  brought  that  brand 
From  Greece  to  Troy,  which  after  set  on  fire 
Strong  Ilium,  and  all  the  Phryges  land  : 
"  Such  are  the  fruits  of  love,  such  is  his  hire."  l 
CHORUS  4.  Who  yieldeth  unto  him  his  captive 

heart, 

Ere  he  resist,  and  holds  his  open  breast 
Withouten  war  to  take  his  bloody  dart, 
Let  him  not  think  to  shake  off,  when  him  list, 
His  heavy  yoke.     "  Resist  his  first  assault ; 
Weak  is  his  bow,  his  quenched  brand  is  cold ; 
Cupid  is  but  a  child,  and  cannot  daunt 
The  mind  that  bears  him,  or  his  virtues  bold." 
But  he  gives  poison  so  to  drink  in  gold, 
And  hideth  under  pleasant  baits  his  hook ; 
But  ye  beware,  it  will  be  hard  to  hold 
Your  greedy  minds,  but  if  ye  wisely  look 
What  sly  snake  lurks  under  those  flowers  gay. 
But  ye  mistrust  some  cloudy  smokes,  and  fear 
A  stormy  shower  after  so  fair  a  day : 
Ye  may  repent,  and  buy  your  pleasure  dear  ; 
For  seldom-times  is  Cupid  wont  to  send 
"  Unto  an  idle  love  a  joyful  end." 

FINIS  ACTUS.     G.  AL 


ACT  IV.,  SCENE  I. 

Before  this  act  MEG^ERA  risetk  out  of  hell,  with  the 
other  furies,  ALECTO  and  TYSIPHONE  dancing 
an  hellish  round;  which  done,  she  saith  : 

MEG^ERA.  Sisters,  begone,  bequeath  the  rest  to 
me, 

1  [Reward.] 


60  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

That  yet  "belongs  unto  this  tragedy. 

[The  two  furies  depart  down. 
Vengeance  and  death  from  forth  the  deepest  hell 
I  bring  the  cursed  house,  where  Gismund  dwells. 
Sent  from  the  grisly  god,  that  holds  his  reign 
In  Tartar's  ugly  realm,  where  Pelops'  sire 
(Who  with  his  own  son's  flesh,  whom  he  had  slain, 
Did  feast  the  gods)  with  famine  hath  his  hire  ; 
To  gape  and  catch  at  flying  fruits  in  vain, 
And  yielding  waters  to  his  gasping  throat ; 
Where  stormy  ^Eol's  son  with  endless  pain 
Bolls  up  the  rock ;  where  Tytius  hath  his  lot 
To  feed  the  gripe  that  gnaws  his  growing  heart ; a 
Where  proud  Ixion,  whirled  on  the  wheel,. 
Pursues  himself;  where  due  deserved  smart 
The  damned  ghosts  in  burning  flame  do  feel — 
From  thence  I  mount :  thither  the  winged  god, 
Nephew  to  Atlas  that  upholds  the  sky, 
Of  late  down  from  the  earth  with  golden  rod 
To  Stygian  ferry  Salerne  souls  did  guide, 
And  made  report  how  Love,  that  lordly  boy, 
Highly  disdaining  his  renown's  decay, 
Slipp'd  down  from  heaven,  and  filled  with  fickle 

j°y 

Gismunda's  heart,  and  made  her  throw  away 
Chasteness  of  life  to  her  immortal  shame  : 
Minding  to  show,  by  proof  of  her  foul  end, 
Some  terror  unto  those  that  scorn  his  name. 
Black  Pluto  (that  once  found  Cupid  his  friend 
In  winning  Ceres'  daughter,  queen  of  hells ;) 
And  Parthie,  moved  by  the  grieved  ghost 
Of  her  late  husband,  that  in  Tartar  dwells, 

1  Alluding  to  the  vulture  that  gnawed  the  liver  of  Titius. 
In  "  Ferrex  and  Porrex,"  act  ii.  sc.  1,  is  this  line — 
"Or  cruell  gripe  to  gnaw  my  groaning  hart. ' 

— Reed.     The  allusion  is  rather  to  the  vulture  of  Prome- 
theus.— Stcevens. 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  61 

Who  pray'd  due  pains  for  her,  that  thus  hath  lost 
All  care  of  him  and  of  her  chastity. 
The  senate  then  of  hell,  by  grave  advice 
Of  Minos,  ^5Cac,  and  of  Eadamant, 
Commands  me  draw  this  hateful  air,  and  rise 
Above  the  earth,  with  dole  and  death  to  daunt 
The  pride  and  present  joys,  wherewith  these  two 
Feed  their  disdained  hearts ;  which  now  to  do, 
Behold  I  come  with  instruments  of  death. 
This  stinging  snake,  which  is  of  hate  and  wrath, 
I'll  fix  upon  her  father's  heart  full  fast, 
And  into  hers  this  other  will  I  cast, 
Whose  rankling  venom  shall  infect  them  so 
With  envious  wrath  and  with  recureless  woe, 
Each  shall  be  other's  plague  and  overthrow. 
"  Furies  must  aid,  when  men  surcease  to  know 
Their  gods  :  and  hell  sends  forth  revenging  pain   . 
On  those  whom  shame  from  sin  cannot  restrain." 


ACT  IY.,  SCENE  II. 

entereth  into  the  palace,  and  meeteth  with 
TANCRED  coming  out  o/GlSMUNDA'S  chamber  with 
E-ENUCHIO  and  JULIO,  upon  whom  stie  throweth  her 
snake.1 

TANCRED.  Gods !  are  ye  guides  of  justice  and 

revenge  1 

0  thou  great  Thunderer  !  dost  thou  behold 
With  watchful  eyes  the  subtle  'scapes  of  men 
Harden'd  in  shame,  sear'd  up  in  the  desire 
Of  their  own  lusts  ?  why  then  dost  thou  withhold 
The  blast  of  thy  revenge  ?  why  dost  thou  grant 

1  Vipeream  inspirans  animam.   The  image  is  from  Virgil. 
Eowe  likewise  adopts  it  in  his  "  Ambitious  Stepmother  " — 
"  And  send  a  snake  to  every  vulgar  breast." — Steevens. 


62  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

Such  liberty,  such  lewd  occasion 
To  execute  their  shameless  villainy  1 
Thou,  thou  art  cause  of  all  this  open  wrong, 
Thou,  that  forbear'st  thy  vengeance  all  too  long. 
If  thou  spare  them,  rain  then  upon  my  head 
The  fulness  of  thy  plagues  with  deadly  ire, 
To  reave  this  ruthful  soul,  who  all  too  sore 
Burns  in  the  wrathful  torments  of  revenge. 
0  earth,  the  mother  of  each  living  wight, 
Open  thy  womb,  devour  this  withered  corpse. 
And  thou,  0  hell  (if  other  hell  there  be 
Than  that  I  feel),  receive  my  soul  to  thee. 
O  daughter,  daughter  (wherefore  do  I  grace 
Her  with  so  kind  a  name  ?)  0  thou  fond  girl, 
The  shameful  ruin  of  thy  father's  house, 
Is  this  my  hoped  joy  ?     Is  this  the  stay 
Must  glad  my  grief-ful  years  that  waste  away  1 
For  life,  which  first  thou  didst  receive  from  me, 
Ten  thousand  deaths  shall  I  receive  by  thee. 
For  all  the  joys  I  did  repose  in  thee. 
Which  I,  fond  man,  did  settle  in  thy  sight, 
Is  this  thy  recompense — that  I  must  see 
The  thing  so  shameful  and  so  villanous  : 
That  would  to  God  this  earth  had  swallowed 
This  worthless  burthen  into  lowest  deeps, 
Rather  than  I,  accursed,  had  beheld 
The  sight  that  hourly  massacres  my  life  1 
O  whither,  whither  fly'st.  thou  forth,  my  soul  1 
0  whither  wand'reth  my  tormented  mind  I 
Those  pains,  that  make  the  miser  *  glad  of  death, 
Have  seiz'd  on  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  have 
What  villains  may  command — a  speedy  death. 
Whom  shall  I  first  accuse  for  this  outrage  ? 


1  i.e.,  The  wretch.  The  word  miser  was  anciently  used 
without  comprehending  any  idea  of  avarice.  See  note  on 
"  King  Henry  VI.,  Part  I.,"  edit,  of  Shakespeare,  1778,  vol. 
vi.  p.  219—Steevens.  •.  - 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA.  63 

That  God  that  guideth  all,  and  guideth  so 

This,  damned   deed?      Shall  I   blaspheme   their 

names— 

The  gods,  the  authors  of  this  spectacle  1 
Or  shall  I  justly  curse  that  cruel  star, 
Whose  influence  assign'd  this  destiny  1 
But  may  that  traitor,  shall  that  vile  wretch  live, 
By  whom  I  have  receiv'd  this  injury  1 
Or  shall  I  longer  make  account  of  her, 
That  fondly  prostitutes  her  widow's  shame  ? — 
1  have  bethought  me  what  I  shall  request. 

[He  kneels. 

On  bended  knees,  with  hands  heav'd  up  to  heaven, 
This,  sacred  senate  of  the  gods,  I  crave  : 
Eirst  on  the  traitor  your  consuming  ire ; 
Next  on  the  cursed  strumpet  dire  revenge ; 
Last  on  myself,  the  wretched  father,  shame. 

[He  riseth. 

0  !  could  I  stamp,  and  therewithal  command 
Armies  of  furies  to  assist  my  heart, 
To  prosecute  due  vengeance  on  their  souls  ! 
Hear  me,  my  friends  ;  but  as  ye  love  your  lives, 
Reply  not  to  me  ;  hearken  and  stand  amaz'd. 
When  I,  as  is  my  wont,  0  fond  delight ! 
Went  forth  to  seek  my  daughter,  now  my  death — 
Within  her  chamber,  as  I  thought,  she  was ; 
But  there  I  found  her  not — I  deemed  then 
For  her  disport  she  and  her  maidens  were 
Down  to  the  garden  walk'd  to  comfort  them ; 
And  thinking  thus,  it  came  into  my  mind 
There  all  alone  to  tarry  her  return  : 
And  thereupon  I,  weary,  threw  myself 
Upon  her  widow's  bed,  for  so  I  thought, 
And  in  the  curtain  wrapp'd  my  cursed  head. 
Thus  as  I  lay,  anon  I  might  behold 
Out  of  the  vault,  up  through  her  chamber  floor, 
My  daughter  Gismund  bringing  hand  in  hand 
The  County  Palurin.     Alas  !  it  is  too  true  \. 


64  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

At  her  bed's  feet  this  traitor  made  me  see 
Her  shame,  his  treason,  and  my  deadly  grief — 
Her  princely  body  yielded  to  this  thief ; 
The  high  despite  whereof  so  wounded  me 
That,  trance-like,  as  a  senseless  stone  I  lay ; 
For  neither  wit  nor  tongue  could  use  the  mean 
T'  express  the  passions  of  my  pained  heart. 
Forceless,  perforce,  I  sank  down  to  this  pain, 
As  greedy  famine  doth  constrain  the  hawk 
Piecemeal  to  rend  and  tear  the  yielding  prey  : 
So  far'd  it  with  me  in  that  heavy  stound. 
But  now  what  shall  I  do  1  how  may  I  seek 
To  ease  my  mind,  that  burneth  with  desire 
Of  dire  revenge  1     For  never  shall  my  thoughts 
Grant  ease  unto  my  heart,  till  I  have  found 
A  mean  of  vengeance  to  requite  his  pains, 
That  first  convey'd  this  sight  unto  my  soul. — 
Renuchio ! 

RENUCHIO.  What  is  your  highness'  will  1 
TANCRED.  Call  my  daughter:  my  heart  boils, 

till  I  see 

Her  in  my  sight,  to  whom  I  may  discharge 
All  the  unrest  that  thus  distempereth  me. 

[Exit  RENUCHIO. 

Should  I  destroy  them  both  1     0  gods,  ye  know 
How  near  and  dear  our  daughter  is  to  us. 
And  yet  my  rage  persuades  me  to  imbrue 
My  thirsty  hands  in  both  their  trembling  bloods, 
Therewith  to  cool  my  wrathful  fury's  heat. 
But,  Nature,  why  repin'st  thou  at  this  thought  ? 
Why  should  I  think  upon  a  father's  debt 
To  her  that  thought  not  on  a  daughter's  due  ? 
But  still,  methinks,  if  I  should  see  her  die, 
And  therewithal  reflex  her  dying  eyes 
Upon  mine  eyes,  that  sight  would  slit  my  heart : 
Not  much  unlike  the  cockatrice,  that  slays 
The  object  of  his  foul  infections, 
0,  what  a  conflict  doth  my  mind  endure  ! 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  65 

Now  fight  my  thoughts  against  my  passions  : 

Now  strive  my  passions  against  my  thoughts  : 

Now  sweats  my  heart,  now  chill-cold  falls  it  dead. 

Help,  heavens,  and  succour,  ye  celestial  powers  ! 

Infuse  your  secret  virtue  on  my  soul. 

Shall  nature  win  ?  shall  justice  not  prevail  ? 

Shall  I,  a  king,  be  proved  partial  1 

"  How  shall  our  subjects  then  insult  on  us, 

When  our  examples,  that  are  light  to  them, 

Shall  be  eclipsed  with  our  proper  deeds  1 " 

And  may  the  arms  be  rented  from  the  tree, 

The  members  from  the  body  be  dissever'd  ? 

And  can  the  heart  endure  no  violence  1 

My  daughter  is  to  me  mine  only  heart, 

My  life,  my  comfort,  my  continuance  ; 

Shall  1  be  then  not  only  so  unkind 

To  pass  all  nature's  strength,  and  cut  her  off? 

But  therewithal  so  cruel  to  myself, 

Against  all  law  of  kind  to  shred  in  twain 

The  golden  thread  that  doth  us  both  maintain  ? 

But  were  it  that  my  rage  should  so  command, 

And  I  consent  to  her  untimely  death, 

Were  this  an  end  to  all  our  miseries  ? 

No,  no,  her  ghost  will  still  pursue  our  life, 

And  from  the  deep  her  bloodless,  ghastful  spirit 

Will,  as  my  shadow  in  the  shining  day, 

Follow  my  footsteps,  till  she  take  revenge. 

I  will  do  thus  :  therefore  the  traitor  dies, 

Because  he  scorned  the  favour  of  his  king, 

And  our  displeasure  wilfully  incurr'd : 

His  slaughter,  with  her  sorrow  for  his  blood, 

Shall  to  our  rage  supply  delightful  food. 

Julio — 

JULIO.  What  is't  your  majesty  commands  ? 

TANCRED.  Julio,  if  we  have   not  our  hope  in 

vain, 

Nor  all  the  trust  we  do  repose  in  thee, 
Now  must  we  try,  if  thou  approve  the  same. 

VOL.  VIL  E 


66  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

Herein  thy  force  and  wisdom  we  must  see, 
For  our  command  requires  them  both  of  thee. 

JULIO.  How  by  your  grace's  bounty  I  am  bound 
Beyond  the  common  bond,  wherein  each  man 
Stands  bound  unto  his  king  :  how  I  have  found 
Honour  and  wealth  by  favour  in  your  sight, 
I  do  acknowledge  with  most  thankful  mind. 
My  truth  (with  other  means  to  serve  your  grace, 
Whatever  you  in  honour  shall  assign) 
Hath  sworn  her  power  true  vassal  to  your  hest : 
For  proof  let  but  your  majesty  command, 
I  shall  unlock  the  prison  of  my  soul ; 
Although  unkindly  horror  would  gainsay, 
Yet  in  obedience  to  your  highness'  will, 
By  whom  I  hold  the  tenor  of  this  life, 
This  hand  and  blade  will  be  the  instruments 
To  make  pale  death  to  grapple  with  my  heart. 

TANCRED.  Well,  to  be  short,  for  I  am  griev'd 

too  long 

By  wrath  without  revenge,  I  think  you  know 
Whilom  there  was  a  palace  builded  strong 
For  war  within  our  court,  where  dreadless  peace 
Hath  planted  now  a  weaker  entrance. 
But  of  that  palace  yet  one  vault  remains 
Within  our  court,  the  secret  way  whereof 
Is  to  our  daughter  Gismund's  chamber  laid  : 
There  is  also  another  mouth  hereof 
Without  our  wall,  which  now  is  overgrown ; 
But  you  may  find  it  out,  for  yet  it  lies 
Directly  south  a  furlong  from  our  palace  ! 
It  may  be  known — hard- by  an  ancient  stoop,1 
Where  grew  an  oak  in  elder  days  decay'd ; 
There  will  we  that  you  watch ;  there  shall  you  see 
A  villain  traitor  mount  out  of  a  vault. 


1  "  A  stoop,  or  stoivp  ;  a  post  fastened  in  the  earth,  from 
the  Latin  stupa."— Kay's  " North  Country  Words,"  p.  58, 
edit.  1742. 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  67 

Bring  him  to  us  ;  it  is  th'  Earl  Palurin. 
What  is  his  fault,  neither  shall  you  inquire, 
Nor  list  we  to  disclose.     These  cursed  eyes 
Have  seen  the  flame,  this  heart  hath  felt  the  fire 
That  cannot  else  be  quench'd  but  with  his  blood. 
This  must  be  done  :  this  will  we  have  you  do. 
JULIO.  Both  this,  and  else  whatever  you  think 
good.  [JULIO  departetk  into  the  palace. 


ACT  IV.,  SCENE  3. 

RENUCHIO  bringetk  GlSMTJND  out  of  her  chambw,  to 
whom  TANCRED  saith. 

TANCRED.  Benuchio,  depart :  -leave  us  alone. 

[Exit  EENUCHIO. 

Gismund,  if  either  I  could  cast  aside 
All  care  of  thee  !  or  if  thou  would st  have  had 
Some  care  of  me,  it  would  not  now  betide, 
That  either  thorough  thy  fault   my  joy  should 

fade, 

Or  by  thy  folly  I  should  bear  the  pain 
Thou  hast  procur'd  :  but  now  'tis  neither  I 
Can  shun  the  grief,  whom  thou  hast  more  than 

slain : 

Nor  may'st  thou  heal  or  ease  the  grievous  wound 
Which  thou  hast  given  me.     That  unstained  life, 
Wherein  I  joy'd,  and  thought  it  thy  delight, 
Why  hast  thou  lost  it  1     Can  it  be  restor'd  i 
Where  is  thy  widowhood,  there  is  thy  shame. 
Gismund,  it  is  no  man's  nor  men's  report, 
That  have  by  likely  proofs  inform'd  me  thus. 
Thou  know'st  how  hardly  I  could  be  induc'd 
To  vex  myself,  and  be  displeas'd  with  thee, 
With  flying  tales  of  flattering  sycophants. 
No,  no,  there  was  in  us  such  settled  trust 
Of  thy  chaste  life  and  uncorrupted  mind 


68  TANCRED  AND   G1SMUNDA. 

That  if  these  eyes  had  not  beheld  thy  shame. 
In  vain  ten  thousand  censures  could  have  told 
That  thou  didst  once  unprincelike  make  agree 
With  that  vile  traitor  County  Palurin  : 
Without  regard  had  to  thyself  or  me, 
Unshamefastly  to  stain  thy  state  and  mine. 
But  I,  unhappiest,  have  beheld  the  same, 
And,  seeing  it,  yet  feel  th'  exceeding  grief 
That  slays  my  heart  with  horror  of  that  thought : 
Which  grief  commands  me  to  obey  my  rage, 
And  justice  urgeth  some  extreme  revenge, 
To  wreak  the  wrongs  that  have  been  offer 'd  us. 
But  nature,  that  hath  lock'd  within  thy  breast 
Two  lives,  the  same  inclineth  me  to  spare 
Thy  blood,  and  so  to  keep  mine  own  unspilt. 
This  is  that  overweening  love  I  bear 
To  thee  undutiful,  and  undeserved. 
But  for  that  traitor,  he  shall  surely  die  ; 
For  neither  right  nor  nature  doth  entreat 
For  him,  that  wilfully,  without  all  awe 
Of  gods  or  men,  or  of  our  deadly  hate, 
Incurr'd  the  just  displeasure  of  his  king ; 
And  to  be  brief,  I  am  content  to  know 
What  for  thyself  thou  canst  object  to  us, 
Why  thou  should'st  not  together  with  him  die. 
So  to  assuage  the  griefs  that  overthrow 
Thy  father's  heart. 

GISMUND.  0  king  and  father,  humbly  give  her] 

leave 

To  plead  for  grace,  that  stands  in  your  disgrace. 
Not  that  she  recks  this  life,1  for  I  confess  i 

I  have  deserv'd,  when  so  it  pleaseth  you, 


1  Not  that  she  is  careful  or  anxious  ahout,  or  regrets  the 
loss  of  this  life.  So  in  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost,"  Bk.  ix.; 
line  171— 

"Revenge  at  first  though  sweet, 
Bitter  ere  long  back  on  itself  recoils  ; 
Let  it ;  /  reck  not,  so  it  light  well  aim'd." 


TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA.  69 

To  die  the  death,  mine  honour  and  my  name, 
As  you  suppose,  distained  with  reproach  : 
And  well  contented  shall  I  meet  the  stroke 
That  must  dissever  this  detested  head 
From  these  lewd  limbs.     But  this  I  wish  were 

known, 

That  now  I  live  not  for  myself  alone. 
For  when  I  saw  that  neither  my  request, 
Nor  the  entreaty  of  my  careful  aunt, 
Could  win  your  highness'  pleasure  to  our  will ; 
;'  Then  love,  heat  of  the  heart,  life  of  the  soul, 
Fed  by  desire,  increasing  by  restraint," 
Would  not  endure  controlment  any  more, 
But  violently  enforc'd  my  feeble  heart 
(For  who  am  I,  alas  !  still  to  resist 
Such  endless  conflicts  ?)  to  relent  and  yield  : 
Therewith  I  chose  him  for  my  lord  and  pheer, 
Guiscard  mine  Earl,  that  holds  my  love  full  dear. 
Then  if  it  be  so  settled  in  your  mind, 
He  shall  not  live,  because  he  dar'd  to  love 
Your  daughter  :  thus  I  give  your  grace  to  know. 
Within  his  heart  there  is  inclos'd  my  life. 
Therefore,  0  father,  if  that  name  may  be 
Sweet  to  your  ears,  and  that  we  may  prevail 
By  name  of  father,  that  you  favour  us : 
But  otherwise,  if  now  we  cannot  find 
That  which  our  falsed  hope  did  promise  us  ; 
Why  then  proceed,  and  rid  our  trembling  hearts 
Of  these  suspicions  ;  since  neither  in  this  case 
His  good  deserts  in  service  to  your  grace, 
Which  always  have  been  just,  nor  my  desires, 
May  mitigate  the  cruel  rage  of  grief 
That  strains  your  heart,  but  that  mine  Earl  must 

die; 


And  again,  in  the  "  History  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,"  1600— 
'•  I  reck  of  death  the  legs  in  that  I  die, 
Not  by  the  sentence  of  that  envious^priest." 


70  TANCRED  AND   GISMUND  A. 

Then  all  in  vain  you  ask,  what  I  can  say, 
Why  I  should  live.     Sufficeth  for  my  part 
To  say  I  will  not  live,  and  so  resolve. 

TANCRED.  Dar'st  thou  so  desperate  decree  thy 

death  1 
GISMUND.    A  dreadless  heart  delights  in  such 

decrees. 
TANCRED.  Thy  kind  abhorreth  such  unkindly 

thoughts. 
GISMUND.  Unkindly  thoughts  they  are  to  them 

that  live 
In  kindly  love. 

TANCRED.          As  I  do  unto  thee. 

GISMUND.  To  take  his  life  who  is  my  love  from 

me? 

TANCRED.  Have  I  then  lost  thy  love  ? 
GISMUND.  If  he  shall  lose 

His  life,  that  is  my  love. 

TANCRED.  Thy  love  ?  Begone. 

Return  into  thy  chamber. 
GISMUND.  I  will  go. 

[GlSMUND  departeth  to  her  chamber. 


ACT  IV.,  SCENE  4. 

JULIO  with  his  guard  bringeth  in  the  COUNTY 
PALURIN  prisoner. 

JULIO.  If  it  please  your  highness,  hither  have 

we  brought 

This  captive  Earl,  as  you  commanded  us. 
Whom,  as  we  were  foretold,  even  there  we  found, 
Where  by  your  majesty  we  were  enjoin'd 
To  watch  for  him.    What  more  your  highness  wills. 
This  heart  and  hand  shall  execute  your  hest. 
TANCRED.   Julio,  we  thank  your  pains.     Ah, 
Palurin ! 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  71 

Have  we  deserved  in  such  traitorous  sort 
Thou  shouldst  abuse  our  kingly  courtesies, 
Which  we  too  long  in  favour  have  bestow'd 
Upon  thy  false,  dissembling  heart  with  us  ? 
What  grief  thou  therewithal  hast  thrown  on  us, 
What  shame  upon  our  house,  what  dire  distress 
Our  soul  endures,  cannot  be  uttered. 
And  durst  thou,  villain,  dare  to  undermine 
Our  daughter's  chamber  ?  durst  thy  shameless  face 
Be  bold  to  kiss  her  ?  th'  rest  we  will  conceal. 
Sufficeth  that  thou  know'st  I  too  well  know 
All  thy  proceedings  in  thy  private  shames. 
Herein  what  hast  thou  won  1  thine  own  content, 
With  the  displeasure  of  thy  lord  and  king; 
The  thought  whereof  if  thou  hadst  had  in  mind 
The  least  remorse  of  love  and  loyalty 
Might  have  restrain'd  thee  from  so  foul  an  act. 
But,  Palurin,  what  may  I  deem  of  thee, 
Whom  neither  fear  of  gods,  nor  love  of  him, 
Whose  princely  favour  hath  been  thine  uprear, 
Could  quench  the  fuel  of  thy  lewd  desires  ? 
Wherefore  content  thee,  that  we  are  resolv'd 
(And  therefore  laid  to  snare  thee  with  this  bait) 
That  thy  just  death,  with  thine  effused  blood, 
Shall  cool  the  heat  and  choler  of  our  mood. 

GuiSCARD.  My  lord  the  king,  neither  do  I  mis- 
like 

Your  sentence,  nor  do  your  smoking  sighs, 
Eeach'd  from  the  entrails  of  your  boiling  heart, 
Disturb  the  quiet  of  my  calmed  thoughts  : 
For  this  I  feel,  and  by  experience  prove, 
Such  is  the  force  and  endless  might  of  love, 
As  never  shall  the  dread  of  carrion  death, 
That  hath  envy'd  our  joys,  invade  my  breast. 
For  if  it  may  be  found  a  fault  in  me, 
That  evermore  hath  lov'd  your  majesty, 
Likewise  to  honour  and  to  love  your  child ; 
If  love  unto  you  both  may  be  a  fault — 


72  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

But  unto  her  my  love  exceeds  compare — 
Then  this  hath  been  my  fault,  for  which  I  joy, 
That  in  the  greatest  lust  of  all  my  life, 
I  shall  submit  for  her  sake  to  endure 
The  pangs  of  death.     0  mighty  lord  of  Love, 
Strengthen  thy  vassal  boldly  to  receive 
Large  wounds  into  this  body  for  her  sake  ! 
Then  use  my  life  or  death,  my  lord  and  king, 
For  your  relief  to  ease  your  grieved  soul : 
For  whether  I  live,  or  else  that  I  must  die 
To  end  your  pains,  I  am  content  to  bear ; 
Knowing  by  death  I  shall  bewray  the  truth 
Of  that  sound  heart,  which  living  was  her  own, 
And  died  alive  for  her,  that  lived  mine. 

TANCRED.    Thine,  Palurin  ?     What  !   lives  my 

daughter  thine  1 

Traitor,  thou  wrong'st  me,  for  she  liveth  mine. 
Rather  I  wish  ten  thousand  sundry  deaths, 
Than  I  to  live,  and  see  my  daughter  thine. 
Thine  that  is  dearer  than  my  life  to  me  1 
Thine  whom  I  hope  to  see  an  emp[e]ress  1 
Thine  whom  I  cannot  pardon  from  my  sight  ? 
Thine    unto    whom    we    have    bequeath'd    our 

crown  ? — 

Julio,  we  will  that  thou  inform  from  us 
Renuchio  the  captain  of  our  guard, 
That  we  command  this  traitor  be  convey'd 
Into  the  dungeon  underneath  our  tower ; 
There  let  him  rest,  until  he  be  resolv'd 
What  farther  we  intend  ;  which  to  understand 
We  will  Renuchio  repair  to  us. 

JULIO.  0,  that  I  might  your  majesty  entreat 
With  clemency  to  beautify  your  seat 
Toward  this  prince,  distress'd  by  his  desires, 
Too  many,  all  too  strong  to  captivate. 

TANCRED.    "  This  is  the  soundest  safety  for  a 

king, 
To  cut  them  off,  that  vex  or  hinder  him." 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  73 

JULIO.  "  This  have  I  found  the  safety  of  a  king, 
To  spare  the  subjects  that  do  honour  him." 

TANCRED.  Have    we    been    honour'd    by  this 
lecher's  lust  1 

JULIO.  No,  but  by  his  devout  submission. 

TANCRED.  Our  fortune  says  we  must  do  what 
we  may. 

JULIO.  "  This  is  praise-worth,  not  to  do  what 
you  may." 

TANCRED.  And  may  the  subject  countermand 
the  king  ? 

JULIO.  No,  but  entreat  him. 

TANCRED.  What  he  shall  decree  1 

JULIO.  What  wisdom  shall  discern. 

TANCRED.  Nay,  what  our  word 

Shall  best  determine.     We  will  not  reply. 
Thou  know'st  our  mind  :  our  heart  cannot  be  eas'd, 
But  with  the  slaughter  of  this  Palurin. 

\Tlie.  KlNG  hasteth  into  his  palace. 

GUISCARD.    0    thou  great  god,  who  from  thy 

highest  throne 

Hast  stooped  down,  and  felt  the  force  of  love, 
Bend  gentle  ears  unto  the  woful  moan 
Of  me  poor  wretch,  to  grant  that  I  require  ! 
Help  to  persuade  the  same  great  god,  that  he 
So  far  remit  his  might,  and  slack  his  fire 
From  my  dear  lady's  kindled  heart,  that  she 
May  hear  my  death  without  her  hurt.     Let  not 
Her  face,  wherein  there  is  as  clear  a  light 
As  in  the  rising  moon  :  let  not  her  cheeks, 
As  red  as  is  the  party-colour'd  rose, 
Be  paled  with  the  news  hereof :  and  so 
I  yield  myself,  my  seely  soul  and  all, 
To  him,  for  her,  for  whom  my  death  shall  show 
I  liv'd  ;  and  as  I  liv'd,  I  died  her  thrall. 
Grant  this,  thou  Thunderer  :  this  shall  suffice, 
My  breath  to  vanish  in  the  liquid  skies. 

[GUISCARD  is  led  to  prison. 


74  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

CHORUS  1.  Who  doth  not  know  the  fruits  of 

Paris'  love, 

Nor  understand  the  end  of  Helen's  joy  ? 
He  may  behold  the  fatal  overthrow 
Of  Priam's  house  and  of  the  town  of  Troy — 
His  death  at  last  and  her  eternal  shame  ; 
For  whom  so  many  noble  knights  were  slain. 
So  many  a  duke,  so  many  a  prince  of  fame 
Bereft  his  life,  and  left  there  in  the  plain. 
Medea's  armed  hand,  Eliza's  sword, 
AVretched  Leander  drenched  in  the  flood. 
Phillis,  so  long  that  waited  for  her  lord  : 
All  these  too  dearly  bought  their  loves  with  blood. 

CHORUS  2.  But  he  in  virtue  that  his  lady  serves, 
Ne  wills  but  what  unto  her  honour  'longs, 
He  never  from  the  rule  of  reason  swerves  ; 
He  feeleth  not  the  pangs  ne  raging  throngs 
Of  blind  Cupid  :  he  lives  not  in  despair. 
As  done  his  servants ;  neither  spends  his  days 
In  joy  and  care,  vain  hope  and  throbbing  fear  ; 
But  seeks  alway  what  may  his  sovereign  please 
In  honour:  he  that  thus  serves,  reaps  the  fruit 
Of  his  sweet  service ;  and  no  jealous  dread, 
Nor  base  suspect  of  aught  to  let  his  suit, 
Which  causeth  oft  the  lover's  heart  to  bleed, 
Doth  fret  his  mind,  or  burneth  in  his  breast : 
He  waileth  not  by  day,  nor  wakes  by  night, 
When  every  other  living  thing  doth  rest ; 
Nor  finds  his  life  or  death  within  her  sight. 

CHORUS   3.    Remember  thou  in  virtue   serve 

therefore 

Thy  chaste  lady  :  beware  thou  do  not  love, 
As  whilom  Venus  did  the  fair  Adone, 
But  as  Diana  lov'd  th'  Amazon's  son  ; 
Through  whose  request  the  gods  to  him  alone 
Kestor'd  new  life.     The  twine  that  was  undone, 
Was  by  the  sisters  twisted  up  again. 
The  love  of  virtue  in  thy  lady's  looks, 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  To 

The  love  of  virtue  in  her  learned  talk ; 
This  love  yields  matter  for  eternal  books. 
This  love  enticeth  him  abroad  to  walk, 
There  to  invent  and  write  new  roundelays 
Of  learn'd  conceit,  her  fancies  to  allure 
To  vain  delights  :  such  humours  he  allays, 
And  sings  of  virtue  and  her  garments  pure. 

CHORUS  4.  Desire   not   of  thy   sovereign    the 

thing 

Whereof  shame  may  ensue  by  any  mean ; 
Nor  wish  thou  aught  that  may  dishonour  bring. 
So  whilom  did  the  learned  Tuscan l  serve 
His  fair  lady;  and  glory  was  their  end. 
Such  are  the  praises  lovers  done  deserve, 
Whose  service  doth  to  virtue  and  honour  tend. 

FINIS  ACTUS  IV.     COMPOSUIT  CH.  HAT.2 


1  Petrarch  and  Laura. 

2  These  initials  were  almost  unquestionably  intended  for 
Christopher  Hatton,  afterwards  knighted  and  created  Lord 
Chancellor  of  England.     In  the  fourth  year  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, 1562,  about  six  years  before  this  play  is  supposed  to 
have  been  written,  we  learn  from  Dugdale's  "  Origines  Juri- 
diciales,"  p.  150,  a  magnificent  Christmas  was  kept  in  the 
Inner  Temple,  at  which  her  majesty  was  present,  and  Mr 
Hatton  was  appointed  Master  of  the  Game.     Historians  say 
he  owed  his  rise,  not  so  much  to  his  mental  abilities,  as  to 
the  graces  of  his  person  and  his  excellence  in  dancing, 
which  captivated  the  Queen  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  arose 
gradually  from  one  of  her  Gentlemen  Pensioners  to  the 
highest  employment  in  the  law,  which  he,  however,  filled 
without  censure,  supplying  his  own  defects  by  the  assistance 
of  the  ablest  men  in  the  profession.    The  grave  Lord  Keeper, 
after  his  promotion,  still  retained  his  fondness   for  that 
accomplishment  to  which  he  was  indebted  for  his  rise,  and 
led  the  Brawls  almost  until  his  death.     In  1589,  on  the 
marriage  of  his  heir  with  Judge  Gawdy's  daughter,  "the 
Lord  Chancellor  danced  the  measures  at  the  solemnity,  and 
left  his  gown  on  the  chair,  saying  Lie  there,  Chancellor." 
His  death,  which  happened  two  years  after,  was  hastened 
by  an  unexpected  demand  of  money  from  the  Queen,  urged 


76  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 


ACT  V.,  SCENE  1. 
RENUCHIO  comeih  out  of  the  palace. 

RENUCHIO.  0  cruel  fate  !  0  miserable  chance  ! 
O  dire  aspect  of  hateful  destinies  ! 

0  woe  may  not  be  told !     Suffic'd  it  not 
That  I  should  see,  and  with  these  eyes  behold 
So  foul,  so  bloody,  and  so  base  a  deed  : 

But  more  to  aggravate  the  heavy  cares 
Of  my  perplexed  mind,  must  only  I, 
Must  I  alone  be  made  the  messenger, 
That  must  deliver  to  her  princely  ears 
Such  dismal  news,  as  when  I  shall  disclose, 

1  know  it  cannot  but  abridge  her  days  1 
As  when  the  thunder  and  three-forked  fire, 

Rent  through  the  clouds  by  Jove's  almighty  power, 
Breaks  up  the  bosom  of  our  mother  earth, 
And  burns  her  heart,  before  the  heat  be  felt. 
In  this  distress,  whom  should  I  most  bewail, 
My  woe,  that  must  be  made  the  messenger 
Of  these  unworthy  and  unwelcome  news  ? 
Or  shall  I  moan  thy  death,  0  noble  Earl  1 
Or  shall  I  still  lament  the  heavy  hap, 
That  yet,  0  Queen,  attends  thy  funeral  1 

CHORUS  1 .  What  moans  be  these  1 
Renuchio,  is  this  Salerne  I  see  1 
Doth  here  King  Tancred  hold  the  awful  crown  ? 
Is  this  the  place  where  civil  peoplejbe  ? 
Or  do  the  savage  Scythians  here  abound  ? 

CHORUS  2.  What  mean  these  questions  1  whither 
tend  these  words  1 


in  so  severe  a  manner,  that  all  the  kindness  she  afterwards 
showed  to  him  was  insufficient  to  remove  the  impression  it 
had  made  on  him.  See  Birch's  "Memoirs  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth." vol.  i.  pp.  8,  56,  [and  Nicolas's  "Life  of  Hatton,"  p. 

478.] 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  77 

Eesolve  us  maidens,  and  release  our  fears. 
Whatever  news  thou  bring'st,  discover  them, 
Detain  us  not  in  this  suspicious  dread ! 
"  The  thought  whereof  is  greater  than  the  woe." 

RENUCHIO.  0,  whither  may  I  cast  my  looks  1  to 

heaven  1 

Black  pitchy  clouds  from  thence  rain  down  revenge. 
The  earth  shall  I  behold,  stain'd  with  the  gore 
Of  his  heart-blood,  that  died  most  innocent  ? 
Which  way  soe'er  I  turn  mine  eyes,  methinks 
His  butcher'd  corpse  stands  staring  in  my  face. 

CHORUS  3.  We  humbly  pray  thee  to  forbear 

these  words, 

So  full  of  terror  to  our  maiden  hearts  : 
"  The  dread  of  things  unknown  breeds  the  suspect 
Of  greater  dread,  until  the  worst  be  known." 
Tell  therefore  what  hath  chanc'd,  and  whereunto 
This  bloody  cup  thou  boldest  in  thy  hand. 

RENUCHIO.  Since  so  is  your  request,  that  I  shall 

do, 

Although  my  mind  so  sorrowful  a  thing 
Repines  to  tell,  and  though  my  voice  eschews 
To  say  what  I  have  seen ;  yet  since  your  will 
So  fixed  stands  to  hear  for  what  I  rue, 
Your  great  desires  I  shall  herein  fulfil. 
Fast  by  Salerne  city,  amids  the  plain, 
There  stands  a  hill  whose  bottom,  huge  and  round. 
Thrown  out  in  breadth,  a  large  space  doth  contain ; 
And  gathering  up  in  height,  small  from  the  ground, 
Still  less  and  less  it  mounts  :  there  sometime  wa£ 
A  goodly  tower  uprear'd,  that  flower'd  in  fame 
While  fate  and  fortune  serv'd  ;  but  time  doth  pass, 
And  with  his  sway  suppresseth  all  the  same  : 
For  now  the  walls  be  even'd  with  the  plain, 
And  all  the  rest  so  foully  lies  defac'd, 
As  but  the  only  shade  doth  there  remain 
Of  that,  which  there  was  built  in  time  forepass'd  : 
And  yet  that  shows  what  worthy  work  tofore 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

Hath  there  been  rear'd.    One  parcel  of  that  tower1 
Yet  stands,  which  eating  time  could  not  devour  : 
A  strong  turret,  compact  of  stone  and  rock, 
Hugy  without,  but  horrible  within  : 
To  pass  to  which,  by  force  of  handy  stroke, 
A  crooked  strait  is  made,  that  enters  in, 
And  leads  into  this  ugly  loathsome  place. 
Within  the  which,  carved  into  the  ground, 
A  deep  dungeon2  there  runs  of  narrow  space, 
Dreadful  and  dark,  where  never  light  is  found  : 
Into  this  hollow  cave,  by  cruel  hest 
Of  King  Tancred,  were  divers  servants  sent 
To  work  the  horror  of  his  furious  breast, 
Erst  nourish'd  in  his  rage,  and  now  stern  bent 
To  have  the  same  perform'd.     I  woful  man, 
Amongst  the  rest,  was  one  to  do  the  thing, 
That  to  our  charge  so  straitly  did  belong, 
In  sort  as  was  commanded  by  the  king. 
Within  which  dreadful  prison  when  we  came, 
The  noble  County  Palurin,  that  there 


1  Dryden's  translation  of  Boccaccio's  "  Description  of  the 
Cave  "  is  as  follows  : — 

"  Next  the  proud  palace  of  Salerno  stood 
A  Mount  of  rough  ascent,  aud  thick  with  wood. 
Through  this  a  cave  was  dug  with  vast  expence  : 
The  work  it  seem'd  of  some  suspicious  prince. 
Who,  when  abusing  power  with  lawless  might, 
From  public  justice  would  secure  his  flight. 
The  passage  made  by  many  a  winding  way, 
Reach'd  even  the  room  in  which  the  tyrant  lay. 
Fit  for  his  purpose  on  a  lower  floor,       __ 
He  lodged,  whose  issue  was  an  iron  door ; 
From  whence  by  stairs  descending  to  the  ground, 
In  the  blind  grot  a  safe  retreat  he  found. 
Its  outlet  ended  in  a  brake  o'ergrowii 
With  brambles,  choak'd  by  time,  and  now  unknown. 
A  rift  there  was,  which  from  the  mountain's  height 
Convey'd  a  glimm'ring  and  malignant  light, 
A  breathing  place  to  draw  the  damps  away, 
A  twilight  of  an  intercepted  day." 

— "  Sigismonda  and  Guiscardo."    Dryden's  Works,  vol.  iii. 
p.  251. 

2  See  Milton's  "Paradise  Lost,"  Bk.  i.  1.  60. 


TANCRED   AND    GISMUNDA.  70 

Lay  chain'd  in  gyves,1  fast  fetter'd  in  his  bolts, 

Out  of  the  dark  dungeon  we  did  uprear, 

And  hal'd  him  thence  into  a  brighter  place, 

That  gave  us  light  to  work  our  tyranny. 

But  when  I  once  beheld  his  manly  face, 

And  saw  his  cheer,  no  more  appall'd  with  fear 

Of  present  death,  than  he  whom  never  dread 

Did  once  amate  :2  my  heart  abhorred  then 

To  give  consent  unto  so  foul  a  deed  : 

That  wretched  death  should  reave  so  worthy  a  man. 

On  false  fortune  I  cried  with  loud  complaint, 

That  in  such  sort  o'erwhelms  nobility. 

But  he,  whom  never  grief  ne  fear  could  taint, 

1  Fetters  or  chains.      So  in    Beaumont   and   Fletcher's 
"  Beggar's  Bush,"  act  iii.  sc.  4 — 

"  Gyves  I  must  wear,  and  cold  mast  be  my  comfort.1' 
Marston's  "What  You  Will,"  act  ii.  sc.  1 — 

"  Think'st  thou  a  libertine,  an  ungiv'd  beast, 
Scornes  not  the  shackles  of  thy  envious  clogs  ? " 

Milton's  "  Samson  Agonistes,"  1.  1092— 

"  Dost  thou  already  single  me?    I  thought 
Gyves  and  the  mill  had  tam'd  thee." 

See   Dr  Newton's   note   on   the  last  passage ;    and   Mr 
Steevens's  note  on  "  First  Part  of  Henry  IV.,"  act  iv.  sc.  3. 

2  Amate  is  to  daunt  or  confound.     Skinner,  in  his  "  Ety- 
mologicon,''  explains  it  thus  :   "  Perterrefacere,  Attonitum 
reddere,  Obstupefacere,  mente  consternare,  Consilii  inopem 
reddere."     So  in  "  Thule  or  Vertue's  Historic,"  by  Francis 
Ecus,  1598,  sig.  B — 

"  At  last  with  violence  and  open  force. 
They  brake  the  postern  es  of  the  Castle  gate, 
And  entred  spoyling  all  without  remorce, 
Nor  could  old  Sobrin  now  resist  his  fate, 
But  stiffe  with  feare  ev'n  like  a  senceles  corse 
Whom  grisly  terror  doth  so  much  amate, 
He  lyes  supine  upon  his  fatall  bed. 
Expecting  ev'ry  minute  to  be  dead." 

Again,  Ibid.,  sig.  D  — 

"  He  would  forsake  his  choyse,  and  change  his  fate, 
And  leave  her  quite,  and  so  procure  her  woe, 
Faines  that  a  sudden  grief  doth  her  amate, 
Wounded  with  piercing  sicknes'  Ebon  bow." 


80  TANCRED   AND  GISMUNDA. 

With  smiling  cheer  himself  oft  willeth  me 

To  leave  to  plain  his  case,  or  sorrow  make 

For  him ;  for  he  was  far  more  glad  apaid 

Death  to  embrace  thus  for  his  lady's  sake, 

Than  life  or  all  the  joys  of  life,  he  said. 

For  loss  of  life,  quoth  he,  grieves  me  no  more 

Than  loss  of  that  which  I  esteemed  least : 

My  lady's  grief,  lest  she  should  rue  therefore, 

Is  all  the  cause  of  grief  within  my  breast. 

He  pray'd  therefore,  that  we  would  make  report 

To  her  of  those  his  last  words  he  would  say  : 

That,  though  he  never  could  in  any  sort 

Her  gentleness  requite,  nor  never  lay 

Within  his  power  to  serve  her  as  he  would  ; 

Yet  she  possess'd  his  heart  with  hand  and  might. 

To  do  her  all  the  honour  that  he  could. 

This  was  to  him,  of  all  the  joys  that  might 

Revive  his  heart,  the  chiefest  joy  of  all, 

That  to  declare  the  faithful  heart  which  he 

Did  bear  to  her,  fortune  so  well  did  fall, 

That  in  her  love  he  should  both  live  and  die. 

After  these  words  he  stay'd,  and  spake  no  more, 

But  joyfully  beholding  us  each  one, 

His  words  and  cheer  amazed  us  so  sore, 

That  still  we  stood ;  when  forthwith  thereupon  : 

But,  why  slack  you,  quoth  he,  to  do  the  thing 

For  which  you  come?  make  speed,  and  stay  no 

more: 

Perform  your  master's  will.     Now  tell  the  king 
He  hath  his  life,  for  which  he  longed  so  sore  : 
And  with  those  words  himself  with  his  own  hand 
Fast'ned  the  bands  about  his  neck.     The  rest 
Wond'ring  at  his  stout  heart,  astonied l  stand 


1  Astonished.  So  in  "  Euphues  and  his  England,"  p. 
102 — "Philautus,  astonied  at  this  speech,"  &c.  And  again, 
in  the  "Fable  of  Jeronimi,"  by  G.  Gascoigne,  p.  209: 
"When  Ferdinando  (somewhat  astonied  with  hir  strange 


TANCRED  AND    GISMUNDA.  81 

To  see  him  offer  thus  himself  to  death. 

What  stony  breast,  or  what  hard  heart  of  flint 

Would  not  relent  to  see  this  dreary  sight  ? 

So    goodly   a    man,   whom   death    nor  fortune's 

dint 

Could  once  disarm,  murder'd  with  such  despite ; 
And  in  such  sort  bereft,  amidst  the  flowers 
Of  his  fresh  years,  that  ruthful  was  to  seen  : 
"  For  violent  is  death,  when  he  devours 
Young   men    or   virgins,    while    their    years   be 

green." 
Lo !    now    our    servants    seeing    him    take    the 

bands, 

And  on  his  neck  himself  to  make  them  fast ; 
Without  delay  set  to  their  cruel  hands, 
And    sought  to   work    their  fierce    intent   with 

haste. 
They  stretch  the  bloody  bands;  and  when  the 

breath 

Began  to  fail  his  breast,  they  slack'd  again  : 
Thrice  did  they  pull,  and  thrice  they  loosed  him, 
So  did  their  hands  repine  against  their  hearts  : 
And  ofttimes  loosed  to  his  greater  pain. 
"But  date  of  death,  that  fixed  is  so  fast, 
Beyond  his  course  there  may  no  wight  extend ; " 
For  strangled  is  this  noble  Earl  at  last, 
Bereft  of  life,  unworthy  such  an  end. 
CHORUS.  0  damned  deed  ! 
EENUCHIO.  What,  deem  you  this  to  be 

All  the  sad  news  that  I  have  to  unfold  1 
Is  here,  think  you,  end  of  the  cruelty 
That  I  have  seen  7 

CHORUS.  Could  any  heavier  woe 

Be  wrought  to  him,  than  to  destroy  him  so  ? 


speech)  thus  answered."  And  in  "Thieves  Falling  Out," 
£c.,  1615,  by  Rob.  Greene:  "The  gentleman,  astonied  at 
this  strange  metamorphosis  of  his  mistress.'' 

VOL.  VII.  F 


82  TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA. 

EENUCHIO.  What,  think  you  this  outrage  did 

end  so  well  ? 

The  horror  of  the  fact,  the  greatest  grief, 
The  massacre,  the  terror  is  to  tell. 

CHORUS.    Alack !   what  could  be  more  ]    they 

threw  percase 

The  dead  body  to  be  devour' d  and  torn 
Of  the  wild  beasts. 

EENUCHIO.  Would  God  it  had  been  cast  a  savage 

prey 

To  beasts  and  birds  :  but  lo,  that  dreadful  thing 
Which  e'en  the  tiger  would  not  work,  but  to 
Suffice  his  hunger,  that  hath  the  tyrant  king 
Withouten  ruth  commanded  us  to  do, 
Only  to  please  his  wrathful  heart  withal. 
Happy  had  been  his  chance,  too  happy,  alas ! 
If  birds  or  beasts  had  eaten  up  his  corpse, 
Yea,  heart  and  all  within  this  cup  I  bring, 
And  am  constrained  now  unto  the  face 
Of  his  dear  lady  to  present  the  same. 

CHORUS.  What  kind  of  cruelty  is  this  you  name  1 
Declare  forthwith,  and  whereunto  doth  tend 
This  farther  plaint. 

KENUCHIO.  After  his  breath  was  gone, 

Forced  perforce  thus  from  his  panting  breast, 
Straight  they  despoiled  him  ;  and  not  alone 
Contented  with  his  death,  on  the  dead  corpse, 
Which  ravenous  beasts  forbear  to  lacerate, 
Even  upon  this  our  villains  fresh  begun 
To  show  new  cruelty ;  forthwith  they  pierce 
His  naked  belly,  and  unripp'd  it  so, 
That  out  the  bowels  gush'd.     Who  can  rehearse 
Their  tyranny,  wherewith  my  heart  yet  bleeds  1 
The  warm  entrails  were  torn  out  of  his  breast, 
Within  their  hands  trembling,  not  fully  dead ; 
His  veins  smok'd,  his  bowels  ail-to  reeked, 
Ruthless  were  rent,  and  thrown  about  the  place  : 
All  clottered  lay  the  blood  in  lumps  of  gore, 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  83 

Sprent 1  on  his  corpse,  and  on  his  paled  face ; 

His  trembling  heart,  yet  leaping,  out  they  tore, 

And  cruelly  upon  a  rapier 

They  fix'd  the  same,  and  in  this  hateful  wise 

Unto  the  king  this  heart  they  do  present : 

A  sight  long'd  for  to  feed  his  ireful  eyes. 

The  king  perceiving  each  thing  to  be  wrought 

As  he  had  will'd,  rejoicing  to  behold 

Upon  the  bloody  sword  the  pierced  heart, 

He  calls  then  for  this  massy  cup  of  gold, 

Into  the  which  the  woful  heart  he  cast ; 

And  reaching  me  the  same  :  now  go,  quoth  he, 

Unto  my  daughter,  and  with  speedy  haste 

Present  her  this,  and  say  to  her  from  me, 

Thy  father  hath  here  in  this  cup  thee  sent 

That  thing  to  joy  and  comfort  thee  withal, 

Which  thou  lovedst  best,  even  as  thou  wert  content 

To  comfort  him  with  his  chief  joy  of  all. 

CHORUS.  O  hateful  fact !  0  passing  cruelty  ! 
O  murder  wrought  with  too  much  hard  despite  ! 
O  heinous  deed,  which  no  posterity 
Will  once  believe  ! 

KENUCHIO.  Thus  was  Earl  Palurin 

Strangled  unto  the  death,  yea,  after  death 
His  heart  and  blood  disbowell'd  from  his  breast. 
But  what  availeth  plaint  ?  It  is  but  breath 
Fore  wasted  all  in  vain.     Why  do  I  rest 
Here  in  this  place  1     Why  go  I  not,  and  do 
The  hateful  message  to  my  charge  committed  1 
0,  were  it  not  that  I  am  forced  thereto 

1  Sprent  is   sprinkled.       So  in    Spenser's    "Shepherd's 
Calendar,"  December — 

"My  head  besprent  with  hoary  frost  I  find." 
And  Fairfax's  "Tasso,"  cant.  xii.  st.  101— 

"  His  silver  locks  with  dust  he  foul  besprent." 
Again  in  Milton's  "  Comus,"  1.  542 — 

"Of  knot  grass  dew  besprent." 


84  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

By  a  king's  will,  here  would  I  stay  my  feet, 
Ne  one  whit  farther  wade  in  this  intent ! 
But  I  must  yield  me  to  my  prince's  hest ; 
Yet  doth  this  somewhat  comfort  mine  unrest, 
I  am  resolv'd  her  grief  not  to  behold, 
But  get  me  gone,  my  message  being  told. 
Where  is  the  princess'  chamber  ? 
CHORUS.  Lo,  where  she  comes. 


ACT  V.,  SCENE  2. 

GlSMUND  cometh  out  of  her  chamber,  to  whom 
RENUCHIO  delivereth  his  cup,  saying  : 

RENUCHIO.  Thy  father,  0  queen,  here  in  this 

cup  hath  sent 

The  thing  to  joy  and  comfort  thee  withal 
Which  thou  lovedst  best,  even  as  thou  wast  content 
To  comfort  him  with  his  chief  joy  of  all. 

GISMUNDA.  I  thank  my  father,  and  thee,  gentle 

squire, 

For  this  thy  travail ;  take  thou,  for  thy  pains, 
This  bracelet,  and  commend  me  to  the  king. 

[RENUCHIO  departeth. 
So,  now  is  come  the  long-expected  hour, 
The  fatal  hour  I  have  so  looked  for ; 
Now  hath  my  father  satis~fied  his  thirst 
With  guiltless  blood,  which  he  so  coveted. 
What  brings  this  cup  ?  Ah  me  !  I  thought  no  less, 
It  is  mine  Earl's,  my  County's  pierced  heart. 
Dear  heart,  too  dearly  hast  thou  bought  my  love  ; 
Extremely  rated  at  too  high  a  price  ! 
Ah,  my  sweet  heart,  sweet  wast  thou  in  thy  life, 
But  in  thy  death  thou  provest  passing  sweet. 
A  fitter  hearse  than  this  of  beaten  gold 
Could  not  be  'lotted  to  so  good  an  heart : 
My  father  therefore  well  provided  thus 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  85 

To  close  and  wrap  thee  up  in  massy  gold, 

And  therewithal  to  send  thee  unto  me, 

To  whom  of  duty  thou  dost  best  belong. 

My  father  hath  in  all  his  life  bewray'd 

A  princely  care  and  tender  love  to  me  ; 

But  this  surpasseth — in  his  later  days 

To  send  me  this,  mine  own  dear  heart,  to  me. 

Wert  thou  not  mine,  dear  heart,  whilst  that  my 

love 

Danced  and  play'd  upon  thy  golden  strings  ? 
Art  thou  not  mine,  dear  heart,  now  that  my  love 
Is  fled  to  heaven,  and  got  him  golden  wings  ? 
Thou  art  mine  own,  and  still  mine  own  shalt  be, 
Therefore  my  father  sendeth  thee  to  me. 
Ah,  pleasant  harborough l  of  my  heart's  thought ! 
Ah,  sweet  delight,  the  quickener  of  my  soul ! 
Seven  times  accursed  be  the  hand  that  wrought 
Thee  this  despite,  to  mangle  thee  so  foul : 
Yet  in  this  wound  I  see  mine  own  true  love, 
And  in  this  wound  thy  magnanimity, 
And  in  this  wound  I  see  thy  constancy. 
Go,  gentle  heart,  go  rest  thee  in  thy  tomb, 
Receive  this  token  at  thy  last  farewell. 

[She  kissetk  it. 

Thine  own  true  heart  anon  will  follow  thee, 
Which  panting  lusteth 2  for  thy  company. 
Thus  hast  thou  run,  poor  heart !  thy  mortal  race, 
And  rid  thy  life  from  fickle  fortune's  snares  ; 
Thus  hast  thou  lost  this  world  and  worldly  cares, 
And  of  thy  foe,  to  honour  thee  withal, 
Receiv'd  a  golden  grave  to  thy  desert. 
Nothing  doth  want  to  thy  just  funeral, 
But  my  salt  tears  to  wash  thy  bloody  wound  : 
Which  to  the  end  thou  might'st  receive,  behold 
My  father  sends  thee  in  this  cup  of  gold ; 
And  thou  shalt  have  them,  though  I  was  resolv'd 

1  Harbour.  2  [Old  copy,  hasteth.] 


86  TANCRED   AND  GISMUNDA. 

To  shed  no  tears,  but  with  a  cheerful  face 
Once  did  I  think  to  wet  thy  funeral 
Only  with  blood  and  with  no  weeping  eye. 
This  done,  forthwith  my  soul  shall  fly  to  thee  ; 
For  therefore  did  my  father  send  thee  me. 
Ah,  my  pure  heart !  with  sweeter  company 
Or  more  content,  how  safer  may  I  prove 
To  pass  to  places  all  unknown  with  thee  ! 
Why  die  I  not  therefore  1  why  do  I  stay  1 
Why  do  I  not  this  woful  life  forego, 
And  with  these  hands  enforce  this  breath  away  ? 
What  means  this  gorgeous  glittering  head-attire  ? 
How  ill  beseem  these  billaments l  of  gold 
Thy  mournful  widowhood  1  away  with  them — 

\She  undresseth  her  hair 
So  let  thy  tresses,  flaring  in  the  wind, 
Untrimmed  hang  about  thy  bared  neck. 
Now,  hellish  furies,  set  my  heart  on  fire, 
Bolden  my  courage,  strengthen  ye  my  hands, 
Against  their  kind,  to  do  a  kindly  deed. 
But  shall  I  then  unwreaken  2  down  descend  1 


1  Habiliments,  S.P. 

2  Unrevenged.     [The  more  correct  form  would  be  un- 
wroken.']     So  in   Ben    Jonson's    "Every   Man   out   of  his 
Humour,"  act  ii.  sc.  4 — 

"  Would  to  heaven, 

In  wreak  of  my  misfortunes,  I  were  turn'd 
To  some  fair  water  nymph." 

In  "Sejanus  his  Fall,"  act  iv. — 

"  Made  to  speak 
What  they  will  have  to  fit  their  tyrannous  wreak. 

In  Massinger's  "  Fatal  Dowry,"  act  iv.  sc.  4 — 

"But  there's  a  heaven  above,  from  whose  just  tcreak 
No  mists  of  policy  can  hide  offenders." 

In  his  "Very  "Woman,"  act  i. 

"  And  our  just  wreak,  by  force  or  cunning  practice 
With  scorn  prevented." 

See  also  Mr  Steevens's  note  on  "Coriolanus,"  act  iv.  sc.  5, 
^Mx>riamur  in ultce?" — Virgil's  "JSneid,"  lib.  iv. — Steeven*. 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  87 

Shall  I  not  work  some  just  revenge  on  him 

That  thus  hath  slain  my  love?    shall   not  these 

hands 

Fire  his  gates,  and  make  the  flame  to  climb 
Up  to  the  pinnacles  with  burning  brands, 
And  on  his  cinders  wreak  my  cruel  teen l  !\ 
Be  still,  fond  girl ;  content  thee  first  to  die, 
This  venom'd  water  shall  abridge  thy  life  : 

[She  taJceth  a  vial  of  poison  out  of  her  pocket. 
This  for  the  same  intent  provided  I, 
Which  can  both  ease  and  end  this  raging  strife. 
Thy  father  by  thy  death  shall  have  more  woe, 
Than  fire  or  flames  within  his  gates  can  bring : 
Content  thee  then  in  patience  hence  to  go, 
Thy  death  his  blood  shall  wreak  upon  the  king. 
Now  not  alone  (a  grief  to  die  alone) 
"  The  only  mirror  of  extreme  annoy ; " 
But  not  alone  thou  diest,  my  love,  for  I 
Will  be  copartner  of  thy  destiny. 
Be  merry  then,  my  soul ;  can'st  thou  refuse 
To  die  with  him,  that  death  for  thee  did  choose  1 

CHORUS  1.  What  damned  fury  hath  possessed 

our  Queen  1 

Why  sit  we  still  beholding  her  distress  ? 
Madam,  forbear,  suppress  this  headstrong  rage. 

GISMUNDA.  Maidens,  forbear  your  comfortable 
words. 

CHORUS  2.  O  worthy  Queen,  rashness  doth  over- 
throw 
The  author  of  his  resolution. 


1  Sorrow.    Again,  act  v.  sc.  3 — 

"  His  death,  her  woe,  and  her  avenging  teen." 
And  in  Shakespeare's  "Venus  and  Adonis  " — 

"  More  I  could  tell,  but  more  I  dare  not  say, 
The  text  is  old,  the  orator  too  green. 
Therefore  in  sadness  now  I  will  away, 
My  face  is  full  of  shame,  my  heart  of  teen.' 


88  TANCRED  AND  GISMUNDA. 

GISMUNDA.  Where  hope  of  help  is  lost,  what 

booteth  fear  1 

CHORUS  3.  Fear  will  avoid  the  sting  of  infamy. 
GISMUNDA.   May  good  or  bad  reports  delight 

the  dead? 
CHORUS  4.  If  of  the  living  yet  the  dead  have 

care. 
GISMUNDA.   An  easy  grief  by  counsel  may  be 

cur'd. 
CHORUS  1.    But  headstrong  mischiefs  princes 

should  avoid. 

GISMUNDA.  In  headlong  griefs  and  cases  des- 
perate 1 
CHORUS  2.  Call  to  your  mind,  Gismund,  you 

are  the  Queen. 

GISMUNDA.  Unhappy  widow,  wife,   and   para- 
mour. 

CHORUS  3.  Think  on  the  king. 
GISMUNDA.  The  king,  the  tyrant  king  1 

CHORUS  4.  Your  father. 

GISMUNDA.          Yes,  the  murtherer  of  my  love. 
CHORUS  4.  His  force. 

GISMUNDA.  The  dead  fear  not  the  force  of  men. 
CHORUS  1.  His  care  and  grief. 
GISMUNDA.  That  neither  car'd  for  me, 

Nor  grieved  at  the  murther  of  my  love. 
My  mind  is  settled ;  you  with  these  vain  words 
Withhold  me  but  too  long  from  my  desire. 
Depart  ye  to  my  chamber. 

CHORUS.  We  will  haste 

To  tell  the  king  hereof. 

[CHORUS  depart  into  the  palace. 
GISMUNDA  I  will  prevent 

Both  you  and  him.     Lo,  here  this  hearty  draught, 
The  last  that  in  this  world  I  mean  to  taste, 
Dreadless  of  death,  mine  Earl,  I  drink  to  thee. 
So  now  work  on ;  now  doth  my  soul  begin 
To  hate  this  light,  wherein  there  is  no  love ; 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  89 

No  love  of  parents  to  their  children  ; 
No  love  of  princes  to  their  subjects  true ; 
No  love  of  ladies  to  their  dearest  loves  : 
Now  pass  I  to  the  pleasant  land  of  love, 
Where  heavenly  love  immortal  flourisheth. 
The  gods  abhor  the  company  of  men ; 
Hell  is  on  earth ;  yea,  hell  itself  is  heaven 
Compar'd  with  earth.     I  call  to  witness  heaven  ; 
Heaven,  said  I  ?     No ;  hell l  record  I  call, 
And  thou,  stern  goddess  of  revenging  wrongs, 
Witness  with  me,  I  die  for  his  pure  love. 
That  lived  mine. 
[She  lieth  down,  and  comreth  her  face  ivith  her  hair. 


ACT  V.,  SCENE  3. 

TANCRED  in  haste  cometh  out  of  his  palace 
with  JULIO. 

TANCRED.  Where  is  my  daughter  ? 

JULIO.  Behold,  here,  woful  king ! 

TANCRED.  Ah  me  !    break,  heart  •  and  thou,  fly 

forth,  my  soul. 

What,  doth  my  daughter  Gismund  take  it  so  ? 
What  hast  thou  done  ?     0,  let  me  see  thine  eyes  ! 
0,  let  me  dress  up  those  untrimmed  locks  ! 2 
Look  up,  sweet  child,  look  up,  mine  only  joy, 
'Tis  I,  thy  father,  that  beseecheth  thee  : 


1  [Old  copy,  but  hell] 

2  [Untrimmed  locks  are  locks  dishevelled   or  undressed. 
Trim,  in  the  language  of  the  times,  was  frequently  used 
for  dress.    So  in  Massinger's  "Emperor  of  the  East,"  act 
ii.  sc.  1 — 

"Our  Eastern  queens,  at  their  full  height  bow  to  thee, 
And  are,  in  their  best  trim,  thy  foils  and  shadows." 

See  also  Mr  Steevens's  note  on  "King  John,"  act  iii.  sc.  3. 


90  TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA. 

Rear  up  thy  body,  strain  thy  dying  voice 

To  speak  to  him  ;  sweet  Gismund,  speak  to  me. 

GISMUNDA.  Who  stays  my  soul  1  who  thus  dis- 
quiets me  ? 

TANCRED.  Tis  I,  thy  father ;  ah !  behold  my 

tears, 

Like  pearled  dew,  that  trickle  down  my  cheeks, 
To  wash  my  silver  hairs. 

GISMUNDA.  0  father  king, 

Forbear  your  tears,  your  plaint  will  not  avail. 

TANCRED.  0  my  sweet  heart,  hast  thou  receiv'd 

thy  life 

From  me,  and  wilt  thou,  to  requite  the  same, 
Yield  me  my  death  1  yea,  death,  and  greater  grief — 
To  see  thee  die  for  him,  that  did  defame 
Thine  honour  thus,  my  kingdom,  and  thy  name  ? 

GISMUNDA.  Yea,  therefore,  father,  gave  you  life 

to  me, 

That  I  should  die,  and  now  my  date  is  done. 
As  for  your  kingdom  and  mine  own  renown, 
Which  you  affirm  dishonoured  to  be, 
That  fault  impute  it  where  it  is  ;  for  he, 
That  slew  mine  Earl,  and  sent  his  heart  to  me, 
His  hands  have  brought  this  shame  and  grief  on  us. 
But,  father,  yet  if  any  spark  remain 
Of  your  dear  love ;  if  ever  yet  I  could 
So  much  deserve,  or  at  your  hands  desire, 
Grant  that  I  may  obtain  this  last  request. 

TANCRED.  Say,  lovely  child,  say  on,  whate'er  it 

be, 
Thy  father  grants  it  willingly  to  thee. 

GISMUNDA.  My  life  I  crave  not,  for  it  is  not  now 
In  you  to  give,  nor  in  myself  to  save  ; 
Nor  crave  I  mercy  for  mine  Earl  and  me, 
Who  hath  been  slain  with  too  much  cruelty, 
With  patience  I  must  a  while  abide 
Within  this  life,  which  now  will  not  be  long. 
But  this  is  my  request— father,  I  pray 


TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA.  91 

That,  since  it  pleased  so  your  majesty, 
I  should  enjoy  my  love  alive  no  more, 
Yet  ne'ertheless  let  us  not  parted  be, 
Whom  cruel  death  could  never  separate  : 
But  as  we  liv'd  and  died  together  here, 
So  Jet  our  bodies  be  together  tomb'd  : 
Let  him  with  me,  and  I  with  him,  be  laid 
Within  one  shrine,  wherever  you  appoint. 
This  if  you  grant  me,  as  I  trust  you  will, 
Although  I  live  not  to  requite  this  grace, 
Th'  immortal  gods  due  recompense  shall  give 
To  you  for  this  :  and  so,  vain  world,  farewell — 
My  speech  is  painful,  and  mine  eyesight  fails. 
TANCRED.  My  daughter  dies — see  how  the  bitter 

pangs 

Of  tyrannous  death  torments  her  princely  heart ! 
She  looks  on  me,  at  me  she  shakes  her  head ; 
For  me  she  groans ;  by  me  my  daughter  dies ; 
I,  I  the  author  of  this  tragedy. — 
On  me,  on  me,  ye  heavens,  throw  down  your  ire  ! 
Now   dies   my   daughter !    [she   dies]    hence   with 

princely  robes  !          [He  throws  aside  his  roles. 

0  fair  in  life  !  thrice  fairer  in  thy  death  ! 
Dear  to  thy  father  in  thy  life  thou  wert, 
But  in  thy  death  dearest  unto  his  heart ; 

1  kiss  thy  paled  cheeks,  and  close  thine  eyes. 
This  duty  once  I  promis'd  to  myself 

Thou  shouldst  perform  to  me ;  but  ah  !  false  hope, 

Now  ruthful,  wretched  king,  what  resteth  thee  ? 

Wilt  thou  now  live  wasted  with  misery  ? 

Wilt  thou  now  live,  that  with  these  eyes  didst  see 

Thy  daughter  dead  ?  wilt  thou  now  live  to  see 

Her  funerals,  that  of  thy  life  was  stay  1 

Wilt  thou  now  live  that  wast  her  life's  decay  ? 

Shall  not  this  hand  reach  to  this  heart  the  stroke  ? 

Mine  arms  are  not  so  weak,  nor  are  my  limbs 

So  feebled  with  mine  age,  nor  is  my  heart 

So  daunted  with  the  dread  of  cowardice, 


92  TANCRED  AND   GISMUNDA. 

But  I  can  wreak  due  vengeance  on  that  head, 
That  wrought  the  means  these  lovers  now  be  dead. 
Julio,  come  near,  and  lay  thine  own  right  hand 
Upon  my  thigh  l — now  take  thine  oath  of  me. 

JULIO.  I  swear  to  tliee,  my  liege  lord,  to  dis- 
charge 
AVhatever  thou  enjoinest  Julio. 

TANCRED.   First,  then,  I  charge  thee  that  my 

daughter  have 

Her  last  request :  thou  shalt  within  one  tomb 
Inter  her  Earl  and  her,  and  thereupon 
Engrave  some  royal  epitaph  of  love. 
That  done,  I  swear  thee  thou  shalt  take  my  corpse 
Which  thou  shalt  find  by  that  time  done  to  death, 
And  lay  my  body  by  my  daughter's  side — 
Swear  this,  swear  this,  I  say. 

JULIO.  I  swear. 

But  will  the  king  do  so  unkingly  now  1 

TANCRED.  A  kingly  deed  the  king  resolves  to  do. 

JULIO.  To  kill  himself  ? 

TANCRED.  To  send  his  soul  to  ease. 

JULIO.  Doth  Jove  command  it  1 

TANCRED.  Our  stars  compel  it. 

JULIO.  The  wise  man  overrules  his  stars. 

TANCRED.  So  we.     • 

JULIO.    Undaunted  should  the  minds  of  kings 
endure. 

TANCRED.  So  shall  it  in  this  resolution. 


1  Alluding  to  a  custom  of  which  mention  is  made  in 
Genesis,  chap.  xxiv.  9 — "And  the  servant  put  his  hand 
under  the  thigh  of  Abraham  his  master,  and  sware  to  him 
concerning  that  matter."  The  same  form  was  likewise  ob- 
served by  Jacob  and  Joseph  when  they  were  dying.  Some 
mystery  is  supposed  to  be  couched  under  this  practice.  The 
most  probable,  at  least  the  most  decent,  supposition  is,  that 
it  was  a  token  of  subjection  or  homage  from  a  servant  to 
his  lord,  when  the  former  solemnly  promised  to  perform 
whatever  should  be  commanded  by  the  latter. — Sleevens. 


TANCRED   AND   GISMUNDA.  93 

Julio,  forbear  :  and  as  thou  lov'st  the  king, 

When  thou  shalt  see  him  welt'ring  in  his  gore, 

Stretching  his  limbs,  and  gasping  in  his  groans, 

Then,  Julio,  set  to  thy  helping  hand, 

Redouble  stroke  on  stroke,  and  drive  the  stab 

Down  deeper  to  his  heart,  to  rid  his  soul. 

Now  stand  aside,  stir  not  a  foot,  lest  thou 

Make  up  the  fourth  to  fill  this  tragedy. 

These  eyes  that  first  beheld  my  daughter's  shame ; 

These  eyes  that  longed  for  the  ruthful  sight 

Of  her  Earl's  heart ;  these  eyes  that  now  have  seen 

His  death,  her  woe,  and  her  avenging  teen ; 

Upon  these  eyes  we  must  be  first  aveng'd. 

Unworthy  lamps  of  this  accursed  lump, 

Out  of  your  dwellings  !    [Puts  out  his  eyes]    So  ;  it 

fits  us  thus 

In  blood  and  blindness  to  go  seek  the  path 
That  leadeth  down  to  everlasting  night. 
Why  fright'st  thou,  dastard  1  be  thou  desperate  ; 
One  mischief  brings  another  on  his  neck, 
As  mighty  billows  tumble  in  the  seas, 
Now,  daughter,  seest  thou  not  how  I  amerce 
My  wrath,  that  thus  bereft  thee  of  thy  love, 
Upon  my  head  1     Now,  fathers,  learn  by  me, 
Be  wise,  be  warn'd  to  use  more  tenderly 
The  jewels  of  your  joys.     Daughter,  I  come. 

[Kills  himself. 


FINIS. 


EPILOGUE. 

SPOKEN   BY   JULIO. 

Lo  here  the  sweets  of  grisly  pale  despair  ! 

These  are  the  blossoms  of  this  cursed  tree, 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  too  much  love  and  care, 

Overwhelmed  in  the  sense  of  misery. 

With  violent  hands  he  that  his  life  doth  end, 

His  damned  soul  to  endless  night  doth  wend. 

Now  resteth  it  that  I  discharge  mine  oath, 

To  see  th'  unhappy  lovers  and  the  king 

Laid  in  one  tomb.     I  would  be  very  loth 

You  should  wait  here  to  see  this  mournful  thing  : 

For  I  am  sure,  and  do  ye  all  to  wit, 

Through  grief  wherein  the  lords  of  Salerne  be, 

These  funerals  are  not  prepared  yet : 

Nor  do  they  think  on  that  solemnity. 

As  for  the  fury,  ye  must  understand, 

Now  she  hath  seen  th'  effect  of  her  desire, 

She  is  departed,  and  hath  left  our  land. 

Granting  this  end  unto  her  hellish  ire. 

Now  humbly  pray  we,  that  our  English  dames 

May  never  lead  their  loves  into  mistrust ; 

But  that  their  honours  may  avoid  the  shames, 

That  follow  such  as  live  in  wanton  lust. 

We  know  they  bear  them  on  their  virtues  bold, 

With  blissful  chastity  so  well  content 

That,  when  their  lives  and  loves  abroad  are  told, 

All  men  admire  their  virtuous  government ; 

Worthy  to  live  where  fury  never  came, 


96  EPILOGUE. 

Worthy  to  live  where  love  doth  always  see, 
Worthy  to  live  in  golden  trump  of  fame, 
Worthy  to  live  and  honoured  still  to  be. 
Thus  end  our  sorrows  with  the  setting  sun  : 
Now  draw  the  curtains,  for  our  scene  is  done. 


R  W. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR 


! 


VOL.  VII. 


EDITION. 

The  Wounds  of  Civill  War,  Lively  set  forth  in  the  true 
Tragedies  of  Marius  and  Scitta.  As  it  hath  beene 
publiquely  plaide  in  London,  by  the  Right  Honourable 
the  Lord  high  Admirall  his  Servants.  Written  by 
Thomas  Lodge,  Gent.  0  vita !  misero  longa,  fselici 
brevis.  London,  Printed  by  John  Danter,  and  are  to 
le  sold  at  the  signe  of  the  Sunne  in  Paules  Church- 
yarde.  1594.  4to. 


[MR   COLLIER'S    PREFACE.1] 


THOMAS  LODGE,  in  his  "Alarum  against  Usurers/ 
1584,  speaks  of  his  "birth,"  and  of  "the  offspring  from 
whence  he  came,"  as  if  he  were  at  least  respectably 
descended  ;  and  on  the  authority  of  Anthony  Wood,  it 
has  been  asserted  by  all  subsequent  biographers  that 
he  was  of  a  Lincolnshire  family.  [The  fact  is,  that 
Lodge  was  the  second  son  of  Sir  Thomas  Lodge,  Lord 
Mayor  of  London,  who  died  in  1584,  by  his  wife,  the 
daughter  of  Sir  William  Laxton.]  Thomas  Salter,  about 
the  year  1580,  dedicated  his  "Mirror  of  Modesty7'  to 
[the  poet's  mother,  Lady  Anne  Lodge]. 

Langbaine  seems  to  be  under  a  mistake  wrhen  he 
states  that  Lodge  was  of  Cambridge.  Wood  claims 
him  for  the  University  of  Oxford,2  where  he  traces 
him  as  early  as  1573,  when  he  must  have  been  about 
seventeen  years  old,  if  he  were  born,  as  is  generally 
supposed,  in  1556.  We  are  told  by  himself  that  he  was 

1  [The  following  account  of  Lodge  and  his  works  is  very 
imperfect.      See  the  Shakespeare  Society  volume,    1853, 
containing  much  fuller  particulars.] 

2  In  the  "  Epistle  of  England  to  her  Three  Daughters," 
in  Clarke's   "  Polimanteia,"  1595,  Lodge  is  spoken  of  as 
belonging  to  Oxford.— Collier. 


100  MR  COLLIER'S  PREFACE. 

a  Servitor  of  Trinity  College,  and  that  he  was  edu- 
cated under  Sir  Edward  Hoby.  At  what  time  and 
for  what  cause  Lodge  left  Oxford  is  not  known  ;  but 
Stephen  Gosson,  in  the  dedication  of  his  "  Plays  Con- 
futed in  Five  Actions,"  printed  about  1582,1  accuses 
him  of  having  become  "  a  vagrant  person,  visited  by 
the  heavy  hand  of  God,"  as  if  he  had  taken  to  the 
stage,  and  thereby  had  incurred  the  vengeance  of 
heaven.  In  1584,  when  Lodge  answered  Gosson,  he 
was  a  student  of  Lincoln's  Inn  ; 2  and  to  "  his  courteous 
friends,  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Inns  of  Court,"  he  dedi- 
cated his  "  Alarum  against  Usurers."  He  afterwards, 
as  he  informs  Lord  Hunsdon,  in  the  epistle  before  his 
"  Rosalynde,  1590,  "fell  from  books  to  arms  ;"  and  he 
calls  it  "  the  work  of  a  soldier  and  a  scholar,"  adding 
that  he  had  sailed  with  Captain  Clarke  to  the  islands 
of  Terceras  and  the  Canaries.  In  1596,  he  published 
his  "  Margarite  of  America,"  and  he  mentions  that  it 
was  written  in  the  Straits  of  Magellan,  on  a  voyage 
with  Cavendish.  To  this  species  of  vagrancy,  however, 
Gosson  did  not  refer. 

That  Lodge  was  vagrant  in  his  pursuits  we  have 
sufficient'  evidence ;  for,  after  having  perhaps  been 
upon  the  stage,  having  entered  himself  at  Lincoln's 
Inn,  having  become  a  soTdier,  and  having  sailed  with 
Clarke  and  Cavendish,  he  went,  according  to  Wood,  to 


1  Mr  Malone  ("Shakespeare,"  by  Boswell,  iii.  40,  note  9) 
says  that  it  was  printed  about  1580  ;  but  Lodge  himself, 
writing  in  1584,  speaks  of  Gosson's  "Plays  Confuted,"  as 
written  "  about  two  years  since." 

2  "  Scilla's  Metamorphosis,"  1589;  "  Diogenes  in  his  Singu- 
larity," 1591;    and   "A   Fig  for  Momus,"   1595,   are  all 
stated  to  be  by  T.  L.,  .or  Thomas  Lodge,  of  Lincoln's  Inn, 
Gentleman. 


MR  COLLIER'S  PREFACE.  101 

study  medicine  at  Avignon.1  This  change,  if  it  took 
place  at  all,  which  may  admit  of  doubt,2  did  not  occur 
until  after  1596.  In  1595  his  "  Fig  for  Momus  "  ap- 
peared. Besides  Satires,  it  contains  Epistles  and 
Eclogues ;  and  in  one  of  the  latter  Lodge  speaks  in 
his  own  person,  under  the  character  of  "  Golde "  (the 
same  letters  that  compose  his  name),  and  there  states 
his  determination  no  longer  to  pursue  ill-rewarded 
poetry — 

"  Which  sound  rewards,  since  this  neglected  time, 
Repines  to  yield  to  men  of  high  desert, 
I'll  cease  to  ravel  out  my  wits  in  rhyme, 
For  such  who  make  so  base  account  of  art ; 
And  since  by  wit  there  is  no  means  to  climb, 
I'll  hold  the  plough  awhile,  and  ply  the  cart ; 
And  if  my  muse  to  wonted  course  return, 
I'll  write  and  judge,  peruse,  commend  and  burn." 

The  dedication  of  his  "Wit's  Misery,  and  the  World's 
Madness,"  is  dated  "  from  my  house,  at  Low  Layton, 
5th  November  1596." 

The  principal  reasons  for  supposing  that  Lodge  studied 
medicine  are  the  existence  of  a  "  Treatise  of  the  Plague," 
published  by  "Thomas  Lodge,  Doctor  in  Physic,"  in 
1603,  and  of  a  collection  of  medical  recipes  in  MS., 
called  "The  Poor  Man's  Legacy,"  addressed  to  the 
Countess  of  Arundel,  and  sold  among  the  books  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk.3  [There  can  be  little  or  no  question 

1  A  French  sonnet  by  Thomas  Lodge  is  prefixed  to  Robert 
Greene's  "  Spanish  Masquerade."     He  has  also  some  French 
verses  in  "Rosalynde." 

2  The  lines  upon  Lodge  in    "The  Return  from   Par- 
nassus," 1606,  would  show  that  it  did  occur  : — 

"  He  that  turns  over  Galen  every  day, 

To  sit  and  simper  '  Euphues'  Legacy,'  "  Ac. 
— Collier. 


[Afterwards  purchased  by  Mr  Collier.] 


102  MR  COLLIER'S  PREFACE. 

that  the  physician  and  poet  were  one  and  the  same.  In 
"  England's  Parnassus,"  1600,  he  is  called  indifferently 
Thomas  Lodge  and  Doctor  Lodge.]  The  author  of  the 
"  Treatise  of  the  Plague  "  expressly  tells  the  Lord  Mayor 
of  London,  in  the  dedication,  that  he  was  "  bred  and 
brought  up"  in  the  city.  Thomas  Hey  wood,  in  his 
"Troja  Britannica,"  1609,  enumerates  the  celebrated 
physicians  then  living — 

<(  As  famous  Butler,  Pedy,  Turner,  Poe, 
Atkinson,  Lyster,  Lodge,  who  still  survive." — C.  3. 

It  hardly  deserves  remark  that  Lodge  is  placed  last 
in  this  list ;  but  had  he  been  the  same  individual  who 
had  written  for  the  stage,  was  the  friend  of  so  many 
dramatists,  and  was  so  well  known  as  a  lyric  poet,  it 
seems  likely  that  Heywood  would  have  said  more  about 
him. I  It  is  a  singular  coincidence,  that  having  written 
how  to  prevent  and  cure  the  plague,  he  should  die  of 
that  disease  during  the  great  mortality  of  1625.  Wood's 
expressions  on  this  point,  however,  are  not  decisive  : 
"  He  made  his  last  exit  (of  the  plague,  I  think)  in  Sep- 
tember 1625,  leaving  then  behind  him  a  widow  called 
Joan."  It  has  been  conjectured  [rather  foolishly]  that 
he  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  from  a  statement  made  by 
one  of  his  biographers  that,  while  he  practised  medicine 
in  London,  he  was  much  patronised  by  persons  of  that 
persuasion. 

1  [This  does  not  appear  quite  to  follow.  In  a  poem, 
"  Upon  London  Physicians,"  written  about  1620,  and  quoted 
in  "Inedited  Poetical  Miscellanies,"  edit.  Hazlitt,  1870, 
sig.  Ff  5,  he  is  mentioned  in  the  same  way,  without  any 
reference  to  his  literary  repute  or  performances.]  It  is  to 
be  observed  in  the  list  of  Lodge's  productions,  that  there 
is  an  interval  between  1596,  when  "  Wit's  Misery  and  the 
World's  Madness"  appeared,  and  1603,  when  the  "Treatise 
of  the  Plague"  was  published. 


MR  COLLIER'S  PREFACE.  103 

There  are  but  two  existing  dramatic  productions  on 
the  title-pages  of  which  the  name  of  Lodge  is  found  :  l 
the  one  he  wrote  alone,  and  the  other  in  partnership 
with  Robert  Greene  : — 

(1.)  The  Wounds  of  Civill  War.  Lively  set  forth  in 
the  true  Tragedies  of  Marius  and  S  cilia,  &c.  Written 
by  Thomas  Lodge,  Gent.  1594,  4to. 

(2.)  A  Looking  Glasse  for  London  and  Englande. 
Made  by  Thomas  Lodge,  Gentleman,  and  Robert 
Greene,  in  Artibus  Magister.  1594,  1598,  1602,  1617, 
all  in  4to.2 

The  most  remarkable  [of  his  works],  and  that  which 
has  been  most  often  reprinted,  is  his  "Rosalynde  "  which, 
as  is  well  known,  Shakespeare  closely  followed  in  "  As 
You  Like  It."3 

Anterior  to  the  date  of  any  of  his  other  pieces  must 
have  been  Lodge's  defence  of  stage-plays,  because 
Stephen  Gosson  replied  to  it  about  1582.  It  was  long 
thought,  on  the  authority  of  Prynne,  that  Lodge's  tract 
was  called  "  The  Play  of  Plays,"  but  Mr  Malone  ascer- 
tained that  to  be  a  different  production.  The  only  copy 
of  Lodge's  pamphlet  seen  by  Mr  Malone  was  without  a 


1  Others  have  been  attributed  to  him  in  conjunction  with 
Greene,  but  on  no  sufficient  evidence— viz.,  "  Lady  Alimony," 
not  printed  until  1659  ;  "  The  Laws  of  Nature,"  and  "  The 
Contention  between  Liberality  and  Prodigality,"  1602. 

2  [Reprinted  in  Mr  D}Tce's  editions  of  Greene's  Works, 
1831  and  1861.]    Henslowe  probably  alludes  to  this  play  in 
his  MSS.,  and  if  so,  it  was  acted  as  early  as  1591.    The  fol- 
lowing is  the  entry :  "  R.  (i.e.,  received)  at  the  Looking  Glasse, 
the  8th  of  Marche,  1591,  vij  a."    [See  Mr  Collier's  edit., 
1845,  pp.  23-8.] 

3  [Here  follows  in  the  former  edition  a  list  of  Lodge's 
works,  which  will  be  found  more  fully  and  correctly  given 
in  Hazlitt's  "  Handbook,"  in  v.} 


104  MR  COLLIER'S  PREFACE. 

title,  and  it  was  probably  the  same  that  was  sold  among 
the  books  of  Topham  Beauclerc  in  1781.  It  is  spoken 
of  in  "The  French  Academy"  [1589]  as  having  "lately 
passed  the  press  ;"  but  Lodge  himself,  in  his  "Alarum 
against  Usurers,"  very  clearly  accounts  for  its  extreme 
rarity  :  he  says,  "  by  reason  of  the  slenderness  of  the 
subject  (because  it  was  in  defence  of  plaies  and  play- 
makers)  the  godly  and  reverent  that  had  to  deal  in  the 
cause,  misliking  it,  forbad  the  publishing ; "  and  he 
charges  Gosson  with  "  comming  by  a  private  unperfect 
coppye,"  on  which  he  framed  his  answer,  entitled, 
"  Plays  confuted  in  Five  Actions." 

Mr  Malone  ("  Shakespeare,"  by  Boswell,  ii.  250)  con- 
tends that  Spenser  alludes  to  Lodge,  in  his  "  Tears  of 
the  Muses,"  under  the  name  of  Alcon,  in  the  following 
lines  : — 

"And  there  is  pleasing  Alcon,  could  he  raise 
His  tunes  from  lays  to  matters  of  more  skill ; " 

and  he  adds  that  Spenser  calls  Lodge  Alcon,  from  one 
of  the  characters  in  "  A  Looking  Glasse  for  London  and 
Englande  j"  but  this  argument  would  apply  just  as  much 
to  Lodge's  coadjutor  Greene.  Mr  Malone  further  argues 
that  Lodge,  roused  by  this  applause  (which  he  repaid  in 
his  "  Phillis  "),  produced  not  long  afterwards  a  "  matter 
of  more  skill,"  in  "  The  Wounds  of  Civil  War." 


THE  MOST  LAMENTABLE  AND 

TRUE  TRAGEDIES  OF 
MARIUS   AND    SYLLA.1 


Enter  on  the  Capitol  SULPITIUS,  Tribune,  CAIUS 
MARIUS,  Q.  POMPEY,  Consul,  JUNIUS 
BRUTUS,  LUCRETIUS,  CAIUS  GRANIUS,  LEC- 
TORIUS,  LUCIUS  MERULA,  Jupiter's  Priest, 
and  ClNNA  j  whom  placed,  and  their  Lictors 
before  them  with  their  rods  and  axes,  SULPITIUS 
leginneth. 

SULPITIUS.  Grave  senators,  and  fathers  of  this 

state, 

Our  strange  protractions  and  unkind  delays 
Where  weighty  wars  doth  call  us  out  to  fight, 


1  In  the  course  of  the  incidents  of  this  historical  tragedy, 
Lodge  has  very  much  followed  the  lives  of  Marius  and  Sylla, 
as  given  by  Plutarch  :  he  was  a  scholar,  and  it  was  not 
necessary  therefore  for  him  to  resort  to  Sir  Thomas  North's 
translation  from  the  French,  of  which  Shakespeare  availed 
himself,  and  of  which  there  were  many  editions  subsequent 


106  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Our  factious  wits,  to  please  aspiring  lords, 

(You  see)  have  added  power  unto  our  foes, 

And  hazarded  rich  Phrygia  and  Bithinia, 

With  all  our  Asian  holds  and  cities  too. 

Thus  Sylla  seeking  to  be  general, 

Who  is  invested  in  our  consul's  pall,1 

Hath  forced  murders  in  a  quiet  state  ; 

The  cause  whereof  even  Pompey  may  complain, 

Who,  seeking  to  advance  a  climbing  friend, 

Hath  lost  by  death  a  sweet  and  courteous  son. 

Who  now  in  Asia  but  Mithridates 

Laughs  at  these  fond  dissensions  I  complain  1 

While  we,  in  wrangling  for  a  general, 

Forsake  our  friends,  forestal  our  forward  war, 


to  its  first  appearance  in  1579.  It  is  pretty  evident,  however, 
from  a  comparison  of  a  few  passages  quoted  in  the  notes  in 
the  progress  of  the  play,  that  Lodge  did  employ  this  popular 
work,  although  he  has  varied  some  of  the  events,  and  espe- 
cially the  death  of  Sylla. 

It  is  not,  perhaps,  possible  now  to  settle  the  point  when 
this  tragedy  was  first  represented  on  the  stage,  but  it  was 
most  likely  some  time  before  its  publication  in  1594.  We 
know  that  Lodge  had  written  in  defence  of  the  stage  before 
1582,  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  he  did  so,  because  he  had 
already  written  for  it.  Eobert  Greene,  in  his  "  Groat'sworth 
of  Wit/'  speaks  of  Lodge  as  a  dramatic  poet  in  1592  ;  and 
the  comedy  which  they  wrote  together,  it  is  ascertained, 
was  acted  in  March  1591,  if  not  earlier,  although  it  was  not 
printed  until  three  years  afterwards.  The  versification  of 
"  The  Wounds  of  Civil  War  "  certainly  affords  evidence  that 
it  was  penned  even  before  Marlowe  had  improved  the 
measure  of  dramatic  blank  verse,  which  Shakespeare  per- 
fected :  it  is  heavy,  monotonous,  and  without  the  pauses 
subsequently  introduced;  if  therefore  Lodge  produced  it 
after  Marlowe's  "  Edward  II."  was  brought  out,  he  did  not 
at  least  profit  by  the  example.  All  the  unities  are  set  at 
defiance. 

1  The  "  consul's  pall  "  is  the  consul's  robe.  Thus  Milton 
in  "II  Penseroso"- 

"  Let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  scepter"  d  pall  come  sweeping  by." 

Purple  pall  is  very  commonly  met  with  in  our  old  writers. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  107 

And  leave  our  legions  full  of  dalliance  : 
Waiting  our  idle  wills  at  Capua. 
Fie,  Romans  !  shall  the  glories  of  your  names, 
The  wondrous  beauty  of  this  capitol, 
Perish  through  Sylla's  insolence  and  pride  ; 
As  if  that  Rome  were  robb'd  of  true  renown, 
And  destitute  of  warlike  champions  now  1 
Lo,  here  the  man,  the  rumour  of  whose  fame 
Hath  made  Iberia  tremble  and  submit : 
See  Marius,  that  in  managing  estate, 
Though  many  cares  and  troubles  he  hath  pass'd, 
And  spent  his  youth,  upon  whose  reverend  head 
The  milk-white  pledge  of  wisdom  sweetly  spreads. 
He,  six  times  consul,  fit  for  peace  or  war, 
Sits  drooping  here,  content  to  brook  disgrace, 
Who  glad  to  fight  through  follies  of  his  foes 
Sighs  for  your  shame,  whilst  you  abide  secure. 
And  I  that  see  and  should  recure  these  wrongs, 
Through  Pompey's  late  vacation  and  delay, 
Have  left  to  publish  him  for  general, 
That  merits  better  titles  far  than  these. 
But,  nobles,  now  the  final  day  is  come, 
When  I,  your  tribune,  studying  for  renown, 
Pronounce  and  publish  Marius  general, 
To  lead  our  legions  against  Mithridates, 
And  crave,  grave  fathers,  signs  of  your  content. 
Q.    POMPEY.    Believe   me,  noble   Romans   and 

grave  senators, 

This  strange  election,  and  this  new-made  law 
Will  witness  our  unstable  government, 
And  dispossess  Rome  of  her  empery  : 
For  although  Marius  be  renown'd  in  arms, 
Famous  for  prowess,  and  grave  in  warlike  drifts, 
Yet  may  the  sunshine  of  his  former  deeds 
Nothing  eclipse  our  Sylla's  dignity. 
By  lot  and  by  election  he  was  made 
Chief  general  against  Mithridates, 
And  shall  we  then  abridge  him  of  that  rule  1 


108  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

'Twere  injury  to  Sylla  and  to  Rome  : 
Nor  would  the  height  of  his  all-daring  mind 
Brook  to  the  death  so  vile  and  foul  disgrace. 
J.  BRUTUS.  Why,  Pompey,  as  if  the  senate  had 

not  power 

To  appoint,  dispose,  and  change  their  generals  ! 
Rome  shall  belike  be  bound  to  Sylla's  rule, 
Whose    haughty    pride    and    swelling    thoughts 

puff'd-up 

Foreshows  the  reaching  to  proud  Tarquin's  state. 
Is  not  his  ling'ring  to  our  Roman  loss 
At  Capua,  where  he  braves  it  out  with  feasts, 
Made  known,  think  you,  unto  the  senate  here  ? 
Yes,  Pompey,  yes ;  and  hereof  are  we  sure, 
If  Romans'  state  on  Sylla's  pride  should  lie, 
Rome's  conquests  would  to  Pontus'  regions  fly  ; 
Therefore,  grave  and  renowned  senators, 
(Pillars  that  bear  and  hold  our  rule  aloft, 
You  stately,  true,  and  rich  pyramids) 
Descend  into  the  depth  of  your  estates  ; 
Then  shall  you  find  that  Sylla  is  more  fit 
To  rule  in  Rome  domestical  affairs, 
Than  have  the  conquest  of  Bithinia, 
Which,  if  once  got,  he'll  but  by  death  forego  : 
Therefore  I  say  [let]  Marius  [be]  our  general. 
LUCRETIUS.   So  thus  we  strive  abroad  to  win 

renown, 

And  nought  regard  at  home  our  waning  states. 
Brutus,  I  say,  the  many  brave  exploits, 
The  warlike  acts  that  Sylla  has  achiev'd 
Show  him  a  soldier  and  a  Roman  too, 
Whose  care  is  more  for  country  than  himself. 
Sylla  nill  brook,1  that  in  so  many  wars, 
So  hard  adventures  and  so  strange  extremes, 


1  "  Sylla  nill  brook  "  is  "  Sylla  ne  will,  or  will  not  brook." 
Shakespeare  uses  the  word.  See  Mr  Steevens's  note,  "  Tam- 
ing of  the  Shrew,"  act  ii.  sc.  1. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  109 

Hath  borne  the  palm  and  prize  of  victory, 
Thus  with  dishonour  to  give  up  his  charge. 
Sylla  hath  friends  and  soldiers  at  command, 
That   first   will    make   the    towers   of   Rome   to 

shake, 

And  force  the  stately  capitol  to  dance, 
Ere  any  rob  him  of  his  just  renown. 
Then  we  that  through  the  Caspian  shores  have 

run, 

And  spread  with  ships  the  Oriental  sea, 
At  home  shall  make  a  murder  of  our  friends, 
And  massacre  our  dearest  countrymen. 

LECTORIUS.  The  power  of  Sylla  nought  will  'vail 

'gainst  Rome ; 

And  let  me  die,  Lucretius,  ere  I  see 
Our  senate  dread  for  any  private  man.     Therefore, 
Renown'd  Sulpitius,  send  for  Sylla  back  : 
Let  Marius  lead  our  men  in  Asia. 

L.  MERULA.    The  law  the  senate  wholly  doth 

affirm : 
Let  Marius  lead  our  men  in  Asia. 

CINNA.  Cinna  affirms  the  senate's  censure  just, 
And  saith  let  Marius  lead  the  legions  forth. 

C.  GRANIUS.  Honour  and  victory  follow  Marius' 

steps  ! 

For  him  doth  Granius  wish  to  fight  for  Rome. 
SULPITIUS.    Why  then,  you  sage  and  ancient 

sires  of  Rome, 

Sulpitius  here  again  doth  publish  forth, 
That  Marius  by  the  senate  here  is  made 
Chief  general  to  lead  the  legions  out 
Against  Mithridates  and  his  competitors. 
Now  victory,  for  honour  of  Rome,  follow  Marius  ! 
[Here  let  MARIUS  rouse  himself. 
MARIUS.  Sage  and  imperial  senators  of  Rome, 
Not  without  good  advisement  have  you  seen 
Old  Marius  silent  during  your  discourse  : 
Yet  not  for  that  he  fear'd  to  plead  his  cause, 


110  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Or  raise  his  honour  trodden  down  by  age, 

But  that  his  words  should  not  allure  his  friends 

To  stand  on  stricter  terms  for  his  behoof. 

Six  times  the  senate  by  election  hath 

Made  Marius  consul  over  warlike  Eome, 

And  in  that  space  nor  Eome  nor  all  the  world 

Could  ever  say  that  Marius  was  untrue. 

These  silver  hairs,  that  hang  upon  my  face, 

Are  witnesses  of  my  unfeigned  zeal. 

The  Cymbrians,  that  erewhile  invaded  France, 

And  held  the  Roman  empire  in  disdain, 

Lay  all  confounded  under  Marius'  sword  : 

Fierce  Scipio,  the  mirror  once  of  Rome, 

Whose  loss  as  yet  my  inward  soul  bewails, 

Being  ask'd  who  should  succeed  and  bear  his  rule, 

Even  this,  quoth  he,  shall  Scipio's  armour  bear ; 

And  therewithal  clapp'd  me  upon  the  back."1 

If  then,  grave  lords,  my  former-passed  youth 

Was  spent  in  bringing  honours  unto 2  Rome, 

Let  then  my  age  and  latter  date  of  years, 

Be  sealed  up  for  honour  unto  Rome. 

Here  enter  SYLLA,  with  Captains  and  Soldiers. 

SULPITIUS.    Sylla,  what  mean  these  arms  and 

warlike  troops  ? 

These  glorious  ensigns  and  these  fierce  alarm [s] 
'Tis  proudly  done  to  brave  the  capitol ! 

1  "But  specially  one  day  above  the  rest,  having  made 
him  sup  with  him  at  his  table,  some  one  after  supper  falling 
in  talke  of  Captaines  that  were  in  Rome  at  that  time,  one 
that  stood  by  Scipio  asked  him  (either  because  he  stood  in 
doubt,  or  else  for  that  he  would  curry  favour  with  Scipio), 
what  other  Captaine  the  Romanes  should  have  after  his 
death,   like   unto   him?      Scipio   having  Marius  by  him, 
gently  clapped  him  upon  the  shoulders  and  said,  Perad- 
venture  this  shall  be  he." — North's  Plutarch,  "Life  of  Caius 
Marius." 

2  [Old  copy,  into]. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  Ill 

SYLLA.  These  arms,  Sulpitius,  are  not  borne  for 

hate, 

But  maintenance  of  my  confirmed  state  : 
I  come  to  Rome  with  no  seditious  thoughts, 
Except  I  find  too  froward  injuries. 

SULPITIUS.  But  wisdom  would  you  did  forbear 
To  yield  these  slight  suspicions  of  contempt, 
Where  as  the  senate  studieth  high  affairs. 

SYLLA.  What  serious  matters  have  these  lords 
in  hand 1 

SULPITIUS.    The  senators  with  full  decree  ap- 
point 

Old  Marius  for  their  captain-general, 
To  lead  thy  legions  into  Asia, 
And  fight  against  the  fierce  Mithridates. 

SYLLA.  To  Marius?     Jolly  stuff!     Why  then 

I  see 
Your  lordships  mean  to  make  a  babe  of  me. 

J.  BRUTUS.    'Tis  true,  Sylla,  the  senate  hath 

agreed 

That  Marius  shall  those  bands  and  legions  bear, 
Which  you  now  hold,  against  Mithridates. 

SYLLA.  Marius  should l  lead  them  then,  if  Sylla 

said  not  no ; 

And  I  should  be  a  consul's  shadow  then. 
Trustless  senators  and  ungrateful  Romans, 
For  all  the  honours  I  have  done  to  Rome, 
For  all  the  spoils  I  brought  within  her  walls, 
Thereby  for  to  enrich  and  raise  her  pride, 
Repay  you  me  with  this  ingratitude  1 
You  know,  unkind,  that  Sylla's  wounded  helm 
Was  ne'er  hung  up  once,  or  distain'd  with  rust : 
The  Marcians  that  before  me  fell  amain, 
And  like  to  winter-hail  on  every  side, 
Unto  the  city  Nuba  I  pursued, 


[Old  copy,  shall,  and  so  in  the  next  line.J 


112  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

And  for  your  sakes  were  thirty  thousand  slain. 

The  Hippinians  and  the  Samnites  Sylla  brought 

As  tributaries  unto  famous  Rome  : 

Ay,  where  did  Sylla  ever  draw  his  sword. 

Or  lift  his  warlike  hand  above  his  head 

For  Romans'  cause,  but  he  was  conqueror  1 

And  now.  unthankful,  seek  you  to  disgrade 

And  tear  the  plumes  that  Sylla's  sword  hath  won'? 

Marius,  I  tell  thee  Sylla  is  the  man 

Disdains  to  stoop  or  vail  his  pride  to  thee. 

Marius,  I  say  thou  may'st  nor  shalt  not  have 

The  charge  that  unto  Sylla  doth  belong, 

Unless  thy  sword  could  tear  it  from  my  heart, 

Which  in  a  thousand  folds  impales  1  the  same. 

MARIUS.  And,  Sylla,  hereof  be  thou  full  assur'd : 
The  honour,  whereto  mine  undaunted  mind 
And  this  grave  senate  hath  enhanced  me, 
Thou  nor  thy  followers  shall  derogate. 
The  space  2  of  years  that  Marius  hath  o'erpass'd 
In  foreign  broils  and  civil  mutinies, 
Hath  taught  him  this  :  that  one  unbridled  foe 
My  former  fortunes  never  shall  o'ergo. 

SYLLA.    Marius,  I  smile  at  these  thy  foolish 

words ; 

And  credit  me,  should  laugh  outright,  I  fear, 
If  that  I  knew  not  how  thy  froward  age 
Doth  make  thy  sense  as  feeble  as  thy  joints. 

MARIUS.  Sylla,  Sylla,  Marius'  years  have  taught 
Him  how  to  pluck  so  proud  a  younker's  plumes  ; 

1  It  is  doubtful  whether  we  ought  to    read    impale  or 
impall.  If  the  latter,  it  means  to  enfold  with  a  pall ;  but 
Cleveland  uses  impale  in  the  same  sense — 

"  I  now  impale  her  in  my  arms." 

This,  however,  is  rather  a  forced  construction. 

2  [Old  copy,  spence.']      This  may  mean  "the  expense  of 
years  that  Marius  hath  o'erpast,"  or  it  may  be  an  easy  mis- 
print for  "  space  of  years."    Either  may  be  right. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL  WAR.  113 

And  know,  these  hairs,  that  dangle  down  my  face, 
In  brightness  like  the  silver  Rhodope, 
Shall  add  so  haughty  courage  to  my  mind, 
And  rest  such  piercing  objects  'gainst  thine  eyes, 
That  mask'd  in  folly  age  shall  force  thee  stoop. 
SYLLA.  And  by  my  hand  I  swear,  ere  thou  shalt 

'maze  me  so, 

My  soul  shall  perish  but  I'll  have  thy  beard. 
Say,  grave  senators,  shall  Sylla  be  your  general  1 
SULPITIUS.  No  :  the  senate,  I,  and  Some  her- 
self agrees 

There's  none  but  Marius  shall  be  general. 
Therefore,  Sylla,  these  daring  terms  unfit 
Beseem  not  thee  before  the  capitol. 

SYLLA.  Beseem  not  me  ?  Senators,  advise  you. 
Sylla  hath  vowed,  whose  vows  the  heavens  record, 
Whose  oaths  have  pierc'd  and  search'd  the  deepest 

vast, 

Ay,  and  whose  protestations  reign  on  earth  : 
This  capitol,  wherein  your  glories  shine, 
Was  ne'er  so  press'd  and  throng'd  with  scarlet 

gowns 
As   Rome    shall  be   with  heaps   of   slaughtered 

souls, 

Before  that  Sylla  yield  his  titles  up. 
I'll  make l  her  streets,  that  peer  into  the  clouds, 
Burnish'd  with  gold  and  ivory  pillars  fair, 
Shining  with  jasper,  jet,  and  ebony, 
All  like  the  palace  of  the  morning  sun, 
To  swim  within  a  sea  of  purple  blood, 
Before  I  lose  the  name  of  general. 

MARIUS.  These  threats  against  thy  country  and 

these  lords, 

Sylla,  proceed  from  forth  a  traitor's  heart ; 
Whose  head  I  trust  to  see  advanced  up 
On  highest  top  of  all  this  capitol, 

1  [Old  copy,  mate.] 
VOL.  VII.  H 


114  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

As  erst  was  many  of  thy  progeny, 
Before  thou  vaunt  thy  victories  in  Rome. 

SYLLA.  Greybeard,  if  so  thy  heart  and  tongue 

agree, 

Draw  forth  thy  legions  and  thy  men  at  arms ; 
Rear  up  thy  standard  and  thy  steeled  crest, 
And  meet  with  Sylla  in  the  fields  of  Mars, 
And  try  whose  fortune  makes  him  general. 

MARIUS.  I  take  thy  word  :   Marius  will  meet 

thee  there, 

And  prove  thee,  Sylla,  traitor  unto  Rome, 
And  all  that  march  under  thy  trait'rous  wings. 
Therefore  they  that  love  the  Senate  and  Marius, 
Now  follow  him. 

SYLLA.  And  all  that  love  Sylla  come  down  to  him  : 
For  the  rest,  let  them  follow  Marius, 
And  the  devil  himself  be  their  captain. 

\JIere  let  the  Senate  rise  and  cast  away  their 
gowns,   having   their   swords  by  their  sides. 
Exit   MARIUS,    and  with   him    SULPITIUS, 
JUNIUS,  BRUTUS,  LECTORIUS. 
Q.  POMPEY.  Sylla,  I  come  to  thee. 
LUCRETIUS.  Sylla,  Lucretius  will  die  with  thee. 
SYLLA.  Thanks,  my  noble  lords  of  Rome. 

\ltere  let  them  go  down,  and  SYLLA  offers  to  go 

forth,  and  ANTHONY  calls  him  back. 
ANTHONY.  Stay,  Sylla;  hear  Anthony  breathe 

forth 

The  pleading  plaints  of  sad  declining  Rome. 
SYLLA.  Anthony,  thou  know'st  thy  honey  words 

do  pierce 

And  move  the  mind  of  Sylla  to  remorse  : 
Yet  neither  words  nor  pleadings  now  must  serve  : 
When  as  mine  honour  calls  me  forth  to  fight : 
Therefore,  sweet  Anthony,  be  short  for   Sylla's 

haste. 

ANTHONY.  For  Sylla's  haste !  0,  whither  wilt 
thou  fly  1 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL   WAR.  115 

Tell  me,  my  Sylla,  what  dost  them  take  in  hand  ? 
What  wars  are  these  thou  stirrest  up  in  Rome  ] 
What  fire  is  this  is  kindled  by  thy  wrath  1 
A  fire  that  must  be  quench'd  by  Romans'  blood. 
A  war  that  will  confound  our  empery ; 
And  last,  an  act  of  foul  impiety. 
Brute  beasts  nill  break  the  mutual  law  of  love, 
And  birds  affection  will  not  violate  : 
The  senseless  trees  have  concord  'mongst  them- 
selves, 

And  stones  agree  in  links  of  amity. 
If  they,  my  Sylla,  brook  not  to  have  jar, 
What  then  are  men,  that  'gainst  themselves  do 

war1? 

Thou'lt  say,  my  Sylla,  honour  stirs  thee  up ; 
Is't  honour  to  infringe  the  laws  of  Rome  ? 
Thou'lt  say,  perhaps,  the  titles  thou  hast  won 
It  were  dishonour  for  thee  to  forego  ; 
0,  is  there  any  height  above  the  highest, 
Or  any  better  than  the  best  of  all  1 
Art  thou  not  consul  1  art  thou  not  lord  of  Rome  ] 
What  greater  titles  should  our  Sylla  have  1 
But  thou  wilt  hence,  thou'lt  fight  with  Marius, 
The  man  the  senate,  ay,  and  Rome  hath  chose. 
Think  this,  before  thou  never  lift'st  aloft, 
And  lettest  fall  thy  warlike  hand  adown, 
But  thou  dost  raze  and  wound  thy  city  Rome  : 
And  look,  how  many  slaughter'd  souls  lie  slain 
Under  thy  ensigns  and  thy  conquering  lance, 
So  many  murders  mak'st  thou  of  thyself. 

SYLLA.  Enough,  my  Anthony,  for  thy  honey'd 

tongue 

Washed  in  a  syrup  of  sweet  conserves,1 
Driveth  confused  thoughts  through  Sylla's  mind  : 
Therefore  suffice  thee,  I  may  nor  will  not  hear. 
So  farewell,  Anthony ;  honour  calls  me  hence  : 

1  [Old  copy,  conservatives.  ] 


116  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Sylla  will  fight  for  glory  and  for  Rome. 

[Exit  SYLLA  and  his  followers. 
L.  MERULA.  See,  noble  Anthony,  the  trustless 

state  of  rule, 

The  stayless  hold  of  matchless  sovereignty : 
Now  fortune  beareth  Rome  into  the  clouds, 
To  throw  her  down  into  the  lowest  hells  ; 
For  they  that  spread  her  glory  through  the  world, 
Are  they  that  tear  her  proud,  triumphant  plumes : 
The  heart-burning  pride  of  proud  Tarquinius 
Rooted  from  Rome  the  sway  of  kingly  mace, 
And  now  this  discord,  newly  set  abroach, 
Shall  raze  our  consuls  and  our  senates  down. 
ANTHONY.  Unhappy  Rome,  and  Romans  thrice 

accurs'd ! 

That  oft  with  triumphs  fill'd  your  city  walls 
With  kings  and  conquering  rulers  of  the  world, 
Now  to  eclipse,  in  top  of  all  thy  pride, 
Through  civil  discords  and  domestic  broils. 
O  Romans,  weep  the  tears  of  sad  lament, 
And  rend  your  sacred  robes  at  this  exchange, 
For  fortune  makes  our  Rome  a  banding  ball,1 
Toss'd  from  her  hand  to  take  the  greater  fall. 
GRANIUS.  O,  whence  proceed  these  foul,  ambi- 
tious thoughts, 
That  fire  men's  hearts  and  make  them  thirst  for 

rule? 

Hath  sovereignty  so  much  bewitch'd  the  minds 
Of  Romans,  that  their  former  busied  cares, 
Which  erst  did  tire  in  seeking  city's  good, 
Must  now  be  chang'd  to  ruin  of  her  walls  ? 
Must  they,  that  rear'd  her  stately  temples  up, 
Deface  the  sacred  places  of  their  gods  1 
Then  may  we  wail,  and  wring  our  wretched  hands, 


1  "  To  bandy  a  ball"  Coles  defines  clava  pilam  torquere ; 
to  bandy  at  tennis,"  "  Diet."  1679.  See  Mr  Malone's  note 
n  "  Lear,"  act  i.  sc.  4. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  117 

Sith  both  our  gods,  our  temples,  and  our  walls, 
Ambition  makes  fell  fortune's  spiteful  thralls. 

[Exeunt  all. 

[A  great  alarum.  Let  young  MARIUS  chase  POMPEY 
over  the  stage,  and  old  MARIUS  chase  LUCRE- 
TIUS.  Then  let  enter  three  or  four  Soldiers, 
and  his  ancient  with  his  colours,  and  SYLLA 
after  them  with  his  hat  in  his  hand :  they  offer 
to  fly  away. 

SYLLA.  Why,  whither  fly  you,  Eomans, 
What  mischief  makes  this  flight  ? 
Stay,  good  my  friends  :  stay,  dearest  countrymen  ! 
IST  SOLDIER.  Stay,  let  us  hear  what  our  Lord 

Sylla  say'th. 
SYLLA.  What,  will  you  leave  your  chieftains, 

Eomans,  then, 

And  lose  your  honours  in  the  gates  of  Eome  1 
What,  shall  our  country  see,  and  Sylla  rue, 
These  coward  thoughts  so  fix'd  and  firm'd  in  you  1 
What,  are  you  come  from  Capua  to  proclaim 
Your  heartless  treasons  in  this  happy  town  1 
What,  will  you  stand  and  gaze  with  shameless 

looks, 

Whilst  Marius'  butchering  knife  assails  our  throats? 
Are  you  the  men,  the  hopes,  the  stays  of  state  ? 
Are  you  the  soldiers  prest *  for  Asia  ? 
Are  you  the  wondered  legions  of  the  world, 
And  will  you  fly  these  shadows  of  resist  ? 
Well,  Eomans,  I  will  perish  through  your  pride, 
That  thought  by  you  to  have  return'd  in  pomp  ; 
And,  at  the  least,  your  general  shall  prove, 
Even  in  his  death,  your  treasons  and  his  love. 

1  Prest  for  Asia,  is  ready  for  Asia.  It  is  almost  unneces- 
sary to  multiply  instances,  but  the  following  is  very  ap- 
posite : — 

"Dispisde,  disdainde,  starvde,  whipt  and  scornd, 
Prest  through  dispaire  myself  to  quell." 

— E.  Wilson's  "Cobbler's  Prophecy,"  1594,  sig.  C4. 


118  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Lo,  this  the  wreath  that  shall  my  body  bind. 
Whilst  Sylla  sleeps  with  honour  in  the  field  : 
And  I  alone,  within  these  colours  shut, 
Will  blush  your  dastard  follies  in  my  death. 
So,  farewell,  heartless  soldiers  and  untrue, 
That  leave  your  Sylla,  who  hath  loved  you.   [Exit. 
IST  SOLDIER.  Why,  fellow-soldiers,  shall  we  fly 

the  field, 

And  carelessly  forsake  our  general  1 
What,  shall  our  vows  conclude  with  no  avail  ? 
First  die,  sweet  friends,  and  shed  your  purple  blood, 
Before  you  lose  the  man  that  wills  you  good. 
Then  to  it,  brave  Italians,  out  of  hand  ! 
Sylla,  we  come  with  fierce  and  deadly  blows 
To  venge  thy  wrongs  and  vanquish  all  thy  foes. 

[Exeunt  to  the  alarum. 


ACTUS  SECUNDUS,  SCENA  PEIMA. 

Enter  SYLLA  triumphant :   LUCRETIUS,  POMPEY, 
with  Soldiers. 

SYLLA.  You,  Roman  soldiers,  fellow-mates  in  arms, 
The  blindfold  mistress  of  uncertain  chance 
Hath  turn'd  these  traitorous  climbers  from  the  top, 
And  seated  Sylla  in  the  chiefest  place — 
The  place  beseeming  Sylla  and  his  mind. 
For,  were  the  throne,  where  matchless  glory  sits 
Empal'd  with  furies,  threatening  blood  and  death, 
Begirt  with  famine  and  those  fatal  fears, 
That  dwell  below  amidst  the  dreadful  vast, 
Tut,  Sylla's  sparkling  eyes  should  dim  with  clear  T 

1  Lodge  and  other  writers  not  unfrequently  use  the  adjec- 
tive for  the  substantive:  thus,  in  "The  Discontented 
Satyre:"— 

"  Blush,  daies  eternal  lampe,  to  see  thy  lot, 
Since  that  thy  cleere  with  cloudy  darkes  is  scar'd." 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  119 

The  burning  brands  of  their  consuming  light, 

And  master  fancy  with  a  forward  mind, 

And  mask  repining  fear  with  awful  power : 

For  men  of  baser  metal  and  conceit 

Cannot  conceive  the  beauty  of  my  thought. 

I,  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  warlike  state, 

Imagine  thoughts  more  greater  than  a  crown, 

And  yet  befitting  well  a  Roman  mind. 

Then,  gentle  ministers  of  all  my  hopes, 

That  with  your  swords  made  way  unto  my  wish, 

Hearken  the  fruits  of  your  courageous  fight. 

In  spite  of  all  these  Roman  basilisks, 

That  seek  to  quell  us  with  their  currish  looks, 

We  will  to  Pontus  :  we'll  have  gold,  my  hearts  ; 

Those  oriental  pearls  shall  deck  our  brows. 

And  you,  my  gentle  friends,  you  Roman  peers  : 

Kind  Pompey,  worthy  of  a  consul's  name, 

You  shall  abide  the  father  of  the  state, 

Whilst  these  brave  lads,  Lucretius,  and  I, 

In  spite  of  all  these  brawling  senators, 

Will,  shall,  and  dare  attempt  on  Asia, 

And  drive  Mithridates  from  out  his  doors. 

POMPEY.  Ay,  Sylla,  these  are  words  of  mickle 

worth, 

Fit  for  the  master  of  so  great  a  mind. 
Now  Rome  must  stoop,  for  Marius  and  his  friends 
Have  left  their  arms,  and  trust  unto  their  heels. 

SYLLA.  But,  Pompey,  if  our  Spanish  jennets'  feet 
Have  learnt  to  post  it  of  their  mother-wind, 
I  hope  to  trip  upon  the  greybeard's  heels, 
Till  I  have  cropp'd  his  shoulders  from  his  head. 
And  for  his  son,  the  proud,  aspiring  boy, 
His  beardless  face  and  wanton,  smiling  brows, 
Shall,  if  I  catch  him,  deck  yond'  capitol. 
The  father,  son,  the  friends  and  soldiers  all, 
That  fawn  on  Marius,  shall  with  fury  fall. 

LUCRETIUS.   And  what  event   shall   all  these 
troubles  bring  1 


120  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

SYLLA.  This — Sylla  in  fortune  will  exceed  a 

king. 

But,  friends  and  soldiers,  with  dispersed  bands 
Go  seek  out  Marius'  fond  confederates  : 
Some  post  along  those  unfrequented  paths, 
That  track  by  nooks  unto  the  neighbouring  sea  : 
Murder  me  Marius,  and  maintain  my  life. 
And  that  his  favourites  in  Rome  may  learn 
The  difference  betwixt  my  fawn  and  frown, 
Go  cut  them  short,  and  shed  their  hateful  blood, 
To  quench  these  furies  of  my  froward  mood. 

[Exit  Soldiers. 

LUCRETIUS.    Lo,    Sylla,    where    our    senators 

approach ; 
Perhaps  to  'gratulate  thy  good  success. 

Enter  ANTHONY,  GRANIUS,  LEPIDUS. 

SYLLA.  Ay,  that  perhaps  was  fitly  placed  there : 
But,  my  Lucretius,  these  are  cunning  lords, 
Whose  tongues  are  tipp'd  with  honey  to  deceive. 
As  for  their  hearts,  if  outward  eyes  may  see  them, 
The  devil  scarce  with  mischief  might  agree  them. 
LEPIDUS.  Good  fortune  to  our  consul,  worthy 

Sylla. 
SYLLA.  And  why  not  general  'gainst  the  King 

of  Pontus  ? 
GRANIUS.    And  general   against  the   King  of 

Pontus. 
SYLLA.    Sirrah,    your  words    are   good,    your 

thoughts  are  ill. 

Each  milkwhite  hair  amid  this  mincing  beard, 
Compar'd     with     millions     of    thy     treacherous 

thoughts, 

Would  change  their  hue  through  vigour  of  thy  hate. 
But,  did  not  pity  make  my  fury  thrall, 
This  sword  should  finish  hate,  thy  life,  and  all. 
I  prythee,  Granius,  how  doth  Marius  ? 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  121 

GRANIUS.  As  he  that  bides  a  thrall  to  thee  and 

fate  : 

Living  in  hope,  as  I  and  others  do, 
To  catch  good  fortune,  and  to  cross  thee  too. 

SYLLA.   Both  blunt  and  bold,  but  too  much 

mother-wit. 

To  play  with  fire,  where  fury  streams  about : 
Curtail  your  tale,  fond  man,  cut  off  the  rest ; 
But  here  I  will  dissemble  for  the  best. 

GRANIUS.  Sylla,  my  years  have  taught  me  to 

discern 

Betwixt  ambitious  pride  and  princely  zeal ; 
And  from  thy  youth  these  peers  of  Rome  have 

mark'd 

A  rash  revenging  humour1  in  thy  brain. 
Thy  tongue  adorn'd  with  flowing  eloquence, 
And  yet  I  see  imprinted  in  thy  brows 
A  fortunate  but  froward  governance. 
And  though  thy  rival  Marius,  mated  late 
By  backward  working  of  his  wretched  fate, 
Is  fall'n ;  yet,  Sylla,  mark  what  I  have  seen 
Even  here  in  Rome.     The  fencer  Spectacus 
Hath  been  as  fortunate  as  thou  thyself; 
But  when  that  Crassus'  sword  assayed  his  crest, 
The  fear  of  death  did  make  him  droop  for  woe. 

SYLLA.  You  saw  in  Rome  this  brawling  fencer 

die, 

When  Spectacus  by  Crassus  was  subdued. 
Why  so  ?  but,  sir,  I  hope  you  will  apply, 
And  say  like  Spectacus  that  I  shall  die. 
Thus  peevish  eld,  discoursing  by  a  fire, 


1  The  quarto  has  the  passage  thus — 

"  These  peers  of  Rome  have  mark'd 
A  rash  revenging  hammer  in  thy  brain  ; " 

which  seemed  so  decidedly  wrong  as  to  warrant  the  change 
that,  without  much  violence,  has  been  made. 


122  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Amidst  their  cups  will  prate  how  men  aspire. 
Is  this  the  greeting,  Komans,  that  you  give 
Unto  the  patron  of  your  monarchy  ? 
Lucretius,  shall  I  play  a  pretty  jest  1 

LUCRETIUS.  What  Sylla  will,  what  Eoman  dare 

withstand  ? 
SYLLA.   A  brief  and  pleasing  answer,  by  my 

head. 

Why,  tell  me,  Granius,  dost  thou  talk  in  sport  ? 
GRANIUS.  No,  Sylla,  my  discourse  is  resolute. 
Not  coin'd  to  please  thy  fond  and  cursed  thoughts : 
For  were  my  tongue  betray 'd  with  pleasing  words 
To  feed  the  humours  of  thy  haughty  mind, 
I  rather  wish  the  rot  should  root  it  out. 

SYLLA.  The  bravest  brawler  that  I  ever  heard. 
But,  soldiers,  since  I  see  he  is  oppress' d 
With  crooked  choler,  and  our  artists  teach 
That  fretting  blood  will  press  through  open'd  veins, 
Let  him  that  has  the  keenest  sword  arrest 
The  greybeard,  and  cut  off  his  head  in  jest. 
Soldiers,  lay  hands  on  Granius. 

GRANIUS.  Is  this  the  guerdon1  then  of  good 

advice? 
SYLLA.  No,  but  the  means  to  make  fond  men 

more  wise. 

Tut,  I  have  wit,  and  carry  warlike  tools, 
To  charm  the  scolding  prate  of  wanton  fools. 
Tell  me  of  fencers  and  a  tale  of  fate  ! 
No,  Sylla  thinks  of  nothing  but  a  state. 

GRANIUS.  Why,  Sylla,  I  am  arm'd  the  worst  to 

try. 

SYLLA.  I  pray  thee  then,  Lucretius,  let  him  die. 
[Exeunt  with  GRANIUS. 
Beshrew  me,  lords,  but  in  this  jolly  vein 
'Twere  pity  but  the  prating  fool  were  slain. 

1  Guerdon  is  synonymous  \vith  reward.     It  is  scarcely  yet 
obsolete. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  123 

I  fear  me  Pluto  will  be  wrath  with  me, 
For  to  detain  so  grave  a  man  as  he. 

ANTHONY.  But  seek  not,  Sylla,  in  this  quiet  state 
To  work  revenge  upon  an  aged  man, 
A  senator,  a  sovereign  of  this  town. 

SYLLA.  The  more  the  cedar  climbs,  the  sooner 

down: 

And,  did  I  think  the  proudest  man  in  Rome 
Would  wince  at  that  which  I  have  wrought  or 

done, 

I  would  and  can  control  his  insolence. 
Why,  senators,  is  this  the  true  reward, 
Wherewith  you  answer  princes  for  their  pain, 
As  when  this  sword  hath  made  our  city  free, 
A  braving  mate  should  thus  distemper  me  ? 
But,  Lepidus  and  fellow-senators, 
I  am  resolved,  and  will  not  brook  your  taunts ; 
Who  wrongeth  Sylla,  let  him  look  for  stripes. 
ANTHONY.  Ay,  but  the  milder  passions  show 

the  man ; 

For  as  the  leaf  doth  beautify  the  tree, 
The  pleasant  flow'rs  bedeck  the  painted  spring, 
Even  so  in  men  of  greatest  reach  and  power 
A  mild  and  piteous  thought  augments  renown. 
Old  Anthony  did  never  see,  my  lord, 
A  swelling  show'r,  that  did  continue  long : 
A  climbing  tower  that  did  not  taste  the  wind  : 
A  wrathful  man  not  wasted  with  repent. 
I  speak  of  love,  my  Sylla,  and  of  joy, 
To  see  how  fortune  lends  a  pleasant  gale 
Unto  the  spreading  sails  of  thy  desires  ; 
And,  loving  thee,  must  counsel  thee  withal : 
For,  as  by  cutting  fruitful  vines  increase, 
So  faithful  counsels  work  a  prince's  peace. 

SYLLA.  Thou  honey-talking  father,  speak  thy 

mind. 
ANTHONY.  My  Sylla,  scarce  those  tears  are  dried 

up, 


124:  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

That  Eoman  matrons  wept  to  see  this  war  : 

Along  the  holy  streets  the  hideous  groans 

Of  murdered  men  infect  the  weeping  air  : 

Thy  foes  are  fled,  not  overtaken  yet, 

And  doubtful  is  the  hazard  of  this  war : 

Yea,  doubtful  is  the  hazard  of  this  war, 

For  now  our  legions  draw  their  wasteful  swords   • 

To  murder  whom  ?     Even  Roman  citizens  ! 

To  conquer  whom  1     Even  Roman  citizens  ! 

Then,  if  that  Sylla  love  these  citizens, 

If  care  of  Rome,  if  threat  of  foreign  foes, 

If  fruitful  counsels  of  thy  forward  friends, 

May  take  effect,  go  fortunate,  and  drive 

The  King  of  Pontus  out  of  Asia ; 

Lest,  while  we  dream  on  civil  mutinies, 

Our  wary  foes  assail  our  city  walls. 

POMPEY.    My   long-concealed    thoughts,    Mark 

Anthony, 

Must  seek  discovery  through  thy  pliant  words. 
Believe  me,  Sylla,  civil  mutinies 
Must  not  obscure  thy  glories  and  our  names. 
Then,  sith  that  factious  Marius  is  suppress'd, 
Go  spread  thy  colours  'midst  the  Asian  fields  ; 
Meanwhile  myself  will  watch  this  city's  weal. 

SYLLA.  Pompey,  I  know  thy  love,  I  mark  thy 

words, 

And,  Anthony,  thou  hast  a  pleasing  vein  ; 
But,  senators,  I  harbour l  in  my  head 
With  every  thought  of  honour  some  revenge. 

Enter  LUCRETIUS  with  the  head. 

Speak,  what,  shall  Sylla  be  your  general  ? 

LEPIDUS.   We  do  decree  that   Sylla   shall   be 

general  1 
SYLLA.  And  wish  you  Sylla's  weal  and  honour 

too? 

1  [Old  copy,  hammer.] 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  125 

ANTHONY.    We  wish   both   Sylla's  weal   and 
honour  too. 

SYLLA.  Then  take  away  the  scandal  of  this  state, 
Banish  the  name  of  tribune  out  of  town ; 
Proclaim  false  Marius  and  his  other  friends 
Foemen  and  traitors  to  the  state  of  Rome, 
And  I  will  wend  and  work  so  much  by  force, 
As  I  will  master  false  Mithridates. 

LEPIDUS.  The  name  of  tribune  hath  continued 
long. 

SYLLA.  So  shall  not  Lepidus,  if  he  withstand  me. 
Sirrah,  you  see  the  head  of  Granius  : 
Watch  you  his    hap,   unless    you   change    your 

words. 
Pompey,  now  please  me  :  Pompey,  grant  my  suit. 

POMPEY.  Lictors,  proclaim  this  our  undaunted 

doom. 

We  will  that  Marius  and  his  wretched  sons  : 
His  friends  Sulpitius,  Claudius,  and  the  rest 
Be  held  for  traitors,  and  acquit  the  men, 
That  shall  endanger  their  unlucky  lives ; 
And  henceforth  tribune's  name  and   state   shall 

cease. 
Grave  senators,  how  like  you  this  decree  ? 

LEPIDUS.  Even  as  our  consuls  wish,  so  let  it  be. 

SYLLA.  Then,  Lepidus,  all  friends  in  faith  for  me, 
So  leave  I  Rome  to  Pompey  and  my  friends, 
Resolv'd  to  manage  those  our  Asian  wars. 
Frolic,  brave  soldiers,  we  must  foot  it  now : 
Lucretius,  you  shall  bide  the  brunt  with  me. 
Pompej7,  farewell,  and  farewell,  Lepidus. 
Mark  Anthony,  I  leave  thee  to  thy  books ; 
Study  for  Rome  and  Sylla's  royalty. 
But,  by  my  sword,  I  wrong  this  greybeard's  head  ; 
Go,  sirrah,  place  it  on  the  capitol : 
A  just  promotion  fit  for  Sylla's  foe. 
Lordings,  farewell :  come,  soldiers,  let  us  go. 

[Exit. 


126  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

POMPEY.    Sylla,   farewell,   and   happy  be  thy 

chance, 

Whose  war  both  Eome  and  Romans  must  advance. 

[Exeunt  Senators. 

Enter  the  Magistrates  of  Minturnum  with  MARIUS 
very  melancholy  :  LUCIUS  FAVORINUS,  PAUSA- 
NIUS,  with  some  attendants. 

PAUSANIUS.  My  lord,  the  course  of  your  un- 

stayed  fate, 

Made  weak  through  that  your  late  unhappy  fight, 
Withdraws  our  wills  that  fain  would  work  your 

weal : 

For  long  experience  and  the  change  of  times, 
The  innocent  suppressions  of  the  just, 
In  leaning  to  forsaken  men's  relief, 
Doth  make  us  fear,  lest  our  unhappy  town 
Should  perish  through  the  angry  Roman's  sword. 

MARIUS.  Lords  of  Minturnum,  when  I  shap'd 

my  course, 

To  fly  the  danger  of  pursuing  death, 
I  left  my  friends,  and  all  alone  attain'd, 
In  hope  of  succours,  to  this  little  town, 
Relying  on  your  courtesies  and  truth. 
What  foolish  fear  doth  then  amaze  you  thus  1 

FAVORINUS.  0  Marius,  thou  thyself,  thy  son,  thy 

friends, 

Are  banished,  and  exiles  out  of  Rome, 
Proclaim'd  for  traitors,  reft  of  your  estates, 
Adjudg'd  to  death  with  certain  warrantise  : 
Should  then  so  small  a  town,  my  lord,  as  this 
Hazard  their  fortunes  to  supply  your  wants  ? 

MARIUS.  Why,  citizens,  and  what  is  Marius  1 
I  tell  you,  not  so  base  as  to  despair, 
Yea,  able  to  withstand  ingratitudes. 
Tell  me  of  foolish  laws,  decreed  at  Rome 
To  please  the  angry  humours  of  my  foe  ! 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  127 

Believe  me,  lords,  I  know  and  am  assur'd, 
That  magnanimity  can  never  fear, 
And  fortitude  so  conquer  silly  fate, 
As  Sylla,  when  he  hopes  to  have  my  head, 
May  hap  ere  long  on  sudden  lose  his  own. 

PAUSANIUS.  A  hope  beseeming  Marius ;  but,  I 

fear, 

Too  strange  to  have  a  short  and  good  event. 
MARIUS.    Why,  Sir  Pausanius,   have   you  not 

beheld 

Campania  plains  fulfilPd  with  greater  foes, 
Than  is  that  wanton  milk-sop,  nature's  scorn. 
Base-minded  men  to  live  in  perfect  hope, 
Whose  thoughts  are   shut    within   your   cottage 

eaves, 

Refuse  not  Marius,  that  must  favour  you  : 
For  these  are  parts  of  unadvised  men, 
With  present  fear  to  lose  a  perfect  friend, 
That  can,  will,  may  control,  command,  subdue, 
That  braving  boy,  that  thus  bewitcheth  you. 
FAVORINUS.  How  gladly  would  we  succour  you, 
my  lord, 

But  that  we  fear 

MARIUS.  What  1  the  moonshine  in  the  water  ! 
Thou  wretched  stepdame  of  my  fickle  state, 
Are  these  the  guerdons  of  the  greatest  minds  1 
To  make  them  hope  and  yet  betray  their  hap, 
To  make  them  climb  to  overthrow  them  straight  1 
Accurs'd  thy  wreak,1  thy  wrath,  thy  bale,  thy  weal, 
That  mak'st  me  sigh  the  sorrows  that  I  feel ! 
Untrodden  paths  my  feet  shall  rather  trace, 
Than  wrest  my  succours  from  inconstant  hands  : 
Rebounding  rocks  shall  rather  ring  my  ruth, 
Than  these  Campanian  piles,  where  terrors  bide  : 
And  nature,  that  hath  lift  my  throne  so  high, 
Shall  witness  Marius'  triumphs,  if  he  die. 

1  Vengeance. 


128  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

But  she,  that  gave  the  lictor's  rod  and  axe 
To  wait  my  six  times  consulship  in  Rome, 
Will  not  pursue  where  erst  she  nattered  so. 
Minturnum  then,  farewell,  for  I  must  go  j 
But  think  for  to  repent  you  of  your  no. 

PAUSANIUS.  Nay  stay,  my  lord,  and  deign  in 

private  here 

To  wait  a  message  of  more  better  worth  : 
Your  age  and  travels  must  have  some  relief ; 
And  be  not  wrath,  for  greater  men  than  we 
Have  feared  Rome  and  Roman  tyranny. 

MARIUS.  You  talk  it  now  like  men  confirmed  in 

faith. 

Well,  let  me  try  the  fruits  of  your  discourse, 
For  care  my  mind  and  pain  my  body  wrongs. 
PAUSANIUS.    Then,    Favorinus,   shut  his  lord- 
ship up 

Within  some  secret  chamber  in  the  state. 
Meanwhile,  we  will  consult  to  keep  him  safe, 
And  work  some  secret  means  for  his  supply. 
MARIUS.  Be  trusty,  lords;   if  not,  I  can  but 
die.  [Exit  MARIUS. 

PAUSANIUS.  Poor,  hapless  Roman,  little  wottest 

thou 
The  weary  end  of  thine  oppressed  life. 

Lucius.    Why,   my   Pausanius,   what    imports 

these  words  1 
PAUSANIUS.  O  Lucius,  age  hath  printed  in  my 

thoughts 

A  memory  of  many  troubles  pass'd. 
The  greatest  towns  and  lords  of  Asia 
Have    stood    on    tickle    terms    through    simple 

truth : 

The  Rhodian  records  well  can  witness  this. 
Then,  to  prevent  our  means  of  overthrow, 
Find  out  some  stranger,  that  may  suddenly 
Enter  the  chamber,  where  as  Marius  lies, 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  129 

And  cut  him  short ;  the  present  of  whose  head 
Shall  make  the  Romans  praise  us  for  our  truth, 
And  Sylla  prest  to  grant  us  privilege. 

Lucius.    A  barbarous  act  to  wrong  the  men 

that  trust. 
PAUSANIUS.  In  country's  cause  injustice  proveth 

just. 

Come,  Lucius,  let  not  silly  thought  of  right 
Subject  our  city  to  the  Roman's  might : 
For  why  you  know  in  Marius  only  end 
Rome  will  reward,  and  Sylla  will  befriend. 
Lucius.  Yet  all  successions  will  us  discommend. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter  MARIUS  the  younger;  CETHEGUS,  LECTORIUS, 

with  Roman  Lords  and  Soldiers. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.    The  wayward  lady  of  this 

wicked  world, 

That  leads  in  luckless  triumph  wretched  men, 
My  Roman  friends,  hath  forced  our  desires, 
And  fram'd  our  minds  to  brook  too  base  relief. 
What  land  or  Lybian  desert  is  unsought 
To  find  my  father  Marius  and  your  friend  1 
Yea,  they  whom  true  relent  could  never  touch — 
These  fierce  Numidians,  hearing  our  mishaps, 
Weep  floods  of  moan  to  wail  our  wretched  fates. 
Thus  we,  that  erst  with  terrors  did  attaint 
The  Bactrian  bounds,  and  in  our  Roman  wars 
Enforc'd  the  barbarous  borderers  of  the  Alps 
To  tremble  with  the  terrors  of  our  looks, 
Now  fly,  poor  men,  affrighted  without  harms  : 
Seeking  amidst  the  desert  rocks  and  dens 
For  him,  that  whilom  in  our  capitol 
Even  with  a  beck  commanded  Asia. 
Thou  woful  son  of  such  a  famous  man, 
Unsheathe  thy  sword,  conduct  these  warlike  men 
To  Rome,  unhappy  mistress  of  our  harms  : 
And  there,   since   tyrants'  power  hath  thee  op- 

press'd, 

VOL.  VII.  I 


130  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

And  robb'd  thee  of  thy  father,  friends,  and  all, 
So  die  undaunted,  killing  of  thy  foes, 
That  were  the  offspring  of  these  wretched  woes. 
LECTORIUS.  Why,  how  now,  Marius,  will  you 

mate  us  thus, 

That  with  content  adventure  for  your  love  ? 
Why,  noble  youth,  resolve  yourself  on  this, 
That  son  and  father  both  have  friends  in  Rome, 
That  seek  old  Marius'  rest  and  your  relief. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  Lectorius,  friends  are  geason l 

now-a-days, 

And  grow  to  fume,  before  they  taste  the  fire. 
Adversities  bereaving  man's  avails, 
They  fly  like  feathers  dallying  in  the  wind  : 
They  rise  like  bubbles  in  a  stormy  rain, 
Swelling  in  words,  and  flying  faith  and  deeds. 
CETHEGUS.  How  fortunate  art  thou,  my  lovely 

lord, 

That  in  thy  youth  may'st  reap  the  fruits  of  age  ; 
And  having  lost  occasion's  holdfast  now, 
May'st  learn  hereafter  how  to  entertain  her  well. 
But  sudden  hopes  do  swarm  about  my  heart : 
Be  merry,  Romans  ;  see,  where  from  the  coast 
A  weary  messenger  doth  post  him  fast. 

Enter  ClNNA's  SLAVE,  with  a  letter  enclosed, 
posting  in  haste. 

LECTORIUS.  It  should  be  Cinna's  slave,  or  else 
I  err, 


1  Scarce.     It  is  found'  in  Spenser.     Eobert  Greene  also 
uses  it  — 

"  It  was  frosty  winter  season, 
And  fair  Flora's  wealth  was  geason." 

— "  Philomela,"  1592.     Again,  we  find  it  in  the  tragical 
comedy  of  "  Appius  and  Virginia,"  1575 — 

"Let  my  counsel  at  no  time  lie  with  you  geason," 
sig.  D.  [vol.  iv.  p.  138]. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  131 

For  iii  his  forehead  I  behold  the  scar, 
Wherewith  he  marketh  still  his  barbarous  swains. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  0,  stay  him,  good  Lectorius, 

for  me-seems 

His  great  post-haste  some  pleasure  should  present. 
LECTORIUS.  Sirrah,  art  thou  of  Eome  ? 
SLAVE.  Perhaps,  sir,  no. 
LECTORIUS.  Without  perhaps,  say,  sirrah,  is  it 

so? 

SLAVE.  This  is  Lectorius,  Marius'  friend,  I  trow ; 
Yet  were  I  best  to  learn  the  certainty, 
Lest  some  dissembling  foes  should  me  descry. 

[Aside. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  Sirrah,  leave  off  this  foolish 

dalliance, 

Lest  with  my  sword  I  wake  you  from  your  trance. 
SLAVE.  0  happy  man,  0  labours  well-achiev'd  ! 
How  hath  this  chance  my  weary  limbs  revived  : 

0  noble  Marius  !     0  princely  Marius  ! 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  What  means  this  peasant  by 
his  great  rejoice  ? 

SLAVE.  0  worthy  Roman,  many  months  have  past 
Since  Cinna,  now  the  consul  and  my  lord, 
Hath  sent  me  forth  to  seek  thy  friends  and  thee. 
All  Lybia,  with  our  Eoman  presidents, 
Numidia,  full  of  unfrequented  ways, 
These  weary  limbs  have  trod  to  seek  you  out, 
And  now,  occasion  pitying  of  my  pains, 

1  late  arrived  upon  this  wished  shore, 
Found  out  a  sailor  born  in  Capua, 

That  told  me  how  your  lordship  pass'd  this  way. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  A  happy  labour,  worthy  some 

reward. 
How  fares   thy  master  ?      What's   the   news    at 

Rome? 

SLAVE.  Pull  out  the  pike  from  off  this  javelin- 
top, 
And  there  are  tidings  for  these  lords  and  thee. 


132  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.    A   policy  beseeming   Cinna 

well : 
Lectorius,  read,  and  break  these  letters  up.1 

LETTER. 

To   his  Honourable  friend  Marius  the  younger, 
greeting. 

Being  consul  (for  the  welfare  loth  of  father  and 
son,  with  other  thy  accomplices),  I  have,  under  an 
honest  policy,  since  my  instalment  in  the  consulship, 
caused  all  Sylla's  friends  that  were  indifferent,  with 
the  other  neighbouring  cities,  to  revolt.  Octavius,  my 
fellow-consul,  with  the  rest  of  the  senate,  mistrusting 
me,  and  hearing  how  I  sought  to  unite  the  old  citizens 
with  the  new,  hath  wrought  much  trouble,  but  to  no 
effect.  I  hope  the  soldiers  of  Capua  shall  follow  our 
faction,  for  Sylla,  hearing  of  these  hurly-burlies,  is 
hasting  homeward,  very  fortunate  in  his  wars  against 
Mithridates.  And  it  is  to  be  feared  that  some  of  his 
friends  here  have  certified  him  of  my  proceedings,  and 
purpose  to  restore  you.  Cethegus  and  Lectorius  I 
hear  say  are  ivith  you.  Censorinus  and  Albinovanus 
will  shortly  visit  you.  Therefore  haste  and  seek  out 
your  father,  ivho  is  now,  as  I  hear,  about  Minturnum. 
Levy  what  power  you  can  with  all  expedition,  and 
stay  not. 

Rome,  the  5  Kalends  of  December. 

Your  unfeigned  friend, 

CINNA,  Consul. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.     Yea,    fortune,    shall    young 

Marius  climb  aloft  1 
Then  woe  to  my  repining  foes  in  Rome  ! 
And  if  I  live,  sweet  queen  of  change,  thy  shrines 

1  [Open  them.] 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  133 

Shall  shine  with  beauty  'midst  the  capitol. 
Lectorius,  tell  me  what  were  best  be  done  1 

LECTORIUS.  To  sea,  my  lord  ;  seek  your  warlike 

sire  : 

Send  back  this  peasant  with  your  full  pretence, 
And  think  already  that  our  pains  have  end, 
Since  Cinna,  with  his  followers,  is  your  friend. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.   Yea,  Romans,  we  will  furrow 

through  the  foam 

Of  swelling  floods,  and  to  the  sacred  twins 
Make  sacrifice,  to  shield  our  ships  from  storms. 
Follow  me,  lords ;  come,  gentle  messenger, 
Thou  shalt  have  gold  and  glory  for  thy  pains. 

[Exeunt. 


ACTUS  TERTIUS.     SCENA  PEIMA. 

Enter  ClNNA,  OCTAVIUS,  ANTHONY,  Lictors, 
Citizens. 

CINNA.    Upbraiding   senators,   bewitch'd  with 

wit, 

That  term  true  justice  innovation  ; 
You  ministers  of  Sylla's  mad  conceits, 
Will  consuls,  think  you,  stoop  to  your  controls  ? 
These  younger  citizens,  my  fellow-lords, 
Bound  to  maintain  both  Marius  and  his  son, 
Crave  but  their  due,  and  will  be  held  as  good 
For  privilege  as  those  of  elder  age  ; 
For  they  are  men  conform'd  to  feats  of  arms, 
That  have  both  wit  and  courage  to  command. 
These  favourites  of  Octavius,  that l  with  age 
And  palsies  shake  their  javelins  in  their  hands, 
Like  heartless  men  attainted  all  with  fear  : 

1  [Old  copy,  what.] 


134  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

And  should  they  then  overtop  the  youth  1 
No,  nor  this  consul,  nor  Mark  Anthony, 
Shall  make  my  followers  faint  or  lose  their  right ; 
But  I  will  have  them  equal  with  the  best. 

ANTHONY.  Why  then  the  senate's  name,  whose 

reverend  rule 

Hath  blazed  our  virtues  'midst  the  western  isle, 
Must  be  obscur'd  by  China's  forced  power. 
O  citizens  !  are  laws  of  country  left  ? 
Is  justice  banish'd  from  this  capitol  1 
Must  we,  poor  fathers,  see  your  drooping  bands 
Enter  the  sacred  synod  of  this  state  1 
O  brutish  fond  presumptions  of  this  age  ! 
Rome !  would   the   mischiefs   might   obscure  my 

life, 

So  I  might  counsel  consuls  to  be  wise. 
Why,  countrymen,  wherein  consists  this  strife  1 
Forsooth  the  younger  citizens  will  rule ; 
The  old  men's  heads  are  dull  and  addle  now ; 
And  in  elections  youth  will  bear  the  sway. 

0  Cinna,  see  I  not  the  woful  fruits 
Of  these  ambitious  stratagems  begun  ? 

Each  flattering  tongue  that  dallieth  pretty  words 
Shall  change  our  fortunes  and  our  states  at  once. 
Had  I  ten  thousand  tongues  to  talk  the  care, 
So  many  eyes  to  weep  their  woful  miss, 
So  many  pens  to  write  these  many  wrongs, 
My  tongue  your  thoughts,  my  eyes  your  tears, 

should  move, 
My  pen  your  pains  by  reason  should  approve. 

CINNA.  Why,  Anthony,  seal  up  those  sugar'd  lips, 
For  I  will  bring  my  purpose  to  effect. 

ANTHONY.  Doth  Cinna  like  to  interrupt  me, 
then? 

CINNA.  Ay,  Cinna,  sir,  will  interrupt  you  now. 

1  tell  thee,  Mark,  old  Marius  is  at  hand, 
The  very  patron  of  this  happy  law, 
Who  will  revenge  thy  cunning  eloquence. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  135 

ANTHONY.  I  talk  not,  I,  to  please  or  him  or 

thee, 

But  what  I  speak,  I  think  and  practise  too  : 
'Twere  better  Sylla  learnt  to  mend  in  Rome, 
Than  Marius  come  to  tyrannise  in  Rome. 

OCTAVIUS.  Nay,  Marius  shall  not  tyrannise  in 

Rome, 

Old  citizens ;  as  Sylla  late  ordain'd, 
King  Tullius'  laws  shall  take  their  full  effect : 
The  best  and  aged  men  shall  in  their  choice, 
Both  bear  the  day,  and  firm  [th']  election. 

CINNA.  0  brave  !    Octavius,  you  will  beard  me 

then, 

The  elder  consul  and  old  Marius'  friend ; 
And  these  Italian  freemen  must  be  wrong'd. 
First  shall  the  fruit  of  all  thine  honours  fail, 
And  this  my  poniard  shall  despatch  thy  life. 
LEPIDUS.    Such  insolence   was   never  seen  in 

Rome  : 

Nought  wanteth  here  but  name  to  make  a  king. 
OCTAVIUS.  Strike,  villain,  if  thou  list,  for  I  am 

prest 
To  make  as  deep  a  furrow  in  thy  breast ! 

YOUNG  CITIZEN.  The  young  men's  voices  shall 

prevail,  my  lords. 

OLD  CITIZEN.  And  we  will  firm  our  honours  by 

our  bloods.  [Thunder. 

ANTHONY.    0  false  ambitious  pride  in  young 

and  old  ! 
Hark,   how  the    heavens   our   follies  hath    con- 

troll'd. 
OLD  CITIZEN.   What,  shall  we  yield  for  this 

religious  fear  ? 

ANTHONY.  If  not  religious  fear,  what  may  re- 
press 

These  wicked  passions,  wretched  citizens  1 
O   Rome,    poor    Rome,    unmeet    for  these    mis- 
deeds, 


136  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

I  see  contempt  of  heaven  will  breed  a  cross. 
Sweet  Cinna,  govern  rage  with  reverence. 

[Thunder. 
O  fellow-citizens,  be  more  advis'd  ! 

LEPIDUS.  We  charge  you,  consuls,  now  dissolve 

the  court ; 
The  gods  condemn  this  brawl  and  civil  jars. 

OCTAVIUS.  We  will  submit  our  honours  to  their 

wills : 
You,  ancient  citizens,  come  follow  me. 

[Exit  OCTAVIUS ;  with  him  ANTHONY  and 

LEPIDUS. 
CINNA.  High  Jove  himself  hath  done  too  much 

for  thee, 

Else  should  this  blade  abate  thy  royalty. 
Well,  young  Italian  citizens,  take  heart, 
He  is  at  hand  that  will  maintain  your  right ; 
That,  entering  in  these  fatal  gates  of  Rome, 
Shall  make  them  tremble  that  disturb  you  now. 
You  of  Preneste  and  of  Formise, 
With  other  neighbouring  cities  in  Campania, 
Prepare  to  entertain  and  succour  Marius. 

YOUNG  CITIZEN.  For  him  we  live,  for  him  we 
mean  to  die.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  OLD  MARIUS  with  his  KEEPER  and  two 
SOLDIERS. 

MARIUS.    Have    these    Minturnians,   then,   so 

cruelly 

Presum'd  so  great  injustice  'gainst  their  friends  1 
JAILER.   Ay,  Marius,  all  our  nobles  have  de- 
creed 
To  send  thy  head  a  present  unto  Rome. 

MARIUS.  A  Tantal's  present  it  will  prove,  my 

friend, 

Which  with  a  little  smarting  stress  will  end 
Old  Marius'  life,  when  Rome  itself  at  last 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  137 

Shall  rue  my  loss,  and  then  revenge  my  death. 
But  tell  me,  jailer,  could'st  thou  be  content, 
In  being  Marius,  for  to  brook  this  wrong. 
JAILER.  The  high  estate  your  lordship  once  did 

wield, 
The    many  friends    that    fawn'd,   when   fortune 

smil'd, 

Your  great  promotions  and  your  mighty  wealth, 
These,  were  I  Marius,  would  amate  me  so,1 
As  loss  of  them  would  vex  me  more  than  death. 
MARIUS.  Is  lordship  then  so  great  a  bliss,  my 

friend  ? 
JAILER.    No  title  may  compare  with  princely 

rule. 

MARIUS.  Are  friends  so  faithful  pledges  of  de- 
light? 
JAILER.  What  better  comforts  than  are  faithful 

friends  ? 
MARIUS.  Is  wealth  a  mean  to  lengthen  life's 

content  1 
JAILER.  Where  great  possessions  bide,  what  care 

can  touch  1 

•    MARIUS.  These  stales  2  of  fortune  are  the  com- 
mon plagues, 

That  still  mislead  the  thoughts  of  simple  men. 
The  shepherd-swain  that,  'midst  his  country-cot, 
Deludes  his  broken  slumbers  by  his  toil, 
Thinks  lordship  sweet,  where  care  with  lordship 

dwells. 
The  trustful  man  that  builds  on  trothless  vows, 


1  The  meaning  of  "would  amate  me  so,"  is,  would  daunt 
or  confound  me  so.     See  note  to  "  Tancred  and  Gismunda  " 
[suprd,  p.  79],  where  instances  are  given. 

2  Mr  Steevens,  in  a  note  on  the  "  Comedy  of  Errors,"  act 
ii.  sc.  1,  has  collected  a  number  of  quotations  to  show  the 
meaning  of  the  word  stale,  and  to  them  the  reader  is  referred. 
In  this  place  it  signifies  a  false  allurement,  bait,  or  decep- 
tion on  the  part  of  fortune. 


138  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR, 

Whose  simple  thoughts  are  cross'd  with  scornful 

nays, 

Together  weeps  the  loss  of  wealth  and  friend  : 
So   lordship,    friends,  wealth   spring  and   perish 

fast, 

Where  death  alone  yields  happy  life  at  last. 
O  gentle  governor  of  my  contents, 
Thou  sacred  chieftain  of  our  capitol, 
Who  in  thy  crystal  orbs  with  glorious  gleams 
Lend'st  looks  of  pity  mix'd  with  majesty, 
See  woful  Marius  careful  for  his  son, 
Careless  of  lordship,  wealth,  or  worldly  means, 
Content  to  live,  yet  living  still  to  die  : 
Whose  nerves  and  veins,  whose  sinews,  by  the 

sword 
Must  lose   their  workings  through  distempering 

stroke, 

But  yet  whose  mind,  in  spite  of  fate  and  all, 
Shall  live  by  fame,  although  the  body  fall. 

JAILER.  Why  mourneth  Marius  this  recureless 

chance  1 
MARIUS.  I  pray  thee,  jailer,  would' st  thou  gladly 

die? 

JAILER.  If  needs,  I  would. 
MARIUS.  Yet  were  you  loth  to  try  ? 
JAILER.  Why,  noble  lord,  when  goods,  friends, 

fortune  fail, 

What  more  than  death  might  woful  man  avail  ? 
MARIUS.  Who  calls  for  death,  my  friend,  for  all 

his  scorns  1 

With  ^Esop's  slave  will  leave  his  bush  of  thorns. 
But  since  these  trait'rous  lords  will  have  my  head, 
Their  lordships  here  upon  this  homely  bed 
Shall  find  me  sleeping,  breathing  forth  my  breath, 
Till  they  their  shame,  and  I  my  fame,  attain  by 

death. 

Live,  gentle  Marius,  to  revenge  my  wrong  ! 
And,  sirrah,  see  they  stay  not  over-long ; 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  139 

For  he  that  erst  hath  conquer'd  kingdoms  many, 
Disdains  in  death  to  be  subdu'd  by  any. 

[He  lies  down. 

Enter  LUCIUS  FAVORINUS,  PAUSANIUS,  with 
PEDRO,  a  Frenchman. 

JAILER.  The  most  undaunted  words  that  ever 

were. 

The  mighty  thoughts  of  his  imperious  mind, 
Do  wound  my  heart  with  terror  and  remorse. 

PAUSANIUS.  ;Tis  desperate,  not  perfect  noble- 
ness : 

For  to  a  man  that  is  prepar'd  to  die, 
The  heart  should  rend,  the  sleep  should  leave  the 

eye. 
But  say,  Pedro,  will  you  do  the  deed  ? 

PEDRO.1  Mon  monsieurs,  per  la  sang  Dieu,  me 
will  make  a  trou  so  large  in  ce  belly,  dat  he  sal 
cry  hough,  come  un  porceau.  Featre  de  lay,  il  a 
tue  me  fadre,  he  kill  my  modre.  Faith  a  my  trote 
mon  espee  fera  le  fay  dun  soldat,  sau  sau.  leievera 
come  il  founta  pary :  me  will  make  a  spitch-cock  of 
his  persona. 

L.  FAVORINUS.  If  he  have  slain  thy  father  and 

thy  friends, 

The  greater  honour  shall  betide  the  deed  • 
For  to  revenge  on  righteous  estimate 
Beseems  the  honour  of  a  Frenchman's  name. 

PEDRO.  Mes  messiers,  de  fault  avoir  argent ;  me 
no  point  de  argent,  no  point  kill  Marius. 

PAUSANIUS.  Thou  shalt  have  forty  crowns ;  will 
that  content  thee  ? 

PEDRO.  Quarante  escus,  per  le  pied  de  madam, 


1  The  barbarous  jargon  put  into  the  mouth  of  this  French- 
man is  given  in  the  orthography  of  the  old  copy,  since  it 
was  vain  to  attempt  correction. 


140  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

me  give  more  dan  foure  to  se  prittie  damosele, 
dat  have  le  dulces  tittinos,  le  levres  Cymbrines. 
O,  they  be  fines  ! 

L.  FAVORINUS.  Great  is  the  hire,  and  little  is 

the  pain ; 

Make  therefore  quick  despatch,  and  look  for  gain. 
See  where  he  lies  in  drawing  on  his  death, 
Whose  eyes,  in  gentle  slumber  sealed  up, 
Present  no  dreadful  visions  to  his  heart. 

PEDRO.  Bien,  monsieur,  je  demourera  content : 
Marius,  tu  es  mort.  Speak  dy  preres  in  dy  sleepe, 
for  me  sal  cut  off  your  head  from  your  epaules, 
before  you  wake.  Qui  es  stia  ?  what  kinde  a  man 
be  dis  1 

L.  FAVORINUS.  Why,  what  delays  are  these?  why 
gaze  ye  thus  ] 

PEDRO.  Nostre  dame  !  Jesu  !  estiene  !  0  my 
siniors,  der  be  a  great  diable  in  ce  eyes,  qui  dart 
de  flame,  and  with  de  voice  d'un  bear  cries  out, 
Villain  !  dare  you  kill  Marius  1  Je  tremble  :  aida 
me,  siniors,  autrement  I  shall  be  murdered. 

PAUSANIUS.  What  sudden  madness  daunts  this 
stranger  thus  ? 

PEDRO.  0  me,  no  can  kill  Marius ;  me  no  dare 
kill  Marius  !  adieu,  messieurs,  me  be  dead,  si  je 
touche  Marius.  Marius  est  un  diable.  Jesu  Maria, 
sava  moy  ! l  [Exit  fugiens. 

1  "  Now  when  they  were  agreed  upon  it,  they  could  not 
find  a  man  in  the  city  that  durst  take  upon  him  to  kill  him  ; 
but  a  man  of  armes  of  the  Gaules,  or  one  of  the  Cimbres 
(for  we  find  both  the  one  and  the  other  in  writing)  that 
went  thither  with  his  sword  drawn  in  his  hand.  Now  that 
place  of  the  chamber  where  Marius  lay  was  very  dark,  and, 
as  it  is  reported,  the  man  of  armes  thought  he  saw  two  burn- 
ing flames  come  out  of  Marius's  eyes,  and  heard  a  voice  out 
of  that  dark  corner,  saying  unto  him  :  0  fellow,  thou,  darest 
thou  come  to  kill  Caius  Marius  ?  The  barbarous  Gaule, 
hearing  these  words,  ran  out  of  the  chamber  presently."- 
North's  Plutarch,  "  Life  of  Caius  Marius." 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  141 

PAUSANIUS.  What  fury  haunts  this  wretch  on 
sudden  thus  ? 

L.  FAVORINUS.  Ah,  my  Pausanius,  I  have  often 

heard, 

That  yonder  Marius  in  his  infancy 
Was  born  to  greater  fortunes  than  we  deem  : 
For,  being  scarce  from  out  his  cradle  crept, 
And  sporting  prettily  with  his  compeers, 
On  sudden  seven  young  eagles  soar'd  amain, 
And  kindly  perch'd  upon  his  tender  lap. 
His  parents,  wondering  at  this  strange  event, 
Took  counsel  of  the  soothsayers  in  this  • 
Who  told  them  that  these  sevenfold  eagles'  flight 
Forefigured  his  seven  times  consulship  : l 
And  we  ourselves  (except  bewitch'd  with  pride) 
Have  seen  him  six  times  in  the  capitol, 
Accompanied  with  rods  and  axes  too. 
And  some  divine  instinct  so  presseth  me, 
That  sore  I  tremble,  till  I  set  him  free. 

PAUSANIUS.  The  like  assaults  attain  my  wan- 

d'ring  mind, 

Seeing  our  bootless  war  with  matchless  fate. 
Let  us  entreat  him  to  forsake  our  town ; 
So  shall  we  gain  a  friend  of  Eome  and  him. 

[MARIUS  awaketh. 
But  mark  how  happily  he  doth  awake. 

MARIUS.  What,  breathe  I  yet,  poor  man,  with 

mounting  sighs, 
Choking  the  rivers  of  my  restless  eyes  ? 


1  "For  when  he  was  but  very  young,  and  dwelling  in  the 
country,  he  gathered  up  in  the  lap  of  his  gowne  the  ayrie  of 
an  eagle,  in  the  which  were  seven  young  eagles ;  whereat 
his  father  and  mother  much  wondering,  asked  the  sooth- 
sayers what  that  meant  ?  They  answered  that  their  sonne 
should  one  day  be  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  world,  and 
that  out  of  doubt  he  should  obtain  seven  times  in  his  life 
the  chiefest  office  of  dignity  in  his  country." — North's  Plu- 
tarch, '  'Life  of  Caius  Marius." 


142  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Or  is  their  rage  restrain'd  with  matchless  ruth  ] 
See  how  amaz'd  these  angry  lords  behold 
The  poor,  confused  looks  of  wretched  Marias. 
Minturnians,  why  delays  your  headsman  thus 
To  finish  up  this  ruthful  tragedy  ? 

L.  FAVORINUS.    Far  be  it,  Marias,   from  our 

thoughts  or  hands 

To  wrong  the  man  protected  by  the  gods  : 
Live  happy,  Marius,  so  thou  leave  our  town. 

MARIUS.  And  must  I  wrestle  once  again  with 

fate, 
Or  will  these  princes  dally  with  mine  age  1 

PAUSANIUS.    No,  matchless  Roman;   thine  ap- 
proved mind, 

That  erst  hath  alter'd  our  ambitious  wrong, 
Must  flourish  still,  and  we  thy  servants  live 
To  see  thy  glories,  like  the  swelling  tides, 
Exceed  the  bounds  of  fate  and  Roman  rule. 
Yet  leave  us,  lord,  and  seek  some  safer  shed, 
Where,  more  secure,   thou  may'st  prevent   mis- 
haps j 
For  great  pursuits  and  troubles  thee  await. 

MARIUS.  Ye  piteous  powers,  that  with  successful 

hopes 

And  gentle  counsels  thwart  my  deep  despairs, 
Old  Marius  to  your  mercies  recommends 
His  hap,  his  life,  his  hazard,  and  his  son. 
Minturnians,  I  will  hence,  and  you  shall  fly 
Occasions  of  those  troubles  you  expect. 
Dream  not  on  dangers,  that  have  sav'd  my  life. 
Lordings,  adieu  :  from  walls  to  woods  I  wend ; 
To  hills,  dales,  rocks,  my  wrong  for  to  commend. 

[Exit. 

L.  FAVORINUS.    Fortune,  vouchsafe   his   many 
woes  to  end.  [Exeunt. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  143 

Enter  SYLLA1  in  triumph  in  his  chair  triumphant  of 
gold,  drawn  by  four  Moors;  before  the  chariot, 
his  colours,  his  crest,  his  captains,  his  prisoners: 
ARCATHIUS,  Mithridates  son;  AniSTION,  AR- 
CHELAUS,  bearing  crowns  of  gold,  and  manacled. 
After  the  chariot,  his  soldier's  bands;  BASILLUS, 
LUCRETIUS,  LUCULLUS,  besides  prisoners  of 
divers  nations  and  sundry  disguises. 

SYLLA.  You  men  of  Rome,  my  fellow-mates  in 

arms, 

Whose  three  years'  prowess,  policy,  and  war, 
One  hundred  threescore  thousand  men  at  arms 
Hath  overthrown  and  murder'd  in  the  field ; 
Whose  valours  to  the  empire  have  restored 
All  Grecia,  Asia,  and  Ionia, 
With  Macedonia,  subject  to  our  foe, 
You  see  the  froward  customs  of  our  state 
Who,  measuring  not  our  many  toils  abroad, 
Sit  in  their  cells,  imagining  our  harms  : 
Replenishing  our  Roman  friends  with  fear. 
Yea,  Sylla,  worthy  friends,  whose  fortunes,  toils, 
And  stratagems  these  strangers  may  report, 
Is  by  false  Cinna  and  his  factious  friends 
Revil'd,  condemn'd,  and  cross'd  without  a  cause  : 
Yea,  Romans,  Marius  must  return  to  Rome, 
Of  purpose  to  upbraid  your  general. 
But  this  undaunted  mind  that  never  droop'd  ; 
This  forward  body,  form'd  to  suffer  toil, 
Shall  haste  to  Rome,  where  every  foe  shall  rue 
The  rash  disgrace  both  of  myself  and  you. 

LUCRETIUS.  And  may  it  be  that  those  seditious 

brains 
Imagine  these  presumptuous  purposes  1 

1  The  old  quarto  divides  the  play  very  irregularly;  for 
according  to  it  there  are  two  Acts  iii.  and  two  Acts  iv.  One 
of  the  Acts  iii.  was  made  to  commence  here. 


144  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

SYLLA.  And  may  it  be  1     Why,  man,  and  wilt 

thou  doubt, 

Where  Sylla  deigns  these  dangers  to  aver  1 
Sirrah,  except  not  so,  misdoubt  not  so  : 
See  here  Aneparius'  letters,  read  the  lines, 
And  say,  Lucretius,  that  I  favour  thee, 
That  darest  but  suspect  thy  general. 

\ltead  the  letters  and  deliver  them. 

LUCRETIUS.  The  case  conceal'd  hath  mov'd  the 

more  misdoubt ; 

Yet  pardon  my  presumptions,  worthy  Sylla, 
That  to  my  grief  have  read  these  hideous  harms. 

SYLLA.    Tut,    my  Lucretius,   fortune's  ball   is 

toss'd 

To  form  the  story  of  my  fatal  power : 
Rome  shall  repent ;  babe,  mother,  shall  repent : 
Air,  weeping  cloudy  sorrows,  shall  repent : 
Wind,  breathing  many  sorrows,  shall  repent — 
To  see  those  storms,  concealed  in  my  breast, 
Reflect  the  hideous  flames  of  their  unrest. 
But  words  are  vain,  and  cannot  quell  our  wrongs  : 
Brief  periods  serve  for  them   that   needs   must 

post  it. 

Lucullus,  since  occasion  calls  me  hence, 
And  all  our  Roman  senate  think  it  meet, 
That  thou  pursue  the  wars  I  have  begun, 
As  by  their  letters  I  am  certified, 
I  leave  thee  Cymbria's  legions  to  conduct, 
With  this  proviso  that,  in  ruling  still, 
You  think  on  Sylla  and  his  courtesies. 

LUCULLUS.    The  weighty  charge   of  this   con- 
tinued war, 

Though  strange  it  seem,  and  over-great  to  wield, 
I  will  accept,  if  so  the  army  please. 

SOLDIERS.    Happy  and   fortunate  be  Lucullus 
our  general. 

SYLLA.  If  he  be  Sylla's  friend,  else  not  at  all : 
For  otherwise  the  man  were  ill-bested, 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL   WAR.  145 

That  gaining  glories  straight  should  lose  his  head. 
But,  soldiers,  since  I  needly l  must  to  Rome, 
Basillus'  virtues  shall  have  recompense. 
Lo,  here  the  wreath,  Valerius,  for  thy  pains, 
Who  first  didst  enter  Archilaus'  trench  : 
This  pledge  of  virtue,  sirrah,  shall  approve 
Thy  virtues,  and  confirm  me  in  thy  love. 

BASILLUS.  Happy  be  Sylla,  if  no  foe  to  Rome. 

SYLLA.  I  like  no  ifs  from  such  a  simple  groom. 
I  will  be  happy  in  despite  of  state. 
And  why  1  because  I  never  feared  fate. 
But  come,  Arcathius,  for  your  father's  sake  : 
Enjoin  your  fellow-princes  to  their  tasks, 
And  help  to  succour  these  my  weary  bones. 
Tut,  blush  not,  man,  a  greater  state  than  thou 
Shall  pleasure  Sylla  in  more  baser  sort. 
Aristion  is  a  jolly-timber'd  man, 
Fit  to  conduct  the  chariot  of  a  king  : 
Why,  be  not  squeamish,  for  it  shall  go  hard, 
But  I  will  give  you  all  a  great  reward. 

ARCATHIUS.   Humbled  by  fate,  like  wretched 
men  we  yield. 

SYLLA.  Arcathius,  these  are  fortunes    of   the 

field. 

Believe  me,  these  brave  captives  draw  by  art, 
And  I  will  think  upon  their  good  desert. 
But  stay  you,  strangers,  and  respect  my  words. 
Fond  heartless  men,  what  folly  have  I  seen  ! 
For  fear  of  death  can  princes  entertain 
Such  bastard  thoughts,  that  now  from  glorious 

arms 

Vouchsafe  to  draw  like  oxen  in  a  plough  ? 
Arcathius,  I  am  sure  Mithridates 
Will  hardly  brook  the  scandal  of  his  name  : 
'Twere  better  in  Pisae 2  to  have  died, 
Aristion,  than  amidst  our  legions  thus  to  draw. 

1  Necessarily  or  unavoidably.  2  [Old  copy,  Picceo.] 

VOL.  VII.  K 


146  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

ARISTION.  I  tell  thee,  Sylla,  captives  have  no 

choice, 
And  death  is  dreadful  to  a  captive  man. 

SYLLA.  In  such  imperfect  mettles l  as  is  yours  : 
But  Romans,  that  are  still  allur'd  by  fame, 
Choose  rather  death  than  blemish  of  their  name. 
But  I  have  haste,  and  therefore  will  reward  you. 
Go,  soldiers,  with  as  quick  despatch  as  may  be, 
Hasten  their  death,  and  bring  them  to  their  end, 
And  say  in  this  that  Sylla  is  your  friend. 

ARCATHIUS.  0,  ransom  thou  our   lives,  sweet 
conqueror  ! 

SYLLA.  Fie,  foolish  men,  why  fly  you  happiness  1 
Desire  you  still  to  lead  a  servile  life  1 
Dare  you  not  buy  delights  with  little  pains  1 
Well,  for  thy  father's  sake,  Arcathius, 
I  will  prefer  thy  triumphs  with  the  rest. 
Go,  take  them  hence,  and  when  we  meet  in  hell, 
Then  tell  me,  princes,  if  I  did  not  well. 

\Exeunt  milites. 

Lucullus,  thus  these  mighty  foes  are  down, 
Now  strive  thou  for  the  King  of  Pontus'  crown. 
I  will  to  Rome  ;  go  thou,  and  with  thy  train 
Pursue  Mithridates,  till  he  be  slain. 

LUCULLUS.  With  fortune's  help  :  go  calm  thy 

country's  woes, 
Whilst  I  with  these  seek  out  our  mighty  foes. 

Enter  MARIUS  solus,  from  the  Numidian  mountains, 
feeding  on  roots. 

MARIUS.  Thou,  that  hast  walk'd  with  troops  of 

flocking  friends, 

Now  wand'rest  'midst  the  labyrinth  of  woes  ; 
Thy  best  repast  with  many  sighing  ends, 
And  none  but  fortune  all  these  mischiefs  knows. 

1  [Old  copy,  metals .] 


THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL   WAR.  147 

Like   to   these   stretching   mountains,    clad  with 

snow, 

No  sunshine  of  content  my  thoughts  approacheth  : 
High   spire  their  tops,  my  hopes  no  height  do 

know, 

But  mount  so  high  as  time  their  tract  reproacheth. 
They  find  their  spring,  where  winter  wrongs  my 

mind, 
They  weep  their  brooks,  I  waste  my  cheeks  with 

tears. 

0  foolish  fate,  too  froward  and  unkind, 
Mountains   have  peace,  where  mournful  be   my 

years. 
Yet  high  as  they  my  thoughts  some  hopes  would 

borrow ; 

But  when  I  count  the  evening  end  with  sorrow. 
Death  in  Minturnum  threatened  Marius'  head, 
Hunger  in  these  Numidian  mountains  dwells  : 
Thus  with  prevention  having  mischief  fled, 
Old  Marius  finds  a  world  of  many  hells, 
Such  as  poor  simple  wits  have  oft  repin'd ; 
But  I  will  quell,  by  virtues  of  the  mind, 
Long  years  misspent  in  many  luckless  chances, 
Thoughts  full  of  wrath,  yet  little  worth  succeeding, 
These  are  the  means  for  those  whom  fate  advances  : 
But  I,  whose  wounds  are  fresh,  my  heart   still 

bleeding, 

Live  to  entreat  this  blessed  boon  from  fate, 
That  I  might  die  with  grief  to  live  in  state. 
Six  hundred  suns  with  solitary  walks 

1  still  have  sought  for  to  delude  my  pain, 
And  friendly  echo,  answering  to  my  talks, 
Rebounds  the  accent  of  my  ruth  again  : 

She,  courteous  nymph,  the  woful  Roman  pleaseth, 
Else  no  consorts  but  beasts  my  pains  appeaseth. 
Each  day  she  answers  in  yon  neighbouring  moun- 
tain, 
I  do  expect,  reporting  of  my  sorrow, 


148  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Whilst  lifting  up  her  locks  from  out  the  fountain, 
She  answereth  to  my  questions  even  and  morrow  : 
Whose  sweet  rebounds,  my  sorrow  to  remove, 
To  please  my  thoughts  I  mean  for  to  approve. 
Sweet  nymph,  draw  near,  thou  kind  and  gentle 

echo,  Echo.1 

What  help  to  ease  my  weary  pains  have  I  ]  /. 
What  comfort  in  distress  to  calm  my  griefs  ] 

Griefs. 
Sweet  nymph,  these  griefs  are  grown,  before  I 

thought  so.  /  thought  so. 

Thus  Marius  lives  disdain'd  of  all  the  gods.  Gods. 
With  deep  despair  late  overtaken  wholly.  0  lie. 
And  will  the  heavens  be  never  well  appeased  1 

Appeased. 

What  mean  have  they  left  me  to  cure  my  smart  1 

Art. 
Nought  better  fits  old  Marius'  mind  than  war. 

Then  war." 

Then  full  of  hope,  say,  Echo,  shall  I  go  1  Go. 

Is  any  better  fortune  then  at  hand  ?  At  hand. 

Then  farewell,  Echo,  gentle  nymph,  farewell. 

Farewell. 

0  pleasing  folly  to  a  pensive  man  ! 
Well,  I  will  rest  fast  by  this  shady  tree, 
Waiting  the  end  that  fate  allotteth  me.  [Sits  down. 


1  An  early  instance  of  an  echo  of  this  kind  upon  the 
stage  is  to  be  found  in  Peele's  "Arraignment  of  Paris," 
1584.    Mr  D'Israeli  has  an  entertaining  essay  upon  them  in 
his  "  Curiosities  of  Literature,"  second  series.     They  were 
carried  to  a  most  ridiculous  excess  afterwards. 

2  The  old  spelling  of   than  was  then,  and  this  must  be 
observed  here.     The  echo  is  supposed  to  encourage  Marius 
again  to  take  up  arms — 

"  Nought  better  fits  old  Marius'  mind  than  war." 

And  the  reply  of  the  echo  is,  "  Then  war,"  or  then  go  (o 
war. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  149 

Enter  MARIUS  the  son,  ALBINOVANUS,  CETHEGUS, 

LECTORIUS,  with  Soldiers. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  My  countrymen,  and  favour- 
ites of  Rome, 

This  melancholy  desert  where  we  meet, 
Resembleth  well  young  Harms'  restless  thoughts. 
Here  dreadful  silence,  solitary  caves, 
No  chirping  birds  with  solace  singing  sweetly, 
Are  harbour'd  for  delight ;  but  from  the  oak, 
Leafless  and  sapless  through  decaying  age, 
The  screech-owl  chants  her  fatal-boding  lays. 
Within  my  breast  care,  danger,  sorrow  dwell ; 
Hope  and  revenge  sit  hammering  in  my  heart : 
The  baleful  babes  of  angry  Nemesis 
Disperse  their  furious  fires  upon  my  soul. 

LECTORIUS.  Fie,  Marius,  are  you  discontented 

still, 

When  as  occasion  favoureth  your  desire  ! 
Are  not  these  noble  Romans  come  from  Rome  ? 
Hath  not  the  state  recalFd  your  father  home  ? 
YOUNG  MARIUS.    And  what  of  this?     What 

profit  may  I  reap, 
That  want  my  father  to  conduct  us  home  1 

LECTORIUS.    My  lord,  take  heart ;   no    doubt 

this  stormy  flaw,1 

That  Neptune  sent  to  cast  us  on  this  shore, 
Shall  end  these  discontentments  at  the  last. 
MARIUS.  Whom  see  mine  eyes  ?    What,  is  not 

yon  my  son  ? 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  What  solitary  father  walketh 

there  1 

MARIUS.  It  is  my  son !  these  are  my  friends  I 
see. 


1  This  passage  is  quoted  by  Mr  Steevens  in  a  note  on 
"Hamlet,"  act  v.  sc.  1,  to  show  that  "the  winter's  flaw" 
there  spoken  of  means  "  the  winter's  blast." 


150  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

What,  have  sore-pining  cares  so  changed  me  *? 
Or  are  my  looks  distemper'd  through  the  pains 
And  agonies  that  issue  from  my  heart  ? 
Fie,  Marius !  frolic,  man  !  thou  must  to  Rome, 
There  to  revenge  thy  wrongs,  and  wait  thy  tomb. 
YOUNG    MARIUS.    Now,   fortune,    frown    and 

palter  if  thou  please. 

Romans,  behold  my  father  and  your  friend. 
O  father ! 

MARIUS.  Marius,  thou  art  fitly  met. 
Albinovanus,  and  my  other  friends, 
What  news  at  Rome  ?    What  fortune  brought  you 

hither  ? 
ALBINOVANUS.  My  lord,  the  Consul  Cinna  hath 

restor'd 

The  doubtful  course  of  your  betrayed  state, 
And  waits  your  present  swift  approach  to  Rome, 
Your  foeman  Sylla  posteth  very  fast 
With  good  success  from  Pontus,  to  prevent 
Your  speedy  entrance  into  Italy. 
The  neighbouring  cities  are  your  very  friends  ; 
Nought  rests,  my  lord,  but  you  depart  from  hence. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  How  many  desert  ways  hath 

Marius  sought, 

How  many  cities  have  I  visited  ! 
To  find  my  father,  and  relieve  his  wants  ! 

MARIUS.  My  son,  I  'quite  thy  travails  with  my 

love. 

And,  lords  and  citizens,  we  will  to  Rome, 
And  join  with  Cinna.     Have  you  shipping  here  ? 
What,  are  these  soldiers  bent  to  die  with  me  ? 
SOLDIERS.    Content    to    pledge    our   lives   for 

Marius. 

LECTORIUS.  My  lord,  here,  in  the  next  adjoin- 
ing port, 

Our  ships  are  rigg'd,  and  ready  for  to  sail. 
MARIUS.  Then  let  us  sail  unto  Etruria, 
And  cause  our  friends,  the  Germans,  to  revolt, 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  151 

And  get  some  Tuscans  to  increase  our  power. 
Deserts,  farewell !     Come,  Romans,  let  us  go— 
A  scourge  for  Rome,  that  hath  depress'd  us  so. 

[Exeunt. 


ACTUS  QUARTUS,  SCENA  PRIMA. 

Enter  MARK  ANTHONY,  LEPIDUS,  OCTAVIUS, 
FLACCUS,  Senators. 

OCTAVIUS.  What  helps,  my  lords,  to  overhale 

these  cares  1 

What  means  or  motions  may  these  mischiefs  end  ? 
You  see  how  Cinna,  that  should  succour  Rome, 
Hath  levied  arms  to  bring  a  traitor  in. 
0  worthless  traitor,  woe  to  thine  and  thee, 
That  thus  disquieteth  both  Rome  and  us  1 

ANTHONY.  Octavius,  these  are  scourges  for  our 

sins; 

These  are  but  ministers  to  heap  our  plague. 
These  mutinies  are  gentle  means  and  ways, 
Whereby  the  heavens  our  heavy  errors  charm. 
Then  with  content  and  humbled  eyes  behold 
The  crystal  shining  globe  of  glorious  Jove ; 
And,  since  we  perish  through  our  own  misdeeds, 
Go  let  us  flourish  in  our  fruitful  prayers. 

LEPIDUS.  'Midst  these  confusions,  mighty  men 

of  Rome, 

Why  waste  we  out  these  troubles  all  in  words  ? 
Weep  not  your  harms,  but  wend  we  straight  to 

arms, 

Lo,  Ostia1  spoil'd,  see  Marius  at  our  gate  ! 
And  shall  we  die  like  milksops,  dreaming  thus  ? 
OCTAVIUS.  A  bootless  war  to  see  our  country 

spoil'd. 

1  [Old  copy,  Distia.] 


152  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

LEPIDUS.  Fruitless  is  dalliance,  whereas  dan- 
gers be. 

ANTHONY.  My  lord,  may  courage  wait  on  con- 
quer'd  men  1 

LEPIDUS.  Ay,  even  in  death  most  courage  doth 
appear. 

OCTAVIUS.  Then,  waiting  death,  I  mean  to  seat 

me  here  • 

Hoping  that  consuls'  name  and  fear  of  laws 
Shall  justify  my  conscience  and  my  cause. 

Enter  a  MESSENGER. 

Now,  sirrah,  what  confused  looks  are  these  1 
What  tidings  bringest  thou  of  dreariment  1 l 

MESSENGER.  My  lords,  the  Consul  Cinna,  with 

his  friends, 

Have  let  in  Marius  by  Via  Ajjpia, 
Whose  soldiers  waste  and  murder  all  they  meet  • 
Who,  with  the  consul  and  his  other  friends, 
With  expedition  hasteth  to  this  place. 

ANTHONY.  Then  to  the  downfal  of  my  hap- 
piness, 

Then  to  the  ruin  of  this  city  Rome. 
But  if  mine  inward  ruth  were  laid  in  sight, 
My  streams  of  tears  should  drown  my  foes'  despite. 

OCTAVIUS.  Courage,  Lord  Anthony :  if  fortune 

please, 

She  will  and  can  these  troubles  soon  appease  ; 
But  if  her  backward  frowns  approach  us  nigh, 
Resolve  with  us  with  honour  for  to  die. 

LEPIDUS.  No  storm  of  fate  shall  bring  my  sor- 
rows down ; 
But  if  that  fortune  list,  why,  let  her  frown. 

1  Dreariment  is  not  so  frequently  met  in  any  of  our  old 
writers  as  Spenser :  I  do  not  recollect  it  in  any  play  before. 
It  requires  no  explanation. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  153 

ANTHONY.    Where    states   oppress'd   by   cruel 

tyrants  be, 
Old  Anthony,  there  is  no  place  for  thee. 

[Drum  strikes  within.. 
Hark,  by  this   thundering  noise   of  threatening 

drums, 
Marius  with  all  his  faction  hither  conies. 

OCTAVIUS.  Then  like  a  traitor  he  shall  know, 

ere  long, 
In  levying  arms  he  doth  his  country  wrong. 

Enter  MARIUS,  his  Son,  ClNNA,  CETHEGUS,  L.ECTO- 
RITJS,  with  Soldiers :  upon  sight  of  whom  MARK 
ANTHONY  2^esently  flies. 

MARIUS.  And  have  we  got  the  goal  of  honour  now, 
And  in  despite  of  consuls  enter'd  Eome  1 
Then     rouse    thee,    Marius.    leave    thy    ruthful 

thoughts ; 

And  for  thy  many  eares  and  toils  sustain'd, 
Afflict  thy  foes  with  quite  as  many  pains. 
Go,  soldiers,  seek  out  Bebius  and  his  friends, 
Attilius,  Munitorius,  with  the  rest ; 
Cut  off  their  heads,  for  they  did  cross  me  once  : 
And  if  your  care  can  compass  my  decree, 
Eemember  that  same  fugitive  Mark  Anthony, 
Whose  fatal  end  shall  be  my  fruitful  peace. 
I  tell  thee,  Cinna,  nature  armeth  beasts 
With  just  revenge,  and  lendeth  in  their  kinds 
Sufficient  warlike  weapons  of  defence  ; 
If  then  by  nature  beasts  revenge  their  wrong, 
Both  heavens  and  nature  grant  me  vengeance  now. 
Yet  whilst  I  live  and  suck  this  subtle  air, 
That  lendeth  breathing  coolness  to  my  lights, 
The  register  of  all  thy  righteous  acts, 
Thy  pains,  thy  toils,  thy  travails  for  my  sake, 
Shall  dwell  by  kind  impressions  in  my  heart, 
And  I  with  links  of  true,  unfeigned  love 


154  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Will  lock  these  Eoman  favourites  in  my  breast, 
And  live  to  hazard  life  for  their  relief. 

CiNNA.  My  lord,  your  safe  and  swift  return  to 

Kome 

Makes  Cinna  fortunate  and  well  a-paid ; 
Who,  through  the  false  suggestions  of  my  foes, 
Was  made  a  cypher1  of  a  consul  here  : 
Lo,  where  he  sits  commanding  in  his  throne, 
That  wronged  Marius,  me,  and  all  these  lords. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  To  'quite  his  love,  Cinna,  let 

me  alone. 

How  fare  these  lords  that,  lumping,  pouting,  proud, 
Imagine  now  to  quell  me  with  their  looks  ? 
Now  welcome,  sirs,  is  Marius  thought  so  base  ? 
Why  stand  you  looking  babies  in  my  face  ? 
Who  welcomes  me,  him  Marius  makes  his  friend  ; 
Who  lowers  on  me,  him  Marius  means  to  end. 

FLACCUS.  Happy  and  fortunate  thy  return  to 
Rome. 

LEPIDUS.  And  long  live  Marius2  with  fame  in 
Rome. 

MARIUS.  I  thank  you,  courteous  lords,  that  are 
so  kind. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  But  why  endures  your  grace 

that  braving  mate. 
To  sit  and  face  us  in  his  robes  of  state  ? 

MARIUS.  My  son,  he  is  a  consul  at  the  least, 
And  gravity  becomes  Octavius  best, 
But,  Cinna,  would  in  yonder  empty  seat 
You  would  for  Marius'  freedom  once  entreat. 

CiNNA  presseth  up,  and  OCTAVIUS  stayeth  him. 

OCTAVIUS.  Avaunt,  thou  traitor,  proud  and  in- 
solent ! 
How  dar'st  thou  press  near  civil  government. 

1  [Old  copy,  coffer.}  l  [Old  copy,  Marius  live.] 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  155 

MARIUS.  Why,  Master  Consul,  are  you  grown 

so  hot  ? 

I'll  have  a  present  cooling  card  for  you. 
Be  therefore  well  advis'd,  and  move  me  not : 
For  though  by  you  I  was  exil'd  from  Rome, 
And  in  the  desert  from  a  prince's  seat 
Left  to  bewail  ingratitudes  of  Rome  ; 
Though  I  have  known  your  thirsty  throats  have 

long'd 

To  bathe  themselves  in  my  distilling  blood, 
Yet  Marius,  sirs,  hath  pity  join'd  with  power. 
Lo,  here  the  imperial  ensign  which  I  wield, 
That  waveth  mercy  to  my  wishers-well : 
And  more  :  see  here  the  dangerous  trote  of  war, 
That  at  the  point  is  steel'd  with  ghastly  death. 

OCTAVIUS.  Thou  exile,  threaten'st  thou  a  consul 

then? 

Lictors,  go  draw  him  hence  !  such  braving  mates 
Are  not  to  boast  their  arms  in  quiet  states. 

MARIUS.  Go  draw  me  hence  !   What !  no  relent, 
Octavius  ? 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  My  lord,  what  heart  indurate 

with  revenge 

Could  leave  this  lozel,1  threat'ning  murder  thus? 
Vouchsafe  me  leave  to  taint  that  traitor  seat 
With  flowing  streams  of  his  contagious  blood. 

OCTAVIUS.  The  father's  son,  I  know  him  by  his 

talk, 

That  scolds  in  words,  when  fingers  cannot  walk. 
But  Jove,  I  hope,  will  one  day  send  to  Rome 
The  blessed  patron  of  this  monarchy, 
Who  will  revenge  injustice  by  his  sword. 

CINNA.  Such  braving  hopes,  such  cursed  argu- 
ments : 
So  strict  command,  such  arrogant  controls ! 

1  Lozel  is  always  used  as  a  term  of  contempt,  and  means 
a  worthless  fellow. 


156  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Suffer  me,  Marius,  that  am  consul  now, 

To  do  thee  justice,  and  confound  the  wretch. 

MARIUS.  Cinna,  you  know  I  am  a  private  man, 
That  still  submit  my  censures  to  your  will. 

CINNA.  Then,  soldiers,  draw  this  traitor  from 

the  throne, 
And  let  him  die,  for  Cinna  wills  it  so. 

YOUNG   MARIUS.    Ay,  now,  my  China,  noble 

consul,  speaks. 
Octavius,  your  checks  shall  cost  you  dear. 

OCTAVIUS.  And  let  me  die,  for  Cinna  wills  it  so  ! 
Is  then  the  reverence  of  this  robe  contemn'd  ? 
Are  these  associates  of  so  small  regard  1 
Why  then,  Octavius  willingly  consents 
To  entertain  the  sentence  of  his  death. 
But  let  the  proudest  traitor  work  his  will ; 
I  fear  no  strokes,  but  here  will  sit  me  still. 
Since  justice  sleeps,  since  tyrants  reign  in  Rome, 
Octavius  longs  for  death  to  die  in  Rome. 

CINNA.    Then  strike  him  where  he  sits;  then 
hale  him  hence. 

OCTAVIUS.  Heavens  punish  Cinna's  pride  and 
thy  offence. 

[A  Soldier  stabs  him;  he  is  carried  away. 

ClNNA.  Now  is  he  fallen  that  threaten'd  Marius  ; 
Now  will  I  sit  and  plead  for  Marius. 

MARIUS.  Thou  dost  me  justice,  Cinna,  for  you  see 
These  peers  of  Rome  of1  late  exiled  me. 

LEPIDUS.  Your  lordship  doth  injustice  to  accuse 
Those,  who  in  your  behalf  did  not  offend. 

FLACCUS.  We  grieve  to  see  the  aged  Marius 
Stand  like  a  private  man  in  view  of  Rome. 

CINNA.  Then  bid  him  sit;  and  lo,  an  empty 

place : 

Revoke  his  exile  from  his  government, 
And  so  prevent  your  farther  detriment. 

1  [Old  copy,  have.} 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  157 

LEPIDUS.  We  will  account  both  Marius  and  his 

friends, 

His  son  and  all  his  followers,  free  in  Rome  : 
And  since  we  see  the  dangerous  times  at  hand, 
And  hear  of  Sylla's  confidence  and  haste, 
And  know  his  hate  and  rancour  to  these  lords, 
We 1  him  create  for  consul,  to  prevent 
The  policies  of  Sylla  and  his  friends. 

CiNNA.  Then,  both  confirm'd  by  state  and  full 

consent, 

The  rods  and  axe  to  Marius  I  present, 
And  here  invest  thee  with  the  consul's  pall. 

FLACCUS.  Long,  fortunate,  and  happy  life  betide 
Old  Marius  in  his  sevenfold  consulship. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  And  so  let  Marius  live  and 

govern  Rome, 
As  cursed  Sylla  never  look  on  Rome. 

MARIUS.  Then  plac'd  in  consul's  throne,  you 
Roman  states,  [He  takes  his  seat. 

RecalPd  from  banishment  by  your  decrees, 
Install'd  in  this  imperial  seat  to  rule, 
Old  Marius  thanks  his  friends  and  favourites, 
From  whom  this  final  favour  he  requires  : 
That,  seeing  Sylla  by  his  murderous  blade 
Brought  fierce  seditions  first  to  head  in  Rome, 
And  forced  laws  to  banish  innocents, 
I  crave  by  course  of  reason  and  desert, 
That  he  may  be  proclaimed,  as  erst  was  I, 
A  traitor  and  an  enemy  of  Rome. 
Let  all  his  friends  be  banish'd  out  of  town  ; 
Then,  cutting  off  the  branch  where  troubles  spring, 
Rome  shall  have  peace  and  plenty  in  her  walls. 

CINNA.  In  equity  it  needs  must  be,  my  friends, 
That  one  be  guilty  of  our  common  harms  : 
And  since  that  Marius  is  accounted  free, 
Sylla  with  all  his  friends  must  traitors  be. 

i  [Old  copy,  And.] 


158  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  My  father's  reasons,  Romans, 

are  of  force ; 

For  if  you  see,  and  live  not  to  secure, 
You  know  that,  in  so  great  a  state  as  this, 
Two  mighty  foes  can  never  well  agree. 

LEPIDUS.  Then  let  us  seek  to  please  our  consul 

first, 

And  then  prepare  to  keep  the  exile  out. 
Cinna,  as  Marius  and  these  lords  agree, 
Firm  this  edict,  and  let  it  pass  for  me. 

CINNA.  Then,  Romans,  in  the  name  of  all  this 

state, 

I  here  proclaim  and  publish  this  decree  ; 
That  Sylla  with  his  friends,  allies,  and  all, 
Are  banish'd  exiles,  traitors  unto  Rome  : 
And  to  extinguish  both  his  name  and  state, 
We  will  his  house  be  razed  to  the  ground, 
His  goods  confiscate  :  this  our  censure  is. 
Lictor,  proclaim  this  in  the  market-place, 
And  see  it  executed  out  of  hand.          [Exit  Lictor. 

MARIUS.  Now  see  I,  senators,  the  thought,  the 

care, 

The  virtuous  zeal  that  leads  your  toward  minds 
To  love  your  friends,  arid  watch  your  common 

good  : 

And  now,  establish'd  consul  in  this  place, 
Old  Marius  will  foresee  advenient  harms. 
Sylla,  the  scourge  of  Asia,  as  we  hear, 
Is  press'd  to  enter  Italy  with  sword. 
He  comes  in  pomp  to  triumph  here  in  Rome  : 
But,  senators,  you  know  the  wavering  wills 
Of  foolish  men — I  mean  the  common  sort — 
Who,  through  report  of  innovations, 
Of  flattering  humours  of  well-temper'd  tongues, 
W7ill  change,  and  draw  a  second  mischief  on. 
I  like  your  care,  and  will  myself  apply 
To  aim  and  level  at  my  country's  weal. 
To  intercept  these  errors  by  advice, 


THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL  WAR.  159 

My  son  young  Marius,  Cethegus,  and  my  friends, 
Shall  to  Prseneste,  to  prevent  and  stop 
The  speedy  purpose  of  our  forward  foe. 
Meanwhile,  ourselves  will  fortify  this  town, 
This  beauty  of  the  world,  this  maiden-town  ; 
Where  streaming  Tybris,  with  a  pleasant  tide, 
Leads  out  the  stately  buildings  of  the  world. 
Marius,  my  hope,  my  son,  you  know  your  charge  : 
Take  those  Iberian  legions  in  your  train, 
And  we  will  spare  some  Cymbrians  to  your  use. 
Remember  thou  art  Marius'  son,  and  dream 
On  nought  but  honour  and  a  happy  death  ! 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  I  go,  my  lord,  in  hope  to  make 

the  world 

Report  my  service  and  my  duty  too  ; 
And  that  proud  challenger  of  Asia 
Shall  find  that  Marius'  son  hath  force  and  wit. 

[Exit  cum  CETHEGO. 

MARIUS.  Go,  thou,  as  fortunate  as  Greeks  to 

Troy; 

As  glorious  as  Alcides  in  thy  toils ; 
As  happy  as  Sertorius  in  thy  fight ; 
As  valiant  as  Achilles  in  thy  might : 
Go,  glorious,  valiant,  happy,  fortunate, 
As  all  those  Greeks  and  him  of  Roman  state  ! 

Enter,  led  in  with  Soldiers,  CORNELIA  and  FuLVIA. 

CORNELIA.    Traitors !    why  drag    you  thus  a 

prince's  wife, 

As  if  that  beauty  were  a  thrall  to  fate  1 
Are  Romans  grown  more  barbarous  than  Greeks, 
That  hate  more  greater  than  Cassandra  now  ? 
The  Macedonian  monarch  was  more  kind, 
That  honour'd  and  reliev'd  in  warlike  camp 
Darius'  mother,  daughters,  and  his  wife. 
But  you  unkind  to  Roman  ladies  now, 
Perhaps  as  constant  as  the  ancient  queens ; 


160  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

For  they,  subdu'd,  had  friendship  in  disgrace, 
Where  we,  unconquer'd,  live  in  woful  case. 

MARIUS.    What   plaintive  pleas  presents   that 

lady  there  1 
jWhy,    soldiers,    make    you    prisoners    here    in 

"  Rome  1 

1ST  SOLDIER.  Dread  consul,  we  have  found  Cor- 
nelia here 
And  Sylla's  daughter  posting  out  of  town. 

MARIUS.  Ladies  of  worth,  both  beautiful  and 

wise, 

But  near  allied  unto  my  greatest  foe  : 
Yet  Marius'  mind,  that  never  meant  disgrace, 
More  likes  their  courage  than  their  comely  face. 
Are  you  Cornelia,  madam,  Sylla's  wife  ? 

CORNELIA.  I  am  Cornelia,  Sylla's  wife;  what 

then? 
MARIUS.  And  is  this  Fulvia,  Sylla's  daughter. 

too? 
FULVIA.  And  this  is  Fulvia,  Sylla's  daughter, 

too. 
MARIUS.   Two  welcome  guests,  in  whom   the 

majesty 

Of  my  conceit  and  courage  must  consist. 
What  think  you,  senators  and  countrymen  1 
See,  here  are  two,  the  fairest  stars  of  Rome. 
The  dearest  dainties  of  my  warlike  foe, 
Whose  lives  upon  your  censures  do  subsist.1 
LEPIDUS.  Dread  consul,  the  continuance  of  their 

lives 

Shall  egg  on  Sylla  to  a  greater  haste  ; 
And,  in  bereaving  of  their  vital  breath, 
Your  grace  shall  force  more  fury  from  your  foe. 
Of  these  extremes  we  leave  the  choice  to  you. 
MARIUS.  Then  think  that  some  strange  fortune 
shall  ensue. 

1  [Old  copy,  consist.] 


THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL   WAR.  161 

FULVIA.  Poor  Fulvia,  now  thy  happy  days  are 

done  ! 

Instead  of  marriage  pomp,  the  fatal  lights 
Of  funerals  must  masque  about  thy  bed  : 
Nor  shall  thy  father's  arms  with  kind  embrace 
Hem  in  thy  shoulders,  trembling  now  for  fear. 
I  see  in  Marius'  looks  such  tragedies, 
As  fear  my  heart ;  and  fountains  fill  mine  eyes. 
CORNELIA.     Fie,    Fulvia !     shall    thy    father's 

daughter  faint, 

Before  the  threats  of  danger  shall  approach  1 
Dry  up  those  tears,  and  like  a  Roman  maid, 
Be  bold  and  silent,  till  our  foe  have  said. 

MARIUS.  Cornelia,  wife  unto  my  traitor-foe, 
What  gadding  mood  hath  forc'd  thy  speedy  flight 
To  leave  thy  country,  and  forsake  thy  friends  1 
CORNELIA.  Accursed  Marius,  offspring  of  my 

pains, 
Whose  furious  wrath  hath  wrought  thy  country's 

woe, 

What  may  remain  for  me  or  mine  in  Rome, 
That  see  the  tokens  of  thy  tyrannies  ? 
Vile  monster,  robb'd  of  virtue,  what  revenge 
Is  this,  to  wreak  thine  anger  on  the  walls  1 
To  raze  our  house,  to  banish  all  our  friends,. 
To  kill  the  rest,  and  captive  us  at  last  ? 
Think'st  thou  by  barbarous  deeds  to  boast  thy 

state, 

Or  spoiling  Sylla,  to  depress  his  hate  1] 
No,  Marius,  but  for  every  drop  of  blood 
And  inch  of  wrong  he  shall  return  thee  two. 

FLACCUS.  Madam,  in  danger  wisdom  doth  advise 
In  humble  terms  to  reconcile  our  foes. 

MARIUS.  She  is  a  woman,  Flaccus ;  let  her  talk, 

That  breathes  forth  bitter  words  instead  of  blows. 

CORNELIA.  And  in  regard  of  that,  immodest 

man, 
Thou  shouldst  desist  from  outrage  and  revenge. 

VOL.  VII.  L 


162  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

LECTORIUS.  What,  can  your  grace  endure  these 
cursed  scoffs  ? 

MARIUS.  Why,  my  Lectorius,  I  have  ever  learnt 
That  ladies  cannot  wrong  me  with  upbraids ; 
Then  let  her  talk,  and  my  concealed  hate 
Shall  heap  revengement  upon  Sylla's  pate. 

FULVIA.  Let  fevers  first  afflict  thy  feeble  age  ; 
Let  palsies  make  thy  stubborn  fingers  faint ; 
Let  humours,  streaming  from  thy  moisten 'd  brains, 
With  clouds  of  dimness  choke  thy  fretful  eyes, 
Before  these  monstrous  harms  assail  my  sire. 

MARIUS.  By'r  -lady,1  Fulvia.  you  are  gaily  read : 
Your  mother  well  may  boast  you  for  her  own  ; 
For  both  of  you  have  words  and  scoffs  at  will. 
And  since  I  like  the  compass  of  your  wit, 
Myself  will  stand,  and,  ladies,  you  shall  sit. 
And,  if  you  please  to  wade  in  farther  words, 
Let's  see  what  brawls  your  memories  affords. 

CORNELIA.  Your  lordship's  passing  mannerly  in 

jest ; 

But  that  you  may  perceive  we  smell  your  drift, 
We  both  will  sit,  and  countenance  your  shift. 

MARIUS.  Where  constancy  and  beauty  do  con- 
sort, 

There  ladies'  threatenings  turn  to  merry  sport. 
How  fare  these  beautiful  1  what,  well  at  ease  1 

FULVIA.  As  ready  as  at  first  for  to  displease  : 


1  We  have  before  had  Pedro  the  Frenchman,  or  rather  the 
Gaul,  according  to  Plutarch  (though  why  he  is  called  by  the 
Spanish  name  of  Pedro,  we  know  not),  employed  to  murder 
Marius,  swearing  Par  le  sang  de  Dieu,  Notre  Dame,  and 
Jesu:  and  towards  the  close  of  the  play,  where  a  couple  of 
ludicrous  characters  are  introduced,  "  to  mollify  the  vulgar," 
the  "  PauVs  steeple  of  honour"  is  talked  of.  Such  anachro- 
nisms, however  gross,  are  common  to  all  the  dramatists  of 
that  day.  Shakespeare  is  notoriously  full  of  them  ;  and  all 
must  remember  the  discussion  between  Hamlet  and  his 
friend  regarding  the  children  of  Paul's  and  of  the  Queen's 
chapel. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL  WAR.  .163 

For,  full  confirm'd  that  we  shall  surely  die, 
We  wait  our  ends  with  Roman  constancy. 

MARIUS.  Why,  think  you  Marius  hath  confirm'd 

your  death  1 
FULVIA.    What   other  fruit   may   spring  from 

tyrant's  hands  1 
MARIUS.  In  faith  then,  ladies,  thus  the  matter 

stands : 

Since  you  mistake  my  love  and  courtesy, 
Prepare  yourselves,  for  you  shall  surely  die. 
CORNELIA.  Ay,  Marius,  now  I  know  thou  dost 

not  lie ; 

And  that  thou  mayst,  unto  thy  lasting  blame, 
Extinguish  in  our  deaths  thy  wished  fame, 
Grant  us  this  boon  that,  making  choice  of  death, 
We  may  be  freed  from  fury  of  thine  ire. 

MARIUS.  An  easy  boon ;  ladies,  I  condescend. 
CORNELIA.  Then  suffer  us  in  private  chamber 

close 

To  meditate  a  day  or  two  alone ; 
And,  tyrant,  if  thou  find  us  living  then, 
Commit  us  straight  unto  thy  slaughtering-men. 

MARIUS.  Ladies,  I  grant ;  for  Marius  nill  deny 
A  suit  so  easy  and  of  such  import ; 
For  pity  'twere  that  dames  of  constancy 
Should  not  be  agents  of  their  misery. 

\Here  lie  whispers  LECTORIUS. 

Lectorius,  hark,  despatch.  \Exit  LECTORIUS. 

CORNELIA.  So,  Fulvia,  now  the  latest  doom  is 

fix'd, 

And  nought  remains  but  constant  Eoman  hearts 
To  bear  the  brunt  of  irksome  fury's  spite. 
Rouse  thee,  my  dear,  and  daunt  those  faint  con- 
ceits, 

That  trembling  stand  aghast  at  bitter  death. 
Bethink  thee  now  that  Sylla  was  thy  sire, 
Whose  courage  heaven  nor  fortune  could  abate  : 
Then,  like  the  offspring  of  fierce  Sylla's  house, 


164  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Pass  with  the  thrice-renowned  Phrygian  dame, 

As  to  thy  marriage,  so  unto  thy  death  : 

For  nought  to  wretches  is  more  sweet  than  death. 

FULVIA.  Madam,  confirm'd  as  well  to  die  as  live, 
Fulvia  awaiteth  nothing  but  her  death. 
Yet  had  my  father  known  the  course  of  change, 
Or  seen  our  loss  by  lucky  augury, 
This  tyrant  nor  his  followers  had  liv'd 
To  'joy  the  ruin  of  fierce  Sylla's  house. 

MARIUS.  But,  lady,  they  that  dwell  on  fortune's 

call 
No  sooner  rise,  but  subject  are  to  fall. 

FULVIA.  Marius,  I  doubt  not  but  our  constant 

ends 
Shall  make  thee  wail  thy  tyrant's  government. 

MARIUS.  When  tyrant's  rule  doth  breed  my  care 

and  woe, 

Then  will  I  say  two  ladies  told  me  so. 
But  here  comes  Lectorius.     Now,  my  lord. 
Have  you  brought  those  things  1 

Enter  LECTORIUS. 

LECTORIUS.  I  have,  noble  consul. 

MARIUS.  Now,  ladies,  you  are  resolute  to  die  1 

CORNELIA.  Ay,  Marius,  for  terror  cannot  daunt 

us. 

Tortures  were  framed  to  dread  the  baser  eye, 
And  not  t'  appal  a  princely  majesty. 

MARIUS.  And  Marius  lives  to  triumph  o'er  his 

foes, 

That  train  their  warlike  troops  amidst  the  plains, 
And  are  enclos'd  and  hemm'd  with  shining  arms, 
Not  to  appal  such  princely  majesty. 
Virtue,  sweet  ladies,  is  of  more  regard 
In  Marius'  mind,  where  honour  is  enthron'd, 
Than  Kome  or  rule  of  Eoman  empery. 

[Here  he  puts  chains  about  their  necks. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  1G5 

The  bands,  that  should  combine  your  snow-white 

wrists, 

Are  these  which  shall  adorn  your  milk-white  necks. 
The  private  cells,  where  you  shall  end  your  lives, 
Is  Italy,  is  Europe — nay  the  world. 
Th'  Euxinian  Sea,  the  fierce  Sicilian  Gulf, 
The  river  Ganges  and  Hydaspes'  stream 
Shall  level  lie,  and  smooth  as  crystal  ice, 
While  Fulvia  and  Cornelia  pass  thereon. 
The  soldiers,  that  should  guard  you  to  your  deaths, 
Shall  be  five  thousand  gallant  youths  of  Rome, 
In  purple  robes  cross-barr'd  with  pales  of  gold, 
Mounted  on  warlike  coursers  for  the  field, 
Fet *  from  the  mountain-tops  of  Corsica, 
Or  bred  in  hills  of  bright  Sardinia, 
Who  shall  conduct  and  bring  you  to  your  lord. 
Ay,  unto  Sylla,  ladies,  shall  you  go, 
And  tell  him  Marius  holds  within  his  hands 
Honour  for  ladies,  for  ladies  rich  reward ; 
But  as  for  Sylla  and  for  his  compeers, 
Who  dare  'gainst  Marius  vaunt  their  golden  crests, 
Tell  him  for  them  old  Marius  holds  revenge, 
And  in  his  hands  both  triumphs  life  and  death. 

CORNELIA.  Doth  Marius  use  with  glorious  words 

to  jest, 
And  mock  his  captives  with  these  glosing  2  terms  ? 

MARIUS.  No,  ladies ; 

Marius  hath  sought  for  honour  with  his  sword, 
And  holds  disdain  to  triumph  in  your  falls. 
Live,  Cornelia  :  live,  fair  and  fairest  Fulvia  ! 

1  Shakespeare  and  many  other  writers  of  the  time  use  this 
form  of  fetch :  thus  in  "  Henry  V."  act  iii.  sc.  1 — 

"  On,  on,  you  noble  English, 
Whose  blood  isfet  from  fathers  of  war-proof." 

2  Glozing  and  flattering  are  synonymous  :  perhaps  to  gloze, 
or,  as  it  is  sometimes  spelt,  to  glose,  is  the  same  word  as  to 
gloss.    It  is  common  in  Milton  in  the  sense  that  it  bears  in 
the  text. 


166  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

If  you  have  done  or  wrought  me  injury, 
Sylla  shall  pay  it  through  his  misery. 

FULVIA.    So  gracious,  famous  consul,  are  thy 

words, 

That  Eome  and  we  shall  celebrate  thy  worth, 
And  Sylla  shall  confess  himself  o'ercome. 

CORNELIA.  If  ladies'  prayers  or  tears  may  move 

the  heavens, 
Sylla  shall  vow  himself  old  Marius'  friend. 

MARIUS.  Ladies,  for  that  I  nought  at  all  regard  : 
Sylla's  my  foe,  I'll  triumph  over  him  ; 
For  other  conquest  glory  doth  not  win. 
Therefore  come  on, 
That  I  may  send  you  unto  Sylla.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  a  CLOWN,  drunk,  with  a  pint  of  wine  in  his 
hand,  and  two  or  three  SOLDIERS. 

1ST  SOLDIER.    Sirrah,  dally  not  with  us;  you 
know  where  he  is. 

CLOWN.  O,  sir,  a  quart  is  a  quart  in  any  man's 
purse,  and  drink  is  drink,  and  can  my  master  live 
without  his  drink,  I  pray  you  ? 

2D  SOLDIER.  You  have  a  master  then,  sirrah  ? 

CLOWN.  Have  I  a  master,  thou  scoundrel  ?  I  have 
an  orator  to  my  master,  a  wise  man  to  my  master. 
But,  fellows,  I  must  make  a  parenthesis  of  this 
pint-pot,  for  words  make  men  dry  :  now,  by  my 
troth,  I  drink  to  Lord  Anthony. 

3D  SOLDIER.  Fellow-soldiers,  the  weakness  of 
his  brain  hath  made  his  tongue  walk  largely;  we 
shall  have  some  novelties  by-and-by. 

CLOWN.  0  most  surpassing  wine, 
Thou  marrow  of  the  vine  ! 
More  welcome  unto  me 
Than  whips  to  scholars  be. 
Thou  art,  and  ever  was, 
A  means  to  mend  an  ass  ; 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  167 

Thou  makest  some  to  sleep, 
And  many  mo  to  weep, 
And  some  be  glad  and  merry, 
With  heigh  down  derry,  derry. 
Thou  makest  some  to  stumble, 
And  many  mo  to  fumble, 
And  me  have  pinky  neyne. l 
More  brave  and  jolly  wine  ! 
What  need  I  praise  thee  mo, 
For  thou  art  good,  with  heigh-ho  ! 

3D  SOLDIER.  If  wine  then  be  so  good,  I  prithee, 

for  thy  part, 

Tell  us  where  Lord  Anthony  is,  and  thou  shalt 
have  a  quart. 

CLOWN.  First  shall  the  snow  be  black, 
And  pepper  lose  his  smack, 
And  stripes  forsake  my  back  : 
First  merry  drunk  with  sack, 
I  will  go  boast  and  track, 
And  all  your  costards  crack, 
Before  I  do  the  knack 
Shall  make  me  sing  alack. 
Alack,  the  old  man  is  weary, 
For  wine  hath  made  him  merry. 
With  a  heigh-ho. 

IST  SOLDIER.    I  prythee,  leave  these  rhymes, 
and  tell  us  where  thy  master  is  ? 

CLOWN.  Faith,  where  you  shall  not  be, 
Unless  ye  go  with  me. 
But  shall  I  tell  them  so  ? 
0,  no,  sir,  no,  no,  no. 
The  man  hath  many  a  foe, 
As  far  as  I  do  know  : 


1  [i.e.,  Pinky  eyne  or  pink  (small)  eyes.]  See  Mr  Steevens's 
note  on  the  song  in  "  Anthony  and  Cleopatra,"  beginning — 

"  Come,  thou  monarch  of  the  vine, 
Plumpy  Bacchus,  with  pink  eyne." 


168  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

You  do  not  flout  me,  I  hope. 

See  how  this  liquor  fumes, 

And  how  my  force  presumes. 

You  would   know  where   Lord    Anthony  is?     I 

perceive  you. 
Shall  I  say  he  is  in  yond  farmhouse  1       I  deceive 

you. 
Shall  I  tell  you  this  wine  is  for  him  ?     The  gods 

forfend, 
And  so  I  end.      Go,  fellow-fighters,  there's  a  bob 

for  ye. 

2D  SOLDIER.  My  masters,  let  us  follow  this 
clown,  for  questionless  this  grave  orator  is  in 
yonder  farmhouse.1  But  who  cometh  yonder  1 

Enter  OLD  ANTHONY. 

ANTHONY.  I  wonder  why  my  peasant  stays  so 

long, 

And  with  my  wonder  hasteth  on  my  woe, 
And  with  my  woe  I  am  assailed  with  fear, 
And  with  my  fear  await  with  faintful  breath 
The  final  period  of  my  pains  by  death. 

1ST  SOLDIER.  Yond's  the  man  we  seek  for,  sol- 
diers. Unsheathe  your  swords,  and  make  a  rid- 
dance of  Marius'  ancient  enemy. 

CLOWN.  Master,  fly,  fly, 
Or  else  you  shall  die  ! 
A  plague  on  this  wine, 
Hath  made  me  so  fine  ! 
And  will  you  not  be  gone  1 
Then  I'll  leave  you  alone, 


1  This  incident  is  founded  upon  a  passage  in  Plutarch's 
"  Life  of  Caius  Marius,"  only  in  that  author  the  man  with 
the  wine  discloses  where  Anthony  is  concealed  to  the 
drawer,  of  whom  he  gets  the  wine,  and  not  to  the  soldiers. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  1G 

And  sleep  upon  your  woe, 

With  a  lamentable  heigh-ho.  [Exit. 

ANTHONY.  Betrayed    at   last   by  witless  over- 
sight ! 

Now,  Anthony,  prepare  thyself  to  die. 
Lo,  where  the  monstrous  ministers  of  wrath 
Menace  thy  murder  with  their  naked  swords. 

2D  SOLDIER.  Anthony,  well-met :  the  consul 
Marius,  with  other  confederate  senators,  have  ad- 
judged thee  death,  therefore  prepare  thyself,  and 
think  we  favour  thee  in  this  little  protraction. 

ANTHONY.    Immortal  powers,   that  know  the 

painful  cares 

That  wait  upon  my  poor  distressed  heart, 
O,  bend  your  brows,  and  level  all  your  looks 
Of  dreadful  awe  upon  these  daring  men  ! 
And  thou,  sweet  niece  of  Atlas,  on  whose  lips 
And  tender  tongue  the  pliant  muses  sit, 
Let  gentle  course  of  sweet  aspiring  speech, 
Let  honey-flowing  terms  of  weary  woe, 
Let  fruitful  figures  and  delightful  lines 
Enforce  a  spring  of  pity  from  their  eyes, 
Amaze  the  murd'rous  passions  of  their  minds, 
That  they  may  favour  woful  Anthony. 
O  countrymen,  what  shall  become  of  Rome, 
When  reverend  duty  droopeth  through  disgrace  1 
0  countrymen,  what.shall  become  of  Rome, 
When  woful  nature,  widow  of  her  joys, 
Weeps  on  our  walls  to  see  her  laws  depress' d  1 
0  Romans,  hath  not  Anthony's  discourse 
Seal'd  up  the  mouths  of  false  seditious  men, 
Assoil'd1  the  doubts  and  quaint  controls  of  power, 
Relieved  the  mournful  matron  with  his  pleas  1 
And  will  you  seek  to  murder  Anthony  1 
The  lions  brook  with  kindness  their  relief ; 


1  The  meaning  of  to  assoil  is  to  absolve  (see  note  4  to 
"  The  Adventurers  of  Five  Hours"),  from  the  Latin  absol- 


170  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

The  sheep  reward  the  shepherd  with  their  fleece  ; 
Yet  Komans  seek  to  murder  Anthony. 

1ST  SOLDIER.  Why,  what  enchanting  terms  of 

art  are  these, 
That  force  my  heart  to  pity  his  distress  ? 

2D  SOLDIER.  His  action,  speech,  his  favour  and 

his  grace, 
My  rancour  rage  and  rigour  doth  deface. 

3D  SOLDIER.  So  sweet  his  words,  that  now  of 

late,  meseems, 

His  art  doth  draw  my  soul  from  out  my  lips. 
ANTHONY.  What  envious  eyes,  reflecting  nought 

but  rage, 
What  barbarous  heart,  refresh'd  with  nought  but 

blood, 

That  rends  not  to  behold  the  senseless  trees 
In  doly1  season  drooping  without  leaves  ? 
The  shepherd  sighs  upon  the  barren  hills, 
To  see  his  bleating  lambs  with  faintful  looks 
Behold  the  valleys  robb'd  of  springing  flowers, 
That  whilom  wont  to  yield  them  yearly  food. 
Even  meanest  things,  exchang'd  from  former  state, 
The  virtuous  mind  with  some  remorse  doth  mate. 
Can  then  your  eyes  with  thundering  threats  of  rage 
Cast  furious  gleams  of  anger  upon  age  1 
Can  then  your  hearts  with  furies  mount  so  high, 
As  they  should  harm  the  Eoman  Anthony  1 
I,  far  more  kind  than  senseless  tree,  have  lent 
A  kindly  sap  to  our  declining  state, 


vere ;  but  here  it  signifies  to  resolve  or  remove  doubts.  Thus 
in  a  passage  quoted  by  Mr  Todd — 

"  For  the  assorting  of  this  difficulty,  I  lay  down  these 
three  propositions." — Mede,  Rev.  of  God1  s  House. 

The  word  is  frequently  to  be  met  with  in  Spenser  in  the 
sense  of  to  discharge,  or  set  free. 

1  In  doly  season  is  in  melancholy  or  wintry  season  :  an 
adjective  formed  from  dole,  and  with  the  same  meaning  as 
doleful. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  171 

And  like  a  careful  shepherd  have  foreseen 

The  heavy  dangers  of  this  city  Rome  ; 

And  made  the  citizens  the  happy  flock, 

Whom  I  have  fed  with  counsels  and  advice  : 

But  now  those  locks  that,  for  their  reverend  white, 

Surpass  the  down  on  ^Esculapius'  chin : 

But  now  that  tongue,  whose  terms  and  fluent  style 

For  number  pass'd  the  hosts  of  heavenly  fires : 

But  now  that  head,  within  whose  subtle  brains 

The  queen  of  flowing  eloquence  did  dwell 

Enter  a  CAPTAIN. 

These  locks,  this  tongue,  this  head,  this  life,  and 

all, 
To  please  a  tyrant,  trait'rously  must  fall. 

CAPTAIN.  Why,  how  now,  soldiers,  is  he  living 

yet! 

And  will  you  be  bewitched  with  his  words  ? 
Then  take  this  fee,  false  orator,  from  me  : 

[Stabs  liim. 
Elysium  best  beseems  thy  faintful  limbs. 

ANTHONY.  0  blissful  pains  !  now  Anthony  must 

die, 
Which  serv'd  and  lov'd  Rome  and  her  empery. 

[Moritur.1 

1  The  death  of  Anthony  is  thus  related  in  North's  Plu- 
tarch, "  Life  of  Marius" — 

"But  he  (Marius)  sent  Annius  one  of  his  captaines  thither. 

and  when  they  were  come  to  the  house  which  the 

drawer  had  brought  them  to,  Annius  taried  beneath  at  the 
doore,  and  the  souldiers  went  up  the  staiers  into  the  cham- 
ber, and  finding  Anthonie  there,  they  began  to  encourage 
one  another  to  kill  him,  not  one  of  them  having  the  heart 
to  lay  hands  upon  him.  For  Anthonies  tongue  was  as 
sweet  as  a  Syrene,  and  had  such  an  excellent  grace  in 
speaking,  that  when  he  began  to  speake  unto  the  souldiers 
and  to  pray  them  to  save  his  life,  there  was  not  one  of 
them  so  hard-hearted  as  once  to  touch  him,  no  not  onely 


172  THE   WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL  WAR. 

CAPTAIN.  Go,  curtal  off  that  neck  with  present 

stroke, 
And  straight  present  it  unto  Marius. 

1ST  SOLDIER.  Even  in  this  head  did  all  the 

muses  dwell : 

The  bees,  that  sat  upon  the  Grecian's  lips, 
Distill'd  their  honey  on  his  temper'd  tongue. 
2D  SOLDIER.  The  crystal  dew  of  fai/Castalian 

springs 

With  gentle  floatings  trickled  on  his  brains  : 
The  graces  kissed  his  kind  and  courteous  brows, 
Apollo  gave  the  beauties  of  his  harp, 

Enter  L.ECTORIUS  pensive. 

And  melodies  unto  his  pliant  speech. 

CAPTAIN.    Leave  these   presumptuous   praises, 

countrymen  : 

And  see  Lectorius,  pensive  where  he  comes. 
Lo,  here,  my  lord,  the  head  of  Anthony ; 
See  here  the  guerdon  fit  for  Marius'  foe, 
Whom  dread  Apollo  prosper  in  his  rule. 

LECTORIUS.   O  Romans,  Marius  sleeps  among 

the  dead, 

And  Rome  laments  the  loss  of  such  a  friend. 
CAPTAIN.  A  sudden  and  a  woful  chance,  my 

lord, 
Which  we  intentive1  fain  would  understand. 

to  looke  him  in  the  face,  but  looking  downewards  fell 
a  weeping.  Annius  perceiving  they  taried  long  and 
came  not  downe,  went  himself  up  into  the  chamber  and 
found  Anthonie  talking  to  his  souldiers,  and  them  weeping, 
his  sweete  eloquent  tongue  had  so  melted  their  hearts  :  but 
he,  rating  them,  ran  furiously  upon  him  and  strake  off  his 
head  with  his  owne  hands." 

1  Shakespeare's  commentators  might  have  added  this  pas- 
sage to  the  long  list  of  others  they  have  brought  forward 
(see  note  on  .,"  Othello,"  act  i.  BC.  3),  to  show  that  intention 
and  attention,  and  intentive  and  attentive,  were  once  syno- 
nymous. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  173 

LECTORIUS.  Though  swoll'n  with  sighs,  my  heart 

for  sorrow  burst, 

And  tongue  with  tears  and  plaints  be  choked  up, 
Yet  will  I  furrow  forth  with  forced  breath 
A  speedy  passage  to  my  pensive  speech. 
Our  consul  Marius,  worthy  soldiers, 
Of  late  within  a  pleasant  plot  of  ground 
Sat  down  for  pleasure  near  a  crystal  spring, 
Accompanied  with  many  lords  of  Rome. 
Bright  was  the  day,  and  on  the  spreading  trees 
The  frolic  citizens  l  of  forest  sung 
Their  lays  and  merry  notes  on  perching  boughs  ; 
When  suddenly  appeared  in  the  east 
Seven  mighty  eagles  with  their  talons  fierce, 
Who,  waving  oft  about  our  consul's  head, 
At  last  with  hideous  cry  did  soar  away. 
When  suddenly  old  Marius  aghast, 
With  reverend  smile,  determin'd  with  a  sigh 
The  doubtful  silence  of  the  standers-by. 
Romans,  said  he,  old  Marius  now  must  die  : 
These  seven  fair  eagles,  birds  of  mighty  Jove, 
That  at  my  birthday  on  my  cradle  sat, 
Now  at  my  last  day  warn 2  me  to  my  death, 
And  lo,  I  feel  the  deadly  pangs  approach. 
What  should  I  more  1    In  brief,  with  many  prayers 
For  Rome,  his  son — his  goods  and  lands  disposed — 

1  This  expression  is  also  introduced  by  Lodge  into  his 
•'Rosalynde,"  1590,  though  probably  this  play  was  written 
first— 

"  With  sad  and  sorry  cheer 
About  her  wond'ring  stood 
The  citizens  of  the  wood." 

Shakespeare  calls  deer  in  "  As  You  Like  It"  citizens,  and 
elsewhere,  "  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city." 

The  author  of  "Fuimus  Troes"  goes  farther,  and  calls 
the  blessed  souls  in  heaven  citizens— 

"  Then  shall  I 

Envy  no  more  those  citizens  above 
The  ambrosian  juncates  of  the  Olympian  hall." 

2  [Old  copy,  arm.} 


174  THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL  WAR. 

Our  worthy  consul  to  our  wonder  died. 

The  city  is  amaz'd,  for  Sylla  hastes 

To  enter  Rome  with  fury,  sword  and  fire. 

Go  place  that  head  upon  the  capitol, 

And  to  your  wards,  for  dangers  are  at  hand. 

[Exit. 
CAPTAIN.  Had  we  foreseen  this  luckless  chance 

before, 
Old  Anthony  had  liv'd  and  breathed  yet.   [Exeunt. 


ACTUS  QUINTUS. 

A  great  skirmish  in  Rome  and  long,  some  slain.  A  t 
last  enter  SYLLA  triumphant,  with  POMPEY, 
METELLUS,  Citizens,  Soldiers. 

SYLLA.  Now,  Romans,  after  all  these  mutinies, 
Seditions,  murders  and  conspiracies, 
Imagine  with  impartial  hearts  at  last, 
What  fruits  proceed  from  these  contentious  brawls. 
Your  streets,  where  erst  the  fathers  of  your  state 
In  robes  of  purple  walked  up  and  down, 
Are  strewed  with  mangled  members,   streaming 

blood  : 

And  why  1  the  reasons  of  this  ruthful  wrack 
Are  your  seditious  innovations, 
Your  fickle  minds  inclin'd  to  foolish  change. 
Ungrateful  men  !  whilst  I  with  tedious  pain 
In  Asia  seal'd  my  duty  with  my  blood, 
Making  the  fierce  Dardanians  faint  for  fear, 
Spreading  my  colours  in  Galatia, 
Dipping  my  sword  in  the  Enetans'  blood, 
And  foraging  the  fields  of  Phocida, 
You  called  my  foe  from  exile  with  his  friends ; 
You  did  proclaim  me  traitor  here  in  Rome  ; 
You  raz'd  my  house,  you  did  defame  my  friends. 
But,  brawling  wolves,  you  cannot  bite  the  moon, 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  175 

For  Sylla  lives,  so  forward  to  revenge, 
As  woe  to  those  that  sought  to  do  me  wrong. 
I  now  am  entered  Eome  in  spite  of  force, 
And  will  so  hamper  all  my  cursed  foes. 
As  be  he  tribune,  consul,  lord,  or  knight, 
That  hateth  Sylla,  let  him  look  to  die. 
And  first  to  make  an  entrance  to  mine  ire, 
Bring  me  that  traitor  Carbo  out  of  hand. 

POMPEY.  0  Sylla,  in  revenging  injuries, 
Inflict  the  pain  where  first  offence  did  spring, 
And  for  my  sake  establish  peace  in  Rome, 
And  pardon  these  repentant  citizens. 

SYLLA.  Pompey,  I  love  thee,  Pompey,  and  con- 
sent 

To  thy  request ;  but,  Romans,  have  regard, 
Lest  over-reaching  in  offence  again, 
I  load  your  shoulders  with  a  double  pain. 

[Exeunt  citizens. 

Bring  in  CARBO  bound. 

But,  Pompey,  see  where  jolly  Carbo  comes, 
Footing  it  featly  like  a  mighty  man. 
What,  no  obeisance,  sirrah,  to  your  lord  1 

CARBO.1  My  lord?     No,  Sylla:  he  that  thrice. 

hath  borne 

The  name  of  consul  scorns  to  stoop  to  him, 
Whose  heart  doth  hammer  nought  but  mutinies. 

POMPEY.  And  doth  your  lordship  then  disdain 
to  stoop  ? 

CARBO.  Ay,  to  mine  equal,  Pompey,  as  thou  art. 

SYLLA.  Thine  equal,  villain  ?  no,  he  is  my  friend ; 
Thou,  but  a  poor  anatomy  of  bones, 
Cas'd  in  a  knavish  tawny  withered  skin. 
Wilt  thou  not  stoop  ?  art  thou  so  stately  then  ? 

1  The  name  of  Carbo  is  accidently  omitted  before  this 
reply  in  the  quarto. 


176  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

CARBO.  Sylla,  I  honour  gods,  not  foolish  men. 

SYLLA.  Then  break  that  wither'cl  bough,  that 

will  not  bend,1 
And,  soldiers,  cast  him  down  before  my  feet : 

\They  tliroio  him  down. 
Now,  prating  sir,  my  foot  upon  thy  neck, 
I'll  be  so  bold  to  give  your  lordship  check. 
Believe  me,  soldiers,  but  I  over-reach ; 
Old  Carbo's  neck  at  first  was  made  to  stretch. 

CARBO.  Though  body  bend,  thou  tyrant  most 

unkind, 
Yet  never  shalt  thou  humble  Carbo's  mind. 

SYLLA.  0  sir,  I  know,  for  all  your  warlike  pith 
A  man  may  mar  your  worship  with  a  with.2 
You,  sirrah,  levied  arms  to  do  me  wrong ; 
You  brought  your  legions  to  the  gates  of  Rome  ; 
You  fought  it  out  in  hope  that  I  would  faint ; 
But,  sirrah,  now  betake  you  to  your  books, 
Entreat  the  gods  to  save  your  sinful  soul : 
For  why  this  carcase  must  in  my  behalf 
Go  feast  the  ravens  that  serve  our  augurs'  turn. 
Methinks  I  see  already,  how  they  wish 
To  bait  their  beaks  in  such  a  jolly  dish. 

CARBO.  Sylla,  thy  threats  and  scoffs  amate  me 

not. 

I  prythee,  let  thy  murderers  hale  me  hence  ; 
For  Carbo  rather  likes  to  die  by  sword, 
Than  live  to  be  a  mocking-stock  to  thee. 

SYLLA.  The  man  hath  haste ;  good  soldiers,  take 

him  hence : 

It  would  be  good  to  alter  his  pretence. 
But  be  advis'd  that,  when  the  fool  is  slain, 
You  part  the  head  and  body  both  in  twain. 
I  know  that  Carbo  longs  to  know  the  cause, 

1  [Old  copy  misplaces  the  words  'break  and  bend;  the 
alteration  here  made  was  suggested  by  Mr  Collier.] 

2  i.e.,  With  a  irithy,  or  twig  of  willow. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  177 

And  shall :  thy  body  for  the  ravens,1  thy  head  for 

daws. 

CARBO.  O  matchless  ruler  of  our  capitol, 
Behold  poor  Rome  with  grave  and  piteous  eye 
Fulfilled  with  wrong  and  wretched  tyranny  ! 

[Exit  CARBO  cum  militibus. 

Enter  SciPIO,  NORBANUS,  and  CARINNA.2 

SYLLA.  Tut,  the  proud  man's  prayer  will  never 

pierce  the  sky. 
But  whither  press  these  mincing  senators  ? 

NORBANUS.  We  press  with  prayers,  we  come 

with  mournful  tears, 
Entreating  Sylla  by  those  holy  bands. 
That  link  fair  Juno  with  her  thundering  Jove, 
Even  by  the  bonds  of  hospitality, 
To  pity  Rome  afflicted  through  thy  wrath. 
Thy  soldiers  (Sylla)  murder  innocents  : 
0,  whither  will  thy  lawless  fury  stretch, 
If  little  ruth  ensue  thy  country's  harms  ? 

SYLLA.  Gay  words,  Norbanus,  full  of  eloquence, 
Accompanied  with  action  and  conceit : 
But  I  must  teach  thee  judgment  therewithal. 
Dar'st  thou  approach  my  presence,  that  hast  borne 
Thine  arms  in  spite  of  Sylla  and  his  friends  r{ 
I  tell  thee,  foolish  man,  thy  judgment  wanted 
In  this  presumptuous  purpose  that  is  pass'd : 
And,  loitering  scholar,  since  you  fail  in  art, 
I'll  learn  you  judgment  shortly  to  your  smart. 
Despatch  him,  soldiers  ;  I  must  see  him  die. 
And  you,  Carinna,  Carbo's  ancient  friend, 
Shall  follow  straight  your  headless  3  general. 

1  [Old  copy,  the  ravens."] 

2  The  quarto  reads:  "Enter  Scipio  and  Norbanus,  Publius 
Lentulus,"  but  the  latter  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  scene, 
while  Carinna  is  omitted. 

3  [Old  copy,  heedless.  ] 

VOL.  VII.  M 


178  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

And,  Scipio,  were  it  not  I  lov'd  thee  well, 
Thou  should' st  accompany  these  slaves  to  hell : 
But  get  you  gone,  and  if  you  love  yourself. 

[Exit  SCIPIO. 
CARINNA.    Pardon   me,   Sylla !   pardon,  gentle 

Sylla ! 
SYLLA.  Sirrah,  this  gentle  name  was  coin'd  too 

late, 

And  shadow'd  in  the  shrouds  of  biting  hate. 
Despatch  !  [Kill  himj]  why  so ;  good  fortune  to  my 

friends — 

As  for  my  foes,  even  such  shall  be  their  ends. 
Convey  them  hence.     Metellus,  gentle  Metellus, 
Fetch  me  Sertorius  from  Iberia  : 
In  doing  so  thou  standest  me  in  stead, 
For  sore  I  long  to  see  the  traitor's  head. 

METELLUS.  I  go,  confirmed  to  conquer  him  by 

sword, 

Or  in  th'  exploit  to  hazard  life  and  all.  [Exit. 

SYLLA.  Now,  Pompey,  let  me  see :  those  sena- 
tors 

Are  dangerous  stops  of  our  pretended l  state, 
And  must  be  curtail'd,  lest  they  grow  too  proud. 
I  do  proscribe  just  forty  senators, 
Which  shall  be  leaders  in  my  tragedy. 
And  for  our  gentlemen  are  over-proud, 
Of  them  a  thousand  and  six  hundred  die  ; 
A  goodly  army,  meet  to  conquer  hell. 
Soldiers,  perform  the  course  of  my  decree. 
Their  friends  my  foes,  their  foes  shall  be  my  friends. 
Go  sell  their  goods  by  trumpet  at  your  wills  : 
Meanwhile   Pompey   shall    see,    and   Rome   shall 

rue, 
The  miseries  that  shortly  shall  ensue.         [Exeunt. 

1  It  is  very  common  for  Shakespeare  and  his  contem- 
poraries to  use  the  word  pretend  for  intend.  See  notes  to 
"The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  act  ii.  sc.  6. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  179 

Alarum,  skirmish,  a  retreat.  Enter  YOUNG  MARIUS 
upon  the  walls  of  PR^ENESTE  with  some  Soldiers, 
all  in  black  and  wonderful  melancholy. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.    O   endless   course   of  needy 

man's  avail ! 

What  silly  thoughts,  what  simple  policies. 
Make  man  presume  upon  this  traitorous  life  ! 
Have  I  not  seen  the  depth  of  sorrow  once, 
And  then  again  have  kiss'd  the  queen  of  chance. 
0  Marius,  thou,  Tillitius,  and  thy  friends, 
Hast  seen  thy  foe  discomfited  in  fight : 
But  now  the  stars  have  form'd  my  final  harms. 
My  father  Marius  lately  dead  in  Rome  ; 
My  foe  with  honour  doth  triumph  in  Rome, 
My  friends  are  dead  and  banished  from  Rome. 
Ay,  Marius,  father,  friends,  more  blest  than  thee  ! 
They  dead,  I  live ;  I  thralled,  they  are  free. 
Here  in  Prseneste  am  I  cooped  up, 
Amongst  a  troop  of  hunger-starved  men, 
Set  to  prevent  false  Sylla's  fierce  approach, 
But  now  exempted  both  of  life  and  all. 
Well,  fortune,  since  thy  fleeting  change  hath  cast 
Poor  Marius  from  his  hopes  and  true  desires, 
My  resolution  shall  exceed  thy  power. 
Thy  colour'd  wings  steeped  in  purple  blood, 
Thy  blinding  wreath  distain'd  in  purple  blood, 
Thy  royal  robes  wash'd  in  my  purple  blood, 
Shall  witness  to  the  world  thy  thirst  of  blood  ; 
And  when  the  tyrant  Sylla  shall  expect 
To  see  the  son  of  Marius  stoop  to  fear, 
Then,  then,  0,  then,  my  mind  shall  well  appear, 
That  scorn  my  life,  and  hold  mine  honour  dear. 

[Alarum.     A  retreat. 

Hark  how  these  murderous  Romans,  viper-like, 
Seek  to  bewray  their  fellow-citizens. 
0  wretched  world,  from  whence  with  speedy  flight 
True  love,  true  zeal,  true  honour  late  is  fled  ! 


180  THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL   WAR. 

SOLDIER.  What  makes  my  lord  so  careless  and 

secure, 

To  leave  the  breach  and  here  lament  alone  1 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  Not  fear,  my  friend,  for  I  could 

never  fly ; 

But  study  how  with  honour  for  to  die. 
I  pray  thee,  call  the  chiefest  citizens ; 
I  must  advise  them  in  a  weighty  cause  : 
Here  shall  they  meet  me ;  and,  until  they  come, 
I  will  go  view  the  danger  of  the  breach. 

[Exit  YOUNG  MARIUS,  with  the  Soldiers. 

Eider,  with  drums  and  Soldiers,  LUCRETIUS,  with 
other  Romans,  as  TUDITANUS,  &c. 

LUCRETIUS.  Say,  Tuditanus,  didst  thou  ever  see 
So  desperate  defence  as  this  hath  been. 

TUDITANUS.   As  in  Numidia,   tigers    wanting 

food, 

Or,  as  in  Lybia,  lions  full  of  ire, 
So  fare  these  Romans  on  Praeneste  walls. 

LUCRETIUS.  Their  valour,  Tuditanus,  and  resist, 
The  man-like  fight  of  younger  Marius, 
Makes  me  amaz'd  to  see  their  miseries, 
And  pity  them,  although  they  be  my  foes. 
What  said  I  ?     Foes  1     0  Borne,  with  ruth  I  see 
Thy  state  consum'd  through  folly  and  dissension  ! 
Well,  sound  a  parley  ;  I  will  see  if  words 

[Sound  a  parley— YOUNG  MARIUS  appears 

upon  the  walls  with  the  Citizens. 
Can  make  them  yield,  which  will  not  fly  for  strokes. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  What  seeks  this  Hoimm  warrior 

at  our  hands  1 
LUCRETIUS.    That   seeks   he,  Marius,  that  he 

wisheth  thee  : 

An  humble  heart  and  then  a  happy  peace. 
Thou  see'st  thy  fortunes  are  depress'd  and  down  ; 
Thy  victuals  spent ;  thy  soldiers  weak  with  want  ; 


THE  WOUNDS   OF   CIVIL   WAR.  181 

The 'breach  laid  open,  ready  to  assault : 

Now,  since  thy  means  and  maintenance  are  done, 

Yield,  Marius,  yield.     Prsenestians,  be  advis'd  ; 

Lucretius  is  advis'd  to  favour  you. 

I  pray  thee,  Marius,  mark  my  last  advice  : 

Relent  in  time ;  let  Sylla  be  thy  friend  ; 

So  thou  in  Rome  may'st  lead  a  happy  life, 

And  those  with  thee  shall  pray  for  Marius  still. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.  Lucretius,  I  consider  on  thy 
words  : 

Stay  there  awhile  ;  thou  shalt  have  answer  straight. 
LUCRETIUS.  Apollo  grant  that  my  persuasions 
may 

Preserve  these  Roman  soldiers  from  the  sword. 
YOUNG  MARIUS.   My  friends   and   citizens    of 
Praeneste  town, 

You  see  the  wayward  working  of  our  stars  ; 

Our  hearts  confirm'd  to  fight,  our  victuals  spent. 

If  we  submit,  it's  Sylla  must  remit; 

A  tyrant,  traitor,  enemy  to  Rome, 

Whose  heart  is  guarded  still  with  bloody  thoughts. 

These  flattering  vows  Lucretius  here  avows, 

Are  pleasing  words  to  colour  poison'd  thoughts. 

What,  will  you  live  with  shame,  or  die  with  fame  ? 
IST  CITIZEN.  A  famous  death,  my  lord,  delights 

us  most. 

2D  CITIZEN.    We   of  thy  faction,  Marius,  are 
resolv'd 

To  follow  thee  in  life  and  death  together. 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  Words  full  of  worth,  beseem- 
ing noble  minds : 

The  very  balsamum  to  mend  my  woes. 

0  countrymen  !  you  see  Campania  spoil'd  ; 

A  tyrant  threat'ning  mutinies  in  Rome ; 

A  world  despoiPd  of  virtue,  faith,  and  trust. 

If  then,  no  peace,  no  liberty,  no  faith, 

Conclude  with  me,  and  let  it  be  no  life  ! 

Live  not  to  see  your  tender  infants  slain ; 


182  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

These  stately  towers  made  level  with  the  land  ; 
This  body  mangled  by  our  enemy's  sword : 
But  full  resolv'd  to  do  as  Marius  doth, 
Unsheathe  your  poniards,  and  let  every  friend 
Bethink  him  of  a  soldier-like  farewell. 
Sirrah,  display  my  standard  on  the  walls, 
And  I  will  answer  yond  Lucretius  : 
Who  loveth  Marius,  now  must  die  with  Marius  ! 

LUCRETIUS.    What  answer  will  your  lordship 
then  return  us  1 

YOUNG  MARIUS.  Lucretius,  we  that  know  what 

Sylla  is— 

How  dissolute,  how  trothless  and  corrupt, 
In  brief  conclude  to  die,  before  we  yield  : 
But  so  to  die — Lucretius,  mark  me  well — 
As  loth  to  see  the  fury  of  our  swords 
Should  murther  friends  and  Eoman  citizens. 
Fie,  countrymen  !  what  fury  doth  infect 
Your  warlike  bosoms,  that  were  wont  to  fight 
With  foreign  foes,  not  with  Campanian  friends. 
Now  unadvised  youth  must  counsel  eld ; 
For  governance  is  banish'd  out  of  Rome. 
Woe  to  that  bough,  from  whence  these  blooms  are 

sprung ! 

Woe  to  that  ^tna,  vomiting  this  fire  ! 
Woe  to  that  brand,  consuming  country's  weal  ! 
Woe  to  that  Sylla,  careless  and  secure, 
That  gapes  with  murder  for  a  monarchy ! 
Go,  second  Brutus,  with  a  Roman  mind, 
And  kill  that  tyrant.     And  for  Marius'  sake, 
Pity  the  guiltless  wives  of  these  your  friends. 
Preserve  their  weeping  infants  from  the  sword, 
Whose  fathers  seal  their  honours  with  their  bloods. 
Farewell,  Lucretius  :  first  I  press  in  place       [Stab. 
To  let  thee  see  a  constant  Roman  die. 
Prsenestians,  lo,  a  wound,  a  fatal  wound  ! 
The  pain  but  small,  the  glory  passing  great ! 
Prsenestians,  see  a  second  stroke  !  why  so ;   [Again. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  183 

I  feel  the  dreeping  dimness  of  the  night, 
Closing  the  coverts  of  my  careful  eyes. 
Follow  me,  friends ;  for  Marius  now  must  die 
With  fame,  in  spite  of  Sylla's  tyranny.1     [Moritur. 
IST  CITIZEN.  We  follow  thee  our  chieftain  even 

in  death. 

Our  town  is  thine,  Lucretius  ;  but  we  pray 
For  mercy  for  our  children  and  our  wives. 

\Moritur. 

2D  CITIZEN.  0,  save  my  son,  Lucretius  ;  let  him 
live.  [Moritur. 

LUCRETIUS.  A  wondrous   and  bewitched  con- 
stancy, 

Beseeming  Marius'  pride  and  haughty  mind. 
Come,  let  us  charge  the  breach  ;  the  town  is  ours. 
Both  male  and  female,  put  them  to  the  sword  : 
So  please  you,  Sylla,  and  fulfil  his  word. 

[Exeunt. 

A  little  skirmish.     A  retreat.     Enter  in  royally 
LUCRETIUS. 

LUCRETIUS.  Now,  Romans,  we  have  brought 

Prseneste  low, 

And  Marius  sleeps  amidst  the  dead  at  last : 
So  then  to  Rome,  my  countrymen,  with  joy, 
Where  Sylla  waits  the  tidings  of  our  fight. 
Those  prisoners  that  are  taken,  see  forthwith 
With  warlike  javelins  you  put  them  to  death. 
Come,  let  us   march  !    See   Rome   in    sight,  my 

hearts, 
Where  Sylla  waits  the  tidings  of  our  war. 


1  In  his  "  Life  of  Marius,"  Plutarch  states  that  this  event 
occurred  at  Perusia,  and  that  Young  Marius  was  besieged 
there  by  Sylla;  but  in  his  "Life  of  Sylla"  he  corrects  the 
error,  and  informs  us  that  Young  Marius  was  besieged  by 
Lucretius,  and  that  he  slew  himself  at  Prseneste. 


184:  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 


Enter  SYLLA,  VALERIUS  FLACCUS,  LEPIDUS,  POM- 
PEY,  Citizens'  Guard:  SYLLA,  seated  in  his 
robes  of  state,  is  saluted  by  the  Citizens,  &c. 

FLACCUS.   Romans,  you    know,    and    to   your 

griefs  have  seen 

A  world  of  troubles  hatched  here  at  home, 
Which  through  prevention  being  well-nigh  cross' d 
By  worthy  Sylla  and  his  warlike  band, 
I,  consul,  with  these  fathers  think  it  meet 
To  fortify  our  peace  and  city's  weal, 
To  name  some  man  of  worth  that  may  supply 
Dictator's  power  and  place  ;  whose  majesty 
Shall  cross  the  courage  of  rebellious  minds. 
What  think  you,  Romans,  will  you  condescend  1 

SYLLA.  Nay,  Flaccus,  for  their  profits  they  must 

yield • 

For  men  of  mean  condition  and  conceit 
Must  humble  their  opinions  to  their  lords. 
And  if  my  friends  and  citizens  consent, 
Since  I  am  born  to  manage  mighty  things, 
I  will,  though  loth,  both  rule  and  govern  them. 
I  speak  not  this,  as  though  I  wish  to  reign, 
But  for  to  know  my  friends  :  and  yet  again 
I  merit,  Romans,  far  more  grace  than  this. 

FLACCUS.  Ay,  countrymen,  if  Sylla's  power  and 

mind, 

If  Sylla's  virtue,  courage,  and  device, 
If  Sylla's  friends  and  fortunes  merit  fame, 
None  then  but  he  should  bear  dictator's  name. 

POMPEY.  What  think  you,  citizens,  why  stand 

ye  mute  ? 
Shall  Sylla  be  dictator  here  in  Rome  ? 

CITIZENS.  By  full  consent  Sylla  shall  be  dic- 
tator. 

FLACCUS.  Then  in  the  name  of  Rome  I  here 
present 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  185 

The  rods  and  axes  into  Sylla's  hand  ; 
And  fortunate  prove  Sylla,  our  dictator. 

[Trumpets  sound :  cry  within,  SYLLA  Dictator. 

SYLLA.   My  fortunes,  Flaccus,  cannot   be  im- 

peach'd, 

For  at  my  birth  the  planets  passing  kind 
Could  entertain  no  retrograde  aspects  : 
And  that  I  may  with  kindness  'quite  their  love, 
My  countrymen,  I  will  prevent  the  cause 
'Gainst  all  the  false  encounters  of  mishap. 
You  name  me  your  dictator,  but  prefix 
No  time,  no  course,  but  give  me  leave  to  rule 
And  yet  exempt  me  not  from  your  revenge. 
Thus  by  your  pleasures  being  set  aloft, 
Straight  by  your  furies  I  should  quickly  fall. 
No,  citizens,  who  readeth  Sylla's  mind, 
Must  form  my  titles  in  another  kind  : 
Either  let  Sylla  be  dictator  ever, 
Or  flatter  Sylla  with  these  titles  never. 

CITIZENS.  Perpetual  be  thy  glory  and  renown  : 
Perpetual  lord  dictator  shalt  thou  be. 

POMPEY.  Hereto  the  senate  frankly  doth  agree. 

SYLLA.  Then  so  shall  Sylla  reign,  you  senators, 
Then  so  shall  Sylla  rule,  you  citizens, 
As  senators  and  citizens  that  please  me 
Shall  be  my  friends ;  the  rest  cannot  disease  me. 

Enter  LUCRETIUS,  with  Soldiers. 

But  see,  whereas  Lucretius  is  returned  ! 
Welcome,  brave  Roman  :  where  is  Marius  ? 
Are  these  Prsenestians  put  unto  the  sword  ? 

LUCRETIUS.  The  city,  noble  Sylla,  razed  is, 
And  Marius  dead — not  by  our  swords,  my  lord, 
But  with  more  constancy  than  Cato  died. 

SYLLA.  What,  constancy  !  and  but  a  very  boy  1 
Why  then  I  see  he  was  his  father's  son. 
But  let  us  have  this  constancy  described. 


186  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

LUCRETIUS.  After  our  fierce  assaults  and  their 

resist, 

Our  siege,  their  sallying  out  to  stop  our  trench, 
Labour  and  hunger  reigning  in  the  town, 
The  younger  Marius  on  the  city's  wall 
Vouchsafe!  an  inter-parley  at  the  last ; 
Wherein  with  constancy  and  courage  too 
He  boldly  arm'd  his  friends,  himself,  to  death ; 
And,  spreading  of  his  colours  on  the  wall, 
For  answer  said  he  could  not  brook  to  yield, 
Or  trust  a  tyrant  such  as  Sylla  was. 

SYLLA.    What,  did  the  brainsick  boy  upbraid 

me  so  ?     . 
But  let  us  hear  the  rest,  Lucretius. 

LUCRETIUS.  And,  after  great  persuasions  to  his 

friends 

And  worthy  resolution  of  them  all, 
He  first  did  sheathe  his  poniard  in  his  breast, 
And  so  in  order  died  all  the  rest. 

SYLLA.  Now,  by  my  sword,  this  was  a  worthy 

jest.1 

Yet,  silly  boy,  I  needs  must  pity  thee, 
Whose  noble  mind  could  never  mated  be. 
Believe  me,  countrymen,  a  sudden  thought, 
A  sudden  change  in  Sylla  now  hath  wrought. 
Old  Marius  and  his  son  were  men  of  name, 
Nor  fortune's  laughs  nor  low'rs  their  minds  could 

tame, 

And  when  I  count  their  fortunes  that  are  past, 
I  see  that  death  confirm'd  their  fames  at  last. 
Then  he  that  strives  to  manage  mighty  things, 


1  Jest  was  used  by  our  ancestors  in  various  senses,  but 
here  it  means  a  deed  or  action  only  ;  thus  Sir  T.  Elyot,  as 
Mr  Todd  notes,  speaks  of  "the jests  or  acts  of  princes  and 
captains."  In  fact,  this  is  the  general  signification  of  the 
term,  though  it  has  sometimes  a  more  particular  applica- 
tion. Gest  and.  jest  are  the  same  word,  though  now  and  then 
distinguished. 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR.  187 

Amidst  his  triumphs  gains  a  troubled  mind. 
The  greatest  hope,  the  greatest  harm  it  brings, 
And  poor  men  in  content  their  glory  find. 
If  then  content  be  such  a  pleasant  thing, 
Why  leave  I  country  life  to  live  a  king  1 
Yet  kings  are  gods,  and  make  the  proudest  stoop  ; 
Yea,  but  themselves  are  still  pursued  with  hate  : 
And  men  were  made  to  mount  and  then  to  droop. 
Such  chances  wait  upon  uncertain  fate, 
That  where  she  kisseth  once,  she  quelleth  twice  ; 
Then  whoso  lives  content  is  happy,  wise. 
What  motion  moveth  this  philosophy  ? 
0  Sylla,  see  the  ocean  ebbs  and  flows  ; 1 
The  spring-time  wanes,  when  winter  draweth  nigh : 
Ay,  these  are  true  and  most  assured  notes. 
Inconstant  chance  such  tickle  turns  has  lent. 
As  whoso  fears  no  fall,  must  seek  content. 
FLACCUS.  Whilst   graver    thoughts    of   honour 

should  allure  thee, 
What  maketh  Sylla  muse  and  mutter  thus  ^ 

SYLLA.  I,  that  have  pass'd  amidst  the  mighty 

troops 

Of  armed  legions,  through  a  world  of  war, 
Do  now  bethink  me,  Flaccus,  of  my  chance  : 
How  I  alone,  where  many  men  were  slain, 
In  spite  of  fate  am  come  to  Rome  again. 
And  though 2  I  wield  the  reverend  stiles  of  state  ; 
She,3  Sylla,  with  a  beck  could  break  thy  neck. 
What  lord  of  Eome  hath  dar'd  as  much  as  1 1 
Yet,  Flaccus,  know'st  thou  not  that  I  must  die  ? 
The  labouring  sisters  on  the  weary  looms 
Have  drawn  my  web  of  life  at  length,  I  know ; 
And  men  of  wit  must  think  upon  their  tombs  : 


1  [Old  copy,  floats.  ] 

2  [Old  copy,  lo.]     ' 

3  [Old  copy,  yea.     By  She  Sylla  must  be  understood  to 
refer  to  Fate,  whom  he  has  just  mentioned.] 


188  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

For  beasts  with  careless  steps  to  Lethe  go  ; 
Where  men,  whose  thoughts  and  honours  climb 

on  high, 
Living  with  fame,  must  learn  with  fame  to  die. 

POMPEY.  What  lets,  my  lord,  in  governing  this 

state, 
To  live  in  rest,  and  die  with  honour  too  1 

SYLLA.  What    lets    me,    Pompey?    why,    my 

courteous  friend, 

Can  he  remain  secure  that  wields  a  charge, 
Or  think  of  wit  when  flatterers  do  commend, 
Or  be  advis'd  that  careless  runs  at  large  1 
No,  Pompey  :  honey  words  make  foolish  minds, 
And  pow'r  the  greatest  wit  with  error  blinds. 
Flaccus,  I  murder'd  Anthony,  thy  friend ; 
Romans,  some  here  have  lost  at  my  command 
Their  fathers,  mothers,  brothers,  and  allies  ; 
And  think  you,  Sylla,  thinking  these  misdeeds, 
Bethinks  not  on  your  grudges  and  mislike  ? 
Yes,  countrymen,  I  bear  them  still  in  mind  : 
Then,  Pompey,  were  I  not  a  silly  man 
To  leave  my  rule,  and  trust  these  Romans  then  ? 

POMPEY.  Your  grace  hath  small  occasions    of 

mistrust, 
Nor  seek  these  citizens  for  your  disclaim. 

SYLLA.    But,    Pompey,    now     these     reaching 

plumes  of  pride, 

That  mounted  up  my  fortunes  to  the  clouds, 
By  grave  conceits  shall  straight  be  laid  aside, 
And  Sylla  thinks  of  far  more  simple  shrouds. 
For  having  tried  occasion  in  the  throne, 
I'll  see  if  she  dare  frown,  when  state  is  gone. 
Lo,  senators,  the  man  that  sat  aloft, 
Now  deigns  to  give  inferiors  highest  place. 
Lo,  here  the  man  whom  Rome  repined  oft, 
A  private  man  content  to  brook  disgrace. 
Romans,  lo,  here  the  axes,  rods,  and  all : 
I'll  master  fortune,  lest  she  make  me  thrall. 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  189 

Now  whoso  list  accuse  me,  tell  my  wrongs, 
Upbraid  me  in  the  presence  of  this  state. 
Is  none  these  jolly  citizens  among, 
That  will  accuse,  or  say  I  am  ingrate  ? 
Then  will  I  say,  and  boldly  boast  my  chances, 
That  nought  may  force  the  man  whom  fate  ad- 
vances. 
FLACCUS.  What  meaneth  Sylla  in  this   sullen 

mood, 
To  leave  his  titles  on  the  sudden  thus  1 

SYLLA.  Consul,  I  mean  with  calm   and  quiet 

mind 

To  pass  my  days,  till l  happy  death  I  find. 
POMPEY.  What  greater  wrong  than  leave  thy 

country  so  ? 

SYLLA.  Both  it  and  life  must  Sylla  leave  in  time. 
CITIZEN.  Yet  during  life  have  care  of  Rome  and 

us. 
SYLLA.  0  wanton  world,  that  flatter'st  in  thy 

prime, 

And  breathest  balm  and  poison  mixed  in  one  ! 
See  how  these  wavering  Romans  wish'd  my  reign, 
That  whilom  fought  and  sought  to  have  me  slain. 

[Aside.] 

My  countrymen,  this  city  wants  no  store 
Of  fathers,  warriors,  to  supply  my  room ; 
So  grant  me  peace,  and  I  will  die  for  Rome. 

Enter  two  Burghers  to  them,  POPPEY  and  CURTALL. 

CURTALL.  These  are  very  indiscreet  counsels, 
neighbour  Poppey,  and  I  will  follow  your  misad- 
visement. 

POPPEY.  I  tell  you,  goodman  Curtail,  the  wench 
hath  wrong.  0  vain  world,  O  foolish  men  !  Could 
a  man  in  nature  cast  a  wench  down,  and  disdain 

1  [Old  copy,  while.} 


190  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

in  nature  to  lift  her  up  again?  Could  he  take 
away  her  dishonesty  without  bouncing  up  the 
banns  of  matrimony  1  0  learned  poet,  well  didst 
thou  write  fustian  verse. 

TJiese  maids  are  daws 
That  go  to  the  laws, 
And  a  babe  in  the  belly. 

CURTALL.  Tut,  man,  'tis  the  way  the  world 
must  follow,  for 

Maids  must  be  kind, 
Good  husbands  to  find. 

POPPEY.  But  mark  the  fierse,1 

If  they  swell  before, 
It  will  grieve  them  sore. 

But  see,  yond's  Master  Sylla  :  faith,  a  pretty  fellow 
is  a. 

SYLLA.  What  seek  my  countrymen  ?  what  would 
my  friends  1 

CURTALL.  Nay,  sir,  your  kind  words  shall  not 
serve  the  turn  :  why,  think  you  to  thrust  your 
soldiers  into  our  kindred  with  your  courtesies, 
sir? 

POPPEY.  I  tell  you,  Master  Sylla,  my  neighbour 
will  have  the  law  :  he  had  the  right,  he  will  have 
the  wrong ;  for  therein  dwells  the  law. 

CONSUL.  What  desire  these  men  of  Rome  ? 

CURTALL.  Neighbour,  sharpen  the  edge-tool  of 
your  wits  upon  the  whetstone  of  indiscretion,  that 
your  words  may  shine  like  the  razors  of  Palermo  :2 

1  i.e.,  Verse. 

2  See  vol.  iv.  p.  80,  respecting  the  razors  of  Palermo. — 
Collier.      [Mr   Collier's  suggested  retention  of  shave,  the 
reading  of  the  old  copy,  I  cannot  support.] 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  191 

[to  POPPEY]  you  have   learning  with   ignorance, 
therefore  speak  my  tale. 

POPPEY.  Then,  worshipful  Master  Sylla,  be  it 

known  unto  you, 

That  my  neighbour's  daughter  Dority 
Was  a  maid  of  restority ; 
Fair,  fresh,  and  fine 
As  a  merry  cup  of  wine  ; 
Her  eyes  like  two  potch'd  eggs, 
Great  and  goodly  her  legs  ; 
But  mark  my  doleful  ditty, 
Alas  !  for  woe  and  pity  ! 
A  soldier  of  your's 
Upon  a  bed  of  flowers 
Gave  her  such  a  fall, 
As  she  lost  maidenhead  and  all. 
And  thus  in  very  good  time 
I  end  my  rudeful  rhyme. 

SYLLA.  And  what  of  this,  my  friend  ?  why  seek 

you  me, 

Who  have  resign'd  my  titles  and  my  state, 
To  live  a  private  life,  as  you  do  now  1 
Go  move  the  Consul  Flaccus  in  this  cause, 
Who  now  hath  power  to  execute  the  laws. 

CURTALL.  And  are  you  no  more  master  dixcator, 
nor  generality  of  the  soldiers  1 

SYLLA.  My  powers  do  cease,  my  titles  are 
resign'd. 

CURTALL.  Have  you  signed  your  titles  ?  0  base 
mind,  that  being  in  the  Paul's  steeple  of  honour, 
hast  cast  thyself  into  the  sink  of  simplicity.  Fie, 
beast ! 

Were  I  a  king,  I  would  day  by  day 
Suck  up  white  bread  and  milk, 
And  go  a-jetting  in  a  jacket  of  silk ; 
My  meat  should  be  the  curds, 
My  drink  should  be  the  whey, 
And  I  would  have  a  mincing  lass  to  love  me  everyday. 


192  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

POPPEY.  Nay,  goodman  Curtail,  your  discretions 
are  very  simple ;  let  me  cramp  him  with  a  reason. 
Sirrah,  whether  is  better  good  ale  or  small-beer  1 
Alas  !  see  his  simplicity  that  cannot  answer  me  : 
why,  I  say  ale. 

CURTALL.  And  so  say  I,  neighbour. 

POPPEY.  Thou  hast  reason ;  ergo,  say  I,  'tis 
better  be  a  king  than  a  clown.  Faith,  Master 
Sylla,  I  hope  a  man  may  now  call  ye  knave  by 
authority. 

SYLLA.  With  what  impatience  hear  I  these  up- 
braids, 

That  whilom  plagued  the  least  offence  with  death. 
0  Sylla,  these  are  stales  of  destiny 
By  some  upbraids  to  try  thy  constancy. 
My   friends,  these  scorns  of  yours  perhaps  may 

move 

The  next  dictator  shun  to  yield  his  state, 
For  fear  he  find  as  much  as  Sylla  doth. 
But,  Flaccus,  to  prevent  their  farther  wrong, 
Vouchsafe  some  lictor  may  attach  the  man, 
And  do  them  right  that  thus  complain  abuse. 

FLACCUS.  Sirrah,  go  you  and  bring  the  soldier, 
That  hath  so  loosely  lean'd  to  lawless  lust  : 
We  will  have  means  sufficient,  be  assured, 
To  cool  his  heat,  and  make  the  wanton  chaste. 

CURTALL.  We  thank  your  mastership.     Come, 

neighbour,  let  us  jog. 

Faith,  this  news  will  set  my  daughter  Dorothy  agog. 

[Exeunt  cum  Lictor e. 

SYLLA.  Grave  senators  and  Eomans,  now  you 

see 

The  humble  bent  of  Sylla's  changed  mind. 
Now  will  I  leave  you,  lords,  from  courtly  train 
To  dwell  content  amidst  my  country  cave, 
Where  no  ambitious  humours  shall  approach 
The  quiet  silence  of  my  happy  sleep  : 
Where  no  delicious  jouissance  or  toys 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  193 

Shall  tickle  Math  delight  my  temper'd  ears  ; 
But  wearying  out  the  lingering  day  with  toil, 
Tiring  my  veins,  and  furrowing  of  my  soul, 
The  silent  night,  with  slumber  stealing  on, 
Shall  lock  these  careful  closets  of  mine  eyes. 
0,  had  I  known  the  height  of  happiness, 
Or  bent  mine  eyes  upon  my  mother-earth, 
Long  since,  0  Rome,  had  Sylla  with  rejoice 
Forsaken  arms  to  lead  a  private  life  ! 

FLACCUS.  But  in  this  humbleness  of  mind,  my 

lord, 

Whereas  experience  prov'd  and  art  do  meet, 
How  happy  were  these  fair  Italian  fields, 
If  they  were  graced  with  so  sweet  a  sun. 
Then  I  for  Rome,  and  Rome  with  me,  requires 
That  Sylla  will  abide,  and  govern  Rome. 

SYLLA.  0  Flaccus,  if  th'  Arabian  phoenix  strive 
By  nature's  warning  to  renew  her  kind, 
When,  soaring  nigh  the  glorious  eye  of  heaven, 
She  from  her  cinders  doth  revive  her  sex, 
Why  should  not  Sylla  learn  by  her  to  die, 
That  erst  have  been  the  Phoenix  of  this  land  f 
And  drawing  near  the  sunshine  of  content, 
Perish  obscure  to  make  your  glories  grow. 
For  as  the  higher  trees  do  shield  the  shrubs 
From  posting  Phlegon's 1  warmth  and  breathing  fire, 
So  mighty  men  obscure  each  other's  fame, 
And  make  the  best  deservers  fortune's  game. 

Enter  GENIUS. 

But  ah,  what  sudden  furies  do  affright  ? 
What  apparitious  fantasies  are  these  1 
O,  let  me  rest,  sweet  lords,  for  why  methinks 
Some  fatal  spells  are  sounded  in  mine  ears. 

1  " Phlegon's    hot    breath"   ia    mentioned  in   "Fuiniui 
Trees  ;"  one  of  the  horses  of  the  sun  was  so  named. 
VOL.  VII.  N 


194  THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL   WAR. 

GENIUS.    Subsequitur  tua  mors:  privari  lumine 
Syllam, 

Numina  Parcarum  jam  fera  precipiunt 
Precipiunt  fera  jam  Parcarum  numina  Syllam 

Lumine  privari  :  mors  tua  subsequitur. 
Elysium  petis,  6  faelix  !  ei  fatidici  astri 

Prcescius :  Heroes,  6,  petis  innumeros  ! 
Innumeros  petis,  6,  Heroes,  prcescius  astri 

Fatidici :  et  fcelix,  6,  petis  Elysium  ! 

[Evanescit  subito. 

SYLLA.    Ergb-ne    post   dulces   annos  properantia 

fata? 

Ergo-ne  jam  tenebrce  prcemia  lucis  erunt  ? 
Attamen,  ut  vitoe  fortunam  gloria  mortis 
Vincat,  in  extremo  funere  cantet  olor. 

POMPEY.    How  fares  my  lord?  what  dreadful 

thoughts  are  these  ? 
What  doubtful  answers  on  a  sudden  thus  1 

SYLLA.  Pompey,  the  man  that  made  the  world 

to  stoop, 

And  fetter'd  fortune  in  the  chains  of  power, 
Must  droop  and  draw  the  chariot  of  fate 
Along  the  darksome  banks  of  Acheron. 
The  heavens  have  warn'd  me  of  my  present  fall. 
O,  call  Cornelia  forth  :  let  Sylla  see 
His  daughter  Fulvia,  ere  his  eyes  be  shut. 

[Exit  one  for  CORNELIA. 
FLACCUS.  Why,  Sylla,  where  is  now  thy  wonted 

hope 

In  greatest  hazard  of  unstayed  chance. 
What,  shall  a  little  biting  blast  of  pain 
Blemish  the  blossoms  of  thy  wonted  pride  1 

SYLLA.  My  Flaccus,  worldly  joys  and  pleasures 

fade; 

Inconstant  time,  like  to  the  fleeting  tide, 
With  endless  course  man's  hopes  doth  overbear : 


THE  WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL   WAR.  195 

Nought  now  remains  that  Sylla  fain  would  have, 
But  lasting  fame,  when  body  lies  in  grave. 

Enter  CORNELIA,  FuLVlA. 

CORNELIA.  How  fares  my  lord  ?     How  doth  my 
gentle  Sylla. 

SYLLA.  Ah,  my  Cornelia  !  passing  happy  now  : 
Free  from  the  world,  allied  unto  the  heavens  : 
Not  curious  of  incertain  chances  now. 

CORNELIA.  Words  full  of  woe,  still  adding  to 

my  grief, 

A  cureless  cross  of  many  hundred  harms. 
0,  let  not  Rome  and  poor  Cornelia  lose, 
The  one  her  friend,  the  other  her  delight. 

SYLLA.  Cornelia,  man  hath  power  by  some  in- 
stinct 

And  gracious  revolution  of  the  stars, 
To  conquer  kingdoms,  not  to  master  fate  : 
For  when  the  course  of  mortal  life  is  run, 
Then  Clotho  ends  the  web  her  sister  spun. 
Pompey,  Lord  Flaccus,  fellow-senators, 
In  that  I  feel  the  faintful  dews  of  death 
Steeping  mine  eyes  within  their  chilly  wet, 
The  care  I  have  of  wife  and  daughter  both, 
Must  on  your  wisdom  happily  rely. 
With  equal  distribution  see  you  part 
My  lands  and  goods  betwixt  these  lovely  twain  : 
Only  bestow  a  hundred  thousand  sesterces 
Upon  my  friends  and  fellow-soldiers. 
Thus,  having  made  my  final  testament, 
Come,  Fulvia,  let  thy  father  lay  his  head 
Upon  thy  lovely  bosom,  and  entreat 
A  virtuous  boon  and  favour  at  thy  hands. 
Fair  Roman  maid,  see  that  thou  wed  thy  fairness l 
To  modest,  virtuous,  and  delightful  thoughts  : 

1  [Old  copy,  fairs.] 


196  THE  WOUNDS  OF  CIVIL  WAR. 

Let  Rome,  in  viewing  thee,  behold  thy  sire. 
Honour  Cornelia,  from  whose  fruitful  womb 
Thy  plenteous  beauties  sweetly  did  appear ; 
And  with  this  lesson,  lovely  maid,  farewell. 

FULVIA.  0  tedious  and  unhappy  chance  for  me. 
SYLLA.  Content  thee,  Fulvia,  for  it  needs  must 

be. 

Cornelia,  I  must  leave  thee  to  the  world  ; 
And  by  those  loves  that  I  have  lent  thee  oft, 
In  mutual  wedlock-rites  and  happy  war, 
Remember  Sylla  in  my  Fulvia  still. 
Consul,  farewell  !  my  Pompey,  I  must  hence  : 
And  farewell,  Rome  :  and,  Fortune,  now  I  bless 

thee, 
That  both  in  life  and  death  would'st  not  oppress 

me !  [Die*. 

CORNELIA.  0  hideous  storms  of  never-daunted 

fate  ! 

^oware  those  eyes,  whose  sweet  reflections  coolM 
The  smother'd  rancours  of  rebellious  thoughts, 
Clad  with  the  sable  mantles  of  the  night ; 
And  like  the  tree  that,  robb'd  of  sun  and  showers, 
Mourns  desolate  withouten  leaf  or  sap, 
So  poor  Cornelia,  late  bereft  of  love, 
Sits  sighing,  hapless,  joyless,  and  forlorn. 

FULVIA.  Gone  is  the  flow'r  that  did  adorn  our 

fields ; 

Fled  are  those  sweet  reflections  of  delight : 
Dead  is  my  father  !     Fulvia,  dead  is  he 
In  whom  thy  life,  for  whom  thy  death,  must  be. 
FLACCUS.  Ladies,  to  tire  the  time  in  restless 

moan 

Were  tedious  unto  friends  and  nature  too. 
Sufficeth  you,  that  Sylla  so  is  dead, 
As  fame  shall  sing  his  power,  though  life  be  fled. 
POMPEY.  Then  to  conclude  his  happiness,  my 

lords, 
Determine  where  shall  be  his  funeral. 


THE   WOUNDS   OF  CIVIL  WAR.  197 

LEPIDUS.    Even  there  where  other  nobles  are 

interr'd. 

POMPEY.  Why,  Lepidus,  what  Roman  ever  was, 
That  merited  so  high  a  name  as  he  ? 
Then  why  with  simple  pomp  and  funeral 
Would  you  entomb  so  rare  a  paragon  1 

CORNELIA.  An  urn  of  gold  shall  hem  his  ashes 

in  : 

The  vestal  virgins  with  their  holy  notes 
Shall  sing  his  famous,  though  too  fatal,  death. 
I  and  my  Fulvia  with  dispersed  hair 
Will  wait  upon  this  noble  Roman's  hearse. 

FULVIA.  And  Fulvia,  clad  in  black  and  mourn- 
ful pall, 
Will  wait  upon  her  father's  funeral. 

POMPEY.  Come,  bear  we  hence  this  trophy  of 

renown, 

Whose  life,  whose  death,  was  far  from  fortune's 
frown.  [Exeunt  omnes. 

The  funerals  of  SYLLA  in  great  pomp, 

Deo  juvante,  nil  nocet  livor  mains  : 
Et  non  juvante  nil  juvat  labor  gravis. 


FINIS. 


MUCEDORUS. 


EDITIONS. 

A  Most  pleasant  Comedie  of  Mucedorus  the  kings  sonne 
of  Valentia  and  Amadine  the  Kings  daughter  of  Arra- 
gon,  with  the  merie  conceites  of  Mouse.  Newly  set 
foorth,  as  it  hath  bin  sundrie  times  plaide  in  the 
honorable  Cittie  of  London.  Very  delectable  and  full  of 
mirth.  London  Printed  for  William  /ones,  dwelling 
at  Holborne  conduit,  at  the  signe  of  the  Gunne.  1598. 
4°. 

A  Most  pleasant  Comedie  of  Mucedorus  the  Kings  sonne 
of  Valentia,  and  Amadine  the  Kings  daughter  of 
Aragon.  With  the  merry  conceites  of  Mouse.  Ampli- 
fied with  new  additions,  as  it  was  acted  before  the 
Kings  Maiestie  at  White-hall  on  Shroue-Sunday  night. 
By  his  Highnes  Seruants  usually  playing  at  the  Globe. 
Very  delectable,  and  full  of  conceited  Mirth.  Im- 
printed at  London  for  William  Tones,  dwelling  neare 
Holborne  Conduit,  at  the  signe  of  the  Gunne.  1610. 
4°. 

An  edition  of  1606  is  mentioned  in  "Beauclerc's 
Catalogue,"  1781,  as  noticed  by  Hazlitt.  There 
were  others  in  1613,  1615,  1619,  1668,  and  without 
date,  all  in  4°. 

This  drama,  at  one  time  conjecturally  given  to 
Shakespeare,  is  now  first  reprinted  from  the  original 
copy  of  1598,  collated  with  that  of  1610  ;  and  the 
additions  are  inserted  between  brackets.  Whether  the 
additions  and  corrections  were  the  work  of  the  original 
writer,  or  of  some  one  else,  is  uncertain  ;  but  it  does 
not  appear  improbable  that  they  were  the  author's. 

From  the  play  of  "  Mucedorus  "  was  formed  a  ballad 
entitled  "The  Wandering  Prince  and  Princess,  or 
Mucedorus  and  Amadine." 


THE  PROLOGUE.1 

MOST  sacred  Majesty,  whose  great  deserts 
Thy  subject  England,  nay,  the  world,  admires : 
Which  heaven  grant  still  increase  !     O,  may  your 

praise 

Multiplying  with  your  hours,  your  fame  still  raise. 
Embrace  your  Council  :  love  with  faith  them  guide, 
That  both  at  one  bench,  by  each  other's  side. 
So  may  your  life  pass  on,  and  run  so  even, 
That  your  firm  zeal  plant  you  a  throne  in  heaven, 
Where  smiling  angels  shall  your  guardians  be 
From  blemish'd  traitors,  stain'd  with  perjury. 
And,  as  the  night's  inferior  to  the  day, 
So  be  all  earthly  regions  to  your  sway  ! 
Be  as  the  sun  to  day,  the  day  to  night, 
For  from  your  beams  Europe  shall  borrow  light. 
Mirth  drown  your  bosom,  fair  delight  your  mind, 
And  may  our  pastime  your  contentment  find. 

{Exit  PROLOGUE. 

1  From  the  edition  of  1610.     It  is  not  in  the  first  4°. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

Hight 1  persons  may  easily  play  it. 


The  KING  and  ROM-  )  por 
BELO.                        J  one. 

ENVY  :  TREMELIO,   a  \ 

Captain.                   V  For 
i  one. 
BREMO,  a  wild  man.  ) 

MUCEDORUS,      the      \  p 
Prince  of  Valencia.  J  one. 

COMEDY,  a    boy,  an\ 
old  woman.              f  for 
ARIENA,    AMADINE'S  C  one- 

maid.                       ) 

AMADINE,  the  KING'S  \ 

daughter  of  Arm-  >  For 
(  one. 
gon.                           ) 

COLLEN,   a  Council'  \  por 
lor,  a  Messenger.      )  one. 

\For 

'  J  one. 

MOUSE,  tJie  Clown.     1  for 
j    one. 

1  In  the  edition  of  1610  the  number  of  performers  is 
raised  to  ten.  The  two  additional  characters  are  the  King 
of  Valentia  and  Anselmo. 


MUCEDORTTS. 


Enter  COMEDY  joyfully,  with  a  garland  of  bays 
on  her  head. 

Why  so ;  thus  do  Lhapfi~ta  please.: 

Music  revives,  and  mirth  is  tolerable, 

Comedy,  play  thy  part,  and  please  ; 

Make  merry  them  that  come  to  joy  with  thee. 

Joy,  then,  good  gentles ;  I  hope  to  make  you  laugh. 

Sound  forth  Bellona's  silver-tuned  strings. 

Time  fits  us  well,  the  day  and  place  is  ours. 

Enter  ENVY,  his  arms  naked,  besmeared  with  Hood. 

ENVY.  Nay,  stay,  minion  ;  there  lies  a  block  ! 
What,  all  on  mirth  ]     I'll  interrupt  your  tale, 
And  mix  your  music  with  a  tragic  end. 

COMEDY.  What  monstrous  ugly  hag  is  this, 
That  dares  control  the  pleasures  of  our  will  $ 
Vaunt,  churlish  cur,  besmear'd  with  gory  blood, 
That  seem'st  to  check  the  blossoms  of  delight, 
And  stifle  the  sound  of  sweet  Bellona's  breath, 
Blush,  monster,  blush,  and  post  away  with  shame, 
That  seekest  disturbance  of  a  goddess'  deeds. 

ENVY.  Post  hence  thyself,  thou  counterchecking 

trull ; 

I  will  possess  this  habit,  spite  of  thee, 
And  gain  the  glory  of  thy  wished  port. 


204  MUCEDORUS. 

I'll  thunder  music  shall  appal  the  nymphs, 
And  make  them  shiver  their  clattering  strings  : 
Flying  for  succour  to  their  Danish  caves. 

Sound  drums  within,  and  cry,  Stab,  stab  ! 

Hearken,  thou  shalt  hear  a  noise 

Shall  fill  the  air  with  a  shrilling  sound, 

And  thunder  music  to  the  gods  above  : 

Mars  shall  himself  breathe  down 

A  peerless  crown  upon  brave  Envy's  head, 

And  raise  his  chival  with  a  lasting  fame. 

In  this  brave  music  Envy  takes  delight, 

Where  I  may  see  them  wallow  in  their  blood, 

To  spurn  at  arms  and  legs  quite  shivered  off, 

And  hear  the  cry  of  many  thousand  slain, 

How  lik'st  thou  this,  my  trull?  this  sport  alone 

for  me  ! 
COMEDY.  Vaunt,   bloody  cur,   nurs'cl  up  with 

tigers'  sap, 

That  so  dost  seek  to  quail  a  woman's  mind. 
Comedy  is  mildj  ^entle^jwjllin^_for_tp^  please, 
And  seeks  to  gain  the  love  of  all  estates. 
Delighting  in  mirth,  mix'd  all  with  lovely  tales,. 
And  bringeth  things  with  treble  joy  to  pass. 
Thou  bloody  envious  disdainer  of  men's  joys, 
Whose  name  is  fraught  with  bloody  stratagems, 
Delights  in  nothing  but  in  spoil  and  death, 
Where  thou  may'st  trample  in  their  lukewarm  blood. 
And  grasp  their  hearts  within  thy  cursed  paws. 
Yet  veil  thy  mind ;  revenge  thou  not  on  me  ; 
A  silly  woman  begs  it  at  thy  hands. 
Give  me  the  leave  to  utter  out  my  play ; 
Forbear  this  place ;  I  humbly  crave  thee,  hence  ! 
And  mix  not  death  'mongst  pleasing  comedies, 
That  treat  nought  else  but  pleasure  and  delight. 
If  any  spark  of  human  rests  in  thee, 
Forbear ;  begone ;  tender  the  suit  of  me. 


MUCEDORUS.  205 

ENVY.  Why,  so  I  will ;  forbearance  shall  be  such, 
As  treble  death  shall  cross  thee  with  despite, 
And  make  thee  mourn,  where  most  thou  joyest, 
Turning  thy  mirth  into  a  deadly  dole  : 
Whirling  thy  pleasures  with  a  peal  of  death, 
And  drench  thy  methods  in  a  sea  of  blood. 
This  will  I  do ;  thus  shall  I  bear  with  thee  ; 
And,  more  to  vex  thee  with  a  deeper  spite, 
I  will  with  threats  of  blood  begin  thy  play  : 
Favouring  thee  with  envy  and  with  hate. 

COMEDY.  Then,  ugly  monster,  do  thy  worst ; 
I  will  defend  them  in  despite  of  thee  : 
And  though  thou  think'st  with  tragic  fumes 
To  brave  my  play  unto  my  deep  disgrace, 
I  force  it  not,  I  scorn  what  thou  canst  do ; 
I'll  grace  it  so,  thyself  shall  it  confess, 
From  tragic  stuff  to  be  a  pleasant  comedy. 

ENVY.    Why   then,  Comedy,   send  thy  actors 

forth, 

And  I  will  cross  the  first  steps  of  their  tread, 
Making  them  fear  the  very  dart  of  death. 

COMEDY.  And  I'll  defend  them,  maugre  all  thy 

spite. 

So,  ugly  fiend,  farewell,  till  time  shall  serve, 
That  we  may  meet  to  parley  for  the  best. 

ENVY.  Content,  Comedy;   I'll  go   spread  my 

branch 

And  scattered  blossoms  from  mine  envious  tree, 
Shall  prove  two  monsters,  spoiling  of  their  joys. 

[Exit. 

[Sound.]     Enter  MuCEDORUS  and  ANSELMO, 
his  friend. 

MUCEDORUS.  Anselmo. 
ANSELMO.  My  lord  and  friend. 
MUCEDORUS.  True,  my  Anselmo,  both  thy  lord 
and  friend, 


206  MUCEDORUS. 

Whose  dear  affections  bosom  with  my  heart, 
And  keep  their  domination  in  one  orb. 

ANSELMO.  Whence  ne'er  disloyalty  shall  root  it 

forth, 
But  faith  plant  firmer  in  your  choice  respect. 

MUCEDORUS.  Much  blame  were  mine,  if  I  should 

other  deem, 

Nor  can  coy  Fortune  contrary  allow. 
But,  my  Anselmo,  loth  I  am  to  say, 
Lmust  estrange  that  friendship. 
Misconstrue  not ;  'tis  from  the  realm,  not  thee  : 
Though  lands  part  B7>dies7  hearts  keep  company. 
Thou  know'st  that  I  imparted  often  have 
Private  relations  with  my  royal  sire, 
Had  as  concerning  beauteous  Amadine, 
Rich  Arragon's  bright  jewel,  whose  face  (some  say) 
That  blooming  lilies  never  shone  so  gay, 
Excelling,  not  excell'd  :  yet,  lest  report 
Does  mangle  verity,  boasting  of  what  is  hot, 
Wing'd  with  desire,  thither  I'll  straight  repair, 
And  be  my  fortunes,  as  my  thoughts  are,  fair  ! 

ANSELMO.  Will  you  forsake  Valencia,  leave  the 

court, 

Absent  you  from  the  eye  of  sovereignty  1 
Do  not,  sweet  prince,  adventure  on  that  task, 
Since  danger  lurks  each  where ;  be  won  from  it. 

MUCEDORUS.  Desist  dissuasion, 
My  resolution  brooks  no  battery, 
Therefore,  if  thou  retain  thy  wonted  form, 
Assist  what  I  intend. 

ANSELMO.  Your  miss  will  breed  a  blemish  in 

the  court, 

And  throw  a  frosty  dew  upon  that  beard, 
Whose  front  Valencia  stoops  to. 

MUCEDORUS.  If  thou  my  welfare  tender,  then 

no  more  ; 

Let  love's  strong  magic  charm  thy  trivial  phrase, 
Wasted  as  vainly  as  to  gripe  the  sun. 


MUCEDORUS.  207 

Augment  not  then  more  answers  ;  lock  thy  lips. 
Unless  thy  wisdom  suit  me  with  disguise, 
According  to  my  purpose. 

ANSELMO.  That  action  craves  no  counsel, 
Since  wha^_v^u_rigjitly  are,  will  more  command, 
Than  best  usurped  shape. 

MUCEDORUS.  Thou  still  art  opposite  in  disposi- 
tion; 

A  more  obscure  servile  habiliment 
Beseems  this  enterprise. 

ANSELMO.  Then  like  a  Florentine  or  mounte- 
bank ! 
MUCEDORUS.  'Tis  much  too  tedious;  I  dislike 

thy  judgment, 
My  mind  is  grafted  on  an  humbler  stock. 

ANSELMO.  Within  my  closet  does  there  hang  a 

cassock — 

Though  base  the  weed  is,  'twas  a  shepherd's — 
Which  I  presented  in  Lord  Julio's  masque. 

MUCEDORUS.  That,  my  Anselmo,  and  none  else 

but  that, 

Mask  Mucedorus  from  the  vulgar  view. 
That  habit  suits  my  mind ;  fetch  me  that  weed. 

[Exit  ANSELMO. 

Better  than  kings  have  not  disdain'd  that  state, 
And  much  inferior,  to  obtain  their  mate. 

Re-enter  ANSELMO  with  a  shepherd's  coat,  which  he 
gives  to  MUCEDORUS. 

MUCEDORUS.  So  let  our  respect  command  thjr 

secrecy. 

At  once  a  brief  farewell ; 
Delay  to  lovers  is  a  second  hell. 

[Exit  MUCEDORUS. 
ANSELMO.  Prosperity  forerun   thee :   awkward 

chance 
Never  be  neighbour  to  thy  wishes'  venture  : 


208  JVIUCEDORUS. 

Content  and  Fame  advance  thee  :  ever  thrive, 
And  glory  thy  mortality  survive  !  [Exit. 


Enter  MOUSE  with  a  bottle  of  hay. 

MOUSE.  0,  horrible,  terrible  !  Was  ever  poor 
gentleman  so  scar'd  out  of  his  seven  senses  1  A 
bear?  Nay,  sure  it  cannot  be  a  bear,  but  some., 
devil  in  a  bear's  doublet ;  for  a  bear  could  never 
have  had  that  agility  to  have  frighted  me.  Well, 
I'll  see  my  father  hanged  before  I'll  serve  his  horse 
any  more.  Well,  I'll  carry  home  my  bottle  of 
hay,  and  for  once  make  my  father's  horse  turn 
Puritan,  and  observe  fasting-days,  for  he  gets  not 
a  bit.  But  soft !  this  way  she  followed  me ; 
therefore  I'll  take  the  other  path  ;  and  because  I'll 
be  sure  to  have  an  eye  on  him,  I  will  take  hands 
with  some  foolish  creditor,  and  make  every  step 
backward. 

[As  he  goes  backwards,  the  bear  comes  in,  and 
he  tumbles  over  her,  and  runs  away,  and 
leaves  his  bottle  of  hay  behind  him.] 


Enter  SEGASTO  running,  and  AMADINE  after  /dm, 
being  pursued  with  a  bear. 

SEGASTO.  0,  fly,  madam,  fly,  or  else  we  are  but 
dead! 

AMADINE.    Help,   Segasto !  help,    help,  sweet 
Segasto,  or  else  I  die  ! 

[SEGASTO  runs  away. 

SEGASTO.  Alas,  madam !  there  is  no  way  but 

flight; 
Then  haste,  and  save  yourself. 

AMADINE.  Why  then  I  die ;  ah !  help  me  in  dis- 
tress. 


MUCEDORUS.  209 

Enter  MUCEDORUS  like  a  shepherd,  ivith  a  sword 
drawn  and  a  bear's  head  in  his  hand. 

MUCEDORUS.  Stay,  lady,  stay  ;  and  be  no  more 

dismay'd; 

That  cruel  beast,  most  merciless  and  fell, 
Which  hath  bereaved  thousands  of  their  lives, 
Affrighted  many  with  his  hard  pursues, 
Prying  from  place  to  place  to  find  his  prey, 
Prolonging  thus  his  life  by  others'  death, 
His  carcase  now  lies  headless,  void  of  breath. 
AMADINE.  That  foul,  deformed  monster,  is  he 

dead? 
MUCEDORUS.    Assure  yourself  thereof — behold 

his  head ; 

Which,  if  it. please. yoiij,  lady^l<i  .accept^ 
With  willing  heart  I  yield  it  to  your  majesty. 
AMADINE.   Thanks,  worthy  shepherd,  thanks  a 

thousand  times ; 

TlnVgift,  assure  thyself,  contents  me  more 
Than  greatest  bounty  of  a  mighty  prince, 
Although  he  were  the  monarch  of  the  world. 
MUCEDORUS.  Most  gracious  goddess,  more  than 

mortal  wight — 

Your  heavenly  hue  of  right  imports  no  less — 
Most  glad  am  I,  in  that  it  was  my  chance 
To  undertake  this  enterprise  in  hand, 
Which  doth  so  greatly  glad  your  princely  mind. 
AMADINE.  No  goddess,  shepherd,  but  a  mortal 

wight — 

A  mortal  wight  distressed  as  thou  seest : 
My  father  here  is  King  of  Arragon  : 
I,  Amadine,  his  only  daughter  am, 
And  after  him  sole  heir  unto  the  crown. 
Now,  whereas  it  is  my  father's  will 
To  marry  me  unto  Segasto,  one, 
Whose  wealth  through  father's  former  usury 
Is  known  to  be  no  less  than  wonderful, 
VOL.   VII.  O 


210  MUCEDORUS. 

We  both  of  custom  oftentimes  did  use, 
Leaving  the  court,  to  walk  within  the  fields 
For  recreation,  especially  [in]  the  spring, 
In  that  it  yields  great  store  of  rare  delights ; 
And,  passing  farther  than  our  .wonted  walks, 
Scarce  ent'red  were  within  these  luckless  woods, 
But  right  before  us  down  a  steep-fall  hill, 
A  monstrous  ugly  bear  did  hie  him  fast 

To  meet  us  both I  faint  to  tell  the  rest, 

Good  shepherd — but  suppose  the  ghastly  looks, 
The  hideous  fears,  the  thousand  hundred  woes, 
Which  at  this  instant  Amadine  sustained. 

MUCEDORUS.    Yet,    worthy    princess,   let    thy 

sorrow  cease, 
And  let  this  sight  your  former  joys  revive. 

AMADINE.  Believe  me,  shepherd,  so  it  doth  no 
less. 

MUCEDORUS.    Long  may  they  last  unto   your 

heart's  content. 

But  tell  me,  lady,  what  is  become  of  him, 
Segasto  call'd,  what  is  become  of  him  1 

AMADINE.  I  know  not,  I;  that  know  the  powers 

divine ; 
But  God  grant  this,  that  sweet  Segasto  live ! 

MUCEDORUS.    Yet  hard-hearted  he,  in  such  a 

case, 

So  cowardly  to  save- himself  .by  flight, 
And  leave  so  brave  a  princess  to  the  spoil. 

AMADINE.    Well,    shepherd,    for    thy    worthy 

valour  tried, 

Endangering  thyself  to  set  me  free, 
Unrecompensed,  sure,  thou  shalt  not  be. 
Inland;  thy  .Damage.  sJiall  be  plainly  known ; 
Throughout  the  kingdom  will  I  spread  thy  name, 
To  thy  renown  and  never-dying  fame  ; 
And  that  thy  courage  may  be  better  known, 
Bear  thou  the  head  of  this  most  monstrous  beast 
In  open  sight  to  every  courtier's  view. 


MUCEDORUS.  211 

So  will  the  king,  my  father,  thee  reward  : 
Come,  let's  away  and  guard  me  to  the  court. 
[MUCEDORUS.  With  all  my  heart.]          [Exeunt. 

Enter  SEGASTO  solus. 

SEGASTO.  When  heaps  of  harms  do  hover  over- 
head, 

'Tis  time  as  then,  some  say,  to  look  about, 
And  so  [of]  ensuing  harms  to  choose  the  least. 
But  hard,  yea  hapless,  is  that  wretch's  chance, 
Luckless  his  lot  and  caitiff-like  accurs'd, 
At  whose  proceedings  fortune  ever  frowns — 
Myself,  I  mean,  most  subject  unto  thrall ; 
For  I,  the  more  I  seek  to  shun  the  worst, 
The  more  by  proof  I  find  myself  accurs't. 
Erewhiles  assaulted  with  an  ugly  bear  : 
Fair  Amadine  in  company  all  alone  : 
Forthwith  by  flight  I  thought  to  save  myself, 
Leaving  my  Amadine  unto  her  shifts ; 
For  death  it  was  for  to  resist  the  bear, 
And  death  no  less  of  Amadine's  harms  to  hear. 
Accursed  I  in  ling'ring  life  thus  long 
In  living  thus,  each  minute  of  an  hour 
Doth   pierce   my  heart  with   darts    of   thousand 

deaths : 

If  she  by  flight  her  fury  do  escape, 
What  will  she  think  ] 
Will  she  not  say — yea,  flatly  to  my  face, 
Accusing  me  of  mere  disloyalty — 
AjnisJsLiiifiJidi^ 

But  I,  when  she  in  danger  was  of  death, 
And  needed  me,  and  cried,  Segasto,  help ! 
I  turn'd  my  back,  and  quickly  ran  away, 
Unworthy  I  to  bear  this  vital  breath  ! 
But  what,  what  needs  these  plaints  1 
If  Amadine  do  live,  then  happy  I. 
She  will  in  time  forgive,  and  so  forget. 


212  MUCEDORUS. 

Amadine  is  merciful,  not  Juno-like, 

In  harmful  heart  to  harbour  hatred  long. 

Enter  MOUSE  the  Clown  running,  crying,  Clubs  ! 

MOUSE.  Clubs,  prongs,  pitchforks,  bills  !  0  help  ! 
A  bear,  a  bear,  a  bear  ! 

SEGASTO.  Still  bears,  and  nothing  else  but  bears  ? 
Tell  me,  sirrah,  where  she  is. 

CLOWN.  0  sir,  she  is  run  down  the  woods : 
I  see  her  white  head  and  her  white  belly. 

SEGASTO.  Thou  talkest  of  wonders,  to  tell  me  of 

white  bears ; 
But,  sirrah,  didst  thou  ever  see  any  such  ? 

CLOWN.  No,  faith,  I  never  saw  any  such  ; 
But  I  remember  my  father's  words, 
He  bad  me  take  heed  I  was  not  caught  with  a 
white  bear. 

SEGASTO.  A  lamentable  tale,  no  doubt. 

CLOWN.  I  tell  you  what,  sir ;  as  I  was  going  a- 
field  to  serve  my  father's  great  horse,  and  carried 
a  bottle  of  hay  upon  my  head — now,  do  you  see, 
sir  ? — I,  fast  hoodwinked,  that  I  could  see  nothing, 
perceiving  the  bear  coming,  I  threw  my  hay  into 
the  hedge  and  ran  away. 

SEGASTO.  What,  from  nothing] 

CLOWN.  I  warrant  you,  yes  ;  I  saw  something  ; 
for  there  was  two  load  of  thorns  besides  my  bottle 
of  hay,  and  that  made  three. 

SEGASTO.  But  tell  me,  sirrah  ;  the  bear  that  thou 

didst  see, 
Did  she  not  bear  a  bucket  on  her  arm  ? 

CLOWN.    Ha,  ha,  ha  !   I  never  saw  bear  go  a- 

milking  in  all  my  life. 
But  hark  you,  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  high  as  her 

arm  • 

I  saw  nothing  but  her  white  head  and  her  white 
belly. 


MUCEDORUS.  213 

SEGASTO.  But  tell  me,  sirrah,  where  dost  thou 
dwell  1 

CLOWN.  Why,  do  you  not  know  me  1 

SEGASTO.  Why,  no  ;  how  should  I  know  thee  ? 

CLOWN.  Why  theruy-ou-  Joiow  nobody,  and  you 
know  not  me.1  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  am  the  goodman 
Rat's  son,  of  the  next  parish  over  the  hill. 

SEGASTO.  Goodman  Rat's  son  \  why,  what's  thy 
name1? 

CLOWN.  Why,  I  am  very  near  kin  unto  him. 

SEGASTO.  I  think  so  ;  but  what's  thy  name. 

CLOWN.  My  name  ?  I  have  [a]  very  pretty 
name  ;  I'll  tell  you  what  my  name  is  —  my  name  is 
Mouse. 

SEGASTO.  What,  plain  Mouse  1 

CLOWN.  Ay,  plain  Mouse,  without  either  welt 

or  gard. 

But  do  you  hear,  sir,  I  am  but  a  very  young  Mouse, 
For  my  tail  is  scarce  grown  out  yet.     Look  you 
here  else. 

SEGASTO.  But  I  pray  thee,  who  gave  thee  that 
name  ? 

CLOWN.  Faith,  sir,  I  know  not  that  ;  but  if  you 
would  fain  know,  ask  my  father's  great  horse,  for 
he  hath  been  half  a  year  longer  with  my  father 
than  I  have. 

SEGASTO.  This  seems  to  be  a  merry  fellow  ; 
I  care  not  if  I  take  him  home  with  me. 
Mirth  is  a  cqmfort_  to  a  tooublejLminjl, 
A  merry  man  a  merry  master  makes.  [Aside. 

How  say'st  thou,  sirrah  ?  wilt  thou  dwell  with  me  1 

CLOWN.  Nay,  soft,  sir,  two  words  to  a  bargain  ; 
pray  you,  what  occupation  are  you  ] 

SEGASTO.  No  occupation  ;  I  live  upon  my  lands. 


]  [Perhaps  the  earliest  instance  of  the  use  of  this  expres- 
sion, as  to  which  see  "  Old  English  Jest-Books,"  1864,  iii.  ; 
"  Pleasant  Conceits  of  Old  Hobson,"  Introd.] 


214  MUCEDORUS. 

CLOWN.  Your  lands  ;  away,  you  are  no  master 
for  me.  Why,  do  you  think  that  I  am  so  mad,  to 
go  seek  my  living  in  the  lands  amongst  the  stones, 
briars  and  bushes,  and  tear  my  holiday  apparel  1 
Not  I,  by  your  leave. 

SEGASTO.  Why,  I  do  not  mean  thou  shalt. 

CLOWN.  How  then  ? 

SEGASTO.  Why,  thou  shalt  be  my  man,  and  wait 
upon  me  at  the  court. 

CLOWN.  What's  that  1 

SEGASTO.  Where  the  king  lies. 

CLOWN.  What's  that  same  king — a  man  or  a 
woman  1 

SEGASTO.  A  man,  as  thou  art. 

CLOWN.  As  I  am  ?  Hark  you,  sir ;  pray  you, 
what  kin  is  he  to  goodman  King  of  our  parish,  the 
churchwarden  ? 

SEGASTO.  No  kin  to  him ;  he  is  the  king  of  the 
whole  land. 

CLOWN.  King  of  the  land  1     I  never  see  him. 

SEGASTO.  If  thou  wilt  dwell  with  me,  thou  shalt 
see  him  every  day. 

CLOWN.  Shall  I  go  home  again  to  be  torn  in 
pieces  with  bears  1  No,  not  I ;  I  will  go  home  and 
put  on  a  clean  shirt,  and  then  go  drown  myself. 

SEGASTO.  Thou  shalt  not  need,  if  thou  wilt 
dwell  with  me ;  thou  shalt  want  nothing. 

CLOWN.  Shall  I  not?  Then  here's, my  hand; 
I'll  dwell  with  you.  And  hark  you,  sir  !  now  you 
have  entertained  me,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  can 
do.  I  can  keep  my  tongue  from  picking  and 
stealing,  and  my  hands  from  lying  and  slandering, 
I  warrant  you,  as  well  as  ever  you  had  man,  in 
all  your  life. 

SEGASTO.  Now  will  I  to  court  with  sorrowful 
heart,  rounded  with  doubts.  If  Amadine  do  live, 
then  happy  I :  yea,  happy  I,  if  Amadine  do  live  ! 

[Exeunt. 


MUCEDORUS.  215 

Enter   the   KlNG,    with   a   young   Prince   prisoner, 
AMADINE,1  with  COLLEN  and  Councillors. 

KING.  Now,  brave   lords,  [that]    our   wars  are 

brought  to  end ; 

Our  foes  [have  had]  the  foil,  and  we  in  safety  rest, 
It  us  behoves  to  use  such  clemency 
In  peace,  as  valour  in  the  wars.     It  is 
As  great  honour  to  be  bountiful 
At  home,  as  to  be  conquerors  in  the  field. 
Therefore,  my  lords,  the  more  to  my  content, 
Your  liking,  and  your  country's  safeguard, 
We  are  dispos'd  in  marriage  for  to  give 
Our  daughter  to  Lord  Segasto  here, 
Who  shall  succeed  the  diadem  after  me, 
And  reign  hereafter  as  I  tofore  have  done, 
Your  sole  and  lawful  King  of  Arragon  : 
What  say  you,  lordings,  like  you  of  my  advice  1 

COLLEN.  An't  please  your  majesty,  we  do  not 
only  allow  of  your  highness's  pleasure,  but  also  vow 
faithfully  in  what  we  may  to  further  it. 

KING.  Thanks,  good  my  lords,  if  long  Adrostus 

live, 

He  will  at  full  requite  your  courtesies. 
Tremelio,  in  recompense  of  thy  late  valour  done, 
Take  unto  thee  the  Catalonian  prince,2 
Lately  our  prisoner  taken  in  the  wars. 
Be  thou  his  keeper ;  his  ransom  shall  be  thine  ; 
We'll  think  of  it,  when  leisure  shall  afford. 
Meanwhile,  do  use  him  well ;  his  father  is  a  king. 

TREMELIO.  Thanks  to  your  majesty,  his  usage 

shall  be  such 
As  he  thereat  shall  think  no  cause  to  grutch. 

[Exeunt  TREMELIO  and  Prince. 

1  [The  4°  of  1610  makes  Tremelio  enter  here ;  but  he  does 
not  appear  to  come  on  till  afterwards.] 
3  [Old  copies,  Catalone,  a.] 


216  MUCEDORUS. 

KING.  Then  march  we  on  to  court,  and  rest  our 

wearied  limbs. 

But,  Collen,  I  have  a  tale  in  secret  kept  for  thee  : 
When  thou  shalt  hear  a  watchword  from  thy  king, 
Think  then  some  weighty  matter  is  at  hand, 
That  highly  shall  concern  our  state, 
Then,  Collen,  look  thou  be  not  far  from  me  : 
And  for  thy  service  thou  tofore  hast  done, 
Thy  truth  and  valour  prov'd  in  every  point, 
I  shall  with  bounties  thee  enlarge  therefore  : 
So  guard  us  to  the  court. 

COLLEN.  What  so  my  sovereign  doth  command 

me  do, 
With  willing  mind  I  gladly  yield  consent.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  SEGASTO  and  the  CLOWN,  with  weapons 
about  him. 

SEGASTO.  Tell  me,  sirrah,  how  do  you  like  your 
weapons  1 

CLOWN.  0,  very  well,  very  well ;  they  keep  my 
sides  warm. 

SEGASTO.  They  keep  the  dogs  from  your  shins 
very  well,  do  they  not  ? 

CLOWN.  How,  keep  the  dogs  from  my  shins  ? 
I  would  scorn  but  my  shins  could  keep  the  dogs 
from  them. 

SEGASTO.  Well,  sirrah,  leaving  idle  talk,  tell  me, 
Dost  thou  know  Captain  Tremelio's  chamber  ? 

CLOWN.  Ay,  very  well,  it  hath  a  door. 

SEGASTO.  I  think  so  ;  for  so  hath  every  chamber. 
But  dost  thou  know  the  man  ? 

CLOWN.  Ay  forsooth,  he  hath  a  nose  on  his  face. 

SEGASTO.  Why,  so  hath  every  one. 

CLOWN.  That's  more  than  I  know. 

SEGASTO.  Sut  dost  thou  remember  the  Captain, 
that  was  here  with  the  King  even  now,  that 
brought  the  young  prince  prisoner  ? 


MUCEDORUS.  217 

CLOWN.  0,  very  well. 

SEGASTO.  Go  unto  him,  and  bid  him  come  to  me. 
Tell  him  I  have  a  matter  in  secret  to  impart  to 
him. 

CLOWN.  I  will,  master;  master,  what's  his 
name  ? 

SEGASTO.  Why,  Captain  Tremelio. 
CLOWN.  0,  the  meal-man.      I  know  him  very 
well.     He  brings  meal  every  Saturday ;  but  hark 
you,  master,  must  I  bid  him  come  to  you,  or  must 
you  come  to  him  1 

SEGASTO.  No,  sirrah,  he  must  come  to  me. 
CLOWN.  Hark  you,  master ;  how,  if  he  be  not 

at  home  1 
What  shall  I  do  then  ? 

SEGASTO.  Why  then,  leave  word  with  some  of 

his  folks. 
CLOWN.    How,1   master,   if    there   be    nobody 

within  1 

I  will  leave  word  with  his  dog. 
SEGASTO.  Why,  can  his  dog  speak  1 
CLOWN.  I  cannot  tell ;  wherefore  doth  he  keep 
his  chamber  else  ? 

SEGASTO.  To  keep  out  such  knaves  as  thou  art. 
CLOWN.  Nay,  by'r  Lady,  then  go  yourself. 
SEGASTO.  You  will  go,  sir,  will  ye  not  ? 
CLOWN.  Yes,  marry,  will  I.     0,  'tis  come  to  my 

head; 
And  a'  be  not  within,  .I'll  bring  his  chamber  to 

you. 
SEGASTO.  What,  wilt  thou  pluck  down  the  King's 

house  ? 
CLOWN.  Nay,  by'r  Lady,  I'll  know  the  price  of 

it  first. 

Master,  it  is  such  a  hard  name,  I  have  forgotten  it 
again.     I  pray  you,  tell  me  his  name. 

1  [Old  copies,  Oh.] 


218  MUCEDORUS. 

SEGASTO.  I  tell  thee,  Captain  Tremelio. 
CLOWN.     O,    Captain    Treble-knave,    Captain 
Treble-knave. 

Enter  TREMELIO. 

TREMELIO.  How  now,  sirrah,  dost  thou  call  me  ? 
CLOWN.  You  must  come  to  my  master,  Captain 

Treble-knave. 

TREMELIO.  My  Lord  Segasto,  did  you  send  for  me  1 
SEGASTO.  I  did,  Tremelio.     Sirrah,  about  your 

business. 

CLOWN.  Ay,  marry,  what's  that,  can  you  tell  1 
SEGASTO.  No,  not  well. 

CLOWN.  Marry,  then,  I  can ;  straight  to  the 
kitchen-dresser,  to  John  the  cook,  and  get  me  a 
good  piece  of  beef  and  brewis ;  and  then  to  the 
buttery-hatch,  to  Thomas  the  butler  for  a  jack  of 
beer,  and  there  for  an  hour  I'll  so  belabour 
myself;  and  therefore  I  pray  you  call  me  not  till 
you  think  I  have  done,  I  pray  you,  good  master. 

SEGASTO.  Well,  sir,  away.  [Exit  MOUSE. 

Tremelio,  this  it  is.     Thou  knowest  the  valour  of 

Segasto, 

Spread  through  all  the  kingdom  of  Arragon, 
And  such  as  hath  found  triumph  and  favours, 
Never  daunted  at  any  time  1     But  now  a  shepherd 
[Is]  admired  at  in  court  for  worthiness, 
And  Segasto's  honour  [is]  laid  aside. 
My  will  therefore  is  this,  that  thou  dost  find 
Some  means  .to  .workthe  shepherclls-cUath ;  I  know 
Thy  strength  sufficient  to  perform  my  desire,  and 
thy  love  no  otherwise  than  to  revenge  my 
injuries. 
TREMELIO.  It  is  not  the  frowns  of  a  shepherd 

that  Tremelio  fears, 

Therefore  account  it  accomplished,  what  I  take  in 
hand. 


MUCEDORUS.  219 

SEGASTO.  Thanks,  good  Tremelio,  and  assure 

thyself, 
What  I  promise  that  will  I  perform. 

TREMELIO.  Thanks,  my  good  lord,  and  in  good 

time  see  where 

He  cometh.     Stand  by  awhile,  and  you  shall  see 
Me  put  in  practice  your  intended  drifts. 
Have  at  thee,  swaiiij  if  that  I  hit  thee  right ! 

Enter  MUCEDORUS. 

MUCEDORUS.  Vile  coward,  so  without  cause  to 

strike  a  man — 

Turn,  coward,  turn ;  now  strike,  and  do  thy-wes&t^ 
[MuCEDORUS(M/e^  him' 

SEGASTO.  Hold,  shepherd,  hold  ;  sparktum,  ism 

him  not. 

Accursed  villain,  tell  me,  what  hast  thou  done  1 
Ah,  Tremelio,  trusty  Tremelio  ! 
I  sorrow  for  thy  death,  and  since  that  thou 
Living  didst  prove  faithful  to  Segasto, 
So  Segasto  now  living  shall  honour  the  deacl  corpse 
Of  Tremelio  with  revenge.,    Bloodthirsty  villain, 
Born  and  bred  to  merciless  murther,  tell  me 
How  durst  thou  be  so  bold,  as  once  to  lay 
Thy  hands  upon  the  least  of  mine  1   Assure  thyself 
Thou  shalt  be  us'd  according  to  the  law. 

MUCEDORUS.  Segasto,  cease ;  these  threats  are 

needless. 

But  in  mine  own  defence  accuse  not  me 
Of  murther  that  have  done  nothing. 

SEGASTO.  Nay,  shepherd,  reason  not  with  im-  : 
I'll  manifest  the  fact  unto  the  King, 
Whose  doom  will  be  thy  death,  as  thou  deserv'st. 
What  ho,  Mouse,  come  away  ! 

Enter  MOUSE. 

CLOWN.  Why,  how  now,  what's  the  matter  1 
I  thought  you  would  be  calling  before  I  had  done. 


220  MUCEDORUS. 

SEGASTO.  Come,  help,  away  with  my  friend, 

CLOWN.  Why,  is  he  drunk  ?  cannot  he  stand  on 
his  feet? 

SEGASTO.  No,  he  is  not  drunk  ;  he  is  slain. 

CLOWN.  Flain  !  no,  by['r]  Lady,  he  is  not  flain. 

SEGASTO.  He's  killed,  I  tell  thee. 

CLOWN.  What,  do  you  use  to  kill  your  friends  ? 
I  will  serve  you  no  longer. 

SEGASTO.  I  tell  thee  the  shepherd  kill'd  him. 

CLOWN.  0,  did  a  so  ? 
But,  master,  I  will  have  all  his  apparel 
If  I  carry  him  away. 

SEGASTO.  Why,  so  thou  shalt. 

CLOWN.  Come,  then,  I  will  help  ;  mass,  master, 

I  think 
His  mother  sang  looby  to  him,  he  is  so  heavy. 

[Exeunt. 

MUCEDORUS.  Bejiold  the  fickle  state  of  ma 


Never  at  one. 

Sometimes  we  feed  on  fancies 

With  the  sweet  of  our  desires  :  sometimes  again 

We  feel  the  heat  of  extreme  miseries. 

Now  am  I  in  favour  about  the  court  and  country, 

To-morrow  those  favours  will  turn  to  frowns, 

To-day  I  live  revenged  on  my  foe, 

To-morrow  I  die,  my  foe  revenged  on  me.      [Exit. 

Enter  BREMO,  a  wild  man. 

BREMO.  No  passenger  this  morning  ?  what,  not 

one  1 

A  chance  that  seldom  doth  befall. 
What,  not  one  1  then  lie  thou  there, 
And  rest  thyself,  till  I  have  further  need. 

[Lays  down  Ids  club. 

Now,  Bremo,  sith  thy  leisure  so  affords, 
An  endless  thing.  Who  knows  not  Bremo's  strength, 


MUCEDORUS.  221 

Who  like  a  king  commands  within  these  woods. 
The  bear,  the  boar,  dares  not  abide  my  sight, 
But  hastes  away  to  save  themselves  by  flight. 
The  crystal  waters  in  the  bubbling  brooks, 
When  I  come  by,  doth  swiftly  slide  away, 
And  claps  themselves  in  closets  under  banks, 
Afraid  to  look  bold  Bremo  in  the  face  : 
The  aged  oaks  at  Bremo's  breath  do  bow, 
And  all  things  else  are  still  at  my  command, 
Else  what  would  1 1 

Rend  them  in  pieces,  and  pluck  them  from  the  earth, 
And  each  way  else  I  would  revenge  myself. 
Why,  who  comes  here,  with  whom  I  dare  not  fight? 
Who  fights  with  me,  and  doth  not  die  the  death  1 
Xot  one.     What  favour  shows  this  sturdy  stick  to 

those,  that  here 

Within  these  woods  are  combatants  with  me  ? 
Why,  death,  and  nothing  else  but  present  death. 
With  restless  rage  I  wander  through  these  woods ; 
No  creature  here  but  feareth  Bremo's  force, 
Man,  woman,  child  j  beast  and  bird, 
And  everything  that  doth  approach  my  sight, 
Are  forc'd  to  fall,  if  Bremo  once  do  frown. 
Come,  cudgel,  come,  my  partner  in  my  spoils, 
For  here  I  see  this  day  it  will  not  be. 
But  when  it  falls,  that  I  encounter  any, 
One  pat  sufficeth  for  to  work  my  will. 
What,  comes  not  one  ?     Then  let's  begone  ; 
A  time  will  serve,  when  we  shall  better  speed. 

[Exit. 

Enter  the  KlNG,  SEGASTO,  the  SHEPHERD,  and  the 
CLOWN,  with  others. 

KING.  Shepherd, 

Thou  hast  heard  thine  accusers.     Murther 
Is  laid  to  thy  charge ;  what  canst  thou  say  ? 
Thou  hast,  deserved  death. 


MUCEDORUS. 

MUCEDORUS.   Dread   sovereign,   I   must  needs 

confess 

I  alew-~this  captain  in  mine  own  defence, 
Not  of  any  malice,  but  by  chance  ; 
But  mine  accuser  hath  a  further  meaning. 

SEGASTO.  Words  will  not  here  prevail, 
Ij>eek  for  justice,  and  justice  craves  his  death. 

KING.  Shepherd,  thine  own  confession  hath  con- 
demned thee. 

Sirrah,  take  him  away,  and  do  him  to  execution 
straight. 

CLOWN.  So  he  shall,  I  warrant  him.  But  do 
you  hear,  Master  King,  he  is  kin  to  a  monkey ;  his 
neck  is  bigger  than  his  head. 

SEGASTO.  Sirrah,  away  with  him,  and  hang  him 
about  the  middle. 

CLOWN.  Yes,  forsooth,  I  warrant  you.  Come 
on,  sir,  a  so  like  a  sheep-biter  a  looks. 


Enter  AMADINE,  and  a  boy  with  a  bears  head. 

AMADINE.    Dread  sovereign  and  well-beloved 

sire, 

On  benden  knees  I  crave  the  life  of  this 
Condemn'd  shepherd,  which  heretofore  preserved 
The  life  of  thy  sometime  distressed  daughter. 
KING.  Preserved  the  life  of  my  sometime  dis- 
tressed daughter  ? 

How  can  that  be  ?    I  never  knew  the  time, 
Wherein  thou  wast  distress'd.     I  never  knew  the 

day 

But  that  I  have  maintained  thy  estate, 
As  best  beseem'd  the  daughter  of  a  king : 
I  never  saw  the  shepherd  until  now. 
How  comes  it  then,  that  he  preserv'd  thy  life  ? 
AMADINE.  Once  walking  with  Segasto  in  the 
woods, 


MUCEDORUS.  223 

Further  than  our  accustom'cl  manner  was, 
Right  before  us  down  a  steep-fall  hill, 
A  monstrous  ugly  bear  did  hie  him  fast 
To  meet  us  both — now  whether  this  be  true, 
I  refer  it  to  the  credit  of  Segasto. 

SEGASTO.  Most  true,  an't  like  your  majesty. 

KING.  How  then  ? 

AMADINE.  The  bear,  being  eager  to  obtain  his 
Made  forward  to  us  with  an  open  mouth,       [prey, 
As  if  he  meant  to  swallow  us  both  at  once, 
The  sight  whereof  did  make  us  both  to  dread, 
But  specially  your  daughter  Amadine, 
Who  for  I  saw  no  succour  incident, 
But  in  Segasto's  valour,  I  grew  desperate, 
And  he  most  coward-like  began  to  fly. 
Left  me  distressed  to  be  devour' d  of  him — 
How  say  you,  Segasto  1  is  it  not  true  1 

KING.  His  silence  verifies  it  to  be  true.     What 
then? 

AMADINE.  Then  I  amaz'd,  distressed,  all  alone, 
Did  hie  me  fast  to  'scape  that  ugly  bear. 
But  all  in  vain ;  for  why  he  reached  after  me, 
And  oft  I  hardly  did1  escape  his  paws, 
Till  at  the  length  this  shepherd  came, 
And  brought  to  me  his  head. 
Come  hither,  boy ;  lo,  here  it  is, 
Which  I  present  unto  your  majesty. 

KING.  The  slaughter  of  this  bear  deserves  great 
fame. 

SEGASTO.  The  slaughter  of  a  man  deserves  great 
blame. 

KING.  Indeed  occasion  oftentimes  so  falls  out. 

SEGASTO.  Tremelio  in  the  wars,  O  King,  pre- 
served thee. 

AMADINE.  The  shepherd  in  the  woods,  O  King, 
preserved  me. 

1  [Old  copies,  hardly  I  did  oft.] 


224  MUCEDORUS. 

SEGASTO.  Tremelio  fought,  when  many  men  did 
yield. 

AMADINE.  So  would  the  shepherd,  had  he  been 
in  field. 

CLOWN.  So  would  my  master,  had  he  not  run 
away.  [Aside. 

SEGASTO.  Tremelio's  force  saved  thousands  from 
the  foe. 

AMADINE.    The    shepherd's    force  hath   saved 
thousands  mo. 

CLOWN.  Ay,  shipsticks,  nothing  else.         [A  side. 

KING.  Segasto,  cease  to  accuse  the  shepherd ; 
His  worthiness  deserves  a  recompense, 
All  Ave  are  bound  to  do  the  shepherd  good. 
Shepherd,  whereas 

It  was  my  sentence  thou  should'st  die, 
So  shall  my  sentence  stand,  for  thou  shalt  die. 

SEGASTO.  Thanks  to  your  majesty. 

KING.  But  soft,  Segasto,  not  for  this  offence. 
Long  may'st  thou  live ;  and  when  the  Sisters 

shall  decree 

To  cut  in  twain  the  twisted  thread  of  life, 
Then  let  him  die :  for  this  I  set  him  free, 
And  for  thy  valour  I  will  honour  thee. 

MUCEDORUS.  Thanks  to  your  majesty. 

KING.  Come,  daughter,  let  us  now  depart 
To  honour  the  worthy  valour  of  the  shepherd 
With  our  rewards.  [Exeunt. 

CLOWN.  0  master,  hear  you ;  you  have  made  a 
fresh  hand  now  ;  you  would  be  slow,  you.  Why, 
what  will  you  do  now  ?  You  have  lost  me  a  good 
occupation  by  this  means.  Faith,  master,  now  I 
cannot  hang  the  shepherd.  I  pray  you,  let  me 
take  the  pains  to  hang  you  :  it  is  but  half  an  hour's 
exercise. 

SEGASTO.  You  are  still  in  your  knavery ;  but, 
sith  I  cannot  have  his  life, 


MUCEDORTJS.  225 

for  ever. 


Come  on,  sirrah. 

CLOWN.  Yes,  forsooth,  I  come. 
Laugh  at  him,  I  pray  you.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  MuCEDORUS  solus. 

MUCEDORUS.    From  Amadine,   and   from   her 

father's  court, 

With  gold  and  silver,  and  with  rich  rewards 
Flowing  from  the  banks  of  golden  treasuries. 
More  may  I  boast,  and  say,  but  I, 
Was  never  shepherd  in  such  dignity. 

Enter  tlie  MESSENGER  and  the  CLOWN. 

MESSENGER.  All  hail,  worthy  shepherd  1 
CLOWN.  All  rain,  lousy  shepherd  ! 
MUCEDORUS.  Welcome,  my  friends,  from  whence 

come  you  1 
MESSENGER.  The  King  and  Amadine  greet  thee 

well, 

And  after  greetings  done,  bids  thee  depart  the  court. 
Shej^heri^begojifi. 

CLOWN.  Shepherd,   take  law  legs  ;   fly  away, 

shepherd. 
MUCEDORUS.  Whose  words  are  these1?    Come 

these  from  Amadine  1 
MESSENGER.  Ay,  from  Amadine. 
CLOWN.  Ay,  from  Amladine. 
MUCEDORUS.  Ah  !  lucjde^_£oiiiiiiie,  worse  than 

Phaeton's  tale, 

My  former  bliss  is  now  become  my  bale. 
CLOWN.  What,  wilt  thou  poison  thyself  ? 
MUCEDORUS.  My  former  heaven  is  now  become 

my  hell. 

CLOWN.  The  worst  alehouse 
That  I  ever  came  in  in  all  my  life. 

VOL.  VII.  P 


226  MUCEDORUS. 

MUCEDORUS.  What  shall  I  do  I 
CLOWN.  Even  go  hang  thyself  half  an  hour. 
MUCEDORUS.  Can  Amadine  so  churlishly  com- 
mand, 

To  banish  the  shepherd  from  her  father's  court  ? 
MESSENGER.  What  should  shepherds  do  in  the 

court  ? 

CLOWN.  What  should  shepherds  do  among  us  ? 
Have  we  not  lords  enough  o'er1  us  in  the  court1? 
MUCEDORUS.    Why,   sjieplaerds.  are   men,   and 

kings  are  no  more. 
MESSENGER.  Shepherds  are  men,  and  masters 

over  their  flock. 
CLOWN.  That's   a  lie ;    who   pays   them  their 

wages,  then  ? 
MESSENGER.  Well,  you  are  always  interrupting 

of  me, 

But  you  are  best  look  to  him, 
Lest  you  hang  for  him,  when  he  is  gone.        [Exit. 

The  CLOWN  sings. 

CLOWN.  And  you  shall  hang  for  company, 
For  leaving  me  alone. 

Shepherd,  stand  forth,  and  hear  thy  sentence. 
Shepherd,  begone  within  three  days,  in  pain  of 
My  displeasure  ;  shepherd,  begone ;  shepherd,  be- 
gone, 

Begone,    begone,    begone ;    shepherd,    shepherd, 

shepherd.  [Exit. 

MUCEDORAS.  And  must  I  go,  and  must  I  needs 

depart  ] 

Ye  goodly  groves,  partakers  of  my  songs, 
In  time  tofore,  when  fortune  did  not  frown, 
Pour  forth  your  plaints,  and  wail  awhile  with  me. 


[Old  copies,  on.] 


MUCEDORUS.  227 

And  tliou  bright  sun,  my  comfort  in  the  cold, 
Hide,  hide  thy  face,  and  leave  me  comfortless. 
Ye  wholesome  herbs  and  sweet-smelling  savours  — 
Yea,  each  thing  else  prolonging  life  of  man  — 
Change,  change  your  wonted  course,  t]iat-I, 
Wanting  your  aid,  in  woful  sort  mayjiie. 

Enter  AMADINE  [and  ARIENA,  her  maid.} 

AMADINE.  Ariena,  if  anybody  ask  for  me, 
Make  some  excuse,  till  I  return. 
ARIENA.  What,  and  Segasto  call  1 
AMADINE.  Do  thou  the  like  to  him  ?    I  mean 
not  to  stay  long.  [Exit. 

MUCEDORUS.  This  voice  so  sweet  my  pining 

spirits  revives. 
AMADINE.  Shepherd,  well-met;    tell  me    how 

thou  doest. 
MUCEDORUS.  I  linger  life,  yet  wish  for  speedy 

death. 

AMADINE.  Shepherd,  although  thyjhamslinient 
Already  be  decreed,  and  all  against  my  will, 
Yet  Amadine  - 

MUCEDORUS.  Ah,  Amadine  !  to  hear 
Of  banishment  is   death  —  ay,   double   death  to 

me; 

But  since  I  must  depart,  one  thing  I  crave. 
AMADINE.  Say  on,  with  all  my  heart. 
MUCEDORUS.  That  in  absence  either  far  or  near, 
You  honour  me  as  servant  with  your  name. 
AMADINE.  Not  so. 
MUCEDORUS.  And  why  1 
AMADINE.  I  hojiour  thee  as  sovereigrji^oX.  my 


MUCEDORUS.    A    shepherd    and    a    sovereign 

nothing  like. 
AMADINE.  Yet  like  enough,  where  there  is  no 

dislike. 


228  MUCEDORUS. 

MUCEDORUS.    Yet    great   dislike,   or    else    no 
banishment. 

AMADINE.  Shepherd,  it  is  only  Segasto  that 
Procures  thy  banishment. 

MUCEDORUS.    Unworthy   wights   are   most   in 
jealousy. 

AMADINE.  Would  God  they  would 

Free   thee  from  banishment,   or  likewise   banish 
me. 

MUCEDORUS.  Amen  say  I,  to  have  your  company. 

AMADINE.  Well,  shepherd,  sith  thou  sufferest 
This  for  my  sake, 

With  thee-in  exile  also  let  me-live,* 
On  this  condition,  shepherd,  thou  canst  love. 

MUCEDORUS.  No  longer  love,  no  longer  let  me 
live. 

AMADINE.  Of  late  I  loved  one  indeed,  now  love 
I  none  but  only  thee. 

MUCEDORUS.  Thanks,  worthy  princess  : 
I  burn  likewise,  yet  smother  up  the  blast, 
I  dare  not  promise  what  I  may  perform. 

AMADINE.  Well,  shepherd,  hark  what  I  shall  say, 
I  will  return  unto  my  father's  court, 
There  l  to  provide  me  of  such  necessaries 
As  for  my  journey  I  shall  think  most  fit. 
This  being  done,  I  will  return  to  thee.     Do  thou 
Therefore  appoint  the  place,  where  we  may  meet. 

MUCEDORUS.  Down  in  the  valley  where  I  slew 

the  bear ; 

And  there  doth  grow  a  fair  broad-branched  beech, 
That  overshades  a  well :  so  who  comes  first, 
Let  them  abide  the  happy  meeting  of 
Us  both.     How  like  you  this  1 

AMADINE.  I  like  it  very  well. 

MUCEDORUS.    Now,   if   you   please,  you  may 
appoint  the  time. 

1  [Edit.  1598,  Therefore  to.     Edit.  1610,  Therefor  to.] 


MUCEDORUS.  229 

AMADINE.  Full  three  hours  hence,  God  willing, 

I  will  return. 
MUCEDORUS.  The  thanks  that  Paris  gave  the 

Grecian  queen, 
The  like  doth  Mucedorus  yield. 

AMADINE.   Then,  Mucedorus,  for  three  hours, 

farewell.  [Exit. 

MUCEDORUS.    Your  departure,  lady,  breeds   a 

privy  pain.  [Exit. 

Enter  SEGASTO  solus. 

SEGASTO.  'Tis  well,  Segasto,  that  thou  hast  thy 

will. 

Should  such  a  shepherd,  such  a  simple  swain, 
As  he  eclipse  thy  credit,  famous  through 
The  court  ?     No,  ply,  Segasto,  ply ; 
Let  it  not  in  Arragon  be  said, 
A  shepherd  hath  Segasto's  honour  won. 

Enter  MOUSE,  the  Cloivn,  calling  his  master. 

CLOWN.  What  ho  !  master,  will  you  come  away  ? 
SEGASTO.   Will  you  come  hither,  I  pray  you, 

what's  the  matter  ? 

CLOWN.  AVhy,  is  it  not  past  eleven  o'clock  ? 
SEGASTO.  How  then,  sir  ? 
CLOWN.  I  pray  you,  come  away  to  dinner. 
SEGASTO.  I  pray  you,  come  hither. 
CLOWN.    Here's  such  a-do  with  you,  will  you 

never  come  1 
SEGASTO.   I  pray  you,  sir,  what  news  of  the 

message  I  sent  you  about  ? 
CLOWN.   I  tell  you,  all  the  messes  be  on  the 

table  already — 
(There  wants  not  so  much  as  a  mess  of  mustard) 

half  an  hour  ago. 


230  MUCEDORUS. 

SEGASTO.  Come,  sir,  your  mind  is  all  upon  your 

belly. 
You  have  forgotten  what  I  did  bid  you  do. 

CLOWN.   Faith,  I  know  nothing,  but  you  bad 

me  go  to  breakfast. 
SEGASTO.  Was  that  all  ? 
CLOWN.    Faith,  I  have  forgotten  it,   the  very 

scent  of  the  meat  made  me  forget l  it  quite. 
SEGASTO.  You  have  forgotten  the  errand  I  bid 

you  do  1 
CLOWN.  What  arrant?  an  arrant  knave  or  an 

arrant  whore  1 
SEGASTO.  Why,  thou  knave,  did  I  not  bid  thee 

banish  the  shepherd  1 
CLOWN.  O,  the  shepherd's  bastard  ? 
SEGASTO.    I   tell  thee,  the .  shepherd's  banish- 
ment. 

CLOWN.  I  tell  you,  the  shepherd's  bastard  shall 
be  well  kept ;  I'll  look  to  it  myself.     But  I  pray 
you,  come  away  to  dinner. 
SEGASTO.  Then  you  will  not  tell  me  whether 

you  have  banished  him,  or  no  ? 
CLOWN.  Why,  I  cannot  say  banishment,  and  you 

would  give  me  a  thousand  pounds  to  say  so. 
SEGASTO.  Why,  you  whoreson  slave,  have  you 
forgotten  that  I  sent  you  and  another  to  drive  away 
the  shepherd. 

CLOWN.   What  an  ass  are   you;   here's  a  stir 
indeed,  here's  message,  arrant,  banishment,  and  I 
cannot  tell  what. 
SEGASTO.  I  pray  you,  sir,  shall  I  know  whether 

you  have  drove  him  away. 
CLOWN.  Faith,  I  think  I  have;  and  you  will 

not  believe  me,  ask  my  staff. 
SEGASTO.  Why,  can  thy  staff  tell  ? 
CLOWN.  Why,  he  was  with  me  too. 

1  [Edit.  1598  and  1610,  hath  forget.] 


MUCEDORUS.  231 

SEGASTO.  Then  happy  I,  that  have  obtain'd  my 

will. 
CLOWN.    And  happier  I,  if  you  would  go  to 

dinner. 

SEGASTO.  Come,  sirrah,  follow  me. 

CLOWN.  I  warrant  you,  I  will  not  lose  an  inch 

of  you  now  you  are  going  to  dinner,  I  promise  you. 

I  thought  [it]  seven  year,  before  I  could  get  him 

away.     [Aside.]  [Exeunt. 

Enter  AMADINE  sola. 

AMADINE.  God  grant  my  long  delay  procures 

no  harm, 

Nor  this  my  tarrying  frustrate  my  pretence. 
My  Mucedorus  surely  stays  for  me, 
And  thinks  me  over  long.     At  length  I  come, 
My  present  promise  to  perform. 
Ah,  wh^.t-a.  thin 


What  is.  itjftliidi  true  love  dares  not  attempt  '? 
My  father  he  may  make,  but  I  must  match  ; 
Segasto  loves  ;  but  Amadine  must  like, 
Where  likes  her  best  ;  compulsion  is  a  thrall. 
No,  no,  the  hearty  choice  is  all  in  all, 
The  shepherd's  .virtue  Amadine  esteems. 
But  what,  methinks  my  shepherd  is  not  come  ; 
I  muse  at  that,  the  hour  is  sure  at  hand. 
Well,  here  I'll  rest,  till  Mucedorus  come. 

[She  sits  her  down. 

Enter  BREMO,  looking  about;  hastily  [he]  talceth 
hold  of  her. 

BREMO.  A  happy  prey  !  now,  Bremo,  feed  on 

flesh  : 
Dainties,  Bremo,  dainties,  thy  hungry  paunch  to 

fill  : 

Now  glut  thy  greedy  guts  with  lukewarm  blood. 
Come,  fight  with  me  ;  I  long  to  see  thee  dead. 


232  MUCEDORUS, 

AMADINE.    How  can   she   fight,  that  weapons 

cannot  wield  ? 
BREMO.  What,  canst  not  fight  1     Then  lie  thou 

down  and  die. 

AMADINE.  What,  must  I  die  1 
BREMO.  What  needs  these  words  ?     I  thirst  to 

suck  thy  blood. 

AMADINE.  Yet  pity  me,  and  let  me  live  awhile. 
BREMO.  No  pity  I ;  I'll  feed  upon  thy  flesh, 
111  tear  thy  body  piecemeal  joint  from  joint. 
AMADINE.    Ah,    how    I  want  my  shepherd's 

company! 
BREMO.  I'll  crush  thy  bones  betwixt  two  oaken 

trees. 
AMADINE.  Haste,  shepherd,  haste,  or  else  thou 

com'st  too  late. 
BREMO.  I'll  suck  the  sweetness  from  thy  marrow 

bones. 
AMADINE.  Ah,   spare,  ah,  spare   to   shed   my 

guiltless  blood  ! 

BREMO.  With  this  my  bat  will  I  beat  out 
Thy  brains*     Down,  down,  I  say  : 
Prostrate  thyself  upon  the  ground. 

AMADINE,  Then,  Mucedorus,  farewell,  my  hoped 

joys,  farewell ! 
Yea,  farewell  life,  and  welcome  present  death. 

[She  kneels. 
To  thee,  0  God,  I  yield  my  dying  ghost. 

BREMO.  Now,  Bremo,  play  thy  part. 
How  now,  what  sudden  chance  is  this  1 
My  limbs  do  tremble,  and  my  sinews  shake  ; 
My  unweak'ned  arms  have  lost  their  former  force. 
Ah,  Bremo,  Bremo  !  what  a  foil  hast  thou, 
That  yet  at  no  time  ever  wast  afraid 
To  dare  the  greatest  gods  to  fight  with  thee, 

[He  strikes. 

And  now  want   strength   for  one   down-driving 
blow? 


MUCEDORUS.  233 

Ah,     how    my    courage    fails,   \vhen     I    should 

strike  ! 

Some  new-come  spirit  abiding  in  my  breast, 
Say'th,  Spare  her,  Bremo;  spare  her,  do  not  kill. 
Shall  I l  spare  her,  which  never  spared  any  1 
To  it,  Bremo,  to  it ;  essay 2  again. 
I  cannot  wield  my  weapons  in  my  hand ; 
Methinks  I  should  not  strike  so  fair  a  one, 
I  think  her  beauty  hath  bewitch'd  my  force, 
Or  else  within  me  altered  nature's  course. 
Ay,  woman,  wilt  thou  live  in  woods  with  me  ? 
AMADINE.  Fain  would  I  live,  yet  loth  to  live  in 

woods. 
BREMO.  Thou  shalt  not  choose ;  it  shall  be  as  I 

say; 
And  therefore  follow  me. 

Enter  MUCEDORUS  solus. 

MUCEDORUS.  It  was  my  will  an  hour  ago  and 

more, 

As  was  my  promise,  for  to  make  return ; 
But  other  business  hind'red  my  pretence. 
It  is  a  world  to  see,  when  man  appoints, 
And  purposely  one  certain  thing  decrees, 
How  many  things  may  hinder  his  intent. 
What  one  would  wish,  the  same  is  farthest  off. 
But  yet  th'appointed  time  cannot  be  past, 
Nor  hath  her  presence  yet  prevented  s  me. 
Well,  here  I'll  stay,  and  expect  the  coming. 

\They  cry  within,  Hold  him,  stay  him,  hold! 
MUCEDORUS.  Some  one  or  other  is  pursued,  no 
doubt ; 

1  [Edits,  transpose   the   two  commencing  words  of  this 
line,  and  the  first  word  of  the  preceding  one.l 

2  [Edits.,  gay.J 

3  [Anticipated.    Old  copies  read  we  for  me.] 


234  MUCEDORUS. 

Perhaps  some  search  for  me  ;  'tis  good 

To  doubt  the  worst,  therefore  I  will  be  gone. 

[Exit. 

Cry  within,  Hold  him,  hold  him  /    Enter  MOUSE, 
the  Clown,  with  a  pot. 

CLOWN.  Hold  him,  hold  him,  hold  him  !  here's 
a  stir  indeed.  Here  came  hue  after  the  crier,  and 
I  was  set  close  at  mother  Nip's  house,  and  there  I 
call'd  for  three  pots  of  ale,  as  'tis  the  manner  of  us 
courtiers.  Now,  sirrah,  I  had  taken  the  maiden- 
head of  two  of  them — now,  as  I  was  lifting  up  the 
third  to  my  mouth,  there  came,  Hold  him,  hold 
him  !  Now  I  could  not  tell  whom  to  catch  hold  on ; 
but  I  am  sure  I  caught  one,  perchance  a  may  be 
in  this  pot.  Well,  I'll  see.  Mass,  I  cannot  see 
him  yet ;  well,  I'll  look  a  little  further.  Mass,  he 
is  a  little  slave,  if  a  be  here  ;  why  here's  nobody. 
All  this  goes  well  yet ;  but  if  the  old  trot  should 
come  for  her  pot  ? — ay,  marry,  there's  the  matter. 
But  I  care  not ;  I'll  face  her  out,  and  call  her  old 
rusty,  dusty,  musty,  fusty,  crusty  firebrand,  and 
worse  than  all  that,  and  so  face  her  out  of  her  pot. 
But  soft !  here  she  comes. 

Enter  the  OLD  WOMAN. 

OLD  WOMAN.    Come  on,  you  knave;    where's 

my  pot,  you  knave  ? 
CLOWN.  Go,  look  your  pot ;  come  not  to  me  for 

your  pot,  'twere  good  for  you. 
OLD  WOMAN.    Thou  liest,  thou  knave ;   thou 

hast  my  pot. 
CLOWN.  You  lie,  and  you  say  it.     I,  your  pot  1 

I  know  what  I'll  say. 
OLD  WOMAN.  Why,  what  wilt  thou  say  1 
CLOWN.  But  say  I  have  him,  and  thou  dar'st. 


MUCEDORUS.  235 

OLD  WOMAN.  Why,  thou  knave,  thou  hast  not 

only  my  pot,  but  my  drink  unpaid  for. 
CLOWN.  You  lie  like  an  old — I  will  not  say 

whore. 
OLD  WOMAN.   Dost  thou  call  me  whore  ?    I'll 

cap  thee  for  my  pot. 

CLOWN.  Cap  me,  and  thou  darest ;  search  me, 
whether  I  have  it  or  no. 

[She  searcheth  him,  and  he  drinTceth  over  her 
head,  and  casts  down  the  pot.  She  stumUeth 
at  it,  then  they  fall  together  by  the  ears  ; 
she  takes  her  pot  and  goes  out. 

Enter  SEGASTO. 

SEGASTO.  How  now,  sirrah,  what's  the  matter  1 

CLOWN.  0,  flies,  master,  flies. 

SEGASTO.  Flies  1  where  are  they  ? 

CLOWN.  0,  here,  master,  all  about  your  face. 

SEGASTO.  Why,  thou  liest;   I  think  thou  art 

mad. 
CLOWN.  Why,  master,  I  have  kilPd  a  dungcart- 

ful  at  the  least. 
SEGASTO.  Go  to,  sirrah.     Leaving  this  idle  talk, 

give  ear  to  me. 
CLOWN.  How,  give  you  one  of  my  ears'?  not, 

and  you  were  ten  masters. 
SEGASTO.  Why,  sir,  I  bad  you  give  ear  to  my 

words. 
CLOWN.  I  tell  you,  I  will  not  be  made  a  curtal 

for  no  man's  pleasure. 
SEGASTO.  I  tell  thee,  attend  what  I  say.     Go 

thy  ways  straight,  and  rear  the  whole  town. 
CLOWN.  How,  rear  the  town  ?  even  go  yourself; 
it  is  more  than  I  can  do.  Why,  do  you  think  I 
can  rear  a  town,  that  can  scarce  rear  a  pot  of  ale 
to  my  head  1  I  should  rear  a  town,  should  I 
not! 


236  MUCEDORUS. 

SEGASTO.  Go  to  the  constable,  and  make  a  privy 
search;  for  the  shepherd  is  run  away  with  the 
King's  daughter. 

CLOWN.  How  1  is  the  shepherd  run  away  with 
the  King's  daughter,  or  is  the  King's  daughter  run 
away  with  the  shepherd  ] 

SEGASTO.  I  cannot  tell ;  but  they  are  both  gone 
together. 

CLOWN.  What  a  fool  she  is  to  run  away  with 
the  shepherd  !  Why,  I  think  I  am  a  little  hand- 
somer man  than  the  shepherd  myself;  but  tell 
me,  master,  must  I  make  a  privy  search,  or  search 
in  the  privy  ? 

SEGASTO.  Why,  dost  thou  think  they  will  be 
there  ? 

CLOWN.  I  cannot  tell. 

SEGASTO.  Well,  then,  search  everywhere  ;  leave 
no  place  unsearched  for  them.  [Exit. 

CLOWN.  0,  now  am  I  in  office,  now  will  I  to 
that  old  firebrand's  house,  and  will  not  leave  one 
place  unsearched.  Nay,  I'll  to  her  ale-stand,  and 
drink  as  long  as  I  can  stand ;  and  when  I  have 
done,  I'll  let  out  all  the  rest,  to  see  if  he  be  not  hid 
in  the  barrel.  And  I  find  him  not  there,  I'll  to 
the  cupboard.  I'll  not  leave  one  corner  of  her 
house  unsearched.  I'  faith,  ye  old  crust,  I  will  be 
with  you  now.  [Exit. 

[Sound  music.] 

Enter  the  KING  OF  YALENTIA,  ANSELMO, 
KODERIGO,  LORD  BORACHIUS,  with  others. 

KING  or  VALENTIA.  Enough  of  music ;  it  but 

adds  to  torment. 

Delights  to  vexed  spirits  are  as  dates 
Set  to  a  sickly  man,  which  rather  cloy  than  comfort : 
Let  me  entreat  you  to  entreat  no  more. 


MUCEDORUS.  237 

RODERIGO.  Let  yon  strings  sleep;  have  done 
there.  [Let  the  music  cease. 

KING  OF  VALENTIA.  Mirth  to  a  soul  disturb'd 

is  1  embers  turn'd, 

Which  sudden  gleam  with  molestation, 
But  sooner  lose  their  sight  for  it. 
'Tis  gold  bestow'd  upon  a  rioter, 
Which  not  relieves,  but  murders  him : 
'Tis  a  drug  given  to  the  healthful, 
Which  infects,  not  cures. 
How  can  a  father,  that  hath  lost  his  son  : 
A  prince  both  wise,  virtuous,  and  valiant, 
Take  pleasure  in  the  idle  acts  of  time  1 
No,  no  ;  till  Mucedorus  I  shall  see  again, 
All  joy  is  comfortless,  all  pleasure  pain. 

ANSELMO.  Your  son,  my  lord,  is  well. 

KING  OF  VALENTIA.    I    prythee,  speak    that 
thrice. 

ANSELMO.  The  prince,  your  son,  is  safe. 

KING  OF  VALENTIA.  0,  where,  Anselmo  1    sur- 
feit me  with  that. 

ANSELMO.  In  Arragon,  my  liege ;  and  at  his 

'parture, 

[He]  bound  my  secrecy  by  his  affection's  love, 
Not  to  disclose  it. 

But  care  of  him,  and  pity  of  your  age, 
Makes  my  tongue  blab  what  my  breast  vow'd — 
Concealment. 

KING  OF  VALENTIA.  Thou  not  deceiv'st  me  1   I 

ever  thought  thee 

What  I  find  thee  now,  an  upright,  loyal  man. 
But  what  desire  or  young-fed  humour,  nurs'd 
Within  the  brain,  drew  him  so  privately 
To  Arragon? 

ANSELMO.  A  forcing  adamant : 


[Old  copy,  are.] 


238  MUCEDORUS. 

Love,  mix'd  with  fear  and  doubtful  jealousy  : 
Whether  report  gilded  a  worthless  trunk, 
Or  Amadine  deserved  her  high  extolment. 
KING  OF  VALENTIA.  See  our  provision  be  in 

readiness, 

Collect  us  followers  of  the  comeliest  hue, 
For  our  chief  guardians ;  we  will  thither  wend. 
The  crystal  eyes  of  heaven  shall  not  thrice  wink, 
Nor  the  green  flood  six  times  his  shoulders  turn, 
Till  we  salute  the  Arragonian  king. 
Music,  speak  loudly ;  now  the  season's  apt, 
For  former  dolors  are  in  pleasure  wrapt. 

[Exeunt  omnes.] 


Enter  MUCEDORUS,  to  disguise  himself. 

MUCEDORUS.    Now,  Mucedorus,   whither  wilt 

thou  go  ? 

Home  to  thy  father  to  thy  native  soil, 
Or  try  some  long  abode  within  these  woods  ? 
Well,  I  will  hence  depart,  and  hie  me  home. 
What,  hie  me  home,  said  I  ?  that  may  not  be ; 
In  Amadine  rests  my  felicity. 
Then,  Mucedorus,  do  as  thou  didst  decree  : 
Attire  thee  hermit-like  within  these  groves ; 
Walk  often  to  the  beech,  and  view  the  well ; 
Make  settles  there,  and  seat  thyself  thereon ; 
And  when  thou  feelest  thyself  to  be  athirst, 
Then  drink  a  hearty  draught  to  Amadine. 
No  doubt,  she  thinks  on  thee,  and  will  one  day 
Come  pledge  thee  at  this  well. 
Come,  habit,  thou  art  fit  for  me. 

[He  disgniseth  himself. 
No  shepherd  now :  a  hermit  I  must  be. 
Methinks  this  fits  me  very  well. 
Now,  must  I  learn  to  bear  a  walking-staff, 
And  exercise  some  gravity  withal. 


MUCEDORUS.  239 

Enter  the  CLOWN. 

CLOWN.  Here's  through  the  woods  and  through 
the  woods,  to  look  out  a  shepherd  and  stray  king's 
daughter.  But  soft !  who  have  we  here  1  what  art 
thou  ? 

MUCEDORUS.  I  am  an  hermit. 

CLOWN.  An  emmet  ?  I  never  saw  such  a  big 
emmet  in  all  my  life  before. 

MUCEDORUS.  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  am  an  hermit : 
one  that  leads  a  solitary  life  within  these  woods. 

CLOWN.  0,  I  know  thee  now,  thou  art  he l  that 
eats  up  all  the  hips  and  haws  ;  we  could  not  have 
one  piece  of  fat  bacon  for  thee  all  this  year. 

MUCEDORUS.  Thou  dost  mistake  me ;  but  I 
pray  thee,  tell  me  what  dost  thou  seek  in  these 
woods  1 

CLOWN.  What  do  I  seek  1  for  a  stray  king's 
daughter  run  away  with  a  shepherd. 

MUCEDORUS.  A  stray  king's  daughter  run  away 

with  a  shepherd. 
Wherefore  1  canst  thou  tell  ? 

CLOWN.  Yes,  that  I  can;  'tis  this.  My 
master  and  Amadine  walking  one  day  abroad, 
nearer  to  these  woods  than  they  were  used  (about 
what  I  cannot  tell) ;  but  toward  them  comes  run- 
ning a  great  bear.  Now  my  master  he  played  the 
man,  and  ran  away ;  and  Amadine,  crying  after 
him: — now,  sir,  comes  me  a  shepherd,  and  he 
strikes  off  the  bear's  head.  Now,  whether  the 
bear  were  dead  before  or  no,  I  cannot  tell ;  for 
bring  twenty  bears  before  me,  and  bind  their 
hands  and  feet,  and  I'll  kill  them  all.  Now,  ever 
since,  Amadine  hath  been  in  love  with  the  shep- 
herd ;  and  for  goodwill  she's  even  run  away  with 
the  shepherd. 

1  [Old  copies,  her,] 


2-tO  MUCEDORUS. 

MUCEDORUS.  What  manner  of  man  was  a? 
canst  describe  him  unto  me  1 

CLOWN.  Scribe  him  ?  ay,  I  warrant  you,  that  I 
can.  A  was  a  little,  low,  broad,  tall,  narrow,  big, 
well-favoured  fellow  :  a  jerkin  of  white  cloth,  and 
buttons  of  the  same  cloth. 

MUCEDORUS.  Thou  describest  him  well ;  but  if 
I  chance  to  see  any  such,  pray  you,  where  shall  I 
find  you,  or  what's  your  name  1 

CLOWN.  My  name  is  called  Master  Mouse. 

MUCEDORUS.  0  Master  Mouse,  I  pray  you,  what 
office  might  you  bear  in  the  court  1 

CLOWN.  Marry,  sir,  I  am  a  rusher  of  the  stable. 

MUCEDORUS.  0,  usher  of  the  table. 

CLOWN.  Nay,  I  say  rusher,  and  I'll  prove  my 
office  good.  For  look,  sir,  when  any  comes  from 
under  the  sea  or  so,  and  a  dog  chance  to  blow  his 
nose  backward,  then  with  a  whip  I  give  him  the 
good  time  of  the  day,  and  straw  rushes  presently. 
Therefore  I  am  a  rusher  :  a  high  office,  I  promise  ye. 

MUCEDORUS.  But  where  shall  I  find  you  in  the 
court  1 

CLOWN.  Why,  where  it  is  best  being,  either  in 
the  kitchen  a  eating,  or  in  the  buttery  drinking. 
But  if  you  come,  I  will  provide  for  thee  a  piece  of 
beef  and  brewis  knuckle-deep  in  fat.  Pray  you, 
take  pains  ;  remember  Master  Mouse.  \Exit. 

MUCEDORUS.  Ay,  sir,  I  warrant  I  will  not  for- 
get you. 

Ah,  Amadine  !  what  should  become  of  thee  1 
Whither  shouldst  thou  go  so  long  unknown  1 
With  watch  and  ward  each  passage  is  beset, 
Doubtless  she  hath  lost  herself  within  these 

woods, 

And  wand'ring  to  and  fro  she  seeks  the  well, 
Which  yet  she  cannot  find  ; 
Therefore  will  I  seek  her  out.  [Exit. 


MUCEDORUS.  241 

Enter  BREMO  and  AMADINE. 

BREMO.  Amadine! 
How  like  you  Bremo  and  his  woods  1 

AMADINE.  As  like  the  woods  of  Bremo's  cruelty. 
Though  I  were  dumb,  and  could  not  answer  him, 
The  beasts  themselves  would  with  relenting  tears 
Bewail  thy  savage  and  unhuman  deeds. 

BREMO.  My  love,  why  dost  thou   murmur  to 

thyself? 
Speak  louder,  for  thy  Bremo  hears  thee  not. 

AMADINE.  My  Bremo  ?  no,  the  shepherd  is  my 
love. 

BREMO.  Have  I  not  saved  thee  from  sudden 

death, 

Giving  thee  leave  to  live,  that  thou  might'st  love  ] 
And  dost  thou  whet  me  on  to  cruelty  1 
Come,  kiss  me  (sweet)  for  all  my  favours  past. 

AMADINE.  I  may  not,   Bremo,   and  therefore 
pardon  me. 

BREMO.  See  how  she  flings  away  from  me  ; 
I  will  follow  and  give  a  rend1  to  her.  [Aside. 

Deny  my  love  ;  ah,  worm  of  beauty  ! 
I  will  chastise  thee  ;  come,  come, 
Prepare  thy  head  upon  the  block. 

AMADINE.  O,   spare  me,  Bremo  !  love  should 

limit  life, 

Not  to  be  made  a  murderer  of  himself. 
If  thou  wilt  glut  thy  loving  heart  with  blood, 
Encounter  with  the  lion  or  the  bear, 
And  (like  a  wolf)  prey  not  upon  a  lamb. 

BREMO.  Why,  then,  dost  thou  repine  at  me  1 
If  thou  wilt  love  me,  thou  shalt  be  my  queen  ; 
I  will  crown  thee  with  a  complet  made  of  ivory, 
And  make  the  rose  and  lily  wait  on  thee. 
I'll  rend  the  burly  branches  from  the  oak,2 

1  [Edit.  1610,  attend.]  2  [Edit.  1610,  oxe.] 

VOL.  VII.  Q 


242  MUCEDOIiUS. 

To  shadow  thee  from  burning  sun  : 

The  trees  shall  spread  themselves  where  thou  dost 

g°; 

And  as  they  spread,  I'll  trace  along  with  thee. 

AMADINE.  You  may  ;  for  who  but  you  1  [Aside. 

BREMO.  Thou    shalt   be   fed   with   quails   and 

partridges, 

With  blackbirds,  larks,  thrushes,  and  nightingales. 
Thy  drink  shall  be  goats'  milk  and  crystal  water, 
Distill'd  from  the  fountains  and  the  clearest  springs, 
And  all  the  dainties  that  the  woods  afford 
I'll  freely  give  thee  to  obtain  thy  love. 

AMADINE.  You  may  ;  for  who  but  you  1  [Aside. 

BREMO.  The  day  I'll  spend  to  recreate  my  love, 
With  all  the  pleasures  that  I  can  devise, 
And  in  the  night  I'll  be  thy  bed-fellow, 
And  lovingly  embrace  thee  in  mine  arms. 

AMADINE.  One  may  ;  so  may  not  you.     [A  side. 

BREMO.  The  satyrs  and  the  wood-nymphs  shall 

attend 

On  thee,  and  lull  thee  asleep  with  music's  sound, 
And  in  the  morning,  when  thou  dost  awake, 
The  lark  shall  sing  good  morrow  to  my  queen, 
And  whilst  he  sings,  I'll  kiss  my  Amadine. 

AMADINE.  You  may;  for  who  but  you1?  [Aside. 

BREMO.    When   thou   art   up,   the   wood-lanes 

shall  be  strawed 

With  violets,  cowslips,  and  sweefe  marigolds, 
For  thee  to  trample  and  to  trace  upon ; 
And  I  will  teach  thee  how  to  kill  the  deer, 
To  chase  the  hart,  and  how  to  rouse  the  roe, 
If  thou  wilt  live  to  love  and  honour  me. 

AMADINE.  You  may ;  for  who  but  you  1 

Enter  MUCEDORUS. 

BREMO.  Welcome,  sir,  an  hour  ago  I  look'd  for 
such  a  guest. 


MUCEDORUS.  243 

Be  merry,  wench,  we'll  have  a  frolic  feast, 
Here's  flesh  enough  for  to  suffice  us  both, 
Say,  sirrah,  wilt  thou  fight,  or  dost  thou  yield  to 
die? 

MUCEDORUS.    I  want  a  weapon ;   how  can  I 
fight? 

BREMO.    Thou  want'st  a  weapon  ?   why,   then 
thou  yield'st  to  die. 

MUCEDORUS.  I  say  not  so;  I  do  not  yield  to 
die, 

BREMO.  Thou  shalt  not  choose;  I  long  to  see 
thee  dead. 

AMADINE.  Yet  spare  him,  Bremo,  spare  him. 

BREMO.  Away,  I  say,  I  will  not  spare  him. 

MUCEDORUS.  Yet  give  me  leave  to  speak. 

BREMO.  Thou  shalt  not  speak. 

AMADINE.  Yet  give  him  leave  to  speak  for  my 
sake. 

BREMO.  Speak  on  ;  but  be  not  over-long. 

MUCEDORUS.  In  time  of  yore,  when  men  (like 

brutish  beasts) 

Did  lead  their  lives  in  loathsome  cells  and  woods, 
And  wholly  gave  themselvesjto  witless  will 
(A  rude,  unruly  rout),  then  man  to  man  became 
A  present  prey  :  then  might  prevailed  : 
The  weakest  went  to  wall, 
Right  was  unknown  ;  for  wrong  was  all  in  all. 
As  men  thus  lived  in  this  *  great  outrage, 
Behold,  one  Orpheus  came  (as  poets  tell), 
And  them  from  rudeness  unto  reason  brought : 
Who  led  by  reason,  some  forsook  the  woods ; 
Instead  of  caves,  they  built  them  castles  strong ; 
Cities  and  towns  were  founded  by  them  then. 
Glad  were  they,  [that]  they  found  such  ease, 
And  in  the  end  they  grew  to  perfect  amity. 
Weighing  their  former  wickedness, 

1  [Old  copies,  his.] 


244  MUCEDORUS. 

They  term'd  the  time,  wherein  they  lived  then 
A  golden  age,  a  goodly  golden  age. 
Now,  Bremo,  for  so  I  hear  thee  called, 
If  men  which  lived  tofore,  as  thou  dost  now, 
Wildly1  in  wood,  addicted  all  to  spoil, 
Eeturned  were  by  worthy  Orpheus'  means, 
Let  me  (like  Orpheus)  cause  thee  to  return 
From  murder,  bloodshed,  and  like  cruelty. 
What,  should  we  fight  before  we  have  a  cause  1 
No,  let  us  live  and  love  together  faithfully — 

I'll  fight  for  thee 

BREMO.  Fight  for  me  or  die  1     Or  fight,  or  else 

thou  diest  1 

AMADINE.  Hold,  Bremo,  hold  ! 
BREMO.  Away,  I  say ;  thou  troublest  me. 
AMADINE.  You  promised  me  to  make  me  your 

queen. 

BREMO.  I  did  ;  I  mean  no  less. 
AMADINE.  You  promised  that  I  should  have  my 

will. 

BREMO.  I  did ;  I  mean  no  less. 
AMADINE.  Then  save  this  hermit's  life ;  for  he 

may  save  us  both. 

BREMO.  At  thy  request  I'll  spare  him, 
But  never  any  after  him.     Say,  hermit, 
What  canst  thou  do  1 

MUCEDORUS.  I'll  wait  on  thee ;  sometime  upon 

thy  queen. 

Such  service  shalt  thou  shortly  have  as  Bremo 
never  had.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  SEGASTO,  the  CLOWN,  and  EUMBELO. 

SEGASTO.  Come,  sirs ;  what,  shall  I  never  have 

you 
Find  out  Amadine  and  the  shepherd. 

1  [Edit.  1598,  Wily;  edit.  1610,  wUde.] 


MUCEDORUS.  245 

CLOWN.  And  I  have  been  through  the  woods, 

and  through  the  woods, 
And  could  see  nothing  but  an  emmet. 

RUMBELO.  Why,  I  see  a  thousand  emmets ;  thou 

meanest  a  little  one  1 
CLOWN.  Nay,  that  emmet  that  I  saw  was  bigger 

than  thou  art. 
RUMBELO.  Bigger  than  I  ?  what  a  fool  have  you 

to  your  man  ] 
I  pray  you,  master,  turn  him  away. 

SEGASTO.  But  dost  thou  hear,  was  he  not  a 

man? 
CLOWN.  I  think  he  was,  for  he  said  he  did  lead 

a  salt-seller's  life  about  the  woods. 
SEGASTO.   Thou  wouldest  say,   a   solitary  life 

about  the  woods  ? 
CLOWN.  I  think  it  was  so  indeed. 
RUMBELO.  I  thought  what  a  fool  thou  art. 
CLOWN.  Thou  art  a  wise  man ;  why,  he  did 

nothing  but  sleep  since  he  went. 
SEGASTO.    But  tell  me,   Mouse,   how  did    he 

go? 
CLOWN.  In  a  white  gown,  and  a  white  hat  on 

his  head,  and  a  staff  in  his  hand. 
SEGASTO.  I  thought  so;  it  was  a  hermit  that 
walked  a  solitary  life  in  the  woods.    Well,  get  you 
to  dinner ;  and  after  never  leave  seeking,  till  you 
bring  some  news  of  them,  or  I'll  hang  you  both. 

[Exit. 
CLOWN.  How  now,  Rumbelo,  what  shall  we  do 

now1? 

RUMBELO.  Faith,  I'll  home  to  dinner,  and  after- 
ward to  sleep. 

CLOWN.  Why,  then  thou  wilt  be  hanged. 
RUMBELO.  Faith,  I  care  not ;  for  I  know  I  shall 
never  find  them.    Well,  I'll  once  more  abroad,  and 
if  I  cannot  find  them,  I'll  never  come  home  again. 
CLOWN.  I  tell  thee  what,  Rumbelo ;  thou  shalt 


246  MUCEDORUS. 

go  in  at  one  end  of  the  wood,  and  I  at  the  other, 
and  we  will  meet  both  together  in  the  midst. 
EUMBELO.  Content ;  let's  away  to  dinner. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter  MUCEDORUS  solus. 

MUCEDORUS.  Unknown  to  any  here  within  these 

woods, 

With  bloody  Bremo  do  I  lead  my  life. 
The  monster  he  doth  murther  all  he  meets  ; 
He  spareth  none,  and  none  doth  him  escape. 
Who  would  continue — who,  but  only  I — 
In  such  a  cruel  cutthroat's  company  1 
Yet  Amadine  is  there  ;  how  can  I  choose  ? 
Ah,  silly  soul !  how  oftentimes  she  sits 
And  sighs,  and  calls,  Come,  shepherd,  come; 
/Sweet  Mucedorus,  come  and  set  me  free, 
When  Mucedorus  present  stands  her  by  ! 
But  here  she  comes. 

Enter  AMADINE. 

What  news,  fair  lady,  as  you  walk  these  woods  1 

AMADINE.  Ah,  hermit !  none  but  bad,  and  such 
As  thou  knowest. 

MUCEDORUS.  How  do  you  like 
Your  Bremo  and  his  woods  ? 

AMADINE.  Not  my  Bremo, 
Is  or  Bremo's *  woods. 

MUCEDORUS.  And  why  not  yours  1 
Methinks  he  loves  you  well. 

AMADINE.  I  like  him  not. 
His  love  to  me  is  nothing  worth. 

MUCEDORUS.  Lady,  in  this  (methinks)  you  offer 

wrong, 
To  hate  the  man  that  ever  loves  you  best. 

1  [Old  copies,  his  Bremo.] 


MUCEDORUS.  247 

AMADINE.  Hermit,1  I  take  no  pleasure  in  his 

love, 
Neither  doth  Bremo  like  me  best. 

MUCEDORUS.  Pardon  my  boldness,  lady,2  sith 

we  both 

May  safely  talk  now  out  of  Bremo's  sight.    Unfold 
To  me  (if  so  you  please)  the  full  discourse, 
How,  when,  and  why  you  came  into  these  woods, 
And  fell  into  this  bloody  butcher's  hands. 
AMADINE.  Hermit,  I  will ; 

Of  late  a  worthy  shepherd  I  did  love 

MUCEDORUS.   A  shepherd,  lady?     Sure,  a  man 

unfit 

To  match  with  you  ! 
AMADINE.   Hermit,   'tis3  true ;   and   when   we 

had 

MUCEDORUS.  Stay  there,  the  wild  man  comes  ; 
Eefer  the  rest  until  another  time. 

Enter  BREMO. 

BREMO.  What  secret  tale  is  this,  what  whispering 

have  we  here  1 
Villain,  I  charge  thee  tell  thy  tale  again. 

MUCEDORUS.  If  needs  I  must,  lo  !   here  it  is 

again : 

When  as  we  both  had  lost  the  sight  of  thee, 
It  griev'd  us  both,  but  specially  the  queen. 
Who  in  thy  absence  ever  fears  the  worst, 
Lest  some  mischance  befall  your  royal  grace. 
Shall  my  sweet  Bremo  wander  through  the  woods  : 
Toil  to  and  fro  for  to  redress  my  wants  : 
Hazard  his  life,  and  all  to  cherish  me  1 
I  like  not  this,  quoth  she. 
And  thereupon  [she]  crav'd  to  know  of  me, 

1  [Edits.,  ah,  hermit.']  2  [Edits.,  fair  lady.} 

3  [Edits.,  tlds  is.] 


248  MUCEDORUS. 

If  I  could  teach  her  handle  weapons  well. 
My  answer  was,  I  had  small  skill  therein, 
But  glad,  most  mighty  king,  to  learn  of  thee. 
And  this  was  all. 

BREMO.  Was't  so  ? 
None  can  dislike  of  this.     I'll  teach 
You  both  to  fight.     But  first,  my  queen,  begin  : 
Here,  take  this  weapon ;  see  how  thou  canst  use  it. 

AMADINE.  This  is  too  big ; 
I  cannot  wield  it  in  my  arm. 
BREMO.    Is't  so,  we'll  have  a  knotty  crabtree 

staff  for  thee : 
But,  sirrah,  tell  me,  what  say'st  thou  ? 

MUCEDORUS.  With  all  my  heart  I  willing  am  to 

learn. 
BREMO.  Then  take  my  staff,  and  see  how  thou 

canst  wield  it. 
MUCEDORUS.  First  teach  me  how  to  hold  it  in 

my  hand. 
BREMO.   Thou  hold'st  it  well.     [To  Amadine.] 

Look  how  he  doth ; 
Thou  mayest  the  sooner  learn. 
MUCEDORUS.  Next  tell  me  how  and  when  'tis 

best  to  strike. 

BREMO.  'Tis  best  to  strike  when  time  doth  serve, 
'Tis  best  to  lose  no  time. 

MUCEDORUS.  Then  now  or  never  is  my  time  to 

strike. 
BREMO.  And  when  thou  strikest,  be  sure  to  hit 

the  head. 

MUCEDORUS.  The  head  1 
BREMO.  The  very  head. 
MUCEDORUS.  Then  have  at  thine, 
So  lie  there  and  die  •        [He  strikes  him  down  dead. 
A  death,  no  doubt,  according  to  desert, 
Or  else  a  worse,  as  thou  deservest  a  worse. 

AMADINE.  It  glads  my  heart  this  tyrant's  death 
to  see. 


MUCEDORUS.  249 

MuCEDORUS.  Now,  lady,  it  remains  in  you 
To  end  the  tale  you  lately  had  begun, 
Being  interrupted  by  this  wicked  wight — 
You  said  you  loved  a  shepherd  ? 

AMADINE.  Ay,  so  I  do,  and  none  but  only  him ; 
And  will  do  still,  as  long  as  life  shall  last. 

MUCEDORUS.  But  tell  me,  lady,  sith  I  set  you 

free, 
What  course  of  life  do  you  intend  to  take  ? 

AMADINE.    I  will  (disguised)  wander  through 

the  world 
Till  I  have  found  him  out, 

MUCEDORUS.  How,  if  you  find  your  shepherd  in 
these  woods  I 

AMADINE.  Ah !  none  so  happy  then  as  Amacline.1 

MUCEDORUS.  In  tract  of  time  a  man  may  alter 

much  : 
Say,  lady,  do  you  know  your  shepherd  well  ? 

\He  discovers  himself. 

AMADINE.  My  Mucedorus,  hath  he  set  me  free  1 

MUCEDORUS.  He  hath  set  thee  free. 

AMADINE.  And  Jived,  so  long 
Unknown  to  Amadine  ? 

MUCEDORUS.  Ay,  that's  a  question 
Whereof  you  may  not  be  resolved. 
You  know  that  I  am  banish'd  from  the  court, 
I  know  likewise  each  passage  is  beset, 
So  that  we  cannot  long  escape  unknown, 
Therefore  my  will  is  this,  that  we  return, 
Eight  through  the  thickets,  to  the  wild  man's  cave, 
And  there  a  while  live  on  his  provision, 
Until  the  search  and  narrow  watch  be  past : 
This  is  my  counsel,  and  I  think  it  best. 


1  [In  the  old  copies  there  is  here  a  direction,  He  disguiseth 
himself,  which  appears  wrong,  as  Mucedorus  is  already  dis- 
guised, and  what  he  next  does  is,  in  fact,  to  discover 
himself.] 


250  MUCEDORUS. 

AMADINE.  I  think  the  very  same. 
MUCEDORUS.  Come,  let's  begone. 

Enter  the  CLOWN,  who  searches,  and  falls  over  the 
wild  man,  and  so  carries  him  away. 

CLOWN.  Nay,  soft,  sir,  are  you  here  ?  a  bots  on 

you ! 

I  was  like  to  be  hanged  for  not  finding  you, 
We  would  borrow  a  certain  stray  king's  daughter 

of  you  • 
A  wench,  a  wench,  sir,  we  would  have. 

MUCEDORUS.  A  wench  of  me  1   I'll  make  thee 

eat  my  sword. 

CLOWN.  0  Lord,  nay,  and  you  are  so  lusty, 
I'll  call  a  cooling  card  for  you  : 
Ho,  master,  master,  come  away  quickly  ! 

E'nter  SEGASTO. 

SEGASTO.  What's  the  matter  1 

CLOWN.  Look,  master,  Amadine  and  the  shep- 
herd !     0  brave ! 

SEGASTO.  What,  minion,  have  I  found  you  out  1 

CLOWN.    Nay,  that's   a  lie,  I   found    her   out 
myself. 

SEGASTO.  Thou  gadding  huswife, 
What  cause  hadst  thou  to  gad  abroad, 
When  as  thou  knowest  our  wedding-day  so  nigh  ? 

AMADINE.  Not  so,  Segasto;   no  such  thing  in 

hand. 
Show  your  assurance,  then  I'll  answer  you  ? 

SEGASTO.  Thy  father's  promise  my  assurance  is. 

AMADINE.  But  what  he  promis'd  he  hath  not 
perform'd. 

SEGASTO.  It  rests  in  thee  to  perform  the  same. 

AMADINE.  Not  1. 

SEGASTO.  And  why  1  « 

AMADINE.  SoJsony_will,  and  therefore  even  so. 


MUCEDORUS.  251 

CLOWN.  Master,  with  a  nonny,  nonny,  no.1 
SEGASTO.  Ah,  wicked  villain  !  art  thou  here  1 
MUCEDORUS.     What  needs  these   words  1    we 

weigh  them  not. 
SEGASTO.  We  weigh  them  not !  j^roiid  shepherd, 

I  scorn  thy  company. 

CLOWN.  We'll  not  have  a  corner  of  thy  com- 
pany. 
MUCEDORUS.  I  scorn  not  thee,  nor  yet  the  least 

of  thine. 
CLOWN.  That's  a  lie,  a  would  have  kilPd  me 

with  his  pugs-nando. 
SEGASTO.  This  stoutness,  Amadine,  contents  me 

not. 
AMADINE.    Then  seek  another,  that  may  you 

better  please. 

MUCEDORUS.  Well,  Amadine,  it  only  rests  in  thee 
Without  delay  to  iqake  thy  choice  of  three. 
There  stands  Segasto  :  hereaTsnepherd  stands  : 
There  stands  the  third.     Now  make  thy  choice. 
CLOWN.  A  lord  at  the  least  I  am. 
AMADINE.  My  choice  is  made  ;  for  I  will  none 

but  thee. 
SEGASTO.  A  worthy  mate,  no  doubt,  for  such  a 

wife. 
MUCEDORUS.    And,   Amadine,   why  wilt  thou 

none  but  me  ? 

I  cannot  keep  thee,  as  thy  father  did  ; 
I  have  no  lands  for  to  maintain  thy  state  ; 
Moreover,  if  thou  mean  to  be  my  wife, 
Commonly  this  must  be  thy  use  : 
To  bed  at  midnight,  up  at  four, 
Drudge  all  day,  and  trudge  from  place  to  place, 
Whereby  our  daily  victuals  for  to  win  : 
And  last  of  all,  which  is  the  worst  of  all, 
No  princess  then,  but  a  plain  shepherd's_wife^ 


[Edits.,  none,  none, 


252  MUCEDORUS. 

CLOWN.  Then  God  gi'  you  good  morrow,  goody 
shepherd !  [Aside. 

AMADINE.  It  shall  not  need ;  if  Amadine  do  live, 
Thou  shalt  be  crowned  King  of  Arragon. 

CLOWN.  0  master,  laugh ;  when  he's  king,  then 

I'll  be  a  queen.  [Aside. 

MUCEDORUS.    Then  know  that,   which "  never 

tofore  was  known, 
I  am  no  shepherd,  no  Arragonian  I, 
But  born  of  royal  blood.     My  father's  of  Valentia 
King,  my  mother  Queen:  who,  for  thy  secret l  sake, 
Took  this  hard  task  in  hand. 

AMADINE.  Ah,  how  I  joy  my  fortune  is  so  good ! 
SEGASTO.  Well,"  now  I  see  Segasto  shall   not 

speed ; 

But,  Mucedoriis,  I  as  much  do  joy 
To  see  thee  here  within  our  Court  of  Arragon, 
As  if  a  kingdom  had  befallen  me  this  time. 
I  with  my  heart  surrender  her  to  thee. 

[He  giveth  her  unto  him. 
And  loose  2  what  right  to  Amadine  I  have. 

CLOWN.  What,  [a]  barn's  door,  and  born  where 

my  father 

Was  constable.     A  bots  on  thee  !  how  dost  thee  1 

[A  side. 
MUCEDORUS.   Thanks,   Segasto ;    but  yet  you 

levell'd  at  the  crown. 
CLOWN.  Master,  bear  this  and  bear  all. 
SEGASTO.  Why  so,  sir  ? 

CLOWN.  He  sees  you  take  a  goose  by  the  crown. 
SEGASTO.  Go  to,  sir,  away,  post  you  to  the  King, 
Whose  heart  is  fraught  with  careful  doubts ; 
Glad  him  up,  and  tell  him  these  good  news, 
And  we  will  follow  as  fast  as  we  may. 
CLOWN.  I  go,  master;  I  run,  master. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

1  [Edit.  1610,  sacred.]  2  [Old  copies,  look.] 


MUCEDORUS.  253 


Enter  the  KING  and  COLLEN. 

KING.  Break,  heart,  and  end  my  pallid  l  woes  ! 
MyjLmjadin_e^  tile-comfort  of  my  life, 
How  can  I  joy,  except  she  were  in  sight  1 
Her  absence  breedeth  sorrow  to  my  soul, 
And  with  a  thunder  breaks  my  heart  in  twain. 

COLLEN.  Forbear  those  passions,  gentle  King, 
And  you  shall  see  'twill  turn  unto  the  best, 
And  bring  your  soul  to  quiet  and  to  joy. 

KING.  Such  joy  as  death,  I  do  assure  me  that, 
And  nought  but  death,  unless  of  her  I  hear, 
And  that  with  speed ;  I  cannot  sigh  thus  long — 
But  what  a  tumult  do  I  hear  within  ? 

[They  cry  within,  Joy  and  happiness  ! 

COLLEN.  I  hear  a  noise  of  overpassing  joy 
Within  the  court.     My  lord,  be  of  good  comfort. 
And  here  comes  one  in  haste. 


Enter  the  CLOWN,  running. 

CLOWN.  A  King,  a  king,  a  king  ! 

COLLEN.    Why,  how  now,  sirrah  1    what's  the 

matter  ? 
CLOWN.  0,  'tis  news  for  a  king ;   'tis  worth 

money. 

KING.  Why,  sirrah,  thou  shalt  have  silver  and 
gold,  if  it  be  good. 

CLOWN.  0,  'tis  good,  'tis  good.     Amadine 

KING.  0,  what  of  her  ?  tell  me,  and  I  will  make 

thee  a  knight. 

CLOWN.  How,  a  sprite  1  no,  by  Lady,  I  will  not 
be  a  sprite,  masters.  Get  ye  away;  if  I  be  a 
sprite,  I  shall  be  so  lean,  I  shall  make  you  all 
afraid. 

1  [Edit.  1598,  paled  ;  1106,  pallade.] 


254  MUCEDORUS. 

COLLEN.  Thou  sot,  the  King  means  to  make 

thee  a  gentleman. 

CLOWN.  Why,  I  shall  want  'pparel. 
KING.  Thou  shalt  want  for  nothing. 
CLOWN.  Then  stand  away ;  trick 1  up  thyself ; 

here  they  come. 

Enter  SEGASTO,  MUCEDORUS,  and  AMADINE. 

AMADINE.  My  gracious  father,  pardon  thy  dis- 
loyal daughter. 

KING.  What,  do  mine  eyes  behold  my  daughter 
Amadine  1     Rise  up,  dear  daughter, 
And  let  these  my  embracing  arms  show  some 
Token  of  thy  father's  joy,  which,  ever  since 
Thy  departure,  hath  languished  in  sorrow. 

AMADINE.  Dear  father, 

Never  were  your  sorrows  greater  than  my  griefs  : 
Never  you  so  desolate  as  I  comfortless. 
Yet,  nevertheless,  acknowledging  myself 
To  be  the  cause  of  both,  on  bended  knees 
I  humbly  crave  your  pardon. 

KING.  I'll  pardon  thee,  dear  daughter,  but  as  for 
Him 

AMADINE.  Ah,  father  !  what  of  him  1 

KING.  As  sure  as  I  am  king,  and  wear  the  crown, 
I  will  revenge  on  that  accursed  wretch. 

MUCEDORUS.  Yet,  worthy  prince,  work  not  thy 

will  in  wrath  : 
Show  favour. 

KING.  Ay,  such  favour  as  thou  deservest. 

MUCEDORUS.  I  do  deserve  the  daughter  of  a 
king. 

KING.  0,  impudent !  a  shepherd  and  so  insolent  ? 

MUCEDORUS.  No  shepherd  [am]  I,  but  a  worthy 
prince. 

1  [Edit.  1610,  strike. I 


MUCEDORUS.  255 

KING.  In  fair  conceit,  not  princely  born. 
MUCEDORUS.  Yes,  princely  born ;  my  father  is 

a  king, 
My  mother  queen,  and  of  Valentia  both. 

KING.  What,  Mucedorus  1  welcome  to  our  court ! 
What  cause  hadst  thou  to  come  to  me  disguis'd  1 
MUCEDORUS.  No  cause  to  fear;    I  caused  no 

offence, 

But  this — desiring  thy  dau^lxtexVvirtuoo  for  to  oco,  - 
Disguis'd  nrygeiflrom  outmy  father's  court, 
Unknown  to  any.     In  secret  I  did  rest, 
And  passed  many  troubles  near  to  death ; 
So  hath  your  daughter  my  partaker  been, 
As  you  shall  know  hereafter  more  at  large, 
Desiring  you,  you  will  give  her  to  me, 
Even  as  mine  own,  and  sovereign  of  my  life, 
Then  shall  I  think  my  travels  are  well  spent. 

KING.  With  all  my  heart,  but  this — 
Segasto  claims  my  promise  made  tofore, 
That  he  should  have  her  as  his  only  wife, 
Before  my  council,  when  we  came  from  war. 
Segasto,  may  I  crave  thee  let  it  pass, 
And  give  Amadine  as  wife  to  Mucedorus. 

SEGASTO.  With  all  my  heart,   were   it   a  far 

greater  thing, 

And  what  I  may  to  furnish  up  their  rites, 
With  pleasing  sports  and  pastimes  you  shall  see. 
KING.  Thanks,  good  Segasto ;  I  will  think  of 

this. 
MUCEDORUS.  Thanks,  good  my  lord ;  and  while 

I  live, 
Account  of  me  in  what  I  can  or  may. 

AMADINE.    And,    good    Segasto,    these    great 

courtesies 
Shall  not  be  forgot. 

CLOWN.  Why,  hark  you,  master !  bones,  what 
have  you  done  ?  What,  given  away  the  wench 
you  made  me  take  such  pains  for?  you  are  wise 


256  MUCEDORUS. 

indeed ;  mass,  and  I  had  known  of  that,  I  would 
have  had  her  myself.  Faith,  master,  now  we  may 
go  to  breakfast  with  a  woodcock-pie. 

SEGASTO.  Go,   sir;   you  were  best  leave  this 
knavery. 

KING.  Come  on,  my  lords,  let's  now  to  court, 
Where  we  may  finish  up  the  jcgrfullestr-4fty 
That  ever  happ'd  to  a  distressed  king.1 

1  After  this  line,  in  the  edition  of  1610,  occurs  the  follow- 
ing substitution  for  the  lines  in  edit.  1598,  beginning  "Ho, 
lords,"  and  concluding  with  "Exeunt  omnes  : " — 

Were  but  thy  father,  the  Yalentia  lord, 
Present  in  view  of  this  combining  knot. 

A  shout  within.    Enter  a  MESSENGER. 

Wh  at  shout  was  that  V. 

MESSENGER.  My  lord,  the  great  Yalentia  king, 
Newly  arrived,  entreats  your  presence. 

MUCEDORUS,  My  father  1 

KING  OF  ARRAGON.  Prepared  welcomes ;  give  him 

entertainment. 

A  happier  planet  never  reigned  than  that, 
Which  governs  at  this  hour.  [Sound. 

Enter  the  KING  OF  YALENTIA,  ANSELMO,  EODRIGO, 
BARCHEUS,  with  others ;  the  KING  runs  and  em- 
braces his  son. 

KING  OF  YALENTIA.  "Rise,  honour  of  my  age,  food  to 

my  rest : 

Condemn  not  (mighty  King  of  Arragon) 
My  rude  behaviour,  so  compell'd  by  Nature, 
That  manner  stood  unknowledged. 
KING  OF  ARRAGON.  What  we  have  to  recite  would 

tedious  prove 

By  declaration  ;  therefore  in  and  feast. 
To-morrow  the  performance  shall  explain, 
What  words  conceal ;  till  then,  drums,  speak,  bells,  ring  : 
Give  plausive  welcomes  to  our  brother  king. 

[Sound  drums  and  trumpets.    Exeunt  omnes. 


MUCEDORUS.  257 

With  mirth  and  joy  and  great  solemnity 

We'll  finish  up  these  Hymen's  rites  most  pleasantly. 

CLOWN.  Ho,  lords  fat  th~e~lirst,  I  am  one  too  ; 
but  hear,  Master  King,  by  your  leave,  a  cast.  Now 
you  have  done  with  them,  I  pray  you  begin  with 
me. 

KING.  Why,  what  wouldst  thou  have  1 

CLOWN.  0,  you  forgot  now  !  a  little  apparel  to 
make's  handsome.  What,  should  lords  go  so 
beggarly  as  I  do  "2 

KING.  What  I  did  promise  thee,  I  will  perform. 
Attend  on  me  :  come,  let's  depart. 

[  They  all  speak. 
We'll  wait  on  you  with  all  our  hearts. 

CLOWN.  And  with  a  piece  of  my  liver  too. 

[Exeunt  omnes. 


Enter  COMEDY  and  ENVY. 

COMEDY.  How  now,  Envy  1  what,  blushest  thou 
already  ? 

Peep  forth,  hide  not  thy  head  with  shame ; 

But  with  a  courage  prajigp  p,  worn  an  'a  deH.s 

Thy  threats   were  vain,  thou  couldst  do   me   no 
hurt, 

Although    thou    seem'st    to    cross  me   with   de- 
spite, 

I   overwhelm'd    and    turn'd    upside    down    thy 
block, 

And  made  thyself  to  stumble  at  the  same. 

ENVY.  Though  stumbled,  yet  not  overthrown  : 

Thou  canst  not  draw  my  heart  to  mildness, 

Yet  must  I  needs  confess  thou  hast  done  well, 

And  play'd  thy  part  with  mirth  and  pleasant 
glee.  ^ 

Say  all  this  ;  yet  canst  thou  not  conquer  me, 

Although  this  time  thou  hast  got — 

VOL.  VII.  R 


258  MUCEDORUS. 

Yet  not  the  conquest  neither, 

A  double  revenge  another  time  I'll  have.1 

COMEDY.  Then,  caitiff  cursed,  stoop  upon  thy 

knee ; 
Yield  to  a  woman,  though  not  to  me, 

1  [In  the  edition  of  1610,  the  conclusion,  from  this  line, 
is  so  different,  that  the  best  mode  appeared  to  be  to  give  it 
at  the  foot  of  the  page  : — 

COMEDY.  Envy,  spit  thy  gall ; 
Plot,  work,  contrive  ;  create  new  fallacies  ; 
Team  from  thy  womb  each  minute  a  black  traitor, 
Whose  blood  and  thoughts  have  twin  conception  : 
Study  to  act  deeds  yet  unchronicled  ; 
Cast  native  monsters  in  the  moulds  of  men  ; 
Case  vicious  devils  under  sancted  rochets  ; 
Unhasp  the  wicket,  where  all  perjureds  roost, 
And  swarm  this  ball  with  treasons.     Do  thy  worst ; 
Thou  canst  not  (hell-hound)  cross  my  star 1  to-night, 
Nor  blind  that  glory,  where  I  wish  delight. 

ENVY.  I  can.     I  will. 

COMEDY.  Nefarious  hag,  begin  ; 
And  let  us  tug,  till  one  the  mast'ry  win. 

ENVY.  Comedy,  thou  art  a  shallow  goose  ; 
I'll  overthrow  thee  in  thine  own  intent, 
And  make  thy  fall  my  comic  merriment. 

COMEDY.  Thy  policy  wants  gravity ;   thou  art  too 

weak. 
Speak,  fiend.     As  how  1 

ENVY.  Why  thus ; 

From  my  foul  study  will  I  hoist  a  wretch, 
A  lean  and  hungry  negro 2  cannibal : 
Whose  jaws  swell  to  his  eyes  with  chawing  malice, 
And  him  I'll  make  a  poet. 

COMEDY.  What's  that  to  th'  purpose  ? 

ENVY.  This  scrambling  raven,  with  his  needy  beard, 
Will  I  whet  on  to  write  a  comedy, 
Wherein  shall  be  compos'd  dark  sentences, 
Pleasing  to  factious  brains  : 
And  every  other  where  place  me  a  jest. 
Whose  high  abuse  shall  more  torment  than  blows. 

1  [Old  copy,  steare.]  2  [Old  copy,  neagre.] 


MUCEDORUS.  259 

And  pray  we  both  together  with  our  hearts, 
That  she  thrice  Nestor's  years  may  with  us  rest, 

Then  I  myself  (quicker  than  lightning), 

Will  fly  me  to  a  puissant  magistrate, 

And  waiting  with  a  trencher  at  his  back, 

In  midst  of  jollity  rehearse  those  galls1 

(With  some  additions)  so  lately  vented  in  your  theatre  : 

He  upon  this  cannot  but  make  complaint, 

To  your  great  danger,  or  at  least  restraint. 

COMEDY.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I  laugh  to  hear  thy  folly  ; 
This  is  a  trap  for  boys,  not  men,  nor  such, 
Especially  desertful  in  their  doings, 
Whose  staid  discretion  rules  their  purposes. 
I  and  my  faction  do  eschew  those  vices. 
But  see,  0  see,  the  weary  sun  for  rest 
Hath  lain  his  golden  compass  to  the  west, 
Where  he  perpetual  bide  and  ever  shine, 
As  David's  offspring  in  his  happy  clime. 
Stoop,  Envy,  stoop,  bow  to  the  earth  with  me, 
Let's  beg  our  pardons  on  our  bended  knee.     [They  kneel. 

ENVY.  My  power  has  lost  her  might ;  Envy's  date's 

expired, 

Yon  splendant  majesty  hath  fell'd  my  sting, 
And  I  amazed  am.  [Fall  down  and  quake. 

COMEDY.  Glorious  and  wise  Arch-Caesar  on  this  earth, 
At  whose  appearance  Envy's  stroken  dumb, 
And  all  bad  things  cease  operation, 
Vouchsafe  to  pardon  our  unwilling  error, 
So  late  presented  to  your  gracious  view, 
And  we'll  endeavour  with  excess  of  pain 
To  please  your  senses  in  a  choicer  strain, 
Thus  we  commit  you  to  the  arms  of  night, 
Whose  spangled  carcase  would  (for  your  delight) 
Strive  to  excel  the  day.     Be  blessed  then  : 
Who  other  wishes,  let  him  never  speak. 

ENVY.  Amen ! 

To  Fame  and  Honour  we  commend  your  rest ; 
Live  still  more  happy,  every  hour  more  blest. 

FINIS.] 
1  [Old  copy,  gaules.] 


260  MUCEDORUS. 

And  from  her  foes  High  God  defend  her  still, 
That  they  'gainst  her  may  never  work  their  will. 

ENVY.  Envy,  were  he  never  so  stout 
Would  beck  and  bow  unto  her  majesty. 
Indeed,  Comedy,  thou  hast  overrun  me  now, 
And  forc'd  me  stoop-ii  n to  a.^ojoaan.>s  .away;. 
God  grant  her  grace  amongst  us  long  may  reign, 
And  those  that  would  not  have  it  so, 
Would  that  by  Envy  soon  their  hearts  they  might 
forego. 

COMEDY.  The  council,  nobles,  and  this  realm, 
Lord,  guide  it  still  with  thy  most  holy  hand  ! 
The  Commons  and  the  subjects,  grant  them  grace, 
Their  prince  to  serve,  her  to  obey,  and  treason  to 

deface  : 

Long-may  she  "reign in "joy-and  great  felicity, 
Each  Christian  heart  do  say  amen  with  me. 

[Exeunt, 


FINIS. 


THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN  OF  ABINGTON. 


EDITION. 

The  Pleasant  Historic  of  the  two  angrie  women  ofAbing- 
ton.  With  the  humorous  mirthe  of  Dick  Coomes  and 
Nicholas  Prouerbes,  two  Seruingmen.  As  it  was  lately 
playde  by  the  right  Honorable  the  Earle  of  Nottingham, 
Lord  high  Admirall,  his  seruants.  By  Henry  Porter 
Gent.  Imprinted  at  London  for  Joseph  Hunt,  and 
William  Ferbrand,  and  are  to  be  solde  at  the  Corner  of 
Colman-streete,  neere  LoatJiburie.  1599.  4°. 

Another  4or  printed  for  Ferbrand   alone,  was  pub- 
lished during  the  same  year, — Dyce. 


[DYCE'S    PREFACE.] 


THE  text  of  the  former  4°,  which  is,  I  apprehend,  the 
earlier  impression,  has  been  adopted  in  the  present 
reprint,  except  where  the  readings  of  the  other  edition 
have  been  occasionally  preferred,  and  where  obvious 
typographical  errors  have  been  rectified.  Every  minute 
particular  in  which  the  second  4°  differs  from  the 
first,  1  have  thought  it  unnecessary  to  note.  The 
absurd  punctuation  and  faulty  metrical  arrangement 
of  the  old  copy  have  not  been  followed  ;  and  I  must  be 
allowed  to  add  that  I  have  retained  the  original  spell- 
ing only  in  accordance  to  the  decision  of  the  Percy 
Council.2 

Though  Henry  Porter  was  a  dramatist  of  considerable 
reputation,  all  his  productions,  except  the  copy  now  re- 
printed, appear  to  have  utterly  perished  ;  and,  I  believe, 
the  only  materials  to  be  found  for  his  biography  are  the 
subjoined  memoranda  in  the  Diary  of  Henslowe  :3 — 

1  [To  the  edition  printed  in  the  Percy  Society's  Series.] 

2  [The  old  spelling  has  now  been  abandoned.] 

3  For  these  I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  Mr  J.  P. 
Collier,  who  is  now  editing  "  Henslowe's  Diary  "  for  the 
Shakespeare  Society.      The  portions  of  it  which  were  pub- 
lished by  Malone  are  very  incorrectly  given. 


264  DYCE'S  PREFACE. 

"Pd  this  23  of  Aguste  1597  to  Harey  Porter  to  \ 
carye  to  T.  Nashe  now  at  this  tyme  in  the  fflete  for  /      g 
wrytinge  of  the  eylle  of  Dogges  ten  shellinges  to  bee  I    x 
paide  agen  to  me  when  he  canne  I  say  ten  shillinges  ; 

Lent  unto  the  company  the  30  of  Maye  1598  to  bye  \ 
a  boocke1  called  Love  prevented  the  some  of  fower  (  tt  Ji 
powndes  dd.  to  Thomas  Dowton,  Mr  Porter  )  111J 

Lent  unto  the  company  the  18  of  Aguste  1598  to  \ 
bye  a  Booke  called  Hoote  Anger  sone  cowld  of  Mr  /       ,. 
Porter,  Mr  Cheattell  and  bengemen  Johnson  in  full  (  v: 
payment,  the  some  of  ; 

Lent  unto  Thomas  Dowton  the  22  of  Desember^ 
1598  to  bye  a  boocke  of  Harey  Porter  called  the  2pte  (      ^ 
of  the  2  angrey  Wemen  of  Abengton  }  v 

Let  unto  Harey  Porter  at  the  request  of  the  com-" 
pany  in  earnest  of  his  booke  called  ij  merey  women  of 
dbington  the  some  of  forty  shellings  and  for  the  resayte 
of  that  money  he  gave  me  his  faythfull  promise  that         s 
I  should  have  alle  his  bookes  which  he  writte  ether  j     x 
him  selfe  or  with  any  other  which  some  was  dd.  the  I 
28th  of  febreary  1598[-9j. 

Lent  unto  Harey  Cheattell  the  4  of  March  1598[-9]^ 
in  earneste  of  his  boocke  which  Harey  Porter  and 
is  a  writtinge  the  some  of — called  the  Spencers. 

Lent  Harey  Porter  the  11  of  Aprell  1599  the  some  )   s  d 
of  }  ii  VJ 

Lent  Hary  Porter  the  16  of  Aprell  1599  the  some 
of 

Lent  Harey  Porter  the  5  of  Maye  1599  the  some  )   s  d 
of  1  ij  vj 

Lent  Harey  Porter  the  15  of  Maye  1599  the  some  )  s  d 
of  )  »  VJ 

1  Book  in  these  entries  means  play. 

2  This  entry  is  struck  through,  the  money  having  been 
repaid. 


-9]) 

4 


DYCE'S  PREFACE.  265 

Be  it  knowne  unto  all  men  that  I  Henry  Porter  do  owe 
unto  Phillip  Henchlowe  the  some  of  xs  of  lawfull  money  of 
England  which  I  did  borrowe  of  hym  the  26  of  Maye  a°.  dom. 
1599  Henry  Porter.1 

"The  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abington"  is  thus 
noticed  by  the  late  Charles  Lamb  :  "  The  pleasant 
comedy  from  which  these  extracts  are  taken  is  contem- 
porary with  some  of  the  earliest  of  Shakespeare's,  and  is 
no  whit  inferior  to  either  the  "  Comedy  of  Errors  "  or 
the  "  Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  for  instance.  It  is  full  of 
business,  humour,  and  merry  malice.  Its  night  scenes 
are  peculiarly  sprightly  and  wakeful.  The  versification 
unencumbered,  and  rich  with  compound  epithets.2 

A.  D. 

1  This  entry  is  in  Porter's  own  handwriting. 

2  "  Spec,  of  Engl.  Dram.  Poets,"  ii.  185,  edit.  1835. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

GENTLEMEN,  I  come  to  ye  like  one  that  lacks  and 
would  borrow,  but  was  loth  to  ask,  lest  he  should 
be  denied  :  I  would  ask,  but  I  would  ask  to  obtain  ; 
0,  would  I  knew  that  manner  of  asking  !  To  beg 
were  base  j  and  to  couch  low,  and  to  carry  an  humble 
show  of  entreaty,  were  too  dog-like,  that  fawns 
on  his  master  to  get  a  bone  from  his  trencher  :  out, 
cur !  I  cannot  abide  it ;  to  put  on  the  shape  and 
habit  of  this  new  world's  new-found  beggars,  mis- 
termed  soldiers,1  as  thus  :  "  Sweet  gentlemen,  let  a 
poor  scholar  implore  and  exerate  that  you  would 
make  him  rich  in  the  possession  of  a  mite  of  your 
favours,  to  keep  him  a  true  man  in  wit,  and  to  pay 
for  his  lodging  among  the  Muses  !  so  God  him  help, 
he  is  driven  to  a  most  low  estate  !  'tis  not  unknown 
what  service  of  words  he  hath  been  at ;  he  lost  his 
limbs  in  a  late  conflict  of  flout ;  a  brave  repulse 
and  a  hot  assault  it  was,  he  doth  protest,  as  ever 
he  saw,  since  he  knew  what  the  report  of  a  volley 

of  jests  were;  he  shall  therefore  desire  you" 

A  plague  upon  it,  each  beadle  disdained  would 
whip  him  from  your  company.  Well,  gentlemen, 
I  cannot  tell  how  to  get  your  favours  better  than 
by  desert :  then  the  worse  luck,  or  the  worse  wit, 
or  somewhat,  for  I  shall  not  now  deserve  it.  Well, 
then,2  I  commit  myself  to  my  fortunes  and  your 
contents;  contented  to  die,  if  your  severe  judg- 
ments shall  judge  me  to  be  stung  to  death  with 
the  adder's  hiss. 


1  [See  Hazlitt's  "  Popular  Poetry,"  iv.  38-40.] 

2  [Second  edit.,  Welcome  then.] 


THE  NAMES  OF  THE  SPEAKERS.* 

M[ASTER]  GOURSEY. 

MIST[RESS]  GOURSEY. 

M[ASTER]  BARNES. 

MIST[RESS]  BARNES. 

FRANK  GOURSEY. 

PHILIP  [BARNES.] 

BOY. 

MALL  BARNES. 

DICK  COOMES. 

HODGE. 

NICHOLAS  PROVERBS. 

SIR  RALPH  SMITH. 

[LADY  SMITH.] 

WILL,  Sir  Ralph's  man. 

[Other  Attendants.] 
1  From  the  second  edit.     Not  in  first  edit. 


THE  PLEASANT  COMEDY  OF  THE  TWO 
ANGRY  WOMEN  OF  ABINGTON. 


Enter  MASTER  GOURSEY  and  Ids  wife,  and  MASTER 
BARNES  and  his  ivife,  with  their  two  sons,  and 
their  two  servants. 

MASTER  GOURSEY.  Good  Master  Barnes,  this 

entertain  of  yours, 
So  full  of  courtesy  and  rich  delight, 
Makes  me  misdoubt  my  poor  ability 
In  quittance  of  this  friendly  courtesy. 

MR  BAR.  O  Master  Goursey,  neighbour-amity 
Is  such  a  jewel  of  high-reckoned  worth, 
As  for  the  attain  of  it  what  would  not  I 
Disburse,  it  is  so  precious  in  my  thoughts  ! 

MR  GOUR.    Kind  sir,  near-dwelling  amity  in- 
deed 

Offers  the  heart's  inquiry  better  view 
Than  love  that's  seated  in  a  farther  soil : 
As  prospectives,1  the 2  nearer  that  they  be, 


1  Prospects,  views,  scenes  in  sight ;  a  meaning  of  the 
word  which  is  found  in  much  later  writers. 

2  So  second  edit.    First  edit.  he. 


270  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

Yield  better  judgment  to  the  judging  eye ; 
Things  seen  far  off  are  lessened  in  the  eye, 
When  their  true  shape  is  seen  being  hard  by. 

MR  BAR.  True,  sir,  'tis  so  ;  and  truly  I  esteem 
Mere  l  amity,  familiar  neighbourhood, 
The  cousin-german  unto  wedded  love. 

MR  GOUR.  Ay,  sir,  there's  surely  some  alliance 

'twixt  them, 

For  they  have  both  the  offspring  from  the  heart : 
Within  the  heart's-blood-ocean  still  are  found 
Jewels  of  amity  and  gems  of  love. 

MR  BAR.  Ay.  Master  Goursey,  I  have  in  my  time 
Seen  many  shipwrecks  of  true  honesty ; 
But  incident  such  dangers  ever  are 
To  them  that  without  compass  sail  so  far  : 
Why,  what  need  men  to  swim,  when  they  may 

wade  1 — 

But  leave  this  talk,  enough  of  this  is  said  : 
And,  Master  Goursey,  in  good  faith,  sir,  welcome ; — 
And,  Mistress  Goursey,  I  am  much  in  debt 
Unto  your  kindness  that  would  visit  me. 
MRS  GOUR.  0  Master  Barnes,  you  put  me  but 

in  mind 

Of  that  which  I  should  say ;  'tis  we  that  are 
Indebted  to  your  kindness  for  this  cheer  : 
Which  debt  that  we  may  repay,  I  pray  let's  have 
Sometimes  your  company  at  our  homely  house. 
MRS  BAR.  That,  Mistress  Goursey,  you  shall 

surely  have ; 

He'll 2  be  a  bold  guest,  I  warrant  ye, 
And  bolder  too  with  you  than  I  would  have  him. 
MRS.   GOUR.    How,  do  you   mean  he  will  be 

bold  with  me  ? 
MRS  BAR.  Why,  he  will  trouble  you  at  home, 

forsooth, 

1  Absolute,  perfect,  [or  rather,  perhaps,  pure.] 

2  Read,  for  the  metre,  He  will. 


OF  ABINGTON.  271 

Often  call  in,  and  ask  ye  how  ye  do  ; 
And  sit  and  chat  with  you  all  day  till  night, 
And  all  night  too,1  if  he  might  have  his  will. 
MR  BAR.  Ay,  wife,  indeed  I  thank  her  for  her 

kindness ; 
She  hath  made  me  much  good  cheer  passing  that 

way. 
MRS  BAR.  Passing  well-done  of  her,  she  is   a 

kind  wench. 

I  thank  ye,  Mistress  Goursey,  for  my  husband; 
And  if  it  hap  your  husband  come  our  way 
A-hunting  or  such  ordinary  sports, 
I'll  do  as  much  for  yours  as  you  for  mine. 

MR    GOUR.    Pray   do,   forsooth. — God's  Lord, 

what  means  the  woman  1 
She  speaks  it  scornfully  :  faith,  I  care  not ; 
Things  are  well-spoken,  if  they  be  well-taken. 

[Aside.] 

What,  Mistress  Barnes,  is  it  not  time  to  part '? 
MRS  BAR.  What's  a-clock,  sirrah  1 
NICHOLAS.  }Tis  but  new-struck  one. 
MR  GOUR.  I  have  some  business  in  the  town 

by  three. 
MR  BAR.  Till  then  let's  walk  into  the  orchard, 

sir. 

What,  can  you  play  at  tables  ? 
MR  GOUR.  Yes,  I  can. 
MR  BAR.  What,  shall  we  have  a  game  1 
MR  GOUR.  And  if  you  please. 
MR  BAR.  I  'faith,  content ;  we'll  spend  an  hour 

so. 
Sirrah,  fetch  the  tables.2 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  to. 

2  The  audience,  were  to  suppose  that  the  stage  now  repre- 
sented an  orchard ;  for  be  it  remembered  that  there  was  no 
movable  painted  scenery  in  the  theatres  at  the  time  when 
this  play  was  produced. 


272  THE  TWO   ANGRY   WOMEN 

NiCH.  I  will,  sir.  [Exit. 

PHIL.  Sirrah  Frank,  whilst  they  are  playing 

here, 
AVe'll  to  the  green  to  bowls. 

FRAN.  Philip,  content.     Coomes,  come  hither, 

sirrah : 

When  our  fathers  part,  call  us  upon  the  green. 
Philip,  come,  a  rubbers,1  and  so  leave. 

PHIL.  Come  on.   [Exeunt  PHILIP  and  FRANCIS.] 

COOMES.  'Sbloud,  I  do  not  like  the  humour  of 
these  springals  ;  they'll  spend  all  their  fathers' 
good  at  gaming.  But  let  them  trowl  the  bowls 
upon  the  green.  I'll  trowl  the  bowls  in  the  but- 
tery by  the  leave  of  God  and  Master  Barnes  :  and 
his  men  be  good  fellows,  so  it  is  ;  if  they  be  not, 
let  them  go  snick  up.2  [Exit. 

Enter  NICHOLAS  with  the  tables. 

MR  BAR.  So,  set  them  down. 
Mistress  Goursey,  how  do  you  like  this  game  1 

MRS  GOUR.  Well,  sir. 

MR  BAR.  Can  ye  play  at  it  1 

MRS  GOUR.  A  little,  sir. 

MR  BAR.  Faith,  so  can  my  wife. 

MR  GOUR.  Why,  then,  Master  Barnes,  and  if 

you  please, 

Our  wives  shall  try  the  quarrel  'twixt  us  two, 
And  we'll  look  on. 

MR  BAR.  I  am  content.     What,  women,3  will 
you  play  1 

MRS  GOUR.  I  care  not  greatly. 


1  Second  edit.,  rubber^  but  the  other  form  is  common  in 
our  old  writers. 

2  [So  second  edit.]     Equivalent  to  be  hanged. 

3  Second  edit.,  woman,  which  is  probably  right  ;  see  two 
passages  farther  on, in  one  of  which  both  editions  have  woman. 


OF  ABINGTON.  273 

MRS  BAR.  Nor  I,  but  that  I  think  she'll  play 

me  false. 

MR  GOUR,  I'll  see  she  shall  not. 
MRS  BAR,  Nay,  sir,  she  will  be  sure  you  shall 

not  see ; 

You,  of  all  men,  shall  not  mark  her  hand  ; 
She  hath  such  close  conveyance  in  her  play. 
MR  GOUR.  Is  she  so  cunning  grown  1    Come, 

come,  let's  see. 
MRS  GOUR.  Yea,  Mistress  Barnes,  will  ye  not 

house  your  jests, 

But  let  them  roam  abroad  so  carelessly  1 
Faith,  if  your  jealous  tongue  utter  another, 
I'll    cross    ye    with    a    jest,    and    ye   were    my 

mother. — 

Come,  shall  we  play  1  [Aside.] 

MRS  BAR.  Ay,  what  shall  we  play  a  game  1 
MRS  GOUR.  A  pound  a  game. 
MR  GOUR.  How,  wife  1 
MRS    GOUR.    Faith,  husband,  not  a  farthing 

less. 
MR  GOUR.  It  is  too  much  ;  a  shilling  were  good 

game. 

MRS  GOUR.  No,  we'll  be  ill-huswives  once  ; 
You  have  been  oft  ill  husbands  :  let 's  alone. 
MR  BAR.  Wife,  will  you  play  so  much  ? 
MRS  BAR.    I  would  be  loth  to  be  so  frank  a 

gamester 

As  Mistress  Goursey  is ;  and  yet  for  once 
I'll  play  a  pound  a  game  as  well  as  she. 
MR  BAR.  Go  to,  you'll  have  your  will 

[Offer  to  go  from  them. 
MRS  BAR.  Come,  there's  my  stake. 
MRS  GOUR.  And  there's  mine. 
MRS  BAR.  Throw  for  the  dice.     Ill  luck  !  then 

they  are  yours. 

MR  BAR.  Master  Goursey,  who  says  that  gam- 
ing's  bad, 

VOL.  VII.  S 


274  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

When    such    good    angels  l    walk  'twixt     every 

cast? 
MR  GOUR.  This  is  not  noble  sport,  but  royal 

play. 
MR  BAR.  It  must  be  so,  where  royals l  walk  so 

fast. 

MRS  BAR.  Play  right,  I  pray. 
MRS  GOUR.  Why,  so  I  do. 
MRS  BAR.  Where  stands  your  man  '? 
MRS  GOUR.  In  his  right  place. 
MRS  BAR.  Good  faith,  I  think  ye  play  me  foul 

an  ace. 

MR  BAR.  No,  wife,  she  plays  ye  true. 
MRS  BAR.  Peace,  husband,  peace ;  I'll  not  1  >e 

judg'd  by  you. 
MRS  GOUR.  Husband,  Master  Barnes,  pray,  both 

go  walk ! 
We  cannot  play  if  standers-by  do  talk. 

MR  GOUR.  Well,  to  your  game ;   we  will  not 
trouble  ye.  [Go/mm  them. 

MRS  GOUR.  Where  stands  your  man  now  1 
MRS  BAR.  Doth  he  not  stand  right  1 
MRS  GOUR.  It  stands  between  the  points. 
MRS  BAR.  And  that's  my  spite. 
But  yet  methinks  the  dice  runs  much  uneven. 
That  I  throw  but  deuce-ace  and  you  eleven. 

MRS  GOUR.  And  yet  you  see  that  I  cast  down 

the  hill. 
MRS  BAR.  Ay,  I  beshrew  ye,  'tis  not  with  my 

will. 

MRS  GOUR.  Do  ye  beshrew  me  ? 
MRS  BAR.  No,  I  beshrew  the  dice, 
That  turn  you  up  more  at  once  than  me  at  twice. 
MRS  GOUR.  Well,  you  shall  see  them  turn  for 
you  anon. 

1  Gold  coins.     The  words  give  occasion  to  innumerable 
puns  in  our  early  dramas. 


OF  ABINGTON.  275 

MRS  BAR.  But  I  care  not  for  them,  when  your 

game  is  done. 

MRS  GOUR.  My  game  !  what  game  ? 
MRS  BAR.  Your  game,  your  game  at  tables. 
MRS  GOUR.  "Well,  mistress,  well  ;  I  have  read 

^Esop's  fables, 

And  know  your  moral  meaning  well  enough. 
MRS  BAR.  Lo,  you'll   be  angry  now  !    here's  : 

good  stuff. 
MR  GOUR.  How  now,  women  ?2  who  hath  won 

the  game  ] 

MRS  GOUR.  Nobody  yet. 
MR  BAR.  Your  wife's  the  fairest  for't. 
MRS  BAR.  Ay,  in  your  eye. 
MRS  GOUR.  How  do  you  mean  ? 
MRS  BAR.  He  holds  you  fairer  for't  than  I. 
MRS  GOUR.  For  what,  forsooth  ? 
MRS  BAR.  Good  gamester,  for  your  game. 
MR  BAR.  Well,  try  it  out;  'tis  all  but  in  the 

bearing.3 
MRS  BAR.  Nay,  if  it  come  to  bearing,  she'll  be 

best. 
MRS  GOUR.  Why,  you're  as  good  a  bearer  as 

the  rest. 
MRS  BAR.  Nay,  that's  not  so  ;   you  bear  one 

man  too  many. 

MRS  GOUR.  Better  do  so  than  bear  not  any. 
MR  BAR.  Beshrew  me,  but  my  wife's  jests  grow 

too  bitter  ; 

Plainer  speeches  for  her  were  more  fitter  :  4 
Malice  lies  embowelled  in  her  tongue, 
And  new  hatch'd  hate  makes  every  jest  a  wrong. 


1  Read,  for  the  metre,  here  is. 

3  Second  edit.,  woman  :  see  note,  p.  272. 

3  A  term  of  the  game. 

4  Edits.,  better,  —  the  eye  of  the  original  compositor  havin 
caught  the  word  above. 


276  THE  TWO  ANGRY   WOMEN 

MRS  GOUR.  Look  ye,  mistress,  now  I  hit  ye. 
MRS  BAR.  Why,  ay,  you  never  use  to  miss  a 

blot,1 
Especially  when  it  stands  so  fair  to  hit. 

MRS  GOUR.  How  mean  ye,  Mistress  Barnes  1 
MRS  BAR.  That  Mistress  Goursey's  in  the  hit- 
ting vein. 

MRS  GOUR.  I  hot 2  your  man. 
MRS  BAR.  Ay,  ay,  my  man,  my  man ;  but,  hail 

I  known, 

I  would  have  had  my  man  stood  nearer  home. 
MRS  GOUR.  Why,  had  ye  kept  your  man  in  his 

right  place, 
I  should  not  then  have  hit  him  with  an  ace. 

MRS  BAR.  Right,  by  the  Lord !  a  plague  upon 

the  bones  ! 
MRS  GOUR.  And  a  hot  mischief  on  the  curser 

too! 

MR  BAR.  How  now,  wife  1 
MR  GOUR.  Why,  what's  the  matter,  woman  1 

MRS  GOUR.  It  is  no  matter ;  I  am 

MRS  BAR.  Ay,  you  are 

MRS  GOUR.  What  am  I  ? 

MRS  BAR.  Why,  that's  as  you  will  be  ever. 

MRS  GOUR.  That's  every  day  as  good  as  Barnes's 

wife. 
MRS  BAR.  And  better  too  :   then,  what  needs 

all  this  trouble  1 

A  single  horse  is  worse  than  that  bears  double. 
MR  BAR.  Wife,  go  to,  have  regard  to  what  you 

say; 

Let  not  your  words  pass  forth  the  verge  of  reason, 
But  keep  within  the  bounds  of  modesty  ; 
For  ill-report  doth  like  a  bailiff  stand, 
To  pound  the  straying  and  the  wit-lost  tongue, 
And  makes  it  forfeit  into  folly's  hands. 

1  A  term  of  the  game.  2  i.e.,  Hit. 


OF  ABINGTON.  2 

Well,  wife,  you  know  it  is  no  honest  part 
To  entertain  such  guests  with  jests  and  wrongs  : 
What  will  the  neighbouring  country  vulgar  say, 
When  as  they  hear  that  you  fell  out  at  dinner  ? 
Forsooth,  they'll  call  it  a  pot-quarrel  straight ; 
The  best  they'll  name  it  is  a  woman's  jangling. 
Go  to,  be  rul'd,  be  rul'd. 

MRS  BAR.  God's  Lord,  be  rul'd,  be  rul'd  ! 
What,  think  ye  I  have  such  a  baby's  wit, 
To  have  a  rod's  correction  for  my  tongue  1 
School  infancy  !  I  am  of  age  to  speak, 

ill 


And  I  know  when  to  speak  :  shall  I  be  chid 
For  such  a 

MRS  GOUK.  What-a  ?    nay,  mistress,  speak  it 

out ; 

I  scorn  your  stopp'd  compares  :  compare  not  me 
To  any  but  your  equals,  Mistress  Barnes. 

MR  GOUR.  Peace,  wife,  be  quiet. 

MR  BAR.  0,  persuade,  persuade ! 
Wife,  Mistress  Goursey,  shall  I  win  your  thoughts 
To  composition  of  some  kind  effects  1 
Wife,  if  you  love  your  credit,  leave  this  strife, 
And  come   shake  hands  with   Mistress   Goursey 
here. 

MRS  BAR.  Shall   I  shake   hands  ?   let  her  go 

shake  her  heels  ; 

She  gets  nor  hands  nor  friendship  at  my  hands  : 
And  so,  sir,  while  I  live,  I  will  take  heed, 
What  guests  I  bid  again  unto  my  house. 

MR  BAR.  Impatient  woman,  will  you  be  so  stiff 
In  this  absurdness  ? 

MRS  BAR.  I  am  impatient  now  I  speak  ; 
But,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  more  another  time  : 
Go  to,  I  will  not  take  it  as  I  have  done.         \Exit. 

MRS  GOUR.  Nay,  she  might  stay;   I  will  not 

long  be  here 

To  trouble  her.     Well,  Master  Barnes, 
I  am  sorry  that  it  was  our  haps  to-day, 


278  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

To  have  our  pleasures  parted  with  this  fray  : 

I  am  sorry  too  for  all  that  is  amiss, 

Especially  that  you  are  mov'd  in  this  ; 

But  be  not  so,  'tis  but  a  woman's  jar  : 

Their  tongues  are  weapons,  words  their  blows  of 

war  ; 

'Twas  but  a  while  we  buffeted,  you  saw, 
And  each  of  us  was  willing  to  withdraw  ; 
There  was  no  harm  nor  bloodshed,  you  did  see  : 
Tush,  fear  us  not,  for  we  shall  well  agree. 
I  take  my  leave,  sir.     Come,  kind-hearted  man, 
That  speaks  his  wife  so  fair — ay,  now  and  then ; 
I  know  you  would  not  for  an  hundreth  pound, 
That  I  should  hear  your  voice's  churlish  sound  ; 
I  know  you  have  a  far  more  milder  tune 
Than  "  Peace,  be  quiet,  wife  ; "  but  I  have  done. 
Will  ye  go  home  1  the  door  directs  the  way  ; 
But,  if  you  will  not,  my  duty  is  to  stay.1 

MR  BAR.  Ha,  ha  !  why,  here's  a  right  woman,  is 

there  not "? 
They  both  have  din'd,  yet  see  what  stomachs  they 

have  ! 
MR.  GOUR.  Well,  Master  Barnes,  we  cannot  do 

withal : 2 
Let  us  be  friends  still — 

MR  BAR.  0  Master  Goursey,  the  mettle  of  our 

minds, 

Having  the  temper  of  true  reason  in  them. 
Affords 3  a  better  edge  of  argument 
For  the  maintain  of  our  familiar  loves 
Than  the  soft  leaden  wit  of  women  can  ; 
Wherefore  with  all  the  parts  of  neighbour-love 
I  [do]  impart 4  myself  to  Master  Goursey. 

1  Here,  probably,  Mistress  Goursey  should  make  her  exit. 

2  i.e.,  We  cannot  help  it. 

3  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  Afford. 

4  The  author  probably  wrote,  "/  do  impart:"  compare 
the  next  line. 


OF  ABINGTON.  279 

MR  GOUR.   And  with  exchange  of  love  I  do 

receive  it.: 
Then  here  we'll  part,  partners  of  two  curs'd  wives. 

MR  BAR.    0,  where  shall  we  find  a  man   so 

bless'd  that  is  not  1 

But  come ;  your  business  and  my  home-affairs 
Makes  me  deliver  that  unfriendly  word 
'Mongst  friends — farewell. 

MR  GOUR.  Twenty  farewells,  sir. 

MR  BAR.  But  hark  ye,  Master  Goursey ; 
Look  ye  persuade  at  home,  as  I  will  do  : 
What,  man  !  we  must  not  always  have  them  foes. 

MR  GOUR.  If  I  can  help  it. 

MR  BAR.  God  help,  God  help  ! 
Women  are  even  untoward  creatures  still.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  PHILIP,  FRANCIS,  and  his  BOY,  from  bowling. 

PHIL.  Come  on,  Frank  Goursey  :  you  have  had 

good  luck 
To  win  the  game. 

FRAN.  Why,  tell  me,  is't  not  good, 
That  never  play'd  before  upon  your  green  ? 

PHIL.  'Tis  good,  but  that  it  cost  me  ten  good 

crowns ; 
That  makes  it  worse. 

FRAN.  Let  it  not  grieve  thee,  man ;  come  o'er 

to  us ; 

We  will  devise  some  game  to  make  you  win 
Your  money  back  again,  sweet  Philip. 

PHIL.  And  that  shall  be  ere  long,  and  if  I  live  : 
But  tell  me,  Francis,  what  good  horses  have  ye, 
To  hunt  this  summer  1 

FRAN.  Two  or  three  jades,  or  so. 

PHIL.  Be  they  but  jades  1 

FRAN.  No,  faith ;  my  wag-string  here 
Did  founder  one  the  last  time  that  he  rid — 
The  best  grey  nag  that  ever  I  laid  my  leg  over. 


280  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

BOY.  You  mean  the  flea-bitten. 

FRAN.  Good  sir,  the  same. 

BOY.  And  was  the  same  the  best  that  e'er  you 
rid  on  ? 

FRAN.  Ay,  was  it,  sir. 

BOY.  I'  faith,  it  was  not,  sir. 

FRAN.  No  !  where  had  I  one  so  good  ? 

BOY.  One  of  my  colour,  and  a  better  too. 

FRAN.  One  of  your  colour  ?  I  ne'er  remember  him ; 
One  of  that  colour  ! 

BOY.  Or  of  that  complexion. 

FRAN.    What's  that  ye   call  complexion   in  a 
horse  ? 

BOY.  The  colour,  sir. 

FRAN.  Set  me  a  colour  on  your  jest,  or  I  will 

BOY.  Nay,  good  sir,  hold  your  hands  ! 

FRAN.  What,  shall  we  have  it  1 

BOY.  Why,  sir,  I  cannot  paint. 

FRAN.  Well,  then,  I  can ; 
And  I  shall  find  a  pencil  for  ye,  sir. 

BOY.  Then  I  must  find  the  table,  if  you  do. 

FRAN.  A  whoreson,  barren,  wicked  urchin  ! 

BOY.  Look  how  you  chafe  !  you  would  be  angry 

more, 
If  I  should  tell  it  you. 

FRAN.  Go  to,  I'll  anger  ye,  and  if  you  do  not. 

BOY.  Why,  sir,  the  horse  that  I  do  mean 
Hath  a  leg  both  straight  and  clean, 
That  hath  nor  spaven,  splint,  nor  flaw, 
But  is  the  best  that  ever  ye  saw ; 
A  pretty  rising  knee — 0  knee  ! 
It  is  as  round  as  round  may  be ; 
The  full  flank  makes  the  buttock  round  : 
This  palfrey  standeth  on  no  ground, 
Wlien  as  my  master's  on  her  back, 
If  that  he  once  do  say  but,  tack  : 1 

1  [Old  copies,  tide.} 


OF   ABINGTON.  281 

And  if  he  prick  her,  you  shall  see 

Her  gallop  amain,  she  is  so  free  ; 

And  if  he  give  her  but  a  nod, 

She  thinks  it  is  a  riding-rod  ; 

And  if  he'll  have  her  softly  go, 

Then  she  trips  it  like  a  doe  ; 

She  comes  so  easy  with  the  rein, 

A  twine-thread  turns  her  back  again  ; 

And  truly  I  did  ne'er  see  yet 

A  horse  play  proudlier  on  the  bit  : 

My  master  with  good  managing 

Brought  her  first  unto  the  ring  ; 1 

He  likewise  taught  her  to  corvet, 

To  run,  and  suddenly  to  set ; 

She's  cunning  in  the  wild-goose  race, 

Nay,  she's  apt  to  every  pace  ; 

And  to  prove  her  colour  good, 

A  flea,  enamour'd  of  her  blood, 

Digg'd  for  channels  in  her  neck, 

And  there  made  many  a  crimson  speck  : 

I  think  there's  none  that  use  to  ride 

But  can  her  pleasant  trot  abide  ; 

She  goes  so  even  upon  the  way, 

She  will  not  stumble  in  a  day ; 

And  when  my  master 

FRAN.  What  do  1 1 

BOY.  Nay,  nothing,  sir. 

PHIL.  O,  fie,  Frank,  fie  ! 
Nay,  nay,  your  reason  hath  no  justice  now, 
I  must  needs  say ;  persuade  him  first  to  speak, 
Then  chide  him  for  it !     Tell  me,  pretty  wag, 
Where  stands  this  prancer,  in  what  inn  or  stable  1 
Or  hath  thy  master  put  her  out  to  run, 


1  i.e.,  Taught  her  to  tread  the  ring, — to  perform  various 
movements  in  different  directions  within  a  ring  marked  out 
on  a  piece  of  ground  :  see  Markham's  "  Cheap  and  Good 
Husbandry,"  &c.  p.  18,  sqq.  edit.  1631. 


282  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Then  in  what  field,  what  champion,1  feeds  this 

courser, 
This  well-pac'd,  bonny  steed  that  thou  so  praisest? 

BOY.  Faith,  sir,  I  think 

FRAN.  Villain,  what  do  ye  think? 

BOY.  I  think  that  you,  sir,  have  been  ask'd  by 

many, 
But  yet  I  never  heard  that  ye  told  any. 

PHIL.  Well,  boy,  then  I  will  add  one  more  to 

many. 

And  ask  thy  master  where  this  jennet  feeds. 
Come,  Frank,  tell  me — nay,  prythee,  tell  me,  Frank, 
My  good  horse-master,  tell  me — by  this  light, 
I  will  not  steal  her  from  thee  ;  if  I  do, 
Let  me  be  held  a  felon  to  thy  love. 
FRAN.  No,  Philip,  no. 
PHIL.  What,  wilt  thou  wear  a  point 2  but  with 

one  tag  1 
Well,  Francis,  well,  I  see  you  are  a  wag. 

Enter  COOMES. 

COOMES.  'Swounds,  where  be  these  timber-turners, 

these  trowl-the-bowls,  these  green-men,  these 

FRAN.  What,  what,  sir  ? 

COOMES.  These  bowlers,  sir. 

FRAN.  Well,  sir,  what  say  you  to  bowlers  1 

COOMES.  Why,  I  say  they  cannot  be  saved. 

FRAN.  Your  reason,  sir  1 

COOMES.  Because  they  throw  away  their  souls 

at  every  mark. 

FRAN.  Their  souls  !  how  mean  ye  1 
PHIL.  Sirrah,  he  means  the  soul  of  the  bowl. 

1  [Campagne.]    A  form  of  campaign  common  in  our  early 
writers. 

2  i.e.,  Wilt  thou  wear,  &c. :  point  means  one  of  the  tagged 
laces  which  were  used    in  dress   to    attach    the  hose  or 
breeches  to  the  doublet,  &c. 


OF   ABINGTON.  233 

FRAN.    Lord,  how  his  wit   holds   bias   like  a 
bowl ! 

COOMES.  Well,  which  is  the  bias  1 

FRAN.  This  next  to  you. 

COOMES.  Nay,  turn  it  this  way,  then  the  bowl 
goes  true. 

BOY.  Bub,  rub ! 

COOMES.  Why  rub  ? 

BOY.  Why,  you  overcast  the  mark,  and  miss  th« 
way. 

COOMES.  Nay,  boy,  I  use  to  take  the  fairest  of 
my  play. 

PHIL.  Dick  Coomes,  methinks  thou  art l  very 

pleasant : 
Where 2  got'st  thou  this  merry  humour  1 

COOMES.  In  your   father's  cellar,  the  merriest 
place  in  th'  house. 

PHIL.  Then  you  have  been  carousing  hard  ? 

COOMES.  Yes,  faith,  'tis  our  custom,  when  your 
father's  men  and  we  meet. 

PHIL.  Thou  art  very  welcome  thither,  Dick. 

COOMES.  By  God,  I  thank  ye,  sir,  I  thank  ye, 
sir :  by  God,  I  have  a  quart  of  wine  for  ye,  sir, 
in  any  place  of  the  world.  There  shall  not  a 
servingman  in  Barkshire  fight  better  for  ye  than  I 
will  do,  if  you  have  any  quarrel  in  hand  :  you 
shall  have  the  maidenhead  of  my  new  sword ;  I 
paid  a  quarter's  wages  for't,  by  Jesus. 

PHIL.  0,  this  meat-failer  Dick  ! 
How  well 't  has  made  the  apparel  of  his  wit, 
And  brought  it  into  fashion  of  an  honour ! 
Prythee,  Dick  Coomes,  but  tell  me  how  thou  dost  1 

COOMES.  Faith,  sir,  like  a  poor  man  of  service. 

PHIL.  Or  servingman. 

COOMES.  Indeed,  so  called  by  the  vulgar. 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  th'  art. 

2  [Old  copies  read  when.] 


284  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

PHIL.  Why,  where  the  devil  hadst  thou  that 
word? 

COOMES.  0,  sir,  you  have  the  most  eloquent 
ale  in  all  the  1  world  ;  our  blunt  soil  affords  none 
such. 

FRAN.  Philip,  leave  talking  with  this  drunken 
fool.     Say,  sirrah,  where's  my  father  ? 

COOMES.  "  Marry,  I  thank  ye  for  my  very  good 
cheer, — 0  Lord,  it  is  not  so  much  worth. — You 
see  I  am  bold  with  ye. — Indeed,  you  are  not  so 
bold  as  welcome  ;  I  pray  ye,  come  oft'ner. — Truly, 
I  shall  trouble  ye."  All  these  ceremonies  are  de- 
spatch'd  between  them,  and  they  are  gone. 

FRAN.  Are  they  so  ? 

COOMES.  Ay,  before  God,  are  they. 

FRAN.  And  wherefore  came  not  you  to  call  me 
then? 

COOMES.  Because  I  was  loth  to  change  my  game. 

FRAN.  What  game  ? 

COOMES.  You  were  at  one  sort  of  bowls  as  I 
was  at  another. 

PHIL.  Sirrah,  he  means  the  butt'ry  bowls   of 
beer. 

COOMES.  By  God,  sir,  we  tickled  it. 

FRAN.  Why,  what  a  swearing  keeps  this  drunken 

ass? 
Canst  thou  not  say  but  swear  at  every  word  ? 

PHIL.  Peace,  do  not  mar  his  humour,  prythee, 
Frank. 

COOMES.  Let  him  alone ;  he's  a  springall ;  he 
knows  not  what  belongs  to  an  oath. 

FRAN.  Sirrah,  be  quiet,  or  I  do  protest 

COOMES.  Come,  come,  what  do  you  protest  ? 

FRAN.  By  heaven,  to  crack  your  crown. 

COOMES.  To  crack  my  crown  !  I  lay  ye  a  crown 
of  that,  lay  it  down,  and  ye  dare  ;  nay,  'sblood,  I'll 

1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  in  the. 


OF  ABINGTON.  285 

venture   a  quarter's   wages   of  that.     Crack   my 
crown,  quotha  ! 

FRAN.  Will  ye  not  yet  be  quiet  1  will  ye  urge 
me? 

COOMES.  Urge  ye,  with  a  pox  !  who  urges  ye '? 
You  might  have  said  so  much  to  a  clown,  or  one 
that  had  not  been  o'er  the  sea  to  see  fashions  :  I 
have,  I  tell  ye  true  ;  and  T  know  what  belongs  to 
a  man.  Crack  my  crown,  and  ye  can. 

FRAN.  And  I  can,  ye  rascal ! 

PHIL.  Hold,  hair-brain,  hold  !  dost  thou  not  see 
he's  drunk  1 

COOMES.  Nay,  let  him  come  :  though  he  be  my 
master's  son,  I  am  my  master's  man,  and  a 
man  is  a  man  in  any  ground  of  England. 
Come,  and  he  dares,  a  comes  upon  his  death  : 
I  will  not  budge  an  inch,  no,  'sblood,  will  1 1  not. 

FRAN.  Will  ye  not  1 

PHIL.  Stay,  prythee,  Frank.    Coomes,  dost  thou 
hear? 

COOMES.  Hear  me  no  hears :  stand  awa)r,  I'll 
trust  none  of  you  all.  If  I  have  my  back  against 
a  cartwheel,  I  would  not  care  if  the  devil  came. 

PHIL.  Why,  ye  fool,  I  am  your  friend. 

COOMES.  Fool  on  your  face  !  I  have  a  wife. 

FRAN.  She's  a  whore,  then. 

COOMES.  She's  as  honest  as  Nan  Lawson. 

PHIL.  What's  she  ? 

COOMES.  One  of  his  whores. 

PHIL.  Why,  hath  he  so  many  1 

COOMES.  Ay,  as  many  as  there  be  churches  in 
London. 

PHIL.  Why,  that's  a  hundred  and  nine. 

BOY.  Faith,  he  lies  a  hundred. 

PHIL.  Then  thou  art  a  witness  to  nine. 

BOY.  No,  by  God,  I'll  be  witness  to  none. 

1  So  second  edit.     K"ot  in  first  edit. 


286  THE  TWO  ANGRY   WOMEN 

COOMES.  Now  do  I  stand  like  the  George  at 
Colebrook. 

BOY.    No,  thou  stand'st   like  the  Bull  at   St 
Alban's. 

COOMES.  Boy,  ye  lie— the  Horns.1 

BOY.  The  bull's  bitten  ;  see,  how  he  butts  ! 

PHIL.  Coomes,  Coomes,  put  up  ; 2  my  friend  and 
thou  art  friends. 

COOMES.  I'll  hear  him  say  so  first. 

PHIL.  Frank,  prythee,  do  ;  be  friends,  and  tell 
him  so. 

FRAN.  Go  to,  I  am. 

BOY.  Put  up,  sir ;  and  ye  be  a  man,  put  up. 

COOMES.  I  am  easily  persuaded,  boy. 

PHIL.  Ah,  ye  mad  slave  ! 

COOMES.  Come,  come,  a  couple  of  whoremasters 
I  found  ye,  and  so  I  leave  ye.  [Exit. 

PHIL.  Lo,  Frank,  dost  thou  not  see  he's  drunk, 
That  twits  thee  3  with  thy  disposition  ? 

FRAN.  What  disposition  1 

PHIL.  Nan  Lawson,  Nan  Lawson. 

FRAN.  Nay,  then 

PHIL.  Go  to,  ye  wag,  'tis  well : 
If  ever  ye  get  a  wife,  i'  faith  I'll  tell. 
Sirrah,  at  home  we  have  a  servingman  ; 
He  is  4  not  humour'd  bluntly  as  Coomes  is, 
Yet  his  condition  5  makes  me  often  merry  : 
I'll  tell  thee,  sirrah,  he's  a  fine  neat  fellow, 
A  spruce  slave  ;  I  warrant  ye,  he  will  6  have 
His  cruel  garters  7  cross  about  the  knee, 
His  woollen  hose  as  white  as  th'  driven  snow, 


1  [Meaning  a  tavern  of  that  name.] 

-  Sheathe  your  sword.  3  Edits.,  me. 

4  [Old  copy,  Hes.]    Read,  for  the  metre,  lie  is. 

5  i.e.,  Quality,  disposition. 

6  [Old  copies,  he'll.]     Head,  for  the  metre,  he  will. 

7  [Fine  worsted.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  287 

His  shoes   dry-leather   neat,   and   tied   with   red 

ribbons, 

A  nosegay  bound  with  laces  in  his  hat — 
Bridelaces,  sir — and  his  hat  all  green,1 
Green  coverlet  for  such  a  grass-green  wit. 
"  The  goose  that  grazeth  on  the  green,"  quoth  he, 
"  May  I  eat  on,  when  you  shall  buried  be  ! " 
All  proverbs  is  his  speech,  he's  proverbs  all. 

FRAN.  Why  speaks  he  proverbs  ? 

PHIL.  Because  he  would  speak  truth. 
And  proverbs,  you'll  confess,  are  old-said  sooth. 

FRAN.  I  like  this  well,  and  one  day  I  will  see 

him  : 
But  shall  we  part  1 

PHIL.  Not  yet,  I'll  bring  ye  somewhat  on  your 

way, 

And  as  we  go,  between  your  boy  and  you 
I'll  know  where   that   brave  prancer"  stands   at 
livery. 

FRAN.  Come,  come,  you  shall  not. 

PHIL.  I'  faith,  I  will.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  MASTER  BARNES  and  his  Wife. 

MR  BAR.  Wife,  in  my  mind  to-day  you  were  to 

blame, 

Although  my  patience  did  not  blame  ye  for  it  : 
Methought  the  rules  of  love  and  neighbourhood 
Did  not  direct  your  thoughts  ;  all  indiscreet 2 
Were  your  proceedings  in  the  entertain 
Of  them  that  I  invited  to  my  house. 
Nay,  stay,  I  do  not  chide,  but  counsel,  wife, 
And  in  the  mildest  manner  that  I  may  : 
You  need  not  view  me  with  a  servant's  eye, 
Whose  vassal 3  senses  tremble  at  the  look 
Of  his  displeased  master.     0  my  wife, 

1  [Old  copies,  his  hat,  and  all  green  hat.] 

2  [Old  copies,  indirect.]  3  Edits.,  ra,ssailes. 


THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

You  are  myself !  when  self  sees  fault  in  self, 
Self  is  sin-obstinate,  if  self  amend  not : 
Indeed,  I  saw  a  fault  in  thee  myself, 
And  it  hath  set  a  foil  upon  thy  fame, 
Not  as  the  foil  doth  grace  the  diamond. 

MRS  BAR.  AYhat  fault,  sir,  did  you  see  in  me  to- 
day? 

MR  BAR.  0,  do  not  set  the  organ  of  thy  voice 
On  such  a  grunting  key  of  discontent  ! 
Do  not  deform  the  beauty  of  thy  tongue 
With  such  misshapen  answers.     Eough  wrathful 

words 

Are  bastards  got  by  rashness  in  the  thoughts  : 
Fair  demeanours  are  virtue's  nuptial  babes, 
The  offspring  of  the  well-instructed  soul ; 
O,  let  them  call  thee  mother,  then,  my  wife  ! 
So  seem  not  barren  of  good  courtesy. 
MRS  BAR.  So ;  have  ye  done  ? 
MR  BAR,  Ay,  and  I  had  done  well, 
If  you  would  do  what  I  advise  for  well. 
MRS  BAR.  What's  that  1 
MR  BAR.  Which  is,  that  you  would  be  good 

friends 

With  Mistress  Goursey. 
MRS  BAR.  With  Mistress  Goursey  ! 
MR  BAR.  Ay,  sweet  wife. 
MRS  BAR.  Not  so,  sweet  husband. 
MR  BAR.  Could  you  but  show  me  any  grounded 

cause. 

MRS  BAR.  The  grounded  cause  I  ground,  be- 
cause I  will  not. 
MR  BAR.  Your  will  hath  little  reason,  then,  I 

think. 
MRS  BAR.    Yes,  sir,  my  reason  equalleth  my 

will. 
MR  BAR.  Let's  hear  your  reason,  for  your  will 

is  great. 
MRS  BAR.  Why,  for  I  will  not. 


OF  ABINGTON.  289 

MR  BAR.  Is  all  your  reason  "  for  I  will  not," 

wife? 

Now,  by  my  soul,  I  held  ye  for  more  wise, 
Discreet,  and  of  more  temp'rature  in  sense, 
Than  in  a  sullen  humour  to  affect 
That    woman's1    will — borne,     common,    scholar 
Oft  have  I  heard  a  timely-married  girl,      [phrase : 
That  newly  left  to  call  her  mother  mam, 
Her  father  dad  :  but  yesterday  come  from 
"That's  my  good  girl,  God  send  thee  a  good  hus- 
band!" 

And  now  being  taught  to  speak  the  name  of  hus- 
band, 

Will,  when  she  would  be  wanton  in  her  will, 
If  her  husband  ask'd  her  why,  say  "for  I  will." 
Have  I  chid  men  for 2  [an]  unmanly  choice, 
That  would  not  fit  their  years  ?  have  I  seen  thee 
Pupil   such   green  young  things,   and   with  thy 

counsel 

Tutor  their  wits  1  and  art  thou  now  infected 
With  this  disease  of  imperfection  ? 
I  blush  for  thee,  ashamed  at  thy  shame. 

MRS  BAR.  A  shame  on  her  that  makes  thee  rate 

me  so ! 
MR  BAR.  O  black-mouth'd  rage,  thy  breath  is 

boisterous, 

And  thou  mak'st  virtue  shake  at  this  high  storm  ! 
She  is  3  of  good  report ;  I  know  thou  know'st  it. 
MRS  BAR.  She  is  not,  nor  I  know  not,  but  I 

know 

That  thou  dost  love  her,  therefore  think'st  her  so  ; 
Thou  bear'st  with  her,  because  she  bears  with  thee. 
Thou  may'st  be  ashamed  to  stand  in  her  defence  : 
She  is  a  strumpet,  and  thou  art  no  honest  man 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit,  women's. 

2  Qy-  for  an  ? 

3  [Old  copies,  She's.]    Read,  fpr  the  metre,  She  is. 
VOL.  VII.  T 


290  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

To  stand  in  her  defence  against  thy  wife. 

If  I  catch  her  in  my  walk,  now,  by  Cock's l  bones, 

I'll  scratch  out  both  her  eyes. 

MR  BAR.  0  God  ! 

MRS  BAR.  Nay,  never  say  "0  God"  for  the 

matter : 

Thou  art  the  cause ;  thou  bad'st  her  to  my  house, 
Only  to  blear  the  eyes  of  Goursey,  did'st  not  ? 
But  I  will  send  him  word,  I  warrant  thee, 
And  ere  I  sleep  too,  trust  upon  it,  sir.  [Exit. 

MR   BAR.  Methinks  this  is  a  mighty  fault  in 

her; 

I  could  be  angry  with  her  :  0,  if  I  be  so, 
I  shall  but  put  a  link  unto  a  torch, 
And  so  give  greater  light  to  see  her  fault. 
I'll  rather  smother  it  in  melancholy : 
Nay,  wisdom  bids  me  shun  that  passion ; 
Then  I  will  study  for  a  remedy. 
I  have  a  daughter, — now,  heaven  invocate, 
She  be  not  of  like  spirit  as  her  mother  ! 
If  so,  she'll  be  a  plague  unto  her  husband, 
If  that  he  be  not  patient  and  discreet, 
For  that  I  hold  the  ease  of  all  such  trouble. 
Well,  well,  I  would  my  daughter  had  a  husband, 
For  I  would  see  how  she  would  demean  herself 
In  that  estate  ;  it  may  be,  ill  enough, — 
And,  so  God  shall  help  me,  well-remembered  now  ! 
Frank  Goursey  is  his  father's  son  and  heir  : 
A  youth  that  in  my  heart  I  have  good  hope  on ; 
My  senses  say  a  match,  my  soul  applauds 
The  motion  :  0,  but  his  lands  are  great, 
He  will  look  high ;  why,  I  will  strain  myself 
To  make  her  dowry  equal  with  his  land. 
Good  faith,  and  'twere  a  match,  'twould  be  a  means 
To   make  their  mothers   friends.      I'll   call   my 
daughter, 

1  A  corruption  of  God's. 


OF  ABINGTOX.  201 

To  see  how  she's  dispos'd  to  marriage. — 
Mall,  where  are  ye  ? 

Enter  MALL. 

MALL.  Father,  here  I  am. 

MR  BAR.  Where  is  your  mother  ? 

MALL.  I  saw  her  not,  forsooth,  since  you  and 

she 
Went  walking  both  together  to  the  garden. 

MR  BAR.  Dost  thou  hear  me,  girl  ?  I  must  dis- 
pute with  thee. 
MALL.  Father,  the  question  then  must  not  be 

hard, 
For  I  am  very  weak  in  argument. 

MR  BAR.  Well,  this  it  is;   I  say  'tis  good  to 

marry. 

MALL.  And  this  say  I,  'tis  not  good  to  marry. 
MR  BAR.  Were  it  not  good,  then  all  men  would 

not  marry ; 
But  now  they  do. 

MALL.  Marry,  not  all ;  but  it  is  good  to  marry. 
MR  BAR.  Is  it  both  good  and  bad ;  how  can 

this  be? 

MALL.  Why,  it  is  good  to  them  that  marry  well ; 
To  them  that  marry  ill,  no  greater  hell. 

MR  BAR.    If  thou  might  marry  well,  wouldst 

thou  agree  1 
MALL.  I  cannot  tell ;  heaven  must  appoint  for 

me. 
MR  BAR.  Wench,  I  am  studying  for  thy  good 

indeed. 
MALL.  My  hopes  and  duty  wish  your  thoughts 

good  speed. 
MR  BAR.  But  tell  me,  wench,  hast  thou  a  mind 

to  marry  ? 

MALL.  This  question  is  too  hard  for  bashfulness  ; 
And,  father,  now  ye  pose  my  modesty. 


292  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

I  am  a  maid,  and  when  ye  ask  me  thus, 

I,  like  a  maid,  must  blush,  look  pale  and  wan, 

And  then  look  red l  again  ;  for  we  change  colour, 

As  our  thoughts  change.     With  true-fac'd  passion 

Of  modest  maidenhead  I  could  adorn  me, 

And  to  your  question  make  a  sober  cour'sey, 

And  with  close-clipp'd  civility  be  silent ; 

Or  else  say  "  No,  forsooth,"  or  "  Ay,  forsooth." 

If  I  said,  "  No,  forsooth,"  I  lied  forsooth  : 

To  lie  upon  myself  were  deadly  sin, 

Therefore  I  will  speak  truth  and  shame  the  devil. 

Father,  when  first  I  heard  ye  name  a  husband, 

At  that  same  very  time  my  spirits  quickened. 

Despair  before  had  kill'd  them,  they  were  dead  : 

Because  it  was  my  hap  so  long  to  tarry, 

I  was  persuaded  I  should  never  marry ; 

And  sitting  sewing  thus  upon  the  ground, 

I  fell  in  trance  of  meditation ; 

But  coming  to  myself,  "  0  Lord,"  said  I, 

"  Shall  it  be  so  ?  must  I  unmarried  die  1* 

And,  being  angry,  father,  farther,  said — 

"  Now,  by  Saint  Anne,  I  will  not  die  a  maid  !" 

Good  faith,  before  I  came  to  this  ripe  growth, 

I  did  accuse  the  labouring  time  of  sloth  ; 

Methought  the  year  did  run  but  slow  about, 

For  I  thought  each  year  ten  I  was  without. 

Being  fourteen  and  toward  the  tother  year, 

Good  Lord,  thought  I,  fifteen  will  ne'er  be  here  ! 

For  I  have  heard  my  mother  say  that  then 

Pretty  maids  were  fit  for  handsome  men : 

Fifteen  past,  sixteen,  and  seventeen  too, 

What,  thought  I,  will  not  this  husband  do  ? 

Will  no  man  marry  me  1  have  men  forsworn 

Such  beauty  and  such  youth  ?  shall  youth  be  worn 

As  rich  men's  gowns,  more  with  age  than  use  ? 

Why,  then  I  let  restrained  fancy  loose, 

1  [Old  copies,  pale.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  293 

And  bad  it  gaze  for  pleasure ;  then  love  swore  me 
To  do  whate'er  my  mother  did  before  me  ; 
Yet,  in  good  faith,  I  have  been  very  loth, 
But  now  it  lies  in  you  to  save  my  oath  : 
It'  I  shall  have  a  husband,  get  him  quickly, 
For  maids  that  wear  cork  shoes  may  step  awry. 

MR  BAR.  Believe  me,  wench,  I  do  not  reprehend l 

thee, 

But  for  this  pleasant  answer  do  commend  thee. 
I  must  confess,  love  doth  thee  mighty  wrong, 
But  I  will  see  thee  have  thy  right  ere  long ; 
I  know  a  young  man,  whom  I  hold  most  fit 
To  have  thee  both  for  living  and  for  wit : 
I  will  go  write  about  it  presently. 

MALL.  Good  father,  do.  [Exit  [BARNES]. 

0  God,  methinks  I  should 
Wife  it  as  fine  as  any  woman  could  ! 
I  could  carry  a  port  to  be  obeyed, 
Carry  a  mastering  eye  upon  my  maid, 
With  "  Minion,  do  your  business,  or  I'll  make  ye," 
And  to  all  house  authority  betake  me. 
0  God  !  would  I  were  married  !  by  my  troth, 
But  if  I  be  not.  I  swear  111  keep  my  oath. 

Enter  MRS  BARNES. 

MRS  BAR.  How  now,  minion,  where  have  you 

been  gadding  1 
MALL.  Forsooth,  my  father  called  me  forth  to 

him. 
MRS  BAR.  Your  father !   and  what  said  he  to 

ye.  I  pray  ? 

MALL.  Nothing,  forsooth. 
MRS  BAR.  Nothing  !  that  cannot  be ;  something 

he  said. 

1  Edits.,  apprehend,  but  certainly  Mall  had  spoken  with 
sufficient  plainness. 


294  THE   TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

MALL.  Ay,  something  that  as  good  as  nothing 

was. 

MRS  BAR.  Come,  let  me  hear  that  something- 
nothing,  then. 

MALL.  Nothing  but  of  a  husband  for  me,  mother. 
MRS  BAR.  A   husband !  that   was   something  ; 

but  what  husband  1 
MALL.  Nay,  faith,  I  know  not,  mother :  would 

I  did!    ' 
MRS  BAR.  Ay,  "  would  ye  did  !"  i'  faith,  are  ye 

so  hasty  ? 

MALL.  Hasty,  mother  !  why,  how  old  am  1 1 
MRS  BAR.  Too  young  to  marry. 
,MALL.  Nay,  by  the  mass,  ye  lie. 

Mother,  how  old  were  you  when  you  did  marry  1 
MRS  BAR.  How  old  soe'er  I  was,  yet  you  shall 

tarry. 
MALL.  Then  the  worse  for  me.     Hark,  mother, 

hark! 

The  priest  forgets  that  e'er  he  was  a  clerk : 
When  you  were  at  my  years,  I'll  hold  my  life, 
Your  mind  was  to  change  maidenhead  for  wife. 
Pardon  me,  mother,  I  am  of  your  mind, 
And,  by  my  troth,  I  take  it  but  by  kind.1 

MRS  BAR.  Do  ye  hear,  daughter  1  you  shall  stay 

my  leisure. 
MALL.  Do  you  hear,  mother  1  would  you  stay 

from  pleasure, 
When  ye  have  mind  to  it?     Go  to,  there's  no 

wrong 

Like  this,  to  let  maids  lie  alone  so  long : 
Lying  alone  they  muse  but  in  their  beds, 
How  they  might   lose    their  long-kept    maiden- 
heads. 

This  is  the  cause  there  is  so  many  scapes, 
For  women  that  are  wise  will  not  lead  apes 

1  i.e.,  Nature. 


OF  ABINGTON.  295 

In  hell :  I  tell  ye,  mother,  I  say  true ; 
Therefore  come  husband :  maidenhead  adieu  ! 

[Exit. 
MRS  BAR.  Well,  lusty  guts,  I  mean  to  make  ye 

stay, 

And   set   some   rubs   in    your   mind's    smoothest 
way.1 

Enter  PHILIP. 

PHIL.  Mother 

MRS  BAR.  How  now,  sirrah  j  where  have  you 

been  walking  ? 
PHIL.    Over    the   meads,   half-way  to   Milton, 

mother, 

To  bear  my  friend,  Frank  Goursey,  company. 
MRS  BAR.  Where's  your  blue  coat,2  your  sword 

and  buckler,  sir  1 

Get  you  such  like  habit  for  a  serving-man, 
If  you  will  wait  upon  the  brat  of  Goursey. 

PHIL.  Mother,  that  you  are  mov'd,  this  makes 

me  wonder ; 

When  I  departed,  I  did  leave  ye  friends  : 
What  undigested  jar  hath  since  betided  1 

MRS  BAR.  Such    as   almost    doth    choke    thy 

mother,  boy, 

And  stifles  her  with  the  conceit  of  it ; 
I  am  abus'd,  my  son,  by  Goursey's  wife. 
PHIL.  By  Mistress  Goursey. 
MRS  BAR.  Mistress  Flirt — yea,3  foul  strumpet, 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  nay. 

2  The  common  dress  of  a  serving-man. 

3  Edits.,  you,  which,  perhaps,  is  the  right  reading,  some 
word  having  dropp'd  out  after  it.     Qy.  thus — 

"  MRS  BAR.  Mistresse  flurt,  you  mean, 

Foule  strumpet,  light  a  loue,  short  heeles  I    Mistresse  Goursey 
Call  her,"  &c. 

— Dyce.    [But  yea  seems  to  be  the  more  likely  word.] 


296  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Light-a-love,  short-heels  !    Mistress  Goursey 
Call  her  again,  and  thou  wert  better  no. 

PHIL.  0  my  dear  mother,  have  some  patience  ! 

MRS  BAR.  Ay,  sir,  have  patience,  and  see  your 

father 

To  rifle  up  the  treasure  of  my  love, 
And  play  the  spendthrift  upon  such  an  harlot ! 
This  same  will  make  me  have  patience,  will  it  not  ] 

PHIL.  This  same  is  women's  most  impatience  : 
Yet,  mother,  I  have  often  heard  ye  say, 
That  you  have  found  my  father  temperate, 
And  ever  free  from  such  affections. 

MRS  BAR.  Ay,  till l  my  too  much  love  did  glut 

his  thoughts, 
And  make  him  seek  for  change. 

PHIL.  O,  change  your  mind  ! 
My  father  bears  more  cordial  love  to  you. 

MRS  BAR.  Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  for  he  loves 

Goursey's  wife, 
Not  me. 

PHIL.  Now  I  swear,  mother,  you  are  much  to 

blame ; 
I  durst  be  sworn  he  loves  you  as  his  soul. 

MRS  BAR.  Wilt  thou  be  pampered  by  affection  1 
Will  nature  teach  thee  such  vild  2  perjury  1 
Wilt  thou  be  sworn,  ay,  forsworn,3  careless  boy  ? 
And  if  thou  swear't,  I  say  he  loves  me  not. 

PHIL.  [Mother]  he  loves4  ye  but  too  well,  I  swear, 
Unless  ye  knew  much  better  how  to  use  him. 

MRS  BAR.  Doth  he  so,  sir  ?  thou  unnatural  boy ! 
"  Too  well,"  sayest  thou  ?  that  word  shall  cost  thee 5 

somewhat : 

0  monstrous  !  have  I  brought  thee  up  to  this  ? 
"  Too  well ! "     0  unkind,  wicked,  and  degenerate, 


1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  tell.  2  i.e.,  Vile. 

3  Edits. .forlorn.  4  Qy.,  Mother,  he  loves  ? 

5  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  the. 


OF  ABINGTOX.  297 

Hast  thou  the  heart  to  say  so  of  thy  mother  ? 
"Well,  God  will  plague  thee  for't,  I  warrant  thee  : 
Out  on  thee,  villain  !  fie  upon  thee,  wretch  ! 
Out  of  my  sight,  out  of  my  sight,  I  say  ! 

PHIL.  This  air  is  pleasant,  and  doth  please  me 

well, 
And  here  I  will  stay. 

MRS  BAR.  Wilt  thou,  stubborn  villain  1 

Enter  MR  BARNES. 

MR  BAR.  How  now,  what's  the  matter  ? 

MRS  BAR.  Thou  sett'st  thy  son  to  scoff  and  mock 

at  me : 

Is't  not  sufficient  I  am  wrong'd  of  thee, 
But  he  must  be  an  agent  to  abuse  me  ? 
Must  I  be  subject  to  my  cradle  too  1 

0  God,  0  God,  amend  it  !  [Exit. 
MR  BAR.  Why,  how  now,  Philip?  is  this  true, 

my  son  ? 

PHIL.  Dear  father,  she  is  much  impatient : 
Ne'er  let  that  hand  assist  me  in  my  need. 
If  I  more  said  than  that  she  thought  amiss 
To  think  that  you  were  so  licentious  given ; 
And  thus  much  more,  when  she  inferr'd  it  more, 

1  swore  an  oath  you  lov'd  her  but  too  well : 
In  that  as  guilty  I  do  hold  myself. 

Now  that  I  come  to  more  considerate  trial, 
I  know  my  fault :  I  should  have  borne  with  her  : 
Blame  me  for  rashness,  then,  not  for  want  of  duty. 
MR  BAR.  I  do  absolve  thee ;  and  come  hither, 

Philip : 

I  have  writ  a  letter  unto  Master  Goursey, 
And  I  will  tell  thee  the  contents  thereof ; 
But  tell  me  first,  think'st  thou  Frank  Goursey 

loves  thee  ? 

PHIL.  If  that  a  man  devoted  to  a  man, 
Loyal,  religious  in  love's  hallowed  vows — 


298  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

If  that  a  man  that  is  sole  laboursome 
To  work  his  own  thoughts  to  his  friend's  delight, 
May  purchase  good  opinion  with  his  friend, 
Then  I  may  say,  I  have  done  this  so  well, 
That  I  may  think  Frank  Goursey  loves  me  well. 

MR  BAR.  ;Tis  well ;  and  I  am  much  deceived  in 

him, 
And  if  he  be  not  sober,  wise,  and  valiant. 

PHIL.  I  hope  my  father  takes  me  for  thus  wise, 
I  will  not  glue  myself  in  love  to  one 
That  hath  not  some  desert  of  virtue  in  him  : 
Whate'er  you  think  of  him.  believe  me,  father, 
He  will  be  answerable  to  your  thoughts 
In  any  quality  commendable. 

MR  BAR.  Thou  cheer'st  my  hopes  in  him ;  and, 

in  good  faith, 

Thou'st 1  made  my  love  complete  unto  thy  friend  : 
Philip,  I  love  him,  and  I  love  him  so, 
I  could  afford  him  a  good  wife,  I  know. 

PHIL.  Father,  a  wife  ! 

MR  BAR.  Philip,  a  wife. 

PHIL.  I  lay  my  life — my  sister  ! 

MR  BAR.  Ay,  in  good  faith. 

PHIL.  Then,  father,  he  shall  have  her ;  he  shall, 
I  swear. 

MR  BAR.  How  canst  thou  say  so,  knowing  not 
his  mind  ? 

PHIL.    All's  one  for  that;   I  will  go    to  him 

straight. 

Father,  if  you  would  seek  this  seven-years'-day, 
You  could  not  find  a  fitter  match  for  her ; 
And  he  shall  have  her,  I  swear  he  shall ; 
He  were  as  good  be  hanged,  as  once  deny  2  her. 
I'  faith,  I'll  to  him. 

MR  BAR.  Hairbrain,  hairbrain,  stay  ! 
As  yet  we  do  not  know  his  father's  mind  : 

1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  Thaust.  2  i.e.,  Refuse. 


OF  ABINGTON.  299 

Why,  what  will  Master  Goursey  say,  my  son, 
If  we  should  motion  it  without  his  knowledge  1 
Go  to,  he's  a  wise  and  discreet  gentleman, 
And  that  expects  from  me  all  honest  parts ; 
Nor  shall  he  fail  his  expectation  ; 
First  I  do  mean  to  make  him  privy  to  it : 
Philip,  this  letter  is  to  that  effect. 

PHIL.  Father,  for  God's J  sake,  send  it  quickly, 

then  : 

I'll  call  your  man.     What,  Hugh  !  where's  Hugh, 
there,  ho  1 

MR  BAR.  Philip,  if  this  would  prove  a  match, 
It  were  the  only  means  that  could  be  found 
To    make    thy    mother    friends    with     Mistress 
Goursey. 

PHIL.  How,  a  match  !  I'll  warrant  ye,  a  match. 
My  sister's  fair,  Frank  Goursey  he  is  rich ; 
Her  2  dowry,  too,  will  be  sufficient ; 
Frank's  young,3  and  youth  is  apt  to  love  ; 
And,  by  my  troth,  my  sister's  maidenhead 
Stands  like  a  game  at  tennis  :  if  the  ball 
Hit  into  the  hole,  or  hazard,  farewell  all : 

MR  BAR.  How  now,  where's  Hugh  1 

[Enter  NICHOLAS.] 

PHIL.  Why,  what  doth  this  proverbial  with  us  ] 
Why,  where's  Hugh  ? 

MR  BAR.  Peace,  peace. 

PHIL.  Where's  Hugh,  I  say? 

MR  BAR.  Be  not  so  hasty,  Philip. 

PHIL.  Father,  let  me  alone, 
I  do  it  but  to  make  myself  some  sport. 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  Gads. 

2  Edits.,  His. 

3  Qy.,  Franke  he  is  young  ?     Compare  the  preceding  line 
but  one. 


300  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

This  formal  fool,  your  man,  speaks  nought  but 

proverbs, 

And  speak  men  what  they  can  to  him,  he'll  answer 
With  some  rhyme-rotten  sentence  or  old  saying, 
Such  spokes  as  th'  ancient  of  the  parish  use, 
With,   "  Neighbour,   'tis   an   old   proverb   and   a 

true, 
Goose  giblets  are  good  meat,  old  sack  better  than 

new  ; " 

Then  says  another,  "Neighbour,  that  is  true ;  " 
And    when    each    man    hath   drunk   his   gallon 

round — 

A  penny  pot,  for  that's  the  old  man's  gallon — 
Then  doth  he  lick  his  lips,  and  stroke  his  beard, 
That's  glued  together  with  his  slavering  drops 
Of  yeasty  ale,  and  when  he  scarce  can  trim 
His  gouty  fingers,  thus  he'll  phillip  it, 
And  with  a  rotten  hem,  say,  "  Ay,  my  hearts, 
Merry  go  sorry  !  cock  and  pie,  my  hearts  "  ! 
But  then  their  saving  penny  proverb  comes, 
And  that  is  this,  "  They  that  will  to  the  wine, 
By'r  Lady1   mistress,    shall   lay  their   penny  to 

mine." 

This  was  one  of  this  penny-father's  2  bastards, 
•For,  on  my  life,  he  was  never 3  begot 
Without    the    consent   of    some   great   proverb- 
monger. 

MR  BAR.  0,  ye  are  a  wag. 
PHIL.  Well,  now  unto  my  business. 
'Swounds,  will  that  mouth,  that's  made  of  old-said 

saws 
And  nothing  else,  say  nothing  to  us  now  1 

NlCH.  0  Master  Philip,  forbear ;  you  must  not 
leap  over  the  stile,  before  you  come  at  it ;  haste 
makes  waste ;  soft  fire  makes  sweet  malt ;  not  too 

1  i.e.,  By  our  lady.  2  i.e.,  Miserly  persons. 

3  The  author  probably  wrote  neuer  was. 


OF   ABINGTOX.  301 

fast  for  falling;    there's  no  haste    to   hang  true 
men.1 

PHIL.  Father,  we  ha't,  ye  see,  we  ha't.  Now 
will  I  see  if  my  memory  will  serve  for  some  pro- 
verbs too.  0 — a  painted  cloth  were  as  well  worth 
a  shilling  as  a  thief  worth  a  halter ;  well,  after  my 
hearty  commendations,  as  I  was  at  the  making 
hereof;  so  it  is,  that  I  hope  as  you  speed,  so 
you're  sure ;  a  swift  horse  will  tire,  but  he  that 
trots  easily  will  endure.  You  have  most  learnedly 
proverb'd  it,  commending  the  virtue  of  patience 
or  forbearance,  but  yet,  you  know,  forbearance  is 
no  quittance. 

NICH.  I  promise  ye,  Master  Philip,  you  have 
spoken  as  true  as  steel. 

PHIL.  Father,  there's  a  proverb  well  applied. 

NICH.  And  it  seemeth  unto  me,  ay,  it  seems  to 
me,  that  you,  Master  Philip,  mock  me :  do  you 
not  know,  qui  mocat  mocabitur  ?  mock  age,  and  see 
how  it  will  prosper. 

PHIL.  Why,  ye  whoreson  proverb-book  bound 

up  in  folio, 

Have  ye  no  other  sense  to  answer  me 
But  every  word  a  proverb  ?  no  other  English  ? 
Well,  I'll  fulfil  a  proverb  on  thee  straight. 

NiCH.  What  is  it,  sir  ? 

PHIL.  I'll  fetch  my  fist  from  thine  ear. 

NIGH.  Bear  witness,  he  threatens  me  ! 

PHIL.  That  same  is  the  coward's  common  pro- 
verb. 
But  come,  come,  sirrah,  tell  me  where  Hugh  is. 

NiCH.  I  may,  and  I  will ;  I  need  not,  except  I 
list ;  you  shall  not  command  me,  you  give  me 
neither  meat,  drink,  nor  wages;  I  am  your 
father's  man,  and  a  man's  a  man,  and  a  have  but 
a  hose  on  his  head ;  do  not  misuse  me  so,  do  not ; 

1  i.e.,  Honest  m.en. 


302  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

for  though  he  that  is  bound  must  obey,  yet  he 
that  will  not  tarry,  may l  run  away — so  he  may. 

MR  BAR.  Peace,  Nick,  I'll  see  he  shall  use  thee 

well ; 

Go  to,  peace,  sirrah  :  here,  Nick,  take  this  letter, 
Carry  it  to  him  to  whom  it  is  directed. 

NIGH.  To  whom  is  it  ? 

MR  BAR.  Why,  read  it :  canst  thou  read  ? 

NlCH.  Forsooth,  though  none  of  the  best,  yet 
meanly. 

MR  BAR.  Why,  dost  thou  not  use  it  ? 

NlCH.  Forsooth,  as  use  makes  perfectness,  so 
seldom  seen  is  soon  forgotten. 

MR  BAR.  Well-said  :  but  go ;   it  is  to  Master 
Goursey. 

PHIL.  Now,  sir,  what  proverb  have  ye  to  deliver 
a  letter  ? 

NlCH.  What  need  you  to  care  ?  who  speaks  to 
you  1  you  may  speak  when  ye  are  spoken  to,  and 
keep  your  wind  to  cool  your  pottage.  Well,  well, 
you  are  my  master's  son,  and  you  look  for  his 
land;  but  they  that  hope  for  dead  men's  shoes 
may  hap  go  barefoot :  take  heed,  as  soon  goes  the 
young  sheep  to  the  pot  as  the  old.  I  pray  God 
save  my  master's  life,  for  seldom  comes  the 
better  ! 

PHIL.  0,  he  hath  given  it  me  !     Farewell,  Pro- 
verbs. 

NIGH.  Farewell,  frost.2 

PHIL.  Shall  I  fling  an  old  shoe  after  ye  ? 

NIGH.  No ;    you   should   say,   God    send    fair 
weather  after  me ! 

PHIL.  I  mean  for  good  luck. 

NIGH.  A  good  luck  on  ye  !  [Exit. 

MR  BAR.  Alas,  poor  fool !  he  uses  all  his  wit. 


1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  ma. 

2  [See  Hazlitt's  "  Proverbs,"  1869,  p.  128.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  303 

Philip,  in  faith 1  this  mirth  hath  cheered  thought, 

And  cosen'd  it  of  his  right  play  of  passion. 

Go  after  Nick,  and,  when  thou  think'st  he's  there, 

Go  in  and  urge  to  that  which  I  have  writ : 

I'll  iir  these  meadows  make  a  circling  walk, 

And  in  my  meditation  conjure  so, 

As  that  same  2  fiend  of  thought,  self-eating  anger, 

Shall  by  my  spells  of  reason  3  vanish  quite  : 

Away,  and  let  me  hear  from  thee  to-night. 

PHIL.  To-night !  yes,  that  you  shall :  but  hark 

ye,  father ; 

Look  that  you  my  sister  waking  keep, 
For  Frank,  I  swear,  shall  kiss  her,  ere  I  sleep. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  FRANK  and  BOY. 

FRAN.  I  am  very  dry  with  walking  o'er  the 

green. — 
Butler,  some  beer  !     Sirrah,  call  the  butler. 

BOY,  Nay,  faith,  sir,  we  must  have  some  smith 
to  give  the  butler  a  drench,  or  cut  him  in  the  fore- 
head, for  he  hath  got  a  horse's  disease,  namely  the 
staggers ;  to-night  he's  a  good  huswife,  he  reels  all 
that  he  wrought  to-day ;  and  he  were  good  now  to 
play  at  dice,  for  he  casts 4  excellent  well. 

FRAN.  How  mean'st  thou  1  is  he  drunk  ? 

BOY.  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  am  sure  he  hath  more 
liquor  in  him  than  a  whole  dicker  of  hides  ;  he's 
soak'd  throughly,  i'  faith. 

FRAN.  Well,  go  and  call  him ;  bid  him  bring 
me  drink. 

BOY.  I  will,  sir.  [Exit. 


1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  faith  in. 

2  Edits.,  some.  3  Edits.,  treason. 

4  i.e.,  Vomits  :  a  common  pun  in  old  dramas. 


304  THE  TWO   ANGRY   WOMEN 

FnAN.  My  mother  pouts,  and  will  look  merrily 
Neither  upon  my  father  nor  on  me  : 
He  says  she  fell  out  with  Mistress  Barnes  to-day  ; 
Then  I  am  sure  they'll  not  be  quickly  friends. 
Good  Lord,  what  kind  of  creatures  women  are  ! 
Their  love  is  lightly  l  won  and  lightly  lost ; 
And  then  their  hate  is  deadly  and  extreme  : 
He  that  doth  take  a  wife  betakes  himself 
To  all  the  cares  and  troubles  of  the  world. 
Now  her  disquietness  doth  grieve  my  father, 
Grieves  me.  and  troubles  all  the  house  besides. 
What,  shall  I  have  some  drink?     [Horn  sounded 

within] — How  now  ?  a  horn  ! 
Belike  the  drunken  knave  is  fall'n  asleep, 
And  now  the  boy  doth  wake  him  with  his  horn. 

Enter  BOY. 

How  now,  sirrah,  where's  the  butler  ? 

BOY.  Marry,  sir,  where  he  was  even  now,  asleep  ; 
but  I  wak'd  him,  and  when  he  wak'd  he  thought 
he  was  in  Master  Barnes's  buttery,  for  he  stretch'd 
himself  thus,  and  yawning,  said,  "  Nick,  honest 
Nick,  fill  a  fresh  bowl  of  ale  ;  stand  to  it,  Nick, 
and  thou  beest  a  man  of  God's  making,  stand  to 
ife  ; "  and  then  I  winded  my  horn,  and  he's  horn- 
mad. 

Enter  HODGE. 

HOD.  Boy,  hey !  ho,  boy !  and  thou  beest  a 
man,  draw. — 0,  here's  a  blessed  moonshine,  God 
be  thanked  ! — Boy,  is  not  this  goodly  weather  for 
barley  1 

BOY.  Spoken  like  a  right  malster,  Hodge  :  but 
dost  thou  hear "?  thou  art  not  drunk  ? 

HOD.  No,  I  scorn  that,  i'  faith. 

1  i.e.,  Easily. 


OF  ABINGTON.  305 

BOY.1  But  thy  fellow  Dick  Coomes  is  mightily 
drunk. 

HOD.*  Drunk  !  a  plague  on  it,  when  a  man  can- 
not carry  his  drink  well !  'sblood,  I'll  stand  to  it. 

BOY.  Hold,  man;  see,  and  thou  canst  stand 
first. 

HOD.  Drunk  !  he's  a  beast,  and  he  be  drunk ; 
there's  no  man  that  is  a  sober  man  will  be  drunk ; 
he's  a  boy,  and  he  be  drunk. 

BOY.  No,  he's  a  man  as  thou  art. 

HOD.  Thus  'tis,  when  a  man  will  not  be  ruled 
by  his  friends  :  I  bad  him  keep  under  the  lee,  but 
he  kept  down  the  weather  two  bows  ;  I  told  him 
lie  would  be  taken  with  a  planet,  but  the  wisest  of 
us  all  may  fall. 

BOY.  True,  Hodge.  [Boy  trips  him. 

HOD.  Whoop  !  lend  me  thy  hand,  Dick,  I  am 
fall'n  into  a  well ;  lend  me  thy  hand,  I  shall  be 
drowned  else. 

BOY.  Hold  fast  by  the  bucket,  Hodge. 

HOD.  A  rope  on  it ! 

BOY.  Ay,  there  is  a  rope  on  it ;  but  where  art 
thou,  Hodge  ? 

HOD.  In  a  well ;  I  prythee,  draw  up. 

BOY.  Come,  give  up  thy  body  ;  wind  up,  hoist 

HOD.  I  am  over  head  and  ears. 

BOY.  In  all,  Hodge,  in  all. 

FRAN.  How  loathsome  is  this  beast-man's  shape 

to  me, 

This  mould  of  reason  so  unreasonable  ! — 
Sirrah,  why  dost  thou  trip  him  down,  seeing  he's 
drunk  ? 

BOY.    Because,   sir,   I   would  have   drunkards 
cheap.2 

FRAN.  How  mean  ye  1 

1  Edits.,  But. 

2  So  second  edit.,    First  edit.,  cehape. 
VOL.  VII.  U 


306  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

BOY.  Why,  they  say  that,  when  anything  hath 
a  fall,  it  is  cheap  ;  and  so  of  drunkards. 

FRAN.  Go  to,  help  him  up  :  [Knocking  witliout\ 
but,  hark,  who  knocks  1 

[BOY  goes  to  the  door,  and  returns.] 

BOY.  Sir,  here's  one  of  Master  Barnes's  men 
with  a  letter  to  my  old  master. 

FRAN.  Which  of  them  is  it  1 

BOY.  They  call  him  Nicholas,  sir. 

FRAN.  Go,  call  him  in.  [Exit  BOY.] 

Enter  COOMES. 

COOMES.  By  your  leave,  ho. !  How  now,  young 
master,  how  is't  1 

FRAN.  Look  ye,  sirrah,  where  your  fellow  lies  ; 
He's  x  in  a  fine  taking,  is  he  not  1 

COOMES.  Whoop,  Hodge  !  where  art  thou,  man. 
where  art  thou  ? 

HOD.  0,  in  a  well. 

COOMES.  In  a  well,  man  !  nay,  then,  thou  art 
deep  in  understanding. 

FRAN.  Ay.  once  to-day  you  were  almost  so,  sir. 

COOMES.  Who,  I !  go  to,  young  master,  I  do 
not  like  this  humour  in  ye,  I  tell  ye  true ;  give 
every  man  his  due,  and  give  him  no  more  :  say  I 
was  in  such  a  case  !  go  to,  'tis  the  greatest  indig- 
nation that  can  be  offered  to  a  man  ;  and,  but  a 
man's  more  godlier  given,  you  were  able  to  make 
him  swear  out  his  heart-blood.  What,  though 
that  honest  Hodge  have  cut  his  finger  here,  or, 
as  some  say,  cut  a  feather :  what,  though  he  be 
mump,  misled,  blind,  or  as  it  were — 'tis  no  conse- 
quent to  me  :  you  know  I  have  drunk  all  the  ale- 
houses in  Abington  dry,  and  laid  the  taps  on  the 
tables,  when  I  had  done  :  ;sblood,  I'll  challenge  all 

1  Read,  for  the  metre,  He  is. 


OF  ABINGTON.  307 

the  true  rob-pots  in  Europe  to  leap  up  to  the  chin 
in  a  barrel  of  beer,  and  if  I  cannot  drink  it  down 
to  my  foot,  ere  I  leave,  and  then  set  the  tap  in 
the  midst  of  the  house,  and  then  turn  a  good  turn 
on  the  toe  on  it,  let  me  be  counted  nobody,  a 
pingler,1 — nay,  let  me  be  2  bound  to  drink  nothing 
but  small-beer  seven  years  after — and  I  had  as 
lief  be  hanged. 

Enter  NICHOLAS. 

FRAN.  Peace,   sir,  I  must   speak  with   one. — 
Nicholas,  I  think,  your  name  is. 

NICH.  True  as  the  skin  between  your  brows. 

FRAN.  Well,  how  doth  thy  master  ? 

NICH.   Forsooth,  live,  and   the   best   doth   no 

better. 

FRAN.  Where  is  the  letter  he  hath  sent  me  ? 
NlCH.  Ecce  signum  /  here  it  is. 
FRAN.  ;Tis  right  as  Philip  said,  'tis  a  fine  fool 

[Aside].— 

This  letter  is  directed  to  my  father ; 
I'll   carry  it   to  him.     Dick  Coomes,  make  him 
drink.  [Exit. 

COOMES.  Ay,  I'll  make  him  drunk,3  and  he  will. 


1  Equivalent  to — poor,  contemptible  fellow  :   but  I  must 
leave  the  reader  to  determine  the  exact  meaning  of  this 
term  of  reproach.     As  pingle  signifies  a  small  croft,  Nares 
(citing  a  passage  from  Lyly's  "  Euphues  ")  says  that  pingler 
is  "  probably  a  labouring  horse,  kept  by  a  farmer  in  his 
homestead."      "  Gloss."  in  v. — In  Brockett's   "  Gloss,   of 
North  Country  Words"  is  "  Pingle.  to  work  assiduously 
but  inefficiently, — to  labour  until  you  are  almost  blind." 
In  Forby's  "  \rocab.  of  East  Anglia  "  we  find,  "  P 'ingle,  to 
pick  one's  food,  to  eat  squeamishly  : "  arid  in  Moor's  "  Suf- 
folk Words  "  is  a  similar  explanation.     See  also  Jamieson's 
"  Et.  Diet,  of  Scott.  Lang." 

2  So  second  edit.     Not  in  first  edit. 

3  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  drinke. 


308  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

NiCH.  Not  so,  Richard ;  it  is  good  to  be  merry 
and  wise. 

DiCK1  [CooMES].  Well,  Nicholas,  as  thou  art 
Nicholas,  welcome ;  but  as  thou  art  Nicholas  and 
a  boon  companion,  ten  times  welcome.  Nicholas, 
give  me  thy  hand :  shall  we  be  merry  ?  and  we 
shall,  say  but  we  shall,  and  let  the  first  word 
stand. 

NICH.  Indeed,  as  long  lives  the  merry  man  as 
the  sad ;  an  ounce  of  debt  will  not  pay  a  pound  of 
care. 

COOMES.  Nay,  a  pound  of  care  will  not  pay  an 
ounce  of  debt. 

NICH.  Well,  'tis  a  good  horse  never  stumbles  : 
but  who  lies  here  1 

COOMES.  Tis  our  Hodge,  and  I  think  he  lies 
asleep  :  you  made  him  drunk  at  your  house  to- 
day ;  but  I'll  pepper  some  of  you  fort. 

NiCH.  Ay,  Richard,  I  know  you'll  put  a  man 
over  the  shoes,  and  if  you  can  ;  but  he's  a  fool  will 
take  more  than  will  do  him  good. 

COOMES.  'Sblood,  ye  shall  take  more  than  will  do 
ye  good,  or  I'll  make  ye  clap  under  the  table. 

NiCH.  Nay,  I  hope,  as  I  have  temperance  to 
forbear  drink,  so  have  I  patience  to  endure  drink  : 
I'll  do  as  company  doth ;  for  when  a  man  doth  to 
Rome  come,  he  must  do  as  there  is  done.2 

COOMES.  Ha,  my  resolved  Nick,  froligozene  ! 
Fill  the  pot,  hostess  ;  swouns,  you  whore  !  Harry 
Hook's  a  rascal.  Help  me,  but  carry  my  fellow 
Hodge  in,  and  we'll  c'rouse  3  it,  i'  faith.  \Exe nnt. 


So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  Nick. 

[This  is  probably  intended  to  run  into  verse — 

"For  when  a  man  doth  to  Rome  come, 
He  must  do  as  there  is  done."] 

[Old  copies,  crush.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  309 

Enter  PHILIP. 

PHIL.  By  this,  I  think,  the  letter  is  delivered. 
And  'twill  be  shortly  time  that  I  step  in, 
And  woo  their  favours  for  my  sister's  fortune  : 
And  yet  I  need  not ;  she  may  do  as  well, 
But  yet  not  better,  as  the  case  doth  stand, 
Between  our  mothers  ;  it  may  make  them  friends  : 
Nay,  I  would  swear  that  she  would  do  as  well, 
Were  she  a  stranger  to  one  quality, 
But  they  are  so  acquainted,  they'll  ne'er  part. 
Why,  she  will  flout  the  devil,  and  make  blush 
The  boldest  face  of  man  that  e'er  man  saw ; 
He  that  hath  best  opinion  of  his  wit, 
And  hath  his  brainpan  fraught  with  bitter  jests, 
Or  of  his  own,  or  stol'n,  or  howsoever, 
Let  him  stand  ne'er  so  high  in  his  own  conceit, 
Her  wit's  a  sun  that  melts  him  down  like  butter, 
And  makes  him  sit  at  table  pancake-wise, 
Flat,  flat,  God  knows,  and  ne'er  a  word  to  say ; 
Yet  she'll  not  leave  him  then,  but  like  a  tyrant 
She'll  persecute  the  poor  wit-beaten  man, 
And  so  bebang  him  with  dry  bobs  and  scoffs, 
When  he  is  down,  most  coward-like,  good  faith, 
As  I  have  pitied  the  poor  patient. 
There  came  a  farmer's  son  a-wooing  to  her, 
A  proper  man  :  well-landed  too  he  was, 
A  man  that  for  his  wit  need  not  to  ask 
What  time  a  year  'twere  good  to  sow  his  oats, 
Nor  yet  his  barley ;  no,  nor  when  to  reap, 
To  plough  his  fallows,  or  to  fell  his  trees, 
Well-experienc'd  thus  each  kind  of  way  ; 
After  a  two  months'  labour  at  the  most — 
And  yet  'twas  well  he  held  it  out  so  long — 
He  left  his  love,  she  had  so  lac'd  his  lips 
He  could  say  nothing  to  her  but  "  God  be  with 

ye!" 
Why  she,  when  men  have  din'd  and  call  for  cheese. 


310  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Will  straight  maintain  jests  bitter  to  disgest ; l 
And  then  some  one  will  fall  to  argument, 
Who  if  he  over-master  her  with  reason, 
Then  she'll  begin  to  buffet  him  with  mocks. 
Well,  I  do  doubt  Francis  hath  so  much  spleen, 
They'll  ne'er  agree ;  but  I  will  moderate. 
By  this  time  it  is  time,  I  think,  to  enter  : 
This  is  the  house  ;  shall  I  knock  1  no  ;  I  will  not, 
[Nor]  wait,  while  one  comes  out  to  answer  [me] : 2 
I'll  in,  and  let  them  be  as  bold  with  us.          [Exit. 

Enter  MASTER  GOURSEY,  reading  a  letter. 

MR  GOUR.  //  that  they  like,  her  dowry  shall  be 

equal 

To  your  son's  wealth  or  possibility  : 
It  is  a  means  to  make  our  wives  good  friends, 
And  to  continue  friendship  'tivixt  us  two. 
'Tis  so,  indeed  :  I  like  this  motion, 
And  it  hath  my  consent,  because  my  wife 
Is  sore  infected  and  heart-sick  with  hate ; 
And  I  have  sought  the  Galen  of  advice, 
Which  only  tells  me  this  same  potion 
To  be  most  sovereign  for  her  sickness'  cure. 

Enter  FRANK  and  PHILIP. 

Here  comes  my  son,  conferring  with  his  friend. — 
Francis,  how  do  you  like  your  friend's  discourse  ? 
I  know  he  is  persuading  to  this  motion. 

FRAN.  Father,  as  matter  that  befits  a  friend, 
But  yet  not  me,  that  am  too  young  to  marry. 

MR  GOUR.  Nay,  if  thy  mind  be  forward  with 

thy  years, 
The  time  is  lost  thou  tarriest.     Trust  me,  boy, 


1  A  form  of  digest,  common  in  our  early  writers. 

2  [This  emendation  was  suggested  by  Dyce.] 


OF  ABINGTON,  311 

This  match  is  answerable  to  thy  birth ; 

Her  blood  and  portion  give  each  other  grace ; 

These  indented  lines  promise  a  sum, 

And  I  do  like  the  value  :  if  it  hap 

Thy  liking  to  accord  to  my  consent, 

It  is  a  match.     Wilt  thou  go  see  the  maid  (\ 

FRAN.  Ne'er  trust  me,  lather,  the  shackles  l  of 

marriage, 

Which  I  do  see  in  others,  seem  so  severe, 
I  dare  not  put  my  youngling  liberty 
Under  the  awe  of  that  instruction  ; 
And  yet  I  grant  the  limits  of  free  youth 
Going  astray  are  often  restrain'd  by  that. 
But  mistress  wedlock,  to  my  scholar-thoughts, 
Will  be  too  curs'd,  I  fear :  0,  should  she  snip 
My  pleasure- aiming  mind,  I  shall  be  sad, 
And  swear,  when  I  did  marry,  I  was  mad  ! 

MR  GOUR.  But,  boy,  let  my  experience  teach 

thee  this — 
Yet,    in    good    faith,    thou    speak' st    not    much 

amiss — 

When  first  thy  mother's  fame  to  me  did  come, 
Thy  grandsire  thus  then  came  to  me  his  son, 
And  even  my  words  to  thee  to  me  he  said, 
And  as  to  me  thou  say'st  to  him  I  said, 
But  in  a  greater  huff  and  hotter  blood, — 
I  tell  ye,  on  youth's  tip-toes  then  I  stood  : 
Says  he  (good  faith,  this  was  his  very  say), 
"  When  I  was  young,  I  was  but  reason's  fool, 
And  went  to  wedding  as  to  wisdom's  school : 
It  taught  me  much,  and  much  I  did  forget, 
But,  beaten  much,  by  it  I  got  some  wit ; 
Though  I  was  shackled  from  an  often  scout, 
Yet  I  would  wanton  it,  when  I  was  out ; 
'Twas  comfort  old  acquaintance  then  to  meet, 
Eestrained  liberty  attain'd  is  sweet." 

1  [Old  copies,  shape.] 


312  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

Thus  said  my  father  to  thy  father,1  son, 
And  thou  mayst  do  this  too,  as  I  have  done. 

PHIL.    In   faith,   good   counsel,   Frank :    what 
say'st  thou  to  it  ? 

FRAN.  Philip,  what  should  I  say  ? 

PHIL.  Why,  either  ay  or  no. 

FRAN.  0,  but  which  rather  1 

PHIL.  Why,  that  which  was  persuaded  by  thy 
father. 

FRAN.  That's  ay  then.2     Ay.     0,  should  it  fall 

out  ill, 

Then  I,  for  I  am  guilty  of  that  ill  !— 
I'll  not  be  guilty.     No. 

PHIL.  What,  backward  gone  ! 

FRAN.  Philip,  no  whit  backward ;  that  is,  on. 

PHIL.  On,  then. 

FRAN.  0,  stay  ! 

PHIL.  Tush,  there  is  no  good  luck  in  this  de- 
lay. 
Come,  come  ;  late-comers,  man,  are  shent. 

FRAN.  Heigho,  I  fear  I  shall  repent ! 
Well,  which  way,  Philip  ?  3 

PHIL.  Why,  this  way. 

FRAN.  Canst  thou  tell, 

And  takest  upon  thee  to  be  my  guide  to  hell  ? — 
But  which  way,  father  1 

MR  GOUR.  That  way. 

FRAN.  Ay,  you  know, 
You  found  the  way  to  sorrow  long  ago. 
Father,  God  be  wi'  ye  : 4  you  have  sent  your  son 
To  seek  on  earth  an  earthly  day  of  doom. 
Where  I  shall  be  adjudged,  alack  the  ruth, 
To  penance  for  the  follies  of  my  youth  ! 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  fathers. 

2  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  than. 

3  Edits.,  FranTce. 

4  [Old  copies,  boye  yee.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  313 

Well,  I  must  go ;  but,  by  my  troth,  my  mind 

Is  not  capable  to  love  [in] l  that  kind. 

O,  I  have  look'd  upon  this  mould  of  men, 

As  I  have  done  upon  a  lion's  den  ! 

Praised  I  have  the  gallant  beast  I  saw, 

Yet  wish'd  me  no  acquaintance  with  his  paw  : 

And  must  I  now  be  grated  with  them  1  well, 

Yet  I  may  hap  to  prove  a  Daniel ; 

And,  if  I  do,  sure  it  would  make  me  laugh, 

To  be  among  wild  beasts  and  yet  be  safe. 

Is  there  a  remedy  to  abate  their  rage  1 

Yes,  many  catch  them,  and  put  them  in  a  cage. 

Ay,  but  how  catch  them  1  marry,  in  your  hand 

Carry  me  forth  a  burning  firebrand, 

For  with  his  sparkling  shine,  old  rumour  says, 

A  firebrand  the  swiftest  runner  frays  : 

This  I  may  do  ;  but,  if  it  prove  not  so, 

Then  man  goes  out  to  seek  his  adjunct  woe. 

Philip,  away  !  and,  father,  now  adieu  ! 

In  quest  of  sorrow  I  am  sent  by  you. 

MR  GOUR.  Return,  the  messenger  of  joy,  my 

son. 
FRAN.  Seldom  in  this  world  such  a  work  is 

done. 
PHIL.  Nay,  nay,  make  haste,  it  will  be  quickly 

night. 

FRAN.  Why,  is  it  not  good  to  woo  by  candle- 
light] 
PHIL.  But,  if  we  make  not  haste,  they'll  be  a- 

bed. 
FRAN.    The  better,  candles  out   and    curtains 

spread.  [Exeunt  FRANCIS  and  PHILIP.] 

MR  GOUR.  I  know,  though  that  my  son's  years 

be  not  many, 

Yet  he  hath  wit  to  woo  as  well  as  any. 
Here  comes  my  wife  :  I  am  glad  my  boy  is  gone. 

1  [Old  copies,  love  capable  to.} 


314  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 


Enter  MISTRESS  GOURSEY. 

Ere  she  came  hither.     How  now,  wife  1  how  is't  1 
What,  are  ye  yet  in  charity  and  love 
With  Mistress  Barnes  1 

MRS  GOUR.  With  Mistress  Barnes  !  why  Mis- 
tress l  Barnes,  I  pray  ? 
MR   GOUR.    Because   she    is    your    neighbour 

and 

MRS  GOUR.  And  what  1 

And  a  jealous,  slandering,  spiteful  quean  she  is, 
One  that  would  blur  my  reputation 
With  her  opprobrious  malice,  if  she  could ; 
She  wrongs  her  husband,  to  abuse  my  fame  : 
'Tis  known  that  I  have  lived  in  honest  name 
All  my  lifetime,  and  been  your  right  true  wife. 
MR  GOUR.    I  entertain  no  other  thought,  my 

wife, 
And  my  opinion's  sound  of  your  behaviour. 

MRS  GOUR.  And  my  behaviour  is  as  sound  as  it ; 
But  her  ill-speeches  seeks  to  rot  my  credit, 
And  eat  it  with  the  worm  of  hate  and  malice. 
MR   GOUR.    Why,   then,   preserve   it   you  by 

patience. 
MRS  GOUR.  By  patience !  would  ye  have  me 

shame  myself, 

And  cosen  myself  to  bear  her  injuries  1 
Not  while  her  eyes  be  open,  will  I  yield 
A  word,  a  letter,  a  syllable's  value. 
But  equal  and  make  even  her  wrongs  to  me 
To  her  again. 

MR  GOUR.  Then,  in  good  faith,  wife,  ye  are 

more  to  blame. 

MRS  GOUR.  Am  I  to  blame,   sir  1  pray,  what 
letter's  this  1  [Snatches  the  letter.} 

1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  Maister. 


OF   ABINGTON.  315 

MR  GOUR.  There  is  a  dearth  of  manners  in  ye, 

wife, 
Rudely  to  snatch  it  from  me.     Give  it  me. 

MRS  GOUR.   You  shall  not  have  it,  sir,  till  I 

have  read  it. 
MR  GOUR.  Give  me  it,  then,  and  I  will  read  it 

to  you. 
MRS  GOUR.  No,  no,  it  shall  not  need :  I  am  a 

scholar 
Good  enough  to  read  a  letter,  sir. 

MR  GOUR.  God's  passion,  if  she  know  but  the 

contents, 

She'll  seek  to  cross  this  match  !  she  shall  not  read 
it.  [Aside.] 

Wife,  give  it  me  ;  come,  come,  give  it  me. 

MRS  GOUR.  Husband,  in  very  deed,  you  shall 

not  have  it. 

MR  GOUR.  What,  will  you   move  me  to  im- 
patience, then  1 

MRS  GOUR.  Tut,  tell  not  me  of  your  impatience ; 
But  since  you  talk,  sir,  of  impatience, 
You  shall  not  have  the  letter,  by  this  light, 
Till  I  have  read  it ;  soul,  I'll  burn  it  first ! 

MR  GOUR.  Go  to,  ye  move  me,  wife ;  give  me 

the  letter  ; 
In  troth,  I  shall  grow  angry,  if  you  do  not. 

MRS  GOUR.  Grow  to  the  house-top  with  your 

anger,  sir  ! 
Ne'er  tell  me,  I  care  not  thus  much  for  it. 

MR  GOUR.  Well,  I  can  bear  enough,  but  not  too 

much. 

Come,  give  it  me  ;  'twere  best  you  be  persuaded ; 
By  God — ye  make  me  swear — now  God  forgive  me  ! — 
Give  me,  I  say,  and  stand  not  long  upon  it ; 
Go  to,  I  am  angry  at  the  heart,  my  very  heart. 
MRS  GOUR.  Heart  me  no  hearts  !  you  shall  not 

have  it,  sir, 
No,  you  shall  not ;  ne'er  look  so  big, 


316  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

I  will  not  be  afraid  at  your  great  looks  ; 
You  shall  not  have  it,  no,  you  shall  not  have  it. 
MR  GOUR.  Shall  I  not  have  it  ?  in  troth,  111  try 

that: 

Minion,  I'll  ha'  't ;  shall  I  not  ha'  't  ? — I  am  loth- 
Go  to,  take  pausement,  be  advis'd — 
In  faith,  I  will ;  and  stand  not  long  upon  it — 
A  woman  of  your  years  !     I  am  asham'd 
A  couple  of  so  long  continuance 
Should    thus — God's   foot — I    cry   God    heart'ly 

mercy  1 — 

Go  to,  ye  vex  me  ;  and  I'll  vex  ye  for  it ; 
Before  I  leave  ye,  I  will  make  ye  glad 
To  tender  it  on  your  knees ;  hear  ye,  I  will,  I  will. 
What,  worse  and  worse  stomach  !  true  faith, 
Shall  I  be  cross'd  by  you  in  my  old  age  ? 
And  where  I  should  have  greatest  comfort,  too, 
A  nurse  of  you  ?— nurse  in  the  devil's  name  ! — 
Go  to,  mistress ;  by  God's  precious  deer, 

If  ye  delay 

MRS  GOUR.  Lord,  Lord,  why,  in  what  a  fit 
Are  you  in,  husband  !  so  enrag'd,  so  mov'd, 
And  for  so  slight  a  cause,  to  read  a  letter  ! 
Did  this  letter,  love,  contain  my  death, 
Should  you  deny  my  sight  of  it,  I  would  not 
Nor  see  my  sorrow  nor  eschew  my  danger, 
But  willingly  yield  me  a  patient 
Unto  the  doom  that  your  displeasure  gave. 
Here  is  the  letter  ;  not  for  that  your  incensement 

[Gives  back  the  letter.] 

Makes  me  make  offer  of  it,  but  your  health, 
Which  anger,  I  do  fear,  hath  craz'd,1 
And  viper-like  hath  suck'd  away  the  blood 
That  wont  was  to  be  cheerful  in  this  cheek  : 
How  pale  ye  look  ! 

1  Some  word  most  probably  has  dropped  out  from  the  line. 
[Perhaps  not.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  317 

MR  GOUR.  Pale  !    Can  ye  blame  me  for  it  1     I 

tell  you  true, 

An  easy  matter  could  not  thus  have  moved  me. 
Well,  this  resignment — and  so  forth — but,  woman, 
This  fortnight  shall  I  not  forget  ye  for  it. — 
Ha,  ha,  I  see  that  roughness  can  do  somewhat ! 
I  did  not  think,  good  faith,  I  could  have  set 
So  sour  a  face  upon  it,  and  to  her, 
My  bed-embracer,  my  right  bosom  friend. 
I  would  not  that  she  should  have  seen  the  letter — 
As  poor  a  man  as  I  am — by  my  troth, 
For  twenty  pound  :  well,  I  am  glad  I  have  it. 

\AsukJ] 

Ha,  here's  ado  about  a  thing  of  nothing  ! 
What,  stomach,  ha  !  'tis  happy  you're  come  down. 

[Exit 

MRS  GOUR.  Well,  crafty  l  fox,  I'll  hunt  ye,  by 

my  troth, 

Deal  ye  so  closely  !  Well,  I  see  his  drift  : 
He  would  not  let  me  see  the  letter,  lest 
That  I  should  cross  the  match  ;  and  I  will  cross  t 
Dick  Coomes  ! 

Enter  COOMES. 

COOMES.  Forsooth. 

MRS  GOUR.    Come   hither,  Dick;   thou  art   a 

man  1  love, 
And  one  whom  I  have  much  in  my  regard. 

COOMES.  I  thank  ye  for  it,  mistress,  I  thank  ye 

for  it. 
MRS  GOUR.  Nay,  here's  my  hand,  I  will  do  very 

much 

For  thee,  if  e'er  thou  stand'st  in  need  of  me  ; 
Thou  shalt  not  lack,  whilst  thou  hast  a  day  to  live, 
Money,  apparel 

1  So  second  edit.    First  edit,  craft. 


318  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

COOMES.  And  sword  and  bucklers  1 

MRS  GOUR.  And  sword  and  bucklers  too,  my 

gallant  Dick, 
So  thou  wilt  use  but  this  in  my  defence. 

[Pointing  to  his  sword. ,] 

COOMES.  This  !  no,  faith,  I  have  no  mind  to 
this  ;  break  my  head,  if  this  break  not,  if  we  come 
to  any  tough  play.  Nay,  mistress,  I  had  a  sword, 
ay,  the  flower  of  Smithfield  for  a  sword,  a  right 
fox,1  i'  faith ;  with  that,  and  a  man  had  come 
over  with  a  smooth  and  a  sharp  stroke,  it  would 
have  cried  twang,  and  then,  when  I  had  doubled 
my  point,  trac'd  my  ground,  and  had  carried  my 
buckler  before  me  like  a  garden-butt,  and  then 
come  in  with  a  cross  blow,  and  over  the  pick  2  of 
his  buckler  two  ells  long,  it  would  have  cried 
twang,  twang,  metal,  metal :  but  a  dog  hath  his 
day ;  'tis  gone,  and  there  are  few  good  ones  made 
now.  I  see  by  this  dearth  of  good  swords,  that 3 
dearth  of  sword-and-buckler  fight  begins  to  grow- 
out  : 4  I  am  sorry  for  it ;  I  shall  never  see  good 
manhood  again,  if  it  be  once  gone  ;  this  poking 
fight  of  rapier  and  dagger  will  come  up  then  ;  then 
a  man,  a  tall 5  man,  and  a  good  sword-and-buckler 
man,  will  be  spitted  like  a  cat  or  a  coney  ;  then  a 
boy  will  be  as  good  as  a  man,  unless  the  Lord 
show  mercy  unto  us  ;  well,  I  had  as  lief  be  hang'd 
as  live  to  see  that  day.  Well,  mistress,  what  shall 
I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ? 

MRS   GOUR.     Why,  this,   brave   Dick.      Thou 

knowest  that  Barnes's  wife 
And  I  am  foes  :  now,  man  me  to  her  house  ; 
And  though  it  be  dark,  Dick,  yet  we'll  have  no  light, 


1  A  familiar  term  for  the  old  English  broadsword. 

2  The  sharp  point  in  the  centre  of  the  buckler. 

3  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  and. 

4  [Dyce  proposed  to  read  ont,]  B  i.e.,  Brave. 


OF  ABINGTON.  319 

Lest  that  thy  master  should  prevent  our  journey 
By  seeing  our  depart.     Then,  when  we  come, 
And  if  that  she  and  I  do  fall  to  words, 
Set  in  thy  foot  and  quarrel  with  her  men, 
Draw,  fight,   strike,  hurt,  but  do    not    kill    the 

slaves, 

And  make  as  though  thou  strookest l  at  a  man, 
And  hit  her,    and  thou  canst, — a   plague    upon 

her!— 
She  hath  misus'd  me,  Dick  :  wilt  thou  do  this  ? 

COOMES.  Yes,  mistress,  I  will  strike  her  men ; 
but  God  forbid  that  e'er  Dick  Coomes  should  be 
seen  to  strike  a  woman  ! 

MRS  GOUK.  Why,  she  is  mankind ; 2  therefore 
thou  mayest  strike  her. 

COOMES.  Mankind  !  nay,  and  she  have  any  part 
of  a  man,  I'll  strike  her,  I  warrant. 

MRS  GOUR.  That's  my  good  Dick,  that's  my 
sweet  Dick ! 

COOMES.  'Swouns,  who  would  not  be  a  man  of 
valour  to  have  such  words  of  a  gentlewoman  !  one 
of  their  words  are  more  to  me  than  twenty  of 
these  russet-coats,  cheese-cakes,  and  butter-makers. 
Well,  I  thank  God,  I  am  none  of  these  cowards ; 
well,  and  a  man  have  any  virtue  in  him,  I  see  he 
shall  be  regarded.  [J^V/e.] 

MRS  GOUR.  Art  thou  resolved,  Dick  1  wilt  thou 

do  this  for  me  ? 

And  if  thou  wilt,  here  is  an  earnest-penny 
Of  that  rich  guerdon  I  do  mean  to  give  thee. 

[Gives  moneyj\ 

COOMES.  An  angel,3  mistress  !  let  me  see.  Stand 
you  on  my  left  hand,  and  let  the  angel  lie  on  my 
buckler  on  my  right  hand,  for  fear  of  losing.  Now, 


1  [Old  copies,  strukst.]         2  i.e.,  Manlike,  masculine. 
3  See  note,  p.  274. 


320  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

here  stand  I  to  be  tempted.  They  say,  every  man 
hath  two  spirits  attending  on  him,  either  good  or 
bad ;  now,  I  say,  a  man  hath  no  other  spirits  but 
either  his  wealth  or  his  wife  :  now,  which  is  the 
better  of  them  ?  Why,  that  is  as  they  are  used  ; 
for  use  neither  of  them  well,  and  they  are  both 
nought.  But  this  is  a  miracle  to  me,  that  gold 
that  is  heavy  hath  the  upper,  and  a  woman  that 
is  light  doth  soonest  fall,  considering  that  light 
things  aspire,  and  heavy  things  soonest  go  down  : 
but  leave  these  considerations  to  Sir  John ; *•  they 
become  a  black-coat  better  than  a  blue.2  Well, 
mistress,  I  had  no  mind  to-day  to  quarrel ;  but  a 
woman  is  made  to  be  a  man's  seducer ;  you  say, 
quarrel  1 

MRS  GOTJR.  Ay. 

COOMES.  There  speaks  an  angel  :  is  it  good  1 

MRS  GOUR.  Ay. 

COOMES.  Then,  I  cannot  do  amiss ;  the  good 
angel  goes  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  SIR  EALPH  SMITH,  his  LADY,  WILL, 
[and  ATTENDANTS]. 

SIR  EALPH.  Come  on,  my  hearts  :  i'  faith,  it  is 

ill-luck, 

To  hunt  all  day,  and  not  kill  anything. 
What  sayest  thou,  lady  1  art  thou  weary  yet  ? 

LADY.  I  must  not  say  so,  sir. 

SIR  EALPH.  Although  thou  art ! 

WILL.  And  can  you  blame  her,  to  be  forth  so 

long, 
And  see  no  better  sport  2 

SIR  EALPH.  Good  faith,  'twas  very  hard. 

LADY.  No,  'twas  not  ill, 

1  i.e.,  The  parson  :  Sir  was  a  title  applied  to  clergymen. 
3  See  note,  p.  295. 


OF  ABINGTON.  321 

Because,  you  know,  it  is  not  good  to  kill. 
SIR  EALPH.  Yes,  venison,  lady. 
LADY.  No,  indeed,  nor  them ; 
Life  is  as  dear  in  deer  as  'tis  in  men. 

SIR  EALPH.  But  they  are  kill'd  for  sport. 
LADY.  But  that's  bad  play, 
When  they  are  made  to  sport  their  lives  away. 
SIR  EALPH.  'Tis  fine  to  see  them  run. 
LADY.  What,  out  of  breath  ? 
They  run  but  ill  that  run  themselves  to  death. 
SIR  EALPH.  They  might  make,  then,  less  haste, 

and  keep  their  wind. 
LADY.  Why,  then,  they  see  the  hounds  brings 

death  behind. 
SIR  EALPH.  Then,  'twere  as  good  for  them  at 

first  to  stay, 
As  to  run  long,  and  run  their  lives  away. 

LADY.  Ay,  but  the  stoutest  of  you  all  that's  here 
Would  run  from  death  and  nimbly  scud  for  fear. 
Now,  by  my  troth,  I  pity  these  poor  elves.1 

SIR  EALPH.  Well,  they  have  made  us  but  bad 

sport  to-day. 
LADY.  Yes,  'twas  my  sport  to  see  them  'scape 

away. 

WILL.  I  wish  that  I  had  been  at  one  buck's  fall. 
LADY.  Out,  thou  wood-tyrant !  thou  art  worst 

of  all. 

WILL.  A  wood-man,2  lady,  but  no  tyrant  I. 
LADY.  Yes,  tyrant-like  thou  lov'st  to  see  lives  die. 
SIR  EALPH.  Lady,  no  more  :  I  do  not  like  this 

luck, 

To  hunt  all  day,  and  yet  not  kill  a  buck. 
Well,  it  is  late  ;  but  yet  I  swear  I  will 
Stay  here  all  night,  but  I  a  buck  will  kill. 

1  [A  line  appears  to  be  lost  here,  probably  ending  with 
selves,  as  the  whole  dialogue  is  in  rhyme.] 
a  i.e.,  Forester. 
VOL.  VII.  X 


322  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

LADY.  All  night !  nay,  good  Sir  Ralph  Smith, 

do  not  so. 
SIR  RALPH.  Content  ye,  lady.     Will,  go  fetch 

my  bow  : 

A  berry 1  of  fair  roes  I  saw  to-day 
Down  by  the  groves,  and  there  I'll  take  my2  stand, 
And  shoot  at  one — God  send  a  lucky  hand  ! 
LADY.  Will  ye  not,  then,  Sir  Ralph,  go  home 

with  me  ? 
SIR  RALPH.  No,  but  my  men  shall  bear  thee 

company. — 

Sirs,  man  her  home.  Will,  bid  the  huntsmen  couple, 
And  bid  them  well  reward  their  hounds  to-night. — 
Lady,  farewell.     Will,  haste  ye  with  the  bow  ; 
I'll  stay  for  thee  here  by  the  grove  below. 

WILL.  I  will ;  but  'twill  be  dark,  I  shall  not  see  : 
How  shall  I  see  ye,  then  1 

SIR  RALPH.    Why,  halloo  to  me,  and  I  will 

answer  thee. 
WILL.  Enough,  I  will. 

SIR  RALPH.  Farewell.  [K.rit. 

LADY.  How  willingly  dost  thou  consent  to  go 
To  fetch  thy  master  that  same  killing  bow  ! 

WILL.  Guilty  of  death  I  willing  am  in  this, 
Because  'twas  our  ill-haps  to-day  to  miss  : 
To  hunt,  and  not  to  kill,  is  hunter's  sorrow. 
Come,  lady,  we'll  have  venison  ere  to-morrow. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  PHILIP,  FRANK  [and  BOY]. 

PHIL.  Come,  Frank,  now  are  we  hard  by  the 3 

house : 
But  how  now  ?     Sad  1 


1  Seems  to  be  used  here  for  herd  ;  an  unusual  meaning  of 
the  word.     [See  Halliwell's  "Diet."  v.  Berry,  No.  3.] 

2  So  second  edit.     First  edit.  me. 

3  So  second  edit.     First  edit.  th\ 


OF  ABINGTON.  323 

FRAN.  No,  to  study  how  to  woo  thy  sister. 

PHIL.  How,  man  ?  how  to  woo  her  !  why,  no 

matter  how ; 

I  am  sure  thou  wilt  not  be  ashamed  to  woo. 
Thy  cheeks  not  subject  to  a  childish  blush, 
Thou  hast  a  better  warrant  by  thy  wit ; 
I  know  thy  oratory  can  unfold 
[A]  quick  invention,  plausible  discourse, 
And  set  such  painted  beauty  on  thy  tongue, 
As  it  shall  ravish  every  maiden  sense ; 
For,  Frank,  thou  art  not  like  the  russet  youth 
I  told  thee  of,  that  went  to  woo  a  wench, 
And  being  full  stuff' d  up  with  fallow  wit 
And  meadow-matter,  ask'd  the  pretty  maid 
How  they  sold  corn  last  market-day  with  them, 
Saying,  "  Indeed,  'twas  very  dear  with  [us]." 
And,  do  ye  hear,  ye  l  had  not  need  be  so, 
For  she  2  will,  Francis,  throughly  3  try  your  wit ; 
Sirrah,  she'll  bow  the  metal  of  your  wits, 
And,  if  they  crack,  she  will  not  hold  ye  current ; 
Nay,  she  will  weigh  your  wit,   as  men  weigh 


And,  if  it  lack  a  grain,  she  will  not  change  with 

ye- 

I  cannot  speak  it  but  in  passion, 
She  is  a  wicked  wench  to  make  a  jest ; 
Ah  me,  how  full  of  flouts  and  mocks  she  is  ! 
FRAN.  Some  aqua-vitce  reason  to  recover 
This    sick    discourser !      Sound 5    not,    prythee, 

Philip. 

Tush,  tush,  I  do  not  think  her  as  thou  sayest : 
Perhaps  she's  6  opinion's  darling,  Philip, 

1  Edits,  he. 

2  So  second  edit.     First  edit.  thee. 

3  So  second  edit.     First  edit,  thorowly. 

4  See  note,  p.  274. 

5  Swoon. 

6  Read,  for  the  metre,  she  is. 


324  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Wise  in  repute,  the  crow's  bird.     0  my  friend, 
Some  judgments  slave  themselves  to  small  desert, 
And  wondernise  the  birth  of  common  wit, 
When  their  own l  strangeness  do  but  make  that 

strange, 

And  their  ill  errors  do  but  make  that  good  : 
And  why  should  men  debase  to  make  that  good  1 
Perhaps  such  admiration  wins  her  wit. 

PHIL.  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  this  bold  prepare 
For  this  encounter.     Forward,  hardy  Frank  ! 
Yonder's  the  window  with  the  candle  in't ; 
Belike  she's  putting  on  her  night  attire  : 
I  told  ye,  Frank,  'twas  late.    Well,  I  will  call  her, 
Marry,  softly,  that  my  mother  may  not  hear. 
Mall,  sister  Mall ! 

Enter  MALL  in  the  window. 

MAL.  How  now,  who's  there  1 

PHIL.  Tis  I. 

MAL.  'Tis  I !    Who  I  ?     I,  quoth  the  dog,  or 

what? 
A  Christcross  row  1 1 2 

PHIL.  No,  sweet  pinkany.3 
MAL.  0,  is't  you,  wild-oats  ? 
PHIL.  Ay,  forsooth,  wanton. 
MAL.  Well  said,  scapethrift. 
FRAN.  Philip,  be  these  your  usual  best  salutes  ? 

[Aside.] 

PHIL.  Is  this  the  harmless  chiding  of  that  dove? 

[Aside.] 
FRAN.    Dove !     One  of  those  that  draw  the 

queen  of  love  1  [Aside.] 


1  Edits.,  wane. 

2  i.e.,  An  1  of  the  Christ-cross  row  or  alphabet. 

3  A  term  of  endearment,  formed,  perhaps,  from  pink,  to 
wink,  to  contract  the  eyelids. 


OF  ABINGTON.  325 

MAL.  How  now  1    who's  that,  brother  ?    who's 

that  with  ye  1 

PHIL.  A  gentleman,  my  friend. 
MAL.  By'r  lady,  he  hath  a  pure  wit. 
FRAN.  How  means  your  holy  judgment  ? 
MAL.  O,  well  put-in,  sir  ! 
FRAN.  Up,  you  would  say. 
MAL.  Well  climb'd,  gentleman  ! 
I  pray,  sir,  tell  me,  do  you  cart  the  queen  of  love  ? 
FRAN.  Not  cart  her,  but  couch  her  in  your  eye, 
And  a  fit  place  for  gentle  love  to  lie. 

MAL.  Ay,  but  methinks  you  speak  without  the 

book, 

To  place  a  four  1-wheel  waggon  in  my  look  : 
Where  will  you  have  room  to  have  the  coachman 

sit? 
FRAN.  Nay,  that  were  but  small  manners,  and 

not  fit : 

His  duty  is  before  you  bare  to  stand, 
Having  a  lusty  whipstock 2  in  his  hand. 

MAL.  The  place  is  void ;  will  you  provide  me 

one? 
FRAN.   And  if  you  please,  I  will  supply  the 

room. 

MAL.  But  are  ye  cunning  in  the  carman's  lash  ? 
And  can  ye  whistle  well  ? 

FRAN.  Yes,  I  can  well  direct  the  coach  of  love. 
MAL.  Ah,  cruel  carter  !  would  you  whip  a  dove  1 
PHIL.  Hark  ye,  sister — 
MAL.  Nay,  but  hark  ye,  brother ; 
Whose  white  boy3  is  that  same?   know  ye  his 
mother  ? 


1  Ed  its.,  sower. 

2  i.e.,  A  good  whip  (whipstock  is  properly  the  stock  or 
handle  of  a  whip). 

3  A  term  of  endearment,  which  often  occurs  in  our  early 
dramatists. 


326  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

PHIL.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  a  good  house. 

MAL.  Why,  is  his  house  of  gold  1 
Is  it  not  made  of  lime  and  stone  like  this  1 

PHIL.  I  mean  he's  well-descended. 

MAL.  God  be  thanked  ! 
Did  he  descend  some  steeple  or  some  ladder  1 

PHIL.  Well,  you  will  still  be  cross ;  I  tell  ye, 

sister — 

This  gentleman,  by  all  your  friends'  consent 
Must  be  your  husband. 

MAL.  Nay,  not  all,  some  sing  another  note ; 
My  mother  will  say  no,  I  hold  a  groat. 
But  I  thought  'twas  somewhat,  he  would  be  a 

carter ; 

He  hath  been  whipping  lately  some  blind  bear, 
And  now  he  would  ferk  the  blind  boy  here  with 
us. 

PHIL.  Well,  do  you  hear,  you,  sister,  mistress 

[that]  would  have — 

You  that  do  long  for  somewhat,  I  know  what — 
My  father  told  me— go  to,  I'll  tell  all, 
If  ye  be  cross—  do  you  hear  me  ?     I  have  labour'd 
A  year's  work  in  this  afternoon  for  ye  : 
Come  from  your  cloister,  votary,  chaste  nun, 
Come  down  and  kiss  Frank  Gourse/s  mother's  son. 

MAL.  Kiss  him,  I  pray  ? 

PHIL.  Go  to,  stale  maidenhead  !  come  down,  I 

say, 

You  seventeen  and  upward,  come,  come  down ; 
You'll  stay  till  twenty  else  for  your  wedding  gown. 

MAL.  Nun,  votary,  stale  maidenhead,  seventeen 

and  upward  ! 
Here  be  names  !  what,  nothing  else  1 

FRAN.  Yes,  or  a  fair-built  steeple  without  bells. 

MAL.  Steeple  !  good  people,  nay,  another  cast. 

FRAN.  Ay,  or  a  well-made  ship  without  a  mast. 

MAL.  Fie,  not  so  big,  sir,  by  one  part  of  four. 

FRAN.  Why,  then,  ye  are  a  boat  without  an  oar. 


OF  ABINGTON.  327 

MAL.  0  well  row'd  wit !  but  what's  your  fare, 
I  pray  ? 

FRAN.  Your  fair  self  must  be  my  fairest  pay. 

MAL.    Nay,  and  you  be  so    dear,  I'll    choose 
another. 

FRAN.  Why,  take  your  first  man,  wench,  and  go 
no  further.  [Js^<?.] 

PHIL.  Peace,  Francis.  Hark  ye,  sister,  this  I  say : 
You  know  my  mind ;  or  answer  ay  or  nay. 
[Your]  wit  and  judgment  hath  resolv'd  his  mind, 
And  he  foresees  what  after  he  shall  find  : 
If  such  discretion,  then,  shall  govern  you, 
Vow  love  to  him,  he'll  do  the  like  to  you. 

MAL.  Vow  love !  who  would  not  love  such  a 

comely  feature, 

Nor  high  nor  low,  but  of  the  middle  stature  ? 
A  middle  man,  that's  the  best  size  indeed ; 
I  like  him  well :  love  grant  us  well  to  speed  ! 

FRAN.  And  let  me  see  a  woman  of  that  tallness, 
So  slender  and  of  such  a  middle  smallness, 
So  old  enough,  and  in  each  part  so  fit, 
So  fair,  so  kind,  endued  with  so  much  wit, 
Of  so  much  wit  as  it  is  held  a  wonder, 
'Twere  pity  to  keep  love  and  her  asunder ; 
Therefore  go  up,  my  joy,  call  down  my  bliss  ; 
Bid  her  come  seal  the  bargain  with  a  kiss. 

MAL.  Frank,  Frank,  I  come  through  dangers, 

death,  and  harms, 
To  make  love's  patent l  with  my  2  seal  of  arms. 

PHIL.  But,  sister,  softly,  lest  my  mother  hear. 

MAL.  Hush,  then ;  mum,  mouse  in  cheese,3  cat 
is  near.  [Exit  MAL. 

FRAN.  Now,  in  good  faith,  Philip,  this  makes 

me  smile, 
That  I  have  wooed  and  won  in  so  small  while. 


Edits.,  patient.  2  [Old  copies,  thy.} 

3  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  cheesse. 


328  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

PHIL.  Francis,  indeed  my  sister,  I  dare  say, 
Was  not  determined  to  say  thee  nay  ; 
For  this  same  tother  thing,  call'd  maiden-head. 
Hangs  by  so  small  a  hair  or  spider's  thread, 
And  worn  so  too l  with  time,  it  must  needs  fall, 
And,  like  a  well-lur'd  hawk,  she  knows  her  call. 


[Enter  MALL.] 

MAL.  Whist,  brother,  whist !  my  mother  heard 

me  tread, 
And   ask'd,   Who's   there?  I   would   not   answer 

her; 
She  call'd,  A  light !   and  up  she's  gone  to  seek 

me  : 

There  when  she  finds  me  not,  she'll  hither  come  : 
Therefore  dispatch,  let  it  be  quickly  done. 
Francis,  my  love's  lease  I  do  let  to  thee, 
Date  of  my  life  and  thine :  what  sayest  thou  to 

me? 

The  ent'ring,  fine,  or  income  thou  must  pay, 
Are  kisses  and  embraces  every  day ; 
And  quarterly  I  must  receive  my  rent ; 
You  know  my  mind. 

FRAN.  I  guess  at  thy  intent : 
Thou  shalt  not  miss  a  minute  of  thy  time. 

MAL.    Why,  then,  sweet   Francis,    I   am   only 

thine. — 
Brother,  bear  witness. 

PHIL.  Do  ye  deliver  this  as  your  deed  ? 

MAL.  I  do,  I  do. 

PHIL.    God  send  ye  both  good  speed  ! 
God's  Lord,  my  mother !     Stand  aside, 
And  closely  too,  lest  that  you  be  espied. 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit. ,  to. 


OF  ABINGTON.  329 

[Enter  MISTRESS  BARNES.] 

MRS  BAR.  Who's  there  ? 

PHIL.  Mother,  'tis  I. 

MRS  BAR.    You    disobedient    ruffian,   careless 

wretch, 

That  said  your  father  lov'd  me  but  too  well ! 
I'll  think  on't,  when  thou  think'st  I  have  forgot  it : 
Who's  with  thee  else  1 — How  now,  minion  1  you  ! 
With  whom  ?  with  him  ! — Why,  what  make  you 
here,  sir,  [Discovers  FRANCIS  and  MALL. 

And  thus  late  too  ?  what,  hath  your  mother  sent 

ye 

To  cut  my  throat,  that  here  you  be  in  wait  1 — 
Come  from  him,  mistress,  and  let  go  his  hand. — 
Will  ye  not,  sir  ? 

FRAN.  Stay,  Mistress  Barnes,  or  mother —  what 

ye  will ; 
She  is l  my  wife,  and  here  she  shall  be  still. 

MRS  BAR.  How,  sir  ?  your  wife  !  wouldst  thou 

my  daughter  have  ? 

I'll  rather  have  her  married  to  her  grave.2 
Go  to ;  be  gone,  and  quickly,  or  I  swear 
I'll  have  my  men  beat  ye  for  staying  here. 

PHIL.  Beat  him,  mother  !  as  I  am  true 3  ma^i, 
They  were  better  beat  the  devil  and  his  dam. 

MRS  BAR.  What,  wilt  thou  take  his  part  1 

PHIL.  To  do  him  good, 
And  'twere  to  wade  hitherto  up  in  blood. 

FRAN.  God-a-mercy,  Philip  ! — But,  mother,  hear 
me. 

MRS  BAR.    Call'st  thou  me  mother?    no,  thy 
mother's  name 

1  Read,  for  the  metre,  Shee  is. 

2  A  recollection  perhaps  of  Shakespeare's   "  Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  act  iii.  sc.  5 — 

"  I  would  the  fool  were  married  to  her  grave  ! "      • 

3  i.e..  Honest. 


330  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Carries  about  with  it  reproach  and  shame. 
Give  me  my  daughter  :  ere  that  she  shall  wed 
A  strumpet's  son,  and  have  her  so  misled, 
I'll  marry  her  to  a  carter  ;  come,  I  say, 
Give  me  her  from  thee. 

FRAN.  Mother,  not  to-day, 
Nor  yet  to-morrow,  till  my  life's  last  morrow 
Make  me  leave  that  which  I  with  leave  did  borrow  : 
Here  I  have  borrowed  love,  I'll  not  denay l  it. — 
Thy  wedding  night's  my  day,  then  111  repay  it. — 
Till  then  she'll  trust  me.     Wench,  is't 2  not  so  ? 
And  if  it  be,  say  ay,  if  not,  say  no. 

MAL.  Mother,  good  mother,  hear  me  !  0  good 

God, 

Now  we  are  even,  what,  would  you  make  us  odd  1 
Now,  I  beseech  ye,  for  the  love  of  Christ, 
To  give  me  leave  once  to  do  what  I  list. 
I  am  as  you  were,  when  you  were  a  maid  ; 
Guess  by  yourself  how  long  you  would  have  stay'd, 
Might  you  have  had  your  will :  as  good  begin 
At  first  as  last,  it  saves  us  from  much  sin ; 
Lying  alone,  we  muse  on  things  and  things, 
And  in  our  minds  one  thought  another  brings  : 
This  maid's  life,  mother,  is  an  idle  life, 
Therefore  I'll  be,  ay,  I  will  be  a  wife  ; 
And,  mother,  do  not  mistrust  3»my  age  or  power, 
I  am  sufficient,  I  lack  ne'er  an  hour  ; 
I  had  both  wit  to  grant,  when  he  did  woo  me, 
And  strength  to  bear  whate'er  he  can  do  to  me. 

MRS  BAR.  Well,  bold-face,  but  I  mean  to  make 

ye  stay. 

Go  to,  come  from  him,  or  I'll  make  ye  come  : 
Will  ye  not  come  ? 

PHIL.  Mother,  I  pray,  forbear ; 
This  match  is  for  my  sister. 

1  i.e.,  Deny.  2  Read,  for  the  metre,  is  it. 

3  So  second  edit.      First  edit.,  mistrurst. 


OF  ABINGTON.  331 

MRS  BAR.  Villain,  'tis  not; 
Nor  she  shall  not  be  so  match'd  now.1 

PHIL.  In  troth,  she  shall,  and  your  unruly  hate 
Shall  not  rule  us ;  we'll  end  all  this  debate 
By  this  begun  device. 

MRS  BAR.  Ay,  end  what  you  begun  !     Villains, 

thieves, 

Give  me  my  daughter  !  will  ye  rob  me  of  her  1 — 
Help,  help  !  they'll  rob  me  here,  they'll  rob  me 
here  ! 

Enter  MASTER  BARNES  and  his  men. 

MR  BAR.    How   now  ?    what    outcry's     here  ? 

why,  how  now,  woman  1 
MRS  BAR.  Why,  Goursey's  son,  confederate 2 

with  this  boy, 

This  wretch  unnatural  and  undutiful, 
Seeks  hence  to  steal  my  daughter  :  will  you  suffer 

it? 

Shall  he,  that's  son  to  my  arch-enemy, 
Enjoy  her  2     Have  I  brought  her  up  to  this  1 
0  God,  he  shall  not  have  her,  no,  he  shall  not  ! 
MR  BAR.  I  am  sorry  she  knows  it.      [Aside.] — 

Hark  ye,  wife, 

Let  reason  moderate  your  rage  a  little. 
If  you  examine  but  his  birth  and  living, 
His  wit  and  good  behaviour,  you  will  say, 
Though  that  ill-hate  make  your  opinion  bad, 
He  doth  deserve  as  good  a  wife  as  she. 

MRS  BAR.  Why,  will  you  give  consent  he  shall 

enjoy  her  1 
MR  BAR.  Ay,  so  that  thy  mind  would  agree 

with  mine  1 

MRS  BAR.  My  mind  shall  ne'er  agree   to  this 
agreement. 

1  Qy.,  now  I  swear?  ;     2  Edits.,  confederates. 


332  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

Enter  MISTRESS  GOURSEY  and  COOMES.  T 

MR  BAR.  And  yet  it  shall  go  forward  : — but 

who's  here  1 

What,  Mistress  Goursey  !  how  knew  she  of  this  ? 
PHIL.  Frank,  thy  mother  ! 
FRAN.  'Sowns,  where  1  a  plague  upon  it ! 
I  think  the  devil  is  set  to  cross  this  match. 

MRS  GOUR.  This  is  the  house,  Dick  Coomes, 

and  yonder's  [th'J  light : 
Let  us  go  near.     How  now  1  methinks  I  see 
My   son   stand   hand   in   hand  with  Barnes  his 

daughter. 

Why,  how  now,  sirrah  1  is  this  time  of  night 
For  you  to  be  abroad  '?  what  have  we  here  ? 
I  hope  that  love  hath  not  thus  coupled  you. 

FRAN.  Love,  by  my  troth,  mother,  love  :    she 

loves  me, 
And  I  love  her  ;  then  we  must  needs  agree. 

MRS  BAR.  Ay,  but  111  keep  her  sure  enough 

from  thee. 
MRS  GOUR.  It  shall  not  need,  I'll  keep  him  safe 

enough ; 
Be  sure  he  shall  not  graft  in  such  a  stock. 

MRS  BAR.  What  stock,  forsooth  ?    as  good  a 

stock  as  thine  : 
I  do  not  mean  that  he  shall  graft  in  mine. 

MRS  GOUR.  Nor  shall  he,  mistress.     Hark,  boy ; 

th'art  but  mad 

To  love  the  branch  that  hath  a  root  so  bad. 
FRAN.  Then,  mother,  I  will  graft  a  pippin  on  a 

crab. 

MRS  GOUR.  It  will  not  prove  well. 
FRAN.  But  I  will  prove  my  skill. 
MRS  BAR.  Sir,  but  you  shall  not. 

1  Occurs  somewhat  earlier  in  edits,  (to  warn  the  actors  to 
be  in  readiness  for  coming  on  the  stage). 


OF  ABINGTON.  333 

FRAN.  Mothers  both,  I  will. 

MR  BAR.    Hark,  Philip :  send  away  thy  sister 

straight ; 

Let  Francis  meet  her  where  thou  shalt  appoint  ; 
Let  them  go  several  to  shun  suspicion, 
And  bid  them  go  to  Oxford  both  this  night ; 
There  to-morrow  say  that  we  will  meet  them, 
And  there  determine  of  their  marriage.       [Aside.] 

PHIL.  I  will :  though  it  be  very  late  and  dark. 
My  sister  will  endure  it  for  a  husband.        jyls^ck.] 

MR  BAR.  Well,  then,  at  Carfax,1  boy,  I  mean  to 
meet  them.  [^s^ofe.] 

PHIL.  Enough.  Exit  [MASTER  BARNES.] 

Would  they  would  begin  to  chide  ! 
For  I  would  have  them  brawling,  that  meanwhile 
They  may  steal  hence,  to  meet  where  I  appoint  it. 

[Aside.} 

What,  mother,  will  you  let  this  match  go  forward  1 
Or,  Mistress  Goursey,  will  you  first  agree  ? 

MRS  GOUR.  Shall  I  agree  first  ? 

PHIL.  Ay,  why  not  1  come,  come. 

MRS  GOUR.  Come  from  her,  son,  and  if  thou 
lov'st  thy  mother. 

MRS  BAR.  With  the  like  spell,  daughter,  I  con- 
jure thee. 

MRS  GOUR.  Francis,  by  fair  means  let  me  win 

thee  from  her, 

And  I  will  gild  my  blessing,  gentle  son, 
With  store  of  angels.     I  would  not  have  thee 
Check  thy  good  fortune  by  this  cos'ning  choice  : 
0,  do  not  thrall  thy  happy  liberty 
In  such  a  bondage  !  if  thou'lt  needs  be  bound, 
Be  then  to  better  worth  ;  this  worthless  choice 
Is  not  fit  for  thee. 


2  A  well-known  part  of  Oxford.  "  The  principal  street  is 
the  High  Street,  running  from  Magdalen  Bridge  to  Carfax 
Church,"  Sic—New  Oxford  Guide,  p.  3,  8th  edit. 


334  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

MRS  BAR.  Is't  not  fit  for  him  ?    wherefore  is't 

not  fit  1 

Is  he  too  brave J  a  gentleman,  I  pray  ? 
No,  'tis  not  fit ;  she  shall  not  fit  his  turn  : 
If  she  were  wise,  she  would  be  fitter  for 
Three  times  his  better.     Minion,  go  in,  or   I'll 

make  ye ; 
I'll  keep  ye  safe  from  him,  I  warrant  ye. 

MRS  GOUR.  Come,  Francis,  come  from  her. 

FRAN.  Mothers,  with  both  hands  shove  I  hate 

from  love, 

That  like  an  ill-companion  would  infect 
The  infant  mind  of  our  affection  : 
AVithin  this  cradle  shall  this  minute's  babe 
Be  laid  to  rest ;  and  thus  I'll  hug  my  joy. 

MRS  GOUR.  Wilt  thou  be  obstinate,  thou  self- 

will'd  boy  1 
Nay,  then,  perforce  I'll  part  ye,  since  ye  will  not. 

COOMES.  Do  ye  : hear,  mistress?  pray  ye  give 
me  leave  to  talk  two  or  three  cold  words  with  my 
young  master. — Hark  ye,  sir,  ye  are  my  master's 
son,  and  so  forth ;  and  indeed  I  bear  ye  some 
good-will,  partly  for  his  sake,  and  partly  for  your 
own ;  and  I  do  hope  you  do  the  like  to  me, — I 
should  be  sorry  else.  I  must  needs  say  ye  are  a 
young  man  ;  and  for  mine  own  part,  I  have  seen 
the  world,  and  I  know  what  belongs  to  causes,  and 
the  experience  that  I  have,  I  thank  God  I  have 
travelled  for  it. 

FRAN.  Why,  how  far  have  ye  travell'd  for  it  ? 

BOY.  From  my  master's  house  to  the  ale-house. 

COOMES.  How,  sir  2 

BOY.  So,  sir. 

COOMES.  Go  to.  I  pray,  correct  your  boy; 
'twas  ne'er  a  good  world,  since  a  boy  would  face  a 
man  so. 

1  i.e.,  Fine. 


OF   ABINGTON.  335 

FRAN.  Go  to.     Forward,  man. 

COOMES.  Well,  sir,  so  it  is,  I  would  not  wish  ye 
to  marry  without  my  mistress'  consent. 

FRAN.  And  why  1 

COOMES.  Nay,  there's  ne'er  a  why  but  there  is  a 
wherefore;  I  have  known  some  have  done  the 
like,  and  they  have  danc'd  a  galliard  at  beggars'- 
bush l  for  it. 

BOY.  At  beggars'-bush  !  Hear  him  no  more, 
master  ;  he  doth  bedaub  ye  with  his  dirty  speech. 
Do  ye  hear,  sir  1,  how  far  stands  beggars'-bush 
from  your  father's  house,  sir  1  Why,  thou  whore- 
son refuge2  of  a  tailor,  that  wert  'prentice  to  a 
tailor  half  an  age,  and  because,  if  thou  hadst 
served  ten  ages  thou  wouldst  prove  but  a  botcher, 
thou  leapst  from  the  shop-board  to  a  blue  coat, 
doth  it  become  thee  to  use  thy  terms  so?  well, 
thou  degree  above  a  hackney,  and  ten  degrees 
under  a  page,  sew  up  your  lubber  lips,  or  'tis  nob 
your  sword  and  buckler  shall  keep  my  poniard 
from  your  breast. 

COOMES.  DO  ye  hear,  sir  ?  this  is  your  boy. 

FRAN.  How  then  ? 

COOMES.  You  must  breech  him  for  it. 

FRAN.  Must  1 1  how,  if  I  will  not  ? 

COOMES.  Why,  then,  'tis  a  fine  world,  when 
boys  keep  boys,  and  know  not  how  to  use  them. 

FRAN.  Boy,  ye  rascal ! 

MRS  GOUR.  Strike  him,  and  thou  darest. 

COOMES.  Strike  me  ?  alas,  he  were  better  strike 
his  father  !  Sowns,  go  to,  put  up  your  bodkin.3 

1  A    common    proverbial   expression:    " Beggars' •  lush 
being  a  tree  notoriously  known,  on  the  left-hand  of  the 
London  road,  from   Huntingdon  to  Caxton."     [Hazlitt's 
"Proverbs,"  1869,  p.  401.     See  also  pp.  82,  199.] 

2  i.e.,  Refuse. 

3  Is  a  common  term  for  a  small  dagger,  but  here  it  seems 
to  be  used  in  contempt ;  see  the  next  speech  of  Coomes. 


336  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

FRAN.  Mother,  stand  by ;  I'll  teach  that  rascal— 

COOMES.  Go  to,  give  me  good  words,  or,  by 
God's  dines,1  I'll  buckle  ye  for  all  your  bird-spit. 

FRAN.  Will  you  so,  sir  1 

PHIL.  Stay,  Frank,  this  pitch  of  frenzy  will  defile 

thee; 

Meddle  not  with  it :  thy  unreproved  valour 
Should  be  high-minded ;  couch  it  not  so  low. 
Dost  hear  me  1  take  occasion  to  slip  hence, 
But  secretly,  let  not  thy  mother  see  thee  : 
At  the  back-side  there  is  a  coney-green  ;2 
Stay  there  for  me,  and  Mall  and  I  will  come  to 
thee.   [Aside.] 

FRAN.  Enough,  I  will  [Aside.]     Mother,  you  do 

me  wrong 

To  be  so  peremptory  in  your  command, 
And  see  that  rascal  to  abuse  me  so. 

COOMES.  Eascal !  take  that  and  take  all !  Do 
ye  hear,  sir?  I  do  not  mean  to  pocket  up  this 
wrong. 

BOY.  I  know  why  that  is. 

COOMES.  Why? 

BOY.  Because  you  have  ne'er  a  pocket. 

COM.  A  whip,  sirrah,  a  whip  !  But,  sir,  provide 
your  tools  against  to-morrow  morning  ;  'tis  some- 
what dark  now,  indeed  :  you  know  Dawson's  close, 
between  the  hedge  and  the  pond ;  ;tis  good  even 
ground ;  I'll  meet  you  there ;  and  I  do  not,  call 
me  cut ; 3  and  you  be  a  man,  show  yourself  a  man  ; 
we'll  have  a  bout  or  two;  and  so  we'll  part  for 
that  present. 

FRAN.  Well,  sir,  well. 

NIGH.  Boy,  have  they  appointed  to  fight  ? 


1  The  origin  of  this  corrupted  oath  is,  I  believe,  un- 
known. 

2  i.e.,  Rabbit-burrow. 

3  i.e..  Call  me  horse. 


OF  ABINGTON.  337 

BOY.  Ay,  Nicholas ;  wilt  not  thou  go  see  the 
fray? 

NiCH.  No,  indeed;  even  as  they  brew,  so  let 
them  bake.  I  will  not  thrust  my  hand  into  the 
flame,  and  [I]  need  not ;  'tis  not  good  to  have  an 
oar  in  another  man's  boat;  little  said  is  soon 
amended,  and  in  little  meddling  cometh  great  rest ; 
'tis  good  sleeping  in  a  whole  skin ;  so  a  man  might 
come  home  by  Weeping-Cross  : l  no,  by  lady,  a 
friend  is  not  so  soon  gotten  as  lost ;  blessed  are 
the  peace-makers  ;  they  that  strike  with  the  sword, 
shall  be  beaten  with  the  scabbard. 

PHIL.  Well-said,  Proverbs :  ne'er  another  to 
that  purpose  1 

NICH.  Yes,  I  could  have  said  to  you,  sir,  Take 
heed  is  a  good  reed.2 

PHIL.  Why  to  me,  take  heed  ? 

NICH.  For  happy  is  he  whom  other  men's  harms 
do  make  to  beware. 

PHIL.  0,  beware,  Frank !  Slip  away,  Mall, 
you  know  what  I  told  ye.  I'll  hold  our  mothers 
both  in  talk  meanwhile.  [,4«We.]  Mother  and 
Mistress  Barnes,  methinks  you  should  not  stand  in 
hatred  so  hard  one  with  another. 

MRS  BAR.  Should  I  not,  sir  ?  should  I  not  hate 

a  harlot, 
That  robs  me  of  my  right,  vild  3  boy  1 

MRS  GrOUR.  That  title  I  return  unto  thy  teeth, 
[Exeunt  FRANCIS  and  MALL. 
And  spit  the  name  of  harlot  in  thy  face. 

MRS  BAR.  Well,  'tis  not  time  of  night  to  hold 
out  chat 


1  A  not  uncommon  proverbial  expression.   Nares  ("Gloss. " 
in  v.)  mentions  three  places  which  still  retain  the  name — 
one  between  Oxford  and  Banbury,  another  close  to  Stafford, 
the  third  near  Shrewsbury. 

2  i.e.,  Counsel,  advice.  3  i.e.,  Vile. 
VOL.  VII.  Y 


THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

With  such  a  scold  as  thou  art ;  therefore  now 
Think  that  I  hate  thee,  as  I  do  the  devil. 

MRS  GOUR.  The  devil  take  thee,  if  thou  dost 

not,  wretch ! 

MRS  BAR.  Out  upon  thee,  strumpet ! 
MRS  GOUR.  Out  upon  thee,  harlot ! 
MRS  BAR.  Well,  I  will  find  a  time  to  be  re- 

veng'd  : 

Meantime  I'll  keep  my  daughter  from  thy  son. — 
Where  are  ye,  minion  1  how  now,  are  ye  gone  *? 
PHIL.  She  went  in,  mother. 
MRS  GOUR.  Francis,  where  are  ye  ? 
MRS  BAR.  He  is  not  here.    0,  then,  they  slipp'd 

away, 
And  both  together  ! 

PHIL.  I'll  assure  ye,  no : 
My  sister  she  went  in — into  the  house. 

MRS  BAR.  But  then  she'll  out  again  at  the  back 

door, 

And  meet  with  him  :  but  I  will  search  about 
All  these  same  fields  and  paths  near  to  my  house  ; 
They  are  not  far,  I  am  sure,  if  I  make  haste. 

[Exit. 
MRS  GOUR.  0  God,  how  went  he  hence,  I  did 

not  see  him  ? 

It  was  when  Barnes's  wife  did  scold  with  me  ; 
A  plague  on1  her  ! — Dick,  why  didst  not  thou  look 

to  him  1 

CoOMES.  What  should  I  look  for  him  1  no,  no, 
I  look  not  for  him  while 2  to-morrow  morning. 
MRS  GOUR.  Come,  go  with  me  to  help  me  look 

him  out. 

Alas  !  I  have  nor  light,  nor  link,  nor  torch  ! 
Though  it  be  dark,  I  will  take  any  pains 
To  cross  this  match.     I  prithee,  Dick,  away. 
COOMES.  Mistress,  because  I  brought  ye  out,  I'll 

1  So  second  edit.     First  edit./^on.  2  i.e.,  Till. 


OF  ABINGTON.  339 

bring  ye  home ;  but,  if  I  should  follow,  so  he  might 
have  the  law  on  his  side. 

MRS  GOUR.  Come,  'tis  no  matter;  prythee,  go 
with  me. 

Exeunt  [MRS  GOURSEY  and  CoOMES.] 
MR  BAR.  Philip,  thy  mother's  gone  to  seek  thy 

sister, 

And  in  a  rage,  i'faith  :  but  who  comes  here  1 
PHIL.  Old  Master  Goursey,  as  I  think,  'tis  he. 
MR  BAR.  'Tis  so,  indeed. 

[Enter  MASTER  GOURSEY.] 

MR  GOUR.  Who's  there  ? 

MR  BAR.  A  friend  of  yours. 

MR  GOUR.  What,  Master  Barnes  !  did  ye  not  see 
my  wife  ? 

MR  BAR.  Yes,  sir,  I  saw  her ;  she  was  here  even 
now. 

MR  GOUR.  I  doubted  that ;  that  made  me  come 

unto  you  : 
But  whither  is  she  gone  1 

PHIL.  To  seek  your  son,  who  slipp'd  away  from 

her 

To  meet  with  Mall  my  sister  in  a  place, 
AVhere  I  appointed  ;  and  my  mother  too 
Seeks  for  my  sister ;  so  they  both  are  gone  : 
My  mother  hath  a  torch ;  marry,  your  wife 
Goes  darkling  up  and  down,  and  Coomes  before  her. 

MR  GOUR.  I  thought  that  knave  was  with  her ; 

but  'tis  well : 

I  pray  God,  they  may  come  by  ne'er  a  light, 
But  both  be  led  a  dark  dance  in  the  night ! 

HOD.  Why,  is  my  fellow,  Dick,  in  the  dark  with 
my  mistress?  I  pray  God,  they  be  honest,  for 
there  may  be  much  knavery  in  the  dark  :  faith,  if 
I  were  there,  I  would  have  some  knavery  witli 
them.  [4  side.]  Good  master,  will  ye  carry  the 


340  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

torch  yourself,  and  give  me  leave  to  play  at  blind- 
man-buff  with  my  mistress. 

PHIL.  On  that  condition  thou  wilt  do  thy  best 
To  keep  thy  mistress  and  thy  fellow,  Dick, 
Both  from  my  sister  and  thy  master's  son, 
I  will  entreat  thy  master  let  thee  go. 

HOD.  0,  ay,  I  warrant  ye,  I'll  have  fine  tricks 
to  cosen  them. 

MR  GOUR.  Well,  sir,  then,  go  your  ways ;  I  give 
you  leave. 

HOD.  0  brave  !  but  whereabout  are  they  ? 

PHIL.  About  our  coney-green  they  surely  are, 
If  thou  canst  find  them. 

HOD.  O,  let  me  alone  to  grope  for  cunnies. 

[Exit. 

PHIL.  Well,  now  will  I  to  Frank  and  to  my 

sister. 

Stand  you  two  heark'ning  near  the  coney-green  ; 
But  sure  your  light  in  you  must  not  be  seen ; 
Or  else  let  Nicholas  stand  afar  off  with  it, 
And  as  his  life  keep  it  from  Mistress  Goursey. 
Shall  this  be  done  1 

MR  BAR.  Philip,  it  shall. 

PHIL.  God  be  with  ye  !  I'll  be  gone.          [Exit. 

MR  BAR.  Come  on,  Master  Goursey  :  this  same 

is  a  means 
To  make  our  wives  friends,  if  they  resist  not. 

MR  GOUR.  Tut,  sir,  howsoever,  it  shall  go  for- 
ward. 

MR  BAR.  Come,  then,  let's  do  as  Philip  hath 
advis'd.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  MALL. 

MAL.  Here  is  the  place  where  Philip  bad    me 

stay, 

Till  Francis  came  ;  but  wherefore  did  my  brother 
Appoint  it  here  1  why  in  the  coney-burrow  ? 


OF  ABINGTON.  341 

He  had  some  meaning  in  't,  I  warrant  ye. 

Well,  here  I'll  set  me  down  under  this  tree, 

And  think  upon  the  matter  all  alone. 

Good  Lord,  what  pretty  things  these  conies  are  ! 

How  finely  they  do  feed  till  they  be  fat, 

And  then  what  a  sweet  meat  a  coney  is  ! 

And  what  smooth  skins  they  have,  both  black  and 

gray! 

They  say  they  run  more  in  the  night  than  day  : 
What  is  the  reason  ?  mark ;  why  in  the  light 
They  see  more  passengers  than  in  the  night ; 
For  harmful  men  many  a  hay l  do  set, 
And  laugh  to  see  them  tumble  in  the  net ; 
And  they  put  ferrets  in  the  holes — fie,  fie  ! — 
And  they  go  up  and  down  where  conies  lie ; 
And  they  lie  still,  they  have  so  little  wit : 
I  marvel  the  warrener  will  suffer  it ; 
Nay,  nay,  they  are  so  bad,  that  they  themselves 
Do  give  consent  to  catch  these  pretty  elves. 
How  if  the  warrener  should  spy  me  here  1 
He  would  take  me  for  a  coney,  I  dare  swear. 
But  when  that  Francis  comes,  what  will  he  say  ? 
"  Look,  boy,  there  lies  a  coney  in  my  way  ! " 
But,  soft,  a  light !  who's  that  f  soul,  my  mother  ! 
Nay,  then,  all-hid  : 2  i'faith,  she  shall  not  see  me  ; 
I'll  play  bo-peep  with  her  behind  this  tree. 


[Enter  MISTRESS  BARNES.] 

MRS  BAR,  I  marvel  where  this  wench  doth 3 

hide  herself 
So  closely ;  I  have  search'd  in  many  a  bush. 


1  i.e. ,  A  kind  of  net  for  catching  rabbits,— usually  stretched 
before  their  holes. 

2  [The  name  of  a  popular  game.] 

3  So  second  edit.    First  edit.^  do. 


342  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

MAL.  Belike  my  mother  took  me  for  a  thrush. 

[Aside. ] 
MRS  BAR.  She's  hid  in  this  same  warren,  I'll 

lay  money. 

MAL.    Close  as  a  rabbit-sucker 1  from  an  old 

coney.  [Aside.] 

MRS  BAR.  0  God,  I  would  to  God  that  I  could 

find  her  ! 

I  would  keep  her  from  her  love's  toys  yet. 
MAL.  Ay,  so  you  might,  if  your  daughter  had  no 
wit.  [Aside.] 

MRS  BAR.  What  a  vild2  girl  'tis,  that  would 

hav't  so  young  ! 

MAL.  A  murrain  take  that  dissembling  tongue  ! 
Ere  your  calf's  teeth  were  out,  you  thought  it  long. 

[Aside.] 
MRS  BAR.  But,  minion,  yet  I'll  keep  you  from 

the  man. 
MAL.  To  save  a  lie,  mother,  say,  if  you  can. 

[Aside.] 

MRS  BAR.  Well,  now  to  look  for  her. 
MAL.  Ay,  there's  the  spite  : 
What  trick  shall  I  now  have  to  'scape  her  light  ? 

[Aside.] 
MRS  BAR.  Who's  there  ?    what,  minion,  is  it 

you?— 

Beshrew  her  heart,  what  a  fright  she  put  me  to  ! 
But  I  am  glad  I  found  her,  though  I  was  afraid. 

[Aside.] 

Come  on  your  ways  ;  you  are  s  a  handsome  maid  ! 
Why  [steal]  you  forth  a-doors  so  late  at  night  ? 
Why,  whither  go  ye  1  come,  stand  still,  I  say. 
MAL.  No,  indeed,  mother ;  this  is  my  best  way. 
MRS  BAR.  'Tis  not  the  best  way  ;  stand  by  me, 
I  tell  ye. 

1  i.e.,  A  sucking,  or  young  rabbit.  2  Vile. 

3  So  second  edit.    .First  edit.,  you'r. 


OF  ABINGTON.  343 

MAL.  No ;  you  would  catch  me,  mother.     0,  I 

smell  ye ! 

MRS  BAR.  Will  ye  not  stand  still  1 
MAL.  No,  by  lady,  no. 
MRS  BAR.  But  I  will  make  ye. 
MAL.  Nay,  then,  trip-and-go. 
MRS  BAR.  Mistress,  I'll  make  ye  weary,  ere  I 

have  done. 
MAL.  Faith,  mother,  then,  I'll  try,  how  you  can 

run. 

MRS  BAR.  Will  ye  ? 
MAL.  Yes,  faith.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  [FRANK  and  BOY.] 

FRAN.  Mall, sweet-heart,  Mall!  what,  not  a  word  1 

BOY.  A  little  farther,  master ;  call  again. 

FRAN.  Why,  Mall !  I  prythee,  speak ;  why,  Mall, 

I  say! 

I  know  thou  art  not  far,  if  thou  wilt  *  speak ; 
Why,  Mall  !— 

But  now  I  see  she's  in  her  merry  vein, 
To  make  me  call,  and  put  me  to  more  pain. 
Well,  I  must  bear  with  her ;  she'll  bear  with  me  : 
But  I  will  call,  lest  that  it  be  not  so. — 
What,  Mall !  what,  Mall,  I  say  !  Boy,  are  we  right  1 
Have  we  not  miss'd  the  way  this  same  dark  night  ? 

BOY.  Mass,  it  may  be  so  :  as  I  am  true  2  man, 
I  have  not  seen  a  coney  since  I  came ; 
Yet  at  the  coney-burrow  we  should  meet. 
But,  hark  !  I  hear  the  trampling  of  some  feet 

FRAN.  It  may  be  so,  then;  therefore,  let's  lie 
close. 

[Enter  MISTRESS  GOURSEY  and  CoOMES.] 
MRS  GOUR.  Where  art  thou,  Dick  1 

1  Second  edit.,  wilt  not.  2  i.e.,  Honest.. 


344  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

COOMES.  Where  am  I,  quoth-a !  marry,  I  may 
be  where  anybody  will  say  I  am ;  either  in  France 
or  at  Rome,  or  at  Jerusalem,  they  may  say  I  am, 
for  I  am  not  able  to  disprove  them,  because  I  can- 
not tell  where  I  am. 

MRS  GOUR.  0,  what  a  blindfold  walk  have  we 

had,  Dick, 

To  seek  my  son !  and  yet  I  cannot  find  him. 
COOMES.  Why,  then,  mistress,  let's  go  home. 
MRS  GOUR.  Why,  ;tis  so  dark  we  shall  not  find 

the  way. 

FRAN.  I  pray  God,  ye  may  not,  mother,  till  it  be 

day !  [Aside. 

COOMES.  'Sblood,  take  heed,  mistress,  here's  a 

tree. 
MRS  GOUR.  Lead  thou  the  way,  and  let  me  hold 

by  thee. 

BOY.  Dick  Coomes,  what  difference  is  there  be- 
tween a  blind  man  and  he  that  cannot  see  ? 
FRAN.  Peace,  a  pox  on  thee  ! 
COOMES.  Swounds,  somebody  spake. 
MRS  GOUR.  Dick,  look  about ; 
It  may  be  here  we  may  find  them  out. 

COOMES.  I  see  the  glimpse l  of  somebody  here. — 
And  ye  be  a  sprite,  I'll  fray  the  bugbear. — 
There  a-goes,  mistress. 

MRS  GOUR.  0,  sir,  have  I  spied  you  ? 
FRAN.    A  plague  on  the  boy !    'was   he   that 
descried  2  me.  [Exeunt. 

[Enter  PHILIP.] 

PHIL.  How  like  a  beautous  lady  mask'd  in  black 
Looks  that  same  large  circumference  of  heaven  ! 
The  sky,  that  was  so  fair  three  hours  ago, 

1  Edits,  glimpes  (the  two  last  letters  transposed  by  mis- 
take.) 

2  i.e.,  Gave  notice  of,  discovered. 


OF  ABINGTON.  345 

Is  in  three  hours  become  an  Ethiop ; 

And  being  angry  at  her  beauteous  change, 

She  will  not  have  one  of  those  pearled  stars 

To  blab  her  sable  metamorphosis  : l 

Tis  very  dark.     I  did  appoint  my  sister 

To  meet  me  at  the  coney-borough  below, 

And  Francis  too ;  but  neither  can  I  see. 

Belike  my  mother  happ'ned  on  that  place, 

And  fray'd  them  from  it,  and  they  both  are  now 

Wand'ring  about  the2  fields:    how  shall  I  find 

them? 

It  is  so  dark,  I  scarce  can  see  my  hand : 
Why,  then,  I'll  hollow  for  them — no,  not  so ; 
So  will  his  voice  betray  him  to  our  mothers, 
And  if  he  answer,  and  bring  them  where  he  is. 
What  shall  I  then  do  1  it  must  not  be  so — 
'Sblood,3  it  must  be  so  ;  how  else,  I  pray  1 
Shall  I  stand  gaping  here  all  night  till  day, 
And  then  be  ne'er  the  near  1 4     So  ho,  so  ho  ! 

[Enter  WlLL.] 

WILL.  So  ho !  I  come  :  where  are  ye  ?  where 

art  thou  ?  here  ! 
PHIL.    How    now,    Frank,  where    hast   thou5 

been? 
WILL.    Frank!    what  Frank?    'sblood,   is   Sir 

Ealph  mad  ?     [Aside.]     Here's  the  bow. 
PHIL.  I  have  not  been  much  private  with  that 

voice  : 
Methinks  Frank  Goursey's  talk  and  his  doth  tell 

me 
I  am  mistaken ;  especially  by  his  bow ; 

1  So  second  edit.  First  edit,  metamorphesie. 

2  So  second  edit.  First  edit,  thete. 

3  So  second  edit.  First  edit.  'Sbloud. 

4  i.e.,  Nearer. 

5  So  second  edit.  Not  in  first  edit* 


34.6  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Frank  had  no  bow.    Well,  I  will  leave  this  fellow, 
And  hollow  somewhat  farther  in  the  fields. 

[Aside.] — 

Dost  thou  hear,  fellow  ?     I  perceive  by  thee 
That  we  are  both  mistaken  :  I  took  thee 
For  one  thou  art  not ;  likewise  thou  took'st  me 
For  Sir  Ralph  Smith,  but  sure  I  am  not  he  : 
And  so,  farewell ;  I  must  go  seek  my  friend. 
So  ho  !  [Exit. 

WILL.  So  ho,  so  ho  !  nay,  then,  Sir  Ralph,  so 

whore  ! 

For  a  whore  she  was  sure,  if  you  had  her  here 
So  late.     Now,  you  are  Sir  Ralph  Smith  ! l 
Well  do  ye  counterfeit  and  change  your  voice, 
But  yet  I  know  ye.     But  what  should  be  that 

Francis  1 

Belike  that  Francis  cosen'd  him  of  his  wench, 
And  he  conceals  himself  to  find  her  out ; 
Tis  so,  upon  my  life.     Well,  I  will  go, 
And  help  him  ring  his  peal  of  so  ho,  so  ho  !   [Exit. 

Enter  FRANK. 

FRAN.  A  plague  on  Coomes  !  a  plague  upon  the 

boy! 
A  plague,  too — not  on  my  mother  for  an  hundreth 

pound ! 

'Twas  time  to  run ;  and  yet  I  had  not  thought 
My  mother  could  have  followed  me  so  close, 
Her  legs  with  age  I  thought  had  foundered ; 
She  made  me  quite  run  through  a  quickset  hedge, 
Or  she  had  taken  me.     Well,  I  may  say, 
I  have  run  through  the  briars  for  a  wench ; 
And  yet  I  have  her  not — the  worse  luck  mine. 
Methought  I  heard  one  hollow  hereabout ; 
I  judge  it  Philip  ;  0,  the  slave  will  laugh, 

1  Qy.  "Sir  Ralph  Smith,  I  know." 


OF  ABINGTON.  347 

When  as  he  hears  how  that  my  mother  scar'd  me  ! 
Well,  here  I'll  stand  until  I  hear  him  hollow, 
And  then  I'll  answer  him  ;  he  is  not  far. 

[Enter  SIR  RALPH  SMITH.] 

SIR  RALPH.  My  man  is  hollowing  for  me  up  and 

down, 
And  yet  I  cannot  meet  with  him.     So  ho  ! 

FRAN.  So  ho ! 

SIR  RALPH.    Why,  what  a  pox,  wert  thou  so 

near  me,  man, 
And  would  st  not  speak  ? 

FRAN.  'Sblood,  ye're  very  hot. 

SIR  RALPH.   No,  sir,  I  am  cold  enough  with 

staying  here 
For  such  a  knave  as  you. 

FRAN.  Knave  !  how  now,  Philip  ? 
Art  mad,  art  mad  1 

SIR  RALPH.  Why,  art  not  thou  my  man, 
That  went  to  fetch  my  bow  1 l 

FRAN.  Indeed,  a  bow 

Might  shoot  me  ten  bows  down  the  weather  so  : 
I  your  man  ! 

SIR  RALPH.  What  art  thou,  then  ? 

FRAN.  A  man  :  but  what's  thy  name  ? 

SIR  RALPH.  Some  call  me  Ralph. 

FRAN.  Then,  honest  Ralph,  farewell. 

SIR  RALPH.  Well-said,  familiar  Will !  plain  Ralph, 
i'faith.        [Hollow  within  PHILIP  and  WlLL.p 
FRAN.  There  calls  my  man. 

SIR  RALPH.  But  there  goes  mine  away ; 
And  yet  I'll  hear  what  this  next  call  will  say, 
And  here  I'll  tarry,  till  he  call  again.     [Retires.] 3 

1  So  second  edit.    These  words  are  wanting  in  first  edit. 

2  This  stage  direction  occurs  somewhat  earlier  in  edits. 

3  I  am  not  sure  that  this  stage  direction,  which  I  have 
added,  is  the  right  one.    It  would  seem,  however,  that  Sir 


348  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

[Enter  WILL.] 
WILL.  So  ho  ! 

FRAN.  So  ho  !  where  art  thou,  Philip  1 
WILL,  'Sblood,'  Philip! 
But  now  he  call'd  me  Francis  :  this  is  fine  . 

[Aside.] 
FRAN.  Why  studiest  thou  ?    I  prythee,  tell  me, 

Philip, 

Where  the  wench  2  is. 
WILL.  Even  now  he  ask'd  me  (Francis)  for  the 

wench, 
And  now  he  asks  3  me  (Philip)  for  the  wench. 

[Aside.] 

Well,  Sir  Ralph,  I  must  needs  tell  ye  now, 
Tis  4  not  for  your  6  credit  to  be  forth 
So  late  a-  wenching  in  this  order.6 

FRAN.  What's  this  1  so  late  a-  wenching,  doth  he 


Indeed,  'tis  true  I  am  thus  late  a-  wenching, 
But  I  am  forc'd  to  wench  without  a  wench. 
WILL.  Why,  then,  you  might  have  ta'n  your  bow 

at  first, 

And  gone  and  kill'd  a  buck,  and  not  have  been 
So  long  a-drabbing,  and  be  ne'er  the  near.7 
FRAN.  Swounds,  what  a  puzzle  am  I  in  this 

night  ! 
But  yet  I'll  put  this  fellow  farther  [question. 

Aside]  — 
Dost  thou  hear,  man  ?     I  am  not  Sir  Ralph  Smith, 


Ralph  Smith  remains  on  the  stage,  and  is  supposed  not  to 
overhear  the  dialogue  which  ensues  between  Francis  and 
Will. 

1  Edits.,  Sbloud. 

9  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  whendt. 

3  Edits.,  ask't  and  aske. 

4  Read,  for  the  metre,  It  is. 

6  So  second  edit.    Not  in  first  edit. 

6  Qy.,  order  here  ?  7  i.e.,  Nearer. 


OF  ABINGTON.  349 

As  thou  dost  think  I  am  ;  but  I  did  meet  him, 
Even  as  thou  sayest,  in  pursuit  of  a  wench. 
I  met  the  wench  too,  and  she  ask'd  for  thee, 
Saying  'twas  thou  that  wert  her  love,  her  dear, 
And  that  Sir  Ealph  was  not  an  honest  knight 
To  train  her  thither,  and  to  use  her  so. 

WILL.  'Sblood,  my  wench  !  swounds,  were  he  ten 
Sir  Ralphs— 

FRAN.  Nay,  'tis  true,  look  to  it ;  and  so,  fare- 
well. [Exit. 

WILL.  Indeed,  I  do  love  Nan  our  dairymaid  : 
And  hath  he  traine[d]  her  forth  to  that  intent, 
Or  for  another  1     I  carry  his  crossbow, 
And  he  doth  cross  me,  shooting  in  my  bow. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  [Exit.] l 

Enter  PHILIP. 
PHIL.  So  ho! 
SIR  RALPH.  So  ho ! 
PHIL.  Francis,  art  thou  there  ? 
SIR  RALPH.  No,  here's  no  Francis.     Art  thou 

Will,  my  man  ? 
PHIL.  Will  Fool  your  man,  Will  goose  2  your 

man  ! 
My  back,  sir,  scorns  to  wear  your  livery. 

SIR  RALPH.  Nay,  sir,  I  mov'd  but  such  a  ques- 
tion to  you, 

And  it  hath  not  disparag'd  you,  I  hope  ; 
'Twas  but  mistaking  ;  such  a  night  as  this 
May  well  deceive  a  man.     God  be  w'ye,3  sir. 

[Exit.] 
PHIL.  God's  will,  'tis  Sir  Ralph  Smith,  a  virtuous 

knight ! 
How  gently  entertains  he  my  hard  answer ! 

1  Perhaps  he  ought  only  to  retire. 

2  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  asyoe. 

3  [Old  copies,  boyc.] 


350  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Rude  anger  made  my  tongue  unmannerly  : 
I  cry  him  mercy.  Well,  but  all  this  while 
I  cannot  find  a  Francis. — Francis,  ho  ! 

[Enter  WlLL.] 

WILL.  Francis,  ho  !  0,  you  call  Francis  now ! 
How  have  ye  us'd  my  Nan  1  come,  tell  me,  how. 

PHIL.  Thy  Nan  !  what  Nan  ? 

WILL.  Ay,  what  Nan,  now !  say,  do  you  not 
seek  a  wench  ? 

PHIL.  Yes,  I  do. 

WILL.  Then,  sir,  that  is  she. 

PHIL.  Art  not  thou  [he]  I  met  withal  before  ? 

WILL.  Yes,  sir  ;  and  you  did  counterfeit  before, 
And  said  to  me  you  were  not  Sir  E/alph  Smith. 

PHIL.  No  more  I  am  not.     I  met  Sir  Ealph 

Smith  ; 
Even  now  he  ask'd  me,  if  I  saw  his  man. 

WILL.  0,  fine  ! 

PHIL.  Why,  sirrah,  thou  art  much  deceived  in 

me  : 
Good  faith,  I  am  not  he  thou  think'st  I  am. 

WILL.  What  are  ye,  then  ? 

PHIL.  Why,  one  that  seeks  one  Francis  and  a 
wench. 

WILL.  And  Francis  seeks    one    Philip   and  a 
wench. 

PHIL.  How  canst  thou  tell  ? 

WILL.  I  met  him  seeking  Philip  and  a  wench. 
As  I  was  seeking  Sir  Ralph  and  a  wench. 

PHIL.  Why,  then,  I  know  the  matter :  we  met 

cross, 

And  so  vwe  miss'd ;  now  here  we  find  our  loss. 
Well,  if  thou  wilt,  we  two  will  keep  together, 
And  so  we  shall  meet  right  with  one  or  other. 

WILL.  I  am  content :  but,  do  you  hear  me,  sir  ? 
Did  not  Sir  Ralph  Smith  ask  ye  for  a  wench  1 


OF  ABINGTON.  351 

PHIL.  No,  I  promise  thee,  nor  did  he  look 
For  any  but  thyself,  as  I  could  guess. 

WILL.  Why,  this  is  strange  :  but  come,  sir,  let's 

away : 
I  fear  that  we  shall  walk  here,  till't  be  day. 

[Exeunt. 

Inter  BOY. 

[BOY.]  0  God,  I  have  run  so  far  into  the  wind, 
that  I  have  run  myself  out  of  wind  !  They  say  a 
man  is  near  his  end,  when  he  lacks  breath ;  and  I 
am  at  the  end  of  my  race,  for  I  can  run  no  farther  ; 
then  here  I  be  in  my  breath-bed,  not  in  my  death- 
bed.1 

Enter  COOMES. 

COOMES.  They  say  men  moil  and  toil  for  a 
poor  living ;  so  I  moil  and  toil,  and  am  living,  I 
thank  God ;  in  good  time  be  it  spoken.  It  had 
been  better  for  me  iny  mistress's  angel  had  been 
light,  for  then  perhaps  it  had  not  led  me  into  this 
darkness.  Well,  the  devil  never  blesses  a  man 
better,  when  he  purses  up  angels  by  owl-light.  I 
ran  through  a  hedge  to  take  the  boy,  but  I  stuck 
in  the  ditch,  and  lost  the  boy.  [Falls.']  'Swounds, 
a  plague  on  that  clod,  that  molehill,  that  ditch,  or 
what  the  devil  so  e'er  it  were,  for  a  man  cannot 
see  what  it  was  !  Well,  I  would  not,  for  the  price 
of  my  sword  and  buckler,  anybody  should  see  me 
in  this  taking,  for  it  would  make  me  but  cut  off 
their  legs  for  laughing  at  me.  Well,  down  I  am, 
and  down  I  mean  to  be,  because  I  am  weary  ;  but 


1  It  would  seem  that  something  is  wanting  after  this 
speech,  unless  we  are  to  suppose  that  here  the  Boy  lies  down 
and  falls  asleep,  and  that  he  wakens  on  the  second  entrance 
of  Hodge, — where,  however,  the  edits,  distinctly  mark 
"  Enter  Hodge  and  Boy  "  ;  see  p.  358. 


352  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

to  tumble  down  thus,  it  was  no  part  of  my  mean- 
ing :  then,  since  I  am  down,  here  I'll  rest  me,  and 
no  man  shall  remove  me. 

Enter  HODGE. 

HOD.  0,  I  have  sport  in  coney,  i'faith  !  I  have 
almost  burst  myself  with  laughing  at  Mistress 
Barnes.  She  was  following  of  her  daughter ;  and 
I,  hearing  her,  put  on  my  fellow  Dick's  sword- 
and-buckler  voice  and  his  swounds  and  sblood 
words,  and  led  her  such  a  dance  in  the  dark  as  it 
passes.1  "  Here  she  is,"  quoth  I.  "  Where  ?  " 
quoth  she.  "  Here,"  quoth  I.  0,  it  hath  been  a 
brave  here-and-there  night !  but,  0,  what  a  soft- 
natured  thing  the  dirt  is  !  how  it  would  endure 
my  hard  treading,  and  kiss  my  feet  for  acquaint- 
ance !  and  how  courteous  and  mannerly  were  the 
clods 2  to  make  me  stumble  only  of  purpose  to 
entreat  me  lie  down  and  rest  me  !  But  now,  and 
I  could  find  my  fellow  Dick,  I  would  play  the 
knave  with  him  honestly,  i;faith.  Well,  I  will 
grope  in  the  dark  for  him,  or  I'll  poke  with  my 
staff,  like  a  blind  man,  to  prevent  a  ditch. 

[He  stumbles  3  on  DlCK  COOMES. 

COOMES.  Who's  that,  with  a  pox  1 

HOD.  Who  art  thou,  with  a  pestilence  ? 

COOMES.  Why,  I  am  Dick  Coomes. 

HOD.  What,  have  I  found  thee,  Dick?  nay, 
then,  I  am  for  ye,  Dick.  [Aside.~\ — Where  are  ye, 
Dick? 

COOMES.  What  can  I  tell,  where  I  am  1 

HOD.  Can  ye  not  tell?  come,  come,  ye  wait 
on  your  mistress  well !  come  on  your  ways ;  I 
have  sought  you,  till  I  am  weary,  and  call'd  ye, 

1  i.e.,  Excels. 

3  So  second  edit.     First  edit,  clowdes. 

3  So  second  edit.     Not  in  first  edit. 


OF  ABINGTON.  353 

till  I  am  hoarse  :  good  Lord,  what  a  jaunt  I  have 
had  this  night,  heigho ! 

COOMES.  Is't  you,  mistress,  that  came  over  me  ? 
'Sblood,  'twere  a  good  deed  to  come  over  you  for 
this  night's  work.  I  cannot  afford  all  this  pains 
for  an  angel :  I  tell  ye  true  ;  a  kiss  were  not  cast 
away  upon  a  good  fellow,  that  hath  deserved  more 
that  way  than  a  kiss,  if  your  kindness  would 
afford  it  him  :  what,  shall  I  have't,  mistress  1 

HOD.  Fie,  fie,  I  must  not  kiss  my  man. 

COOMES.  Nay,  nay,  ne'er  stand ;  shall  I,  shall 
1 1  nobody  sees :  say  but  I  shall,  and  I'll  smack 
it l  soundly,  i'faith. 

HOD.  Away,  bawdy  man  !  in  truth,  I'll  tell 
your  master. 

COOMES.  My  master  !  go  to,  ne'er  tell  me  of  my 
master  :  he  may  pray  for  them  that  may,  he  is 
past  it :  and  for  mine  own  part,  I  can  do  some- 
what that  way,  I  thank  God ;  I  am  not  now  to 
learn,  and  'tis  your  part  to  have  your  whole  desire. 

HOD.  Fie,  fie,  I  am  ashamed  of  you :  would  you 
tempt  your  mistress  to  lewdness  ? 

COOMES.  To  lewdness !  no,  by  my  troth,  there's 
no  such  matter  in't,  it  is  for  kindness ;  and,  by  my 
troth,  if  you  like  my  gentle  offer,  you  shall  have 
what  courteously  I  can  afford  ye. 

HOD.  Shall  I  indeed,  Dick  1  I'faith,  if  I  thought 
nobody  would  see — 

COOMES.  Tush,  fear  not  that;  swoons,  they 
must  have  cats'  eyes,  then. 

HOD.  Then,  kiss  me,  Dick. 

COOMES.  A  kind  wench,  i'faith!  [Aside.] — 
Where  are  ye,  mistress  1 

HOD.  Here,  Dick.  0,  I  am  in  the  dark  !  Dick, 
go  about.2 


1 .  Second  edit.  ye. 

2  Qy.  Is  this  a  stage  direction  crept  into  the  text  ? 
VOL.  VII.  Z 


354  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

COOMES.  Nay,  I'll  throw l  sure  :  where  are  ye  1 

HOD.  Here. 

COOMES.  A  plague  on  this  post !  I  would  the 
carpenter  had  been  hang'd,  that  set  it  up,  for  me.2 
Where  are  ye  now  ] 

HOD.  Here. 

COOMES.  Here  \  0,  I  come.  [Exit.]  A  plague 
on  it,  I  am  in  a  pond,  mistress  ! 

HOD.  Ha,  ha !  I  have  led  him  into  a  pond. — 
"Where  art  thou,  Dick  1 

COOMES.  [Within.']  Up  to  the  middle  in  a  pond ! 

HOD.  Make  a  boat  of  thy  buckler,  then,  and 
swim  out.  Are  ye  so  hot,  with  a  pox  1  would  you 
kiss  my  mistress  1  cool  ye  there,  then,  good  Dick 
Coomes.  0,  when  he  comes  forth,  the  skirts  of 
his  blue  coat  will  drop  like  a  pent  3-house  !  0, 
that  I  could  see,  and  not  be  seen ;  how  he  would 
spaniel  it,  and  shake  himself,  when  he  comes  out 
of  the  pond  !  But  I'll  be  gone  ;  for  now  he'll 
fight  with  a  fly,  if  he  but  buzz 4  in  his  ear.  [Exit. 

Enter  COOMES. 

COOMES.  Here's  so-ho-ing  with  a  plague  !  so  hang, 
and  ye  will ;  for  I  have  been  almost  drown'd.  A 
pox  of  your  stones,5  and  ye  call  this  kissing  !  Ye 
talk  of  a  drowned  rat,  but  'twas  time  to  swim  like 
a  dog ;  I  had  been  serv'd  like  a  drown'd  cat  else. 
I  would  he  had  digg'd  his  grave  that  digg'd  the 
pond  !  my  feet  were  foul  indeed,  but  a  less  pail  than 
a  pond  would  have  served  my  turn  to  wash  them. 
A  man  shall  be  serv'd  thus  always,  when  he  follows 
any  of  these  females  :  but  'tis  my  kind  heart  that 
makes  me  thus  forward  in  kindness  unto  them  : 


1  Second  edit,  grope.  2  Second  edit.  so. 

3  [Old  copies,  paint.]      4  So  second  edit.     First  edit.  buze. 
5  Second  edit.  lips. 


OF  ABINGTON.  355 

well,  God  amend  them,  and  make  them  thankful 
to  them  that  would  do  them  pleasure.  I  am  not 
drunk,  I  would  ye  should  well  know  it ;  and  yet  I 
have  drunk  more  than  will  do  me  good,  for  I 
might  have  had  a  pump  set  up  with  as'1  good 
March  beer  as  this  was,  and  ne'er  set  up  an  ale- 
bush  for  the  matter.  Well,  I  am  somewhat  in 
wrath,  I  must  needs  say ;  and  yet  I  am  not  more 
angry  than  wise,  nor  more  wise  than  angry ;  but 
I'll  fight  with  the  next  man  I  meet,  and  it  be  but 
for  luck's  sake  ;  and  if  he  love  to  see  himself  hurt, 
let  him  bring  light  with  him ;  I'll  do  it  by  darkling 
else,  by  God's  dines.  Well,  here  will  I  walk,  who- 
soever says  nay. 

Enter  NICHOLAS. 

NlCH.  He  that  worse  may,  must  hold  the  candle ; 
but  my  master  is  not  so  wise,  as  God  might  have 
made  him.  He  is  gone  to  seek  a  hare  in  a  hen's 
nest,  a  needle  in  a  bottle  of  hay,  which  is  as 
seldom  seen  as  a  black  swan :  he  is  gone  to  seek 
my  young  mistress  ;  and  I  think  she-  is  better  lost 
than  found,  for  whosoever  hath  her,  hath  but  a 
wet  eel  by  the  tail.  But  they  may  do,  as  they 
list ;  the  law  is  in  their  own  hands ;  but,  and  they 
would  be  rul'd  by  me,  they  should  set  her  on  the 
lee-land,  and  bid  the  devil  split  her  ;  beshrew  her 
fingers,  she  hath  made  me  watch  past  mine  hour ; 
but  I'll  watch  her  a  good  turn  for  it. 

COOMES.  How,  who's  that  ?  Nicholas  !— So,  first 
come,  first  serv'd;  I  am  for  him  [Aside]. — How 
now,  Pro  verb,  Pro  verb1?  'sblood,  how  now,  Pro  verb? 

NlCH.  My  name  is  Nicholas,  Richard ;  and  I 
know  your  meaning,  and  I  hope  ye  mean  no  harm. 
I  thank  ye  :  I  am  the  better  for  your  asking. 

1  So  second  edit.  First  edit.  /  have  had  a  Pumpe  set  vp? 
as  good.  •. 


356  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

COOMES.  Where  have  ye  been  a-whoring  thus 
late,  ha? 

NICH.  Master  Kichard,  the  good  wife  would  not 
seek  her  daughter  in  the  oven,  unless  she  had  been 
there  herself:  but,  good  Lord,  you  are  knuckle- 
deep  in  dirt ! — I  warrant,  when  he  was  in,  he 
swore  Walsingham,1  and  chaf'd  terrible  for  the 
time  [vlmfe.] — Look,  the  water  drops  from  you  as 
fast  as  hops. 

COOMES.  What  need'st  thou  to  care,  whip-her- 
jenny,2  tripe- cheeks  1  3  out,  you  fat  ass  ! 

NICH.  Good  words  cost  nought :  ill  words  cor- 
rupt good  manners,  Richard ;  for  a  hasty  man 
never  wants  woe.  And  I  had  thought  you  had 
been  my  friend;  but  I  see  all  is  not  gold  that 
glitters  ;  there's  falsehood  in  fellowship  ;  amicus 
certus  in  re  certa  cernitur;  time  and  truth  tries  all ; 
and  'tis  an  old  proverb,  and  not  so  old  as  true, 
bought  wit  is  the  best ;  I  can  see  day  at  a  little 
hole  ;  I  know  your  mind  as  well  as  though  I  were 
within  you  ;  'tis  ill  halting  before  a  cripple  :  go  to, 
you  seek  to  quarrel ;  but  beware  of  had  I  wist ;  4 
so  long  goes  the  pot  to  the  water,  at  length  it 
comes  home  broken ;  I  know  you  are  as  good  a 
man  as  ever  drew  sword,  or  as  was  e'er  girt  in  a 
girdle,  or  as  e'er  went  on  neat's  leather,  or  as  one 
shall  see  upon  a  summer's  day,  or  as  e'er  look'd 
man  in  the  face,  or  as  e'er  trod  on  God's  earth,  or 
as  e'er  broke  bread  or  drunk  drink;  but  he  is 
proper  that  hath  proper  conditions ; 5  but  be  not 


1  'i.e.,  (Perhaps)  swore  by  our  Lady  of  Walsingham,  in 
Norfolk. 

2  [The  name  of  a  game,  though  here  used  as  a  bye-word. 
See  "Popular  Antiquities  of  Gr.  Britain,"  ii.  341.] 

s  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  Tripe-chctke. 
4  i.e.,  Had  I  known  the  consequences :   a  common  pro- 
verbial expression  of  repentance. 
6  See  note,  p.  25. 


OF  ABIXGTON.  357 

you  like  the  cow,  that  gives  a  good  sop  of  milk, 
and  casts  it  down  with  her 1  heels ;  I  speak  plainly, 
for  plain-dealing  is  a  jewel,  and  he  that  useth  it 
shall  die  a  beggar ;  well,  that  happens  in  an  hour, 
that  happens  not  in  seven  years ;  a  man  is  not  so 
soon  whole  as  hurt ;  and  you  should  kill  a  man, 
you  would  kiss  his — well,  I  say  little,  but  I  think 
the  more.  Yet  I'll  give  him  good  words ;  'tis  good 
to  hold  a  candle  before  the  devil ;  yet,  by  God's 
dine,2  111  take  no  wrong,  if  he  had  a  head  as  big  as 
Brass,3  or  look'd  as  high  as  Paul's  steeple.  [Aside.] 

COOMES.  Sirrah,  thou  grasshopper,  that  shalt 
skip  from  my  sword  as  from  a  scythe  ;  I'll  cut  thee 
out  in  collops  and  eggs,  in  steaks,  in  slic'd  beef, 
and  fry  thee  with  the  fire  I  shall  strike  from  the 
pike  of  thy  buckler. 

NiCH.  Ay",  Brag's  a  good  dog ;  threat'ned  folks 
live  long. 

COOMES.  What  say  ye,  sir  1 

NIGH.  Why,  I  say  not  so  much  as,  How  do  ye  1 

COOMES.  Do  ye  not  so,  sir  1 

NIGH.  No,  indeed,  whatsoe'er  I  think;  and 
thought  is  free. 

COOMES.  You  whoreson  wafer-cake,  by  God's 
dines,  111  crush  ye  for  this ! 

NiCH.  Give  an  inch,  and  you'll  take  an  ell ;  I 
will  not  put  my  finger  in  a  hole,  I  warrant  ye  : 
what,  man  !  ne'er  crow  so  fast,  for  a  blind  man 
may  kill  a  hare ;  I  have  known  when  a  plain  fellow 
hath  hurt  a  fencer,  so  I  have  :  what !  a  man  may 
be  as  slow  as  a  snail,  but  as  fierce  as  a  lion,  and  he 
be  moved  ;  indeed,  I  am  patient,  I  must  needs  say, 
for  patience  in  adversity  brings  a  man  to  the 
Three  Cranes  in  the  Yintry. 


1  So  second  edit.      First  edit.,  his.  2  [Edits.,  me.] 

3  Qy.  a  proverbial  allusion  to  the  famous  Brazen-head  ? 


358  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

COOMES.  Do  ye  hear  1  set  down  your  torch ; 
draw,  fight,  I  am  for  ye. 

NIGH.  And  I  am  for  ye  too,  though  it  be  from 
this  midnight  to  the  next  morn. 

COOMES.  Where  be  your  tools  1 

NiCH.  Within  a  mile  of  an  oak,  sir;  he's  a 
proud  horse  will  not  carry  his  own  provender,  I 
warrant  ye. 

COOMES.  Now  am  I  in  my  quarrelling  humour, 
and  now  can  I  say  nothing  but,  zounds,  draw  !  but 
I'll  untruss,  and  then  have  to  it.  [Aside.] 

Enter  [severally]  HODGE  and  BOY. 

HOD.  Who's  there  ?  boy !  honest  boy,  well-met : 
where  hast  thou  been  1 

BOY.  0  Hodge,  Dick  Coomes  hath  been  as  good 
as  a  cry  of  hounds,  to  make  a  breath'd J  hare  of 
me  !  but  didst  thou  see  my  master  ? 

HOD.  I  met  him  even  now,  and  he  ask'd  me  for 
thee,  and  he  is  gone  up  and  down,  whooing  like  - 
an  owl  for  thee. 

BOY.  Owl,  ye  ass  ! 

HOD.  Ass !  no,  nor  glass,  for  then  it  had  been 
Owlglass  : 3  but  who's  that,  boy  ? 

BOY.  By  the  mass,  'tis  our  Coomes  and  Nicholas  ; 
and  it  seems  they  are  providing  to  fight. 

HOD.  Then  we  shall  have  fine  sport,  i'faith. 
Sirrah,  let's  stand  close,  and  when  they  have  fought 
a  bout  or  two,  we'll  run  away  with  the  torch,  and 
leave  them  to  fight  darkling,  shall  we  ? 

BOY.  Content ;  I'll  get  the  torch  :  stand  close. 

1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  breath. 

2  So  second  edit.     Not  in  first  edit. 

3  The  hero  of  a  popular  German  jest-book  ("  Eulenspiegel,") 
which  was  translated  into  English  at  a  very  early  period : 
see  Gilford's  note  on  Jonson's  "  Works,"  iv.  60,  and  Naresl 
Gloss,  in  v. 


OF  ABINGTON.  350 

COOMES.  So  now  my  back  hath  room  to  reach  : 
I  do  not  love  to  be  lac'd  in,  when  I  go  to  lace  a 
rascal.  I  pray  God,  Nicholas  prove  not  a  fly  : l 
it  would  do  me  good  to  deal  with  a  good  man  now, 
that  we  might  have  half-a-dozen  good  smart  strokes. 
Ha,  I  have  seen  the  day  I  could  have  danc'd  in  my 
fight,  one,  two,  three,  four,  and  five,  on  the  head 
of  him;  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  and  ten  on  the 
sides  of  him ;  and,  if  I  went  so  far  as  fifteen,  I 
warrant  I  shewed  2  him  a  trick  of  one-and-twenty  ; 
but  I  have  not  fought  this  four  days,  and  I  lack  a 
little  practice  of  my  ward ;  but  T  shall  make  a  shift  : 
ha,  close  [Aside]. — Are  ye  disposed,  sir? 

NiCH.  Yes,  indeed,  I  fear  no  colours  :  change 
sides,  Richard. 

COOMES.  Change  the  gallows !  Ill  see  thee 
hang'd  first. 

NiCH.  Well,  I  see  the  fool  will  not  leave  his 
bable 3  for  the  Tower  of  London. 

COOMES.  Fool,  ye  rogue  !  nay,  then,  fall  to  it. 

NICH.  Good  goose,  bite  not. 

COOMES.  'Sblood,  how  pursy  I  am  !  Well,  I  see 
exercise  is  all :  I  must  practice  my  weapons  oft'ner  ; 
I  must  have  a  goal  or  two  at  foot-ball,  before  I 
come  to  my  right  kind  [Aside].  Give  me  thy  hand, 
Nicholas  :  thou  art  a  better  man  than  I  took  thee 
for,  and  yet  thou  art  not  so  good  a  man  as  I. 

NiCH.  You  dwell  by  ill-neighbours,  Richard; 
that  makes  ye  praise  yourself. 

COOMES.  Why,  I  hope  thou  wilt  say  I  am  a  man  ? 

NICH.  Yes,  I'll  say  so,  if  I  should  see  ye  hang'd. 

COOMES.  Hang'd,  ye  rogue !  nay,  then,  have  at 
ye.  [While  they  fight,  exeunt  HODGE  and  BOY  with 
the  torch.]  Zounds,  the  light  is  gone  ! 

1  [First  4°,  silly.} 

-  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  shew. 

3  i.e.,  Bauble. 


360  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

NICH.  0  Lord,  it  is  as  dark  as  pitch  ! 

COOMES.  Well,  here  I'll  lie,  with  my  buckler 
thus,  lest  striking  up  and  down  at  randall l  the 
rogue  might  hurt  me,  for  I  cannot  see  to  save  it, 
and  I'll  hold  my  peace,  lest  my  voice  should  bring 
him  where  I  am.  [Stand  aside.] 

NIGH.  'Tis  good  to  have  a  cloak  for  the  rain ;  a 
bad  shift  is  better  than  none  at  all ;  I'll  sit  here, 
as  if  I  were  as  dead  as  a  door-nail.  [Stand  aside.] 2 

Enter  MR  BARNES  and  MR  GOURSEY. 

MR  GOUR.  Hark !  there's  one  hallooes. 

MR  BARNES.  And  there's  another. 

MR  GOUR.  And  everywhere  we  come,  I  hear 

some  halloo, 
And  yet  it  is  our  haps  to  meet  with  none. 

MR  BAR.  I  marvel  where  your  Hodge  is  and  my 

man. 
MR  GOUR.  Ay,  and  our  wives  ?  we  cannot  meet 

with  them, 
Nor  with    the    boy,  nor  Mall,  nor  Frank,  nor 

Philip, 
Nor  yet  with   Coomes,  and  yet  we  ne'er  stood 

still. 

Well,  I  am  very  angry  with  my  wife, 
And  she  shall  find  I  am  not  pleas'd  with  her, 
If  we  meet  ne'er  so  soon :  but  'tis  my  hope  3 
She  hath  had  as  blind  a  journey  on't  as  we  ; 
Pray  God,  she  have,  and  worse,  if  worse  may  be ! 
MR  BAR.  This  is  but  short-liv'd  envy,4  Master 

Goursey : 
But,  come,  what  say  ye  to  my  policy  1 


1  Random. 

z[i.e.,  Coomes  and  Nicholas  both  retire  to  the  back  of 
the  stage.] 
3  Edits.,  hap.  4  i.e.,  Ill-will. 


OF  ABINGTON.  361 

MR  GOUR.  I  faith,  'tis  good,  and  we  will  practise 

it; 

But,  sir,  it  must  be  handled  cunningly, 
Or  all  is  marr'd  ;  our  wives  have  subtle  heads, 
And  they  will  soon  perceive  a  drift  device. 


Enter  SIR  RALPH  SMITH. 

SIR  RALPH.  So  ho ! 

MR  GOUR.  So  ho  ! 

SIR  RALPH.  Who  there  ? 

MR  BAR.  Here's  one  or  two. 

SIR  RALPH.  Is  Will  there  1 

MR  BAR.  No.     Philip  ? 

MR  GOUR.  Frank? 

SIR  RALPH.  No,  no. — 
Was  ever  man  deluded  thus  like  me  ? 
I  think  some  spirit  leads  me  thus  amiss, 
As  I  have  often  heard  that  some  have  been 
Thus  in  the  nights. 

But  yet  this  mazes  me ;  where  e'er  I  come, 
Some  asks  me  still  for  Frank  or  Philip, 
And  none  of  them  can  tell  me  where  Will  is. 

[Aside. 

WILL.  So  ho! 

fo°ho0i 

BOY.     So  ho! 
SIR  RALPH.  Zounds,  now  I  hear  four  halloo  at 

the  least ! 

One  had  a  little  voice ;  then,  that's  the  wench 
My  man  hath  lost :  well,  I  will  answer  all. 
So  ho! 

[Enter  HODGE.] 

HOD.  Whoop,  whoop ! 

SIR  RALPH.  Who's  there?  Will? 


362  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

HOD.  No,  sir ;  honest  Hodge  :  but,  I  pray  ye, 
sir,  did  ye  not  meet  with  a  boy  with  a  torch  ?  he 
is  run  away  from  me,  a  plague  on  him  ! 

SIR  RALPH.  Heyday,  from  Frank  and  Philip  to 

a  torch, 
And  to  a  boy  !  nay,  zounds,  then,  hap  as  'twill. 

[Aside. 
[Exeunt  SIR  RALPH  and  HODGE  severally. 

MR  GOUR.  Who  goes  there  1 

[Enter  WlLL.] 

WILL.  Guess  here. 

MR  BAR.  Philip  ? 

AViLL.  Philip  !  no,  faith ;  my  name's  Will— ill- 
Will,  for  I  was  never  worse  :  I  was  even  now  with 
him,  and  might  have  been  still,  but  that  I  fell  into 
a  ditch  and  lost  him,  and  now  I  am  going  up  and 
down  to  seek  him. 

MR  GOUR.  What  would'st  thou  do  with  him '? 

WILL.  Why,  I  would  have  him  go  with  me  to 
my  master's. 

MR  GOUR.  Who's  thy  master  ? 

WILL.  Why,  Sir  Ralph  Smith ;  and  thither  he 
promis'd  me  he  would  come  ;  if  he  keep  his  word, 
so  'tis. 

MR  BAR.  What  was  a l  doing,  when  thou  first 
found'st  him  1 

WILL.  Why,  he  halloo'd  for  one  Francis,  and 
Francis  halloo'd  for  him ;  I  halloo'd  for  my  master, 
and  my  master  for  me ;  but  we  miss'd  still,  meet- 
ing contrary,  Philip  and  Francis  with  me  and  rny 
master,  and  I  and  my  master  with  Philip  and 
Frank. 


1  Second  edit.,  he  a;  but  a  is  a  common  contraction  for 
he. 


OF  ABINGTON.  3G3 

MR  GOUR.  Why,  wherefore  is  Sir  Ealph  so  late 
abroad  ? 

WILL.  Why,  he  meant  to  kill  a  buck  ;  I'll  say 
so  to  save  his  honesty,  but  my  Nan  was  his  mark 
[iimfe].  And  he  sent  me  for  his  bow,  and  when  I 
came,  I  halloo'd  for  him  ;  but  I  never  saw  such 
luck  to  miss  him  ;  it  hath  almost  made  me  mad. 

MR  BAR.  Well,  stay  with  us  ;  perhaps  Sir  Ralph 
and  he  will  come  anon  :  hark  !  I  do  hear  one  hal- 
loo. 

Enter  PHILIP. 

PHIL.  Is  this  broad  waking  in  a  winter's  night  1 
I  am  broad  walking  in  a  winter's  night — 
Broad  indeed,  because  I  am  abroad — 
But  these  broad  fields,  methinks,  are  not  so  broad 
That  they  may  keep  me  forth  of  narrow  ditches. 
Here's  a  hard  world  ! 

For  I  can  hardly  keep  myself  upright  in  it : 
I  am  marvellous  dutiful — but,  so  ho  ! 

WILL.  So  ho! 

PHIL.  Who's  there  1 

WILL.  Here's  Will. 

PHIL.  What,  Will !  how  'scap'st  thou  1 

WILL.  What,  sir  1 

PHIL.  Nay,  not  hanging,  but  drowning:  wert 
thou  in  a  pond  or  a  ditch  1 

WILL.  A  pestilence  on  it !  is't  you,  Philip  1  no, 
faith,  I  was  but  dirty  a  little  :  but  here's  one  or 
two  ask'd  for  ye. 

PHIL.  Who  be  they,  man  ? 

MR  BAR.  Philip,  'tis  I  and  Master  Goursey. 

PHIL.  Father,  0  father,  I  have  heard  them  say 
The  days  of  ignorance  are  pass'd  and  done  ; 
But  I  am  sure  the  nights  of  ignorance 
Are  not  yet  pass'd,  for  this  is  one  of  them. 
But  where's  my  sister  1 

MR  BAR.  Why,  we  cannot  tell. 


364  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

PHIL.  Where's  Francis  ? 

MR  GOUR.  Neither  saw  we  him. 

PHIL.  Why,  this  is  fine. 
What,  neither  he  nor  I,  nor  she  nor  you, 
Nor  I  nor  she,  nor  you  and  I,  till 1  now, 
Can  meet,  could  meet,  or  e'er,  I  think,  shall  meet ! 
Call  ye  this  wooing  1  no,  'tis  Christmas  sport 
Of  Hob-man-blind,2  all  blind,  all  seek  to  catch, 
All  miss — but  who  comes  here  1 

Enter  FRANK  and  Ms  BOY. 

FRAN.  0,  have  I  catch'd  ye,  sir  ?    It  was  your 

doing 

That  made  me  have  this  pretty  dance  to-night ; 
Had  not  you  spoken,  my  mother  had  not  scar'd 

me : 

But  I  will  swinge  ye  for  it. 
PHIL.  Keep  the  king's  peace  ! 
FRAN.  How  !  art  thou  become  a  constable  ? 
Why,  Philip,  where  hast  thou  been  all  this  while  1 
PHIL.  Why,  where  you  were  not :  but,  I  pray 

[you],  where's  my  sister  1 
FRAN.  Why,  man,  I  saw  her  not ;  but  I  have 

sought  her, 
As  I  should  seek — 

PHIL.  A  needle,  have  ye  not  ? 
Why  you,  man,  are  the  needle  that  she  seeks 
To  work  withal !     Well,  Francis,  do  you  hear  ? 
You  must  not  answer  so,  that  you  have  sought 

her; 

But  have  ye  found  her  1  faith,  and  if  you  have, 
God  give  ye  joy  of  that  ye  found  with  her ! 
FRAN.3  I  saw  her  not :  how  could  I  find  her  ? 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit.,  tell. 

2  i.e.,  Blind-man's-buff. 

3  So  second  edit.    Not  in  first  edit. 


OF  ABINGTON.  365 

MR  GOUR.  Why,  could  ye  miss  from  Master 

Barnes's  house 
Unto  his  coney-burrow  ? 

FRAN.  Whether  I  could  or  no,  father,  I  did. 
PHIL.  Father,  I  did  !     Well,  Frank,  wilt  thou 

believe  me  1 
Thou  dost  not  know  how  much  this  same  doth 

grieve  me  : 

Shall  it  be  said  thou  miss'd  so  plain  a  way, 
When  as  so  fair  a  wench  did  for  thee  stay  ? 
FRAN.  Zounds,  man ! 
PHIL.  Zounds,  man  !   and  if  thou  hadst  been 

blind, 

The  coney-burrow  thou  needest  must  find. 
I  tell,  thee,  Francis,  had  it  been  my  case, 
And  I  had  been  a  wooer  in  thy  place, 
I  would  have  laid  my  head  unto  the  ground, 
And  scented  out  my  wench's  way,  like  a  hound ; 
I  would  have  crept  upon  my  knees  all  night, 
And  have  made  the  flintstones  links  to  give  me 

light; 
Nay,  man,  I  would. 

FRAN.  Good  Lord,  what  you  would  do  ! 
Well,  we  shall  see  one  day,  how  you  can  woo. 
MR  GOUR.  Come,  come,  we  see  that  we  have 

all  been  cross'd ; 
Therefore,  let's  go,  and  seek  them  we  have  lost. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  MALL. 

[MAL.]  Am   I    alone?    doth   not   my   mother 

come1? 

Her  torch  I  see  not,  which  I  well  might  see, 
If  any  way  she  were  coming  toward  me  : 
Why,  then,  belike  she's  gone  some  other  way  ; 
And  may  she  go,  till  I  bid  her  [to]  turn  ! 
Far  shall  her  way  be  then,  and  little  fair, 
Foe  she  hath  hindered  ,me  of  my  good  turn  j 


366  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

God  send  her  wet  and  weary,  ere  she  turn  ! 

I  had  been  at  Oxenford,  and  to-morrow 

Have  been  releas'd  from  all  my  maiden's  sorrow, 

And  tasted  joy,  had  not  my  mother  been ; 

God,  I  beseech  thee,  make  it  her  worst  sin  ! 

How  many  maids  this  night  lies  in  their  beds, 

And  dream  that  they  have  lost  their  maidenheads  ! 

Such  dreams,  such  slumbers  I  had  too  enjoy'd, 

If  waking  malice  had  not  them  destroy'd. 

A  starved  man  with  double  death  doth  die, 

To  have  the  meat  might  save  him  in  his  eye, 

And  may  not  have  it :  so  am  I  tormented, 

To  starve  for  joy  I  see,  yet  am  prevented. 

Well,Frank,  although  thou  wooedst  and  quickly  won, 

Yet  shall  my  love  to  thee  be  never  done ; 

I'll  run  through  hedge  and  ditch,  through  brakes 

and  briars, 

To  come  to  thee,  sole  lord  of  my  desires  : 
Short  wooing  is  the  best,  an  hour,  not  years, 
For  long-debating  love  is  full  of  fears. 
But,  hark  !  I  hear  one  tread.  0,  were't  my  brother, 
Or  Frank,  or  any  man,  but  not  my  mother  I 

[Enter  SIR  EALPH  SMITH.] 

SIR  EALPH.  O,  when  will  this  same   year  of 

night  have  end  1 

Long-look'd  for  day's  sun,  when  wilt  thou  ascend  1 
Let  not  this  thieve  ^friend,  misty  veil  of  night, 
Encroach  on  day,  and  shadow  thy  fair  light, 
Whilst  thou  com'st  tardy  from  thy  Thetis'  bed, 
Blushing  forth  golden  hair  and  glorious  red ; 
0,  stay  not  long,  bright  Ian  thorn  of  the  day, 
To  light  my  miss'd-way  feet  to  my  right  way  ! 

MAL.  It  is  a  man,  his  big  voice  tells  me  so, 
Much  am  I  not  acquainted  with  it,  tho' ; 

1  [Old  copy,  thief.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  367 

And  yet  mine  ear,  sound's  true  distinguisher, 
Boys1  that  I  have  been  more  familiar 
With  it  than  now  I  am  :  well,  I  do  judge, 
It  is  no  envious  fellow,  out 2  of  grudge ; 
Therefore  I'll  plead  acquaintance,  hire  his  guiding, 
And  buy  of  him  some  place  of  close  abiding, 
Till  that  my  mother's  malice  be  expir'd, 
And  we  may  joy  in  that  is  long  desired 
Who's  there? 

Sm  EALPH.  Are  ye  a  maid  I  No  question,  this 

is  she 

My  man  doth  miss  :  faith,  since  she  lights  on  me, 
I  do  not  mean  till  day  to  let  her  go ; 
For  whe'er  3  she  is  my  man's  love,  I  will  know 

[Aside.] 

Hark  ye,  maid,  if  [a]  maid,  are  ye  so  light, 
That  you  can  see  to  wander  in  the  night  ? 

MAL.  Hark  ye,  true  man,  if  true,  I  tell  ye,  no  ; 
I  cannot  see  at  all  which  way  I  go. 

SIR  RALPH.  Fair  maid,  is't  so  ?  say,  had  ye  ne'er 

a  fall? 

MAL.  Fair  man,  not  so ;  no,  I  had  none  at  all. 
SIR  RALPH.  Could  you  not  stumble  on  one  man, 

I  pray  ? 

MAL.  No,  no  such  block  till  now  came  in  my  way. 
SIR  RALPH.  Am  I  that  block,  sweet  tripe ;  then, 

fall  and  try. 
MAL.    The  ground's  too  hard  a  feather-bed ; 

not  I. 
SIR  RALPH.  Why,  how,  and  you  had  met  with 

such  a  stump  ? 
MAL.  Why,  if  he  had  been  your  height,  I  meant 

to  jump. 

SIR  RALPH.  Are  ye  so  nimble  ? 
MAL.  Nimble  as  a  doe. 

1  i.e.,  (I  suppose)  Buoys.     2  [Old  copy,  not  envies fellon,  not.] 
3  [Old  copies,  what.] 


368  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

SIR  EALPH.  Bak'd  in  a  pie. 

MAL.  Of  ye. 

SIR  RALPH.  Good  meat,  ye  know. 

MAL.  Ye  hunt  sometimes  ? 

SIR  RALPH.  I  do. 

MAL.  What  take  ye  ? 

SIR  RALPH.  Deer. 

MAL.  You'll  ne'er  strike  rascal  1 l 

SIR  RALPH.  Yes,  when  ye  are  there. 

MAL.  Will  ye  strike  me  ? 

SIR  RALPH.  Yes  :  will  ye  strike  again  1 

MAL.  No,  sir:  it  fits  not  maids  to  fight  with 

men. 
SIR  RALPH.  I  wonder,  wench,  how  I  thy  name 

might  know. 
MAL.  Why,  you  may  find  it,  sir,  in  th'  Christ- 


cross  row. 


SIR  RALPH.  Be  my  schoolmistress,  teach  me  how 

to  spell  it. 

MAL.  No,  faith,  I  care  not  greatly,  if  I  tell  it ; 
My  name  is  Mary  Barnes. 
SIR  RALPH.  How,  wench  1  Mall  Barnes  ! 
MAL.  The  very  same. 
SIR  RALPH.  Why,  this  is  strange. 
MAL.  I  pray,  sir,  what's  your  name  ? 
SIR  RALPH.  Why,  Sir  Ralph  Smith  doth  wonder, 

wench,  at  this ; 

Why,  what's  the  cause  thou  art  abroad  so  late  1 
MAL.  What,  Sir  Ralph  Smith !  nay,  then,  I  will 

disclose 

All  the  whole  cause  to  him,  in  him  repose 
My  hopes,  my  love  :  God  him,  I  hope,  did  send 
Our  loves  and  both  our  mothers'  hates  to  end. 

[yls^e.] — 
Gentle  Sir  Ralph,  if  you  my  blush  might  see, 


1  i.e.,  A  dear  lean  and  out  of  season. 

2  i.e.,  The  alphabet.  , 


OF  ABINGTON.  369 

You  then  would  say  I  am  ashamed  to  be 

Found,  like  a  wand'ring  stray,  by  such  a  knight, 

So  far  from  home  at  such  a  time  of  night : 

But  my  excuse  is  good ;  love  first  by  fate 

Is  cross'd,  controlled,  and  sundered  by  fell  hate. 

Frank  Goursey  is  my  love,  and  he  loves  me ; 

But  both  our  mothers  hate  and  disagree ; 

Our  fathers  like  the  match  and  wish  it  done ; 

And  so  it  had,  had  not  our  mothers  come ; 

To  Oxford  we  concluded  both  to  go  ; 

Going  to  meet,  they  came ;  we  parted  so ; 

My  mother  followed  me,  but  I  ran  fast, 

Thinking  who  went  from  hate  had  need  make 

haste ; 

Take  me  she  cannot,  though  she  still  pursue  : 
But  now,  sweet  knight,  I  do  repose  on  you ; 
Be  you  my  orator  and  plead  my  right, 
And  get  me  one  good  day  for  this  bad  night. 
SIR  RALPH.  Alas,  good  heart,  I  pity  thy  hard 

hap ! 

And  I'll  employ  all  that  I  may  for  thee. 
Frank  Goursey,  wench  !  I  do  commend  thy  choice  : 
Now  I  remember  I  met  one  Francis, 
As  I  did  seek  my  man, — then,  that  was  he, — 
And  Philip  too, — belike  that  was  thy  brother : 
Why,  now  I  find  how  I  did  lose  myself, 
And  wander1  up  and  down,  mistaking  so. 
Give  me  thy  hand,  Mall :  I  will  never  leave, 
Till  I  have  made  your  mothers  friends  again, 
And  purchas'd  to  ye  both  your  hearts'  delight, 
And  for  this  same  one  bad  many  a  good  night 
'Twill  not  be  long,  ere  that  Aurora  will, 
Deck'd  in  the  glory  of  a  golden  sun, 
Open  the  crystal  windows  of  the  east, 
To  make  the  earth  enamour'd  of  her  face, 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit,  wandring. 
VOL.  VII.  2  A 


370  THE  TWO   ANGRY  WOMEN 

When  we  shall  have  clear  light  to  see  our  way  : 
Come  ;  night  being  done,  expect  a  happy  day. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  MISTRESS  BARNES. 

MRS  BAR.  0,  what  a  race  this  peevish  girl  hath 

led  me ! 

How  fast  I  ran,  and  now  how  weary  I  am  ! 
I  am  so  out  of  breath  I  scarce  can  speak, — 
What  shall  I  do  1 — and  cannot  overtake  her. 
Tis  late  and  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home  : 
May  there  not  thieves  lie  watching  hereabout, 
Intending  mischief  unto  them  they  meet  ? 
There  may ;  and  I  am  much  afraid  of  them, 
Being  alone  without  all  company. 
I  do  repent  me  of  my  coming  forth  • 
And  yet  I  do  not, — they  had  else  been  married, 
And  that  I  would  not  for  ten  times  more  labour. 
But  what  a  winter  of  cold  fear  I  thole,1 
Freezing  my  heart,  lest  danger  should  betide  me  ! 
What  shall  I  do  to  purchase  company  ? 
I  hear  some  halloo  here  about  the  fields  : 
Then  here  I'll  set  my  torch  upon  this  hill, 
Whose  light  shall  beacon-like  conduct  them  to  it ; 
They  that  have  lost  their  way,  seeing  a  light, 
For  it  may  be  seen  far  off  in  the  night, 
Will  come  to  it.     Well,  here  I'll  lie  unseen, 
And  look  who  comes,  and  choose  iny  company. 
Perhaps  my  daughter  may  first  come  to  it. 

[Enter  MISTRESS  GOURSEY.] 

MRS  GoUR.  Where  am  I  now  ?  nay,  where  was 

I  even  now  ? 

Nor  now,  nor  then,  nor  where  I  shall  be,  know  I. 
I  think  I  am  going  home  :  I  may  as  well 

1  i.e.,  suffer,  endure.     Edits,  stole. 


OF  ABINGTON.  371 

Be1  going  from  home  ;  'tis2  so  very  dark, 

I  cannot  see  how  to  direct  a  step. 

I  lost  my  man,  pursuing  of  my  son  ; 

My  son  escap'd  me  too  :  now,  all  alone, 

I  am  enforc'd  3  to  wander  up  and  down. 

Barnes's  wife's  4  abroad  :  pray  God,  that  she 

May  have  as  good  a  dance,  nay,  ten  times  worse  ! 

0,  but  I  fear  she  hath  not ;  she  hath  light 

To  see  her  way.    0,  that  some 5  bridge  would  break, 

That  she  might  fall  into  some  deep  digg'd  ditch, 

And  either  break  her  bones  or  drown  herself ! 

I  would  these  mischiefs  I  could  wish  to  her 

Might  light  on  her  ! — but,  soft ;  I  see  a  light  : 

I  will  go  near ;  it  is  comfortable, 

After  this  night's  sad  spirits-dulling  darkness. 

How  now  1  what,  is  it  set  to  keep  itself  1 

MRS  BAR.  A  plague  on't,  is  she  there  ?    [,45w/e.] 

MRS  GOUR.  0,  how  it  cheers  and  quickens  up 
my  thoughts  ! 

MRS  BAR.  0  that  it  were  the  basilisk's  fell  eye, 
To  poison  thee  !  [Aside.] 

MRS  GOUR.  I  care  not,  if  I  take  it — 
Sure  none  is  here  to  hinder  me— 


And  light  me  home. 


MRS  BAR.  I  had  rather  she  were  hang'd 
Than  I  should  set  it  there  to  do  her  good. 

MRS  GOUR.  I'  faith,  I  will. 

MRS  BAR.  r  faith,  you  shall  not,  mistress  ; 
I'll  venture  a  burnt  finger  but  I'll  have  it. 

MRS  GOUR.  Yet  Barnes's  wife  would  chafe,  if 

that  she  knew, 
That  I  had  this  good  luck  to  get  a  light. 


1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.  Being. 

2  Read,  for  the  metre,  it  is. 

3  So  second  edit.    First  edit,  enforc'st. 

4  Read,  for  the  metre,  wife  is. 

5  So  second  edit.     First  edit.  same. 


372  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

MRS  BAR.  And  so  she  doth ;  but  praise  your l 

luck  at  parting.  [Aside] 

MRS  GOUR.  O,  that  it  were 2  her  light,  good 

faith,  that  she 
Might  darkling  walk  about  as  well  as  I ! 

MRS  BAR.  O,  how  this  mads  me,  that  she  hath 

her  wish !  [Aside.] 

MRS  GOUR.  How  I  would  laugh  to  see  her  trot 

about ! 
MRS  BAR.     0,  I  could  cry  for  anger  and  for 

rage !  [Aside] 

MRS  GOUR.  But  who  should  set  it  here,  I  marv'l, 

a  God's  name. 
MRS  BAR.     One  that  will  have  't  from  you  in 

the  devil's  name.  [Aside.] 

MRS  GOUR.  I'll  lay  my  life  that  it  was  Barnes's 

son. 

MRS  BAR.  No,  forsooth,  it  was  Barnes's  wife. 
MRS  GOUR.  A  plague  upon  her,  how  she  made 

me  start !  [Aside.] 

Mistress,  let  go  the  torch. 
MRS  BAR.  No,  but  1  will  not. 
MRS  GOUR.  I'll  thrust  it  in  thy  face,  then. 
MRS  BAR.  But  you  shall  not. 
MRS  GOUR.  Let  go,  I  say. 
MRS  BAR.  Let  you  go,  for  'tis  mine. 
MRS  GOUR.  But  my  possession  says,  it  is  none 

of  thine. 

MRS  BAR.  Nay,  I  have  hold  too. 
MRS  GOUR.  Well,  let  go  thy  hold, 
Or  I  will  spurn  thee. 

MRS  BAR.  Do  ;  I  can  spurn  thee  too. 
MRS  GOUR.  Canst  thou  1 
MRS  BAR.  Ay,  that  I  can. 

1  Second  edit.  you.  2  So  second  edit.     First  edit,  weere. 


OF  ABINGTON.  373 

Enter  MASTER  GOURSEY  and  MASTER  BARNES, 

[PHILIP,  FRANK,  &cl\ 

MR  GOUR.  Why,  how  now,  women  ?  how  unlike 

to  women 
Are  ye  both  now  !  come,  part,  come,  part,  I  say. 

MR  BAR.  Why,  what  immodesty  is  this  in  you ! 
Come,  part,  I  say  ;  fie,  fie. 
MRS  BAR.  Fie,  fie  ?  I  say  she  shall  not  have  my 

torch. — 

Give  me  thy  torch,  boy  : — I  will  run  a-tilt, 
And  burn  out  both  her  eyes  in  my  encounter. 
MRS  GOUR.  Give  room,  and  let  us  have  this 
.  hot  career.1 
MR  GOUR.  I  say  ye  shall  not :  wife,  go  to,  tame 

your  thoughts, 
That  are  so  mad  with  fury. 

MR  BAR.  And,  sweet  wife, 
Temper  your  rage  with  patience ;  do  not  be 
Subject  so  much  to  such  misgovernment. 

MRS  BAR.  Shall  I  not,  sir,  when  such  a  strumpet 

wrongs  me  1 
MR  GOUR.    How,  strumpet,  Mistress  Barnes  ! 

nay,  I  pray,  hark  ye  : 
I  oft  indeed  have  heard  ye  call  her  so, 
And  I  have  thought  upon  it,  why  ye  should 
Twit  her  with  name  of  strumpet ;  do  you  know 
Any  hurt  by  her,  that  you  term  her  so  ? 

MR  BAR,  No,  on  my  life  ;  rage  only  makes  her 

say  so. 
MR  GOUR.  But  I  would  know  whence  this  same 

rage  should  come  ; 

Where's  smoke,  there's  fire ;  and  my  heart  mis- 
gives 
My  wife's  intemperance  hath  got  that  name  ; — 

J  [Old  edits.,  carerie.] 


374  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

And,  Mistress   Barnes,  I    doubt   and   shrewdly1 

doubt, 

And  some  great  cause  begets  this  doubt  in  me, 
Your  husband  and  my  wife  doth  wrong  us  both. 
MR  BAR.    How,   think    ye    so  1    nay,   Master 

Goursey,  then, 

You  run  in  debt  to  my  opinion, 
Because  you  pay  not  such  advised  wisdom, 
As  I  think  due  unto  my  good  conceit. 

MR  GOUR.  Then  still  I  fear  I  shall  your  debtor 

prove. 
[MR  BAR.]  Then  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of 

love  ; 

Not  bail,  but  present  answer  to  my  plea  ; 
And  in  the  court  of  reason  we  will  try, 
If  that  good  thoughts  should  believe  jealousy. 
PHIL.  Why,  look  ye,  mother,  this  is  long  of 

you. — 

For  God's  sake,  father,  hark  ?  why,  these  effects 
Come  still  from  women's  malice  :  part,  I  pray. — 
Coomes,  Will,  and  Hodge,  come  all,  and  help  us 

part  them ! — 

Father,  but  hear  me  speak  one  word — no  more. 
FRAN.  Father,  but  hear  him  2  speak,  then  use 

your  will. 

PHIL.  Cry  peace  between  ye  for  a  little  while. 
MRS  GOUR.  Good  husband,  hear  him  speak 
MRS  BAR.  Good  husband,  hear  him. 
COOMES.  Master,  hear  him  speak ;  he's  a  good 
wise  young  stripling  for  his  years,  I  tell  ye,  and 
perhaps   may  speak  wiser  than  an  elder  body ; 
therefore  hear  him. 

HOD.  Master,  hear,  and  make  an  end  ;  you  may 
kill  one  another  in  jest,  and  be  hanged  in  earnest. 


1  So  second  edit.     First  edit,  shrowdly. 

2  Second    edit.,    me — wrongly,    as    appears    from    what 
follows 


OF  ABINGTON.  375 

MR  GOUR.  Come,  let  us  hear  him.     Then  speak 
quickly,  Philip. 

MR  BAR.   Thou  shouldst  have  done  ere  this ; 
speak,  Philip,  speak. 

MRS  BAR.  0  Lord,  what  haste  you  make  to 

hurt  yourselves  ! — 

Good  Philip,  use  some  good  persuasions 
To  make  them  friends. 

PHIL.  Yes,  I'll  do  what  I  can. — 
Father  and  Master  Goursey,  both  attend. 
It  is  presumption  in  so  young  a  man 
To  teach  where  he  might  learn,  or  to  l  direct, 
Where  he  hath  had  direction  ;  but  in  duty 
He  may  persuade  as  long  as  his  persuase 
Is  back'd  with  reason  and  a  rightful  suit. 
Physic's  first  rule  is  this,  as  I  have  learned  : 
Kill  the  effect  by  cutting  off  the  cause. 
The  same  effects  of  ruffian  outrages 
Comes  by  the  cause  of  malice  in^your  wives  ; 
Had  not  they  two  been  foes,  you  had  been  friends, 
And  we  had  been  at  home,  and  this  same  war 
In  peaceful  sleep  had  ne'er  been  dreamt  upon. 
Mother  and  Mistress  Goursey,  to  make  them  friends, 
Is  to  be  friends  yourselves  :  you  are  the  cause, 
And  these  effects  proceed,  you  know,  from  you  ; 
Your  hates  gives  life  unto  these  killing  strifes, 
But  die,  and  if  that  envy2  die  in  you. — 
Fathers,  yet  stay. — 0,  speak ! — 0,  stay  a  while  ! — 
Francis,  persuade  thy  mother. — Master  Goursey, 
If  that  my  mother  will  resolve  3  your  mind  * 
That  'tis  but  mere  suspect,  not  common  proof, 
And  if  my  father  swear  he's  innocent, 
As  I  durst  pawn  my  soul  with  him  he  is, 
And  if  your  .wife  vow  truth  and  constancy, 
Will  you  be  then  persuaded  1 

1  Edits.,  be.  2  i.e.,  Ill-will. 

3  i.e.,  Satisfy,  convince.  4  Edits.,  mindes. 


376  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

MR  GOUR.  Philip,  if  thy  father  will  remit1 
The   wounds   I   gave   him,   and   if    these   condi- 
tions 
May  be  performed,  I  banish  all  my  wrath. 

MR  BAR.  And  if  thy  mother  will  but  clear  me, 

Philip, 

As  I  am  ready  to  protest  I  am. 
Then  Master  Goursey  is  my  friend  again. 

PHIL.  Hark,  mother ;  now  you  hear  that  your 

desires 

May  be  accomplished  ;  they  will  both  be  friends, 
If  you'll  perform  these  easy  articles. 

MRS  BAR.    Shall  I  be  friends  with  such  an 

enemy  ] 

PHIL.  What  say  you l  unto  my  persuase  1 
MRS  BAR.  I  say  she's 2  my  deadly  enemy. 
PHIL.  Ay,  but  she  will  be  your  friend,  if  you 

revolt. 
MRS  BAR.  The  words  I  said  !  what,  shall  I  eat 

a  truth  ? 

PHIL.  Why,  hark  ye,  mother. 
FRAN.  Mother,  what  say  you  1 
MRS  GOUR.  Why,  this  I  say,  she  slandered  my 

good  name. 

FRAN.  But  if  she  now  deny  it,  'tis  no  defame. 
MRS  GOUR.  What,  shall  I  think  her  hate  will 

yield  so  much  ? 
FRAN.  Why,  doubt  it  not;  her  spirit  may  be 

such. 

MR  GOUR.  Why,  will  it  be  1 
PHIL.  Yet  stay,  I  have  some  hope. 
Mother,  why,  mother,  why,  hear  ye  :  3 
Give  me  your  hand  ;  it  is  no  more  but  thus  ; 
'Tis  easy  labour  to  shake  hands  with  her  : 


1  Qy-j  you>  mother? 

2  Read,  for  the  metre,  she  is. 

3  Something  has  dropt  out  here. 


OF  ABINGTON.  377 

Little 1  breath  is  spent  in  speaking  of  fair  words, 
When  wrath  hath  violent  delivery. 

MR  BAR.  What,  shall  we  be  resolVd  ? 

MRS  BAR.  O  husband,  stay  ! — 
Stay,  Master  Goursey:    though   your   wife   doth 

hate  me, 

And  bears  unto  me  malice  infinite 
And  endless,  yet  I  will  respect  your  safeties ; 
I  would  not  have  you  perish  by  our  means  : 
I  must  confess  that  only  suspect, 
And  no  proof  else,  hath  fed  my  hate  to  her. 

MRS  GOUR.  And,  husband,  I  protest  by  heaven 

and  earth 

That  her  suspect  is  causeless  and  unjust, 
And  that  I  ne'er  had  such  a  vild  2  intent ; 
Harm  she  imagined,  where  as  none  was  meant. 

PHIL.  Lo,  sir,  what  would  ye  more  ? 

MR  BAR.  Yes,  Philip,  this  ; 
That  I  confirm  him  in  my  innocence 
By  this  large  universe. 

MR  GOUR.  By  that  I  swear, 
I'll  credit  none  of  you,  until  I  hear 
Friendship  concluded  straight  between  them  two  : 
If  I  see  that  they  willingly  will  do, 
Then  I'll  imagine  all  suspicion  ends ; 
I  may  be  then  assured,  they  being  friends. 

PHIL.  Mother,  make  full  my  wish,  and  be  it  so. 

MRS  BAR.  What,  shall  I  sue  for  friendship  to 
my  foe  ? 

PHIL.  No  :  if  she  yield,  will  you  ? 

MRS  BAR.  It  may  be,  ay. 

PHIL.  Why,  this  is  well.      The   other  I  will 

try.— 
Come,  Mistress  Goursey,  do  you  first  agree. 

MRS  GOUR.   What,   shall  I  yield  unto   mine 
enemy  $ 

1  [Edits.,  A  little.]  *  i.e.,  Vile. 


378  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

PHIL.  Why,  if  she  will,  will  you  ? 

MRS  GOUR.  Perhaps  I  will 

PHIL.  Nay,  then,  I  find  this  goes  well  forward 

still. 
Mother,  give  me  your  hand  [to  MRS  G.],  give  me 

yours  too — 

Be  not  so  loth  ;  some  good  thing  I  must  do  ; 
But  lay  your  torches  by,  I  like  not  them ; 
Come,  come,  deliver  them  unto  your  men  : 
Give  me  your  hands.     So,  now,  sir,  here  I  stand, 
Holding  two  angry  women  in  my  hand  : 
And  I  must  please  them  both  ;  I  could  please  tone,1 
But  it  is  hard  when  there  is  two  to  one, 
Especially  of  women ;  but  'tis  so, 
They  shall  be  pleas'd,  whether  they  will  or  no. — 
Which  will  come  first  ?  what,  both  give  back  !  ha, 

neither ! 

Why,  then,  yond  help  that  both   may  come  to- 
gether.2 

So,  stand  still,  stand  [still]  but  a  little  while, 
And  see,  how  I  your  angers  will  beguile. 
Well,  yet  there  is  no  hurt ;  why,  then,  let  me 
Join  these  two  hands,  and  see  how  they'll  agree  : 
Peace, peace  !  they  cry;  look  how  they  friendly  kiss ! 
Well,  all  this  while  there  is  no  harm  in  this  : 
Are  not  these  two  twins  1  twins  should  be  both 

alike, 

If  tone  speaks  fair,  the  tother  should  not  strike  : 
Jesus,  the  warriors  will  not  offer  blows  ! 
Why,  then,  tis  strange  that  you  two  should  be  foes. 
0  yes,  you'll  say,  your  weapons  are  your  tongues  ; 
Touch  lip  with   lip,  and  they  are   bound   from 

wrongs : 

Go  to,  embrace,  and  say,  if  you  be  friends, 
That  here  the  angry  women's  quarrels  ends. 

1  i.e.,  The  one. 

2  [  Old  copies,  yond  may  help  that  come  both  together.] 


OF  ABINGTON.  379 

MRS   GOUR.    Then  here   it   ends,   if  Mistress 

Barnes  say  so. 

MRS  BAR.  If  you  say  ay,  I  list  not  to  say  no. 
MR  GOUR.  If  they  be  friends,  by  promise  we 

agree. 
MR  BAR.  And  may  this  league  of  friendship 

ever  be ! 
PHIL.  What  say'st  thou,  Frank  1  doth  not  this 

fall  out  well  'I 
FRAN.  Yes,  if  my  Mall  were  here,  then  all  were 

well. 

Enter  SIR  RALPH  SMITH  with  MALL.     [MALL  stays 
behind.  ] 

SIR  EALPH.  Yonder  they  be,  Mall :  stay,  stand 

close,  and  stir  not 
Until  I  call.     God  save  ye,  gentlemen ! 

MR  BAR.  What,  Sir  Ralph  Smith  !  you  are  wel- 
come, man : 
We  wond'red  when  we  heard  you  were  abroad. 

SIR  RALPH.  Why,  sir,  how  heard  ye  that  I  was 
abroad  1 

MR  BAR.  By  your  man. 

SIR  RALPH.  My  man !  where  is  he  1 

WILL.  Here. 

SIR  RALPH.  0,  ye  are  a  trusty  squire ! 

NIGH.  It  had  been  better,  and  he  had  said,  a 
sure  card. 

PHIL.  Why,  sir? 

NIGH.  Because  it  is  the  proverb. 

PHIL.  Away,  ye  ass  ! 

NlCH.  An  ass  goes  a  four  legs ;  I  go  of  two, 
Christ  cross. 

PHIL.  Hold  your  tongue. 

NIGH.  And  make  no  more  ado. 

MR  GOUR.  Go  to,  no  more  ado.     Gentle  Sir 
Ralph, 


380  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

Your  man  is  not  in  fault  for  missing  you, 
For  he  mistook  by  us,  and  we  by  him. 

SIR  EALPH.  And  I  by  you,  which  now  I  well 

perceive. 

But  tell  me,  gentlemen,  what  made  ye  all 
Be  from  your  beds  this  night,  and  why  thus  late 
Are  your  wives  walking  here  about  the  fields  : l 
'Tis  strange  to  see  such  women  of  accompt 
Here:  but  I  guess  some  great  occasion  [prompt.] 

MR  GOUR.  Faith,  this  occasion,  sir :  women  will 

jar; 

And  jar  they  did  to-day,  and  so  they  parted ; 
We,  knowing  women's  malice  let  alone 
Will,  canker-like,  eat  farther  in  their  hearts, 
Did  seek  a  sudden  cure,  and  thus  it  was  : 
A  match  between  his  daughter  and  my  son  ; 
No  sooner  motioned  but  'twas  agreed, 
And  they  no  sooner  saw  but  wooed  and  lik'd  : 
They  have  it  sought  to  cross,  and  crossed]  it  thus. 

SIR  KALPH.  Fie,  Mistress  Barnes  and  Mistress 

Goursey  both ; 

The  greatest  sin  wherein  your  souls  may  sin, 
I  think,  is  this,  in  crossing  of  true  love  : 
Let  me  persuade  ye. 

MRS  BAR*.  Sir,  we  are  persuaded, 
And  I  and  Mistress  Goursey  are  both  friends  ; 
And,  if  my  daughter  were  but  found  again, 
Who  now  is  missing,  she  had  my  consent 
To  be  dispos'd  of  to  her  own  content. 

SIR  EALPH.  I  do  rejoice  that  what  I  thought  to 

do, 

Ere  I  begin,  I  find  already  done  : 
Why,  this  will  please  your  friends  at  Abington. 
Frank,  if  thou  seek'st  that  way,  there  thou  shalt 

find 
Her,  whom  I  hold  the  comfort  of  thy  mind. 

1  So  second  edit.    First  edit.,  fileds. 


OF  ABINGTON.  381 

MAL.  He  shall  not  seek  me ;  I  will  seek  him 

out, 
Since  of  my  mother's  grant  I  need  not  doubt. 

MR[S]  BAR.  Thy  mother  grants,  my  girl,  and 

she  doth  pray 
To  send  unto  you  both  a  joyful  day  ! 

HOD.  Nay,  Mistress  Barnes,  I  wish  her  better : 
that  those  joyful  days  may  be  turn'd  to  joyful 
nights. 

COOMES.  Faith,  'tis  a  pretty  wench,  and  'tis  pity 
but  she  should  have  him. 

NiCH.  And,  Mistress  Mary,  when  ye  go  to  bed, 
God  send  you  good  rest,  and  a  peck  of  fleas  in 
your  nest,  every  one  as  big  as  Francis  ! 

PHIL.  Well  said,  wisdom !  God  send  thee  wise 
children  ! 

NICH.  And  you  more  money. 

PHIL.  Ay,  so  wish  I. 

NICH.  'Twill  be  a  good  while,  ere  you  wish 
your  skin  full  of  eyelet-holes. 

PHIL.  Frank,  hark  ye  :  brother,  now  your  woo- 

ing's  done, 

The  next  thing  now  you  do  is  for  a  son, 
I  prythee  ;  for,  i'faith,  I  should  be  glad 
To  have  myself  called  nunkle,1  and  thou  dad. 
Well,  sister,  if  that  Francis  play  the  man, 
My  mother  must  be  grandam  and  you  mam. 
To  it,  Francis — to  it,  sister  ! — God  send  ye  joy  ! 
'Tis  fine  to  sing,  dancey,  my  own  sweet  boy  ! 

FRAN.  Well,  sir,  jest  on. 

PHIL.  Nay,  sir,2  do  you  jest  on. 

MR  BAR.  Well,  may  she  prove  a  happy  wife  to 
him  ! 

MR  GOUR.  And  may  he  prove  as  happy  unto 
her  ! 

1  A  common,  familiar  contraction  of  mine  uncle. 

2  Second  edit.,  fie. 


382  THE  TWO  ANGRY  WOMEN 

SIR  RALPH.  Well,  gentlemen,  good  hap  betide 

them  both ! 

Since  'twas  my  hap  thus  happily  to  meet, 
To  be  a  witness  of  this  sweet  contract, 
I  do  rejoice  ;  wherefore,  to  have  this  joy 
Longer  present  with  me,  I  do  request 
That  all  of  you  will  be  my  promis'd  guests  : 
This  long  night's  labour  doth  desire  some  rest, 
Besides  this  wished  end  ;  therefore,  I  pray, 
Let  me  detain  ye  but  a  dinner  time  : 
Tell  me,  I  pray,  shall  I  obtain  so  much  1 

MR  BAR.  Gentle  Sir  Ralph,  your  courtesy  is 

such, 

As  may  impose  command  unto  us  all ; 
We  will  be  thankful  bold  at  your  request. 

PHIL.  I  pray,  Sir  Ralph,  what  cheer  shall  we 
have  1 

SIR  RALPH.  Ffaith,  country  fare,  mutton  and 

veal, 
Perchance  a  duck  or  goose  [upon  the  platter.] 

MAL.  0,  I  am  sick  ! 

ALL.  How  now,  Mall  1  what's  the  matter  ? 

MAL.  Father  and  mother,  if  you  needs  would 

know, 
He  nam'd  a  goose,  which  is  my  stomach's  foe. 

PHIL.  Come,  come,  she  is  with  child  of  some 

odd  jest, 
And  now  she's  sick,  till  that  she  bring 1  it  forth. 

MAL.  A  jest,  quoth  you  !  well,  brother,  if  it  be, 
I  fear  'twill  prove  an  earnest  unto  me. 
Goose,  said  ye,  sir  ?     0,  that  same  very  name 
Hath  in  it  much  variety  of  shame  ! 
Of  all  the  birds  that  ever  yet  was  seen, 
I  would  not  have  them  graze  upon  this  green ; 
I  hope  they  will  not,  for  this  crop  is  poor, 
And  they  may  pasture  upon  greater  store  : 

1  So  second  edit.    First  edit,  brings. 


OF  ABINGTON.  383 

But  yet  ;tis  pity  that  they  let  them  pass, 

And  like  a  common  bite  the  Muse's  grass. 

Yet  this  I  fear  :  if  Frank  and  I  should  kiss, 

Some  creaking  goose  would  chide  us  with  a  hiss ; 

I  mean  not  that  goose  that 

Sings  it  knows  not  what ; 

'Tis  not  that  hiss,  when  one  says,  "hist,    come 

hither/' 

Nor  that  same  hiss  that  setteth  dogs  together, 
Nor  that  same  hiss  that  by  a  fire  doth  stand, 
And  hisseth  T.  or  F.1  upon  the  hand; 
But  'tis  a  hiss,  and  I'll  unlace  my  coat, 
For  I  should  sound 2  sure,  if  I  heard  that  note, 
And  then  green  ginger  for  the  green  goose  cries, 
Serves  not  the  turn — I  turn'd  the  white  of  eyes. 
The  rosa-solis  yet  that  makes  me  live 
Is  favour 3  that  these  gentlemen  may  give  : 
But  if  they  be  displeased,  then  pleas'd  am  I 
To  yield  myself  a  hissing  death  to  die. 
Yet  I  hope  here  is  4  none  consents  to  kill, 
But  kindly  take  the  favour  of  good-will. 
If  any  thing  be  in  the  pen  to  blame, 
Then  here  stand  I  to  blush  the  writer's  shame  : 
If  this  be  bad,  he  promises  a  better; 
Trust  him,  and  he  will  prove  a  right  true  debtor. 

[Exeunt. 


1  i.e.,  Traitor  or  felon. 

2  i.e.,  Swoon. 

3  Second  edit. ,  fauours. 

4  So  read  for  the  metre.     Old  copies,  here's. 


FINIS. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 


VOL.  VH.  2  B 


EDITION. 

A  Pleasant  Commodie  called  ^Looh  About  you.  As  it 
was  lately  played  by  the  right  honourable  the  Lord  Hiy/i 
Admirall  his  seruaunts.  London,  Printed  for  William 
Ferbrand,  and  are  to  be  solde  at  his  shop  at  the  signe  of 
the  Crowne  neere  Guildhall  gate.  1600.  4°. 

This  drama  is  now  first  reprinted  from  the  original 
edition,  which  has  no  division  into  acts  and  scenes. 
Mr  Halliwell  ("  Diet,  of  Old  Plays,"  1860,  p.  149) 
observes  :  "  This  is  a  diverting  play,  and  the  plot  of  it 
is  founded  on  the  English  historians  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  II."1 

"  Look  About  You"  is  not  only  a  pleasant  comedy, 
full  of  bustle  and  amusing  episodes,  and  abundantly 
stored  with  illustrations  of  manners,  but  it  is  a  piece 
which  exhibits,  on  the  part  of  the  unknown  writer,  a 
considerable  share  of  power  and  originality.  The  crazed 
Earl  of  Gloucester  is  not  an  ill-conceived  character,  and 
may  have  supplied  a  hint  to  Shakespeare  ;  and  the 
cross-purposes,  stratagems,  and  deceptions,  of  which  it 
is  full,  remind  us  of  our  great  dramatist's  own  "  Comedy 
of  Errors,"  with  which,  however,  it  has  nothing  in 
common.  It  is  by  no  means  improbable,  at  the  same 
time,  that  "  Look  About  You,"  and  not  Shakespeare's 
play,  was  the  piece  performed  at  Gray's  Inn  in  Decem- 
ber 1 594.2 

Skink,  who  fills  the  part  assigned  to  the  vice  in  the 
earlier  comedies,  is  a  well-sustained  and  entertaining 
character,  and  the  series  of  transformations  which  he 
and  the  rest  undergo,  even  while  they  occasionally  per- 
plex us  a  little,  as  the  plot  thickens,  and  the  figures  on 
the  stage  multiply,  can  hardly  fail  to  amuse. 

1  See  also  Collier's  "  Hist,  of  Eng.  Dramatic  Poetry,"  i.  3. 

2  See  Dyce's  "  Shakespeare,"  1868,  iL  2. 


DRAMATIS    PERSON^.1 

HENRY  II.,  King  of  England. 
PRINCE  HENRY,  the  young  usurped  King. 
PRINCE  JOHN. 
PRINCE  RICHARD. 

EARLS  or  GLOUCESTER,  LANCASTER,  CHESTER, 
TER,  and  MORTON. 

SIR  RICHARD  FAUCONBRIDGE. 

EOBIN  HOOD,  Earl  of  Hunting  ton, 

SKINK,  disguised  as  a  hermit, 

THE  QUEEN. 

LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE. 

BLOCK. 

Warden  of  the  Fleet. 

REDCAP,  a  messenger, 

Constable  and  Watch, 

A  Pursuivant. 

A  Drawer. 

Music: 

1  Not  ijj  the  <old  copy. 


A  PLEASANT  COMEDY  CALLED 
LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

SCENE  THE  FIRST. 

Enter  EGBERT  HOOD,  a  young  Nobleman,  a  Servant 
with  him,  with  riding  wands  in  their  hands,  as 
if  they  had  been  new-lighted. 

ROB.  Go,  walk  the  horses,  wait  me  on  the  hill; 
This  is  the  hermit's  cell ;  go  out  of  sight. 
My  business  with  him  must  not  be  re  veal' d 
To  any  mortal  creature  but  himself. 

SERV.  I'll  wait  your  honour  in  the  cross  high- 
way. [Exit. 

ROB.  Do  so.    Hermit  devout  and  reverend, 
If  drowsy  age  keep  not  thy  stiffened  joints 
On  thy  unrestful  bed,  or  if  the  hours 
Of  holy  orisons  detain  thee  not, 
Come  forth. 

Enter  SKINK,  like  an  hermit. 

SKINK.  Good  morrow,  son, 
Good  morrow ;  and  God  bless  thee,  Huntington, 
A  brighter  gleam  of  true  nobility 
Shines  not  in  any  youth  more  than  in  thee. 
Thou  shalt  be  rich  in  honour,  full  of  speed  ; 
Thou  shalt  win  foes  by  fear,  and  friends  by  meed. 

ROB.  Father,  I  come  not  now  to  know  my  fate ; 
Important  business  urgeth  princely  Richard 

[Deliver  letters. 


390  LOOK   ABOUT  YOU. 

In  these  terms  to  salute  thy  reverent  age. 
Read  and  be  brief ;  I  know  some  cause  of  trust 
Made  him  employ  me  for  his  messenger. 

SKINK.  A  cause  of  trust  indeed,  true-honoured 

youth. 

Princes  had  need,  in  matters  of  import, 
To  make  nice  choice.     Fair  earl>  if  I  not  err, 
Thou  art  the  prince's  ward  1 

EOB.  Father,  I  am 

His  ward,  his  chamberlain,  and  bed-fellow. 

SKINK.  Fair  fall  Jhee,  honourable  Robert  Hood  ! 
Wend  to  Prince  Richard  :  say,  though  I  am  loth 
To  use  my  skill  in  conjuration, 
Yet  Skink,  that  poisoned  red-cheek'd  Rosamond, 
Shall  make  appearance  at  the  parliament ; 
He  shall  be  there  by  noon,  assure  his  grace. 

ROB.  Good-morrow,  father,  see  you  fail  him  not. 
For  though  the  villain  did  a  horrible  deed, 
Yet  hath  the  young  king  Richard,  and  Earl  John, 
Sworn  to  defend  him  from  his  greatest  foes. 

SKINK.  God's  benison  be  with  thee,  noble  Earl ! 

ROB.    Adieu,  good  father.      Holla,  there !   my 
horse !  [Exit. 

SKINK.  Up,  spur  the  kicking  jade,  while  I  make 

speed 

To  conjure  Skink  out  of  his  hermit's  weed  ; 
Lie  there,  religion  :  keep  thy  master  grave, 
And  on  the  fair  trust  of  these  princes'  word 
To  court  again,  Skink.     But,  before  I  go, 
Let  mischief  take  advice  of  villainy, 
Why  to  the  hermit  letters  should  be  sent, 
To  post  Skink  to  the  court  incontinent. 
Is  there  no  trick  in  this  ?  ha  !  let  me  see  ! 
Or  do  they  know  already  I  am  he  ? 
If  they  do  so,  faith,  westward l  then  with  Skink 
But  what  an  ass  am  I  to  be  thus  fond  ! 

1  [i.e.,  to  Tyburn.] 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  391 

Here  lies  the  hermit,  whom  I  dying  found 

Some  two  months  since,  when  I  was  hourly  charg'd 

With  Hugh  the  crier  and  with  constables. 

I  saw  him  in  the  ready  way  to  heaven  ; 

I  help'd  him  forward  :  'twas  a  holy  deed ; 

And  there  he  lies  some  six  foot  in  the  ground. 

Since  where,  and  since,  I  kept  me  in  his  weeds, 

O,  what  a  world  of  fools  have  fill'd  my  cells  ! 

For  fortunes,  run-aways,  stol'n  goods,  lost  cattle  ! 

Among  the  number,  all  the  faction 

That  take  the  young  king's  part  against  the  old, 

Come  to  myself  to  hearken  for  myself. 

So  did  the  adverse  party  make  inquire, 

But  either  fall  full  of  contrary  desire  : 

The  old  king's  part  would  kill  me  being  stain'd ; 

The  young  king's  keep  me  from  their  violence. 

So  then  thou  need'st  not  fear ;  go  boldly  on, 

Brave  Hal,  Prince  Dick,  and  my  spruce  hot-spur 

John, 

Here  's  their  safe-conduct.     0,  but  for  Eosamond  ! 
A  fig  for  Rosamond  !  to  this  hope  I'll  lean, 
At  a  queen's  bidding  I  did  kill  a  quean. 


SCENE  THE  SECOND. 

Sound  trumpets;  enter  with  a  Herald,  on  the  one 
side,  HENRY  THE  SECOND,  crowned,  after  him 
LANCASTER,  CHESTER,  SIR  RICHARD  FAUCON- 
BRIDGE :  on  the  other  part,  KlNG  HENRY  the 
son,  crowned,  Herald  after  him:  after  him 
PRINCE  RICHARD,  JOHN,  LEICESTER.  Being 
set,  enters  fantastical  ROBERT  OF  GLOSTER  in 
a  gown  girt :  walks  up  and  down. 

OLD  KING.    Why  doth  not  Gloster  take  his 

honoured  seat  1 
GLO.  In  faith,  my  liege,  Gloster  is  in  a  land, 


392  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Where  neither  surety  is  to  sit  or  stand. 
I  only  do  appear  as  I  am  summoned, 
And  will  await  without  till  I  am  call'd. 

YOUNG  K.  Why,  hear  you,  Gloster  ? 

GLO.  Henry,  I  do  hear  you. 

YOUNG  K.  And  why  not  King  ? 

GLO.  What's  he  that  sits  so  near  you  1 

EICH.  King  too. 

GLO.  Two  kings  1     Ha,  ha  ! 

OLD  K.  Gloster,  sit,  we  charge  thee. 

GLO.  I  will  obey  your  charge  ;  I  will  sit  down, 
But  in  this  house  on  no  seat  but  the  ground. 

JOHN.  The  seat's  too  good. 

GLO.  I  know  it,  brother  John. 

JOHN.  Thy  brother  ? 

OLD  K.      Silence  there. 

YOUNG  KING.  Pass  to  the  bills,  Sir  Richard 
Fauconbridge. 

FAU.  My  lieges  both,  old  Fauconbridge  is  proud 
Of  your  right  honour'd  charge.  He  that  worst  may 
Will  strain  his  old  eyes  :  God  send  peace  this  day  ! 
A  bill  for  the  releasement  of  the  queen  pre- 

ferr'd, 
By  Henry  the  young  King,  Richard  the  Prince, 

John,  Earl 

Of  Morton,  Bohmine,  Earl  of  Leicester,  and  the 
Commons. 

OLD  K.  Did  you  prefer  this  bill  1 

ALL.  We  did. 

CHES.  and  LAN.  Ye  did  not  well. 

GLO.  Why,  this  is  good ;    now  shall  we   have 
the  hell. 

THREE  BRO.  Chester  and  Lancaster,  you  wrong 
the  king. 

CHES.  and  LAN.  Our  king  we  do  not. 

YOUNG  K.  Do  not  you  see  me  crown'd  1 

LAN.  But  whilst  he  lives,  we  to  none  else  are 
bound. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  393 

LEI.  Is  it  not  .wrong,  think  you,  when  all  the 

world  [;s] 

Troubled  with  rumour  of  a  captive  queen, 
Imprisoned  by  her  husband  in  a  realm, 
Where  her  own  son  doth  wear  a  diadem  ? 
Is  like  an  head  of  people  mutinous, 
Still  murmuring  at  the  shame  done  her  and  us  ?• 
Is  it  not  more  wrong,  when  her  mother  zeal, 
Sounded  through  Europe,  Afric,  Asia, 
Tells  in  the  hollow  of  news-thirsting  ears, 
Queen  Elinor  lives  in  a  dungeon, 
For  pity  and  affection  to  her  son  1 
But  when  the   true   cause,   Clifford's  daughter's 

death, 

Shall  be  exposed  to  stranger  nations, 
What  volumes  will  be  writ,  what  libels  spread, 
And  in  each  line  our  state  dishonoured  ! 

FAU.  My  lord  speaks  to  the  purpose  ;  marry, 
It  may  be  so ;  pray  God  it  prove  not  so. 

LEI.    Hear  me  conclude,  and  therewithal  con- 
clude ; 

It  is  an  heinous  and  unheard-of  sin  : 
Queen  Elinor,  daughter  to  kingly  France, 
King  Henry's  wife,  and  royal  Henry's  mother, 
Is  kept  close  prisoner  for  an  act  of  justice, 
Committed  on  an  odious  concubine. 

KING.  Thou  wrong'st  her,  Leicester. 

LEI.  Lechers  ever  praise 
The  cause  of  their  confusion ;  she  was  vile. 

FAU.  She  was  ill-spoken  of,  it's  true,  [too]  true. 

GLO.  Yonder  sits  one  would  do  as  much   for 

you, 

Old  fool ;  young  Eichard  hath  a  gift,  I  know  it, 
And  on  your  wife  my  sister  would  bestow  it. 
Here's  a  good  world  !  men  hate  adulterous  sin, 
Count  it  a  gulf,  and  yet  they  needs  will  in. 

[Aside. 

LEI.  What  answer  for  the  queen  ? 


394  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

LAN.  The  king  replies, 
Your  words  are  foul  slanderous  forgeries. 

JOHN.  His  highness  says  not  so. 

LAN.  His  highness  doth, 
Tells  you  it  is  a  shame  for  such  wild  youth 
To  smother  any  impiety, 
With  shew  to  chastise  loose  adultery, 
Say  Rosamond  was  Henry's  concubine. 
Had  never  king  a  concubine  but  he  ? 
Did  Rosamond  begin  the  fires  in  France  ] 
Made  she  the  northern  borders  reek  with  flames  ? 
Unpeopled  she  the  towns  of  Picardy  ? 
Left  she  the  wives  of  England  husbandless  ? 
0,  no.     She  sinn'd,  I  grant ;  so  do  we  all ; 
She  fell  herself,  desiring  none  should  fall. 
But  Elinor,  whom  you  so  much  commend, 
Hath  been  the  bellows  of  seditious  fire, 
Either  through  jealous  rage  or  mad  desire. 
Is't  not  a  shame  to  think  that  she  hath  arm'd 
Four  sons'  right  hands  against  their  father's  head, 
And  not  the  children  of  a  low-priz'd  wretch, 
But  one,  whom  God  on  earth  hath  deified  ? 
See,  where  he  sits  with  sorrow  in  his  eyes  ! 
Three  of  his  sons  and  hers  tutor'd  by  her : 
Smiles,  whilst  he  weeps,  and  with  a  proud  disdain 
Embrace  blithe  mirth,  while  his  sad  heart  com- 
plain. 

FAU.  Ha  !  laugh  they  1  nay,  by  the  rood,  that  is 

not  well ; 
Now  fie,  young  princes,  fie  ! 

HEN.  Peace,  doting  fool. 

JOHN.  Be  silent,  ass. 

FAU.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lords ;  my  humble 

leave,  my  lords. 

God's  mother,  ass  and  fool  for  speaking  truth  ! 
'Tis  terrible ;  but  fare  ye  well,  my  lords. 

RICH.  Nay,  stay,  good  Fauconbridge ;  impute  it 
rage, 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  395 

That  thus  abuses  your  right  reverend  age. 
My  brothers  are  too  hot. 

FAU.  Too  hot  indeed  1 

Fool,  ass,  for  speaking   truth !     It's   more   than 
need. 

RICH.  Nay,  good  Sir  Richard,  at  my  kind  in- 

treat, 

For  all  the  love  I  bear  your  noble  house, 
Let  not  your  absence  kindle  further  wrath. 
Each  side's  at  council  now ;  sit  down,  I  pray. 
I'll  quit  it  with  the  kindest  love  I  may. 

GLOS.  Ay,  to  his  wife.  [Aside. 

FAU.  Prince  Richard,  I'll  sit  down  ; 
But  by  the  faith  I  owe  fair  England's  crown, 
Had  you  not  been,  I  would  have  left  the  place  \ 
My  service  merits  not  so  much  disgrace. 

RICH.  Good  Fauconbridge,  I  thank  thee. 

[Go  to  t/ieir  places. 

GLO.  And  you'll  think  of  him, 
If  you  can  step  into  his  bower  at  Stepney. 

FAU.  Prince  Richard's  very  kind;  I  know  his 

kindness. 

He  loves  me,  but  he  loves  my  lady  better. 
No  more.     I'll  watch  him ;  I'll  prevent  his  game ; 
Young  lad,  it's  ill  to  halt  before  the  lame.    [Aside. 
[They  break  asunder,  papers  this  while  being 
offered  and  subscribed  between  either. 

HEN.  I'll  not  subscribe  to  this  indignity ; 
I'll  not  be  called  a  king,  but  be  a  king. 
Allow  me  half  the  realm ;  give  me  the  north, 
The  provinces  that  lie  beyond  the  seas  : 
Wales  and  the  Isles,  that  compass  in  the  main. 

GLO.  Nay,  give  him  all,  and  he  will  scant  be 
pleased.  [Aside. 

RICH.  Brother,  you  ask  too  much. 

JOHN.  Too  much  1  too  little  ! 
He  shall  have  that  and  more ;  I  swear  he  shall. 
I  will  have  Nottingham  and  Salisbury, 


396  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Stafford  and  Darby,  and  some  other  earldom, 
Or,  by  St  John  (whose  blessed  name  I  bear), 
I'll  make  these  places  like  a  wilderness. 
Is't  not  a  plague,  an  horrible  abuse, 
A  king,  a  King  of  England,  should  be  father 
To  four  such  proper  youths  as  Hal  and  Dick, 
My  brother  Geoffrey,  and  my  proper  self, 
And  yet  not  give  his  sons  such  maintenance, 
As  he  consumes  among  his  minions  ? 

ETCH.  Be  more  respective,  John. 

JOHN.  Respective,  Eichard  ? 
Are  you  turn'd  pure  ?  a  changing  weathercock  ! 

[Aside. 

I  say  its  reason  Henry  should  be  king, 
Thou  prince,  I  duke,  as  Geoffrey  is  a  duke. 

LAN.  What  shall  your  father  do  ? 

JOHN.  Live  at  his  prayers, 
Have  a  sufficient  pension  by  the  year, 
Eepent  his  sins,  because  his  end  is  near. 

GLO.  A  gracious  son,  a  very  gracious  son  !  [Aside. 

KING.  Will  this  content  you  ?  I  that  have  sat  still, 
Amaz'd  to  see  my  sons  devoid  of  shame ; 
To  hear  my  subjects  with  rebellious  tongues 
Wound  the  kind  bosom  of  their  sovereign  ; 
Can  no  more  bear,  but  from  a  bleeding  heart 
Deliver  all  my  love  for  all  your  hate  : 
Will  this  content  ye  1 l     Cruel  Elinor, 
Your  savage  mother,  my  uncivil  queen  : 
The  tigress,  that  hath  drunk  the  purple  blood 
Of  three  times  twenty  thousand  valiant  men  ; 
Washing  her  red  chaps  in  the  weeping  tears 
Of  widows,  virgins,  nurses,  sucking  babes ; 
And  lastly,  sorted  with  her  damn'd  consorts, 
Ent'red  a  labyrinth  to  murther  love. 
Will  this  content  you  1    She  shall  be  releas'd, 
Tha,t  she  may  next  seize  me  she  most  envies ! 

1  [Old  copy,  thee.] 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  397 

HEN.  Our  mother's  liberty  is  some  content. 

KING.  What  else  would  Henry  have  1 

HEN.  The  kingdom. 

KING.  Peruse  this  bill ;  draw  near  ;  let  us  con- 
fer. 

JOHN.  Hal,  be  not  answered  but  with   sove- 
reignty, 
For  glorious  is  the  sway  of  majesty. 

KING.  What  would  content  you,  John  ? 

JOHN.  Five  earldoms,  sir. 

KING.  What  you,  son  Eichard  1 

RICH.  Pardon,  gracious  father, 
And  th'  furtherance  for  my  vow  of  penance. 
For  I  have  sworn  to  God  and  all  his  saints, 
These  arms  erected  in  rebellious  brawls 
Against  my  father  and  my  sovereign, 
Shall  fight  the  battles  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
In  wrong'd  Judaea  and  Palestina. 
That  shall  be  Richard's  penance  for  his  pride, 
His  blood  a  satisfaction  for  his  sin, 
His  patrimony,  men,  munition, 
And  means  to  waft  them  into  Syria. 

KING.  Thou  shalt  have  thy  desire,  heroic  son, 
As  soon  as  other  home-bred  brawls  are  done. 

LAN.  Why  weeps  old  Fauconbridge ! 

FAU.  I  am  almost  blind, 
To  hear  sons  cruel  and  the  fathers  kind. 
Now,  well-a-year,1  that  e'er  I  liv'd  to  see 
Such  patience  and  so  much  impiety  ! 

GLO.    Brother,  content  thee;   this  is  but  the 

first: 
Worse  is  a-brewing,  and  yet  not  the  worst. 

LEI.  You  shall  not  stand  to  this. 

HEN.  And  why,  my  lord  ? 

1  [Old  copy,  well  a  neere.  "Well-a-year  is  an  unusual 
phrase,  well  being  corrupted  from  wail.  "  Well-a-day  "  in  the 
same  sense  is  common  enough.] 


398  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

LEI.  The  lands  of  Morton  doth  "belong  to  John. 

HEN.  What's  that  to  me?  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment 
If  they  be  mine  confirm'd,  he  must  be  pleas'd. 

JOHN.  Be  pleased,  King-puppet !  have  I  stood 

for  thee, 

Even  in  the  mouth  of  death  1  open'd  my  arms 
To  circle  in  sedition's  ugly  shape  ? 
Shook  hands  with  duty,  bad  adieu  to  virtue, 
Profan'd  all  majesty  in  heaven  and  earth ; 
Writ  in  black  characters  on  my  white  brow 
The  name  of  rebel  John  against  his  father? 
For  thee,  for  thee,  thou  'otomy l  of  honour, 
Thou  worm  of  majesty,  thou  froth,  thou  bubble  ! 2 
And  must  I  now  be  pleas  d  in  peace  to  stand, 
While  statutes  make  thee  owner  of  my  land  ? 

GLO.  Good  pastime,  good,  now  will  the  thieves 
fall  out !  [Aside. 

JOHN.  0,  if  I  do,  let  me  be  never  held 
Royal  King  Henry's  son ;  pardon  me,  father  ; 
Pull  clown  this  rebel,  that  hath  done  thee  wrong. 
Dick,  come  and  leave  his  side ;  assail  him,  lords ; 
Let's  have  no  parley  but  with  bills  and  swords. 

KING.  Peace,  John,  lay  down  thy  arms;  hear 

Henry  speak. 
He  minds  thee  no  such  wrong, 

JOHN.  He  were  not  best. 

HEN.  Why,  hair-brain'd  brother,  can  ye  brook 

no  jest  1 
I  do  confirm  you  Earl  of  Nottingham. 

JOHN.  And  Morton  too  1 

HEN.  Ay,  and  Morton  too. 

1  Old  copy,  otimie.     I  conjecture  otomy  for  anotomy,  a 
common  form  of  anatomy. 

2  Halliwell  mentions  the  words  public  and  puble  in  dif- 
ferent senses,  and  the  old  copy  reads  puble ;  but  here  the 
context  seems  to  require  bubble.    He  has  immediately  before 
used  the  term  froth. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  399 

JOHN.  Why  so  1  now  once  more  I'll  sit  down  by 

you. 
GLO.  Blow, wind!  the  youngest  of  King  Henry's 

stock 
Would  fitly  serve  to  make  a  weathercock. 

JOHN.  Gape,    earth!    challenge    thine   own,  as 

Gloster  lies ; 
Pity  such  muck  is  cover'd  with  the  skies  ? 

FAU.  Be  quiet,  good  my  lords  ;  ['tis]  the  King's 

command 

You  should  be  quiet,  and  'tis  very  meet ; 
It's  most  convenient — how  say  you,  Prince  Richard? 
EICH.  It  is  indeed. 
FAU.  Why,  that  is  wisely  said  ; 
You  are  a  very  kind,  indifferent  man, 
Marry  a'God,  and  by  my  halidom, 
Were  not  I  had  a  feeling  in  my  head 
Of  some  suspicion  'twixt  my  wife  and  him 
I  should  affect  him  more  than  all  the  world.   [Aside. 
GLO.  Take  heed,  old  Eichard,  keep  thee  there, 

mad  lad. 
My  sisters'  fair,  and  beauty  may  turn  bad.    [Aside. 


SCENE  THE  THIED. 
Enter  EOBIN  HOOD,  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

OFFICER.  Eoom  there,  make  room  for  young 

Huntington. 

FAU.  A  gallant  youth,  a  proper  gentleman. 
HEN.  Eichard,  I   have   had  wrong  about   his 

wardship. 

EiCH.  You  cannot  right  yourself. 
JOHN.  He  can  and  shall. 
EICH.  Not  with  your  help;    but,  honourable 

youth, 


400  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Have  ye  perform'd  the  business  I  enjoin'd  1 

ROB.  I  have,  and  Skink  is  come ;  here  is  his 
bill. 

HEN.  No  matter  for  his   bill;  let  him  come 
in. 

KING.  Let  him  not  enter  ;  his  infectious  breath 
Will  poison  the  assembly. 

GLO.  Never  doubt ; l 

There's  more  infectious  breaths  about  your  throne. 
Leicester  is  there  ;  your  envious  sons  are  there  ; 
If  them  you  can  endure,  no  poison  fear. 

KING.  Content  thee,  Gloster. 

GLO.  I  must  be  content 
When  you,  that  should  mend  all,  are  patient. 

Enter  SKINK. 

HEN.  Welcome,  good  Skink,  thou  justly  dost 

complain, 

Thou  stand'st  in  dread  of  death  for  Rosamond, 
Whom  thou  didst  poison  at  our  dread  command 
And  the  appointment  of  our  gracious  mother. 
See  here  my  father's  hand  unto  thy  pardon. 

SKINK.  I  receive  it  graciously,  wishing  his  soul 
sweet  peace  in  heaven  for  so  meritorious  a  work, 
for  I  fear  me  I  have  not  his  heart,  though  his 
hand. 

KING.  Be  sure  thou  hast  not,  murderous  blood- 
sucker, 
To  jealous  envy  executioner. 

HEN.  Besides,  thou  suest  to  have  some  main- 
tenance ; 

We  have  bethought  us  how  we  will  reward  thee, 
Thou  shalt  have  Rowden  lordship. 

GLO.  Shall  he  so  ? 

Will  you  reward  your  murtherers  with  my  lands  1 

1  Fear. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  401 

HEX.    Your   lands  1   it   is   our    gift ;    and    he 

shall  have  it. 

GLO.  I'll  give  him  seizure  first  with  this  and 
this.  [Strike  him. 

JOHN.  Lay  hold  on  Gloster. 
KING.  Hold  that  murderous  Skink. 

GLO.  Villains,  hands  off;  I  am  a  prince,  a  peer, 
And  I  have  borne  disgrace,  while  I  can  bear. 
FAU.  Knaves,  leave  your  rudeness ;  how  now, 

brother 

Gloster?  nay,  be  appeas'd,  be  patient,  brother. 
EiCH.  Shift  for  thyself,  good  Skink ;  there's  gold, 

away : 
Here  will  be  parts.1 

SKINK.  Swounds  !  I'll  make  one,  and  stay. 
JOHN.  I  prythee,  begone,  since  thus  it  falleth  out, 
Take  water  ;  hence,  away ;  thy  life  I  doubt. 

SKINK.  Well,  farewell  [then] ;  get  I  once  out  of 

door, 

Shink  never  will  put  trust  in  warrants  more.  [Exit. 
KING.  Will  Gloster  not  be  bridled? 
GLO.  Yes,  my  liege  ; 

And  saddled  too,  and  rid,  and  spurred,  and  rein'd, 
Such  misery  (in  your  reign)  'falls  your  friends. 
Let  go  my  arms,  you  dunghills  ;  let  me  speak. 
KING.  Where's  that  knave,  Skink?     I  charge 

you  see  him  stay'd. 
FAU.  The  swift-heel'd  knave  is  fled ; 
Body-a-me,  here's  rule  ;  here's  work  indeed. 
KING.  Follow  that  Skink  •  let  privy  search  be 

made; 

Let  not  one  pass,  except  he  be  well-known ; 
Let  posts  be  every  way  sent  speedily 
For  ten  miles'  compass  round  about  the  city. 
HEN.  Take  Gloster  to  you,  Lieutenant  of  the 
Tower. 

1  Divisions,  conflicts. 
VOL.  VII.  2  C 


402  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Keep  him  aside,  till  we  confer  awhile. 
Father,  you  must  subscribe  to  his  committing. 

LAN.  Why  must  he,  Henry  ? 

LEI.  Marry,  for  this  cause  : 

He  hath  broke  peace,  and  violated  laws. 

GLO.  So  have  you  all  done,  rebels  as  you  be. 

FAU.    Good  words,   good  brother;   hear    me, 
gracious  lords. 

HEN.  I  prythee,  Fauconbridge,  be  patient. 
Gloster  must  of  force.answer  this  contempt. 

KING.  I  will  not  yield  ;  he  shall  unto  the  Tower, 
Warden   of  th'   Fleet,   take    you  the   charge   of 
Gloster. 

HEN.  Why,   be   it    so;   yet     stay    with    him 

awhile, 

Till  we  take  order  for  the  company, 
That  shall  attend  him,  and  resort  to  him. 

GLO.  Warden  of  the  Fleet,  I  see  I  am  your 

charge, 

Befriend  me  thus,  lest  by  their  command 
I  be  prevented  of  what  I  intend. 

KEEP.  Command  me  any  service  in  my  power. 

GLO.  I  pray  you  call  some  nimble-footed  fellow 
To  do  a  message  for  me  to  my  sister. 

KEEP.  Call  in  Redcap ;  he  waiteth  with  a  tip- 
staff, [Exit  one  for  him. 
He  stammers  ;  but  he's  swift  and  trusty,  sir. 


SCENE  THE  FOUKTH. 

Enter  REDCAP. 

GLO.  No  matter  for  the  stammering  ;  is  this  he  ? 
RED.  Ay,  I  am  Re-Redcap,  s-s-sir. 
GLO.  Run.  Redcap,  to  Stepney. 
RED.  I'll  be  at  Stepney  p-p-presently. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  403 

GLO.  Nay,  stay ;  go  to  the  Lady  Fauconbridge, 
my  sister. 

RED.  The  La-La-Lady  Fau-Fau-Fauconbreech  ? 
I  r-r-run,  sir ! 

GLO.  But  take  thy  errand  ;  tell  her  I  am  prisoner, 
Committed  to  the  Fleet. 

RED.  I  am  g-g-glad  of  th-th-that,  my  fa-fa  father 
the  p-p-porter  sha- shall  ge-ge-get  a  f-f-fee  by  you. 

[Still  runs. 

GLO.  Stand  still  a  while^desire  her  to  make 

means 

Unto  Prince  Richard  for  my  liberty  ; 
At  thy  return  (make  speed)  I  will  reward  thee. 

RED.  I  am  g-g-gone,  si-sir. 

RICH.  Commend  me  to  her,  gentle  Huntington ; 
Tell  her  in  these  affairs  I'll  stand  her  friend, 
Her  brother  shall  not  long  be  prisoner : 
Say  I  will  visit  her  immediately. 
Begone,  sweet  boy,  to  Marion  Fauconbridge, 
Thou  lookest  like  love  :  persuade  her  to  be  loving. 

ROB.  So  far  as  honour  will,  I  will  persuade  ; 
I'll  lay  love's  battery  to  her  modest  ears  ; 
Second  my  mild  assault,  you  may  chance  win, 
Fair  parley  at  the  least  may  hap  pass  in.        [Exit. 

HEN.    Here,  take  your  charge ;    let  no    man 

speak  with  him, 
Except  ourself,  our  brethren,  or  Earl  Leicester. 

FAU.  Not  I,  my  lord1?  may  not  I  speak  with  him? 

HEN.  Yes,  Fauconbridge,  thou  shalt. 

JOHN.  And  why  1  he  is  his  wife's  brother. 

FAU.  Earl  John,  although  I  be, 
I  am  true  unto  the  state,  and  so  is  he. 

GLO.  What,  shall  I  have  no  servant  of  my  own  ? 

HEN.    No,  but  the  household  servants  of  the 
Fleet. 

GLO.  I  thank  you,  kinsman  King ;  your  father 

knows, 
Gloster  may  boldly  give  a  base  slave  blows. 


404  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

FAU.    0,  but  not  here ;    it  was  not  well  done 

here. 
KING.  Farewell,  good  Gloster,  you  shall  hear 

from  us. 
GLO.  Even  what  your  sons  will  suffer  you  to 

send. 

Is't  not  a  misery  to  see  you  stand, 
That  sometime  was  the  monarch  of  this  land, 
Intreating  traitors  for  a  subject's  freedom  ? 

LEI.  Let  him   not  speak;  away  with  him  to 

prison. 

GLO.  Here's  like  to  be  a  well-stay'd  common- 
wealth, 

Wherein  proud  Leicester  and  licentious  John 
Are  pillars  for  the  king  to  lean  upon. 

JOHN.  We'll  hear  your  railing  lecture  in  the 

Fleet. 
GLO.1   On  thy  displeasure  —  well  ye  have  me 

here. 

0,  that  I  were  within  my  fort  of  Bungay, 
Whose  walls  are  wash'd  with  the  clear  streams  of 

Waveney,2 

Then  would  not  Gloster  pass  a  halfpenny, 
For  all  these  rebels  and  their  poor  king  too.3 
Laughtst  thou,  King  Henry?    Thou  know'st  my 

words  are  true, 

God  help  thee,  good  old  man  !  adieu,  adieu  ! 
JOHN.  That  castle  shall  be  mine,  wherein  stands4 

Fauconbridge. 

FAU.    Far  from  your  reach,  sure,  under  Feck- 
hill-ridge, 

Five  hundred  men  (England  hath  few  such  wight) 
Keep  it  for  Gloster's  use  both  day  and  night : 


1  Old  copy,  Henry.'  2  Old  copy,  Aveney. 

3  But  see'Hazlitt's  "Proverbs,"  1869,  p.  23. 

4  Old  copy,  -where  stands  in. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  405 

But  you  may  easily  win  it.     Wantons'  words 
Quickly    can     master    men,    tongues    out-brawl 

swords  ! 

JOHN.  Ye  are  an  idiot. 

EICH.  I  prythee,  John,  forbear. 

JOHN.  What,  shall  old  winter  with  his  frosty 

jests 
Cross  flow'ry  pleasures  1 

FAU.  Ay,  and  nip  you  too  ! 
God  Mary  mother,1  I  would  tickle  you, 
Were  there  no  more  in  place  but  I  and  you. 

KING.  Cease  these  contentions  j  forward  to  the 

Tower. 

Release  Queen  Elinor,  and  leave  me  there. 
Your  prisoner  I  am,  sure,  if  ye  had  power ; 
There's  nothing  let's  you  but  the  Commons'  fear : 
Keep  your  state,  lords ;  we  will  by  water  go, 
Making  the  fresh  Thames  salt  with  tears  of  woe. 
HEN.    And  we'll  by  land  thorough  the  City 

ride, 
Making  the  people  tremble  at  our  pride. 

[Exeunt  with  trumpets  two  ways. 


SCENE  THE  FIFTH. 

Enter  SKINK  solus. 

SKINK.  Blackheath,  quoth  he  !  And  I  were  king 
of  all  Kent,  I  would  give  it  for  a  commodity  of 
apron-strings,  to  be  in  my  cottage  again.  Princes' 
warrants !  marry,  Skink  finds  them  as  sure  as  an 
obligation  seal'd  with  batter.  At  King's-Bridge  I 
durst  not  enter  a  boat.  Through  London  the  stones 

1  i.e.,  Mary,  God's  mother. 


406  LOOK  ABOUT   YOU. 

were  fiery.  I  have  had  a  good  cool  way  through 
the  fields,  and  in  the  highway  to  Eatcliffe  stands 
a  heater.  Mile-end's  covered  with  who  goes  there  ? 
'Tis  for  me,  sure.  0  Kent,  0  Kent,  I  would  give 
my  part  of  all  Christendom T  to  feel  thee,  as  I  see 
thee.  If  I  go  forward,  I  am  stayed ;  if  I  go  back- 
ward, there's  a  rogue  in  a  red  cap,  he's  run  from 
St  John's  after  me.  I  were  best  stay  here,  lest  if 
he  come  with  hue  and  cry,  he  stop  me  yonder. 
I  would  slip  the  collar  for  fear  of  the  halter ;  but 
here  comes  my  runner,  and  if  he  run  for  me,  his 
race  dies,  he  is  as  sure  as  dead  as  if  a  Parliament 
of  devils  2  had  decreed  it.  [Retires. 


SCENE  THE  SIXTH. 
Enter  EEDCAP. 

BED.  Ste-Ste-Stepney  ch- church  yonder ;  but  I 

have  forgot 

The  La-La-Lady  Fau-Fau-Fau — plague  on  her, 
I  mu-must  b-backto  the  Fle-Fle-Fleet  to  kn-kn-know 

'it. 
The  La-  the  La-La-Lady  Fau — plague  on't;    G- 

Gloster 

Will  go  ne-near  to  st-stab  me  so  for  forgetting 
My  errand,  he  is  such  a  ma-ma-mad  lord,  the 

La-Lady  Fau-Fau-Fau 

SKINK.  Help  me,   device ;  upon  my  life,  this 

fool  is  sent 
From  Gloster  to  his  sister  Marian. 


1  See  Hazlitt's  "  Proverbs,"  1869,  p.  289. 

2  Possibly  in  reference  to  a  tract,  so  called,  printed  by 
Wynkyn  de  Worde,  and  (after  him)  by  others. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  407 

EED.  I  m-must  ne-needs  go  back,  the  La-Lady 
Fau-Fau-Fau 

SKINK.  God  speed,  good  fellow. 

EED.  Go-Go-God  sp-sp-speed  you,  sir. 

SKINK.  Why  runn'st  thou  from  me  ? 

EED.  Ma-Marry,  sir,  I  have  lo-lost  a  la-lady's 
name,  and  I  am  running  ba-back  to  se-se-seek  it. 

SKINK.  What  lady  1     I  prythee,  stay. 

EED.  Why,  the  La-Lady  Fau-Fau-Fau 

SKINK.  Fauconbridge  1 

EED.  Ay,  the  s-s-same  :  farewell.     I  th-th-thank 
you  h-heartily. 

SKINK.  If  thou  would'st  speak  with  her,  she  is 

in  Kent. 
I  serve  her ;  what's  thy  business  with  my  lady  1 

EED.  I  sh-sh-should  do  an  errand  to  her  f-f-from 
my  Lord  of  Gloucester;  but,  a-a-and  she  be  in 
K-Kent,  I'll  send  it  by  you. 

SKINK.  Where  is  my  lord  ? 

EED.  Marry,  p-p-prisoner  in  the  Fl-Fleet,  a-a- 
and  w- would  have  her  speak  to  P-Prince  E-Eichard 
for  his  re-re-release. 

SKINK.  I  have  much  business ;  hold,  there's  thy 
fare  by  water,  my  Lady  lies  this  night 

EED.  Wh-wh- where,  I  pray  ? 

SKINK.  At  Gravesend  at  the  Angel. 

EED.  Tis  devilish  co-co-cold  going  by  water. 

SKINK.  Why,  there's  my  cloak  and  hat  to  keep 

thee  warm ; 

Thy  cap  and  jerkin  will  serve  me  to  ride  in 
By  the  way  ;  thou  hast  wind  and  tide ;  take  oars  ; 
My  lady  will  reward  thee  royally. 

EED.  G-God-a-mercy,  f-fa-faith ;  and  ever  th-thou 
co-co-come  to  the  Fl-Fl-Fleet,  I'll  give  the  tu-tu- 
turning  of  the  ke-key  f-for  n-no-nothing. 

SKINK.  Hie  thee ;  to-morrow  morning  at  Graves- 
end  I'll  wash  thy  stammering  throat  with  a  mug 
of  ale  merrily. 


408  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

EED.  God  be  w-with  you  till  s-soo-soon.  What 
call  you  the  lady  ?  0,  now  I  re-remember  :  the 
La-Lady  Fa-Fauconbridge.  At  what  s-sign  ? 

SKINK.  At  the  Angel. 

EED.  A-Angel,  the  La-La-Lady  Fa-Fa-Faucon- 
bridge,  Fa-Fan-Fanconbridge. 

SKINK.  Farewell  and  be  hang'd,  good  stammer- 
ing ninny,  I  think  I  have  set  your  Redcap's  heels 
a-running,  would  your  pianot- chattering  humour 
could  as  sa-safely  se-set  me  fr-from  the  searchers' 
walks.  Yonder  comes  some  one.  'Hem  !  Skink, 
to  your  tricks  this  titty  titty.  Ah,  the  tongue,  I 
believe,  will  fail  me.1 


SCENE  THE  SEVENTH. 
Enter  CONSTABLE  and  WATCH. 

CON.  Come,  make  up  to  this  fellow,  let  th'other 
go,  he  seems  a  gentleman.  \Exit  REDCAP  dressed 
as  SKINK.]  What  are  you,  sir  ? 

SKINK.  Would  I  had  kept  my  own  suit,  if  the 
countenance  carry  it  away. 

CON.  Stand,  sirrah,  what  are  you  ? 

SKINK.  The  po-po-porter's  son  of  the  F-Fl-Fleet, 
going  to  Stepney  about  business  to  the  La -La- 
Lady  Fa-Fa-Fauconbridge. 

CON.  Well,  bring  him  thither,  some  two  or 
three  of  ye,  honest  neighbours,  and  so  back  to  the 
Fleet ;  we'll  show  ourselves  diligent  above  other 
officers. 

SKINK.  Wh-wh-why,  le-le-let  me  run.  I  am 
Re-Redcap. 


1  He  means  the  stammer  of  Redcap,  which  he  intends  to 
imitate. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  409 

CON.  Well,  sure  you  shall  now  run  no  faster 
than  I  lead  you,  hear  ye,  neighbour  Simmes,  I 
leave  my  staff  with  ye ;  be  vigilant,  I  pray  you, 
search  the  suspicious  houses  at  the  town's  end; 
this  Skink's  a  trouncer.  Come,  will  you  be  gone, 
sir? 

SKINK.  Yes,  sir,  and  the  devil  go  with  you  and 

them, 

Well,  yet  have  hope,  mad  ha-heart;  co-co-come 
your  way.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  THE  EIGHTH. 

Enter  ROBIN  HOOD  and  BLOCK. 

BLO.  Sweet  nobility  in  reversion,  Block,  by 
the  commission  of  his  head,  conjures  you  and 
withal  binds  you,  by  all  the  tricks  that  pages  pass 
in  time  of  Parliament,  as  swearing  to  the  pant- 
able,1  crowning  with  custards,  paper-whiffs  to  the 
sleepers'  noses,  cutting  of  tags,  stealing  of  torches, 
cum  multis  aliis — tell,  Block,  what  block  you  have 
cast  in  the  way  of  my  lady's  content ! 

ROB.  Block,  by  the  antiquity  of  your  ancestry, 
I  have  given  your  lady  not  so  much  as  the  least 
cause  of  dislike  ;  if  she  be  displeased  at  any  news 
I  bring,  it's  more  than  I  must  blab. 

BLO.  Zounds,  these  pages  be  so  proud,  they 
care  not  for  an  old  servingman ;  you  are  a  ward 
and  so  an  earl,  and  no  more :  you  disquiet  our 
house — that's  the  most ;  and  I  may  be  even  with 
thee — that's  the  least. 


1  Compare  "Damon  and  Pithias,"  vol.  iv.,  pp.  67-8. 


410  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Enter  the  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE. 

LADY  F.  What,  Block,  what,  Block,  I  say !  what 
do  you  there  ? 

BLO.  Making  the  young  lord  merry,  madam. 

LADY  F.  Go,  attend  the  gate ; 
See  if  you  can  let  in  more  grief  thereat. 

BLO.  Zounds,  and  grief  come  in  there;  and  I 

see 
Him  once,  Til  conjure  his  gaberdine.  [Aside. 

LADY  F.  Will  you  be  gone,  sir  1 

BLO.  Hem  !  these  women,  these  women ! 
And  she  be  not  in  love  either  with  Prince  Richard 
or  this  lad,  let  Block's  head  be  made  a  chopping- 
block.  [Exit  BLOCK. 

EOB.  Fair  madam,  what  reply  you  to  my  suit  ? 
The   prince    expects1    smiles,   welcomes,    loving 
looks. 

LADY  F.  The  prince,  if  he  give  heed  to  Marian's 

suit, 

Must  hear  heart-sighs,  see  sorrow  in  my  eyes, 
And  find  cold  welcome  to  calamities. 

ROB.  And  why,  for  God's  sake  ? 

LADY  F.  Even  for  Gloster's  sake. 

ROB.  Why,  by  mine  honour,  and  Prince  Richard 

saith, 

Your  brother  Gloster  shall  have  liberty, 
Upon  condition  you  release  a  prisoner, 
That  you  have  long  held  in  captivity. 

LADY  F.  I  have  no  prisoner. 

ROB.  Yes,  a  world  of  eyes 
Your  beauty  in  a  willing  bondage  ties. 

LADY  F.  Go  to,  you  are  dispos'd  to  jest,  my 
lord. 

ROB.  In  earnest,  I  must  be  an  earnest  suitor 
To  you  for  love ;  yet  you  must  be  my  tutor. 

1  Old  copy,  excepts. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  411 

LADY  F.  Are  you  in  love  ? 

ROB.  I  dearly  love  Prince  Richard. 

LADY  F.  Then  do  you  love  the  loveliest  man 

alive, 

The  princeliest  person  of  King  Henry's  sons. 
EOB.  I  like  this  well.  [Aside. 

LADY  F.  He  is  virtuous  in  his  mind,  his  body 

fair  ; 

His  deeds  are  just,  his  speeches  debonair. 
EOB.  Better  and  better  still.  [Aside. 

LADY  F.  Indeed  he  is,  what  nobody  can  deny, 
All  lovely,  beauty  all,  all  majesty. 

ROB.  I'll  tell  his  excellence  what  you  report ; 
No  doubt  he  will  be  very  thankful  for  't. 

LADY  F.  Nay,  hear  you,  young  lord !  [for]  God's 

pity,  stay. 
ROB.   What,  have  you  more  in  Richard's  praise 

to  say? 

LADY  F.  I  have  said  too  much,  if  you  miscon- 
strue me. 
Duty  bids  praise  him,  not  unchastity. 

ROB.  JUnchastity  1  holy  heavens  forfend  it, 
That  he  or  I,  or  you  should  once  intend  it ! 


SCENE  THE  NINTH. 
Enter  BLOCK  and  RICHARD. 

BLO.  They  are   there,  sir,  close  at  it,  I  leave 
you,  sir  ;  the  more  room  the  less  company. 
RICH.  Drink  that ;  farewell.     [Gives  him  money. 
BLO.  If  that   Sir   Richard   comes ;   this   ties, 

this  binds ; 
O  gold,  thy  power  converteth  servants'  minds. 

[Exit. 


412  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

KiCH.  How  now,  fair  madam,  who  hath  anger'd 
you? 

LADY  F.  Grief  at  my  brother's  durance  angers 
me. 

EICH.  I  had  thought  my  ward,  young  Hunting- 
ton,  had  vex'd  you. 

LADY  F.  Who?  he?  alas,  good  gentleman,  he 

wrong'd  me  not ; 
No  matter,  for  all  this  I'll  tell  your  tale. 

A  noise  within,  enter  SKINK,  BLOCK,  CONSTABLE. 

BLO.  Sir,  there  comes  no  more  of  you  in  with 
him  than  the  constable.  Zounds,  here's  a  beadroll 
of  bills  at  the  gate  indeed  ;  back,  ye  base  ! 

LADY  F.  Now,  sirrah,  what's  the  matter  ? 

BLO.  Marry,  here's  a  stammerer  taken  clipping 
the  king's  English,  and  the  constable  and  his  watch 
hath  brought  him  to  you  to  be  examin'd. 

CON.  No,  madam,  we  are  commanded  by  the 
king  to  watch ;  and  meeting  this  fellow  at  Mile- 
end,  he  tells  us  he  is  the  porter's  son  of  the 
Fleet,  [and]  that  the  Earl  of  Gloster  sent  him  to 
you. 

SKINK.  Ay,  f-forsooth  he  desire [d]  you  to  speak 
to  the  p-prince  for  him. 

LADY  F.  0,  I  conceive  thee;  bid  him  blithely 

fare, 
Bear  him  this  ring  in  token  of  my  care. 

SKINK.  If  I  be  rid  of  this  evil  angel  that  haunts 
me,  many  rings,  much  Fleet,  will  Skink  come 
unto.  [Aside. 

CON.    Madam,  if  you  know  this  fellow,  we'll 
discharge  him. 

BLO.  Madam,  and  you  be  wise,  trust  your 
honest  neighbours  here ;  let  them  bring  this 
ca-ca-ca-ca-to  the  Fleet,  and  s-see  your  ring  de- 
livered. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  413 

SKINK.  A  plague  upon  you  for  a  damned  rogue  ! 
The  porter  of  the  Fleet  will  surely  know  me. 

[Aside. 
LADY  F.  Good  neighbours,  bring  this  honest 

fellow  thither ; 

There's  for  his  pains  a  crown,  if  he  say  true, 
And  for  your  labour  there's  as  much  for  you. 
SKINK.    Why,    ma-ma-madam,    I    am    Re-Re- 

Redcap,  the  porter's  son. 
LADY  F.  Thou  hast  no  wrong  in  this ;  farewell, 

good  fellow. 
SKINK.  Best  speaking  to  Prince  Richard?  no, 

I'll  try 

And  face  out  Redcap,  if  the  slave  were  by. 
LADY  F.  Make  them  drink,  Block. 
BLO.    Come    to    the    buttery-bar,   stitty-stitty 

stammerer ;  come,  honest 

Constable,  hey !    the  watch   of  our  town ;   we'll 
drink,  try-lill,  i'faith. 


SCENE  THE  TENTH. 

As  they  go  out,  enters  SmRlCHARD  FAUCONBRIDGE, 
stealing  forward,  PRINCE  and  LADY  talking.1 

ROB.  Lupus  in  fabula,  my  noble  Lord  ; 
See  the  old  fox,  Sir  Richard  Fauconbridge. 

RICH.  We'll  fit  him  well  enough;   second  us, 

Robin. 

LADY  F.  I'll  fit  you  well  enough  for  all  your  hope. 
[FAUC.  beckons  to  BLOCK. 

FAU.  Leave    quaffing,   sirrah,    listen    to    their 
talk. 


1  He  does  not  appear,  however,  to  make  himself  visible, 
but  stands  aside,  listening. 


414  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU, 

BLO.  O,  while  yon  live,  beware,  two  are 
sooner  seen  than  one;  besides,  bear  a  brain, 
master,  if  Block  should  be  now  spied,  my  madam 
would  not  trust  this  sconce  neither  in  time  nor 
tide. 

FAU.  Well,  leave  me,  now    it   buds;  see,  see, 
they  kiss. 

BLO.  Adieu,  good  old  sinner,  you  may  recover 
it  with  a  sallet  of  parsley  and  the  herb  patience  ; 
if  not,  sir,  you  know  the  worst.  It's  but  even 
this. 

KICK.  Madam,  what  you  desire,  I  not  deny, 
But  promise  Gloster  life  and  liberty. 
I  beg  but  love. 

FAU.  When  doth  she  give  her  alms  ?        [Aside. 

LADY  F.  Fair,  honourable  prince. 

FAU.  Nay,  then,  they  speed.  [Aside. 

LADY  F.  My  soul  hath  your  deserts  in  good 
esteem. 

FAU.  Witness  these  goodly  tines,1  that   grace 
my  head.  [Aside. 

LADY  F.  But  were  you  the  sole  monarch  of  the 

earth, 

Your  power  were  insufficient  to  invade 
My  never-yielding  heart  of  chastity. 

FAU.  Sayst  thou  so,  Mall?  I  promise  thee  for  thisf 
I'll  owe  thy  cherry  lips  an  old  man's  kiss ; 
Look,  how  my  cockerell  droops ;  'tis  no  matter, 
I  like  it  best,  when  women  will  not  flatter.  [Aside. 

RICH.  Nay,  but  sweet  lady — 

EOB.  Nay,  but  gracious  lord. 
Do  not  so  much  forget  your  princely  worth 
As  to  tempt 2  virtue  t'  unchastity. 


1  Old  copy,  times.    See  Halliwell,  v.  tine,  where  the  word 
is  said  to  mean  "  the  prong  of  a  fork  (second  explanation)," 
thence,  as  in  the  text,  a  horn. 

2  [Old  copy,  attempt.] 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  415 

FAU.  0  noble  youth !  [Aside. 

ROB.  Let  not  the  lady's   dead    grief   for   her 

brother 
Give  life  to  shameless  and  detested  sin. 

FAU.  Sweet  child.  [Aside. 

ROB.  Consider  that  she  is  of  high  descent. 
FAU.  Most  virtuous  earl.  [Aside. 

ROB.  Wife   to  the   noblest   knight   that    ever 

breath'd. 

FAU.  Now,  blessing  on  thee,  blessed  Hunting- 
ton  !  [Aside. 
ROB.  And   would   you   then   first   stain  your 

princely  stock, 

Wrong  beauty,  virtue,  honour,  chastity, 
And  blemish  Fauconbridge's  untainted  arms  1 

FAU.  By  adding  horns  unto  our  falcon's  head  ! 
Well  thought  on,  noble  youth  :  'twas  well  put  in. 

[Aside. 

LADY  F.  Besides,  my  gracious  lord, — 
FAU.  Tickle  him,  Mall, 
Plague  him  on  that  side  for  his  hot  desire. 

LADY  F.  however  secretly  great  princes 

sin. 
FAU.  0,  now  the  spring  !  she'll  do  it  secretly. 

[Aside. 
LADY  F.  The  King  of  all  hearts  will  have  all 

sins  known. 

FAU.  Ah,  then  she  yields  not !  [Aside. 

RICH.  Lady,  here's  my  hand. 
I  did  but  try  your  honourable  faith. 

FAU.    He   did   but   try  her !   would  she  have 

been  tried, 

It  had  gone  hard  on  this  and  on  this  side.  [Aside. 
RICH.    And  .since  I   see  your  virtue  so  con- 

firm'd, 

As  vice  can  have  no  entrance  in  your  heart, 
I  vow,  in  sight  of  heaven,  never  again, 
To  move  like  question  but  for  love. 


416  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

FAU.  My  heart  is  eased ;  hold,  Block,  take  up 
my  cloak. 

BLO.  And  your  cap,  too,  sir  1 l 

[SiR  KICK.  FAUC.  comes  forward. 

EICH.  Sir  Eichard ! 

FAU.  What,  sweet  Prince,  welcome,  i'faith, 
I  see  youth  quickly  gets  the  start  of  age ; 
But  welcome,  welcome ;  and,  young  Huntington, 
Sweet  Robin  Hood,  honour's  best  flowering  bloom, 
Welcome  to  Fauconbridge  with  all  my  heart ! 
How  cheers  my  love,  how  fares  my  Marian,  ha  ? 
Be  merry,  chuck,  and,  Prince  Richard,  welcome. 
Let  it  go,  Mall ;  I  know  thy  grievances. 
Away,  away ;  tut,  let  it  pass,  sweet  girl. 
We  needs  must  have  his  help  about  the  earls. 

[A  side. 

LADY  F.  Let  it  not  be  delay'd,  dear  Fauconbridge. 

RICH.    Sir  Richard,  first   make  suit  unto  my 

father, 
I'll  follow  you  to  Court,  and  second  you. 

FAU.  Follow  to  court,  ha  t  then  I  smell  a  rat, 
It's  probable  he'll  have  a  bout  again ; 
Long  siege  makes  entrance  to  the  strongest  fort. 
It  must  not  be  •  I  must  not  leave  him  here. 

[Aside. 

Prince  Richard,  if  you  love  my  brother's  good, 
Let's  ride  back  to  the  court ;  I'll  wait  on  you. 

RICH.  He's  jealous ;    but  I  must  observe  the 
time.  [Aside. 

We'll  ride  unto  the  court ;  I'll  leave  my  boy 
Till  we  return ;  are  you  agreed  to  this  1 

FAU.  0,  ay,  he  is  an  honourable  youth, 
Virtuous  and  modest,  Huntington's  right  heir, 
His  father  Gilbert  was  the  smoothest-fac'd  lord 
That  e'er  bare  arms  in  England  or  in  France. 

1  Block  seems  to  refer  jocularly  to  Sir  Kichard's  long 
aside,  under  a  sort  of  invisible  cap. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  417 

RICH.  Solicit,1  Robin  :  Lady,  give  good  ear, 
And  of  your  brother's  freedom  never  fear.    [Aside. 
FAU.  Marian,  farewell;   where's  Block?    open 

the  gate ; 
Come,  Prince,  God  send  us  to  prove  fortunate. 

[Exeunt. 

LADY  F.  Why  do  you  stay,2  sir  1 
ROB.  Madam,   as  a  lieger  to  solicit  for   your 

absent  love. 

LADY  F.  Walk  in  the  garden  •  I  will  follow  you, 
I 'faith,  i'faith,  you  are  a  noble  wag. 

ROB.   An  honourable  wag  and  waggish  earl, 
Even  what  you  will,  sweet  lady,  I  must  bear, 
Hoping  of  patience  profit  will  ensue, 
That  you  will  bear  the  Prince  as  I  bear  you. 
LADY  F.  Well   said,  well  said,  I'll  have  these 

toys  amended. 
Go,  will  you  walk  into  the  garden,  sir  1 

ROB.  But  will   you   promise   me   to  bring  no 

maids, 

To  set  upon  my  little  manship  there  1 
You  threat'ned  whipping,  and  I  am  in  fear. 

LADY  F.  Upon  my  word,  I'll  bring  none  but 

myself. 

ROB.    You  see  I  am  weapon'd,  do  not,  I  be- 
seech thee.3 

I'll  stab  them,  come  there  twenty,  ere  they  breech 

me.  [Exit. 

LADY  F.    This  youth  and  Richard   think  me 

easily  won ; 

But  Marian  rather  will  embrace 
The  bony  carcase  of  dismaying  death, 
Than  prove  unchaste  to  noble  Fauconbridge. 
Richard,4  King  Henry's  son,  is  light, 
Wanton,  and  loves  not  humble  modesty, 

1  Old  copy,  solicitk.          2  Old  copy,  say. 
8  Old  copy,  you.  *  Old  copy,  Richard's. 

VOL.  VII.  2  D 


413  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Which  makes  me  (much  contrary  to  my  thoughts) 
Flatter  his  humour  for  my  brother's  safety, 
But  I  protest  I'll  dwell  among  the  dead, 
Ere  I  pollute  my  sacred  nuptial  bed.  [Exit. 


SCENE  THE  ELEVENTH. 

Enter  G.LOSTER  in  his  gown,  calling. 

GLO.  Porter,  what,  porter,  where's  this  drowsy 
ass? 

Enter  PORTER. 

POR.  Who  calls  ]    my  Lord  of  Gloucester  all 
alone  ? 

GLO.  Alone,  and  have  your  wisdom's  company  ! 
Pray,  where's  the  stammering  chatterer,  your  son '? 
He's  ever  running ;  but  he  makes  small  haste. 
I'll  bring  his  lither  legs  in  better  frame, 
And  if  he  serve  me  thus  another  time — 

\Knock  within. 

Hark,  sir,  your  clients  knock ;  and't  be  your  pye, 
Let  him1  vouchsafe  to  chatter  us  some  news, 
Tell  him  we  dance  attendance  in  our  chamber. 

[Exit  PORTER. 

This  John  and  Henry  are  so  full  of  hate, 
That  they  will  have  my  head  by  some  device, 
Gloster  hath  plotted  means  for  an  escape, 
And  if  it  fadge,2  why  so  ;  if  not,  then  well. 
The  way  to  heaven  is  death,  this  life's  a  hell. 

SCENE  THE  TWELFTH. 
Enter  PORTER  and  SKINK. 

POR.  Why  should  the  watchman  come   along 
with  thee  1 

1  [Old  copy,  us.]  •     ,  -     z  Succeed. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  419 

SKINK.  There's  such  a  que-question  for  yon 
s-same  r-rogue ;  Skink,  p-plague  keep  [me]  far 
enough  from  him,  that  a-an-honest  f-fellow  ca-can- 
not  w-w-walk  the  streets. 

POR.  Well,  sir,  dispatch  your  business  with  the 

earlj 

He's  angry  at  your  stay,  I  tell  ye  that.  [Exit. 

SKINK.  'Sblood,  what  a  frown  this  Gloster  casts 

at  me  : 

I  hope  he  means  to  lend  me  no  more  cuffs, 
Such  as  he  paid  me  at  the  Parliament.          [Aside. 
GLO.  What  mutter  you  1  what  tidings  from  my 

sister  ? 
SKINK.  Co-commendations,  and  s-she  hath  s-sent 

ye  this  r-ring. 

GLO.  Hold,  there's  two  angels ;  shut  the  cham- 
ber-door, 

You  must  about  some  business  for  me  straight ; 
Come  nearer,  man. 

SKINK.  I  fear  I  am  too  near.  [Aside. 

GLO.  Hast  thou  no  tidings  for  my  liberty  1 
SKINK.  No,  b-but  ye  sh-shall  he-hear  f-from  her 

p-p-presently. 

GLO.  And  p-presently,  sir,  off  with  your  coat. 
Nay,  quick,  uncase,  I  am  bold  to  borrow  it, 
I'll  leave  my  gown ;  change  is  no  robbery. 
Stutterer,  it's  so,  ne'er  flinch,  ye  cannot  pass  : 
Cry,  and  by  heaven  I'll  cut  thy  coward's  throat, 
Quickly  cashier  yourself :  you  see  me  stay. 

SKINK.  N-n-nay,  b-b-but  wh-wh-what  in-mean 

ye? 

GLO.  To  'scape,  I  hope,  sir,  with  your  privilege — 

[He  takes  his  coat  off. 

How  now,  who's  this  ?  my  fine  familiar  Skink, 
Queen  Beldam's  minion  ? 
SKINK.  Zounds,  ye  see  'tis  I. 
GLO.  Time  sorts  not  now  to  know  these  mysteries. 
How  thou  cam'st  by  this  ring,  or  stol'st  this  coat, 


420  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

They  are  mine  now  in  possession,  for  which  kind- 
ness, 

If  I  escape,  I'll  get  thee  liberty, 
Or  fire  the  Fleet  about  the  warden's  ears. 
Mumbudget,  not  a  word,  -as  thou  lovest  thy  life. 
SKINK.    Ay  mum,   mum  fair,  pray  God  may 

chance  it, 

My  lord,  but  that  my  case  is  desperate, 
I'd  see  your  eyes  out,  ere  I  would  be  cheated. 
GLO.    Walk   like    an    earl,   villain;    some   are 
coming. 


SCENE  THE  THIRTEENTH. 
Enter  PRINCE   JOHN   and  PORTER. 

JOHN.  Where  is  this  Gloster  1 

GLO.  Y-y-yonder  he  walks.     Fa-fa-father,  Met 

me  out. 

POR.  Why,  whither  must  you  now  1 
GLO.   To   Je-Jericho,   I  th-think;   'tis   such   a 

h-h-humorous  earl. 
POR.  Well,  sir,  will't  please  you  hasten  home 

again. 

GLO.  I-I-ll  be  h-here  in  a  trice;  b-but  p-pray 
have  a  care  of  th-this  madcap ;  if  he  g-give  us  the 
s-s-slip,  s-s-some  of  us  a-are  like  to  m-make  a  sl-sl- 
slippery  occupation  on't. 

[This  while  JOHN  walks  and  stalks  by  SKINK  [dis- 
guised as  GLO'STER],  never  a  ivord  between 
them. 

POR.  Look  to  your  business,  sir ;  let  me  alone. 
GLO.  Alone ;  never  trust  me,  if  I  trouble  thee. 
JOHN.  Mad  Gloster  mute,  all  mirth  turn'd  to 

despair  ? 
Why,  now  you  see  what  'tis  to  cross  a  king, 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  421 

Deal  against  princes  of  the  royal  blood, 

You'll   snarl  and  rail,  but   now  your  tongue   is 
bedrid, 

Come,  caperhay,1  set  all  at  six  and  seven ; 

What,  musest  thou  with  thought  of  hell  or  heaven  1 
SKINK.  Of  neither,  John;  I  muse  at  my  dis- 
grace, 

That  I  am  thus  kept  prisoner  in  this  place. 
JOHN.  0,  sir,  a  number  are  here  prisoners  : 

My  cousin  Morton,  whom  I  came  to  visit. 

But  he  (good  man)  is  at  his  morrow  mass  ; 

But  I,  that  neither  care  to  say  nor  sing, 

Come  to  seek  that  preaching  hate  and  prayer, 

And  while  they  mumble  up  their  orisons, 

We'll  play  a  game  at  bowls.     What  say'st  thou, 

Gloster  ? 

SKINK.  I  care  not,  if  I  do. 
JOHN.   You  do  not  care, 

Let  old  men  care  for  graves,  we  for  our  sports  ; 

Off  with  your    gown,    there    lies    my   hat    and 
cloak, 

The  bowls  there  quickly,  ho  2 

SKINK.  No,  my  gown  stirs  not ;  it  keeps  sorrow 
warm, 

And  she  and  I  am  not  to  be  divorced. 


Enter  PORTER  with  bowls. 

JOHN.  Yes,  there's  an  axe  must  part  your  head 

and  you, 

And  with  your  head  sorrow  will  leave  your  heart. 
But  come,  shall  I  begin  ?  a  pound  a  game  ? 

SKINK.  More  pounds,  and  we  thus  heavy  ?  well, 

begin. 
JOHN.  Eub,  rub,  rub,  rub. 


1  Perhaps  the  dance  so  called  is  meant. 


422  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

SKINK.  Amen,  God  send  it  short  enough,  and  me 
A  safe  running  with  these 1  clothes  from  thee. 
JOHN.  Play,  Eobin ;  run,  run,  run. 
SKINK.  Far  enough  and  well :  fly  one  foot  more ; 
Would  I  were  half  so  far  without  the  door. 
JOHN.  Now,  Porter,  what's  the  news  1 
POR.  Your  cousin  Morton  humbly  craves, 
Leaving  your  game,  you  would  come  visit  him. 

JOHN.  Bowl,  Gloster ;  I'll  come  presently. 
So  near,  mad  Robin  ?  then  have  after  you. 

[Ex.  PORT. 
SKINK.  Would  I  were  gone,  make  after  as  you 

may. 
JOHN.  Well,  sir,  'tis  yours,  one  all ;  throw  but 

the  jack, 

While  I  go  talk  with  Morton.     I'll  not  stay, 
Keep  coat  and  hat  in  pawn,  I'll  hold  out  play. 

[Ex.  JOHN. 
SKINK.  I  would  be  sorry,  John,  but  you  should 

stay, 

Until  my  bias  run  another  way. 
Now  pass  and  hey-pass,  Skink,  unto  your  tricks  : 
Tis  but  a  chance  at  hazard.     There  lies  Gloster, 
And  here  stands  Skink ;  now,  John,  play  thou  thy 

part, 
And  if  I  'scape  I'll  love  thee  with  my  heart. 

[Puts  on  PRINCE  JOHN'S  cloak,  sword,  and  hat. 
So,  porter  !  let  me  forth. 

Enter  PORTER. 

POR.  God  bless  your  grace,  spoke  ye2  with  the 

Lord  Morton  1 
SKINK.  I  have,  and  must  about  his  business  to 

the  Court. 

It  grieves  me  to  break  my  sport  with  Gloster  : 
The  melancholy  earl  is  comfortless. 

1  [Old  copy,  them.}  2  [Old  copy,  ye  spoke.] 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  423 

POR.   I  would  your  grace  would  comfort  him 

from  hence, 
The  Fleet  is  weary  of  his  company. 

[REDCAP  knock*. 
SKINK.  Drink  that,  some  knocks ;  I  prythee,  let 

me  out, 
His  head  shall  off  ere  long,  never  make  doubt. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  JOHN  at  the  other  door. 

JOHN.  Now,  madcap,  thou  winn'st  all;  where 

art  thou,  Robin  ? 

Uncased]  nay,  then,  he  means  to  play  in  earnest. 
But  where's  my  cloak,  my  rapier,  and  my  hat  ? 
I  hold  my  birthright  to  a  beggar's  scrip, 
The  bastard  is  escaped  in  my  clothes. 
'Tis  well  he  left  me  his  to  walk  the  streets ; 
I'll  fire  the  city,  but  I'll  find  him  out. 
Perchance  he  hides  himself  to  try  my  spleen. 
I'll  to  his  chamber.     Gloster  !  hallo !  Gloster ! 

[Exit. 

Enter  REDCAP. 

POR.    I  wonder  how  thou  cam'st  so  strangely 

chang'd ! 
'Tis  not  an  hour  since  thou  went'st  from  hence. 

RED.  By  my  Ch-Ch-Christendom,  I  ha-have  not 
b-been  h-here  this  three  nights;  a  p-p-plague  of  him, 
that  made  me  such  a  ch-chanting,  and  s-sent  me 
such  a  ja-ja-jaunt !  blood,  I  was  st-stayed  for  Skink, 
that  ill-fa-fa-fac'd  rogue. 

POR.  I  pray  God  there  be  no  practice  in  this 

change. 

Now  I  remember  these  are  Skink's  clothes, 
That  he  wore  last  day  at  the  Parl'ament. 


4:24  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Knock;  Enter  at  another  door  JOHN  in  GLOSTER's 
gown. 

JOHN.  Porter?  you  Porter? 

POR.  Do  you  not  hear  them  knock  1  you  must 

stay,  sir. 

JOHN.  Blood,  I  could  eat  these  rogues. 
RED.  Wh-wh-what,  raw  ? 
Tis  a  very  harsh  mo-morsel, 
Ne-next  your  he-heart. 

JOHN.  A  plague  upon  your  jaunts  !  what,  porter, 

slave  1 

EED.  I  have  been  at  G-Gravesend,  sir. 
JOHN.  What's  that  to  me  1 
EED.  And  at  Ca-Ca-Canterbury. 
JOHN.  And  at  the  gallows !  zounds,  this  frets 

my  soul. 
EED.  But  I  c-could  not  f-find  your  s-s-sister  the 

La-Lady  Fau-Fauconbridge. 
JOHN.     You    stammering    slave,   hence !    chat 

among  your  daws. 
Come  ye  to  mad  me  1  while  the  rogue  your  father — 

Enter  PORTER. 

EED.  My  f-fa-father? 

JOHN.  Porter,  you  damned  slave. 

POR.  Is't  midsummer  :  do  you  begin  to  rave  ? 

JOHN.  Hark,  how  the  traitor  flouts  me  to  my 

teeth ! 

I  would  entreat  your  knaveship,  let  me  forth, 
For  fear  I  dash  your  brains  out  with  the  keys. 
What  is  become  of  Gloster  and  my  garments  1 

POR.  Alas,  in  your  apparel  Gloster's  gone, 
I  let  him  out  even  now ;  I  am  undone. 

JOHN.   It  was  your  practice,  and  to  keep  me 

back, 
You  sent  Jack  Daw  your  son  with  ka-ka-ka, 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  425 

To  tell  a  sleeveless  tale  !  lay  hold  on  him, 
To  Newgate  with  him  and  your  tut-a-tut ! 
Run,  Redcap,  and  trudge  about, 
Or  bid  your  father's  portership  farewell. 

[Exeujtt  with  PORTER. 

RED.  Eh !  here's  a  go-good  je-je-j  est,  by  the  L-Lord, 
to  mo-mock  an  ape  withal!  my  fa-fa-father  has 
brought  his  ho-ho-hogs  to  a  fa-fa-fair  m-m-market. 
Po-po-porter,  quoth  you  1  p-po-porter  that  will  for 
me ;  and  I  po-po- porter  it,  let  them  po-po-post  me 
to  heaven  in  this  qua-quarter.  But  I  must  s-s-seek 
this  Gl-Gl-Gloster  and  Sk-Sk-Skink  that  co-coney- 
catching  ra-ra-rascal,  a  pa-pa-plague  co-co-confound 
him.  Re-Re-Redcap  must  ru-run,  he  cannot  tell 
whi-whither.  [Exit. 


SCENE  THE  FOURTEENTH. 

Sound  trumpets,  enter  HENRY  the  younger,  on  one 
hand  of  him  QUEEN  ELINOR,  on  the  other 
LEICESTER. 

HEN.    Mother  and  Leicester,   add  not   oil  to 

fire ; 

Wrath's  kindled  with  a  word,  and  cannot  hear 
The  numberless  persuasions  you  insort. 

QUEEN.  0,  but,  my  son,  thy  father  favours  him. 
Richard,  that  vile  abortive  changeling  brat, 
And  Fauconbridge,  are  fallen  at  Henry's  feet. 
They  woo  for  him,  but  entreat  my  son 
Gloster  may  die  for  this,  that  he  hath  done. 

LEI.  If  Gloster  live,  thou  wilt  be  overthrown. 

QUEEN.  If  Gloster  live,  thy  mother  dies  in  moan. 

LEI.  If  Gloster  live,  Leicester  will  fly  the  realm. 

QUEEN.   If  Gloster  live,  thy  kingdom's  but  a 
dream. 

HEN.  Have  I  not  sworn  by  that  eternal  arm, 


426  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

That  puts  just  vengeance*   sword   in  monarchs' 

hands, 

Gloster  shall  die  for  his  presumption  ! 
What  needs  more  conjuration,  gracious  mother  ? 
And,  honourable  Leicester,  mark  my  words. 
I  have  a  bead-roll  of  some  threescore  lords 
Of  Gloster's  faction. 

QUEEN.  Nay,  of  Henry's  faction, 
Of  thy  false  father's  faction ;  speak  the  truth, 
He  is  the  head  of  factions ;  were  he  down, 
Peace,  plenty,  glory,  will  impale  thy  crown. 

LEI.  Ay,  there's  the  J3ut,  whose  heart- white  if 

we  hit, 

The  game  is  ours.      Well,  we  may  rage  and  rave1 
At  Gloster,  Lancaster,  Chester,  Fauconbridge  ; 
But  his  the  upshot. 

QUEEN.  Yet  begin  with  Gloster. 

HEN.  The  destinies  run  to  the  Book  of  Fates, 
And  read  in  never-changing  characters 
Robert  of  Gloster's  end  ;  he  dies  to-day  : 
So  fate,  so  heaven,  so  doth  King  Henry  say. 

QUEEN.  Imperially  resolv'd.      [Trumpets  far  of  . 

LEI.  The  old  King  comes. 

QUEEN.  Then  comes  luxurious  lust; 
The  King  of  concubines  ;  the  King  that  scorns 
The  undefiled,  chaste,  and  nuptial  bed ; 
The  King  that  hath  his  queen  imprisoned  : 
For  my  sake,  scorn  him  ;  son,  call  him  not  father  ; 
Give  him  the  style  of  a  competitor. 

HEN.  Pride,  seize  upon  my  heart :   wrath,  fill 

mine  eyes  ! 

Sit,  lawful  majesty,  upon  my  front, 
Duty,  fly  from  me  ;  pity,  be  exil'd  : 
Senses,  forget  that  I  am  Henry's  child. 

QUEEN.  I  kiss  thee,  and  I  bless  thee  for  this 
thought. 

1  Old  copy,  rove. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  427 


SCENE  THE  FIFTEENTH. 

Enter     KING,      LANCASTER,     KlCHARD,     FAUCON- 
BRIDGE. 

KING.  0    Lancaster,    bid    Henry  yield     some 

reason, 
Why  he  desires  so  much  the  death  of  Gloster. 

HEN.  I  hear  thee,  Henry,  and  I  thus  reply  : 
I  do  desire  the  death  of  bastard  Gloster, 
For  that  he  spends  the  Treasure  of  the  Crown  ; 
I  do  desire  the  death  of  bastard  Gloster, 
For  that  he  doth  desire  to  pull  me  down. 
Or  were  this  false  (I  purpose  to  be  plain), 
He  loves  thee,  and  for  that  I  him  disdain. 

HEN.  Therein   thou   shewest    a  hate-corrupted 

mind; 
To  him  the  more  unjust,  to  me  unkind. 

QUEEN.  He  loves  you,  as  his  father  lov'd  his 
mother. 

KING.  Fie,  fie  upon  thee,  hateful  Elinor  ; 
I  thought  thou  hadst  been  long  since  scarlet-dyed. 

HEN.  She  is,  and  therefore  cannot  change  her 
colour. 

RICH.  You  are  too  strict ;  Earl  Gloster's  fault 
Merits  not  death. 

FAU.  By  the  rood,  the  Prince  says  true  ; 
Here  is  a  statute  from  the  Confessor.1 

HEN.  The  Confessor  was  but  a  simple  fool. 
Away  with  books  ;  my  word  shall  be  a  law, 
Gloster  shall  die. 

LEI.  Let  Gloster  die  the  death. 

LAN.  Leicester,  he  shall  not ; 
He  shall  have  law,  despite  of  him  and  thee. 

1  i.e.,  From  the  time  of  the  Confessor. 


428  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

HEN.     What  law  1  will  you  be  traitors  ?  what's 
the  law  ? 

RICH.  His  right  hand's  loss  ;  and  that  is  such  a 

loss, 

As  England  may  lament,  all  Christians  weep. 
That  hand  hath  been  advanc'd  against  the  Moors, 
Driven  out  the  Saracens  from  Gad's l  and  Sicily, 
Fought  fifteen  battles  under  Christ's  red  cross  ; 
And  is  it  not,  think  you,  a  grievous  loss, 
That  for  a  slave  (and  for  no  other  harm) 
It  should  be  sundred  from  his  princely  arm  ? 

FAU.  More  for  example,  noble  Lancaster  ; 
But  'tis  great  pity  too — too  great  a  pity. 

HEN.  I'll  have  his  hand  and  head. 

RICH.  Thou  shalt  have  mine,  then. 

QUEEN.  Well  said,  stubborn  Dick,  Jack  would 

not 
Serve  me  so,  were  the  boy  here. 

EICH.  Both  John  and  I  have  serv'd  your  will 

too  long ; 

Mother,  repent  your  cruelty  and  wrong  : 
Gloster,  you  know,  is  full  of  mirth  and  glee, 
And  never  else  did  your  grace  injury. 

QUEEN.  Gloster  shall  die. 

HEN.  Fetch  him  here,  111  see  him  dead. 

RICH.  He  that  stirs  for  him  shall  lay  down  his 
head. 

FAU.  0  quiet,  good  my  lords ;  patience,  I  pray, 
I  think  he  comes  unsent  for,  by  my  fay. 

Enter  JOHN  in  GLOSTER's  gown. 

RICH.  What  mean'st  thou,  Gloster? 
HEN.  Who  brought  Gloster  hither  1 
JOHN.  Let  Gloster  hang  and  them  that  .  .  . 2 

1  i.e.,  Spain  ;  old  copy,  Gads. 

2  A  word  or  words  left  blank  in  the  old  copy. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  429 

There  lies  his  case,1  a  mischief  on  his  carcase ! 

[Throws  of  GLOSTER'S  gown. 

QUEEN.  My  dear  son  Jack  ! 

JOHN.  Your  dear  son  Jack-an-apes ; 
Your  monkey,  your  baboon,  your  ass,  your  gull ! 

LEI.  What  ails  Earl  John  ? 

JOHN.  Hence,  further  from  my  sight  I 
My  fiery  thoughts  and  wrath  have  work  in  hand ; 
I'll  curse  ye  blacker  than  th;  Avernian 2  Lake, 
If  you  stand  wond'ring  at  my  sorrow  thus. 
I  am  with  child,  big,  hugely  swolPn  with  rage, 
Who'll  play  the  midwife,  and  my  throbs  assuage  1 

KING.  I  will,  my  son. 

HEN.  I  will,  high-hearted  brother. 

JOHN.  You  will  ?  and  you  ?  tut,  tut,  all  you  are 

nothing ! 

'Twill  out,  'twill  out,  myself  myself  can  ease  : 
You  chafe,  you  swell :  ye  are  commanding  King. 
My  father  is  your  footstool,  when  ye  please. 
Your  word's  a  law ;  these  lords  dare  never  speak. 
Gloster  must  die  ;  your  enemies  must  fall ! 

HEN.     What  means  our  brother  ? 

JOHN.  He  means  that  thou  art  mad  : 
She  frantic  :  Leicester  foolish  :  I  the  babe — 
Thou  grind  us,  bite  us,  vex  us,  charge  and  dis- 
charge. 
Gloster,  0  Gloster ! 

QUEEN.  Where  is  Gloster,  son? 

HEN.  Where  is  Gloster,  brother  1 

KING.  I  hope  he  be  escaped. 

JOHN.    0,   I   could  tear  my  hair,  and,  falling 

thus 

Upon  the  solid  earth, 
Dig  into  Gloster's  grave, 
So  he  were  dead,  and  gone  into  the  depth 
Of  under-world — 

1  His  gown.  2  Old  copy,  Levarnian. 


430  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Or  get  sedition's  hundreth  thousand  hand, 
And,  like  Briareus,  battle  with  the  stars, 
To  pull  him  down  from  heaven,  if  he  were  there  ! 
FAU.  Look  to  Earl  John;  the  gentleman  is  mad. 
JOHN.  0,  who  would  not  be  mad  at  this  dis- 
grace 1 
Gloster  the  fox  is  fled  ;  there  lies  his  case. 

[Points  to  the  gown. 

He  cozen'd  me  of  mine  ;  the  porter  helped  him. 
HEN.  The  porter  shall  be  hang'd ;  let's  part  and 

seek  him : 

Gloster  shall  die ;  all  Europe  shall  not  save  him. 
JOHN.  He  is  wise,  too  wise  for  us ;  yet  I'll  go 

with  you 
To  get  more  fools  into  my  company. 

QUEEN.  This  is  your  father's  plot  j  revenge  it, 

son. 
HEN.   Father,   by  heaven,   if   this  were   your 

advice, 

Your  head  or  heart  shall  pay  the  bitter  price. 
Come,  mother,  brother,  Leicester ;  let's  away. 
JOHN.    Ay,  I'll  be  one,  in  hope  to  meet  the 

bastard, 
And  then  no  more  :  myself  will  be  his  headsman. 

[Exeunt. 
KING.    Eichard  and  Fauconbridge,  follow  the 

search ; 

You  may  prevent  mischance  by  meeting  Gloster. 
If  ye  find  Skink,  see  that  you  apprehend  him. 
I  hear  there  is  a  wizard  at  Blackheath  ; 
Let  some  inquire  of  him,  where  Skink  remains. 
Although  I  trust  not  to  those  fallacies, 
Yet  now  and  then  such  men  prove  soothsayers. 
Will  you  be  gone  ? 

FAU.  With  all  my  heart,  with  all  my  heart,  my 

lord. 

Come,  princely  Eichard,  we  are  ever  yok'd. 
Pray  God,  there  be  no  mystery  in  this. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  431 

EICH.   Be   not   suspicious,   where  there  is   no 

cause. 

FAU.  Nay,  nothing,  nothing  •  I  am  but  in  jest. 

[Exeunt. 

KING.  Call  in  a  pursuivant. 
LAN.  Here's  one,  my  liege. 

Enter  PURSUIVANT. 

KING.  There  is  a  porter  likely  to  be  hang'd 
For  letting  Gloster  'scape  ;  sirrah,  attend. 
You  shall  have  a  reprieve  to  bring  him  us. 
These  boys  are  too-too  stubborn,  Lancaster  • 
But  'tis  their  mother's  fault.   If  thus  she  move  me, 
I'll  have  her  head,  though  all  the  world  reprove 
me.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  THE  SIXTEENTH. 
Enter  ROBIN  HOOD  and  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE. 

LADY  F.  Do  not  deny  me,  gentle  Huntington. 

ROB.  My  lord  will  miss  me. 

LADY  F.  Tut,  let  me  excuse  thee. 

ROB.  Turn,  woman  ?     O,  it  is  intolerable  ! 
Except  you  promise  me  to  play  the  page. 
Do  that,  try  one  night,  and  you'll  laugh  for  ever 
To  hear  the  orisons  that  lovers  use  : 
Their  ceremonies,  sighs,  their  idle  oaths  ! 
To  hear  how  you  are  prais'd  and  pray'd  unto. 
For  you  are  Richard's  saint.     They  talk  of  Mary 
The  blessed  Virgin  ;  but  upon  his  beads 
He  only  prays  to  Marian  Fauconbridge. 

LADY  F.  The  more  his  error ;  but  will  you  agree 
To  be  the  Lady  Fauconbridge  one  day  ? 

ROB.  When  is't  1 

LADY  F.  On  Monday. 


432  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

ROB.  Wherefore  is't  ? 

LADY  F.   Nay,  then,  you  do  me  wrong  with 

inquisition, 

And  yet  I  care  not  greatly  if  I  tell  thee. 
Thou  seest  my  husband  full  of  jealousy  : 
Prince  Richard  in  his  suit  importunate, 
My  brother  Gloster  threat'ned  by  young  Henry. 
To  clear  these  doubts,  I  will  in  some  disguise 
Go  to  Blackheath,  unto  the  holy  hermit, 
Whose  wisdom,  in  foretelling  things  to  come, 
Will  let  me  see  the  issue  of  my  cares. 
If  destinies  ordain  me  happiness, 
111  chase  these  mists  of  sorrow  from  my  heart 
With  the  bright  sun  of  mirth  •  if  fate  agree 
To't,1  and  my  friends  must  suffer  misery, 
Yet  I'll  be  merry  too,  till  mischief  come. 
Only  I  long  to  know  the  worst  of  ill. 

ROB.  I'll  once  put  on  a  scarlet  countenance. 

LADY  F.  Be  wary,  lest  ye  be  discovered,  Robin. 

ROB.  Best  paint  me,  then  be  sure  I  shall  not 
blush. 

Enter  BLOCK  bleeding,  GLOSTER  ivith  him. 

BLO.    Beat   an   officer,  Redcap  1    I'll  have    ye 

talk'd  withal ! 
Beat  Sir  Richard's  porter  1  help,  madam,  help  I 

GLO.  Peace,  you  damned  rogue. 

LADY  F.  Brother,  I  pray  you  forbear. 

GLO.  Zwounds !  an  hundred's  at  my  heels  almost, 
And  yet  the  villain  stands  on  compliment. 

BLO.  A  bots  on  2  you,  is't  you  1 

GLO.  Will  you  to  the  door,  you  fool,  and  bar 

the  gate  1 

Hold,  there's  an  angel  for  your  broken  pate  : 
If  any  knock,  let  them  not  in  in  haste. 

1  Old  copy,  It.  2  Old  copy,  one. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  433 

BLO.  Well,  I  will  do,  as  I  see  cause  ; 
Blood,  thou  art  dear  to  me. 
But  here's  a  sovereign  plaister  .for  the  sore  : 
Gold  healeth  wounds,  gold  easeth  hearts  ! 
What  can  a  man  have  more  1  [Exit. 

LADY  F.  Dear  brother,  tell  us  how  you  made 
escape  1 

GLO.  You  see  I  am  here,  but  if  you  would  know 

how, 

I  cannot  'scape,  and  tell  the  manner  too, 
By  this  I  know  your  house  is  compassed 
With  hell-hound  search.1 

LADY  F.  Brother,  I'll  furnish  you  with  beard 

and  hair, 

And  garment  like  my  husband's. 
How  like  you  that? 

GLO.  Well,  when  I  have  them  : 
Quickly,  then,  dispatch.     [Exit  LADY.]     S'blood  ! 

turn 

Grey  beard  and  hair. 
Robin,  conceal ;  this  dieteth  my  mind. 
Mirth  is  the  object  of  my  humorous  spleen. 
Thou  high,  commanding  fury,  further  device  J 
Jests  are  conceited.     I  long  to  see  their  birth. 

Re-enter  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE. 

What,  come  ye,  sister1?    Robin,  a  thief's  hand  ! 
But,  prythee,  where  hadst  thou  this  beard  and 

hairl 
LADY  F.  Prince  Richard  wore  them  hither  in  a 

masque. 
GLO.   Say'st  thou  me   so  ?   faith,   [I]  love  the 

princely  youth  ; 
Tut,  you  must  taste  stolen  pleasure  now  and  then. 

1  The  word  search  is  hei;e,  and  again  a  little  further  on 
used  in  the  sense  of  searchers. 

VOL.   VII.  2  E 


434  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

EOB.  But  if  she  steal,  and  jealous  eyes  espy, 
She  will  be  sure  condemn'd  of  burglary. 

GLO.  Ha  !  crake  !  can  your  low  stumps  venture 

so  deep 

Into  affection's  stream  ?  go  to,  you  wanton  ! 
What  want  we  now  ?  my  nightcap  !  0,  'tis  here. 
So  now  no  Gloster,  but  old  Fauconbridge. 
Hark,  the  search  knocks ;  I'll  let  them  in  myself : 
Welcome,  good  fellows ;  ha  !  what  is't  you  lack  ? 

Enter  REDCAP,  with  two  others.1 

RED.  Ma-master  Co-Constable,  se-se-search  you 
th-that  way;  a-and,  you  ho-honest  man,  th-that 
way.  I'll  ru-run  th-this  way  m-my  own  se-self. 

\They  disperse  themselves. 

GLO.  What  search  you  for]   what  is   it   you 
would  have  1 


Enter  BLOCK. 

BLO.  Madam,  what  shall  I  do  to  these  brown- 
bill  fellows  1  some  run  into  the  wine  cellar ;  some 
here,  some  there. 

GLO.    Let  them  alone;    let  them  search  their 

fills. 

BLO.  I'll  look  to  their  fingers  for  all  that. 
GLO.    Do  so,  good  Block;    be    careful,  honest 

Block. 

BLO.  Sir  stammerer  and  your  wa-watch,  y'are 

pa-past,  i'faith.  [Exit. 

GLO.  Will  you  not  speak,  knaves  1  tell  me  who 

you  seek. 

RED.  Ma-marry,  sir,  we  s-seek  a  va-va-vacabond, 
a  fu-fugative,  my  la-lady's  own  b-brother;  but, 

..i  Old  .copy,  another.;  but  Redcap  is  evidently  accompanied 
by  two  assistants. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  435 

and  he  were  the  po-po-pope's  own  b-brother,  I 
would  s-search  f-f-for  him ;  for  I  have  a  p-poor 
father  r-ready  to  be  ha-ha-hang'd  f-f-for  him. 

GLO.  O,  ;tis  for  Gloster  ?  marry,  search,  a'  God's 

name, 

Seek,  peace ;  *  will  he  break  prison  too  ? 
It's  a  pity  he  should  live  ;  nay,  I  defy  him. 
Come,  look  about,  search  every  little  corner, 
Myself  will  lead  the  way ;  pray  you,  come. 
Seek,  seek,  and  spare  not,  though  it  be  labour  lost : 
He  comes  not  under  my  roof;  hear  ye,  wife? 
He  comes  not  hither,  take  it  for  a  warning. 

EED.  You  sp-sp-speak  like  an  honest  ge-ge-gen- 
tleman,  re-re-rest  you  me-me-merry  !  co-co-come, 
my  f-f-friends,  I  be-believe  h-h-he  r-ran  by  the 
g-g-garden  w-wall  toward  the  wa- water  side. 

[Exeunt  running. 

GLO.  This  fellow  is  of  the  humour   I  would 

choose  my  wife  ; 
Few  words  and  many  paces ;  a  word  and  away  ; 

and  so 
Must  I.     Sister,  adieu ;  pray  you  for  me ;  I'll  dp 

the  like  for  you. 
Ilobin,  farewell ;  commend  me  to  the  Prince. 

LADY  F.  Can  ye  not  stay  here  safe  ? 

GLO.  No,  I'll  not  trust  the  changing  humours  o,f 

old  Fauconbridge. 

Adieu,  young  earl ;  sister,  let's  kiss  and  part. 
Tush,  never  mourn,  I  have  a  merry  heart.      [Exit, 

LADY  F.  Farewell  all  comfort. 

KOB.  What,  weeping,  lady  ? 
Then  I  perceive  you  have  forgot  Blackheath  ! 

LADY  F.  No,  there  I'll  learn  both  of  his  life  and 
death. 

ROB.  Till  Monday,  madam,  I  must  take  my  leave, 

1  This  appears  to  stand  for  officers  of  the  peace,  as  the 
watch  and  the  search. 


436  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

LADY  F.  You  will  not  miss  then  ?    . 
ROB.  Nay,  if  Robin  fail  ye, 
Let  him  have  never  favour  of  fair  lady  ! 
LADY  F.    Meanwhile,   I'll   spend  my  time  in 

prayers  and  tears, 
That  Gloster  may  escape  these  threat'ned  fears. 

[Exit. 


SCENE    THE    SEVENTEENTH. 
Enter  SKINK,  like  PRINCE  1  JOHN. 

SKINK.  Thus  jets  my  noble   Skink  along  the 
streets, 

To  whom  each  bonnet  vails,  and  all  knees  bend"; 

And  yet  my  noble  humour  is  too  light 

By  the  six  shillings.     Here  are  two  crack'd  groats 

To  helter-skelter  at  some  vaulting-house.2 

But  who  comes  yonder  ]  ha  !  old  Fauconbridge  ? 

Hath  a  brave  chain ;    were  John    and  he  good 
friends, 

That  chain  were  mine,  and  should  unto  Black- 
heath* 

I'll  venture ;  it's  but  trial :  luck  may  fall. 

Good  morrow,  good  Sir  Richard  Fauconbridge. 
FAU.  Good  morrow,  my  sweet  Prince,  hearty 
good  morrow ; 

This  greeting  well  becomes  us,  marry  does  it, 

Better,  i'wis,  than  strife  and  jangling. 

Now  can  I  love  ye ;  will  ye  to  the  sheriff's  1 

Your  brother  Richard  hath  been  there  this  hour. 
SKINK.  Yes,  I  am  plodding  forward,  as  you  do ; 

What    cost    your    chain]    it's    passing    strongly 
wrought, 

I  would  my  goldsmith  had  a  pattern  of  it. 

1  Old  copy,  King.  .  ?  A.  brothel. 


LOOK  ABOUT   YOU.  437 

FAU.  JTis  at  your  grace's  service  :  show  it  him*.' 

SKINK.  Then  dare  ye  trust  me  'I 

FAU.  Who  ?  the  princely  John  ! 

My  sovereign's  son  :  why,  what  a  question's  that. 
I'll  leave  you ;  ye  may  know  I  dare  trust  you. 

SKINK.  I'll  bring  it  ye  to  the  sheriff's,  excuse 
my  absence. 

FAU.  I  will,  my  noble  lord ;  adieu,  sweet  prince. 

\Exit. 

SKINK.  Why  so;  this  breakfast  was  well  fed 

upon. 

When  Skink's  devices  on  Blackheath  do  fail, 
This  and  such  cheats  would  set  me  under  sail, 
I'll  to  the  water-side,  would  it  were  later  [on] ; 
For  still  I  am  afraid  to  meet  Prince  John. 


SCENE  THE  EIGHTEENTH. 

Enter    GLOSTER    like    FAUCONBRIDGE. 

But  what  a  mischief  meant  Fauconbridge 
To  come  again  so  soon  1  that  way  he  went, 
And  now  comes  peaking.     Upon  my  life, 
The  buzzard  hath  me  in  suspicion, 
But  whatsoever  chance,  I'll  filch  a  share. 

GLO.  Yonder's  Prince  John ;  I  hope  he  cannot 

know  me, 
There's    nought    but    Gloster,    Gloster    in    their 

mouths ; 

I  am  half- strangled  with  the  garlic-breath 
Of  rascals  that  exclaim,  as  I  pass  by, 
Gloster  is  fled ;  once  taken,  he  must  die. 
But  I'll  to  John — how  does  my  gracious  lord  ? 
What   babbles    rumour  now?      What    news    of 

Gloster  1 
SKINK.  What  news  could  I  hear,  since  you  left 

me  last  ? 


438  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Were   you    not  here  even  now  1    lent  me  your 

chain  1 
I  think  you  dote. 

GLO.  Sweet  prince,  age  aye1  forgets. 
My  brother's  chain  1  a  pretty  accident ! 
But  I'll  have't,  and  be  in  the  spite  of  John.  [ A  side. 
SKINK.  There's  more  and  more  ;  I'll  geld  it,  ere 
it  go.  [He  breaks  the  chain. 

This  same  shall  keep  me  in  some  tavern  merry, 
Till   night's  black  hand   curtain   this    too   clear 

sky. 
GLO.2  My  sweet  prince,  I  have  some  cause  to 

use  my  chain ; 

Another  time  (whene'er  your  lordship  please) 
'Tis  at  your  service,  O  marry  God,  it  is. 

SKINK.  Here,  palsy,  take  your  chain ;  stoop  and 
be  hang'd,  [Casts  it  down. 

Yet  the  fish  nibbled,  when  she  might  not  swallow  : 
Go'ut  !3  I  have  curtail'd,  what  I  could  not  borrow. 

[Exit. 
GLO.  He's  gone  away  in  frets ;  would  he  might 

meet 

My  brother  Fauconbridge  in  this  mad  mood, 
There  would  be  rare  ado.     Why,  this  fits  me  ; 
My  brain  flows  with  fresh  wit  and  policy. 
But,  Gloster,  look  about,  who  have  we  yonder  ? 
Another  John,  Prince  Richard,  and  the  sheriff? 
Upon  my  life,  the  slave,  that  had  the  chain, 
Was  Skink,  escap'd  the  Fleet  by  some  mad  sleight. 
Well,  farewell  he,  better  and  better  still, 
These  seek  for  me  ;  yet  I  will  have  my  will. 


1  [Old  copy,  age.] 

2  [Old  copy,  Fan,  for  Fauconbridge.] 

3  [This  might  appear  to  be  a  corruption  of  go  out,  or  of 
God's  gut  (God's  guts  is  an  ejaculation  found  elsewhere) ;  but 
from  a  subsequent  passage  we  can  but  conclude  that  the 
disease  so  called  is  intended. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  439 


SCENE  THE  NINETEENTH. 

Enter  PRINCE  JOHN,  PRINCE  RICHARD,  and  the 
SHERIFF. 

JOHN.  Sheriff,  in  any  case  be  diligent. 
Who's  yonder  1     Fauconbridge  ? 

GLO.   How  now,  sweet  chuck ;  how  fares  my 
lovely  prince  1 

JOHN.  What  carest  thou  *\  or  well  or  ill,  we  crave 
No  help  of  thee. 

GLO.  God's  mother,  do  ye  scorn  me  1 

JOHN.  Go'ut !  what  then  ? 

EICH.  Fie,  leave  these  idle  brawls,  I  prythee, 

John; 
Let's  follow  that  we  are  enjoin'd  unto. 

GLO.  Ay,  marry,  prince,  if  now  you  slip  the 

time, 

Gloster  will  slip  away  ;  but,  though  he  hate  me, 
I  have  done  service ;  I  have  found  him  out. 

EICH.  A  shame  confound  thee  for  thy  treachery, 
Inconstant  dotard,  timorous  old  ass, 
That  shakes  with  cowardice,  not  with  years. 

GLO.  Go,  I  have  found  him,  I  have  winded  him. 

JOHN.  0,  let  me  hug  thee,  gentle  Fauconbridge ; 
Forgive  my  oft  ill-using  of  thine  age. 
I'll  call  thee  father ;  I'll  be  penitent ; 
Bring  me  where  Gloster  is  ;  I'll  be  thy  slave, 
All  that  is  mine  thou  in  reward  shalt  have. 

GLO.  Soft ;  not  too  hasty ;  I  would  not  be  seen 

in't ; 

Marry  a'  God,  my  wife  would  chide  me  dead, 
If  Gloster  by  my  means  should  lose  his  head. 
Princely  Kichard,  at  this  corner  make  your  stand  : 
And  for  I  know  you  love  my  sister  well, 
Know  I  am  Gloster,  and  not  Fauconbridge. 


440  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

RICH.  Heaven  prosper  thee,  sweet  prince,  in  thy 

escape ! 
GLO.  Sheriff,  make  this  your  quarter,  make  good 

guard  j 

John,  stay  you  here ;  this  way  he  means  to,  turn, 
By  Thomas,  I  lack  a  sword,  body  a'  me  ! 

JOHN.  What  wouldst  thou  with  a  sword,  old 

Fauconbridge  ? 

GLO.  0  sir,  to  make  show  in  his  defence, 
For  I  have  left  him  yonder  at  a  house, 
A  friend's  of  mine,  an  honest  citizen. 
JOHN.  We'll  fetch  him  thence. 
GLO.  Nay,  then,  you  injure  me.     Stay,  till  he 

come ;  he's  in  a  russet  cloak, 
And  must  attend  me  like  a  serving-man. 

JOHN.  Hold,  there's  my  sword,  and  with  my 

sword  my  heart. 

Bring  him,  for  God's  sake,  and  for  thy  desert 
My  brother  king  and  mother  queen  shall  love  thee. 
GLO.  Mark  me,  good  prince ;  yonder  away  we 

come, 

I  go  afore,  and  Gloster  follows  me ; 
Let  not  the  sheriff  nor  Richard  meddle  with  us. 
Begin  you  first ;  seize  Gloster,  and  arrest  him. 
I'll  draw  and  lay  about  me  here  and  here ; 
Be  heedful  that  your  watchmen  hurt  me  not. 
JOHN.  I'll  hang  him  that  doth  hurt  thee ;  pry- 

thee,  away, 
I  love  thee  \  but  thou  kill'st  me  with  delay. 

GLO.  Well,  keep  close  watch;   I'll  bring  him 

presently. 

JOHN.  Away  then  quickly. 
GLO.     Gloster,    close,    master    sheriff,    Prince 

Richard. 

EICH.  Gloster,  adieu.  | 
GLO.  I  trust  you. 
RICH.  By  my  knighthood,  I'll  prove  true. 

[Exit  GLOSTER. 


.LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  441 

JOHN.    Revenge,  I'll  build   a   temple  to   your 

name; 

And  the  first  offering  shall  be  Gloster's  head, 
Thy  altars  shall  be  sprinkled  with  the  blood, 
Whose  wanton  current  his  mad  humour  fed; 
He  was  a  rhymer  and  a  riddler, 
A  scoffer  at  my  mother,  prais'd  my  father : 
I'll  fit  him  now  for  all — escape  and  all. 

RICH.  Take  heed  spite  burst  not  in  his  proper 
gall. 


SCENE  THE  TWENTIETH. 

Enter  FAUCONBRIDGE  and  BLOCK. 

JOHN.  How  now,  what  way  took  Fauconbridge, 

I  wonder  ? 
That  is  not  Gloster,  sure,  that  attends  on  him  1 

FAU.  He  came  not  at  the  sheriff's  by  the  morrow- 
mass, 

I  sought  the  Goldsmiths'  row,  and  found  him  not ; 
Sirrah,  y'are  sure  he  sent  not  home  my  chain  ? 

BLO.  Who  should  send  [home]  your  chain,  sir  ? 

FAU.  The  prince,  Prince  John;  I  lent  it  him 
to-day. 

JOHN.  What's  this  they  talk  ? 

BLO.  By  my  truth,  sir,  and  ye  lent  it  him,  I  think 
you  may  go  look  it :  for  one  of  the  drawers  of  the 
Salutation  told  me  even  now,  that  he  had  took  up 
a  chamber  there  till  evening,  and  then  he  will 
away  to  Kent. 

FAU.  Body  of  me,  he  means  to  spend  my  chain. 
Conle,  Block;  I'll  to  him. 

JOHN.  Hear  you,  Fauconbridge ; 

FAU.  Why,  what  a  knave  art  thou?  yonder's 
Prince  John. 


442  LOOK   ABOUT  YOU. 

BLO.  Then  the  drawer's  a  knave;  he  told  me 
Prince  John  was  at  the  Salutation. 

JOHN.  Where's  Grloster,  Fauconbridge  ? 

FAU.  Sweet  prince,  I  know  not. 

JOHN.  Come,  jest  not  with  me  :  tell  me  where 

he  is  ? 

FAU.  I  never  saw  him  since  the  Parliament. 
JOHN.  Impudent  liar,  didst  thou  not  even  now 
Say  thou  wouldst  fetch  him  ?     Hadst  thou  not  my 

sword  1 

FAU.  Wert  thou  a  king,  I  will  not  bear  the  lie. 
Thy  sword1?    no,  boy;    thou  seest  this  sword  is 

mine. 
BLO.  My  master  a  liar  ?     Zounds,  wert  thou  a 

potentate  ! 

FAU.  I  scorn  to  wear  thy  arms,  untutor'd  child, 
I  fetch  thee,  Gloster,  shameless  did  I  see  thee, 
Since  as  I  went  this  morning  to  the  Sheriff's, 
Thou  borrow'dst  my  gold  chain  ! 
JOHN.  Thy  chain  1 
FAU.  I  hope  thou  wilt  not  cheat  me,  princocks 

John  ! 
JOHN.  I'll  cheat  thee  of  thy  life,  if  thou  charge 

me 
With  any  chain. 

FAU.  Come,  let  him  come,  I  pray, 
I'll  whip  ye,  boy,  I'll  teach  you  to  out-face. 

BLO.  Come,  come,  come !  but  one  at  once ;  ye 

dastards,  come. 
BICH.  Keep  the  king's  peace,  I  see  you  are  both 

deceiv'd, 

He  that  was  last  here  was  not  Fauconbridge. 
FAU.  They  slander  me ;   who  says  that  I  was 

here? 

KlCH.  We  do  believe  ye,  sir  ;  nor  do  you  think 
My  brother  John  deceiv'd  you  of  a  chain. 

FAU.  He  did  ;  I  did  deliver  it  with  this  hand. 
JOHN.  I'll  die  upon  the  slanderer. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  443 

FAU.  Let  the  boy  come. 

BLO.  Aye,  let  him  come,  let  him  come. 

RICH.  Fellow,  thou   speak'st  even  now,  as   if 

Prince  John 
Had  been  at  some  old  tavern  in  the  town  ! 

BLO.  Aye,  sir,  I  came  up  now  but  from  the 

Salutation, 

And  a  drawer,  that  doth  not  use  to  lie,  told  me 
Prince  John  hath  been  there  all  this  afternoon. 

JOHN.  The  devil  in  my  likeness  then  is  there. 

FAU.  The  devil  in  thy  likeness  or  thyself 
Had  my  gold  chain. 

JOHN.  Thou  art  the  devil ;  for  thou 
Hadst  my  good  sword,  all  these  can  witness  it. 

FAU.  God's  mother,  thou  beliest  me. 

JOHN.  Give  me  the  lie  ? 

EiCH.  Nay,  calm  this  fury ;  let's  down  to  the 

tavern ; 
Or  one  or  both  :  these  counterfeits  are  there. 

FAU.  I  know  him  well  enough,  that  had  my 

chain, 

And  there  be  two  Johns,  if  I  find  one  there. 
By'r  Lady,  I  will  lay  him  fast. 

EICH.  It  is  this  Skink  that  mocks  us,  I  believe. 

JOHN.  Alas,  poor  Skink ;  it  is  the  devil  Gloster, 
Who  if  I  be  so  happy  once  to  find, 
I'll  give  contentment  to  his  troubled  mind. 

RICH.  I  hope  he's  far  enough,  and  free  enough, 
Yet  these  conceits,  I  know,  delight  his  soul.    [Aside. 

FAU.  Follow  me,   Blocker,  follow  me,  honest 
Blocker. 

BLO.  Much  follow  you  !  I  have  another  piece  of 
work  in  hand ;  I  hear  say  Redcap's  father  shall  be 
hanged  this  afternoon,  I'll  see  him  slip  a  string, 
though  I  give  my  service  the  slip ;  besides,  my 
lady  bad  me  hear  his  examination  at  his  death. 
I'll  get  a  good  place,  and  pen  it  word  for  word, 
and  as  I  like  it,  let  out.  a  mournful  ditty  to  the 


444  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

tune  of  "  Labandalashot,"  or  "  Eo\v  Well,  ye  Ma- 
riners," or  somewhat  as  my  muse  shall  me  invoke. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  THE  TWENTY-FIRST. 

Enter  GLOSTER  like  FAUCONBRIDGE,  with  a  PUR- 
SUIVANT •  GLOSTER  having  a  paper  in  his 
hand,  the  PURSUIVANT  bare. 

GLO.  A  charitable  deed,  God  bless  the  king ; 
He  shall  be  then  reprieved. 

PUR.  Ay,  sir,  some  day  or  two, 
Till  the  young  king  and  Prince  John  change  it — 
Especially  if  the  good  earl  be  not  found, 
Which  God  forbid  ! 

GLO.  What  house  is  this, 
That  we  are  stepp'd  into,  to  read  this  warrant  in  ? 

PUR.  A  tavern,  sir,  the  Salutation. 

GLO.  A  tavern  1 

Then  I  will  turn  prodigal ;  call  for  a  pint 
Of  sack,  good  fellow. 

PUR.  Drawer  ! 

DRA.   [Within.]  Anon,  sir. 

Enter  DRAWER. 

GLO.    A  pint    of   thy  best    sack,   my  pretty 

youth. 

DRA.  God  bless  your  worship,  sir ; 
Ye  shall  have  the  best  in  London,  sir. 

GLO.  What,  know'st  thou  me  ?  know'st  thou  old 

Fauconbridge  1 
I  am  no  tavern4i[a]unter,  I  can  tell  thee. 

DRA.  But  my  master  hath  taken  many  a  fair 
pound 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  445 

Of  your  man  Block  ;  he  was  here  to-day,  sir, 
And  emptied l  two  bottles  of  nippitate  2  sack. 

GLO.  Well,  fill  us  of  your  nippitate,  sir  ; 
This  is  well  chanced.     But  hear  3  ye,  boy  ! 
Bring  sugar  in  white  paper,  not  in  brown  ; 
For  in  white  paper  I  have  here  a  trick, 
Shall  make  the  pursuivant  first  swoon,  then  sick. 

[Aside. 
Thou  honest  fellow,  what's  thy  name  ? 

PUR.  My  name  is  Winterborne,  sir. 

GLO.  What  countryman,  I  prythee  ? 

PUR.  Barkshire,  and  please  ye. 

GLO.  How  long  hast  thou  been  sworn  a  mes- 
senger \ 

PUR.  But  yesterday,  and  please  your  worship, 
This  is  the  first  employment  I  have  had. 

Enter  DRAWER,  with  wine  and  sugar. 

GLO.  A  good  beginning ;   here,  have  to  thee, 

•  fellow ; 

Thou  art  my  fellow,  now  thou  servest  the  king, 
Nay,  take  sugar  too,  God's  Lady  dear  ! 
I  put  it  in  my  pocket ;  but  it's  here  : 
Drink' a  good  draught,  I  prythee,  Winterborne. 

[He  drinks  and  falls  over  the  stool. 
DRA.  O  Lord,  Sir  Eichard,  the  man,  the  man  ! 
GLO.  What  a  forgetful  beast  am  I !  Peace,  boy, 
It  is  his  fashion  ever,  when  he  drinks. 
Fellow,  he  hath  the  falling  sickness  ; 
Eun,  fetch  two  cushions  to  raise  up  his  head, 
And  bring  a  little  key  to  ope  his  teeth. 

[Exit  DRAWER. 

1  Old  copy,  filVd,  the  compositor's  eye,  perhaps,  having 
strayed  to  the  next  line. 

2  Strong.     See  a  long  note  in  Nares,  edit.  1859,  p.  606. 

3  Old  copy,  htrt. 


446  LOOK  ABOUT   YOU. 

Pursuivant,  your  warrant  and  your  box — 
These  must  with  me  ;  the  shape  of  Fauconbridge 
Will  hold  no  longer  water  hereabout. 
Gloster  will  be  a  Proteus  every  hour, 
That  Elinor  and  Leicester,  Henry,  John, 
And  all  that  rabble  of  hate-loving  curs, 
May  minister  me  more  mirth  to  play  upon. 

lie-enter  DRAWER,  with  an  ASSISTANT. 

DRA.  Here's  a  key,  sir,  and  one  of  our  folk  to 
help. 

GLO.  No  matter  for  a  key  ;  help  him  but  in, 
And  lay  him  by  the  fire  a  little  while, 
He'll  wake  immediately ;  but  be  [not]  heart-sick. 
There's  money  for  a  candle  and  thy  wine, 
I'll  go  but  up  unto  your  alderman's, 
And  come  down  presently  to  comfort  him.  [Exeunt. 

SKINK.  [Within.']  Drawer  !  what  Drawer?  with 
a  vengeance,  Drawer ! 

DRA.  [Within.}  Speak  in  the  Crown1  there. 


SCENE  THE  TWENTY-SECOND. 

Enter  SKINK,  like  PRINCE  JOHN. 

SKINK.  They  be  come  ;  the  devil  crown  ye  one 

by  one. 

Skink,  thou'rt  betray'd,  that  Master  Fauconbridge, 
Missing  some  of  his  chain  has  got  thee  dogg'd. 
Drawer !  what  Drawer  ? 
DRA.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

SKINK.  Was  not  Sir  Eichard  Fauconbridge  be- 
low? 
DRA.  Yes,  and  please  ye. 

1  A  room  in  the  Salutation  so-  called. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  447 

SKINK.  It  does  not  please  me  well.     Knows  he 
that  I  am  here  1 

DRA.  No,  I  protest. 

SKINK.    Come  hither,   sirrah.      I    have  little 

money ; 

But  there's  some  few  links  of  a  chain  of  gold. 
Upon  your  honesty,  knows  not  Sir  Bichard 
That  I  am  here  1 

DRA.  No,  by  my  holy-dam. 

SKINK.  Who's  that  was  with  him  ? 

DRA.  Why,  a  pursuivant. 

SKINK.  Where  is  Sir  Richard  ? 

DRA.  At  the  alderman's. 

SKINK.  A  pursuivant,  and  at  the  alderman's  1 
What  pig,  or  goose,  or  capon,  have  you  kill'd 
Within  your  kitchen  new  ? 

DRA.  A  pig ,  new-  stick'd. 

SKINK.  Fetch  me  a  saucer  of  the  blood  ;  quick, 
run ;  [Exit  DRAWER. 

I'll  fit  the  pursuivant,  and  alderman, 
And  Fauconbridge,  if  Skink  have  any  wit. 
Well,  Gloster,  I  did  never  love  thee  yet ; 
But  thou'st  the  maddest  lord  that  e'er  I  met. 
If  I  'scape  this,  and  meet  thee  once  again, 
Curse  Skink,  if  he  die  penny  in  thy  debt. 

lie-enter  DRAWER. 

DRA.  O  my  lord,  the  house  is  full  of  halberts, 
and  a  great  many  gentlemen  ask  for  the  room 
where  Prince  John  is. 

SKINK.  Lend  me  thy  apron ;  run  and  fetch  a 

pot  from  the  next  room. 

Betray'd,  swounds>  betray'd  by  gout,  by  palsy,  by 
dropsy — 

Re-enter  DRAWER  with  a  pot. 
O  brave  boy,  excellent  blood  !  up,  take  my  cloak 


448  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

And  my  hat  to  thy  share  ;  when  I  come  from  Kent, 

I'll  pay 

Thee  like  a  king. 
DRA.  I  thank  you,  my  lord.        [Exit  DRAWER. 


SCENE  THE  TWENTY-THIRD. 

Enter  JOHN,  RICHARD,  FAUCONBRIDGE,  SHERIFFS, 

and  OFFICERS. 

SKINK.  Now,  fortune,  help  or  never.  They 
come — and  ye  were  a  prince,  as  ye  say  ye  are,  ye 
tvould  be  ashamed  to  abuse  a  poor  servant  thus ;  but 
and  if  ye  were  not  of  the  blood  royal,  I'd  break  the 
neck  of  ye  down  the  stairs,  so  would  I,  I'd  teach  you 
to  hurt  'prentices. 

EICH.  Who  hurt  thee,  fellow  1 

SKINK.  Prince  devil  or  his  dam ;  Prince  John 
they  call  him, 

JOHN.  Gloster,  I  hope. 

RICH.  I  doubt  not  but  'tis  Skink. 

JOHN.  Where  is  he  1 

SKINK.  Up  them  stairs ;  take  heed  of  him, 
He's  in  the  Crown. 

FAU.  Alas,  poor  fellow,  he  hath  crown'd  thee 
shrewdly. 

JOHN.  In  recompence,  if  it  be  him  I  seek, 
I'll  give  thee  his  whole  head  to  tread  upon. 
Follow  me,  brother  ;  come,  old  Fauconbridge  ; 
Keep  the  stairs,  sheriff.     You  see,  it  waxeth  dark ; 
Take  heed  he  slip  not  by  you.  [Exeunt. 

SKINK.    Hang  yourselves,  this  darkness  shall 

convey  me  out  of  doors, 

I'll  swim  the  Thames,  but  I'll  attain  Blackheath. 
London,  farewell;  curse,  John,  rave,  Fauconbridge  ! 
Skink  'scapes  you  all  by  twilight's  privilege.  [Exit. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU,          449 

WITHIN.  Where   is  he  1    lights,  bring  lights  • 
drag  out  that  boy. 

Enter  all  with  the  BOY. 

JOHN.  This  is  my  cloak,  my  hat,  my  rapier  ; 
And  either  it  was  Skink  or  Gloster. 

DRA.  I  know  not  who  'twas,  sir  ;  he  said  he  was 
Prince  Jojin  ;  he  took  away  my  apron  and  a  pottle- 
pot  with  him,  and  ail-to  blooded  his  head  and  face. 

FAU.  We  met  him,  by  St  Anthony,  we  met  him  ! 

JOHN.  The  fire  of  St  Anthony  confound 
This  changing  counterfeit,  whatsoever  he  be. 

RICH.  It  makes  me  laugh  at  envious  greediness, 
Who  feeds  upon  her  own  heart's  bitterness. 

JOHN.  Sirrah,  you  that  were  born  to  cry  anon, 
What  other  copes-mates  have  you  in  the  house  ? 

DRA.  Sir,  my  master's  gues's1  be  none  of  my 
copesmates. 

JOHN.  Well,  your  gues's  !  can  you  guess  who 
they  be  ? 

DRA.  Marry,  here's  a  pursuivant,  that  this  gentle- 
man, sir,  Richard  Fauconbridge,  left  sick  even  now. 

FAU.  Marry  of  God,  did  I,  thou  lying  knave  ? 

DRA.  I  am  a  poor  boy,  sir ;  your  worship  may 
say  your  pleasure ;  our  maids  have  had  a  foul  hand 
with  him.  You  said  he  would  be  sick  ;  so  he  is, 
with  a  witness. 

JOHN.  Look  about,  Fauconbridge,  here's  work 

for  you ! 

You  have  some  evil  angel  in  your  shape. 
Go,  sirrah,  bring  us  forth  that  Pursuivant. 

Enter  two,  leading  the  PURSUIVANT,  sick. 
RICH.  Gloster,  thou  wilt  be  too-too  venturous  ; 

1  Guests. 
VOL.  VII,  2  F 


450  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Thou  dost  delight  in  those  odd  humours  so, 
That  much  I  fear  they'll  be  thy  overthrow.  [Aside. 
PUR.  0,  O,  0,  not  too  fast  •  0,  I  am  sick,  0, 

very  sick. 

JOHN.  What  picture  of  the  pestilence  is  this  r\ 
Pun.  A  poor  man,  sir,  a  poor  man,  sir  :  down, 
I  pray  ye  ;  I  pray,  let  me  sit  down.  Ah,  Sir 
Eichard,  Sir  Eichard  !  Ah,  good  Sir  Eichard  ! 
what,  have  I  deserv'd  to  be  thus  dealt  withal  at 
your  worship's  hands  1  Ah  !  ah  !  ah  ! 

FAU.  At  my  hands,  knave  ?  at  my.  hands,  paltry 

knave  1 
DRA.  And  I  should  be  brought  to  my  book-oath, 

sir. 

"VYiTHiN.  What,  Jeffrey ) 
DRA.  Anon,  anon. 
JOHN.  A  plague  upon  your  Jeffring ;  is  your 

name  Jeffrey? 

DRA.  Ay,  and't  please  you,  sir. 
EiCH.  Why,  gentle  Jeffrey,  then  stay  you  awhile, 
What  can  you  say,  if  you  come  to  your  book  1 
DRA.  If  I  be  pos'd  upon  a  book,  sir,  though  I  be 

a  poor  'prentice, 
I  must  speak  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth, 

sir. 

JOHN.  And  what's  your  truth,  sir  ? 
PUR.  0,  0  my  heart. 

DRA.  Marry,  sir,  this  knight,  this  man  of  wor- 
ship  

FAU.  Well,  what  of  me  1  what  did  my  worship  do? 
DRA.  Marry,  ye  came  into  the  Bell — our  room 
next  the  bar — with  this  honest  man,  as  I  take  it. 
FAU.  As  thou  tak'st  it  1 
PUR.  0,  sir,  'tis  too  true,  too  true,  too  true.     O 

Lord. 

DRA.  And  there  he  call'd  for  a  pint  of  sack,  as 
good  sack  (I'll  be  pos'd  upon  all  the  books  that 
ever  opened  and  shut),  as  any  in  all  Christendom. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.          451 

FAU.  Body  of  me,  I  come  and  call  for  sack  ? 

PUR.  0,  ye  did,  ye  did,  ye  did.     O,  0. 

JOHN.  Well,  forward,  sirrah. 

EiCH.  Glos'ter  hath  clone  this  jest.  [Aside. 

DRA.  And  you  call'd  then  for  sugar,  sir,  as  good 
sugar  and  as  wholesome,  as  ever  came  in  any  cup 
of  sack  :  you  drank  to  this  man,  and  you  do  well, 
God  be  thanked — but  he  no  sooner  drank 

PUR.  But  I,  but  I,  but  I— 0  my  head  !  0  my 
heart ! 

EICH.  I  cannot  choose  but  smile  at  these  conceits. 

JOHN.  I  am  mad ;  and  yet  I  must  laugh  at 

Fauconbridge  : 
Brother,  look  how  Sir  Eichard  acts  his  rage  ! 

FAU.  I  came  1     I  call  ?  the  man  is  like  to  die, 
Practice,  by  the  mass  ;  practice,  by  the  marry  God  ! 
I  shall  be  charg'd  here  for  a  poison'd  knave, 
Practice,  by  th'  Lord,  practice  ! — I  see  it  clear. 

PUR.  And  more,  Sir  Eichard.     0  Lord,  0  Sir 
Eichard  ! 

FAU.  What  more  ?  what  hast  thou  more  1  what 
practice  more  1 

PUR.  0  my  box,  my  box,  with  the  king's  arms  !. 

0  my  box, 

0  my  box  !  it  cost  me,  0  Lord,  every  penny ;  O 
my  box  ! 

EICH.  And  what  of  your  box,  sir  ? 

DRA.  Marry,  sir,  it's  lost ;  and  'tis  well  known 
my  master  keeps  no  thieves  in  his  house ;  0,  there 
was  none  but  you  and  he. 
,    FAU.  0,  then  belike  thou  thinkest  I  had  his  box. 

PUR.  0  Sir  Eichard,  I  will  not ;  0  Lord,  I  will 
not  charge  you  for  all  the  world;  but — but — but 
for  the  warrant  the  old  King  sign'd  to  reprieve 
the  porter  of  the  Fleet !  0  God,  0  God  ! 

JOHN.  The  porter  of  the  Fleet  1  the  old  King 
sign'd  ?— 

PUR.  Ay,  my  good  lord,  ay,  ay. 


452  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

JOHN.  Is  he  reprieved  then  ? 

PUR.  No,  my  lord  •  O,  Sir  Eichard  took  it  from 
me  with  his  own  hand,  0  ! 

FAU.  Here's  a  device  to  bring  me  in  contempt 
With  the  old  King,  that  I  ever  lov'd, 
Princes  and  Sheriff,  you  can  witness  with  me, 
That  I  have  been  with  you  this  afternoon — 
Only  with  you,  with  nobody  but  you — 
And  now  a  fellow,  whom  the  King  would  save 
By  a  reprieve,  this  fellow  says,  is  hang'd. 
.    JOHN.  If  thou  hadst  done  it,  I'd  have  justified  it ; 
But,  Richard,  I  conceit  this  jest  already : 
This  mad-mate  Skink,  this  honest  merry  knave, 
Meeting  this  Pursuivant,  and  hearing  tell 
He  had  a  warrant  to  reprieve  a  slave 
Whom  we  would  hang,  stole  it  away  from  him. 
This  is  sure  the  jest ;  upon  my  life,  it  is  ! 

PUR.  0,  but  my  warrant,  how  shall  I  do  1  0  ! 

BICH.  But  look  about  you,  hot-brain'd  brother 

John, 

And  I  believe  you'll  find  it  otherwise  ; 
Gloster  hath  got  the  warrant  in  disguise, 
And  sav'd  the  fellow  you  so  fain  would  hang. 

JOHN.  No,  no  ;  how  say  you,  master  Sheriff,  is 
he  not  hang'd  1 

SHER.  My  lord,  the  gibbet  was  set  up  by  noon 
In  the  Old  Bailey,  and  I  charg'd  my  men, 
If  I  return  not,  though  it  were  by  torchlight, 
To  see  him  executed,  ere  they  come. 

JOHN.  I  am  greedy  to  hear  news. 

FAU.  Eobb'd  of  my  chain,  out-faced  I  had  a 

sword, 

Accused  of  poisoning,  cozenage,  seeking  blood  ! 
Not  to  be  borne  !  it  is  intolerable  ! 

KICK.  Sir  Richard,  I  prythee,  have  some  pati- 
ence. 

FAU.  I'll  to  Blackheath,  talk  not  of  patience  ; 
It  is  intolerable,  not  to  be  borne. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU,  453 

JOHN.  It  is  intolerable,  not  to  be  borne ; 
A  warrant,  brother  -,  Fauconbridge,  a  warrant ! 
FAU.  I  saw  no  warrant ;  I  defy  you  all. 
JOHN.  A  slave,  a  pursuivant,  one  Winterborn. 
FAU.  I  care  not  for  thee  that,  Winterborn. 
PUR.  0,  it  is  I,  sir  ;  that's  my  warrant. 
JOHN.  Is't  you  ?  you  rogue,  you  drunkard ;  ye 

are  cheated, 

And  we  are  cheated  of  the  prisoner. 
Out,  dog,  dog. 

PUR.  0,  0,  0,  0  my  lord.    [Exit  with  DRAWER. 
SHER.  Have  patience,  and  we  will  have  a  privy 

search. 
JOHN.  Go  hang,  ye  blockheads,  get  ye  from  my 

sight ! 

0,  would  I  were  a  basilisk,  to  kill 
These  glear-ey'd  villains. 

SHER.  Come  away ;  let 's  leave  him. 
We  have  a  warrant ;  let  him  do  his  worst. 

[Exeunt  SHERIFF  and  OFFICERS. 
FAU.  I'll  to  Blackheath,  I'll  to  the  holy  hermit; 
There  shall  I  know  not  only  these  deceivers, 
But  how  my  wife  plays  fast    and    loose    with 

Richard. 

Ha  !  I  shall  fit  them,  I  shall  tickle  them  ; 
I'll  do  it,  I'll  hence,  I'll  to  the  heath  amain. 

[Exit. 
JOHN.  There  shall  I  know  where  this  damned 

Gloster  is, 

I'll  have  the  devils  rous'd  to  find  that  devil, 
0[r]  else  I'll  conjure  the  old  conjuror. 
I'll  to  Blackheath,  and  there  with  friends  conspire, 
But  I'll  have  Gloster's  head,  my  heart's  desire. 
EICH.  Would  mad  Earl  Eobin  saw  these  hum- 
ourists : 
'Twould  feed  him  fit  with  laughter !  0,  'twould  fit 

him. 
Wherever  he  is,  I  know  the  bare  conceit 


454  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Is  better  to  him  than  his  daintiest  food. 

Well,  and  it  fits  me  well,  now  I  have  time, 

To  court  my  Lady  Fauconbridge  at  leisure. 

Love,  I  implore  thy  aid  ;  fair  Cipria, 

Thou  sea-born  mother  at  affection's  ring, 

Shine  brightly  in  thy  sphere,  that  art 1  my  star, 

My  planet,  thou  of  all  lights  most  beauteous, 

Be  thou  to  my  desires  auspicious.  [Exit. 


SCENE  THE  T WENTY-FOURTH. 

Enter  EOBIN  HOOD  in  the  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE'S 
gown,  night  attire  on  his  head. 

HOB.  0,  for  this  lady  !  Was  never  poor  gentle- 
man troubled  with  gentlewoman  as  I  am  with  my- 
self! My  Lady  Fauconbridge  hath  fitted  me  a  turn. 
Here  I  am,  visited  with  sleeveless  errands  and 
with  asking  for  This  thing,  Madam,  and  That  thing, 
Madam,  that  they  make  me  almost  mad  in  earnest. 
Whoop,  here's  another  client. 

Enter  a  SERVING-MAN. 

SER.  Here's  my  Lady  Rawford's  page  attends  to 

speak  with  your  ladyship. 
ROB.  I  pray  ye  bid  her  lordship's  page  come 

into  my 
Ladyship.     [Exit.    SERVINGMAN.]     Well,  Robin 

Hood,  part  with  these  petticoats, 
And  cast  these  loose  devices  from  thy  back, 
I'll  ne'er  go  more  untruss'd,  never  be  kerchief  d, 
Never  have  this  ado  with  what  do  you  lack  ? 

1  Old  copy,  at. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  455 

Enter  PAGE. 

PAGE.    Madam,  my  lady  greets   your  honour 

kindly, 
And  sends  you  the  first  grapes  of  her  young  vine. 

ROB.  I  am  much  indebted  to  her  honour,  there's 
an  angel  for  you  to  drink ;  set  them  up  till  after 
supper.  Humphrey,  pray  look  about  for  Block. 
Humphrey  !  trust  me,  I  think  the  fool  be  lost. 

PAGE.  No,  forsooth,  madam,  he's  upon  the 
green,  jesting  with  a  stammerer,  one  Redcap. 

ROB.  It  is  a  lewd  fellow ;  pray,  bid  him  come 
in,  youth  ;  I'll  give  him  his  welcome  at  the  door. 
Commend  me  to  your  lady,  I  pray  ye,  heartily. 

[Exit  PAGE. 

Humphrey,  I  marvel  where  Sir  Richard  is  so  late  ! 
Truly,  truly,  he  does  not  as  beseems  a  gentleman 
of  his  calling ;  pray,  let  some  go  forth  to  meet 
him  on  the  green,  and  send  in  that  blockhead 
Block.  [Exit  HUMPHREY. 

Enter  REDCAP,  and  BLOCK  after  him. 

BLO.  Will  ye  tell  tales,  ye  ass,  will  ye  1 

RED.  I'll  te-te-tell  your  la-la-lady,  or  I  would  to 
G-God  we  were  ha-hang'd  else,  as  my  fa-father 
should  have  been. 

ROB.  Now,  what's  the  matter  there,  I  pray  you  ? 
What  company  have  you  there,  a-God's  name? 
where  spend  you  the  day,  I  pray  ] 

BLO.  Why,  where  you  gave  me  leave ;  at  the 
gallows  I  was — no  farther. 

RED.  A-a-and  you  be  his  la-lady,  you  are  the 
La-Lady  Fau-Fauconbridge,  the  Earl  of  Glo- 
Gloster's  sister. 

ROB.  I  am  so,  fellow. 

RED.  Y-y-your  man  B-B-Blocke  here  does  no- 
nothing  but  f-f-flout  m-me,  a-and  cr-cries  r-run  Re- 


456  .XOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Redcap  and  s-s-see  you  f-f -father  ha-ha-hang 'd.  I 
sh-shall  g-go-near  to  m-make  m-murder,  and  he 
u-use  it. 

EOB.  Well,  sirrah,  leave  your  mocking,  you 
were  best,  I'll  bob  your  beetle  head,  and  if  you 
mock  him. 

BLO.  He's  run  Redcap. 

RED.  La-la-law,  ma-madam. 

ROB.  Away,  ye  saucy  fool ;  go,  wait  within. 

BLO.  Run,  Redcap;  run,  Redcap.  [Exit. 

ROB.  Art  thou  the  porter's  son,  that  was  con- 
demned about  my  brother  Gloster  1 

RED.  Ay,  G-G-God  be  with  you,  I  am  the  p-p- 
porter's  son,  I  m-must  r-run  to  s-s-seek  your  b-br- 
brother. 

ROB.  Well,  drink  that,  fellow;  if  thou  find  my 
brother,  be  not  too  violent,  and  I'll  reward  thee. 

RED.  I  th-th- thank  ye  h-heartily;  and  I  had 
not  been  cozened  with  Sk-Skink,  I  had  no  nee-need 
of  these  ja-jaunts,  for  Gl-Gloster  was  s-safe  enough. 

Enter  BLOCK  and  the  PORTER  with  his  cloak  muffled. 

BLO.  Ah,  farewell,  Redcap. 

RED.  Fa-fare  we- well,  and  be  ha-hang'd.     [Exit. 

ROB.  You'll  never  leave  your  knavery.     Who's 

there  more. 
BLO.  One,  madam,  that  hath  commendations  to 

you  from  your  brother. 

ROB.  Comest  thou  from  Gloster  1  thou  art  wel- 
come, friend. 

BLO.  0,  it's  one  of  the  kindest  ladies  (though 
she  will  now  and  then  have  a  bout  with  Block) 
that  ever  breath'd,  and  she  had  been  in  her  mood 
now,  Redcap  would  have  made  her  such  sp-sp-sport 
as  't  a'  pa-pa-pass'd. 

ROB.  Will  you  make  sport,  and  see  who  knocks 
again? 


XOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  "457 

BLO.  Our  gates  are  like  an  anvil ;  from  four  to 
ten,  nothing  but  knick-a-knock  upon't. 

EOB.   Will  you  be   gone,  sir  1   [Exit  BLOCK.] 

Honest  friend,  I  am  glad 
My  brother  Gloster  got  thy  liberty, 
Whose  flight  was  cause  of  thy  captivity  : 
Nor  shall  there  be  in  us  such  negligence, 
Though  thou  have  lost  thy  office  and  thy  house, 
But  we  will  see  thee  better  far  provided 
Than  when  thou  wert  [the]  Porter  in  the  Fleet. 

Re-enter  BLOCK. 

BLO.  Madam,  your  old  friend,  Prince  Richard, 
All  alone, 
Making  moan, 
Fetching  many  a  grievous  groan. 

ROB.  Prince  Richard  come  so  late  ?  lights  to  his 

chamber ; 

Sirrah,  in  any  case,  say  I  am  sick. 
BLO.  Very  sick,  sick,  and  like  to  die !  I'll  sing 

-it,  and  you  will. 

ROB.  Away,  ye  knave ;  tell  him,  in  the  morning 
I'll  humbly  wait  upon  his  excellence. 

BLO.  That's  all  his  desire  to  have  ye  lowly  and 
humble,  and  'tis  a  courteous  thing  in  a  lady. 

[Exit. 
ROB.  Hence,  or  else  I'll  set  you  hence.     Go  in, 

good  friend. 

Come,  Lady  Fauconbridge ;  it's  time  to  come ; 
Robin  can  hold  out  no  longer,  I  see  : 
Hot  wooers  will  be  tempters  presently.  [Exit. 

SCENE  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH. 
Enter  SKINK  like  a  Hermit. 

SKINK.  Now,  holy  Skink,  in  thy  religious  weed, 
out  for  purchase  or  thy  wonted  clients. 


458  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Warrants,  quoth  you  ?     I  was  fairly  warranted  ; 
Young  Robin  Hood,  the  Earl  of  Huntington, 
Shall  never  fetch  me  more  unto  his  prince. 

Enter  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE,  in  Merchant's 
Wife's  attire. 

But,  pauca  verba,  Skink  !  a  prize,  a  prize ; 
By  th'  mass,  a  pretty  girl ;  close,  hermit,  close. 
Overhear,  if  thou  canst,  what  she  desires,   • 
For  so  my  cunning  and  my  credit  spreads. 

LADY  F.  See,    how    affection    arms  my  feeble 

strength, 

To  this  so  desperate  journeying  all  alone, 
While  Robin  Hood,  young  Earl  of  Huntington, 
Plays  Lady  Fauconbridge  for  me  at  home. 

SKINK.  What  mystery  is  this  ?     The  Lady  Fau- 
conbridge ! 

It's  she  ?     Sweet  fortune,  thou  hast  sent  her  well ; 
I  will  entice  this  morsel  to  my  cell. 
Her  husband's  jealous  ;  I  will  give  him  cause. 
As  he  believes,  I  hope  it  shall  succeed. 
Nay,  swounds,  it  shall ;  she's  mine  in  scorn  of  speed. 

LADY  F.  By  this  broad  beaten  path,  it  should 

appear, 

The  holy  hermit's  cave  cannot  be  far, 
And  if  I  err  not,  this  is  he  himself. 

SKINK.  What  honour'd  tongue  enquireth  for  the 
hermit  1 

LADY  F.  What  honour'd  tongue  ? 

SKINK.  Ay,  Lady  Fauconbridge, 
I  know  ye,  and  I  know  for  what  ye  come, 
For  Gloster  and  your  husband's  jealousy. 

LADY  F.  0  thou,  whose  eye  of  contemplation 
Looks  through  the  windows  of  the  highest  heavens, 
Resolve  thy  handmaid,  where  Earl  Gloster  lives  : 
And  whether  he  shall  live,  and  'scape  the  hate 
Of  proud  young  Henry  and  his  brother  John  ? 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  459 

SKINK.  I'll  have  you  first  in ;  I'll  tell  you  more 

anon. 

Madam,  they  say  bushes  have  ears  and  eyes ; 
And  these  are  matters  of  great  secrecy  ; 
And  you'll  vouchsafe  enter  my  holy  cell, 
There  what  you  long  to  know  I'll  quickly  tell. 

Enter  JOHN  and  FAUCONBRIDGE. 

LADY  F.  Stay,  here  are  strangers. 

SKINK.  A  plague  upon  them,  come  they  in  the 

nick, 
To  hinder  Reynard l  of  his  fox's  trick  ? 

[LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE  retires  a  little. 

JOHN.  Good  day,  old  hermit. 

FAU.  So  to  you,  fair  dame. 

JOHN.  By  Elinor's  grey  eye,  she's  fair  indeed. 
Sweet  heart,  come  ye  for  holy  benisons  1 
Hermit,  hast  thou  good  custom  with  such  clients  ? 
I  cannot  blame  your  feats,  your  juggling  tricks, 
Plague  juggle  you ! 

LADY  F.  Why  curse  ye  sacred  worth  ? 

FAU.  Ill  done,  in  sooth,  my  Lord,  very  ill  done, 
Wrong  holiness  !  a  very  pretty  woman  !  [ctsideJ] 
Mock  gravity  !  by  the  mass  a  cherry  lip  !  [aside.'] 
Ah,  it's  not  well  done  [to]  deride  a  holy  hermit ! 

JOHN.  I  have  it  in  my  purse  shall  make  amends. 

SKINK.  His  purse  and  yours   shall   make   me 

some  amends 

For  hind'ring  me  this  morning  from  the  lady ; 
For  scaring  me  at  tavern  yesternight : 
For  having  back  your  chain,  I'll  fit  you  both. 

[Aside. 

JOHN.  Hermit,  a  word. 

FAU.  A  word  with  you,  fair  mistress. 


Old  copy,  Raynald. 


460  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

JOHN.  Where  lie  your  devils,  that  tell  all  your 

news  ? 

Would  you  would  trouble  them  for  half  an  hour, 
To  know  what  is  become  of  traitor  Gloster, 
That  in  my  clothes  broke  prison  in  the  Fleet  1 

SKINK.  No,  it  was  Skink. 

JOHN.  Come,  old  fool,  ye  dote. 

SKINK.  But  hear  me. 

FAU.  Hear  him,  Prince. 

JOHN.  'Swounds,  who  hears  you  ? 
I'll  make  your  lady  graft  ye  for  this  work.  — 


But  to  your  tale,  sir. 

SKINK.  Know,  thrice-honoured  Prince, 
That  Skink  did  cosen  Eedcap  of  his  clothes, 
Gloster  did  cosen  Skink,  and  so  escap'd. 

JOHN,  Well  done,  Fauconbridge  ! 

FAU.  My  lord,  he  tells  you  true. 

JOHN.  You  find  it  on  her  lips  :  but,  forward,  sir. 

SKINK.  'Twas  Skink  in  Gloster's  gown,  whom 

you  did  visit, 

That  play'd  at  bowls,  and  after  stole  your  clothes, 
While  you  went  into  the  Lord  Morton's  chamber. 

JOHN.  This  savours  of  some  truth. 

FAU.  'Tis  very  like. 

JOHN.  Well,  Fauconbridge,  by  heaven,  I'll  tell 
your  wife. 

FAU.  She'll  much  believe  you  !  you  will  ?  Come, 
Tell  me  not  of  my  wife  :  l  this  evening  fail  me  not. 
My  wife,  quoth  you  :  I'll  send  my  wife  from  home. 
Do  tell  my  wife,  Prince  John,  by  my  dear  mother, 
I  love  her  too-too  well  to  like  another. 

LADY  F.  It  seems  so,  fox;  0,  what  a  world  is  this  ! 
There  most  sin  reigns,  where  least  suspicion  is. 

FAU.  You'll  come  ? 

LADY  F.  I  will  not  fail,  I  warrant  you. 

1  [Old  copy,  me  of.] 


tOOK  ABOUl1  YOtJ.  461 

JOHN.  Hermit,  is  all  this  true  ? 
SKINK.  Himself, 

[If  he]  deliver  not  so  much,  before  ye  sleep, 
Root  me  from  out  the  borders  of  this  realm. 

[JOHN  and  FAUC.  retire  a  little. 
JOHN.  Well,  by  your  leave,  Sir  Richard  Fau- 

conbridge, 
Hence,  free  from  fear ;   you'll  melt,  you'll  melt, 

old  man. 
FAU.  Nay,  take  her  to  you ;  she's  a  shrew,  I 

warrant. 

I'll  to  the  holy  hermit,  and  inquire 
About  my  chain,  your  swordy  the  pursuivant, 
And  other  matters,  that  I  have  to  ask. 

[He  returns;  JOHN  addresses  the  LADY. 
SKINK.  You're  welcome,  good  Sir  Richard. 
JOHN.  Nay,  do  not  stand  on  terms;  I  am  fire, 

all  life, 

Nor  never  tell  me,  that  I  have  a  wife. 
I  do  not  mean  to  marry ;  ye  think  so  I 
But  to  be  merry  you  the  manner  know. 
And  you  will  have  me,  have  me — 'ppoint  a  meet- 
ing; 

I'll  be  your  true  love,  you  shall  be  my  sweeting. 
If  you  deny  to  promise,  this  is  plain 
I'll  have  my  will,  ere  you  get  home  again. 
LADY  F.  Most  gracious  lord. 
JOHN.  Tut,  tell  not  me  of  grace  : 
I  like  no  goodness  but  a  beauteous  face. 
Be  therefore  brief;    give    me    your    hand    and 

swear, 

Or  I'll  away  with  you  into  the  heath  : 
Neither  shall  Faucxmbridge  nor  hermit  help, 
And  what  I  do  I'll  answer  well  enough. 
LADY  F.  Why,  then,  my  lord. 
JOHN.  Nay,  do  not  stand  on  them : l 

1  i.e.,  Terms,  as  mentioned  before.    Old  copy,  then. 


4G2  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

But  tell  me,  when  my  lord  shall  have  you,  Lady ; 
It's  presently  I  venture  for  a  baby. 

LADY  F.  This  night  at  Stepney,  by  my  summer- 

house, 

There  is  a  tavern  which  I  sometimes  use, 
When  we  from  London  come  a-gossiping ; 
It  is  the  Hind. 

JOHN.  Give  me  thy  pretty  hand : 
Thou'lt  meet  me  at  the  Hind  ?  I'll  be  thy  roe. 

LADY  F.  One  word's  enough. 

JOHN.  Suffice ;  then  be  it  so. 

LADY  F.  I'll  fit  my  old  adulterer  and  your  grace, 
I'll  send  the  Princess  thither  in  my  place.     [Aside. 

FAU.  Prince    John,    Prince   John,  the    hermit 

tells  me  wonders ; 
He    says  it  was    Skink    that  'scap'd   us  at  the 

tavern  : 

Skink  had  my  chain — nay,  sure,  that  Skink  did 
all. 

SKINK.  I  say,  go  but  to  yonder  corner. 
And  ere  the  sun  be  half  an  hour  higher, 
There  will  the  thief  attempt  a  robbery. 

JOHN.  Who?  Skink? 

FAU.  Will  Skink? 

SKINK.  Ay,  Skink,  upon  my  word. 

FAU.  Shall  we  go  seize  upon  him,  good  Prince 
John  ? 

JOHN.  Nay,  we  will  have  him,  that's  no  question. 
And  yet  not  hurt  the  honest  rogue. 
He'll  help  us  well  in  quest  of  changing  Gloster. 
Hermit,  farewell ;  Lady,  keep  your  hour. 

FAU.  Adieu,  old  hermit :  soon  in  the  evening,  lass. 

LADY  F.  I'll  meet  you  both,  and  meet  with1 

both  of  you. 
Father,  what  answer  do  you  give  to  me  ? 

1  To  meet  with  is  a  very  common  phrase  for  to  serve  out, 
requite. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  463 

SKINK.  Lady,   start  down;    I    must  into    my 

cellA 

Where  I  am  curing  of  a  man  late  hurt ; 
He  dress'd,  I  must  unto  my  orisons ; 
In  half  an  hour  all  will  be  despatched, 
And  then  I  will  attend  your  ladyship. 

[Exit. 

LADY  F.  At  your  best  leisure,  father.     0,  the 

life, 

That  this  thrice-reverend  hermit  leadeth  here. 
How  far  remote  from  mortal  vanities, 
Baits  to  the  soul,  enticements  to  the  eye ! 
How  far  is  he  unlike  my  lustful  lord  ? 
Who  being  given  himself  to  be  unchaste, 
Thinks  all  men  like  himself  in  their  effects, 
And  injures  me,  that  never  had  a  thought 
To  wrong  the  sacred  rights  of  spotless  faith. 

Enter  SKINK  ivith  a  patch  on  his  face,  and  a 
falconers  lure  in  his  hand.1 

SKINK.  Hermit,  farewell,  I'll  pay  ye  or  speak 
with  ye  next  'time  I  see  ye.  Sweet  mouse,  the 
hermit  bids  you  stay  here ;  he'll  visit  you  anon. 
Now,  John  and  Fauconbridge,  I'll  match  ye, 
and  I  do  not  say  Skiiik's  a  wretch,  a  wren,  a 
worm.  When  I  have  trick'd  them,  madam,  I 
will  trim  you.  Commodity  is  to  be  preferr'd 
before  pleasure.  About  profit,  Skink  ;  for  crowns, 
for  crowns,  that  make  the  kingly  thoughts  ! 

[Exit. 

LADY  F.   (to  the  hermit  supposed  within.}  I  am 

assur'd  that  man's  some  murderer. 
Good  Father  Hermit,  speak  and  comfort  me ; 


i  Skink  issues  from  the  hermit's  house  in  the  disguise  of 
the  man  whom  he  is  supposed  to  have  cured,  and  as  he 
leaves,  addresses  parting  words  to  the  hermit  withinl 


464  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU, 

Are  ye  at  prayers,  good  old  man  ?     I  pray  ye, 
speak.  [Enters. 

What's  here  ?  a  beard  1  a  counterfeited  hair  ? 
The  hermit's  portesse,1  garments,  and  his  beads  ] 
Jesus  defend  me  !  I  will  fly  this  den ; 
It's  some  thief's  cave,  no  haunt  for  holy  men. 
What,  if  the  murderer  (as  I  guess  him  one) 
Set  on  my  husband !  Tush,  Prince  John  and  he 
Are  able  to  defend  their 2  noble  selves. 
Howe'er,  I  will  not  tarry,  I'll  away, 
Lest  unto  theft  and  rape  I  prove  a  prey.        [Exit. 


SCENE  THE  TWENTY-SIXTH., 

Enter  SKINK  solus. 

SEINK.  Yonder  they  are ;  I'll  fit  them ;  here's 

my  ground. 
Wa-ha-how,  wa-ha-how,  wa-ha-how ! 

Enter  FAUCONBRIDGE  [and  JOHN.] 

FAU.  I  warrant  ye,  my  lord,  some  man's  dis- 
tress'd. 

JOHN.  Why,  man,  tis  a  falconer. 

FAU,  Marry  of  me,  good  fellow,  I  did  think 
thou  had'st  been  robb'd. 

SKINK.  Robb'd,  sir  ?  No,  he  that  comes  to  rob 
me  shall  have  a  hard  match  on't,  yet  two  good 
fellows  had  like  to  have  been  robb'd  by  one  tall 
thief,  had  not  I  stepped  in.  A  bots  on  him  !  I 
lost  a  hawk  by  him,  and  yet  I  car'd  not  to  send 
another  after  him,  so  I  could  find  the  thief;  and 
hereabout  he  is  ;  I  know  he  is  squatted. 

1  Breviary,  a  Old  copy,  them. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  465 

FAU.  Say'st  thou  me  so  ?  we'll  find  him,  by  St 

Mary, 
An  honest  fellow,  a  good  commonwealth's  man. 

JOHN.  There  are  caves  hereabout,  good  fellow, 
are  there  not  ? 

SKINK.  Yes,  sir ;  tread  the  ground,  sir,  and  you 
shall  hear  their  hollowness;  this  way,  sir, 
this  way. 

JOHN.  Help,  Fauconbridge. 

FAU.  0,  help  me,  good  Prince  John. 

SKINK.  I'll  help  you  both ;  deliver,  sir,  deliver  ! 
Swounds,  linger  not.  Prince  John,  put  up  your 
purse,  or  I'll  throw  poniards  down  upon  your  pate. 
Quickly !  when  *?  I  am  Skink,  that  'scap'd  ye  yes- 
ternight, and  fled  the  Fleet  in  your  cloak,  carrying 
me  clean  out  of  wind  and  rain.  I  broke  the  bonds 
and  links  that  fettered  your  chain  amity ;  this 
cheat  is  mine. 
Farewell,  I  cannot  stay. 

Sweet  Prince,  old  Knight,  I  thank  ye  for  this 
prey.  [Exit. 

FAU.  God's  marry  mother,  here's  a  jest  indeed. 
We  came  to  take  :  a  thief  takes  us  ! 
Where  are  ye,  good  my  lord  '? 

JOHN.  No  matter  where  ; 
I  think  I  was  fore-spoken  at  the  teat, 
This  damn'd  rogue  serv'd  me  thus  !    Gloster  and  he, 
Upon  my  life,  conclude  in  villany. 
He  was  not  wont  to  plot  these -stratagems. 
Lend  me  your  hand  a  little  ;  come  away, 
Let's  to  the  cell  again  ;  perchance  the  hermit 
Is  Skink  and  thief,  and  hermit,  all  in  one. 

FAU.  Marry  a  God,  then  ten  to  one  it's  so  ; 
Well  thought  on,  Princely  John  ; 
He  had  my  chain,  no  doubt  he  had  your  sword. 

JOHN.  If  there  be  now  no  hermit  at  the  cell, 
I'll  swear  by  all  the  saints  it's  none  but  he. 

[Exeunt. 

VOL.  VII.  2  G 


466  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 


SCENE  THE  TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

Enter  GLOSTER  in  the  Hermit's  gown,  putting  on  the 
beard. 

GLO.  This    accident     hath    hit    thy    humour, 

Gloster ; 

From  pursuivant  I'll  turn  a  hermit  now. 
Sure,  he  that  keeps  this  cell's  a  counterfeit, 
Else  what  does  he  here  with  false  hair  and  beard  ? 
Well,  howsoe'er  it  be,  I'll  seem  to  be 
The  holy  hermit ;  for  such  fame  there  is, 
Of  one  accounted  reverend  on  this  heath. 

Enter  SKINK. 

I'll  fain  unto  my  cell,  to  my  fair  lady  ; 

But  John  and  Fauconbridge  are  at  my  heels  ; 

[Sees  John. 

And  some  odd  mate  is  got  into  my  gown, 
And  walks  devoutly  like  my  counterfeit; 
I  cannot  stay  to  question  with  you  now, 
I  have  another  gown  and  all  things  fit, 
These  guests  once  rid,  new  mate,  I'll  bum,1  I'll 
mark  you.  [Exit. 

GLOS.  What's  he,  a  God's  name  ?  he  is  quickly 

gone.  ^ 

I  am  for  him,  were  he  Robin  Goodfellow. 
Who's  yonder,  the  Prince  John  and  Fauconbridge? 
I  think  they  haunt  me  like  my  genii, 
One  good,  the  other  ill ;  by  the  mass,  they  pry, 
And  look  upon  me  but  suspiciously. 

JOHN.  This  is  not   Skink  ;  the  hermit  is  not 

Blank. 
He  is  a  learned,  reverend,  holy  man ; 

1  Brand. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  467 

FAU.  He  is,  he  is  a  very  godly  man  ; 
I  warrant  ye,  he's  at  his  book  at's  prayers. 
We  should  have  took  yon,  by  my  halidom, 
Even  for  a  very  thief. 

GLO.  Now  God  forfend 
Such  noblemen  as  you  should  guess  me  so  ! 
I  never  gave  such  cause,  for  ought  I  know. 

JOHN.  Yet  thou  did'st  tell  us  Skink  should  do 

a  robbery, 
Appointed  us  the  place,  and  there  we  found  him. 

FAU.  And  he  felt  us,  for  he  hath  robb'd  us  both. 

GLO.  He's  a  lewd  fellow  ;  but  he  shall  be  taken. 

JOHN.  I  had  rather  hear  of  Gloster  than  of  him. 

GLO.  Gloster  did  cheat  him  of  the  same  gold 

chain, 

That  deceiv'd  Sir  Richard  Fauconbridge. 
He  got  your  sword,  Prince  John :  'twas  he  that 

sav'd 
The  porter,  and  beguil'd  the  pursuivant. 

JOHN.  A  vengeance  on  him  ! 

GLO.  Do  not  curse,  good  prince  ; 
He's  bad  enough,  'twere  better  pray  for  him. 

JOHN.  I'll  loll  thee,  and  thou  bid  us  pray  for 

him, 

I'll  fell  [the]  woods,  and  ring  thee  round  with  fire, 
Make  thee  an  offering  unto  fierce  revenge, 
If  thou  have  but  a  thought  to  pray  for  him. 

GLO.  I  am  bound  to  pray  for l  all  men,  chiefly 
Christians. 

JOHN.  Ha,  ha,  for  Christians  ?  think'st  thou  he 

is  one  1 

For  men  1  hast  thou  opinion  he  is  a  man  ? 
He  that  changes  himself  to  sundry  shapes, 
Is  he  a  Christian  1  can  he  be  a  man  ? 
0  irreligious  thoughts  ! 

GLO.  Why,  worthy  prince, 

1  Old  copy,  of. 


468  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

I  saw  him  christened,  dipp'd  into  the  font. 

JOHN.  Then  nine  times,  like  the  northern  Lap- 
landers, 

He  backward  circled  the  sacred  font, 
And  nine  times  backward  said  his  orisons  : 
As  often  curs'd  the  glorious  host  of  heaven, 
As  many  times  invok'd  the  fiends  of  hell, 
And  so  turn'd  witch ;  for  Gloster  is  a  witch. 
GLO.  Have   patience,  gentle   prince ;   he   shall 

appear 
Before  your  kingly  father  speedily. 

JOHN.  Shall  he  indeed  1  sweet  comfort,  kiss  thy 

cheek  ; 

Peace  circle  in  thy  aged  honoured  head. 
When  he  is  taken,  hermit,  I  protest 
I'll  build  thee  up  a  chapel  and  a  shrine  : 
I'll  have  thee  worshipp'd  as  a  man  divine, 
Assure  [ye]  he  shall  come,  and  Skink  shall  come. 
FAU.1  Aye,  that  same  Skink ;  I  prythee,  send 

that  Skink 

JOHN.  Send  both ;  and  both,  as  prisoners  crimi- 
nate. 

Shall  forfeit  their  lost 2  lives  to  England's  state, 
Which  way  will  Fauconbridge  ? 

FAU.  Over  the  water,  and 
So  with  all  speed  I  may  to  Stepney. 

JOHN.  I  must  to  Stepney  too,  and  revel,  and  be 

blithe, 
Old  [Knight],  wink  at  my  mirth;  't  may  make 

amends, 

So  thou  and  I,  and  our  friends,  may  be  friends. 
FAU.  With  all  my  heart,  with  all  my  heart, 

Prince  [John], 

Old  Fauconbridge  will  wait  upon  your  grace. 
Be  good  to  Gloster,  for  my  Marian's  sake, 
And  me  and  mine  you  shall  your  servants  make. 

1  Old  copy,  Glo.  2  [Old  copy,  last.] 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  469 

GLO.  Of  that  anon  :  my  pleasure  being  serv'd, 
Gloster  shall  have  what  Gloster  hath  deserv'd. 

FAU.  Why,  that's  well  said  j  adieu,  good  honest 
hermit.  [Exit. 

JOHN.  Hermit,  farewell,  if  I  had  my  desire, 
I'll  make  the  world  thy  wondrous  deeds  admire. 

[Exit. 

GLO.  Still  good,  still  passing  good ;  Gloster  is 

still 

Henry's  true  hate,  foe  to  John's  froward  will, 
No  more  of  that :  for  them  in  better  time. 
If  this  same  hermit  be  an  honest  man, 
He  will  protect  me  by  his 1  simple  life  ; 
If  not,  I  care  not ;  I'll  be  ever  Gloster, 
Make  him  my  footstool,  if  he  be  a  slave, 
For  baseness  over  worth  can  have  no  power. 
Robin,  bethink  thee,  thou  art  come  from  kings, 
Then  scorn  to  be  [a]  slave  to  underlings, 
Look  well  about  thee,  lad,  and  thou  shalt  see 
Them  burst  in  envy,  that  would  injure  thee. 
Hermit,  I'll  meet  you  in  your  hermit's  gown, 
Honest,  I'll  love  you  :  worse,  I'll  knock  you  down. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  THE  TWENTY-EIGHTH. 
Enter  PRINCE  RICHARD,  with  music. 

P.  RICH.  Kind  friends,  we  have  troubled  Lady 

Fauconbridge, 

And  either  she's  not  willing  to  be  seen, 
Or  else  not  well,  or  with  our  boldness  griev'd, 
To  ease  these,  I  have  brought  you  to  this  window, 
Knowjng  you  are  in  music  excellent. 
I  have  penn'd  a  ditty  here,  and  I  desire 
You  would  sing  it  for  her  love  and  my  content. 

Mus.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord. 

1  [Old  copy,  this.] 


470  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Enter  EOBIN  HOOD,  like  the  LADY  [FAUCON- 

BRIDGE]. 

KOB.  Your    excellence    forgets    your   princely 

worth  ; 

If  I  may  humbly  crave  it  at  your  hands, 
Let  me  desire  this  music  be  dismiss'd. 

ElCH.  Forbear,  I  pray,  and  withdraw  yourselves ; 
Be  not  offended,  gracious  Marian.     [Exeunt  music. 
Under  the  upper  heaven  nine  goodly  spheres 
Turn  with  a  motion  ever  musical ; 
In  palaces  of  kings  melodious  sounds 
Offer  pleasures  to  their  sovereigns  ears. 
In  temples,  milk-white-clothed  quiristers 
Sing  sacred  anthems,  bowing  to  the  shrine  ; 
And  in  the  fields  whole  quires  of  winged  clerks 
Salute  the :  morning  bright  and  crystalline. 
Then  blame  not  me ;  you  are  my  heaven,  my  queen  : 
My  saint,  my  comfort,  brighter  than  the  morn. 
To  you  all  music  and  all  praise  is  due ; 
For  your  delight,  for  you,2  delight  was  born. 
The  world  would  have  no  mirth,  no  joy,  no  day, 
If  from  the  world  your  beauty  were  away. 

EOB.  Fie  on  love's  blasphemy  and  forgery, 
To  call  that  joy  3  that's  only  misery  ! 
I,  that  am  wedded  to  suspicious  age, 
Solicited  by  your  lascivious  youth; 
I,  that  have  [only]  one  poor  comfort  living — 
Gloster  my  brother,  my  high-hearted  brother — 
He  flies  for  fear,  lest  he  should  faint,  and  fall 
Into  the  hands  of  hate  tyrannical. 

RICH.  What  would  you  I  should  do  1 

ROB.  I  would  full  fain 
My  brother  Gloster  had  his  peace  again. 

RICH.  Shall  love  be  my  reward,  if  I  do  bring 
A  certain  token  of  his  good  estate, 

1  Old  copy,  salutes  he,  ^  2  Old  copy,  you  for. 

3  Old  copy,  in. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  471 

And  after  pacify  my  brother's  wrath  ? 
Say  you  will  love,  he  l  will  be  fortunate  ! 

EOB.  I  will. 

BiCH.  No  more ;  I  vow  to  die  unblest 
If  I  perform  not  this  imposed  quest. 
But  one  word,  madam ;  pray,  can  you  tell 
Where  Huntington  my  ward  is  ? 

ROB.  I  was  bold 

To  send  young  Robin  Hood,  your  noble  ward, 
Upon  some  business  of  import  for  me. 

RICH.  I  am  glad  he  is  employed  in  your  affairs  ; 
Farewell,  kind  fair  ;  let  [not]  one  cloudy  frown 
Shadow  the  bright  sun  of  thy  beauty's  light : 
Be  confident  in  this — I'll  find  thy  brother, 
Raise  power  but  he'll 2  have  peace  :  only  perform 
Your  gracious  promise  at  my  back-return. 

ROB.  Well,  here's  my  hand,   Prince   Richard ; 

that  same  night, 

Which  secondeth  the  day  of  your  return, 
I'll  be  your  bed-fellow,  and  from  that  hour 
Forswear  the  loathed  bed  of  Fauconbridge  : 
Be  speedy,  therefore,  as  you  hope  to  speed. 

RICH.  O  that  I  were  as  large- winged  as  the  wind, 
Then  should  you  see  my  expeditious  will. 
My  most  desire,  adieu  !  guess  by  my  haste 
Of  your  sweet  promise  the  delicious  taste.     [Exit. 

ROB.  Why  so  :  I  am  rid  of  him  by  this  device, 
He  would  else  have  tired  me  with  his  songs  and 
sighs. 3 

Enter  BLOCK. 

But  now  I  shall  have  ease  ;  here  comes  the  saint, 
To  whom  such  suit  was  made. 

BLO.  My  lady  gentlewoman  is   even    here    in 
her  privity-walk.     Madam,  here's  the  merchant's 

1  [Old  copy,  we.]  2  [Old  copy,  we'll.] 

3  [Old  copy,  sighs  and  songs] 


472  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

wife  was  here  yesterday  would  speak  with  ye.     0, 
I  was  somewhat  bold  to  bring  her  in. 

Enter  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE.  disguised  as  a 
merchant's  wife. 

ROB.  Well,  leave  us,  sir ;  y'are  welcome,  gentle- 
woman. 

BLO.  These  women  have  no  liberality  in  the 
world  in  them  •  I  never  let  in  man  to  my  lady,  but 
I  am  rewarded. 

ROB.  Please  ye  to  walk,  sir  !  wherefore  mumble 
ye  ?  [Exit  BLOCK. 

LADY  F.  Robin,  what  news  ]  how  hast    thou 
done  this  night  1 

ROB.  My  ladyship  hath  done  my  part,  my  task, 
Lain  all  alone  for  lack  of  company, 
I  might  have  had  Prince  Richard. 

LADY  F.  Was  he  here  ! 

ROB.  He  went  away  but  now ; 
I  have  been  lov'd  and  woo'd  too  simply, 
God  rid  me  of  the  woman  once  again  ; 
I'll  not  be  tempted  so  for  all  the  world. 
Come,  will  you  to  your  chamber,  and  uncase  1 

LADY  F.  Nay,  keep  my  habit  yet  a  little  while, 
Old  Fauconbridge  is  almost  at  the  gate, 
I  met  him  at  Blackheath  just  at  the  hermit's, 
And,  taking  me  to  be  a  merchant's  wife, 
Fell  mightily  in  love,  gave  me  his  ring, 
Made  me  protest  that  I  would  meet  him  here. 
I  told  him  of  his  lady — 0,  tut,  quoth  he, 
I'll  shake  her  up,  I'll  pack  her  out  of  sight. 
He  comes  j  kind  Robin  Hood,  hold  up  the  jest. 

Enter  SlR  RICHARD  FAUCONBRIDGE  and  BLOCK, 
talking  together. 

FAU.  God's  marry,  knave,  how  long  hath  she 
been  here  1 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  473 

BLO.  Sir,  she  came  but  even  in  afore  you. 
FAU.  A  cunning  quean,  a  very  cunning  quean, 
Go  to  your  business,  Block ;  I'll  meet  with  her. 
BLO.  Ah,  old  muttonmonger,   I  believe  here's 
work  towards.  [Exit. 

FAU.  [seeing  the  merchant's  wife].  Do  not  believe 

her.  Moll,  do  not  believe  her, 
I  only  spake  a  word  or  two  in  jest, 
But  would  not  for  the  world  have  been  so  mad  ; 
Do  not  believe  her,  Moll,  do  not  believe  her. 
EOB.  What  should  I  not  believe  ?  what  do  you 

mean  1 
LADY  F.  Why,  good  Sir  Eichard,  let  me  speak 

with  you. 

Alas,  will  you  undo  me  ?  will  you  shame  me  ? 
Is  this  your  promise  ?  came  I  here  for  this  ] 
To  be  a  laughing-stock  unto  your  lady  ? 

EOB.  How  now,  Sir  Richard,  what's  the  matter 

there  ? 
FAU.  I'll  talk  with   you   anon  ;    come  hither, 

woman. 

Did'st  [thou]  not  tell  my  wife  what  match  we  made  ? 
LADY  F.  I  tell  your  wife  ?  think  ye  I  am  such  a 

beast  1 
Now  God  forgive  ye ;  I  am  quite  undone. 

FAU.  Peace,  duck ;  peace,  duck  ;  I  warrant  all  is 

well.  [Aside. 

Eob.  What's  the  matter  ?  I  pray  ye,  Sir  Eichard, 

tell  me  ! 
FAU.  Marry,  Moll,   thus — about  some    twelve 

month  since, 

Your  brother  Gloster,  that  mad  prodigal, 
Caus'd  me  to  pass  my  word  unto  her  husband 
For  some  two  thousand  pounds,    or  more   per- 
chance— 

No  matter  what  it  is,  you  shall  not  know, 
Nay,  ye  shall  never  ask  to  know. 
EOB.  And  what  of  this  1 


474  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

FAU.  Marry,  the  man's  decay'd, 
And  I  believe  a  little  thing  would  please  her ; 
A  very  little  thing,  a  thing  of  nothing. 
Go  in,  good  Moll,  and  leave  us  two  alone, 
I'll  deal  with  ye  as  simply  as  I  can. 

LADY  F.  Fox,  look  about  ye,  ye  are  caught, 
i'faith. 

ROB.  Deal  with  her  simply !  0,  0,  what  kind  of 

dealing  ? 
Can  ye  not  deal  with  her,  and  I  be  by  ? 

FAU.  Marry  a  God,  what,  are  ye  jealous  1 
Ye  teach  me  what  to  do  1  in,  get  you  in. 
O,  I  have  heard  Prince  Richard  was  your  guest, 
How  dwelt  you  then  1  In,  get  you  in,  I  say. 
Must  I  take  care  about  your  brother's  debts, 
And  you  stand  crossing  me  ?     In,  or  I'll  send  you 
in.  [Exit  ROBIN. 

Ha,  sirrah;  you'll  be  master,  you'll  wear  the  yellow,1 
You'll  be  an  over-seer  ?  marry,  shall  ye  ! 

LADY  F.  Ye   are  too  curst  (methinks,   sir)  to 
your  lady. 

FAU.  Ah,  wench,  content  thee,  I  must  bear  her  hard, 
Else  shell  be  prying2  into  my  dalliance. 
I  am  an  old  man,  sweet  girl ;  I  must  be  merry  : 
All  steel,  all  spright :  keep  in  health  by  change  ; 
Men  may  be  wanton,  women  must  not  range. 

LADY  F.  You  have  given  good  counsel,  sir  :  I'll 

repent  me. 
Here  is  your  ring ;  I'll  only  love  my  husband. 

FAU.  1  mean  not  so,  I  think  to-day  thou  told'st 

me 

Thy  husband  was  an  unthriffc  and  a  bankrupt. 
And  he  be  so,  tut,  thou  hast  favour  store ; 
Let  the  knave  beg,  beauty  cannot  be  poor. 


1  In  this  passage  the  phrase,  to  wear  the  yellow,  seems 
hardly  to  bear  the  ordinary  construction  of,  to  be  jealous. 

2  Old  copy,  pining. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  475 

LADY  F.  Indeed  my  husband  is  a  bankrupt — 
Of  faith,  of  love,  of  shame,  of  chastity, 
Dotes  upon  other  women  more  than  me. 

FAU.  Ha  !  do  he  so  1  then  give  him  tit  for  tat, 
Have  one  so  young  and  fair,  and  loves  another  ? 
He's  worthy  to  be  cuckolded,  by  the  mass  ! 
What  is  he,  old  or  young  1 

LADY  F.  About  your  age. 

FAU.  An  old  knave, 

And  cannot  be  content  with  such  a  peat ! 
Come  to  my  closet,  girl,  make  much  of  me ; 
We'll  appoint  a  meeting-place  some  twice  a  week, 
And  I'll  maintain  thee  like  a  lady,  ha  ! 

LADY  F.  0,  but  you  will  forget  me  presently, 
When  you  look  well  upon  your  lady's  beauty. 

FAU.    Who?    upon  her?    why,  she  is  a  very 

dowdy, 

A  dishclout,  a  foul  gipsy  unto  thee. 
Come  to  my  closet,  lass,  there  take  thy  earnest 
Of  love,  of  pleasure,  and  good  maintenance. 

LADY  F.  I  am  very  fearful. 

FAU.  Come,  fool,  never  fear. 
I  am  lord  here,  who  shall  disturb  us  then  ? 
Nay,  come,  or,  by  the  rood,  I'll  make  you  come. 

LADY  F.  Help,  Madam  Fauconbridge,  for  God's 
sake. 

Enter  EOBIN  HOOD  as  LADY  FAUCONBRIDGE,  and 

BLOCK. 

FAU.  How  now,  what  mean'st  ] 

LADY  F.  Help,  gentle  madam,  help  ! 

ROB.  How  now,  what  ail'st  thou  ? 

BLOCK.  Nay,  and't  be  a  woman :  ne'er  fear  my 

master,  madam. 
ROB.1  Why  speak'st  thou  not,  what  ail'st  thou? 

1  Old  copy  gives  this  line  to  the  lady,  i.e.,  the  merchant's 
wife. 


476  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

FAU.  Why,  nothing,  by  the  rood,  nothing  she 

ails. 
LADY  F.  0  madam,  this  vile  man  would  have 

abused  me, 
And  forc'd  me  to  his  closet. 

ROB.  Ah,  old  Cole,1  now  look  about :  you  are 

catcht ! 

LADY  F.  Call  in  your  fellows,  Block. 
FAU.  Do  not,  thou  knave. 
LADY  F.  Do,  or  I'll  crack  your  crown. 
BLO.  Nay,  I'll  do't :  I  know  she  means  to  shame 
you.  [Exit. 

FAU.  Why,  Moll,  wilt  thou  believe  this  paltry 

woman  1 

Huswife,  111  have  you  whipp'd  for  sland'ring  me. 
KOB.  What,    lecher?    no,    she    is    an    honest 

woman  : 
Her  husband's  well  known;    all  the  household 

knows. 
BLO.  Here's  some  now  to  tell  all  the  town  your 

mind. 

LADY  F.  Before  ye  all  I  must  [now]  sure  com- 
plain. 

You  see  this  wicked  man,  and  ye  all  know 
How  oft  he  hath  been  jealous  of  my  life  : 
Suspecting  falsehood,  being  false  himself. 
BLO.  0  master,  0  master. 
FAU.  She  slanders  me ;  she  is  a  cozening  quean. 
Fetch  me  the  constable  :  I'll  have  her  punish'd. 

LADY  F.  The  constable  for  me  ?  fie,  fie  upon  ye. 
Madam,  do  you  know  this  ring  1 
ROB.  It  is  Sir  Richard's. 
BLO.  O,  aye,  that's  my  master's,  too  [ — too]  sure. 


1  This  seems  to  be  some  popular  and  well-understood 
allusion — well  understood  then,  but  now  obscure  enough  ; 
nor  does  Steevens's  explanation  help  us  much.  See  "  Pop. 
Antiq.  of  Or.  Britain,"  1870,  iii.  322. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  477 

FAU.    Ay,  marry,  I   did  lend  it  to  the  false 

drab 

To  fetch  some  money  for  that  bankrupt  knave, 
Her  husband,  that  lies  prisoner  in  the  Fleet. 
LADY.F.  My  husband  bankrupt?    my  husband 

in  the  Fleet  prisoner  1 
No,  no,  he  is  as  good  a  man  as  you. 

ROB.  Ay,  that  he  is,  and  can  spend  pound  for 

pound 

With  thee,  i'faith,  wert  richer  than  thou  art. 
I  know  the  gentleman. 

LADY  F.  Nay,  madam,  he  is 

Hard  by :  there  must  be  revels  at  the  Hind  to- 
night ; 

Your  copesmate's  there — Prince  John. 
ROB.  There's  a  hot  youth  ! 
BLO.  0,  a  fierce  gentleman ! 
LADY  F.  He  was  fierce   as   you ;   but  I  have 

match'd  him  : 
The  princess  shall  be  there  in  my  attire. 

FAU.  A  plaguy,  crafty  quean,  marry  a  God, 
I  see  Prince  John  courted  as  well  as  I ; 
And  since  he  shall  be  mock'd  as  well  as  I, 
It's  some  contentment. 

BLO.  Mass,  he  droops. 
Fellow  Humphrey,  he  is  almost  taken, 
Look  about  ye,  old  Richard.  [Aside. 

FAU.  Hence,  knaves ;  get  in  a  little.     Prythee, 

Moll, 

Let  thou  and  I,  and  she,  shut  up  this  matter. 
ROB.  Away,  sirs ;  get  in. 
BLO.  Come,  come, 
Let's  go ;  he  will  be  baited  now.     Farewell. 

[Exit  BLOCK. 
FAU.     Marry,  sweet  Moll,  I   say,  I  met   this 

woman; 

Lik'd  her,  lov'd  her ; 
For  she  is  worthy  love,  I  promise  thee. 


478  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

I  say,  I  courted  her  :  tut,  make  no  brawl, 
'Twixt  thou  and  I  we'll  have  amends  for  all. 
EOB.  Had  I  done  such  a  trick,  what  then  ?  what 

then? 

FAU.  Ah  prythee,  Moll,  tut,  bear  with  men. 
EOB.  Aye,  we  must  bear  with  you ;   you'll  be 

excus'd, 
When  women  undeserved  are  abus'd. 

FAU.  Nay,  do   not  weep :   pardon   me,  gentle 

lady; 

I  know  thee  virtuous,  and  I  do  protest 
Never  to  have  an  evil  thought  of  thee. 

EOB.  Aye,  aye,  ye  swear ;  who's  that  that  will 

believe  ye  ? 

FAU.  Now,  by  my  halidom  and  honest  faith, 
This  gentlewoman  shall  witness  what  I  swear. 
Sweet  duck,  a  little  help  me. 
LADY  F.  Trust  him,  madam. 
FAU.  I  will  be  kind,  credulous,  constant  ever, 
Do  what  thou  wilt,  I'll  be  suspicious  never. 

EOB.  For  which  I  thank  [the]  noble  Faucon- 
bridge.  [Discovers  himself. 

FAU.  Body  of  me,  who's  this  ?  young  Hunting- 
ton? 

LADY  F.  And  I  your  lady,  whom  you  courted 

last,  [Discovers  herself. 

Ye  looked  about  you  ill,  fox ;  we  have  caught 

ye; 

I  met  ye  at  Blackheath,  and  ye  were  hot. 

FAU.  I  knew  thee,  Moll ;  now,  by  my  sword,  I 

knew  thee. 
I  wink'd  at  all ;  I  laughed  at  every  jest. 

EOB.  Aye,  he  did  wink  \  the  blind  man  had  an 

eye.1 

FAU.  Peace,  Eobin,  thou't  once  be  a  man  as  I. 
LADY  F.  Well,  I  must  bear  it  all. 

1  An  allusion  to  an  old  proverb. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  479 

FAU.  Come,  and  ye  bear, 
It's  but  your  office  ;  come,  forget,  sweet  Moll. 

LADY.  F.  I  do  forgive  it,  and  forget  it,  sir. 

FAU.  Why,  that's  well  said ;  that's  done  like  a 

good  girl. 
Ha,  sirrah,  ha,  you  match'd  me,  pretty  earl. 

ROB.  I  have,  ye  see,  sir ;  I  must  unto  Black- 
heath 

In  quest  of  Richard,  whom  I  sent  to  seek 
Earl  Gloster  out.     I  know  he's  at  the  hermit's. 
Lend  me  your  coach  ;  I'll  shift  me,  as  I  ride  ; 
Farewell,  Sir  Eichard.  [Exit. 

FAU.  Farewell,  England's  pride. 
By  the  matins,  Moll,  it  is  a  pretty  child ; 
Shall  we  go  meet  John  ?  shall  we  go  mock  the 
prince  ? 

LADY  F.  We  will. 

FAU.  0,  then  we  shall  have  sport  anon. 
Never  wear  yellow,  Moll ;  'twas  but  a  trick  ; 
Old  Fauconbridge  will  still  be  a  mad  Dick. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  THE  TWENTY-NINTH. 
Enter  REDCAP  and  GLOSTER. 

RED.  Do  ye  s-s-say,  fa-fa-father  hermit,  th-that 
Gl-Gloster  is  about  this  heath  ? 

GLO.  He  is  upon  this  heath,  son  ;  look  about  it. 
Run  but  the  compass,  thou  shalt  find  him  out. 

RED.  R-r-run  ?  I'll  r-run  the  co-compass  of  all 
K-Kent  but  I'll  f-find  him  out;  my  f-f-father 
(where'er  he  lays  his  head)  dare  ne-never  come 
home,  I  know,  t-t-till  he  be  fo-fo-found. 

GLO.  Well,  thou  shalt  find  him.  Know'st  thou 
who's  a-hunting  ? 

RED.  M-m-marry,  'tis  the  Earls  of  La-La-Lan- 
caster and  Le-Leicester.  Fa-fa-farewell,  f-father  ; 


480  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

and  I  find  Skink  or  Glo-Gloster,  I'll  g-g-give  thee 
the  pr-price  of  a  penny  p-p-pudding  for  thy  p-pains. 

[Exit. 

GLO.  Adieu,  good  friend  :  this  is  sure  the  fellow 
I  sent  on  message  from  the  Parl'ament — 
The  porter's  son — he's  still  in  quest  of  me, 
And  Skink,  that  cosen'd  him  of  his  red  cap  ! 

Enter  RlCHARD,  like  a  Serving-man. 

But  look  about  thee,  Gloster ;  who  comes  yonder  1 

O,  a  plain  serving-man,  and  yet  perhaps 

His  bags  are  lin'd, 

And  my  purse  now  grows  thin  : 

If  he  have  any,  I  must  share  with  him. 

Enter  SKINK,  like  a  Hermit. 

And  who's  on  yond  side?     0,  it  is  my  hermit; 
Hath  got  his  other  suit,  since  I  went  forth. 

SKINK.  Sblood,  yonder's  company ;  I'll  back  again, 
Else  I  would  be  with  you  counterfeit ; 
I'll  leave  the  rogue  till  opportunity, 
But  never  eat,  till  I  have  quit  my  wrong.       [Exit. 

RICH.  I  saw  two  men  attend  like  holy  hermits  ; 
One's  slipp'd  away,  the  other's  at  his  beads. 
Now,  Richard,  for  the  love  of  Marian, 
Make  thy  inquire,  where  mad  Gloster  lives. 
If  England  or  the  verge  of  Scotland  hold  him, 
I'll  seek  him  thus  disguis'd.     If  he  be  pass'd 
To  any  foreign  part,  I'll  follow  him. 
Love,  thou  art  Lord  of  hearts ;  thy  laws  are  sweet; 
In  every  troubled  way  thou  guid'st  our  feet. 
Lovers,  enjoin'd  to  pass  the  dangerous  sea 
Of  big-swoll'n  sorrow  in  the  bark  Affection, 
The  winds  and  waves  of  woe  need  never  fear, 
While  Love  the  helm  doth,  like  a  pilot,  steer. 

GLO.  Here's  some  lover  come,  a  mischief  on  him ! 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  481 

I  know  not  how  to  answer  these  mad  fools  ; 
But  I'll  be  brief ;  I'll  mar  the  hermit's  tale. 
Off,  gown  ;  hold,  buckler ;  slice  it,  Bilbo'  blade. 
RICH.  What's  this  1  what  should  this  mean  1  old 

man,  good  friend. 

GLO.  Young  fool,  deliver ;  else  see  your  end. 
KICK.  I  thought  thou  hadst  been  holy  and  a 

hermit. 
GLO.  Whate'er  you  thought,  your  purse  !  come, 

quickly,  sir ; 

Cast  that  upon  the  ground,  and  then  confer. 
RICH.  There  it  is. 

GLO.  Falls  it  so  heavy '?  then  my  heart  is  light. 
RICH.  Thou'lt  have  a  heavy  heart  before  thou 

touch  it. 
Theft   shrin'd   in  holy  weeds,   stand  to't,   y'are 

best. 

GLO.  And  if  I  do  not,  seeing  such  a  prey, 
Let  this  be  to  me  a  disaster  day. 
RICH.  Art  thou  content  to  breathe  1 

[Fight  and  part  once  or  twice. 
GLO.  With  all  my  heart. 
Take  half  thy  money,  and  we'll  friendly  part. 
RICH.  I  will  not  cherish  theft. 
GLO.  Then  I  defy  thee. 

[Fight  again  and  breathe. 
RICH.  Alas  for  pity,  that  so  stout  a  man, 
So  reverend  in  aspect,  should  take  this  course. 

GLO.  This  is  no  common  man  with  whom  I  fight, 
And  if  he  be,  he  is  of  wond'rous  spright.  [Aside. 
Shall  we  part  stakes  ? 

RICH.  Fellow,  take 

The  purse  upon  condition  thou  wilt  follow  me. 

GLO.  What,  wait  on  you  1  wear  a  turn'd  livery, 
Whose  man's  your  master  ?     If  I  be  your  man, 
My  man's  man's  office  will  be  excellent ! 
There  lies  your  purse  again ;  win  it  and  wear  it. 

[Fight. 
VOL.  VII.  2  H 


482  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Enter  ROBIN  HOOD.     They  breathe,  offer  again. 

ROB.  Clashing  of  weapons  at  my  welcome  hither? 
Bick'ring  upon  Blackheath.    .Well-said,  old  man  ; 
I'll  take  thy  side,  the  younger  hath  the  odds. 
Stay,  end  your  quarrel,  or  I  promise  ye 
I'll  take  the  old  man's  part. 

RICH.  You  were  not  wont. 
Young  Huntington  ;  [be]  still  on  Richard's  side. 

ROB.  Pardon,  gracious  prince ;  I  knew  ye  not. 

GLO.  Prince   Richard?   then  lie,  envy,  at  his 

foot. 

Pardon  thy  cousin  Gloster,  valiant  lord. 
I  knew  no  common  force  confronted  mine. 

RiCH.1  0  heaven,  I  had  the  like  conceit  of  thine, 
I  tell  thee,  Robin,  Gloster,  thou  art  met, 
Bringing  such  comfort  unto  Richard's  heart : 
As  in  the  foil  of  war,  when  dust  and  sweat, 
The  thirst  of  wreak,2  and  the  sun's  fiery  heat, 
Have  seized  upon  the  soul  of  valiance, 
And  he  must  faint,  except  he  be  refresh'd. 
To  me  thou  com'st,  as  if  to  him  should  come 
A  perry  3  from  the  north,  whose  frosty  breath 
Might  fan  him  coolness  in  that  doubt 4  of  death. 
With  me  then  meet'st,  as  he  a  spring  might  meet, 
Cooling  the  earth  under  his  toil-parch'd  feet, 
Whose  crystal  moisture,  in  his  helmet  ta'en. 
Comforts  his  spirits,  makes  him  strong  again. 

GLO.  Prince,  in  short  terms,  if  you  have  brought 

me  comfort, 

Know,  if  I  had  my  pardon  in  this  hand, 
That  smit  base  Skink  in  open  Parl'ament, 
I  would  not  come  to  Court,  till  the  high  feast 
Of  your  proud  brother's  birthday  be  expired, 
For  as  the  old  king — as  he  made  a  vow 

1  Old  copy  gives  this  line  to  Gloster.  *  Old  copy,  weak. 

3.  Halliwell  says,  "  a  squall."  4  Fear. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  483 

At  his  unlucky  coronation,  [that  I] 

Must  wait  upon  the  boy  and  fill  his  cup, 

And  all  the  peers  must  kneel,  while  Henry  kneels, 

Unto  his  cradle — he  shall  hang  me  up, 

Ere  I  commit  that  vile  idolatry. 

But  when  the  feast  is  pass'd,  if  you'll  befriend  me, 

I'll  come  and  brave  my  proud  foes  to  their  teeth. 

EICH.  Come,  Eobin ;  and  if  my  brother's  grace 

deny, 
I'll  take  thy  part,  them  and  their  threats  defy. 

GLO.  Gramercy,  princely  Dick. 

ROB.  I  have  some  pow'r  : 
I  can  raise  two  thousand  soldiers  in  an  hour. 

GLO.  Gramercy,  Eobin ;  gramercy,  little  wag, 
Prince  Eichard,  pray  let  Huntingdon 
Carry  my  sister  Fauconbridge  this  ring. 

EICH.  I'll  carry  it  myself;  but  I  had  rather 
Had  thy  kind  company ;  thou  might'st  have  moy'd. 
Thy  sister,  whom  1  long  have  vainly  lov'd. 

GLO.  I  like  her  that  she  shuns  temptation, 
Prince  Eichard ;  but  I  bear  with  doting  lovers. 
I  should  not  take  it  well,  that  you  urge  me 
To  such  an  office  :  but  I  bear  with  you. 
Love's  blind  and  mad.    Hie  to  her  boldly  :  try  her ; 
But  if  I  know  she  yield,  faith,  I'll  defy  her. 

EICH.  I  like  thy  honourable  resolution,; 
Gloster,  I  pray  thee  pardon  my  intreat. 

GLO.  It  is  men's  custom :  part,  part,  gentle  prince, 
Farewell,  good  Eobin,  this  gold  I  will  borrow ; 
Meet  you  at  Stepney,  pay  you  all  to-morrow. 

EOB.  Adieu,  Gloster.  [Exit  EOBIN. 

GLO.  Farewell,  be  short. 
You  gone,  I  hope  to  have  a  little  sport. 

EICH.  Take  heed,  mad  coz. 

GLO.  Tut,  tell  not  me  of  heed  :  [Exit  EICHARD. 
-He  that's  too  wary1  never  hath  good  speed. 

1  Old  copy, 


484  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 


SCENE  THE  THIRTIETH. 

Holloaing  within;  enter  LANCASTER  with  a  broken 
staff  in  his  hand. 

Who's  this  1  old  Lancaster,  my  honour'd  friend  1 

LAN.  These  knaves   have   serv'd  me  well,  left 

me  alone, 

I  have  hunted  fairly,  lost  my  purse,  my  chain, 
My  jewels,  and  been  bang'd  by  a  bold  knave, 
Clad  in  a  hermit's  gown,  like  an  old  man — 
0,  what  a  world  is  this  ? 

GLO.  It's  ill,  my  lord. 

LAN.  He's  come  again  !     0  knave,  'tis  the  worse 
for  thee  :    [Mistakes  GLOSTER/or  the  HERMIT. 
Keep  from  me  :  be  content  with  that  thou  hast, 
And  see  thou  fly  this  heath,  for,  if  I  take  thee, 
I'll  make  thee  to  all  thieves  a  spectacle. 
Had  my  staff  held,  thou  hadst  not  'scap'd  me  so. 
But  come  not  near  me,  fellow,  thou  art  not l  best, 
Holla,  Earl  Leicester  !  holla,  huntsmen,  ho  ! 

GLO.  Upon  my  life,  old  Lancaster,  a-hunting, 
Hath  met  my  fellow-hermit.     Could  I  meet  him, 
I'd  play  [at]  rob-thief,  at  least  part  stakes  with 
nim. 

Enter  SKINK  as  a  hermit. 

SKINK.  Zounds,  he  is  yonder  alone. 

Enter  EEDCAP  ivith  a  cudgel. 

SKINK.  Now  revenge  thyself  on  yonder  slave,2 
'Snails,  still  prevented  1  this  same  Redcap  rogue 
Runs  like  hob-goblin  up  and  down  the  heath. 

1  Old  copy,  not  thou  art. 

2  i.e.,  GJoster,  disguised  also  as  a  hermit. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  485 

RED.  Wh-wh-wh-whoop,   he-hermit,   ye    ha-ha- 
ma-ma-made 

Re-Redcap  run  a  fine  co-co-compass,  ha-have  you 
not? 

SKINK.  I  made  thee  run  ? 

GLO.  Yonder's  my  evil  angel. 
Were  Redcap  gone,  Gloster  would  conjure  him. 

RED.  Je-Je-Jesus  bl-bless  me,  whoop  1  t-t-two 
hermits  1  I'll  ca-ca-caperclaw  t-t-t'one  of  ye,  for  mo- 
mo-mocking  me,  and  I  d-d-do  not  ha-ha-hang  me. 
Wh-wh-which  is  the  fa-fa-false  k-k-k-knave  ?  for  I 
am  s-s-sure  the  old  he-he-hermit  wo-would  never 
mo-mock  an  honest  man. 

GLO.   He  is  the  counterfeit;  he  mock'd  thee, 

fellow. 

I  did  not  see  thee  in  my  life  before, 
He  wears  my  garments,  and  has  cosened  me. 

RED.  Have  you  co-co- cosened  the  he-he-hermit 

and  m-made 
Redcap  run  to  no  pu-pu-purpose  ? 

SKINK.  No,  he's  [a]  counterfeit ;  I  will  tell  no  lies, 
As  sure  as  Skink  deceiv'd  thee  of  thy  clothes, 
Sent  thee  to  Kent,  gave  thee  thy  fare  by  water, 
So  sure,  he's  false,  and  I  the  perfect  hermit. 

GLO.  This  villain  is  a  conjuror,  I  doubt, 
Were  he  the  devil,  yet  I  would  not  budge. 

RED.  Si-si-sirrah,  you  are  the  co-counterfeit.  0, 
this  is  the  tr-tr-true  he-hermit.  Sta-sta-stand  still, 

f-good  man,  at  that,  I'll  bu-bumbast  you  i'faith, 
'11  make  you  g-give  the  old  m-m-man  his  gown. 
[Offers  to  strike;  GLOSTER  trips  up  his  heels; 

shifts  SKINK  into  his  place. 

G-G-God's  lid,  are  ye  go-good  at  that  1    I'll  cu- 
cudgel  ye  f-f-for  the  tr-tr-trick. 
SKINK.    It  was  not  I ;  'twas  he,  that  cast  thee 

down. 

RED.  You  li-li-li-lie,  you  ra-ra-rascal,  you ;  I  le- 
left  ye  st-standing  he-here. 


486  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

SKINK.  Zounds,  hold,  you  stammerer,  or  I'll  cut 

your  stumps. 

GLO.  He  is  for  me ;  he's  weapon'd — I  like  that  ! 
RED.  0,   here's   a  ro-ro-rogue   in-ca-ca-carnate, 

help,  mu-murder,  murder. 

Enter  LANCASTER  and  HUNTSMEN  at  one  door, 
LEICESTER  and  HUNTSMEN  at  another. 

LAN.  Lay  hold  upon  that  thievish  counterfeit. 

LEI.  Why,  here's  another  hermit,  Lancaster  : 

GLO.  I  am  the  hermit,  sir  ;  that  wretched  man 
Doth  many  a  robbery  in  my  disguise  : 

SKINK.  It's  he  that  robs  ;  he  slanders  me  ;  he  lies. 

LAN.  Which  set  on  thee  ? 

RED.  Th-this   f-f-fellow  has  a  s-s-sword  and  a 
buckler. 

LAN.  Search  him  •  this  is  the  thief ;  0,  here's 

my  purse, 

My  chain,  my  jewels  !  0  thou  wicked  wretch, 
How  dar'st  thou,  under  show  of  holiness, 
Commit  such  actions  of  impiety  ? 
Bind  him,  I'll  have  him  made  a  public  scorn. 

SKINK.  Lay  hold  upon  that  other  hermit ; 
He  is  a  .counterfeit  as  well  as  I. 
He  stole  those  clothes  from  me ;  for  I  am  Skink. 
Search  him,  I  know  him  not,  he  is  some  slave. 

GLO.  Thou  liest,  base  varlet. 

RED.  0  G-God,  he  has  a  sword  too.  Skink,  are 
you  ca-catcht  ? 

LAN.  Villain,    thou    shalt  with   me   unto   the 
Court. 

LEI.  And  this   with    me  ;  this   is   the   traitor 
Gloster. 

GLO.  Thou  liest,   proud   Leicester;    I   am  no 

.  traitor.     , 

RED.  G-Gloster  1  0  b-brave,  now  m-my  father 
sh-shall  be  f-free. 

LAN.  Earl  Gloster,  I  am  sorry  thou  art  taken. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  487 

GLO.  I  am  not  taken  yet,  nor  will  I  yield 
To  any  here  but  noble  Lancaster. 
Let  Skink  be  Leicester's  prisoner  •  I'll  be  thine. 

LEI.  Thou  shalt  be  mine. 

GLO.  First,  through  a  crimson  sluice, 
I'll  send  thy  hated  soul  to  those  black  fiends, 
That  long  have  hovered  gaping  for  their  part, 
When  tyrant  life  should  leave  thy  traitor  heart ! 
Come,  Lancaster,  keep  Skink  ;  I'll  go  with  thee. 
Let  loose  the  mad  knave,  for  I  praise  his  shifts. 
He  shall  not  start  away ;  I'll  be  his  guide, 
And   with   proud  looks '  outface  young    Henry's 
pride. 

LEI.  Look  to  them,  Lancaster,  upon  thy  life. 

RED.  Well,  I'll  r-run  and  get  a  p-pardon  of  the 

k-k-k-king, 

Gl-Gloster  and  Skink  ta-ta-taken  !  0  b-b-brave, 
r-r-r-run,  Re-Re-Redca-cap,  a-and  ca-ca-carry 
the  first  n-n-news  to  Co-Co-Court. 

LEI.  Lancaster,  I'll  help  to  guard  them  to  the 
Court. 

LAN.  Do  as  you  please. 

GLO.  Leicester,  do  not  come  near  me  ; 
For,  if  thou  do,  thou  shalt  buy  it  dearly. 

LEI.  I'll  have  thy  hand  for  this. 

GLO.  Not  for  thy  heart. 

SKINK.  Brave  Earl,  had  Skink  known  thou 
hadst  been  the  noble  Gloster  (whose  mad  tricks 
have  made  me  love  thee),  I  would  have  dyed 
Blackheath  red  with  the  blood  of  millions,  ere  we 
would  have  been  taken ;  but  what  remedy  ?  we 
are  fast,  and  must  answer  it  like  gentlemen,  like 
soldiers,  like  resolutes. 

GLO.  Aye,  ye  are  a  gallant.     Come,  old  Lan- 
caster. 

For  thy  sake  will  I  go,  or  else,  by  heaven, 
I'd  send  some  dozen  of  these  slaves  to  hell. 

.     [Exeunt.' 


488  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 


SCENE  THE  THIRTY-FIRST. 

Enter  PRINCE  RICHARD,  ROBIN  HOOD,  and  LADY 
FAUCONBRIDGE. 

LADY  F.  Your  travail  and  your  comfortable  news : 
This  ring,  the  certain  sign  you  met  with  him  : 
Binds  me  in  duteous  love  unto  your  grace  ; 
But  on  my  knees  I  fall,  and  humbly  crave 
Importune  that  no  more  you  ne'er  can  have. 

RICH.  Nay,  then,  ye  wrong  me,  Lady  Faucon- 

bridge, 

Did  you  not  join  your  fair  white  hands, 
Swore  that  ye  would  forswear  your  husband's  bed, 
[And]  if  I  could  but  find  out  Gloster  1 

LADY  F.  I  swear  so  ! 

RICH.  [Yes,]  by  heaven. 

ROB.  Take  heed  ;  it's  an  high  oath,  my  lord. 

RICH.  What  meanest  thou,  Huntington  ? 

ROB.  To  save  your  soul ; 
I  do  not  love  to  have  my  friends  forsworn, 
She  never  promis'd,  that  you  urge  her  with. 

RICH.  Go  to ;  provoke  me  not. 
ROB.  I  tell  you  true  ; 
Twas  I  in  her  attire  that  promis'd  you. 
She  was  gone  unto  the  wizard  at  Blackheath, 
And  there  had  suitors  more  than  a  good  many. 

RICH.  Was  I  deluded  then  1 

LADY  F.  No,  not  deluded  ; 
But  hind'red  from  desire  unchaste  and  rude. 
O,  let  me  woo  ye  with  the  tongue  of  ruth, 
Dewing  your  princely  hand  with  pity's  tears, 
That  you  would  leave  this  most  unlawful  suit, 
If  e'er  we"  live,  till  Fauconbridge  be  dead, 
(As  God  defend  his  death  I  should  desire). 
Then,  if  your  highness  deign  so  base  a  match, 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  489 

And  holy  laws  admit  a  marriage, 
Considering  our  affinity  in  blood, 
I  will  become  your  handmaid,  not  your  harlot — 
That  shame  shall  never  dwell  upon  my  brow. 

ROB.  i'  faith,  my  lord,  she's  honourably  resolv'd, 
For  shame,  no  more ;  importune  her  no  more. 

EICH.  Marian,  I  see  thy  virtue,  and  commend 

it; 

I  know  my  error,  seeking  thy  dishonour, 
But  the  respectless,  reasonless  command 
Of  my  inflamed  love,  bids  me  still  try, 
And  trample  under  foot  all  piety ; 
Yet,  for  I  will  not  seem  too  impious,    . 
Too  inconsiderate  of  thy  seeming  grief, 
Vouchsafe  to  be  my  mistress  :  use  me  kindly, 
And  I  protest  I'll  strive  with  all  my  power, 
That  lust  himself  may  in  his  heat  devour. 

LADY  F.  You  are  my  servant,  then. 

EICH.  Thanks,  sacred  mistress. 

EOB.  What  am  1 1 

LADY  F.  You  are  my  fellow  Eobert. 

Enter  FAUCONBRIDGE  in  his  hose  and  doublet. 

FAU.  What,  Prince   Eichard?    noble  Hunting- 
ton? 

Welcome,  i'  faith,  welcome  !  by  the  morrow  mass ! 
You  are  come  as  fitly  as  my  heart  can  wish. 
Prince  John  this  night  will  be  a  reveller, 
He  hath  invited  me  and  Marian, 
God's  marry  mother,  go  along  with  us, 
It's  but  hard  by,  close  by — at  our  town-tavern. 

EICH.  Your  tavern  ] 

FAU.    0,   aye,   aye,  aye;    'tis    his    own   made 

match, 

I'll  make  you  laugh,  I'll  make  you  laugh,  i'faith  ; 
Come,  come ;  he's  ready.     O,  come,  come  away. 

LADY  F.  But  where's  the  princess  ? 


490  .LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

FAU.  She  is  l  ready  too  ; 

Block,  Block,  my  man,  must  be  her  waiting-man. 
Nay,  will  ye  go  ?  for  God's  sake,  let  us  go. 
RICH.  Is  the  jest  so  1  nay,  then,  let  us  away. 
ROB.  0,  'twill  allay  his  heat,  make  dead  his  fire. 
FAU.  Ye   bobb'd  me   first ;    ye   first  gave  me 

my  hire, 

But  come,  a  God's  name,  Prince  John  stays  for 

us.  [Exeunt. 

EOB.  This  is  the  word  •  ever  at  spendthrifts' 

feasts, 

They  are  gull'd  themselves,  and  scoffd  at  by  their 
guests.  [Exit. 


SCENE  THE  THIRTY-SECOND. 

A  tavern.     Enter  JOHN,  FAUCONBRIDGE,  ROBIN 
HOOD,  RICHARD,  and  the  others.2 

JOHN.  Baffled  and  scoff  d !  Skink,  Gloster,  women, 
Fools  and  boys  abuse  me.     I'll  be  reveng'd. 

RICH.  Reveng'd  ?  and  why,  good  child  ? 
Old  Fauconbridge  hath  had  a  worser  basting. 

FAU.  Aye,  they  have  banded  [me]  from  chase  to 

chase ; 
I  have  been  their  tennis-ball,  since  I  did  court. 

RICH.    Come,   John,  take  hand  with  virtuous 

Isabel, 

And  let's  unto  the  court,  like  loving  friends. 
Our  kingly  brother's  birth- day's  festival 
Is  forthwith  to  be  kept ;  thither  we'll  hie, 
And  grace  with  pomp  that  great  solemnity. 

JOHN.  Whither  ye  will ;  I  care  not,  where  I  go. 
If  grief  will  grace  it,  I?ll  adorn  the  show. 

1  Old  copy,  he's. 

2  Old  copy  gives  as  the  stage-direction   here   merely, 
Enter  John.  .    .      -    .   . 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  491 

FAU.  Come,  madam ;  we  must  thither ;  we  are 

bound. 
LADY.1  I'm  loth  to  see  the  court,  Gloster  being 

from  thence, 

Or  kneel  to  him  that  gave  us  this  offence. 
FAU.    Body  of  me,  peace,  woman,  I  prythee, 

peace. 

Enter  EEDCAP. 

EED.  Go-Go-God  [speed]  ye,  Go-God  s-speed  ye  ! 

JOHN.  Whither  run  you,  sir  knave  1 

EED.  E-r-run  ye,  sir  knave  1  why,  I  r-run  to  my 
La-Lady  Fa-Fauconbridge,  to  te-te-tell  her  Sk-Skink 
and  Gl-Gloster  is  taken,  and  are  g-g-gone  to  the 
c-c-court  with  L-Lord  Leicester  and  L-Lord  La-La- 
Lancaster. 

JOHN.  Is  Gloster  taken  ?  thither  will  I  fly 
Upon  wrath's  wings  ;  not  quiet  till  he  die. 

[Exit  with  PRINCESS. 

EICH.  Is  Gloster  taken  ? 

EED.  Aye,  he  is  ta-taken, 
I  wa-warrant  ye,  with  a  wi- witness. 

EiCH.  Then  will  I  to  court, 
And  either  set  him  free,  or  die  the  death. 
Follow  me,  Fauconbridge ;  fear  not,  fair  madam  : 
You  said  you  had  the  porter  in  your  house  ? 
Some  of  your  servants  bring  him ;  on  my  life, 
One  hair  shall  not  be  taken  from  his  head, 
Nor  he,  nor  you,  nor  Gloster,  injured. 

FAU.  Come,  Moll,   and  Eichard  say  the  word, 
ne'er  fear. 

EOB.  Madam,  we  have  twenty  thousand  at  our  call, 
The  most  young  Henry  dares  is  but  to  brawl. 

LADY  F.  Pray  God,  it  prove  so. 

EICH.  Follow,  Huntington : 
Sir  Eichard,  do  not  fail  to  send  the  porter. 

1  Old  copy,  Lan. 


492  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

FAU.  Block,  bring  the  porter  of  the  Fleet  to  court. 

BLO.  I  will,  sir. 

EED.  The  p-p-porter  of  the  Fl-Fl-Fleet  to  court  ? 
What  p-p-porter  of  the  Fl-Fl-Fleet  ? 

BLO.  What,  Eedcap  1 
Run,  Eedcap,  wilt  thou  see  thy  father? 

EED.  My  fa-father? 

Aye,  that  I  w- would  s-see  my  f-father,  and  there  be 
A  p-porter  in  your  ho-house,  it  is  my  fa-father. 

BLO.  Follow  me,  Eedcap,  then.  [Exit. 

EED.  And  you  were  tw-tw-twenty  B-Blocks,  I'd 
f-f-follow  ye,  s-so  I  would,  and  r-run  to  the  co-co- 
court  too,  and  k-kneel  before  the  k-k-king  f-f-for 
his  pa-pardon. 

BLO.  [Within.']  Come  away,  Eedcap;  run,  Eed- 
cap. 

EED.   I-I-I  r-r-run  as  f-f-fast  as   I-I  ca-ca-can 
run,  I  wa-warrant  ye. 


SCENE  THE  THIETY-THIED. 

Enter  a  Signet*  first  two  Heralds,  after  them  LEI- 
CESTER, with  a  sceptre,  LANCASTER,  with  a 
crown  imperial  on  a  cushion :  after  them  HENRY 
THE  ELDER,  bare-headed,  bearing  a  sword  and 
a  globe  :  after  him  YOUNG  HENRY,  crowned  : 
ELINOR,  the  Mother-Queen,  crowned:  YOUNG 
QUEEN  crowned:  HENRY  THE  ELDER  places 
his  son,  the  two  Queens  on  either  hand,  himself 
at  his  feet,  LEICESTER  and  LANCASTER  below 
him. 

HEN.    Herald,   fetch   Lancaster  and  Leicester 
coronets, 


1  Compare  "  First  Part  of  Jeronimo,"  vol.  iv.,  p.  349,  and 
the  note. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  493 

Suffer  no  marquis,  earl,  nor  countess  enter, 
Except  their  temples  circled  are  in  gold. 

[He  delivers  coronets  to  LEICESTER 

and  LANCASTER. 

Shew  them  our  viceroys  :  by  our  will  controll'd, 
As  at  a  coronation,  every  peer 
Appears  in  all  his  pomp ;  so  at  this  feast, 
Held  for  our  birthright,  let  them  be  adorn'd, 
Let  Gloster  be  brought  in,  crowned  like  an  earl. 

[Exit  HERALD. 

This  day  we'll  have  no  parley  of  his  death, 
But  talk  of  jouissance  and  gleeful  mirth. 
Let  Skink  come  in ;  give  him  a  baron's  seat. 
High  is  his  spirit,  his  deserts  are  great. 

KING.  You  wrong  the  honour  of  nobility 
To  place  a  robber  in  a  baron's  stead. 

QUEEN.  It's  well  ye  term  him  not  a  murderer. 

KING.  Had  I  misterm'd  him  1 

QUEEN.  Ay,  that  had  you,  Henry. 
He  did  a  piece  of  justice  at  my  bidding. 

KING.  Who  made  you  a  justice  ? 

HEN.  I,  that  Lad  the  power. 

KING.  You  had  none  then. 

Enter  GLOSTER  and  SKINK. 

LEI.  Yes,  he  was  crown'd  before. 

HEN.  Why  does  not  Gloster  wear  a  coronet  ? 

GLO.  Because  his  sovereign  doth  not  wear  a 
crown. 

HEN.  By  heaven,  put  on  thy  coronet,  or  that 

heaven, 

Which  now  with  a  clear  [arch]  lends  us  this  light, 
Shall  not  be  curtain'd  with  the  veil  of  night, 
Ere  on  thy  head  I  clap  a  burning  crown 
Of  red-hot  iron,  that  shall  sear  thy  brains. 

RICH.  Good  Gloster,  crown  thee  with  thy  coronet. 

LAN.  Do,  gentle  earl. 


494  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

SKINK.  S  wounds,  do ;  would  I  had  one. 

[Aside. 

QUEEN.  Do  not,  I  prythee,  keep  thy  proud  heart 
still. 

GLO.  I'll  wear  it  but  to  cross  thy  froward  will. 

HEN.  Sit  down,  and  take  thy  place. 

GLO.  It's  the  low  earth  ; 

To  her  I  must,  from  her  I  had  my  birth.1 

HEN.  We  are  pleas' d  thou  shalt  sit  there. 
Skink,  take  thy  place  among  my  nobles. 

Enter  JOHN  and  ISABEL,  with  coronets. 

SKINK.  Thanks  to  King  Henry's  grace. 

JOHN.  John,  Earl  of  Morton  and  of  Nottingham, 
With  Isabel  his  countess,  bow  themselves 
Before  their  brother  Henry's  royal  throne  ! 

HEN.  Ascend  your  seats ;  live  in  our  daily  love. 

Enter  EICHARD  and  EGBERT,  with  coronets. 

EiCH.  Eichard,  the  Prince  of  England,  with  his 

ward, 

The  noble  Eobert  Hood,  Earl  Huntington, 
Present  their  service  to  your  majesty. 

HEN.  Y'are  welcome,  too,  though  little  be  your 
love.  [Aside.] 

Enter  FAUCONBRIDGE  with  Ms  LADY,  she  a  coronet. 

FAU.  Old  Eichard  Fauconbridge,  Knight  of  the 

Cross, 

Lord  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  with  his  noble  wife, 
Dame  Marian,  Countess  of  West- Hereford,2 
Offer  their  duties  at  this  royal  meeting. 

1  [Old  copy,  breath.] 

2  [Compare   Courthope's   "  Historic  Peerage,"    1857,  v. 
Hereford.] 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  495 

HEN.  Sit  down,  thou  art  a  neuter,  she  a.  foe. 
Thy  love  we  doubt ;  her  heart  too  well  we  know. 

[Aside. 

What  suitors  are  without  1  let  them  come  in. 
GLO.  And  have  no  justice,  where  contempt  is 

king. 

HEN.  Madman,  I  give  no  ear  to  thy  loose  words. 
JOHN.  0  sir,  y'are  welcome ;  you  have  your  old 

seat. 
GLO.  Though  thou  sit  higher,  yet  my  heart's  as 

great. 
QUEEN.  Great  heart,  we'll  make  you  lesser  by 

the  head. 
GLO.  Ill  comes  not  ever  to  the  threatened.1 

Enter  BLOCK  and  REDCAP. 

HEN.  What  are  you  two  ? 

RED.    M-ma-marry,    and't    please    you,    I    am 
Re-Re-Redcap. 

HEN.  And  what's  your  mate  ? 

BLO.  A  poor  porter,  sir. 

JOHN.  The  porter  of  the  Fleet,  that  was  con- 
demned ? 

BLO.  No,  truly,  sir  •  I  was  porter  last,  when 
I  left  the  door  open  at  the  tavern. 

JOHN.  0,  is't  you,  sir  ? 

LEI.  And  what  would  you  two  have  1 

RED.  I  co-co-come  to  re-re-re-qui-quire  the  young 
k-k-king  of  his  go-goo-goodness,  since  Glo-Gloster 
is  t-taken,  that  he  wo-wo-would  let  my  fa-fa-father 
have  his  pa-pa-pardon. 

HEN.  Sirrah,  your  father  has  his  pardon  sign'd. 
Go  to  the  office,  it  shall  be  delivered. 

RED.  And  shall  he  be  p-p-porter  a-ga-gain  1 

1  [In  allusion  to  th-e  proverb,  Threatened  men  live  lony.] 


4:96  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

HEN.  Aye,  that  he  shall ;  but  let  him  be  advis'd, 
Hereafter  how  [he]  lets  out  prisoners. 

BED.  I  wa-warrant  ye,  my  lord. 

HEN.  What  hast  thou  more  to  say  ] 

RED.  Marry,  I  wo-would  have  Skink  pu-punish'd 
For  co-co- coney-catching  me. 

LEI.  Is  that  your  business  1 

BED,  Aye,  by  my  t-t-troth  is  it. 

HEN.  Then  get  away. 

GLO.  Against  Skink  (poor  knave)  thou  gett'st 
no  right  this  day. 

BLO.  0,  but  run  back,  Redcap,  for  the  pursuivant ! 

0  L-Lord,  s-sir,  I  have  another  s-suit  for  the 

p-p-pursuivant, 
That  has  1-1-lost  his  b-b  box  and  his  wa-wa- warrant. 

HEN.  What  means  the  fellow  ? 

RED.  Why,  the  pu-pu-pursuivant,  sir,  and  the 
po-po-porter. 

GLO.  The  box,  that  I  had  from  him — there  it  is. 

FAU.  Marry  a  me,  and  I  was  charg'd  with  it. 
Had  you  it,  brother  Gloster  ?     God's  good  mercy  ! 

HEN.  And  what  have  you  to  say  1 

BLO.     Nothing,  sir, 

But  God  bless  you  !  you  are  a  goodly  company  ! 
Except  Sir  Richard1  or  my  lady  will  command  me 
Any  more  service. 

FAU.  Away,  you  prating  knave  !  hence,  varlet, 
hence.  [Exit  BLOCK. 

LEI.  Put  forth  them  fellows  there. 

RED.  Af-fo-fore  I  g-go, 
I  b-b-be-s-s-seech  you,  let  Sk-Skink  and  Gl-Gloster 

be  lo-lo-looked  to ; 

For  they  have  p-p-play'd  the  k-k-knaves  too-too- 
too-b-b-bad. 

HEN.  Take  hence  that  stuttering  fellow;  shut 
him2  forth. 

1  [Old  copy,  William.]  2  Old  copy,  them. 

-J 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.-  497 

RED.  Nay,  I'll  ru-ru-run;  faith,  you  shall  not 
n-n-need  to  b-b-b-bid  him  ta-t-take  m-me  away  ; 
for  Re-Re-Redcap  will  r-ru-run  rarely. 

[Exit  REDCAP. 

HEN.  The  sundry  misdemeanors  late  committed, 
As  thefts  and  shifts  in  other  men's  disguise, 
We  now  must  (knave  Skink)  freely  tell  thy  faults. 

SKINK.  Sweet  king,  by  these  two  terrors1  to 
mine  enemies,  that  lend  light  to  my  body's  dark- 
ness :  Cavilero  Skink  being  beleaguer'd  with  an 
host  of  leaden  heels,  arm'd  in  ring  Irish  : 2  cheated 
my  hammerer  of  his  red  cap  and  coat;  was  sur- 
pris'd,  brought  to  the  Fleet  as  a  person  suspected, 
pass'd  current,  till  Gloster  stripped  me  from  my 
counterfeit,  clad  my  back  in  silk  and  my  heart  in 
sorrow,  and  so  left  me  to  the  mercy  of  my  mother- 
wit.  How  Prince  John  released  me,  he  knows ; 
how  I  got  Fauconbridge's  chain,  I  know.  But  how 
he  will  get  it  again,  I  know  not. 

FAU.  Where  is  it,  sirrah  ?  tell  me  where  it  is  1 

GLO.  I  got  it  from  him,  and  I  got  John's  sword. 

JOHN.  I  would  'twere  to  the  hilt  up  in  thy  heart. 

RICH.  0,  be  more  charitable,  brother  John. 

LEI.  My  liege,  you  need  not  by  particulars 
Examine,  what  the  world  knows  too  plain ; 
If  you  will  pardon  Skink,  his  life  is  sav'd  ; 
If  not,  he  is  convicted  by  the  law. 
For  Gloster,  as  you  worthily  resolv'd. 
First  take  his  hand,  and  afterward  his  head. 

HEN.  Skink,  thou  hast  life,  our  pardon  and  our 
love. 

SKINK  [to  JOHN.  ]  And  your  forgiveness  for  my 
robbery  1 

JOHN.  Tut,  never  trouble  me  with  such  a  toy ; 
Thou  hind'rest  me  from  hearing  of  my  joy. 


1  Something  seems  to  have  dropped  out  of  the  text. 

2  I  do  not  find  this  phrase  anywhere. 

VOL.  VII.  2  I 


498  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

HEN.   Bring  forth  a  block,  wine,   water,   and 

towel ; 

Knives,  and  a  surgeon  to  bind  up  the  veins 
Of  Gloster' s  arm,  when  his  right  hand  is  off — 
His  hand  that  struck  Skink  at  the  Parl'ament. 
SKINK.  I  shall  bear  his  blows  to  my  grave,  my 

lord. 

KING.  Son  Henry,  see  thy  father's  palsy  hands, 
Join'd  like  two  suppliants,  pressing  to  thy  throne. 
Look,  how  the  furrows  of  his  aged  cheek, 
Fill'd  with  the  rivulets  of  wet-ey'd  moan, 
Begs  mercy  for  Earl  Gloster  ?  weigh  his  guilt. 
Why  for  a  slave  should  royal  blood  be  spilt  ? 
SKINK.  You  wrong  mine  honour :  Skink  must 1 

be  reveng'd. 
HEN.  Father,   I    do    commend    your    humble 

course ; 

But  quite  dislike  the  project  of  your  suit. 
Good  words  in  an  ill  cause  makes  the  fact  worse  : 
Of  blood  or  baseness  justice  will  dispute. 
The  greater  man,  the  greater  his  transgression  : 
Where   strength  wrongs  weakness,   it    is    mere 

oppression. 

LADY  F.  0,  but,  King  Henry,  hear  a  sister  speak. 
Gloster  was  wrong'd,  his  lands  were  given  away, 
They  are  not  justly  said  just  laws  to  break, 
That  keep  their  own  right  with  what  power  they 

may. 

Think,  then,  thy  royal  self  began  the  wrong, 
In  giving  Skink  what  did  to  him  2  belong. 

QUEEN.  Hear  me,  son  Henry,  while  thou  art  a 

king, 

Give,  take,  prison  :  thy  subjects  are  thy  slaves. 
Life,  need,  thrones,3  proud   hearts   in   dungeons 
fling, 

1  Old  copy,  may.  2  i.e.,  Gloster. 

3  There  is  an  evident  corruption  here.     Query,  Life  kneels 
to  thrones. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  499 

Grace  men  to  day,  to-morrow  give  them  graves. 
A  king  must  be,  like  Fortune,  ever  turning. 
The  world  his  football,  all  her  glory  spurning. 

GLO.  Still  your  own  counsel,  beldam  policy  ! 
You're  a  fit  tutress  in  a  monarchy. 

RICH.  Mother,  you  are  unjust,  savage,  too  cruel, 
Unlike  a  woman.     Gentleness  guides  their  sex ; 
But  you  to  fury's  fire  add  more  fuel. 
The  vexed  spirit  will  you  delight  to  vex  ? 

0  God,  when  I  conceit  what  you  have  done, 

1  am  asham'd  to  be  esteem'd  your  son. 

JOHN.  Base   Richard,  I    disdain   to   call   thee 

brother, 

Tak'st  thou  a  traitor's  part  in  our  disgrace  1 
For  Gloster  wilt  thou  wrong  our  sacred  mother  1 
I  scorn  thee,  and  defy  thee  to  thy  face. 
0,  that  we  were  in  field  !  then  should' st  thou  try. 

ROB.  How  fast  Earl  John  would  from  Prince 

Eichard  fly  ! 

Thou  meet  a  lion  in  field  ?  poor  mouse, 
All  thy  careers  are  in  a  brothel  house. 

JOHN.  'Zounds,  boy ! 

RICH.  Now,  man ! 

LEI.  Richard,  you  wrong  Prince  John. 

RICH.    Leicester,  'twere  good  you   prov'd   his 
champion. 

JOHN.  Hasten  the  execution,  royal  lord[s], 
Let  deeds  make  answer  for  their  worthless  words. 

GLO.  I  know,  if  I  respected  hand  or  head, 
I  am  encompassed  with  a  world  of  friends, 
And  could  from  fury  be  delivered. 
But  then  my  freedom  hazards  many  lives. 
Henry,  perform  the  utmost  of  thy  hate, 
Let  my l  hard-hearted  mother  have  her  will. 
Give  frantic  John  no  longer  cause  to  prate  : 
1  am  prepared  for  the  worst  of  ill. 

1  Old  copy,  thy. 


500  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

You  see  my  knees  kiss  the  cold  pavement's  face, 
They  are  not  bent  to  Henry  nor  his  friends, 
But  to  all  you  whose  blood,  fled  to  your  hearts, 
Shows  your  true  sorrow  in  your  ashy  cheeks  : 
To  you  I  bend  my  knees  :  you  I  entreat 
To  smile  on  Gloster's  resolution. 
Whoever  loves  me,  will  not  shed  a  tear, 
Nor  breathe  a  sigh,  nor  show  a  cloudy  frown. 
Look,  Henry,  here's  my  hand  ;  I  lay  it  down, 
And  swear,  as  I  have  knighthood,  here't  shall  lie 
Till  thou  have  used  all  thy  tyranny. 

LADY  F.  Has  no  man  heart  to  speak  ? 

GLO.  Let  all  that  love  me  keep  silence,  or,  by 

heaven, 
I'll  hate  them  dying. 

QUEEN.  Harry,  off  with  his  hand,  then  with  his 
head. 

FAU.  By  the  red  rood,  I  cannot  choose  but  weep, 
Come  love  or  hate,  my  tears  I  cannot  keep. 

QUEEN.  When  comes  this  ling'ring  executioner '? 

JOHN.  An  executioner,  an  executioner ! 

HEN.  Call  none,  till  we  have  drunk  :  father,  fill 

wine; 
To-day  your  office  is  to  bear  our  cup. 

RICH.  I'll  fill  it,  Henry.          [RlCH.  kneels  down. 

HEN.  Dick,  you  are  too  mean 
To  bow  unto  your  sovereign. 

GLO.  Kneel  to  his  child  ? 

0  hell  !  O  torture  !     Gloster,  learn : 
Who  would  love  life  to  see  this  huge  dishonour '( 

HEN.  Saturn  kneeled  to  his  son ;  the  god  was 

fain 

To  call  young  Jove  his  age's  sovereign. 
Take  now  your  seat  again,  and  wear  your  crown  : 
Now  shineth  Henry  like  the  mid-day's  sun, 
Through  his  horizon  darting  all  his  beams, 
Blinding  with  his  bright  splendour  every  eye, 
That  stares  against  his  face  of  majesty. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  501 

The  comets,  whose  malicious  gleams 
Threatened  the  ruin  of  our  royalty, 
Stand  at  our  mercy,  yet  our  wrath  denies 
All  favour,  but  extreme  extremities  : 
Gloster,  have  to  thy  sorrow,  chafe  thy  arm, 
That  I  may  see  thy  blood  (I  long'd  for  oft) 
Gush  from  thy  veins,  and  stain  this  palace-roof. 

JOHN.  'Twould  exceed  gilding. 

QUEEN.  Aye,  as  gold  doth  ochre. 

GLO.  It's  well  ye  count  my  blood  so  precious. 

HEN.  Leicester,  reach  Gloster  wine. 

LEI.  I  reach  it  him  ? 

HEN.  Proud  earl,  I'll  spurn  thee ;  quickly  go. 
and  bear  it. 

GLO.  Ill  count  it  poison,  if  his  hand  come  near  it. 

HEN.  Give   it   him,  Leicester,  upon    our   dis- 
pleasure. 

GLO.  Thus  Gloster  takes  it :  thus  again  he  flings  it, 
In  scorn  of  him  that  sent  it,  and   of  him  that 
brought  it. 

SKINK.  0  brave  spirit ! 

LADY  F.  Bravely  resolv'd,  brother ;   I   honour 
thee. 

QUEEN.  Hark,  how  his  sister  joys  in  his  abuse. 
Wilt  thou  endure  it,  Hal  ] 

FAU.  Peace,  good  Marian. 

HEN.  Avoid  there  every  under-officer  : 
Leave  but  [with]  us  our  peers  and  ladies  here. 
Bichard,  you  love  Earl  Gloster  :  look  about, 
If  you  can  spy  one  in  this  company 
That  hath  but l  done  as  great  a  sin  as  Gloster ; 
Choose  him,  let  him  be  the  executioner. 

EiCH.  Thou  hast  done  worse  then,  like,  rebel- 

-    lious  head, 

Hast  arm'd  ten  thousand  arms  against  his  life, 
That  lov'd  thee  so,  as  thou  wert  made  a  king, 

1  Old  copy,  not. 


502  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU, 

Being  his  child  ;  now  he's  thy  underling  ! 
I  have  done  worse  :  thrice  I  drew  my  sword, 
In  three  set  battles  for  thy  false  defence  ! 
John  hath  done  worse  ;  he  still  hath  took  thy  part. 
All  of  us  three  have  smit  our  father's  heart. 
Which  made  proud  Leicester  bold  to  strike  his 

face, 
To  his  eternal  shame  and  our  disgrace  ! 

HEN.  Silence,  I  see  thou  mean'st  to  find  none 

fit. 

I  am  sure,  nor  Lancaster,  nor  Huntington, 
Nor  Fauconbridge,  will  lay  a  hand  on  him. 
Mother,  wife,  brother,  let's  descend  the  throne, 
Where  Henry,  as x  the  monarch  of  the  west. 
Hath  sat 2  amongst  his  princes  dignified. 
Father,  take  you  the  place  :  see  justice  [done]. 

KING.  It's  unjust  justice,  I  must  tell  thee,  son. 

HEN.  Mother,   hold   you  the   basin,   you  the 

towel : 
I  know  your  French  hearts  thirst    for    English 

blood ; 

John,  take  the  mallet ;  I  will  hold  the  knife, 
And  when  I  bid  thee  smite,  strike  for  thy  life  : 
Make  a  mark,  surgeon.    Gloster,  now  prepare  thee. 

GLO.  Tut.  I  am  ready;  to  thy  worst  I  dare  thee. 

HEN.  Then   have   I    done   my   worst,   thrice- 

honour'd  earl, 
I  do  embrace  thee  in  affection's  arms. 

QUEEN.  What  mean'st  thou,  Henry  ]     0,  what 
means  my  son  1 

HEN.  I  mean  no  longer  to  be  lullabi'd 
In  your  seditious  arms. 

HEN.  WIFE.  Mordieu/3  Henry. 

HEN.  Mordieu  nor  devil,  little  tit  of  France, 
I  know  your  heart  leaps  at  our  heart's  mischance. 

1  Old  copy,  is.  2  Old  copy,  set. 

3  i.e.,  Mort  de  Dieu. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  503 

JOHN.  'Swounds,  Henry,  them  art  mad  ! 
HEN.  I  have  been  mad  : 
What,  stamp'st  thou,  John  ?  know'st  thou  not  who 

I  am? 

Come,  stamp  the  devil  out,  suck'd  from  thy  dam  ? 
QUEEN.  I'll  curse  thee,  Henry. 
HEN.  You're  best  be  quiet ; 
Lest,  where  we  find  you,  to  the  Tower  we  bear 

you; 
For,  being  abroad,  England  hath  cause   to   fear 

you.1 

KING.  I  am  struck  dumb  with  wonder. 
GLO.  I  amaz'd,  imagine  that  I  see  a  vision. 
HEN.  Gloster,  I  gave  thee  first  this  Skink,  this 

slave ; 
It's  in  thy  power  his  life  to  spill  or  save. 

SKINK.  He's  a  noble  gentleman,  I  do  not  doubt 

his  usage. 
HEN.  Stand  not  thus  wond'ring ;  princes,  kneel 

all  down, 

And  cast  your  coronets  before  his  crown. 
Down,  stubborn  Queen,  kneel  to  your  wronged 

king, 

Down,  mammet !  Leicester,  I'll  cut  off  thy  legs, 
If  thou  delay  thy  duty  !  when,  proud  John  1 
JOHN.  Nay,  if  all  kneel  of  force,  I  must  be  one. 
FAU.  Now,  by  my  halidom,  a  virtuous  deed  ! 
HEN.  Father,  you  see  your  most  rebellious  son, 
Stricken  with  horror  of  his  horrid  guilt, 
Requesting  sentence  fitting  his  desert  : 
O,  tread  upon  his  head,  that  trod  [upon] 
Your  heart :  I  do  deliver  up  all  dignity, 
Crown,  sceptre,  sword,  unto  your  majesty. 

KING.  My  heart  surfeits  with  joy  in  hearing 

this, 
And,  dearfest]  son,  I'll  bless  thee  with  a  kiss. 

1  Old  copy,  ye. 


504  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

HEN.  I  will  not  rise ;   I  will  not   leave   this 

ground 

Till  all  these  voices,  joined  in  one  sound, 
Cry :  God  save  Henry,  second  of  that  name, 
Let  his  friends    live,   his  foes    see    death   with 
shame ! 

ALL.  God  save  Henry,  second  of  that  name, 
Let  his  friends    live,   his   foes   see    death  with 
shame ! 

HEN.  Amen,  amen,  amen  ! 

JOHN.  Hark  !  mother,  hark ! 
My  brother  is  already  turned  clerk. 

QUEEN.  He   is   a  recreant ;    I   am  mad  with 
rage. 

HEN.  Be  angry  at  your  envy,  gracious  mother, 
Learn  patience  and  true  humility 
Of  your  worst-tutor' d  son  ;  for  I  am  he. 
Hence,  hence  that  Frenchwoman;    give  her  her 

dowry, 

Let  her  not  speak,  to  trouble  my  mild  soul, 
Which  of -this  world  hath  taken  her  last  leave  : 
And  by  her  power  will  my  proud  flesh  control. 
Off  with  these  silks  ;  my  garments  shall  be  grey, 
My  shirt  hard  hair ;  my  bed  the  .ashy  dust ; 
My  pillow  but  a  lump  of  hard'ned  clay  : 
For  clay  I  am,  and  with  clay  I  must. 
0,  I  beseech  ye,  let  me  go  alone, 
To  live,  where  my  loose  life  I  may  bemoan. 

KING.  Son! 

QUEEN.  Son ! 

KICK.  Brother  ! 

JOHN.  Brother ! 

HEN.    Let  none   call  me   their   son ;    I'm   no 

man's  brother, 

My  kindred  is  in  heav'n,  I  know  no  other. 
Farewell,  farewell ;  the  world  is  your's ;  pray  take 

it, 
I'll  leave  vexation,  and  with  joy  forsake  it.    [Exit. 


LOOK  ABOUT  YOU.  505 

LADY  F.  Wondrous  conversion  ! 

FAU.  Admirable  good  : 
Now,  by  my  halidom,  Moll,  passing  good. 

RICH.  H'  hath  fir'd  my  soul ;  I  will  to  Palestine, 
And  pay  my  vows  before  the  Sepulchre. 
Among  the  multitude  of  misbelief, 
I'll  show  myself  the  soldier  of  Christ : 
Spend  blood,  sweat  tears,  for  satisfaction 
Of  many — many  sins,  which  I  lament ; 
And  never  think  to  have  them  pardoned, 
Till  I  have  part  of  Syria  conquered. 

GLO.  He  makes  me  wonder,  and  inflames  my 

spirits, 

With  an  exceeding  zeal  to  Portingale, 
Which  kingdom  the  unchris'ned  Saracens,1 
The  black-fac'd  Africans,  and  tawny  Moors, 
Have  got  unjustly  in  possession  : 
Whence  I  will  fire  them  with  the  help  of  heaven. 

SKINK.  Skink  will  scorch  them,  brave  Gloster  ; 
Make  carbonadoes  of  their  bacon-flitches ; 
Deserve  to  be  counted  valiant  by  his  valour, 
And  Rivo  2  will  he  cry,  and  Castile  too, 
And  wonders  in  the  land  of  Seville  do. 

ROB.  0,  that  I  were  a  man  to  see  these  fights  : 
To  spend  my  blood  amongst  these  worthy  knights. 

FAU.  Marry,  aye  me,  were  I  a  boy  again, 
I'd  either  to  Jerusalem  or  Spain. 

JOHN.  Faith,  I'll  keep  England ;   mother,  you 

and  I 
Will  live  from 3  all  this  fight  and  foolery. 

KING.  Peace  to  us  all,  let's  all  for  peace  give 

praise, 
Unlook'd-for  peace,  unlook'd-for  happy  days  ! 


1  Old  copy,  Sarasons. 

2  An  exclamation  of  doubtful  meaning  and  origin.     See 
a  long  note  in  Nares,  edit.  1859,  v.  Rivo. 

3  Old  copy,  for. 


506  LOOK  ABOUT  YOU. 

Love  Henry's  birth- day ;  he  hath  been  new-born ; 

I  am  new-crowned,  new-settled  in  my  seat. 

Let's   all  to  th'  chapel,   there   give  thanks   and 

praise, 

Beseeching  grace  from  Heaven's  eternal  throne, 
That  England  never  know  more  prince  than  one. 

[Exeunt. 


FINIS. 


Dodsley 

A  select  collection  of  old 
English  plays 


PR 
1263 
.D7 
v.7